_book_title_: andrew_lang___prince_prigio.txt.out
chapter i. -lcb- chapter heading picture: p1.jpg -rcb- how the fairies were not invited to court.
once upon a time there reigned in pantouflia a king and a queen.
with almost everything else to make them happy, they wanted one thing: they had no children.
this vexed the king even more than the queen, who was very clever and learned, and who had hated dolls when she was a child.
however, she, too in spite of all the books she read and all the pictures she painted, would have been glad enough to be the mother of a little prince.
the king was anxious to consult the fairies, but the queen would not hear of such a thing.
she did not believe in fairies: she said that they had never existed; and that she maintained, though the history of the royal family was full of chapters about nothing else.
well, at long and at last they had a little boy, who was generally regarded as the finest baby that had ever been seen.
even her majesty herself remarked that, though she could never believe all the courtiers told her, yet he certainly was a fine child -- a very fine child.
now, the time drew near for the christening party, and the king and queen were sitting at breakfast in their summer parlour talking over it.
it was a splendid room, hung with portraits of the royal ancestors.
there was cinderella, the grandmother of the reigning monarch, with her little foot in her glass slipper thrust out before her.
there was the marquis de carabas, who, as everyone knows, was raised to the throne as prince consort after his marriage with the daughter of the king of the period.
on the arm of the throne was seated his celebrated cat, wearing boots.
there, too, was a portrait of a beautiful lady, sound asleep: this was madame la belle au bois-dormant, also an ancestress of the royal family.
many other pictures of celebrated persons were hanging on the walls.
""you have asked all the right people, my dear?"
said the king.
""everyone who should be asked," answered the queen.
""people are so touchy on these occasions," said his majesty.
""you have not forgotten any of our aunts?"
""no; the old cats!"
replied the queen; for the king's aunts were old-fashioned, and did not approve of her, and she knew it.
""they are very kind old ladies in their way," said the king; "and were nice to me when i was a boy."
then he waited a little, and remarked: "the fairies, of course, you have invited?
it has always been usual, in our family, on an occasion like this; and i think we have neglected them a little of late."
""how can you be so absurd?"
cried the queen.
""how often must i tell you that there are no fairies?
and even if there were -- but, no matter; pray let us drop the subject."
""they are very old friends of our family, my dear, that's all," said the king timidly.
""often and often they have been godmothers to us.
one, in particular, was most kind and most serviceable to cinderella i., my own grandmother."
""your grandmother!"
interrupted her majesty.
""fiddle-de-dee!
if anyone puts such nonsense into the head of my little prigio --" but here the baby was brought in by the nurse, and the queen almost devoured it with kisses.
and so the fairies were not invited!
it was an extraordinary thing, but none of the nobles could come to the christening party when they learned that the fairies had not been asked.
some were abroad; several were ill; a few were in prison among the saracens; others were captives in the dens of ogres.
the end of it was that the king and queen had to sit down alone, one at each end of a very long table, arrayed with plates and glasses for a hundred guests -- for a hundred guests who never came!
""any soup, my dear?"
shouted the king, through a speaking-trumpet; when, suddenly, the air was filled with a sound like the rustling of the wings of birds.
flitter, flitter, flutter, went the noise; and when the queen looked up, lo and behold!
on every seat was a lovely fairy, dressed in green, each with a most interesting-looking parcel in her hand.
do n't you like opening parcels?
the king did, and he was most friendly and polite to the fairies.
but the queen, though she saw them distinctly, took no notice of them.
you see, she did not believe in fairies, nor in her own eyes, when she saw them.
so she talked across the fairies to the king, just as if they had not been there; but the king behaved as politely as if they were real -- which, of course, they were.
when dinner was over, and when the nurse had brought in the baby, all the fairies gave him the most magnificent presents.
one offered a purse which could never be empty; and one a pair of seven-leagued boots; and another a cap of darkness, that nobody might see the prince when he put it on; and another a wishing-cap; and another a carpet, on which, when he sat, he was carried wherever he wished to find himself.
another made him beautiful for ever; and another, brave; and another, lucky: but the last fairy of all, a cross old thing, crept up and said, "my child, you shall be too clever!"
this fairy's gift would have pleased the queen, if she had believed in it, more than anything else, because she was so clever herself.
but she took no notice at all; and the fairies went each to her own country, and none of them stayed there at the palace, where nobody believed in them, except the king, a little.
but the queen tossed all their nice boots and caps, carpets, purses, swords, and all, away into a dark lumber-room; for, of course, she thought that they were all nonsense, and merely old rubbish out of books, or pantomime "properties."
chapter ii.
-lcb- chapter heading picture: p9.jpg -rcb- prince prigio and his family.
well, the little prince grew up.
i think i've told you that his name was prigio -- did i not?
well, that was his name.
you can not think how clever he was.
he argued with his nurse as soon as he could speak, which was very soon.
he argued that he did not like to be washed, because the soap got into his eyes.
however, when he was told all about the pores of the skin, and how they could not be healthy if he was not washed, he at once ceased to resist, for he was very reasonable.
he argued with his father that he did not see why there should be kings who were rich, while beggars were poor; and why the king -- who was a little greedy -- should have poached eggs and plum-cake at afternoon tea, while many other persons went without dinner.
the king was so surprised and hurt at these remarks that he boxed the prince's ears, saying, "i'll teach you to be too clever, my lad."
then he remembered the awful curse of the oldest fairy, and was sorry for the rudeness of the queen.
and when the prince, after having his ears boxed, said that "force was no argument," the king went away in a rage.
-lcb- prigio reading a book: p11.jpg -rcb- indeed, i can not tell you how the prince was hated by all!
he would go down into the kitchen, and show the cook how to make soup.
he would visit the poor people's cottage, and teach them how to make the beds, and how to make plum-pudding out of turnip-tops, and venison cutlets out of rusty bacon.
he showed the fencing-master how to fence, and the professional cricketer how to bowl, and instructed the rat-catcher in breeding terriers.
he set sums to the chancellor of the exchequer, and assured the astronomer royal that the sun does not go round the earth -- which, for my part, i believe it does.
the young ladies of the court disliked dancing with him, in spite of his good looks, because he was always asking, "have you read this?"
and "have you read that?"
-- and when they said they had n't, he sneered; and when they said they had, he found them out.
he found out all his tutors and masters in the same horrid way; correcting the accent of his french teacher, and trying to get his german tutor not to eat peas with his knife.
he also endeavoured to teach the queen-dowager, his grandmother, an art with which she had long been perfectly familiar!
in fact, he knew everything better than anybody else; and the worst of it was that he did: and he was never in the wrong, and he always said, "did n't i tell you so?"
and, what was more, he had!
as time went on, prince prigio had two younger brothers, whom everybody liked.
they were not a bit clever, but jolly.
prince alphonso, the third son, was round, fat, good-humoured, and as brave as a lion.
prince enrico, the second, was tall, thin, and a little sad, but never too clever.
both were in love with two of their own cousins -lrb- with the approval of their dear parents -rrb-; and all the world said, "what nice, unaffected princes they are!"
but prigio nearly got the country into several wars by being too clever for the foreign ambassadors.
now, as pantouflia was a rich, lazy country, which hated fighting, this was very unpleasant, and did not make people love prince prigio any better.
chapter iii.
about the firedrake.
of all the people who did not like prigio, his own dear papa, king grognio, disliked him most.
for the king knew he was not clever, himself.
when he was in the counting-house, counting out his money, and when he happened to say, "sixteen shillings and fourteen and twopence are three pounds, fifteen," it made him wild to hear prigio whisper, "one pound, ten and twopence" -- which, of course, it is.
and the king was afraid that prigio would conspire, and get made king himself -- which was the last thing prigio really wanted.
he much preferred to idle about, and know everything without seeming to take any trouble.
-lcb- the king at his desk: p15.jpg -rcb- well, the king thought and thought.
how was he to get prigio out of the way, and make enrico or alphonso his successor?
he read in books about it; and all the books showed that, if a king sent his three sons to do anything, it was always the youngest who did it, and got the crown.
and he wished he had the chance.
well, it arrived at last.
there was a very hot summer!
it began to be hot in march.
all the rivers were dried up.
the grass did not grow.
the corn did not grow.
the thermometers exploded with heat.
the barometers stood at set fair.
the people were much distressed, and came and broke the palace windows -- as they usually do when things go wrong in pantouflia.
the king consulted the learned men about the court, who told him that probably a firedrake was in the neighbourhood.
now, the firedrake is a beast, or bird, about the bigness of an elephant.
its body is made of iron, and it is always red-hot.
a more terrible and cruel beast can not be imagined; for, if you go near it, you are at once broiled by the firedrake.
but the king was not ill-pleased: "for," thought he, "of course my three sons must go after the brute, the eldest first; and, as usual, it will kill the first two, and be beaten by the youngest.
it is a little hard on enrico, poor boy; but anything to get rid of that prigio!"
then the king went to prigio, and said that his country was in danger, and that he was determined to leave the crown to whichever of them would bring him the horns -lrb- for it has horns -rrb- and tail of the firedrake.
""it is an awkward brute to tackle," the king said, "but you are the oldest, my lad; go where glory waits you!
put on your armour, and be off with you!"
-lcb- "put on your armour and be off with you!"
: p18.jpg -rcb- this the king said, hoping that either the firedrake would roast prince prigio alive -lrb- which he could easily do, as i have said; for he is all over as hot as a red-hot poker -rrb-, or that, if the prince succeeded, at least his country would be freed from the monster.
but the prince, who was lying on the sofa doing sums in compound division for fun, said in the politest way: "thanks to the education your majesty has given me, i have learned that the firedrake, like the siren, the fairy, and so forth, is a fabulous animal which does not exist.
but even granting, for the sake of argument, that there is a firedrake, your majesty is well aware that there is no kind of use in sending me.
it is always the eldest son who goes out first and comes to grief on these occasions, and it is always the third son that succeeds.
send alphonso" -lrb- this was the youngest brother -rrb-, "and he will do the trick at once.
at least, if he fails, it will be most unusual, and enrico can try his luck."
then he went back to his arithmetic and his slate, and the king had to send for prince alphonso and prince enrico.
they both came in very warm; for they had been whipping tops, and the day was unusually hot.
""look here," said the king, "just you two younger ones look at prigio!
you see how hot it is, and how coolly he takes it, and the country suffering; and all on account of a firedrake, you know, which has apparently built his nest not far off.
well, i have asked that lout of a brother of yours to kill it, and he says --" "that he does not believe in firedrakes," interrupted prigio.
""the weather's warm enough without going out hunting!"
""not believe in firedrakes!"
cried alphonso.
""i wonder what you do believe in!
just let me get at the creature!"
for he was as brave as a lion.
""hi!
page, my chain-armour, helmet, lance, and buckler!
a molinda!
a molinda!"
which was his war-cry.
the page ran to get the armour; but it was so uncommonly hot that he dropped it, and put his fingers in his mouth, crying!
-lcb- the page crying: p21.jpg -rcb- "you had better put on flannels, alphonso, for this kind of work," said prigio.
""and if i were you, i'd take a light garden-engine, full of water, to squirt at the enemy."
""happy thought!"
said alphonso.
""i will!"
and off he went, kissed his dear molinda, bade her keep a lot of dances for him -lrb- there was to be a dance when he had killed the firedrake -rrb-, and then he rushed to the field!
but he never came back any more!
everyone wept bitterly -- everyone but prince prigio; for he thought it was a practical joke, and said that alphonso had taken the opportunity to start off on his travels and see the world.
""there is some dreadful mistake, sir," said prigio to the king.
""you know as well as i do that the youngest son has always succeeded, up to now.
but i entertain great hopes of enrico!"
and he grinned; for he fancied it was all nonsense, and that there were no firedrakes.
enrico was present when prigio was consoling the king in this unfeeling way.
""enrico, my boy," said his majesty, "the task awaits you, and the honour.
when you come back with the horns and tail of the firedrake, you shall be crown prince; and prigio shall be made an usher at the grammar school -- it is all he is fit for."
enrico was not quite so confident as alphonso had been.
he insisted on making his will; and he wrote a poem about the pleasures and advantages of dying young.
this is part of it: the violet is a blossom sweet, that droops before the day is done -- slain by thine overpowering heat, o sun!
and i, like that sweet purple flower, may roast, or boil, or broil, or bake, if burned by thy terrific power, firedrake!
this poem comforted enrico more or less, and he showed it to prigio.
but the prince only laughed, and said that the second line of the last verse was not very good; for violets do not "roast, or boil, or broil, or bake."
enrico tried to improve it, but could not.
so he read it to his cousin, lady kathleena, just as it was; and she cried over it -lrb- though i do n't think she understood it -rrb-; and enrico cried a little, too.
however, next day he started, with a spear, a patent refrigerator, and a lot of the bottles people throw at fires to put them out.
but he never came back again!
after shedding torrents of tears, the king summoned prince prigio to his presence.
""dastard!"
he said.
""poltroon!
your turn, which should have come first, has arrived at last.
you must fetch me the horns and the tail of the firedrake.
probably you will be grilled, thank goodness; but who will give me back enrico and alphonso?"
""indeed, your majesty," said prigio, "you must permit me to correct your policy.
your only reason for dispatching your sons in pursuit of this dangerous but i believe fabulous animal, was to ascertain which of us would most worthily succeed to your throne, at the date -- long may it be deferred!
-- of your lamented decease.
now, there can be no further question about the matter.
i, unworthy as i am, represent the sole hope of the royal family.
therefore to send me after the firedrake were -lcb- 25 -rcb- both dangerous and unnecessary.
dangerous, because, if he treats me as you say he did my brothers -- my unhappy brothers, -- the throne of pantouflia will want an heir.
but, if i do come back alive -- why, i can not be more the true heir than i am at present; now can i?
ask the lord chief justice, if you do n't believe me."
these arguments were so clearly and undeniably correct that the king, unable to answer them, withdrew into a solitary place where he could express himself with freedom, and give rein to his expression.
chapter iv.
how prince prigio was deserted by everybody.
meanwhile, prince prigio had to suffer many unpleasant things.
though he was the crown prince -lrb- and though his arguments were unanswerable -rrb-, everybody shunned him for a coward.
the queen, who did not believe in firedrakes, alone took his side.
he was not only avoided by all, but he had most disagreeable scenes with his own cousins, lady molinda and lady kathleena.
in the garden lady molinda met him walking alone, and did not bow to him.
""dear molly," said the prince, who liked her, "how have i been so unfortunate as to offend you?"
""my name, sir, is lady molinda," she said, very proudly; "and you have sent your own brother to his grave!"
""oh, excuse me," said the prince, "i am certain he has merely gone off on his travels.
he'll come back when he's tired: there are no firedrakes; a french writer says they are "purement fabuleux," purely fabulous, you know."
-lcb- "my name, sir, is lady molinda, she said."
: p29.jpg -rcb- "prince alphonso has gone on his travels, and will come back when he is tired!
and was he then -- tired -- of me?"
cried poor molinda, bursting into tears, and forgetting her dignity.
""oh!
i beg your pardon, i never noticed; i'm sure i am very sorry," cried the prince, who, never having been in love himself, never thought of other people.
and he tried to take molinda's hand, but she snatched it from him and ran away through the garden to the palace, leaving prince prigio to feel foolish, for once, and ashamed.
as for lady kathleena, she swept past him like a queen, without a word.
so the prince, for all his cleverness, was not happy.
after several days had gone by, the king returned from the solitary place where he had been speaking his mind.
he now felt calmer and better; and so at last he came back to the palace.
but on seeing prince prigio, who was lolling in a hammock, translating egyptian hieroglyphs into french poetry for his mother, the king broke out afresh, and made use of the most cruel and impolite expressions.
at last, he gave orders that all the court should pack up and move to a distant city; and that prince prigio should be left alone in the palace by himself.
for he was quite unendurable, the king said, and he could not trust his own temper when he thought of him.
and he grew so fierce, that even the queen was afraid of him now.
the poor queen cried a good deal; prigio being her favourite son, on account of his acknowledged ability and talent.
but the rest of the courtiers were delighted at leaving prince prigio behind.
for his part, he, very good-naturedly, showed them the best and shortest road to falkenstein, the city where they were going; and easily proved that neither the chief secretary for geography, nor the general of the army, knew anything about the matter -- which, indeed, they did not.
the ungrateful courtiers left prigio with hoots and yells, for they disliked him so much that they forgot he would be king one day.
he therefore reminded them of this little fact in future history, which made them feel uncomfortable enough, and then lay down in his hammock and went to sleep.
when he wakened, the air was cold and the day was beginning to grow dark.
prince prigio thought he would go down and dine at a tavern in the town, for no servants had been left with him.
but what was his annoyance when he found that his boots, his sword, his cap, his cloak -- all his clothes, in fact, except those he wore, -- had been taken away by the courtiers, merely to spite him!
his wardrobe had been ransacked, and everything that had not been carried off had been cut up, burned, and destroyed.
never was such a spectacle of wicked mischief.
it was as if hay had been made of everything he possessed.
what was worse, he had not a penny in his pocket to buy new things; and his father had stopped his allowance of fifty thousand pounds a month.
can you imagine anything more cruel and unjust than this conduct?
for it was not the prince's fault that he was so clever.
the cruel fairy had made him so.
but, even if the prince had been born clever -lrb- as may have happened to you -rrb-, was he to be blamed for that?
the other people were just as much in fault for being born so stupid; but the world, my dear children, can never be induced to remember this.
if you are clever, you will find it best not to let people know it -- if you want them to like you.
well, here was the prince in a pretty plight.
not a pound in his pocket, not a pair of boots to wear, not even a cap to cover his head from the rain; nothing but cold meat to eat, and never a servant to answer the bell.
chapter v. what prince prigio found in the garret.
the prince walked from room to room of the palace; but, unless he wrapped himself up in a curtain, there was nothing for him to wear when he went out in the rain.
at last he climbed up a turret-stair in the very oldest part of the castle, where he had never been before; and at the very top was a little round room, a kind of garret.
the prince pushed in the door with some difficulty -- not that it was locked, but the handle was rusty, and the wood had swollen with the damp.
the room was very dark; only the last grey light of the rainy evening came through a slit of a window, one of those narrow windows that they used to fire arrows out of in old times.
but in the dusk the prince saw a heap of all sorts of things lying on the floor and on the table.
there were two caps; he put one on -- an old, grey, ugly cap it was, made of felt.
there was a pair of boots; and he kicked off his slippers, and got into them.
they were a good deal worn, but fitted as if they had been made for him.
on the table was a purse with just three gold coins -- old ones, too -- in it; and this, as you may fancy, the prince was very well pleased to put in his pocket.
a sword, with a sword-belt, he buckled about his waist; and the rest of the articles, a regular collection of odds and ends, he left just where they were lying.
then he ran downstairs, and walked out of the hall door.
chapter vi.
what happened to prince prigio in town.
by this time the prince was very hungry.
the town was just three miles off; but he had such a royal appetite, that he did not like to waste it on bad cookery, and the people of the royal town were bad cooks.
""i wish i were in "the bear," at gluckstein," said he to himself; for he remembered that there was a very good cook there.
but, then, the town was twenty-one leagues away -- sixty-three long miles!
no sooner had the prince said this, and taken just three steps, than he found himself at the door of the "bear inn" at gluckstein!
""this is the most extraordinary dream," said he to himself; for he was far too clever, of course, to believe in seven-league boots.
yet he had a pair on at that very moment, and it was they which had carried him in three strides from the palace to gluckstein!
the truth is, that the prince, in looking about the palace for clothes, had found his way into that very old lumber-room where the magical gifts of the fairies had been thrown by his clever mother, who did not believe in them.
but this, of course, the prince did not know.
now you should be told that seven-league boots only take those prodigious steps when you say you want to go a long distance.
otherwise they would be very inconvenient -- when you only want to cross the room, for example.
perhaps this has not been explained to you by your governess?
well, the prince walked into "the bear," and it seemed odd to him that nobody took any notice of him.
and yet his face was as well known as that of any man in pantouflia, for everybody had seen it, at least in pictures.
he was so puzzled by not being attended to as usual, that he quite forgot to take off his cap.
he sat down at the table, however, and shouted" kellner!"
at which all the waiters jumped, and looked round in every direction, but nobody came to him.
at first he thought they were too busy, but presently another explanation occurred to him.
-lcb- the waiters: p38.jpg -rcb- "the king," he said to himself, "has threatened to execute anybody who speaks to me, or helps me in any way.
well, i do n't mean to starve in the midst of plenty, anyhow; here goes!"
the prince rose, and went to the table in the midst of the room, where a huge roast turkey had just been placed.
he helped himself to half the breast, some sausages, chestnut stuffing, bread sauce, potatoes, and a bottle of red wine -- burgundy.
he then went back to a table in a corner, where he dined very well, nobody taking any notice of him.
when he had finished, he sat watching the other people dining, and smoking his cigarette.
as he was sitting thus, a very tall man, an officer in the uniform of the guards, came in, and, walking straight to the prince's table, said: "kellner, clean this table, and bring in the bill of fare."
with these words, the officer sat down suddenly in the prince's lap, as if he did not see him at all.
he was a heavy man, and the prince, enraged at the insult, pushed him away and jumped to his feet.
as he did so, his cap dropped off.
the officer fell on his knees at once, crying: "pardon, my prince, pardon!
i never saw you!"
this was more than the prince could be expected to believe.
""nonsense!
count frederick von matterhorn," he said; "you must be intoxicated.
sir!
you have insulted your prince and your superior officer.
consider yourself under arrest!
you shall be sent to a prison to-morrow."
on this, the poor officer appealed piteously to everybody in the tavern.
they all declared that they had not seen the prince, nor even had an idea that he was doing them the honour of being in the neighbourhood of their town.
more and more offended, and convinced that there was a conspiracy to annoy and insult him, the prince shouted for the landlord, called for his bill, threw down his three pieces of gold without asking for change, and went into the street.
""it is a disgraceful conspiracy," he said.
""the king shall answer for this!
i shall write to the newspapers at once!"
he was not put in a better temper by the way in which people hustled him in the street.
they ran against him exactly as if they did not see him, and then staggered back in the greatest surprise, looking in every direction for the person they had jostled.
in one of these encounters, the prince pushed so hard against a poor old beggar woman that she fell down.
as he was usually most kind and polite, he pulled off his cap to beg her pardon, when, behold, the beggar woman gave one dreadful scream, and fainted!
a crowd was collecting, and the prince, forgetting that he had thrown down all his money in the tavern, pulled out his purse.
then he remembered what he had done, and expected to find it empty; but, lo, there were three pieces of gold in it!
overcome with surprise, he thrust the money into the woman's hand, and put on his cap again.
in a moment the crowd, which had been staring at him, rushed away in every direction, with cries of terror, declaring that there was a magician in the town, and a fellow who could appear and disappear at pleasure!
-lcb- the crowd running: p42.jpg -rcb- by this time, you or i, or anyone who was not so extremely clever as prince prigio, would have understood what was the matter.
he had put on, without knowing it, not only the seven-league boots, but the cap of darkness, and had taken fortunatus's purse, which could never be empty, however often you took all the money out.
all those and many other delightful wares the fairies had given him at his christening, and the prince had found them in the dark garret.
but the prince was so extremely wise, and learned, and scientific, that he did not believe in fairies, nor in fairy gifts.
""it is indigestion," he said to himself: "those sausages were not of the best; and that burgundy was extremely strong.
things are not as they appear."
here, as he was arguing with himself, he was nearly run over by a splendid carriage and six, the driver of which never took the slightest notice of him.
annoyed at this, the prince leaped up behind, threw down the two footmen, who made no resistance, and so was carried to the door of a magnificent palace.
he was determined to challenge the gentleman who was in the carriage; but, noticing that he had a very beautiful young lady with him, whom he had never seen before, he followed them into the house, not wishing to alarm the girl, and meaning to speak to the gentleman when he found him alone.
a great ball was going on; but, as usual, nobody took any notice of the prince.
he walked among the guests, being careful not to jostle them, and listening to their conversation.
it was all about himself!
everyone had heard of his disgrace, and almost everyone cried "serve him right!"
they said that the airs he gave himself were quite unendurable -- that nothing was more rude than to be always in the right -- that cleverness might be carried far too far -- that it was better even to be born stupid -lrb- "like the rest of you," thought the prince -rrb-; and, in fact, nobody had a good word for him.
yes, one had!
it was the pretty lady of the carriage.
i never could tell you how pretty she was.
she was tall, with cheeks like white roses blushing: she had dark hair, and very large dark-grey eyes, and her face was the kindest in the world!
the prince first thought how nice and good she looked, even before he thought how pretty she looked.
she stood up for prince prigio when her partner would speak ill of him.
she had never seen the prince, for she was but newly come to pantouflia; but she declared that it was his misfortune, not his fault, to be so clever.
""and, then, think how hard they made him work at school!
besides," said this kind young lady, "i hear he is extremely handsome, and very brave; and he has a good heart, for he was kind, i have heard, to a poor boy, and did all his examination papers for him, so that the boy passed first in everything.
and now he is minister for education, though he ca n't do a line of greek prose!"
the prince blushed at this, for he knew his conduct had not been honourable.
but he at once fell over head and ears in love with the young lady, a thing he had never done in his life before, because -- he said -- "women were so stupid!"
you see he was so clever!
now, at this very moment -- when the prince, all of a sudden, was as deep in love as if he had been the stupidest officer in the room -- an extraordinary thing happened!
something seemed to give a whirr!
in his brain, and in one instant he knew all about it!
he believed in fairies and fairy gifts, and understood that his cap was the cap of darkness, and his shoes the seven-league boots, and his purse the purse of fortunatus!
he had read about those things in historical books: but now he believed in them.
chapter vii.
the prince falls in love.
he understood all this, and burst out laughing, which nearly frightened an old lady near him out of her wits.
ah!
how he wished he was only in evening dress, that he might dance with the charming young lady.
but there he was, dressed just as if he were going out to hunt, if anyone could have seen him.
so, even if he took off his cap of darkness, and became visible, he was no figure for a ball.
once he would not have cared, but now he cared very much indeed.
but the prince was not clever for nothing.
he thought for a moment, then went out of the room, and, in three steps of the seven-league boots, was at his empty, dark, cold palace again.
he struck a light with a flint and steel, lit a torch, and ran upstairs to the garret.
the flaring light of the torch fell on the pile of "rubbish," as the queen would have called it, which he turned over with eager hands.
was there -- yes, there was another cap!
there it lay, a handsome green one with a red feather.
the prince pulled off the cap of darkness, put on the other, and said:" i wish i were dressed in my best suit of white and gold, with the royal pantouflia diamonds!"
in one moment there he was in white and gold, the greatest and most magnificent dandy in the whole world, and the handsomest man!
""how about my boots, i wonder," said the prince; for his seven-league boots were stout riding-boots, not good to dance in, whereas now he was in elegant shoes of silk and gold.
he threw down the wishing cap, put on the other -- the cap of darkness -- and made three strides in the direction of gluckstein.
but he was only three steps nearer it than he had been, and the seven-league boots were standing beside him on the floor!
""no," said the prince; "no man can be in two different pairs of boots at one and the same time!
that's mathematics!"
he then hunted about in the lumber-room again till he found a small, shabby, old persian carpet, the size of a hearthrug.
he went to his own room, took a portmanteau in his hand, sat down on the carpet, and said: "i wish i were in gluckstein."
in a moment there he found himself; for this was that famous carpet which prince hussein bought long ago, in the market at bisnagar, and which the fairies had brought, with the other presents, to the christening of prince prigio.
-lcb- the prince on the carpet: p52.jpg -rcb- when he arrived at the house where the ball was going on, he put the magical carpet in the portmanteau, and left it in the cloak-room, receiving a numbered ticket in exchange.
then he marched in all his glory -lrb- and, of course, without the cap of darkness -rrb- into the room where they were dancing.
everybody made place for him, bowing down to the ground, and the loyal band struck up the prince's march!
heaven bless our prince prigio!
what is there he does n't know?
greek, swiss, german -lrb- high and low -rrb-, and the names of the mountains in mexico, heaven bless the prince!
he used to be very fond of this march, and the words -- some people even said he had made them himself.
but now, somehow, he did n't much like it.
he went straight to the duke of stumpfelbahn, the hereditary master of the ceremonies, and asked to be introduced to the beautiful young lady.
she was the daughter of the new english ambassador, and her name was lady rosalind.
but she nearly fainted when she heard who it was that wished to dance with her, for she was not at all particularly clever; and the prince had such a bad character for snubbing girls, and asking them difficult questions.
however, it was impossible to refuse, and so she danced with the prince, and he danced very well.
then they sat out in the conservatory, among the flowers, where nobody came near them; and then they danced again, and then the prince took her down to supper.
and all the time he never once said, "have you read this?"
or "have you read that?"
or, "what!
you never heard of alexander the great?"
or julius caesar, or michael angelo, or whoever it might be -- horrid, difficult questions he used to ask.
that was the way he used to go on: but now he only talked to the young lady about herself; and she quite left off being shy or frightened, and asked him all about his own country, and about the firedrake-shooting, and said how fond she was of hunting herself.
and the prince said: "oh, if you wish it, you shall have the horns and tail of a firedrake to hang up in your hall, to-morrow evening!"
then she asked if it was not very dangerous work, firedrake hunting; and he said it was nothing, when you knew the trick of it: and he asked her if she would but give him a rose out of her bouquet; and, in short, he made himself so agreeable and unaffected, that she thought him very nice indeed.
for, even a clever person can be nice when he likes -- above all, when he is not thinking about himself.
and now the prince was thinking of nothing in the world but the daughter of the english ambassador, and how to please her.
he got introduced to her father too, and quite won his heart; and, at last, he was invited to dine next day at the embassy.
in pantouflia, it is the custom that a ball must not end while one of the royal family goes on dancing.
this ball lasted till the light came in, and the birds were singing out of doors, and all the mothers present were sound asleep.
then nothing would satisfy the prince, but that they all should go home singing through the streets; in fact, there never had been so merry a dance in all pantouflia.
the prince had made a point of dancing with almost every girl there: and he had suddenly become the most beloved of the royal family.
but everything must end at last; and the prince, putting on the cap of darkness and sitting on the famous carpet, flew back to his lonely castle.
-lcb- the mothers asleep: p56.jpg -rcb- chapter viii.
the prince is puzzled.
prince prigio did not go to bed.
it was bright daylight, and he had promised to bring the horns and tail of a firedrake as a present to a pretty lady.
he had said it was easy to do this; but now, as he sat and thought over it, he did not feel so victorious.
""first," he said, "where is the firedrake?"
he reflected for a little, and then ran upstairs to the garret.
""it should be here!"
he cried, tossing the fairies" gifts about; "and, by george, here it is!"
indeed, he had found the spyglass of carved ivory which prince ali, in the arabian nights, bought in the bazaar in schiraz.
now, this glass was made so that, by looking through it, you could see anybody or anything you wished, however far away.
prigio's first idea was to look at his lady.
""but she does not expect to be looked at," he thought; "and i wo n't!"
on the other hand, he determined to look at the firedrake; for, of course, he had no delicacy about spying on him, the brute.
the prince clapped the glass to his eye, stared out of window, and there, sure enough, he saw the firedrake.
he was floating about in a sea of molten lava, on the top of a volcano.
there he was, swimming and diving for pleasure, tossing up the flaming waves, and blowing fountains of fire out of his nostrils, like a whale spouting!
the prince did not like the looks of him.
-lcb- the prince looking through the telescope: p59.jpg -rcb- "with all my cap of darkness, and my shoes of swiftness, and my sword of sharpness, i never could get near that beast," he said; "and if i did stalk him, i could not hurt him.
poor little alphonso!
poor enrico!
what plucky fellows they were!
i fancied that there was no such thing as a firedrake: he's not in the natural history books, and i thought the boys were only making fun, and would be back soon, safe and sound.
how horrid being too clever makes one!
and now, what am i to do?"
-lcb- the remora: p60.jpg -rcb- what was he to do, indeed?
and what would you have done?
bring the horns and tail he must, or perish in the adventure.
otherwise, how could he meet his lady?
-- why, she would think him a mere braggart!
the prince sat down, and thought and thought; and the day went on, and it was now high noon.
at last he jumped up and rushed into the library, a room where nobody ever went except himself and the queen.
there he turned the books upside down, in his haste, till he found an old one, by a french gentleman, monsieur cyrano de bergerac.
it was an account of a voyage to the moon, in which there is a great deal of information about matters not generally known; for few travellers have been to the moon.
in that book, prince prigio fancied he would find something he half remembered, and that would be of use to him.
and he did!
so you see that cleverness, and minding your book, have some advantages, after all.
for here the prince learned that there is a very rare beast, called a remora, which is at least as cold as the firedrake is hot!
""now," thought he," if i can only make these two fight, why the remora may kill the firedrake, or take the heat out of him, at least, so that i may have a chance."
then he seized the ivory glass, clapped it to his eye, and looked for the remora.
just the tip of his nose, as white as snow and as smooth as ice, was sticking out of a chink in a frozen mountain, not far from the burning mountain of the firedrake.
""hooray!"
said the prince softly to himself; and he jumped like mad into the winged shoes of swiftness, stuck on the cap of darkness, girdled himself with the sword of sharpness, and put a good slice of bread, with some cold tongue, in a wallet, which he slung on his back.
never you fight, if you can help it, except with plenty of food to keep you going and in good heart.
then off he flew, and soon he reached the volcano of the firedrake.
chapter ix.
-lcb- chapter heading picture: p64.jpg -rcb- the prince and the firedrake.
it was dreadfully hot, even high up in the air, where the prince hung invisible.
great burning stones were tossed up by the volcano, and nearly hit him several times.
moreover, the steam and smoke, and the flames which the firedrake spouted like foam from his nostrils, would have daunted even the bravest man.
the sides of the hill, too, were covered with the blackened ashes of his victims, whom he had roasted when they came out to kill him.
the garden-engine of poor little alphonso was lying in the valley, all broken and useless.
but the firedrake, as happy as a wild duck on a lonely loch, was rolling and diving in the liquid flame, all red-hot and full of frolic.
""hi!"
shouted the prince.
the firedrake rose to the surface, his horns as red as a red crescent - moon, only bigger, and lashing the fire with his hoofs and his blazing tail.
""who's there?"
he said in a hoarse, angry voice.
""just let me get at you!"
""it's me," answered the prince.
it was the first time he had forgotten his grammar, but he was terribly excited.
""what do you want?"
grunted the beast.
""i wish i could see you"; and, horrible to relate, he rose on a pair of wide, flaming wings, and came right at the prince, guided by the sound of his voice.
now, the prince had never heard that firedrakes could fly; indeed, he had never believed in them at all, till the night before.
for a moment he was numb with terror; then he flew down like a stone to the very bottom of the hill, and shouted: "hi!"
""well," grunted the firedrake, "what's the matter?
why ca n't you give a civil answer to a civil question?"
""will you go back to your hole and swear, on your honour as a firedrake, to listen quietly?"
""on my sacred word of honour," said the beast, casually scorching an eagle that flew by into ashes.
the cinders fell, jingling and crackling, round the prince in a little shower.
then the firedrake dived back, with an awful splash of flame, and the mountain roared round him.
the prince now flew high above him, and cried: "a message from the remora.
he says you are afraid to fight him."
""do n't know him," grunted the firedrake.
""he sends you his glove," said prince prigio, "as a challenge to mortal combat, till death do you part."
then he dropped his own glove into the fiery lake.
""does he?"
yelled the firedrake.
""just let me get at him!"
and he scrambled out, all red-hot as he was.
""i'll go and tell him you're coming," said the prince; and with two strides he was over the frozen mountain of the remora.
chapter x. the prince and the remora.
if he had been too warm before, the prince was too cold now.
the hill of the remora was one solid mass of frozen steel, and the cold rushed out of it like the breath of some icy beast, which indeed it was.
all around were things like marble statues of men in armour: they were the dead bodies of the knights, horses and all, who had gone out of old to fight the remora, and who had been frosted up by him.
the prince felt his blood stand still, and he grew faint; but he took heart, for there was no time to waste.
yet he could nowhere see the remora.
""hi!"
shouted the prince.
then, from a narrow chink at the bottom of the smooth, black hill, -- a chink no deeper than that under a door, but a mile wide, -- stole out a hideous head!
it was as flat as the head of a skate-fish, it was deathly pale, and two chill-blue eyes, dead-coloured like stones, looked out of it.
then there came a whisper, like the breath of the bitter east wind on a winter day: "where are you, and how can i come to you?"
""here i am!"
said the prince from the top of the hill.
then the flat, white head set itself against the edge of the chink from which it had peeped, and slowly, like the movement of a sheet of ice, it slipped upwards and curled upwards, and up, and up!
there seemed no end to it at all; and it moved horribly, without feet, holding on by its own frost to the slippery side of the frozen hill.
now all the lower part of the black hill was covered with the horrid white thing coiled about it in smooth, flat, shiny coils; and still the head was higher than the rest; and still the icy cold came nearer and nearer, like death.
the prince almost fainted: everything seemed to swim; and in one moment more he would have fallen stiff on the mountain-top, and the white head would have crawled over him, and the cold coils would have slipped over him and turned him to stone.
and still the thing slipped up, from the chink under the mountain.
but the prince made a great effort; he moved, and in two steps he was far away, down in the valley where it was not so very cold.
""hi!"
he shouted, as soon as his tongue could move within his chattering teeth.
there came a clear, hissing answer, like frozen words dropping round him: "wait till i come down.
what do you want?"
then the white folds began to slide, like melting ice, from the black hill.
prince prigio felt the air getting warmer behind him, and colder in front of him.
he looked round, and there were the trees beginning to blacken in the heat, and the grass looking like a sea of fire along the plains; for the firedrake was coming!
the prince just took time to shout, "the firedrake is going to pay you a visit!"
and then he soared to the top of a neighbouring hill, and looked on at what followed.
chapter xi.
the battle.
it was an awul sight to behold!
when the remora heard the name of the firedrake, his hated enemy, he slipped with wonderful speed from the cleft of the mountain into the valley.
on and on and on he poured over rock and tree, as if a frozen river could slide downhill; on and on, till there were miles of him stretching along the valley -- miles of the smooth - ribbed, icy creature, crawling and slipping forwards.
the green trees dropped their leaves as he advanced; the birds fell down dead from the sky, slain by his frosty breath!
but, fast as the remora stole forward, the firedrake came quicker yet, flying and clashing his fiery wings.
at last they were within striking distance; and the firedrake, stooping from the air, dashed with his burning horns and flaming feet slap into the body of the remora.
then there rose a steam so dreadful, such a white yet fiery vapour of heat, that no one who had not the prince's magic glass could have seen what happened.
with horrible grunts and roars the firedrake tried to burn his way right through the flat body of the remora, and to chase him to his cleft in the rock.
but the remora, hissing terribly, and visibly melting away in places, yet held his ground; and the prince could see his cold white folds climbing slowly up the hoofs of the firedrake -- up and up, till they reached his knees, and the great burning beast roared like a hundred bulls with the pain.
then up the firedrake leaped, and hovering on his fiery wings, he lighted in the midst of the remora's back, and dashed into it with his horns.
but the flat, cruel head writhed backwards, and, slowly bending over on itself, the wounded remora slid greedily to fasten again on the limbs of the firedrake.
meanwhile, the prince, safe on his hill, was lunching on the loaf and the cold tongue he had brought with him.
""go it, remora!
go it, firedrake!
you're gaining.
give it him, remora!"
he shouted in the wildest excitement.
nobody had ever seen such a battle; he had it all to himself, and he never enjoyed anything more.
he hated the remora so much, that he almost wished the firedrake could beat it; for the firedrake was the more natural beast of the pair.
still, he was alarmed when he saw that the vast flat body of the remora was now slowly coiling backwards, backwards, into the cleft below the hill; while a thick wet mist showed how cruelly it had suffered.
but the firedrake, too, was in an unhappy way; for his legs were now cold and black, his horns were black also, though his body, especially near the heart, glowed still like red-hot iron.
""go it, remora!"
cried the prince: "his legs are giving way; he's groggy on his pins!
one more effort, and he wo n't be able to move!"
encouraged by this advice, the white, slippery remora streamed out of his cavern again, more and more of him uncoiling, as if the mountain were quite full of him.
he had lost strength, no doubt: for the steam and mist went up from him in clouds, and the hissing of his angry voice grew fainter; but so did the roars of the firedrake.
presently they sounded more like groans; and at last the remora slipped up his legs above the knees, and fastened on his very heart of fire.
then the firedrake stood groaning like a black bull, knee-deep in snow; and still the remora climbed and climbed.
""go it now, firedrake!"
shouted the prince; for he knew that if the remora won, it would be too cold for him to draw near the place, and cut off the firedrake's head and tail.
""go it, drake!
he's slackening!"
cried the prince again; and the brave firedrake made one last furious effort, and rising on his wings, dropped just on the spine of his enemy.
the wounded remora curled back his head again on himself, and again crawled, steaming terribly, towards his enemy.
but the struggle was too much for the gallant remora.
the flat, cruel head moved slower; the steam from his thousand wounds grew fiercer; and he gently breathed his last just as the firedrake, too, fell over and lay exhausted.
with one final roar, like the breath of a thousand furnaces, the firedrake expired.
the prince, watching from the hill-top, could scarcely believe that these two awful scourges of nature, which had so long devastated his country, were actually dead.
but when he had looked on for half-an-hour, and only a river ran where the remora had been, while the body of the firedrake lay stark and cold, he hurried to the spot.
drawing the sword of sharpness, he hacked off, at two blows, the iron head and the tail of the firedrake.
they were a weary weight to carry; but in a few strides of the shoes of swiftness he was at his castle, where he threw down his burden, and nearly fainted with excitement and fatigue.
-lcb- the prince in front of the firedrake: p78.jpg -rcb- but the castle clock struck half-past seven; dinner was at eight, and the poor prince crawled on hands and knees to the garret.
here he put on the wishing-cap; wished for a pint of champagne, a hot bath, and his best black velvet and diamond suit.
in a moment these were provided; he bathed, dressed, drank a glass of wine, packed up the head and tail of the firedrake, sat down on the flying carpet, and knocked at the door of the english ambassador as the clocks were striking eight in gluckstein.
punctuality is the politeness of princes!
and a prince is polite, when he is in love!
the prince was received at the door by a stout porter and led into the hall, where several butlers met him, and he laid the mortal remains of the firedrake under the cover of the flying carpet.
then he was led upstairs; and he made his bow to the pretty lady, who, of course, made him a magnificent courtesy.
she seemed prettier and kinder than ever.
the prince was so happy, that he never noticed how something went wrong about the dinner.
the ambassador looked about, and seemed to miss someone, and spoke in a low voice to one of the servants, who answered also in a low voice, and what he said seemed to displease the ambassador.
but the prince was so busy in talking to his lady, and in eating his dinner too, that he never observed anything unusual.
he had never been at such a pleasant dinner!
chapter xii.
a terrible misfortune.
when the ladies left, and the prince and the other gentlemen were alone, the ambassador appeared more gloomy than ever.
at last he took the prince into a corner, on pretence of showing him a rare statue.
""does your royal highness not know," he asked, "that you are in considerable danger?"
""still?"
said the prince, thinking of the firedrake.
the ambassador did not know what he meant, for he had never heard of the fight, but he answered gravely: "never more than now."
then he showed the prince two proclamations, which had been posted all about the town.
-lcb- the ambassador showing the prince the proclamation: p82.jpg -rcb- here is the first: to all loyal subjects.
whereas, our eldest son, prince prigio, hath of late been guilty of several high crimes and misdemeanours.
first: by abandoning the post of danger against the firedrake, whereby our beloved sons, prince alphonso and prince enrico, have perished, and been overdone by that monster.
secondly: by attending an unseemly revel in the town of gluckstein, where he brawled in the streets.
thirdly: by trying to seduce away the hearts of our loyal subjects in that city, and to blow up a party against our crown and our peace.
this is to give warning, that whoever consorts with, comforts, aids, or abets the said prince prigio, is thereby a partner in his treason; and that a reward of five thousand purses will be given to whomsoever brings the said prince, alive, to our castle of falkenstein.
grognio r. and here is the second proclamation: reward.
the firedrake.
whereas, our dominions have lately been devastated by a firedrake -lrb- the salamander furiosus of buffon -rrb-; this is to advise all, that whosoever brings the horns and tail of the said firedrake to our castle of falkenstein, shall receive five thousand purses, the position of crown prince, with the usual perquisites, and the hand of the king's niece, the lady molinda.
grognio r. "h'm," said the prince; "i did not think his majesty wrote so well;" and he would have liked to say, "do n't you think we might join the ladies."
""but, sir," said the ambassador, "the streets are lined with soldiers; and i know not how you have escaped them.
here, under my roof, you are safe for the moment; but a prolonged stay -- excuse my inhospitality -- could not but strain the harmonious relations which prevail between the government of pantouflia and that which i have the honour to represent."
""we do n't want to fight; and no more, i think, do you," said the prince, smiling.
""then how does your royal highness mean to treat the proclamations?"
""why, by winning these ten thousand purses.
i can tell you 1,000,000 pounds is worth having," said the prince.
""i'll deliver up the said prince, alive, at falkenstein this very night; also the horns and tail of the said firedrake.
but i do n't want to marry my cousin molly."
""may i remind your royal highness that falkenstein is three hundred miles away?
moreover, my head butler, benson, disappeared from the house before dinner, and i fear he went to warn captain kopzoffski that you are here!"
""that is nothing," said the prince; "but, my dear lord kelso, may i not have the pleasure of presenting lady rosalind with a little gift, a philippine which i lost to her last night, merely the head and tail of a firedrake which i stalked this morning?"
the ambassador was so astonished that he ran straight upstairs, forgetting his manners, and crying: "linda!
linda!
come down at once; here's a surprise for you!"
lady rosalind came sweeping down, with a smile on her kind face.
she guessed what it was, though the prince had said nothing about it at dinner.
""lead the way, your royal highness!"
cried the ambassador; and the prince, offering lady rosalind his arm, went out into the hall, where he saw neither his carpet nor the horns and tail of the firedrake!
he turned quite pale, and said: "will you kindly ask the servants where the little persian prayer-rug and the parcel which i brought with me have been placed?"
lord kelso rang the bell, and in came all the servants, with william, the under-butler, at their head.
""william," said his lordship, "where have you put his royal highness's parcel and his carpet?"
""please, your lordship," said william, "we think benson have took them away with him."
""and where is benson?"
""we do n't know, your lordship.
we think he have been come for!"
""come for -- by whom?"
william stammered, and seemed at a loss for a reply.
""quick!
answer!
what do you know about it?"
william said at last, rather as if he were making a speech.
""your royaliness, and my lords and ladies, it was like this.
his royaliness comed in with a rug over his arm, and summat under it.
and he lays it down on that there seat, and thomas shows him into the droring - room.
then benson says: "dinner'll be ready in five minutes; how tired i do feel!"
then he takes the libbuty of sitting hisself down on his royaliness's rug, and he says, asking your pardon, "i've had about enough of service here.
i'm about tired, and i thinks of bettering myself.
i wish i was at the king's court, and butler."
but before the words was out of his mouth, off he flies like a shot through the open door, and his royaliness's parcel with him.
i run to the door, and there he was, flying right hover the town, in a northerly direction.
and that's all i know; for i would not tell a lie, not if it was never so.
and me, and thomas -- as did n't see it, -- and cook, we thinks as how benson was come for.
and cook says as she do n't wonder at it, neither; for a grumblinger, more ill-conditioneder --" -lcb- the butler on the carpet: p89.jpg -rcb- "thank you, william," said lord kelso; "that will do; you can go, for the present."
chapter xiii.
surprises.
the prince said nothing, the ambassador said nothing, lady rosalind said never a word till they were in the drawing-room.
it was a lovely warm evening, and the french windows were wide open on the balcony, which looked over the town and away north to the hills.
below them flowed the clear, green water of the gluckthal.
and still nobody said a word.
at last the prince spoke: "this is a very strange story, lord kelso!"
""very, sir!"
said the ambassador.
""but true," added the prince; "at least, there is no reason in the nature of things why it should n't be true."
""i can hardly believe, sir, that the conduct of benson, whom i always found a most respectable man, deserved --" "that he should be "come for,"" said the prince.
""oh, no; it was a mere accident, and might have happened to any of us who chanced to sit down on my carpet."
and then the prince told them, shortly, all about it: how the carpet was one of a number of fairy properties, which had been given him at his christening; and how so long a time had gone by before he discovered them; and how, probably, the carpet had carried the butler where he had said he wanted to go, namely -- to the king's court at falkenstein.
""it would not matter so much," added the prince, "only i had relied on making my peace with his majesty, my father, by aid of those horns and that tail.
he was set on getting them; and if the lady rosalind had not expressed a wish for them, they would to-day have been in his possession."
""oh, sir, you honour us too highly," murmured lady rosalind; and the prince blushed and said: "not at all!
impossible!"
then, of course, the ambassador became quite certain that his daughter was admired by the crown prince, who was on bad terms with the king of the country; and a more uncomfortable position for an ambassador -- however, they are used to them.
""what on earth am i to do with the young man?"
he thought.
""he ca n't stay here for ever; and without his carpet he ca n't get away, for the soldiers have orders to seize him as soon as he appears in the street.
and in the meantime benson will be pretending that he killed the firedrake -- for he must have got to falkenstein by now, -- and they will be for marrying him to the king's niece, and making my butler crown prince to the kingdom of pantouflia!
it is dreadful!"
now all this time the prince was on the balcony, telling lady rosalind all about how he got the firedrake done for, in the most modest way; for, as he said:" i did n't kill him: and it is really the remora, poor fellow, who should marry molly; but he's dead."
at this very moment there was a whizz in the air: something shot past them, and, through the open window, the king, the queen, benson, and the mortal remains of the firedrake were shot into the ambassador's drawing - room!
-lcb- the king and queen on the carpet: p95.jpg -rcb- chapter xiv.
the king explains.
the first who recovered his voice and presence of mind was benson.
""did your lordship ring for coffee?"
he asked, quietly; and when he was told "yes," he bowed and withdrew, with majestic composure.
when he had gone, the prince threw himself at the king's feet, crying: "pardon, pardon, my liege!"
""do n't speak to me, sir!"
answered the king, very angrily; and the poor prince threw himself at the feet of the queen.
but she took no notice of him whatever, no more than if he had been a fairy; and the prince heard her murmur, as she pinched her royal arms: "i shall waken presently; this is nothing out of the way for a dream.
dr. rumpfino ascribes it to imperfect nutrition."
all this time, the lady rosalind, as pale as a marble statue, was leaning against the side of the open window.
the prince thought he could do nothing wiser than go and comfort her, so he induced her to sit down on a chair in the balcony, -- for he felt that he was not wanted in the drawing - room; -- and soon they were talking happily about the stars, which had begun to appear in the summer night.
meanwhile, the ambassador had induced the king to take a seat; but there was no use in talking to the queen.
""it would be a miracle," she said to herself, "and miracles do not happen; therefore this has not happened.
presently, i shall wake up in my own bed at falkenstein."
now, benson, william, and thomas brought in the coffee, but the queen took no notice.
when they went away, the rest of the company slipped off quietly, and the king was left alone with the ambassador; for the queen could hardly be said to count.
-lcb- the king and queen: p99.jpg -rcb- "you want to know all about it, i suppose?"
said his majesty, in a sulky voice.
""well, you have a right to it, and i shall tell you.
we were just sitting down to dinner at falkenstein, rather late, -- hours get later every year, i think -- when i heard a row in the premises, and the captain of the guard, colonel mcdougal, came and told us that a man had arrived with the horns and tail of the firedrake, and was claiming the reward.
her majesty and i rose and went into the outer court, where we found, sitting on that carpet with a glass of beer in his hand, a respectable - looking upper servant, whom i recognised as your butler.
he informed us that he had just killed the beast, and showed us the horns and tail, sure enough; there they are!
the tail is like the iron handle of a pump, but the horns are genuine.
a pair were thrown up by a volcano, in my great - grandfather's time, giglio i. -lcb- 100 -rcb- excellent coffee this, of yours!"
the ambassador bowed.
""well, we asked him where he killed the firedrake, and he said in a garden near gluckstein.
then he began to speak about the reward, and the "perkisits," as he called them, which it seems he had read about in my proclamation.
rather a neat thing; drew it up myself," added his majesty.
""very much to the point," said the ambassador, wondering what the king was coming to.
""glad you like it," said the king, much pleased.
""well, where was i?
oh, yes; your man said he had killed the creature in a garden, quite near gluckstein.
i did n't much like the whole affair: he is an alien, you see; and then there was my niece, molinda -- poor girl, she was certain to give trouble.
her heart is buried, if i may say so, with poor alphonso.
but the queen is a very remarkable woman -- very remarkable --" "very!"
said the ambassador, with perfect truth."
"caitiff!"
she cries to your butler;" his majesty went on," "perjured knave, thou liest in thy throat!
gluckstein is a hundred leagues from here, and how sayest thou that thou slewest the monster, and camest hither in a few hours" space?"
this had not occurred to me, -- i am a plain king, but i at once saw the force of her majesty's argument.
"yes," said i; "how did you manage it?"
but he -- your man, i mean -- was not a bit put out.
"why, your majesty," says he," i just sat down on that there bit of carpet, wished i was here, and here i ham.
and i'd be glad, having had the trouble, -- and my time not being my own, -- to see the colour of them perkisits, according to the proclamation."
on this her majesty grew more indignant, if possible.
"nonsense!"
she cried;" a story out of the arabian nights is not suited for a modern public, and fails to win aesthetic credence."
these were her very words."
""her majesty's expressions are ever choice and appropriate," said the ambassador."
"sit down there, on the carpet, knave," she went on; "ourself and consort" -- meaning me -- "will take our places by thy side, and i shall wish us in gluckstein, at thy master's!
when the experiment has failed, thy head shall from thy shoulders be shorn!"
so your man merely said, "very well, mum, -- your majesty, i mean," and sat down.
the queen took her place at the edge of the carpet; i sat between her and the butler, and she said," i wish we were in gluckstein!"
then we rose, flew through the air at an astonishing pace, and here we are!
so i suppose the rest of the butler's tale is true, which i regret; but a king's word is sacred, and he shall take the place of that sneak, prigio.
but as we left home before dinner, and as yours is over, may i request your lordship to believe that i should be delighted to take something cold?"
the ambassador at once ordered a sumptuous collation, to which the king did full justice; and his majesty was shown to the royal chamber, as he complained of fatigue.
the queen accompanied him, remarking that she was sound asleep, but would waken presently.
neither of them said "good-night" to the prince.
indeed, they did not see him again, for he was on the balcony with lady rosalind.
they found a great deal to say to each other, and at last the prince asked her to be his wife; and she said that if the king and her father gave their permission -- why, then she would!
after this she went to bed; and the prince, who had not slept at all the night before, felt very sleepy also.
but he knew that first he had something that must be done.
so he went into the drawing-room, took his carpet, and wished to be -- now, where do you suppose?
beside the dead body of the firedrake!
there he was in a moment; and dreadful the body looked, lying stark and cold in the white moonshine.
then the prince cut off its four hoofs, put them in his wallet, and with these he flew back in a second, and met the ambassador just as he came from ushering the king to bed.
then the prince was shown his own room, where he locked up the hoofs, the carpet, the cap of darkness, and his other things in an iron box; and so he went to bed and dreamed of his lady rosalind.
chapter xv.
the king's cheque.
when they all wakened next morning, their first ideas were confused.
it is often confusing to waken in a strange bed, much more so when you have flown through the air, like the king, the queen, and benson the butler.
for her part, the queen was the most perplexed of all; for she did undeniably wake, and yet she was not at home, where she had expected to be.
however, she was a determined woman, and stood to it that nothing unusual was occurring.
the butler made up his mind to claim the crown princeship and the hand of the lady molinda; because, as he justly remarked to william, here was such a chance to better himself as might not soon come in his way again.
as for the king, he was only anxious to get back to falkenstein, and have the whole business settled in a constitutional manner.
the ambassador was not sorry to get rid of the royal party; and it was proposed that they should all sit down on the flying carpet, and wish themselves at home again.
but the queen would not hear of it: she said it was childish and impossible; so the carriage was got ready for her, and she started without saying a word of good-bye to anyone.
the king, benson, and the prince were not so particular, and they simply flew back to falkenstein in the usual way, arriving there at 11.35 -- a week before her majesty.
the king at once held a court; the horns and tail of the monster were exhibited amidst general interest, and benson and the prince were invited to state their claims.
benson's evidence was taken first.
he declined to say exactly where or how he killed the firedrake.
there might be more of them left, he remarked, -- young ones, that would take a lot of killing, -- and he refused to part with his secret.
only he claimed the reward, which was offered, if you remember, not to the man who killed the beast, but to him who brought its horns and tail.
this was allowed by the lawyers present to be very sound law; and benson was cheered by the courtiers, who decidedly preferred him to prigio, and who, besides, thought he was going to be crown prince.
as for lady molinda, she was torn by the most painful feelings; for, much as she hated prigio, she could not bear the idea of marrying benson.
yet one or the other choice seemed certain.
unhappy lady!
perhaps no girl was ever more strangely beset by misfortune!
prince prigio was now called on to speak.
he admitted that the reward was offered for bringing the horns and tail, not for killing the monster.
but were the king's intentions to go for nothing?
when a subject only meant well, of course he had to suffer; but when a king said one thing, was he not to be supposed to have meant another?
any fellow with a waggon could bring the horns and tail; the difficult thing was to kill the monster.
if benson's claim was allowed, the royal prerogative of saying one thing and meaning something else was in danger.
on hearing this argument, the king so far forgot himself as to cry, "bravo, well said!"
and to clap his hands, whereon all the courtiers shouted and threw up their hats.
the prince then said that whoever had killed the monster could, of course, tell where to find him, and could bring his hoofs.
he was ready to do this himself.
was mr. benson equally ready?
on this being interpreted to him -- for he did not speak pantouflian -- benson grew pale with horror, but fell back on the proclamation.
he had brought the horns and tail, and so he must have the perquisites, and the lady molinda!
the king's mind was so much confused by this time, that he determined to leave it to the lady molinda herself.
""which of them will you have, my dear?"
he asked, in a kind voice.
but poor molinda merely cried.
then his majesty was almost driven to say that he would give the reward to whoever produced the hoofs by that day week.
but no sooner had he said this than the prince brought them out of his wallet, and displayed them in open court.
this ended the case; and benson, after being entertained with sherry and sandwiches in the steward's room, was sent back to his master.
and i regret to say that his temper was not at all improved by his failure to better himself.
on the contrary, he was unusually cross and disagreeable for several days; but we must, perhaps, make some allowance for his disappointment.
but if benson was irritated, and suffered from the remarks of his fellow - servants, i do not think we can envy prince prigio.
here he was, restored to his position indeed, but by no means to the royal favour.
for the king disliked him as much as ever, and was as angry as ever about the deaths of enrico and alphonso.
nay, he was even more angry; and, perhaps, not without reason.
he called up prigio before the whole court, and thereon the courtiers cheered like anything, but the king cried: "silence!
mcdougal, drag the first man that shouts to the serpent-house in the zoological gardens, and lock him up with the rattlesnakes!"
after that the courtiers were very quiet.
""prince," said the king, as prigio bowed before the throne, "you are restored to your position, because i can not break my promise.
but your base and malevolent nature is even more conspicuously manifest in your selfish success than in your previous dastardly contempt of duty.
why, confound you!"
cried the king, dropping the high style in which he had been speaking, and becoming the father, not the monarch, -- "why, if you could kill the firedrake, did you let your poor little brothers go and be b -- b -- b -- broiled?
eh!
what do you say, you sneak?
"you did n't believe there were any firedrakes?"
that just comes of your eternal conceit and arrogance!
if you were clever enough to kill the creature -- and i admit that -- you were clever enough to know that what everybody said must be true.
"you have not generally found it so?"
well, you have this time, and let it be a lesson to you; not that there is much comfort in that, for it is not likely you will ever have such another chance" -- exactly the idea that had occurred to benson.
here the king wept, among the tears of the lord chief justice, the poet laureate -lrb- who had been awfully frightened when he heard of the rattlesnakes -rrb-, the maids of honour, the chaplain royal, and everyone but colonel mcdougal, a scottish soldier of fortune, who maintained a military reserve.
when his majesty had recovered, he said to prigio -lrb- who had not been crying, he was too much absorbed -rrb-: "a king's word is his bond.
bring me a pen, somebody, and my cheque-book."
the royal cheque-book, bound in red morocco, was brought in by eight pages, with ink and a pen.
his majesty then filled up and signed the following satisfactory document -- -lrb- ah!
my children, how i wish mr. arrowsmith would do as much for me! -rrb-
: -lcb- a cheque for ten thousand purses, payable to prince prigio: p114.jpg -rcb- "there!"
said his majesty, crossing his cheque and throwing sand over it, for blotting-paper had not yet been invented; "there, take that, and be off with you!"
prince prigio was respectfully but rapidly obeying his royal command, for he thought he had better cash the royal cheque as soon as possible, when his majesty yelled: "hi!
here!
come back!
i forgot something; you've got to marry molinda!"
chapter xvi.
a melancholy chapter.
the prince had gone some way, when the king called after him.
how he wished he had the seven-league boots on, or that he had the cap of darkness in his pocket!
if he had been so lucky, he would now have got back to gluckstein, and crossed the border with lady rosalind.
a million of money may not seem much, but a pair of young people who really love each other could live happily on less than the cheque he had in his pocket.
however, the king shouted very loud, as he always did when he meant to be obeyed, and the prince sauntered slowly back again.
""prigio!"
said his majesty, "where were you off to?
do n't you remember that this is your wedding-day?
my proclamation offered, not only the money -lrb- which you have -rrb-, but the hand of the lady molinda, which the court chaplain will presently make your own.
i congratulate you, sir; molinda is a dear girl."
""i have the highest affection and esteem for my cousin, sir," said the prince, "but --" "i'll never marry him!"
cried poor molinda, kneeling at the throne, where her streaming eyes and hair made a pretty and touching picture.
""never!
i despise him!"
-lcb- molinda before the king: p117.jpg -rcb- "i was about to say, sir," the prince went on, "that i can not possibly have the pleasure of wedding my cousin."
""the family gibbet, i presume, is in good working order?"
asked the king of the family executioner, a tall gaunt man in black and scarlet, who was only employed in the case of members of the blood royal.
""never better, sire," said the man, bowing with more courtliness than his profession indicated.
""very well," said the king; "prince prigio, you have your choice.
there is the gallows, here is lady molinda.
my duty is painful, but clear.
a king's word can not be broken.
molly, or the gibbet!"
the prince bowed respectfully to lady molinda: "madam, my cousin," said he, "your clemency will excuse my answer, and you will not misinterpret the apparent discourtesy of my conduct.
i am compelled, most unwillingly, to slight your charms, and to select the extreme rigour of the law.
executioner, lead on!
do your duty; for me, prigio est pret;" -- for this was his motto, and meant that he was ready.
poor lady molinda could not but be hurt by the prince's preference for death over marriage to her, little as she liked him.
-lcb- the family executioner: p119.jpg -rcb- "is life, then, so worthless?
and is molinda so terrible a person that you prefer those arms," and she pointed to the gibbet, "to these?"
-- here she held out her own, which were very white, round and pretty: for molinda was a good-hearted girl, she could not bear to see prigio put to death; and then, perhaps, she reflected that there are worse positions than the queenship of pantouflia.
for alphonso was gone -- crying would not bring him back.
""ah, madam!"
said the prince, "you are forgiving --" "for you are brave!"
said molinda, feeling quite a respect for him.
""but neither your heart nor mine is ours to give.
since mine was another's, i understand too well the feeling of yours!
do not let us buy life at the price of happiness and honour."
then, turning to the king, the prince said: "sir, is there no way but by death or marriage?
you say you can not keep half only of your promise; and that, if i accept the reward, i must also unite myself with my unwilling cousin.
can not the whole proclamation be annulled, and will you consider the bargain void if i tear up this flimsy scroll?"
and here the prince fluttered the cheque for 1,000,000 pounds in the air.
for a moment the king was tempted; but then he said to himself: "never mind, it's only an extra penny on the income-tax."
then, "keep your dross," he shouted, meaning the million; "but let me keep my promise.
to chapel at once, or --" and he pointed to the executioner.
""the word of a king of pantouflia is sacred."
""and so is that of a crown prince," answered prigio; "and mine is pledged to a lady."
""she shall be a mourning bride," cried the king savagely, "unless" -- here he paused for a moment -- "unless you bring me back alphonso and enrico, safe and well!"
the prince thought for the space of a flash of lightning.
""i accept the alternative," he said, "if your majesty will grant me my conditions."
""name them!"
said the king.
""let me be transported to gluckstein, left there unguarded, and if, in three days, i do not return with my brothers safe and well, your majesty shall be spared a cruel duty.
prigio of pantouflia will perish by his own hand."
the king, whose mind did not work very quickly, took some minutes to think over it.
then he saw that by granting the prince's conditions, he would either recover his dear sons, or, at least, get rid of prigio, without the unpleasantness of having him executed.
for, though some kings have put their eldest sons to death, and most have wished to do so, they have never been better loved by the people for their roman virtue.
""honour bright?"
said the king at last.
""honour bright!"
answered the prince, and, for the first time in many months, the royal father and son shook hands.
""for you, madam," said prigio in a stately way to lady molinda, "in less than a week i trust we shall be taking our vows at the same altar, and that the close of the ceremony which finds us cousins will leave us brother and sister."
poor molinda merely stared; for she could not imagine what he meant.
in a moment he was gone; and having taken, by the king's permission, the flying carpet, he was back at the ambassador's house in gluckstein.
chapter xvii.
the black cat and the brethren!
who was glad to see the prince, if it was not lady rosalind?
the white roses of her cheeks turned to red roses in a moment, and then back to white again, they were so alarmed at the change.
so the two went into the gardens together, and talked about a number of things; but at last the prince told her that, before three days were over, all would be well, or all would be over with him.
for either he would have brought his brothers back, sound and well, to falkenstein, or he would not survive his dishonour.
""it is no more than right," he said; "for had i gone first, neither of them would have been sent to meet the monster after i had fallen.
and i should have fallen, dear rosalind, if i had faced the firedrake before i knew you."
then when she asked him why, and what good she had done him, he told her all the story; and how, before he fell in love with her, he did n't believe in fairies, or firedrakes, or caps of darkness, or anything nice and impossible, but only in horrid useless facts, and chemistry, and geology, and arithmetic, and mathematics, and even political economy.
and the firedrake would have made a mouthful of him, then.
so she was delighted when she heard this, almost as much delighted as she was afraid that he might fail in the most difficult adventure.
for it was one thing to egg on a remora to kill a firedrake, and quite another to find the princes if they were alive, and restore them if they were dead!
but the prince said he had his plan, and he stayed that night at the ambassador's.
next morning he rose very early, before anyone else was up, that he might not have to say "good-bye" to lady rosalind.
then he flew in a moment to the old lonely castle, where nobody went for fear of ghosts, ever since the court retired to falkenstein.
how still it was, how deserted; not a sign of life, and yet the prince was looking everywhere for some living thing.
he hunted the castle through in vain, and then went out to the stable-yard; but all the dogs, of course, had been taken away, and the farmers had offered homes to the poultry.
at last, stretched at full length in a sunny place, the prince found a very old, half-blind, miserable cat.
the poor creature was lean, and its fur had fallen off in patches; it could no longer catch birds, nor even mice, and there was nobody to give it milk.
but cats do not look far into the future; and this old black cat -- frank was his name -- had got a breakfast somehow, and was happy in the sun.
the prince stood and looked at him pityingly, and he thought that even a sick old cat was, in some ways, happier than most men.
""well," said the prince at last, "he could not live long anyway, and it must be done.
he will feel nothing."
then he drew the sword of sharpness, and with one turn of his wrist cut the cat's head clean off.
-lcb- poor old frank: p128.jpg -rcb- it did not at once change into a beautiful young lady, as perhaps you expect; no, that was improbable, and, as the prince was in love already, would have been vastly inconvenient.
the dead cat lay there, like any common cat.
then the prince built up a heap of straw, with wood on it, and there he laid poor puss, and set fire to the pile.
very soon there was nothing of old black frank left but ashes!
then the prince ran upstairs to the fairy cupboard, his heart beating loudly with excitement.
the sun was shining through the arrow-shot window, all the yellow motes were dancing in its rays.
the light fell on the strange heaps of fairy things -- talismans and spells.
the prince hunted about here and there, and at last he discovered six ancient water - vessels of black leather, each with a silver plate on it, and on the plate letters engraved.
this was what was written on the plates: aqva.
de.
fonte.
leonvm.
-lcb- 130 -rcb- "thank heaven!"
said the prince.
""i thought they were sure to have brought it!"
then he took one of the old black-leather bottles, and ran downstairs again to the place where he had burned the body of the poor old sick cat.
he opened the bottle, and poured a few drops of the water on the ashes and the dying embers.
up there sprang a tall, white flame of fire, waving like a tongue of light; and forth from the heap jumped the most beautiful, strong, funny, black cat that ever was seen!
-lcb- the prince and the bottles: p130.jpg -rcb- it was frank as he had been in the vigour of his youth; and he knew the prince at once, and rubbed himself against him and purred.
the prince lifted up frank and kissed his nose for joy; and a bright tear rolled down on frank's face, and made him rub his nose with his paw in the most comical manner.
then the prince set him down, and he ran round and round after his tail; and, lastly, cocked his tail up, and marched proudly after the prince into the castle.
""oh, frank!"
said prince prigio, "no cat since the time of puss in boots was ever so well taken care of as you shall be.
for, if the fairy water from the fountain of lions can bring you back to life -- why, there is a chance for alphonso and enrico!"
then prigio bustled about, got ready some cold luncheon from the store - room, took all his fairy things that he was likely to need, sat down with them on the flying carpet, and wished himself at the mountain of the firedrake.
""i have the king now," he said; "for if i ca n't find the ashes of my brothers, by jove!
i'll!
--" do you know what he meant to do, if he could not find his brothers?
let every child guess!
off he flew; and there he was in a second, just beside poor alphono's garden-engine.
then prigio, seeing a little heap of grey ashes beside the engine, watered them with the fairy water; and up jumped alphonso, as jolly as ever, his sword in his hand.
""hullo, prigio!"
cried he; "are you come after the monster too?
i've been asleep, and i had a kind of dream that he beat me.
but the pair of us will tackle him.
how is molinda?"
""prettier than ever," said prigio; "but anxious about you.
however, the firedrake's dead and done for; so never mind him.
but i left enrico somewhere about.
just you sit down and wait a minute, till i fetch him."
the prince said this, because he did not wish alphonso to know that he and enrico had not had quite the best of it in the affair with the monster.
""all right, old fellow," says alphonso; "but have you any luncheon with you?
never was so hungry in my life!"
prince prigio had thought of this, and he brought out some cold sausage -lrb- to which alphonso was partial -rrb- and some bread, with which the younger prince expressed himself satisfied.
then prigio went up the hill some way, first warning alphonso not to sit on his carpet for fear of accidents like that which happened to benson.
in a hollow of the hill, sure enough there was the sword of enrico, the diamonds of the hilt gleaming in the sun.
and there was a little heap of grey ashes.
the prince poured a few drops of the water from the fountain of lions on them, and up, of course, jumped enrico, just as alphonso had done.
""sleepy old chap you are, enrico," said the prince; "but come on, alphonso will have finished the grub unless we look smart."
so back they came, in time to get their share of what was going; and they drank the remora's very good health, when prigio told them about the fight.
but neither of them ever knew that they had been dead and done for; because prigio invented a story that the mountain was enchanted, and that, as long as the firedrake lived, everyone who came there fell asleep.
he did tell them about the flying carpet, however, which of course did not much surprise them, because they had read all about it in the arabian nights and other historical works.
""and now i'll show you fun!"
said prigio; and he asked them both to take their seats on the carpet, and wished to be in the valley of the remora.
there they were in a moment, among the old knights whom, if you remember, the remora had frozen into stone.
there was quite a troop of them, in all sorts of armour -- greek and roman, and knight templars like front de boeuf and brian du bois gilbert -- all the brave warriors that had tried to fight the remora since the world began.
then prigio gave each of his brothers some of the water in their caps, and told them to go round pouring a drop or two on each frozen knight.
and as they did it, lo and behold!
each knight came alive, with his horse, and lifted his sword and shouted: "long live prince prigio!"
in greek, latin, egyptian, french, german, and spanish, -- all of which the prince perfectly understood, and spoke like a native.
so he marshalled them in order, and sent them off to ride to falkenstein and cry: "prince prigio is coming!"
off they went, the horses" hoofs clattering, banners flying, sunshine glittering on the spear-points.
off they rode to falkenstein; and when the king saw them come galloping in, i can tell you he had no more notion of hanging prigio.
-lcb- riding off to falkenstein: p136.jpg -rcb- chapter xviii.
the very last.
the princes returned to gluckstein on the carpet, and went to the best inn, where they dined together and slept.
next morning they, and the ambassador, who had been told all the story, and lady rosalind, floated comfortably on the carpet back to falkenstein, where the king wept like anything on the shoulders of alphonso and enrico.
they could not make out why he cried so, nor why lady molinda and lady kathleena cried; but soon they were all laughing and happy again.
but then -- would you believe he could be so mean?
-- he refused to keep his royal promise, and restore prigio to his crown-princeship!
kings are like that.
but prigio, very quietly asking for the head of the firedrake, said he'd pour the magic water on that, and bring the firedrake back to life again, unless his majesty behaved rightly.
this threat properly frightened king grognio, and he apologised.
then the king shook hands with prigio in public, and thanked him, and said he was proud of him.
as to lady rosalind, the old gentleman quite fell in love with her, and he sent at once to the chaplain royal to get into his surplice, and marry all the young people off at once, without waiting for wedding-cakes, and milliners, and all the rest of it.
now, just as they were forming a procession to march into church, who should appear but the queen!
her majesty had been travelling by post all the time, and, luckily, had heard of none of the doings since prigio, benson, and the king left gluckstein.
i say luckily because if she had heard of them, she would not have believed a word of them.
but when she saw alphonso and enrico, she was much pleased, and said: -lcb- the queen and her sons: p140.jpg -rcb- "naughty boys!
where have you been hiding?
the king had some absurd story about your having been killed by a fabulous monster.
bah!
do n't tell me.
i always said you would come back after a little trip -- did n't i, prigio?"
""certainly, madam," said prigio; "and i said so, too.
did n't i say so?"
and all the courtiers cried: "yes, you did;" but some added, to themselves," he always says, "did n't i say so?""
then the queen was introduced to lady rosalind, and she said it was "rather a short engagement, but she supposed young people understood their own affairs best."
and they do!
so the three pairs were married, with the utmost rejoicings; and her majesty never, her whole life long, could be got to believe that anything unusual had occurred.
the honeymoon of prince prigio and the crown princess rosalind was passed at the castle, where the prince had been deserted by the court.
but now it was delightfully fitted up; and master frank marched about the house with his tail in the air, as if the place belonged to him.
now, on the second day of their honeymoon, the prince and princess were sitting in the garden together, and the prince said, "are you quite happy, my dear?"
and rosalind said, "yes; quite."
but the prince did not like the tone of her voice, and he said: "no, there's something; do tell me what it is."
""well," said rosalind, putting her head on his shoulder, and speaking very low, "i want everybody to love you as much as i do.
no, not quite so very much, -- but i want them to like you.
now they ca n't, because they are afraid of you; for you are so awfully clever.
now, could n't you take the wishing cap, and wish to be no cleverer than other people?
then everybody would like you!"
the prince thought a minute, then he said: "your will is law, my dear; anything to please you.
just wait a minute!"
then he ran upstairs, for the last time, to the fairy garret, and he put on the wishing cap.
""no," thought he to himself, "i wo n't wish that.
every man has one secret from his wife, and this shall be mine."
then he said aloud: "i wish to seem no cleverer than other people."
then he ran downstairs again, and the princess noticed a great difference in him -lrb- though, of course, there was really none at all -rrb-, and so did everyone.
for the prince remained as clever as ever he had been; but, as nobody observed it, he became the most popular prince, and finally the best-beloved king who had ever sat on the throne of pantouflia.
but occasionally rosalind would say, "i do believe, my dear, that you are really as clever as ever!"
_book_title_: andrew_lang___prince_prigio_from_"his_own_fairy_book".txt.out
chapter i. -- how the fairies were not invited to court once upon a time there reigned in pantouflia a king and a queen.
with almost everything else to make them happy, they wanted one thing: they had no children.
this vexed the king even more than the queen, who was very clever and learned, and who had hated dolls when she was a child.
however, she too, in spite of all the books she read and all the pictures she painted, would have been glad enough to be the mother of a little prince.
the king was anxious to consult the fairies, but the queen would not hear of such a thing.
she did not believe in fairies: she said that they had never existed; and that she maintained, though the history of the royal family was full of chapters about nothing else.
well, at long and at last they had a little boy, who was generally regarded as the finest baby that had ever been seen.
even her majesty herself remarked that, though she could never believe all the courtiers told her, yet he certainly was a fine child -- a very fine child.
now, the time drew near for the christening party, and the king and queen were sitting at breakfast in their summer parlour talking over it.
it was a splendid room, hung with portraits of the royal ancestors.
there was cinderella, the grandmother of the reigning monarch, with her little foot in her glass slipper thrust out before her.
there was the marquis de carabas, who, as everyone knows, was raised to the throne as prince consort after his marriage with the daughter of the king of the period.
on the arm of the throne was seated his celebrated cat, wearing boots.
there, too, was a portrait of a beautiful lady, sound asleep: this was madame la belle au bois-dormant, also an ancestress of the royal family.
many other pictures of celebrated persons were hanging on the walls.
""you have asked all the right people, my dear?"
said the king.
""everyone who should be asked," answered the queen.
""people are so touchy on these occasions," said his majesty.
""you have not forgotten any of our aunts?"
""no; the old cats!"
replied the queen; for the king's aunts were old-fashioned, and did not approve of her, and she knew it.
""they are very kind old ladies in their way," said the king; "and were nice to me when i was a boy."
then he waited a little, and remarked: "the fairies, of course, you have invited?
it has always been usual, in our family, on an occasion like this; and i think we have neglected them a little of late."
""how can you be so absurd?
" cried the queen.
""how often must i tell you that there are no fairies?
and even if there were -- but, no matter; pray let us drop the subject."
""they are very old friends of our family, my dear, that's all," said the king timidly.
""often and often they have been godmothers to us.
one, in particular, was most kind and most serviceable to cinderella i., my own grandmother."
""your grandmother!"
interrupted her majesty.
""fiddle-de-dee!
if anyone puts such nonsense into the head of my little prigio --" but here the baby was brought in by the nurse, and the queen almost devoured it with kisses.
and so the fairies were not invited!
it was an extraordinary thing, but none of the nobles could come to the christening party when they learned that the fairies had not been asked.
some were abroad; several were ill; a few were in prison among the saracens; others were captives in the dens of ogres.
the end of it was that the king and queen had to sit down alone, one at each end of a very long table, arrayed with plates and glasses for a hundred guests -- for a hundred guests who never came!
""any soup, my dear?"
shouted the king, through a speaking-trumpet; when, suddenly, the air was filled with a sound like the rustling of the wings of birds.
flitter, flitter, flutter, went the noise; and when the queen looked up, lo and behold!
on every seat was a lovely fairy, dressed in green, each with a most interesting-looking parcel in her hand.
do n't you like opening parcels?
the king did, and he was most friendly and polite to the fairies.
but the queen, though she saw them distinctly, took no notice of them.
you see, she did not believe in fairies, nor in her own eyes, when she saw them.
so she talked across the fairies to the king, just as if they had not been there; but the king behaved as politely as if they were real -- which, of course, they were.
when dinner was over, and when the nurse had brought in the baby, all the fairies gave him the most magnificent presents.
one offered a purse which could never be empty; and one a pair of seven-leagued boots; and another a cap of darkness, that nobody might see the prince when he put it on; and another a wishing-cap; and another a carpet, on which, when he sat, he was carried wherever he wished to find himself.
another made him beautiful for ever; and another, brave; and another, lucky: but the last fairy of all, a cross old thing, crept up and said, "my child, you shall be too clever!"
this fairy's gift would have pleased the queen, if she had believed in it, more than anything else, because she was so clever herself.
but she took no notice at all; and the fairies went each to her own country, and none of them stayed there at the palace, where nobody believed in them, except the king, a little.
but the queen tossed all their nice boots and caps, carpets, purses, swords, and all, away into a dark lumber-room; for, of course, she thought that they were all nonsense, and merely old rubbish out of books, or pantomime "properties."
-lsb- illustration: chapter two -rsb- chapter ii.
-- prince prigio and his family well, the little prince grew up.
i think i've told you that his name was prigio -- did i not?
well, that was his name.
you can not think how clever he was.
he argued with his nurse as soon as he could speak, which was very soon.
he argued that he did not like to be washed, because the soap got into his eyes.
however, when he was told all about the pores of the skin, and how they could not be healthy if he was not washed, he at once ceased to resist, for he was very reasonable.
he argued with his father that he did not see why there should be kings who were rich, while beggars were poor; and why the king -- who was a little greedy -- should have poached eggs and plum-cake at afternoon tea, while many other persons went without dinner.
the king was so surprised and hurt at these remarks that he boxed the prince's ears, saying, "i'll teach you to be too clever, my lad."
then he remembered the awful curse of the oldest fairy, and was sorry for the rudeness of the queen.
and when the prince, after having his ears boxed, said that "force was no argument," the king went away in a rage.
indeed, i can not tell you how the prince was hated by all!
he would go down into the kitchen, and show the cook how to make soup.
he would visit the poor people's cottage, and teach them how to make the beds, and how to make plum pudding out of turnip-tops, and venison cutlets out of rusty bacon.
he showed the fencing-master how to fence, and the professional cricketer how to bowl, and instructed the rat-catcher in breeding terriers.
he set sums to the chancellor of the exchequer, and assured the astronomer royal that the sun does not go round the earth -- which, for my part, i believe it does.
the young ladies of the court disliked dancing with him, in spite of his good looks, because he was always asking, "have you read this?"
and "have you read that?"
-- and when they said they had n't, he sneered; and when they said they had, he found them out.
he found out all his tutors and masters in the same horrid way; correcting the accent of his french teacher, and trying to get his german tutor not to eat peas with his knife.
he also endeavoured to teach the queen-dowager, his grandmother, an art with which she had long been perfectly familiar!
in fact, he knew everything better than anybody else; and the worst of it was that he did: and he never was in the wrong, and he always said, "did n't i tell you so?"
and, what was more, he had!
-lsb- illustration: page 12 -rsb- as time went on, prince prigio had two younger brothers, whom everybody liked: they were not a bit clever, but jolly.
prince alphonso, the third son, was round, fat, good-humoured, and as brave as a lion.
prince enrico, the second, was tall, thin, and a "little sad, but never too clever."
both were in love with two of their own cousins -lrb- with the approval of their dear parents -rrb-; and all the world said, "what nice, unaffected princes they are!"
but prigio nearly got the country into several wars by being too clever for the foreign ambassadors.
now, as pantouflia was a rich, lazy country, which hated fighting, this was very unpleasant, and did not make people love prince prigio any better.
-lsb- illustration: chapter three -rsb- chapter iii.
-- about the firedrake.
of all the people who did not like prigio, his own dear papa, king grognio, disliked him most.
for the king knew he was not clever himself.
when he was in the counting-house, counting out his money, and when he happened to say, "sixteen shillings and fourteen and twopence are three pounds, fifteen," it made him wild to hear prigio whisper, "one pound, ten and twopence," -- which, of course, it is.
and the king was afraid that prigio would conspire, and get made king himself -- which was the last thing prigio really wanted.
he much preferred to idle about, and know everything without seeming to take any trouble.
well, the king thought and thought.
how was he to get prigio out of the way, and make enrico or alphonso his successor?
he read in books about it; and all the books showed that, if a king sent his three sons to do anything, it was always the youngest who did it, and got the crown.
and he wished he had the chance.
well, it arrived at last.
-lsb- illustration: page 15 -rsb- there was a very hot summer!
it began to be hot in march."
all the rivers were dried up.
the grass did not grow.
the corn did not grow.
the thermometers exploded with heat.
the barometers stood at set fair.
the people were much distressed, and came and broke the palace win-dows -- as they usually do when things go wrong in pantouflia.
the king consulted the learned men about the court, who told him that probably a firedrake was in the neighbourhood.
now, the firedrake is a beast, or bird, about the bigness of an elephant.
its body is made of iron, and it is always red-hot.
a more terrible and cruel beast can not be imagined; for, if you go near it, you are at once broiled by the firedrake.
but the king was not ill-pleased: "for," thought he, "of course my three sons must go after the brute, the eldest first; and, as usual, it will kill the first two, and be beaten by the youngest.
it is a little hard on enrico, poor boy; but anything to get rid of that prigio!"
then the king went to prigio, and said that his country was in danger, and that he was determined to leave the crown to whichever of them would bring him the horns -lrb- for it has horns -rrb- and tail of the firedrake.
""it is an awkward brute to tackle," the king said, "but you are the oldest, my lad; go where glory waits you!
put on your armour, and be off with you!"
-lsb- illustration: page 17 -rsb- this the king said, hoping that either the firedrake would roast prince prigio alive -lrb- which he could easily do, as i have said; for he is all over as hot as a red-hot poker -rrb-, or that, if the prince succeeded, at least his country would be freed from the monster.
but the prince, who was lying on the sofa doing sums in compound division, for fun, said in the politest way: "thanks to the education your majesty has given me, i have learned that the firedrake, like the siren, the fairy, and so forth, is a fabulous animal which does not exist.
but even granting, for the sake of argument, that there is a firedrake, your majesty is well aware that there is no kind of use in sending me.
it is always the eldest son who goes out first, and comes to grief on these occasions, and it is always the third son that succeeds.
send alphonso" -lrb- this was the youngest brother -rrb-, "and he will do the trick at once.
at least, if he fails, it will be most unusual, and enrico can try his luck."
then he went back to his arithmetic and his slate, and the king had to send for prince alphonso and prince enrico.
they both came in very warm; for they had been whipping tops, and the day was unusually hot.
""look here," said the king, "just you two younger ones look at prigio!
you see how hot it is, and how coolly he takes it, and the country suffering; and all on account of a firedrake, you know, which has apparently built his nest not far off.
well, i have asked that lout of a brother of yours to kill it, and he says --" "that he does not believe in firedrakes," interrupted prigio, "the weather's warm enough without going out hunting!"
""not believe in firedrakes!"
cried alphonso.
""i wonder what you do believe in!
just let me get at the creature!"
for he was as brave as a lion.
""hi!
page, my chain-armour, helmet, lance, and buckler!
a molinda!
a molinda!
" which was his war-cry.
the page ran to get the armour; but it was so uncommonly hot that he dropped it, and put his fingers in his mouth, crying!
""you had better put on flannels, alphonso, for this kind of work," said prigio.
""and if i were you, i'd take a light garden-engine, full of water, to squirt at the enemy."
""happy thought!"
said alphonso.
""i will!"
and off he went, kissed his dear molinda, bade her keep a lot of dances for him -lrb- there was to be a dance when he had killed the firedrake -rrb-, and then he rushed to the field!
but he never came back any more!
everyone wept bitterly -- everyone but prince prigio; for he thought it was a practical joke, and said that alphonso had taken the opportunity to start off on his travels and see the world.
""there is some dreadful mistake, sir," said prigio to the king.
""you know as well as i do that the youngest son has always succeeded, up to now.
but i entertain great hopes of enrico!"
and he grinned; for he fancied it was all nonsense, and that there were no firedrakes.
enrico was present when prigio was consoling the king in this unfeeling way.
""enrico, my boy," said his majesty, "the task awaits you, and the honour.
when you come back with the horns and tail of the fire-drake, you shall be crown prince; and prigio shall be made an usher at the grammar school -- it is all he is fit for."
enrico was not quite so confident as alphonso had been.
he insisted on making his will; and he wrote a poem about the pleasures and advantages of dying young.
this is part of it: the violet is a blossom sweet, that droops before the day is done -- slain by thine overpowering heat, o sun!
and i, like that sweet purple flower, may roast, or boil, or broil, or bake, if burned by thy terrific power, firedrake!
this poem comforted enrico more or less, and he showed it to prigio.
but the prince only laughed, and said that the second line of the last verse was not very good; for violets do not "roast, or boil, or broil, or bake."
enrico tried to improve it, but could not.
so he read it to his cousin, lady kathleena, just as it was; and she cried over it -lrb- though i do n't think she understood it -rrb-; and enrico cried a little, too.
however, next day he started, with a spear, a patent refrigerator, and a lot of the bottles people throw at fires to put them out.
but he never came back again!
after shedding torrents of tears, the king summoned prince prigio to his presence.
""dastard!"
he said.
""poltroon!
your turn, which should have come first, has arrived at last.
you must fetch me the horns and the tail of the fired rake.
probably you will be grilled, thank goodness; but who will give me back enrico and alphonso?"
""indeed, your majesty," said prigio, "you must permit me to correct your policy.
your only reason for dispatching your sons in pursuit of this dangerous but i believe fabulous animal, was to ascertain which of us would most worthily succeed to your throne, at the date -- long may it be deferred!
-- of your lamented decease.
now, there can be no further question about the matter.
i, unworthy as i am, represent the sole hope of the royal family.
therefore to send me after the firedrake were * both dangerous and unnecessary.
dangerous, because, if he treats me as you say he did my brothers -- my unhappy brothers, -- the throne of pantouflia will want an heir.
but, if i do come back alive -- why, i can not be more the true heir than i am at present; now can i?
ask the lord chief justice, if you do n't believe me."
* subjunctive mood!
he was a great grammarian!
these arguments were so clearly and undeniably correct that the king, unable to answer them, withdrew into a solitary place where he could express himself with freedom, and give rein to his passions.
-lsb- illustration: chapter four -rsb- chapter iv.
-- how prince prigio was deserted by everybody meanwhile, prince prigio had to suffer many unpleasant things.
though he was the crown prince -lrb- and though his arguments were unanswerable -rrb-, everybody shunned him for a coward.
the queen, who did not believe in firedrakes, alone took his side.
he was not only avoided by all, but he had most disagreeable scenes with his own cousins, lady molinda and lady kathleena.
in the garden lady molinda met him walking alone, and did not bow to him.
""dear molly," said the prince, who liked her, "how have i been so unfortunate as to offend you?"
""my name, sir, is lady molinda," she said, very proudly; "and you have sent your own brother to his grave!"
-lsb- illustration: page 24 -rsb- "oh, excuse me," said the prince, "i am certain he has merely gone off on his travels.
he'll come back when he's tired: there are no firedrakes; a french writer says they are "purement fabuleux, purely fabulous, you know."
""prince alphonso has gone on his travels, and will come back when he is tired!
and was he then -- tired -- of me?"
cried poor molinda, bursting into tears, and forgetting her dignity.
""oh!
i beg your pardon, i never noticed; i'm sure i am very sorry," cried the prince, who, never having been in love himself, never thought of other people.
and he tried to take molinda's hand, but she snatched it from him and ran away through the garden to the palace, leaving prince prigio to feel foolish, for once, and ashamed.
as for lady kathleena, she swept past him like a queen, without a word.
so the prince, for all his cleverness, was not happy.
after several days had gone by, the king returned from the solitary place where he had been speaking his mind.
he now felt calmer and better; and so at last he came back to the palace.
but on seeing prince prigio, who was lolling in a hammock, translating egyptian hieroglyphs into french poetry for his mother, the king broke out afresh, and made use of the most cruel and impolite expressions.
at last, he gave orders that all the court should pack up and move to a distant city; and that prince prigio should be left alone in the palace by himself.
for he was quite unendurable, the king said, and he could not trust his own temper when he thought of him.
and he grew so fierce, that even the queen was afraid of him now.
the poor queen cried a good deal; prigio being her favourite son, on account of his acknowledged ability and talent.
but the rest of the courtiers were delighted at leaving prince prigio behind.
for his part, he, very good-naturedly, showed them the best and shortest road to falkenstein, the city where they were going; and easily proved that neither the chief secretary for geography, nor the general of the army, knew anything about the matter -- which, indeed, they did not.
the ungrateful courtiers left prigio with hoots and yells, for they disliked him so much that they forgot he would be king one day.
he therefore reminded them of this little fact in future history, which made them feel uncomfortable enough, and then lay down in his hammock and went to sleep.
when he wakened, the air was cold and the day was beginning to grow dark.
prince prigio thought he would go down and dine at a tavern in the town, for no servants had been left with him.
but what was his annoyance when he found that his boots, his sword, his cap, his cloak -- all his clothes, in fact, except those he wore, -- had been taken away by the courtiers, merely to spite him!
his wardrobe had been ransacked, and everything that had not been carried off had been cut up, burned, and destroyed.
never was such a spectacle of wicked mischief.
it was as if hay had been made of everything he possessed.
what was worse, he had not a penny in his pocket to buy new things; and his father had stopped his allowance of fifty thousand pounds a month.
can you imagine anything more cruel and unjust than this conduct?
for it was not the prince's fault that he was so clever.
the cruel fairy had made him so.
but, even if the prince had been born clever -lrb- as may have happened to you -rrb-, was he to be blamed for that?
the other people were just as much in fault for being born so stupid; but the world, my dear children, can never be induced to remember this.
if you are clever, you will find it best not to let people know it -- if you want them to like you.
well, here was the prince in a pretty plight.
not a pound in his pocket, not a pair of boots to wear, not even a cap to cover his head from the rain; nothing but cold meat to eat, and never a servant to answer the bell.
-lsb- illustration: chapter five -rsb- chapter v. -- what prince prigio found in the garret.
the prince walked from room to room of the palace; but, unless he wrapped himself up in a curtain, there was nothing for him to wear when he went out in the rain.
at last he climbed up a turret-stair in the very oldest part of the castle, where he had never been before; and at the very top was a little round room, a kind of garret.
the prince pushed in the door with some difficulty -- not that it was locked, but the handle was rusty, and the wood had swollen with the damp.
the room was very dark; only the last grey light of the rainy evening came through a slit of a window, one of those narrow windows that they used to fire arrows out of in old times.
but in the dusk the prince saw a heap of all sorts of things lying on the floor and on the table.
there were two caps; he put one on -- an old, grey, ugly cap it was, made of felt.
there was a pair of boots; and he kicked off his slippers, and got into them.
they were a good deal worn, but fitted as if they had been made for him.
on the table was a purse with just three gold coins -- old ones, too -- in it; and this, as you may fancy, the prince was very well pleased to put in his pocket.
a sword, with a sword-belt, he buckled about his waist; and the rest of the articles, a regular collection of odds and ends, he left just where they were lying.
then he ran downstairs, and walked out of the hall door.
-lsb- illustration: chapter six -rsb- chapter vi.
-- what happened to prince prigio in town by this time the prince was very hungry.
the town was just three miles off; but he had such a royal appetite, that he did not like to waste it on bad cookery, and the people of the royal town were bad cooks.
""i wish i were in "the bear," at gluck-stein," said he to himself; for he remembered that there was a very good cook there.
but, then, the town was twenty-one leagues away -- sixty-three long miles!
no sooner had the prince said this, and taken just three steps, than he found himself at the door of the "bear inn" at gluckstein!
""this is the most extraordinary dream," said he to himself; for he was far too clever, of course, to believe in seven-league boots.
yet he had a pair on at that very moment, and it was they which had carried him in three strides from the palace to gluckstein!
the truth is, that the prince, in looking about the palace for clothes, had found his way into that very old lumber-room where the magical gifts of the fairies had been thrown by his clever mother, who did not believe in them.
but this, of course, the prince did not know.
now you should be told that seven-league boots only take those prodigious steps when you say you want to go a long distance.
otherwise they would be very inconvenient -- when you only want to cross the room, for example.
perhaps this has not been explained to you by your governess?
well, the prince walked into "the bear," and it seemed odd to him that nobody took any notice of him.
and yet his face was as well known as that of any man in pantouflia; for everybody had seen it, at least in pictures.
he was so puzzled by not being attended to as usual, that he quite forgot to take off his cap.
-lsb- illustration: page 31 -rsb- he sat down at a table, however, and shouted" kellner!
" at which all the waiters jumped, and looked round in every direction, but nobody came to him.
at first he thought they were too busy, but presently another explanation occurred to him.
""the king," said he to himself, "has threatened to execute anybody who speaks to me, or helps me in any way.
well, i do n't mean to starve in the midst of plenty, anyhow; here goes!"
the prince rose, and went to the table in the midst of the room, where a huge roast turkey had just been placed.
he helped himself to half the breast, some sausages, chestnut stuffing, bread sauce, potatoes, and a bottle of red wine -- burgundy.
he then went back to a table in a corner, where he dined very well, nobody taking any notice of him.
when he had finished, he sat watching the other people dining, and smoking his cigarette.
as he was sitting thus, a very tall man, an officer in the uniform of the guards, came in, and, walking straight to the prince's table, said: "kellner, clean this table, and bring in the bill of fare."
with these words, the officer sat down suddenly in the prince's lap, as if he did not see him at all.
he was a heavy man, and the prince, enraged at the insult, pushed him away and jumped to his feet.
as he did so, his cap dropped off.
the officer fell on his knees at once, crying: "pardon, my prince, pardon!
i never saw you!"
this was more than the prince could be expected to believe.
""nonsense!
count frederick von matterhorn," he said; "you must be intoxicated.
sir!
you have insulted your prince and your superior officer.
consider yourself under arrest!
you shall be sent to a prison to-morrow."
on this, the poor officer appealed piteously to everybody in the tavern.
they all declared that they had not seen the prince, nor ever had an idea that he was doing them the honour of being in the neighbourhood of their town.
more and more offended, and convinced that there was a conspiracy to annoy and insult him, the prince shouted for the landlord, called for his bill, threw down his three pieces of gold without asking for change, and went into the street.
""it is a disgraceful conspiracy," he said.
""the king shall answer for this!
i shall write to the newspapers at once!"
he was not put in a better temper by the way in which people hustled him in the street.
they ran against him exactly as if they did not see him, and then staggered back in the greatest surprise, looking in every direction for the person they had jostled.
in one of these encounters, the prince pushed so hard against a poor old beggar woman that she fell down.
as he was usually most kind and polite, he pulled off his cap to beg her pardon, when, behold, the beggar woman gave one dreadful scream, and fainted!
a crowd was collecting, and the prince, forgetting that he had thrown down all his money in the tavern, pulled out his purse.
then he remembered what he had done, and expected to find it empty; but, lo, there were three pieces of gold in it!
overcome with surprise, he thrust the money into the woman's hand, and put on his cap again.
in a moment the crowd, which had been staring at him, rushed away in every direction, with cries of terror, declaring that there was a magician in the town, and a fellow who could appear and disappear at pleasure!
-lsb- illustration: page 35 -rsb- by this time, you or i, or anyone who was not so extremely clever as prince prigio, would have understood what was the matter.
he had put on, without knowing it, not only the seven-league boots, but the cap of darkness, and had taken fortunatus's purse, which could never be empty, however often you took all the money out.
all those and many other delightful wares the fairies had given him at his christening, and the prince had found them in the dark garret.
but the prince was so extremely wise, and learned, and scientific, that he did not believe in fairies, nor in fairy gifts.
""it is indigestion," he said to himself: "those sausages were not of the best; and that burgundy was extremely strong.
things are not as they appear."
here, as he was arguing with himself, he was nearly run over by a splendid carriage and six, the driver of which never took the slightest notice of him.
annoyed at this, the prince leaped up behind, threw down the two footmen, who made no resistance, and so was carried to the door of a magnificent palace.
he was determined to challenge the gentleman who was in the carriage; but, noticing that he had a very beautiful young lady with him, whom he had never seen before, he followed them into the house, not wishing to alarm the girl, and meaning to speak to the gentleman when he found him alone.
a great ball was going on; but, as usual, nobody took any notice of the prince.
he walked among the guests, being careful not to jostle them, and listening to their conversation.
it was all about himself!
everyone had heard of his disgrace, and almost everyone cried "serve him right!"
they said that the airs he gave himself were quite unendurable -- that nothing was more rude than to be always in the right -- that cleverness might be carried far too far -- that it was better even to be born stupid -lrb- "like the rest of you," thought the prince -rrb-; and, in fact, nobody had a good word for him.
yes, one had!
it was the pretty lady of the carriage.
i never could tell you how pretty she was.
she was tall, with cheeks like white roses blushing: she had dark hair, and very large dark-grey eyes, and her face was the kindest in the world!
the prince first thought how nice and good she looked, even before he thought how pretty she looked.
she stood up for prince prigio when her partner would speak ill of him.
she had never seen the prince, for she was but newly come to pantouflia; but she declared that it was his misfortune, not his fault, to be so clever.
""and, then, think how hard they made him work at school!
besides," said this kind young lady, "i hear he is extremely handsome, and very brave; and he has a good heart, for he was kind, i have heard, to a poor boy, and did all his examination papers for him, so that the boy passed first in everything.
and now he is minister for education, though he ca n't do a line of greek prose!"
the prince blushed at this, for he knew his conduct had not been honourable.
but he at once fell over head and ears in love with the young lady, a thing he had never done in his life before, because -- he said -- "women were so stupid!"
you see he was so clever!
now, at this very moment -- when the prince, all of a sudden, was as deep in love as if he had been the stupidest officer in the room -- an extraordinary thing happened!
something seemed to give a whirr!
in his brain, and in one instant he knew all about it!
he believed in fairies and fairy gifts, and understood that his cap was the cap of darkness, and his shoes the seven-league boots, and his purse the purse of fortunatus!
he had read about those things in historical books: but now he believed in them.
-lsb- illustration: chapter seven -rsb- chapter vii.
-- the prince falls in love he understood all this, and burst out laughing, which nearly frightened an old lady near him out of her wits.
ah!
how he wished he was only in evening dress, that he might dance with the charming young lady.
but there he was, dressed just as if he were going out to hunt, if anyone could have seen him.
so, even if he took off his cap of darkness, and became visible, he was no figure for a ball.
once he would not have cared, but now he cared very much indeed.
but the prince was not clever for nothing.
he thought for a moment, then went out of the room, and, in three steps of the seven-league boots, was at his empty, dark, cold palace again.
he struck a light with a flint and steel, lit a torch, and ran upstairs to the garret.
the flaring light of the torch fell on the pile of "rubbish," as the queen would have called it, which he turned over with eager hands.
was there -- yes, there was another cap!
there it lay, a handsome green one with a red feather.
the prince pulled off the cap of darkness, put on the other, and said:" i wish i were dressed in my best suit of white and gold, with the royal pantouflia diamonds!
" in one moment there he was in white and gold, the greatest and most magnificent dandy in the whole world, and the handsomest man!
""how about my boots, i wonder," said the prince; for his seven-league boots were stout riding-boots, not good to dance in, whereas now he was in elegant shoes of silk and gold.
he threw down the wishing cap, put on the other -- the cap of darkness -- and made three strides in the direction of gluckstein.
but he was only three steps nearer it than he had been, and the seven-league boots were standing beside him on the floor!
""no," said the prince; "no man can be in two different pairs of boots at one and the same time!
that's mathematics!"
he then hunted about in the lumber-room again till he found a small, shabby, old persian carpet, the size of a hearthrug.
he went to his own room, took a portmanteau in his hand, sat down on the carpet, and said: "i wish i were in gluckstein."
in a moment there he found himself; for this was that famous carpet which prince hussein bought long ago, in the market at bisnagar, and which the fairies had brought, with the other presents, to the christening of prince prigio.
-lsb- illustration: page 40 -rsb- when he arrived at the house where the ball was going on, he put the magical carpet in the portmanteau, and left it in the cloakroom, receiving a numbered ticket in exchange.
then he marched in all his glory -lrb- and, of course, without the cap of darkness -rrb- into the room where they were dancing.
everybody made place for him, bowing down to the ground, and the loyal band struck up the prince's march: heaven bless our prince prigio!
what is there he does n't know?
greek, swiss, german -lrb- high and low -rrb-, and the names of the mountains in mexico, heaven bless the prince!
he used to be very fond of this march, and the words -- some people even said he had made them himself.
but now, somehow, he did n't much like it.
he went straight to the duke of stumpfelbahn, the hereditary master of the ceremonies, and asked to be introduced to the beautiful young lady.
she was the daughter of the new english ambassador, and her name was lady rosalind.
but she nearly fainted when she heard who it was that wished to dance with her, for she was not at all particularly clever; and the prince had such a bad character for snubbing girls, and asking them difficult questions.
however, it was impossible to refuse, and so she danced with the prince, and he danced very well.
then they sat out in the conservatory, among the flowers, where nobody came near them; and then they danced again, and then the prince took her down to supper.
and all the time he never once said, "have you read this?
" or "have you read that?
" or, "what!
you never heard of alexander the great?"
or julius caesar, or michael angelo, or whoever it might be -- horrid, difficult questions he used to ask.
that was the way he used to go on: but now he only talked to the young lady about herself; and she quite left off being shy or frightened, and asked him all about his own country, and about the firedrake shooting, and said how fond she was of hunting herself.
and the prince said: "oh, if you wish it, you shall have the horns and tail of a firedrake to hang up in your hall, to-morrow evening!"
then she asked if it was not very dangerous work, firedrake hunting; and he said it was nothing, when you knew the trick of it: and he asked her if she would but give him a rose out of her bouquet; and, in short, he made himself so agreeable and unaffected, that she thought him very nice indeed.
for, even a clever person can be nice when he likes -- above all, when he is not thinking about himself.
and now the prince was thinking of nothing in the world but the daughter of the english ambassador, and how to please her-he got introduced to her father too, and quite won his heart; and, at last, he was invited to dine next day at the embassy.
in pantouflia, it is the custom that a ball must not end while one of the royal family goes on dancing.
this ball lasted till the light came in, and the birds were singing out of doors, and all the mothers present were sound asleep.
-lsb- illustration: page 42 -rsb- then nothing would satisfy the prince, but that they all should go home singing through the streets; in fact, there never had been so merry a dance in all pantouflia.
the prince had made a point of dancing with almost every girl there: and he had suddenly become the most beloved of the royal family.
but everything must end at last; and the prince, putting on the cap of darkness and sitting on the famous carpet, flew back to his lonely castle.
-lsb- illustration: chapter eight -rsb- chapter viii.
-- the prince is puzzled prince prigio did not go to bed.
it was bright daylight, and he had promised to bring the horns and tail of a firedrake as a present to a pretty lady.
he had said it was easy to do this; but now, as he sat and thought over it, he did not feel so victorious.
""first," he said, "where is the firedrake?"
he reflected for a little, and then ran upstairs to the garret.
""it should be here!"
he cried, tossing the fairies" gifts about; "and, by george, here it is!"
indeed, he had found the spyglass of carved ivory which prince ali, in the arabian nights, bought in the bazaar in schiraz.
now, this glass was made so that, by looking through it, you could see anybody or anything you wished, however far away.
prigio's first idea was to look at his lady.
""but she does not expect to be looked at," he thought; "and i wo n't!
" on the other hand, he determined to look at the firedrake; for, of course, he had no delicacy about spying on him, the brute.
the prince clapped the glass to his eye, stared out of window, and there, sure enough, he saw the firedrake.
he was floating about in a sea of molten lava, on the top of a volcano.
there he was, swimming and diving for pleasure, tossing up the flaming waves, and blowing fountains of fire out of his nostrils, like a whale spouting!
-lsb- illustration: page 44 -rsb- the prince did not like the looks of him.
""with all my cap of darkness, and my shoes of swiftness, and my sword of sharpness, i never could get near that beast," he said; "and if i did stalk him, i could not hurt him.
poor little alphonso!
poor enrico!
what plucky fellows they were!
i fancied that there was no such thing as a firedrake: he's not in the natural history books; and i thought the boys were only making fun, and would be back soon, safe and sound.
how horrid being too clever makes one!
and now, what am i to do?"
what was he to do, indeed?
and what would you have done?
bring the horns and tail he must, or perish in the adventure.
otherwise, how could he meet his lady?
-- why, she would think him a mere braggart.
the prince sat down, and thought and thought; and the day went on, and it was now high noon.
at last he jumped up and rushed into the library, a room where nobody ever went except himself and the queen.
there he turned the books upside down, in his haste, till he found an old one, by a french gentleman, monsieur cyrano de bergerac.
it was an account of a voyage to the moon, in which there is a great deal of information about matters not generally known; for few travellers have been to the moon.
in that book, prince prigio fancied he would find something he half remembered, and that would be of use to him.
and he did!
so you see that cleverness, and minding your book, have some advantages, after all.
for here the prince learned that there is a very rare beast called a remora, which is at least as cold as the firedrake is hot!
""now," thought he," if i can only make these two fight, why the remora may kill the firedrake, or take the heat out of him, at least, so that i may have a chance."
then he seized the ivory glass, clapped it to his eye, and looked for the remora.
just the tip of his nose, as white as snow and as smooth as ice, was sticking out of a chink in a frozen mountain, not far from the burning mountain of the firedrake.
-lsb- illustration: page 46 -rsb- "hooray!"
said the prince softly to himself; and he jumped like mad into the winged shoes of swiftness, stuck on the cap of darkness, girdled himself with the sword of sharpness, and put a good slice of bread, with some cold tongue, in a wallet, which he slung on his back.
never you fight, if you can help it, except with plenty of food to keep you going and in good heart.
then off he flew, and soon he reached the volcano of the firedrake.
-lsb- illustration: chapter nine -rsb- chapter ix.
-- the prince and the firedrake it was dreadfully hot, even high up in the air, where the prince hung invisible.
great burning stones were tossed up by the volcano, and nearly hit him several times.
moreover, the steam and smoke, and the flames which the firedrake spouted like foam from his nostrils, would have daunted even the bravest man.
the sides of the hill, too, were covered with the blackened ashes of his victims, whom he had roasted when they came out to kill him.
the garden-engine of poor little alphonso was lying in the valley, all broken and useless.
but the firedrake, as happy as a wild duck on a lonely lock, was rolling and diving in the liquid flame, all red-hot and full of frolic.
""hi!"
shouted the prince.
the firedrake rose to the surface, his horns as red as a red crescent-moon, only bigger, and lashing the fire with his hoofs and his blazing tail.
""who's there?"
he said in a hoarse, angry voice.
""just let me get at you!"
""it's me," answered the prince.
it was the first time he had forgotten his grammar, but he was terribly excited.
""what do you want?"
grunted the beast.
""i wish i could see you"; and, horrible to relate, he rose on a pair of wide, flaming wings, and came right at the prince, guided by the sound of his voice.
now, the prince had never heard that fire-drakes could fly; indeed, he had never believed in them at all, till the night before.
for a moment he was numb with terror; then he flew down like a stone to the very bottom of the hill and shouted: "hi!"
""well," grunted the firedrake, "what's the matter?
why ca n't you give a civil answer to a civil question?"
""will you go back to your hole and swear, on your honour as a firedrake, to listen quietly?"
""on my sacred word of honour," said the beast, casually scorching an eagle that flew by into ashes.
the cinders fell, jingling and crackling, round the prince in a little shower.
then the firedrake dived back, with an awful splash of flame, and the mountain roared round him.
the prince now flew high above him, and cried: "a message from the remora.
he says you are afraid to fight him."
""do n't know him," grunted the firedrake.
""he sends you his glove," said prince prigio, "as a challenge to mortal combat, till death do you part."
then he dropped his own glove into the fiery lake.
""does he?"
yelled the firedrake.
""just let me get at him!"
and he scrambled out, all red-hot as he was.
""i'll go and tell him you're coming," said the prince; and with two strides he was over the frozen mountain of the remora.
-lsb- illustration: chapter ten -rsb- chapter x. -- the prince and the remora if he had been too warm before, the prince was too cold now.
the hill of the remora was one solid mass of frozen steel, and the cold rushed out of it like the breath of some icy beast, which indeed it was.
all around were things like marble statues of men in armour: they were the dead bodies of the knights, horses and all, who had gone out of old to fight the remora, and who had been frosted up by him.
the prince felt his blood stand still, and he grew faint; but he took heart, for there was no time to waste.
yet he could nowhere see the remora.
""hi!"
shouted the prince.
then, from a narrow chink at the bottom of the smooth, black hill, -- a chink no deeper than that under a door, but a mile wide, -- stole out a hideous head!
it was as fiat as the head of a skate-fish, it was deathly pale, and two chill-blue eyes, dead-coloured like stones, looked out of it.
then there came a whisper, like the breath of the bitter east wind on a wintry day: "where are you, and how can i come to you?"
""here i am!"
said the prince from the top of the hill.
then the flat, white head set itself against the edge of the chink from which it had peeped, and slowly, like the movement of a sheet of ice, it slipped upwards and curled upwards, and up, and up!
there seemed no end to it at all; and it moved horribly, without feet, holding on by its own frost to the slippery side of the frozen hill.
now all the lower part of the black hill was covered with the horrid white thing coiled about it in smooth, flat shiny coils; and still the head was higher than the rest; and still the icy cold came nearer and nearer, like death.
the prince almost fainted: everything seemed to swim; and in one moment more he would have fallen stiff on the mountain-top, and the white head would have crawled over him, and the cold coils would have slipped over him and turned him to stone.
and still the thing slipped up, from the chink under the mountain.
but the prince made a great effort; he moved, and in two steps he was far away, down in the valley where it was not so very cold.
""hi!"
he shouted, as soon as his tongue could move within his chattering teeth.
there came a clear, hissing answer, like frozen words dropping round him: "wait till i come down.
what do you want?"
then the white folds began to slide, like melting ice, from the black hill.
prince prigio felt the air getting warmer behind him, and colder in front of him.
he looked round, and there were the trees beginning to blacken in the heat, and the grass looking like a sea of fire along the plains; for the firedrake was coming!
the prince just took time to shout, "the firedrake is going to pay you a visit!"
and then he soared to the top of a neighbouring hill, and looked on at what followed.
-lsb- illustration: chapter eleven -rsb- chapter xi.
-- the battle it was an awful sight to behold!
when the remora heard the name of the firedrake, his hated enemy, he slipped with wonderful speed from the cleft of the mountain into the valley.
on and on and on he poured over rock and tree, as if a frozen river could slide downhill; on and on, till there were miles of him stretching along the valley -- miles of the smooth-ribbed, icy creature, crawling and slipping forwards.
the green trees dropped their leaves as he advanced; the birds fell down dead from the sky, slain by his frosty breath!
but, fast as the remora stole forward, the firedrake came quicker yet, flying and clashing his fiery wings.
at last they were within striking distance; and the firedrake, stooping from the air, dashed with his burning horns and flaming feet slap into the body of the remora.
then there rose a steam so dreadful, such a white yet fiery vapour of heat, that no one who had not the prince's magic glass could have seen what happened.
with horrible grunts and roars the firedrake tried to burn his way right through the flat body of the remora, and to chase him to his cleft in the rock.
but the remora, hissing terribly, and visibly melting away in places, yet held his ground; and the prince could see his cold white folds climbing slowly up the hoofs of the firedrake -- up and up, till they reached his knees, and the great burning beast roared like a hundred bulls with the pain.
then up the firedrake leaped, and hovering on his fiery wings, he lighted in the midst of the remora's back, and dashed into it with his horns.
but the flat, cruel head writhed backwards, and, slowly bending over on itself, the wounded remora slid greedily to fasten again on the limbs of the firedrake.
meanwhile, the prince, safe on his hill, was lunching on the loaf and the cold tongue he had brought with him.
""go it, remora!
go it, firedrake!
you're gaining.
give it him, remora!"
he shouted in the wildest excitement.
nobody had ever seen such a battle; he had it all to himself, and he never enjoyed anything more.
he hated the remora so much, that he almost wished the firedrake could beat it; for the firedrake was the more natural beast of the pair.
still, he was alarmed when he saw that the vast flat body of the remora was now slowly coiling backwards, backwards, into the cleft below the hill; while a thick wet mist showed how cruelly it had suffered.
but the firedrake, too, was in an unhappy way; for his legs were now cold and black, his horns were black also, though his body, especially near the heart, glowed still like red-hot iron.
""go it, remora!"
cried the prince: "his legs are giving way; he's groggy on his pins!
one more effort, and he wo n't be able to move!"
encouraged by this advice, the white, slippery remora streamed out of his cavern again, more and more of him uncoiling, as if the mountain were quite full of him.
he had lost strength, no doubt: for the steam and mist went up from him in clouds, and the hissing of his angry voice grew fainter; but so did the roars of the firedrake.
presently they sounded more like groans; and at last the remora slipped up his legs above the knees, and fastened on his very heart of fire.
then the firedrake stood groaning like a black bull, knee-deep in snow; and still the remora climbed and climbed.
""go it now, firedrake!"
shouted the prince; for he knew that if the remora won, it would be too cold for him to draw near the place, and cut off the firedrake's head and tail.
""go it, drake!
he's slackening!"
cried the prince again; and the brave firedrake made one last furious effort, and rising on his wings, dropped just on the spine of his enemy.
the wounded remora curled back his head again on himself, and again crawled, steaming terribly, towards his enemy.
but the struggle was too much for the gallant remora.
the flat, cruel head moved slower; the steam from his thousand wounds grew fiercer; and he gently breathed his last just as the firedrake, too, fell over and lay exhausted.
with one final roar, like the breath of a thousand furnaces, the firedrake expired.
-lsb- illustration: page 58 -rsb- the prince, watching from the hill-top, could scarcely believe that these two awful scourges of nature, which had so long devastated his country, were actually dead.
but when he had looked on for half-an-hour, and only a river ran where the remora had been, while the body of the firedrake lay stark and cold, he hurried to the spot.
drawing the sword of sharpness, he hacked off, at two blows, the iron head and the tail of the firedrake.
they were a weary weight to carry; but in a few strides of the shoes of swiftness he was at his castle, where he threw down his burden, and nearly fainted with excitement and fatigue.
but the castle clock struck half-past seven; dinner was at eight, and the poor prince crawled on hands and knees to the garret.
here he put on the wishing-cap; wished for a pint of champagne, a hot bath, and his best black velvet and diamond suit.
in a moment these were provided; he bathed, dressed, drank a glass of wine, packed up the head and tail of the firedrake; sat down on the flying carpet, and knocked at the door of the english ambassador as the clocks were striking eight" in gluckstein.
punctuality is the politeness of princes; and a prince is polite when he is in love!
the prince was received at the door by a stout porter and led into the hall, where several butlers met him, and he laid the mortal remains of the firedrake under the cover of the flying carpet.
then he was led upstairs, and he made his bow to the pretty lady, who, of course, made him a magnificent courtesy.
she seemed prettier and kinder than ever.
the prince was so happy, that he never noticed how something went wrong about the dinner.
the ambassador looked about, and seemed to miss someone, and spoke in a low voice to one of the servants, who answered also in a low voice, and what he said seemed to displease the ambassador.
but the prince was so busy in talking to his lady, and in eating his dinner too, that he never observed anything unusual.
he had never been at such a pleasant dinner!
-lsb- illustration: chapter twelve -rsb- chapter xii.
-- a terrible misfortune when the ladies left, and the prince and the other gentlemen were alone, the ambassador appeared more gloomy than ever.
at last he took the prince into a corner, on pretence of showing him a rare statue.
""does your royal highness not know," he asked, "that you are in considerable danger?"
""still?"
said the prince, thinking of the firedrake.
the ambassador did not know what he meant, for he had never heard of the fight, but he answered gravely: "never more than now."
then he showed the prince two proclamations, which had been posted all about the town.
here is the first: to all loyal subjects.
whereas, our eldest son, prince prigio, hath of late been guilty of several high crimes and misdemeanours.
first: by abandoning the post of danger against the firedrake, whereby our beloved sons, prince alphonso and prince enrico, have perished, and been overdone by that monster.
secondly: by attending an unseemly revel in the town of gluckstein, where he brawled in the streets.
thirdly: by trying to seduce away the hearts of our loyal subjects in that city, and to blow up a party against our crown and our peace.
-lsb- illustration: page 61 -rsb- this is to give warning, that whoever consorts with, comforts, aids, or abets the said prince prigio, is thereby a partner in his treason; and that a reward of five thousand purses will be given to whomsoever brings the said prince, alive, to our castle of falkenstein.
grognio r. and here is the second proclamation: reward.
the firedrake.
whereas, our dominions have lately been devastated by a firedrake -lrb- the salamander furiosus of buffon -rrb-; this is to advise all, that whosoever brings the horns and tail of the said firedrake to our castle of falkenstein, shall receive five thousand purses, the position of crown prince, with the usual perquisites, and the hand of the king's niece, the lady molinda.
grognio r. "h'm," said the prince; "i did not think his majesty wrote so well;" and he would have liked to say, "do n't you think we might join the ladies?"
""but, sir," said the ambassador, "the streets are lined with soldiers; and i know not how you have escaped them.
here, under my roof, you are safe for the moment; but a prolonged stay -- excuse my inhospitality -- could not but strain the harmonious relations which prevail between the government of pantouflia and that which i have the honour to represent."
""we do n't want to fight; and no more, i think, do you," said the prince, smiling.
""then how does your royal highness mean to treat the proclamations?"
""why, by winning these ten thousand purses.
i can tell you # 1,000,000 is worth having," said the prince.
""i'll deliver up the said prince, alive, at falkenstein this very night; also the horns and tail of the said firedrake.
but i do n't want to marry my cousin molly."
""may i remind your royal highness that falkenstein is three hundred miles away?
moreover, my head butler, benson, disappeared from the house before dinner, and i fear he went to warn captain kopzoffski that you are here!
" "that is nothing," said the prince; "but, my dear lord kelso, may i not have the pleasure of presenting lady rosalind with a little gift, a philippine which i lost to her last night, merely the head and tail of a firedrake which i stalked this morning?"
the ambassador was so astonished that he ran straight upstairs, forgetting his manners, and crying: "linda!
linda!
come down at once; here's a surprise for you!"
lady rosalind came sweeping down, with a smile on her kind face.
she guessed what it was, though the prince had said nothing about it at dinner.
""lead the way, your royal highness!"
cried the ambassador; and the prince offering lady rosalind his arm, went out into the hall, where he saw neither his carpet nor the horns and tail of the firedrake!
he turned quite pale, and said: "will you kindly ask the servants where the little persian prayer-rug and the parcel which i brought with me have been placed?"
lord kelso rang the bell, and in came all the servants, with william, the under-butler, at their head.
""william," said his lordship, "where have you put his royal highness's parcel and his carpet?"
""please, your lordship," said william, "we think benson have took them away with him."
""and where is benson?"
""we do n't know, your lordship.
we think he have been come for!"
""come for -- by whom?"
william stammered, and seemed at a loss for a reply.
""quick!
answer!
what do you know about it?"
william said at last, rather as if he were making a speech: "your royaliness, and my lords and ladies, it was like this.
his royaliness comed in with a rug over his arm, and summat under it.
and he lays it down on that there seat, and thomas shows him into the droring-room.
then benson says: "dinner'll be ready in five minutes; how tired i do feel!
"then he takes the libbuty of sitting hisself down on his royaliness's rug, and he says, asking your pardon," i've had about enough of service here.
i'm about tired, and i thinks of bettering myself.
i wish i was at the king's court, and butler."
-lsb- illustration: page 65 -rsb- but before the words was out of his mouth, off he flies like a shot through the open door, and his royaliness's parcel with him.
i run to the door, and there he was, flying right hover the town, in a northerly direction.
and that's all i know; for i would not tell a lie, not if it was hever so.
and me, and thomas -- as did n't see it, -- and cook, we thinks as how benson was come for.
and cook says as she do n't wonder at it, neither; for a grumblinger, more ill-conditioneder --" "thank you, william," said lord kelso; "that will do; you can go, for the present."
-lsb- illustration: chapter thirteen -rsb- chapter xiii.
-- surprises the prince said nothing, the ambassador said nothing, lady rosalind said never a word till they were in the drawing-room.
it was a lovely warm evening, and the french windows were wide open on the balcony, which looked over the town and away north to the hills.
below them flowed the clear, green water of the gluckthal and still nobody said a word.
at last the prince spoke: "this is a very strange story, lord kelso!"
""very, sir!"
said the ambassador.
""but true," added the prince; "at least, there is no reason in the nature of things why it should n't be true."
""i can hardly believe, sir, that the conduct of benson, whom i always found a most respectable man, deserved --" "that he should be "come for,"" said the prince.
""oh, no; it was a mere accident, and might have happened to any of us who chanced to sit down on my carpet."
and then the prince told them, shortly, all about it: how the carpet was one of a number of fairy properties, which had been given him at his christening; and how so long a time had gone by before he discovered them; and how, probably, the carpet had carried the butler where he had said he wanted to go -- namely, to the king's court at falkenstein.
""it would not matter so much," added the prince, "only i had relied on making my peace with his majesty, my father, by aid of those horns and that tail.
he was set on getting them; and if the lady rosalind had not expressed a wish for them, they would to-day have been in his possession."
""oh, sir, you honour us too highly," murmured lady rosalind; and the prince blushed and said: "not at all!
impossible!"
then, of course, the ambassador became quite certain that his daughter was admired by the crown prince, who was on bad terms with the king of the country; and a more uncomfortable position for an ambassador -- however, they are used to them.
""what on earth am i to do with the young man?"
he thought.
""he ca n't stay here for ever; and without his carpet he ca n't get away, for the soldiers have orders to seize him as soon as he appears in the street.
and in the meantime benson will be pretending that he killed the firedrake -- for he must have got to falkenstein by now, -- and they will be for marrying him to the king's niece, and making my butler crown prince to the kingdom of pantouflia!
it is dreadful!"
now all this time the prince was on the balcony, telling lady rosalind all about how he got the firedrake done for, in the most modest way; for, as he said: "i did n't kill him: and it is really the remora, poor fellow, who should marry molly; but he's dead."
at this very moment there was a whizz in the air; something shot past them, and, through the open window, the king, the queen, benson, and the mortal remains of the firedrake were shot into the ambassador's drawing room!
-lsb- illustration: page 69 -rsb- -lsb- illustration: chapter fourteen -rsb- chapter xiv.
-- the king explains.
the first who recovered his voice and presence of mind was benson.
""did your lordship ring for coffee?"
he asked, quietly; and when he was told "yes," he bowed and withdrew, with majestic composure.
when he had gone, the prince threw himself at the king's feet, crying: "pardon, pardon, my liege!"
""do n't speak to me, sir!"
answered the king, very angrily; and the poor prince threw himself at the feet of the queen.
but she took no notice of him whatever, no more than if he had been a fairy; and the prince heard her murmur, as she pinched her royal arms: "i shall waken presently; this is nothing out of the way for a dream.
dr. rumpfino ascribes it to imperfect nutrition."
all this time, the lady rosalind, as pale as a marble statue, was leaning against the side of the open window.
the prince thought he could do nothing wiser than go and comfort her, so he induced her to sit down on a chair in the balcony, -- for he felt that he was not wanted in the drawing-room; -- and soon they were talking happily about the stars, which had begun to appear in the summer night.
meanwhile, the ambassador had induced the king to take a seat; but there was no use in talking to the queen.
""it would be a miracle," she said to herself, "and miracles do not happen; therefore this has not happened.
presently, i shall wake up in my own bed at falkenstein."
now, benson, william, and thomas brought in the coffee, but the queen took no notice.
when they went away, the rest of the company slipped off quietly, and the king was left alone with the ambassador; for the queen could hardly be said to count.
""you want to know all about it, i suppose?"
said his majesty in a sulky voice.
""well, you have a right to it, and i shall tell you.
we were just sitting down to dinner at falkenstein, rather late, -- hours get later every year, i think -- when i heard a row in the premises, and the captain of the guard, colonel mcdougal, came and told us that a man had arrived with the horns and tail of the firedrake, and was claiming the reward.
her majesty and i rose and went into the outer court, where we found, sitting on that carpet with a glass of beer in his hand, a respectable-looking upper servant, whom i recognised as your butler.
he informed us that he had just killed the beast, and showed us the horns and tail, sure enough; there they are!
the tail is like the iron handle of a pump, but the horns are genuine.
a pair were thrown up by a volcano, in my great-grandfather's time giglio i. * excellent coffee this, of yours!"
* the history of this prince may be read in a treatise called the rose and the ring, by m. a. titmarsh.
london, 1855.
-lsb- illustration: page 72 -rsb- the ambassador bowed.
""well, we asked him where he killed the firedrake, and he said in a garden near gluckstein.
then he began to speak about the reward, and the "perkisits," as he called them, which it seems he had read about in my proclamation.
rather a neat thing; drew it up myself," added his majesty.
""very much to the point," said the ambassador, wondering what the king was coming to.
""glad you like it," said the king, much pleased.
""well, where was i?
oh, yes; your man said he had killed the creature in a garden, quite near gluckstein.
i did n't much like the whole affair: he is an alien, you see; and then there was my niece, molinda -- poor girl, she was certain to give trouble.
her heart is buried, if i may say so, with poor alphonso.
but the queen is a very remarkable woman -- very remarkable --" "very!"
said the ambassador, with perfect truth."
"caitiff!"
she cries to your butler," his majesty went on;" "perjured knave, thou liest in thy throat!
gluckstein is a hundred leagues from here, and how say est thou that thou slewest the molester, and earnest hither in a few hours" space?"
this had not occurred to me, -- i am a plain king, but i at once saw the force of her majesty's argument.
yes," said i; "how did you manage it?"
but he -- your man, i mean -- was not a bit put out.
"why, your majesty," says he," i just sat down on that there bit of carpet, wished i was here, and here i ham.
and i'd be glad, having had the trouble, -- and my time not being my own, -- to see the colour of them perkisits, according to the proclamation."
on this her majesty grew more indignant, if possible.
"nonsense!"
she cried;" a story out of the "arabian nights" is not suited for a modern public, and fails to win æsthetic credence."
these were her very words."
""her majesty's expressions are ever choice and appropriate," said the ambassador."
"sit down there, on the carpet, knave," she went on; "ourself and consort" -- meaning me -- "will take our places by thy side, and i shall wish us in gluckstein, at thy master's!
when the experiment has failed, thy head shall from thy shoulders be shorn!"
so your man merely said, "very well, mum, -- your majesty, i mean," and sat down.
the queen took her place at the edge of the carpet; i sat between her and the butler, and she said," i wish i were in gluckstein!"
then we rose, flew through the air at an astonishing pace, and here we are!
so i suppose the rest of the butler's tale is true, which i regret; but a king's word is sacred, and he shall take the place of that sneak, prigio.
but as we left home before dinner, and yours is over, may i request your lordship to believe that i should be delighted to take something cold?"
the ambassador at once ordered a sumptuous collation, to which the king did full justice; and his majesty was shown to the royal chamber, as he complained of fatigue.
the queen accompanied him, remarking that she was sound asleep, but would waken presently.
neither of them said "good-night" to the prince.
indeed, they did not see him again, for he was on the balcony with lady rosalind.
they found a great deal to say to each other, and at last the prince asked her to be his wife; and she said that if the king and her father gave their permission -- why, then she would!
after this she went to bed; and the prince, who had not slept at all the night before, felt very sleepy also.
but he knew that first he had something that must be done.
so he went into the drawing-room, took his carpet, and wished to be -- now where do you suppose?
beside the dead body of the firedrake!
there he was in a moment; and dreadful the body looked, lying stark and cold in the white moonshine.
then the prince cut off its four hoofs, put them in his wallet, and with these he flew back in a second, and met the ambassador just as he came from ushering the king to bed.
then the prince was shown his own room, where he locked up the hoofs, the carpet, the cap of darkness, and his other things in an iron box; and so he went to bed and dreamed of his lady rosalind.
-lsb- illustration: chapter fifteen -rsb- chapter xv.
-- the king's cheque when they all awakened next morning, their first ideas were confused.
it is often confusing to wake in a strange bed, much more so when you have flown through the air, like the king, the queen, and benson the butler.
for her part, the queen was the most perplexed of all; for she did undeniably wake, and yet she was not at home, where she had expected to be.
however, she was a determined woman, and stood to it that nothing unusual was occurring.
the butler made up his mind to claim the crown princeship and the hand of the lady molinda; because, as he justly remarked to william, here was such a chance to better himself as might not soon come in his way again.
as for the king, he was only anxious to get back to falkenstein, and have the whole business settled in a constitutional manner.
the ambassador was not sorry to get rid of the royal party; and it was proposed that they should all sit down on the flying carpet, and wish themselves at home again.
but the queen would not hear of it: she said it was childish and impossible; so the carriage was got ready for her, and she started without saying a word of good-bye to anyone.
the king, benson, and the prince were not so particular, and they simply flew back to falkenstein in the usual way, arriving there at 11.35 -- a week before her majesty.
the king at once held a court; the horns and tail of the monster were exhibited amidst general interest, and benson and the prince were invited to state their claims.
benson's evidence was taken first.
he declined to say exactly where or how he killed the firedrake.
there might be more of them left, he remarked, -- young ones, that would take a lot of killing, -- and he refused to part with his secret.
only he claimed the reward, which was offered, if you remember, not to the man who killed the beast, but to him wha brought its horns and tail.
this was allowed by the lawyers present to be very sound law; and benson was cheered by the courtiers, who decidedly preferred him to prigio, and who, besides, thought he was going to be crown prince.
as for lady molinda, she was torn by the most painful feelings; for, much as she hated prigio, she could not bear the idea of marrying benson.
yet one or the other choice seemed certain.
unhappy lady!
perhaps no girl was ever more strangely beset by misfortune!
prince prigio was now called on to speak.
he admitted that the reward was offered for bringing the horns and tail, not for killing the monster.
but were the king's intentions to go for nothing?
when a subject only meant well, of course he had to suffer; but when a king said one thing, was he not to be supposed to have meant another?
any fellow with a waggon could bring the horns and tail; the difficult thing was to kill the monster.
if benson's claim was allowed, the royal prerogative of saying one thing and meaning something else was in danger.
on hearing this argument, the king so far forgot himself as to cry, "bravo, well said!"
and to clap his hands, whereon all the courtiers shouted and threw up their hats.
the prince then said that whoever had killed the monster could, of course, tell where to find him, and could bring his hoofs.
he was ready to do this himself.
was mr. benson equally ready?
on this being interpreted to him -- for he did not speak pantouflian -- benson grew pale with horror, but fell back on the proclamation.
he had brought the horns and tail, and so he must have the perquisites, and the lady molinda!
the king's mind was so much confused by this time, that he determined to leave it to the lady molinda herself.
""which of them will you have, my dear?"
he asked, in a kind voice.
but poor molinda merely cried.
then his majesty was almost driven to say that he would give the reward to whoever produced the hoofs by that day week.
but no sooner had he said this than the prince brought them out of his wallet, and displayed them in open court.
this ended the case; and benson, after being entertained with sherry and sandwiches in the steward's room, was sent back to his master, and i regret to say that his temper was not at all improved by his failure to better himself.
on the contrary, he was unusually cross and disagreeable for several days; but we must, perhaps, make some allowance for his disappointment.
but if benson was irritated, and suffered from the remarks of his fellow-servants, i do not think we can envy prince prigio.
here he was, restored to his position indeed, but by no means to the royal favour.
for the king disliked him as much as ever, and was as angry as ever about the deaths of enrico and alphonso.
nay, he was even more angry; and, perhaps, not without reason.
he called up prigio before the whole court, and thereon the courtiers cheered like anything, but the king cried: "silence!
mcdougal, drag the first man that shouts to the serpent-house in the zoological gardens, and lock him up with the rattlesnakes!"
after that the courtiers were very quiet.
""prince," said the king, as prigio bowed before the throne, "you are restored to your position, because i can not break my promise.
but your base and malevolent nature is even more conspicuously manifest in your selfish success than in your previous dastardly contempt of duty.
why, confound you!"
cried the king, dropping the high style in which he had been speaking, and becoming the father, not the monarch, -- "why, if you could kill the firedrake, did you let your poor little brothers go and be b -- b -- b -- broiled?
eh!
what do you say, you sneak?
"you did n't believe there were any firedrakes?"
that just comes of your eternal conceit and arrogance!
if you were clever enough to kill the creature -- and i admit that -- you were clever enough to know that what everybody said must be true.
"you have not generally found it so?"
well, you have this time, and let it be a lesson to you; not that there is much comfort in that, for it is not likely you will ever have such another chance" -- exactly the idea that had occurred to benson.
here the king wept, among the tears of the lord chief justice, the poet laureate -lrb- who had been awfully frightened when he heard of the rattlesnakes -rrb-, the maids of honour, the chaplain royal, and everyone but colonel mcdougal, a scottish soldier of fortune, who maintained a military reserve.
when his majesty had recovered, he said to prigio -lrb- who had not been crying, he was too much absorbed -rrb-: "a king's word is his bond.
bring me a pen, somebody, and my cheque-book."
the royal cheque-book, bound in red morocco, was brought in by eight pages, with ink and a pen.
his majesty then filled up and signed the following satisfactory document -- -lrb- ah!
my children, how i wish mr. arrowsmith would do as much for me! -rrb-
: -lsb- illustration: the king's cheque -rsb- "there!"
said his majesty, crossing his cheque and throwing sand over it, for blotting-paper had not yet been invented; "there, take that, and be off with you!"
prince prigio was respectfully but rapidly obeying his royal command, for he thought he had better cash the royal cheque as soon as possible, when his majesty yelled: "hi!
here!
come back!
i forgot something; you've got to marry molinda!"
-lsb- illustration: chapter sixteen -rsb- chapter xvi.
-- a melancholy chapter the prince had gone some way, when the king called after him.
how he wished he had the seven-league boots on, or that he had the cap of darkness in his pocket!
if he had been so lucky, he would now have got back to gluckstein, and crossed the border with lady rosalind.
a million of money may not seem much, but a pair of young people who really love each other could live happily on less than the cheque he had in his pocket.
however, the king shouted very loud, as he always did when he meant to be obeyed, and the prince sauntered slowly back again.
""prigio!"
said his majesty, "where were you off to?
do n't you remember that this is your wedding-day?
my proclamation offered, not only the money -lrb- which you have -rrb-, but the hand of the lady molinda, which the court chaplain will presently make your own.
i congratulate you, sir; molinda is a dear girl."
""i have the highest affection and esteem for my cousin, sir," said the prince, "but: --" "i'll never marry him!"
cried poor molinda, kneeling at the throne, where her streaming eyes and hair made a pretty and touching picture.
""never!
i despise him!"
-lsb- illustration: page 84 -rsb- "i was about to say, sir," the prince went on, "that i can not possibly have the pleasure of wedding my cousin."
""the family gibbet, i presume, is in good working order?"
asked the king of the family executioner, a tall gaunt man in black and scarlet, who was only employed in the case of members of the blood royal.
""never better, sire," said the man, bowing with more courtliness than his profession indicated.
""very well," said the king; "prince prigio, you have your choice.
there is the gallows, here is lady molinda.
my duty is painful, but clear.
a king's word can not be broken.
molly, or the gibbet!"
the prince bowed respectfully to lady molinda: "madam, my cousin," said he, "your clemency will excuse my answer, and you will not misinterpret the apparent discourtesy of my conduct.
i am compelled, most unwillingly, to slight your charms, and to select the extreme rigour of the law.
executioner, lead on!
do your duty; for me, prigio est prêt;" -- for this was his motto, and meant that he was ready.
-lsb- illustration: page 85 -rsb- poor lady molinda could not but be hurt by the prince's preference for death over marriage to her, little as she liked him.
""is life, then, so worthless?
and is molinda so terrible a person that you prefer those arms," and she pointed to the gibbet, "to these?
" -- here she held out her own, which were very white, round and pretty; for molinda was a good-hearted girl, she could not bear to see prigio put to death; and then, perhaps, she reflected that there are worse positions than the queenship of pantouflia.
for alphonso was gone -- crying would not bring him back.
""ah, madam!"
said the prince, "you are forgiving --" "for you are brave!"
said molinda, feeling: quite a respect for him.
""but neither your heart nor mine is ours to give.
since mine was another's, i understand too well the feeling of yours!
do not let us buy life at the price of happiness and honour."
then, turning to the king the prince said: "sir, is there no way but by death or marriage?
you say you can not keep half only of your promise; and that, if i accept the reward, i must also unite myself with my unwilling cousin.
can not the whole proclamation be annulled, and will you consider the bargain void if i tear up this flimsy scroll?"
and here the prince fluttered the cheque for # 1,000,000 in the air.
for a moment the king was tempted; but then he said to himself: "never mind, it's only an extra penny on the income-tax."
then, "keep your dross," he shouted, meaning the million; "but let me keep my promise.
to chapel at once, or --" and he pointed to the executioner.
""the word of a king of pantouflia is sacred."
""and so is that of a crown prince," answered prigio; "and mine is pledged to a lady."
""she shall be a mourning bride," cried the king savagely, "unless" -- here he paused for a moment -- "unless you bring me back alphohso and enrico, safe and well!"
the prince thought for the space of a flash of lightning.
""i accept the alternative," he said, "if your majesty will grant me my conditions."
""name them!"
said the king.
""let me be transported to gluckstein, left there unguarded, and if, in three days, i do not return with my brothers safe and well, your majesty shall be spared a cruel duty.
prigio of pantouflia will perish by his own hand."
the king, whose mind did not work very quickly, took some minutes to think over it.
then he saw that by granting the prince's conditions, he would either recover his dear sons, or, at least, get rid of prigio, without the unpleasantness of having him executed.
for, though some kings have put their eldest sons to death, and most have wished to do so, they have never been better loved by the people for their roman virtue.
""honour bright?"
said the king at last.
""honour bright!"
answered the prince, and for the first time in many months, the royal father and son shook hands.
""for you, madam," said prigio in a stately way to lady molinda, "in less than a week i trust we shall be taking our vows at the same altar, and that the close of the ceremony which finds us cousins will leave us brother and sister."
poor molinda merely stared; for she could not imagine what he meant.
in a moment he was gone; and having taken, by the king's permission, the flying carpet, he was back at the ambassador's house in gluckstein.
-lsb- illustration: chapter seventeen -rsb- chapter xvii.
-- the black cat and the brethren who was glad to see the prince, if it was not lady rosalind?
the white roses of her cheeks turned to red roses in a moment, and then back to white again, they were so alarmed at the change.
so the two went into the gardens together, and talked about a number of things; but at last the prince told her that, before three days were over, all would be well, or all would be over with him.
for either he would have brought his brothers back, sound and well, to falkenstein, or he would not survive his dishonour.
""it is no more than right," he said; "for had i gone first, neither of them would have been sent to meet the monster after i had fallen.
and i should have fallen, dear rosalind, if i had faced the firedrake before i knew you.
" then when she asked him why, and what good she had done him, he told her all the story; and how, before he fell in love with her, he did n't believe in fairies, or firedrakes, or caps of darkness, or anything nice and impossible, but only in horrid useless facts, and chemistry, and geology, and arithmetic, and mathematics, and even political economy.
and the firedrake would have made a mouthful of him, then.
so she was delighted when she heard this, almost as much delighted as she was afraid that he might fail in the most difficult adventure.
for it was one thing to egg on a remora to kill a firedrake, and quite another to find the princes if they were alive, and restore them if they were dead!
but the prince said he had his plan, and he stayed that night at the ambassador's.
next morning he rose very early, before anyone else was up, that he might not have to say "good-bye" to lady rosalind.
then he flew in a moment to the old lonely castle, where nobody went for fear of ghosts, ever since the court retired to falkenstein.
how still it was, how deserted; not a sign of life, and yet the prince was looking everywhere for some living thing.
he hunted the castle through in vain, and then went out to the stable-yard; but all the dogs, of course, had been taken away, and the farmers had offered homes to the poultry.
at last, stretched at full length in a sunny place, the prince found a very old, half-blind, miserable cat.
the poor creature was lean, and its fur had fallen off in patches; it could no longer catch birds, nor even mice, and there was nobody to give it milk.
but cats do not look far into the future; and this old black cat -- frank was his name -- had got a breakfast somehow, and was happy in the sun.
the prince stood and looked at him pityingly, and he thought that even a sick old cat was, in some ways, happier than most men.
-lsb- illustration: page 91 -rsb- "well," said the prince at last, "he could not live long anyway, and it must be done.
he will feel nothing."
then he drew the sword of sharpness, and with one turn of his wrist cut the cat's head clean off.
it did not at once change into a beautiful young lady, as perhaps you expect; no, that was improbable, and, as the prince was in love already, would have been vastly inconvenient.
the dead cat lay there, like any common cat.
then the prince built up a heap of straw, with wood on it; and there he laid poor puss, and set fire to the pile.
very soon there was nothing of old black frank left but ashes!
then the prince ran upstairs to the fairy cupboard, his heart beating loudly with excitement, the sun was shining through the arrow-shot window; all the yellow motes were dancing in its rays.
the light fell on the strange heaps of fairy things -- talismans and spells.
the prince hunted about here and there, and at last he discovered six ancient water-vessels of black leather, each with a silver plate on it, and on the plate letters engraved.
this was what was written on the plates: aqva.
de.
fonte.
leonvm.
* * water from the fountain of lions.
""thank heaven!"
said the prince.
""i thought they were sure to have brought it!"
then he took one of the old black-leather bottles, and ran downstairs again to the place where he had burned the body of the poor old sick cat.
-lsb- illustration: page 93 -rsb- he opened the bottle, and poured a few drops of the water on the ashes and the dying embers.
up there sprang a tall, white flame of fire, waving like a tongue of light; and forth from the heap jumped the most beautiful, strong, funny, black cat that ever was seen!
it was frank as he had been in the vigour of his youth; and he knew the prince at once, and rubbed himself against him and purred.
the prince lifted up frank and kissed his nose for joy; and a bright tear rolled down on frank's face, and made him rub his nose with his paw in the most comical manner.
then the prince set him down, and he ran round and round after his tail; and, lastly, cocked his tail up, and marched proudly after the prince into the castle.
""oh, frank!"
said prince prigio, "no cat since the time of puss in boots was ever so well taken care of as you shall be.
for if the fairy water from the fountain of lions can bring you back to life -- why, there is a chance for alphonso and enrico!"
then prigio bustled about, got ready some cold luncheon from the store-room, took all his fairy things that he was likely to need, sat down with them on the flying carpet, and wished himself at the mountain of the firedrake.
""i have the king now," he said; "for if i ca n't find the ashes of my brothers, by jove!
i'll!
--" do you know what he meant to do, if he could not find his brothers?
let every child-guess.
off he flew; and there he was in a second, just beside poor alphonso's garden-engine.
then prigio, seeing a little heap of grey ashes beside the engine, watered them with the fairy water; and up jumped alphonso, as jolly as ever, his sword in his hand.
""hullo, prigio!"
cried he; "are you come after the monster too?
i've been asleep, and i had a kind of dream that he beat me.
but the pair of us will tackle him.
how is molinda?"
""prettier than ever," said prigio; "but anxious about you.
however, the firedrake's dead and done for; so never mind him.
but i left enrico somewhere about.
just you sit down and wait a minute, till i fetch him."
the prince said this, because he did not wish alphonso to know that he and enrico had not had quite the best of it in the affair with the monster.
""all right, old fellow," says alphonso; "but have you any luncheon with you?
never was so hungry in my life!"
prince prigio had thought of this, and he brought out some cold sausage -lrb- to which alphonso was partial -rrb- and some bread, with which the younger prince expressed himself satisfied.
then prigio went up the hill some way, first warning alphonso not to sit on his carpet for fear of accidents like that which happened to benson.
in a hollow of the hill, sure enough there was the sword of enrico, the diamonds of the hilt gleaming in the sun.
and there was a little heap of grey ashes.
the prince poured a few drops of the water from the fountain of lions on them, and up, of course, jumped enrico, just as alphonso had done.
""sleepy old chap you are, enrico," said the prince; "but come on, alphonso will have finished the grub unless we look smart."
so back they came, in time to get their share of what was going; and they drank the remora's very good health, when prigio told them about the fight.
but neither of them ever knew that they had been dead and done for; because prigio invented a story that the mountain was enchanted, and that, as long as the firedrake lived, everyone who came there fell asleep.
he did tell them about the flying carpet, however, which of course did not much surprise them, because they had read all about it in the arabian nights and other historical works.
""and now i'll show you fun!"
said prigio; and he asked them both to take their seats on the carpet, and wished to be in the valley of the remora.
there they were in a moment, among the old knights whom, if you remember, the remora had frozen into stone.
there was quite a troop of them, in all sorts of armour -- greek and roman, and knight templars like front" de bouf and brian du bois gilbert -- all the brave warriors that had tried to fight the remora since the world began.
then prigio gave each of his brothers some of the water in their caps, and told them to go round pouring a drop or two on each frozen knight.
and as they did it, lo and behold!
each knight came alive, with his horse, and lifted his sword and shoute: "long live prince prigio!"
in greek, latin, egyptian, french, german, and spanish, -- all of which the prince perfectly understood, and spoke like a native.
so he marshalled them in order, and sent them off to ride to falkenstein and cry: "prince prigio is coming!"
-lsb- illustration: page 97 -rsb- off they went, the horses" hoofs clattering, banners flying, sunshine glittering on the spear-points.
off they rode to falkenstein; and when the king saw them come galloping in, i can tell you he had no more notion of hanging prigio.
-lsb- illustration: chapter eighteen -rsb- chapter xviii.
-- the very last the princes returned to gluckstein on the carpet, and went to the best inn, where they dined together and slept.
next morning they, and the ambassador, who had been told all the story, and lady rosalind, floated comfortably on the carpet, back to falkenstein, where the king wept like anything on the shoulders of alphonso and enrico.
they could not make out why he cried so, nor why lady molinda and lady kathleena cried; but soon they were all laughing and happy again.
but then -- would you believe he could be so mean?
-- he refused to keep his royal promise, and restore prigio to his crown-princeship!
kings are like that.
but prigio, very quietly asking for the head of the firedrake, said he'd pour the magic water on that, and bring the firedrake back to life again, unless his majesty behaved rightly.
this threat properly frightened king grognio, and he apologised.
then the king shook hands with prigio in public, and thanked him, and said he was proud of him.
as to lady rosalind, the old gentleman quite fell in love with her, and he sent at once to the chaplain royal to get into his surplice, and marry all the young people off at once, without waiting for wedding-cakes, and milliners, and all the rest of it.
-lsb- illustration: page 100 -rsb- now, just as they were forming a procession to march into church, who should appear but the queen!
her majesty had been travelling by post all the time, and, luckily, had heard of none of the doings since prigio, benson, and the king left gluckstein.
i say luckily because if she had heard of them, she would not have believed a word of them.
but when she saw alphonso and enrico, she was much pleased, and said: "naughty boys!
where have you been hiding?
the king had some absurd story about your having been killed by a fabulous monster.
bah!
do n't tell me.
i always said you would come back after a little trip -- did n't i, prigio?"
""certainly, madam," said prigio; "and i said so, too.
did n't i say so?"
and all the courtiers cried: "yes, you did;" but some added, to themselves, "he always says, "did n't i say so?""
then the queen was introduced to lady rosalind, and she said it was "rather a short engagement, but she supposed young people understood their own affairs best."
and they do!
so the three pairs were married, with the utmost rejoicings; and her majesty never, her whole life long, could be got to believe that anything unusual had occurred.
the honeymoon of prince prigio and the crown princess rosalind was passed at the castle, where the prince had been deserted by the court.
but now it was delightfully fitted up; and master frank marched about the house with his tail in the air, as if the place belonged to him.
now, on the second day of their honeymoon, the prince and princess were sitting in the garden together, and the prince said, "are you quite happy, my dear?"
and rosalind said, "yes; quite."
but the prince did not like the tone of her voice, and he said: "no, there's something; do tell me what it is."
""well," said rosalind, putting her head on his shoulder, and speaking very low, "i want everybody to love you as much as i do.
no, not quite so very much, -- but i want them to like you.
now they ca n't, because they are afraid of you; for you are so awfully clever.
now, could n't you take the wishing cap, and wish to be no cleverer than other people?
then everybody would like you!"
the prince thought a minute, then he said: "your will is law, my dear; anything to please you.
just wait a minute!"
then he ran upstairs, for the last time, to the fairy garret, and he put on the wishing cap.
""no," thought he to himself, "i wo n't wish that.
every man has one secret from his wife, and this shall be mine."
then he said aloud: "i wish to seem no cleverer than other people."
then he ran downstairs again, and the princess noticed a great difference in him -lrb- though, of course, there was really none at all -rrb-, and so did everyone.
for the prince remained as clever as ever he had been; but, as nobody observed it, he became the most popular prince, and finally the best-beloved king who had ever sat on the throne of pantouflia.
but occasionally rosalind would say, "i do believe, my dear, that you are really as clever as ever!"
and he was!
_book_title_: andrew_lang___prince_ricardo_of_pantouflia.txt.out
chapter i.
the troubles of king prigio.
-lcb- prince ricardo and lady tied up: p13.jpg -rcb- "i'm sure i do n't know what to do with that boy!"
said king prigio of pantouflia.
""if you do n't know, my dear," said queen rosalind, his illustrious consort, "i ca n't see what is to be done.
you are so clever."
the king and queen were sitting in the royal library, of which the shelves were full of the most delightful fairy books in all languages, all equally familiar to king prigio.
the queen could not read most of them herself, but the king used to read them aloud to her.
a good many years had passed -- seventeen, in fact -- since queen rosalind was married, but you would not think it to look at her.
her grey eyes were as kind and soft and beautiful, her dark hair as dark, and her pretty colour as like a white rose blushing, as on the day when she was a bride.
and she was as fond of the king as when he was only prince prigio, and he was as fond of her as on the night when he first met her at the ball.
""no, i do n't know what to do with dick," said the king.
he meant his son, prince ricardo, but he called him dick in private.
""i believe it's the fault of his education," his majesty went on.
""we have not brought him up rightly.
these fairy books are at the bottom of his provoking behaviour," and he glanced round the shelves.
""now, when i was a boy, my dear mother tried to prevent me from reading fairy books, because she did not believe in fairies."
""but she was wrong, you know," said the queen.
""why, if it had not been for all these fairy presents, the cap of darkness and all the rest of them, you never could have killed the fire-beast and the ice-beast, and -- you never could have married me," the queen added, in a happy whisper, blushing beautifully, for that was a foolish habit of hers.
""it is quite true," said the king, "and therefore i thought it best to bring dick up on fairy books, that he might know what is right, and have no nonsense about him.
but perhaps the thing has been overdone; at all events, it is not a success.
i wonder if fathers and sons will ever understand each other, and get on well together?
there was my poor father, king grognio, he wanted me to take to adventures, like other princes, fighting firedrakes, and so forth; and i did not care for it, till you set me on," and he looked very kindly at her majesty.
""and now, here's dick," the monarch continued, "i ca n't hold him back.
he is always after a giant, or a dragon, or a magician, as the case may be; he will certainly be ploughed for his examination at college.
never opens a book.
what does he care, off after every adventure he can hear about?
an idle, restless youth!
ah, my poor country, when i am gone, what may not be your misfortunes under ricardo!"
here his majesty sighed, and seemed plunged in thought.
""but you are not going yet, my dear," said the queen.
""why you are not forty!
and young people will be young people.
you were quite proud when poor dick came home with his first brace of gigantic fierce birds, killed off his own sword, and with such a pretty princess he had rescued -- dear jaqueline?
i'm sure she is like a daughter to me.
i can not do without her."
""i wish she were a daughter-in-law; i wish dick would take a fancy to marry her," said the king.
""a nicer girl i never saw."
""and so accomplished," added queen rosalind.
""that girl can turn herself into anything -- a mouse, a fly, a lion, a wheelbarrow, a church!
i never knew such talent for magic.
of course she had the best of teachers, the fairy paribanou herself; but very few girls, in our time, devote so many hours to practice as dear jaqueline.
even now, when she is out of the schoolroom, she still practises her scales.
i saw her turning little dollie into a fish and back again in the bath-room last night.
the child was delighted."
in these times, you must know, princesses learned magic, just as they learn the piano nowadays; but they had their music lessons too, dancing, calisthenics, and the use of the globes.
""yes, she's a dear, good girl," said the king; "yet she looks melancholy.
i believe, myself, that if ricardo asked her to marry him, she would not say "no."
but that's just one of the things i object to most in dick.
round the world he goes, rescuing ladies from every kind of horror -- from dragons, giants, cannibals, magicians; and then, when a girl naturally expects to be married to him, as is usual, off he rides!
he has no more heart than a flounder.
why, at his age i --" "at his age, my dear, you were so hard-hearted that you were quite a proverb.
why, i have been told that you used to ask girls dreadful puzzling questions, like "who was caesar borgia?"
"what do you know of edwin and morcar?"
and so on."
""i had not seen you then," said the king.
""and ricardo has not seen her, whoever she may be.
besides, he ca n't possibly marry all of them.
and i think a girl should consider herself lucky if she is saved from a dragon or a giant, without expecting to be married next day."
""perhaps; but it is usual," said the king, "and their families expect it, and keep sending ambassadors to know what dick's intentions are.
i would not mind it all so very much if he killed the monsters off his own sword, as he did that first brace, in fair fight.
but ever since he found his way into that closet where the fairy presents lie, everything has been made too easy for him.
it is a royal road to glory, or giant-slaying made easy.
in his cap of darkness a poor brute of a dragon ca n't see him.
in his shoes of swiftness the giants ca n't catch him.
his sword of sharpness would cut any oak asunder at a blow!"
""but you were very glad of them when you made the ice-beast and the fire - beast fight and kill each other," said the queen.
""yes, my dear; but it wanted some wit, if i may say so, to do that, and dick just goes at it hammer and tongs: anybody could do it.
it's intellect i miss in ricardo.
how am i to know whether he could make a good fight for it without all these fairy things?
i wonder what the young rogue is about to-day?
he'll be late for dinner, as usual, i daresay.
i ca n't stand want of punctuality at meals," remarked his majesty, which is a sign that he was growing old after all; for where is the fun of being expected always to come home in time for dinner when, perhaps, you are fishing, and the trout are rising splendidly?
""young people will be young people," said the queen.
""if you are anxious about him, why do n't you look for him in the magic crystal?"
now the magic crystal was a fairy present, a great ball of glass in which, if you looked, you saw the person you wanted to see, and what he was doing, however far away he might be, if he was on the earth at all.
-lcb- 21 -rcb- "i'll just take a look at it," said the king; "it only wants three-quarters of an hour to dinner-time."
his majesty rose, and walked to the crystal globe, which was in a stand, like other globes.
he stared into it, he turned it round and round, and queen rosalind saw him grow quite pale as he gazed.
""i do n't see him anywhere," said the king, "and i have looked everywhere.
i do hope nothing has happened to the boy.
he is so careless.
if he dropped his cap of darkness in a fight with a giant, why who knows what might occur?"
""oh, "gio, how you frighten me!"
said the queen.
king prigio was still turning the crystal globe.
""stop!"
he cried; "i see a beautiful princess, fastened by iron chains to a rock beside the sea, in a lonely place.
they must have fixed her up as a sacrifice to a sea-monster, like what's - her-name."
this proves how anxious he was, or, being so clever and learned, he would have remembered that her name was andromeda.
""i bet dick is not far off, where there is an adventure on hand.
but where on earth can he be?
... my word!"
suddenly exclaimed the monarch, in obvious excitement.
""what is it, dear?"
cried the queen, with all the anxiety of a mother.
""why, the sea where the girl is, has turned all red as blood!"
exclaimed the king.
""now it is all being churned up by the tail of a tremendous monster.
he is a whopper!
he's coming on shore; the girl is fainting.
he's out on shore!
he is extremely poorly, blood rushing from his open jaws.
he's dying!
and, hooray!
here's dick coming out of his enormous mouth, all in armour set with sharp spikes, and a sword in his hand.
he's covered with blood, but he's well and hearty.
he must have been swallowed by the brute, and cut him up inside.
now he's cutting the beast's head off.
now he's gone to the princess; a very neat bow he has made her.
dick's manners are positively improving!
now he's cutting her iron chains off with the sword of sharpness.
and now he's made her another bow, and he's actually taking leave of her.
poor thing!
how disappointed she is looking.
and she's so pretty, too.
i say, rosalind, shall i shout to him through the magic horn, and tell him to bring her home here, on the magic carpet?"
""i think not, dear; the palace is quite full," said the queen.
but the real reason was that she wanted ricardo to marry her favourite princess jaqueline, and she did not wish the new princess to come in the way.
""as you like," said the king, who knew what was in her mind very well.
""besides, i see her own people coming for her.
i'm sorry for her, but it ca n't be helped, and dick is half-way home by now on the shoes of swiftness.
i daresay he will not keep dinner waiting after all.
but what a fright the boy has given me!"
at this moment a whirring in the air and a joyous shout were heard.
it was prince ricardo flying home on his seven-league boots.
""hi, ross!"
he shouted, "just weigh this beast's head.
i've had a splendid day with a sea-monster.
get the head stuffed, will you?
we'll have it set up in the billiard-room."
""yes, master dick -- i mean your royal highness," said ross, a highland keeper, who had not previously been employed by a reigning family.
""it's a fine head, whatever," he added, meditatively.
-lcb- ross weighing the beast's head: p28.jpg -rcb- prince ricardo now came beneath the library window, and gave his parents a brief account of his adventure.
""i picked the monster up early in the morning," he said, "through the magic telescope, father."
""what country was he in?"
said the king.
""the country people whom i met called it ethiopia.
they were niggers."
""and in what part of the globe is ethiopia, ricardo?"
""oh!
i do n't know.
asia, perhaps," answered the prince.
the king groaned.
""that boy will never understand our foreign relations.
ethiopia in asia!"
he said to himself, but he did not choose to make any remark at the moment.
the prince ran upstairs to dress.
on the stairs he met the princess jaqueline.
""oh, dick!
are you hurt?"
she said, turning very pale.
""no, not i; but the monster is.
i had a capital day, jack; rescued a princess, too."
""was she -- was she very pretty, dick?"
""oh!
i do n't know.
pretty enough, i daresay.
much like other girls.
why, you look quite white!
what's the matter?
now you look all right again;" for, indeed, the princess jaqueline was blushing.
""i must dress.
i'm ever so late," he said, hurrying upstairs; and the princess, with a little sigh, went down to the royal drawing-room.
chapter ii.
princess jaqueline drinks the moon.
-lcb- the king and the prince: p30.jpg -rcb- when dinner was over and the ladies had left the room, the king tried to speak seriously to prince ricardo.
this was a thing which he disliked doing very much.
""there's very little use in preaching," his majesty used to say, "to a man, or rather a boy, of another generation.
my taste was for books; i only took to adventures because i was obliged to do it.
dick's taste is for adventures; i only wish some accident would make him take to books.
but everyone must get his experience for himself; and when he has got it, he is lucky if it is not too late.
i wish i could see him in love with some nice girl, who would keep him at home."
the king did not expect much from talking seriously to dick.
however, he began by asking questions about the day's sport, which ricardo answered with modesty.
then his majesty observed that, from all he had ever read or heard, he believed ethiopia, where the fight was, to be in africa, not in asia.
""i really wish, ricardo, that you would attend to your geography a little more.
it is most necessary to a soldier that he should know where his enemy is, and if he has to fight the dutch, for instance, not to start with his army for central asia."
""i could always spot them through the magic glass, father," said dick; "it saves such a lot of trouble.
i hate geography."
""but the glass might be lost or broken, or the fairies might take it away, and then where are you?"
""oh, you would know where to go, or mr. belsham."
now mr. belsham was his tutor, from oxford.
""but i shall not always be here, and when i die --" "do n't talk of dying, sire," said dick.
""why, you are not so very old; you may live for years yet.
besides, i ca n't stand the notion.
you must live for ever!"
""that sentiment is unusual in a crown prince," thought the king; but he was pleased for all that.
""well, to oblige you, i'll try to struggle against old age," he said; "but there are always accidents.
now, dick, like a good fellow, and to please me, work hard all to-morrow till the afternoon.
i'll come in and help you.
and there's always a splendid evening rise of trout in the lake just now, so you can have your play after your work.
you'll enjoy it more, and i daresay you are tired after a long day with the big game.
it used to tire me, i remember."
""i am rather tired," said dick; and indeed he looked a little pale, for a day in the inside of a gigantic sea-monster is fatiguing, from the heat and want of fresh air which are usually found in such places.
""i think i'll turn in; goodnight, my dear old governor," he said, in an affectionate manner, though he was not usually given to many words.
then he went and kissed his mother and the princess jaqueline, whom he engaged to row him on the lake next evening, while he fished.
""and do n't you go muffing them with the landing-net, jack, as you generally do," said his royal highness, as he lit his bedroom candle.
""i wish he would not call me jack," said the princess to the queen.
""it's better than lina, my dear," said her majesty, who in late life had become fond of her little joke; "that always sounds as if someone else was fatter, -- and i hope there is not someone else."
the princess was silent, and fixed her eyes on her book.
presently the king came in, and played a game with lina at picquet.
when they were all going to bed, he said: "just come into the study, lina.
i want you to write a few letters for me."
the princess followed him and took her seat at the writing table.
the letters were very short.
one was to herr schnipp, tailor to the king and royal family; another was to the royal swordmaker, another to the bootmaker, another to the optician, another to the tradesman who supplied the august family with carpets and rugs, another to his majesty's hatter.
they were all summoned to be at the palace early next morning.
then his majesty yawned, apologised, and went to bed.
the princess also went to her room, or bower as it was then called, but not to sleep.
she was unhappy that dick did not satisfy his father, and that he was so careless, and also about other things.
""and why does the king want all these tailors and hatters so suddenly, telescope-makers and swordmakers and shoemakers, too?"
she asked herself, as she stood at the window watching the moon.
""i could find out.
i could turn myself into a dog or a cat, and go into the room where he is giving his orders.
but that is awkward, for when the servants see rip" -lrb- that was the dog -rrb- "in two places at once, they begin to think the palace is haunted, and it makes people talk.
besides, i know it is wrong to listen to what one is not meant to hear.
it is often difficult to be a magician and a good girl.
the temptations are so strong, stronger than most people allow for."
so she remained, with the moon shining on her pretty yellow hair and her white dress, wondering what the king intended to do, and whether it was something that dick would not like.
""how stupid of me," she said at length, "after all the lessons i have had.
why, i can drink the moon!"
now, this is a way of knowing what anyone else is thinking of and intends to do, for the moon sees and knows everything.
whether it is quite fair is another matter; but, at all events, it is not listening.
and anyone may see that, if you are a magician, like the princess jaqueline, a great many difficult questions as to what is right and wrong at once occur which do not trouble other people.
king prigio's secret, why he sent for the tailor and the other people, was his own secret.
the princess decided that she would not find it out by turning herself into rip or the cat -lrb- whose name was semiramis -rrb-, and, so far, she was quite right.
but she was very young, and it never occurred to her that it was just as wrong to find out what the king meant by drinking the moon as by listening in disguise.
as she grew older she learned to know better; but this is just the danger of teaching young girls magic, and for that very reason it has been given up in most countries.
however, the princess did not think about right and wrong, unluckily.
she went to the bookcase and took down her cornelius agrippa, in one great tall black volume, with silver clasps which nobody else could open; for, as the princess said, there are books which it would never do to leave lying about where the servants or anybody could read them.
nobody could undo the clasps, however strong or clever he might be; but the princess just breathed on them and made a sign, and the book flew open at the right place -- book iv., chapter vi., about the middle of page 576.
the magic spell was in latin, of course; but the princess knew latin very well, and soon she had the magic song by heart.
then she closed the book and put it back on the shelf.
then she threw open the window and drew back the curtains, and put out all the lights except two scented candles that burned with a white fire under a round mirror with a silver frame, opposite the window.
and into that mirror the moon shone white and full, filling all the space of it, so that the room was steeped in a strange silver light.
now the whole room seemed to sway gently, waving and trembling; and as it trembled it sounded and rang with a low silver music, as if it were filled with the waves of the sea.
then the princess took a great silver basin, covered with strange black signs and figures raised in the silver.
she poured water into the basin, and as she poured it she sang the magic spell from the latin book.
it was something like this, in english: "oh lady moon, on the waters riding, on shining waters, in silver sheen, show me the secret the heart is hiding, show me the truth of the thought, oh queen!
""oh waters white, where the moon is riding, that knows what shall be and what has been, tell me the secret the heart is hiding, wash me the truth of it, clear and clean!"
as she sang the water in the silver basin foamed and bubbled, and then fell still again; and the princess knelt in the middle of the room, and the moon and the white light from the mirror of the moon fell in the water.
then the princess raised the basin, and stooped her mouth to it and drank the water, spilling a few drops, and so she drank the moon and the knowledge of the moon.
then the moon was darkened without a cloud, and there was darkness in the sky for a time, and all the dogs in the world began to howl.
when the moon shone again, the princess rose and put out the two white lights, and drew the curtains; and presently she went to bed.
-lcb- the princess drinks the moon: p41.jpg -rcb- "now i know all about it," she said.
""it is clever; everything the king does is clever, and he is so kind that i daresay he does not mean any harm.
but it seems a cruel trick to play on poor ricardo.
however, jaqueline is on the watch, and i'll show them a girl can do more than people think," -- as, indeed, she could.
after meditating in this way, the princess fell sleep, and did not waken till her maid came to call her.
""oh!
your royal highness, what's this on the floor?"
said the faithful rosina, as she was arranging the princess's things for her to get up.
""why, what is it?"
asked the princess.
""ever so many -- four, five, six, seven -- little shining drops of silver lying on the carpet, as if they had melted and fallen there!"
""they have not hurt the carpet?"
said the princess.
""oh dear!
the queen wo n't be pleased at all.
it was a little chemical experiment i was trying last night."
but she knew very well that she must have dropped seven drops of the enchanted water.
""no, your royal highness, the carpet is not harmed," said rosina; "only your royal highness should do these things in the laboratory.
her majesty has often spoke about it."
""you are quite right," said the princess; "but as there is no harm done, we'll say nothing about it this time.
and, rosina, you may keep the silver drops for yourself."
""your royal highness is always very kind," said rosina, which was true; but how much better and wiser it is not to begin to deceive!
we never know how far we may be carried, and so jaqueline found out.
for when she went down to breakfast, there was the king in a great state of excitement, for him.
""it's most extraordinary," said his majesty.
""what is?"
asked the queen.
""why, did n't you notice it?
no, you had gone to bed before it happened.
but i was taking a walk in the moonlight, on the balcony, and i observed it carefully."
""observed what, my dear?"
asked the queen, who was pouring out the tea.
""did n't you see it, dick?
late as usual, you young dog!"
the king remarked as ricardo entered the room.
""see what, sir?"
said dick.
""oh, you were asleep hours before, now i think of it!
but it was the most extraordinary thing, an unpredicted eclipse of the moon!
you must have noticed it, jaqueline; you sat up later.
how the dogs howled!"
""no; i mean yes," murmured poor jaqueline, who of course had caused the whole affair by her magic arts, but who had forgotten, in the excitement of the moment, that an eclipse of the moon, especially if entirely unexpected, is likely to attract very general attention.
jaqueline could not bear to tell a fib, especially to a king who had been so kind to her; besides, fibbing would not alter the facts.
""yes, i did see it," she admitted, blushing.
""had it not been predicted?"
""not a word about it whispered anywhere," said his majesty.
""i looked up the almanack at once.
it is the most extraordinary thing i ever saw, and i've seen a good many."
""the astronomers must be duffers," said prince ricardo.
""i never thought there was much in physical science of any sort; most dreary stuff.
why, they say the earth goes round the sun, whereas any fool can see it is just the other way on."
king prigio was struck aghast by these sentiments in the mouth of his son and heir, the hope of pantouflia.
but what was the king to say in reply?
the astronomers of pantouflia, who conceived that they knew a great deal, had certainly been taken by surprise this time.
indeed, they have not yet satisfactorily explained this eclipse of the moon, though they have written volumes about it.
""why, it may be the sun next!"
exclaimed his majesty.
""anything may happen.
the very laws of gravitation themselves may go askew!"
at this moment the butler, william, who had been in the queen's family when she was a girl, entered, and announced: "some of the royal tradesmen, by appointment, to see your majesty."
so the king, who had scarcely eaten any breakfast, much to the annoyance of the queen, who was not agitated by eclipses, went out and joined the tailors and the rest of them.
chapter iii.
the adventure of the shopkeepers.
-lcb- man with sword: p48.jpg -rcb- dick went on with his breakfast.
he ate cold pastry, and poached eggs, and ham, and rolls, and raspberry jam, and hot cakes; and he drank two cups of coffee.
meanwhile the king had joined the tradesmen who attended by his orders.
they were all met in the royal study, where the king made them a most splendid bow, and requested them to be seated.
but they declined to sit in his sacred presence, and the king observed that, in that case he must stand up.
""i have invited you here, gentlemen," he said, "on a matter of merely private importance, but i must request that you will be entirely silent as to the nature of your duties.
it is difficult, i know, not to talk about one's work, but in this instance i am sure you will oblige me."
""your majesty has only to command," said herr schnipp.
""there have been monarchs, in neighbouring kingdoms, who would have cut off all our heads after we had done a bit of secret business; but the merest word of your majesty is law to your loving subjects."
the other merchants murmured assent, for king prigio was really liked by his people.
he was always good-tempered and polite.
he never went to war with anybody.
he spent most of the royal income on public objects, and of course there were scarcely any taxes to speak of.
moreover, he had abolished what is called compulsory education, or making everybody go to school whether he likes it or not; a most mischievous and tyrannical measure!
""a fellow who ca n't teach himself to read," said the king, "is not worth teaching."
for all these reasons, and because they were so fond of the queen, his subjects were ready to do anything in reason for king prigio.
only one tradesman, bowing very deep and blushing very much, said: "your majesty, will you hear me for one moment?"
""for an hour, with pleasure, herr schmidt," said the monarch.
""it is an untradesman-like and an unusual thing to decline an order; and if your majesty asked for my heart's blood, i am ready to shed it, not to speak of anything in the line of my business -- namely, boot and shoe making.
but keep a secret from my wife, i fairly own to your majesty that i can not."
herr schmidt went down on his knees and wept.
-lcb- herr schmidt went down on his knees: p52.jpg -rcb- "rise, herr schmidt," said the king, taking him by the hand.
""a more honourable and chivalrous confession of an amiable weakness, if it is to be called a weakness, i never heard.
sir, you have been true to your honour and your prince, in face of what few men can bear, the chance of ridicule.
there is no one here, i hope, but respects and will keep the secret of herr schmidt's confession?"
the assembled shopkeepers could scarcely refrain from tears.
""long live king prigio the good!"
they exclaimed, and vowed that everything should be kept dark.
""indeed, sire," said the swordmaker, "all the rest of us are bachelors."
""that is none the worse for my purpose gentlemen," said his majesty; "but i trust that you will not long deprive me of sons and subjects worthy to succeed to such fathers.
and now, if herr schmidt will kindly find his way to the buttery, where refreshments are ready, i shall have the pleasure of conducting you to the scene of your labours."
thus speaking, the king, with another magnificent bow, led the way upstairs to a little turret-room, in a deserted part of the palace.
bidding the tradesmen enter, he showed them a large collection of miscellaneous things: an old cap or two, a pair of boots of a sort long out of fashion, an old broadsword, a shabby old persian rug, an ivory spy - glass, and other articles.
these were, in fact, the fairy presents, which had been given to the king at his christening, and by aid of which -lrb- and his natural acuteness -rrb- he had, in his youth, succeeded in many remarkable adventures.
the caps were the wishing cap and the cap of darkness.
the rug was the famous carpet which carried its owner through the air wherever he wished to go.
the sword was the sword of sharpness.
the ivory glass showed you anyone you wanted to see, however far off.
the boots were the seven-league boots, which hop-o" - my-thumb stole from the ogre about 1697.
there were other valuable objects, but these were the most useful and celebrated.
of course the king did not tell the tradesmen what they were.
""now, gentlemen," said his majesty, "you see these old things.
for reasons which i must ask you to excuse me for keeping to myself, i wish you to provide me with objects exactly and precisely similar to these, with all the look of age."
the tradesmen examined the objects, each choosing that in his own line of business.
""as to the sword, sire," said the cutler, "it is an andrea ferrara, a fine old blade.
by a lucky accident, i happen to have one at home in a small collection of ancient weapons, exactly like it.
this evening it shall be at your majesty's disposal."
""perhaps, herr schnitzler, you will kindly write an order for it, as i wish no one of you to leave the palace, if you can conveniently stay, till your business is finished."
""with pleasure, your majesty," says the cutler.
""as to the old rug," said the upholsterer, "i have a persian one quite identical with it at home, at your majesty's service."
""then you can do like herr schnitzler," who was the cutler.
""and i," said the hatter, "have two old caps just like these, part of a bankrupt theatrical stock."
""we are most fortunate," said the king.
""the boots, now i come to think of it, are unimportant, at least for the present.
perhaps we can borrow a pair from the theatre."
""as for the glass," said the optician, "if your majesty will allow me to take it home with me --" "i am afraid i can not part with it," said the king; "but that, too, is unimportant, or not very pressing."
then he called for a servant, to order luncheon for the shopkeepers, and paper for them to write their orders on.
but no one was within hearing, and in that very old part of the palace there were no bells.
""just pardon me for an instant, while i run downstairs," said his majesty; "and, it seems a strange thing to ask, but may i advise you not to sit down on that carpet?
i have a reason for it."
in fact, he was afraid that someone might sit down on it, and wish he was somewhere else, and be carried away, as was the nature of the carpet.
king prigio was not absent a minute, for he met william on the stairs; but when he came back, there was not one single person in the turret-room!
""where on earth are they?"
cried the king, rushing through all the rooms in that part of the castle.
he shouted for them, and looked everywhere; but there was not a trace of tailor, hatter, optician, swordmaker, upholsterer.
the king hastened to a window over the gate, and saw the sentinels on duty.
""hi!"
he called.
and the sentinels turned round, looked up, and saluted.
""have you seen anyone go out?"
he cried.
""no one, sire," answered the soldiers.
the king, who began to guess what had happened, hurried back to the turret-room.
there were all the tradesmen with parcels under their arms.
""what means this, gentlemen?"
said his majesty, severely.
""for what reason did you leave the room without my permission?"
they all knelt down, humbly imploring his compassion.
""get up, you donkeys!"
said the king, forgetting his politeness.
""get up, and tell me where you have been hiding yourselves."
the hatter came forward, and said: "sire, you will not believe me; indeed, i can scarcely believe it myself!"
""nor none of us ca n't," said the swordmaker.
""we have been home, and brought the articles.
all orders executed with punctuality and dispatch," he added, quoting his own advertisement without thinking of it.
on this the swordmaker took out and exhibited the andrea ferrara blade, which was exactly like the sword of sharpness.
the upholsterer undid his parcel, and there was a persian rug, which no one could tell from the magical carpet.
the hatter was fumbling with the string of his parcel, when he suddenly remembered, what the king in his astonishment had not noticed, that he had a cap on himself.
he pulled it off in a hurry, and the king at once saw that it was his wishing cap, and understood all about the affair.
the hatter, in his absence, had tried on the wishing cap, and had wished that he himself and his friends were all at home and back again with their wares at the palace.
and what he wished happened, of course, as was natural.
in a moment the king saw how much talk this business would produce in the country, and he decided on the best way to stop it.
seizing the wishing cap, he put it on, wished all the tradesmen, including the shoemaker, back in the town at their shops, and also wished that none of them should remember anything about the whole affair.
in a moment he was alone in the turret-room.
as for the shopkeepers, they had a kind of idea that they had dreamed something odd; but, as it went no further, of course they did not talk about it, and nobody was any the wiser.
""owl that i am!"
said king prigio to himself.
""i might have better wished for a complete set of sham fairy things which would not work.
it would have saved a great deal of trouble; but i am so much out of the habit of using the cap, that i never thought of it.
however, what i have got will do very well."
then, putting on the cap of darkness, that nobody might see him, he carried all the real fairy articles away, except the seven-league boots, to his own room, where he locked them up, leaving in their place the sham wishing cap, the sham cap of darkness, the sham sword of sharpness, and the carpet which was not a magic carpet at all.
his idea was, of course, that ricardo would start on an expedition confiding in his fairy things, and he would find that they did not act.
then he would be left to his own cleverness and courage to get him out of the scrape.
that would teach him, thought the king, to depend on himself, and to set a proper value on cleverness and learning, and minding his book.
of course he might have locked the things up, and forbidden ricardo to touch them, but that might have seemed harsh.
and, as you may easily imagine, with all the powers at his command, the king fancied he could easily rescue ricardo from any very serious danger at the hands of giants or magicians or monsters.
he only wanted to give him a fright or two, and make him respect the judgment of older and wiser people than himself.
chapter iv.
two lectures.
-lcb- the prince with the telescope: p64.jpg -rcb- for several days prince ricardo minded his books, and, according to his tutors, made considerable progress in polite learning.
perhaps he ought not to be praised too highly for this, because, in fact, he saw no means of distinguishing himself by adventures just at that time.
every morning he would climb the turret and sweep the horizon, and even much beyond the horizon, with the ivory spy-glass.
but look as he would, he saw no monsters preying on human-kind anywhere, nor princesses in distress.
to be sure he saw plenty of poor people in distress, and, being a good-hearted, though careless, lad, dick would occasionally fly off with the purse of fortunatus in his pocket, and give them as much money as they needed -- it cost him nothing.
but this was not the kind of adventure which he enjoyed.
dragons for his money!
one day the princess jaqueline took a curious plan of showing ricardo how little interest, after all, there is in performing the most wonderful exploits without any real difficulty or danger.
they were drifting before a light breeze on a hill lake; ricardo was fishing, and jaqueline was sculling a stroke now and then, just to keep the boat right with the wind.
ricardo had very bad sport, when suddenly the trout began to rise all over the lake.
dick got excited, and stumbled about the boat from stern to bow, tripping over jaqueline's feet, and nearly upsetting the vessel in his hurry to throw his flies over every trout he saw feeding.
-lcb- drifting in a light breeze: p66.jpg -rcb- but, as too often occurs, they were taking one particular fly which was on the water, and would look at nothing else.
""oh, bother them!"
cried ricardo.
""i ca n't find a fly in my book in the least like that little black one they are feeding on!"
he tried half-a-dozen different fly-hooks, but all to no purpose; he lost his temper, got his tackle entangled in jaqueline's hair and then in the landing-net; and, though such a big boy, he was nearly crying with vexation.
the princess jaqueline, with great pains and patience, disentangled the casting line, first from her hair, which ricardo was anxious to cut -lrb- the great stupid oaf, -- her pretty hair! -rrb-
then from the landing-net; but dick had grown sulky.
""it's no use," he said; "i have not a fly that will suit.
let's go home," and he threw a tin can at a rising trout.
""now, dick," said jaqueline, "you know i can help you.
i did not learn magic for nothing.
just you look the other way for a minute or two, and you will find the right fly at the end of your line."
dick turned his head away -lrb- it is not proper to look on at magical arts -rrb-, and then in a moment, saw the right hook on his cast; but jaqueline was not in the boat.
she had turned herself into an artificial fly -lrb- a small black gnat -rrb-, and dick might set to his sport again.
""what a trump that girl is," he said aloud.
""clever, too!"
and he began casting.
he got a trout every cast, great big ones, over a pound, and soon he had a basketful.
but he began to feel rather bored.
""there's not much fun taking them," he said, "when they are so silly."
at that very moment he noticed that the fly was off his cast, and jaqueline was sitting at the oars.
""you see, ricardo," she said, "i was right after all.
there is not much pleasure in sport that is easy and certain.
now, apply this moral to dragon-killing with magic instruments.
it may be useful when one is obliged to defend oneself, but surely a prince ought not to give his whole time to nothing else!"
dick had no answer ready, so he only grumbled: "you're always preaching at me, jack; everybody always is.
i seem to have been born just to be preached at."
some people are; and it does grow rather tedious in the long run.
but perhaps what jaqueline said may have made some impression on ricardo, for he stuck to his books for weeks, and was got into decimal fractions and euclid.
all this, of course, pleased the king very much, and he began to entertain hopes of ricardo's becoming a wise and learned prince, and a credit to his illustrious family.
things were not always to go smoothly, far from it; and it was poor jaqueline who fell into trouble next.
she had been very ready to lecture dick, as we saw, and took a good deal of credit to herself for his steadiness.
but one day king prigio happened to meet jaqueline's maid, rosina, on the stairs; and as rosina was a pretty girl, and the king was always kind to his dependents, he stopped to have a chat with her.
""why, rosina, what a pretty little silver cross you are wearing," he said, and he lifted a curious ornament which hung from a chain on rosina's neck.
it consisted of seven drops of silver, set like this: -lcb- the drops: p72.jpg -rcb- "may i look at it?"
his majesty asked, and rosina, all in a flutter, took it off and gave if to him.
""h'm!"
said the king.
""very curious and pretty!
may i ask you where you got this, rosina?"
-lcb- "h'm!"
said the king.
""very curious and pretty!"
: p73.jpg -rcb- now rosina generally had her answer ready, and i am very sorry to say that she did not always speak the truth when she could think of anything better.
on this occasion she was anxious to think of something better, for fear of getting jaqueline into a scrape about the chemical experiment in her bedroom.
but rosina was fluttered, as we said, by the royal kindness, and she could think of nothing but to curtsy, and say: "please, your majesty, the princess gave me the drops."
""very interesting," said the king.
""there is a little white moon shining in each of them!
i wonder if they shine in the dark?"
he opened the door of a cupboard which had no windows, where the housemaid kept her mops and brooms, and shut himself in.
yes, there was no mistake; the darkness was quite lighted up with the sheen of the seven little moons in the silver.
the king looked rather grave.
""if you can trust me with this cross till to-morrow, rosina, i should like to have it examined and analysed.
this is no common silver."
of course rosina could only curtsy, but she was very much alarmed about the consequences to her mistress.
after luncheon, the king asked jaqueline to come into his study, as he often did, to help him with his letters.
when they had sat down his majesty said: "my dear jaqueline, i never interfere with your pursuits, but i almost doubt whether cornelius agrippa is a good book for a very young lady to read.
the fairy paribanou, i am sure, taught you nothing beyond the ordinary magical accomplishments suited to your rank; but there are a great many things in the cornelius which i think you should not study till you are older and wiser."
""what does your majesty mean?"
said poor jaqueline, feeling very uncomfortable; for the king had never lectured her before.
""why," said his majesty, taking the silver cross out of his pocket, "did you not give this to rosina?"
""yes, sire, i did give her the drops.
she had them made up herself."
""then give it back to her when you see her next.
i am glad you are frank, jaqueline.
and you know, of course, that the drops are not ordinary silver?
they are moon silver, and that can only be got in one way, so far as i know, at least -- when one spills the water when he, or she, is drinking the moon.
now, there is only one book which tells how that can be done, and there is only one reason for doing it; namely, to find out what is some other person's secret.
i shall not ask you whose secret you wanted to find out, but i must request you never to do such a thing again without consulting me.
you can have no reason for it, such as a great king might have whose enemies are plotting against his country."
""oh, sire, i will tell you everything!"
cried jaqueline.
""no, do n't; i do n't want to know.
i am sure you will make no use of your information which you think i should not approve of.
but there is another thing -- that eclipse of the moon!
oh, jaqueline, was it honourable, or fair to the astronomers and men of science, to say nothing about it?
their european reputations are seriously injured."
poor jaqueline could only cry.
""never mind," said his majesty, comforting her.
""there is no great harm done yet, and perhaps they would not believe you if you did explain; but just think, if some people ceased to believe in science, what would they have left to believe in?
but you are young, of course, and can not be expected to think of everything."
""i never thought about it at all," wept jaqueline."
"evil is wrought by want of thought,"" said the king, quoting the poet.
""now run away, dry your tears, and i think you had better bring me that book, and i'll put it back in one of the locked-up shelves.
later, when you are older, we shall see about it."
the princess flew to her room, and returned with her book.
and the king kissed her, and told her to go and see if her majesty meant to take a drive.
""i'll never deceive him again, never... unless it is quite necessary," said the princess to herself.
""indeed, it is not so easy to deceive the king.
what a lot he has read!"
in fact, king prigio had been very studious when a young man, before he came to the throne.
""poor child!"
thought the king.
""no doubt she was trying her fortune, wondering if ricardo cares for her a little.
of course i could not let her tell me that, poor child!"
in this guess, as we know, his majesty was mistaken, which seldom happened to him.
""i wonder who she is?"
the king went on speaking to himself.
""that great booby, ricardo, saved her from wild birds, which were just going to eat her.
she was fastened to a mountain top, but where?
that's the question.
ricardo never has any notion of geography.
it was across the sea, he noticed that; but which sea, -- atlantic, pacific, the black sea, the caspian, the sea of marmora, the red sea, the indian ocean, the german ocean, the mediterranean?
her ornaments were very peculiar; there was a broad gold sun on her breast.
i must look at them again some day.
she said she was being sacrificed to wild birds -lrb- which her people worshipped -rrb-, because there was some famine, or war, or trouble in the country.
she said she was a daughter of the sun; but that, of course, is absurd, unless -- by jove!
i believe i have it," said the king, and he went into the royal library and was looking for some old spanish book, when his secretary came and said that the russian ambassador was waiting for an interview with his majesty.
""dismal old muscovite!"
sighed the king.
""a monarch has not a moment to himself for his private studies.
ah, prigio!
why wert thou not born to a private station?
but duty before everything," and wreathing his royal countenance in smiles, his majesty prepared to give count snoreonski an audience.
it was all about the attitude of pantouflia in the event of a polish invasion of russia.
the king reassured count snoreonski, affirming that pantouflia, while deeply regretting the disturbed relations between two states in whose welfare she was deeply interested, would ever preserve an attitude of benevolent neutrality, unless her own interests were threatened.
""i may give your message to my august mistress, the czarina?"
said the ambassador.
""by all means, adding an expression of my tender interest in her majesty's health and welfare," said the king, presenting the count at the same time with a magnificent diamond snuffbox containing his portrait.
the old count was affected to tears, and withdrew, while king prigio said: "i have not lost a day; i have made an amiable but very stupid man happy."
such are, or rather such were, the toils of monarchs!
chapter v. prince ricardo crosses the path of history.
-lcb- hand reaching for a crown with wings: p83.jpg -rcb- "i say, jack," said prince ricardo one morning, "here's a queer letter for me!"
king prigio had gone to a distant part of his dominions, on business of importance, and the young people were sitting in the royal study.
the letter, which ricardo handed to jaqueline, was written on a great broad sheet of paper, folded up without any envelope, as was the custom then, and was sealed with a huge seal in red wax.
""i do n't know the arms," ricardo said.
""oh, ricardo, how you do neglect your heraldry!
old green stocking is in despair over your ignorance."
now green stocking was the chief herald of pantouflia, just like blue mantle in england.
""why, these are the royal arms of england, you great ignorant dick!"
""but rome is n't in england, is it?
-- and the post-mark is "roma": that's rome in some lingo, i expect.
it is in latin, anyhow, i know.
mortuus est romae -- "he died at rome."
it's in the latin grammar.
let's see what the fellow says, anyhow," added ricardo, breaking the seal.
""he begins, "prins and dear cousin!"
i say, jaqueline, he spells it "prins;" now it is p-r-i-n-c-e.
he must be an ignorant fellow!"
""people in glass houses should not throw stones, dick," said jaqueline.
""he signs himself "charles, p. w.,"" said ricardo, looking at the end.
""who on earth can he be?
why does he not put "p. w. charles," if these are his initials?
look here, it's rather a long letter; you might read it to us, jack!"
the princess took the epistle and began: "how nice it smells, all scented!
the paper is gilt-edged, too."
""luxurious beggar, whoever he is," said ricardo.
""well, he says: "prins and dear cousin, -- you and me" -lrb- oh, what grammar! -rrb-
"are much the same age, i being fifteen next birthday, and we should be better ackwainted.
all the wurld has herd of the fame of prins ricardo, whose name is feerd, and his sord dreded, wherever there are monsters and tirants.
prins, you may be less well informed about my situation.
i have not killed any dragguns, there being nun of them here; but i have been under fiar, at gaeta."
where's gaeta, dick?"
""never heard of it," said ricardo.
""well, it is in italy, and it was besieged lately.
he goes on: "and i am told that i did not misbehave myself, nor disgrace the blud of bruce.""
""i've heard of robert bruce," said dick; "he was the man who did not kill the spider, but he cracked the head of sir harry bohun with one whack of his axe.
i remember him well enough."
""well, your correspondent seems to be a descendant of his."
""that's getting more interesting," said dick.
""i wish my father would go to war with somebody.
with the sword of sharpness i'd make the enemy whistle!
drive on, jack.""
"as a prins in distress, i apeal to your valler, so renouned in europe.
i am kept out of my own; my royal father, king gems," -- well, this is the worst spelling i ever saw in my life!
he means king james, -- "my royal father, king gems, being druv into exile by a crewl usurper, the elector of hannover.
king gems is old, and likes a quiat life; but i am determined to make an effort, if i go alone, and europe shall here of prince charles.
having heard -- as who has not?
-- of your royal highness's courage and sordsmanship, i throw myself at your feet, and implore you to asist a prins in distres.
let our sords be drawn together in the caus of freedom and an outraged country, my own.""
i remain," "prins and dear cuzen," "charles, p. w." "p. w. means prince of wales," added jaqueline.
""he is turned out of england you know, and lives at rome with his father."
""i like that chap," said prince ricardo.
""he does not spell very well, as you say, but i sometimes make mistakes myself; and i like his spirit.
i've been looking out for an adventure; but the big game is getting shy, and my sword rusts in his scabbard.
i'll tell you what, jack -- i've an idea!
i'll put him on the throne of his fathers; it's as easy as shelling peas: and as for that other fellow, the elector, i'll send him back to hanover, wherever that may be, and he can go on electing, and polling his vote in peace and quietness, at home.
just wait till i spot the places."
the prince ran up to the turret, fetched the magic spy-glass, and looked up london, rome, and hanover, as you would in a map.
""well, dick, but how do you mean to do it?"
""do it?
-- nothing simpler!
i just take my seven-league boots, run over to rome, pick up prince charles, put him on the magic carpet, fly to london, clap the cap of darkness on him so that nobody can see him, set him down on the throne of his fathers; pick up the elector, carry him over to his beloved hanover, and the trick is done -- what they call a bloodless revolution in the history books."
""but if the english do n't like prince charles when they get him?"
""like him?
they're sure to like him, a young fellow like that!
besides, i'll take the sword with me in case of accidents."
""but, dick, it is your father's rule that you are never to meddle in the affairs of other countries, and never to start on an expedition when he is not at home."
""oh, he wo n't mind this time!
there's no kind of danger; and i'm sure he will approve of the principle of the thing.
kings must stick up for each other.
why, some electing characters might come here and kick us out!"
""your father is not the sort of king who is kicked out," said jaqueline.
but there was no use in talking to dick.
he made his simple preparations, and announced that he would be back in time for luncheon.
what was poor jaqueline to do?
she was extremely anxious.
she knew, as we saw, what king prigio had intended about changing the fairy things for others that would not work.
she was certain dick would get himself into a scrape; how was she to help him?
she made up her mind quickly, while dick was putting his things together.
she told the queen -lrb- it was the nearest to the truth she could think of -rrb- that she "was going for a turn with dick."
then she changed herself into a mosquito -- a kind of gnat that bites -- and hid herself under a fold of dick's coat.
of course he knew nothing about her being there.
then he started off in his seven - league boots, and before you could say "jack robinson" he was in rome, in the grounds of a splendid palace called the villa borghese.
there he saw an elderly gentleman, in a great curled wig, sound asleep on a seat beneath a tree.
the old gentleman had a long, pale, melancholy face, and across his breast was a broad blue ribbon with a star.
ah!
how changed was king james from the handsome prince who had loved fair beatrix esmond, thirty years ago!
near him were two boys, not quite so old as prince ricardo.
the younger was a pretty dark boy, with a funny little roundabout white wig.
he was splendidly dressed in a light-blue silk coat; a delicate little lace scarf was tied round his neck; he had lace ruffles falling about his little ringed hands; he had a pretty sword, with a gold handle set with diamonds -- in fact, he was the picture of a little dandy.
the other lad had a broad scotch bonnet on, and no wig; beautiful silky yellow locks fell about his shoulders.
he had laid his sword on the grass.
he was dressed in tartan, which ricardo had never seen before; and he wore a kilt, which was also new to ricardo, who wondered at his bare legs -- for he was wearing shoes with no stockings.
in his hand he held a curious club, with a long, slim handle, and a head made heavy with lead, and defended with horn.
with this he was aiming at a little white ball; and suddenly he swung up the club and sent the ball out of sight in the air, over several trees.
prince ricardo stepped up to this boy, took off his cap, and said: "i think i have the honour of addressing the prince of wales?"
prince charles started at the sight of a gentleman in long riding-boots, girt with a broadsword, which was not then generally worn, and carrying a persian rug under his arm.
""that is what i am called, sir," he said, "by those who give me the title which is mine by right.
may i inquire the reason which offers me the pleasure of this unexpected interview?"
""oh, i'm ricardo of pantouflia!"
says dick.
""i had a letter from you this morning, and i believe you wanted to see me."
""from pantouflia, sir," said prince charles; "why, that is hundreds of leagues away!"
""it is a good distance," said dick; "but a mere step when you wear seven - league boots like mine."
""my dear prince," said charles, throwing himself into his arms with rapture, and kissing him in the italian fashion, which dick did not half like, "you are, indeed, worthy of your reputation; and these are the celebrated seven-league boots?
harry," he cried to his brother, "come here at once and let me present you to his royal highness, our illustrious ally, prince ricardo of pantouflia.
the duke of york -- prince ricardo of pantouflia.
gentlemen, know each other!"
the prince bowed in the most stately manner.
""i say," said dick, who was seldom at all up to the standard of royal conversation, "what's that game you were playing?
it's new to me.
you sent the ball a tremendous long shot."
""the game is called golf, and is the favourite pastime of my loyal scottish subjects," said prince charles.
""for that reason, that i may be able to share the amusements of my people, whom i soon hope to lead to a glorious victory, followed by a peaceful and prosperous reign, i am acquiring a difficult art.
i'm practising walking without stockings, too, to harden my feet," he said, in a more familiar tone of voice.
""i fancy there are plenty of long marches before me, and i would not be a spear's length behind the hardiest highlander."
""by jove!
i respect you," said dick, with the greatest sincerity; "but i do n't think, with me on your side, you will need to make many marches.
it will all be plain sailing."
""pray explain your plan," said prince charles.
""the task of conquering back the throne of my fathers is not so simple as you seem to suppose."
""i've done a good many difficult things," said dick, modestly.
""the conqueror of the magician, gorgonzola, and the giant who never knew when he had enough, need not tell me that," said prince charles, with a courteous allusion to two of ricardo's most prodigious adventures.
""oh!
i've very little to be proud of, really," said dick, blushing; "anyone could do as much with my fairy things, of which, no doubt, you have heard.
with a sword of sharpness and a cap of darkness, and so forth, you have a great pull over almost anything."
""and you really possess those talismans?"
said the prince.
""certainly i do.
you see how short a time i took in coming to your call from pantouflia."
""and has holy church," asked the duke of york, with anxiety, "given her sanction and her blessing to those instruments of an art, usually, in her wisdom, forbidden?"
""oh, never mind holy church, harry!"
said prince charles.
""this is business.
besides, the english are protestants."
""i pray for their conversion daily," said the duke of york.
""the end justifies the means, you know," answered prince charles.
""all's fair in love and war."
""i should think so," said ricardo, "especially against those brutes of electors; they give trouble at home sometimes."
""you, too, are plagued with an elector?"
asked prince charles."
an elector?
thousands of them!"
answered dick, who never could understand anything about politics.
prince charles looked puzzled, but requested dick to explain his great plan.
they sat down on the grass, and ricardo showed them how he meant to manage it, just as he had told jaqueline.
as he said, nothing could be simpler.
""let's start at once," he said, and, inducing prince charles to sit down on the magic carpet, he cried: "england!
st. james's palace!"
but nothing happened!
the carpet was not the right magic carpet, but the one which king prigio had put in its place.
""get on!
england, i said!"
cried dick.
but there they remained, under the chestnut tree, sitting on the carpet above the flowery grass.
-lcb- but there they remained: p99.jpg -rcb- prince charles leaped to his feet; his face like fire, his eyes glowing.
""enough of this fooling, sir!"
he said.
""it is easy, but cowardly, to mock at an unfortunate prince.
take your carpet and be off with you, out of the gardens, or your shoulders shall taste my club."
""there has been some mistake," ricardo said; "the wrong carpet has been brought by accident, or the carpet has lost its power."
""in this sacred city, blessed by the presence of his holiness the pope, and the relics of so many martyrs and saints, magic may well cease to be potent," said the duke of york.
""nonsense!
you are an impostor, sir!
leave my presence!"
cried prince charles, lifting his golf-club.
dick caught it out of his hand, and broke across his knee as fine a driver as ever came from robertson's shop at st. andrew's.
""the quarrels of princes are not settled with clubs, sir!
draw and defend yourself!"
he said, kicking off his boots and standing in his socks on the grass.
think of the horror of poor jaqueline, who witnessed this terrible scene of passion from a fold in prince ricardo's dress!
what could the girl do to save the life of two princes, the hopes of one nation, and of a respectable minority in another?
in a moment prince charles's rapier was shining in the sunlight, and he fell on guard in the most elegant attitude, his left hand gracefully raised and curved.
dick drew his sword, but, as suddenly, threw it down again.
""hang it!"
he exclaimed, "i ca n't hit you with this!
this is the sword of sharpness; it would cut through your steel and your neck at a touch."
he paused, and thought.
""let me beseech your royal highness," he said to the duke of york, who was in a terrible taking, "to lend your blade to a hand not less royal than your own."
""give him it, hal!"
said prince charles, who was standing with the point of his sword on the ground, and the blade bent.
""he seems to believe in his own nonsense."
the duke yielded his sword; dick took it, made a nourish, and rushed at prince charles.
now ricardo had always neglected his fencing lessons.
""where's the good of it," he used to ask, "all that stamping, and posture-making, and ha - haing?
the sword of sharpness is enough for me."
but now he could not, in honour, use the sword of sharpness; so on he came, waving the rapier like a claymore, and made a slice at prince charles's head.
the prince, very much surprised, parried in prime, riposted, and touched dick on the hand.
at this moment the princess jaqueline did what she should have thought of sooner.
she flew out of dick's coat, and stung old king james on his royal nose.
the king wakened, nearly crushed the princess -lrb- so dangerous is the practice of magic to the artist -rrb-, and then leaped up, and saw dick's blade flying through the air, glittering in the sun.
the prince had disarmed him.
""hullo!
what's all this?
a moi, mes gardes!"
cried the old king, in french and english; and then he ran up, just in time to hear prince charles say: "sir, take your life!
i can not strike an unarmed man.
a prince you may be, but you have not learned the exercises of gentlemen."
""what is all this, carluccio?"
asked the old king.
""swords out!
brawling in my very presence!
blood drawn!"
for dick's hand was bleeding a good deal.
prince charles, as briefly as possible, explained the unusual nature of the circumstances.
""a king must hear both sides," said king james.
""what reply have you, sir, to make to his royal highness's statements?"
""the carpet would not work, sir," said dick.
""it never happened before.
had i used my own sword," and he explained its properties, "the prince of wales would not be alive to tell his story.
i can say no more, beyond offering my apology for a disappointment which i could not have foreseen.
a gentleman can only say that he is sorry.
but wait!"
he added; "i can at least prove that my confidence in some of my resources is not misplaced.
bid me bring you something -- anything -- from the ends of the earth, and it shall be in your hands.
i ca n't say fairer."
king james reflected, while prince ricardo was pulling on the seven-league boots, which he had kicked off to fight more freely, and while the duke of york bandaged dick's hand with a kerchief.
""bring me," said his majesty, "lord lovat's snuff-mull."
""where does he live?"
said dick.
""at gortuleg, in scotland," answered king james.
dick was out of sight before the words were fairly spoken, and in ten minutes was back, bearing a large ram's - horn snuff-box, with a big cairngorm set in the top, and the frazer arms.
""most astonishing!"
said king james.
""a miracle!"
said the duke of york.
""you have entirely cleared your character," said the king.
""your honour is without a stain, though it is a pity about the carpet.
your nobility in not using your magical sword, under the greatest provocation, reconciles me to this fresh blighting of my hopes.
all my allies fail me," said the poor king with a sigh; "you alone have failed with honour.
carluccio, embrace the prince!"
they fell into each other's arms.
""prince," said dick, "you have taught me a lesson for which i shall not be ungrateful.
with any blade a gentleman should be able to hold his own in fair fight.
i shall no longer neglect my fencing lessons."
""with any blade," said prince charles, "i shall be happy to find prince ricardo by my side in a stricken field.
we shall not part till i have induced you to accept a sword which i can never hope to draw against another adversary so noble.
in war, my weapon is the claymore."
here the prince offered to ricardo the ruby-studded hilt of his rapier, which had a beautiful white shark-skin sheath.
""you must accept it, sir," said king james; "the hilt holds the rubies of john sobieski."
""thank you, prince," said ricardo, "for the weapon, which i shall learn to wield; and i entreat you to honour me by receiving this fairy gift -- which you do not need -- a ring which makes all men faithful to the wearer."
the prince of wales bowed, and placed the talisman on his finger.
ricardo then, after a few words of courtesy on both parts, picked up his useless carpet, took his farewell of the royal party, and, with jaqueline still hidden under his collar, returned at full speed, but with a heavy heart, to pantouflia, where the palace gong was just sounding for luncheon.
ricardo never interfered in foreign affairs again, but his ring proved very useful to prince charles, as you may have read in history.
chapter vi.
ricardo's repentance.
-lcb- bottle of weapon salve: p109.jpg -rcb- the queen, as it happened fortunately, was lunching with one of the ladies of her court.
ricardo did not come down to luncheon, and jaqueline ate hers alone; and very mournful she felt.
the prince had certainly not come well out of the adventure.
he had failed -lrb- as all attempts to restore the stuarts always did -rrb-; he had been wounded, though he had never received a scratch in any of his earlier exploits; and if his honour was safe, and his good intentions fully understood, that was chiefly due to jaqueline, and to the generosity of king james and prince charles.
""i wonder what he's doing?"
she said to herself, and at last she went up and knocked at ricardo's door.
""go away," he said; "i do n't want to see anybody.
who is it?"
""it's only me -- jaqueline."
-lcb- "it's only me": p111.jpg -rcb- "go away!
i want nobody."
""do let me in, dear dick; i have good news for you," said the princess.
""what is it?"
said ricardo, unlocking the door.
""why do you bother a fellow so?"
he had been crying -- his hand obviously hurt him badly; he looked, and indeed he was, very sulky.
""how did you get on in england, dick?"
asked the princess, taking no notice of his bandaged hand.
""oh, do n't ask me!"
said ricardo.
""i've not been to england at all."
""why, what happened?"
""everything that is horrid happened," said dick; and then, unable to keep it any longer to himself, he said: "i've failed to keep my promise; i've been insulted, i've been beaten by a fellow younger than myself; and, oh!
how my hand does hurt, and i've got such a headache!
and what am i to say to my mother when she asks why my arm is in a sling?
and what will my father say?
i'm quite broken down and desperate.
i think i'll run away to sea;" and indeed he looked very wild and miserable.
""tell me how it all happened, dick," said the princess; "i'm sure it's not so bad as you make out.
perhaps i can help you."
""how can a girl help a man?"
cried dick, angrily; and poor jaqueline, remembering how she had helped him, at the risk of her own life, when king james nearly crushed her in the shape of a mosquito, turned her head away, and cried silently.
""i'm a beast," said dick.
""i beg your pardon, jack dear.
you are always a trump, i will say; but i do n't see what you can do."
then he told her all the story -lrb- which, of course, she knew perfectly well already -rrb-, except the part played by the mosquito, of which he could not be aware.
""i was sure it was not so bad as you made it out, dick," she said.
""you see, the old king, who is not very wise, but is a perfectly honourable gentleman, gave you the highest praise."
she thought of lecturing him a little about disobeying his father, but it did not seem a good opportunity.
besides, jaqueline had been lectured herself lately, and had not enjoyed it.
""what am i to say to my mother?"
dick repeated.
""we must think of something to say," said jaqueline.
""i ca n't tell my mother anything but the truth," ricardo went on.
""here's my hand, how it does sting!
and she must find out."
""i think i can cure it," said jaqueline.
""did n't you say prince charles gave you his own sword?"
""yes, there it is; but what has that to do with it?"
""everything in the world to do with it, my dear dick.
how lucky it is that he gave it to you!"
and she ran to her own room, and brought a beautiful golden casket, which contained her medicines.
taking out a small phial, marked -lrb- in letters of emerald -rrb-: "weapon salve," the princess drew the bright sword, extracted a little of the ointment from the phial, and spread it on a soft silk handkerchief.
""what are you going to do with the sword?"
asked ricardo.
""polish it a little," said jaqueline, smiling, and she began gently to rub, with the salve, the point of the rapier.
as she did so, ricardo's arm ceased to hurt, and the look of pain passed from his mouth.
""why, i feel quite better!"
he said.
""i can use my hand as well as ever."
then he took off the stained handkerchief, and, lo, there was not even a mark where the wound had been!
for this was the famous weapon salve which you may read about in sir kenelm digby, and which the lady of branxholme used, in the lay of the last minstrel.
but the secret of making it has long been lost, except in pantouflia.
""you are the best girl in the world, jaqueline," said ricardo.
""you may give me a kiss if you like; and i wo n't call you "jack," or laugh at you for reading books, any more.
there's something in books after all."
the princess did not take advantage of dick's permission, but advised him to lie down and try to sleep.
""i say, though," he said, "what about my father?"
""the king need never be told anything about it," said jaqueline, "need he?"
""oh, that wo n't do!
i tell my father everything; but then, i never had anything like this to tell him before.
do n't you think, jaqueline, you might break it to him?
he's very fond of you.
just tell him what i told you; it's every word of it true, and he ought to know.
he might see something about it in the mercure de france."
this was the newspaper of the period.
""i do n't think it will get into the papers," said jaqueline, smiling.
""nobody could tell, except the king and the princes, and they have reasons for keeping it to themselves."
""i do n't trust that younger one," said dick, moodily; "i do n't care for that young man.
anyway, my father must be told; and, if you wo n't, i must."
""well, i'll tell him," said jaqueline.
""and now lie down till evening."
after dinner, in the conservatory, jaqueline told king prigio all about it.
his majesty was very much moved.
""what extraordinary bad luck that family has!"
he thought.
""if i had not changed the rug, the merest accident, prince charles would have dined at st. james's to-night, and king george in hanover.
it was the very nearest thing!"
""this meddling with practical affairs will never do," he said aloud.
""dick has had a lesson, sire," said the princess.
""he says he'll never mix himself up with politics again, whatever happens.
and he says he means to study all about them, for he feels frightfully ignorant, and, above all, he means to practise his fencing."
these remarks were not part of the conversation between ricardo and jaqueline, but she considered that dick meant all this, and, really, he did.
""that is well, as far as it goes," said the king.
""but, jaqueline, about that mosquito?"
for she had told him this part of the adventure.
""that was a very convenient mosquito, though i do n't know how dick was able to observe it from any distance.
i see your hand in that, my dear, and i am glad you can make such kind and wise use of the lessons of the good fairy paribanou.
jaqueline," he added solemnly, laying his hand on her head, "you have saved the honour of pantouflia, which is dearer to me than life.
without your help, i tremble to think what might have occurred."
the princess blushed very much, and felt very happy.
""now run away to the queen, my dear," said his majesty, "i want to think things over."
he did think them over, and the more he thought the more he felt the inconvenience attending the possession of fairy things.
""an eclipse one day, as nearly as possible a revolution soon after!"
he said to himself.
""but for jaqueline, ricardo's conduct would have been blazed abroad, england would have been irritated.
it is true she can not get at pantouflia very easily; we have no sea-coast, and we are surrounded by friendly countries.
but it would have been a ticklish and discreditable position.
i must really speak to dick," which he did next morning after breakfast.
""you have broken my rules, ricardo," he said.
""true, there is no great harm done, and you have confessed frankly; but how am i to trust you any longer?"
""i'll give you my sacred word of honour, father, that i'll never meddle with politics again, or start on an expedition, without telling you.
i have had enough of it.
and i'll turn over a new leaf.
i've learned to be ashamed of my ignorance; and i've sent for francalanza, and i'll fence every day, and read like anything."
""very good," said the king.
""i believe you mean what you say.
now go to your fencing lesson."
""but, i say, father," cried ricardo, "was it not strange about the magic carpet?"
""i told you not to trust to these things," said the king.
""some enchanter may have deprived it of its power, it may be worn out, someone may have substituted a common persian rug; anything may happen.
you must learn to depend on yourself.
now, be off with you, i'm busy.
and remember, you do n't stir without my permission."
the prince ran off, and presently the sounds of stamping feet and" un, deux; doublez, degagez, vite; contre de carte," and so forth, might be heard over a great part of the royal establishment.
chapter vii.
prince ricardo and an old enemy.
-lcb- the yellow dwarf: p123.jpg -rcb- "there is one brute i wish i could get upsides with," said ricardo, at breakfast one morning, his mouth full of sardine.
""really, ricardo, your language is most unprincely," said his august father; "i am always noticing it.
you mean, i suppose, that there is one enemy of the human race whom you wish to abolish.
what is the name of the doomed foe?"
""well, he is the greatest villain in history," said ricardo.
""you must have read about him, sir, the yellow dwarf."
""yes, i have certainly studied what is told us about him," said the king.
""he is no favourite of mine."
""he is the only one, if you notice, sir, of all the scoundrels about whom our ancestors inform us, who escaped the doom which he richly merited at the sword of a good knight."
you may here remark that, since dick took to his studies, he could speak, when he chose, like a printed book, which was by no means the case before.
""if you remember, sir, he polished off -- i mean, he slew -- the king of the golden mines and the beautiful, though frivolous, princess frutilla.
all that the friendly mermaid could do for them was to turn them into a pair of beautiful trees which intertwine their branches.
not much use in that, sir!
and nothing was done to the scoundrel.
he may be going on still; and, with your leave, i'll go and try a sword-thrust with him.
francalanza says i'm improving uncommon."
""you'll take the usual sword of sharpness," said his majesty.
""what, sir, to a dwarf?
not i, indeed: a common small sword is good enough to settle him."
""they say he is very cunning of fence," said the king; "and besides, i have heard something of a diamond sword that he stole from the king of the golden mines."
""very likely he has lost it or sold it, the shabby little miscreant; however, i'll risk it.
and now i must make my preparations."
the king did not ask what they were; as a rule, they were simple.
but, being in the shop of the optician that day, standing with his back to the door, he heard dick come in and order a pair of rose-coloured spectacles, with which he was at once provided.
the people of pantouflia were accustomed to wear them, saying that they improved the complexions of ladies whom they met, and added cheerfulness to things in general.
""just plain rose-coloured glass, herr spex," said dick, "i'm not short - sighted."
""the boy is beginning to show some sense," said the king to himself, knowing the nature and the difficulties of the expedition.
ricardo did not disguise his intention of taking with him a dandie dinmont terrier, named pepper, and the king, who understood the motive of this precaution, silently approved.
""the lad has come to some purpose and forethought," the king said, and he gladly advanced a considerable sum for the purchase of crocodiles" eggs, which can rarely be got quite fresh.
when jaqueline had made the crocodiles" eggs, with millet-seed and sugar-candy, into a cake for the dwarf's lions, ricardo announced that his preparations were complete.
not to be the mere slave of custom, he made this expedition on horseback, and the only magical thing he took with him was the cap of darkness -lrb- the one which would not work, but he did not know that -rrb-, and this he put in his pocket for future use.
with plenty of egg sandwiches and marmalade sandwiches, and cold minced-collop sandwiches, he pricked forth into the wilderness, making for the country inhabited by the yellow dwarf.
the princess was glad he was riding, for she privately accompanied him in the disguise of a wasp; and a wasp, of course, could not have kept up with him in his seven-league boots.
""hang that wops!"
said prince ricardo several times, buffeting it with his pocket-handkerchief when it buzzed in his ear and round his horse's head.
-lcb- "hang that wops!"
said prince ricardo: p129.jpg -rcb- meanwhile, king prigio had taken his precautions, which were perfectly simple.
when he thought ricardo was getting near the place, the king put on his wishing cap, sat down before the magic crystal ball, and kept his eye on the proceedings, being ready to wish the right thing to help ricardo at the right moment.
he left the window wide open, smoked his cigar, and seemed the pattern of a good and wise father watching the conduct of a promising son.
the prince rode and rode, sometimes taking up pepper on his saddle; passing through forests, sleeping at lonely inns, fording rivers, till one day he saw that the air was becoming yellow.
he knew that this showed the neighbourhood of jaunia, or daunia, the country of the yellow dwarf.
he therefore drew bridle, placed his rose-coloured spectacles on his nose and put spurs to his horse, for the yellow light of jaunia makes people melancholy and cowardly.
as he pricked on, his horse stumbled and nearly came on its nose.
the prince noticed that a steel chain had been drawn across the road.
""what caitiff has dared!"
he exclaimed, when his hat was knocked off by a well-aimed orange from a neighbouring orange-tree, and a vulgar voice squeaked: "hi, blinkers!"
there was the yellow dwarf, an odious little figure, sitting sucking an orange in the tree, swinging his wooden shoes, and grinning all over his wrinkled face.
""well, young blinkers!"
said the dwarf, "what are you doing on my grounds?
you're a prince, by your look.
yah!
down with kings!
i'm a man of the people!"
""you're a dwarf of the worst description, that's what you are," said ricardo; "and let me catch you, and i'll flog the life out of you with my riding-whip!"
the very face of the dwarf, even seen through rose-coloured spectacles, made him nearly ill.
""yes, when you can catch me," said the dwarf; "but that's not to-day, nor yet to-morrow.
what are you doing here?
are you an ambassador, maybe come to propose a match for me?
i'm not proud, i'll hear you.
they say there's a rather well-looking wench in your parts, the princess jaqueline --" "mention that lady's name, you villain," cried dick, "and i'll cut down your orange-tree!"
and he wished he had brought the sword of sharpness, for you can not prod down a tree with the point of a rapier.
""fancy her yourself?"
said the dwarf, showing his yellow teeth with a detestable grin; while ricardo turned quite white with anger, and not knowing how to deal with this insufferable little monster.
""i'm a widower, i am," said the dwarf, "though i'm out of mourning," for he wore a dirty clay-coloured yellow jacket.
""my illustrious consort, the princess frutilla, did not behave very nice, and i had to avenge my honour; in fact, i'm open to any offers, however humble.
going at an alarming sacrifice!
come to my box" -lrb- and he pointed to a filthy clay cottage, all surrounded by thistles, nettles, and black boggy water -rrb-, "and i'll talk over your proposals."
""hold your impudent tongue!"
said dick.
""the princess frutilla was an injured saint; and as for the lady whom i shall not name in your polluting presence, i am her knight, and i defy you to deadly combat!"
we may imagine how glad the princess was when -lrb- disguised as a wasp -rrb- she heard dick say he was her knight; not that, in fact, he had thought of it before.
""oh!
you're for a fight, are you?"
sneered the dwarf.
""i might tell you to hit one of your own weight, but i'm not afraid of six of you.
yah!
mammy's brat!
look here, young blinkers, i do n't want to hurt you.
just turn old dobbin's head, and trot back to your mammy, queen rosalind, at pantouflia.
does she know you're out?"
""i'll be into you, pretty quick," said ricardo.
""but why do i bandy words with a miserable peasant?"
""and do n't get much the best of them either," said the dwarf, provokingly.
""but i'll fight, if you will have it."
the prince leaped from his horse, leaving pepper on the saddle-bow.
no sooner had he touched the ground than the dwarf shouted: "hi!
to him, billy!
to him, daniel!
at him, good lions, at him!"
and, with an awful roar, two lions rushed from a neighbouring potato-patch and made for ricardo.
these were not ordinary lions, history avers, each having two heads, each being eight feet high, with four rows of teeth; their skins as hard as nails, and bright red, like morocco.
-lcb- 135 -rcb- the prince did not lose his presence of mind; hastily he threw the cake of crocodiles" eggs, millet-seed, and sugar-candy to the lions.
this is a dainty which lions can never resist, and running greedily at it, with four tremendous snaps, they got hold of each other by their jaws, and their eight rows of teeth were locked fast in a grim and deadly struggle for existence!
the dwarf took in the affair at a glance.
""cursed be he who taught you this!"
he cried, and then whistled in a shrill and vulgar manner on his very dirty fingers.
at his call rushed up an enormous spanish cat, ready saddled and bridled, and darting fire from its eyes.
to leap on its back, while ricardo sprang on his own steed, was to the active dwarf the work of a moment.
then clapping spurs to its sides -lrb- his spurs grew naturally on his bare heels, horrible to relate, like a cock's spurs -rrb- and taking his cat by the head, the dwarf forced it to leap on to ricardo's saddle.
the diamond sword which slew the king of the golden mines -- that invincible sword which hews iron like a reed -- was up and flashing in the air!
at this very moment king prigio, seeing, in the magic globe, all that passed, and despairing of ricardo's life, was just about to wish the dwarf at jericho, when through the open window, with a tremendous whirr, came a huge vulture, and knocked the king's wishing cap off!
wishing was now of no use.
this odious fowl was the fairy of the desert, the dwarf's trusted ally in every sort of mischief.
the vulture flew instantly out of the window; and ah!
with what awful anxiety the king again turned his eyes on the crystal ball only a parent's heart can know.
should he see ricardo bleeding at the feet of the abominable dwarf?
the king scarcely dared to look; never before had he known the nature of fear.
however, look he did, and saw the dwarf un-catted, and pepper, the gallant dandie dinmont, with his teeth in the throat of the monstrous spanish cat.
no sooner had he seen the cat leap on his master's saddle-bow than pepper, true to the instinct of his race, sprang at its neck, just behind the head -- the usual place, -- and, with an awful and despairing mew, the cat -lrb- peter was its name -rrb- gave up its life.
the dwarf was on his feet in a moment, waving the diamond sword, which lighted up the whole scene, and yelling taunts.
pepper was flying at his heels, and, with great agility, was keeping out of the way of the invincible blade.
""ah!"
screamed the dwarf as pepper got him by the ankle.
""call off your dog, you coward, and come down off your horse, and fight fair!"
at this moment, bleeding yellow blood, dusty, mad with pain, the dwarf was a sight to strike terror into the boldest.
dick sprang from his saddle, but so terrific was the appearance of his adversary, and so dazzling was the sheen of the diamond sword, that he put his hand in his pocket, drew out, as he supposed, the sham cap of darkness, and placed it on his head.
""yah!
who's your hatter?"
screamed the infuriated dwarf."
i see you!"
and he disengaged, feinted in carte, and made a lunge in seconde at dick which no mortal blade could have parried.
the prince -lrb- thanks to his excellent training -rrb- just succeeded in stepping aside, but the dwarf recovered with astonishing quickness.
""coward, lache, poltroon, runaway!"
he hissed through his clenched teeth, and was about to make a thrust in tierce which must infallibly have been fatal, when the princess jaqueline, in her shape as a wasp, stung him fiercely on the wrist.
with an oath so awful that we dare not set it down, the dwarf dropped the diamond sword, sucked his injured limb, and began hopping about with pain.
in a moment prince ricardo's foot was on the blade of the diamond sword, which he passed thrice through the body of the yellow dwarf.
squirming fearfully, the little monster expired, his last look a defiance, his latest word an insult: "yah!
gig-lamps!"
prince ricardo wiped the diamond blade clean from its yellow stains.
-lcb- the fight with the yellow dwarf: p141.jpg -rcb- "princess frutilla is avenged!"
he cried.
then pensively looking at his fallen foe, "peace to his ashes," he said; "he died in harness!"
turning at the word, he observed that the two lions were stiff and dead, locked in each other's gory jaws!
at that moment king prigio, looking in the crystal ball, gave a great sigh of relief.
""all's well that ends well," he said, lighting a fresh cigar, for he had allowed the other to go out in his excitement, "but it was a fight!
i am not satisfied," his majesty went on reflecting, "with this plan of changing the magical articles.
the first time was of no great importance, and i could not know that the boy would start on an expedition without giving me warning.
but, in to-day's affair he owes his safety entirely to himself and pepper," for he had not seen the wasp.
""the fairy of the desert quite baffled me: it was terrible.
i shall restore the right fairy things to-night.
as to the fairy of the desert," he said, forgetting that his wishing cap was on, "i wish she were dead!"
a hollow groan and the sound of a heavy body falling interrupted the king.
he looked all about the room, but saw nothing.
he was alone!
""she must have been in the room, invisible," said the king; and, of course, she has died in that condition.
""but i must find her body!"
the king groped about everywhere, like a blind man, and at last discovered the dead body of the wicked fairy lying on the sofa.
he could not see it, of course, but he felt it with his hands.
""this is very awkward," he remarked.
""i can not ring for the servants and make them take her away.
there is only one plan."
so he wished she were in her family pyramid, in the egyptian desert, and in a second the sofa was unoccupied.
""a very dangerous and revengeful enemy is now removed from ricardo's path in life," said his majesty, and went to dress for dinner.
meanwhile ricardo was riding gaily home.
the yellow light of jaunia had vanished, and pure blue sky broke overhead as soon as the dauntless dwarf had drawn his latest breath.
the poor, trembling people of the country came out of their huts and accompanied dick, cheering, and throwing roses which had been yellow roses, but blushed red as soon as the dwarf expired.
they attended him to the frontiers of pantouflia, singing his praises, which ricardo had the new and inestimable pleasure of knowing to be deserved.
""it was sharp work," he said to himself, "but much more exciting and glorious than the usual business."
on his return dick did not fail to mention the wasp, and again the king felt how great was his debt to jaqueline.
but they did not think it well to trouble the good queen with the dangers dick had encountered.
chapter viii.
the giant who does not know when he has had enough.
-lcb- 146 -rcb- -lcb- the enormous letter: p146.jpg -rcb- one morning the post brought a truly enormous letter for dick.
it was as broad as a table-cloth, and the address was written in letters as long as a hoop-stick.
""i seem to know that hand," said ricardo; "but i thought the fingers which held the pen had long been cold in death."
he opened, with his sword, the enormous letter, which was couched in the following terms: "the giant as does not know when he has had enuf, presents his compliments to prince ricardo; and i, having recovered from the effects of our little recent rally, will be happy to meet you in the old place for a return-match.
i not being handy with the pen, the giant hopes you will excuse mistakes and bad writing."
dick simply gazed with amazement.
""if ever i thought an enemy was killed and done for, it was that giant," said he.
""why, i made mere mince-collops of him!"
however, he could not refuse a challenge, not to speak of his duty to rid the world of so greedy and odious a tyrant.
dick, therefore, took the usual things -lrb- which the king had secretly restored -rrb-, but first he tried them -- putting on the cap of darkness before the glass, in which he could not see himself.
on second thoughts, he considered it unfair to take the cap.
all the other articles were in working order.
jaqueline on this occasion followed him in the disguise of a crow, flying overhead.
on reaching the cavern -- a huge tunnel in the rock -- where the giant lived, ricardo blew a blast on the horn which hung outside, and in obedience to a written notice, knocked also with a mace provided by the giant for that purpose.
presently he heard heavy footsteps sounding along the cavern, and the giant came out.
he was above the common height for giants, and his whole face and body were seamed over with little red lines, crossing each other like tartan.
these were marks of encounters, in which he had been cut to bits and come together again; for this was his peculiarity, which made him so dangerous.
if you cut off his head, he went on just as before, only without it; and so about everything else.
by dint of magic, he could put his head on again, just as if it had been his hat, if you gave him time enough.
on the last occasion of their meeting, ricardo had left him in a painfully scattered condition, and thought he was done for.
but now, except that a bird had flown away with the little finger of his left hand and one of his ears, the giant was as comfortable as anyone could be in his situation.
""mornin" sir," he said to dick, touching his forehead with his hand.
""glad to see you looking so well.
no bad feeling, i hope, on either side?"
""none on mine, certainly," said ricardo, holding out his hand, which the giant took and shook; "but duty is duty, and giants must go.
the modern world has no room for them."
""that's hearty," said the giant; "i like a fellow of your kind.
now, shall we toss for corners?"
""all right!"
said dick, calling "heads" and winning.
he took the corner with the sun on his back and in the giant's face.
to it they went, the giant aiming a blow with his club that would have felled an elephant.
dick dodged, and cut off the giant's feet at the ankles.
""first blood for the prince!"
said the giant, coming up smiling.
""half - minute time!"
he occupied the half-minute in placing the feet neatly beside each other, as if they had been a pair of boots.
round ii.
-- the giant sparring for wind, ricardo cuts him in two at the waist.
the giant folded his legs up neatly, like a pair of trousers, and laid them down on a rock.
he had now some difficulty in getting rapidly over the ground, and stood mainly on the defensive, and on his waist.
round iii.
-- dick bisects the giant.
both sides now attack him on either hand, and the feet kick him severely.
""no kicking!"
said dick.
""nonsense; all fair in war!"
said the giant.
but do not let us pursue this sanguinary encounter in all its horrible details.
let us also remember -- otherwise the scene would be too painful for an elegant mind to contemplate with entertainment -- that the giant was in excellent training, and thought no more of a few wounds than you do of a crack on the leg from a cricket-ball.
he well deserved the title given him by the fancy, of "the giant who does not know when he has had enough."
* * * * * the contest was over; dick was resting on a rock.
the lists were strewn with interesting but imperfect fragments of the giant, when a set of double teeth of enormous size flew up out of the ground and caught ricardo by the throat!
in vain he strove to separate the teeth, when the crow, stooping from the heavens, became the princess jaqueline, and changed dick into a wren -- a tiny bird, so small that he easily flew out of the jaws of the giant and winged his way to a tree, whence he watched the scene.
but the poor princess jaqueline!
to perform the feat of changing dick into a bird she had, of course, according to all the laws of magic, to resume her own natural form!
there she stood, a beautiful, trembling maiden, her hands crossed on her bosom, entirely at the mercy of the giant!
no sooner had dick escaped than the monster began to collect himself; and before jaqueline could muster strength to run away or summon to her aid the lessons of the fairy paribanou, the giant who never knew when he had enough was himself again.
a boy might have climbed up a tree -lrb- for giants are no tree-climbers, any more than the grizzly bear -rrb-, but jaqueline could not climb.
she merely stood, pale and trembling.
she had saved dick, but at an enormous sacrifice, for the sword and the seven - league boots were lying on the trampled grass.
he had not brought the cap of darkness, and, in the shape of a wren, of course he could not carry away the other articles.
dick was rescued, that was all, and the princess jaqueline had sacrificed herself to her love for him.
the giant picked himself up and pulled himself together, as we said, and then approached jaqueline in a very civil way, for a person of his breeding, head in hand.
""let me introduce myself," he said, and mentioned his name and titles.
""may i ask what you are doing here, and how you came?"
-lcb- "let me introduce myself," he said: p154.jpg -rcb- poor jaqueline threw herself at his feet, and murmured a short and not very intelligible account of herself.
""i do n't understand," said the giant, replacing his head on his shoulders.
""what to do with you, i'm sure i do n't know."
please do n't eat me," did you say?
why, what do you take me for?
i'm not in that line at all; low, i call it!"
jaqueline was somewhat comforted at these words, dropped out of the giant's lips from a considerable height.
""but they call you "the giant who does not know when he has had enough,"" said jaqueline.
""and proud of the title: not enough of fighting.
of punishment i am a glutton, or so my friends are pleased to say.
a brace of oxen, a drove of sheep or two, are enough for me," the giant went on complacently, but forgetting to mention that the sheep and the oxen were the property of other people.
""where am i to put you till your friends come and pay your ransom?"
the giant asked again, and stared at jaqueline in a perplexed way.
""i ca n't take you home with me, that is out of the question.
i have a little woman of my own, and she's not very fond of other ladies; especially, she would like to poison them that have good looks."
now jaqueline saw that the giant, big as he was, courageous too, was afraid of his wife!
""i'll tell you what i'll do; i'll hand you over to a neighbour of mine, who is a bachelor."
""a bachelor giant; would that be quite proper?"
said jaqueline, trying to humour him.
""he's not a giant, bless you; he's a queer fellow, it is not easy to say what he is.
he's the earthquaker, him as shakes the earth now and then, and brings the houses about people's ears."
jaqueline fairly screamed at hearing this awful news.
""hush!
be quiet, do!"
said the giant.
""you'll bring out my little woman, and she is not easy to satisfy with explanations when she finds me conversing with a lady unbeknown to her.
the earthquaker wo n't do you any harm; it's only for safe keeping i'll put you with him.
why, he do n't waken, not once in fifty years.
he's quite the dormouse.
turns on his bed now and then, and things upstairs get upset, more or less; but, as a rule, a child could play with him.
come on!"
then, taking jaqueline up on one hand, on which she sat as if on a chair, he crossed a few ranges of mountains in as many strides.
in front was one tall blue hill, with a flattened peak, and as they drew near the princess felt a curious kind of wind coming round her and round her.
you have heard of whirlpools in water; well, this was just like a whirlpool of air.
even the giant himself could hardly keep his legs against it; then he tossed jaqueline up, and the airy whirlpool seized her and carried her, as if on a tide of water, always round and round in narrowing circles, till she was sucked down into the hollow hill.
even as she went, she seemed to remember the hill, as if she had dreamed about it, and the shape and colour of the country.
but presently she sank softly on to a couch, in a beautifully-lighted rocky hall.
all around her the floor was of white and red marble, but on one side it seemed to end in black nothing.
jaqueline, after a few moments, recovered her senses fully, and changing herself into an eagle, tried to fly up and out.
but as soon as she was in the funnel, the whirlpool of air always sucking down and down, was too strong for her wings.
she was a prisoner in this great gleaming hall, ending in black nothingness.
so she resumed her usual form, and walking to the edge of the darkness, found that it was not empty air, but something black, soft, and strong -- something living.
it had no form or shape, or none that she could make out; but it pulsed with a heart.
jaqueline placed her foot on this curious thing, when a voice came, like thunder heard through a feather-bed: "not near time to get up yet!"
and then there was a snore, and the great hall rocked like a ship at sea.
it was the earthquaker!
the habits of this monstrous animal are very little known, as, of course, he never comes above ground, or at least very seldom, when he makes tracks like a dry river-bed across country.
we are certain that there are earthquakers, otherwise how can we account for earthquakes?
but how to tackle an earthquaker, how to get at him, and what to do with him when you have got at him, are questions which might puzzle even king prigio.
it was not easy to have the better of an enchantress like jaqueline and a prince like ricardo.
in no ordinary circumstances could they have been baffled and defeated; but now it must be admitted that they were in a very trying and alarming situation, especially the princess.
the worst of it was, that as jaqueline sat and thought and thought, she began to remember that she was back in her own country.
the hills were those she used to see from her father's palace windows when she was a child.
and she remembered with horror that once a year her people used to send a beautiful girl to the earthquaker, by way of keeping him quiet, as you shall hear presently.
and now she heard light footsteps and a sound of weeping, and lo!
a great troop of pretty girls passed, sweeping in and out of the halls in a kind of procession, and looking unhappy and lost.
jaqueline ran to them.
""where am i?
who are you?"
she cried, in the language of her own country, which came back to her on a sudden.
""we are nurses of the earthquaker," they said.
""our duty is to sing him asleep, and every year he must have a new song; and every year a new maiden must be sent down from earth, with a new sleepy song she has learned from the priests of manoa, the city of the sun.
are you the new singer?"
""no, i'm not," said jaqueline.
""i do n't know the priests of manoa; i do n't know any new sleepy song.
i only want to find the way out."
""there is no way, or we should have found it," said one of the maidens; "and, if you are the wrong girl, by the day after to-morrow they must send the right one, otherwise the earthquaker will waken, and shake the world, and destroy manoa, the city of the sun."
then they all wept softly in the stillness.
""can we get anything to eat here?"
asked poor jaqueline, at last.
she was beginning to be very hungry, and however alarmed she might be, she felt that dinner would not be unwelcome.
the tallest of the maidens clapped her hands, and immediately a long table was spread by unseen sprites with meringues and cold chicken, and several sorts of delicious ices.
we shall desert jaqueline, who was rather less alarmed when she found that she was not to be starved, at all events, and return to prince ricardo, whom we left fluttering about as a little golden-crested wren.
he followed the giant and jaqueline into the whirlpool of air as far as he dared, and when he saw her vanish down the cone of the hill, he flew straight back to pantouflia.
chapter ix.
prigio has an idea.
-lcb- ricardo and semiramis: p165.jpg -rcb- a weary and way-worn little bird was prince ricardo when he fluttered into the royal study window, in the palace of pantouflia.
the king was out at a council meeting; knowing that ricardo had the right things, all in good order, he was not in the least anxious about him.
the king was out, but semiramis was in -- semiramis, the great grey cat, sitting on a big book on the top of the library steps.
now semiramis was very fond of birds, and no sooner did ricardo enter and flutter on to a table than semiramis gathered herself together and made one fell spring at him.
she just caught his tail feather.
in all his adventures the prince had never been in greater danger.
he escaped, but no more, and went flying round the ceiling, looking for a safe place.
finally he perched on a chandelier that hung from the roof.
here he was safe; and so weary was he, that he put his head under his wing and fell fast asleep.
he was awakened by the return of the king, who threw himself on a sofa and exclaimed: "oh, that prime minister!
his dulness is as heavy as lead; much heavier, in fact!"
then his majesty lit a cigar and took up a volume; he certainly was a sad bookworm.
dick now began to fly about the room, brushing the king's face and trying to attract his notice.
""poor little thing!"
said his majesty.
and dick alighted, and nestled in his breast.
on seeing this, semiramis began to growl, as cats do when they are angry, and slowly approached his majesty.
""get out, semiramis!"
said the king; and lifting her by the neck, he put her out of the room and shut the door, at which she remained scratching and mewing.
dick now crept out of the royal waistcoat, flew to the king's ear, twittered, pointed out of the window with one claw, and, lying down on his back, pretended to be dead.
then he got up again, twittered afresh, pointed to the wishing cap, and, finally, convinced the king that this was no common fowl.
""an enchanted prince or princess," said prigio, "such as i have often read of.
who can it be?
not jaqueline; she could change herself back in a moment.
by the way, where is jaqueline?"
he rang the bell, and asked the servant to look for the princess.
semiramis tried to come in, but was caught and shut up downstairs.
after doing this, the man replied that her royal highness had not been in the palace all day.
the king rushed to the crystal ball, looked all the world over; but no princess!
he became very nervous, and at that moment dick lighted on the crystal ball, and put his claw on the very hill where jaqueline had disappeared.
then he cocked his little eye at the king.
""nay, she is somewhere in the unknown centre of south america," said his majesty; "somewhere behind mount roraima, where nobody has ever been.
i must look into this."
then he put on the wishing cap, and wished that the bird would assume his natural shape if he was under enchantment, as there seemed too good reason to believe.
instantly dick stood before him.
-lcb- instantly dick stood before him: p170.jpg -rcb- "ricardo!"
cried the king in horror; "and in this disguise!
where have you been?
what have you done with jaqueline?
where are the seven-league boots?
where is the sword of sharpness?
speak!
get up!"
for dick was kneeling and weeping bitterly at the royal feet.
""all lost!"
said dick.
""poor jaqueline!
she was the best girl, and the prettiest, and the kindest.
and the earthquaker's got her, and the giant's got the other things," dick ended, crying bitterly.
""calm yourself, ricardo," said his majesty, very pale, but calm and determined.
""here, take a glass of port, and explain how all this happened."
dick drank the wine, and then he told his miserable story.
""you may well sob!
why did n't you use the cap of darkness?
mere conceit!
but there is no use in crying over spilt milk.
the thing is, to rescue jaqueline.
and what are we to say to your mother?"
""that's the worst of it all," said dick.
""mother will break her heart."
""i must see her at once," said the king, "and break it to her."
this was a terrible task; but the queen had such just confidence in her prigio that she soon dried her tears, remarking that heaven would not desert jaqueline, and that the king would find a way out of the trouble.
his majesty retired to his study, put his head in his hands, and thought and thought.
""the thing is, of course," he said, "to destroy the earthquaker before he wakens; but how?
what can kill such a monster?
prodding him with the sword would only stir him up and make him more vicious.
and i know of no other beast we can set against him, as i did with the fire-beast and the ice-beast, when i was young.
oh, for an idea!"
then his mind, somehow, went back to the council and the ponderous stupidity of the prime minister.
""heavier than lead," said the king.
""by george!
i have a plan.
if i could get to the place where they keep the stupidity, i could carry away enough of it to flatten out the earthquaker."
then he remembered how, in an old italian poem, he had read about all the strange lumber-room of odd things which is kept in the moon.
that is the advantage of reading: knowledge is power; and you mostly get knowledge that is really worth having out of good old books which people do not usually read.
""if the stupidity is kept in stock, up in the moon, and comes from there, falling naturally down on the earth in small quantities, i might obtain enough for my purpose," thought king prigio.
""but -- how to get to the moon?
there are difficulties about that."
but difficulties only sharpened the ingenuity of this admirable king.
""the other fellow had a flying horse," said he.
by "the other fellow" king prigio meant an italian knight, astolfo, who, in old times, visited the moon, and there found and brought back the common sense of his friend, orlando, as you may read in the poem of ariosto.
""now," reasoned king prigio, "if there is a flying horse at all, he is in the stables of the king of delhi.
i must look into this."
taking the magic spy-glass, the king surveyed the world from china to peru, and, sure enough, there was the famous flying horse in the king's stable at delhi.
hastily the king thrust his feet into the shoes of swiftness -- so hastily, indeed, that, as the poet says, he "madly crammed a left-hand foot into a right-hand shoe."
but this, many people think, is a sign of good luck; so he put the shoes on the proper feet, and in a few minutes was in the presence of the great mogul.
the monarch received him with some surprise, but with stately kindness, and listened to prigio while he explained what he wanted.
""i am only too happy to assist so adventurous a prince," remarked the great mogul.
""this is like old times!
every horse in my stable is at your service, but, as you say, only the flying horse is of any use to you in this expedition."
he clapped his hands, the grand vizier appeared, and the king gave orders to have the flying horse saddled at once.
he then presented king prigio with a large diamond, and came down into the courtyard to see him mount.
""he's very fresh," said the groom who held the bridle; "has not been out of the stable for three hundred years!"
prigio sprang into the saddle among the salaams of the dusky multitude, and all the ladies of the seraglio waved their scented handkerchiefs out of the windows.
the king, as he had been instructed, turned a knob of gold in the saddle of the flying horse, then kissed his hand to the ladies, and, giving the steed his head, cried, in excellent persian: "to the moon!"
up flew the horse with an easy action, and the king's head nearly swam with the swiftness of the flight.
soon the earth below him was no bigger than a top, spinning on its own axis -lrb- see geography books for this -rrb-, and, as night fell, earth was only a great red moon.
-lcb- king prigio on the flying horse: p178.jpg -rcb- through the dark rode king prigio, into the silver dawn of the moon.
all now became clear and silvery; the coasts of the moon came into sight, with white seas breaking on them; and at last the king reached the silver walls, and the gate of opal.
before the gate stood two beautiful ladies.
one was fair, with yellow locks, the colour of the harvest moon.
she had a crown of a golden snake and white water-lilies, and her dress now shone white, now red, now golden; and in her hand was the golden pitcher that sheds the dew, and a golden wand.
the other lady was as dark as night -- dark eyes, dark hair; her crown was of poppies.
she held the ebony wand of sleep.
her dress was of the deepest blue, sown with stars.
the king knew that they were the maidens of the bright and the dark side of the moon -- of the side you see, and of the side that no one has ever seen, except king prigio.
he stopped the flying horse by turning the other knob in the saddle, alighted, and bowed very low to each of the ladies.
""daring mortal!
what make you here?"
they asked.
and then the king told them about jaqueline and the earthquaker, and how he needed a great weight of stupidity to flatten him out with.
the ladies heard him in silence, and then they said: "follow us," and they flew lightly beside the flying horse till they had crossed all the bright side of the moon, above the silver palaces and silver seas, and reached the summit of the mountains of the moon which separate the bright from the dark side.
""here i may go no further," said the bright lady; "and beyond, as you see, all is darkness and heavy sleep."
then she touched prigio with her golden wand with twisted serpents, and he became luminous, light raying out from him; and the dark lady, too, shone like silver in the night: and on they flew, over black rocks and black rivers, till they reached a huge mountain, like a mountain of coal, many thousand feet high, for its head was lost in the blackness of darkness.
the dark moon-lady struck the rock with her ebony wand, and said, "open!"
and the cliffs opened like a door, and they were within the mountain.
""here," said the dark lady, "is the storehouse of all the stupidity; hence it descends in showers like stardust on the earth whenever this mountain, which is a volcano, is in eruption.
only a little of the stupidity reaches the earth, and that only in invisible dust; yet you know how weighty it is, even in that form."
""indeed, madam," said the king, "no one knows it better than i do."
""then make your choice of the best sort of stupidity for your purpose," said the dark lady.
and in the light which flowed from their bodies king prigio looked round at the various kinds of solid stupidity.
there it all lay in masses -- the stupidity of bad sermons, of ignorant reviewers, of bad poems, of bad speeches, of dreary novels, of foolish statesmen, of ignorant mobs, of fine ladies, of idle, naughty boys and girls; and the king examined them all, and all were very, very heavy.
but when he came to the stupidity of the learned -- of dull, blind writers on shakspeare, and homer, and the bible -- then king prigio saw that he had found the sort he wanted, and that a very little of it would go a long way.
he never could have got it on the saddle of the flying horse if the dark lady had not touched it with her ebony wand, and made it light to carry till it was wanted for his purpose.
when he needed it for use, he was to utter a certain spell, which she taught him, and then the lump would recover its natural weight.
so he easily put a great block on his saddle-bow, and he and the dark lady flew back till they reached the crest of the mountains of the moon.
there she touched him with her ebony wand, and the silver light which the bright lady had shed on him died from his face and his body, and he became like other men.
""you see your way?"
said the dark lady, pointing to the bright moon of earth, shining far off in the heavens.
then he knelt down and thanked her, and she murmured strange words of blessing which he did not understand; but her face was grave and kind, and he thought of queen rosalind, his wife.
then he jumped on the flying horse, galloped down and down, till he reached his palace gate; called for ricardo, set him behind him on the saddle, and away they rode, above land and wide seas, till they saw the crest of the hollow hill, where jaqueline was with the earthquaker.
beyond it they marked the glittering spires and towers of manoa, the city of the sun; and "thither," said king prigio, who had been explaining how matters stood, to ricardo, "we must ride, for i believe they stand in great need of our assistance."
""had we not better go to jaqueline first, sir?"
said ricardo.
""no," said the king; "i think mine is the best plan.
manoa, whose golden spires and pinnacles are shining below us, is the city of the sun, which sir walter raleigh and the spaniards could never find, so that men have doubted of its existence.
we are needed there, to judge by that angry crowd in the marketplace.
how they howl!"
chapter x.
the end.
-lcb- man with rock: p186.jpg -rcb- it was on a strange sight that the king and ricardo looked down from the flying horse.
beneath them lay the city of manoa, filling with its golden battlements and temples a hollow of the mountains.
here were palaces all carved over with faces of men and beasts, and with twisted patterns of serpents.
the city walls were built of huge square stones, and among the groves towered pyramids, on which the people did service to their gods.
from every temple top came the roar of beaten drums, great drums of serpentskin.
but, in the centre of the chief square of the town, was gathered a wild crowd of men in shining copper armour and helmets of gold and glittering dresses of feathers.
among them ran about priests with hideous masks, crying them on to besiege and break down the royal palace.
from the battlements of the palace the king's guardsmen were firing arrows and throwing spears.
the mob shot arrows back, some of them tipped with lighted straw, to burn the palace down.
but, in the very centre of the square, was a clear space of ground, on which fell the shadow of a tall column of red stone, all carved with serpents and faces of gods.
beside it stood a figure horrible to see: a man clothed in serpent skins, whose face was the grinning face of a skull; but the skull was shining black and red in patches, and a long white beard flowed from beneath it.
this man, mounted on a kind of altar of red stone, waved his hand and yelled, and seemed to point to the shadow of the column which fell across the square.
the people were so furious and so eager that they did not, at first, notice king prigio as he slowly descended.
but at last the eyes within the skull looked up and saw him, and then the man gave a great cry, rent his glittering dress of serpentskin, and held up his hands.
then all the multitude looked up, and seeing the flying horse, let their weapons fall; and the man of the skull tore it from his face, and knelt before king prigio, with his head in the dust.
""thou hast come, oh, pachacamac, as is foretold in the prophecy of the cord of the venerable knots!
thou hast come, but behold the shadow of the stone!
thou art too late, oh lord of the earth and the sea!"
then he pointed to the shadow, which, naturally, was growing shorter, as the sun drew near mid-day.
he spoke in the language of the ancient incas of peru, which of course prigio knew very well; and he also knew that pachacamac was the god of that people.
""i have come," prigio said, with presence of mind, "as it has been prophesied of old."
""riding on a beast that flies," said the old priest, "even as the oracle declared.
glory to pachacamac, even though we die to-day!"
""in what can i help my people?"
said prigio.
""thou knowest; why should we instruct thee?
thou knowest that on midsummer-day, every year, before the shadow shrinks back to the base of the huaca -lcb- 190 -rcb- of manoa, we must offer a maiden to lull the earthquaker with a new song.
lo, now the shadow shrinks to the foot of the huaca, and the maid is not offered!
for the lot fell on the daughter of thy servant the inca, and he refuses to give her up.
one daughter of his, he says, has been sacrificed to the sacred birds, the cunturs: the birds were found slain on the hill-top, no man knows how; but the maiden vanished."
""why, it must have been jaqueline.
i killed the birds," said ricardo, in pantouflian.
""silence, not a word!"
said the king, sternly.
""and what makes you bear arms against the inca?"
he asked the old man.
""we would slay him and her," answered the priest; "for, when the shadow shrinks to the foot of the stone, the sun will shine straight down into the hollow hill of the earthquaker, and he will waken and destroy manoa and the temples of the sun."
""then wherefore would you slay them, when you must all perish?"
""the people, oh pachacamac, would have revenge before they die."
""oh, folly of men!"
said the king, solemnly; then he cried: "lead me to the inca; this day you shall not perish.
is it not predicted in the cord of the venerable knots that i shall slay this monster?"
""hasten, oh pachacamac, for the shadow shortens!"
said the priest.
""lead me to the inca," answered prigio.
at this the people arose with a great shout, for they, too, had been kneeling; and, sending a flag of truce before king prigio, the priest led him into the palace.
the ground was strewn with bodies of the slain, and through them prigio rode slowly into the courtyard, where the inca was sitting in the dust, weeping and throwing ashes on his long hair and his golden raiment.
the king bade the priest remain without the palace gates; then dismounted, and, advancing to the inca, raised him and embraced him.
""i come, a king to a king," he said.
""my cousin, take courage; your sorrows are ended.
if i do not slay the earthquaker, sacrifice me to your gods."
""the prophecy is fulfilled," said the inca, and wept for joy.
""yet thou must hasten, for it draws near to noon."
then prigio went up to the golden battlements, and saying no word, waved his hand.
in a moment the square was empty, for the people rushed to give thanks in the temples.
""wait my coming, my cousin," said prigio to the inca; "i shall bring you back the daughter that was lost, when i have slain your enemy."
the inca would have knelt at his feet; but the king raised him, and bade him prepare such a feast as had never been seen in manoa.
""the lost are found to-day," he said; "be you ready to welcome them."
then, mounting the flying horse, with dick beside him, he rose towards the peak of the hill where the earthquaker had his home.
already the ground was beginning to tremble; the earthquaker was stirring in his sleep, for the maiden of the new song had not been sent to him, and the year ended at noon, and then he would rise and ruin manoa.
the sun was approaching mid-day, and prigio put spurs to the flying horse.
ten minutes more, and the sun would look straight down the crater of the hollow hill, and the earthquaker would arouse himself when the light and the heat fell on his body.
already the light of the sun shone slanting half-way down the hollow cone as the whirlpool of air caught the flying horse, and drew him swiftly down and down to the shadowy halls.
there knelt and wept the nurses of the earthquaker on the marble floor; but jaqueline stood a little apart, very pale, but not weeping.
ricardo had leaped off before the horse touched the ground, and rushed to jaqueline, and embraced her in his arms; and, oh!
how glad she was to see him, so that she quite forgot her danger and laughed for joy.
""oh!
you have come, you have come; i knew you would come!"
she cried.
then king prigio advanced, the mighty weight in his hand, to the verge of the dreadful gulf of the earthquaker.
the dim walls grew radiant; a long slant arm of yellow light touched the black body of the earthquaker, and a thrill went through him, and shook the world, so that, far away, the bells rang in pantouflia.
a moment more, and he would waken in his strength; and once awake, he would shatter the city walls and ruin manoa.
even now a great mass of rock fell from the roof deep down in the secret caves, and broke into flying fragments, and all the echoes roared and rang.
king prigio stood with the mighty mass poised in his hands.
""die!"
he cried; and he uttered the words of power, the magic spell that the dark moon lady had taught him.
then all its invincible natural weight came into the mass which the king held, and down it shot full on the body of the earthquaker; and where that had been was nothing but a vast abyss, silent, empty, and blank, and bottomless.
far, far below, thousands of miles below, in the very centre of the earth, lay the dead earthquaker, crushed flat as a sheet of paper, and the sun of midsummer-day shone straight down on the dreadful chasm, and could not waken him any more for ever.
the king drew a long breath.
""stupidity has saved the world," he said; and, with only strength to draw back one step from the abyss, he fell down, hiding his face in his hands.
but jaqueline's arms were round his neck, and the maidens brought him water from an ice-cold spring; and soon king prigio was himself again, and ready for anything.
but afterwards he used to say that the moment when the earthquaker stirred was the most dreadful in his life.
now, in manoa, where all the firm foundations of the city had trembled once, when the sun just touched the earthquaker, the people, seeing that the shadow of the sacred column had crept to its foot, and yet manoa stood firm again, and the temple of the sun was not overthrown, raised such a cry that it echoed even through the halls within the hollow hill.
who shall describe the joy of the maidens, and how often jaqueline and ricardo kissed each other?
""you have saved me!"
she cried to the king, throwing her arms round him again.
""you have saved manoa!"
""and you have saved the hope of pantouflia, not once or twice," said his majesty, grandly.
and he told dick how much he had owed to jaqueline, in the fight with the yellow dwarf, and the fight with the giant, for he did not think it necessary to mention the affair at rome.
then dick kissed jaqueline again, and all the maidens kissed each other, and they quite cried for gladness.
""but we keep his majesty the inca waiting," said prigio.
""punctuality is the courtesy of kings.
you ladies will excuse me, i am sure, if i remove first from the dungeon her whom we call the princess jaqueline.
the inca, her father, has a claim on us to this preference."
then placing jaqueline on the saddle, and leaving dick to comfort the other young ladies, who were still rather nervous, the king flew off to manoa, for the wind, of course, died with the death of the earthquaker.
i can not tell you the delight of all manoa, and of the inca, when they saw the flying horse returning, and recognised their long-lost princess, who rushed into the arms of her father.
they beat the serpent drums, for they had no bells, on the tops of the temples.
they went quite mad with delight: enemies kissed in the streets; and all the parents, without exception, allowed all the young people who happened to be in love to be married that very day.
then prigio brought back all the maidens, one after the other, and dick last; and he fell at the inca's feet, and requested leave to marry jaqueline.
but, before that could be done, king prigio, mounted on the palace balcony, made a long but very lucid speech to the assembled people.
he began by explaining that he was not their god, pachacamac, but king of a powerful country of which they had never heard before, as they lived very much withdrawn in an unknown region of the world.
then he pointed out, in the most considerate manner, that their religion was not all he could wish, otherwise they would never sacrifice young ladies to wild birds and earthquakers.
he next sketched out the merits of his own creed, that of the lutheran church; and the inca straightway observed that he proposed to establish it in manoa at once.
some objection was raised by the old priest in the skull mask; but when the inca promised to make him an archbishop, and to continue all his revenues, the priest admitted that he was perfectly satisfied; and the general public cheered and waved their hats with emotion.
it was arranged that the inca, with his other daughters, should visit pantouflia immediately, both because he could not bear to leave jaqueline, and also because there were a few points on which he felt that he still needed information.
the government was left in the hands of the archbishop, who began at once by burning his skull mask -lrb- you may see one like it in the british museum, in the mexican room -rrb-, and by letting loose all the birds and beasts which the manoans used to worship.
so all the young people were married in the golden temple of the sun, and all the earthquaker's nurses who were under thirty were wedded to the young men who had been fond of them before they were sent into the hollow hill.
these young men had never cared for any one else.
everybody wore bridal favours, all the unengaged young ladies acted as bridesmaids, and such a throwing of rice and old shoes has very seldom been witnessed.
as for the happy royal pair, with their fathers, and the other princess -lrb- who did not happen to be engaged -rrb-, back they flew to pantouflia.
and there was queen rosalind waiting at the palace gates, and crying and laughing with pleasure when she heard that the wish of her heart was fulfilled, and jaqueline was to be her daughter.
""and, as for the earthquaker," said her majesty, "i never was really anxious in the least, for i knew no beast in the world was a match for you, my dear."
so, just to make everything orderly and correct, ricardo and jaqueline were married over again, in the cathedral of pantouflia.
the marriage presents came in afterwards, of course, and among them, what do you think?
why, the seven-league boots and the sword of sharpness, with a very polite note of extraordinary size: "the giant who does not know when he has had enough presents his hearty congratulations to the royal pair, and begs to lay at their feet the seven-league boots -lrb- they not fitting me -rrb- and the sword which prince ricardo left in the giant's keeping recently.
the giant hopes no bad blood; and i am, "yours very faithfully, "the g., & c. "p.s. -- his little woman sends her congratulations."
so you see the giant was not such a bad sort of fellow after all, and prince ricardo always admitted that he never met a foe more gallant and good-humoured.
with such a clever wife, ricardo easily passed all his examinations; and his little son, prince prigio -lrb- named after his august grandfather -rrb-, never had to cry, "mamma, mamma, father's plucked again."
so they lived happily in a happy country, occasionally visiting manoa; and as they possessed the magical water o life from the fountain of lions, i do not believe that any of them ever died at all, but that prigio is still king of pantouflia.
_book_title_: andrew_lang___the_blue_fairy_book.txt.out
the bronze ring once upon a time in a certain country there lived a king whose palace was surrounded by a spacious garden.
but, though the gardeners were many and the soil was good, this garden yielded neither flowers nor fruits, not even grass or shady trees.
the king was in despair about it, when a wise old man said to him: "your gardeners do not understand their business: but what can you expect of men whose fathers were cobblers and carpenters?
how should they have learned to cultivate your garden?"
""you are quite right," cried the king.
""therefore," continued the old man, "you should send for a gardener whose father and grandfather have been gardeners before him, and very soon your garden will be full of green grass and gay flowers, and you will enjoy its delicious fruit."
so the king sent messengers to every town, village, and hamlet in his dominions, to look for a gardener whose forefathers had been gardeners also, and after forty days one was found.
""come with us and be gardener to the king," they said to him.
""how can i go to the king," said the gardener, "a poor wretch like me?"
""that is of no consequence," they answered.
""here are new clothes for you and your family."
""but i owe money to several people."
""we will pay your debts," they said.
so the gardener allowed himself to be persuaded, and went away with the messengers, taking his wife and his son with him; and the king, delighted to have found a real gardener, entrusted him with the care of his garden.
the man found no difficulty in making the royal garden produce flowers and fruit, and at the end of a year the park was not like the same place, and the king showered gifts upon his new servant.
the gardener, as you have heard already, had a son, who was a very handsome young man, with most agreeable manners, and every day he carried the best fruit of the garden to the king, and all the prettiest flowers to his daughter.
now this princess was wonderfully pretty and was just sixteen years old, and the king was beginning to think it was time that she should be married.
""my dear child," said he, "you are of an age to take a husband, therefore i am thinking of marrying you to the son of my prime minister.
""father," replied the princess, "i will never marry the son of the minister."
""why not?"
asked the king.
""because i love the gardener's son," answered the princess.
on hearing this the king was at first very angry, and then he wept and sighed, and declared that such a husband was not worthy of his daughter; but the young princess was not to be turned from her resolution to marry the gardener's son.
then the king consulted his ministers.
""this is what you must do," they said.
""to get rid of the gardener you must send both suitors to a very distant country, and the one who returns first shall marry your daughter."
the king followed this advice, and the minister's son was presented with a splendid horse and a purse full of gold pieces, while the gardener's son had only an old lame horse and a purse full of copper money, and every one thought he would never come back from his journey.
the day before they started the princess met her lover and said to him: "be brave, and remember always that i love you.
take this purse full of jewels and make the best use you can of them for love of me, and come back quickly and demand my hand."
the two suitors left the town together, but the minister's son went off at a gallop on his good horse, and very soon was lost to sight behind the most distant hills.
he traveled on for some days, and presently reached a fountain beside which an old woman all in rags sat upon a stone.
""good-day to you, young traveler," said she.
but the minister's son made no reply.
""have pity upon me, traveler," she said again.
""i am dying of hunger, as you see, and three days have i been here and no one has given me anything."
""let me alone, old witch," cried the young man; "i can do nothing for you," and so saying he went on his way.
that same evening the gardener's son rode up to the fountain upon his lame gray horse.
""good-day to you, young traveler," said the beggar-woman.
""good-day, good woman," answered he.
""young traveler, have pity upon me."
""take my purse, good woman," said he, "and mount behind me, for your legs ca n't be very strong."
the old woman did n't wait to be asked twice, but mounted behind him, and in this style they reached the chief city of a powerful kingdom.
the minister's son was lodged in a grand inn, the gardener's son and the old woman dismounted at the inn for beggars.
the next day the gardener's son heard a great noise in the street, and the king's heralds passed, blowing all kinds of instruments, and crying: "the king, our master, is old and infirm.
he will give a great reward to whoever will cure him and give him back the strength of his youth."
then the old beggar-woman said to her benefactor: "this is what you must do to obtain the reward which the king promises.
go out of the town by the south gate, and there you will find three little dogs of different colors; the first will be white, the second black, the third red.
you must kill them and then burn them separately, and gather up the ashes.
put the ashes of each dog into a bag of its own color, then go before the door of the palace and cry out," a celebrated physician has come from janina in albania.
he alone can cure the king and give him back the strength of his youth."
the king's physicians will say, this is an impostor, and not a learned man," and they will make all sorts of difficulties, but you will overcome them all at last, and will present yourself before the sick king.
you must then demand as much wood as three mules can carry, and a great cauldron, and must shut yourself up in a room with the sultan, and when the cauldron boils you must throw him into it, and there leave him until his flesh is completely separated from his bones.
then arrange the bones in their proper places, and throw over them the ashes out of the three bags.
the king will come back to life, and will be just as he was when he was twenty years old.
for your reward you must demand the bronze ring which has the power to grant you everything you desire.
go, my son, and do not forget any of my instructions."
the young man followed the old beggar-woman's directions.
on going out of the town he found the white, red, and black dogs, and killed and burnt them, gathering the ashes in three bags.
then he ran to the palace and cried: "a celebrated physician has just come from janina in albania.
he alone can cure the king and give him back the strength of his youth."
the king's physicians at first laughed at the unknown wayfarer, but the sultan ordered that the stranger should be admitted.
they brought the cauldron and the loads of wood, and very soon the king was boiling away.
toward mid-day the gardener's son arranged the bones in their places, and he had hardly scattered the ashes over them before the old king revived, to find himself once more young and hearty.
""how can i reward you, my benefactor?"
he cried.
""will you take half my treasures?"
""no," said the gardener's son.
""my daughter's hand?""
no."
""take half my kingdom."
""no.
give me only the bronze ring which can instantly grant me anything i wish for."
""alas!"
said the king, "i set great store by that marvelous ring; nevertheless, you shall have it."
and he gave it to him.
the gardener's son went back to say good-by to the old beggar-woman; then he said to the bronze ring: "prepare a splendid ship in which i may continue my journey.
let the hull be of fine gold, the masts of silver, the sails of brocade; let the crew consist of twelve young men of noble appearance, dressed like kings.
st. nicholas will be at the helm.
as to the cargo, let it be diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and carbuncles."
and immediately a ship appeared upon the sea which resembled in every particular the description given by the gardener's son, and, stepping on board, he continued his journey.
presently he arrived at a great town and established himself in a wonderful palace.
after several days he met his rival, the minister's son, who had spent all his money and was reduced to the disagreeable employment of a carrier of dust and rubbish.
the gardener's son said to him: "what is your name, what is your family, and from what country do you come?"
""i am the son of the prime minister of a great nation, and yet see what a degrading occupation i am reduced to."
""listen to me; though i do n't know anything more about you, i am willing to help you.
i will give you a ship to take you back to your own country upon one condition."
""whatever it may be, i accept it willingly."
""follow me to my palace."
the minister's son followed the rich stranger, whom he had not recognized.
when they reached the palace the gardener's son made a sign to his slaves, who completely undressed the new-comer.
""make this ring red-hot," commanded the master, "and mark the man with it upon his back."
the slaves obeyed him.
""now, young man," said the rich stranger, "i am going to give you a vessel which will take you back to your own country."
and, going out, he took the bronze ring and said: "bronze ring, obey thy master.
prepare me a ship of which the half-rotten timbers shall be painted black, let the sails be in rags, and the sailors infirm and sickly.
one shall have lost a leg, another an arm, the third shall be a hunchback, another lame or club-footed or blind, and most of them shall be ugly and covered with scars.
go, and let my orders be executed."
the minister's son embarked in this old vessel, and thanks to favorable winds, at length reached his own country.
in spite of the pitiable condition in which he returned they received him joyfully.
""i am the first to come back," said he to the king; now fulfil your promise, and give me the princess in marriage.
so they at once began to prepare for the wedding festivities.
as to the poor princess, she was sorrowful and angry enough about it.
the next morning, at daybreak, a wonderful ship with every sail set came to anchor before the town.
the king happened at that moment to be at the palace window.
""what strange ship is this," he cried, "that has a golden hull, silver masts, and silken sails, and who are the young men like princes who man it?
and do i not see st. nicholas at the helm?
go at once and invite the captain of the ship to come to the palace."
his servants obeyed him, and very soon in came an enchantingly handsome young prince, dressed in rich silk, ornamented with pearls and diamonds.
""young man," said the king, "you are welcome, whoever you may be.
do me the favor to be my guest as long as you remain in my capital."
""many thanks, sire," replied the captain, "i accept your offer."
""my daughter is about to be married," said the king; "will you give her away?"
""i shall be charmed, sire."
soon after came the princess and her betrothed.
""why, how is this?"
cried the young captain; "would you marry this charming princess to such a man as that?"
""but he is my prime minister's son!"
""what does that matter?
i can not give your daughter away.
the man she is betrothed to is one of my servants."
""your servant?"
""without doubt.
i met him in a distant town reduced to carrying away dust and rubbish from the houses.
i had pity on him and engaged him as one of my servants."
""it is impossible!"
cried the king.
""do you wish me to prove what i say?
this young man returned in a vessel which i fitted out for him, an unseaworthy ship with a black battered hull, and the sailors were infirm and crippled."
""it is quite true," said the king.
""it is false," cried the minister's son.
""i do not know this man!"
""sire," said the young captain, "order your daughter's betrothed to be stripped, and see if the mark of my ring is not branded upon his back."
the king was about to give this order, when the minister's son, to save himself from such an indignity, admitted that the story was true.
""and now, sire," said the young captain, "do you not recognize me?"
""i recognize you," said the princess; "you are the gardener's son whom i have always loved, and it is you i wish to marry."
""young man, you shall be my son-in-law," cried the king.
""the marriage festivities are already begun, so you shall marry my daughter this very day."
and so that very day the gardener's son married the beautiful princess.
several months passed.
the young couple were as happy as the day was long, and the king was more and more pleased with himself for having secured such a son-in-law.
but, presently, the captain of the golden ship found it necessary to take a long voyage, and after embracing his wife tenderly he embarked.
now in the outskirts of the capital there lived an old man, who had spent his life in studying black arts -- alchemy, astrology, magic, and enchantment.
this man found out that the gardener's son had only succeeded in marrying the princess by the help of the genii who obeyed the bronze ring.
""i will have that ring," said he to himself.
so he went down to the sea-shore and caught some little red fishes.
really, they were quite wonderfully pretty.
then he came back, and, passing before the princess's window, he began to cry out: "who wants some pretty little red fishes?"
the princess heard him, and sent out one of her slaves, who said to the old peddler: "what will you take for your fish?"
""a bronze ring."
""a bronze ring, old simpleton!
and where shall i find one?"
""under the cushion in the princess's room."
the slave went back to her mistress.
""the old madman will take neither gold nor silver," said she.
""what does he want then?"
""a bronze ring that is hidden under a cushion."
""find the ring and give it to him," said the princess.
and at last the slave found the bronze ring, which the captain of the golden ship had accidentally left behind and carried it to the man, who made off with it instantly.
hardly had he reached his own house when, taking the ring, he said, "bronze ring, obey thy master.
i desire that the golden ship shall turn to black wood, and the crew to hideous negroes; that st. nicholas shall leave the helm and that the only cargo shall be black cats."
and the genii of the bronze ring obeyed him.
finding himself upon the sea in this miserable condition, the young captain understood that some one must have stolen the bronze ring from him, and he lamented his misfortune loudly; but that did him no good.
""alas!"
he said to himself, "whoever has taken my ring has probably taken my dear wife also.
what good will it do me to go back to my own country?"
and he sailed about from island to island, and from shore to shore, believing that wherever he went everybody was laughing at him, and very soon his poverty was so great that he and his crew and the poor black cats had nothing to eat but herbs and roots.
after wandering about a long time he reached an island inhabited by mice.
the captain landed upon the shore and began to explore the country.
there were mice everywhere, and nothing but mice.
some of the black cats had followed him, and, not having been fed for several days, they were fearfully hungry, and made terrible havoc among the mice.
then the queen of the mice held a council.
""these cats will eat every one of us," she said, "if the captain of the ship does not shut the ferocious animals up.
let us send a deputation to him of the bravest among us."
several mice offered themselves for this mission and set out to find the young captain.
""captain," said they, "go away quickly from our island, or we shall perish, every mouse of us."
""willingly," replied the young captain, "upon one condition.
that is that you shall first bring me back a bronze ring which some clever magician has stolen from me.
if you do not do this i will land all my cats upon your island, and you shall be exterminated."
the mice withdrew in great dismay.
""what is to be done?"
said the queen.
""how can we find this bronze ring?"
she held a new council, calling in mice from every quarter of the globe, but nobody knew where the bronze ring was.
suddenly three mice arrived from a very distant country.
one was blind, the second lame, and the third had her ears cropped.
""ho, ho, ho!"
said the new-comers.
""we come from a far distant country."
""do you know where the bronze ring is which the genii obey?"
""ho, ho, ho!
we know; an old sorcerer has taken possession of it, and now he keeps it in his pocket by day and in his mouth by night."
""go and take it from him, and come back as soon as possible."
so the three mice made themselves a boat and set sail for the magician's country.
when they reached the capital they landed and ran to the palace, leaving only the blind mouse on the shore to take care of the boat.
then they waited till it was night.
the wicked old man lay down in bed and put the bronze ring into his mouth, and very soon he was asleep.
""now, what shall we do?"
said the two little animals to each other.
the mouse with the cropped ears found a lamp full of oil and a bottle full of pepper.
so she dipped her tail first in the oil and then in the pepper, and held it to the sorcerer's nose.
""atisha!
atisha!"
sneezed the old man, but he did not wake, and the shock made the bronze ring jump out of his mouth.
quick as thought the lame mouse snatched up the precious talisman and carried it off to the boat.
imagine the despair of the magician when he awoke and the bronze ring was nowhere to be found!
but by that time our three mice had set sail with their prize.
a favoring breeze was carrying them toward the island where the queen of the mice was awaiting them.
naturally they began to talk about the bronze ring.
""which of us deserves the most credit?"
they cried all at once.
""i do," said the blind mouse, "for without my watchfulness our boat would have drifted away to the open sea."
""no, indeed," cried the mouse with the cropped ears; "the credit is mine.
did i not cause the ring to jump out of the man's mouth?"
""no, it is mine," cried the lame one, "for i ran off with the ring."
and from high words they soon came to blows, and, alas!
when the quarrel was fiercest the bronze ring fell into the sea.
""how are we to face our queen," said the three mice "when by our folly we have lost the talisman and condemned our people to be utterly exterminated?
we can not go back to our country; let us land on this desert island and there end our miserable lives."
no sooner said than done.
the boat reached the island, and the mice landed.
the blind mouse was speedily deserted by her two sisters, who went off to hunt flies, but as she wandered sadly along the shore she found a dead fish, and was eating it, when she felt something very hard.
at her cries the other two mice ran up.
""it is the bronze ring!
it is the talisman!"
they cried joyfully, and, getting into their boat again, they soon reached the mouse island.
it was time they did, for the captain was just going to land his cargo of cats, when a deputation of mice brought him the precious bronze ring.
""bronze ring," commanded the young man, "obey thy master.
let my ship appear as it was before."
immediately the genii of the ring set to work, and the old black vessel became once more the wonderful golden ship with sails of brocade; the handsome sailors ran to the silver masts and the silken ropes, and very soon they set sail for the capital.
ah!
how merrily the sailors sang as they flew over the glassy sea!
at last the port was reached.
the captain landed and ran to the palace, where he found the wicked old man asleep.
the princess clasped her husband in a long embrace.
the magician tried to escape, but he was seized and bound with strong cords.
the next day the sorcerer, tied to the tail of a savage mule loaded with nuts, was broken into as many pieces as there were nuts upon the mule's back.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- traditions populaires de l'asie mineure.
carnoy et nicolaides.
paris: maisonneuve, 1889.
prince hyacinth and the dear little princess once upon a time there lived a king who was deeply in love with a princess, but she could not marry anyone, because she was under an enchantment.
so the king set out to seek a fairy, and asked what he could do to win the princess's love.
the fairy said to him: "you know that the princess has a great cat which she is very fond of.
whoever is clever enough to tread on that cat's tail is the man she is destined to marry."
the king said to himself that this would not be very difficult, and he left the fairy, determined to grind the cat's tail to powder rather than not tread on it at all.
you may imagine that it was not long before he went to see the princess, and puss, as usual, marched in before him, arching his back.
the king took a long step, and quite thought he had the tail under his foot, but the cat turned round so sharply that he only trod on air.
and so it went on for eight days, till the king began to think that this fatal tail must be full of quicksilver -- it was never still for a moment.
at last, however, he was lucky enough to come upon puss fast asleep and with his tail conveniently spread out.
so the king, without losing a moment, set his foot upon it heavily.
with one terrific yell the cat sprang up and instantly changed into a tall man, who, fixing his angry eyes upon the king, said: "you shall marry the princess because you have been able to break the enchantment, but i will have my revenge.
you shall have a son, who will never be happy until he finds out that his nose is too long, and if you ever tell anyone what i have just said to you, you shall vanish away instantly, and no one shall ever see you or hear of you again."
though the king was horribly afraid of the enchanter, he could not help laughing at this threat.
""if my son has such a long nose as that," he said to himself, "he must always see it or feel it; at least, if he is not blind or without hands."
but, as the enchanter had vanished, he did not waste any more time in thinking, but went to seek the princess, who very soon consented to marry him.
but after all, they had not been married very long when the king died, and the queen had nothing left to care for but her little son, who was called hyacinth.
the little prince had large blue eyes, the prettiest eyes in the world, and a sweet little mouth, but, alas!
his nose was so enormous that it covered half his face.
the queen was inconsolable when she saw this great nose, but her ladies assured her that it was not really as large as it looked; that it was a roman nose, and you had only to open any history to see that every hero has a large nose.
the queen, who was devoted to her baby, was pleased with what they told her, and when she looked at hyacinth again, his nose certainly did not seem to her quite so large.
the prince was brought up with great care; and, as soon as he could speak, they told him all sorts of dreadful stories about people who had short noses.
no one was allowed to come near him whose nose did not more or less resemble his own, and the courtiers, to get into favor with the queen, took to pulling their babies" noses several times every day to make them grow long.
but, do what they would, they were nothing by comparison with the prince's.
when he grew sensible he learned history; and whenever any great prince or beautiful princess was spoken of, his teachers took care to tell him that they had long noses.
his room was hung with pictures, all of people with very large noses; and the prince grew up so convinced that a long nose was a great beauty, that he would not on any account have had his own a single inch shorter!
when his twentieth birthday was passed the queen thought it was time that he should be married, so she commanded that the portraits of several princesses should be brought for him to see, and among the others was a picture of the dear little princess!
now, she was the daughter of a great king, and would some day possess several kingdoms herself; but prince hyacinth had not a thought to spare for anything of that sort, he was so much struck with her beauty.
the princess, whom he thought quite charming, had, however, a little saucy nose, which, in her face, was the prettiest thing possible, but it was a cause of great embarrassment to the courtiers, who had got into such a habit of laughing at little noses that they sometimes found themselves laughing at hers before they had time to think; but this did not do at all before the prince, who quite failed to see the joke, and actually banished two of his courtiers who had dared to mention disrespectfully the dear little princess's tiny nose!
the others, taking warning from this, learned to think twice before they spoke, and one even went so far as to tell the prince that, though it was quite true that no man could be worth anything unless he had a long nose, still, a woman's beauty was a different thing; and he knew a learned man who understood greek and had read in some old manuscripts that the beautiful cleopatra herself had a "tip-tilted" nose!
the prince made him a splendid present as a reward for this good news, and at once sent ambassadors to ask the dear little princess in marriage.
the king, her father, gave his consent; and prince hyacinth, who, in his anxiety to see the princess, had gone three leagues to meet her was just advancing to kiss her hand when, to the horror of all who stood by, the enchanter appeared as suddenly as a flash of lightning, and, snatching up the dear little princess, whirled her away out of their sight!
the prince was left quite unconsolable, and declared that nothing should induce him to go back to his kingdom until he had found her again, and refusing to allow any of his courtiers to follow him, he mounted his horse and rode sadly away, letting the animal choose his own path.
so it happened that he came presently to a great plain, across which he rode all day long without seeing a single house, and horse and rider were terribly hungry, when, as the night fell, the prince caught sight of a light, which seemed to shine from a cavern.
he rode up to it, and saw a little old woman, who appeared to be at least a hundred years old.
she put on her spectacles to look at prince hyacinth, but it was quite a long time before she could fix them securely because her nose was so very short.
the prince and the fairy -lrb- for that was who she was -rrb- had no sooner looked at one another than they went into fits of laughter, and cried at the same moment, "oh, what a funny nose!"
""not so funny as your own," said prince hyacinth to the fairy; "but, madam, i beg you to leave the consideration of our noses -- such as they are -- and to be good enough to give me something to eat, for i am starving, and so is my poor horse."
""with all my heart," said the fairy.
""though your nose is so ridiculous you are, nevertheless, the son of my best friend.
i loved your father as if he had been my brother.
now he had a very handsome nose!"
""and pray what does mine lack?"
said the prince.
""oh!
it does n't lack anything," replied the fairy.
""on the contrary quite, there is only too much of it.
but never mind, one may be a very worthy man though his nose is too long.
i was telling you that i was your father's friend; he often came to see me in the old times, and you must know that i was very pretty in those days; at least, he used to say so.
i should like to tell you of a conversation we had the last time i ever saw him."
""indeed," said the prince, "when i have supped it will give me the greatest pleasure to hear it; but consider, madam, i beg of you, that i have had nothing to eat to-day."
""the poor boy is right," said the fairy; "i was forgetting.
come in, then, and i will give you some supper, and while you are eating i can tell you my story in a very few words -- for i do n't like endless tales myself.
too long a tongue is worse than too long a nose, and i remember when i was young that i was so much admired for not being a great chatterer.
they used to tell the queen, my mother, that it was so.
for though you see what i am now, i was the daughter of a great king.
my father --" "your father, i dare say, got something to eat when he was hungry!"
interrupted the prince.
""oh!
certainly," answered the fairy, "and you also shall have supper directly.
i only just wanted to tell you --" "but i really can not listen to anything until i have had something to eat," cried the prince, who was getting quite angry; but then, remembering that he had better be polite as he much needed the fairy's help, he added: "i know that in the pleasure of listening to you i should quite forget my own hunger; but my horse, who can not hear you, must really be fed!"
the fairy was very much flattered by this compliment, and said, calling to her servants: "you shall not wait another minute, you are so polite, and in spite of the enormous size of your nose you are really very agreeable."
""plague take the old lady!
how she does go on about my nose!"
said the prince to himself.
""one would almost think that mine had taken all the extra length that hers lacks!
if i were not so hungry i would soon have done with this chatterpie who thinks she talks very little!
how stupid people are not to see their own faults!
that comes of being a princess: she has been spoiled by flatterers, who have made her believe that she is quite a moderate talker!"
meanwhile the servants were putting the supper on the table, and the prince was much amused to hear the fairy who asked them a thousand questions simply for the pleasure of hearing herself speak; especially he noticed one maid who, no matter what was being said, always contrived to praise her mistress's wisdom.
""well!"
he thought, as he ate his supper, "i'm very glad i came here.
this just shows me how sensible i have been in never listening to flatterers.
people of that sort praise us to our faces without shame, and hide our faults or change them into virtues.
for my part i never will be taken in by them.
i know my own defects, i hope."
poor prince hyacinth!
he really believed what he said, and had n't an idea that the people who had praised his nose were laughing at him, just as the fairy's maid was laughing at her; for the prince had seen her laugh slyly when she could do so without the fairy's noticing her.
however, he said nothing, and presently, when his hunger began to be appeased, the fairy said: "my dear prince, might i beg you to move a little more that way, for your nose casts such a shadow that i really can not see what i have on my plate.
ah!
thanks.
now let us speak of your father.
when i went to his court he was only a little boy, but that is forty years ago, and i have been in this desolate place ever since.
tell me what goes on nowadays; are the ladies as fond of amusement as ever?
in my time one saw them at parties, theatres, balls, and promenades every day.
dear me!
what a long nose you have!
i can not get used to it!"
""really, madam," said the prince, "i wish you would leave off mentioning my nose.
it can not matter to you what it is like.
i am quite satisfied with it, and have no wish to have it shorter.
one must take what is given one."
""now you are angry with me, my poor hyacinth," said the fairy, "and i assure you that i did n't mean to vex you; on the contrary, i wished to do you a service.
however, though i really can not help your nose being a shock to me, i will try not to say anything about it.
i will even try to think that you have an ordinary nose.
to tell the truth, it would make three reasonable ones."
the prince, who was no longer hungry, grew so impatient at the fairy's continual remarks about his nose that at last he threw himself upon his horse and rode hastily away.
but wherever he came in his journeyings he thought the people were mad, for they all talked of his nose, and yet he could not bring himself to admit that it was too long, he had been so used all his life to hear it called handsome.
the old fairy, who wished to make him happy, at last hit upon a plan.
she shut the dear little princess up in a palace of crystal, and put this palace down where the prince would not fail to find it.
his joy at seeing the princess again was extreme, and he set to work with all his might to try to break her prison; but in spite of all his efforts he failed utterly.
in despair he thought at least that he would try to get near enough to speak to the dear little princess, who, on her part, stretched out her hand that he might kiss it; but turn which way he might, he never could raise it to his lips, for his long nose always prevented it.
for the first time he realized how long it really was, and exclaimed: "well, it must be admitted that my nose is too long!"
in an instant the crystal prison flew into a thousand splinters, and the old fairy, taking the dear little princess by the hand, said to the prince: "now, say if you are not very much obliged to me.
much good it was for me to talk to you about your nose!
you would never have found out how extraordinary it was if it had n't hindered you from doing what you wanted to.
you see how self-love keeps us from knowing our own defects of mind and body.
our reason tries in vain to show them to us; we refuse to see them till we find them in the way of our interests."
prince hyacinth, whose nose was now just like anyone's else, did not fail to profit by the lesson he had received.
he married the dear little princess, and they lived happily ever after.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- le prince desir et la princesse mignonne.
par madame leprince de beaumont.
east of the sun and west of the moon once upon a time there was a poor husbandman who had many children and little to give them in the way either of food or clothing.
they were all pretty, but the prettiest of all was the youngest daughter, who was so beautiful that there were no bounds to her beauty.
so once -- it was late on a thursday evening in autumn, and wild weather outside, terribly dark, and raining so heavily and blowing so hard that the walls of the cottage shook again -- they were all sitting together by the fireside, each of them busy with something or other, when suddenly some one rapped three times against the window-pane.
the man went out to see what could be the matter, and when he got out there stood a great big white bear.
""good-evening to you," said the white bear.
""good-evening," said the man.
""will you give me your youngest daughter?"
said the white bear; "if you will, you shall be as rich as you are now poor."
truly the man would have had no objection to be rich, but he thought to himself: "i must first ask my daughter about this," so he went in and told them that there was a great white bear outside who had faithfully promised to make them all rich if he might but have the youngest daughter.
she said no, and would not hear of it; so the man went out again, and settled with the white bear that he should come again next thursday evening, and get her answer.
then the man persuaded her, and talked so much to her about the wealth that they would have, and what a good thing it would be for herself, that at last she made up her mind to go, and washed and mended all her rags, made herself as smart as she could, and held herself in readiness to set out.
little enough had she to take away with her.
next thursday evening the white bear came to fetch her.
she seated herself on his back with her bundle, and thus they departed.
when they had gone a great part of the way, the white bear said: "are you afraid?"
""no, that i am not," said she.
""keep tight hold of my fur, and then there is no danger," said he.
and thus she rode far, far away, until they came to a great mountain.
then the white bear knocked on it, and a door opened, and they went into a castle where there were many brilliantly lighted rooms which shone with gold and silver, likewise a large hall in which there was a well-spread table, and it was so magnificent that it would be hard to make anyone understand how splendid it was.
the white bear gave her a silver bell, and told her that when she needed anything she had but to ring this bell, and what she wanted would appear.
so after she had eaten, and night was drawing near, she grew sleepy after her journey, and thought she would like to go to bed.
she rang the bell, and scarcely had she touched it before she found herself in a chamber where a bed stood ready made for her, which was as pretty as anyone could wish to sleep in.
it had pillows of silk, and curtains of silk fringed with gold, and everything that was in the room was of gold or silver, but when she had lain down and put out the light a man came and lay down beside her, and behold it was the white bear, who cast off the form of a beast during the night.
she never saw him, however, for he always came after she had put out her light, and went away before daylight appeared.
so all went well and happily for a time, but then she began to be very sad and sorrowful, for all day long she had to go about alone; and she did so wish to go home to her father and mother and brothers and sisters.
then the white bear asked what it was that she wanted, and she told him that it was so dull there in the mountain, and that she had to go about all alone, and that in her parents" house at home there were all her brothers and sisters, and it was because she could not go to them that she was so sorrowful.
""there might be a cure for that," said the white bear, "if you would but promise me never to talk with your mother alone, but only when the others are there too; for she will take hold of your hand," he said, "and will want to lead you into a room to talk with you alone; but that you must by no means do, or you will bring great misery on both of us."
so one sunday the white bear came and said that they could now set out to see her father and mother, and they journeyed thither, she sitting on his back, and they went a long, long way, and it took a long, long time; but at last they came to a large white farmhouse, and her brothers and sisters were running about outside it, playing, and it was so pretty that it was a pleasure to look at it.
""your parents dwell here now," said the white bear; "but do not forget what i said to you, or you will do much harm both to yourself and me."
""no, indeed," said she, "i shall never forget;" and as soon as she was at home the white bear turned round and went back again.
there were such rejoicings when she went in to her parents that it seemed as if they would never come to an end.
everyone thought that he could never be sufficiently grateful to her for all she had done for them all.
now they had everything that they wanted, and everything was as good as it could be.
they all asked her how she was getting on where she was.
all was well with her too, she said; and she had everything that she could want.
what other answers she gave i can not say, but i am pretty sure that they did not learn much from her.
but in the afternoon, after they had dined at midday, all happened just as the white bear had said.
her mother wanted to talk with her alone in her own chamber.
but she remembered what the white bear had said, and would on no account go.
""what we have to say can be said at any time," she answered.
but somehow or other her mother at last persuaded her, and she was forced to tell the whole story.
so she told how every night a man came and lay down beside her when the lights were all put out, and how she never saw him, because he always went away before it grew light in the morning, and how she continually went about in sadness, thinking how happy she would be if she could but see him, and how all day long she had to go about alone, and it was so dull and solitary.
""oh!"
cried the mother, in horror, "you are very likely sleeping with a troll!
but i will teach you a way to see him.
you shall have a bit of one of my candles, which you can take away with you hidden in your breast.
look at him with that when he is asleep, but take care not to let any tallow drop upon him."
so she took the candle, and hid it in her breast, and when evening drew near the white bear came to fetch her away.
when they had gone some distance on their way, the white bear asked her if everything had not happened just as he had foretold, and she could not but own that it had.
""then, if you have done what your mother wished," said he, "you have brought great misery on both of us."
""no," she said, "i have not done anything at all."
so when she had reached home and had gone to bed it was just the same as it had been before, and a man came and lay down beside her, and late at night, when she could hear that he was sleeping, she got up and kindled a light, lit her candle, let her light shine on him, and saw him, and he was the handsomest prince that eyes had ever beheld, and she loved him so much that it seemed to her that she must die if she did not kiss him that very moment.
so she did kiss him; but while she was doing it she let three drops of hot tallow fall upon his shirt, and he awoke.
""what have you done now?"
said he; "you have brought misery on both of us.
if you had but held out for the space of one year i should have been free.
i have a step-mother who has bewitched me so that i am a white bear by day and a man by night; but now all is at an end between you and me, and i must leave you, and go to her.
she lives in a castle which lies east of the sun and west of the moon, and there too is a princess with a nose which is three ells long, and she now is the one whom i must marry."
she wept and lamented, but all in vain, for go he must.
then she asked him if she could not go with him.
but no, that could not be.
""can you tell me the way then, and i will seek you -- that i may surely be allowed to do!"
""yes, you may do that," said he; "but there is no way thither.
it lies east of the sun and west of the moon, and never would you find your way there."
when she awoke in the morning both the prince and the castle were gone, and she was lying on a small green patch in the midst of a dark, thick wood.
by her side lay the self-same bundle of rags which she had brought with her from her own home.
so when she had rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and wept till she was weary, she set out on her way, and thus she walked for many and many a long day, until at last she came to a great mountain.
outside it an aged woman was sitting, playing with a golden apple.
the girl asked her if she knew the way to the prince who lived with his stepmother in the castle which lay east of the sun and west of the moon, and who was to marry a princess with a nose which was three ells long.
""how do you happen to know about him?"
inquired the old woman; "maybe you are she who ought to have had him."
""yes, indeed, i am," she said.
""so it is you, then?"
said the old woman; "i know nothing about him but that he dwells in a castle which is east of the sun and west of the moon.
you will be a long time in getting to it, if ever you get to it at all; but you shall have the loan of my horse, and then you can ride on it to an old woman who is a neighbor of mine: perhaps she can tell you about him.
when you have got there you must just strike the horse beneath the left ear and bid it go home again; but you may take the golden apple with you."
so the girl seated herself on the horse, and rode for a long, long way, and at last she came to the mountain, where an aged woman was sitting outside with a gold carding-comb.
the girl asked her if she knew the way to the castle which lay east of the sun and west of the moon; but she said what the first old woman had said: "i know nothing about it, but that it is east of the sun and west of the moon, and that you will be a long time in getting to it, if ever you get there at all; but you shall have the loan of my horse to an old woman who lives the nearest to me: perhaps she may know where the castle is, and when you have got to her you may just strike the horse beneath the left ear and bid it go home again."
then she gave her the gold carding-comb, for it might, perhaps, be of use to her, she said.
so the girl seated herself on the horse, and rode a wearisome long way onward again, and after a very long time she came to a great mountain, where an aged woman was sitting, spinning at a golden spinning-wheel.
of this woman, too, she inquired if she knew the way to the prince, and where to find the castle which lay east of the sun and west of the moon.
but it was only the same thing once again.
""maybe it was you who should have had the prince," said the old woman.
""yes, indeed, i should have been the one," said the girl.
but this old crone knew the way no better than the others -- it was east of the sun and west of the moon, she knew that, "and you will be a long time in getting to it, if ever you get to it at all," she said; "but you may have the loan of my horse, and i think you had better ride to the east wind, and ask him: perhaps he may know where the castle is, and will blow you thither.
but when you have got to him you must just strike the horse beneath the left ear, and he will come home again."
and then she gave her the golden spinning-wheel, saying: "perhaps you may find that you have a use for it."
the girl had to ride for a great many days, and for a long and wearisome time, before she got there; but at last she did arrive, and then she asked the east wind if he could tell her the way to the prince who dwelt east of the sun and west of the moon.
""well," said the east wind, "i have heard tell of the prince, and of his castle, but i do not know the way to it, for i have never blown so far; but, if you like, i will go with you to my brother the west wind: he may know that, for he is much stronger than i am.
you may sit on my back, and then i can carry you there."
so she seated herself on his back, and they did go so swiftly!
when they got there, the east wind went in and said that the girl whom he had brought was the one who ought to have had the prince up at the castle which lay east of the sun and west of the moon, and that now she was traveling about to find him again, so he had come there with her, and would like to hear if the west wind knew whereabout the castle was.
""no," said the west wind; "so far as that have i never blown; but if you like i will go with you to the south wind, for he is much stronger than either of us, and he has roamed far and wide, and perhaps he can tell you what you want to know.
you may seat yourself on my back, and then i will carry you to him."
.
so she did this, and journeyed to the south wind, neither was she very long on the way.
when they had got there, the west wind asked him if he could tell her the way to the castle that lay east of the sun and west of the moon, for she was the girl who ought to marry the prince who lived there.
""oh, indeed!"
said the south wind, "is that she?
well," said he, "i have wandered about a great deal in my time, and in all kinds of places, but i have never blown so far as that.
if you like, however, i will go with you to my brother, the north wind; he is the oldest and strongest of all of us, and if he does not know where it is no one in the whole world will be able to tell you.
you may sit upon my back, and then i will carry you there."
so she seated herself on his back, and off he went from his house in great haste, and they were not long on the way.
when they came near the north wind's dwelling, he was so wild and frantic that they felt cold gusts a long while before they got there.
""what do you want?"
he roared out from afar, and they froze as they heard.
said the south wind: "it is i, and this is she who should have had the prince who lives in the castle which lies east of the sun and west of the moon.
and now she wishes to ask you if you have ever been there, and can tell her the way, for she would gladly find him again."
""yes," said the north wind, "i know where it is.
i once blew an aspen leaf there, but i was so tired that for many days afterward i was not able to blow at all.
however, if you really are anxious to go there, and are not afraid to go with me, i will take you on my back, and try if i can blow you there."
""get there i must," said she; "and if there is any way of going i will; and i have no fear, no matter how fast you go."
""very well then," said the north wind; "but you must sleep here to-night, for if we are ever to get there we must have the day before us."
the north wind woke her betimes next morning, and puffed himself up, and made himself so big and so strong that it was frightful to see him, and away they went, high up through the air, as if they would not stop until they had reached the very end of the world.
down below there was such a storm!
it blew down woods and houses, and when they were above the sea the ships were wrecked by hundreds.
and thus they tore on and on, and a long time went by, and then yet more time passed, and still they were above the sea, and the north wind grew tired, and more tired, and at last so utterly weary that he was scarcely able to blow any longer, and he sank and sank, lower and lower, until at last he went so low that the waves dashed against the heels of the poor girl he was carrying.
""art thou afraid?"
said the north wind.
""i have no fear," said she; and it was true.
but they were not very, very far from land, and there was just enough strength left in the north wind to enable him to throw her on to the shore, immediately under the windows of a castle which lay east of the sun and west of the moon; but then he was so weary and worn out that he was forced to rest for several days before he could go to his own home again.
next morning she sat down beneath the walls of the castle to play with the golden apple, and the first person she saw was the maiden with the long nose, who was to have the prince.
""how much do you want for that gold apple of yours, girl?"
said she, opening the window.
""it ca n't be bought either for gold or money," answered the girl.
""if it can not be bought either for gold or money, what will buy it?
you may say what you please," said the princess.
""well, if i may go to the prince who is here, and be with him to-night, you shall have it," said the girl who had come with the north wind.
""you may do that," said the princess, for she had made up her mind what she would do.
so the princess got the golden apple, but when the girl went up to the prince's apartment that night he was asleep, for the princess had so contrived it.
the poor girl called to him, and shook him, and between whiles she wept; but she could not wake him.
in the morning, as soon as day dawned, in came the princess with the long nose, and drove her out again.
in the daytime she sat down once more beneath the windows of the castle, and began to card with her golden carding-comb; and then all happened as it had happened before.
the princess asked her what she wanted for it, and she replied that it was not for sale, either for gold or money, but that if she could get leave to go to the prince, and be with him during the night, she should have it.
but when she went up to the prince's room he was again asleep, and, let her call him, or shake him, or weep as she would, he still slept on, and she could not put any life in him.
when daylight came in the morning, the princess with the long nose came too, and once more drove her away.
when day had quite come, the girl seated herself under the castle windows, to spin with her golden spinning-wheel, and the princess with the long nose wanted to have that also.
so she opened the window, and asked what she would take for it.
the girl said what she had said on each of the former occasions -- that it was not for sale either for gold or for money, but if she could get leave to go to the prince who lived there, and be with him during the night, she should have it.
""yes," said the princess, "i will gladly consent to that."
but in that place there were some christian folk who had been carried off, and they had been sitting in the chamber which was next to that of the prince, and had heard how a woman had been in there who had wept and called on him two nights running, and they told the prince of this.
so that evening, when the princess came once more with her sleeping-drink, he pretended to drink, but threw it away behind him, for he suspected that it was a sleeping-drink.
so, when the girl went into the prince's room this time he was awake, and she had to tell him how she had come there.
""you have come just in time," said the prince, "for i should have been married to-morrow; but i will not have the long-nosed princess, and you alone can save me.
i will say that i want to see what my bride can do, and bid her wash the shirt which has the three drops of tallow on it.
this she will consent to do, for she does not know that it is you who let them fall on it; but no one can wash them out but one born of christian folk: it can not be done by one of a pack of trolls; and then i will say that no one shall ever be my bride but the woman who can do this, and i know that you can."
there was great joy and gladness between them all that night, but the next day, when the wedding was to take place, the prince said, "i must see what my bride can do."
""that you may do," said the stepmother.
""i have a fine shirt which i want to wear as my wedding shirt, but three drops of tallow have got upon it which i want to have washed off, and i have vowed to marry no one but the woman who is able to do it.
if she can not do that, she is not worth having."
well, that was a very small matter, they thought, and agreed to do it.
the princess with the long nose began to wash as well as she could, but, the more she washed and rubbed, the larger the spots grew.
""ah!
you ca n't wash at all," said the old troll-hag, who was her mother.
""give it to me."
but she too had not had the shirt very long in her hands before it looked worse still, and, the more she washed it and rubbed it, the larger and blacker grew the spots.
so the other trolls had to come and wash, but, the more they did, the blacker and uglier grew the shirt, until at length it was as black as if it had been up the chimney.
""oh," cried the prince, "not one of you is good for anything at all!
there is a beggar-girl sitting outside the window, and i'll be bound that she can wash better than any of you!
come in, you girl there!"
he cried.
so she came in.
""can you wash this shirt clean?"
he cried.
""oh!
i do n't know," she said; "but i will try."
and no sooner had she taken the shirt and dipped it in the water than it was white as driven snow, and even whiter than that.
""i will marry you," said the prince.
then the old troll-hag flew into such a rage that she burst, and the princess with the long nose and all the little trolls must have burst too, for they have never been heard of since.
the prince and his bride set free all the christian folk who were imprisoned there, and took away with them all the gold and silver that they could carry, and moved far away from the castle which lay east of the sun and west of the moon.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- asbjornsen and moe.
the yellow dwarf once upon a time there lived a queen who had been the mother of a great many children, and of them all only one daughter was left.
but then she was worth at least a thousand.
her mother, who, since the death of the king, her father, had nothing in the world she cared for so much as this little princess, was so terribly afraid of losing her that she quite spoiled her, and never tried to correct any of her faults.
the consequence was that this little person, who was as pretty as possible, and was one day to wear a crown, grew up so proud and so much in love with her own beauty that she despised everyone else in the world.
the queen, her mother, by her caresses and flatteries, helped to make her believe that there was nothing too good for her.
she was dressed almost always in the prettiest frocks, as a fairy, or as a queen going out to hunt, and the ladies of the court followed her dressed as forest fairies.
and to make her more vain than ever the queen caused her portrait to be taken by the cleverest painters and sent it to several neighboring kings with whom she was very friendly.
when they saw this portrait they fell in love with the princess -- every one of them, but upon each it had a different effect.
one fell ill, one went quite crazy, and a few of the luckiest set off to see her as soon as possible, but these poor princes became her slaves the moment they set eyes on her.
never has there been a gayer court.
twenty delightful kings did everything they could think of to make themselves agreeable, and after having spent ever so much money in giving a single entertainment thought themselves very lucky if the princess said "that's pretty."
all this admiration vastly pleased the queen.
not a day passed but she received seven or eight thousand sonnets, and as many elegies, madrigals, and songs, which were sent her by all the poets in the world.
all the prose and the poetry that was written just then was about bellissima -- for that was the princess's name -- and all the bonfires that they had were made of these verses, which crackled and sparkled better than any other sort of wood.
bellissima was already fifteen years old, and every one of the princes wished to marry her, but not one dared to say so.
how could they when they knew that any of them might have cut off his head five or six times a day just to please her, and she would have thought it a mere trifle, so little did she care?
you may imagine how hard-hearted her lovers thought her; and the queen, who wished to see her married, did not know how to persuade her to think of it seriously.
""bellissima," she said, "i do wish you would not be so proud.
what makes you despise all these nice kings?
i wish you to marry one of them, and you do not try to please me."
""i am so happy," bellissima answered: "do leave me in peace, madam.
i do n't want to care for anyone."
""but you would be very happy with any of these princes," said the queen, "and i shall be very angry if you fall in love with anyone who is not worthy of you."
but the princess thought so much of herself that she did not consider any one of her lovers clever or handsome enough for her; and her mother, who was getting really angry at her determination not to be married, began to wish that she had not allowed her to have her own way so much.
at last, not knowing what else to do, she resolved to consult a certain witch who was called "the fairy of the desert."
now this was very difficult to do, as she was guarded by some terrible lions; but happily the queen had heard a long time before that whoever wanted to pass these lions safely must throw to them a cake made of millet flour, sugar-candy, and crocodile's eggs.
this cake she prepared with her own hands, and putting it in a little basket, she set out to seek the fairy.
but as she was not used to walking far, she soon felt very tired and sat down at the foot of a tree to rest, and presently fell fast asleep.
when she awoke she was dismayed to find her basket empty.
the cake was all gone!
and, to make matters worse, at that moment she heard the roaring of the great lions, who had found out that she was near and were coming to look for her.
""what shall i do?"
she cried; "i shall be eaten up," and being too frightened to run a single step, she began to cry, and leaned against the tree under which she had been asleep.
just then she heard some one say: "h'm, h'm!"
she looked all round her, and then up the tree, and there she saw a little tiny man, who was eating oranges.
""oh!
queen," said he, "i know you very well, and i know how much afraid you are of the lions; and you are quite right too, for they have eaten many other people: and what can you expect, as you have not any cake to give them?"
""i must make up my mind to die," said the poor queen.
""alas!
i should not care so much if only my dear daughter were married."
""oh!
you have a daughter," cried the yellow dwarf -lrb- who was so called because he was a dwarf and had such a yellow face, and lived in the orange tree -rrb-.
""i'm really glad to hear that, for i've been looking for a wife all over the world.
now, if you will promise that she shall marry me, not one of the lions, tigers, or bears shall touch you."
the queen looked at him and was almost as much afraid of his ugly little face as she had been of the lions before, so that she could not speak a word.
""what!
you hesitate, madam," cried the dwarf.
""you must be very fond of being eaten up alive."
and, as he spoke, the queen saw the lions, which were running down a hill toward them.
each one had two heads, eight feet, and four rows of teeth, and their skins were as hard as turtle shells, and were bright red.
at this dreadful sight, the poor queen, who was trembling like a dove when it sees a hawk, cried out as loud as she could, "oh!
dear mr. dwarf, bellissima shall marry you."
""oh, indeed!"
said he disdainfully.
""bellissima is pretty enough, but i do n't particularly want to marry her -- you can keep her."
""oh!
noble sir," said the queen in great distress, "do not refuse her.
she is the most charming princess in the world."
""oh!
well," he replied, "out of charity i will take her; but be sure and do n't forget that she is mine."
as he spoke a little door opened in the trunk of the orange tree, in rushed the queen, only just in time, and the door shut with a bang in the faces of the lions.
the queen was so confused that at first she did not notice another little door in the orange tree, but presently it opened and she found herself in a field of thistles and nettles.
it was encircled by a muddy ditch, and a little further on was a tiny thatched cottage, out of which came the yellow dwarf with a very jaunty air.
he wore wooden shoes and a little yellow coat, and as he had no hair and very long ears he looked altogether a shocking little object.
""i am delighted," said he to the queen, "that, as you are to be my mother-in-law, you should see the little house in which your bellissima will live with me.
with these thistles and nettles she can feed a donkey which she can ride whenever she likes; under this humble roof no weather can hurt her; she will drink the water of this brook and eat frogs -- which grow very fat about here; and then she will have me always with her, handsome, agreeable, and gay as you see me now.
for if her shadow stays by her more closely than i do i shall be surprised."
the unhappy queen, seeing all at once what a miserable life her daughter would have with this dwarf could not bear the idea, and fell down insensible without saying a word.
when she revived she found to her great surprise that she was lying in her own bed at home, and, what was more, that she had on the loveliest lace night cap that she had ever seen in her life.
at first she thought that all her adventures, the terrible lions, and her promise to the yellow dwarf that he should marry bellissima, must have been a dream, but there was the new cap with its beautiful ribbon and lace to remind her that it was all true, which made her so unhappy that she could neither eat, drink, nor sleep for thinking of it.
the princess, who, in spite of her wilfulness, really loved her mother with all her heart, was much grieved when she saw her looking so sad, and often asked her what was the matter; but the queen, who did n't want her to find out the truth, only said that she was ill, or that one of her neighbors was threatening to make war against her.
bellissima knew quite well that something was being hidden from her -- and that neither of these was the real reason of the queen's uneasiness.
so she made up her mind that she would go and consult the fairy of the desert about it, especially as she had often heard how wise she was, and she thought that at the same time she might ask her advice as to whether it would be as well to be married, or not.
so, with great care, she made some of the proper cake to pacify the lions, and one night went up to her room very early, pretending that she was going to bed; but instead of that, she wrapped herself in a long white veil, and went down a secret staircase, and set off all by herself to find the witch.
but when she got as far as the same fatal orange tree, and saw it covered with flowers and fruit, she stopped and began to gather some of the oranges -- and then, putting down her basket, she sat down to eat them.
but when it was time to go on again the basket had disappeared and, though she looked everywhere, not a trace of it could she find.
the more she hunted for it, the more frightened she got, and at last she began to cry.
then all at once she saw before her the yellow dwarf.
""what's the matter with you, my pretty one?"
said he.
""what are you crying about?"
""alas!"
she answered; "no wonder that i am crying, seeing that i have lost the basket of cake that was to help me to get safely to the cave of the fairy of the desert."
""and what do you want with her, pretty one?"
said the little monster, "for i am a friend of hers, and, for the matter of that, i am quite as clever as she is."
""the queen, my mother," replied the princess, "has lately fallen into such deep sadness that i fear that she will die; and i am afraid that perhaps i am the cause of it, for she very much wishes me to be married, and i must tell you truly that as yet i have not found anyone i consider worthy to be my husband.
so for all these reasons i wished to talk to the fairy."
""do not give yourself any further trouble, princess," answered the dwarf.
""i can tell you all you want to know better than she could.
the queen, your mother, has promised you in marriage --" "has promised me!
" interrupted the princess.
""oh!
no.
i'm sure she has not.
she would have told me if she had.
i am too much interested in the matter for her to promise anything without my consent -- you must be mistaken."
""beautiful princess," cried the dwarf suddenly, throwing himself on his knees before her, "i flatter myself that you will not be displeased at her choice when i tell you that it is to me she has promised the happiness of marrying you."
""you!"
cried bellissima, starting back.
""my mother wishes me to marry you!
how can you be so silly as to think of such a thing?"
""oh!
it is n't that i care much to have that honor," cried the dwarf angrily; "but here are the lions coming; they'll eat you up in three mouthfuls, and there will be an end of you and your pride."
and, indeed, at that moment the poor princess heard their dreadful howls coming nearer and nearer.
""what shall i do?"
she cried.
""must all my happy days come to an end like this?"
the malicious dwarf looked at her and began to laugh spitefully.
""at least," said he, "you have the satisfaction of dying unmarried.
a lovely princess like you must surely prefer to die rather than be the wife of a poor little dwarf like myself."
""oh, do n't be angry with me," cried the princess, clasping her hands.
""i'd rather marry all the dwarfs in the world than die in this horrible way."
""look at me well, princess, before you give me your word," said he.
""i do n't want you to promise me in a hurry."
""oh!"
cried she, "the lions are coming.
i have looked at you enough.
i am so frightened.
save me this minute, or i shall die of terror."
indeed, as she spoke she fell down insensible, and when she recovered she found herself in her own little bed at home; how she got there she could not tell, but she was dressed in the most beautiful lace and ribbons, and on her finger was a little ring, made of a single red hair, which fitted so tightly that, try as she might, she could not get it off.
when the princess saw all these things, and remembered what had happened, she, too, fell into the deepest sadness, which surprised and alarmed the whole court, and the queen more than anyone else.
a hundred times she asked bellissima if anything was the matter with her; but she always said that there was nothing.
at last the chief men of the kingdom, anxious to see their princess married, sent to the queen to beg her to choose a husband for her as soon as possible.
she replied that nothing would please her better, but that her daughter seemed so unwilling to marry, and she recommended them to go and talk to the princess about it themselves so this they at once did.
now bellissima was much less proud since her adventure with the yellow dwarf, and she could not think of a better way of getting rid of the little monster than to marry some powerful king, therefore she replied to their request much more favorably than they had hoped, saying that, though she was very happy as she was, still, to please them, she would consent to marry the king of the gold mines.
now he was a very handsome and powerful prince, who had been in love with the princess for years, but had not thought that she would ever care about him at all.
you can easily imagine how delighted he was when he heard the news, and how angry it made all the other kings to lose for ever the hope of marrying the princess; but, after all, bellissima could not have married twenty kings -- indeed, she had found it quite difficult enough to choose one, for her vanity made her believe that there was nobody in the world who was worthy of her.
preparations were begun at once for the grandest wedding that had ever been held at the palace.
the king of the gold mines sent such immense sums of money that the whole sea was covered with the ships that brought it.
messengers were sent to all the gayest and most refined courts, particularly to the court of france, to seek out everything rare and precious to adorn the princess, although her beauty was so perfect that nothing she wore could make her look prettier.
at least that is what the king of the gold mines thought, and he was never happy unless he was with her.
as for the princess, the more she saw of the king the more she liked him; he was so generous, so handsome and clever, that at last she was almost as much in love with him as he was with her.
how happy they were as they wandered about in the beautiful gardens together, sometimes listening to sweet music!
and the king used to write songs for bellissima.
this is one that she liked very much: in the forest all is gay when my princess walks that way.
all the blossoms then are found downward fluttering to the ground, hoping she may tread on them.
and bright flowers on slender stem gaze up at her as she passes brushing lightly through the grasses.
oh!
my princess, birds above echo back our songs of love, as through this enchanted land blithe we wander, hand in hand.
they really were as happy as the day was long.
all the king's unsuccessful rivals had gone home in despair.
they said good-by to the princess so sadly that she could not help being sorry for them.
""ah!
madam," the king of the gold mines said to her "how is this?
why do you waste your pity on these princes, who love you so much that all their trouble would be well repaid by a single smile from you?"
""i should be sorry," answered bellissima, "if you had not noticed how much i pitied these princes who were leaving me for ever; but for you, sire, it is very different: you have every reason to be pleased with me, but they are going sorrowfully away, so you must not grudge them my compassion."
the king of the gold mines was quite overcome by the princess's good-natured way of taking his interference, and, throwing himself at her feet, he kissed her hand a thousand times and begged her to forgive him.
at last the happy day came.
everything was ready for bellissima's wedding.
the trumpets sounded, all the streets of the town were hung with flags and strewn with flowers, and the people ran in crowds to the great square before the palace.
the queen was so overjoyed that she had hardly been able to sleep at all, and she got up before it was light to give the necessary orders and to choose the jewels that the princess was to wear.
these were nothing less than diamonds, even to her shoes, which were covered with them, and her dress of silver brocade was embroidered with a dozen of the sun's rays.
you may imagine how much these had cost; but then nothing could have been more brilliant, except the beauty of the princess!
upon her head she wore a splendid crown, her lovely hair waved nearly to her feet, and her stately figure could easily be distinguished among all the ladies who attended her.
the king of the gold mines was not less noble and splendid; it was easy to see by his face how happy he was, and everyone who went near him returned loaded with presents, for all round the great banqueting hall had been arranged a thousand barrels full of gold, and numberless bags made of velvet embroidered with pearls and filled with money, each one containing at least a hundred thousand gold pieces, which were given away to everyone who liked to hold out his hand, which numbers of people hastened to do, you may be sure -- indeed, some found this by far the most amusing part of the wedding festivities.
the queen and the princess were just ready to set out with the king when they saw, advancing toward them from the end of the long gallery, two great basilisks, dragging after them a very badly made box; behind them came a tall old woman, whose ugliness was even more surprising than her extreme old age.
she wore a ruff of black taffeta, a red velvet hood, and a farthingale all in rags, and she leaned heavily upon a crutch.
this strange old woman, without saying a single word, hobbled three times round the gallery, followed by the basilisks, then stopping in the middle, and brandishing her crutch threateningly, she cried: "ho, ho, queen!
ho, ho, princess!
do you think you are going to break with impunity the promise that you made to my friend the yellow dwarf?
i am the fairy of the desert; without the yellow dwarf and his orange tree my great lions would soon have eaten you up, i can tell you, and in fairyland we do not suffer ourselves to be insulted like this.
make up your minds at once what you will do, for i vow that you shall marry the yellow dwarf.
if you do n't, may i burn my crutch!"
""ah!
princess," said the queen, weeping, "what is this that i hear?
what have you promised?"
""ah!
my mother," replied bellissima sadly, "what did you promise, yourself?"
the king of the gold mines, indignant at being kept from his happiness by this wicked old woman, went up to her, and threatening her with his sword, said: "get away out of my country at once, and for ever, miserable creature, lest i take your life, and so rid myself of your malice."
he had hardly spoken these words when the lid of the box fell back on the floor with a terrible noise, and to their horror out sprang the yellow dwarf, mounted upon a great spanish cat.
""rash youth!"
he cried, rushing between the fairy of the desert and the king.
""dare to lay a finger upon this illustrious fairy!
your quarrel is with me only.
i am your enemy and your rival.
that faithless princess who would have married you is promised to me.
see if she has not upon her finger a ring made of one of my hairs.
just try to take it off, and you will soon find out that i am more powerful than you are!"
""wretched little monster!"
said the king; "do you dare to call yourself the princess's lover, and to lay claim to such a treasure?
do you know that you are a dwarf -- that you are so ugly that one can not bear to look at you -- and that i should have killed you myself long before this if you had been worthy of such a glorious death?"
the yellow dwarf, deeply enraged at these words, set spurs to his cat, which yelled horribly, and leaped hither and thither -- terrifying everybody except the brave king, who pursued the dwarf closely, till he, drawing a great knife with which he was armed, challenged the king to meet him in single combat, and rushed down into the courtyard of the palace with a terrible clatter.
the king, quite provoked, followed him hastily, but they had hardly taken their places facing one another, and the whole court had only just had time to rush out upon the balconies to watch what was going on, when suddenly the sun became as red as blood, and it was so dark that they could scarcely see at all.
the thunder crashed, and the lightning seemed as if it must burn up everything; the two basilisks appeared, one on each side of the bad dwarf, like giants, mountains high, and fire flew from their mouths and ears, until they looked like flaming furnaces.
none of these things could terrify the noble young king, and the boldness of his looks and actions reassured those who were looking on, and perhaps even embarrassed the yellow dwarf himself; but even his courage gave way when he saw what was happening to his beloved princess.
for the fairy of the desert, looking more terrible than before, mounted upon a winged griffin, and with long snakes coiled round her neck, had given her such a blow with the lance she carried that bellissima fell into the queen's arms bleeding and senseless.
her fond mother, feeling as much hurt by the blow as the princess herself, uttered such piercing cries and lamentations that the king, hearing them, entirely lost his courage and presence of mind.
giving up the combat, he flew toward the princess, to rescue or to die with her; but the yellow dwarf was too quick for him.
leaping with his spanish cat upon the balcony, he snatched bellissima from the queen's arms, and before any of the ladies of the court could stop him he had sprung upon the roof of the palace and disappeared with his prize.
the king, motionless with horror, looked on despairingly at this dreadful occurrence, which he was quite powerless to prevent, and to make matters worse his sight failed him, everything became dark, and he felt himself carried along through the air by a strong hand.
this new misfortune was the work of the wicked fairy of the desert, who had come with the yellow dwarf to help him carry off the princess, and had fallen in love with the handsome young king of the gold mines directly she saw him.
she thought that if she carried him off to some frightful cavern and chained him to a rock, then the fear of death would make him forget bellissima and become her slave.
so, as soon as they reached the place, she gave him back his sight, but without releasing him from his chains, and by her magic power she appeared before him as a young and beautiful fairy, and pretended to have come there quite by chance.
""what do i see?"
she cried.
""is it you, dear prince?
what misfortune has brought you to this dismal place?"
the king, who was quite deceived by her altered appearance, replied: "alas!
beautiful fairy, the fairy who brought me here first took away my sight, but by her voice i recognized her as the fairy of the desert, though what she should have carried me off for i can not tell you."
""ah!"
cried the pretended fairy, "if you have fallen into her hands, you wo n't get away until you have married her.
she has carried off more than one prince like this, and she will certainly have anything she takes a fancy to."
while she was thus pretending to be sorry for the king, he suddenly noticed her feet, which were like those of a griffin, and knew in a moment that this must be the fairy of the desert, for her feet were the one thing she could not change, however pretty she might make her face.
without seeming to have noticed anything, he said, in a confidential way: "not that i have any dislike to the fairy of the desert, but i really can not endure the way in which she protects the yellow dwarf and keeps me chained here like a criminal.
it is true that i love a charming princess, but if the fairy should set me free my gratitude would oblige me to love her only."
""do you really mean what you say, prince?"
said the fairy, quite deceived.
""surely," replied the prince; "how could i deceive you?
you see it is so much more flattering to my vanity to be loved by a fairy than by a simple princess.
but, even if i am dying of love for her, i shall pretend to hate her until i am set free."
the fairy of the desert, quite taken in by these words, resolved at once to transport the prince to a pleasanter place.
so, making him mount her chariot, to which she had harnessed swans instead of the bats which generally drew it, away she flew with him.
but imagine the distress of the prince when, from the giddy height at which they were rushing through the air, he saw his beloved princess in a castle built of polished steel, the walls of which reflected the sun's rays so hotly that no one could approach it without being burnt to a cinder!
bellissima was sitting in a little thicket by a brook, leaning her head upon her hand and weeping bitterly, but just as they passed she looked up and saw the king and the fairy of the desert.
now, the fairy was so clever that she could not only seem beautiful to the king, but even the poor princess thought her the most lovely being she had ever seen.
""what!"
she cried; "was i not unhappy enough in this lonely castle to which that frightful yellow dwarf brought me?
must i also be made to know that the king of the gold mines ceased to love me as soon as he lost sight of me?
but who can my rival be, whose fatal beauty is greater than mine?"
while she was saying this, the king, who really loved her as much as ever, was feeling terribly sad at being so rapidly torn away from his beloved princess, but he knew too well how powerful the fairy was to have any hope of escaping from her except by great patience and cunning.
the fairy of the desert had also seen bellissima, and she tried to read in the king's eyes the effect that this unexpected sight had had upon him.
""no one can tell you what you wish to know better than i can," said he.
""this chance meeting with an unhappy princess for whom i once had a passing fancy, before i was lucky enough to meet you, has affected me a little, i admit, but you are so much more to me than she is that i would rather die than leave you."
""ah, prince," she said, "can i believe that you really love me so much?"
""time will show, madam," replied the king; "but if you wish to convince me that you have some regard for me, do not, i beg of you, refuse to aid bellissima."
""do you know what you are asking?"
said the fairy of the desert, frowning, and looking at him suspiciously.
""do you want me to employ my art against the yellow dwarf, who is my best friend, and take away from him a proud princess whom i can but look upon as my rival?"
the king sighed, but made no answer -- indeed, what was there to be said to such a clear-sighted person?
at last they reached a vast meadow, gay with all sorts of flowers; a deep river surrounded it, and many little brooks murmured softly under the shady trees, where it was always cool and fresh.
a little way off stood a splendid palace, the walls of which were of transparent emeralds.
as soon as the swans which drew the fairy's chariot had alighted under a porch, which was paved with diamonds and had arches of rubies, they were greeted on all sides by thousands of beautiful beings, who came to meet them joyfully, singing these words: "when love within a heart would reign, useless to strive against him't is.
the proud but feel a sharper pain, and make a greater triumph his."
the fairy of the desert was delighted to hear them sing of her triumphs; she led the king into the most splendid room that can be imagined, and left him alone for a little while, just that he might not feel that he was a prisoner; but he felt sure that she had not really gone quite away, but was watching him from some hiding-place.
so walking up to a great mirror, he said to it, "trusty counsellor, let me see what i can do to make myself agreeable to the charming fairy of the desert; for i can think of nothing but how to please her."
and he at once set to work to curl his hair, and, seeing upon a table a grander coat than his own, he put it on carefully.
the fairy came back so delighted that she could not conceal her joy.
""i am quite aware of the trouble you have taken to please me," said she, "and i must tell you that you have succeeded perfectly already.
you see it is not difficult to do if you really care for me."
the king, who had his own reasons for wishing to keep the old fairy in a good humor, did not spare pretty speeches, and after a time he was allowed to walk by himself upon the sea-shore.
the fairy of the desert had by her enchantments raised such a terrible storm that the boldest pilot would not venture out in it, so she was not afraid of her prisoner's being able to escape; and he found it some relief to think sadly over his terrible situation without being interrupted by his cruel captor.
presently, after walking wildly up and down, he wrote these verses upon the sand with his stick: "at last may i upon this shore lighten my sorrow with soft tears.
alas!
alas!
i see no more my love, who yet my sadness cheers.
""and thou, o raging, stormy sea, stirred by wild winds, from depth to height, thou hold "st my loved one far from me, and i am captive to thy might.
""my heart is still more wild than thine, for fate is cruel unto me.
why must i thus in exile pine?
why is my princess snatched from me?
""o!
lovely nymphs, from ocean caves, who know how sweet true love may be, come up and calm the furious waves and set a desperate lover free!"
while he was still writing he heard a voice which attracted his attention in spite of himself.
seeing that the waves were rolling in higher than ever, he looked all round, and presently saw a lovely lady floating gently toward him upon the crest of a huge billow, her long hair spread all about her; in one hand she held a mirror, and in the other a comb, and instead of feet she had a beautiful tail like a fish, with which she swam.
the king was struck dumb with astonishment at this unexpected sight; but as soon as she came within speaking distance, she said to him, "i know how sad you are at losing your princess and being kept a prisoner by the fairy of the desert; if you like i will help you to escape from this fatal place, where you may otherwise have to drag on a weary existence for thirty years or more."
the king of the gold mines hardly knew what answer to make to this proposal.
not because he did not wish very much to escape, but he was afraid that this might be only another device by which the fairy of the desert was trying to deceive him.
as he hesitated the mermaid, who guessed his thoughts, said to him: "you may trust me: i am not trying to entrap you.
i am so angry with the yellow dwarf and the fairy of the desert that i am not likely to wish to help them, especially since i constantly see your poor princess, whose beauty and goodness make me pity her so much; and i tell you that if you will have confidence in me i will help you to escape."
""i trust you absolutely," cried the king, "and i will do whatever you tell me; but if you have seen my princess i beg of you to tell me how she is and what is happening to her.
""we must not waste time in talking," said she.
""come with me and i will carry you to the castle of steel, and we will leave upon this shore a figure so like you that even the fairy herself will be deceived by it."
so saying, she quickly collected a bundle of sea-weed, and, blowing it three times, she said: "my friendly sea-weeds, i order you to stay here stretched upon the sand until the fairy of the desert comes to take you away."
and at once the sea-weeds became like the king, who stood looking at them in great astonishment, for they were even dressed in a coat like his, but they lay there pale and still as the king himself might have lain if one of the great waves had overtaken him and thrown him senseless upon the shore.
and then the mermaid caught up the king, and away they swam joyfully together.
""now," said she, "i have time to tell you about the princess.
in spite of the blow which the fairy of the desert gave her, the yellow dwarf compelled her to mount behind him upon his terrible spanish cat; but she soon fainted away with pain and terror, and did not recover till they were within the walls of his frightful castle of steel.
here she was received by the prettiest girls it was possible to find, who had been carried there by the yellow dwarf, who hastened to wait upon her and showed her every possible attention.
she was laid upon a couch covered with cloth of gold, embroidered with pearls as big as nuts."
""ah!"
interrupted the king of the gold mines, "if bellissima forgets me, and consents to marry him, i shall break my heart."
""you need not be afraid of that," answered the mermaid, "the princess thinks of no one but you, and the frightful dwarf can not persuade her to look at him."
""pray go on with your story," said the king.
""what more is there to tell you?"
replied the mermaid.
""bellissima was sitting in the wood when you passed, and saw you with the fairy of the desert, who was so cleverly disguised that the princess took her to be prettier than herself; you may imagine her despair, for she thought that you had fallen in love with her."
""she believes that i love her!"
cried the king.
""what a fatal mistake!
what is to be done to undeceive her?"
""you know best," answered the mermaid, smiling kindly at him.
""when people are as much in love with one another as you two are, they do n't need advice from anyone else."
as she spoke they reached the castle of steel, the side next the sea being the only one which the yellow dwarf had left unprotected by the dreadful burning walls.
""i know quite well," said the mermaid, "that the princess is sitting by the brook-side, just where you saw her as you passed, but as you will have many enemies to fight with before you can reach her, take this sword; armed with it you may dare any danger, and overcome the greatest difficulties, only beware of one thing -- that is, never to let it fall from your hand.
farewell; now i will wait by that rock, and if you need my help in carrying off your beloved princess i will not fail you, for the queen, her mother, is my best friend, and it was for her sake that i went to rescue you."
so saying, she gave to the king a sword made from a single diamond, which was more brilliant than the sun.
he could not find words to express his gratitude, but he begged her to believe that he fully appreciated the importance of her gift, and would never forget her help and kindness.
we must now go back to the fairy of the desert.
when she found that the king did not return, she hastened out to look for him, and reached the shore, with a hundred of the ladies of her train, loaded with splendid presents for him.
some carried baskets full of diamonds, others golden cups of wonderful workmanship, and amber, coral, and pearls, others, again, balanced upon their heads bales of the richest and most beautiful stuffs, while the rest brought fruit and flowers, and even birds.
but what was the horror of the fairy, who followed this gay troop, when she saw, stretched upon the sands, the image of the king which the mermaid had made with the sea-weeds.
struck with astonishment and sorrow, she uttered a terrible cry, and threw herself down beside the pretended king, weeping, and howling, and calling upon her eleven sisters, who were also fairies, and who came to her assistance.
but they were all taken in by the image of the king, for, clever as they were, the mermaid was still cleverer, and all they could do was to help the fairy of the desert to make a wonderful monument over what they thought was the grave of the king of the gold mines.
but while they were collecting jasper and porphyry, agate and marble, gold and bronze, statues and devices, to immortalize the king's memory, he was thanking the good mermaid and begging her still to help him, which she graciously promised to do as she disappeared; and then he set out for the castle of steel.
he walked fast, looking anxiously round him, and longing once more to see his darling bellissima, but he had not gone far before he was surrounded by four terrible sphinxes who would very soon have torn him to pieces with their sharp talons if it had not been for the mermaid's diamond sword.
for, no sooner had he flashed it before their eyes than down they fell at his feet quite helpless, and he killed them with one blow.
but he had hardly turned to continue his search when he met six dragons covered with scales that were harder than iron.
frightful as this encounter was the king's courage was unshaken, and by the aid of his wonderful sword he cut them in pieces one after the other.
now he hoped his difficulties were over, but at the next turning he was met by one which he did not know how to overcome.
four-and-twenty pretty and graceful nymphs advanced toward him, holding garlands of flowers, with which they barred the way.
""where are you going, prince?"
they said; "it is our duty to guard this place, and if we let you pass great misfortunes will happen to you and to us.
we beg you not to insist upon going on.
do you want to kill four-and-twenty girls who have never displeased you in any way?"
the king did not know what to do or to say.
it went against all his ideas as a knight to do anything a lady begged him not to do; but, as he hesitated, a voice in his ear said: "strike!
strike!
and do not spare, or your princess is lost for ever!"
so, without reply to the nymphs, he rushed forward instantly, breaking their garlands, and scattering them in all directions; and then went on without further hindrance to the little wood where he had seen bellissima.
she was seated by the brook looking pale and weary when he reached her, and he would have thrown himself down at her feet, but she drew herself away from him with as much indignation as if he had been the yellow dwarf.
""ah!
princess," he cried, "do not be angry with me.
let me explain everything.
i am not faithless or to blame for what has happened.
i am a miserable wretch who has displeased you without being able to help himself."
""ah!"
cried bellissima, "did i not see you flying through the air with the loveliest being imaginable?
was that against your will?"
""indeed it was, princess," he answered; "the wicked fairy of the desert, not content with chaining me to a rock, carried me off in her chariot to the other end of the earth, where i should even now be a captive but for the unexpected help of a friendly mermaid, who brought me here to rescue you, my princess, from the unworthy hands that hold you.
do not refuse the aid of your most faithful lover."
so saying, he threw himself at her feet and held her by her robe.
but, alas!
in so doing he let fall the magic sword, and the yellow dwarf, who was crouching behind a lettuce, no sooner saw it than he sprang out and seized it, well knowing its wonderful power.
the princess gave a cry of terror on seeing the dwarf, but this only irritated the little monster; muttering a few magical words he summoned two giants, who bound the king with great chains of iron.
""now," said the dwarf, "i am master of my rival's fate, but i will give him his life and permission to depart unharmed if you, princess, will consent to marry me."
""let me die a thousand times rather," cried the unhappy king.
""alas!"
cried the princess, "must you die?
could anything be more terrible?"
""that you should marry that little wretch would be far more terrible," answered the king.
""at least," continued she, "let us die together."
""let me have the satisfaction of dying for you, my princess," said he.
""oh, no, no!"
she cried, turning to the dwarf; "rather than that i will do as you wish."
""cruel princess!"
said the king, "would you make my life horrible to me by marrying another before my eyes?"
""not so," replied the yellow dwarf; "you are a rival of whom i am too much afraid; you shall not see our marriage."
so saying, in spite of bellissima's tears and cries, he stabbed the king to the heart with the diamond sword.
the poor princess, seeing her lover lying dead at her feet, could no longer live without him; she sank down by him and died of a broken heart.
so ended these unfortunate lovers, whom not even the mermaid could help, because all the magic power had been lost with the diamond sword.
as to the wicked dwarf, he preferred to see the princess dead rather than married to the king of the gold mines; and the fairy of the desert, when she heard of the king's adventures, pulled down the grand monument which she had built, and was so angry at the trick that had been played her that she hated him as much as she had loved him before.
the kind mermaid, grieved at the sad fate of the lovers, caused them to be changed into two tall palm trees, which stand always side by side, whispering together of their faithful love and caressing one another with their interlacing branches.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- madame d'aulnoy.
little red riding hood once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature was ever seen.
her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more.
this good woman had made for her a little red riding-hood; which became the girl so extremely well that everybody called her little red riding-hood.
one day her mother, having made some custards, said to her: "go, my dear, and see how thy grandmamma does, for i hear she has been very ill; carry her a custard, and this little pot of butter."
little red riding-hood set out immediately to go to her grandmother, who lived in another village.
as she was going through the wood, she met with gaffer wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he dared not, because of some faggot-makers hard by in the forest.
he asked her whither she was going.
the poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and hear a wolf talk, said to him: "i am going to see my grandmamma and carry her a custard and a little pot of butter from my mamma."
""does she live far off?"
said the wolf.
""oh!
ay," answered little red riding-hood; "it is beyond that mill you see there, at the first house in the village."
""well," said the wolf, "and i'll go and see her too.
i'll go this way and you go that, and we shall see who will be there soonest."
the wolf began to run as fast as he could, taking the nearest way, and the little girl went by that farthest about, diverting herself in gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and making nosegays of such little flowers as she met with.
the wolf was not long before he got to the old woman's house.
he knocked at the door -- tap, tap.
""who's there?"
""your grandchild, little red riding-hood," replied the wolf, counterfeiting her voice; "who has brought you a custard and a little pot of butter sent you by mamma."
the good grandmother, who was in bed, because she was somewhat ill, cried out: "pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."
the wolf pulled the bobbin, and the door opened, and then presently he fell upon the good woman and ate her up in a moment, for it was above three days that he had not touched a bit.
he then shut the door and went into the grandmother's bed, expecting little red riding-hood, who came some time afterward and knocked at the door -- tap, tap.
""who's there?"
little red riding-hood, hearing the big voice of the wolf, was at first afraid; but believing her grandmother had got a cold and was hoarse, answered:"'t is your grandchild, little red riding-hood, who has brought you a custard and a little pot of butter mamma sends you."
the wolf cried out to her, softening his voice as much as he could: "pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up."
little red riding-hood pulled the bobbin, and the door opened.
the wolf, seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bed-clothes: "put the custard and the little pot of butter upon the stool, and come and lie down with me."
little red riding-hood undressed herself and went into bed, where, being greatly amazed to see how her grandmother looked in her night-clothes, she said to her: "grandmamma, what great arms you have got!"
""that is the better to hug thee, my dear."
""grandmamma, what great legs you have got!"
""that is to run the better, my child."
""grandmamma, what great ears you have got!"
""that is to hear the better, my child."
""grandmamma, what great eyes you have got!"
""it is to see the better, my child."
""grandmamma, what great teeth you have got!"
""that is to eat thee up."
and, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon little red riding-hood, and ate her all up.
the sleeping beauty in the wood there were formerly a king and a queen, who were so sorry that they had no children; so sorry that it can not be expressed.
they went to all the waters in the world; vows, pilgrimages, all ways were tried, and all to no purpose.
at last, however, the queen had a daughter.
there was a very fine christening; and the princess had for her god-mothers all the fairies they could find in the whole kingdom -lrb- they found seven -rrb-, that every one of them might give her a gift, as was the custom of fairies in those days.
by this means the princess had all the perfections imaginable.
after the ceremonies of the christening were over, all the company returned to the king's palace, where was prepared a great feast for the fairies.
there was placed before every one of them a magnificent cover with a case of massive gold, wherein were a spoon, knife, and fork, all of pure gold set with diamonds and rubies.
but as they were all sitting down at table they saw come into the hall a very old fairy, whom they had not invited, because it was above fifty years since she had been out of a certain tower, and she was believed to be either dead or enchanted.
the king ordered her a cover, but could not furnish her with a case of gold as the others, because they had only seven made for the seven fairies.
the old fairy fancied she was slighted, and muttered some threats between her teeth.
one of the young fairies who sat by her overheard how she grumbled; and, judging that she might give the little princess some unlucky gift, went, as soon as they rose from table, and hid herself behind the hangings, that she might speak last, and repair, as much as she could, the evil which the old fairy might intend.
in the meanwhile all the fairies began to give their gifts to the princess.
the youngest gave her for gift that she should be the most beautiful person in the world; the next, that she should have the wit of an angel; the third, that she should have a wonderful grace in everything she did; the fourth, that she should dance perfectly well; the fifth, that she should sing like a nightingale; and the sixth, that she should play all kinds of music to the utmost perfection.
the old fairy's turn coming next, with a head shaking more with spite than age, she said that the princess should have her hand pierced with a spindle and die of the wound.
this terrible gift made the whole company tremble, and everybody fell a-crying.
at this very instant the young fairy came out from behind the hangings, and spake these words aloud: "assure yourselves, o king and queen, that your daughter shall not die of this disaster.
it is true, i have no power to undo entirely what my elder has done.
the princess shall indeed pierce her hand with a spindle; but, instead of dying, she shall only fall into a profound sleep, which shall last a hundred years, at the expiration of which a king's son shall come and awake her."
the king, to avoid the misfortune foretold by the old fairy, caused immediately proclamation to be made, whereby everybody was forbidden, on pain of death, to spin with a distaff and spindle, or to have so much as any spindle in their houses.
about fifteen or sixteen years after, the king and queen being gone to one of their houses of pleasure, the young princess happened one day to divert herself in running up and down the palace; when going up from one apartment to another, she came into a little room on the top of the tower, where a good old woman, alone, was spinning with her spindle.
this good woman had never heard of the king's proclamation against spindles.
""what are you doing there, goody?"
said the princess.
""i am spinning, my pretty child," said the old woman, who did not know who she was.
""ha!"
said the princess, "this is very pretty; how do you do it?
give it to me, that i may see if i can do so."
she had no sooner taken it into her hand than, whether being very hasty at it, somewhat unhandy, or that the decree of the fairy had so ordained it, it ran into her hand, and she fell down in a swoon.
the good old woman, not knowing very well what to do in this affair, cried out for help.
people came in from every quarter in great numbers; they threw water upon the princess's face, unlaced her, struck her on the palms of her hands, and rubbed her temples with hungary-water; but nothing would bring her to herself.
and now the king, who came up at the noise, bethought himself of the prediction of the fairies, and, judging very well that this must necessarily come to pass, since the fairies had said it, caused the princess to be carried into the finest apartment in his palace, and to be laid upon a bed all embroidered with gold and silver.
one would have taken her for a little angel, she was so very beautiful; for her swooning away had not diminished one bit of her complexion; her cheeks were carnation, and her lips were coral; indeed, her eyes were shut, but she was heard to breathe softly, which satisfied those about her that she was not dead.
the king commanded that they should not disturb her, but let her sleep quietly till her hour of awaking was come.
the good fairy who had saved her life by condemning her to sleep a hundred years was in the kingdom of matakin, twelve thousand leagues off, when this accident befell the princess; but she was instantly informed of it by a little dwarf, who had boots of seven leagues, that is, boots with which he could tread over seven leagues of ground in one stride.
the fairy came away immediately, and she arrived, about an hour after, in a fiery chariot drawn by dragons.
the king handed her out of the chariot, and she approved everything he had done, but as she had very great foresight, she thought when the princess should awake she might not know what to do with herself, being all alone in this old palace; and this was what she did: she touched with her wand everything in the palace -lrb- except the king and queen -rrb- -- governesses, maids of honor, ladies of the bedchamber, gentlemen, officers, stewards, cooks, undercooks, scullions, guards, with their beefeaters, pages, footmen; she likewise touched all the horses which were in the stables, pads as well as others, the great dogs in the outward court and pretty little mopsey too, the princess's little spaniel, which lay by her on the bed.
immediately upon her touching them they all fell asleep, that they might not awake before their mistress and that they might be ready to wait upon her when she wanted them.
the very spits at the fire, as full as they could hold of partridges and pheasants, did fall asleep also.
all this was done in a moment.
fairies are not long in doing their business.
and now the king and the queen, having kissed their dear child without waking her, went out of the palace and put forth a proclamation that nobody should dare to come near it.
this, however, was not necessary, for in a quarter of an hour's time there grew up all round about the park such a vast number of trees, great and small, bushes and brambles, twining one within another, that neither man nor beast could pass through; so that nothing could be seen but the very top of the towers of the palace; and that, too, not unless it was a good way off.
nobody; doubted but the fairy gave herein a very extraordinary sample of her art, that the princess, while she continued sleeping, might have nothing to fear from any curious people.
when a hundred years were gone and passed the son of the king then reigning, and who was of another family from that of the sleeping princess, being gone a-hunting on that side of the country, asked: what those towers were which he saw in the middle of a great thick wood?
everyone answered according as they had heard.
some said: that it was a ruinous old castle, haunted by spirits.
others, that all the sorcerers and witches of the country kept there their sabbath or night's meeting.
the common opinion was: that an ogre lived there, and that he carried thither all the little children he could catch, that he might eat them up at his leisure, without anybody being able to follow him, as having himself only the power to pass through the wood.
the prince was at a stand, not knowing what to believe, when a very good countryman spake to him thus: "may it please your royal highness, it is now about fifty years since i heard from my father, who heard my grandfather say, that there was then in this castle a princess, the most beautiful was ever seen; that she must sleep there a hundred years, and should be waked by a king's son, for whom she was reserved."
the young prince was all on fire at these words, believing, without weighing the matter, that he could put an end to this rare adventure; and, pushed on by love and honor, resolved that moment to look into it.
scarce had he advanced toward the wood when all the great trees, the bushes, and brambles gave way of themselves to let him pass through; he walked up to the castle which he saw at the end of a large avenue which he went into; and what a little surprised him was that he saw none of his people could follow him, because the trees closed again as soon as he had passed through them.
however, he did not cease from continuing his way; a young and amorous prince is always valiant.
he came into a spacious outward court, where everything he saw might have frozen the most fearless person with horror.
there reigned all over a most frightful silence; the image of death everywhere showed itself, and there was nothing to be seen but stretched-out bodies of men and animals, all seeming to be dead.
he, however, very well knew, by the ruby faces and pimpled noses of the beefeaters, that they were only asleep; and their goblets, wherein still remained some drops of wine, showed plainly that they fell asleep in their cups.
he then crossed a court paved with marble, went up the stairs and came into the guard chamber, where guards were standing in their ranks, with their muskets upon their shoulders, and snoring as loud as they could.
after that he went through several rooms full of gentlemen and ladies, all asleep, some standing, others sitting.
at last he came into a chamber all gilded with gold, where he saw upon a bed, the curtains of which were all open, the finest sight was ever beheld -- a princess, who appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen years of age, and whose bright and, in a manner, resplendent beauty, had somewhat in it divine.
he approached with trembling and admiration, and fell down before her upon his knees.
and now, as the enchantment was at an end, the princess awaked, and looking on him with eyes more tender than the first view might seem to admit of: "is it you, my prince?"
said she to him.
""you have waited a long while."
the prince, charmed with these words, and much more with the manner in which they were spoken, knew not how to show his joy and gratitude; he assured her that he loved her better than he did himself; their discourse was not well connected, they did weep more than talk -- little eloquence, a great deal of love.
he was more at a loss than she, and we need not wonder at it; she had time to think on what to say to him; for it is very probable -lrb- though history mentions nothing of it -rrb- that the good fairy, during so long a sleep, had given her very agreeable dreams.
in short, they talked four hours together, and yet they said not half what they had to say.
in the meanwhile all the palace awaked; everyone thought upon their particular business, and as all of them were not in love they were ready to die for hunger.
the chief lady of honor, being as sharp set as other folks, grew very impatient, and told the princess aloud that supper was served up.
the prince helped the princess to rise; she was entirely dressed, and very magnificently, but his royal highness took care not to tell her that she was dressed like his great-grandmother, and had a point band peeping over a high collar; she looked not a bit less charming and beautiful for all that.
they went into the great hall of looking-glasses, where they supped, and were served by the princess's officers, the violins and hautboys played old tunes, but very excellent, though it was now above a hundred years since they had played; and after supper, without losing any time, the lord almoner married them in the chapel of the castle, and the chief lady of honor drew the curtains.
they had but very little sleep -- the princess had no occasion; and the prince left her next morning to return to the city, where his father must needs have been in pain for him.
the prince told him: that he lost his way in the forest as he was hunting, and that he had lain in the cottage of a charcoal-burner, who gave him cheese and brown bread.
the king, his father, who was a good man, believed him; but his mother could not be persuaded it was true; and seeing that he went almost every day a-hunting, and that he always had some excuse ready for so doing, though he had lain out three or four nights together, she began to suspect that he was married, for he lived with the princess above two whole years, and had by her two children, the eldest of which, who was a daughter, was named morning, and the youngest, who was a son, they called day, because he was a great deal handsomer and more beautiful than his sister.
the queen spoke several times to her son, to inform herself after what manner he did pass his time, and that in this he ought in duty to satisfy her.
but he never dared to trust her with his secret; he feared her, though he loved her, for she was of the race of the ogres, and the king would never have married her had it not been for her vast riches; it was even whispered about the court that she had ogreish inclinations, and that, whenever she saw little children passing by, she had all the difficulty in the world to avoid falling upon them.
and so the prince would never tell her one word.
but when the king was dead, which happened about two years afterward, and he saw himself lord and master, he openly declared his marriage; and he went in great ceremony to conduct his queen to the palace.
they made a magnificent entry into the capital city, she riding between her two children.
soon after the king went to make war with the emperor contalabutte, his neighbor.
he left the government of the kingdom to the queen his mother, and earnestly recommended to her care his wife and children.
he was obliged to continue his expedition all the summer, and as soon as he departed the queen-mother sent her daughter-in-law to a country house among the woods, that she might with the more ease gratify her horrible longing.
some few days afterward she went thither herself, and said to her clerk of the kitchen: "i have a mind to eat little morning for my dinner to-morrow."
""ah!
madam," cried the clerk of the kitchen.
""i will have it so," replied the queen -lrb- and this she spoke in the tone of an ogress who had a strong desire to eat fresh meat -rrb-, "and will eat her with a sauce robert."
the poor man, knowing very well that he must not play tricks with ogresses, took his great knife and went up into little morning's chamber.
she was then four years old, and came up to him jumping and laughing, to take him about the neck, and ask him for some sugar-candy.
upon which he began to weep, the great knife fell out of his hand, and he went into the back yard, and killed a little lamb, and dressed it with such good sauce that his mistress assured him that she had never eaten anything so good in her life.
he had at the same time taken up little morning, and carried her to his wife, to conceal her in the lodging he had at the bottom of the courtyard.
about eight days afterward the wicked queen said to the clerk of the kitchen, "i will sup on little day."
he answered not a word, being resolved to cheat her as he had done before.
he went to find out little day, and saw him with a little foil in his hand, with which he was fencing with a great monkey, the child being then only three years of age.
he took him up in his arms and carried him to his wife, that she might conceal him in her chamber along with his sister, and in the room of little day cooked up a young kid, very tender, which the ogress found to be wonderfully good.
this was hitherto all mighty well; but one evening this wicked queen said to her clerk of the kitchen: "i will eat the queen with the same sauce i had with her children."
it was now that the poor clerk of the kitchen despaired of being able to deceive her.
the young queen was turned of twenty, not reckoning the hundred years she had been asleep; and how to find in the yard a beast so firm was what puzzled him.
he took then a resolution, that he might save his own life, to cut the queen's throat; and going up into her chamber, with intent to do it at once, he put himself into as great fury as he could possibly, and came into the young queen's room with his dagger in his hand.
he would not, however, surprise her, but told her, with a great deal of respect, the orders he had received from the queen-mother.
""do it; do it" -lrb- said she, stretching out her neck -rrb-.
""execute your orders, and then i shall go and see my children, my poor children, whom i so much and so tenderly loved."
for she thought them dead ever since they had been taken away without her knowledge.
""no, no, madam" -lrb- cried the poor clerk of the kitchen, all in tears -rrb-; "you shall not die, and yet you shall see your children again; but then you must go home with me to my lodgings, where i have concealed them, and i shall deceive the queen once more, by giving her in your stead a young hind."
upon this he forthwith conducted her to his chamber, where, leaving her to embrace her children, and cry along with them, he went and dressed a young hind, which the queen had for her supper, and devoured it with the same appetite as if it had been the young queen.
exceedingly was she delighted with her cruelty, and she had invented a story to tell the king, at his return, how the mad wolves had eaten up the queen his wife and her two children.
one evening, as she was, according to her custom, rambling round about the courts and yards of the palace to see if she could smell any fresh meat, she heard, in a ground room, little day crying, for his mamma was going to whip him, because he had been naughty; and she heard, at the same time, little morning begging pardon for her brother.
the ogress presently knew the voice of the queen and her children, and being quite mad that she had been thus deceived, she commanded next morning, by break of day -lrb- with a most horrible voice, which made everybody tremble -rrb-, that they should bring into the middle of the great court a large tub, which she caused to be filled with toads, vipers, snakes, and all sorts of serpents, in order to have thrown into it the queen and her children, the clerk of the kitchen, his wife and maid; all whom she had given orders should be brought thither with their hands tied behind them.
they were brought out accordingly, and the executioners were just going to throw them into the tub, when the king -lrb- who was not so soon expected -rrb- entered the court on horseback -lrb- for he came post -rrb- and asked, with the utmost astonishment, what was the meaning of that horrible spectacle.
no one dared to tell him, when the ogress, all enraged to see what had happened, threw herself head foremost into the tub, and was instantly devoured by the ugly creatures she had ordered to be thrown into it for others.
the king could not but be very sorry, for she was his mother; but he soon comforted himself with his beautiful wife and his pretty children.
cinderella, or the little glass slipper once there was a gentleman who married, for his second wife, the proudest and most haughty woman that was ever seen.
she had, by a former husband, two daughters of her own humor, who were, indeed, exactly like her in all things.
he had likewise, by another wife, a young daughter, but of unparalleled goodness and sweetness of temper, which she took from her mother, who was the best creature in the world.
no sooner were the ceremonies of the wedding over but the mother-in-law began to show herself in her true colors.
she could not bear the good qualities of this pretty girl, and the less because they made her own daughters appear the more odious.
she employed her in the meanest work of the house: she scoured the dishes, tables, etc., and scrubbed madam's chamber, and those of misses, her daughters; she lay up in a sorry garret, upon a wretched straw bed, while her sisters lay in fine rooms, with floors all inlaid, upon beds of the very newest fashion, and where they had looking-glasses so large that they might see themselves at their full length from head to foot.
the poor girl bore all patiently, and dared not tell her father, who would have rattled her off; for his wife governed him entirely.
when she had done her work, she used to go into the chimney-corner, and sit down among cinders and ashes, which made her commonly be called cinderwench; but the youngest, who was not so rude and uncivil as the eldest, called her cinderella.
however, cinderella, notwithstanding her mean apparel, was a hundred times handsomer than her sisters, though they were always dressed very richly.
it happened that the king's son gave a ball, and invited all persons of fashion to it.
our young misses were also invited, for they cut a very grand figure among the quality.
they were mightily delighted at this invitation, and wonderfully busy in choosing out such gowns, petticoats, and head-clothes as might become them.
this was a new trouble to cinderella; for it was she who ironed her sisters" linen, and plaited their ruffles; they talked all day long of nothing but how they should be dressed.
""for my part," said the eldest, "i will wear my red velvet suit with french trimming."
""and i," said the youngest, "shall have my usual petticoat; but then, to make amends for that, i will put on my gold-flowered manteau, and my diamond stomacher, which is far from being the most ordinary one in the world."
they sent for the best tire-woman they could get to make up their head-dresses and adjust their double pinners, and they had their red brushes and patches from mademoiselle de la poche.
cinderella was likewise called up to them to be consulted in all these matters, for she had excellent notions, and advised them always for the best, nay, and offered her services to dress their heads, which they were very willing she should do.
as she was doing this, they said to her: "cinderella, would you not be glad to go to the ball?"
""alas!"
said she, "you only jeer me; it is not for such as i am to go thither."
""thou art in the right of it," replied they; "it would make the people laugh to see a cinderwench at a ball."
anyone but cinderella would have dressed their heads awry, but she was very good, and dressed them perfectly well they were almost two days without eating, so much were they transported with joy.
they broke above a dozen laces in trying to be laced up close, that they might have a fine slender shape, and they were continually at their looking-glass.
at last the happy day came; they went to court, and cinderella followed them with her eyes as long as she could, and when she had lost sight of them, she fell a-crying.
her godmother, who saw her all in tears, asked her what was the matter.
""i wish i could -- i wish i could --"; she was not able to speak the rest, being interrupted by her tears and sobbing.
this godmother of hers, who was a fairy, said to her, "thou wishest thou couldst go to the ball; is it not so?"
""y -- es," cried cinderella, with a great sigh.
""well," said her godmother, "be but a good girl, and i will contrive that thou shalt go."
then she took her into her chamber, and said to her, "run into the garden, and bring me a pumpkin."
cinderella went immediately to gather the finest she could get, and brought it to her godmother, not being able to imagine how this pumpkin could make her go to the ball.
her godmother scooped out all the inside of it, having left nothing but the rind; which done, she struck it with her wand, and the pumpkin was instantly turned into a fine coach, gilded all over with gold.
she then went to look into her mouse-trap, where she found six mice, all alive, and ordered cinderella to lift up a little the trapdoor, when, giving each mouse, as it went out, a little tap with her wand, the mouse was that moment turned into a fine horse, which altogether made a very fine set of six horses of a beautiful mouse-colored dapple-gray.
being at a loss for a coachman, "i will go and see," says cinderella, "if there is never a rat in the rat-trap -- we may make a coachman of him."
""thou art in the right," replied her godmother; "go and look."
cinderella brought the trap to her, and in it there were three huge rats.
the fairy made choice of one of the three which had the largest beard, and, having touched him with her wand, he was turned into a fat, jolly coachman, who had the smartest whiskers eyes ever beheld.
after that, she said to her: "go again into the garden, and you will find six lizards behind the watering-pot, bring them to me."
she had no sooner done so but her godmother turned them into six footmen, who skipped up immediately behind the coach, with their liveries all bedaubed with gold and silver, and clung as close behind each other as if they had done nothing else their whole lives.
the fairy then said to cinderella: "well, you see here an equipage fit to go to the ball with; are you not pleased with it?"
""oh!
yes," cried she; "but must i go thither as i am, in these nasty rags?"
her godmother only just touched her with her wand, and, at the same instant, her clothes were turned into cloth of gold and silver, all beset with jewels.
this done, she gave her a pair of glass slippers, the prettiest in the whole world.
being thus decked out, she got up into her coach; but her godmother, above all things, commanded her not to stay till after midnight, telling her, at the same time, that if she stayed one moment longer, the coach would be a pumpkin again, her horses mice, her coachman a rat, her footmen lizards, and her clothes become just as they were before.
she promised her godmother she would not fail of leaving the ball before midnight; and then away she drives, scarce able to contain herself for joy.
the king's son who was told that a great princess, whom nobody knew, was come, ran out to receive her; he gave her his hand as she alighted out of the coach, and led her into the ball, among all the company.
there was immediately a profound silence, they left off dancing, and the violins ceased to play, so attentive was everyone to contemplate the singular beauties of the unknown new-comer.
nothing was then heard but a confused noise of: "ha!
how handsome she is!
ha!
how handsome she is!"
the king himself, old as he was, could not help watching her, and telling the queen softly that it was a long time since he had seen so beautiful and lovely a creature.
all the ladies were busied in considering her clothes and headdress, that they might have some made next day after the same pattern, provided they could meet with such fine material and as able hands to make them.
the king's son conducted her to the most honorable seat, and afterward took her out to dance with him; she danced so very gracefully that they all more and more admired her.
a fine collation was served up, whereof the young prince ate not a morsel, so intently was he busied in gazing on her.
she went and sat down by her sisters, showing them a thousand civilities, giving them part of the oranges and citrons which the prince had presented her with, which very much surprised them, for they did not know her.
while cinderella was thus amusing her sisters, she heard the clock strike eleven and three-quarters, whereupon she immediately made a courtesy to the company and hasted away as fast as she could.
when she got home she ran to seek out her godmother, and, after having thanked her, she said she could not but heartily wish she might go next day to the ball, because the king's son had desired her.
as she was eagerly telling her godmother whatever had passed at the ball, her two sisters knocked at the door, which cinderella ran and opened.
""how long you have stayed!"
cried she, gaping, rubbing her eyes and stretching herself as if she had been just waked out of her sleep; she had not, however, any manner of inclination to sleep since they went from home.
""if thou hadst been at the ball," said one of her sisters, "thou wouldst not have been tired with it.
there came thither the finest princess, the most beautiful ever was seen with mortal eyes; she showed us a thousand civilities, and gave us oranges and citrons."
cinderella seemed very indifferent in the matter; indeed, she asked them the name of that princess; but they told her they did not know it, and that the king's son was very uneasy on her account and would give all the world to know who she was.
at this cinderella, smiling, replied: "she must, then, be very beautiful indeed; how happy you have been!
could not i see her?
ah!
dear miss charlotte, do lend me your yellow suit of clothes which you wear every day."
""ay, to be sure!"
cried miss charlotte; "lend my clothes to such a dirty cinderwench as thou art!
i should be a fool."
cinderella, indeed, expected well such answer, and was very glad of the refusal; for she would have been sadly put to it if her sister had lent her what she asked for jestingly.
the next day the two sisters were at the ball, and so was cinderella, but dressed more magnificently than before.
the king's son was always by her, and never ceased his compliments and kind speeches to her; to whom all this was so far from being tiresome that she quite forgot what her godmother had recommended to her; so that she, at last, counted the clock striking twelve when she took it to be no more than eleven; she then rose up and fled, as nimble as a deer.
the prince followed, but could not overtake her.
she left behind one of her glass slippers, which the prince took up most carefully.
she got home but quite out of breath, and in her nasty old clothes, having nothing left her of all her finery but one of the little slippers, fellow to that she dropped.
the guards at the palace gate were asked: if they had not seen a princess go out.
who said: they had seen nobody go out but a young girl, very meanly dressed, and who had more the air of a poor country wench than a gentlewoman.
when the two sisters returned from the ball cinderella asked them: if they had been well diverted, and if the fine lady had been there.
they told her: yes, but that she hurried away immediately when it struck twelve, and with so much haste that she dropped one of her little glass slippers, the prettiest in the world, which the king's son had taken up; that he had done nothing but look at her all the time at the ball, and that most certainly he was very much in love with the beautiful person who owned the glass slipper.
what they said was very true; for a few days after the king's son caused it to be proclaimed, by sound of trumpet, that he would marry her whose foot the slipper would just fit.
they whom he employed began to try it upon the princesses, then the duchesses and all the court, but in vain; it was brought to the two sisters, who did all they possibly could to thrust their foot into the slipper, but they could not effect it.
cinderella, who saw all this, and knew her slipper, said to them, laughing: "let me see if it will not fit me."
her sisters burst out a-laughing, and began to banter her.
the gentleman who was sent to try the slipper looked earnestly at cinderella, and, finding her very handsome, said: it was but just that she should try, and that he had orders to let everyone make trial.
he obliged cinderella to sit down, and, putting the slipper to her foot, he found it went on very easily, and fitted her as if it had been made of wax.
the astonishment her two sisters were in was excessively great, but still abundantly greater when cinderella pulled out of her pocket the other slipper, and put it on her foot.
thereupon, in came her godmother, who, having touched with her wand cinderella's clothes, made them richer and more magnificent than any of those she had before.
and now her two sisters found her to be that fine, beautiful lady whom they had seen at the ball.
they threw themselves at her feet to beg pardon for all the ill-treatment they had made her undergo.
cinderella took them up, and, as she embraced them, cried: that she forgave them with all her heart, and desired them always to love her.
she was conducted to the young prince, dressed as she was; he thought her more charming than ever, and, a few days after, married her.
cinderella, who was no less good than beautiful, gave her two sisters lodgings in the palace, and that very same day matched them with two great lords of the court.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- charles perrault.
aladdin and the wonderful lamp there once lived a poor tailor, who had a son called aladdin, a careless, idle boy who would do nothing but play ball all day long in the streets with little idle boys like himself.
this so grieved the father that he died; yet, in spite of his mother's tears and prayers, aladdin did not mend his ways.
one day, when he was playing in the streets as usual, a stranger asked him his age, and if he was not the son of mustapha the tailor.
""i am, sir," replied aladdin; "but he died a long while ago."
on this the stranger, who was a famous african magician, fell on his neck and kissed him, saying, "i am your uncle, and knew you from your likeness to my brother.
go to your mother and tell her i am coming."
aladdin ran home and told his mother of his newly found uncle.
""indeed, child," she said, "your father had a brother, but i always thought he was dead."
however, she prepared supper, and bade aladdin seek his uncle, who came laden with wine and fruit.
he presently fell down and kissed the place where mustapha used to sit, bidding aladdin's mother not to be surprised at not having seen him before, as he had been forty years out of the country.
he then turned to aladdin, and asked him his trade, at which the boy hung his head, while his mother burst into tears.
on learning that aladdin was idle and would learn no trade, he offered to take a shop for him and stock it with merchandise.
next day he bought aladdin a fine suit of clothes and took him all over the city, showing him the sights, and brought him home at nightfall to his mother, who was overjoyed to see her son so fine.
the next day the magician led aladdin into some beautiful gardens a long way outside the city gates.
they sat down by a fountain and the magician pulled a cake from his girdle, which he divided between them.
they then journeyed onward till they almost reached the mountains.
aladdin was so tired that he begged to go back, but the magician beguiled him with pleasant stories, and led him on in spite of himself.
at last they came to two mountains divided by a narrow valley.
""we will go no farther," said the false uncle.
""i will show you something wonderful; only do you gather up sticks while i kindle a fire."
when it was lit the magician threw on it a powder he had about him, at the same time saying some magical words.
the earth trembled a little and opened in front of them, disclosing a square flat stone with a brass ring in the middle to raise it by.
aladdin tried to run away, but the magician caught him and gave him a blow that knocked him down.
""what have i done, uncle?"
he said piteously; whereupon the magician said more kindly: "fear nothing, but obey me.
beneath this stone lies a treasure which is to be yours, and no one else may touch it, so you must do exactly as i tell you."
at the word treasure aladdin forgot his fears, and grasped the ring as he was told, saying the names of his father and grandfather.
the stone came up quite easily, and some steps appeared.
""go down," said the magician; "at the foot of those steps you will find an open door leading into three large halls.
tuck up your gown and go through them without touching anything, or you will die instantly.
these halls lead into a garden of fine fruit trees.
walk on until you come to a niche in a terrace where stands a lighted lamp.
pour out the oil it contains, and bring it to me."
he drew a ring from his finger and gave it to aladdin, bidding him prosper.
aladdin found everything as the magician had said, gathered some fruit off the trees, and, having got the lamp, arrived at the mouth of the cave.
the magician cried out in a great hurry: "make haste and give me the lamp."
this aladdin refused to do until he was out of the cave.
the magician flew into a terrible passion, and throwing some more powder on to the fire, he said something, and the stone rolled back into its place.
the magician left persia for ever, which plainly showed that he was no uncle of aladdin's, but a cunning magician, who had read in his magic books of a wonderful lamp, which would make him the most powerful man in the world.
though he alone knew where to find it, he could only receive it from the hand of another.
he had picked out the foolish aladdin for this purpose, intending to get the lamp and kill him afterward.
for two days aladdin remained in the dark, crying and lamenting.
at last he clasped his hands in prayer, and in so doing rubbed the ring, which the magician had forgotten to take from him.
immediately an enormous and frightful genie rose out of the earth, saying: "what wouldst thou with me?
i am the slave of the ring, and will obey thee in all things."
aladdin fearlessly replied: "deliver me from this place!"
whereupon the earth opened, and he found himself outside.
as soon as his eyes could bear the light he went home, but fainted on the threshold.
when he came to himself he told his mother what had passed, and showed her the lamp and the fruits he had gathered in the garden, which were, in reality, precious stones.
he then asked for some food.
""alas!
child," she said, "i have nothing in the house, but i have spun a little cotton and will go and sell it."
aladdin bade her keep her cotton, for he would sell the lamp instead.
as it was very dirty she began to rub it, that it might fetch a higher price.
instantly a hideous genie appeared, and asked what she would have.
she fainted away, but aladdin, snatching the lamp, said boldly: "fetch me something to eat!"
the genie returned with a silver bowl, twelve silver plates containing rich meats, two silver cups, and two bottles of wine.
aladdin's mother, when she came to herself, said: "whence comes this splendid feast?"
""ask not, but eat," replied aladdin.
so they sat at breakfast till it was dinner-time, and aladdin told his mother about the lamp.
she begged him to sell it, and have nothing to do with devils.
""no," said aladdin, "since chance hath made us aware of its virtues, we will use it, and the ring likewise, which i shall always wear on my finger."
when they had eaten all the genie had brought, aladdin sold one of the silver plates, and so on until none were left.
he then had recourse to the genie, who gave him another set of plates, and thus they lived for many years.
one day aladdin heard an order from the sultan proclaimed that everyone was to stay at home and close his shutters while the princess, his daughter, went to and from the bath.
aladdin was seized by a desire to see her face, which was very difficult, as she always went veiled.
he hid himself behind the door of the bath, and peeped through a chink.
the princess lifted her veil as she went in, and looked so beautiful that aladdin fell in love with her at first sight.
he went home so changed that his mother was frightened.
he told her he loved the princess so deeply that he could not live without her, and meant to ask her in marriage of her father.
his mother, on hearing this, burst out laughing, but aladdin at last prevailed upon her to go before the sultan and carry his request.
she fetched a napkin and laid in it the magic fruits from the enchanted garden, which sparkled and shone like the most beautiful jewels.
she took these with her to please the sultan, and set out, trusting in the lamp.
the grand vizier and the lords of council had just gone in as she entered the hall and placed herself in front of the sultan.
he, however, took no notice of her.
she went every day for a week, and stood in the same place.
when the council broke up on the sixth day the sultan said to his vizier: "i see a certain woman in the audience-chamber every day carrying something in a napkin.
call her next time, that i may find out what she wants."
next day, at a sign from the vizier, she went up to the foot of the throne and remained kneeling till the sultan said to her: "rise, good woman, and tell me what you want."
she hesitated, so the sultan sent away all but the vizier, and bade her speak frankly, promising to forgive her beforehand for anything she might say.
she then told him of her son's violent love for the princess.
""i prayed him to forget her," she said, "but in vain; he threatened to do some desperate deed if i refused to go and ask your majesty for the hand of the princess.
now i pray you to forgive not me alone, but my son aladdin."
the sultan asked her kindly what she had in the napkin, whereupon she unfolded the jewels and presented them.
he was thunderstruck, and turning to the vizier said: "what sayest thou?
ought i not to bestow the princess on one who values her at such a price?"
the vizier, who wanted her for his own son, begged the sultan to withhold her for three months, in the course of which he hoped his son would contrive to make him a richer present.
the sultan granted this, and told aladdin's mother that, though he consented to the marriage, she must not appear before him again for three months.
aladdin waited patiently for nearly three months, but after two had elapsed his mother, going into the city to buy oil, found every one rejoicing, and asked what was going on.
""do you not know," was the answer, "that the son of the grand vizier is to marry the sultan's daughter to-night?"
breathless, she ran and told aladdin, who was overwhelmed at first, but presently bethought him of the lamp.
he rubbed it, and the genie appeared, saying, "what is thy will?"
aladdin replied: "the sultan, as thou knowest, has broken his promise to me, and the vizier's son is to have the princess.
my command is that to-night you bring hither the bride and bridegroom."
""master, i obey," said the genie.
aladdin then went to his chamber, where, sure enough, at midnight the genie transported the bed containing the vizier's son and the princess.
""take this new-married man," he said, "and put him outside in the cold, and return at daybreak."
whereupon the genie took the vizier's son out of bed, leaving aladdin with the princess.
""fear nothing," aladdin said to her; "you are my wife, promised to me by your unjust father, and no harm shall come to you."
the princess was too frightened to speak, and passed the most miserable night of her life, while aladdin lay down beside her and slept soundly.
at the appointed hour the genie fetched in the shivering bridegroom, laid him in his place, and transported the bed back to the palace.
presently the sultan came to wish his daughter good-morning.
the unhappy vizier's son jumped up and hid himself, while the princess would not say a word, and was very sorrowful.
the sultan sent her mother to her, who said: "how comes it, child, that you will not speak to your father?
what has happened?"
the princess sighed deeply, and at last told her mother how, during the night, the bed had been carried into some strange house, and what had passed there.
her mother did not believe her in the least, but bade her rise and consider it an idle dream.
the following night exactly the same thing happened, and next morning, on the princess's refusal to speak, the sultan threatened to cut off her head.
she then confessed all, bidding him to ask the vizier's son if it were not so.
the sultan told the vizier to ask his son, who owned the truth, adding that, dearly as he loved the princess, he had rather die than go through another such fearful night, and wished to be separated from her.
his wish was granted, and there was an end to feasting and rejoicing.
when the three months were over, aladdin sent his mother to remind the sultan of his promise.
she stood in the same place as before, and the sultan, who had forgotten aladdin, at once remembered him, and sent for her.
on seeing her poverty the sultan felt less inclined than ever to keep his word, and asked his vizier's advice, who counselled him to set so high a value on the princess that no man living could come up to it.
the sultan then turned to aladdin's mother, saying: "good woman, a sultan must remember his promises, and i will remember mine, but your son must first send me forty basins of gold brimful of jewels, carried by forty black slaves, led by as many white ones, splendidly dressed.
tell him that i await his answer."
the mother of aladdin bowed low and went home, thinking all was lost.
she gave aladdin the message, adding: "he may wait long enough for your answer!"
""not so long, mother, as you think," her son replied.
""i would do a great deal more than that for the princess."
he summoned the genie, and in a few moments the eighty slaves arrived, and filled up the small house and garden.
aladdin made them set out to the palace, two and two, followed by his mother.
they were so richly dressed, with such splendid jewels in their girdles, that everyone crowded to see them and the basins of gold they carried on their heads.
they entered the palace, and, after kneeling before the sultan, stood in a half-circle round the throne with their arms crossed, while aladdin's mother presented them to the sultan.
he hesitated no longer, but said: "good woman, return and tell your son that i wait for him with open arms."
she lost no time in telling aladdin, bidding him make haste.
but aladdin first called the genie.
""i want a scented bath," he said, "a richly embroidered habit, a horse surpassing the sultan's, and twenty slaves to attend me.
besides this, six slaves, beautifully dressed, to wait on my mother; and lastly, ten thousand pieces of gold in ten purses."
no sooner said than done.
aladdin mounted his horse and passed through the streets, the slaves strewing gold as they went.
those who had played with him in his childhood knew him not, he had grown so handsome.
when the sultan saw him he came down from his throne, embraced him, and led him into a hall where a feast was spread, intending to marry him to the princess that very day.
but aladdin refused, saying, "i must build a palace fit for her," and took his leave.
once home, he said to the genie: "build me a palace of the finest marble, set with jasper, agate, and other precious stones.
in the middle you shall build me a large hall with a dome, its four walls of massy gold and silver, each having six windows, whose lattices, all except one which is to be left unfinished, must be set with diamonds and rubies.
there must be stables and horses and grooms and slaves; go and see about it!"
the palace was finished by the next day, and the genie carried him there and showed him all his orders faithfully carried out, even to the laying of a velvet carpet from aladdin's palace to the sultan's.
aladdin's mother then dressed herself carefully, and walked to the palace with her slaves, while he followed her on horseback.
the sultan sent musicians with trumpets and cymbals to meet them, so that the air resounded with music and cheers.
she was taken to the princess, who saluted her and treated her with great honor.
at night the princess said good-by to her father, and set out on the carpet for aladdin's palace, with his mother at her side, and followed by the hundred slaves.
she was charmed at the sight of aladdin, who ran to receive her.
""princess," he said, "blame your beauty for my boldness if i have displeased you."
she told him that, having seen him, she willingly obeyed her father in this matter.
after the wedding had taken place aladdin led her into the hall, where a feast was spread, and she supped with him, after which they danced till midnight.
next day aladdin invited the sultan to see the palace.
on entering the hall with the four-and-twenty windows, with their rubies, diamonds, and emeralds, he cried: "it is a world's wonder!
there is only one thing that surprises me.
was it by accident that one window was left unfinished?"
""no, sir, by design," returned aladdin.
""i wished your majesty to have the glory of finishing this palace."
the sultan was pleased, and sent for the best jewelers in the city.
he showed them the unfinished window, and bade them fit it up like the others.
""sir," replied their spokesman, "we can not find jewels enough."
the sultan had his own fetched, which they soon used, but to no purpose, for in a month's time the work was not half done.
aladdin, knowing that their task was vain, bade them undo their work and carry the jewels back, and the genie finished the window at his command.
the sultan was surprised to receive his jewels again, and visited aladdin, who showed him the window finished.
the sultan embraced him, the envious vizier meanwhile hinting that it was the work of enchantment.
aladdin had won the hearts of the people by his gentle bearing.
he was made captain of the sultan's armies, and won several battles for him, but remained modest and courteous as before, and lived thus in peace and content for several years.
but far away in africa the magician remembered aladdin, and by his magic arts discovered that aladdin, instead of perishing miserably in the cave, had escaped, and had married a princess, with whom he was living in great honor and wealth.
he knew that the poor tailor's son could only have accomplished this by means of the lamp, and traveled night and day until he reached the capital of china, bent on aladdin's ruin.
as he passed through the town he heard people talking everywhere about a marvellous palace.
""forgive my ignorance," he asked, "what is this palace you speak of?"
""have you not heard of prince aladdin's palace," was the reply, "the greatest wonder of the world?
i will direct you if you have a mind to see it."
the magician thanked him who spoke, and having seen the palace, knew that it had been raised by the genie of the lamp, and became half mad with rage.
he determined to get hold of the lamp, and again plunge aladdin into the deepest poverty.
unluckily, aladdin had gone a-hunting for eight days, which gave the magician plenty of time.
he bought a dozen copper lamps, put them into a basket, and went to the palace, crying: "new lamps for old!"
followed by a jeering crowd.
the princess, sitting in the hall of four-and-twenty windows, sent a slave to find out what the noise was about, who came back laughing, so that the princess scolded her.
""madam," replied the slave, "who can help laughing to see an old fool offering to exchange fine new lamps for old ones?"
another slave, hearing this, said: "there is an old one on the cornice there which he can have."
now this was the magic lamp, which aladdin had left there, as he could not take it out hunting with him.
the princess, not knowing its value, laughingly bade the slave take it and make the exchange.
she went and said to the magician: "give me a new lamp for this."
he snatched it and bade the slave take her choice, amid the jeers of the crowd.
little he cared, but left off crying his lamps, and went out of the city gates to a lonely place, where he remained till nightfall, when he pulled out the lamp and rubbed it.
the genie appeared, and at the magician's command carried him, together with the palace and the princess in it, to a lonely place in africa.
next morning the sultan looked out of the window toward aladdin's palace and rubbed his eyes, for it was gone.
he sent for the vizier and asked what had become of the palace.
the vizier looked out too, and was lost in astonishment.
he again put it down to enchantment, and this time the sultan believed him, and sent thirty men on horseback to fetch aladdin in chains.
they met him riding home, bound him, and forced him to go with them on foot.
the people, however, who loved him, followed, armed, to see that he came to no harm.
he was carried before the sultan, who ordered the executioner to cut off his head.
the executioner made aladdin kneel down, bandaged his eyes, and raised his scimitar to strike.
at that instant the vizier, who saw that the crowd had forced their way into the courtyard and were scaling the walls to rescue aladdin, called to the executioner to stay his hand.
the people, indeed, looked so threatening that the sultan gave way and ordered aladdin to be unbound, and pardoned him in the sight of the crowd.
aladdin now begged to know what he had done.
""false wretch!"
said the sultan, "come thither," and showed him from the window the place where his palace had stood.
aladdin was so amazed that he could not say a word.
""where is my palace and my daughter?"
demanded the sultan.
""for the first i am not so deeply concerned, but my daughter i must have, and you must find her or lose your head."
aladdin begged for forty days in which to find her, promising, if he failed, to return and suffer death at the sultan's pleasure.
his prayer was granted, and he went forth sadly from the sultan's presence.
for three days he wandered about like a madman, asking everyone what had become of his palace, but they only laughed and pitied him.
he came to the banks of a river, and knelt down to say his prayers before throwing himself in.
in so doing he rubbed the magic ring he still wore.
the genie he had seen in the cave appeared, and asked his will.
""save my life, genie," said aladdin, "bring my palace back."
""that is not in my power," said the genie; "i am only the slave of the ring; you must ask him of the lamp."
""even so," said aladdin, "but thou canst take me to the palace, and set me down under my dear wife's window."
he at once found himself in africa, under the window of the princess, and fell asleep out of sheer weariness.
he was awakened by the singing of the birds, and his heart was lighter.
he saw plainly that all his misfortunes were owing to the loss of the lamp, and vainly wondered who had robbed him of it.
that morning the princess rose earlier than she had done since she had been carried into africa by the magician, whose company she was forced to endure once a day.
she, however, treated him so harshly that he dared not live there altogether.
as she was dressing, one of her women looked out and saw aladdin.
the princess ran and opened the window, and at the noise she made aladdin looked up.
she called to him to come to her, and great was the joy of these lovers at seeing each other again.
after he had kissed her aladdin said: "i beg of you, princess, in god's name, before we speak of anything else, for your own sake and mine, tell me that has become of an old lamp i left on the cornice in the hall of four-and-twenty windows, when i went a-hunting."
""alas!"
she said, "i am the innocent cause of our sorrows," and told him of the exchange of the lamp.
""now i know," cried aladdin, "that we have to thank the african magician for this!
where is the lamp?"
""he carries it about with him," said the princess.
""i know, for he pulled it out of his breast to show me.
he wishes me to break my faith with you and marry him, saying that you were beheaded by my father's command.
he is for ever speaking ill of you but i only reply by my tears.
if i persist, i doubt not but he will use violence."
aladdin comforted her, and left her for a while.
he changed clothes with the first person he met in the town, and having bought a certain powder, returned to the princess, who let him in by a little side door.
""put on your most beautiful dress," he said to her "and receive the magician with smiles, leading him to believe that you have forgotten me.
invite him to sup with you, and say you wish to taste the wine of his country.
he will go for some and while he is gone i will tell you what to do."
she listened carefully to aladdin and when he left she arrayed herself gaily for the first time since she left china.
she put on a girdle and head-dress of diamonds, and, seeing in a glass that she was more beautiful than ever, received the magician, saying, to his great amazement: "i have made up my mind that aladdin is dead, and that all my tears will not bring him back to me, so i am resolved to mourn no more, and have therefore invited you to sup with me; but i am tired of the wines of china, and would fain taste those of africa."
the magician flew to his cellar, and the princess put the powder aladdin had given her in her cup.
when he returned she asked him to drink her health in the wine of africa, handing him her cup in exchange for his, as a sign she was reconciled to him.
before drinking the magician made her a speech in praise of her beauty, but the princess cut him short, saying: "let us drink first, and you shall say what you will afterward."
she set her cup to her lips and kept it there, while the magician drained his to the dregs and fell back lifeless.
the princess then opened the door to aladdin, and flung her arms round his neck; but aladdin put her away, bidding her leave him, as he had more to do.
he then went to the dead magician, took the lamp out of his vest, and bade the genie carry the palace and all in it back to china.
this was done, and the princess in her chamber only felt two little shocks, and little thought she was at home again.
the sultan, who was sitting in his closet, mourning for his lost daughter, happened to look up, and rubbed his eyes, for there stood the palace as before!
he hastened thither, and aladdin received him in the hall of the four-and-twenty windows, with the princess at his side.
aladdin told him what had happened, and showed him the dead body of the magician, that he might believe.
a ten days" feast was proclaimed, and it seemed as if aladdin might now live the rest of his life in peace; but it was not to be.
the african magician had a younger brother, who was, if possible, more wicked and more cunning than himself.
he traveled to china to avenge his brother's death, and went to visit a pious woman called fatima, thinking she might be of use to him.
he entered her cell and clapped a dagger to her breast, telling her to rise and do his bidding on pain of death.
he changed clothes with her, colored his face like hers, put on her veil, and murdered her, that she might tell no tales.
then he went toward the palace of aladdin, and all the people, thinking he was the holy woman, gathered round him, kissing his hands and begging his blessing.
when he got to the palace there was such a noise going on round him that the princess bade her slave look out of the window and ask what was the matter.
the slave said it was the holy woman, curing people by her touch of their ailments, whereupon the princess, who had long desired to see fatima, sent for her.
on coming to the princess the magician offered up a prayer for her health and prosperity.
when he had done the princess made him sit by her, and begged him to stay with her always.
the false fatima, who wished for nothing better, consented, but kept his veil down for fear of discovery.
the princess showed him the hall, and asked him what he thought of it.
""it is truly beautiful," said the false fatima.
""in my mind it wants but one thing."
""and what is that?"
said the princess.
""if only a roc's egg," replied he, "were hung up from the middle of this dome, it would be the wonder of the world."
after this the princess could think of nothing but the roc's egg, and when aladdin returned from hunting he found her in a very ill humor.
he begged to know what was amiss, and she told him that all her pleasure in the hall was spoiled for the want of a roc's egg hanging from the dome.
""if that is all," replied aladdin, "you shall soon be happy."
he left her and rubbed the lamp, and when the genie appeared commanded him to bring a roc's egg.
the genie gave such a loud and terrible shriek that the hall shook.
""wretch!"
he cried, "is it not enough that i have done everything for you, but you must command me to bring my master and hang him up in the midst of this dome?
you and your wife and your palace deserve to be burnt to ashes, but that this request does not come from you, but from the brother of the african magician, whom you destroyed.
he is now in your palace disguised as the holy woman -- whom he murdered.
he it was who put that wish into your wife's head.
take care of yourself, for he means to kill you."
so saying, the genie disappeared.
aladdin went back to the princess, saying his head ached, and requesting that the holy fatima should be fetched to lay her hands on it.
but when the magician came near, aladdin, seizing his dagger, pierced him to the heart.
""what have you done?"
cried the princess.
""you have killed the holy woman!"
""not so," replied aladdin, "but a wicked magician," and told her of how she had been deceived.
after this aladdin and his wife lived in peace.
he succeeded the sultan when he died, and reigned for many years, leaving behind him a long line of kings.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- arabian nights.
the tale of a youth who set out to learn what fear was a father had two sons, of whom the eldest was clever and bright, and always knew what he was about; but the youngest was stupid, and could n't learn or understand anything.
so much so that those who saw him exclaimed: "what a burden he'll be to his father!"
now when there was anything to be done, the eldest had always to do it; but if something was required later or in the night-time, and the way led through the churchyard or some such ghostly place, he always replied: "oh!
no, father: nothing will induce me to go there, it makes me shudder!"
for he was afraid.
or, when they sat of an evening around the fire telling stories which made one's flesh creep, the listeners sometimes said: "oh!
it makes one shudder," the youngest sat in a corner, heard the exclamation, and could not understand what it meant.
""they are always saying it makes one shudder!
it makes one shudder!
nothing makes me shudder.
it's probably an art quite beyond me."
now it happened that his father said to him one day: "hearken, you there in the corner; you are growing big and strong, and you must learn to earn your own bread.
look at your brother, what pains he takes; but all the money i've spent on your education is thrown away."
""my dear father," he replied, "i will gladly learn -- in fact, if it were possible i should like to learn to shudder; i do n't understand that a bit yet."
the eldest laughed when he heard this, and thought to himself: "good heavens!
what a ninny my brother is!
he'll never come to any good; as the twig is bent, so is the tree inclined."
the father sighed, and answered him: "you'll soon learn to shudder; but that wo n't help you to make a living."
shortly after this, when the sexton came to pay them a visit, the father broke out to him, and told him what a bad hand his youngest son was at everything: he knew nothing and learned nothing.
""only think!
when i asked him how he purposed gaining a livelihood, he actually asked to be taught to shudder."
""if that's all he wants," said the sexton, "i can teach him that; just you send him to me, i'll soon polish him up."
the father was quite pleased with the proposal, because he thought: "it will be a good discipline for the youth."
and so the sexton took him into his house, and his duty was to toll the bell.
after a few days he woke him at midnight, and bade him rise and climb into the tower and toll.
""now, my friend, i'll teach you to shudder," thought he.
he stole forth secretly in front, and when the youth was up above, and had turned round to grasp the bell-rope, he saw, standing opposite the hole of the belfry, a white figure.
""who's there?"
he called out, but the figure gave no answer, and neither stirred nor moved.
""answer," cried the youth, "or begone; you have no business here at this hour of the night."
but the sexton remained motionless, so that the youth might think that it was a ghost.
the youth called out the second time: "what do you want here?
speak if you are an honest fellow, or i'll knock you down the stairs."
the sexton thought: "he ca n't mean that in earnest," so gave forth no sound, and stood as though he were made of stone.
then the youth shouted out to him the third time, and as that too had no effect, he made a dash at the spectre and knocked it down the stairs, so that it fell about ten steps and remained lying in a corner.
thereupon he tolled the bell, went home to bed without saying a word, and fell asleep.
the sexton's wife waited a long time for her husband, but he never appeared.
at last she became anxious, and woke the youth, and asked: "do n't you know where my husband is?
he went up to the tower in front of you."
""no," answered the youth; "but someone stood on the stairs up there just opposite the trap-door in the belfry, and because he would n't answer me, or go away, i took him for a rogue and knocked him down.
you'd better go and see if it was he; i should be much distressed if it were."
the wife ran and found her husband who was lying groaning in a corner, with his leg broken.
she carried him down, and then hurried with loud protestations to the youth's father.
""your son has been the cause of a pretty misfortune," she cried; "he threw my husband downstairs so that he broke his leg.
take the good-for-nothing wretch out of our house."
the father was horrified, hurried to the youth, and gave him a scolding.
""what unholy pranks are these?
the evil one must have put them into your head."
""father," he replied, "only listen to me; i am quite guiltless.
he stood there in the night, like one who meant harm.
i did n't know who it was, and warned him three times to speak or begone."
""oh!"
groaned the father, "you'll bring me nothing but misfortune; get out of my sight, i wo n't have anything more to do with you."
""yes, father, willingly; only wait till daylight, then i'll set out and learn to shudder, and in that way i shall be master of an art which will gain me a living."
""learn what you will," said the father, "it's all one to me.
here are fifty dollars for you, set forth into the wide world with them; but see you tell no one where you come from or who your father is, for i am ashamed of you."
""yes, father, whatever you wish; and if that's all you ask, i can easily keep it in mind."
when day broke the youth put the fifty dollars into his pocket, set out on the hard high road, and kept muttering to himself: "if i could only shudder!
if i could only shudder!"
just at this moment a man came by who heard the youth speaking to himself, and when they had gone on a bit and were in sight of the gallows the man said to him: "look!
there is the tree where seven people have been hanged, and are now learning to fly; sit down under it and wait till nightfall, and then you'll pretty soon learn to shudder."
""if that's all i have to do," answered the youth, "it's easily done; but if i learn to shudder so quickly, then you shall have my fifty dollars.
just come back to me to-morrow morning early."
then the youth went to the gallows-tree and sat down underneath it, and waited for the evening; and because he felt cold he lit himself a fire.
but at midnight it got so chill that in spite of the fire he could n't keep warm.
and as the wind blew the corpses one against the other, tossing them to and fro, he thought to himself: "if you are perishing down here by the fire, how those poor things up there must be shaking and shivering!"
and because he had a tender heart, he put up a ladder, which he climbed unhooked one body after the other, and took down all the seven.
then he stirred the fire, blew it up, and placed them all round in a circle, that they might warm themselves.
but they sat there and did not move, and the fire caught their clothes.
then he spoke: "take care, or i'll hang you up again."
but the dead men did not hear and let their rags go on burning.
then he got angry, and said: "if you are n't careful yourselves, then i ca n't help you, and i do n't mean to burn with you"; and he hung them up again in a row.
then he sat down at his fire and fell asleep.
on the following morning the man came to him, and, wishing to get his fifty dollars, said: "now you know what it is to shudder."
""no," he answered, "how should i?
those fellows up there never opened their mouths, and were so stupid that they let those few old tatters they have on their bodies burn."
then the man saw he would n't get his fifty dollars that day, and went off, saying: "well, i'm blessed if i ever met such a person in my life before."
the youth went too on his way, and began to murmur to himself: "oh!
if i could only shudder!
if i could only shudder!"
a carrier who was walking behind him heard these words, and asked him: "who are you" "i do n't know," said the youth.
""where do you hail from?"
""i do n't know."
""who's your father?"
""i may n't say."
""what are you constantly muttering to yourself?"
""oh!"
said the youth, "i would give worlds to shudder, but no one can teach me."
""stuff and nonsense!"
spoke the carrier; "come along with me, and i'll soon put that right."
the youth went with the carrier, and in the evening they reached an inn, where they were to spend the night.
then, just as he was entering the room, he said again, quite aloud: "oh!
if i could only shudder!
if i could only shudder!"
the landlord, who heard this, laughed and said: "if that's what you're sighing for, you shall be given every opportunity here."
""oh!
hold your tongue!"
said the landlord's wife; "so many people have paid for their curiosity with their lives, it were a thousand pities if those beautiful eyes were never again to behold daylight."
but the youth said: "no matter how difficult, i insist on learning it; why, that's what i've set out to do."
he left the landlord no peace till he told him that in the neighborhood stood a haunted castle, where one could easily learn to shudder if one only kept watch in it for three nights.
the king had promised the man who dared to do this thing his daughter as wife, and she was the most beautiful maiden under the sun.
there was also much treasure hid in the castle, guarded by evil spirits, which would then be free, and was sufficient to make a poor man more than rich.
many had already gone in, but so far none had ever come out again.
so the youth went to the king and spoke: "if i were allowed, i should much like to watch for three nights in the castle."
the king looked at him, and because he pleased him, he said: "you can ask for three things, none of them living, and those you may take with you into the castle."
then he answered: "well, i shall beg for a fire, a turning lathe, and a carving bench with the knife attached."
on the following day the king had everything put into the castle; and when night drew on the youth took up his position there, lit a bright fire in one of the rooms, placed the carving bench with the knife close to it, and sat himself down on the turning lathe.
""oh!
if i could only shudder!"
he said: "but i sha'n' t learn it here either."
toward midnight he wanted to make up the fire, and as he was blowing up a blaze he heard a shriek from a corner.
""ou, miou!
how cold we are!"
""you fools!"
he cried; "why do you scream?
if you are cold, come and sit at the fire and warm yourselves."
and as he spoke two huge black cats sprang fiercely forward and sat down, one on each side of him, and gazed wildly at him with their fiery eyes.
after a time, when they had warmed themselves, they said: "friend, shall we play a little game of cards?"
""why not?"
he replied; "but first let me see your paws."
then they stretched out their claws.
""ha!"
said he; "what long nails you've got!
wait a minute: i must first cut them off."
thereupon he seized them by the scruff of their necks, lifted them on to the carving bench, and screwed down their paws firmly.
""after watching you narrowly," said he, "i no longer feel any desire to play cards with you"; and with these words he struck them dead and threw them out into the water.
but when he had thus sent the two of them to their final rest, and was again about to sit down at the fire, out of every nook and corner came forth black cats and black dogs with fiery chains in such swarms that he could n't possibly get away from them.
they yelled in the most ghastly manner, jumped upon his fire, scattered it all, and tried to put it out.
he looked on quietly for a time, but when it got beyond a joke he seized his carving-knife and called out: "be off, you rabble rout!"
and let fly at them.
some of them fled away, and the others he struck dead and threw them out into the pond below.
when he returned he blew up the sparks of the fire once more, and warmed himself.
and as he sat thus his eyes refused to keep open any longer, and a desire to sleep stole over him.
then he looked around him and beheld in the corner a large bed.
""the very thing," he said, and laid himself down in it.
but when he wished to close his eyes the bed began to move by itself, and ran all round the castle.
""capital," he said, "only a little quicker."
then the bed sped on as if drawn by six horses, over thresholds and stairs, up this way and down that.
all of a sudden -- crash, crash!
with a bound it turned over, upside down, and lay like a mountain on the top of him.
but he tossed the blankets and pillows in the air, emerged from underneath, and said: "now anyone who has the fancy for it may go a drive," lay down at his fire, and slept till daylight.
in the morning the king came, and when he beheld him lying on the ground he imagined the ghosts had been too much for him, and that he was dead.
then he said: "what a pity!
and such a fine fellow he was."
the youth heard this, got up, and said: "it's not come to that yet."
then the king was astonished, but very glad, and asked how it had fared with him.
""first-rate," he answered; "and now i've survived the one night, i shall get through the other two also."
the landlord, when he went to him, opened his eyes wide, and said: "well, i never thought to see you alive again.
have you learned now what shuddering is?"
""no," he replied, "it's quite hopeless; if someone could only tell me how to!"
the second night he went up again to the old castle, sat down at the fire, and began his old refrain: "if i could only shudder!"
as midnight approached, a noise and din broke out, at first gentle, but gradually increasing; then all was quiet for a minute, and at length, with a loud scream, half of a man dropped down the chimney and fell before him.
""hi, up there!"
shouted he; "there's another half wanted down here, that's not enough"; then the din commenced once more, there was a shrieking and a yelling, and then the other half fell down.
""wait a bit," he said; "i'll stir up the fire for you."
when he had done this and again looked around, the two pieces had united, and a horrible-looking man sat on his seat.
""come," said the youth, "i did n't bargain for that, the seat is mine."
the man tried to shove him away, but the youth would n't allow it for a moment, and, pushing him off by force, sat down in his place again.
then more men dropped down, one after the other, who fetching nine skeleton legs and two skulls, put them up and played ninepins with them.
the youth thought he would like to play too, and said: "look here; do you mind my joining the game?"
""no, not if you have money."
""i've money enough," he replied, "but your balls are n't round enough."
then he took the skulls, placed them on his lathe, and turned them till they were round.
""now they'll roll along better," said he, "and houp-la!
now the fun begins."
he played with them and lost some of his money, but when twelve struck everything vanished before his eyes.
he lay down and slept peacefully.
the next morning the king came, anxious for news.
""how have you got on this time?"
he asked.
""i played ninepins," he answered, "and lost a few pence."
""did n't you shudder then?"
""no such luck," said he; "i made myself merry.
oh!
if i only knew what it was to shudder!"
on the third night he sat down again on his bench, and said, in the most desponding way: "if i could only shudder!"
when it got late, six big men came in carrying a coffin.
then he cried: "ha!
ha!
that's most likely my little cousin who only died a few days ago"; and beckoning with his finger he called out: "come, my small cousin, come."
they placed the coffin on the ground, and he approached it and took off the cover.
in it lay a dead man.
he felt his face, and it was cold as ice.
""wait," he said "i'll heat you up a bit," went to the fire, warmed his hand, and laid it on the man's face, but the dead remained cold.
then he lifted him out, sat down at the fire, laid him on his knee, and rubbed his arms that the blood should circulate again.
when that too had no effect it occurred to him that if two people lay together in bed they warmed each other; so he put him into the bed, covered him up, and lay down beside him; after a time the corpse became warm and began to move.
then the youth said: "now, my little cousin, what would have happened if i had n't warmed you?"
but the dead man rose up and cried out: "now i will strangle you."
""what!"
said he, "is that all the thanks i get?
you should be put straight back into your coffin," lifted him up, threw him in, and closed the lid.
then the six men came and carried him out again.
""i simply ca n't shudder," he said, "and it's clear i sha'n' t learn it in a lifetime here."
then a man entered, of more than ordinary size and of a very fearful appearance; but he was old and had a white beard.
""oh!
you miserable creature, now you will soon know what it is to shudder," he cried, "for you must die."
""not so quickly," answered the youth.
""if i am to die, you must catch me first."
""i shall soon lay hold of you," spoke the monster.
""gently, gently, do n't boast too much, i'm as strong as you, and stronger too."
""we'll soon see," said the old man; "if you are stronger than i then i'll let you off; come, let's have a try."
then he led him through some dark passages to a forge, and grasping an axe he drove one of the anvils with a blow into the earth.
""i can do better than that," cried the youth, and went to the other anvil.
the old man drew near him in order to watch closely, and his white beard hung right down.
the youth seized the axe, cleft the anvil open, and jammed in the old man's beard.
""now i have you," said the youth; "this time it's your turn to die."
then he seized an iron rod and belabored the old man till he, whimpering, begged him to leave off, and he would give him great riches.
the youth drew out the axe and let him go.
the old man led him back to the castle and showed him in a cellar three chests of gold.
""one of these," said he, "belongs to the poor, one to the king, and the third is yours."
at that moment twelve struck, and the spirit vanished, leaving the youth alone in the dark.
""i'll surely be able to find a way out," said he, and groping about he at length found his way back to the room, and fell asleep at his fire.
the next morning the king came, and said: "well, now you've surely learned to shudder?"
""no," he answered; "what can it be?
my dead cousin was here, and an old bearded man came, who showed me heaps of money down below there, but what shuddering is no one has told me."
then the king spoke: "you have freed the castle from its curse, and you shall marry my daughter."
""that's all charming," he said; "but i still do n't know what it is to shudder."
then the gold was brought up, and the wedding was celebrated, but the young king, though he loved his wife dearly, and though he was very happy, still kept on saying: "if i could only shudder!
if i could only shudder!"
at last he reduced her to despair.
then her maid said: "i'll help you; we'll soon make him shudder."
so she went out to the stream that flowed through the garden, and had a pail full of little gudgeons brought to her.
at night, when the young king was asleep, his wife had to pull the clothes off him, and pour the pail full of little gudgeons over him, so that the little fish swam all about him.
then he awoke and cried out: "oh!
how i shudder, how i shudder, dear wife!
yes, now i know what shuddering is."
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- grimm.
rumpelstiltzkin there was once upon a time a poor miller who had a very beautiful daughter.
now it happened one day that he had an audience with the king, and in order to appear a person of some importance he told him that he had a daughter who could spin straw into gold.
""now that's a talent worth having," said the king to the miller; "if your daughter is as clever as you say, bring her to my palace to-morrow, and i'll put her to the test."
when the girl was brought to him he led her into a room full of straw, gave her a spinning-wheel and spindle, and said: "now set to work and spin all night till early dawn, and if by that time you have n't spun the straw into gold you shall die."
then he closed the door behind him and left her alone inside.
so the poor miller's daughter sat down, and did n't know what in the world she was to do.
she had n't the least idea of how to spin straw into gold, and became at last so miserable that she began to cry.
suddenly the door opened, and in stepped a tiny little man and said: "good-evening, miss miller-maid; why are you crying so bitterly?"
""oh!"
answered the girl, "i have to spin straw into gold, and have n't a notion how it's done."
""what will you give me if i spin it for you?"
asked the manikin.
""my necklace," replied the girl.
the little man took the necklace, sat himself down at the wheel, and whir, whir, whir, the wheel went round three times, and the bobbin was full.
then he put on another, and whir, whir, whir, the wheel went round three times, and the second too was full; and so it went on till the morning, when all the straw was spun away, and all the bobbins were full of gold.
as soon as the sun rose the king came, and when he perceived the gold he was astonished and delighted, but his heart only lusted more than ever after the precious metal.
he had the miller's daughter put into another room full of straw, much bigger than the first, and bade her, if she valued her life, spin it all into gold before the following morning.
the girl did n't know what to do, and began to cry; then the door opened as before, and the tiny little man appeared and said: "what'll you give me if i spin the straw into gold for you?"
""the ring from my finger," answered the girl.
the manikin took the ring, and whir!
round went the spinning-wheel again, and when morning broke he had spun all the straw into glittering gold.
the king was pleased beyond measure at the sights but his greed for gold was still not satisfied, and he had the miller's daughter brought into a yet bigger room full of straw, and said: "you must spin all this away in the night; but if you succeed this time you shall become my wife."
""she's only a miller's daughter, it's true," he thought; "but i could n't find a richer wife if i were to search the whole world over."
when the girl was alone the little man appeared for the third time, and said: "what'll you give me if i spin the straw for you once again?"
""i've nothing more to give," answered the girl.
""then promise me when you are queen to give me your first child."
""who knows what may not happen before that?"
thought the miller's daughter; and besides, she saw no other way out of it, so she promised the manikin what he demanded, and he set to work once more and spun the straw into gold.
when the king came in the morning, and found everything as he had desired, he straightway made her his wife, and the miller's daughter became a queen.
when a year had passed a beautiful son was born to her, and she thought no more of the little man, till all of a sudden one day he stepped into her room and said: "now give me what you promised."
the queen was in a great state, and offered the little man all the riches in her kingdom if he would only leave her the child.
but the manikin said: "no, a living creature is dearer to me than all the treasures in the world."
then the queen began to cry and sob so bitterly that the little man was sorry for her, and said: "i'll give you three days to guess my name, and if you find it out in that time you may keep your child."
then the queen pondered the whole night over all the names she had ever heard, and sent a messenger to scour the land, and to pick up far and near any names he could come across.
when the little man arrived on the following day she began with kasper, melchior, belshazzar, and all the other names she knew, in a string, but at each one the manikin called out: "that's not my name."
the next day she sent to inquire the names of all the people in the neighborhood, and had a long list of the most uncommon and extraordinary for the little man when he made his appearance.
""is your name, perhaps, sheepshanks cruickshanks, spindleshanks?"
but he always replied: "that's not my name."
on the third day the messenger returned and announced: "i have not been able to find any new names, but as i came upon a high hill round the corner of the wood, where the foxes and hares bid each other good-night, i saw a little house, and in front of the house burned a fire, and round the fire sprang the most grotesque little man, hopping on one leg and crying: "to-morrow i brew, to-day i bake, and then the child away i'll take; for little deems my royal dame that rumpelstiltzkin is my name!"
you can imagine the queen's delight at hearing the name, and when the little man stepped in shortly afterward and asked: "now, my lady queen, what's my name?"
she asked first: "is your name conrad?"
""no."
""is your name harry?"
""no."
""is your name perhaps, rumpelstiltzkin?"
""some demon has told you that!
some demon has told you that!"
screamed the little man, and in his rage drove his right foot so far into the ground that it sank in up to his waist; then in a passion he seized the left foot with both hands and tore himself in two.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- grimm.
beauty and the beast once upon a time, in a very far-off country, there lived a merchant who had been so fortunate in all his undertakings that he was enormously rich.
as he had, however, six sons and six daughters, he found that his money was not too much to let them all have everything they fancied, as they were accustomed to do.
but one day a most unexpected misfortune befell them.
their house caught fire and was speedily burnt to the ground, with all the splendid furniture, the books, pictures, gold, silver, and precious goods it contained; and this was only the beginning of their troubles.
their father, who had until this moment prospered in all ways, suddenly lost every ship he had upon the sea, either by dint of pirates, shipwreck, or fire.
then he heard that his clerks in distant countries, whom he trusted entirely, had proved unfaithful; and at last from great wealth he fell into the direst poverty.
all that he had left was a little house in a desolate place at least a hundred leagues from the town in which he had lived, and to this he was forced to retreat with his children, who were in despair at the idea of leading such a different life.
indeed, the daughters at first hoped that their friends, who had been so numerous while they were rich, would insist on their staying in their houses now they no longer possessed one.
but they soon found that they were left alone, and that their former friends even attributed their misfortunes to their own extravagance, and showed no intention of offering them any help.
so nothing was left for them but to take their departure to the cottage, which stood in the midst of a dark forest, and seemed to be the most dismal place upon the face of the earth.
as they were too poor to have any servants, the girls had to work hard, like peasants, and the sons, for their part, cultivated the fields to earn their living.
roughly clothed, and living in the simplest way, the girls regretted unceasingly the luxuries and amusements of their former life; only the youngest tried to be brave and cheerful.
she had been as sad as anyone when misfortune overtook her father, but, soon recovering her natural gaiety, she set to work to make the best of things, to amuse her father and brothers as well as she could, and to try to persuade her sisters to join her in dancing and singing.
but they would do nothing of the sort, and, because she was not as doleful as themselves, they declared that this miserable life was all she was fit for.
but she was really far prettier and cleverer than they were; indeed, she was so lovely that she was always called beauty.
after two years, when they were all beginning to get used to their new life, something happened to disturb their tranquillity.
their father received the news that one of his ships, which he had believed to be lost, had come safely into port with a rich cargo.
all the sons and daughters at once thought that their poverty was at an end, and wanted to set out directly for the town; but their father, who was more prudent, begged them to wait a little, and, though it was harvest time, and he could ill be spared, determined to go himself first, to make inquiries.
only the youngest daughter had any doubt but that they would soon again be as rich as they were before, or at least rich enough to live comfortably in some town where they would find amusement and gay companions once more.
so they all loaded their father with commissions for jewels and dresses which it would have taken a fortune to buy; only beauty, feeling sure that it was of no use, did not ask for anything.
her father, noticing her silence, said: "and what shall i bring for you, beauty?"
""the only thing i wish for is to see you come home safely," she answered.
but this only vexed her sisters, who fancied she was blaming them for having asked for such costly things.
her father, however, was pleased, but as he thought that at her age she certainly ought to like pretty presents, he told her to choose something.
""well, dear father," she said, "as you insist upon it, i beg that you will bring me a rose.
i have not seen one since we came here, and i love them so much."
so the merchant set out and reached the town as quickly as possible, but only to find that his former companions, believing him to be dead, had divided between them the goods which the ship had brought; and after six months of trouble and expense he found himself as poor as when he started, having been able to recover only just enough to pay the cost of his journey.
to make matters worse, he was obliged to leave the town in the most terrible weather, so that by the time he was within a few leagues of his home he was almost exhausted with cold and fatigue.
though he knew it would take some hours to get through the forest, he was so anxious to be at his journey's end that he resolved to go on; but night overtook him, and the deep snow and bitter frost made it impossible for his horse to carry him any further.
not a house was to be seen; the only shelter he could get was the hollow trunk of a great tree, and there he crouched all the night which seemed to him the longest he had ever known.
in spite of his weariness the howling of the wolves kept him awake, and even when at last the day broke he was not much better off, for the falling snow had covered up every path, and he did not know which way to turn.
at length he made out some sort of track, and though at the beginning it was so rough and slippery that he fell down more than once, it presently became easier, and led him into an avenue of trees which ended in a splendid castle.
it seemed to the merchant very strange that no snow had fallen in the avenue, which was entirely composed of orange trees, covered with flowers and fruit.
when he reached the first court of the castle he saw before him a flight of agate steps, and went up them, and passed through several splendidly furnished rooms.
the pleasant warmth of the air revived him, and he felt very hungry; but there seemed to be nobody in all this vast and splendid palace whom he could ask to give him something to eat.
deep silence reigned everywhere, and at last, tired of roaming through empty rooms and galleries, he stopped in a room smaller than the rest, where a clear fire was burning and a couch was drawn up closely to it.
thinking that this must be prepared for someone who was expected, he sat down to wait till he should come, and very soon fell into a sweet sleep.
when his extreme hunger wakened him after several hours, he was still alone; but a little table, upon which was a good dinner, had been drawn up close to him, and, as he had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, he lost no time in beginning his meal, hoping that he might soon have an opportunity of thanking his considerate entertainer, whoever it might be.
but no one appeared, and even after another long sleep, from which he awoke completely refreshed, there was no sign of anybody, though a fresh meal of dainty cakes and fruit was prepared upon the little table at his elbow.
being naturally timid, the silence began to terrify him, and he resolved to search once more through all the rooms; but it was of no use.
not even a servant was to be seen; there was no sign of life in the palace!
he began to wonder what he should do, and to amuse himself by pretending that all the treasures he saw were his own, and considering how he would divide them among his children.
then he went down into the garden, and though it was winter everywhere else, here the sun shone, and the birds sang, and the flowers bloomed, and the air was soft and sweet.
the merchant, in ecstacies with all he saw and heard, said to himself: "all this must be meant for me.
i will go this minute and bring my children to share all these delights."
in spite of being so cold and weary when he reached the castle, he had taken his horse to the stable and fed it.
now he thought he would saddle it for his homeward journey, and he turned down the path which led to the stable.
this path had a hedge of roses on each side of it, and the merchant thought he had never seen or smelt such exquisite flowers.
they reminded him of his promise to beauty, and he stopped and had just gathered one to take to her when he was startled by a strange noise behind him.
turning round, he saw a frightful beast, which seemed to be very angry and said, in a terrible voice: "who told you that you might gather my roses?
was it not enough that i allowed you to be in my palace and was kind to you?
this is the way you show your gratitude, by stealing my flowers!
but your insolence shall not go unpunished."
the merchant, terrified by these furious words, dropped the fatal rose, and, throwing himself on his knees, cried: "pardon me, noble sir.
i am truly grateful to you for your hospitality, which was so magnificent that i could not imagine that you would be offended by my taking such a little thing as a rose."
but the beast's anger was not lessened by this speech.
""you are very ready with excuses and flattery," he cried; "but that will not save you from the death you deserve."
""alas!"
thought the merchant, "if my daughter could only know what danger her rose has brought me into!"
and in despair he began to tell the beast all his misfortunes, and the reason of his journey, not forgetting to mention beauty's request.
""a king's ransom would hardly have procured all that my other daughters asked."
he said: "but i thought that i might at least take beauty her rose.
i beg you to forgive me, for you see i meant no harm."
the beast considered for a moment, and then he said, in a less furious tone: "i will forgive you on one condition -- that is, that you will give me one of your daughters."
""ah!"
cried the merchant, "if i were cruel enough to buy my own life at the expense of one of my children's, what excuse could i invent to bring her here?"
""no excuse would be necessary," answered the beast.
""if she comes at all she must come willingly.
on no other condition will i have her.
see if any one of them is courageous enough, and loves you well enough to come and save your life.
you seem to be an honest man, so i will trust you to go home.
i give you a month to see if either of your daughters will come back with you and stay here, to let you go free.
if neither of them is willing, you must come alone, after bidding them good-by for ever, for then you will belong to me.
and do not imagine that you can hide from me, for if you fail to keep your word i will come and fetch you!"
added the beast grimly.
the merchant accepted this proposal, though he did not really think any of his daughters could be persuaded to come.
he promised to return at the time appointed, and then, anxious to escape from the presence of the beast, he asked permission to set off at once.
but the beast answered that he could not go until next day.
""then you will find a horse ready for you," he said.
""now go and eat your supper, and await my orders."
the poor merchant, more dead than alive, went back to his room, where the most delicious supper was already served on the little table which was drawn up before a blazing fire.
but he was too terrified to eat, and only tasted a few of the dishes, for fear the beast should be angry if he did not obey his orders.
when he had finished he heard a great noise in the next room, which he knew meant that the beast was coming.
as he could do nothing to escape his visit, the only thing that remained was to seem as little afraid as possible; so when the beast appeared and asked roughly if he had supped well, the merchant answered humbly that he had, thanks to his host's kindness.
then the beast warned him to remember their agreement, and to prepare his daughter exactly for what she had to expect.
""do not get up to-morrow," he added, "until you see the sun and hear a golden bell ring.
then you will find your breakfast waiting for you here, and the horse you are to ride will be ready in the courtyard.
he will also bring you back again when you come with your daughter a month hence.
farewell.
take a rose to beauty, and remember your promise!"
the merchant was only too glad when the beast went away, and though he could not sleep for sadness, he lay down until the sun rose.
then, after a hasty breakfast, he went to gather beauty's rose, and mounted his horse, which carried him off so swiftly that in an instant he had lost sight of the palace, and he was still wrapped in gloomy thoughts when it stopped before the door of the cottage.
his sons and daughters, who had been very uneasy at his long absence, rushed to meet him, eager to know the result of his journey, which, seeing him mounted upon a splendid horse and wrapped in a rich mantle, they supposed to be favorable.
he hid the truth from them at first, only saying sadly to beauty as he gave her the rose: "here is what you asked me to bring you; you little know what it has cost."
but this excited their curiosity so greatly that presently he told them his adventures from beginning to end, and then they were all very unhappy.
the girls lamented loudly over their lost hopes, and the sons declared that their father should not return to this terrible castle, and began to make plans for killing the beast if it should come to fetch him.
but he reminded them that he had promised to go back.
then the girls were very angry with beauty, and said it was all her fault, and that if she had asked for something sensible this would never have happened, and complained bitterly that they should have to suffer for her folly.
poor beauty, much distressed, said to them: "i have, indeed, caused this misfortune, but i assure you i did it innocently.
who could have guessed that to ask for a rose in the middle of summer would cause so much misery?
but as i did the mischief it is only just that i should suffer for it.
i will therefore go back with my father to keep his promise."
at first nobody would hear of this arrangement, and her father and brothers, who loved her dearly, declared that nothing should make them let her go; but beauty was firm.
as the time drew near she divided all her little possessions between her sisters, and said good-by to everything she loved, and when the fatal day came she encouraged and cheered her father as they mounted together the horse which had brought him back.
it seemed to fly rather than gallop, but so smoothly that beauty was not frightened; indeed, she would have enjoyed the journey if she had not feared what might happen to her at the end of it.
her father still tried to persuade her to go back, but in vain.
while they were talking the night fell, and then, to their great surprise, wonderful colored lights began to shine in all directions, and splendid fireworks blazed out before them; all the forest was illuminated by them, and even felt pleasantly warm, though it had been bitterly cold before.
this lasted until they reached the avenue of orange trees, where were statues holding flaming torches, and when they got nearer to the palace they saw that it was illuminated from the roof to the ground, and music sounded softly from the courtyard.
""the beast must be very hungry," said beauty, trying to laugh, "if he makes all this rejoicing over the arrival of his prey."
but, in spite of her anxiety, she could not help admiring all the wonderful things she saw.
the horse stopped at the foot of the flight of steps leading to the terrace, and when they had dismounted her father led her to the little room he had been in before, where they found a splendid fire burning, and the table daintily spread with a delicious supper.
the merchant knew that this was meant for them, and beauty, who was rather less frightened now that she had passed through so many rooms and seen nothing of the beast, was quite willing to begin, for her long ride had made her very hungry.
but they had hardly finished their meal when the noise of the beast's footsteps was heard approaching, and beauty clung to her father in terror, which became all the greater when she saw how frightened he was.
but when the beast really appeared, though she trembled at the sight of him, she made a great effort to hide her terror, and saluted him respectfully.
this evidently pleased the beast.
after looking at her he said, in a tone that might have struck terror into the boldest heart, though he did not seem to be angry: "good-evening, old man.
good-evening, beauty."
the merchant was too terrified to reply, but beauty answered sweetly: "good-evening, beast."
""have you come willingly?"
asked the beast.
""will you be content to stay here when your father goes away?"
beauty answered bravely that she was quite prepared to stay.
""i am pleased with you," said the beast.
""as you have come of your own accord, you may stay.
as for you, old man," he added, turning to the merchant, "at sunrise to-morrow you will take your departure.
when the bell rings get up quickly and eat your breakfast, and you will find the same horse waiting to take you home; but remember that you must never expect to see my palace again."
then turning to beauty, he said: "take your father into the next room, and help him to choose everything you think your brothers and sisters would like to have.
you will find two traveling-trunks there; fill them as full as you can.
it is only just that you should send them something very precious as a remembrance of yourself."
then he went away, after saying, "good-by, beauty; good-by, old man"; and though beauty was beginning to think with great dismay of her father's departure, she was afraid to disobey the beast's orders; and they went into the next room, which had shelves and cupboards all round it.
they were greatly surprised at the riches it contained.
there were splendid dresses fit for a queen, with all the ornaments that were to be worn with them; and when beauty opened the cupboards she was quite dazzled by the gorgeous jewels that lay in heaps upon every shelf.
after choosing a vast quantity, which she divided between her sisters -- for she had made a heap of the wonderful dresses for each of them -- she opened the last chest, which was full of gold.
""i think, father," she said, "that, as the gold will be more useful to you, we had better take out the other things again, and fill the trunks with it."
so they did this; but the more they put in the more room there seemed to be, and at last they put back all the jewels and dresses they had taken out, and beauty even added as many more of the jewels as she could carry at once; and then the trunks were not too full, but they were so heavy that an elephant could not have carried them!
""the beast was mocking us," cried the merchant; "he must have pretended to give us all these things, knowing that i could not carry them away."
""let us wait and see," answered beauty.
""i can not believe that he meant to deceive us.
all we can do is to fasten them up and leave them ready."
so they did this and returned to the little room, where, to their astonishment, they found breakfast ready.
the merchant ate his with a good appetite, as the beast's generosity made him believe that he might perhaps venture to come back soon and see beauty.
but she felt sure that her father was leaving her for ever, so she was very sad when the bell rang sharply for the second time, and warned them that the time had come for them to part.
they went down into the courtyard, where two horses were waiting, one loaded with the two trunks, the other for him to ride.
they were pawing the ground in their impatience to start, and the merchant was forced to bid beauty a hasty farewell; and as soon as he was mounted he went off at such a pace that she lost sight of him in an instant.
then beauty began to cry, and wandered sadly back to her own room.
but she soon found that she was very sleepy, and as she had nothing better to do she lay down and instantly fell asleep.
and then she dreamed that she was walking by a brook bordered with trees, and lamenting her sad fate, when a young prince, handsomer than anyone she had ever seen, and with a voice that went straight to her heart, came and said to her, "ah, beauty!
you are not so unfortunate as you suppose.
here you will be rewarded for all you have suffered elsewhere.
your every wish shall be gratified.
only try to find me out, no matter how i may be disguised, as i love you dearly, and in making me happy you will find your own happiness.
be as true-hearted as you are beautiful, and we shall have nothing left to wish for."
""what can i do, prince, to make you happy?"
said beauty.
""only be grateful," he answered, "and do not trust too much to your eyes.
and, above all, do not desert me until you have saved me from my cruel misery."
after this she thought she found herself in a room with a stately and beautiful lady, who said to her: "dear beauty, try not to regret all you have left behind you, for you are destined to a better fate.
only do not let yourself be deceived by appearances."
beauty found her dreams so interesting that she was in no hurry to awake, but presently the clock roused her by calling her name softly twelve times, and then she got up and found her dressing-table set out with everything she could possibly want; and when her toilet was finished she found dinner was waiting in the room next to hers.
but dinner does not take very long when you are all by yourself, and very soon she sat down cosily in the corner of a sofa, and began to think about the charming prince she had seen in her dream.
""he said i could make him happy," said beauty to herself.
""it seems, then, that this horrible beast keeps him a prisoner.
how can i set him free?
i wonder why they both told me not to trust to appearances?
i do n't understand it.
but, after all, it was only a dream, so why should i trouble myself about it?
i had better go and find something to do to amuse myself."
so she got up and began to explore some of the many rooms of the palace.
the first she entered was lined with mirrors, and beauty saw herself reflected on every side, and thought she had never seen such a charming room.
then a bracelet which was hanging from a chandelier caught her eye, and on taking it down she was greatly surprised to find that it held a portrait of her unknown admirer, just as she had seen him in her dream.
with great delight she slipped the bracelet on her arm, and went on into a gallery of pictures, where she soon found a portrait of the same handsome prince, as large as life, and so well painted that as she studied it he seemed to smile kindly at her.
tearing herself away from the portrait at last, she passed through into a room which contained every musical instrument under the sun, and here she amused herself for a long while in trying some of them, and singing until she was tired.
the next room was a library, and she saw everything she had ever wanted to read, as well as everything she had read, and it seemed to her that a whole lifetime would not be enough to even read the names of the books, there were so many.
by this time it was growing dusk, and wax candles in diamond and ruby candlesticks were beginning to light themselves in every room.
beauty found her supper served just at the time she preferred to have it, but she did not see anyone or hear a sound, and, though her father had warned her that she would be alone, she began to find it rather dull.
but presently she heard the beast coming, and wondered tremblingly if he meant to eat her up now.
however, as he did not seem at all ferocious, and only said gruffly: "good-evening, beauty," she answered cheerfully and managed to conceal her terror.
then the beast asked her how she had been amusing herself, and she told him all the rooms she had seen.
then he asked if she thought she could be happy in his palace; and beauty answered that everything was so beautiful that she would be very hard to please if she could not be happy.
and after about an hour's talk beauty began to think that the beast was not nearly so terrible as she had supposed at first.
then he got up to leave her, and said in his gruff voice: "do you love me, beauty?
will you marry me?"
""oh!
what shall i say?"
cried beauty, for she was afraid to make the beast angry by refusing.
""say "yes" or "no" without fear," he replied.
""oh!
no, beast," said beauty hastily.
""since you will not, good-night, beauty," he said.
and she answered, "good-night, beast," very glad to find that her refusal had not provoked him.
and after he was gone she was very soon in bed and asleep, and dreaming of her unknown prince.
she thought he came and said to her: "ah, beauty!
why are you so unkind to me?
i fear i am fated to be unhappy for many a long day still."
and then her dreams changed, but the charming prince figured in them all; and when morning came her first thought was to look at the portrait, and see if it was really like him, and she found that it certainly was.
this morning she decided to amuse herself in the garden, for the sun shone, and all the fountains were playing; but she was astonished to find that every place was familiar to her, and presently she came to the brook where the myrtle trees were growing where she had first met the prince in her dream, and that made her think more than ever that he must be kept a prisoner by the beast.
when she was tired she went back to the palace, and found a new room full of materials for every kind of work -- ribbons to make into bows, and silks to work into flowers.
then there was an aviary full of rare birds, which were so tame that they flew to beauty as soon as they saw her, and perched upon her shoulders and her head.
""pretty little creatures," she said, "how i wish that your cage was nearer to my room, that i might often hear you sing!"
so saying she opened a door, and found, to her delight, that it led into her own room, though she had thought it was quite the other side of the palace.
there were more birds in a room farther on, parrots and cockatoos that could talk, and they greeted beauty by name; indeed, she found them so entertaining that she took one or two back to her room, and they talked to her while she was at supper; after which the beast paid her his usual visit, and asked her the same questions as before, and then with a gruff "good-night" he took his departure, and beauty went to bed to dream of her mysterious prince.
the days passed swiftly in different amusements, and after a while beauty found out another strange thing in the palace, which often pleased her when she was tired of being alone.
there was one room which she had not noticed particularly; it was empty, except that under each of the windows stood a very comfortable chair; and the first time she had looked out of the window it had seemed to her that a black curtain prevented her from seeing anything outside.
but the second time she went into the room, happening to be tired, she sat down in one of the chairs, when instantly the curtain was rolled aside, and a most amusing pantomime was acted before her; there were dances, and colored lights, and music, and pretty dresses, and it was all so gay that beauty was in ecstacies.
after that she tried the other seven windows in turn, and there was some new and surprising entertainment to be seen from each of them, so that beauty never could feel lonely any more.
every evening after supper the beast came to see her, and always before saying good-night asked her in his terrible voice: "beauty, will you marry me?"
and it seemed to beauty, now she understood him better, that when she said, "no, beast," he went away quite sad.
but her happy dreams of the handsome young prince soon made her forget the poor beast, and the only thing that at all disturbed her was to be constantly told to distrust appearances, to let her heart guide her, and not her eyes, and many other equally perplexing things, which, consider as she would, she could not understand.
so everything went on for a long time, until at last, happy as she was, beauty began to long for the sight of her father and her brothers and sisters; and one night, seeing her look very sad, the beast asked her what was the matter.
beauty had quite ceased to be afraid of him.
now she knew that he was really gentle in spite of his ferocious looks and his dreadful voice.
so she answered that she was longing to see her home once more.
upon hearing this the beast seemed sadly distressed, and cried miserably.
""ah!
beauty, have you the heart to desert an unhappy beast like this?
what more do you want to make you happy?
is it because you hate me that you want to escape?"
""no, dear beast," answered beauty softly, "i do not hate you, and i should be very sorry never to see you any more, but i long to see my father again.
only let me go for two months, and i promise to come back to you and stay for the rest of my life."
the beast, who had been sighing dolefully while she spoke, now replied: "i can not refuse you anything you ask, even though it should cost me my life.
take the four boxes you will find in the room next to your own, and fill them with everything you wish to take with you.
but remember your promise and come back when the two months are over, or you may have cause to repent it, for if you do not come in good time you will find your faithful beast dead.
you will not need any chariot to bring you back.
only say good-by to all your brothers and sisters the night before you come away, and when you have gone to bed turn this ring round upon your finger and say firmly: "i wish to go back to my palace and see my beast again."
good-night, beauty.
fear nothing, sleep peacefully, and before long you shall see your father once more."
as soon as beauty was alone she hastened to fill the boxes with all the rare and precious things she saw about her, and only when she was tired of heaping things into them did they seem to be full.
then she went to bed, but could hardly sleep for joy.
and when at last she did begin to dream of her beloved prince she was grieved to see him stretched upon a grassy bank, sad and weary, and hardly like himself.
""what is the matter?"
she cried.
he looked at her reproachfully, and said: "how can you ask me, cruel one?
are you not leaving me to my death perhaps?"
""ah!
do n't be so sorrowful," cried beauty; "i am only going to assure my father that i am safe and happy.
i have promised the beast faithfully that i will come back, and he would die of grief if i did not keep my word!"
""what would that matter to you?"
said the prince "surely you would not care?"
""indeed, i should be ungrateful if i did not care for such a kind beast," cried beauty indignantly.
""i would die to save him from pain.
i assure you it is not his fault that he is so ugly."
just then a strange sound woke her -- someone was speaking not very far away; and opening her eyes she found herself in a room she had never seen before, which was certainly not nearly so splendid as those she was used to in the beast's palace.
where could she be?
she got up and dressed hastily, and then saw that the boxes she had packed the night before were all in the room.
while she was wondering by what magic the beast had transported them and herself to this strange place she suddenly heard her father's voice, and rushed out and greeted him joyfully.
her brothers and sisters were all astonished at her appearance, as they had never expected to see her again, and there was no end to the questions they asked her.
she had also much to hear about what had happened to them while she was away, and of her father's journey home.
but when they heard that she had only come to be with them for a short time, and then must go back to the beast's palace for ever, they lamented loudly.
then beauty asked her father what he thought could be the meaning of her strange dreams, and why the prince constantly begged her not to trust to appearances.
after much consideration, he answered: "you tell me yourself that the beast, frightful as he is, loves you dearly, and deserves your love and gratitude for his gentleness and kindness; i think the prince must mean you to understand that you ought to reward him by doing as he wishes you to, in spite of his ugliness."
beauty could not help seeing that this seemed very probable; still, when she thought of her dear prince who was so handsome, she did not feel at all inclined to marry the beast.
at any rate, for two months she need not decide, but could enjoy herself with her sisters.
but though they were rich now, and lived in town again, and had plenty of acquaintances, beauty found that nothing amused her very much; and she often thought of the palace, where she was so happy, especially as at home she never once dreamed of her dear prince, and she felt quite sad without him.
then her sisters seemed to have got quite used to being without her, and even found her rather in the way, so she would not have been sorry when the two months were over but for her father and brothers, who begged her to stay, and seemed so grieved at the thought of her departure that she had not the courage to say good-by to them.
every day when she got up she meant to say it at night, and when night came she put it off again, until at last she had a dismal dream which helped her to make up her mind.
she thought she was wandering in a lonely path in the palace gardens, when she heard groans which seemed to come from some bushes hiding the entrance of a cave, and running quickly to see what could be the matter, she found the beast stretched out upon his side, apparently dying.
he reproached her faintly with being the cause of his distress, and at the same moment a stately lady appeared, and said very gravely: "ah!
beauty, you are only just in time to save his life.
see what happens when people do not keep their promises!
if you had delayed one day more, you would have found him dead."
beauty was so terrified by this dream that the next morning she announced her intention of going back at once, and that very night she said good-by to her father and all her brothers and sisters, and as soon as she was in bed she turned her ring round upon her finger, and said firmly, "i wish to go back to my palace and see my beast again," as she had been told to do.
then she fell asleep instantly, and only woke up to hear the clock saying "beauty, beauty" twelve times in its musical voice, which told her at once that she was really in the palace once more.
everything was just as before, and her birds were so glad to see her!
but beauty thought she had never known such a long day, for she was so anxious to see the beast again that she felt as if suppertime would never come.
but when it did come and no beast appeared she was really frightened; so, after listening and waiting for a long time, she ran down into the garden to search for him.
up and down the paths and avenues ran poor beauty, calling him in vain, for no one answered, and not a trace of him could she find; until at last, quite tired, she stopped for a minute's rest, and saw that she was standing opposite the shady path she had seen in her dream.
she rushed down it, and, sure enough, there was the cave, and in it lay the beast -- asleep, as beauty thought.
quite glad to have found him, she ran up and stroked his head, but, to her horror, he did not move or open his eyes.
""oh!
he is dead; and it is all my fault," said beauty, crying bitterly.
but then, looking at him again, she fancied he still breathed, and, hastily fetching some water from the nearest fountain, she sprinkled it over his face, and, to her great delight, he began to revive.
""oh!
beast, how you frightened me!"
she cried.
""i never knew how much i loved you until just now, when i feared i was too late to save your life."
""can you really love such an ugly creature as i am?"
said the beast faintly.
""ah!
beauty, you only came just in time.
i was dying because i thought you had forgotten your promise.
but go back now and rest, i shall see you again by and by."
beauty, who had half expected that he would be angry with her, was reassured by his gentle voice, and went back to the palace, where supper was awaiting her; and afterward the beast came in as usual, and talked about the time she had spent with her father, asking if she had enjoyed herself, and if they had all been very glad to see her.
beauty answered politely, and quite enjoyed telling him all that had happened to her.
and when at last the time came for him to go, and he asked, as he had so often asked before, "beauty, will you marry me?"
she answered softly, "yes, dear beast."
as she spoke a blaze of light sprang up before the windows of the palace; fireworks crackled and guns banged, and across the avenue of orange trees, in letters all made of fire-flies, was written: "long live the prince and his bride."
turning to ask the beast what it could all mean, beauty found that he had disappeared, and in his place stood her long-loved prince!
at the same moment the wheels of a chariot were heard upon the terrace, and two ladies entered the room.
one of them beauty recognized as the stately lady she had seen in her dreams; the other was also so grand and queenly that beauty hardly knew which to greet first.
but the one she already knew said to her companion: "well, queen, this is beauty, who has had the courage to rescue your son from the terrible enchantment.
they love one another, and only your consent to their marriage is wanting to make them perfectly happy."
""i consent with all my heart," cried the queen.
""how can i ever thank you enough, charming girl, for having restored my dear son to his natural form?"
and then she tenderly embraced beauty and the prince, who had meanwhile been greeting the fairy and receiving her congratulations.
""now," said the fairy to beauty, "i suppose you would like me to send for all your brothers and sisters to dance at your wedding?"
and so she did, and the marriage was celebrated the very next day with the utmost splendor, and beauty and the prince lived happily ever after.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- la belle et la bete.
par madame de villeneuve.
the master-maid once upon a time there was a king who had many sons.
i do not exactly know how many there were, but the youngest of them could not stay quietly at home, and was determined to go out into the world and try his luck, and after a long time the king was forced to give him leave to go.
when he had traveled about for several days, he came to a giant's house, and hired himself to the giant as a servant.
in the morning the giant had to go out to pasture his goats, and as he was leaving the house he told the king's son that he must clean out the stable.
""and after you have done that," he said, "you need not do any more work to-day, for you have come to a kind master, and that you shall find.
but what i set you to do must be done both well and thoroughly, and you must on no account go into any of the rooms which lead out of the room in which you slept last night.
if you do, i will take your life."
""well to be sure, he is an easy master!"
said the prince to himself as he walked up and down the room humming and singing, for he thought there would be plenty of time left to clean out the stable; "but it would be amusing to steal a glance into his other rooms as well," thought the prince, "for there must be something that he is afraid of my seeing, as i am not allowed to enter them."
so he went into the first room.
a cauldron was hanging from the walls; it was boiling, but the prince could see no fire under it.
""i wonder what is inside it," he thought, and dipped a lock of his hair in, and the hair became just as if it were all made of copper.
""that's a nice kind of soup.
if anyone were to taste that his throat would be gilded," said the youth, and then he went into the next chamber.
there, too, a cauldron was hanging from the wall, bubbling and boiling, but there was no fire under this either.
""i will just try what this is like too," said the prince, thrusting another lock of his hair into it, and it came out silvered over.
""such costly soup is not to be had in my father's palace," said the prince; "but everything depends on how it tastes," and then he went into the third room.
there, too, a cauldron was hanging from the wall, boiling, exactly the same as in the two other rooms, and the prince took pleasure in trying this also, so he dipped a lock of hair in, and it came out so brightly gilded that it shone again.
""some talk about going from bad to worse," said the prince; "but this is better and better.
if he boils gold here, what can he boil in there?"
he was determined to see, and went through the door into the fourth room.
no cauldron was to be seen there, but on a bench someone was seated who was like a king's daughter, but, whosoever she was, she was so beautiful that never in the prince's life had he seen her equal.
""oh!
in heaven's name what are you doing here?"
said she who sat upon the bench.
""i took the place of servant here yesterday," said the prince.
""may you soon have a better place, if you have come to serve here!"
said she.
""oh, but i think i have got a kind master," said the prince.
""he has not given me hard work to do to-day.
when i have cleaned out the stable i shall be done."
""yes, but how will you be able to do that?"
she asked again.
""if you clean it out as other people do, ten pitchforksful will come in for every one you throw out.
but i will teach you how to do it; you must turn your pitchfork upside down, and work with the handle, and then all will fly out of its own accord."
""yes, i will attend to that," said the prince, and stayed sitting where he was the whole day, for it was soon settled between them that they would marry each other, he and the king's daughter; so the first day of his service with the giant did not seem long to him.
but when evening was drawing near she said that it would now be better for him to clean out the stable before the giant came home.
when he got there he had a fancy to try if what she had said were true, so he began to work in the same way that he had seen the stable-boys doing in his father's stables, but he soon saw that he must give up that, for when he had worked a very short time he had scarcely any room left to stand.
so he did what the princess had taught him, turned the pitchfork round, and worked with the handle, and in the twinkling of an eye the stable was as clean as if it had been scoured.
when he had done that, he went back again into the room in which the giant had given him leave to stay, and there he walked backward and forward on the floor, and began to hum and sing.
then came the giant home with the goats.
""have you cleaned the stable?"
asked the giant.
""yes, now it is clean and sweet, master," said the king's son.
""i shall see about that," said the giant, and went round to the stable, but it was just as the prince had said.
""you have certainly been talking to my master-maid, for you never got that out of your own head," said the giant.
""master-maid!
what kind of a thing is that, master?"
said the prince, making himself look as stupid as an ass; "i should like to see that."
""well, you will see her quite soon enough," said the giant.
on the second morning the giant had again to go out with his goats, so he told the prince that on that day he was to fetch home his horse, which was out on the mountain-side, and when he had done that he might rest himself for the remainder of the day, "for you have come to a kind master, and that you shall find," said the giant once more.
""but do not go into any of the rooms that i spoke of yesterday, or i will wring your head off," said he, and then went away with his flock of goats.
""yes, indeed, you are a kind master," said the prince; "but i will go in and talk to the master-maid again; perhaps before long she may like better to be mine than yours."
so he went to her.
then she asked him what he had to do that day.
""oh!
not very dangerous work, i fancy," said the king's son.
""i have only to go up the mountain-side after his horse."
""well, how do you mean to set about it?"
asked the master-maid.
""oh!
there is no great art in riding a horse home," said the king's son.
""i think i must have ridden friskier horses before now."
""yes, but it is not so easy a thing as you think to ride the horse home," said the master-maid; "but i will teach you what to do.
when you go near it, fire will burst out of its nostrils like flames from a pine torch; but be very careful, and take the bridle which is hanging by the door there, and fling the bit straight into his jaws, and then it will become so tame that you will be able to do what you like with it."
he said he would bear this in mind, and then he again sat in there the whole day by the master-maid, and they chatted and talked of one thing and another, but the first thing and the last now was, how happy and delightful it would be if they could but marry each other, and get safely away from the giant; and the prince would have forgotten both the mountain-side and the horse if the master-maid had not reminded him of them as evening drew near, and said that now it would be better if he went to fetch the horse before the giant came.
so he did this, and took the bridle which was hanging on a crook, and strode up the mountain-side, and it was not long before he met with the horse, and fire and red flames streamed forth out of its nostrils.
but the youth carefully watched his opportunity, and just as it was rushing at him with open jaws he threw the bit straight into its mouth, and the horse stood as quiet as a young lamb, and there was no difficulty at all in getting it home to the stable.
then the prince went back into his room again, and began to hum and to sing.
toward evening the giant came home.
""have you fetched the horse back from the mountain-side?"
he asked.
""that i have, master; it was an amusing horse to ride, but i rode him straight home, and put him in the stable too," said the prince.
""i will see about that," said the giant, and went out to the stable, but the horse was standing there just as the prince had said.
""you have certainly been talking with my master-maid, for you never got that out of your own head," said the giant again.
""yesterday, master, you talked about this master-maid, and to-day you are talking about her; ah, heaven bless you, master, why will you not show me the thing?
for it would be a real pleasure to me to see it," said the prince, who again pretended to be silly and stupid.
""oh!
you will see her quite soon enough," said the giant.
on the morning of the third day the giant again had to go into the wood with the goats.
""to-day you must go underground and fetch my taxes," he said to the prince.
""when you have done this, you may rest for the remainder of the day, for you shall see what an easy master you have come to," and then he went away.
""well, however easy a master you may be, you set me very hard work to do," thought the prince; "but i will see if i can not find your master-maid; you say she is yours, but for all that she may be able to tell me what to do now," and he went back to her.
so, when the master-maid asked him what the giant had set him to do that day, he told her that he was to go underground and get the taxes.
""and how will you set about that?"
said the master-maid.
""oh!
you must tell me how to do it," said the prince, "for i have never yet been underground, and even if i knew the way i do not know how much i am to demand."
""oh!
yes, i will soon tell you that; you must go to the rock there under the mountain-ridge, and take the club that is there, and knock on the rocky wall," said the master-maid.
""then someone will come out who will sparkle with fire; you shall tell him your errand, and when he asks you how much you want to have you are to say: "as much as i can carry.""
""yes, i will keep that in mind," said he, and then he sat there with the master-maid the whole day, until night drew near, and he would gladly have stayed there till now if the master-maid had not reminded him that it was time to be off to fetch the taxes before the giant came.
so he set out on his way, and did exactly what the master-maid had told him.
he went to the rocky wall, and took the club, and knocked on it.
then came one so full of sparks that they flew both out of his eyes and his nose.
""what do you want?"
said he.
""i was to come here for the giant, and demand the tax for him," said the king's son.
""how much are you to have then?"
said the other.
""i ask for no more than i am able to carry with me," said the prince.
""it is well for you that you have not asked for a horse-load," said he who had come out of the rock.
""but now come in with me."
this the prince did, and what a quantity of gold and silver he saw!
it was lying inside the mountain like heaps of stones in a waste place, and he got a load that was as large as he was able to carry, and with that he went his way.
so in the evening, when the giant came home with the goats, the prince went into the chamber and hummed and sang again as he had done on the other two evenings.
""have you been for the tax?"
said the giant.
""yes, that i have, master," said the prince.
""where have you put it then?"
said the giant again.
""the bag of gold is standing there on the bench," said the prince.
""i will see about that," said the giant, and went away to the bench, but the bag was standing there, and it was so full that gold and silver dropped out when the giant untied the string.
""you have certainly been talking with my master-maid!"
said the giant, "and if you have i will wring your neck."
""master-maid?"
said the prince; "yesterday my master talked about this master-maid, and to-day he is talking about her again, and the first day of all it was talk of the same kind.
i do wish i could see the thing myself," said he.
""yes, yes, wait till to-morrow," said the giant, "and then i myself will take you to her."
""ah!
master, i thank you -- but you are only mocking me," said the king's son.
next day the giant took him to the master-maid.
""now you shall kill him, and boil him in the great big cauldron you know of, and when you have got the broth ready give me a call," said the giant; then he lay down on the bench to sleep, and almost immediately began to snore so that it sounded like thunder among the hills.
so the master-maid took a knife, and cut the prince's little finger, and dropped three drops of blood upon a wooden stool; then she took all the old rags, and shoe-soles, and all the rubbish she could lay hands on, and put them in the cauldron; and then she filled a chest with gold dust, and a lump of salt, and a water-flask which was hanging by the door, and she also took with her a golden apple, and two gold chickens; and then she and the prince went away with all the speed they could, and when they had gone a little way they came to the sea, and then they sailed, but where they got the ship from i have never been able to learn.
now, when the giant had slept a good long time, he began to stretch himself on the bench on which he was lying.
""will it soon boil?"
said he.
""it is just beginning," said the first drop of blood on the stool.
so the giant lay down to sleep again, and slept for a long, long time.
then he began to move about a little again.
""will it soon be ready now?"
said he, but he did not look up this time any more than he had done the first time, for he was still half asleep.
""half done!"
said the second drop of blood, and the giant believed it was the master-maid again, and turned himself on the bench, and lay down to sleep once more.
when he had slept again for many hours, he began to move and stretch himself.
""is it not done yet?"
said he.
""it is quite ready," said the third drop of blood.
then the giant began to sit up and rub his eyes, but he could not see who it was who had spoken to him, so he asked for the master-maid, and called her.
but there was no one to give him an answer.
""ah!
well, she has just stolen out for a little," thought the giant, and he took a spoon, and went off to the cauldron to have a taste; but there was nothing in it but shoe-soles, and rags, and such trumpery as that, and all was boiled up together, so that he could not tell whether it was porridge or milk pottage.
when he saw this, he understood what had happened, and fell into such a rage that he hardly knew what he was doing.
away he went after the prince and the master-maid so fast that the wind whistled behind him, and it was not long before he came to the water, but he could not get over it.
""well, well, i will soon find a cure for that; i have only to call my river-sucker," said the giant, and he did call him.
so his river-sucker came and lay down, and drank one, two, three draughts, and with that the water in the sea fell so low that the giant saw the master-maid and the prince out on the sea in their ship.
""now you must throw out the lump of salt," said the master-maid, and the prince did so, and it grew up into such a great high mountain right across the sea that the giant could not come over it, and the river-sucker could not drink any more water.
""well, well, i will soon find a cure for that," said the giant, so he called to his hill-borer to come and bore through the mountain so that the river-sucker might be able to drink up the water again.
but just as the hole was made, and the river-sucker was beginning to drink, the master-maid told the prince to throw one or two drops out of the flask, and when he did this the sea instantly became full of water again, and before the river-sucker could take one drink they reached the land and were in safety.
so they determined to go home to the prince's father, but the prince would on no account permit the master-maid to walk there, for he thought that it was unbecoming either for her or for him to go on foot.
""wait here the least little bit of time, while i go home for the seven horses which stand in my father's stable," said he; "it is not far off, and i shall not be long away, but i will not let my betrothed bride go on foot to the palace."
""oh!
no, do not go, for if you go home to the king's palace you will forget me, i foresee that."
""how could i forget you?
we have suffered so much evil together, and love each other so much," said the prince; and he insisted on going home for the coach with the seven horses, and she was to wait for him there, by the sea-shore.
so at last the master-maid had to yield, for he was so absolutely determined to do it.
""but when you get there you must not even give yourself time to greet anyone, but go straight into the stable, and take the horses, and put them in the coach, and drive back as quickly as you can.
for they will all come round about you; but you must behave just as if you did not see them, and on no account must you taste anything, for if you do it will cause great misery both to you and to me," said she; and this he promised.
but when he got home to the king's palace one of his brothers was just going to be married, and the bride and all her kith and kin had come to the palace; so they all thronged round him, and questioned him about this and that, and wanted him to go in with them; but he behaved as if he did not see them, and went straight to the stable, and got out the horses and began to harness them.
when they saw that they could not by any means prevail on him to go in with them, they came out to him with meat and drink, and the best of everything that they had prepared for the wedding; but the prince refused to touch anything, and would do nothing but put the horses in as quickly as he could.
at last, however, the bride's sister rolled an apple across the yard to him, and said: "as you wo n't eat anything else, you may like to take a bite of that, for you must be both hungry and thirsty after your long journey."
and he took up the apple and bit a piece out of it.
but no sooner had he got the piece of apple in his mouth than he forgot the master-maid and that he was to go back in the coach to fetch her.
""i think i must be mad!
what do i want with this coach and horses?"
said he; and then he put the horses back into the stable, and went into the king's palace, and there it was settled that he should marry the bride's sister, who had rolled the apple to him.
the master-maid sat by the sea-shore for a long, long time, waiting for the prince, but no prince came.
so she went away, and when she had walked a short distance she came to a little hut which stood all alone in a small wood, hard by the king's palace.
she entered it and asked if she might be allowed to stay there.
the hut belonged to an old crone, who was also an ill-tempered and malicious troll.
at first she would not let the master-maid remain with her; but at last, after a long time, by means of good words and good payment, she obtained leave.
but the hut was as dirty and black inside as a pigsty, so the master-maid said that she would smarten it up a little, that it might look a little more like what other people's houses looked inside.
the old crone did not like this either.
she scowled, and was very cross, but the master-maid did not trouble herself about that.
she took out her chest of gold, and flung a handful of it or so into the fire, and the gold boiled up and poured out over the whole of the hut, until every part of it both inside and out was gilded.
but when the gold began to bubble up the old hag grew so terrified that she fled as if the evil one himself were pursuing her, and she did not remember to stoop down as she went through the doorway, and so she split her head and died.
next morning the sheriff came traveling by there.
he was greatly astonished when he saw the gold hut shining and glittering there in the copse, and he was still more astonished when he went in and caught sight of the beautiful young maiden who was sitting there; he fell in love with her at once, and straightway on the spot he begged her, both prettily and kindly, to marry him.
""well, but have you a great deal of money?"
said the master-maid.
""oh!
yes; so far as that is concerned, i am not ill off," said the sheriff.
so now he had to go home to get the money, and in the evening he came back, bringing with him a bag with two bushels in it, which he set down on the bench.
well, as he had such a fine lot of money, the master-maid said she would have him, so they sat down to talk.
but scarcely had they sat down together before the master-maid wanted to jump up again.
""i have forgotten to see to the fire," she said.
""why should you jump up to do that?"
said the sheriff; "i will do that!"
so he jumped up, and went to the chimney in one bound.
""just tell me when you have got hold of the shovel," said the master-maid.
""well, i have hold of it now," said the sheriff.
""then you may hold the shovel, and the shovel you, and pour red-hot coals over you, till day dawns," said the master-maid.
so the sheriff had to stand there the whole night and pour red-hot coals over himself, and, no matter how much he cried and begged and entreated, the red-hot coals did not grow the colder for that.
when the day began to dawn, and he had power to throw down the shovel, he did not stay long where he was, but ran away as fast as he possibly could; and everyone who met him stared and looked after him, for he was flying as if he were mad, and he could not have looked worse if he had been both flayed and tanned, and everyone wondered where he had been, but for very shame he would tell nothing.
the next day the attorney came riding by the place where the master-maid dwelt.
he saw how brightly the hut shone and gleamed through the wood, and he too went into it to see who lived there, and when he entered and saw the beautiful young maiden he fell even more in love with her than the sheriff had done, and began to woo her at once.
so the master-maid asked him, as she had asked the sheriff, if he had a great deal of money, and the attorney said he was not ill off for that, and would at once go home to get it; and at night he came with a great big sack of money -- this time it was a four-bushel sack -- and set it on the bench by the master-maid.
so she promised to have him, and he sat down on the bench by her to arrange about it, but suddenly she said that she had forgotten to lock the door of the porch that night, and must do it.
""why should you do that?"
said the attorney; "sit still, i will do it."
so he was on his feet in a moment, and out in the porch.
""tell me when you have got hold of the door-latch," said the master-maid.
""i have hold of it now," cried the attorney.
""then you may hold the door, and the door you, and may you go between wall and wall till day dawns."
what a dance the attorney had that night!
he had never had such a waltz before, and he never wished to have such a dance again.
sometimes he was in front of the door, and sometimes the door was in front of him, and it went from one side of the porch to the other, till the attorney was well-nigh beaten to death.
at first he began to abuse the master-maid, and then to beg and pray, but the door did not care for anything but keeping him where he was till break of day.
as soon as the door let go its hold of him, off went the attorney.
he forgot who ought to be paid off for what he had suffered, he forgot both his sack of money and his wooing, for he was so afraid lest the house-door should come dancing after him.
everyone who met him stared and looked after him, for he was flying like a madman, and he could not have looked worse if a herd of rams had been butting at him all night long.
on the third day the bailiff came by, and he too saw the gold house in the little wood, and he too felt that he must go and see who lived there; and when he caught sight of the master-maid he became so much in love with her that he wooed her almost before he greeted her.
the master-maid answered him as she had answered the other two, that if he had a great deal of money, she would have him.
""so far as that is concerned, i am not ill off," said the bailiff; so he was at once told to go home and fetch it, and this he did.
at night he came back, and he had a still larger sack of money with him than the attorney had brought; it must have been at least six bushels, and he set it down on the bench.
so it was settled that he was to have the master-maid.
but hardly had they sat down together before she said that she had forgotten to bring in the calf, and must go out to put it in the byre.
""no, indeed, you shall not do that," said the bailiff; "i am the one to do that."
and, big and fat as he was, he went out as briskly as a boy.
""tell me when you have got hold of the calf's tail," said the master-maid.
""i have hold of it now," cried the bailiff.
""then may you hold the calf's tail, and the calf's tail hold you, and may you go round the world together till day dawns!"
said the master-maid.
so the bailiff had to bestir himself, for the calf went over rough and smooth, over hill and dale, and, the more the bailiff cried and screamed, the faster the calf went.
when daylight began to appear, the bailiff was half dead; and so glad was he to leave loose of the calf's tail, that he forgot the sack of money and all else.
he walked now slowly -- more slowly than the sheriff and the attorney had done, but, the slower he went, the more time had everyone to stare and look at him; and they used it too, and no one can imagine how tired out and ragged he looked after his dance with the calf.
on the following day the wedding was to take place in the king's palace, and the elder brother was to drive to church with his bride, and the brother who had been with the giant with her sister.
but when they had seated themselves in the coach and were about to drive off from the palace one of the trace-pins broke, and, though they made one, two, and three to put in its place, that did not help them, for each broke in turn, no matter what kind of wood they used to make them of.
this went on for a long time, and they could not get away from the palace, so they were all in great trouble.
then the sheriff said -lrb- for he too had been bidden to the wedding at court -rrb-: "yonder away in the thicket dwells a maiden, and if you can get her to lend you the handle of the shovel that she uses to make up her fire i know very well that it will hold fast."
so they sent off a messenger to the thicket, and begged so prettily that they might have the loan of her shovel-handle of which the sheriff had spoken that they were not refused; so now they had a trace-pin which would not snap in two.
but all at once, just as they were starting, the bottom of the coach fell in pieces.
they made a new bottom as fast as they could, but, no matter how they nailed it together, or what kind of wood they used, no sooner had they got the new bottom into the coach and were about to drive off than it broke again, so that they were still worse off than when they had broken the trace-pin.
then the attorney said, for he too was at the wedding in the palace: "away there in the thicket dwells a maiden, and if you could but get her to lend you one-half of her porch-door i am certain that it will hold together."
so they again sent a messenger to the thicket, and begged so prettily for the loan of the gilded porch-door of which the attorney had told them that they got it at once.
they were just setting out again, but now the horses were not able to draw the coach.
they had six horses already, and now they put in eight, and then ten, and then twelve, but the more they put in, and the more the coachman whipped them, the less good it did; and the coach never stirred from the spot.
it was already beginning to be late in the day, and to church they must and would go, so everyone who was in the palace was in a state of distress.
then the bailiff spoke up and said: "out there in the gilded cottage in the thicket dwells a girl, and if you could but get her to lend you her calf i know it could draw the coach, even if it were as heavy as a mountain."
they all thought that it was ridiculous to be drawn to church by a calf, but there was nothing else for it but to send a messenger once more, and beg as prettily as they could, on behalf of the king, that she would let them have the loan of the calf that the bailiff had told them about.
the master-maid let them have it immediately -- this time also she would not say "no."
then they harnessed the calf to see if the coach would move; and away it went, over rough and smooth, over stock and stone, so that they could scarcely breathe, and sometimes they were on the ground, and sometimes up in the air; and when they came to the church the coach began to go round and round like a spinning-wheel, and it was with the utmost difficulty and danger that they were able to get out of the coach and into the church.
and when they went back again the coach went quicker still, so that most of them did not know how they got back to the palace at all.
when they had seated themselves at the table the prince who had been in service with the giant said that he thought they ought to have invited the maiden who had lent them the shovel-handle, and the porch-door, and the calf up to the palace, "for," said he, "if we had not got these three things, we should never have got away from the palace."
the king also thought that this was both just and proper, so he sent five of his best men down to the gilded hut, to greet the maiden courteously from the king, and to beg her to be so good as to come up to the palace to dinner at mid-day.
""greet the king, and tell him that, if he is too good to come to me, i am too good to come to him," replied the master-maid.
so the king had to go himself, and the master-maid went with him immediately, and, as the king believed that she was more than she appeared to be, he seated her in the place of honor by the youngest bridegroom.
when they had sat at the table for a short time, the master-maid took out the cock, and the hen, and the golden apple which she had brought away with her from the giant's house, and set them on the table in front of her, and instantly the cock and the hen began to fight with each other for the golden apple.
""oh!
look how those two there are fighting for the golden apple," said the king's son.
""yes, and so did we two fight to get out that time when we were in the mountain," said the master-maid.
so the prince knew her again, and you may imagine how delighted he was.
he ordered the troll-witch who had rolled the apple to him to be torn in pieces between four-and-twenty horses, so that not a bit of her was left, and then for the first time they began really to keep the wedding, and, weary as they were, the sheriff, the attorney, and the bailiff kept it up too.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- asbjornsen and moe.
why the sea is salt once upon a time, long, long ago, there were two brothers, the one rich and the other poor.
when christmas eve came, the poor one had not a bite in the house, either of meat or bread; so he went to his brother, and begged him, in god's name, to give him something for christmas day.
it was by no means the first time that the brother had been forced to give something to him, and he was not better pleased at being asked now than he generally was.
""if you will do what i ask you, you shall have a whole ham," said he.
the poor one immediately thanked him, and promised this.
""well, here is the ham, and now you must go straight to dead man's hall," said the rich brother, throwing the ham to him.
""well, i will do what i have promised," said the other, and he took the ham and set off.
he went on and on for the livelong day, and at nightfall he came to a place where there was a bright light.
""i have no doubt this is the place," thought the man with the ham.
an old man with a long white beard was standing in the outhouse, chopping yule logs.
""good-evening," said the man with the ham.
""good-evening to you.
where are you going at this late hour?"
said the man.
""i am going to dead man's hall, if only i am on the right track," answered the poor man.
""oh!
yes, you are right enough, for it is here," said the old man.
""when you get inside they will all want to buy your ham, for they do n't get much meat to eat there; but you must not sell it unless you can get the hand-mill which stands behind the door for it.
when you come out again i will teach you how to stop the hand-mill, which is useful for almost everything."
so the man with the ham thanked the other for his good advice, and rapped at the door.
when he got in, everything happened just as the old man had said it would: all the people, great and small, came round him like ants on an ant-hill, and each tried to outbid the other for the ham.
""by rights my old woman and i ought to have it for our christmas dinner, but, since you have set your hearts upon it, i must just give it up to you," said the man.
""but, if i sell it, i will have the hand-mill which is standing there behind the door."
at first they would not hear of this, and haggled and bargained with the man, but he stuck to what he had said, and the people were forced to give him the hand-mill.
when the man came out again into the yard, he asked the old wood-cutter how he was to stop the hand-mill, and when he had learned that, he thanked him and set off home with all the speed he could, but did not get there until after the clock had struck twelve on christmas eve.
""where in the world have you been?"
said the old woman.
""here i have sat waiting hour after hour, and have not even two sticks to lay across each other under the christmas porridge-pot."
""oh!
i could not come before; i had something of importance to see about, and a long way to go, too; but now you shall just see!"
said the man, and then he set the hand-mill on the table, and bade it first grind light, then a table-cloth, and then meat, and beer, and everything else that was good for a christmas eve's supper; and the mill ground all that he ordered.
""bless me!"
said the old woman as one thing after another appeared; and she wanted to know where her husband had got the mill from, but he would not tell her that.
""never mind where i got it; you can see that it is a good one, and the water that turns it will never freeze," said the man.
so he ground meat and drink, and all kinds of good things, to last all christmas-tide, and on the third day he invited all his friends to come to a feast.
now when the rich brother saw all that there was at the banquet and in the house, he was both vexed and angry, for he grudged everything his brother had.
""on christmas eve he was so poor that he came to me and begged for a trifle, for god's sake, and now he gives a feast as if he were both a count and a king!"
thought he.
""but, for heaven's sake, tell me where you got your riches from," said he to his brother.
""from behind the door," said he who owned the mill, for he did not choose to satisfy his brother on that point; but later in the evening, when he had taken a drop too much, he could not refrain from telling how he had come by the hand-mill.
""there you see what has brought me all my wealth!"
said he, and brought out the mill, and made it grind first one thing and then another.
when the brother saw that, he insisted on having the mill, and after a great deal of persuasion got it; but he had to give three hundred dollars for it, and the poor brother was to keep it till the haymaking was over, for he thought: "if i keep it as long as that, i can make it grind meat and drink that will last many a long year."
during that time you may imagine that the mill did not grow rusty, and when hay-harvest came the rich brother got it, but the other had taken good care not to teach him how to stop it.
it was evening when the rich man got the mill home, and in the morning he bade the old woman go out and spread the hay after the mowers, and he would attend to the house himself that day, he said.
so, when dinner-time drew near, he set the mill on the kitchen-table, and said: "grind herrings and milk pottage, and do it both quickly and well."
so the mill began to grind herrings and milk pottage, and first all the dishes and tubs were filled, and then it came out all over the kitchen-floor.
the man twisted and turned it, and did all he could to make the mill stop, but, howsoever he turned it and screwed it, the mill went on grinding, and in a short time the pottage rose so high that the man was like to be drowned.
so he threw open the parlor door, but it was not long before the mill had ground the parlor full too, and it was with difficulty and danger that the man could go through the stream of pottage and get hold of the door-latch.
when he got the door open, he did not stay long in the room, but ran out, and the herrings and pottage came after him, and it streamed out over both farm and field.
now the old woman, who was out spreading the hay, began to think dinner was long in coming, and said to the women and the mowers: "though the master does not call us home, we may as well go.
it may be that he finds he is not good at making pottage and i should do well to help him."
so they began to straggle homeward, but when they had got a little way up the hill they met the herrings and pottage and bread, all pouring forth and winding about one over the other, and the man himself in front of the flood.
""would to heaven that each of you had a hundred stomachs!
take care that you are not drowned in the pottage!"
he cried as he went by them as if mischief were at his heels, down to where his brother dwelt.
then he begged him, for god's sake, to take the mill back again, and that in an instant, for, said he: "if it grind one hour more the whole district will be destroyed by herrings and pottage."
but the brother would not take it until the other paid him three hundred dollars, and that he was obliged to do.
now the poor brother had both the money and the mill again.
so it was not long before he had a farmhouse much finer than that in which his brother lived, but the mill ground him so much money that he covered it with plates of gold; and the farmhouse lay close by the sea-shore, so it shone and glittered far out to sea.
everyone who sailed by there now had to be put in to visit the rich man in the gold farmhouse, and everyone wanted to see the wonderful mill, for the report of it spread far and wide, and there was no one who had not heard tell of it.
after a long, long time came also a skipper who wished to see the mill.
he asked if it could make salt.
""yes, it could make salt," said he who owned it, and when the skipper heard that, he wished with all his might and main to have the mill, let it cost what it might, for, he thought, if he had it, he would get off having to sail far away over the perilous sea for freights of salt.
at first the man would not hear of parting with it, but the skipper begged and prayed, and at last the man sold it to him, and got many, many thousand dollars for it.
when the skipper had got the mill on his back he did not stay there long, for he was so afraid that the man would change his mind, and he had no time to ask how he was to stop it grinding, but got on board his ship as fast as he could.
when he had gone a little way out to sea he took the mill on deck.
""grind salt, and grind both quickly and well," said the skipper.
so the mill began to grind salt, till it spouted out like water, and when the skipper had got the ship filled he wanted to stop the mill, but whichsoever way he turned it, and how much soever he tried, it went on grinding, and the heap of salt grew higher and higher, until at last the ship sank.
there lies the mill at the bottom of the sea, and still, day by day, it grinds on; and that is why the sea is salt.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- asbjornsen and moe.
the master cat; or, puss in boots there was a miller who left no more estate to the three sons he had than his mill, his ass, and his cat.
the partition was soon made.
neither scrivener nor attorney was sent for.
they would soon have eaten up all the poor patrimony.
the eldest had the mill, the second the ass, and the youngest nothing but the cat.
the poor young fellow was quite comfortless at having so poor a lot.
""my brothers," said he, "may get their living handsomely enough by joining their stocks together; but for my part, when i have eaten up my cat, and made me a muff of his skin, i must die of hunger."
the cat, who heard all this, but made as if he did not, said to him with a grave and serious air: "do not thus afflict yourself, my good master.
you have nothing else to do but to give me a bag and get a pair of boots made for me that i may scamper through the dirt and the brambles, and you shall see that you have not so bad a portion in me as you imagine."
the cat's master did not build very much upon what he said.
he had often seen him play a great many cunning tricks to catch rats and mice, as when he used to hang by the heels, or hide himself in the meal, and make as if he were dead; so that he did not altogether despair of his affording him some help in his miserable condition.
when the cat had what he asked for he booted himself very gallantly, and putting his bag about his neck, he held the strings of it in his two forepaws and went into a warren where was great abundance of rabbits.
he put bran and sow-thistle into his bag, and stretching out at length, as if he had been dead, he waited for some young rabbits, not yet acquainted with the deceits of the world, to come and rummage his bag for what he had put into it.
scarce was he lain down but he had what he wanted.
a rash and foolish young rabbit jumped into his bag, and monsieur puss, immediately drawing close the strings, took and killed him without pity.
proud of his prey, he went with it to the palace and asked to speak with his majesty.
he was shown upstairs into the king's apartment, and, making a low reverence, said to him: "i have brought you, sir, a rabbit of the warren, which my noble lord the marquis of carabas" -lrb- for that was the title which puss was pleased to give his master -rrb- "has commanded me to present to your majesty from him."
""tell thy master," said the king, "that i thank him and that he does me a great deal of pleasure."
another time he went and hid himself among some standing corn, holding still his bag open, and when a brace of partridges ran into it he drew the strings and so caught them both.
he went and made a present of these to the king, as he had done before of the rabbit which he took in the warren.
the king, in like manner, received the partridges with great pleasure, and ordered him some money for drink.
the cat continued for two or three months thus to carry his majesty, from time to time, game of his master's taking.
one day in particular, when he knew for certain that he was to take the air along the river-side, with his daughter, the most beautiful princess in the world, he said to his master: "if you will follow my advice your fortune is made.
you have nothing else to do but go and wash yourself in the river, in that part i shall show you, and leave the rest to me."
the marquis of carabas did what the cat advised him to, without knowing why or wherefore.
while he was washing the king passed by, and the cat began to cry out: "help!
help!
my lord marquis of carabas is going to be drowned."
at this noise the king put his head out of the coach-window, and, finding it was the cat who had so often brought him such good game, he commanded his guards to run immediately to the assistance of his lordship the marquis of carabas.
while they were drawing the poor marquis out of the river, the cat came up to the coach and told the king that, while his master was washing, there came by some rogues, who went off with his clothes, though he had cried out: "thieves!
thieves!"
several times, as loud as he could.
this cunning cat had hidden them under a great stone.
the king immediately commanded the officers of his wardrobe to run and fetch one of his best suits for the lord marquis of carabas.
the king caressed him after a very extraordinary manner, and as the fine clothes he had given him extremely set off his good mien -lrb- for he was well made and very handsome in his person -rrb-, the king's daughter took a secret inclination to him, and the marquis of carabas had no sooner cast two or three respectful and somewhat tender glances but she fell in love with him to distraction.
the king would needs have him come into the coach and take part of the airing.
the cat, quite overjoyed to see his project begin to succeed, marched on before, and, meeting with some countrymen, who were mowing a meadow, he said to them: "good people, you who are mowing, if you do not tell the king that the meadow you mow belongs to my lord marquis of carabas, you shall be chopped as small as herbs for the pot."
the king did not fail asking of the mowers to whom the meadow they were mowing belonged.
""to my lord marquis of carabas," answered they altogether, for the cat's threats had made them terribly afraid.
""you see, sir," said the marquis, "this is a meadow which never fails to yield a plentiful harvest every year."
the master cat, who went still on before, met with some reapers, and said to them: "good people, you who are reaping, if you do not tell the king that all this corn belongs to the marquis of carabas, you shall be chopped as small as herbs for the pot."
the king, who passed by a moment after, would needs know to whom all that corn, which he then saw, did belong.
""to my lord marquis of carabas," replied the reapers, and the king was very well pleased with it, as well as the marquis, whom he congratulated thereupon.
the master cat, who went always before, said the same words to all he met, and the king was astonished at the vast estates of my lord marquis of carabas.
monsieur puss came at last to a stately castle, the master of which was an ogre, the richest had ever been known; for all the lands which the king had then gone over belonged to this castle.
the cat, who had taken care to inform himself who this ogre was and what he could do, asked to speak with him, saying he could not pass so near his castle without having the honor of paying his respects to him.
the ogre received him as civilly as an ogre could do, and made him sit down.
""i have been assured," said the cat, "that you have the gift of being able to change yourself into all sorts of creatures you have a mind to; you can, for example, transform yourself into a lion, or elephant, and the like."
""that is true," answered the ogre very briskly; "and to convince you, you shall see me now become a lion."
puss was so sadly terrified at the sight of a lion so near him that he immediately got into the gutter, not without abundance of trouble and danger, because of his boots, which were of no use at all to him in walking upon the tiles.
a little while after, when puss saw that the ogre had resumed his natural form, he came down, and owned he had been very much frightened.
""i have been, moreover, informed," said the cat, "but i know not how to believe it, that you have also the power to take on you the shape of the smallest animals; for example, to change yourself into a rat or a mouse; but i must own to you i take this to be impossible."
""impossible!"
cried the ogre; "you shall see that presently."
and at the same time he changed himself into a mouse, and began to run about the floor.
puss no sooner perceived this but he fell upon him and ate him up.
meanwhile the king, who saw, as he passed, this fine castle of the ogre's, had a mind to go into it.
puss, who heard the noise of his majesty's coach running over the draw-bridge, ran out, and said to the king: "your majesty is welcome to this castle of my lord marquis of carabas."
""what!
my lord marquis," cried the king, "and does this castle also belong to you?
there can be nothing finer than this court and all the stately buildings which surround it; let us go into it, if you please."
the marquis gave his hand to the princess, and followed the king, who went first.
they passed into a spacious hall, where they found a magnificent collation, which the ogre had prepared for his friends, who were that very day to visit him, but dared not to enter, knowing the king was there.
his majesty was perfectly charmed with the good qualities of my lord marquis of carabas, as was his daughter, who had fallen violently in love with him, and, seeing the vast estate he possessed, said to him, after having drunk five or six glasses: "it will be owing to yourself only, my lord marquis, if you are not my son-in-law."
the marquis, making several low bows, accepted the honor which his majesty conferred upon him, and forthwith, that very same day, married the princess.
puss became a great lord, and never ran after mice any more but only for his diversion.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- charles perrault.
felicia and the pot of pinks once upon a time there was a poor laborer who, feeling that he had not much longer to live, wished to divide his possessions between his son and daughter, whom he loved dearly.
so he called them to him, and said: "your mother brought me as her dowry two stools and a straw bed; i have, besides, a hen, a pot of pinks, and a silver ring, which were given me by a noble lady who once lodged in my poor cottage.
when she went away she said to me:" "be careful of my gifts, good man; see that you do not lose the ring or forget to water the pinks.
as for your daughter, i promise you that she shall be more beautiful than anyone you ever saw in your life; call her felicia, and when she grows up give her the ring and the pot of pinks to console her for her poverty."
take them both, then, my dear child," he added, "and your brother shall have everything else."
the two children seemed quite contented, and when their father died they wept for him, and divided his possessions as he had told them.
felicia believed that her brother loved her, but when she sat down upon one of the stools he said angrily: "keep your pot of pinks and your ring, but let my things alone.
i like order in my house."
felicia, who was very gentle, said nothing, but stood up crying quietly; while bruno, for that was her brother's name, sat comfortably by the fire.
presently, when supper-time came, bruno had a delicious egg, and he threw the shell to felicia, saying: "there, that is all i can give you; if you do n't like it, go out and catch frogs; there are plenty of them in the marsh close by."
felicia did not answer, but she cried more bitterly than ever, and went away to her own little room.
she found it filled with the sweet scent of the pinks, and, going up to them, she said sadly: "beautiful pinks, you are so sweet and so pretty, you are the only comfort i have left.
be very sure that i will take care of you, and water you well, and never allow any cruel hand to tear you from your stems."
as she leaned over them she noticed that they were very dry.
so taking her pitcher, she ran off in the clear moonlight to the fountain, which was at some distance.
when she reached it she sat down upon the brink to rest, but she had hardly done so when she saw a stately lady coming toward her, surrounded by numbers of attendants.
six maids of honor carried her train, and she leaned upon the arm of another.
when they came near the fountain a canopy was spread for her, under which was placed a sofa of cloth-of-gold, and presently a dainty supper was served, upon a table covered with dishes of gold and crystal, while the wind in the trees and the falling water of the fountain murmured the softest music.
felicia was hidden in the shade, too much astonished by all she saw to venture to move; but in a few moments the queen said: "i fancy i see a shepherdess near that tree; bid her come hither."
so felicia came forward and saluted the queen timidly, but with so much grace that all were surprised.
""what are you doing here, my pretty child?"
asked the queen.
""are you not afraid of robbers?"
""ah!
madam," said felicia, "a poor shepherdess who has nothing to lose does not fear robbers."
""you are not very rich, then?"
said the queen, smiling.
""i am so poor," answered felicia, "that a pot of pinks and a silver ring are my only possessions in the world."
""but you have a heart," said the queen.
""what should you say if anybody wanted to steal that?"
""i do not know what it is like to lose one's heart, madam," she replied; "but i have always heard that without a heart one can not live, and if it is broken one must die; and in spite of my poverty i should be sorry not to live."
""you are quite right to take care of your heart, pretty one," said the queen.
""but tell me, have you supped?"
""no, madam," answered felicia; "my brother ate all the supper there was."
then the queen ordered that a place should be made for her at the table, and herself loaded felicia's plate with good things; but she was too much astonished to be hungry.
""i want to know what you were doing at the fountain so late?"
said the queen presently.
""i came to fetch a pitcher of water for my pinks, madam," she answered, stooping to pick up the pitcher which stood beside her; but when she showed it to the queen she was amazed to see that it had turned to gold, all sparkling with great diamonds, and the water, of which it was full, was more fragrant than the sweetest roses.
she was afraid to take it until the queen said: "it is yours, felicia; go and water your pinks with it, and let it remind you that the queen of the woods is your friend."
the shepherdess threw herself at the queen's feet, and thanked her humbly for her gracious words.
""ah!
madam," she cried, "if i might beg you to stay here a moment i would run and fetch my pot of pinks for you -- they could not fall into better hands."
""go, felicia," said the queen, stroking her cheek softly; "i will wait here until you come back."
so felicia took up her pitcher and ran to her little room, but while she had been away bruno had gone in and taken the pot of pinks, leaving a great cabbage in its place.
when she saw the unlucky cabbage felicia was much distressed, and did not know what to do; but at last she ran back to the fountain, and, kneeling before the queen, said: "madam, bruno has stolen my pot of pinks, so i have nothing but my silver ring; but i beg you to accept it as a proof of my gratitude."
""but if i take your ring, my pretty shepherdess," said the queen, "you will have nothing left; and what will you do then?"
""ah!
madam," she answered simply, "if i have your friendship i shall do very well."
so the queen took the ring and put it on her finger, and mounted her chariot, which was made of coral studded with emeralds, and drawn by six milk-white horses.
and felicia looked after her until the winding of the forest path hid her from her sight, and then she went back to the cottage, thinking over all the wonderful things that had happened.
the first thing she did when she reached her room was to throw the cabbage out of the window.
but she was very much surprised to hear an odd little voice cry out: "oh!
i am half killed!"
and could not tell where it came from, because cabbages do not generally speak.
as soon as it was light, felicia, who was very unhappy about her pot of pinks, went out to look for it, and the first thing she found was the unfortunate cabbage.
she gave it a push with her foot, saying: "what are you doing here, and how dared you put yourself in the place of my pot of pinks?"
""if i had n't been carried," replied the cabbage, "you may be very sure that i should n't have thought of going there."
it made her shiver with fright to hear the cabbage talk, but he went on: "if you will be good enough to plant me by my comrades again, i can tell you where your pinks are at this moment -- hidden in bruno's bed!"
felicia was in despair when she heard this, not knowing how she was to get them back.
but she replanted the cabbage very kindly in his old place, and, as she finished doing it, she saw bruno's hen, and said, catching hold of it: "come here, horrid little creature!
you shall suffer for all the unkind things my brother has done to me."
""ah!
shepherdess," said the hen, "do n't kill me; i am rather a gossip, and i can tell you some surprising things that you will like to hear.
do n't imagine that you are the daughter of the poor laborer who brought you up; your mother was a queen who had six girls already, and the king threatened that unless she had a son who could inherit his kingdom she should have her head cut off.
""so when the queen had another little daughter she was quite frightened, and agreed with her sister -lrb- who was a fairy -rrb- to exchange her for the fairy's little son.
now the queen had been shut up in a great tower by the king's orders, and when a great many days went by and still she heard nothing from the fairy she made her escape from the window by means of a rope ladder, taking her little baby with her.
after wandering about until she was half dead with cold and fatigue she reached this cottage.
i was the laborer's wife, and was a good nurse, and the queen gave you into my charge, and told me all her misfortunes, and then died before she had time to say what was to become of you.
""as i never in all my life could keep a secret, i could not help telling this strange tale to my neighbors, and one day a beautiful lady came here, and i told it to her also.
when i had finished she touched me with a wand she held in her hand, and instantly i became a hen, and there was an end of my talking!
i was very sad, and my husband, who was out when it happened, never knew what had become of me.
after seeking me everywhere he believed that i must have been drowned, or eaten up by wild beasts in the forest.
that same lady came here once more, and commanded that you should be called felicia, and left the ring and the pot of pinks to be given to you; and while she was in the house twenty-five of the king's guards came to search for you, doubtless meaning to kill you; but she muttered a few words, and immediately they all turned into cabbages.
it was one of them whom you threw out of your window yesterday.
""i do n't know how it was that he could speak -- i have never heard either of them say a word before, nor have i been able to do it myself until now."
the princess was greatly astonished at the hen's story, and said kindly: "i am truly sorry for you, my poor nurse, and wish it was in my power to restore you to your real form.
but we must not despair; it seems to me, after what you have told me, that something must be going to happen soon.
just now, however, i must go and look for my pinks, which i love better than anything in the world."
bruno had gone out into the forest, never thinking that felicia would search in his room for the pinks, and she was delighted by his unexpected absence, and thought to get them back without further trouble.
but as soon as she entered the room she saw a terrible army of rats, who were guarding the straw bed; and when she attempted to approach it they sprang at her, biting and scratching furiously.
quite terrified, she drew back, crying out: "oh!
my dear pinks, how can you stay here in such bad company?"
then she suddenly bethought herself of the pitcher of water, and, hoping that it might have some magic power, she ran to fetch it, and sprinkled a few drops over the fierce-looking swarm of rats.
in a moment not a tail or a whisker was to be seen.
each one had made for his hole as fast as his legs could carry him, so that the princess could safely take her pot of pinks.
she found them nearly dying for want of water, and hastily poured all that was left in the pitcher upon them.
as she bent over them, enjoying their delicious scent, a soft voice, that seemed to rustle among the leaves, said: "lovely felicia, the day has come at last when i may have the happiness of telling you how even the flowers love you and rejoice in your beauty."
the princess, quite overcome by the strangeness of hearing a cabbage, a hen, and a pink speak, and by the terrible sight of an army of rats, suddenly became very pale, and fainted away.
at this moment in came bruno.
working hard in the heat had not improved his temper, and when he saw that felicia had succeeded in finding her pinks he was so angry that he dragged her out into the garden and shut the door upon her.
the fresh air soon made her open her pretty eyes, and there before her stood the queen of the woods, looking as charming as ever.
""you have a bad brother," she said; "i saw he turned you out.
shall i punish him for it?"
""ah!
no, madam," she said; "i am not angry with him.
""but supposing he was not your brother, after all, what would you say then?"
asked the queen.
""oh!
but i think he must be," said felicia.
""what!"
said the queen, "have you not heard that you are a princess?"
""i was told so a little while ago, madam, but how could i believe it without a single proof?"
""ah!
dear child," said the queen, "the way you speak assures me that, in spite of your humble upbringing, you are indeed a real princess, and i can save you from being treated in such a way again."
she was interrupted at this moment by the arrival of a very handsome young man.
he wore a coat of green velvet fastened with emerald clasps, and had a crown of pinks on his head.
he knelt upon one knee and kissed the queen's hand.
""ah!"
she cried, "my pink, my dear son, what a happiness to see you restored to your natural shape by felicia's aid!"
and she embraced him joyfully.
then, turning to felicia, she said: "charming princess, i know all the hen told you, but you can not have heard that the zephyrs, to whom was entrusted the task of carrying my son to the tower where the queen, your mother, so anxiously waited for him, left him instead in a garden of flowers, while they flew off to tell your mother.
whereupon a fairy with whom i had quarrelled changed him into a pink, and i could do nothing to prevent it.
""you can imagine how angry i was, and how i tried to find some means of undoing the mischief she had done; but there was no help for it.
i could only bring prince pink to the place where you were being brought up, hoping that when you grew up he might love you, and by your care be restored to his natural form.
and you see everything has come right, as i hoped it would.
your giving me the silver ring was the sign that the power of the charm was nearly over, and my enemy's last chance was to frighten you with her army of rats.
that she did not succeed in doing; so now, my dear felicia, if you will be married to my son with this silver ring your future happiness is certain.
do you think him handsome and amiable enough to be willing to marry him?"
""madam," replied felicia, blushing, "you overwhelm me with your kindness.
i know that you are my mother's sister, and that by your art you turned the soldiers who were sent to kill me into cabbages, and my nurse into a hen, and that you do me only too much honor in proposing that i shall marry your son.
how can i explain to you the cause of my hesitation?
i feel, for the first time in my life, how happy it would make me to be beloved.
can you indeed give me the prince's heart?"
""it is yours already, lovely princess!"
he cried, taking her hand in his; "but for the horrible enchantment which kept me silent i should have told you long ago how dearly i love you."
this made the princess very happy, and the queen, who could not bear to see her dressed like a poor shepherdess, touched her with her wand, saying: "i wish you to be attired as befits your rank and beauty."
and immediately the princess's cotton dress became a magnificent robe of silver brocade embroidered with carbuncles, and her soft dark hair was encircled by a crown of diamonds, from which floated a clear white veil.
with her bright eyes, and the charming color in her cheeks, she was altogether such a dazzling sight that the prince could hardly bear it.
""how pretty you are, felicia!"
he cried.
""do n't keep me in suspense, i entreat you; say that you will marry me."
""ah!"
said the queen, smiling, "i think she will not refuse now."
just then bruno, who was going back to his work, came out of the cottage, and thought he must be dreaming when he saw felicia; but she called him very kindly, and begged the queen to take pity on him.
""what!"
she said, "when he was so unkind to you?"
""ah!
madam," said the princess, "i am so happy that i should like everybody else to be happy too."
the queen kissed her, and said: "well, to please you, let me see what i can do for this cross bruno."
and with a wave of her wand she turned the poor little cottage into a splendid palace, full of treasures; only the two stools and the straw bed remained just as they were, to remind him of his former poverty.
then the queen touched bruno himself, and made him gentle and polite and grateful, and he thanked her and the princess a thousand times.
lastly, the queen restored the hen and the cabbages to their natural forms, and left them all very contented.
the prince and princess were married as soon as possible with great splendor, and lived happily ever after.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- fortunee.
par madame la comtesse d'aulnoy.
the white cat once upon a time there was a king who had three sons, who were all so clever and brave that he began to be afraid that they would want to reign over the kingdom before he was dead.
now the king, though he felt that he was growing old, did not at all wish to give up the government of his kingdom while he could still manage it very well, so he thought the best way to live in peace would be to divert the minds of his sons by promises which he could always get out of when the time came for keeping them.
so he sent for them all, and, after speaking to them kindly, he added: "you will quite agree with me, my dear children, that my great age makes it impossible for me to look after my affairs of state as carefully as i once did.
i begin to fear that this may affect the welfare of my subjects, therefore i wish that one of you should succeed to my crown; but in return for such a gift as this it is only right that you should do something for me.
now, as i think of retiring into the country, it seems to me that a pretty, lively, faithful little dog would be very good company for me; so, without any regard for your ages, i promise that the one who brings me the most beautiful little dog shall succeed me at once."
the three princes were greatly surprised by their father's sudden fancy for a little dog, but as it gave the two younger ones a chance they would not otherwise have had of being king, and as the eldest was too polite to make any objection, they accepted the commission with pleasure.
they bade farewell to the king, who gave them presents of silver and precious stones, and appointed to meet them at the same hour, in the same place, after a year had passed, to see the little dogs they had brought for him.
then they went together to a castle which was about a league from the city, accompanied by all their particular friends, to whom they gave a grand banquet, and the three brothers promised to be friends always, to share whatever good fortune befell them, and not to be parted by any envy or jealousy; and so they set out, agreeing to meet at the same castle at the appointed time, to present themselves before the king together.
each one took a different road, and the two eldest met with many adventures; but it is about the youngest that you are going to hear.
he was young, and gay, and handsome, and knew everything that a prince ought to know; and as for his courage, there was simply no end to it.
hardly a day passed without his buying several dogs -- big and little, greyhounds, mastiffs, spaniels, and lapdogs.
as soon as he had bought a pretty one he was sure to see a still prettier, and then he had to get rid of all the others and buy that one, as, being alone, he found it impossible to take thirty or forty thousand dogs about with him.
he journeyed from day to day, not knowing where he was going, until at last, just at nightfall, he reached a great, gloomy forest.
he did not know his way, and, to make matters worse, it began to thunder, and the rain poured down.
he took the first path he could find, and after walking for a long time he fancied he saw a faint light, and began to hope that he was coming to some cottage where he might find shelter for the night.
at length, guided by the light, he reached the door of the most splendid castle he could have imagined.
this door was of gold covered with carbuncles, and it was the pure red light which shone from them that had shown him the way through the forest.
the walls were of the finest porcelain in all the most delicate colors, and the prince saw that all the stories he had ever read were pictured upon them; but as he was terribly wet, and the rain still fell in torrents, he could not stay to look about any more, but came back to the golden door.
there he saw a deer's foot hanging by a chain of diamonds, and he began to wonder who could live in this magnificent castle.
""they must feel very secure against robbers," he said to himself.
""what is to hinder anyone from cutting off that chain and digging out those carbuncles, and making himself rich for life?"
he pulled the deer's foot, and immediately a silver bell sounded and the door flew open, but the prince could see nothing but numbers of hands in the air, each holding a torch.
he was so much surprised that he stood quite still, until he felt himself pushed forward by other hands, so that, though he was somewhat uneasy, he could not help going on.
with his hand on his sword, to be prepared for whatever might happen, he entered a hall paved with lapis-lazuli, while two lovely voices sang: "the hands you see floating above will swiftly your bidding obey; if your heart dreads not conquering love, in this place you may fearlessly stay."
the prince could not believe that any danger threatened him when he was welcomed in this way, so, guided by the mysterious hands, he went toward a door of coral, which opened of its own accord, and he found himself in a vast hall of mother-of-pearl, out of which opened a number of other rooms, glittering with thousands of lights, and full of such beautiful pictures and precious things that the prince felt quite bewildered.
after passing through sixty rooms the hands that conducted him stopped, and the prince saw a most comfortable-looking arm-chair drawn up close to the chimney-corner; at the same moment the fire lighted itself, and the pretty, soft, clever hands took off the prince's wet, muddy clothes, and presented him with fresh ones made of the richest stuffs, all embroidered with gold and emeralds.
he could not help admiring everything he saw, and the deft way in which the hands waited on him, though they sometimes appeared so suddenly that they made him jump.
when he was quite ready -- and i can assure you that he looked very different from the wet and weary prince who had stood outside in the rain, and pulled the deer's foot -- the hands led him to a splendid room, upon the walls of which were painted the histories of puss in boots and a number of other famous cats.
the table was laid for supper with two golden plates, and golden spoons and forks, and the sideboard was covered with dishes and glasses of crystal set with precious stones.
the prince was wondering who the second place could be for, when suddenly in came about a dozen cats carrying guitars and rolls of music, who took their places at one end of the room, and under the direction of a cat who beat time with a roll of paper began to mew in every imaginable key, and to draw their claws across the strings of the guitars, making the strangest kind of music that could be heard.
the prince hastily stopped up his ears, but even then the sight of these comical musicians sent him into fits of laughter.
""what funny thing shall i see next?"
he said to himself, and instantly the door opened, and in came a tiny figure covered by a long black veil.
it was conducted by two cats wearing black mantles and carrying swords, and a large party of cats followed, who brought in cages full of rats and mice.
the prince was so much astonished that he thought he must be dreaming, but the little figure came up to him and threw back its veil, and he saw that it was the loveliest little white cat it is possible to imagine.
she looked very young and very sad, and in a sweet little voice that went straight to his heart she said to the prince: "king's son, you are welcome; the queen of the cats is glad to see you."
""lady cat," replied the prince, "i thank you for receiving me so kindly, but surely you are no ordinary pussy-cat?
indeed, the way you speak and the magnificence of your castle prove it plainly."
""king's son," said the white cat, "i beg you to spare me these compliments, for i am not used to them.
but now," she added, "let supper be served, and let the musicians be silent, as the prince does not understand what they are saying."
so the mysterious hands began to bring in the supper, and first they put on the table two dishes, one containing stewed pigeons and the other a fricassee of fat mice.
the sight of the latter made the prince feel as if he could not enjoy his supper at all; but the white cat, seeing this, assured him that the dishes intended for him were prepared in a separate kitchen, and he might be quite certain that they contained neither rats nor mice; and the prince felt so sure that she would not deceive him that he had no more hesitation in beginning.
presently he noticed that on the little paw that was next him the white cat wore a bracelet containing a portrait, and he begged to be allowed to look at it.
to his great surprise he found it represented an extremely handsome young man, who was so like himself that it might have been his own portrait!
the white cat sighed as he looked at it, and seemed sadder than ever, and the prince dared not ask any questions for fear of displeasing her; so he began to talk about other things, and found that she was interested in all the subjects he cared for himself, and seemed to know quite well what was going on in the world.
after supper they went into another room, which was fitted up as a theatre, and the cats acted and danced for their amusement, and then the white cat said good-night to him, and the hands conducted him into a room he had not seen before, hung with tapestry worked with butterflies" wings of every color; there were mirrors that reached from the ceiling to the floor, and a little white bed with curtains of gauze tied up with ribbons.
the prince went to bed in silence, as he did not quite know how to begin a conversation with the hands that waited on him, and in the morning he was awakened by a noise and confusion outside of his window, and the hands came and quickly dressed him in hunting costume.
when he looked out all the cats were assembled in the courtyard, some leading greyhounds, some blowing horns, for the white cat was going out hunting.
the hands led a wooden horse up to the prince, and seemed to expect him to mount it, at which he was very indignant; but it was no use for him to object, for he speedily found himself upon its back, and it pranced gaily off with him.
the white cat herself was riding a monkey, which climbed even up to the eagles" nests when she had a fancy for the young eaglets.
never was there a pleasanter hunting party, and when they returned to the castle the prince and the white cat supped together as before, but when they had finished she offered him a crystal goblet, which must have contained a magic draught, for, as soon as he had swallowed its contents, he forgot everything, even the little dog that he was seeking for the king, and only thought how happy he was to be with the white cat!
and so the days passed, in every kind of amusement, until the year was nearly gone.
the prince had forgotten all about meeting his brothers: he did not even know what country he belonged to; but the white cat knew when he ought to go back, and one day she said to him: "do you know that you have only three days left to look for the little dog for your father, and your brothers have found lovely ones?"
then the prince suddenly recovered his memory, and cried: "what can have made me forget such an important thing?
my whole fortune depends upon it; and even if i could in such a short time find a dog pretty enough to gain me a kingdom, where should i find a horse who would carry me all that way in three days?"
and he began to be very vexed.
but the white cat said to him: "king's son, do not trouble yourself; i am your friend, and will make everything easy for you.
you can still stay here for a day, as the good wooden horse can take you to your country in twelve hours."
""i thank you, beautiful cat," said the prince; "but what good will it do me to get back if i have not a dog to take to my father?"
""see here," answered the white cat, holding up an acorn; "there is a prettier one in this than in the dogstar!"
""oh!
white cat dear," said the prince, "how unkind you are to laugh at me now!"
""only listen," she said, holding the acorn to his ear.
and inside it he distinctly heard a tiny voice say: "bow-wow!"
the prince was delighted, for a dog that can be shut up in an acorn must be very small indeed.
he wanted to take it out and look at it, but the white cat said it would be better not to open the acorn till he was before the king, in case the tiny dog should be cold on the journey.
he thanked her a thousand times, and said good-by quite sadly when the time came for him to set out.
""the days have passed so quickly with you," he said, "i only wish i could take you with me now."
but the white cat shook her head and sighed deeply in answer.
after all the prince was the first to arrive at the castle where he had agreed to meet his brothers, but they came soon after, and stared in amazement when they saw the wooden horse in the courtyard jumping like a hunter.
the prince met them joyfully, and they began to tell him all their adventures; but he managed to hide from them what he had been doing, and even led them to think that a turnspit dog which he had with him was the one he was bringing for the king.
fond as they all were of one another, the two eldest could not help being glad to think that their dogs certainly had a better chance.
the next morning they started in the same chariot.
the elder brothers carried in baskets two such tiny, fragile dogs that they hardly dared to touch them.
as for the turnspit, he ran after the chariot, and got so covered with mud that one could hardly see what he was like at all.
when they reached the palace everyone crowded round to welcome them as they went into the king's great hall; and when the two brothers presented their little dogs nobody could decide which was the prettier.
they were already arranging between themselves to share the kingdom equally, when the youngest stepped forward, drawing from his pocket the acorn the white cat had given him.
he opened it quickly, and there upon a white cushion they saw a dog so small that it could easily have been put through a ring.
the prince laid it upon the ground, and it got up at once and began to dance.
the king did not know what to say, for it was impossible that anything could be prettier than this little creature.
nevertheless, as he was in no hurry to part with his crown, he told his sons that, as they had been so successful the first time, he would ask them to go once again, and seek by land and sea for a piece of muslin so fine that it could be drawn through the eye of a needle.
the brothers were not very willing to set out again, but the two eldest consented because it gave them another chance, and they started as before.
the youngest again mounted the wooden horse, and rode back at full speed to his beloved white cat.
every door of the castle stood wide open, and every window and turret was illuminated, so it looked more wonderful than before.
the hands hastened to meet him, and led the wooden horse off to the stable, while he hurried in to find the white cat.
she was asleep in a little basket on a white satin cushion, but she very soon started up when she heard the prince, and was overjoyed at seeing him once more.
""how could i hope that you would come back to me king's son?"
she said.
and then he stroked and petted her, and told her of his successful journey, and how he had come back to ask her help, as he believed that it was impossible to find what the king demanded.
the white cat looked serious, and said she must think what was to be done, but that, luckily, there were some cats in the castle who could spin very well, and if anybody could manage it they could, and she would set them the task herself.
and then the hands appeared carrying torches, and conducted the prince and the white cat to a long gallery which overlooked the river, from the windows of which they saw a magnificent display of fireworks of all sorts; after which they had supper, which the prince liked even better than the fireworks, for it was very late, and he was hungry after his long ride.
and so the days passed quickly as before; it was impossible to feel dull with the white cat, and she had quite a talent for inventing new amusements -- indeed, she was cleverer than a cat has any right to be.
but when the prince asked her how it was that she was so wise, she only said: "king's son, do not ask me; guess what you please.
i may not tell you anything."
the prince was so happy that he did not trouble himself at all about the time, but presently the white cat told him that the year was gone, and that he need not be at all anxious about the piece of muslin, as they had made it very well.
""this time," she added, "i can give you a suitable escort"; and on looking out into the courtyard the prince saw a superb chariot of burnished gold, enameled in flame color with a thousand different devices.
it was drawn by twelve snow-white horses, harnessed four abreast; their trappings were flame-colored velvet, embroidered with diamonds.
a hundred chariots followed, each drawn by eight horses, and filled with officers in splendid uniforms, and a thousand guards surrounded the procession.
""go!"
said the white cat, "and when you appear before the king in such state he surely will not refuse you the crown which you deserve.
take this walnut, but do not open it until you are before him, then you will find in it the piece of stuff you asked me for."
""lovely blanchette," said the prince, "how can i thank you properly for all your kindness to me?
only tell me that you wish it, and i will give up for ever all thought of being king, and will stay here with you always."
""king's son," she replied, "it shows the goodness of your heart that you should care so much for a little white cat, who is good for nothing but to catch mice; but you must not stay."
so the prince kissed her little paw and set out.
you can imagine how fast he traveled when i tell you that they reached the king's palace in just half the time it had taken the wooden horse to get there.
this time the prince was so late that he did not try to meet his brothers at their castle, so they thought he could not be coming, and were rather glad of it, and displayed their pieces of muslin to the king proudly, feeling sure of success.
and indeed the stuff was very fine, and would go through the eye of a very large needle; but the king, who was only too glad to make a difficulty, sent for a particular needle, which was kept among the crown jewels, and had such a small eye that everybody saw at once that it was impossible that the muslin should pass through it.
the princes were angry, and were beginning to complain that it was a trick, when suddenly the trumpets sounded and the youngest prince came in.
his father and brothers were quite astonished at his magnificence, and after he had greeted them he took the walnut from his pocket and opened it, fully expecting to find the piece of muslin, but instead there was only a hazel-nut.
he cracked it, and there lay a cherry-stone.
everybody was looking on, and the king was chuckling to himself at the idea of finding the piece of muslin in a nutshell.
however, the prince cracked the cherry-stone, but everyone laughed when he saw it contained only its own kernel.
he opened that and found a grain of wheat, and in that was a millet seed.
then he himself began to wonder, and muttered softly: "white cat, white cat, are you making fun of me?"
in an instant he felt a cat's claw give his hand quite a sharp scratch, and hoping that it was meant as an encouragement he opened the millet seed, and drew out of it a piece of muslin four hundred ells long, woven with the loveliest colors and most wonderful patterns; and when the needle was brought it went through the eye six times with the greatest ease!
the king turned pale, and the other princes stood silent and sorrowful, for nobody could deny that this was the most marvelous piece of muslin that was to be found in the world.
presently the king turned to his sons, and said, with a deep sigh: "nothing could console me more in my old age than to realize your willingness to gratify my wishes.
go then once more, and whoever at the end of a year can bring back the loveliest princess shall be married to her, and shall, without further delay, receive the crown, for my successor must certainly be married."
the prince considered that he had earned the kingdom fairly twice over but still he was too well bred to argue about it, so he just went back to his gorgeous chariot, and, surrounded by his escort, returned to the white cat faster than he had come.
this time she was expecting him, the path was strewn with flowers, and a thousand braziers were burning scented woods which perfumed the air.
seated in a gallery from which she could see his arrival, the white cat waited for him.
""well, king's son," she said, "here you are once more, without a crown."
""madam," said he, "thanks to your generosity i have earned one twice over; but the fact is that my father is so loth to part with it that it would be no pleasure to me to take it."
""never mind," she answered, "it's just as well to try and deserve it.
as you must take back a lovely princess with you next time i will be on the look-out for one for you.
in the meantime let us enjoy ourselves; to-night i have ordered a battle between my cats and the river rats on purpose to amuse you."
so this year slipped away even more pleasantly than the preceding ones.
sometimes the prince could not help asking the white cat how it was she could talk.
""perhaps you are a fairy," he said.
""or has some enchanter changed you into a cat?"
but she only gave him answers that told him nothing.
days go by so quickly when one is very happy that it is certain the prince would never have thought of its being time to go back, when one evening as they sat together the white cat said to him that if he wanted to take a lovely princess home with him the next day he must be prepared to do what she told him.
""take this sword," she said, "and cut off my head!"
""i!"
cried the prince, "i cut off your head!
blanchette darling, how could i do it?"
""i entreat you to do as i tell you, king's son," she replied.
the tears came into the prince's eyes as he begged her to ask him anything but that -- to set him any task she pleased as a proof of his devotion, but to spare him the grief of killing his dear pussy.
but nothing he could say altered her determination, and at last he drew his sword, and desperately, with a trembling hand, cut off the little white head.
but imagine his astonishment and delight when suddenly a lovely princess stood before him, and, while he was still speechless with amazement, the door opened and a goodly company of knights and ladies entered, each carrying a cat's skin!
they hastened with every sign of joy to the princess, kissing her hand and congratulating her on being once more restored to her natural shape.
she received them graciously, but after a few minutes begged that they would leave her alone with the prince, to whom she said: "you see, prince, that you were right in supposing me to be no ordinary cat.
my father reigned over six kingdoms.
the queen, my mother, whom he loved dearly, had a passion for traveling and exploring, and when i was only a few weeks old she obtained his permission to visit a certain mountain of which she had heard many marvelous tales, and set out, taking with her a number of her attendants.
on the way they had to pass near an old castle belonging to the fairies.
nobody had ever been into it, but it was reported to be full of the most wonderful things, and my mother remembered to have heard that the fairies had in their garden such fruits as were to be seen and tasted nowhere else.
she began to wish to try them for herself, and turned her steps in the direction of the garden.
on arriving at the door, which blazed with gold and jewels, she ordered her servants to knock loudly, but it was useless; it seemed as if all the inhabitants of the castle must be asleep or dead.
now the more difficult it became to obtain the fruit, the more the queen was determined that have it she would.
so she ordered that they should bring ladders, and get over the wall into the garden; but though the wall did not look very high, and they tied the ladders together to make them very long, it was quite impossible to get to the top.
""the queen was in despair, but as night was coming on she ordered that they should encamp just where they were, and went to bed herself, feeling quite ill, she was so disappointed.
in the middle of the night she was suddenly awakened, and saw to her surprise a tiny, ugly old woman seated by her bedside, who said to her:"" i must say that we consider it somewhat troublesome of your majesty to insist upon tasting our fruit; but to save you annoyance, my sisters and i will consent to give you as much as you can carry away, on one condition -- that is, that you shall give us your little daughter to bring up as our own.""
"ah!
my dear madam," cried the queen, "is there nothing else that you will take for the fruit?
i will give you my kingdoms willingly.""
"no," replied the old fairy, "we will have nothing but your little daughter.
she shall be as happy as the day is long, and we will give her everything that is worth having in fairy-land, but you must not see her again until she is married.""
"though it is a hard condition," said the queen," i consent, for i shall certainly die if i do not taste the fruit, and so i should lose my little daughter either way."
""so the old fairy led her into the castle, and, though it was still the middle of the night, the queen could see plainly that it was far more beautiful than she had been told, which you can easily believe, prince," said the white cat, "when i tell you that it was this castle that we are now in.
"will you gather the fruit yourself, queen?"
said the old fairy, "or shall i call it to come to you?"""
i beg you to let me see it come when it is called," cried the queen; "that will be something quite new."
the old fairy whistled twice, then she cried:" "apricots, peaches, nectarines, cherries, plums, pears, melons, grapes, apples, oranges, lemons, gooseberries, strawberries, raspberries, come!"
""and in an instant they came tumbling in one over another, and yet they were neither dusty nor spoilt, and the queen found them quite as good as she had fancied them.
you see they grew upon fairy trees.
""the old fairy gave her golden baskets in which to take the fruit away, and it was as much as four hundred mules could carry.
then she reminded the queen of her agreement, and led her back to the camp, and next morning she went back to her kingdom, but before she had gone very far she began to repent of her bargain, and when the king came out to meet her she looked so sad that he guessed that something had happened, and asked what was the matter.
at first the queen was afraid to tell him, but when, as soon as they reached the palace, five frightful little dwarfs were sent by the fairies to fetch me, she was obliged to confess what she had promised.
the king was very angry, and had the queen and myself shut up in a great tower and safely guarded, and drove the little dwarfs out of his kingdom; but the fairies sent a great dragon who ate up all the people he met, and whose breath burnt up everything as he passed through the country; and at last, after trying in vain to rid himself of this monster, the king, to save his subjects, was obliged to consent that i should be given up to the fairies.
this time they came themselves to fetch me, in a chariot of pearl drawn by sea-horses, followed by the dragon, who was led with chains of diamonds.
my cradle was placed between the old fairies, who loaded me with caresses, and away we whirled through the air to a tower which they had built on purpose for me.
there i grew up surrounded with everything that was beautiful and rare, and learning everything that is ever taught to a princess, but without any companions but a parrot and a little dog, who could both talk; and receiving every day a visit from one of the old fairies, who came mounted upon the dragon.
one day, however, as i sat at my window i saw a handsome young prince, who seemed to have been hunting in the forest which surrounded my prison, and who was standing and looking up at me.
when he saw that i observed him he saluted me with great deference.
you can imagine that i was delighted to have some one new to talk to, and in spite of the height of my window our conversation was prolonged till night fell, then my prince reluctantly bade me farewell.
but after that he came again many times and at last i consented to marry him, but the question was how was i to escape from my tower.
the fairies always supplied me with flax for my spinning, and by great diligence i made enough cord for a ladder that would reach to the foot of the tower; but, alas!
just as my prince was helping me to descend it, the crossest and ugliest of the old fairies flew in.
before he had time to defend himself my unhappy lover was swallowed up by the dragon.
as for me, the fairies, furious at having their plans defeated, for they intended me to marry the king of the dwarfs, and i utterly refused, changed me into a white cat.
when they brought me here i found all the lords and ladies of my father's court awaiting me under the same enchantment, while the people of lesser rank had been made invisible, all but their hands.
""as they laid me under the enchantment the fairies told me all my history, for until then i had quite believed that i was their child, and warned me that my only chance of regaining my natural form was to win the love of a prince who resembled in every way my unfortunate lover.
""and you have won it, lovely princess," interrupted the prince.
""you are indeed wonderfully like him," resumed the princess -- "in voice, in features, and everything; and if you really love me all my troubles will be at an end."
""and mine too," cried the prince, throwing himself at her feet, "if you will consent to marry me."
""i love you already better than anyone in the world," she said; "but now it is time to go back to your father, and we shall hear what he says about it."
so the prince gave her his hand and led her out, and they mounted the chariot together; it was even more splendid than before, and so was the whole company.
even the horses" shoes were of rubies with diamond nails, and i suppose that is the first time such a thing was ever seen.
as the princess was as kind and clever as she was beautiful, you may imagine what a delightful journey the prince found it, for everything the princess said seemed to him quite charming.
when they came near the castle where the brothers were to meet, the princess got into a chair carried by four of the guards; it was hewn out of one splendid crystal, and had silken curtains, which she drew round her that she might not be seen.
the prince saw his brothers walking upon the terrace, each with a lovely princess, and they came to meet him, asking if he had also found a wife.
he said that he had found something much rarer -- a white cat!
at which they laughed very much, and asked him if he was afraid of being eaten up by mice in the palace.
and then they set out together for the town.
each prince and princess rode in a splendid carriage; the horses were decked with plumes of feathers, and glittered with gold.
after them came the youngest prince, and last of all the crystal chair, at which everybody looked with admiration and curiosity.
when the courtiers saw them coming they hastened to tell the king.
""are the ladies beautiful?"
he asked anxiously.
and when they answered that nobody had ever before seen such lovely princesses he seemed quite annoyed.
however, he received them graciously, but found it impossible to choose between them.
then turning to his youngest son he said: "have you come back alone, after all?"
""your majesty," replied the prince, "will find in that crystal chair a little white cat, which has such soft paws, and mews so prettily, that i am sure you will be charmed with it."
the king smiled, and went to draw back the curtains himself, but at a touch from the princess the crystal shivered into a thousand splinters, and there she stood in all her beauty; her fair hair floated over her shoulders and was crowned with flowers, and her softly falling robe was of the purest white.
she saluted the king gracefully, while a murmur of admiration rose from all around.
""sire," she said, "i am not come to deprive you of the throne you fill so worthily.
i have already six kingdoms, permit me to bestow one upon you, and upon each of your sons.
i ask nothing but your friendship, and your consent to my marriage with your youngest son; we shall still have three kingdoms left for ourselves."
the king and all the courtiers could not conceal their joy and astonishment, and the marriage of the three princes was celebrated at once.
the festivities lasted several months, and then each king and queen departed to their own kingdom and lived happily ever after.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- la chatte blanche.
par madame la comtesse d'aulnoy.
the water-lily.
the gold-spinners once upon a time, in a large forest, there lived an old woman and three maidens.
they were all three beautiful, but the youngest was the fairest.
their hut was quite hidden by trees, and none saw their beauty but the sun by day, and the moon by night, and the eyes of the stars.
the old woman kept the girls hard at work, from morning till night, spinning gold flax into yarn, and when one distaff was empty another was given them, so they had no rest.
the thread had to be fine and even, and when done was locked up in a secret chamber by the old woman, who twice or thrice every summer went a journey.
before she went she gave out work for each day of her absence, and always returned in the night, so that the girls never saw what she brought back with her, neither would she tell them whence the gold flax came, nor what it was to be used for.
now, when the time came round for the old woman to set out on one of these journeys, she gave each maiden work for six days, with the usual warning: "children, do n't let your eyes wander, and on no account speak to a man, for, if you do, your thread will lose its brightness, and misfortunes of all kinds will follow."
they laughed at this oft-repeated caution, saying to each other: "how can our gold thread lose its brightness, and have we any chance of speaking to a man?"
on the third day after the old woman's departure a young prince, hunting in the forest, got separated from his companions, and completely lost.
weary of seeking his way, he flung himself down under a tree, leaving his horse to browse at will, and fell asleep.
the sun had set when he awoke and began once more to try and find his way out of the forest.
at last he perceived a narrow foot-path, which he eagerly followed and found that it led him to a small hut.
the maidens, who were sitting at the door of their hut for coolness, saw him approaching, and the two elder were much alarmed, for they remembered the old woman's warning; but the youngest said: "never before have i seen anyone like him; let me have one look."
they entreated her to come in, but, seeing that she would not, left her, and the prince, coming up, courteously greeted the maiden, and told her he had lost his way in the forest and was both hungry and weary.
she set food before him, and was so delighted with his conversation that she forgot the old woman's caution, and lingered for hours.
in the meantime the prince's companions sought him far and wide, but to no purpose, so they sent two messengers to tell the sad news to the king, who immediately ordered a regiment of cavalry and one of infantry to go and look for him.
after three days" search, they found the hut.
the prince was still sitting by the door and had been so happy in the maiden's company that the time had seemed like a single hour.
before leaving he promised to return and fetch her to his father's court, where he would make her his bride.
when he had gone, she sat down to her wheel to make up for lost time, but was dismayed to find that her thread had lost all its brightness.
her heart beat fast and she wept bitterly, for she remembered the old woman's warning and knew not what misfortune might now befall her.
the old woman returned in the night and knew by the tarnished thread what had happened in her absence.
she was furiously angry and told the maiden that she had brought down misery both on herself and on the prince.
the maiden could not rest for thinking of this.
at last she could bear it no longer, and resolved to seek help from the prince.
as a child she had learned to understand the speech of birds, and this was now of great use to her, for, seeing a raven pluming itself on a pine bough, she cried softly to it: "dear bird, cleverest of all birds, as well as swiftest on wing, wilt thou help me?"
""how can i help thee?"
asked the raven.
she answered: "fly away, until thou comest to a splendid town, where stands a king's palace; seek out the king's son and tell him that a great misfortune has befallen me."
then she told the raven how her thread had lost its brightness, how terribly angry the old woman was, and how she feared some great disaster.
the raven promised faithfully to do her bidding, and, spreading its wings, flew away.
the maiden now went home and worked hard all day at winding up the yarn her elder sisters had spun, for the old woman would let her spin no longer.
toward evening she heard the raven's "craa, craa," from the pine tree and eagerly hastened thither to hear the answer.
by great good fortune the raven had found a wind wizard's son in the palace garden, who understood the speech of birds, and to him he had entrusted the message.
when the prince heard it, he was very sorrowful, and took counsel with his friends how to free the maiden.
then he said to the wind wizard's son: "beg the raven to fly quickly back to the maiden and tell her to be ready on the ninth night, for then will i come and fetch her away."
the wind wizard's son did this, and the raven flew so swiftly that it reached the hut that same evening.
the maiden thanked the bird heartily and went home, telling no one what she had heard.
as the ninth night drew near she became very unhappy, for she feared lest some terrible mischance should arise and ruin all.
on this night she crept quietly out of the house and waited trembling at some little distance from the hut.
presently she heard the muffled tramp of horses, and soon the armed troop appeared, led by the prince, who had prudently marked all the trees beforehand, in order to know the way.
when he saw the maiden he sprang from his horse, lifted her into the saddle, and then, mounting behind, rode homeward.
the moon shone so brightly that they had no difficulty in seeing the marked trees.
by and by the coming of dawn loosened the tongues of all the birds, and, had the prince only known what they were saying, or the maiden been listening, they might have been spared much sorrow, but they were thinking only of each other, and when they came out of the forest the sun was high in the heavens.
next morning, when the youngest girl did not come to her work, the old woman asked where she was.
the sisters pretended not to know, but the old woman easily guessed what had happened, and, as she was in reality a wicked witch, determined to punish the fugitives.
accordingly, she collected nine different kinds of enchanters" nightshade, added some salt, which she first bewitched, and, doing all up in a cloth into the shape of a fluffy ball, sent it after them on the wings of the wind, saying: "whirlwind!
-- mother of the wind!
lend thy aid "gainst her who sinned!
carry with thee this magic ball.
cast her from his arms for ever, bury her in the rippling river."
at midday the prince and his men came to a deep river, spanned by so narrow a bridge that only one rider could cross at a time.
the horse on which the prince and the maiden were riding had just reached the middle when the magic ball flew by.
the horse in its fright suddenly reared, and before anyone could stop it flung the maiden into the swift current below.
the prince tried to jump in after her, but his men held him back, and in spite of his struggles led him home, where for six weeks he shut himself up in a secret chamber, and would neither eat nor drink, so great was his grief.
at last he became so ill his life was despaired of, and in great alarm the king caused all the wizards of his country to be summoned.
but none could cure him.
at last the wind wizard's son said to the king: "send for the old wizard from finland he knows more than all the wizards of your kingdom put together."
a messenger was at once sent to finland, and a week later the old wizard himself arrived on the wings of the wind.
""honored king," said the wizard, "the wind has blown this illness upon your son, and a magic ball has snatched away his beloved.
this it is which makes him grieve so constantly.
let the wind blow upon him that it may blow away his sorrow."
then the king made his son go out into the wind, and he gradually recovered and told his father all.
""forget the maiden," said the king, "and take another bride"; but the prince said he could never love another.
a year afterward he came suddenly upon the bridge where his beloved met her death.
as he recalled the misfortune he wept bitterly, and would have given all he possessed to have her once more alive.
in the midst of his grief he thought he heard a voice singing, and looked round, but could see no one.
then he heard the voice again, and it said: "alas!
bewitched and all forsaken,'t is i must lie for ever here!
my beloved no thought has taken to free his bride, that was so dear."
he was greatly astonished, sprang from his horse, and looked everywhere to see if no one were hidden under the bridge; but no one was there.
then he noticed a yellow water-lily floating on the surface of the water, half hidden by its broad leaves; but flowers do not sing, and in great surprise he waited, hoping to hear more.
then again the voice sang: "alas!
bewitched and all forsaken,'t is i must lie for ever here!
my beloved no thought has taken to free his bride, that was so dear."
the prince suddenly remembered the gold-spinners, and said to himself: "if i ride thither, who knows but that they could explain this to me?"
he at once rode to the hut, and found the two maidens at the fountain.
he told them what had befallen their sister the year before, and how he had twice heard a strange song, but yet could see no singer.
they said that the yellow water-lily could be none other than their sister, who was not dead, but transformed by the magic ball.
before he went to bed, the eldest made a cake of magic herbs, which she gave him to eat.
in the night he dreamed that he was living in the forest and could understand all that the birds said to each other.
next morning he told this to the maidens, and they said that the charmed cake had caused it, and advised him to listen well to the birds, and see what they could tell him, and when he had recovered his bride they begged him to return and deliver them from their wretched bondage.
having promised this, he joyfully returned home, and as he was riding through the forest he could perfectly understand all that the birds said.
he heard a thrush say to a magpie: "how stupid men are!
they can not understand the simplest thing.
it is now quite a year since the maiden was transformed into a water-lily, and, though she sings so sadly that anyone going over the bridge must hear her, yet no one comes to her aid.
her former bridegroom rode over it a few days ago and heard her singing, but was no wiser than the rest."
""and he is to blame for all her misfortunes," added the magpie.
""if he heeds only the words of men she will remain a flower for ever.
she were soon delivered were the matter only laid before the old wizard of finland."
after hearing this, the prince wondered how he could get a message conveyed to finland.
he heard one swallow say to another: "come, let us fly to finland; we can build better nests there."
""stop, kind friends!"
cried the prince.
""will you do something for me?"
the birds consented, and he said: "take a thousand greetings from me to the wizard of finland, and ask him how i may restore a maiden transformed into a flower to her own form."
the swallows flew away, and the prince rode on to the bridge.
there he waited, hoping to hear the song.
but he heard nothing but the rushing of the water and the moaning of the wind, and, disappointed, rode home.
shortly after, he was sitting in the garden, thinking that the swallows must have forgotten his message, when he saw an eagle flying above him.
the bird gradually descended until it perched on a tree close to the prince and said: "the wizard of finland greets thee and bids me say that thou mayest free the maiden thus: go to the river and smear thyself all over with mud; then say: "from a man into a crab," and thou wilt become a crab.
plunge boldly into the water, swim as close as thou canst to the water-lily's roots, and loosen them from the mud and reeds.
this done, fasten thy claws into the roots and rise with them to the surface.
let the water flow all over the flower, and drift with the current until thou comest to a mountain ash tree on the left bank.
there is near it a large stone.
stop there and say: "from a crab into a man, from a water-lily into a maiden," and ye both will be restored to your own forms."
full of doubt and fear, the prince let some time pass before he was bold enough to attempt to rescue the maiden.
then a crow said to him: "why dost thou hesitate?
the old wizard has not told thee wrong, neither have the birds deceived thee; hasten and dry the maiden's tears."
""nothing worse than death can befall me," thought the prince, "and death is better than endless sorrow."
so he mounted his horse and went to the bridge.
again he heard the water-lily's lament, and, hesitating no longer, smeared himself all over with mud, and, saying: "from a man into a crab," plunged into the river.
for one moment the water hissed in his ears, and then all was silent.
he swam up to the plant and began to loosen its roots, but so firmly were they fixed in the mud and reeds that this took him a long time.
he then grasped them and rose to the surface, letting the water flow over the flower.
the current carried them down the stream, but nowhere could he see the mountain ash.
at last he saw it, and close by the large stone.
here he stopped and said: "from a crab into a man, from a water-lily into a maiden," and to his delight found himself once more a prince, and the maiden was by his side.
she was ten times more beautiful than before, and wore a magnificent pale yellow robe, sparkling with jewels.
she thanked him for having freed her from the cruel witch's power, and willingly consented to marry him.
but when they came to the bridge where he had left his horse it was nowhere to be seen, for, though the prince thought he had been a crab only a few hours, he had in reality been under the water for more than ten days.
while they were wondering how they should reach his father's court, they saw a splendid coach driven by six gaily caparisoned horses coming along the bank.
in this they drove to the palace.
the king and queen were at church, weeping for their son, whom they had long mourned for dead.
great was their delight and astonishment when the prince entered, leading the beautiful maiden by the hand.
the wedding was at once celebrated and there was feasting and merry-making throughout the kingdom for six weeks.
some time afterward the prince and his bride were sitting in the garden, when a crow said to them: "ungrateful creatures!
have you forgotten the two poor maidens who helped you in your distress?
must they spin gold flax for ever?
have no pity on the old witch.
the three maidens are princesses, whom she stole away when they were children together, with all the silver utensils, which she turned into gold flax.
poison were her fittest punishment."
the prince was ashamed of having forgotten his promise and set out at once, and by great good fortune reached the hut when the old woman was away.
the maidens had dreamed that he was coming, and were ready to go with him, but first they made a cake in which they put poison, and left it on a table where the old woman was likely to see it when she returned.
she did see it, and thought it looked so tempting that she greedily ate it up and at once died.
in the secret chamber were found fifty wagon-loads of gold flax, and as much more was discovered buried.
the hut was razed to the ground, and the prince and his bride and her two sisters lived happily ever after.
the terrible head once upon a time there was a king whose only child was a girl.
now the king had been very anxious to have a son, or at least a grandson, to come after him, but he was told by a prophet whom he consulted that his own daughter's son should kill him.
this news terrified him so much that he determined never to let his daughter be married, for he thought it was better to have no grandson at all than to be killed by his grandson.
he therefore called his workmen together, and bade them dig a deep round hole in the earth, and then he had a prison of brass built in the hole, and then, when it was finished, he locked up his daughter.
no man ever saw her, and she never saw even the fields and the sea, but only the sky and the sun, for there was a wide open window in the roof of the house of brass.
so the princess would sit looking up at the sky, and watching the clouds float across, and wondering whether she should ever get out of her prison.
now one day it seemed to her that the sky opened above her, and a great shower of shining gold fell through the window in the roof, and lay glittering in her room.
not very long after, the princess had a baby, a little boy, but when the king her father heard of it he was very angry and afraid, for now the child was born that should be his death.
yet, cowardly as he was, he had not quite the heart to kill the princess and her baby outright, but he had them put in a huge brass-bound chest and thrust out to sea, that they might either be drowned or starved, or perhaps come to a country where they would be out of his way.
so the princess and the baby floated and drifted in the chest on the sea all day and night, but the baby was not afraid of the waves nor of the wind, for he did not know that they could hurt him, and he slept quite soundly.
and the princess sang a song over him, and this was her song: "child, my child, how sound you sleep!
though your mother's care is deep, you can lie with heart at rest in the narrow brass-bound chest; in the starless night and drear you can sleep, and never hear billows breaking, and the cry of the night-wind wandering by; in soft purple mantle sleeping with your little face on mine, hearing not your mother weeping and the breaking of the brine."
well, the daylight came at last, and the great chest was driven by the waves against the shore of an island.
there the brass-bound chest lay, with the princess and her baby in it, till a man of that country came past, and saw it, and dragged it on to the beach, and when he had broken it open, behold!
there was a beautiful lady and a little boy.
so he took them home, and was very kind to them, and brought up the boy till he was a young man.
now when the boy had come to his full strength the king of that country fell in love with his mother, and wanted to marry her, but he knew that she would never part from her boy.
so he thought of a plan to get rid of the boy, and this was his plan: a great queen of a country not far off was going to be married, and this king said that all his subjects must bring him wedding presents to give her.
and he made a feast to which he invited them all, and they all brought their presents; some brought gold cups, and some brought necklaces of gold and amber, and some brought beautiful horses; but the boy had nothing, though he was the son of a princess, for his mother had nothing to give him.
then the rest of the company began to laugh at him, and the king said: "if you have nothing else to give, at least you might go and fetch the terrible head."
the boy was proud, and spoke without thinking: "then i swear that i will bring the terrible head, if it may be brought by a living man.
but of what head you speak i know not."
then they told him that somewhere, a long way off, there dwelt three dreadful sisters, monstrous ogrish women, with golden wings and claws of brass, and with serpents growing on their heads instead of hair.
now these women were so awful to look on that whoever saw them was turned at once into stone.
and two of them could not be put to death, but the youngest, whose face was very beautiful, could be killed, and it was her head that the boy had promised to bring.
you may imagine it was no easy adventure.
when he heard all this he was perhaps sorry that he had sworn to bring the terrible head, but he was determined to keep his oath.
so he went out from the feast, where they all sat drinking and making merry, and he walked alone beside the sea in the dusk of the evening, at the place where the great chest, with himself and his mother in it, had been cast ashore.
there he went and sat down on a rock, looking toward the sea, and wondering how he should begin to fulfill his vow.
then he felt some one touch him on the shoulder; and he turned, and saw a young man like a king's son, having with him a tall and beautiful lady, whose blue eyes shone like stars.
they were taller than mortal men, and the young man had a staff in his hand with golden wings on it, and two golden serpents twisted round it, and he had wings on his cap and on his shoes.
he spoke to the boy, and asked him why he was so unhappy; and the boy told him how he had sworn to bring the terrible head, and knew not how to begin to set about the adventure.
then the beautiful lady also spoke, and said that "it was a foolish oath and a hasty, but it might be kept if a brave man had sworn it."
then the boy answered that he was not afraid, if only he knew the way.
then the lady said that to kill the dreadful woman with the golden wings and the brass claws, and to cut off her head, he needed three things: first, a cap of darkness, which would make him invisible when he wore it; next, a sword of sharpness, which would cleave iron at one blow; and last, the shoes of swiftness, with which he might fly in the air.
the boy answered that he knew not where such things were to be procured, and that, wanting them, he could only try and fail.
then the young man, taking off his own shoes, said: "first, you shall use these shoes till you have taken the terrible head, and then you must give them back to me.
and with these shoes you will fly as fleet as a bird, or a thought, over the land or over the waves of the sea, wherever the shoes know the way.
but there are ways which they do not know, roads beyond the borders of the world.
and these roads have you to travel.
now first you must go to the three gray sisters, who live far off in the north, and are so very cold that they have only one eye and one tooth among the three.
you must creep up close to them, and as one of them passes the eye to the other you must seize it, and refuse to give it up till they have told you the way to the three fairies of the garden, and they will give you the cap of darkness and the sword of sharpness, and show you how to wing beyond this world to the land of the terrible head."
then the beautiful lady said: "go forth at once, and do not return to say good-by to your mother, for these things must be done quickly, and the shoes of swiftness themselves will carry you to the land of the three gray sisters -- for they know the measure of that way."
so the boy thanked her, and he fastened on the shoes of swiftness, and turned to say good-by to the young man and the lady.
but, behold!
they had vanished, he knew not how or where!
then he leaped in the air to try the shoes of swiftness, and they carried him more swiftly than the wind, over the warm blue sea, over the happy lands of the south, over the northern peoples who drank mare's milk and lived in great wagons, wandering after their flocks.
across the wide rivers, where the wild fowl rose and fled before him, and over the plains and the cold north sea he went, over the fields of snow and the hills of ice, to a place where the world ends, and all water is frozen, and there are no men, nor beasts, nor any green grass.
there in a blue cave of the ice he found the three gray sisters, the oldest of living things.
their hair was as white as the snow, and their flesh of an icy blue, and they mumbled and nodded in a kind of dream, and their frozen breath hung round them like a cloud.
now the opening of the cave in the ice was narrow, and it was not easy to pass in without touching one of the gray sisters.
but, floating on the shoes of swiftness, the boy just managed to steal in, and waited till one of the sisters said to another, who had their one eye: "sister, what do you see?
do you see old times coming back?"
""no, sister."
""then give me the eye, for perhaps i can see farther than you."
then the first sister passed the eye to the second, but as the second groped for it the boy caught it cleverly out of her hand.
""where is the eye, sister?"
said the second gray woman.
""you have taken it yourself, sister," said the first gray woman.
""have you lost the eye, sister?
have you lost the eye?"
said the third gray woman; "shall we never find it again, and see old times coming back?"
then the boy slipped from behind them out of the cold cave into the air, and he laughed aloud.
when the gray women heard that laugh they began to weep, for now they knew that a stranger had robbed them, and that they could not help themselves, and their tears froze as they fell from the hollows where no eyes were, and rattled on the icy ground of the cave.
then they began to implore the boy to give them their eye back again, and he could not help being sorry for them, they were so pitiful.
but he said he would never give them the eye till they told him the way to the fairies of the garden.
then they wrung their hands miserably, for they guessed why he had come, and how he was going to try to win the terrible head.
now the dreadful women were akin to the three gray sisters, and it was hard for them to tell the boy the way.
but at last they told him to keep always south, and with the land on his left and the sea on his right, till he reached the island of the fairies of the garden.
then he gave them back the eye, and they began to look out once more for the old times coming back again.
but the boy flew south between sea and land, keeping the land always on his left hand, till he saw a beautiful island crowned with flowering trees.
there he alighted, and there he found the three fairies of the garden.
they were like three very beautiful young women, dressed one in green, one in white, and one in red, and they were dancing and singing round an apple tree with apples of gold, and this was their song: the song of the western fairies round and round the apples of gold, round and round dance we; thus do we dance from the days of old about the enchanted tree; round, and round, and round we go, while the spring is green, or the stream shall flow, or the wind shall stir the sea!
there is none may taste of the golden fruit till the golden new time come many a tree shall spring from shoot, many a blossom be withered at root, many a song be dumb; broken and still shall be many a lute or ever the new times come!
round and round the tree of gold, round and round dance we, so doth the great world spin from of old, summer and winter, and fire and cold, song that is sung, and tale that is told, even as we dance, that fold and unfold round the stem of the fairy tree!
these grave dancing fairies were very unlike the grey women, and they were glad to see the boy, and treated him kindly.
then they asked him why he had come; and he told them how he was sent to find the sword of sharpness and the cap of darkness.
and the fairies gave him these, and a wallet, and a shield, and belted the sword, which had a diamond blade, round his waist, and the cap they set on his head, and told him that now even they could not see him though they were fairies.
then he took it off, and they each kissed him and wished him good fortune, and then they began again their eternal dance round the golden tree, for it is their business to guard it till the new times come, or till the world's ending.
so the boy put the cap on his head, and hung the wallet round his waist, and the shining shield on his shoulders, and flew beyond the great river that lies coiled like a serpent round the whole world.
and by the banks of that river, there he found the three terrible women all asleep beneath a poplar tree, and the dead poplar leaves lay all about them.
their golden wings were folded and their brass claws were crossed, and two of them slept with their hideous heads beneath their wings like birds, and the serpents in their hair writhed out from under the feathers of gold.
but the youngest slept between her two sisters, and she lay on her back, with her beautiful sad face turned to the sky; and though she slept her eyes were wide open.
if the boy had seen her he would have been changed into stone by the terror and the pity of it, she was so awful; but he had thought of a plan for killing her without looking on her face.
as soon as he caught sight of the three from far off he took his shining shield from his shoulders, and held it up like a mirror, so that he saw the dreadful women reflected in it, and did not see the terrible head itself.
then he came nearer and nearer, till he reckoned that he was within a sword's stroke of the youngest, and he guessed where he should strike a back blow behind him.
then he drew the sword of sharpness and struck once, and the terrible head was cut from the shoulders of the creature, and the blood leaped out and struck him like a blow.
but he thrust the terrible head into his wallet, and flew away without looking behind.
then the two dreadful sisters who were left wakened, and rose in the air like great birds; and though they could not see him because of his cap of darkness, they flew after him up the wind, following by the scent through the clouds, like hounds hunting in a wood.
they came so close that he could hear the clatter of their golden wings, and their shrieks to each other:" here, here,"" no, there; this way he went," as they chased him.
but the shoes of swiftness flew too fast for them, and at last their cries and the rattle of their wings died away as he crossed the great river that runs round the world.
now when the horrible creatures were far in the distance, and the boy found himself on the right side of the river, he flew straight eastward, trying to seek his own country.
but as he looked down from the air he saw a very strange sight -- a beautiful girl chained to a stake at the high-water mark of the sea.
the girl was so frightened or so tired that she was only prevented from falling by the iron chain about her waist, and there she hung, as if she were dead.
the boy was very sorry for her and flew down and stood beside her.
when he spoke she raised her head and looked round, but his voice only seemed to frighten her.
then he remembered that he was wearing the cap of darkness, and that she could only hear him, not see him.
so he took it off, and there he stood before her, the handsomest young man she had ever seen in all her life, with short curly yellow hair, and blue eyes, and a laughing face.
and he thought her the most beautiful girl in the world.
so first with one blow of the sword of sharpness he cut the iron chain that bound her, and then he asked her what she did there, and why men treated her so cruelly.
and she told him that she was the daughter of the king of that country, and that she was tied there to be eaten by a monstrous beast out of the sea; for the beast came and devoured a girl every day.
now the lot had fallen on her; and as she was just saying this a long fierce head of a cruel sea creature rose out of the waves and snapped at the girl.
but the beast had been too greedy and too hurried, so he missed his aim the first time.
before he could rise and bite again the boy had whipped the terrible head out of his wallet and held it up.
and when the sea beast leaped out once more its eyes fell on the head, and instantly it was turned into a stone.
and the stone beast is there on the sea-coast to this day.
then the boy and the girl went to the palace of the king, her father, where everyone was weeping for her death, and they could hardly believe their eyes when they saw her come back well.
and the king and queen made much of the boy, and could not contain themselves for delight when they found he wanted to marry their daughter.
so the two were married with the most splendid rejoicings, and when they had passed some time at court they went home in a ship to the boy's own country.
for he could not carry his bride through the air, so he took the shoes of swiftness, and the cap of darkness, and the sword of sharpness up to a lonely place in the hills.
there he left them, and there they were found by the man and woman who had met him at home beside the sea, and had helped him to start on his journey.
when this had been done the boy and his bride set forth for home, and landed at the harbor of his native land.
but whom should he meet in the very street of the town but his own mother, flying for her life from the wicked king, who now wished to kill her because he found that she would never marry him!
for if she had liked the king ill before, she liked him far worse now that he had caused her son to disappear so suddenly.
she did not know, of course, where the boy had gone, but thought the king had slain him secretly.
so now she was running for her very life, and the wicked king was following her with a sword in his hand.
then, behold!
she ran into her son's very arms, but he had only time to kiss her and step in front of her, when the king struck at him with his sword.
the boy caught the blow on his shield, and cried to the king: "i swore to bring you the terrible head, and see how i keep my oath!"
then he drew forth the head from his wallet, and when the king's eyes fell on it, instantly he was turned into stone, just as he stood there with his sword lifted!
now all the people rejoiced, because the wicked king should rule them no longer.
and they asked the boy to be their king, but he said no, he must take his mother home to her father's house.
so the people chose for king the man who had been kind to his mother when first she was cast on the island in the great chest.
presently the boy and his mother and his wife set sail for his mother's own country, from which she had been driven so unkindly.
but on the way they stayed at the court of a king, and it happened that he was holding games, and giving prizes to the best runners, boxers, and quoit-throwers.
then the boy would try his strength with the rest, but he threw the quoit so far that it went beyond what had ever been thrown before, and fell in the crowd, striking a man so that he died.
now this man was no other than the father of the boy's mother, who had fled away from his own kingdom for fear his grandson should find him and kill him after all.
thus he was destroyed by his own cowardice and by chance, and thus the prophecy was fulfilled.
but the boy and his wife and his mother went back to the kingdom that was theirs, and lived long and happily after all their troubles.
the story of pretty goldilocks once upon a time there was a princess who was the prettiest creature in the world.
and because she was so beautiful, and because her hair was like the finest gold, and waved and rippled nearly to the ground, she was called pretty goldilocks.
she always wore a crown of flowers, and her dresses were embroidered with diamonds and pearls, and everybody who saw her fell in love with her.
now one of her neighbors was a young king who was not married.
he was very rich and handsome, and when he heard all that was said about pretty goldilocks, though he had never seen her, he fell so deeply in love with her that he could neither eat nor drink.
so he resolved to send an ambassador to ask her in marriage.
he had a splendid carriage made for his ambassador, and gave him more than a hundred horses and a hundred servants, and told him to be sure and bring the princess back with him.
after he had started nothing else was talked of at court, and the king felt so sure that the princess would consent that he set his people to work at pretty dresses and splendid furniture, that they might be ready by the time she came.
meanwhile, the ambassador arrived at the princess's palace and delivered his little message, but whether she happened to be cross that day, or whether the compliment did not please her, is not known.
she only answered that she was very much obliged to the king, but she had no wish to be married.
the ambassador set off sadly on his homeward way, bringing all the king's presents back with him, for the princess was too well brought up to accept the pearls and diamonds when she would not accept the king, so she had only kept twenty-five english pins that he might not be vexed.
when the ambassador reached the city, where the king was waiting impatiently, everybody was very much annoyed with him for not bringing the princess, and the king cried like a baby, and nobody could console him.
now there was at the court a young man, who was more clever and handsome than anyone else.
he was called charming, and everyone loved him, excepting a few envious people who were angry at his being the king's favorite and knowing all the state secrets.
he happened to one day be with some people who were speaking of the ambassador's return and saying that his going to the princess had not done much good, when charming said rashly: "if the king had sent me to the princess goldilocks i am sure she would have come back with me."
his enemies at once went to the king and said: "you will hardly believe, sire, what charming has the audacity to say -- that if he had been sent to the princess goldilocks she would certainly have come back with him.
he seems to think that he is so much handsomer than you that the princess would have fallen in love with him and followed him willingly."
the king was very angry when he heard this.
""ha, ha!"
said he; "does he laugh at my unhappiness, and think himself more fascinating than i am?
go, and let him be shut up in my great tower to die of hunger."
so the king's guards went to fetch charming, who had thought no more of his rash speech, and carried him off to prison with great cruelty.
the poor prisoner had only a little straw for his bed, and but for a little stream of water which flowed through the tower he would have died of thirst.
one day when he was in despair he said to himself: "how can i have offended the king?
i am his most faithful subject, and have done nothing against him."
the king chanced to be passing the tower and recognized the voice of his former favorite.
he stopped to listen in spite of charming's enemies, who tried to persuade him to have nothing more to do with the traitor.
but the king said: "be quiet, i wish to hear what he says."
and then he opened the tower door and called to charming, who came very sadly and kissed the king's hand, saying: "what have i done, sire, to deserve this cruel treatment?"
""you mocked me and my ambassador," said the king, "and you said that if i had sent you for the princess goldilocks you would certainly have brought her back."
""it is quite true, sire," replied charming; "i should have drawn such a picture of you, and represented your good qualities in such a way, that i am certain the princess would have found you irresistible.
but i can not see what there is in that to make you angry."
the king could not see any cause for anger either when the matter was presented to him in this light, and he began to frown very fiercely at the courtiers who had so misrepresented his favorite.
so he took charming back to the palace with him, and after seeing that he had a very good supper he said to him: "you know that i love pretty goldilocks as much as ever, her refusal has not made any difference to me; but i do n't know how to make her change her mind; i really should like to send you, to see if you can persuade her to marry me."
charming replied that he was perfectly willing to go, and would set out the very next day.
""but you must wait till i can get a grand escort for you," said the king.
but charming said that he only wanted a good horse to ride, and the king, who was delighted at his being ready to start so promptly, gave him letters to the princess, and bade him good speed.
it was on a monday morning that he set out all alone upon his errand, thinking of nothing but how he could persuade the princess goldilocks to marry the king.
he had a writing-book in his pocket, and whenever any happy thought struck him he dismounted from his horse and sat down under the trees to put it into the harangue which he was preparing for the princess, before he forgot it.
one day when he had started at the very earliest dawn, and was riding over a great meadow, he suddenly had a capital idea, and, springing from his horse, he sat down under a willow tree which grew by a little river.
when he had written it down he was looking round him, pleased to find himself in such a pretty place, when all at once he saw a great golden carp lying gasping and exhausted upon the grass.
in leaping after little flies she had thrown herself high upon the bank, where she had lain till she was nearly dead.
charming had pity upon her, and, though he could n't help thinking that she would have been very nice for dinner, he picked her up gently and put her back into the water.
as soon as dame carp felt the refreshing coolness of the water she sank down joyfully to the bottom of the river, then, swimming up to the bank quite boldly, she said: "i thank you, charming, for the kindness you have done me.
you have saved my life; one day i will repay you."
so saying, she sank down into the water again, leaving charming greatly astonished at her politeness.
another day, as he journeyed on, he saw a raven in great distress.
the poor bird was closely pursued by an eagle, which would soon have eaten it up, had not charming quickly fitted an arrow to his bow and shot the eagle dead.
the raven perched upon a tree very joyfully.
""charming," said he, "it was very generous of you to rescue a poor raven; i am not ungrateful, some day i will repay you."
charming thought it was very nice of the raven to say so, and went on his way.
before the sun rose he found himself in a thick wood where it was too dark for him to see his path, and here he heard an owl crying as if it were in despair.
""hark!"
said he, "that must be an owl in great trouble, i am sure it has gone into a snare"; and he began to hunt about, and presently found a great net which some bird-catchers had spread the night before.
""what a pity it is that men do nothing but torment and persecute poor creatures which never do them any harm!"
said he, and he took out his knife and cut the cords of the net, and the owl flitted away into the darkness, but then turning, with one flicker of her wings, she came back to charming and said: "it does not need many words to tell you how great a service you have done me.
i was caught; in a few minutes the fowlers would have been here -- without your help i should have been killed.
i am grateful, and one day i will repay you."
these three adventures were the only ones of any consequence that befell charming upon his journey, and he made all the haste he could to reach the palace of the princess goldilocks.
when he arrived he thought everything he saw delightful and magnificent.
diamonds were as plentiful as pebbles, and the gold and silver, the beautiful dresses, the sweetmeats and pretty things that were everywhere quite amazed him; he thought to himself: "if the princess consents to leave all this, and come with me to marry the king, he may think himself lucky!"
then he dressed himself carefully in rich brocade, with scarlet and white plumes, and threw a splendid embroidered scarf over his shoulder, and, looking as gay and as graceful as possible, he presented himself at the door of the palace, carrying in his arm a tiny pretty dog which he had bought on the way.
the guards saluted him respectfully, and a messenger was sent to the princess to announce the arrival of charming as ambassador of her neighbor the king.
""charming," said the princess, "the name promises well; i have no doubt that he is good looking and fascinates everybody."
""indeed he does, madam," said all her maids of honor in one breath.
""we saw him from the window of the garret where we were spinning flax, and we could do nothing but look at him as long as he was in sight."
""well to be sure," said the princess, "that's how you amuse yourselves, is it?
looking at strangers out of the window!
be quick and give me my blue satin embroidered dress, and comb out my golden hair.
let somebody make me fresh garlands of flowers, and give me my high-heeled shoes and my fan, and tell them to sweep my great hall and my throne, for i want everyone to say i am really "pretty goldilocks.""
you can imagine how all her maids scurried this way and that to make the princess ready, and how in their haste they knocked their heads together and hindered each other, till she thought they would never have done.
however, at last they led her into the gallery of mirrors that she might assure herself that nothing was lacking in her appearance, and then she mounted her throne of gold, ebony, and ivory, while her ladies took their guitars and began to sing softly.
then charming was led in, and was so struck with astonishment and admiration that at first not a word could he say.
but presently he took courage and delivered his harangue, bravely ending by begging the princess to spare him the disappointment of going back without her.
""sir charming," answered she, "all the reasons you have given me are very good ones, and i assure you that i should have more pleasure in obliging you than anyone else, but you must know that a month ago as i was walking by the river with my ladies i took off my glove, and as i did so a ring that i was wearing slipped off my finger and rolled into the water.
as i valued it more than my kingdom, you may imagine how vexed i was at losing it, and i vowed to never listen to any proposal of marriage unless the ambassador first brought me back my ring.
so now you know what is expected of you, for if you talked for fifteen days and fifteen nights you could not make me change my mind."
charming was very much surprised by this answer, but he bowed low to the princess, and begged her to accept the embroidered scarf and the tiny dog he had brought with him.
but she answered that she did not want any presents, and that he was to remember what she had just told him.
when he got back to his lodging he went to bed without eating any supper, and his little dog, who was called frisk, could n't eat any either, but came and lay down close to him.
all night charming sighed and lamented.
""how am i to find a ring that fell into the river a month ago?"
said he.
""it is useless to try; the princess must have told me to do it on purpose, knowing it was impossible."
and then he sighed again.
frisk heard him and said: "my dear master, do n't despair; the luck may change, you are too good not to be happy.
let us go down to the river as soon as it is light."
but charming only gave him two little pats and said nothing, and very soon he fell asleep.
at the first glimmer of dawn frisk began to jump about, and when he had waked charming they went out together, first into the garden, and then down to the river's brink, where they wandered up and down.
charming was thinking sadly of having to go back unsuccessful when he heard someone calling: "charming, charming!"
he looked all about him and thought he must be dreaming, as he could not see anybody.
then he walked on and the voice called again: "charming, charming!"
""who calls me?"
said he.
frisk, who was very small and could look closely into the water, cried out: "i see a golden carp coming."
and sure enough there was the great carp, who said to charming: "you saved my life in the meadow by the willow tree, and i promised that i would repay you.
take this, it is princess goldilock's ring."
charming took the ring out of dame carp's mouth, thanking her a thousand times, and he and tiny frisk went straight to the palace, where someone told the princess that he was asking to see her.
""ah!
poor fellow," said she, "he must have come to say good-by, finding it impossible to do as i asked."
so in came charming, who presented her with the ring and said: "madam, i have done your bidding.
will it please you to marry my master?"
when the princess saw her ring brought back to her unhurt she was so astonished that she thought she must be dreaming.
""truly, charming," said she, "you must be the favorite of some fairy, or you could never have found it."
""madam," answered he, "i was helped by nothing but my desire to obey your wishes."
""since you are so kind," said she, "perhaps you will do me another service, for till it is done i will never be married.
there is a prince not far from here whose name is galifron, who once wanted to marry me, but when i refused he uttered the most terrible threats against me, and vowed that he would lay waste my country.
but what could i do?
i could not marry a frightful giant as tall as a tower, who eats up people as a monkey eats chestnuts, and who talks so loud that anybody who has to listen to him becomes quite deaf.
nevertheless, he does not cease to persecute me and to kill my subjects.
so before i can listen to your proposal you must kill him and bring me his head."
charming was rather dismayed at this command, but he answered: "very well, princess, i will fight this galifron; i believe that he will kill me, but at any rate i shall die in your defense."
then the princess was frightened and said everything she could think of to prevent charming from fighting the giant, but it was of no use, and he went out to arm himself suitably, and then, taking little frisk with him, he mounted his horse and set out for galifron's country.
everyone he met told him what a terrible giant galifron was, and that nobody dared go near him; and the more he heard, the more frightened he grew.
frisk tried to encourage him by saying: "while you are fighting the giant, dear master, i will go and bite his heels, and when he stoops down to look at me you can kill him."
charming praised his little dog's plan, but knew that this help would not do much good.
at last he drew near the giant's castle, and saw to his horror that every path that led to it was strewn with bones.
before long he saw galifron coming.
his head was higher than the tallest trees, and he sang in a terrible voice: "bring out your little boys and girls, pray do not stay to do their curls, for i shall eat so very many, i shall not know if they have any."
thereupon charming sang out as loud as he could to the same tune: "come out and meet the valiant charming who finds you not at all alarming; although he is not very tall, he's big enough to make you fall."
the rhymes were not very correct, but you see he had made them up so quickly that it is a miracle that they were not worse; especially as he was horribly frightened all the time.
when galifron heard these words he looked all about him, and saw charming standing, sword in hand this put the giant into a terrible rage, and he aimed a blow at charming with his huge iron club, which would certainly have killed him if it had reached him, but at that instant a raven perched upon the giant's head, and, pecking with its strong beak and beating with its great wings so confused and blinded him that all his blows fell harmlessly upon the air, and charming, rushing in, gave him several strokes with his sharp sword so that he fell to the ground.
whereupon charming cut off his head before he knew anything about it, and the raven from a tree close by croaked out: "you see i have not forgotten the good turn you did me in killing the eagle.
to-day i think i have fulfilled my promise of repaying you."
""indeed, i owe you more gratitude than you ever owed me," replied charming.
and then he mounted his horse and rode off with galifron's head.
when he reached the city the people ran after him in crowds, crying: "behold the brave charming, who has killed the giant!"
and their shouts reached the princess's ear, but she dared not ask what was happening, for fear she should hear that charming had been killed.
but very soon he arrived at the palace with the giant's head, of which she was still terrified, though it could no longer do her any harm.
""princess," said charming, "i have killed your enemy; i hope you will now consent to marry the king my master."
""oh dear!
no," said the princess, "not until you have brought me some water from the gloomy cavern.
""not far from here there is a deep cave, the entrance to which is guarded by two dragons with fiery eyes, who will not allow anyone to pass them.
when you get into the cavern you will find an immense hole, which you must go down, and it is full of toads and snakes; at the bottom of this hole there is another little cave, in which rises the fountain of health and beauty.
it is some of this water that i really must have: everything it touches becomes wonderful.
the beautiful things will always remain beautiful, and the ugly things become lovely.
if one is young one never grows old, and if one is old one becomes young.
you see, charming, i could not leave my kingdom without taking some of it with me."
""princess," said he, "you at least can never need this water, but i am an unhappy ambassador, whose death you desire.
where you send me i will go, though i know i shall never return."
and, as the princess goldilocks showed no sign of relenting, he started with his little dog for the gloomy cavern.
everyone he met on the way said: "what a pity that a handsome young man should throw away his life so carelessly!
he is going to the cavern alone, though if he had a hundred men with him he could not succeed.
why does the princess ask impossibilities?"
charming said nothing, but he was very sad.
when he was near the top of a hill he dismounted to let his horse graze, while frisk amused himself by chasing flies.
charming knew he could not be far from the gloomy cavern, and on looking about him he saw a black hideous rock from which came a thick smoke, followed in a moment by one of the dragons with fire blazing from his mouth and eyes.
his body was yellow and green, and his claws scarlet, and his tail was so long that it lay in a hundred coils.
frisk was so terrified at the sight of it that he did not know where to hide.
charming, quite determined to get the water or die, now drew his sword, and, taking the crystal flask which pretty goldilocks had given him to fill, said to frisk: "i feel sure that i shall never come back from this expedition; when i am dead, go to the princess and tell her that her errand has cost me my life.
then find the king my master, and relate all my adventures to him."
as he spoke he heard a voice calling: "charming, charming!"
""who calls me?"
said he; then he saw an owl sitting in a hollow tree, who said to him: "you saved my life when i was caught in the net, now i can repay you.
trust me with the flask, for i know all the ways of the gloomy cavern, and can fill it from the fountain of beauty."
charming was only too glad to give her the flask, and she flitted into the cavern quite unnoticed by the dragon, and after some time returned with the flask, filled to the very brim with sparkling water.
charming thanked her with all his heart, and joyfully hastened back to the town.
he went straight to the palace and gave the flask to the princess, who had no further objection to make.
so she thanked charming, and ordered that preparations should be made for her departure, and they soon set out together.
the princess found charming such an agreeable companion that she sometimes said to him: "why did n't we stay where we were?
i could have made you king, and we should have been so happy!"
but charming only answered: "i could not have done anything that would have vexed my master so much, even for a kingdom, or to please you, though i think you are as beautiful as the sun."
at last they reached the king's great city, and he came out to meet the princess, bringing magnificent presents, and the marriage was celebrated with great rejoicings.
but goldilocks was so fond of charming that she could not be happy unless he was near her, and she was always singing his praises.
""if it had n't been for charming," she said to the king, "i should never have come here; you ought to be very much obliged to him, for he did the most impossible things and got me water from the fountain of beauty, so i can never grow old, and shall get prettier every year."
then charming's enemies said to the king: "it is a wonder that you are not jealous, the queen thinks there is nobody in the world like charming.
as if anybody you had sent could not have done just as much!"
""it is quite true, now i come to think of it," said the king.
""let him be chained hand and foot, and thrown into the tower."
so they took charming, and as a reward for having served the king so faithfully he was shut up in the tower, where he only saw the jailer, who brought him a piece of black bread and a pitcher of water every day.
however, little frisk came to console him, and told him all the news.
when pretty goldilocks heard what had happened she threw herself at the king's feet and begged him to set charming free, but the more she cried, the more angry he was, and at last she saw that it was useless to say any more; but it made her very sad.
then the king took it into his head that perhaps he was not handsome enough to please the princess goldilocks, and he thought he would bathe his face with the water from the fountain of beauty, which was in the flask on a shelf in the princess's room, where she had placed it that she might see it often.
now it happened that one of the princess's ladies in chasing a spider had knocked the flask off the shelf and broken it, and every drop of the water had been spilt.
not knowing what to do, she had hastily swept away the pieces of crystal, and then remembered that in the king's room she had seen a flask of exactly the same shape, also filled with sparkling water.
so, without saying a word, she fetched it and stood it upon the queen's shelf.
now the water in this flask was what was used in the kingdom for getting rid of troublesome people.
instead of having their heads cut off in the usual way, their faces were bathed with the water, and they instantly fell asleep and never woke up any more.
so, when the king, thinking to improve his beauty, took the flask and sprinkled the water upon his face, he fell asleep, and nobody could wake him.
little frisk was the first to hear the news, and he ran to tell charming, who sent him to beg the princess not to forget the poor prisoner.
all the palace was in confusion on account of the king's death, but tiny frisk made his way through the crowd to the princess's side, and said: "madam, do not forget poor charming."
then she remembered all he had done for her, and without saying a word to anyone went straight to the tower, and with her own hands took off charming's chains.
then, putting a golden crown upon his head, and the royal mantle upon his shoulders, she said: "come, faithful charming, i make you king, and will take you for my husband."
charming, once more free and happy, fell at her feet and thanked her for her gracious words.
everybody was delighted that he should be king, and the wedding, which took place at once, was the prettiest that can be imagined, and prince charming and princess goldilocks lived happily ever after.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- madame d'aulnoy.
the history of whittington dick whittington was a very little boy when his father and mother died; so little, indeed, that he never knew them, nor the place where he was born.
he strolled about the country as ragged as a colt, till he met with a wagoner who was going to london, and who gave him leave to walk all the way by the side of his wagon without paying anything for his passage.
this pleased little whittington very much, as he wanted to see london sadly, for he had heard that the streets were paved with gold, and he was willing to get a bushel of it; but how great was his disappointment, poor boy!
when he saw the streets covered with dirt instead of gold, and found himself in a strange place, without a friend, without food, and without money.
though the wagoner was so charitable as to let him walk up by the side of the wagon for nothing, he took care not to know him when he came to town, and the poor boy was, in a little time, so cold and hungry that he wished himself in a good kitchen and by a warm fire in the country.
in his distress he asked charity of several people, and one of them bid him "go to work for an idle rogue."
""that i will," said whittington, "with all my heart; i will work for you if you will let me."
the man, who thought this savored of wit and impertinence -lrb- though the poor lad intended only to show his readiness to work -rrb-, gave him a blow with a stick which broke his head so that the blood ran down.
in this situation, and fainting for want of food, he laid himself down at the door of one mr. fitzwarren, a merchant, where the cook saw him, and, being an ill-natured hussy, ordered him to go about his business or she would scald him.
at this time mr. fitzwarren came from the exchange, and began also to scold at the poor boy, bidding him to go to work.
whittington answered that he should be glad to work if anybody would employ him, and that he should be able if he could get some victuals to eat, for he had had nothing for three days, and he was a poor country boy, and knew nobody, and nobody would employ him.
he then endeavored to get up, but he was so very weak that he fell down again, which excited so much compassion in the merchant that he ordered the servants to take him in and give him some meat and drink, and let him help the cook to do any dirty work that she had to set him about.
people are too apt to reproach those who beg with being idle, but give themselves no concern to put them in the way of getting business to do, or considering whether they are able to do it, which is not charity.
but we return to whittington, who could have lived happy in this worthy family had he not been bumped about by the cross cook, who must be always roasting and basting, or when the spit was idle employed her hands upon poor whittington!
at last miss alice, his master's daughter, was informed of it, and then she took compassion on the poor boy, and made the servants treat him kindly.
besides the crossness of the cook, whittington had another difficulty to get over before he could be happy.
he had, by order of his master, a flock-bed placed for him in a garret, where there was a number of rats and mice that often ran over the poor boy's nose and disturbed him in his sleep.
after some time, however, a gentleman who came to his master's house gave whittington a penny for brushing his shoes.
this he put into his pocket, being determined to lay it out to the best advantage; and the next day, seeing a woman in the street with a cat under her arm, he ran up to know the price of it.
the woman -lrb- as the cat was a good mouser -rrb- asked a deal of money for it, but on whittington's telling her he had but a penny in the world, and that he wanted a cat sadly, she let him have it.
this cat whittington concealed in the garret, for fear she should be beat about by his mortal enemy the cook, and here she soon killed or frightened away the rats and mice, so that the poor boy could now sleep as sound as a top.
soon after this the merchant, who had a ship ready to sail, called for his servants, as his custom was, in order that each of them might venture something to try their luck; and whatever they sent was to pay neither freight nor custom, for he thought justly that god almighty would bless him the more for his readiness to let the poor partake of his fortune.
all the servants appeared but poor whittington, who, having neither money nor goods, could not think of sending anything to try his luck; but his good friend miss alice, thinking his poverty kept him away, ordered him to be called.
she then offered to lay down something for him, but the merchant told his daughter that would not do, it must be something of his own.
upon which poor whittington said he had nothing but a cat which he bought for a penny that was given him.
""fetch thy cat, boy," said the merchant, "and send her."
whittington brought poor puss and delivered her to the captain, with tears in his eyes, for he said he should now be disturbed by the rats and mice as much as ever.
all the company laughed at the adventure but miss alice, who pitied the poor boy, and gave him something to buy another cat.
while puss was beating the billows at sea, poor whittington was severely beaten at home by his tyrannical mistress the cook, who used him so cruelly, and made such game of him for sending his cat to sea, that at last the poor boy determined to run away from his place, and having packed up the few things he had, he set out very early in the morning on all-hallows day.
he traveled as far as holloway, and there sat down on a stone to consider what course he should take; but while he was thus ruminating, bow bells, of which there were only six, began to ring; and he thought their sounds addressed him in this manner: "turn again, whittington, thrice lord mayor of london."
""lord mayor of london!"
said he to himself, "what would not one endure to be lord mayor of london, and ride in such a fine coach?
well, i'll go back again, and bear all the pummelling and ill-usage of cicely rather than miss the opportunity of being lord mayor!"
so home he went, and happily got into the house and about his business before mrs. cicely made her appearance.
we must now follow miss puss to the coast of africa.
how perilous are voyages at sea, how uncertain the winds and the waves, and how many accidents attend a naval life!
the ship that had the cat on board was long beaten at sea, and at last, by contrary winds, driven on a part of the coast of barbary which was inhabited by moors unknown to the english.
these people received our countrymen with civility, and therefore the captain, in order to trade with them, showed them the patterns of the goods he had on board, and sent some of them to the king of the country, who was so well pleased that he sent for the captain and the factor to come to his palace, which was about a mile from the sea.
here they were placed, according to the custom of the country, on rich carpets, flowered with gold and silver; and the king and queen being seated at the upper end of the room, dinner was brought in, which consisted of many dishes; but no sooner were the dishes put down but an amazing number of rats and mice came from all quarters and devoured all the meat in an instant.
the factor, in surprise, turned round to the nobles and asked if these vermin were not offensive.
""oh!
yes," said they, "very offensive; and the king would give half his treasure to be freed of them, for they not only destroy his dinner, as you see, but they assault him in his chamber, and even in bed, so that he is obliged to be watched while he is sleeping, for fear of them."
the factor jumped for joy; he remembered poor whittington and his cat, and told the king he had a creature on board the ship that would despatch all these vermin immediately.
the king's heart heaved so high at the joy which this news gave him that his turban dropped off his head.
""bring this creature to me," said he; "vermin are dreadful in a court, and if she will perform what you say i will load your ship with gold and jewels in exchange for her."
the factor, who knew his business, took this opportunity to set forth the merits of miss puss.
he told his majesty that it would be inconvenient to part with her, as, when she was gone, the rats and mice might destroy the goods in the ship -- but to oblige his majesty he would fetch her.
""run, run," said the queen; "i am impatient to see the dear creature."
away flew the factor, while another dinner was providing, and returned with the cat just as the rats and mice were devouring that also.
he immediately put down miss puss, who killed a great number of them.
the king rejoiced greatly to see his old enemies destroyed by so small a creature, and the queen was highly pleased, and desired the cat might be brought near that she might look at her.
upon which the factor called "pussy, pussy, pussy!"
and she came to him.
he then presented her to the queen, who started back, and was afraid to touch a creature who had made such havoc among the rats and mice; however, when the factor stroked the cat and called "pussy, pussy!"
the queen also touched her and cried "putty, putty!"
for she had not learned english.
he then put her down on the queen's lap, where she, purring, played with her majesty's hand, and then sang herself to sleep.
the king, having seen the exploits of miss puss, and being informed that her kittens would stock the whole country, bargained with the captain and factor for the whole ship's cargo, and then gave them ten times as much for the cat as all the rest amounted to.
on which, taking leave of their majesties and other great personages at court, they sailed with a fair wind for england, whither we must now attend them.
the morn had scarcely dawned when mr. fitzwarren arose to count over the cash and settle the business for that day.
he had just entered the counting-house, and seated himself at the desk, when somebody came, tap, tap, at the door.
""who's there?"
said mr. fitzwarren.
""a friend," answered the other.
""what friend can come at this unseasonable time?"
""a real friend is never unseasonable," answered the other.
""i come to bring you good news of your ship unicorn."
the merchant bustled up in such a hurry that he forgot his gout; instantly opened the door, and who should be seen waiting but the captain and factor, with a cabinet of jewels, and a bill of lading, for which the merchant lifted up his eyes and thanked heaven for sending him such a prosperous voyage.
then they told him the adventures of the cat, and showed him the cabinet of jewels which they had brought for mr. whittington.
upon which he cried out with great earnestness, but not in the most poetical manner: "go, send him in, and tell him of his fame, and call him mr. whittington by name."
it is not our business to animadvert upon these lines; we are not critics, but historians.
it is sufficient for us that they are the words of mr. fitzwarren; and though it is beside our purpose, and perhaps not in our power to prove him a good poet, we shall soon convince the reader that he was a good man, which was a much better character; for when some who were present told him that this treasure was too much for such a poor boy as whittington, he said: "god forbid that i should deprive him of a penny; it is his own, and he shall have it to a farthing."
he then ordered mr. whittington in, who was at this time cleaning the kitchen and would have excused himself from going into the counting-house, saying the room was swept and his shoes were dirty and full of hob-nails.
the merchant, however, made him come in, and ordered a chair to be set for him.
upon which, thinking they intended to make sport of him, as had been too often the case in the kitchen, he besought his master not to mock a poor simple fellow, who intended them no harm, but let him go about his business.
the merchant, taking him by the hand, said: "indeed, mr. whittington, i am in earnest with you, and sent for you to congratulate you on your great success.
your cat has procured you more money than i am worth in the world, and may you long enjoy it and be happy!"
at length, being shown the treasure, and convinced by them that all of it belonged to him, he fell upon his knees and thanked the almighty for his providential care of such a poor and miserable creature.
he then laid all the treasure at his master's feet, who refused to take any part of it, but told him he heartily rejoiced at his prosperity, and hoped the wealth he had acquired would be a comfort to him, and would make him happy.
he then applied to his mistress, and to his good friend miss alice, who refused to take any part of the money, but told him she heartily rejoiced at his good success, and wished him all imaginable felicity.
he then gratified the captain, factor, and the ship's crew for the care they had taken of his cargo.
he likewise distributed presents to all the servants in the house, not forgetting even his old enemy the cook, though she little deserved it.
after this mr. fitzwarren advised mr. whittington to send for the necessary people and dress himself like a gentleman, and made him the offer of his house to live in till he could provide himself with a better.
now it came to pass when mr. whittington's face was washed, his hair curled, and he dressed in a rich suit of clothes, that he turned out a genteel young fellow; and, as wealth contributes much to give a man confidence, he in a little time dropped that sheepish behavior which was principally occasioned by a depression of spirits, and soon grew a sprightly and good companion, insomuch that miss alice, who had formerly pitied him, now fell in love with him.
when her father perceived they had this good liking for each other he proposed a match between them, to which both parties cheerfully consented, and the lord mayor, court of aldermen, sheriffs, the company of stationers, the royal academy of arts, and a number of eminent merchants attended the ceremony, and were elegantly treated at an entertainment made for that purpose.
history further relates that they lived very happy, had several children, and died at a good old age.
mr. whittington served as sheriff of london and was three times lord mayor.
in the last year of his mayoralty he entertained king henry v and his queen, after his conquest of france, upon which occasion the king, in consideration of whittington's merit, said: "never had prince such a subject"; which being told to whittington at the table, he replied: "never had subject such a king."
his majesty, out of respect to his good character, conferred the honor of knighthood on him soon after.
sir richard many years before his death constantly fed a great number of poor citizens, built a church and a college to it, with a yearly allowance for poor scholars, and near it erected a hospital.
he also built newgate for criminals, and gave liberally to st. bartholomew's hospital and other public charities.
the wonderful sheep once upon a time -- in the days when the fairies lived -- there was a king who had three daughters, who were all young, and clever, and beautiful; but the youngest of the three, who was called miranda, was the prettiest and the most beloved.
the king, her father, gave her more dresses and jewels in a month than he gave the others in a year; but she was so generous that she shared everything with her sisters, and they were all as happy and as fond of one another as they could be.
now, the king had some quarrelsome neighbors, who, tired of leaving him in peace, began to make war upon him so fiercely that he feared he would be altogether beaten if he did not make an effort to defend himself.
so he collected a great army and set off to fight them, leaving the princesses with their governess in a castle where news of the war was brought every day -- sometimes that the king had taken a town, or won a battle, and, at last, that he had altogether overcome his enemies and chased them out of his kingdom, and was coming back to the castle as quickly as possible, to see his dear little miranda whom he loved so much.
the three princesses put on dresses of satin, which they had had made on purpose for this great occasion, one green, one blue, and the third white; their jewels were the same colors.
the eldest wore emeralds, the second turquoises, and the youngest diamonds, and thus adorned they went to meet the king, singing verses which they had composed about his victories.
when he saw them all so beautiful and so gay he embraced them tenderly, but gave miranda more kisses than either of the others.
presently a splendid banquet was served, and the king and his daughters sat down to it, and as he always thought that there was some special meaning in everything, he said to the eldest: "tell me why you have chosen a green dress."
""sire," she answered, "having heard of your victories i thought that green would signify my joy and the hope of your speedy return."
""that is a very good answer," said the king; "and you, my daughter," he continued, "why did you take a blue dress?"
""sire," said the princess, "to show that we constantly hoped for your success, and that the sight of you is as welcome to me as the sky with its most beautiful stars."
""why," said the king, "your wise answers astonish me, and you, miranda.
what made you dress yourself all in white?
""because, sire," she answered, "white suits me better than anything else."
""what!"
said the king angrily, "was that all you thought of, vain child?"
""i thought you would be pleased with me," said the princess; "that was all."
the king, who loved her, was satisfied with this, and even pretended to be pleased that she had not told him all her reasons at first.
""and now," said he, "as i have supped well, and it is not time yet to go to bed, tell me what you dreamed last night."
the eldest said she had dreamed that he brought her a dress, and the precious stones and gold embroidery on it were brighter than the sun.
the dream of the second was that the king had brought her a spinning wheel and a distaff, that she might spin him some shirts.
but the youngest said: "i dreamed that my second sister was to be married, and on her wedding-day, you, father, held a golden ewer and said: "come, miranda, and i will hold the water that you may dip your hands in it.""
the king was very angry indeed when he heard this dream, and frowned horribly; indeed, he made such an ugly face that everyone knew how angry he was, and he got up and went off to bed in a great hurry; but he could not forget his daughter's dream.
""does the proud girl wish to make me her slave?"
he said to himself.
""i am not surprised at her choosing to dress herself in white satin without a thought of me.
she does not think me worthy of her consideration!
but i will soon put an end to her pretensions!"
he rose in a fury, and although it was not yet daylight, he sent for the captain of his bodyguard, and said to him: "you have heard the princess miranda's dream?
i consider that it means strange things against me, therefore i order you to take her away into the forest and kill her, and, that i may be sure it is done, you must bring me her heart and her tongue.
if you attempt to deceive me you shall be put to death!"
the captain of the guard was very much astonished when he heard this barbarous order, but he did not dare to contradict the king for fear of making him still more angry, or causing him to send someone else, so he answered that he would fetch the princess and do as the king had said.
when he went to her room they would hardly let him in, it was so early, but he said that the king had sent for miranda, and she got up quickly and came out; a little black girl called patypata held up her train, and her pet monkey and her little dog ran after her.
the monkey was called grabugeon, and the little dog tintin.
the captain of the guard begged miranda to come down into the garden where the king was enjoying the fresh air, and when they got there, he pretended to search for him, but as he was not to be found, he said: "no doubt his majesty has strolled into the forest," and he opened the little door that led to it and they went through.
by this time the daylight had begun to appear, and the princess, looking at her conductor, saw that he had tears in his eyes and seemed too sad to speak.
""what is the matter?"
she said in the kindest way.
""you seem very sorrowful."
""alas!
princess," he answered, "who would not be sorrowful who was ordered to do such a terrible thing as i am?
the king has commanded me to kill you here, and carry your heart and your tongue to him, and if i disobey i shall lose my life."
the poor princess was terrified, she grew very pale and began to cry softly.
looking up at the captain of the guard with her beautiful eyes, she said gently: "will you really have the heart to kill me?
i have never done you any harm, and have always spoken well of you to the king.
if i had deserved my father's anger i would suffer without a murmur, but, alas!
he is unjust to complain of me, when i have always treated him with love and respect."
""fear nothing, princess," said the captain of the guard.
""i would far rather die myself than hurt you; but even if i am killed you will not be safe: we must find some way of making the king believe that you are dead."
""what can we do?"
said miranda; "unless you take him my heart and my tongue he will never believe you."
the princess and the captain of the guard were talking so earnestly that they did not think of patypata, but she had overheard all they said, and now came and threw herself at miranda's feet.
""madam," she said, "i offer you my life; let me be killed, i shall be only too happy to die for such a kind mistress."
""why, patypata," cried the princess, kissing her, "that would never do; your life is as precious to me as my own, especially after such a proof of your affection as you have just given me."
""you are right, princess," said grabugeon, coming forward, "to love such a faithful slave as patypata; she is of more use to you than i am, i offer you my tongue and my heart most willingly, especially as i wish to make a great name for myself in goblin land."
""no, no, my little grabugeon," replied miranda, "i can not bear the thought of taking your life."
""such a good little dog as i am," cried tintin, "could not think of letting either of you die for his mistress.
if anyone is to die for her it must be me."
and then began a great dispute between patypata, grabugeon, and tintin, and they came to high words, until at last grabugeon, who was quicker than the others, ran up to the very top of the nearest tree, and let herself fall, head first, to the ground, and there she lay -- quite dead!
the princess was very sorry, but as grabugeon was really dead, she allowed the captain of the guard to take her tongue; but, alas!
it was such a little one -- not bigger than the princess's thumb -- that they decided sorrowfully that it was of no use at all: the king would not have been taken in by it for a moment!
""alas!
my little monkey," cried the princess, "i have lost you, and yet i am no better off than i was before."
""the honor of saving your life is to be mine," interrupted patypata, and, before they could prevent her, she had picked up a knife and cut her head off in an instant.
but when the captain of the guard would have taken her tongue it turned out to be quite black, so that would not have deceived the king either.
""am i not unlucky?"
cried the poor princess; "i lose everything i love, and am none the better for it."
""if you had accepted my offer," said tintin, "you would only have had me to regret, and i should have had all your gratitude."
miranda kissed her little dog, crying so bitterly, that at last she could bear it no longer, and turned away into the forest.
when she looked back the captain of the guard was gone, and she was alone, except for patypata, grabugeon, and tintin, who lay upon the ground.
she could not leave the place until she had buried them in a pretty little mossy grave at the foot of a tree, and she wrote their names upon the bark of the tree, and how they had all died to save her life.
and then she began to think where she could go for safety -- for this forest was so close to her father's castle that she might be seen and recognized by the first passer-by, and, besides that, it was full of lions and wolves, who would have snapped up a princess just as soon as a stray chicken.
so she began to walk as fast as she could, but the forest was so large and the sun was so hot that she nearly died of heat and terror and fatigue; look which way she would there seemed to be no end to the forest, and she was so frightened that she fancied every minute that she heard the king running after her to kill her.
you may imagine how miserable she was, and how she cried as she went on, not knowing which path to follow, and with the thorny bushes scratching her dreadfully and tearing her pretty frock to pieces.
at last she heard the bleating of a sheep, and said to herself: "no doubt there are shepherds here with their flocks; they will show me the way to some village where i can live disguised as a peasant girl.
alas!
it is not always kings and princes who are the happiest people in the world.
who could have believed that i should ever be obliged to run away and hide because the king, for no reason at all, wishes to kill me?"
so saying she advanced toward the place where she heard the bleating, but what was her surprise when, in a lovely little glade quite surrounded by trees, she saw a large sheep; its wool was as white as snow, and its horns shone like gold; it had a garland of flowers round its neck, and strings of great pearls about its legs, and a collar of diamonds; it lay upon a bank of orange-flowers, under a canopy of cloth of gold which protected it from the heat of the sun.
nearly a hundred other sheep were scattered about, not eating the grass, but some drinking coffee, lemonade, or sherbet, others eating ices, strawberries and cream, or sweetmeats, while others, again, were playing games.
many of them wore golden collars with jewels, flowers, and ribbons.
miranda stopped short in amazement at this unexpected sight, and was looking in all directions for the shepherd of this surprising flock, when the beautiful sheep came bounding toward her.
""approach, lovely princess," he cried; "have no fear of such gentle and peaceable animals as we are."
""what a marvel!"
cried the princess, starting back a little.
""here is a sheep that can talk."
""your monkey and your dog could talk, madam," said he; "are you more astonished at us than at them?"
""a fairy gave them the power to speak," replied miranda.
""so i was used to them."
""perhaps the same thing has happened to us," he said, smiling sheepishly.
""but, princess, what can have led you here?"
""a thousand misfortunes, sir sheep," she answered.
""i am the unhappiest princess in the world, and i am seeking a shelter against my father's anger."
""come with me, madam," said the sheep; "i offer you a hiding-place which you only will know of, and where you will be mistress of everything you see."
""i really can not follow you," said miranda, "for i am too tired to walk another step."
the sheep with the golden horns ordered that his chariot should be fetched, and a moment after appeared six goats, harnessed to a pumpkin, which was so big that two people could quite well sit in it, and was all lined with cushions of velvet and down.
the princess stepped into it, much amused at such a new kind of carriage, the king of the sheep took his place beside her, and the goats ran away with them at full speed, and only stopped when they reached a cavern, the entrance to which was blocked by a great stone.
this the king touched with his foot, and immediately it fell down, and he invited the princess to enter without fear.
now, if she had not been so alarmed by everything that had happened, nothing could have induced her to go into this frightful cave, but she was so afraid of what might be behind her that she would have thrown herself even down a well at this moment.
so, without hesitation, she followed the sheep, who went before her, down, down, down, until she thought they must come out at the other side of the world -- indeed, she was not sure that he was n't leading her into fairyland.
at last she saw before her a great plain, quite covered with all sorts of flowers, the scent of which seemed to her nicer than anything she had ever smelled before; a broad river of orange-flower water flowed round it and fountains of wine of every kind ran in all directions and made the prettiest little cascades and brooks.
the plain was covered with the strangest trees, there were whole avenues where partridges, ready roasted, hung from every branch, or, if you preferred pheasants, quails, turkeys, or rabbits, you had only to turn to the right hand or to the left and you were sure to find them.
in places the air was darkened by showers of lobster-patties, white puddings, sausages, tarts, and all sorts of sweetmeats, or with pieces of gold and silver, diamonds and pearls.
this unusual kind of rain, and the pleasantness of the whole place, would, no doubt, have attracted numbers of people to it, if the king of the sheep had been of a more sociable disposition, but from all accounts it is evident that he was as grave as a judge.
as it was quite the nicest time of the year when miranda arrived in this delightful land the only palace she saw was a long row of orange trees, jasmines, honeysuckles, and musk-roses, and their interlacing branches made the prettiest rooms possible, which were hung with gold and silver gauze, and had great mirrors and candlesticks, and most beautiful pictures.
the wonderful sheep begged that the princess would consider herself queen over all that she saw, and assured her that, though for some years he had been very sad and in great trouble, she had it in her power to make him forget all his grief.
""you are so kind and generous, noble sheep," said the princess, "that i can not thank you enough, but i must confess that all i see here seems to me so extraordinary that i do n't know what to think of it."
as she spoke a band of lovely fairies came up and offered her amber baskets full of fruit, but when she held out her hands to them they glided away, and she could feel nothing when she tried to touch them.
""oh!"
she cried, "what can they be?
whom am i with?"
and she began to cry.
at this instant the king of the sheep came back to her, and was so distracted to find her in tears that he could have torn his wool.
""what is the matter, lovely princess?"
he cried.
""has anyone failed to treat you with due respect?"
""oh!
no," said miranda; "only i am not used to living with sprites and with sheep that talk, and everything here frightens me.
it was very kind of you to bring me to this place, but i shall be even more grateful to you if you will take me up into the world again."
""do not be afraid," said the wonderful sheep; "i entreat you to have patience, and listen to the story of my misfortunes.
i was once a king, and my kingdom was the most splendid in the world.
my subjects loved me, my neighbors envied and feared me.
i was respected by everyone, and it was said that no king ever deserved it more.
""i was very fond of hunting, and one day, while chasing a stag, i left my attendants far behind; suddenly i saw the animal leap into a pool of water, and i rashly urged my horse to follow it, but before we had gone many steps i felt an extraordinary heat, instead of the coolness of the water; the pond dried up, a great gulf opened before me, out of which flames of fire shot up, and i fell helplessly to the bottom of a precipice.
""i gave myself up for lost, but presently a voice said: "ungrateful prince, even this fire is hardly enough to warm your cold heart!""
"who complains of my coldness in this dismal place?"
i cried."
"an unhappy being who loves you hopelessly," replied the voice, and at the same moment the flames began to flicker and cease to burn, and i saw a fairy, whom i had known as long as i could remember, and whose ugliness had always horrified me.
she was leaning upon the arm of a most beautiful young girl, who wore chains of gold on her wrists and was evidently her slave."
"why, ragotte," i said, for that was the fairy's name, "what is the meaning of all this?
is it by your orders that i am here?""
"and whose fault is it," she answered, "that you have never understood me until now?
must a powerful fairy like myself condescend to explain her doings to you who are no better than an ant by comparison, though you think yourself a great king?""
"call me what you like," i said impatiently; "but what is it that you want -- my crown, or my cities, or my treasures?""
"treasures!"
said the fairy, disdainfully.
"if i chose i could make any one of my scullions richer and more powerful than you.
i do not want your treasures, but," she added softly, "if you will give me your heart -- if you will marry me -- i will add twenty kingdoms to the one you have already; you shall have a hundred castles full of gold and five hundred full of silver, and, in short, anything you like to ask me for.""
"madam ragotte," said i, "when one is at the bottom of a pit where one has fully expected to be roasted alive, it is impossible to think of asking such a charming person as you are to marry one!
i beg that you will set me at liberty, and then i shall hope to answer you fittingly.""
"ah!"
said she, "if you really loved me you would not care where you were -- a cave, a wood, a fox-hole, a desert, would please you equally well.
do not think that you can deceive me; you fancy you are going to escape, but i assure you that you are going to stay here and the first thing i shall give you to do will be to keep my sheep -- they are very good company and speak quite as well as you do.
""as she spoke she advanced, and led me to this plain where we now stand, and showed me her flock, but i paid little attention to it or to her.
""to tell the truth, i was so lost in admiration of her beautiful slave that i forgot everything else, and the cruel ragotte, perceiving this, turned upon her so furious and terrible a look that she fell lifeless to the ground.
""at this dreadful sight i drew my sword and rushed at ragotte, and should certainly have cut off her head had she not by her magic arts chained me to the spot on which i stood; all my efforts to move were useless, and at last, when i threw myself down on the ground in despair, she said to me, with a scornful smile:"" i intend to make you feel my power.
it seems that you are a lion at present, i mean you to be a sheep."
""so saying, she touched me with her wand, and i became what you see.
i did not lose the power of speech, or of feeling the misery of my present state."
"for five years," she said, "you shall be a sheep, and lord of this pleasant land, while i, no longer able to see your face, which i loved so much, shall be better able to hate you as you deserve to be hated."
""she disappeared as she finished speaking, and if i had not been too unhappy to care about anything i should have been glad that she was gone.
""the talking sheep received me as their king, and told me that they, too, were unfortunate princes who had, in different ways, offended the revengeful fairy, and had been added to her flock for a certain number of years; some more, some less.
from time to time, indeed, one regains his own proper form and goes back again to his place in the upper world; but the other beings whom you saw are the rivals or the enemies of ragotte, whom she has imprisoned for a hundred years or so; though even they will go back at last.
the young slave of whom i told you about is one of these; i have seen her often, and it has been a great pleasure to me.
she never speaks to me, and if i were nearer to her i know i should find her only a shadow, which would be very annoying.
however, i noticed that one of my companions in misfortune was also very attentive to this little sprite, and i found out that he had been her lover, whom the cruel ragotte had taken away from her long before; since then i have cared for, and thought of, nothing but how i might regain my freedom.
i have often been in the forest; that is where i have seen you, lovely princess, sometimes driving your chariot, which you did with all the grace and skill in the world; sometimes riding to the chase on so spirited a horse that it seemed as if no one but yourself could have managed it, and sometimes running races on the plain with the princesses of your court -- running so lightly that it was you always who won the prize.
oh!
princess, i have loved you so long, and yet how dare i tell you of my love!
what hope can there be for an unhappy sheep like myself?"
miranda was so surprised and confused by all that she had heard that she hardly knew what answer to give to the king of the sheep, but she managed to make some kind of little speech, which certainly did not forbid him to hope, and said that she should not be afraid of the shadows now she knew that they would some day come to life again.
""alas!"
she continued, "if my poor patypata, my dear grabugeon, and pretty little tintin, who all died for my sake, were equally well off, i should have nothing left to wish for here!"
prisoner though he was, the king of the sheep had still some powers and privileges.
""go," said he to his master of the horse, "go and seek the shadows of the little black girl, the monkey, and the dog: they will amuse our princess."
and an instant afterward miranda saw them coming toward her, and their presence gave her the greatest pleasure, though they did not come near enough for her to touch them.
the king of the sheep was so kind and amusing, and loved miranda so dearly, that at last she began to love him too.
such a handsome sheep, who was so polite and considerate, could hardly fail to please, especially if one knew that he was really a king, and that his strange imprisonment would soon come to an end.
so the princess's days passed very gaily while she waited for the happy time to come.
the king of the sheep, with the help of all the flock, got up balls, concerts, and hunting parties, and even the shadows joined in all the fun, and came, making believe to be their own real selves.
one evening, when the couriers arrived -lrb- for the king sent most carefully for news -- and they always brought the very best kinds -rrb-, it was announced that the sister of the princess miranda was going to be married to a great prince, and that nothing could be more splendid than all the preparations for the wedding.
""ah!"
cried the young princess, "how unlucky i am to miss the sight of so many pretty things!
here am i imprisoned under the earth, with no company but sheep and shadows, while my sister is to be adorned like a queen and surrounded by all who love and admire her, and everyone but myself can go to wish her joy!"
""why do you complain, princess?"
said the king of the sheep.
""did i say that you were not to go to the wedding?
set out as soon as you please; only promise me that you will come back, for i love you too much to be able to live without you."
miranda was very grateful to him, and promised faithfully that nothing in the world should keep her from coming back.
the king caused an escort suitable to her rank to be got ready for her, and she dressed herself splendidly, not forgetting anything that could make her more beautiful.
her chariot was of mother-of-pearl, drawn by six dun-colored griffins just brought from the other side of the world, and she was attended by a number of guards in splendid uniforms, who were all at least eight feet high and had come from far and near to ride in the princess's train.
miranda reached her father's palace just as the wedding ceremony began, and everyone, as soon as she came in, was struck with surprise at her beauty and the splendor of her jewels.
she heard exclamations of admiration on all sides; and the king her father looked at her so attentively that she was afraid he must recognize her; but he was so sure that she was dead that the idea never occurred to him.
however, the fear of not getting away made her leave before the marriage was over.
she went out hastily, leaving behind her a little coral casket set with emeralds.
on it was written in diamond letters: "jewels for the bride," and when they opened it, which they did as soon as it was found, there seemed to be no end to the pretty things it contained.
the king, who had hoped to join the unknown princess and find out who she was, was dreadfully disappointed when she disappeared so suddenly, and gave orders that if she ever came again the doors were to be shut that she might not get away so easily.
short as miranda's absence had been, it had seemed like a hundred years to the king of the sheep.
he was waiting for her by a fountain in the thickest part of the forest, and the ground was strewn with splendid presents which he had prepared for her to show his joy and gratitude at her coming back.
as soon as she was in sight he rushed to meet her, leaping and bounding like a real sheep.
he caressed her tenderly, throwing himself at her feet and kissing her hands, and told her how uneasy he had been in her absence, and how impatient for her return, with an eloquence which charmed her.
after some time came the news that the king's second daughter was going to be married.
when miranda heard it she begged the king of the sheep to allow her to go and see the wedding as before.
this request made him feel very sad, as if some misfortune must surely come of it, but his love for the princess being stronger than anything else he did not like to refuse her.
""you wish to leave me, princess," said he; "it is my unhappy fate -- you are not to blame.
i consent to your going, but, believe me, i can give you no stronger proof of my love than by so doing."
the princess assured him that she would only stay a very short time, as she had done before, and begged him not to be uneasy, as she would be quite as much grieved if anything detained her as he could possibly be.
so, with the same escort, she set out, and reached the palace as the marriage ceremony began.
everybody was delighted to see her; she was so pretty that they thought she must be some fairy princess, and the princes who were there could not take their eyes off her.
the king was more glad than anyone else that she had come again, and gave orders that the doors should all be shut and bolted that very minute.
when the wedding was all but over the princess got up quickly, hoping to slip away unnoticed among the crowd, but, to her great dismay, she found every door fastened.
she felt more at ease when the king came up to her, and with the greatest respect begged her not to run away so soon, but at least to honor him by staying for the splendid feast which was prepared for the princes and princesses.
he led her into a magnificent hall, where all the court was assembled, and himself taking up the golden bowl full of water, he offered it to her that she might dip her pretty fingers into it.
at this the princess could no longer contain herself; throwing herself at the king's feet, she cried out: "my dream has come true after all -- you have offered me water to wash my hands on my sister's wedding day, and it has not vexed you to do it."
the king recognized her at once -- indeed, he had already thought several times how much like his poor little miranda she was.
""oh!
my dear daughter," he cried, kissing her, "can you ever forget my cruelty?
i ordered you to be put to death because i thought your dream portended the loss of my crown.
and so it did," he added, "for now your sisters are both married and have kingdoms of their own -- and mine shall be for you."
so saying he put his crown on the princess's head and cried: "long live queen miranda!"
all the court cried: "long live queen miranda!"
after him, and the young queen's two sisters came running up, and threw their arms round her neck, and kissed her a thousand times, and then there was such a laughing and crying, talking and kissing, all at once, and miranda thanked her father, and began to ask after everyone -- particularly the captain of the guard, to whom she owed so much; but, to her great sorrow, she heard that he was dead.
presently they sat down to the banquet, and the king asked miranda to tell them all that had happened to her since the terrible morning when he had sent the captain of the guard to fetch her.
this she did with so much spirit that all the guests listened with breathless interest.
but while she was thus enjoying herself with the king and her sisters, the king of the sheep was waiting impatiently for the time of her return, and when it came and went, and no princess appeared, his anxiety became so great that he could bear it no longer.
""she is not coming back any more," he cried.
""my miserable sheep's face displeases her, and without miranda what is left to me, wretched creature that i am!
oh!
cruel ragotte; my punishment is complete."
for a long time he bewailed his sad fate like this, and then, seeing that it was growing dark, and that still there was no sign of the princess, he set out as fast as he could in the direction of the town.
when he reached the palace he asked for miranda, but by this time everyone had heard the story of her adventures, and did not want her to go back again to the king of the sheep, so they refused sternly to let him see her.
in vain he begged and prayed them to let him in; though his entreaties might have melted hearts of stone they did not move the guards of the palace, and at last, quite broken-hearted, he fell dead at their feet.
in the meantime the king, who had not the least idea of the sad thing that was happening outside the gate of his palace, proposed to miranda that she should be driven in her chariot all round the town, which was to be illuminated with thousands and thousands of torches, placed in windows and balconies, and in all the grand squares.
but what a sight met her eyes at the very entrance of the palace!
there lay her dear, kind sheep, silent and motionless, upon the pavement!
she threw herself out of the chariot and ran to him, crying bitterly, for she realized that her broken promise had cost him his life, and for a long, long time she was so unhappy that they thought she would have died too.
so you see that even a princess is not always happy -- especially if she forgets to keep her word; and the greatest misfortunes often happen to people just as they think they have obtained their heart's desires!
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- madame d'aulnoy.
little thumb there was, once upon a time, a man and his wife fagot-makers by trade, who had several children, all boys.
the eldest was but ten years old, and the youngest only seven.
they were very poor, and their seven children incommoded them greatly, because not one of them was able to earn his bread.
that which gave them yet more uneasiness was that the youngest was of a very puny constitution, and scarce ever spoke a word, which made them take that for stupidity which was a sign of good sense.
he was very little, and when born no bigger than one's thumb, which made him be called little thumb.
the poor child bore the blame of whatsoever was done amiss in the house, and, guilty or not, was always in the wrong; he was, notwithstanding, more cunning and had a far greater share of wisdom than all his brothers put together; and, if he spake little, he heard and thought the more.
there happened now to come a very bad year, and the famine was so great that these poor people resolved to rid themselves of their children.
one evening, when they were all in bed and the fagot-maker was sitting with his wife at the fire, he said to her, with his heart ready to burst with grief: "thou seest plainly that we are not able to keep our children, and i can not see them starve to death before my face; i am resolved to lose them in the wood to-morrow, which may very easily be done; for, while they are busy in tying up fagots, we may run away, and leave them, without their taking any notice."
""ah!"
cried his wife; "and canst thou thyself have the heart to take thy children out along with thee on purpose to lose them?"
in vain did her husband represent to her their extreme poverty: she would not consent to it; she was indeed poor, but she was their mother.
however, having considered what a grief it would be to her to see them perish with hunger, she at last consented, and went to bed all in tears.
little thumb heard every word that had been spoken; for observing, as he lay in his bed, that they were talking very busily, he got up softly, and hid himself under his father's stool, that he might hear what they said without being seen.
he went to bed again, but did not sleep a wink all the rest of the night, thinking on what he had to do.
he got up early in the morning, and went to the river-side, where he filled his pockets full of small white pebbles, and then returned home.
they all went abroad, but little thumb never told his brothers one syllable of what he knew.
they went into a very thick forest, where they could not see one another at ten paces distance.
the fagot-maker began to cut wood, and the children to gather up the sticks to make fagots.
their father and mother, seeing them busy at their work, got away from them insensibly, and ran away from them all at once, along a by-way through the winding bushes.
when the children saw they were left alone, they began to cry as loud as they could.
little thumb let them cry on, knowing very well how to get home again, for, as he came, he took care to drop all along the way the little white pebbles he had in his pockets.
then he said to them: "be not afraid, brothers; father and mother have left us here, but i will lead you home again, only follow me."
they did so, and he brought them home by the very same way they came into the forest.
they dared not go in, but sat themselves down at the door, listening to what their father and mother were saying.
the very moment the fagot-maker and his wife reached home the lord of the manor sent them ten crowns, which he had owed them a long while, and which they never expected.
this gave them new life, for the poor people were almost famished.
the fagot-maker sent his wife immediately to the butcher's.
as it was a long while since they had eaten a bit, she bought thrice as much meat as would sup two people.
when they had eaten, the woman said: "alas!
where are now our poor children?
they would make a good feast of what we have left here; but it was you, william, who had a mind to lose them: i told you we should repent of it.
what are they now doing in the forest?
alas!
dear god, the wolves have perhaps already eaten them up; thou art very inhuman thus to have lost thy children."
the fagot-maker grew at last quite out of patience, for she repeated it above twenty times, that they should repent of it, and that she was in the right of it for so saying.
he threatened to beat her if she did not hold her tongue.
it was not that the fagot-maker was not, perhaps, more vexed than his wife, but that she teased him, and that he was of the humor of a great many others, who love wives to speak well, but think those very importunate who are continually doing so.
she was half-drowned in tears, crying out: "alas!
where are now my children, my poor children?"
she spoke this so very loud that the children, who were at the gate, began to cry out all together: "here we are!
here we are!"
she ran immediately to open the door, and said, hugging them: "i am glad to see you, my dear children; you are very hungry and weary; and my poor peter, thou art horribly bemired; come in and let me clean thee."
now, you must know that peter was her eldest son, whom she loved above all the rest, because he was somewhat carroty, as she herself was.
they sat down to supper, and ate with such a good appetite as pleased both father and mother, whom they acquainted how frightened they were in the forest, speaking almost always all together.
the good folks were extremely glad to see their children once more at home, and this joy continued while the ten crowns lasted; but, when the money was all gone, they fell again into their former uneasiness, and resolved to lose them again; and, that they might be the surer of doing it, to carry them to a much greater distance than before.
they could not talk of this so secretly but they were overheard by little thumb, who made account to get out of this difficulty as well as the former; but, though he got up very early in the morning to go and pick up some little pebbles, he was disappointed, for he found the house-door double-locked, and was at a stand what to do.
when their father had given each of them a piece of bread for their breakfast, little thumb fancied he might make use of this instead of the pebbles by throwing it in little bits all along the way they should pass; and so he put the bread in his pocket.
their father and mother brought them into the thickest and most obscure part of the forest, when, stealing away into a by-path, they there left them.
little thumb was not very uneasy at it, for he thought he could easily find the way again by means of his bread, which he had scattered all along as he came; but he was very much surprised when he could not find so much as one crumb; the birds had come and had eaten it up, every bit.
they were now in great affliction, for the farther they went the more they were out of their way, and were more and more bewildered in the forest.
night now came on, and there arose a terribly high wind, which made them dreadfully afraid.
they fancied they heard on every side of them the howling of wolves coming to eat them up.
they scarce dared to speak or turn their heads.
after this, it rained very hard, which wetted them to the skin; their feet slipped at every step they took, and they fell into the mire, whence they got up in a very dirty pickle; their hands were quite benumbed.
little thumb climbed up to the top of a tree, to see if he could discover anything; and having turned his head about on every side, he saw at last a glimmering light, like that of a candle, but a long way from the forest.
he came down, and, when upon the ground, he could see it no more, which grieved him sadly.
however, having walked for some time with his brothers toward that side on which he had seen the light, he perceived it again as he came out of the wood.
they came at last to the house where this candle was, not without an abundance of fear: for very often they lost sight of it, which happened every time they came into a bottom.
they knocked at the door, and a good woman came and opened it; she asked them what they would have.
little thumb told her they were poor children who had been lost in the forest, and desired to lodge there for god's sake.
the woman, seeing them so very pretty, began to weep, and said to them: "alas!
poor babies; whither are ye come?
do ye know that this house belongs to a cruel ogre who eats up little children?"
""ah!
dear madam," answered little thumb -lrb- who trembled every joint of him, as well as his brothers -rrb-, "what shall we do?
to be sure the wolves of the forest will devour us to-night if you refuse us to lie here; and so we would rather the gentleman should eat us; and perhaps he may take pity upon us, especially if you please to beg it of him."
the ogre's wife, who believed she could conceal them from her husband till morning, let them come in, and brought them to warm themselves at a very good fire; for there was a whole sheep upon the spit, roasting for the ogre's supper.
as they began to be a little warm they heard three or four great raps at the door; this was the ogre, who had come home.
upon this she hid them under the bed and went to open the door.
the ogre presently asked if supper was ready and the wine drawn, and then sat himself down to table.
the sheep was as yet all raw and bloody; but he liked it the better for that.
he sniffed about to the right and left, saying: "i smell fresh meat."
""what you smell so," said his wife, "must be the calf which i have just now killed and flayed."
""i smell fresh meat, i tell thee once more," replied the ogre, looking crossly at his wife; "and there is something here which i do not understand."
as he spoke these words he got up from the table and went directly to the bed.
""ah, ah!"
said he; "i see then how thou wouldst cheat me, thou cursed woman; i know not why i do not eat thee up too, but it is well for thee that thou art a tough old carrion.
here is good game, which comes very quickly to entertain three ogres of my acquaintance who are to pay me a visit in a day or two."
with that he dragged them out from under the bed one by one.
the poor children fell upon their knees, and begged his pardon; but they had to do with one of the most cruel ogres in the world, who, far from having any pity on them, had already devoured them with his eyes, and told his wife they would be delicate eating when tossed up with good savory sauce.
he then took a great knife, and, coming up to these poor children, whetted it upon a great whet-stone which he held in his left hand.
he had already taken hold of one of them when his wife said to him: "why need you do it now?
is it not time enough to-morrow?"
""hold your prating," said the ogre; "they will eat the tenderer.
""but you have so much meat already," replied his wife, "you have no occasion; here are a calf, two sheep, and half a hog."
""that is true," said the ogre; "give them their belly full that they may not fall away, and put them to bed."
the good woman was overjoyed at this, and gave them a good supper; but they were so much afraid they could not eat a bit.
as for the ogre, he sat down again to drink, being highly pleased that he had got wherewithal to treat his friends.
he drank a dozen glasses more than ordinary, which got up into his head and obliged him to go to bed.
the ogre had seven daughters, all little children, and these young ogresses had all of them very fine complexions, because they used to eat fresh meat like their father; but they had little gray eyes, quite round, hooked noses, and very long sharp teeth, standing at a good distance from each other.
they were not as yet over and above mischievous, but they promised very fair for it, for they had already bitten little children, that they might suck their blood.
they had been put to bed early, with every one a crown of gold upon her head.
there was in the same chamber a bed of the like bigness, and it was into this bed the ogre's wife put the seven little boys, after which she went to bed to her husband.
little thumb, who had observed that the ogre's daughters had crowns of gold upon their heads, and was afraid lest the ogre should repent his not killing them, got up about midnight, and, taking his brothers" bonnets and his own, went very softly and put them upon the heads of the seven little ogresses, after having taken off their crowns of gold, which he put upon his own head and his brothers", that the ogre might take them for his daughters, and his daughters for the little boys whom he wanted to kill.
all this succeeded according to his desire; for, the ogre waking about midnight, and sorry that he deferred to do that till morning which he might have done over-night, threw himself hastily out of bed, and, taking his great knife, "let us see," said he, "how our little rogues do, and not make two jobs of the matter."
he then went up, groping all the way, into his daughters" chamber, and, coming to the bed where the little boys lay, and who were every soul of them fast asleep, except little thumb, who was terribly afraid when he found the ogre fumbling about his head, as he had done about his brothers", the ogre, feeling the golden crowns, said: "i should have made a fine piece of work of it, truly; i find i drank too much last night."
then he went to the bed where the girls lay; and, having found the boys" little bonnets, "ah!"
said he, "my merry lads, are you there?
let us work as we ought."
and saying these words, without more ado, he cut the throats of all his seven daughters.
well pleased with what he had done, he went to bed again to his wife.
so soon as little thumb heard the ogre snore, he waked his brothers, and bade them all put on their clothes presently and follow him.
they stole down softly into the garden, and got over the wall.
they kept running about all night, and trembled all the while, without knowing which way they went.
the ogre, when he awoke, said to his wife: "go upstairs and dress those young rascals who came here last night."
the wife was very much surprised at this goodness of her husband, not dreaming after what manner she should dress them; but, thinking that he had ordered her to go and put on their clothes, she went up, and was strangely astonished when she perceived her seven daughters killed, and weltering in their blood.
she fainted away, for this is the first expedient almost all women find in such cases.
the ogre, fearing his wife would be too long in doing what he had ordered, went up himself to help her.
he was no less amazed than his wife at this frightful spectacle.
""ah!
what have i done?"
cried he.
""the wretches shall pay for it, and that instantly."
he threw a pitcher of water upon his wife's face, and, having brought her to herself, said: "give me quickly my boots of seven leagues, that i may go and catch them."
he went out, and, having run over a vast deal of ground, both on this side and that, he came at last into the very road where the poor children were, and not above a hundred paces from their father's house.
they espied the ogre, who went at one step from mountain to mountain, and over rivers as easily as the narrowest kennels.
little thumb, seeing a hollow rock near the place where they were, made his brothers hide themselves in it, and crowded into it himself, minding always what would become of the ogre.
the ogre, who found himself much tired with his long and fruitless journey -lrb- for these boots of seven leagues greatly fatigued the wearer -rrb-, had a great mind to rest himself, and, by chance, went to sit down upon the rock where the little boys had hid themselves.
as it was impossible he could be more weary than he was, he fell asleep, and, after reposing himself some time, began to snore so frightfully that the poor children were no less afraid of him than when he held up his great knife and was going to cut their throats.
little thumb was not so much frightened as his brothers, and told them that they should run away immediately toward home while the ogre was asleep so soundly, and that they should not be in any pain about him.
they took his advice, and got home presently.
little thumb came up to the ogre, pulled off his boots gently and put them on his own legs.
the boots were very long and large, but, as they were fairies, they had the gift of becoming big and little, according to the legs of those who wore them; so that they fitted his feet and legs as well as if they had been made on purpose for him.
he went immediately to the ogre's house, where he saw his wife crying bitterly for the loss of the ogre's murdered daughters.
""your husband," said little thumb, "is in very great danger, being taken by a gang of thieves, who have sworn to kill him if he does not give them all his gold and silver.
the very moment they held their daggers at his throat he perceived me, and desired me to come and tell you the condition he is in, and that you should give me whatsoever he has of value, without retaining any one thing; for otherwise they will kill him without mercy; and, as his case is very pressing, he desired me to make use -lrb- you see i have them on -rrb- of his boots, that i might make the more haste and to show you that i do not impose upon you."
the good woman, being sadly frightened, gave him all she had: for this ogre was a very good husband, though he used to eat up little children.
little thumb, having thus got all the ogre's money, came home to his father's house, where he was received with abundance of joy.
there are many people who do not agree in this circumstance, and pretend that little thumb never robbed the ogre at all, and that he only thought he might very justly, and with a safe conscience, take off his boots of seven leagues, because he made no other use of them but to run after little children.
these folks affirm that they are very well assured of this, and the more as having drunk and eaten often at the fagot-maker's house.
they aver that when little thumb had taken off the ogre's boots he went to court, where he was informed that they were very much in pain about a certain army, which was two hundred leagues off, and the success of a battle.
he went, say they, to the king, and told him that, if he desired it, he would bring him news from the army before night.
the king promised him a great sum of money upon that condition.
little thumb was as good as his word, and returned that very same night with the news; and, this first expedition causing him to be known, he got whatever he pleased, for the king paid him very well for carrying his orders to the army.
after having for some time carried on the business of a messenger, and gained thereby great wealth, he went home to his father, where it was impossible to express the joy they were all in at his return.
he made the whole family very easy, bought places for his father and brothers, and, by that means, settled them very handsomely in the world, and, in the meantime, made his court to perfection.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- charles perrault.
the forty thieves in a town in persia there dwelt two brothers, one named cassim, the other ali baba.
cassim was married to a rich wife and lived in plenty, while ali baba had to maintain his wife and children by cutting wood in a neighboring forest and selling it in the town.
one day, when ali baba was in the forest, he saw a troop of men on horseback, coming toward him in a cloud of dust.
he was afraid they were robbers, and climbed into a tree for safety.
when they came up to him and dismounted, he counted forty of them.
they unbridled their horses and tied them to trees.
the finest man among them, whom ali baba took to be their captain, went a little way among some bushes, and said: "open, sesame!"
-lrb- 1 -rrb- so plainly that ali baba heard him.
a door opened in the rocks, and having made the troop go in, he followed them, and the door shut again of itself.
they stayed some time inside, and ali baba, fearing they might come out and catch him, was forced to sit patiently in the tree.
at last the door opened again, and the forty thieves came out.
as the captain went in last he came out first, and made them all pass by him; he then closed the door, saying: "shut, sesame!"
every man bridled his horse and mounted, the captain put himself at their head, and they returned as they came.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- sesame is a kind of grain.
then ali baba climbed down and went to the door concealed among the bushes, and said: "open, sesame!"
and it flew open.
ali baba, who expected a dull, dismal place, was greatly surprised to find it large and well lighted, hollowed by the hand of man in the form of a vault, which received the light from an opening in the ceiling.
he saw rich bales of merchandise -- silk, stuff-brocades, all piled together, and gold and silver in heaps, and money in leather purses.
he went in and the door shut behind him.
he did not look at the silver, but brought out as many bags of gold as he thought his asses, which were browsing outside, could carry, loaded them with the bags, and hid it all with fagots.
using the words: "shut, sesame!"
he closed the door and went home.
then he drove his asses into the yard, shut the gates, carried the money-bags to his wife, and emptied them out before her.
he bade her keep the secret, and he would go and bury the gold.
""let me first measure it," said his wife.
""i will go borrow a measure of someone, while you dig the hole."
so she ran to the wife of cassim and borrowed a measure.
knowing ali baba's poverty, the sister was curious to find out what sort of grain his wife wished to measure, and artfully put some suet at the bottom of the measure.
ali baba's wife went home and set the measure on the heap of gold, and filled it and emptied it often, to her great content.
she then carried it back to her sister, without noticing that a piece of gold was sticking to it, which cassim's wife perceived directly her back was turned.
she grew very curious, and said to cassim when he came home: "cassim, your brother is richer than you.
he does not count his money, he measures it."
he begged her to explain this riddle, which she did by showing him the piece of money and telling him where she found it.
then cassim grew so envious that he could not sleep, and went to his brother in the morning before sunrise.
""ali baba," he said, showing him the gold piece, "you pretend to be poor and yet you measure gold."
by this ali baba perceived that through his wife's folly cassim and his wife knew their secret, so he confessed all and offered cassim a share.
""that i expect," said cassim; "but i must know where to find the treasure, otherwise i will discover all, and you will lose all."
ali baba, more out of kindness than fear, told him of the cave, and the very words to use.
cassim left ali baba, meaning to be beforehand with him and get the treasure for himself.
he rose early next morning, and set out with ten mules loaded with great chests.
he soon found the place, and the door in the rock.
he said: "open, sesame!"
and the door opened and shut behind him.
he could have feasted his eyes all day on the treasures, but he now hastened to gather together as much of it as possible; but when he was ready to go he could not remember what to say for thinking of his great riches.
instead of "sesame," he said: "open, barley!"
and the door remained fast.
he named several different sorts of grain, all but the right one, and the door still stuck fast.
he was so frightened at the danger he was in that he had as much forgotten the word as if he had never heard it.
about noon the robbers returned to their cave, and saw cassim's mules roving about with great chests on their backs.
this gave them the alarm; they drew their sabres, and went to the door, which opened on their captain's saying: "open, sesame!"
cassim, who had heard the trampling of their horses" feet, resolved to sell his life dearly, so when the door opened he leaped out and threw the captain down.
in vain, however, for the robbers with their sabres soon killed him.
on entering the cave they saw all the bags laid ready, and could not imagine how anyone had got in without knowing their secret.
they cut cassim's body into four quarters, and nailed them up inside the cave, in order to frighten anyone who should venture in, and went away in search of more treasure.
as night drew on cassim's wife grew very uneasy, and ran to her brother-in-law, and told him where her husband had gone.
ali baba did his best to comfort her, and set out to the forest in search of cassim.
the first thing he saw on entering the cave was his dead brother.
full of horror, he put the body on one of his asses, and bags of gold on the other two, and, covering all with some fagots, returned home.
he drove the two asses laden with gold into his own yard, and led the other to cassim's house.
the door was opened by the slave morgiana, whom he knew to be both brave and cunning.
unloading the ass, he said to her: "this is the body of your master, who has been murdered, but whom we must bury as though he had died in his bed.
i will speak with you again, but now tell your mistress i am come."
the wife of cassim, on learning the fate of her husband, broke out into cries and tears, but ali baba offered to take her to live with him and his wife if she would promise to keep his counsel and leave everything to morgiana; whereupon she agreed, and dried her eyes.
morgiana, meanwhile, sought an apothecary and asked him for some lozenges.
""my poor master," she said, "can neither eat nor speak, and no one knows what his distemper is."
she carried home the lozenges and returned next day weeping, and asked for an essence only given to those just about to die.
thus, in the evening, no one was surprised to hear the wretched shrieks and cries of cassim's wife and morgiana, telling everyone that cassim was dead.
the day after morgiana went to an old cobbler near the gates of the town who opened his stall early, put a piece of gold in his hand, and bade him follow her with his needle and thread.
having bound his eyes with a handkerchief, she took him to the room where the body lay, pulled off the bandage, and bade him sew the quarters together, after which she covered his eyes again and led him home.
then they buried cassim, and morgiana his slave followed him to the grave, weeping and tearing her hair, while cassim's wife stayed at home uttering lamentable cries.
next day she went to live with ali baba, who gave cassim's shop to his eldest son.
the forty thieves, on their return to the cave, were much astonished to find cassim's body gone and some of their money-bags.
""we are certainly discovered," said the captain, "and shall be undone if we can not find out who it is that knows our secret.
two men must have known it; we have killed one, we must now find the other.
to this end one of you who is bold and artful must go into the city dressed as a traveler, and discover whom we have killed, and whether men talk of the strange manner of his death.
if the messenger fails he must lose his life, lest we be betrayed."
one of the thieves started up and offered to do this, and after the rest had highly commended him for his bravery he disguised himself, and happened to enter the town at daybreak, just by baba mustapha's stall.
the thief bade him good-day, saying: "honest man, how can you possibly see to stitch at your age?"
""old as i am," replied the cobbler, "i have very good eyes, and will you believe me when i tell you that i sewed a dead body together in a place where i had less light than i have now."
the robber was overjoyed at his good fortune, and, giving him a piece of gold, desired to be shown the house where he stitched up the dead body.
at first mustapha refused, saying that he had been blindfolded; but when the robber gave him another piece of gold he began to think he might remember the turnings if blindfolded as before.
this means succeeded; the robber partly led him, and was partly guided by him, right in front of cassim's house, the door of which the robber marked with a piece of chalk.
then, well pleased, he bade farewell to baba mustapha and returned to the forest.
by and by morgiana, going out, saw the mark the robber had made, quickly guessed that some mischief was brewing, and fetching a piece of chalk marked two or three doors on each side, without saying anything to her master or mistress.
the thief, meantime, told his comrades of his discovery.
the captain thanked him, and bade him show him the house he had marked.
but when they came to it they saw that five or six of the houses were chalked in the same manner.
the guide was so confounded that he knew not what answer to make, and when they returned he was at once beheaded for having failed.
another robber was dispatched, and, having won over baba mustapha, marked the house in red chalk; but morgiana being again too clever for them, the second messenger was put to death also.
the captain now resolved to go himself, but, wiser than the others, he did not mark the house, but looked at it so closely that he could not fail to remember it.
he returned, and ordered his men to go into the neighboring villages and buy nineteen mules, and thirty-eight leather jars, all empty except one, which was full of oil.
the captain put one of his men, fully armed, into each, rubbing the outside of the jars with oil from the full vessel.
then the nineteen mules were loaded with thirty-seven robbers in jars, and the jar of oil, and reached the town by dusk.
the captain stopped his mules in front of ali baba's house, and said to ali baba, who was sitting outside for coolness: "i have brought some oil from a distance to sell at to-morrow's market, but it is now so late that i know not where to pass the night, unless you will do me the favor to take me in."
though ali baba had seen the captain of the robbers in the forest, he did not recognize him in the disguise of an oil merchant.
he bade him welcome, opened his gates for the mules to enter, and went to morgiana to bid her prepare a bed and supper for his guest.
he brought the stranger into his hall, and after they had supped went again to speak to morgiana in the kitchen, while the captain went into the yard under pretense of seeing after his mules, but really to tell his men what to do.
beginning at the first jar and ending at the last, he said to each man: "as soon as i throw some stones from the window of the chamber where i lie, cut the jars open with your knives and come out, and i will be with you in a trice."
he returned to the house, and morgiana led him to his chamber.
she then told abdallah, her fellow-slave, to set on the pot to make some broth for her master, who had gone to bed.
meanwhile her lamp went out, and she had no more oil in the house.
""do not be uneasy," said abdallah; "go into the yard and take some out of one of those jars."
morgiana thanked him for his advice, took the oil pot, and went into the yard.
when she came to the first jar the robber inside said softly: "is it time?"
any other slave but morgiana, on finding a man in the jar instead of the oil she wanted, would have screamed and made a noise; but she, knowing the danger her master was in, bethought herself of a plan, and answered quietly: "not yet, but presently."
she went to all the jars, giving the same answer, till she came to the jar of oil.
she now saw that her master, thinking to entertain an oil merchant, had let thirty-eight robbers into his house.
she filled her oil pot, went back to the kitchen, and, having lit her lamp, went again to the oil jar and filled a large kettle full of oil.
when it boiled she went and poured enough oil into every jar to stifle and kill the robber inside.
when this brave deed was done she went back to the kitchen, put out the fire and the lamp, and waited to see what would happen.
in a quarter of an hour the captain of the robbers awoke, got up, and opened the window.
as all seemed quiet, he threw down some little pebbles which hit the jars.
he listened, and as none of his men seemed to stir he grew uneasy, and went down into the yard.
on going to the first jar and saying, "are you asleep?"
he smelt the hot boiled oil, and knew at once that his plot to murder ali baba and his household had been discovered.
he found all the gang was dead, and, missing the oil out of the last jar, became aware of the manner of their death.
he then forced the lock of a door leading into a garden, and climbing over several walls made his escape.
morgiana heard and saw all this, and, rejoicing at her success, went to bed and fell asleep.
at daybreak ali baba arose, and, seeing the oil jars still there, asked why the merchant had not gone with his mules.
morgiana bade him look in the first jar and see if there was any oil.
seeing a man, he started back in terror.
""have no fear," said morgiana; "the man can not harm you: he is dead."
ali baba, when he had recovered somewhat from his astonishment, asked what had become of the merchant.
""merchant!"
said she, "he is no more a merchant than i am!"
and she told him the whole story, assuring him that it was a plot of the robbers of the forest, of whom only three were left, and that the white and red chalk marks had something to do with it.
ali baba at once gave morgiana her freedom, saying that he owed her his life.
they then buried the bodies in ali baba's garden, while the mules were sold in the market by his slaves.
the captain returned to his lonely cave, which seemed frightful to him without his lost companions, and firmly resolved to avenge them by killing ali baba.
he dressed himself carefully, and went into the town, where he took lodgings in an inn.
in the course of a great many journeys to the forest he carried away many rich stuffs and much fine linen, and set up a shop opposite that of ali baba's son.
he called himself cogia hassan, and as he was both civil and well dressed he soon made friends with ali baba's son, and through him with ali baba, whom he was continually asking to sup with him.
ali baba, wishing to return his kindness, invited him into his house and received him smiling, thanking him for his kindness to his son.
when the merchant was about to take his leave ali baba stopped him, saying: "where are you going, sir, in such haste?
will you not stay and sup with me?"
the merchant refused, saying that he had a reason; and, on ali baba's asking him what that was, he replied: "it is, sir, that i can eat no victuals that have any salt in them."
""if that is all," said ali baba, "let me tell you that there shall be no salt in either the meat or the bread that we eat to-night."
he went to give this order to morgiana, who was much surprised.
""who is this man," she said, "who eats no salt with his meat?"
""he is an honest man, morgiana," returned her master; "therefore do as i bid you."
but she could not withstand a desire to see this strange man, so she helped abdallah to carry up the dishes, and saw in a moment that cogia hassan was the robber captain, and carried a dagger under his garment.
""i am not surprised," she said to herself, "that this wicked man, who intends to kill my master, will eat no salt with him; but i will hinder his plans."
she sent up the supper by abdallah, while she made ready for one of the boldest acts that could be thought on.
when the dessert had been served, cogia hassan was left alone with ali baba and his son, whom he thought to make drunk and then to murder them.
morgiana, meanwhile, put on a head-dress like a dancing-girl's, and clasped a girdle round her waist, from which hung a dagger with a silver hilt, and said to abdallah: "take your tabor, and let us go and divert our master and his guest."
abdallah took his tabor and played before morgiana until they came to the door, where abdallah stopped playing and morgiana made a low courtesy.
""come in, morgiana," said ali baba, "and let cogia hassan see what you can do"; and, turning to cogia hassan, he said: "she's my slave and my housekeeper."
cogia hassan was by no means pleased, for he feared that his chance of killing ali baba was gone for the present; but he pretended great eagerness to see morgiana, and abdallah began to play and morgiana to dance.
after she had performed several dances she drew her dagger and made passes with it, sometimes pointing it at her own breast, sometimes at her master's, as if it were part of the dance.
suddenly, out of breath, she snatched the tabor from abdallah with her left hand, and, holding the dagger in her right hand, held out the tabor to her master.
ali baba and his son put a piece of gold into it, and cogia hassan, seeing that she was coming to him, pulled out his purse to make her a present, but while he was putting his hand into it morgiana plunged the dagger into his heart.
""unhappy girl!"
cried ali baba and his son, "what have you done to ruin us?"
""it was to preserve you, master, not to ruin you," answered morgiana.
""see here," opening the false merchant's garment and showing the dagger; "see what an enemy you have entertained!
remember, he would eat no salt with you, and what more would you have?
look at him!
he is both the false oil merchant and the captain of the forty thieves."
ali baba was so grateful to morgiana for thus saving his life that he offered her to his son in marriage, who readily consented, and a few days after the wedding was celebrated with greatest splendor.
at the end of a year ali baba, hearing nothing of the two remaining robbers, judged they were dead, and set out to the cave.
the door opened on his saying: "open sesame!"
he went in, and saw that nobody had been there since the captain left it.
he brought away as much gold as he could carry, and returned to town.
he told his son the secret of the cave, which his son handed down in his turn, so the children and grandchildren of ali baba were rich to the end of their lives.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- arabian nights.
hansel and grettel once upon a time there dwelt on the outskirts of a large forest a poor woodcutter with his wife and two children; the boy was called hansel and the girl grettel.
he had always little enough to live on, and once, when there was a great famine in the land, he could n't even provide them with daily bread.
one night, as he was tossing about in bed, full of cares and worry, he sighed and said to his wife: "what's to become of us?
how are we to support our poor children, now that we have nothing more for ourselves?"
""i'll tell you what, husband," answered the woman; "early to-morrow morning we'll take the children out into the thickest part of the wood; there we shall light a fire for them and give them each a piece of bread; then we'll go on to our work and leave them alone.
they wo n't be able to find their way home, and we shall thus be rid of them."
""no, wife," said her husband, "that i wo n't do; how could i find it in my heart to leave my children alone in the wood?
the wild beasts would soon come and tear them to pieces."
""oh!
you fool," said she, "then we must all four die of hunger, and you may just as well go and plane the boards for our coffins"; and she left him no peace till he consented.
""but i ca n't help feeling sorry for the poor children," added the husband.
the children, too, had not been able to sleep for hunger, and had heard what their step-mother had said to their father.
grettel wept bitterly and spoke to hansel: "now it's all up with us."
""no, no, grettel," said hansel, "do n't fret yourself; i'll be able to find a way to escape, no fear."
and when the old people had fallen asleep he got up, slipped on his little coat, opened the back door and stole out.
the moon was shining clearly, and the white pebbles which lay in front of the house glittered like bits of silver.
hansel bent down and filled his pocket with as many of them as he could cram in.
then he went back and said to grettel: "be comforted, my dear little sister, and go to sleep: god will not desert us"; and he lay down in bed again.
at daybreak, even before the sun was up, the woman came and woke the two children: "get up, you lie-abeds, we're all going to the forest to fetch wood."
she gave them each a bit of bread and said: "there's something for your luncheon, but do n't you eat it up before, for it's all you'll get."
grettel took the bread under her apron, as hansel had the stones in his pocket.
then they all set out together on the way to the forest.
after they had walked for a little, hansel stood still and looked back at the house, and this maneuver he repeated again and again.
his father observed him, and said: "hansel, what are you gazing at there, and why do you always remain behind?
take care, and do n't lose your footing."
""oh!
father," said hansel, "i am looking back at my white kitten, which is sitting on the roof, waving me a farewell."
the woman exclaimed: "what a donkey you are!
that is n't your kitten, that's the morning sun shining on the chimney."
but hansel had not looked back at his kitten, but had always dropped one of the white pebbles out of his pocket on to the path.
when they had reached the middle of the forest the father said: "now, children, go and fetch a lot of wood, and i'll light a fire that you may not feel cold."
hansel and grettel heaped up brushwood till they had made a pile nearly the size of a small hill.
the brushwood was set fire to, and when the flames leaped high the woman said: "now lie down at the fire, children, and rest yourselves: we are going into the forest to cut down wood; when we've finished we'll come back and fetch you."
hansel and grettel sat down beside the fire, and at midday ate their little bits of bread.
they heard the strokes of the axe, so they thought their father was quite near.
but it was no axe they heard, but a bough he had tied on a dead tree, and that was blown about by the wind.
and when they had sat for a long time their eyes closed with fatigue, and they fell fast asleep.
when they awoke at last it was pitch dark.
grettel began to cry, and said: "how are we ever to get out of the wood?"
but hansel comforted her.
""wait a bit," he said, "till the moon is up, and then we'll find our way sure enough."
and when the full moon had risen he took his sister by the hand and followed the pebbles, which shone like new threepenny bits, and showed them the path.
they walked on through the night, and at daybreak reached their father's house again.
they knocked at the door, and when the woman opened it she exclaimed: "you naughty children, what a time you've slept in the wood!
we thought you were never going to come back."
but the father rejoiced, for his conscience had reproached him for leaving his children behind by themselves.
not long afterward there was again great dearth in the land, and the children heard their mother address their father thus in bed one night: "everything is eaten up once more; we have only half a loaf in the house, and when that's done it's all up with us.
the children must be got rid of; we'll lead them deeper into the wood this time, so that they wo n't be able to find their way out again.
there is no other way of saving ourselves."
the man's heart smote him heavily, and he thought: "surely it would be better to share the last bite with one's children!"
but his wife would n't listen to his arguments, and did nothing but scold and reproach him.
if a man yields once he's done for, and so, because he had given in the first time, he was forced to do so the second.
but the children were awake, and had heard the conversation.
when the old people were asleep hansel got up, and wanted to go out and pick up pebbles again, as he had done the first time; but the woman had barred the door, and hansel could n't get out.
but he consoled his little sister, and said: "do n't cry, grettel, and sleep peacefully, for god is sure to help us."
at early dawn the woman came and made the children get up.
they received their bit of bread, but it was even smaller than the time before.
on the way to the wood hansel crumbled it in his pocket, and every few minutes he stood still and dropped a crumb on the ground.
""hansel, what are you stopping and looking about you for?"
said the father.
""i'm looking back at my little pigeon, which is sitting on the roof waving me a farewell," answered hansel.
""fool!"
said the wife; "that is n't your pigeon, it's the morning sun glittering on the chimney."
but hansel gradually threw all his crumbs on the path.
the woman led the children still deeper into the forest farther than they had ever been in their lives before.
then a big fire was lit again, and the mother said: "just sit down there, children, and if you're tired you can sleep a bit; we're going into the forest to cut down wood, and in the evening when we're finished we'll come back to fetch you."
at midday grettel divided her bread with hansel, for he had strewn his all along their path.
then they fell asleep, and evening passed away, but nobody came to the poor children.
they did n't awake till it was pitch dark, and hansel comforted his sister, saying: "only wait, grettel, till the moon rises, then we shall see the bread-crumbs i scattered along the path; they will show us the way back to the house."
when the moon appeared they got up, but they found no crumbs, for the thousands of birds that fly about the woods and fields had picked them all up.
""never mind," said hansel to grettel; "you'll see we'll find a way out"; but all the same they did not.
they wandered about the whole night, and the next day, from morning till evening, but they could not find a path out of the wood.
they were very hungry, too, for they had nothing to eat but a few berries they found growing on the ground.
and at last they were so tired that their legs refused to carry them any longer, so they lay down under a tree and fell fast asleep.
on the third morning after they had left their father's house they set about their wandering again, but only got deeper and deeper into the wood, and now they felt that if help did not come to them soon they must perish.
at midday they saw a beautiful little snow-white bird sitting on a branch, which sang so sweetly that they stopped still and listened to it.
and when its song was finished it flapped its wings and flew on in front of them.
they followed it and came to a little house, on the roof of which it perched; and when they came quite near they saw that the cottage was made of bread and roofed with cakes, while the window was made of transparent sugar.
""now we'll set to," said hansel, "and have a regular blow-out.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- i'll eat a bit of the roof, and you, grettel, can eat some of the window, which you'll find a sweet morsel."
hansel stretched up his hand and broke off a little bit of the roof to see what it was like, and grettel went to the casement and began to nibble at it.
thereupon a shrill voice called out from the room inside: "nibble, nibble, little mouse, who's nibbling my house?"
the children answered: "tis heaven's own child, the tempest wild," and went on eating, without putting themselves about.
hansel, who thoroughly appreciated the roof, tore down a big bit of it, while grettel pushed out a whole round window-pane, and sat down the better to enjoy it.
suddenly the door opened, and an ancient dame leaning on a staff hobbled out.
hansel and grettel were so terrified that they let what they had in their hands fall.
but the old woman shook her head and said: "oh, ho!
you dear children, who led you here?
just come in and stay with me, no ill shall befall you."
she took them both by the hand and let them into the house, and laid a most sumptuous dinner before them -- milk and sugared pancakes, with apples and nuts.
after they had finished, two beautiful little white beds were prepared for them, and when hansel and grettel lay down in them they felt as if they had got into heaven.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- he was a vulgar boy!
the old woman had appeared to be most friendly, but she was really an old witch who had waylaid the children, and had only built the little bread house in order to lure them in.
when anyone came into her power she killed, cooked, and ate him, and held a regular feast-day for the occasion.
now witches have red eyes, and can not see far, but, like beasts, they have a keen sense of smell, and know when human beings pass by.
when hansel and grettel fell into her hands she laughed maliciously, and said jeeringly: "i've got them now; they sha'n' t escape me."
early in the morning, before the children were awake, she rose up, and when she saw them both sleeping so peacefully, with their round rosy cheeks, she muttered to herself: "that'll be a dainty bite."
then she seized hansel with her bony hand and carried him into a little stable, and barred the door on him; he might scream as much as he liked, it did him no good.
then she went to grettel, shook her till she awoke, and cried: "get up, you lazy-bones, fetch water and cook something for your brother.
when he's fat i'll eat him up."
grettel began to cry bitterly, but it was of no use; she had to do what the wicked witch bade her.
so the best food was cooked for poor hansel, but grettel got nothing but crab-shells.
every morning the old woman hobbled out to the stable and cried: "hansel, put out your finger, that i may feel if you are getting fat."
but hansel always stretched out a bone, and the old dame, whose eyes were dim, could n't see it, and thinking always it was hansel's finger, wondered why he fattened so slowly.
when four weeks had passed and hansel still remained thin, she lost patience and determined to wait no longer.
""hi, grettel," she called to the girl, "be quick and get some water.
hansel may be fat or thin, i'm going to kill him to-morrow and cook him."
oh!
how the poor little sister sobbed as she carried the water, and how the tears rolled down her cheeks!
""kind heaven help us now!"
she cried; "if only the wild beasts in the wood had eaten us, then at least we should have died together."
""just hold your peace," said the old hag; "it wo n't help you."
early in the morning grettel had to go out and hang up the kettle full of water, and light the fire.
""first we'll bake," said the old dame; "i've heated the oven already and kneaded the dough."
she pushed grettel out to the oven, from which fiery flames were already issuing.
""creep in," said the witch, "and see if it's properly heated, so that we can shove in the bread."
for when she had got grettel in she meant to close the oven and let the girl bake, that she might eat her up too.
but grettel perceived her intention, and said: "i do n't know how i'm to do it; how do i get in?"
""you silly goose!"
said the hag, "the opening is big enough; see, i could get in myself," and she crawled toward it, and poked her head into the oven.
then grettel gave her a shove that sent her right in, shut the iron door, and drew the bolt.
gracious!
how she yelled, it was quite horrible; but grettel fled, and the wretched old woman was left to perish miserably.
grettel flew straight to hansel, opened the little stable-door, and cried: "hansel, we are free; the old witch is dead."
then hansel sprang like a bird out of a cage when the door is opened.
how they rejoiced, and fell on each other's necks, and jumped for joy, and kissed one another!
and as they had no longer any cause for fear, they went in the old hag's house, and here they found, in every corner of the room, boxes with pearls and precious stones.
""these are even better than pebbles," said hansel, and crammed his pockets full of them; and grettel said: "i too will bring something home," and she filled her apron full.
""but now," said hansel, "let's go and get well away from the witch's wood."
when they had wandered about for some hours they came to a big lake.
""we ca n't get over," said hansel; "i see no bridge of any sort or kind."
""yes, and there's no ferry-boat either," answered grettel; "but look, there swims a white duck; if i ask her she'll help us over," and she called out: "here are two children, mournful very, seeing neither bridge nor ferry; take us upon your white back, and row us over, quack, quack!"
the duck swam toward them, and hansel got on her back and bade his little sister sit beside him.
""no," answered grettel, "we should be too heavy a load for the duck: she shall carry us across separately."
the good bird did this, and when they were landed safely on the other side, and had gone for a while, the wood became more and more familiar to them, and at length they saw their father's house in the distance.
then they set off to run, and bounding into the room fell on their father's neck.
the man had not passed a happy hour since he left them in the wood, but the woman had died.
grettel shook out her apron so that the pearls and precious stones rolled about the room, and hansel threw down one handful after the other out of his pocket.
thus all their troubles were ended, and they lived happily ever afterward.
my story is done.
see!
there runs a little mouse; anyone who catches it may make himself a large fur cap out of it.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- grimm.
snow-white and rose-red a poor widow once lived in a little cottage with a garden in front of it, in which grew two rose trees, one bearing white roses and the other red.
she had two children, who were just like the two rose trees; one was called snow-white and the other rose-red, and they were the sweetest and best children in the world, always diligent and always cheerful; but snow-white was quieter and more gentle than rose-red.
rose-red loved to run about the fields and meadows, and to pick flowers and catch butterflies; but snow-white sat at home with her mother and helped her in the household, or read aloud to her when there was no work to do.
the two children loved each other so dearly that they always walked about hand in hand whenever they went out together, and when snow-white said, "we will never desert each other," rose-red answered: "no, not as long as we live"; and the mother added: "whatever one gets she shall share with the other."
they often roamed about in the woods gathering berries and no beast offered to hurt them; on the contrary, they came up to them in the most confiding manner; the little hare would eat a cabbage leaf from their hands, the deer grazed beside them, the stag would bound past them merrily, and the birds remained on the branches and sang to them with all their might.
no evil ever befell them; if they tarried late in the wood and night overtook them, they lay down together on the moss and slept till morning, and their mother knew they were quite safe, and never felt anxious about them.
once, when they had slept all night in the wood and had been wakened by the morning sun, they perceived a beautiful child in a shining white robe sitting close to their resting-place.
the figure got up, looked at them kindly, but said nothing, and vanished into the wood.
and when they looked round about them they became aware that they had slept quite close to a precipice, over which they would certainly have fallen had they gone on a few steps further in the darkness.
and when they told their mother of their adventure, she said what they had seen must have been the angel that guards good children.
snow-white and rose-red kept their mother's cottage so beautifully clean and neat that it was a pleasure to go into it.
in summer rose-red looked after the house, and every morning before her mother awoke she placed a bunch of flowers before the bed, from each tree a rose.
in winter snow-white lit the fire and put on the kettle, which was made of brass, but so beautifully polished that it shone like gold.
in the evening when the snowflakes fell their mother said: "snow-white, go and close the shutters," and they drew round the fire, while the mother put on her spectacles and read aloud from a big book and the two girls listened and sat and span.
beside them on the ground lay a little lamb, and behind them perched a little white dove with its head tucked under its wings.
one evening as they sat thus cosily together someone knocked at the door as though he desired admittance.
the mother said: "rose-red, open the door quickly; it must be some traveler seeking shelter."
rose-red hastened to unbar the door, and thought she saw a poor man standing in the darkness outside; but it was no such thing, only a bear, who poked his thick black head through the door.
rose-red screamed aloud and sprang back in terror, the lamb began to bleat, the dove flapped its wings, and snow-white ran and hid behind her mother's bed.
but the bear began to speak, and said: "do n't be afraid: i wo n't hurt you.
i am half frozen, and only wish to warm myself a little."
""my poor bear," said the mother, "lie down by the fire, only take care you do n't burn your fur."
then she called out: "snow-white and rose-red, come out; the bear will do you no harm; he is a good, honest creature."
so they both came out of their hiding-places, and gradually the lamb and dove drew near too, and they all forgot their fear.
the bear asked the children to beat the snow a little out of his fur, and they fetched a brush and scrubbed him till he was dry.
then the beast stretched himself in front of the fire, and growled quite happily and comfortably.
the children soon grew quite at their ease with him, and led their helpless guest a fearful life.
they tugged his fur with their hands, put their small feet on his back, and rolled him about here and there, or took a hazel wand and beat him with it; and if he growled they only laughed.
the bear submitted to everything with the best possible good-nature, only when they went too far he cried: "oh!
children, spare my life!
""snow-white and rose-red, do n't beat your lover dead."
when it was time to retire for the night, and the others went to bed, the mother said to the bear: "you can lie there on the hearth, in heaven's name; it will be shelter for you from the cold and wet."
as soon as day dawned the children led him out, and he trotted over the snow into the wood.
from this time on the bear came every evening at the same hour, and lay down by the hearth and let the children play what pranks they liked with him; and they got so accustomed to him that the door was never shut till their black friend had made his appearance.
when spring came, and all outside was green, the bear said one morning to snow-white: "now i must go away, and not return again the whole summer."
""where are you going to, dear bear?"
asked snow-white.
""i must go to the wood and protect my treasure from the wicked dwarfs.
in winter, when the earth is frozen hard, they are obliged to remain underground, for they ca n't work their way through; but now, when the sun has thawed and warmed the ground, they break through and come up above to spy the land and steal what they can; what once falls into their hands and into their caves is not easily brought back to light."
snow-white was quite sad over their friend's departure, and when she unbarred the door for him, the bear, stepping out, caught a piece of his fur in the door-knocker, and snow-white thought she caught sight of glittering gold beneath it, but she could n't be certain of it; and the bear ran hastily away, and soon disappeared behind the trees.
a short time after this the mother sent the children into the wood to collect fagots.
they came in their wanderings upon a big tree which lay felled on the ground, and on the trunk among the long grass they noticed something jumping up and down, but what it was they could n't distinguish.
when they approached nearer they perceived a dwarf with a wizened face and a beard a yard long.
the end of the beard was jammed into a cleft of the tree, and the little man sprang about like a dog on a chain, and did n't seem to know what he was to do.
he glared at the girls with his fiery red eyes, and screamed out: "what are you standing there for?
ca n't you come and help me?"
""what were you doing, little man?"
asked rose-red.
""you stupid, inquisitive goose!"
replied the dwarf; "i wanted to split the tree, in order to get little chips of wood for our kitchen fire; those thick logs that serve to make fires for coarse, greedy people like yourselves quite burn up all the little food we need.
i had successfully driven in the wedge, and all was going well, but the cursed wood was so slippery that it suddenly sprang out, and the tree closed up so rapidly that i had no time to take my beautiful white beard out, so here i am stuck fast, and i ca n't get away; and you silly, smooth-faced, milk-and-water girls just stand and laugh!
ugh!
what wretches you are!"
the children did all in their power, but they could n't get the beard out; it was wedged in far too firmly.
""i will run and fetch somebody," said rose-red.
""crazy blockheads!"
snapped the dwarf; "what's the good of calling anyone else?
you're already two too many for me.
does nothing better occur to you than that?"
""do n't be so impatient," said snow-white, "i'll see you get help," and taking her scissors out of her pocket she cut off the end of his beard.
as soon as the dwarf felt himself free he seized a bag full of gold which was hidden among the roots of the tree, lifted it up, and muttered aloud: "curse these rude wretches, cutting off a piece of my splendid beard!"
with these words he swung the bag over his back, and disappeared without as much as looking at the children again.
shortly after this snow-white and rose-red went out to get a dish of fish.
as they approached the stream they saw something which looked like an enormous grasshopper springing toward the water as if it were going to jump in.
they ran forward and recognized their old friend the dwarf.
""where are you going to?"
asked rose-red; "you're surely not going to jump into the water?"
""i'm not such a fool," screamed the dwarf.
""do n't you see that cursed fish is trying to drag me in?"
the little man had been sitting on the bank fishing, when unfortunately the wind had entangled his beard in the line; and when immediately afterward a big fish bit, the feeble little creature had no strength to pull it out; the fish had the upper fin, and dragged the dwarf toward him.
he clung on with all his might to every rush and blade of grass, but it did n't help him much; he had to follow every movement of the fish, and was in great danger of being drawn into the water.
the girls came up just at the right moment, held him firm, and did all they could to disentangle his beard from the line; but in vain, beard and line were in a hopeless muddle.
nothing remained but to produce the scissors and cut the beard, by which a small part of it was sacrificed.
when the dwarf perceived what they were about he yelled to them: "do you call that manners, you toad-stools!
to disfigure a fellow's face?
it was n't enough that you shortened my beard before, but you must now needs cut off the best bit of it.
i ca n't appear like this before my own people.
i wish you'd been in jericho first."
then he fetched a sack of pearls that lay among the rushes, and without saying another word he dragged it away and disappeared behind a stone.
it happened that soon after this the mother sent the two girls to the town to buy needles, thread, laces, and ribbons.
their road led over a heath where huge boulders of rock lay scattered here and there.
while trudging along they saw a big bird hovering in the air, circling slowly above them, but always descending lower, till at last it settled on a rock not far from them.
immediately afterward they heard a sharp, piercing cry.
they ran forward, and saw with horror that the eagle had pounced on their old friend the dwarf, and was about to carry him off.
the tender-hearted children seized hold of the little man, and struggled so long with the bird that at last he let go his prey.
when the dwarf had recovered from the first shock he screamed in his screeching voice: "could n't you have treated me more carefully?
you have torn my thin little coat all to shreds, useless, awkward hussies that you are!"
then he took a bag of precious stones and vanished under the rocks into his cave.
the girls were accustomed to his ingratitude, and went on their way and did their business in town.
on their way home, as they were again passing the heath, they surprised the dwarf pouring out his precious stones on an open space, for he had thought no one would pass by at so late an hour.
the evening sun shone on the glittering stones, and they glanced and gleamed so beautifully that the children stood still and gazed on them.
""what are you standing there gaping for?"
screamed the dwarf, and his ashen-gray face became scarlet with rage.
he was about to go off with these angry words when a sudden growl was heard, and a black bear trotted out of the wood.
the dwarf jumped up in great fright, but he had n't time to reach his place of retreat, for the bear was already close to him.
then he cried in terror: "dear mr. bear, spare me!
i'll give you all my treasure.
look at those beautiful precious stones lying there.
spare my life!
what pleasure would you get from a poor feeble little fellow like me?
you wo n't feel me between your teeth.
there, lay hold of these two wicked girls, they will be a tender morsel for you, as fat as young quails; eat them up, for heaven's sake."
but the bear, paying no attention to his words, gave the evil little creature one blow with his paw, and he never moved again.
the girls had run away, but the bear called after them: "snow-white and rose-red, do n't be afraid; wait, and i'll come with you."
then they recognized his voice and stood still, and when the bear was quite close to them his skin suddenly fell off, and a beautiful man stood beside them, all dressed in gold.
""i am a king's son," he said, "and have been doomed by that unholy little dwarf, who had stolen my treasure, to roam about the woods as a wild bear till his death should set me free.
now he has got his well-merited punishment."
snow-white married him, and rose-red his brother, and they divided the great treasure the dwarf had collected in his cave between them.
the old mother lived for many years peacefully with her children; and she carried the two rose trees with her, and they stood in front of her window, and every year they bore the finest red and white roses.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- grimm.
the goose-girl once upon a time an old queen, whose husband had been dead for many years, had a beautiful daughter.
when she grew up she was betrothed to a prince who lived a great way off.
now, when the time drew near for her to be married and to depart into a foreign kingdom, her old mother gave her much costly baggage, and many ornaments, gold and silver, trinkets and knicknacks, and, in fact, everything that belonged to a royal trousseau, for she loved her daughter very dearly.
she gave her a waiting-maid also, who was to ride with her and hand her over to the bridegroom, and she provided each of them with a horse for the journey.
now the princess's horse was called falada, and could speak.
when the hour for departure drew near the old mother went to her bedroom, and taking a small knife she cut her fingers till they bled; then she held a white rag under them, and letting three drops of blood fall into it, she gave it to her daughter, and said: "dear child, take great care of this rag: it may be of use to you on the journey."
so they took a sad farewell of each other, and the princess stuck the rag in front of her dress, mounted her horse, and set forth on the journey to her bridegroom's kingdom.
after they had ridden for about an hour the princess began to feel very thirsty, and said to her waiting-maid: "pray get down and fetch me some water in my golden cup out of yonder stream: i would like a drink."
""if you're thirsty," said the maid, "dismount yourself, and lie down by the water and drink; i do n't mean to be your servant any longer."
the princess was so thirsty that she got down, bent over the stream, and drank, for she was n't allowed to drink out of the golden goblet.
as she drank she murmured: "oh!
heaven, what am i to do?"
and the three drops of blood replied: "if your mother only knew, her heart would surely break in two."
but the princess was meek, and said nothing about her maid's rude behavior, and quietly mounted her horse again.
they rode on their way for several miles, but the day was hot, and the sun's rays smote fiercely on them, so that the princess was soon overcome by thirst again.
and as they passed a brook she called once more to her waiting-maid: "pray get down and give me a drink from my golden cup," for she had long ago forgotten her maid's rude words.
but the waiting-maid replied, more haughtily even than before: "if you want a drink, you can dismount and get it; i do n't mean to be your servant."
then the princess was compelled by her thirst to get down, and bending over the flowing water she cried and said: "oh!
heaven, what am i to do?"
and the three drops of blood replied: "if your mother only knew, her heart would surely break in two."
and as she drank thus, and leaned right over the water, the rag containing the three drops of blood fell from her bosom and floated down the stream, and she in her anxiety never even noticed her loss.
but the waiting-maid had observed it with delight, as she knew it gave her power over the bride, for in losing the drops of blood the princess had become weak and powerless.
when she wished to get on her horse falada again, the waiting-maid called out: "i mean to ride falada: you must mount my beast"; and this too she had to submit to.
then the waiting-maid commanded her harshly to take off her royal robes, and to put on her common ones, and finally she made her swear by heaven not to say a word about the matter when they reached the palace; and if she had n't taken this oath she would have been killed on the spot.
but falada observed everything, and laid it all to heart.
the waiting-maid now mounted falada, and the real bride the worse horse, and so they continued their journey till at length they arrived at the palace yard.
there was great rejoicing over the arrival, and the prince sprang forward to meet them, and taking the waiting-maid for his bride, he lifted her down from her horse and led her upstairs to the royal chamber.
in the meantime the real princess was left standing below in the courtyard.
the old king, who was looking out of his window, beheld her in this plight, and it struck him how sweet and gentle, even beautiful, she looked.
he went at once to the royal chamber, and asked the bride who it was she had brought with her and had left thus standing in the court below.
""oh!"
replied the bride, "i brought her with me to keep me company on the journey; give the girl something to do, that she may not be idle."
but the old king had no work for her, and could n't think of anything; so he said, "i've a small boy who looks after the geese, she'd better help him."
the youth's name was curdken, and the real bride was made to assist him in herding geese.
soon after this the false bride said to the prince: "dearest husband, i pray you grant me a favor."
he answered: "that i will."
""then let the slaughterer cut off the head of the horse i rode here upon, because it behaved very badly on the journey."
but the truth was she was afraid lest the horse should speak and tell how she had treated the princess.
she carried her point, and the faithful falada was doomed to die.
when the news came to the ears of the real princess she went to the slaughterer, and secretly promised him a piece of gold if he would do something for her.
there was in the town a large dark gate, through which she had to pass night and morning with the geese; would he "kindly hang up falada's head there, that she might see it once again?"
the slaughterer said he would do as she desired, chopped off the head, and nailed it firmly over the gateway.
early next morning, as she and curdken were driving their flock through the gate, she said as she passed under: "oh!
falada,'t is you hang there"; and the head replied:"'t is you; pass under, princess fair: if your mother only knew, her heart would surely break in two."
then she left the tower and drove the geese into a field.
and when they had reached the common where the geese fed she sat down and unloosed her hair, which was of pure gold.
curdken loved to see it glitter in the sun, and wanted much to pull some hair out.
then she spoke: "wind, wind, gently sway, blow curdken's hat away; let him chase o'er field and wold till my locks of ruddy gold, now astray and hanging down, be combed and plaited in a crown."
then a gust of wind blew curdken's hat away, and he had to chase it over hill and dale.
when he returned from the pursuit she had finished her combing and curling, and his chance of getting any hair was gone.
curdken was very angry, and would n't speak to her.
so they herded the geese till evening and then went home.
the next morning, as they passed under the gate, the girl said: "oh!
falada,'t is you hang there;" and the head replied:"'t is you; pass under, princess fair: if your mother only knew, her heart would surely break in two."
then she went on her way till she came to the common, where she sat down and began to comb out her hair; then curdken ran up to her and wanted to grasp some of the hair from her head, but she called out hastily: "wind, wind, gently sway, blow curdken's hat away; let him chase o'er field and wold till my locks of ruddy gold, now astray and hanging down, be combed and plaited in a crown."
then a puff of wind came and blew curdken's hat far away, so that he had to run after it; and when he returned she had long finished putting up her golden locks, and he could n't get any hair; so they watched the geese till it was dark.
but that evening when they got home curdken went to the old king, and said: "i refuse to herd geese any longer with that girl."
""for what reason?"
asked the old king.
""because she does nothing but annoy me all day long," replied curdken; and he proceeded to relate all her iniquities, and said: "every morning as we drive the flock through the dark gate she says to a horse's head that hangs on the wall:" "oh!
falada,'t is you hang there"; and the head replies:"" tis you; pass under, princess fair: if your mother only knew, her heart would surely break in two.""
and curdken went on to tell what passed on the common where the geese fed, and how he had always to chase his hat.
the old king bade him go and drive forth his flock as usual next day; and when morning came he himself took up his position behind the dark gate, and heard how the goose-girl greeted falada.
then he followed her through the field, and hid himself behind a bush on the common.
he soon saw with his own eyes how the goose-boy and the goose-girl looked after the geese, and how after a time the maiden sat down and loosed her hair, that glittered like gold, and repeated: "wind, wind, gently sway, blow curdken's hat away; let him chase o'er field and wold till my locks of ruddy gold now astray and hanging down, be combed and plaited in a crown."
then a gust of wind came and blew curdken's hat away, so that he had to fly over hill and dale after it, and the girl in the meantime quietly combed and plaited her hair: all this the old king observed, and returned to the palace without anyone having noticed him.
in the evening when the goose-girl came home he called her aside, and asked her why she behaved as she did.
""i may not tell you why; how dare i confide my woes to anyone?
for i swore not to by heaven, otherwise i should have lost my life."
the old king begged her to tell him all, and left her no peace, but he could get nothing out of her.
at last he said: "well, if you wo n't tell me, confide your trouble to the iron stove there," and he went away.
then she crept to the stove, and began to sob and cry and to pour out her poor little heart, and said: "here i sit, deserted by all the world, i who am a king's daughter, and a false waiting-maid has forced me to take off my own clothes, and has taken my place with my bridegroom, while i have to fulfill the lowly office of goose-girl.
""if my mother only knew her heart would surely break in two."
but the old king stood outside at the stove chimney, and listened to her words.
then he entered the room again, and bidding her leave the stove, he ordered royal apparel to be put on her, in which she looked amazingly lovely.
then he summoned his son, and revealed to him that he had got the false bride, who was nothing but a waiting-maid, while the real one, in the guise of the ex-goose-girl, was standing at his side.
the young king rejoiced from his heart when he saw her beauty and learned how good she was, and a great banquet was prepared, to which everyone was bidden.
the bridegroom sat at the head of the table, the princess on one side of him and the waiting-maid on the other; but she was so dazzled that she did not recognize the princess in her glittering garments.
now when they had eaten and drunk, and were merry, the old king asked the waiting-maid to solve a knotty point for him.
""what," said he, "should be done to a certain person who has deceived everyone?"
and he proceeded to relate the whole story, ending up with, "now what sentence should be passed?"
then the false bride answered: "she deserves to be put stark naked into a barrel lined with sharp nails, which should be dragged by two white horses up and down the street till she is dead."
""you are the person," said the king, "and you have passed sentence on yourself; and even so it shall be done to you."
and when the sentence had been carried out the young king was married to his real bride, and both reigned over the kingdom in peace and happiness.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- grimm.
toads and diamonds there was once upon a time a widow who had two daughters.
the eldest was so much like her in the face and humor that whoever looked upon the daughter saw the mother.
they were both so disagreeable and so proud that there was no living with them.
the youngest, who was the very picture of her father for courtesy and sweetness of temper, was withal one of the most beautiful girls ever seen.
as people naturally love their own likeness, this mother even doted on her eldest daughter and at the same time had a horrible aversion for the youngest -- she made her eat in the kitchen and work continually.
among other things, this poor child was forced twice a day to draw water above a mile and a-half off the house, and bring home a pitcher full of it.
one day, as she was at this fountain, there came to her a poor woman, who begged of her to let her drink.
""oh!
ay, with all my heart, goody," said this pretty little girl; and rinsing immediately the pitcher, she took up some water from the clearest place of the fountain, and gave it to her, holding up the pitcher all the while, that she might drink the easier.
the good woman, having drunk, said to her: "you are so very pretty, my dear, so good and so mannerly, that i can not help giving you a gift."
for this was a fairy, who had taken the form of a poor country woman, to see how far the civility and good manners of this pretty girl would go.
""i will give you for a gift," continued the fairy, "that, at every word you speak, there shall come out of your mouth either a flower or a jewel."
when this pretty girl came home her mother scolded her for staying so long at the fountain.
""i beg your pardon, mamma," said the poor girl, "for not making more haste."
and in speaking these words there came out of her mouth two roses, two pearls, and two diamonds.
""what is it i see there?"
said the mother, quite astonished.
""i think i see pearls and diamonds come out of the girl's mouth!
how happens this, child?"
this was the first time she had ever called her child.
the poor creature told her frankly all the matter, not without dropping out infinite numbers of diamonds.
""in good faith," cried the mother, "i must send my child thither.
come hither, fanny; look what comes out of thy sister's mouth when she speaks.
wouldst not thou be glad, my dear, to have the same gift given thee?
thou hast nothing else to do but go and draw water out of the fountain, and when a certain poor woman asks you to let her drink, to give it to her very civilly."
""it would be a very fine sight indeed," said this ill-bred minx, "to see me go draw water."
""you shall go, hussy!"
said the mother; "and this minute."
so away she went, but grumbling all the way, taking with her the best silver tankard in the house.
she was no sooner at the fountain than she saw coming out of the wood a lady most gloriously dressed, who came up to her, and asked to drink.
this was, you must know, the very fairy who appeared to her sister, but now had taken the air and dress of a princess, to see how far this girl's rudeness would go.
""am i come hither," said the proud, saucy one, "to serve you with water, pray?
i suppose the silver tankard was brought purely for your ladyship, was it?
however, you may drink out of it, if you have a fancy."
""you are not over and above mannerly," answered the fairy, without putting herself in a passion.
""well, then, since you have so little breeding, and are so disobliging, i give you for a gift that at every word you speak there shall come out of your mouth a snake or a toad."
so soon as her mother saw her coming she cried out: "well, daughter?"
""well, mother?"
answered the pert hussy, throwing out of her mouth two vipers and two toads.
""oh!
mercy," cried the mother; "what is it i see?
oh!
it is that wretch her sister who has occasioned all this; but she shall pay for it"; and immediately she ran to beat her.
the poor child fled away from her, and went to hide herself in the forest, not far from thence.
the king's son, then on his return from hunting, met her, and seeing her so very pretty, asked her what she did there alone and why she cried.
""alas!
sir, my mamma has turned me out of doors."
the king's son, who saw five or six pearls and as many diamonds come out of her mouth, desired her to tell him how that happened.
she thereupon told him the whole story; and so the king's son fell in love with her, and, considering himself that such a gift was worth more than any marriage portion, conducted her to the palace of the king his father, and there married her.
as for the sister, she made herself so much hated that her own mother turned her off; and the miserable wretch, having wandered about a good while without finding anybody to take her in, went to a corner of the wood, and there died.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- charles perrault.
prince darling once upon a time there lived a king who was so just and kind that his subjects called him "the good king."
it happened one day, when he was out hunting, that a little white rabbit, which his dogs were chasing, sprang into his arms for shelter.
the king stroked it gently, and said to it: "well, bunny, as you have come to me for protection i will see that nobody hurts you."
and he took it home to his palace and had it put in a pretty little house, with all sorts of nice things to eat.
that night, when he was alone in his room, a beautiful lady suddenly appeared before him; her long dress was as white as snow, and she had a crown of white roses upon her head.
the good king was very much surprised to see her, for he knew his door had been tightly shut, and he could not think how she had got in.
but she said to him: "i am the fairy truth.
i was passing through the wood when you were out hunting, and i wished to find out if you were really good, as everybody said you were, so i took the shape of a little rabbit and came to your arms for shelter, for i know that those who are merciful to animals will be still kinder to their fellow-men.
if you had refused to help me i should have been certain that you were wicked.
i thank you for the kindness you have shown me, which has made me your friend for ever.
you have only to ask me for anything you want and i promise that i will give it to you."
""madam," said the good king, "since you are a fairy you no doubt know all my wishes.
i have but one son whom i love very dearly, that is why he is called prince darling.
if you are really good enough to wish to do me a favor, i beg that you will become his friend."
""with all my heart," answered the fairy.
""i can make your son the handsomest prince in the world, or the richest, or the most powerful; choose whichever you like for him."
""i do not ask either of these things for my son," replied the good king; "but if you will make him the best of princes, i shall indeed be grateful to you.
what good would it do him to be rich, or handsome, or to possess all the kingdoms of the world if he were wicked?
you know well he would still be unhappy.
only a good man can be really contented."
""you are quite right," answered the fairy; "but it is not in my power to make prince darling a good man unless he will help me; he must himself try hard to become good, i can only promise to give him good advice, to scold him for his faults, and to punish him if he will not correct and punish himself."
the good king was quite satisfied with this promise; and very soon afterward he died.
prince darling was very sorry, for he loved his father with all his heart, and he would willingly have given all his kingdoms and all his treasures of gold and silver if they could have kept the good king with him.
two days afterward, when the prince had gone to bed, the fairy suddenly appeared to him and said: "i promised your father that i would be your friend, and to keep my word i have come to bring you a present."
at the same time she put a little gold ring upon his finger.
""take great care of this ring," she said: "it is more precious than diamonds; every time you do a bad deed it will prick your finger, but if, in spite of its pricking, you go on in your own evil way, you will lose my friendship, and i shall become your enemy."
so saying, the fairy disappeared, leaving prince darling very much astonished.
for some time he behaved so well that the ring never pricked him, and that made him so contented that his subjects called him prince darling the happy.
one day, however, he went out hunting, but could get no sport, which put him in a very bad temper; it seemed to him as he rode along that his ring was pressing into his finger, but as it did not prick him he did not heed it.
when he got home and went to his own room, his little dog bibi ran to meet him, jumping round him with pleasure.
""get away!"
said the prince, quite gruffly.
""i do n't want you, you are in the way."
the poor little dog, who did n't understand this at all, pulled at his coat to make him at least look at her, and this made prince darling so cross that he gave her quite a hard kick.
instantly his ring pricked him sharply, as if it had been a pin.
he was very much surprised, and sat down in a corner of his room feeling quite ashamed of himself.
""i believe the fairy is laughing at me," he thought.
""surely i can have done no great wrong in just kicking a tiresome animal!
what is the good of my being ruler of a great kingdom if i am not even allowed to beat my own dog?"
""i am not making fun of you," said a voice, answering prince darling's thoughts.
""you have committed three faults.
first of all, you were out of temper because you could not have what you wanted, and you thought all men and animals were only made to do your pleasure; then you were really angry, which is very naughty indeed; and lastly, you were cruel to a poor little animal who did not in the least deserve to be ill-treated.
""i know you are far above a little dog, but if it were right and allowable that great people should ill-treat all who are beneath them, i might at this moment beat you, or kill you, for a fairy is greater than a man.
the advantage of possessing a great empire is not to be able to do the evil that one desires, but to do all the good that one possibly can."
the prince saw how naughty he had been, and promised to try and do better in future, but he did not keep his word.
the fact was he had been brought up by a foolish nurse, who had spoiled him when he was little.
if he wanted anything he only had to cry and fret and stamp his feet and she would give him whatever he asked for, which had made him self-willed; also she had told him from morning to night that he would one day be a king, and that kings were very happy, because everyone was bound to obey and respect them, and no one could prevent them from doing just as they liked.
when the prince grew old enough to understand, he soon learned that there could be nothing worse than to be proud, obstinate, and conceited, and he had really tried to cure himself of these defects, but by that time all his faults had become habits; and a bad habit is very hard to get rid of.
not that he was naturally of a bad disposition; he was truly sorry when he had been naughty, and said: "i am very unhappy to have to struggle against my anger and pride every day; if i had been punished for them when i was little they would not be such a trouble to me now."
his ring pricked him very often, and sometimes he left off what he was doing at once; but at other times he would not attend to it.
strangely enough, it gave him only a slight prick for a trifling fault, but when he was really naughty it made his finger actually bleed.
at last he got tired of being constantly reminded, and wanted to be able to do as he liked, so he threw his ring aside, and thought himself the happiest of men to have got rid of its teasing pricks.
he gave himself up to doing every foolish thing that occurred to him, until he became quite wicked and nobody could like him any longer.
one day, when the prince was walking about, he saw a young girl who was so very pretty that he made up his mind at once that he would marry her.
her name was celia, and she was as good as she was beautiful.
prince darling fancied that celia would think herself only too happy if he offered to make her a great queen, but she said fearlessly: "sire, i am only a shepherdess, and a poor girl, but, nevertheless, i will not marry you."
""do you dislike me?"
asked the prince, who was very much vexed at this answer.
""no, my prince," replied celia; "i can not help thinking you very handsome; but what good would riches be to me, and all the grand dresses and splendid carriages that you would give me, if the bad deeds which i should see you do every day made me hate and despise you?"
the prince was very angry at this speech, and commanded his officers to make celia a prisoner and carry her off to his palace.
all day long the remembrance of what she had said annoyed him, but as he loved her he could not make up his mind to have her punished.
one of the prince's favorite companions was his foster-brother, whom he trusted entirely; but he was not at all a good man, and gave prince darling very bad advice, and encouraged him in all his evil ways.
when he saw the prince so downcast he asked what was the matter, and when he explained that he could not bear celia's bad opinion of him, and was resolved to be a better man in order to please her, this evil adviser said to him: "you are very kind to trouble yourself about this little girl; if i were you i would soon make her obey me.
remember that you are a king, and that it would be laughable to see you trying to please a shepherdess, who ought to be only too glad to be one of your slaves.
keep her in prison, and feed her on bread and water for a little while, and then, if she still says she will not marry you, have her head cut off, to teach other people that you mean to be obeyed.
why, if you can not make a girl like that do as you wish, your subjects will soon forget that they are only put into this world for our pleasure."
""but," said prince darling, "would it not be a shame if i had an innocent girl put to death?
for celia has done nothing to deserve punishment."
""if people will not do as you tell them they ought to suffer for it," answered his foster-brother; "but even if it were unjust, you had better be accused of that by your subjects than that they should find out that they may insult and thwart you as often as they please."
in saying this he was touching a weak point in his brother's character; for the prince's fear of losing any of his power made him at once abandon his first idea of trying to be good, and resolve to try and frighten the shepherdess into consenting to marry him.
his foster-brother, who wanted him to keep this resolution, invited three young courtiers, as wicked as himself to sup with the prince, and they persuaded him to drink a great deal of wine, and continued to excite his anger against celia by telling him that she had laughed at his love for her; until at last, in quite a furious rage, he rushed off to find her, declaring that if she still refused to marry him she should be sold as a slave the very next day.
but when he reached the room in which celia had been locked up, he was greatly surprised to find that she was not in it, though he had the key in his own pocket all the time.
his anger was terrible, and he vowed vengeance against whoever had helped her to escape.
his bad friends, when they heard him, resolved to turn his wrath upon an old nobleman who had formerly been his tutor; and who still dared sometimes to tell the prince of his faults, for he loved him as if he had been his own son.
at first prince darling had thanked him, but after a time he grew impatient and thought it must be just mere love of fault-finding that made his old tutor blame him when everyone else was praising and flattering him.
so he ordered him to retire from his court, though he still, from time to time, spoke of him as a worthy man whom he respected, even if he no longer loved him.
his unworthy friends feared that he might some day take it into his head to recall his old tutor, so they thought they now had a good opportunity of getting him banished for ever.
they reported to the prince that suliman, for that was the tutor's name, had boasted of having helped celia to escape, and they bribed three men to say that suliman himself had told them about it.
the prince, in great anger, sent his foster-brother with a number of soldiers to bring his tutor before him, in chains, like a criminal.
after giving this order he went to his own room, but he had scarcely got into it when there was a clap of thunder which made the ground shake, and the fairy truth appeared suddenly before him.
""i promised your father," said she sternly, "to give you good advice, and to punish you if you refused to follow it.
you have despised my counsel, and have gone your own evil way until you are only outwardly a man; really you are a monster -- the horror of everyone who knows you.
it is time that i should fulfil my promise, and begin your punishment.
i condemn you to resemble the animals whose ways you have imitated.
you have made yourself like the lion by your anger, and like the wolf by your greediness.
like a snake, you have ungratefully turned upon one who was a second father to you; your churlishness has made you like a bull.
therefore, in your new form, take the appearance of all these animals."
the fairy had scarcely finished speaking when prince darling saw to his horror that her words were fulfilled.
he had a lion's head, a bull's horns, a wolf's feet, and a snake's body.
at the same instant he found himself in a great forest, beside a clear lake, in which he could see plainly the horrible creature he had become, and a voice said to him: "look carefully at the state to which your wickedness has brought you; believe me, your soul is a thousand times more hideous than your body."
prince darling recognized the voice of the fairy truth and turned in a fury to catch her and eat her up if he possibly could; but he saw no one, and the same voice went on: "i laugh at your powerlessness and anger, and i intend to punish your pride by letting you fall into the hands of your own subjects."
the prince began to think that the best thing he could do would be to get as far away from the lake as he could, then at least he would not be continually reminded of his terrible ugliness.
so he ran toward the wood, but before he had gone many yards he fell into a deep pit which had been made to trap bears, and the hunters, who were hiding in a tree, leaped down, and secured him with several chains, and led him into the chief city of his own kingdom.
on the way, instead of recognizing that his own faults had brought this punishment upon him, he accused the fairy of being the cause of all his misfortunes, and bit and tore at his chains furiously.
as they approached the town he saw that some great rejoicing was being held, and when the hunters asked what had happened they were told that the prince, whose only pleasure it was to torment his people, had been found in his room, killed by a thunder-bolt -lrb- for that was what was supposed to have become of him -rrb-.
four of his courtiers, those who had encouraged him in his wicked doings, had tried to seize the kingdom and divide it between them, but the people, who knew it was their bad counsels which had so changed the prince, had cut off their heads, and had offered the crown to suliman, whom the prince had left in prison.
this noble lord had just been crowned, and the deliverance of the kingdom was the cause of the rejoicing "for," they said, "he is a good and just man, and we shall once more enjoy peace and prosperity."
prince darling roared with anger when he heard this; but it was still worse for him when he reached the great square before his own palace.
he saw suliman seated upon a magnificent throne, and all the people crowded round, wishing him a long life that he might undo all the mischief done by his predecessor.
presently suliman made a sign with his hand that the people should be silent, and said: "i have accepted the crown you have offered me, but only that i may keep it for prince darling, who is not dead as you suppose; the fairy has assured me that there is still hope that you may some day see him again, good and virtuous as he was when he first came to the throne.
alas!"
he continued, "he was led away by flatterers.
i knew his heart, and am certain that if it had not been for the bad influence of those who surrounded him he would have been a good king and a father to his people.
we may hate his faults, but let us pity him and hope for his restoration.
as for me, i would die gladly if that could bring back our prince to reign justly and worthily once more."
these words went to prince darling's heart; he realized the true affection and faithfulness of his old tutor, and for the first time reproached himself for all his evil deeds; at the same instant he felt all his anger melting away, and he began quickly to think over his past life, and to admit that his punishment was not more than he had deserved.
he left off tearing at the iron bars of the cage in which he was shut up, and became as gentle as a lamb.
the hunters who had caught him took him to a great menagerie, where he was chained up among all the other wild beasts, and he determined to show his sorrow for his past bad behavior by being gentle and obedient to the man who had to take care of him.
unfortunately, this man was very rough and unkind, and though the poor monster was quite quiet, he often beat him without rhyme or reason when he happened to be in a bad temper.
one day when this keeper was asleep a tiger broke its chain, and flew at him to eat him up.
prince darling, who saw what was going on, at first felt quite pleased to think that he should be delivered from his persecutor, but soon thought better of it and wished that he were free.
""i would return good for evil," he said to himself, "and save the unhappy man's life."
he had hardly wished this when his iron cage flew open, and he rushed to the side of the keeper, who was awake and was defending himself against the tiger.
when he saw the monster had got out he gave himself up for lost, but his fear was soon changed into joy, for the kind monster threw itself upon the tiger and very soon killed it, and then came and crouched at the feet of the man it had saved.
overcome with gratitude, the keeper stooped to caress the strange creature which had done him such a great service; but suddenly a voice said in his ear: "a good action should never go unrewarded," and at the same instant the monster disappeared, and he saw at his feet only a pretty little dog!
prince darling, delighted by the change, frisked about the keeper, showing his joy in every way he could, and the man, taking him up in his arms, carried him to the king, to whom he told the whole story.
the queen said she would like to have this wonderful little dog, and the prince would have been very happy in his new home if he could have forgotten that he was a man and a king.
the queen petted and took care of him, but she was so afraid that he would get too fat that she consulted the court physician, who said that he was to be fed only upon bread, and was not to have much even of that.
so poor prince darling was terribly hungry all day long, but he was very patient about it.
one day, when they gave him his little loaf for breakfast, he thought he would like to eat it out in the garden; so he took it up in his mouth and trotted away toward a brook that he knew of a long way from the palace.
but he was surprised to find that the brook was gone, and where it had been stood a great house that seemed to be built of gold and precious stones.
numbers of people splendidly dressed were going into it, and sounds of music and dancing and feasting could be heard from the windows.
but what seemed very strange was that those people who came out of the house were pale and thin, and their clothes were torn, and hanging in rags about them.
some fell down dead as they came out before they had time to get away; others crawled farther with great difficulty; while others again lay on the ground, fainting with hunger, and begged a morsel of bread from those who were going into the house, but they would not so much as look at the poor creatures.
prince darling went up to a young girl who was trying to eat a few blades of grass, she was so hungry.
touched with compassion, he said to himself: "i am very hungry, but i shall not die of starvation before i get my dinner; if i give my breakfast to this poor creature perhaps i may save her life."
so he laid his piece of bread in the girl's hand, and saw her eat it up eagerly.
she soon seemed to be quite well again, and the prince, delighted to have been able to help her, was thinking of going home to the palace, when he heard a great outcry, and, turning round, saw celia, who was being carried against her will into the great house.
for the first time the prince regretted that he was no longer the monster, then he would have been able to rescue celia; now he could only bark feebly at the people who were carrying her off, and try to follow them, but they chased and kicked him away.
he determined not to quit the place till he knew what had become of celia, and blamed himself for what had befallen her.
""alas!"
he said to himself, "i am furious with the people who are carrying celia off, but is n't that exactly what i did myself, and if i had not been prevented did i not intend to be still more cruel to her?"
here he was interrupted by a noise above his head -- someone was opening a window, and he saw with delight that it was celia herself, who came forward and threw out a plate of most delicious-looking food, then the window was shut again, and prince darling, who had not had anything to eat all day, thought he might as well take the opportunity of getting something.
he ran forward to begin, but the young girl to whom he had given his bread gave a cry of terror and took him up in her arms, saying: "do n't touch it, my poor little dog -- that house is the palace of pleasure, and everything that comes out of it is poisoned!"
at the same moment a voice said: "you see a good action always brings its reward," and the prince found himself changed into a beautiful white dove.
he remembered that white was the favorite color of the fairy truth, and began to hope that he might at last win back her favor.
but just now his first care was for celia, and rising into the air he flew round and round the house, until he saw an open window; but he searched through every room in vain.
no trace of celia was to be seen, and the prince, in despair, determined to search through the world till he found her.
he flew on and on for several days, till he came to a great desert, where he saw a cavern, and, to his delight, there sat celia, sharing the simple breakfast of an old hermit.
overjoyed to have found her, prince darling perched upon her shoulder, trying to express by his caresses how glad he was to see her again, and celia, surprised and delighted by the tameness of this pretty white dove, stroked it softly, and said, though she never thought of its understanding her: "i accept the gift that you make me of yourself, and i will love you always."
""take care what you are saying, celia," said the old hermit; "are you prepared to keep that promise?"
""indeed, i hope so, my sweet shepherdess," cried the prince, who was at that moment restored to his natural shape.
""you promised to love me always; tell me that you really mean what you said, or i shall have to ask the fairy to give me back the form of the dove which pleased you so much."
""you need not be afraid that she will change her mind," said the fairy, throwing off the hermit's robe in which she had been disguised and appearing before them.
""celia has loved you ever since she first saw you, only she would not tell you while you were so obstinate and naughty.
now you have repented and mean to be good you deserve to be happy, and so she may love you as much as she likes."
celia and prince darling threw themselves at the fairy's feet, and the prince was never tired of thanking her for her kindness.
celia was delighted to hear how sorry he was for all his past follies and misdeeds, and promised to love him as long as she lived.
""rise, my children," said the fairy, "and i will transport you to the palace, and prince darling shall have back again the crown he forfeited by his bad behavior."
while she was speaking, they found themselves in suliman's hall, and his delight was great at seeing his dear master once more.
he gave up the throne joyfully to the prince, and remained always the most faithful of his subjects.
celia and prince darling reigned for many years, but he was so determined to govern worthily and to do his duty that his ring, which he took to wearing again, never once pricked him severely.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- cabinet des fees.
blue beard there was a man who had fine houses, both in town and country, a deal of silver and gold plate, embroidered furniture, and coaches gilded all over with gold.
but this man was so unlucky as to have a blue beard, which made him so frightfully ugly that all the women and girls ran away from him.
one of his neighbors, a lady of quality, had two daughters who were perfect beauties.
he desired of her one of them in marriage, leaving to her choice which of the two she would bestow on him.
they would neither of them have him, and sent him backward and forward from one another, not being able to bear the thoughts of marrying a man who had a blue beard, and what besides gave them disgust and aversion was his having already been married to several wives, and nobody ever knew what became of them.
blue beard, to engage their affection, took them, with the lady their mother and three or four ladies of their acquaintance, with other young people of the neighborhood, to one of his country seats, where they stayed a whole week.
there was nothing then to be seen but parties of pleasure, hunting, fishing, dancing, mirth, and feasting.
nobody went to bed, but all passed the night in rallying and joking with each other.
in short, everything succeeded so well that the youngest daughter began to think the master of the house not to have a beard so very blue, and that he was a mighty civil gentleman.
as soon as they returned home, the marriage was concluded.
about a month afterward, blue beard told his wife that he was obliged to take a country journey for six weeks at least, about affairs of very great consequence, desiring her to divert herself in his absence, to send for her friends and acquaintances, to carry them into the country, if she pleased, and to make good cheer wherever she was.
""here," said he, "are the keys of the two great wardrobes, wherein i have my best furniture; these are of my silver and gold plate, which is not every day in use; these open my strong boxes, which hold my money, both gold and silver; these my caskets of jewels; and this is the master-key to all my apartments.
but for this little one here, it is the key of the closet at the end of the great gallery on the ground floor.
open them all; go into all and every one of them, except that little closet, which i forbid you, and forbid it in such a manner that, if you happen to open it, there's nothing but what you may expect from my just anger and resentment."
she promised to observe, very exactly, whatever he had ordered; when he, after having embraced her, got into his coach and proceeded on his journey.
her neighbors and good friends did not stay to be sent for by the new married lady, so great was their impatience to see all the rich furniture of her house, not daring to come while her husband was there, because of his blue beard, which frightened them.
they ran through all the rooms, closets, and wardrobes, which were all so fine and rich that they seemed to surpass one another.
after that they went up into the two great rooms, where was the best and richest furniture; they could not sufficiently admire the number and beauty of the tapestry, beds, couches, cabinets, stands, tables, and looking-glasses, in which you might see yourself from head to foot; some of them were framed with glass, others with silver, plain and gilded, the finest and most magnificent ever were seen.
they ceased not to extol and envy the happiness of their friend, who in the meantime in no way diverted herself in looking upon all these rich things, because of the impatience she had to go and open the closet on the ground floor.
she was so much pressed by her curiosity that, without considering that it was very uncivil to leave her company, she went down a little back staircase, and with such excessive haste that she had twice or thrice like to have broken her neck.
coming to the closet-door, she made a stop for some time, thinking upon her husband's orders, and considering what unhappiness might attend her if she was disobedient; but the temptation was so strong she could not overcome it.
she then took the little key, and opened it, trembling, but could not at first see anything plainly, because the windows were shut.
after some moments she began to perceive that the floor was all covered over with clotted blood, on which lay the bodies of several dead women, ranged against the walls.
-lrb- these were all the wives whom blue beard had married and murdered, one after another. -rrb-
she thought she should have died for fear, and the key, which she pulled out of the lock, fell out of her hand.
after having somewhat recovered her surprise, she took up the key, locked the door, and went upstairs into her chamber to recover herself; but she could not, she was so much frightened.
having observed that the key of the closet was stained with blood, she tried two or three times to wipe it off, but the blood would not come out; in vain did she wash it, and even rub it with soap and sand; the blood still remained, for the key was magical and she could never make it quite clean; when the blood was gone off from one side, it came again on the other.
blue beard returned from his journey the same evening, and said he had received letters upon the road, informing him that the affair he went about was ended to his advantage.
his wife did all she could to convince him she was extremely glad of his speedy return.
next morning he asked her for the keys, which she gave him, but with such a trembling hand that he easily guessed what had happened.
""what!"
said he, "is not the key of my closet among the rest?"
""i must certainly have left it above upon the table," said she.
""fail not to bring it to me presently," said blue beard.
after several goings backward and forward she was forced to bring him the key.
blue beard, having very attentively considered it, said to his wife, "how comes this blood upon the key?"
""i do not know," cried the poor woman, paler than death.
""you do not know!"
replied blue beard.
""i very well know.
you were resolved to go into the closet, were you not?
mighty well, madam; you shall go in, and take your place among the ladies you saw there."
upon this she threw herself at her husband's feet, and begged his pardon with all the signs of true repentance, vowing that she would never more be disobedient.
she would have melted a rock, so beautiful and sorrowful was she; but blue beard had a heart harder than any rock!
""you must die, madam," said he, "and that presently."
""since i must die," answered she -lrb- looking upon him with her eyes all bathed in tears -rrb-, "give me some little time to say my prayers."
""i give you," replied blue beard, "half a quarter of an hour, but not one moment more."
when she was alone she called out to her sister, and said to her: "sister anne" -lrb- for that was her name -rrb-, "go up, i beg you, upon the top of the tower, and look if my brothers are not coming over; they promised me that they would come to-day, and if you see them, give them a sign to make haste."
her sister anne went up upon the top of the tower, and the poor afflicted wife cried out from time to time: "anne, sister anne, do you see anyone coming?"
and sister anne said: "i see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust, and the grass, which looks green."
in the meanwhile blue beard, holding a great sabre in his hand, cried out as loud as he could bawl to his wife: "come down instantly, or i shall come up to you."
""one moment longer, if you please," said his wife, and then she cried out very softly, "anne, sister anne, dost thou see anybody coming?"
and sister anne answered: "i see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust, and the grass, which is green."
""come down quickly," cried blue beard, "or i will come up to you."
""i am coming," answered his wife; and then she cried, "anne, sister anne, dost thou not see anyone coming?"
""i see," replied sister anne, "a great dust, which comes on this side here."
""are they my brothers?"
""alas!
no, my dear sister, i see a flock of sheep."
""will you not come down?"
cried blue beard "one moment longer," said his wife, and then she cried out: "anne, sister anne, dost thou see nobody coming?"
""i see," said she, "two horsemen, but they are yet a great way off."
""god be praised," replied the poor wife joyfully; "they are my brothers; i will make them a sign, as well as i can, for them to make haste."
then blue beard bawled out so loud that he made the whole house tremble.
the distressed wife came down, and threw herself at his feet, all in tears, with her hair about her shoulders.
""this signifies nothing," says blue beard; "you must die"; then, taking hold of her hair with one hand, and lifting up the sword with the other, he was going to take off her head.
the poor lady, turning about to him, and looking at him with dying eyes, desired him to afford her one little moment to recollect herself.
""no, no," said he, "recommend thyself to god," and was just ready to strike... at this very instant there was such a loud knocking at the gate that blue beard made a sudden stop.
the gate was opened, and presently entered two horsemen, who, drawing their swords, ran directly to blue beard.
he knew them to be his wife's brothers, one a dragoon, the other a musketeer, so that he ran away immediately to save himself; but the two brothers pursued so close that they overtook him before he could get to the steps of the porch, when they ran their swords through his body and left him dead.
the poor wife was almost as dead as her husband, and had not strength enough to rise and welcome her brothers.
blue beard had no heirs, and so his wife became mistress of all his estate.
she made use of one part of it to marry her sister anne to a young gentleman who had loved her a long while; another part to buy captains commissions for her brothers, and the rest to marry herself to a very worthy gentleman, who made her forget the ill time she had passed with blue beard.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- charles perrault.
trusty john once upon a time there was an old king who was so ill that he thought to himself, "i am most likely on my death-bed."
then he said, "send trusty john to me."
now trusty john was his favorite servant, and was so called because all his life he had served him so faithfully.
when he approached the bed the king spake to him: "most trusty john, i feel my end is drawing near, and i could face it without a care were it not for my son.
he is still too young to decide everything for himself, and unless you promise me to instruct him in all he should know, and to be to him as a father, i shall not close my eyes in peace."
then trusty john answered: "i will never desert him, and will serve him faithfully, even though it should cost me my life."
then the old king said: "now i die comforted and in peace"; and then he went on: "after my death you must show him the whole castle, all the rooms and apartments and vaults, and all the treasures that lie in them; but you must not show him the last room in the long passage, where the picture of the princess of the golden roof is hidden.
when he beholds that picture he will fall violently in love with it and go off into a dead faint, and for her sake he will encounter many dangers; you must guard him from this."
and when trusty john had again given the king his hand upon it the old man became silent, laid his head on the pillow, and died.
when the old king had been carried to his grave trusty john told the young king what he had promised his father on his death-bed, and added: "and i shall assuredly keep my word, and shall be faithful to you as i have been to him, even though it should cost me my life."
now when the time of mourning was over, trusty john said to him: "it is time you should see your inheritance.
i will show you your ancestral castle."
so he took him over everything, and let him see all the riches and splendid apartments, only the one room where the picture was he did not open.
but the picture was placed so that if the door opened you gazed straight upon it, and it was so beautifully painted that you imagined it lived and moved, and that it was the most lovable and beautiful thing in the whole world.
but the young king noticed that trusty john always missed one door, and said: "why do you never open this one for me?"
""there is something inside that would appall you," he answered.
but the king replied: "i have seen the whole castle, and shall find out what is in there"; and with these words he approached the door and wanted to force it open.
but trusty john held him back, and said: "i promised your father before his death that you should n't see what that room contains.
it might bring both you and me to great grief."
""ah!
no," answered the young king; "if i do n't get in, it will be my certain destruction; i should have no peace night or day till i had seen what was in the room with my own eyes.
now i do n't budge from the spot till you have opened the door."
then trusty john saw there was no way out of it, so with a heavy heart and many sighs he took the key from the big bunch.
when he had opened the door he stepped in first, and thought to cover the likeness so that the king might not perceive it; but it was hopeless: the king stood on tiptoe and looked over his shoulder.
and when he saw the picture of the maid, so beautiful and glittering with gold and precious stones, he fell swooning to the ground.
trusty john lifted him up, carried him to bed, and thought sorrowfully: "the curse has come upon us; gracious heaven!
what will be the end of it all?"
then he poured wine down his throat till he came to himself again.
the first words he spoke were: "oh!
who is the original of the beautiful picture?"
""she is the princess of the golden roof," answered trusty john.
then the king continued: "my love for her is so great that if all the leaves on the trees had tongues they could not express it; my very life depends on my winning her.
you are my most trusty john: you must stand by me."
the faithful servant pondered long how they were to set about the matter, for it was said to be difficult even to get into the presence of the princess.
at length he hit upon a plan, and spoke to the king: "all the things she has about her -- tables, chairs, dishes, goblets, bowls, and all her household furniture -- are made of gold.
you have in your treasure five tons of gold; let the goldsmiths of your kingdom manufacture them into all manner of vases and vessels, into all sorts of birds and game and wonderful beasts; that will please her.
we shall go to her with them and try our luck."
the king summoned all his goldsmiths, and they had to work hard day and night, till at length the most magnificent things were completed.
when a ship had been laden with them the faithful john disguised himself as a merchant, and the king had to do the same, so that they should be quite unrecognizable.
and so they crossed the seas and journeyed till they reached the town where the princess of the golden roof dwelt.
trusty john made the king remain behind on the ship and await his return.
""perhaps," he said, "i may bring the princess back with me, so see that everything is in order; let the gold ornaments be arranged and the whole ship decorated."
then he took a few of the gold things in his apron, went ashore, and proceeded straight to the palace.
when he came to the courtyard he found a beautiful maiden standing at the well, drawing water with two golden pails.
and as she was about to carry away the glittering water she turned round and saw the stranger, and asked him who he was.
then he replied: "i am a merchant," and opening his apron, he let her peep in.
""oh!
my," she cried; "what beautiful gold wares!"
she set down her pails, and examined one thing after the other.
then she said: "the princess must see this, she has such a fancy for gold things that she will buy up all you have."
she took him by the hand and let him into the palace, for she was the lady's maid.
when the princess had seen the wares she was quite enchanted, and said: "they are all so beautifully made that i shall buy everything you have."
but trusty john said: "i am only the servant of a rich merchant, what i have here is nothing compared to what my master has on his ship; his merchandise is more artistic and costly than anything that has ever been made in gold before."
she desired to have everything brought up to her, but he said: "there is such a quantity of things that it would take many days to bring them up, and they would take up so many rooms that you would have no space for them in your house."
thus her desire and curiosity were excited to such an extent that at last she said: "take me to your ship; i shall go there myself and view your master's treasures."
then trusty john was quite delighted, and brought her to the ship; and the king, when he beheld her, saw that she was even more beautiful than her picture, and thought every moment that his heart would burst.
she stepped on to the ship, and the king led her inside.
but trusty john remained behind with the steersman, and ordered the ship to push off.
""spread all sail, that we may fly on the ocean like a bird in the air."
meanwhile the king showed the princess inside all his gold wares, every single bit of it -- dishes, goblets, bowls, the birds and game, and all the wonderful beasts.
many hours passed thus, and she was so happy that she did not notice that the ship was sailing away.
after she had seen the last thing she thanked the merchant and prepared to go home; but when she came to the ship's side she saw that they were on the high seas, far from land, and that the ship was speeding on its way under full canvas.
""oh!"
she cried in terror, "i am deceived, carried away and betrayed into the power of a merchant; i would rather have died!"
but the king seized her hand and spake: "i am no merchant, but a king of as high birth as yourself; and it was my great love for you that made me carry you off by stratagem.
the first time i saw your likeness i fell to the ground in a swoon."
when the princess of the golden roof heard this she was comforted, and her heart went out to him, so that she willingly consented to become his wife.
now it happened one day, while they were sailing on the high seas, that trusty john, sitting on the forepart of the ship, fiddling away to himself, observed three ravens in the air flying toward him.
he ceased playing, and listened to what they were saying, for he understood their language.
the one croaked: "ah, ha!
so he's bringing the princess of the golden roof home."
""yes," answered the second, "but he's not got her yet."
""yes, he has," spake the third, "for she's sitting beside him on the ship."
then number one began again and cried: "that'll not help him!
when they reach the land a chestnut horse will dash forward to greet them: the king will wish to mount it, and if he does it will gallop away with him, and disappear into the air, and he will never see his bride again."
""is there no escape for him?"
asked number two.
""oh!
yes, if someone else mounts quickly and shoots the horse dead with the pistol that is sticking in the holster, then the young king is saved.
but who's to do that?
and anyone who knows it and tells him will be turned into stone from his feet to his knees."
then spake number two: "i know more than that: even if the horse is slain, the young king will still not keep his bride: when they enter the palace together they will find a ready-made wedding shirt in a cupboard, which looks as though it were woven of gold and silver, but is really made of nothing but sulphur and tar: when the king puts it on it will burn him to his marrow and bones."
number three asked: "is there no way of escape, then?"
""oh!
yes," answered number two: "if someone seizes the shirt with gloved hands and throws it into the fire, and lets it burn, then the young king is saved.
but what's the good?
anyone knowing this and telling it will have half his body turned into stone, from his knees to his heart."
then number three spake: "i know yet more: though the bridal shirt too be burnt, the king has n't even then secured his bride: when the dance is held after the wedding, and the young queen is dancing, she will suddenly grow deadly white, and drop down like one dead, and unless some one lifts her up and draws three drops of blood from her right side, and spits them out again, she will die.
but if anyone who knows this betrays it, he will be turned into stone from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet."
when the ravens had thus conversed they fled onward, but trusty john had taken it all in, and was sad and depressed from that time forward; for if he were silent to his master concerning what he had heard, he would involve him in misfortune; but if he took him into his confidence, then he himself would forfeit his life.
at last he said: "i will stand by my master, though it should be my ruin."
now when they drew near the land it came to pass just as the ravens had predicted, and a splendid chestnut horse bounded forward.
""capital!"
said the king; "this animal shall carry me to my palace," and was about to mount, but trusty john was too sharp for him, and, springing up quickly, seized the pistol out of the holster and shot the horse dead.
then the other servants of the king, who at no time looked favorably on trusty john, cried out: "what a sin to kill the beautiful beast that was to bear the king to his palace!"
but the king spake: "silence!
let him alone; he is ever my most trusty john.
who knows for what good end he may have done this thing?"
so they went on their way and entered the palace, and there in the hall stood a cupboard in which lay the ready-made bridal shirt, looking for all the world as though it were made of gold and silver.
the young king went toward it and was about to take hold of it, but trusty john, pushing him aside, seized it with his gloved hands, threw it hastily into the fire, and let it burn the other servants commenced grumbling again, and said: "see, he's actually burning the king's bridal shirt."
but the young king spoke: "who knows for what good purpose he does it?
let him alone, he is my most trusty john."
then the wedding was celebrated, the dance began, and the bride joined in, but trusty john watched her countenance carefully.
of a sudden she grew deadly white, and fell to the ground as if she were dead.
he at once sprang hastily toward her, lifted her up, and bore her to a room, where he laid her down, and kneeling beside her he drew three drops of blood from her right side, and spat them out.
she soon breathed again and came to herself; but the young king had watched the proceeding, and not knowing why trusty john had acted as he did, he flew into a passion, and cried: "throw him into prison."
on the following morning sentence was passed on trusty john, and he was condemned to be hanged.
as he stood on the gallows he said: "every one doomed to death has the right to speak once before he dies; and i too have that privilege?"
""yes," said the king, "it shall be granted to you."
so trusty john spoke: "i am unjustly condemned, for i have always been faithful to you"; and he proceeded to relate how he had heard the ravens" conversation on the sea, and how he had to do all he did in order to save his master.
then the king cried: "oh!
my most trusty john, pardon!
pardon!
take him down."
but as he uttered the last word trusty john had fallen lifeless to the ground, and was a stone.
the king and queen were in despair, and the king spake: "ah!
how ill have i rewarded such great fidelity!"
and made them lift up the stone image and place it in his bedroom near his bed.
as often as he looked at it he wept and said: "oh!
if i could only restore you to life, my most trusty john!"
after a time the queen gave birth to twins, two small sons, who throve and grew, and were a constant joy to her.
one day when the queen was at church, and the two children sat and played with their father, he gazed again full of grief on the stone statue, and sighing, wailed: "oh, if i could only restore you to life, my most trusty john!"
suddenly the stone began to speak, and said: "yes, you can restore me to life again if you are prepared to sacrifice what you hold most dear."
and the king cried out: "all i have in the world will i give up for your sake."
the stone continued: "if you cut off with your own hand the heads of your two children, and smear me with their blood, i shall come back to life."
the king was aghast when he heard that he had himself to put his children to death; but when he thought of trusty john's fidelity, and how he had even died for him, he drew his sword, and with his own hand cut the heads off his children.
and when he had smeared the stone with their blood, life came back, and trusty john stood once more safe and sound before him.
he spake to the king: "your loyalty shall be rewarded," and taking up the heads of the children, he placed them on their bodies, smeared the wounds with their blood, and in a minute they were all right again and jumping about as if nothing had happened.
then the king was full of joy, and when he saw the queen coming, he hid trusty john and the two children in a big cupboard.
as she entered he said to her: "did you pray in church?"
""yes," she answered, "but my thoughts dwelt constantly on trusty john, and of what he has suffered for us."
then he spake: "dear wife, we can restore him to life, but the price asked is our two little sons; we must sacrifice them."
the queen grew white and her heart sank, but she replied: "we owe it to him on account of his great fidelity."
then he rejoiced that she was of the same mind as he had been, and going forward he opened the cupboard, and fetched the two children and trusty john out, saying: "god be praised!
trusty john is free once more, and we have our two small sons again."
then he related to her all that had passed, and they lived together happily ever afterward.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- grimm.
the brave little tailor one summer's day a little tailor sat on his table by the window in the best of spirits, and sewed for dear life.
as he was sitting thus a peasant woman came down the street, calling out: "good jam to sell, good jam to sell."
this sounded sweetly in the tailor's ears; he put his frail little head out of the window, and shouted: "up here, my good woman, and you'll find a willing customer."
the woman climbed up the three flights of stairs with her heavy basket to the tailor's room, and he made her spread out all the pots in a row before him.
he examined them all, lifted them up and smelled them, and said at last: "this jam seems good, weigh me four ounces of it, my good woman; and even if it's a quarter of a pound i wo n't stick at it."
the woman, who had hoped to find a good market, gave him what he wanted, but went away grumbling wrathfully.
""now heaven shall bless this jam for my use," cried the little tailor, "and it shall sustain and strengthen me."
he fetched some bread out of a cupboard, cut a round off the loaf, and spread the jam on it.
""that wo n't taste amiss," he said; "but i'll finish that waistcoat first before i take a bite."
he placed the bread beside him, went on sewing, and out of the lightness of his heart kept on making his stitches bigger and bigger.
in the meantime the smell of the sweet jam rose to the ceiling, where heaps of flies were sitting, and attracted them to such an extent that they swarmed on to it in masses.
""ha!
who invited you?"
said the tailor, and chased the unwelcome guests away.
but the flies, who did n't understand english, refused to let themselves be warned off, and returned again in even greater numbers.
at last the little tailor, losing all patience, reached out of his chimney corner for a duster, and exclaiming: "wait, and i'll give it to you," he beat them mercilessly with it.
when he left off he counted the slain, and no fewer than seven lay dead before him with outstretched legs.
""what a desperate fellow i am!"
said he, and was filled with admiration at his own courage.
""the whole town must know about this"; and in great haste the little tailor cut out a girdle, hemmed it, and embroidered on it in big letters, "seven at a blow."
""what did i say, the town?
no, the whole world shall hear of it," he said; and his heart beat for joy as a lamb wags his tail.
the tailor strapped the girdle round his waist and set out into the wide world, for he considered his workroom too small a field for his prowess.
before he set forth he looked round about him, to see if there was anything in the house he could take with him on his journey; but he found nothing except an old cheese, which he took possession of.
in front of the house he observed a bird that had been caught in some bushes, and this he put into his wallet beside the cheese.
then he went on his way merrily, and being light and agile he never felt tired.
his way led up a hill, on the top of which sat a powerful giant, who was calmly surveying the landscape.
the little tailor went up to him, and greeting him cheerfully said: "good-day, friend; there you sit at your ease viewing the whole wide world.
i'm just on my way there.
what do you say to accompanying me?"
the giant looked contemptuously at the tailor, and said: "what a poor wretched little creature you are!"
""that's a good joke," answered the little tailor, and unbuttoning his coat he showed the giant the girdle.
""there now, you can read what sort of a fellow i am."
the giant read: "seven at a blow"; and thinking they were human beings the tailor had slain, he conceived a certain respect for the little man.
but first he thought he'd test him, so taking up a stone in his hand, he squeezed it till some drops of water ran out.
""now you do the same," said the giant, "if you really wish to be thought strong."
""is that all?"
said the little tailor; "that's child's play to me," so he dived into his wallet, brought out the cheese, and pressed it till the whey ran out.
""my squeeze was in sooth better than yours," said he.
the giant did n't know what to say, for he could n't have believed it of the little fellow.
to prove him again, the giant lifted a stone and threw it so high that the eye could hardly follow it.
""now, my little pigmy, let me see you do that."
""well thrown," said the tailor; "but, after all, your stone fell to the ground; i'll throw one that wo n't come down at all."
he dived into his wallet again, and grasping the bird in his hand, he threw it up into the air.
the bird, enchanted to be free, soared up into the sky, and flew away never to return.
""well, what do you think of that little piece of business, friend?"
asked the tailor.
""you can certainly throw," said the giant; "but now let's see if you can carry a proper weight."
with these words he led the tailor to a huge oak tree which had been felled to the ground, and said: "if you are strong enough, help me to carry the tree out of the wood."
""most certainly," said the little tailor: "just you take the trunk on your shoulder; i'll bear the top and branches, which is certainly the heaviest part."
the giant laid the trunk on his shoulder, but the tailor sat at his ease among the branches; and the giant, who could n't see what was going on behind him, had to carry the whole tree, and the little tailor into the bargain.
there he sat behind in the best of spirits, lustily whistling a tune, as if carrying the tree were mere sport.
the giant, after dragging the heavy weight for some time, could get on no further, and shouted out: "hi!
i must let the tree fall."
the tailor sprang nimbly down, seized the tree with both hands as if he had carried it the whole way and said to the giant: "fancy a big lout like you not being able to carry a tree!"
they continued to go on their way together, and as they passed by a cherry tree the giant grasped the top of it, where the ripest fruit hung, gave the branches into the tailor's hand, and bade him eat.
but the little tailor was far too weak to hold the tree down, and when the giant let go the tree swung back into the air, bearing the little tailor with it.
when he had fallen to the ground again without hurting himself, the giant said: "what!
do you mean to tell me you have n't the strength to hold down a feeble twig?"
""it was n't strength that was wanting," replied the tailor; "do you think that would have been anything for a man who has killed seven at a blow?
i jumped over the tree because the huntsmen are shooting among the branches near us.
do you do the like if you dare."
the giant made an attempt, but could n't get over the tree, and stuck fast in the branches, so that here too the little tailor had the better of him.
""well, you're a fine fellow, after all," said the giant; "come and spend the night with us in our cave."
the little tailor willingly consented to do this, and following his friend they went on till they reached a cave where several other giants were sitting round a fire, each holding a roast sheep in his hand, of which he was eating.
the little tailor looked about him, and thought: "yes, there's certainly more room to turn round in here than in my workshop."
the giant showed him a bed and bade him lie down and have a good sleep.
but the bed was too big for the little tailor, so he did n't get into it, but crept away into the corner.
at midnight, when the giant thought the little tailor was fast asleep, he rose up, and taking his big iron walking-stick, he broke the bed in two with a blow, and thought he had made an end of the little grasshopper.
at early dawn the giants went off to the wood, and quite forgot about the little tailor, till all of a sudden they met him trudging along in the most cheerful manner.
the giants were terrified at the apparition, and, fearful lest he should slay them, they all took to their heels as fast as they could.
the little tailor continued to follow his nose, and after he had wandered about for a long time he came to the courtyard of a royal palace, and feeling tired he lay down on the grass and fell asleep.
while he lay there the people came, and looking him all over read on his girdle: "seven at a blow."
""oh!"
they said, "what can this great hero of a hundred fights want in our peaceful land?
he must indeed be a mighty man of valor."
they went and told the king about him, and said what a weighty and useful man he'd be in time of war, and that it would be well to secure him at any price.
this counsel pleased the king, and he sent one of his courtiers down to the little tailor, to offer him, when he awoke, a commission in their army.
the messenger remained standing by the sleeper, and waited till he stretched his limbs and opened his eyes, when he tendered his proposal.
""that's the very thing i came here for," he answered; "i am quite ready to enter the king's service."
so he was received with all honor, and given a special house of his own to live in.
but the other officers resented the success of the little tailor, and wished him a thousand miles away.
""what's to come of it all?"
they asked each other; "if we quarrel with him, he'll let out at us, and at every blow seven will fall.
there'll soon be an end of us."
so they resolved to go in a body to the king, and all to send in their papers.
""we are not made," they said, "to hold out against a man who kills seven at a blow."
the king was grieved at the thought of losing all his faithful servants for the sake of one man, and he wished heartily that he had never set eyes on him, or that he could get rid of him.
but he did n't dare to send him away, for he feared he might kill him along with his people, and place himself on the throne.
he pondered long and deeply over the matter, and finally came to a conclusion.
he sent to the tailor and told him that, seeing what a great and warlike hero he was, he was about to make him an offer.
in a certain wood of his kingdom there dwelled two giants who did much harm; by the way they robbed, murdered, burned, and plundered everything about them; "no one could approach them without endangering his life.
but if he could overcome and kill these two giants he should have his only daughter for a wife, and half his kingdom into the bargain; he might have a hundred horsemen, too, to back him up."
""that's the very thing for a man like me," thought the little tailor; "one does n't get the offer of a beautiful princess and half a kingdom every day."
""done with you," he answered; "i'll soon put an end to the giants.
but i have n't the smallest need of your hundred horsemen; a fellow who can slay seven men at a blow need not be afraid of two."
the little tailor set out, and the hundred horsemen followed him.
when he came to the outskirts of the wood he said to his followers: "you wait here, i'll manage the giants by myself"; and he went on into the wood, casting his sharp little eyes right and left about him.
after a while he spied the two giants lying asleep under a tree, and snoring till the very boughs bent with the breeze.
the little tailor lost no time in filling his wallet with stones, and then climbed up the tree under which they lay.
when he got to about the middle of it he slipped along a branch till he sat just above the sleepers, when he threw down one stone after the other on the nearest giant.
the giant felt nothing for a long time, but at last he woke up, and pinching his companion said: "what did you strike me for?"
""i did n't strike you," said the other, "you must be dreaming."
they both lay down to sleep again, and the tailor threw down a stone on the second giant, who sprang up and cried: "what's that for?
why did you throw something at me?"
""i did n't throw anything," growled the first one.
they wrangled on for a time, till, as both were tired, they made up the matter and fell asleep again.
the little tailor began his game once more, and flung the largest stone he could find in his wallet with all his force, and hit the first giant on the chest.
""this is too much of a good thing!"
he yelled, and springing up like a madman, he knocked his companion against the tree till he trembled.
he gave, however, as good as he got, and they became so enraged that they tore up trees and beat each other with them, till they both fell dead at once on the ground.
then the little tailor jumped down.
""it's a mercy," he said, "that they did n't root up the tree on which i was perched, or i should have had to jump like a squirrel on to another, which, nimble though i am, would have been no easy job."
he drew his sword and gave each of the giants a very fine thrust or two on the breast, and then went to the horsemen and said: "the deed is done, i've put an end to the two of them; but i assure you it has been no easy matter, for they even tore up trees in their struggle to defend themselves; but all that's of no use against one who slays seven men at a blow."
""were n't you wounded?"
asked the horsemen.
""no fear," answered the tailor; "they have n't touched a hair of my head."
but the horsemen would n't believe him till they rode into the wood and found the giants weltering in their blood, and the trees lying around, torn up by the roots.
the little tailor now demanded the promised reward from the king, but he repented his promise, and pondered once more how he could rid himself of the hero.
""before you obtain the hand of my daughter and half my kingdom," he said to him, "you must do another deed of valor.
a unicorn is running about loose in the wood, and doing much mischief; you must first catch it."
""i'm even less afraid of one unicorn than of two giants; seven at a blow, that's my motto."
he took a piece of cord and an axe with him, went out to the wood, and again told the men who had been sent with him to remain outside.
he had n't to search long, for the unicorn soon passed by, and, on perceiving the tailor, dashed straight at him as though it were going to spike him on the spot.
""gently, gently," said he, "not so fast, my friend"; and standing still he waited till the beast was quite near, when he sprang lightly behind a tree; the unicorn ran with all its force against the tree, and rammed its horn so firmly into the trunk that it had no strength left to pull it out again, and was thus successfully captured.
""now i've caught my bird," said the tailor, and he came out from behind the tree, placed the cord round its neck first, then struck the horn out of the tree with his axe, and when everything was in order led the beast before the king.
still the king did n't want to give him the promised reward and made a third demand.
the tailor was to catch a wild boar for him that did a great deal of harm in the wood; and he might have the huntsmen to help him.
""willingly," said the tailor; "that's mere child's play."
but he did n't take the huntsmen into the wood with him, and they were well enough pleased to remain behind, for the wild boar had often received them in a manner which did not make them desire its further acquaintance.
as soon as the boar perceived the tailor it ran at him with foaming mouth and gleaming teeth, and tried to knock him down; but our alert little friend ran into a chapel that stood near, and got out of the window again with a jump.
the boar pursued him into the church, but the tailor skipped round to the door, and closed it securely.
so the raging beast was caught, for it was far too heavy and unwieldy to spring out of the window.
the little tailor summoned the huntsmen together, that they might see the prisoner with their own eyes.
then the hero betook himself to the king, who was obliged now, whether he liked it or not, to keep his promise, and hand him over his daughter and half his kingdom.
had he known that no hero-warrior, but only a little tailor stood before him, it would have gone even more to his heart.
so the wedding was celebrated with much splendor and little joy, and the tailor became a king.
after a time the queen heard her husband saying one night in his sleep: "my lad, make that waistcoat and patch these trousers, or i'll box your ears."
thus she learned in what rank the young gentleman had been born, and next day she poured forth her woes to her father, and begged him to help her to get rid of a husband who was nothing more nor less than a tailor.
the king comforted her, and said: "leave your bedroom door open to-night, my servants shall stand outside, and when your husband is fast asleep they shall enter, bind him fast, and carry him on to a ship, which shall sail away out into the wide ocean."
the queen was well satisfied with the idea, but the armor-bearer, who had overheard everything, being much attached to his young master, went straight to him and revealed the whole plot.
""i'll soon put a stop to the business," said the tailor.
that night he and his wife went to bed at the usual time; and when she thought he had fallen asleep she got up, opened the door, and then lay down again.
the little tailor, who had only pretended to be asleep, began to call out in a clear voice: "my lad, make that waistcoat and patch those trousers, or i'll box your ears.
i have killed seven at a blow, slain two giants, led a unicorn captive, and caught a wild boar, then why should i be afraid of those men standing outside my door?"
the men, when they heard the tailor saying these words, were so terrified that they fled as if pursued by a wild army, and did n't dare go near him again.
so the little tailor was and remained a king all the days of his life.
a voyage to lilliput chapter i my father had a small estate in nottinghamshire, and i was the third of four sons.
he sent me to cambridge at fourteen years old, and after studying there three years i was bound apprentice to mr. bates, a famous surgeon in london.
there, as my father now and then sent me small sums of money, i spent them in learning navigation, and other arts useful to those who travel, as i always believed it would be some time or other my fortune to do.
three years after my leaving him my good master, mr. bates, recommended me as ship's surgeon to the "swallow," on which i voyaged three years.
when i came back i settled in london, and, having taken part of a small house, i married miss mary burton, daughter of mr. edmund burton, hosier.
but my good master bates died two years after; and as i had few friends my business began to fail, and i determined to go again to sea.
after several voyages, i accepted an offer from captain w. pritchard, master of the "antelope," who was making a voyage to the south sea.
we set sail from bristol, may 4, 1699; and our voyage at first was very prosperous.
but in our passage to the east indies we were driven by a violent storm to the north-west of van diemen's land.
twelve of our crew died from hard labor and bad food, and the rest were in a very weak condition.
on the 5th of november, the weather being very hazy, the seamen spied a rock within 120 yards of the ship; but the wind was so strong that we were driven straight upon it, and immediately split.
six of the crew, of whom i was one, letting down the boat, got clear of the ship, and we rowed about three leagues, till we could work no longer.
we therefore trusted ourselves to the mercy of the waves; and in about half an hour the boat was upset by a sudden squall.
what became of my companions in the boat, or those who escaped on the rock or were left in the vessel, i can not tell; but i conclude they were all lost.
for my part, i swam as fortune directed me, and was pushed forward by wind and tide; but when i was able to struggle no longer i found myself within my depth.
by this time the storm was much abated.
i reached the shore at last, about eight o'clock in the evening, and advanced nearly half a mile inland, but could not discover any sign of inhabitants.
i was extremely tired, and with the heat of the weather i found myself much inclined to sleep.
i lay down on the grass, which was very short and soft, and slept sounder than ever i did in my life for about nine hours.
when i woke, it was just daylight.
i attempted to rise, but could not; for as i happened to be lying on my back, i found my arms and legs were fastened on each side to the ground; and my hair, which was long and thick, tied down in the same manner.
i could only look upward.
the sun began to grow hot, and the light hurt my eyes.
i heard a confused noise about me, but could see nothing except the sky.
in a little time i felt something alive and moving on my left leg, which, advancing gently over my breast, came almost up to my chin, when, bending my eyes downward, i perceived it to be a human creature, not six inches high, with a bow and arrow in his hands, and a quiver at his back.
in the meantime i felt at least forty more following the first.
i was in the utmost astonishment, and roared so loud that they all ran back in a fright; and some of them were hurt with the falls they got by leaping from my sides upon the ground.
however, they soon returned, and one of them, who ventured so far as to get a full sight of my face, lifted up his hands in admiration.
i lay all this while in great uneasiness; but at length, struggling to get loose, i succeeded in breaking the strings that fastened my left arm to the ground; and at the same time, with a violent pull that gave me extreme pain, i a little loosened the strings that tied down my hair, so that i was just able to turn my head about two inches.
but the creatures ran off a second time before i could seize them, whereupon there was a great shout, and in an instant i felt above a hundred arrows discharged on my left hand, which pricked me like so many needles.
moreover, they shot another flight into the air, of which some fell on my face, which i immediately covered with my left hand.
when this shower of arrows was over i groaned with grief and pain, and then, striving again to get loose, they discharged another flight of arrows larger than the first, and some of them tried to stab me with their spears; but by good luck i had on a leather jacket, which they could not pierce.
by this time i thought it most prudent to lie still till night, when, my left hand being already loose, i could easily free myself; and as for the inhabitants, i thought i might be a match for the greatest army they could bring against me if they were all of the same size as him i saw.
when the people observed that i was quiet they discharged no more arrows, but by the noise i heard i knew that their number was increased; and about four yards from me, for more than an hour, there was a knocking, like people at work.
then, turning my head that way as well as the pegs and strings would let me, i saw a stage set up, about a foot and a half from the ground, with two or three ladders to mount it.
from this, one of them, who seemed to be a person of quality, made me a long speech, of which i could not understand a word, though i could tell from his manner that he sometimes threatened me, and sometimes spoke with pity and kindness.
i answered in few words, but in the most submissive manner; and, being almost famished with hunger, i could not help showing my impatience by putting my finger frequently to my mouth, to signify that i wanted food.
he understood me very well, and, descending from the stage, commanded that several ladders should be set against my sides, on which more than a hundred of the inhabitants mounted, and walked toward my mouth with baskets full of food, which had been sent by the king's orders when he first received tidings of me.
there were legs and shoulders like mutton but smaller than the wings of a lark.
i ate them two or three at a mouthful, and took three loaves at a time.
they supplied me as fast as they could, with a thousand marks of wonder at my appetite.
i then made a sign that i wanted something to drink.
they guessed that a small quantity would not suffice me, and, being a most ingenious people, they slung up one of their largest hogsheads, then rolled it toward my hand, and beat out the top.
i drank it off at a draught, which i might well do, for it did not hold half a pint.
they brought me a second hogshead, which i drank, and made signs for more; but they had none to give me.
however, i could not wonder enough at the daring of these tiny mortals, who ventured to mount and walk upon my body, while one of my hands was free, without trembling at the very sight of so huge a creature as i must have seemed to them.
after some time there appeared before me a person of high rank from his imperial majesty.
his excellency, having mounted my right leg, advanced to my face, with about a dozen of his retinue, and spoke about ten minutes, often pointing forward, which, as i afterward found, was toward the capital city, about half a mile distant, whither it was commanded by his majesty that i should be conveyed.
i made a sign with my hand that was loose, putting it to the other -lrb- but over his excellency's head, for fear of hurting him or his train -rrb-, to show that i desired my liberty.
he seemed to understand me well enough, for he shook his head, though he made other signs to let me know that i should have meat and drink enough, and very good treatment.
then i once more thought of attempting to escape; but when i felt the smart of their arrows on my face and hands, which were all in blisters and observed likewise that the number of my enemies increased, i gave tokens to let them know that they might do with me what they pleased.
then they daubed my face and hands with a sweet-smelling ointment, which in a few minutes removed all the smarts of the arrows.
the relief from pain and hunger made me drowsy, and presently i fell asleep.
i slept about eight hours, as i was told afterward; and it was no wonder, for the physicians, by the emperor's orders, had mingled a sleeping draught in the hogsheads of wine.
it seems that, when i was discovered sleeping on the ground after my landing, the emperor had early notice of it, and determined that i should be tied in the manner i have related -lrb- which was done in the night, while i slept -rrb-, that plenty of meat and drink should be sent me, and a machine prepared to carry me to the capital city.
five hundred carpenters and engineers were immediately set to work to prepare the engine.
it was a frame of wood, raised three inches from the ground, about seven feet long and four wide, moving upon twenty-two wheels.
but the difficulty was to place me on it.
eighty poles were erected for this purpose, and very strong cords fastened to bandages which the workmen had tied round my neck, hands, body, and legs.
nine hundred of the strongest men were employed to draw up these cords by pulleys fastened on the poles, and in less than three hours i was raised and slung into the engine, and there tied fast.
fifteen hundred of the emperor's largest horses, each about four inches and a half high, were then employed to draw me toward the capital.
but while all this was done i still lay in a deep sleep, and i did not wake till four hours after we began our journey.
the emperor and all his court came out to meet us when we reached the capital; but his great officials would not suffer his majesty to risk his person by mounting on my body.
where the carriage stopped there stood an ancient temple, supposed to be the largest in the whole kingdom, and here it was determined that i should lodge.
near the great gate, through which i could easily creep, they fixed ninety-one chains, like those which hang to a lady's watch, which were locked to my left leg with thirty-six padlocks; and when the workmen found it was impossible for me to break loose, they cut all the strings that bound me.
then i rose up, feeling as melancholy as ever i did in my life.
but the noise and astonishment of the people on seeing me rise and walk were inexpressible.
the chains that held my left leg were about two yards long, and gave me not only freedom to walk backward and forward in a semicircle, but to creep in and lie at full length inside the temple.
the emperor, advancing toward me from among his courtiers, all most magnificently clad, surveyed me with great admiration, but kept beyond the length of my chain.
he was taller by about the breadth of my nail than any of his court, which alone was enough to strike awe into the beholders, and graceful and majestic.
the better to behold him, i lay down on my side, so that my face was level with his, and he stood three yards off.
however, i have had him since many times in my hand, and therefore can not be deceived.
his dress was very simple; but he wore a light helmet of gold, adorned with jewels and a plume.
he held his sword drawn in his hand, to defend himself if i should break loose; it was almost three inches long, and the hilt was of gold, enriched with diamonds.
his voice was shrill, but very clear.
his imperial majesty spoke often to me, and i answered; but neither of us could understand a word.
chapter ii after about two hours the court retired, and i was left with a strong guard to keep away the crowd, some of whom had had the impudence to shoot their arrows at me as i sat by the door of my house.
but the colonel ordered six of them to be seized and delivered bound into my hands.
i put five of them into my coat pocket; and as to the sixth, i made a face as if i would eat him alive.
the poor man screamed terribly, and the colonel and his officers were much distressed, especially when they saw me take out my penknife.
but i soon set them at ease, for, cutting the strings he was bound with, i put him gently on the ground, and away he ran.
i treated the rest in the same manner, taking them one by one out of my pocket; and i saw that both the soldiers and people were delighted at this mark of my kindness.
toward night i got with some difficulty into my house, where i lay on the ground, as i had to do for a fortnight, till a bed was prepared for me out of six hundred beds of the ordinary measure.
six hundred servants were appointed me, and three hundred tailors made me a suit of clothes.
moreover, six of his majesty's greatest scholars were employed to teach me their language, so that soon i was able to converse after a fashion with the emperor, who often honored me with his visits.
the first words i learned were to desire that he would please to give me my liberty, which i every day repeated on my knees; but he answered that this must be a work of time, and that first i must swear a peace with him and his kingdom.
he told me also that by the laws of the nation i must be searched by two of his officers, and that as this could not be done without my help, he trusted them in my hands, and whatever they took from me should be returned when i left the country.
i took up the two officers, and put them into my coat pockets.
these gentlemen, having pen, ink, and paper about them, made an exact list of everything they saw, which i afterward translated into english, and which ran as follows: "in the right coat pocket of the great man-mountain we found only one great piece of coarse cloth, large enough to cover the carpet of your majesty's chief room of state.
in the left pocket we saw a huge silver chest, with a silver cover, which we could not lift.
we desired that it should be opened, and one of us stepping into it found himself up to the mid-leg in a sort of dust, some of which flying into our faces sent us both into a fit of sneezing.
in his right waistcoat pocket we found a number of white thin substances, folded one over another, about the size of three men, tied with a strong cable, and marked with black figures, which we humbly conceive to be writings.
in the left there was a sort of engine, from the back of which extended twenty long poles, with which, we conjecture, the man-mountain combs his head.
in the smaller pocket on the right side were several round flat pieces of white and red metal, of different sizes.
some of the white, which appeared to be silver, were so large and heavy that my comrade and i could hardly lift them.
from another pocket hung a huge silver chain, with a wonderful kind of engine fastened to it, a globe half silver and half of some transparent metal; for on the transparent side we saw certain strange figures, and thought we could touch them till we found our fingers stopped by the shining substance.
this engine made an incessant noise, like a water-mill, and we conjecture it is either some unknown animal, or the god he worships, but probably the latter, for he told us that he seldom did anything without consulting it.
""this is a list of what we found about the body of the man-mountain, who treated us with great civility."
i had one private pocket which escaped their search, containing a pair of spectacles and a small spy-glass, which, being of no consequence to the emperor, i did not think myself bound in honor to discover.
chapter iii my gentleness and good behavior gained so far on the emperor and his court, and, indeed, on the people in general, that i began to have hopes of getting my liberty in a short time.
the natives came by degrees to be less fearful of danger from me.
i would sometimes lie down and let five or six of them dance on my hand; and at last the boys and girls ventured to come and play at hide-and-seek in my hair.
the horses of the army and of the royal stables were no longer shy, having been daily led before me; and one of the emperor's huntsmen, on a large courser, took my foot, shoe and all, which was indeed a prodigious leap.
i amused the emperor one day in a very extraordinary manner.
i took nine sticks, and fixed them firmly in the ground in a square.
then i took four other sticks, and tied them parallel at each corner, about two feet from the ground.
i fastened my handkerchief to the nine sticks that stood erect, and extended it on all sides till it was as tight as the top of a drum; and i desired the emperor to let a troop of his best horse, twenty-four in number, come and exercise upon this plain.
his majesty approved of the proposal, and i took them up one by one, with the proper officers to exercise them.
as soon as they got into order they divided into two parties, discharged blunt arrows, drew their swords, fled and pursued, and, in short, showed the best military discipline i ever beheld.
the parallel sticks secured them and their horses from falling off the stage, and the emperor was so much delighted that he ordered this entertainment to be repeated several days, and persuaded the empress herself to let me hold her in her chair within two yards of the stage, whence she could view the whole performance.
fortunately no accident happened, only once a fiery horse, pawing with his hoof, struck a hole in my handkerchief, and overthrew his rider and himself.
but i immediately relieved them both, and covering the hole with one hand, i set down the troop with the other as i had taken them up.
the horse that fell was strained in the shoulder; but the rider was not hurt, and i repaired my handkerchief as well as i could.
however, i would not trust to the strength of it any more in such dangerous enterprises.
i had sent so many petitions for my liberty that his majesty at length mentioned the matter in a full council, where it was opposed by none except skyresh bolgolam, admiral of the realm, who was pleased without any provocation to be my mortal enemy.
however, he agreed at length, though he succeeded in himself drawing up the conditions on which i should be set free.
after they were read i was requested to swear to perform them in the method prescribed by their laws, which was to hold my right foot in my left hand, and to place the middle finger of my right hand on the crown of my head, and my thumb on the top of my right ear.
but i have made a translation of the conditions, which i here offer to the public: "golbaste mamarem evlame gurdile shefin mully ully gue, most mighty emperor of lilliput, delight and terror of the universe, whose dominions extend to the ends of the globe, monarch of all monarchs, taller than the sons of men, whose feet press down to the center, and whose head strikes against the sun, at whose nod the princes of the earth shake their knees, pleasant as the spring, comfortable as the summer, fruitful as autumn, dreadful as winter: his most sublime majesty proposeth to the man-mountain, lately arrived at our celestial dominions, the following articles, which by a solemn oath he shall be obliged to perform: "first.
the man-mountain shall not depart from our dominions without our license under the great seal.
""second.
he shall not presume to come into our metropolis without our express order, at which time the inhabitants shall have two hours" warning to keep within doors.
""third.
the said man-mountain shall confine his walks to our principal high roads, and not offer to walk or lie down in a meadow or field of corn.
""fourth.
as he walks the said roads he shall take the utmost care not to trample upon the bodies of any of our loving subjects, their horses or carriages, nor take any of our subjects into his hands without their own consent.
""fifth.
if an express requires extraordinary speed the man-mountain shall be obliged to carry in his pocket the messenger and horse a six days" journey, and return the said messenger -lrb- if so required -rrb- safe to our imperial presence.
""sixth.
he shall be our ally against our enemies in the island of blefuscu, and do his utmost to destroy their fleet, which is now preparing to invade us.
""lastly.
upon his solemn oath to observe all the above articles, the said man-mountain shall have a daily allowance of meat and drink sufficient for the support of 1,724 of our subjects, with free access to our royal person, and other marks of our favor.
given at our palace at belfaburac, the twelfth day of the ninety-first moon of our reign."
i swore to these articles with great cheerfulness, whereupon my chains were immediately unlocked, and i was at full liberty.
one morning, about a fortnight after i had obtained my freedom, reldresal, the emperor's secretary for private affairs, came to my house, attended only by one servant.
he ordered his coach to wait at a distance, and desired that i would give him an hour's audience.
i offered to lie down that he might the more conveniently reach my ear; but he chose rather to let me hold him in my hand during our conversation.
he began with compliments on my liberty, but he added that, save for the present state of things at court, perhaps i might not have obtained it so soon.
""for," he said, "however flourishing we may seem to foreigners, we are in danger of an invasion from the island of blefuscu, which is the other great empire of the universe, almost as large and as powerful as this of his majesty.
for as to what we have heard you say, that there are other kingdoms in the world, inhabited by human creatures as large as yourself, our philosophers are very doubtful, and rather conjecture that you dropped from the moon, or one of the stars, because a hundred mortals of your size would soon destroy all the fruit and cattle of his majesty's dominions.
besides, our histories of six thousand moons make no mention of any other regions than the two mighty empires of lilliput and blefuscu, which, as i was going to tell you, are engaged in a most obstinate war, which began in the following manner: it is allowed on all hands that the primitive way of breaking eggs was upon the larger end; but his present majesty's grandfather, while he was a boy, going to eat an egg, and breaking it according to the ancient practice, happened to cut one of his fingers.
whereupon the emperor, his father, made a law commanding all his subjects to break the smaller end of their eggs.
the people so highly resented this law that there have been six rebellions raised on that account, wherein one emperor lost his life, and another his crown.
it is calculated that eleven hundred persons have at different times suffered rather than break their eggs at the smaller end.
but these rebels, the bigendians, have found so much encouragement at the emperor of blefuscu's court, to which they always fled for refuge, that a bloody war, as i said, has been carried on between the two empires for six-and-thirty moons; and now the blefuscudians have equipped a large fleet, and are preparing to descend upon us.
therefore his imperial majesty, placing great confidence in your valor and strength, has commanded me to set the case before you."
i desired the secretary to present my humble duty to the emperor, and to let him know that i was ready, at the risk of my life, to defend him against all invaders.
chapter iv it was not long before i communicated to his majesty the plan i formed for seizing the enemy's whole fleet.
the empire of blefuscu is an island parted from lilliput only by a channel eight hundred yards wide.
i consulted the most experienced seamen on the depth of the channel, and they told me that in the middle, at high water, it was seventy glumguffs -lrb- about six feet of european measure -rrb-.
i walked toward the coast, where, lying down behind a hillock, i took out my spy-glass, and viewed the enemy's fleet at anchor -- about fifty men-of-war, and other vessels.
i then came back to my house and gave orders for a great quantity of the strongest cables and bars of iron.
the cable was about as thick as packthread, and the bars of the length and size of a knitting-needle.
i trebled the cable to make it stronger, and for the same reason twisted three of the iron bars together, bending the ends into a hook.
having thus fixed fifty hooks to as many cables, i went back to the coast, and taking off my coat, shoes, and stockings, walked into the sea in my leather jacket about half an hour before high water.
i waded with what haste i could, swimming in the middle about thirty yards, till i felt ground, and thus arrived at the fleet in less than half an hour.
the enemy was so frightened when they saw me that they leaped out of their ships and swam ashore, where there could not be fewer than thirty thousand.
then, fastening a hook to the hole at the prow of each ship, i tied all the cords together at the end.
meanwhile the enemy discharged several thousand arrows, many of which stuck in my hands and face.
my greatest fear was for my eyes, which i should have lost if i had not suddenly thought of the pair of spectacles which had escaped the emperor's searchers.
these i took out and fastened upon my nose, and thus armed went on with my work in spite of the arrows, many of which struck against the glasses of my spectacles, but without any other effect than slightly disturbing them.
then, taking the knot in my hand, i began to pull; but not a ship would stir, for they were too fast held by their anchors.
thus the boldest part of my enterprise remained.
letting go the cord, i resolutely cut with my knife the cables that fastened the anchors, receiving more than two hundred shots in my face and hands.
then i took up again the knotted end of the cables to which my hooks were tied, and with great ease drew fifty of the enemy's largest men-of-war after me.
when the blefuscudians saw the fleet moving in order, and me pulling at the end, they set up a scream of grief and despair that it is impossible to describe.
when i had got out of danger i stopped awhile to pick out the arrows that stuck in my hands and face, and rubbed on some of the same ointment that was given me at my arrival.
i then took off my spectacles, and after waiting about an hour, till the tide was a little fallen, i waded on to the royal port of lilliput.
the emperor and his whole court stood on the shore awaiting me.
they saw the ships move forward in a large half-moon, but could not discern me, who, in the middle of the channel, was under water up to my neck.
the emperor concluded that i was drowned, and that the enemy's fleet was approaching in a hostile manner.
but he was soon set at ease, for, the channel growing shallower every step i made, i came in a short time within hearing, and holding up the end of the cable by which the fleet was fastened, i cried in a loud voice: "long live the most puissant emperor of lilliput!"
the prince received me at my landing with all possible joy, and made me a nardal on the spot, which is the highest title of honor among them.
his majesty desired that i would take some opportunity to bring all the rest of his enemy's ships into his ports, and seemed to think of nothing less than conquering the whole empire of blefuscu, and becoming the sole monarch of the world.
but i plainly protested that i would never be the means of bringing a free and brave people into slavery; and though the wisest of the ministers were of my opinion, my open refusal was so opposed to his majesty's ambition that he could never forgive me.
and from this time a plot began between himself and those of his ministers who were my enemies, that nearly ended in my utter destruction.
about three weeks after this exploit there arrived an embassy from blefuscu, with humble offers of peace, which was soon concluded, on terms very advantageous to our emperor.
there were six ambassadors, with a train of about five hundred persons, all very magnificent.
having been privately told that i had befriended them, they made me a visit, and paying me many compliments on my valor and generosity, invited me to their kingdom in the emperor their master's name.
i asked them to present my most humble respects to the emperor their master, whose royal person i resolved to attend before i returned to my own country.
accordingly, the next time i had the honor to see our emperor i desired his general permission to visit the blefuscudian monarch.
this he granted me, but in a very cold manner, of which i afterward learned the reason.
when i was just preparing to pay my respects to the emperor of blefuscu, a distinguished person at court, to whom i had once done a great service, came to my house very privately at night, and without sending his name desired admission.
i put his lordship into my coat pocket, and, giving orders to a trusty servant to admit no one, i fastened the door, placed my visitor on the table, and sat down by it.
his lordship's face was full of trouble; and he asked me to hear him with patience, in a matter that highly concerned my honor and my life.
""you are aware," he said, "that skyresh bolgolam has been your mortal enemy ever since your arrival, and his hatred is increased since your great success against blefuscu, by which his glory as admiral is obscured.
this lord and others have accused you of treason, and several councils have been called in the most private manner on your account.
out of gratitude for your favors i procured information of the whole proceedings, venturing my head for your service, and this was the charge against you: "first, that you, having brought the imperial fleet of blefuscu into the royal port, were commanded by his majesty to seize all the other ships, and put to death all the bigendian exiles, and also all the people of the empire who would not immediately consent to break their eggs at the smaller end.
and that, like a false traitor to his most serene majesty, you excused yourself from the service on pretence of unwillingness to force the consciences and destroy the liberties and lives of an innocent people.
""again, when ambassadors arrived from the court of blefuscu, like a false traitor, you aided and entertained them, though you knew them to be servants of a prince lately in open war against his imperial majesty.
""moreover, you are now preparing, contrary to the duty of a faithful subject, to voyage to the court of blefuscu.
""in the debate on this charge," my friend continued, "his majesty often urged the services you had done him, while the admiral and treasurer insisted that you should be put to a shameful death.
but reldresal, secretary for private affairs, who has always proved himself your friend suggested that if his majesty would please to spare your life and only give orders to put out both your eyes, justice might in some measure be satisfied.
at this bolgolam rose up in fury, wondering how the secretary dared desire to preserve the life of a traitor; and the treasurer, pointing out the expense of keeping you, also urged your death.
but his majesty was graciously pleased to say that since the council thought the loss of your eyes too easy a punishment, some other might afterward be inflicted.
and the secretary, humbly desiring to be heard again, said that as to expense your allowance might be gradually lessened, so that, for want of sufficient food you should grow weak and faint, and die in a few months, when his majesty's subjects might cut your flesh from your bones and bury it, leaving the skeleton for the admiration of posterity.
""thus, through the great friendship of the secretary the affair was arranged.
it was commanded that the plan of starving you by degrees should be kept a secret; but the sentence of putting out your eyes was entered on the books.
in three days your friend the secretary will come to your house and read the accusation before you, and point out the great mercy of his majesty, that only condemns you to the loss of your eyes -- which, he does not doubt, you will submit to humbly and gratefully.
twenty of his majesty's surgeons will attend, to see the operation well performed, by discharging very sharp-pointed arrows into the balls of your eyes as you lie on the ground.
""i leave you," said my friend, "to consider what measures you will take; and, to escape suspicion, i must immediately return, as secretly as i came."
his lordship did so; and i remained alone, in great perplexity.
at first i was bent on resistance; for while i had liberty i could easily with stones pelt the metropolis to pieces; but i soon rejected that idea with horror, remembering the oath i had made to the emperor, and the favors i had received from him.
at last, having his majesty's leave to pay my respects to the emperor of blefuscu, i resolved to take this opportunity.
before the three days had passed i wrote a letter to my friend the secretary telling him of my resolution; and, without waiting for an answer, went to the coast, and entering the channel, between wading and swimming reached the port of blefuscu, where the people, who had long expected me, led me to the capital.
his majesty, with the royal family and great officers of the court, came out to receive me, and they entertained me in a manner suited to the generosity of so great a prince.
i did not, however, mention my disgrace with the emperor of lilliput, since i did not suppose that prince would disclose the secret while i was out of his power.
but in this, it soon appeared, i was deceived.
chapter v three days after my arrival, walking out of curiosity to the northeast coast of the island, i observed at some distance in the sea something that looked like a boat overturned.
i pulled off my shoes and stockings, and wading two or three hundred yards, i plainly saw it to be a real boat, which i supposed might by some tempest have been driven from a ship.
i returned immediately to the city for help, and after a huge amount of labor i managed to get my boat to the royal port of blefuscu, where a great crowd of people appeared, full of wonder at sight of so prodigious a vessel.
i told the emperor that my good fortune had thrown this boat in my way to carry me to some place whence i might return to my native country, and begged his orders for materials to fit it up, and leave to depart -- which, after many kindly speeches, he was pleased to grant.
meanwhile the emperor of lilliput, uneasy at my long absence -lrb- but never imagining that i had the least notice of his designs -rrb-, sent a person of rank to inform the emperor of blefuscu of my disgrace; this messenger had orders to represent the great mercy of his master, who was content to punish me with the loss of my eyes, and who expected that his brother of blefuscu would have me sent back to lilliput, bound hand and foot, to be punished as a traitor.
the emperor of blefuscu answered with many civil excuses.
he said that as for sending me bound, his brother knew it was impossible.
moreover, though i had taken away his fleet he was grateful to me for many good offices i had done him in making the peace.
but that both their majesties would soon be made easy; for i had found a prodigious vessel on the shore, able to carry me on the sea, which he had given orders to fit up; and he hoped in a few weeks both empires would be free from me.
with this answer the messenger returned to lilliput; and i -lrb- though the monarch of blefuscu secretly offered me his gracious protection if i would continue in his service -rrb- hastened my departure, resolving never more to put confidence in princes.
in about a month i was ready to take leave.
the emperor of blefuscu, with the empress and the royal family, came out of the palace; and i lay down on my face to kiss their hands, which they graciously gave me.
his majesty presented me with fifty purses of sprugs -lrb- their greatest gold coin -rrb- and his picture at full length, which i put immediately into one of my gloves, to keep it from being hurt.
many other ceremonies took place at my departure.
i stored the boat with meat and drink, and took six cows and two bulls alive, with as many ewes and rams, intending to carry them into my own country; and to feed them on board, i had a good bundle of hay and a bag of corn.
i would gladly have taken a dozen of the natives; but this was a thing the emperor would by no means permit, and besides a diligent search into my pockets, his majesty pledged my honor not to carry away any of his subjects, though with their own consent and desire.
having thus prepared all things as well as i was able, i set sail.
when i had made twenty-four leagues, by my reckoning, from the island of blefuscu, i saw a sail steering to the northeast.
i hailed her, but could get no answer; yet i found i gained upon her, for the wind slackened; and in half an hour she spied me, and discharged a gun.
i came up with her between five and six in the evening, sept. 26, 1701; but my heart leaped within me to see her english colors.
i put my cows and sheep into my coat pockets, and got on board with all my little cargo.
the captain received me with kindness, and asked me to tell him what place i came from last; but at my answer he thought i was raving.
however, i took my black cattle and sheep out of my pocket, which, after great astonishment, clearly convinced him.
we arrived in england on the 13th of april, 1702.
i stayed two months with my wife and family; but my eager desire to see foreign countries would suffer me to remain no longer.
however, while in england i made great profit by showing my cattle to persons of quality and others; and before i began my second voyage i sold them for 600_l.
i left 1500_l.
with my wife, and fixed her in a good house; then taking leave of her and my boy and girl, with tears on both sides, i sailed on board the "adventure."
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- swift.
the princess on the glass hill once upon a time there was a man who had a meadow which lay on the side of a mountain, and in the meadow there was a barn in which he stored hay.
but there had not been much hay in the barn for the last two years, for every st. john's eve, when the grass was in the height of its vigor, it was all eaten clean up, just as if a whole flock of sheep had gnawed it down to the ground during the night.
this happened once, and it happened twice, but then the man got tired of losing his crop, and said to his sons -- he had three of them, and the third was called cinderlad -- that one of them must go and sleep in the barn on st. john's night, for it was absurd to let the grass be eaten up again, blade and stalk, as it had been the last two years, and the one who went to watch must keep a sharp look-out, the man said.
the eldest was quite willing to go to the meadow; he would watch the grass, he said, and he would do it so well that neither man, nor beast, nor even the devil himself should have any of it.
so when evening came he went to the barn, and lay down to sleep, but when night was drawing near there was such a rumbling and such an earthquake that the walls and roof shook again, and the lad jumped up and took to his heels as fast as he could, and never even looked back, and the barn remained empty that year just as it had been for the last two.
next st. john's eve the man again said that he could not go on in this way, losing all the grass in the outlying field year after year, and that one of his sons must just go there and watch it, and watch well too.
so the next oldest son was willing to show what he could do.
he went to the barn and lay down to sleep, as his brother had done; but when night was drawing near there was a great rumbling, and then an earthquake, which was even worse than that on the former st. john's night, and when the youth heard it he was terrified, and went off, running as if for a wager.
the year after, it was cinderlad's turn, but when he made ready to go the others laughed at him, and mocked him.
""well, you are just the right one to watch the hay, you who have never learned anything but how to sit among the ashes and bake yourself!"
said they.
cinderlad, however, did not trouble himself about what they said, but when evening drew near rambled away to the outlying field.
when he got there he went into the barn and lay down, but in about an hour's time the rumbling and creaking began, and it was frightful to hear it.
""well, if it gets no worse than that, i can manage to stand it," thought cinderlad.
in a little time the creaking began again, and the earth quaked so that all the hay flew about the boy.
""oh!
if it gets no worse than that i can manage to stand it," thought cinderlad.
but then came a third rumbling, and a third earthquake, so violent that the boy thought the walls and roof had fallen down, but when that was over everything suddenly grew as still as death around him.
""i am pretty sure that it will come again," thought cinderlad; but no, it did not.
everything was quiet, and everything stayed quiet, and when he had lain still a short time he heard something that sounded as if a horse were standing chewing just outside the barn door.
he stole away to the door, which was ajar, to see what was there, and a horse was standing eating.
it was so big, and fat, and fine a horse that cinderlad had never seen one like it before, and a saddle and bridle lay upon it, and a complete suit of armor for a knight, and everything was of copper, and so bright that it shone again.
""ha, ha!
it is thou who eatest up our hay then," thought the boy; "but i will stop that."
so he made haste, and took out his steel for striking fire, and threw it over the horse, and then it had no power to stir from the spot, and became so tame that the boy could do what he liked with it.
so he mounted it and rode away to a place which no one knew of but himself, and there he tied it up.
when he went home again his brothers laughed and asked how he had got on.
""you did n't lie long in the barn, if even you have been so far as the field!"
said they.
""i lay in the barn till the sun rose, but i saw nothing and heard nothing, not i," said the boy.
""god knows what there was to make you two so frightened."
""well, we shall soon see whether you have watched the meadow or not," answered the brothers, but when they got there the grass was all standing just as long and as thick as it had been the night before.
the next st. john's eve it was the same thing, once again: neither of the two brothers dared to go to the outlying field to watch the crop, but cinderlad went, and everything happened exactly the same as on the previous st. john's eve: first there was a rumbling and an earthquake, and then there was another, and then a third: but all three earthquakes were much, very much more violent than they had been the year before.
then everything became still as death again, and the boy heard something chewing outside the barn door, so he stole as softly as he could to the door, which was slightly ajar, and again there was a horse standing close by the wall of the house, eating and chewing, and it was far larger and fatter than the first horse, and it had a saddle on its back, and a bridle was on it too, and a full suit of armor for a knight, all of bright silver, and as beautiful as anyone could wish to see.
""ho, ho!"
thought the boy, "is it thou who eatest up our hay in the night?
but i will put a stop to that."
so he took out his steel for striking fire, and threw it over the horse's mane, and the beast stood there as quiet as a lamb.
then the boy rode this horse, too, away to the place where he kept the other, and then went home again.
""i suppose you will tell us that you have watched well again this time," said the brothers.
""well, so i have," said cinderlad.
so they went there again, and there the grass was, standing as high and as thick as it had been before, but that did not make them any kinder to cinderlad.
when the third st. john's night came neither of the two elder brothers dared to lie in the outlying barn to watch the grass, for they had been so heartily frightened the night that they had slept there that they could not get over it, but cinderlad dared to go, and everything happened just the same as on the two former nights.
there were three earthquakes, each worse than the other, and the last flung the boy from one wall of the barn to the other, but then everything suddenly became still as death.
when he had lain quietly a short time, he heard something chewing outside the barn door; then he once more stole to the door, which was slightly ajar, and behold, a horse was standing just outside it, which was much larger and fatter than the two others he had caught.
""ho, ho!
it is thou, then, who art eating up our hay this time," thought the boy; "but i will put a stop to that."
so he pulled out his steel for striking fire, and threw it over the horse, and it stood as still as if it had been nailed to the field, and the boy could do just what he liked with it.
then he mounted it and rode away to the place where he had the two others, and then he went home again.
then the two brothers mocked him just as they had done before, and told him that they could see that he must have watched the grass very carefully that night, for he looked just as if he were walking in his sleep; but cinderlad did not trouble himself about that, but just bade them go to the field and see.
they did go, and this time too the grass was standing, looking as fine and as thick as ever.
the king of the country in which cinderlad's father dwelt had a daughter whom he would give to no one who could not ride up to the top of the glass hill, for there was a high, high hill of glass, slippery as ice, and it was close to the king's palace.
upon the very top of this the king's daughter was to sit with three gold apples in her lap, and the man who could ride up and take the three golden apples should marry her, and have half the kingdom.
the king had this proclaimed in every church in the whole kingdom, and in many other kingdoms too.
the princess was very beautiful, and all who saw her fell violently in love with her, even in spite of themselves.
so it is needless to say that all the princes and knights were eager to win her, and half the kingdom besides, and that for this cause they came riding thither from the very end of the world, dressed so splendidly that their raiments gleamed in the sunshine, and riding on horses which seemed to dance as they went, and there was not one of these princes who did not think that he was sure to win the princess.
when the day appointed by the king had come, there was such a host of knights and princes under the glass hill that they seemed to swarm, and everyone who could walk or even creep was there too, to see who won the king's daughter.
cinderlad's two brothers were there too, but they would not hear of letting him go with them, for he was so dirty and black with sleeping and grubbing among the ashes that they said everyone would laugh at them if they were seen in the company of such an oaf.
""well, then, i will go all alone by myself," said cinderlad.
when the two brothers got to the glass hill, all the princes and knights were trying to ride up it, and their horses were in a foam; but it was all in vain, for no sooner did the horses set foot upon the hill than down they slipped, and there was not one which could get even so much as a couple of yards up.
nor was that strange, for the hill was as smooth as a glass window-pane, and as steep as the side of a house.
but they were all eager to win the king's daughter and half the kingdom, so they rode and they slipped, and thus it went on.
at length all the horses were so tired that they could do no more, and so hot that the foam dropped from them and the riders were forced to give up the attempt.
the king was just thinking that he would cause it to be proclaimed that the riding should begin afresh on the following day, when perhaps it might go better, when suddenly a knight came riding up on so fine a horse that no one had ever seen the like of it before, and the knight had armor of copper, and his bridle was of copper too, and all his accoutrements were so bright that they shone again.
the other knights all called out to him that he might just as well spare himself the trouble of trying to ride up the glass hill, for it was of no use to try; but he did not heed them, and rode straight off to it, and went up as if it were nothing at all.
thus he rode for a long way -- it may have been a third part of the way up -- but when he had got so far he turned his horse round and rode down again.
but the princess thought that she had never yet seen so handsome a knight, and while he was riding up she was sitting thinking, "oh!
how i hope he may be able to come up to the top!"
and when she saw that he was turning his horse back she threw one of the golden apples down after him, and it rolled into his shoe.
but when he had come down from off the hill he rode away, and that so fast that no one knew what had become of him.
so all the princes and knights were bidden to present themselves before the king that night, so that he who had ridden so far up the glass hill might show the golden apple which the king's daughter had thrown down.
but no one had anything to show.
one knight presented himself after the other, and none could show the apple.
at night, too, cinderlad's brothers came home again and had a long story to tell about riding up the glass hill.
at first, they said, there was not one who was able to get even so much as one step up, but then came a knight who had armor of copper, and a bridle of copper, and his armor and trappings were so bright that they shone to a great distance, and it was something like a sight to see him riding.
he rode one-third of the way up the glass hill, and he could easily have ridden the whole of it if he had liked; but he had turned back, for he had made up his mind that that was enough for once.
""oh!
i should have liked to see him too, that i should," said cinderlad, who was as usual sitting by the chimney among the cinders.
""you, indeed!"
said the brothers, "you look as if you were fit to be among such great lords, nasty beast that you are to sit there!"
next day the brothers were for setting out again, and this time too cinderlad begged them to let him go with them and see who rode; but no, they said he was not fit to do that, for he was much too ugly and dirty.
""well, well, then i will go all alone by myself," said cinderlad.
so the brothers went to the glass hill, and all the princes and knights began to ride again, and this time they had taken care to roughen the shoes of their horses; but that did not help them: they rode and they slipped as they had done the day before, and not one of them could get even so far as a yard up the hill.
when they had tired out their horses, so that they could do no more, they again had to stop altogether.
but just as the king was thinking that it would be well to proclaim that the riding should take place next day for the last time, so that they might have one more chance, he suddenly bethought himself that it would be well to wait a little longer to see if the knight in copper armor would come on this day too.
but nothing was to be seen of him.
just as they were still looking for him, however, came a knight riding on a steed that was much, much finer than that which the knight in copper armor had ridden, and this knight had silver armor and a silver saddle and bridle, and all were so bright that they shone and glistened when he was a long way off.
again the other knights called to him, and said that he might just as well give up the attempt to ride up the glass hill, for it was useless to try; but the knight paid no heed to that, but rode straight away to the glass hill, and went still farther up than the knight in copper armor had gone; but when he had ridden two-thirds of the way up he turned his horse around, and rode down again.
the princess liked this knight still better than she had liked the other, and sat longing that he might be able to get up above, and when she saw him turning back she threw the second apple after him, and it rolled into his shoe, and as soon as he had got down the glass hill he rode away so fast that no one could see what had become of him.
in the evening, when everyone was to appear before the king and princess, in order that he who had the golden apple might show it, one knight went in after the other, but none of them had a golden apple to show.
at night the two brothers went home as they had done the night before, and told how things had gone, and how everyone had ridden, but no one had been able to get up the hill.
""but last of all," they said, "came one in silver armor, and he had a silver bridle on his horse, and a silver saddle, and oh, but he could ride!
he took his horse two-thirds of the way up the hill, but then he turned back.
he was a fine fellow," said the brothers, "and the princess threw the second golden apple to him!"
""oh, how i should have liked to see him too!"
said cinderlad.
""oh, indeed!
he was a little brighter than the ashes that you sit grubbing among, you dirty black creature!"
said the brothers.
on the third day everything went just as on the former days.
cinderlad wanted to go with them to look at the riding, but the two brothers would not have him in their company, and when they got to the glass hill there was no one who could ride even so far as a yard up it, and everyone waited for the knight in silver armor, but he was neither to be seen nor heard of.
at last, after a long time, came a knight riding upon a horse that was such a fine one, its equal had never yet been seen.
the knight had golden armor, and the horse a golden saddle and bridle, and these were all so bright that they shone and dazzled everyone, even while the knight was still at a great distance.
the other princes and knights were not able even to call to tell him how useless it was to try to ascend the hill, so amazed were they at sight of his magnificence.
he rode straight away to the glass hill, and galloped up it as if it were no hill at all, so that the princess had not even time to wish that he might get up the whole way.
as soon as he had ridden to the top, he took the third golden apple from the lap of the princess and then turned his horse about and rode down again, and vanished from their sight before anyone was able to say a word to him.
when the two brothers came home again at night they had much to tell of how the riding had gone off that day, and at last they told about the knight in the golden armor too.
""he was a fine fellow, that was!
such another splendid knight is not to be found on earth!"
said the brothers.
""oh, how i should have liked to see him too!"
said cinderlad.
""well, he shone nearly as brightly as the coal-heaps that thou art always lying raking among, dirty black creature that thou art!"
said the brothers.
next day all the knights and princes were to appear before the king and princess -- it had been too late for them to do it the night before -- in order that he who had the golden apple might produce it.
they all went in turn, first princes, and then knights, but none of them had a golden apple.
""but somebody must have it," said the king, "for with our own eyes we all saw a man ride up and take it."
so he commanded that everyone in the kingdom should come to the palace, and see if he could show the apple.
and one after the other they all came, but no one had the golden apple, and after a long, long time cinderlad's two brothers came likewise.
they were the last of all, so the king inquired of them if there was no one else in the kingdom left to come.
""oh!
yes, we have a brother," said the two, "but he never got the golden apple!
he never left the cinder-heap on any of the three days."
""never mind that," said the king; "as everyone else has come to the palace, let him come too."
so cinderlad was forced to go to the king's palace.
""hast thou the golden apple?"
asked the king.
""yes, here is the first, and here is the second, and here is the third, too," said cinderlad, and he took all three apples out of his pocket, and with that drew off his sooty rags, and appeared there before them in his bright golden armor, which gleamed as he stood.
""thou shalt have my daughter, and the half of my kingdom, and thou hast well earned both!"
said the king.
so there was a wedding, and cinderlad got the king's daughter, and everyone made merry at the wedding, for all of them could make merry, though they could not ride up the glass hill, and if they have not left off their merry-making they must be at it still.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- asbjornsen and moe.
the story of prince ahmed and the fairy paribanou there was a sultan, who had three sons and a niece.
the eldest of the princes was called houssain, the second ali, the youngest ahmed, and the princess, his niece, nouronnihar.
the princess nouronnihar was the daughter of the younger brother of the sultan, who died, and left the princess very young.
the sultan took upon himself the care of his daughter's education, and brought her up in his palace with the three princes, proposing to marry her when she arrived at a proper age, and to contract an alliance with some neighboring prince by that means.
but when he perceived that the three princes, his sons, loved her passionately, he thought more seriously on that affair.
he was very much concerned; the difficulty he foresaw was to make them agree, and that the two youngest should consent to yield her up to their elder brother.
as he found them positively obstinate, he sent for them all together, and said to them: "children, since for your good and quiet i have not been able to persuade you no longer to aspire to the princess, your cousin, i think it would not be amiss if every one traveled separately into different countries, so that you might not meet each other.
and, as you know i am very curious, and delight in everything that's singular, i promise my niece in marriage to him that shall bring me the most extraordinary rarity; and for the purchase of the rarity you shall go in search after, and the expense of traveling, i will give you every one a sum of money."
as the three princes were always submissive and obedient to the sultan's will, and each flattered himself fortune might prove favorable to him, they all consented to it.
the sultan paid them the money he promised them; and that very day they gave orders for the preparations for their travels, and took their leave of the sultan, that they might be the more ready to go the next morning.
accordingly they all set out at the same gate of the city, each dressed like a merchant, attended by an officer of confidence dressed like a slave, and all well mounted and equipped.
they went the first day's journey together, and lay all at an inn, where the road was divided into three different tracts.
at night, when they were at supper together, they all agreed to travel for a year, and to meet at that inn; and that the first that came should wait for the rest; that, as they had all three taken their leave together of the sultan, they might all return together.
the next morning by break of day, after they had embraced and wished each other good success, they mounted their horses and took each a different road.
prince houssain, the eldest brother, arrived at bisnagar, the capital of the kingdom of that name, and the residence of its king.
he went and lodged at a khan appointed for foreign merchants; and, having learned that there were four principal divisions where merchants of all sorts sold their commodities, and kept shops, and in the midst of which stood the castle, or rather the king's palace, he went to one of these divisions the next day.
prince houssain could not view this division without admiration.
it was large, and divided into several streets, all vaulted and shaded from the sun, and yet very light too.
the shops were all of a size, and all that dealt in the same sort of goods lived in one street; as also the handicrafts-men, who kept their shops in the smaller streets.
the multitude of shops, stocked with all sorts of merchandise, as the finest linens from several parts of india, some painted in the most lively colors, and representing beasts, trees, and flowers; silks and brocades from persia, china, and other places, porcelain both from japan and china, and tapestries, surprised him so much that he knew not how to believe his own eyes; but when he came to the goldsmiths and jewelers he was in a kind of ecstacy to behold such prodigious quantities of wrought gold and silver, and was dazzled by the lustre of the pearls, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and other jewels exposed to sale.
another thing prince houssain particularly admired was the great number of rose-sellers who crowded the streets; for the indians are so great lovers of that flower that no one will stir without a nosegay in his hand or a garland on his head; and the merchants keep them in pots in their shops, that the air is perfectly perfumed.
after prince houssain had run through that division, street by street, his thoughts fully employed on the riches he had seen, he was very much tired, which a merchant perceiving, civilly invited him to sit down in his shop, and he accepted; but had not been sat down long before he saw a crier pass by with a piece of tapestry on his arm, about six feet square, and cried at thirty purses.
the prince called to the crier, and asked to see the tapestry, which seemed to him to be valued at an exorbitant price, not only for the size of it, but the meanness of the stuff; when he had examined it well, he told the crier that he could not comprehend how so small a piece of tapestry, and of so indifferent appearance, could be set at so high a price.
the crier, who took him for a merchant, replied: "if this price seems so extravagant to you, your amazement will be greater when i tell you i have orders to raise it to forty purses, and not to part with it under."
""certainly," answered prince houssain, "it must have something very extraordinary in it, which i know nothing of."
""you have guessed it, sir," replied the crier, "and will own it when you come to know that whoever sits on this piece of tapestry may be transported in an instant wherever he desires to be, without being stopped by any obstacle."
at this discourse of the crier the prince of the indies, considering that the principal motive of his travel was to carry the sultan, his father, home some singular rarity, thought that he could not meet with any which could give him more satisfaction.
""if the tapestry," said he to the crier, "has the virtue you assign it, i shall not think forty purses too much, but shall make you a present besides."
""sir," replied the crier, "i have told you the truth; and it is an easy matter to convince you of it, as soon as you have made the bargain for forty purses, on condition i show you the experiment.
but, as i suppose you have not so much about you, and to receive them i must go with you to your khan, where you lodge, with the leave of the master of the shop, we will go into the back shop, and i will spread the tapestry; and when we have both sat down, and you have formed the wish to be transported into your apartment of the khan, if we are not transported thither it shall be no bargain, and you shall be at your liberty.
as to your present, though i am paid for my trouble by the seller, i shall receive it as a favor, and be very much obliged to you, and thankful."
on the credit of the crier, the prince accepted the conditions, and concluded the bargain; and, having got the master's leave, they went into his back shop; they both sat down on it, and as soon as the prince formed his wish to be transported into his apartment at the khan he presently found himself and the crier there; and, as he wanted not a more sufficient proof of the virtue of the tapestry, he counted the crier out forty pieces of gold, and gave him twenty pieces for himself.
in this manner prince houssain became the possessor of the tapestry, and was overjoyed that at his arrival at bisnagar he had found so rare a piece, which he never disputed would gain him the hand of nouronnihar.
in short, he looked upon it as an impossible thing for the princes his younger brothers to meet with anything to be compared with it.
it was in his power, by sitting on his tapestry, to be at the place of meeting that very day; but, as he was obliged to stay there for his brothers, as they had agreed, and as he was curious to see the king of bisnagar and his court, and to inform himself of the strength, laws, customs, and religion of the kingdom, he chose to make a longer abode there, and to spend some months in satisfying his curiosity.
prince houssain might have made a longer abode in the kingdom and court of bisnagar, but he was so eager to be nearer the princess that, spreading the tapestry, he and the officer he had brought with him sat down, and as soon as he had formed his wish were transported to the inn at which he and his brothers were to meet, and where he passed for a merchant till they came.
prince ali, prince houssain's second brother, who designed to travel into persia, took the road, having three days after he parted with his brothers joined a caravan, and after four days" travel arrived at schiraz, which was the capital of the kingdom of persia.
here he passed for a jeweler.
the next morning prince ali, who traveled only for his pleasure, and had brought nothing but just necessaries along with him, after he had dressed himself, took a walk into that part of the town which they at schiraz called the bezestein.
among all the criers who passed backward and forward with several sorts of goods, offering to sell them, he was not a little surprised to see one who held an ivory telescope in his hand of about a foot in length and the thickness of a man's thumb, and cried it at thirty purses.
at first he thought the crier mad, and to inform himself went to a shop, and said to the merchant, who stood at the door: "pray, sir, is not that man" -lrb- pointing to the crier who cried the ivory perspective glass at thirty purses -rrb- "mad?
if he is not, i am very much deceived."
""indeed, sir," answered the merchant, "he was in his right senses yesterday; i can assure you he is one of the ablest criers we have, and the most employed of any when anything valuable is to be sold.
and if he cries the ivory perspective glass at thirty purses it must be worth as much or more, on some account or other.
he will come by presently, and we will call him, and you shall be satisfied; in the meantime sit down on my sofa, and rest yourself."
prince ali accepted the merchant's obliging offer, and presently afterward the crier passed by.
the merchant called him by his name, and, pointing to the prince, said to him: "tell that gentleman, who asked me if you were in your right senses, what you mean by crying that ivory perspective glass, which seems not to be worth much, at thirty purses.
i should be very much amazed myself if i did not know you."
the crier, addressing himself to prince ali, said: "sir, you are not the only person that takes me for a madman on account of this perspective glass.
you shall judge yourself whether i am or no, when i have told you its property and i hope you will value it at as high a price as those i have showed it to already, who had as bad an opinion of me as you.
""first, sir," pursued the crier, presenting the ivory pipe to the prince, "observe that this pipe is furnished with a glass at both ends; and consider that by looking through one of them you see whatever object you wish to behold."
""i am," said the prince, "ready to make you all imaginable reparation for the scandal i have thrown on you if you will make the truth of what you advance appear," and as he had the ivory pipe in his hand, after he had looked at the two glasses he said: "show me at which of these ends i must look that i may be satisfied."
the crier presently showed him, and he looked through, wishing at the same time to see the sultan his father, whom he immediately beheld in perfect health, set on his throne, in the midst of his council.
afterward, as there was nothing in the world so dear to him, after the sultan, as the princess nouronnihar, he wished to see her; and saw her at her toilet laughing, and in a pleasant humor, with her women about her.
prince ali wanted no other proof to be persuaded that this perspective glass was the most valuable thing in the world, and believed that if he should neglect to purchase it he should never meet again with such another rarity.
he therefore took the crier with him to the khan where he lodged, and counted him out the money, and received the perspective glass.
prince ali was overjoyed at his bargain, and persuaded himself that, as his brothers would not be able to meet with anything so rare and admirable, the princess nouronnihar would be the recompense of his fatigue and trouble; that he thought of nothing but visiting the court of persia incognito, and seeing whatever was curious in schiraz and thereabouts, till the caravan with which he came returned back to the indies.
as soon as the caravan was ready to set out, the prince joined them, and arrived happily without any accident or trouble, otherwise than the length of the journey and fatigue of traveling, at the place of rendezvous, where he found prince houssain, and both waited for prince ahmed.
prince ahmed, who took the road of samarcand, the next day after his arrival there went, as his brothers had done, into the bezestein, where he had not walked long but heard a crier, who had an artificial apple in his hand, cry it at five and thirty purses; upon which he stopped the crier, and said to him: "let me see that apple, and tell me what virtue and extraordinary properties it has, to be valued at so high a rate."
""sir," said the crier, giving it into his hand, "if you look at the outside of this apple, it is very worthless, but if you consider its properties, virtues, and the great use and benefit it is to mankind, you will say it is no price for it, and that he who possesses it is master of a great treasure.
in short, it cures all sick persons of the most mortal diseases; and if the patient is dying it will recover him immediately and restore him to perfect health; and this is done after the easiest manner in the world, which is by the patient's smelling the apple."
""if i may believe you," replied prince ahmed, "the virtues of this apple are wonderful, and it is invaluable; but what ground have i, for all you tell me, to be persuaded of the truth of this matter?"
""sir," replied the crier, "the thing is known and averred by the whole city of samarcand; but, without going any further, ask all these merchants you see here, and hear what they say.
you will find several of them will tell you they had not been alive this day if they had not made use of this excellent remedy.
and, that you may better comprehend what it is, i must tell you it is the fruit of the study and experiments of a celebrated philosopher of this city, who applied himself all his lifetime to the study and knowledge of the virtues of plants and minerals, and at last attained to this composition, by which he performed such surprising cures in this town as will never be forgot, but died suddenly himself, before he could apply his sovereign remedy, and left his wife and a great many young children behind him, in very indifferent circumstances, who, to support her family and provide for her children, is resolved to sell it."
while the crier informed prince ahmed of the virtues of the artificial apple, a great many persons came about them and confirmed what he said; and one among the rest said he had a friend dangerously ill, whose life was despaired of; and that was a favorable opportunity to show prince ahmed the experiment.
upon which prince ahmed told the crier he would give him forty purses if he cured the sick person.
the crier, who had orders to sell it at that price, said to prince ahmed: "come, sir, let us go and make the experiment, and the apple shall be yours; and i can assure you that it will always have the desired effect."
in short, the experiment succeeded, and the prince, after he had counted out to the crier forty purses, and he had delivered the apple to him, waited patiently for the first caravan that should return to the indies, and arrived in perfect health at the inn where the princes houssain and ali waited for him.
when the princes met they showed each other their treasures, and immediately saw through the glass that the princess was dying.
they then sat down on the carpet, wished themselves with her, and were there in a moment.
prince ahmed no sooner perceived himself in nouronnihar's chamber than he rose off the tapestry, as did also the other two princes, and went to the bedside, and put the apple under her nose; some moments after the princess opened her eyes, and turned her head from one side to another, looking at the persons who stood about her; and then rose up in the bed, and asked to be dressed, just as if she had waked out of a sound sleep.
her women having presently informed her, in a manner that showed their joy, that she was obliged to the three princes for the sudden recovery of her health, and particularly to prince ahmed, she immediately expressed her joy to see them, and thanked them all together, and afterward prince ahmed in particular.
while the princess was dressing the princes went to throw themselves at the sultan their father's feet, and pay their respects to him.
but when they came before him they found he had been informed of their arrival by the chief of the princess's eunuchs, and by what means the princess had been perfectly cured.
the sultan received and embraced them with the greatest joy, both for their return and the recovery of the princess his niece, whom he loved as well as if she had been his own daughter, and who had been given over by the physicians.
after the usual ceremonies and compliments the princes presented each his rarity: prince houssain his tapestry, which he had taken care not to leave behind him in the princess's chamber; prince ali his ivory perspective glass, and prince ahmed his artificial apple; and after each had commended their present, when they put it into the sultan's hands, they begged of him to pronounce their fate, and declare to which of them he would give the princess nouronnihar for a wife, according to his promise.
the sultan of the indies, having heard, without interrupting them, all that the princes could represent further about their rarities, and being well informed of what had happened in relation to the princess nouronnihar's cure, remained some time silent, as if he were thinking on what answer he should make.
at last he broke the silence, and said to them: "i would declare for one of you children with a great deal of pleasure if i could do it with justice; but consider whether i can do it or no.
't is true, prince ahmed, the princess my niece is obliged to your artificial apple for her cure; but i must ask you whether or no you could have been so serviceable to her if you had not known by prince ali's perspective glass the danger she was in, and if prince houssain's tapestry had not brought you so soon.
your perspective glass, prince ali, informed you and your brothers that you were like to lose the princess your cousin, and there you must own a great obligation.
""you must also grant that that knowledge would have been of no service without the artificial apple and the tapestry.
and lastly, prince houssain, the princess would be very ungrateful if she should not show her acknowledgment of the service of your tapestry, which was so necessary a means toward her cure.
but consider, it would have been of little use if you had not been acquainted with the princess's illness by prince ali's glass, and prince ahmed had not applied his artificial apple.
therefore, as neither tapestry, ivory perspective glass, nor artificial apple have the least preference one before the other, but, on the contrary, there's a perfect equality, i can not grant the princess to any one of you; and the only fruit you have reaped from your travels is the glory of having equally contributed to restore her health.
""if all this be true," added the sultan, "you see that i must have recourse to other means to determine certainly in the choice i ought to make among you; and that, as there is time enough between this and night, i'll do it to-day.
go and get each of you a bow and arrow, and repair to the great plain, where they exercise horses.
i'll soon come to you, and declare i will give the princess nouronnihar to him that shoots the farthest."
the three princes had nothing to say against the decision of the sultan.
when they were out of his presence they each provided themselves with a bow and arrow, which they delivered to one of their officers, and went to the plain appointed, followed by a great concourse of people.
the sultan did not make them wait long for him, and as soon as he arrived prince houssain, as the eldest, took his bow and arrow and shot first; prince ali shot next, and much beyond him; and prince ahmed last of all, but it so happened that nobody could see where his arrow fell; and, notwithstanding all the diligence that was used by himself and everybody else, it was not to be found far or near.
and though it was believed that he shot the farthest, and that he therefore deserved the princess nouronnihar, it was, however, necessary that his arrow should be found to make the matter more evident and certain; and, notwithstanding his remonstrance, the sultan judged in favor of prince ali, and gave orders for preparations to be made for the wedding, which was celebrated a few days after with great magnificence.
prince houssain would not honor the feast with his presence.
in short, his grief was so violent and insupportable that he left the court, and renounced all right of succession to the crown, to turn hermit.
prince ahmed, too, did not come to prince ali's and the princess nouronnihar's wedding any more than his brother houssain, but did not renounce the world as he had done.
but, as he could not imagine what had become of his arrow, he stole away from his attendants and resolved to search after it, that he might not have anything to reproach himself with.
with this intent he went to the place where the princes houssain's and ali's were gathered up, and, going straight forward from there, looking carefully on both sides of him, he went so far that at last he began to think his labor was all in vain; but yet he could not help going forward till he came to some steep craggy rocks, which were bounds to his journey, and were situated in a barren country, about four leagues distant from where he set out.
ii when prince ahmed came pretty nigh to these rocks he perceived an arrow, which he gathered up, looked earnestly at it, and was in the greatest astonishment to find it was the same he shot away.
""certainly," said he to himself, "neither i nor any man living could shoot an arrow so far," and, finding it laid flat, not sticking into the ground, he judged that it rebounded against the rock.
""there must be some mystery in this," said he to himself again, "and it may be advantageous to me.
perhaps fortune, to make me amends for depriving me of what i thought the greatest happiness, may have reserved a greater blessing for my comfort."
as these rocks were full of caves and some of those caves were deep, the prince entered into one, and, looking about, cast his eyes on an iron door, which seemed to have no lock, but he feared it was fastened.
however, thrusting against it, it opened, and discovered an easy descent, but no steps, which he walked down with his arrow in his hand.
at first he thought he was going into a dark, obscure place, but presently a quite different light succeeded that which he came out of, and, entering into a large, spacious place, at about fifty or sixty paces distant, he perceived a magnificent palace, which he had not then time enough to look at.
at the same time a lady of majestic port and air advanced as far as the porch, attended by a large troop of ladies, so finely dressed and beautiful that it was difficult to distinguish which was the mistress.
as soon as prince ahmed perceived the lady, he made all imaginable haste to go and pay his respects; and the lady, on her part, seeing him coming, prevented him from addressing his discourse to her first, but said to him: "come nearer, prince ahmed, you are welcome."
it was no small surprise to the prince to hear himself named in a place he had never heard of, though so nigh to his father's capital, and he could not comprehend how he should be known to a lady who was a stranger to him.
at last he returned the lady's compliment by throwing himself at her feet, and, rising up again, said to her: "madam, i return you a thousand thanks for the assurance you give me of a welcome to a place where i believed my imprudent curiosity had made me penetrate too far.
but, madam, may i, without being guilty of ill manners, dare to ask you by what adventure you know me?
and how you, who live in the same neighborhood with me, should be so great a stranger to me?"
""prince," said the lady, "let us go into the hall, there i will gratify you in your request."
after these words the lady led prince ahmed into the hall.
then she sat down on a sofa, and when the prince by her entreaty had done the same she said: "you are surprised, you say, that i should know you and not be known by you, but you will be no longer surprised when i inform you who i am.
you are undoubtedly sensible that your religion teaches you to believe that the world is inhabited by genies as well as men.
i am the daughter of one of the most powerful and distinguished genies, and my name is paribanou.
the only thing that i have to add is, that you seemed to me worthy of a more happy fate than that of possessing the princess nouronnihar; and, that you might attain to it, i was present when you drew your arrow, and foresaw it would not go beyond prince houssain's.
i took it in the air, and gave it the necessary motion to strike against the rocks near which you found it, and i tell you that it lies in your power to make use of the favorable opportunity which presents itself to make you happy."
as the fairy paribanou pronounced these last words with a different tone, and looked, at the same time, tenderly upon prince ahmed, with a modest blush on her cheeks, it was no hard matter for the prince to comprehend what happiness she meant.
he presently considered that the princess nouronnihar could never be his and that the fairy paribanou excelled her infinitely in beauty, agreeableness, wit, and, as much as he could conjecture by the magnificence of the palace, in immense riches.
he blessed the moment that he thought of seeking after his arrow a second time, and, yielding to his love, "madam," replied he, "should i all my life have the happiness of being your slave, and the admirer of the many charms which ravish my soul, i should think myself the most blessed of men.
pardon in me the boldness which inspires me to ask this favor, and do n't refuse to admit me into your court, a prince who is entirely devoted to you."
""prince," answered the fairy, "will you not pledge your faith to me, as well as i give mine to you?"
""yes, madam," replied the prince, in an ecstacy of joy; "what can i do better, and with greater pleasure?
yes, my sultaness, my queen, i'll give you my heart without the least reserve."
""then," answered the fairy, "you are my husband, and i am your wife.
but, as i suppose," pursued she, "that you have eaten nothing to-day, a slight repast shall be served up for you, while preparations are making for our wedding feast at night, and then i will show you the apartments of my palace, and you shall judge if this hall is not the meanest part of it."
some of the fairy's women, who came into the hall with them, and guessed her intentions, went immediately out, and returned presently with some excellent meats and wines.
when prince ahmed had ate and drunk as much as he cared for, the fairy paribanou carried him through all the apartments, where he saw diamonds, rubies, emeralds and all sorts of fine jewels, intermixed with pearls, agate, jasper, porphyry, and all sorts of the most precious marbles.
but, not to mention the richness of the furniture, which was inestimable, there was such a profuseness throughout that the prince, instead of ever having seen anything like it, owned that he could not have imagined that there was anything in the world that could come up to it.
""prince," said the fairy, "if you admire my palace so much, which, indeed, is very beautiful, what would you say to the palaces of the chief of our genies, which are much more beautiful, spacious, and magnificent?
i could also charm you with my gardens, but we will let that alone till another time.
night draws near, and it will be time to go to supper."
the next hall which the fairy led the prince into, and where the cloth was laid for the feast, was the last apartment the prince had not seen, and not in the least inferior to the others.
at his entrance into it he admired the infinite number of sconces of wax candles perfumed with amber, the multitude of which, instead of being confused, were placed with so just a symmetry as formed an agreeable and pleasant sight.
a large side table was set out with all sorts of gold plate, so finely wrought that the workmanship was much more valuable than the weight of the gold.
several choruses of beautiful women richly dressed, and whose voices were ravishing, began a concert, accompanied with all sorts of the most harmonious instruments; and when they were set down at table the fairy paribanou took care to help prince ahmed to the most delicate meats, which she named as she invited him to eat of them, and which the prince found to be so exquisitely nice that he commended them with exaggeration, and said that the entertainment far surpassed those of man.
he found also the same excellence in the wines, which neither he nor the fairy tasted of till the dessert was served up, which consisted of the choicest sweetmeats and fruits.
the wedding feast was continued the next day, or, rather, the days following the celebration were a continual feast.
at the end of six months prince ahmed, who always loved and honored the sultan his father, conceived a great desire to know how he was, and that desire could not be satisfied without his going to see; he told the fairy of it, and desired she would give him leave.
""prince," said she, "go when you please.
but first, do n't take it amiss that i give you some advice how you shall behave yourself where you are going.
first, i do n't think it proper for you to tell the sultan your father of our marriage, nor of my quality, nor the place where you have been.
beg of him to be satisfied in knowing you are happy, and desire no more; and let him know that the sole end of your visit is to make him easy, and inform him of your fate."
she appointed twenty gentlemen, well mounted and equipped, to attend him.
when all was ready prince ahmed took his leave of the fairy, embraced her, and renewed his promise to return soon.
then his horse, which was most finely caparisoned, and was as beautiful a creature as any in the sultan of indies" stables, was led to him, and he mounted him with an extraordinary grace; and, after he had bid her a last adieu, set forward on his journey.
as it was not a great way to his father's capital, prince ahmed soon arrived there.
the people, glad to see him again, received him with acclamations of joy, and followed him in crowds to the sultan's apartment.
the sultan received and embraced him with great joy, complaining at the same time, with a fatherly tenderness, of the affliction his long absence had been to him, which he said was the more grievous for that, fortune having decided in favor of prince ali his brother, he was afraid he might have committed some rash action.
the prince told a story of his adventures without speaking of the fairy, whom he said that he must not mention, and ended: "the only favor i ask of your majesty is to give me leave to come often and pay you my respects, and to know how you do."
""son," answered the sultan of the indies, "i can not refuse you the leave you ask me; but i should much rather you would resolve to stay with me; at least tell me where i may send to you if you should fail to come, or when i may think your presence necessary."
""sir," replied prince ahmed, "what your majesty asks of me is part of the mystery i spoke to your majesty of.
i beg of you to give me leave to remain silent on this head, for i shall come so frequently that i am afraid that i shall sooner be thought troublesome than be accused of negligence in my duty."
the sultan of the indies pressed prince ahmed no more, but said to him: "son, i penetrate no farther into your secrets, but leave you at your liberty; but can tell you that you could not do me a greater pleasure than to come, and by your presence restore to me the joy i have not felt this long time, and that you shall always be welcome when you come, without interrupting your business or pleasure."
prince ahmed stayed but three days at the sultan his father's court, and the fourth returned to the fairy paribanou, who did not expect him so soon.
a month after prince ahmed's return from paying a visit to his father, as the fairy paribanou had observed that the prince, since the time that he gave her an account of his journey, his discourse with his father, and the leave he asked to go and see him often, had never talked of the sultan, as if there had been no such person in the world, whereas before he was always speaking of him, she thought he forebore on her account; therefore she took an opportunity to say to him one day: "prince, tell me, have you forgot the sultan your father?
do n't you remember the promise you made to go and see him often?
for my part i have not forgot what you told me at your return, and so put you in mind of it, that you may not be long before you acquit yourself of your promise."
so prince ahmed went the next morning with the same attendance as before, but much finer, and himself more magnificently mounted, equipped, and dressed, and was received by the sultan with the same joy and satisfaction.
for several months he constantly paid his visits, always in a richer and finer equipage.
at last some viziers, the sultan's favorites, who judged of prince ahmed's grandeur and power by the figure he cut, made the sultan jealous of his son, saying it was to be feared he might inveigle himself into the people's favor and dethrone him.
the sultan of the indies was so far from thinking that prince ahmed could be capable of so pernicious a design as his favorites would make him believe that he said to them: "you are mistaken; my son loves me, and i am certain of his tenderness and fidelity, as i have given him no reason to be disgusted."
but the favorites went on abusing prince ahmed till the sultan said: "be it as it will, i do n't believe my son ahmed is so wicked as you would persuade me he is; how ever, i am obliged to you for your good advice, and do n't dispute but that it proceeds from your good intentions."
the sultan of the indies said this that his favorites might not know the impressions their discourse had made on his mind; which had so alarmed him that he resolved to have prince ahmed watched unknown to his grand vizier.
so he sent for a female magician, who was introduced by a back door into his apartment.
""go immediately," he said, "and follow my son, and watch him so well as to find out where he retires, and bring me word."
the magician left the sultan, and, knowing the place where prince ahmed found his arrow, went immediately thither, and hid herself near the rocks, so that nobody could see her.
the next morning prince ahmed set out by daybreak, without taking leave either of the sultan or any of his court, according to custom.
the magician, seeing him coming, followed him with her eyes, till on a sudden she lost sight of him and his attendants.
as the rocks were very steep and craggy, they were an insurmountable barrier, so that the magician judged that there were but two things for it: either that the prince retired into some cavern, or an abode of genies or fairies.
thereupon she came out of the place where she was hid and went directly to the hollow way, which she traced till she came to the farther end, looking carefully about on all sides; but, notwithstanding all her diligence, could perceive no opening, not so much as the iron gate which prince ahmed discovered, which was to be seen and opened to none but men, and only to such whose presence was agreeable to the fairy paribanou.
the magician, who saw it was in vain for her to search any farther, was obliged to be satisfied with the discovery she had made, and returned to give the sultan an account.
the sultan was very well pleased with the magician's conduct, and said to her: "do you as you think fit; i'll wait patiently the event of your promises," and to encourage her made her a present of a diamond of great value.
as prince ahmed had obtained the fairy paribanou's leave to go to the sultan of the indies" court once a month, he never failed, and the magician, knowing the time, went a day or two before to the foot of the rock where she lost sight of the prince and his attendants, and waited there.
the next morning prince ahmed went out, as usual, at the iron gate, with the same attendants as before, and passed by the magician, whom he knew not to be such, and, seeing her lie with her head against the rock, and complaining as if she were in great pain, he pitied her, turned his horse about, went to her, and asked her what was the matter with her, and what he could do to ease her.
the artful sorceress looked at the prince in a pitiful manner, without ever lifting up her head, and answered in broken words and sighs, as if she could hardly fetch her breath, that she was going to the capital city, but on the way thither she was taken with so violent a fever that her strength failed her, and she was forced to lie down where he saw her, far from any habitation, and without any hopes of assistance.
""good woman," replied prince ahmed, "you are not so far from help as you imagine.
i am ready to assist you, and convey you where you will meet with a speedy cure; only get up, and let one of my people take you behind him."
at these words the magician, who pretended sickness only to know where the prince lived and what he did, refused not the charitable offer he made her, and that her actions might correspond with her words she made many pretended vain endeavors to get up.
at the same time two of the prince's attendants, alighting off their horses, helped her up, and set her behind another, and mounted their horses again, and followed the prince, who turned back to the iron gate, which was opened by one of his retinue who rode before.
and when he came into the outward court of the fairy, without dismounting himself, he sent to tell her he wanted to speak with her.
the fairy paribanou came with all imaginable haste, not knowing what made prince ahmed return so soon, who, not giving her time to ask him the reason, said: "princess, i desire you would have compassion on this good woman," pointing to the magician, who was held up by two of his retinue.
""i found her in the condition you see her in, and promised her the assistance she stands in need of, and am persuaded that you, out of your own goodness, as well as upon my entreaty, will not abandon her."
the fairy paribanou, who had her eyes fixed upon the pretended sick woman all the time that the prince was talking to her, ordered two of her women who followed her to take her from the two men that held her, and carry her into an apartment of the palace, and take as much care of her as she would herself.
while the two women executed the fairy's commands, she went up to prince ahmed, and, whispering in his ear, said: "prince, this woman is not so sick as she pretends to be; and i am very much mistaken if she is not an impostor, who will be the cause of a great trouble to you.
but do n't be concerned, let what will be devised against you; be persuaded that i will deliver you out of all the snares that shall be laid for you.
go and pursue your journey."
this discourse of the fairy's did not in the least frighten prince ahmed.
""my princess," said he, "as i do not remember i ever did or designed anybody an injury, i can not believe anybody can have a thought of doing me one, but if they have i shall not, nevertheless, forbear doing good whenever i have an opportunity."
then he went back to his father's palace.
in the meantime the two women carried the magician into a very fine apartment, richly furnished.
first they sat her down upon a sofa, with her back supported with a cushion of gold brocade, while they made a bed on the same sofa before her, the quilt of which was finely embroidered with silk, the sheets of the finest linen, and the coverlet cloth-of-gold.
when they had put her into bed -lrb- for the old sorceress pretended that her fever was so violent she could not help herself in the least -rrb- one of the women went out, and returned soon again with a china dish in her hand, full of a certain liquor, which she presented to the magician, while the other helped her to sit up.
""drink this liquor," said she; "it is the water of the fountain of lions, and a sovereign remedy against all fevers whatsoever.
you will find the effect of it in less than an hour's time."
the magician, to dissemble the better, took it after a great deal of entreaty; but at last she took the china dish, and, holding back her head, swallowed down the liquor.
when she was laid down again the two women covered her up.
""lie quiet," said she who brought her the china cup, "and get a little sleep if you can.
we'll leave you, and hope to find you perfectly cured when we come again an hour hence."
the two women came again at the time they said they should, and found the magician up and dressed, and sitting upon the sofa.
""oh, admirable potion!"
she said: "it has wrought its cure much sooner than you told me it would, and i shall be able to prosecute my journey."
the two women, who were fairies as well as their mistress, after they had told the magician how glad they were that she was cured so soon, walked before her, and conducted her through several apartments, all more noble than that wherein she lay, into a large hall, the most richly and magnificently furnished of all the palace.
fairy paribanou sat in this hall on a throne of massive gold, enriched with diamonds, rubies, and pearls of an extraordinary size, and attended on each hand by a great number of beautiful fairies, all richly clothed.
at the sight of so much majesty, the magician was not only dazzled, but was so amazed that, after she had prostrated herself before the throne, she could not open her lips to thank the fairy as she proposed.
however, paribanou saved her the trouble, and said to her: "good woman, i am glad i had an opportunity to oblige you, and to see you are able to pursue your journey.
i wo n't detain you, but perhaps you may not be displeased to see my palace; follow my women, and they will show it you."
then the magician went back and related to the sultan of the indies all that had happened, and how very rich prince ahmed was since his marriage with the fairy, richer than all the kings in the world, and how there was danger that he should come and take the throne from his father.
though the sultan of the indies was very well persuaded that prince ahmed's natural disposition was good, yet he could not help being concerned at the discourse of the old sorceress, to whom, when she was taking her leave, he said: "i thank thee for the pains thou hast taken, and thy wholesome advice.
i am so sensible of the great importance it is to me that i shall deliberate upon it in council."
now the favorites advised that the prince should be killed, but the magician advised differently: "make him give you all kinds of wonderful things, by the fairy's help, till she tires of him and sends him away.
as, for example, every time your majesty goes into the field, you are obliged to be at a great expense, not only in pavilions and tents for your army, but likewise in mules and camels to carry their baggage.
now, might not you engage him to use his interest with the fairy to procure you a tent which might be carried in a man's hand, and which should be so large as to shelter your whole army against bad weather?"
when the magician had finished her speech, the sultan asked his favorites if they had anything better to propose; and, finding them all silent, determined to follow the magician's advice, as the most reasonable and most agreeable to his mild government.
next day the sultan did as the magician had advised him, and asked for the pavilion.
prince ahmed never expected that the sultan his father would have asked such a thing, which at first appeared so difficult, not to say impossible.
though he knew not absolutely how great the power of genies and fairies was, he doubted whether it extended so far as to compass such a tent as his father desired.
at last he replied: "though it is with the greatest reluctance imaginable, i will not fail to ask the favor of my wife your majesty desires, but will not promise you to obtain it; and if i should not have the honor to come again to pay you my respects that shall be the sign that i have not had success.
but beforehand, i desire you to forgive me, and consider that you yourself have reduced me to this extremity."
""son," replied the sultan of the indies, "i should be very sorry if what i ask of you should cause me the displeasure of never seeing you more.
i find you do n't know the power a husband has over a wife; and yours would show that her love to you was very indifferent if she, with the power she has of a fairy, should refuse you so trifling a request as this i desire you to ask of her for my sake."
the prince went back, and was very sad for fear of offending the fairy.
she kept pressing him to tell her what was the matter, and at last he said: "madam, you may have observed that hitherto i have been content with your love, and have never asked you any other favor.
consider then, i conjure you, that it is not i, but the sultan my father, who indiscreetly, or at least i think so, begs of you a pavilion large enough to shelter him, his court, and army from the violence of the weather, and which a man may carry in his hand.
but remember it is the sultan my father asks this favor."
""prince," replied the fairy, smiling, "i am sorry that so small a matter should disturb you, and make you so uneasy as you appeared to me."
then the fairy sent for her treasurer, to whom, when she came, she said: "nourgihan" -- which was her name -- "bring me the largest pavilion in my treasury."
nourgiham returned presently with the pavilion, which she could not only hold in her hand, but in the palm of her hand when she shut her fingers, and presented it to her mistress, who gave it to prince ahmed to look at.
when prince ahmed saw the pavilion which the fairy called the largest in her treasury, he fancied she had a mind to jest with him, and thereupon the marks of his surprise appeared presently in his countenance; which paribanou perceiving burst out laughing.
""what!
prince," cried she, "do you think i jest with you?
you'll see presently that i am in earnest.
nourgihan," said she to her treasurer, taking the tent out of prince ahmed's hands, "go and set it up, that the prince may judge whether it may be large enough for the sultan his father."
the treasurer went immediately with it out of the palace, and carried it a great way off; and when she had set it up one end reached to the very palace; at which time the prince, thinking it small, found it large enough to shelter two greater armies than that of the sultan his father's, and then said to paribanou: "i ask my princess a thousand pardons for my incredulity; after what i have seen i believe there is nothing impossible to you."
""you see," said the fairy, "that the pavilion is larger than what your father may have occasion for; for you must know that it has one property -- that it is larger or smaller according to the army it is to cover."
the treasurer took down the tent again, and brought it to the prince, who took it, and, without staying any longer than till the next day, mounted his horse, and went with the same attendants to the sultan his father.
the sultan, who was persuaded that there could not be any such thing as such a tent as he asked for, was in a great surprise at the prince's diligence.
he took the tent and after he had admired its smallness his amazement was so great that he could not recover himself.
when the tent was set up in the great plain, which we have before mentioned, he found it large enough to shelter an army twice as large as he could bring into the field.
but the sultan was not yet satisfied.
""son," said he, "i have already expressed to you how much i am obliged to you for the present of the tent you have procured me; that i look upon it as the most valuable thing in all my treasury.
but you must do one thing more for me, which will be every whit as agreeable to me.
i am informed that the fairy, your spouse, makes use of a certain water, called the water of the fountain of lions, which cures all sorts of fevers, even the most dangerous, and, as i am perfectly well persuaded my health is dear to you, i do n't doubt but you will ask her for a bottle of that water for me, and bring it me as a sovereign medicine, which i may make use of when i have occasion.
do me this other important piece of service, and thereby complete the duty of a good son toward a tender father."
the prince returned and told the fairy what his father had said; "there's a great deal of wickedness in this demand?"
she answered, "as you will understand by what i am going to tell you.
the fountain of lions is situated in the middle of a court of a great castle, the entrance into which is guarded by four fierce lions, two of which sleep alternately, while the other two are awake.
but do n't let that frighten you: i'll give you means to pass by them without any danger."
the fairy paribanou was at that time very hard at work, and, as she had several clews of thread by her, she took up one, and, presenting it to prince ahmed, said: "first take this clew of thread.
i'll tell you presently the use of it.
in the second place, you must have two horses; one you must ride yourself, and the other you must lead, which must be loaded with a sheep cut into four quarters, that must be killed to-day.
in the third place, you must be provided with a bottle, which i will give you, to bring the water in.
set out early to-morrow morning, and when you have passed the iron gate throw the clew of thread before you, which will roll till it comes to the gates of the castle.
follow it, and when it stops, as the gates will be open, you will see the four lions: the two that are awake will, by their roaring, wake the other two, but do n't be frightened, but throw each of them a quarter of mutton, and then clap spurs to your horse and ride to the fountain; fill your bottle without alighting, and then return with the same expedition.
the lions will be so busy eating they will let you pass by them."
prince ahmed set out the next morning at the time appointed by the fairy, and followed her directions exactly.
when he arrived at the gates of the castle he distributed the quarters of mutton among the four lions, and, passing through the midst of them bravely, got to the fountain, filled his bottle, and returned back as safe and sound as he went.
when he had gone a little distance from the castle gates he turned him about, and, perceiving two of the lions coming after him, he drew his sabre and prepared himself for defense.
but as he went forward he saw one of them turned out of the road at some distance, and showed by his head and tail that he did not come to do him any harm, but only to go before him, and that the other stayed behind to follow, he put his sword up again in its scabbard.
guarded in this manner, he arrived at the capital of the indies, but the lions never left him till they had conducted him to the gates of the sultan's palace; after which they returned the same way they came, though not without frightening all that saw them, for all they went in a very gentle manner and showed no fierceness.
a great many officers came to attend the prince while he dismounted his horse, and afterward conducted him into the sultan's apartment, who was at that time surrounded with his favorites.
he approached toward the throne, laid the bottle at the sultan's feet, and kissed the rich tapestry which covered his footstool, and then said: "i have brought you, sir, the healthful water which your majesty desired so much to keep among your other rarities in your treasury, but at the same time wish you such extraordinary health as never to have occasion to make use of it."
after the prince had made an end of his compliment the sultan placed him on his right hand, and then said to him: "son, i am very much obliged to you for this valuable present, as also for the great danger you have exposed yourself to upon my account -lrb- which i have been informed of by a magician who knows the fountain of lions -rrb-; but do me the pleasure," continued he, "to inform me by what address, or, rather, by what incredible power, you have been secured."
""sir," replied prince ahmed, "i have no share in the compliment your majesty is pleased to make me; all the honor is due to the fairy my spouse, whose good advice i followed."
then he informed the sultan what those directions were, and by the relation of this his expedition let him know how well he had behaved himself.
when he had done the sultan, who showed outwardly all the demonstrations of great joy, but secretly became more jealous, retired into an inward apartment, where he sent for the magician.
the magician, at her arrival, saved the sultan the trouble to tell her of the success of prince ahmed's journey, which she had heard of before she came, and therefore was prepared with an infallible means, as she pretended.
this means she communicated to the sultan who declared it the next day to the prince, in the midst of all his courtiers, in these words: "son," said he, "i have one thing more to ask of you, after which i shall expect nothing more from your obedience, nor your interest with your wife.
this request is, to bring me a man not above a foot and a half high, and whose beard is thirty feet long who carries a bar of iron upon his shoulders of five hundredweight, which he uses as a quarterstaff."
prince ahmed, who did not believe that there was such a man in the world as his father described, would gladly have excused himself; but the sultan persisted in his demand, and told him the fairy could do more incredible things.
the next day the prince returned to his dear paribanou, to whom he told his father's new demand, which, he said, he looked upon to be a thing more impossible than the two first; "for," added he, "i can not imagine there can be such a man in the world; without doubt, he has a mind to try whether or no i am so silly as to go about it, or he has a design on my ruin.
in short, how can he suppose that i should lay hold of a man so well armed, though he is but little?
what arms can i make use of to reduce him to my will?
if there are any means, i beg you will tell them, and let me come off with honor this time."
""do n't affright yourself, prince," replied the fairy; "you ran a risk in fetching the water of the fountain of lions for your father, but there's no danger in finding out this man, who is my brother schaibar, but is so far from being like me, though we both had the same father, that he is of so violent a nature that nothing can prevent his giving cruel marks of his resentment for a slight offense; yet, on the other hand, is so good as to oblige anyone in whatever they desire.
he is made exactly as the sultan your father has described him, and has no other arms than a bar of iron of five hundred pounds weight, without which he never stirs, and which makes him respected.
i'll send for him, and you shall judge of the truth of what i tell you; but be sure to prepare yourself against being frightened at his extraordinary figure when you see him."
""what!
my queen," replied prince ahmed, "do you say schaibar is your brother?
let him be never so ugly or deformed i shall be so far from being frightened at the sight of him that, as our brother, i shall honor and love him."
the fairy ordered a gold chafing-dish to be set with a fire in it under the porch of her palace, with a box of the same metal, which was a present to her, out of which taking a perfume, and throwing it into the fire, there arose a thick cloud of smoke.
some moments after the fairy said to prince ahmed: "see, there comes my brother."
the prince immediately perceived schaibar coming gravely with his heavy bar on his shoulder, his long beard, which he held up before him, and a pair of thick mustachios, which he tucked behind his ears and almost covered his face; his eyes were very small and deep-set in his head, which was far from being of the smallest size, and on his head he wore a grenadier's cap; besides all this, he was very much hump-backed.
if prince ahmed had not known that schaibar was paribanou's brother, he would not have been able to have looked at him without fear, but, knowing first who he was, he stood by the fairy without the least concern.
schaibar, as he came forward, looked at the prince earnestly enough to have chilled his blood in his veins, and asked paribanou, when he first accosted her, who that man was.
to which she replied: "he is my husband, brother.
his name is ahmed; he is son to the sultan of the indies.
the reason why i did not invite you to my wedding was i was unwilling to divert you from an expedition you were engaged in, and from which i heard with pleasure you returned victorious, and so took the liberty now to call for you."
at these words, schaibar, looking on prince ahmed favorably, said: "is there anything else, sister, wherein i can serve him?
it is enough for me that he is your husband to engage me to do for him whatever he desires."
""the sultan, his father," replied paribanou, "has a curiosity to see you, and i desire he may be your guide to the sultan's court."
""he needs but lead me the way i'll follow him."
""brother," replied paribanou, "it is too late to go to-day, therefore stay till to-morrow morning; and in the meantime i'll inform you of all that has passed between the sultan of the indies and prince ahmed since our marriage."
the next morning, after schaibar had been informed of the affair, he and prince ahmed set out for the sultan's court.
when they arrived at the gates of the capital the people no sooner saw schaibar but they ran and hid themselves; and some shut up their shops and locked themselves up in their houses, while others, flying, communicated their fear to all they met, who stayed not to look behind them, but ran too; insomuch that schaibar and prince ahmed, as they went along, found the streets all desolate till they came to the palaces where the porters, instead of keeping the gates, ran away too, so that the prince and schaibar advanced without any obstacle to the council-hall, where the sultan was seated on his throne, and giving audience.
here likewise the ushers, at the approach of schaibar, abandoned their posts, and gave them free admittance.
schaibar went boldly and fiercely up to the throne, without waiting to be presented by prince ahmed, and accosted the sultan of the indies in these words: "thou hast asked for me," said he; "see, here i am; what wouldst thou have with me?"
the sultan, instead of answering him, clapped his hands before his eyes to avoid the sight of so terrible an object; at which uncivil and rude reception schaibar was so much provoked, after he had given him the trouble to come so far, that he instantly lifted up his iron bar and killed him before prince ahmed could intercede in his behalf.
all that he could do was to prevent his killing the grand vizier, who sat not far from him, representing to him that he had always given the sultan his father good advice.
""these are they, then," said schaibar, "who gave him bad," and as he pronounced these words he killed all the other viziers and flattering favorites of the sultan who were prince ahmed's enemies.
every time he struck he killed some one or other, and none escaped but they who were not so frightened as to stand staring and gaping, and who saved themselves by flight.
when this terrible execution was over schaibar came out of the council-hall into the midst of the courtyard with the iron bar upon his shoulder, and, looking hard at the grand vizier, who owed his life to prince ahmed, he said: "i know here is a certain magician, who is a greater enemy of my brother-in-law than all these base favorites i have chastised.
let the magician be brought to me presently."
the grand vizier immediately sent for her, and as soon as she was brought schaibar said, at the time he fetched a stroke at her with his iron bar: "take the reward of thy pernicious counsel, and learn to feign sickness again."
after this he said: "this is not yet enough; i will use the whole town after the same manner if they do not immediately acknowledge prince ahmed, my brother-in-law, for their sultan and the sultan of the indies."
then all that were there present made the air echo again with the repeated acclamations of: "long life to sultan ahmed"; and immediately after he was proclaimed through the whole town.
schaibar made him be clothed in the royal vestments, installed him on the throne, and after he had caused all to swear homage and fidelity to him went and fetched his sister paribanou, whom he brought with all the pomp and grandeur imaginable, and made her to be owned sultaness of the indies.
as for prince ali and princess nouronnihar, as they had no hand in the conspiracy against prince ahmed and knew nothing of any, prince ahmed assigned them a considerable province, with its capital, where they spent the rest of their lives.
afterwards he sent an officer to prince houssain to acquaint him with the change and make him an offer of which province he liked best; but that prince thought himself so happy in his solitude that he bade the officer return the sultan his brother thanks for the kindness he designed him, assuring him of his submission; and that the only favor he desired of him was to give him leave to live retired in the place he had made choice of for his retreat.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- arabian nights.
the history of jack the giant-killer in the reign of the famous king arthur there lived in cornwall a lad named jack, who was a boy of a bold temper, and took delight in hearing or reading of conjurers, giants, and fairies; and used to listen eagerly to the deeds of the knights of king arthur's round table.
in those days there lived on st. michael's mount, off cornwall, a huge giant, eighteen feet high and nine feet round; his fierce and savage looks were the terror of all who beheld him.
he dwelt in a gloomy cavern on the top of the mountain, and used to wade over to the mainland in search of prey; when he would throw half a dozen oxen upon his back, and tie three times as many sheep and hogs round his waist, and march back to his own abode.
the giant had done this for many years when jack resolved to destroy him.
jack took a horn, a shovel, a pickaxe, his armor, and a dark lantern, and one winter's evening he went to the mount.
there he dug a pit twenty-two feet deep and twenty broad.
he covered the top over so as to make it look like solid ground.
he then blew his horn so loudly that the giant awoke and came out of his den crying out: "you saucy villain!
you shall pay for this i'll broil you for my breakfast!"
he had just finished, when, taking one step further, he tumbled headlong into the pit, and jack struck him a blow on the head with his pickaxe which killed him.
jack then returned home to cheer his friends with the news.
another giant, called blunderbore, vowed to be revenged on jack if ever he should have him in his power.
this giant kept an enchanted castle in the midst of a lonely wood; and some time after the death of cormoran jack was passing through a wood, and being weary, sat down and went to sleep.
the giant, passing by and seeing jack, carried him to his castle, where he locked him up in a large room, the floor of which was covered with the bodies, skulls and bones of men and women.
soon after the giant went to fetch his brother who was likewise a giant, to take a meal off his flesh; and jack saw with terror through the bars of his prison the two giants approaching.
jack, perceiving in one corner of the room a strong cord, took courage, and making a slip-knot at each end, he threw them over their heads, and tied it to the window-bars; he then pulled till he had choked them.
when they were black in the face he slid down the rope and stabbed them to the heart.
jack next took a great bunch of keys from the pocket of blunderbore, and went into the castle again.
he made a strict search through all the rooms, and in one of them found three ladies tied up by the hair of their heads, and almost starved to death.
they told him that their husbands had been killed by the giants, who had then condemned them to be starved to death because they would not eat the flesh of their own dead husbands.
""ladies," said jack, "i have put an end to the monster and his wicked brother; and i give you this castle and all the riches it contains, to make some amends for the dreadful pains you have felt."
he then very politely gave them the keys of the castle, and went further on his journey to wales.
as jack had but little money, he went on as fast as possible.
at length he came to a handsome house.
jack knocked at the door, when there came forth a welsh giant.
jack said he was a traveler who had lost his way, on which the giant made him welcome, and let him into a room where there was a good bed to sleep in.
jack took off his clothes quickly, but though he was weary he could not go to sleep.
soon after this he heard the giant walking backward and forward in the next room, and saying to himself: "though here you lodge with me this night, you shall not see the morning light; my club shall dash your brains out quite."
""say you so?"
thought jack.
""are these your tricks upon travelers?
but i hope to prove as cunning as you are."
then, getting out of bed, he groped about the room, and at last found a large thick billet of wood.
he laid it in his own place in the bed, and then hid himself in a dark corner of the room.
the giant, about midnight, entered the apartment, and with his bludgeon struck many blows on the bed, in the very place where jack had laid the log; and then he went back to his own room, thinking he had broken all jack's bones.
early in the morning jack put a bold face upon the matter, and walked into the giant's room to thank him for his lodging.
the giant started when he saw him, and began to stammer out: "oh!
dear me; is it you?
pray how did you sleep last night?
did you hear or see anything in the dead of the night?"
""nothing to speak of," said jack, carelessly; "a rat, i believe, gave me three or four slaps with its tail, and disturbed me a little; but i soon went to sleep again."
the giant wondered more and more at this; yet he did not answer a word, but went to bring two great bowls of hasty-pudding for their breakfast.
jack wanted to make the giant believe that he could eat as much as himself, so he contrived to button a leathern bag inside his coat, and slip the hasty-pudding into this bag, while he seemed to put it into his mouth.
when breakfast was over he said to the giant: "now i will show you a fine trick.
i can cure all wounds with a touch; i could cut off my head in one minute, and the next put it sound again on my shoulders.
you shall see an example."
he then took hold of the knife, ripped up the leathern bag, and all the hasty-pudding tumbled out upon the floor.
""ods splutter hur nails!"
cried the welsh giant, who was ashamed to be outdone by such a little fellow as jack, "hur can do that hurself"; so he snatched up the knife, plunged it into his own stomach, and in a moment dropped down dead.
jack, having hitherto been successful in all his undertakings, resolved not to be idle in future; he therefore furnished himself with a horse, a cap of knowledge, a sword of sharpness, shoes of swiftness, and an invisible coat, the better to perform the wonderful enterprises that lay before him.
he traveled over high hills, and on the third day he came to a large and spacious forest through which his road lay.
scarcely had he entered the forest when he beheld a monstrous giant dragging along by the hair of their heads a handsome knight and his lady.
jack alighted from his horse, and tying him to an oak tree, put on his invisible coat, under which he carried his sword of sharpness.
when he came up to the giant he made several strokes at him, but could not reach his body, but wounded his thighs in several places; and at length, putting both hands to his sword and aiming with all his might, he cut off both his legs.
then jack, setting his foot upon his neck, plunged his sword into the giant's body, when the monster gave a groan and expired.
the knight and his lady thanked jack for their deliverance, and invited him to their house, to receive a proper reward for his services.
""no," said jack, "i can not be easy till i find out this monster's habitation."
so, taking the knight's directions, he mounted his horse and soon after came in sight of another giant, who was sitting on a block of timber waiting for his brother's return.
jack alighted from his horse, and, putting on his invisible coat, approached and aimed a blow at the giant's head, but, missing his aim, he only cut off his nose.
on this the giant seized his club and laid about him most unmercifully.
""nay," said jack, "if this be the case i'd better dispatch you!"
so, jumping upon the block, he stabbed him in the back, when he dropped down dead.
jack then proceeded on his journey, and traveled over hills and dales, till arriving at the foot of a high mountain he knocked at the door of a lonely house, when an old man let him in.
when jack was seated the hermit thus addressed him: "my son, on the top of this mountain is an enchanted castle, kept by the giant galligantus and a vile magician.
i lament the fate of a duke's daughter, whom they seized as she was walking in her father's garden, and brought hither transformed into a deer."
jack promised that in the morning, at the risk of his life, he would break the enchantment; and after a sound sleep he rose early, put on his invisible coat, and got ready for the attempt.
when he had climbed to the top of the mountain he saw two fiery griffins, but he passed between them without the least fear of danger, for they could not see him because of his invisible coat.
on the castle gate he found a golden trumpet, under which were written these lines: "whoever can this trumpet blow shall cause the giant's overthrow."
as soon as jack had read this he seized the trumpet and blew a shrill blast, which made the gates fly open and the very castle itself tremble.
the giant and the conjurer now knew that their wicked course was at an end, and they stood biting their thumbs and shaking with fear.
jack, with his sword of sharpness, soon killed the giant, and the magician was then carried away by a whirlwind; and every knight and beautiful lady who had been changed into birds and beasts returned to their proper shapes.
the castle vanished away like smoke, and the head of the giant galligantus was then sent to king arthur.
the knights and ladies rested that night at the old man's hermitage, and next day they set out for the court.
jack then went up to the king, and gave his majesty an account of all his fierce battles.
jack's fame had now spread through the whole country, and at the king's desire the duke gave him his daughter in marriage, to the joy of all his kingdom.
after this the king gave him a large estate, on which he and his lady lived the rest of their days in joy and contentment.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- old chapbook.
the black bull of norroway and many a hunting song they sung, and song of game and glee; then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue, "of scotland's luve and lee."
to wilder measures next they turn "the black, black bull of norroway!"
sudden the tapers cease to burn, the minstrels cease to play.
""the cout of keeldar," by j. leyden.
in norroway, langsyne, there lived a certain lady, and she had three dochters.
the auldest o" them said to her mither: "mither, bake me a bannock, and roast me a collop, for i'm gaun awa" to seek my fortune."
her mither did sae; and the dochter gaed awa" to an auld witch washerwife and telled her purpose.
the auld wife bade her stay that day, and gang and look out o" her back door, and see what she could see.
she saw nocht the first day.
the second day she did the same, and saw nocht.
on the third day she looked again, and saw a coach-and-six coming along the road.
she ran in and telled the auld wife what she saw.
""aweel," quo" the auld wife, "yon's for you."
sae they took her into the coach, and galloped aff.
the second dochter next says to her mither: "mither, bake me a bannock, and roast me a collop, fur i'm gaun awa" to seek my fortune."
her mither did sae; and awa" she gaed to the auld wife, as her sister had dune.
on the third day she looked out o" the back door, and saw a coach-and-four coming along the road.
""aweel," quo" the auld wife, "yon's for you."
sae they took her in, and aff they set.
the third dochter says to her mither: "mither, bake me a bannock, and roast me a collop, for i'm gaun awa" to seek my fortune."
her mither did sae; and awa" she gaed to the auld witch-wife.
she bade her look out o" her back door, and see what she could see.
she did sae; and when she came back said she saw nocht.
the second day she did the same, and saw nocht.
the third day she looked again, and on coming back said to the auld wife she saw nocht but a muckle black bull coming roaring alang the road.
""aweel," quo" the auld wife, "yon's for you."
on hearing this she was next to distracted wi" grief and terror; but she was lifted up and set on his back, and awa" they went.
aye they traveled, and on they traveled, till the lady grew faint wi" hunger.
""eat out o" my right lug," says the black bull, "and drink out o" my left lug, and set by your leavings."
sae she did as he said, and was wonderfully refreshed.
and lang they gaed, and sair they rade, till they came in sight o" a very big and bonny castle.
""yonder we maun be this night," quo" the bull; "for my auld brither lives yonder"; and presently they were at the place.
they lifted her aff his back, and took her in, and sent him away to a park for the night.
in the morning, when they brought the bull hame, they took the lady into a fine shining parlor, and gave her a beautiful apple, telling her no to break it till she was in the greatest strait ever mortal was in in the world, and that wad bring her o "t. again she was lifted on the bull's back, and after she had ridden far, and farer than i can tell, they came in sight o" a far bonnier castle, and far farther awa" than the last.
says the bull till her: "yonder we maun be the night, for my second brither lives yonder"; and they were at the place directly.
they lifted her down and took her in, and sent the bull to the field for the night.
in the morning they took the lady into a fine and rich room, and gave her the finest pear she had ever seen, bidding her no to break it till she was in the greatest strait ever mortal could be in, and that wad get her out o "t. again she was lifted and set on his back, and awa" they went.
and lang they gaed, and sair they rade, till they came in sight o" the far biggest castle, and far farthest aff, they had yet seen.
""we maun be yonder the night," says the bull, "for my young brither lives yonder"; and they were there directly.
they lifted her down, took her in, and sent the bull to the field for the night.
in the morning they took her into a room, the finest of a", and gied her a plum, telling her no to break it till she was in the greatest strait mortal could be in, and that wad get her out o "t. presently they brought hame the bull, set the lady on his back, and awa" they went.
and aye they gaed, and on they rade, till they came to a dark and ugsome glen, where they stopped, and the lady lighted down.
says the bull to her: "here ye maun stay till i gang and fight the deil.
ye maun seat yoursel" on that stane, and move neither hand nor fit till i come back, else i'll never find ye again.
and if everything round about ye turns blue i hae beated the deil; but should a" things turn red he'll hae conquered me."
she set hersel" down on the stane, and by-and-by a" round her turned blue.
o'ercome wi" joy, she lifted the ae fit and crossed it owre the ither, sae glad was she that her companion was victorious.
the bull returned and sought for but never could find her.
lang she sat, and aye she grat, till she wearied.
at last she rase and gaed awa", she kedna whaur till.
on she wandered till she came to a great hill o" glass, that she tried a" she could to climb, bat wasna able.
round the bottom o" the hill she gaed, sabbing and seeking a passage owre, till at last she came to a smith's house; and the smith promised, if she wad serve him seven years, he wad make her iron shoon, wherewi" she could climb owre the glassy hill.
at seven years" end she got her iron shoon, clamb the glassy hill, and chanced to come to the auld washerwife's habitation.
there she was telled of a gallant young knight that had given in some bluidy sarks to wash, and whaever washed thae sarks was to be his wife.
the auld wife had washed till she was tired, and then she set to her dochter, and baith washed, and they washed, and they better washed, in hopes of getting the young knight; but a" they could do they couldna bring out a stain.
at length they set the stranger damosel to wark; and whenever she began the stains came out pure and clean, but the auld wife made the knight believe it was her dochter had washed the sarks.
so the knight and the eldest dochter were to be married, and the stranger damosel was distracted at the thought of it, for she was deeply in love wi" him.
so she bethought her of her apple, and breaking it, found it filled with gold and precious jewelry, the richest she had ever seen.
""all these," she said to the eldest dochter, "i will give you, on condition that you put off your marriage for ae day, and allow me to go into his room alone at night."
so the lady consented; but meanwhile the auld wife had prepared a sleeping-drink, and given it to the knight, wha drank it, and never wakened till next morning.
the lee-lang night ther damosel sabbed and sang: "seven lang years i served for thee, the glassy hill i clamb for thee, the bluidy shirt i wrang for thee; and wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?"
next day she kentna what to do for grief.
she then brak the pear, and found it filled wi" jewelry far richer than the contents o" the apple.
wi" thae jewels she bargained for permission to be a second night in the young knight's chamber; but the auld wife gied him anither sleeping-drink, and he again sleepit till morning.
a" night she kept sighing and singing as before: "seven lang years i served for thee," & c. still he sleepit, and she nearly lost hope a "thegither.
but that day when he was out at the hunting, somebody asked him what noise and moaning was yon they heard all last night in his bedchamber.
he said he heardna ony noise.
but they assured him there was sae; and he resolved to keep waking that night to try what he could hear.
that being the third night, and the damosel being between hope and despair, she brak her plum, and it held far the richest jewelry of the three.
she bargained as before; and the auld wife, as before, took in the sleeping-drink to the young knight's chamber; but he telled her he couldna drink it that night without sweetening.
and when she gaed awa" for some honey to sweeten it wi", he poured out the drink, and sae made the auld wife think he had drunk it.
they a" went to bed again, and the damosel began, as before, singing: "seven lang years i served for thee, the glassy hill i clamb for thee, the bluidy shirt i wrang for thee; and wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?"
he heard, and turned to her.
and she telled him a" that had befa'en her, and he telled her a" that had happened to him.
and he caused the auld washerwife and her dochter to be burned.
and they were married, and he and she are living happy till this day, for aught i ken.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- chambers, popular traditions of scotland.
the red etin there were ance twa widows that lived on a small bit o" ground, which they rented from a farmer.
ane of them had twa sons, and the other had ane; and by-and-by it was time for the wife that had twa sons to send them away to seeke their fortune.
so she told her eldest son ae day to take a can and bring her water from the well, that she might bake a cake for him; and however much or however little water he might bring, the cake would be great or sma" accordingly; and that cake was to be a" that she could gie him when he went on his travels.
the lad gaed away wi" the can to the well, and filled it wi" water, and then came away hame again; but the can being broken the maist part of the water had run out before he got back.
so his cake was very sma"; yet sma" as it was, his mother asked if he was willing to take the half of it with her blessing, telling him that, if he chose rather to have the hale, he would only get it wi" her curse.
the young man, thinking he might hae to travel a far way, and not knowing when or how he might get other provisions, said he would like to hae the hale cake, com of his mother's malison what like; so she gave him the hale cake, and her malison alang wi "t.
then he took his brither aside, and gave him a knife to keep till he should come back, desiring him to look at it every morning, and as lang as it continued to be clear, then he might be sure that the owner of it was well; but if it grew dim and rusty, then for certain some ill had befallen him.
so the young man set out to seek his fortune.
and he gaed a" that day, and a" the next day; and on the third day, in the afternoon, he came up to where a shepherd was sitting with a flock o" sheep.
and he gaed up to the shepherd and asked him wha the sheep belanged to; and the man answered: "the red etin of ireland ance lived in bellygan, and stole king malcolm's daughter, the king of fair scotland.
he beats her, he binds her, he lays her on a band; and every day he dings her with a bright silver wand like julian the roman he's one that fears no man.
it's said there's ane predestinate to be his mortal foe; but that man is yet unborn and lang may it be so."
the young man then went on his journey; and he had not gone far when he espied an old man with white locks herding a flock of swine; and he gaed up to him and asked whose swine these were, when the man answered: "the red etin of ireland" -- -lrb- repeat the verses above. -rrb-
then the young man gaed on a bit farther, and came to another very old man herding goats; and when he asked whose goats they were, the answer was: "the red etin of ireland" -- -lrb- repeat the verses again. -rrb-
this old man also told him to beware of the next beasts that he should meet, for they were of a very different kind from any he had yet seen.
so the young man went on, and by-and-by he saw a multitude of very dreadfu" beasts, ilk ane o" them wi" twa heads, and on every head four horns.
and he was sore frightened, and ran away from them as fast as he could; and glad was he when he came to a castle that stood on a hillock, wi" the door standing wide to the wa".
and he gaed into the castle for shelter, and there he saw an auld wife sitting beside the kitchen fire.
he asked the wife if he might stay there for the night, as he was tired wi" a lang journey; and the wife said he might, but it was not a good place for him to be in, as it belanged to the red etin, who was a very terrible beast, wi" three heads, that spared no living man he could get hold of.
the young man would have gone away, but he was afraid of the beasts on the outside of the castle; so he beseeched the old woman to conceal him as well as she could, and not to tell the etin that he was there.
he thought, if he could put over the night, he might get away in the morning without meeting wi" the beasts, and so escape.
but he had not been long in his hidy-hole before the awful etin came in; and nae sooner was he in than he was heard crying: "snouk but and snouk ben, i find the smell of an earthly man; be he living, or be he dead, his heart this night shall kitchen -lrb- 1 -rrb- my bread."
-lrb- 1 -rrb- "kitchen," that is, "season."
the monster soon found the poor young man, and pulled him from his hole.
and when he had got him out he told him that if he could answer him three questions his life should be spared.
the first was: whether ireland or scotland was first inhabited?
the second was: whether man was made for woman, or woman for man?
the third was: whether men or brutes were made first?
the lad not being able to answer one of these questions, the red etin took a mace and knocked him on the head, and turned him into a pillar of stone.
on the morning after this happened the younger brither took out the knife to look at it, and he was grieved to find it a" brown wi" rust.
he told his mother that the time was now come for him to go away upon his travels also; so she requested him to take the can to the well for water, that she might bake a cake for him.
the can being broken, he brought hame as little water as the other had done, and the cake was as little.
she asked whether he would have the hale cake wi" her malison, or the half wi" her blessing; and, like his brither, he thought it best to have the hale cake, come o" the malison what might.
so he gaed away; and everything happened to him that had happened to his brother!
the other widow and her son heard of a" that had happened frae a fairy, and the young man determined that he would also go upon his travels, and see if he could do anything to relieve his twa friends.
so his mother gave him a can to go to the well and bring home water, that she might bake him a cake for his journey.
and he gaed, and as he was bringing hame the water, a raven owre abune his head cried to him to look, and he would see that the water was running out.
and he was a young man of sense, and seeing the water running out, he took some clay and patched up the holes, so that he brought home enough water to bake a large cake.
when his mother put it to him to take the half-cake wi" her blessing, he took it in preference to having the hale wi" her malison; and yet the half was bigger than what the other lads had got a "thegither.
so he gaed away on his journey; and after he had traveled a far way he met wi" an auld woman, that asked him if he would give her a bit of his bannock.
and he said he would gladly do that, and so he gave her a piece of the bannock; and for that she gied him a magical wand, that she said might yet be of service to him if he took care to use it rightly.
then the auld woman, who was a fairy, told him a great deal that whould happen to him, and what he ought to do in a" circumstances; and after that she vanished in an instant out o" his sight.
he gaed on a great way farther, and then he came up to the old man herding the sheep; and when he asked whose sheep these were, the answer was: "the red etin of ireland ance lived in bellygan, and stole king malcolm's daughter, the king of fair scotland.
he beats her, he binds her, he lays her on a band; and every day he dings her with a bright silver wand.
like julian the roman, he's one that fears no man, but now i fear his end is near, and destiny at hand; and you're to be, i plainly see, the heir of all his land."
-lrb- repeat the same inquiries to the man attending the swine and the man attending the goats, with the same answer in each case. -rrb-
when he came to the place where the monstrous beasts were standing, he did not stop nor run away, but went boldly through among them.
one came up roaring with open mouth to devour him, when he struck it with his wand, and laid it in an instant dead at his feet.
he soon came to the etin's castle, where he knocked, and was admitted.
the auld woman that sat by the fire warned him of the terrible etin, and what had been the fate of the twa brithers; but he was not to be daunted.
the monster soon came in, saying: "snouk but and snouk ben, i find the smell of an earthly man; be he living, or be he dead, his heart shall be kitchen to my bread."
he quickly espied the young man, and bade him come forth on the floor.
and then he put the three questions to him, but the young man had been told everything by the good fairy, so he was able to answer all the questions.
when the etin found this he knew that his power was gone.
the young man then took up the axe and hewed off the monster's three heads.
he next asked the old woman to show him where the king's daughters lay; and the old woman took him upstairs and opened a great many doors, and out of every door came a beautiful lady who had been imprisoned there by the etin; and ane o" the ladies was the king's daughter.
she also took him down into a low room, and there stood two stone pillars that he had only to touch wi" his wand, when his two friends and neighbors started into life.
and the hale o" the prisoners were overjoyed at their deliverance, which they all acknowledged to be owing to the prudent young man.
next day they a" set out for the king's court, and a gallant company they made.
and the king married his daughter to the young man that had delivered her, and gave a noble's daughter to ilk ane o" the other young men; and so they a" lived happily a" the rest o" their days.
_book_title_: andrew_lang___the_brown_fairy_book.txt.out
the brown fairy book what the rose did to the cypress -lsb- 1 -rsb- once upon a time a great king of the east, named saman-lalposh, -lsb- 2 -rsb- had three brave and clever sons -- tahmasp, qamas, and almas-ruh-baksh.
-lsb- 3 -rsb- one day, when the king was sitting in his hall of audience, his eldest son, prince tahmasp, came before him, and after greeting his father with due respect, said: "o my royal father!
i am tired of the town; if you will give me leave, i will take my servants to-morrow and will go into the country and hunt on the hill-skirts; and when i have taken some game i will come back, at evening-prayer time."
his father consented, and sent with him some of his own trusted servants, and also hawks, and falcons, hunting dogs, cheetahs and leopards.
at the place where the prince intended to hunt he saw a most beautiful deer.
he ordered that it should not be killed, but trapped or captured with a noose.
the deer looked about for a place where he might escape from the ring of the beaters, and spied one unwatched close to the prince himself.
it bounded high and leaped right over his head, got out of the ring, and tore like the eastern wind into the waste.
the prince put spurs to his horse and pursued it; and was soon lost to the sight of his followers.
until the world-lighting sun stood above his head in the zenith he did not take his eyes off the deer; suddenly it disappeared behind some rising ground, and with all his search he could not find any further trace of it.
he was now drenched in sweat, and he breathed with pain; and his horse's tongue hung from its mouth with thirst.
he dismounted and toiled on, with bridle on arm, praying and casting himself on the mercy of heaven.
then his horse fell and surrendered its life to god.
on and on he went across the sandy waste, weeping and with burning breast, till at length a hill rose into sight.
he mustered his strength and climbed to the top, and there he found a giant tree whose foot kept firm the wrinkled earth, and whose crest touched the very heaven.
its branches had put forth a glory of leaves, and there were grass and a spring underneath it, and flowers of many colours.
gladdened by this sight, he dragged himself to the water's edge, drank his fill, and returned thanks for his deliverance from thirst.
he looked about him and, to his amazement, saw close by a royal seat.
while he was pondering what could have brought this into the merciless desert, a man drew near who was dressed like a faqir, and had bare head and feet, but walked with the free carriage of a person of rank.
his face was kind, and wise and thoughtful, and he came on and spoke to the prince."
o good youth!
how did you come here?
who are you?
where do you come from?"
the prince told everything just as it had happened to him, and then respectfully added: "i have made known my own circumstances to you, and now i venture to beg you to tell me your own.
who are you?
how did you come to make your dwelling in this wilderness?"
to this the faqir replied: "o youth!
it would be best for you to have nothing to do with me and to know nothing of my fortunes, for my story is fit neither for telling nor for hearing."
the prince, however, pleaded so hard to be told, that at last there was nothing to be done but to let him hear.
"learn and know, o young man!
that i am king janangir -lsb- 4 -rsb- of babylon, and that once i had army and servants, family and treasure; untold wealth and belongings.
the most high god gave me seven sons who grew up well versed in all princely arts.
my eldest son heard from travellers that in turkistan, on the chinese frontier, there is a king named quimus, the son of timus, and that he has an only child, a daughter named mihr-afruz, -lsb- 5 -rsb- who, under all the azure heaven, is unrivalled for beauty.
princes come from all quarters to ask her hand, and on one and all she imposes a condition.
she says to them: "i know a riddle; and i will marry anyone who answers it, and will bestow on him all my possessions.
but if a suitor can not answer my question i cut off his head and hang it on the battlements of the citadel."
the riddle she asks is, "what did the rose do to the cypress?"
"now, when my son heard this tale, he fell in love with that unseen girl, and he came to me lamenting and bewailing himself.
nothing that i could say had the slightest effect on him.
i said: "oh my son!
if there must be fruit of this fancy of yours, i will lead forth a great army against king quimus.
if he will give you his daughter freely, well and good; and if not, i will ravage his kingdom and bring her away by force."
this plan did not please him; he said: "it is not right to lay a kingdom waste and to destroy a palace so that i may attain my desire.
i will go alone; i will answer the riddle, and win her in this way."
at last, out of pity for him, i let him go.
he reached the city of king quimus.
he was asked the riddle and could not give the true answer; and his head was cut off and hung upon the battlements.
then i mourned him in black raiment for forty days.
after this another and another of my sons were seized by the same desire, and in the end all my seven sons went, and all were killed.
in grief for their death i have abandoned my throne, and i abide here in this desert, withholding my hand from all state business and wearing myself away in sorrow."
prince tahmasp listened to this tale, and then the arrow of love for that unseen girl struck his heart also.
just at this moment of his ill-fate his people came up, and gathered round him like moths round a light.
they brought him a horse, fleet as the breeze of the dawn; he set his willing foot in the stirrup of safety and rode off.
as the days went by the thorn of love rankled in his heart, and he became the very example of lovers, and grew faint and feeble.
at last his confidants searched his heart and lifted the veil from the face of his love, and then set the matter before his father, king saman-lal-posh.
"your son, prince tahmasp, loves distractedly the princess mihr-afruz, daughter of king quimus, son of timus."
then they told the king all about her and her doings.
a mist of sadness clouded the king's mind, and he said to his son: "if this thing is so, i will in the first place send a courier with friendly letters to king quimus, and will ask the hand of his daughter for you.
i will send an abundance of gifts, and a string of camels laden with flashing stones and rubies of badakhsham in this way i will bring her and her suite, and i will give her to you to be your solace.
but if king quimus is unwilling to give her to you, i will pour a whirlwind of soldiers upon him, and i will bring to you, in this way, that most consequential of girls."
but the prince said that this plan would not be right, and that he would go himself, and would answer the riddle.
then the king's wise men said: "this is a very weighty matter; it would be best to allow the prince to set out accompanied by some persons in whom you have confidence.
maybe he will repent and come back."
so king saman ordered all preparations for the journey to be made, and then prince tahmasp took his leave and set out, accompanied by some of the courtiers, and taking with him a string of two-humped and raven-eyed camels laden with jewels, and gold, and costly stuffs.
by stage after stage, and after many days" journeying, he arrived at the city of king quimus.
what did he see?
a towering citadel whose foot kept firm the wrinkled earth, and whose battlements touched the blue heaven.
he saw hanging from its battlements many heads, but it had not the least effect upon him that these were heads of men of rank; he listened to no advice about laying aside his fancy, but rode up to the gate and on into the heart of the city.
the place was so splendid that the eyes of the ages have never seen its like, and there, in an open square, he found a tent of crimson satin set up, and beneath it two jewelled drums with jewelled sticks.
these drums were put there so that the suitors of the princess might announce their arrival by beating on them, after which some one would come and take them to the king's presence.
the sight of the drums stirred the fire of prince tahmasp's love.
he dismounted, and moved towards them; but his companions hurried after and begged him first to let them go and announce him to the king, and said that then, when they had put their possessions in a place of security, they would enter into the all important matter of the princess.
the prince, however, replied that he was there for one thing only; that his first duty was to beat the drums and announce himself as a suitor, when he would be taken, as such, to the king, who would then give him proper lodgment.
so he struck upon the drums, and at once summoned an officer who took him to king quimus.
when the king saw how very young the prince looked, and that he was still drinking of the fountain of wonder, he said: "o youth!
leave aside this fancy which my daughter has conceived in the pride of her beauty.
no one can answer er her riddle, and she has done to death many men who had had no pleasure in life nor tasted its charms.
god forbid that your spring also should be ravaged by the autumn winds of martyrdom."
all his urgency, however, had no effect in making the prince withdraw.
at length it was settled between them that three days should be given to pleasant hospitality and that then should follow what had to be said and done.
then the prince went to his own quarters and was treated as became his station.
king quimus now sent for his daughter and for her mother, gulrukh, -lsb- 6 -rsb- and talked to them.
he said to mibrafruz: "listen to me, you cruel flirt!
why do you persist in this folly?
now there has come to ask your hand a prince of the east, so handsome that the very sun grows modest before the splendour of his face; he is rich, and he has brought gold and jewels, all for you, if you will marry him.
a better husband you will not find."
but all the arguments of father and mother were wasted, for her only answer was: "o my father!
i have sworn to myself that i will not marry, even if a thousand years go by, unless someone answers my riddle, and that i will give myself to that man only who does answer it."
the three days passed; then the riddle was asked: "what did the rose do to the cypress?"
the prince had an eloquent tongue, which could split a hair, and without hesitation he replied to her with a verse: "only the omnipotent has knowledge of secrets; if any man says, "i know" do not believe him."
then a servant fetched in the polluted, blue-eyed headsman, who asked: "whose sun of life has come near its setting?"
took the prince by the arm, placed him upon the cloth of execution, and then, all merciless and stony hearted, cut his head from his body and hung it on the battlements.
the news of the death of prince tahmasp plunged his father into despair and stupefaction.
he mourned for him in black raiment for forty days; and then, a few days later, his second son, prince qamas, extracted from him leave to go too; and he, also, was put to death.
one son only now remained, the brave, eloquent, happy-natured prince almas-ruh-bakhsh.
one day, when his father sat brooding over his lost children, almas came before him and said: "o father mine!
the daughter of king quimus has done my two brothers to death; i wish to avenge them upon her."
these words brought his father to tears."
o light of your father!"
he cried," i have no one left but you, and now you ask me to let you go to your death."
"dear father!"
pleaded the prince, "until i have lowered the pride of that beauty, and have set her here before you, i can not settle down or indeed sit down off my feet."
in the end he, too, got leave to go; but he went a without a following and alone.
like his brothers, he made the long journey to the city of quimus the son of timus; like them he saw the citadel, but he saw there the heads of tahmasp and qamas.
he went about in the city, saw the tent and the drums, and then went out again to a village not far off.
here he found out a very old man who had a wife 120 years old, or rather more.
their lives were coming to their end, but they had never beheld face of child of their own.
they were glad when the prince came to their house, and they dealt with him as with a son.
he put all his belongings into their charge, and fastened his horse in their out-house.
then he asked them not to speak of him to anyone, and to keep his affairs secret.
he exchanged his royal dress for another, and next morning, just as the sun looked forth from its eastern oratory, he went again into the city.
he turned over in his mind without ceasing how he was to find out the meaning of the riddle, and to give them a right answer, and who could help him, and how to avenge his brothers.
he wandered about the city, but heard nothing of service, for there was no one in all that land who understood the riddle of princess mihr-afruz.
one day he thought he would go to her own palace and see if he could learn anything there, so he went out to her garden-house.
it was a very splendid place, with a wonderful gateway, and walls like alexander's ramparts.
many gate-keepers were on guard, and there was no chance of passing them.
his heart was full of bitterness, but he said to himself: "all will be well!
it is here i shall get what i want."
he went round outside the garden wall hoping to find a gap, and he made supplication in the court of supplications and prayed," o holder of the hand of the helpless!
show me my way."
while he prayed he bethought himself that he could get into the garden with a stream of inflowing water.
he looked carefully round, fearing to be seen, stripped, slid into the stream and was carried within the great walls.
there he hid himself till his loin cloth was dry.
the garden was a very eden, with running water amongst its lawns, with flowers and the lament of doves and the jug-jug of nightingales.
it was a place to steal the senses from the brain, and he wandered about and saw the house, but there seemed to be no one there.
in the forecourt was a royal seat of polished jasper, and in the middle of the platform was a basin of purest water that flashed like a mirror.
he pleased himself with these sights for a while, and then went back to the garden and hid himself from the gardeners and passed the night.
next morning he put on the appearance of a madman and wandered about till he came to a lawn where several pert-faced girls were amusing themselves.
on a throne, jewelled and overspread with silken stuffs, sat a girl the splendour of whose beauty lighted up the place, and whose ambergris and attar perfumed the whole air.
"that must be mihrafruz," he thought, "she is indeed lovely."
just then one of the attendants came to the water's edge to fill a cup, and though the prince was in hiding, his face was reflected in the water.
when she saw this image she was frightened, and let her cup fall into the stream, and thought, "is it an angel, or a peri, or a man?"
fear and trembling took hold of her, and she screamed as women scream.
then some of the other girls came and took her to the princess who asked: "what is the matter, pretty one?'"
o princess!
i went for water, and i saw an image, and i was afraid."
so another girl went to the water and saw the same thing, and came back with the same story.
the princess wished to see for herself; she rose and paced to the spot with the march of a prancing peacock.
when she saw the image she said to her nurse: "find out who is reflected in the water, and where he lives."
her words reached the prince's ear, he lifted up his head; she saw him and beheld beauty such as she had never seen before.
she lost a hundred hearts to him, and signed to her nurse to bring him to her presence.
the prince let himself be persuaded to go with the nurse, but when the princess questioned him as to who he was and how he had got into her garden, he behaved like a man out of his mind -- sometimes smiling, sometimes crying, and saying: "i am hungry, "or words misplaced and random, civil mixed with the rude.
"what a pity!"
said the princess, "he is mad!"
as she liked him she said: "he is my madman; let no one hurt him."
she took him to her house and told him not to go away, for that she would provide for all his wants.
the prince thought, "it would be excellent if here, in her very house, i could get the answer to her riddle; but i must be silent, on pain of death."
now in the princess's household there was a girl called dil-aram -lsb- 7 -rsb-; she it was who had first seen the image of the prince.
she came to love him very much, and she spent day and night thinking how she could make her affection known to him.
one day she escaped from the princess's notice and went to the prince, and laid her head on his feet and said: "heaven has bestowed on you beauty and charm.
tell me your secret; who are you, and how did you come here?
i love you very much, and if you would like to leave this place i will go with you.
i have wealth equal to the treasure of the miserly qarun."
but the prince only made answer like a man distraught, and told her nothing.
he said to himself, "god forbid that the veil should be taken in vain from my secret; that would indeed disgrace me."
so, with streaming eyes and burning breast, dil-aram arose and went to her house and lamented and fretted.
now whenever the princess commanded the prince's attendance, dil-aram, of all the girls, paid him attention and waited on him best.
the princess noticed this, and said: "o dil-aram!
you must take my madman into your charge and give him whatever he wants."
this was the very thing dilaram had prayed for.
a little later she took the prince into a private place and she made him take an oath of secrecy, and she herself took one and swore, "by heaven!
i will not tell your secret.
tell me all about yourself so that i may help you to get what you want."
the prince now recognised in her words the perfume of true love, and he made compact with her."
o lovely girl!
i want to know what the rose did to the cypress.
your mistress cuts off men's heads because of this riddle; what is at the bottom of it, and why does she do it?"
then dil-aram answered: "if you will promise to marry me and to keep me always amongst those you favour, i will tell you all i know, and i will keep watch about the riddle.'"
o lovely girl," rejoined he, "if i accomplish my purpose, so that i need no longer strive for it, i will keep my compact with you.
when i have this woman in my power and have avenged my brothers, i will make you my solace.'"
o wealth of my life and source of my joy!"
responded dil-aram," i do not know what the rose did to the cypress; but so much i know that the person who told mihr-afruz about it is a negro whom she hides under her throne.
he fled here from waq of the caucasus -- it is there you must make inquiry; there is no other way of getting at the truth.
"on hearing these words, the prince said to his heart," o my heart!
your task will yet wear away much of your life."
he fell into long and far thought, and dil-aram looked at him and said: "o my life and my soul!
do not be sad.
if you would like this woman killed, i will put poison into her cup so that she will never lift her head from her drugged sleep again.'"
o dil-aram!
such a vengeance is not manly.
i shall not rest till i have gone to waq of the caucasus and have cleared up the matter."
then they repeated the agreement about their marriage, and bade one another goodbye.
the prince now went back to the village, and told the old man that he was setting out on a long journey, and begged him not to be anxious, and to keep safe the goods which had been entrusted to him.
the prince had not the least knowledge of the way to waq of the caucasus, and was cast down by the sense of his helplessness.
he was walking along by his horse's side when there appeared before him an old man of serene countenance, dressed in green and carrying a staff, who resembled khizr.
-lsb- 8 -rsb- the prince thanked heaven, laid the hands of reverence on his breast and salaamed.
the old man returned the greeting graciously, and asked: "how fare you?
whither are you bound?
you look like a traveller.'"
o revered saint!
i am in this difficulty: i do not know the way to waq of the caucasus."
the old man of good counsel looked at the young prince and said: "turn back from this dangerous undertaking.
do not go; choose some other task!
if you had a hundred lives you would not bring one out safe from this journey."
but his words had no effect on the prince's resolve.
"what object have you," the old man asked, "in thus consuming your life?'"
i have an important piece of business to do, and only this journey makes it possible.
i must go; i pray you, ill god's name, tell me the way."
when the saint saw that the prince was not to be moved, he said: "learn and know, o youth!
that waq of qaf is in the caucasus and is a dependency of it.
in it there are jins, demons, and peris.
you must go on along this road till it forks into three; take neither the right hand nor the left, but the middle path.
follow this for a day and a night.
then you will come to a column on which is a marble slab inscribed with cufic characters.
do what is written there; beware of disobedience."
then he gave his good wishes for the journey and his blessing, and the prince kissed his feet, said good-bye, and, with thanks to the causer of causes, took the road.
after a day and a night he saw the column rise in silent beauty to the heavens.
everything was as the wise old man had said it would be, and the prince, who was skilled in all tongues, read the following cufic inscription: "o travellers!
be it known to you that this column has been set up with its tablet to give true directions about these roads.
if a man would pass his life in ease and pleasantness, let him take the right-hand path.
if he take the left, he will have some trouble, but he will reach his goal without much delay.
woe to him who chooses the middle path!
if he had a thousand lives he would not save one; it is very hazardous; it leads to the caucasus, and is an endless road.
beware of it!"
the prince read and bared his head and lifted his hands in supplication to him who has no needs, and prayed," o friend of the traveller!
i, thy servant, come to thee for succour.
my purpose lies in the land of qaf and my road is full of peril.
lead me by it."
then he took a handful of earth and cast it on his collar, and said: "o earth!
be thou my grave; and o vest!
tee thou my winding-sheet!"
then he took the middle road and went along it, day after day, with many a silent prayer, till he saw trees rise from the weary waste of sand.
they grew in a garden, and he went up to the gate and found it a slab of beautifully worked marble, and that near it there lay sleeping, with his head on a stone, a negro whose face was so black that it made darkness round him.
his upper lip, arched like an eyebrow, curved upwards to his nostrils and his lower hung down like a camel's.
four millstones formed his shield, and on a box-tree close by hung his giant sword.
his loin-cloth was fashioned of twelve skins of beasts, and was bound round his waist by a chain of which each link was as big as an elephant's thigh.
the prince approached and tied up his horse near the negro's head.
then he let fall the bismillah from his lips, entered the garden and walked through it till he came to the private part, delighting in the great trees, the lovely verdure, and the flowery borders.
in the inner garden there were very many deer.
these signed to him with eye and foot to go back, for that this was enchanted ground; but he did not understand them, and thought their pretty gestures were a welcome.
after a while he reached a palace which had a porch more splendid than caesar's, and was built of gold and silver bricks.
in its midst was a high seat, overlaid with fine carpets, and into it opened eight doors, each having opposite to it a marble basin.
banishing care, prince almas walked on through the garden, when suddenly a window opened and a girl, who was lovely enough to make the moon writhe with jealousy, put out her head.
she lost her heart to the good looks of the prince, and sent her nurse to fetch him so that she might learn where he came from and how he had got into her private garden where even lions and wolves did not venture.
the nurse went, and was struck with amazement at the sun-like radiance of his face; she salaamed and said: "o youth!
welcome!
the lady of the garden calls you; come!"
he went with her and into a palace which was like a house in paradise, and saw seated on the royal carpets of the throne a girl whose brilliance shamed the shining sun.
he salaamed; she rose, took him by the hand and placed him near her."
o young man!
who are you?
where do you come from?
how did you get into this garden?"
he told her his story from beginning to end, and lady latifa -lsb- 9 -rsb- replied: "this is folly!
it will make you a vagabond of the earth, and lead you to destruction.
come, cease such talk!
no one can go to the caucasus.
stay with me and be thankful, for here is a throne which you can share with me, and in my society you can enjoy my wealth.
i will do whatever you wish; i will bring here king qulmus and his daughter, and you can deal with them as you will.'"
o lady latifa," he said," i have made a compact with heaven not to sit down off my feet till i have been to waq of qaf and have cleared up this matter, and have taken mihrafruz from her father, as brave men take, and have put her in prison.
when i have done all this i will come back to you in state and with a great following, and i will marry you according to the law."
lady latifa argued and urged her wishes, but in vain; the prince was not to be moved.
then she called to the cupbearers for new wine, for she thought that when his head was hot with it he might consent to stay.
the pure, clear wine was brought; she filled a cup and gave to him.
he said: "o most enchanting sweetheart!
it is the rule for the host to drink first and then the guest."
so to make him lose his head, she drained the cup; then filled it again and gave him.
he drank it off, and she took a lute from one of the singers and played upon it with skill which witched away the sense of all who heard.
but it was all in vain; three days passed in such festivities, and on the fourth the prince said: "o joy of my eyes!
i beg now that you will bid me farewell, for my way is long and the fire of your love darts flame into the harvest of my heart.
by heaven's grace i may accomplish my purpose, and, if so, i will come back to you."
now she saw that she could not in any way change his resolve, she told her nurse to bring a certain casket which contained, she said, something exhilarating which would help the prince on his journey.
the box was brought, and she divided off a portion of what was within and gave it to the prince to eat.
then, and while he was all unaware, she put forth her hand to a stick fashioned like a snake; she said some words over it and struck him so sharply on the shoulder that he cried out; then he made a pirouette and found that he was a deer.
when he knew what had been done to him he thought, "all the threads of affliction are gathered together; i have lost my last chance!"
he tried to escape, but the magician sent for her goldsmith, who, coming, overlaid the deer-horns with gold and jewels.
the kerchief which that day she had had in her hand was then tied round its neck, and this freed it from her attentions.
the prince-deer now bounded into the garden and at once sought some way of escape.
it found none, and it joined the other deer, which soon made it their leader.
now, although the prince had been transformed into the form of a deer, he kept his man's heart and mind.
he said to himself, "thank heaven that the lady latifa has changed me into this shape, for at least deer are beautiful."
he remained for some time living as a deer amongst the rest, but at length resolved that an end to such a life must be put ill some way.
he looked again for some place by which he could get out of the magic garden.
following round the wall he reached a lower part; he remembered the divine names and flung himself over, saying, "whatever happens is by the will of god."
when he looked about he found that he was in the very same place he had jumped from; there was the palace, there the garden and the deer!
eight times he leaped over the wall and eight times found himself where he had started from; but after the ninth leap there was a change, there was a palace and there was a garden, but the deer were gone.
presently a girl of such moon-like beauty opened a window that the prince lost to her a hundred hearts.
she was delighted with the beautiful deer, and cried to her nurse: "catch it!
if you will i will give you this necklace, every pearl of which is worth a kingdom."
the nurse coveted the pearls, but as she was three hundred years old she did not know how she could catch a deer.
however, she went down into the garden and held out some grass, but when she went near the creature ran away.
the girl watched with great excitement from the palace window, and called: "o nurse, if you do n't catch it, i will kill you!'"
i am killing myself," shouted back the old woman.
the girl saw that nurse tottering along and went down to help, marching with the gait of a prancing peacock.
when she saw the gilded horns and the kerchief she said: "it must be accustomed to the hand, and be some royal pet!"
the prince had it in mind that this might be another magician who could give him some other shape, but still it seemed best to allow himself to be caught.
so he played about the girl and let her catch him by the neck.
a leash was brought, fruits were given, and it was caressed with delight.
it was taken to the palace and tied at the foot of the lady jamila's raised seat, but she ordered a longer cord to be brought so that it might be able to jump up beside her.
when the nurse went to fix the cord she saw tears falling from its eyes, and that it was dejected and sorrowful" o lady jamila!
this is a wonderful deer, it is crying; i never saw a deer cry before."
jamila darted down like a flash of lightning, and saw that it was so.
it rubbed its head on her feet and then shook it so sadly that the girl cried for sympathy.
she patted it and said: "why are you sad, my heart?
why do you cry, my soul?
is it because i have caught you?
i love you better than my own life."
but, spite of her comforting, it cried the more.
then jamila said: "unless i am mistaken, this is the work of my wicked sister latifa, who by magic art turns servants of god into beasts of the field."
at these words the deer uttered sounds, and laid its head on her feet.
then jamila was sure it was a man, and said: "be comforted, i will restore you to your own shape."
she bathed herself and ordered the deer to be bathed, put on clean raiment, called for a box which stood in an alcove, opened it and gave a portion of what was in it to the deer to eat.
then she slipped her hand under her carpet and produced a stick to which she said something.
she struck the deer hard, it pirouetted and became prince almas.
the broidered kerchief and the jewels lay upon the ground.
the prince prostrated himself in thanks to heaven and jamila, and said: "o delicious person!
o chinese venus!
how shall i excuse myself for giving you so much trouble?
with what words can i thank you?"
then she called for a clothes-wallet and chose out a royal dress of honour.
her attendants dressed him in it, and brought him again before the tender-hearted lady.
she turned to him a hundred hearts, took his hand and seated him beside her, and said: "o youth!
tell me truly who you are and where you come from, and how you fell into the power of my sister."
even when he was a deer the prince had much admired jamila now he thought her a thousand times more lovely than before.
he judged that in truth alone was safety, and so told her his whole story.
then she asked: "o prince almas-ruh-bakhsh, do you still wish so much to make this journey to waq of qaf?
what hope is there in it?
the road is dangerous even near here, and this is not yet the borderland of the caucasus.
come, give it up!
it is a great risk, and to go is not wise.
it would be a pity for a man like you to fall into the hands of jins and demons.
stay with me, and i will do whatever you wish.'"
o most delicious person!"
he answered, "you are very generous, and the choice of my life lies in truth in your hands; but i beg one favour of you.
if you love me, so do i too love you.
if you really love me, do not forbid me to make this journey, but help me as far as you can.
then it may be that i shall succeed, and if i return with my purpose fulfilled i will marry you according to the law, and take you to my own country, and we will spend the rest of our lives together in pleasure and good companionship.
help me, if you can, and give me your counsel.'"
o very stuff of my life," replied jamila" i will give you things that are not in kings" treasuries, and which will be of the greatest use to you.
first, there are the bow and arrows of his reverence the prophet salih.
secondly, there is the scorpion of solomon -lrb- on whom be peace -rrb-, which is a sword such as no king has; steel and stone are one to it; if you bring it down on a rock it will not be injured, and it will cleave whatever you strike.
thirdly, there is the dagger which the sage timus himself made; this is most useful, and the man who wears it would not bend under seven camels" loads.
what you have to do first is to get to the home of the simurgh, -lsb- 10 -rsb- and to make friends with him.
if he favours you, he will take you to waq of qaf; if not, you will never get there, for seven seas are on the way, and they are such seas that if all the kings of the earth, and all their wazirs, and all their wise men considered for a thousand years, they would not be able to cross them.'"
o most delicious person!
where is the simurgh's home?
how shall i get there?'"
o new fruit of life!
you must just do what i tell you, and you must use your eyes and your brains, for if you do n't you will find yourself at the place of the negroes, who are a bloodthirsty set; and god forbid they should lay hands on your precious person."
then she took the bow and quiver of arrows, the sword, and the dagger out of a box, and the prince let fall a bismillah, and girt them all on.
then jamila of the houri-face, produced two saddle-bags of ruby-red silk, one filled with roasted fowl and little cakes, and the other with stones of price.
next she gave him a horse as swift as the breeze of the morning, and she said: "accept all these things from me; ride till you come to a rising ground, at no great distance from here, where there is a spring.
it is called the place of gifts, and you must stay there one night.
there you will see many wild beasts -- lions, tigers, leopards, apes, and so on.
before you get there you must capture some game.
on the long road beyond there dwells a lion-king, alla if other beasts did not fear him they would ravage the whole country and let no one pass.
the lion is a red transgressor, so when he comes rise and do him reverence; take a cloth and rub the dust and earth from his face, then set the game you have taken before him, well cleansed, and lay the hands of respect on your breast.
when he wishes to eat, take your knife and cut pieces of the meat and set them before him with a bow.
in this way you will enfold that lion-king in perfect friendship, and he will be most useful to you, and you will be safe from molestation by the negroes.
when you go on from the place of gifts, be sure you do not take the right-hand road; take the left, for the other leads by the negro castle, which is known as the place of clashing swords, and where there are forty negro captains each over three thousand or four thousand more.
their chief is taramtaq.
-lsb- 11 -rsb- further on than this is the home of the simurgh."
having stored these things in the prince's memory, she said: "you will see everything happen just as i have said."
then she escorted him a little way; they parted, and she went home to mourn his absence.
prince almas, relying on the causer of causes, rode on to the place of gifts and dismounted at the platform.
everything happened just as jamila had foretold; when one or two watches of the night had passed, he saw that the open ground around him was full of such stately and splendid animals as he had never seen before.
by-and-by, they made way for a wonderfully big lion, which was eighty yards from nose to tail-tip, and was a magnificent creature.
the prince advanced and saluted it; it proudly drooped its head and forelocks and paced to the platform.
seventy or eighty others were with it, and now encircled it at a little distance.
it laid its right paw over its left, and the prince took the kerchief jamila had given him for the purpose, and rubbed the dust and earth from its face; then brought forward the game he had prepared, and crossing his hands respectfully on his breast stood waiting before it.
when it wished for food he cut off pieces of the meat and put them in its mouth.
the serving lions also came near and the prince would have stayed his hand, but the king-lion signed to him to feed them too.
this he did, laying the meat on the platform.
then the king-lion beckoned the prince to come near and said: "sleep at ease; my guards will watch."
.
so, surrounded by the lion-guard, he slept till dawn, when the king lion said good-bye, and gave him a few of his own hairs and said: "when you are in any difficulty, burn one of these and i will be there."
then it went off into the jungle.
prince almas immediately started; he rode till he came to the parting of the ways.
he remembered quite well that the right-hand way was short and dangerous, but he bethought himself too that whatever was written on his forehead would happen, and took the forbidden road.
by-and-by he saw a castle, and knew from what jamila had told him that it was the place of clashing swords.
he would have liked to go back by the way ho had come, but courage forbade, and he said, "what has been preordained from eternity will happen to me," and went on towards the castle.
he was thinking of tying his horse to a tree which grew near the gate when a negro came out and spied him.
"ha!"
said the wretch to himself, "this is good; taram-taq has not eaten man-meat for a long time, and is craving for some.
i will take this creature to him."
he took hold of the prince's reins, and said: "dismount, man-child!
come to my master.
he has wanted to eat man-meat this long time back."
"what nonsense are you saying?"
said the prince, and other such words.
when the negro understood that he was being abused, he cried: "come along!
i will put you into such a state that the birds of the air will weep for you."
then the prince drew the scorpion of solomon and struck him -- struck him on the leathern belt and shore him through so that the sword came out on the other side.
he stood upright for a little while, muttered some words, put out his hand to seize the prince, then fell in two and surrendered his life.
there was water close at hand, and the prince made his ablution, and then said: "o my heart!
a wonderful task lies upon you."
a second negro came out of the fort, and seeing what had been done, went back and told his chief.
others wished to be doubled, and went out, and of every one the scorpion of solomon made two.
then taram-taq sent for a giant negro named chil-maq, who in the day of battle was worth three hundred, and said to him: "i shall thank you to fetch me that man."
chil-maq went out, tall as a tower, and bearing a shield of eight millstones, and as he walked he shouted: "ho!
blunder-head!
by what right do you come to our country and kill our people?
come!
make two of me."
as the prince was despicable in his eyes, he tossed aside his club and rushed to grip him with his hands.
he caught him by the collar, tucked him under his arm and set off with him to taram-taq.
but the prince drew the dagger of timus and thrust it upwards through the giant's armpit, for its full length.
this made chil-maq drop him and try to pick up his club; but when he stooped the mighty sword shore him through at the waist.
when news of his champion's death reached taram-taq he put himself at the head of an army of his negroes and led them forth.
many fell before the magic sword, and the prince laboured on in spite of weakness and fatigue till he was almost worn out.
in a moment of respite from attack he struck his fire-steel and burned a hair of the king-lion; and he had just succeeded in this when the negroes charged again and all but took him prisoner.
suddenly from behind the distant veil of the desert appeared an army of lions led by their king.
"what brings these scourges of heaven here?"
cried the negroes.
they came roaring up, and put fresh life into the prince.
he fought on, and when he struck on a belt the wearer fell in two, and when on a head he cleft to the waist.
then the ten thousand mighty lions joined the fray and tore in pieces man and horse.
taram-taq was left alone; he would have retired into his fort, but the prince shouted: "whither away, accursed one?
are you fleeing before me?"
at these defiant words the chief shouted back, "welcome, man!
come here and i will soften you to wax beneath my club."
then he hurled his club at the prince's head, but it fell harmless because the prince had quickly spurred his horse forward.
the chief, believing he had hit him, was looking down for him, when all at once he came up behind and cleft him to the waist and sent him straight to hell.
the king-lion greatly praised the dashing courage of prince almas.
they went together into the castle of clashing swords and found it adorned and fitted in princely fashion.
in it was a daughter of taram taq, still a child she sent a message to prince almas saying," o king of the world!
choose this slave to be your handmaid.
keep her with you; where you go, there she will go!"
he sent for her and she kissed his feet and received the mussulman faith at his hands.
he told her he was going a long journey on important business, and that when he came back he would take her and her possessions to his own country, but that for the present she must stay in the castle.
then he made over the fort and all that was in it to the care of the lion, saying: "guard them, brother!
let no one lay a hand on them."
he said goodbye, chose a fresh horse from the chief's stable and once again took the road.
after travelling many stages and for many days, he reached a plain of marvellous beauty and refreshment.
it was carpeted with flowers -- roses, tulips, and clover; it had lovely lawns, and amongst them running water.
this choicest place of earth filled him with wonder.
there was a tree such as he had never seen before; its branches were alike, but it bore flowers and fruit of a thousand kinds.
near it a reservoir had been fashioned of four sorts of stone -- touchstone, pure stone, marble, and loadstone.
in and out of it flowed water like attar.
the prince felt sure this must be the place of the simurgh."
he dismounted, turned his horse loose to graze, ate some of the food jamila had given him, drank of the stream and lay down to sleep.
he was still dozing when he was aroused by the neighing and pawing of his horse.
when he could see clearly he made out a mountain-like dragon whose heavy breast crushed the stones beneath it into putty.
he remembered the thousand names of god and took the bow of salih from its case and three arrows from their quiver.
he bound the dagger of timus firmly to his waist and hung the scorpion of solomon round his neck.
then he set an arrow on the string and released it with such force that it went in at the monster's eye right up to the notch.
the dragon writhed on itself, and belched forth an evil vapour, and beat the ground with its head till the earth quaked.
then the prince took a second arrow and shot into its throat.
it drew in its breath and would have sucked the prince into its maw, but when he was within striking distance he drew his sword and, having committed himself to god, struck a mighty blow which cut the creature's neck down to the gullet.
the foul vapour of the beast and horror at its strangeness now overcame the prince, and he fainted.
when he came to himself he found that he was drenched in the gore of the dead monster.
he rose and thanked god for his deliverance.
the nest of the simurgh was in the wonderful tree above him, and in it were young birds; the parents were away searching for food.
they always told the children, before they left them, not to put their heads out of the nest; but, to-day, at the noise of the fight below, they looked down and so saw the whole affair.
by the time the dragon had been killed they were very hungry and set up a clamour for food.
the prince therefore cut up the dragon and fed them with it, bit by bit, till they had eaten the whole.
he then washed himself and lay down to rest, and he was still asleep when the simurgh came home.
as a rule, the young birds raised a clamour of welcome when their parents came near, but on this day they were so full of dragon-meat that they had no choice, they had to go to sleep.
as they flew nearer, the old birds saw the prince lying under the tree and no sign of life in the nest.
they thought that the misfortune which for so many earlier years had befallen them had again happened and that their nestlings had disappeared.
they had never been able to find out the murderer, and now suspected the prince.
"he has eaten our children and sleeps after it; he must die," said the father-bird, and flew back to the hills and clawed up a huge stone which he meant to let fall on the prince's head.
but his mate said, "let us look into the nest first for to kill an innocent person would condemn us at the day of resurrection."
they flew nearer, and presently the young birds woke and cried, "mother, what have you brought for us?"
and they told the whole story of the fight, and of how they were alive only by the favour of the young man under the tree, and of his cutting up the dragon and of their eating it.
the mother-bird then remarked, "truly, father!
you were about to do a strange thing, and a terrible sin has been averted from you."
then the simurgh flew off to a distance with the great stone and dropped it.
it sank down to the very middle of the earth.
coming back, the simurgh saw that a little sunshine fell upon the prince through the leaves, and it spread its wings and shaded him till he woke.
when he got up he salaamed to it, who returned his greeting with joy and gratitude, and caressed him and said: "o youth, tell me true!
who are you, and where are you going?
and how did you cross that pitiless desert where never yet foot of man had trod?"
the prince told his story from beginning to end, and finished by saying: "now it is my heart's wish that you should help me to get to waq of the caucasus.
perhaps, by your favour, i shall accomplish my task and avenge my brothers."
in reply the simurgh."
first blessed the deliverer of his children, and then went on: "what you have done no child of man has ever done before; you assuredly have a claim on all my help, for every year up till now that dragon has come here and has destroyed my nestlings, and i have never been able to find who was the murderer and to avenge myself.
by god's grace you have removed my children's powerful foe.
i regard you as a child of my own.
stay with me; i will give you everything you desire, and i will establish a city here for you, and will furnish it with every requisite; i will give you the land of the caucasus, and will make its princes subject to you.
give up the journey to waq, it is full of risk, and the jins there will certainly kill you."
but nothing could move the prince, and seeing this the bird went on: "well, so be it!
when you wish to set forth you must go into the plain and take seven head of deer, and must make water-tight bags of their hides and keep their flesh in seven portions.
seven seas lie on our way -- i will carry you over them; but if i have not food and drink we shall fall into the sea and be drowned.
when i ask for it you must put food and water into my mouth.
so we shall make the journey safely."
the prince did all as he was told, then they took flight; they crossed the seven seas, and at each one the prince fed the simurgh when they alighted on the shore of the last sea, it said: "o my son!
there lies your road; follow it to the city.
take thee three feathers of mine, and, if you are in a difficulty, burn one and i will be with you in the twinkling of an eye."
the prince walked on in solitude till he reached the city.
he went in and wandered about through all quarters, and through bazaars and lanes and squares, in the least knowing from whom he could ask information about the riddle of mihr-afruz.
he spent seven days thinking it over in silence.
from the first day of his coming he had made friends with a young cloth-merchant, and a great liking had sprung up between them.
one day he said abruptly to his companion: "o dear friend!
i wish you would tell me what the rose did to the cypress, and what the sense of the riddle is."
the merchant started, and exclaimed: "if there were not brotherly affection between us, i would cut off your head for asking me this!"
"if you meant to kill me," retorted the prince, "you would still have first to tell me what i want to know."
when the merchant saw that the prince was in deadly earnest, he said: "if you wish to hear the truth of the matter you must wait upon our king.
there is no other way; no one else will tell you.
i have a well-wisher at the court, named farrukh-fal, -lsb- 12 -rsb- and will introduce you to him."
"that would be excellent," cried the prince.
a meeting was arranged between farrukhfal and almas, and then the amir took him to the king's presence and introduced him as a stranger and traveller who had come from afar to sit in the shadow of king sinaubar.
now the simurgh had given the prince a diamond weighing thirty misqals, and he ordered this to the king, who at once recognised its value, and asked where it had been obtained.
"i, your slave, once had riches and state and power; there are many such stones in my country.
on my way here i was plundered at the castle of clashing swords, and i saved this one thing only, hidden in my bathing-cloth."
in return for the diamond, king sinaubar showered gifts of much greater value, for he remembered that it was the last possession of the prince.
he showed the utmost kindness and hospitality, and gave his wazir orders to instal the prince in the royal guest-house.
he took much pleasure in his visitor's society; they were together every day and spent the time most pleasantly.
several times the king said: "ask me for something, that i may give it you.
"one day he so pressed to know what would pleasure the prince, that the latter said: "i have only one wish, and that i will name to you in private."
the king at once commanded every one to withdraw, and then prince almas said: "the desire of my life is to know what the rose did to the cypress, and what meaning there is in the words."
the king was astounded.
"in god's name!
if anyone else had said that to me i should have cut off his head instantly."
the prince heard this in silence, and presently so beguiled the king with pleasant talk that to kill him was impossible.
time flew by, the king again and again begged the prince to ask some gift of him, and always received this same reply: "i wish for your majesty's welfare, what more can i desire?
"one night there was a banquet, and cupbearers carried round gold and silver cups of sparkling wine, and singers with sweetest voices contended for the prize.
the prince drank from the king's own cup, and when his head was hot with wine he took a lute from one of the musicians and placed himself on the carpet border and sang and sang till he witched away the sense of all who listened.
applause and compliments rang from every side.
the king filled his cup and called the prince and gave it him and said: "name your wish!
it is yours."
the prince drained off the wine and answered: "o king of the world!
learn and know that i have only one aim in life, and this is to know what the rose did to the cypress."
"never yet," replied the king, "has any man come out from that question alive.
if this is your only wish, so be it; i will tell you.
but i will do this on one condition only, namely, that when you have heard you will submit yourself to death."
to this the prince agreed, and said: "i set my foot firmly on this compact."
the king then gave an order to an attendant; a costly carpet overlaid with european velvet was placed near him, and a dog was led in by a golden and jewelled chain and set upon the splendid stuffs.
a band of fair girls came in and stood round it in waiting.
then, with ill words, twelve negroes dragged in a lovely woman, fettered on hands and feet and meanly dressed, and they set her down on the bare floor.
she was extraordinarily beautiful, and shamed the glorious sun.
the king ordered a hundred stripes to be laid on her tender body; she sighed a long sigh.
food was called for and table-cloths were spread.
delicate meats were set before the dog, and water given it in a royal cup of chinese crystal.
when it had eaten its fill, its leavings were placed before the lovely woman and she was made to eat of them.
she wept and her tears were pearls; she smiled and her lips shed roses.
pearls and flowers were gathered up and taken to the treasury.
"now," said the king, "you have seen these things and your purpose is fulfilled."
"truly," said the prince," i have seen things which i have not understood; what do they mean, and what is the story of them?
tell me and kill me."
then said the king: "the woman you see there in chains is my wife; she is called gul, the rose, and i am sinaubar, the cypress.
one day i was hunting and became very thirsty.
after great search i discovered a well in a place so secret that neither bird nor beast nor man could find it without labour.
i was alone, i took my turban for a rope and my cap for a bucket.
there was a good deal of water, but when i let down my rope, something caught it, and i could not in any way draw it back.
i shouted down into the well: "o!
servant of god!
whoever you are, why do you deal unfairly with me?
i am dying of thirst, let go!
in god's name."
a cry came up in answer, "o servant of god!
we have been in the well a long time; in god's name get us out!"
after trying a thousand schemes, i drew up two blind women.
they said they were peris, and that their king had blinded them in his anger and had left them in the well alone."
""now," they said, "if you will get us the cure for our blindness we will devote ourselves to your service, and will do whatever you wish.""
""what is the cure for your blindness?""
""not far from this place," they said, "a cow comes up from the great sea to graze; a little of her dung would cure us.
we should be eternally your debtors.
do not let the cow see you, or she will assuredly kill you."
"with renewed strength and spirit i went to the shore.
there i watched the cow come up from the sea, graze, and go back.
then i came out of my hiding, took a little of her dung and conveyed it to the peris.
they rubbed it on their eyes, and by the divine might saw again.
"they thanked heaven and me, and then considered what they could do to show their gratitude to me.
""our peri-king," they said, "has a daughter whom he keeps under his own eye and thinks the most lovely girl on earth.
in good sooth, she has not her equal!
now we will get you into her house and you must win her heart, and if she has an inclination for another, you must drive it out and win her for yourself.
her mother loves her so dearly that she has no ease but in her presence, and she will give her to no one in marriage.
teach her to love you so that she can not exist without you.
but if the matter becomes known to her mother she will have you burned in the fire.
then you must beg, as a last favour, that your body may be anointed with oil so that you may burn the more quickly and be spared torture.
if the peri-king allows this favour, we two will manage to be your anointers, and we will put an oil on you such that if you were a thousand years in the fire not a trace of burning would remain."
"in the end the two peris took me to the girl's house.
i saw her sleeping daintily.
she was most lovely, and i was so amazed at the perfection of her beauty that i stood with senses lost, and did not know if she were real or a dream.
when at last i saw that she was a real girl, i returned thanks that i, the runner, had come to my goal, and that i, the seeker, had found my treasure.
"when the peri opened her eyes she asked in affright: "who are you?
have you come to steal?
how did you get here?
be quick!
save yourself from this whirlpool of destruction, for the demons and peris.
who guard me will wake and seize you."
"but love's arrow had struck me deep, and the girl, too, looked kindly on me.
i could not go away.
for some months i remained hidden in her house.
"we did not dare to let her mother know of our love.
sometimes the girl was very sad and fearful lest her mother should come to know.
one day her father said to her: "sweetheart, for some time i have noticed that your beauty is not what it was.
how is this?
has sickness touched you?
tell me that i may seek a cure."
alas!
there was now no way of concealing the mingled delight and anguish of our love; from secret it became known.
i was put in prison and the world grew dark to my rose, bereft of her lover.
"the peri-king ordered me to be burnt, and said: "why have you, a man, done this perfidious thing in my house?"
his demons and peris.
collected amber-wood and made a pile, and would have set me on it, when i remembered the word of life which the two peris.
i had rescued had breathed into my ear, and i asked that my body might be rubbed with oil to release me the sooner from torture.
this was allowed, and those two contrived to be the anointers.
i was put into the fire and it was kept up for seven days and nights.
by the will of the great king it left no trace upon me.
at the end of a week the pert-king ordered the ashes to be cast upon the dust-heap, and i was found alive and unharmed.
"peris who had seen gul consumed by her love for me now interceded with the king, and said: "it is clear that your daughter's fortunes are bound up with his, for the fire has not hurt him.
it is best to give him the girl, for they love one another.
he is king of waq of qaf, and you will find none better."
"to this the king agreed, and made formal marriage between gul and me.
you now know the price i paid for this faithless creature.
o prince!
remember our compact.'"
i remember," said the prince; "but tell me what brought queen gul to her present pass?"
"one night," continued king sinaubar," i was aroused by feeling gul's hands and feet, deadly cold, against my body.
i asked her where she had been to get so cold, and she said she had had to go out.
next morning, when i went to my stable i saw that two of my horses, windfoot and tiger, were thin and worn out.
i reprimanded the groom and beat him.
he asked where his fault lay, and said that every night my wife took one or other of these horses and rode away, and came back only just before dawn.
a flame kindled in my heart, and i asked myself where she could go and what she could do.
i told the groom to be silent, and when next gul took a horse from the stable to saddle another quickly and bring it to me.
that day i did not hunt, but stayed at home to follow the matter up.
i lay down as usual at night and pretended to fall asleep.
when i seemed safely off gul got up and went to the stable as her custom was.
that night it was tiger's turn.
she rode off on him, and i took windfoot and followed.
with me went that dog you see, a faithful friend who never left me.
"when i came to the foot of those hills which lie outside the city i saw gul dismount and go towards a house which some negroes have built there.
over against the door was a high seat, and on it lay a giant negro, before whom she salaamed.
he got up and beat her till she was marked with weals, but she uttered no complaint.
i was dumfounded, for once when i had struck her with a rose stalk she had complained and fretted for three days!
then the negro said to her: "how now, ugly one and shaven head!
why are you so late, and why are you not wearing wedding garments?"
she answered him: "that person did not go to sleep quickly, and he stayed at home all day, so that i was not able to adorn myself.
i came as soon as i could."
in a little while he called her to sit beside him; but this was more than i could bear.
i lost control of myself and rushed upon him.
he clutched my collar and we grappled in a death struggle.
suddenly she came behind me, caught my feet and threw me.
while he held me on the ground, she drew out my own knife and gave it to him.
i should have been killed but for that faithful dog which seized his throat and pulled him down and pinned him to the ground.
then i got up and despatched the wretch.
there were four other negroes at the place; three i killed and the fourth got away, and has taken refuge beneath the throne of mihr-afruz, daughter of king quimus.
i took gul back to my palace, and from that time till now i have treated her as a dog is treated, and i have cared for my dog as though it were my wife.
now you know what the rose did to the cypress; and now you must keep compact with me.'"
i shall keep my word," said the prince; "but may a little water be taken to the roof so that i may make my last ablution?"
to this request the king consented.
the prince mounted to the roof, and, getting into a corner, struck his fire-steel and burned one of the sirurgh's feathers in the flame.
straightway it appeared, and by the majesty of its presence made the city quake.
it took the prince on its back and soared away to the zenith.
after a time king sinaubar said: "that young man is a long time on the roof; go and bring him here."
but there was no sign of the prince upon the roof; only, far away in the sky, the simurgh was seen carrying him off.
when the king heard of his escape he thanked heaven that his hands were clean of this blood.
up and up flew the simurgh, till earth looked like an egg resting on an ocean.
at length it dropped straight down to its own place, where the kind prince was welcomed by the young birds and most hospitably entertained.
he told the whole story of the rose and the cypress, and then, laden with gifts which the simurgh had gathered from cities far and near, he set his face for the castle of clashing swords.
the king-lion came out to meet him; he took the negro chief's daughter -- whose name was also gul -- in lawful marriage, and then marched with her and her possessions and her attendants to the place of gifts.
here they halted for a night, and at dawn said good-bye to the king-lion and set out for jamila's country.
when the lady jamila heard that prince almas was near, she went out, with many a fair handmaid, to give him loving reception.
their meeting was joyful, and they went together to the garden-palace.
jamila summoned all her notables, and in their presence her marriage with the prince was solemnised.
a few days later she entrusted her affairs to her wazir, and made preparation to go with the prince to his own country.
before she started she restored all the men whom her sister, latifa, had bewitched, to their own forms, and received their blessings, and set them forward to their homes.
the wicked latifa herself she left quite alone in her garden-house.
when all was ready they set out with all her servants and slaves, all her treasure and goods, and journeyed at ease to the city of king quimus.
when king quimus heard of the approach of such a great company, he sent out his wazir to give the prince honourable meeting, and to ask what had procured him the favour of the visit.
the prince sent back word that he had no thought of war, but he wrote: "learn and know, king quimus, that i am here to end the crimes of your insolent daughter who has tyrannously done to death many kings and kings sons, and has hung their heads on your citadel.
i am here to give her the answer to her riddle."
later on he entered the city, beat boldly on the drums, and was conducted to the presence.
the king entreated him to have nothing to do with the riddle, for that no man had come out of it alive."
o king!"
replied the prince, "it is to answer it that i am here; i will not withdraw."
mihr-afruz was told that one man more had staked his head on her question, and that this was one who said he knew the answer.
at the request of the prince, all the officers and notables of the land were summoned to hear his reply to the princess.
all assembled, and the king and his queen gul-rakh, and the girl and the prince were there.
the prince addressed mihr-afruz: "what is the question you ask?"
"what did the rose do to the cypress?"
she rejoined.
the prince smiled, and turned and addressed the assembly.
"you who are experienced men and versed in affairs, did you ever know or hear and see anything of this matter?"
"no!"
they answered, "no one has ever known or heard or seen aught about it; it is an empty fancy."
"from whom, then, did the princess hear of it?
this empty fancy it is that has done many a servant of god to death!"
all saw the good sense of his words and showed their approval.
then he turned to the princess: "tell us the truth, princess; who told you of this thing?
i know it hair by hair, and in and out; but if i tell you what i know, who is there that can say i speak the truth?
you must produce the person who can confirm my words."
her heart sank, for she feared that her long-kept secret was now to be noised abroad.
but she said merely: "explain yourself.'"
i shall explain myself fully when you bring here the negro whom you hide beneath your throne."
here the king shouted in wonderment: "explain yourself, young man!
what negro does my daughter hide beneath her throne?"
"that," said the prince, "you will see if you order to be brought here the negro who will be found beneath the throne of the princess."
messengers were forthwith despatched to the garden house, and after awhile they returned bringing a negro whom they had discovered in a secret chamber underneath the throne of mihr-afruz, dressed in a dress of honour, and surrounded with luxury.
the king was overwhelmed with astonishment, but the girl had taken heart again.
she had had time to think that perhaps the prince had heard of the presence of the negro, and knew no more.
so she said haughtily: "prince!
you have not answered my riddle.'"
o most amazingly impudent person," cried he, "do you not yet repent?"
then he turned to the people, and told them the whole story of the rose and the cypress, of king sinaubar and queen gul.
when he came to the killing of the negroes, he said to the one who stood before them: "you, too, were present."
"that is so; all happened as you have told it!"
there was great rejoicing in the court and all through the country over the solving of the riddle, and because now no more kings and princes would be killed.
king quimus made over his daughter to prince almas, but the latter refused to marry her, and took her as his captive.
he then asked that the heads should be removed from the battlements and given decent burial.
this was done.
he received from the king everything that belonged to mihr-afruz; her treasure of gold and silver; her costly stuffs and carpets; her household plenishing; her horses and camels; her servants and slaves.
then he returned to his camp and sent for dil-aram, who came bringing her goods and chattels, her gold and her jewels.
when all was ready, prince almas set out for home, taking with him jamila, and dil-aram and gul, daughter of taram-taq, and the wicked mihr-afruz, and all the belongings of the four, packed on horses and camels, and in carts without number.
as he approached the borders of his father's country word of his coming went before him, and all the city came forth to give him welcome.
king saman-lal-posh -- jessamine, wearer of rubies -- had so bewept the loss of his sons that he was now blind.
when the prince had kissed his feet and received his blessing, he took from a casket a little collyrium of solomon, which the simurgh had given him, and which reveals the hidden things of earth, and rubbed it on his father's eyes.
light came, and the king saw his son.
mihr-afruz was brought before the king, and the prince said: "this is the murderer of your sons; do with her as you will."
the king fancied that the prince might care for the girl's beauty, and replied: "you have humbled her; do with her as you will."
upon this the prince sent for four swift and strong horses, and had the negro bound to each one of them; then each was driven to one of the four quarters, and he tore in pieces like muslin.
this frightened mihr-afruz horribly, for she thought the same thing might be done to herself.
she cried out to the prince: "o prince almas!
what is hardest to get is most valued.
up till now i have been subject to no man, and no man had had my love.
the many kings and kings sons who have died at my hands have died because it was their fate to die like this.
in this matter i have not sinned.
that was their fate from eternity; and from the beginning it was predestined that my fate should be bound up with yours."
the prince gave ear to the argument from pre-ordainment, and as she was a very lovely maiden he took her too in lawful marriage.
she and jamila, set up house together, and dil-aram and gul set up theirs; and the prince passed the rest of his life with the four in perfect happiness, and in pleasant and sociable entertainment.
now has been told what the rose did to the cypress.
finished, finished, finished!
footnotes: -lsb- footnote 1: translated from two persian mss.
in the possession of the british museum and the india office, and adapted, with some reservations, by annette s. beveridge. -rsb-
-lsb- footnote 2: jessamine, ruby-decked. -rsb-
-lsb- footnote 3: life-giving diamond. -rsb-
-lsb- footnote 4: world-gripper. -rsb-
-lsb- footnote 5: love-enkindler. -rsb-
-lsb- footnote 6: rose-cheek. -rsb-
-lsb- footnote 7: heartsease. -rsb-
-lsb- footnote 8: elias. -rsb-
-lsb- footnote 9: pleasure. -rsb-
-lsb- footnote 10: thirty-birds. -rsb-
-lsb- footnote 11: pomp and pride. -rsb-
-lsb- footnote 12: of happy omen. -rsb-
ball-carrier and the bad one far, far in the forest there were two little huts, and in each of them lived a man who was a famous hunter, his wife, and three or four children.
now the children were forbidden to play more than a short distance from the door, as it was known that, away on the other side of the wood near the great river, there dwelt a witch who had a magic ball that she used as a means of stealing children.
her plan was a very simple one, and had never yet failed.
when she wanted a child she just flung her ball in the direction of the child's home, and however far off it might be, the ball was sure to reach it.
then, as soon as the child saw it, the ball would begin rolling slowly back to the witch, just keeping a little ahead of the child, so that he always thought that he could catch it the next minute.
but he never did, and, what was more, his parents never saw him again.
of course you must not suppose that all the fathers and mothers who had lost children made no attempts to find them, but the forest was so large, and the witch was so cunning in knowing exactly where they were going to search, that it was very easy for her to keep out of the way.
besides, there was always the chance that the children might have been eaten by wolves, of which large herds roamed about in winter.
one day the old witch happened to want a little boy, so she threw her ball in the direction of the hunters" huts.
a child was standing outside, shooting at a mark with his bow and arrows, but the moment he saw the ball, which was made of glass whose blues and greens and whites, all frosted over, kept changing one into the other, he flung down his bow, and stooped to pick the ball up.
but as he did so it began to roll very gently downhill.
the boy could not let it roll away, when it was so close to him, so he gave chase.
the ball seemed always within his grasp, yet he could never catch it; it went quicker and quicker, and the boy grew more and more excited.
that time he almost touched it -- no, he missed it by a hair's breadth!
now, surely, if he gave a spring he could get in front of it!
he sprang forward, tripped and fell, and found himself in the witch's house!
"welcome!
welcome!
grandson!"
said she; "get up and rest yourself, for you have had a long walk, and i am sure you must be tired!"
so the boy sat down, and ate some food which she gave him in a bowl.
it was quite different from anything he had tasted before, and he thought it was delicious.
when he had eaten up every bit, the witch asked him if he had ever fasted.
"no," replied the boy, "at least i have been obliged to sometimes, but never if there was any food to be had."
"you will have to fast if you want the spirits to make you strong and wise, and the sooner you begin the better."
"very well," said the boy, "what do i do first?"
"lie down on those buffalo skins by the door of the hut," answered she; and the boy lay down, and the squirrels and little bears and the birds came and talked to him.
at the end of ten days the old woman came to him with a bowl of the same food that he had eaten before.
"get up, my grandson, you have fasted long enough.
have the good spirits visited you, and granted you the strength and wisdom that you desire?"
"some of them have come, and have given me a portion of both," answered the boy, "but many have stayed away from me."
"then," said she, "you must fast ten days more."
so the boy lay down again on the buffalo skins, and fasted for ten days, and at the end of that time he turned his face to the wall, and fasted for twenty days longer.
at length the witch called to him, and said: "come and eat something, my grandson."
at the sound of her voice the boy got up and ate the food she gave him.
when he had finished every scrap she spoke as before: "tell me, my grandson, have not the good spirits visited you all these many days that you have fasted?"
"not all, grandmother," answered he; "there are still some who keep away from me and say that i have not fasted long enough."
"then you must fast again," replied the old woman, "and go on fasting till you receive the gifts of all the good spirits.
not one must be missing."
the boy said nothing, but lay down for the third time on the buffalo skins, and fasted for twenty days more.
and at the end of that time the witch thought he was dead, his face was so white and his body so still.
but when she had fed him out of the bowl he grew stronger, and soon was able to sit up.
"you have fasted a long time," said she, "longer than anyone ever fasted before.
surely the good spirits must be satisfied now?"
"yes, grandmother," answered the boy, "they have all come, and have given me their gifts."
this pleased the old woman so much that she brought him another basin of food, and while he was eating it she talked to him, and this is what she said: "far away, on the other side of the great river, is the home of the bad one.
in his house is much gold, and what is more precious even than the gold, a little bridge, which lengthens out when the bad one waves his hand, so that there is no river or sea that he can not cross.
now i want that bridge and some of the gold for myself, and that is the reason that i have stolen so many boys by means of my ball.
i have tried to teach them how to gain the gifts of the good spirits, but none of them would fast long enough, and at last i had to send them away to perform simple, easy little tasks.
but you have been strong and faithful, and you can do this thing if you listen to what i tell you!
when you reach the river tie this ball to your foot, and it will take you across -- you can not manage it in any other way.
but do not be afraid; trust to the ball, and you will be quite safe!"
the boy took the ball and put it in a bag.
then he made himself a club and a bow, and some arrows which would fly further than anyone else's arrows, because of the strength the good spirits had given him.
they had also bestowed on him the power of changing his shape, and had increased the quickness of his eyes and ears so that nothing escaped him.
and in some way or other they made him understand that if he needed more help they would give it to him.
when all these things were ready the boy bade farewell to the witch and set out.
he walked through the forest for several days without seeing anyone but his friends the squirrels and the bears and the birds, but though he stopped and spoke to them all, he was careful not to let them know where he was going.
at last, after many days, he came to the river, and beyond it he noticed a small hut standing on a hill which he guessed to be the home of the bad one.
but the stream flowed so quickly that he could not see how he was ever to cross it, and in order to test how swift the current really was, he broke a branch from a tree and threw it in.
it seemed hardly to touch the water before it was carried away, and even his magic sight could not follow it.
he could not help feeling frightened, but he hated giving up anything that he had once undertaken, and, fastening the ball on his right foot, he ventured on the river.
to his surprise he was able to stand up; then a panic seized him, and he scrambled up the bank again.
in a minute or two he plucked up courage to go a little further into the river, but again its width frightened him, and a second time he turned back.
however, he felt rather ashamed of his cowardice, as it was quite clear that his ball could support him, and on his third trial he got safely to the other side.
once there he replaced the ball in the bag, and looked carefully round him.
the door of the bad one's hut was open, and he saw that the ceiling was supported by great wooden beams, from which hung the bags of gold and the little bridge.
he saw, too, the bad one sitting in the midst of his treasures eating his dinner, and drinking something out of a horn.
it was plain to the boy that he must invent some plan of getting the bad one out of the way, or else he would never be able to steal the gold or the bridge.
what should he do?
give horrible shrieks as if he were in pain?
but the bad one would not care whether he were murdered or not!
call him by his name?
but the bad one was very cunning, and would suspect some trick.
he must try something better than that!
then suddenly an idea came to him, and he gave a little jump of joy.
"oh, how stupid of me not to think of that before!"
said he, and he wished with all his might that the bad one should become very hungry -- so hungry that he could not wait a moment for fresh food to be brought to him.
and sure enough at that instant the bad one called out to his servant, "you did not bring food that would satisfy a sparrow fetch some more at once, for i am perfectly starving."
then, without giving the woman time to go to the larder, he got up from his chair, and rolled, staggering from hunger, towards the kitchen.
directly the door had closed on the bad one the boy ran in, pulled down a bag of gold from the beam, and tucked it under his left arm.
next he unhooked the little bridge and put it under his right.
he did not try to escape, as most boys of his age would have done, for the wisdom put into his mind by the good spirits taught him that before he could reach the river and make use of the bridge the bad one would have tracked him by his footsteps and been upon him.
so, making himself very small and thin, he hid himself behind a pile of buffalo skins in the corner, first tearing a slit through one of them, so that he could see what was going on.
he had hardly settled himself when the servant entered the room, and, as she did so, the last bag of gold on the beam fell to the ground -- for they had begun to fall directly the boy had taken the first one.
she cried to her master that someone had stolen both the bag and the bridge, and the bad one rushed in, mad with anger, and bade her go and seek for footsteps outside, that they might find out where the thief had gone.
in a few minutes she returned, saying that he must be in the house, as she could not see any footsteps leading to the river, and began to move all the furniture in the room, without discovering ball carrier.
"but he must be here somewhere," she said to herself, examining for the second time the pile of buffalo skins; and ball-carrier, knowing that he could not possibly escape now, hastily wished that the bad one should be unable to eat any more food at present.
"ah, there is a slit in this one," cried the servant, shaking the skin; "and here he is."
and she pulled out ball-carrier, looking so lean and small that he would hardly have made a mouthful for a sparrow.
"was it you who took my gold and bridge?"
asked the bad one.
"yes," answered ball-carrier, "it was i who took them."
the bad one made a sign to the woman, who inquired where he had hidden them.
he lifted his left arm where the gold was, and she picked up a knife and scraped his skin so that no gold should be left sticking to it.
"what have you done with the bridge?"
said she.
and he lifted his right arm, from which she took the bridge, while the bad one looked on, well pleased.
"be sure that he does not run away," chuckled he.
"boil some water, and get him ready for cooking, while i go and invite my friends the water-demons to the feast."
the woman seized ball-carrier between her finger and thumb, and was going to carry him to the kitchen, when the boy spoke: "i am very lean and small now," he said, "hardly worth the trouble of cooking; but if you were to keep me two days, and gave me plenty of food, i should get big and fat.
as it is, your friends the water-demons would think you meant to laugh at them, when they found that i was the feast."
"well, perhaps you are right," answered the bad one;" i will keep you for two days."
and he went out to visit the water-demons.
meanwhile the servant, whose name was lung woman, led him into a little shed, and chained him up to a ring in the wall.
but food was given him every hour, and at the end of two days he was as fat and big as a christmas turkey, and could hardly move his head from one side to the other.
"he will do now," said the bad one, who came constantly to see how he was getting on."
i shall go and tell the water-demons that we expect them to dinner to-night.
put the kettle on the fire, but be sure on no account to taste the broth."
lung-woman lost no time in obeying her orders.
she built up the fire, which had got very low, filled the kettle with water, and passing a rope which hung from the ceiling through the handle, swung it over the flames.
then she brought in ball-carrier, who, seeing all these preparations, wished that as long as he was in the kettle the water might not really boil, though it would hiss and bubble, and also, that the spirits would turn the water into fat.
the kettle soon began to sing and bubble, and ball carrier was lifted in.
very soon the fat which was to make the sauce rose to the surface, and ball-carrier, who was bobbing about from one side to the other, called out that lung-woman had better taste the broth, as he though that some salt should be added to it.
the servant knew quite well that her master had forbidden her to do any thing of the kind, but when once the idea was put into her head, she found the smell from the kettle so delicious that she unhooked a long ladle from the wall and plunged it into the kettle.
"you will spill it all, if you stand so far off," said the boy; "why do n't you come a little nearer?"
and as she did so he cried to the spirits to give him back his usual size and strength and to make the water scalding hot then he gave the kettle a kick, which upset all the boiling water upon her, and jumping over her body he seized once more the gold and the bridge, picked up his club and bow and arrows, and after setting fire to the bad one's hut, ran down to the river, which he crossed safely by the help of the bridge.
the hut, which was made of wood, was burned to the ground before the bad one came back with a large crowd of water-demons.
there was not a sign of anyone or anything, so he started for the river, where he saw ball carrier sitting quietly on the other side.
then the bad one knew what had happened, and after telling the water demons that there would be no feast after all, he called to ball-carrier, who was eating an apple."
i know your name now," he said, "and as you have ruined me, and i am not rich any more, will you take me as your servant?"
"yes, i will, though you have tried to kill me," answered ball-carrier, throwing the bridge across the water as he spoke.
but when the bad one was in the midst of the stream, the boy wished it to become small; and the bad one fell into the water and was drowned, and the world was rid of him.
-lsb- u.s..
bureau of ethnology. -rsb-
how ball-carrier finished his task after ball-carrier had managed to drown the bad one so that he could not do any more mischief, he forgot the way to his grandmother's house, and could not find it again, though he searched everywhere.
during this time he wandered into many strange places, and had many adventures; and one day he came to a hut where a young girl lived.
he was tired and hungry and begged her to let him in and rest, and he stayed a long while, and the girl became his wife.
one morning he saw two children playing in front of the hut, and went out to speak to them.
but as soon as they saw him they set up cries of horror and ran away.
"they are the children of my sister who has been on a long journey," replied his wife, "and now that she knows you are my husband she wants to kill you."
"oh, well, let her try," replied ball-carrier.
"it is not the first time people have wished to do that.
and here i am still, you see!"
"be careful," said the wife, "she is very cunning."
but at this moment the sister-in-law came up.
"how do you do, brother-in-law?
i have heard of you so often that i am very glad to meet you.
i am told that you are more powerful than any man on earth, and as i am powerful too, let us try which is the strongest."
"that will be delightful," answered he.
"suppose we begin with a short race, and then we will go on to other things."
"that will suit me very well," replied the woman, who was a witch.
"and let us agree that the one who wins shall have the right to kill the other."
"oh, certainly," said ball-carrier;" and i do n't think we shall find a flatter course than the prairie itself -- no one knows how many miles it stretches.
we will run to the end and back again."
this being settled they both made ready for the race, and ball-carrier silently begged the good spirits to help him, and not to let him fall into the hands of this wicked witch.
"when the sun touches the trunk of that tree we will start," said she, as they both stood side by side.
but with the first step ball-carrier changed himself into a wolf and for a long way kept ahead.
then gradually he heard her creeping up behind him, and soon she was in front.
so ball-carrier took the shape of a pigeon and flew rapidly past her, but in a little while she was in front again and the end of the prairie was in sight."
a crow can fly faster than a pigeon," thought he, and as a crow he managed to pass her and held his ground so long that he fancied she was quite beaten.
the witch began to be afraid of it too, and putting out all her strength slipped past him.
next he put on the shape of a hawk, and in this form he reached the bounds of the prairie, he and the witch turning homewards at the moment.
bird after bird he tried, but every time the witch gained on him and took the lead.
at length the goal was in sight, and ball-carrier knew that unless he could get ahead now he would be killed before his own door, under the eyes of his wife.
his eyes had grown dim from fatigue, his wings flapped wearily and hardly bore him along, while the witch seemed as fresh as ever.
what bird was there whose flight was swifter than his?
would not the good spirits tell him?
ah, of course he knew; why had he not thought of it at first and spared himself all that fatigue?
and the next instant a humming bird, dressed in green and blue, flashed past the woman and entered the house.
the witch came panting up, furious at having lost the race which she felt certain of winning; and ball-carrier, who had by this time changed back into his own shape, struck her on the head and killed her.
for a long while ball-carrier was content to stay quietly at home with his wife and children, for he was tired of adventures, and only did enough hunting to supply the house with food.
but one day he happened to eat some poisonous berries that he had found in the forest, and grew so ill that he felt he was going to die.
"when i am dead do not bury me in the earth," he said, "but put me over there, among that clump of trees."
so his wife and her three children watched by him as long as he was alive, and after he was dead they took him up and laid the body on a platform of stakes which they had prepared in the grove.
and as they returned weeping to the hut they caught a glimpse of the ball rolling away down the path back to the old grandmother.
one of the sons sprang forward to stop it, for ball-carrier had often told them the tale of how it had helped him to cross the river, but it was too quick for him, and they had to content themselves with the war club and bow and arrows, which were put carefully away.
by-and-by some travellers came past, and the chief among them asked leave to marry ball-carrier's daughter.
the mother said she must have a little time to think over it, as her daughter was still very young; so it was settled that the man should go away for a month with his friends, and then come back to see if the girl was willing.
now ever since ball-carrier's death the family had been very poor, and often could not get enough to eat.
one morning the girl, who had had no supper and no breakfast, wandered off to look for cranberries, and though she was quite near home was astonished at noticing a large hut, which certainly had not been there when last she had come that way.
no one was about, so she ventured to peep in, and her surprise was increased at seeing, heaped up in one corner, a quantity of food of all sorts, while a little robin redbreast stood perched on a beam looking down upon her.
"it is my father, i am sure," she cried; and the bird piped in answer.
from that day, whenever they wanted food they went to the hut, and though the robin could not speak, he would hop on their shoulders and let them feed him with the food they knew he liked best.
when the man came back he found the girl looking so much prettier and fatter than when he had left her, that he insisted that they should be married on the spot.
and the mother, who did not know how to get rid of him, gave in.
the husband spent all his time in hunting, and the family had never had so much meat before; but the man, who had seen for himself how poor they were, noticed with amazement that they did not seem to care about it, or to be hungry.
"they must get food from somewhere," he thought, and one morning, when he pretended to be going out to hunt, he hid in a thicket to watch.
very soon they all left the house together, and walked to the other hut, which the girl's husband saw for the first time, as it was hid in a hollow.
he followed, and noticed that each one went up to the redbreast, and shook him by the claw; and he then entered boldly and shook the bird's claw too.
the whole party afterwards sat down to dinner, after which they all returned to their own hut.
the next day the husband declared that he was very ill, and could not eat anything; but this was only a presence so that he might get what he wanted.
the family were all much distressed, and begged him to tell them what food he fancied.
"oh!
i could not eat any food," he answered every time, and at each answer his voice grew fainter and fainter, till they thought he would die from weakness before their eyes.
"there must be some thing you could take, if you would only say what it is," implored his wife.
"no, nothing, nothing; except, perhaps -- but of course that is impossible!"
"no, i am sure it is not," replied she; "you shall have it, i promise -- only tell me what it is.'"
i think -- but i could not ask you to do such a thing.
leave me alone, and let me die quietly."
"you shall not die," cried the girl, who was very fond of her husband, for he did not beat her as most girls" husbands did.
"whatever it is, i will manage to get it for you."
"well, then, i think, if i had that -- redbreast, nicely roasted, i could eat a little bit of his wing!"
the wife started back in horror at such a request; but the man turned his face to the wall, and took no notice, as he thought it was better to leave her to herself for a little.
weeping and wringing her hands, the girl went down to her mother.
the brothers were very angry when they heard the story, and declared that, if any one were to die, it certainly should not be the robin.
but all that night the man seemed getting weaker and weaker, and at last, quite early, the wife crept out, and stealing to the hut, killed the bird, and brought him home to her husband.
just as she was going to cook it her two brothers came in.
they cried out in horror at the sight, and, rushing out of the hut, declared they would never see her any more.
and the poor girl, with a heavy heart, took the body of the redbreast up to her husband.
but directly she entered the room the man told her that he felt a great deal better, and that he would rather have a piece of bear's flesh, well boiled, than any bird, however tender.
his wife felt very miserable to think that their beloved redbreast had been sacrificed for nothing, and begged him to try a little bit.
"you felt so sure that it would do you good before," said she, "that i ca n't help thinking it would quite cure you now."
but the man only flew into a rage, and flung the bird out of the window.
then he got up and went out.
now all this while the ball had been rolling, rolling, rolling to the old grandmother's hut on the other side of the world, and directly it rolled into her hut she knew that her grandson must be dead.
without wasting any time she took a fox skin and tied it round her forehead, and fastened another round her waist, as witches always do when they leave their own homes.
when she was ready she said to the ball: "go back the way you came, and lead me to my grandson."
and the ball started with the old woman following.
it was a long journey, even for a witch, but, like other things, it ended at last; and the old woman stood before the platform of stakes, where the body of ball-carrier lay.
"wake up, my grandson, it is time to go home," the witch said.
and ball-carrier stepped down oft the platform, and brought his club and bow and arrows out of the hut, and set out, for the other side of the world, behind the old woman.
when they reached the hut where ball-carrier had fasted so many years ago, the old woman spoke for the first time since they had started on their way.
"my grandson, did you ever manage to get that gold from the bad one?"
"yes, grandmother, i got it."
"where is it?"
she asked.
"here, in my left arm-pit," answered he.
so she picked up a knife and scraped away all the gold which had stuck to his skin, and which had been sticking there ever since he first stole it.
after she had finished she asked again: "my grandson, did you manage to get that bridge from the bad one?"
"yes, grandmother, i got that too," answered he.
"where is it?"
she asked, and ball-carrier lifted his right arm, and pointed to his arm-pit.
"here is the bridge, grandmother," said he.
then the witch did something that nobody in the world could have guessed that she would do.
first, she took the gold and said to ball-carrier: "my grandson, this gold must be hidden in the earth, for if people think they can get it when they choose, they will become lazy and stupid.
but if we take it and bury it in different parts of the world they will have to work for it if they want it, and then will only find a little at a time."
and as she spoke, she pulled up one of the poles of the hut, and ball-carrier saw that underneath was a deep, deep hole, which seemed to have no bottom.
down this hole she poured all the gold, and when it was out of sight it ran about all over the world, where people that dig hard sometimes find it.
and after that was done she put the pole back again.
next she lifted down a spade from a high shelf, where it had grown quite rusty, and dug a very small hole on the opposite side of the hut -- very small, but very deep.
"give me the bridge," said she, "for i am going to bury it here.
if anyone was to get hold of it, and find that they could cross rivers and seas without any trouble, they would never discover how to cross them for themselves.
i am a witch, and if i had chosen i could easily have cast my spells over the bad one, and have made him deliver them to you the first day you came into my hut.
but then you would never have fasted, and never have planned how to get what you wanted, and never have known the good spirits, and would have been fat and idle to the end of your days.
and now go; in that hut, which you can just see far away, live your father and mother, who are old people now, and need a son to hunt for them.
you have done what you were set to do, and i need you no more."
then ball-carrier remembered his parents and went back to them.
-lsb- from bureau of ethnology.
"indian folklore." -rsb-
the bunyip long, long ago, far, far away on the other side of the world, some young men left the camp where they lived to get some food for their wives and children.
the sun was hot, but they liked heat, and as they went they ran races and tried who could hurl his spear the farthest, or was cleverest in throwing a strange weapon called a boomerang, which always returns to the thrower.
they did not get on very fast at this rate, but presently they reached a flat place that in time of flood was full of water, but was now, in the height of summer, only a set of pools, each surrounded with a fringe of plants, with bulrushes standing in the inside of all.
in that country the people are fond of the roots of bulrushes, which they think as good as onions, and one of the young men said that they had better collect some of the roots and carry them back to the camp.
it did not take them long to weave the tops of the willows into a basket, and they were just going to wade into the water and pull up the bulrush roots when a youth suddenly called out: "after all, why should we waste our time in doing work that is only fit for women and children?
let them come and get the roots for themselves; but we will fish for eels and anything else we can get."
this delighted the rest of the party, and they all began to arrange their fishing lines, made from the bark of the yellow mimosa, and to search for bait for their hooks.
most of them used worms, but one, who had put a piece of raw meat for dinner into his skin wallet, cut off a little bit and baited his line with it, unseen by his companions.
for a long time they cast patiently, without receiving a single bite; the sun had grown low in the sky, and it seemed as if they would have to go home empty-handed, not even with a basket of roots to show; when the youth, who had baited his hook with raw meat, suddenly saw his line disappear under the water.
something, a very heavy fish he supposed, was pulling so hard that he could hardly keep his feet, and for a few minutes it seemed either as if he must let go or be dragged into the pool.
he cried to his friends to help him, and at last, trembling with fright at what they were going to see, they managed between them to land on the bank a creature that was neither a calf nor a seal, but something of both, with a long, broad tail.
they looked at each other with horror, cold shivers running down their spines; for though they had never beheld it, there was not a man amongst them who did not know what it was -- the cub of the awful bunyip!
all of a sudden the silence was broken by a low wail, answered by another from the other side of the pool, as the mother rose up from her den and came towards them, rage flashing from her horrible yellow eyes.
"let it go!
let it go!"
whispered the young men to each other; but the captor declared that he had caught it, and was going to keep it.
"he had promised his sweetheart," he said, "that he would bring back enough meat for her father's house to feast on for three days, and though they could not eat the little bunyip, her brothers and sisters should have it to play with."
so, flinging his spear at the mother to keep her back, he threw the little bunyip on to his shoulders, and set out for the camp, never heeding the poor mother's cries of distress.
by this time it was getting near sunset, and the plain was in shadow, though the tops of the mountains were still quite bright.
the youths had all ceased to be afraid, when they were startled by a low rushing sound behind them, and, looking round, saw that the pool was slowly rising, and the spot where they had landed the bunyip was quite covered.
"what could it be?"
they asked one of another; "there was not a cloud in the sky, yet the water had risen higher already than they had ever known it do before."
for an instant they stood watching as if they were frozen, then they turned and ran with all their might, the man with the bunyip running faster than all.
when he reached a high peak over-looking all the plain he stopped to take breath, and turned to see if he was safe yet.
safe!
why only the tops of the trees remained above that sea of water, and these were fast disappearing.
they must run fast indeed if they were to escape.
so on they flew, scarcely feeling the ground as they went, till they flung themselves on the ground before the holes scooped out of the earth where they had all been born.
the old men were sitting in front, the children were playing, and the women chattering together, when the little bunyip fell into their midst, and there was scarcely a child among them who did not know that something terrible was upon them.
"the water!
the water!"
gasped one of the young men; and there it was, slowly but steadily mounting the ridge itself.
parents and children clung together, as if by that means they could drive back the advancing flood; and the youth who had caused all this terrible catastrophe, seized his sweetheart, and cried: "i will climb with you to the top of that tree, and there no waters can reach us."
but, as he spoke, something cold touched him, and quickly he glanced down at his feet.
then with a shudder he saw that they were feet no longer, but bird's claws.
he looked at the girl he was clasping, and beheld a great black bird standing at his side; he turned to his friends, but a flock of great awkward flapping creatures stood in their place he put up his hands to cover his face, but they were no more hands, only the ends of wings; and when he tried to speak, a noise such as he had never heard before seemed to come from his throat, which had suddenly become narrow and slender.
already the water had risen to his waist, and he found himself sitting easily upon it, while its surface reflected back the image of a black swan, one of many.
never again did the swans become men; but they are still different from other swans, for in the night-time those who listen can hear them talk in a language that is certainly not swan's language; and there are even sounds of laughing and talking, unlike any noise made by the swans whom we know.
the little bunyip was carried home by its mother, and after that the waters sank back to their own channels.
the side of the pool where she lives is always shunned by everyone, as nobody knows when she may suddenly put out her head and draw him into her mighty jaws.
but people say that underneath the black waters of the pool she has a house filled with beautiful things, such as mortals who dwell on the earth have no idea of.
though how they know i can not tell you, as nobody has ever seen it.
-lsb- from journal of anthropological-institute. -rsb-
father grumbler once upon a time there lived a man who had nearly as many children as there were sparrows in the garden.
he had to work very hard all day to get them enough to eat, and was often tired and cross, and abused everything and everybody, so that people called him "father grumbler."
by-and-by he grew weary of always working, and on sundays he lay a long while in bed, instead of going to church.
then after a time he found it dull to sit so many hours by himself, thinking of nothing but how to pay the rent that was owing, and as the tavern across the road looked bright and cheerful, he walked in one day and sat down with his friends.
"it was just to chase away care," he said; but when he came out, hours and hours after, care came out with him.
father grumbler entered his house feeling more dismal than when he left it, for he knew that he had wasted both his time and his money."
i will go and see the holy man in the cave near the well," he said to himself, "and perhaps he can tell me why all the luck is for other people, and only misfortunes happen to me."
and he set out at once for the cave.
it was a long way off, and the road led over mountains and through valleys; but at last he reached the cave where the holy man dwelt, and knocked at the door.
"who is there?"
asked a voice from within.
"it is i, holy man, father grumbler, you know, who has as many children as sparrows in the garden."
"well, and what is it that you want?'"
i want to know why other people have all the luck, and only misfortunes happen to me!"
the holy man did not answer, but went into an inner cave, from which he came out bearing something in his hand.
"do you see this basket?"
said he.
"it is a magical basket, and if you are hungry you have only got to say: "little basket, little basket, do your duty," and you will eat the best dinner you ever had in your life.
but when you have had enough, be sure you do n't forget to cry out: "that will do for to-day."
oh!
-- and one thing more -- you need not show it to everybody and declare that i have give it to you.
do you understand?"
father grumbler was always accustomed to think of himself as so unlucky that he did not know whether the holy man was not playing a trick upon him; but he took the basket without being polite enough to say either "thank you," or "good-morning," and went away.
however, he only waited till he was out of sight of the cave before he stooped down and whispered: "little basket, little basket, do your duty."
now the basket had a lid, so that he could not see what was inside, but he heard quite clearly strange noises, as if a sort of scuffling was going on.
then the lid burst open, and a quantity of delicious little white rolls came tumbling out one after the other, followed by a stream of small fishes all ready cooked.
what a quantity there were to be sure!
the whole road was covered with them, and the banks on each side were beginning to disappear.
father grumbler felt quite frightened at the torrent, but at last he remembered what the holy man had told him, and cried at the top of his voice: "enough!
enough!
that will do for to-day!"
and the lid of the basket closed with a snap.
father grumbler sighed with relief and happiness as he looked around him, and sitting down on a heap of stones, he ate till he could eat no more.
trout, salmon, turbot, soles, and a hundred other fishes whose names he did not know, lay boiled, fried, and grilled within reach of his hands.
as the holy man had said, he had never eaten such a dinner; still, when he had done, he shook his head, and grumbled; "yes, there is plenty to eat, of course, but it only makes me thirsty, and there is not a drop to drink anywhere."
yet, somehow, he could never tell why, he looked up and saw the tavern in front of him, which he thought was miles, and miles, and miles away.
"bring the best wine you have got, and two glasses, good mother," he said as he entered, "and if you are fond of fish there is enough here to feed the house.
only there is no need to chatter about it all over the place.
you understand?
eh?"
and without waiting for an answer he whispered to the basket: "little basket, little basket, do your duty."
the innkeeper and his wife thought that their customer had gone suddenly mad, and watched him closely, ready to spring on him if he became violent; but both instinctively jumped backwards, nearly into the fire, as rolls and fishes of every kind came tumbling out of the basket, covering the tables and chairs and the floor, and even overflowing into the street.
"be quick, be quick, and pick them up," cried the man.
"and if these are not enough, there are plenty more to be had for the asking."
the innkeeper and his wife did not need telling twice.
down they went on their knees and gathered up everything they could lay hands on.
but busy though they seemed, they found time to whisper to each other: "if we can only get hold of that basket it will make our fortune!"
so they began by inviting father grumbler to sit down to the table, and brought out the best wine in the cellar, hoping it might loosen his tongue.
but father grumbler was wiser than they gave him credit for, and though they tried in all manner of ways to find out who had given him the basket, he put them off, and kept his secret to himself.
unluckily, though he did not speak, he did drink, and it was not long before he fell fast asleep.
then the woman fetched from her kitchen a basket, so like the magic one that no one, without looking very closely, could tell the difference, and placed it in father grumbler's hand, while she hid the other carefully away.
it was dinner time when the man awoke, and, jumping up hastily, he set out for home, where he found all the children gathered round a basin of thin soup, and pushing their wooden bowls forward, hoping to have the first spoonful.
their father burst into the midst of them, bearing his basket, and crying: "do n't spoil your appetites, children, with that stuff.
do you see this basket?
well, i have only got to say, "little basket, little basket, do your duty," and you will see what will happen.
now you shall say it instead of me, for a treat."
the children, wondering and delighted, repeated the words, but nothing happened.
again and again they tried, but the basket was only a basket, with a few scales of fish sticking to the bottom, for the innkeeper's wife had taken it to market the day before.
"what is the matter with the thing?"
cried the father at last, snatching the basket from them, and turning it all over, grumbling and swearing while he did so, under the eyes of his astonished wife and children, who did not know whether to cry or to laugh.
"it certainly smells of fish," he said, and then he stopped, for a sudden thought had come to him.
"suppose it is not mine at all; supposing -- ah, the scoundrels!"
and without listening to his wife and children, who were frightened at his strange conduct and begged him to stay at home, he ran across to the tavern and burst open the door.
"can i do anything for you, father grumbler?"
asked the innkeeper's wife in her softest voice."
i have taken the wrong basket -- by mistake, of course," said he.
"here is yours, will you give me back my own?"
"why, what are you talking about?"
answered she.
"you can see for yourself that there is no basket here."
and though father grumbler did look, it was quite true that none was to be seen.
"come, take a glass to warm you this cold day," said the woman, who was anxious to keep him in a good temper, and as this was an invitation father grumbler never refused, he tossed it off and left the house.
he took the road that led to the holy man's cave, and made such haste that it was not long before he reached it.
"who is there?"
said a voice in answer to his knock.
"it is me, it is me, holy man.
you know quite well.
father grumbler, who has as many children as sparrows in the garden."
"but, my good man, it was only yesterday that i gave you a handsome present."
"yes, holy man, and here it is.
but something has happened, i do n't know what, and it wo n't work any more."
"well, put it down.
i will go and see if i can find anything for you."
in a few minutes the holy man returned with a cock under his arm.
"listen to me," he said, "whenever you want money, you only have to say: "show me what you can do, cock," and you will see some wonderful things.
but, remember, it is not necessary to let all the world into the secret."
"oh no, holy man, i am not so foolish as that."
"nor to tell everybody that i gave it to you," went on the holy man."
i have not got these treasures by the dozen."
and without waiting for an answer he shut the door.
as before, the distance seemed to have wonderfully shortened, and in a moment the tavern rose up in front of father grumbler.
without stopping to think, he went straight in, and found the innkeeper's wife in the kitchen making a cake.
"where have you come from, with that fine red cock in your basket," asked she, for the bird was so big that the lid would not shut down properly.
"oh, i come from a place where they do n't keep these things by the dozen," he replied, sitting down in front of the table.
the woman said no more, but set before him a bottle of his favourite wine, and soon he began to wish to display his prize.
"show me what you can do, cock," cried he.
and the cock stood up and flapped his wings three times, crowing "coquerico" with a voice like a trumpet, and at each crow there fell from his beak golden drops, and diamonds as large as peas.
this time father grumbler did not invite the innkeeper's wife to pick up his treasures, but put his own hat under the cock's beak, so as to catch everything he let fall; and he did not see the husband and wife exchanging glances with each other which said, "that would be a splendid cock to put with our basket."
"have another glass of wine?"
suggested the innkeeper, when they had finished admiring the beauty of the cock, for they pretended not to have seen the gold or the diamonds.
and father grumbler, nothing loth, drank one glass after another, till his head fell forward on the table, and once more he was sound asleep.
then the woman gently coaxed the cock from the basket and carried it off to her own poultry yard, from which she brought one exactly like it, and popped it in its place.
night was falling when the man awoke, and throwing proudly some grains of gold on the table to pay for the wine he had drunk, he tucked the cock comfortably into his basket and set out for home.
his wife and all the children were waiting for him at the door, and as soon as she caught sight of him she broke out: "you are a nice man to go wasting your time and your money drinking in that tavern, and leaving us to starve!
are n't you ashamed of yourself?"
"you do n't know what you are talking of," he answered.
"money?
why, i have gold and diamonds now, as much as i want.
do you see that cock?
well, you have only to say to him, "show me what you can do, cock," and something splendid will happen."
neither wife nor children were inclined to put much faith in him after their last experience; however, they thought it was worth trying, and did as he told them.
the cock flew round the room like a mad thing, and crowed till their heads nearly split with the noise; but no gold or diamonds dropped on the brick floor -- not the tiniest grain of either.
father grumbler stared in silence for an instant, and then he began to swear so loudly that even his family, accustomed as they were to his language, wondered at him.
at last he grew a little quieter, but remained as puzzled as ever.
"can i have forgotten the words?
but i know that was what he said!
and i saw the diamonds with my own eyes!"
then suddenly he seized the cock, shut it into the basket, and rushed out of the house.
his heavy wooden shoes clattered as he ran along the road, and he made such haste that the stars were only just beginning to come out when he reached the cave of the holy man.
"who is that knocking?"
asked a voice from within.
"it is me!
it is me!
holy man!
you know!
father --" "but, my good fellow, you really should give some one else a chance.
this is the third time you have been -- and at such an hour, too!"
"oh, yes, holy man, i know it is very late, but you will forgive me!
it is your cock -- there is something the matter.
it is like the basket.
look!"
"that my cock?
that my basket?
somebody has played you a trick, my good man!'"
a trick?"
repeated father grumbler, who began to understand what had happened.
"then it must have been those two --"' i warned you not to show them to anybody," said the holy man.
"you deserve -- but i will give you one more chance."
and, turning, he unhooked something from the wall.
"when you wish to dust your own jacket or those of your friends," he said, "you have only got to say, "flack, flick, switch, be quick," and you will see what happens.
that is all i have to tell you."
and, smiling to himself, the holy man pushed father grumbler out of the cave.
"ah, i understand now," muttered the good man, as he took the road home; "but i think i have got you two rascals!"
and he hurried on to the tavern with his basket under his arm, and the cock and the switch both inside.
"good evening, friends!"
he said, as he entered the inn."
i am very hungry, and should be glad if you would roast this cock for me as soon as possible.
this cock and no other -- mind what i say," he went on.
"oh, and another thing!
you can light the fire with this basket.
when you have done that i will show you something i have in my bag," and, as he spoke, he tried to imitate the smile that the holy man had given him.
these directions made the innkeeper's wife very uneasy.
however, she said nothing, and began to roast the cock, while her husband did his best to make the man sleepy with wine, but all in vain.
after dinner, which he did not eat without grumbling, for the cock was very tough, the man struck his hand on the table, and said: "now listen to me.
go and fetch my cock and my basket, at once.
do you hear?"
"your cock, and your basket, father grumbler?
but you have just --" "my cock and my basket!"
interrupted he.
"and, if you are too deaf and too stupid to understand what that means, i have got something which may help to teach you."
and opening the bag, he cried: "flack, flick, switch, be quick."
and flack!
flick!
like lightening a white switch sprang out of the bag, and gave such hearty blows to the innkeeper and his wife, and to father grumbler into the bargain, that they all jumped as high as feathers when a mattress is shaken.
"stop!
stop!
make it stop, and you shall have back your cock and basket," cried the man and his wife.
and father grumbler, who had no wish to go on, called out between his hops: "stop then, ca n't you?
that is enough for to-day!"
but the switch paid no attention, and dealt out its blows as before, and might have been dealing them to this day, if the holy man had not heard their cries and come to the rescue.
"into the bag, quick!"
said he, and the switch obeyed.
"now go and fetch me the cock and the basket," and the woman went without a word, and placed them on the table.
"you have all got what you deserved," continued the holy man, "and i have no pity for any of you.
i shall take my treasures home, and perhaps some day i may find a man who knows how to make the best of the chances that are given to him.
but that will never be you," he added, turning to father grumbler.
-lsb- from contes populaires. -rsb-
the story of the yara down in the south, where the sun shines so hotly that everything and everybody sleeps all day, and even the great forests seem silent, except early in the morning and late in the evening -- down in this country there once lived a young man and a maiden.
the girl had been born in the town, and had scarcely ever left it; but the young man was a native of another country, and had only come to the city near the great river because he could find no work to do where he was.
a few months after his arrival, when the days were cooler, and the people did not sleep so much as usual, a great feast was held a little way out of the town, and to this feast everyone flocked from thirty miles and more.
some walked and some rode, some came in beautiful golden coaches; but all had on splendid dresses of red or blue, while wreaths of flowers rested on their hair.
it was the first time that the youth had been present on such an occasion, and he stood silently aside watching the graceful dances and the pretty games played by the young people.
and as he watched, he noticed one girl, dressed in white with scarlet pomegranates in her hair, who seemed to him lovelier than all the rest.
when the feast was over, and the young man returned home, his manner was so strange that it drew the attention of all his friends.
through his work next day the youth continued to see the girl's face, throwing the ball to her companions, or threading her way between them as she danced.
at night sleep fled from him, and after tossing for hours on his bed, he would get up and plunge into a deep pool that lay a little way in the forest.
this state of things went on for some weeks, then at last chance favoured him.
one evening, as he was passing near the house where she lived, he saw her standing with her back to the wall, trying to beat off with her fan the attacks of a savage dog that was leaping at her throat.
alonzo, for such was his name, sprang forward, and with one blow of his fist stretched the creature dead upon the road.
he then helped the frightened and half-fainting girl into the large cool verandah where her parents were sitting, and from that hour he was a welcome guest in the house, and it was not long before he was the promised husband of julia.
every day, when his work was done, he used to go up to the house, half hidden among flowering plants and brilliant creepers, where humming-birds darted from bush to bush, and parrots of all colours, red and green and grey, shrieked in chorus.
there he would find the maiden waiting for him, and they would spend an hour or two under the stars, which looked so large and bright that you felt as if you could almost touch them.
"what did you do last night after you went home?"
suddenly asked the girl one evening.
"just the same as i always do," answered he.
"it was too hot to sleep, so it was no use going to bed, and i walked straight of to the forest and bathed in one of those deep dark pools at the edge of the river.
i have been there constantly for several months, but last night a strange thing happened.
i was taking my last plunge, when i heard -- sometimes from one side, and sometimes from another -- the sound of a voice singing more sweetly than any nightingale, though i could not catch any words.
i left the pool, and, dressing myself as fast as i could, i searched every bush and tree round the water, as i fancied that perhaps it was my friend who was playing a trick on me, but there was not a creature to be seen; and when i reached home i found my friend fast asleep."
as julia listened her face grew deadly white, and her whole body shivered as if with cold.
from her childhood she had heard stories of the terrible beings that lived in the forests and were hidden under the banks of the rivers, and could only be kept off by powerful charms.
could the voice which had bewitched alonzo have come from one of these?
perhaps, who knows, it might be the voice of the dreaded yara herself, who sought young men on the eve of their marriage as her prey.
for a moment the girl sat choked with fear, as these thoughts rushed through her; then she said: "alonzo, will you promise something?"
"what is that?"
asked he.
"it is something that has to do with our future happiness."
"oh!
it is serious, then?
well, of course i promise.
now tell me!'"
i want you to promise," she answered, lowering her voice to a whisper, "never to bathe in those pools again."
"but why not, queen of my soul; have i not gone there always, and nothing has harmed me, flower of my heart?"
"no; but perhaps something will.
if you will not promise i shall go mad with fright.
promise me."
"why, what is the matter?
you look so pale!
tell me why you are so frightened?"
"did you not hear the song?"
she asked, trembling.
"suppose i did, how could that hurt me?
it was the loveliest song i ever heard!"
"yes, and after the song will come the apparition; and after that -- after that --"' i do n't understand.
well -- after that?"
"after that -- death."
alonzo stared at her.
had she really gone mad?
such talk was very unlike julia; but before he could collect his senses the girl spoke again: "that is the reason why i implore you never to go there again; at any rate till after we are married."
"and what difference will our marriage make?"
"oh, there will be no danger then; you can go to bathe as often as you like!"
"but tell me why you are so afraid?"
"because the voice you heard -- i know you will laugh, but it is quite true -- it was the voice of the yara."
at these words alonzo burst into a shout of laughter; but it sounded so harsh and loud that julia shrank away shuddering.
it seemed as if he could not stop himself, and the more he laughed the paler the poor girl became, murmuring to herself as she watched him: "oh, heaven!
you have seen her!
you have seen her!
what shall i do?"
faint as was her whisper, it reached the ears of alonzo, who, though he still could not speak for laughing, shook his head.
"you may not know it, but it is true.
nobody who has not seen the yara laughs like that."
and julia flung herself on the ground weeping bitterly.
at this sight alonzo became suddenly grave, and kneeling by her side, gently raised her up.
"do not cry so, my angel," he said," i will promise anything you please.
only let me see you smile again."
with a great effort julia checked her sobs, and rose to her feet.
"thank you," she answered.
"my heart grows lighter as you say that!
i know you will try to keep your word and to stay away from the forest.
but -- the power of the yara is very strong, and the sound of her voice is apt to make men forget everything else in the world.
oh, i have seen it, and more than one betrothed maiden lives alone, broken-hearted.
if ever you should return to the pool where you first heard the voice, promise me that you will at least take this with you."
and opening a curiously carved box, she took out a sea-shell shot with many colours, and sang a song softly into it.
"the moment you hear the yara's voice," said she, "put this to your ear, and you will hear my song instead.
perhaps -- i do not know for certain -- but perhaps, i may be stronger than the yara."
it was late that night when alonzo returned home.
the moon was shining on the distant river, which looked cool and inviting, and the trees of the forest seemed to stretch out their arms and beckon him near.
but the young man steadily turned his face in the other direction, and went home to bed.
the struggle had been hard, but alonzo had his reward next day in the joy and relief with which julia greeted him.
he assured her that having overcome the temptation once the danger was now over; but she, knowing better than he did the magic of the yara's face and voice, did not fail to make him repeat his promise when he went away.
for three nights alonzo kept his word, not because he believed in the yara, for he thought that the tales about her were all nonsense, but because he could not bear the tears with which he knew that julia would greet him, if he confessed that he had returned to the forest.
but, in spite of this, the song rang in his ears, and daily grew louder.
on the fourth night the attraction of the forest grew so strong that neither the thought of julia nor the promises he had made her could hold him back.
at eleven o'clock he plunged into the cool darkness of the trees, and took the path that led straight to the river.
yet, for the first time, he found that julia's warnings, though he had laughed at her at the moment, had remained in his memory, and he glanced at the bushes with a certain sense of fear which was quite new to him.
when he reached the river he paused and looked round for a moment to make sure that the strange feeling of some one watching him was fancy, and he was really alone.
but the moon shone brightly on every tree, and nothing was to be seen but his own shadow; nothing was to be heard but the sound of the rippling stream.
he threw off his clothes, and was just about to dive in headlong, when something -- he did not know what -- suddenly caused him to look round.
at the same instant the moon passed from behind a cloud, and its rays fell on a beautiful golden-haired woman standing half hidden by the ferns.
with one bound he caught up his mantle, and rushed headlong down the path he had come, fearing at each step to feel a hand laid on his shoulder.
it was not till he had left the last trees behind him, and was standing in the open plain, that he dared to look round, and then he thought a figure in white was still standing there waving her arms to and fro.
this was enough; he ran along the road harder than ever, and never paused till he was save in his own room.
with the earliest rays of dawn he went back to the forest to see whether he could find any traces of the yara, but though he searched every clump of bushes, and looked up every tree, everything was empty, and the only voices he heard were those of parrots, which are so ugly that they only drive people away."
i think i must be mad," he said to himself, "and have dreamt all that folly"; and going back to the city he began his daily work.
but either that was harder than usual, or he must be ill, for he could not fix his mind upon it, and everybody he came across during the day inquired if anything had happened to give him that white, frightened look."
i must be feverish," he said to himself; "after all, it is rather dangerous to take a cold bath when one is feeling so hot."
yet he knew, while he said it, that he was counting the hours for night to come, that he might return to the forest.
in the evening he went as usual to the creeper-covered house.
but he had better have stayed away, as his face was so pale and his manner so strange, that the poor girl saw that something terrible had occurred.
alonzo, however, refused to answer any of her questions, and all she could get was a promise to hear everything the next day.
on pretence of a violent headache, he left julia much earlier than usual and hurried quickly home.
taking down a pistol, he loaded it and put it in his belt, and a little before midnight he stole out on the tips of his toes, so as to disturb nobody.
once outside he hastened down the road which led to the forest.
he did not stop till he had reached the river pool, when holding the pistol in his hand, he looked about him.
at every little noise -- the falling of a leaf, the rustle of an animal in the bushes, the cry of a night-bird -- he sprang up and cocked his pistol in the direction of the sound.
but though the moon still shone he saw nothing, and by and by a kind of dreamy state seemed to steal over him as he leant against a tree.
how long he remained in this condition he could not have told, but suddenly he awoke with a start, on hearing his name uttered softly.
"who is that?"
he cried, standing upright instantly; but only an echo answered him.
then his eyes grew fascinated with the dark waters of the pool close to his feet, and he looked at it as if he could never look away.
he gazed steadily into the depths for some minutes, when he became aware that down in the darkness was a bright spark, which got rapidly bigger and brighter.
again that feeling of awful fear took possession of him, and he tried to turn his eyes from the pool.
but it was no use; something stronger than himself compelled him to keep them there.
at last the waters parted softly, and floating on the surface he saw the beautiful woman whom he had fled from only a few nights before.
he turned to run, but his feet were glued to the spot.
she smiled at him and held out her arms, but as she did so there came over him the remembrance of julia, as he had seen her a few hours earlier, and her warnings and fears for the very danger in which he now found himself.
meanwhile the figure was always drawing nearer, nearer; but, with a violent effort, alonzo shook off his stupor, and taking aim at her shoulder he pulled the trigger.
the report awoke the sleeping echoes, and was repeated all through the forest, but the figure smiled still, and went on advancing.
again alonzo fired, and a second time the bullet whistled through the air, and the figure advanced nearer.
a moment more, and she would be at his side.
then, his pistol being empty, he grasped the barrel with both hands, and stood ready to use it as a club should the yara approach and closer.
but now it seemed her turn to feel afraid, for she paused an instant while he pressed forward, still holding the pistol above his head, prepared to strike.
in his excitement he had forgotten the river, and it was not till the cold water touched his feet that he stood still by instinct.
the yara saw that he was wavering, and suffering herself to sway gently backwards and forwards on the surface of the river, she began to sing.
the song floated through the trees, now far and now near; no one could tell whence it came, the whole air seemed full of it.
alonzo felt his senses going and his will failing.
his arms dropped heavily to his side, but in falling struck against the sea shell, which, as he had promised julia, he had always carried in his coat.
his dimmed mind was just clear enough to remember what she had said, and with trembling fingers, that were almost powerless to grasp, he drew it out.
as he did so the song grew sweeter and more tender than before, but he shut his ears to it and bent his head over the shell.
out of its depths arose the voice of julia singing to him as she had sung when she gave him the shell, and though the notes sounded faint at first, they swelled louder and louder till the mist which had gathered about him was blown away.
then he raised his head, feeling that he had been through strange places, where he could never wander any more; and he held himself erect and strong, and looked about him.
nothing was to be seen but the shining of the river, and the dark shadows of the trees; nothing was to be heard but the hum of the insects, as they darted through the night.
-lsb- adapted from folklore bresilien. -rsb-
the cunning hare in a very cold country, far across the seas, where ice and snow cover the ground for many months in the year, there lived a little hare, who, as his father and mother were both dead, was brought up by his grandmother.
as he was too young, and she was too old, to work, they were very poor, and often did not have enough to eat.
one day, when the little fellow was hungrier than usual, he asked his grandmother if he might go down to the river and catch a fish for their breakfast, as the thaw had come and the water was flowing freely again.
she laughed at him for thinking that any fish would let itself be caught by a hare, especially such a young one; but as she had the rheumatism very badly, and could get no food herself, she let him go.
"if he does not catch a fish he may find something else," she said to herself.
so she told her grandson where to look for the net, and how he was to set it across the river; but just as he was starting, feeling himself quite a man, she called him back.
"after all, i do n't know what is the use of your going, my boy!
for even if you should catch a fish, i have no fire to cook it with."
"let me catch my fish, and i will soon make you a fire," he answered gaily, for he was young, and knew nothing about the difficulties of fire-making.
it took him some time to haul the net through bushes and over fields, but at length he reached a pool in the river which he had often heard was swarming with fish, and here he set the net, as his grandmother had directed him.
he was so excited that he hardly slept all night, and at the very first streak of dawn he ran as fast as ever he could down to the river.
his heart beat as quickly as if he had had dogs behind him, and he hardly dared to look, lest he should be disappointed.
would there be even one fish?
and at this thought the pangs of hunger made him feel quite sick with fear.
but he need not have been afraid; in every mesh of the net was a fine fat fish, and of course the net itself was so heavy that he could only lift one corner.
he threw some of the fish back into the water, and buried some more in a hole under a stone, where he would be sure to find them.
then he rolled up the net with the rest, put it on his back and carried it home.
the weight of the load caused his back to ache, and he was thankful to drop it outside their hut, while he rushed in, full of joy, to tell his grandmother.
"be quick and clean them!"
he said, "and i will go to those people's tents on the other side of the water."
the old woman stared at him in horror as she listened to his proposal.
other people had tried to steal fire before, and few indeed had come back with their lives; but as, contrary to all her expectations, he had managed to catch such a number of fish, she thought that perhaps there was some magic about him which she did not know of, and did not try to hinder him.
when the fish were all taken out, he fetched the net which he had laid out to dry, folded it up very small, and ran down to the river, hoping that he might find a place narrow enough for him to jump over; but he soon saw that it was too wide for even the best jumper in the world.
for a few moments he stood there, wondering what was to be done, then there darted into his head some words of a spell which he had once heard a wizard use, while drinking from the river.
he repeated them, as well as he could remember, and waited to see what would happen.
in five minutes such a grunting and a puffing was heard, and columns of water rose into the air, though he could not tell what had made them.
then round the bend of the stream came fifteen huge whales, which he ordered to place themselves heads to tails, like stepping stones, so that he could jump from one to the other till he landed on the opposite shore.
directly he got there he told the whales that he did not need them any more, and sat down in the sand to rest.
unluckily some children who were playing about caught sight of him, and one of them, stealing softly up behind him, laid tight hold of his ears.
the hare, who had been watching the whales as they sailed down the river, gave a violent start, and struggled to get away; but the boy held on tight, and ran back home, as fast as he could go.
"throw it in the pot," said the old woman, as soon as he had told his story; "put it in that basket, and as soon as the water boils in the pot we will hang it over the fire!"
"better kill it first," said the old man; and the hare listened, horribly frightened, but still looking secretly to see if there was no hole through which he could escape, if he had a chance of doing so.
yes, there was one, right in the top of the tent, so, shaking himself, as if with fright, he let the end of his net unroll itself a little."
i wish that a spark of fire would fall on my net," whispered he; and the next minute a great log fell forward into the midst of the tent, causing every one to spring backwards.
the sparks were scattered in every direction, and one fell on the net, making a little blaze.
in an instant the hare had leaped through the hole, and was racing towards the river, with men, women, and children after him.
there was no time to call back the whales, so, holding the net tight in his mouth, he wished himself across the river.
then he jumped high into the air, and landed safe on the other side, and after turning round to be sure that there was no chance of anyone pursuing him, trotted happily home to his grandmother.
"did n't i tell you i would bring you fire?"
said he, holding up his net, which was now burning briskly.
"but how did you cross the water?"
inquired the old woman.
"oh, i just jumped!"
said he.
and his grandmother asked him no more questions, for she saw that he was wiser than she.
-lsb- "indian folk tales."
bureau of ethnology. -rsb-
the turtle and his bride there was once a turtle who lived among a great many people of different kinds, in a large camp near a big river which was born right up amongst the snows, and flowed straight away south till it reached a sea where the water was always hot.
there were many other turtles in the camp, and this turtle was kind and pleasant to them all, but he did not care for any of them very much, and felt rather lonely.
at last he built himself a hut, and filled it with skins for seats, and made it as comfortable as any hut for miles round; and when it was quite finished he looked about among the young women to see which of them he should ask to be his wife.
it took him some time to make up his mind, for no turtle likes being hurried, but at length he found one girl who seemed prettier and more industrious than the rest, and one day he entered her home, and said: "will you marry me?"
the young woman was so surprised at this question that she dropped the beaded slipper she was making, and stared at the turtle.
she felt inclined to laugh -- the idea was so absurd; but she was kind-hearted and polite, so she looked as grave as she could, and answered: "but how are you going to provide for a family?
why, when the camp moves, you will not even be able to keep up with the rest!'"
i can keep up with the best of them," replied the turtle, tossing his head.
but though he was very much offended he did not let the girl see it, and begged and, prayed her so hard to marry him that, at last, she consented, very unwillingly.
"you will have to wait till the spring, though," she said;" i must make a great many slippers and dresses for myself, as i shall not have much time afterwards."
this did not please the turtle; but he knew it was no use talking, so all he answered was: "i shall go to war and take some captives, and i shall be away several months.
and when i return i shall expect you to be ready to marry me."
so he went back to his hut, and at once set about his preparations.
the first thing he did was to call all his relations together, and ask them if they would come with him and make war on the people of a neighbouring village.
the turtles, who were tired of doing nothing, agreed at once, and next day the whole tribe left the camp.
the girl was standing at the door of her hut as they passed, and laughed out loud -- they moved so slowly.
her lover, who was marching at the head, grew very angry at this, and cried out: "in four days from now you will be weeping instead of laughing, because there will be hundreds of miles between you and me."
"in four days," replied the girl -- who only promised to marry him in order to get rid of him -- "in four days you will hardly be out of sight."
"oh, i did not mean four days, but four years," answered the turtle, hastily; "whatever happens i shall be back by then."
the army marched on, till one day, when they felt as if they must have got half round the earth, though they were scarcely four miles from the camp, they found a large tree lying across their path.
they looked at it with dismay, and the oldest among them put their heads together to see what was to be done.
"ca n't we manage to get past by the top?"
asked one.
"why, it would take us years," exclaimed another.
"just look at all those tall green branches, spreading in every direction.
if once we got entangled in them, we should never get out again!"
"well then, let us go round by the bottom," said a third.
"how are we to do that, when the roots have made a deep hole, and above that is a high bank?"
replied a fourth.
"no; the only way i can think of, is to burn a large hole in the trunk."
and this they did, but the trunk was very thick, and would not burn through.
"it is no use, we must give it up," they agreed at last.
"after all, nobody need ever know!
we have been away such a long while that we might easily have had all sorts of adventures."
and so the whole company turned homewards again.
they took even longer to go back than they had to come, for they were tired and footsore with their journey.
when they drew near the camp they plucked up their courage, and began to sing a war-song.
at this the villagers came flocking to see what spoils the turtles had won, but, as they approached, each turtle seized some one by the wrist, exclaiming: "you are our spoils; you are our prisoners!"
"now that i have got you i will keep you," said the leader, who had happened to seize his betrothed.
everybody was naturally very angry at this behaviour, and the girl most of all, and in her secret heart she determined to have her revenge.
but, just at present, the turtles were too strong, so the prisoners had to put on their smartest slippers and their brightest clothes, and dance a war dance while the turtles sang.
they danced so long that it seemed as if they would never stop, till the turtle who was leading the singing suddenly broke into a loud chant: whoever comes here, will die, will die!
at this all the dancers grew so frightened that they burst through the ring of their captors, and ran back to the village, the turtles following -- very slowly.
on the way the chief turtle met a man, who said to him: "that woman who was to have been your wife has married another man!"
"is that true?"
said the turtle.
"then i must see him."
but as soon as the villager was out of sight the turtle stopped, and taking a bundle containing fringes and ornaments from his back, he hung them about him, so that they rattled as he walked.
when he was quite close to the hut where the woman lived, he cried out: "here i am to claim the woman who promised to be my wife."
"oh, here is the turtle," whispered the husband hurriedly; "what is to be done now?"
"leave that to me; i will manage him," replied the wife, and at that moment the turtle came in, and seized her by the wrist.
"come with me," he said sternly.
"you broke your promise," answered she.
"you said you would be back soon, and it is more than a year since you went!
how was i to know that you were alive?"
at her words the husband took courage, and spoke hastily: "yes, you promised you would go to war and bring back some prisoners, and you have not done it.'"
i did go, and made many prisoners," retorted the turtle angrily, drawing out his knife.
"look here, if she wo n't be my wife, she sha'n' t be yours.
i will cut her in two; and you shall have one half, and i the other."
"but half a woman is no use to me," answered the man.
"if you want her so much you had better take her."
and the turtle, followed by his relations, carried her off to his own hut.
now the woman saw she would gain nothing by being sulky, so she pretended to be very glad to have got rid of her husband; but all the while she was trying to invent a plan to deliver herself from the turtle.
at length she remembered that one of her friends had a large iron pot, and when the turtle had gone to his room to put away his fringes, she ran over to her neighbour's and brought it back.
then she filled it with water and hung it over the fire to boil.
it was just beginning to bubble and hiss when the turtle entered.
"what are you doing there?"
asked he, for he was always afraid of things that he did not understand.
"just warming some water," she answered.
"do you know how to swim?"
"yes, of course i do.
what a question!
but what does it matter to you?"
said the turtle, more suspicious than ever.
"oh, i only thought that after your long journey you might like to wash.
the roads are so muddy, after the winter's rains.
i could rub your shell for you till it was bright and shining again.
"well, i am rather muddy.
if one is fighting, you know, one can not stop to pick one's way.
i should certainly be more comfortable if my back was washed."
the woman did not wait for him to change his mind.
she caught him up by his shell and popped him straight into the pot, where he sank to the bottom, and died instantly.
the other turtles, who were standing at the door, saw their leader disappear, and felt it was their duty as soldiers to follow him; and, springing into the pot, died too.
all but one young turtle, who, frightened at not seeing any of his friends come out again, went as fast as he could to a clump of bushes, and from there made his way to the river.
his only thought was to get away as far as possible from that dreadful hut; so he let the river carry him where it was going itself, and at last, one day, he found himself in the warm sea, where, if he is not dead, you may meet him still.
-lsb- bureau of ethnology. -rsb-
how geirald the coward was punished once upon a time there lived a poor knight who had a great many children, and found it very hard to get enough for them to eat.
one day he sent his eldest son, rosald, a brave and honest youth, to the neighbouring town to do some business, and here rosald met a young man named geirald, with whom he made friends.
now geirald was the son of a rich man, who was proud of the boy, and had all his life allowed him to do whatever he fancied, and, luckily for the father, he was prudent and sensible, and did not waste money, as many other rich young men might have done.
for some time he had set his heart on travelling into foreign countries, and after he had been talking for a little while to rosald, he asked if his new friend would be his companion on his journey.
"there is nothing i should like better," answered rosald, shaking his head sorrowfully; "but my father is very poor, and he could never give me the money."
"oh, if that is your only difficulty, it is all right," cried geirald.
"my father has more money than he knows what to do with, and he will give me as much as i want for both of us; only, there is one thing you must promise me, rosald, that, supposing we have any adventures, you will let the honour and glory of them fall to me."
"yes, of course, that is only fair," answered rosald, who never cared about putting himself forward.
"but i can not go without telling my parents.
i am sure they will think me lucky to get such a chance."
as soon as the business was finished, rosald hastened home.
his parents were delighted to hear of his good fortune, and his father gave him his own sword, which was growing rusty for want of use, while his mother saw that his leather jerkin was in order.
"be sure you keep the promise you made to geirald," said she, as she bade him good-bye, "and, come what may, see that you never betray him."
full of joy rosald rode off, and the next day he and geirald started off to seek adventures.
to their disappointment their own land was so well governed that nothing out of the common was very likely to happen, but directly they crossed the border into another kingdom all seemed lawlessness and confusion.
they had not gone very far, when, riding across a mountain, they caught a glimpse of several armed men hiding amongst some trees in their path, and remembered suddenly some talk they had heard of a band of twelve robbers who lay in wait for rich travellers.
the robbers were more like savage beasts than men, and lived somewhere at the top of the mountain in caves and holes in the ground.
they were all called "hankur," and were distinguished one from another by the name of a colour -- blue, grey, red, and so on, except their chief, who was known as hankur the tall.
all this and more rushed into the minds of the two young men as they saw the flash of their swords in the moonlight.
"it is impossible to fight them -- they are twelve to two," whispered geirald, stopping his horse in the path.
"we had much better ride back and take the lower road.
it would be stupid to throw away our lives like this."
"oh, we ca n't turn back," answered rosald, "we should be ashamed to look anyone in the face again!
and, besides, it is a grand opportunity to show what we are made of.
let us tie up our horses here, and climb up the rocks so that we can roll stones down on them."
"well, we might try that, and then we shall always have our horses," said geirald.
so they went up the rocks silently and carefully.
the robbers were lying all ready, expecting every moment to see their victims coming round the corner a few yards away, when a shower of huge stones fell on their heads, killing half the band.
the others sprang up the rock, but as they reached the top the sword of rosald swung round, and one man after another rolled down into the valley.
at last the chief managed to spring up, and, grasping rosald by the waist, flung away his sword, and the two fought desperately, their bodies swaying always nearer the edge.
it seemed as if rosald, being the smaller of the two, must fall over, when, with his left hand, he drew the robber's sword out of its sheath and plunged it into his heart.
then he took from the dead man a beautiful ring set with a large stone, and put it on his own finger.
the fame of this wonderful deed soon spread through the country, and people would often stop geirald's horse, and ask leave to see the robber's ring, which was said to have been stolen from the father of the reigning king.
and geirald showed them the ring with pride, and listened to their words of praise, and no one would ever have guessed anyone else had destroyed the robbers.
in a few days they left the kingdom and rode on to another, where they thought they would stop through the remainder of the winter, for geirald liked to be comfortable, and did not care about travelling through ice and snow.
but the king would only grant them leave to stop on condition that, before the winter was ended, they should give him some fresh proof of the courage of which he had heard so much.
rosald's heart was glad at the king's message, and as for geirald, he felt that as long as rosald was there all would go well.
so they both bowed low and replied that it was the king's place to command and theirs to obey.
"well, then," said his majesty, "this is what i want you to do: in the north-east part of my kingdom there dwells a giant, who has an iron staff twenty yards long, and he is so quick in using it, that even fifty knights have no chance against him.
the bravest and strongest young men of my court have fallen under the blows of that staff; but, as you overcame the twelve robbers so easily, i feel that i have reason to hope that you may be able to conquer the giant.
in three days from this you will set out."
"we will be ready, your majesty," answered rosald; but geirald remained silent.
"how can we possibly fight against a giant that has killed fifty knights?"
cried geirald, when they were outside the castle.
"the king only wants to get rid of us!
he wo n't think about us for the next three days -- that is one comfort -- so we shall have plenty of time to cross the borders of the kingdom and be out of reach."
"we may n't be able to kill the giant, but we certainly ca n't run away till we have tried," answered rosald.
"besides, think how glorious it will be if we do manage to kill him!
i know what sort of weapon i shall use.
come with me now, and i will see about it."
and, taking his friend by the arm, he led him into a shop where he bought a huge lump of solid iron, so big that they could hardly lift it between them.
however, they just managed to carry it to a blacksmith's where rosald directed that it should be beaten into a thick club, with a sharp spike at one end.
when this was done to his liking he took it home under his arm.
very early on the third morning the two young men started on their journey, and on the fourth day they reached the giant's cave before he was out of bed.
hearing the sound of footsteps, the giant got up and went to the entrance to see who was coming, and rosald, expecting something of the sort, struck him such a blow on the forehead that he fell to the ground.
then, before he could rise to his feet again, rosald drew out his sword and cut off his head.
"it was not so difficult after all, you see," he said, turning to geirald.
and placing the giant's head in a leathern wallet which was slung over his back, they began their journey to the castle.
as they drew near the gates, rosald took the head from the wallet and handed it to geirald, whom he followed into the king's presence.
"the giant will trouble you no more," said geirald, holding out the head.
and the king fell on his neck and kissed him, and cried joyfully that he was the "bravest knight in all the world, and that a feast should be made for him and rosald, and that the great deed should be proclaimed throughout the kingdom."
and geirald's heart swelled with pride, and he almost forgot that it was rosald and not he, who had slain the giant.
by-and-by a whisper went round that a beautiful lady who lived in the castle would be present at the feast, with twenty-four lovely maidens, her attendants.
the lady was the queen of her own country, but as her father and mother had died when she was a little girl, she had been left in the care of this king who was her uncle.
she was now old enough to govern her own kingdom, but her subjects did not like being ruled by a woman, and said that she must find a husband to help her in managing her affairs.
prince after prince had offered himself, but the young queen would have nothing to say to any of them, and at last told her ministers that if she was to have a husband at all she must choose him for herself, as she would certainly not marry any of those whom they had selected for her.
the ministers replied that in that case she had better manage her kingdom alone, and the queen, who knew nothing about business, got things into such a confusion that at last she threw them up altogether, and went off to her uncle.
now when she heard how the two young men had slain the giant, her heart was filled with admiration of their courage, and she declared that if a feast was held she would certainly be present at it.
and so she was; and when the feast was over she asked the king, her guardian, if he would allow the two heroes who had killed the robbers and slain the giant to fight a tourney the next day with one of her pages.
the king gladly gave his consent, and ordered the lists to be made ready, never doubting that two great champions would be eager for such a chance of adding to their fame.
little did he guess that geirald had done all he could to persuade rosald to steal secretly out of the castle during the night, "for," said he," i do n't believe they are pages at all, but well-proved knights, and how can we, so young and untried, stand up against them?"
"the honour will be all the higher if we gain the day," answered rosald; but geirald would listen to nothing, and only declared that he did not care about honour, and would rather be alive than have every honour in the world heaped upon him.
go he would, and as rosald had sworn to give him his company, he must come with him.
rosald was much grieved when he heard these words, but he knew that it was useless attempting to persuade geirald, and turned his thoughts to forming some plan to prevent this disgraceful flight.
suddenly his face brightened.
"let us change clothes," he said, "and i will do the fighting, while you shall get the glory.
nobody will ever know."
and to this geirald readily consented.
whether geirald was right or not in thinking that the so-called page was really a well-proved knight, it is certain that rosald's task was a very hard one.
three times they came together with a crash which made their horses reel; once rosald knocked the helmet off his foe, and received in return such a blow that he staggered in his saddle.
shouts went up from the lookers-on, as first one and then the other seemed gaining the victory; but at length rosald planted his spear in the armour which covered his adversary's breast and bore him steadily backward.
"unhorsed!
unhorsed!"
cried the people; and rosald then himself dismounted and helped his adversary to rise.
in the confusion that followed it was easy for rosald to slip away and return geirald his proper clothes.
and in these, torn and dusty with the fight, geirald answered the king's summons to come before him.
"you have done what i expected you to do," said he, "and now, choose your reward."
"grant me, sire, the hand of the queen, your niece," replied the young man, bowing low, "and i will defend her kingdom against all her enemies."
"she could choose no better husband," said the king, "and if she consents i do."
and he turned towards the queen, who had not been present during the fight, but had just slipped into a seat by his right hand.
now the queen's eyes were very sharp, and it seemed to her that the man who stood before her, tall and handsome though he might be, was different in many slight ways, and in one in particular, from the man who had fought the tourney.
how there could be any trickery she could not understand, and why the real victor should be willing to give up his prize to another was still stranger; but something in her heart warned her to be careful.
she answered: "you may be satisfied, uncle, but i am not.
one more proof i must have; let the two young men now fight against each other.
the man i marry must be the man who killed the robbers and the giant, and overcame my page."
geirald's face grew pale as he heard these words.
he knew there was no escape from him now, though he did not doubt for one moment that rosald would keep his compact loyally to the last.
but how would it be possible that even rosald should deceive the watchful eyes of the king and his court, and still more those of the young queen whom he felt uneasily had suspected him from the first?
the tourney was fought, and in spite of geirald's fears rosald managed to hang back to make attacks which were never meant to succeed, and to allow strokes which he could easily have parried to attain their end.
at length, after a great show of resistance, he fell heavily to the ground.
and as he fell he knew that it was not alone the glory that was his rightfully which he gave up, but the hand of the queen that was more precious still.
but geirald did not even wait to see if he was wounded; he went straight to the wall where the royal banner waved and claimed the reward which was now his.
the crowd of watchers turned towards the queen, expecting to see her stoop and give some token to the victor.
instead, to the surprise of everyone, she merely smiled gracefully, and said that before she bestowed her hand one more test must be imposed, but this should be the last.
the final tourney should be fought; geirald and rosald should meet singly two knights of the king's court, and he who could unhorse his foe should be master of herself and of her kingdom.
the combat was fixed to take place at ten o'clock the following day.
all night long geirald walked about his room, not daring to face the fight that lay in front of him, and trying with all his might to discover some means of escaping it.
all night long he moved restlessly from door to window; and when the trumpets sounded, and the combatants rode into the field, he alone was missing.
the king sent messengers to see what had become of him, and he was found, trembling with fear, hiding under his bed.
after that there was no need of any further proof.
the combat was declared unnecessary, and the queen pronounced herself quite satisfied, and ready to accept rosald as her husband.
"you forgot one thing," she said, when they were alone."
i recognized my father's ring which hankur the tall had stolen, on the finger of your right hand, and i knew that it was you and not geirald who had slain the robber band.
i was the page who fought you, and again i saw the ring on your finger, though it was absent from his when he stood before me to claim the prize.
that was why i ordered the combat between you, though your faith to your word prevented my plan being successful, and i had to try another.
the man who keeps his promise at all costs to himself is the man i can trust, both for myself and for my people."
so they were married, and returned to their own kingdom, which they ruled well and happily.
and many years after a poor beggar knocked at the palace gates and asked for money, for the sake of days gone by -- and this was geirald.
-lsb- from neuislandischem volksmarcher. -rsb-
habogi once upon a time there lived two peasants who had three daughters, and, as generally happens, the youngest was the most beautiful and the best tempered, and when her sisters wanted to go out she was always ready to stay at home and do their work.
years passed quickly with the whole family, and one day the parents suddenly perceived that all three girls were grown up, and that very soon they would be thinking of marriage.
"have you decided what your husband's name is to be?"
said the father, laughingly, to his eldest daughter, one evening when they were all sitting at the door of their cottage.
"you know that is a very important point!"
"yes; i will never wed any man who is not called sigmund," answered she.
"well, it is lucky for you that there are a great many sigmunds in this part of the world," replied her father, "so that you can take your choice!
and what do you say?"
he added, turning to the second.
"oh, i think that there is no name so beautiful as sigurd," cried she.
"then you wo n't be an old maid either," answered he.
"there are seven sigurds in the next village alone!
and you, helga?"
helga, who was still the prettiest of the three, looked up.
she also had her favourite name, but, just as she was going to say it, she seemed to hear a voice whisper: "marry no one who is not called habogi."
the girl had never heard of such a name, and did not like it, so she determined to pay no attention; but as she opened her mouth to tell her father that her husband must be called njal, she found herself answering instead: "if i do marry it will be to no one except habogi."
"who is habogi?"
asked her father and sisters; "we never heard of such a person."
"all i can tell you is that he will be my husband, if ever i have one," returned helga; and that was all she would say.
before very long the young men who lived in the neighbouring villages or on the sides of the mountains, had heard of this talk of the three girls, and sigmunds and sigurds in scores came to visit the little cottage.
there were other young men too, who bore different names, though not one of them was called "habogi," and these thought that they might perhaps gain the heart of the youngest.
but though there was more than one "njal" amongst them, helga's eyes seemed always turned another way.
at length the two elder sisters made their choice from out of the sigurds and the sigmunds, and it was decided that both weddings should take place at the same time.
invitations were sent out to the friends and relations, and when, on the morning of the great day, they were all assembled, a rough, coarse old peasant left the crowd and came up to the brides" father.
"my name is habogi, and helga must be my wife," was all he said.
and though helga stood pale and trembling with surprise, she did not try to run away."
i can not talk of such things just now," answered the father, who could not bear the thought of giving his favourite daughter to this horrible old man, and hoped, by putting it off, that something might happen.
but the sisters, who had always been rather jealous of helga, were secretly pleased that their bridegrooms should outshine hers.
when the feast was over, habogi led up a beautiful horse from a field where he had left it to graze, and bade helga jump up on its splendid saddle, all embroidered in scarlet and gold.
"you shall come back again," said he; "but now you must see the house that you are to live in."
and though helga was very unwilling to go, something inside her forced her to obey.
the old man settled her comfortably, then sprang up in front of her as easily as if he had been a boy, and, shaking the reins, they were soon out of sight.
after some miles they rode through a meadow with grass so green that helga's eyes felt quite dazzled; and feeding on the grass were a quantity of large fat sheep, with the curliest and whitest wool in the world.
"what lovely sheep!
whose are they?"
cried helga.
"your habogi's," answered he, "all that you see belongs to him; but the finest sheep in the whole herd, which has little golden bells hanging between its horns, you shall have for yourself."
this pleased helga very much, for she had never had anything of her own; and she smiled quite happily as she thanked habogi for his present.
they soon left the sheep behind them, and entered a large field with a river running through it, where a number of beautiful grey cows were standing by a gate waiting for a milk-maid to come and milk them.
"oh, what lovely cows!"
cried helga again;" i am sure their milk must be sweeter than any other cows.
how i should like to have some!
i wonder to whom they belong?"
"to your habogi," replied he; "and some day you shall have as much milk as you like, but we can not stop now.
do you see that big grey one, with the silver bells between her horns?
that is to be yours, and you can have her milked every morning the moment you wake."
and helga's eyes shone, and though she did not say anything, she thought that she would learn to milk the cow herself.
a mile further on they came to a wide common, with short, springy turf, where horses of all colours, with skins of satin, were kicking up their heels in play.
the sight of them so delighted helga that she nearly sprang from her saddle with a shriek of joy.
"whose are they?"
oh!
whose are they?"
she asked.
"how happy any man must be who is the master of such lovely creatures!"
"they are your habogi's," replied he, "and the one which you think the most beautiful of all you shall have for yourself, and learn to ride him."
at this helga quite forgot the sheep and the cow."
a horse of my own!"
said she.
"oh, stop one moment, and let me see which i will choose.
the white one?
no.
the chestnut?
no.
i think, after all, i like the coal-black one best, with the little white star on his forehead.
oh, do stop, just for a minute."
but habogi would not stop or listen.
"when you are married you will have plenty of time to choose one," was all he answered, and they rode on two or three miles further.
at length habogi drew rein before a small house, very ugly and mean-looking, and that seemed on the point of tumbling to pieces.
"this is my house, and is to be yours," said habogi, as he jumped down and held out his arms to lift helga from the horse.
the girl's heart sank a little, as she thought that the man who possessed such wonderful sheep, and cows, and horses, might have built himself a prettier place to live in; but she did not say so.
and, taking her arm, he led her up the steps.
but when she got inside, she stood quite bewildered at the beauty of all around her.
none of her friends owned such things, not even the miller, who was the richest man she knew.
there were carpets everywhere, thick and soft, and of deep rich colours; and the cushions were of silk, and made you sleepy even to look at them; and curious little figures in china were scattered about.
helga felt as if it would take her all her life to see everything properly, and it only seemed a second since she had entered the house, when habogi came up to her."
i must begin the preparations for our wedding at once," he said; "but my foster-brother will take you home, as i promised.
in three days he will bring you back here, with your parents and sisters, and any guests you may invite, in your company.
by that time the feast will be ready."
helga had so much to think about, that the ride home appeared very short.
her father and mother were delighted to see her, as they did not feel sure that so ugly and cross-looking a man as habogi might not have played her some cruel trick.
and after they had given her some supper they begged her to tell them all she had done.
but helga only told them that they should see for themselves on the third day, when they would come to her wedding.
it was very early in the morning when the party set out, and helga's two sisters grew green with envy as they passed the flocks of sheep, and cows, and horses, and heard that the best of each was given to helga herself; but when they caught sight of the poor little house which was to be her home their hearts grew light again."
i should be ashamed of living in such a place," whispered each to the other; and the eldest sister spoke of the carved stone over her doorway, and the second boasted of the number of rooms she had.
but the moment they went inside they were struck dumb with rage at the splendour of everything, and their faces grew white and cold with fury when they saw the dress which habogi had prepared for his bride -- a dress that glittered like sunbeams dancing upon ice.
"she shall not look so much finer than us," they cried passionately to each other as soon as they were alone; and when night came they stole out of their rooms, and taking out the wedding-dress, they laid it in the ash-pit, and heaped ashes upon it.
but habogi, who knew a little magic, and had guessed what they would do, changed the ashes into roses, and cast a spell over the sisters, so that they could not leave the spot for a whole day, and every one who passed by mocked at them.
the next morning when they all awoke the ugly tumble-down house had disappeared, and in its place stood a splendid palace.
the guests" eyes sought in vain for the bridegroom, but could only see a handsome young man, with a coat of blue velvet and silver and a gold crown upon his head.
"who is that?"
they asked helga.
"that is my habogi," said she.
-lsb- from neuislandischem volksmarcher. -rsb-
how the little brother set free his big brothers in a small hut, right in the middle of the forest, lived a man, his wife, three sons and a daughter.
for some reason, all the animals seemed to have left that part of the country, and food grew very scarce; so, one morning, after a night of snow, when the tracks of beasts might be easily seen, the three boys started off to hunt.
they kept together for some time, till they reached a place where the path they had been following split into two, and one of the brothers called his dog and went to the left, while the others took the trail to the right.
these had not gone far when their dogs scented a bear, and drove him out from the thicket.
the bear ran across a clearing, and the elder brother managed to place an arrow right in his head.
they both took up the bear, and carried it towards home, meeting the third at the spot where they had parted from him.
when they reached home they threw the bear down on the floor of the hut saying, "father, here is a bear which we killed; now we can have some dinner."
but the father, who was in a bad temper, only said: "when i was a young man we used to get two bears in one day."
the sons were rather disappointed at hearing this, and though there was plenty of meat to last for two or three days, they started off early in the morning down the same trail that they had followed before.
as they drew near the fork a bear suddenly ran out from behind a tree, and took the path on the right.
the two elder boys and their dogs pursued him, and soon the second son, who was also a good shot, killed him instantly with an arrow.
at the fork of the trail, on their way home, they met the youngest, who had taken the left-hand road, and had shot a bear for himself.
but when they threw the two bears triumphantly on the floor of the hut their father hardly looked at them, and only said: "when i was a young man i used to get three bears in one day."
the next day they were luckier than before, and brought back three bears, on which their father told them that he had always killed four.
however, that did not prevent him from skinning the bears and cooking them in a way of his own, which he thought very good, and they all ate an excellent supper.
now these bears were the servants of the great bear chief who lived in a high mountain a long way off.
and every time a bear was killed his shadow returned to the house of the bear chief, with the marks of his wounds plainly to bee seen by the rest.
the chief was furious at the number of bears the hunters had killed, and determined that he would find some way of destroying them.
so he called another of his servants, and said to him: "go to the thicket near the fork, where the boys killed your brothers, and directly they or the dogs see you return here as fast as ever you can.
the mountain will open to let you in, and the hunters will follow you.
then i shall have them in my power, and be able to revenge myself."
the servant bowed low, and started at once for the fork, where he hid himself in the bushes.
by-and-by the boys came in sight, but this time there were only two of them, as the youngest had stayed at home.
the air was warm and damp, and the snow soft and slushy, and the elder brother's bowstring hung loose, while the bow of the younger caught in a tree and snapped in half.
at that moment the dogs began to bark loudly, and the bear rushed out of the thicket and set off in the direction of the mountain.
without thinking that they had nothing to defend themselves with, should the bear turn and attack them, the boys gave chase.
the bear, who knew quite well that he could not be shot, sometimes slackened his pace and let the dogs get quite close; and in this way the elder son reached the mountain without observing it, while his brother, who had hurt his foot, was still far behind.
as he ran up, the mountain opened to admit the bear, and the boy, who was close on his heels, rushed in after him, and did not know where he was till he saw bears sitting on every side of him, holding a council.
the animal he had been chasing sank panting in their midst, and the boy, very much frightened, stood still, letting his bow fall to the ground.
"why are you trying to kill all my servants?"
asked the chief.
"look round and see their shades, with arrows sticking in them.
it was i who told the bear to-day how he was to lure you into my power.
i shall take care that you shall not hurt my people any more, because you will become a bear yourself."
at this moment the second brother came up -- for the mountain had been left open on purpose to tempt him also -- and cried out breathlessly: "do n't you see that the bear is lying close to you?
why do n't you shoot him?"
and, without waiting for a reply, pressed forward to drive his arrow into the heart of the bear.
but the elder one caught his raised arm, and whispered: "be quiet!
ca n't you tell where you are?"
then the boy looked up and saw the angry bears about him.
on the one side were the servants of the chief, and on the other the servants of the chief's sister, who was sorry for the two youths, and begged that their lives might be spared.
the chief answered that he would not kill them, but only cast a spell over them, by which their heads and bodies should remain as they were, but their arms and legs should change into those of a bear, so that they would go on all fours for the rest of their lives.
and, stooping over a spring of water, he dipped a handful of moss in it and rubbed it over the arms and legs of the boys.
in an instant the transformation took place, and two creatures, neither beast nor human stood before the chief.
now the bear chief of course knew that the boys" father would seek for his sons when they did not return home, so he sent another of his servants to the hiding-place at the fork of the trail to see what would happen.
he had not waited long, when the father came in sight, stooping as he went to look for his sons" tracks in the snow.
when he saw the marks of snow-shoes along the path on the right he was filled with joy, not knowing that the servant had made some fresh tracks on purpose to mislead him; and he hastened forward so fast that he fell headlong into a pit, where the bear was sitting.
before he could pick himself up the bear had quietly broken his neck, and, hiding the body under the snow, sat down to see if anyone else would pass that way.
meanwhile the mother at home was wondering what had become of her two sons, and as the hours went on, and their father never returned, she made up her mind to go and look for him.
the youngest boy begged her to let him undertake the search, but she would not hear of it, and told him he must stay at home and take care of his sister.
so, slipping on her snow-shoes, she started on her way.
as no fresh snow had fallen, the trail was quite easy to find, and she walked straight on, till it led her up to the pit where the bear was waiting for her.
he grasped her as she fell and broke her neck, after which he laid her in the snow beside her husband, and went back to tell the bear chief.
hour after hour dragged heavily by in the forest hut, and at last the brother and sister felt quite sure that in some way or other all the rest of the family had perished.
day after day the boy climbed to the top of a tall tree near the house, and sat there till he was almost frozen, looking on all sides through the forest openings, hoping that he might see someone coming along.
very soon all the food in the house was eaten, and he knew he would have to go out and hunt for more.
besides, he wished to seek for his parents.
the little girl did not like being left alone in the hut, and cried bitterly; but her brother told her that there was no use sitting down quietly to starve, and that whether he found any game or not he would certainly be back before the following night.
then he cut himself some arrows, each from a different tree, and winged with the feathers of four different birds.
he then made himself a bow, very light and strong, and got down his snow-shoes.
all this took some time, and he could not start that day, but early next morning he called his little dog redmouth, whom he kept in a box, and set out.
after he had followed the trail for a great distance he grew very tired, and sat upon the branch of a tree to rest.
but redmouth barked so furiously that the boy thought that perhaps his parents might have been killed under its branches, and stepping back, shot one of his arrows at the root of the tree.
whereupon a noise like thunder shook it from top to bottom, fire broke out, and in a few minutes a little heap of ashes lay in the place where it had stood.
not knowing quite what to make of it all, the boy continued on the trail, and went down the right-hand fork till he came to the clump of bushes where the bears used to hide.
now, as was plain by his being able to change the shape of the two brothers, the bear chief knew a good deal of magic, and he was quite aware that the little boy was following the trail, and he sent a very small but clever bear servant to wait for him in the bushes and to try to tempt him into the mountain.
but somehow his spells could not have worked properly that day, as the bear chief did not know that redmouth had gone with his master, or he would have been more careful.
for the moment the dog ran round the bushes barking loudly, the little bear servant rushed out in a fright, and set out for the mountains as fast as he could.
the dog followed the bear, and the boy followed the dog, until the mountain, the house of the great bear chief, came in sight.
but along the road the snow was so wet and heavy that the boy could hardly get along, and then the thong of his snow-shoes broke, and he had to stop and mend it, so that the bear and the dog got so far ahead that he could scarcely hear the barking.
when the strap was firm again the boy spoke to his snow-shoes and said: "now you must go as fast as you can, or, if not, i shall lose the dog as well as the bear."
and the snow-shoes sang in answer that they would run like the wind.
as he came along, the bear chief's sister was looking out of the window, and took pity on this little brother, as she had on the two elder ones, and waited to see what the boy would do, when he found that the bear servant and the dog had already entered the mountain.
the little brother was certainly very much puzzled at not seeing anything of either of the animals, which had vanished suddenly out of his sight.
he paused for an instant to think what he should do next, and while he did so he fancied he heard redmouth's voice on the opposite side of the mountain.
with great difficulty he scrambled over steep rocks, and forced a path through tangled thickets; but when he reached the other side the sound appeared to start from the place from which he had come.
then he had to go all the way back again, and at the very top, where he stopped to rest, the barking was directly beneath him, and he knew in an instant where he was and what had happened.
"let my dog out at once, bear chief!"
cried he.
"if you do not, i shall destroy your palace."
but the bear chief only laughed, and said nothing.
the boy was very angry at his silence, and aiming one of his arrows at the bottom of the mountain, shot straight through it.
as the arrow touched the ground a rumbling was heard, and with a roar a fire broke out which seemed to split the whole mountain into pieces.
the bear chief and all his servants were burnt up in the flames, but his sister and all that belonged to her were spared because she had tried to save the two elder boys from punishment.
as soon as the fire had burnt itself out the little hunter entered what was left of the mountain, and the first thing he saw was his two brothers -- half bear, half boy.
"oh, help us!
help us!"
cried they, standing on their hind legs as they spoke, and stretching out their fore-paws to him.
"but how am i to help you?"
asked the little brother, almost weeping."
i can kill people, and destroy trees and mountains, but i have no power over men."
and the two elder brothers came up and put their paws on his shoulders, and they all three wept together.
the heart of the bear chief's sister was moved when she saw their misery, and she came gently up behind, and whispered: "little boy, gather some moss from the spring over there, and let your brothers smell it."
with a bound all three were at the spring, and as the youngest plucked a handful of wet moss, the two others sniffed at it with all their might.
then the bearskin fell away from them, and they stood upright once more.
"how can we thank you?
how can we thank you?"
they stammered, hardly able to speak; and fell at her feet in gratitude.
but the bear's sister only smiled, and bade them go home and look after the little girl, who had no one else to protect her.
and this the boys did, and took such good care of their sister that, as she was very small, she soon forgot that she had ever had a father and mother.
-lsb- from the bureau of ethnology, u.s. -rsb- the sacred milk of koumongoe far way, in a very hot country, there once lived a man and woman who had two children, a son named koane and a daughter called thakane.
early in the morning and late in the evenings the parents worked hard in the fields, resting, when the sun was high, under the shade of some tree.
while they were absent the little girl kept house alone, for her brother always got up before the dawn, when the air was fresh and cool, and drove out the cattle to the sweetest patches of grass he could find.
one day, when koane had slept later than usual, his father and mother went to their work before him, and there was only thakane to be seen busy making the bread for supper.
"thakane," he said," i am thirsty.
give me a drink from the tree koumongoe, which has the best milk in the world."
"oh, koane," cried his sister, "you know that we are forbidden to touch that tree.
what would father say when he came home?
for he would be sure to know."
"nonsense," replied koane, "there is so much milk in koumongoe that he will never miss a little.
if you wo n't give it to me, i sha'n' t take the cattle out.
they will just have to stay all day in the hut, and you know that they will starve."
and he turned from her in a rage, and sat down in the corner.
after a while thakane said to him: "it is getting hot, had you better drive out the cattle now?"
but koane only answered sulkily: "i told you i am not going to drive them out at all.
if i have to do without milk, they shall do without grass."
thakane did not know what to do.
she was afraid to disobey her parents, who would most likely beat her, yet the beasts would be sure to suffer if they were kept in, and she would perhaps be beaten for that too.
so at last she took an axe and a tiny earthen bowl, she cut a very small hole in the side of koumongoe, and out gushed enough milk to fill the bowl.
"here is the milk you wanted," said she, going up to koane, who was still sulking in his corner.
"what is the use of that?"
grumbled koane; "why, there is not enough to drown a fly.
go and get me three times as much!"
trembling with fright, thakane returned to the tree, and struck it a sharp blow with the axe.
in an instant there poured forth such a stream of milk that it ran like a river into the hut.
"koane!
koane!"
cried she, "come and help me to plug up the hole.
there will be no milk left for our father and mother."
but koane could not stop it any more than thakane, and soon the milk was flowing through the hut downhill towards their parents in the fields below.
the man saw a white stream a long way off, and guessed what had happened.
"wife, wife," he called loudly to the woman, who was working at a little distance: "do you see koumongoe running fast down the hill?
that is some mischief of the children's, i am sure.
i must go home and find out what is the matter."
and they both threw down their hoes and hurried to the side of koumongoe.
kneeling on the grass, the man and his wife made a cup of their hands and drank the milk from it.
and no sooner had they done this, than koumongoe flowed back again up the hill, and entered the hut.
"thakane," said the parents, severely, when they reached home panting from the heat of the sun, "what have you been doing?
why did koumongoe come to us in the fields instead of staying in the garden?"
"it was koane's fault," answered thakane.
"he would not take the cattle to feed until he drank some of the milk from koumongoe.
so, as i did not know what else to do, i gave it to him."
the father listened to thakane's words, but made no answer.
instead, he went outside and brought in two sheepskins, which he stained red and sent for a blacksmith to forge some iron rings.
the rings were then passed over thakane's arms and legs and neck, and the skins fastened on her before and behind.
when all was ready, the man sent for his servants and said: "i am going to get rid of thakane."
"get rid of your only daughter?"
they answered, in surprise.
"but why?"
"because she has eaten what she ought not to have eaten.
she has touched the sacred tree which belongs to her mother and me alone."
and, turning his back, he called to thakane to follow him, and they went down the road which led to the dwelling of an ogre.
they were passing along some fields where the corn was ripening, when a rabbit suddenly sprang out at their feet, and standing on its hind legs, it sang: why do you give to the ogre your child, so fair, so fair?
"you had better ask her," replied the man, "she is old enough to give you an answer."
then, in her turn, thakane sang: i gave koumongoe to koane, koumongoe to the keeper of beasts; for without koumongoe they could not go to the meadows: without koumongoe they would starve in the hut; that was why i gave him the koumongoe of my father.
and when the rabbit heard that, he cried: "wretched man!
it is you whom the ogre should eat, and not your beautiful daughter."
but the father paid no heed to what the rabbit said, and only walked on the faster, bidding thakane to keep close behind him.
by-and-by they met with a troop of great deer, called elands, and they stopped when they saw thakane and sang: why do you give to the ogre your child, so fair, so fair?
"you had better ask her, replied the man, "she is old enough to give you an answer."
then, in her turn, thakane sang: i gave koumongoe to koane, koumongoe to the keeper of beasts; for without koumongoe they could not go to the meadows: without koumongoe they would starve in the hut; that was why i gave him the koumongoe of my father.
and the elands all cried: "wretched man!
it is you whom the ogre should eat, and not your beautiful daughter."
by this time it was nearly dark, and the father said they could travel no further that night, and must go to sleep where they were.
thakane was thankful indeed when she heard this, for she was very tired, and found the two skins fastened round her almost too heavy to carry.
so, in spite of her dread of the ogre, she slept till dawn, when her father woke her, and told her roughly that he was ready to continue their journey.
crossing the plain, the girl and her father passed a herd of gazelles feeding.
they lifted their heads, wondering who was out so early, and when they caught sight of thakane, they sang: why do you give to the ogre your child, so fair, so fair?
"you had better ask her, replied the man, "she is old enough to answer for herself."
then, in her turn, thakane sang: i gave koumongoe to koane, koumongoe to the keeper of beasts; for without koumongoe they could not go to the meadows: without koumongoe they would starve in the hut; that was why i gave him the koumongoe of my father.
and the gazelles all cried: "wretched man!
it is you whom the ogre should eat, and not your beautiful daughter."
at last they arrived at the village where the ogre lived, and they went straight to his hut.
he was nowhere to be seen, but in his place was his son masilo, who was not an ogre at all, but a very polite young man.
he ordered his servants to bring a pile of skins for thakane to sit on, but told her father he must sit on the ground.
then, catching sight of the girl's face, which she had kept down, he was struck by its beauty, and put the same question that the rabbit, and the elands, and the gazelles had done.
thakane answered him as before, and he instantly commanded that she should be taken to the hut of his mother, and placed under her care, while the man should be led to his father.
directly the ogre saw him he bade the servant throw him into the great pot which always stood ready on the fire, and in five minutes he was done to a turn.
after that the servant returned to masilo and related all that had happened.
now masilo had fallen in loved with thakane the moment he saw her.
at first he did not know what to make of this strange feeling, for all his life he had hated women, and had refused several brides whom his parents had chosen for him.
however, they were so anxious that he should marry, that they willingly accepted thakane as their daughter-in-law, though she did bring any marriage portion with her.
after some time a baby was born to her, and thakane thought it was the most beautiful baby that ever was seen.
but when her mother-in-law saw it was a girl, she wrung her hands and wept, saying: "o miserable mother!
miserable child!
alas for you!
why were you not a boy!"
thakane, in great surprise, asked the meaning of her distress; and the old woman told her that it was the custom in that country that all the girls who were born should be given to the ogre to eat.
then thakane clasped the baby tightly in her arms, and cried: "but it is not the customer in my country!
there, when children die, they are buried in the earth.
no one shall take my baby from me."
that night, when everyone in the hut was asleep, thakane rose, and carrying her baby on her back, went down to a place where the river spread itself out into a large lake, with tall willows all round the bank.
here, hidden from everyone, she sat down on a stone and began to think what she should do to save her child.
suddenly she heard a rustling among the willows, and an old woman appeared before her.
"what are you crying for, my dear?"
said she.
and thakane answered: "i was crying for my baby -- i can not hide her for ever, and if the ogre sees her, he will eat her; and i would rather she was drowned than that."
"what you say is true," replied the old woman.
"give me your child, and let me take care of it.
and if you will fix a day to meet me here i will bring the baby."
then thakane dried her eyes, and gladly accepted the old woman's offer.
when she got home she told her husband she had thrown it in the river, and as he had watched her go in that direction he never thought of doubting what she said.
on the appointed day, thakane slipped out when everybody was busy, and ran down the path that led to the lake.
as soon as she got there, she crouched down among the willows, and sang softly: bring to me dilah, dilah the rejected one, dilah, whom her father masilo cast out!
and in a moment the old woman appeared holding the baby in her arms.
dilah had become so big and strong, that thakane's heart was filled with joy and gratitude, and she stayed as long as she dared, playing with her baby.
at last she felt she must return to the village, lest she should be missed, and the child was handed back to the old woman, who vanished with her into the lake.
children grow up very quickly when they live under water, and in less time than anyone could suppose, dilah had changed from a baby to a woman.
her mother came to visit her whenever she was able, and one day, when they were sitting talking together, they were spied out by a man who had come to cut willows to weave into baskets.
he was so surprised to see how like the face of the girl was to masilo, that he left his work and returned to the village.
"masilo," he said, as he entered the hut," i have just beheld your wife near the river with a girl who must be your daughter, she is so like you.
we have been deceived, for we all thought she was dead."
when he heard this, masilo tried to look shocked because his wife had broken the law; but in his heart he was very glad.
"but what shall we do now?"
asked he.
"make sure for yourself that i am speaking the truth by hiding among the bushes the first time thakane says she is going to bathe in the river, and waiting till the girl appears."
for some days thakane stayed quietly at home, and her husband began to think that the man had been mistaken; but at last she said to her husband: "i am going to bathe in the river."
"well, you can go," answered he.
but he ran down quickly by another path, and got there first, and hid himself in the bushes.
an instant later, thakane arrived, and standing on the bank, she sang: bring to me dilah, dilah the rejected one, dilah, whom her father masilo cast out!
then the old woman came out of the water, holding the girl, now tall and slender, by the hand.
and as masilo looked, he saw that she was indeed his daughter, and he wept for joy that she was not lying dead in the bottom of the lake.
the old woman, however, seemed uneasy, and said to thakane: "i feel as if someone was watching us.
i will not leave the girl to-day, but will take her back with me"; and sinking beneath the surface, she drew the girl after her.
after they had gone, thakane returned to the village, which masilo had managed to reach before her.
all the rest of the day he sat in a corner weeping, and his mother who came in asked: "why are you weeping so bitterly, my son?"
"my head aches," he answered; "it aches very badly."
and his mother passed on, and left him alone.
in the evening he said to his wife: "i have seen my daughter, in the place where you told me you had drowned her.
instead, she lives at the bottom of the lake, and has now grown into a young woman.'"
i do n't know what you are talking about," replied thakane."
i buried my child under the sand on the beach."
then masilo implored her to give the child back to him; but she would not listen, and only answered: "if i were to give her back you would only obey the laws of your country and take her to your father, the ogre, and she would be eaten."
but masilo promised that he would never let his father see her, and that now she was a woman no one would try to hurt her; so thakane's heart melted, and she went down to the lake to consult the old woman.
"what am i to do?"
she asked, when, after clapping her hands, the old woman appeared before her.
"yesterday masilo beheld dilah, and ever since he has entreated me to give him back his daughter."
"if i let her go he must pay me a thousand head of cattle in exchange," replied the old woman.
and thakane carried her answer back to masilo.
"why, i would gladly give her two thousand!"
cried he, "for she has saved my daughter."
and he bade messengers hasten to all the neighbouring villages, and tell his people to send him at once all the cattle he possessed.
when they were all assembled he chose a thousand of the finest bulls and cows, and drove them down to the river, followed by a great crowd wondering what would happen.
then thakane stepped forward in front of the cattle and sang: bring to me dilah, dilah the rejected one, dilah, whom her father masilo cast out!
and dilah came from the waters holding out her hands to masilo and thakane, and in her place the cattle sank into the lake, and were driven by the old woman to the great city filled with people, which lies at the bottom.
-lsb- contes populaires des bassoutos. -rsb-
the wicked wolverine one day a wolverine was out walking on the hill-side, when, on turning a corner, he suddenly saw a large rock.
"was that you i heard walking about just now?"
he asked, for wolverines are cautious animals, and always like to know the reasons of things.
"no, certainly not," answered the rock;" i do n't know how to walk."
"but i saw you walking," continued the wolverine."
i am afraid that you were not taught to speak the truth," retorted the rock.
"you need not speak like that, for i have seen you walking," replied the wolverine, "though i am quite sure that you could never catch me!"
and he ran a little distance and then stopped to see if the rock was pursuing him; but, to his vexation, the rock was still in the same place.
then the wolverine went up close, and struck the rock a blow with his paw, saying: "well, will you catch me now?'"
i ca n't walk, but i can roll," answered the rock.
and the wolverine laughed and said: "oh, that will do just as well"; and began to run down the side of the mountain.
at first he went quite slowly, "just to give the rock a chance," he thought to himself; but soon he quickened his pace, for he found that the rock was almost at his heels.
but the faster the wolverine ran, the faster the rock rolled, and by-and-by the little creature began to get very tired, and was sorry he had not left the rock to itself.
thinking that if he could manage to put on a spurt he would reach the forest of great trees at the bottom of the mountain, where the rock could not come, he gathered up all his strength, and instead of running he leaped over sticks and stones, but, whatever he did, the rock was always close behind him.
at length he grew so weary that he could not even see where he was going, and catching his foot in a branch he tripped and fell.
the rock stopped at once, but there came a shriek from the wolverine: "get off, get off!
ca n't you see that you are on my legs?"
"why did you not leave me alone?"
asked the rock."
i did not want to move -- i hate moving.
but you would have it, and i certainly sha'n' t move now till i am forced to.'"
i will call my brothers," answered the wolverine.
"there are many of them in the forest, and you will soon see that they are stronger than you."
and he called, and called, and called, till wolves and foxes and all sorts of other creatures all came running to see what was the matter.
"how did you get under that rock?"
asked they, making a ring round him; but they had to repeat their question several times before the wolverine would answer, for he, like many other persons, found it hard to confess that he had brought his troubles on himself.
"well, i was dull, and wanted someone to play with me," he said at last, in sulky voice, "and i challenged the rock to catch me.
of course i thought i could run the fastest; but i tripped, and it rolled on me.
it was just an accident."
"it serves you right for being so silly," said they; but they pushed and hauled at the rock for a long time without making it move an inch.
"you are no good at all," cried the wolverine crossly, for it was suffering great pain, "and if you can not get me free, i shall see what my friends the lightning and thunder can do."
and he called loudly to the lightning to come and help him as quickly as possible.
in a few minutes a dark cloud came rolling up the sky, giving out such terrific claps of thunder that the wolves and the foxes and all the other creatures ran helter-skelter in all directions.
but, frightened though they were, they did not forget to beg the lightning to take off the wolverine's coat and to free his legs, but to be careful not to hurt him.
so the lightning disappeared into the cloud for a moment to gather up fresh strength, and then came rushing down, right upon the rock, which it sent flying in all directions, and took the wolverine's coat so neatly that, though it was torn into tiny shreds, the wolverine himself was quite unharmed.
"that was rather clumsy of you," said he, standing up naked in his flesh.
"surely you could have split the rock without tearing my coat to bits!"
and he stooped down to pick up the pieces.
it took him a long time, for there were a great many of them, but at last he had them all in his hand.
"i'll go to my sister the frog," he thought to himself, "and she will sew them together for me"; and he set off at once for the swamp in which his sister lived.
"will you sew my coat together?
i had an unlucky accident, and it is quite impossible to wear," he said, when he found her.
"with pleasure," she answered, for she had always been taught to be polite; and getting her needle and thread she began to fit the pieces.
but though she was very good-natured, she was not very clever, and she got some of the bits wrong.
when the wolverine, who was very particular about his clothes, came to put it on, he grew very angry.
"what a useless creature you are!"
cried he.
"do you expect me to go about in such a coat as that?
why it bulges all down the back, as if i had a hump, and it is so tight across the chest that i expect it to burst every time i breathe.
i knew you were stupid, but i did not think you were as stupid as that."
and giving the poor frog a blow on her head, which knocked her straight into the water, he walked off in a rage to his younger sister the mouse."
i tore my coat this morning," he began, when he had found her sitting at the door of her house eating an apple.
"it was all in little bits, and i took it to our sister the frog to ask her to sew it for me.
but just look at the way she has done it!
you will have to take it to pieces and fit them together properly, and i hope i shall not have to complain again."
for as the wolverine was older than the mouse, he was accustomed to speak to her in this manner.
however, the mouse was used to it and only answered: "i think you had better stay here till it is done, and if there is any alteration needed i can make it."
so the wolverine sat down on a heap of dry ferns, and picking up the apple, he finished it without even asking the mouse's leave.
at last the coat was ready, and the wolverine put it on.
"yes, it fits very well," said he, "and you have sewn it very neatly.
when i pass this way again i will bring you a handful of corn, as a reward"; and he ran off as smart as ever, leaving the mouse quite grateful behind him.
he wandered about for many days, till he reached a place where food was very scarce, and for a whole week he went without any.
he was growing desperate, when he suddenly came upon a bear that was lying asleep.
"ah!
here is food at last!"
thought he; but how was he to kill the bear, who was so much bigger than himself?
it was no use to try force, he must invent some cunning plan which would get her into his power.
at last, after thinking hard, he decided upon something, and going up to the bear, he exclaimed: "is that you, my sister?"
the bear turned round and saw the wolverine, and murmuring to herself, so low that nobody could hear," i never heard before that i had a brother," got up and ran quickly to a tree, up which she climbed.
now the wolverine was very angry when he saw his dinner vanishing in front of him, especially as he could not climb trees like the bear, so he followed, and stood at the foot of the tree, shrieking as loud as he could, "come down, sister; our father has sent me to look for you!
you were lost when you were a little girl and went out picking berries, and it was only the other day that we heard from a beaver where you were."
at these words, the bear came a little way down the tree, and the wolverine, seeing this, went on: "are you not fond of berries?
i am!
and i know a place where they grow so thick the ground is quite hidden.
why, look for yourself!
that hillside is quite red with them!'"
i ca n't see so far," answered the bear, now climbing down altogether.
"you must have wonderfully good eyes!
i wish i had; but my sight is very short."
"so was mine till my father smashed a pailful of cranberries, and rubbed my eyes with them," replied the wolverine.
"but if you like to go and gather some of the berries i will do just as he did, and you will soon be able to see as far as me."
it took the bear a long while to gather the berries, for she was slow about everything, and, besides, it made her back ache to stoop.
but at last she returned with a sackful, and put them down beside the wolverine.
"that is splendid, sister!"
cried the wolverine.
"now lie flat on the ground with your head on this stone, while i smash them."
the bear, who was very tired, was only too glad to do as she was bid, and stretched herself comfortably on the grass."
i am ready now," said the wolverine after a bit; "just at first you will find that the berries make your eyes smart, but you must be careful not to move, or the juice will run out, and then it will have to be done all over again."
so the bear promised to lie very still; but the moment the cranberries touched her eyes she sprang up with a roar.
"oh, you must n't mind a little pain," said the wolverine, "it will soon be over, and then you will see all sorts of things you have never dreamt of."
the bear sank down with a groan, and as her eyes were full of cranberry juice, which completely blinded her, the wolverine took up a sharp knife and stabbed her to the heart.
then he took off the skin, and, stealing some fire from a tent, which his sharp eyes had perceived hidden behind a rock, he set about roasting the bear bit by bit.
he thought the meat was the best he ever had tasted, and when dinner was done he made up his mind to try that same trick again, if ever he was hungry.
and very likely he did!
-lsb- adapted from bureau of ethnology. -rsb-
the husband of the rat's daughter once upon a time there lived in japan a rat and his wife who came of an old and noble race, and had one daughter, the loveliest girl in all the rat world.
her parents were very proud of her, and spared no pains to teach her all she ought to know.
there was not another young lady in the whole town who was as clever as she was in gnawing through the hardest wood, or who could drop from such a height on to a bed, or run away so fast if anyone was heard coming.
great attention, too, was paid to her personal appearance, and her skin shone like satin, while her teeth were as white as pearls, and beautifully pointed.
of course, with all these advantages, her parents expected her to make a brilliant marriage, and, as she grew up, they began to look round for a suitable husband.
but here a difficulty arose.
the father was a rat from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail, outside as well as in, and desired that his daughter should wed among her own people.
she had no lack of lovers, but her father's secret hopes rested on a fine young rat, with moustaches which almost swept the ground, whose family was still nobler and more ancient than his own.
unluckily, the mother had other views for her precious child.
she was one of those people who always despise their own family and surroundings, and take pleasure in thinking that they themselves are made of finer material than the rest of the world.
"her daughter should never marry a mere rat," she declared, holding her head high.
"with her beauty and talents she had a right to look for someone a little better than that."
so she talked, as mothers will, to anyone that would listen to her.
what the girl thought about the matter nobody knew or cared -- it was not the fashion in the rat world.
many were the quarrels which the old rat and his wife had upon the subject, and sometimes they bore on their faces certain marks which looked as if they had not kept to words only.
"reach up to the stars is my motto," cried the lady one day, when she was in a greater passion than usual.
"my daughter's beauty places her higher than anything upon earth," she cried; "and i am certainly not going to accept a son-in-law who is beneath her."
"better offer her in marriage to the sun," answered her husband impatiently.
"as far as i know there is nothing greater than he."
"well, i was thinking of it," replied the wife, "and as you are of the same mind, we will pay him a visit to-morrow."
so the next morning, the two rats, having spent hours in making themselves smart, set out to see the sun, leading their daughter between them.
the journey took some time, but at length they came to the golden palace where the sun lived.
"noble king," began the mother, "behold our daughter!
she is so beautiful that she is above everything in the whole world.
naturally, we wish for a son-in-law who, on his side, is greater than all.
therefore we have come to you.'"
i feel very much flattered," replied the sun, who was so busy that he had not the least wish to marry anybody.
"you do me great honour by your proposal.
only, in one point you are mistaken, and it would be wrong of me to take advantage of your ignorance.
there is something greater than i am, and that is the cloud.
look!"
and as he spoke a cloud spread itself over the sun's face, blotting out his rays.
"oh, well, we will speak to the cloud," said the mother.
and turning to the cloud she repeated her proposal.
"indeed i am unworthy of anything so charming," answered the cloud; "but you make a mistake again in what you say.
there is one thing that is even more powerful than i, and that is the wind.
ah, here he comes, you can see for yourself."
and she did see, for catching up the cloud as he passed, he threw it on the other side of the sky.
then, tumbling father, mother and daughter down to the earth again, he paused for a moment beside them, his foot on an old wall.
when she had recovered her breath, the mother began her little speech once more.
"the wall is the proper husband for your daughter," answered the wind, whose home consisted of a cave, which he only visited when he was not rushing about elsewhere; "you can see for yourself that he is greater than i, for he has power to stop me in my flight."
and the mother, who did not trouble to conceal her wishes, turned at once to the wall.
then something happened which was quite unexpected by everyone."
i wo n't marry that ugly old wall, which is as old as my grandfather," sobbed the girl, who had not uttered one word all this time."
i would have married the sun, or the cloud, or the wind, because it was my duty, although i love the handsome young rat, and him only.
but that horrid old wall -- i would sooner die!"
and the wall, rather hurt in his feelings, declared that he had no claim to be the husband of so beautiful a girl.
"it is quite true," he said, "that i can stop the wind who can part the clouds who can cover the sun; but there is someone who can do more than all these, and that is the rat.
it is the rat who passes through me, and can reduce me to powder, simply with his teeth.
if, therefore, you want a son-in-law who is greater than the whole world, seek him among the rats."
"ah, what did i tell you?"
cried the father.
and his wife, though for the moment angry at being beaten, soon thought that a rat son-in-law was what she had always desired.
so all three returned happily home, and the wedding was celebrated three days after.
-lsb- contes populaires. -rsb-
the mermaid and the boy long, long ago, there lived a king who ruled over a country by the sea.
when he had been married about a year, some of his subjects, inhabiting a distant group of islands, revolted against his laws, and it became needful for him to leave his wife and go in person to settle their disputes.
the queen feared that some ill would come of it, and implored him to stay at home, but he told her that nobody could do his work for him, and the next morning the sails were spread, and the king started on his voyage.
the vessel had not gone very far when she ran upon a rock, and stuck so fast in a cleft that the strength of the whole crew could not get her off again.
to make matters worse, the wind was rising too, and it was quite plain that in a few hours the ship would be dashed to pieces and everybody would be drowned, when suddenly the form of a mermaid was seen dancing on the waves which threatened every moment to overwhelm them.
"there is only one way to free yourselves," she said to the king, bobbing up and down in the water as she spoke, "and that is to give me your solemn word that you will deliver to me the first child that is born to you."
the king hesitated at this proposal.
he hoped that some day he might have children in his home, and the thought that he must yield up the heir to his crown was very bitter to him; but just then a huge wave broke with great force on the ship's side, and his men fell on their knees and entreated him to save them.
so he promised, and this time a wave lifted the vessel clean off the rocks, and she was in the open sea once more.
the affairs of the islands took longer to settle than the king had expected, and some months passed away before he returned to his palace.
in his absence a son had been born to him, and so great was his joy that he quite forgot the mermaid and the price he had paid for the safety of his ship.
but as the years went on, and the baby grew into a fine big boy, the remembrance of it came back, and one day he told the queen the whole story.
from that moment the happiness of both their lives was ruined.
every night they went to bed wondering if they should find his room empty in the morning, and every day they kept him by their sides, expecting him to be snatched away before their very eyes.
at last the king felt that this state of things could not continue, and he said to his wife: "after all, the most foolish thing in the world one can do is to keep the boy here in exactly the place in which the mermaid will seek him.
let us give him food and send him on his travels, and perhaps, if the mermaid ever blocs come to seek him, she may be content with some other child."
and the queen agreed that his plan seemed the wisest.
so the boy was called, and his father told him the story of the voyage, as he had told his mother before him.
the prince listened eagerly, and was delighted to think that he was to go away all by himself to see the world, and was not in the least frightened; for though he was now sixteen, he had scarcely been allowed to walk alone beyond the palace gardens.
he began busily to make his preparations, and took off his smart velvet coat, putting on instead one of green cloth, while he refused a beautiful bag which the queen offered him to hold his food, and slung a leather knapsack over his shoulders instead, just as he had seen other travellers do.
then he bade farewell to his parents and went his way.
all through the day he walked, watching with interest the strange birds and animals that darted across his path in the forest or peeped at him from behind a bush.
but as evening drew on he became tired, and looked about as he walked for some place where he could sleep.
at length he reached a soft mossy bank under a tree, and was just about to stretch himself out on it, when a fearful roar made him start and tremble all over.
in another moment something passed swiftly through the air and a lion stood before him.
"what are you doing here?"
asked the lion, his eyes glaring fiercely at the boy."
i am flying from the mermaid," the prince answered, in a quaking voice.
"give me some food then," said the lion, "it is past my supper time, and i am very hungry."
the boy was so thankful that the lion did not want to eat him, that he gladly picked up his knapsack which lay on the ground, and held out some bread and a flask of wine."
i feel better now," said the lion when he had done, "so now i shall go to sleep on this nice soft moss, and if you like you can lie down beside me."
so the boy and the lion slept soundly side by side, till the sun rose."
i must be off now," remarked the lion, shaking the boy as he spoke; "but cut off the tip of my ear, and keep it carefully, and if you are in any danger just wish yourself a lion and you will become one on the spot.
one good turn deserves another, you know."
the prince thanked him for his kindness, and did as he was bid, and the two then bade each other farewell."
i wonder how it feels to be a lion," thought the boy, after he had gone a little way; and he took out the tip of the ear from the breast of his jacket and wished with all his might.
in an instant his head had swollen to several times its usual size, and his neck seemed very hot and heavy; and, somehow, his hands became paws, and his skin grew hairy and yellow.
but what pleased him most was his long tail with a tuft at the end, which he lashed and switched proudly."
i like being a lion very much," he said to himself, and trotted gaily along the road.
after a while, however, he got tired of walking in this unaccustomed way -- it made his back ache and his front paws felt sore.
so he wished himself a boy again, and in the twinkling of an eye his tail disappeared and his head shrank, and the long thick mane became short and curly.
then he looked out for a sleeping place, and found some dry ferns, which he gathered and heaped up.
but before he had time to close his eyes there was a great noise in the trees near by, as if a big heavy body was crashing through them.
the boy rose and turned his head, and saw a huge black bear coming towards him.
"what are you doing here?"
cried the bear."
i am running away from the mermaid," answered the boy; but the bear took no interest in the mermaid, and only said: "i am hungry; give me something to eat."
the knapsack was lying on the ground among the fern, but the prince picked it up, and, unfastening the strap, took out his second flask of wine and another loaf of bread.
"we will have supper together," he remarked politely; but the bear, who had never been taught manners, made no reply, and ate as fast as he could.
when he had quite finished, he got up and stretched himself.
"you have got a comfortable-looking bed there," he observed."
i really think that, bad sleeper as i am, i might have a good night on it.
i can manage to squeeze you in," he added; "you do n't take up a great deal of room."
the boy was rather indignant at the bear's cool way of talking; but as he was too tired to gather more fern, they lay down side by side, and never stirred till sunrise next morning."
i must go now," said the bear, pulling the sleepy prince on to his feet; "but first you shall cut off the tip of my ear, and when you are in any danger just wish yourself a bear and you will become one.
one good turn deserves another, you know."
and the boy did as he was bid, and he and the bear bade each other farewell."
i wonder how it feels to be a bear," thought he to himself when he had walked a little way; and he took out the tip from the breast of his coat and wished hard that he might become a bear.
the next moment his body stretched out and thick black fur covered him all over.
as before, his hands were changed into paws, but when he tried to switch his tail he found to his disgust that it would not go any distance.
"why it is hardly worth calling a tail!"
said he.
for the rest of the day he remained a bear and continued his journey, but as evening came on the bear-skin, which had been so useful when plunging through brambles in the forest, felt rather heavy, and he wished himself a boy again.
he was too much exhausted to take the trouble of cutting any fern or seeking for moss, but just threw himself down under a tree, when exactly above his head he heard a great buzzing as a bumble-bee alighted on a honeysuckle branch.
"what are you doing here?"
asked the bee in a cross voice; "at your age you ought to be safe at home.'"
i am running away from the mermaid," replied the boy; but the bee, like the lion and the bear, was one of those people who never listen to the answers to their questions, and only said: "i am hungry.
give me something to eat."
the boy took his last loaf and flask out of his knapsack and laid them on the ground, and they had supper together.
"well, now i am going to sleep," observed the bee when the last crumb was gone, "but as you are not very big i can make room for you beside me," and he curled up his wings, and tucked in his legs, and he and the prince both slept soundly till morning.
then the bee got up and carefully brushed every scrap of dust off his velvet coat and buzzed loudly in the boy's ear to waken him.
"take a single hair from one of my wings," said he, "and if you are in danger just wish yourself a bee and you will become one.
one good turn deserves another, so farewell, and thank you for your supper."
and the bee departed after the boy had pulled out the hair and wrapped it carefully in a leaf.
"it must feel quite different to be a bee from what it does to be a lion or bear," thought the boy to himself when he had walked for an hour or two."
i dare say i should get on a great deal faster," so he pulled out his hair and wished himself a bee.
in a moment the strangest thing happened to him.
all his limbs seemed to draw together, and his body to become very short and round; his head grew quite tiny, and instead of his white skin he was covered with the richest, softest velvet.
better than all, he had two lovely gauze wings which carried him the whole day without getting tired.
late in the afternoon the boy fancied he saw a vast heap of stones a long way off, and he flew straight towards it.
but when he reached the gates he saw that it was really a great town, so he wished himself back in his own shape and entered the city.
he found the palace doors wide open and went boldly into a sort of hall which was full of people, and where men and maids were gossiping together.
he joined their talk and soon learned from them that the king had only one daughter who had such a hatred to men that she would never suffer one to enter her presence.
her father was in despair, and had had pictures painted of the handsomest princes of all the courts in the world, in the hope that she might fall in love with one of them; but it was no use; the princess would not even allow the pictures to be brought into her room.
"it is late," remarked one of the women at last;" i must go to my mistress."
and, turning to one of the lackeys, she bade him find a bed for the youth.
"it is not necessary," answered the prince, "this bench is good enough for me.
i am used to nothing better."
and when the hall was empty he lay down for a few minutes.
but as soon as everything was quiet in the palace he took out the hair and wished himself a bee, and in this shape he flew upstairs, past the guards, and through the keyhole into the princess's chamber.
then he turned himself into a man again.
at this dreadful sight the princess, who was broad awake, began to scream loudly."
a man!
a man!"
cried she; but when the guards rushed in there was only a bumble-bee buzzing about the room.
they looked under the bed, and behind the curtains, and into the cupboards, then came to the conclusion that the princess had had a bad dream, and bowed themselves out.
the door had scarcely closed on them than the bee disappeared, and a handsome youth stood in his place."
i knew a man was hidden somewhere," cried the princess, and screamed more loudly than before.
her shrieks brought back the guards, but though they looked in all kinds of impossible places no man was to be seen, and so they told the princess.
"he was here a moment ago -- i saw him with my own eyes," and the guards dared not contradict her, though they shook their heads and whispered to each other that the princess had gone mad on this subject, and saw a man in every table and chair.
and they made up their minds that -- let her scream as loudly as she might -- they would take no notice.
now the princess saw clearly what they were thinking, and that in future her guards would give her no help, and would perhaps, besides, tell some stories about her to the king, who would shut her up in a lonely tower and prevent her walking in the gardens among her birds and flowers.
so when, for the third time, she beheld the prince standing before her, she did not scream but sat up in bed gazing at him in silent terror.
"do not be afraid," he said," i shall not hurt you"; and he began to praise her gardens, of which he had heard the servants speak, and the birds and flowers which she loved, till the princess's anger softened, and she answered him with gentle words.
indeed, they soon became so friendly that she vowed she would marry no one else, and confided to him that in three days her father would be off to the wars, leaving his sword in her room.
if any man could find it and bring it to him he would receive her hand as a reward.
at this point a cock crew, and the youth jumped up hastily saying: "of course i shall ride with the king to the war, and if i do not return, take your violin every evening to the seashore and play on it, so that the very sea-kobolds who live at the bottom of the ocean may hear it and come to you."
just as the princess had foretold, in three days the king set out for the war with a large following, and among them was the young prince, who had presented himself at court as a young noble in search of adventures.
they had left the city many miles behind them, when the king suddenly discovered that he had forgotten his sword, and though all his attendants instantly offered theirs, he declared that he could fight with none but his own.
"the first man who brings it to me from my daughter's room," cried he, "shall not only have her to wife, but after my death shall reign in my stead."
at this the red knight, the young prince, and several more turned their horses to ride as fast as the wind back to the palace.
but suddenly a better plan entered the prince's head, and, letting the others pass him, he took his precious parcel from his breast and wished himself a lion.
then on he bounded, uttering such dreadful roars that the horses were frightened and grew unmanageable, and he easily outstripped them, and soon reached the gates of the palace.
here he hastily changed himself into a bee, and flew straight into the princess's room, where he became a man again.
she showed him where the sword hung concealed behind a curtain, and he took it down, saying as he did so: "be sure not to forget what you have promised to do."
the princess made no reply, but smiled sweetly, and slipping a golden ring from her finger she broke it in two and held half out silently to the prince, while the other half she put in her own pocket.
he kissed it, and ran down the stairs bearing the sword with him.
some way off he met the red knight and the rest, and the red knight at first tried to take the sword from him by force.
but as the youth proved too strong for him, he gave it up, and resolved to wait for a better opportunity.
this soon came, for the day was hot and the prince was thirsty.
perceiving a little stream that ran into the sea, he turned aside, and, unbuckling the sword, flung himself on the ground for a long drink.
unluckily, the mermaid happened at that moment to be floating on the water not very far off, and knew he was the boy who had been given her before he was born.
so she floated gently in to where he was lying, she seized him by the arm, and the waves closed over them both.
hardly had they disappeared, when the red knight stole cautiously up, and could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the king's sword on the bank.
he wondered what had become of the youth, who an hour before had guarded his treasure so fiercely; but, after all, that was no affair of his!
so, fastening the sword to his belt, he carried it to the king.
the war was soon over, and the king returned to his people, who welcomed him with shouts of joy.
but when the princess from her window saw that her betrothed was not among the attendants riding behind her father, her heart sank, for she knew that some evil must have befallen him, and she feared the red knight.
she had long ago learned how clever and how wicked he was, and something whispered to her that it was he who would gain the credit of having carried back the sword, and would claim her as his bride, though he had never even entered her chamber.
and she could do nothing; for although the king loved her, he never let her stand in the way of his plans.
the poor princess was only too right, and everything came to pass exactly as she had foreseen it.
the king told her that the red knight had won her fairly, and that the wedding would take place next day, and there would be a great feast after it.
in those days feasts were much longer and more splendid than they are now; and it was growing dark when the princess, tired out with all she had gone through, stole up to her own room for a little quiet.
but the moon was shining so brightly over the sea that it seemed to draw her towards it, and taking her violin under her arm, she crept down to the shore.
"listen!
listen!
said the mermaid to the prince, who was lying stretched on a bed of seaweeds at the bottom of the sea.
"listen!
that is your old love playing, for mermaids know everything that happens upon earth.'"
i hear nothing," answered the youth, who did not look happy.
"take me up higher, where the sounds can reach me."
so the mermaid took him on her shoulders and bore him up midway to the surface.
"can you hear now?"
she asked.
"no," answered the prince," i hear nothing but the water rushing; i must go higher still."
then the mermaid carried him to the very top.
"you must surely be able to hear now?"
said she.
"nothing but the water," repeated the youth.
so she took him right to the land.
"at any rate you can hear now?"
she said again.
"the water is still rushing in my ears," answered he; "but wait a little, that will soon pass off."
and as he spoke he put his hand into his breast, and seizing the hair wished himself a bee, and flew straight into the pocket of the princess.
the mermaid looked in vain for him, and coated all night upon the sea; but he never came back, and never more did he gladden her eyes.
but the princess felt that something strange was about her, though she knew not what, and returned quickly to the palace, where the young man at once resumed his own shape.
oh, what joy filled her heart at the sight of him!
but there was no time to be lost, and she led him right into the hall, where the king and his nobles were still sitting at the feast.
"here is a man who boasts that he can do wonderful tricks," said she, "better even than the red knight's!
that can not be true, of course, but it might be well to give this impostor a lesson.
he pretends, for instance, that he can turn himself into a lion; but that i do not believe.
i know that you have studied the art of magic," she went on, turning to the red knight, "so suppose you just show him how it is done, and bring shame upon him."
now the red knight had never opened a book of magic in his life; but he was accustomed to think that he could do everything better than other people without any teaching at all.
so he turned and twisted himself about, and bellowed and made faces; but he did not become a lion for all that.
"well, perhaps it is very difficult to change into a lion.
make yourself a bear," said the princess.
but the red knight found it no easier to become a bear than a lion.
"try a bee," suggested she."
i have always read that anyone who can do magic at all can do that."
and the old knight buzzed and hummed, but he remained a man and not a bee.
"now it is your turn," said the princess to the youth.
"let us see if you can change yourself into a lion."
and in a moment such a fierce creature stood before them, that all the guests rushed out of the hall, treading each other underfoot in their fright.
the lion sprang at the red knight, and would have torn him in pieces had not the princess held him back, and bidden him to change himself into a man again.
and in a second a man took the place of the lion.
"now become a bear," said she; and a bear advanced panting and stretching out his arms to the red knight, who shrank behind the princess.
by this time some of the guests had regained their courage, and returned as far as the door, thinking that if it was safe for the princess perhaps it was safe for them.
the king, who was braver than they, and felt it needful to set them a good example besides, had never left his seat, and when at a new command of the princess the bear once more turned into a man, he was silent from astonishment, and a suspicion of the truth began to dawn on him.
"was it he who fetched the sword?"
asked the king.
"yes, it was," answered the princess; and she told him the whole story, and how she had broken her gold ring and given him half of it.
and the prince took out his half of the ring, and the princess took out hers, and they fitted exactly.
next day the red knight was hanged, as he richly deserved, and there was a new marriage feast for the prince and princess.
-lsb- lapplandische mahrchen. -rsb-
pivi and kabo when birds were men, and men were birds, pivi and kabo lived in an island far away, called new claledonia.
pivi was a cheery little bird that chirps at sunset; kabo was an ugly black fowl that croaks in the darkness.
one day pivi and kabo thought that they would make slings, and practice slinging, as the people of the island still do.
so they went to a banyan tree, and stripped the bark to make strings for their slings, and next they repaired to the river bank to find stones.
kabo stood on the bank of the river, and pivi went into the water.
the game was for kabo to sling at pivi, and for pivi to dodge the stones, if he could.
for some time he dodged them cleverly, but at last a stone from kabo's sling hit poor pivi on the leg and broke it.
down went pivi into the stream, and floated along it, till he floated into a big hollow bamboo, which a woman used for washing her sweet potatoes.
"what is that in my bamboo?"
said the woman.
and she blew in at one end, and blew little pivi out at the other, like a pea from a pea-shooter.
"oh!"
cried the woman, "what a state you are in!
what have you been doing?"
"it was kabo who broke my leg at the slinging game," said pivi.
"well, i am sorry for you," said the woman; "will you come with me, and do what i tell you?'"
i will!"
said pivi, for the woman was very kind and pretty.
she took pivi into a shed where she kept her fruit laid him on a bed of mats, and made him as comfortable as she could, and attended to his broken leg without cutting off the flesh round the bone, as these people usually do.
"you will be still, wo n't you, pivi?"
she said.
"if you hear a little noise you will pretend to be dead.
it is the black ant who will come and creep from your feet up to your head.
say nothing, and keep quiet, wo n't you, pivi?"
"certainly, kind lady," said pivi," i will lie as still as can be."
"next will come the big red ant -- you know him?"
"yes, i know him, with his feet like a grasshopper's."
"he will walk over your body up to your head.
then you must shake all your body.
do you understand, pivi?"
"yes, dear lady, i shall do just as you say."
"very good," said the woman, going out and shutting the door.
pivi lay still under his coverings, then a tiny noise was heard, and the black ant began to march over pivi, who lay quite still.
then came the big red ant skipping along his body, and then pivi shook himself all over.
he jumped up quite well again, he ran to the river, he looked into the water and saw that he was changed from a bird into a fine young man!
"oh, lady," he cried, "look at me now!
i am changed into a man, and so handsome!"
"will you obey me again?"
said the woman.
"always; whatever you command i will do it," said pivi, politely.
"then climb up that cocoa-nut tree, with your legs only, not using your hands," said the woman.
now the natives can run up cocoa-nut trees like squirrels, some using only one hand; the girls can do that.
but few can climb without using their hands at all.
"at the top of the tree you will find two cocoa-nuts.
you must not throw them down, but carry them in your hands; and you must descend as you went up, using your legs only.'"
i shall try, at least," said pivi.
and up he went, but it was very difficult, and down he came.
"here are your cocoa-nuts," he said, presenting them to the woman.
"now, pivi, put them in the shed where you lay, and when the sun sets to cool himself in the sea and rise again not so hot in the dawn you must go and take the nuts."
all day pivi played about in the river, as the natives do, throwing fruit and silvery showers of water at each other.
when the sun set he went into the hut.
but as he drew near he heard sweet voices talking and laughing within.
"what is that?
people chattering in the hut!
perhaps they have taken my cocoa-nuts," said pivi to himself.
in he went, and there he found two pretty, laughing, teasing girls.
he hunted for his cocoanuts, but none were there.
down he ran to the river.
"oh, lady, my nuts have been stolen!"
he cried.
"come with me, pivi, and there will be nuts for you," said the woman.
they went back to the hut, where the girls were laughing and playing.
"nuts for you?"
said the woman, "there are two wives for you, pivi, take them to your house."
"oh, good lady," cried pivi, "how kind you are!"
so they were married and very happy, when in came cross old kabo.
"is this pivi?"
said he.
"yes, it is -- no, it is n't.
it is not the same pivi -- but there is a kind of likeness.
tell me, are you pivi?"
"oh, yes!"
said pivi.
"but i am much better looking, and there are my two wives, are they not beautiful?"
"you are mocking me, pivi!
your wives?
how?
where did you get them?
you, with wives!"
then pivi told kabo about the kind woman, and all the wonderful things that had happened to him.
"well, well!"
said kabo, "but i want to be handsome too, and to have pretty young wives."
"but how can we manage that?"
asked pivi.
"oh, we shall do all the same things over again -- play at slinging, and, this time, you shall break my leg, pivi!"
"with all the pleasure in life," said pivi, who was always ready to oblige.
so they went slinging, and pivi broke kabo's leg, and kabo fell into the river, and floated into the bamboo, and the woman blew him out, just as before.
then she picked up kabo, and put him in the shed, and told him what to do when the black ant came, and what to do when the red ant came.
but he did n't!
when the black ant came, he shook himself, and behold, he had a twisted leg, and a hump back, and was as black as the ant.
then he ran to the woman.
"look, what a figure i am!"
he said; but she only told him to climb the tree, as she had told pivi.
but kabo climbed with both hands and feet, and he threw down the nuts, instead of carrying them down, and he put them in the hut.
and when he went back for them there he found two horrid old black hags, wrangling, and scolding, and scratching!
so back he went to pivi with his two beautiful wives, and pivi was very sorry, but what could he do?
nothing, but sit and cry.
so, one day, kabo came and asked pivi to sail in his canoe to a place where he knew of a great big shell-fish, enough to feed on for a week.
pivi went, and deep in the clear water they saw a monstrous shell-fish, like an oyster, as big as a rock, with the shell wide open.
"we shall catch it, and dry it, and kipper it," said pivi, "and give a dinner to all our friends!'"
i shall dive for it, and break it off the rock," said kabo, "and then you must help me to drag it up into the canoe."
there the shell-fish lay and gaped, but kabo, though he dived in, kept well out of the way of the beast.
up he came, puffing and blowing: "oh, pivi," he cried," i can not move it.
jump in and try yourself!"
pivi dived, with his spear, and the shell-fish opened its shell wider yet, and sucked, and pivi disappeared into its mouth, and the shell shut up with a snap!
kabo laughed like a fiend, and then went home.
"where is pivi?"
asked the two pretty girls.
kabo pretended to cry, and told how pivi had been swallowed.
"but dry your tears, my darlings," said kabo," i will be your husband, and my wives shall be your slaves.
everything is for the best, in the best of all possible worlds."
"no, no!"
cried the girls, "we love pivi.
we do not love anyone else.
we shall stay at home, and weep for pivi!"
"wretched idiots!"
cried kabo; "pivi was a scoundrel who broke my leg, and knocked me into the river."
then a little cough was heard at the door, and kabo trembled, for he knew it was the cough of pivi!
"ah, dear pivi!"
cried kabo, rushing to the door.
"what joy!
i was trying to console your dear wives."
pivi said not one word.
he waved his hand, and five and twenty of his friends came trooping down the hill.
they cut up kabo into little pieces.
pivi turned round, and there was the good woman of the river.
"pivi," she said, "how did you get out of the living tomb into which kabo sent you?'"
i had my spear with me," said pivi.
"it was quite dry inside the shell, and i worked away at the fish with my spear, till he saw reason to open his shell, and out i came."
then the good woman laughed; and pivi and his two wives lived happy ever afterwards.
-lsb- moncelon.
bulletin de la societe d'anthropologie.
series iii.
vol.
ix., pp. 613-365. -rsb-
the elf maiden once upon a time two young men living in a small village fell in love with the same girl.
during the winter, it was all night except for an hour or so about noon, when the darkness seemed a little less dark, and then they used to see which of them could tempt her out for a sleigh ride with the northern lights flashing above them, or which could persuade her to come to a dance in some neighbouring barn.
but when the spring began, and the light grew longer, the hearts of the villagers leapt at the sight of the sun, and a day was fixed for the boats to be brought out, and the great nets to be spread in the bays of some islands that lay a few miles to the north.
everybody went on this expedition, and the two young men and the girl went with them.
they all sailed merrily across the sea chattering like a flock of magpies, or singing their favourite songs.
and when they reached the shore, what an unpacking there was!
for this was a noted fishing ground, and here they would live, in little wooden huts, till autumn and bad weather came round again.
the maiden and the two young men happened to share the same hut with some friends, and fished daily from the same boat.
and as time went on, one of the youths remarked that the girl took less notice of him than she did of his companion.
at first he tried to think that he was dreaming, and for a long while he kept his eyes shut very tight to what he did not want to see, but in spite of his efforts, the truth managed to wriggle through, and then the young man gave up trying to deceive himself, and set about finding some way to get the better of his rival.
the plan that he hit upon could not be carried out for some months; but the longer the young man thought of it, the more pleased he was with it, so he made no sign of his feelings, and waited patiently till the moment came.
this was the very day that they were all going to leave the islands, and sail back to the mainland for the winter.
in the bustle and hurry of departure, the cunning fisherman contrived that their boat should be the last to put off, and when everything was ready, and the sails about to be set, he suddenly called out: "oh, dear, what shall i do!
i have left my best knife behind in the hut.
run, like a good fellow, and get it for me, while i raise the anchor and loosen the tiller."
not thinking any harm, the youth jumped back on shore and made his way up the steep hank.
at the door of the hut he stopped and looked back, then started and gazed in horror.
the head of the boat stood out to sea, and he was left alone on the island.
yes, there was no doubt of it -- he was quite alone; and he had nothing to help him except the knife which his comrade had purposely dropped on the ledge of the window.
for some minutes he was too stunned by the treachery of his friend to think about anything at all, but after a while he shook himself awake, and determined that he would manage to keep alive somehow, if it were only to revenge himself.
so he put the knife in his pocket and went off to a part of the island which was not so bare as the rest, and had a small grove of trees.
from one of these he cut himself a bow, which he strung with a piece of cord that had been left lying about the huts.
when this was ready the young man ran down to the shore and shot one or two sea-birds, which he plucked and cooked for supper.
in this way the months slipped by, and christmas came round again.
the evening before, the youth went down to the rocks and into the copse, collecting all the drift wood the sea had washed up or the gale had blown down, and he piled it up in a great stack outside the door, so that he might not have to fetch any all the next day.
as soon as his task was done, he paused and looked out towards the mainland, thinking of christmas eve last year, and the merry dance they had had.
the night was still and cold, and by the help of the northern lights he could almost sea across to the opposite coast, when, suddenly, he noticed a boat, which seemed steering straight for the island.
at first he could hardly stand for joy, the chance of speaking to another man was so delightful; but as the boat drew near there was something, he could not tell what, that was different from the boats which he had been used to all his life, and when it touched the shore he saw that the people that filled it were beings of another world than ours.
then he hastily stepped behind the wood stack, and waited for what might happen next.
the strange folk one by one jumped on to the rocks, each bearing a load of something that they wanted.
among the women he remarked two young girls, more beautiful and better dressed than any of the rest, carrying between them two great baskets full of provisions.
the young man peeped out cautiously to see what all this crowd could be doing inside the tiny hut, but in a moment he drew back again, as the girls returned, and looked about as if they wanted to find out what sort of a place the island was.
their sharp eyes soon discovered the form of a man crouching behind the bundles of sticks, and at first they felt a little frightened, and started as if they would run away.
but the youth remained so still, that they took courage and laughed gaily to each other.
"what a strange creature, let us try what he is made of," said one, and she stooped down and gave him a pinch.
now the young man had a pin sticking in the sleeve of his jacket, and the moment the girl's hand touched him she pricked it so sharply that the blood came.
the girl screamed so loudly that the people all ran out of their huts to see what was the matter.
but directly they caught sight of the man they turned and fled in the other direction, and picking up the goods they had brought with them scampered as fast as they could down to the shore.
in an instant, boat, people, and goods had vanished completely.
in their hurry they had, however, forgotten two things: a bundle of keys which lay on the table, and the girl whom the pin had pricked, and who now stood pale and helpless beside the wood stack.
"you will have to make me your wife," she said at last, "for you have drawn my blood, and i belong to you."
"why not?
i am quite willing," answered he.
"but how do you suppose we can manage to live till summer comes round again?"
"do not be anxious about that," said the girl; "if you will only marry me all will be well.
i am very rich, and all my family are rich also."
then the young man gave her his promise to make her his wife, and the girl fulfilled her part of the bargain, and food was plentiful on the island all through the long winter months, though he never knew how it got there.
and by-and-by it was spring once more, and time for the fisher-folk to sail from the mainland.
"where are we to go now?"
asked the girl, one day, when the sun seemed brighter and the wind softer than usual."
i do not care where i go," answered the young man; "what do you think?"
the girl replied that she would like to go somewhere right at the other end of the island, and build a house, far away from the huts of the fishing-folk.
and he consented, and that very day they set off in search of a sheltered spot on the banks of a stream, so that it would be easy to get water.
in a tiny bay, on the opposite side of the island they found the very thing, which seemed to have been made on purpose for them; and as they were tired with their long walk, they laid themselves down on a bank of moss among some birches and prepared to have a good night's rest, so as to be fresh for work next day.
but before she went to sleep the girl turned to her husband, and said: "if in your dreams you fancy that you hear strange noises, be sure you do not stir, or get up to see what it is."
"oh, it is not likely we shall hear any noises in such a quiet place," answered he, and fell sound asleep.
suddenly he was awakened by a great clatter about his ears, as if all the workmen in the world were sawing and hammering and building close to him.
he was just going to spring up and go to see what it meant, when he luckily remembered his wife's words and lay still.
but the time till morning seemed very long, and with the first ray of sun they both rose, and pushed aside the branches of the birch trees.
there, in the very place they had chosen, stood a beautiful house -- doors and windows, and everything all complete!
"now you must fix on a spot for your cow-stalls," said the girl, when they had breakfasted off wild cherries; "and take care it is the proper size, neither too large nor too small."
and the husband did as he was bid, though he wondered what use a cow-house could be, as they had no cows to put in it.
but as he was a little afraid of his wife, who knew so much more than he, he asked no questions.
this night also he was awakened by the same sounds as before, and in the morning they found, near the stream, the most beautiful cow-house that ever was seen, with stalls and milk-pails and stools all complete, indeed, everything that a cow-house could possibly want, except the cows.
then the girl bade him measure out the ground for a storehouse, and this, she said, might be as large as he pleased; and when the storehouse was ready she proposed that they should set off to pay her parents a visit.
the old people welcomed them heartily, and summoned their neighbours, for many miles round, to a great feast in their honour.
in fact, for several weeks there was no work done on the farm at all; and at length the young man and his wife grew tired of so much play, and declared that they must return to their own home.
but, before they started on the journey, the wife whispered to her husband: "take care to jump over the threshold as quick as you can, or it will be the worse for you."
the young man listened to her words, and sprang over the threshold like an arrow from a bow; and it was well he did, for, no sooner was he on the other side, than his father-in-law threw a great hammer at him, which would have broken both his legs, if it had only touched them.
when they had gone some distance on the road home, the girl turned to her husband and said:'till you step inside the house, be sure you do not look back, whatever you may hear or see."
and the husband promised, and for a while all was still; and he thought no more about the matter till he noticed at last that the nearer he drew to the house the louder grew the noise of the trampling of feet behind him.
as he laid his hand upon the door he thought he was safe, and turned to look.
there, sure enough, was a vast herd of cattle, which had been sent after him by his father-in-law when he found that his daughter had been cleverer than he.
half of the herd were already through the fence and cropping the grass on the banks of the stream, but half still remained outside and faded into nothing, even as he watched them.
however, enough cattle were left to make the young man rich, and he and his wife lived happily together, except that every now and then the girl vanished from his sight, and never told him where she had been.
for a long time he kept silence about it; but one day, when he had been complaining of her absence, she said to him: "dear husband, i am bound to go, even against my will, and there is only one way to stop me.
drive a nail into the threshold, and then i can never pass in or out."
and so he did.
-lsb- lapplandische mahrchen. -rsb-
how some wild animals became tame ones once upon a time there lived a miller who was so rich that, when he was going to be married, he asked to the feast not only his own friends but also the wild animals who dwelt in the hills and woods round about.
the chief of the bears, the wolves, the foxes, the horses, the cows, the goats, the sheep, and the reindeer, all received invitations; and as they were not accustomed to weddings they were greatly pleased and flattered, and sent back messages in the politest language that they would certainly be there.
the first to start on the morning of the wedding-day was the bear, who always liked to be punctual; and, besides, he had a long way to go, and his hair, being so thick and rough, needed a good brushing before it was fit to be seen at a party.
however, he took care to awaken very early, and set off down the road with a light heart.
before he had walked very far he met a boy who came whistling along, hitting at the tops of the flowers with a stick.
"where are you going?"
said he, looking at the bear in surprise, for he was an old acquaintance, and not generally so smart.
"oh, just to the miller's marriage," answered the bear carelessly.
"of course, i would much rather stay at home, but the miller was so anxious i should be there that i really could not refuse."
"do n't go, do n't go!"
cried the boy.
"if you do you will never come back!
you have got the most beautiful skin in the world -- just the kind that everyone is wanting, and they will be sure to kill you and strip you of it.'"
i had not thought of that," said the bear, whose face turned white, only nobody could see it.
"if you are certain that they would be so wicked -- but perhaps you are jealous because nobody has invited you?"
"oh, nonsense!"
replied the boy angrily, "do as you see.
it is your skin, and not mine; i do n't care what becomes of it!"
and he walked quickly on with his head in the air.
the bear waited until he was out of sight, and then followed him slowly, for he felt in his heart that the boy's advice was good, though he was too proud to say so.
the boy soon grew tired of walking along the road, and turned off into the woods, where there were bushes he could jump and streams he could wade; but he had not gone far before he met the wolf.
"where are you going?"
asked he, for it was not the first time he had seen him.
"oh, just to the miller's marriage," answered the wolf, as the bear had done before him.
"it is rather tiresome, of course -- weddings are always so stupid; but still one must be good-natured!"
"do n't go!"
said the boy again.
"your skin is so thick and warm, and winter is not far off now.
they will kill you, and strip it from you."
the wolf's jaw dropped in astonishment and terror.
"do you really think that would happen?"
he gasped.
"yes, to be sure, i do," answered the boy.
"but it is your affair, not mine.
so good-morning," and on he went.
the wolf stood still for a few minutes, for he was trembling all over, and then crept quietly back to his cave.
next the boy met the fox, whose lovely coat of silvery grey was shining in the sun.
"you look very fine!"
said the boy, stopping to admire him, "are you going to the miller's wedding too?"
"yes," answered the fox; "it is a long journey to take for such a thing as that, but you know what the miller's friends are like -- so dull and heavy!
it is only kind to go and amuse them a little."
"you poor fellow," said the boy pityingly.
"take my advice and stay at home.
if you once enter the miller's gate his dogs will tear you in pieces."
"ah, well, such things have occurred, i know," replied the fox gravely.
and without saying any more he trotted off the way he had come.
his tail had scarcely disappeared, when a great noise of crashing branches was heard, and up bounded the horse, his black skin glistening like satin.
"good-morning," he called to the boy as he galloped past," i ca n't wait to talk to you now.
i have promised the miller to be present at his wedding-feast, and they wo n't sit down till i come."
"stop!
stop!"
cried the boy after him, and there was something in his voice that made the horse pull up.
"what is the matter?"
asked he.
"you do n't know what you are doing," said the boy.
"if once you go there you will never gallop through these woods any more.
you are stronger than many men, but they will catch you and put ropes round you, and you will have to work and to serve them all the days of your life."
the horse threw back his head at these words, and laughed scornfully.
"yes, i am stronger than many men," answered he, "and all the ropes in the world would not hold me.
let them bind me as fast as they will, i can always break loose, and return to the forest and freedom."
and with this proud speech he gave a whisk of his long tail, and galloped away faster than before.
but when he reached the miller's house everything happened as the boy had said.
while he was looking at the guests and thinking how much handsomer and stronger he was than any of them, a rope was suddenly flung over his head, and he was thrown down and a bit thrust between his teeth.
then, in spite of his struggles, he was dragged to a stable, and shut up for several days without any food, till his spirit was broken and his coat had lost its gloss.
after that he was harnessed to a plough, and had plenty of time to remember all he had lost through not listening to the counsel of the boy.
when the horse had turned a deaf ear to his words the boy wandered idly along, sometimes gathering wild strawberries from a bank, and sometimes plucking wild cherries from a tree, till he reached a clearing in the middle of the forest.
crossing this open space was a beautiful milk-white cow with a wreath of flowers round her neck.
"good-morning," she said pleasantly, as she came up to the place where the boy was standing.
"good-morning," he returned.
"where are you going in such a hurry?"
"to the miller's wedding; i am rather late already, for the wreath took such a long time to make, so i ca n't stop."
"do n't go," said the boy earnestly;" when once they have tasted your milk they will never let you leave them, and you will have to serve them all the days of your life."
"oh, nonsense; what do you know about it?"
answered the cow, who always thought she was wiser than other people.
"why, i can run twice as fast as any of them!
i should like to see anybody try to keep me against my will."
and, without even a polite bow, she went on her way, feeling very much offended.
but everything turned out just as the boy had said.
the company had all heard of the fame of the cow's milk, and persuaded her to give them some, and then her doom was sealed.
a crowd gathered round her, and held her horns so that she could not use them, and, like the horse, she was shut in the stable, and only let out in the mornings, when a long rope was tied round her head, and she was fastened to a stake in a grassy meadow.
and so it happened to the goat and to the sheep.
last of all came the reindeer, looking as he always did, as if some serious business was on hand.
"where are you going?"
asked the boy, who by this time was tired of wild cherries, and was thinking of his dinner."
i am invited to the wedding," answered the reindeer, "and the miller has begged me on no account to fail him.'"
o fool!"
cried the boy, "have you no sense at all?
do n't you know that when you get there they will hold you fast, for neither beast nor bird is as strong or as swift as you?"
"that is exactly why i am quite safe," replied the reindeer."
i am so strong that no one can bind me, and so swift that not even an arrow can catch me.
so, goodbye for the present, you will soon see me back."
but none of the animals that went to the miller's wedding ever came back.
and because they were self-willed and conceited, and would not listen to good advice, they and their children have been the servants of men to this very day.
-lsb- lapplandische mahrchen. -rsb-
fortune and the wood-cutter several hundreds of years ago there lived in a forest a wood-cutter and his wife and children.
he was very poor, having only his axe to depend upon, and two mules to carry the wood he cut to the neighbouring town; but he worked hard, and was always out of bed by five o'clock, summer and winter.
this went on for twenty years, and though his sons were now grown up, and went with their father to the forest, everything seemed to go against them, and they remained as poor as ever.
in the end the wood-cutter lost heart, and said to himself: "what is the good of working like this if i never am a penny the richer at the end?
i shall go to the forest no more!
and perhaps, if i take to my bed, and do not run after fortune, one day she may come to me."
so the next morning he did not get up, and when six o'clock struck, his wife, who had been cleaning the house, went to see what was the matter.
"are you ill?"
she asked wonderingly, surprised at not finding him dressed.
"the cock has crowed ever so often.
it is high time for you to get up."
"why should i get up?"
asked the man, without moving.
"why?
to go to the forest, of course."
"yes; and when i have toiled all day i hardly earn enough to give us one meal."
"but what can we do, my poor husband?"
said she.
"it is just a trick of fortune's, who would never smile upon us."
"well, i have had my fill of fortune's tricks," cried he.
"if she wants me she can find me here.
but i have done with the wood for ever."
"my dear husband, grief has driven you mad!
do you think fortune will come to anybody who does not go after her?
dress yourself, and saddle the mules, and begin your work.
do you know that there is not a morsel of bread in the house?'"
i do n't care if there is n't, and i am not going to the forest.
it is no use your talking; nothing will make me change my mind."
the distracted wife begged and implored in vain; her husband persisted in staying in bed, and at last, in despair, she left him and went back to her work.
an hour or two later a man from the nearest village knocked at her door, and when she opened it, he said to her: "good-morning, mother.
i have got a job to do, and i want to know if your husband will lend me your mules, as i see he is not using them, and can lend me a hand himself?"
"he is upstairs; you had better ask him," answered the woman.
and the man went up, and repeated his request."
i am sorry, neighbour, but i have sworn not to leave my bed, and nothing will make me break my vow."
"well, then, will you lend me your two mules?
i will pay you something for them."
"certainly, neighbour.
take them and welcome."
so the man left the house, and leading the mules from the stable, placed two sacks on their back, and drove them to a field where he had found a hidden treasure.
he filled the sacks with the money, though he knew perfectly well that it belonged to the sultan, and was driving them quietly home again, when he saw two soldiers coming along the road.
now the man was aware that if he was caught he would be condemned to death, so he fled back into the forest.
the mules, left to themselves, took the path that led to their master's stable.
the wood-cutter's wife was looking out of the window when the mules drew up before the door, so heavily laden that they almost sank under their burdens.
she lost no time in calling her husband, who was still lying in bed.
"quick!
quick!
get up as fast as you can.
our two mules have returned with sacks on their backs, so heavily laden with something or other that the poor beasts can hardly stand up."
"wife, i have told you a dozen times already that i am not going to get up.
why ca n't you leave me in peace?"
as she found she could get no help from her husband the woman took a large knife and cut the cords which bound the sacks on to the animals" backs.
they fell at once to the ground, and out poured a rain of gold pieces, till the little court-yard shone like the sun."
a treasure!"
gasped the woman, as soon as she could speak from surprise."
a treasure!"
and she ran off to tell her husband.
"get up!
get up!"
she cried.
"you were quite right not to go to the forest, and to await fortune in your bed; she has come at last!
our mules have returned home laden with all the gold in the world, and it is now lying in the court.
no one in the whole country can be as rich as we are!"
in an instant the wood-cutter was on his feet, and running to the court, where he paused dazzled by the glitter of the coins which lay around him.
"you see, my dear wife, that i was right," he said at last.
"fortune is so capricious, you can never count on her.
run after her, and she is sure to fly from you; stay still, and she is sure to come."
-lsb- traditions populaires de l'asie mineure. -rsb-
the enchanted head once upon a time an old woman lived in a small cottage near the sea with her two daughters.
they were very poor, and the girls seldom left the house, as they worked all day long making veils for the ladies to wear over their faces, and every morning, when the veils were finished, the other took them over the bridge and sold them in the city.
then she bought the food that they needed for the day, and returned home to do her share of veil-making.
one morning the old woman rose even earlier than usual, and set off for the city with her wares.
she was just crossing the bridge when, suddenly, she knocked up against a human head, which she had never seen there before.
the woman started back in horror; but what was her surprise when the head spoke, exactly as if it had a body joined on to it.
"take me with you, good mother!"
it said imploringly; "take me with you back to your house."
at the sound of these words the poor woman nearly went mad with terror.
have that horrible thing always at home?
never!
never!
and she turned and ran back as fast as she could, not knowing that the head was jumping, dancing, and rolling after her.
but when she reached her own door it bounded in before her, and stopped in front of the fire, begging and praying to be allowed to stay.
all that day there was no food in the house, for the veils had not been sold, and they had no money to buy anything with.
so they all sat silent at their work, inwardly cursing the head which was the cause of their misfortunes.
when evening came, and there was no sign of supper, the head spoke, for the first time that day: "good mother, does no one ever eat here?
during all the hours i have spent in your house not a creature has touched anything."
"no," answered the old woman, "we are not eating anything."
"and why not, good mother?"
"because we have no money to buy any food."
"is it your custom never to eat?"
"no, for every morning i go into the city to sell my veils, and with the few shillings i get for them i buy all we want.
to-day i did not cross the bridge, so of course i had nothing for food."
"then i am the cause of your having gone hungry all day?"
asked the head.
"yes, you are," answered the old woman.
"well, then, i will give you money and plenty of it, if you will only do as i tell you.
in an hour, as the clock strikes twelve, you must be on the bridge at the place where you met me.
when you get there call out "ahmed," three times, as loud as you can.
then a negro will appear, and you must say to him: "the head, your master, desires you to open the trunk, and to give me the green purse which you will find in it.""
"very well, my lord," said the old woman," i will set off at once for the bridge."
and wrapping her veil round her she went out.
midnight was striking as she reached the spot where she had met the head so many hours before.
"ahmed!
ahmed!
ahmed!"
cried she, and immediately a huge negro, as tall as a giant, stood on the bridge before her.
"what do you want?"
asked he.
"the head, your master, desires you to open the trunk, and to give me the green purse which you will find in it.'"
i will be back in a moment, good mother," said he.
and three minutes later he placed a purse full of sequins in the old woman's hand.
no one can imagine the joy of the whole family at the sight of all this wealth.
the tiny, tumble-down cottage was rebuilt, the girls had new dresses, and their mother ceased selling veils.
it was such a new thing to them to have money to spend, that they were not as careful as they might have been, and by-and-by there was not a single coin left in the purse.
when this happened their hearts sank within them, and their faces fell.
"have you spent your fortune?"
asked the head from its corner, when it saw how sad they looked.
"well, then, go at midnight, good mother, to the bridge, and call out "mahomet!"
three times, as loud as you can.
a negro will appear in answer, and you must tell him to open the trunk, and to give you the red purse which he will find there."
the old woman did not need twice telling, but set off at once for the bridge.
"mahomet!
mahomet!
mahomet!"
cried she, with all her might; and in an instant a negro, still larger than the last, stood before her.
"what do you want?"
asked he.
"the head, your master, bids you open the trunk, and to give me the red purse which you will find in it."
"very well, good mother, i will do so," answered the negro, and, the moment after he had vanished, he reappeared with the purse in his hand.
this time the money seemed so endless that the old woman built herself a new house, and filled it with the most beautiful things that were to be found in the shops.
her daughters were always wrapped in veils that looked as if they were woven out of sunbeams, and their dresses shone with precious stones.
the neighbours wondered where all this sudden wealth had sprung from, but nobody knew about the head.
"good mother," said the head, one day, "this morning you are to go to the city and ask the sultan to give me his daughter for my bride."
"do what?"
asked the old woman in amazement.
"how can i tell the sultan that a head without a body wishes to become his son-in-law?
they will think that i am mad, and i shall be hooted from the palace and stoned by the children."
"do as i bid you," replied the head; "it is my will."
the old woman was afraid to say anything more, and, putting on her richest clothes, started for the palace.
the sultan granted her an audience at once, and, in a trembling voice, she made her request.
"are you mad, old woman?"
said the sultan, staring at her.
"the wooer is powerful, o sultan, and nothing is impossible to him."
"is that true?"
"it is, o sultan; i swear it," answered she.
"then let him show his power by doing three things, and i will give him my daughter."
"command, o gracious prince," said she.
"do you see that hill in front of the palace?"
asked the sultan."
i see it," answered she.
"well, in forty days the man who has sent you must make that hill vanish, and plant a beautiful garden in its place.
that is the first thing.
now go, and tell him what i say."
so the old woman returned and told the head the sultan's first condition.
"it is well," he replied; and said no more about it.
for thirty-nine days the head remained in its favourite corner.
the old woman thought that the task set before was beyond his powers, and that no more would be heard about the sultan's daughter.
but on the thirty-ninth evening after her visit to the palace, the head suddenly spoke.
"good mother," he said, "you must go to-night to the bridge, and when you are there cry "ali!
ali!
ali!"
as loud as you can.
a negro will appear before you, and you will tell him that he is to level the hill, and to make, in its place, the most beautiful garden that ever was seen.'"
i will go at once," answered she.
it did not take her long to reach the bridge which led to the city, and she took up her position on the spot where she had first seen the head, and called loudly "ali!
ali!
ali."
in an instant a negro appeared before her, of such a huge size that the old woman was half frightened; but his voice was mild and gentle as he said: "what is it that you want?"
"your master bids you level the hill that stands in front of the sultan's palace and in its place to make the most beautiful garden in the world."
"tell my master he shall be obeyed," replied ali; "it shall be done this moment."
and the old woman went home and gave ali's message to the head.
meanwhile the sultan was in his palace waiting till the fortieth day should dawn, and wondering that not one spadeful of earth should have been dug out of the hill.
"if that old woman has been playing me a trick," thought he," i will hang her!
and i will put up a gallows to-morrow on the hill itself."
but when to-morrow came there was no hill, and when the sultan opened his eyes he could not imagine why the room was so much lighter than usual, and what was the reason of the sweet smell of flowers that filled the air.
"can there be a fire?"
he said to himself; "the sun never came in at this window before.
i must get up and see."
so he rose and looked out, and underneath him flowers from every part of the world were blooming, and creepers of every colour hung in chains from tree to tree.
then he remembered.
"certainly that old woman's son is a clever magician!"
cried he;" i never met anyone as clever as that.
what shall i give him to do next?
let me think.
ah!
i know."
and he sent for the old woman, who by the orders of the head, was waiting below.
"your son has carried out my wishes very nicely," he said.
"the garden is larger and better than that of any other king.
but when i walk across it i shall need some place to rest on the other side.
in forty days he must build me a palace, in which every room shall be filled with different furniture from a different country, and each more magnificent than any room that ever was seen."
and having said this he turned round and went away.
"oh!
he will never be able to do that," thought she; "it is much more difficult than the hill."
and she walked home slowly, with her head bent.
"well, what am i to do next?"
asked the head cheerfully.
and the old woman told her story.
"dear me!
is that all?
why it is child's play," answered the head; and troubled no more about the palace for thirty-nine days.
then he told the old woman to go to the bridge and call for hassan.
"what do you want, old woman?"
asked hassan, when he appeared, for he was not as polite as the others had been.
"your master commands you to build the most magnificent palace that ever was seen," replied she; "and you are to place it on the borders of the new garden."
"he shall be obeyed," answered hassan.
and when the sultan woke he saw, in the distance, a palace built of soft blue marble, resting on slender pillars of pure gold.
"that old woman's son is certainly all-powerful," cried he; "what shall i bid him do now?"
and after thinking some time he sent for the old woman, who was expecting the summons.
"the garden is wonderful, and the palace the finest in the world," said he, "so fine, that my servants would cut but a sorry figure in it.
let your son fill it with forty slaves whose beauty shall be unequalled, all exactly like each other, and of the same height."
this time the king thought he had invented something totally impossible, and was quite pleased with himself for his cleverness.
thirty-nine days passed, and at midnight on the night of the last the old woman was standing on the bridge.
"bekir!
bekir!
bekir!"
cried she.
and a negro appeared, and inquired what she wanted.
"the head, your master, bids you find forty slaves of unequalled beauty, and of the same height, and place them in the sultan's palace on the other side of the garden."
and when, on the morning of the fortieth day, the sultan went to the blue palace, and was received by the forty slaves, he nearly lost his wits from surprise."
i will assuredly give my daughter to the old woman's son," thought he.
"if i were to search all the world through i could never find a more powerful son-in-law."
and when the old woman entered his presence he informed her that he was ready to fulfil his promise, and she was to bid her son appear at the palace without delay.
this command did not at all please the old woman, though, of course, she made no objections to the sultan.
"all has gone well so far," she grumbled, when she told her story to the head," but what do you suppose the sultan will say, when he sees his daughter's husband?"
"never mind what he says!
put me on a silver dish and carry me to the palace."
so it was done, though the old woman's heart beat as she laid down the dish with the head upon it.
at the sight before him the king flew into a violent rage."
i will never marry my daughter to such a monster," he cried.
but the princess placed her head gently on his arm.
"you have given your word, my father, and you can not break it," said she.
"but, my child, it is impossible for you to marry such a being," exclaimed the sultan.
"yes, i will marry him.
he had a beautiful head, and i love him already."
so the marriage was celebrated, and great feasts were held in the palace, though the people wept tears to think of the sad fate of their beloved princess.
but when the merry-making was done, and the young couple were alone, the head suddenly disappeared, or, rather, a body was added to it, and one of the handsomest young men that ever was seen stood before the princess."
a wicked fairy enchanted me at my birth," he said, "and for the rest of the world i must always be a head only.
but for you, and you only, i am a man like other men."
"and that is all i care about," said the princess.
-lsb- traditions populaires de toutes les nations -lrb- asie mineure -rrb- -rsb-.
the sister of the sun a long time ago there lived a young prince whose favourite playfellow was the son of the gardener who lived in the grounds of the palace.
the king would have preferred his choosing a friend from the pages who were brought up at court; but the prince would have nothing to say to them, and as he was a spoilt child, and allowed his way in all things, and the gardener's boy was quiet and well-behaved, he was suffered to be in the palace, morning, noon, and night.
the game the children loved the best was a match at archery, for the king had given them two bows exactly alike, and they would spend whole days in trying to see which could shoot the highest.
this is always very dangerous, and it was a great wonder they did not put their eyes out; but somehow or other they managed to escape.
one morning, when the prince had done his lessons, he ran out to call his friend, and they both hurried off to the lawn which was their usual playground.
they took their bows out of the little hut where their toys were kept, and began to see which could shoot the highest.
at last they happened to let fly their arrows both together, and when they fell to earth again the tail feather of a golden hen was found sticking in one.
now the question began to arise whose was the lucky arrow, for they were both alike, and look as closely as you would you could see no difference between them.
the prince declared that the arrow was his, and the gardener's boy was quite sure it was his -- and on this occasion he was perfectly right; but, as they could not decide the matter, they went straight to the king.
when the king had heard the story, he decided that the feather belonged to his son; but the other boy would not listen to this and claimed the feather for himself.
at length the king's patience gave way, and he said angrily: "very well; if you are so sure that the feather is yours, yours it shall be; only you will have to seek till you find a golden hen with a feather missing from her tail.
and if you fail to find her your head will be the forfeit."
the boy had need of all his courage to listen silently to the king's words.
he had no idea where the golden hen might be, or even, if he discovered that, how he was to get to her.
but there was nothing for it but to do the king's bidding, and he felt that the sooner he left the palace the better.
so he went home and put some food into a bag, and then set forth, hoping that some accident might show him which path to take.
after walking for several hours he met a fox, who seemed inclined to be friendly, and the boy was so glad to have anyone to talk to that he sat down and entered into conversation.
"where are you going?"
asked the fox."
i have got to find a golden hen who has lost a feather out of her tail," answered the boy; "but i do n't know where she lives or how i shall catch her!"
"oh, i can show you the way!"
said the fox, who was really very good-natured.
"far towards the east, in that direction, lives a beautiful maiden who is called "the sister of the sun."
she has three golden hens in her house.
perhaps the feather belongs to one of them."
the boy was delighted at this news, and they walked on all day together, the fox in front, and the boy behind.
when evening came they lay down to sleep, and put the knapsack under their heads for a pillow.
suddenly, about midnight, the fox gave a low whine, and drew nearer to his bedfellow.
"cousin," he whispered very low, "there is someone coming who will take the knapsack away from me.
look over there!"
and the boy, peeping through the bushes, saw a man.
"oh, i do n't think he will rob us!"
said the boy; and when the man drew near, he told them his story, which so much interested the stranger that he asked leave to travel with them, as he might be of some use.
so when the sun rose they set out again, the fox in front as before, the man and boy following.
after some hours they reached the castle of the sister of the sun, who kept the golden hens among her treasures.
they halted before the gate and took counsel as to which of them should go in and see the lady herself."
i think it would be best for me to enter and steal the hens," said the fox; but this did not please the boy at all.
"no, it is my business, so it is right that i should go," answered he.
"you will find it a very difficult matter to get hold of the hens," replied the fox.
"oh, nothing is likely to happen to me," returned the boy.
"well, go then," said the fox, "but be careful not to make any mistake.
steal only the hen which has the feather missing from her tail, and leave the others alone."
the man listened, but did not interfere, and the boy entered the court of the palace.
he soon spied the three hens strutting proudly about, though they were really anxiously wondering if there were not some grains lying on the ground that they might be glad to eat.
and as the last one passed by him, he saw she had one feather missing from her tail.
at this sight the youth darted forward and seized the hen by the neck so that she could not struggle.
then, tucking her comfortably under his arm, he made straight for the gate.
unluckily, just as he was about to go through it he looked back and caught a glimpse of wonderful splendours from an open door of the palace.
"after all, there is no hurry," he said to himself;" i may as well see something now i am here," and turned back, forgetting all about the hen, which escaped from under his arm, and ran to join her sisters.
he was so much fascinated by the sight of all the beautiful things which peeped through the door that he scarcely noticed that he had lost the prize he had won; and he did not remember there was such a thing as a hen in the world when he beheld the sister of the sun sleeping on a bed before him.
for some time he stood staring; then he came to himself with a start, and feeling that he had no business there, softly stole away, and was fortunate enough to recapture the hen, which he took with him to the gate.
on the threshold he stopped again.
"why should i not look at the sister of the sun?"
he thought to himself; "she is asleep, and will never know."
and he turned back for the second time and entered the chamber, while the hen wriggled herself free as before.
when he had gazed his fill he went out into the courtyard and picked up his hen who was seeking for corn.
as he drew near the gate he paused.
"why did i not give her a kiss?"
he said to himself;" i shall never kiss any woman so beautiful."
and he wrung his hands with regret, so that the hen fell to the ground and ran away.
"but i can do it still!"
he cried with delight, and he rushed back to the chamber and kissed the sleeping maiden on the forehead.
but, alas!
when he came out again he found that the hen had grown so shy that she would not let him come near her.
and, worse than that, her sisters began to cluck so loud that the sister of the sun was awakened by the noise.
she jumped up in haste from her bed, and going to the door she said to the boy: "you shall never, never, have my hen till you bring me back my sister who was carried off by a giant to his castle, which is a long way off."
slowly and sadly the youth left the palace and told his story to his friends, who were waiting outside the gate, how he had actually held the hen three times in his arms and had lost her."
i knew that we should not get off so easily," said the fox, shaking his head; "but there is no more time to waste.
let us set off at once in search of the sister.
luckily, i know the way."
they walked on for many days, till at length the fox, who, as usual, was going first, stopped suddenly.
"the giant's castle is not far now," he said, "but when we reach it you two must remain outside while i go and fetch the princess.
directly i bring her out you must both catch hold of her tight, and get away as fast as you can; while i return to the castle and talk to the giants -- for there are many of them -- so that they may not notice the escape of the princess."
a few minutes later they arrived at the castle, and the fox, who had often been there before, slipped in without difficulty.
there were several giants, both young and old, in the hall, and they were all dancing round the princess.
as soon as they saw the fox they cried out: "come and dance too, old fox; it is a long time since we have seen you."
so the fox stood up, and did his steps with the best of them; but after a while he stopped and said: "i know a charming new dance that i should like to show you; but it can only be done by two people.
if the princess will honour me for a few minutes, you will soon see how it is done."
"ah, that is delightful; we want something new," answered they, and placed the princess between the outstretched arms of the fox.
in one instant he had knocked over the great stand of lights that lighted the hall, and in the darkness had borne the princess to the gate.
his comrades seized hold of her, as they had been bidden, and the fox was back again in the hall before anyone had missed him.
he found the giants busy trying to kindle a fire and get some light; but after a bit someone cried out: "where is the princess?"
"here, in my arms," replied the fox.
"do n't be afraid; she is quite safe."
and he waited until he thought that his comrades had gained a good start, and put at least five or six mountains between themselves and the giants.
then he sprang through the door, calling, as he went: "the maiden is here; take her if you can!"
at these words the giants understood that their prize had escaped, and they ran after the fox as fast as their great legs could carry them, thinking that they should soon come up with the fox, who they supposed had the princess on his back.
the fox, on his side, was far too clever to choose the same path that his friends had taken, but would in and out of the forest, till at last even he was tired out, and fell fast asleep under a tree.
indeed, he was so exhausted with his day's work that he never heard the approach of the giants, and their hands were already stretched out to seize his tail when his eyes opened, and with a tremendous bound he was once more beyond their reach.
all the rest of the night the fox ran and ran; but when bright red spread over the east, he stopped and waited till the giants were close upon him.
then he turned, and said quietly: "look, there is the sister of the sun!"
the giants raised their eyes all at once, and were instantly turned into pillars of stone.
the fox then made each pillar a low bow, and set off to join his friends.
he knew a great many short cuts across the hills, so it was not long before he came up with them, and all four travelled night and day till they reached the castle of the sister of the sun.
what joy and feasting there was throughout the palace at the sight of the princess whom they had mourned as dead!
and they could not make enough of the boy who had gone through such dangers in order to rescue her.
the golden hen was given to him at once, and, more than that, the sister of the sun told him that, in a little time, when he was a few years older, she would herself pay a visit to his home and become his wife.
the boy could hardly believe his ears when he heard what was in store for him, for his was the most beautiful princess in all the world; and however thick the darkness might be, it fled away at once from the light of a star on her forehead.
so the boy set forth on his journey home, with his friends for company; his heart full of gladness when he thought of the promise of the princess.
but, one by one, his comrades dropped off at the places where they had first met him, and he was quite alone when he reached his native town and the gates of the palace.
with the golden hen under his arm he presented himself before the king, and told his adventures, and how he was going to have for a wife a princess so wonderful and unlike all other princesses, that the star on her forehead could turn night into day.
the king listened silently, and when the boy had done, he said quietly: "if i find that your story is not true i will have you thrown into a cask of pitch."
"it is true -- every word of it," answered the boy; and went on to tell that the day and even the hour were fixed when his bride was to come and seek him.
but as the time drew near, and nothing was heard of the princess, the youth became anxious and uneasy, especially when it came to his ears that the great cask was being filled with pitch, and that sticks were laid underneath to make a fire to boil it with.
all day long the boy stood at the window, looking over the sea by which the princess must travel; but there were no signs of her, not even the tiniest white sail.
and, as he stood, soldiers came and laid hands on him, and led him up to the cask, where a big fire was blazing, and the horrid black pitch boiling and bubbling over the sides.
he looked and shuddered, but there was no escape; so he shut his eyes to avoid seeing.
the word was given for him to mount the steps which led to the top of the cask, when, suddenly, some men were seen running with all their might, crying as they went that a large ship with its sails spread was making straight for the city.
no one knew what the ship was, or whence it came; but the king declared that he would not have the boy burned before its arrival, there would always be time enough for that.
at length the vessel was safe in port, and a whisper went through the watching crowd that on board was the sister of the sun, who had come to marry the young peasant as she had promised.
in a few moments more she had landed, and desired to be shown the way to the cottage which her bridegroom had so often described to her; and whither he had been led back by the king's order at the first sign of the ship.
"do n't you know me?"
asked the sister of the sun, bending over him where he lay, almost driven out of his senses with terror.
"no, no; i do n't know you," answered the youth, without raising his eyes.
"kiss me," said the sister of the sun; and the youth obeyed her, but still without looking up.
"do n't you know me now?"
asked she.
"no, i do n't know you -- i do n't know you," he replied, with the manner of a man whom fear had driven mad.
at this the sister of the sun grew rather frightened, and beginning at the beginning, she told him the story of his meeting with her, and how she had come a long way in order to marry him.
and just as she had finished in walked the king, to see if what the boy had said was really true.
but hardly had he opened the door of the cottage when he was almost blinded by the light that filled it; and he remembered what he had been told about the star on the forehead of the princess.
he staggered back as if he had been struck, then a curious feeling took hold of him, which he had never felt before, and falling on his knees before the sister of the sun, he implored her to give up all thought of the peasant boy, and to share his throne.
but she laughed, and said she had a finer throne of her own, if she wanted to sit on it, and that she was free to please herself, and would have no husband but the boy whom she would never have seen except for the king himself."
i shall marry him to-morrow," ended she; and ordered the preparations to be set on foot at once.
when the next day came, however, the bridegroom's father informed the princess that, by the law of the land, the marriage must take place in the presence of the king; but he hoped his majesty would not long delay his arrival.
an hour or two passed, and everyone was waiting and watching, when at last the sound of trumpets was heard and a grand procession was seen marching up the street.
a chair covered with velvet had been made ready for the king, and he took his seat upon it, and, looking round upon the assembled company, he said: "i have no wish to forbid this marriage; but, before i can allow it to be celebrated, the bridegroom must prove himself worthy of such a bride by fulfilling three tasks.
and the first is that in a single day he must cut down every tree in an entire forest.
the youth stood aghast as the king's words.
he had never cut down a tree in his life, and had not the least idea how to begin.
and as for a whole forest --!
but the princess saw what was passing in his mind, and whispered to him: "do n't be afraid.
in my ship you will find an axe, which you must carry off to the forest.
when you have cut down one tree with it just say: "so let the forest fall," and in an instant all the trees will be on the ground.
but pick up three chips of the tree you felled, and put them in your pocket."
and the young man did exactly as he was bid, and soon returned with the three chips safe in his coat.
the following morning the princess declared that she had been thinking about the matter, and that, as she was not a subject of the king, she saw no reason why she should be bound by his laws; and she meant to be married that very day.
but the bridegroom's father told her that it was all very well for her to talk like that, but it was quite different for his son, who would pay with his head for any disobedience to the king's commands.
however, in consideration of what the youth had done the day before, he hoped his majesty's heart might be softened, especially as he had sent a message that they might expect him at once.
with this the bridal pair had to be content, and be as patient as they could till the king's arrival.
he did not keep them long, but they saw by his face that nothing good awaited them.
"the marriage can not take place," he said shortly,'till the youth has joined to their roots all the trees he cut down yesterday."
this sounded much more difficult than what he had done before, and he turned in despair to the sister of the sun.
"it is all right," she whispered encouragingly.
"take this water and sprinkle it on one of the fallen trees, and say to it: "so let all the trees of the forest stand upright," and in a moment they will be erect again."
and the young man did what he was told, and left the forest looking exactly as it had done before.
now, surely, thought the princess, there was no longer any need to put off the wedding; and she gave orders that all should be ready for the following day.
but again the old man interfered, and declared that without the king's permission no marriage could take place.
for the third time his majesty was sent for, and for the third time he proclaimed that he could not give his consent until the bridegroom should have slain a serpent which dwelt in a broad river that flowed at the back of the castle.
everyone knew stories of this terrible serpent, though no one had actually seen it; but from time to time a child strayed from home and never came back, and then mothers would forbid the other children to go near the river, which had juicy fruits and lovely flowers growing along its banks.
so no wonder the youth trembled and turned pale when he heard what lay before him.
"you will succeed in this also," whispered the sister of the sun, pressing his hand, "for in my ship is a magic sword which will cut through everything.
go down to the river and unfasten a boat which lies moored there, and throw the chips into the water.
when the serpent rears up its body you will cut off its three heads with one blow of your sword.
then take the tip of each tongue and go with it to-morrow morning into the king's kitchen.
if the king himself should enter, just say to him: "here are three gifts i offer you in return for the services you demanded of me!"
and throw the tips of the serpent's tongues at him, and hasten to the ship as fast as your legs will carry you.
but be sure you take great care never to look behind you."
the young man did exactly what the princess had told him.
the three chips which he flung into the river became a boat, and, as he steered across the stream, the serpent put up its head and hissed loudly.
the youth had his sword ready, and in another second the three heads were bobbing on the water.
guiding his boat till he was beside them, he stooped down and snipped off the ends of the tongues, and then rowed back to the other bank.
next morning he carried them into the royal kitchen, and when the king entered, as was his custom, to see what he was going to have for dinner, the bridegroom flung them in his face, saying: "here is a gift for you in return for the services you asked of me."
and, opening the kitchen door, he fled to the ship.
unluckily he missed the way, and in his excitement ran backwards and forwards, without knowing whither he was going.
at last, in despair, he looked round, and saw to his amazement that both the city and palace had vanished completely.
then he turned his eyes in the other direction, and, far, far away, he caught sight of the ship with her sails spread, and a fair wind behind her.
this dreadful spectacle seemed to take away his senses, and all day long he wandered about, without knowing where he was going, till, in the evening, he noticed some smoke from a little hut of turf near by.
he went straight up to it and cried: "o mother, let me come in for pity's sake!"
the old woman who lived in the hut beckoned to him to enter, and hardly was he inside when he cried again: "o mother, can you tell me anything of the sister of the sun?"
but the woman only shook her head.
"no, i know nothing of her," said she.
the young man turned to leave the hut, but the old woman stopped him, and, giving him a letter, begged him to carry it to her next eldest sister, saying: "if you should get tired on the way, take out the letter and rustle the paper."
this advice surprised the young man a good deal, as he did not see how it could help him; but he did not answer, and went down the road without knowing where he was going.
at length he grew so tired he could walk no more; then he remembered what the old woman had said.
after he had rustled the leaves only once all fatigue disappeared, and he strode over the grass till he came to another little turf hut.
"let me in, i pray you, dear mother," cried he.
and the door opened in front of him.
"your sister has sent you this letter," he said, and added quickly: "o mother!
can you tell me anything of the sister of the sun?"
"no, i know nothing of her," answered she.
but as he turned hopelessly away, she stopped him.
"if you happen to pass my eldest sister's house, will you give her this letter?"
said she.
"and if you should get tired on the road, just take it out of your pocket and rustle the paper."
so the young man put the letter in his pocket, and walked all day over the hills till he reached a little turf hut, exactly like the other two.
"let me in, i pray you, dear mother," cried he.
and as he entered he added: "here is a letter from your sister and -- can you tell me anything of the sister of the sun?"
"yes, i can," answered the old woman.
"she lives in the castle on the banka.
her father lost a battle only a few days ago because you had stolen his sword from him, and the sister of the sun herself is almost dead of grief.
but, when you see her, stick a pin into the palm of her hand, and suck the drops of blood that flow.
then she will grow calmer, and will know you again.
only, beware; for before you reach the castle on the banka fearful things will happen."
he thanked the old woman with tears of gladness for the good news she had given him, and continued his journey.
but he had not gone very far when, at a turn of the road, he met with two brothers, who were quarrelling over a piece of cloth.
"my good men, what are you fighting about?"
said he.
"that cloth does not look worth much!"
"oh, it is ragged enough," answered they, "but it was left us by our father, and if any man wraps it round him no one can see him; and we each want it for our own."
"let me put it round me for a moment," said the youth, "and then i will tell you whose it ought to be!"
the brothers were pleased with this idea, and gave him the stuff; but the moment he had thrown it over his shoulder he disappeared as completely as if he had never been there at all.
meanwhile the young man walked briskly along, till he came up with two other men, who were disputing over a table-cloth.
"what is the matter?"
asked he, stopping in front of them.
"if this cloth is spread on a table," answered they, "the table is instantly covered with the most delicious food; and we each want to have it."
"let me try the table-cloth," said the youth, "and i will tell you whose it ought to be."
the two men were quite pleased with this idea, and handed him the cloth.
he then hastily threw the first piece of stuff round his shoulders and vanished from sight, leaving the two men grieving over their own folly.
the young man had not walked far before he saw two more men standing by the road-side, both grasping the same stout staff, and sometimes one seemed on the point of getting it, and sometimes the other.
"what are you quarrelling about?
you could cut a dozen sticks from the wood each just as good as that!"
said the young man.
and as he spoke the fighters both stopped and looked at him.
"ah!
you may think so," said one, "but a blow from one end of this stick will kill a man, while a touch from the other end will bring him back to life.
you wo n't easily find another stick like that!"
"no; that is true," answered the young man.
"let me just look at it, and i will tell you whose it ought to be."
the men were pleased with the idea, and handed him the staff.
"it is very curious, certainly," said he; "but which end is it that restores people to life?
after all, anyone can be killed by a blow from a stick if it is only hard enough!"
but when he was shown the end he threw the stuff over his shoulders and vanished.
at last he saw another set of men, who were struggling for the possession of a pair of shoes.
"why ca n't you leave that pair of old shoes alone?"
said he.
"why, you could not walk a yard in them!"
"yes, they are old enough," answered they; "but whoever puts them on and wishes himself at a particular place, gets there without going."
"that sounds very clever," said the youth.
"let me try them, and then i shall be able to tell you whose they ought to be."
the idea pleased the men, and they handed him the shoes; but the moment they were on his feet he cried: "i wish to be in the castle on the banka!"
and before he knew it, he was there, and found the sister of the sun dying of grief.
he knelt down by her side, and pulling a pin he stuck it into the palm of her hand, so that a drop of blood gushed out.
this he sucked, as he had been told to do by the old woman, and immediately the princess came to herself, and flung her arms round his neck.
then she told him all her story, and what had happened since the ship had sailed away without him.
"but the worst misfortune of all," she added, "was a battle which my father lost because you had vanished with his magic sword; and out of his whole army hardly one man was left."
"show me the battle-field," said he.
and she took him to a wild heath, where the dead were lying as they fell, waiting for burial.
one by one he touched them with the end of his staff, till at length they all stood before him.
throughout the kingdom there was nothing but joy; and this time the wedding was really celebrated.
and the bridal pair lived happily in the castle on the banka till they died.
-lsb- lapplandische mahrchen. -rsb-
the prince and the three fates once upon a time a little boy was born to a king who ruled over a great country through which ran a wide river.
the king was nearly beside himself with joy, for he had always longed for a son to inherit his crown, and he sent messages to beg all the most powerful fairies to come and see this wonderful baby.
in an hour or two, so many were gathered round the cradle, that the child seemed in danger of being smothered; but the king, who was watching the fairies eagerly, was disturbed to see them looking grave.
"is there anything the matter?"
he asked anxiously.
the fairies looked at him, and all shook their heads at once.
"he is a beautiful boy, and it is a great pity; but what is to happen will happen," said they.
"it is written in the books of fate that he must die, either by a crocodile, or a serpent, or by a dog.
if we could save him we would; but that is beyond our power."
and so saying they vanished.
for a time the king stood where he was, horror-stricken at what he had heard; but, being of a hopeful nature, he began at once to invent plans to save the prince from the dreadful doom that awaited him.
he instantly sent for his master builder, and bade him construct a strong castle on the top of a mountain, which should be fitted with the most precious things from the king's own palace, and every kind of toy a child could wish to play with.
and, besides, he gave the strictest orders that a guard should walk round the castle night and day.
for four or five years the baby lived in the castle alone with his nurses, taking his airings on the broad terraces, which were surrounded by walls, with a moat beneath them, and only a drawbridge to connect them with the outer world.
one day, when the prince was old enough to run quite fast by himself, he looked from the terrace across the moat, and saw a little soft fluffy ball of a dog jumping and playing on the other side.
now, of course, all dogs had been kept from him for fear that the fairies" prophecy should come true, and he had never even beheld one before.
so he turned to the page who was walking behind him, and said: "what is that funny little thing which is running so fast over there?"
"that is a dog, prince," answered the page.
"well, bring me one like it, and we will see which can run the faster."
and he watched the dog till it had disappeared round the corner.
the page was much puzzled to know what to do.
he had strict orders to refuse the prince nothing; yet he remembered the prophecy, and felt that this was a serious matter.
at last he thought he had better tell the king the whole story, and let him decide the question.
"oh, get him a dog if he wants one," said the king, "he will only cry his heart out if he does not have it."
so a puppy was found, exactly like the other; they might have been twins, and perhaps they were.
years went by, and the boy and the dog played together till the boy grew tall and strong.
the time came at last when he sent a message to his father, saying: "why do you keep me shut up here, doing nothing?
i know all about the prophecy that was made at my birth, but i would far rather be killed at once than live an idle, useless life here.
so give me arms, and let me go, i pray you; me and my dog too."
and again the king listened to his wishes, and he and his dog were carried in a ship to the other side of the river, which was so broad here it might almost have been the sea.
a black horse was waiting for him, tied to a tree, and he mounted and rode away wherever his fancy took him, the dog always at his heels.
never was any prince so happy as he, and he rode and rode till at length he came to a king's palace.
the king who lived in it did not care about looking after his country, and seeing that his people lived cheerful and contented lives.
he spent his whole time in making riddles, and inventing plans which he had much better have let alone.
at the period when the young prince reached the kingdom he had just completed a wonderful house for his only child, a daughter.
it had seventy windows, each seventy feet from the ground, and he had sent the royal herald round the borders of the neighbouring kingdoms to proclaim that whoever could climb up the walls to the window of the princess should win her for his wife.
the fame of the princess's beauty had spread far and wide, and there was no lack of princes who wished to try their fortune.
very funny the palace must have looked each morning, with the dabs of different colour on the white marble as the princes were climbing up the walls.
but though some managed to get further than others, nobody was anywhere near the top.
they had already been spending several days in this manner when the young prince arrived, and as he was pleasant to look upon, and civil to talk to, they welcomed him to the house, which had been given to them, and saw that his bath was properly perfumed after his long journey.
"where do you come from?"
they said at last.
"and whose son are you?"
but the young prince had reasons for keeping his own secret, and he answered: "my father was master of the horse to the king of my country, and after my mother died he married another wife.
at first all went well, but as soon as she had babies of her own she hated me, and i fled, lest she should do me harm."
the hearts of the other young men were touched as soon as they heard this story, and they did everything they could think of to make him forget his past sorrows.
"what are you doing here?"
said the youth, one day.
"we spend our whole time climbing up the walls of the palace, trying to reach the windows of the princess," answered the young men; "but, as yet, no one has reached within ten feet of them."
"oh, let me try too," cried the prince; "but to-morrow i will wait and see what you do before i begin.
so the next day he stood where he could watch the young men go up, and he noted the places on the wall that seemed most difficult, and made up his mind that when his turn came he would go up some other way.
day after day he was to be seen watching the wooers, till, one morning, he felt that he knew the plan of the walls by heart, and took his place by the side of the others.
thanks to what he had learned from the failure of the rest, he managed to grasp one little rough projection after another, till at last, to the envy of his friends, he stood on the sill of the princess's window.
looking up from below, they saw a white hand stretched forth to draw him in.
then one of the young men ran straight to the king's palace, and said: "the wall has been climbed, and the prize is won!"
"by whom?"
cried the king, starting up from his throne; "which of the princes may i claim as my son-in-law?"
"the youth who succeeded in climbing to the princess's window is not a prince at all," answered the young man.
"he is the son of the master of the horse to the great king who dwells across the river, and he fled from his own country to escape from the hatred of his stepmother."
at this news the king was very angry, for it had never entered his head that anyone but a prince would seek to woo his daughter.
"let him go back to the land whence he came," he shouted in wrath; "does he expect me to give my daughter to an exile?"
and he began to smash the drinking vessels in his fury; indeed, he quite frightened the young man, who ran hastily home to his friends, and told the youth what the king had said.
now the princess, who was leaning from her window, heard his words and bade the messenger go back to the king her father and tell him that she had sworn a vow never to eat or drink again if the youth was taken from her.
the king was more angry than ever when he received this message, and ordered his guards to go at once to the palace and put the successful wooer to death; but the princess threw herself between him and his murderers.
"lay a finger on him, and i shall be dead before sunset," said she; and as they saw that she meant it, they left the palace, and carried the tale to her father.
by this time the king's anger was dying away, and he began to consider what his people would think of him if he broke the promise he had publicly given.
so he ordered the princess to be brought before him, and the young man also, and when they entered the throne room he was so pleased with the noble air of the victor that his wrath quite melted away, and he ran to him and embraced him.
"tell me who you are?"
he asked, when he had recovered himself a little, "for i will never believe that you have not royal blood in your veins."
but the prince still had his reasons for being silent, and only told the same story.
however, the king had taken such a fancy to the youth that he said no more, and the marriage took place the following day, and great herds of cattle and a large estate were given to the young couple.
after a little while the prince said to his wife: "my life is in the hands of three creatures -- a crocodile, a serpent, and a dog."
"ah, how rash you are!"
cried the princess, throwing her arms round his neck.
"if you know that, how can you have that horrid beast about you?
i will give orders to have him killed at once."
but the prince would not listen to her.
"kill my dear little dog, who had been my playfellow since he was a puppy?"
exclaimed he.
"oh, never would i allow that."
and all that the princess could get from him was that he would always wear a sword, and have somebody with him when he left the palace.
when the prince and princess had been married a few months, the prince heard that his stepmother was dead, and his father was old and ill, and longing to have his eldest son by his side again.
the young man could not remain deaf to such a message, and he took a tender farewell of his wife, and set out on his journey home.
it was a long way, and he was forced to rest often on the road, and so it happened that, one night, when he was sleeping in a city on the banks of the great river, a huge crocodile came silently up and made its way along a passage to the prince's room.
fortunately one of his guards woke up as it was trying to steal past them, and shut the crocodile up in a large hall, where a giant watched over it, never leaving the spot except during the night, when the crocodile slept.
and this went on for more than a month.
now, when the prince found that he was not likely to leave his father's kingdom again, he sent for his wife, and bade the messenger tell her that he would await her coming in the town on the banks of the great river.
this was the reason why he delayed his journey so long, and narrowly escaped being eaten by the crocodile.
during the weeks that followed the prince amused himself as best he could, though he counted the minutes to the arrival of the princess, and when she did come, he at once prepared to start for the court.
that very night, however, while he was asleep, the princess noticed something strange in one of the corners of the room.
it was a dark patch, and seemed, as she looked, to grow longer and longer, and to be moving slowly towards the cushions on which the prince was lying.
she shrank in terror, but, slight as was the noise, the thing heard it, and raised its head to listen.
then she saw it was the long flat head of a serpent, and the recollection of the prophecy rushed into her mind.
without waking her husband, she glided out of bed, and taking up a heavy bowl of milk which stood on a table, laid it on the floor in the path of the serpent -- for she knew that no serpent in the world can resist milk.
she held her breath as the snake drew near, and watched it throw up its head again as if it was smelling something nice, while its forky tongue darted out greedily.
at length its eyes fell upon the milk, and in an instant it was lapping it so fast that it was a wonder the creature did not choke, for it never took its head from the bowl as long as a drop was left in it.
after that it dropped on the ground and slept heavily.
this was what the princess had been waiting for, and catching up her husband's sword, she severed the snake's head from its body.
the morning after this adventure the prince and princess set out for the king's palace, but found when they reached it, that he was already dead.
they gave him a magnificent burial, and then the prince had to examine the new laws which had been made in his absence, and do a great deal of business besides, till he grew quite ill from fatigue, and was obliged to go away to one of his palaces on the banks of the river, in order to rest.
here he soon got better, and began to hunt, and to shoot wild duck with his bow; and wherever he went, his dog, now grown very old, went with him.
one morning the prince and his dog were out as usual, and in chasing their game they drew near the bank of the river.
the prince was running at full speed after his dog when he almost fell over something that looked like a log of wood, which was lying in his path.
to his surprise a voice spoke to him, and he saw that the thing which he had taken for a branch was really a crocodile.
"you can not escape from me," it was saying, when he had gathered his senses again."
i am your fate, and wherever you go, and whatever you do, you will always find me before you.
there is only one means of shaking off my power.
if you can dig a pit in the dry sand which will remain full of water, my spell will be broken.
if not death will come to you speedily.
i give you this one chance.
now go."
the young man walked sadly away, and when he reached the palace he shut himself into his room, and for the rest of the day refused to see anyone, not even his wife.
at sunset, however, as no sound could be heard through the door, the princess grew quite frightened, and made such a noise that the prince was forced to draw back the bolt and let her come in.
"how pale you look," she cried, "has anything hurt you?
tell me, i pray you, what is the matter, for perhaps i can help!"
so the prince told her the whole story, and of the impossible task given him by the crocodile.
"how can a sand hole remain full of water?"
asked he.
"of course, it will all run through.
the crocodile called it a "chance"; but he might as well have dragged me into the river at once.
he said truly that i can not escape him."
"oh, if that is all," cried the princess," i can set you free myself, for my fairy godmother taught me to know the use of plants and in the desert not far from here there grows a little four-leaved herb which will keep the water in the pit for a whole year.
i will go in search of it at dawn, and you can begin to dig the hole as soon as you like.
to comfort her husband, the princess had spoken lightly and gaily; but she knew very well she had no light task before her.
still, she was full of courage and energy, and determined that, one way or another, her husband should be saved.
it was still starlight when she left the palace on a snow-white donkey, and rode away from the river straight to the west.
for some time she could see nothing before her but a flat waste of sand, which became hotter and hotter as the sun rose higher and higher.
then a dreadful thirst seized her and the donkey, but there was no stream to quench it, and if there had been she would hardly have had time to stop, for she still had far to go, and must be back before evening, or else the crocodile might declare that the prince had not fulfilled his conditions.
so she spoke cheering words to her donkey, who brayed in reply, and the two pushed steadily on.
oh!
how glad they both were when they caught sight of a tall rock in the distance.
they forgot that they were thirsty, and that the sun was hot; and the ground seemed to fly under their feet, till the donkey stopped of its own accord in the cool shadow.
but though the donkey might rest the princess could not, for the plant, as she knew, grew on the very top of the rock, and a wide chasm ran round the foot of it.
luckily she had brought a rope with her, and making a noose at one end, she flung it across with all her might.
the first time it slid back slowly into the ditch, and she had to draw it up, and throw it again, but at length the noose caught on something, the princess could not see what, and had to trust her whole weight to this little bridge, which might snap and let her fall deep down among the rocks.
and in that case her death was as certain as that of the prince.
but nothing so dreadful happened.
the princess got safely to the other side, and then became the worst part of her task.
as fast as she put her foot on a ledge of the rock the stone broke away from under her, and left her in the same place as before.
meanwhile the hours were passing, and it was nearly noon.
the heart of the poor princess was filled with despair, but she would not give up the struggle.
she looked round till she saw a small stone above her which seemed rather stronger than the rest, and by only poising her foot lightly on those that lay between, she managed by a great effort to reach it.
in this way, with torn and bleeding hands, she gained the top; but here such a violent wind was blowing that she was almost blinded with dust, and was obliged to throw herself on the ground, and feel about after the precious herb.
for a few terrible moments she thought that the rock was bare, and that her journey had been to no purpose.
feel where she would, there was nothing but grit and stones, when, suddenly, her fingers touched something soft in a crevice.
it was a plant, that was clear; but was it the right one?
see she could not, for the wind was blowing more fiercely than ever, so she lay where she was and counted the leaves.
one, two, three -- yes!
yes!
there were four!
and plucking a leaf she held it safe in her hand while she turned, almost stunned by the wind, to go down the rock.
when once she was safely over the side all became still in a moment, and she slid down the rock so fast that it was only a wonder that she did not land in the chasm.
however, by good luck, she stopped quite close to her rope bridge and was soon across it.
the donkey brayed joyfully at the sight of her, and set off home at his best speed, never seeming to know that the earth under his feet was nearly as hot as the sun above him.
on the bank of the great river he halted, and the princess rushed up to where the prince was standing by the pit he had digged in the dry sand, with a huge water pot beside it.
a little way off the crocodile lay blinking in the sun, with his sharp teeth and whity-yellow jaws wide open.
at a signal from the princess the prince poured the water in the hole, and the moment it reached the brim the princess flung in the four-leaved plant.
would the charm work, or would the water trickle away slowly through the sand, and the prince fall a victim to that horrible monster?
for half an hour they stood with their eyes rooted to the spot, but the hole remained as full as at the beginning, with the little green leaf floating on the top.
then the prince turned with a shout of triumph, and the crocodile sulkily plunged into the river.
the prince had escape for ever the second of his three fates!
he stood there looking after the crocodile, and rejoicing that he was free, when he was startled by a wild duck which flew past them, seeking shelter among the rushes that bordered the edge of the stream.
in another instant his dog dashed by in hot pursuit, and knocked heavily against his master's legs.
the prince staggered, lost his balance and fell backwards into the river, where the mud and the rushes caught him and held him fast.
he shrieked for help to his wife, who came running; and luckily brought her rope with her.
the poor old dog was drowned, but the prince was pulled to shore.
"my wife," he said, "has been stronger than my fate."
-lsb- adapted from les contes populaires de l'egypte ancienne. -rsb-
the fox and the lapp once upon a time a fox lay peeping out of his hole, watching the road that ran by at a little distance, and hoping to see something that might amuse him, for he was feeling very dull and rather cross.
for a long while he watched in vain; everything seemed asleep, and not even a bird stirred overhead.
the fox grew crosser than ever, and he was just turning away in disgust from his place when he heard the sound of feet coming over the snow.
he crouched eagerly down at the edge of the road and said to himself: "i wonder what would happen if i were to pretend to be dead!
this is a man driving a reindeer sledge, i know the tinkling of the harness.
and at any rate i shall have an adventure, and that is always something!"
so he stretched himself out by the side of the road, carefully choosing a spot where the driver could not help seeing him, yet where the reindeer would not tread on him; and all fell out just as he had expected.
the sledge-driver pulled up sharply, as his eyes lighted on the beautiful animal lying stiffly beside him, and jumping out he threw the fox into the bottom of the sledge, where the goods he was carrying were bound tightly together by ropes.
the fox did not move a muscle though his bones were sore from the fall, and the driver got back to his seat again and drove on merrily.
but before they had gone very far, the fox, who was near the edge, contrived to slip over, and when the laplander saw him stretched out on the snow he pulled up his reindeer and put the fox into one of the other sledges that was fastened behind, for it was market-day at the nearest town, and the man had much to sell.
they drove on a little further, when some noise in the forest made the man turn his head, just in time to see the fox fall with a heavy thump on to the frozen snow.
"that beast is bewitched!"
he said to himself, and then he threw the fox into the last sledge of all, which had a cargo of fishes.
this was exactly what the cunning creature wanted, and he wriggled gently to the front and bit the cord which tied the sledge to the one before it so that it remained standing in the middle of the road.
now there were so many sledges that the lapp did not notice for a long while that one was missing; indeed, he would have entered the town without knowing if snow had not suddenly begun to fall.
then he got down to secure more firmly the cloths that kept his goods dry, and going to the end of the long row, discovered that the sledge containing the fish and the fox was missing.
he quickly unharnessed one of his reindeer and rode back along the way he had come, to find the sledge standing safe in the middle of the road; but as the fox had bitten off the cord close to the noose there was no means of moving it away.
the fox meanwhile was enjoying himself mightily.
as soon as he had loosened the sledge, he had taken his favourite fish from among the piles neatly arranged for sale, and had trotted off to the forest with it in his mouth.
by-and-by he met a bear, who stopped and said: "where did you find that fish, mr. fox?"
"oh, not far off," answered he;" i just stuck my tail in the stream close by the place where the elves dwell, and the fish hung on to it of itself."
"dear me," snarled the bear, who was hungry and not in a good temper, "if the fish hung on to your tail, i suppose he will hang on to mine."
"yes, certainly, grandfather," replied the fox, "if you have patience to suffer what i suffered."
"of course i can," replied the bear, "what nonsense you talk!
show me the way."
so the fox led him to the bank of a stream, which, being in a warm place, had only lightly frozen in places, and was at this moment glittering in the spring sunshine.
"the elves bathe here," he said, "and if you put in your tail the fish will catch hold of it.
but it is no use being in a hurry, or you will spoil everything."
then he trotted off, but only went out of sight of the bear, who stood still on the bank with his tail deep in the water.
soon the sun set and it grew very cold and the ice formed rapidly, and the bear's tail was fixed as tight as if a vice had held it; and when the fox saw that everything had happened just as he had planned it, he called out loudly: "be quick, good people, and come with your bows and spears.
a bear has been fishing in your brook!"
and in a moment the whole place was full of little creatures each one with a tiny bow and a spear hardly big enough for a baby; but both arrows and spears could sting, as the bear knew very well, and in his fright he gave such a tug to his tail that it broke short off, and he rolled away into the forest as fast as his legs could carry him.
at this sight the fox held his sides for laughing, and then scampered away in another direction.
by-and-by he came to a fir tree, and crept into a hole under the root.
after that he did something very strange.
taking one of his hind feet between his two front paws, he said softly: "what would you do, my foot, if someone was to betray me?'"
i would run so quickly that he should not catch you."
"what would you do, mine ear, if someone was to betray me?'"
i would listen so hard that i should hear all his plans."
"what would you do, my nose, if someone was to betray me?'"
i would smell so sharply that i should know from afar that he was coming."
"what would you do, my tail, if someone was to betray me?'"
i would steer you so straight a course that you would soon be beyond his reach.
let us be off; i feel as if danger was near."
but the fox was comfortable where he was, and did not hurry himself to take his tail's advice.
and before very long he found he was too late, for the bear had come round by another path, and guessing where his enemy was began to scratch at the roots of the tree.
the fox made himself as small as he could, but a scrap of his tail peeped out, and the bear seized it and held it tight.
then the fox dug his claws into the ground, but he was not strong enough to pull against the bear, and slowly he was dragged forth and his body flung over the bear's neck.
in this manner they set out down the road, the fox's tail being always in the bear's mouth.
after they had gone some way, they passed a tree-stump, on which a bright coloured woodpecker was tapping.
"ah!
those were better times when i used to paint all the birds such gay colours," sighed the fox.
"what are you saying, old fellow?"
asked the bear.
"i?
oh, i was saying nothing," answered the fox drearily.
"just carry me to your cave and eat me up as quick as you can."
the bear was silent, and thought of his supper; and the two continued their journey till they reached another tree with a woodpecker tapping on it.
"ah!
those were better times when i used to paint all the birds such gay colours," said the fox again to himself.
"could n't you paint me too?"
asked the bear suddenly.
but the fox shook his head; for he was always acting, even if no one was there to see him do it.
"you bear pain so badly," he replied, in a thoughtful voice, "and you are impatient besides, and could never put up with all that is necessary.
why, you would first have to dig a pit, and then twist ropes of willow, and drive in posts and fill the hole with pitch, and, last of all, set it on fire.
oh, no; you would never be able to do all that."
"it does not matter a straw how hard the work is," answered the bear eagerly," i will do it every bit."
and as he spoke he began tearing up the earth so fast that soon a deep pit was ready, deep enough to hold him.
"that is all right," said the fox at last," i see i was mistaken in you.
now sit here, and i will bind you."
so the bear sat down on the edge of the pit, and the fox sprang on his back, which he crossed with the willow ropes, and then set fire to the pitch.
it burnt up in an instant, and caught the bands of willow and the bear's rough hair; but he did not stir, for he thought that the fox was rubbing the bright colours into his skin, and that he would soon be as beautiful as a whole meadow of flowers.
but when the fire grew hotter still he moved uneasily from one foot to the other, saying, imploringly: "it is getting rather warm, old man."
but all the answer he got was: "i thought you would never be able to suffer pain like those little birds."
the bear did not like being told that he was not as brave as a bird, so he set his teeth and resolved to endure anything sooner than speak again; but by this time the last willow band had burned through, and with a push the fox sent his victim tumbling into the grass, and ran off to hide himself in the forest.
after a while he stole cautiously and found, as he expected, nothing left but a few charred bones.
these he picked up and put in a bag, which he slung over his back.
by-and-by he met a lapp driving his team of reindeer along the road, and as he drew near, the fox rattled the bones gaily.
"that sounds like silver or gold," thought the man to himself.
and he said politely to the fox: "good-day, friend!
what have you got in your bag that makes such a strange sound?"
"all the wealth my father left me," answered the fox.
"do you feel inclined to bargain?"
"well, i do n't mind," replied the lapp, who was a prudent man, and did not wish the fox to think him too eager; "but show me first what money you have got."
"ah, but i ca n't do that," answered the fox, "my bag is sealed up.
but if you will give me those three reindeer, you shall take it as it is, with all its contents."
the lapp did not quite like it, but the fox spoke with such an air that his doubts melted away.
he nodded, and stretched out his hand; the fox put the bag into it, and unharnassed the reindeer he had chosen.
"oh, i forgot!"
he exclaimed, turning round, as he was about to drive them in the opposite direction, "you must be sure not to open the bag until you have gone at least five miles, right on the other side of those hills out there.
if you do, you will find that all the gold and silver has changed into a parcel of charred bones."
then he whipped up his reindeer, and was soon out of sight.
for some time the lapp was satisfied with hearing the bones rattle, and thinking to himself what a good bargain he had made, and of all the things he would buy with the money.
but, after a bit, this amusement ceased to content him, and besides, what was the use of planning when you did not know for certain how rich you were?
perhaps there might be a great deal of silver and only a little gold in the bag; or a great deal of gold, and only a little silver.
who could tell?
he would not, of course, take the money out to count it, for that might bring him bad luck.
but there could be no harm in just one peep!
so he slowly broke the seal, and untied the strings, and, behold, a heap of burnt bones lay before him!
in a minute he knew he had been tricked, and flinging the bag to the ground in a rage, he ran after the fox as fast as his snow-shoes would carry him.
now the fox had guessed exactly what would happen, and was on the look out.
directly he saw the little speck coming towards him, he wished that the man's snow-shoes might break, and that very instant the lapp's shoes snapped in two.
the lapp did now know that this was the fox's work, but he had to stop and fetch one of his other reindeer, which he mounted, and set off again in pursuit of his enemy.
the fox soon heard him coming, and this time he wished that the reindeer might fall and break its leg.
and so it did; and the man felt it was a hopeless chase, and that he was no match for the fox.
so the fox drove on in peace till he reached the cave where all his stores were kept, and then he began to wonder whom he could get to help him kill his reindeer, for though he could steal reindeer he was too small to kill them.
"after all, it will be quite easy," thought he, and he bade a squirrel, who was watching him on a tree close by, take a message to all the robber beasts of the forest, and in less than half an hour a great crashing of branches was heard, and bears, wolves, snakes, mice, frogs, and other creatures came pressing up to the cave.
when they heard why they had been summoned, they declared themselves ready each one to do his part.
the bear took his crossbow from his neck and shot the reindeer in the chin; and, from that day to this, every reindeer has a mark in that same spot, which is always known as the bear's arrow.
the wolf shot him in the thigh, and the sign of his arrow still remains; and so with the mouse and the viper and all the rest, even the frog; and at the last the reindeer all died.
and the fox did nothing, but looked on."
i really must go down to the brook and wash myself," said he -lrb- though he was perfectly clean -rrb-, and he went under the bank and hid himself behind a stone.
from there he set up the most frightful shrieks, so that the animals fled away in all directions.
only the mouse and the ermine remained where they were, for they thought that they were much too small to be noticed.
the fox continued his shrieks till he felt sure that the animals must have got to a safe distance; then he crawled out of his hiding-place and went to the bodies of the reindeer, which he now had all to himself.
he gathered a bundle of sticks for a fire, and was just preparing to cook a steak, when his enemy, the lapp, came up, panting with haste and excitement.
"what are you doing there?"
cried he; "why did you palm off those bones on me?
and why, when you had got the reindeer, did you kill them?"
"dear brother," answered the fox with a sob, "do not blame me for this misfortune.
it is my comrades who have slain them in spite of my prayers."
the man made no reply, for the white fur of the ermine, who was crouching with the mouse behind some stones, had just caught his eye.
he hastily seized the iron hook which hung over the fire and flung it at the little creature; but the ermine was too quick for him, and the hook only touched the top of its tail, and that has remained black to this day.
as for the mouse, the lapp threw a half-burnt stick after him, and though it was not enough to hurt him, his beautiful white skin was smeared all over with it, and all the washing in the world would not make him clean again.
and the man would have been wiser if he had let the ermine and the mouse alone, for when he turned round again he found he was alone.
directly the fox noticed that his enemy's attention had wandered from himself he watched his chance, and stole softly away till he had reached a clump of thick bushes, when he ran as fast as he could, till he reached a river, where a man was mending his boat.
"oh, i wish, i wish, i had a boat to mend too!"
he cried, sitting up on his hind-legs and looking into the man's face.
"stop your silly chatter!"
answered the man crossly, "or i will give you a bath in the river."
"oh, i wish, i do wish, i had a boat to mend," cried the fox again, as if he had not heard.
and the man grew angry and seized him by the tail, and threw him far out in the stream close to the edge of an island; which was just what the fox wanted.
he easily scrambled up, and sitting on the top, he called: "hasten, hasten, o fishes, and carry me to the other side!"
and the fishes left the stones where they had been sleeping, and the pools where they had been feeding, and hurried to see who could get to the island first."
i have won," shouted the pike.
"jump on my back, dear fox, and you will find yourself in a trice on the opposite shore."
"no, thank you," answered the fox, "your back is much too weak for me.
i should break it."
"try mine," said the eel, who had wriggled to the front.
"no, thank you," replied the fox again," i should slip over your head and be drowned."
"you wo n't slip on my back," said the perch, coming forward.
"no; but you are really too rough," returned the fox.
"well, you can have no fault to find with me," put in the trout.
"good gracious!
are you here?"
exclaimed the fox.
"but i'm afraid to trust myself to you either."
at this moment a fine salmon swam slowly up.
"ah, yes, you are the person i want," said the fox; "but come near, so that i may get on your back, without wetting my feet."
so the salmon swam close under the island, and when he was touching it the fox seized him in his claws and drew him out of the water, and put him on a spit, while he kindled a fire to cook him by.
when everything was ready, and the water in the pot was getting hot, he popped him in, and waited till he thought the salmon was nearly boiled.
but as he stooped down the water gave a sudden fizzle, and splashed into the fox's eyes, blinding him.
he started backwards with a cry of pain, and sat still for some minutes, rocking himself to and fro.
when he was a little better he rose and walked down a road till he met a grouse, who stopped and asked what was the matter.
"have you a pair of eyes anywhere about you?"
asked the fox politely.
"no, i am afraid i have n't," answered the grouse, and passed on.
a little while after the fox heard the buzzing of an early bee, whom a gleam of sun had tempted out.
"do you happen to have an extra pair of eyes anywhere?"
asked the fox."
i am sorry to say i have only those i am using," replied the bee.
and the fox went on till he nearly fell over an asp who was gliding across the road."
i should be so glad if you would tell me where i could get a pair of eyes," said the fox."
i suppose you do n't happen to have any you could lend me?"
"well, if you only want them for a short time, perhaps i could manage," answered the asp; "but i ca n't do without them for long."
"oh, it is only for a very short time that i need them," said the fox;" i have a pair of my own just behind that hill, and when i find them i will bring yours back to you.
perhaps you will keep these till them."
so he took the eyes out of his own head and popped them into the head of the asp, and put the asp's eyes in their place.
as he was running off he cried over his shoulder: "as long as the world lasts the asps" eyes will go down in the heads of foxes from generation to generation."
and so it has been; and if you look at the eyes of an asp you will see that they are all burnt; and though thousands and thousands of years have gone by since the fox was going about playing tricks upon everybody he met, the asp still bears the traces of the day when the sly creature cooked the salmon.
-lsb- lapplandische mahrchen. -rsb-
kisa the cat once upon a time there lived a queen who had a beautiful cat, the colour of smoke, with china-blue eyes, which she was very fond of.
the cat was constantly with her, and ran after her wherever she went, and even sat up proudly by her side when she drove out in her fine glass coach.
"oh, pussy," said the queen one day, "you are happier than i am!
for you have a dear kitten just like yourself, and i have nobody to play with but you."
"do n't cry," answered the cat, laying her paw on her mistress's arm.
"crying never does any good.
i will see what can be done."
the cat was as good as her word.
as soon as she returned from her drive she trotted off to the forest to consult a fairy who dwelt there, and very soon after the queen had a little girl, who seemed made out of snow and sunbeams.
the queen was delighted, and soon the baby began to take notice of the kitten as she jumped about the room, and would not go to sleep at all unless the kitten lay curled up beside her.
two or three months went by, and though the baby was still a baby, the kitten was fast becoming a cat, and one evening when, as usual, the nurse came to look for her, to put her in the baby's cot, she was nowhere to be found.
what a hunt there was for that kitten, to be sure!
the servants, each anxious to find her, as the queen was certain to reward the lucky man, searched in the most impossible places.
boxes were opened that would hardly have held the kitten's paw; books were taken from bookshelves, lest the kitten should have got behind them, drawers were pulled out, for perhaps the kitten might have got shut in.
but it was all no use.
the kitten had plainly run away, and nobody could tell if it would ever choose to come back.
years passed away, and one day, when the princess was playing ball in the garden, she happened to throw her ball farther than usual, and it fell into a clump of rose-bushes.
the princess of course ran after it at once, and she was stooping down to feel if it was hidden in the long grass, when she heard a voice calling her: "ingibjorg!
ingibjorg!"
it said, "have you forgotten me?
i am kisa, your sister!"
"but i never had a sister," answered ingibjorg, very much puzzled; for she knew nothing of what had taken place so long ago.
"do n't you remember how i always slept in your cot beside you, and how you cried till i came?
but girls have no memories at all!
why, i could find my way straight up to that cot this moment, if i was once inside the palace."
"why did you go away then?"
asked the princess.
but before kisa could answer, ingibjorg's attendants arrived breathless on the scene, and were so horrified at the sight of a strange cat, that kisa plunged into the bushes and went back to the forest.
the princess was very much vexed with her ladies-in-waiting for frightening away her old playfellow, and told the queen who came to her room every evening to bid her good-night.
"yes, it is quite true what kisa said," answered the queen;" i should have liked to see her again.
perhaps, some day, she will return, and then you must bring her to me."
next morning it was very hot, and the princess declared that she must go and play in the forest, where it was always cool, under the big shady trees.
as usual, her attendants let her do anything she pleased, and sitting down on a mossy bank where a little stream tinkled by, soon fell sound asleep.
the princess saw with delight that they would pay no heed to her, and wandered on and on, expecting every moment to see some fairies dancing round a ring, or some little brown elves peeping at her from behind a tree.
but, alas!
she met none of these; instead, a horrible giant came out of his cave and ordered her to follow him.
the princess felt much afraid, as he was so big and ugly, and began to be sorry that she had not stayed within reach of help; but as there was no use in disobeying the giant, she walked meekly behind.
they went a long way, and ingibjorg grew very tired, and at length began to cry."
i do n't like girls who make horrid noises," said the giant, turning round.
"but if you want to cry, i will give you something to cry for."
and drawing an axe from his belt, he cut off both her feet, which he picked up and put in his pocket.
then he went away.
poor ingibjorg lay on the grass in terrible pain, and wondering if she should stay there till she died, as no one would know where to look for her.
how long it was since she had set out in the morning she could not tell -- it seemed years to her, of course; but the sun was still high in the heavens when she heard the sound of wheels, and then, with a great effort, for her throat was parched with fright and pain, she gave a shout."
i am coming!"
was the answer; and in another moment a cart made its way through the trees, driven by kisa, who used her tail as a whip to urge the horse to go faster.
directly kisa saw ingibjorg lying there, she jumped quickly down, and lifting the girl carefully in her two front paws, laid her upon some soft hay, and drove back to her own little hut.
in the corner of the room was a pile of cushions, and these kisa arranged as a bed.
ingibjorg, who by this time was nearly fainting from all she had gone through, drank greedily some milk, and then sank back on the cushions while kisa fetched some dried herbs from a cupboard, soaked them in warm water and tied them on the bleeding legs.
the pain vanished at once, and ingibjorg looked up and smiled at kisa.
"you will go to sleep now," said the cat, "and you will not mind if i leave you for a little while.
i will lock the door, and no one can hurt you."
but before she had finished the princess was asleep.
then kisa got into the cart, which was standing at the door, and catching up the reins, drove straight to the giant's cave.
leaving her cart behind some trees, kisa crept gently up to the open door, and, crouching down, listened to what the giant was telling his wife, who was at supper with him.
"the first day that i can spare i shall just go back and kill her," he said; "it would never do for people in the forest to know that a mere girl can defy me!"
and he and his wife were so busy calling ingibjorg all sorts of names for her bad behaviour, that they never noticed kisa stealing into a dark corner, and upsetting a whole bag of salt into the great pot before the fire.
"dear me, how thirsty i am!"
cried the giant by-and-by.
"so am i," answered the wife."
i do wish i had not taken that last spoonful of broth; i am sure something was wrong with it."
"if i do n't get some water i shall die," went on the giant.
and rushing out of the cave, followed by his wife, he ran down the path which led to the river.
then kisa entered the hut, and lost no time in searching every hole till she came upon some grass, under which ingibjorg's feet were hidden, and putting them in her cart, drove back again to her own hut.
ingibjorg was thankful to see her, for she had lain, too frightened to sleep, trembling at every noise.
"oh, is it you?"
she cried joyfully, as kisa turned the key.
and the cat came in, holding up the two neat little feet in their silver slippers.
"in two minutes they shall be as tight as they ever were!"
said kisa.
and taking some strings of the magic grass which the giant had carelessly heaped on them, she bound the feet on to the legs above.
"of course you wo n't be able to walk for some time; you must not expect that," she continued.
"but if you are very good, perhaps, in about a week, i may carry you home again."
and so she did; and when the cat drove the cart up to the palace gate, lashing the horse furiously with her tail, and the king and queen saw their lost daughter sitting beside her, they declared that no reward could be too great for the person who had brought her out of the giant's hands.
"we will talk about that by-and-by," said the cat, as she made her best bow, and turned her horse's head.
the princess was very unhappy when kisa left her without even bidding her farewell.
she would neither eat nor drink, nor take any notice of all the beautiful dresses her parents bought for her.
"she will die, unless we can make her laugh," one whispered to the other.
"is there anything in the world that we have left untried?"
"nothing except marriage," answered the king.
and he invited all the handsomest young men he could think of to the palace, and bade the princess choose a husband from among them.
it took her some time to decide which she admired the most, but at last she fixed upon a young prince, whose eyes were like the pools in the forest, and his hair of bright gold.
the king and the queen were greatly pleased, as the young man was the son of a neighbouring king, and they gave orders that a splendid feast should be got ready.
when the marriage was over, kisa suddenly stood before them, and ingibjorg rushed forward and clasped her in her arms."
i have come to claim my reward," said the cat.
"let me sleep for this night at the foot of your bed."
"is that all?"
asked ingibjorg, much disappointed.
"it is enough," answered the cat.
and when the morning dawned, it was no cat that lay upon the bed, but a beautiful princess.
"my mother and i were both enchanted by a spiteful fairy," said she, "we could not free ourselves till we had done some kindly deed that had never been wrought before.
my mother died without ever finding a chance of doing anything new, but i took advantage of the evil act of the giant to make you as whole as ever."
then they were all more delighted than before, and the princess lived in the court until she, too, married, and went away to govern one of her own.
-lsb- adapted from neuislandischen volksmarchen. -rsb-
the lion and the cat far away on the other side of the world there lived, long ago, a lion and his younger brother, the wild cat, who were so fond of each other that they shared the same hut.
the lion was much the bigger and stronger of the two -- indeed, he was much bigger and stronger than any of the beasts that dwelt in the forest; and, besides, he could jump father and run faster than all the rest.
if strength and swiftness could gain him a dinner he was sure never to be without one, but when it came to cunning, both the grizzly bear and the serpent could get the better of him, and he was forced to call in the help of the wild cat.
now the young wild cat had a lovely golden ball, so beautiful that you could hardly look at it except through a piece of smoked glass, and he kept it hidden in the thick fur muff that went round his neck.
a very large old animal, since dead, had given it to him when he was hardly more than a baby, and had told him never to part with it, for as long as he kept it no harm could ever come near him.
in general the wild cat did not need to use his ball, for the lion was fond of hunting, and could kill all the food that they needed; but now and then his life would have been in danger had it not been for the golden ball.
one day the two brothers started to hunt at daybreak, but as the cat could not run nearly as fast as the lion, he had quite a long start.
at least he thought it was a long one, but in a very few bounds and springs the lion reached his side.
"there is a bear sitting on that tree," he whispered softly.
"he is only waiting for us to pass, to drop down on my back."
"ah, you are so big that he does not see i am behind you," answered the wild cat.
and, touching the ball, he just said: "bear, die!"
and the bear tumbled dead out of the tree, and rolled over just in front of them.
for some time they trotted on without any adventures, till just as they were about to cross a strip of long grass on the edge of the forest, the lion's quick ears detected a faint rustling noise.
"that is a snake," he cried, stopping short, for he was much more afraid of snakes than of bears.
"oh, it is all right," answered the cat.
"snake, die!"
and the snake died, and the two brothers skinned it.
they then folded the skin up into a very small parcel, and the cat tucked it into his mane, for snakes" skins can do all sorts of wonderful things, if you are lucky enough to have one of them.
all this time they had had no dinner, for the snake's flesh was not nice, and the lion did not like eating bear -- perhaps because he never felt sure that the bear was really dead, and would not jump up alive when his enemy went near him.
most people are afraid of some thing, and bears and serpents were the only creatures that caused the lion's heart to tremble.
so the two brothers set off again and soon reached the side of a hill where some fine deer were grazing.
"kill one of those deer for your own dinner," said the boy-brother, "but catch me another alive.
i want him."
the lion at once sprang towards them with a loud roar, but the deer bounded away, and they were all three soon lost to sight.
the cat waited for a long while, but finding that the lion did not return, went back to the house where they lived.
it was quite dark when the lion came home, where his brother was sitting curled up in one corner.
"did you catch the deer for me?"
asked the boy-brother, springing up.
"well, no," replied the man-brother.
"the fact is, that i did not get up to them till we had run half way across the world and left the wind far behind us.
think what a trouble it would have been to drag it here!
so -- i just ate them both."
the cat said nothing, but he did not feel that he loved his big brother.
he had thought a great deal about that deer, and had meant to get on his back to ride him as a horse, and go to see all the wonderful places the lion talked to him about when he was in a good temper.
the more he thought of it the more sulky he grew, and in the morning, when the lion said that it was time for them to start to hunt, the cat told him that he might kill the bear and snake by himself, as he had a headache, and would rather stay at home.
the little fellow knew quite well that the lion would not dare to go out without him and his ball for fear of meeting a bear or a snake.
the quarrel went on, and for many days neither of the brothers spoke to each other, and what made them still more cross was, that they could get very little to eat, and we know that people are often cross when they are hungry.
at last it occurred to the lion that if he could only steal the magic ball he could kill bears and snakes for himself, and then the cat might be as sulky as he liked for anything that it would matter.
but how was the stealing to be done?
the cat had the ball hung round his neck day and night, and he was such a light sleeper that it was useless to think of taking it while he slept.
no!
the only thing was to get him to lend it of his own accord, and after some days the lion -lrb- who was not at all clever -rrb- hit upon a plan that he thought would do.
"dear me, how dull it is here!"
said the lion one afternoon, when the rain was pouring down in such torrents that, however sharp your eyes or your nose might be, you could not spy a single bird or beast among the bushes.
"dear me, how dull, how dreadfully dull i am.
could n't we have a game of catch with that golden ball of yours?'"
i do n't care about playing catch, it does not amuse me," answered the cat, who was as cross as ever; for no cat, even to this day, ever forgets an injury done to him.
"well, then, lend me the ball for a little, and i will play by myself," replied the lion, stretching out a paw as he spoke.
"you ca n't play in the rain, and if you did, you would only lose it in the bushes," said the cat.
"oh, no, i wo n't; i will play in here.
do n't be so ill-natured."
and with a very bad grace the cat untied the string and threw the golden ball into the lion's lap, and composed himself to sleep again.
for a long while the lion tossed it up and down gaily, feeling that, however sound asleep the boy-brother might look, he was sure to have one eye open; but gradually he began to edge closer to the opening, and at last gave such a toss that the ball went up high into the air, and he could not see what became of it.
"oh, how stupid of me!"
he cried, as the cat sprang up angrily, "let us go at once and search for it.
it ca n't really have fallen very far."
but though they searched that day and the next, and the next after that, they never found it, because it never came down.
after the loss of his ball the cat refused to live with the lion any longer, but wandered away to the north, always hoping he might meet with his ball again.
but months passed, and years passed, and though he travelled over hundreds of miles, he never saw any traces of it.
at length, when he was getting quite old, he came to a place unlike any that he had ever seen before, where a big river rolled right to the foot of some high mountains.
the ground all about the river bank was damp and marshy, and as no cat likes to wet its feet, this one climbed a tree that rose high above the water, and thought sadly of his lost ball, which would have helped him out of this horrible place.
suddenly he saw a beautiful ball, for all the world like his own, dangling from a branch of the tree he was on.
he longed to get at it; but was the branch strong enough to bear his weight?
it was no use, after all he had done, getting drowned in the water.
however, it could do no harm, if he was to go a little way; he could always manage to get back somehow.
so he stretched himself at full length upon the branch, and wriggled his body cautiously along.
to his delight it seemed thick and stout.
another movement, and, by stretching out his paw, he would be able to draw the string towards him, when the branch gave a loud crack, and the cat made haste to wriggle himself back the way he had come.
but when cats make up their minds to do anything they generally do it; and this cat began to look about to see if there was really no way of getting at his ball.
yes!
there was, and it was much surer than the other, though rather more difficult.
above the bough where the ball was hung was another bough much thicker, which he knew could not break with his weight; and by holding on tight to this with all his four paws, he could just manage to touch the ball with his tail.
he would thus be able to whisk the ball to and fro till, by-and-by, the string would become quite loose, and it would fall to the ground.
it might take some time, but the lion's little brother was patient, like most cats.
well, it all happened just as the cat intended it should, and when the ball dropped on the ground the cat ran down the tree like lightning, and, picking it up, tucked it away in the snake's skin round his neck.
then he began jumping along the shore of the big water from one place to another, trying to find a boat, or even a log of wood, that would take him across.
but there was nothing; only, on the other side, he saw two girls cooking, and though he shouted to them at the top of his voice, they were too far off to hear what he said.
and, what was worse, the ball suddenly fell out of its snake's skin bag right into the river.
now, it is not at all an uncommon thing for balls to tumble into rivers, but in that case they generally either fall to the bottom and stay there, or else bob about on the top of the water close to where they first touched it.
but this ball, instead of doing either of these things, went straight across to the other side, and there one of the girls saw it when she stooped to dip some water into her pail.
"oh!
what a lovely ball!"
cried she, and tried to catch it in her pail; but the ball always kept bobbing just out of her reach.
"come and help me!"
she called to her sister, and after a long while they had the ball safe inside the pail.
they were delighted with their new toy, and one or the other held it in her hand till bedtime came, and then it was a long time before they could make up their minds where it would be safest for the night.
at last they locked it in a cupboard in one corner of their room, and as there was no hole anywhere the ball could not possibly get out.
after that they went to sleep.
in the morning the first thing they both did was to run to the cupboard and unlock it, but when the door opened they started back, for, instead of the ball, there stood a handsome young man.
"ladies," he said, "how can i thank you for what you have done for me?
long, long ago, i was enchanted by a wicked fairy, and condemned to keep the shape of a ball till i should meet with two maidens, who would take me to their own home.
but where was i to meet them?
for hundreds of years i have lived in the depths of the forest, where nothing but wild beasts ever came, and it was only when the lion threw me into the sky that i was able to fall to earth near this river.
where there is a river, sooner or later people will come; so, hanging myself on a tree, i watched and waited.
for a moment i lost heart when i fell once more into the hands of my old master the wild cat, but my hopes rose again as i saw he was making for the river bank opposite where you were standing.
that was my chance, and i took it.
and now, ladies, i have only to say that, if ever i can do anything to help you, go to the top of that high mountain and knock three times at the iron door at the north side, and i will come to you."
so, with a low bow, he vanished from before them, leaving the maidens weeping at having lost in one moment both the ball and the prince.
-lsb- adapted from north american indian legends. -rsb-
which was the foolishest?
in a little village that stood on a wide plain, where you could see the sun from the moment he rose to the moment he set, there lived two couples side by side.
the men, who worked under the same master, were quite good friends, but the wives were always quarrelling, and the subject they quarrelled most about was -- which of the two had the stupidest husband.
unlike most women -- who think that anything that belongs to them must be better than what belongs to anyone else -- each thought her husband the more foolish of the two.
"you should just see what he does!"
one said to her neighbour.
"he puts on the baby's frock upside down, and, one day, i found him trying to feed her with boiling soup, and her mouth was scalded for days after.
then he picks up stones in the road and sows them instead of potatoes, and one day he wanted to go into the garden from the top window, because he declared it was a shorter way than through the door."
"that is bad enough, of course," answered the other; "but it is really nothing to what i have to endure every day from my husband.
if, when i am busy, i ask him to go and feed the poultry, he is certain to give them some poisonous stuff instead of their proper food, and when i visit the yard next i find them all dead.
once he even took my best bonnet, when i had gone away to my sick mother, and when i came back i found he had given it to the hen to lay her eggs in.
and you know yourself that, only last week, when i sent him to buy a cask of butter, he returned driving a hundred and fifty ducks which someone had induced him to take, and not one of them would lay."
"yes, i am afraid he is trying," replied the first; "but let us put them to the proof, and see which of them is the most foolish."
so, about the time that she expected her husband home from work, she got out her spinning-wheel, and sat busily turning it, taking care not even to look up from her work when the man came in.
for some minutes he stood with his mouth open watching her, and as she still remained silent, he said at last: "have you gone mad, wife, that you sit spinning without anything on the wheel?"
"you may think that there is nothing on it," answered she, "but i can assure you that there is a large skein of wool, so fine that nobody can see it, which will be woven into a coat for you."
"dear me!"
he replied, "what a clever wife i have got!
if you had not told me i should never have known that there was any wool on the wheel at all.
but now i really do seem to see something."
the woman smiled and was silent, and after spinning busily for an hour more, she got up from her stoop, and began to weave as fast as she could.
at last she got up, and said to her husband: "i am too tired to finish it to-night, so i shall go to bed, and to-morrow i shall only have the cutting and stitching to do."
so the next morning she got up early, and after she had cleaned her house, and fed her chickens, and put everything in its place again, she bent over the kitchen table, and the sound of her big scissors might be heard snip!
snap!
as far as the garden.
her husband could not see anything to snip at; but then he was so stupid that was not surprising!
after the cutting came the sewing.
the woman patted and pinned and fixed and joined, and then, turning to the man, she said: "now it is ready for you to try on."
and she made him take off his coat, and stand up in front of her, and once more she patted an pinned and fixed and joined, and was very careful in smoothing out every wrinkle.
"it does not feel very warm," observed the man at last, when he had borne all this patiently for a long time.
"that is because it is so fine," answered she; "you do not want it to be as thick as the rough clothes you wear every day."
he did, but was ashamed to say so, and only answered: "well, i am sure it must be beautiful since you say so, and i shall be smarter than anyone in the whole village.
""what a splendid coat!"
they will exclaim when they see me.
but it is not everybody who has a wife as clever as mine."
meanwhile the other wife was not idle.
as soon as her husband entered she looked at him with such a look of terror that the poor man was quite frightened.
"why do you stare at me so?
is there anything the matter?"
asked he.
"oh!
go to bed at once," she cried; "you must be very ill indeed to look like that!"
the man was rather surprised at first, as he felt particularly well that evening; but the moment his wife spoke he became quite certain that he had something dreadful the matter with him, and grew quite pale."
i dare say it would be the best place for me," he answered, trembling; and he suffered his wife to take him upstairs, and to help him off with his clothes.
"if you sleep well during the might there may be a chance for you," said she, shaking her head, as she tucked him up warmly; "but if not --" and of course the poor man never closed an eye till the sun rose.
"how do you feel this morning?"
asked the woman, coming in on tip-toe when her house-work was finished.
"oh, bad; very bad indeed," answered he;" i have not slept for a moment.
can you think of nothing to make me better?'"
i will try everything that is possible," said the wife, who did not in the least wish her husband to die, but was determined to show that he was more foolish that the other man."
i will get some dried herbs and make you a drink, but i am very much afraid that it is too late.
why did you not tell me before?'"
i thought perhaps the pain would go off in a day or two; and, besides, i did not want to make you unhappy," answered the man, who was by this time quite sure he had been suffering tortures, and had borne them like a hero.
"of course, if i had had any idea how ill i really was, i should have spoken at once."
"well, well, i will see what can be done," said the wife, "but talking is not good for you.
lie still, and keep yourself warm."
all that day the man lay in bed, and whenever his wife entered the room and asked him, with a shake of the head, how he felt, he always replied that he was getting worse.
at last, in the evening, she burst into tears, and when he inquired what was the matter, she sobbed out: "oh, my poor, poor husband, are you really dead?
i must go to-morrow and order your coffin."
now, when the man heard this, a cold shiver ran through his body, and all at once he knew that he was as well as he had ever been in his life.
"oh, no, no!"
he cried," i feel quite recovered!
indeed, i think i shall go out to work."
"you will do no such thing," replied his wife.
"just keep quite quiet, for before the sun rises you will be a dead man."
the man was very frightened at her words, and lay absolutely still while the undertaker came and measured him for his coffin; and his wife gave orders to the gravedigger about his grave.
that evening the coffin was sent home, and in the morning at nine o'clock the woman put him on a long flannel garment, and called to the undertaker's men to fasten down the lid and carry him to the grave, where all their friends were waiting them.
just as the body was being placed in the ground the other woman's husband came running up, dressed, as far as anyone could see, in no clothes at all.
everybody burst into shouts of laughter at the sight of him, and the men laid down the coffin and laughed too, till their sides nearly split.
the dead man was so astonished at this behaviour, that he peeped out of a little window in the side of the coffin, and cried out: "i should laugh as loudly as any of you, if i were not a dead man."
when they heard the voice coming from the coffin the other people suddenly stopped laughing, and stood as if they had been turned into stone.
then they rushed with one accord to the coffin, and lifted the lid so that the man could step out amongst them.
"were you really not dead after all?"
asked they.
"and if not, why did you let yourself be buried?"
at this the wives both confessed that they had each wished to prove that her husband was stupider than the other.
but the villagers declared that they could not decide which was the most foolish -- the man who allowed himself to be persuaded that he was wearing fine clothes when he was dressed in nothing, or the man who let himself be buried when he was alive and well.
so the women quarrelled just as much as they did before, and no one ever knew whose husband was the most foolish.
-lsb- adapted from the neuislandische volksmarchen. -rsb-
asmund and signy long, long ago, in the days when fairies, witches, giants and ogres still visited the earth, there lived a king who reigned over a great and beautiful country.
he was married to a wife whom he dearly loved, and had two most promising children -- a son called asmund, and a daughter who was named signy.
the king and queen were very anxious to bring their children up well, and the young prince and princess were taught everything likely to make them clever and accomplished.
they lived at home in their father's palace, and he spared no pains to make their lives happy.
prince asmund dearly loved all outdoor sports and an open-air life, and from his earliest childhood he had longed to live entirely in the forest close by.
after many arguments and entreaties he succeeded in persuading the king to give him two great oak trees for his very own.
"now," said he to his sister," i will have the trees hollowed out, and then i will make rooms in them and furnish them so that i shall be able to live out in the forest."
"oh, asmund!"
exclaimed signy, "what a delightful idea!
do let me come too, and live in one of your trees.
i will bring all my pretty things and ornaments, and the trees are so near home we shall be quite safe in them."
asmund, who was extremely fond of his sister, readily consented, and they had a very happy time together, carrying over all their pet treasures, and signy's jewels and other ornaments, and arranging them in the pretty little rooms inside the trees.
unfortunately sadder days were to come.
a war with another country broke out, and the king had to lead his army against their enemy.
during his absence the queen fell ill, and after lingering for some time she died, to the great grief of her children.
they made up their minds to live altogether for a time in their trees, and for this purpose they had provisions enough stored up inside to last them a year.
now, i must tell you, in another country a long way off, there reigned a king who had an only son named ring.
prince ring had heard so much about the beauty and goodness of princess signy that he determined to marry her if possible.
so he begged his father to let him have a ship for the voyage, set sail with a favourable wind, and after a time landed in the country where signy lived.
the prince lost no time in setting out for the royal palace, and on his way there he met such a wonderfully lovely woman that he felt he had never seen such beauty in all his life.
he stopped her and at once asked who she was."
i am signy, the king's daughter," was the reply.
then the prince inquired why she was wandering about all by herself, and she told him that since her mother's death she was so sad that whilst her father was away she preferred being alone.
ring was quite deceived by her, and never guessed that she was not princess signy at all, but a strong, gigantic, wicked witch bent on deceiving him under a beautiful shape.
he confided to her that he had travelled all the way from his own country for her sake, having fallen in love with the accounts he had heard of her beauty, and he then and there asked her to be his wife.
the witch listened to all he said and, much pleased, ended by accepting his offer; but she begged him to return to his ship for a little while as she wished to go some way further into the forest, promising to join him later on.
prince ring did as she wished and went back to his ship to wait, whilst she walked on into the forest till she reached the two oak trees.
here she resumed her own gigantic shape, tore up the trees by their roots, threw one of them over her back and clasped the other to her breast, carried them down to the shore and waded out with them to the ship.
she took care not to be noticed as she reached the ship, and directly she got on board she once more changed to her former lovely appearance and told the prince that her luggage was now all on board, and that they need wait for nothing more.
the prince gave orders to set sail at once, and after a fine voyage landed in his own country, where his parents and his only sister received him with the greatest joy and affection.
the false signy was also very kindly welcomed.
a beautiful house was got ready for her, and prince ring had the two oaks planted in the garden just in front of her windows so that she might have the pleasure of seeing them constantly.
he often went to visit the witch, whom he believed to be princess signy, and one day he asked: "do n't you think we might be married before long?"
"yes," said she, quite pleased," i am quite ready to marry you whenever you like."
"then," replied ring, "let us decide on this day fortnight.
and see, i have brought you some stuff to make your wedding-dress of."
so saying he gave her a large piece of the most beautiful brocade, all woven over with gold threads, and embroidered with pearls and other jewels.
the prince had hardly left her before the witch resumed her proper shape and tore about the room, raging and storming and flinging the beautiful silk on the floor.
"what was she to do with such things?"
she roared.
"she did not know how to sew or make clothes, and she was sure to die of starvation into the bargain if her brother ironhead did not come soon and bring her some raw meat and bones, for she really could eat nothing else."
as she was raving and roaring in this frantic manner part of the floor suddenly opened and a huge giant rose up carrying a great chest in his arms.
the witch was enchanted at this sight, and eagerly helped her brother to set down and open the chest, which was full of the ghastly food she had been longing for.
the horrid pair set to and greedily devoured it all, and when the chest was quite empty the giant put it on his shoulder and disappeared as he had come, without leaving any trace of his visit.
but his sister did not keep quiet for long, and tore and pulled at the rich brocade as if she wanted to destroy it, stamping about and shouting angrily.
now, all this time prince asmund and his sister sat in their trees just outside the window and saw all that was going on.
"dear signy," said asmund, "do try to get hold of that piece of brocade and make the clothes yourself, for really we shall have no rest day or night with such a noise.'"
i will try," said signy; "it wo n't be an easy matter, but it's worth while taking some trouble to have a little peace."
so she watched for an opportunity and managed to carry off the brocade the first time the witch left her room.
then she set to work, cutting out and sewing as best she could, and by the end of six days she had turned it into an elegant robe with a long train and a mantle.
when it was finished she climbed to the top of her tree and contrived to throw the clothes on to a table through the open window.
how delighted the witch was when she found the clothes all finished!
the next time prince ring came to see her she gave them to him, and he paid her many compliments on her skilful work, after which he took leave of her in the most friendly manner.
but he had scarcely left the house when the witch began to rage as furiously as ever, and never stopped till her brother ironhead appeared.
when asmund saw all these wild doings from his tree he felt he could no longer keep silence.
he went to prince ring and said: "do come with me and see the strange things that are happening in the new princess's room."
the prince was not a little surprised, but he consented to hide himself with asmund behind the panelling of the room, from where they could see all that went on through a little slit.
the witch was raving and roaring as usual, and said to her brother: "once i am married to the king's son i shall be better off than now.
i shall take care to have all that pack of courtiers put to death, and then i shall send for all my relations to come and live here instead.
i fancy the giants will enjoy themselves very much with me and my husband."
when prince ring heard this he fell into such a rage that he ordered the house to be set on fire, and it was burnt to the ground, with the witch and her brother in it.
asmund then told the prince about the two oak trees and took him to see them.
the prince was quite astonished at them and at all their contents, but still more so at the extreme beauty of signy.
he fell in love with her at once, and entreated her to marry him, which, after a time, she consented to do.
asmund, on his side, asked for the hand of prince ring's sister, which was gladly granted him, and the double wedding was celebrated with great rejoicings.
after this prince asmund and his bride returned to his country to live with the king his father.
the two couples often met, and lived happily for many, many years.
and that is the end of the story.
-lsb- from islandische mahrchen. -rsb-
rubezahl over all the vast under-world the mountain gnome rubezahl was lord; and busy enough the care of his dominions kept him.
there were the endless treasure chambers to be gone through, and the hosts of gnomes to be kept to their tasks.
some built strong barriers to hold back the fiery vapours to change dull stones to precious metal, or were hard at work filling every cranny of the rocks with diamonds and rubies; for rubezahl loved all pretty things.
sometimes the fancy would take him to leave those gloomy regions, and come out upon the green earth for a while, and bask in the sunshine and hear the birds sing.
and as gnomes live many hundreds of years he saw strange things.
for, the first time he came up, the great hills were covered with thick forests, in which wild animals roamed, and rubezahl watched the fierce fights between bear and bison, or chased the grey wolves, or amused himself by rolling great rocks down into the desolate valleys, to hear the thunder of their fall echoing among the hills.
but the next time he ventured above ground, what was his surprise to find everything changed!
the dark woods were hewn down, and in their place appeared blossoming orchards surrounding cosy-looking thatched cottages; for every chimney the blue smoke curled peacefully into the air, sheep and oxen fed in the flowery meadows, while from the shade of the hedges came the music of the shepherd's pipe.
the strangeness and pleasantness of the sight so delighted the gnome that he never thought of resenting the intrusion of these unexpected guests, who, without saying "by your leave" or "with your leave," had made themselves so very much at home upon is hills; nor did he wish to interfere with their doings, but left them in quiet possession of their homes, as a good householder leaves in peace the swallows who have built their nests under his eaves.
he was indeed greatly minded to make friends with this being called "man," so, taking the form of an old field labourer, he entered the service of a farmer.
under his care all the crops flourished exceedingly, but the master proved to be wasteful and ungrateful, and rubezahl soon left him, and went to be shepherd to his next neighbour.
he tended the flock so diligently, and knew so well where to lead the sheep to the sweetest pastures, and where among the hills to look for any who strayed away, that they too prospered under his care, and not one was lost or torn by wolves; but this new master was a hard man, and begrudged him his well-earned wages.
so he ran away and went to serve the judge.
here he upheld the law with might and main, and was a terror to thieves and evildoers; but the judge was a bad man, who took bribes, and despised the law.
rubezahl would not be the tool of an unjust man, and so he told his master, who thereupon ordered him to be thrown in prison.
of course that did not trouble the gnome at all, he simply got out through the keyhole, and went away down to his underground palace, very much disappointed by his first experience of mankind.
but, as time went on, he forgot the disagreeable things that had happened to him, and thought he would take another look at the upper world.
so he stole into the valley, keeping himself carefully hidden in copse or hedgerow, and very soon met with an adventure; for, peeping through a screen of leaves, he saw before him a green lawn where stood a charming maiden, fresh as the spring, and beautiful to look upon.
around her upon the grass lay her young companions, as if they had thrown themselves down to rest after some merry game.
beyond them flowed a little brook, into which a waterfall leapt from a high rock, filling the air with its pleasant sound, and making a coolness even in the sultry noontide.
the sight of the maiden so pleased the gnome that, for the first time, he wished himself a mortal; and, longing for a better view of the gay company, he changed himself into a raven and perched upon an oaktree which overhung the brook.
but he soon found that this was not at all a good plan.
he could only see with a raven's eyes, and feel as a raven feels; and a nest of field-mice at the foot of the tree interested him far more than the sport of the maidens.
when he understood this he flew down again in a great hurry into the thicket, and took the form of a handsome young man -- that was the best way -- and he fell in love with the girl then and there.
the fair maiden was the daughter of the king of the country, and she often wandered in the forest with her play fellows gathering the wild flowers and fruits, till the midday heat drove the merry band to the shady lawn by the brook to rest, or to bathe in the cool waters.
on this particular morning the fancy took them to wander off again into the wood.
this was master rubezahl's opportunity.
stepping out of his hiding-place he stood in the midst of the little lawn, weaving his magic spells, till slowly all about him changed, and when the maidens returned at noon to their favourite resting-place they stood lost in amazement, and almost fancied that they must be dreaming.
the red rocks had become white marble and alabaster; the stream that murmured and struggled before in its rocky bed, flowed in silence now in its smooth channel, from which a clear fountain leapt, to fall again in showers of diamond drops, now on this side now on that, as the wandering breeze scattered it.
daisies and forget-me-nots fringed its brink, while tall hedges of roses and jasmine ringed it round, making the sweetest and daintiest bower imaginable.
to the right and left of the waterfall opened out a wonderful grotto, its walls and arches glittering with many-coloured rock-crystals, while in every niche were spread out strange fruits and sweetmeats, the very sight of which made the princess long to taste them.
she hesitated a while, however, scarcely able to believe her eyes, and not knowing if she should enter the enchanted spot or fly from it.
but at length curiosity prevailed, and she and her companions explored to their heart's content, and tasted and examined everything, running hither and thither in high glee, and calling merrily to each other.
at last, when they were quite weary, the princess cried out suddenly that nothing would content her but to bathe in the marble pool, which certainly did look very inviting; and they all went gaily to this new amusement.
the princess was ready first, but scarcely had she slipped over the rim of the pool when down -- down -- down she sank, and vanished in its depths before her frightened playmates could seize her by so much as a lock of her floating golden hair!
loudly did they weep and wail, running about the brink of the pool, which looked so shallow and so clear, but which had swallowed up their princess before their eyes.
they even sprang into the water and tried to dive after her, but in vain; they only floated like corks in the enchanted pool, and could not keep under water for a second.
they saw at last that there was nothing for it but to carry to the king the sad tidings of his beloved daughter's disappearance.
and what great weeping and lamentation there was in the palace when the dreadful news was told!
the king tore his robes, dashed his golden crown from his head, and hid his face in his purple mantle for grief and anguish at the loss of the princess.
after the first outburst of wailing, however, he took heart and hurried off to see for himself the scene of this strange adventure, thinking, as people will in sorrow, that there might be some mistake after all.
but when he reached the spot, behold, all was changed again!
the glittering grotto described to him by the maidens had completely vanished, and so had the marble bath, the bower of jasmine; instead, all was a tangle of flowers, as it had been of old.
the king was so much perplexed that he threatened the princess's playfellows with all sorts of punishments if they would not confess something about her disappearance; but as they only repeated the same story he presently put down the whole affair to the work of some sprite or goblin, and tried to console himself for his loss by ordering a grand hunt; for kings can not bear to be troubled about anything long.
meanwhile the princess was not at all unhappy in the palace of her elfish lover.
when the water-nymphs, who were hiding in readiness, had caught her and dragged her out of the sight of her terrified maidens, she herself had not had time to be frightened.
they swam with her quickly by strange underground ways to a palace so splendid that her father's seemed but a poor cottage in comparison with it, and when she recovered from her astonishment she found herself seated upon a couch, wrapped in a wonderful robe of satin fastened with a silken girdle, while beside her knelt a young man who whispered the sweetest speeches imaginable in her ear.
the gnome, for he it was, told her all about himself and his great underground kingdom, and presently led her through the many rooms and halls of the palace, and showed her the rare and wonderful things displayed in them till she was fairly dazzled at the sight of so much splendour.
on three sides of the castle lay a lovely garden with masses of gay, sweet flowers, and velvet lawns all cool and shady, which pleased the eye of the princess.
the fruit trees were hung with golden and rosy apples, and nightingales sang in every bush, as the gnome and the princess wandered in the leafy alleys, sometimes gazing at the moon, sometimes pausing to gather the rarest flowers for her adornment.
and all the time he was thinking to himself that never, during the hundreds of years he had lived, had he seen so charming a maiden.
but the princess felt no such happiness; in spite of all the magic delights around her she was sad, though she tried to seem content for fear of displeasing the gnome.
however, he soon perceived her melancholy, and in a thousand ways strove to dispel the cloud, but in vain.
at last he said to himself: "men are sociable creatures, like bees or ants.
doubtless this lovely mortal is pining for company.
who is there i can find for her to talk to?"
thereupon he hastened into the nearest filed and dug up a dozen or so of different roots -- carrots, turnips, and radishes -- and laying them carefully in an elegant basket brought them to the princess, who sat pensive in the shade of the rose-bower.
"loveliest daughter of earth," said the gnome, "banish all sorrow; no more shall you be lonely in my dwelling.
in this basket is all you need to make this spot delightful to you.
take this little many-coloured wand, and with a touch give to each root the form you desire to see."
with this he left her, and the princess, without an instant's delay, opened the basket, and touching a turnip, cried eagerly: "brunhilda, my dear brunhilda!
come to me quickly!"
and sure enough there was brunhilda, joyfully hugging and kissing her beloved princess, and chattering as gaily as in the old days.
this sudden appearance was so delightful that the princess could hardly believe her own eyes, and was quite beside herself with the joy of having her dear playfellow with her once more.
hand in hand they wandered about the enchanted garden, and gathered the golden apples from the trees, and when they were tired of this amusement the princess led her friend through all the wonderful rooms of the palace, until at last they came to the one in which were kept all the marvellous dresses and ornaments the gnome had given to his hoped-for bride.
there they found so much to amuse them that the hours passed like minutes.
veils, girdles, and necklaces were tried on and admired, the imitation brunhilda knew so well how to behave herself, and showed so much taste that nobody would ever have suspected that she was nothing but a turnip after all.
the gnome, who had secretly been keeping an eye upon them, was very pleased with himself for having so well understood the heart of a woman; and the princess seemed to him even more charming than before.
she did not forget to touch the rest of the roots with her magic wand, and soon had all her maidens about her, and even, as she had two tiny radishes to spare, her favourite cat, and her little dog whose name was beni.
and now all went cheerfully in the castle.
the princess gave to each of the maidens her task, and never was mistress better served.
for a whole week she enjoyed the delight of her pleasant company undisturbed.
they all sang, they danced, they played from morning to night; only the princess noticed that day by day the fresh young faces of her maidens grew pale and wan, and the mirror in the great marble hall showed her that she alone still kept her rosy bloom, while brunhilda and the rest faded visibly.
they assured her that all was well with them; but, nevertheless, they continued to waste away, and day by day it became harder to them to take part in the games of the princess, till at last, one fine morning, when the princess started from bed and hastened out to join her gay playfellows, she shuddered and started back at the sight of a group of shrivelled crones, with bent backs and trembling limbs, who supported their tottering steps with staves and crutches, and coughed dismally.
a little nearer to the hearth lay the once frolicsome beni, with all four feet stretched stiffly out, while the sleek cat seemed too weak to raise his head from his velvet cushion.
the horrified princess fled to the door to escape from the sight of this mournful company, and called loudly for the gnome, who appeared at once, humbly anxious to do her bidding.
"malicious sprite," she cried, "why do you begrudge me my playmates -- the greatest delight of my lonely hours?
is n't this solitary life in such a desert bad enough without your turning the castle into a hospital for the aged?
give my maidens back their youth and health this very minute, or i will never love you!"
"sweetest and fairest of damsels," cried the gnome, "do not be angry; everything that is in my power i will do -- but do not ask the impossible.
so long as the sap was fresh in the roots the magic staff could keep them in the forms you desired, but as the sap dried up they withered away.
but never trouble yourself about that, dearest one, a basket of fresh turnips will soon set matters right, and you can speedily call up again every form you wish to see.
the great green patch in the garden will prove you with a more lively company."
so saying the gnome took himself off.
and the princess with her magic wand touched the wrinkled old women, and left them the withered roots they really were, to be thrown upon the rubbish heap; and with light feet skipped off across to the meadow to take possession of the freshly filled basket.
but to her surprise she could not find it anywhere.
up and down the garden she searched, spying into every corner, but not a sign of it was to be found.
by the trellis of grape vines she met the gnome, who was so much embarrassed at the sight of her that she became aware of his confusion while he was still quite a long way off.
"you are trying to tease me," she cried, as soon as she saw him.
"where have you hidden the basket?
i have been looking for it at least an hour."
"dear queen of my heart," answered he," i pray you to forgive my carelessness.
i promised more than i could perform.
i have sought all over the land for the roots you desire; but they are gathered in, and lie drying in musty cellars, and the fields are bare and desolate, for below in the valley winter reigns, only here in your presence spring is held fast, and wherever your foot is set the gay flowers bloom.
have patience for a little, and then without fail you shall have your puppets to play with."
almost before the gnome had finished, the disappointed princess turned away, and marched off to her own apartments, without deigning to answer him.
the gnome, however, set off above ground as speedily as possible, and disguising himself as a farmer, bought an ass in the nearest market-town, and brought it back loaded with sacks of turnip, carrot, and radish seed.
with this he sowed a great field, and sent a vast army of his goblins to watch and tend it, and to bring up the fiery rivers from the heart of the earth near enough to warm and encourage the sprouting seeds.
thus fostered they grew and flourished marvellously, and promised a goodly crop.
the princess wandered about the field day by day, no other plants or fruits in all her wonderful garden pleased her as much as these roots; but still her eyes were full of discontent.
and, best of all, she loved to while away the hours in a shady fir-wood, seated upon the bank of a little stream, into which she would cast the flowers she had gathered and watch them float away.
the gnome tried hard by every means in his power to please the princess and win her love, but little did he guess the real reason of his lack of success.
he imagined that she was too young and inexperienced to care for him; but that was a mistake, for the truth was that another image already filled her heart.
the young prince ratibor, whose lands joined her father's, had won the heart of the princess; and the lovers had been looking forward to the coming of their wedding-day when the bride's mysterious disappearance took place.
the sad news drove ratibor distracted, and as the days went on, and nothing could be heard of the princess, he forsook his castle and the society of men, and spent his days in the wild forests, roaming about and crying her name aloud to the trees and rocks.
meanwhile, the maiden, in her gorgeous prison, sighed in secret over her grief, not wishing to arouse the gnome's suspicions.
in her own mind she was wondering if by any means she might escape from her captivity, and at last she hit upon a plan.
by this time spring once more reigned in the valley, and the gnome sent the fires back to their places in the deeps of the earth, for the roots which they had kept warm through all the cruel winter hand now come to their full size.
day by day the princess pulled up some of them, and made experiments with them, conjuring up now this longed-for person, and now that, just for the pleasure of seeing them as they appeared; but she really had another purpose in view.
one day she changed a tiny turnip into a bee, and sent him off to bring her some news of her lover.
"fly, dear little bee, towards the east," said she, "to my beloved ratibor, and softly hum into his ear that i love him only, but that i am a captive in the gnome's palace under the mountains.
do not forget a single word of my greeting, and bring me back a message from my beloved."
so the bee spread his shining wings and flew away to do as he was bidden; but before he was out of sight a greedy swallow made a snatch at him, and to the great grief of the princess her messenger was eaten up then and there.
after that, by the power of the wonderful wand she summoned a cricket, and taught him this greeting: "hop, little cricket, to ratibor, and chirp in his ear that i love him only, but that i am held captive by the gnome in his palace under the mountains."
so the cricket hopped off gaily, determined to do his best to deliver his message; but, alas!
a long-legged stork who was prancing along the same road caught him in her cruel beak, and before he could say a word he had disappeared down her throat.
these two unlucky ventures did not prevent the princess from trying once more.
this time she changed the turnip into a magpie.
"flutter from tree to tree, chattering bird," said she,'till you come to ratibor, my love.
tell him that i am a captive, and bid him come with horses and men, the third day from this, to the hill that rises from the thorny valley."
the magpie listened, hopped awhile from branch to branch, and then darted away, the princess watching him anxiously as far as she could see.
now prince ratibor was still spending his life in wandering about the woods, and not even the beauty of the spring could soothe his grief.
one day, as he sat in the shade of an oak tree, dreaming of his lost princess, and sometimes crying her name aloud, he seemed to hear another voice reply to his, and, starting up, he gazed around him, but he could see no one, and he had just made up his mind that he must be mistaken, when the same voice called again, and, looking up sharply, he saw a magpie which hopped to and fro among the twigs.
then ratibor heard with surprise that the bird was indeed calling him by name.
"poor chatterpie," said he; "who taught you to say that name, which belongs to an unlucky mortal who wishes the earth would open and swallow up him and his memory for ever?"
thereupon he caught up a great stone, and would have hurled it at the magpie, if it had not at that moment uttered the name of the princess.
this was so unexpected that the prince's arm fell helplessly to his side at the sound, and he stood motionless.
but the magpie in the tree, who, like all the rest of his family, was not happy unless he could be for ever chattering, began to repeat the message the princess had taught him; and as soon as he understood it, prince ratibor's heart was filed with joy.
all his gloom and misery vanished in a moment, and he anxiously questioned the welcome messenger as to the fate of the princess.
but the magpie knew no more than the lesson he had learnt, so he soon fluttered away; while the prince hurried back to his castle to gather together a troop of horsemen, full of courage for whatever might befall.
the princess meanwhile was craftily pursuing her plan of escape.
she left off treating the gnome with coldness and indifference; indeed, there was a look in her eyes which encouraged him to hope that she might some day return his love, and the idea pleased him mightily.
the next day, as soon as the sun rose, she made her appearance decked as a bride, in the wonderful robes and jewels which the fond gnome had prepared for her.
her golden hair was braided and crowned with myrtle blossoms, and her flowing veil sparkled with gems.
in these magnificent garments she went to meet the gnome upon the great terrace.
"loveliest of maidens," he stammered, bowing low before her, "let me gaze into your dear eyes, and read in them that you will no longer refuse my love, but will make me the happiest being the sun shines upon."
so saying he would have drawn aside her veil; but the princess only held it more closely about her.
"your constancy has overcome me," she said;" i can no longer oppose your wishes.
but believe my words, and suffer this veil still to hide my blushes and tears."
"why tears, beloved one?"
cried the gnome anxiously; "every tear of yours falls upon my heart like a drop of molten gold.
greatly as i desire your love, i do not ask a sacrifice."
"ah!"
cried the false princess, "why do you misunderstand my tears?
my heart answers to your tenderness, and yet i am fearful.
a wife can not always charm, and though you will never alter, the beauty of mortals is as a flower that fades.
how can i be sure that you will always be as loving and charming as you are now?"
"ask some proof, sweetheart," said he.
"put my obedience and my patience to some test by which you can judge of my unalterable love."
"be it so," answered the crafty maiden.
"then give me just one proof of your goodness.
go!
count the turnips in yonder meadow.
my wedding feast must not lack guests.
they shall provide me with bride-maidens too.
but beware lest you deceive me, and do not miss a single one.
that shall be the test of your truth towards me."
unwilling as the gnome was to lose sight of his beautiful bride for a moment, he obeyed her commands without delay, and hurried off to begin his task.
he skipped along among the turnips as nimble as a grasshopper, and had soon counted them all; but, to be quite certain that he had made no mistake, he thought he would just run over them again.
this time, to his great annoyance, the number was different; so he reckoned them for the third time, but now the number was not the same as either of the previous ones!
and this was hardly to be wondered at, as his mind was full of the princess's pretty looks and words.
as for the maiden, no sooner was her deluded lover fairly out of sight than she began to prepare for flight.
she had a fine fresh turnip hidden close at hand, which she changed into a spirited horse, all saddled and bridled, and, springing upon its back, she galloped away over hill and dale till she reached the thorny valley, and flung herself into the arms of her beloved prince ratibor.
meanwhile the toiling gnome went through his task over and over again till his back ached and his head swam, and he could no longer put two and two together; but as he felt tolerably certain of the exact number of turnips in the field, big and little together, he hurried back eager to prove to his beloved one what a delightful and submissive husband he would be.
he felt very well satisfied with himself as he crossed the mossy lawn to the place where he had left her; but, alas!
she was no longer there.
he searched every thicket and path, he looked behind every tree, and gazed into every pond, but without success; then he hastened into the palace and rushed from room to room, peering into every hole and corner and calling her by name; but only echo answered in the marble halls -- there was neither voice nor footstep.
then he began to perceive that something was amiss, and, throwing off the mortal form that encumbered him, he flew out of the palace, and soared high into the air, and saw the fugitive princess in the far distance just as the swift horse carried her across the boundary of his dominions.
furiously did the enraged gnome fling two great clouds together, and hurl a thunderbolt after the flying maiden, splintering the rocky barriers which had stood a thousand years.
but his fury was vain, the thunderclouds melted away into a soft mist, and the gnome, after flying about for a while in despair, bewailing to the four winds his unhappy fate, went sorrowfully back to the palace, and stole once more through every room, with many sighs and lamentations.
he passed through the gardens which for him had lost their charm, and the sight of the princess's footprints on the golden sand of the pathway renewed his grief.
all was lonely, empty, sorrowful; and the forsaken gnome resolved that he would have no more dealings with such false creatures as he had found men to be.
thereupon he stamped three times upon the earth, and the magic palace, with all its treasures, vanished away into the nothingness out of which he had called it; and the gnome fled once more to the depths of his underground kingdom.
while all this was happening, prince ratibor was hurrying away with his prize to a place of safety.
with great pomp and triumph he restored the lovely princess to her father, and was then and there married to her, and took her back with him to his own castle.
but long after she was dead, and her children too, the villagers would tell the tale of her imprisonment underground, as they sat carving wood in the winter nights.
-lsb- volksmahrchen der deutschen. -rsb-
story of the king who would be stronger than fate once upon a time, far away in the east country, there lived a king who loved hunting so much that, when once there was a deer in sight, he was careless of his own safety.
indeed, he often became quite separated from his nobles and attendants, and in fact was particularly fond of lonely adventures.
another of his favourite amusements was to give out that he was not well, and could not be seen; and then, with the knowledge only of his faithful grand wazeer, to disguise himself as a pedlar, load a donkey with cheap wares, and travel about.
in this way he found out what the common people said about him, and how his judges and governors fulfilled their duties.
one day his queen presented him with a baby daughter as beautiful as the dawn, and the king himself was so happy and delighted that, for a whole week, he forgot to hunt, and spent the time in public and private rejoicing.
not long afterwards, however, he went out after some deer which were to be found in a far corner of his forests.
in the course of the beat his dogs disturbed a beautiful snow-white stag, and directly he saw it the king determined that he would have it at any cost.
so he put the spurs to his horse, and followed it as hard as he could gallop.
of course all his attendants followed at the best speed that they could manage; but the king was so splendidly mounted, and the stag was so swift, that, at the end of an hour, the king found that only his favourite hound and himself were in the chase; all the rest were far, far behind and out of sight.
nothing daunted, however, he went on and on, till he perceived that he was entering a valley with great rocky mountains on all sides, and that his horse was getting very tired and trembled at every stride.
worse than all evening was already drawing on, and the sun would soon set.
in vain had he sent arrow after arrow at the beautiful stag.
every shot fell short, or went wide of the mark; and at last, just as darkness was setting in, he lost sight altogether of the beast.
by this time his horse could hardly move from fatigue, his hound staggered panting along beside him, he was far away amongst mountains where he had never been before, and had quite missed his way, and not a human creature or dwelling was in sight.
all this was very discouraging, but the king would not have minded if he had not lost that beautiful stag.
that troubled him a good deal, but he never worried over what he could not help, so he got down from his horse, slipped his arm through the bridle, and led the animal along the rough path in hopes of discovering some shepherd's hut, or, at least, a cave or shelter under some rock, where he might pass the night.
presently he heard the sound of rushing water, and made towards it.
he toiled over a steep rocky shoulder of a hill, and there, just below him, was a stream dashing down a precipitous glen, and, almost beneath his feet, twinkling and flickering from the level of the torrent, was a dim light as of a lamp.
towards this light the king with his horse and hound made his way, sliding and stumbling down a steep, stony path.
at the bottom the king found a narrow grassy ledge by the brink of the stream, across which the light from a rude lantern in the mount of a cave shed a broad beam of uncertain light.
at the edge of the stream sat an old hermit with a long white beard, who neither spoke nor moved as the king approached, but sat throwing into the stream dry leaves which lay scattered about the ground near him.
"peace be upon you," said the king, giving the usual country salutation.
"and upon you peace," answered the hermit; but still he never looked up, nor stopped what he was doing.
for a minute or two the king stood watching him.
he noticed that the hermit threw two leaves in at a time, and watched them attentively.
sometimes both were carried rapidly down by the stream; sometimes only one leaf was carried off, and the other, after whirling slowly round and round on the edge of the current, would come circling back on an eddy to the hermit's feet.
at other times both leaves were held in the backward eddy, and failed to reach the main current of the noisy stream.
"what are you doing?"
asked the king at last, and the hermit replied that he was reading the fates of men; every one's fate, he said, was settled from the beginning, and, whatever it were, there was no escape from it.
the king laughed."
i care little," he said, "what my fate may be; but i should be curious to know the fate of my little daughter.'"
i can not say," answered the hermit.
"do you not know, then?"
demanded the king."
i might know," returned the hermit, "but it is not always wisdom to know much."
but the king was not content with this reply, and began to press the old man to say what he knew, which for a long time he would not do.
at last, however, the king urged him so greatly that he said: "the king's daughter will marry the son of a poor slave-girl called puruna, who belongs to the king of the land of the north.
there is no escaping from fate."
the king was wild with anger at hearing these words, but he was also very tired; so he only laughed, and answered that he hoped there would be a way out of that fate anyhow.
then he asked if the hermit could shelter him and his beasts for the night, and the hermit said "yes"; so, very soon the king had watered and tethered his horse, and, after a supper of bread and parched peas, lay down in the cave, with the hound at his feet, and tried to go to sleep.
but instead of sleeping he only lay awake and thought of the hermit's prophecy; and the more he thought of it the angrier he felt, until he gnashed his teeth and declared that it should never, never come true.
morning came, and the king got up, pale and sulky, and, after learning from the hermit which path to take, was soon mounted and found his way home without much difficulty.
directly he reached his palace he wrote a letter to the king of the land of the north, begging him, as a favour, to sell him his slave girl puruna and her son, and saying that, if he consented, he would send a messenger to receive them at the river which divided the kingdoms.
for five days he awaited the reply, and hardly slept or ate, but was as cross as could be all the time.
on the fifth day his messenger returned with a letter to say that the king of the land of the north would not sell, but he would give, the king the slave girl and her son.
the king was overjoyed.
he sent for his grand wazeer and told him that he was going on one of his lonely expeditions, and that the wazeer must invent some excuse to account for his absence.
next he disguised himself as an ordinary messenger, mounted a swift camel, and sped away to the place where the slave girl was to be handed over to him.
when he got there he gave the messengers who brought her a letter of thanks and a handsome present for their master and rewards for themselves; and then without delay he took the poor woman and her tiny baby-boy up on to his camel and rode off to a wild desert.
after riding for a day and a night, almost without stopping, he came to a great cave where he made the woman dismount, and, taking her and the baby into the cave, he drew his sword and with one blow chopped her head off.
but although his anger made him cruel enough for anything so dreadful, the king felt that he could not turn his great sword on the helpless baby, who he was sure must soon die in this solitary place without its mother; so he left it in the cave where it was, and, mounting his camel, rode home as fast as he could.
now, in a small village in his kingdom there lived an old widow who had no children or relations of any kind.
she made her living mostly by selling the milk of a flock of goats; but she was very, very poor, and not very strong, and often used to wonder how she would live if she got too weak or ill to attend to her goats.
every morning she drove the goats out into the desert to graze on the shrubs and bushes which grew there, and every evening they came home of themselves to be milked and to be shut up safely for the night.
one evening the old woman was astonished to find that her very best nanny-goat returned without a drop of milk.
she thought that some naughty boy or girl was playing a trick upon her and had caught the goat on its way home and stolen all the milk.
but when evening after evening the goat remained almost dry she determined to find out who the thief was.
so the next day she followed the goats at a distance and watched them while they grazed.
at length, in the afternoon, the old woman noticed this particular nanny-goat stealing off by herself away from the herd and she at once went after her.
on and on the goat walked for some way, and then disappeared into a cave in the rocks.
the old woman followed the goat into the cave and then, what should she see but the animal giving her milk to a little boy-baby, whilst on the ground near by lay the sad remains of the baby's dead mother!
wondering and frightened, the old woman thought at last that this little baby might be a son to her in her old age, and that he would grow up and in time to come be her comfort and support.
so she carried home the baby to her hut, and next day she took a spade to the cave and dug a grave where she buried the poor mother.
years passed by, and the baby grew up into a find handsome lad, as daring as he was beautiful, and as industrious as he was brave.
one day, when the boy, whom the old woman had named nur mahomed, was about seventeen years old, he was coming from his day's work in the fields, when he saw a strange donkey eating the cabbages in the garden which surround their little cottage.
seizing a big stick, he began to beat the intruder and to drive him out of his garden.
a neighbour passing by called out to him -- "hi!
i say!
why are you beating the pedlar's donkey like that?"
"the pedlar should keep him from eating my cabbages," said nur mahomed; "if he comes this evening here again i'll cut off his tail for him!"
whereupon he went off indoors, whistling cheerfully.
it happened that this neighbour was one of those people who make mischief by talking too much; so, meeting the pedlar in the "serai," or inn, that evening, he told him what had occurred, and added: "yes; and the young spitfire said that if beating the donkey would not do, he would beat you also, and cut your nose off for a thief!"
a few days later, the pedlar having moved on, two men appeared in the village inquiring who it was who had threatened to ill-treat and to murder an innocent pedlar.
they declared that the pedlar, in fear of his life, had complained to the king; and that they had been sent to bring the lawless person who had said these things before the king himself.
of course they soon found out about the donkey eating nur mahomed's cabbages, and about the young man's hot words; but although the lad assured them that he had never said anything about murdering anyone, they replied they were ordered to arrest him, and bring him to take his trial before the king.
so, in spite of his protests, and the wails of his mother, he was carried off, and in due time brought before the king.
of course nur mahomed never guessed that the supposed pedlar happened to have been the king himself, although nobody knew it.
but as he was very angry at what he had been told, he declared that he was going to make an example of this young man, and intended to teach him that even poor travelling pedlars could get justice in his country, and be protected from such lawlessness.
however, just as he was going to pronounce some very heavy sentence, there was a stir in the court, and up came nur mahomed's old mother, weeping and lamenting, and begging to be heard.
the king ordered her to speak, and she began to plead for the boy, declaring how good he was, and how he was the support of her old age, and if he were put in prison she would die.
the king asked her who she was.
she replied that she was his mother.
"his mother?"
said the king; "you are too old, surely, to have so young a son!"
then the old woman, in her fright and distress, confessed the whole story of how she found the baby, and how she rescued and brought him up, and ended by beseeching the king for mercy.
it is easy to guess how, as the story came out, the king looked blacker and blacker, and more and more grim, until at last he was half fainting with rage and astonishment.
this, then, was the baby he had left to die, after cruelly murdering his mother!
surely fate might have spared him this!
he wished he had sufficient excuse to put the boy to death, for the old hermit's prophecy came back to him as strongly as ever; and yet the young man had done nothing bad enough to deserve such a punishment.
everyone would call him a tyrant if he were to give such an order -- in fact, he dared not try it!
at length he collected himself enough to say: -- "if this young man will enlist in my army i will let him off.
we have need of such as him, and a little discipline will do him good."
still the old woman pleaded that she could not live without her son, and was nearly as terrified at the idea of his becoming a soldier as she was at the thought of his being put in prison.
but at length the king -- determined to get the youth into his clutches -- pacified her by promising her a pension large enough to keep her in comfort; and nur mahomed, to his own great delight, was duly enrolled in the king's army.
as a soldier nur mahomed seemed to be in luck.
he was rather surprised, but much pleased, to find that he was always one of those chosen when any difficult or dangerous enterprise was afoot; and, although he had the narrowest escapes on some occasions, still, the very desperateness of the situations in which he found himself gave him special chances of displaying his courage.
and as he was also modest and generous, he became a favourite with his officers and his comrades.
thus it was not very surprising that, before very long, he became enrolled amongst the picked men of the king's bodyguard.
the fact is, that the king had hoped to have got him killed in some fight or another; but, seeing that, on the contrary, he throve on hard knocks, he was now determined to try more direct and desperate methods.
one day, soon after nur mahomed had entered the bodyguard, he was selected to be one of the soldiers told off to escort the king through the city.
the procession was marching on quite smoothly, when a man, armed with a dagger, rushed out of an alley straight towards the king.
nur mahomed, who was the nearest of the guards, threw himself in the way, and received the stab that had been apparently intended for the king.
luckily the blow was a hurried one, and the dagger glanced on is breastbone, so that, although he received a severe wound, his youth and strength quickly got the better of it.
the king was, of course, obliged to take some notice of this brave deed, and as a reward made him one of his own attendants.
after this the strange adventures the young man passed through were endless.
officers of the bodyguard were often sent on all sorts of secret and difficult errands, and such errands had a curious way of becoming necessary when nur mahomed was on duty.
once, while he was taking a journey, a foot-bridge gave way under him; once he was attacked by armed robbers; a rock rolled down upon him in a mountain pass; a heavy stone coping fell from a roof at his feet in a narrow city alley.
altogether, nur mahomed began to think that, somewhere or other, he had made an enemy; but he was light-hearted, and the thought did not much trouble him.
he escaped somehow every time, and felt amused rather than anxious about the next adventure.
it was the custom of that city that the officer for the day of the palace guards should receive all his food direct from the king's kitchen.
one day, when nur mahomed's turn came to be on duty, he was just sitting down to a delicious stew that had been sent in from the palace, when one of those gaunt, hungry dogs, which, in eastern countries, run about the streets, poked his nose in at the open guard-room door, and looked at nur mahomed with mouth watering and nostrils working.
the kind-hearted young man picked out a lump of meat, went to the door, and threw it outside to him.
the dog pounced upon it, and gulped it down greedily, and was just turning to go, when it staggered, fell, rolled over, and died.
nur mahomed, who had been lazily watching him, stood still for a moment, then he came back whistling softly.
he gathered up the rest of his dinner and carefully wrapped it up to carry away and bury somewhere; and then he sent back the empty plates.
how furious the king was when, at the next morning's durbar, nur mahomed appeared before him fresh, alert and smiling as usual.
he was determined, however, to try once more, and bidding the young man come into his presence that evening, gave orders that he was to carry a secret despatch to the governor of a distant province.
"make your preparations at once," added he, "and be ready to start in the morning.
i myself will deliver you the papers at the last moment."
now this province was four or five days" journey from the palace, and the governor of it was the most faithful servant the king had.
he could be silent as the grave, and prided himself on his obedience.
whilst he was an old and tried servant of the king's, his wife had been almost a mother to the young princess ever since the queen had died some years before.
it happened that, a little before this time, the princess had been sent away for her health to another remote province; and whilst she was there her old friend, the governor's wife, had begged her to come and stay with them as soon as she could.
the princess accepted gladly, and was actually staying in the governor's house at the very time when the king made up his mind to send nur mahomed there with the mysterious despatch.
according to orders nur mahomed presented himself early the next morning at the king's private apartments.
his best horse was saddled, food placed in is saddle-bag, and with some money tied up in his waist-band, he was ready to start.
the king handed over to him a sealed packet, desiring him to give it himself only into the hands of the governor, and to no one else.
nur mahomed hid it carefully in his turban, swung himself into the saddle, and five minutes later rode out of the city gates, and set out on his long journey.
the weather was very hot; but nur mahomed thought that the sooner his precious letter was delivered the better; so that, by dint of riding most of each night and resting only in the hottest part of the day, he found himself, by noon on the third day, approaching the town which was his final destination.
not a soul was to be seen anywhere; and nur mahomed, stiff, dry, thirsty, and tired, looked longingly over the wall into the gardens, and marked the fountains, the green grass, the shady apricot orchards, and giant mulberry trees, and wished he were there.
at length he reached the castle gates, and was at once admitted, as he was in the uniform of the king's bodyguard.
the governor was resting, the soldier said, and could not see him until the evening.
so nur mahomed handed over his horse to an attendant, and wandered down into the lovely gardens he had seen from the road, and sat down in the shade to rest himself.
he flung himself on his back and watched the birds twittering and chattering in the trees above him.
through the branches he could see great patches of sky where the kites wheeled and circled incessantly, with shrill whistling cried.
bees buzzed over the flowers with a soothing sound, and in a few minutes nur mahomed was fast asleep.
every day, through the heat of the afternoon, the governor, and his wife also, used to lie down for two or three hours in their own rooms, and so, for the matter of that, did most people in the palace.
but the princess, like many other girls, was restless, and preferred to wander about the garden, rather than rest on a pile of soft cushions.
what a torment her stout old attendants and servants sometime thought her when she insisted on staying awake, and making them chatter or do something, when they could hardly keep their eyes open!
sometimes, however, the princess would pretend to go to sleep, and then, after all her women had gladly followed her example, she would get up and go out by herself, her veil hanging loosely about her.
if she was discovered her old hostess scolded her severely; but the princess only laughed, and did the same thing next time.
this very afternoon the princess had left all her women asleep, and, after trying in vain to amuse herself indoors, she had slipped out into the great garden, and rambled about in all her favourite nooks and corners, feeling quite safe as there was not a creature to be seen.
suddenly, on turning a corner, she stopped in surprise, for before her lay a man fast asleep!
in her hurry she had almost tripped over him.
but there he was, a young man, tanned and dusty with travel, in the uniform of an officer of the king's guard.
one of the few faults of this lovely princess was a devouring curiosity, and she lived such an idle life that she had plenty of time to be curious.
out of one of the folds of this young man's turban there peeped the corner of a letter!
she wondered what the letter was -- whom it was for!
she drew her veil a little closer, and stole across on tip-toe and caught hold of the corner of the letter.
then she pulled it a little, and just a little more!
a great big seal came into view, which she saw to be her father's, and at the sight of it she paused for a minute half ashamed of what she was doing.
but the pleasure of taking a letter which was not meant for her was more than she could resist, and in another moment it was in her hand.
all at once she remembered that it would be death to this poor officer if he lost the letter, and that at all hazards she must put it back again.
but this was not so easy; and, moreover, the letter in her hand burnt her with longing to read it, and see what was inside.
she examined the seal.
it was sticky with being exposed to the hot sun, and with a very little effort it parted from the paper.
the letter was open and she read it!
and this was what was written: "behead the messenger who brings this letter secretly and at once.
ask no questions."
the girl grew pale.
what a shame!
she thought.
she would not let a handsome young fellow like that be beheaded; but how to prevent it was not quite clear at the moment.
some plan must be invented, and she wished to lock herself in where no one could interrupt her, as might easily happen in the garden.
so she crept softly to her room, and took a piece of paper and wrote upon it: "marry the messenger who brings this letter to the princess openly at once.
ask no questions."
and even contrived to work the seals off the original letter and to fix them to this, so that no one could tell, unless they examined it closely, that it had ever been opened.
then she slipped back, shaking with fear and excitement, to where the young officer still lay asleep, thrust the letter into the fold so his turban, and hurried back to her room.
it was done!
late in the afternoon nur mahomed woke, and, making sure that the precious despatch was still safe, went off to get ready for his audience with the governor.
as soon as he was ushered into his presence he took the letter from his turban and placed it in the governor's hands according to orders.
when he had read it the governor was certainly a little astonished; but he was told in the letter to "ask no questions," and he knew how to obey orders.
he sent for his wife and told her to get the princess ready to be married at once.
"nonsense!"
said his wife, "what in the world do you mean?"
"these are the king's commands," he answered; "go and do as i bid you.
the letter says "at once," and "ask no questions."
the marriage, therefore, must take place this evening."
in vain did his wife urge every objection; the more she argued, the more determined was her husband."
i know how to obey orders," he said, "and these are as plain as the nose on my face!"
so the princess was summoned, and, somewhat to their surprise, she seemed to take the news very calmly; next nur mahomed was informed, and he was greatly startled, but of course he could but be delighted at the great and unexpected honour which he thought the king had done him.
then all the castle was turned upside down; and when the news spread in the town, that was turned upside down too.
everybody ran everywhere, and tried to do everything at once; and, in the middle of it all, the old governor went about with his hair standing on end, muttering something about "obeying orders."
and so the marriage was celebrated, and there was a great feast in the castle, and another in the soldiers" barracks, and illuminations all over the town and in the beautiful gardens.
and all the people declared that such a wonderful sight had never been seen, and talked about it to the ends of their lives.
the next day the governor despatched the princess and her bridegroom to the king, with a troop of horsemen, splendidly dressed, and he sent a mounted messenger on before them, with a letter giving the account of the marriage to the king.
when the king got the governor's letter, he grew so red in the face that everyone thought he was going to have apoplexy.
they were all very anxious to know what had happened, but he rushed off and locked himself into a room, where he ramped and raved until he was tired.
then, after awhile, he began to think he had better make the best of it, especially as the old governor had been clever enough to send him back his letter, and the king was pretty sure that this was in the princess's handwriting.
he was fond of his daughter, and though she had behaved badly, he did not wish to cut her head off, and he did not want people to know the truth because it would make him look foolish.
in fact, the more he considered the matter, the more he felt that he would be wise to put a good face on it, and to let people suppose that he had really brought about the marriage of his own free will.
so, when the young couple arrived, the king received them with all state, and gave his son-in-law a province to govern.
nur mahomed soon proved himself as able and honourable a governor as he was a brave soldier; and, when the old king died, he became king in his place, and reigned long and happily.
nur mahomed's old mother lived for a long time in her "son's" palace, and died in peace.
the princess, his wife, although she had got her husband by a trick, found that she could not trick him, and so she never tried, but busied herself in teaching her children and scolding her maids.
as for the old hermit, no trace of him was ever discovered; but the cave is there, and the leaves lie thick in front of it unto this day.
-lsb- told the writer by an indian. -rsb-
story of wali dad the simple-hearted once upon a time there lived a poor old man whose name was wali dad gunjay, or wali dad the bald.
he had no relations, but lived all by himself in a little mud hut some distance from any town, and made his living by cutting grass in the jungle, and selling it as fodder for horses.
he only earned by this five halfpence a day; but he was a simple old man, and needed so little out of it, that he saved up one halfpenny daily, and spent the rest upon such food and clothing as he required.
in this way he lived for many years until, one night, he thought that he would count the money he had hidden away in the great earthen pot under the floor of his hut.
so he set to work, and with much trouble he pulled the bag out on to the floor, and sat gazing in astonishment at the heap of coins which tumbled out of it.
what should he do with them all?
he wondered.
but he never thought of spending the money on himself, because he was content to pass the rest of his days as he had been doing for ever so long, and he really had no desire for any greater comfort or luxury.
at last he threw all the money into an old sack, which he pushed under his bead, and then, rolled in his ragged old blanket, he went off to sleep.
early next morning he staggered off with his sack of money to the shop of a jeweller, whom he knew in the town, and bargained with him for a beautiful little gold bracelet.
with this carefully wrapped up in his cotton waistband he went to the house of a rich friend, who was a travelling merchant, and used to wander about with his camels and merchandise through many countries.
wali dad was lucky enough to find him at home, so he sat down, and after a little talk he asked the merchant who was the most virtuous and beautiful lady he had ever met with.
the merchant replied that the princess of khaistan was renowned everywhere as well for the beauty of her person as for the kindness and generosity of her disposition.
"then," said wali dad, "next time you go that way, give her this little bracelet, with the respectful compliments of one who admires virtue far more than he desires wealth."
with that he pulled the bracelet from his waistband, and handed it to his friend.
the merchant was naturally much astonished, but said nothing, and made no objection to carrying out his friend's plan.
time passed by, and at length the merchant arrived in the course of his travels at the capital of khaistan.
as soon as he had opportunity he presented himself at the palace, and sent in the bracelet, neatly packed in a little perfumed box provided by himself, giving at the same time the message entrusted to him by wali dad.
the princess could not think who could have bestowed this present on her, but she bade her servant to tell the merchant that if he would return, after he had finished his business in the city, she would give him her reply.
in a few days, therefore, the merchant came back, and received from the princess a return present in the shape of a camel-load or rich silks, besides a present of money for himself.
with these he set out on his journey.
some months later he got home again from his journeyings, and proceeded to take wali dad the princess's present.
great was the perplexity of the good man to find a camel-load of silks tumbled at his door!
what was he to do with these costly things?
but, presently, after much thought, he begged the merchant to consider whether he did not know of some young prince to whom such treasures might be useful.
"of course," cried the merchant, greatly amused; "from delhi to baghdad, and from constantinople to lucknow, i know them all; and there lives none worthier than the gallant and wealthy young prince of nekabad."
"very well, then, take the silks to him, with the blessing of an old man," said wali dad, much relieved to be rid of them.
so, the next time that the merchant journeyed that way he carried the silks with him, and in due course arrived at nekabad, and sought an audience of the prince.
when he was shown into his presence he produced the beautiful gift of silks that wali dad had sent, and begged the young man to accept them as a humble tribute to his worth and greatness.
the prince was much touched by the generosity of the giver, and ordered, as a return present, twelve of the finest breed of horses for which his country was famous to be delivered over to the merchant, to whom also, before he took his leave, he gave a munificent reward for his services.
as before, the merchant at last arrived at home; and next day, he set out for wali dad's house with the twelve horses.
when the old man saw them coming in the distance he said to himself: "here's luck!
a troop of horses coming!
they are sure to want quantities of grass, and i shall sell all i have without having to drag it to market."
thereupon he rushed off and cut grass as fast he could.
when he got back, with as much grass as he could possibly carry, he was greatly discomfited to find that the horses were all for himself.
at first he could not think what to do with them, but, after a little, a brilliant idea struck him!
he gave two to the merchant, and begged him to take the rest to the princess of khaistan, who was clearly the fittest person to possess such beautiful animals.
the merchant departed, laughing.
but, true to his old friend's request, he took the horses with him on his next journey, and eventually presented them safely to the princess.
this time the princess sent for the merchant, and questioned him about the giver.
now, the merchant was usually a most honest man, but he did not quite like to describe wali dad in his true light as an old man whose income was five halfpence a day, and who had hardly clothes to cover him.
so he told her that his friend had heard stories of her beauty and goodness, and had longed to lay the best he had at her feet.
the princess then took her father into her confidence, and begged him to advise her what courtesy she might return to one who persisted in making her such presents.
"well," said the king, "you can not refuse them; so the best thing you can do is to send this unknown friend at once a present so magnificent that he is not likely to be able to send you anything better, and so will be ashamed to send anything at all!"
then he ordered that, in place of each of the ten horses, two mules laden with silver should be returned by her.
thus, in a few hours, the merchant found himself in charge of a splendid caravan; and he had to hire a number of armed men to defend it on the road against the robbers, and he was glad indeed to find himself back again in wali dad's hut.
"well, now," cried wali dad, as he viewed all the wealth laid at his door," i can well repay that kind prince for his magnificent present of horses; but to be sure you have been put to great expenses!
still, if you will accept six mules and their loads, and will take the rest straight to nekabad, i shall thank you heartily."
the merchant felt handsomely repaid for his trouble, and wondered greatly how the matter would turn out.
so he made no difficulty about it; and as soon as he could get things ready, he set out for nekabad with this new and princely gift.
this time the prince, too, was embarrassed, and questioned the merchant closely.
the merchant felt that his credit was at stake, and whilst inwardly determining that he would not carry the joke any further, could not help describing wali dad in such glowing terms that the old man would never have known himself had he heard them.
the prince, like the king of khaistan, determined that he would send in return a gift that would be truly royal, and which would perhaps prevent the unknown giver sending him anything more.
so he made up a caravan on twenty splendid horses caparisoned in gold embroidered cloths, with fine morocco saddles and silver bridles and stirrups, also twenty camels of the best breed, which had the speed of race-horses, and could swing along at a trot all day without getting tired; and, lastly, twenty elephants, with magnificent silver howdahs and coverings of silk embroidered with pearls.
to take care of these animals the merchant hired a little army of men; and the troop made a great show as they travelled along.
when wali dad from a distance saw the cloud of dust which the caravan made, and the glitter of its appointments, he said to himself: "by allah!
here's a grand crowd coming!
elephants, too!
grass will be selling well to-day!"
and with that he hurried off to the jungle and cut grass as fast as he could.
as soon as he got back he found the caravan had stopped at his door, and the merchant was waiting, a little anxiously, to tell him the news and to congratulate him upon his riches.
"riches!"
cried wali dad, "what has an old man like me with one foot in the grave to do with riches?
that beautiful young princess, now!
she'd be the one to enjoy all these fine things!
do you take for yourself two horses, two camels, and two elephants, with all their trappings, and present the rest to her."
the merchant at first objected to these remarks, and pointed out to wali dad that he was beginning to feel these embassies a little awkward.
of course he was himself richly repaid, so far as expenses went; but still he did not like going so often, and he was getting nervous.
at length, however he consented to go once more, but he promised himself never to embark on another such enterprise.
so, after a few days" rest, the caravan started off once more for khaistan.
the moment the king of khaistan saw the gorgeous train of men and beasts entering his palace courtyard, he was so amazed that he hurried down in person to inquire about it, and became dumb when he heard that these also were a present from the princely wali dad, and were for the princess, his daughter.
he went hastily off to her apartments, and said to her: "i tell you what it is, my dear, this man wants to marry you; that is the meaning of all these presents!
there is nothing for it but that we go and pay him a visit in person.
he must be a man of immense wealth, and as he is so devoted to you, perhaps you might do worse than marry him!"
the princess agreed with all that her father said, and orders were issued for vast numbers of elephants and camels, and gorgeous tents and flags, and litters for the ladies, and horses for the men, to be prepared without delay, as the king and princess were going to pay a visit to the great and munificent prince wali dad.
the merchant, the king declared, was to guide the party.
the feelings of the poor merchant in this sore dilemma can hardly be imagined.
willingly would he have run away; but he was treated with so much hospitality as wali dad's representative, that he hardly got an instant's real peace, and never any opportunity of slipping away.
in fact, after a few days, despair possessed him to such a degree that he made up his mind that all that happened was fate, and that escape was impossible; but he hoped devoutly some turn of fortune would reveal to him a way out of the difficulties which he had, with the best intentions, drawn upon himself.
on the seventh day they all started, amidst thunderous salutes from the ramparts of the city, and much dust, and cheering, and blaring of trumpets.
day after day they moved on, and every day the poor merchant felt more ill and miserable.
he wondered what kind of death the king would invent for him, and went through almost as much torture, as he lay awake nearly the whole of every night thinking over the situation, as he would have suffered if the king's executioners were already setting to work upon his neck.
at last they were only one day's march from wali dad's little mud home.
here a great encampment was made, and the merchant was sent on to tell wali dad that the king and princess of khaistan had arrived and were seeking an interview.
when the merchant arrived he found the poor old man eating his evening meal of onions and dry bread, and when he told him of all that had happened he had not the heart to proceed to load him with the reproaches which rose to his tongue.
for wali dad was overwhelmed with grief and shame for himself, for his friend, and for the name and honour of the princess; and he wept and plucked at his beard, and groaned most piteously.
with tears he begged the merchant to detain them for one day by any kind of excuse he could think of, and to come in the morning to discuss what they should do.
as soon as the merchant was gone wali dad made up his mind that there was only one honourable way out of the shame and distress that he had created by his foolishness, and that was -- to kill himself.
so, without stopping to ask any one's advice, he went off in the middle of the night to a place where the river wound along at the base of steep rocky cliffs of great height, and determined to throw himself down and put an end to his life.
when he got to the place he drew back a few paces, took a little run, and at the very edge of that dreadful black gulf he stopped short!
he could not do it!
from below, unseen in the blackness of the deep night shadows, the water roared and boiled round the jagged rocks -- he could picture the place as he knew it, only ten times more pitiless and forbidding in the visionless darkness; the wind soughed through the gorge with fearsome sighs, and rustlings and whisperings, and the bushes and grasses that grew in the ledges of the cliffs seemed to him like living creatures that danced and beckoned, shadowy and indistinct.
an owl laughed "hoo!
hoo!"
almost in his face, as he peered over the edge of the gulf, and the old man threw himself back in a perspiration of horror.
he was afraid!
he drew back shuddering, and covering his face in his hands he wept aloud.
presently he was aware of a gentle radiance that shed itself before him.
surely morning was not already coming to hasten and reveal his disgrace!
he took his hands from before his face, and saw before him two lovely beings whom his instinct told him were not mortal, but were peris from paradise.
"why do you weep, old man?"
said one, in a voice as clear and musical as that of the bulbul."
i weep for shame," replied he.
"what do you here?"
questioned the other."
i came here to die," said wali dad.
and as they questioned him, he confessed all his story.
then the first stepped forward and laid a hand upon his shoulder, and wali dad began to feel that something strange -- what, he did not know -- was happening to him.
his old cotton rags of clothes were changed to beautiful linen and embroidered cloth; on his hard, bare feet were warm, soft shoes, and on his head a great jewelled turban.
round his neck there lay a heavy golden chain, and the little old bent sickle, which he cut grass with, and which hung in his waistband, had turned into a gorgeous scimetar, whose ivory hilt gleamed in the pale light like snow in moonlight.
as he stood wondering, like a man in a dream, the other peri waved her hand and bade him turn and see; and, lo!
before him a noble gateway stood open.
and up an avenue of giant place trees the peris led him, dumb with amazement.
at the end of the avenue, on the very spot where his hut had stood, a gorgeous palace appeared, ablaze with myriads of lights.
its great porticoes and verandahs were occupied by hurrying servants, and guards paced to and fro and saluted him respectfully as he drew near, along mossy walks and through sweeping grassy lawns where fountains were playing and flowers scented the air.
wali dad stood stunned and helpless.
"fear not," said one of the peris; "go to your house, and learn that god rewards the simple-hearted."
with these words they both disappeared and left him.
he walked on, thinking still that he must be dreaming.
very soon he retired to rest in a splendid room, far grander than anything he had ever dreamed of.
when morning dawned he woke, and found that the palace, and himself, and his servants were all real, and that he was not dreaming after all!
if he was dumbfounded, the merchant, who was ushered into his presence soon after sunrise, was much more so.
he told wali dad that he had not slept all night, and by the first streak of daylight had started to seek out his friend.
and what a search he had had!
a great stretch of wild jungle country had, in the night, been changed into parks and gardens; and if it had not been for some of wali dad's new servants, who found him and brought him to the palace, he would have fled away under the impression that his trouble had sent him crazy, and that all he saw was only imagination.
then wali dad told the merchant all that had happened.
by his advice he sent an invitation to the king and princess of khaistan to come and be his guests, together with all their retinue and servants, down to the very humblest in the camp.
for three nights and days a great feast was held in honour of the royal guests.
every evening the king and his nobles were served on golden plates and from golden cups; and the smaller people on silver plates and from silver cups; and each evening each guest was requested to keep the places and cups that they had used as a remembrance of the occasion.
never had anything so splendid been seen.
besides the great dinners, there were sports and hunting, and dances, and amusements of all sorts.
on the fourth day the king of khaistan took his host aside, and asked him whether it was true, as he had suspected, that he wished to marry his daughter.
but wali dad, after thanking him very much for the compliment, said that he had never dreamed of so great an honour, and that he was far too old and ugly for so fair a lady; but he begged the king to stay with him until he could send for the prince of nekabad, who was a most excellent, brave, and honourable young man, and would surely be delighted to try to win the hand of the beautiful princess.
to this the king agreed, and wali dad sent the merchant to nekabad, with a number of attendants, and with such handsome presents that the prince came at once, fell head over ears in love with the princess, and married her at wali dad's palace amidst a fresh outburst of rejoicings.
and now the king of khaistan and the prince and princess of nekabad, each went back to their own country; and wali dad lived to a good old age, befriending all who were in trouble and preserving, in his prosperity, the simple-hearted and generous nature that he had when he was only wali dad gunjay, the grass cutter.
-lsb- told the author by an indian. -rsb-
tale of a tortoise and of a mischievous monkey once upon a time there was a country where the rivers were larger, and the forests deeper, than anywhere else.
hardly any men came there, and the wild creatures had it all to themselves, and used to play all sorts of strange games with each other.
the great trees, chained one to the other by thick flowering plants with bright scarlet or yellow blossoms, were famous hiding-places for the monkeys, who could wait unseen, till a puma or an elephant passed by, and then jump on their backs and go for a ride, swinging themselves up by the creepers when they had had enough.
near the rivers huge tortoises were to be found, and though to our eyes a tortoise seems a dull, slow thing, it is wonderful to think how clever they were, and how often they outwitted many of their livelier friends.
there was one tortoise in particular that always managed to get the better of everybody, and many were the tales told in the forest of his great deeds.
they began when he was quite young, and tired of staying at home with his father and mother.
he left them one day, and walked off in search of adventures.
in a wide open space surrounded by trees he met with an elephant, who was having his supper before taking his evening bath in the river which ran close by.
"let us see which of us two is strongest," said the young tortoise, marching up to the elephant.
"very well," replied the elephant, much amused at the impertinence of the little creature; "when would you like the trial to be?"
"in an hour's time; i have some business to do first," answered the tortoise.
and he hastened away as fast as his short legs would carry him.
in a pool of the river a whale was resting, blowing water into the air and making a lovely fountain.
the tortoise, however, was too young and too busy to admire such things, and he called to the whale to stop, as he wanted to speak to him.
"would you like to try which of us is the stronger?"
said he.
the whale looked at him, sent up another fountain, and answered: "oh, yes; certainly.
when do you wish to begin?
i am quite ready."
"then give me one of your longest bones, and i will fasten it to my leg.
when i give the signal, you must pull, and we will see which can pull the hardest."
"very good," replied the whale; and he took out one of his bones and passed it to the tortoise.
the tortoise picked up the end of the bone in his mouth and went back to the elephant."
i will fasten this to your leg," said he, "in the same way as it is fastened to mine, and we must both pull as hard as we can.
we shall soon see which is the stronger."
so he wound it carefully round the elephant's leg, and tied it in a firm knot.
"now!"
cried he, plunging into a thick bush behind him.
the whale tugged at one end, and the elephant tugged at the other, and neither had any idea that he had not the tortoise for his foe.
when the whale pulled hardest the elephant was dragged into the water; and when the elephant pulled the hardest the whale was hauled on to the land.
they were very evenly matched, and the battle was a hard one.
at last they were quite tired, and the tortoise, who was watching, saw that they could play no more.
so he crept from his hiding-place, and dipping himself in the river, he went to the elephant and said: "i see that you really are stronger than i thought.
suppose we give it up for to-day?"
then he dried himself on some moss and went to the whale and said: "i see that you really are stronger than i thought.
suppose we give it up for to-day?"
the two adversaries were only too glad to be allowed to rest, and believed to the end of their days that, after all, the tortoise was stronger than either of them.
a day or two later the young tortoise was taking a stroll, when he met a fox, and stopped to speak to him.
"let us try," said he in a careless manner, "which of us can lie buried in the ground during seven years.'"
i shall be delighted," answered the fox, "only i would rather that you began."
"it is all the same to me," replied the tortoise; "if you come round this way to-morrow you will see that i have fulfilled my part of the bargain."
so he looked about for a suitable place, and found a convenient hole at the foot of an orange tree.
he crept into it, and the next morning the fox heaped up the earth round him, and promised to feed him every day with fresh fruit.
the fox so far kept his word that each morning when the sun rose he appeared to ask how the tortoise was getting on.
"oh, very well; but i wish you would give me some fruit," replied he.
"alas!
the fruit is not ripe enough yet for you to eat," answered the fox, who hoped that the tortoise would die of hunger long before the seven years were over.
"oh dear, oh dear!
i am so hungry!"
cried the tortoise."
i am sure you must be; but it will be all right to-morrow," said the fox, trotting off, not knowing that the oranges dropped down the hollow trunk, straight into the tortoise's hole, and that he had as many as he could possibly eat.
so the seven years went by; and when the tortoise came out of his hole he was as fat as ever.
now it was the fox's turn, and he chose his hole, and the tortoise heaped the earth round, promising to return every day or two with a nice young bird for his dinner.
"well, how are you getting on?"
he would ask cheerfully when he paid his visits.
"oh, all right; only i wish you had brought a bird with you," answered the fox."
i have been so unlucky, i have never been able to catch one," replied the tortoise.
"however, i shall be more fortunate to-morrow, i am sure."
but not many to-morrows after, when the tortoise arrived with his usual question: "well, how are you getting on?"
he received no answer, for the fox was lying in his hole quite still, dead of hunger.
by this time the tortoise was grown up, and was looked up to throughout the forest as a person to be feared for his strength and wisdom.
but he was not considered a very swift runner, until an adventure with a deer added to his fame.
one day, when he was basking in the sun, a stag passed by, and stopped for a little conversation.
"would you care to see which of us can run fastest?"
asked the tortoise, after some talk.
the stag thought the question so silly that he only shrugged his shoulders.
"of course, the victor would have the right to kill the other," went on the tortoise.
"oh, on that condition i agree," answered the deer; "but i am afraid you are a dead man."
"it is no use trying to frighten me," replied the tortoise.
"but i should like three days for training; then i shall be ready to start when the sun strikes on the big tree at the edge of the great clearing."
the first thing the tortoise did was to call his brothers and his cousins together, and he posted them carefully under ferns all along the line of the great clearing, making a sort of ladder which stretched for many miles.
this done to his satisfaction, he went back to the starting place.
the stag was quite punctual, and as soon as the sun's rays struck the trunk of the tree the stag started off, and was soon far out of the sight of the tortoise.
every now and then he would turn his head as he ran, and call out: "how are you getting on?"
and the tortoise who happened to be nearest at that moment would answer: "all right, i am close up to you."
full of astonishment, the stag would redouble his efforts, but it was no use.
each time he asked: "are you there?"
the answer would come: "yes, of course, where else should i be?"
and the stag ran, and ran, and ran, till he could run no more, and dropped down dead on the grass.
and the tortoise, when he thinks about it, laughs still.
but the tortoise was not the only creature of whose tricks stories were told in the forest.
there was a famous monkey who was just as clever and more mischievous, because he was so much quicker on his feet and with his hands.
it was quite impossible to catch him and give him the thrashing he so often deserved, for he just swung himself up into a tree and laughed at the angry victim who was sitting below.
sometimes, however, the inhabitants of the forest were so foolish as to provoke him, and then they got the worst of it.
this was what happened to the barber, whom the monkey visited one morning, saying that he wished to be shaved.
the barber bowed politely to his customer, and begging him to be seated, tied a large cloth round his neck, and rubbed his chin with soap; but instead of cutting off his beard, the barber made a snip at the end of his tail.
it was only a very little bit and the monkey started up more in rage than in pain.
"give me back the end of my tail," he roared, "or i will take one of your razors."
the barber refused to give back the missing piece, so the monkey caught up a razor from the table and ran away with it, and no one in the forest could be shaved for days, as there was not another to be got for miles and miles.
as he was making his way to his own particular palm-tree, where the cocoanuts grew, which were so useful for pelting passers-by, he met a woman who was scaling a fish with a bit of wood, for in this side of the forest a few people lived in huts near the river.
"that must be hard work," said the monkey, stopping to look; "try my knife -- you will get on quicker."
and he handed her the razor as he spoke.
a few days later he came back and rapped at the door of the hut."
i have called for my razor," he said, when the woman appeared."
i have lost it," answered she.
"if you do n't give it to me at once i will take your sardine," replied the monkey, who did not believe her.
the woman protested she had not got the knife, so he took the sardine and ran off.
a little further along he saw a baker who was standing at the door, eating one of his loaves.
"that must be rather dry," said the monkey, "try my fish"; and the man did not need twice telling.
a few days later the monkey stopped again at the baker's hut.
"i've called for that fish," he said.
"that fish?
but i have eaten it!"
exclaimed the baker in dismay.
"if you have eaten it i shall take this barrel of meal in exchange," replied the monkey; and he walked off with the barrel under his arm.
as he went he saw a woman with a group of little girls round her, teaching them how to dress hair.
"here is something to make cakes for the children," he said, putting down his barrel, which by this time he found rather heavy.
the children were delighted, and ran directly to find some flat stones to bake their cakes on, and when they had made and eaten them, they thought they had never tasted anything so nice.
indeed, when they saw the monkey approaching not long after, they rushed to meet him, hoping that he was bringing them some more presents.
but he took no notice of their questions, he only said to their mother: "i've called for my barrel of meal."
"why, you gave it to me to make cakes of!"
cried the mother.
"if i ca n't get my barrel of meal, i shall take one of your children," answered the monkey."
i am in want of somebody who can bake my bread when i am tired of fruit, and who knows how to make cocoanut cakes."
"oh, leave me my child, and i will find you another barrel of meal," wept the mother."
i do n't want another barrel, i want that one," answered the monkey sternly.
and as the woman stood wringing her hands, he caught up the little girl that he thought the prettiest and took her to his home in the palm tree.
she never went back to the hut, but on the whole she was not much to be pitied, for monkeys are nearly as good as children to play with, and they taught her how to swing, and to climb, and to fly from tree to tree, and everything else they knew, which was a great deal.
now the monkey's tiresome tricks had made him many enemies in the forest, but no one hated him so much as the puma.
the cause of their quarrel was known only to themselves, but everybody was aware of the fact, and took care to be out of the way when there was any chance of these two meeting.
often and often the puma had laid traps for the monkey, which he felt sure his foe could not escape; and the monkey would pretend that he saw nothing, and rejoice the hidden puma's heart by seeming to walk straight into the snare, when, lo!
a loud laugh would be heard, and the monkey's grinning face would peer out of a mass of creepers and disappear before his foe could reach him.
this state of things had gone on for quite a long while, when at last there came a season such as the oldest parrot in the forest could never remember.
instead of two or three hundred inches of rain falling, which they were all accustomed to, month after month passed without a cloud, and the rivers and springs dried up, till there was only one small pool left for everyone to drink from.
there was not an animal for miles round that did not grieve over this shocking condition of affairs, not one at least except the puma.
his only thought for years had been how to get the monkey into his power, and this time he imagined his chance had really arrived.
he would hide himself in a thicket, and when the monkey came down to drink -- and come he must -- the puma would spring out and seize him.
yes, on this occasion there could be no escape!
and no more there would have been if the puma had had greater patience; but in his excitement he moved a little too soon.
the monkey, who was stooping to drink, heard a rustling, and turning caught the gleam of two yellow, murderous eyes.
with a mighty spring he grasped a creeper which was hanging above him, and landed himself on the branch of a tree; feeling the breath of the puma on his feet as the animal bounded from is cover.
never had the monkey been so near death, and it was some time before he recovered enough courage to venture on the ground again.
up there in the shelter of the trees, he began to turn over in his head plans for escaping the snares of the puma.
and at length chance helped him.
peeping down to the earth, he saw a man coming along the path carrying on his head a large gourd filled with honey.
he waited till the man was just underneath the tree, then he hung from a bough, and caught the gourd while the man looked up wondering, for he was no tree-climber.
then the monkey rubbed the honey all over him, and a quantity of leaves from a creeper that was hanging close by; he stuck them all close together into the honey, so that he looked like a walking bush.
this finished, he ran to the pool to see the result, and, quite pleased with himself, set out in search of adventures.
soon the report went through the forest that a new animal had appeared from no one knew where, and that when somebody had asked his name, the strange creature had answered that it was jack-in-the-green.
thanks to this, the monkey was allowed to drink at the pool as often as he liked, for neither beast nor bird had the faintest notion who he was.
and if they made any inquiries the only answer they got was that the water of which he had drunk deeply had turned his hair into leaves, so that they all knew what would happen in case they became too greedy.
by-and-by the great rains began again.
the rivers and streams filled up, and there was no need for him to go back to the pool, near the home of his enemy, the puma, as there was a large number of places for him to choose from.
so one night, when everything was still and silent, and even the chattering parrots were asleep on one leg, the monkey stole down softly from his perch, and washed off the honey and the leaves, and came out from his bath in his own proper skin.
on his way to breakfast he met a rabbit, and stopped for a little talk."
i am feeling rather dull," he remarked;" i think it would do me good to hunt a while.
what do you say?"
"oh, i am quite willing," answered the rabbit, proud of being spoken to by such a large creature.
"but the question is, what shall we hunt?"
"there is no credit in going after an elephant or a tiger," replied the monkey stroking his chin, "they are so big they could not possibly get out of your way.
it shows much more skill to be able to catch a small thing that can hide itself in a moment behind a leaf.
i'll tell you what!
suppose i hunt butterflies, and you, serpents."
the rabbit, who was young and without experience, was delighted with this idea, and they both set out on their various ways.
the monkey quietly climbed up the nearest tree, and ate fruit most of the day, but the rabbit tired himself to death poking his nose into every heap of dried leaves he saw, hoping to find a serpent among them.
luckily for himself the serpents were all away for the afternoon, at a meeting of their own, for there is nothing a serpent likes so well for dinner as a nice plump rabbit.
but, as it was, the dried leaves were all empty, and the rabbit at last fell asleep where he was.
then the monkey, who had been watching him, fell down and pulled his ears, to the rage of the rabbit, who vowed vengeance.
it was not easy to catch the monkey off his guard, and the rabbit waited long before an opportunity arrived.
but one day jack-in-the-green was sitting on a stone, wondering what he should do next, when the rabbit crept softly behind him, and gave his tail a sharp pull.
the monkey gave a shriek of pain, and darted up into a tree, but when he saw that it was only the rabbit who had dared to insult him so, he chattered so fast in his anger, and looked so fierce, that the rabbit fled into the nearest hole, and stayed there for several days, trembling with fright.
soon after this adventure the monkey went away into another part of the country, right on the outskirts of the forest, where there was a beautiful garden full of oranges hanging ripe from the trees.
this garden was a favourite place for birds of all kinds, each hoping to secure an orange for dinner, and in order to frighten the birds away and keep a little fruit for himself, the master had fastened a waxen figure on one of the boughs.
now the monkey was as fond of oranges as any of the birds, and when he saw a man standing in the tree where the largest and sweetest oranges grew, he spoke to him at once.
"you man," he said rudely, "throw me down that big orange up there, or i will throw a stone at you."
the wax figure took no notice of this request, so the monkey, who was easily made angry, picked up a stone, and flung it with all his force.
but instead of falling to the ground again, the stone stuck to the soft wax.
at this moment a breeze shook the tree, and the orange on which the monkey had set his heart dropped from the bough.
he picked it up and ate it every bit, including the rind, and it was so good he thought he should like another.
so he called again to the wax figure to throw him an orange, and as the figure did not move, he hurled another stone, which stuck to the wax as the first had done.
seeing that the man was quite indifferent to stones, the monkey grew more angry still, and climbing the tree hastily, gave the figure a violent kick.
but like the two stones his leg remained stuck to the wax, and he was held fast.
"let me go at once, or i will give you another kick," he cried, suiting the action to the word, and this time also his foot remained in the grasp of the man.
not knowing what he did, the monkey hit out, first with one hand and then with the other, and when he found that he was literally bound hand and foot, he became so mad with anger and terror that in his struggles he fell to the ground, dragging the figure after him.
this freed his hands and feet, but besides the shock of the fall, they had tumbled into a bed of thorns, and he limped away broken and bruised, and groaning loudly; for when monkeys are hurt, they take pains that everybody shall know it.
it was a long time before jack was well enough to go about again; but when he did, he had an encounter with his old enemy the puma.
and this was how it came about.
one day the puma invited his friend the stag to go with him and see a comrade, who was famous for the good milk he got from his cows.
the stag loved milk, and gladly accepted the invitation, and when the sun began to get a little low the two started on their walk.
on the way they arrived on the banks of a river, and as there were no bridges in those days it was necessary to swim across it.
the stag was not fond of swimming, and began to say that he was tired, and thought that after all it was not worth going so far to get milk, and that he would return home.
but the puma easily saw through these excuses, and laughed at him.
"the river is not deep at all," he said; "why, you will never be off your feet.
come, pluck up your courage and follow me."
the stag was afraid of the river; still, he was much more afraid of being laughed at, and he plunged in after the puma; but in an instant the current had swept him away, and if it had not borne him by accident to a shallow place on the opposite side, where he managed to scramble up the bank, he would certainly have been drowned.
as it was, he scrambled out, shaking with terror, and found the puma waiting for him.
"you had a narrow escape that time," said the puma.
after resting for a few minutes, to let the stag recover from his fright, they went on their way till they came to a grove of bananas.
"they look very good," observed the puma with a longing glance, "and i am sure you must be hungry, friend stag?
suppose you were to climb the tree and get some.
you shall eat the green ones, they are the best and sweetest; and you can throw the yellow ones down to me.
i dare say they will do quite well!"
the stag did as he was bid, though, not being used to climbing, it gave him a deal of trouble and sore knees, and besides, his horns were continually getting entangled in the creepers.
what was worse, when once he had tasted the bananas, he found them not at all to his liking, so he threw them all down, green and yellow alike, and let the puma take his choice.
and what a dinner he made!
when he had quite done, they set forth once more.
the path lay through a field of maize, where several men were working.
as they came up to them, the puma whispered: "go on in front, friend stag, and just say "bad luck to all workers!""
the stag obeyed, but the men were hot and tired, and did not think this a good joke.
so they set their dogs at him, and he was obliged to run away as fast as he could."
i hope your industry will be rewarded as it deserves," said the puma as he passed along; and the men were pleased, and offered him some of their maize to eat.
by-and-by the puma saw a small snake with a beautiful shining skin, lying coiled up at the foot of a tree.
"what a lovely bracelet that would make for your daughter, friend stag!
said he.
the stag stooped and picked up the snake, which bit him, and he turned angrily to the puma.
"why did you not tell me it would bite?"
he asked.
"is it my fault if you are an idiot?"
replied the puma.
at last they reached their journey's end, but by this time it was late, and the puma's comrade was ready for bed, so they slung their hammocks in convenient places, and went to sleep.
but in the middle of the night the puma rose softly and stole out of the door to the sheep-fold, where he killed and ate the fattest sheep he could find, and taking a bowl full of its blood, he sprinkled the sleeping stag with it.
this done, he returned to bed.
in the morning the shepherd went as usual to let the sheep out of the fold, and found one of them missing.
he thought directly of the puma, and ran to accuse him of having eaten the sheep.
"i, my good man?
what had put it into your head to think of such a thing?
have i got any blood about me?
if anyone has eaten a sheep it must be my friend the stag."
then the shepherd went to examine the sleeping stag, and of course he saw the blood.
"ah!
i will teach you how to steal!"
cried he, and he hit the stag such a blow on his skull that he died in a moment.
the noise awakened the comrade above, and he came downstairs.
the puma greeted him with joy, and begged he might have some of the famous milk as soon as possible, for he was very thirsty.
a large bucket was set before the puma directly.
he drank it to the last drop, and then took leave.
on his way home he met the monkey.
"are you fond of milk?"
asked he."
i know a place where you get it very nice.
i will show you it if you like."
the monkey knew that the puma was not so good-natured for nothing, but he felt quite able to take care of himself, so he said he should have much pleasure in accompanying his friend.
they soon reached the same river, and, as before, the puma remarked: "friend monkey, you will find it very shallow; there is no cause for fear.
jump in and i will follow."
"do you think you have the stag to deal with?"
asked the monkey, laughing."
i should prefer to follow; if not i shall go no further.
the puma understood that it was useless trying to make the monkey do as he wished, so he chose a shallow place and began to swim across.
the monkey waited till the puma had got to the middle, then he gave a great spring and jumped on his back, knowing quite well that the puma would be afraid to shake him off, lest he should be swept away into deep water.
so in this manner they reached the bank.
the banana grove was not far distant, and here the puma thought he would pay the monkey out for forcing him to carry him over the river.
"friend monkey, look what fine bananas," cried he.
"you are fond of climbing; suppose you run up and throw me down a few.
you can eat the green ones, which are the nicest, and i will be content with the yellow."
"very well," answered the monkey, swinging himself up; but he ate all the yellow ones himself, and only threw down the green ones that were left.
the puma was furious and cried out: "i will punch your head for that."
but the monkey only answered: "if you are gong to talk such nonsense i wo n't walk with you."
and the puma was silent.
in a few minutes more they arrived at the field were the men were reaping the maize, and the puma remarked as he had done before: "friend monkey, if you wish to please these men, just say as you go by: "bad luck to all workers."
"very well," replied the monkey; but, instead, he nodded and smiled, and said: "i hope your industry may be rewarded as it deserves."
the men thanked him heartily, let him pass on, and the puma followed behind him.
further along the path they saw the shining snake lying on the moss.
"what a lovely necklace for your daughter," exclaimed the puma.
"pick it up and take it with you."
"you are very kind, but i will leave it for you," answered the monkey, and nothing more was said about the snake.
not long after this they reached the comrade's house, and found him just ready to go to bed.
so, without stopping to talk, the guests slung their hammocks, the monkey taking care to place his so high that no one could get at him.
besides, he thought it would be more prudent not to fall asleep, so he only lay still and snored loudly.
when it was quite dark and no sound was to be heard, the puma crept out to the sheep-fold, killed the sheep, and carried back a bowl full of its blood with which to sprinkle the monkey.
but the monkey, who had been watching out of the corner of his eye, waited until the puma drew near, and with a violent kick upset the bowl all over the puma himself.
when the puma saw what had happened, he turned in a great hurry to leave the house, but before he could do so, he saw the shepherd coming, and hastily lay down again.
"this is the second time i have lost a sheep," the man said to the monkey; "it will be the worse for the thief when i catch him, i can tell you."
the monkey did not answer, but silently pointed to the puma who was pretending to be asleep.
the shepherd stooped and saw the blood, and cried out: "ah!
so it is you, is it?
then take that!"
and with his stick he gave the puma such a blow on the head that he died then and there.
then the monkey got up and went to the dairy, and drank all the milk he could find.
afterwards he returned home and married, and that is the last we heard of him.
-lsb- adapted from folk-lore bresilien. -rsb-
the knights of the fish once upon a time there lived an old cobbler who worked hard at his trade from morning till night, and scarcely gave himself a moment to eat.
but, industrious as he was, he could hardly buy bread and cheese for himself and his wife, and they grew thinner and thinner daily.
for a long while whey pretended to each other that they had no appetite, and that a few blackberries from the hedges were a great deal nicer than a good strong bowl of soup.
but at length there came a day when the cobbler could bear it no longer, and he threw away his last, and borrowing a rod from a neighbour he went out to fish.
now the cobbler was as patient about fishing as he had been about cobbling.
from dawn to dark he stood on the banks of the little stream, without hooking anything better than an eel, or a few old shoes, that even he, clever though he was, felt were not worth mending.
at length his patience began to give way, and as he undressed one night he said to himself: "well, i will give it one more chance; and if i do n't catch a fish to-morrow, i will go and hang myself."
he had not cast his line for ten minutes the next morning before he drew from the river the most beautiful fish he had ever seen in his life.
but he nearly fell into the water from surprise, when the fish began to speak to him, in a small, squeaky voice: "take me back to your hut and cook me; then cut me up, and sprinkle me over with pepper and salt.
give two of the pieces to your wife, and bury two more in the garden."
the cobbler did not know what to make of these strange words; but he was wiser than many people, and when he did not understand, he thought it was well to obey.
his children wanted to eat all the fish themselves, and begged their father to tell them what to do with the pieces he had put aside; but the cobbler only laughed, and told them it was no business of theirs.
and when they were safe in bed he stole out and buried the two pieces in the garden.
by and by two babies, exactly alike, lay in a cradle, and in the garden were two tall plants, with two brilliant shields on the top.
years passed away, and the babies were almost men.
they were tired of living quietly at home, being mistaken for each other by everybody they saw, and determined to set off in different directions, to seek adventures.
so, one fine morning, the two brothers left the hut, and walked together to the place where the great road divided.
there they embraced and parted, promising that if anything remarkable had happened to either, he would return to the cross roads and wait till his brother came.
the youth who took the path that ran eastwards arrived presently at a large city, where he found everybody standing at the doors, wringing their hands and weeping bitterly.
"what is the matter?"
asked he, pausing and looking round.
and a man replied, in a faltering voice, that each year a beautiful girl was chosen by lot to be offered up to a dreadful fiery dragon, who had a mother even worse than himself, and this year the lot had fallen on their peerless princess.
"but where is the princess?"
said the young man once more, and again the man answered him: "she is standing under a tree, a mile away, waiting for the dragon."
this time the knight of the fish did not stop to hear more, but ran off as fast as he could, and found the princess bathed in tears, and trembling from head to foot.
she turned as she heard the sound of his sword, and removed her handkerchief from his eyes.
"fly," she cried; "fly while you have yet time, before that monster sees you."
she said it, and she mean it; yet, when he had turned his back, she felt more forsaken than before.
but in reality it was not more than a few minutes before he came back, galloping furiously on a horse he had borrowed, and carrying a huge mirror across its neck."
i am in time, then," he cried, dismounting very carefully, and placing the mirror against the trunk of a tree.
"give me your veil," he said hastily to the princess.
and when she had unwound it from her head he covered the mirror with it.
"the moment the dragon comes near you, you must tear off the veil," cried he; "and be sure you hide behind the mirror.
have no fear; i shall be at hand."
he and his horse had scarcely found shelter amongst some rocks, when the flap of the dragon's wings could be plainly heard.
he tossed his head with delight at the sight of her, and approached slowly to the place where she stood, a little in front of the mirror.
then, still looking the monster steadily in the face, she passed one hand behind her back and snatched off the veil, stepping swiftly behind the tree as she did so.
the princess had not known, when she obeyed the orders of the knight of the fish, what she expected to happen.
would the dragon with snaky locks be turned to stone, she wondered, like the dragon in an old story her nurse had told her; or would some fiery spark dart from the heart of the mirror, and strike him dead?
neither of these things occurred, but, instead, the dragon stopped short with surprise and rage when he saw a monster before him as big and strong as himself.
he shook his mane with rage and fury; the enemy in front did exactly the same.
he lashed his tail, and rolled his red eyes, and the dragon opposite was no whit behind him.
opening his mouth to its very widest, he gave an awful roar; but the other dragon only roared back.
this was too much, and with another roar which made the princess shake in her shoes, he flung himself upon his foe.
in an instant the mirror lay at his feet broken into a thousand pieces, but as every piece reflected part of himself, the dragon thought that he too had been smashed into atoms.
it was the moment for which the knight of the fish had watched and waited, and before the dragon could find out that he was not hurt at all, the young man's lance was down his throat, and he was rolling, dead, on the grass.
oh!
what shouts of joy rang through the great city, when the youth came riding back with the princess sitting behind him, and dragging the horrible monster by a cord.
everybody cried out that the king must give the victor the hand of the princess; and so he did, and no one had ever seen such balls and feasts and sports before.
and when they were all over the young couple went to the palace prepared for them, which was so large that it was three miles round.
the first wet day after their marriage the bridegroom begged the bride to show him all the rooms in the palace, and it was so big and took so long that the sun was shining brightly again before they stepped on to the roof to see the view.
"what castle is that out there," asked the knight; "it seems to be made of black marble?"
"it is called the castle of albatroz," answered the princess.
"it is enchanted, and no one that has tried to enter it has ever come back."
her husband said nothing, and began to talk of something else; but the next morning he ordered his horse, took his spear, called his bloodhound, and set off for the castle.
it needed a brave man to approach it, for it made your hair stand on end merely to look at it; it was as dark as the night of a storm, and as silent as the grave.
but the knight of the fish knew no fear, and had never turned his back on an enemy; so he drew out his horn, and blew a blast.
the sound awoke all the sleeping echoes in the castle, and was repeated now loudly, now softly; now near, and now far.
but nobody stirred for all that.
"is there anyone inside?"
cried the young man in his loudest voice; "anyone who will give a knight hospitality?
neither governor, nor squire, not even a page?"
"not even a page!"
answered the echoes.
but the young man did not heed them, and only struck a furious blow at the gate.
then a small grating opened, and there appeared the tip of a huge nose, which belonged to the ugliest old woman that ever was seen.
"what do you want?"
said she.
"to enter," he answered shortly.
"can i rest here this night?
yes or no?"
"no, no, no!"
repeated the echoes.
between the fierce sun and his anger at being kept waiting, the knight of the fish had grown so hot that he lifted his visor, and when the old woman saw how handsome he was, she began fumbling with the lock of the gate.
"come in, come in," said she, "so fine a gentleman will do us no harm."
"harm!"
repeated the echoes, but again the young man paid no heed.
"let us go in, ancient dame," but she interrupted him.
"you must call me the lady berberisca," she answered, sharply; "and this is my castle, to which i bid you welcome.
you shall live here with me and be my husband."
but at these words the knight let his spear fall, so surprised was he."
i marry you?
why you must be a hundred at least!"
cried he.
"you are mad!
all i desire is to inspect the castle and then go."
as he spoke he heard the voices give a mocking laugh; but the old woman took no notice, and only bade the knight follow her.
old though she was, it seemed impossible to tire her.
there was no room, however small, she did not lead him into, and each room was full of curious things he had never seen before.
at length they came to a stone staircase, which was so dark that you could not see your hand if you held it up before your face."
i have kept my most precious treasure till the last," said the old woman; "but let me go first, for the stairs are steep, and you might easily break your leg."
so on she went, now and then calling back to the young man in the darkness.
but he did not know that she had slipped aside into a recess, till suddenly he put his foot on a trap door which gave way under him, and he fell down, down, as many good knights had done before him, and his voice joined the echoes of theirs.
"so you would not marry me!"
chuckled the old witch.
"ha!
ha!
ha!
ha!"
meanwhile his brother had wandered far and wide, and at last he wandered back to the same great city where the other young knight had met with so many adventures.
he noticed, with amazement, that as he walked through the streets the guards drew themselves up in line, and saluted him, and the drummers played the royal march; but he was still more bewildered when several servants in livery ran up to him and told him that the princess was sure something terrible had befallen him, and had made herself ill with weeping.
at last it occurred to him that once more he had been taken for his brother."
i had better say nothing," thought he; "perhaps i shall be able to help him after all."
so he suffered himself to be borne in triumph to the palace, where the princess threw herself into his arms.
"and so you did go to the castle?"
she asked.
"yes, of course i did," answered he.
"and what did you see there?'"
i am forbidden to tell you anything about it, until i have returned there once more," replied he.
"must you really go back to that dreadful place?"
she asked wistfully.
"you are the only man who has ever come back from it.'"
i must," was all he answered.
and the princess, who was a wise woman, only said: "well, go to bed now, for i am sure you must be very tired."
but the knight shook his head."
i have sworn never to lie in a bed as long as my work in the castle remains standing."
and the princess again sighed, and was silent.
early next day the young man started for the castle, feeling sure that some terrible thing must have happened to his brother.
at the blast of his horn the long nose of the old woman appeared at the grating, but the moment she caught sight of his face, she nearly fainted from fright, as she thought it was the ghost of the youth whose bones were lying in the dungeon of the castle.
"lady of all the ages," cried the new comer, "did you not give hospitality to a young knight but a short time ago?'"
a short time ago!"
wailed the voices.
"and how have you ill-treated him?"
he went on.
"ill-treated him!"
answered the voices.
the woman did not stop to hear more; she turned to fly; but the knight's sword entered her body.
"where is my brother, cruel hag?"
asked he sternly."
i will tell you," said she; "but as i feel that i am going to die i shall keep that piece of news to myself, till you have brought me to life again."
the young man laughed scornfully.
"how do you propose that i should work that miracle?"
"oh, it is quite easy.
go into the garden and gather the flowers of the everlasting plant and some of dragon's blood.
crush them together and boil them in a large tub of water, and then put me into it."
the knight did as the old witch bade him, and, sure enough, she came out quite whole, but uglier than ever.
she then told the young man what had become of his brother, and he went down into the dungeon, and brought up his body and the bodies of the other victims who lay there, and when they were all washed in the magic water their strength was restored to them.
and, besides these, he found in another cavern the bodies of the girls who had been sacrificed to the dragon, and brought them back to life also.
_book_title_: andrew_lang___the_crimson_fairy_book.txt.out
lovely ilonka there was once a king's son who told his father that he wished to marry.
"no, no!"
said the king; "you must not be in such a hurry.
wait till you have done some great deed.
my father did not let me marry till i had won the golden sword you see me wear."
the prince was much disappointed, but he never dreamed of disobeying his father, and he began to think with all his might what he could do.
it was no use staying at home, so one day he wandered out into the world to try his luck, and as he walked along he came to a little hut in which he found an old woman crouching over the fire.
"good evening, mother.
i see you have lived long in this world; do you know anything about the three bulrushes?"
"yes, indeed, i've lived long and been much about in the world, but i have never seen or heard anything of what you ask.
still, if you will wait till to-morrow i may be able to tell you something."
well, he waited till the morning, and quite early the old woman appeared and took out a little pipe and blew in it, and in a moment all the crows in the world were flying about her.
not one was missing.
then she asked if they knew anything about the three bulrushes, but not one of them did.
the prince went on his way, and a little further on he found another hut in which lived an old man.
on being questioned the old man said he knew nothing, but begged the prince to stay overnight, and the next morning the old man called all the ravens together, but they too had nothing to tell.
the prince bade him farewell and set out.
he wandered so far that he crossed seven kingdoms, and at last, one evening, he came to a little house in which was an old woman.
"good evening, dear mother," said he politely.
"good evening to you, my dear son," answered the old woman.
"it is lucky for you that you spoke to me or you would have met with a horrible death.
but may i ask where are you going?'"
i am seeking the three bulrushes.
do you know anything about them?'"
i do n't know anything myself, but wait till to-morrow.
perhaps i can tell you then."
so the next morning she blew on her pipe, and lo!
and behold every magpie in the world flew up.
that is to say, all the magpies except one who had broken a leg and a wing.
the old woman sent after it at once, and when she questioned the magpies the crippled one was the only one who knew where the three bulrushes were.
then the prince started off with the lame magpie.
they went on and on till they reached a great stone wall, many, many feet high.
"now, prince," said the magpie, "the three bulrushes are behind that wall."
the prince wasted no time.
he set his horse at the wall and leaped over it.
then he looked about for the three bulrushes, pulled them up and set off with them on his way home.
as he rode along one of the bulrushes happened to knock against something.
it split open and, only think!
out sprang a lovely girl, who said: "my heart's love, you are mine and i am yours; do give me a glass of water."
but how could the prince give it her when there was no water at hand?
so the lovely maiden flew away.
he split the second bulrush as an experiment and just the same thing happened.
how careful he was of the third bulrush!
he waited till he came to a well, and there he split it open, and out sprang a maiden seven times lovelier than either of the others, and she too said: "my heart's love, i am yours and you are mine; do give me a glass of water."
this time the water was ready and the girl did not fly away, but she and the prince promised to love each other always.
then they set out for home.
they soon reached the prince's country, and as he wished to bring his promised bride back in a fine coach he went on to the town to fetch one.
in the field where the well was, the king's swineherds and cowherds were feeding their droves, and the prince left ilonka -lrb- for that was her name -rrb- in their care.
unluckily the chief swineherd had an ugly old daughter, and whilst the prince was away he dressed her up in fine clothes, and threw ilonka into the well.
the prince returned before long, bringing with him his father and mother and a great train of courtiers to escort ilonka home.
but how they all stared when they saw the swineherd's ugly daughter!
however, there was nothing for it but to take her home; and, two days later, the prince married her, and his father gave up the crown to him.
but he had no peace!
he knew very well he had been cheated, though he could not think how.
once he desired to have some water brought him from the well into which ilonka had been thrown.
the coachman went for it and, in the bucket he pulled up, a pretty little duck was swimming.
he looked wonderingly at it, and all of a sudden it disappeared and he found a dirty looking girl standing near him.
the girl returned with him and managed to get a place as housemaid in the palace.
of course she was very busy all day long, but whenever she had a little spare time she sat down to spin.
her distaff turned of itself and her spindle span by itself and the flax wound itself off; and however much she might use there was always plenty left.
when the queen -- or, rather, the swineherd's daughter -- heard of this, she very much wished to have the distaff, but the girl flatly refused to give it to her.
however, at last she consented on condition that she might sleep one night in the king's room.
the queen was very angry, and scolded her well; but as she longed to have the distaff she consented, though she gave the king a sleeping draught at supper.
then the girl went to the king's room looking seven times lovelier than ever.
she bent over the sleeper and said: "my heart's love, i am yours and you are mine.
speak to me but once; i am your ilonka."
but the king was so sound asleep he neither heard nor spoke, and ilonka left the room, sadly thinking he was ashamed to own her.
soon after the queen again sent to say that she wanted to buy the spindle.
the girl agreed to let her have it on the same conditions as before; but this time, also, the queen took care to give the king a sleeping draught.
and once more ilonka went to the king's room and spoke to him; whisper as sweetly as she might she could get no answer.
now some of the king's servants had taken note of the matter, and warned their master not to eat and drink anything that the queen offered him, as for two nights running she had given him a sleeping draught.
the queen had no idea that her doings had been discovered; and when, a few days later, she wanted the flax, and had to pay the same price for it, she felt no fears at all.
at supper that night the queen offered the king all sorts of nice things to eat and drink, but he declared he was not hungry, and went early to bed.
the queen repented bitterly her promise to the girl, but it was too late to recall it; for ilonka had already entered the king's room, where he lay anxiously waiting for something, he knew not what.
all of a sudden he saw a lovely maiden who bent over him and said: "my dearest love, i am yours and you are mine.
speak to me, for i am your ilonka."
at these words the king's heart bounded within him.
he sprang up and embraced and kissed her, and she told him all her adventures since the moment he had left her.
and when he heard all that ilonka had suffered, and how he had been deceived, he vowed he would be revenged; so he gave orders that the swineherd, his wife and daughter should all be hanged; and so they were.
the next day the king was married, with great rejoicings, to the fair ilonka; and if they are not yet dead -- why, they are still living.
-lsb- from ungarische mahrehen. -rsb-
lucky luck once upon a time there was a king who had an only son.
when the lad was about eighteen years old his father had to go to fight in a war against a neighbouring country, and the king led his troops in person.
he bade his son act as regent in his absence, but ordered him on no account to marry till his return.
time went by.
the prince ruled the country and never even thought of marrying.
but when he reached his twenty-fifth birthday he began to think that it might be rather nice to have a wife, and he thought so much that at last he got quite eager about it.
he remembered, however, what his father had said, and waited some time longer, till at last it was ten years since the king went out to war.
then the prince called his courtiers about him and set off with a great retinue to seek a bride.
he hardly knew which way to go, so he wandered about for twenty days, when, suddenly, he found himself in his father's camp.
the king was delighted to see his son, and had a great many questions to ask and answer; but when he heard that instead of quietly waiting for him at home the prince was starting off to seek a wife he was very angry, and said: "you may go where you please but i will not leave any of my people with you."
only one faithful servant stayed with the prince and refused to part from him.
they journeyed over hill and dale till they came to a place called goldtown.
the king of goldtown had a lovely daughter, and the prince, who soon heard about her beauty, could not rest till he saw her.
he was very kindly received, for he was extremely good-looking and had charming manners, so he lost no time in asking for her hand and her parents gave her to him with joy.
the wedding took place at once, and the feasting and rejoicings went on for a whole month.
at the end of the month they set off for home, but as the journey was a long one they spent the first evening at an inn.
everyone in the house slept, and only the faithful servant kept watch.
about midnight he heard three crows, who had flown to the roof, talking together.
"that's a handsome couple which arrived here tonight.
it seems quite a pity they should lose their lives so soon."
"truly," said the second crow; "for to-morrow, when midday strikes, the bridge over the gold stream will break just as they are driving over it.
but, listen!
whoever overhears and tells what we have said will be turned to stone up to his knees."
the crows had hardly done speaking when away they flew.
and close upon them followed three pigeons.
"even if the prince and princess get safe over the bridge they will perish," said they; "for the king is going to send a carriage to meet them which looks as new as paint.
but when they are seated in it a raging wind will rise and whirl the carriage away into the clouds.
then it will fall suddenly to earth, and they will be killed.
but anyone who hears and betrays what we have said will be turned to stone up to his waist."
with that the pigeons flew off and three eagles took their places, and this is what they said: "if the young couple does manage to escape the dangers of the bridge and the carriage, the king means to send them each a splendid gold embroidered robe.
when they put these on they will be burnt up at once.
but whoever hears and repeats this will turn to stone from head to foot."
early next morning the travellers got up and breakfasted.
they began to tell each other their dreams.
at last the servant said: "gracious prince, i dreamt that if your royal highness would grant all i asked we should get home safe and sound; but if you did not we should certainly be lost.
my dreams never deceive me, so i entreat you to follow my advice during the rest of the journey."
"do n't make such a fuss about a dream," said the prince; "dreams are but clouds.
still, to prevent your being anxious i will promise to do as you wish."
with that they set out on their journey.
at midday they reached the gold stream.
when they got to the bridge the servant said: "let us leave the carriage here, my prince, and walk a little way.
the town is not far off and we can easily get another carriage there, for the wheels of this one are bad and will not hold out much longer."
the prince looked well at the carriage.
he did not think it looked so unsafe as his servant said; but he had given his word and he held to it.
they got down and loaded the horses with the luggage.
the prince and his bride walked over the bridge, but the servant said he would ride the horses through the stream so as to water and bathe them.
they reached the other side without harm, and bought a new carriage in the town, which was quite near, and set off once more on their travels; but they had not gone far when they met a messenger from the king who said to the prince: "his majesty has sent your royal highness this beautiful carriage so that you may make a fitting entry into your own country and amongst your own people."
the prince was so delighted that he could not speak.
but the servant said: "my lord, let me examine this carriage first and then you can get in if i find it is all right; otherwise we had better stay in our own."
the prince made no objections, and after looking the carriage well over the servant said: "it is as bad as it is smart"; and with that he knocked it all to pieces, and they went on in the one that they had bought.
at last they reached the frontier; there another messenger was waiting for them, who said that the king had sent two splendid robes for the prince and his bride, and begged that they would wear them for their state entry.
but the servant implored the prince to have nothing to do with them, and never gave him any peace till he had obtained leave to destroy the robes.
the old king was furious when he found that all his arts had failed; that his son still lived and that he would have to give up the crown to him now he was married, for that was the law of the land.
he longed to know how the prince had escaped, and said: "my dear son, i do indeed rejoice to have you safely back, but i can not imagine why the beautiful carriage and the splendid robes i sent did not please you; why you had them destroyed."
"indeed, sire," said the prince," i was myself much annoyed at their destruction; but my servant had begged to direct everything on the journey and i had promised him that he should do so.
he declared that we could not possibly get home safely unless i did as he told me."
the old king fell into a tremendous rage.
he called his council together and condemned the servant to death.
the gallows was put up in the square in front of the palace.
the servant was led out and his sentence read to him.
the rope was being placed round his neck, when he begged to be allowed a few last words.
"on our journey home," he said, "we spent the first night at an inn.
i did not sleep but kept watch all night."
and then he went on to tell what the crows had said, and as he spoke he turned to stone up to his knees.
the prince called to him to say no more as he had proved his innocence.
but the servant paid no heed to him, and by the time his story was done he had turned to stone from head to foot.
oh!
how grieved the prince was to lose his faithful servant!
and what pained him most was the thought that he was lost through his very faithfulness, and he determined to travel all over the world and never rest till he found some means of restoring him to life.
now there lived at court an old woman who had been the prince's nurse.
to her he confided all his plans, and left his wife, the princess, in her care.
"you have a long way before you, my son," said the old woman; "you must never return till you have met with lucky luck.
if he can not help you no one on earth can."
so the prince set off to try to find lucky luck.
he walked and walked till he got beyond his own country, and he wandered through a wood for three days but did not meet a living being in it.
at the end of the third day he came to a river near which stood a large mill.
here he spent the night.
when he was leaving next morning the miller asked him: "my gracious lord, where are you going all alone?"
and the prince told him.
"then i beg your highness to ask lucky luck this question: why is it that though i have an excellent mill, with all its machinery complete, and get plenty of grain to grind, i am so poor that i hardly know how to live from one day to another?"
the prince promised to inquire, and went on his way.
he wandered about for three days more, and at the end of the third day saw a little town.
it was quite late when he reached it, but he could discover no light anywhere, and walked almost right through it without finding a house where he could turn in.
but far away at the end of the town he saw a light in a window.
he went straight to it and in the house were three girls playing a game together.
the prince asked for a night's lodging and they took him in, gave him some supper and got a room ready for him, where he slept.
next morning when he was leaving they asked where he was going and he told them his story.
"gracious prince," said the maidens, "do ask lucky luck how it happens that here we are over thirty years old and no lover has come to woo us, though we are good, pretty, and very industrious."
the prince promised to inquire, and went on his way.
then he came to a great forest and wandered about in it from morning to night and from night to morning before he got near the other end.
here he found a pretty stream which was different from other streams as, instead of flowing, it stood still and began to talk: "sir prince, tell me what brings you into these wilds?
i must have been flowing here a hundred years and more and no one has ever yet come by.'"
i will tell you," answered the prince, "if you will divide yourself so that i may walk through."
the stream parted at once, and the prince walked through without wetting his feet; and directly he got to the other side he told his story as he had promised.
"oh, do ask lucky luck," cried the brook, "why, though i am such a clear, bright, rapid stream i never have a fish or any other living creature in my waters."
the prince said he would do so, and continued his journey.
when he got quite clear of the forest he walked on through a lovely valley till he reached a little house thatched with rushes, and he went in to rest for he was very tired.
everything in the house was beautifully clean and tidy, and a cheerful honest-looking old woman was sitting by the fire.
"good-morning, mother," said the prince.
"may luck be with you, my son.
what brings you into these parts?'"
i am looking for lucky luck," replied the prince.
"then you have come to the right place, my son, for i am his mother.
he is not at home just now, he is out digging in the vineyard.
do you go too.
here are two spades.
when you find him begin to dig, but do n't speak a word to him.
it is now eleven o'clock.
when he sits down to eat his dinner sit beside him and eat with him.
after dinner he will question you, and then tell him all your troubles freely.
he will answer whatever you may ask."
with that she showed him the way, and the prince went and did just as she had told him.
after dinner they lay down to rest.
all of a sudden lucky luck began to speak and said: "tell me, what sort of man are you, for since you came here you have not spoken a word?'"
i am not dumb," replied the young man, "but i am that unhappy prince whose faithful servant has been turned to stone, and i want to know how to help him."
"and you do well, for he deserves everything.
go back, and when you get home your wife will just have had a little boy.
take three drops of blood from the child's little finger, rub them on your servant's wrists with a blade of grass and he will return to life.'"
i have another thing to ask," said the prince, when he had thanked him.
"in the forest near here is a fine stream but not a fish or other living creature in it.
why is this?"
"because no one has ever been drowned in the stream.
but take care, in crossing, to get as near the other side as you can before you say so, or you may be the first victim yourself."
"another question, please, before i go.
on my way here i lodged one night in the house of three maidens.
all were well-mannered, hard-working, and pretty, and yet none has had a wooer.
why was this?"
"because they always throw out their sweepings in the face of the sun."
"and why is it that a miller, who has a large mill with all the best machinery and gets plenty of corn to grind is so poor that he can hardly live from day to day?"
"because the miller keeps everything for himself, and does not give to those who need it."
the prince wrote down the answers to his questions, took a friendly leave of lucky luck, and set off for home.
when he reached the stream it asked if he brought it any good news.
"when i get across i will tell you," said he.
so the stream parted; he walked through and on to the highest part of the bank.
he stopped and shouted out: "listen, oh stream!
lucky luck says you will never have any living creature in your waters until someone is drowned in you."
the words were hardly out of his mouth when the stream swelled and overflowed till it reached the rock up which he had climbed, and dashed so far up it that the spray flew over him.
but he clung on tight, and after failing to reach him three times the stream returned to its proper course.
then the prince climbed down, dried himself in the sun, and set out on his march home.
he spent the night once more at the mill and gave the miller his answer, and by-and-by he told the three sisters not to throw out all their sweepings in the face of the sun.
the prince had hardly arrived at home when some thieves tried to ford the stream with a fine horse they had stolen.
when they were half-way across, the stream rose so suddenly that it swept them all away.
from that time it became the best fishing stream in the country-side.
the miller, too, began to give alms and became a very good man, and in time grew so rich that he hardly knew how much he had.
and the three sisters, now that they no longer insulted the sun, had each a wooer within a week.
when the prince got home he found that his wife had just got a fine little boy.
he did not lose a moment in pricking the baby's finger till the blood ran, and he brushed it on the wrists of the stone figure, which shuddered all over and split with a loud noise in seven parts and there was the faithful servant alive and well.
when the old king saw this he foamed with rage, stared wildly about, flung himself on the ground and died.
the servant stayed on with his royal master and served him faithfully all the rest of his life; and, if neither of them is dead, he is serving him still.
-lsb- from ungarische mahrchen. -rsb-
the hairy man somewhere or other, but i do n't know where, there lived a king who owned two remarkably fine fields of rape, but every night two of the rape heaps were burnt down in one of the fields.
the king was extremely angry at this, and sent out soldiers to catch whoever had set fire to the ricks; but it was all of no use -- not a soul could they see.
then he offered nine hundred crowns to anyone who caught the evil-doer, and at the same time ordered that whoever did not keep proper watch over the fields should be killed; but though there were a great many people, none seemed able to protect the fields.
the king had already put ninety-nine people to death, when a little swineherd came to him who had two dogs; one was called "psst," and the other "hush"; and the boy told the king that he would watch over the ricks.
when it grew dark he climbed up on the top of the fourth rick, from where he could see the whole field.
about eleven o'clock he thought he saw someone going to a rick and putting a light to it.
"just you wait," thought he, and called out to his dogs: "hi!
psst, hush, catch him!"
but psst and hush had not waited for orders, and in five minutes the man was caught.
next morning he was brought bound before the king, who was so pleased with the boy that he gave him a thousand crowns at once.
the prisoner was all covered with hair, almost like an animal; and altogether he was so curious to look at that the king locked him up in a strong room and sent out letters of invitation to all the other kings and princes asking them to come and see this wonder.
that was all very well; but the king had a little boy of ten years old who went to look at the hairy man also, and the man begged so hard to be set free that the boy took pity on him.
he stole the key of the strong room from his mother and opened the door.
then he took the key back, but the hairy man escaped and went off into the world.
then the kings and princes began to arrive one after another, and all were most anxious to see the hairy man; but he was gone!
the king nearly burst with rage and with the shame he felt.
he questioned his wife sharply, and told her that if she could not find and bring back the hairy man he would put her in a hut made of rushes and burn her there.
the queen declared she had had nothing to do with the matter; if her son had happened to take the key it had not been with her knowledge.
so they fetched the little prince and asked him all sorts of questions, and at last he owned that he had let the hairy man out.
the king ordered his servants to take the boy into the forest and to kill him there, and to bring back part of his liver and lungs.
there was grief all over the palace when the king's command was known, for he was a great favourite.
but there was no help for it, and they took the boy out into the forest.
but the man was sorry for him, and shot a dog and carried pieces of his lungs and liver to the king, who was satisfied, and did not trouble himself any more.
the prince wandered about in the forest and lived as best he could for five years.
one day he came upon a poor little cottage in which was an old man.
they began to talk, and the prince told his story and sad fate.
then they recognised each other, for the old fellow was no other than the hairy man whom the prince had set free, and who had lived ever since in the forest.
the prince stayed here for two years; then he wished to go further.
the old man begged him hard to stay, but he would not, so his hairy friend gave him a golden apple out of which came a horse with a golden mane, and a golden staff with which to guide the horse.
the old man also gave him a silver apple out of which came the most beautiful hussars and a silver staff; and a copper apple from which he could draw as many foot soldiers as ever he wished, and a copper staff.
he made the prince swear solemnly to take the greatest care of these presents, and then he let him go.
the boy wandered on and on till he came to a large town.
here he took service in the king's palace, and as no one troubled themselves about him he lived quietly on.
one day news was brought to the king that he must go out to war.
he was horribly frightened for he had a very small army, but he had to go all the same.
when they had all left, the prince said to the housekeeper: "give me leave to go to the next village -- i owe a small bill there, and i want to go and pay it"; and as there was nothing to be done in the palace the housekeeper gave him leave.
when he got beyond the town he took out his golden apple, and when the horse sprang out he swung himself into the saddle.
then he took the silver and the copper apples, and with all these fine soldiers he joined the king's army.
the king saw them approach with fear in his heart, for he did not know if it might not be an enemy; but the prince rode up, and bowed low before him."
i bring your majesty reinforcements," said he.
the king was delighted, and all dread of his enemy at once disappeared.
the princesses were there too, and they were very friendly with the prince and begged him to get into their carriage so as to talk to them.
but he declined, and remained on horseback, as he did not know at what moment the battle might begin; and whilst they were all talking together the youngest princess, who was also the loveliest, took off her ring, and her sister tore her handkerchief in two pieces, and they gave these gifts to the prince.
suddenly the enemy came in sight.
the king asked whether his army or the prince's should lead the way; but the prince set off first and with his hussars he fought so bravely that only two of the enemy were left alive, and these two were only spared to act as messengers.
the king was overjoyed and so were his daughters at this brilliant victory.
as they drove home they begged the prince to join them, but he would not come, and galloped off with his hussars.
when he got near the town he packed his soldiers and his fine horse all carefully into the apple again, and then strolled into the town.
on his return to the palace he was well scolded by the housekeeper for staying away so long.
well, the whole matter might have ended there; but it so happened that the younger princess had fallen in love with the prince, as he had with her.
and as he had no jewels with him, he gave her the copper apple and staff.
one day, as the princesses were talking with their father, the younger one asked him whether it might not have been their servant who had helped him so much.
the king was quite angry at the idea; but, to satisfy her, he ordered the servant's room to be searched.
and there, to everyone's surprise, they found the golden ring and the half of the handkerchief.
when these were brought to the king he sent for the prince at once and asked if it had been he who had come to their rescue.
"yes, your majesty, it was i," answered the prince.
"but where did you get your army?"
"if you wish to see it, i can show it you outside the city walls."
and so he did; but first he asked for the copper apple from the younger princess, and when all the soldiers were drawn up there were such numbers that there was barely room for them.
the king gave him his daughter and kingdom as a reward for his aid, and when he heard that the prince was himself a king's son his joy knew no bounds.
the prince packed all his soldiers carefully up once more, and they went back into the town.
not long after there was a grand wedding; perhaps they may all be alive still, but i do n't know.
to your good health!
long, long ago there lived a king who was such a mighty monarch that whenever he sneezed every one in the whole country had to say "to your good health!"
every one said it except the shepherd with the staring eyes, and he would not say it.
the king heard of this and was very angry, and sent for the shepherd to appear before him.
the shepherd came and stood before the throne, where the king sat looking very grand and powerful.
but however grand or powerful he might be the shepherd did not feel a bit afraid of him.
"say at once, "to my good health!""
cried the king.
"to my good health!"
replied the shepherd.
"to mine -- to mine, you rascal, you vagabond!"
stormed the king.
"to mine, to mine, your majesty," was the answer.
"but to mine -- to my own," roared the king, and beat on his breast in a rage.
"well, yes; to mine, of course, to my own," cried the shepherd, and gently tapped his breast.
the king was beside himself with fury and did not know what to do, when the lord chamberlain interfered: "say at once -- say this very moment: "to your health, your majesty"; for if you do n't say it you'll lose your life, whispered he.
"no, i wo n't say it till i get the princess for my wife," was the shepherd's answer.
now the princess was sitting on a little throne beside the king, her father, and she looked as sweet and lovely as a little golden dove.
when she heard what the shepherd said she could not help laughing, for there is no denying the fact that this young shepherd with the staring eyes pleased her very much; indeed he pleased her better than any king's son she had yet seen.
but the king was not as pleasant as his daughter, and he gave orders to throw the shepherd into the white bear's pit.
the guards led him away and thrust him into the pit with the white bear, who had had nothing to eat for two days and was very hungry.
the door of the pit was hardly closed when the bear rushed at the shepherd; but when it saw his eyes it was so frightened that it was ready to eat itself.
it shrank away into a corner and gazed at him from there, and, in spite of being so famished, did not dare to touch him, but sucked its own paws from sheer hunger.
the shepherd felt that if he once removed his eyes off the beast he was a dead man, and in order to keep himself awake he made songs and sang them, and so the night went by.
next morning the lord chamberlain came to see the shepherd's bones, and was amazed to find him alive and well.
he led him to the king, who fell into a furious passion, and said: "well, you have learned what it is to be very near death, and now will you say "to my good health"?"
but the shepherd answered: "i am not afraid of ten deaths!
i will only say it if i may have the princess for my wife."
"then go to your death," cried the king; and ordered him to be thrown into the den with the wild boars.
the wild boars had not been fed for a week, and when the shepherd was thrust into their don they rushed at him to tear him to pieces.
but the shepherd took a little flute out of the sleeve of his jacket and began to play a merry tune, on which the wild boars first of all shrank shyly away, and then got up on their hind legs and danced gaily.
the shepherd would have given anything to be able to laugh, they looked so funny; but he dared not stop playing, for he knew well enough that the moment he stopped they would fall upon him and tear him to pieces.
his eyes were of no use to him here, for he could not have stared ten wild boars in the face at once; so he kept on playing, and the wild boars danced very slowly, as if in a minuet, then by degrees he played faster and faster till they could hardly twist and turn quickly enough, and ended by all falling over each other in a heap, quite exhausted and out of breath.
then the shepherd ventured to laugh at last; and he laughed so long and so loud that when the lord chamberlain came early in the morning, expecting to find only his bones, the tears were still running down his cheeks from laughter.
as soon as the king was dressed the shepherd was again brought before him; but he was more angry than ever to think the wild boars had not torn the man to bits, and he said: "well, you have learned what it feels to be near ten deaths, now say "to my good health!""
but the shepherd broke in with," i do not fear a hundred deaths, and i will only say it if i may have the princess for my wife."
"then go to a hundred deaths!"
roared the king, and ordered the shepherd to be thrown down the deep vault of scythes.
the guards dragged him away to a dark dungeon, in the middle of which was a deep well with sharp scythes all round it.
at the bottom of the well was a little light by which one could see if anyone was thrown in whether he had fallen to the bottom.
when the shepherd was dragged to the dungeons he begged the guards to leave him alone a little while that he might look down into the pit of scythes; perhaps he might after all make up his mind to say "to your good health" to the king.
so the guards left him alone and he stuck up his long stick near the well, hung his cloak round the stick and put his hat on the top.
he also hung his knapsack up inside the cloak so that it might seem to have some body within it.
when this was done he called out to the guards and said that he had considered the matter but after all he could not make up his mind to say what the king wished.
the guards came in, threw the hat and cloak, knapsack and stick all down the well together, watched to see how they put out the light at the bottom and came away, thinking that now there really was an end of the shepherd.
but he had hidden in a dark corner and was laughing to himself all the time.
quite early next morning came the lord chamberlain, carrying a lamp and he nearly fell backwards with surprise when he saw the shepherd alive and well.
he brought him to the king, whose fury was greater than ever, but who cried: "well, now you have been near a hundred deaths; will you say: "to your good health"?"
but the shepherd only gave the same answer: "i wo n't say it till the princess is my wife."
"perhaps after all you may do it for less," said the king, who saw that there was no chance of making away with the shepherd; and he ordered the state coach to be got ready, then he made the shepherd get in with him and sit beside him, and ordered the coachman to drive to the silver wood.
when they reached it he said: "do you see this silver wood?
well, if you will say, "to your good health," i will give it to you."
the shepherd turned hot and cold by turns, but he still persisted: "i will not say it till the princess is my wife."
the king was much vexed; he drove further on till they came to a splendid castle, all of gold, and then he said: "do you see this golden castle?
well, i will give you that too, the silver wood and the golden castle, if only you will say that one thing to me: "to your good health.""
the shepherd gaped and wondered and was quite dazzled, but he still said: "no; i will not say it till i have the princess for my wife."
this time the king was overwhelmed with grief, and gave orders to drive on to the diamond pond, and there he tried once more.
"do you see this diamond pond?
i will give you that too, the silver wood and the golden castle and the diamond pond.
you shall have them all -- all -- if you will but say: "to your good health!""
the shepherd had to shut his staring eyes tight not to be dazzled with the brilliant pond, but still he said: "no, no; i will not say it till i have the princess for my wife."
then the king saw that all his efforts were useless, and that he might as well give in, so he said: "well, well, it's all the same to me -- i will give you my daughter to wife; but, then, you really and truly must say to me: "to your good health.""
"of course i'll say it; why should i not say it?
it stands to reason that i shall say it then."
at this the king was more delighted than anyone could have believed.
he made it known all through the country that there were to be great rejoicings, as the princess was going to be married.
and everyone rejoiced to think that the princess, who had refused so many royal suitors, should have ended by falling in love with the staring-eyed shepherd.
there was such a wedding as had never been seen.
everyone ate and drank and danced.
even the sick were feasted, and quite tiny new-born children had presents given them.
but the greatest merry-making was in the king's palace; there the best bands played and the best food was cooked; a crowd of people sat down to table, and all was fun and merry-making.
and when the groomsman, according to custom, brought in the great boar's head on a big dish and placed it before the king so that he might carve it and give everyone a share, the savoury smell was so strong that the king began to sneeze with all his might.
"to your very good health," cried the shepherd before anyone else, and the king was so delighted that he did not regret having given him his daughter.
in time, when the old king died, the shepherd succeeded him.
he made a very good king and never expected his people to wish him well against their wills; but, all the same, everyone did wish him well, for they all loved him.
-lsb- from russische mahrchen. -rsb-
the story of the seven simons far, far away, beyond all sorts of countries, seas and rivers, there stood a splendid city where lived king archidej, who was as good as he was rich and handsome.
his great army was made up of men ready to obey his slightest wish; he owned forty times forty cities, and in each city he had ten palaces with silver doors, golden roofs, and crystal windows.
his council consisted of the twelve wisest men in the country, whose long beards flowed down over their breasts, each of whom was as learned as a whole college.
this council always told the king the exact truth.
now the king had everything to make him happy, but he did not enjoy anything because he could not find a bride to his mind.
one day, as he sat in his palace looking out to sea, a great ship sailed into the harbour and several merchants came on shore.
said the king to himself: "these people have travelled far and beheld many lands.
i will ask them if they have seen any princess who is as clever and as handsome as i am."
so he ordered the merchants to be brought before him, and when they came he said: "you have travelled much and visited many wonders.
i wish to ask you a question, and i beg you to answer truthfully.
"have you anywhere seen or heard of the daughter of an emperor, king, or a prince, who is as clever and as handsome as i am, and who would be worthy to be my wife and the queen of my country?"
the merchants considered for some time.
at last the eldest of them said: "i have heard that across many seas, in the island of busan, there is a mighty king, whose daughter, the princess helena, is so lovely that she can certainly not be plainer than your majesty, and so clever that the wisest greybeard can not guess her riddles."
"is the island far off, and which is the way to it?"
"it is not near," was the answer.
"the journey would take ten years, and we do not know the way.
and even if we did, what use would that be?
the princess is no bride for you."
"how dare you say so?"
cried the king angrily.
"your majesty must pardon us; but just think for a moment.
should you send an envoy to the island he will take ten years to get there and ten more to return -- twenty years in all.
will not the princess have grown old in that time and have lost all her beauty?"
the king reflected gravely.
then he thanked the merchants, gave them leave to trade in his country without paying any duties, and dismissed them.
after they were gone the king remained deep in thought.
he felt puzzled and anxious; so he decided to ride into the country to distract his mind, and sent for his huntsmen and falconers.
the huntsmen blew their horns, the falconers took their hawks on their wrists, and off they all set out across country till they came to a green hedge.
on the other side of the hedge stretched a great field of maize as far as the eye could reach, and the yellow ears swayed to and fro in the gentle breeze like a rippling sea of gold.
the king drew rein and admired the field.
"upon my word," said he, "whoever dug and planted it must be good workmen.
if all the fields in my kingdom were as well cared for as this, there would be more bread than my people could eat."
and he wished to know to whom the field belonged.
off rushed all his followers at once to do his bidding, and found a nice, tidy farmhouse, in front of which sat seven peasants, lunching on rye bread and drinking water.
they wore red shirts bound with gold braid, and were so much alike that one could hardly tell one from another.
the messengers asked: "who owns this field of golden maize?"
and the seven brothers answered: "the field is ours."
"and who are you?"
"we are king archidej's labourers."
these answers were repeated to the king, who ordered the brothers to be brought before him at once.
on being asked who they were, the eldest said, bowing low: "we, king archidej, are your labourers, children of one father and mother, and we all have the same name, for each of us is called simon.
our father taught us to be true to our king, and to till the ground, and to be kind to our neighbours.
he also taught each of us a different trade which he thought might be useful to us, and he bade us not neglect our mother earth, which would be sure amply to repay our labour."
the king was pleased with the honest peasant, and said: "you have done well, good people, in planting your field, and now you have a golden harvest.
but i should like each of you to tell me what special trades your father taught you."
"my trade, o king!"
said the first simon, "is not an easy one.
if you will give me some workmen and materials i will build you a great white pillar that shall reach far above the clouds."
"very good," replied the king.
"and you, simon the second, what is your trade?"
"mine, your majesty, needs no great cleverness.
when my brother has built the pillar i can mount it, and from the top, far above the clouds, i can see what is happening: in every country under the sun."
"good," said the king; "and simon the third?"
"my work is very simple, sire.
you have many ships built by learned men, with all sorts of new and clever improvements.
if you wish it i will build you quite a simple boat -- one, two, three, and it's done!
but my plain little home-made ship is not grand enough for a king.
where other ships take a year, mine makes the voyage in a day, and where they would require ten years mine will do the distance in a week."
"good," said the king again; "and what has simon the fourth learnt?"
"my trade, o king, is really of no importance.
should my brother build you a ship, then let me embark in it.
if we should be pursued by an enemy i can seize our boat by the prow and sink it to the bottom of the sea.
when the enemy has sailed off, i can draw it up to the top again."
"that is very clever of you," answered the king; "and what does simon the fifth do?"
"my work, your majesty, is mere smith's work.
order me to build a smithy and i will make you a cross-bow, but from which neither the eagle in the sky nor the wild beast in the forest is safe.
the bolt hits whatever the eye sees."
"that sounds very useful," said the king.
"and now, simon the sixth, tell me your trade."
"sire, it is so simple i am almost ashamed to mention it.
if my brother hits any creature i catch it quicker than any dog can.
if it falls into the water i pick it up out of the greatest depths, and if it is in a dark forest i can find it even at midnight."
the king was much pleased with the trades and talk of the six brothers, and said: "thank you, good people; your father did well to teach you all these things.
now follow me to the town, as i want to see what you can do.
i need such people as you about me; but when harvest time comes i will send you home with royal presents."
the brothers bowed and said: "as the king wills."
suddenly the king remembered that he had not questioned the seventh simon, so he turned to him and said: "why are you silent?
what is your handicraft?"
and the seventh simon answered: "i have no handicraft, o king; i have learnt nothing.
i could not manage it.
and if i do know how to do anything it is not what might properly be called a real trade -- it is rather a sort of performance; but it is one which no one -- not the king himself -- must watch me doing, and i doubt whether this performance of mine would please your majesty."
"come, come," cried the king;" i will have no excuses, what is this trade?"
"first, sire, give me your royal word that you will not kill me when i have told you.
then you shall hear."
"so be it, then; i give you my royal word."
then the seventh simon stepped back a little, cleared his throat, and said: "my trade, king archidej, is of such a kind that the man who follows it in your kingdom generally loses his life and has no hopes of pardon.
there is only one thing i can do really well, and that is -- to steal, and to hide the smallest scrap of anything i have stolen.
not the deepest vault, even if its lock were enchanted, could prevent my stealing anything out of it that i wished to have."
when the king heard this he fell into a passion."
i will not pardon you, you rascal," he cried;" i will shut you up in my deepest dungeon on bread and water till you have forgotten such a trade.
indeed, it would be better to put you to death at once, and i've a good mind to do so."
"do n't kill me, o king!
i am really not as bad as you think.
why, had i chosen, i could have robbed the royal treasury, have bribed your judges to let me off, and built a white marble palace with what was left.
but though i know how to steal i do n't do it.
you yourself asked me my trade.
if you kill me you will break your royal word."
"very well," said the king," i will not kill you.
i pardon you.
but from this hour you shall be shut up in a dark dungeon.
here, guards!
away with him to the prison.
but you six simons follow me and be assured of my royal favour."
so the six simons followed the king.
the seventh simon was seized by the guards, who put him in chains and threw him in prison with only bread and water for food.
next day the king gave the first simon carpenters, masons, smiths and labourers, with great stores of iron, mortar, and the like, and simon began to build.
and he built his great white pillar far, far up into the clouds, as high as the nearest stars; but the other stars were higher still.
then the second simon climbed up the pillar and saw and heard all that was going on through the whole world.
when he came down he had all sorts of wonderful things to tell.
how one king was marching in battle against another, and which was likely to be the victor.
how, in another place, great rejoicings were going on, while in a third people were dying of famine.
in fact there was not the smallest event going on over the earth that was hidden from him.
next the third simon began.
he stretched out his arms, once, twice, thrice, and the wonder-ship was ready.
at a sign from the king it was launched, and floated proudly and safely like a bird on the waves.
instead of ropes it had wires for rigging, and musicians played on them with fiddle bows and made lovely music.
as the ship swam about, the fourth simon seized the prow with his strong hand, and in a moment it was gone -- sunk to the bottom of the sea.
an hour passed, and then the ship floated again, drawn up by simon's left hand, while in his right he brought a gigantic fish from the depth of the ocean for the royal table.
whilst this was going on the fifth simon had built his forge and hammered out his iron, and when the king returned from the harbour the magic cross-bow was made.
his majesty went out into an open field at once, looked up into the sky and saw, far, far away, an eagle flying up towards the sun and looking like a little speck.
"now," said the king, "if you can shoot that bird i will reward you."
simon only smiled; he lifted his cross-bow, took aim, fired, and the eagle fell.
as it was falling the sixth simon ran with a dish, caught the bird before it fell to earth and brought it to the king.
"many thanks, my brave lads," said the king;" i see that each of you is indeed a master of his trade.
you shall be richly rewarded.
but now rest and have your dinner."
the six simons bowed and went to dinner.
but they had hardly begun before a messenger came to say that the king wanted to see them.
they obeyed at once and found him surrounded by all his court and men of state.
"listen, my good fellows," cried the king, as soon as he saw them.
"hear what my wise counsellors have thought of.
as you, simon the second, can see the whole world from the top of the great pillar, i want you to climb up and to see and hear.
for i am told that, far away, across many seas, is the great kingdom of the island of busan, and that the daughter of the king is the beautiful princess helena."
off ran the second simon and clambered quickly up the pillar.
he gazed around, listened on all sides, and then slid down to report to the king.
"sire, i have obeyed your orders.
far away i saw the island of busan.
the king is a mighty monarch, but full of pride, harsh and cruel.
he sits on his throne and declares that no prince or king on earth is good enough for his lovely daughter, that he will give her to none, and that if any king asks for her hand he will declare war against him and destroy his kingdom."
"has the king of busan a great army?"
asked king archidej; "is his country far off?"
"as far as i could judge," replied simon, "it would take you nearly ten years in fair weather to sail there.
but if the weather were stormy we might say twelve.
i saw the army being reviewed.
it is not so very large -- a hundred thousand men at arms and a hundred thousand knights.
besides these, he has a strong bodyguard and a good many cross-bowmen.
altogether you may say another hundred thousand, and there is a picked body of heroes who reserve themselves for great occasions requiring particular courage."
the king sat for some time lost in thought.
at last he said to the nobles and courtiers standing round: "i am determined to marry the princess helena, but how shall i do it?"
the nobles, courtiers and counsellors said nothing, but tried to hide behind each other.
then the third simon said: "pardon me, your majesty, if i offer my advice.
you wish to go to the island of busan?
what can be easier?
in my ship you will get there in a week instead of in ten years.
but ask your council to advise you what to do when you arrive -- in one word, whether you will win the princess peacefully or by war?"
but the wise men were as silent as ever.
the king frowned, and was about to say something sharp, when the court fool pushed his way to the front and said: "dear me, what are all you clever people so puzzled about?
the matter is quite clear.
as it seems it will not take long to reach the island why not send the seventh simon?
he will steal the fair maiden fast enough, and then the king, her father, may consider how he is going to bring his army over here -- it will take him ten years to do it!
-- no less!
what do you think of my plan?"
"what do i think?
why, that your idea is capital, and you shall be rewarded for it.
come, guards, hurry as fast as you can and bring the seventh simon before me."
not many minutes later, simon the seventh stood before the king, who explained to him what he wished done, and also that to steal for the benefit of his king and country was by no means a wrong thing, though it was very wrong to steal for his own advantage.
the youngest simon, who looked very pale and hungry, only nodded his head.
"come," said the king, "tell me truly.
do you think you could steal the princess helena?"
"why should i not steal her, sire?
the thing is easy enough.
let my brother's ship be laden with rich stuffs, brocades, persian carpets, pearls and jewels.
send me in the ship.
give me my four middle brothers as companions, and keep the two others as hostages."
when the king heard these words his heart became filled with longing, and he ordered all to be done as simon wished.
every one ran about to do his bidding; and in next to no time the wonder-ship was laden and ready to start.
the five simons took leave of the king, went on board, and had no sooner set sail than they were almost out of sight.
the ship cut through the waters like a falcon through the air, and just a week after starting sighted the island of busan.
the coast appeared to be strongly guarded, and from afar the watchman on a high tower called out: "halt and anchor!
who are you?
where do you come from, and what do you want?"
the seventh simon answered from the ship: "we are peaceful people.
we come from the country of the great and good king archidej, and we bring foreign wares -- rich brocades, carpets, and costly jewels, which we wish to show to your king and the princess.
we desire to trade -- to sell, to buy, and to exchange."
the brothers launched a small boat, took some of their valuable goods with them, rowed to shore and went up to the palace.
the princess sat in a rose-red room, and when she saw the brothers coming near she called her nurse and other women, and told them to inquire who and what these people were, and what they wanted.
the seventh simon answered the nurse: "we come from the country of the wise and good king archidej," said he, "and we have brought all sorts of goods for sale.
we trust the king of this country may condescend to welcome us, and to let his servants take charge of our wares.
if he considers them worthy to adorn his followers we shall be content."
this speech was repeated to the princess, who ordered the brothers to be brought to the red-room at once.
they bowed respectfully to her and displayed some splendid velvets and brocades, and opened cases of pearls and precious stones.
such beautiful things had never been seen in the island, and the nurse and waiting women stood bewildered by all the magnificence.
they whispered together that they had never beheld anything like it.
the princess too saw and wondered, and her eyes could not weary of looking at the lovely things, or her fingers of stroking the rich soft stuffs, and of holding up the sparkling jewels to the light.
"fairest of princesses," said simon.
"be pleased to order your waiting-maids to accept the silks and velvets, and let your women trim their head-dresses with the jewels; these are no special treasures.
but permit me to say that they are as nothing to the many coloured tapestries, the gorgeous stones and ropes of pearls in our ship.
we did not like to bring more with us, not knowing what your royal taste might be; but if it seems good to you to honour our ship with a visit, you might condescend to choose such things as were pleasing in your eyes."
this polite speech pleased the princess very much.
she went to the king and said: "dear father, some merchants have arrived with the most splendid wares.
pray allow me to go to their ship and choose out what i like."
the king thought and thought, frowned hard and rubbed his ear.
at last he gave consent, and ordered out his royal yacht, with 100 cross-bows, 100 knights, and 1,000 soldiers, to escort the princess helena.
off sailed the yacht with the princess and her escort.
the brothers simon came on board to conduct the princess to their ship, and, led by the brothers and followed by her nurse and other women, she crossed the crystal plank from one vessel to another.
the seventh simon spread out his goods, and had so many curious and interesting tales to tell about them, that the princess forgot everything else in looking and listening, so that she did not know that the fourth simon had seized the prow of the ship, and that all of a sudden it had vanished from sight, and was racing along in the depths of the sea.
the crew of the royal yacht shouted aloud, the knights stood still with terror, the soldiers were struck dumb and hung their heads.
there was nothing to be done but to sail back and tell the king of his loss.
how he wept and stormed!
"oh, light of my eyes," he sobbed;" i am indeed punished for my pride.
i thought no one good enough to be your husband, and now you are lost in the depths of the sea, and have left me alone!
as for all of you who saw this thing -- away with you!
let them be put in irons and lock them up in prison, whilst i think how i can best put them to death!"
whilst the king of busan was raging and lamenting in this fashion, simon's ship was swimming like any fish under the sea, and when the island was well out of sight he brought it up to the surface again.
at that moment the princess recollected herself.
"nurse," said she, "we have been gazing at these wonders only too long.
i hope my father wo n't be vexed at our delay."
she tore herself away and stepped on deck.
neither the yacht nor the island was in sight!
helena wrung her hands and beat her breast.
then she changed herself into a white swan and flew off.
but the fifth simon seized his bow and shot the swan, and the sixth simon did not let it fall into the water but caught it in the ship, and the swan turned into a silver fish, but simon lost no time and caught the fish, when, quick as thought, the fish turned into a black mouse and ran about the ship.
it darted towards a hole, but before it could reach it simon sprang upon it more swiftly than any cat, and then the little mouse turned once more into the beautiful princess helena.
early one morning king archidej sat thoughtfully at his window gazing out to sea.
his heart was sad and he would neither eat nor drink.
his thoughts were full of the princess helena, who was as lovely as a dream.
is that a white gull he sees flying towards the shore, or is it a sail?
no, it is no gull, it is the wonder-ship flying along with billowing sails.
its flags wave, the fiddlers play on the wire rigging, the anchor is thrown out and the crystal plank laid from the ship to the pier.
the lovely helena steps across the plank.
she shines like the sun, and the stars of heaven seem to sparkle in her eyes.
up sprang king archidej in haste: "hurry, hurry," he cried.
"let us hasten to meet her!
let the bugles sound and the joy bells be rung!"
and the whole court swarmed with courtiers and servants.
golden carpets were laid down and the great gates thrown open to welcome the princess.
king archidej went out himself, took her by the hand and led her into the royal apartments.
"madam," said he, "the fame of your beauty had reached me, but i had not dared to expect such loveliness.
still i will not keep you here against your will.
if you wish it, the wonder-ship shall take you back to your father and your own country; but if you will consent to stay here, then reign over me and my country as our queen."
what more is there to tell?
it is not hard to guess that the princess listened to the king's wooing, and their betrothal took place with great pomp and rejoicings.
the brothers simon were sent again to the island of busan with a letter to the king from his daughter to invite him to their wedding.
and the wonder-ship arrived at the island of busan just as all the knights and soldiers who had escorted the princess were being led out to execution.
then the seventh simon cried out from the ship: "stop!
stop!
i bring a letter from the princess helena!"
the king of busan read the letter over and over again, and ordered the knights and soldiers to be set free.
he entertained king archidej's ambassadors hospitably, and sent his blessing to his daughter, but he could not be brought to attend the wedding.
when the wonder-ship got home king archidej and princess helena were enchanted with the news it brought.
the king sent for the seven simons."
a thousand thanks to you, my brave fellows," he cried.
"take what gold, silver, and precious stones you will out of my treasury.
tell me if there is anything else you wish for and i will give it you, my good friends.
do you wish to be made nobles, or to govern towns?
only speak."
then the eldest simon bowed and said: "we are plain folk, your majesty, and understand simple things best.
what figures should we cut as nobles or governors?
nor do we desire gold.
we have our fields which give us food, and as much money as we need.
if you wish to reward us then grant that our land may be free of taxes, and of your goodness pardon the seventh simon.
he is not the first who has been a thief by trade and he will certainly not be the last."
"so be it," said the king; "your land shall be free of all taxes, and simon the seventh is pardoned."
then the king gave each brother a goblet of wine and invited them to the wedding feast.
and what a feast that was!
-lsb- from ungarischen mahrchen. -rsb-
the language of beasts once upon a time a man had a shepherd who served him many years faithfully and honestly.
one day, whilst herding his flock, this shepherd heard a hissing sound, coming out of the forest near by, which he could not account for.
so he went into the wood in the direction of the noise to try to discover the cause.
when he approached the place he found that the dry grass and leaves were on fire, and on a tree, surrounded by flames, a snake was coiled, hissing with terror.
the shepherd stood wondering how the poor snake could escape, for the wind was blowing the flames that way, and soon that tree would be burning like the rest.
suddenly the snake cried: "o shepherd!
for the love of heaven save me from this fire!"
then the shepherd stretched his staff out over the flames and the snake wound itself round the staff and up to his hand, and from his hand it crept up his arm, and twined itself about his neck.
the shepherd trembled with fright, expecting every instant to be stung to death, and said: "what an unlucky man i am!
did i rescue you only to be destroyed myself?"
but the snake answered: "have no fear; only carry me home to my father who is the king of the snakes."
the shepherd, however, was much too frightened to listen, and said that he could not go away and leave his flock alone; but the snake said: "you need not be afraid to leave your flock, no evil shall befall them; but make all the haste you can."
so he set off through the wood carrying the snake, and after a time he came to a great gateway, made entirely of snakes intertwined one with another.
the shepherd stood still with surprise, but the snake round his neck whistled, and immediately all the arch unwound itself.
"when we are come to my father's house," said his own snake to him, "he will reward you with anything you like to ask -- silver, gold, jewels, or whatever on this earth is most precious; but take none of all these things, ask rather to understand the language of beasts.
he will refuse it to you a long time, but in the end he will grant it to you."
soon after that they arrived at the house of the king of the snakes, who burst into tears of joy at the sight of his daughter, as he had given her up for dead.
"where have you been all this time?"
he asked, directly he could speak, and she told him that she had been caught in a forest fire, and had been rescued from the flames by the shepherd.
the king of the snakes, then turning to the shepherd, said to him: "what reward will you choose for saving my child?"
"make me to know the language of beasts," answered the shepherd, "that is all i desire."
the king replied: "such knowledge would be of no benefit to you, for if i granted it to you and you told any one of it, you would immediately die; ask me rather for whatever else you would most like to possess, and it shall be yours."
but the shepherd answered him: "sir, if you wish to reward me for saving your daughter, grant me, i pray you, to know the language of beasts.
i desire nothing else"; and he turned as if to depart.
then the king called him back, saying: "if nothing else will satisfy you, open your mouth."
the man obeyed, and the king spat into it, and said: "now spit into my mouth."
the shepherd did as he was told, then the king of the snakes spat again into the shepherd's mouth.
when they had spat into each other's mouths three times, the king said: "now you know the language of beasts, go in peace; but, if you value your life, beware lest you tell any one of it, else you will immediately die."
so the shepherd set out for home, and on his way through the wood he heard and understood all that was said by the birds, and by every living creature.
when he got back to his sheep he found the flock grazing peacefully, and as he was very tired he laid himself down by them to rest a little.
hardly had he done so when two ravens flew down and perched on a tree near by, and began to talk to each other in their own language: "if that shepherd only knew that there is a vault full of gold and silver beneath where that lamb is lying, what would he not do?"
when the shepherd heard these words he went straight to his master and told him, and the master at once took a waggon, and broke open the door of the vault, and they carried off the treasure.
but instead of keeping it for himself, the master, who was an honourable man, gave it all up to the shepherd, saying: "take it, it is yours.
the gods have given it to you."
so the shepherd took the treasure and built himself a house.
he married a wife, and they lived in great peace and happiness, and he was acknowledged to be the richest man, not only of his native village, but of all the country-side.
he had flocks of sheep, and cattle, and horses without end, as well as beautiful clothes and jewels.
one day, just before christmas, he said to his wife: "prepare everything for a great feast, to-morrow we will take things with us to the farm that the shepherds there may make merry."
the wife obeyed, and all was prepared as he desired.
next day they both went to the farm, and in the evening the master said to the shepherds: "now come, all of you, eat, drink, and make merry.
i will watch the flocks myself to-night in your stead."
then he went out to spend the night with the flocks.
when midnight struck the wolves howled and the dogs barked, and the wolves spoke in their own tongue, saying: "shall we come in and work havoc, and you too shall eat flesh?"
and the dogs answered in their tongue: "come in, and for once we shall have enough to eat."
now amongst the dogs there was one so old that he had only two teeth left in his head, and he spoke to the wolves, saying: "so long as i have my two teeth still in my head, i will let no harm be done to my master."
all this the master heard and understood, and as soon as morning dawned he ordered all the dogs to be killed excepting the old dog.
the farm servants wondered at this order, and exclaimed: "but surely, sir, that would be a pity?"
the master answered: "do as i bid you"; and made ready to return home with his wife, and they mounted their horses, her steed being a mare.
as they went on their way, it happened that the husband rode on ahead, while the wife was a little way behind.
the husband's horse, seeing this, neighed, and said to the mare: "come along, make haste; why are you so slow?"
and the mare answered: "it is very easy for you, you carry only your master, who is a thin man, but i carry my mistress, who is so fat that she weights as much as three."
when the husband heard that he looked back and laughed, which the wife perceiving, she urged on the mare till she caught up with her husband, and asked him why he laughed.
"for nothing at all," he answered; "just because it came into my head."
she would not be satisfied with this answer, and urged him more and more to tell her why he had laughed.
but he controlled himself and said: "let me be, wife; what ails you?
i do not know myself why i laughed."
but the more he put her off, the more she tormented him to tell her the cause of his laughter.
at length he said to her: "know, then, that if i tell it you i shall immediately and surely die."
but even this did not quiet her; she only besought him the more to tell her.
meanwhile they had reached home, and before getting down from his horse the man called for a coffin to be brought; and when it was there he placed it in front of the house, and said to his wife: "see, i will lay myself down in this coffin, and will then tell you why i laughed, for as soon as i have told you i shall surely die."
so he lay down in the coffin, and while he took a last look around him, his old dog came out from the farm and sat down by him, and whined.
when the master saw this, he called to his wife: "bring a piece of bread to give to the dog."
the wife brought some bread and threw it to the dog, but he would not look at it.
then the farm cock came and pecked at the bread; but the dog said to it: "wretched glutton, you can eat like that when you see that your master is dying?"
the cock answered: "let him die, if he is so stupid.
i have a hundred wives, which i call together when i find a grain of corn, and as soon as they are there i swallow it myself; should one of them dare to be angry, i would give her a lesson with my beak.
he has only one wife, and he can not keep her in order."
as soon as the man understood this, he got up out of the coffin, seized a stick, and called his wife into the room, saying: "come, and i will tell you what you so much want to know"; and then he began to beat her with the stick, saying with each blow: "it is that, wife, it is that!"
and in this way he taught her never again to ask why he had laughed.
the boy who could keep a secret once upon a time there lived a poor widow who had one little boy.
at first sight you would not have thought that he was different from a thousand other little boys; but then you noticed that by his side hung the scabbard of a sword, and as the boy grew bigger the scabbard grew bigger too.
the sword which belonged to the scabbard was found by the little boy sticking out of the ground in the garden, and every day he pulled it up to see if it would go into the scabbard.
but though it was plainly becoming longer and longer, it was some time before the two would fit.
however, there came a day at last when it slipped in quite easily.
the child was so delighted that he could hardly believe his eyes, so he tried it seven times, and each time it slipped in more easily than before.
but pleased though the boy was, he determined not to tell anyone about it, particularly not his mother, who never could keep anything from her neighbours.
still, in spite of his resolutions, he could not hide altogether that something had happened, and when he went in to breakfast his mother asked him what was the matter.
"oh, mother, i had such a nice dream last night," said he; "but i ca n't tell it to anybody."
"you can tell it to me," she answered.
"it must have been a nice dream, or you would n't look so happy."
"no, mother; i ca n't tell it to anybody," returned the boy,'till it comes true.'"
i want to know what it was, and know it i will," cried she, "and i will beat you till you tell me."
but it was no use, neither words nor blows would get the secret out of the boy; and when her arm was quite tired and she had to leave off, the child, sore and aching, ran into the garden and knelt weeping beside his little sword.
it was working round and round in its hole all by itself, and if anyone except the boy had tried to catch hold of it, he would have been badly cut.
but the moment he stretched out his hand it stopped and slid quietly into the scabbard.
for a long time the child sat sobbing, and the noise was heard by the king as he was driving by.
"go and see who it is that is crying so," said he to one of his servants, and the man went.
in a few minutes he returned saying: "your majesty, it is a little boy who is kneeling there sobbing because his mother has beaten him."
"bring him to me at once," commanded the monarch, "and tell him that it is the king who sends for him, and that he has never cried in all his life and can not bear anyone else to do so."
on receiving this message the boy dried his tears and went with the servant to the royal carriage.
"will you be my son?"
asked the king.
"yes, if my mother will let me," answered the boy.
and the king bade the servant go back to the mother and say that if she would give her boy to him, he should live in the palace and marry his prettiest daughter as soon as he was a man.
the widow's anger now turned into joy, and she came running to the splendid coach and kissed the king's hand."
i hope you will be more obedient to his majesty than you were to me," she said; and the boy shrank away half-frightened.
but when she had gone back to her cottage, he asked the king if he might fetch something that he had left in the garden, and when he was given permission, he pulled up his little sword, which he slid into the scabbard.
then he climbed into the coach and was driven away.
after they had gone some distance the king said: "why were you crying so bitterly in the garden just now?"
"because my mother had been beating me," replied the boy.
"and what did she do that for?"
asked the king again.
"because i would not tell her my dream."
"and why would n't you tell it to her?"
"because i will never tell it to anyone till it comes true," answered the boy.
"and wo n't you tell it to me either?"
asked the king in surprise.
"no, not even to you, your majesty," replied he.
"oh, i am sure you will when we get home," said the king smiling, and he talked to him about other things till they came to the palace."
i have brought you such a nice present," he said to his daughters, and as the boy was very pretty they were delighted to have him and gave him all their best toys.
"you must not spoil him," observed the king one day, when he had been watching them playing together.
he has a secret which he wo n't tell to anyone."
"he will tell me," answered the eldest princess; but the boy only shook his head.
"he will tell me," said the second girl.
"not i," replied the boy.
"he will tell me," cried the youngest, who was the prettiest too."
i will tell nobody till it comes true," said the boy, as he had said before; "and i will beat anybody who asks me."
the king was very sorry when he heard this, for he loved the boy dearly; but he thought it would never do to keep anyone near him who would not do as he was bid.
so he commanded his servants to take him away and not to let him enter the palace again until he had come to his right senses.
the sword clanked loudly as the boy was led away, but the child said nothing, though he was very unhappy at being treated so badly when he had done nothing.
however, the servants were very kind to him, and their children brought him fruit and all sorts of nice things, and he soon grew merry again, and lived amongst them for many years till his seventeenth birthday.
meanwhile the two eldest princesses had become women, and had married two powerful kings who ruled over great countries across the sea.
the youngest one was old enough to be married too, but she was very particular, and turned up her nose at all the young princes who had sought her hand.
one day she was sitting in the palace feeling rather dull and lonely, and suddenly she began to wonder what the servants were doing, and whether it was not more amusing down in their quarters.
the king was at his council and the queen was ill in bed, so there was no one to stop the princess, and she hastily ran across the gardens to the houses where the servants lived.
outside she noticed a youth who was handsomer than any prince she had ever seen, and in a moment she knew him to be the little boy she had once played with.
"tell me your secret and i will marry you," she said to him; but the boy only gave her the beating he had promised her long ago, when she asked him the same question.
the girl was very angry, besides being hurt, and ran home to complain to her father.
"if he had a thousand souls, i would kill them all," swore the king.
that very day a gallows was built outside the town, and all the people crowded round to see the execution of the young man who had dared to beat the king's daughter.
the prisoner, with his hands tied behind his back, was brought out by the hangman, and amidst dead silence his sentence was being read by the judge when suddenly the sword clanked against his side.
instantly a great noise was heard and a golden coach rumbled over the stones, with a white flag waving out of the window.
it stopped underneath the gallows, and from it stepped the king of the magyars, who begged that the life of the boy might be spared.
"sir, he has beaten my daughter, who only asked him to tell her his secret.
i can not pardon that," answered the princess's father.
"give him to me, i'm sure he will tell me the secret; or, if not, i have a daughter who is like the morning star, and he is sure to tell it to her."
the sword clanked for the third time, and the king said angrily: "well, if you want him so much you can have him; only never let me see his face again."
and he made a sign to the hangman.
the bandage was removed from the young man's eyes, and the cords from his wrists, and he took his seat in the golden coach beside the king of the magyars.
then the coachman whipped up his horses, and they set out for buda.
the king talked very pleasantly for a few miles, and when he thought that his new companion was quite at ease with him, he asked him what was the secret which had brought him into such trouble.
"that i can not tell you," answered the youth, "until it comes true."
"you will tell my daughter," said the king, smiling."
i will tell nobody," replied the youth, and as he spoke the sword clanked loudly.
the king said no more, but trusted to his daughter's beauty to get the secret from him.
the journey to buda was long, and it was several days before they arrived there.
the beautiful princess happened to be picking roses in the garden, when her father's coach drove up.
"oh, what a handsome youth!
have you brought him from fairyland?"
cried she, when they all stood upon the marble steps in front of the castle."
i have brought him from the gallows," answered the king; rather vexed at his daughter's words, as never before had she consented to speak to any man."
i do n't care where you brought him from," said the spoilt girl."
i will marry him and nobody else, and we will live together till we die."
"you will tell another tale," replied the king, "when you ask him his secret.
after all he is no better than a servant."
"that is nothing to me," said the princess, "for i love him.
he will tell his secret to me, and will find a place in the middle of my heart."
but the king shook his head, and gave orders that the lad was to be lodged in the summer-house.
one day, about a week later, the princess put on her finest dress, and went to pay him a visit.
she looked so beautiful that, at the sight of her, the book dropped from his hand, and he stood up speechless.
"tell me," she said, coaxingly, "what is this wonderful secret?
just whisper it in my ear, and i will give you a kiss."
"my angel," he answered, "be wise, and ask no questions, if you wish to get safely back to your father's palace; i have kept my secret all these years, and do not mean to tell it now."
however, the girl would not listen, and went on pressing him, till at last he slapped her face so hard that her nose bled.
she shrieked with pain and rage, and ran screaming back to the palace, where her father was waiting to hear if she had succeeded."
i will starve you to death, you son of a dragon," cried he, when he saw her dress streaming with blood; and he ordered all the masons and bricklayers in the town to come before him.
"build me a tower as fast as you can," he said, "and see that there is room for a stool and a small table, and for nothing else.
the men set to work, and in two hours the tower was built, and they proceeded to the palace to inform the king that his commands were fulfilled.
on the way they met the princess, who began to talk to one of the masons, and when the rest were out of hearing she asked if he could manage to make a hole in the tower, which nobody could see, large enough for a bottle of wine and some food to pass through.
"to be sure i can," said the mason, turning back, and in a few minutes the hole was bored.
at sunset a large crowd assembled to watch the youth being led to the tower, and after his misdeeds had been proclaimed he was solemnly walled up.
but every morning the princess passed him in food through the hole, and every third day the king sent his secretary to climb up a ladder and look down through a little window to see if he was dead.
but the secretary always brought back the report that he was fat and rosy.
"there is some magic about this," said the king.
this state of affairs lasted some time, till one day a messenger arrived from the sultan bearing a letter for the king, and also three canes.
"my master bids me say," said the messenger, bowing low, "that if you can not tell him which of these three canes grows nearest the root, which in the middle, and which at the top, he will declare war against you.
the king was very much frightened when he heard this, and though he took the canes and examined them closely, he could see no difference between them.
he looked so sad that his daughter noticed it, and inquired the reason.
"alas!
my daughter," he answered, "how can i help being sad?
the sultan has sent me three canes, and says that if i can not tell him which of them grows near the root, which in the middle, and which at the top, he will make war upon me.
and you know that his army is far greater than mine."
"oh, do not despair, my father," said she.
"we shall be sure to find out the answer"; and she ran away to the tower, and told the young man what had occurred.
"go to bed as usual," replied he, "and when you wake, tell your father that you have dreamed that the canes must be placed in warm water.
after a little while one will sink to the bottom; that is the one that grows nearest the root.
the one which neither sinks nor comes to the surface is the cane that is cut from the middle; and the one that floats is from the top."
so, the next morning, the princess told her father of her dream, and by her advice he cut notches in each of the canes when he took them out of the water, so that he might make no mistake when he handed them back to the messenger.
the sultan could not imagine how he had found out, but he did not declare war.
the following year the sultan again wanted to pick a quarrel with the king of the magyars, so he sent another messenger to him with three foals, begging him to say which of the animals was born in the morning, which at noon, and which in the evening.
if an answer was not ready in three days, war would be declared at once.
the king's heart sank when he read the letter.
he could not expect his daughter to be lucky enough to dream rightly a second time, and as a plague had been raging through the country, and had carried off many of his soldiers, his army was even weaker than before.
at this thought his face became so gloomy that his daughter noticed it, and inquired what was the matter."
i have had another letter from the sultan," replied the king, "and he says that if i can not tell him which of three foals was born in the morning, which at noon, and which in the evening, he will declare war at once."
"oh, do n't be cast down," said she, "something is sure to happen"; and she ran down to the tower to consult the youth.
"go home, idol of my heart, and when night comes, pretend to scream out in your sleep, so that your father hears you.
then tell him that you have dreamt that he was just being carried off by the turks because he could not answer the question about the foals, when the lad whom he had shut up in the tower ran up and told them which was foaled in the morning, which at noon, and which in the evening."
so the princess did exactly as the youth had bidden her; and no sooner had she spoken than the king ordered the tower to be pulled down, and the prisoner brought before him."
i did not think that you could have lived so long without food," said he, "and as you have had plenty of time to repent your wicked conduct, i will grant you pardon, on condition that you help me in a sore strait.
read this letter from the sultan; you will see that if i fail to answer his question about the foals, a dreadful war will be the result."
the youth took the letter and read it through.
"yes, i can help you," replied he; "but first you must bring me three troughs, all exactly alike.
into one you must put oats, into another wheat, and into the third barley.
the foal which eats the oats is that which was foaled in the morning; the foal which eats the wheat is that which was foaled at noon; and the foal which eats the barley is that which was foaled at night."
the king followed the youth's directions, and, marking the foals, sent them back to turkey, and there was no war that year.
now the sultan was very angry that both his plots to get possession of hungary had been such total failures, and he sent for his aunt, who was a witch, to consult her as to what he should do next.
"it is not the king who has answered your questions," observed the aunt, when he had told his story.
"he is far too stupid ever to have done that!
the person who has found out the puzzle is the son of a poor woman, who, if he lives, will become king of hungary.
therefore, if you want the crown yourself, you must get him here and kill him."
after this conversation another letter was written to the court of hungary, saying that if the youth, now in the palace, was not sent to turkey within three days, a large army would cross the border.
the king's heart was sorrowful as he read, for he was grateful to the lad for what he had done to help him; but the boy only laughed, and bade the king fear nothing, but to search the town instantly for two youths just like each other, and he would paint himself a mask that was just like them.
and the sword at his side clanked loudly.
after a long search twin brothers were found, so exactly resembling each other that even their own mother could not tell the difference.
the youth painted a mask that was the precise copy of them, and when he had put it on, no one would have known one boy from the other.
they set out at once for the sultan's palace, and when they reached it, they were taken straight into his presence.
he made a sign for them to come near; they all bowed low in greeting.
he asked them about their journey; they answered his questions all together, and in the same words.
if one sat down to supper, the others sat down at the same instant.
when one got up, the others got up too, as if there had been only one body between them.
the sultan could not detect any difference between them, and he told his aunt that he would not be so cruel as to kill all three.
"well, you will see a difference to-morrow," replied the witch, "for one will have a cut on his sleeve.
that is the youth you must kill."
and one hour before midnight, when witches are invisible, she glided into the room where all three lads were sleeping in the same bed.
she took out a pair of scissors and cut a small piece out of the boy's coat-sleeve which was hanging on the wall, and then crept silently from the room.
but in the morning the youth saw the slit, and he marked the sleeves of his two companions in the same way, and all three went down to breakfast with the sultan.
the old witch was standing in the window and pretended not to see them; but all witches have eyes in the backs of their heads, and she knew at once that not one sleeve but three were cut, and they were all as alike as before.
after breakfast, the sultan, who was getting tired of the whole affair and wanted to be alone to invent some other plan, told them they might return home.
so, bowing low with one accord, they went.
the princess welcomed the boy back joyfully, but the poor youth was not allowed to rest long in peace, for one day a fresh letter arrived from the sultan, saying that he had discovered that the young man was a very dangerous person, and that he must be sent to turkey at once, and alone.
the girl burst into tears when the boy told her what was in the letter which her father had bade her to carry to him.
"do not weep, love of my heart," said the boy, "all will be well.
i will start at sunrise to-morrow."
so next morning at sunrise the youth set forth, and in a few days he reached the sultan's palace.
the old witch was waiting for him at the gate, and whispered as he passed: "this is the last time you will ever enter it."
but the sword clanked, and the lad did not even look at her.
as he crossed the threshold fifteen armed turks barred his way, with the sultan at their head.
instantly the sword darted forth and cut off the heads of everyone but the sultan, and then went quietly back to its scabbard.
the witch, who was looking on, saw that as long as the youth had possession of the sword, all her schemes would be in vain, and tried to steal the sword in the night, but it only jumped out of its scabbard and sliced off her nose, which was of iron.
and in the morning, when the sultan brought a great army to capture the lad and deprive him of his sword, they were all cut to pieces, while he remained without a scratch.
meanwhile the princess was in despair because the days slipped by, and the young man did not return, and she never rested until her father let her lead some troops against the sultan.
she rode proudly before them, dressed in uniform; but they had not left the town more than a mile behind them, when they met the lad and his little sword.
when he told them what he had done they shouted for joy, and carried him back in triumph to the palace; and the king declared that as the youth had shown himself worthy to become his son-in-law, he should marry the princess and succeed to the throne at once, as he himself was getting old, and the cares of government were too much for him.
but the young man said he must first go and see his mother, and the king sent him in state, with a troop of soldiers as his bodyguard.
the old woman was quite frightened at seeing such an array draw up before her little house, and still more surprised when a handsome young man, whom she did not know, dismounted and kissed her hand, saying: "now, dear mother, you shall hear my secret at last!
i dreamed that i should become king of hungary, and my dream has come true.
when i was a child, and you begged me to tell you, i had to keep silence, or the magyar king would have killed me.
and if you had not beaten me nothing would have happened that has happened, and i should not now be king of hungary."
-lsb- from the folk tales of the magyars. -rsb-
the prince and the dragon once upon a time there lived an emperor who had three sons.
they were all fine young men, and fond of hunting, and scarcely a day passed without one or other of them going out to look for game.
one morning the eldest of the three princes mounted his horse and set out for a neighbouring forest, where wild animals of all sorts were to be found.
he had not long left the castle, when a hare sprang out of a thicket and dashed across the road in front.
the young man gave chase at once, and pursued it over hill and dale, till at last the hare took refuge in a mill which was standing by the side of a river.
the prince followed and entered the mill, but stopped in terror by the door, for, instead of a hare, before him stood a dragon, breathing fire and flame.
at this fearful sight the prince turned to fly, but a fiery tongue coiled round his waist, and drew him into the dragon's mouth, and he was seen no more.
a week passed away, and when the prince never came back everyone in the town began to grow uneasy.
at last his next brother told the emperor that he likewise would go out to hunt, and that perhaps he would find some clue as to his brother's disappearance.
but hardly had the castle gates closed on the prince than the hare sprang out of the bushes as before, and led the huntsman up hill and down dale, till they reached the mill.
into this the hare flew with the prince at his heels, when, lo!
instead of the hare, there stood a dragon breathing fire and flame; and out shot a fiery tongue which coiled round the prince's waist, and lifted him straight into the dragon's mouth, and he was seen no more.
days went by, and the emperor waited and waited for the sons who never came, and could not sleep at night for wondering where they were and what had become of them.
his youngest son wished to go in search of his brothers, but for long the emperor refused to listen to him, lest he should lose him also.
but the prince prayed so hard for leave to make the search, and promised so often that he would be very cautious and careful, that at length the emperor gave him permission, and ordered the best horse in the stables to be saddled for him.
full of hope the young prince started on his way, but no sooner was he outside the city walls than a hare sprang out of the bushes and ran before him, till they reached the mill.
as before, the animal dashed in through the open door, but this time he was not followed by the prince.
wiser than his brothers, the young man turned away, saying to himself: "there are as good hares in the forest as any that have come out of it, and when i have caught them, i can come back and look for you."
for many hours he rode up and down the mountain, but saw nothing, and at last, tired of waiting, he went back to the mill.
here he found an old woman sitting, whom he greeted pleasantly.
"good morning to you, little mother," he said; and the old woman answered: "good morning, my son."
"tell me, little mother," went on the prince, "where shall i find my hare?"
"my son," replied the old woman, "that was no hare, but a dragon who has led many men hither, and then has eaten them all."
at these words the prince's heart grew heavy, and he cried, "then my brothers must have come here, and have been eaten by the dragon!"
"you have guessed right," answered the old woman; "and i can give you no better counsel than to go home at once, before the same fate overtakes you."
"will you not come with me out of this dreadful place?"
said the young man.
"he took me prisoner, too," answered she, "and i can not shake off his chains."
"then listen to me," cried the prince.
"when the dragon comes back, ask him where he always goes when he leaves here, and what makes him so strong; and when you have coaxed the secret from him, tell me the next time i come."
so the prince went home, and the old woman remained in the mill, and as soon as the dragon returned she said to him: "where have you been all this time -- you must have travelled far?"
"yes, little mother, i have indeed travelled far."
answered he.
then the old woman began to flatter him, and to praise his cleverness; and when she thought she had got him into a good temper, she said: "i have wondered so often where you get your strength from; i do wish you would tell me.
i would stoop and kiss the place out of pure love!"
the dragon laughed at this, and answered: "in the hearthstone yonder lies the secret of my strength."
then the old woman jumped up and kissed the hearth; whereat the dragon laughed the more, and said: "you foolish creature!
i was only jesting.
it is not in the hearthstone, but in that tall tree that lies the secret of my strength."
then the old woman jumped up again and put her arms round the tree, and kissed it heartily.
loudly laughed the dragon when he saw what she was doing.
"old fool," he cried, as soon as he could speak, "did you really believe that my strength came from that tree?"
"where is it then?"
asked the old woman, rather crossly, for she did not like being made fun of.
"my strength," replied the dragon, "lies far away; so far that you could never reach it.
far, far from here is a kingdom, and by its capital city is a lake, and in the lake is a dragon, and inside the dragon is a wild boar, and inside the wild boar is a pigeon, and inside the pigeon a sparrow, and inside the sparrow is my strength."
and when the old woman heard this, she thought it was no use flattering him any longer, for never, never, could she take his strength from him.
the following morning, when the dragon had left the mill, the prince came back, and the old woman told him all that the creature had said.
he listened in silence, and then returned to the castle, where he put on a suit of shepherd's clothes, and taking a staff in his hand, he went forth to seek a place as tender of sheep.
for some time he wandered from village to village and from town to town, till he came at length to a large city in a distant kingdom, surrounded on three sides by a great lake, which happened to be the very lake in which the dragon lived.
as was his custom, he stopped everybody whom he met in the streets that looked likely to want a shepherd and begged them to engage him, but they all seemed to have shepherds of their own, or else not to need any.
the prince was beginning to lose heart, when a man who had overheard his question turned round and said that he had better go and ask the emperor, as he was in search of some one to see after his flocks.
"will you take care of my sheep?"
said the emperor, when the young man knelt before him.
"most willingly, your majesty," answered the young man, and he listened obediently while the emperor told him what he was to do.
"outside the city walls," went on the emperor, "you will find a large lake, and by its banks lie the richest meadows in my kingdom.
when you are leading out your flocks to pasture, they will all run straight to these meadows, and none that have gone there have ever been known to come back.
take heed, therefore, my son, not to suffer your sheep to go where they will, but drive them to any spot that you think best."
with a low bow the prince thanked the emperor for his warning, and promised to do his best to keep the sheep safe.
then he left the palace and went to the market-place, where he bought two greyhounds, a hawk, and a set of pipes; after that he took the sheep out to pasture.
the instant the animals caught sight of the lake lying before them, they trotted off as fast as their legs would go to the green meadows lying round it.
the prince did not try to stop them; he only placed his hawk on the branch of a tree, laid his pipes on the grass, and bade the greyhounds sit still; then, rolling up his sleeves and trousers, he waded into the water crying as he did so: "dragon!
dragon!
if you are not a coward, come out and fight with me!"
and a voice answered from the depths of the lake: "i am waiting for you, o prince"; and the next minute the dragon reared himself out of the water, huge and horrible to see.
the prince sprang upon him and they grappled with each other and fought together till the sun was high, and it was noonday.
then the dragon gasped: "o prince, let me dip my burning head once into the lake, and i will hurl you up to the top of the sky."
but the prince answered, "oh, ho!
my good dragon, do not crow too soon!
if the emperor's daughter were only here, and would kiss me on the forehead, i would throw you up higher still!"
and suddenly the dragon's hold loosened, and he fell back into the lake.
as soon as it was evening, the prince washed away all signs of the fight, took his hawk upon his shoulder, and his pipes under his arm, and with his greyhounds in front and his flock following after him he set out for the city.
as they all passed through the streets the people stared in wonder, for never before had any flock returned from the lake.
the next morning he rose early, and led his sheep down the road to the lake.
this time, however, the emperor sent two men on horseback to ride behind him, with orders to watch the prince all day long.
the horsemen kept the prince and his sheep in sight, without being seen themselves.
as soon as they beheld the sheep running towards the meadows, they turned aside up a steep hill, which overhung the lake.
when the shepherd reached the place he laid, as before, his pipes on the grass and bade the greyhounds sit beside them, while the hawk he perched on the branch of the tree.
then he rolled up his trousers and his sleeves, and waded into the water crying: "dragon!
dragon!
if you are not a coward, come out and fight with me!"
and the dragon answered: "i am waiting for you, o prince," and the next minute he reared himself out of the water, huge and horrible to see.
again they clasped each other tight round the body and fought till it was noon, and when the sun was at its hottest, the dragon gasped: "o prince, let me dip my burning head once in the lake, and i will hurl you up to the top of the sky."
but the prince answered: "oh, ho!
my good dragon, do not crow too soon!
if the emperor's daughter were only here, and would kiss me on the forehead, i would throw you up higher still!"
and suddenly the dragon's hold loosened, and he fell back into the lake.
as soon as it was evening the prince again collected his sheep, and playing on his pipes he marched before them into the city.
when he passed through the gates all the people came out of their houses to stare in wonder, for never before had any flock returned from the lake.
meanwhile the two horsemen had ridden quickly back, and told the emperor all that they had seen and heard.
the emperor listened eagerly to their tale, then called his daughter to him and repeated it to her.
"to-morrow," he said, when he had finished, "you shall go with the shepherd to the lake, and then you shall kiss him on the forehead as he wishes."
but when the princess heard these words, she burst into tears, and sobbed out: "will you really send me, your only child, to that dreadful place, from which most likely i shall never come back?"
"fear nothing, my little daughter, all will be well.
many shepherds have gone to that lake and none have ever returned; but this one has in these two days fought twice with the dragon and has escaped without a wound.
so i hope to-morrow he will kill the dragon altogether, and deliver this land from the monster who has slain so many of our bravest men."
scarcely had the sun begun to peep over the hills next morning, when the princess stood by the shepherd's side, ready to go to the lake.
the shepherd was brimming over with joy, but the princess only wept bitterly.
"dry your tears, i implore you," said he.
"if you will just do what i ask you, and when the time comes, run and kiss my forehead, you have nothing to fear."
merrily the shepherd blew on his pipes as he marched at the head of his flock, only stopping every now and then to say to the weeping girl at his side: "do not cry so, heart of gold; trust me and fear nothing."
and so they reached the lake.
in an instant the sheep were scattered all over the meadows, and the prince placed his hawk on the tree, and his pipes on the grass, while he bade his greyhounds lie beside them.
then he rolled up his trousers and his sleeves, and waded into the water, calling: "dragon!
dragon!
if you are not a coward, come forth, and let us have one more fight together."
and the dragon answered: "i am waiting for you, o prince"; and the next minute he reared himself out of the water, huge and horrible to see.
swiftly he drew near to the bank, and the prince sprang to meet him, and they grasped each other round the body and fought till it was noon.
and when the sun was at its hottest, the dragon cried: "o prince, let me dip my burning head in the lake, and i will hurl you to the top of the sky."
but the prince answered: "oh, ho!
my good dragon, do not crow too soon!
if the emperor's daughter were only here, and she would kiss my forehead, i would throw you higher still."
hardly had he spoken, when the princess, who had been listening, ran up and kissed him on the forehead.
then the prince swung the dragon straight up into the clouds, and when he touched the earth again, he broke into a thousand pieces.
out of the pieces there sprang a wild boar and galloped away, but the prince called his hounds to give chase, and they caught the boar and tore it to bits.
out of the pieces there sprang a hare, and in a moment the greyhounds were after it, and they caught it and killed it; and out of the hare there came a pigeon.
quickly the prince let loose his hawk, which soared straight into the air, then swooped upon the bird and brought it to his master.
the prince cut open its body and found the sparrow inside, as the old woman had said.
"now," cried the prince, holding the sparrow in his hand, "now you shall tell me where i can find my brothers."
"do not hurt me," answered the sparrow, "and i will tell you with all my heart."
behind your father's castle stands a mill, and in the mill are three slender twigs.
cut off these twigs and strike their roots with them, and the iron door of a cellar will open.
in the cellar you will find as many people, young and old, women and children, as would fill a kingdom, and among them are your brothers."
by this time twilight had fallen, so the prince washed himself in the lake, took the hawk on his shoulder and the pipes under his arm, and with his greyhounds before him and his flock behind him, marched gaily into the town, the princess following them all, still trembling with fright.
and so they passed through the streets, thronged with a wondering crowd, till they reached the castle.
unknown to anyone, the emperor had stolen out on horseback, and had hidden himself on the hill, where he could see all that happened.
when all was over, and the power of the dragon was broken for ever, he rode quickly back to the castle, and was ready to receive the prince with open arms, and to promise him his daughter to wife.
the wedding took place with great splendour, and for a whole week the town was hung with coloured lamps, and tables were spread in the hall of the castle for all who chose to come and eat.
and when the feast was over, the prince told the emperor and the people who he really was, and at this everyone rejoiced still more, and preparations were made for the prince and princess to return to their own kingdom, for the prince was impatient to set free his brothers.
the first thing he did when he reached his native country was to hasten to the mill, where he found the three twigs as the sparrow had told him.
the moment that he struck the root the iron door flew open, and from the cellar a countless multitude of men and women streamed forth.
he bade them go one by one wheresoever they would, while he himself waited by the door till his brothers passed through.
how delighted they were to meet again, and to hear all that the prince had done to deliver them from their enchantment.
and they went home with him and served him all the days of their lives, for they said that he only who had proved himself brave and faithful was fit to be king.
-lsb- from volksmarehen der serben. -rsb-
little wildrose once upon a time the things in this story happened, and if they had not happened then the story would never have been told.
but that was the time when wolves and lambs lay peacefully together in one stall, and shepherds dined on grassy banks with kings and queens.
once upon a time, then, my dear good children, there lived a man.
now this man was really a hundred years old, if not fully twenty years more.
and his wife was very old too -- how old i do not know; but some said she was as old as the goddess venus herself.
they had been very happy all these years, but they would have been happier still if they had had any children; but old though they were they had never made up their minds to do without them, and often they would sit over the fire and talk of how they would have brought up their children if only some had come to their house.
one day the old man seemed sadder and more thoughtful than was common with him, and at last he said to his wife: "listen to me, old woman!"
"what do you want?"
asked she.
"get me some money out of the chest, for i am going a long journey -- all through the world -- to see if i can not find a child, for my heart aches to think that after i am dead my house will fall into the hands of a stranger.
and this let me tell you: that if i never find a child i shall not come home again."
then the old man took a bag and filled it with food and money, and throwing it over his shoulders, bade his wife farewell.
for long he wandered, and wandered, and wandered, but no child did he see; and one morning his wanderings led him to a forest which was so thick with trees that no light could pass through the branches.
the old man stopped when he saw this dreadful place, and at first was afraid to go in; but he remembered that, after all, as the proverb says: "it is the unexpected that happens," and perhaps in the midst of this black spot he might find the child he was seeking.
so summoning up all his courage he plunged boldly in.
how long he might have been walking there he never could have told you, when at last he reached the mouth of a cave where the darkness seemed a hundred times darker than the wood itself.
again he paused, but he felt as if something was driving him to enter, and with a beating heart he stepped in.
for some minutes the silence and darkness so appalled him that he stood where he was, not daring to advance one step.
then he made a great effort and went on a few paces, and suddenly, far before him, he saw the glimmer of a light.
this put new heart into him, and he directed his steps straight towards the faint rays, till he could see, sitting by it, an old hermit, with a long white beard.
the hermit either did not hear the approach of his visitor, or pretended not to do so, for he took no notice, and continued to read his book.
after waiting patiently for a little while, the old man fell on his knees, and said: "good morning, holy father!"
but he might as well have spoken to the rock.
"good morning, holy father," he said again, a little louder than before, and this time the hermit made a sign to him to come nearer.
"my son," whispered he, in a voice that echoed through the cavern, "what brings you to this dark and dismal place?
hundreds of years have passed since my eyes have rested on the face of a man, and i did not think to look on one again."
.
"my misery has brought me here," replied the old man;" i have no child, and all our lives my wife and i have longed for one.
so i left my home, and went out into the world, hoping that somewhere i might find what i was seeking."
then the hermit picked up an apple from the ground, and gave it to him, saying: "eat half of this apple, and give the rest to your wife, and cease wandering through the world."
the old man stooped and kissed the feet of the hermit for sheer joy, and left the cave.
he made his way through the forest as fast as the darkness would let him, and at length arrived in flowery fields, which dazzled him with their brightness.
suddenly he was seized with a desperate thirst, and a burning in his throat.
he looked for a stream but none was to be seen, and his tongue grew more parched every moment.
at length his eyes fell on the apple, which all this while he had been holding in his hand, and in his thirst he forgot what the hermit had told him, and instead of eating merely his own half, he ate up the old woman's also; after that he went to sleep.
when he woke up he saw something strange lying on a bank a little way off, amidst long trails of pink roses.
the old man got up, rubbed his eyes, and went to see what it was, when, to his surprise and joy, it proved to be a little girl about two years old, with a skin as pink and white as the roses above her.
he took her gently in his arms, but she did not seem at all frightened, and only jumped and crowed with delight; and the old man wrapped his cloak round her, and set off for home as fast as his legs would carry him.
when they were close to the cottage where they lived he laid the child in a pail that was standing near the door, and ran into the house, crying: "come quickly, wife, quickly, for i have brought you a daughter, with hair of gold and eyes like stars!"
at this wonderful news the old woman flew downstairs, almost tumbling down ill her eagerness to see the treasure; but when her husband led her to the pail it was perfectly empty!
the old man was nearly beside himself with horror, while his wife sat down and sobbed with grief and disappointment.
there was not a spot round about which they did not search, thinking that somehow the child might have got out of the pail and hidden itself for fun; but the little girl was not there, and there was no sign of her.
"where can she be?"
moaned the old man, in despair.
"oh, why did i ever leave her, even for a moment?
have the fairies taken her, or has some wild beast carried her off?"
and they began their search all over again; but neither fairies nor wild beasts did they meet with, and with sore hearts they gave it up at last and turned sadly into the hut.
and what had become of the baby?
well, finding herself left alone in a strange place she began to cry with fright, and an eagle hovering near, heard her, and went to see what the sound came from.
when he beheld the fat pink and white creature he thought of his hungry little ones at home, and swooping down he caught her up in his claws and was soon flying with her over the tops of the trees.
in a few minutes he reached the one in which he had built his nest, and laying little wildrose -lrb- for so the old man had called her -rrb- among his downy young eaglets, he flew away.
the eaglets naturally were rather surprised at this strange animal, so suddenly popped down in their midst, but instead of beginning to eat her, as their father expected, they nestled up close to her and spread out their tiny wings to shield her from the sun.
now, in the depths of the forest where the eagle had built his nest, there ran a stream whose waters were poisonous, and on the banks of this stream dwelt a horrible lindworm with seven heads.
the lindworm had often watched the eagle flying about the top of the tree, carrying food to his young ones and, accordingly, he watched carefully for the moment when the eaglets began to try their wings and to fly away from the nest.
of course, if the eagle himself was there to protect them even the lindworm, big and strong as he was, knew that he could do nothing; but when he was absent, any little eaglets who ventured too near the ground would be sure to disappear down the monster's throat.
their brothers, who had been left behind as too young and weak to see the world, knew nothing of all this, but supposed their turn would soon come to see the world also.
and in a few days their eyes, too, opened and their wings flapped impatiently, and they longed to fly away above the waving tree-tops to mountain and the bright sun beyond.
but that very midnight the lindworm, who was hungry and could not wait for his supper, came out of the brook with a rushing noise, and made straight for the tree.
two eyes of flame came creeping nearer, nearer, and two fiery tongues were stretching themselves out closer, closer, to the little birds who were trembling and shuddering in the farthest corner of the nest.
but just as the tongues had almost reached them, the lindworm gave a fearful cry, and turned and fell backwards.
then came the sound of battle from the ground below, and the tree shook, though there was no wind, and roars and snarls mixed together, till the eaglets felt more frightened than ever, and thought their last hour had come.
only wildrose was undisturbed, and slept sweetly through it all.
in the morning the eagle returned and saw traces of a fight below the tree, and here and there a handful of yellow mane lying about, and here and there a hard scaly substance; when he saw that he rejoiced greatly, and hastened to the nest.
"who has slain the lindworm?"
he asked of his children; there were so many that he did not at first miss the two which the lindworm had eaten.
but the eaglets answered that they could not tell, only that they had been in danger of their lives, and at the last moment they had been delivered.
then the sunbeam had struggled through the thick branches and caught wildrose's golden hair as she lay curled up in the corner, and the eagle wondered, as he looked, whether the little girl had brought him luck, and it was her magic which had killed his enemy.
"children," he said," i brought her here for your dinner, and you have not touched her; what is the meaning of this?"
but the eaglets did not answer, and wildrose opened her eyes, and seemed seven times lovelier than before.
from that day wildrose lived like a little princess.
the eagle flew about the wood and collected the softest, greenest moss he could find to make her a bed, and then he picked with his beak all the brightest and prettiest flowers in the fields or on the mountains to decorate it.
so cleverly did he manage it that there was not a fairy in the whole of the forest who would not have been pleased to sleep there, rocked to and fro by the breeze on the treetops.
and when the little ones were able to fly from their nest he taught them where to look for the fruits and berries which she loved.
so the time passed by, and with each year wildrose grew taller and more beautiful, and she lived happily in her nest and never wanted to go out of it, only standing at the edge in the sunset, and looking upon the beautiful world.
for company she had all the birds in the forest, who came and talked to her, and for playthings the strange flowers which they brought her from far, and the butterflies which danced with her.
and so the days slipped away, and she was fourteen years old.
one morning the emperor's son went out to hunt, and he had not ridden far, before a deer started from under a grove of trees, and ran before him.
the prince instantly gave chase, and where the stag led he followed, till at length he found himself in the depths of the forest, where no man before had trod.
the trees were so thick and the wood so dark, that he paused for a moment and listened, straining his ears to catch some sound to break a silence which almost frightened him.
but nothing came, not even the baying of a hound or the note of a horn.
he stood still, and wondered if he should go on, when, on looking up, a stream of light seemed to flow from the top of a tall tree.
in its rays he could see the nest with the young eaglets, who were watching him over the side.
the prince fitted an arrow into his bow and took his aim, but, before he could let fly, another ray of light dazzled him; so brilliant was it, that his bow dropped, and he covered his face with his hands.
when at last he ventured to peep, wildrose, with her golden hair flowing round her, was looking at him.
this was the first time she had seen a man.
"tell me how i can reach you?"
cried he; but wildrose smiled and shook her head, and sat down quietly.
the prince saw that it was no use, and turned and made his way out of the forest.
but he might as well have stayed there, for any good he was to his father, so full was his heart of longing for wildrose.
twice he returned to the forest in the hopes of finding her, but this time fortune failed him, and he went home as sad as ever.
at length the emperor, who could not think what had caused this change, sent for his son and asked him what was the matter.
then the prince confessed that the image of wildrose filled his soul, and that he would never be happy without her.
at first the emperor felt rather distressed.
he doubted whether a girl from a tree top would make a good empress; but he loved his son so much that he promised to do all he could to find her.
so the next morning heralds were sent forth throughout the whole land to inquire if anyone knew where a maiden could be found who lived in a forest on the top of a tree, and to promise great riches and a place at court to any person who should find her.
but nobody knew.
all the girls in the kingdom had their homes on the ground, and laughed at the notion of being brought up in a tree."
a nice kind of empress she would make," they said, as the emperor had done, tossing their heads with disdain; for, having read many books, they guessed what she was wanted for.
the heralds were almost in despair, when an old woman stepped out of the crowd and came and spoke to them.
she was not only very old, but she was very ugly, with a hump on her back and a bald head, and when the heralds saw her they broke into rude laughter."
i can show you the maiden who lives in the tree-top," she said, but they only laughed the more loudly.
"get away, old witch!"
they cried, "you will bring us bad luck"; but the old woman stood firm, and declared that she alone knew where to find the maiden.
"go with her," said the eldest of the heralds at last.
"the emperor's orders are clear, that whoever knew anything of the maiden was to come at once to court.
put her in the coach and take her with us."
so in this fashion the old woman was brought to court.
"you have declared that you can bring hither the maiden from the wood?"
said the emperor, who was seated on his throne.
"yes, your majesty, and i will keep my word," said she.
"then bring her at once," said the emperor.
"give me first a kettle and a tripod," asked the old w omen, and the emperor ordered them to be brought instantly.
the old woman picked them up, and tucking them under her arm went on her way, keeping at a little distance behind the royal huntsmen, who in their turn followed the prince.
oh, what a noise that old woman made as she walked along!
she chattered to herself so fast and clattered her kettle so loudly that you would have thought that a whole campful of gipsies must be coming round the next corner.
but when they reached the forest, she bade them all wait outside, and entered the dark wood by herself.
she stopped underneath the tree where the maiden dwelt and, gathering some dry sticks, kindled a fire.
next, she placed the tripod over it, and the kettle on top.
but something was the matter with the kettle.
as fast as the old woman put it where it was to stand, that kettle was sure to roll off, falling to the ground with a crash.
it really seemed bewitched, and no one knows what might have happened if wildrose, who had been all the time peeping out of her nest, had not lost patience at the old woman's stupidity, and cried out: "the tripod wo n't stand on that hill, you must move it!"
"but where am i to move it to, my child?"
asked the old woman, looking up to the nest, and at the same moment trying to steady the kettle with one hand and the tripod with the other.
"did n't i tell you that it was no good doing that," said wildrose, more impatiently than before.
"make a fire near a tree and hang the kettle from one of the branches."
the old woman took the kettle and hung it on a little twig, which broke at once, and the kettle fell to the ground.
"if you would only show me how to do it, perhaps i should understand," said she.
quick as thought, the maiden slid down the smooth trunk of the tree, and stood beside the stupid old woman, to teach her how things ought to be done.
but in an instant the old woman had caught up the girl and swung her over her shoulders, and was running as fast as she could go to the edge of the forest, where she had left the prince.
when he saw them coming he rushed eagerly to meet them, and he took the maiden in his arms and kissed her tenderly before them all.
then a golden dress was put on her, and pearls were twined in her hair, and she took her seat in the emperor's carriage which was drawn by six of the whitest horses in the world, and they carried her, without stopping to draw breath, to the gates of the palace.
and in three days the wedding was celebrated, and the wedding feast was held, and everyone who saw the bride declared that if anybody wanted a perfect wife they must go to seek her on top of a tree.
-lsb- adapted from file roumanian. -rsb-
tiidu the piper once upon a time there lived a poor man who had more children than bread to feed them with.
however, they were strong and willing, and soon learned to make themselves of use to their father and mother, and when they were old enough they went out to service, and everyone was very glad to get them for servants, for they worked hard and were always cheerful.
out of all the ten or eleven, there was only one who gave his parents any trouble, and this was a big lazy boy whose name was tiidu.
neither scoldings nor beatings nor kind words had any effect on him, and the older he grew the idler he got.
he spent his winters crouching close to a warm stove, and his summers asleep under a shady tree; and if he was not doing either of these things he was playing tunes on his flute.
one day he was sitting under a bush playing so sweetly that you might easily have mistaken the notes for those of a bird, when an old man passed by.
"what trade do you wish to follow, my son?"
he asked in a friendly voice, stopping as he did so in front of the youth.
"if i were only a rich man, and had no need to work," replied the boy," i should not follow any.
i could not bear to be anybody's servant, as all my brothers and sisters are."
the old man laughed as he heard this answer, and said: "but i do not exactly see where your riches are to come from if you do not work for them.
sleeping cats catch no mice.
he who wishes to become rich must use either his hands or his head, and be ready to toil night and day, or else --" but here the youth broke in rudely: "be silent, old man!
i have been told all that a hundred times over; and it runs off me like water off a duck's back.
no one will ever make a worker out of me."
"you have one gift," replied the old man, taking no notice of this speech, "and if you would only go about and play the pipes, you would easily earn, not only your daily bread, but a little money into the bargain.
listen to me; get yourself a set of pipes, and learn to play on them as well as you do on your flute, and wherever there are men to hear you, i promise you will never lack money."
"but where am i to get the pipes from?"
asked the youth.
"blow on your flute for a few days," replied the old man, "and you will soon be able to buy your pipes.
by-and-by i will come back again and see if you have taken my advice, and whether you are likely to grow rich."
and so saying he went his way.
tiidu stayed where he was a little longer, thinking of all the old man had told him, and the more he thought the surer he felt that the old man was right.
he determined to try whether his plan would really bring luck; but as he did not like being laughed at he resolved not to tell anyone a word about it.
so next morning he left home -- and never came back!
his parents did not take his loss much to heart, but were rather glad that their useless son had for once shown a little spirit, and they hoped that time and hardship might cure tiidu of his idle folly.
for some weeks tiidu wandered from one village to another, and proved for himself the truth of the old man's promise.
the people he met were all friendly and kind, and enjoyed his flute-playing, giving him his food in return, and even a few pence.
these pence the youth hoarded carefully till he had collected enough to buy a beautiful pair of pipes.
then he felt himself indeed on the high road to riches.
nowhere could pipes be found as fine as his, or played in so masterly a manner.
tiidu's pipes set everybody's legs dancing.
wherever there was a marriage, a christening, or a feast of any kind, tiidu must be there, or the evening would be a failure.
in a few years he had become so noted a piper that people would travel far and wide to hear him.
one day he was invited to a christening where many rich men from the neighbouring town were present, and all agreed that never in all their lives had they heard such playing as his.
they crowded round him, and praised him, and pressed him to come to their homes, declaring that it was a shame not to give their friends the chance of hearing such music.
of course all this delighted tiidu, who accepted gladly, and left their houses laden with money and presents of every kind; one great lord clothed him in a magnificent dress, a second hung a chain of pearls round his neck, while a third handed him a set of new pipes encrusted in silver.
as for the ladies, the girls twisted silken scarves round his plumed hat, and their mothers knitted him gloves of all colours, to keep out the cold.
any other man in tiidu's place would have been contented and happy in this life; but his craving for riches gave him no rest, and only goaded him day by day to fresh exertions, so that even his own mother would not have known him for the lazy boy who was always lying asleep in one place or the other.
now tiidu saw quite clearly that he could only hope to become rich by means of his pipes, and set about thinking if there was nothing he could do to make the money flow in faster.
at length he remembered having heard some stories of a kingdom in the kungla country, where musicians of all sorts were welcomed and highly paid; but where it was, or how it was reached, he could not recollect, however hard he thought.
in despair, he wandered along the coast, hoping to see some ship or sailing boat that would take him where he wished to go, and at length he reached the town of narva, where several merchantmen were lying at anchor.
to his great joy, he found that one of them was sailing for kungla in a few days, and he hastily went on board, and asked for the captain.
but the cost of the passage was more than the prudent tiidu cared to pay, and though he played his best on his pipes, the captain refused to lower his price, and tiidu was just thinking of returning on shore when his usual luck flew to his aid.
a young sailor, who had heard him play, came secretly to him, and offered to hide him on board, in the absence of the captain.
so the next night, as soon as it was dark, tiidu stepped softly on deck, and was hidden by his friend down in the hold in a corner between two casks.
unseen by the rest of the crew the sailor managed to bring him food and drink, and when they were well out of sight of land he proceeded to carry out a plan he had invented to deliver tiidu from his cramped quarters.
at midnight, while he was keeping watch and everyone else was sleeping, the man bade his friend tiidu follow him on deck, where he tied a rope round tiidu's body, fastening the other end carefully to one of the ship's ropes.
"now," he said," i will throw you into the sea, and you must shout for help; and when you see the sailors coming untie the rope from your waist, and tell them that you have swum after the ship all the way from shore."
at first tiidu did not much like this scheme, for the sea ran high, but he was a good swimmer, and the sailor assured him that there was no danger.
as soon as he was in the water, his friend hastened to rouse his mates, declaring that he was sure that there was a man in the sea, following the ship.
they all came on deck, and what was their surprise when they recognised the person who had bargained about a passage the previous day with the captain.
"are you a ghost, or a dying man?"
they asked him trembling, as they stooped over the side of the ship."
i shall soon indeed be a dead man if you do not help me," answered tiidu, "for my strength is going fast."
then the captain seized a rope and flung it out to him, and tiidu held it between his teeth, while, unseen by the sailors; he loosed the one tied round his waist.
"where have you come from?"
said the captain, when tiidu was brought up on board the ship."
i have followed you from the harbour," answered he, "and have been often in sore dread lest my strength should fail me.
i hoped that by swimming after the ship i might at last reach kungla, as i had no money to pay my passage."
the captain's heart melted at these words, and he said kindly: "you may be thankful that you were not drowned.
i will land you at kungla free of payment, as you are so anxious to get there.
so he gave him dry clothes to wear, and a berth to sleep in, and tiidu and his friend secretly made merry over their cunning trick.
for the rest of the voyage the ship's crew treated tiidu as something higher than themselves, seeing that in all their lives they had never met with any man that could swim for as many hours as he had done.
this pleased tiidu very much, though he knew that he had really done nothing to deserve it, and in return he delighted them by tunes on his pipes.
when, after some days, they cast anchor at kungla, the story of his wonderful swim brought him many friends, for everybody wished to hear him tell the tale himself.
this might have been all very well, had not tiidu lived in dread that some day he would be asked to give proof of his marvellous swimming powers, and then everything would be found out.
meanwhile he was dazzled with the splendour around him, and more than ever he longed for part of the riches, about which the owners seemed to care so little.
he wandered through the streets for many days, seeking some one who wanted a servant; but though more than one person would have been glad to engage him, they seemed to tiidu not the sort of people to help him to get rich quickly.
at last, when he had almost made up his mind that he must accept the next place offered him, he happened to knock at the door of a rich merchant who was in need of a scullion, and gladly agreed to do the cook's bidding, and it was in this merchant's house that he first learned how great were the riches of the land of kungla.
all the vessels which in other countries are made of iron, copper, brass, or tin, in kungla were made of silver, or even of gold.
the food was cooked in silver saucepans, the bread baked in a silver oven, while the dishes and their covers were all of gold.
even the very pigs" troughs were of silver too.
but the sight of these things only made tiidu more covetous than before.
"what is the use of all this wealth that i have constantly before my eyes," thought he, "if none of it is mine?
i shall never grow rich by what i earn as a scullion, even though i am paid as much in a month as i should get elsewhere in a year."
by this time he had been in his place for two years, and had put by quite a large sum of money.
his passion of saving had increased to such a pitch that it was only by his master's orders that he ever bought any new clothes, "for," said the merchant," i will not have dirty people in my house."
so with a heavy heart tiidu spent some of his next month's wages on a cheap coat.
one day the merchant held a great feast in honour of the christening of his youngest child, and he gave each of his servants a handsome garment for the occasion.
the following sunday, tiidu, who liked fine clothes when he did not have to pay for them, put on his new coat, and went for a walk to some beautiful pleasure gardens, which were always full of people on a sunny day.
he sat down under a shady tree, and watched the passers-by, but after a little he began to feel rather lonely, for he knew nobody and nobody knew him.
suddenly his eyes fell on the figure of an old man, which seemed familiar to him, though he could not tell when or where he had seen it.
he watched the figure for some time, till at length the old man left the crowded paths, and threw himself on the soft grass under a lime tree, which stood at some distance from where tiidu was sitting.
then the young man walked slowly past, in order that he might look at him more closely, and as he did so the old man smiled, and held out his hand.
"what have you done with your pipes?"
asked he; and then in a moment tiidu knew him.
taking his arm he drew him into a quiet place and told him all that had happened since they had last met.
the old man shook his head as he listened, and when tiidu had finished his tale, he said: "a fool you are, and a fool you will always be!
was there ever such a piece of folly as to exchange your pipes for a scullion's ladle?
you could have made as much by the pipes in a day as your wages would have come to in half a year.
go home and fetch your pipes, and play them here, and you will soon see if i have spoken the truth."
tiidu did not like this advice -- he was afraid that the people would laugh at him; and, besides, it was long since he had touched his pipes -- but the old man persisted, and at last tiidu did as he was told.
"sit down on the bank by me," said the old man, when he came back, "and begin to play, and in a little while the people will flock round you."
tiidu obeyed, at first without much heart; but somehow the tone of the pipes was sweeter than he had remembered, and as he played, the crowd ceased to walk and chatter, and stood still and silent round him.
when he had played for some time he took off his hat and passed it round, and dollars, and small silver coins, and even gold pieces, came tumbling in.
tiidu played a couple more tunes by way of thanks, then turned to go home, hearing on all sides murmurs of "what a wonderful piper!
come back, we pray you, next sunday to give us another treat."
"what did i tell you?"
said the old man, as they passed through the garden gate.
"was it not pleasanter to play for a couple of hours on the pipes than to be stirring sauces all day long?
for the second time i have shown you the path to follow; try to learn wisdom, and take the bull by the horns, lest your luck should slip from you!
i can be your guide no longer, therefore listen to what i say, and obey me.
go every sunday afternoon to those gardens; and sit under the lime tree and play to the people, and bring a felt hat with a deep crown, and lay it on the ground at your feet, so that everyone can throw some money into it.
if you are invited to play at a feast, accept willingly, but beware of asking a fixed price; say you will take whatever they may feel inclined to give.
you will get far more money in the end.
perhaps, some day, our paths may cross, and then i shall see how far you have followed my advice.
till then, farewell"; and the old man went his way.
as before, his words came true, though tiidu could not at once do his bidding, as he had first to fulfil his appointed time of service.
meanwhile he ordered some fine clothes, in which he played every sunday in the gardens, and when he counted his gains in the evening they were always more than on the sunday before.
at length he was free to do as he liked, and he had more invitations to play than he could manage to accept, and at night, when the citizens used to go and drink in the inn, the landlord always begged tiidu to come and play to them.
thus he grew so rich that very soon he had his silver pipes covered with gold, so that they glistened in the light of the sun or the fire.
in all kungla there was no prouder man than tiidu.
in a few years he had saved such a large sum of money that he was considered a rich man even in kungla, where everybody was rich.
and then he had leisure to remember that he had once had a home, and a family, and that he should like to see them both again, and show them how well he could play.
this time he would not need to hide in the ship's hold, but could hire the best cabin if he wished to, or even have a vessel all to himself.
so he packed all his treasures in large chests, and sent them on board the first ship that was sailing to his native land, and followed them with a light heart.
the wind at starting was fair, but it soon freshened, and in the night rose to a gale.
for two days they ran before it, and hoped that by keeping well out to sea they might be able to weather the storm, when, suddenly, the ship struck on a rock, and began to fill.
orders were given to lower the boats, and tiidu with three sailors got into one of them, but before they could push away from the ship a huge wave overturned it, and all four were flung into the water.
luckily for tiidu an oar was floating near him, and with its help he was able to keep on the surface of the water; and when the sun rose, and the mist cleared away, he saw that he was not far from shore.
by hard swimming, for the sea still ran high, he managed to reach it, and pulled himself out of the water, more dead than alive.
then he flung himself down on the ground and fell fast asleep.
when he awoke he got up to explore the island, and see if there were any men upon it; but though he found streams and fruit trees in abundance, there was no trace either of man or beast.
then, tired with his wanderings he sat down and began to think.
for perhaps the first time in his life his thoughts did not instantly turn to money.
it was not on his lost treasures that his mind dwelt, but on his conduct to his parents: his laziness and disobedience as a boy; his forgetfulness of them as a man.
"if wild animals were to come and tear me to pieces," he said to himself bitterly, "it would be only what i deserve!
my gains are all at the bottom of the sea -- well!
lightly won, lightly lost -- but it is odd that i feel i should not care for that if only my pipes were left me."
then he rose and walked a little further, till he saw a tree with great red apples shining amidst the leaves, and he pulled some down, and ate them greedily.
after that he stretched himself out on the soft moss and went to sleep.
in the morning he ran to the nearest stream to wash himself, but to his horror, when he caught sight of his face, he saw his nose had grown the colour of an apple, and reached nearly to his waist.
he started back thinking he was dreaming, and put up his hand; but, alas!
the dreadful thing was true.
"oh, why does not some wild beast devour me?"
he cried to himself; "never, never, can i go again amongst my fellow-men!
if only the sea had swallowed me up, how much happier it had been for me!"
and he hid his head in his hands and wept.
his grief was so violent, that it exhausted him, and growing hungry he looked about for something to eat.
just above him was a bough of ripe, brown nuts, end he picked them and ate a handful.
to his surprise, as he was eating them, he felt his nose grow shorter and shorter, and after a while he ventured to feel it with his hand, and even to look in the stream again!
yes, there was no mistake, it was as short as before, or perhaps a little shorter.
in his joy at this discovery tiidu did a very bold thing.
he took one of the apples out of his pocket, and cautiously bit a piece out of it.
in an instant his nose was as long as his chin, and in a deadly fear lest it should stretch further, he hastily swallowed a nut, and awaited the result with terror.
supposing that the shrinking of his nose had only been an accident before!
supposing that that nut and no other was able to cause its shrinking!
in that case he had, by his own folly, in not letting well alone, ruined his life completely.
but, no!
he had guessed rightly, for in no more time than his nose had taken to grow long did it take to return to its proper size.
"this may make my fortune," he said joyfully to himself; and he gathered some of the apples, which he put into one pocket, and a good supply of nuts which he put into the other.
next day he wove a basket out of some rushes, so that if he ever left the island he might be able to carry his treasures about.
that night he dreamed that his friend the old man appeared to him and said: "because you did not mourn for your lost treasure, but only for your pipes, i will give you a new set to replace them."
and, behold!
in the morning when he got up a set of pipes was lying in the basket.
with what joy did he seize them and begin one of his favourite tunes; and as he played hope sprang up in his heart, and he looked out to sea, to try to detect the sign of a sail.
yes!
there it was, making straight for the island; and tiidu, holding his pipes in his hand, dashed down to the shore.
the sailors knew the island to be uninhabited, and were much surprised to see a man standing on the beach, waving his arms in welcome to them.
a boat was put off, and two sailors rowed to the shore to discover how he came there, and if he wished to be taken away.
tiidu told them the story of his shipwreck, and the captain promised that he should come on board, and sail with them back to kungla; and thankful indeed was tiidu to accept the offer, and to show his gratitude by playing on his pipes whenever he was asked to do so.
they had a quick voyage, and it was not long before tiidu found himself again in the streets of the capital of kungla, playing as he went along.
the people had heard no music like his since he went away, and they crowded round him, and in their joy gave him whatever money they had in their pockets.
his first care was to buy himself some new clothes, which he sadly needed, taking care, however, that they should be made after a foreign fashion.
when they were ready, he set out one day with a small basket of his famous apples, and went up to the palace.
he did not have to wait long before one of the royal servants passed by and bought all the apples, begging as he did so that the merchant should return and bring some more.
this tiidu promised, and hastened away as if he had a mad bull behind him, so afraid was he that the man should begin to eat an apple at once.
it is needless to say that for some days he took no more apples back to the palace, but kept well away on the other side of the town, wearing other clothes, and disguised by a long black beard, so that even his own mother would not have known him.
the morning after his visit to the castle the whole city was in an uproar about the dreadful misfortune that had happened to the royal family, for not only the king but his wife and children, had eaten of the stranger's apples, and all, so said the rumour, were very ill.
the most famous doctors and the greatest magicians were hastily summoned to the palace, but they shook their heads and came away again; never had they met with such a disease in all the course of their experience.
by-and-bye a story went round the town, started no one knew how, that the malady was in some way connected with the nose; and men rubbed their own anxiously, to be sure that nothing catching was in the air.
matters had been in this state for more than a week when it reached the ears of the king that a man was living in an inn on the other side of the town who declared himself able to cure all manner of diseases.
instantly the royal carriage was commanded to drive with all speed and bring back this magician, offering him riches untold if he could restore their noses to their former length.
tiidu had expected this summons, and had sat up all night changing his appearance, and so well had he succeeded that not a trace remained either of the piper or of the apple seller.
he stepped into the carriage, and was driven post haste to the king, who was feverishly counting every moment, for both his nose and the queen's were by this time more than a yard long, and they did not know where they would stop.
now tiidu thought it would not look well to cure the royal family by giving them the raw nuts; he felt that it might arouse suspicion.
so he had carefully pounded them into a powder, and divided the powder up into small doses, which were to be put on the tongue and swallowed at once.
he gave one of these to the king and another to the queen, and told them that before taking them they were to get into bed in a dark room and not to move for some hours, after which they might be sure that they would come out cured.
the king's joy was so great at this news that he would gladly have given tiidu half of his kingdom; but the piper was no longer so greedy of money as he once was, before he had been shipwrecked on the island.
if he could get enough to buy a small estate and live comfortably on it for the rest of his life, that was all he now cared for.
however, the king ordered his treasure to pay him three times as much as he asked, and with this tiidu went down to the harbour and engaged a small ship to carry him back to his native country.
the wind was fair, and in ten days the coast, which he had almost forgotten, stood clear before him.
in a few hours he was standing in his old home, where his father, three sisters, and two brothers gave him a hearty welcome.
his mother and his other brothers had died some years before.
when the meeting was over, he began to make inquiries about a small estate that was for sale near the town, and after he had bought it the next thing was to find a wife to share it with him.
this did not take long either; and people who were at the wedding feast declared that the best part of the whole day was the hour when tiidu played to them on the pipes before they bade each other farewell and returned to their homes.
-lsb- from esthnische mahrchen. -rsb-
paperarelloo once upon a time there lived a king and a queen who had one son.
the king loved the boy very much, but the queen, who was a wicked woman, hated the sight of him; and this was the more unlucky for, when he was twelve years old, his father died, and he was left alone in the world.
now the queen was very angry because the people, who knew how bad she was, seated her son on the throne instead of herself, and she never rested till she had formed a plan to get him out of the way.
fortunately, however, the young king was wise and prudent, and knew her too well to trust her.
one day, when his mourning was over, he gave orders that everything should be made ready for a grand hunt.
the queen pretended to be greatly delighted that he was going to amuse himself once more, and declared that she would accompany him.
"no, mother, i can not let you come," he answered; "the ground is rough, and you are not strong."
but he might as well have spoken to the winds: when the horn was sounded at daybreak the queen was there with the rest.
all that day they rode, for game was plentiful, but towards evening the mother and son found themselves alone in a part of the country that was strange to them.
they wandered on for some time, without knowing where they were going, till they met with a man whom they begged to give them shelter.
"come with me," said the man gladly, for he was an ogre, and fed on human flesh; and the king and his mother went with him, and he led them to his house.
when they got there they found to what a dreadful place they had come, and, falling on their knees, they offered him great sums of money, if he would only spare their lives.
the ogre's heart was moved at the sight of the queen's beauty, and he promised that he would do her no harm; but he stabbed the boy at once, and binding his body on a horse, turned him loose in the forest.
the ogre had happened to choose a horse which he had bought only the day before, and he did not know it was a magician, or he would not have been so foolish as to fix upon it on this occasion.
the horse no sooner had been driven off with the prince's body on its back than it galloped straight to the home of the fairies, and knocked at the door with its hoof.
the fairies heard the knock, but were afraid to open till they had peeped from an upper window to see that it was no giant or ogre who could do them harm.
"oh, look, sister!"
cried the first to reach the window, "it is a horse that has knocked, and on its back there is bound a dead boy, the most beautiful boy in all the world!"
then the fairies ran to open the door, and let in the horse and unbound the ropes which fastened the young king on its back.
and they gathered round to admire his beauty, and whispered one to the other: "we will make him alive again, and will keep him for our brother."
and so they did, and for many years they all lived together as brothers and sisters.
by-and-by the boy grew into a man, as boys will, and then the oldest of the fairies said to her sisters: "now i will marry him, and he shall be really your brother."
so the young king married the fairy, and they lived happily together in the castle; but though he loved his wife he still longed to see the world.
at length this longing grew so strong on him that he could bear it no more; and, calling the fairies together, he said to them: "dear wife and sisters, i must leave you for a time, and go out and see the world.
but i shall think of you often, and one day i shall come back to you."
the fairies wept and begged him to stay, but he would not listen, and at last the eldest, who was his wife, said to him: "if you really will abandon us, take this lock of my hair with you; you will find it useful in time of need."
so she cut off a long curl, and handed it to him.
the prince mounted his horse, and rode on all day without stopping once.
towards evening he found himself in a desert, and, look where he would, there was no such thing as a house or a man to be seen.
"what am i to do now?"
he thought.
"if i go to sleep here wild beasts will come and eat me!
yet both i and my horse are worn out, and can go no further."
then suddenly he remembered the fairy's gift, and taking out the curl he said to it: "i want a castle here, and servants, and dinner, and everything to make me comfortable tonight; and besides that, i must have a stable and fodder for my horse."
and in a moment the castle was before him just as he had wished.
in this way he travelled through many countries, till at last he came to a land that was ruled over by a great king.
leaving his horse outside the walls, he clad himself in the dress of a poor man, and went up to the palace.
the queen, who was looking out of the window, saw him approaching, and filled with pity sent a servant to ask who he was and what he wanted."
i am a stranger here," answered the young king, "and very poor.
i have come to beg for some work."
"we have everybody we want," said the queen, when the servant told her the young man's reply.
"we have a gate-keeper, and a hall porter, and servants of all sorts in the palace; the only person we have not got is a goose-boy.
tell him that he can be our goose-boy if he likes."
the youth answered that he was quite content to be goose-boy; and that was how he got his nickname of paperarello.
and in order that no one should guess that he was any better than a goose-boy should be, he rubbed his face and his rags over with mud, and made himself altogether such a disgusting object that every one crossed over to the other side of the road when he was seen coming.
"do go and wash yourself, paperarello!"
said the queen sometimes, for he did his work so well that she took an interest in him.
"oh, i should not feel comfortable if i was clean, your majesty," answered he, and went whistling after his geese.
it happened one day that, owing to some accident to the great flour mills which supplied the city, there was no bread to be had, and the king's army had to do without.
when the king heard of it, he sent for the cook, and told him that by the next morning he must have all the bread that the oven, heated seven times over, could bake.
"but, your majesty, it is not possible," cried the poor man in despair.
"the mills have only just begun working, and the flour will not be ground till evening, and how can i heat the oven seven times in one night?"
"that is your affair," answered the king, who, when he took anything into his head, would listen to nothing.
"if you succeed in baking the bread you shall have my daughter to wife, but if you fail your head will pay for it."
now paperarello, who was passing through the hall where the king was giving his orders, heard these words, and said: "your majesty, have no fears; i will bake your bread."
"very well," answered the king; "but if you fail, you will pay for it with your head!"
and signed that both should leave his presence.
the cook was still trembling with the thought of what he had escaped, but to his surprise paperarello did not seem disturbed at all, and when night came he went to sleep as usual.
"paperarello," cried the other servants, when they saw him quietly taking off his clothes, "you can not go to bed; you will need every moment of the night for your work.
remember, the king is not to be played with!'"
i really must have some sleep first," replied paperarello, stretching himself and yawning; and he flung himself on his bed, and was fast asleep in a moment.
in an hour's time, the servants came and shook him by the shoulder.
"paperarello, are you mad?"
said they.
"get up, or you will lose your head."
"oh, do let me sleep a little more, answered he.
and this was all he would say, though the servants returned to wake him many times in the night.
at last the dawn broke, and the servants rushed to his room, crying: "paperarello!
paperarello!
get up, the king is coming.
you have baked no bread, and of a surety he will have your head."
"oh, do n't scream so," replied paperarello, jumping out of bed as he spoke; and taking the lock of hair in his hand, he went into the kitchen.
and, behold!
there stood the bread piled high -- four, five, six ovens full, and the seventh still waiting to be taken out of the oven.
the servants stood and stared in surprise, and the king said: "well done, paperarello, you have won my daughter."
and he thought to himself: "this fellow must really be a magician."
but when the princess heard what was in store for her she wept bitterly, and declared that never, never would she marry that dirty paperarello!
however, the king paid no heed to her tears and prayers, and before many days were over the wedding was celebrated with great splendour, though the bridegroom had not taken the trouble to wash himself, and was as dirty as before.
when night came he went as usual to sleep among his geese, and the princess went to the king and said: "father, i entreat you to have that horrible paperarello put to death."
"no, no!"
replied her father, "he is a great magician, and before i put him to death, i must first find out the secret of his power, and then -- we shall see."
soon after this a war broke out, and everybody about the palace was very busy polishing up armour and sharpening swords, for the king and his sons were to ride at the head of the army.
then paperarello left his geese, and came and told the king that he wished to go to fight also.
the king gave him leave, and told him that he might go to the stable and take any horse he liked from the stables.
so paperarello examined the horses carefully, but instead of picking out one of the splendid well-groomed creatures, whose skin shone like satin, he chose a poor lame thing, put a saddle on it, and rode after the other men-at-arms who were attending the king.
in a short time he stopped, and said to them: "my horse can go no further; you must go on to the war without me, and i will stay here, and make some little clay soldiers, and will play at a battle."
the men laughed at him for being so childish, and rode on after their master.
scarcely were they out of sight than paperarello took out his curl, and wished himself the best armour, the sharpest sword, and the swiftest horse in the world, and the next minute was riding as fast as he could to the field of battle.
the fight had already begun, and the enemy was getting the best of it, when paperarello rode up, and in a moment the fortunes of the day had changed.
right and left this strange knight laid about him, and his sword pierced the stoutest breast-plate, and the strongest shield.
he was indeed" a host in himself," and his foes fled before him thinking he was only the first of a troop of such warriors, whom no one could withstand.
when the battle was over, the king sent for him to thank him for his timely help, and to ask what reward he should give him.
"nothing but your little finger, your majesty," was his answer; and the king cut off his little finger and gave it to paperarello, who bowed and hid it in his surcoat.
then he left the field, and when the soldiers rode back they found him still sitting in the road making whole rows of little clay dolls.
the next day the king went out to fight another battle, and again paperarello appeared, mounted on his lame horse.
as on the day before, he halted on the road, and sat down to make his clay soldiers; then a second time he wished himself armour, sword, and a horse, all sharper and better than those he had previously had, and galloped after the rest.
he was only just in time: the enemy had almost beaten the king's army back, and men whispered to each other that if the strange knight did not soon come to their aid, they would be all dead men.
suddenly someone cried: "hold on a little longer, i see him in the distance; and his armour shines brighter, and his horse runs swifter, than yesterday."
then they took fresh heart and fought desperately on till the knight came up, and threw himself into the thick of the battle.
as before, the enemy gave way before him, and in a few minutes the victory remained with the king.
the first thing that the victor did was to send for the knight to thank him for his timely help, and to ask what gift he could bestow on him in token of gratitude.
"your majesty's ear," answered the knight; and as the king could not go back from his word, he cut it off and gave it to him.
paperarello bowed, fastened the ear inside his surcoat and rode away.
in the evening, when they all returned from the battle, there he was, sitting in the road, making clay dolls.
on the third day the same thing happened, and this time he asked for the king's nose as the reward of his aid.
now, to lose one's nose, is worse even than losing one's ear or one's finger, and the king hesitated as to whether he should comply.
however, he had always prided himself on being an honourable man, so he cut off his nose, and handed it to paperarello.
paperarello bowed, put the nose in his surcoat, and rode away.
in the evening, when the king returned from the battle, he found paperarello sitting in the road making clay dolls.
and paperarello got up and said to him: "do you know who i am?
i am your dirty goose-boy, yet you have given me your finger, and your ear, and your nose."
that night, when the king sat at dinner, paperarello came in, and laying down the ear, and the nose, and the finger on the table, turned and said to the nobles and courtiers who were waiting on the king: "i am the invincible knight, who rode three times to your help, and i also am a king's son, and no goose-boy as you all think."
and he went away and washed himself, and dressed himself in fine clothes and entered the hall again, looking so handsome that the proud princess fell in love with him on the spot.
but paperarello took no notice of her, and said to the king: "it was kind of you to offer me your daughter in marriage, and for that i thank you; but i have a wife at home whom i love better, and it is to her that i am going.
but as a token of farewell, i wish that your ear, and nose, and finger may be restored to their proper places."
so saying, he bade them all goodbye, and went back to his home and his fairy bride, with whom he lived happily till the end of his life.
-lsb- from sicilianisohen mahrchen. -rsb-
the gifts of the magician once upon a time there was an old man who lived in a little hut in the middle of a forest.
his wife was dead, and he had only one son, whom he loved dearly.
near their hut was a group of birch trees, in which some black-game had made their nests, and the youth had often begged his father's permission to shoot the birds, but the old man always strictly forbade him to do anything of the kind.
one day, however, when the father had gone to a little distance to collect some sticks for the fire, the boy fetched his bow, and shot at a bird that was just flying towards its nest.
but he had not taken proper aim, and the bird was only wounded, and fluttered along the ground.
the boy ran to catch it, but though he ran very fast, and the bird seemed to flutter along very slowly, he never could quite come up with it; it was always just a little in advance.
but so absorbed was he in the chase that he did not notice for some time that he was now deep in the forest, in a place where he had never been before.
then he felt it would be foolish to go any further, and he turned to find his way home.
he thought it would be easy enough to follow the path along which he had come, but somehow it was always branching off in unexpected directions.
he looked about for a house where he might stop and ask his way, but there was not a sign of one anywhere, and he was afraid to stand still, for it was cold, and there were many stories of wolves being seen in that part of the forest.
night fell, and he was beginning to start at every sound, when suddenly a magician came running towards him, with a pack of wolves snapping at his heels.
then all the boy's courage returned to him.
he took his bow, and aiming an arrow at the largest wolf, shot him through the heart, and a few more arrows soon put the rest to flight.
the magician was full of gratitude to his deliverer, and promised him a reward for his help if the youth would go back with him to his house.
"indeed there is nothing that would be more welcome to me than a night's lodging," answered the boy;" i have been wandering all day in the forest, and did not know how to get home again.
"come with me, you must be hungry as well as tired," said the magician, and led the way to his house, where the guest flung himself on a bed, and went fast asleep.
but his host returned to the forest to get some food, for the larder was empty.
while he was absent the housekeeper went to the boy's room and tried to wake him.
she stamped on the floor, and shook him and called to him, telling him that he was in great danger, and must take flight at once.
but nothing would rouse him, and if he did ever open his eyes he shut them again directly.
soon after, the magician came back from the forest, and told the housekeeper to bring them something to eat.
the meal was quickly ready, and the magician called to the boy to come down and eat it, but he could not be wakened, and they had to sit down to supper without him.
by-and-by the magician went out into the wood again for some more hunting, and on his return he tried afresh to waken the youth.
but finding it quite impossible, he went back for the third time to the forest.
while he was absent the boy woke up and dressed himself.
then he came downstairs and began to talk to the housekeeper.
the girl had heard how he had saved her master's life, so she said nothing more about his running away, but instead told him that if the magician offered him the choice of a reward, he was to ask for the horse which stood in the third stall of the stable.
by-and-by the old man came back and they all sat down to dinner.
when they had finished the magician said: "now, my son, tell me what you will have as the reward of your courage?"
"give me the horse that stands in the third stall of your stable," answered the youth.
"for i have a long way to go before i get home, and my feet will not carry me so far."
"ah!
my son," replied the magician, "it is the best horse in my stable that you want!
will not anything else please you as well?"
but the youth declared that it was the horse, and the horse only, that he desired, and in the end the old man gave way.
and besides the horse, the magician gave him a zither, a fiddle, and a flute, saying: "if you are in danger, touch the zither; and if no one comes to your aid, then play on the fiddle; but if that brings no help, blow on the flute."
the youth thanked the magician, and fastening his treasures about him mounted the horse and rode off.
he had already gone some miles when, to his great surprise, the horse spoke, and said: "it is no use your returning home just now, your father will only beat you.
let us visit a few towns first, and something lucky will be sure to happen to us."
this advice pleased the boy, for he felt himself almost a man by this time, and thought it was high time he saw the world.
when they entered the capital of the country everyone stopped to admire the beauty of the horse.
even the king heard of it, and came to see the splendid creature with his own eyes.
indeed, he wanted directly to buy it, and told the youth he would give any price he liked.
the young man hesitated for a moment, but before he could speak, the horse contrived to whisper to him: "do not sell me, but ask the king to take me to his stable, and feed me there; then his other horses will become just as beautiful as i." the king was delighted when he was told what the horse had said, and took the animal at once to the stables, and placed it in his own particular stall.
sure enough, the horse had scarcely eaten a mouthful of corn out of the manger, when the rest of the horses seemed to have undergone a transformation.
some of them were old favourites which the king had ridden in many wars, and they bore the signs of age and of service.
but now they arched their heads, and pawed the ground with their slender legs as they had been wont to do in days long gone by.
the king's heart beat with delight, but the old groom who had had the care of them stood crossly by, and eyed the owner of this wonderful creature with hate and envy.
not a day passed without his bringing some story against the youth to his master, but the king understood all about the matter and paid no attention.
at last the groom declared that the young man had boasted that he could find the king's war horse which had strayed into the forest several years ago, and had not been heard of since.
now the king had never ceased to mourn for his horse, so this time he listened to the tale which the groom had invented, and sent for the youth.
"find me my horse in three days," said he, "or it will be the worse for you."
the youth was thunderstruck at this command, but he only bowed, and went off at once to the stable.
"do not worry yourself," answered his own horse.
"ask the king to give you a hundred oxen, and to let them be killed and cut into small pieces.
then we will start on our journey, and ride till we reach a certain river.
there a horse will come up to you, but take no notice of him.
soon another will appear, and this also you must leave alone, but when the third horse shows itself, throw my bridle over it."
everything happened just as the horse had said, and the third horse was safely bridled.
then the other horse spoke again: "the magician's raven will try to eat us as we ride away, but throw it some of the oxen's flesh, and then i will gallop like the wind, and carry you safe out of the dragon's clutches."
so the young man did as he was told, and brought the horse back to the king.
the old stableman was very jealous, when he heard of it, and wondered what he could do to injure the youth in the eyes of his royal master.
at last he hit upon a plan, and told the king that the young man had boasted that he could bring home the king's wife, who had vanished many months before, without leaving a trace behind her.
then the king bade the young man come into his presence, and desired him to fetch the queen home again, as he had boasted he could do.
and if he failed, his head would pay the penalty.
the poor youth's heart stood still as he listened.
find the queen?
but how was he to do that, when nobody in the palace had been able to do so!
slowly he walked to the stable, and laying his head on his horse's shoulder, he said: "the king has ordered me to bring his wife home again, and how can i do that when she disappeared so long ago, and no one can tell me anything about her?"
"cheer up!"
answered the horse, "we will manage to find her.
you have only got to ride me back to the same river that we went to yesterday, and i will plunge into it and take my proper shape again.
for i am the king's wife, who was turned into a horse by the magician from whom you saved me."
joyfully the young man sprang into the saddle and rode away to the banks of the river.
then he threw himself off, and waited while the horse plunged in.
the moment it dipped its head into the water its black skin vanished, and the most beautiful woman in the world was floating on the water.
she came smiling towards the youth, and held out her hand, and he took it and led her back to the palace.
great was the king's surprise and happiness when he beheld his lost wife stand before him, and in gratitude to her rescuer he loaded him with gifts.
you would have thought that after this the poor youth would have been left in peace; but no, his enemy the stableman hated him as much as ever, and laid a new plot for his undoing.
this time he presented himself before the king and told him that the youth was so puffed up with what he had done that he had declared he would seize the king's throne for himself.
at this news the king waxed so furious that he ordered a gallows to be erected at once, and the young man to be hanged without a trial.
he was not even allowed to speak in his own defence, but on the very steps of the gallows he sent a message to the king and begged, as a last favour, that he might play a tune on his zither.
leave was given him, and taking the instrument from under his cloak he touched the strings.
scarcely had the first notes sounded than the hangman and his helper began to dance, and the louder grew the music the higher they capered, till at last they cried for mercy.
but the youth paid no heed, and the tunes rang out more merrily than before, and by the time the sun set they both sank on the ground exhausted, and declared that the hanging must be put off till to-morrow.
the story of the zither soon spread through the town, and on the following morning the king and his whole court and a large crowd of people were gathered at the foot of the gallows to see the youth hanged.
once more he asked a favour -- permission to play on his fiddle, and this the king was graciously pleased to grant.
but with the first notes, the leg of every man in the crowd was lifted high, and they danced to the sound of the music the whole day till darkness fell, and there was no light to hang the musician by.
the third day came, and the youth asked leave to play on his flute.
"no, no," said the king, "you made me dance all day yesterday, and if i do it again it will certainly be my death.
you shall play no more tunes.
quick!
the rope round his neck."
at these words the young man looked so sorrowful that the courtiers said to the king: "he is very young to die.
let him play a tune if it will make him happy."
so, very unwillingly, the king gave him leave; but first he had himself bound to a big fir tree, for fear that he should be made to dance.
when he was made fast, the young man began to blow softly on his flute, and bound though he was, the king's body moved to the sound, up and down the fir tree till his clothes were in tatters, and the skin nearly rubbed off his back.
but the youth had no pity, and went on blowing, till suddenly the old magician appeared and asked: "what danger are you in, my son, that you have sent for me?"
"they want to hang me," answered the young man; "the gallows are all ready and the hangman is only waiting for me to stop playing."
"oh, i will put that right," said the magician; and taking the gallows, he tore it up and flung it into the air, and no one knows where it came down.
"who has ordered you to be hanged?"
asked he.
the young man pointed to the king, who was still bound to the fir; and without wasting words the magician took hold of the tree also, and with a mighty heave both fir and man went spinning through the air, and vanished in the clouds after the gallows.
then the youth was declared to be free, and the people elected him for their king; and the stable helper drowned himself from envy, for, after all, if it had not been for him the young man would have remained poor all the days of his life.
-lsb- from finnische mahrchen. -rsb-
the strong prince once upon a time there lived a king who was so fond of wine that he could not go to sleep unless he knew he had a great flaskful tied to his bed-post.
all day long he drank till he was too stupid to attend to his business, and everything in the kingdom went to rack and ruin.
but one day an accident happened to him, and he was struck on the head by a falling bough, so that he fell from his horse and lay dead upon the ground.
his wife and son mourned his loss bitterly, for, in spite of his faults, he had always been kind to them.
so they abandoned the crown and forsook their country, not knowing or caring where they went.
at length they wandered into a forest, and being very tired, sat down under a tree to eat some bread that they had brought with them.
when they had finished the queen said: "my son, i am thirsty; fetch me some water."
the prince got up at once and went to a brook which he heard gurgling near at hand.
he stooped and filled his hat with the water, which he brought to his mother; then he turned and followed the stream up to its source in a rock, where it bubbled out clear and fresh and cold.
he knelt down to take a draught from the deep pool below the rock, when he saw the reflection of a sword hanging from the branch of a tree over his head.
the young man drew back with a start; but in a moment he climbed the tree, cutting the rope which held the sword, and carried the weapon to his mother.
the queen was greatly surprised at the sight of anything so splendid in such a lonely place, and took it in her hands to examine it closely.
it was of curious workmanship, wrought with gold, and on its handle was written: "the man who can buckle on this sword will become stronger than other men."
the queen's heart swelled with joy as she read these words, and she bade her son lose no time in testing their truth.
so he fastened it round his waist, and instantly a glow of strength seemed to run through his veins.
he took hold of a thick oak tree and rooted it up as easily as if it had been a weed.
this discovery put new life into the queen and her son, and they continued their walk through the forest.
but night was drawing on, and the darkness grew so thick that it seemed as if it could be cut with a knife.
they did not want to sleep in the wood, for they were afraid of wolves and other wild beasts, so they groped their way along, hand in hand, till the prince tripped over something which lay across the path.
he could not see what it was, but stooped down and tried to lift it.
the thing was very heavy, and he thought his back would break under the strain.
at last with a great heave he moved it out of the road, and as it fell he knew it was a huge rock.
behind the rock was a cave which it was quite clear was the home of some robbers, though not one of the band was there.
hastily putting out the fire which burned brightly at the back, and bidding his mother come in and keep very still, the prince began to pace up and down, listening for the return of the robbers.
but he was very sleepy, and in spite of all his efforts he felt he could not keep awake much longer, when he heard the sound of the robbers returning, shouting and singing as they marched along.
soon the singing ceased, and straining his ears he heard them discussing anxiously what had become of their cave, and why they could not see the fire as usual.
"this must be the place," said a voice, which the prince took to be that of the captain.
"yes, i feel the ditch before the entrance.
someone forgot to pile up the fire before we left and it has burnt itself out!
but it is all right.
let every man jump across, and as he does so cry out "hop!
i am here."
i will go last.
now begin."
the man who stood nearest jumped across, but he had no time to give the call which the captain had ordered, for with one swift, silent stroke of the prince's sword, his head rolled into a corner.
then the young man cried instead, "hop!
i am here."
the second man, hearing the signal, leapt the ditch in confidence, and was met by the same fate, and in a few minutes eleven of the robbers lay dead, and there remained only the captain.
now the captain had wound round his neck the shawl of his lost wife, and the stroke of the prince's sword fell harmless.
being very cunning, however, he made no resistance, and rolled over as if he were as dead as the other men.
still, the prince was no fool, and wondered if indeed he was as dead as he seemed to be; but the captain lay so stiff and stark, that at last he was taken in.
the prince next dragged the headless bodies into a chamber in the cave, and locked the door.
then he and his mother ransacked the place for some food, and when they had eaten it they lay down and slept in peace.
with the dawn they were both awake again, and found that, instead of the cave which they had come to the night before, they now were in a splendid castle, full of beautiful rooms.
the prince went round all these and carefully locked them up, bidding his mother take care of the keys while he was hunting.
unfortunately, the queen, like all women, could not bear to think that there was anything which she did not know.
so the moment that her son had turned his back, she opened the doors of all the rooms, and peeped in, till she came to the one where the robbers lay.
but if the sight of the blood on the ground turned her faint, the sight of the robber captain walking up and down was a greater shock still.
she quickly turned the key in the lock, and ran back to the chamber she had slept in.
soon after her son came in, bringing with him a large bear, which he had killed for supper.
as there was enough food to last them for many days, the prince did not hunt the next morning, but, instead, began to explore the castle.
he found that a secret way led from it into the forest; and following the path, he reached another castle larger and more splendid than the one belonging to the robbers.
he knocked at the door with his fist, and said that he wanted to enter; but the giant, to whom the castle belonged, only answered: "i know who you are.
i have nothing to do with robbers.'"
i am no robber," answered the prince."
i am the son of a king, and i have killed all the band.
if you do not open to me at once i will break in the door, and your head shall go to join the others."
he waited a little, but the door remained shut as tightly as before.
then he just put his shoulder to it, and immediately the wood began to crack.
when the giant found that it was no use keeping it shut, he opened it, saying: "i see you are a brave youth.
let there be peace between us."
and the prince was glad to make peace, for he had caught a glimpse of the giant's beautiful daughter, and from that day he often sought the giant's house.
now the queen led a dull life all alone in the castle, and to amuse herself she paid visits to the robber captain, who flattered her till at last she agreed to marry him.
but as she was much afraid of her son, she told the robber that the next time the prince went to bathe in the river, he was to steal the sword from its place above the bed, for without it the young man would have no power to punish him for his boldness.
the robber captain thought this good counsel, and the next morning, when the young man went to bathe, he unhooked the sword from its nail and buckled it round his waist.
on his return to the castle, the prince found the robber waiting for him on the steps, waving the sword above his head, and knowing that some horrible fate was in store, fell on his knees and begged for mercy.
but he might as well have tried to squeeze blood out of a stone.
the robber, indeed, granted him his life, but took out both his eyes, which he thrust into the prince's hand, saying brutally: "here, you had better keep them!
you may find them useful!"
weeping, the blind youth felt his way to the giant's house, and told him all the story.
the giant was full of pity for the poor young man, but inquired anxiously what he had done with the eyes.
the prince drew them out of his pocket, and silently handed them to the giant, who washed them well, and then put them back in the prince's head.
for three days he lay in utter darkness; then the light began to come back, till soon he saw as well as ever.
but though he could not rejoice enough over the recovery of his eyes, he bewailed bitterly the loss of his sword, and that it should have fallen to the lot of his bitter enemy.
"never mind, my friend," said the giant," i will get it back for you."
and he sent for the monkey who was his head servant.
"tell the fox and the squirrel that they are to go with you, and fetch me back the prince's sword," ordered he.
the three servants set out at once, one seated on the back of the others, the ape, who disliked walking, being generally on top.
directly they came to the window of the robber captain's room, the monkey sprang from the backs of the fox and the squirrel, and climbed in.
the room was empty, and the sword hanging from a nail.
he took it down, and buckling it round his waist, as he had seen the prince do, swung himself down again, and mounting on the backs of his two companions, hastened to his master.
the giant bade him give the sword to the prince, who girded himself with it, and returned with all speed to the castle.
"come out, you rascal!
come out, you villain!"
cried he, "and answer to me for the wrong you have done.
i will show you who is the master in this house!"
the noise he made brought the robber into the room.
he glanced up to where the sword usually hung, but it was gone; and instinctively he looked at the prince's hand, where he saw it gleaming brightly.
in his turn he fell on his knees to beg for mercy, but it was too late.
as he had done to the prince, so the prince did to him, and, blinded, he was thrust forth, and fell down a deep hole, where he is to this day.
his mother the prince sent back to her father, and never would see her again.
after this he returned to the giant, and said to him: "my friend, add one more kindness to those you have already heaped on me.
give me your daughter as my wife."
so they were married, and the wedding feast was so splendid that there was not a kingdom in the world that did not hear of it.
and the prince never went back to his father's throne, but lived peacefully with his wife in the forest, where, if they are not dead, they are living still.
-lsb- from ungarische volksmarchen. -rsb-
the treasure seeker once, long ago, in a little town that lay in the midst of high hills and wild forests, a party of shepherds sat one night in the kitchen of the inn talking over old times, and telling of the strange things that had befallen them in their youth.
presently up spoke the silver-haired father martin.
"comrades," said he, "you have had wonderful adventures; but i will tell you something still more astonishing that happened to myself.
when i was a young lad i had no home and no one to care for me, and i wandered from village to village all over the country with my knapsack on my back; but as soon as i was old enough i took service with a shepherd in the mountains, and helped him for three years.
one autumn evening as we drove the flock homeward ten sheep were missing, and the master bade me go and seek them in the forest.
i took my dog with me, but he could find no trace of them, though we searched among the bushes till night fell; and then, as i did not know the country and could not find my way home in the dark, i decided to sleep under a tree.
at midnight my dog became uneasy, and began to whine and creep close to me with his tail between his legs; by this i knew that something was wrong, and, looking about, i saw in the bright moonlight a figure standing beside me.
it seemed to be a man with shaggy hair, and a long beard which hung down to his knees.
he had a garland upon his head, and a girdle of oak-leaves about his body, and carried an uprooted fir-tree in his right hand.
i shook like an aspen leaf at the sight, and my spirit quaked for fear.
the strange being beckoned with his hand that i should follow him; but as i did not stir from the spot he spoke in a hoarse, grating voice: "take courage, fainthearted shepherd.
i am the treasure seeker of the mountain.
if you will come with me you shall dig up much gold."
"though i was still deadly cold with terror i plucked up my courage and said: "get away from me, evil spirit; i do not desire your treasures."
"at this the spectre grinned in my face and cried mockingly: """simpleton!
do you scorn your good fortune?
well, then, remain a ragamuffin all your days."
"he turned as if to go away from me, then came back again and said: "bethink yourself, bethink yourself, rogue.
i will fill your knapsack -- i will fill your pouch.""
""away from me, monster," i answered, "i will have nothing to do with you."
"when the apparition saw that i gave no heed to him he ceased to urge me, saying only: "some day you will rue this," and looked at me sadly.
then he cried: "listen to what i say, and lay it well to heart, it may be of use to you when you come to your senses.
a vast treasure of gold and precious stones lies in safety deep under the earth.
at twilight and at high noon it is hidden, but at midnight it may be dug up.
for seven hundred years have i watched over it, but now my time has come; it is common property, let him find it who can.
so i thought to give it into your hand, having a kindness for you because you feed your flock upon my mountain."
"thereupon the spectre told me exactly where the treasure lay, and how to find it.
it might be only yesterday so well do i remember every word he spoke."
""go towards the little mountains," said he, "and ask there for the black king's valley, and when you come to a tiny brook follow the stream till you reach the stone bridge beside the saw-mill.
do not cross the bridge, but keep to your right along the bank till a high rock stands before you.
a bow-shot from that you will discover a little hollow like a grave.
when you find this hollow dig it out; but it will be hard work, for the earth has been pressed down into it with care.
still, work away till you find solid rock on all sides of you, and soon you will come to a square slab of stone; force it out of the wall, and you will stand at the entrance of the treasure house.
into this opening you must crawl, holding a lamp in your mouth.
keep your hands free lest you knock your nose against a stone, for the way is steep and the stones sharp.
if it bruises your knees never mind; you are on the road to fortune.
do not rest till you reach a wide stairway, down which you will go till you come out into a spacious hall, in which there are three doors; two of them stand open, the third is fastened with locks and bolts of iron.
do not go through the door to the right lest you disturb the bones of the lords of the treasure.
neither must you go through the door to the left, it leads to the snake's chamber, where adders and serpents lodge; but open the fast-closed door by means of the well-known spring-root, which you must on no account forget to take with you, or all your trouble will be for naught, for no crowbar or mortal tools will help you.
if you want to procure the root ask a wood-seller; it is a common thing for hunters to need, and it is not hard to find.
if the door bursts open suddenly with great crackings and groanings do not be afraid, the noise is caused by the power of the magic root, and you will not be hurt.
now trim your lamp that it may not fail you, for you will be nearly blinded by the flash and glitter of the gold and precious stones on the walls and pillars of the vault; but beware how you stretch out a hand towards the jewels!
in the midst of the cavern stands a copper chest, in that you will find gold and silver, enough and to spare, and you may help yourself to your heart's content.
if you take as much as you can carry you will have sufficient to last your lifetime, and you may return three times; but woe betide you if you venture to come a fourth time.
you would have your trouble for your pains, and would be punished for your greediness by falling down the stone steps and breaking your leg.
do not neglect each time to heap back the loose earth which concealed the entrance of the king's treasure chamber."
"as the apparition left off speaking my dog pricked up his ears and began to bark.
i heard the crack of a carter's whip and the noise of wheels in the distance, and when i looked again the spectre had disappeared."
so ended the shepherd's tale; and the landlord who was listening with the rest, said shrewdly: "tell us now, father martin, did you go to the mountain and find what the spirit promised you; or is it a fable?"
"nay, nay," answered the graybeard."
i can not tell if the spectre lied, for never a step did i go towards finding the hollow, for two reasons: -- one was that my neck was too precious for me to risk it in such a snare as that; the other, that no one could ever tell me where the spring-root was to be found."
then blaize, another aged shepherd, lifted up his voice.
""tis a pity, father martin, that your secret has grown old with you.
if you had told it forty years ago truly you would not long have been lacking the spring-root.
even though you will never climb the mountain now, i will tell you, for a joke, how it is to be found.
the easiest way to get it is by the help of a black woodpecker.
look, in the spring, where she builds her nest in a hole in a tree, and when the time comes for her brood to fly off block up the entrance to the nest with a hard sod, and lurk in ambush behind the tree till the bird returns to feed her nestlings.
when she perceives that she can not get into her nest she will fly round the tree uttering cries of distress, and then dart off towards the sun-setting.
when you see her do this, take a scarlet cloak, or if that be lacking to you, buy a few yards of scarlet cloth, and hurry back to the tree before the woodpecker returns with the spring-root in her beak.
so soon as she touches with the root the sod that blocks the nest, it will fly violently out of the hole.
then spread the red cloth quickly under the tree, so that the woodpecker may think it is a fire, and in her terror drop the root.
some people really light a fire and strew spikenard blossoms in it; but that is a clumsy method, for if the flames do not shoot up at the right moment away will fly the woodpecker, carrying the root with her."
the party had listened with interest to this speech, but by the time it was ended the hour was late, and they went their ways homeward, leaving only one man who had sat unheeded in a corner the whole evening through.
master peter bloch had once been a prosperous innkeeper, and a master-cook; but he had gone steadily down in the world for some time, and was now quite poor.
formerly he had been a merry fellow, fond of a joke, and in the art of cooking had no equal in the town.
he could make fish-jelly, and quince fritters, and even wafer-cakes; and he gilded the ears of all his boars" heads.
peter had looked about him for a wife early in life, but unluckily his choice fell upon a woman whose evil tongue was well known in the town.
ilse was hated by everybody, and the young folks would go miles out of their way rather than meet her, for she had some ill-word for everyone.
therefore, when master peter came along, and let himself be taken in by her boasted skill as a housewife, she jumped at his offer, and they were married the next day.
but they had not got home before they began to quarrel.
in the joy of his heart peter had tasted freely of his own good wine, and as the bride hung upon his arm he stumbled and fell, dragging her down with him; whereupon she beat him soundly, and the neighbours said truly that things did not promise well for master peter's comfort.
even when the ill-matched couple were presently blessed with children, his happiness was but short lived, the savage temper of his quarrelsome wife seemed to blight them from the first, and they died like little kids in a cold winter.
though master peter had no great wealth to leave behind him, still it was sad to him to be childless; and he would bemoan himself to his friends, when he laid one baby after another in the grave, saying: "the lightning has been among the cherry-blossoms again, so there will be no fruit to grow ripe."
but, by-and-by, he had a little daughter so strong and healthy that neither her mother's temper nor her father's spoiling could keep her from growing up tall and beautiful.
meanwhile the fortunes of the family had changed.
from his youth up, master peter had hated trouble; when he had money he spent it freely, and fed all the hungry folk who asked him for bread.
if his pockets were empty he borrowed of his neighbours, but he always took good care to prevent his scolding wife from finding out that he had done so.
his motto was: "it will all come right in the end"; but what it did come to was ruin for master peter.
he was at his wits" end to know how to earn an honest living, for try as he might ill-luck seemed to pursue him, and he lost one post after another, till at last all he could do was to carry sacks of corn to the mill for his wife, who scolded him well if he was slow about it, and grudged him his portion of food.
this grieved the tender heart of his pretty daughter, who loved him dearly, and was the comfort of his life.
peter was thinking of her as he sat in the inn kitchen and heard the shepherds talking about the buried treasure, and for her sake he resolved to go and seek for it.
before he rose from the landlord's arm-chair his plan was made, and master peter went home more joyful and full of hope than he had been for many a long day; but on the way he suddenly remembered that he was not yet possessed of the magic spring-root, and he stole into the house with a heavy heart, and threw himself down upon his hard straw bed.
he could neither sleep nor rest; but as soon as it was light he got up and wrote down exactly all that was to be done to find the treasure, that he might not forget anything, and when it lay clear and plain before his eyes he comforted himself with the thought that, though he must do the rough work for his wife during one more winter at least, he would not have to tread the path to the mill for the rest of his life.
soon he heard his wife's harsh voice singing its morning song as she went about her household affairs, scolding her daughter the while.
she burst open his door while he was still dressing: "well, toper!"
was her greeting, "have you been drinking all night, wasting money that you steal from my housekeeping?
for shame, drunkard!"
master peter, who was well used to this sort of talk, did not disturb himself, but waited till the storm blew over, then he said calmly: "do not be annoyed, dear wife.
i have a good piece of business in hand which may turn out well for us."
"you with a good business?"
cried she, "you are good for nothing but talk!'"
i am making my will," said he, "that when my hour comes my house may be in order."
these unexpected words cut his daughter to the heart; she remembered that all night long she had dreamed of a newly dug grave, and at this thought she broke out into loud lamentations.
but her mother only cried: "wretch!
have you not wasted goods and possessions, and now do you talk of making a will?"
and she seized him like a fury, and tried to scratch out his eyes.
but by-and-by the quarrel was patched up, and everything went on as before.
from that day peter saved up every penny that his daughter lucia gave him on the sly, and bribed the boys of his acquaintance to spy out a black woodpecker's nest for him.
he sent them into the woods and fields, but instead of looking for a nest they only played pranks on him.
they led him miles over hill and vale, stock and stone, to find a raven's brood, or a nest of squirrels in a hollow tree, and when he was angry with them they laughed in his face and ran away.
this went on for some time, but at last one of the boys spied out a woodpecker in the meadow-lands among the wood-pigeons, and when he had found her nest in a half-dead alder tree, came running to peter with the news of his discovery.
peter could hardly believe his good fortune, and went quickly to see for himself if it was really true; and when he reached the tree there certainly was a bird flying in and out as if she had a nest in it.
peter was overjoyed at this fortunate discovery, and instantly set himself to obtain a red cloak.
now in the whole town there was only one red cloak, and that belonged to a man of whom nobody ever willingly asked a favour -- master hammerling the hangman.
it cost master peter many struggles before he could bring himself to visit such a person, but there was no help for it, and, little as he liked it, he ended by making his request to the hangman, who was flattered that so respectable a man as peter should borrow his robe of office, and willingly lent it to him.
peter now had all that was necessary to secure the magic root; he stopped up the entrance to the nest, and everything fell out exactly as blaize had foretold.
as soon as the woodpecker came back with the root in her beak out rushed master peter from behind the tree and displayed the fiery red cloak so adroitly that the terrified bird dropped the root just where it could be easily seen.
all peter's plans had succeeded, and he actually held in his hand the magic root -- that master-key which would unlock all doors, and bring its possessor unheard-of luck.
his thoughts now turned to the mountain, and he secretly made preparations for his journey.
he took with him only a staff, a strong sack, and a little box which his daughter lucia had given him.
it happened that on the very day peter had chosen for setting out, lucia and her mother went off early to the town, leaving him to guard the house; but in spite of that he was on the point of taking his departure when it occurred to him that it might be as well first to test the much-vaunted powers of the magic root for himself.
dame ilse had a strong cupboard with seven locks built into the wall of her room, in which she kept all the money she had saved, and she wore the key of it always hung about her neck.
master peter had no control at all of the money affairs of the household, so the contents of this secret hoard were quite unknown to him, and this seemed to be a good opportunity for finding out what they were.
he held the magic root to the keyhole, and to his astonishment heard all the seven locks creaking and turning, the door flew suddenly wide open, and his greedy wife's store of gold pieces lay before his eyes.
he stood still in sheer amazement, not knowing which to rejoice over most -- this unexpected find, or the proof of the magic root's real power; but at last he remembered that it was quite time to be starting on his journey.
so, filling his pockets with the gold, he carefully locked the empty cupboard again and left the house without further delay.
when dame ilse and her daughter returned they wondered to find the house door shut, and master peter nowhere to be seen.
they knocked and called, but nothing stirred within but the house cat, and at last the blacksmith had to be fetched to open the door.
then the house was searched from garret to cellar, but no master peter was to be found.
"who knows?"
cried dame ilse at last, "the wretch may have been idling in some tavern since early morning."
then a sudden thought startled her, and she felt for her keys.
suppose they had fallen into her good-for-nothing husband's hands and he had helped himself to her treasure!
but no, the keys were safe in their usual place, and the cupboard looked quite untouched.
mid-day came, then evening, then midnight, and still no master peter appeared, and the matter became really serious.
dame ilse knew right well what a torment she had been to her husband, and remorse caused her the gloomiest forebodings.
"ah!
lucia," she cried," i greatly fear that your father has done himself a mischief."
and they sat till morning weeping over their own fancies.
as soon as it was light they searched every corner of the house again, and examined every nail in the wall and every beam; but, luckily, master peter was not hanging from any of them.
after that the neighbours went out with long poles to fish in every ditch and pond, but they found nothing, and then dame ilse gave up the idea of ever seeing her husband again and very soon consoled herself, only wondering how the sacks of corn were to be carried to the mill in future.
she decided to buy a strong ass to do the work, and having chosen one, and after some bargaining with the owner as to its price, she went to the cupboard in the wall to fetch the money.
but what were her feelings when she perceived that every shelf lay empty and bare before her!
for a moment she stood bewildered, then broke into such frightful ravings that lucia ran to her in alarm; but as soon as she heard of the disappearance of the money she was heartily glad, and no longer feared that her father had come to any harm, but understood that he must have gone out into the world to seek his fortune in some new way.
about a month after this, someone knocked at dame ilse's door one day, and she went to see if it was a customer for meal; but in stepped a handsome young man, dressed like a duke's son, who greeted her respectfully, and asked after her pretty daughter as if he were an old friend, though she could not remember having ever set eyes upon him before.
however, she invited him to step into the house and be seated while he unfolded his business.
with a great air of mystery he begged permission to speak to the fair lucia, of whose skill in needlework he had heard so much, as he had a commission to give her.
dame ilse had her own opinion as to what kind of commission it was likely to be -- brought by a young stranger to a pretty maiden; however, as the meeting would be under her own eye, she made no objection, but called to her industrious daughter, who left off working and came obediently; but when she saw the stranger she stopped short, blushing, and casting down her eyes.
he looked at her fondly, and took her hand, which she tried to draw away, crying: "ah!
friedlin, why are you here?
i thought you were a hundred miles away.
are you come to grieve me again?"
"no, dearest girl," answered he;" i am come to complete your happiness and my own.
since we last met my fortune has utterly changed; i am no longer the poor vagabond that i was then.
my rich uncle has died, leaving me money and goods in plenty, so that i dare to present myself to your mother as a suitor for your hand.
that i love you i know well; if you can love me i am indeed a happy man."
lucia's pretty blue eyes had looked up shyly as he spoke, and now a smile parted her rosy lips; and she stole a glance at her mother to see what she thought about it all; but the dame stood lost in amazement to find that her daughter, whom she could have declared had never been out of her sight, was already well acquainted with the handsome stranger, and quite willing to be his bride.
before she had done staring, this hasty wooer had smoothed his way by covering the shining table with gold pieces as a wedding gift to the bride's mother, and had filled lucia's apron into the bargain; after which the dame made no difficulties, and the matter was speedily settled.
while ilse gathered up the gold and hid it away safely, the lovers whispered together, and what friedlin told her seemed to make lucia every moment more happy and contented.
now a great hurry-burly began in the house, and preparations for the wedding went on apace.
a few days later a heavily laden waggon drove up, and out of it came so many boxes and bales that dame ilse was lost in wonder at the wealth of her future son-in-law.
the day for the wedding was chosen, and all their friends and neighbours were bidden to the feast.
as lucia was trying on her bridal wreath she said to her mother: "this wedding-garland would please me indeed if father peter could lead me to the church.
if only he could come back again!
here we are rolling in riches while he may be nibbling at hunger's table."
and the very idea of such a thing made her weep, while even dame ilse said: "i should not be sorry myself to see him come back -- there is always something lacking in a house when the good man is away."
but the fact was that she was growing quite tired of having no one to scold.
and what do you think happened?
on the very eve of the wedding a man pushing a wheelbarrow arrived at the city gate, and paid toll upon a barrel of nails which it contained, and then made the best of his way to the bride's dwelling and knocked at the door.
the bride herself peeped out of the window to see who it could be, and there stood father peter!
then there was great rejoicing in the house; lucia ran to embrace him, and even dame ilse held out her hand in welcome, and only said: "rogue, mend your ways," when she remembered the empty treasure cupboard.
father peter greeted the bridegroom, looking at him shrewdly, while the mother and daughter hastened to say all they knew in his favour, and appeared to be satisfied with him as a son-in-law.
when dame ilse had set something to eat before her husband, she was curious to hear his adventures, and questioned him eagerly as to why he had gone away.
"god bless my native place," said he."
i have been marching through the country, and have tried every kind of work, but now i have found a job in the iron trade; only, so far, i have put more into it than i have earned by it.
this barrel of nails is my whole fortune, which i wish to give as my contribution towards the bride's house furnishing."
this speech roused dame ilse to anger, and she broke out into such shrill reproaches that the bystanders were fairly deafened, and friedlin hastily offered master peter a home with lucia and himself, promising that he should live in comfort, and be always welcome.
so lucia had her heart's desire, and father peter led her to the church next day, and the marriage took place very happily.
soon afterwards the young people settled in a fine house which friedlin had bought, and had a garden and meadows, a fishpond, and a hill covered with vines, and were as happy as the day was long.
father peter also stayed quietly with them, living, as everybody believed, upon the generosity of his rich son-in law.
no one suspected that his barrel of nails was the real "horn of plenty," from which all this prosperity overflowed.
peter had made the journey to the treasure mountain successfully, without being found out by anybody.
he had enjoyed himself by the way, and taken his own time, until he actually reached the little brook in the valley which it had cost him some trouble to find.
then he pressed on eagerly, and soon came to the little hollow in the wood; down he went, burrowing like a mole into the earth; the magic root did its work, and at last the treasure lay before his eyes.
you may imagine how gaily peter filled his sack with as much gold as he could carry, and how he staggered up the seventy-seven steps with a heart full of hope and delight.
he did not quite trust the gnome's promises of safety, and was in such haste to find himself once more in the light of day that he looked neither to the right nor the left, and could not afterwards remember whether the walls and pillars had sparkled with jewels or not.
however, all went well -- he neither saw nor heard anything alarming; the only thing that happened was that the great iron-barred door shut with a crash as soon as he was fairly outside it, and then he remembered that he had left the magic root behind him, so he could not go back for another load of treasure.
but even that did not trouble peter much; he was quite satisfied with what he had already.
after he had faithfully done everything according to father martin's instructions, and pressed the earth well back into the hollow, he sat down to consider how he could bring his treasure back to his native place, and enjoy it there, without being forced to share it with his scolding wife, who would give him no peace if she once found out about it.
at last, after much thinking, he hit upon a plan.
he carried his sack to the nearest village, and there bought a wheelbarrow, a strong barrel, and a quantity of nails.
then he packed his gold into the barrel, covered it well with a layer of nails, hoisted it on to the wheelbarrow with some difficulty, and set off with it upon his homeward way.
at one place upon the road he met a handsome young man who seemed by his downcast air to be in some great trouble.
father peter, who wished everybody to be as happy as he was himself, greeted him cheerfully, and asked where he was going, to which he answered sadly: "into the wide world, good father, or out of it, where ever my feet may chance to carry me."
"why out of it?"
said peter.
"what has the world been doing to you?"
"it has done nothing to me, nor i to it," he replied.
"nevertheless there is not anything left in it for me."
father peter did his best to cheer the young man up, and invited him to sup with him at the first inn they came to, thinking that perhaps hunger and poverty were causing the stranger's trouble.
but when good food was set before him he seemed to forget to eat.
so peter perceived that what ailed his guest was sorrow of heart, and asked him kindly to tell him his story.
"where is the good, father?"
said he.
"you can give me neither help nor comfort."
"who knows?"
answered master peter."
i might be able to do something for you.
often enough in life help comes to us from the most unexpected quarter."
the young man, thus encouraged, began his tale."
i am," said he," a crossbow-man in the service of a noble count, in whose castle i was brought up.
not long ago my master went on a journey, and brought back with him, amongst other treasures, the portrait of a fair maiden so sweet and lovely that i lost my heart at first sight of it, and could think of nothing but how i might seek her out and marry her.
the count had told me her name, and where she lived, but laughed at my love, and absolutely refused to give me leave to go in search of her, so i was forced to run away from the castle by night.
i soon reached the little town where the maiden dwelt; but there fresh difficulties awaited me.
she lived under the care of her mother, who was so severe that she was never allowed to look out of the window, or set her foot outside the door alone, and how to make friends with her i did not know.
but at last i dressed myself as an old woman, and knocked boldly at her door.
the lovely maiden herself opened it, and so charmed me that i came near forgetting my disguise; but i soon recovered my wits, and begged her to work a fine table-cloth for me, for she is reported to be the best needlewoman in all the country round.
now i was free to go and see her often under the presence of seeing how the work was going oil, and one day, when her mother had gone to the town, i ventured to throw off my disguise, and tell her of my love.
she was startled at first; but i persuaded her to listen to me, and i soon saw that i was not displeasing to her, though she scolded me gently for my disobedience to my master, and my deceit in disguising myself.
but when i begged her to marry me, she told me sadly that her mother would scorn a penniless wooer, and implored me to go away at once, lest trouble should fall upon her.
"bitter as it was to me, i was forced to go when she bade me, and i have wandered about ever since, with grief gnawing at my heart; for how can a masterless man, without money or goods, ever hope to win the lovely lucia?"
master peter, who had been listening attentively, pricked up his ears at the sound of his daughter's name, and very soon found out that it was indeed with her that this young man was so deeply in love.
"your story is strange indeed," said he.
"but where is the father of this maiden -- why do you not ask him for her hand?
he might well take your part, and be glad to have you for his son-in-law."
"alas!"
said the young man, "her father is a wandering good-for-naught, who has forsaken wife and child, and gone off -- who knows where?
the wife complains of him bitterly enough, and scolds my dear maiden when she takes her father's part."
father peter was somewhat amused by this speech; but he liked the young man well, and saw that he was the very person he needed to enable him to enjoy his wealth in peace, without being separated from his dear daughter.
"if you will take my advice," said he," i promise you that you shall marry this maiden whom you love so much, and that before you are many days older."
"comrade," cried friedlin indignantly, for he thought peter did but jest with him, "it is ill done to mock at an unhappy man; you had better find someone else who will let himself be taken in with your fine promises."
and up he sprang, and was going off hastily, when master peter caught him by the arm.
"stay, hothead!"
he cried; "it is no jest, and i am prepared to make good my words."
thereupon he showed him the treasure hidden under the nails, and unfolded to him his plan, which was that friedlin should play the part of the rich son-in-law, and keep a still tongue, that they might enjoy their wealth together in peace.
the young man was overjoyed at this sudden change in his fortunes, and did not know how to thank father peter for his generosity.
they took the road again at dawn the next morning, and soon reached a town, where friedlin equipped himself as a gallant wooer should.
father peter filled his pockets with gold for the wedding dowry, and agreed with him that when all was settled he should secretly send him word that peter might send off the waggon load of house plenishings with which the rich bridegroom was to make such a stir in the little town where the bride lived.
as they parted, father peter's last commands to friedlin were to guard well their secret, and not even to tell it to lucia till she was his wife.
master peter long enjoyed the profits of his journey to the mountain, and no rumour of it ever got abroad.
in his old age his prosperity was so great that he himself did not know how rich he was; but it was always supposed that the money was friedlin's.
he and his beloved wife lived in the greatest happiness and peace, and rose to great honour in the town.
and to this day, when the citizens wish to describe a wealthy man, they say: "as rich as peter bloch's son-in-law!"
the cottager and his cat once upon a time there lived an old man and his wife in a dirty, tumble-down cottage, not very far from the splendid palace where the king and queen dwelt.
in spite of the wretched state of the hut, which many people declared was too bad even for a pig to live in, the old man was very rich, for he was a great miser, and lucky besides, and would often go without food all day sooner than change one of his beloved gold pieces.
but after a while he found that he had starved himself once too often.
he fell ill, and had no strength to get well again, and in a few days he died, leaving his wife and one son behind him.
the night following his death, the son dreamed that an unknown man appeared to him and said: "listen to me; your father is dead and your mother will soon die, and all their riches will belong to you.
half of his wealth is ill-gotten, and this you must give back to the poor from whom he squeezed it.
the other half you must throw into the sea.
watch, however, as the money sinks into the water, and if anything should swim, catch it and keep it, even if it is nothing more than a bit of paper."
then the man vanished, and the youth awoke.
the remembrance of his dream troubled him greatly.
he did not want to part with the riches that his father had left him, for he had known all his life what it was to be cold and hungry, and now he had hoped for a little comfort and pleasure.
still, he was honest and good-hearted, and if his father had come wrongfully by his wealth he felt he could never enjoy it, and at last he made up his mind to do as he had been bidden.
he found out who were the people who were poorest in the village, and spent half of his money in helping them, and the other half he put in his pocket.
from a rock that jutted right out into the sea he flung it in.
in a moment it was out of sight, and no man could have told the spot where it had sunk, except for a tiny scrap of paper floating on the water.
he stretched down carefully and managed to reach it, and on opening it found six shillings wrapped inside.
this was now all the money he had in the world.
the young man stood and looked at it thoughtfully.
"well, i ca n't do much with this," he said to himself; but, after all, six shillings were better than nothing, and he wrapped them up again and slipped them into his coat.
he worked in his garden for the next few weeks, and he and his mother contrived to live on the fruit and vegetables he got out of it, and then she too died suddenly.
the poor fellow felt very sad when he had laid her in her grave, and with a heavy heart he wandered into the forest, not knowing where he was going.
by-and-by he began to get hungry, and seeing a small hut in front of him, he knocked at the door and asked if they could give him some milk.
the old woman who opened it begged him to come in, adding kindly, that if he wanted a night's lodging he might have it without its costing him anything.
two women and three men were at supper when he entered, and silently made room for him to sit down by them.
when he had eaten he began to look about him, and was surprised to see an animal sitting by the fire different from anything he had ever noticed before.
it was grey in colour, and not very big; but its eyes were large and very bright, and it seemed to be singing in an odd way, quite unlike any animal in the forest.
"what is the name of that strange little creature?"
asked he.
and they answered, "we call it a cat.'"
i should like to buy it -- if it is not too dear," said the young man; "it would be company for me."
and they told him that he might have it for six shillings, if he cared to give so much.
the young man took out his precious bit of paper, handed them the six shillings, and the next morning bade them farewell, with the cat lying snugly in his cloak.
for the whole day they wandered through meadows and forests, till in the evening they reached a house.
the young fellow knocked at the door and asked the old man who opened it if he could rest there that night, adding that he had no money to pay for it.
"then i must give it to you," answered the man, and led him into a room where two women and two men were sitting at supper.
one of the women was the old man's wife, the other his daughter.
he placed the cat on the mantel shelf, and they all crowded round to examine this strange beast, and the cat rubbed itself against them, and held out its paw, and sang to them; and the women were delighted, and gave it everything that a cat could eat, and a great deal more besides.
after hearing the youth's story, and how he had nothing in the world left him except his cat, the old man advised him to go to the palace, which was only a few miles distant, and take counsel of the king, who was kind to everyone, and would certainly be his friend.
the young man thanked him, and said he would gladly take his advice; and early next morning he set out for the royal palace.
he sent a message to the king to beg for an audience, and received a reply that he was to go into the great hall, where he would find his majesty.
the king was at dinner with his court when the young man entered, and he signed to him to come near.
the youth bowed low, and then gazed in surprise at the crowd of little black creatures who were running about the floor, and even on the table itself.
indeed, they were so bold that they snatched pieces of food from the king's own plate, and if he drove them away, tried to bite his hands, so that he could not eat his food, and his courtiers fared no better.
"what sort of animals are these?"
asked the youth of one of the ladies sitting near him.
"they are called rats," answered the king, who had overheard the question, "and for years we have tried some way of putting an end to them, but it is impossible.
they come into our very beds."
at this moment something was seen flying through the air.
the cat was on the table, and with two or three shakes a number of rats were lying dead round him.
then a great scuffling of feet was heard, and in a few minutes the hall was clear.
for some minutes the king and his courtiers only looked at each other in astonishment.
"what kind of animal is that which can work magic of this sort?"
asked he.
and the young man told him that it was called a cat, and that he had bought it for six shillings.
and the king answered: "because of the luck you have brought me, in freeing my palace from the plague which has tormented me for many years, i will give you the choice of two things.
either you shall be my prime minister, or else you shall marry my daughter and reign after me.
say, which shall it be?"
"the princess and the kingdom," said the young man.
and so it was.
-lsb- from islandische marchen. -rsb-
the prince who would seek immortality once upon a time, in the very middle of the middle of a large kingdom, there was a town, and in the town a palace, and in the palace a king.
this king had one son whom his father thought was wiser and cleverer than any son ever was before, and indeed his father had spared no pains to make him so.
he had been very careful in choosing his tutors and governors when he was a boy, and when he became a youth he sent him to travel, so that he might see the ways of other people, and find that they were often as good as his own.
it was now a year since the prince had returned home, for his father felt that it was time that his son should learn how to rule the kingdom which would one day be his.
but during his long absence the prince seemed to have changed his character altogether.
from being a merry and light-hearted boy, he had grown into a gloomy and thoughtful man.
the king knew of nothing that could have produced such an alteration.
he vexed himself about it from morning till night, till at length an explanation occurred to him -- the young man was in love!
now the prince never talked about his feelings -- for the matter of that he scarcely talked at all; and the father knew that if he was to come to the bottom of the prince's dismal face, he would have to begin.
so one day, after dinner, he took his son by the arm and led him into another room, hung entirely with the pictures of beautiful maidens, each one more lovely than the other.
"my dear boy," he said, "you are very sad; perhaps after all your wanderings it is dull for you here all alone with me.
it would be much better if you would marry, and i have collected here the portraits of the most beautiful women in the world of a rank equal to your own.
choose which among them you would like for a wife, and i will send an embassy to her father to ask for her hand."
"alas!
your majesty," answered the prince, "it is not love or marriage that makes me so gloomy; but the thought, which haunts me day and night, that all men, even kings, must die.
never shall i be happy again till i have found a kingdom where death is unknown.
and i have determined to give myself no rest till i have discovered the land of immortality.
the old king heard him with dismay; things were worse than he thought.
he tried to reason with his son, and told him that during all these years he had been looking forward to his return, in order to resign his throne and its cares, which pressed so heavily upon him.
but it was in vain that he talked; the prince would listen to nothing, and the following morning buckled on his sword and set forth on his journey.
he had been travelling for many days, and had left his fatherland behind him, when close to the road he came upon a huge tree, and on its topmost bough an eagle was sitting shaking the branches with all his might.
this seemed so strange and so unlike an eagle, that the prince stood still with surprise, and the bird saw him and flew to the ground.
the moment its feet touched the ground he changed into a king.
"why do you look so astonished?"
he asked."
i was wondering why you shook the boughs so fiercely," answered the prince."
i am condemned to do this, for neither i nor any of my kindred can die till i have rooted up this great tree," replied the king of the eagles.
"but it is now evening, and i need work no more to-day.
come to my house with me, and be my guest for the night."
the prince accepted gratefully the eagle's invitation, for he was tired and hungry.
they were received at the palace by the king's beautiful daughter, who gave orders that dinner should be laid for them at once.
while they were eating, the eagle questioned his guest about his travels, and if he was wandering for pleasure's sake, or with any special aim.
then the prince told him everything, and how he could never turn back till he had discovered the land of immortality.
"dear brother," said the eagle, "you have discovered it already, and it rejoices my heart to think that you will stay with us.
have you not just heard me say that death has no power either over myself or any of my kindred till that great tree is rooted up?
it will take me six hundred years" hard work to do that; so marry my daughter and let us all live happily together here.
after all, six hundred years is an eternity!"
"ah, dear king," replied the young man, "your offer is very tempting!
but at the end of six hundred years we should have to die, so we should be no better off!
no, i must go on till i find the country where there is no death at all."
then the princess spoke, and tried to persuade the guest to change his mind, but he sorrowfully shook his head.
at length, seeing that his resolution was firmly fixed, she took from a cabinet a little box which contained her picture, and gave it to him saying: "as you will not stay with us, prince, accept this box, which will sometimes recall us to your memory.
if you are tired of travelling before you come to the land of immortality, open this box and look at my picture, and you will be borne along either on earth or in the air, quick as thought, or swift as the whirlwind."
the prince thanked her for her gift, which he placed in his tunic, and sorrowfully bade the eagle and his daughter farewell.
never was any present in the world as useful as that little box, and many times did he bless the kind thought of the princess.
one evening it had carried him to the top of a high mountain, where he saw a man with a bald head, busily engaged in digging up spadefuls of earth and throwing them in a basket.
when the basket was full he took it away and returned with an empty one, which he likewise filled.
the prince stood and watched him for a little, till the bald-headed man looked up and said to him: "dear brother, what surprises you so much?'"
i was wondering why you were filling the basket," replied the prince.
"oh!"
replied the man," i am condemned to do this, for neither i nor any of my family can die till i have dug away the whole of this mountain and made it level with the plain.
but, come, it is almost dark, and i shall work no longer."
and he plucked a leaf from a tree close by, and from a rough digger he was changed into a stately bald-headed king.
"come home with me," he added; "you must be tired and hungry, and my daughter will have supper ready for us."
the prince accepted gladly, and they went back to the palace, where the bald-headed king's daughter, who was still more beautiful than the other princess, welcomed them at the door and led the way into a large hall and to a table covered with silver dishes.
while they were eating, the bald-headed king asked the prince how he had happened to wander so far, and the young man told him all about it, and how he was seeking the land of immortality.
"you have found it already," answered the king, "for, as i said, neither i nor my family can die till i have levelled this great mountain; and that will take full eight hundred years longer.
stay here with us and marry my daughter.
eight hundred years is surely long enough to live."
"oh, certainly," answered the prince; "but, all the same, i would rather go and seek the land where there is no death at all."
so next morning he bade them farewell, though the princess begged him to stay with all her might; and when she found that she could not persuade him she gave him as a remembrance a gold ring.
this ring was still more useful than the box, because when one wished oneself at any place one was there directly, without even the trouble of flying to it through the air.
the prince put it on his finger, and thanking her heartily, went his way.
he walked on for some distance, and then he recollected the ring and thought he would try if the princess had spoken truly as to its powers."
i wish i was at the end of the world," he said, shutting his eyes, and when he opened them he was standing in a street full of marble palaces.
the men who passed him were tall and strong, and their clothes were magnificent.
he stopped some of them and asked in all the twenty-seven languages he knew what was the name of the city, but no one answered him.
then his heart sank within him; what should he do in this strange place if nobody could understand anything?
he said.
suddenly his eyes fell upon a man dressed after the fashion of his native country, and he ran up to him and spoke to him in his own tongue.
"what city is this, my friend?"
he inquired.
"it is the capital city of the blue kingdom," replied the man, "but the king himself is dead, and his daughter is now the ruler."
with this news the prince was satisfied, and begged his countryman to show him the way to the young queen's palace.
the man led him through several streets into a large square, one side of which was occupied by a splendid building that seemed borne up on slender pillars of soft green marble.
in front was a flight of steps, and on these the queen was sitting wrapped in a veil of shining silver mist, listening to the complaints of her people and dealing out justice.
when the prince came up she saw directly that he was no ordinary man, and telling her chamberlain to dismiss the rest of her petitioners for that day, she signed to the prince to follow her into the palace.
luckily she had been taught his language as a child, so they had no difficulty in talking together.
the prince told all his story and how he was journeying in search of the land of immortality.
when he had finished, the princess, who had listened attentively, rose, and taking his arm, led him to the door of another room, the floor of which was made entirely of needles, stuck so close together that there was not room for a single needle more.
"prince," she said, turning to him, "you see these needles?
well, know that neither i nor any of my family can die till i have worn out these needles in sewing.
it will take at least a thousand years for that.
stay here, and share my throne; a thousand years is long enough to live!"
"certainly," answered he; "still, at the end of the thousand years i should have to die!
no, i must find the land where there is no death."
the queen did all she could to persuade him to stay, but as her words proved useless, at length she gave it up.
then she said to him: "as you will not stay, take this little golden rod as a remembrance of me.
it has the power to become anything you wish it to be, when you are in need."
so the prince thanked her, and putting the rod in his pocket, went his way.
scarcely had he left the town behind him when he came to a broad river which no man might pass, for he was standing at the end of the world, and this was the river which flowed round it.
not knowing what to do next, he walked a little distance up the bank, and there, over his head, a beautiful city was floating in the air.
he longed to get to it, but how?
neither road nor bridge was anywhere to be seen, yet the city drew him upwards, and he felt that here at last was the country which he sought.
suddenly he remembered the golden rod which the mist-veiled queen had given him.
with a beating heart he flung it to the ground, wishing with all his might that it should turn into a bridge, and fearing that, after all, this might prove beyond its power.
but no, instead of the rod, there stood a golden ladder, leading straight up to the city of the air.
he was about to enter the golden gates, when there sprang at him a wondrous beast, whose like he had never seen.
"out sword from the sheath," cried the prince, springing back with a cry.
and the sword leapt from the scabbard and cut off some of the monster's heads, but others grew again directly, so that the prince, pale with terror, stood where he was, calling for help, and put his sword back in the sheath again.
the queen of the city heard the noise and looked from her window to see what was happening.
summoning one of her servants, she bade him go and rescue the stranger, and bring him to her.
the prince thankfully obeyed her orders, and entered her presence.
the moment she looked at him, the queen also felt that he was no ordinary man, and she welcomed him graciously, and asked him what had brought him to the city.
in answer the prince told all his story, and how he had travelled long and far in search of the land of immortality.
"you have found it," said she, "for i am queen over life and over death.
here you can dwell among the immortals."
a thousand years had passed since the prince first entered the city, but they had flown so fast that the time seemed no more than six months.
there had not been one instant of the thousand years that the prince was not happy till one night when he dreamed of his father and mother.
then the longing for his home came upon him with a rush, and in the morning he told the queen of the immortals that he must go and see his father and mother once more.
the queen stared at him with amazement, and cried: "why, prince, are you out of your senses?
it is more than eight hundred years since your father and mother died!
there will not even be their dust remaining.'"
i must go all the same," said he.
"well, do not be in a hurry," continued the queen, understanding that he would not be prevented.
"wait till i make some preparations for your journey."
so she unlocked her great treasure chest, and took out two beautiful flasks, one of gold and one of silver, which she hung round his neck.
then she showed him a little trap-door in one corner of the room, and said: "fill the silver flask with this water, which is below the trap-door.
it is enchanted, and whoever you sprinkle with the water will become a dead man at once, even if he had lived a thousand years.
the golden flask you must fill with the water here," she added, pointing to a well in another corner.
"it springs from the rock of eternity; you have only to sprinkle a few drops on a body and it will come to life again, if it had been a thousand years dead."
the prince thanked the queen for her gifts, and, bidding her farewell, went on his journey.
he soon arrived in the town where the mist-veiled queen reigned in her palace, but the whole city had changed, and he could scarcely find his way through the streets.
in the palace itself all was still, and he wandered through the rooms without meeting anyone to stop him.
at last he entered the queen's own chamber, and there she lay, with her embroidery still in her hands, fast asleep.
he pulled at her dress, but she did not waken.
then a dreadful idea came over him, and he ran to the chamber where the needles had been kept, but it was quite empty.
the queen had broken the last over the work she held in her hand, and with it the spell was broken too, and she lay dead.
quick as thought the prince pulled out the golden flask, and sprinkled some drops of the water over the queen.
in a moment she moved gently, and raising her head, opened her eyes.
"oh, my dear friend, i am so glad you wakened me; i must have slept a long while!"
"you would have slept till eternity," answered the prince, "if i had not been here to waken you."
at these words the queen remembered about the needles.
she knew now that she had been dead, and that the prince had restored her to life.
she gave him thanks from her heart for what he had done, and vowed she would repay him if she ever got a chance.
the prince took his leave, and set out for the country of the bald-headed king.
as he drew near the place he saw that the whole mountain had been dug away, and that the king was lying dead on the ground, his spade and bucket beside him.
but as soon as the water from the golden flask touched him he yawned and stretched himself, and slowly rose to his feet.
"oh, my dear friend, i am so glad to see you," cried he," i must have slept a long while!"
"you would have slept till eternity if i had not been here to waken you," answered the prince.
and the king remembered the mountain, and the spell, and vowed to repay the service if he ever had a chance.
further along the road which led to his old home the prince found the great tree torn up by its roots, and the king of the eagles sitting dead on the ground, with his wings outspread as if for flight.
a flutter ran through the feathers as the drops of water fell on them, and the eagle lifted his beak from the ground and said: "oh, how long i must have slept!
how can i thank you for having awakened me, my dear, good friend!"
"you would have slept till eternity if i had not been here to waken you"; answered the prince.
then the king remembered about the tree, and knew that he had been dead, and promised, if ever he had the chance, to repay what the prince had done for him.
at last he reached the capital of his father's kingdom, but on reaching the place where the royal palace had stood, instead of the marble galleries where he used to play, there lay a great sulphur lake, its blue flames darting into the air.
how was he to find his father and mother, and bring them back to life, if they were lying at the bottom of that horrible water?
he turned away sadly and wandered back into the streets, hardly knowing where he was going; when a voice behind him cried: "stop, prince, i have caught you at last!
it is a thousand years since i first began to seek you."
and there beside him stood the old, white-bearded, figure of death.
swiftly he drew the ring from his finger, and the king of the eagles, the bald-headed king, and the mist-veiled queen, hastened to his rescue.
in an instant they had seized upon death and held him tight, till the prince should have time to reach the land of immortality.
but they did not know how quickly death could fly, and the prince had only one foot across the border, when he felt the other grasped from behind, and the voice of death calling: "halt!
now you are mine."
the queen of the immortals was watching from her window, and cried to death that he had no power in her kingdom, and that he must seek his prey elsewhere.
"quite true," answered death; "but his foot is in my kingdom, and that belongs to me!"
"at any rate half of him is mine," replied the queen, "and what good can the other half do you?
half a man is no use, either to you or to me!
but this once i will allow you to cross into my kingdom, and we will decide by a wager whose he is."
and so it was settled.
death stepped across the narrow line that surrounds the land of immortality, and the queen proposed the wager which was to decide the prince's fate."
i will throw him up into the sky," she said, "right to the back of the morning star, and if he falls down into this city, then he is mine.
but if he should fall outside the walls, he shall belong to you."
in the middle of the city was a great open square, and here the queen wished the wager to take place.
when all was ready, she put her foot under the foot of the prince and swung him into the air.
up, up, he went, high amongst the stars, and no man's eyes could follow him.
had she thrown him up straight?
the queen wondered anxiously, for, if not, he would fall outside the walls, and she would lose him for ever.
the moments seemed long while she and death stood gazing up into the air, waiting to know whose prize the prince would be.
suddenly they both caught sight of a tiny speck no bigger than a wasp, right up in the blue.
was he coming straight?
no!
yes!
but as he was nearing the city, a light wind sprang up, and swayed him in the direction of the wall.
another second and he would have fallen half over it, when the queen sprang forward, seized him in her arms, and flung him into the castle.
then she commanded her servants to cast death out of the city, which they did, with such hard blows that he never dared to show his face again in the land of immortality.
-lsb- from ungarischen volksmurchen. -rsb-
the stone-cutter once upon a time there lived a stone-cutter, who went every day to a great rock in the side of a big mountain and cut out slabs for gravestones or for houses.
he understood very well the kinds of stones wanted for the different purposes, and as he was a careful workman he had plenty of customers.
for a long time he was quite happy and contented, and asked for nothing better than what he had.
now in the mountain dwelt a spirit which now and then appeared to men, and helped them in many ways to become rich and prosperous.
the stone-cutter, however, had never seen this spirit, and only shook his head, with an unbelieving air, when anyone spoke of it.
but a time was coming when he learned to change his opinion.
one day the stone-cutter carried a gravestone to the house of a rich man, and saw there all sorts of beautiful things, of which he had never even dreamed.
suddenly his daily work seemed to grow harder and heavier, and he said to himself: "oh, if only i were a rich man, and could sleep in a bed with silken curtains and golden tassels, how happy i should be!"
and a voice answered him: "your wish is heard; a rich man you shall be!"
at the sound of the voice the stone-cutter looked round, but could see nobody.
he thought it was all his fancy, and picked up his tools and went home, for he did not feel inclined to do any more work that day.
but when he reached the little house where he lived, he stood still with amazement, for instead of his wooden hut was a stately palace filled with splendid furniture, and most splendid of all was the bed, in every respect like the one he had envied.
he was nearly beside himself with joy, and in his new life the old one was soon forgotten.
it was now the beginning of summer, and each day the sun blazed more fiercely.
one morning the heat was so great that the stone-cutter could scarcely breathe, and he determined he would stay at home till the evening.
he was rather dull, for he had never learned how to amuse himself, and was peeping through the closed blinds to see what was going on in the street, when a little carriage passed by, drawn by servants dressed in blue and silver.
in the carriage sat a prince, and over his head a golden umbrella was held, to protect him from the sun's rays.
"oh, if i were only a prince!"
said the stone-cutter to himself, as the carriage vanished round the corner.
"oh, if i were only a prince, and could go in such a carriage and have a golden umbrella held over me, how happy i should be!"
and the voice of the mountain spirit answered: "your wish is heard; a prince you shall be."
and a prince he was.
before his carriage rode one company of men and another behind it; servants dressed in scarlet and gold bore him along, the coveted umbrella was held over his head, everything heart could desire was his.
but yet it was not enough.
he looked round still for something to wish for, and when he saw that in spite of the water he poured on his grass the rays of the sun scorched it, and that in spite of the umbrella held over his head each day his face grew browner and browner, he cried in his anger: "the sun is mightier than i; oh, if i were only the sun!"
and the mountain spirit answered: "your wish is heard; the sun you shall be."
and the sun he was, and felt himself proud in his power.
he shot his beams above and below, on earth and in heaven; he burnt up the grass in the fields and scorched the faces of princes as well as of poorer folk.
but in a short time he began to grow tired of his might, for there seemed nothing left for him to do.
discontent once more filled his soul, and when a cloud covered his face, and hid the earth from him, he cried in his anger: "does the cloud hold captive my rays, and is it mightier than i?
oh, that i were a cloud, and mightier than any!"
and the mountain spirit answered: "your wish is heard; a cloud you shall be!"
and a cloud he was, and lay between the sun and the earth.
he caught the sun's beams and held them, and to his joy the earth grew green again and flowers blossomed.
but that was not enough for him, and for days and weeks he poured forth rain till the rivers overflowed their banks, and the crops of rice stood in water.
towns and villages were destroyed by the power of the rain, only the great rock on the mountain side remained unmoved.
the cloud was amazed at the sight, and cried in wonder: "is the rock, then, mightier than i?
oh, if i were only the rock!"
and the mountain spirit answered: "your wish is heard; the rock you shall be!
and the rock he was, and gloried in his power.
proudly he stood, and neither the heat of the sun nor the force of the rain could move him.
"this is better than all!"
he said to himself.
but one day he heard a strange noise at his feet, and when he looked down to see what it could be, he saw a stone-cutter driving tools into his surface.
even while he looked a trembling feeling ran all through him, and a great block broke off and fell upon the ground.
then he cried in his wrath: "is a mere child of earth mightier than a rock?
oh, if i were only a man!"
and the mountain spirit answered: "your wish is heard.
a man once more you shall be!"
and a man he was, and in the sweat of his brow he toiled again at his trade of stone-cutting.
his bed was hard and his food scanty, but he had learned to be satisfied with it, and did not long to be something or somebody else.
and as he never asked for things he had not got, or desired to be greater and mightier than other people, he was happy at last, and heard the voice of the mountain spirit no longer.
-lsb- from japanische mahrchen. -rsb-
the gold-bearded man once upon a time there lived a great king who had a wife and one son whom he loved very much.
the boy was still young when, one day, the king said to his wife: "i feel that the hour of my death draws near, and i want you to promise that you will never take another husband but will give up your life to the care of our son."
the queen burst into tears at these words, and sobbed out that she would never, never marry again, and that her son's welfare should be her first thought as long as she lived.
her promise comforted the troubled heart of the king, and a few days after he died, at peace with himself and with the world.
but no sooner was the breath out of his body, than the queen said to herself, "to promise is one thing, and to keep is quite another."
and hardly was the last spadeful of earth flung over the coffin than she married a noble from a neighbouring country, and got him made king instead of the young prince.
her new husband was a cruel, wicked man, who treated his stepson very badly, and gave him scarcely anything to eat, and only rags to wear; and he would certainly have killed the boy but for fear of the people.
now by the palace grounds there ran a brook, but instead of being a water-brook it was a milk-brook, and both rich and poor flocked to it daily and drew as much milk as they chose.
the first thing the new king did when he was seated on the throne, was to forbid anyone to go near the brook, on pain of being seized by the watchmen.
and this was purely spite, for there was plenty of milk for everybody.
for some days no one dared venture near the banks of the stream, but at length some of the watchmen noticed that early in the mornings, just at dawn, a man with a gold beard came down to the brook with a pail, which he filled up to the brim with milk, and then vanished like smoke before they could get near enough to see who he was.
so they went and told the king what they had seen.
at first the king would not believe their story, but as they persisted it was quite true, he said that he would go and watch the stream that night himself.
with the earliest streaks of dawn the gold-bearded man appeared, and filled his pail as before.
then in an instant he had vanished, as if the earth had swallowed him up.
the king stood staring with eyes and mouth open at the place where the man had disappeared.
he had never seen him before, that was certain; but what mattered much more was how to catch him, and what should be done with him when he was caught?
he would have a cage built as a prison for him, and everyone would talk of it, for in other countries thieves were put in prison, and it was long indeed since any king had used a cage.
it was all very well to plan, and even to station a watchman behind every bush, but it was of no use, for the man was never caught.
they would creep up to him softly on the grass, as he was stooping to fill his pail, and just as they stretched out their hands to seize him, he vanished before their eyes.
time after time this happened, till the king grew mad with rage, and offered a large reward to anyone who could tell him how to capture his enemy.
the first person that came with a scheme was an old soldier who promised the king that if he would only put some bread and bacon and a flask of wine on the bank of the stream, the gold-bearded man would be sure to eat and drink, and they could shake some powder into the wine, which would send him to sleep at once.
after that there was nothing to do but to shut him in the cage.
this idea pleased the king, and he ordered bread and bacon and a flask of drugged wine to be placed on the bank of the stream, and the watchers to be redoubled.
then, full of hope, he awaited the result.
everything turned out just as the soldier had said.
early next morning the gold-bearded man came down to the brook, ate, drank, and fell sound asleep, so that the watchers easily bound him, and carried him off to the palace.
in a moment the king had him fast in the golden cage, and showed him, with ferocious joy, to the strangers who were visiting his court.
the poor captive, when he awoke from his drunken sleep, tried to talk to them, but no one would listen to him, so he shut himself up altogether, and the people who came to stare took him for a dumb man of the woods.
he wept and moaned to himself all day, and would hardly touch food, though, in dread that he should die and escape his tormentors, the king ordered his head cook to send him dishes from the royal table.
the gold-bearded man had been in captivity about a month, when the king was forced to make war upon a neighbouring country, and left the palace, to take command of his army.
but before he went he called his stepson to him and said: "listen, boy, to what i tell you.
while i am away i trust the care of my prisoner to you.
see that he has plenty to eat and drink, but be careful that he does not escape, or even walk about the room.
if i return and find him gone, you will pay for it by a terrible death."
the young prince was thankful that his stepfather was going to the war, and secretly hoped he might never come back.
directly he had ridden off the boy went to the room where the cage was kept, and never left it night and day.
he even played his games beside it.
one day he was shooting at a mark with a silver bow; one of his arrows fell into the golden cage.
"please give me my arrow," said the prince, running up to him; but the gold-bearded man answered: "no, i shall not give it to you unless you let me out of my cage.'"
i may not let you out," replied the boy, "for if i do my stepfather says that i shall have to die a horrible death when he returns from the war.
my arrow can be of no use to you, so give it to me."
the man handed the arrow through the bars, but when he had done so he begged harder than ever that the prince would open the door and set him free.
indeed, he prayed so earnestly that the prince's heart was touched, for he was a tender-hearted boy who pitied the sorrows of other people.
so he shot back the bolt, and the gold-bearded man stepped out into the world."
i will repay you a thousand fold for that good deed."
said the man, and then he vanished.
the prince began to think what he should say to the king when he came back; then he wondered whether it would be wise to wait for his stepfather's return and run the risk of the dreadful death which had been promised him.
"no," he said to himself," i am afraid to stay.
perhaps the world will be kinder to me than he has been."
unseen he stole out when twilight fell, and for many days he wandered over mountains and through forests and valleys without knowing where he was going or what he should do.
he had only the berries for food, when, one morning, he saw a wood-pigeon sitting on a bough.
in an instant he had fitted an arrow to his bow, and was taking aim at the bird, thinking what a good meal he would make off him, when his weapon fell to the ground at the sound of the pigeon's voice: "do not shoot, i implore you, noble prince!
i have two little sons at home, and they will die of hunger if i am not there to bring them food."
and the young prince had pity, and unstrung his bow.
"oh, prince, i will repay your deed of mercy, said the grateful wood-pigeon.
"poor thing!
how can you repay me?"
asked the prince.
"you have forgotten," answered the wood-pigeon, "the proverb that runs, "mountain and mountain can never meet, but one living creature can always come across another.""
the boy laughed at this speech and went his way.
by-and-by he reached the edge of a lake, and flying towards some rushes which grew near the shore he beheld a wild duck.
now, in the days that the king, his father, was alive, and he had everything to eat he could possibly wish for, the prince always had wild duck for his birthday dinner, so he quickly fitted an arrow to his bow and took a careful aim.
"do not shoot, i pray you, noble prince!"
cried the wild duck;" i have two little sons at home; they will die of hunger if i am not there to bring them food."
and the prince had pity, and let fall his arrow and unstrung his bow.
"oh, prince!
i will repay your deed of mercy," exclaimed the grateful wild duck.
"you poor thing!
how can you repay me?"
asked the prince.
"you have forgotten," answered the wild duck, "the proverb that runs, "mountain and mountain can never meet, but one living creature can always come across another.""
the boy laughed at this speech and went his way.
he had not wandered far from the shores of the lake, when he noticed a stork standing on one leg, and again he raised his bow and prepared to take aim.
"do not shoot, i pray you, noble prince," cried the stork;" i have two little sons at home; they will die of hunger if i am not there to bring them food."
again the prince was filled with pity, and this time also he did not shoot.
"oh, prince, i will repay your deed of mercy," cried the stork.
"you poor stork!
how can you repay me?"
asked the prince.
"you have forgotten," answered the stork, "the proverb that runs, "mountain and mountain can never meet, but one living creature can always come across another.""
the boy laughed at hearing these words again, and walked slowly on.
he had not gone far, when he fell in with two discharged soldiers.
"where are you going, little brother?"
asked one."
i am seeking work," answered the prince.
"so are we," replied the soldier.
"we can all go together."
the boy was glad of company and they went on, and on, and on, through seven kingdoms, without finding anything they were able to do.
at length they reached a palace, and there was the king standing on the steps.
"you seem to be looking for something," said he.
"it is work we want," they all answered.
so the king told the soldiers that they might become his coachmen; but he made the boy his companion, and gave him rooms near his own.
the soldiers were dreadfully angry when they heard this, for of course they did not know that the boy was really a prince; and they soon began to lay their heads together to plot his ruin.
then they went to the king.
"your majesty," they said, "we think it our duty to tell you that your new companion has boasted to us that if he were only your steward he would not lose a single grain of corn out of the storehouses.
now, if your majesty would give orders that a sack of wheat should be mixed with one of barley, and would send for the youth, and command him to separate the grains one from another, in two hours" time, you would soon see what his talk was worth."
the king, who was weak, listened to what these wicked men had told him, and desired the prince to have the contents of the sack piled into two heaps by the time that he returned from his council.
"if you succeed," he added, "you shall be my steward, but if you fail, i will put you to death on the spot."
the unfortunate prince declared that he had never made any such boast as was reported; but it was all in vain.
the king did not believe him, and turning him into an empty room, bade his servants carry in the huge sack filled with wheat and barley, and scatter them in a heap on the floor.
the prince hardly knew where to begin, and indeed if he had had a thousand people to help him, and a week to do it in, he could never have finished his task.
so he flung himself on the ground in despair, and covered his face with his hands.
while he lay thus, a wood-pigeon flew in through the window.
"why are you weeping, noble prince?"
asked the wood-pigeon.
"how can i help weeping at the task set me by the king.
for he says, if i fail to do it, i shall die a horrible death."
"oh, there is really nothing to cry about," answered the wood-pigeon soothingly."
i am the king of the wood-pigeons, whose life you spared when you were hungry.
and now i will repay my debt, as i promised."
so saying he flew out of the window, leaving the prince with some hope in his heart.
in a few minutes he returned, followed by a cloud of wood-pigeons, so dense that it seemed to fill the room.
their king showed them what they had to do, and they set to work so hard that the grain was sorted into two heaps long before the council was over.
when the king came back he could not believe his eyes; but search as he might through the two heaps, he could not find any barley among the wheat, or any wheat amongst the barley.
so he praised the prince for his industry and cleverness, and made him his steward at once.
this made the two soldiers more envious still, and they began to hatch another plot.
"your majesty," they said to the king, one day, as he was standing on the steps of the palace, "that fellow has been boasting again, that if he had the care of your treasures not so much as a gold pin should ever be lost.
put this vain fellow to the proof, we pray you, and throw the ring from the princess's finger into the brook, and bid him find it.
we shall soon see what his talk is worth."
and the foolish king listened to them, and ordered the prince to be brought before him.
"my son," he said," i have heard that you have declared that if i made you keeper of my treasures you would never lose so much as a gold pin.
now, in order to prove the truth of your words, i am going to throw the ring from the princess's finger into the brook, and if you do not find it before i come back from council, you will have to die a horrible death."
it was no use denying that he had said anything of the kind.
the king did not believe him; in fact he paid no attention at all, and hurried off, leaving the poor boy speechless with despair in the corner.
however, he soon remembered that though it was very unlikely that he should find the ring in the brook, it was impossible that he should find it by staying in the palace.
for some time the prince wandered up and down peering into the bottom of the stream, but though the water was very clear, nothing could he see of the ring.
at length he gave it up in despair, and throwing himself down at the foot of the tree, he wept bitterly.
"what is the matter, dear prince?"
said a voice just above him, and raising his head, he saw the wild duck.
"the king of this country declares i must die a horrible death if i can not find the princess's ring which he has thrown into the brook," answered the prince.
"oh, you must not vex yourself about that, for i can help you," replied the bird."
i am the king of the wild ducks, whose life you spared, and now it is my turn to save yours."
then he flew away, and in a few minutes a great flock of wild ducks were swimming all up and down the stream looking with all their might, and long before the king came back from his council there it was, safe on the grass beside the prince.
at this sight the king was yet more astonished at the cleverness of his steward, and at once promoted him to be the keeper of his jewels.
now you would have thought that by this time the king would have been satisfied with the prince, and would have left him alone; but people's natures are very hard to change, and when the two envious soldiers came to him with a new falsehood, he was as ready to listen to them as before.
"gracious majesty," said they, "the youth whom you have made keeper of your jewels has declared to us that a child shall be born in the palace this night, which will be able to speak every language in the world and to play every instrument of music.
is he then become a prophet, or a magician, that he should know things which have not yet come to pass?"
at these words the king became more angry than ever.
he had tried to learn magic himself, but somehow or other his spells would never work, and he was furious to hear that the prince claimed a power that he did not possess.
stammering with rage, he ordered the youth to be brought before him, and vowed that unless this miracle was accomplished he would have the prince dragged at a horse's tail until he was dead.
in spite of what the soldiers had said, the boy knew no more magic than the king did, and his task seemed more hopeless than before.
he lay weeping in the chamber which he was forbidden to leave, when suddenly he heard a sharp tapping at the window, and, looking up, he beheld a stork.
"what makes you so sad, prince?"
asked he.
"someone has told the king that i have prophesied that a child shall be born this night in the palace, who can speak all the languages in the world and play every musical instrument.
i am no magician to bring these things to pass, but he says that if it does not happen he will have me dragged through the city at a horse's tail till i die."
"do not trouble yourself," answered the stork."
i will manage to find such a child, for i am the king of the storks whose life you spared, and now i can repay you for it."
the stork flew away and soon returned carrying in his beak a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, and laid it down near a lute.
in an instant the baby stretched out its little hands and began to play a tune so beautiful that even the prince forgot his sorrows as he listened.
then he was given a flute and a zither, but he was just as well able to draw music from them; and the prince, whose courage was gradually rising, spoke to him in all the languages he knew.
the baby answered him in all, and no one could have told which was his native tongue!
the next morning the king went straight to the prince's room, and saw with his own eyes the wonders that baby could do.
"if your magic can produce such a baby," he said, "you must be greater than any wizard that ever lived, and shall have my daughter in marriage."
and, being a king, and therefore accustomed to have everything the moment he wanted it, he commanded the ceremony to be performed without delay, and a splendid feast to be made for the bride and bridegroom.
when it was over, he said to the prince: "now that you are really my son, tell me by what arts you were able to fulfil the tasks i set you?"
"my noble father-in-law," answered the prince," i am ignorant of all spells and arts.
but somehow i have always managed to escape the death which has threatened me."
and he told the king how he had been forced to run away from his stepfather, and how he had spared the three birds, and had joined the two soldiers, who had from envy done their utmost to ruin him.
the king was rejoiced in his heart that his daughter had married a prince, and not a common man, and he chased the two soldiers away with whips, and told them that if they ever dared to show their faces across the borders of his kingdom, they should die the same death he had prepared for the prince.
-lsb- from ungarische mahrchen -rsb- tritill, litill, and the birds once upon a time there lived a princess who was so beautiful and so good that everybody loved her.
her father could hardly bear her out of his sight, and he almost died of grief when, one day, she disappeared, and though the whole kingdom was searched through and through, she could not be found in any corner of it.
in despair, the king ordered a proclamation to be made that whoever could bring her back to the palace should have her for his wife.
this made the young men start afresh on the search, but they were no more successful than before, and returned sorrowfully to their homes.
now there dwelt, not far from the palace, an old man who had three sons.
the two eldest were allowed by their parents to do just as they liked, but the youngest was always obliged to give way to his brothers.
when they were all grown up, the eldest told his father that he was tired of leading such a quiet life, and that he meant to go away and see the world.
the old people were very unhappy at the thought that they must part with him, but they said nothing, and began to collect all that he would want for his travels, and were careful to add a pair of new boots.
when everything was ready, he bade them farewell, and started merrily on his way.
for some miles his road lay through a wood, and when he left it he suddenly came out on a bare hillside.
here he sat down to rest, and pulling out his wallet prepared to eat his dinner.
he had only eaten a few mouthfuls when an old man badly dressed passed by, and seeing the food, asked if the young man could not spare him a little.
"not i, indeed!"
answered he; "why i have scarcely enough for myself.
if you want food you must earn it."
and the beggar went on.
after the young man had finished his dinner he rose and walked on for several hours, till he reached a second hill, where he threw himself down on the grass, and took some bread and milk from his wallet.
while he was eating and drinking, there came by an old man, yet more wretched than the first, and begged for a few mouthfuls.
but instead of food he only got hard words, and limped sadly away.
towards evening the young man reached an open space in the wood, and by this time he thought he would like some supper.
the birds saw the food, and flew round his head in numbers hoping for some crumbs, but he threw stones at them, and frightened them off.
then he began to wonder where he should sleep.
not in the open space he was in, for that was bare and cold, and though he had walked a long way that day, and was tired, he dragged himself up, and went on seeking for a shelter.
at length he saw a deep sort of hole or cave under a great rock, and as it seemed quite empty, he went in, and lay down in a corner.
about midnight he was awakened by a noise, and peeping out he beheld a terrible ogress approaching.
he implored her not to hurt him, but to let him stay there for the rest of the night, to which she consented, on condition that he should spend the next day in doing any task which she might choose to set him.
to this the young man willingly agreed, and turned over and went to sleep again.
in the morning, the ogress bade him sweep the dust out of the cave, and to have it clean before her return in the evening, otherwise it would be the worse for him.
then she left the cave.
the young man took the spade, and began to clean the floor of the cave, but try as he would to move it the dirt still stuck to its place.
he soon gave up the task, and sat sulkily in the corner, wondering what punishment the ogress would find for him, and why she had set him to do such an impossible thing.
he had not long to wait, after the ogress came home, before he knew what his punishment was to be!
she just gave one look at the floor of the cave, then dealt him a blow on the head which cracked his skull, and there was an end of him.
meanwhile his next brother grew tired of staying at home, and let his parents have no rest till they had consented that he also should be given some food and some new boots, and go out to see the world.
on his road, he also met the two old beggars, who prayed for a little of his bread and milk, but this young man had never been taught to help other people, and had made it a rule through his life to keep all he had to himself.
so he turned a deaf ear and finished his dinner.
by-and-by he, too, came to the cave, and was bidden by the ogress to clean the floor, but he was no more successful than his brother, and his fate was the same.
anyone would have thought that when the old people had only one son left that at least they would have been kind to him, even if they did not love him.
but for some reason they could hardly bear the sight of him, though he tried much harder to make them comfortable than his brothers had ever done.
so when he asked their leave to go out into the world they gave it at once, and seemed quite glad to be rid of him.
they felt it was quite generous of them to provide him with a pair of new boots and some bread and milk for his journey.
besides the pleasure of seeing the world, the youth was very anxious to discover what had become of his brothers, and he determined to trace, as far as he could, the way that they must have gone.
he followed the road that led from his father's cottage to the hill, where he sat down to rest, saying to himself: "i am sure my brothers must have stopped here, and i will do the same."
he was hungry as well as tired, and took out some of the food his parents had given him.
he was just going to begin to eat when the old man appeared, and asked if he could not spare him a little.
the young man at once broke off some of the bread, begging the old man to sit down beside him, and treating him as if he was an old friend.
at last the stranger rose, and said to him: "if ever you are in trouble call me, and i will help you.
my name is tritill."
then he vanished, and the young man could not tell where he had gone.
however, he felt he had now rested long enough, and that he had better be going his way.
at the next hill he met with the second old man, and to him also he gave food and drink.
and when this old man had finished he said, like the first: "if you ever want help in the smallest thing call to me.
my name is litill."
the young man walked on till he reached the open space in the wood, where he stopped for dinner.
in a moment all the birds in the world seemed flying round his head, and he crumbled some of his bread for them and watched them as they darted down to pick it up.
when they had cleared off every crumb the largest bird with the gayest plumage said to him: "if you are in trouble and need help say, "my birds, come to me!"
and we will come."
then they flew away.
towards evening the young man reached the cave where his brothers had met their deaths, and, like them, he thought it would be a good place to sleep in.
looking round, he saw some pieces of the dead men's clothes and of their bones.
the sight made him shiver, but he would not move away, and resolved to await the return of the ogress, for such he knew she must be.
very soon she came striding in, and he asked politely if she would give him a night's lodging.
she answered as before, that he might stay on condition that he should do any work that she might set him to next morning.
so the bargain being concluded, the young man curled himself up in his corner and went to sleep.
the dirt lay thicker than ever on the floor of the cave when the young man took the spade and began his work.
he could not clear it any more than his brothers had done, and at last the spade itself stuck in the earth so that he could not pull it out.
the youth stared at it in despair, then the old beggar's words flashed into his mind, and he cried: "tritill, tritill, come and help me!"
and tritill stood beside him and asked what he wanted.
the youth told him all his story, and when he had finished, the old man said: "spade and shovel do your duty," and they danced about the cave till, in a short time, there was not a speck of dust left on the floor.
as soon as it was quite clean tritill went his way.
with a light heart the young man awaited the return of the ogress.
when she came in she looked carefully round, and then said to him: "you did not do that quite alone.
however, as the floor is clean i will leave your head on."
the following morning the ogress told the young man that he must take all the feathers out of her pillows and spread them to dry in the sun.
but if one feather was missing when she came back at night his head should pay for it."
the young man fetched the pillows, and shook out all the feathers, and oh!
what quantities of them there were!
he was thinking to himself, as he spread them out carefully, how lucky it was that the sun was so bright and that there was no wind, when suddenly a breeze sprang up, and in a moment the feathers were dancing high in the air.
at first the youth tried to collect them again, but he soon found that it was no use, and he cried in despair: "tritill, litill, and all my birds, come and help me!"
he had hardly said the words when there they all were; and when the birds had brought all the feathers back again, tritill, and litill, and he, put them away in the pillows, as the ogress had bidden him.
but one little feather they kept out, and told the young man that if the ogress missed it he was to thrust it up her nose.
then they all vanished, tritill, litill, and the birds.
directly the ogress returned home she flung herself with all her weight on the bed, and the whole cave quivered under her.
the pillows were soft and full instead of being empty, which surprised her, but that did not content her.
she got up, shook out the pillow-cases one by one, and began to count the feathers that were in each.
"if one is missing i will have your head," said she, and at that the young man drew the feather from his pocket and thrust it up her nose, crying "if you want your feather, here it is."
"you did not sort those feathers alone," answered the ogress calmly; "however, this time i will let that pass."
that night the young man slept soundly in his corner, and in the morning the ogress told him that his work that day would be to slay one of her great oxen, to cook its heart, and to make drinking cups of its horns, before she returned home "there are fifty oxen," added she, "and you must guess which of the herd i want killed.
if you guess right, to-morrow you shall be free to go where you will, and you shall choose besides three things as a reward for your service.
but if you slay the wrong ox your head shall pay for it."
left alone, the young man stood thinking for a little.
then he called: "tritill, litill, come to my help!"
in a moment he saw them, far away, driving the biggest ox the youth had ever seen.
when they drew near, tritill killed it, litill took out its heart for the young man to cook, and both began quickly to turn the horns into drinking cups.
the work went merrily on, and they talked gaily, and the young man told his friends of the payment promised him by the ogress if he had done her bidding.
the old men warned him that he must ask her for the chest which stood at the foot of her bed, for whatever lay on the top of the bed, and for what lay under the side of the cave.
the young man thanked them for their counsel, and tritill and litill then took leave of him, saying that for the present he would need them no more.
scarcely had they disappeared when the ogress came back, and found everything ready just as she had ordered.
before she sat down to eat the bullock's heart she turned to the young man, and said: "you did not do that all alone, my friend; but, nevertheless, i will keep my word, and to-morrow you shall go your way."
so they went to bed and slept till dawn.
when the sun rose the ogress awoke the young man, and called to him to choose any three things out of her house."
i choose," answered he, "the chest which stands at the foot of your bed; whatever lies on the top of the bed, and whatever is under the side of the cave."
"you did not choose those things by yourself, my friend," said the ogress; "but what i have promised, that will i do."
and then she gave him his reward.
"the thing which lay on the top of the bed" turned out to be the lost princess.
"the chest which stood at the foot of the bed" proved full of gold and precious stones; and "what was under the side of the cave" he found to be a great ship, with oars and sails that went of itself as well on land as in the water.
"you are the luckiest man that ever was born," said the ogress as she went out of the cave as usual.
with much difficulty the youth put the heavy chest on his shoulders and carried it on board the ship, the princess walking by his side.
then he took the helm and steered the vessel back to her father's kingdom.
the king's joy at receiving back his lost daughter was so great that he almost fainted, but when he recovered himself he made the young man tell him how everything had really happened.
"you have found her, and you shall marry her," said the king; and so it was done.
and this is the end of the story.
-lsb- from ungarische mahrchen. -rsb-
the three robes long, long ago, a king and queen reigned over a large and powerful country.
what their names were nobody knows, but their son was called sigurd, and their daughter lineik, and these young people were famed throughout the whole kingdom for their wisdom and beauty.
there was only a year between them, and they loved each other so much that they could do nothing apart.
when they began to grow up the king gave them a house of their own to live in, with servants and carriages, and everything they could possibly want.
for many years they all lived happily together, and then the queen fell ill, and knew that she would never get better.
"promise me two things," she said one day to the king; "one, that if you marry again, as indeed you must, you will not choose as your wife a woman from some small state or distant island, who knows nothing of the world, and will be taken up with thoughts of her grandeur.
but rather seek out a princess of some great kingdom, who has been used to courts all her life, and holds them at their true worth.
the other thing i have to ask is, that you will never cease to watch over our children, who will soon become your greatest joy."
these were the queen's last words, and a few hours later she was dead.
the king was so bowed down with sorrow that he would not attend even to the business of the kingdom, and at last his prime minister had to tell him that the people were complaining that they had nobody to right their wrongs.
"you must rouse yourself, sir," went on the minister, "and put aside your own sorrows for the sake of your country."
"you do not spare me," answered the king; "but what you say is just, and your counsel is good.
i have heard that men say, likewise, that it will be for the good of my kingdom for me to marry again, though my heart will never cease to be with my lost wife.
but it was her wish also; therefore, to you i entrust the duty of finding a lady fitted to share my throne; only, see that she comes neither from a small town nor a remote island."
so an embassy was prepared, with the minister at its head, to visit the greatest courts in the world, and to choose out a suitable princess.
but the vessel which carried them had not been gone many days when a thick fog came on, and the captain could see neither to the right nor to the left.
for a whole month the ship drifted about in darkness, till at length the fog lifted and they beheld a cliff jutting out just in front.
on one side of the cliff lay a sheltered bay, in which the vessel was soon anchored, and though they did not know where they were, at any rate they felt sure of fresh fruit and water.
the minister left the rest of his followers on board the ship, and taking a small boat rowed himself to land, in order to look about him and to find out if the island was really as deserted as it seemed.
he had not gone far, when he heard the sound of music, and, turning in its direction, he saw a woman of marvellous beauty sitting on a low stool playing on a harp, while a girl beside her sang.
the minister stopped and greeted the lady politely, and she replied with friendliness, asking him why he had come to such an out-of-the way place.
in answer he told her of the object of his journey."
i am in the same state as your master," replied the lady;" i was married to a mighty king who ruled over this land, till vikings -lsb- sea-robbers -rsb- came and slew him and put all the people to death.
but i managed to escape, and hid myself here with my daughter."
and the daughter listened, and said softly to her mother: "are you speaking the truth now?"
"remember your promise," answered the mother angrily, giving her a pinch which was unseen by the minister.
"what is your name, madam?"
asked he, much touched by this sad story.
"blauvor," she replied "and my daughter is called laufer"; and then she inquired the name of the minister, and of the king his master.
after this they talked of many things, and the lady showed herself learned in all that a woman should know, and even in much that men only were commonly taught.
"what a wife she would make for the king," thought the minister to himself, and before long he had begged the honour of her hand for his master.
she declared at first that she was too unworthy to accept the position offered her, and that the minister would soon repent his choice; but this only made him the more eager, and in the end he gained her consent, and prevailed on her to return with him at once to his own country.
the minister then conducted the mother and daughter back to the ship; the anchor was raised, the sails spread, and a fair wind was behind them.
now that the fog had lifted they could see as they looked back that, except just along the shore, the island was bare and deserted and not fit for men to live in; but about that nobody cared.
they had a quick voyage, and in six days they reached the land, and at once set out for the capital, a messenger being sent on first by the minister to inform the king of what had happened.
when his majesty's eyes fell on the two beautiful women, clad in dresses of gold and silver, he forgot his sorrows and ordered preparations for the wedding to be made without delay.
in his joy he never remembered to inquire in what kind of country the future queen had been found.
in fact his head was so turned by the beauty of the two ladies that when the invitations were sent by his orders to all the great people in the kingdom, he did not even recollect his two children, who remained shut up in their own house!
after the marriage the king ceased to have any will of his own and did nothing without consulting his wife.
she was present at all his councils, and her opinion was asked before making peace or war.
but when a few months had passed the king began to have doubts as to whether the minister's choice had really been a wise one, and he noticed that his children lived more and more in their palace and never came near their stepmother.
it always happens that if a person's eyes are once opened they see a great deal more than they ever expected; and soon it struck the king that the members of his court had a way of disappearing one after the other without any reason.
at first he had not paid much attention to the fact, but merely appointed some fresh person to the vacant place.
as, however, man after man vanished without leaving any trace, he began to grow uncomfortable and to wonder if the queen could have anything to do with it.
things were in this state when, one day, his wife said to him that it was time for him to make a progress through his kingdom and see that his governors were not cheating him of the money that was his due.
"and you need not be anxious about going," she added, "for i will rule the country while you are away as carefully as you could yourself."
the king had no great desire to undertake this journey, but the queen's will was stronger than his, and he was too lazy to make a fight for it.
so he said nothing and set about his preparations, ordering his finest ship to be ready to carry him round the coast.
still his heart was heavy, and he felt uneasy, though he could not have told why; and the night before he was to start he went to the children's palace to take leave of his son and daughter.
he had not seen them for some time, and they gave him a warm welcome, for they loved him dearly and he had always been kind to them.
they had much to tell him, but after a while he checked their merry talk and said: "if i should never come back from this journey i fear that it may not be safe for you to stay here; so directly there are no more hopes of my return go instantly and take the road eastwards till you reach a high mountain, which you must cross.
once over the mountain keep along by the side of a little bay till you come to two trees, one green and the other red, standing in a thicket, and so far back from the road that without looking for them you would never see them.
hide each in the trunk of one of the trees and there you will be safe from all your enemies."
with these words the king bade them farewell and entered sadly into his ship.
for a few days the wind was fair, and everything seemed going smoothly; then, suddenly, a gale sprang up, and a fearful storm of thunder and lightning, such as had never happened within the memory of man.
in spite of the efforts of the frightened sailors the vessel was driven on the rocks, and not a man on board was saved.
that very night prince sigurd had a dream, in which he thought his father appeared to him in dripping clothes, and, taking the crown from his head, laid it at his son's feet, leaving the room as silently as he had entered it.
hastily the prince awoke his sister lineik, and they agreed that their father must be dead, and that they must lose no time in obeying his orders and putting themselves in safety.
so they collected their jewels and a few clothes and left the house without being observed by anyone.
they hurried on till they arrived at the mountain without once looking back.
then sigurd glanced round and saw that their stepmother was following them, with an expression on her face which made her uglier than the ugliest old witch.
between her and them lay a thick wood, and sigurd stopped for a moment to set it on fire; then he and his sister hastened on more swiftly than before, till they reached the grove with the red and green trees, into which they jumped, and felt that at last they were safe.
now, at that time there reigned over greece a king who was very rich and powerful, although his name has somehow been forgotten.
he had two children, a son and a daughter, who were more beautiful and accomplished than any greeks had been before, and they were the pride of their father's heart.
the prince had no sooner grown out of boyhood than he prevailed on his father to make war during the summer months on a neighbouring nation, so as to give him a chance of making himself famous.
in winter, however, when it was difficult to get food and horses in that wild country, the army was dispersed, and the prince returned home.
during one of these wars he had heard reports of the princess lineik's beauty, and he resolved to seek her out, and to ask for her hand in marriage.
all this blauvor, the queen, found out by means of her black arts, and when the prince drew near the capital she put a splendid dress on her own daughter and then went to meet her guest.
she bade him welcome to her palace, and when they had finished supper she told him of the loss of her husband, and how there was no one left to govern the kingdom but herself.
"but where is the princess lineik?"
asked the prince when she had ended her tale.
"here," answered the queen, bringing forward the girl, whom she had hitherto kept in the background.
the prince looked at her and was rather disappointed.
the maiden was pretty enough, but not much out of the common.
"oh, you must not wonder at her pale face and heavy eyes," said the queen hastily, for she saw what was passing in his mind.
"she has never got over the loss of both father and mother."
"that shows a good heart," thought the prince; "and when she is happy her beauty will soon come back."
and without any further delay he begged the queen to consent to their betrothal, for the marriage must take place in his own country.
the queen was enchanted.
she had hardly expected to succeed so soon, and she at once set about her preparations.
indeed she wished to travel with the young couple, to make sure that nothing should go wrong; but here the prince was firm, that he would take no one with him but laufer, whom he thought was lineik.
they soon took leave of the queen, and set sail in a splendid ship; but in a short time a dense fog came on, and in the dark the captain steered out of his course, and they found themselves in a bay which was quite strange to all the crew.
the prince ordered a boat to be lowered, and went on shore to look about him, and it was not long before he noticed the two beautiful trees, quite different from any that grew in greece.
calling one of the sailors, he bade him cut them down, and carry them on board the ship.
this was done, and as the sky was now clear they put out to sea, and arrived in greece without any more adventures.
the news that the prince had brought home a bride had gone before them, and they were greeted with flowery arches and crowns of coloured lights.
the king and queen met them on the steps of the palace, and conducted the girl to the women's house, where she would have to remain until her marriage.
the prince then went to his own rooms and ordered that the trees should be brought in to him.
the next morning the prince bade his attendants bring his future bride to his own apartments, and when she came he gave her silk which she was to weave into three robes -- one red, one green, and one blue -- and these must all be ready before the wedding.
the blue one was to be done first and the green last, and this was to be the most splendid of all, "for i will wear it at our marriage," said he.
left alone, laufer sat and stared at the heap of shining silk before her.
she did not know how to weave, and burst into tears as she thought that everything would be discovered, for lineik's skill in weaving was as famous as her beauty.
as she sat with her face hidden and her body shaken by sobs, sigurd in his tree heard her and was moved to pity.
"lineik, my sister," he called, softly, "laufer is weeping; help her, i pray you."
"have you forgotten the wrongs her mother did to us" answered lineik, "and that it is owing to her that we are banished from home?"
but she was not really unforgiving, and very soon she slid quietly out of her hiding-place, and taking the silk from laufer's hands began to weave it.
so quick and clever was she that the blue dress was not only woven but embroidered, and lineik was safe back in her tree before the prince returned.
"it is the most beautiful work i have ever seen," said he, taking up a bit.
"and i am sure that the red one will be still better, because the stuff is richer," and with a low bow he left the room.
laufer had hoped secretly that when the prince had seen the blue dress finished he would have let her off the other two; but when she found she was expected to fulfil the whole task, her heart sank and she began to cry loudly.
again sigurd heard her, and begged lineik to come to her help, and lineik, feeling sorry for her distress, wove and embroidered the second dress as she had done the first, mixing gold thread and precious stones till you could hardly see the red of the stuff.
when it was done she glided into her tree just as the prince came in.
"you are as quick as you are clever," said he, admiringly.
"this looks as if it had been embroidered by the fairies!
but as the green robe must outshine the other two i will give you three days in which to finish it.
after it is ready we will be married at once."
now, as he spoke, there rose up in laufer's mind all the unkind things that she and her mother had done to lineik.
could she hope that they would be forgotten, and that lineik would come to her rescue for the third time?
and perhaps lineik, who had not forgotten the past either, might have left her alone, to get on as best she could, had not sigurd, her brother, implored her to help just once more.
so lineik again slid out of her tree, and, to laufer's great relief, set herself to work.
when the shining green silk was ready she caught the sun's rays and the moon's beams on the point of her needle and wove them into a pattern such as no man had ever seen.
but it took a long time, and on the third morning, just as she was putting the last stitches into the last flower the prince came in.
lineik jumped up quickly, and tried to get past him back to her tree; but the folds of the silk were wrapped round her, and she would have fallen had not the prince caught her."
i have thought for some time that all was not quite straight here," said he.
"tell me who you are, and where you come from?"
lineik then told her name and her story.
when she had ended the prince turned angrily to laufer, and declared that, as a punishment for her wicked lies, she deserved to die a shameful death.
but laufer fell at his feet and begged for mercy.
it was her mother's fault, she said: "it was she, and not i, who passed me off as the princess lineik.
the only lie i have ever told you was about the robes, and i do not deserve death for that."
she was still on her knees when prince sigurd entered the room.
he prayed the prince of greece to forgive laufer, which he did, on condition that lineik would consent to marry him.
"not till my stepmother is dead," answered she, "for she has brought misery to all that came near her."
then laufer told them that blauvor was not the wife of a king, but an ogress who had stolen her from a neighbouring palace and had brought her up as her daughter.
and besides being an ogress she was also a witch, and by her black arts had sunk the ship in which the father of sigurd and lineik had set sail.
it was she who had caused the disappearance of the courtiers, for which no one could account, by eating them during the night, and she hoped to get rid of all the people in the country, and then to fill the land with ogres and ogresses like herself.
so prince sigurd and the prince of greece collected an army swiftly, and marched upon the town where blauvor had her palace.
they came so suddenly that no one knew of it, and if they had, blauvor had eaten most of the strong men; and others, fearful of something they could not tell what, had secretly left the place.
therefore she was easily captured, and the next day was beheaded in the market-place.
afterwards the two princes marched back to greece.
lineik had no longer any reason for putting off her wedding, and married the prince of greece at the same time that sigurd married the princess.
and laufer remained with lineik as her friend and sister, till they found a husband for her in a great nobleman; and all three couples lived happily until they died.
-lsb- from islandische muhrchen poestion wien. -rsb-
the six hungry beasts once upon a time there lived a man who dwelt with his wife in a little hut, far away from any neighbours.
but they did not mind being alone, and would have been quite happy, if it had not been for a marten, who came every night to their poultry yard, and carried off one of their fowls.
the man laid all sorts of traps to catch the thief, but instead of capturing the foe, it happened that one day he got caught himself, and falling down, struck his head against a stone, and was killed.
not long after the marten came by on the look out for his supper.
seeing the dead man lying there, he said to himself: "that is a prize, this time i have done well"; and dragging the body with great difficulty to the sledge which was waiting for him, drove off with his booty.
he had not driven far when he met a squirrel, who bowed and said: "good-morning, godfather!
what have you got behind you?"
the marten laughed and answered: "did you ever hear anything so strange?
the old man that you see here set traps about his hen-house, thinking to catch me but he fell into his own trap, and broke his own neck.
he is very heavy; i wish you would help me to draw the sledge."
the squirrel did as he was asked, and the sledge moved slowly along.
by-and-by a hare came running across a field, but stopped to see what wonderful thing was coming.
"what have you got there?"
she asked, and the marten told his story and begged the hare to help them pull.
the hare pulled her hardest, and after a while they were joined by a fox, and then by a wolf, and at length a bear was added to the company, and he was of more use than all the other five beasts put together.
besides, when the whole six had supped off the man he was not so heavy to draw.
the worst of it was that they soon began to get hungry again, and the wolf, who was the hungriest of all, said to the rest: "what shall we eat now, my friends, as there is no more man?'"
i suppose we shall have to eat the smallest of us," replied the bear, and the marten turned round to seize the squirrel who was much smaller than any of the rest.
but the squirrel ran up a tree like lightning, and the marten remembering, just in time, that he was the next in size, slipped quick as thought into a hole in the rocks.
"what shall we eat now?"
asked the wolf again, when he had recovered from his surprise.
"we must eat the smallest of us," repeated the bear, stretching out a paw towards the hare; but the hare was not a hare for nothing, and before the paw had touched her, she had darted deep into the wood.
now that the squirrel, the marten, and the hare had all gone, the fox was the smallest of the three who were left, and the wolf and the bear explained that they were very sorry, but they would have to eat him.
michael, the fox, did not run away as the others had done, but smiled in a friendly manner, and remarked: "things taste so stale in a valley; one's appetite is so much better up on a mountain."
the wolf and the bear agreed, and they turned out of the hollow where they had been walking, and chose a path that led up the mountain side.
the fox trotted cheerfully by his two big companions, but on the way he managed to whisper to the wolf: "tell me, peter, when i am eaten, what will you have for your next dinner?"
this simple question seemed to put out the wolf very much.
what would they have for their next dinner, and, what was more important still, who would there be to eat it?
they had made a rule always to dine off the smallest of the party, and when the fox was gone, why of course, he was smaller than the bear.
these thoughts flashed quickly through his head, and he said hastily: "dear brothers, would it not be better for us to live together as comrades, and everyone to hunt for the common dinner?
is not my plan a good one?"
"it is the best thing i have ever heard," answered the fox; and as they were two to one the bear had to be content, though in his heart he would much have preferred a good dinner at once to any friendship.
for a few days all went well; there was plenty of game in the forest, and even the wolf had as much to eat as he could wish.
one morning the fox as usual was going his rounds when he noticed a tall, slender tree, with a magpie's nest in one of the top branches.
now the fox was particularly fond of young magpies, and he set about making a plan by which he could have one for dinner.
at last he hit upon something which he thought would do, and accordingly he sat down near the tree and began to stare hard at it.
"what are you looking at, michael?"
asked the magpie, who was watching him from a bough.
"i'm looking at this tree.
it has just struck me what a good tree it would be to cut my new snow-shoes out of."
but at this answer the magpie screeched loudly, and exclaimed: "oh, not this tree, dear brother, i implore you!
i have built my nest on it, and my young ones are not yet old enough to fly."
"it will not be easy to find another tree that would make such good snow-shoes," answered the fox, cocking his head on one side, and gazing at the tree thoughtfully; "but i do not like to be ill-natured, so if you will give me one of your young ones i will seek my snow-shoes elsewhere."
not knowing what to do the poor magpie had to agree, and flying back, with a heavy heart, he threw one of his young ones out of the nest.
the fox seized it in his mouth and ran off in triumph, while the magpie, though deeply grieved for the loss of his little one, found some comfort in the thought that only a bird of extraordinary wisdom would have dreamed of saving the rest by the sacrifice of the one.
but what do you think happened?
why, a few days later, michael the fox might have been seen sitting under the very same tree, and a dreadful pang shot through the heart of the magpie as he peeped at him from a hole in the nest.
"what are you looking at?"
he asked in a trembling voice.
"at this tree.
i was just thinking what good snowshoes it would make," answered the fox in an absent voice, as if he was not thinking of what he was saying.
"oh, my brother, my dear little brother, do n't do that," cried the magpie, hopping about in his anguish.
"you know you promised only a few days ago that you would get your snow-shoes elsewhere."
"so i did; but though i have searched through the whole forest, there is not a single tree that is as good as this.
i am very sorry to put you out, but really it is not my fault.
the only thing i can do for you is to offer to give up my snow-shoes altogether if you will throw me down one of your young ones in exchange."
and the poor magpie, in spite of his wisdom, was obliged to throw another of his little ones out of the nest; and this time he was not able to console himself with the thought that he had been much cleverer than other people.
he sat on the edge of his nest, his head drooping and his feathers all ruffled, looking the picture of misery.
indeed he was so different from the gay, jaunty magpie whom every creature in the forest knew, that a crow who was flying past, stopped to inquire what was the matter.
"where are the two young ones who are not in the nest?"
asked he."
i had to give them to the fox," replied the magpie in a quivering voice; "he has been here twice in the last week, and wanted to cut down my tree for the purpose of making snow-shoes out of it, and the only way i could buy him off was by giving him two of my young ones."
oh, you fool," cried the crow, "the fox was only trying to frighten you.
he could not have cut down the tree, for he has neither axe nor knife.
dear me, to think that you have sacrificed your young ones for nothing!
dear, dear!
how could you be so very foolish!"
and the crow flew away, leaving the magpie overcome with shame and sorrow.
the next morning the fox came to his usual place in front of the tree, for he was hungry, and a nice young magpie would have suited him very well for dinner.
but this time there was no cowering, timid magpie to do his bidding, but a bird with his head erect and a determined voice.
"my good fox," said the magpie putting his head on one side and looking very wise -- "my good fox, if you take my advice, you will go home as fast as you can.
there is no use your talking about making snow-shoes out of this tree, when you have neither knife nor axe to cut it down with!"
"who has been teaching you wisdom?"
asked the fox, forgetting his manners in his surprise at this new turn of affairs.
"the crow, who paid me a visit yesterday," answered the magpie.
"the crow was it?"
said the fox, "well, the crow had better not meet me for the future, or it may be the worse for him."
as michael, the cunning beast, had no desire to continue the conversation, he left the forest; but when he came to the high road he laid himself at full length on the ground, stretching himself out, just as if he was dead.
very soon he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the crow was flying towards him, and he kept stiller and stiffer than ever, with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
the crow, who wanted her supper very badly, hopped quickly towards him, and was stooping forward to peck at his tongue when the fox gave a snap, and caught him by the wing.
the crow knew that it was of no use struggling, so he said: "ah, brother, if you are really going to eat me, do it, i beg of you, in good style.
throw me first over this precipice, so that my feathers may be strewn here and there, and that all who see them may know that your cunning is greater than mine."
this idea pleased the fox, for he had not yet forgiven the crow for depriving him of the young magpies, so he carried the crow to the edge of the precipice and threw him over, intending to go round by a path he knew and pick him up at the bottom.
but no sooner had the fox let the crow go than he soared up into the air, and hovering just out of teach of his enemy's jaws, he cried with a laugh: "ah, fox!
you know well how to catch, but you can not keep."
with his tail between his legs, the fox slunk into the forest.
he did not know where to look for a dinner, as he guessed that the crow would have flown back before him, and put every one on their guard.
the notion of going to bed supperless was very unpleasant to him, and he was wondering what in the world he should do, when he chanced to meet with his old friend the bear.
this poor animal had just lost his wife, and was going to get some one to mourn over her, for he felt her loss greatly.
he had hardly left his comfortable cave when he had come across the wolf, who inquired where he was going."
i am going to find a mourner," answered the bear, and told his story.
"oh, let me mourn for you," cried the wolf.
"do you understand how to howl?"
said the bear.
"oh, certainly, godfather, certainly," replied the wolf; but the bear said he should like to have a specimen of his howling, to make sure that he knew his business.
so the wolf broke forth in his song of lament: "hu, hu, hu, hum, hoh," he shouted, and he made such a noise that the bear put up his paws to his ears, and begged him to stop.
"you have no idea how it is done.
be off with you," said he angrily.
a little further down the road the hare was resting in a ditch, but when she saw the bear, she came out and spoke to him, and inquired why he looked so sad.
the bear told her of the loss of his wife, and of his search after a mourner that could lament over her in the proper style.
the hare instantly offered her services, but the bear took care to ask her to give him a proof of her talents, before he accepted them.
"pu, pu, pu, pum, poh," piped the hare; but this time her voice was so small that the bear could hardly hear her.
"that is not what i want," he said," i will bid you good morning."
it was after this that the fox came up, and he also was struck with the bear's altered looks, and stopped.
"what is the matter with you, godfather?"
asked he, "and where are you going?'"
i am going to find a mourner for my wife," answered the bear.
"oh, do choose me," cried the fox, and the bear looked at him thoughtfully.
"can you howl well?"
he said.
"yes, beautifully, just listen," and the fox lifted up his voice and sang weeping: "lou, lou, lou!
the famous spinner, the baker of good cakes, the prudent housekeeper is torn from her husband!
lou, lou, lou!
she is gone!
she is gone!"
"now at last i have found some one who knows the art of lamentation," exclaimed the bear, quite delighted; and he led the fox back to his cave, and bade him begin his lament over the dead wife who was lying stretched out on her bed of grey moss.
but this did not suit the fox at all.
"one can not wail properly in this cave," he said, "it is much too damp.
you had better take the body to the storehouse.
it will sound much finer there."
so the bear carried his wife's body to the storehouse, while he himself went back to the cave to cook some pap for the mourner.
from time to time he paused and listened for the sound of wailing, but he heard nothing.
at last he went to the door of the storehouse, and called to the fox: "why do n't you howl, godfather?
what are you about?"
and the fox, who, instead of weeping over the dead bear, had been quietly eating her, answered: "there only remain now her legs and the soles of her feet.
give me five minutes more and they will be gone also!"
when the bear heard that he ran back for the kitchen ladle, to give the traitor the beating he deserved.
but as he opened the door of the storehouse, michael was ready for him, and slipping between his legs, dashed straight off into the forest.
the bear, seeing that the traitor had escaped, flung the ladle after him, and it just caught the tip of his tail, and that is how there comes to be a spot of white on the tails of all foxes.
-lsb- from finnische mahrchen. -rsb-
how the beggar boy turned into count piro once upon a time there lived a man who had only one son, a lazy, stupid boy, who would never do anything he was told.
when the father was dying, he sent for his son and told him that he would soon be left alone in the world, with no possessions but the small cottage they lived in and a pear tree which grew behind it, and that, whether he liked it or not, he would have to work, or else he would starve.
then the old man died.
but the boy did not work; instead, he idled about as before, contenting himself with eating the pears off his tree, which, unlike other pear trees before or since, bore fruit the whole year round.
indeed, the pears were so much finer than any you could get even in the autumn, that one day, in the middle of the winter, they attracted the notice of a fox who was creeping by.
"dear me; what lovely pears!"
he said to the youth.
"do give me a basket of them.
it will bring you luck!"
"ah, little fox, but if i give you a basketful, what am i to eat?"
asked the boy.
"oh, trust me, and do what i tell you," said the fox;" i know it will bring you luck."
so the boy got up and picked some of the ripest pears and put them into a rush basket.
the fox thanked him, and, taking the basket in his mouth, trotted off to the king's palace and made his way straight to the king.
"your majesty, my master sends you a few of his best pears, and begs you will graciously accept them," he said, laying the basket at the feet of the king.
"pears!
at this season?"
cried the king, peering down to look at them; "and, pray, who is your master?"
"the count piro," answered the fox.
"but how does he manage to get pears in midwinter?"
asked the king.
"oh, he has everything he wants," replied the fox; "he is richer even than you are, your majesty."
"then what can i send him in return for his pears?"
said the king.
"nothing, your majesty, or you would hurt his feelings," answered the fox.
"well, tell him how heartily i thank him, and how much i shall enjoy them."
and the fox went away.
he trotted back to the cottage with his empty basket and told his tale, but the youth did not seem as pleased to hear as the fox was to tell.
"but, my dear little fox," said he, "you have brought me nothing in return, and i am so hungry!"
"let me alone," replied the fox;" i know what i am doing.
you will see, it will bring you luck."
a few days after this the fox came back again."
i must have another basket of pears," said he.
"ah, little fox, what shall i eat if you take away all my pears?"
answered the youth.
"be quiet, it will be all right," said the fox; and taking a bigger basket than before, he filled it quite full of pears.
then he picked it up in his mouth, and trotted off to the palace.
"your majesty, as you seemed to like the first basket of pears, i have brought you some more," said he, "with my master, the count piro's humble respects."
"now, surely it is not possible to grow such pears with deep snow on the ground?"
cried the king.
"oh, that never affects them," answered the fox lightly; "he is rich enough to do anything.
but to-day he sends me to ask if you will give him your daughter in marriage?"
"if he is so much richer than i am," said the king," i shall be obliged to refuse.
my honour would not permit me to accept his offer."
"oh, your majesty, you must not think that," replied the fox; "and do not let the question of a dowry trouble you.
the count piro would not dream of asking anything but the hand of the princess."
"is he really so rich that he can do without a dowry?"
asked the king.
"did i not tell your majesty that he was richer than you?"
answered the fox reproachfully.
"well, beg him to come here, that we may talk together," said the king.
so the fox went back to the young man and said: "i have told the king that you are count piro, and have asked his daughter in marriage."
"oh, little fox, what have you done?"
cried the youth in dismay; "when the king sees me he will order my head to be cut off."
"oh, no, he wo n't!"
replied the fox; "just do as i tell you."
and he went off to the town, and stopped at the house of the best tailor.
"my master, the count piro, begs that you will send him at once the finest coat that you have in your shop," said the fox, putting on his grandest air, "and if it fits him i will call and pay for it to-morrow!
indeed, as he is in a great hurry, perhaps it might be as well if i took it round myself."
the tailor was not accustomed to serve counts, and he at once got out all the coats he had ready.
the fox chose out a beautiful one of white and silver, bade the tailor tie it up in a parcel, and carrying the string in his teeth, he left the shop, and went to a horse-dealer's, whom he persuaded to send his finest horse round to the cottage, saying that the king had bidden his master to the palace.
very unwillingly the young man put on the coat and mounted the horse, and rode up to meet the king, with the fox running before him.
"what am i to say to his majesty, little fox?"
he asked anxiously; "you know that i have never spoken to a king before."
"say nothing," answered the fox, "but leave the talking to me.
""good morning, your majesty," will be all that is necessary for you."
by this time they had reached the palace, and the king came to the door to receive count piro, and led him to the great hall, where a feast was spread.
the princess was already seated at the table, but was as dumb as count piro himself.
"the count speaks very little," the king said at last to the fox, and the fox answered: "he has so much to think about in the management of his property that he can not afford to talk like ordinary people."
the king was quite satisfied, and they finished dinner, after which count piro and the fox took leave.
the next morning the fox came round again.
"give me another basket of pears," he said.
"very well, little fox; but remember it may cost me my life," answered the youth.
"oh, leave it to me, and do as i tell you, and you will see that in the end it will bring you luck," answered the fox; and plucking the pears he took them up to the king.
"my master, count piro, sends you these pears," he said, "and asks for an answer to his proposal."
"tell the count that the wedding can take place whenever he pleases," answered the king, and, filled with pride, the fox trotted back to deliver his message.
"but i ca n't bring the princess here, little fox?"
cried the young man in dismay.
"you leave everything to me," answered the fox; "have i not managed well so far?"
and up at the palace preparations were made for a grand wedding, and the youth was married to the princess.
after a week of feasting, the fox said to the king: "my master wishes to take his young bride home to his own castle."
"very well, i will accompany them," replied the king; and he ordered his courtiers and attendants to get ready, and the best horses in his stable to be brought out for himself, count piro and the princess.
so they all set out, and rode across the plain, the little fox running before them.
he stopped at the sight of a great flock of sheep, which was feeding peacefully on the rich grass.
"to whom do these sheep belong?"
asked he of the shepherd.
"to an ogre," replied the shepherd.
"hush," said the fox in a mysterious manner.
"do you see that crowd of armed men riding along?
if you were to tell them that those sheep belonged to an ogre, they would kill them, and then the ogre would kill you!
if they ask, just say the sheep belong to count piro; it will be better for everybody."
and the fox ran hastily on, as he did not wish to be seen talking to the shepherd.
very soon the king came up.
"what beautiful sheep!"
he said, drawing up his horse."
i have none so fine in my pastures.
whose are they?"
"count piro's," answered the shepherd, who did not know the king.
"well, he must be a very rich man," thought the king to himself, and rejoiced that he had such a wealthy son-in-law.
meanwhile the fox had met with a huge herd of pigs, snuffling about the roots of some trees.
"to whom do these pigs belong?"
he asked of the swineherd.
"to an ogre," replied he.
"hush!"
whispered the fox, though nobody could hear him; "do you see that troop of armed men riding towards us?
if you tell them that the pigs belong to the ogre they will kill them, and then the ogre will kill you!
if they ask, just say that the pigs belong to count piro; it will be better for everybody."
and he ran hastily on.
soon after the king rode up.
"what fine pigs!"
he said, reining in his horse.
"they are fatter than any i have got on my farms.
whose are they?"
"count piro's," answered the swineherd, who did not know the king; and again the king felt he was lucky to have such a rich son-in-law.
this time the fox ran faster than before, and in a flowery meadow he found a troop of horses feeding.
"whose horses are these?"
he asked of the man who was watching them.
"an ogre's," replied he.
"hush!"
whispered the fox, "do you see that crowd of armed men coming towards us?
if you tell them the horses belong to an ogre they will drive them off, and then the ogre will kill you!
if they ask, just say they are count piro's; it will be better for everybody."
and he ran on again.
in a few minutes the king rode up.
"oh, what lovely creatures!
how i wish they were mine!"
he exclaimed.
"whose are they?"
count piro's," answered the man, who did not know the king; and the king's heart leapt as he thought that if they belonged to his rich son-in-law they were as good as his.
at last the fox came to the castle of the ogre himself.
he ran up the steps, with tears falling from his eyes, and crying: "oh, you poor, poor people, what a sad fate is yours!"
"what has happened?"
asked the ogre, trembling with fright.
"do you see that troop of horsemen who are riding along the road?
they are sent by the king to kill you!"
"oh, dear little fox, help us, we implore you!"
cried the ogre and his wife.
"well, i will do what i can," answered the fox.
"the best place is for you both to hide in the big oven, and when the soldiers have gone by i will let you out."
the ogre and ogress scrambled into the oven as quick as thought, and the fox banged the door on them; just as he did so the king came up.
"do us the honour to dismount, your majesty," said the fox, bowing low.
"this is the palace of count piro!"
"why it is more splendid than my own!"
exclaimed the king, looking round on all the beautiful things that filled the hall.
but why are there no servants?"
"his excellency the count piro wished the princess to choose them for herself," answered the fox, and the king nodded his approval.
he then rode on, leaving the bridal pair in the castle.
but when it was dark and all was still, the fox crept downstairs and lit the kitchen fire, and the ogre and his wife were burned to death.
the next morning the fox said to count piro: "now that you are rich and happy, you have no more need of me; but, before i go, there is one thing i must ask of you in return: when i die, promise me that you will give me a magnificent coffin, and bury me with due honours."
"oh, little, little fox, do n't talk of dying," cried the princess, nearly weeping, for she had taken a great liking to the fox.
after some time the fox thought he would see if the count piro was really grateful to him for all he had done, and went back to the castle, where he lay down on the door-step, and pretended to be dead.
the princess was just going out for a walk, and directly she saw him lying there, she burst into tears and fell on her knees beside him.
"my dear little fox, you are not dead," she wailed; "you poor, poor little creature, you shall have the finest coffin in the world!'"
a coffin for an animal?"
said count piro.
"what nonsense!
just take him by the leg and throw him into the ditch."
then the fox sprang up and cried: "you wretched, thankless beggar; have you forgotten that you owe all your riches to me?"
count piro was frightened when he heard these words, as he thought that perhaps the fox might have power to take away the castle, and leave him as poor as when he had nothing to eat but the pears off his tree.
so he tried to soften the fox's anger, saying that he had only spoken in joke, as he had known quite well that he was not really dead.
for the sake of the princess, the fox let himself be softened, and he lived in the castle for many years, and played with count piro's children.
and when he actually did die, his coffin was made of silver, and count piro and his wife followed him to the grave.
-lsb- from sicilianische mahrchen. -rsb-
the rogue and the herdsman in a tiny cottage near the king's palace there once lived an old man, his wife, and his son, a very lazy fellow, who would never do a stroke of work.
he could not be got even to look after their one cow, but left her to look after herself, while he lay on a bank and went to sleep in the sun.
for a long time his father bore with him, hoping that as he grew older he might gain more sense; but at last the old man's patience was worn out, and he told his son that he should not stay at house in idleness, and must go out into the world to seek his fortune.
the young man saw that there was no help for it, and he set out with a wallet full of food over his shoulder.
at length he came to a large house, at the door of which he knocked.
"what do you want?"
asked the old man who opened it.
and the youth told him how his father had turned him out of his house because he was so lazy and stupid, and he needed shelter for the night.
"that you shall have," replied the man; "but to-morrow i shall give you some work to do, for you must know that i am the chief herdsman of the king."
the youth made no answer to this.
he felt, if he was to be made to work after all, that he might as well have stayed where he was.
but as he did not see any other way of getting a bed, he went slowly in.
the herdsman's two daughters and their mother were sitting at supper, and invited him to join them.
nothing more was said about work, and when the meal was over they all went to bed.
in the morning, when the young man was dressed, the herdsman called to him and said: "now listen, and i will tell you what you have to do."
"what is it?"
asked the youth, sulkily.
"nothing less than to look after two hundred pigs," was the reply.
"oh, i am used to that," answered the youth.
"yes; but this time you will have to do it properly," said the herdsman; and he took the youth to the place where the pigs were feeding, and told him to drive them to the woods on the side of the mountain.
this the young man did, but as soon as they reached the outskirts of the mountain they grew quite wild, and would have run away altogether, had they not luckily gone towards a narrow ravine, from which the youth easily drove them home to his father's cottage.
"where do all these pigs come from, and how did you get them?"
asked the old man in surprise, when his son knocked at the door of the hut he had left only the day before.
"they belong to the king's chief herdsman," answered his son.
"he gave them to me to look after, but i knew i could not do it, so i drove them straight to you.
now make the best of your good fortune, and kill them and hang them up at once."
"what are you talking about?"
cried the father, pale with horror.
"we should certainly both be put to death if i did any such thing."
"no, no; do as i tell you, and i will get out of it somehow," replied the young man.
and in the end he had his way.
the pigs were killed, and laid side by side in a row.
then he cut off the tails and tied them together with a piece of cord, and swinging the bundle over his back, he returned to the place where they should have been feeding.
here there was a small swamp, which was just what he wanted, and finding a large stone, he fastened the rope to it, and sank it in the swamp, after which he arranged the tails carefully one by one, so that only their points were seen sticking out of the water.
when everything was in order, he hastened home to his master with such a sorrowful face that the herdsman saw at once that something dreadful had happened.
"where are the pigs?"
asked he.
"oh, do n't speak of them!"
answered the young man;" i really can hardly tell you.
the moment they got into the field they became quite mad, and each ran in a different direction.
i ran too, hither and thither, but as fast as i caught one, another was off, till i was in despair.
at last, however, i collected them all and was about to drive them back, when suddenly they rushed down the hill into the swamp, where they vanished completely, leaving only the points of their tails, which you can see for yourself."
"you have made up that story very well," replied the herdsman.
"no, it is the real truth; come with me and i'll prove it."
and they went together to the spot, and there sure enough were the points of the tails sticking up out of the water.
the herdsman laid hold of the nearest, and pulled at it with all his might, but it was no use, for the stone and the rope held them all fast.
he called to the young man to help him, but the two did not succeed any better than the one had done.
"yes, your story was true after all; it is a wonderful thing," said the herdsman.
"but i see it is no fault of yours, and i must put up with my loss as well as i can.
now let us return home, for it is time for supper.
next morning the herdsman said to the young man: "i have got some other work for you to do.
to-day you must take a hundred sheep to graze; but be careful that no harm befalls them.'"
i will do my best," replied the youth.
and he opened the gate of the fold, where the sheep had been all night, and drove them out into the meadow.
but in a short time they grew as wild as the pigs had done, and scattered in all directions.
the young man could not collect them, try as he would, and he thought to himself that this was the punishment for his laziness in refusing to look after his father's one cow.
at last, however, the sheep seemed tired of running about, and then the youth managed to gather them together, and drove them, as before, straight to his father's house.
"whose sheep are these, and what are they doing here?"
asked the old man in wonder, and his son told him.
but when the tale was ended the father shook his head.
"give up these bad ways and take them back to your master," said he.
"no, no," answered the youth;" i am not so stupid as that!
we will kill them and have them for dinner."
"you will lose your life if you do," replied the father.
"oh, i am not sure of that!"
said the son, "and, anyway, i will have my will for once."
and he killed all the sheep and laid them on the grass.
but he cut off the head of the ram which always led the flock and had bells round its horns.
this he took back to the place where they should have been feeding, for here he had noticed a high rock, with a patch of green grass in the middle and two or three thick bushes growing on the edge.
up this rock he climbed with great difficulty, and fastened the ram's head to the bushes with a cord, leaving only the tips of the horns with the bells visible.
as there was a soft breeze blowing, the bushes to which the head was tied moved gently, and the bells rang.
when all was done to his liking he hastened quickly back to his master.
"where are the sheep?"
asked the herdsman as the young man ran panting up the steps.
"oh!
do n't speak of them," answered he.
"it is only by a miracle that i am here myself."
"tell me at once what has happened," said the herdsman sternly.
the youth began to sob, and stammered out: "i -- i hardly know how to tell you!
they -- they -- they were so -- so troublesome -- that i could not manage them at all.
they -- ran about in -- in all directions, and i -- i -- ran after them and nearly died of fatigue.
then i heard a -- a noise, which i -- i thought was the wind.
but -- but -- it was the sheep, which, be -- before my very eyes, were carried straight up -- up into the air.
i stood watching them as if i was turned to stone, but there kept ringing in my ears the sound of the bells on the ram which led them."
"that is nothing but a lie from beginning to end," said the herdsman.
"no, it is as true as that there is a sun in heaven," answered the young man.
"then give me a proof of it," cried his master.
"well, come with me," said the youth.
by this time it was evening and the dusk was falling.
the young man brought the herdsman to the foot of the great rock, but it was so dark you could hardly see.
still the sound of sheep bells rang softly from above, and the herdsman knew them to be those he had hung on the horns of his ram.
"do you hear?"
asked the youth.
"yes, i hear; you have spoken the truth, and i can not blame you for what has happened.
i must bear the loss as best as i can."
he turned and went home, followed by the young man, who felt highly pleased with his own cleverness."
i should not be surprised if the tasks i set you were too difficult, and that you were tired of them," said the herdsman next morning; "but to-day i have something quite easy for you to do.
you must look after forty oxen, and be sure you are very careful, for one of them has gold-tipped horns and hoofs, and the king reckons it among his greatest treasures."
the young man drove out the oxen into the meadow, and no sooner had they got there than, like the sheep and the pigs, they began to scamper in all directions, the precious bull being the wildest of all.
as the youth stood watching them, not knowing what to do next, it came into his head that his father's cow was put out to grass at no great distance; and he forthwith made such a noise that he quite frightened the oxen, who were easily persuaded to take the path he wished.
when they heard the cow lowing they galloped all the faster, and soon they all arrived at his father's house.
the old man was standing before the door of his hut when the great herd of animals dashed round a corner of the road, with his son and his own cow at their head.
"whose cattle are these, and why are they here?"
he asked; and his son told him the story.
"take them back to your master as soon as you can," said the old man; but the son only laughed, and said: "no, no; they are a present to you!
they will make you fat!"
for a long while the old man refused to have anything to do with such a wicked scheme; but his son talked him over in the end, and they killed the oxen as they had killed the sheep and the pigs.
last of all they came to the king's cherished ox.
the son had a rope ready to cast round its horns, and throw it to the ground, but the ox was stronger than the rope, and soon tore it in pieces.
then it dashed away to the wood, the youth following; over hedges and ditches they both went, till they reached the rocky pass which bordered the herdsman's land.
here the ox, thinking itself safe, stopped to rest, and thus gave the young man a chance to come up with it.
not knowing how to catch it, he collected all the wood he could find and made a circle of fire round the ox, who by this time had fallen asleep, and did not wake till the fire had caught its head, and it was too late for it to escape.
then the young man, who had been watching, ran home to his master.
"you have been away a long while," said the herdsman.
"where are the cattle?"
the young man gasped, and seemed as if he was unable to speak.
at last he answered: "it is always the same story!
the oxen are -- gone -- gone!"
"g-g-gone?"
cried the herdsman.
"scoundrel, you lie!'"
i am telling you the exact truth," answered the young man.
"directly we came to the meadow they grew so wild that i could not keep them together.
then the big ox broke away, and the others followed till they all disappeared down a deep hole into the earth.
it seemed to me that i heard sounds of bellowing, and i thought i recognised the voice of the golden horned ox; but when i got to the place from which the sounds had come, i could neither see nor hear anything in the hole itself, though there were traces of a fire all round it."
"wretch!"
cried the herdsman, when he had heard this story, "even if you did not lie before, you are lying now."
"no, master, i am speaking the truth.
come and see for yourself."
"if i find you have deceived me, you are a dead man, said the herdsman; and they went out together.
"what do you call that?"
asked the youth.
and the herdsman looked and saw the traces of a fire, which seemed to have sprung up from under the earth.
"wonder upon wonder," he exclaimed, "so you really did speak the truth after all!
well, i can not reproach you, though i shall have to pay heavily to my royal master for the value of that ox.
but come, let us go home!
i will never set you to herd cattle again, henceforward i will give you something easier to do.'"
i have thought of exactly the thing for you," said the herdsman as they walked along, "and it is so simple that you can not make a mistake.
just make me ten scythes, one for every man, for i want the grass mown in one of my meadows to-morrow."
at these words the youth's heart sank, for he had never been trained either as a smith or a joiner.
however, he dared not say no, but smiled and nodded.
slowly and sadly he went to bed, but he could not sleep, for wondering how the scythes were to be made.
all the skill and cunning he had shown before was of no use to him now, and after thinking about the scythes for many hours, there seemed only one way open to him.
so, listening to make sure that all was still, he stole away to his parents, and told them the whole story.
when they had heard everything, they hid him where no one could find him.
time passed away, and the young man stayed at home doing all his parents bade him, and showing himself very different from what he had been before he went out to see the world; but one day he said to his father that he should like to marry, and have a house of his own.
"when i served the king's chief herdsman," added he," i saw his daughter, and i am resolved to try if i can not win her for my wife."
"it will cost you your life, if you do," answered the father, shaking his head.
"well, i will do my best," replied his son; "but first give me the sword which hangs over your bed!"
the old man did not understand what good the sword would do, however he took it down, and the young man went his way.
late in the evening he arrived at the house of the herdsman, and knocked at the door, which was opened by a little boy."
i want to speak to your master," said he.
"so it is you?"
cried the herdsman, when he had received the message.
"well, you can sleep here to-night if you wish.'"
i have come for something else besides a bed," replied the young man, drawing his sword, "and if you do not promise to give me your youngest daughter as my wife i will stab you through the heart."
what could the poor man do but promise?
and he fetched his youngest daughter, who seemed quite pleased at the proposed match, and gave the youth her hand.
then the young man went home to his parents, and bade them get ready to welcome his bride.
and when the wedding was over he told his father-in-law, the herdsman, what he had done with the sheep, and pigs, and cattle.
by-and-by the story came to the king's ears, and he thought that a man who was so clever was just the man to govern the country; so he made him his minister, and after the king himself there was no one so great as he.
-lsb- from islandische mahrchen. -rsb-
eisenkopf once upon a time there lived an old man who had only one son, whom he loved dearly; but they were very poor, and often had scarcely enough to eat.
then the old man fell ill, and things grew worse than ever, so he called his son and said to him: "my dear boy, i have no longer any food to give you, and you must go into the world and get it for yourself.
it does not matter what work you do, but remember if you do it well and are faithful to your master, you will always have your reward."
so peter put a piece of black bread in his knapsack, and strapping it on his back, took a stout stick in his hand, and set out to seek his fortune.
for a long while he travelled on and on, and nobody seemed to want him; but one day he met an old man, and being a polite youth, he took off his hat and said: "good morning," in a pleasant voice.
"good morning," answered the old man; "and where are you going?'"
i am wandering through the country trying to get work," replied peter.
"then stay with me, for i can give you plenty," said the old man, and peter stayed.
his work did not seem hard, for he had only two horses and a cow to see after, and though he had been hired for a year, the year consisted of but three days, so that it was not long before he received his wages.
in payment the old man gave him a nut, and offered to keep him for another year; but peter was home-sick; and, besides, he would rather have been paid ever so small a piece of money than a nut; for, thought he, nuts grow on every tree, and i can gather as many as i like.
however, he did not say this to the old man, who had been kind to him, but just bade him farewell.
the nearer peter drew to his father's house the more ashamed he felt at having brought back such poor wages.
what could one nut do for him?
why, it would not buy even a slice of bacon.
it was no use taking it home, he might as well eat it.
so he sat down on a stone and cracked it with his teeth, and then took it out of his mouth to break off the shell.
but who could ever guess what came out of that nut?
why, horses and oxen and sheep stepped out in such numbers that they seemed as if they would stretch to the world's end!
the sight gave peter such a shock that he wrung his hands in dismay.
what was he to do with all these creatures, where was he to put them?
he stood and gazed in terror, and at this moment eisenkopf came by.
"what is the matter, young man?"
asked he.
"oh, my friend, there is plenty the matter," answered peter."
i have gained a nut as my wages, and when i cracked it this crowd of beasts came out, and i do n't know what to do with them all!"
"listen to me, my son," said eisenkopf.
"if you will promise never to marry i will drive them all back into the nut again."
in his trouble peter would have promised far harder things than this, so he gladly gave the promise eisenkopf asked for; and at a whistle from the stranger the animals all began crowding into the nut again, nearly tumbling over each other in their haste.
when the last foot had got inside, the two halves of the shell shut close.
then peter put it in his pocket and went on to the house.
no sooner had he reached it than he cracked his nut for the second time, and out came the horses, sheep, and oxen again.
indeed peter thought that there were even more of them than before.
the old man could not believe his eyes when he saw the multitudes of horses, oxen and sheep standing before his door.
"how did you come by all these?"
he gasped, as soon as he could speak; and the son told him the whole story, and of the promise he had given eisenkopf.
the next day some of the cattle were driven to market and sold, and with the money the old man was able to buy some of the fields and gardens round his house, and in a few months had grown the richest and most prosperous man in the whole village.
everything seemed to turn to gold in his hands, till one day, when he and his son were sitting in the orchard watching their herds of cattle grazing in the meadows, he suddenly said: "peter, my boy, it is time that you were thinking of marrying."
"but, my dear father, i told you i can never marry, because of the promise i gave to eisenkopf."
"oh, one promises here and promises there, but no one ever thinks of keeping such promises.
if eisenkopf does not like your marrying, he will have to put up with it all the same!
besides, there stands in the stable a grey horse which is saddled night and day; and if eisenkopf should show his face, you have only got to jump on the horse's back and ride away, and nobody on earth can catch you.
when all is safe you will come back again, and we shall live as happily as two fish in the sea."
and so it all happened.
the young man found a pretty, brown-skinned girl who was willing to have him for a husband, and the whole village came to the wedding feast.
the music was at its gayest, and the dance at its merriest, when eisenkopf looked in at the window.
"oh, ho, my brother!
what is going on here?
it has the air of being a wedding feast.
yet i fancied -- was i mistaken?
-- that you had given me a promise that you never would marry."
but peter had not waited for the end of this speech.
scarcely had he seen eisenkopf than he darted like the wind to the stable and flung himself on the horse's back.
in another moment he was away over the mountain, with eisenkopf running fast behind him.
on they went through thick forests where the sun never shone, over rivers so wide that it took a whole day to sail across them, up hills whose sides were all of glass; on they went through seven times seven countries till peter reined in his horse before the house of an old woman.
"good day, mother," said he, jumping down and opening the door.
"good day, my son," answered she, "and what are you doing here, at the world's end?'"
i am flying for my life, mother, flying to the world which is beyond all worlds; for eisenkopf is at my heels."
"come in and rest then, and have some food, for i have a little dog who will begin to howl when eisenkopf is still seven miles off."
so peter went in and warmed himself and ate and drank, till suddenly the dog began to howl.
"quick, my son, quick, you must go," cried the old woman.
and the lightning itself was not quicker than peter.
"stop a moment," cried the old woman again, just as he was mounting his horse, "take this napkin and this cake, and put them in your bag where you can get hold of them easily."
peter took them and put them into his bag, and waving his thanks for her kindness, he was off like the wind.
round and round he rode, through seven times seven countries, through forests still thicker, and rivers still wider, and mountains still more slippery than the others he had passed, till at length he reached a house where dwelt another old woman.
"good day, mother," said he.
"good day, my son!
what are you seeking here at the world's end?'"
i am flying for my life, mother, flying to the world that is beyond all worlds, for eisenkopf is at my heels."
"come in, my son, and have some food.
i have a little dog who will begin to howl when eisenkopf is still seven miles off; so lie on this bed and rest yourself in peace."
then she went to the kitchen and baked a number of cakes, more than peter could have eaten in a whole month.
he had not finished a quarter of them, when the dog began to howl.
"now, my son, you must go," cried the old woman "but first put these cakes and this napkin in your bag, where you can easily get at them."
so peter thanked her and was off like the wind.
on he rode, through seven times seven countries, till he came to the house of a third old woman, who welcomed him as the others had done.
but when the dog howled, and peter sprang up to go, she said, as she gave him the same gifts for his journey: "you have now three cakes and three napkins, for i know that my sisters have each given you one.
listen to me, and do what i tell you.
ride seven days and nights straight before you, and on the eighth morning you will see a great fire.
strike it three times with the three napkins and it will part in two.
then ride into the opening, and when you are in the middle of the opening, throw the three cakes behind your back with your left hand."
peter thanked her for her counsel, and was careful to do exactly all the old woman had told him.
on the eighth morning he reached a fire so large that he could see nothing else on either side, but when he struck it with the napkins it parted, and stood on each hand like a wall.
as he rode through the opening he threw the cakes behind him.
from each cake there sprang a huge dog, and he gave them the names of world's - weight, ironstrong, and quick-ear.
they bayed with joy at the sight of him, and as peter turned to pat them, he beheld eisenkopf at the edge of the fire, but the opening had closed up behind peter, and he could not get through.
"stop, you promise-breaker," shrieked he; "you have slipped through my hands once, but wait till i catch you again!"
then he lay down by the fire and watched to see what would happen.
when peter knew that he had nothing more to fear from eisenkopf, he rode on slowly till he came to a small white house.
here he entered and found himself in a room where a gray-haired woman was spinning and a beautiful girl was sitting in the window combing her golden hair.
"what brings you here, my son?"
asked the old woman."
i am seeking for a place, mother," answered peter.
"stay with me, then, for i need a servant," said the old woman.
"with pleasure, mother," replied he.
after that peter's life was a very happy one.
he sowed and ploughed all day, except now and then when he took his dogs and went to hunt.
and whatever game he brought back the maiden with the golden hair knew how to dress it.
one day the old woman had gone to the town to buy some flour, and peter and the maiden were left alone in the house.
they fell into talk, and she asked him where his home was, and how he had managed to come through the fire.
peter then told her the whole story, and of his striking the flames with the three napkins as he had been told to do.
the maiden listened attentively and wondered in herself whether what he said was true.
so after peter had gone out to the fields, she crept up to his room and stole the napkins and then set off as fast as she could to the fire by a path she knew of over the hill.
at the third blow she gave the flames divided, and eisenkopf, who had been watching and hoping for a chance of this kind, ran down the opening and stood before her.
at this sight the maiden was almost frightened to death, but with a great effort she recovered herself and ran home as fast as her legs would carry her, closely pursued by eisenkopf.
panting for breath she rushed into the house and fell fainting on the floor; but eisenkopf entered behind her, and hid himself in the kitchen under the hearth.
not long after, peter came in and picked up the three napkins which the maiden had dropped on the threshold.
he wondered how they got there, for he knew he had left them in his room; but what was his horror when he saw the form of the fainting girl lying where she had dropped, as still and white as if she had been dead.
he lifted her up and carried her to her bed, where she soon revived, but she did not tell peter about eisenkopf, who had been almost crushed to death under the hearth-stone by the body of world's - weight.
the next morning peter locked up his dogs and went out into the forest alone.
eisenkopf, however, had seen him go, and followed so closely at his heels that peter had barely time to clamber up a tall tree, where eisenkopf could not reach him.
"come down at once, you gallows bird," he cried.
"have you forgotten your promise that you never would marry?"
"oh, i know it is all up with me," answered peter, "but let me call out three times."
"you can call a hundred times if you like," returned eisenkopf, "for now i have got you in my power, and you shall pay for what you have done."
"iron-strong, world's - weight, quick-ear, fly to my help!"
cried peter; and quick-ear heard, and said to his brothers: "listen, our master is calling us."
"you are dreaming, fool," answered world's - weight; "why he has not finished his breakfast."
and he gave quick-ear a slap with his paw, for he was young and needed to be taught sense.
"iron-strong, world's - weight, quick-ear, fly to my help!"
cried peter again.
this time world's - weight heard also, and he said, "ah, now our master is really calling."
"how silly you are!"
answered iron-strong; "you know that at this hour he is always eating."
and he gave world's - weight a cuff, because he was old enough to know better.
peter sat trembling on the tree dreading lest his dogs had never heard, or else that, having heard, they had refused to come.
it was his last chance, so making a mighty effort he shrieked once more: "iron-strong, world's - weight, quick-ear, fly to my help, or i am a dead man!"
and iron-strong heard, and said: "yes, he is certainly calling, we must go at once."
and in an instant he had burst open the door, and all three were bounding away in the direction of the voice.
when they reached the foot of the tree peter just said: "at him!"
and in a few minutes there was nothing left of eisenkopf.
as soon as his enemy was dead peter got down and returned to the house, where he bade farewell to the old woman and her daughter, who gave him a beautiful ring, all set with diamonds.
it was really a magic ring, but neither peter nor the maiden knew that.
peter's heart was heavy as he set out for home.
he had ceased to love the wife whom he had left at his wedding feast, and his heart had gone out to the golden-haired girl.
however, it was no use thinking of that, so he rode forward steadily.
the fire had to be passed through before he had gone very far, and when he came to it, peter shook the napkins three times in the flames and a passage opened for trim.
but then a curious thing happened; the three dogs, who had followed at his heels all the way, now became three cakes again, which peter put into his bag with the napkins.
after that he stopped at the houses of the three old women, and gave each one back her napkin and her cake.
"where is my wife?"
asked peter, when he reached home.
"oh, my dear son, why did you ever leave us?
after you had vanished, no one knew where, your poor wife grew more and more wretched, and would neither eat nor drink.
little by little she faded away, and a month ago we laid her in her grave, to hide her sorrows under the earth."
at this news peter began to weep, for he had loved his wife before he went away and had seen the golden-haired maiden.
he went sorrowfully about his work for the space of half a year, when, one night, he dreamed that he moved the diamond ring given him by the maiden from his right hand and put it on the wedding finger of the left.
the dream was so real that he awoke at once and changed the ring from one hand to the other.
and as he did so guess what he saw?
why, the golden-haired girl standing before him.
and he sprang up and kissed her, and said: "now you are mine for ever and ever, and when we die we will both be buried in one grave."
and so they were.
-lsb- from ungarische mahrchen. -rsb-
the death of abu nowas and of his wife once upon a time there lived a man whose name was abu nowas, and he was a great favourite with the sultan of the country, who had a palace in the same town where abu nowas dwelt.
one day abu nowas came weeping into the hall of the palace where the sultan was sitting, and said to him: "oh, mighty sultan, my wife is dead."
"that is bad news," replied the sultan;" i must get you another wife."
and he bade his grand vizir send for the sultana.
"this poor abu nowas has lost his wife," said he, when she entered the hall.
"oh, then we must get him another," answered the sultana;" i have a girl that will suit him exactly," and clapped her hands loudly.
at this signal a maiden appeared and stood before her."
i have got a husband for you," said the sultana.
"who is he?"
asked the girl.
"abu nowas, the jester," replied the sultana."
i will take him," answered the maiden; and as abu nowas made no objection, it was all arranged.
the sultana had the most beautiful clothes made for the bride, and the sultan gave the bridegroom his wedding suit, and a thousand gold pieces into the bargain, and soft carpets for the house.
so abu nowas took his wife home, and for some time they were very happy, and spent the money freely which the sultan had given them, never thinking what they should do for more when that was gone.
but come to an end it did, and they had to sell their fine things one by one, till at length nothing was left but a cloak apiece, and one blanket to cover them.
"we have run through our fortune," said abu nowas, "what are we to do now?
i am afraid to go back to the sultan, for he will command his servants to turn me from the door.
but you shall return to your mistress, and throw yourself at her feet and weep, and perhaps she will help us."
"oh, you had much better go," said the wife."
i shall not know what to say."
"well, then, stay at home, if you like," answered abu nowas, "and i will ask to be admitted to the sultan's presence, and will tell him, with sobs, that my wife is dead, and that i have no money for her burial.
when he hears that perhaps he will give us something."
"yes, that is a good plan," said the wife; and abu nowas set out.
the sultan was sitting in the hall of justice when abu nowas entered, his eyes streaming with tears, for he had rubbed some pepper into them.
they smarted dreadfully, and he could hardly see to walk straight, and everyone wondered what was the matter with him.
"abu nowas!
what has happened?"
cried the sultan.
"oh, noble sultan, my wife is dead," wept he.
"we must all die," answered the sultan; but this was not the reply for which abu nowas had hoped.
"true, o sultan, but i have neither shroud to wrap her in, nor money to bury her with," went on abu nowas, in no wise abashed by the way the sultan had received his news.
"well, give him a hundred pieces of gold," said the sultan, turning to the grand vizir.
and when the money was counted out abu nowas bowed low, and left the hall, his tears still flowing, but with joy in his heart.
"have you got anything?"
cried his wife, who was waiting for him anxiously.
"yes, a hundred gold pieces," said he, throwing down the bag, "but that will not last us any time.
now you must go to the sultana, clothed in sackcloth and robes of mourning, and tell her that your husband, abu nowas, is dead, and you have no money for his burial.
when she hears that, she will be sure to ask you what has become of the money and the fine clothes she gave us on our marriage, and you will answer, "before he died he sold everything.""
the wife did as she was told, and wrapping herself in sackcloth went up to the sultana's own palace, and as she was known to have been one of subida's favourite attendants, she was taken without difficulty into the private apartments.
"what is the matter?"
inquired the sultana, at the sight of the dismal figure.
"my husband lies dead at home, and he has spent all our money, and sold everything, and i have nothing left to bury him with," sobbed the wife.
then subida took up a purse containing two hundred gold pieces, and said: "your husband served us long and faithfully.
you must see that he has a fine funeral."
the wife took the money, and, kissing the feet of the sultana, she joyfully hastened home.
they spent some happy hours planning how they should spend it, and thinking how clever they had been.
"when the sultan goes this evening to subida's palace," said abu nowas, "she will be sure to tell him that abu nowas is dead.
""not abu nowas, it is his wife," he will reply, and they will quarrel over it, and all the time we shall be sitting here enjoying ourselves.
oh, if they only knew, how angry they would be!"
as abu nowas had foreseen, the sultan went, in the evening after his business was over, to pay his usual visit to the sultana.
"poor abu nowas is dead!"
said subida when he entered the room.
"it is not abu nowas, but his wife who is dead," answered the sultan.
"no; really you are quite wrong.
she came to tell me herself only a couple of hours ago," replied subida, "and as he had spent all their money, i gave her something to bury him with."
"you must be dreaming," exclaimed the sultan.
"soon after midday abu nowas came into the hall, his eyes streaming with tears, and when i asked him the reason he answered that his wife was dead, and they had sold everything they had, and he had nothing left, not so much as would buy her a shroud, far less for her burial."
for a long time they talked, and neither would listen to the other, till the sultan sent for the door-keeper and bade him go instantly to the house of abu nowas and see if it was the man or his wife who was dead.
but abu nowas happened to be sitting with his wife behind the latticed window, which looked on the street, and he saw the man coming, and sprang up at once.
"there is the sultan's door-keeper!
they have sent him here to find out the truth.
quick!
throw yourself on the bed and pretend that you are dead."
and in a moment the wife was stretched out stiffly, with a linen sheet spread across her, like a corpse.
she was only just in time, for the sheet was hardly drawn across her when the door opened and the porter came in.
"has anything happened?"
asked he.
"my poor wife is dead," replied abu nowas.
"look!
she is laid out here."
and the porter approached the bed, which was in a corner of the room, and saw the stiff form lying underneath.
"we must all die," said he, and went back to the sultan.
"well, have you found out which of them is dead?"
asked the sultan.
"yes, noble sultan; it is the wife," replied the porter.
"he only says that to please you," cried subida in a rage; and calling to her chamberlain, she ordered him to go at once to the dwelling of abu nowas and see which of the two was dead.
"and be sure you tell the truth about it," added she, "or it will be the worse for you."
as her chamberlain drew near the house, abu nowas caught sight of him.
"there is the sultana's chamberlain," he exclaimed in a fright.
"now it is my turn to die.
be quick and spread the sheet over me."
and he laid himself on the bed, and held his breath when the chamberlain came in.
"what are you weeping for?"
asked the man, finding the wife in tears.
"my husband is dead," answered she, pointing to the bed; and the chamberlain drew back the sheet and beheld abu nowas lying stiff and motionless.
then he gently replaced the sheet and returned to the palace.
"well, have you found out this time?"
asked the sultan.
"my lord, it is the husband who is dead."
"but i tell you he was with me only a few hours ago," cried the sultan angrily."
i must get to the bottom of this before i sleep!
let my golden coach be brought round at once."
the coach was before the door in another five minutes, and the sultan and sultana both got in.
abu nowas had ceased being a dead man, and was looking into the street when he saw the coach coming.
"quick!
quick!"
he called to his wife.
"the sultan will be here directly, and we must both be dead to receive him."
so they laid themselves down, and spread the sheet over them, and held their breath.
at that instant the sultan entered, followed by the sultana and the chamberlain, and he went up to the bed and found the corpses stiff and motionless."
i would give a thousand gold pieces to anyone who would tell me the truth about this," cried he, and at the words abu nowas sat up.
"give them to me, then," said he, holding out his hand.
"you can not give them to anyone who needs them more."
"oh, abu nowas, you impudent dog!"
exclaimed the sultan, bursting into a laugh, in which the sultana joined."
i might have known it was one of your tricks!"
but he sent abu nowas the gold he had promised, and let us hope that it did not fly so fast as the last had done.
-lsb- from tunische mahrchen. -rsb-
motiratika once upon a time, in a very hot country, a man lived with his wife in a little hut, which was surrounded by grass and flowers.
they were perfectly happy together till, by-and-by, the woman fell ill and refused to take any food.
the husband tried to persuade her to eat all sorts of delicious fruits that he had found in the forest, but she would have none of them, and grew so thin he feared she would die.
"is there nothing you would like?"
he said at last in despair.
"yes, i think i could eat some wild honey," answered she.
the husband was overjoyed, for he thought this sounded easy enough to get, and he went off at once in search of it.
he came back with a wooden pan quite full, and gave it to his wife."
i ca n't eat that," she said, turning away in disgust.
"look!
there are some dead bees in it!
i want honey that is quite pure."
and the man threw the rejected honey on the grass, and started off to get some fresh.
when he got back he offered it to his wife, who treated it as she had done the first bowlful.
"that honey has got ants in it: throw it away," she said, and when he brought her some more, she declared it was full of earth.
in his fourth journey he managed to find some that she would eat, and then she begged him to get her some water.
this took him some time, but at length he came to a lake whose waters were sweetened with sugar.
he filled a pannikin quite full, and carried it home to his wife, who drank it eagerly, and said that she now felt quite well.
when she was up and had dressed herself, her husband lay down in her place, saying: "you have given me a great deal of trouble, and now it is my turn!"
"what is the matter with you?"
asked the wife."
i am thirsty and want some water," answered he; and she took a large pot and carried it to the nearest spring, which was a good way off.
"here is the water," she said to her husband, lifting the heavy pot from her head; but he turned away in disgust.
"you have drawn it from the pool that is full of frogs and willows; you must get me some more."
so the woman set out again and walked still further to another lake.
"this water tastes of rushes," he exclaimed, "go and get some fresh."
but when she brought back a third supply he declared that it seemed made up of water-lilies, and that he must have water that was pure, and not spoilt by willows, or frogs, or rushes.
so for the fourth time she put her jug on her head, and passing all the lakes she had hitherto tried, she came to another, where the water was golden like honey.
she stooped down to drink, when a horrible head bobbed up on the surface.
"how dare you steal my water?"
cried the head.
"it is my husband who has sent me," she replied, trembling all over.
"but do not kill me!
you shall have my baby, if you will only let me go."
"how am i to know which is your baby?"
asked the ogre.
"oh, that is easily managed.
i will shave both sides of his head, and hang some white beads round his neck.
and when you come to the hut you have only to call "motikatika!"
and he will run to meet you, and you can eat him."
"very well," said the ogre, "you can go home."
and after filling the pot she returned, and told her husband of the dreadful danger she had been in.
now, though his mother did not know it, the baby was a magician and he had heard all that his mother had promised the ogre; and he laughed to himself as he planned how to outwit her.
the next morning she shaved his head on both sides, and hung the white beads round his neck, and said to him: "i am going to the fields to work, but you must stay at home.
be sure you do not go outside, or some wild beast may eat you."
"very well," answered he.
as soon as his mother was out of sight, the baby took out some magic bones, and placed them in a row before him.
"you are my father," he told one bone, "and you are my mother.
you are the biggest," he said to the third, "so you shall be the ogre who wants to eat me; and you," to another, "are very little, therefore you shall be me.
now, then, tell me what i am to do."
"collect all the babies in the village the same size as yourself," answered the bones; "shave the sides of their heads, and hang white beads round their necks, and tell them that when anybody calls "motikatika," they are to answer to it.
and be quick for you have no time to lose."
motikatika went out directly, and brought back quite a crowd of babies, and shaved their heads and hung white beads round their little black necks, and just as he had finished, the ground began to shake, and the huge ogre came striding along, crying: "motikatika!
motikatika!"
"here we are!
here we are!"
answered the babies, all running to meet him.
"it is motikatika i want," said the ogre.
"we are all motikatika," they replied.
and the ogre sat down in bewilderment, for he dared not eat the children of people who had done him no wrong, or a heavy punishment would befall him.
the children waited for a little, wondering, and then they went away.
the ogre remained where he was, till the evening, when the woman returned from the fields."
i have not seen motikatika," said he.
"but why did you not call him by his name, as i told you?"
she asked."
i did, but all the babies in the village seemed to be named motikatika," answered the ogre; "you can not think the number who came running to me."
the woman did not know what to make of it, so, to keep him in a good temper, she entered the hut and prepared a bowl of maize, which she brought him."
i do not want maize, i want the baby," grumbled he "and i will have him."
"have patience," answered she;" i will call him, and you can eat him at once."
and she went into the hut and cried, "motikatika!'"
i am coming, mother," replied he; but first he took out his bones, and, crouching down on the ground behind the hut, asked them how he should escape the ogre.
"change yourself into a mouse," said the bones; and so he did, and the ogre grew tired of waiting, and told the woman she must invent some other plan.
"to-morrow i will send him into the field to pick some beans for me, and you will find him there, and can eat him."
"very well," replied the ogre, "and this time i will take care to have him," and he went back to his lake.
next morning motikatika was sent out with a basket, and told to pick some beans for dinner.
on the way to the field he took out his bones and asked them what he was to do to escape from the ogre.
"change yourself into a bird and snap off the beans," said the bones.
and the ogre chased away the bird, not knowing that it was motikatika.
the ogre went back to the hut and told the woman that she had deceived him again, and that he would not be put off any longer.
"return here this evening," answered she, "and you will find him in bed under this white coverlet.
then you can carry him away, and eat him at once."
but the boy heard, and consulted his bones, which said: "take the red coverlet from your father's bed, and put yours on his," and so he did.
and when the ogre came, he seized motikatika's father and carried him outside the hut and ate him.
when his wife found out the mistake, she cried bitterly; but motikatika said: "it is only just that he should be eaten, and not i; for it was he, and not i, who sent you to fetch the water."
-lsb- adapted from the ba-ronga -lrb- h. junod -rrb-. -rsb-
niels and the giants on one of the great moors over in jutland, where trees wo n't grow because the soil is so sandy and the wind so strong, there once lived a man and his wife, who had a little house and some sheep, and two sons who helped them to herd them.
the elder of the two was called rasmus, and the younger niels.
rasmus was quite content to look after sheep, as his father had done before him, but niels had a fancy to be a hunter, and was not happy till he got hold of a gun and learned to shoot.
it was only an old muzzle-loading flint-lock after all, but niels thought it a great prize, and went about shooting at everything he could see.
so much did he practice that in the long run he became a wonderful shot, and was heard of even where he had never been seen.
some people said there was very little in him beyond this, but that was an idea they found reason to change in the course of time.
the parents of rasmus and niels were good catholics, and when they were getting old the mother took it into her head that she would like to go to rome and see the pope.
the others did n't see much use in this, but she had her way in the end: they sold all the sheep, shut up the house, and set out for rome on foot.
niels took his gun with him.
"what do you want with that?"
said rasmus; "we have plenty to carry without it."
but niels could not be happy without his gun, and took it all the same.
it was in the hottest part of summer that they began their journey, so hot that they could not travel at all in the middle of the day, and they were afraid to do it by night lest they might lose their way or fall into the hands of robbers.
one day, a little before sunset, they came to an inn which lay at the edge of a forest.
"we had better stay here for the night," said rasmus.
"what an idea!"
said niels, who was growing impatient at the slow progress they were making.
"we ca n't travel by day for the heat, and we remain where we are all night.
it will be long enough before we get to rome if we go on at this rate."
rasmus was unwilling to go on, but the two old people sided with niels, who said, "the nights are n't dark, and the moon will soon be up.
we can ask at the inn here, and find out which way we ought to take."
so they held on for some time, but at last they came to a small opening in the forest, and here they found that the road split in two.
there was no sign-post to direct them, and the people in the inn had not told them which of the two roads to take.
"what's to be done now?"
said rasmus."
i think we had better have stayed at the inn."
"there's no harm done," said niels.
"the night is warm, and we can wait here till morning.
one of us will keep watch till midnight, and then waken the other."
rasmus chose to take the first watch, and the others lay down to sleep.
it was very quiet in the forest, and rasmus could hear the deer and foxes and other animals moving about among the rustling leaves.
after the moon rose he could see them occasionally, and when a big stag came quite close to him he got hold of niels" gun and shot it.
niels was wakened by the report.
"what's that?"
he said.
"i've just shot a stag," said rasmus, highly pleased with himself.
"that's nothing," said niels.
"i've often shot a sparrow, which is a much more difficult thing to do."
it was now close on midnight, so niels began his watch, and rasmus went to sleep.
it began to get colder, and niels began to walk about a little to keep himself warm.
he soon found that they were not far from the edge of the forest, and when he climbed up one of the trees there he could see out over the open country beyond.
at a little distance he saw a fire, and beside it there sat three giants, busy with broth and beef.
they were so huge that the spoons they used were as large as spades, and their forks as big as hay-forks: with these they lifted whole bucketfuls of broth and great joints of meat out of an enormous pot which was set on the ground between them.
niels was startled and rather scared at first, but he comforted himself with the thought that the giants were a good way off, and that if they came nearer he could easily hide among the bushes.
after watching them for a little, however, he began to get over his alarm, and finally slid down the tree again, resolved to get his gun and play some tricks with them.
when he had climbed back to his former position, he took good aim, and waited till one of the giants was just in the act of putting a large piece of meat into his mouth.
bang!
went niels" gun, and the bullet struck the handle of the fork so hard that the point went into the giant's chin, instead of his mouth.
"none of your tricks," growled the giant to the one who sat next him.
"what do you mean by hitting my fork like that, and making me prick myself?'"
i never touched your fork," said the other.
"do n't try to get up a quarrel with me."
"look at it, then," said the first.
"do you suppose i stuck it into my own chin for fun?"
the two got so angry over the matter that each offered to fight the other there and then, but the third giant acted as peace-maker, and they again fell to their eating.
while the quarrel was going on, niels had loaded the gun again, and just as the second giant was about to put a nice tit-bit into his mouth, bang!
went the gun again, and the fork flew into a dozen pieces.
this giant was even more furious than the first had been, and words were just coming to blows, when the third giant again interposed.
"do n't be fools," he said to them; "what's the good of beginning to fight among ourselves, when it is so necessary for the three of us to work together and get the upper hand over the king of this country.
it will be a hard enough task as it is, but it will be altogether hopeless if we do n't stick together.
sit down again, and let us finish our meal; i shall sit between you, and then neither of you can blame the other."
niels was too far away to hear their talk, but from their gestures he could guess what was happening, and thought it good fun.
"thrice is lucky," said he to himself; "i'll have another shot yet."
this time it was the third giant's fork that caught the bullet, and snapped in two.
"well," said he, "if i were as foolish as you two, i would also fly into a rage, but i begin to see what time of day it is, and i'm going off this minute to see who it is that's playing these tricks with us."
so well had the giant made his observations, that though niels climbed down the tree as fast as he could, so as to hide among the bushes, he had just got to the ground when the enemy was upon him.
"stay where you are," said the giant, "or i'll put my foot on you, and there wo n't be much of you left after that."
niels gave in, and the giant carried him back to his comrades.
"you do n't deserve any mercy at our hands," said his captor "but as you are such a good shot you may be of great use to us, so we shall spare your life, if you will do us a service.
not far from here there stands a castle, in which the king's daughter lives; we are at war with the king, and want to get the upper hand of him by carrying off the princess, but the castle is so well guarded that there is no getting into it.
by our skill in magic we have cast sleep on every living thing in the castle, except a little black dog, and, as long as he is awake, we are no better off than before; for, as soon as we begin to climb over the wall, the little dog will hear us, and its barking will waken all the others again.
having got you, we can place you where you will be able to shoot the dog before it begins to bark, and then no one can hinder us from getting the princess into our hands.
if you do that, we shall not only let you off, but reward you handsomely."
niels had to consent, and the giants set out for the castle at once.
it was surrounded by a very high rampart, so high that even the giants could not touch the top of it.
"how am i to get over that?"
said niels.
"quite easily," said the third giant; "i'll throw you up on it."
"no, thanks," said niels."
i might fall down on the other side, or break my leg or neck, and then the little dog would n't get shot after all."
"no fear of that," said the giant; "the rampart is quite wide on the top, and covered with long grass, so that you will come down as softly as though you fell on a feather-bed."
niels had to believe him, and allowed the giant to throw him up.
he came down on his feet quite unhurt, but the little black dog heard the dump, and rushed out of its kennel at once.
it was just opening its mouth to bark, when niels fired, and it fell dead on the spot.
"go down on the inside now," said the giant, "and see if you can open the gate to us."
niels made his way down into the courtyard, but on his way to the outer gate he found himself at the entrance to the large hall of the castle.
the door was open, and the hall was brilliantly lighted, though there was no one to be seen.
niels went in here and looked round him: on the wall there hung a huge sword without a sheath, and beneath it was a large drinking-horn, mounted with silver.
niels went closer to look at these, and saw that the horn had letters engraved on the silver rim: when he took it down and turned it round, he found that the inscription was: -- whoever drinks the wine i hold can wield the sword that hangs above; then let him use it for the right, and win a royal maiden's love.
niels took out the silver stopper of the horn, and drank some of the wine, but when he tried to take down the sword he found himself unable to move it.
so he hung up the horn again, and went further in to the castle.
"the giants can wait a little," he said.
before long he came to an apartment in which a beautiful princess lay asleep in a bed, and on a table by her side there lay a gold-hemmed handkerchief.
niels tore this in two, and put one half in his pocket, leaving the other half on the table.
on the floor he saw a pair of gold-embroidered slippers, and one of these he also put in his pocket.
after that he went back to the hall, and took down the horn again.
"perhaps i have to drink all that is in it before i can move the sword," he thought; so he put it to his lips again and drank till it was quite empty.
when he had done this, he could wield the sword with the greatest of ease, and felt himself strong enough to do anything, even to fight the giants he had left outside, who were no doubt wondering why he had not opened the gate to them before this time.
to kill the giants, he thought, would be using the sword for the right; but as to winning the love of the princess, that was a thing which the son of a poor sheep-farmer need not hope for.
when niels came to the gate of the castle, he found that there was a large door and a small one, so he opened the latter.
"ca n't you open the big door?"
said the giants; "we shall hardly be able to get in at this one."
"the bars are too heavy for me to draw," said niels; "if you stoop a little you can quite well come in here."
the first giant accordingly bent down and entered in a stooping posture, but before he had time to straighten his back again niels made a sweep with the sword, and oft went the giant's head.
to push the body aside as it fell was quite easy for niels, so strong had the wine made him, and the second giant as he entered met the same reception.
the third was slower in coming, so niels called out to him: "be quick," he said, "you are surely the oldest of the three, since you are so slow in your movements, but i ca n't wait here long; i must get back to my own people as soon as possible."
so the third also came in, and was served in the same way.
it appears from the story that giants were not given fair play!
by this time day was beginning to break, and niels thought that his folks might already be searching for him, so, instead of waiting to see what took place at the castle, he ran off to the forest as fast as he could, taking the sword with him.
he found the others still asleep, so he woke them up, and they again set out on their journey.
of the night's adventures he said not a word, and when they asked where he got the sword, he only pointed in the direction of the castle, and said, "over that way."
they thought he had found it, and asked no more questions.
when niels left the castle, he shut the door behind him, and it closed with such a bang that the porter woke up.
he could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw the three headless giants lying in a heap in the courtyard, and could not imagine what had taken place.
the whole castle was soon aroused, and then everybody wondered at the affair: it was soon seen that the bodies were those of the king's great enemies, but how they came to be there and in that condition was a perfect mystery.
then it was noticed that the drinking-horn was empty and the sword gone, while the princess reported that half of her handkerchief and one of her slippers had been taken away.
how the giants had been killed seemed a little clearer now, but who had done it was as great a puzzle as before.
the old knight who had charge of the castle said that in his opinion it must have been some young knight, who had immediately set off to the king to claim the hand of the princess.
this sounded likely, but the messenger who was sent to the court returned with the news that no one there knew anything about the matter.
"we must find him, however," said the princess; "for if he is willing to marry me i can not in honour refuse him, after what my father put on the horn."
she took council with her father's wisest men as to what ought to be done, and among other things they advised her to build a house beside the highway, and put over the door this inscription: -- "whoever will tell the story of his life, may stay here three nights for nothing."
this was done, and many strange tales were told to the princess, but none of the travellers said a word about the three giants.
in the meantime niels and the others tramped on towards rome.
autumn passed, and winter was just beginning when they came to the foot of a great range of mountains, towering up to the sky.
"must we go over these?"
said they.
"we shall be frozen to death or buried in the snow."
"here comes a man," said niels; "let us ask him the way to rome."
they did so, and were told that there was no other way.
"and is it far yet?"
said the old people, who were beginning to be worn out by the long journey.
the man held up his foot so that they could see the sole of his shoe; it was worn as thin as paper, and there was a hole in the middle of it.
"these shoes were quite new when i left rome," he said, "and look at them now; that will tell you whether you are far from it or not."
this discouraged the old people so much that they gave up all thought of finishing the journey, and only wished to get back to denmark as quickly as they could.
what with the winter and bad roads they took longer to return than they had taken to go, but in the end they found themselves in sight of the forest where they had slept before.
"what's this?"
said rasmus.
"here's a big house built since we passed this way before."
"so it is," said peter; "let's stay all night in it."
"no, we ca n't afford that," said the old people; "it will be too dear for the like of us."
however, when they saw what was written above the door, they were all well pleased to get a night's lodging for nothing.
they were well received, and had so much attention given to them, that the old people were quite put out by it.
after they had got time to rest themselves, the princess's steward came to hear their story.
"you saw what was written above the door," he said to the father.
"tell me who you are and what your history has been."
"dear me, i have nothing of any importance to tell you," said the old man, "and i am sure we should never have made so bold as to trouble you at all if it had n't been for the youngest of our two sons here."
"never mind that," said the steward; "you are very welcome if you will only tell me the story of your life."
"well, well, i will," said he, "but there is nothing to tell about it.
i and my wife have lived all our days on a moor in north jutland, until this last year, when she took a fancy to go to rome.
we set out with our two sons but turned back long before we got there, and are now on our way home again.
that's all my own story, and our two sons have lived with us all their days, so there is nothing more to be told about them either."
"yes there is," said rasmus; "when we were on our way south, we slept in the wood near here one night, and i shot a stag."
the steward was so much accustomed to hearing stories of no importance that he thought there was no use going further with this, but reported to the princess that the newcomers had nothing to tell.
"did you question them all?"
she said.
"well, no; not directly," said he; "but the father said that none of them could tell me any more than he had done."
"you are getting careless," said the princess;" i shall go and talk to them myself."
niels knew the princess again as soon as she entered the room, and was greatly alarmed, for he immediately supposed that all this was a device to discover the person who had run away with the sword, the slipper and the half of the handkerchief, and that it would fare badly with him if he were discovered.
so he told his story much the same as the others did -lrb- niels was not very particular -rrb-, and thought he had escaped all further trouble, when rasmus put in his word.
"you've forgotten something, niels," he said; "you remember you found a sword near here that night i shot the stag."
"where is the sword?"
said the princess."
i know," said the steward," i saw where he laid it down when they came in;" and off he went to fetch it, while niels wondered whether he could make his escape in the meantime.
before he had made up his mind, however, the steward was back with the sword, which the princess recognised at once.
"where did you get this?"
she said to niels.
niels was silent, and wondered what the usual penalty was for a poor sheep-farmer's son who was so unfortunate as to deliver a princess and carry off things from her bed-room.
"see what else he has about him," said the princess to the steward, and niels had to submit to be searched: out of one pocket came a gold-embroidered slipper, and out of another the half of a gold-hemmed handkerchief.
"that is enough," said the princess; "now we need n't ask any more questions.
send for my father the king at once."
"please let me go," said niels;" i did you as much good as harm, at any rate."
"why, who said anything about doing harm?"
said the princess.
"you must stay here till my father comes."
the way in which the princess smiled when she said this gave niels some hope that things might not be bad for him after all, and he was yet more encouraged when he thought of the words engraver on the horn, though the last line still seemed too good to be true.
however, the arrival of the king soon settled the matter: the princess was willing and so was niels, and in a few days the wedding bells were ringing.
niels was made an earl by that time, and looked as handsome as any of them when dressed in all his robes.
before long the old king died, and niels reigned after him; but whether his father and mother stayed with him, or went back to the moor in jutland, or were sent to rome in a carriage and four, is something that all the historians of his reign have forgotten to mention.
shepherd paul once upon a time a shepherd was taking his flock out to pasture, when he found a little baby lying in a meadow, left there by some wicked person, who thought it was too much trouble to look after it.
the shepherd was fond of children, so he took the baby home with him and gave it plenty of milk, and by the time the boy was fourteen he could tear up oaks as if they were weeds.
then paul, as the shepherd had called him, grew tired of living at home, and went out into the world to try his luck.
he walked on for many miles, seeing nothing that surprised him, but in an open space of the wood he was astonished at finding a man combing trees as another man would comb flax.
"good morning, friend," said paul; "upon my word, you must be a strong man!"
the man stopped his work and laughed."
i am tree comber," he answered proudly; "and the greatest wish of my life is to wrestle with shepherd paul."
"may all your wishes be fulfilled as easily, for i am shepherd paul, and can wrestle with you at once," replied the lad; and he seized tree comber and flung him with such force to the ground that he sank up to his knees in the earth.
however, in a moment he was up again, and catching hold of paul, threw him so that he sank up to his waist; but then it was paul's turn again, and this time the man was buried up to his neck.
"that is enough," cried he;" i see you are a smart fellow, let us become friends."
"very good," answered paul, and they continued their journey together.
by-and-by they reached a man who was grinding stones to powder in his hands, as if they had been nuts.
"good morning," said paul politely; "upon my word, you must be a strong fellow!'"
i am stone crusher," answered the man, and the greatest wish of my life is to wrestle with shepherd paul."
"may all your wishes be as easily fulfilled, for i am shepherd paul, and will wrestle with you at once," and the sport began.
after a short time the man declared himself beaten, and begged leave to go with them; so they all three travelled together.
a little further on they came upon a man who was kneading iron as if it had been dough.
"good morning," said paul, "you must be a strong fellow.'"
i am iron kneader, and should like to fight shepherd paul," answered he.
"let us begin at once then," replied paul; and on this occasion also, paul got the better of his foe, and they all four continued their journey.
at midday they entered a forest, and paul stopped suddenly.
"we three will go and look for game," he said, "and you, tree comber, will stay behind and prepare a good supper for us."
so tree comber set to work to boil and roast, and when dinner was nearly ready, a little dwarf with a pointed beard strolled up to the place.
"what are you cooking?"
asked he, "give me some of it."
"i'll give you some on your back, if you like," answered tree comber rudely.
the dwarf took no notice, but waited patiently till the dinner was cooked, then suddenly throwing tree comber on the ground, he ate up the contents of the saucepan and vanished.
tree comber felt rather ashamed of himself, and set about boiling some more vegetables, but they were still very hard when the hunters returned, and though they complained of his bad cooking, he did not tell them about the dwarf.
next day stone crusher was left behind, and after him iron kneader, and each time the dwarf appeared, and they fared no better than tree comber had done.
the fourth day paul said to them: "my friends, there must be some reason why your cooking has always been so bad, now you shall go and hunt and i will stay behind."
so they went off, amusing themselves by thinking what was in store for paul.
he set to work at once, and had just got all his vegetables simmering in the pot when the dwarf appeared as before, and asked to have some of the stew.
"be off," cried paul, snatching up the saucepan as he spoke.
the dwarf tried to get hold of his collar, but paul seized him by the beard, and tied him to a big tree so that he could not stir, and went on quietly with his cooking.
the hunters came back early, longing to see how paul had got on, and, to their surprise, dinner was quite ready for them.
"you are great useless creatures," said he, "who could n't even outwit that little dwarf.
when we have finished supper i will show you what i have done with him!"
but when they reached the place where paul had left the dwarf, neither he nor the tree was to be seen, for the little fellow had pulled it up by the roots and run away, dragging it after him.
the four friends followed the track of the tree and found that it ended in a deep hole.
"he must have gone down here," said paul, "and i will go after him.
see!
there is a basket that will do for me to sit in, and a cord to lower me with.
but when i pull the cord again, lose no time in drawing the basket up."
and he stepped into the basket, which was lowered by his friends.
at last it touched the ground and he jumped out and looked about him.
he was in a beautiful valley, full of meadows and streams, with a splendid castle standing by.
as the door was open he walked in, but a lovely maiden met him and implored him to go back, for the owner of the castle was a dragon with six heads, who had stolen her from her home and brought her down to this underground spot.
but paul refused to listen to all her entreaties, and declared that he was not afraid of the dragon, and did not care how many heads he had; and he sat down calmly to wait for him.
in a little while the dragon came in, and all the long teeth in his six heads chattered with anger at the sight of the stranger."
i am shepherd paul," said the young man, "and i have come to fight you, and as i am in a hurry we had better begin at once."
"very good," answered the dragon."
i am sure of my supper, but let us have a mouthful of something first, just to give us an appetite."
whereupon he began to eat some huge boulders as if they had been cakes, and when he had quite finished, he offered paul one.
paul was not fond of boulders, but he took a wooden knife and cut one in two, then he snatched up both halves in his hands and threw them with all his strength at the dragon, so that two out of the six heads were smashed in.
at this the dragon, with a mighty roar, rushed upon paul, but he sprang on one side, and with a swinging blow cut off two of the other heads.
then, seizing the monster by the neck, he dashed the remaining heads against the rock.
when the maiden heard that the dragon was dead, she thanked her deliverer with tears in her eyes, but told him that her two younger sisters were in the power of dragons still fiercer and more horrible than this one.
he vowed that his sword should never rest in its sheath till they were set free, and bade the girl come with him, and show him the way.
the maiden gladly consented to go with him, but first she gave him a golden rod, and bade him strike the castle with it.
he did so, and it instantly changed into a golden apple, which he put in his pocket.
after that, they started on their search.
they had not gone far before they reached the castle where the second girl was confined by the power of the dragon with twelve heads, who had stolen her from her home.
she was overjoyed at the sight of her sister and of paul, and brought him a shirt belonging to the dragon, which made every one who wore it twice as strong as they were before.
scarcely had he put it on when the dragon came back, and the fight began.
long and hard was the struggle, but paul's sword and his shirt helped him, and the twelve heads lay dead upon the ground.
then paul changed the castle into an apple, which he put into his pocket, and set out with the two girls in search of the third castle.
it was not long before they found it, and within the walls was the third sister, who was younger and prettier than either of the other two.
her husband had eighteen heads, but when he quitted the lower regions for the surface of the earth, he left them all at home except one, which he changed for the head of a little dwarf, with a pointed beard.
the moment that paul knew that this terrible dragon was no other than the dwarf whom he had tied to the tree, he longed more than ever to fly at his throat.
but the thought of the eighteen heads warned him to be careful, and the third sister brought him a silk shirt which would make him ten times stronger than he was before.
he had scarcely put it on, when the whole castle began to shake violently, and the dragon flew up the steps into the hall.
"well, my friend, so we meet once more!
have you forgotten me?
i am shepherd paul, and i have come to wrestle with you, and to free your wife from your clutches."
"ah, i am glad to see you again," said the dragon.
"those were my two brothers whom you killed, and now your blood shall pay for them."
and he went into his room to look for his shirt and to drink some magic wine, but the shirt was on paul's back, and as for the wine, the girl had given a cupful to paul and then had allowed the rest to run out of the cask.
at this the dragon grew rather frightened, but in a moment had recollected his eighteen heads, and was bold again.
"come on," he cried, rearing himself up and preparing to dart all his heads at once at paul.
but paul jumped underneath, and gave an upward cut so that six of the heads went rolling down.
they were the best heads too, and very soon the other twelve lay beside them.
then paul changed the castle into an apple, and put it in his pocket.
afterwards he and the three girls set off for the opening which led upwards to the earth.
the basket was still there, dangling from the rope, but it was only big enough to hold the three girls, so paul sent them up, and told them to be sure and let down the basket for him.
unluckily, at the sight of the maidens" beauty, so far beyond anything they had ever seen, the friends forgot all about paul, and carried the girls straight away into a far country, so that they were not much better off than before.
meanwhile paul, mad with rage at the ingratitude of the three sisters, vowed he would be revenged upon them, and set about finding some way of getting back to earth.
but it was not very easy, and for months, and months, and months, he wandered about underground, and, at the end, seemed no nearer to fulfilling his purpose than he was at the beginning.
at length, one day, he happened to pass the nest of a huge griffin, who had left her young ones all alone.
just as paul came along a cloud containing fire instead of rain burst overhead, and all the little griffins would certainly have been killed had not paul spread his cloak over the nest and saved them.
when their father returned the young ones told him what paul had done, and he lost no time in flying after paul, and asking how he could reward him for his goodness.
"by carrying me up to the earth," answered paul; and the griffin agreed, but first went to get some food to eat on the way, as it was a long journey.
"now get on my back," he said to paul, "and when i turn my head to the right, cut a slice off the bullock that hangs on that side, and put it in my mouth, and when i turn my head to the left, draw a cupful of wine from the cask that hangs on that side, and pour it down my throat."
for three days and three nights paul and the griffin flew upwards, and on the fourth morning it touched the ground just outside the city where paul's friends had gone to live.
then paul thanked him and bade him farewell, and he returned home again.
at first paul was too tired to do anything but sleep, but as soon as he was rested he started off in search of the three faithless ones, who almost died from fright at the sight of him, for they had thought he would never come back to reproach them for their wickedness.
"you know what to expect," paul said to them quietly.
"you shall never see me again.
off with you!"
he next took the three apples out of his pocket and placed them all in the prettiest places he could find; after which he tapped them with his golden rod, and they became castles again.
he gave two of the castles to the eldest sisters, and kept the other for himself and the youngest, whom he married, and there they are living still.
-lsb- from ungarische mahrchen. -rsb-
how the wicked tanuki was punished the hunters had hunted the wood for so many years that no wild animal was any more to be found in it.
you might walk from one end to the other without ever seeing a hare, or a deer, or a boar, or hearing the cooing of the doves in their nest.
if they were not dead, they had flown elsewhere.
only three creatures remained alive, and they had hidden themselves in the thickest part of the forest, high up the mountain.
these were a grey-furred, long-tailed tanuki, his wife the fox, who was one of his own family, and their little son.
the fox and the tanuki were very clever, prudent beasts, and they also were skilled in magic, and by this means had escaped the fate of their unfortunate friends.
if they heard the twang of an arrow or saw the glitter of a spear, ever so far off, they lay very still, and were not to be tempted from their hiding-place, if their hunger was ever so great, or the game ever so delicious.
"we are not so foolish as to risk our lives," they said to each other proudly.
but at length there came a day when, in spite of their prudence, they seemed likely to die of starvation, for no more food was to be had.
something had to be done, but they did not know what.
suddenly a bright thought struck the tanuki."
i have got a plan," he cried joyfully to his wife."
i will pretend to be dead, and you must change yourself into a man, and take me to the village for sale.
it will be easy to find a buyer, tanukis" skins are always wanted; then buy some food with the money and come home again.
i will manage to escape somehow, so do not worry about me."
the fox laughed with delight, and rubbed her paws together with satisfaction.
"well, next time i will go," she said, "and you can sell me."
and then she changed herself into a man, and picking up the stiff body of the tanuki, set off towards the village.
she found him rather heavy, but it would never have done to let him walk through the wood and risk his being seen by somebody.
as the tanaki had foretold, buyers were many, and the fox handed him over to the person who offered the largest price, and hurried to get some food with the money.
the buyer took the tanuki back to his house, and throwing him into a corner went out.
directly the tanaki found he was alone, he crept cautiously through a chink of the window, thinking, as he did so, how lucky it was that he was not a fox, and was able to climb.
once outside, he hid himself in a ditch till it grew dusk, and then galloped away into the forest.
while the food lasted they were all three as happy as kings; but there soon arrived a day when the larder was as empty as ever.
"it is my turn now to pretend to be dead," cried the fox.
so the tanuki changed himself into a peasant, and started for the village, with his wife's body hanging over his shoulder.
a buyer was not long in coming forward, and while they were making the bargain a wicked thought darted into the tanuki's head, that if he got rid of the fox there would be more food for him and his son.
so as he put the money in his pocket he whispered softly to the buyer that the fox was not really dead, and that if he did not take care she might run away from him.
the man did not need twice telling.
he gave the poor fox a blow on the head, which put an end to her, and the wicked tanuki went smiling to the nearest shop.
in former times he had been very fond of his little son; but since he had betrayed his wife he seemed to have changed all in a moment, for he would not give him as much as a bite, and the poor little fellow would have starved had he not found some nuts and berries to eat, and he waited on, always hoping that his mother would come back.
at length some notion of the truth began to dawn on him; but he was careful to let the old tanuki see nothing, though in his own mind he turned over plans from morning till night, wondering how best he might avenge his mother.
one morning, as the little tanuki was sitting with his father, he remembered, with a start, that his mother had taught him all she knew of magic, and that he could work spells as well as his father, or perhaps better."
i am as good a wizard as you," he said suddenly, and a cold chill ran through the tanuki as he heard him, though he laughed, and pretended to think it a joke.
but the little tanaki stuck to his point, and at last the father proposed they should have a wager.
"change yourself into any shape you like," said he, "and i will undertake to know you.
i will go and wait on the bridge which leads over the river to the village, and you shall transform yourself into anything you please, but i will know you through any disguise."
the little tanuki agreed, and went down the road which his father had pointed out.
but instead of transforming himself into a different shape, he just hid himself in a corner of the bridge, where he could see without being seen.
he had not been there long when his father arrived and took up his place near the middle of the bridge, and soon after the king came by, followed by a troop of guards and all his court.
"ah!
he thinks that now he has changed himself into a king i shall not know him," thought the old tanuki, and as the king passed in his splendid carriage, borne by his servants, he jumped upon it crying: "i have won my wager; you can not deceive me."
but in reality it was he who had deceived himself.
the soldiers, conceiving that their king was being attacked, seized the tanuki by the legs and flung him over into the river, and the water closed over him.
and the little tanoki saw it all, and rejoiced that his mother's death had been avenged.
then he went back to the forest, and if he has not found it too lonely, he is probably living there still.
-lsb- from japanische mahrchen. -rsb-
the crab and the monkey there was once a crab who lived in a hole on the shady side of a mountain.
she was a very good housewife, and so careful and industrious that there was no creature in the whole country whose hole was so neat and clean as hers, and she took great pride in it.
one day she saw lying near the mouth of her hole a handful of cooked rice which some pilgrim must have let fall when he was stopping to eat his dinner.
delighted at this discovery, she hastened to the spot, and was carrying the rice back to her hole when a monkey, who lived in some trees near by, came down to see what the crab was doing.
his eyes shone at the sight of the rice, for it was his favourite food, and like the sly fellow he was, he proposed a bargain to the crab.
she was to give him half the rice in exchange for the kernel of a sweet red kaki fruit which he had just eaten.
he half expected that the crab would laugh in his face at this impudent proposal, but instead of doing so she only looked at him for a moment with her head on one side and then said that she would agree to the exchange.
so the monkey went off with his rice, and the crab returned to her hole with the kernel.
for some time the crab saw no more of the monkey, who had gone to pay a visit on the sunny side of the mountain; but one morning he happened to pass by her hole, and found her sitting under the shadow of a beautiful kaki tree.
"good day," he said politely, "you have some very fine fruit there!
i am very hungry, could you spare me one or two?"
"oh, certainly," replied the crab, "but you must forgive me if i can not get them for you myself.
i am no tree-climber."
"pray do not apologise," answered the monkey.
"now that i have your permission i can get them myself quite easily."
and the crab consented to let him go up, merely saying that he must throw her down half the fruit.
in another moment he was swinging himself from branch to branch, eating all the ripest kakis and filling his pockets with the rest, and the poor crab saw to her disgust that the few he threw down to her were either not ripe at all or else quite rotten.
"you are a shocking rogue," she called in a rage; but the monkey took no notice, and went on eating as fast as he could.
the crab understood that it was no use her scolding, so she resolved to try what cunning would do.
"sir monkey," she said, "you are certainly a very good climber, but now that you have eaten so much, i am quite sure you would never be able to turn one of your somersaults."
the monkey prided himself on turning better somersaults than any of his family, so he instantly went head over heels three times on the bough on which he was sitting, and all the beautiful kakis that he had in his pockets rolled to the ground.
quick as lightning the crab picked them up and carried a quantity of them into her house, but when she came up for another the monkey sprang on her, and treated her so badly that he left her for dead.
when he had beaten her till his arm ached he went his way.
it was a lucky thing for the poor crab that she had some friends to come to her help or she certainly would have died then and there.
the wasp flew to her, and took her back to bed and looked after her, and then he consulted with a rice-mortar and an egg which had fallen out of a nest near by, and they agreed that when the monkey returned, as he was sure to do, to steal the rest of the fruit, that they would punish him severely for the manner in which he had behaved to the crab.
so the mortar climbed up to the beam over the front door, and the egg lay quite still on the ground, while the wasp set down the water-bucket in a corner.
then the crab dug itself a deep hole in the ground, so that not even the tip of her claws might be seen.
soon after everything was ready the monkey jumped down from his tree, and creeping to the door began a long hypocritical speech, asking pardon for all he had done.
he waited for an answer of some sort, but none came.
he listened, but all was still; then he peeped, and saw no one; then he went in.
he peered about for the crab, but in vain; however, his eyes fell on the egg, which he snatched up and set on the fire.
but in a moment the egg had burst into a thousand pieces, and its sharp shell struck him in the face and scratched him horribly.
smarting with pain he ran to the bucket and stooped down to throw some water over his head.
as he stretched out his hand up started the wasp and stung him on the nose.
the monkey shrieked and ran to the door, but as he passed through down fell the mortar and struck him dead.
"after that the crab lived happily for many years, and at length died in peace under her own kaki tree.
-lsb- from japanische mahrchen. -rsb-
the horse gullfaxi and the sword gunnfoder many many years ago there lived a king and queen who had one only son, called sigurd.
when the little boy was only ten years old the queen, his mother, fell ill and died, and the king, who loved her dearly, built a splendid monument to his wife's memory, and day after day he sat by it and bewailed his sad loss.
one morning, as he sat by the grave, he noticed a richly dressed lady close to him.
he asked her name and she answered that it was ingiborg, and seemed surprised to see the king there all alone.
then he told her how he had lost his queen, and how he came daily to weep at her grave.
in return, the lady informed him that she had lately lost her husband, and suggested that they might both find it a comfort if they made friends.
this pleased the king so much that he invited her to his palace, where they saw each other often; and after a time he married her.
after the wedding was over he soon regained his good spirits, and used to ride out hunting as in old days; but sigurd, who was very fond of his stepmother, always stayed at home with her.
one evening ingiborg said to sigurd: "to-morrow your father is going out hunting, and you must go with him."
but sigurd said he would much rather stay at home, and the next day when the king rode off sigurd refused to accompany him.
the stepmother was very angry, but he would not listen, and at last she assured him that he would be sorry for his disobedience, and that in future he had better do as he was told.
after the hunting party had started she hid sigurd under her bed, and bade him be sure to lie there till she called him.
sigurd lay very still for a long while, and was just thinking it was no good staying there any more, when he felt the floor shake under him as if there were an earthquake, and peeping out he saw a great giantess wading along ankle deep through the ground and ploughing it up as she walked.
"good morning, sister ingiborg," cried she as she entered the room, "is prince sigurd at home?"
"no," said ingiborg; "he rode off to the forest with his father this morning."
and she laid the table for her sister and set food before her.
after they had both done eating the giantess said: "thank you, sister, for your good dinner -- the best lamb, the best can of beer and the best drink i have ever had; but -- is not prince sigurd at home?"
ingiborg again said "no"; and the giantess took leave of her and went away.
when she was quite out of sight ingiborg told sigurd to come out of his hiding-place.
the king returned home at night, but his wife told him nothing of what had happened, and the next morning she again begged the prince to go out hunting with his father.
sigurd, however, replied as before, that he would much rather stay at home.
so once more the king rode off alone.
this time ingiborg hid sigurd under the table, and scolded him well for not doing as she bade him.
for some time he lay quite still, and then suddenly the floor began to shake, and a giantess came along wading half way to her knees through the ground.
as she entered the house she asked, as the first one had done: "well, sister ingiborg, is prince sigurd at home?"
"no," answered ingiborg," he rode off hunting with his father this morning"; and going to the cupboard she laid the table for her sister.
when they had finished their meal the giantess rose and said: "thank you for all these nice dishes, and for the best lamb, the best can of beer and the nicest drink i have ever had; but -- is prince sigurd really not at home?"
"no, certainly not!"
replied ingiborg; and with that they took leave of each other.
when she was well out of sight sigurd crept from under the table, and his stepmother declared that it was most important that he should not stay at home next day; but he said he did not see what harm could come of it, and he did not mean to go out hunting, and the next morning, when the king prepared to start, ingiborg implored sigurd to accompany his father.
but it was all no use, he was quite obstinate and would not listen to a word she said.
"you will have to hide me again," said he, so no sooner had the king gone than ingiborg hid sigurd between the wall and the panelling, and by-and-by there was heard once more a sound like an earthquake, as a great giantess, wading knee deep through the ground, came in at the door.
"good day, sister ingiborg!"
she cried, in a voice like thunder; "is prince sigurd at home?"
"oh, no," answered ingiborg, "he is enjoying himself out there in the forest.
i expect it will be quite dark before he comes back again."
"that's a lie!"
shouted the giantess.
and they squabbled about it till they were tired, after which ingiborg laid the table; and when the giantess had done eating she said: "well, i must thank you for all these good things, and for the best lamb, the best can of beer and the best drink i have had for a long time; but -- are you quite sure prince sigurd is not at home?"
"quite," said ingiborg.
"i've told you already that he rode off with his father this morning to hunt in the forest."
at this the giantess roared out with a terrible voice: "if he is near enough to hear my words, i lay this spell on him: let him be half scorched and half withered; and may he have neither rest nor peace till he finds me."
and with these words she stalked off.
for a moment ingiborg stood as if turned to stone, then she fetched sigurd from his hiding-place, and, to her horror, there he was, half scorched and half withered.
"now you see what has happened through your own obstinacy," said she; "but we must lose no time, for your father will soon be coming home."
going quickly into the next room she opened a chest and took out a ball of string and three gold rings, and gave them to sigurd, saying: "if you throw this ball on the ground it will roll along till it reaches some high cliffs.
there you will see a giantess looking out over the rocks.
she will call down to you and say: "ah, this is just what i wanted!
here is prince sigurd.
he shall go into the pot to-night"; but do n't be frightened by her.
she will draw you up with a long boat-hook, and you must greet her from me, and give her the smallest ring as a present.
this will please her, and she will ask you to wrestle with her.
when you are exhausted, she will offer you a horn to drink out of, and though she does not know it, the wine will make you so strong that you will easily be able to conquer her.
after that she will let you stay there all night.
the same thing will happen with my two other sisters.
but, above all, remember this: should my little dog come to you and lay his paws on you, with tears running down his face, then hurry home, for my life will be in danger.
now, good-bye, and do n't forget your stepmother."
then ingiborg dropped the ball on the ground, and sigurd bade her farewell.
that same evening the ball stopped rolling at the foot of some high rocks, and on glancing up, sigurd saw the giantess looking out at the top.
"ah, just what i wanted!"
she cried out when she saw him; "here is prince sigurd.
he shall go into the pot to-night.
come up, my friend, and wrestle with me."
with these words she reached out a long boat hook and hauled him up the cliff.
at first sigurd was rather frightened, but he remembered what ingiborg had said, and gave the giantess her sister's message and the ring.
the giantess was delighted, and challenged him to wrestle with her.
sigurd was fond of all games, and began to wrestle with joy; but he was no match for the giantess, and as she noticed that he was getting faint she gave him a horn to drink out of, which was very foolish on her part, as it made sigurd so strong that he soon overthrew her.
"you may stay here to-night," said she; and he was glad of the rest.
next morning sigurd threw down the ball again and away it rolled for some time, till it stopped at the foot of another high rock.
then he looked up and saw another giantess, even bigger and uglier than the first one, who called out to him: "ah, this is just what i wanted!
here is prince sigurd.
he shall go into the pot to-night.
come up quickly and wrestle with me."
and she lost no time in hauling him up.
the prince gave her his stepmother's message and the second largest ring.
the giantess was greatly pleased when she saw the ring, and at once challenged sigurd to wrestle with her.
they struggled for a long time, till at last sigurd grew faint; so she handed him a horn to drink from, and when he had drunk he became so strong that he threw her down with one hand.
on the third morning sigurd once more laid down his ball, and it rolled far away, till at last it stopped under a very high rock indeed, over the top of which the most hideous giantess that ever was seen looked down.
when she saw who was there she cried out: "ah, this is just what i wanted!
here comes prince sigurd.
into the pot he goes this very night.
come up here, my friend, and wrestle with me."
and she hauled him up just as her sisters had done.
sigurd then gave her his stepmother's message and the last and largest ring.
the sight of the red gold delighted the giantess, and she challenged sigurd to a wrestling match.
this time the fight was fierce and long, but when at length sigurd's strength was failing the giantess gave him something to drink, and after he had drunk it he soon brought her to her knees.
"you have beaten me," she gasped, so now, listen to me.
"not far from here is a lake.
go there; you will find a little girl playing with a boat.
try to make friends with her, and give her this little gold ring.
you are stronger than ever you were, and i wish you good luck."
with these words they took leave of each other, and sigurd wandered on till he reached the lake, where he found the little girl playing with a boat, just as he had been told.
he went up to her and asked what her name was.
she was called helga, she answered, and she lived near by.
so sigurd gave her the little gold ring, and proposed that they should have a game.
the little girl was delighted, for she had no brothers or sisters, and they played together all the rest of the day.
when evening came sigurd asked leave to go home with her, but helga at first forbade him, as no stranger had ever managed to enter their house without being found out by her father, who was a very fierce giant.
however, sigurd persisted, and at length she gave way; but when they came near the door she held her glove over him and sigurd was at once transformed into a bundle of wool.
helga tucked the bundle under her arm and threw it on the bed in her room.
almost at the same moment her father rushed in and hunted round in every corner, crying out: "this place smells of men.
what's that you threw on the bed, helga?'"
a bundle of wool," said she.
"oh, well, perhaps it was that i smelt," said the old man, and troubled himself no more.
the following day helga went out to play and took the bundle of wool with her under her arm.
when she reached the lake she held her glove over it again and sigurd resumed his own shape.
they played the whole day, and sigurd taught helga all sorts of games she had never even heard of.
as they walked home in the evening she said: "we shall be able to play better still to-morrow, for my father will have to go to the town, so we can stay at home."
when they were near the house helga again held her glove over sigurd, and once more he was turned into a bundle of wool, and she carried him in without his being seen.
very early next morning helga's father went to the town, and as soon as he was well out of the way the girl held up her glove and sigurd was himself again.
then she took him all over the house to amuse him, and opened every room, for her father had given her the keys before he left; but when they came to the last room sigurd noticed one key on the bunch which had not been used and asked which room it belonged to."
helga grew red and did not answer."
i suppose you do n't mind my seeing the room which it opens?"
asked sigurd, and as he spoke he saw a heavy iron door and begged helga to unlock it for him.
but she told him she dared not do so, at least if she did open the door it must only be a very tiny chink; and sigurd declared that would do quite well.
the door was so heavy, that it took helga some time to open it, and sigurd grew so impatient that he pushed it wide open and walked in.
there he saw a splendid horse, all ready saddled, and just above it hung a richly ornamented sword on the handle of which was engraved these words: "he who rides this horse and wears this sword will find happiness."
at the sight of the horse sigurd was so filled with wonder that he was not able to speak, but at last he gasped out: "oh, do let me mount him and ride him round the house!
just once; i promise not to ask any more."
"ride him round the house!"
cried helga, growing pale at the mere idea.
"ride gullfaxi!
why father would never, never forgive me, if i let you do that."
"but it ca n't do him any harm," argued sigurd; "you do n't know how careful i will be.
i have ridden all sorts of horses at home, and have never fallen off not once.
oh, helga, do!"
"well, perhaps, if you come back directly," replied helga, doubtfully; "but you must be very quick, or father will find out!"
but, instead of mounting gullfaxi, as she expected, sigurd stood still.
"and the sword," he said, looking fondly up to the place where it hung.
"my father is a king, but he has not got any sword so beautiful as that.
why, the jewels in the scabbard are more splendid than the big ruby in his crown!
has it got a name?
some swords have, you know."
"it is called "gunnfjoder," the "battle plume,"" answered helga, "and "gullfaxi" means "golden mane."
i do n't suppose, if you are to get on the horse at all, it would matter your taking the sword too.
and if you take the sword you will have to carry the stick and the stone and the twig as well."
"they are easily carried," said sigurd, gazing at them with scorn; "what wretched dried-up things!
why in the world do you keep them?"
"bather says that he would rather lose gullfaxi than lose them," replied helga, "for if the man who rides the horse is pursued he has only to throw the twig behind him and it will turn into a forest, so thick that even a bird could hardly fly through.
but if his enemy happens to know magic, and can throw down the forest, the man has only to strike the stone with the stick, and hailstones as large as pigeons" eggs will rain down from the sky and will kill every one for twenty miles round."
having said all this she allowed sigurd to ride "just once" round the house, taking the sword and other things with him.
but when he had ridden round, instead of dismounting, he suddenly turned the horse's head and galloped away.
soon after this helga's father came home and found his daughter in tears.
he asked what was the matter, and when he heard all that had happened, he rushed off as fast as he could to pursue sigurd.
now, as sigurd happened to look behind him he saw the giant coming after him with great strides, and in all haste he threw the twig behind him.
immediately such a thick wood sprang up at once between him and his enemy that the giant was obliged to run home for an axe with which to cut his way through.
the next time sigurd glanced round, the giant was so near that he almost touched gullfaxi's tail.
in an agony of fear sigurd turned quickly in his saddle and hit the stone with the stick.
no sooner had he done this than a terrible hailstorm burst behind, and the giant was killed on the spot.
but had sigurd struck the stone without turning round, the hail would have driven right into his face and killed him instead.
after the giant was dead sigurd rode on towards his own home, and on the way he suddenly met his stepmother's little dog, running to meet him, with tears pouring down its face.
he galloped on as hard as he could, and on arriving found nine men-servants in the act of tying queen ingiborg to a post in the courtyard of the palace, where they intended to burn her.
wild with anger prince sigurd sprang from his horse and, sword in hand, fell on the men and killed them all.
then he released his stepmother, and went in with her to see his father.
the king lay in bed sick with sorrow, and neither eating nor drinking, for he thought that his son had been killed by the queen.
he could hardly believe his own eyes for joy when he saw the prince, and sigurd told him all his adventures.
after that prince sigurd rode back to fetch helga, and a great feast was made which lasted three days; and every one said no bride was ever seen so beautiful as helga, and they lived happily for many, many years, and everybody loved them.
-lsb- from islandische mahrchen. -rsb-
the story of the sham prince, or the ambitious tailor once upon a time there lived a respectable young tailor called labakan, who worked for a clever master in alexandria.
no one could call labakan either stupid or lazy, for he could work extremely well and quickly -- when he chose; but there was something not altogether right about him.
sometimes he would stitch away as fast as if he had a red-hot needle and a burning thread, and at other times he would sit lost in thought, and with such a queer look about him that his fellow-workmen used to say, "labakan has got on his aristocratic face today."
on fridays he would put on his fine robe which he had bought with the money he had managed to save up, and go to the mosque.
as he came back, after prayers, if he met any friend who said "good-day," or "how are you, friend labakan?"
he would wave his hand graciously or nod in a condescending way; and if his master happened to say to him, as he sometimes did, "really, labakan, you look like a prince," he was delighted, and would answer, "have you noticed it too?"
or "well, so i have long thought."
things went on like this for some time, and the master put up with labakan's absurdities because he was, on the whole, a good fellow and a clever workman.
one day, the sultan's brother happened to be passing through alexandria, and wanted to have one of his state robes altered, so he sent for the master tailor, who handed the robe over to labakan as his best workman.
in the evening, when every one had left the workshop and gone home, a great longing drove labakan back to the place where the royal robe hung.
he stood a long time gazing at it, admiring the rich material and the splendid embroidery in it.
at last he could hold out no longer.
he felt he must try it on, and lo!
and behold, it fitted as though it had been made for him.
"am not i as good a prince as any other?"
he asked himself, as he proudly paced up and down the room.
"has not the master often said that i seemed born to be a prince?"
it seemed to him that he must be the son of some unknown monarch, and at last he determined to set out at once and travel in search of his proper rank.
he felt as if the splendid robe had been sent him by some kind fairy, and he took care not to neglect such a precious gift.
he collected all his savings, and, concealed by the darkness of the night, he passed through the gates of alexandria.
the new prince excited a good deal of curiosity where ever he went, for his splendid robe and majestic manner did not seem quite suitable to a person travelling on foot.
if anyone asked questions, he only replied with an important air of mystery that he had his own reasons for not riding.
however, he soon found out that walking made him ridiculous, so at last he bought a quiet, steady old horse, which he managed to get cheap.
one day, as he was ambling along upon murva -lrb- that was the horse's name -rrb-, a horseman overtook him and asked leave to join him, so that they might both beguile the journey with pleasant talk.
the newcomer was a bright, cheerful, good-looking young man, who soon plunged into conversation and asked many questions.
he told labakan that his own name was omar, that he was a nephew of elfi bey, and was travelling in order to carry out a command given him by his uncle on his death bed.
labakan was not quite so open in his confidences, but hinted that he too was of noble birth and was travelling for pleasure.
the two young men took a fancy to each other and rode on together.
on the second day of their journey labakan questioned omar as to the orders he had to carry out, and to his surprise heard this tale.
elfi bey, pacha of cairo, had brought up omar from his earliest childhood, and the boy had never known his parents.
on his deathbed elfi bey called omar to him, and then told him that he was not his nephew, but the son of a great king, who, having been warned of coming dangers by his astrologers, had sent the young prince away and made a vow not to see him till his twenty-second birthday.
elfi bey did not tell omar his father's name, but expressly desired him to be at a great pillar four days" journey east of alexandria on the fourth day of the coming month, on which day he would be twenty-two years old.
here he would meet some men, to whom he was to hand a dagger which elfi bey gave him, and to say "here am i for whom you seek."
if they answered: "praised be the prophet who has preserved you," he was to follow them, and they would take him to his father.
labakan was greatly surprised and interested by this story, but after hearing it he could not help looking on prince omar with envious eyes, angry that his friend should have the position he himself longed so much for.
he began to make comparisons between the prince and himself, and was obliged to confess that he was a fine-looking young man with very good manners and a pleasant expression.
at the same time, he felt sure that had he been in the prince's place any royal father might have been glad to own him.
these thoughts haunted him all day, and he dreamt them all night.
he woke very early, and as he saw omar sleeping quietly, with a happy smile on his face, a wish arose in his mind to take by force or by cunning the things which an unkind fate had denied him.
the dagger which was to act as a passport was sticking in omar's girdle.
labakan drew it gently out, and hesitated for a moment whether or not to plunge it into the heart of the sleeping prince.
however, he shrank from the idea of murder, so he contented himself with placing the dagger in his own belt, and, saddling omar's swift horse for himself, was many miles away before the prince woke up to realise his losses.
for two days labakan rode on steadily, fearing lest, after all, omar might reach the meeting place before him.
at the end of the second day he saw the great pillar at a distance.
it stood on a little hill in the middle of a plain, and could be seen a very long way off.
labakan's heart beat fast at the sight.
though he had had some time in which to think over the part he meant to play his conscience made him rather uneasy.
however, the thought that he must certainly have been born to be a king supported him, and he bravely rode on.
the neighbourhood was quite bare and desert, and it was a good thing that the new prince had brought food for some time with him, as two days were still wanting till the appointed time.
towards the middle of the next day he saw a long procession of horses and camels coming towards him.
it halted at the bottom of the hill, and some splendid tents were pitched.
everything looked like the escort of some great man.
labakan made a shrewd guess that all these people had come here on his account; but he checked his impatience, knowing that only on the fourth day could his wishes be fulfilled.
the first rays of the rising sun woke the happy tailor.
as he began to saddle his horse and prepare to ride to the pillar, he could not help having some remorseful thoughts of the trick he had played and the blighted hopes of the real prince.
but the die was cast, and his vanity whispered that he was as fine looking a young man as the proudest king might wish his son to be, and that, moreover, what had happened had happened.
with these thoughts he summoned up all his courage sprang on his horse, and in less than a quarter of an hour was at the foot of the hill.
here he dismounted, tied the horse to a bush, and, drawing out prince omar's dagger climbed up the hill.
at the foot of the pillar stood six men round a tall and stately person.
his superb robe of cloth of gold was girt round him by a white cashmere shawl, and his white, richly jewelled turban showed that he was a man of wealth and high rank.
labakan went straight up to him, and, bending low, handed him the dagger, saying: "here am i whom you seek."
"praised be the prophet who has preserved you!
replied the old man with tears of joy.
'em brace me, my dear son omar!"
the proud tailor was deeply moved by these solemn words, and with mingled shame and joy sank into the old king's arms.
but his happiness was not long unclouded.
as he raised his head he saw a horseman who seemed trying to urge a tired or unwilling horse across the plain.
only too soon labakan recognised his own old horse, murva, and the real prince omar, but having once told a lie he made up his mind not to own his deceit.
at last the horseman reached the foot of the hill.
here he flung himself from the saddle and hurried up to the pillar.
"stop!"
he cried, "whoever you may be, and do not let a disgraceful impostor take you in.
my name is omar, and let no one attempt to rob me of it."
this turn of affairs threw the standers-by into great surprise.
the old king in particular seemed much moved as he looked from one face to the other.
at last labakan spoke with forced calmness, "most gracious lord and father, do not let yourself be deceived by this man.
as far as i know, he is a half-crazy tailor's apprentice from alexandria, called labakan, who really deserves more pity than anger."
these words infuriated the prince.
foaming with rage, he tried to press towards labakan, but the attendants threw themselves upon him and held him fast, whilst the king said, "truly, my dear son, the poor fellow is quite mad.
let him be bound and placed on a dromedary.
perhaps we may be able to get some help for him."
the prince's first rage was over, and with tears he cried to the king, "my heart tells me that you are my father, and in my mother's name i entreat you to hear me."
"oh!
heaven forbid!"
was the reply.
"he is talking nonsense again.
how can the poor man have got such notions into his head?"
with these words the king took labakan's arm to support him down the hill.
they both mounted richly caparisoned horses and rode across the plain at the head of their followers.
the unlucky prince was tied hand and foot, and fastened on a dromedary, a guard riding on either side and keeping a sharp look-out on him.
the old king was sached, sultan of the wachabites.
for many years he had had no children, but at length the son he had so long wished for was born.
but the sooth-sayers and magicians whom he consulted as to the child's future all said that until he was twenty-two years old he stood in danger of being injured by an enemy.
so, to make all safe, the sultan had confided the prince to his trusty friend elfi bey, and deprived himself of the happiness of seeing him for twenty-two years.
all this the sultan told labakan, and was much pleased by his appearance and dignified manner.
when they reached their own country they were received with every sign of joy, for the news of the prince's safe return had spread like wildfire, and every town and village was decorated, whilst the inhabitants thronged to greet them with cries of joy and thankfulness.
all this filled labakan's proud heart with rapture, whilst the unfortunate omar followed in silent rage and despair.
at length they arrived in the capital, where the public rejoicings were grander and more brilliant than anywhere else.
the queen awaited them in the great hall of the palace, surrounded by her entire court.
it was getting dark, and hundreds of coloured hanging lamps were lit to turn night into day.
the brightest hung round the throne on which the queen sat, and which stood above four steps of pure gold inlaid with great amethysts.
the four greatest nobles in the kingdom held a canopy of crimson silk over the queen, and the sheik of medina fanned her with a peacock-feather fan.
in this state she awaited her husband and her son.
she, too, had not seen omar since his birth, but so many dreams had shown her what he would look like that she felt she would know him among a thousand.
and now the sound of trumpets and drums and of shouts and cheers outside announced the long looked for moment.
the doors flew open, and between rows of low-bending courtiers and servants the king approached the throne, leading his pretended son by the hand.
"here," said he, "is he for whom you have been longing so many years."
but the queen interrupted him, "that is not my son!"
she cried.
"that is not the face the prophet has shown me in my dreams!"
just as the king was about to reason with her, the door was thrown violently open, and prince omar rushed in, followed by his keepers, whom he had managed to get away from.
he flung himself down before the throne, panting out, "here will i die; kill me at once, cruel father, for i can not bear this shame any longer."
everyone pressed round the unhappy man, and the guards were about to seize him, when the queen, who at first was dumb with surprise, sprang up from her throne.
"hold!"
cried she.
"this and no other is the right one; this is the one whom my eyes have never yet seen, but whom my heart recognises."
the guards had stepped back, but the king called to them in a furious voice to secure the madman.
"it is i who must judge," he said in tones of command; "and this matter can not be decided by women's dreams, but by certain unmistakable signs.
this one" -lrb- pointing to labakan -rrb- "is my son, for it was he who brought me the token from my friend elfi -- the dagger."
"he stole it from me," shrieked omar; "he betrayed my unsuspicious confidence."
but the king would not listen to his son's voice, for he had always been accustomed to depend on his own judgment.
he let the unhappy omar be dragged from the hall, whilst he himself retired with labakan to his own rooms, full of anger with the queen his wife, in spite of their many years of happy life together.
the queen, on her side, was plunged in grief, for she felt certain that an impostor had won her husband's heart and taken the place of her real son.
when the first shock was over she began to think how she could manage to convince the king of his mistake.
of course it would be a difficult matter, as the man who declared he was omar had produced the dagger as a token, besides talking of all sorts of things which happened when he was a child.
she called her oldest and wisest ladies about her and asked their advice, but none of them had any to give.
at last one very clever old woman said: "did not the young man who brought the dagger call him whom your majesty believes to be your son labakan, and say he was a crazy tailor?"
"yes," replied the queen; "but what of that?"
"might it not be," said the old lady, "that the impostor has called your real son by his own name?
if this should be the case, i know of a capital way to find out the truth."
and she whispered some words to the queen, who seemed much pleased, and went off at once to see the king.
now the queen was a very wise woman, so she pretended to think she might have made a mistake, and only begged to be allowed to put a test to the two young men to prove which was the real prince.
the king, who was feeling much ashamed of the rage he had been in with his dear wife, consented at once, and she said: "no doubt others would make them ride or shoot, or something of that sort, but every one learns these things.
i wish to set them a task which requires sharp wits and clever hands, and i want them to try which of them can best make a kaftan and pair of trousers."
the king laughed.
"no, no, that will never do.
do you suppose my son would compete with that crazy tailor as to which could make the best clothes?
oh, dear, no, that wo n't do at all."
but the queen claimed his promise, and as he was a man of his word the king gave in at last.
he went to his son and begged that he would humour his mother, who had set her heart on his making a kaftan.
the worthy labakan laughed to himself.
"if that is all she wants," thought he, "her majesty will soon be pleased to own me."
two rooms were prepared, with pieces of material, scissors, needles and threads, and each young man was shut up in one of them.
the king felt rather curious as to what sort of garment his son would make, and the queen, too, was very anxious as to the result of her experiment.
on the third day they sent for the two young men and their work.
labakan came first and spread out his kaftan before the eyes of the astonished king.
"see, father," he said; "see, my honoured mother, if this is not a masterpiece of work.
i'll bet the court tailor himself can not do better.
the queen smiled and turned to omar: "and what have you done, my son?"
impatiently he threw the stuff and scissors down on the floor."
i have been taught how to manage a horse, to draw a sword, and to throw a lance some sixty paces, but i never learnt to sew, and such a thing would have been thought beneath the notice of the pupil of elfi bey, the ruler of cairo."
"ah, true son of your father," cried the queen; "if only i might embrace you and call you son!
forgive me, my lord and husband," she added, turning to the king, "for trying to find out the truth in this way.
do you not see yourself now which is the prince and which the tailor?
certainly this kaftan is a very fine one, but i should like to know what master taught this young man how to make clothes."
the king sat deep in thought, looking now at his wife and now at labakan, who was doing his best to hide his vexation at his own stupidity.
at last the king said: "even this trial does not satisfy me; but happily i know of a sure way to discover whether or not i have been deceived."
he ordered his swiftest horse to be saddled, mounted, and rode off alone into a forest at some little distance.
here lived a kindly fairy called adolzaide, who had often helped the kings of his race with her good advice, and to her he betook himself.
in the middle of the forest was a wide open space surrounded by great cedar trees, and this was supposed to be the fairy's favourite spot.
when the king reached this place he dismounted, tied his horse to the tree, and standing in the middle of the open place said: "if it is true that you have helped my ancestors in their time of need, do not despise their descendant, but give me counsel, for that of men has failed me."
he had hardly finished speaking when one of the cedar trees opened, and a veiled figure all dressed in white stepped from it."
i know your errand, king sached," she said; "it is an honest one, and i will give you my help.
take these two little boxes and let the two men who claim to be your son choose between them.
i know that the real prince will make no mistake."
she then handed him two little boxes made of ivory set with gold and pearls.
on the lid of each -lrb- which the king vainly tried to open -rrb- was an inscription in diamonds.
on one stood the words "honour and glory," and on the other "wealth and happiness."
"it would be a hard choice," thought the king as he rode home.
he lost no time in sending for the queen and for all his court, and when all were assembled he made a sign, and labakan was led in.
with a proud air he walked up to the throne, and kneeling down, asked: "what does my lord and father command?"
the king replied: "my son, doubts have been thrown on your claim to that name.
one of these boxes contains the proofs of your birth.
choose for yourself.
no doubt you will choose right."
he then pointed to the ivory boxes, which were placed on two little tables near the throne.
labakan rose and looked at the boxes.
he thought for some minutes, and then said: "my honoured father, what can be better than the happiness of being your son, and what nobler than the riches of your love.
i choose the box with the words "wealth and happiness.""
"we shall see presently if you have chosen the right one.
for the present take a seat there beside the pacha of medina," replied the king.
omar was next led in, looking sad and sorrowful.
he threw himself down before the throne and asked what was the king's pleasure.
the king pointed out the two boxes to him, and he rose and went to the tables.
he carefully read the two mottoes and said: "the last few days have shown me how uncertain is happiness and how easily riches vanish away.
should i lose a crown by it i make my choice of "honour and glory.""
he laid his hand on the box as he spoke, but the king signed to him to wait, and ordered labakan to come to the other table and lay his hand on the box he had chosen.
then the king rose from his throne, and in solemn silence all present rose too, whilst he said: "open the boxes, and may allah show us the truth."
the boxes were opened with the greatest ease.
in the one omar had chosen lay a little gold crown and sceptre on a velvet cushion.
in labakan's box was found -- a large needle with some thread!
the king told the two young men to bring him their boxes.
they did so.
he took the crown in his hand, and as he held it, it grew bigger and bigger, till it was as large as a real crown.
he placed it on the head of his son omar, kissed him on the forehead, and placed him on his right hand.
then, turning to labakan, he said: "there is an old proverb, "the cobbler sticks to his last."
it seems as though you were to stick to your needle.
you have not deserved any mercy, but i can not be harsh on this day.
i give you your life, but i advise you to leave this country as fast as you can."
full of shame, the unlucky tailor could not answer.
he flung himself down before omar, and with tears in his eyes asked: "can you forgive me, prince?"
"go in peace," said omar as he raised him.
"oh, my true son!"
cried the king as he clasped the prince in his arms, whilst all the pachas and emirs shouted, "long live prince omar!"
in the midst of all the noise and rejoicing labakan slipped off with his little box under his arm.
he went to the stables, saddled his old horse, murva, and rode out of the gate towards alexandria.
nothing but the ivory box with its diamond motto was left to show him that the last few weeks had not been a dream.
when he reached alexandria he rode up to his old master's door.
when he entered the shop, his master came forward to ask what was his pleasure, but as soon as he saw who it was he called his workmen, and they all fell on labakan with blows and angry words, till at last he fell, half fainting, on a heap of old clothes.
the master then scolded him soundly about the stolen robe, but in vain labakan told him he had come to pay for it and offered three times its price.
they only fell to beating him again, and at last pushed him out of the house more dead than alive.
he could do nothing but remount his horse and ride to an inn.
here he found a quiet place in which to rest his bruised and battered limbs and to think over his many misfortunes.
he fell asleep fully determined to give up trying to be great, but to lead the life of an honest workman.
next morning he set to work to fulfil his good resolutions.
he sold his little box to a jeweller for a good price, bought a house and opened a workshop.
then he hung up a sign with, "labakan, tailor," over his door, and sat down to mend his own torn clothes with the very needle which had been in the ivory box.
after a while he was called away, and when he went back to his work he found a wonderful thing had happened!
the needle was sewing away all by itself and making the neatest little stitches, such as labakan had never been able to make even at his best.
certainly even the smallest gift of a kind fairy is of great value, and this one had yet another advantage, for the thread never came to an end, however much the needle sewed.
labakan soon got plenty of customers.
he used to cut out the clothes, make the first stitch with the magic needle, and then leave it to do the rest.
before long the whole town went to him, for his work was both so good and so cheap.
the only puzzle was how he could do so much, working all alone, and also why he worked with closed doors.
and so the promise on the ivory box of "wealth and happiness" came true for him, and when he heard of all the brave doings of prince omar, who was the pride and darling of his people and the terror of his enemies, the ex-prince thought to himself, "after all, i am better off as a tailor, for "honour and glory" are apt to be very dangerous things."
the colony of cats long, long ago, as far back as the time when animals spoke, there lived a community of cats in a deserted house they had taken possession of not far from a large town.
they had everything they could possibly desire for their comfort, they were well fed and well lodged, and if by any chance an unlucky mouse was stupid enough to venture in their way, they caught it, not to eat it, but for the pure pleasure of catching it.
the old people of the town related how they had heard their parents speak of a time when the whole country was so overrun with rats and mice that there was not so much as a grain of corn nor an ear of maize to be gathered in the fields; and it might be out of gratitude to the cats who had rid the country of these plagues that their descendants were allowed to live in peace.
no one knows where they got the money to pay for everything, nor who paid it, for all this happened so very long ago.
but one thing is certain, they were rich enough to keep a servant; for though they lived very happily together, and did not scratch nor fight more than human beings would have done, they were not clever enough to do the housework themselves, and preferred at all events to have some one to cook their meat, which they would have scorned to eat raw.
not only were they very difficult to please about the housework, but most women quickly tired of living alone with only cats for companions, consequently they never kept a servant long; and it had become a saying in the town, when anyone found herself reduced to her last penny: "i will go and live with the cats," and so many a poor woman actually did.
now lizina was not happy at home, for her mother, who was a widow, was much fonder of her elder daughter; so that often the younger one fared very badly, and had not enough to eat, while the elder could have everything she desired, and if lizina dared to complain she was certain to have a good beating.
at last the day came when she was at the end of her courage and patience, and exclaimed to her mother and sister: "as you hate me so much you will be glad to be rid of me, so i am going to live with the cats!"
"be off with you!"
cried her mother, seizing an old broom-handle from behind the door.
poor lizina did not wait to be told twice, but ran off at once and never stopped till she reached the door of the cats" house.
their cook had left them that very morning, with her face all scratched, the result of such a quarrel with the head of the house that he had very nearly scratched out her eyes.
lizina therefore was warmly welcomed, and she set to work at once to prepare the dinner, not without many misgivings as to the tastes of the cats, and whether she would be able to satisfy them.
going to and fro about her work, she found herself frequently hindered by a constant succession of cats who appeared one after another in the kitchen to inspect the new servant; she had one in front of her feet, another perched on the back of her chair while she peeled the vegetables, a third sat on the table beside her, and five or six others prowled about among the pots and pans on the shelves against the wall.
the air resounded with their purring, which meant that they were pleased with their new maid, but lizina had not yet learned to understand their language, and often she did not know what they wanted her to do.
however, as she was a good, kindhearted girl, she set to work to pick up the little kittens which tumbled about on the floor, she patched up quarrels, and nursed on her lap a big tabby -- the oldest of the community -- which had a lame paw.
all these kindnesses could hardly fail to make a favourable impression on the cats, and it was even better after a while, when she had had time to grow accustomed to their strange ways.
never had the house been kept so clean, the meats so well served, nor the sick cats so well cared for.
after a time they had a visit from an old cat, whom they called their father, who lived by himself in a barn at the top of the hill, and came down from time to time to inspect the little colony.
he too was much taken with lizina, and inquired, on first seeing her: "are you well served by this nice, black-eyed little person?"
and the cats answered with one voice: "oh, yes, father gatto, we have never had so good a servant!"
at each of his visits the answer was always the same; but after a time the old cat, who was very observant, noticed that the little maid had grown to look sadder and sadder.
"what is the matter, my child has any one been unkind to you?"
he asked one day, when he found her crying in her kitchen.
she burst into tears and answered between her sobs: "oh, no!
they are all very good to me; but i long for news from home, and i pine to see my mother and my sister."
old gatto, being a sensible old cat, understood the little servant's feelings.
"you shall go home," he said, "and you shall not come back here unless you please.
but first you must be rewarded for all your kind services to my children.
follow me down into the inner cellar, where you have never yet been, for i always keep it locked and carry the key away with me."
lizina looked round her in astonishment as they went down into the great vaulted cellar underneath the kitchen.
before her stood the big earthenware water jars, one of which contained oil, the other a liquid shining like gold.
"in which of these jars shall i dip you?"
asked father gatto, with a grin that showed all his sharp white teeth, while his moustaches stood out straight on either side of his face.
the little maid looked at the two jars from under her long dark lashes: "in the oil jar," she answered timidly, thinking to herself: "i could not ask to be bathed in gold."
but father gatto replied: "no, no; you have deserved something better than that."
and seizing her in his strong paws he plunged her into the liquid gold.
wonder of wonders!
when lizina came out of the jar she shone from head to foot like the sun in the heavens on a fine summer's day.
her pretty pink cheeks and long black hair alone kept their natural colour, otherwise she had become like a statue of pure gold.
father gatto purred loudly with satisfaction.
"go home," he said, "and see your mother and sisters; but take care if you hear the cock crow to turn towards it; if on the contrary the ass brays, you must look the other way."
the little maid, having gratefully kissed the white paw of the old cat, set off for home; but just as she got near her mother's house the cock crowed, and quickly she turned towards it.
immediately a beautiful golden star appeared on her forehead, crowning her glossy black hair.
at the same time the ass began to bray, but lizina took care not to look over the fence into the field where the donkey was feeding.
her mother and sister, who were in front of their house, uttered cries of admiration and astonishment when they saw her, and their cries became still louder when lizina, taking her handkerchief from her pocket, drew out also a handful of gold.
for some days the mother and her two daughters lived very happily together, for lizina had given them everything she had brought away except her golden clothing, for that would not come off, in spite of all the efforts of her sister, who was madly jealous of her good fortune.
the golden star, too, could not be removed from her forehead.
but all the gold pieces she drew from her pockets had found their way to her mother and sister."
i will go now and see what i can get out of the pussies," said peppina, the elder girl, one morning, as she took lizina's basket and fastened her pockets into her own skirt."
i should like some of the cats" gold for myself," she thought, as she left her mother's house before the sun rose.
the cat colony had not yet taken another servant, for they knew they could never get one to replace lizina, whose loss they had not yet ceased to mourn.
when they heard that peppina was her sister, they all ran to meet her.
"she is not the least like her," the kittens whispered among themselves.
"hush, be quiet!"
the older cats said; "all servants can not be pretty."
no, decidedly she was not at all like lizina.
even the most reasonable and large-minded of the cats soon acknowledged that.
the very first day she shut the kitchen door in the face of the tom-cats who used to enjoy watching lizina at her work, and a young and mischievous cat who jumped in by the open kitchen window and alighted on the table got such a blow with the rolling-pin that he squalled for an hour.
with every day that passed the household became more and more aware of its misfortune.
the work was as badly done as the servant was surly and disagreeable; in the corners of the rooms there were collected heaps of dust; spiders" webs hung from the ceilings and in front of the window-panes; the beds were hardly ever made, and the feather beds, so beloved by the old and feeble cats, had never once been shaken since lizina left the house.
at father gatto's next visit he found the whole colony in a state of uproar.
"caesar has one paw so badly swollen that it looks as if it were broken," said one.
"peppina kicked him with her great wooden shoes on.
hector has an abscess in his back where a wooden chair was flung at him; and agrippina's three little kittens have died of hunger beside their mother, because peppina forgot them in their basket up in the attic.
there is no putting up with the creature -- do send her away, father gatto!
lizina herself would not be angry with us; she must know very well what her sister is like."
"come here," said father gatto, in his most severe tones to peppina.
and he took her down into the cellar and showed her the same two great jars that he had showed lizina.
"in which of these shall i dip you?"
he asked; and she made haste to answer: "in the liquid gold," for she was no more modest than she was good and kind.
father gatto's yellow eyes darted fire.
"you have not deserved it," he uttered, in a voice like thunder, and seizing her he flung her into the jar of oil, where she was nearly suffocated.
when she came to the surface screaming and struggling, the vengeful cat seized her again and rolled her in the ash-heap on the floor; then when she rose, dirty, blinded, and disgusting to behold, he thrust her from the door, saying: "begone, and when you meet a braying ass be careful to turn your head towards it."
stumbling and raging, peppina set off for home, thinking herself fortunate to find a stick by the wayside with which to support herself.
she was within sight of her mother's house when she heard in the meadow on the right, the voice of a donkey loudly braying.
quickly she turned her head towards it, and at the same time put her hand up to her forehead, where, waving like a plume, was a donkey's tail.
she ran home to her mother at the top of her speed, yelling with rage and despair; and it took lizina two hours with a big basin of hot water and two cakes of soap to get rid of the layer of ashes with which father gatto had adorned her.
as for the donkey's tail, it was impossible to get rid of that; it was as firmly fixed on her forehead as was the golden star on lizina's.
their mother was furious.
she first beat lizina unmercifully with the broom, then she took her to the mouth of the well and lowered her into it, leaving her at the bottom weeping and crying for help.
before this happened, however, the king's son in passing the mother's house had seen lizina sitting sewing in the parlour, and had been dazzled by her beauty.
after coming back two or three times, he at last ventured to approach the window and to whisper in the softest voice: "lovely maiden, will you be my bride?"
and she had answered: "i will."
next morning, when the prince arrived to claim his bride, he found her wrapped in a large white veil.
"it is so that maidens are received from their parents" hands," said the mother, who hoped to make the king's son marry peppina in place of her sister, and had fastened the donkey's tail round her head like a lock of hair under the veil.
the prince was young and a little timid, so he made no objections, and seated peppina in the carriage beside him.
their way led past the old house inhabited by the cats, who were all at the window, for the report had got about that the prince was going to marry the most beautiful maiden in the world, on whose forehead shone a golden star, and they knew that this could only be their adored lizina.
as the carriage slowly passed in front of the old house, where cats from all parts of world seemed to be gathered a song burst from every throat: mew, mew, mew!
prince, look quick behind you!
in the well is fair lizina, and you've got nothing but peppina.
when he heard this the coachman, who understood the cat's language better than the prince, his master, stopped his horses and asked: "does your highness know what the grimalkins are saying?"
and the song broke forth again louder than ever.
with a turn of his hand the prince threw back the veil, and discovered the puffed-up, swollen face of peppina, with the donkey's tail twisted round her head.
"ah, traitress!"
he exclaimed, and ordering the horses to be turned round, he drove the elder daughter, quivering with rage, to the old woman who had sought to deceive him.
with his hand on the hilt of his sword he demanded lizina in so terrific a voice that the mother hastened to the well to draw her prisoner out.
lizina's clothing and her star shone so brilliantly that when the prince led her home to the king, his father, the whole palace was lit up.
next day they were married, and lived happy ever after; and all the cats, headed by old father gatto, were present at the wedding.
how to find out a true friend once upon a time there lived a king and queen who longed to have a son.
as none came, one day they made a vow at the shrine of st. james that if their prayers were granted the boy should set out on a pilgrimage as soon as he had passed his eighteenth birthday.
and fancy their delight when one evening the king returned home from hunting and saw a baby lying in the cradle.
all the people came crowding round to peep at it, and declared it was the most beautiful baby that ever was seen.
of course that is what they always say, but this time it happened to be true.
and every day the boy grew bigger and stronger till he was twelve years old, when the king died, and he was left alone to take care of his mother.
in this way six years passed by, and his eighteenth birthday drew near.
when she thought of this the queen's heart sank within her, for he was the light of her eyes" and how was she to send him forth to the unknown dangers that beset a pilgrim?
so day by day she grew more and more sorrowful, and when she was alone wept bitterly.
now the queen imagined that no one but herself knew how sad she was, but one morning her son said to her, "mother, why do you cry the whole day long?"
"nothing, nothing, my son; there is only one thing in the world that troubles me."
"what is that one thing?"
asked he.
"are you afraid your property is badly managed?
let me go and look into the matter."
this pleased the queen, and he rode off to the plain country, where his mother owned great estates; but everything was in beautiful order, and he returned with a joyful heart, and said, "now, mother, you can be happy again, for your lands are better managed than anyone else's i have seen.
the cattle are thriving; the fields are thick with corn, and soon they will be ripe for harvest."
"that is good news indeed," answered she; but it did not seem to make any difference to her, and the next morning she was weeping and wailing as loudly as ever.
"dear mother," said her son in despair, "if you will not tell me what is the cause of all this misery i shall leave home and wander far through the world."
"ah, my son, my son," cried the queen, "it is the thought that i must part from you which causes me such grief; for before you were born we vowed a vow to st. james that when your eighteenth birthday was passed you should make a pilgrimage to his shrine, and very soon you will be eighteen, and i shall lose you.
and for a whole year my eyes will never be gladdened by the sight of you, for the shrine is far away."
"will it take no longer than that to reach it?"
said he.
"oh, do n't be so wretched; it is only dead people who never return.
as long as i am alive you may be sure i will come back to you."
after this manner he comforted his mother, and on his eighteenth birthday his best horse was led to the door of the palace, and he took leave of the queen in these words, "dear mother, farewell, and by the help of fate i shall return to you as soon as i can."
the queen burst into tears and wept sore; then amidst her sobs she drew three apples from her pocket and held them out, saying, "my son, take these apples and give heed unto my words.
you will need a companion in the long journey on which you are going.
if you come across a young man who pleases you beg him to accompany you, and when you get to an inn invite him to have dinner with you.
after you have eaten cut one of these apples in two unequal parts, and ask him to take one.
if he takes the larger bit, then part from him, for he is no true friend to you.
but if he takes the smaller bit treat him as your brother, and share with him all you have."
then she kissed her son once more, and blessed him, and let him go.
the young man rode a long way without meeting a single creature, but at last he saw a youth in the distance about the same age as himself, and he spurred his horse till he came up with the stranger, who stopped and asked: "where are you going, my fine fellow?'"
i am making a pilgrimage to the shrine of st. james, for before i was born my mother vowed that i should go forth with a thank offering on my eighteenth birthday."
"that is my case too," said the stranger, "and, as we must both travel in the same direction, let us bear each other company."
the young man agreed to this proposal, but he took care not to get on terms of familiarity with the new comer until he had tried him with the apple.
by-and-by they reached an inn, and at sight of it the king's son said," i am very hungry.
let us enter and order something to eat."
the other consented, and they were soon sitting before a good dinner.
when they had finished the king's son drew an apple from his pocket, and cut it into a big half and a little half, and offered both to the stranger, who took the biggest bit.
"you are no friend of mine," thought the king's son, and in order to part company with him he pretended to be ill and declared himself unable to proceed on his journey.
"well, i ca n't wait for you," replied the other;" i am in haste to push on, so farewell."
"farewell," said the king's son, glad in his heart to get rid of him so easily.
the king's son remained in the inn for some time, so as to let the young man have a good start; them he ordered his horse and rode after him.
but he was very sociable and the way seemed long and dull by himself.
"oh, if i could only meet with a true friend," he thought, "so that i should have some one to speak to.
i hate being alone."
soon after he came up with a young man, who stopped and asked him, "where are you going, my fine fellow?"
the king's son explained the object of his journey, and the young man answered, as the other had done, that he also was fulfilling the vow of his mother made at his birth.
"well, we can ride on together," said the king's son, and the road seemed much shorter now that he had some one to talk to.
at length they reached an inn, and the king's son exclaimed," i am very hungry; let us go in and get something to eat."
when they had finished the king's son drew an apple out of his pocket and cut it in two; he held the big bit and the little bit out to his companion, who took the big bit at once and soon ate it up.
"you are no friend of mine," thought the king's son, and began to declare he felt so ill he could not continue his journey.
when he had given the young man a good start he set off himself, but the way seemed even longer and duller than before.
"oh, if i could only meet with a true friend he should be as a brother to me," he sighed sadly; and as the thought passed through his mind, he noticed a youth going the same road as himself.
the youth came up to him and said, "which way are you going, my fine fellow?"
and for the third time the king's son explained all about his mother's vow.
why, that is just like me," cried the youth.
"then let us ride on together," answered the king's son.
now the miles seemed to slip by, for the new comer was so lively and entertaining that the king's son could not help hoping that he indeed might prove to be the true friend.
more quickly than he could have thought possible they reached an inn by the road-side, and turning to his companion the king's son said," i am hungry; let us go in and have something to eat."
so they went in and ordered dinner, and when they had finished the king's son drew out of his pocket the last apple, and cut it into two unequal parts, and held both out to the stranger.
and the stranger took the little piece, and the heart of the king's son was glad within him, for at last he had found the friend he had been looking for.
"good youth," he cried, "we will be brothers, and what is mine shall be thine, and what is thine shall be mine.
and together we will push on to the shrine, and if one of us dies on the road the other shall carry his body there."
and the stranger agreed to all he said, and they rode forward together.
it took them a whole year to reach the shrine, and they passed through many different lands on their way.
one day they arrived tired and half-starved in a big city, and said to one another, "let us stay here for a little and rest before we set forth again."
so they hired a small house close to the royal castle, and took up their abode there.
the following morning the king of the country happened to step on to his balcony, and saw the young men in the garden, and said to himself, "dear me, those are wonderfully handsome youths; but one is handsomer than the other, and to him will i give my daughter to wife;" and indeed the king's son excelled his friend in beauty.
in order to set about his plan the king asked both the young men to dinner, and when they arrived at the castle he received them with the utmost kindness, and sent for his daughter, who was more lovely than both the sun and moon put together.
but at bed-time the king caused the other young man to be given a poisoned drink, which killed him in a few minutes, for he thought to himself, "if his friend dies the other will forget his pilgrimage, and will stay here and marry my daughter."
when the king's son awoke the next morning he inquired of the servants where his friend had gone, as he did not see him.
"he died suddenly last night," said they, "and is to be buried immediately."
but the king's son sprang up, and cried, "if my friend is dead i can stay here no longer, and can not linger an hour in this house."
"oh, give up your journey and remain here," exclaimed the king, "and you shall have my daughter for your wife."
"no," answered the king's son," i can not stay; but, i pray you, grant my request, and give me a good horse, and let me go in peace, and when i have fulfilled my vow then i will return and marry your daughter."
so the king, seeing no words would move him, ordered a horse to be brought round, and the king's son mounted it, and took his dead friend before him on the saddle, and rode away.
now the young man was not really dead, but only in a deep sleep.
when the king's son reached the shrine of st. james he got down from his horse, took his friend in his arms as if he had been a child, and laid him before the altar.
"st. james," he said," i have fulfilled the vow my parents made for me.
i have come myself to your shrine, and have brought my friend.
i place him in your hands.
restore him to life, i pray, for though he be dead yet has he fulfilled his vow also."
and, behold!
while he yet prayed his friend got up and stood before him as well as ever.
and both the young men gave thanks, and set their faces towards home.
when they arrived at the town where the king dwelt they entered the small house over against the castle.
the news of their coming spread very soon, and the king rejoiced greatly that the handsome young prince had come back again, and commanded great feasts to be prepared, for in a few days his daughter should marry the king's son.
the young man himself could imagine no greater happiness, and when the marriage was over they spent some months at the court making merry.
at length the king's son said, "my mother awaits me at home, full of care and anxiety.
here i must remain no longer, and to-morrow i will take my wife and my friend and start for home."
and the king was content that he should do so, and gave orders to prepare for their journey.
now in his heart the king cherished a deadly hate towards the poor young man whom he had tried to kill, but who had returned to him living, and in order to do him hurt sent him on a message to some distant spot.
"see that you are quick," said he, "for your friend will await your return before he starts."
the youth put spurs to his horse and departed, bidding the prince farewell, so that the king's message might be delivered the sooner.
as soon as he had started the king went to the chamber of the prince, and said to him, "if you do not start immediately, you will never reach the place where you must camp for the night.'"
i can not start without my friend," replied the king's son.
"oh, he will be back in an hour," replied the king, "and i will give him my best horse, so that he will be sure to catch you up."
the king's son allowed himself to be persuaded and took leave of his father-in-law, and set out with his wife on his journey home.
meanwhile the poor friend had been unable to get through his task in the short time appointed by the king, and when at last he returned the king said to him, "your comrade is a long way off by now; you had better see if you can overtake him."
so the young man bowed and left the king's presence, and followed after his friend on foot, for he had no horse.
night and day he ran, till at length he reached the place where the king's son had pitched his tent, and sank down before him, a miserable object, worn out and covered with mud and dust.
but the king's son welcomed him with joy, and tended him as he would his brother.
and at last they came home again, and the queen was waiting and watching in the palace, as she had never ceased to do since her son had rode away.
she almost died of joy at seeing him again, but after a little she remembered his sick friend, and ordered a bed to be made ready and the best doctors in all the country to be sent for.
when they heard of the queen's summons they flocked from all parts, but none could cure him.
after everyone had tried and failed a servant entered and informed the queen that a strange old man had just knocked at the palace gate and declared that he was able to heal the dying youth.
now this was a holy man, who had heard of the trouble the king's son was in, and had come to help.
it happened that at this very time a little daughter was born to the king's son, but in his distress for his friend he had hardly a thought to spare for the baby.
he could not be prevailed on to leave the sick bed, and he was bending over it when the holy man entered the room.
"do you wish your friend to be cured?"
asked the new comer of the king's son.
"and what price would you pay?"
"what price?"
answered the king's son; "only tell me what i can do to heal him."
"listen to me, then," said the old man.
"this evening you must take your child, and open her veins, and smear the wounds of your friend with her blood.
and you will see, he will get well in an instant."
at these words the king's son shrieked with horror, for he loved the baby dearly, but he answered," i have sworn that i would treat my friend as if he were my brother, and if there is no other way my child must be sacrificed."
as by this time evening had already fallen he took the child and opened its veins, and smeared the blood over the wounds of the sick man, and the look of death departed from him, and he grew strong and rosy once more.
but the little child lay as white and still as if she had been dead.
they laid her in the cradle and wept bitterly, for they thought that by the next morning she would be lost to them.
at sunrise the old man returned and asked after the sick man.
"he is as well as ever," answered the king's son.
"and where is your baby?"
"in the cradle yonder, and i think she is dead," replied the father sadly.
"look at her once more," said the holy man, and as they drew near the cradle there lay the baby smiling up at them."
i am st. james of lizia," said the old man, "and i have come to help you, for i have seen that you are a true friend.
from henceforward live happily, all of you, together, and if troubles should draw near you send for me, and i will aid you to get through them."
with these words he lifted his hand in blessing and vanished.
and they obeyed him, and were happy and content, and tried to make the people of the land happy and contented too.
-lsb- from sicilianische mahrehen gonzenbach. -rsb-
clever maria there was once a merchant who lived close to the royal palace, and had three daughters.
they were all pretty, but maria, the youngest, was the prettiest of the three.
one day the king sent for the merchant, who was a widower, to give him directions about a journey he wished the good man to take.
the merchant would rather not have gone, as he did not like leaving his daughters at home, but he could not refuse to obey the king's commands, and with a heavy heart he returned home to say farewell to them.
before he left, he took three pots of basil, and gave one to each girl, saying," i am going a journey, but i leave these pots.
you must let nobody into the house.
when i come back, they will tell me what has happened."
"nothing will have happened," said the girls.
the father went away, and the following day the king, accompanied by two friends, paid a visit to the three girls, who were sitting at supper.
when they saw who was there, maria said, "let us go and get a bottle of wine from the cellar.
i will carry the key, my eldest sister can take the light, while the other brings the bottle."
but the king replied, "oh, do not trouble; we are not thirsty."
"very well, we will not go," answered the two elder girls; but maria merely said," i shall go, anyhow."
she left the room, and went to the hall where she put out the light, and putting down the key and the bottle, ran to the house of a neighbour, and knocked at the door.
"who is there so late?"
asked the old woman, thrusting her head out of the window.
"oh, let me in," answered maria."
i have quarrelled with my eldest sister, and as i do not want to fight any more, i have come to beg you to allow me to sleep with you."
so the old woman opened the door and maria slept in her house.
the king was very angry at her for playing truant, but when she returned home the next day, she found the plants of her sisters withered away, because they had disobeyed their father.
now the window in the room of the eldest overlooked the gardens of the king, and when she saw how fine and ripe the medlars were on the trees, she longed to eat some, and begged maria to scramble down by a rope and pick her a few, and she would draw her up again.
maria, who was good-natured, swung herself into the garden by the rope, and got the medlars, and was just making the rope fast under her arms so as to be hauled up, when her sister cried: "oh, there are such delicious lemons a little farther on.
you might bring me one or two."
maria turned round to pluck them, and found herself face to face with the gardener, who caught hold of her, exclaiming, "what are you doing here, you little thief?"
"do n't call me names," she said, "or you will get the worst of it," giving him as she spoke such a violent push that he fell panting into the lemon bushes.
then she seized the cord and clambered up to the window.
the next day the second sister had a fancy for bananas and begged so hard, that, though maria had declared she would never do such a thing again, at last she consented, and went down the rope into the king's garden.
this time she met the king, who said to her, "ah, here you are again, cunning one!
now you shall pay for your misdeeds."
and he began to cross-question her about what she had done.
maria denied nothing, and when she had finished, the king said again, "follow me to the house, and there you shall pay the penalty."
as he spoke, he started for the house, looking back from time to time to make sure that maria had not run away.
all of a sudden, when he glanced round, he found she had vanished completely, without leaving a trace of where she had gone.
search was made all through the town, and there was not a hole or corner which was not ransacked, but there was no sign of her anywhere.
this so enraged the king that he became quite ill, and for many months his life was despaired of.
meanwhile the two elder sisters had married the two friends of the king, and were the mothers of little daughters.
now one day maria stole secretly to the house where her elder sister lived, and snatching up the children put them into a beautiful basket she had with her, covered with flowers inside and out, so that no one would ever guess it held two babies.
then she dressed herself as a boy, and placing the basket on her head, she walked slowly past the palace, crying as she went: "who will carry these flowers to the king, who lies sick of love?"
and the king in his bed heard what she said, and ordered one of his attendants to go out and buy the basket.
it was brought to his bedside, and as he raised the lid cries were heard, and peeping in he saw two little children.
he was furious at this new trick which he felt had been played on him by maria, and was still looking at them, wondering how he should pay her out, when he was told that the merchant, maria's father, had finished the business on which he had been sent and returned home.
then the king remembered how maria had refused to receive his visit, and how she had stolen his fruit, and he determined to be revenged on her.
so he sent a message by one of his pages that the merchant was to come to see him the next day, and bring with him a coat made of stone, or else he would be punished.
now the poor man had been very sad since he got home the evening before, for though his daughters had promised that nothing should happen while he was away, he had found the two elder ones married without asking his leave.
and now there was this fresh misfortune, for how was he to make a coat of stone?
he wrung his hands and declared that the king would be the ruin of him, when maria suddenly entered.
"do not grieve about the coat of stone, dear father; but take this bit of chalk, and go to the palace and say you have come to measure the king."
the old man did not see the use of this, but maria had so often helped him before that he had confidence in her, so he put the chalk in his pocket and went to the palace.
"that is no good," said the king, when the merchant had told him what he had come for.
"well, i ca n't make the coat you want," replied he.
"then if you would save your head, hand over to me your daughter maria."
the merchant did not reply, but went sorrowfully back to his house, where maria sat waiting for him.
"oh, my dear child, why was i born?
the king says that, instead of the coat, i must deliver you up to him."
"do not be unhappy, dear father, but get a doll made, exactly like me, with a string attached to its head, which i can pull for "yes" and "no.""
so the old man went out at once to see about it.
the king remained patiently in his palace, feeling sure that this time maria could not escape him; and he said to his pages, "if a gentleman should come here with his daughter and ask to be allowed to speak with me, put the young lady in my room and see she does not leave it."
when the door was shut on maria, who had concealed the doll under her cloak, she hid herself under the couch, keeping fast hold of the string which was fastened to its head.
"senhora maria, i hope you are well," said the king when he entered the room.
the doll nodded.
"now we will reckon up accounts," continued he, and he began at the beginning, and ended up with the flower-basket, and at each fresh misdeed maria pulled the string, so that the doll's head nodded assent.
"who-so mocks at me merits death," declared the king when he had ended, and drawing his sword, cut off the doll's head.
it fell towards him, and as he felt the touch of a kiss, he exclaimed, "ah, maria, maria, so sweet in death, so hard to me in life!
the man who could kill you deserves to die!"
and he was about to turn his sword on himself, when the true maria sprung out from under the bed, and flung herself into his arms.
and the next day they were married and lived happily for many years.
-lsb- from the portuguese. -rsb-
the magic kettle right in the middle of japan, high up among the mountains, an old man lived in his little house.
he was very proud of it, and never tired of admiring the whiteness of his straw mats, and the pretty papered walls, which in warm weather always slid back, so that the smell of the trees and flowers might come in.
one day he was standing looking at the mountain opposite, when he heard a kind of rumbling noise in the room behind him.
he turned round, and in the corner he beheld a rusty old iron kettle, which could not have seen the light of day for many years.
how the kettle got there the old man did not know, but he took it up and looked it over carefully, and when he found that it was quite whole he cleaned the dust off it and carried it into his kitchen.
"that was a piece of luck," he said, smiling to himself;" a good kettle costs money, and it is as well to have a second one at hand in case of need; mine is getting worn out, and the water is already beginning to come through its bottom."
then he took the other kettle off the fire, filled the new one with water, and put it in its place.
no sooner was the water in the kettle getting warm than a strange thing happened, and the man, who was standing by, thought he must be dreaming.
first the handle of the kettle gradually changed its shape and became a head, and the spout grew into a tail, while out of the body sprang four paws, and in a few minutes the man found himself watching, not a kettle, but a tanuki!
the creature jumped off the fire, and bounded about the room like a kitten, running up the walls and over the ceiling, till the old man was in an agony lest his pretty room should be spoilt.
he cried to a neighbour for help, and between them they managed to catch the tanuki, and shut him up safely in a wooden chest.
then, quite exhausted, they sat down on the mats, and consulted together what they should do with this troublesome beast.
at length they decided to sell him, and bade a child who was passing send them a certain tradesman called jimmu.
when jimmu arrived, the old man told him that he had something which he wished to get rid of, and lifted the lid of the wooden chest, where he had shut up the tanuki.
but, to his surprise, no tanuki was there, nothing but the kettle he had found in the corner.
it was certainly very odd, but the man remembered what had taken place on the fire, and did not want to keep the kettle any more, so after a little bargaining about the price, jimmu went away carrying the kettle with him.
now jimmu had not gone very far before he felt that the kettle was getting heavier and heavier, and by the time he reached home he was so tired that he was thankful to put it down in the corner of his room, and then forgot all about it.
in the middle of the night, however, he was awakened by a loud noise in the corner where the kettle stood, and raised himself up in bed to see what it was.
but nothing was there except the kettle, which seemed quiet enough.
he thought that he must have been dreaming, and fell asleep again, only to be roused a second time by the same disturbance.
he jumped up and went to the corner, and by the light of the lamp that he always kept burning he saw that the kettle had become a tanuki, which was running round after his tail.
after he grew weary of that, he ran on the balcony, where he turned several somersaults, from pure gladness of heart.
the tradesman was much troubled as to what to do with the animal, and it was only towards morning that he managed to get any sleep; but when he opened his eyes again there was no tanuki, only the old kettle he had left there the night before.
as soon as he had tidied his house, jimmu set off to tell his story to a friend next door.
the man listened quietly, and did not appear so surprised as jimmu expected, for he recollected having heard, in his youth, something about a wonder-working kettle.
"go and travel with it, and show it off," said he, "and you will become a rich man; but be careful first to ask the tanuki's leave, and also to perform some magic ceremonies to prevent him from running away at the sight of the people."
jimmu thanked his friend for his counsel, which he followed exactly.
the tanuki's consent was obtained, a booth was built, and a notice was hung up outside it inviting the people to come and witness the most wonderful transformation that ever was seen.
they came in crowds, and the kettle was passed from hand to hand, and they were allowed to examine it all over, and even to look inside.
then jimmu took it back, and setting it on the platform, commanded it to become a tanuki.
in an instant the handle began to change into a head, and the spout into a tail, while the four paws appeared at the sides.
"dance," said jimmu, and the tanuki did his steps, and moved first on one side and then on the other, till the people could not stand still any longer, and began to dance too.
gracefully he led the fan dance, and glided without a pause into the shadow dance and the umbrella dance, and it seemed as if he might go on dancing for ever.
and so very likely he would, if jimmu had not declared he had danced enough, and that the booth must now be closed.
day after day the booth was so full it was hardly possible to enter it, and what the neighbour foretold had come to pass, and jimmu was a rich man.
yet he did not feel happy.
he was an honest man, and he thought that he owed some of his wealth to the man from whom he had bought the kettle.
so, one morning, he put a hundred gold pieces into it, and hanging the kettle once more on his arm, he returned to the seller of it."
i have no right to keep it any longer," he added when he had ended his tale, "so i have brought it back to you, and inside you will find a hundred gold pieces as the price of its hire."
the man thanked jimmu, and said that few people would have been as honest as he.
and the kettle brought them both luck, and everything went well with them till they died, which they did when they were very old, respected by everyone.
_book_title_: andrew_lang___the_lilac_fairy_book.txt.out
the shifty lad in the land of erin there dwelt long ago a widow who had an only son.
he was a clever boy, so she saved up enough money to send him to school, and, as soon as he was old enough, to apprentice him to any trade that he would choose.
but when the time came, he said he would not be bound to any trade, and that he meant to be a thief.
now his mother was very sorrowful when she heard of this, but she knew quite well that if she tried to stop his having his own way he would only grow more determined to get it.
so all the answer she made was that the end of thieves was hanging at the bridge of dublin, and then she left him alone, hoping that when he was older he might become more sensible.
one day she was going to church to hear a sermon from a great preacher, and she begged the shifty lad, as the neighbours called him from the tricks he played, to come with her.
but he only laughed and declared that he did not like sermons, adding: "however, i will promise you this, that the first trade you hear named after you come out from church shall be my trade for the rest of my life."
these words gave a little comfort to the poor woman, and her heart was lighter than before as she bade him farewell.
when the shifty lad thought that the hour had nearly come for the sermon to be over, he hid himself in some bushes in a little path that led straight to his mother's house, and, as she passed along, thinking of all the good things she had heard, a voice shouted close to her ear "robbery!
robbery!
robbery!"
the suddenness of it made her jump.
the naughty boy had managed to change his voice, so that she did not know it for his, and he had concealed himself so well that, though she peered about all round her, she could see no one.
as soon as she had turned the corner the shifty lad came out, and by running very fast through the wood he contrived to reach home before his mother, who found him stretched out comfortably before the fire.
"well, have you got any news to tell me?"
asked he.
"no, nothing; for i left the church at once, and did not stop to speak to anyone."
"oh, then no one has mentioned a trade to you?"
he said in tones of disappointment.
"ye -- es," she replied slowly.
"at least, as i walked down the path a voice cried out "robbery!
robbery!
robbery!"
but that was all."
"and quite enough too," answered the boy.
"what did i tell you?
that is going to be my trade."
"then your end will be hanging at the bridge of dublin," said she.
but there was no sleep for her that night, for she lay in the dark thinking about her son.
"if he is to be a thief at all, he had better be a good one.
and who is there that can teach him?"
the mother asked herself.
but an idea came to her, and she arose early, before the sun was up, and set off for the home of the black rogue, or gallows bird, who was such a wonderful thief that, though all had been robbed by him, no one could catch him.
"good-morning to you," said the woman as she reached the place where the black gallows bird lived when he was not away on his business.
"my son has a fancy to learn your trade.
will you be kind enough to teach him?"
"if he is clever, i do n't mind trying," answered the black gallows bird; "and, of course, if any one can turn him into a first-rate thief, it is i.
but if he is stupid, it is of no use at all; i ca n't bear stupid people."
"no, he is n't stupid," said the woman with a sigh.
"so to-night, after dark, i will send him to you."
the shifty lad jumped for joy when his mother told him where she had been."
i will become the best thief in all erin!"
he cried, and paid no heed when his mother shook her head and murmured something about "the bridge of dublin."
every evening after dark the shifty lad went to the home of the black gallows bird, and many were the new tricks he learned.
by-and-by he was allowed to go out with the bird and watch him at work, and at last there came a day when his master though that he had grown clever enough to help in a big robbery.
"there is a rich farmer up there on the hill, who has just sold all his fat cattle for much money and has bought some lean ones which will cost him little.
now it happens that, while he has received the money for the fat cattle, he has not yet paid the price of the thin ones, which he has in the cowhouse.
to-morrow he will go to the market with the money in his hand, so to-night we must get at the chest.
when all is quiet we will hide in the loft."
there was no moon, and it was the night of hallowe'en, and everyone was burning nuts and catching apples in a tub of water with their hands tied, and playing all sorts of other games, till the shifty lad grew quite tired of waiting for them to get to bed.
the black gallows bird, who was more accustomed to the business, tucked himself up on the hay and went to sleep, telling the boy to wake him when the merry-makers had departed.
but the shifty lad, who could keep still no longer, crept down to the cowshed and loosened the heads of the cattle which were tied, and they began to kick each other and bellow, and made such a noise that the company in the farmhouse ran out to tie them up again.
then the shifty lad entered the room and picked up a big handful of nuts, and returned to the loft, where the black rogue was still sleeping.
at first the shifty lad shut his eyes too, but very soon he sat up, and taking a big needle and thread from his pocket, he sewed the hem of the black gallows bird's coat to a heavy piece of bullock's hide that was hanging at his back.
by this time the cattle were all tied up again, but as the people could not find their nuts they sat round the fire and began to tell stories."
i will crack a nut," said the shifty lad.
"you shall not," cried the black gallows bird; "they will hear you.'"
i do n't care," answered the shifty lad."
i never spend hallowe'en yet without cracking a nut"; and he cracked one.
"some one is cracking nuts up there," said one of the merry-makers in the farmhouse.
"come quickly, and we will see who it is."
he spoke loudly, and the black gallows bird heard, and ran out of the loft, dragging the big leather hide after him which the shifty lad had sewed to his coat.
"he is stealing my hide!"
shouted the farmer, and they all darted after him; but he was too swift for them, and at last he managed to tear the hide from his coat, and then he flew like a hare till he reached his old hiding-place.
but all this took a long time, and meanwhile the shifty lad got down from the loft, and searched the house till he found the chest with the gold and silver in it, concealed behind a load of straw and covered with loaves of bread and a great cheese.
the shifty lad slung the money bags round his shoulders and took the bread and the cheese under his arm, then set out quietly for the black rogue's house.
"here you are at last, you villain!"
cried his master in great wrath.
"but i will be revenged on you."
"it is all right," replied the shifty lad calmly."
i have brought what you wanted"; and he laid the things he was carrying down on the ground.
"ah!
you are the better thief," said the black rogue's wife; and the black rogue added: "yes, it is you who are the clever boy"; and they divided the spoil and the black gallows bird had one half and the shifty lad the other half.
a few weeks after that the black gallows bird had news of a wedding that was to be held near the town; and the bridegroom had many friends and everybody sent him a present.
now a rich farmer who lived up near the moor thought that nothing was so useful to a young couple when they first began to keep house as a fine fat sheep, so he bade his shepherd go off to the mountain where the flock were feeding, and bring him back the best he could find.
and the shepherd chose out the largest and fattest of the sheep and the one with the whitest fleece; then he tied its feet together and put it across his shoulder, for he had a long way to go.
that day, the shifty lad happened to be wandering over the moor, when he saw the man with the sheep on his shoulder walking along the road which led past the black rogue's house.
the sheep was heavy and the man was in no hurry, so he came slowly and the boy knew that he himself could easily get back to his master before the shepherd was even in sight."
i will wager," he cried, as he pushed quickly through the bushes which hid the cabin --" i will wager that i will steal the sheep from the man that is coming before he passes here."
"will you indeed?"
said the gallows bird."
i will wager you a hundred silver pieces that you can do nothing of the sort."
"well, i will try it, anyway," replied the boy, and disappeared in the bushes.
he ran fast till he entered a wood through which the shepherd must go, and then he stopped, and taking off one of his shoes smeared it with mud and set it in the path.
when this was done he slipped behind a rock and waited.
very soon the man came up, and seeing the shoe lying there, he stooped and looked at it.
"it is a good shoe," he said to himself, "but very dirty.
still, if i had the fellow, i would be at the trouble of cleaning it"; so he threw the shoe down again and went on.
the shifty lad smiled as he heard him, and, picking up the shoe, he crept round by a short way and laid the other shoe on the path.
a few minutes after the shepherd arrived, and beheld the second shoe lying on the path.
"why, that is the fellow of the dirty shoe!"
he exclaimed when he saw it."
i will go back and pick up the other one, and then i shall have a pair of good shoes," and he put the sheep on the grass and returned to fetch the shoe.
then the shifty lad put on his shoes, and, picking up the sheep, carried it home.
and the black rogue paid him the hundred marks of his wager.
when the shepherd reached the farmhouse that night he told his tale to his master, who scolded him for being stupid and careless, and bade him go the next day to the mountain and fetch him a kid, and he would send that as a wedding gift.
but the shifty lad was on the look-out, and hid himself in the wood, and the moment the man drew near with the kid on his shoulders began to bleat like a sheep, and no one, not even the sheep's own mother, could have told the difference.
"why, it must have got its feet loose, and have strayed after all," thought the man; and he put the kid on the grass and hurried off in the direction of the bleating.
then the boy ran back and picked up the kid, and took it to the black gallows bird.
the shepherd could hardly believe his eyes when he returned from seeking the sheep and found that the kid had vanished.
he was afraid to go home and tell the same tale that he had told yesterday; so he searched the wood through and through till night was nearly come.
then he felt that there was no help for it, and he must go home and confess to his master.
of course, the farmer was very angry at this second misfortune; but this time he told him to drive one of the big bulls from the mountain, and warned him that if he lost that he would lose his place also.
again the shifty lad, who was on the watch, perceived him pass by, and when he saw the man returning with the great bull he cried to the black rogue: "be quick and come into the wood, and we will try to get the bull also."
"but how can we do that?"
asked the black rogue.
"oh, quite easily!
you hide yourself out there and baa like a sheep, and i will go in the other direction and bleat like a kid.
it will be all right, i assure you."
the shepherd was walking slowly, driving the bull before him, when he suddenly heard a loud baa amongst the bushes far away on one side of the path, and a feeble bleat answering it from the other side.
"why, it must be the sheep and the kid that i lost," said he.
"yes, surely it must"; and tying the bull hastily to a tree, he went off after the sheep and the kid, and searched the wood till he was tired.
of course by the time he came back the two thieves had driven the bull home and killed him for meat, so the man was obliged to go to his master and confess that he had been tricked again.
after this the black rogue and the shifty lad grew bolder and bolder, and stole great quantities of cattle and sold them and grew quite rich.
one day they were returning from the market with a large sum of money in their pockets when they passed a gallows erected on the top of a hill.
"let us stop and look at that gallows," exclaimed the shifty lad."
i have never seen one so close before.
yet some say that it is the end of all thieves."
there was no one in sight, and they carefully examined every part of it."
i wonder how it feels to be hanged," said the shifty lad."
i should like to know, in case they ever catch me.
i'll try first, and then you can do so."
as he spoke he fastened the loose cord about his neck, and when it was quite secure he told the black rogue to take the other end of the rope and draw him up from the ground.
"when i am tired of it i will shake my legs, and then you must let me down," said he.
the black rogue drew up the rope, but in half a minute the shifty lad's legs began to shake, and he quickly let it down again.
"you ca n't imagine what a funny feeling hanging gives you," murmured the shifty lad, who looked rather purple in the face and spoke in an odd voice."
i do n't think you have every tried it, or you would n't have let me go up first.
why, it is the pleasantest thing i have ever done.
i was shaking my legs from sheer delight, and if you had been there you would have shaken your legs too."
"well, let me try, if it is so nice," answered the black rogue.
"but be sure you tie the knot securely, for i do n't want to fall down and break my neck."
"oh, i will see to that!"
replied the shifty lad.
"when you are tired, just whistle, and i'll let you down."
so the black rogue was drawn up, and as soon as he was as high as the rope would allow him to go the shifty lad called to him: "do n't forest to whistle when you want to come down; but if you are enjoying yourself as i did, shake your legs."
and in a moment the black rogue's legs began to shake and to kick, and the shifty lad stood below, watching him and laughing heartily.
"oh, how funny you are!
if you could only see yourself!
oh, you are funny!
but when you have had enough, whistle and you shall be let down"; and he rocked again with laughter.
but no whistle came, and soon the legs ceased to shake and to kick, for the black gallows bird was dead, as the shifty lad intended he should be.
then he went home to the black rogue's wife, and told her that her husband was dead, and that he was ready to marry her if she liked.
but the woman had been fond of the black rogue, thief though he was, and she shrank from the shifty lad in horror, and set the people after him, and he had to fly to another part of the country where none knew of his doings.
perhaps if the shifty lad's mother knew anything of this, she may have thought that by this time her son might be tired of stealing, and ready to try some honest trade.
but in reality he loved the tricks and danger, and life would have seemed very dull without them.
so he went on just as before, and made friends whom he taught to be as wicked as himself, till they took to robbing the king's storehouses, and by the advice of the wise man the king sent out soldiers to catch the band of thieves.
for a long while they tried in vain to lay hands on them.
the shifty lad was too clever for them all, and if they laid traps he laid better ones.
at last one night he stole upon some soldiers while they were asleep in a barn and killed them, and persuaded the villagers that if they did not kill the other soldiers before morning they would certainly be killed themselves.
thus it happened that when the sun rose not a single soldier was alive in the village.
of course this news soon reached the king's ears, and he was very angry, and summoned the wise man to take counsel with him.
and this was the counsel of the wise man -- that he should invite all the people in the countryside to a ball, and among them the bold and impudent thief would be sure to come, and would be sure to ask the king's daughter to dance with him.
"your counsel is good," said the king, who made his feast and prepared for his ball; and all the people of the countryside were present, and the shifty lad came with them.
when everyone had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted they went into the ballroom.
there was a great throng, and while they were pressing through the doorway the wise man, who had a bottle of black ointment hidden in his robes, placed a tiny dot on the cheek of the shifty lad near his ear.
the shifty lad felt nothing, but as he approached the king's daughter to ask her to be his partner he caught sight of the black dot in a silver mirror.
instantly he guessed who had put it there and why, but he said nothing, and danced so beautifully that the princess was quite delighted with him.
at the end of the dance he bowed low to his partner and left her, to mingle with the crowd that was filling the doorway.
as he passed the wise man he contrived not only to steal the bottle but to place two black dots on his face, and one on the faces of twenty other men.
then he slipped the bottle back in the wise man's robe.
by-and-by he went up to the king's daughter again, and begged for the honour of another dance.
she consented, and while he was stooping to tie the ribbons on his shoe she took out from her pocket another bottle, which the wizard had given her, and put a black dot on his cheek.
but she was not as skilful as the wise man, and the shifty lad felt the touch of her fingers; so as soon as the dance was over he contrived to place a second black dot on the faces of the twenty men and two more on the wizard, after which he slipped the bottle into her pocket.
at length the ball came to an end, and then the king ordered all the doors to be shut, and search made for a man with two black dots on his cheek.
the chamberlain went among the guests, and soon found such a man, but just as he was going to arrest him and bring him before the king his eye fell on another with the same mark, and another, and another, till he had counted twenty -- besides the wise man -- on whose face were found spots.
not knowing what to do, the chamberlain hurried back with his tale to the king, who immediately sent for the wise man, and then for his daughter.
"the thief must have stolen your bottle," said the king to the wizard.
"no, my lord, it is here," answered the wise man, holding it out.
"then he must have got yours," he cried, turning to his daughter.
"indeed, father, it is safe in my pocket," replied she, taking it out as she spoke; and they all three looked at each other and remained silent.
"well," said the king at last, "the man who has done this is cleverer than most men, and if he will make himself known to me he shall marry the princess and govern half my kingdom while i am alive, and the whole of it when i am dead.
go and announce this in the ballroom," he added to an attendant, "and bring the fellow hither."
so the attendant went into the ballroom and did as the king had bidden him, when, to his surprise, not one man, but twenty, stepped forward, all with black dots on their faces."
i am the person you want," they all exclaimed at once, and the attendant, as much bewildered as the chamberlain had been, desired them to follow him into the king's presence.
but the question was too difficult for the king to decide, so he called together his council.
for hours they talked, but to no purpose, and in the end they hit upon a plan which they might just as well have thought of at the beginning.
and this was the plan.
a child was to be brought to the palace, and next the king's daughter would give her an apple.
then the child was to take the apple and be led into a room where the twenty men with the black dots were sitting in a ring.
and to whomsoever the child gave the apple, that man should marry the king's daughter.
"of course," said the king, "it may not be the right man, after all, but then again it may be.
anyhow, it is the best we can do."
the princess herself led the child into the room where the twenty men were now seated.
she stood in the centre of the ring for a moment, looking at one man after another, and then held out the apple to the shifty lad, who was twisting a shaving of wood round his finger, and had the mouthpiece of a bagpipe hanging from his neck.
"you ought not to have anything which the others have not got," said the chamberlain, who had accompanied the princess; and he bade the child stand outside for a minute, while he took away the shaving and the mouthpiece, and made the shifty lad change his place.
then he called the child in, but the little girl knew him again, and went straight up to him with the apple.
"this is the man whom the child has twice chosen," said the chamberlain, signing to the shifty lad to kneel before the king.
"it was all quite fair; we tried it twice over."
in this way the shifty lad won the king's daughter, and they were married the next day.
a few days later the bride and bridegroom were taking a walk together, and the path led down to the river, and over the river was a bridge.
"and what bridge may this be?"
asked the shifty lad; and the princess told him that this was the bridge of dublin.
"is it indeed?"
cried he.
"well, now, many is the time that my mother has said, when i played her a trick, that my end would be that i should hang on the bridge of dublin."
"oh, if you want to fulfil her prophecies," laughed the princess, "you have only to let me tie my handkerchief round your ankle, and i will hold you as you hang over the wall of the bridge."
"that would be fine fun," said he; "but you are not strong enough to hold me up."
"oh, yes, i am," said the princess; "just try."
so at last he let her bind the handkerchief round his ankle and hang him over the wall, and they both laughed and jested at the strength of the princess.
"now pull me up again," called he; but as he spoke a great cry arose that the palace was burning.
the princess turned round with a start, and let go her handkerchief, and the shifty lad fell, and struck his head on a stone, and died in an instant.
so his mother's prophecy had come true, after all.
west highland tales.
the false prince and the true the king had just awakened from his midday sleep, for it was summer, and everyone rose early and rested from twelve to three, as they do in hot countries.
he had dressed himself in cool white clothes, and was passing through the hall on his way to the council chamber, when a number of young nobles suddenly appeared before him, and one amongst them stepped forward and spoke.
"sire, this morning we were all playing tennis in the court, the prince and this gentleman with the rest, when there broke out some dispute about the game.
the prince lost his temper, and said many insulting things to the other, who was playing against him, till at length the gentleman whom you see there struck him violently in the face, so that the blood ran from his mouth and nose.
we were all so horrified at the sight, that we should most likely have killed the man then and there, for daring to lay hands on the prince, had not his grandfather the duke stepped between and commanded us to lay the affair before you."
the king had listened attentively to the story, and when it was ended he said: "i suppose the prince had no arms with him, or else he would have used them?"
"yes, sire, he had arms; he always carries a dagger in his belt.
but when he saw the blood pouring from his face, he went to a corner of the court and began to cry, which was the strangest thing of all."
on hearing this the king walked to the window and stood for a few minutes with his back to the room, where the company of young men remained silent.
then he came back, his face white and stern."
i tell you," he said, "and it is the solemn truth, that i would rather you had told me that the prince was dead, though he is my only son, than know that he would suffer such an injury without attempting to avenge it.
as for the gentleman who struck him, he will be brought before my judges, and will plead his own cause, but i hardly think he can escape death, after having assaulted the heir to the crown."
the young man raised his head as if to reply, but the king would not listen, and commanded his guards to put him under arrest, adding, however, that if the prisoner wished to visit any part of the city, he was at liberty to do so properly guarded, and in fifteen days he would be brought to trial before the highest judges in the land.
the young man left the king's presence, surrounded by soldiers, and accompanied by many of his friends, for he was a great favourite.
by their advice he spent the fourteen days that remained to him going about to seek counsel from wise men of all sorts, as to how he might escape death, but no one could help him, for none could find any excuse for the blow he had given to the prince.
the fourteenth night had come, and in despair the prisoner went out to take his last walk through the city.
he wandered on hardly knowing where he went, and his face was so white and desperate that none of his companions dared speak to him.
the sad little procession had passed some hours in this manner, when, near the gate of a monastery, an old woman appeared round a corner, and suddenly stood before the young man.
she was bent almost double, and was so wizened and wrinkled that she looked at least ninety; only her eyes were bright and quick as those of a girl.
"sir," she said," i know all that has happened to you, and how you are seeking if in any wise you can save your life.
but there is none that can answer that question save only i myself, if you will promise to do all i ask."
at her words the prisoner felt as if a load had all at once been rolled off him.
"oh, save me, and i will do anything!"
he cried.
"it is so hard to leave the world and go out into the darkness."
"you will not need to do that," answered the old woman, "you have only got to marry me, and you will soon be free."
"marry you?"
exclaimed he, "but -- but -- i am not yet twenty, and you -- why, you must be a hundred at least!
oh, no, it is quite impossible."
he spoke without thinking, but the flash of anger which darted from her eyes made him feel uncomfortable.
however, all she said was: "as you like; since you reject me, let the crows have you," and hurried away down the street.
left to himself, the full horror of his coming death rushed upon the young man, and he understood that he had thrown away his sole chance of life.
well, if he must, he must, he said to himself, and began to run as fast as he could after the old crone, who by this time could scarcely be seen, even in the moonlight.
who would have believed a woman past ninety could walk with such speed?
it seemed more like flying!
but at length, breathless and exhausted, he reached her side, and gasped out: "madam, pardon me for my hasty words just now; i was wrong, and will thankfully accept the offer you made me."
"ah, i thought you would come to your senses," answered she, in rather an odd voice.
"we have no time to lose -- follow me at once," and they went on silently and swiftly till they stopped at the door of a small house in which the priest lived.
before him the old woman bade the prisoner swear that she should be his wife, and this he did in the presence of witnesses.
then, begging the priest and the guards to leave them alone for a little, she told the young man what he was to do, when the next morning he was brought before the king and the judges.
the hall was full to overflowing when the prisoner entered it, and all marvelled at the brightness of his face.
the king inquired if he had any excuse to plead for the high treason he had committed by striking the heir to the throne, and, if so, to be quick in setting it forth.
with a low bow the youth made answer in a clear voice: "o my lord and gracious king, and you, nobles and wise men of the land, i leave my cause without fear in your hands, knowing that you will listen and judge rightly, and that you will suffer me to speak to the end, before you give judgment.
"for four years, you, o king, had been married to the queen and yet had no children, which grieved you greatly.
the queen saw this, and likewise that your love was going from her, and thought night and day of some plan that might put an end to this evil.
at length, when you were away fighting in distant countries, she decided what she would do, and adopted in secret the baby of a poor quarryman, sending a messenger to tell you that you had a son.
no one suspected the truth except a priest to whom the queen confessed the truth, and in a few weeks she fell ill and died, leaving the baby to be brought up as became a prince.
and now, if your highness will permit me, i will speak of myself."
"what you have already told me," answered the king, "is so strange that i can not imagine what more there is to tell, but go on with your story."
"one day, shortly after the death of the queen," continued the young man, "your highness was hunting, and outstripped all your attendants while chasing the deer.
you were in a part of the country which you did not know, so seeing an orchard all pink and white with apple-blossoms, and a girl tossing a ball in one corner, you went up to her to ask your way.
but when she turned to answer you, you were so struck with her beauty that all else fled from your mind.
again and again you rode back to see her, and at length persuaded her to marry you.
she only thought you a poor knight, and agreed that as you wished it, the marriage should be kept secret.
"after the ceremony you gave her three rings and a charm with a cross on it, and then put her in a cottage in the forest, thinking to hide the matter securely.
"for some months you visited the cottage every week; but a rebellion broke out in a distant part of the kingdom, and called for your presence.
when next you rode up to the cottage, it was empty, and none could inform you whither your bride had gone.
that, sire, i can now tell you," and the young man paused and looked at the king, who coloured deeply.
"she went back to her father the old duke, once your chamberlain, and the cross on her breast revealed at once who you were.
fierce was his anger when he heard his daughter's tale, and he vowed that he would hide her safely from you, till the day when you would claim her publicly as your queen.
"by and bye i was born, and was brought up by my grandfather in one of his great houses.
here are the rings you gave to my mother, and here is the cross, and these will prove if i am your son or not."
as he spoke the young man laid the jewels at the feet of the king, and the nobles and the judges pressed round to examine them.
the king alone did not move from his seat, for he had forgotten the hall of justice and all about him, and saw only the apple-orchard, as it was twenty years ago, and the beautiful girl playing at ball.
a sudden silence round him made him look up, and he found the eyes of the assembly fixed on him.
"it is true; it is he who is my son, and not the other," he said with an effort, "and let every man present swear to acknowledge him as king, after my death."
therefore one by one they all knelt before him and took the oath, and a message was sent to the false prince, forbidding him ever again to appear at court, though a handsome pension was granted him.
at last the ceremony was over, and the king, signing to his newly found son to follow him, rose and went into another room.
"tell me how you knew all that," he said, throwing himself into a carved chair filled with crimson cushions, and the prince told of his meeting with the old woman who had brought him the jewels from his mother, and how he had sworn before a priest to marry her, though he did not want to do it, on account of the difference in their ages, and besides, he would rather receive a bride chosen by the king himself.
but the king frowned, and answered sharply: "you swore to marry her if she saved your life, and, come what may, you must fulfil your promise."
then, striking a silver shield that hung close by, he said to the equerry who appeared immediately: "go and seek the priest who lives near the door of the prison, and ask him where you can find the old woman who visited him last night; and when you have found her, bring her to the palace."
it took some time to discover the whereabouts of the old woman, but at length it was accomplished, and when she arrived at the palace with the equerry, she was received with royal honours, as became the bride of the prince.
the guards looked at each other with astonished eyes, as the wizened creature, bowed with age, passed between their lines; but they were more amazed still at the lightness of her step as she skipped up the steps to the great door before which the king was standing, with the prince at his side.
if they both felt a shock at the appearance of the aged lady they did not show it, and the king, with a grave bow, took her band, and led her to the chapel, where a bishop was waiting to perform the marriage ceremony.
for the next few weeks little was seen of the prince, who spent all his days in hunting, and trying to forget the old wife at home.
as for the princess, no one troubled himself about her, and she passed the days alone in her apartments, for she had absolutely declined the services of the ladies-in-waiting whom the king had appointed for her.
one night the prince returned after a longer chase than usual, and he was so tired that he went up straight to bed.
suddenly he was awakened by a strange noise in the room, and suspecting that a robber might have stolen in, he jumped out of bed, and seized his sword, which lay ready to his hand.
then he perceived that the noise proceeded from the next room, which belonged to the princess, and was lighted by a burning torch.
creeping softly to the door, he peeped through it, and beheld her lying quietly, with a crown of gold and pearls upon her head, her wrinkles all gone, and her face, which was whiter than the snow, as fresh as that of a girl of fourteen.
could that really be his wife -- that beautiful, beautiful creature?
the prince was still gazing in surprise when the lady opened her eyes and smiled at him.
"yes, i really am your wife," she said, as if she had guessed his thoughts, "and the enchantment is ended.
now i must tell you who i am, and what befell to cause me to take the shape of an old woman.
"the king of granada is my father, and i was born in the palace which overlooks the plain of the vega.
i was only a few months old when a wicked fairy, who had a spite against my parents, cast a spell over me, bending my back and wrinkling my skin till i looked as if i was a hundred years old, and making me such an object of disgust to everyone, that at length the king ordered my nurse to take my away from the palace.
she was the only person who cared about me, and we lived together in this city on a small pension allowed me by the king.
"when i was about three an old man arrived at our house, and begged my nurse to let him come in and rest, as he could walk no longer.
she saw that he was very ill, so put him to bed and took such care of him that by and bye he was as strong as ever.
in gratitude for her goodness to him, he told her that he was a wizard and could give her anything she chose to ask for, except life or death, so she answered that what she longed for most in the world was that my wrinkled skin should disappear, and that i should regain the beauty with which i was born.
to this he replied that as my misfortune resulted from a spell, this was rather difficult, but he would do his best, and at any rate he could promise that before my fifteenth birthday i should be freed from the enchantment if i could get a man who would swear to marry me as i was.
"as you may suppose, this was not easy, as my ugliness was such that no one would look at me a second time.
my nurse and i were almost in despair, as my fifteenth birthday was drawing near, and i had never so much as spoken to a man.
at last we received a visit from the wizard, who told us what had happened at court, and your story, bidding me to put myself in your way when you had lost all hope, and offer to save you if you would consent to marry me.
"that is my history, and now you must beg the king to send messengers at once to granada, to inform my father of our marriage, and i think," she added with a smile, "that he will not refuse us his blessing."
adapted from the portuguese.
the jogi's punishment once upon a time there came to the ancient city of rahmatabad a jogi -lsb- fn # 1: a hindu holy man. -rsb-
of holy appearance, who took up his abode under a tree outside the city, where he would sit for days at a time fasting from food and drink, motionless except for the fingers that turned restlessly his string of beads.
the fame of such holiness as this soon spread, and daily the citizens would flock to see him, eager to get his blessing, to watch his devotions, or to hear his teaching, if he were in the mood to speak.
very soon the rajah himself heard of the jogi, and began regularly to visit him to seek his counsel and to ask his prayers that a son might be vouchsafed to him.
days passed by, and at last the rajah became so possessed with the thought of the holy man that he determined if possible to get him all to himself.
so he built in the neighbourhood a little shrine, with a room or two added to it, and a small courtyard closely walled up; and, when all was ready, besought the jogi to occupy it, and to receive no other visitors except himself and his queen and such pupils as the jogi might choose, who would hand down his teaching.
to this the jogi consented; and thus he lived for some time upon the king's bounty, whilst the fame of his godliness grew day by day.
now, although the rajah of rahmatabad had no son, he possessed a daughter, who as she grew up became the most beautiful creature that eye ever rested upon.
her father had long before betrothed her to the son of the neighbouring rajah of dilaram, but as yet she had not been married to him, and lived the quiet life proper to a maiden of her beauty and position.
the princess had of course heard of the holy man and of his miracles and his fasting, and she was filled with curiosity to see and to speak to him; but this was difficult, since she was not allowed to go out except into the palace grounds, and then was always closely guarded.
however, at length she found an opportunity, and made her way one evening alone to the hermit's shrine.
unhappily, the hermit was not really as holy as he seemed; for no sooner did he see the princess than he fell in love with her wonderful beauty, and began to plot in his heart how he could win her for his wife.
but the maiden was not only beautiful, she was also shrewd; and as soon as she read in the glance of the jogi the love that filled his soul, she sprang to her feet, and, gathering her veil about her, ran from the place as fast as she could.
the jogi tried to follow, but he was no match for her; so, beside himself with rage at finding that he could not overtake her, he flung at her a lance, which wounded her in the leg.
the brave princess stooped for a second to pluck the lance out of the wound, and then ran on until she found herself safe at home again.
there she bathed and bound up the wound secretly, and told no one how naughty she had been, for she knew that her father would punish her severely.
next day, when the king went to visit the jogi, the holy man would neither speak to nor look at him.
"what is the matter?"
asked the king.
"wo n't you speak to me to-day?'"
i have nothing to say that you would care to hear," answered the jogi.
"why?"
said the king.
"surely you know that i value all that you say, whatever it may be."
but still the jogi sat with his face turned away, and the more the king pressed him the more silent and mysterious he became.
at last, after much persuasion, he said: "let me tell you, then, that there is in this city a creature which, if you do not put an end to it, will kill every single person in the place."
the king, who was easily frightened, grew pale.
"what?"
he gasped -- "what is this dreadful thing?
how am i to know it and to catch it?
only counsel me and help me, and i will do all that you advise."
"ah!"
replied the jogi, "it is indeed dreadful.
it is in the shape of a beautiful girl, but it is really an evil spirit.
last evening it came to visit me, and when i looked upon it its beauty faded into hideousness, its teeth became horrible fangs, its eyes glared like coals of fire, great claws sprang from its slender fingers, and were i not what i am it might have consumed me."
the king could hardly speak from alarm, but at last he said: "how am i to distinguish this awful thing when i see it?"
"search," said the jogi, "for a lovely girl with a lance wound in her leg, and when she is found secure her safely and come and tell me, and i will advise you what to do next."
away hurried the king, and soon set all his soldiers scouring the country for a girl with a lance wound in her left.
for two days the search went on, and then it was somehow discovered that the only person with a lance wound in the leg was the princess herself.
the king, greatly agitated, went off to tell the jogi, and to assure him that there must be some mistake.
but of course the jogi was prepared for this, and had his answer ready.
"she is not really your daughter, who was stolen away at her birth, but an evil spirit that has taken her form," said he solemnly.
"you can do what you like, but if you do n't take my advice she will kill you all."
and so solemn he appeared, and so unshaken in his confidence, that the king's wisdom was blinded, and he declared that he would do whatever the jogi advised, and believe whatever he said.
so the jogi directed him to send him secretly two carpenters; and when they arrived he set them to make a great chest, so cunningly jointed and put together that neither air nor water could penetrate it.
there and then the chest was made, and, when it was ready, the jogi bade the king to bring the princess by night; and they two thrust the poor little maiden into the chest and fastened it down with long nails, and between them carried it to the river and pushed it out into the stream.
as soon as the jogi got back from this deed he called two of his pupils, and pretended that it had been revealed to him that there should be found floating on the river a chest with something of great price within it; and he bade them go and watch for it at such a place far down the stream, and when the chest came slowly along, bobbing and turning in the tide, they were to seize it and secretly and swiftly bring it to him, for he was now determined to put the princess to death himself.
the pupils set off at once, wondering at the strangeness of their errand, and still more at the holiness of the jogi to whom such secrets were revealed.
it happened that, as the next morning was dawning, the gallant young prince of dilaram was hunting by the banks of the river, with a great following of wazirs, attendants, and huntsmen, and as he rode he saw floating on the river a large chest, which came slowly along, bobbing and turning in the tide.
raising himself in his saddle, he gave an order, and half a dozen men plunged into the water and drew the chest out on to the river bank, where every one crowded around to see what it could contain.
the prince was certainly not the least curious among them; but he was a cautious young man, and, as he prepared to open the chest himself, he bade all but a few stand back, and these few to draw their swords, so as to be prepared in case the chest should hold some evil beast, or djinn, or giant.
when all were ready and expectant, the prince with his dagger forced open the lid and flung it back, and there lay, living and breathing, the most lovely maiden he had ever seen in his life.
although she was half stifled from her confinement in the chest, the princess speedily revived, and, when she was able to sit up, the prince began to question her as to who she was and how she came to be shut up in the chest and set afloat upon the water; and she, blushing and trembling to find herself in the presence of so many strangers, told him that she was the princess of rahmatabad, and that she had been put into the chest by her own father.
when he on his part told her that he was the prince of dilaram, the astonishment of the young people was unbounded to find that they, who had been betrothed without ever having seen one another, should have actually met for the first time in such strange circumstances.
in fact, the prince was so moved by her beauty and modest ways that he called up his wazirs and demanded to be married at once to this lovely lady who had so completely won his heart.
and married they were then and there upon the river bank, and went home to the prince's palace, where, when the story was told, they were welcomed by the old rajah, the prince's father, and the remainder of the day was given over to feasting and rejoicing.
but when the banquet was over, the bride told her husband that now, on the threshold of their married life, she had more to relate of her adventures than he had given her the opportunity to tell as yet; and then, without hiding anything, she informed him of all that happened to her from the time she had stolen out to visit the wicked jogi.
in the morning the prince called his chief wazir and ordered him to shut up in the chest in which the princess had been found a great monkey that lived chained up in the palace, and to take the chest back to the river and set it afloat once more and watch what became of it.
so the monkey was caught and put into the chest, and some of the prince's servants took it down to the river and pushed it off into the water.
then they followed secretly a long way off to see what became of it.
meanwhile the jogi's two pupils watched and watched for the chest until they were nearly tired of watching, and were beginning to wonder whether the jogi was right after all, when on the second day they spied the great chest coming floating on the river, slowly bobbing and turning in the tide; and instantly a great joy and exultation seized them, for they thought that here indeed was further proof of the wonderful wisdom of their master.
with some difficulty they secured the chest, and carried it back as swiftly and secretly as possible to the jogi's house.
as soon as they brought in the chest, the jogi, who had been getting very cross and impatient, told them to put it down, and to go outside whilst he opened the magic chest.
"and even if you hear cries and sounds, however alarming, you must on no account enter," said the jogi, walking over to a closet where lay the silken cord that was to strangle the princess.
and the two pupils did as they were told, and went outside and shut close all the doors.
presently they heard a great outcry within and the jogi's voice crying aloud for help; but they dared not enter, for had they not been told that whatever the noise, they must not come in?
so they sat outside, waiting and wondering; and at last all grew still and quiet, and remained so for such a long time that they determined to enter and see if all was well.
no sooner had they opened the door leading into the courtyard than they were nearly upset by a huge monkey that came leaping straight to the doorway and escaped past them into the open fields.
then they stepped into the room, and there they saw the jogi's body lying torn to pieces on the threshold of his dwelling!
very soon the story spread, as stories will, and reached the ears of the princess and her husband, and when she knew that her enemy was dead she made her peace with her father.
from major campbell, feroshepore.
the heart of a monkey a long time ago a little town made up of a collection of low huts stood in a tiny green valley at the foot of a cliff.
of course the people had taken great care to build their houses out of reach of the highest tide which might be driven on shore by a west wind, but on the very edge of the town there had sprung up a tree so large that half its boughs hung over the huts and the other half over the deep sea right under the cliff, where sharks loved to come and splash in the clear water.
the branches of the tree itself were laden with fruit, and every day at sunrise a big grey monkey might have been seen sitting in the topmost branches having his breakfast, and chattering to himself with delight.
after he had eaten all the fruit on the town side of the tree the monkey swung himself along the branches to the part which hung over the water.
while he was looking out for a nice shady place where he might perch comfortably he noticed a shark watching him from below with greedy eyes.
"can i do anything for you, my friend?"
asked the monkey politely.
"oh!
if you only would thrown me down some of those delicious things, i should be so grateful," answered the shark.
"after you have lived on fish for fifty years you begin to feel you would like a change.
and i am so very, very tired of the taste of salt."
"well, i do n't like salt myself," said the monkey; "so if you will open your mouth i will throw this beautiful juicy kuyu into it," and, as he spoke, he pulled one off the branch just over his head.
but it was not so easy to hit the shark's mouth as he supposed, even when the creature had turned on his back, and the first kuyu only struck one of his teeth and rolled into the water.
however, the second time the monkey had better luck, and the fruit fell right in.
"ah, how good!"
cried the shark.
"send me another, please."
and the monkey grew tired of picking the kuyu long before the shark was tired of eating them.
"it is getting late, and i must be going home to my children," he said, at length, "but if you are here at the same time to-morrow i will give you another treat."
"thank you, thank you," said the shark, showing all his great ugly teeth as he grinned with delight; "you ca n't guess how happy you have made me," and he swam away into the shadow, hoping to sleep away the time till the monkey came again.
for weeks the monkey and the shark breakfasted together, and it was a wonder that the tree had any fruit left for them.
they became fast friends, and told each other about their homes and their children, and how to teach them all they ought to know.
by and bye the monkey became rather discontented with his green house in a grove of palms beyond the town, and longed to see the strange things under the sea which he had heard of from the shark.
the shark perceived this very clearly, and described greater marvels, and the monkey as he listened grew more and more gloomy.
matters were in this state when one day the shark said: "i really hardly know how to thank you for all your kindness to me during these weeks.
here i have nothing of my own to offer you, but if you would only consent to come home with me, how gladly would i give you anything that might happen to take your fancy.'"
i should like nothing better," cried the monkey, his teeth chattering, as they always did when he was pleased.
"but how could i get there?
not by water.
ugh!
it makes me ill to think of it!"
"oh!
do n't let that trouble you," replied the shark, "you have only to sit on my back and i will undertake that not a drop of water shall touch you."
so it was arranged, and directly after breakfast next morning the shark swam close up under the tree and the monkey dropped neatly on his back, without even a splash.
after a few minutes -- for at first he felt a little frightened at his strange position -- the monkey began to enjoy himself vastly, and asked the shark a thousand questions about the fish and the sea-weeds and the oddly-shaped things that floated past them, and as the shark always gave him some sort of answer, the monkey never guessed that many of the objects they saw were as new to his guide as to himself.
the sun had risen and set six times when the shark suddenly said, "my friend, we have now performed half our journey, and it is time that i should tell you something."
"what is it?"
asked the monkey.
"nothing unpleasant, i hope, for you sound rather grave?"
"oh, no!
nothing at all.
it is only that shortly before we left i heard that the sultan of my country is very ill, and that the only thing to cure him is a monkey's heart."
"poor man, i am very sorry for him," replied the monkey; "but you were unwise not to tell me till we had started."
"what do you mean?"
asked the shark; but the monkey, who now understood the whole plot, did not answer at once, for he was considering what he should say.
"why are you so silent?"
inquired the shark again."
i was thinking what a pity it was you did not tell me while i was still on land, and then i would have brought my heart with me."
"your heart!
why is n't your heart here?"
said the shark, with a puzzled expression.
"oh, no!
of course not.
is it possible you do n't know that when we leave home we always hang up our hearts on trees, to prevent their being troublesome?
however, perhaps you wo n't believe that, and will just think i have invented it because i am afraid, so let us go on to your country as fast as we can, and when we arrive you can look for my heart, and if you find it you can kill me."
the monkey spoke in such a calm, indifferent way that the shark was quite deceived, and began to wish he had not been in such a hurry.
"but there is no use going on if your heart is not with you," he said at last.
"we had better turn back to the town, and then you can fetch it."
of course, this was just what the monkey wanted, but he was careful not to seem too pleased.
"well, i do n't know," he remarked carelessly, "it is such a long way; but you may be right.'"
i am sure i am," answered the shark, "and i will swim as quickly as i can," and so he did, and in three days they caught sight of the kuyu tree hanging over the water.
with a sigh of relief the monkey caught hold of the nearest branch and swung himself up.
"wait for me here," he called out to the shark."
i am so hungry i must have a little breakfast, and then i will go and look for my heart," and he went further and further into the branches so that the shark could not see him.
then he curled himself up and went to sleep.
"are you there?"
cried the shark, who was soon tired of swimming about under the cliff, and was in haste to be gone.
the monkey awoke with a start, but did not answer.
"are you there?"
called the shark again, louder than before, and in a very cross voice.
"oh, yes.
i am here," replied the monkey; "but i wish you had not wakened me up.
i was having such a nice nap."
"have you got it?"
asked the shark.
"it is time we were going."
"going where?"
inquired the monkey.
"why, to my country, of course, with your heart.
you ca n't have forgotten!"
"my dear friend," answered the monkey, with a chuckle," i think you must be going a little mad.
do you take me for a washerman's donkey?"
"do n't talk nonsense," exclaimed the shark, who did not like being laughed at.
"what do you mean about a washerman's donkey?
and i wish you would be quick, or we may be too late to save the sultan."
"did you really never hear of the washerman's donkey?"
asked the monkey, who was enjoying himself immensely.
"why, he is the beast who has no heart.
and as i am not feeling very well, and am afraid to start while the sun is so high lest i should get a sunstroke, if you like, i will come a little nearer and tell you his story."
"very well," said the shark sulkily, "if you wo n't come, i suppose i may as well listen to that as do nothing."
so the monkey began."
a washerman once lived in the great forest on the other side of the town, and he had a donkey to keep him company and to carry him wherever he wanted to go.
for a time they got on very well, but by and bye the donkey grew lazy and ungrateful for her master's kindness, and ran away several miles into the heart of the forest, where she did nothing but eat and eat and eat, till she grew so fat she could hardly move.
"one day as she was tasting quite a new kind of grass and wondering if it was as good as what she had had for dinner the day before, a hare happened to pass by."
""well, that is a fat creature," thought she, and turned out of her path to tell the news to a lion who was a friend of hers.
now the lion had been very ill, and was not strong enough to go hunting for himself, and when the hare came and told him that a very fat donkey was to be found only a few hundred yards off, tears of disappointment and weakness filled his eyes."
""what is the good of telling me that?"
he asked, in a weepy voice; "you know i can not even walk as far as that palm.""
""never mind," answered the hare briskly.
""if you ca n't go to your dinner your dinner shall come to you," and nodding a farewell to the lion she went back to the donkey."
""good morning," said she, bowing politely to the donkey, who lifted her head in surprise.
""excuse my interrupting you, but i have come on very important business.""
""indeed," answered the donkey, "it is most kind of you to take the trouble.
may i inquire what the business is?""
""certainly," replied the hare.
""it is my friend the lion who has heard so much of your charms and good qualities that he has sent me to beg that you will give him your paw in marriage.
he regrets deeply that he is unable to make the request in person, but he has been ill and is too weak to move.""
""poor fellow!
how sad!"
said the donkey.
""but you must tell him that i feel honoured by his proposal, and will gladly consent to be queen of the beasts.""
""will you not come and tell him so yourself?"
asked the hare.
"side by side they went down the road which led to the lion's house.
it took a long while, for the donkey was so fat with eating she could only walk very slowly, and the hare, who could have run the distance in about five minutes, was obliged to creep along till she almost dropped with fatigue at not being able to go at her own pace.
when at last they arrived the lion was sitting up at the entrance, looking very pale and thin.
the donkey suddenly grew shy and hung her head, but the lion put on his best manners and invited both his visitors to come in and make themselves comfortable.
"very soon the hare got up and said, "well, as i have another engagement i will leave you to make acquaintance with your future husband," and winking at the lion she bounded away.
"the donkey expected that as soon as they were left alone the lion would begin to speak of their marriage, and where they should live, but as he said nothing she looked up.
to her surprise and terror she saw him crouching in the corner, his eyes glaring with a red light, and with a loud roar he sprang towards her.
but in that moment the donkey had had time to prepare herself, and jumping on one side dealt the lion such a hard kick that he shrieked with the pain.
again and again he struck at her with his claws, but the donkey could bite too, as well as the lion, who was very weak after his illness, and at last a well-planted kick knocked him right over, and he rolled on the floor, groaning with pain.
the donkey did not wait for him to get up, but ran away as fast as she could and was lost in the forest.
"now the hare, who knew quite well what would happen, had not gone to do her business, but hid herself in some bushes behind the cave, where she could hear quite clearly the sounds of the battle.
when all was quiet again she crept gently out, and stole round the corner."
""well, lion, have you killed her?"
asked she, running swiftly up the path."
""killed her, indeed!"
answered the lion sulkily, "it is she who has nearly killed me.
i never knew a donkey could kick like that, though i took care she should carry away the marks of my claws.""
""dear me!
fancy such a great fat creature being able to fight!"
cried the hare.
""but do n't vex yourself.
just lie still, and your wounds will soon heal," and she bade her friend, good bye, and returned to her family.
"two or three weeks passed, and only bare places on the donkey's back showed where the lion's claws had been, while, on his side, the lion had recovered from his illness and was now as strong as ever.
he was beginning to think that it was almost time for him to begin hunting again, when one morning a rustle was heard in the creepers outside, and the hare's head peeped through."
""ah!
there is no need to ask how you are," she said.
""still you must n't overtire yourself, you know.
shall i go and bring you your dinner?""
""if you will bring me that donkey i will tear it in two," cried the lion savagely, and the hare laughed and nodded and went on her errand.
"this time the donkey was much further than before, and it took longer to find her.
at last the hare caught sight of four hoofs in the air, and ran towards them.
the donkey was lying on a soft cool bed of moss near a stream, rolling herself backwards and forwards from pleasure."
""good morning," said the hare politely, and the donkey got slowly on to her legs, and looked to see who her visitor could be."
""oh, it is you, is it?"
she exclaimed.
""come and have a chat.
what news have you got?""
""i must n't stay," answered the hare; "but i promised the lion to beg you to pay him a visit, as he is not well enough to call on you.""
""well, i do n't know," replied the donkey gloomily, "the last time we went he scratched me very badly, and really i was quite afraid.""
""he was only trying to kiss you," said the hare, "and you bit him, and of course that made him cross.""
""if i were sure of that," hesitated the donkey."
""oh, you may be quite sure," laughed the hare.
""i have a large acquaintance among lions.
but let us be quick," and rather unwillingly the donkey set out.
"the lion saw them coming and hid himself behind a large tree.
as the donkey went past, followed by the hare, he sprang out, and with one blow of his paw stretched the poor foolish creature dead before him."
""take this meat and skin it and roast it," he said to the hare; "but my appetite is not so good as it was, and the only part i want for myself is the heart.
the rest you can either eat yourself or give away to your friends.""
""thank you," replied the hare, balancing the donkey on her back as well as she was able, and though the legs trailed along the ground she managed to drag it to an open space some distance off, where she made a fire and roasted it.
as soon as it was cooked the hare took out the heart and had just finished eating it when the lion, who was tired of waiting, came up."
""i am hungry," said he.
""bring me the creature's heart; it is just what i want for supper.""
""but there is no heart," answered the hare, looking up at the lion with a puzzled face."
""what nonsense!"
said the lion.
""as if every beast had not got a heart.
what do you mean?""
""this is a washerman's donkey," replied the hare gravely."
""well, and suppose it is?""
""oh, fie!"
exclaimed the hare.
""you, a lion and a grown-up person, and ask questions like that.
if the donkey had had a heart would she be here now?
the first time she came she knew you were trying to kill her, and ran away.
yet she came back a second time.
well, if she had had a heart would she have come back a second time?
now would she?"
"and the lion answered slowly, "no, she would not."
"so you think i am a washerman's donkey?"
said the monkey to the shark, when the story was ended.
"you are wrong; i am not.
and as the sun is getting low in the sky, it is time for you to begin your homeward journey.
you will have a nice cool voyage, and i hope you will find the sultan better.
farewell!"
and the monkey disappeared among the green branches, and was gone.
from "swahili tales," by edward steere, ll.d.
the fairy nurse there was once a little farmer and his wife living near coolgarrow.
they had three children, and my story happened while the youngest was a baby.
the wife was a good wife enough, but her mind was all on her family and her farm, and she hardly ever went to her knees without falling asleep, and she thought the time spent in the chapel was twice as long as it need be.
so, friends, she let her man and her two children go before her one day to mass, while she called to consult a fairy man about a disorder one of her cows had.
she was late at the chapel, and was sorry all the day after, for her husband was in grief about it, and she was very fond of him.
late that night he was wakened up by the cries of his children calling out "mother!
mother!"
when he sat up and rubbed his eyes, there was no wife by his side, and when he asked the little ones what was become of their mother, they said they saw the room full of nice little men and women, dressed in white and red and green, and their mother in the middle of them, going out by the door as if she was walking in her sleep.
out he ran, and searched everywhere round the house but, neither tale nor tidings did he get of her for many a day.
well, the poor man was miserable enough, for he was as fond of his woman as she was of him.
it used to bring the salt tears down his cheeks to see his poor children neglected and dirty, as they often were, and they'd be bad enough only for a kind neighbour that used to look in whenever she could spare time.
the infant was away with a nurse.
about six weeks after -- just as he was going out to his work one morning -- a neighbour, that used to mind women when they were ill, came up to him, and kept step by step with him to the field, and this is what she told him.
"just as i was falling asleep last night, i heard a horse's tramp on the grass and a knock at the door, and there, when i came out, was a fine-looking dark man, mounted on a black horse, and he told me to get ready in all haste, for a lady was in great want of me.
as soon as i put on my cloak and things, he took me by the hand, and i was sitting behind him before i felt myself stirring.
""where are we going, sir?"
says i. "you'll soon know," says he; and he drew his fingers across my eyes, and not a ray could i see.
i kept a tight grip of him, and i little knew whether he was going backwards or forwards, or how long we were about it, till my hand was taken again, and i felt the ground under me.
the fingers went the other way across my eyes, and there we were before a castle door, and in we went through a big hall and great rooms all painted in fine green colours, with red and gold bands and ornaments, and the finest carpets and chairs and tables and window curtains, and grand ladies and gentlemen walking about.
at last we came to a bedroom, with a beautiful lady in bed, with a fine bouncing boy beside her.
the lady clapped her hands, and in came the dark man and kissed her and the baby, and praised me, and gave me a bottle of green ointment to rub the child all over.
"well, the child i rubbed, sure enough; but my right eye began to smart, and i put up my finger and gave it a rub, and then stared, for never in all my life was i so frightened.
the beautiful room was a big, rough cave, with water oozing over the edges of the stones and through the clay; and the lady, and the lord, and the child weazened, poverty-bitten creatures -- nothing but skin and bone -- and the rich dresses were old rags.
i did n't let on that i found any difference, and after a bit says the dark man, "go before me to the hall door, and i will be with you in a few moments, and see you safe home."
well, just as i turned into the outside cave, who should i see watching near the door but poor molly.
she looked round all terrified, and says she to me in a whisper, "i'm brought here to nurse the child of the king and queen of the fairies; but there is one chance of saving me.
all the court will pass the cross near templeshambo next friday night, on a visit to the fairies of old ross.
if john can catch me by the hand or cloak when i ride by, and has courage not to let go his grip, i'll be safe.
here's the king.
do n't open your mouth to answer.
i saw what happened with the ointment."
"the dark man did n't once cast his eye towards molly, and he seemed to have no suspicion of me.
when we came out i looked about me, and where do you think we were but in the dyke of the rath of cromogue.
i was on the horse again, which was nothing but a big rag-weed, and i was in dread every minute i'd fall off; but nothing happened till i found myself in my own cabin.
the king slipped five guineas into my hand as soon as i was on the ground, and thanked me, and bade me good night.
i hope i'll never see his face again.
i got into bed, and could n't sleep for a long time; and when i examined my five guineas this morning, that i left in the table drawer the last thing, i found five withered leaves of oak -- bad luck to the giver!"
well, you may all think the fright, and the joy, and the grief the poor man was in when the woman finished her story.
they talked and they talked, but we need n't mind what they said till friday night came, when both were standing where the mountain road crosses the one going to ross.
there they stood, looking towards the bridge of thuar, in the dead of the night, with a little moonlight shining from over kilachdiarmid.
at last she gave a start, and "by this and by that," says she, "here they come, bridles jingling and feathers tossing!"
he looked, but could see nothing; and she stood trembling and her eyes wide open, looking down the way to the ford of ballinacoola.
""i see your wife," says she, "riding on the outside just so as to rub against us.
we'll walk on quietly, as if we suspected nothing, and when we are passing i'll give you a shove.
if you do n't do your duty then, woe be with you!"
well, they walked on easy, and the poor hearts beating in both their breasts; and though he could see nothing, he heard a faint jingle and trampling and rustling, and at last he got the push that she promised.
he spread out his arms, and there was his wife's waist within them, and he could see her plain; but such a hullabulloo rose as if there was an earthquake, and he found himself surrounded by horrible-looking things, roaring at him and striving to pull his wife away.
but he made the sign of the cross and bid them begone in god's name, and held his wife as if it was iron his arms were made of.
bedad, in one moment everything was as silent as the grave, and the poor woman lying in a faint in the arms of her husband and her good neighbour.
well, all in good time she was minding her family and her business again; and i'll go bail, after the fright she got, she spent more time on her knees, and avoided fairy men all the days of the week, and particularly on sunday.
it is hard to have anything to do with the good people without getting a mark from them.
my brave nurse did n't escape no more than another.
she was one thursday at the market of enniscorthy, when what did she see walking among the tubs of butter but the dark man, very hungry-looking, and taking a scoop out of one tub and out of another.
"oh, sir," says she, very foolish," i hope your lady is well, and the baby."
"pretty well, thank you," says he, rather frightened like.
"how do i look in this new suit?"
says he, getting to one side of her."
i ca n't see you plain at all, sir," says she.
"well, now?"
says he, getting round her back to the other side.
"musha, indeed, sir, your coat looks no better than a withered dock-leaf."
"maybe, then," says he, "it will be different now," and he struck the eye next him with a switch.
friends, she never saw a glimmer after with that one till the day of her death.
"legendary fictions of the irish celts," by patrick kennedy.
a lost paradise in the middle of a great forest there lived a long time ago a charcoal-burner and his wife.
they were both young and handsome and strong, and when they got married, they thought work would never fail them.
but bad times came, and they grew poorer and poorer, and the nights in which they went hungry to bed became more and more frequent.
now one evening the king of that country was hunting near the charcoal-burner's hut.
as he passed the door, he heard a sound of sobbing, and being a good-natured man he stopped to listen, thinking that perhaps he might be able to give some help.
"were there ever two people so unhappy!"
said a woman's voice.
"here we are, ready to work like slaves the whole day long, and no work can we get.
and it is all because of the curiosity of old mother eve!
if she had only been like me, who never want to know anything, we should all have been as happy as kings to-day, with plenty to eat, and warm clothes to wear.
why --" but at this point a loud knock interrupted her lamentations.
"who is there?"
asked she.
"i!"
replied somebody.
"and who is "i"?"
"the king.
let me in."
full of surprise the woman jumped up and pulled the bar away from the door.
as the king entered, he noticed that there was no furniture in the room at all, not even a chair, so he pretended to be in too great a hurry to see anything around him, and only said "you must not let me disturb you.
i have no time to stay, but you seemed to be in trouble.
tell me; are you very unhappy?"
"oh, my lord, we can find no work and have eaten nothing for two days!"
answered she.
"nothing remains for us but to die of hunger."
"no, no, you sha n't do that," cried the king, "or if you do, it will be your own fault.
you shall come with me into my palace, and you will feel as if you were in paradise, i promise you.
in return, i only ask one thing of you, that you shall obey my orders exactly."
the charcoal-burner and his wife both stared at him for a moment, as if they could hardly believe their ears; and, indeed, it was not to be wondered at!
then they found their tongues, and exclaimed together: "oh, yes, yes, my lord!
we will do everything you tell us.
how could we be so ungrateful as to disobey you, when you are so kind?"
the king smiled, and his eyes twinkled.
"well, let us start at once," said he.
"lock your door, and put the key in your pocket."
the woman looked as if she thought this was needless, seeing it was quite, quite certain they would never come back.
but she dared not say so, and did as the king told her.
after walking through the forest for a couple of miles, they all three reached the palace, and by the king's orders servants led the charcoal-burner and his wife into rooms filled with beautiful things such as they had never even dreamed of.
first they bathed in green marble baths where the water looked like the sea, and then they put on silken clothes that felt soft and pleasant.
when they were ready, one of the king's special servants entered, and took them into a small hall, where dinner was laid, and this pleased them better than anything else.
they were just about to sit down to the table when the king walked in."
i hope you have been attended to properly," said he, "and that you will enjoy your dinner.
my steward will take care you have all you want, and i wish you to do exactly as you please.
oh, by the bye, there is one thing!
you notice that soup-tureen in the middle of the table?
well, be careful on no account to lift the lid.
if once you take off the cover, there is an end of your good fortune."
then, bowing to his guests, he left the room.
"did you hear what he said?"
inquired the charcoal-burner in an awe-stricken voice.
"we are to have what we want, and do what we please.
only we must not touch the soup-tureen."
"no, of course we wo n't," answered the wife.
"why should we wish to?
but all the same it is rather odd, and one ca n't help wondering what is inside."
for many days life went on like a beautiful dream to the charcoal-burner and his wife.
their beds were so comfortable, they could hardly make up their minds to get up, their clothes were so lovely they could scarcely bring themselves to take them off; their dinners were so good that they found it very difficult to leave off eating.
then outside the palace were gardens filled with rare flowers and fruits and singing birds, or if they desired to go further, a golden coach, painted with wreaths of forget-me-nots and lined with blue satin, awaited their orders.
sometimes it happened that the king came to see them, and he smiled as he glanced at the man, who was getting rosier and plumper each day.
but when his eyes rested on the woman, they took on a look which seemed to say" i knew it," though this neither the charcoal-burner nor his wife ever noticed.
"why are you so silent?"
asked the man one morning when dinner had passed before his wife had uttered one word."
a little while ago you used to be chattering all the day long, and now i have almost forgotten the sound of your voice."
"oh, nothing; i did not feel inclined to talk, that was all!"
she stopped, and added carelessly after a pause, "do n't you ever wonder what is in that soup-tureen?"
"no, never," replied the man.
"it is no affair of ours," and the conversation dropped once more, but as time went on, the woman spoke less and less, and seemed so wretched that her husband grew quite frightened about her.
as to her food, she refused one thing after another.
"my dear wife," said the man at last, "you really must eat something.
what in the world is the matter with you?
if you go on like this you will die.'"
i would rather die than not know what is in that tureen," she burst forth so violently that the husband was quite startled.
"is that it?"
cried he; "are you making yourself miserable because of that?
why, you know we should be turned out of the palace, and sent away to starve."
"oh no, we should n't.
the king is too good-natured.
of course he did n't mean a little thing like this!
besides, there is no need to lift the lid off altogether.
just raise one corner so that i may peep.
we are quite alone: nobody will ever know."
the man hesitated: it did seem a "little thing," and if it was to make his wife contented and happy it was well worth the risk.
so he took hold of the handle of the cover and raised it very slowly and carefully, while the woman stooped down to peep.
suddenly she startled back with a scream, for a small mouse had sprung from the inside of the tureen, and had nearly hit her in the eye.
round and round the room it ran, round and round they both ran after it, knocking down chairs and vases in their efforts to catch the mouse and put it back in the tureen.
in the middle of all the noise the door opened, and the mouse ran out between the feet of the king.
in one instant both the man and his wife were hiding under the table, and to all appearance the room was empty.
"you may as well come out," said the king, "and hear what i have to say.'"
i know what it is," answered the charcoal-burner, hanging his head.
the mouse has escaped.'"
a guard of soldiers will take you back to your hut," said the king.
"your wife has the key."
"were n't they silly?"
cried the grandchildren of the charcoal-burners when they heard the story.
"how we wish that we had had the chance!
we should never have wanted to know what was in the soup-tureen!"
from "litterature orale de l'auvergne," par paul sebillot.
how brave walter hunted wolves a little back from the high road there stands a house which is called "hemgard."
perhaps you remember the two beautiful mountain ash trees by the reddish-brown palings, and the high gate, and the garden with the beautiful barberry bushes which are always the first to become grown in spring, and which in summer are weighed down with their beautiful berries.
behind the garden there is a hedge with tall aspens which rustle in the morning wind, behind the hedge is a road, behind the road is a wood, and behind the wood the wide world.
but on the other side of the garden there is a lake, and beyond the lake is a village, and all around stretch meadows and fields, now yellow, now green.
in the pretty house, which has white window-frames, a neat porch and clean steps, which are always strewn with finely-cut juniper leaves, walter's parents live.
his brother frederick, his sister lotta, old lena, jonah, caro and bravo, putte and murre, and kuckeliku.
caro lives in the dog house, bravo in the stable, putte with the stableman, murre a little here and a little there, and kuckeliku lives in the hen house, that is his kingdom.
walter is six years old, and he must soon begin to go to school.
he can not read yet, but he can do many other things.
he can turn cartwheels, stand on his head, ride see-saw, throw snowballs, play ball, crow like a cock, eat bread and butter and drink sour milk, tear his trousers, wear holes in his elbows, break the crockery in pieces, throw balls through the windowpanes, draw old men on important papers, walk over the flower-beds, eat himself sick with gooseberries, and be well after a whipping.
for the rest he has a good heart but a bad memory, and forgets his father's and his mother's admonitions, and so often gets into trouble and meets with adventures, as you shall hear, but first of all i must tell you how brave he was and how he hunted wolves.
once in the spring, a little before midsummer, walter heard that there were a great many wolves in the wood, and that pleased him.
he was wonderfully brave when he was in the midst of his companions or at home with his brothers and sister, then he used often to say "one wolf is nothing, there ought to be at least four."
when he wrestled with klas bogenstrom or frithiof waderfelt and struck them in the back, he would say "that is what i shall do to a wolf!"
and when he shot arrows at jonas and they rattled against his sheepskin coat he would say: "that is how i should shoot you if you were a wolf!"
indeed, some thought that the brave boy boasted a little; but one must indeed believe him since he said so himself.
so jonas and lena used to say of him "look, there goes walter, who shoots the wolves."
and other boys and girls would say "look, there goes brave walter, who is brave enough to fight with four."
there was no one so fully convinced of this as walter himself, and one day he prepared himself for a real wolf hunt.
he took with him his drum, which had holes in one end since the time he had climbed up on it to reach a cluster of rowan berries, and his tin sabre, which was a little broken, because he had with incredible courage fought his way through a whole unfriendly army of gooseberry bushes.
he did not forget to arm himself quite to the teeth with his pop-gun, his bow, and his air-pistol.
he had a burnt cork in his pocket to blacken his moustache, and a red cock's feather to put in his cap to make himself look fierce.
he had besides in his trouser pocket a clasp knife with a bone handle, to cut off the ears of the wolves as soon as he had killed them, for he thought it would be cruel to do that while they were still living.
it was such a good thing that jonas was going with corn to the mill, for walter got a seat on the load, while caro ran barking beside them.
as soon as they came to the wood walter looked cautiously around him to see perchance there was a wolf in the bushes, and he did not omit to ask jonas if wolves were afraid of a drum.
"of course they are" -lrb- that is understood -rrb- said jonas.
thereupon walter began to beat his drum with all his might while they were going through the wood.
when they came to the mill walter immediately asked if there had been any wolves in the neighbourhood lately.
"alas!
yes," said the miller, "last night the wolves have eaten our fattest ram there by the kiln not far from here."
"ah!"
said walter, "do you think that there were many?"
"we do n't know," answered the miller.
"oh, it is all the same," said walter."
i only asked so that i should know if i should take jonas with me."
i could manage very well alone with three, but if there were more, i might not have time to kill them all before they ran away."
"in walter's place i should go quite alone, it is more manly," said jonas.
"no, it is better for you to come too," said walter.
"perhaps there are many."
"no, i have not time," said jonas, "and besides, there are sure not to be more than three.
walter can manage them very well alone."
"yes," said walter, "certainly i could; but, you see, jonas, it might happen that one of them might bite me in the back, and i should have more trouble in killing them.
if i only knew that there were not more than two i should not mind, for them i should take one in each hand and give them a good shaking, like susanna once shook me.'"
i certainly think that there will not be more than two," said jonas, "there are never more than two when they slay children and rams; walter can very well shake them without me."
"but, you see, jonas," said walter, "if there are two, it might still happen that one of them escapes and bites me in the leg, for you see i am not so strong in the left hand as in the right.
you can very well come with me, and take a good stick in case there are really two.
look, if there is only one, i shall take him so with both my hands and thrown him living on to his back, and he can kick as much as he likes, i shall hold him fast."
"now, when i really think over the thing," said jonas," i am almost sure there will not be more than one.
what would two do with one ram?
there will certainly not be more than one."
"but you should come with me all the same, jonas," said walter.
"you see i can very well manage one, but i am not quite accustomed to wolves yet, and he might tear holes in my new trousers."
"well, just listen," said jonas," i am beginning to think that walter is not so brave as people say.
first of all walter would fight against four, and then against three, then two, and then one, and now walter wants help with one.
such a thing must never be; what would people say?
perhaps they would think that walter is a coward?"
"that's a lie," said walter," i am not at all frightened, but it is more amusing when there are two.
i only want someone who will see how i strike the wolf and how the dust flies out of his skin."
"well, then, walter can take the miller's little lisa with him.
she can sit on a stone and look on," said jonas.
"no, she would certainly be frightened," said walter, "and how would it do for a girl to go wolf-hunting?
come with me, jonas, and you shall have the skin, and i will be content with the ears and the tail."
"no, thank you," said jonas, "walter can keep the skin for himself.
now i see quite well that he is frightened.
fie, shame on him!"
this touched walter's pride very near."
i shall show that i am not frightened," he said; and so he took his drum, sabre, cock's feather, clasp-knife, pop-gun and air-pistol, and went off quite alone to the wood to hunt wolves.
it was a beautiful evening, and the birds were singing in all the branches.
walter went very slowly and cautiously.
at every step he looked all round him to see if perchance there was anything lurking behind the stones.
he quite thought something moved away there in the ditch.
perhaps it was a wolf.
"it is better for me to beat the drum a little before i go there," thought walter.
br-r-r, so he began to beat his drum.
then something moved again.
caw!
caw!
a crow flew up from the ditch.
walter immediately regained courage.
"it was well i took my drum with me," he thought, and went straight on with courageous steps.
very soon he came quite close to the kiln, where the wolves had killed the ram.
but the nearer he came the more dreadful he thought the kiln looked.
it was so gray and old.
who knew how many wolves there might be hidden there?
perhaps the very ones which killed the ram were still sitting there in a corner.
yes, it was not at all safe here, and there were no other people to be seen in the neighbourhood.
it would be horrible to be eaten up here in the daylight, thought walter to himself; and the more he thought about it the uglier and grayer the old kiln looked, and the more horrible and dreadful it seemed to become the food of wolves.
"shall i go back and say that i struck one wolf and it escaped?"
thought walter.
"fie!"
said his conscience, "do you not remember that a lie is one of the worst sins, both in the sight of god and man?
if you tell a lie to-day and say you struck a wolf, to-morrow surely it will eat you up."
"no, i will go to the kiln," thought walter, and so he went.
but he did not go quite near.
he went only so near that he could see the ram's blood which coloured the grass red, and some tufts of wool which the wolves had torn from the back of the poor animal.
it looked so dreadful."
i wonder what the ram thought when they ate him up," thought walter to himself; and just then a cold shiver ran through him from his collar right down to his boots.
"it is better for me to beat the drum," he thought to himself again, and so he began to beat it.
but it sounded horrid, and an echo came out from the kiln that seemed almost like the howl of a wolf.
the drumsticks stiffened in walter's hands, and he thought now they are coming...!
yes, sure enough, just then a shaggy, reddish-brown wolf's head looked out from under the kiln!
what did walter do now?
yes, the brave walter who alone could manage four, threw his drum far away, took to his heels and ran, and ran as fast as he could back to the mill.
but, alas!
the wolf ran after him.
walter looked back; the wolf was quicker than he and only a few steps behind him.
then walter ran faster.
but fear got the better of him, he neither heard nor saw anything more.
he ran over sticks, stones and ditches; he lost drum-sticks, sabre, bow, and air-pistol, and in his terrible hurry he tripped over a tuft of grass.
there he lay, and the wolf jumped on to him... it was a gruesome tale!
now you may well believe that it was all over with walter and all his adventures.
that would have been a pity.
but do not be surprised if it was not quite so bad as that, for the wolf was quite a friendly one.
he certainly jumped on to walter, but he only shook his coat and rubbed his nose against his face; and walter shrieked.
yes, he shrieked terribly!
happily jonas heard his cry of distress, for walter was quite near the mill now, and he ran and helped him up.
"what has happened?"
he asked.
"why did walter scream so terribly?'"
a wolf!
a wolf!"
cried walter, and that was all he could say.
"where is the wolf?"
said jonas."
i do n't see any wolf."
"take care, he is here, he has bitten me to death," groaned walter.
then jonas began to laugh; yes, he laughed so that he nearly burst his skin belt.
well, well, was that the wolf?
was that the wolf which walter was to take by the neck and shake and throw down on its back, no matter how much it struggled?
just look a little closer at him: he is your old friend, your own good old caro.
i quite expect he found a leg of the ram in the kiln.
when walter beat his drum, caro crept out, and when walter ran away, caro ran after him, as he so often does when walter wants to romp and play.
"down, caro!
you ought to be rather ashamed to have put such a great hero to flight!"
walter got up feeling very foolish.
"down, caro!"
he said, both relieved and annoyed.
"it was only a dog, then if it had been a wolf i certainly should have killed him..." "if walter would listen to my advice, and boast a little less, and do a little more," said jonas, consolingly.
"walter is not a coward, is he?"
"i!
you shall see, jonas, when we next meet a bear.
you see i like so much better to fight with bears."
"indeed!"
laughed jonas.
"are you at it again?
"dear walter, remember that it is only cowards who boast; a really brave man never talks of his bravery."
from z. topelius.
the king of the waterfalls when the young king of easaidh ruadh came into his kingdom, the first thing he thought of was how he could amuse himself best.
the sports that all his life had pleased him best suddenly seemed to have grown dull, and he wanted to do something he had never done before.
at last his face brightened."
i know!"
he said."
i will go and play a game with the gruagach."
now the gruagach was a kind of wicked fairy, with long curly brown hair, and his house was not very far from the king's house.
but though the king was young and eager, he was also prudent, and his father had told him on his deathbed to be very careful in his dealings with the "good people," as the fairies were called.
therefore before going to the gruagach the king sought out a wise man of the countryside."
i am wanting to play a game with the curly-haired gruagach," said he.
"are you, indeed?"
replied the wizard.
"if you will take my counsel, you will play with someone else."
"no; i will play with the gruagach," persisted the king.
"well, if you must, you must, i suppose," answered the wizard; "but if you win that game, ask as a prize the ugly crop-headed girl that stands behind the door.'"
i will," said the king.
so before the sun rose he got up and went to the house of the gruagach, who was sitting outside."
o king, what has brought you here to-day?"
asked the gruagach.
"but right welcome you are, and more welcome will you be still if you will play a game with me."
"that is just what i want," said the king, and they played; and sometimes it seemed as if one would win, and sometimes the other, but in the end it was the king who was the winner.
"and what is the prize that you will choose?"
inquired the gruagach.
"the ugly crop-headed girl that stands behind the door," replied the king.
"why, there are twenty others in the house, and each fairer than she!"
exclaimed the gruagach.
"fairer they may be, but it is she whom i wish for my wife, and none other," and the gruagach saw that the king's mind was set upon her, so he entered his house, and bade all the maidens in it come out one by one, and pass before the king.
one by one they came; tall and short, dark and fair, plump and thin, and each said" i am she whom you want.
you will be foolish indeed if you do not take me."
but he took none of them, neither short nor tall, dark nor fair, plump nor thin, till at the last the crop-headed girl came out.
"this is mine," said the king, though she was so ugly that most men would have turned from her.
"we will be married at once, and i will carry you home."
and married they were, and they set forth across a meadow to the king's house.
as they went, the bride stooped and picked a sprig of shamrock, which grew amongst the grass, and when she stood upright again her ugliness had all gone, and the most beautiful woman that ever was seen stood by the king's side.
the next day, before the sun rose, the king sprang from his bed, and told his wife he must have another game with the gruagach.
"if my father loses that game, and you win it," said she, "accept nothing for your prize but the shaggy young horse with the stick saddle.'"
i will do that," answered the king, and he went.
"does your bride please you?"
asked the gruagach, who was standing at his own door.
"ah!
does she not!"
answered the king quickly.
"otherwise i should be hard indeed to please.
but will you play a game to-day?'"
i will," replied the gruagach, and they played, and sometimes it seemed as if one would win, and sometimes the other, but in the end the king was the winner.
"what is the prize that you will choose?"
asked the gruagach.
"the shaggy young horse with the stick saddle," answered the king, but he noticed that the gruagach held his peace, and his brow was dark as he led out the horse from the stable.
rough was its mane and dull was its skin, but the king cared nothing for that, and throwing his leg over the stick saddle, rode away like the wind.
on the third morning the king got up as usual before dawn, and as soon as he had eaten food he prepared to go out, when his wife stopped him."
i would rather," she said, "that you did not go to play with the gruagach, for though twice you have won yet some day he will win, and then he will put trouble upon you."
"oh!
i must have one more game," cried the king; "just this one."
and he went off to the house of the gruagach.
joy filled the heart of the gruagach when he saw him coming, and without waiting to talk they played their game.
somehow or other, the king's strength and skill had departed from him, and soon the gruagach was the victor.
"choose your prize," said the king, when the game was ended, "but do not be too hard on me, or ask what i can not give."
"the prize i choose," answered the gruagach, "is that the crop-headed creature should take thy head and thy neck, if thou dost not get for me the sword of light that hangs in the house of the king of the oak windows.'"
i will get it," replied the young man bravely; but as soon as he was out of sight of the gruagach he pretended no more, and his face grew dark and his steps lagging.
"you have brought nothing with you to-night," said the queen, who was standing on the steps awaiting him.
she was so beautiful that the king was fain to smile when he looked at her, but then he remembered what had happened, and his heart grew heavy again.
"what is it?
what is the matter?
tell me thy sorrow that i may bear it with thee, or, it may be, help thee!"
then the king told her everything that had befallen him, and she stroked his hair the while.
"that is nothing to grieve about," she said when the tale was finished.
"you have the best wife in erin, and the best horse in erin.
only do as i bid you, and all will go well."
and the king suffered himself to be comforted.
he was still sleeping when the queen rose and dressed herself, to make everything ready for her husband's journey; and the first place she went to was the stable, where she fed and watered the shaggy brown horse and put the saddle on it.
most people thought this saddle was of wood, and did not see the little sparkles of gold and silver that were hidden in it.
she strapped it lightly on the horse's back, and then led it down before the house, where the king waited.
"good luck to you, and victories in all your battles," she said, as she kissed him before he mounted."
i need not be telling you anything.
take the advice of the horse, and see you obey it."
so he waved his hand and set out on his journey, and the wind was not swifter than the brown horse -- no, not even the march wind which raced it and could not catch it.
but the horse never stopped nor looked behind, till in the dark of the night he reached the castle of the king of the oak windows.
"we are at the end of the journey," said the horse, "and you will find the sword of light in the king's own chamber.
if it comes to you without scrape or sound, the token is a good one.
at this hour the king is eating his supper, and the room is empty, so none will see you.
the sword has a knob at the end, and take heed that when you grasp it, you draw it softly out of its sheath.
now go!
i will be under the window."
stealthily the young man crept along the passage, pausing now and then to make sure that no man was following him, and entered the king's chamber.
a strange white line of light told him where the sword was, and crossing the room on tiptoe, he seized the knob, and drew it slowly out of the sheath.
the king could hardly breathe with excitement lest it should make some noise, and bring all the people in the castle running to see what was the matter.
but the sword slid swiftly and silently along the case till only the point was left touching it.
then a low sound was heard, as of the edge of a knife touching a silver plate, and the king was so startled that he nearly dropped the knob.
"quick!
quick!"
cried the horse, and the king scrambled hastily through the small window, and leapt into the saddle.
"he has heard and he will follow," said the horse; "but we have a good start," and on they sped, on and on, leaving the winds behind them.
at length the horse slackened its pace.
"look and see who is behind you," it said; and the young man looked."
i see a swarm of brown horses racing madly after us," he answered.
"we are swifter than those," said the horse, and flew on again.
"look again, o king!
is anyone coming now?'"
a swarm of black horses, and one has a white face, and on that horse a man is seated.
he is the king of the oak windows."
"that is my brother, and swifter still than i," said the horse, "and he will fly past me with a rush.
then you must have your sword ready, and take off the head of the man who sits on him, as he turns and looks at you.
and there is no sword in the world that will cut off his head, save only that one.'"
i will do it," replied the king; and he listened with all his might, till he judged that the white-faced horse was close to him.
then he sat up very straight and made ready.
the next moment there was a rushing noise as of a mighty tempest, and the young man caught a glimpse of a face turned towards him.
almost blindly he struck, not knowing whether he had killed or only wounded the rider.
but the head rolled off, and was caught in the brown horse's mouth.
"jump on my brother, the black horse, and go home as fast as you can, and i will follow as quickly as i may," cried the brown horse; and leaping forward the king alighted on the back of the black horse, but so near the tail that he almost fell off again.
but he stretched out his arm and clutched wildly at the mane and pulled himself into the saddle.
before the sky was streaked with red he was at home again, and the queen was sitting waiting till he arrived, for sleep was far from her eyes.
glad was she to see him enter, but she said little, only took her harp and sang softly the songs which he loved, till he went to bed, soothed and happy.
it was broad day when he woke, and he sprang up saying: "now i must go to the gruagach, to find out if the spells he laid on me are loose."
"have a care," answered the queen, "for it is not with a smile as on the other days that he will greet you.
furiously he will meet you, and will ask you in his wrath if you have got the sword, and you will reply that you have got it.
next he will want to know how you got it, and to this you must say that but for the knob you had not got it at all.
then he will raise his head to look at the knob, and you must stab him in the mole which is on the right side of his neck; but take heed, for if you miss the mole with the point of the sword, then my death and your death are certain.
he is brother to the king of the oak windows, and sure will he be that the king must be head, or the sword would not be in your hands."
after that she kissed him, and bade him good speed.
"didst thou get the sword?"
asked the gruagach, when they met in the usual place."
i got the sword."
"and how didst thou get it?"
"if it had not had a knob on the top, then i had not got it," answered the king.
"give me the sword to look at," said the gruagach, peering forward; but like a flash the king had drawn it from under his nose and pierced the mole, so that the gruagach rolled over on the ground.
"now i shall be at peace," thought the king.
but he was wrong, for when he reached home he found his servants tied together back to back with cloths bound round their mouths, so that they could not speak.
he hastened to set them free, and he asked who had treated them in so evil a manner.
"no sooner had you gone than a great giant came, and dealt with us as you see, and carried off your wife and your two horses," said the men.
"then my eyes will not close nor will my head lay itself down till i fetch my wife and horses home again," answered he, and he stopped and noted the tracks of the horses on the grass, and followed after them till he arrived at the wood, when the darkness fell."
i will sleep here," he said to himself, "but first i will make a fire," and he gathered together some twigs that were lying about, and then took two dry sticks and rubbed them together till the fire came, and he sat by it.
the twigs cracked and the flame blazed up, and a slim yellow dog pushed through the bushes and laid his head on the king's knee, and the king stroked his head.
"wuf, wuf," said the dog.
"sore was the plight of thy wife and thy horses when the giant drove them last night through the forest."
"that is why i have come," answered the king; and suddenly his heart seemed to fail him and he felt that he could not go on."
i can not fight that giant," he cried, looking at the dog with a white face."
i am afraid, let me turn homewards."
"no, do n't do that," replied the dog.
"eat and sleep, and i will watch over you."
so the king ate and lay down, and slept till the sun waked him.
"it is time for you to start on your way," said the dog, "and if danger presses, call on me, and i will help you."
"farewell, then," answered the king;" i will not forget that promise," and on he went, and on, and on, till he reached a tall cliff with many sticks lying about.
"it is almost night," he thought;" i will make a fire and rest," and thus he did, and when the flames blazed up, the hoary hawk of the grey rock flew on to a bough above him.
"sore was the plight of thy wife and thy horses when they passed here with the giant," said the hawk.
"never shall i find them," answered the king, "and nothing shall i get for all my trouble."
"oh, take heart," replied the hawk; "things are never so bad but what they might be worse.
eat and sleep and i will watch thee," and the king did as he was bidden by the hawk, and by the morning he felt brave again.
"farewell," said the bird, "and if danger presses call to me, and i will help you."
on he walked, and on and on, till as dusk was falling he came to a great river, and on the bank there were sticks lying about."
i will make myself a fire," he thought, and thus he did, and by and bye a smooth brown head peered at him from the water, and a long body followed it.
"sore was the plight of thy wife and thy horses when they passed the river last night," said the otter."
i have sought them and not found them," answered the king, "and nought shall i get for my trouble."
"be not so downcast," replied the otter; "before noon to-morrow thou shalt behold thy wife.
but eat and sleep and i will watch over thee."
so the king did as the otter bid him, and when the sun rose he woke and saw the otter lying on the bank.
"farewell," cried the otter as he jumped into the water, "and if danger presses, call to me and i will help you."
for many hours the king walked, and at length he reached a high rock, which was rent into two by a great earthquake.
throwing himself on the ground he looked over the side, and right at the very bottom he saw his wife and his horses.
his heart gave a great bound, and all his fears left him, but he was forced to be patient, for the sides of the rock were smooth, and not even a goat could find foothold.
so he got up again, and made his way round through the wood, pushing by trees, scrambling over rocks, wading through streams, till at last he was on flat ground again, close to the mouth of the cavern.
his wife gave a shriek of joy when he came in, and then burst into tears, for she was tired and very frightened.
but her husband did not understand why she wept, and he was tired and bruised from his climb, and a little cross too.
"you give me but a sorry welcome," grumbled he, "when i have half-killed myself to get to you."
"do not heed him," said the horses to the weeping woman; "put him in front of us, where he will be safe, and give him food, for he is weary."
and she did as the horses told her, and he ate and rested, till by and bye a long shadow fell over them, and their hearts beat with fear, for they knew that the giant was coming."
i smell a stranger," cried the giant, as he entered; but it was dark inside the chasm, and he did not see the king, who was crouching down between the feet of the horses."
a stranger, my lord!
no stranger ever comes here, not even the sun!"
and the king's wife laughed gaily as she went up to the giant and stroked the huge hand which hung down by his side.
"well, i perceive nothing, certainly," answered he, "but it is very odd.
however, it is time that the horses were fed;" and he lifted down an armful of hay from a shelf of rock and held out a handful to each animal, who moved forward to meet him, leaving the king behind.
as soon as the giant's hands were near their mouths they each made a snap, and began to bit them, so that his groans and shrieks might have been heard a mile off.
then they wheeled round and kicked him till they could kick no more.
at length the giant crawled away, and lay quivering in a corner, and the queen went up to him.
"poor thing!
poor thing!"
she said, "they seem to have gone mad; it was awful to behold."
"if i had had my soul in my body they would certainly have killed me," groaned the giant.
"it was lucky indeed," answered the queen; "but tell me, where is thy soul, that i may take care of it?"
"up there, in the bonnach stone," answered the giant, pointing to a stone which was balanced loosely on an edge of rock.
"but now leave me, that i may sleep, for i have far to go to-morrow."
soon snores were heard from the corner where the giant lay, and then the queen lay down too, and the horses, and the king was hidden between them, so that none could see him.
before the dawn the giant rose and went out, and immediately the queen ran up to the bonnach stone, and tugged and pushed at it till it was quite steady on its ledge, and could not fall over.
and so it was in the evening when the giant came home; and when they saw his shadow, the king crept down in front of the horses.
"why, what have you done to the bonnach stone?"
asked the giant."
i feared lest it should fall over, and be broken, with your soul in it," said the queen, "so i put it further back on the ledge."
"it is not there that my soul is," answered he, "it is on the threshold.
but it is time the horses were fed;" and he fetched the hay, and gave it to them, and they bit and kicked him as before, till he lay half dead on the ground.
next morning he rose and went out, and the queen ran to the threshold of the cave, and washed the stones, and pulled up some moss and little flowers that were hidden in the crannies, and by and bye when dusk had fallen the giant came home.
"you have been cleaning the threshold," said he.
"and was i not right to do it, seeing that your soul is in it?"
asked the queen.
"it is not there that my soul is," answered the giant.
"under the threshold is a stone, and under the stone is a sheep, and in the sheep's body is a duck, and in the duck is an egg, and in the egg is my soul.
but it is late, and i must feed the horses;" and he brought them the hay, but they only bit and kicked him as before, and if his soul had been within him, they would have killed him outright.
it was still dark when the giant got up and went his way, and then the king and the queen ran forward to take up the threshold, while the horses looked on.
but sure enough!
just as the giant had said, underneath the threshold was the flagstone, and they pulled and tugged till the stone gave way.
then something jumped out so suddenly, that it nearly knocked them down, and as it fled past, they saw it was a sheep.
"if the slim yellow dog of the greenwood were only here, he would soon have that sheep," cried the king; and as he spoke, the slim yellow dog appeared from the forest, with the sheep in his mouth.
with a blow from the king, the sheep fell dead, and they opened its body, only to be blinded by a rush of wings as the duck flew past.
"if the hoary hawk of the rock were only here, he would soon have that duck," cried the king; and as he spoke the hoary hawk was seen hovering above them, with the duck in his mouth.
they cut off the duck's head with a swing of the king's sword, and took the egg out of its body, but in his triumph the king held it carelessly, and it slipped from his hand, and rolled swiftly down the hill right into the river.
"if the brown otter of the stream were only here, he would soon have that egg," cried the king; and the next minute there was the brown otter, dripping with water, holding the egg in his mouth.
but beside the brown otter, a huge shadow came stealing along -- the shadow of the giant.
the king stood staring at it, as if he were turned into stone, but the queen snatched the egg from the otter and crushed it between her two hands.
and after that the shadow suddenly shrank and was still, and they knew that the giant was dead, because they had found his soul.
next day they mounted the two horses and rode home again, visiting their friends the brown otter and the hoary hawk and the slim yellow dog by the way.
from "west highland tales."
a french puck among the mountain pastures and valleys that lie in the centre of france there dwelt a mischievous kind of spirit, whose delight it was to play tricks on everybody, and particularly on the shepherds and the cowboys.
they never knew when they were safe from him, as he could change himself into a man, woman or child, a stick, a goat, a ploughshare.
indeed, there was only one thing whose shape he could not take, and that was a needle.
at least, he could transform himself into a needle, but try as he might he never was able to imitate the hole, so every woman would have found him out at once, and this he knew.
now the hour oftenest chosen by this naughty sprite -lrb- whom we will call puck -rrb- for performing his pranks was about midnight, just when the shepherds and cowherds, tired out with their long day's work, were sound asleep.
then he would go into the cowsheds and unfasten the chains that fixed each beast in its own stall, and let them fall with a heavy clang to the ground.
the noise was so loud that it was certain to awaken the cowboys, however fatigued they might be, and they dragged themselves wearily to the stable to put back the chains.
but no sooner had they returned to their beds than the same thing happened again, and so on till the morning.
or perhaps puck would spend his night in plaiting together the manes and tails of two of the horses, so that it would take the grooms hours of labour to get them right in the morning, while puck, hidden among the hay in the loft, would peep out to watch them, enjoying himself amazingly all the time.
one evening more than eighty years ago a man named william was passing along the bank of a stream when he noticed a sheep who was bleating loudly.
william thought it must have strayed from the flock, and that he had better take it home with him till he could discover its owner.
so he went up to where it was standing, and as it seemed so tired that it could hardly walk, he hoisted it on his shoulders and continued on his way.
the sheep was pretty heavy, but the good man was merciful and staggered along as best he could under his load.
"it is not much further," he thought to himself as he reached an avenue of walnut trees, when suddenly a voice spoke out from over his head, and made him jump.
"where are you?"
said the voice, and the sheep answered: "here on the shoulders of a donkey."
in another moment the sheep was standing on the ground and william was running towards home as fast as his legs would carry him.
but as he went, a laugh, which yet was something of a bleat, rang in his ears, and though he tried not to hear, the words reached him, "oh, dear!
what fun i have had, to be sure!"
puck was careful not always to play his tricks in the same place, but visited one village after another, so that everyone trembled lest he should be the next victim.
after a bit he grew tired of cowboys and shepherds, and wondered if there was no one else to give him some sport.
at length he was told of a young couple who were going to the nearest town to buy all that they needed for setting up house.
quite certain that they would forget something which they could not do without, puck waited patiently till they were jogging along in their cart on their return journey, and changed himself into a fly in order to overhear their conversation.
for a long time it was very dull -- all about their wedding day next month, and who were to be invited.
this led the bride to her wedding dress, and she gave a little scream.
"just think!
oh!
how could i be so stupid!
i have forgotten to buy the different coloured reels of cotton to match my clothes!"
"dear, dear!"
exclaimed the young man.
"that is unlucky; and did n't you tell me that the dressmaker was coming in to-morrow?"
"yes, i did," and then suddenly she gave another little scream, which had quite a different sound from the first.
"look!
look!"
the bridegroom looked, and on one side of the road he saw a large ball of thread of all colours -- of all the colours, that is, of the dresses that were tied on to the back of the cart.
"well, that is a wonderful piece of good fortune," cried he, as he sprang out to get it.
"one would think a fairy had put it there on purpose."
"perhaps she has," laughed the girl, and as she spoke she seemed to hear an echo of her laughter coming from the horse, but of course that was nonsense.
the dressmaker was delighted with the thread that was given her.
it matched the stuffs so perfectly, and never tied itself in knots, or broke perpetually, as most thread did.
she finished her work much quicker than she expected and the bride said she was to be sure to come to the church and see her in her wedding dress.
there was a great crowd assembled to witness the ceremony, for the young people were immense favourites in the neighbourhood, and their parents were very rich.
the doors were open, and the bride could be seen from afar, walking under the chestnut avenue.
"what a beautiful girl!"
exclaimed the men.
"what a lovely dress!"
whispered the women.
but just as she entered the church and took the hand of the bridegroom, who was waiting for her, a loud noise was heard.
"crick!
crack!
crick!
crack!"
and the wedding garments fell to the ground, to the great confusion of the wearer.
not that the ceremony was put off for a little thing like that!
cloaks in profusion were instantly offered to the young bride, but she was so upset that she could hardly keep from tears.
one of the guests, more curious than the rest, stayed behind to examine the dress, determined, if she could, to find out the cause of the disaster.
"the thread must have been rotten," she said to herself."
i will see if i can break it."
but search as she would she could find none.
the thread had vanished!
from "litterature orale de l'auvergne," par paul sebillot.
the three crowns there was once a king who had three daughters.
the two eldest were very proud and quarrelsome, but the youngest was as good as they were bad.
well, three princes came to court them, and two of them were exactly like the eldest ladies, and one was just as lovable as the youngest.
one day they were all walking down to a lake that lay at the bottom of the lawn when they met a poor beggar.
the king would n't give him anything, and the eldest princesses would n't give him anything, nor their sweethearts; but the youngest daughter and her true love did give him something, and kind words along with it, and that was better than all.
when they got to the edge of the lake what did they find but the beautifullest boat you ever saw in your life; and says the eldest, "i'll take a sail in this fine boat"; and says the second eldest, "i'll take a sail in this fine boat"; and says the youngest," i wo n't take a sail in that fine boat, for i am afraid it's an enchanted one."
but the others persuaded her to go in, and her father was just going in after her, when up sprung on the deck a little man only seven inches high, and ordered him to stand back.
well, all the men put their hands to their swords; and if the same swords were only playthings, they were n't able to draw them, for all strength that was left their arms.
seven inches loosened the silver chain that fastened the boat, and pushed away, and after grinning at the four men, says he to them.
"bid your daughters and your brides farewell for awhile.
you," says he to the youngest, "need n't fear, you'll recover your princess all in good time, and you and she will be as happy as the day is long.
bad people, if they were rolling stark naked in gold, would not be rich.
good-bye."
away they sailed, and the ladies stretched out their hands, but were n't able to say a word.
well, they were n't crossing the lake while a cat "ud be lickin" her ear, and the poor men could n't stir hand or foot to follow them.
they saw seven inches handing the three princesses out of the boat, and letting them down by a basket into a draw-well, but king nor princes ever saw an opening before in the same place.
when the last lady was out of sight, the men found the strength in their arms and legs again.
round the lake they ran, and never drew rein till they came to the well and windlass; and there was the silk rope rolled on the axle, and the nice white basket hanging to it.
"let me down," says the youngest prince.
"i'll die or recover them again."
"no," says the second daughter's sweetheart, "it is my turn first."
and says the other," i am the eldest."
so they gave way to him, and in he got into the basket, and down they let him.
first they lost sight of him, and then, after winding off a hundred perches of the silk rope, it slackened, and they stopped turning.
they waited two hours, and then they went to dinner, because there was no pull made at the rope.
guards were set till next morning, and then down went the second prince, and sure enough, the youngest of all got himself let down on the third day.
he went down perches and perches, while it was as dark about him as if he was in a big pot with a cover on.
at last he saw a glimmer far down, and in a short time he felt the ground.
out he came from the big lime-kiln, and, lo!
and behold you, there was a wood, and green fields, and a castle in a lawn, and a bright sky over all.
"it's in tir-na-n-oge i am," says he.
"let's see what sort of people are in the castle."
on he walked, across fields and lawn, and no one was there to keep him out or let him into the castle; but the big hall-door was wide open.
he went from one fine room to another that was finer, and at last he reached the handsomest of all, with a table in the middle.
and such a dinner as was laid upon it!
the prince was hungry enough, but he was too mannerly to eat without being invited.
so he sat by the fire, and he did not wait long till he heard steps, and in came seven inches with the youngest sister by the hand.
well, prince and princess flew into one another's arms, and says the little man, says he, "why are n't you eating?'"
i think, sir," says the prince, "it was only good manner to wait to be asked."
"the other princes did n't think so," says he.
"each o" them fell to without leave, and only gave me the rough words when i told them they were making more free than welcome.
well, i do n't think they feel much hunger now.
there they are, good marble instead of flesh and blood," says he, pointing to two statues, one in one corner, and the other in the other corner of the room.
the prince was frightened, but he was afraid to say anything, and seven inches made him sit down to dinner between himself and his bride; and he'd be as happy as the day is long, only for the sight of the stone men in the corner.
well, that day went by, and when the next came, says seven inches to him, "now, you'll have to set out that way," pointing to the sun, "and you'll find the second princess in a giant's castle this evening, when you'll be tired and hungry, and the eldest princess to-morrow evening; and you may as well bring them here with you.
you need not ask leave of their masters; and perhaps if they ever get home, they'll look on poor people as if they were flesh and blood like themselves."
away went the prince, and bedad!
it's tired and hungry he was when he reached the first castle, at sunset.
oh, was n't the second princess glad to see him!
and what a good supper she gave him.
but she heard the giant at the gate, and she hid the prince in a closet.
well, when he came in, he snuffed, an" he snuffed, and says he, "by the life, i smell fresh meat."
"oh," says the princess, "it's only the calf i got killed to-day."
"ay, ay," says he, "is supper ready?"
"it is," says she; and before he rose from the table he ate three-quarters of a calf, and a flask of wine."
i think," says he, when all was done," i smell fresh meat still."
"it's sleepy you are," says she; "go to bed."
"when will you marry me?"
says the giant.
"you're putting me off too long."
"st. tibb's eve," says she."
i wish i knew how far off that is," says he; and he fell asleep, with his head in the dish.
next day, he went out after breakfast, and she sent the prince to the castle where the eldest sister was.
the same thing happened there; but when the giant was snoring, the princess wakened up the prince, and they saddled two steeds in the stables and rode into the field on them.
but the horses" heels struck the stones outside the gate, and up got the giant and strode after them.
he roared and he shouted, and the more he shouted, the faster ran the horses, and just as the day was breaking he was only twenty perches behind.
but the prince did n't leave the castle of seven inches without being provided with something good.
he reined in his steed, and flung a short, sharp knife over his shoulder, and up sprung a thick wood between the giant and themselves.
they caught the wind that blew before them, and the wind that blew behind them did not catch them.
at last they were near the castle where the other sister lived; and there she was, waiting for them under a high hedge, and a fine steed under her.
but the giant was now in sight, roaring like a hundred lions, and the other giant was out in a moment, and the chase kept on.
for every two springs the horses gave, the giants gave three, and at last they were only seventy perches off.
then the prince stopped again, and flung the second knife behind him.
down went all the flat field, till there was a quarry between them a quarter of a mile deep, and the bottom filled with black water; and before the giants could get round it, the prince and princesses were inside the kingdom of the great magician, where the high thorny hedge opened of itself to everyone that he chose to let in.
there was joy enough between the three sisters, till the two eldest saw their lovers turned into stone.
but while they were shedding tears for them, seven inches came in, and touched them with his rod.
so they were flesh, and blood, and life once more, and there was great hugging and kissing, and all sat down to breakfast, and seven inches sat at the head of the table.
when breakfast was over, he took them into another room, where there was nothing but heaps of gold, and silver, and diamonds, and silks, and satins; and on a table there was lying three sets of crowns: a gold crown was in a silver crown, and that was lying in a copper crown.
he took up one set of crowns, and gave it to the eldest princess; and another set, and gave it to the second youngest princess; and another, and gave it to the youngest of all; and says he, "now you may all go to the bottom of the pit, and you have nothing to do but stir the basket, and the people that are watching above will draw you up.
but remember, ladies, you are to keep your crows safe, and be married in them, all the same day.
if you be married separately, or if you be married without your crowns, a curse will follow -- mind what i say."
so they took leave of him with great respect, and walked arm-in-arm to the bottom of the draw-well.
there was a sky and a sun over them, and a great high wall, covered with ivy, rose before them, and was so high they could not see to the top of it; and there was an arch in this wall, and the bottom of the draw-well was inside the arch.
the youngest pair went last; and says the princess to the prince, "i'm sure the two princes do n't mean any good to you.
keep these crowns under your cloak, and if you are obliged to stay last, do n't get into the basket, but put a big stone, or any heavy thing inside, and see what will happen."
as soon as they were inside the dark cave, they put in the eldest princess first, and stirred the basket, and up she went.
then the basket was let down again, and up went the second princess, and then up went the youngest; but first she put her arms round her prince's neck, and kissed him, and cried a little.
at last it came to the turn of the youngest prince, and instead of going into the basket he put in a big stone.
he drew on one side and listened, and after the basket was drawn up about twenty perches, down came it and the stone like thunder, and the stone was broken into little bits.
well, the poor prince had nothing for it but to walk back to the castle; and through it and round it he walked, and the finest of eating and drinking he got, and a bed of bog-down to sleep on, and long walks he took through gardens and lawns, but not a sight could he get, high or low, of seven inches.
he, before a week, got tired of it, he was so lonesome for his true love; and at the end of a month he did n't know what to do with himself.
one morning he went into the treasure room, and took notice of a beautiful snuff-box on the table that he did n't remember seeing there before.
he took it in his hands and opened it, and out seven inches walked on the table."
i think, prince," says he, "you're getting a little tired of my castle?"
"ah!"
says the other, "if i had my princess here, and could see you now and then, i'd never know a dismal day."
"well, you're long enough here now, and you're wanted there above.
keep your bride's crowns safe, and whenever you want my help, open this snuff-box.
now take a walk down the garden, and come back when you're tired."
the prince was going down a gravel walk with a quickset hedge on each side, and his eyes on the ground, and he was thinking of one thing and another.
at last he lifted his eyes, and there he was outside of a smith's gate that he often passed before, about a mile away from the palace of his betrothed princess.
the clothes he had on him were as ragged as you please, but he had his crowns safe under his old cloak.
then the smith came out, and says he, "it's a shame for a strong, big fellow like you to be lazy, and so much work to be done.
are you any good with hammer and tongs?
come in and bear a hand, an i'll give you diet and lodging, and a few pence when you earn them."
"never say" t twice," says the prince."
i want nothing but to be busy."
so he took the hammer, and pounded away at the red-hot bar that the smith was turning on the anvil to make into a set of horse-shoes.
they had n't been long at work when a tailor came in, and he sat down and began to talk.
"you all heard how the two princess were loth to be married till the youngest would be ready with her crowns and her sweetheart.
but after the windlass loosened accidentally when they were pulling up her bridegroom that was to be, there was no more sign of a well, or a rope, or a windlass, than there is on the palm of your hand.
so the princes that were courting the eldest ladies would n't give peace or ease to their lovers nor the king till they got consent to the marriage, and it was to take place this morning.
myself went down out o" curiousity, and to be sure i was delighted with the grand dresses of the two brides, and the three crowns on their heads -- gold, silver, and copper, one inside the other.
the youngest was standing by mournful enough, and all was ready.
the two bridegrooms came in as proud and grand as you please, and up they were walking to the altar rails, when the boards opened two yards wide under their feet, and down they went among the dead men and the coffins in the vaults.
oh, such shrieks as the ladies gave!
and such running and racing and peeping down as there was!
but the clerk soon opened the door of the vault, and up came the two princes, their fine clothes covered an inch thick with cobwebs and mould.
so the king said they should put off the marriage.
"for," says he," i see there is no use in thinking of it till the youngest gets her three crowns, and is married with the others.
i'll give my youngest daughter for a wife to whoever brings three crowns to me like the others; and if he does n't care to be married, some other one will, and i'll make his fortune.'"
i wish," says the smith," i could do it; but i was looking at the crowns after the princesses got home, and i do n't think there's a black or a white smith on the face of the earth that could imitate them."
"faint heart never won fair lady," says the prince.
"go to the palace and ask for a quarter of a pound of gold, a quarter of a pound of silver, and a quarter of a pound of copper.
get one crown for a pattern, and my head for a pledge, i'll give you out the very things that are wanted in the morning."
"are you in earnest?"
says the smith.
"faith, i am so," says he.
"go!
you ca n't do worse than lose."
to make a long story short, the smith got the quarter of a pound of gold, and the quarter of a pound of silver, and the quarter of a pound of copper, and gave them and the pattern crown to the prince.
he shut the forge door at nightfall, and the neighbours all gathered in the yard, and they heard him hammering, hammering, hammering, from that to daybreak; and every now and then he'd throw out through the window bits of gold, silver, and copper; and the idlers scrambled for them, and cursed one another, and prayed for the good luck of the workman.
well, just as the sun was thinking to rise, he opened the door, and brought out the three crowns he got from his true love, and such shouting and huzzaing as there was!
the smith asked him to go along with him to the palace, but he refused; so off set the smith, and the whole townland with him; and was n't the king rejoiced when he saw the crowns!
"well," says he to the smith, "you're a married man.
what's to be done?"
"faith, your majesty, i did n't make them crowns at all.
it was a big fellow that took service with me yesterday."
"well, daughter, will you marry the fellow that made these crowns?"
"let me see them first, father," said she; but when she examined them she knew them right well, and guessed it was her true love that sent them."
i will marry the man that these crowns came from," says she.
"well," says the king to the elder of the two princes, "go up to the smith's forge, take my best coaches, and bring home the bridegroom."
he did not like doing this, he was so proud, but he could not refuse.
when he came to the forge he saw the prince standing at the door, and beckoned him over to the coach.
"are you the fellow," says he, "that made these crowns?"
"yes," says the other.
"then," says he, "maybe you'd give yourself a brushing, and get into that coach; the king wants to see you.
i pity the princess."
the young prince got into the carriage, and while they were on the way he opened the snuff-box, and out walked seven inches, and stood on his thigh.
"well," says he, "what trouble is on you now?"
"master," says the other, "please let me go back to my forge, and let this carriage be filled with paving stones."
no sooner said than done.
the prince was sitting in his forge, and the horses wondered what was after happening to the carriage.
when they came into the palace yard, the king himself opened the carriage door, for respect to his new son-in-law.
as soon as he turned the handle, a shower of small stones fell on his powdered wig and his silk coat, and down he fell under them.
there was great fright and some laughter, and the king, after he wiped the blood from his forehead, looked very cross at the eldest prince.
"my lord," says he, "i'm very sorry for this accident, but i'm not to blame.
i saw the young smith get into the carriage, and we never stopped a minute since."
"it's uncivil you were to him.
go," says he to the other prince, "and bring the young smith here, and be polite."
"never fear," says he.
but there's some people that could n't be good-natured if they tried, and not a bit civiller was the new messenger than the old, and when the king opened the carriage door a second time, it's shower of mud that came down on him.
"there's no use," says he, "going on this way.
the fox never got a better messenger than himself."
so he changed his clothes, and washed himself, and out he set to the prince's forge and asked him to sit along with himself.
the prince begged to be allowed to sit in the other carriage, and when they were half-way he opened his snuff-box.
"master," says he, "i'd wish to be dressed now according to my rank."
"you shall be that," says seven inches.
"and now i'll bid you farewell.
continue as good and kind as you always were; love your wife; and that's all the advice i'll give you."
so seven inches vanished; and when the carriage door was opened in the yard, out walks the prince as fine as hands could make him, and the first thing he did was to run over to his bride and embrace her.
every one was full of joy but the two other princes.
there was not much delay about the marriages, and they were all celebrated on the one day.
soon after, the two elder couples went to their own courts, but the youngest pair stayed with the old king, and they were as happy as the happiest married couple you ever heard of in a story.
from "west highland tales."
the story of a very bad boy once upon a time there lived in a little village in the very middle of france a widow and her only son, a boy about fifteen, whose name was antoine, though no one ever called him anything but toueno-boueno.
they were very poor indeed, and their hut shook about their ears on windy nights, till they expected the walls to fall in and crush them, but instead of going to work as a boy of his age ought to do, toueno-boueno did nothing but lounge along the street, his eyes fixed on the ground, seeing nothing that went on round him.
"you are very, very stupid, my dear child," his mother would sometimes say to him, and then she would add with a laugh, "certainly you will never catch a wolf by the tail."
one day the old woman bade antoine go into the forest and collect enough dry leaves to make beds for herself and him.
before he had finished it began to rain heavily, so he hid himself in the hollow trunk of a tree, where he was so dry and comfortable that he soon fell fast asleep.
by and by he was awakened by a noise which sounded like a dog scratching at the door, and he suddenly felt frightened, why he did not know.
very cautiously he raised his head, and right above him he saw a big hairy animal, coming down tail foremost.
"it is the wolf that they talk so much about," he said to himself, and he made himself as small as he could and shrunk into a corner.
the wolf came down the inside of the tree, slowly, slowly; antoine felt turned to stone, so terrified was he, and hardly dared to breathe.
suddenly an idea entered his mind, which he thought might save him still.
he remembered to have heard from his mother that a wolf could neither bend his back nor turn his head, so as to look behind him, and quick as lightning he stretched up his hand, and seizing the wolf's tail, pulled it towards him.
then he left the tree and dragged the animal to his mother's house.
"mother, you have often declared that i was too stupid to catch a wolf by the tail.
now see," he cried triumphantly.
"well, well, wonders will never cease," answered the good woman, who took care to keep at a safe distance.
"but as you really have got him, let us see if we ca n't put him to some use.
fetch the skin of the ram which died last week out of the chest, and we will sew the wolf up in it.
he will make a splendid ram, and to-morrow we will drive him to the fair and sell him."
very likely the wolf, who was cunning and clever, may have understood what she said, but he thought it best to give no sign, and suffered the skin to be sewn upon him."
i can always get away if i choose," thought he, "it is better not to be in a hurry;" so he remained quite still while the skin was drawn over his head, which made him very hot and uncomfortable, and resisted the temptation to snap off the fingers or noses that were so close to his mouth.
the fair was at its height next day when toueno-boueno arrived with his wolf in ram's clothing.
all the farmers crowded round him, each offering a higher price than the last.
never had they beheld such a beautiful beast, said they, and at last, after much bargaining, he was handed over to three brothers for a good sum of money.
it happened that these three brothers owned large flocks of sheep, though none so large and fine as the one they had just bought.
"my flock is the nearest," observed the eldest brother; "we will leave him in the fold for the night, and to-morrow we will decide which pastures will be best for him."
and the wolf grinned as he listened, and held up his head a little higher than before.
early next morning the young farmer began to go his rounds, and the sheep-fold was the first place he visited.
to his horror, the sheep were all stretched out dead before him, except one, which the wolf had eaten, bones and all.
instantly the truth flashed upon him.
it was no ram that lay curled up in the corner pretending to be asleep -lrb- for in reality he could bend back and turn his head as much as he liked -rrb-, but a wolf who was watching him out of the corner of his eye, and might spring upon him at any moment.
so the farmer took no notice, and only thought that here was a fine chance of revenging himself on his next brother for a trick which he had played, and merely told him that the ram would not eat the grass in that field, and it might be well to drive him to the pasture by the river, where his own flock was feeding.
the second brother eagerly swallowed the bait, and that evening the wolf was driven down to the field where the young man kept the sheep which had been left him by his father.
by the next morning they also were all dead, but the second brother likewise held his peace, and allowed the sheep which belonged to the youngest to share the fate of the other two.
then they met and confessed to each other their disasters, and resolved to take the animal as fast as possible back to toueno-boueno, who should get a sound thrashing.
antoine was sitting on a plum tree belonging to a neighbour, eating the ripe fruit, when he saw the three young farmers coming towards him.
swinging himself down, he flew home to the hut, crying breathlessly, "mother, mother, the farmers are close by with the wolf.
they have found out all about it, and will certainly kill me, and perhaps you too.
but if you do as i tell you, i may be able to save us both.
lie down on the floor, and pretend to be dead, and be sure not to speak, whatever happens.
thus when the three brothers, each armed with a whip, entered the hut a few seconds later, they found a woman extended on the floor, and toueno kneeling at her side, whistling loudly into her ears.
"what are you doing now, you rascal?"
asked the eldest.
"what am i doing?
oh, my poor friends, i am the most miserable creature in the world!
i have lost the best of mothers, and i do n't know what will become of me," and he hid his face in his hands and sobbed again.
"but what are you whistling like that for?"
"well, it is the only chance.
this whistle has been known to bring the dead back to life, and i hoped --" here he buried his face in his hands again, but peeping between his fingers he saw that the brother had opened their six eyes as wide as saucers.
"look!"
he suddenly exclaimed with a cry, "look!
i am sure i felt her body move!
and now her nostrils are twitching.
ah!
the whistle has not lost its power after all," and stooping down, toueno whistled more loudly than before, so that the old woman's feet and hands showed signs of life, and she soon was able to life her head.
the farmers were so astonished at her restoration, that it was some time before they could speak.
at length the eldest turned to the boy and said: "now listen to me.
there is no manner of doubt that you are a young villain.
you sold us a ram knowing full well that it was a wolf, and we came here to-day to pay you out for it.
but if you will give us that whistle, we will pardon what you have done, and will leave you alone."
"it is my only treasure, and i set great store by it," answered the boy, pretending to hesitate.
"but as you wish for it so much, well, i suppose i ca n't refuse," and he held out the whistle, which the eldest brother put in his pocket.
armed with the precious whistle, the three brothers returned home full of joy, and as they went the youngest said to the others," i have such a good idea!
our wives are all lazy and grumbling, and make our lives a burden.
let us give them a lesson, and kill them as soon as we get in.
of course we can restore them to life at once, but they will have had a rare fright."
"ah, how clever you are," answered the other two.
"nobody else would have thought of that."
so gaily the three husbands knocked down their three wives, who fell dead to the ground.
then one by one the men tried the whistle, and blew so loudly that it seemed as if their lungs would burst, but the women lay stark and stiff and never moved an eyelid.
the husbands grew pale and cold, for they had never dreamed of this, nor meant any harm, and after a while they understood that their efforts were of no use, and that once more the boy had tricked them.
with stern faces they rose to their feet, and taking a large sack they retraced their steps to the hut.
this time there was no escape.
toueno had been asleep, and only opened his eyes as they entered.
without a word on either side they thrust him into the sack, and tying up the mouth, the eldest threw it over his shoulder.
after that they all set out to the river, where they intended to drown the boy.
but the river was a long way off, and the day was very hot, and antoine was heavy, heavier than a whole sheaf of corn.
they carried him in turns, but even so they grew very tired and thirsty, and when a little tavern came in sight on the roadside, they thankfully flung the sack down on a bench and entered to refresh themselves.
they never noticed that a beggar was sitting in the shade at the end of the bench, but toueno's sharp ears caught the sound of someone eating, and as soon as the farmers had gone into the inn he began to groan softly.
"what is the matter?"
asked the beggar, drawing a little nearer.
"why have they shut you up, poor boy?"
"because they wanted to make me a bishop, and i would not consent," answered toueno.
"dear me," exclaimed the beggar, "yet it is n't such a bad thing to be a bishop.'"
i do n't say it is," replied the young rascal, "but i should never like it.
however, if you have any fancy for wearing a mitre, you need only untie the sack, and take my place.'"
i should like nothing better," said the man, as he stooped to undo the big knot.
so it was the beggar and not toueno-boueno who was flung into the water.
the next morning the three wives were buried, and on returning from the cemetery, their husbands met toueno-boueno driving a magnificent flock of sheep.
at the sight of him the three farmers stood still with astonishment.
"what!
you scoundrel!"
they cried at last, "we drowned you yesterday, and to-day we find you again, as well as ever!"
"it does seem odd, does n't it?"
answered he.
"but perhaps you do n't know that beneath this world there lies another yet more beautiful and far, far richer.
well, it was there that you sent me when you flung me into the river, and though i felt a little strange at first, yet i soon began to look about me, and to see what was happening.
there i noticed that close to the place where i had fallen, a sheep fair was being held, and a bystander told me that every day horses or cattle were sold somewhere in the town.
if i had only had the luck to be thrown into the river on the side of the horse fair i might have made my fortune!
as it was, i had to content myself with buying these sheep, which you can get for nothing."
"and do you know exactly the spot in the river which lies over the horse fair?"
"as if i did not know it, when i have seen it with my own eyes."
"then if you do not want us to avenge our dead flocks and our murdered wives, you will have to throw us into the river just over the place of the horse fair."
"very well; only you must get three sacks and come with me to that rock which juts into the river.
i will throw you in from there, and you will fall nearly on to the horses" backs."
so he threw them in, and as they were never seen again, no one ever knew into which fair they had fallen.
from "litterature orale de l'auvergne," par paul sebillot.
the brown bear of norway there was once a king in ireland, and he had three daughters, and very nice princesses they were.
and one day, when they and their father were walking on the lawn, the king began to joke with them, and to ask them whom they would like to be married to.
"i'll have the king of ulster for a husband," says one; "and i'll have the king of munster," says another; "and," says the youngest, "i'll have no husband but the brown bear of norway."
for a nurse of hers used to be telling her of an enchanted prince that she called by that name, and she fell in love with him, and his name was the first name on her tongue, for the very night before she was dreaming of him.
well, one laughed, and another laughed, and they joked with the princess all the rest of the evening.
but that very night she woke up out of her sleep in a great hall that was lighted up with a thousand lamps; the richest carpets were on the floor, and the walls were covered with cloth of gold and silver, and the place was full of grand company, and the very beautiful prince she saw in her dreams was there, and it was n't a moment till he was on one knee before her, and telling her how much he loved her, and asking her would n't she be his queen.
well, she had n't the heart to refuse him, and married they were the same evening.
"now, my darling," says he, when they were left by themselves, "you must know that i am under enchantment.
a sorceress, that had a beautiful daughter, wished me for her son-in-law; but the mother got power over me, and when i refused to wed her daughter she made me take the form of a bear by day, and i was to continue so till a lady would marry me of her own free will, and endure five years of great trials after."
well, when the princess woke in the morning, she missed her husband from her side, and spent the day very sadly.
but as soon as the lamps were lighted in the grand hall, where she was sitting on a sofa covered with silk, the folding doors flew open, and he was sitting by her side the next minute.
so they spent another happy evening, but he warned her that whenever she began to tire of him, or ceased to have faith in him, they would be parted for ever, and he'd be obliged to marry the witch's daughter.
she got used to find him absent by day, and they spent a happy twelvemonth together, and at last a beautiful little boy was born; and happy as she was before, she was twice as happy now, for she had her child to keep her company in the day when she could n't see her husband.
at last, one evening, when herself, and himself, and her child were sitting with a window open because it was a sultry night, in flew an eagle, took the infant's sash in his beak, and flew up in the air with him.
she screamed, and was going to throw herself out the window after him, but the prince caught her, and looked at her very seriously.
she bethought of what he said soon after their marriage, and she stopped the cries and complaints that were on her tongue.
she spent her days very lonely for another twelvemonth, when a beautiful little girl was sent to her.
then she thought to herself she'd have a sharp eye about her this time; so she never would allow a window to be more than a few inches open.
but all her care was in vain.
another evening, when they were all so happy, and the prince dandling the baby, a beautiful greyhound stood before them, took the child out of the father's hand, and was out of the door before you could wink.
this time she shouted and ran out of the room, but there were some of the servants in the next room, and all declared that neither child nor dog passed out.
she felt, somehow, as if it was her husband's fault, but still she kept command over herself, and did n't once reproach him.
when the third child was born she would hardly allow a window or a door to be left open for a moment; but she was n't the nearer to keep the child to herself.
they were sitting one evening by the fire, when a lady appeared standing by them.
the princess opened her eyes in a great fright and stared at her, and while she was doing so, the lady wrapped a shawl round the baby that was sitting in its father's lap, and either sank through the ground with it or went up through the wide chimney.
this time the mother kept her bed for a month.
"my dear," said she to her husband, when she was beginning to recover," i think i'd feel better if i was to see my father and mother and sisters once more.
if you give me leave to go home for a few days i'd be glad."
"very well," said he," i will do that, and whenever you feel inclined to return, only mention your wish when you lie down at night."
the next morning when she awoke she found herself in her own old chamber in her father's palace.
she rang the bell, and in a short time she had her mother and father and married sisters about her, and they laughed till they cried for joy at finding her safe back again.
in time she told them all that had happened to her, and they did n't know what to advise her to do.
she was as fond of her husband as ever, and said she was sure that he could n't help letting the children go; but still she was afraid beyond the world to have another child torn from her.
well, the mother and sisters consulted a wise woman that used to bring eggs to the castle, for they had great faith in her wisdom.
she said the only plan was to secure the bear's skin that the prince was obliged to put on every morning, and get it burned, and then he could n't help being a man night and day, and the enchantment would be at an end.
so they all persuaded her to do that, and she promised she would; and after eight days she felt so great a longing to see her husband again that she made the wish the same night, and when she woke three hours after, she was in her husband's palace, and he himself was watching over her.
there was great joy on both sides, and they were happy for many days.
now she began to think how she never minded her husband leaving her in the morning, and how she never found him neglecting to give her a sweet drink out of a gold cup just as she was going to bed.
one night she contrived not to drink any of it, though she pretended to do so; and she was wakeful enough in the morning, and saw her husband passing out through a panel in the wainscot, though she kept her eyelids nearly closed.
the next night she got a few drops of the sleepy posset that she saved the evening before put into her husband's night drink, and that made him sleep sound enough.
she got up after midnight, passed through the panel, and found a beautiful brown bear's hide hanging in the corner.
then she stole back, and went down to the parlour fire, and put the hide into the middle of it till it was all fine ashes.
she then lay down by her husband, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and fell asleep.
if she was to live a hundred years she'd never forget how she wakened next morning, and found her husband looking down on her with misery and anger in his face.
"unhappy woman," said he, "you have separated us for ever!
why had n't you patience for five years?
i am now obliged, whether i like or no, to go a three days" journey to the witch's castle, and marry her daughter.
the skin that was my guard you have burned it, and the egg-wife that gave you the counsel was the witch herself.
i wo n't reproach you: your punishment will be severe without it.
farewell for ever!"
he kissed her for the last time, and was off the next minute, walking as fast as he could.
she shouted after him, and then seeing there was no use, she dressed herself and pursued him.
he never stopped, nor stayed, nor looked back, and still she kept him in sight; and when he was on the hill she was in the hollow, and when he was in the hollow she was on the hill.
her life was almost leaving her, when, just as the sun was setting, he turned up a lane, and went into a little house.
she crawled up after him, and when she got inside there was a beautiful little boy on his knees, and he kissing and hugging him.
"here, my poor darling," says he, "is your eldest child, and there," says he, pointing to a woman that was looking on with a smile on her face, "is the eagle that carried him away."
she forgot all her sorrows in a moment, hugging her child, and laughing and crying over him.
the woman washed their feet, and rubbed them with an ointment that took all the soreness out of their bones, and made them as fresh as a daisy.
next morning, just before sunrise, he was up, and prepared to be off, "here," said he to her, "is a thing which may be of use to you.
it's a scissors, and whatever stuff you cut with it will be turned into silk.
the moment the sun rises, i'll lose all memory of yourself and the children, but i'll get it at sunset again.
farewell!"
but he was n't far gone till she was in sight of him again, leaving her boy behind.
it was the same to-day as yesterday: their shadows went before them in the morning and followed them in the evening.
he never stopped, and she never stopped, and as the sun was setting he turned up another lane, and there they found their little daughter.
it was all joy and comfort again till morning, and then the third day's journey commenced.
but before he started he gave her a comb, and told her that whenever she used it, pearls and diamonds would fall from her hair.
still he had his memory from sunset to sunrise; but from sunrise to sunset he travelled on under the charm, and never threw his eye behind.
this night they came to where the youngest baby was, and the next morning, just before sunrise, the prince spoke to her for the last time.
"here, my poor wife," said he, "is a little hand-reel, with gold thread that has no end, and the half of our marriage ring.
if you ever get to my house, and put your half-ring to mine, i shall recollect you.
there is a wood yonder, and the moment i enter it i shall forget everything that ever happened between us, just as if i was born yesterday.
farewell, dear wife and child, for ever!"
just then the sun rose, and away he walked towards the wood.
she saw it open before him and close after him, and when she came up, she could no more get in than she could break through a stone wall.
she wrung her hands and shed tears, but then she recollected herself, and cried out, "wood, i charge you by my three magic gifts, the scissors, the comb, and the reel -- to let me through"; and it opened, and she went along a walk till she came in sight of a palace, and a lawn, and a woodman's cottage on the edge of the wood where it came nearest the palace.
she went into the lodge, and asked the woodman and his wife to take her into their service.
they were not willing at first; but she told them she would ask no wages, and would give them diamonds, and pearls, and silk stuffs, and gold thread whenever they wished for them, and then they agreed to let her stay.
it was n't long till she heard how a young prince, that was just arrived, was living in the palace of the young mistress.
he seldom stirred abroad, and every one that saw him remarked how silent and sorrowful he went about, like a person that was searching for some lost thing.
the servants and conceited folk at the big house began to take notice of the beautiful young woman at the lodge, and to annoy her with their impudence.
the head footman was the most troublesome, and at last she invited him to come and take tea with her.
oh, how rejoiced he was, and how he bragged of it in the servants" hall!
well, the evening came, and the footman walked into the lodge, and was shown to her sitting-room; for the lodge-keeper and his wife stood in great awe of her, and gave her two nice rooms for herself.
well, he sat down as stiff as a ramrod, and was talking in a grand style about the great doings at the castle, while she was getting the tea and toast ready.
"oh," says she to him, "would you put your hand out at the window and cut me off a sprig or two of honeysuckle?"
he got up in great glee, and put out his hand and head; and said she, "by the virtue of my magic gifts, let a pair of horns spring out of your head, and sing to the lodge."
just as she wished, so it was.
they sprung from the front of each ear, and met at the back.
oh, the poor wretch!
and how he bawled and roared!
and the servants that he used to be boasting to were soon flocking from the castle, and grinning, and huzzaing, and beating tunes on tongs and shovels and pans; and he cursing and swearing, and the eyes ready to start out of his head, and he so black in the face, and kicking out his legs behind him like mad.
at last she pitied him, and removed the charm, and the horns dropped down on the ground, and he would have killed her on the spot, only he was as weak as water, and his fellow-servants came in and carried him up to the big house.
well, some way or other the story came to the ears of the prince, and he strolled down that way.
she had only the dress of a countrywoman on her as she sat sewing at the window, but that did not hide her beauty, and he was greatly puzzled after he had a good look, just as a body is puzzled to know whether something happened to him when he was young or if he only dreamed it.
well, the witch's daughter heard about it too, and she came to see the strange girl; and what did she find her doing but cutting out the pattern of a gown from brown paper; and as she cut away, the paper became the richest silk she ever saw.
the witch's daughter looked on with greedy eyes, and, says she, "what would you be satisfied to take for that scissors?"
"i'll take nothing," says she, "but leave to spend one night outside the prince's chamber."
well, the proud lady fired up, and was going to say something dreadful; but the scissors kept on cutting, and the silk growing richer and richer every inch.
so she promised what the girl had asked her.
when night came on she was let into the palace and lay down till the prince was in such a dead sleep that all she did could n't awake him.
she sung this verse to him, sighing and sobbing, and kept singing it the night long, and it was all in vain: four long years i was married to thee; three sweet babes i bore to thee; brown bear of norway, turn to me.
at the first dawn the proud lady was in the chamber, and led her away, and the footman of the horns put out his tongue at her as she was quitting the palace.
so there was no luck so far; but the next day the prince passed by again and looked at her, and saluted her kindly, as a prince might a farmer's daughter, and passed one; and soon the witch's daughter passed by, and found her combing her hair, and pearls and diamonds dropping from it.
well, another bargain was made, and the princess spent another night of sorrow, and she left the castle at daybreak, and the footman was at his post and enjoyed his revenge.
the third day the prince went by, and stopped to talk with the strange woman.
he asked her could he do anything to serve her, and she said he might.
she asked him did he ever wake at night.
he said that he often did, but that during the last two nights he was listening to a sweet song in his dreams, and could not wake, and that the voice was one that he must have known and loved in some other world long ago.
says she, "did you drink any sleepy posset either of these evenings before you went to bed?'"
i did," said he.
"the two evenings my wife gave me something to drink, but i do n't know whether it was a sleepy posset or not."
"well, prince," said she, "as you say you would wish to oblige me, you can do it by not tasting any drink to-night.'"
i will not," says he, and then he went on his walk.
well, the great lady came soon after the prince, and found the stranger using her hand-reel and winding threads of gold off it, and the third bargain was made.
that evening the prince was lying on his bed at twilight, and his mind much disturbed; and the door opened, and in his princess walked, and down she sat by his bedside and sung: four long years i was married to thee; three sweet babes i bore to thee; brown bear of norway, turn to me.
"brown bear of norway!"
said he."
i do n't understand you."
"do n't you remember, prince, that i was your wedded wife for four years?'"
i do not," said he, "but i'm sure i wish it was so."
"do n't you remember our three babes that are still alive?"
"show me them.
my mind is all a heap of confusion."
"look for the half of our marriage ring, that hangs at your neck, and fit it to this."
he did so, and the same moment the charm was broken.
his full memory came back on him, and he flung his arms round his wife's neck, and both burst into tears.
well, there was a great cry outside, and the castle walls were heard splitting and cracking.
everyone in the castle was alarmed, and made their way out.
the prince and princess went with the rest, and by the time all were safe on the lawn, down came the building, and made the ground tremble for miles round.
no one ever saw the witch and her daughter afterwards.
it was not long till the prince and princess had their children with them, and then they set out for their own palace.
the kings of ireland and of munster and ulster, and their wives, soon came to visit them, and may every one that deserves it be as happy as the brown bear of norway and his family.
from "west highland tales."
little lasse there was once a little boy whose name was lars, and because he was so little he was called little lasse; he was a brave little man, for he sailed round the world in a pea-shell boat.
it was summer time, when the pea shells grew long and green in the garden.
little lasse crept into the pea bed where the pea stalks rose high above his cap, and he picked seventeen large shells, the longest and straightest he could find.
little lasse thought, perhaps, that no one saw him; but that was foolish, for god sees everywhere.
then the gardener came with his gun over his shoulder, and he heard something rustling in the pea bed."
i think that must be a sparrow," he said.
"ras!
ras!"
but no sparrows flew out, for little lasse had no wings, only two small legs.
"wait!
i will load my gun and shoot the sparrows," said the gardener.
then little lasse was frightened, and crept out on to the path.
"forgive me, dear gardener!"
he said."
i wanted to get some fine boats."
"well, i will this time," said the gardener.
"but another time little lasse must ask leave to go and look for boats in the pea bed.'"
i will," answered lasse; and he went off to the shore.
then he opened the shells with a pin, split them carefully in two, and broke small little bits of sticks for the rowers" seats.
then he took the peas which were in the shells and put them in the boats for cargo.
some of the shells got broken, some remained whole, and when all were ready lasse had twelve boats.
but they should not be boats, they should be large warships.
he had three liners, three frigates, three brigs and three schooners.
the largest liner was called hercules, and the smallest schooner the flea.
little lasse put all the twelve into the water, and they floated as splendidly and as proudly as any great ships over the waves of the ocean.
and now the ships must sail round the world.
the great island over there was asia; that large stone africa; the little island america; the small stones were polynesia; and the shore from which the ships sailed out was europe.
the whole fleet set off and sailed far away to other parts of the world.
the ships of the line steered a straight course to asia, the frigates sailed to africa, the brigs to america, and the schooners to polynesia.
but little lasse remained in europe, and threw small stones out into the great sea.
now, there was on the shore of europe a real boat, father's own, a beautiful white-painted boat, and little lasse got into it.
father and mother had forbidden this, but little lasse forgot.
he thought he should very much like to travel to some other part of the world."
i shall row out a little way -- only a very little way," he thought.
the pea-shell boats had travelled so far that they only looked like little specks on the ocean."
i shall seize hercules on the coast of asia," said lasse, "and then row home again to europe."
he shook the rope that held the boat, and, strange to say, the rope became loose.
ditsch, ratsch, a man is a man, and so little lasse manned the boat.
now he would row -- and he could row, for he had rowed so often on the step sat home, when the steps pretended to be a boat and father's big stick an oar.
but when little lasse wanted to row there were no oars to be found in the boat.
the oars were locked up in the boat-house, and little lasse had not noticed that the boat was empty.
it is not so easy as one thinks to row to asia without oars.
what could little lasse do now?
the boat was already some distance out on the sea, and the wind, which blew from land, was driving it still further out.
lasse was frightened and began to cry.
but there was no one on the shore to hear him.
only a big crow perched alone in the birch tree; and the gardener's black cat sat under the birch tree, waiting to catch the crow.
neither of them troubled themselves in the least about little lasse, who was drifting out to sea.
ah!
how sorry little lasse was now that he had been disobedient and got into the boat, when father and mother had so often forbidden him to do so!
now it was too late, he could not get back to land.
perhaps he would be lost out on the great sea.
what should he do?
when he had shouted until he was tired and no one heard him, he put his two little hands together and said, "good god, do not be angry with little lasse."
and then he went to sleep.
for although it was daylight, old nukku matti was sitting on the shores of the "land of nod," and was fishing for little children with his long fishing rod.
he heard the low words which little lasse said to god, and he immediately drew the boat to himself and laid little lasse to sleep on a bed of rose leaves.
then nukku matti said to one of the dreams, "play with little lasse, so that he does not feel lonesome."
it was a little dream-boy, so little, so little, that he was less than lasse himself; he had blue eyes and fair hair, a red cap with a silver band, and white coat with pearls on the collar.
he came to little lasse and said, "would you like to sail round the world?"
"yes," said lasse in his sleep," i should like to."
"come, then," said the dream-boy, "and let us sail in your pea-shell boats.
you shall sail in hercules and i shall sail in the flea."
so they sailed away from the "land of nod," and in a little while hercules and the flea were on the shores of asia away at the other end of the world, where the ice sea flows through behring straits into the pacific ocean.
a long way off in the winter mist they could see the explorer nordenskiold with his ship vega trying to find an opening between the ice.
it was so cold, so cold; the great icebergs glittered strangely, and the huge whales now lived under the ice, for they could not make a hole through with their awkward heads.
all around on the dreary shore there was snow and snow as far as the eye could see; little grey men in shaggy skins moved about, and drove in small sledges through the snow drifts, but the sledges were drawn by dogs.
"shall we land here?"
asked the dream-boy.
"no," said little lasse."
i am so afraid that the whales would swallow us up, and the big dogs bite us.
let us sail instead to another part of the world."
"very well," said the dream-boy with the red cap and the silver band; "it is not far to america" -- and at the same moment they were there.
the sun was shining and it was very warm.
tall palm trees grew in long rows on the shore and bore coconuts in their top branches.
men red as copper galloped over the immense green prairies and shot their arrows at the buffaloes, who turned against them with their sharp horns.
an enormous cobra which had crept up the stem of a tall palm tree threw itself on to a little llama that was grazing at the foot.
knaps!
it was all over the little llama.
"shall we land here?"
asked the dream-boy.
"no," said little lasse."
i am so afraid that the buffaloes will butt us, and the great serpent eat us up.
let us travel to another part of the world."
"very well," said the dream-boy with the white coat, "it is only a little way to polynesia" -- and then they were there.
it was very warm there, as warm as in a hot bath in finland.
costly spices grew on the shores: the pepper plant, the cinnamon tree, ginger, saffron; the coffee plant and the tea plant.
brown people with long ears and thick lips, and hideously painted faces, hunted a yellow-spotted tiger among the high bamboos on the shore, and the tiger turned on them and stuck its claws into one of the brown men.
then all the others took to flight.
"shall we land here?"
asked the dream-boy.
"no," said little lasse.
"do n't you see the tiger away there by the pepper plant?
let us travel to another part of the world."
"we can do so," said the dream-boy with the blue eyes.
"we are not far from africa" -- and as he said that they were there.
they anchored at the mouth of a great river where the shores were as green as the greenest velvet.
a little distance from the river an immense desert stretched away.
the air was yellow; the sun shone so hot, so hot as if it would burn the earth to ashes, and the people were as black as the blackest jet.
they rode across the desert on tall camels; the lions roared with thirst, and the great crocodiles with their grey lizard heads and sharp white teeth gaped up out of the river.
"shall we land here?"
asked the dream-boy.
"no," said little lasse.
"the sun would burn us, and the lions and the crocodiles would eat us up.
let us travel to another part of the world."
"we can travel back to europe," said the dream-boy with the fair hair.
and with that they were there.
they came to a shore where it was all so cool and familiar and friendly.
there stood the tall birch tree with its drooping leaves; at the top sat the old crow, and at its foot crept the gardener's black cat.
not far away was a house which little lasse had seen before; near the house there was a garden, and in the garden a pea bed with long pea shells.
an old gardener with a green coat walked about and wondered if the cucumbers were ripe.
fylax was barking on the steps, and when he saw little lasse he wagged his tail.
old stina was milking the cows in the farmyard, and there was a very familiar lady in a check woollen shawl on her way to the bleaching green to see if the clothes were bleached.
there was, too, a well-known gentleman in a yellow summer coat, with a long pipe in his mouth; he was going to see if the reapers had cut the rye.
a boy and a girl were running on the shore and calling out, "little lasse!
come home for bread-and-butter!"
"shall we land here?"
asked the dream-boy, and he blinked his blue eyes roguishly.
"come with me, and i shall ask mother to give you some bread-and-butter and a glass of milk," said little lasse.
"wait a little," said the dream-boy.
and now little lasse saw that the kitchen door was open, and from within there was heard a low, pleasant frizzling, like that which is heard when one whisks yellow batter with a wooden ladle into a hot frying-pan.
"perhaps we should sail back to polynesia now?"
said the happy dream-boy.
"no; they are frying pancakes in europe just now," said little lasse; and he wanted to jump ashore, but he could not.
the dream-boy had tied him with a chain of flowers, so that he could not move.
and now all the little dreams came about him, thousands and thousands of little children, and they made a ring around him and sang a little song: the world is very, very wide, little lasse, lasse, and though you've sailed beyond the tide, you can never tell how wide it is on the other side, lasse, little lasse.
you have found it cold and hot, little lasse, lasse; but in no land is god not, lasse, little lasse.
many men live there as here, but they all to god are dear, little lasse, lasse.
when his angel is your guide, little lasse, lasse, then no harm can e'er betide, even on the other side where the wild beasts wander.
but tell us now, whene'er you roam, do you not find the best is home of all the lands you've looked upon, lasse, little lasse?
when the dreams had sung their song they skipped away, and nukku matti carried lasse back to the boat.
he lay there for a long time quite still, and he still heard the frying-pan frizzling at home of the fire, the frizzling was very plain, little lasse heard it quite near him; and so he woke up and rubbed his eyes.
there he lay in the boat, where he had fallen asleep.
the wind had turned, and the boat had drifted out with one wind and drifted in with another while little lasse slept, and what lasse thought was frizzling in a frying-pan was the low murmur of the waves as they washed against the stones on the shore.
but he was not altogether wrong, for the clear blue sea is like a great pan in which god's sun all day makes cakes for good children.
little lasse rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked around him.
everything was the same as before; the crow in the birch tree, the cat on the grass, and the pea-shell fleet on the shore.
some of the ships had foundered, and some had drifted back to land.
hercules had come back with its cargo from asia, the flea had arrived from polynesia, and the other parts of the world were just where they were before.
little lasse did not know what to think.
he had so often been in that grotto in the "land of nod" and did not know what tricks dreams can play.
but little lasse did not trouble his head with such things; he gathered together his boats and walked up the shore back to the house.
his brother and sister ran to meet him, and called out from the distance, "where have you been so long, lasse?
come home and get some bread-and-butter."
the kitchen door stood open, and inside was heard a strange frizzling.
the gardener was near the gate, watering the dill and parsley, the carrots and parsnips.
"well," he said, "where has little lasse been so long?"
little lasse straightened himself up stiff, and answered: "i have sailed round the world in a pea-shell boat."
"oh!"
said the gardener.
he has forgotten dreamland.
but you have not forgotten it; you know that it exists.
you know the beautiful grotto and the bright silver walls whose lustre never fades, the sparkling diamonds which never grow dim, the music which never ceases its low, soft murmur through the sweet evening twilight.
the airy fairy fancies of happy dreamland never grow old; they, like the glorious stars above us, are always young.
perhaps you have caught a glimpse of their ethereal wings as they flew around your pillow.
perhaps you have met the same dream-boy with the blue eyes and the fair hair, the one who wore the red cap with the silver band and the white coat with pearls on the collar.
perhaps he has taken you to see all the countries of the world and the peoples, the cold waste lands and the burning deserts, the many coloured men and the wild creatures in the sea and in the woods, so that you may earn many things, but come gladly home again.
yes, who knows?
perhaps you also have sailed round the wide world once in a pea-shell boat.
from z. topelius.
"moti" once upon a time there was a youth called moti, who was very big and strong, but the clumsiest creature you can imagine.
so clumsy was he that he was always putting his great feet into the bowls of sweet milk or curds which his mother set out on the floor to cool, always smashing, upsetting, breaking, until at last his father said to him: "here, moti, are fifty silver pieces which are the savings of years; take them and go and make your living or your fortune if you can."
then moti started off one early spring morning with his thick staff over his shoulder, singing gaily to himself as he walked along.
in one way and another he got along very well until a hot evening when he came to a certain city where he entered the travellers" "serai" or inn to pass the night.
now a serai, you must know, is generally just a large square enclosed by a high wall with an open colonnade along the inside all round to accommodate both men and beasts, and with perhaps a few rooms in towers at the corners for those who are too rich or too proud to care about sleeping by their own camels and horses.
moti, of course, was a country lad and had lived with cattle all his life, and he was n't rich and he was n't proud, so he just borrowed a bed from the innkeeper, set it down beside an old buffalo who reminded him of home, and in five minutes was fast asleep.
in the middle of the night he woke, feeling that he had been disturbed, and putting his hand under his pillow found to his horror that his bag of money had been stolen.
he jumped up quietly and began to prowl around to see whether anyone seemed to be awake, but, though he managed to arouse a few men and beasts by falling over them, he walked in the shadow of the archways round the whole serai without coming across a likely thief.
he was just about to give it up when he overheard two men whispering, and one laughed softly, and peering behind a pillar, he saw two afghan horsedealers counting out his bag of money!
then moti went back to bed!
in the morning moti followed the two afghans outside the city to the horsemarket in which they horses were offered for sale.
choosing the best-looking horse amongst them he went up to it and said: "is this horse for sale?
may i try it?"
and, the merchants assenting, he scrambled up on its back, dug in his heels, and off they flew.
now moti had never been on a horse in his life, and had so much ado to hold on with both hands as well as with both legs that the animal went just where it liked, and very soon broke into a break-neck gallop and made straight back to the serai where it had spent the last few nights.
"this will do very well," thought moti as they whirled in at the entrance.
as soon as the horse had arrived at its table it stopped of its own accord and moti immediately rolled off; but he jumped up at once, tied the beast up, and called for some breakfast.
presently the afghans appeared, out of breath and furious, and claimed the horse.
"what do you mean?"
cried moti, with his mouth full of rice, "it's my horse; i paid you fifty pieces of silver for it -- quite a bargain, i'm sure!"
"nonsense!
it is our horse," answered one of the afghans beginning to untie the bridle.
"leave off," shouted moti, seizing his staff; "if you do n't let my horse alone i'll crack your skulls!
you thieves!
i know you!
last night you took my money, so to-day i took your horse; that's fair enough!"
now the afghans began to look a little uncomfortable, but moti seemed so determined to keep the horse that they resolved to appeal to the law, so they went off and laid a complaint before the king that moti had stolen one of their horses and would not give it up nor pay for it.
presently a soldier came to summon moti to the king; and, when he arrived and made his obeisance, the king began to question him as to why he had galloped off with the horse in this fashion.
but moti declared that he had got the animal in exchange for fifty pieces of silver, whilst the horse merchants vowed that the money they had on them was what they had received for the sale of other horses; and in one way and another the dispute got so confusing that the king -lrb- who really thought that moti had stolen the horse -rrb- said at last, "well, i tell you what i will do.
i will lock something into this box before me, and if he guesses what it is, the horse is his, and if he does n't then it is yours."
to this moti agreed, and the king arose and went out alone by a little door at the back of the court, and presently came back clasping something closely wrapped up in a cloth under his robe, slipped it into the little box, locked the box, and set it up where all might see.
"now," said the king to moti, "guess!"
it happened that when the king had opened the door behind him, moti noticed that there was a garden outside: without waiting for the king's return he began to think what could be got out of the garden small enough to be shut in the box.
"is it likely to be a fruit or a flower?
no, not a flower this time, for he clasped it too tight.
then it must be a fruit or a stone.
yet not a stone, because he would n't wrap a dirty stone in his nice clean cloth.
then it is a fruit!
and a fruit without much scent, or else he would be afraid that i might smell it.
now what fruit without much scent is in season just now?
when i know that i shall have guessed the riddle!"
as has been said before, moti was a country lad, and was accustomed to work in his father's garden.
he knew all the common fruits, so he thought he ought to be able to guess right; but so as not to let it seem too easy, he gazed up at the ceiling with a puzzled expression, and looked down at the floor with an air or wisdom and his fingers pressed against his forehead, and then he said, slowly, with his eyes on the king, -- "it is freshly plucked!
it is round and it is red!
it is a pomegranate!"
now the king knew nothing about fruits except that they were good to eat; and, as for seasons, he asked for whatever fruit he wanted whenever he wanted it, and saw that he got it; so to him moti's guess was like a miracle, and clear proof not only of his wisdom but of his innocence, for it was a pomegranate that he had put into the box.
of course when the king marvelled and praised moti's wisdom, everybody else did so too; and, whilst the afghans went off crestfallen, moti took the horse and entered the king's service.
very soon after this, moti, who continued to live in the serai, came back one wet and stormy evening to find that his precious horse had strayed.
nothing remained of him but a broken halter cord, and no one knew what had become of him.
after inquiring of everyone who was likely to know, moti seized the cord and his big staff and sallied out to look for him.
away and away he tramped out of the city and into the neighbouring forest, tracking hoof-marks in the mud.
presently it grew late, but still moti wandered on until suddenly in the gathering darkness he came right upon a tiger who was contentedly eating his horse.
"you thief!"
shrieked moti, and ran up and, just as the tiger, in astonishment, dropped a bone -- whack!
came moti's staff on his head with such good will that the beast was half stunned and could hardly breathe or see.
then moti continued to shower upon him blows and abuse until the poor tiger could hardly stand, whereupon his tormentor tied the end of the broken halter round his neck and dragged him back to the serai.
"if you had my horse," he said," i will at least have you, that's fair enough!"
and he tied him up securely by the head and heels, much as he used to tie the horse; then, the night being far gone, he flung himself beside him and slept soundly.
you can not imagine anything like the fright of the people in the serai, when they woke up and found a tiger -- very battered but still a tiger -- securely tethered amongst themselves and their beasts!
men gathered in groups talking and exclaiming, and finding fault with the innkeeper for allowing such a dangerous beast into the serai, and all the while the innkeeper was just as troubled as the rest, and none dared go near the place where the tiger stood blinking miserably on everyone, and where moti lay stretched out snoring like thunder.
at last news reached the king that moti had exchanged his horse for a live tiger; and the monarch himself came down, half disbelieving the tale, to see if it were really true.
someone at last awaked moti with the news that his royal master was come; and he arose yawning, and was soon delightedly explaining and showing off his new possession.
the king, however, did not share his pleasure at all, but called up a soldier to shoot the tiger, much to the relief of all the inmates of the serai except moti.
if the king, however, was before convinced that moti was one of the wisest of men, he was now still more convinced that he was the bravest, and he increased his pay a hundredfold, so that our hero thought that he was the luckiest of men.
a week or two after this incident the king sent for moti, who on arrival found his master in despair.
a neighbouring monarch, he explained, who had many more soldiers than he, had declared war against him, and he was at his wits" end, for he had neither money to buy him off nor soldiers enough to fight him -- what was he to do?
"if that is all, do n't you trouble," said moti.
"turn out your men, and i'll go with them, and we'll soon bring this robber to reason."
the king began to revive at these hopeful words, and took moti off to his stable where he bade him choose for himself any horse he liked.
there were plenty of fine horses in the stalls, but to the king's astonishment moti chose a poor little rat of a pony that was used to carry grass and water for the rest of the stable.
"but why do you choose that beast?"
said the king.
"well, you see, your majesty," replied moti, "there are so many chances that i may fall off, and if i choose one of your fine big horses i shall have so far to fall that i shall probably break my leg or my arm, if not my neck, but if i fall off this little beast i ca n't hurt myself much."
a very comical sight was moti when he rode out to the war.
the only weapon he carried was his staff, and to help him to keep his balance on horseback he had tied to each of his ankles a big stone that nearly touched the ground as he sat astride the little pony.
the rest of the king's cavalry were not very numerous, but they pranced along in armour on fine horses.
behind them came a great rabble of men on foot armed with all sorts of weapons, and last of all was the king with his attendants, very nervous and ill at ease.
so the army started.
they had not very far to go, but moti's little pony, weighted with a heavy man and two big rocks, soon began to lag behind the cavalry, and would have lagged behind the infantry too, only they were not very anxious to be too early in the fight, and hung back so as to give moti plenty of time.
the young man jogged along more and more slowly for some time, until at last, getting impatient at the slowness of the pony, he gave him such a tremendous thwack with his staff that the pony completely lost his temper and bolted.
first one stone became untied and rolled away in a cloud of dust to one side of the road, whilst moti nearly rolled off too, but clasped his steed valiantly by its ragged mane, and, dropping his staff, held on for dear life.
then, fortunately the other rock broke away from his other leg and rolled thunderously down a neighbouring ravine.
meanwhile the advanced cavalry had barely time to draw to one side when moti came dashing by, yelling bloodthirsty threats to his pony: "you wait till i get hold of you!
i'll skin you alive!
i'll wring your neck!
i'll break every bone in your body!"
the cavalry thought that this dreadful language was meant for the enemy, and were filled with admiration of his courage.
many of their horses too were quite upset by this whirlwind that galloped howling through their midst, and in a few minutes, after a little plunging and rearing and kicking, the whole troop were following on moti's heels.
far in advance, moti continued his wild career.
presently in his course he came to a great field of castor-oil plants, ten or twelve feet high, big and bushy, but quite green and soft.
hoping to escape from the back of his fiery steed moti grasped one in passing, but its roots gave way, and he dashed on, with the whole plant looking like a young tree flourishing in his grip.
the enemy were in battle array, advancing over the plain, their king with them confident and cheerful, when suddenly from the front came a desperate rider at a furious gallop.
"sire!"
he cried, "save yourself!
the enemy are coming!"
"what do you mean?"
said the king.
"oh, sire!"
panted the messenger, "fly at once, there is no time to lose.
foremost of the enemy rides a mad giant at a furious gallop.
he flourishes a tree for a club and is wild with anger, for as he goes he cries, "you wait till i get hold of you!
i'll skin you alive!
i'll wring your neck!
i'll break every bone in your body!"
others ride behind, and you will do well to retire before this whirlwind of destruction comes upon you."
just then out of a cloud of dust in the distance the king saw moti approaching at a hard gallop, looking indeed like a giant compared with the little beast he rode, whirling his castor-oil plant, which in the distance might have been an oak tree, and the sound of his revilings and shoutings came down upon the breeze!
behind him the dust cloud moved to the sound of the thunder of hoofs, whilst here and there flashed the glitter of steel.
the sight and the sound struck terror into the king, and, turning his horse, he fled at top speed, thinking that a regiment of yelling giants was upon him; and all his force followed him as fast as they might go.
one fat officer alone could not keep up on foot with that mad rush, and as moti came galloping up he flung himself on the ground in abject fear.
this was too much for moti's excited pony, who shied so suddenly that moti went flying over his head like a sky rocket, and alighted right on the top of his fat foe.
quickly regaining his feet moti began to swing his plant round his head and to shout: "where are your men?
bring them up and i'll kill them.
my regiments!
come on, the whole lot of you!
where's your king?
bring him to me.
here are all my fine fellows coming up and we'll each pull up a tree by the roots and lay you all flat and your houses and towns and everything else!
come on!"
but the poor fat officer could do nothing but squat on his knees with his hands together, gasping.
at last, when he got his breath, moti sent him off to bring his king, and to tell him that if he was reasonable his life should be spared.
off the poor man went, and by the time the troops of moti's side had come up and arranged themselves to look as formidable as possible, he returned with his king.
the latter was very humble and apologetic, and promised never to make war any more, to pay a large sum of money, and altogether do whatever his conqueror wished.
so the armies on both sides went rejoicing home, and this was really the making of the fortune of clumsy moti, who lived long and contrived always to be looked up to as a fountain of wisdom, valour, and discretion by all except his relations, who could never understand what he had done to be considered so much wiser than anyone else.
a pushto story.
the enchanted deer a young man was out walking one day in erin, leading a stout cart-horse by the bridle.
he was thinking of his mother and how poor they were since his father, who was a fisherman, had been drowned at sea, and wondering what he should do to earn a living for both of them.
suddenly a hand was laid on his shoulder, and a voice said to him: "will you sell me your horse, son of the fisherman?"
and looking up he beheld a man standing in the road with a gun in his hand, a falcon on his shoulder, and a dog by his side.
"what will you give me for my horse?"
asked the youth.
"will you give me your gun, and your dog, and your falcon?'"
i will give them," answered the man, and he took the horse, and the youth took the gun and the dog and the falcon, and went home with them.
but when his mother heard what he had done she was very angry, and beat him with a stick which she had in her hand.
"that will teach you to sell my property," said she, when her arm was quite tired, but ian her son answered her nothing, and went off to his bed, for he was very sore.
that night he rose softly, and left the house carrying the gun with him."
i will not stay here to be beaten," thought he, and he walked and he walked and he walked, till it was day again, and he was hungry and looked about him to see if he could get anything to eat.
not very far off was a farm-house, so he went there, and knocked at the door, and the farmer and his wife begged him to come in, and share their breakfast.
"ah, you have a gun," said the farmer as the young man placed it in a corner.
"that is well, for a deer comes every evening to eat my corn, and i can not catch it.
it is fortune that has sent you to me.'"
i will gladly remain and shoot the deer for you," replied the youth, and that night he hid himself and watched till the deer came to the cornfield; then he lifted his gun to his shoulder and was just going to pull the trigger, when, behold!
instead of a deer, a woman with long black hair was standing there.
at this sight his gun almost dropped from his hand in surprise, but as he looked, there was the deer eating the corn again.
and thrice this happened, till the deer ran away over the moor, and the young man after her.
on they went, on and on and one, till they reached a cottage which was thatched with heather.
with a bound the deer sprang on the roof, and lay down where none could see her, but as she did so she called out, "go in, fisher's son, and eat and drink while you may."
so he entered and found food and wine on the table, but no man, for the house belonged to some robbers, who were still away at their wicked business.
after ian, the fisher's son, had eaten all he wanted, he hid himself behind a great cask, and very soon he heard a noise, as of men coming through the heather, and the small twigs snapping under their feet.
from his dark corner he could see into the room, and he counted four and twenty of them, all big, cross-looking men.
"some one has been eating our dinner," cried they, "and there was hardly enough for ourselves."
"it is the man who is lying under the cask," answered the leader.
"go and kill him, and then come and eat your food and sleep, for we must be off betimes in the morning."
so four of them killed the fisher's son and left him, and then went to bed.
by sunrise they were all out of the house, for they had far to go.
and when they had disappeared the deer came off the roof, to where the dead man lay, and she shook her head over him, and wax fell from her ear, and he jumped up as well as ever.
"trust me and eat as you did before, and no harm shall happen to you," said she.
so ian ate and drank, and fell sound asleep under the cask.
in the evening the robbers arrived very tired, and crosser than they had been yesterday, for their luck had turned and they had brought back scarcely anything.
"someone has eaten our dinner again," cried they.
"it is the man under the barrel," answered the captain.
"let four of you go and kill him, but first slay the other four who pretended to kill him last night and did n't because he is still alive."
then ian was killed a second time, and after the rest of the robbers had eaten, they lay down and slept till morning.
no sooner were their faces touched with the sun's rays than they were up and off.
then the deer entered and dropped the healing wax on the dead man, and he was as well as ever.
by this time he did not mind what befell him, so sure was he that the deer would take care of him, and in the evening that which had happened before happened again -- the four robbers were put to death and the fisher's son also, but because there was no food left for them to eat, they were nearly mad with rage, and began to quarrel.
from quarrelling they went on to fighting, and fought so hard that by and bye they were all stretched dead on the floor.
then the deer entered, and the fisher's son was restored to life, and bidding him follow her, she ran on to a little white cottage where dwelt an old woman and her son, who was thin and dark.
"here i must leave you," said the deer, "but to-morrow meet me at midday in the church that is yonder."
and jumping across the stream, she vanished into a wood.
next day he set out for the church, but the old woman of the cottage had gone before him, and had stuck an enchanted stick called "the spike of hurt" in a crack of the door, so that he would brush against it as he stepped across the threshold.
suddenly he felt so sleepy that he could not stand up, and throwing himself on the ground he sank into a deep slumber, not knowing that the dark lad was watching him.
nothing could waken him, not even the sound of sweetest music, nor the touch of a lady who bent over him.
a sad look came on her face, as she saw it was no use, and at last she gave it up, and lifting his arm, wrote her name across the side -- "the daughter of the king of the town under the waves.'"
i will come to-morrow," she whispered, though he could not hear her, and she went sorrowfully away.
then he awoke, and the dark lad told him what had befallen him, and he was very grieved.
but the dark lad did not tell him of the name that was written underneath his arm.
on the following morning the fisher's son again went to the church, determined that he would not go to sleep, whatever happened.
but in his hurry to enter he touched with his hand the spike of hurt, and sank down where he stood, wrapped in slumber.
a second time the air was filled with music, and the lady came in, stepping softly, but though she laid his head on her knee, and combed his hair with a golden comb, his eyes opened not.
then she burst into tears, and placing a beautifully wrought box in his pocket she went her way.
the next day the same thing befell the fisher's son, and this time the lady wept more bitterly than before, for she said it was the last chance, and she would never be allowed to come any more, for home she must go.
as soon as the lady had departed the fisher's son awoke, and the dark lad told him of her visit, and how he would never see her as long as he lived.
at this the fisher's son felt the cold creeping up to his heart, yet he knew the fault had not been his that sleep had overtaken him."
i will search the whole world through till i find her," cried he, and the dark lad laughed as he heard him.
but the fisher's son took no heed, and off he went, following the sun day after day, till his shoes were in holes and his feet were sore from the journey.
nought did he see but the birds that made their nests in the trees, not so much as a goat or a rabbit.
on and on and on he went, till suddenly he came upon a little house, with a woman standing outside it.
"all hail, fisher's son!"
said she."
i know what you are seeking; enter in and rest and eat, and to-morrow i will give you what help i can, and send you on your way."
gladly did ian the fisher's son accept her offer, and all that day he rested, and the woman gave him ointment to put on his feet, which healed his sores.
at daybreak he got up, ready to be gone, and the woman bade him farewell, saying: "i have a sister who dwells on the road which you must travel.
it is a long road, and it would take you a year and a day to reach it, but put on these old brown shoes with holes all over them, and you will be there before you know it.
then shake them off, and turn their toes to the known, and their heels to the unknown, and they will come home of themselves."
the fisher's son did as the woman told him, and everything happened just as she had said.
but at parting the second sister said to him, as she gave him another pair of shoes: "go to my third sister, for she has a son who is keeper of the birds of the air, and sends them to sleep when night comes.
he is very wise, and perhaps he can help you."
then the young man thanked her, and went to the third sister.
the third sister was very kind, but had no counsel to give him, so he ate and drank and waited till her son came home, after he had sent all the birds to sleep.
he thought a long while after his mother had told him the young man's story, and at last he said that he was hungry, and the cow must be killed, as he wanted some supper.
so the cow was killed and the meat cooked, and a bag made of its red skin.
"now get into the bag," bade the son, and the young man got in and took his gun with him, but the dog and the falcon he left outside.
the keeper of the birds drew the string at the top of the bag, and left it to finish his supper, when in flew an eagle through the open door, and picked the bag up in her claws and carried it through the air to an island.
there was nothing to eat on the island, and the fisher's son thought he would die of food, when he remembered the box that the lady had put in his pocket.
he opened the lid, and three tiny little birds flew out, and flapping their wings they asked, "good master, is there anything we can do for thee?"
"bear me to the kingdom of the king under the waves," he answered, and one little bird flew on to his head, and the others perched on each of his shoulders, and he shut his eyes, and in a moment there he was in the country under the sea.
then the birds flew away, and the young man looked about him, his heart beating fast at the thought that here dwelt the lady whom he had sought all the world over.
he walked on through the streets, and presently he reached the house of a weaver who was standing at his door, resting from his work.
"you are a stranger here, that is plain," said the weaver, "but come in, and i will give you food and drink."
and the young man was glad, for he knew not where to go, and they sat and talked till it grew late.
"stay with me, i pray, for i love company and am lonely," observed the weaver at last, and he pointed to a bed in a corner, where the fisher's son threw himself, and slept till dawn.
"there is to be a horse-race in the town to-day," remarked the weaver, "and the winner is to have the king's daughter to wife."
the young man trembled with excitement at the news, and his voice shook as he answered: "that will be a prize indeed, i should like to see the race."
"oh, that is quite easy -- anyone can go," replied the weaver."
i would take you myself, but i have promised to weave this cloth for the king."
"that is a pity," returned the young man politely, but in his heart he rejoiced, for he wished to be alone.
leaving the house, he entered a grove of trees which stood behind, and took the box from his pocket.
he raised the lid, and out flew the three little birds.
"good master, what shall we do for thee?"
asked they, and he answered, "bring me the finest horse that ever was seen, and the grandest dress, and glass shoes."
"they are here, master," said the birds, and so they were, and never had the young man seen anything so splendid.
mounting the horse he rode into the ground where the horses were assembling for the great race, and took his place among them.
many good beasts were there which had won many races, but the horse of the fisher's son left them all behind, and he was first at the winning post.
the king's daughter waited for him in vain to claim his prize, for he went back to the wood, and got off his horse, and put on his old clothes, and bade the box place some gold in his pockets.
after that he went back to the weaver's house, and told him that the gold had been given him by the man who had won the race, and that the weaver might have it for his kindness to him.
now as nobody had appeared to demand the hand of the princess, the king ordered another race to be run, and the fisher's son rode into the field still more splendidly dressed than he was before, and easily distanced everybody else.
but again he left the prize unclaimed, and so it happened on the third day, when it seemed as if all the people in the kingdom were gathered to see the race, for they were filled with curiosity to know who the winner could be.
"if he will not come of his own free will, he must be brought," said the king, and the messengers who had seen the face of the victor were sent to seek him in every street of the town.
this took many days, and when at last they found the young man in the weaver's cottage, he was so dirty and ugly and had such a strange appearance, that they declared he could not be the winner they had been searching for, but a wicked robber who had murdered ever so many people, but had always managed to escape.
"yes, it must be the robber," said the king, when the fisher's son was led into his presence; "build a gallows at once and hang him in the sight of all my subjects, that they may behold him suffer the punishment of his crimes."
so the gallows was built upon a high platform, and the fisher's son mounted the steps up to it, and turned at the top to make the speech that was expected from every doomed man, innocent or guilt.
as he spoke he happened to raise his arm, and the king's daughter, who was there at her father's side, saw the name which she had written under it.
with a shriek she sprang from her seat, and the eyes of the spectators were turned towards her.
"stop!
stop!"
she cried, hardly knowing what she said.
"if that man is hanged there is not a soul in the kingdom but shall die also."
and running up to where the fisher's son was standing, she took him by the hand, saying, "father, this is no robber or murderer, but the victor in the three races, and he loosed the spells that were laid upon me."
then, without waiting for a reply, she conducted him into the palace, and he bathed in a marble bath, and all the dirt that the fairies had put upon him disappeared like magic, and when he had dressed himself in the fine garments the princess had sent to him, he looked a match for any king's daughter in erin.
he went down into the great hall where she was awaiting him, and they had much to tell each other but little time to tell it in, for the king her father, and the princes who were visiting him, and all the people of the kingdom were still in their places expecting her return.
"how did you find me out?"
she whispered as they went down the passage.
"the birds in the box told me," answered he, but he could say no more, as they stepped out into the open space that was crowded with people.
there the princes stopped."
o kings!"
she said, turning towards them, "if one of you were killed to-day, the rest would fly; but this man put his trust in me, and had his head cut off three times.
because he has done this, i will marry him rather than one of you, who have come hither to wed me, for many kings here sought to free me from the spells, but none could do it save ian the fisher's son."
from "popular tales of the west highlands."
a fish story perhaps you think that fishes were always fishes, and never lived anywhere except in the water, but if you went to australia and talked to the black people in the sandy desert in the centre of the country, you would learn something quite different.
they would tell you that long, long ago you would have met fishes on the land, wandering from place to place, and hunting all sorts of animals, and if you consider how fishes are made, you will understand how difficult this must have been and how clever they were to do it.
indeed, so clever were they that they might have been hunting still if a terrible thing had not happened.
one day the whole fish tribe came back very tired from a hunting expedition, and looked about for a nice, cool spot in which to pitch their camp.
it was very hot, and they thought that they could not find a more comfortable place than under the branches of a large tree which grew by the bank of a river.
so they made their fire to cook some food, right on the edge of a steep bank, which had a deep pool of water lying beneath it at the bottom.
while the food was cooking they all stretched themselves lazily out under the tree, and were just dropping off to sleep when a big black cloud which they had never noticed spread over the sun, and heavy drops of rain began to fall, so that the fire was almost put out, and that, you know, is a very serious thing in savage countries where they have no matches, for it is very hard to light it again.
to make matters worse, an icy wind began to blow, and the poor fishes were chilled right through their bodies.
"this will never do," said thuggai, the oldest of the fish tribe.
"we shall die of cold unless we can light the fire again," and he bade his sons rub two sticks together in the hope of kindling a flame, but though they rubbed till they were tired, not a spark could they produce.
"let me try," cried biernuga, the bony fish, but he had no better luck, and no more had kumbal, the bream, nor any of the rest.
"it is no use," exclaimed thuggai, at last.
"the wood is too wet.
we must just sit and wait till the sun comes out again and dries it."
then a very little fish indeed, not more than four inches long and the youngest of the tribe, bowed himself before thuggai, saying, "ask my father, guddhu the cod, to light the fire.
he is skilled in magic more than most fishes."
so thuggai asked him, and guddhu stripped some pieces of bark off a tree, and placed them on top of the smouldering ashes.
then he knelt by the side of the fire and blew at it for a long while, till slowly the feeble red glow became a little stronger and the edges of the bark showed signs of curling up.
when the rest of the tribe saw this they pressed close, keeping their backs towards the piercing wind, but guddhu told them they must go to the other side, as he wanted the wind to fan his fire.
by and by the spark grew into a flame, and a merry crackling was heard.
"more wood," cried guddhi, and they all ran and gathered wood and heaped it on the flames, which leaped and roared and sputtered.
"we shall soon be warm now," said the people one to another.
"truly guddhu is great"; and they crowded round again, closer and closer.
suddenly, with a shriek, a blast of wind swept down from the hills and blew the fire out towards them.
they sprang back hurriedly, quite forgetting where they stood, and all fell down the bank, each tumbling over the other, till they rolled into the pool that lay below.
oh, how cold it was in that dark water on which the sun never shone!
then in an instant they felt warm again, for the fire, driven by the strong wind, had followed them right down to the bottom of the pool, where it burned as brightly as ever.
and the fishes gathered round it as they had done on the top of the cliff, and found the flames as hot as before, and that fire never went out, like those upon land, but kept burning for ever.
so now you know why, if you dive deep down below the cold surface of the water on a frosty day, you will find it comfortable and pleasant underneath, and be quite sorry that you can not stay there.
australian folk tale.
the wonderful tune.
maurice connor was the king, and that's no small word, of all the pipers in munster.
he could play jig and reel without end, and ollistrum's march, and the eagle's whistle, and the hen's concert, and odd tunes of every sort and kind.
but he knew one far more surprising than the rest, which had in it the power to set everything dead or alive dancing.
in what way he learned it is beyond my knowledge for he was mighty cautious about telling how he came by so wonderful a tune.
at the very first note of that tune the shoes began shaking upon the feet of all how heard it -- old or young, it mattered not -- just as if the shoes had the ague; then the feet began going, going, going from under them, and at last up and away with them, dancing like mad, whisking here, there, and everywhere, like a straw in a storm -- there was no halting while the music lasted.
not a fair, nor a wedding, nor a feast in the seven parishes round, was counted worth the speaking of without "blind maurice and his pipes."
his mother, poor woman, used to lead him about from one place to another just like a dog.
down through iveragh, maurice connor and his mother were taking their rounds.
beyond all other places iveragh is the place for stormy coasts and steep mountains, as proper a spot it is as any in ireland to get yourself drowned, or your neck broken on the land, should you prefer that.
but, notwithstanding, in ballinskellig bay there is a neat bit of ground, well fitted for diversion, and down from it, towards the water, is a clean smooth piece of strand, the dead image of a calm summer's sea on a moonlight night, with just the curl of the small waves upon it.
here is was that maurice's music had brought from all parts a great gathering of the young men and the young women; for't was not every day the strand of trafraska was stirred up by the voice of a bagpipe.
the dance began; and as pretty a dance it was as ever was danced.
"brave music," said everybody, "and well done," when maurice stopped.
"more power to your elbow, maurice, and a fair wind in the bellows," cried paddy dorman, a hump-backed dancing master, who was there to keep order."
tis a pity," said he, "if we'd let the piper run dry after such music; "twould be a disgrace to iveragh, that did n't come on it since the week of the three sundays."
so, as well became him, for he was always a decent man, says he, "did you drink, piper?'"
i will, sir," said maurice, answering the question on the safe side, for you never yet knew piper or schoolmaster who refused his drink.
"what will you drink, maurice?"
says paddy.
"i'm no ways particular," says maurice;" i drink anything, barring raw water; but if it's all the same to you, mister dorman, may be you would n't lend me the loan of a glass of whisky."
"i've no glass, maurice," said paddy; "i've only the bottle."
"let that be no hindrance," answered maurice; "my mouth just holds a glass to the drop; often i've tried it sure."
so paddy dorman trusted him with the bottle -- more fool was he; and, to his cost, he found that though maurice's mouth might not hold more than the glass at one time, yet, owing to the hole in his throat, it took many a filling.
"that was no bad whisky neither," says maurice, handing back the empty bottle.
"by the holy frost, then!"
says paddy," tis but cold comfort there's in that bottle now; and't is your word we must take for the strength of the whisky, for you've left us no sample to judge by"; and to be sure maurice had not.
now i need not tell any gentleman or lady that if he or she was to drink an honest bottle of whisky at one pull, it is not at all the same thing as drinking a bottle of water; and in the whole course of my life i never knew more than five men who could do so without being the worse.
of these maurice connor was not one, though he had a stiff head enough of his own.
do n't think i blame him for it; but true is the word that says, "when liquor's in sense is out"; and puff, at a breath, out he blasted his wonderful tune.
't was really then beyond all belief or telling the dancing.
maurice himself could not keep quiet; staggering now on one leg, now on the other, and rolling about like a ship in a cross sea, trying to humour the tune.
there was his mother, too, moving her old bones as light as the youngest girl of them all; but her dancing, no, nor the dancing of all the rest, is not worthy the speaking about to the work that was going on down upon the strand.
every inch of it covered with all manner of fish jumping and plunging about to the music, and every moment more and more would tumble in and out of the water, charmed by the wonderful tune.
crabs of monstrous size spun round and round on one claw with the nimbleness of a dancing master, and twirled and tossed their other claws about like limbs that did not belong to them.
it was a sight surprising to behold.
but perhaps you may have heard of father florence conry, as pleasant a man as one would wish to drink with of a hot summer's day; and he had rhymed out all about the dancing fishes so neatly that it would be a thousand pities not to give you his verses; so here they are in english: the big seals in motion, like waves of the ocean, or gouty feet prancing, came heading the gay fish, crabs, lobsters, and cray-fish, determined on dancing.
the sweet sounds they followed, the gasping cod swallow'd --'t was wonderful, really; and turbot and flounder, "mid fish that were rounder, just caper'd as gaily.
john-dories came tripping; dull hake, by their skipping, to frisk it seem'd given; bright mackrel went springing, like small rainbows winging their flight up to heaven.
the whiting and haddock left salt water paddock this dance to be put in; where skate with flat faces edged out some old plaices; but soles kept their footing.
sprats and herrings in powers of silvery showers all number out-numbered; and great ling so lengthy was there in such plenty the shore was encumber'd.
the scallop and oyster their two shells did roister, like castanets flitting; while limpets moved clearly, and rocks very nearly with laughter were splitting.
never was such a hullabaloo in this world, before or since;'t was as if heaven and earth were coming together; and all out of maurice connor's wonderful tune!
in the height of all these doings, what should there be dancing among the outlandish set of fishes but a beautiful young woman -- as beautiful as the dawn of day!
she had a cocked hat upon her head; from under it her long green hair -- just the colour of the sea -- fell down behind, without hindrance to her dancing.
her teeth were like rows of pearls; her lips for all the world looked like red coral; and she had a shining gown pale green as the hollow of the wave, with little rows of purple and red seaweeds settled out upon it; for you never yet saw a lady, under the water or over the water, who had not a good notion of dressing herself out.
up she danced at last to maurice, who was flinging his feet from under him as fast as hops -- for nothing in this world could keep still while that tune of his was going on -- and says she to him, chanting it out with a voice as sweet as honey: i'm a lady of honour who live in the sea; come down, maurice connor, and be married to me.
silver plates and gold dishes you shall have, and shall be the king of the fishes, when you're married to me.
drink was strong in maurice's head, and out he chanted in return for her great civility.
it is not every lady, may be, that would be after making such an offer to a blind piper; therefore't was only right in him to give her as good as she gave herself, so says maurice: i'm obliged to you, madam: off a gold dish or plate, if a king, and i had'em, i could dine in great state.
with your own father's daughter i'd be sure to agree, but to drink the salt water would n't do so with me!
the lady looked at him quite amazed, and swinging her head from side to side like a great scholar, "well," says she, "maurice, if you're not a poet, where is poetry to be found?"
in this way they kept on at it, framing high compliments; one answering the other, and their feet going with the music as fast as their tongues.
all the fish kept dancing, too; maurice heard the clatter and was afraid to stop playing lest it might be displeasing to the fish, and not knowing what so many of them may take it into their heads to do to him if they got vexed.
well, the lady with the green hair kept on coaxing maurice with soft speeches, till at last she over persuaded him to promise to marry her, and be king over the fishes, great and small.
maurice was well fitted to be their king, if they wanted one that could make them dance; and he surely would drink, barring the salt water, with any fish of them all.
when maurice's mother saw him with that unnatural thing in the form of a green-haired lady as his guide, and he and she dancing down together so lovingly to the water's edge, through the thick of the fishes, she called out after him to stop and come back.
"oh, then," says she, "as if i was not widow enough before, there he is going away from me to be married to that scaly woman.
and who knows but't is grandmother i may be to a hake or a cod -- lord help and pity me, but't is a mighty unnatural thing!
and my be't is boiling and eating my own grandchild i'll be, with a bit of salt butter, and i not knowing it!
oh, maurice, maurice, if there's any love or nature left in you, come back to your own ould mother, who reared you like a decent christian!"
then the poor woman began to cry and sob so finely that it would do anyone good to hear her.
maurice was not long getting to the rim of the water.
there he kept playing and dancing on as if nothing was the matter, and a great thundering wave coming in towards him ready to swallow him up alive; but as he could not see it, he did not fear it.
his mother it was who saw it plainly through the big tears that were rolling down her cheeks; and though she saw it, and her heart was aching as much as ever mother's heart ached for a son, she kept dancing, dancing all the time for the bare life of her.
certain it was she could not help it, for maurice never stopped playing that wonderful tune of his.
he only turned his ear to the sound of his mother's voice, fearing it might put him out in his steps, and all the answer he made back was, "whisht with you mother -- sure i'm going to be king over the fishes down in the sea, and for a token of luck, and a sign that i'm alive and well, i'll send you in, every twelvemonth on this day, a piece of burned wood to trafraska."
maurice had not the power to say a word more, for the strange lady with the green hair, seeing the wave just upon them, covered him up with herself in a thing like a cloak with a big hood to it, and the wave curling over twice as high as their heads, burst upon the strand, with a rush and a roar that might be heard as far as cape clear.
that day twelvemonth the piece of burned wood came ashore in trafraska.
it was a queer thing for maurice to think of sending all the way from the bottom of the sea.
a gown or a pair of shoes would have been something like a present for his poor mother; but he had said it, and he kept his word.
the bit of burned wood regularly came ashore on the appointed day for as good, ay, and better than a hundred years.
the day is now forgotten, and may be that is the reason why people say how maurice connor has stopped sending the luck-token to his mother.
poor woman, she did not live to get as much as one of them; for what through the loss of maurice, and the fear of eating her own grandchildren, she died in three weeks after the dance.
some say it was the fatigue that killed her, but whichever it was, mrs. connor was decently buried with her own people.
seafaring people have often heard, off the coast of kerry, on a still night, the sound of music coming up from the water; and some, who have had good ears, could plainly distinguish maurice connor's voice singing these words to his pipes -- beautiful shore, with thy spreading strand, thy crystal water, and diamond sand; never would i have parted from thee, but for the sake of my fair ladie.
from "fairy tales and traditions of the south of ireland."
the rich brother and the poor brother there was once a rich old man who had two sons, and as his wife was dead, the elder lived with him, and helped him to look after his property.
for a long time all went well; the young man got up very early in the morning, and worked hard all day, and at the end of every week his father counted up the money they had made, and rubbed his hands with delight, as he saw how big the pile of gold in the strong iron chest was becoming.
"it will soon be full now, and i shall have to buy a larger one," he said to himself, and so busy was he with the thought of his money, that he did not notice how bright his son's face had grown, nor how he sometimes started when he was spoken to, as if his mind was far away.
one day, however, the old man went to the city on business, which he had not done for three years at least.
it was market day, and he met with many people he knew, and it was getting quite late when he turned into the inn yard, and bade an ostler saddle his horse, and bring it round directly.
while he was waiting in the hall, the landlady came up for a gossip, and after a few remarks about the weather and the vineyards she asked him how he liked his new daughter-in-law, and whether he had been surprised at the marriage.
the old man stared as he listened to her.
"daughter-in-law?
marriage?"
said he."
i do n't know what you are talking about!
i've got no daughter-in-law, and nobody has been married lately, that i ever heard of."
now this was exactly what the landlady, who was very curious, wanted to find out; but she put on a look of great alarm, and exclaimed: "oh, dear!
i hope i have not made mischief.
i had no idea -- or, of course, i would not have spoken -- but" -- and here she stopped and fumbled with her apron, as if she was greatly embarrassed.
"as you have said so much you will have to say a little more," retorted the old man, a suspicion of what she meant darting across him; and the woman, nothing loth, answered as before.
"ah, it was not all for buying or selling that your handsome son has been coming to town every week these many months past.
and not by the shortest way, either!
no, it was over the river he rode, and across the hill and past the cottage of miguel the vine-keeper, whose daughter, they say, is the prettiest girl in the whole country side, though she is too white for my taste," and then the landlady paused again, and glanced up at the farmer, to see how he was taking it.
she did not learn much.
he was looking straight before him, his teeth set.
but as she ceased to talk, he said quietly, "go on."
"there is not much more to tell," replied the landlady, for she suddenly remembered that she must prepare supper for the hungry men who always stopped at the inn on market days, before starting for home, "but one fine morning they both went to the little church on top of the hill, and were married.
my cousin is servant to the priest, and she found out about it and told me.
but good-day to you, sir; here is your horse, and i must hurry off to the kitchen."
it was lucky that the horse was sure-footed and knew the road, for his bridle hung loose on his neck, and his master took no heed of the way he was going.
when the farm-house was reached, the man led the animal to the stable, and then went to look for his son."
i know everything -- you have deceived me.
get out of my sight at once -- i have done with you," he stammered, choking with passion as he came up to the young man, who was cutting a stick in front of the door, whistling gaily the while.
"but, father --" "you are no son of mine; i have only one now.
begone, or it will be the worse for you," and as he spoke he lifted up his whip.
the young man shrank back.
he feared lest his father should fall down in a fit, his face was so red and his eyes seemed bursting from his head.
but it was no use staying: perhaps next morning the old man might listen to reason, though in his heart the son felt that he would never take back his words.
so he turned slowly away, and walked heavily along a path which ended in a cave on the side of his hill, and there he sat through the night, thinking of what had happened.
yes, he had been wrong, there was no doubt of that, and he did not quite know how it had come about.
he had meant to have told his father all about it, and he was sure, quite sure, that if once the old man had seen his wife, he would have forgiven her poverty on account of her great beauty and goodness.
but he had put it off from day to day, hoping always for a better opportunity, and now this was the end!
if the son had no sleep that night, no more had the father, and as soon as the sun rose, he sent a messenger into the great city with orders to bring back the younger brother.
when he arrived the farmer did not waste words, but informed him that he was now his only heir, and would inherit all his lands and money, and that he was to come and live at home, and to help manage the property.
though very pleased at the thought of becoming such a rich man -- for the brothers had never cared much for each other -- the younger would rather have stayed where he was, for he soon got tired of the country, and longed for a town life.
however, this he kept to himself, and made the best of things, working hard like his brother before him.
in this way the years went on, but the crops were not so good as they had been, and the old man gave orders that some fine houses he was building in the city should be left unfinished, for it would take all the savings to complete them.
as to the elder son, he would never even hear his name mentioned, and died at last without ever seeing his face, leaving to the younger, as he had promised, all his lands, as well as his money.
meanwhile, the son whom he had disinherited had grown poorer and poorer.
he and his wife were always looking out for something to do, and never spent a penny that they could help, but luck was against them, and at the time of his father's death they had hardly bread to eat or clothes to cover them.
if there had been only himself, he would have managed to get on somehow, but he could not bear to watch his children becoming weaker day by day, and swallowing his pride, at length he crossed the mountains to his old home where his brother was living.
it was the first time for long that the two men had come face to face, and they looked at each other in silence.
then tears rose in the eyes of the elder, but winking them hastily away, he said: "brother, it is not needful that i should tell you how poor i am; you can see that for yourself.
i have not come to beg for money, but only to ask if you will give me those unfinished houses of yours in the city, and i will make them watertight, so that my wife and children can live in them, and that will save our rent.
for as they are, they profit you nothing."
and the younger brother listened and pitied him, and gave him the houses that he asked for, and the elder went away happy.
for some years things went on as they were, and then the rich brother began to feel lonely, and thought to himself that he was getting older, and it was time for him to be married.
the wife he chose was very wealthy, but she was also very greedy, and however much she had, she always wanted more.
she was, besides, one of those unfortunate people who invariably fancy that the possessions of other people must be better than their own.
many a time her poor husband regretted the day that he had first seen her, and often her meanness and shabby ways put him to shame.
but he had not the courage to rule her, and she only got worse and worse.
after she had been married a few months the bride wanted to go into the city and buy herself some new dresses.
she had never been there before, and when she had finished her shopping, she thought she would pay a visit to her unknown sister-in-law, and rest for a bit.
the house she was seeking was in a broad street, and ought to have been very magnificent, but the carved stone portico enclosed a mean little door of rough wood, while a row of beautiful pillars led to nothing.
the dwelling on each side were in the same unfinished condition, and water trickled down the walls.
most people would have considered it a wretched place, and turned their backs on it as soon as they could, but this lady saw that by spending some money the houses could be made as splendid as they were originally intended to be, and she instantly resolved to get them for herself.
full of this idea she walked up the marble staircase, and entered the little room where her sister-in-law sat, making clothes for her children.
the bride seemed full of interest in the houses, and asked a great many questions about them, so that her new relations liked her much better than they expected, and hoped they might be good friends.
however, as soon as she reached home, she went straight to her husband, and told him that he must get back those houses from his brother, as they would exactly suit her, and she could easily make them into a palace as fine as the king's.
but her husband only told her that she might buy houses in some other part of the town, for she could not have those, as he had long since made a gift of them to his brother, who had lived there for many years past.
at this answer the wife grew very angry.
she began to cry, and made such a noise that all the neighbours heard her and put their heads out of the windows, to see what was the matter.
"it was absurd," she sobbed out, "quite unjust.
indeed, if you came to think of it, the gift was worth nothing, as when her husband made it he was a bachelor, and since then he had been married, and she had never given her consent to any such thing."
and so she lamented all day and all night, till the poor man was nearly worried to death; and at last he did what she wished, and summoned his brother in a court of law to give up the houses which, he said, had only been lent to him.
but when the evidence on both sides had been heard, the judge decided in favour of the poor man, which made the rich lady more furious than ever, and she determined not to rest until she had gained the day.
if one judge would not give her the houses another should, and so time after time the case was tried over again, till at last it came before the highest judge of all, in the city of evora.
her husband was heartily tired and ashamed of the whole affair, but his weakness in not putting a stop to it in the beginning had got him into this difficulty, and now he was forced to go on.
on the same day the two brothers set out on their journey to the city, the rich one on horseback, with plenty of food in his knapsack, the poor one on foot with nothing but a piece of bread and four onions to eat on the way.
the road was hilly and neither could go very fast, and when night fell, they were both glad to see some lights in a window a little distance in front of them.
the lights turned out to have been placed there by a farmer, who had planned to have a particularly good supper as it was his wife's birthday, and bade the rich man enter and sit down, while he himself took the horse to the stable.
the poor man asked timidly if he might spend the night in a corner, adding that he had brought his own supper with him.
another time permission might have been refused him, for the farmer was no lover of humble folk, but now he gave the elder brother leave to come in, pointing out a wooden chair where he could sit.
supper was soon served, and very glad the younger brother was to eat it, for his long ride had made him very hungry.
the farmer's wife, however, would touch nothing, and at last declared that the only supper she wanted was one of the onions the poor man was cooking at the fire.
of course he gave it to her, though he would gladly have eaten it himself, as three onions are not much at the end of a long day's walk, and soon after they all went to sleep, the poor man making himself as comfortable as he could in his corner.
a few hours later the farmer was aroused by the cries and groans of his wife.
"oh, i feel so ill, i'm sure i'm going to die," wept she.
"it was that onion, i know it was.
i wish i had never eaten it.
it must have been poisoned."
"if the man has poisoned you he shall pay for it," said her husband, and seizing a thick stick he ran downstairs and began to beat the poor man, who had been sound asleep, and had nothing to defend himself with.
luckily, the noise aroused the younger brother, who jumped up and snatched the stick from the farmer's hand, saying: "we are both going to evora to try a law-suit.
come too, and accuse him there if he has attempted to rob you or murder you, but do n't kill him now, or you will get yourself into trouble."
"well, perhaps you are right," answered the farmer, "but the sooner that fellow has his deserts, the better i shall be pleased," and without more words he went to the stables and brought out a horse for himself and also the black andalusian mare ridden by the rich man, while the poor brother, fearing more ill-treatment, started at once on foot.
now all that night it had rained heavily, and did not seem likely to stop, and in some places the road was so thick with mud that it was almost impossible to get across it.
in one spot it was so very bad that a mule laden with baggage had got stuck in it, and tug as he might, his master was quite unable to pull him out.
the muleteer in despair appealed to the two horseman, who were carefully skirting the swamp at some distance off, but they paid no heed to his cries, and he began to talk cheerfully to his mule, hoping to keep up his spirits, declaring that if the poor beast would only have a little patience help was sure to come.
and so it did, for very soon the poor brother reached the place, bespattered with mud from head to foot, but ready to do all he could to help with the mule and his master.
first they set about finding some stout logs of wood to lay down on the marsh so that they could reach the mule, for by this time his frantic struggles had broken his bridle, and he was deeper in than ever.
stepping cautiously along the wood, the poor man contrived to lay hold of the animal's tale, and with a desperate effort the mule managed to regain his footing on dry ground, but at the cost of leaving his tail in the poor man's hand.
when he saw this the muleteer's anger knew no bounds, and forgetting that without the help given him he would have lost his mule altogether, he began to abuse the poor man, declaring that he had ruined his beast, and the law would make him pay for it.
then, jumping on the back of the mule, which was so glad to be out of the choking mud that he did not seem to mind the loss of his tail, the ungrateful wretch rode on, and that evening reached the inn at evora, where the rich man and the farmer had already arrived for the night.
meanwhile the poor brother walked wearily along, wondering what other dreadful adventures were in store for him."
i shall certainly be condemned for one or other of them," thought he sadly; "and after all, if i have to die, i would rather choose my own death than leave it to my enemies," and as soon as he entered evora he looked about for a place suitable for carrying out the plan he had made.
at length he found what he sought, but as it was too late and too dark for him to make sure of success, he curled himself up under a doorway, and slept till morning.
although it was winter, the sun rose in a clear sky, and its rays felt almost warm when the poor man got up and shook himself.
he intended it to be the day of his death, but in spite of that, and of the fact that he was leaving his wife and children behind him, he felt almost cheerful.
he had struggled so long, and was so very, very tired; but he would not have minded that if he could have proved his innocence, and triumphed over his enemies.
however, they had all been too clever for him, and he had no strength to fight any more.
so he mounted the stone steps that led to the battlements of the city, and stopped for a moment to gaze about him.
it happened that an old sick man who lived near by had begged to be carried out and to be laid at the foot of the wall so that the beams of the rising sun might fall upon him, and he would be able to talk with his friends as they passed by to their work.
little did he guess that on top of the battlements, exactly over his head, stood a man who was taking his last look at the same sun, before going to his death that awaited him.
but so it was; and as the steeple opposite was touched by the golden light, the poor man shut his eyes and sprang forward.
the wall was high, and he flew rapidly through the air, but it was not the ground he touched, only the body of the sick man, who rolled over and died without a groan.
as for the other, he was quite unhurt, and was slowly rising to his feet when his arms were suddenly seized and held.
"you have killed our father, do you see?
do you see?"
cried two young men, "and you will come with us this instant before the judge, and answer for it."
"your father?
but i do n't know him.
what do you mean?"
asked the poor man, who was quite bewildered with his sudden rush through the air, and could not think why he should be accused of this fresh crime.
but he got no reply, and was only hurried through the streets to the court-house, where his brother, the muleteer, and the farmer had just arrived, all as angry as ever, all talking at once, till the judge entered and ordered them to be silent."
i will hear you one by one," he said, and motioned the younger brother to begin.
he did not take long to state his case.
the unfinished houses were his, left him with the rest of the property by his father, and his brother refused to give them up.
in answer, the poor man told, in a few words, how he had begged the houses from his brother, and produced the deed of gift which made him their owner.
the judge listened quietly and asked a few questions; then he gave his verdict.
"the houses shall remain the property of the man to whom they were given, and to whom they belong.
and as you," he added, turning to the younger brother, "brought this accusation knowing full well it was wicked and unjust, i order you, besides losing the houses, to pay a thousand pounds damages to your brother."
the rich man heard the judge with rage in his heart, the poor man with surprise and gratitude.
but he was not safe yet, for now it was the turn of the farmer.
the judge could hardly conceal a smile at the story, and inquired if the wife was dead before the farmer left the house, and received for answer that he was in such a hurry for justice to be done that he had not waited to see.
then the poor man told his tale, and once more judgment was given in his favour, while twelve hundred pounds was ordered to be paid him.
as for the muleteer, he was informed very plainly that he had proved himself mean and ungrateful for the help that had been given him, and as a punishment he must pay to the poor man a fine of fifty pounds, and hand him over the mule till his tail had grown again.
lastly, there came the two sons of the sick man.
"this is the wretch who killed our father," they said, "and we demand that he should die also."
"how did you kill him?"
asked the judge, turning to the accused, and the poor man told how he had leaped from the wall, not knowing that anyone was beneath.
"well, this is my judgment," replied the judge, when they had all spoken: "let the accused sit under the wall, and let the sons of the dead man jump from the top and fall on him and kill him, and if they will not to this, then they are condemned to pay eight hundred pounds for their false accusation."
the young men looked at each other, and slowly shook their heads.
"we will pay the fine," said they, and the judge nodded.
so the poor man rode the mule home, and brought back to his family enough money to keep them in comfort to the end of their days.
adapted from the portuguese.
the one-handed girl an old couple once lived in a hut under a grove of palm trees, and they had one son and one daughter.
they were all very happy together for many years, and then the father became very ill, and felt he was going to die.
he called his children to the place where he lay on the floor -- for no one had any beds in that country -- and said to his son," i have no herds of cattle to leave you -- only the few things there are in the house -- for i am a poor man, as you know.
but choose: will you have my blessing or my property?"
"your property, certainly," answered the son, and his father nodded.
"and you?"
asked the old man of the girl, who stood by her brother."
i will have blessing," she answered, and her father gave her much blessing.
that night he died, and his wife and son and daughter mourned for him seven days, and gave him a burial according to the custom of his people.
but hardly was the time of mourning over, than the mother was attacked by a disease which was common in that country."
i am going away from you," she said to her children, in a faint voice; "but first, my son, choose which you will have: blessing or property."
"property, certainly," answered the son.
"and you, my daughter?'"
i will have blessing," said the girl; and her mother gave her much blessing, and that night she died.
when the days of mourning were ended, the brother bade his sister put outside the hut all that belonged to his father and his mother.
so the girl put them out, and he took them away, save only a small pot and a vessel in which she could clean her corn.
but she had no corn to clean.
she sat at home, sad and hungry, when a neighbour knocked at the door.
"my pot has cracked in the fire, lend me yours to cook my supper in, and i will give you a handful of corn in return."
and the girl was glad, and that night she was able to have supper herself, and next day another woman borrowed her pot, and then another and another, for never were known so many accidents as befell the village pots at that time.
she soon grew quite fat with all the corn she earned with the help of her pot, and then one evening she picked up a pumpkin seed in a corner, and planted it near her well, and it sprang up, and gave her many pumpkins.
at last it happened that a youth from her village passed through the place where the girl's brother was, and the two met and talked.
"what news is there of my sister?"
asked the young man, with whom things had gone badly, for he was idle.
"she is fat and well-liking," replied the youth, "for the women borrow her mortar to clean their corn, and borrow her pot to cook it in, and for al this they give her more food than she can eat."
and he went his way.
now the brother was filled with envy at the words of the man, and he set out at once, and before dawn he had reached the hut, and saw the pot and the mortar were standing outside.
he slung them over his shoulders and departed, pleased with his own cleverness; but when his sister awoke and sought for the pot to cook her corn for breakfast, she could find it nowhere.
at length she said to herself, "well, some thief must have stolen them while i slept.
i will go and see if any of my pumpkins are ripe."
and indeed they were, and so many that the tree was almost broken by the weight of them.
so she ate what she wanted and took the others to the village, and gave them in exchange for corn, and the women said that no pumpkins were as sweet as these, and that she was to bring every day all that she had.
in this way she earned more than she needed for herself, and soon was able to get another mortar and cooking pot in exchange for her corn.
then she thought she was quite rich.
unluckily someone else thought so too, and this was her brother's wife, who had heard all about the pumpkin tree, and sent her slave with a handful of grain to buy her a pumpkin.
at first the girl told him that so few were left that she could not spare any; but when she found that he belonged to her brother, she changed her mind, and went out to the tree and gathered the largest and the ripest that was there.
"take this one," she said to the slave, "and carry it back to your mistress, but tell her to keep the corn, as the pumpkin is a gift."
the brother's wife was overjoyed at the sight of the fruit, and when she tasted it, she declared it was the nicest she had ever eaten.
indeed, all night she thought of nothing else, and early in the morning she called another slave -lrb- for she was a rich woman -rrb- and bade him go and ask for another pumpkin.
but the girl, who had just been out to look at her tree, told him that they were all eaten, so he went back empty-handed to his mistress.
in the evening her husband returned from hunting a long way off, and found his wife in tears.
"what is the matter?"
asked he."
i sent a slave with some grain to your sister to buy some pumpkins, but she would not sell me any, and told me there were none, though i know she lets other people buy them."
"well, never mind now -- go to sleep," said he, "and to-morrow i will go and pull up the pumpkin tree, and that will punish her for treating you so badly."
so before sunrise he got up and set out for his sister's house, and found her cleaning some corn.
"why did you refuse to sell my wife a pumpkin yesterday when she wanted one?"
he asked.
"the old ones are finished, and the new ones are not yet come," answered the girl.
"when her slave arrived two days ago, there were only four left; but i gave him one, and would take no corn for it.'"
i do not believe you; you have sold them all to other people.
i shall go and cut down the pumpkin," cried her brother in a rage.
"if you cut down the pumpkin you shall cut off my hand with it," exclaimed the girl, running up to her tree and catching hold of it.
but her brother followed, and with one blow cut off the pumpkin and her hand too.
then he went into the house and took away everything he could find, and sold the house to a friend of his who had long wished to have it, and his sister had no home to go to.
meanwhile she had bathed her arm carefully, and bound on it some healing leaves that grew near by, and wrapped a cloth round the leaves, and went to hide in the forest, that her brother might not find her again.
for seven days she wandered about, eating only the fruit that hung from the trees above her, and every night she climbed up and tucked herself safely among the creepers which bound together the big branches, so that neither lions nor tigers nor panthers might get at her.
when she woke up on the seventh morning she saw from her perch smoke coming up from a little town on the edge of the forest.
the sight of the huts made her feel more lonely and helpless than before.
she longed desperately for a draught of milk from a gourd, for there were no streams in that part, and she was very thirsty, but how was she to earn anything with only one hand?
and at this thought her courage failed, and she began to cry bitterly.
it happened that the king's son had come out from the town very early to shoot birds, and when the sun grew hot he left tired."
i will lie here and rest under this tree," he said to his attendants.
"you can go and shoot instead, and i will just have this slave to stay with me!"
away they went, and the young man fell asleep, and slept long.
suddenly he was awakened by something wet and salt falling on his face.
"what is that?
is it raining?"
he said to his slave.
"go and look."
"no, master, it is not raining," answered the slave.
"then climb up the tree and see what it is," and the slave climbed up, and came back and told his master that a beautiful girl was sitting up there, and that it must have been her tears which had fallen on the face of the king's son.
"why was she crying?"
inquired the prince."
i can not tell -- i did not dare to ask her; but perhaps she would tell you."
and the master, greatly wondering, climbed up the tree.
"what is the matter with you?"
said he gently, and, as she only sobbed louder, he continued: "are you a woman, or a spirit of the woods?'"
i am a woman," she answered slowly, wiping her eyes with a leaf of the creeper that hung about her.
"then why do you cry?"
he persisted."
i have many things to cry for," she replied, "more than you could ever guess."
"come home with me," said the prince; "it is not very far.
come home to my father and mother.
i am a king's son."
"then why are you here?"
she said, opening her eyes and staring at him.
"once every month i and my friends shoot birds in the forest," he answered, "but i was tired and bade them leave me to rest.
and you -- what are you doing up in this tree?"
at that she began to cry again, and told the king's son all that had befallen her since the death of her mother."
i can not come down with you, for i do not like anyone to see me," she ended with a sob.
"oh!
i will manage all that," said the king's son, and swinging himself to a lower branch, he bade his slave go quickly into the town, and bring back with him four strong men and a curtained litter.
when the man was gone, the girl climbed down, and hid herself on the ground in some bushes.
very soon the slave returned with the litter, which was placed on the ground close to the bushes where the girl lay.
"now go, all of you, and call my attendants, for i do not wish to say here any longer," he said to the men, and as soon as they were out of sight he bade the girl get into the litter, and fasten the curtains tightly.
then he got in on the other side, and waited till his attendants came up.
"what is the matter, o son of a king?"
asked they, breathless with running."
i think i am ill; i am cold," he said, and signing to the bearers, he drew the curtains, and was carried through the forest right inside his own house.
"tell my father and mother that i have a fever, and want some gruel," said he, "and bid them send it quickly."
so the slave hastened to the king's palace and gave his message, which troubled both the king and the queen greatly.
a pot of hot gruel was instantly prepared, and carried over to the sick man, and as soon as the council which was sitting was over, the king and his ministers went to pay him a visit, bearing a message from the queen that she would follow a little later.
now the prince had pretended to be ill in order to soften his parent's hearts, and the next day he declared he felt better, and, getting into his litter, was carried to the palace in state, drums being beaten all along the road.
he dismounted at the foot of the steps and walked up, a great parasol being held over his head by a slave.
then he entered the cool, dark room where his father and mother were sitting, and said to them: "i saw a girl yesterday in the forest whom i wish to marry, and, unknown to my attendants, i brought her back to my house in a litter.
give me your consent, i beg, for no other woman pleases me as well, even though she has but one hand!"
of course the king and queen would have preferred a daughter-in-law with two hands, and one who could have brought riches with her, but they could not bear to say "no" to their son, so they told him it should be as he chose, and that the wedding feast should be prepared immediately.
the girl could scarcely believe her good fortune, and, in gratitude for all the kindness shown her, was so useful and pleasant to her husband's parents that they soon loved her.
by and bye a baby was born to her, and soon after that the prince was sent on a journey by his father to visit some of the distant towns of the kingdom, and to set right things that had gone wrong.
no sooner had he started than the girl's brother, who had wasted all the riches his wife had brought him in recklessness and folly, and was now very poor, chanced to come into the town, and as he passed he heard a man say, "do you know that the king's son has married a woman who has lost one of her hands?"
on hearing these words the brother stopped and asked, "where did he find such a woman?"
"in the forest," answered the man, and the cruel brother guessed at once it must be his sister.
a great rage took possession of his soul as he thought of the girl whom he had tried to ruin being after all so much better off than himself, and he vowed that he would work her ill.
therefore that very afternoon he made his way to the palace and asked to see the king.
when he was admitted to his presence, he knelt down and touched the ground with his forehead, and the king bade him stand up and tell wherefore he had come.
"by the kindness of your heart have you been deceived, o king," said he.
"your son has married a girl who has lost a hand.
do you know why she had lost it?
she was a witch, and has wedded three husbands, and each husband she has put to death with her arts.
then the people of the town cut off her hand, and turned her into the forest.
and what i say is true, for her town is my town also."
the king listened, and his face grew dark.
unluckily he had a hasty temper, and did not stop to reason, and, instead of sending to the town, and discovering people who knew his daughter-in-law and could have told him how hard she had worked and how poor she had been, he believed all the brother's lying words, and made the queen believe them too.
together they took counsel what they should do, and in the end they decided that they also would put her out of the town.
but this did not content the brother.
"kill her," he said.
"it is no more than she deserves for daring to marry the king's son.
then she can do no more hurt to anyone."
"we can not kill her," answered they; "if we did, our son would assuredly kill us.
let us do as the others did, and put her out of the town.
and with this the envious brother was forced to be content.
the poor girl loved her husband very much, but just then the baby was more to her than all else in the world, and as long as she had him with her, she did not very much mind anything.
so, taking her son on her arm, and hanging a little earthen pot for cooking round her neck, she left her house with its great peacock fans and slaves and seats of ivory, and plunged into the forest.
for a while she walked, not knowing whither she went, then by and bye she grew tired, and sat under a tree to rest and to hush her baby to sleep.
suddenly she raised her eyes, and saw a snake wriggling from under the bushes towards her."
i am a dead woman," she said to herself, and stayed quite still, for indeed she was too frightened to move.
in another minute the snake had reached her side, and to her surprise he spoke.
"open your earthen pot, and let me go in.
save me from sun, and i will save you from rain," and she opened the pot, and when the snake had slipped in, she put on the cover.
soon she beheld another snake coming after the other one, and when it had reached her it stopped and said, "did you see a small grey snake pass this way just now?"
"yes," she answered, "it was going very quickly."
"ah, i must hurry and catch it up," replied the second snake, and it hastened on.
when it was out of sight, a voice from the pot said: "uncover me," and she lifted the lid, and the little grey snake slid rapidly to the ground."
i am safe now," he said.
"but tell me, where are you going?'"
i can not tell you, for i do not know," she answered."
i am just wandering in the wood."
"follow me, and let us go home together," said the snake, and the girl followed his through the forest and along the green paths, till they came to a great lake, where they stopped to rest.
"the sun is hot," said the snake, "and you have walked far.
take your baby and bathe in that cool place where the boughs of the tree stretch far over the water."
"yes, i will," answered she, and they went in.
the baby splashed and crowed with delight, and then he gave a spring and fell right in, down, down, down, and his mother could not find him, though she searched all among the reeds.
full of terror, she made her way back to the bank, and called to the snake, "my baby is gone!
-- he is drowned, and never shall i see him again."
"go in once more," said the snake, "and feel everywhere, even among the trees that have their roots in the water, lest perhaps he may be held fast there."
swiftly she went back and felt everywhere with her whole hand, even putting her fingers into the tiniest crannies, where a crab could hardly have taken shelter.
"no, he is not here," she cried.
"how am i to live without him?"
but the snake took no notice, and only answered, "put in your other arm too."
"what is the use of that?"
she asked, "when it has no hand to feel with?"
but all the same she did as she was bid, and in an instant the wounded arm touched something round and soft, lying between two stones in a clump of reeds.
"my baby, my baby!"
she shouted, and lifted him up, merry and laughing, and not a bit hurt or frightened.
"have you found him this time?"
asked the snake.
"yes, oh, yes!"
she answered, "and, why -- why -- i have got my hand back again!"
and from sheer joy she burst into tears.
the snake let her weep for a little while, and then he said -- "now we will journey on to my family, and we will all repay you for the kindness you showed to me."
"you have done more than enough in giving me back my hand," replied the girl; but the snake only smiled.
"be quick, lest the sun should set," he answered, and began to wriggle along so fast that the girl could hardly follow him.
by and bye they arrived at the house in a tree where the snake lived, when he was not travelling with his father and mother.
and he told them all his adventures, and how he had escaped from his enemy.
the father and mother snake could not do enough to show their gratitude.
they made their guest lie down on a hammock woven of the strong creepers which hung from bough to bough, till she was quite rested after her wanderings, while they watched the baby and gave him milk to drink from the cocoa-nuts which they persuaded their friends the monkeys to crack for them.
they even managed to carry small fruit tied up in their tails for the baby's mother, who felt at last that she was safe and at peace.
not that she forgot her husband, for she often thought of him and longed to show him her son, and in the night she would sometimes lie awake and wonder where he was.
in this manner many weeks passed by.
and what was the prince doing?
well, he had fallen very ill when he was on the furthest border of the kingdom, and he was nursed by some kind people who did not know who he was, so that the king and queen heard nothing about him.
when he was better he made his way home again, and into his father's palace, where he found a strange man standing behind the throne with the peacock's feathers.
this was his wife's brother, whom the king had taken into high favour, though, of course, the prince was quite ignorant of what had happened.
for a moment the king and queen stared at their son, as if he had been unknown to them; he had grown so thin and weak during his illness that his shoulders were bowed like those of an old man.
"have you forgotten me so soon?"
he asked.
at the sound of his voice they gave a cry and ran towards him, and poured out questions as to what had happened, and why he looked like that.
but the prince did not answer any of them.
"how is my wife?"
he said.
there was a pause.
then the queen replied: "she is dead."
"dead!"
he repeated, stepping a little backwards.
"and my child?"
"he is dead too."
the young man stood silent.
then he said, "show me their graves."
at these words the king, who had been feeling rather uncomfortable, took heart again, for had he not prepared two beautiful tombs for his son to see, so that he might never, never guess what had been done to his wife?
all these months the king and queen had been telling each other how good and merciful they had been not to take her brother's advice and to put her to death.
but now, this somehow did not seem so certain.
then the king led the way to the courtyard just behind the palace, and through the gate into a beautiful garden where stood two splendid tombs in a green space under the trees.
the prince advanced alone, and, resting his head against the stone, he burst into tears.
his father and mother stood silently behind with a curious pang in their souls which they did not quite understand.
could it be that they were ashamed of themselves?
but after a while the prince turned round, and walking past them in to the palace he bade the slaves bring him mourning.
for seven days no one saw him, but at the end of them he went out hunting, and helped his father rule his people.
only no one dared to speak to him of his wife and son.
at last one morning, after the girl had been lying awake all night thinking of her husband, she said to her friend the snake: "you have all shown me much kindness, but now i am well again, and want to go home and hear some news of my husband, and if he still mourns for me!"
now the heart of the snake was sad at her words, but he only said: "yes, thus it must be; go and bid farewell to my father and mother, but if they offer you a present, see that you take nothing but my father's ring and my mother's casket."
so she went to the parent snakes, who wept bitterly at the thought of losing her, and offered her gold and jewels as much as she could carry in remembrance of them.
but the girl shook her head and pushed the shining heap away from her."
i shall never forget you, never," she said in a broken voice, "but the only tokens i will accept from you are that little ring and this old casket."
the two snakes looked at each other in dismay.
the ring and the casket were the only things they did not want her to have.
then after a short pause they spoke.
"why do you want the ring and casket so much?
who has told you of them?"
"oh, nobody; it is just my fancy," answered she.
but the old snakes shook their heads and replied: "not so; it is our son who told you, and, as he said, so it must be.
if you need food, or clothes, or a house, tell the ring and it will find them for you.
and if you are unhappy or in danger, tell the casket and it will set things right."
then they both gave her their blessing, and she picked up her baby and went her way.
she walked for a long time, till at length she came near the town where her husband and his father dwelt.
here she stopped under a grove of palm trees, and told the ring that she wanted a house.
"it is ready, mistress," whispered a queer little voice which made her jump, and, looking behind her, she saw a lovely palace made of the finest woods, and a row of slaves with tall fans bowing before the door.
glad indeed was she to enter, for she was very tired, and, after eating a good supper of fruit and milk which she found in one of the rooms, she flung herself down on a pile of cushions and went to sleep with her baby beside her.
here she stayed quietly, and every day the baby grew taller and stronger, and very soon he could run about and even talk.
of course the neighbours had a great deal to say about the house which had been built so quickly -- so very quickly -- on the outskirts of the town, and invented all kinds of stories about the rich lady who lived in it.
and by and bye, when the king returned with his son from the wars, some of these tales reached his ears.
"it is really very odd about that house under the palms," he said to the queen;" i must find out something of the lady whom no one ever sees.
i daresay it is not a lady at all, but a gang of conspirators who want to get possession of my throne.
to-morrow i shall take my son and my chief ministers and insist on getting inside."
soon after sunrise next day the prince's wife was standing on a little hill behind the house, when she saw a cloud of dust coming through the town.
a moment afterwards she heard faintly the roll of the drums that announced the king's presence, and saw a crowd of people approaching the grove of palms.
her heart beat fast.
could her husband be among them?
in any case they must not discover her there; so just bidding the ring prepare some food for them, she ran inside, and bound a veil of golden gauze round her head and face.
then, taking the child's hand, she went to the door and waited.
in a few minutes the whole procession came up, and she stepped forward and begged them to come in and rest.
"willingly," answered the king; "go first, and we will follow you."
they followed her into a long dark room, in which was a table covered with gold cups and baskets filled with dates and cocoa-nuts and all kinds of ripe yellow fruits, and the king and the prince sat upon cushions and were served by slaves, while the ministers, among whom she recognised her own brother, stood behind.
"ah, i owe all my misery to him," she said to herself.
"from the first he has hated me," but outwardly she showed nothing.
and when the king asked her what news there was in the town she only answered: "you have ridden far; eat first, and drink, for you must be hungry and thirsty, and then i will tell you my news."
"you speak sense," answered the king, and silence prevailed for some time longer.
then he said: "now, lady, i have finished, and am refreshed, therefore tell me, i pray you, who you are, and whence you come?
but, first, be seated."
she bowed her head and sat down on a big scarlet cushion, drawing her little boy, who was asleep in a corner, on to her knee, and began to tell the story of her life.
as her brother listened, he would fain have left the house and hidden himself in the forest, but it was his duty to wave the fan of peacock's feathers over the king's head to keep off the flies, and he knew he would be seized by the royal guards if he tried to desert his post.
he must stay where he was, there was no help for it, and luckily for him the king was too much interested in the tale to notice that the fan had ceased moving, and that flies were dancing right on the top of his thick curly hair.
the story went on, but the story-teller never once looked at the prince, even through her veil, though he on his side never moved his eyes from her.
when she reached the part where she had sat weeping in the tree, the king's son could restrain himself no longer.
"it is my wife," he cried, springing to where she sat with the sleeping child in her lap.
"they have lied to me, and you are not dead after all, nor the boy either!
but what has happened?
why did they lie to me?
and why did you leave my house where you were safe?"
and he turned and looked fiercely at his father.
"let me finish my tale first, and then you will know," answered she, throwing back her veil, and she told how her brother had come to the palace and accused her of being a witch, and had tried to persuade the king to slay her.
"but he would not do that," she continued softly, "and after all, if i had stayed on in your house, i should never have met the snake, nor have got my hand back again.
so let us forget all about it, and be happy once more, for see!
our son is growing quite a big boy."
"and what shall be done to your brother?"
asked the king, who was glad to think that someone had acted in this matter worse than himself.
"put him out of the town," answered she.
from "swaheli tales," by e. steere.
the bones of djulung in a beautiful island that lies in the southern seas, where chains of gay orchids bind the trees together, and the days and nights are equally long and nearly equally hot, there once lived a family of seven sisters.
their father and mother were dead, and they had no brothers, so the eldest girl ruled over the rest, and they all did as she bade them.
one sister had to clean the house, a second carried water from the spring in the forest, a third cooked their food, while to the youngest fell the hardest task of all, for she had to cut and bring home the wood which was to keep the fire continually burning.
this was very hot and tiring work, and when she had fed the fire and heaped up in a corner the sticks that were to supply it till the next day, she often threw herself down under a tree, and went sound asleep.
one morning, however, as she was staggering along with her bundle on her back, she thought that the river which flowed past their hut looked so cool and inviting that she determined to bathe in it, instead of taking her usual nap.
hastily piling up her load by the fire, and thrusting some sticks into the flame, she ran down to the river and jumped in.
how delicious it was diving and swimming and floating in the dark forest, where the trees were so thick that you could hardly see the sun!
but after a while she began to look about her, and her eyes fell on a little fish that seemed made out of a rainbow, so brilliant were the colours he flashed out."
i should like him for a pet," thought the girl, and the next time the fish swam by, she put out her hand and caught him.
then she ran along the grassy path till she came to a cave in front of which a stream fell over some rocks into a basin.
here she put her little fish, whose name was djulung-djulung, and promising to return soon and bring him some dinner, she went away.
by the time she got home, the rice for their dinner was ready cooked, and the eldest sister gave the other six their portions in wooden bowls.
but the youngest did not finish hers, and when no one was looking, stole off to the fountain in the forest where the little fish was swimming about.
"see!
i have not forgotten you," she cried, and one by one she let the grains of rice fall into the water, where the fish gobbled them up greedily, for he had never tasted anything so nice.
"that is all for to-day," she said at last, "but i will come again to-morrow," and biding him good-bye she went down the path.
now the girl did not tell her sisters about the fish, but every day she saved half of her rice to give him, and called him softly in a little song she had made for herself.
if she sometimes felt hungry, no one knew of it, and, indeed, she did not mind that much, when she saw how the fish enjoyed it.
and the fish grew fat and big, but the girl grew thin and weak, and the loads of wood felt heavier every day, and at last her sisters noticed it.
then they took counsel together, and watched her to see what she did, and one of them followed her to the fountain where djulung lived, and saw her give him all the rice she had saved from her breakfast.
hastening home the sister told the others what she had witnessed, and that a lovely fat fish might be had for the catching.
so the eldest sister went and caught him, and he was boiled for supper, but the youngest sister was away in the woods, and did not know anything about it.
next morning she went as usual to the cave, and sang her little song, but no djulung came to answer it; twice and thrice she sang, then threw herself on her knees by the edge, and peered into the dark water, but the trees cast such a deep shadow that her eyes could not pierce it.
"djulung can not be dead, or his body would be floating on the surface," she said to herself, and rising to her feet she set out homewards, feeling all of a sudden strangely tired.
"what is the matter with me?"
she thought, but somehow or other she managed to reach the hut, and threw herself down in a corner, where she slept so soundly that for days no one was able to wake her.
at length, one morning early, a cock began to crow so loud that she could sleep no longer and as he continued to crow she seemed to understand what he was saying, and that he was telling her that djulung was dead, killed and eaten by her sisters, and that his bones lay buried under the kitchen fire.
very softly she got up, and took up the large stone under the fire, and creeping out carried the bones to the cave by the fountain, where she dug a hole and buried them anew.
and as she scooped out the hole with a stick she sang a song, bidding the bones grow till they became a tree -- a tree that reached up so high into the heavens that its leaves would fall across the sea into another island, whose king would pick them up.
as there was no djulung to give her rice to, the girl soon became fat again, and as she was able to do her work as of old, her sisters did not trouble about her.
they never guessed that when she went into the forest to gather her sticks, she never failed to pay a visit to the tree, which grew taller and more wonderful day by day.
never was such a tree seen before.
its trunk was of iron, its leaves were of silk, its flowers of gold, and its fruit of diamonds, and one evening, though the girl did not know it, a soft breeze took one of the leaves, and blew it across the sea to the feet of one of the king's attendants.
"what a curious leaf!
i have never beheld one like it before.
i must show it to the king," he said, and when the king saw it he declared he would never rest until he had found the tree which bore it, even if he had to spend the rest of his life in visiting the islands that lay all round.
happily for him, he began with the island that was nearest, and here in the forest he suddenly saw standing before him the iron tree, its boughs covered with shining leaves like the one he carried about him.
"but what sort of a tree is it, and how did it get here?"
he asked of the attendants he had with him.
no one could answer him, but as they were about to pass out of the forest a little boy went by, and the king stopped and inquired if there was anyone living in the neighbourhood whom he might question.
"seven girls live in a hut down there," replied the boy, pointing with his finger to where the sun was setting.
"then go and bring them here, and i will wait," said the king, and the boy ran off and told the sisters that a great chief, with strings of jewels round his neck, had sent for them.
pleased and excited the six elder sisters at once followed the boy, but the youngest, who was busy, and who did not care about strangers, stayed behind, to finish the work she was doing.
the king welcomed the girls eagerly, and asked them all manner of questions about the tree, but as they had never even heard of its existence, they could tell him nothing.
"and if we, who live close by the forest, do not know, you may be sure no one does," added the eldest, who was rather cross at finding this was all that the king wanted of them.
"but the boy told me there were seven of you, and there are only six here," said the king.
"oh, the youngest is at home, but she is always half asleep, and is of no use except to cut wood for the fire," replied they in a breath.
"that may be, but perhaps she dreams," answered the king.
"anyway, i will speak to her also."
then he signed to one of his attendants, who followed the path that the boy had taken to the hut.
soon the man returned, with the girl walking behind him.
and as soon as she reached the tree it bowed itself to the earth before her, and she stretched out her hand and picked some of its leaves and flowers and gave them to the king.
"the maiden who can work such wonders is fitted to be the wife of the greatest chief," he said, and so he married her, and took her with him across the sea to his own home, where they lived happily for ever after.
from "folk lore," by a. f. mackenzie.
the sea king's gift there was once a fisherman who was called salmon, and his christian name was matte.
he lived by the shore of the big sea; where else could he live?
he had a wife called maie; could you find a better name for her?
in winter they dwelt in a little cottage by the shore, but in spring they flitted to a red rock out in the sea and stayed there the whole summer until it was autumn.
the cottage on the rock was even smaller than the other; it had a wooden bolt instead of an iron lock to the door, a stone hearth, a flagstaff, and a weather-cock on the roof.
the rock was called ahtola, and was not larger than the market-place of a town.
between the crevices there grew a little rowan tree and four alder bushes.
heaven only knows how they ever came there; perhaps they were brought by the winter storms.
besides that, there flourished some tufts of velvety grass, some scattered reeds, two plants of the yellow herb called tansy, four of a red flower, and a pretty white one; but the treasures of the rock consisted of three roots of garlic, which maie had put in a cleft.
rock walls sheltered them on the north side, and the sun shone on them on the south.
this does not seem much, but it sufficed maie for a herb plot.
all good things go in threes, so matte and his wife fished for salmon in spring, for herring in summer, and for cod in winter.
when on saturdays the weather was fine and the wind favourable, they sailed to the nearest town, sold their fish, and went to church on sunday.
but it often happened that for weeks at a time they were quite alone on the rock ahtola, and had nothing to look at except their little yellow-brown dog, which bore the grand name of prince, their grass tufts, their bushes and blooms, the sea bays and fish, a stormy sky and the blue, white-crested waves.
for the rock lay far away from the land, and there were no green islets or human habitations for miles round, only here and there appeared a rock of the same red stone as ahtola, besprinkled day and night with the ocean spray.
matte and maie were industrious, hard-working folk, happy and contented in their poor hut, and they thought themselves rich when they were able to salt as many casks of fish as they required for winter and yet have some left over with which to buy tobacco for the old man, and a pound or two of coffee for his wife, with plenty of burned corn and chicory in it to give it a flavour.
besides that, they had bread, butter, fish, a beer cask, and a buttermilk jar; what more did they require?
all would have gone well had not maie been possessed with a secret longing which never let her rest; and this was, how she could manage to become the owner of a cow.
"what would you do with a cow?"
asked matte.
"she could not swim so far, and our boat is not large enough to bring her over here; and even if we had her, we have nothing to feed her on."
"we have four alder bushes and sixteen tufts of grass," rejoined maie.
"yes, of course," laughed matte, "and we have also three plants of garlic.
garlic would be fine feeding for her."
"every cow likes salt herring," rejoined his wife.
"even prince is fond of fish."
"that may be," said her husband.
"methinks she would soon be a dear cow if we had to feed her on salt herring.
all very well for prince, who fights with the gulls over the last morsel.
put the cow out of your head, mother, we are very well off as we are."
maie sighed.
she knew well that her husband was right, but she could not give up the idea of a cow.
the buttermilk no longer tasted as good as usual in the coffee; she thought of sweet cream and fresh butter, and of how there was nothing in the world to be compared with them.
one day as matte and his wife were cleaning herring on the shore they heard prince barking, and soon there appeared a gaily painted boat with three young men in it, steering towards the rock.
they were students, on a boating excursion, and wanted to get something to eat.
"bring us a junket, good mother," cried they to maie.
"ah!
if only i had such a thing!"
sighed maie."
a can of fresh milk, then," said the students; "but it must not be skim."
"yes, if only i had it!"
sighed the old woman, still more deeply.
"what!
have n't you got a cow?"
maie was silent.
this question so struck her to the heart that she could not reply.
"we have no cow," matte answered; "but we have good smoked herring, and can cook them in a couple of hours."
"all right, then, that will do," said the students, as they flung themselves down on the rock, while fifty silvery-white herring were turning on the spit in front of the fire.
"what's the name of this little stone in the middle of the ocean?"
asked one of them.
"ahtola," answered the old man.
"well, you should want for nothing when you live in the sea king's dominion."
matte did not understand.
he had never read kalevala and knew nothing of the sea gods of old, but the students proceeded to explain to him.
-lsb- fn # 2: kalevala is a collection of old finnish songs about gods and heroes. -rsb-
"ahti," said they, "is a mighty king who lives in his dominion of ahtola, and has a rock at the bottom of the sea, and possesses besides a treasury of good things.
he rules over all fish and animals of the deep; he has the finest cows and the swiftest horses that ever chewed grass at the bottom of the ocean.
he who stands well with ahti is soon a rich man, but one must beware in dealing with him, for he is very changeful and touchy.
even a little stone thrown into the water might offend him, and then as he takes back his gift, he stirs up the sea into a storm and drags the sailors down into the depths.
ahti owns also the fairest maidens, who bear the train of his queen wellamos, and at the sound of music they comb their long, flowing locks, which glisten in the water."
"oh!"
cried matte, "have your worships really seen all that?"
"we have as good as seen it," said the students.
"it is all printed in a book, and everything printed is true."
"i'm not so sure of that," said matte, as he shook his head.
but the herring were now ready, and the students ate enough for six, and gave prince some cold meat which they happened to have in the boat.
prince sat on his hind legs with delight and mewed like a pussy cat.
when all was finished, the students handed matte a shining silver coin, and allowed him to fill his pipe with a special kind of tobacco.
they then thanked him for his kind hospitality and went on their journey, much regretted by prince, who sat with a woeful expression and whined on the shore as long as he could see a flip of the boat's white sail in the distance.
maie had never uttered a word, but thought the more.
she had good ears, and had laid to heart the story about ahti.
"how delightful," thought she to herself, "to possess a fairy cow!
how delicious every morning and evening to draw milk from it, and yet have no trouble about the feeding, and to keep a shelf near the window for dishes of milk and junkets!
but this will never be my luck."
"what are you thinking of?"
asked matte.
"nothing," said his wife; but all the time she was pondering over some magic rhymes she had heard in her childhood from an old lame man, which were supposed to bring luck in fishing.
"what if i were to try?"
thought she.
now this was saturday, and on saturday evenings matte never set the herring-net, for he did not fish on sunday.
towards evening, however, his wife said: "let us set the herring-net just this once."
"no," said her husband, "it is a saturday night."
"last night was so stormy, and we caught so little," urged his wife; "to-night the sea is like a mirror, and with the wind in this direction the herring are drawing towards land."
"but there are streaks in the north-western sky, and prince was eating grass this evening," said the old man.
"surely he has not eaten my garlic," exclaimed the old woman.
"no; but there will be rough weather by to-morrow at sunset," rejoined matte.
"listen to me," said his wife, "we will set only one net close to the shore, and then we shall be able to finish up our half-filled cask, which will spoil if it stands open so long."
the old man allowed himself to be talked over, and so they rowed out with the net.
when they reached the deepest part of the water, she began to hum the words of the magic rhyme, altering the words to suit the longing of her heart: oh, ahti, with the long, long beard, who dwellest in the deep blue sea, finest treasures have i heard, and glittering fish belong to thee.
the richest pearls beyond compare are stored up in thy realm below, and ocean's cows so sleek and fair feed on the grass in thy green meadow.
king of the waters, far and near, i ask not of thy golden store, i wish not jewels of pearl to wear, nor silver either, ask i for, but one is odd and even is two, so give me a cow, sea-king so bold, and in return i'll give to you a slice of the moon, and the sun's gold.
"what's that you're humming?"
asked the old man.
"oh, only the words of an old rhyme that keeps running in my head," answered the old woman; and she raised her voice and went on: oh, ahti, with the long, long beard, who dwellest in the deep blue sea, a thousand cows are in thy herd, i pray thee give one onto me.
"that's a stupid sort of song," said matte.
"what else should one beg of the sea-king but fish?
but such songs are not for sunday."
his wife pretended not to hear him, and sang and sang the same tune all the time they were on the water.
matte heard nothing more as he sat and rowed the heavy boat, while thinking of his cracked pipe and the fine tobacco.
then they returned to the island, and soon after went to bed.
but neither matte nor maie could sleep a wink; the one thought of how he had profaned sunday, and the other of ahti's cow.
about midnight the fisherman sat up, and said to his wife: "dost thou hear anything?"
"no," said she."
i think the twirling of the weathercock on the roof bodes ill," said he; "we shall have a storm."
"oh, it is nothing but your fancy," said his wife.
matte lay down, but soon rose again.
"the weathercock is squeaking now," said he.
"just fancy!
go to sleep," said his wife; and the old man tried to.
for the third time he jumped out of bed.
"ho!
how the weather-cock is roaring at the pitch of its voice, as if it had a fire inside it!
we are going to have a tempest, and must bring in the net."
both rose.
the summer night was as dark as if it had been october, the weather-cock creaked, and the storm was raging in every direction.
as they went out the sea lay around them as white as now, and the spray was dashing right over the fisher-hut.
in all his life matte had never remembered such a night.
to launch the boat and put to sea to rescue the net was a thing not to be thought of.
the fisherman and his wife stood aghast on the doorstep, holding on fast by the doorpost, while the foam splashed over their faces.
"did i not tell thee that there is no luck in sunday fishing?"
said matte sulkily; and his wife was so frightened that she never even once thought of ahti's cows.
as there was nothing to be done, they went in.
their eyes were heavy for lack of slumber, and they slept as soundly as if there had not been such a thing as an angry sea roaring furiously around their lonely dwelling.
when they awoke, the sun was high in the heavens, the tempest had cased, and only the swell of the sea rose in silvery heavings against the red rock.
"what can that be?"
said the old woman, as she peeped out of the door.
"it looks like a big seal," said matte.
"as sure as i live, it's a cow!"
exclaimed maie.
and certainly it was a cow, a fine red cow, fat and flourishing, and looking as if it had been fed all its days on spinach.
it wandered peacefully up and down the shore, and never so much as even looked at the poor little tufts of grass, as if it despised such fare.
matte could not believe his eyes.
but a cow she seemed, and a cow she was found to be; and when the old woman began to milk her, every pitcher and pan, even to the baler, was soon filled with the most delicious milk.
the old man troubled his head in vain as to how she came there, and sallied forth to seek for his lost net.
he had not proceeded far when he found it cast up on the shore, and so full of fish that not a mesh was visible.
"it is all very fine to possess a cow," said matte, as he cleaned the fish; "but what are we going to feed her on?"
"we shall find some means," said his wife; and the cow found the means herself.
she went out and cropped the seaweed which grew in great abundance near the shore, and always kept in good condition.
every one prince alone excepted, thought she was a clever beast; but prince barked at her, for he had now got a rival.
from that day the red rock overflowed with milk and junkets, and every net was filled with fish.
matte and maie grew fat on this fine living, and daily became richer.
she churned quantities of butter, and he hired two men to help him in his fishing.
the sea lay before him like a big fish tank, out of which he hauled as many as he required; and the cow continued to fend for herself.
in autumn, when matte and maie went ashore, the cow went to sea, and in spring, when they returned to the rock, there she stood awaiting them.
"we shall require a better house," said maie the following summer; "the old one is too small for ourselves and the men."
"yes," said matte.
so he built a large cottage, with a real lock to the door, and a store-house for fish as well; and he and his men caught such quantities of fish that they sent tons of salmon, herring, and cod to russian and sweden."
i am quite overworked with so many folk," said maie;" a girl to help me would not come amiss."
"get one, then," said her husband; and so they hired a girl.
then maie said: "we have too little milk for all these folk.
now that i have a servant, with the same amount of trouble she could look after three cows."
"all right, then," said her husband, somewhat provoked, "you can sing a song to the fairies."
this annoyed maie, but nevertheless she rowed out to sea on sunday night and sang as before: oh, ahti, with the long, long beard, who dwellest in the deep blue sea, a thousand cows are in thy herd, i pray thee give three unto me.
the following morning, instead of one, three cows stood on the island, and they all ate seaweed and fended for themselves like the first one.
"art thou satisfied now?"
said matte to his wife."
i should be quite satisfied," said his wife, "if only i had two servants to help, and if i had some finer clothes.
do n't you know that i am addressed as madam?"
"well, well," said her husband.
so maie got several servants and clothes fit for a great lady.
"everything would now be perfect if only we had a little better dwelling for summer.
you might build us a two-storey house, and fetch soil to make a garden.
then you might make a little arbour up there to let us have a sea-view; and we might have a fiddler to fiddle to us of an evening, and a little steamer to take us to church in stormy weather."
"anything more?"
asked matte; but he did everything that his wife wished.
the rock ahtola became so grand and maie so grand that all the sea-urchins and herring were lost in wonderment.
even prince was fed on beefsteaks and cream scones till at last he was as round as a butter jar.
"are you satisfied now?"
asked matte."
i should be quite satisfied," said maie, "if only i had thirty cows.
at least that number is required for such a household."
"go to the fairies," said matte.
his wife set out in the new steamer and sang to the sea-king.
next morning thirty cows stood on the shore, all finding food for themselves.
"know "st thou, good man, that we are far too cramped on this wretched rock, and where am i to find room for so many cows?"
"there is nothing to be done but to pump out the sea."
"rubbish!"
said his wife.
"who can pump out the sea?"
"try with thy new steamer, there is a pump in it."
maie knew well that her husband was only making fun of her, but still her mind was set upon the same subject."
i never could pump the sea out," thought she, "but perhaps i might fill it up, if i were to make a big dam.
i might heap up sand and stones, and make our island as big again."
maie loaded her boat with stones and went out to sea.
the fiddler was with her, and fiddled so finely that ahti and wellamos and all the sea's daughters rose to the surface of the water to listen to the music.
"what is that shining so brightly in the waves?"
asked maie.
"that is sea foam glinting in the sunshine," answered the fiddler.
"throw out the stones," said maie.
the people in the boat began to throw out the stones, splash, splash, right and left, into the foam.
one stone hit the nose of wellamos's chief lady-in-waiting, another scratched the sea queen herself on the cheek, a third plumped close to ahti's head and tore off half of the sea-king's beard; then there was a commotion in the sea, the waves bubbled and bubbled like boiling water in a pot.
"whence comes this gust of wind?"
said maie; and as she spoke the sea opened and swallowed up the steamer.
maie sank to the bottom like a stone, but, stretching out her arms and legs, she rose to the surface, where she found the fiddler's fiddle, and used it as a float.
at the same moment she saw close beside her the terrible head of ahti, and he had only half a beard!"
"why did you throw stones at me?"
roared the sea-king.
"oh, your majesty, it was a mistake!
put some bear's grease on your beard and that will soon make it grow again."
"dame, did i not give you all you asked for -- nay, even more?"
"truly, truly, your majesty.
many thanks for the cows."
"well, where is the gold from the sun and the silver from the moon that you promised me?"
"ah, your majesty, they have been scattered day and night upon the sea, except when the sky was overcast," slyly answered maie.
"i'll teach you!"
roared the sea-king; and with that he gave the fiddle such a "puff" that it sent the old woman up like a sky-rocket on to her island.
there prince lay, as famished as ever, gnawing the carcase of a crow.
there sat matte in his ragged grey jacket, quite alone, on the steps of the old hut, mending a net.
"heavens, mother," said he, "where are you coming from at such a whirlwind pace, and what makes you in such a dripping condition?"
maie looked around her amazed, and said, "where is our two-storey house?"
"what house?"
asked her husband.
"our big house, and the flower garden, and the men and the maids, and the thirty beautiful cows, and the steamer, and everything else?"
"you are talking nonsense, mother," said he.
"the students have quite turned your head, for you sang silly songs last evening while we were rowing, and then you could not sleep till early morning.
we had stormy weather during the night, and when it was past i did not wish to waken you, so rowed out alone to rescue the net."
"but i've seen ahti," rejoined maie.
"you've been lying in bed, dreaming foolish fancies, mother, and then in your sleep you walked into the water."
"but there is the fiddle," said maie."
a fine fiddle!
it is only an old stick.
no, no, old woman, another time we will be more careful.
good luck never attends fishing on a sunday."
from z. topelius.
the raspberry worm "phew!"
cried lisa.
"ugh!"
cried aina.
"what now?"
cried the big sister."
a worm!"
cried lisa.
"on the raspberry!"
cried aina.
"kill it!"
cried otto.
"what a fuss over a poor little worm!"
said the big sister scornfully.
"yes, when we had cleaned the raspberries so carefully," said lisa.
"it crept out from that very large one," put in aina.
"and supposing someone had eaten the raspberry," said lisa.
"then they would have eaten the worm, too," said aina.
"well, what harm?"
said otto.
"eat a worm!"
cried lisa.
"and kill him with one bite!"
murmured aina.
"just think of it!"
said otto laughing.
"now it is crawling on the table," cried aina again.
"blow it away!"
said the big sister.
"tramp on it!"
laughed otto.
but lisa took a raspberry leaf, swept the worm carefully on to the leaf and carried it out into the yard.
then aina noticed that a sparrow sitting on the fence was just ready to pounce on the poor little worm, so she took up the leaf, carried it out into the wood and hid it under a raspberry bush where the greedy sparrow could not find it.
yes, and what more is there to tell about a raspberry worm?
who would give three straws for such a miserable little thing?
yes, but who would not like to live in such a pretty home as it lives in; in such a fresh fragrant dark-red cottage, far away in the quiet wood among flowers and green leaves!
now it was just dinner time, so they all had a dinner of raspberries and cream.
"be careful with the sugar, otto," said the big sister; but otto's plate was like a snowdrift in winter, with just a little red under the snow.
soon after dinner the big sister said: "now we have eaten up the raspberries and we have none left to make preserve for the winter; it would be fine if we could get two baskets full of berries, then we could clean them this evening, and to-morrow we could cook them in the big preserving pan, and then we should have raspberry jam to eat on our bread!"
"come, let us go to the wood and pick," said lisa.
"yes, let us," said aina.
"you take the yellow basket and i will take the green one."
"do n't get lost, and come back safely in the evening," said the big sister.
"greetings to the raspberry worm," said otto, mockingly.
"next time i meet him i shall do him the honour of eating him up."
so aina and lisa went off to the wood.
ah!
how delightful it was there, how beautiful!
it was certainly tiresome sometimes climbing over the fallen trees, and getting caught in the branches, and waging war with the juniper bushes and the midges, but what did that matter?
the girls climbed well in their short dresses, and soon they were deep in the wood.
there were plenty of bilberries and elder berries, but no raspberries.
they wandered on and on, and at last they came... no, it could not be true!
... they came to a large raspberry wood.
the wood had been on fire once, and now raspberry bushes had grown up, and there were raspberry bushes and raspberry bushes as far as the eye could see.
every bush was weighted to the ground with the largest, dark red, ripe raspberries, such a wealth of berries as two little berry pickers had never found before!
lisa picked, aina picked.
lisa ate, aina ate, and in a little while their baskets were full.
"now we shall go home," said aina.
"no, let us gather a few more," said lisa.
so they put the baskets down on the ground and began to fill their pinafores, and it was not long before their pinafores were full, too.
"now we shall go home," said lina.
"yes, now we shall go home," said aina.
both girls took a basket in one hand and held up her apron in the other and then turned to go home.
but that was easier said than done.
they had never been so far in the great wood before, they could not find any road nor path, and soon the girls noticed that they had lost their way.
the worst of it was that the shadows of the tress were becoming so long in the evening sunlight, the birds were beginning to fly home, and the day was closing in.
at last the sun went down behind the pine tops, and it was cool and dusky in the great wood.
the girls became anxious but went steadily on, expecting that the wood would soon end, and that they would see the smoke from the chimneys of their home.
after they had wandered on for a long time it began to grow dark.
at last they reached a great plain overgrown with bushes, and when they looked around them, they saw, as much as they could in the darkness, that they were among the same beautiful raspberry bushes from which they had picked their baskets and their aprons full.
then they were so tired that they sat down on a stone and began to cry."
i am so hungry," said lisa.
"yes," said aina, "if we had only two good meat sandwiches now."
as she said that, she felt something in her hand, and when she looked down, she saw a large sandwich of bread and chicken, and at the same time lisa said: "how very queer!
i have a sandwich in my hand."
"and i, too," said aina.
"will you dare to eat it?"
"of course i will," said lisa.
"ah, if we only had a good glass of milk now!"
just as she said that she felt a large glass of milk between her fingers, and at the same time aina cried out, "lisa!
lisa!
i have a glass of milk in my hand!
is n't it queer?"
the girls, however, were very hungry, so they ate and drank with a good appetite.
when they had finished aina yawned, stretched out her arms and said: "oh, if only we had a nice soft bed to sleep on now!"
scarcely had she spoken before she felt a nice soft bed by her side, and there beside lisa was one too.
this seemed to the girls more and more wonderful, but tired and sleepy as they were, they thought no more about it, but crept into the little beds, drew the coverlets over their heads and were soon asleep.
when they awoke the sun was high in the heavens, the wood was beautiful in the summer morning, and the birds were flying about in the branches and the tree tops.
at first the girls were filled with wonder when they saw that they had slept in the wood among the raspberry bushes.
they looked at each other, they looked at their beds, which were of the finest flax covered over with leaves and moss.
at last lisa said: "are you awake, aina?"
"yes," said aina.
"but i am still dreaming," said lisa.
"no," said aina, "but there is certainly some good fairy living among these raspberry bushes.
ah, if we had only a hot cup of coffee now, and a nice piece of white bread to dip into it!"
scarcely had she finished speaking when she saw beside her a little silver tray with a gilt coffee-pot, two cups of rare porcelain, a sugar basin of fine crystal, silver sugar tongs, and some good fresh white bread.
the girls poured out the beautiful coffee, put in the cream and sugar, and tasted it; never in their lives had they drunk such beautiful coffee.
"now i should like to know very much who has given us all this," said lisa gratefully."
i have, my little girls," said a voice just then from the bushes.
the children looked round wonderingly, and saw a little kind-looking old man, in a white coat and a red cap, limping out from among the bushes, for he was lame in his left foot; neither lisa nor aina could utter a word, they were so filled with surprise.
"do n't be afraid, little girls," he said smiling kindly at them; he could not laugh properly because his mouth was crooked.
"welcome to my kingdom!
have you slept well and eaten well and drunk well?"
he asked.
"yes, indeed we have," said both the girls, "but tell us..." and they wanted to ask who the old man was, but were afraid to."
i will tell you who i am," said the old man;" i am the raspberry king, who reigns over all this kingdom of raspberry bushes, and i have lived here for more than a thousand years.
but the great spirit who rules over the woods, and the sea, and the sky, did not want me to become proud of my royal power and my long life.
therefore he decreed that one day in every hundred years i should change into a little raspberry worm, and live in that weak and helpless form from sunrise to sunset.
during that time my life is dependent on the little worm's life, so that a bird can eat me, a child can pick me with the berries and trample under foot my thousand years of life.
now yesterday was just my transformation day, and i was taken with the raspberry and would have been trampled to death if you had not saved my life.
until sunset i lay helpless in the grass, and when i was swept away from your table i twisted one of my feet, and my mouth became crooked with terror; but when evening came and i could take my own form again, i looked for you to thank you and reward you.
then i found you both here in my kingdom, and tried to meet you both as well as i could without frightening you.
now i will send a bird from my wood to show you the way home.
good-bye, little children, thank you for your kind hearts; the raspberry king can show that he is not ungrateful."
the children shook hands with the old man and thanked him, feeling very glad that they had saved the little raspberry worm.
they were just going when the old man turned round, smiled mischievously with his crooked mouth, and said: "greetings to otto from me, and tell him when i meet him again i shall do him the honour of eating him up."
"oh, please do n't do that," cried both the girls, very frightened.
"well, for your sake i will forgive him," said the old man," i am not revengeful.
greetings to otto and tell him that he may expect a gift from me, too.
good-bye."
the two girls, light of heart, now took their berries and ran off through the wood after the bird; and soon it began to get lighter in the wood and they wondered how they could have lost their way yesterday, it seemed so easy and plain now.
one can imagine what joy there was when the two reached home.
everyone had been looking for them, and the big sister had not been able to sleep, for she thought the wolves had eaten them up.
otto met them; he had a basket in his hand and said: "look, here is something that an old man has just left for you."
when the girls looked into the basket they saw a pair of most beautiful bracelets of precious stones, dark red, and made in the shape of a ripe raspberry and with an inscription: "to lisa and aina"; beside them there was a diamond breast pin in the shape of a raspberry worm: on it was inscribed "otto, never destroy the helpless!"
otto felt rather ashamed: he quite understood what it meant, but he thought that the old man's revenge was a noble one.
the raspberry king had also remembered the big sister, for when she went in to set the table for dinner, she found eleven big baskets of most beautiful raspberries, and no one knew how they had come there, but everyone guessed.
and so there was such a jam-making as had never been seen before, and if you like to go and help in it, you might perhaps get a little, for they must surely be making jam still to this very day.
from z. topelius.
the stones of plouhinec perhaps some of you may have read a book called "kenneth; or the rear-guard of the grand army" of napoleon.
if so, you will remember how the two scotch children found in russia were taken care of by the french soldiers and prevented as far as possible from suffering from the horrors of the terrible retreat.
one of the soldiers, a breton, often tried to make them forget how cold and hungry they were by telling them tales of his native country, brittany, which is full of wonderful things.
the best and warmest place round the camp fire was always given to the children, but even so the bitter frost would cause them to shiver.
it was then that the breton would begin: "plouhinec is a small town near hennebonne by the sea," and would continue until kenneth or effie would interrupt him with an eager question.
then he forgot how his mother had told him the tale, and was obliged to begin all over again, so the story lasted a long while, and by the time it was ended the children were ready to be rolled up in what ever coverings could be found, and go to sleep.
it is this story that i am going to tell to you.
plouhinec is a small town near hennebonne by the sea.
around it stretches a desolate moor, where no corn can be grown, and the grass is so coarse that no beast grows fat on it.
here and there are scattered groves of fir trees, and small pebbles are so thick on the ground that you might almost take it for a beach.
on the further side, the fairies, or korigans, as the people called them, had set up long long ago two rows of huge stones; indeed, so tall and heavy were they, that it seemed as if all the fairies in the world could not have placed them upright.
not far off them this great stone avenue, and on the banks of the little river intel, there lived a man named marzinne and his sister rozennik.
they always had enough black bread to eat, and wooden shoes or sabots to wear, and a pig to fatten, so the neighbours thought them quite rich; and what was still better, they thought themselves rich also.
rozennik was a pretty girl, who knew how to make the best of everything, and she could, if she wished, have chosen a husband from the young men of plouhinec, but she cared for none of them except bernez, whom she had played with all her life, and bernez, though he worked hard, was so very very poor that marzinne told him roughly he must look elsewhere for a wife.
but whatever marzinne might say rozennik smiled and nodded to him as before, and would often turn her head as she passed, and sing snatches of old songs over her shoulder.
christmas eve had come, and all the men who worked under marzinne or on the farms round about were gathered in the large kitchen to eat the soup flavoured with honey followed by rich puddings, to which they were always invited on this particular night.
in the middle of the table was a large wooden bowl, with wooden spoons placed in a circle round it, so that each might dip in his turn.
the benches were filled, and marzinne was about to give the signal, when the door was suddenly thrown open, and an old man came in, wishing the guests a good appetite for their supper.
there was a pause, and some of the faces looked a little frightened; for the new-comer was well known to them as a beggar, who was also said to be a wizard who cast spells over the cattle, and caused the corn to grow black, and old people to die, of what, nobody knew.
still, it was christmas eve, and besides it was as well not to offend him, so the farmer invited him in, and gave him a seat at the table and a wooden spoon like the rest.
there was not much talk after the beggar's entrance, and everyone was glad when the meal came to an end, and the beggar asked if he might sleep in the stable, as he should die of cold if he were left outside.
rather unwillingly marzinne gave him leave, and bade bernez take the key and unlock the door.
there was certainly plenty of room for a dozen beggars, for the only occupants of the stable were an old donkey and a thin ox; and as the night was bitter, the wizard lay down between them for warmth, with a sack of reeds for a pillow.
he had walked far that day, and even wizards get tired sometimes, so in spite of the hard floor he was just dropping off to sleep, when midnight struck from the church tower of plouhinec.
at this sound the donkey raised her head and shook her ears, and turned towards the ox.
"well, my dear cousin," said she, "and how have you fared since last christmas eve, when we had a conversation together?"
instead of answering at once, the ox eyed the beggar with a long look of disgust.
"what is the use of talking," he replied roughly, "when a good-for-nothing creature like that can hear all we say?"
"oh, you must n't lose time in grumbling," rejoined the donkey gaily, "and do n't you see that the wizard is asleep?"
"his wicked pranks do not make him rich, certainly," said the ox, "and he is n't even clever enough to have found out what a piece of luck might befall him a week hence."
"what piece of luck?"
asked the donkey.
"why, do n't you know," inquired the ox, "that once very hundred years the stones on plouhinec heath go down to drink at the river, and that while they are away the treasures underneath them are uncovered?"
"ah, i remember now," replied the donkey, "but the stones return so quickly to their places, that you certainly would be crushed to death unless you have in your hands a bunch of crowsfoot and of five-leaved trefoil."
"yes, but that is not enough," said the ox; "even supposing you get safely by, the treasure you have brought with you will crumble into dust if you do not give in exchange a baptised soul.
it is needful that a christian should die before you can enjoy the wealth of plouhinec."
the donkey was about to ask some further questions, when she suddenly found herself unable to speak: the time allowed them for conversation was over.
"ah, my dear creatures," thought the beggar, who had of course heard everything, "you are going to make me richer than the richest men of vannes or lorient.
but i have no time to lose; to-morrow i must begin to hunt for the precious plants."
he did not dare to seek too near plouhinec, lest somebody who knew the story might guess what he was doing, so he went away further towards the south, where the air was softer and the plants are always green.
from the instant it was light, till the last rays had faded out of the sky, he searched every inch of ground where the magic plants might grow; he scarcely gave himself a minute to eat and drink, but at length he found the crowsfoot in a little hollow!
well, that was certainly a great deal, but after all, the crowsfoot was of no use without the trefoil, and there was so little time left.
he had almost give up hope, when on the very last day before it was necessary that he should start of plouhinec, he came upon a little clump of trefoil, half hidden under a rock.
hardly able to breathe from excitement, he sat down and hunted eagerly through the plant which he had torn up.
leaf after leaf he threw aside in disgust, and he had nearly reached the end when he gave a cry of joy -- the five-leaved trefoil was in his hand.
the beggar scrambled to his feet, and without a pause walked quickly down the road that led northwards.
the moon was bright, and for some hours he kept steadily on, not knowing how many miles he had gone, nor even feeling tired.
by and bye the sun rose, and the world began to stir, and stopping at a farmhouse door, he asked for a cup of milk and slice of bread and permission to rest for a while in the porch.
then he continued his journey, and so, towards sunset on new year's eve, he came back to plouhinec.
as he was passing the long line of stones, he saw bernez working with a chisel on the tallest of them all.
"what are you doing there?"
called the wizard, "do you mean to hollow out for yourself a bed in that huge column?"
"no," replied bernez quietly, "but as i happened to have no work to do to-day, i thought i would just carve a cross on this stone.
the holy sign can never come amiss.'"
i believe you think it will help you to win rozennik," laughed the old man.
bernez ceased his task for a moment to look at him.
"ah, so you know about that," replied he; "unluckily marzinne wants a brother-in-law who has more pounds than i have pence."
"and suppose i were to give you more pounds than marzinne ever dreamed of?"
whispered the sorcerer glancing round to make sure that no one overheard him.
"you?"
"yes, i." "and what am i to do to gain the money," inquired bernez, who knew quite well that the breton peasant gives nothing for nothing.
"what i want of you only needs a little courage," answered the old man.
"if that is all, tell me what i have got to do, and i will do it," cried bernez, letting fall his chisel.
"if i have to risk thirty deaths, i am ready."
when the beggar knew that bernez would give him no trouble, he told him how, during that very night, the treasures under the stones would be uncovered, and how in a very few minutes they could take enough to make them both rich for life.
but he kept silence as to the fate that awaited the man who was without the crowsfoot and the trefoil, and bernez thought that nothing but boldness and quickness were necessary.
so he said: "old man, i am grateful, indeed, for the chance you have given me, and there will always be a pint of my blood at your service.
just let me finish carving this cross.
it is nearly done, and i will join you in the fir wood at whatever hour you please."
"you must be there without fail an hour before midnight," answered the wizard, and went on his way.
as the hour struck from the great church at plouhinec, bernez entered the wood.
he found the beggar already there with a bag in each hand, and a third slung round his neck.
"you are punctual," said the old man, "but we need not start just yet.
you had better sit down and think what you will do when your pockets are filled with gold and silver and jewels."
"oh, it wo n't take me long to plan out that," returned bernez with a laugh."
i shall give rozennik everything she can desire, dresses of all sorts, from cotton to silk, and good things of all kinds to eat, from white bread to oranges."
"the silver you find will pay for all that, and what about the gold?"
"with the gold i shall make rich rozennik's relations and every friend of hers in the parish," replied he.
"so much for the gold; and the jewels?"
"then," cried bernez," i will divide the jewels amongst everybody in the world, so that they may be wealthy and happy; and i will tell them that it is rozennik who would have it so."
"hush!
it is close on midnight -- we must go," whispered the wizard, and together they crept to the edge of the wood.
with the first stroke of twelve a great noise arose over the silent heath, and the earth seemed to rock under the feet of the two watchers.
the next moment by the light of the moon they beheld the huge stones near them leave their places and go down the slope leading to the river, knocking against each other in their haste.
passing the spot where stood bernez and the beggar, they were lost in the darkness.
it seemed as if a procession of giants had gone by.
"quick," said the wizard, in a low voice, and he rushed towards the empty holes, which even in the night shone brightly from the treasures within them.
flinging himself on his knees, the old man began filling the wallets he had brought, listening intently all the time for the return of the stones up the hill, while bernez more slowly put handfuls of all he could see into his pockets.
the sorcerer had just closed his third wallet, and was beginning to wonder if he could carry away any more treasures when a low murmur as of a distant storm broke upon his ears.
the stones had finished drinking, and were hastening back to their places.
on they came, bent a little forward, the tallest of them all at their head, breaking everything that stood in their way.
at the sight bernez stood transfixed with horror, and said, "we are lost!
they will crush us to death."
"not me!"
answered the sorcerer, holding up the crowsfoot and the five-leaved trefoil, "for these will preserve me.
but in order to keep my riches, i was obliged to sacrifice a christian to the stones, and an evil fate threw you in my way."
and as he spoke he stretched out the magic herbs to the stones, which were advancing rapidly.
as if acknowledging a power greater than theirs, the monstrous things instantly parted to the right and left of the wizard, but closed their ranks again as they approached bernez.
the young man did not try to escape, he knew it was useless, and sank on his knees and closed his eyes.
but suddenly the tall stone that was leading stopped straight in front of bernez, so that no other could get past.
it was the stone on which bernez had carved the cross, and it was now a baptized stone, and had power to save him.
so the stone remained before the young man till the rest had taken their places, and then, darting like a bird to its own hole, came upon the beggar, who, thinking himself quite safe, was staggering along under the weight of his treasures.
seeing the stone approaching, he held out the magic herbs which he carried, but the baptized stone was no longer subject to the spells that bound the rest, and passed straight on its way, leaving the wizard crushed into powder in the heather.
then bernez went home, and showed his wealth to marzinne, who this time did not refuse him as a brother-in-law, and he and rozennik were married, and lived happy for ever after.
from "le royer breton," par emile souvestre.
the castle of kerglas peronnik was a poor idiot who belonged to nobody, and he would have died of starvation if it had not been for the kindness of the village people, who gave him food whenever he chose to ask for it.
and as for a bed, when night came, and he grew sleepy, he looked about for a heap of straw, and making a hole in it, crept in, like a lizard.
idiot though he was, he was never unhappy, but always thanked gratefully those who fed him, and sometimes would stop for a little and sing to them.
for he could imitate a lark so well, that no one knew which was peronnik and which was the bird.
he had been wandering in a forest one day for several hours, and when evening approached, he suddenly felt very hungry.
luckily, just at that place the trees grew thinner, and he could see a small farmhouse a little way off.
peronnik went straight towards it, and found the farmer's wife standing at the door holding in her hands the large bowl out of which her children had eaten their supper."
i am hungry, will you give me something to eat?"
asked the boy.
"if you can find anything here, you are welcome to it," answered she, and, indeed, there was not much left, as everybody's spoon had dipped in.
but peronnik ate what was there with a hearty appetite, and thought that he had never tasted better food.
"it is made of the finest flour and mixed with the richest milk and stirred by the best cook in all the countryside," and though he said it to himself, the woman heard him.
"poor innocent," she murmured, "he does not know what he is saying, but i will cut him a slice of that new wheaten loaf," and so she did, and peronnik ate up every crumb, and declared that nobody less than the bishop's baker could have baked it.
this flattered the farmer's wife so much that she gave him some butter to spread on it, and peronnik was still eating it on the doorstep when an armed knight rode up.
"can you tell me the way to the castle of kerglas?"
asked he.
"to kerglas?
are you really going to kerglas?"
cried the woman, turning pale.
"yes; and in order to get there i have come from a country so far off that it has taken me three months" hard riding to travel as far as this."
"and why do you want to go to kerglas?"
said she."
i am seeking the basin of gold and the lance of diamonds which are in the castle," he answered.
then peronnik looked up.
"the basin and the lance are very costly things," he said suddenly.
"more costly and precious than all the crowns in the world," replied the stranger, "for not only will the basin furnish you with the best food that you can dream of, but if you drink of it, it will cure you of any illness however dangerous, and will even bring the dead back to life, if it touches their mouths.
as to the diamond lance, that will cut through any stone or metal."
"and to whom do these wonders belong?"
asked peronnik in amazement.
"to a magician named rogear who lives in the castle," answered the woman.
"every day he passes along here, mounted on a black mare, with a colt thirteen months old trotting behind.
but no one dares to attack him, as he always carries his lance."
"that is true," said the knight, "but there is a spell laid upon him which forbids his using it within the castle of kerglas.
the moment he enters, the basin and lance are put away in a dark cellar which no key but one can open.
and that is the place where i wish to fight the magician."
"you will never overcome him, sir knight," replied the woman, shaking her head.
"more than a hundred gentlemen have ridden past this house bent on the same errand, and not one has ever come back.'"
i know that, good woman," returned the knight, "but then they did not have, like me, instructions from the hermit of blavet."
"and what did the hermit tell you?"
asked peronnik.
"he told me that i should have to pass through a wood full of all sorts of enchantments and voices, which would try to frighten me and make me lose my way.
most of those who have gone before me have wandered they know not where, and perished from cold, hunger, or fatigue."
"well, suppose you get through safely?"
said the idiot.
"if i do," continued the knight," i shall then meet a sort of fairy armed with a needle of fire which burns to ashes all it touches.
this dwarf stands guarding an apple-tree, from which i am bound to pluck an apple."
"and next?"
inquired peronnik.
"next i shall find the flower that laughs, protected by a lion whose mane is formed of vipers.
i must pluck that flower, and go on to the lake of the dragons and fight the black man who holds in his hand the iron ball which never misses its mark and returns of its own accord to its master.
after that, i enter the valley of pleasure, where some who conquered all the other obstacles have left their bones.
if i can win through this, i shall reach a river with only one ford, where a lady in black will be seated.
she will mount my horse behind me, and tell me what i am to do next."
he paused, and the woman shook her head.
"you will never be able to do all that," said she, but he bade her remembered that these were only matters for men, and galloped away down the path she pointed out.
the farmer's wife sighed and, giving peronnik some more food, bade him good-night.
the idiot rose and was opening the gate which led into the forest when the farmer himself came up."
i want a boy to tend my cattle," he said abruptly, "as the one i had has run away.
will you stay and do it?"
and peronnik, though he loved his liberty and hated work, recollected the good food he had eaten, and agreed to stop.
at sunrise he collected his herd carefully and led them to the rich pasture which lay along the borders of the forest, cutting himself a hazel wand with which to keep them in order.
his task was not quite so easy as it looked, for the cows had a way of straying into the wood, and by the time he had brought one back another was off.
he had gone some distance into the trees, after a naughty black cow which gave him more trouble than all the rest, when he heard the noise of horse's feet, and peeping through the leaves he beheld the giant rogear seated on his mare, with the colt trotting behind.
round the giant's neck hung the golden bowl suspended from a chain, and in his hand he grasped the diamond lance, which gleamed like fire.
but as soon as he was out of sight the idiot sought in vain for traces of the path he had taken.
this happened not only once but many times, till peronnik grew so used to him that he never troubled to hide.
but on each occasion he saw him the desire to possess the bowl and the lance became stronger.
one evening the boy was sitting alone on the edge of the forest, when a man with a white beard stopped beside him.
"do you want to know the way to kerglas?"
asked the idiot, and the man answered" i know it well."
"you have been there without being killed by the magician?"
cried peronnik.
"oh!
he had nothing to fear from me," replied the white-bearded man," i am rogear's elder brother, the wizard bryak.
when i wish to visit him i always pass this way, and as even i can not go through the enchanted wood without losing myself, i call the colt to guide me."
stooping down as he spoke he traced three circles on the ground and murmured some words very low, which peronnik could not hear.
then he added aloud: colt, free to run and free to eat.
colt, gallop fast until we meet, and instantly the colt appeared, frisking and jumping to the wizard, who threw a halter over his neck and leapt on his back.
peronnik kept silence at the farm about this adventure, but he understood very well that if he was ever to get to kerglas he must first catch the colt which knew the way.
unhappily he had not heard the magic words uttered by the wizard, and he could not manage to draw the three circles, so if he was to summon the colt at all he must invent some other means of doing it.
all day long, while he was herding the cows, he thought and thought how he was to call the colt, for he felt sure that once on its back he could overcome the other dangers.
meantime he must be ready in case a chance should come, and he made his preparations at night, when everyone was asleep.
remembering what he had seen the wizard do, he patched up an old halter that was hanging in a corner of the stable, twisted a rope of hemp to catch the colt's feet, and a net such as is used for snaring birds.
next he sewed roughly together some bits of cloth to serve as a pocket, and this he filled with glue and lark's feathers, a string of beads, a whistle of elder wood, and a slice of bread rubbed over with bacon fat.
then he went out to the path down which rogear, his mare, and the colt always rode, and crumbled the bread on one side of it.
punctual to their hour all three appeared, eagerly watched by peronnik, who lay hid in the bushes close by.
suppose it was useless; suppose the mare, and not the colt, ate the crumbs?
suppose -- but no!
the mare and her rider went safely by, vanishing round a corner, while the colt, trotting along with its head on the ground, smelt the bread, and began greedily to lick up the pieces.
oh, how good it was!
why had no one ever given it that before, and so absorbed was the little beast, sniffing about after a few more crumbs, that it never heard peronnik creep up till it felt the halter on its neck and the rope round its feet, and -- in another moment -- some one on its back.
going as fast as the hobbles would allow, the colt turned into one of the wildest parts of the forest, while its rider sat trembling at the strange sights he saw.
sometimes the earth seemed to open in front of them and he was looking into a bottomless pit; sometimes the trees burst into flames and he found himself in the midst of a fire; often in the act of crossing a stream the water rose and threatened to sweep him away; and again, at the foot of a mountain, great rocks would roll towards him, as if they would crush him and his colt beneath their weight.
to his dying day peronnik never knew whether these things were real or if he only imagined them, but he pulled down his knitted cap so as to cover his eyes, and trusted the colt to carry him down the right road.
at last the forest was left behind, and they came out on a wide plain where the air blew fresh and strong.
the idiot ventured to peep out, and found to his relief that the enchantments seemed to have ended, though a thrill of horror shot through him as he noticed the skeletons of men scattered over the plain, beside the skeletons of their horses.
and what were those grey forms trotting away in the distance?
were they -- could they be -- wolves?
but vast through the plain seemed, it did not take long to cross, and very soon the colt entered a sort of shady park in which was standing a single apple-tree, its branches bowed down to the ground with the weight of its fruit.
in front was the korigan -- the little fairy man -- holding in his hand the fiery sword, which reduced to ashes everything it touched.
at the sight of peronnik he uttered a piercing scream, and raised his sword, but without appearing surprised the youth only lifted his cap, though he took care to remain at a little distance.
"do not be alarmed, my prince," said peronnik," i am just on my way to kerglas, as the noble rogear has begged me to come to him on business."
"begged you to come!"
repeated the dwarf, "and who, then, are you?'"
i am the new servant he has engaged, as you know very well," answered peronnik."
i do not know at all," rejoined the korigan sulkily, "and you may be a robber for all i can tell.'"
i am so sorry," replied peronnik, "but i may be wrong in calling myself a servant, for i am only a bird-catcher.
but do not delay me, i pray, for his highness the magician expects me, and, as you see, has lent me his colt so that i may reach the castle all the quicker."
at these words the korigan cast his eyes for the first time on the colt, which he knew to be the one belonging to the magician, and began to think that the young man was speaking the truth.
after examining the horse, he studied the rider, who had such an innocent, and indeed vacant, air that he appeared incapable of inventing a story.
still, the dwarf did not feel quite sure that all was right, and asked what the magician wanted with a bird-catcher.
"from what he says, he wants one very badly," replied peronnik, "as he declares that all his grain and all the fruit in his garden at kerglas are eaten up by the birds."
"and how are you going to stop that, my fine fellow?"
inquired the korigan; and peronnik showed him the snare he had prepared, and remarked that no bird could possible escape from it.
"that is just what i should like to be sure of," answered the korigan.
"my apples are completely eaten up by blackbirds and thrushes.
lay your snare, and if you can manage to catch them, i will let you pass."
"that is a fair bargain," and as he spoke peronnik jumped down and fastened his colt to a tree; then, stopping, he fixed one end of the net to the trunk of the apple tree, and called to the korigan to hold the other while he took out the pegs.
the dwarf did as he was bid, when suddenly peronnik threw the noose over his neck and drew it close, and the korigan was held as fast as any of the birds he wished to snare.
shrieking with rage, he tried to undo the cord, but he only pulled the knot tighter.
he had put down the sword on the grass, and peronnik had been careful to fix the net on the other side of the tree, so that it was now easy for him to pluck an apple and to mount his horse, without being hindered by the dwarf, whom he left to his fate.
when they had left the plain behind them, peronnik and his steed found themselves in a narrow valley in which was a grove of trees, full of all sorts of sweet-smelling things -- roses of every colour, yellow broom, pink honeysuckle -- while above them all towered a wonderful scarlet pansy whose face bore a strange expression.
this was the flower that laughs, and no one who looked at it could help laughing too.
peronnik's heart beat high at the thought that he had reached safely the second trial, and he gazed quite calmly at the lion with the mane of vipers twisting and twirling, who walked up and down in front of the grove.
the young man pulled up and removed his cap, for, idiot though he was, he knew that when you have to do with people greater than yourself, a cap is more useful in the hand than on the head.
then, after wishing all kinds of good fortune to the lion and his family, he inquired if he was on the right road to kerglas.
"and what is your business at kerglas?"
asked the lion with a growl, and showing his teeth.
"with all respect," answered peronnik, pretending to be very frightened," i am the servant of a lady who is a friend of the noble rogear and sends him some larks for a pasty."
"larks?"
cried the lion, licking his long whiskers.
"why, it must be a century since i have had any!
have you a large quantity with you?"
"as many as this bag will hold," replied peronnik, opening, as he spoke, the bag which he had filled with feathers and glue; and to prove what he said, he turned his back on the lion and began to imitate the song of a lark.
"come," exclaimed the lion, whose mouth watered, "show me the birds!
i should like to see if they are fat enough for my master.'"
i would do it with pleasure," answered the idiot, "but if i once open the bag they will all fly away."
"well, open it wide enough for me to look in," said the lion, drawing a little nearer.
now this was just what peronnik had been hoping for, so he held the bag while the lion opened it carefully and put his head right inside, so that he might get a good mouthful of larks.
but the mass of feathers and glue stuck to him, and before he could pull his head out again peronnik had drawn tight the cord, and tied it in a knot that no man could untie.
then, quickly gathering the flower that laughs, he rode off as fast as the colt could take him.
the path soon led to the lake of the dragons, which he had to swim across.
the colt, who was accustomed to it, plunged into the water without hesitation; but as soon as the dragons caught sight of peronnik they approached from all parts of the lake in order to devour him.
this time peronnik did not trouble to take off his cap, but he threw the beads he carried with him into the water, as you throw black corn to a duck, and with each bead that he swallowed a dragon turned on his back and died, so that the idiot reached the other side without further trouble.
the valley guarded by the black man now lay before him, and from afar peronnik beheld him, chained by one foot to a rock at the entrance, and holding the iron ball which never missed its mark and always returned to its master's hand.
in his head the black man had six eyes that were never all shut at once, but kept watch one after the other.
at this moment they were all open, and peronnik knew well that if the black man caught a glimpse of him he would cast his ball.
so, hiding the colt behind a thicket of bushes, he crawled along a ditch and crouched close to the very rock to which the black man was chained.
the day was hot, and after a while the man began to grow sleepy.
two of his eyes closed, and peronnik sang gently.
in a moment a third eye shut, and peronnik sang on.
the lid of a fourth eye dropped heavily, and then those of the fifth and the sixth.
the black man was asleep altogether.
then, on tiptoe, the idiot crept back to the colt which he led over soft moss past the black man into the vale of pleasure, a delicious garden full of fruits that dangled before your mouth, fountains running with wine, and flowers chanting in soft little voices.
further on, tables were spread with food, and girls dancing on the grass called to him to join them.
peronnik heard, and, scarcely knowing what he did drew the colt into a slower pace.
he sniffed greedily the smell of the dishes, and raised his head the better to see the dancers.
another instant and he would have stopped altogether and been lost, like others before him, when suddenly there came to him like a vision the golden bowl and the diamond lance.
drawing his whistle from his pocket, he blew it loudly, so as to drown the sweet sounds about him, and ate what was left of his bread and bacon to still the craving of the magic fruits.
his eyes he fixed steadily on the ears of the colt, that he might not see the dancers.
in this way he was able to reach the end of the garden, and at length perceived the castle of kerglas, with the river between them which had only one ford.
would the lady be there, as the old man had told him?
yes, surely that was she, sitting on a rock, in a black satin dress, and her face the colour of a moorish woman's.
the idiot rode up, and took off his cap more politely than ever, and asked if she did not wish to cross the river."
i was waiting for you to help me do so," answered she.
"come near, that i may get up behind you."
peronnik did as she bade him, and by the help of his arm she jumped nimbly on to the back of the colt.
"do you know how to kill the magician?"
asked the lady, as they were crossing the ford."
i thought that, being a magician, he was immortal, and that no one could kill him," replied peronnik.
"persuade him to taste that apple, and he will die, and if that is not enough i will touch him with my finger, for i am the plague," answered she.
"but if i kill him, how am i to get the golden bowl and the diamond lance that are hidden in the cellar without a key?"
rejoined peronnik.
"the flower that laughs opens all doors and lightens all darkness," said the lady; and as she spoke, they reached the further bank, and advanced towards the castle.
in front of the entrance was a sort of tent supported on poles, and under it the giant was sitting, basking in the sun.
as soon as he noticed the colt bearing peronnik and the lady, he lifted his head, and cried in a voice of thunder: "why, it is surely the idiot, riding my colt thirteen months old!"
"greatest of magicians, you are right," answered peronnik.
"and how did you manage to catch him?"
asked the giant.
"by repeating what i learnt from your brother bryak on the edge of the forest," replied the idiot."
i just said -- colt, free to run and free to eat, colt, gallop fast until we meet, and it came directly."
"you know my brother, then?"
inquired the giant.
"tell me why he sent you here."
"to bring you two gifts which he has just received from the country of the moors," answered peronnik: "the apple of delight and the woman of submission.
if you eat the apple you will not desire anything else, and if you take the woman as your servant you will never wish for another."
"well, give me the apple, and bid the woman get down," answered rogear.
the idiot obeyed, but at the first taste of the apple the giant staggered, and as the long yellow finger of the woman touched him he fell dead.
leaving the magician where he lay, peronnik entered the palace, bearing with him the flower that laughs.
fifty doors flew open before him, and at length he reached a long flight of steps which seemed to lead into the bowels of the earth.
down these he went till he came to a silver door without a bar or key.
then he held up high the flower that laughs, and the door slowly swung back, displaying a deep cavern, which was as bright as the day from the shining of the golden bowl and the diamond lance.
the idiot hastily ran forward and hung the bowl round his neck from the chain which was attached to it, and took the lance in his hand.
as he did so, the ground shook beneath him, and with an awful rumbling the palace disappeared, and peronnik found himself standing close to the forest where he led the cattle to graze.
though darkness was coming on, peronnik never thought of entering the farm, but followed the road which led to the court of the duke of brittany.
as he passed through the town of vannes he stopped at a tailor's shop, and bought a beautiful costume of brown velvet and a white horse, which he paid for with a handful of gold that he had picked up in the corridor of the castle of kerglas.
thus he made his way to the city of nantes, which at that moment was besieged by the french.
a little way off, peronnik stopped and looked about him.
for miles round the country was bare, for the enemy had cut down every tree and burnt every blade of corn; and, idiot though he might be, peronnik was able to grasp that inside the gates men were dying of famine.
he was still gazing with horror, when a trumpeter appeared on the walls, and, after blowing a loud blast, announced that the duke would adopt as his heir the man who could drive the french out of the country.
on the four sides of the city the trumpeter blew his blast, and the last time peronnik, who had ridden up as close as he might, answered him.
"you need blow no more," said he, "for i myself will free the town from her enemies."
and turning to a soldier who came running up, waving his sword, he touched him with the magic lance, and he fell dead on the spot.
the men who were following stood still, amazed.
their comrade's armour had not been pierced, of that they were sure, yet he was dead, as if he had been struck to the heart.
but before they had time to recover from their astonishment, peronnik cried out: "you see how my foes will fare; now behold what i can do for my friends," and, stooping down, he laid the golden bowl against the mouth of the soldier, who sat up as well as ever.
then, jumping his horse across the trench, he entered the gate of the city, which had opened wide enough to receive him.
the news of these marvels quickly spread through the town, and put fresh spirit into the garrison, so that they declared themselves able to fight under the command of the young stranger.
and as the bowl restored all the dead bretons to life, peronnik soon had an army large enough to drive away the french, and fulfilled his promise of delivering his country.
as to the bowl and the lance, no one knows what became of them, but some say that bryak the sorcerer managed to steal them again, and that any one who wishes to possess them must seek them as peronnik did.
from "le foyer breton," par emile souvestre.
the battle of the birds there was to be a great battle between all the creatures of the earth and the birds of the air.
news of it went abroad, and the son of the king of tethertown said that when the battle was fought he would be there to see it, and would bring back word who was to be king.
but in spite of that, he was almost too late, and every fight had been fought save the last, which was between a snake and a great black raven.
both struck hard, but in the end the snake proved the stronger, and would have twisted himself round the neck of the raven till he died had not the king's son drawn his sword, and cut off the head of the snake at a single blow.
and when the raven beheld that his enemy was dead, he was grateful, and said: "for thy kindness to me this day, i will show thee a sight.
so come up now on the root of my two wings."
the king's son did as he was bid, and before the raven stopped flying, they had passed over seven bens and seven glens and seven mountain moors.
"do you see that house yonder?"
said the raven at last.
"go straight for it, for a sister of mine dwells there, and she will make you right welcome.
and if she asks, "wert thou at the battle of the birds?"
answer that thou wert, and if she asks, "didst thou see my likeness?"
answer that thou sawest it, but be sure thou meetest me in the morning at this place."
the king's son followed what the raven told him and that night he had meat of each meat, and drink of each drink, warm water for his feet, and a soft bed to lie in.
thus it happened the next day, and the next, but on the fourth meeting, instead of meeting the raven, in his place the king's son found waiting for him the handsomest youth that ever was seen, with a bundle in his hand.
"is there a raven hereabouts?"
asked the king's son, and the youth answered: "i am that raven, and i was delivered by thee from the spells that bound me, and in reward thou wilt get this bundle.
go back by the road thou camest, and lie as before, a night in each house, but be careful not to unloose the bundle till thou art in the place wherein thou wouldst most wish to dwell."
then the king's son set out, and thus it happened as it had happened before, till he entered a thick wood near his father's house.
he had walked a long way and suddenly the bundle seemed to grow heavier; first he put it down under a tree, and next he thought he would look at it.
the string was easy to untie, and the king's son soon unfastened the bundle.
what was it he saw there?
why, a great castle with an orchard all about it, and in the orchard fruit and flowers and birds of very kind.
it was all ready for him to dwell in, but instead of being in the midst of the forest, he did wish he had left the bundle unloosed till he had reached the green valley close to his father's palace.
well, it was no use wishing, and with a sigh he glanced up, and beheld a huge giant coming towards him.
"bad is the place where thou hast built thy house, king's son," said the giant.
"true; it is not here that i wish to be," answered the king's son.
"what reward wilt thou give me if i put it back in the bundle?"
asked the giant.
"what reward dost thou ask?"
answered the king's son.
"the first boy thou hast when he is seven years old," said the giant.
"if i have a boy thou shalt get him," answered the king's son, and as he spoke the castle and the orchard were tied up in the bundle again.
"now take thy road, and i will take mine," said the giant.
"and if thou forgettest thy promise, i will remember it."
light of heart the king's son went on his road, till he came to the green valley near his father's palace.
slowly he unloosed the bundle, fearing lest he should find nothing but a heap of stones or rags.
but no!
all was as it had been before, and as he opened the castle door there stood within the most beautiful maiden that ever was seen.
"enter, king's son," said she, "all is ready, and we will be married at once," and so they were.
the maiden proved a good wife, and the king's son, now himself a king, was so happy that he forgot all about the giant.
seven years and a day had gone by, when one morning, while standing on the ramparts, he beheld the giant striding towards the castle.
then he remembered his promise, and remembered, too, that he had told the queen nothing about it.
now he must tell her, and perhaps she might help him in his trouble.
the queen listened in silence to his tale, and after he had finished, she only said: "leave thou the matter between me and the giant," and as she spoke, the giant entered the hall and stood before them.
"bring out your son," cried he to the king, "as you promised me seven years and a day since."
the king glanced at his wife, who nodded, so he answered: "let his mother first put him in order," and the queen left the hall, and took the cook's son and dressed him in the prince's clothes, and led him up to the giant, who held his hand, and together they went out along the road.
they had not walked far when the giant stopped and stretched out a stick to the boy.
"if your father had that stick, what would he do with it?"
asked he.
"if my father had that stick, he would beat the dogs and cats that steal the king's meat," replied the boy.
"thou art the cook's son!"
cried the giant.
"go home to thy mother"; and turning his back he strode straight to the castle.
"if you seek to trick me this time, the highest stone will soon be the lowest," said he, and the king and queen trembled, but they could not bear to give up their boy.
"the butler's son is the same age as ours," whispered the queen; "he will not know the difference," and she took the child and dressed him in the prince's clothes, and the giant let him away along the road.
before they had gone far he stopped, and held out a stick.
"if thy father had that rod, what would he do with it?"
asked the giant.
"he would beat the dogs and cats that break the king's glasses," answered the boy.
"thou art the son of the butler!"
cried the giant.
"go home to thy mother"; and turning round he strode back angrily to the castle.
"bring out thy son at once," roared he, "or the stone that is highest will be lowest," and this time the real prince was brought.
but though his parents wept bitterly and fancied the child was suffering all kinds of dreadful things, the giant treated him like his own son, though he never allowed him to see his daughters.
the boy grew to be a big boy, and one day the giant told him that he would have to amuse himself alone for many hours, as he had a journey to make.
so the boy wandered to the top of the castle, where he had never been before.
there he paused, for the sound of music broke upon his ears, and opening a door near him, he beheld a girl sitting by the window, holding a harp.
"haste and begone, i see the giant close at hand," she whispered hurriedly, "but when he is asleep, return hither, for i would speak with thee."
and the prince did as he was bid, and when midnight struck he crept back to the top of the castle.
"to-morrow," said the girl, who was the giant's daughter, "to-morrow thou wilt get the choice of my two sisters to marry, but thou must answer that thou wilt not take either, but only me.
this will anger him greatly, for he wishes to betroth me to the son of the king of the green city, whom i like not at all."
then they parted, and on the morrow, as the girl had said, the giant called his three daughters to him, and likewise the young prince to whom he spoke.
"now, o son of the king of tethertown, the time has come for us to part.
choose one of my two elder daughters to wife, and thou shalt take her to your father's house the day after the wedding."
"give me the youngest instead," replied the youth, and the giant's face darkened as he heard him.
"three things must thou do first," said he.
"say on, i will do them," replied the prince, and the giant left the house, and bade him follow to the byre, where the cows were kept.
"for a hundred years no man has swept this byre," said the giant, "but if by nightfall, when i reach home, thou has not cleaned it so that a golden apple can roll through it from end to end, thy blood shall pay for it."
all day long the youth toiled, but he might as well have tried to empty the ocean.
at length, when he was so tired he could hardly move, the giant's youngest daughter stood in the doorway.
"lay down thy weariness," said she, and the king's son, thinking he could only die once, sank on the floor at her bidding, and fell sound asleep.
when he woke the girl had disappeared, and the byre was so clean that a golden apple could roll from end to end of it.
he jumped up in surprise, and at that moment in came the giant.
"hast thou cleaned the byre, king's son?"
asked he."
i have cleaned it," answered he.
"well, since thou wert so active to-day, to-morrow thou wilt thatch this byre with a feather from every different bird, or else thy blood shall pay for it," and he went out.
before the sun was up, the youth took his bow and his quiver and set off to kill the birds.
off to the moor he went, but never a bird was to be seen that day.
at last he got so tired with running to and fro that he gave up heart.
"there is but one death i can die," thought he.
then at midday came the giant's daughter.
"thou art tired, king's son?"
asked she."
i am," answered he; "all these hours have i wandered, and there fell but these two blackbirds, both of one colour."
"lay down thy weariness on the grass," said she, and he did as she bade him, and fell fast asleep.
when he woke the girl had disappeared, and he got up, and returned to the byre.
as he drew near, he rubbed his eyes hard, thinking he was dreaming, for there it was, beautifully thatched, just as the giant had wished.
at the door of the house he met the giant.
"hast thou thatched the byre, king's son?'"
i have thatched it."
"well, since thou hast been so active to-day, i have something else for thee!
beside the loch thou seest over yonder there grows a fir tree.
on the top of the fir tree is a magpie's nest, and in the nest are five eggs.
thou wilt bring me those eggs for breakfast, and if one is cracked or broken, thy blood shall pay for it."
before it was light next day, the king's son jumped out of bed and ran down to the loch.
the tree was not hard to find, for the rising sun shone red on the trunk, which was five hundred feet from the ground to its first branch.
time after time he walked round it, trying to find some knots, however small, where he could put his feet, but the bark was quite smooth, and he soon saw that if he was to reach the top at all, it must be by climbing up with his knees like a sailor.
but then he was a king's son and not a sailor, which made all the difference.
however, it was no use standing there staring at the fir, at least he must try to do his best, and try he did till his hands and knees were sore, for as soon as he had struggled up a few feet, he slid back again.
once he climbed a little higher than before, and hope rose in his heart, then down he came with such force that his hands and knees smarted worse than ever.
"this is no time for stopping," said the voice of the giant's daughter, as he leant against the trunk to recover his breath.
"alas!
i am no sooner up than down," answered he.
"try once more," said she, and she laid a finger against the tree and bade him put his foot on it.
then she placed another finger a little higher up, and so on till he reached the top, where the magpie had built her nest.
"make haste now with the nest," she cried, "for my father's breath is burning my back," and down he scrambled as fast as he could, but the girl's little finger had caught in a branch at the top, and she was obliged to leave it there.
but she was too busy to pay heed to this, for the sun was getting high over the hills.
"listen to me," she said.
"this night my two sisters and i will be dressed in the same garments, and you will not know me.
but when my father says "go to thy wife, king's son," come to the one whose right hand has no little finger."
so he went and gave the eggs to the giant, who nodded his head.
"make ready for thy marriage," cried he, "for the wedding shall take place this very night, and i will summon thy bride to greet thee."
then his three daughters were sent for, and they all entered dressed in green silk of the same fashion, and with golden circlets round their heads.
the king's son looked from one to another.
which was the youngest?
suddenly his eyes fell on the hand of the middle one, and there was no little finger.
"thou hast aimed well this time too," said the giant, as the king's son laid his hand on her shoulder, "but perhaps we may meet some other way"; and though he pretended to laugh, the bride saw a gleam in his eye which warned her of danger.
the wedding took place that very night, and the hall was filled with giants and gentlemen, and they danced till the house shook from top to bottom.
at last everyone grew tired, and the guests went away, and the king's son and his bride were left alone.
"if we stay here till dawn my father will kill thee," she whispered, "but thou art my husband and i will save thee, as i did before," and she cut an apple into nine pieces, and put two pieces at the head of the bed, and two pieces at the foot, and two pieces at the door of the kitchen, and two at the big door, and one outside the house.
and when this was done, and she heard the giant snoring, she and the king's son crept out softly and stole across to the stable, where she led out the blue-grey mare and jumped on its back, and her husband mounted behind her.
not long after, the giant awoke.
"are you asleep?"
asked he.
"not yet," answered the apple at the head of the bed, and the giant turned over, and soon was snoring as loudly as before.
by and bye he called again.
"are you asleep?"
"not yet," said the apple at the foot of the bed, and the giant was satisfied.
after a while, he called a third time, "are you asleep?"
"not yet," replied the apple in the kitchen, but when in a few minutes, he put the question for the fourth time and received an answer from the apple outside the house door, he guessed what had happened, and ran to the room to look for himself.
the bed was cold and empty!
"my father's breath is burning my back," cried the girl, "put thy hand into the ear of the mare, and whatever thou findest there, throw it behind thee."
and in the mare's ear there was a twig of sloe tree, and as he threw it behind him there sprung up twenty miles of thornwood so thick that scarce a weasel could go through it.
and the giant, who was striding headlong forwards, got caught in it, and it pulled his hair and beard.
"this is one of my daughter's tricks," he said to himself, "but if i had my big axe and my wood-knife, i would not be long making a way through this," and off he went home and brought back the axe and the wood-knife.
it took him but a short time to cut a road through the blackthorn, and then he laid the axe and the knife under a tree."
i will leave them there till i return," he murmured to himself, but a hoodie crow, which was sitting on a branch above, heard him.
"if thou leavest them," said the hoodie, "we will steal them."
"you will," answered the giant, "and i must take them home."
so he took them home, and started afresh on his journey.
"my father's breath is burning my back," cried the girl at midday.
"put thy finger in the mare's ear and throw behind thee whatever thou findest in it," and the king's son found a splinter of grey stone, and threw it behind him, and in a twinkling twenty miles of solid rock lay between them and the giant.
"my daughter's tricks are the hardest things that ever met me," said the giant, "but if i had my lever and my crowbar, i would not be long in making my way through this rock also," but as he had got them, he had to go home and fetch them.
then it took him but a short time to hew his way through the rock."
i will leave the tools here," he murmured aloud when he had finished.
"if thou leavest them, we will steal them," said a hoodie who was perched on a stone above him, and the giant answered: "steal them if thou wilt; there is no time to go back."
"my father's breath is burning my back," cried the girl; "look in the mare's ear, king's son, or we are lost," and he looked, and found a tiny bladder full of water, which he threw behind him, and it became a great lock.
and the giant, who was striding on so fast, could not stop himself, and he walked right into the middle and was drowned.
the blue-grey mare galloped on like the wind, and the next day the king's son came in sight of his father's house.
"get down and go in," said the bride, "and tell them that thou hast married me.
but take heed that neither man nor beast kiss thee, for then thou wilt cease to remember me at all.'"
i will do thy bidding," answered he, and left her at the gate.
all who met him bade him welcome, and he charged his father and mother not to kiss him, but as he greeted them his old greyhound leapt on his neck, and kissed him on the mouth.
and after that he did not remember the giant's daughter.
all that day she sat on a well which was near the gate, waiting, waiting, but the king's son never came.
in the darkness she climbed up into an oak tree that shadowed the well, and there she lay all night, waiting, waiting.
on the morrow, at midday, the wife of a shoemaker who dwelt near the well went to draw water for her husband to drink, and she saw the shadow of the girl in the tree, and thought it was her own shadow.
"how handsome i am, to be sure," said she, gazing into the well, and as she stopped to behold herself better, the jug struck against the stones and broke in pieces, and she was forced to return to her husband without the water, and this angered him.
"thou hast turned crazy," said he in wrath.
"go thou, my daughter, and fetch me a drink," and the girl went, and the same thing befell her as had befallen her mother.
"where is the water?"
asked the shoemaker, when she came back, and as she held nothing save the handle of the jug he went to the well himself.
he too saw the reflection of the woman in the tree, but looked up to discover whence it came, and there above him sat the most beautiful woman in the world.
"come down," he said, "for a while thou canst stay in my house," and glad enough the girl was to come.
now the king of the country was about to marry, and the young men about the court thronged the shoemaker's shop to buy fine shoes to wear at the wedding.
"thou hast a pretty daughter," said they when they beheld the girl sitting at work.
"pretty she is," answered the shoemaker, "but no daughter of mine.'"
i would give a hundred pounds to marry her," said one.
"and i," "and i," cried the others.
"that is no business of mine," answered the shoemaker, and the young men bade him ask her if she would choose one of them for a husband, and to tell them on the morrow.
then the shoemaker asked her, and the girl said that she would marry the one who would bring his purse with him.
so the shoemaker hurried to the youth who had first spoken, and he came back, and after giving the shoemaker a hundred pounds for his news, he sought the girl, who was waiting for him.
"is it thou?"
inquired she."
i am thirsty, give me a drink from the well that is yonder."
and he poured out the water, but he could not move from the place where he was; and there he stayed till many hours had passed by.
"take away that foolish boy," cried the girl to the shoemaker at last," i am tired of him," and then suddenly he was able to walk, and betook himself to his home, but he did not tell the others what had happened to him.
next day there arrived one of the other young men, and in the evening, when the shoemaker had gone out and they were alone, she said to him, "see if the latch is on the door."
the young man hastened to do her bidding, but as soon as he touched the latch, his fingers stuck to it, and there he had to stay for many hours, till the shoemaker came back, and the girl let him go.
hanging his head, he went home, but he told no one what had befallen him.
then was the turn of the third man, and his foot remained fastened to the floor, till the girl unloosed it.
and thankfully, he ran off, and was not seen looking behind him.
"take the purse of gold," said the girl to the shoemaker," i have no need of it, and it will better thee."
and the shoemaker took it and told the girl he must carry the shoes for the wedding up to the castle."
i would fain get a sight of the king's son before he marries," sighed she.
"come with me, then," answered he; "the servants are all my friends, and they will let you stand in the passage down which the king's son will pass, and all the company too."
up they went to the castle, and when the young men saw the girl standing there, they led her into the hall where the banquet was laid out and poured her out some wine.
she was just raising the glass to drink when a flame went up out of it, and out of the flame sprang two pigeons, one of gold and one of silver.
they flew round and round the head of the girl, when three grains of barley fell on the floor, and the silver pigeon dived down, and swallowed them.
"if thou hadst remembered how i cleaned the byre, thou wouldst have given me my share," cooed the golden pigeon, and as he spoke three more grains fell, and the silver pigeon ate them as before.
"if thou hadst remembered how i thatched the byre, thou wouldst have given me my share," cooed the golden pigeon again; and as he spoke three more grains fell, and for the third time they were eaten by the silver pigeon.
"if thou hadst remembered how i got the magpie's nest, thou wouldst have given me my share," cooed the golden pigeon.
then the king's son understood that they had come to remind him of what he had forgotten, and his lost memory came back, and he knew his wife, and kissed her.
but as the preparations had been made, it seemed a pity to waste them, so they were married a second time, and sat down to the wedding feast.
from "tales of the west highlands."
the lady of the fountain.
in the centre of the great hall in the castle of caerleon upon usk, king arthur sat on a seat of green rushes, over which was thrown a covering of flame-coloured silk, and a cushion of red satin lay under his elbow.
with him were his knights owen and kynon and kai, while at the far end, close to the window, were guenevere the queen and her maidens embroidering white garments with strange devices of gold."
i am weary," said arthur, "and till my food is prepared i would fain sleep.
you yourselves can tell each other tales, and kai will fetch you from the kitchen a flagon of mean and some meat."
and when they had eaten and drunk, kynon, the oldest among them, began his story."
i was the only son of my father and mother, and much store they set by me, but i was not content to stay with them at home, for i thought no deed in all the world was too mighty for me.
none could hold me back, and after i had won many adventures in my own land, i bade farewell to my parents and set out to see the world.
over mountains, through deserts, across rivers i went, till i reached a fair valley full of trees, with a path running by the side of a stream.
i walked along that path all the day, and in the evening i came to a castle in front of which stood two youths clothed in yellow, each grasping an ivory bow, with arrows made of the bones of the whale, and winged with peacock's feathers.
by their sides hung golden daggers with hilts of the bones of the whale.
"near these young men was a man richly dressed, who turned and went with me towards the castle, where all the dwellers were gathered in the hall.
in one window i beheld four and twenty damsels, and the least fair of them was fairer than guenevere at her fairest.
some took my horse, and others unbuckled my armour, and washed it, with my sword and spear, till it all shone like silver.
then i washed myself and put on a vest and doublet which they brought me, and i and the man that entered with me sat down before a table of silver, and a goodlier feast i never had.
"all this time neither the man nor the damsels had spoken one word, but when our dinner was half over, and my hunger was stilled, the man began to ask who i was.
then i told him my name and my father's name, and why i came there, for indeed i had grown weary of gaining the mastery over all men at home, and sought if perchance there was one who could gain the mastery over me.
and at this the man smiled and answered: """if i did not fear to distress thee too much, i would show thee what thou seekest."
his words made me sorrowful and fearful of myself, which the man perceived, and added, "if thou meanest truly what thou sayest, and desirest earnestly to prove thy valour, and not to boast vainly that none can overcome thee, i have somewhat to show thee.
but to-night thou must sleep in the this castle, and in the morning see that thou rise early and follow the road upwards through the valley, until thou reachest a wood.
in the wood is a path branching to the right; go along this path until thou comest to a space of grass with a mound in the middle of it.
on the top of the mound stands a black man, larger than any two white men; his eye is in the centre of his forehead and he has only one foot.
he carries a club of iron, and two white men could hardly lift it.
around him graze a thousand beasts, all of different kinds, for he is the guardian of that wood, and it is he who will tell thee which way to go in order to find the adventure thou art in quest of."
"so spake the man, and long did that night seem to me, and before dawn i rose and put on my armour, and mounted my horse and rode on till i reached the grassy space of which he had told me.
there was the black man on top of the mound, as he had said, and in truth he was mightier in all ways than i had thought him to be.
as for the club, kai, it would have been a burden for four of our warriors.
he waited for me to speak, and i asked him what power he held over the beasts that thronged so close about him."
""i will show thee, little man," he answered, and with his club he struck a stag on the head till he brayed loudly.
and at his braying the animals came running, numerous as the stars in the sky, so that scarce was i able to stand among them.
serpents were there also, and dragons, and beasts of strange shapes, with horns in places where never saw i horns before.
and the black man only looked at them and bade them go and feed.
and they bowed themselves before him, as vassals before their lord."
""now, little man, i have answered thy question and showed thee my power," said he.
""is there anything else thou wouldest know?"
then i inquired of him my way, but he grew angry, and, as i perceived, would fain have hindered me; but at the last, after i had told him who i was, his anger passed from him."
""take that path," said he, "that leads to the head of this grassy glade, and go up the wood till thou reachest the top.
there thou wilt find an open space, and in the midst of it a tall tree.
under the tree is a fountain, and by the fountain a marble slab, and on the slab a bowl of silver, with a silver chain.
dip the bowl in the fountain, and throw the water on the slab, and thou wilt hear a might peal of thunder, till heaven and earth seem trembling with the noise.
after the thunder will come hail, so fierce that scarcely canst thou endure it and live, for the hailstones are both large and thick.
then the sun will shine again, but every leaf of the tree will by lying on the ground.
next a flight of birds will come and alight on the tree, and never didst thou hear a strain so sweet as that which they will sing.
and at the moment in which their song sounds sweetest thou wilt hear a murmuring and complaining coming towards thee along the valley, and thou wilt see a knight in black velvet bestriding a black horse, bearing a lance with a black pennon, and he will spur his steed so as to fight thee.
if thou turnest to flee, he will overtake thee.
and if thou abidest were thou art, he will unhorse thee.
and if thou dost not find trouble in that adventure, thou needest not to seek it during the rest of thy life."
"so i bade the black man farewell, and took my way to the top of the wood, and there i found everything just as i had been told.
i went up to the tree beneath which stood the fountain, and filling the silver bowl with water, emptied it on the marble slab.
thereupon the thunder came, louder by far than i had expected to hear it, and after the thunder came the shower, but heavier by far than i had expected to feel it, for, of a truth i tell thee, kai, not one of those hailstones would be stopped by skin or by flesh till it had reached the bone.
i turned my horse's flank towards the shower, and, bending over his neck, held my shield so that it might cover his head and my own.
when the hail had passed, i looked on the tree and not a single leaf was left on it, and the sky was blue and the sun shining, while on the branches were perched birds of very kind, who sang a song sweeter than any that has come to my ears, either before or since.
"thus, kai, i stood listening to the birds, when lo, a murmuring voice approached me, saying: """o knight, what has brought thee hither?
what evil have i done to thee, that thou shouldest do so much to me, for in all my lands neither man nor beast that met that shower has escaped alive."
then from the valley appeared the knight on the black horse, grasping the lance with the black pennon.
straightway we charged each other, and though i fought my best, he soon overcame me, and i was thrown to the ground, while the knight seized the bridle of my horse, and rode away with it, leaving me where i was, without even despoiling me of my armour.
"sadly did i go down the hill again, and when i reached the glade where the black man was, i confess to thee, kai, it was a marvel that i did not melt into a liquid pool, so great was my shame.
that night i slept at the castle where i had been before, and i was bathed and feasted, and none asked me how i had fared.
the next morning when i arose i found a bay horse saddled for me, and, girdling on my armour, i returned to my own court.
the horse is still in the stable, and i would not part with it for any in britain.
"but of a truth, kai, no man ever confessed an adventure so much to his own dishonour, and strange indeed it seems that none other man have i ever met that knew of the black man, and the knight and the shower."
"would it not be well," said owen, "to go and discover the place?"
"by the hand of my friend," answered kai, "often dost thou utter that with thy tongue which thou wouldest not make good with thy deeds."
"in truth," said guenevere the queen, who had listened to the tale, "thou wert better hanged, kai, than use such speech towards a man like owen.'"
i meant nothing, lady," replied kai; "thy praise of owen is not greater than mine."
and as he spoke arthur awoke, and asked if he had not slept for a little.
"yes, lord," answered owen, "certainly thou hast slept."
"is it time for us to go to meat?"
"it is, lord," answered owen.
then the horn for washing themselves was sounded, and after that the king and his household sat down to eat.
and when they had finished, owen left them, and made ready his horse and his arms.
with the first rays of the sun he set forth, and travelled through deserts and over mountains and across rivers, and all befell him which had befallen kynon, till he stood under the leafless tree listening to the song of the birds.
then he heard the voice, and turning to look found the knight galloping to meet him.
fiercely they fought till their lances were broken, and then they drew their swords, and a blow from owen cut through the knight's helmet, and pierced his skull.
feeling himself wounded unto death the knight fled, and owen pursued him till they came to a splendid castle.
here the knight dashed across the bridge that spanned the moat, and entered the gate, but as soon as he was safe inside, the drawbridge was pulled up and caught owen's horse in the middle, so that half of him was inside and half out, and owen could not dismount and knew not what to do.
while he was in this sore plight a little door in the castle gate opened, and he could see a street facing him, with tall houses.
then a maiden with curling hair of gold looked through the little door and bade owen open the gate.
"by my troth!"
cried owen," i can no more open it from here than thou art able to set me free."
"well," said she," i will do my best to release thee if thou wilt do as i tell thee.
take this ring and put it on with the stone inside thy hand, and close thy fingers tight, for as long as thou dost conceal it, it will conceal thee.
when the men inside have held counsel together, they will come to fetch thee to thy death, and they will be much grieved not to find thee.
i will stand on the horse block yonder and thou canst see me though i can not see thee.
therefore draw near and place thy hand on my shoulder and follow me wheresoever i go."
upon that she went away from owen, and when the men came out from the castle to seek him and did not find him they were sorely grieved, and they returned to the castle.
then owen went to the maiden and placed his hand on her shoulder, and she guided him to a large room, painted all over with rich colours, and adorned with images of gold.
here she gave him meat and drink, and water to wash with and garments to wear, and he lay down upon a soft bed, with scarlet and fur to cover him, and slept gladly.
in the middle of the night he woke hearing a great outcry, and he jumped up and clothed himself and went into the hall, where the maiden was standing.
"what is it?"
he asked, and she answered that the knight who owned the castle was dead, and they were bearing his body to the church.
never had owen beheld such vast crowds, and following the dead knight was the most beautiful lady in the world, whose cry was louder than the shout of the men, or the braying of the trumpets.
and owen looked on her and loved her.
"who is she?"
he asked the damsel.
"that is my mistress, the countess of the fountain, and the wife of him whom thou didst slay yesterday."
"verily," said owen, "she is the woman that i love best."
"she shall also love thee not a little," said the maiden.
then she left owen, and after a while went into the chamber of her mistress, and spoke to her, but the countess answered her nothing.
"what aileth thee, mistress?"
inquired the maiden.
"why hast thou kept far from me in my grief, luned?"
answered the countess, and in her turn the damsel asked: "is it well for thee to mourn so bitterly for the dead, or for anything that is gone from thee?"
"there is no man in the world equal to him," replied the countess, her cheeks growing red with anger."
i would fain banish thee for such words."
"be not angry, lady," said luned, "but listen to my counsel.
thou knowest well that alone thou canst not preserve thy lands, therefore seek some one to help thee."
"and how can i do that?"
asked the countess."
i will tell thee," answered luned.
"unless thou canst defend the fountain all will be lost, and none can defend the fountain except a knight of arthur's court.
there will i go to seek him, and woe betide me if i return without a warrior that can guard the fountain, as well as he who kept it before."
"go then," said the countess, "and make proof of that which thou hast promised."
so luned set out, riding on a white palfrey, on pretence of journeying to king arthur's court, but instead of doing that she hid herself for as many days as it would have taken her to go and come, and then she left her hiding-place, and went into the countess.
"what news from the court?"
asked her mistress, when she had given luned a warm greeting.
"the best of news," answered the maiden, "for i have gained the object of my mission.
when wilt thou that i present to thee the knight who has returned with me?"
"to-morrow at midday," said the countess, "and i will cause all the people in the town to come together."
therefore the next day at noon owen put on his coat of mail, and over it he wore a splendid mantle, while on his feet were leather shoes fastened with clasps of gold.
and he followed luned to the chamber of her mistress.
right glad was the countess to see them, but she looked closely at owen and said: "luned, this knight has scarcely the air of a traveller."
"what harm is there in that, lady?"
answered luned."
i am persuaded," said the countess, "that this man and no other chased the soul from the body of my lord."
"had he not been stronger than thy lord," replied the damsel, "he could not have taken his life, and for that, and for all things that are past, there is no remedy."
"leave me, both of you," said the countess, "and i will take counsel."
then they went out.
the next morning the countess summoned her subjects to meet in the courtyard of the castle, and told them that now that her husband was dead there was none to defend her lands.
"so choose you which it shall be," she said.
"either let one of you take me for a wife, or give me your consent to take a new lord for myself, that my lands be not without a master."
at her words the chief men of the city withdrew into one corner and took counsel together, and after a while the leader came forward and said that they had decided that it was best, for the peace and safety of all, that she should choose a husband for herself.
thereupon owen was summoned to her presence, and he accepted with joy the hand that she offered him, and they were married forthwith, and the men of the earldom did him homage.
from that day owen defended the fountain as the earl before him had done, and every knight that came by was overthrown by him, and his ransom divided among his barons.
in this way three years passed, and no man in the world was more beloved than owen.
now at the end of the three years it happened that gwalchmai the knight was with arthur, and he perceived the king to be very sad.
"my lord, has anything befallen thee?"
he asked.
"oh, gwalchmai, i am grieved concerning owen, whom i have lost these three years, and if a fourth year passes without him i can live no longer.
and sure am i that the tale told by kynon the son of clydno caused me to lose him.
i will go myself with the men of my household to avenge him if he is dead, to free him if he is in prison, to bring him back if he is alive."
then arthur and three thousand men of his household set out in quest of owen, and took kynon for their guide.
when arthur reached the castle, the youths were shooting in the same place, and the same yellow man was standing by, and as soon as he beheld arthur he greeted him and invited him in, and they entered together.
so vast was the castle that the king's three thousand men were of no more account than if they had been twenty.
at sunrise arthur departed thence, with kynon for his guide, and reached the black man first, and afterwards the top of the wooded hill, with the fountain and the bowl and the tree.
"my lord," said kai, "let me throw the water on the slab, and receive the first adventure that may befall."
"thou mayest do so," answered arthur, and kai threw the water.
immediately all happened as before; the thunder and the shower of hail which killed many of arthur's men; the song of the birds and the appearance of the black knight.
and kai met him and fought him, and was overthrown by him.
then the knight rode away, and arthur and his men encamped where they stood.
in the morning kai again asked leave to meet the knight and to try to overcome him, which arthur granted.
but once more he was unhorsed, and the black knight's lance broke his helmet and pierced the skin even to the bone, and humbled in spirit he returned to the camp.
after this every one of the knights gave battle, but none came out victor, and at length there only remained arthur himself and gwalchmai.
"oh, let me fight him, my lord," cried gwalchmai, as he saw arthur taking up his arms.
"well, fight then," answered arthur, and gwalchmai threw a robe over himself and his horse, so that none knew him.
all that day they fought, and neither was able to throw the other, and so it was on the next day.
on the third day the combat was so fierce that they fell both to the ground at once, and fought on their feet, and at last the black knight gave his foe such a blow on his head that his helmet fell from his face."
i did not know it was thee, gwalchmai," said the black knight.
"take my sword and my arms."
"no," answered gwalchmai, "it is thou, owen, who art the victor, take thou my sword"; but owen would not.
"give me your swords," said arthur from behind them, "for neither of you has vanquished the other," and owen turned and put his arms round arthur's neck.
the next day arthur would have given orders to his men to make ready to go back whence they came, but owen stopped him.
"my lord," he said, "during the three years that i have been absent from thee i have been preparing a banquet for thee, knowing full well that thou wouldst come to seek me.
tarry with me, therefore, for a while, thou and thy men."
so they rode to the castle of the countess of the fountain, and spent three months in resting and feasting.
and when it was time for them to depart arthur besought the countess that she would allow owen to go with him to britain for the space of three months.
with a sore heart she granted permission, and so content was owen to be once more with his old companions that three years instead of three months passed away like a dream.
one day owen sat at meat in the castle of caerleon upon usk, when a damsel on a bay horse entered the hall, and riding straight up to the place where owen sat she stooped and drew the ring from off his hand.
"thus shall be treated the traitor and the faithless," said she, and turning her horse's head she rode out of the hall.
at her words owen remembered all that he had forgotten, and sorrowful and ashamed he went to his own chamber and made ready to depart.
at the dawn he set out, but he did not go back to the castle, for his heart was heavy, but he wandered far into wild places till his body was weak and thin, and his hair was long.
the wild beasts were his friends, and he slept by their side, but in the end he longed to see the face of a man again, and he came down into a valley and fell asleep by a lake in the lands of a widowed countess.
now it was the time when the countess took her walk, attended by her maidens, and when they saw a man lying by the lake they shrank back in terror, for he lay so still that they thought he was dead.
but when they had overcome their fright, they drew near him, and touched him, and saw that there was life in him.
then the countess hastened to the castle, and brought from it a flask full of precious ointment and gave it to one of her maidens.
"take that horse which is grazing yonder," she said, "and a suit of men's garments, and place them near the man, and pour some of this ointment near his heart.
if there is any life in him that will bring it back.
but if he moves, hide thyself in the bushes near by, and see what he does."
the damsel took the flask and did her mistress" bidding.
soon the man began to move his arms, and then rose slowly to his feet.
creeping forward step by step he took the garments from off the saddle and put them on him, and painfully he mounted the horse.
when he was seated the damsel came forth and greeted him, and glad was he when he saw her and inquired what castle that was before him.
"it belongs to a widowed countess," answered the maiden.
"her husband left her two earldoms, but it is all that remains of her broad lands, for they have been torn from her by a young earl, because she would not marry him."
"that is a pity," replied owen, but he said no more, for he was too weak to talk much.
then the maiden guided him to the castle, and kindled a fire, and brought him food.
and there he stayed and was tended for three months, till he was handsomer than ever he was.
at noon one day owen heard a sound of arms outside the castle, and he asked of the maiden what it was.
"it is the earl of whom i spoke to thee," she answered, "who has come with a great host to carry off my mistress."
"beg of her to lend me a horse and armour," said owen, and the maiden did so, but the countess laughed somewhat bitterly as she answered: "nay, but i will give them to him, and such a horse and armour and weapons as he has never had yet, though i know not what use they will be to him.
yet mayhap it will save them from falling into the hands of my enemies."
the horse was brought out and owen rode forth with two pages behind him, and they saw the great host encamped before them.
"where is the earl?"
said he, and the pages answered: "in yonder troop where are four yellow standards."
"await me," said owen, "at the gate of the castle, and he cried a challenge to the earl, who came to meet him.
hard did they fight, but owen overthrew his enemy and drove him in front to the castle gate and into the hall.
"behold the reward of thy blessed balsam," said he, as he bade the earl kneel down before her, and made him swear that he would restore all that he had taken from her.
after that he departed, and went into the deserts, and as he was passing through a wood he heard a loud yelling.
pushing aside the bushes he beheld a lion standing on a great mound, and by it a rock.
near the rock was a lion seeking to reach the mound, and each time he moved out darted a serpent from the rock to prevent him.
then owen unsheathed his sword, and cut off the serpent's head and went on his way, and the lion followed and played about him, as if he had been a greyhound.
and much more useful was he than a greyhound, for in the evening he brought large logs in his mouth to kindle a fire, and killed a fat buck for dinner.
owen made his fire and skinned the buck, and put some of it to roast, and gave the rest to the lion for supper.
while he was waiting for the meat to cook he heard a sound of deep sighing close to him, and he said: "who are thou?'"
i am luned," replied a voice from a cave so hidden by bushes and green hanging plants that owen had not seen it.
"and what dost thou here?"
cried he."
i am held captive in this cave on account of the knight who married the countess and left her, for the pages spoke ill of him, and because i told them that no man living was his equal they dragged me here and said i should die unless he should come to deliver me by a certain day, and that is no further than the day after to-morrow.
his name is owen the son of urien, but i have none to send to tell him of my danger, or of a surety he would deliver me."
owen held his peace, but gave the maiden some of the meat, and bade her be of good cheer.
then, followed by the lion, he set out for a great castle on the other side of the plain, and men came and took his horse and placed it in a manger, and the lion went after and lay down on the straw.
hospitable and kind were all within the castle, but so full of sorrow that it might have been thought death was upon them.
at length, when they had eaten and drunk, owen prayed the earl to tell him the reason of their grief.
"yesterday," answered the earl, "my two sons were seized, while thy were hunting, by a monster who dwells on those mountains yonder, and he vows that he will not let them go unless i give him my daughter to wife."
"that shall never be," said owen; "but what form hath this monster?"
"in shape he is a man, but in stature he is a giant," replied the earl, "and it were better by far that he should slay my sons than that i should give up my daughter."
early next morning the dwellers in the castle were awakened by a great clamour, and they found that the giant had arrived with the two young men.
swiftly owen put on his armour and went forth to meet the giant, and the lion followed at his heels.
and when the great beast beheld the hard blows which the giant dealt his master he flew at his throat, and much trouble had the monster in beating him off.
"truly," said the giant," i should find no difficulty in fighting thee, if it were not for that lion."
when he heard that owen felt shame that he could not overcome the giant with his own sword, so he took the lion and shut him up in one of the towers of the castle, and returned to the fight.
but from the sound of the blows the lion knew that the combat was going ill for owen, so he climbed up till he reached the top of the tower, where there was a door on to the roof, and from the tower he sprang on to the walls, and from the walls to the ground.
then with a loud roar he leaped upon the giant, who fell dead under the blow of his paw.
now the gloom of the castle was turned into rejoicing, and the earl begged owen to stay with him till he could make him a feast, but the knight said he had other work to do, and rode back to the place where he had left luned, and the lion followed at his heels.
when he came there he saw a great fire kindled, and two youths leading out the maiden to cast her upon the pile.
"stop!"
he cried, dashing up to them.
"what charge have you against her?"
"she boasted that no man in the world was equal to owen," said they, "and we shut her in a cave, and agreed that none should deliver her but owen himself, and that if he did not come by a certain day she should die.
and now the time has past and there is no sign of him."
"in truth he is a good knight, and had he but known that the maid was in peril he would have come to save her," said owen; "but accept me in his stead, i entreat you."
"we will," replied they, and the fight began.
the youths fought well and pressed hard on owen, and when the lion saw that he came to help his master.
but the youths made a sign for the fight to stop, and said: "chieftain, it was agreed we should give battle to thee alone, and it is harder for us to contend with yonder beast than with thee."
then owen shut up the lion in the cave where the maiden had been in prison, and blocked up the front with stones.
but the fight with the giant had sorely tried him, and the youths fought well, and pressed him harder than before.
and when the lion saw that he gave a loud roar, and burst through the stones, and sprang upon the youths and slew them.
and so luned was delivered at the last.
then the maiden rode back with owen to the lands of the lady of the fountain.
and he took the lady with him to arthur's court, where they lived happily till they died.
from the "mabinogion."
the four gifts in the old land of brittany, once called cornwall, there lived a woman named barbaik bourhis, who spent all her days in looking after her farm with the help of her niece tephany.
early and late the two might be seen in the fields or in the dairy, milking cows, making butter, feeding fowls; working hard themselves and taking care that others worked too.
perhaps it might have been better for barbaik if she had left herself a little time to rest and to think about other things, for soon she grew to love money for its own sake, and only gave herself and tephany the food and clothes they absolutely needed.
and as for poor people she positively hated them, and declared that such lazy creatures had no business in the world.
well, this being the sort of person barbaik was, it is easy to guess at her anger when one day she found tephany talking outside the cowhouse to young denis, who was nothing more than a day labourer from the village of plover.
seizing her niece by the arm, she pulled her sharply away, exclaiming: "are you not ashamed, girl, to waste your time over a man who is as poor as a rat, when there are a dozen more who would be only too happy to buy you rings of silver, if you would let them?"
"denis is a good workman, as you know very well," answered tephany, red with anger, "and he puts by money too, and soon he will be able to take a farm for himself."
"nonsense," cried barbaik, "he will never save enough for a farm till he is a hundred.
i would sooner see you in your grave than the wife of a man who carries his whole fortune on his back."
"what does fortune matter when one is young and strong?"
asked tephany, but her aunt, amazed at such words, would hardly let her finish.
"what does fortune matter?"
repeated barbaik, in a shocked voice.
"is it possible that you are really so foolish as to despise money?
if this is what you learn from denis, i forbid you to speak to him, and i will have him turned out of the farm if he dares to show his face here again.
now go and wash the clothes and spread them out to dry."
tephany did not dare to disobey, but with a heavy heart went down the path to the river.
"she is harder than these rocks," said the girl to herself, "yes, a thousand times harder.
for the rain at least can at last wear away the stone, but you might cry for ever, and she would never care.
talking to denis is the only pleasure i have, and if i am not to see him i may as well enter a convent."
thinking these thoughts she reached the bank, and began to unfold the large packet of linen that had to be washed.
the tap of a stick made her look up, and standing before her she saw a little old woman, whose face was strange to her.
"you would like to sit down and rest, granny?"
asked tephany, pushing aside her bundle.
"when the sky is all the roof you have, you rest where you will," replied the old woman in trembling tones.
"are you so lonely, then?"
inquired tephany, full of pity.
"have you no friends who would welcome you into their houses?"
the old woman shook her head.
"they all died long, long ago," she answered, "and the only friends i have are strangers with kind hearts."
the girl did not speak for a moment, then held out the small loaf and some bacon intended for her dinner.
"take this," she said; "to-day at any rate you shall dine well," and the old woman took it, gazing at tephany the while.
"those who help others deserve to be helped," she answered; "your eyes are still red because that miser barbaik has forbidden you to speak to the young man from plover.
but cheer up, you are a good girl, and i will give you something that will enable you to see him once every day."
"you?"
cried tephany, stupefied at discovering that the beggar knew all about her affairs, but the old woman did not hear her.
"take this long copper pin," she went on, "and every time you stick it in your dress mother bourhis will be obliged to leave the house in order to go and count her cabbages.
as long as the pin is in your dress you will be free, and your aunt will not come back until you have put it in its case again."
then, rising, she nodded to tephany and vanished.
the girl stood where she was, as still as a stone.
if it had not been for the pin in her hands she would have thought she was dreaming.
but by that token she knew it was no common old woman who had given it to her, but a fairy, wise in telling what would happen in the days to come.
then suddenly tephany's eyes fell on the clothes, and to make up for lost time she began to wash them with great vigour.
next evening, at the moment when denis was accustomed to wait for her in the shadow of the cowhouse, tephany stuck the pin in her dress, and at the very same instant barbaik took up her sabots or wooden shoes and went through the orchard and past to the fields, to the plot where the cabbages grew.
with a heart as light as her footsteps, the girl ran from the house, and spent her evening happily with denis.
and so it was for many days after that.
then, at last, tephany began to notice something, and the something made her very sad.
at first, denis seemed to find the hours that they were together fly as quickly as she did, but when he had taught her all the songs he knew, and told her all the plans he had made for growing rich and a great man, he had nothing more to say to her, for he, like a great many other people, was fond of talking himself, but not of listening to any one else.
sometimes, indeed, he never came at all, and the next evening he would tell tephany that he had been forced to go into the town on business, but though she never reproached him she was not deceived and saw plainly that he no longer cared for her as he used to do.
day by day her heart grew heavier and her cheeks paler, and one evening, when she had waited for him in vain, she put her water-pot on her shoulder and went slowly down to the spring.
on the path in front of her stood the fairy who had given her the pin, and as she glanced at tephany she gave a little mischievous laugh and said: "why, my pretty maiden hardly looks happier than she did before, in spite of meeting her lover whenever she pleases."
"he has grown tired of me," answered tephany in a trembling voice, "and he makes excuses to stay away.
ah!
granny dear, it is not enough to be able to see him, i must be able to amuse him and to keep him with me.
he is so clever, you know.
help me to be clever too."
"is that what you want?"
cried the old woman.
"well, take this feather and stick it in your hair, and you will be as wise as solomon himself."
blushing with pleasure tephany went home and stuck the feather into the blue ribbon which girls always wear in that part of the country.
in a moment she heard denis whistling gaily, and as her aunt was safely counting her cabbages, she hurried out to meet him.
the young man was struck dumb by her talk.
there was nothing that she did not seem to know, and as for songs she not only could sing those from every part of brittany, but could compose them herself.
was this really the quiet girl who had been so anxious to learn all he could teach her, or was it somebody else?
perhaps she had gone suddenly mad, and there was an evil spirit inside her.
but in any case, night after night he came back, only to find her growing wiser and wiser.
soon the neighbours whispered their surprise among themselves, for tephany had not been able to resist the pleasure of putting the feather in her hair for some of the people who despised her for her poor clothes, and many were the jokes she made about them.
of course they heard of her jests, and shook their heads saying: "she is an ill-natured little cat, and the man that marries her will find that it is she who will hold the reins and drive the horse."
it was not long before denis began to agree with them, and as he always liked to be master wherever he went, he became afraid of tephany's sharp tongue, and instead of laughing as before when she made fun of other people he grew red and uncomfortable, thinking that his turn would come next.
so matters went on till one evening denis told tephany that he really could not stay a moment, as he had promised to go to a dance that was to be held in the next village.
tephany's face fell; she had worked hard all day, and had been counting on a quiet hour with denis.
she did her best to persuade him to remain with her, but he would not listen, and at last she grew angry.
"oh, i know why you are so anxious not to miss the dance," she said; "it is because aziliez of pennenru will be there."
now aziliez was the loveliest girl for miles round, and she and denis had known each other from childhood.
"oh yes, aziliez will be there," answered denis, who was quite pleased to see her jealous, "and naturally one would go a long way to watch her dance."
"go then!"
cried tephany, and entering the house she slammed the door behind her.
lonely and miserable she sat down by the fire and stared into the red embers.
then, flinging the feather from her hair, she put her head on her hands, and sobbed passionately.
"what is the use of being clever when it is beauty that men want?
that is what i ought to have asked for.
but it is too late, denis will never come back."
"since you wish it so much you shall have beauty," said a voice at her side, and looking round she beheld the old woman leaning on her stick.
"fasten this necklace round your neck, and as long as you wear it you will be the most beautiful woman in the world," continued the fairy.
with a little shriek of joy tephany took the necklace, and snapping the clasp ran to the mirror which hung in the corner.
ah, this time she was not afraid of aziliez or of any other girl, for surely none could be as fair and white as she.
and with the sight of her face a thought came to her, and putting on hastily her best dress and her buckled shoes she hurried off to the dance.
on the way she met a beautiful carriage with a young man seated in it.
"what a lovely maiden!"
he exclaimed, as tephany approached.
"why, there is not a girl in my own country that can be compared to her.
she, and no other, shall be my bride."
the carriage was large and barred the narrow road, so tephany was forced, much against her will, to remain where she was.
but she looked the young man full in the face as she answered: "go your way, noble lord, and let me go mine.
i am only a poor peasant girl, accustomed to milk, and make hay and spin."
"peasant you may be, but i will make you a great lady," said he, taking her hand and trying to lead her to the carriage."
i do n't want to be a great lady, i only want to be the wife of denis," she replied, throwing off his hand and running to the ditch which divided the road from the cornfield, where he hoped to hide.
unluckily the young man guessed what she was doing, and signed to his attendants, who seized her and put her in the coach.
the door was banged, and the horses whipped up into a gallop.
at the end of an hour they arrived at a splendid castle, and tephany, who would not move, was lifted out and carried into the hall, while a priest was sent for to perform the marriage ceremony.
the young man tried to win a smile from her by telling of all the beautiful things she should have as his wife, but tephany did not listen to him, and looked about to see if there was any means by which she could escape.
it did not seem easy.
the three great doors were closely barred, and the one through which she had entered shut with a spring, but her feather was still in her hair, and by its aid she detected a crack in the wooden panelling, through which a streak of light could be dimly seen.
touching the copper pin which fastened her dress, the girl sent every one in the hall to count the cabbages, while she herself passed through the little door, not knowing whither she was going.
by this time night had fallen, and tephany was very tired.
thankfully she found herself at the gate of a convent, and asked if she might stay there till morning.
but the portress answered roughly that it was no place for beggars, and bade her begone, so the poor girl dragged herself slowly along the road, till a light and the bark of a dog told her that she was near a farm.
in front of the house was a group of people; two or three women and the sons of the farmer.
when their mother heard tephany's request to be given a bed the good wife's heart softened, and she was just going to invite her inside, when the young men, whose heads were turned by the girl's beauty, began to quarrel as to which should do most for her.
from words they came to blows, and the women, frightened at the disturbance, pelted tephany with insulting names.
she quickly ran down the nearest path, hoping to escape them in the darkness of the trees, but in an instant she heard their footsteps behind her.
wild with fear her legs trembled under her, when suddenly she bethought herself of her necklace.
with a violent effort she burst the clasp and flung it round the neck of a pig which was grunting in a ditch, and as she did so she heard the footsteps cease from pursuing her and run after the pig, for her charm had vanished.
on she went, scarcely knowing where she was going, till she found herself, to her surprise and joy, close to her aunt's house.
for several days she felt so tired and unhappy that she could hardly get through her work, and to make matters worse denis scarcely ever came near her.
"he was too busy," he said, "and really it was only rich people who could afford to waste time in talking."
as the days went on tephany grew paler and paler, till everybody noticed it except her aunt.
the water-pot was almost too heavy for her now, but morning and evening she carried it to the spring, though the effort to lift it to her shoulder was often too much for her.
"how could i have been so foolish," she whispered to herself, when she went down as usual at sunset.
"it was not freedom to see denis that i should have asked for, for he was soon weary of me, nor a quick tongue, for he was afraid of it, nor beauty, for that brought me nothing but trouble, but riches which make life easy both for oneself and others.
ah!
if i only dared to beg this gift from the fairy, i should be wiser than before and know how to choose better."
"be satisfied," said the voice of the old woman, who seemed to be standing unseen at tephany's elbow.
"if you look in your right-hand pocket when you go home you will find a small box.
rub your eyes with the ointment it contains, and you will see that you yourself contain a priceless treasure."
tephany did not in the least understand what she meant, but ran back to the farm as fast as she could, and began to fumble joyfully in her right-hand pocket.
sure enough, there was the little box with the precious ointment.
she was in the act of rubbing her eyes with it when barbaik bourhis entered the room.
ever since she had been obliged to leave her work and pass her time, she did not know why, in counting cabbages, everything had gone wrong, and she could not get a labourer to stay with her because of her bad temper.
when, therefore, she saw her niece standing quietly before her mirror, barbaik broke out: "so this is what you do when i am out in the fields!
ah!
it is no wonder if the farm is ruined.
are you not ashamed, girl, to behave so?"
tephany tried to stammer some excuse, but her aunt was half mad with rage, and a box on the ears was her only answer.
at this tephany, hurt, bewildered and excited, could control herself no longer, and turning away burst into tears.
but what was her surprise when she saw that each tear-drop was a round and shining pearl.
barbaik, who also beheld this marvel, uttered a cry of astonishment, and threw herself on her knees to pick them up from the floor.
she was still gathering them when the door opened and in came denis.
"pearls!
are they really pearls?"
he asked, falling on his knees also, and looking up at tephany he perceived others still more beautiful rolling down the girl's cheeks.
"take care not to let any of the neighbours hear of it, denis," said barbaik.
"of course you shall have your share, but nobody else shall get a single one.
cry on, my dear, cry on," she continued to tephany.
it is for your good as well as ours," and she held out her apron to catch them, and denis his hat.
but tephany could hardly bear any more.
she felt half choked at the sight of their greediness, and wanted to rush from the hall, and though barbaik caught her arm to prevent this, and said all sorts of tender words which she thought would make the girl weep the more, tephany with a violent effort forced back her tears, and wiped her eyes.
"is she finished already?"
cried barbaik, in a tone of disappointment.
"oh, try again, my dear.
do you think it would do any good to beat her a little?"
she added to denis, who shook his head.
"that is enough for the first time.
i will go into the town and find out the value of each pearl."
"then i will go with you," said barbaik, who never trusted anyone and was afraid of being cheated.
so the two went out, leaving tephany behind them.
she sat quite still on her chair, her hands clasped tightly together, as if she was forcing something back.
at last she raised her eyes, which had been fixed on the ground, and beheld the fairy standing in a dark corner by the hearth, observing her with a mocking look.
the girl trembled and jumped up, then, taking the feather, the pin, and the box, she held them out to the old woman.
"here they are, all of them," she cried; "they belong to you.
let me never see them again, but i have learned the lesson that they taught me.
others may have riches, beauty and wit, but as for me i desire nothing but to be the poor peasant girl i always was, working hard for those she loves."
"yes, you have learned your lesson," answered the fairy, "and now you shall lead a peaceful life and marry the man you love.
for after all it was not yourself you thought of but him."
never again did tephany see the old woman, but she forgave denis for selling her tears, and in time he grew to be a good husband, who did his own share of work.
from "le foyer breton," par e. souvestre.
the groac" h of the isle of lok in old times, when all kinds of wonderful things happened in brittany, there lived in the village of lanillis, a young man named houarn pogamm and a girl called bellah postik.
they were cousins, and as their mothers were great friends, and constantly in and out of each other's houses, they had often been laid in the same cradle, and had played and fought over their games.
"when they are grown up they will marry," said the mothers; but just as every one was beginning to think of wedding bells, the two mothers died, and the cousins, who had no money, went as servants in the same house.
this was better than being parted, of course, but not so good as having a little cottage of their own, where they could do as they liked, and soon they might have been heard bewailing to each other the hardness of their lots.
"if we could only manage to buy a cow and get a pig to fatten," grumbled houarn," i would rent a bit of ground from the master, and then we could be married."
"yes," answered bellah, with a deep sigh; "but we live in such hard times, and at the last fair the price of pigs had risen again."
"we shall have long to wait, that is quite clear," replied houarn, turning away to his work.
whenever they met they repeated their grievances, and at length houarn's patience was exhausted, and one morning he came to bellah and told her that he was going away to seek his fortune.
the girl was very unhappy as she listened to this, and felt sorry that she had not tried to make the best of things.
she implored houarn not to leave her, but he would listen to nothing.
"the birds," he said, "continue flying until they reach a field of corn, and the bees do not stop unless they find the honey-giving flowers, and why should a man have less sense than they?
like them, i shall seek till i get what i want -- that is, money to buy a cow and a pig to fatten.
and if you love me, bellah, you wo n't attempt to hinder a plan which will hasten our marriage."
the girl saw it was useless to say more, so she answered sadly: "well, go then, since you must.
but first i will divide with you all that my parents left me," and going to her room, she opened a small chest, and took from it a bell, a knife, and a little stick.
"this bell," she said, "can be heard at any distance, however far, but it only rings to warn us that our friends are in great danger.
the knife frees all it touches from the spells that have been laid on them; while the stick will carry you wherever you want to go.
i will give you the knife to guard you against the enchantments of wizards, and the bell to tell me of your perils.
the stick i shall keep for myself, so that i can fly to you if ever you have need of me."
then they cried for a little on each other's necks, and houarn started for the mountains.
but in those days, as in these, beggars abounded, and through every village he passed they followed houarn in crowds, mistaking him for a gentleman, because there were no holes in his clothes.
"there is no fortune to be made here," he thought to himself; "it is a place for spending, and not earning.
i see i must go further," and he walked on to pont-aven, a pretty little town built on the bank of a river.
he was sitting on a bench outside an inn, when he heard two men who were loading their mules talking about the groac" h of the island of lok.
"what is a groac "h?"
asked he."
i have never come across one."
and the men answered that it was the name given to the fairy that dwelt in the lake, and that she was rich -- oh!
richer than all the kings in the world put together.
many had gone to the island to try and get possession of her treasures, but no one had ever come back.
as he listened houarn's mind was made up."
i will go, and return too," he said to the muleteers.
they stared at him in astonishment, and besought him not to be so mad and to throw away his life in such a foolish manner; but he only laughed, and answered that if they could tell him of any other way in which to procure a cow and a pig to fatten, he would think no more about it.
but the men did not know how this was to be done, and, shaking their heads over his obstinacy, left him to his fate.
so houarn went down to the sea, and found a boatman who engaged to take him to the isle of lok.
the island was large, and lying almost across it was a lake, with a narrow opening to the sea.
houarn paid the boatman and sent him away, and then proceeded to walk round the lake.
at one end he perceived a small skiff, painted blue and shaped like a swan, lying under a clump of yellow broom.
as far as he could see, the swan's head was tucked under its wing, and houarn, who had never beheld a boat of the sort, went quickly towards it and stepped in, so as to examine it the better.
but no sooner was he on board than the swan woke suddenly up; his head emerged from under his wing, his feet began to move in the water, and in another moment they were in the middle of the lake.
as soon as the young man had recovered from his surprise, he prepared to jump into the lake and swim to shore.
but the bird had guessed his intentions, and plunged beneath the water, carrying houarn with him to the palace of the groac "h. now, unless you have been under the sea and beheld all the wonders that lie there, you can never have an idea what the groac "h's palace was like.
it was all made of shells, blue and green and pink and lilac and white, shading into each other till you could not tell where one colour ended and the other began.
the staircases were of crystal, and every separate stair sang like a woodland bird as you put your foot on it.
round the palace were great gardens full of all the plants that grow in the sea, with diamonds for flowers.
in a large hall the groac" h was lying on a couch of gold.
the pink and white of her face reminded you of the shells of her palace, while her long black hair was intertwined with strings of coral, and her dress of green silk seemed formed out of the sea.
at the sight of her houarn stopped, dazzled by her beauty.
"come in," said the groac "h, rising to her feet.
"strangers and handsome youths are always welcome here.
do not be shy, but tell me how you found your way, and what you want."
"my name is houarn," he answered, "lanillis is my home, and i am trying to earn enough money to buy a little cow and a pig to fatten."
"well, you can easily get that," replied she; "it is nothing to worry about.
come in and enjoy yourself."
and she beckoned him to follow her into a second hall whose floors and walls were formed of pearls, while down the sides there were tables laden with fruit and wines of all kinds; and as he ate and drank, the groac" h talked to him and told him how the treasures he saw came from shipwrecked vessels, and were brought to her palace by a magic current of water."
i do not wonder," exclaimed houarn, who now felt quite at home --" i do not wonder that the people on the earth have so much to say about you."
"the rich are always envied."
"for myself," he added, with a laugh," i only ask for the half of your wealth."
"you can have it, if you will, houarn," answered the fairy.
"what do you mean?"
cried he.
"my husband, korandon, is dead," she replied, "and if you wish it, i will marry you."
the young man gazed at her in surprise.
could any one so rich and so beautiful really wish to be his wife?
he looked at her again, and bellah was forgotten as he answered: "a man would be mad indeed to refuse such an offer.
i can only accept it with joy."
"then the sooner it is done the better," said the groac "h, and gave orders to her servants.
after that was finished, she begged houarn to accompany her to a fish-pond at the bottom of the garden.
"come lawyer, come miller, come tailor, come singer!"
cried she, holding out a net of steel; and at each summons a fish appeared and jumped into the net.
when it was full she went into a large kitchen and threw them all into a golden pot; but above the bubbling of the water houarn seemed to hear the whispering of little voices.
"who is it whispering in the golden pot, groac "h?"
he inquired at last.
"it is nothing but the noise of the wood sparkling," she answered; but it did not sound the least like that to houarn.
"there it is again," he said, after a short pause.
"the water is getting hot, and it makes the fish jump," she replied; but soon the noise grew louder and like cries.
"what is it?"
asked houarn, beginning to feel uncomfortable.
"just the crickets on the hearth," said she, and broke into a song which drowned the cries from the pot.
but though houarn held his peace, he was not as happy as before.
something seemed to have gone wrong, and then he suddenly remembered bellah.
"is it possible i can have forgotten her so soon?
what a wretch i am!"
he thought to himself; and he remained apart and watched the groac" h while she emptied the fish into a plate, and bade him eat his dinner while she fetched wine from her cellar in a cave.
houarn sat down and took out the knife which bellah had given him, but as soon as the blade touched the fish the enchantment ceased, and four men stood before him.
"houarn, save us, we entreat you, and save yourself too!"
murmured they, not daring to raise their voices.
"why, it must have been you who were crying out in the pot just now!"
exclaimed houarn.
"yes, it was us," they answered.
"like you, we came to the isle of lok to seek our fortunes, and like you we consented to marry the groac "h, and no sooner was the ceremony over than she turned us into fishes, as she had done to all our forerunners, who are in the fish-pond still, where you will shortly join them."
on hearing this houarn leaped into the air, as if he already felt himself frizzling in the golden pot.
he rushed to the door, hoping to escape that way; but the groac "h, who had heard everything, met him on the threshold.
instantly she threw the steel net over his head, and the eyes of a little green frog peeped through the meshes.
"you shall go and play with the rest," she said, carrying him off to the fish-pond.
it was at this very moment that bellah, who was skimming the milk in the farm dairy, heard the fairy bell tinkle violently.
at the sound she grew pale, for she knew it meant that houarn was in danger; and, hastily, changing the rough dress she wore for her work, she left the farm with the magic stick in her hand.
her knees were trembling under her, but she ran as fast as she could to the cross roads, where she drove her stick into the ground, murmuring as she did so a verse her mother had taught her: little staff of apple-tree, over the earth and over the sea, up in the air be guide to me, everywhere to wander free, and immediately the stick became a smart little horse, with a rosette at each ear and a feather on his forehead.
he stood quite still while bellah scrambled up, then he started off, his pace growing quicker and quicker, till at length the girl could hardly see the trees and houses as they flashed past.
but, rapid as the pace was, it was not rapid enough for bellah, who stooped and said: "the swallow is less swift than the wind, the wind is less swift than the lightning.
but you, my horse, if you love me, must be swifter than them all, for there is a part of my heart that suffers -- the best part of my heart that is in danger."
and the horse heard her, and galloped like a straw carried along by a tempest till they reached the foot of a rock called the leap of the deer.
there he stopped, for no horse or mule that ever was born could climb that rock, and bellah knew it, so she began to sing again: horse of leon, given to me, over the earth and over the sea, up in the air be guide to me, everywhere to wander free, and when she had finished, the horse's fore legs grew shorter and spread into wings, his hind legs became claws, feathers sprouted all over his body, and she sat on the back of a great bird, which bore her to the summit of the rock.
here she found a nest made of clay and lined with dried moss, and in the centre a tiny man, black and wrinkled, who gave a cry of surprise at the sight of bellah.
"ah!
you are the pretty girl who was to come and save me!"
"to save you!"
repeated bellah.
"but who are you, my little friend?'"
i am the husband of the groac" h of the isle of lok, and it is owing to her that i am here."
"but what are you doing in this nest?'"
i am sitting on six eggs of stone, and i shall not be set free till they are hatched."
on hearing this bellah began to laugh.
"poor little cock!"
she said, "and how am i to deliver you?"
"by delivering houarn, who is in the power of the groac "h." "ah!
tell me how i can manage that, and if i have to walk round the whole of brittany on my bended knees i will do it!"
"well, first you must dress yourself as a young man, and then go and seek the groac "h.
when you have found her you must contrive to get hold of the net of steel that hangs from her waist, and shut her up in it for ever."
"but where am i to find a young man's clothes?"
asked she."
i will show you," he replied, and as he spoke he pulled out three of his red hairs and blew them away, muttering something the while.
in the twinkling of an eye the four hairs changed into four tailors, of whom the first carried a cabbage, the second a pair of scissors, the third a needle, and the fourth an iron.
without waiting for orders, they sat down in the nest and, crossing their legs comfortably, began to prepare the suit of clothes for bellah.
with one of the leaves of the cabbage they made her a coat, and another served for a waistcoat; but it took two for the wide breeches which were then in fashion.
the hat was cut from the heart of the cabbage, and a pair of shoes from the thick stem.
and when bellah had put them all on you would have taken her for a gentleman dressed in green velvet, lined with white satin.
she thanked the little men gratefully, and after a few more instructions, jumped on the back of her great bird, and was borne away to the isle of lok.
once there, she bade him transform himself back into a stick, and with it in her hand she stepped into the blue boat, which conducted her to the palace of shells.
the groac" h seemed overjoyed to see her, and told her that never before had she beheld such a handsome young man.
very soon she led her visitor into the great hall, where wine and fruit were always waiting, and on the table lay the magic knife, left there by houarn.
unseen by the groac "h, bellah hid it in a pocket of her green coat, and then followed her hostess into the garden, and to the pond which contained the fish, their sides shining with a thousand different colours.
"oh!
what beautiful, beautiful creatures!"
said she.
"i'm sure i should never be tired of watching them."
and she sat down on the bank, with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, her eyes fixed on the fishes as they flashed past.
"would you not like to stay here always?"
asked the groac "h; and bellah answered that she desired nothing better.
"then you have only to marry me," said the groac "h. "oh!
do n't say no, for i have fallen deeply in love with you."
"well, i wo n't say "no,"" replied bellah, with a laugh, "but you must promise first to let me catch one of those lovely fish in your net."
"it is not so easy as it looks," rejoined the groac "h, smiling, "but take it, and try your luck."
bellah took the net which the groac" h held out, and, turning rapidly, flung it over the witch's head.
"become in body what you are in soul!"
cried she, and in an instant the lovely fairy of the sea was a toad, horrible to look upon.
she struggled hard to tear the net asunder, but it was no use.
bellah only drew it the tighter, and, flinging the sorceress into a pit, she rolled a great stone across the mouth, and left her.
as she drew near the pond she saw a great procession of fishes advancing to meet her, crying in hoarse tones: "this is our lord and master, who has saved us from the net of steel and the pot of gold!"
"and who will restore you to your proper shapes," said bellah, drawing the knife from her pocket.
but just as she was going to touch the foremost fish, her eyes fell on a green frog on his knees beside her, his little paws crossed over his little heart.
bellah felt as if fingers were tightening round her throat, but she managed to cry: "is this you, my houarn?
is this you?"
"it is i," croaked the little frog; and as the knife touched him he was a man again, and, springing up, he clasped her in his arms.
"but we must not forget the others," she said at last, and began to transform the fishes to their proper shapes.
there were so many of them that it took quite a long time.
just as she had finished there arrived the little dwarf from the deer's leap in a car drawn by six cockchafers, which once had been the six stone eggs.
"here i am!"
he exclaimed.
"you have broken the spell that held me, and now come and get your reward," and, dismounting from his chariot, he led them down into the caves filled with gold and jewels, and bade bellah and houarn take as much as they wanted.
when their pockets were full, bellah ordered her stick to become a winged carriage, large enough to bear them and the men they had rescued back to lanillis.
there they were married the next day, but instead of setting up housekeeping with the little cow and pig to fatten that they had so long wished for, they were able to buy lands for miles round for themselves, and gave each man who had been delivered from the groac" h a small farm, where he lived happily to the end of his days.
from "le foyer breton," par e. souvestre.
the escape of the mouse manawyddan the prince and his friend pryderi were wanderers, for the brother of manawyddan had been slain, and his throne taken from him.
very sorrowful was manawyddan, but pryderi was stout of heart, and bade him be of good cheer, as he knew a way out of his trouble.
"and what may that be?"
asked manawyddan.
"it is that thou marry my mother rhiannon and become lord of the fair lands that i will give her for dowry.
never did any lady have more wit than she, and in her youth none was more lovely; even yet she is good to look upon."
"thou art the best friend that ever a man had," said manawyddan.
"let us go now to seek rhiannon, and the lands where she dwells."
then they set forth, but the news of their coming ran swifter still, and rhiannon and kieva, wife of pryderi, made haste to prepare a feast for them.
and manawyddan found that pryderi had spoken the truth concerning his mother, and asked if she would take him for her husband.
right gladly did she consent, and without delay they were married, and rode away to the hunt, rhiannon and manawyddan, kieva and pryderi, and they would not be parted from each other by night or by day, so great was the love between them.
one day, when they were returned, they were sitting out in a green place, and suddenly the crash of thunder struck loudly on their ears, and a wall of mist fell between them, so that they were hidden one from the other.
trembling they sat till the darkness fled and the light shone again upon them, but in the place where they were wont to see cattle, and herds, and dwellings, they beheld neither house nor beast, nor man nor smoke; neither was any one remaining in the green place save these four only.
"whither have they gone, and my host also?"
cried manawyddan, and they searched the hall, and there was no man, and the castle, and there was none, and in the dwellings that were left was nothing save wild beasts.
for a year these four fed on the meat that manawyddan and pryderi killed out hunting, and the honey of the bees that sucked the mountain heather.
for a time they desired nothing more, but when the next year began they grew weary.
"we can not spend our lives thus," said manawyddan at last, "let us go into england and learn some trade by which we may live."
so they left wales, and went to hereford, and there they made saddles, while manawyddan fashioned blue enamel ornaments to put on their trappings.
and so greatly did the townsfolk love these saddles, that no others were bought throughout the whole of hereford, till the saddlers banded together and resolved to slay manawyddan and his companions.
when pryderi heard of it, he was very wroth, and wished to stay and fight.
but the counsels of manawyddan prevailed, and they moved by night to another city.
"what craft shall we follow?"
asked pryderi.
"we will make shields," answered manawyddan.
"but do we know anything of that craft?"
answered pryderi.
"we will try it," said manawyddan, and they began to make shields, and fashioned them after the shape of the shields they had seen; and these likewise they enamelled.
and so greatly did they prosper that no man in the town bought a shield except they had made it, till at length the shield-makers banded together as the saddlers had done, and resolved to slay them.
but of this they had warning, and by night betook themselves to another town.
"let us take to making shoes," said manawyddan, "for there are not any among the shoemakers bold enough to fight us.'"
i know nothing of making shoes," answered pryderi, who in truth despised so peaceful a craft.
"but i know," replied manawyddan, "and i will teach thee to stitch.
we will buy the leather ready dressed, and will make the shoes from it.
then straightway he sought the town for the best leather, and for a goldsmith to fashion the clasps, and he himself watched till it was done, so that he might learn for himself.
soon he became known as "the maker of gold shoes," and prospered so greatly, that as long as one could be bought from him not a shoe was purchased from the shoemakers of the town.
and the craftsmen were wroth, and banded together to slay them.
"pryderi," said manawyddan, when he had received news of it, "we will not remain in england any longer.
let us set forth to dyved."
so they journeyed until they came to their lands at narberth.
there they gathered their dogs round them, and hunted for a year as before.
after that a strange thing happened.
one morning pryderi and manawyddan rose up to hunt, and loosened their dogs, which ran before them, till they came to a small bush.
at the bush, the dogs shrank away as if frightened, and returned to their masters, their hair brisling on their backs.
"we must see what is in that bush," said pryderi, and what was in it was a boar, with a skin as white as the snow on the mountains.
and he came out, and made a stand as the dogs rushed on him, driven on by the men.
long he stood at bay; then at last he betook himself to flight, and fled to a castle which was newly built, in a place where no building had ever been known.
into the castle he ran, and the dogs after him, and long though their masters looked and listened, they neither saw nor heard aught concerning dogs or boar."
i will go into the castle and get tidings of the dogs," said pryderi at last.
"truly," answered manawyddan, "thou wouldst do unwisely, for whosoever has cast a spell over this land has set this castle here.'"
i can not give up my dogs," replied pryderi, and to the castle he went.
but within was neither man nor beast; neither boar nor dogs, but only a fountain with marble round it, and on the edge a golden bowl, richly wrought, which pleased pryderi greatly.
in a moment he forgot about his dogs, and went up to the bowl and took hold of it, and his hands stuck to the bowl, and his feet to the marble slab, and despair took possession of him.
till the close of day manawyddan waited for him, and when the sun was fast sinking, he went home, thinking that he had strayed far.
"where are thy friend and thy dogs?"
said rhiannon, and he told her what had befallen pryderi."
a good friend hast thou lost," answered rhiannon, and she went up to the castle and through the gate, which was open.
there, in the centre of the courtyard, she beheld pryderi standing, and hastened towards him.
"what dost thou here?"
she asked, laying her hand on the bowl, and as she spoke she too stuck fast, and was not able to utter a word.
then thunder was heard and a veil of darkness descended upon them, and the castle vanished and they with it.
when kieva, the wife of pryderi, found that neither her husband nor his mother returned to her, she was in such sorrow that she cared not whether she lived or died.
manawyddan was grieved also in his heart, and said to her: "it is not fitting that we should stay here, for he have lost our dogs and can not get food.
let us go into england -- it is easier for us to live there."
so they set forth.
"what craft wilt thou follow?"
asked kieva as they went along."
i shall make shoes as once i did," replied he; and he got all the finest leather in the town and caused gilded clasps to be made for the shoes, till everyone flocked to buy, and all the shoemakers in the town were idle and banded together in anger to kill him.
but luckily manawyddan got word of it, and he and kieva left the town one night and proceeded to narberth, taking with him a sheaf of wheat, which he sowed in three plots of ground.
and while the wheat was growing up, he hunted and fished, and they had food enough and to spare.
thus the months passed until the harvest; and one evening manawyddan visited the furthest of his fields of wheat; and saw that it was ripe.
"to-morrow i will reap this," said he; but on the morrow when he went to reap the wheat he found nothing but the bare straw.
filled with dismay he hastened to the second field, and there the corn was ripe and golden.
"to-morrow i will reap this," he said, but on the morrow the ears had gone, and there was nothing but the bare straw.
"well, there is still one field left," he said, and when he looked at it, it was still fairer than the other two.
"to-night i will watch here," thought he, "for whosoever carried off the other corn will in like manner take this, and i will know who it is."
so he hid himself and waited.
the hours slid by, and all was still, so still that manawyddan well-nigh dropped asleep.
but at midnight there arose the loudest tumult in the world, and peeping out he beheld a mighty host of mice, which could neither be numbered nor measured.
each mouse climbed up a straw till it bent down with its weight, and then it bit off one of the ears, and carried it away, and there was not one of the straws that had not got a mouse to it.
full of wrath he rushed at the mice, but he could no more come up with them than if they had been gnats, or birds of the air, save one only which lingered behind the rest, and this mouse manawyddan came up with.
stooping down he seized it by the tail, and put it in his glove, and tied a piece of string across the opening of the glove, so that the mouse could not escape.
when he entered the hall where kieva was sitting, he lighted a fire, and hung the glove up on a peg.
"what hast thou there?"
asked she."
a thief," he answered, "that i caught robbing me."
"what kind of a thief may it be which thou couldst put in thy glove?"
said kieva.
"that i will tell thee," he replied, and then he showed her how his fields of corn had been wasted, and how he had watched for the mice.
"and one was less nimble than the rest, and is now in my glove.
to-morrow i will hang it, and i only wish i had them all."
"it is a marvel, truly," said she, "yet it would be unseemly for a man of thy dignity to hang a reptile such as this.
do not meddle with it, but let it go."
"woe betide me," he cried, "if i would not hang them all if i could catch them, and such as i have i will hang."
"verily," said she, "there is no reason i should succour this reptile, except to prevent discredit unto thee."
"if i knew any cause that i should succour it, i would take thy counsel," answered manawyddan, "but as i know of none, i am minded to destroy it."
"do so then," said kieva.
so he went up a hill and set up two forks on the top, and while he was doing this he saw a scholar coming towards him, whose clothes were tattered.
now it was seven years since manawyddan had seen man or beast in that place, and the sight amazed him.
"good day to thee, my lord," said the scholar.
"good greeting to thee, scholar.
whence dost thou come?"
"from singing in england; but wherefore dost thou ask?"
"because for seven years no man hath visited this place.'"
i wander where i will," answered the scholar.
"and what work art thou upon?'"
i am about to hang a thief that i caught robbing me!"
"what manner of thief is that?"
inquired the scholar."
i see a creature in thy hand like upon a mouse, and ill does it become a man of thy rank to touch a reptile like this.
let it go free.'"
i will not let it go free," cried manawyddan."
i caught it robbing me, and it shall suffer the doom of a thief."
"lord!"
said the scholar, "sooner than see a man like thee at such a work, i would give thee a pound which i have received as alms to let it go free.'"
i will not let it go free, neither will i sell it."
"as thou wilt, lord," answered the scholar, and he went his way.
manawyddan was placing the cross-beam on the two forked sticks, where the mouse was to hang, when a priest rode past.
"good-day to thee, lord; and what art thou doing?'"
i am hanging a thief that i caught robbing me."
"what manner of thief, lord?'"
a creature in the form of a mouse.
it has been robbing me, and it shall suffer the doom of a thief."
"lord," said the priest, "sooner than see thee touch this reptile, i would purchase its freedom.'"
i will neither sell it nor set it free."
"it is true that a mouse is worth nothing, but rather than see thee defile thyself with touching such a reptile as this, i will give thee three pounds for it.'"
i will not take any price for it.
it shall be hanged as it deserves."
"willingly, my lord, if it is thy pleasure."
and the priest went his way.
then manawyddan noosed the string about the mouse's neck, and was about to draw it tight when a bishop, with a great following and horses bearing huge packs, came by.
"what work art thou upon?"
asked the bishop, drawing rein.
"hanging a thief that i caught robbing me."
"but is not that a mouse that i see in thine hand?"
asked the bishop.
"yes; that is the thief," answered manawyddan.
"well, since i have come at the doom of this reptile, i will ransom it of thee for seven pounds, rather than see a man of thy rank touch it.
loose it, and let it go.'"
i will not let it loose.'"
i will give thee four and twenty pounds to set it free," said the bishop."
i will not set it free for as much again."
"if thou wilt not set it free for this, i will give thee all the horses thou seest and the seven loads of baggage.'"
i will not set it free."
"then tell me at what price thou wilt loose it, and i will give it."
"the spell must be taken off rhiannon and pryderi," said manawyddan.
"that shall be done."
"but not yet will i loose the mouse.
the charm that has been cast over all my lands must be taken off likewise."
"this shall be done also."
"but not yet will i loose the mouse till i know who she is."
"she is my wife," answered the bishop.
"and wherefore came she to me?"
asked manawyddan.
"to despoil thee," replied the bishop, "for it is i who cast the charm over thy lands, to avenge gwawl the son of clud my friend.
and it was i who threw the spell upon pryderi to avenge gwawl for the trick that had been played on him in the game of badger in the bag.
and not only was i wroth, but my people likewise, and when it was known that thou wast come to dwell in the land, they besought me much to change them into mice, that they might eat thy corn.
the first and the second nights it was the men of my own house that destroyed thy two fields, but on the third night my wife and her ladies came to me and begged me to change them also into the shape of mice, that they might take part in avenging gwawl.
therefore i changed them.
yet had she not been ill and slow of foot, thou couldst not have overtaken her.
still, since she was caught, i will restore thee pryderi and rhiannon, and will take the charm from off thy lands.
i have told thee who she is; so now set her free.'"
i will not set her free," answered manawyddan,'till thou swear that no vengeance shall be taken for his, either upon pryderi, or upon rhiannon, or on me.'"
i will grant thee this boon; and thou hast done wisely to ask it, for on thy head would have lit all the trouble.
set now my wife free.'"
i will not set her free till pryderi and rhiannon are with me."
"behold, here they come," said the bishop.
then manawyddan held out his hands and greeted pryderi and rhiannon, and they seated themselves joyfully on the grass.
"ah, lord, hast thou not received all thou didst ask?"
said the bishop.
"set now my wife free!"
"that i will gladly," answered manawyddan, unloosing the cord from her neck, and as he did so the bishop struck her with his staff, and she turned into a young woman, the fairest that ever was seen.
"look around upon thy land," said he, "and thou wilt see it all tilled and peopled, as it was long ago."
and manawyddan looked, and saw corn growing in the fields, and cows and sheep grazing on the hill-side, and huts for the people to dwell in.
and he was satisfied in his soul, but one more question he put to the bishop.
"what spell didst thou lay upon pryderi and rhiannon?"
"pryderi has had the knockers of the gate of my palace hung about him, and rhiannon has carried the collars of my asses around her neck," said the bishop with a smile.
from the "mabinogion."
the believing husbands once upon a time there dwelt in the land of erin a young man who was seeking a wife, and of all the maidens round about none pleased him as well as the only daughter of a farmer.
the girl was willing and the father was willing, and very soon they were married and went to live at the farm.
by and bye the season came when they must cut the peats and pile them up to dry, so that they might have fires in the winter.
so on a fine day the girl and her husband, and the father and his wife all went out upon the moor.
they worked hard for many hours, and at length grew hungry, so the young woman was sent home to bring them food, and also to give the horses their dinner.
when she went into the stables, she suddenly saw the heavy pack-saddle of the speckled mare just over her head, and she jumped and said to herself: "suppose that pack-saddle were to fall and kill me, how dreadful it would be!"
and she sat down just under the pack-saddle she was so much afraid of, and began to cry.
now the others out on the moor grew hungrier and hungrier.
"what can have become of her?"
asked they, and at length the mother declared that she would wait no longer, and must go and see what had happened.
as the bride was nowhere in the kitchen or the dairy, the old woman went into the stable, where she found her daughter weeping bitterly.
"what is the matter, my dove?"
and the girl answered, between her sobs: "when i came in and saw the pack-saddle over my head, i thought how dreadful it would be if it fell and killed me," and she cried louder than before.
the old woman struck her hands together: "ah, to think of it!
if that were to be, what should i do?"
and she sat down by her daughter, and they both wrung their hands and let their tears flow.
"something strange must have occurred," exclaimed the old farmer on the moor, who by this time was not only hungry, but cross."
i must go after them."
and he went and found them in the stable.
"what is the matter?"
asked he.
"oh!"
replied his wife, "when our daughter came home, did she not see the pack-saddle over her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be if it were to fall and kill her."
"ah, to think of it!"
exclaimed he, striking his hands together, and he sat down beside them and wept too.
as soon as night fell the young man returned full of hunger, and there they were, all crying together in the stable.
"what is the matter?"
asked he.
"when thy wife came home," answered the farmer, "she saw the pack-saddle over her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be if it were to fall and kill her."
"well, but it did n't fall," replied the young man, and he went off to the kitchen to get some supper, leaving them to cry as long as they liked.
the next morning he got up with the sun, and said to the old man and to the old woman and to his wife: "farewell: my foot shall not return to the house till i have found other three people as silly as you," and he walked away till he came to the town, and seeing the door of a cottage standing open wide, he entered.
no man was present, but only some women spinning at their wheels.
"you do not belong to this town," said he.
"you speak truth," they answered, "nor you either?'"
i do not," replied he, "but is it a good place to live in?"
the women looked at each other.
"the men of the town are so silly that we can make them believe anything we please," said they.
"well, here is a gold ring," replied he, "and i will give it to the one amongst you who can make her husband believe the most impossible thing," and he left them.
as soon as the first husband came home his wife said to him: "thou art sick!"
"am i?"
asked he.
"yes, thou art," she answered; "take off thy clothes and lie down."
so he did, and when he was in his bed his wife went to him and said: "thou art dead."
"oh, am i?"
asked he.
"thou art," said she; "shut thine eyes and stir neither hand nor foot."
and dead he felt sure he was.
soon the second man came home, and his wife said to him: "you are not my husband!"
"oh, am i not?"
asked he.
"no, it is not you," answered she, so he went away and slept in the wood.
when the third man arrived his wife gave him his supper, and after that he went to bed, just as usual.
the next morning a boy knocked at the door, bidding him attend the burial of the man who was dead, and he was just going to get up when his wife stopped him.
"time enough," said she, and he lay still till he heard the funeral passing the window.
"now rise, and be quick," called the wife, and the man jumped out of bed in a great hurry, and began to look about him.
"why, where are my clothes?"
asked he.
"silly that you are, they are on your back, of course," answered the woman.
"are they?"
said he.
"they are," said she, "and make haste lest the burying be ended before you get there."
then off he went, running hard, and when the mourners saw a man coming towards them with nothing on but his nightshirt, they forgot in their fright what they were there for, and fled to hide themselves.
and the naked man stood alone at the head of the coffin.
very soon a man came out of the wood and spoke to him.
"do you know me?"
"not i," answered the naked man."
i do not know you."
"but why are you naked?"
asked the first man.
"am i naked?
my wife told me that i had all my clothes on," answered he.
"and my wife told me that i myself was dead," said the man in the coffin.
but at the sound of his voice the two men were so terrified that they ran straight home, and the man in the coffin got up and followed them, and it was his wife that gained the gold ring, as he had been sillier than the other two.
from "west highland tales."
the hoodie-crow.
once there lived a farmer who had three daughters, and good useful girls they were, up with the sun, and doing all the work of the house.
one morning they all ran down to the river to wash their clothes, when a hoodie came round and sat on a tree close by.
"wilt thou wed me, thou farmer's daughter?"
he said to the eldest.
"indeed i wo n't wed thee," she answered, "an ugly brute is the hoodie."
and the bird, much offended, spread his wings and flew away.
but the following day he came back again, and said to the second girl: "wilt thou wed me, farmer's daughter?"
"indeed i will not," answered she, "an ugly brute is the hoodie."
and the hoodie was more angry than before, and went away in a rage.
however, after a night's rest he was in a better temper, and thought that he might be more lucky the third time, so back he went to the old place.
"wilt thou wed me, farmer's daughter?"
he said to the youngest.
"indeed i will wed thee; a pretty creature is the hoodie," answered she, and on the morrow they were married."
i have something to ask thee," said the hoodie when they were far away in his own house.
"wouldst thou rather i should be a hoodie by day and a man by night, or a man by day and a hoodie by night?"
the girl was surprised at his words, for she did not know that he could be anything but a hoodie at all times.
still she said nothing of this, and only replied," i would rather thou wert a man by day and a hoodie by night," and so he was; and a handsomer man or a more beautiful hoodie never was seen.
the girl loved them both, and never wished for things to be different.
by and bye they had a son, and very pleased they both were.
but in the night soft music was heard stealing close towards the house, and every man slept, and the mother slept also.
when they woke again it was morning, and the baby was gone.
high and low they looked for it, but nowhere could they find it, and the farmer, who had come to see his daughter, was greatly grieved, as he feared it might be thought that he had stolen it, because he did not want the hoodie for a son-in-law.
the next year the hoodie's wife had another son, and this time a watch was set at every door.
but it was no use.
in vain they determined that, come what might, they would not close their eyes; at the first note of music they all fell asleep, and when the farmer arrived in the morning to see his grandson, he found them all weeping, for while they had slept the baby had vanished.
well, the next year it all happened again, and the hoodie's wife was so unhappy that her husband resolved to take her away to another house he had, and her sisters with her for company.
so they set out in a coach which was big enough to hold them, and had not gone very far when the hoodie suddenly said: "you are sure you have not forgotten anything?'"
i have forgotten my coarse comb," answered the wife, feeling in her pocket, and as she spoke the coach changed into a withered faggot, and the man became a hoodie again, and flew away.
the two sisters returned home, but the wife followed the hoodie.
sometimes she would see him on a hill-top, and then would hasten after him, hoping to catch him.
but by the time she had got to the top of the hill, he would be in the valley on the other side.
when night came, and she was tired, she looked about for some place to rest, and glad she was to see a little house full of light straight in front of her, and she hurried towards it as fast as she could.
at the door stood a little boy, and the sight of him filled her heart with pleasure, she did not know why.
a woman came out, and bade her welcome, and set before her food, and gave her a soft bed to lie on.
and the hoodie's wife lay down, and so tired was she, that it seemed to her but a moment before the sun rose, and she awoke again.
from hill to hill she went after the hoodie, and sometimes she saw him on the top; but when she got to the top, he had flown into the valley, and when she reached the valley he was on the top of another hill -- and so it happened till night came round again.
then she looked round for some place to rest in, and she beheld a little house of light before her, and fast she hurried towards it.
at the door stood a little boy, and her heart was filled with pleasure at the sight of him, she did not know why.
after that a woman bade her enter, and set food before her, and gave her a soft bed to lie in.
and when the sun rose she got up, and left the house, in search of the hoodie.
this day everything befell as on the two other days, but when she reached the small house, the woman bade her keep awake, and if the hoodie flew into the room, to try to seize him.
but the wife had walked far, and was very tired, and strive as she would, she fell sound asleep.
many hours she slept, and the hoodie entered through a window, and let fall a ring on her hand.
the girl awoke with a start, and leant forward to grasp him, but he was already flying off, and she only seized a feather from his wing.
and when dawn came, she got up and told the woman.
"he has gone over the hill of poison," said she, "and there you can not follow him without horse-shoes on your hands and feet.
but i will help you.
put on this suit of men's clothes, and go down this road till you come to the smithy, and there you can learn to make horse-shoes for yourself."
the girl thanked her, and put on the cloths and went down the road to do her bidding.
so hard did she work, that in a few days she was able to make the horse-shoes.
early one morning she set out for the hill of poison.
on her hands and feet she went, but even with the horse-shoes on she had to be very careful not to stumble, lest some poisoned thorns should enter into her flesh, and she should die.
but when at last she was over, it was only to hear that her husband was to be married that day to the daughter of a great lord.
now there was to be a race in the town, and everyone meant to be there, except the stranger who had come over the hill of poison -- everyone, that is, but the cook, who was to make the bridal supper.
greatly he loved races, and sore was his heart to think that one should be run without his seeing it, so when he beheld a woman whom he did not know coming along the street, hope sprang up in him.
"will you cook the wedding feast in place of me?"
he said, "and i will pay you well when i return from the race."
gladly she agreed, and cooked the feast in a kitchen that looked into the great hall, where the company were to eat it.
after that she watched the seat where the bridegroom was sitting, and taking a plateful of the broth, she dropped the ring and the feather into it, and set if herself before him.
with the first spoonful he took up the ring, and a thrill ran through him; in the second he beheld the feather and rose from his chair.
"who has cooked this feast?"
asked he, and the real cook, who had come back from the race, was brought before him.
"he may be the cook, but he did not cook this feast," said the bridegroom, and then inquiry was made, and the girl was summoned to the great hall.
"that is my married wife," he declared, "and no one else will i have," and at that very moment the spells fell off him, and never more would he be a hoodie.
happy indeed were they to be together again, and little did they mind that the hill of poison took long to cross, for she had to go some way forwards, and then throw the horse-shoes back for him to put on.
still, at last they were over, and they went back the way she had come, and stopped at the three houses in order to take their little sons to their own home.
but the story never says who had stolen them, nor what the coarse comb had to do with it.
from "west highland tales."
the brownie of the lake once upon a time there lived in france a man whose name was jalm riou.
you might have walked a whole day without meeting anyone happier or more contented, for he had a large farm, plenty of money, and above all, a daughter called barbaik, the most graceful dancer and the best-dressed girl in the whole country side.
when she appeared on holidays in her embroidered cap, five petticoats, each one a little shorter than the other, and shoes with silver buckles, the women were all filled with envy, but little cared barbaik what they might whisper behind her back as long as she knew that her clothes were finer than anyone else's and that she had more partners than any other girl.
now amongst all the young men who wanted to marry barbaik, the one whose heart was most set on her was her father's head man, but as his manners were rough and he was exceedingly ugly she would have nothing to say to him, and, what was worse, often made fun of him with the rest.
jegu, for that was his name, of course heard of this, and it made him very unhappy.
still he would not leave the farm, and look for work elsewhere, as he might have done, for then he would never see barbaik at all, and what was life worth to him without that?
one evening he was bringing back his horses from the fields, and stopped at a little lake on the way home to let them drink.
he was tired with a long day's work, and stood with his hand on the mane of one of the animals, waiting till they had done, and thinking all the while of barbaik, when a voice came out of the gorse close by.
"what is the matter, jegu?
you must n't despair yet."
the young man glanced up in surprise, and asked who was there.
"it is i, the brownie of the lake," replied the voice.
"but where are you?"
inquired jegu.
"look close, and you will see me among the reeds in the form of a little green frog.
i can take," he added proudly, "any shape i choose, and even, which is much harder, be invisible if i want to."
"then show yourself to me in the shape in which your family generally appear," replied jegu.
"certainly, if you wish," and the frog jumped on the back of one of the horses, and changed into a little dwarf, all dressed in green.
this transformation rather frightened jegu, but the brownie bade him have no fears, for he would not do him any harm; indeed, he hoped that jegu might find him of some use.
"but why should you take all this interest in me?"
asked the peasant suspiciously.
"because of a service you did me last winter, which i have never forgotten," answered the little fellow.
"you know, i am sure, that the korigans -lsb- fn # 3: the spiteful fairies. -rsb-
who dwell in the white corn country have declared war on my people, because they say that they are the friends of man.
we were therefore obliged to take refuge in distant lands, and to hide ourselves at first under different animal shapes.
since that time, partly from habit and partly to amuse ourselves, we have continued to transform ourselves, and it was in this way that i got to know you."
"how?"
exclaimed jegu, filled with astonishment.
"do you remember when you were digging in the field near the river, three months ago, you found a robin redbreast caught in a net?
"yes," answered jegu," i remember it very well, and i opened the net and let him go."
"well, i was that robin redbreast, and ever since i have vowed to be your friend, and as you want to marry barbaik, i will prove the truth of what i say by helping you to do so."
"ah!
my little brownie, if you can do that, there is nothing i wo n't give you, except my soul."
"then let me alone," rejoined the dwarf, "and i promise you that in a very few months you shall be master of the farm and of barbaik."
"but how are you going to do it?"
exclaimed jegu wonderingly.
"that is my affair.
perhaps i may tell you later.
meanwhile you just eat and sleep, and do n't worry yourself about anything."
jegu declared that nothing could be easier, and then taking off his hat, he thanked the dwarf heartily, and led his horses back to the farm.
next morning was a holiday, and barbaik was awake earlier than usual, as she wished to get through her work as soon as possible, and be ready to start for a dance which was to be held some distance off.
she went first to the cow-house, which it was her duty to keep clean, but to her amazement she found fresh straw put down, the racks filled with hay, the cows milked, and the pails standing neatly in a row.
"of course, jegu must have done this in the hope of my giving him a dance," she thought to herself, and when she met him outside the door she stopped and thanked him for his help.
to be sure, jegu only replied roughly that he did n't know what she was talking about, but this answer made her feel all the more certain that it was he and nobody else.
the same thing took place every day, and never had the cow-house been so clean nor the cows so fat.
morning and evening barbaik found her earthen pots full of milk and a pound of butter freshly churned, ornamented with leaves.
at the end of a few weeks she grew so used to this state of affairs that she only got up just in time to prepare breakfast.
soon even this grew to be unnecessary, for a day arrived when, coming downstairs, she discovered that the house was swept, the furniture polished, the fire lit, and the food ready, so that she had nothing to do except to ring the great bell which summoned the labourers from the fields to come and eat it.
this, also, she thought was the work of jegu, and she could not help feeling that a husband of this sort would be very useful to a girl who liked to lie in bed and to amuse herself.
indeed, barbaik had only to express a wish for it to be satisfied.
if the wind was cold or the sun was hot and she was afraid to go out lest her complexion should be spoilt, she need only to run down to the spring close by and say softly," i should like my churns to be full, and my wet linen to be stretched on the hedge to dry," and she need never give another thought to the matter.
if she found the rye bread too hard to bake, or the oven taking too long to heat, she just murmured," i should like to see my six loaves on the shelf above the bread box," and two hours after there they were.
if she was too lazy to walk all the way to market along a dirty road, she would say out loud the night before, "why am i not already back from morlaix with my milk pot empty, my butter bowl inside it, a pound of wild cherries on my wooden plate, and the money i have gained in my apron pocket?"
and in the morning when she got up, lo and behold!
there were standing at the foot of her bed the empty milk pot with the butter bowl inside, the black cherries on the wooden plate, and six new pieces of silver in the pocket of her apron.
and she believed that all this was owing to jegu, and she could no longer do without him, even in her thoughts.
when things had reached this pass, the brownie told the young man that he had better ask barbaik to marry him, and this time the girl did not turn rudely away, but listened patiently to the end.
in her eyes he was as ugly and awkward as ever, but he would certainly make a most useful husband, and she could sleep every morning till breakfast time, just like a young lady, and as for the rest of the day, it would not be half long enough for all she meant to do.
she would wear the beautiful dresses that came when she wished for them, and visit her neighbours, who would be dying of envy all the while, and she would be able to dance as much as she wished.
jegu would always be there to work for her and save for her, and watch over her.
so, like a well-brought-up girl, barbaik answered that it should be as her father pleased, knowing quite well that old riou had often said that after he was dead there was no one so capable of carrying on the farm.
the marriage took place the following month, and a few days later the old man died quite suddenly.
now jegu had everything to see to himself, and somehow it did not seem so easy as when the farmer was alive.
but once more the brownie stepped in, and was better than ten labourers.
it was he who ploughed and sowed and reaped, and if, as happened, occasionally, it was needful to get the work done quickly, the brownie called in some of his friends, and as soon as it was light a host of little dwarfs might have been seen in the fields, busy with hoe, fork or sickle.
but by the time the people were about all was finished, and the little fellows had disappeared.
and all the payment the brownie ever asked for was a bowl of broth.
from the very day of her marriage barbaik had noted with surprise and rage that things ceased to be done for her as they had been done all the weeks and months before.
she complained to jegu of his laziness, and he only stared at her, not understanding what she was talking about.
but the brownie, who was standing by, burst out laughing, and confessed that all the good offices she spoke of had been performed by him, for the sake of jegu, but that now he had other business to do, and it was high time that she looked after her house herself.
barbaik was furious.
each morning when she was obliged to get up before dawn to milk the cows and go to market, and each evening when she had to sit up till midnight in order to churn the butter, her heart was filled with rage against the brownie who had caused her to expect a life of ease and pleasure.
but when she looked at jegu and beheld his red face, squinting eyes, and untidy hair, her anger was doubled.
"if it had not been for you, you miserable dwarf!"
she would say between her teeth, "if it had not been for you i should never have married that man, and i should still have been going to dances, where the young men would have brought me present of nuts and cherries, and told me that i was the prettiest girl in the parish.
while now i can receive no presents except from my husband.
i can never dance, except with my husband.
oh, you wretched dwarf, i will never, never forgive you!"
in spite of her fierce words, no one knew better than barbaik how to put her pride in her pocket when it suited her, and after receiving an invitation to a wedding, she begged the brownie to get her a horse to ride there.
to her great joy he consented, bidding her set out for the city of the dwarfs and to tell them exactly what she wanted.
full of excitement, barbaik started on her journey.
it was not long, and when she reached the town she went straight to the dwarfs, who were holding counsel in a wide green place, and said to them, "listen, my friends!
i have come to beg you to lend me a black horse, with eyes, a mouth, ears, bridle and saddle."
she had hardly spoken when the horse appeared, and mounting on his back she started for the village where the wedding was to be held.
at first she was so delighted with the chance of a holiday from the work which she hated, that she noticed nothing, but very soon it struck her as odd that as she passed along the roads full of people they all laughed as they looked at her horse.
at length she caught some words uttered by one man to another.
"why, the farmer's wife has sold her horse's tail!"
and turned in her saddle.
yes; it was true.
her horse had no tail!
she had forgotten to ask for one, and the wicked dwarfs had carried out her orders to the letter!
"well, at any rate, i shall soon be there," she thought, and shaking the reins, tried to urge the horse to a gallop.
but it was of no use; he declined to move out of a walk; and she was forced to hear all the jokes that were made upon her.
in the evening she returned to the farm more angry than ever, and quite determined to revenge herself on the brownie whenever she had the chance, which happened to be very soon.
it was the spring, and just the time of year when the dwarfs held their fete, so one day the brownie asked jegu if he might bring his friends to have supper in the great barn, and whether he would allow them to dance there.
of course, jegu was only too pleased to be able to do anything for the brownie, and he ordered barbaik to spread her best table-cloths in the barn, and to make a quantity of little loaves and pancakes, and, besides, to keep all the milk given by the cows that morning.
he expected she would refuse, as he knew she hated the dwarfs, but she said nothing, and prepared the supper as he had bidden her.
when all was ready, the dwarfs, in new green suits, came bustling in, very happy and merry, and took their seats at the table.
but in a moment they all sprang up with a cry, and ran away screaming, for barbaik had placed pans of hot coals under their feet, and all their poor little toes were burnt.
"you wo n't forget that in a hurry," she said, smiling grimly to herself, but in a moment they were back again with large pots of water, which they poured on the fire.
then they joined hands and danced round it, singing: wicked traitress, barne riou, our poor toes are burned by you; now we hurry from your hall -- bad luck light upon you all.
that evening they left the country for ever, and jegu, without their help, grew poorer and poorer, and at last died of misery, while barbaik was glad to find work in the market of morlaix.
from "le foyer breton," par e. souvestre.
the winning of olwen there was once a king and queen who had a little boy, and they called his name kilweh.
the queen, his mother, fell ill soon after his birth, and as she could not take care of him herself she sent him to a woman she knew up in the mountains, so that he might learn to go out in all weathers, and bear heat and cold, and grow tall and strong.
kilweh was quite happy with his nurse, and ran races and climbed hills with the children who were his playfellows, and in the winter, when the snow lay on the ground, sometimes a man with a harp would stop and beg for shelter, and in return would sing them songs of strange things that had happened in the years gone by.
but long before this changes had taken place in the court of kilweh's father.
soon after she had sent her baby away the queen became much worse, and at length, seeing that she was going to die, she called her husband to her and said: "never again shall i rise from this bed, and by and bye thou wilt take another wife.
but lest she should make thee forget thy son, i charge thee that thou take not a wife until thou see a briar with two blossoms upon my grave."
and this he promised her.
then she further bade him to see to her grave that nothing might grow thereon.
this likewise he promised her, and soon she died, and for seven years the king sent a man every morning to see that nothing was growing on the queen's grave, but at the end of seven years he forgot.
one day when the king was out hunting he rode past the place where the queen lay buried, and there he saw a briar growing with two blossoms on it.
"it is time that i took a wife," said he, and after long looking he found one.
but he did not tell her about his son; indeed he hardly remembered that he had one till she heard it at last from an old woman whom she had gone to visit.
and the new queen was very pleased, and sent messengers to fetch the boy, and in his father's court he stayed, while the years went by till one day the queen told him that a prophecy had foretold that he was to win for his wife olwen the daughter of yspaddaden penkawr.
when he heard this kilweh felt proud and happy.
surely he must be a man now, he thought, or there would be no talk of a wife for him, and his mind dwelt all day upon his promised bride, and what she would be like when he beheld her.
"what aileth thee, my son?"
asked his father at last, when kilweh had forgotten something he had been bidden to do, and kilweh blushed red as he answered: "my stepmother says that none but olwen, the daughter of yspaddaden penkawr, shall be my wife."
"that will be easily fulfilled," replied his father.
"arthur the king is thy cousin.
go therefore unto him and beg him to cut thy hair, and to grant thee this boon."
then the youth pricked forth upon a dapple grey horse of four years old, with a bridle of linked gold, and gold upon his saddle.
in his hand he bore two spears of silver with heads of steel; a war-horn of ivory was slung round his shoulder, and by his side hung a golden sword.
before him were two brindled white-breasted greyhounds with collars of rubies round their necks, and the one that was on the left side bounded across to the right side, and the one on the right to the left, and like two sea-swallows sported round him.
and his horse cast up four sods with his four hoofs, like four swallows in the air about his head, now above, now below.
about him was a robe of purple, and an apple of gold was at each corner, and every one of the apples was of the value of a hundred cows.
and the blades of grass bent not beneath him, so light were his horse's feet as he journeyed toward the gate of arthur's palace.
"is there a porter?"
cried kilweh, looking round for someone to open the gate.
"there is; and i am arthur's porter every first day of january," answered a man coming out to him.
"the rest of the year there are other porters, and among them pennpingyon, who goes upon his head to save his feet."
"well, open the portal, i say."
"no, that i may not do, for none can enter save the son of a king or a pedlar who has goods to sell.
but elsewhere there will be food for thy dogs and hay for thy horse, and for thee collops cooked and peppered, and sweet wine shall be served in the guest chamber."
"that will not do for me," answered kilweh.
"if thou wilt not open the gate i will send up three shouts that shall be heard from cornwall unto the north, and yet again to ireland."
"whatsoever clamour thou mayest make," spake glewlwyd the porter, "thou shalt not enter until i first go and speak with arthur."
then glewlwyd went into the hall, and arthur said to him: "hast thou news from the gate?"
and the porter answered: "far have i travelled, both in this island and elsewhere, and many kingly men have i seen; but never yet have i beheld one equal in majesty to him who now stands at the door."
"if walking thou didst enter here, return thou running," replied arthur, "and let everyone that opens and shuts the eye show him respect and serve him, for it is not meet to keep such a man in the wind and rain."
so glewlwyd unbarred the gate and kilweh rode in upon his charger.
"greeting unto thee, o ruler of this land," cried he, "and greeting no less to the lowest than to the highest."
"greeting to thee also," answered arthur.
"sit thou between two of my warriors, and thou shalt have minstrels before thee and all that belongs to one born to be a king, while thou remainest in my palace.'"
i am not come," replied kilweh, "for meat and drink, but to obtain a boon, and if thou grant it me i will pay it back, and will carry thy praise to the four winds of heaven.
but if thou wilt not grant it to me, then i will proclaim thy discourtesy wherever thy name is known."
"what thou askest that shalt thou receive," said arthur, "as far as the wind dries and the rain moistens, and the sun revolves and the sea encircles and the earth extends.
save only my ship and my mantle, my word and my lance, my shield and my dagger, and guinevere my wife.'"
i would that thou bless my hair," spake kilweh, and arthur answered: "that shall be granted thee."
forthwith he bade his men fetch him a comb of gold and a scissors with loops of silver, and he combed the hair of kilweh his guest.
"tell me who thou art," he said, "for my heart warms to thee, and i feel thou art come of my blood.'"
i am kilweh, son of kilydd," replied the youth.
"then my cousin thou art in truth," replied arthur, "and whatsoever boon thou mayest ask thou shalt receive."
"the boon i crave is that thou mayest win for me olwen, the daughter of yspaddaden penkawr, and this boon i seek likewise at the hands of thy warriors.
from sol, who can stand all day upon one foot; from ossol, who, if he were to find himself on the top of the highest mountain in the world, could make it into a level plain in the beat of a bird's wing; from cluse, who, though he were buried under the earth, could yet hear the ant leave her nest fifty miles away: from these and from kai and from bedwyr and from all thy mighty men i crave this boon.'"
o kilweh," said arthur, "never have i heard of the maiden of whom thou speakest, nor of her kindred, but i will send messengers to seek her if thou wilt give me time."
"from this night to the end of the year right willingly will i grant thee," replied kilweh; but when the end of the year came and the messengers returned kilweh was wroth, and spoke rough words to arthur.
it was kai, the boldest of the warriors and the swiftest of foot -- he would could pass nine nights without sleep, and nine days beneath the water -- that answered him: "rash youth that thou art, darest thou speak thus to arthur?
come with us, and we will not part company till we have won that maiden, or till thou confess that there is none such in the world."
then arthur summoned his five best men and bade them go with kilweh.
there was bedwyr the one-handed, kai's comrade and brother in arms, the swiftest man in britain save arthur; there was kynddelig, who knew the paths in a land where he had never been as surely as he did those of his own country; there was gwrhyr, that could speak all tongues; and gwalchmai the son of gwyar, who never returned till he had gained what he sought; and last of all there was menw, who could weave a spell over them so that none might see them, while they could see everyone.
so these seven journeyed together till they reached a vast open plain in which was a fair castle.
but though it seemed so close it was not until the evening of the third day that they really drew near to it, and in front of it a flock of sheep was spread, so many in number that there seemed no end to them.
a shepherd stood on a mound watching over them, and by his side was a dog, as large as a horse nine winters old.
"whose is this castle, o herdsmen?"
asked the knights.
"stupid are ye truly," answered the herdsman.
"all the world knows that this is the castle of yspaddaden penkawr."
"and who art thou?'"
i am called custennin, brother of yspaddaden, and ill has he treated me.
and who are you, and what do you here?"
"we come from arthur the king, to seek olwen the daughter of yspaddaden," but at this news the shepherd gave a cry: "o men, be warned and turn back while there is yet time.
others have gone on that quest, but none have escaped to tell the tale," and he rose to his feet as if to leave them.
then kilweh held out to him a ring of gold, and he tried to put it on his finger, but it was too small, so he placed it in his glove, and went home and gave it to his wife.
"whence came this ring?"
asked she, "for such good luck is not wont to befall thee."
"the man to whom this ring belonged thou shalt see here in the evening," answered the shepherd; "he is kilweh, son of kilydd, cousin to king arthur, and he has come to seek olwen."
and when the wife heard that she knew that kilweh was her nephew, and her heart yearned after him, half with joy at the thought of seeing him, and half with sorrow for the doom she feared.
soon they heard steps approaching, and kai and the rest entered into the house and ate and drank.
after that the woman opened a chest, and out of it came a youth with curling yellow hair.
"it is a pity to hid him thus," said gwrhyr, "for well i know that he has done no evil."
"three and twenty of my sons has yspaddaden slain, and i have no more hope of saving this one," replied she, and kai was full of sorrow and answered: "let him come with me and be my comrade, and he shall never be slain unless i am slain also."
and so it was agreed.
"what is your errand here?"
asked the woman.
"we seek olwen the maiden for this youth," answered kai; "does she ever come hither so that she may be seen?"
"she comes every saturday to wash her hair, and in the vessel where she washes she leaves all her rings, and never does she so much as send a messenger to fetch them."
"will she come if she is bidden?"
asked kai, pondering.
"she will come; but unless you pledge me your faith that you will not harm her i will not fetch her."
"we pledge it," said they, and the maiden came.
a fair sight was she in a robe of flame-coloured silk, with a collar of ruddy gold about her neck, bright with emeralds and rubies.
more yellow was her head than the flower of the broom, and her skin was whiter than the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands than the blossoms of the wood anemone.
four white trefoils sprang up where she trod, and therefore was she called olwen.
she entered, and sat down on a bench beside kilweh, and he spake to her: "ah, maiden, since first i heard thy name i have loved thee -- wilt thou not come away with me from this evil place?"
"that i can not do," answered she, "for i have given my word to my father not to go without his knowledge, for his life will only last till i am betrothed.
whatever is, must be, but this counsel i will give you.
go, and ask me of my father, and whatsoever he shall required of thee grant it, and thou shalt win me; but if thou deny him anything thou wilt not obtain me, and it will be well for thee if thou escape with thy life."
"all this i promise," said he.
so she returned to the castle, and all arthur's men went after her, and entered the hall.
"greeting to thee, yspaddaden penkawr," said they.
"we come to ask thy daughter olwen for kilweh, son of kilydd."
"come hither to-morrow and i will answer you," replied yspaddaden penkawr, and as they rose to leave the hall he caught up one of the three poisoned darts that lay beside him and flung it in their midst.
but bedwyr saw and caught it, and flung it back so hard that it pierced the knee of yspaddaden."
a gentle son-in-law, truly!"
he cried, writhing with pain."
i shall ever walk the worse for this rudeness.
cursed be the smith who forged it, and the anvil on which it was wrought!"
that night the men slept in the house of custennin the herdsman, and the next day they proceeded to the castle, and entered the hall, and said: "yspaddaden penkawr, give us thy daughter and thou shalt keep her dower.
and unless thou wilt do this we will slay thee."
"her four great grandmothers and her four great grandfathers yet live," answered yspaddaden penkawr; "it is needful that i take counsel with them."
"be it so; we will go to meat," but as they turned he took up the second dart that lay by his side and cast it after them.
and menw caught it, and flung it at him, and wounded him in the chest, so that it came out at his back."
a gentle son-in-law, truly!"
cried yspaddaden, "the iron pains me like the bite of a horse-leech.
cursed be the hearth whereon it was heated, and the smith who formed it!"
the third day arthur's men returned to the palace into the presence of yspaddaden.
"shoot not at me again," said he, "unless you desire death.
but lift up my eyebrows, which have fallen over my eyes, that i may see my son-in-law."
then they arose, and as they did so yspaddaden penkawr took the third poisoned dart and cast it at them.
and kilweh caught it, and flung it back, and it passed through his eyeball, and came out on the other side of his head."
a gentle son-in-law, truly!
cursed be the fire in which it was forged and the man who fashioned it!"
the next day arthur's men came again to the palace and said: "shoot not at us any more unless thou desirest more pain than even now thou hast, but give us thy daughter without more words."
"where is he that seeks my daughter?
let him come hither so that i may see him."
and kilweh sat himself in a chair and spoke face to face with him.
"is it thou that seekest my daughter?"
"it is i," answered kilweh.
"first give me thy word that thou wilt do nothing towards me that is not just, and when thou hast won for me that which i shall ask, then thou shalt wed my daughter.'"
i promise right willingly," said kilweh.
"name what thou wilt."
"seest thou yonder hill?
well, in one day it shall be rooted up and ploughed and sown, and the grain shall ripen, and of that wheat i will bake the cakes for my daughter's wedding."
"it will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest deem it will not be easy," answered kilweh, thinking of ossol, under whose feet the highest mountain became straightway a plain, but yspaddaden paid no heed, and continued: "seest thou that field yonder?
when my daughter was born nine bushels of flax were sown therein, and not one blade has sprung up.
i require thee to sow fresh flax in the ground that my daughter may wear a veil spun from it on the day of her wedding."
"it will be easy for me to compass this."
"though thou compass this there is that which thou wilt not compass.
for thou must bring me the basket of gwyddneu garanhir which will give meat to the whole world.
it is for thy wedding feast.
thou must also fetch me the drinking-horn that is never empty, and the harp that never ceases to play until it is bidden.
also the comb and scissors and razor that lie between the two ears of trwyth the boar, so that i may arrange my hair for the wedding.
and though thou get this yet there is that which thou wilt not get, for trwyth the boar will not let any man take from him the comb and the scissors, unless drudwyn the whelp hunt him.
but no leash in the world can hold drudwyn save the leash of cant ewin, and no collar will hold the leash except the collar of canhastyr."
"it will be easy for me to compass this, though thou mayest think it will not be easy," kilweh answered him.
"though thou get all these things yet there is that which thou wilt not get.
throughout the world there is none that can hunt with this dog save mabon the son of modron.
he was taken from his mother when three nights old, and it is not know where he now is, nor whether he is living or dead, and though thou find him yet the boar will never be slain save only with the sword of gwrnach the giant, and if thou obtain it not neither shalt thou obtain my daughter."
"horses shall i have, and knights from my lord arthur.
and i shall gain thy daughter, and thou shalt lose thy life."
the speech of kilweh the son of kilydd with yspaddaden penkawr was ended.
then arthur's men set forth, and kilweh with them, and journeyed till they reached the largest castle in the world, and a black man came out to meet them.
"whence comest thou, o man?"
asked they, "and whose is that castle?"
"that is the castle of gwrnach the giant, as all the world knows," answered the man, "but no guest ever returned thence alive, and none may enter the gate except a craftsman, who brings his trade."
but little did arthur's men heed his warning, and they went straight to the gate.
"open!"
cried gwrhyr."
i will not open," replied the porter.
"and wherefore?"
asked kai.
"the knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry in the hall of gwrnach the giant, and save for a craftsman who brings his trade the gate will not be opened to-night."
"verily, then, i may enter," said kai, "for there is no better burnisher of swords than i." "this will i tell gwrnach the giant, and i will bring thee his answer."
"bid the man come before me," cried gwrnach, when the porter had told his tale, "for my sword stands much in need of polishing," so kai passed in and saluted gwrnach the giant.
"is it true what i hear of thee, that thou canst burnish swords?"
"it is true," answered kai.
then was the sword of gwrnach brought to him.
"shall it be burnished white or blue?"
said kai, taking a whetstone from under his arm.
"as thou wilt," answered the giant, and speedily did kai polish half the sword.
the giant marvelled at his skill, and said: "it is a wonder that such a man as thou shouldst be without a companion.'"
i have a companion, noble sir, but he has no skill in this art."
"what is his name?"
asked the giant.
"let the porter go forth, and i will tell him how he may know him.
the head of his lance will leave its shaft, and draw blood from the wind, and descend upon its shaft again."
so the porter opened the gate and bedwyr entered.
now there was much talk amongst those who remained without when the gate closed upon bedwyr, and goreu, son of custennin, prevailed with the porter, and he and his companions got in also and hid themselves.
by this time the whole of the sword was polished, and kai gave it into the hand of gwrnach the giant, who felt it and said: "thy work is good; i am content."
then said kai: "it is thy scabbard that hath rusted thy sword; give it to me that i may take out the wooden sides of it and put in new ones."
and he took the scabbard in one hand and the sword in the other, and came and stood behind the giant, as if he would have sheathed the sword in the scabbard.
but with it he struck a blow at the head of the giant, and it rolled from his body.
after that they despoiled the castle of its gold and jewels, and returned, bearing the sword of the giant, to arthur's court.
they told arthur how they had sped, and they all took counsel together, and agreed that they must set out on the quest for mabon the son of modron, and gwrhyr, who knew the languages of beasts and of birds, went with them.
so they journeyed until they came to the nest of an ousel, and gwrhyr spoke to her.
"tell me if thou knowest aught of mabon the son of modron, who was taken when three nights old from between his mother and the wall."
and the ousel answered: "when i first came here i was a young bird, and there was a smith's anvil in this place.
but from that time no work has been done upon it, save that every evening i have pecked at it, till now there is not so much as the size of a nut remaining thereof.
yet all that time i have never once heard of the man you name.
still, there is a race of beasts older than i, and i will guide you to them."
so the ousel flew before them, till she reached the stag of redynvre; but when they inquired of the stag whether he knew aught of mabon he shook his head.
"when first i came hither," said he, "the plain was bare save for one oak sapling, which grew up to be an oak with a hundred branches.
all that is left of that oak is a withered stump, but never once have i heard of the man you name.
nevertheless, as you are arthur's men, i will guide you to the place where there is an animal older than i"; and the stag ran before them till he reached the owl of cwm cawlwyd.
but when they inquired of the owl if he knew aught of mabon he shook his head.
"when first i came hither," said he, "the valley was a wooded glen; then a race of men came and rooted it up.
after that there grew a second wood, and then a third, which you see.
look at my wings also -- are they not withered stumps?
yet until to-day i have never heard of the man you name.
still, i will guide you to the oldest animal in the world, and the one that has travelled most, the eagle of gwern abbey."
and he flew before them, as fast as his old wings would carry him, till he reached the eagle of gwern abbey, but when they inquired of the eagle whether he knew aught of mabon he shook his head.
"when i first came hither," said the eagle, "there was a rock here, and every evening i pecked at the stars from the top of it.
now, behold, it is not even a span high!
but only once have i heard of the man you name, and that was when i went in search of food as far as llyn llyw.
i swooped down upon a salmon, and struck my claws into him, but he drew me down under water till scarcely could i escape him.
then i summoned all my kindred to destroy him, but he made peace with me, and i took fifty fish spears from his back.
unless he may know something of the man whom you seek i can not tell who may.
but i will guide you to the place where he is."
so they followed the eagle, who flew before them, though so high was he in the sky, it was often hard to mark his flight.
at length he stopped above a deep pool in a river.
"salmon of llyn llyw," he called," i have come to thee with an embassy from arthur to inquire if thou knowest aught concerning mabon the son of modron."
and the salmon answered: "as much as i know i will tell thee.
with every tide i go up the river, till i reach the walls of gloucester, and there have i found such wrong as i never found elsewhere.
and that you may see that what i say is true let two of you go thither on my shoulders."
so kai and gwrhyr went upon the shoulders of the salmon, and were carried under the walls of the prison, from which proceeded the sound of great weeping.
"who is it that thus laments in this house of stone?"
"it is i, mabon the son of modron."
"will silver or gold bring thy freedom, or only battle and fighting?"
asked gwrhyr again.
"by fighting alone shall i be set free," said mabon.
then they sent a messenger to arthur to tell him that mabon was found, and he brought all his warriors to the castle of gloucester and fell fiercely upon it; while kai and bedwyr went on the shoulders of the salmon to the gate of the dungeon, and broke it down and carried away mabon.
and he now being free returned home with arthur.
after this, on a certain day, as gwythyr was walking across a mountain he heard a grievous cry, and he hastened towards it.
in a little valley he saw the heather burning and the fire spreading fast towards the anthill, and all the ants were hurrying to and fro, not knowing whither to go.
gwythyr had pity on them, and put out the fire, and in gratitude the ants brought him the nine bushels of flax seed which yspaddaden penkawr required of kilweh.
and many of the other marvels were done likewise by arthur and his knights, and at last it came to the fight with trwyth the board, to obtain the comb and the scissors and the razor that lay between his ears.
but hard was the boar to catch, and fiercely did he fight when arthur's men gave him battle, so that many of them were slain.
up and down the country went trwyth the boar, and arthur followed after him, till they came to the severn sea.
there three knights caught his feet unawares and plunged him into the water, while one snatched the razor from him, and another seized the scissors.
but before they laid hold of the comb he had shaken them all off, and neither man nor horse nor dog could reach him till he came to cornwall, whither arthur had sworn he should not go.
thither arthur followed after him with his knights, and if it had been hard to win the razor and the scissors, the struggle for the comb was fiercer still, but at length arthur prevailed, and the boar was driven into the sea.
and whether he was drowned or where he went no man knows to this day.
in the end all the marvels were done, and kilweh set forward, and with him goreu, the son of custennin, to yspaddaden penkawr, bearing in their hands the razor, the scissors and the comb, and yspaddaden penkawr was shaved by kaw.
"is thy daughter mine now?"
asked kilweh.
"she is thine," answered yspaddaden, "but it is arthur and none other who has won her for thee.
of my own free will thou shouldst never have had her, for now i must lose my life."
and as he spake goreu the son of custennin cut off his head, as if had been ordained, and arthur's hosts returned each man to his own country.
_book_title_: andrew_lang___the_orange_fairy_book.txt.out
the orange fairy book the story of the hero makoma from the senna -lrb- oral tradition -rrb- once upon a time, at the town of senna on the banks of the zambesi, was born a child.
he was not like other children, for he was very tall and strong; over his shoulder he carried a big sack, and in his hand an iron hammer.
he could also speak like a grown man, but usually he was very silent.
one day his mother said to him: "my child, by what name shall we know you?"
and he answered: "call all the head men of senna here to the river's bank."
and his mother called the head men of the town, and when they had come he led them down to a deep black pool in the river where all the fierce crocodiles lived."
o great men!"
he said, while they all listened, "which of you will leap into the pool and overcome the crocodiles?"
but no one would come forward.
so he turned and sprang into the water and disappeared.
the people held their breath, for they thought: "surely the boy is bewitched and throws away his life, for the crocodiles will eat him!"
then suddenly the ground trembled, and the pool, heaving and swirling, became red with blood, and presently the boy rising to the surface swam on shore.
but he was no longer just a boy!
he was stronger than any man and very tall and handsome, so that the people shouted with gladness when they saw him.
"now, o my people!"
he cried, waving his hand, "you know my name -- i am makoma, "the greater"; for have i not slain the crocodiles into the pool where none would venture?"
then he said to his mother: "rest gently, my mother, for i go to make a home for myself and become a hero."
then, entering his hut he took nu-endo, his iron hammer, and throwing the sack over his shoulder, he went away.
makoma crossed the zambesi, and for many moons he wandered towards the north and west until he came to a very hilly country where, one day, he met a huge giant making mountains.
"greeting," shouted makoma, "you are you?'"
i am chi-eswa-mapiri, who makes the mountains," answered the giant; "and who are you?'"
i am makoma, which signifies "greater,"" answered he.
"greater than who?"
asked the giant.
"greater than you!"
answered makoma.
the giant gave a roar and rushed upon him.
makoma said nothing, but swinging his great hammer, nu-endo, he struck the giant upon the head.
he struck him so hard a blow that the giant shrank into quite a little man, who fell upon his knees saying: "you are indeed greater than i, o makoma; take me with you to be your slave!"
so makoma picked him up and dropped him into the sack that he carried upon his back.
he was greater than ever now, for all the giant's strength had gone into him; and he resumed his journey, carrying his burden with as little difficulty as an eagle might carry a hare.
before long he came to a country broken up with huge stones and immense clods of earth.
looking over one of the heaps he saw a giant wrapped in dust dragging out the very earth and hurling it in handfuls on either side of him.
"who are you," cried makoma, "that pulls up the earth in this way?'"
i am chi-dubula-taka," said he, "and i am making the river-beds."
"do you know who i am?"
said makoma."
i am he that is called "greater"!"
"greater than who?"
thundered the giant.
"greater than you!"
answered makoma.
with a shout, chi-dubula-taka seized a great clod of earth and launched it at makoma.
but the hero had his sack held over his left arm and the stones and earth fell harmlessly upon it, and, tightly gripping his iron hammer, he rushed in and struck the giant to the ground.
chi-dubula-taka grovelled before him, all the while growing smaller and smaller; and when he had become a convenient size makoma picked him up and put him into the sack beside chi-eswa-mapiri.
he went on his way even greater than before, as all the river-maker's power had become his; and at last he came to a forest of bao-babs and thorn trees.
he was astonished at their size, for every one was full grown and larger than any trees he had ever seen, and close by he saw chi-gwisa-miti, the giant who was planting the forest.
chi-gwisa-miti was taller than either of his brothers, but makoma was not afraid, and called out to him: "who are you, o big one?"
"i," said the giant, "am chi-gwisa-miti, and i am planting these bao-babs and thorns as food for my children the elephants."
"leave off!"
shouted the hero, "for i am makoma, and would like to exchange a blow with thee!"
the giant, plucking up a monster bao-bab by the roots, struck heavily at makoma; but the hero sprang aside, and as the weapon sank deep into the soft earth, whirled nu-endo the hammer round his head and felled the giant with one blow.
so terrible was the stroke that chi-gwisa-miti shrivelled up as the other giants had done; and when he had got back his breath he begged makoma to take him as his servant.
"for," said he, "it is honourable to serve a man so great as thou."
makoma, after placing him in his sack, proceeded upon his journey, and travelling for many days he at last reached a country so barren and rocky that not a single living thing grew upon it -- everywhere reigned grim desolation.
and in the midst of this dead region he found a man eating fire.
"what are you doing?"
demanded makoma."
i am eating fire," answered the man, laughing; "and my name is chi-idea-moto, for i am the flame-spirit, and can waste and destroy what i like."
"you are wrong," said makoma; "for i am makoma, who is "greater" than you -- and you can not destroy me!"
the fire-eater laughed again, and blew a flame at makoma.
but the hero sprang behind a rock -- just in time, for the ground upon which he had been standing was turned to molten glass, like an overbaked pot, by the heat of the flame-spirit's breath.
then the hero flung his iron hammer at chi-idea-moto, and, striking him, it knocked him helpless; so makoma placed him in the sack, woro-nowu, with the other great men that he had overcome.
and now, truly, makoma was a very great hero; for he had the strength to make hills, the industry to lead rivers over dry wastes, foresight and wisdom in planting trees, and the power of producing fire when he wished.
wandering on he arrived one day at a great plain, well watered and full of game; and in the very middle of it, close to a large river, was a grassy spot, very pleasant to make a home upon.
makoma was so delighted with the little meadow that he sat down under a large tree and removing the sack from his shoulder, took out all the giants and set them before him.
"my friends," said he," i have travelled far and am weary.
is not this such a place as would suit a hero for his home?
let us then go, to-morrow, to bring in timber to make a kraal."
so the next day makoma and the giants set out to get poles to build the kraal, leaving only chi-eswa-mapiri to look after the place and cook some venison which they had killed.
in the evening, when they returned, they found the giant helpless and tied to a tree by one enormous hair!
"how is it," said makoma, astonished, "that we find you thus bound and helpless?'"
o chief," answered chi-eswa-mapiri, "at mid-day a man came out of the river; he was of immense statue, and his grey moustaches were of such length that i could not see where they ended!
he demanded of me "who is thy master?"
and i answered: "makoma, the greatest of heroes."
then the man seized me, and pulling a hair from his moustache, tied me to this tree -- even as you see me."
makoma was very wroth, but he said nothing, and drawing his finger-nail across the hair -lrb- which was as thick and strong as palm rope -rrb- cut it, and set free the mountain-maker.
the three following days exactly the same thing happened, only each time with a different one of the party; and on the fourth day makoma stayed in camp when the others went to cut poles, saying that he would see for himself what sort of man this was that lived in the river and whose moustaches were so long that they extended beyond men's sight.
so when the giants had gone he swept and tidied the camp and put some venison on the fire to roast.
at midday, when the sun was right overhead, he heard a rumbling noise from the river, and looking up he saw the head and shoulders of an enormous man emerging from it.
and behold!
right down the river-bed and up the river-bed, till they faded into the blue distance, stretched the giant's grey moustaches!
"who are you?"
bellowed the giant, as soon as he was out of the water."
i am he that is called makoma," answered the hero; "and, before i slay thee, tell me also what is thy name and what thou doest in the river?"
"my name is chin-debou mau-giri," said the giant.
"my home is in the river, for my moustache is the grey fever-mist that hangs above the water, and with which i bind all those that come unto me so that they die."
"you can not bind me!"
shouted makoma, rushing upon him and striking with his hammer.
but the river giant was so slimy that the blow slid harmlessly off his green chest, and as makoma stumbled and tried to regain his balance, the giant swung one of his long hairs around him and tripped him up.
for a moment makoma was helpless, but remembering the power of the flame-spirit which had entered into him, he breathed a fiery breath upon the giant's hair and cut himself free.
as chin-debou mau-giri leaned forward to seize him the hero flung his sack woronowu over the giant's slippery head, and gripping his iron hammer, struck him again; this time the blow alighted upon the dry sack and chin-debou mau-giri fell dead.
when the four giants returned at sunset with the poles, they rejoiced to find that makoma had overcome the fever-spirit, and they feasted on the roast venison till far into the night; but in the morning, when they awoke, makoma was already warming his hands to the fire, and his face was gloomy.
"in the darkness of the night, o my friends," he said presently, "the white spirits of my fathers came upon me and spoke, saying: "get thee hence, makoma, for thou shalt have no rest until thou hast found and fought with sakatirina, who had five heads, and is very great and strong; so take leave of thy friends, for thou must go alone.""
then the giants were very sad, and bewailed the loss of their hero; but makoma comforted them, and gave back to each the gifts he had taken from them.
then bidding them "farewell," he went on his way.
makoma travelled far towards the west; over rough mountains and water-logged morasses, fording deep rivers, and tramping for days across dry deserts where most men would have died, until at length he arrived at a hut standing near some large peaks, and inside the hut were two beautiful women.
"greeting!"
said the hero.
"is this the country of sakatirina of five heads, whom i am seeking?"
"we greet you, o great one!"
answered the women.
"we are the wives of sakatirina; your search is at an end, for there stands he whom you seek!"
and they pointed to what makoma had thought were two tall mountain peaks.
"those are his legs," they said; "his body you can not see, for it is hidden in the clouds."
makoma was astonished when he beheld how tall was the giant; but, nothing daunted, he went forward until he reached one of sakatirina's legs, which he struck heavily with nu-endo.
nothing happened, so he hit again and then again until, presently, he heard a tired, far-away voice saying: "who is it that scratches my feet?"
and makoma shouted as loud as he could, answering: "it is i, makoma, who is called "greater"!"
and he listened, but there was no answer.
then makoma collected all the dead brushwood and trees that he could find, and making an enormous pile round the giant's legs, set a light to it.
this time the giant spoke; his voice was very terrible, for it was the rumble of thunder in the clouds.
"who is it," he said, "making that fire smoulder around my feet?"
"it is i, makoma!"
shouted the hero.
"and i have come from far away to see thee, o sakatirina, for the spirits of my fathers bade me go seek and fight with thee, lest i should grow fat, and weary of myself."
there was silence for a while, and then the giant spoke softly: "it is good, o makoma!"
he said.
"for i too have grown weary.
there is no man so great as i, therefore i am all alone.
guard thyself!"
and bending suddenly he seized the hero in his hands and dashed him upon the ground.
and lo!
instead of death, makoma had found life, for he sprang to his feet mightier in strength and stature than before, and rushing in he gripped the giant by the waist and wrestled with him.
hour by hour they fought, and mountains rolled beneath their feet like pebbles in a flood; now makoma would break away, and summoning up his strength, strike the giant with nu-endo his iron hammer, and sakatirina would pluck up the mountains and hurl them upon the hero, but neither one could slay the other.
at last, upon the second day, they grappled so strongly that they could not break away; but their strength was failing, and, just as the sun was sinking, they fell together to the ground, insensible.
in the morning when they awoke, mulimo the great spirit was standing by them; and he said: "o makoma and sakatirina!
ye are heroes so great that no man may come against you.
therefore ye will leave the world and take up your home with me in the clouds."
and as he spake the heroes became invisible to the people of the earth, and were no more seen among them.
the magic mirror -lsb- native rhodesian tale. -rsb-
from the senna a long, long while ago, before ever the white men were seen in senna, there lived a man called gopani-kufa.
one day, as he was out hunting, he came upon a strange sight.
an enormous python had caught an antelope and coiled itself around it; the antelope, striking out in despair with its horns, had pinned the python's neck to a tree, and so deeply had its horns sunk in the soft wood that neither creature could get away.
"help!"
cried the antelope, "for i was doing no harm, yet i have been caught, and would have been eaten, had i not defended myself."
"help me," said the python, "for i am insato, king of all the reptiles, and will reward you well!"
gopani-kufa considered for a moment, then stabbing the antelope with his assegai, he set the python free."
i thank you," said the python; "come back here with the new moon, when i shall have eaten the antelope, and i will reward you as i promised."
"yes," said the dying antelope, "he will reward you, and lo!
your reward shall be your own undoing!"
gopani-kufa went back to his kraal, and with the new moon he returned again to the spot where he had saved the python.
insato was lying upon the ground, still sleepy from the effects of his huge meal, and when he saw the man he thanked him again, and said: "come with me now to pita, which is my own country, and i will give you what you will of all my possessions."
gopani-kufa at first was afraid, thinking of what the antelope had said, but finally he consented and followed insato into the forest.
for several days they travelled, and at last they came to a hole leading deep into the earth.
it was not very wide, but large enough to admit a man.
"hold on to my tail," said insato, "and i will go down first, drawing you after me."
the man did so, and insato entered.
down, down, down they went for days, all the while getting deeper and deeper into the earth, until at last the darkness ended and they dropped into a beautiful country; around them grew short green grass, on which browsed herds of cattle and sheep and goats.
in the distance gopani-kufa saw a great collection of houses all square, built of stone and very tall, and their roofs were shining with gold and burnished iron.
gopani-kufa turned to insato, but found, in the place of the python, a man, strong and handsome, with the great snake's skin wrapped round him for covering; and on his arms and neck were rings of pure gold.
the man smiled."
i am insato," said he, "but in my own country i take man's shape -- even as you see me -- for this is pita, the land over which i am king."
he then took gopani-kufa by the hand and led him towards the town.
on the way they passed rivers in which men and women were bathing and fishing and boating; and farther on they came to gardens covered with heavy crops of rice and maize, and many other grains which gopani-kufa did not even know the name of.
and as they passed, the people who were singing at their work in the fields, abandoned their labours and saluted insato with delight, bringing also palm wine and green cocoanuts for refreshment, as to one returned from a long journey.
"these are my children!"
said insato, waving his hand towards the people.
gopani-kufa was much astonished at all that he saw, but he said nothing.
presently they came to the town; everything here, too, was beautiful, and everything that a man might desire he could obtain.
even the grains of dust in the streets were of gold and silver.
insato conducted gopani-kufa to the palace, and showing him his rooms, and the maidens who would wait upon him, told him that they would have a great feast that night, and on the morrow he might name his choice of the riches of pita and it should be given him.
then he was away.
now gopani-kufa had a wasp called zengi-mizi.
zengi-mizi was not an ordinary wasp, for the spirit of the father of gopani-kufa had entered it, so that it was exceedingly wise.
in times of doubt gopani-kufa always consulted the wasp as to what had better be done, so on this occasion he took it out of the little rush basket in which he carried it, saying: "zengi-mizi, what gift shall i ask of insato to-morrow when he would know the reward he shall bestow on me for saving his life?"
"biz-z-z," hummed zengi-mizi, "ask him for sipao the mirror."
and it flew back into its basket.
gopani-kufa was astonished at this answer; but knowing that the words of zengi-mizi were true words, he determined to make the request.
so that night they feasted, and on the morrow insato came to gopani-kufa and, giving him greeting joyfully, he said: "now, o my friend, name your choice amongst my possessions and you shall have it!'"
o king!"
answered gopani-kufa, "out of all your possessions i will have the mirror, sipao."
the king started."
o friend, gopani-kufa," he said, "ask anything but that!
i did not think that you would request that which is most precious to me."
"let me think over it again then, o king," said gopani-kufa, "and to-morrow i will let you know if i change my mind."
but the king was still much troubled, fearing the loss of sipao, for the mirror had magic powers, so that he who owned it had but to ask and his wish would be fulfilled; to it insato owed all that he possessed.
as soon as the king left him, gopani-kufa again took zengi-mizi, out of his basket.
"zengi-mizi," he said, "the king seems loth to grant my request for the mirror -- is there not some other thing of equal value for which i might ask?"
and the wasp answered: "there is nothing in the world, o gopani-kufa, which is of such value as this mirror, for it is a wishing mirror, and accomplishes the desires of him who owns it.
if the king hesitates, go to him the next day, and the day after, and in the end he will bestow the mirror upon you, for you saved his life."
and it was even so.
for three days gopani-kufa returned the same answer to the king, and, at last, with tears in his eyes, insato gave him the mirror, which was of polished iron, saying: "take sipao, then, o gopani-kufa, and may thy wishes come true.
go back now to thine own country; sipao will show you the way."
gopani-kufa was greatly rejoiced, and, taking farewell of the king, said to the mirror: "sipao, sipao, i wish to be back upon the earth again!"
instantly he found himself standing upon the upper earth; but, not knowing the spot, he said again to the mirror: "sipao, sipao, i want the path to my own kraal!"
and behold!
right before him lay the path!
when he arrived home he found his wife and daughter mourning for him, for they thought that he had been eaten by lions; but he comforted them, saying that while following a wounded antelope he had missed his way and had wandered for a long time before he had found the path again.
that night he asked zengi-mizi, in whom sat the spirit of his father, what he had better ask sipao for next?
"biz-z-z," said the wasp, "would you not like to be as great a chief as insato?"
and gopani-kufa smiled, and took the mirror and said to it: "sipao, sipao, i want a town as great as that of insato, the king of pita; and i wish to be chief over it!"
then all along the banks of the zambesi river, which flowed near by, sprang up streets of stone buildings, and their roofs shone with gold and burnished iron like those in pita; and in the streets men and women were walking, and young boys were driving out the sheep and cattle to pasture; and from the river came shouts and laughter from the young men and maidens who had launched their canoes and were fishing.
and when the people of the new town beheld gopani-kufa they rejoiced greatly and hailed him as chief.
gopani-kufa was now as powerful as insato the king of the reptiles had been, and he and his family moved into the palace that stood high above the other buildings right in the middle of the town.
his wife was too astonished at all these wonders to ask any questions, but his daughter shasasa kept begging him to tell her how he had suddenly become so great; so at last he revealed the whole secret, and even entrusted sipao the mirror to her care, saying: "it will be safer with you, my daughter, for you dwell apart; whereas men come to consult me on affairs of state, and the mirror might be stolen."
then shasasa took the magic mirror and hid it beneath her pillow, and after that for many years gopani-kufa ruled his people both well and wisely, so that all men loved him, and never once did he need to ask sipao to grant him a wish.
now it happened that, after many years, when the hair of gopani-kufa was turning grey with age, there came white men to that country.
up the zambesi they came, and they fought long and fiercely with gopani-kufa; but, because of the power of the magic mirror, he beat them, and they fled to the sea-coast.
chief among them was one rei, a man of much cunning, who sought to discover whence sprang gopani-kufa's power.
so one day he called to him a trusty servant named butou, and said: "go you to the town and find out for me what is the secret of its greatness."
and butou, dressing himself in rags, set out, and when he came to gopani-kufa's town he asked for the chief; and the people took him into the presence of gopani-kufa.
when the white man saw him he humbled himself, and said: "o chief!
take pity on me, for i have no home!
when rei marched against you i alone stood apart, for i knew that all the strength of the zambesi lay in your hands, and because i would not fight against you he turned me forth into the forest to starve!"
and gopani-kufa believed the white man's story, and he took him in and feasted him, and gave him a house.
in this way the end came.
for the heart of shasasa, the daughter of gopani-kufa, went forth to butou the traitor, and from her he learnt the secret of the magic mirror.
one night, when all the town slept, he felt beneath her pillow and, finding the mirror, he stole it and fled back with it to rei, the chief of the white men.
so it befell that, one day, as gopani-kufa was gazing up at the river from a window of the palace he again saw the war-canoes of the white men; and at the sight his spirit misgave him.
"shasasa!
my daughter!"
he cried wildly, "go fetch me the mirror, for the white men are at hand."
"woe is me, my father!"
she sobbed.
"the mirror is gone!
for i loved butou the traitor, and he has stolen sipao from me!"
then gopani-kufa calmed himself, and drew out zengi-mizi from its rush basket."
o spirit of my father!"
he said, "what now shall i do?'"
o gopani-kufa!"
hummed the wasp, "there is nothing now that can be done, for the words of the antelope which you slew are being fulfilled."
"alas!
i am an old man -- i had forgotten!"
cried the chief.
"the words of the antelope were true words -- my reward shall be my undoing -- they are being fulfilled!"
then the white men fell upon the people of gopani-kufa and slew them together with the chief and his daughter shasasa; and since then all the power of the earth has rested in the hands of the white men, for they have in their possession sipao, the magic mirror.
story of the king who would see paradise once upon a time there was king who, one day out hunting, came upon a fakeer in a lonely place in the mountains.
the fakeer was seated on a little old bedstead reading the koran, with his patched cloak thrown over his shoulders.
the king asked him what he was reading; and he said he was reading about paradise, and praying that he might be worthy to enter there.
then they began to talk, and, by-and-bye, the king asked the fakeer if he could show him a glimpse of paradise, for he found it very difficult to believe in what he could not see.
the fakeer replied that he was asking a very difficult, and perhaps a very dangerous, thing; but that he would pray for him, and perhaps he might be able to do it; only he warned the king both against the dangers of his unbelief, and against the curiosity which prompted him to ask this thing.
however, the king was not to be turned from his purpose, and he promised the fakeer always to provided him with food, if he, in return, would pray for him.
to this the fakeer agreed, and so they parted.
time went on, and the king always sent the old fakeer his food according to his promise; but, whenever he sent to ask him when he was going to show him paradise, the fakeer always replied: "not yet, not yet!"
after a year or two had passed by, the king heard one day that the fakeer was very ill -- indeed, he was believed to be dying.
instantly he hurried off himself, and found that it was really true, and that the fakeer was even then breathing his last.
there and then the king besought him to remember his promise, and to show him a glimpse of paradise.
the dying fakeer replied that if the king would come to his funeral, and, when the grave was filled in, and everyone else was gone away, he would come and lay his hand upon the grave, he would keep his word, and show him a glimpse of paradise.
at the same time he implored the king not to do this thing, but to be content to see paradise when god called him there.
still the king's curiosity was so aroused that he would not give way.
accordingly, after the fakeer was dead, and had been buried, he stayed behind when all the rest went away; and then, when he was quite alone, he stepped forward, and laid his hand upon the grave!
instantly the ground opened, and the astonished king, peeping in, saw a flight of rough steps, and, at the bottom of them, the fakeer sitting, just as he used to sit, on his rickety bedstead, reading the koran!
at first the king was so surprised and frightened that he could only stare; but the fakeer beckoned to him to come down, so, mustering up his courage, he boldly stepped down into the grave.
the fakeer rose, and, making a sign to the king to follow, walked a few paces along a dark passage.
then he stopped, turned solemnly to his companion, and, with a movement of his hand, drew aside as it were a heavy curtain, and revealed -- what?
no one knows what was there shown to the king, nor did he ever tell anyone; but, when the fakeer at length dropped the curtain, and the king turned to leave the place, he had had his glimpse of paradise!
trembling in every limb, he staggered back along the passage, and stumbled up the steps out of the tomb into the fresh air again.
the dawn was breaking.
it seemed odd to the king that he had been so long in the grave.
it appeared but a few minutes ago that he had descended, passed along a few steps to the place where he had peeped beyond the veil, and returned again after perhaps five minutes of that wonderful view!
and what was it he had seen?
he racked his brains to remember, but he could not call to mind a single thing!
how curious everything looked too!
why, his own city, which by now he was entering, seemed changed and strange to him!
the sun was already up when he turned into the palace gate and entered the public durbar hall.
it was full; a chamberlain came across and asked him why he sat unbidden in the king's presence.
"but i am the king!"
he cried.
"what king?"
said the chamberlain.
"the true king of this country," said he indignantly.
then the chamberlain went away, and spoke to the king who sat on the throne, and the old king heard words like "mad," "age," "compassion."
then the king on the throne called him to come forward, and, as he went, he caught sight of himself reflected in the polished steel shield of the bodyguard, and started back in horror!
he was old, decrepit, dirty, and ragged!
his long white beard and locks were unkempt, and straggled all over his chest and shoulders.
only one sign of royalty remained to him, and that was the signet ring upon his right hand.
he dragged it off with shaking fingers and held it up to the king.
"tell me who i am," he cried; "there is my signet, who once sat where you sit -- even yesterday!"
the king looked at him compassionately, and examined the signet with curiosity.
then he commanded, and they brought out dusty records and archives of the kingdom, and old coins of previous reigns, and compared them faithfully.
at last the king turned to the old man, and said: "old man, such a king as this whose signet thou hast, reigned seven hundred years ago; but he is said to have disappeared, none know whither; where got you the ring?"
then the old man smote his breast, and cried out with a loud lamentation; for he understood that he, who was not content to wait patiently to see the paradise of the faithful, had been judged already.
and he turned and left the hall without a wor, and went into the jungle, where he lived for twenty-five years a life of prayer and and meditation, until at last the angel of death came to him, and mercifully released him, purged and purified through his punishment.
how isuro the rabbit tricked gudu -lsb- a pathan story told to major campbell. -rsb-
far away in a hot country, where the forests are very thick and dark, and the rivers very swift and strong, there once lived a strange pair of friends.
now one of the friends was a big white rabbit named isuro, and the other was a tall baboon called gudu, and so fond were they of each other that they were seldom seen apart.
one day, when the sun was hotter even than usual, the rabbit awoke from his midday sleep, and saw gudu the baboon standing beside him.
"get up," said gudu;" i am going courting, and you must come with me.
so put some food in a bag, and sling it round your neck, for we may not be able to find anything to eat for a long while."
then the rabbit rubbed his eyes, and gathered a store of fresh green things from under the bushes, and told gudu that he was ready for the journey.
they went on quite happily for some distance, and at last they came to a river with rocks scattered here and there across the stream.
"we can never jump those wide spaces if we are burdened with food," said gudu, "we must throw it into the river, unless we wish to fall in ourselves."
and stooping down, unseen by isuro, who was in front of him, gudu picked up a big stone, and threw it into the water with a loud splash.
"it is your turn now," he cried to isuro.
and with a heavy sigh, the rabbit unfastened his bag of food, which fell into the river.
the road on the other side led down an avenue of trees, and before they had gone very far gudu opened the bag that lay hidden in the thick hair about his neck, and began to eat some delicious-looking fruit.
"where did you get that from?"
asked isuro enviously.
"oh, i found after all that i could get across the rocks quite easily, so it seemed a pity not to keep my bag," answered gudu.
"well, as you tricked me into throwing away mine, you ought to let me share with you," said isuro.
but gudu pretended not to hear him, and strode along the path.
by-and-bye they entered a wood, and right in front of them was a tree so laden with fruit that its branches swept the ground.
and some of the fruit was still green, and some yellow.
the rabbit hopped forward with joy, for he was very hungry; but gudu said to him: "pluck the green fruit, you will find it much the best.
i will leave it all for you, as you have had no dinner, and take the yellow for myself."
so the rabbit took one of the green oranges and began to bite it, but its skin was so hard that he could hardly get his teeth through the rind.
"it does not taste at all nice," he cried, screwing up his face;" i would rather have one of the yellow ones."
"no!
no!
i really could not allow that," answered gudu.
"they would only make you ill.
be content with the green fruit."
and as they were all he could get, isuro was forced to put up with them.
after this had happened two or three times, isuro at last had his eyes opened, and made up his mind that, whatever gudu told him, he would do exactly the opposite.
however, by this time they had reached the village where dwelt gudu's future wife, and as they entered gudu pointed to a clump of bushes, and said to isuro: "whenever i am eating, and you hear me call out that my food has burnt me, run as fast as you can and gather some of those leaves that they may heal my mouth."
the rabbit would have liked to ask him why he ate food that he knew would burn him, only he was afraid, and just nodded in reply; but when they had gone on a little further, he said to gudu: "i have dropped my needle; wait here a moment while i go and fetch it."
"be quick then," answered gudu, climbing into a tree.
and the rabbit hastened back to the bushes, and gathered a quantity of the leaves, which he hid among his fur, "for," thought he, "if i get them now i shall save myself the trouble of a walk by-and-by."
when he had plucked as many as he wanted he returned to gudu, and they went on together.
the sun was almost setting by the time they reached their journey's end and being very tired they gladly sat down by a well.
then gudu's betrothed, who had been watching for him, brought out a pitcher of water -- which she poured over them to wash off the dust of the road -- and two portions of food.
but once again the rabbit's hopes were dashed to the ground, for gudu said hastily: "the custom of the village forbids you to eat till i have finished."
and isuro did not know that gudu was lying, and that he only wanted more food.
so he saw hungrily looking on, waiting till his friend had had enough.
in a little while gudu screamed loudly: "i am burnt!
i am burnt!"
though he was not burnt at all.
now, though isuro had the leaves about him, he did not dare to produce them at the last moment lest the baboon should guess why he had stayed behind.
so he just went round a corner for a short time, and then came hopping back in a great hurry.
but, quick though he was, gudu had been quicker still, and nothing remained but some drops of water.
"how unlucky you are," said gudu, snatching the leaves; "no sooner had you gone than ever so many people arrived, and washed their hands, as you see, and ate your portion."
but, though isuro knew better than to believe him, he said nothing, and went to bed hungrier than he had ever been in his life.
early next morning they started for another village, and passed on the way a large garden where people were very busy gathering monkey-nuts.
"you can have a good breakfast at last," said gudu, pointing to a heap of empty shells; never doubting but that isuro would meekly take the portion shown him, and leave the real nuts for himself.
but what was his surprise when isuro answered: "thank you; i think i should prefer these."
and, turning to the kernels, never stopped as long as there was one left.
and the worst of it was that, with so many people about, gudu could not take the nuts from him.
it was night when they reached the village where dwelt the mother of gudu's betrothed, who laid meat and millet porridge before them."
i think you told me you were fond of porridge," said gudu; but isuro answered: "you are mistaking me for somebody else, as i always eat meat when i can get it."
and again gudu was forced to be content with the porridge, which he hated.
while he was eating it, however a sudden thought darted into his mind, and he managed to knock over a great pot of water which was hanging in front of the fire, and put it quite out.
"now," said the cunning creature to himself," i shall be able in the dark to steal his meat!"
but the rabbit had grown as cunning as he, and standing in a corner hid the meat behind him, so that the baboon could not find it."
o gudu!"
he cried, laughing aloud, "it is you who have taught me to be clever."
and calling to the people of the house, he bade them kindle the fire, for gudu would sleep by it, but that he would pass the night with some friends in another hut.
it was still quite dark when isuro heard his name called very softly, and, on opening his eyes, beheld gudu standing by him.
laying his finger on his nose, in token of silence, he signed to isuro to get up and follow him, and it was not until they were some distance from the hut that gudu spoke."
i am hungry and want something to eat better than that nasty porridge that i had for supper.
so i am going to kill one of those goats, and as you are a good cook you must boil the flesh for me."
the rabbit nodded, and gudu disappeared behind a rock, but soon returned dragging the dead goat with him.
the two then set about skinning it, after which they stuffed the skin with dried leaves, so that no one would have guessed it was not alive, and set it up in the middle of a lump of bushes, which kept it firm on its feet.
while he was doing this, isuro collected sticks for a fire, and when it was kindled, gudu hastened to another hut to steal a pot which he filled with water from the river, and, planting two branches in the ground, they hung the pot with the meat in it over the fire.
"it will not be fit to eat for two hours at least," said gudu, "so we can both have a nap."
and he stretched himself out on the ground, and pretended to fall fast asleep, but, in reality, he was only waiting till it was safe to take all the meat for himself.
"surely i hear him snore," he thought; and he stole to the place where isuro was lying on a pile of wood, but the rabbit's eyes were wide open.
"how tiresome," muttered gudu, as he went back to his place; and after waiting a little longer he got up, and peeped again, but still the rabbit's pink eyes stared widely.
if gudu had only known, isuro was asleep all the time; but this he never guessed, and by-and-bye he grew so tired with watching that he went to sleep himself.
soon after, isuro woke up, and he too felt hungry, so he crept softly to the pot and ate all the meat, while he tied the bones together and hung them in gudu's fur.
after that he went back to the wood-pile and slept again.
in the morning the mother of gudu's betrothed came out to milk her goats, and on going to the bushes where the largest one seemed entangled, she found out the trick.
she made such lament that the people of the village came running, and gudu and isuro jumped up also, and pretended to be as surprised and interested as the rest.
but they must have looked guilty after all, for suddenly an old man pointed to them, and cried: "those are thieves."
and at the sound of his voice the big gudu trembled all over.
"how dare you say such things?
i defy you to prove it," answered isuro boldly.
and he danced forward, and turned head over heels, and shook himself before them all."
i spoke hastily; you are innocent," said the old man; "but now let the baboon do likewise."
and when gudu began to jump the goat's bones rattled and the people cried: "it is gudu who is the goat-slayer!"
but gudu answered: "nay, i did not kill your goat; it was isuro, and he ate the meat, and hung the bones round my neck.
so it is he who should die!"
and the people looked at each other, for they knew not what to believe.
at length one man said: "let them both die, but they may choose their own deaths."
then isuro answered: "if we must die, put us in the place where the wood is cut, and heap it up all round us, so that we can not escape, and set fire to the wood; and if one is burned and the other is not, then he that is burned is the goat-slayer."
and the people did as isuro had said.
but isuro knew of a hole under the wood-pile, and when the fire was kindled he ran into the hole, but gudu died there.
when the fire had burned itself out and only ashes were left where the wood had been, isuro came out of his hole, and said to the people: "lo!
did i not speak well?
he who killed your goat is among those ashes."
ian, the soldier's son -lsb- mashona story. -rsb-
there dwelt a knight in grianaig of the land of the west, who had three daughters, and for goodness and beauty they had not their like in all the isles.
all the people loved them, and loud was the weeping when one day, as the three maidens sat on the rocks on the edge of the sea, dipping their feet in the water, there arose a great beast from under the waves and swept them away beneath the ocean.
and none knew whither they had gone, or how to seek them.
now there lived in a town a few miles off a soldier who had three sons, fine youths and strong, and the best players at shinny in that country.
at christmastide that year, when families met together and great feasts were held, ian, the youngest of the three brothers, said: "let us have a match at shinny on the lawn of the knight of grianaig, for his lawn is wider and the grass smoother than ours."
but the others answered: "nay, for he is in sorrow, and he will think of the games that we have played there when his daughters looked on."
"let him be pleased or angry as he will," said ian; "we will drive our ball on his lawn to-day."
and so it was done, and ian won three games from his brothers.
but the knight looked out of his window, and was wroth; and bade his men bring the youths before him.
when he stood in his hall and beheld them, his heart was softened somewhat; but his face was angry as he asked: "why did you choose to play shinny in front of my castle when you knew full well that the remembrance of my daughters would come back to me?
the pain which you have made me suffer you shall suffer also."
"since we have done you wrong," answered ian, the youngest, "build us a ship, and we will go and seek your daughters.
let them be to windward, or to leeward, or under the four brown boundaries of the sea, we will find them before a year and a day goes by, and will carry them back to grianaig."
in seven days the ship was built, and great store of food and wine placed in her.
and the three brothers put her head to the sea and sailed away, and in seven days the ship ran herself on to a beach of white sand, and they all went ashore.
they had none of them ever seen that land before, and looked about them.
then they saw that, a short way from them, a number of men were working on a rock, with one man standing over them.
"what place is this?"
asked the eldest brother.
and the man who was standing by made answer: "this is the place where dwell the three daughters of the knight of grianaig, who are to be wedded to-morrow to three giants."
"how can we find them?"
asked the young man again.
and the overlooker answered: "to reach the daughters of the knight of grianaig you must get into this basket, and be drawn by a rope up the face of this rock."
"oh, that is easily done," said the eldest brother, jumping into the basket, which at once began to move -- up, and up, and up -- till he had gone about half-way, when a fat black raven flew at him and pecked him till he was nearly blind, so that he was forced to go back the way he had come.
after that the second brother got into the creel; but he fared no better, for the raven flew upon him, and he returned as his brother had done.
"now it is my turn," said ian.
but when he was halfway up the raven set upon him also.
"quick!
quick!"
cried ian to the men who held the rope.
"quick!
quick!
or i shall be blinded!"
and the men pulled with all their might, and in another moment ian was on top, and the raven behind him.
"will you give me a piece of tobacco?"
asked the raven, who was now quite quiet.
"you rascal!
am i to give you tobacco for trying to peck my eyes out?"
answered ian.
"that was part of my duty," replied the raven; "but give it to me, and i will prove a good friend to you."
so ian broke off a piece of tobacco and gave it to him.
the raven hid it under his wing, and then went on; "now i will take you to the house of the big giant, where the knight's daughter sits sewing, sewing, till even her thimble is wet with tears."
and the raven hopped before him till they reached a large house, the door of which stood open.
they entered and passed through one hall after the other, until they found the knight's daughter, as the bird had said.
"what brought you here?"
asked she.
and ian made answer: "why may i not go where you can go?'"
i was brought hither by a giant," replied she."
i know that," said ian; "but tell me where the giant is, that i may find him."
"he is on the hunting hill," answered she; "and nought will bring him home save a shake of the iron chain which hangs outside the gate.
but, there, neither to leeward, nor to windward, nor in the four brown boundaries of the sea, is there any man that can hold battle against him, save only ian, the soldier's son, and he is now but sixteen years old, and how shall he stand against the giant?"
"in the land whence i have come there are many men with the strength of ian," answered he.
and he went outside and pulled at the chain, but he could not move it, and fell on to his knees.
at that he rose swiftly, and gathering up his strength, he seized the chain, and this time he shook it so that the link broke.
and the giant heard it on the hunting hill, and lifted his head, thinking -- "it sounds like the noise of ian, the soldier's son," said he; "but as yet he is only sixteen years old.
still, i had better look to it."
and home he came.
"are you ian, the soldier's son?"
he asked, as he entered the castle.
"no, of a surety," answered the youth, who had no wish that they should know him.
"then who are you in the leeward, or in the windward, or in the four brown boundaries of the sea, who are able to move my battle-chain?"
"that will be plain to you after wrestling with me as i wrestle with my mother.
and one time she got the better of me, and two times she did not."
so they wrestled, and twisted and strove with each other till the giant forced ian to his knee.
"you are the stronger," said ian; and the giant answered: "all men know that!"
and they took hold of each other once more, and at last ian threw the giant, and wished that the raven were there to help him.
no sooner had he wished his wish than the raven came.
"put your hand under my right wing and you will find a knife sharp enough to take off his head," said the raven.
and the knife was so sharp that it cut off the giant's head with a blow.
"now go and tell the daughter of the king of grianaig; but take heed lest you listen to her words, and promise to go no further, for she will seek to help you.
instead, seek the middle daughter, and when you have found her, you shall give me a piece of tobacco for reward."
"well have you earned the half of all i have," answered ian.
but the raven shook his head.
"you know only what has passed, and nothing of what lies before.
if you would not fail, wash yourself in clean water, and take balsam from a vessel on top of the door, and rub it over your body, and to-morrow you will be as strong as many men, and i will lead you to the dwelling of the middle one."
ian did as the raven bade him, and in spite of the eldest daughter's entreaties, he set out to seek her next sister.
he found her where she was seated sewing, her very thimble wet from the tears which she had shed.
"what brought you here?"
asked the second sister.
"why may i not go where you can go?"
answered he; "and why are you weeping?"
"because in one day i shall be married to the giant who is on the hunting hill."
"how can i get him home?"
asked ian.
"nought will bring him but a shake of that iron chain which hangs outside the gate.
but there is neither to leeward, nor to westward, nor in the four brown boundaries of the sea, any man that can hold battle with him, save ian, the soldier's son, and he is now but sixteen years of age."
"in the land whence i have come there are many men with the strength of ian," said he.
and he went outside and pulled at the chain, but he could not move it, and fell on his knees.
at that he rose to his feet, and gathering up his strength mightily, he seized the chain, and this time he shook it so that three links broke.
and the second giant heard it on the hunting hill, and lifted his head, thinking -- "it sounds like the noise of ian, the soldier's son," said he; "but as yet he is only sixteen years old.
still, i had better look to it."
and home he came.
"are you ian, the soldier's son?"
he asked, as he entered the castle.
"no, of a surety," answered the youth, who had no wish that this giant should know him either; "but i will wrestle with you as if i were he."
then they seized each other by the shoulder, and the giant threw him on his two knees.
"you are the stronger," cried ian; "but i am not beaten yet."
and rising to his feet, he threw his arms round the giant.
backwards and forwards they swayed, and first one was uppermost and then the other; but at length ian worked his leg round the giant's and threw him to the ground.
then he called to the raven, and the raven came flapping towards him, and said: "put your hand under my right wing, and you will find there a knife sharp enough to take off his head."
and sharp indeed it was, for with a single blow, the giant's head rolled from his body.
"now wash yourself with warm water, and rub yourself over with oil of balsam, and to-morrow you will be as strong as many men.
but beware of the words of the knight's daughter, for she is cunning, and will try to keep you at her side.
so farewell; but first give me a piece of tobacco."
"that i will gladly," answered ian breaking off a large bit.
he washed and rubbed himself that night, as the raven had told him, and the next morning he entered the chamber where the knight's daughter was sitting.
"abide here with me," she said, "and be my husband.
there is silver and gold in plenty in the castle."
but he took no heed, and went on his way till he reached the castle where the knight's youngest daughter was sewing in the hall.
and tears dropped from her eyes on to her thimble.
"what brought you here?"
asked she.
and ian made answer: "why may i not go where you can go?'"
i was brought hither by a giant.'"
i know full well," said he.
"are you ian, the soldier's son?"
asked she again.
and again he answered: "yes, i am; but tell me, why are you weeping?"
"to-morrow the giant will return from the hunting hill, and i must marry him," she sobbed.
and ian took no heed, and only said: "how can i bring him home?"
"shake the iron chain that hangs outside the gate."
and ian went out, and gave such a pull to the chain that he fell down at full length from the force of the shake.
but in a moment he was on his feet again, and seized the chain with so much strength that four links came off in his hand.
and the giant heard him in the hunting hill, as he was putting the game he had killed into a bag.
"in the leeward, or the windward, or in the four brown boundaries of the sea, there is none who could give my chain a shake save only ian, the soldier's son.
and if he has reached me, then he has left my two brothers dead behind him."
with that he strode back to the castle, the earth trembling under him as he went.
"are you ian, the soldier's son?"
asked he.
and the youth answered: "no, of a surety."
"then who are you in the leeward, or the windward, or in the four brown boundaries of the sea, who are able to shake my battle chain?
there is only ian, the soldier's son, who can do this, and he is but now sixteen years old."
i will show you who i am when you have wrestled with me," said ian.
and they threw their arms round each other, and the giant forced ian on to his knees; but in a moment he was up again, and crooking his leg round the shoulders of the giant, he threw him heavily to the ground.
"stumpy black raven, come quick!"
cried he; and the raven came, and beat the giant about the head with his wings, so that he could not get up.
then he bade ian take out a sharp knife from under his feathers, which he carried with him for cutting berries, and ian smote off the giant's head with it.
and so sharp was that knife that, with one blow, the giant's head rolled on the ground.
"rest now this night also," said the raven, "and to-morrow you shall take the knight's three daughters to the edge of the rock that leads to the lower world.
but take heed to go down first yourself, and let them follow after you.
and before i go you shall give me a piece of tobacco."
"take it all," answered ian, "for well have you earned it."
"no; give me but a piece.
you know what is behind you, but you have no knowledge of what is before you."
and picking up the tobacco in his beak, the raven flew away.
so the next morning the knight's youngest daughter loaded asses with all the silver and gold to be found in the castle, and she set out with ian the soldier's son for the house where her second sister was waiting to see what would befall.
she also had asses laden with precious things to carry away, and so had the eldest sister, when they reached the castle where she had been kept a prisoner.
together they all rode to the edge of the rock, and then ian lay down and shouted, and the basket was drawn up, and in it they got one by one, and were let down to the bottom.
when the last one was gone, ian should have gone also, and left the three sisters to come after him; but he had forgotten the raven's warning, and bade them go first, lest some accident should happen.
only, he begged the youngest sister to let him keep the little gold cap which, like the others, she wore on her head; and then he helped them, each in her turn, into the basket.
long he waited, but wait as he might, the basket never came back, for in their joy at being free the knight's daughters had forgotten all about ian, and had set sail in the ship that had brought him and his brothers to the land of grianaig.
at last he began to understand what had happened to him, and while he was taking counsel with himself what had best be done, the raven came to him.
"you did not heed my words," he said gravely.
"no, i did not, and therefore am i here," answered ian, bowing his head.
"the past can not be undone," went on the raven.
"he that will not take counsel will take combat.
this night, you will sleep in the giant's castle.
and now you shall give me a piece of tobacco.'"
i will.
but, i pray you, stay in the castle with me."
"that i may not do, but on the morrow i will come."
and on the morrow he did, and he bade ian go to the giant's stable where stood a horse to whom it mattered nothing if she journeyed over land or sea.
"but be careful," he added, "how you enter the stable, for the door swings without ceasing to and fro, and if it touches you, it will cause you to cry out.
i will go first and show you the way."
"go," said ian.
and the raven gave a bob and a hop, and thought he was quite safe, but the door slammed on a feather of his tail, and he screamed loudly.
then ian took a run backwards, and a run forwards, and made a spring; but the door caught one of his feet, and he fell fainting on the stable floor.
quickly the raven pounced on him, and picked him up in his beak and claws, and carried him back to the castle, where he laid ointments on his foot till it was as well as ever it was.
"now come out to walk," said the raven, "but take heed that you wonder not at aught you may behold; neither shall you touch anything.
and, first, give me a piece of tobacco."
many strange things did ian behold in that island, more than he had thought for.
in a glen lay three heroes stretched on their backs, done to death by three spears that still stuck in their breasts.
but he kept his counsel and spake nothing, only he pulled out the spears, and the men sat up and said: "you are ian the soldier's son, and a spell is laid upon you to travel in our company, to the cave of the black fisherman."
so together they went till they reached the cave, and one of the men entered, to see what should be found there.
and he beheld a hag, horrible to look upon, seated on a rock, and before he could speak, she struck him with her club, and changed him into a stone; and in like manner she dealt with the other three.
at the last ian entered.
"these men are under spells," said the witch, "and alive they can never be till you have anointed them with the water which you must fetch from the island of big women.
see that you do not tarry."
and ian turned away with a sinking heart, for he would fain have followed the youngest daughter of the knight of grianaig.
"you did not obey my counsel," said the raven, hopping towards him, "and so trouble has come upon you.
but sleep now, and to-morrow you shall mount the horse which is in the giant's stable, that can gallop over sea and land.
when you reach the island of big women, sixteen boys will come to meet you, and will offer the horse food, and wish to take her saddle and bridle from her.
but see that they touch her not, and give her food yourself, and yourself lead her into the stable, and shut the door.
and be sure that for every turn of the lock given by the sixteen stable lads you give one.
and now you shall break me off a piece of tobacco."
the next morning ian arose, and led the horse from the stable, without the door hurting him, and he rode across the sea to the island of the big women, where the sixteen stable lads met him, and each one offered to take his horse, and to feed her, and to put her into the stable.
but ian only answered: "i myself will put her in and will see to her."
and thus he did.
and while he was rubbing her sides the horse said to him: "every kind of drink will they offer you, but see you take none, save whey and water only."
and so it fell out; and when the sixteen stable-boys saw that he would drink nothing, they drank it all themselves, and one by one lay stretched around the board.
then ian felt pleased in his heart that he had withstood their fair words, and he forgot the counsel that the horse had likewise given him saying: "beware lest you fall asleep, and let slip the chance of getting home again"; for while the lads were sleeping sweet music reached his ears, and he slept also.
when this came to pass the steed broke through the stable door, and kicked him and woke him roughly.
"you did not heed my counsel," said she; "and who knows if it is not too late to win over the sea?
but first take that sword which hangs on the wall, and cut off the heads of the sixteen grooms."
filled with shame at being once more proved heedless, ian arose and did as the horse bade him.
then he ran to the well and poured some of the water into a leather bottle, and jumping on the horse's back rode over the sea to the island where the raven was waiting for him.
"lead the horse into the stable," said the raven, "and lie down yourself to sleep, for to-morrow you must make the heroes to live again, and must slay the hag.
and have a care not to be so foolish to-morrow as you were to-day."
"stay with me for company," begged ian; but the raven shook his head, and flew away.
in the morning ian awoke, and hastened to the cave where the old hag was sitting, and he struck her dead as she was, before she could cast spells on him.
next he sprinkled the water over the heroes, who came to life again, and together they all journeyed to the other side of the island, and there the raven met them.
"at last you have followed the counsel that was given you," said the raven; "and now, having learned wisdom, you may go home again to grianaig.
there you will find that the knight's two eldest daughters are to be wedded this day to your two brothers, and the youngest to the chief of the men at the rock.
but her gold cap you shall give to me and, if you want it, you have only to think of me and i will bring it to you.
and one more warning i give you.
if anyone asks you whence you came, answer that you have come from behind you; and if anyone asks you whither you are going, say that you are going before you."
so ian mounted the horse and set her face to the sea and her back to the shore, and she was off, away and away till she reached the church of grianaig, and there, in a field of grass, beside a well of water, he leaped down from his saddle.
"now," the horse said to him, "draw your sword and cut off my head."
but ian answered: "poor thanks would that be for all the help i have had from you."
"it is the only way that i can free myself from the spells that were laid by the giants on me and the raven; for i was a girl and he was a youth wooing me!
so have no fears, but do as i have said."
then ian drew his sword as she bade him, and cut off her head, and went on his way without looking backwards.
as he walked he saw a woman standing at her house door.
she asked him whence he had come, and he answered as the raven had told him, that he came from behind.
next she inquired whither he was going, and this time he made reply that he was going on before him, but that he was thirsty and would like a drink.
"you are an impudent fellow," said the woman; "but you shall have a drink."
and she gave him some milk, which was all she had till her husband came home.
"where is your husband?"
asked ian, and the woman answered him: "he is at the knight's castle trying to fashion gold and silver into a cap for the youngest daughter, like unto the caps that her sisters wear, such as are not to be found in all this land.
but, see, he is returning; and now we shall hear how he has sped."
at that the man entered the gate, and beholding a strange youth, he said to him: "what is your trade, boy?'"
i am a smith," replied ian.
and the man answered: "good luck has befallen me, then, for you can help me to make a cap for the knight's daughter."
"you can not make that cap, and you know it," said ian.
"well, i must try," replied the man, "or i shall be hanged on a tree; so it were a good deed to help me.'"
i will help you if i can," said ian; "but keep the gold and silver for yourself, and lock me into the smithy to-night, and i will work my spells."
so the man, wondering to himself, locked him in.
as soon as the key was turned in the lock ian wished for the raven, and the raven came to him, carrying the cap in his mouth.
"now take my head off," said the raven.
but ian answered: "poor thanks were that for all the help you have given me."
"it is the only thanks you can give me," said the raven, "for i was a youth like yourself before spells were laid on me."
then ian drew his sword and cut off the head of the raven, and shut his eyes so that he might see nothing.
after that he lay down and slept till morning dawned, and the man came and unlocked the door and shook the sleeper.
"here is the cap," said ian drowsily, drawing it from under his pillow.
and he fell asleep again directly.
the sun was high in the heavens when he woke again, and this time he beheld a tall, brown-haired youth standing by him."
i am the raven," said the youth, "and the spells are broken.
but now get up and come with me."
then they two went together to the place where ian had left the dead horse; but no horse was there now, only a beautiful maiden."
i am the horse," she said, "and the spells are broken"; and she and the youth went away together.
in the meantime the smith had carried the cap to the castle, and bade a servant belonging to the knight's youngest daughter bear it to her mistress.
but when the girl's eyes fell on it, she cried out: "he speaks false; and if he does not bring me the man who really made the cap i will hang him on the tree beside my window."
the servant was filled with fear at her words, and hastened and told the smith, who ran as fast as he could to seek for ian.
and when he found him and brought him into the castle, the girl was first struck dumb with joy; then she declared that she would marry nobody else.
at this some one fetched to her the knight of grianaig, and when ian had told his tale, he vowed that the maiden was right, and that his elder daughters should never wed with men who had not only taken glory to themselves which did not belong to them, but had left the real doer of the deeds to his fate.
and the wedding guests said that the knight had spoken well; and the two elder brothers were fain to leave the country, for no one would converse with them.
the fox and the wolf -lsb- from tales of the west highlands. -rsb-
at the foot of some high mountains there was, once upon a time, a small village, and a little way off two roads met, one of them going to the east and the other to the west.
the villagers were quiet, hard-working folk, who toiled in the fields all day, and in the evening set out for home when the bell began to ring in the little church.
in the summer mornings they led out their flocks to pasture, and were happy and contented from sunrise to sunset.
one summer night, when a round full moon shone down upon the white road, a great wolf came trotting round the corner."
i positively must get a good meal before i go back to my den," he said to himself; "it is nearly a week since i have tasted anything but scraps, though perhaps no one would think it to look at my figure!
of course there are plenty of rabbits and hares in the mountains; but indeed one needs to be a greyhound to catch them, and i am not so young as i was!
if i could only dine off that fox i saw a fortnight ago, curled up into a delicious hairy ball, i should ask nothing better; i would have eaten her then, but unluckily her husband was lying beside her, and one knows that foxes, great and small, run like the wind.
really it seems as if there was not a living creature left for me to prey upon but a wolf, and, as the proverb says: "one wolf does not bite another."
however, let us see what this village can produce.
i am as hungry as a schoolmaster."
now, while these thoughts were running through the mind of the wolf, the very fox he had been thinking of was galloping along the other road.
"the whole of this day i have listened to those village hens clucking till i could bear it no longer," murmured she as she bounded along, hardly seeming to touch the ground.
"when you are fond of fowls and eggs it is the sweetest of all music.
as sure as there is a sun in heaven i will have some of them this night, for i have grown so thin that my very bones rattle, and my poor babies are crying for food."
and as she spoke she reached a little plot of grass, where the two roads joined, and flung herself under a tree to take a little rest, and to settle her plans.
at this moment the wolf came up.
at the sight of the fox lying within his grasp his mouth began to water, but his joy was somewhat checked when he noticed how thin she was.
the fox's quick ears heard the sound of his paws, though they were soft as velvet, and turning her head she said politely: "is that you, neighbour?
what a strange place to meet in!
i hope you are quite well?"
"quite well as regards my health," answered the wolf, whose eye glistened greedily, "at least, as well as one can be when one is very hungry.
but what is the matter with you?
a fortnight ago you were as plump as heart could wish!'"
i have been ill -- very ill," replied the fox, "and what you say is quite true.
a worm is fat in comparison with me."
"he is.
still, you are good enough for me; for "to the hungry no bread is hard.""
"oh, you are always joking!
i'm sure you are not half as hungry as i!"
"that we shall soon see," cried the wolf, opening his huge mouth and crouching for a spring.
"what are you doing?"
exclaimed the fox, stepping backwards.
"what am i doing?
what i am going to do is to make my supper off you, in less time than a cock takes to crow."
"well, i suppose you must have your joke," answered the fox lightly, but never removing her eye from the wolf, who replied with a snarl which showed all his teeth: "i do n't want to joke, but to eat!"
"but surely a person of your talents must perceive that you might eat me to the very last morsel and never know that you had swallowed anything at all!"
"in this world the cleverest people are always the hungriest," replied the wolf.
"ah!
how true that is; but --"' i ca n't stop to listen to your "buts" and "yets,"" broke in the wolf rudely; "let us get to the point, and the point is that i want to eat you and not talk to you."
"have you no pity for a poor mother?"
asked the fox, putting her tail to her eyes, but peeping slily out of them all the same."
i am dying of hunger," answered the wolf, doggedly; "and you know," he added with a grin, "that charity begins at home."
"quite so," replied the fox; "it would be unreasonable of me to object to your satisfying your appetite at my expense.
but if the fox resigns herself to the sacrifice, the mother offers you one last request."
"then be quick and do n't waste my time, for i ca n't wait much longer.
what is it you want?"
"you must know," said the fox, "that in this village there is a rich man who makes in the summer enough cheeses to last him for the whole year, and keeps them in an old well, now dry, in his courtyard.
by the well hang two buckets on a pole that were used, in former days, to draw up water.
for many nights i have crept down to the palace, and have lowered myself in the bucket, bringing home with me enough cheese to feed the children.
all i beg of you is to come with me, and, instead of hunting chickens and such things, i will make a good meal off cheese before i die."
"but the cheeses may be all finished by now?"
"if you were only to see the quantities of them!"
laughed the fox.
"and even if they were finished, there would always be me to eat."
"well, i will come.
lead the way, but i warn you that if you try to escape or play any tricks you are reckoning without your host -- that is to say, without my legs, which are as long as yours!"
all was silent in the village, and not a light was to be seen but that of the moon, which shone bright and clear in the sky.
the wolf and the fox crept softly along, when suddenly they stopped and looked at each other; a savoury smell of frying bacon reached their noses, and reached the noses of the sleeping dogs, who began to bark greedily.
"is it safe to go on, think you?"
asked the wolf in a whisper.
and the fox shook her head.
"not while the dogs are barking," said she; "someone might come out to see if anything was the matter."
and she signed to the wolf to curl himself up in the shadow beside her.
in about half an hour the dogs grew tired of barking, or perhaps the bacon was eaten up and there was no smell to excite them.
then the wolf and the fox jumped up, and hastened to the foot of the wall."
i am lighter than he is," thought the fox to herself, "and perhaps if i make haste i can get a start, and jump over the wall on the other side before he manages to spring over this one."
and she quickened her pace.
but if the wolf could not run he could jump, and with one bound he was beside his companion.
"what were you going to do, comrade?"
"oh, nothing," replied the fox, much vexed at the failure of her plan."
i think if i were to take a bit out of your haunch you would jump better," said the wolf, giving a snap at her as he spoke.
the fox drew back uneasily.
"be careful, or i shall scream," she snarled.
and the wolf, understanding all that might happen if the fox carried out her threat, gave a signal to his companion to leap on the wall, where he immediately followed her.
once on the top they crouched down and looked about them.
not a creature was to be seen in the courtyard, and in the furthest corner from the house stood the well, with its two buckets suspended from a pole, just as the fox had described it.
the two thieves dragged themselves noiselessly along the wall till they were opposite the well, and by stretching out her neck as far as it would go the fox was able to make out that there was only very little water in the bottom, but just enough to reflect the moon, big, and round and yellow.
"how lucky!"
cried she to the wolf.
"there is a huge cheese about the size of a mill wheel.
look!
look!
did you ever see anything so beautiful!"
"never!"
answered the wolf, peering over in his turn, his eyes glistening greedily, for he imagined that the moon's reflection in the water was really a cheese.
"and now, unbeliever, what have you to say?"
and the fox laughed gently.
"that you are a woman -- i mean a fox -- of your word," replied the wolf.
"well, then, go down in that bucket and eat your fill," said the fox.
"oh, is that your game?"
asked the wolf, with a grin.
"no!
no!
the person who goes down in the bucket will be you!
and if you do n't go down your head will go without you!"
"of course i will go down, with the greatest pleasure," answered the fox, who had expected the wolf's reply.
"and be sure you do n't eat all the cheese, or it will be the worse for you," continued the wolf.
but the fox looked up at him with tears in her eyes.
"farewell, suspicious one!"
she said sadly.
and climbed into the bucket.
in an instant she had reached the bottom of the well, and found that the water was not deep enough to cover her legs.
"why, it is larger and richer than i thought," cried she, turning towards the wolf, who was leaning over the wall of the well.
"then be quick and bring it up," commanded the wolf.
"how can i, when it weighs more than i do?"
asked the fox.
"if it is so heavy bring it in two bits, of course," said he.
"but i have no knife," answered the fox.
"you will have to come down yourself, and we will carry it up between us."
"and how am i to come down?"
inquired the wolf.
"oh, you are really very stupid!
get into the other bucket that is nearly over your head."
the wolf looked up, and saw the bucket hanging there, and with some difficulty he climbed into it.
as he weighed at least four times as much as the fox the bucket went down with a jerk, and the other bucket, in which the fox was seated, came to the surface.
as soon as he understood what was happening, the wolf began to speak like an angry wolf, but was a little comforted when he remembered that the cheese still remained to him.
"but where is the cheese?"
he asked of the fox, who in her turn was leaning over the parapet watching his proceedings with a smile.
"the cheese?"
answered the fox; "why i am taking it home to my babies, who are too young to get food for themselves."
"ah, traitor!"
cried the wolf, howling with rage.
but the fox was not there to hear this insult, for she had gone off to a neighbouring fowl-house, where she had noticed some fat young chickens the day before.
"perhaps i did treat him rather badly," she said to herself.
"but it seems getting cloudy, and if there should be heavy rain the other bucket will fill and sink to the bottom, and his will go up -- at least it may!"
how ian direach got the blue falcon -lsb- from cuentos populares, por antonio de trueba. -rsb-
long ago a king and queen ruled over the islands of the west, and they had one son, whom they loved dearly.
the boy grew up to be tall and strong and handsome, and he could run and shoot, and swim and dive better than any lad of his own age in the country.
besides, he knew how to sail about, and sing songs to the harp, and during the winter evenings, when everyone was gathered round the huge hall fire shaping bows or weaving cloth, ian direach would tell them tales of the deeds of his fathers.
so the time slipped by till ian was almost a man, as they reckoned men in those days, and then his mother the queen died.
there was great mourning throughout all the isles, and the boy and his father mourned her bitterly also; but before the new year came the king had married another wife, and seemed to have forgotten his old one.
only ian remembered.
on a morning when the leaves were yellow in the trees of the glen, ian slung his bow over his shoulder, and filling his quiver with arrows, went on to the hill in search of game.
but not a bird was to be seen anywhere, till at length a blue falcon flew past him, and raising his bow he took aim at her.
his eye was straight and his hand steady, but the falcon's flight was swift, and he only shot a feather from her wing.
as the sun was now low over the sea he put the feather in his game bag, and set out homewards.
"have you brought me much game to-day?"
asked his stepmother as he entered the hall.
"nought save this," he answered, handing her the feather of the blue falcon, which she held by the tip and gazed at silently.
then she turned to ian and said: "i am setting it on you as crosses and as spells, and as the fall of the year!
that you may always be cold, and wet and dirty, and that your shoes may ever have pools in them, till you bring me hither the blue falcon on which that feather grew."
"if it is spells you are laying i can lay them too," answered ian direach; "and you shall stand with one foot on the great house and another on the castle, till i come back again, and your face shall be to the wind, from wheresoever it shall blow."
then he went away to seek the bird, as his stepmother bade him; and, looking homewards from the hill, he saw the queen standing with one foot on the great house, and the other on the castle, and her face turned towards whatever tempest should blow.
on he journeyed, over hills, and through rivers till he reached a wide plain, and never a glimpse did he catch of the falcon.
darker and darker it grew, and the small birds were seeking their nests, and at length ian direach could see no more, and he lay down under some bushes and sleep came to him.
and in his dream a soft nose touched him, and a warm body curled up beside him, and a low voice whispered to him: "fortune is against you, ian direach; i have but the cheek and the hoof of a sheep to give you, and with these you must be content."
with that ian direach awoke, and beheld gille mairtean the fox.
between them they kindled a fire, and ate their supper.
then gille mairtean the fox bade ian direach lie down as before, and sleep till morning.
and in the morning, when he awoke, gille mairtean said: "the falcon that you seek is in the keeping of the giant of the five heads, and the five necks, and the five humps.
i will show you the way to his house, and i counsel you to do his bidding, nimbly and cheerfully, and, above all, to treat his birds kindly, for in this manner he may give you his falcon to feed and care for.
and when this happens, wait till the giant is out of his house; then throw a cloth over the falcon and bear her away with you.
only see that not one of her feathers touches anything within the house, or evil will befall you.'"
i thank you for your counsel," spake ian direach, "and i will be careful to follow it."
then he took the path to the giant's house.
"who is there?"
cried the giant, as someone knocked loudly on the door of his house.
"one who seeks work as a servant," answered ian direach.
"and what can you do?"
asked the giant again."
i can feed birds and tend pigs; i can feed and milk a cow, and also goats and sheep, if you have any of these," replied ian direach.
"then enter, for i have great need of such a one," said the giant.
so ian direach entered, and tended so well and carefully all the birds and beasts, that the giant was better satisfied than ever he had been, and at length he thought that he might even be trusted to feed the falcon.
and the heart of ian was glad, and he tended the blue falcon till his fathers shone like the sky, and the giant was well pleased; and one day he said to him: "for long my brothers on the other side of the mountain have besought me to visit them, but never could i go for fear of my falcon.
now i think i can leave her with you for one day, and before nightfall i shall be back again."
scarcely was the giant out of sight next morning when ian direach seized the falcon, and throwing a cloth over her head hastened with her to the door.
but the rays of the sun pierced through the thickness of the cloth, and as they passed the doorpost she gave a spring, and the tip of one of her feathers touched the post, which gave a scream, and brought the giant back in three strides.
ian direach trembled as he saw him; but the giant only said: "if you wish for my falcon you must first bring me the white sword of light that is in the house of the big women of dhiurradh."
"and where do they live?"
asked ian.
but the giant answered: "ah, that is for you to discover."
and ian dared say no more, and hastened down to the waste.
there, as he hoped, he met his friend gille mairtean the fox, who bade him eat his supper and lie down to sleep.
and when he had wakened next morning the fox said to him: "let us go down to the shore of the sea."
and to the shore of the sea they went.
and after they had reached the shore, and beheld the sea stretching before them, and the isle of dhiurradh in the midst of it, the soul of ian sank, and he turned to gille mairtean and asked why he had brought him thither, for the giant, when he had sent him, had known full well that without a boat he could never find the big women.
"do not be cast down," answered the fox, "it is quite easy!
i will change myself into a boat, and you shall go on board me, and i will carry you over the sea to the seven big women of dhiurradh.
tell them that you are skilled in brightening silver and gold, and in the end they will take you as servant, and if you are careful to please them they will give you the white sword of light to make bright and shining.
but when you seek to steal it, take heed that its sheath touches nothing inside the house, or ill will befall you."
so ian direach did all things as the fox had told him, and the seven big women of dhiurradh took him for their servant, and for six weeks he worked so hard that his seven mistresses said to each other: "never has a servant had the skill to make all bright and shining like this one.
let us give him the white sword of light to polish like the rest."
then they brought forth the white sword of light from the iron closet where it hung, and bade him rub it till he could see his face in the shining blade; and he did so.
but one day, when the seven big women were out of the way, he bethought him that the moment had come for him to carry off the sword, and, replacing it in its sheath, he hoisted it on his shoulder.
but just as he was passing through the door the tip of the sheath touched it, and the door gave a loud shriek.
and the big women heard it, and came running back, and took the sword from him, and said: "if it is our sword you want, you must first bring us the bay colt of the king of erin."
humbled and ashamed, ian direach left the house, and sat by the side of the sea, and soon gille mairtean the fox came to him.
"plainly i see that you have taken no heed to my words, ian direach," spoke the fox.
"but eat first, and yet once more will i help you."
at these words the heart returned again to ian direach, and he gathered sticks and made a fire and ate with gille mairtean the fox, and slept on the sand.
at dawn next morning gille mairtean said to ian direach: "i will change myself into a ship, and will bear you across the seas to erin, to the land where dwells the king.
and you shall offer yourself to serve in his stable, and to tend his horses, till at length so well content is he, that he gives you the bay colt to wash and brush.
but when you run away with her see that nought except the soles of her hoofs touch anything within the palace gates, or it will go ill with you."
after he had thus counselled ian direach, the fox changed himself into a ship, and set sail for erin.
and the king of that country gave into ian direach's hands the care of his horses, and never before did their skins shine so brightly or was their pace so swift.
and the king was well pleased, and at the end of a month he sent for ian and said to him: "you have given me faithful service, and now i will entrust you with the most precious thing that my kingdom holds."
and when he had spoken, he led ian direach to the stable where stood the bay colt.
and ian rubbed her and fed her, and galloped with her all round the country, till he could leave one wind behind him and catch the other which was in front."
i am going away to hunt," said the king one morning while he was watching ian tend the bay colt in her stable.
"the deer have come down from the hill, and it is time for me to give them chase."
then he went away; and when he was no longer in sight, ian direach led the bay colt out of the stable, and sprang on her back.
but as they rode through the gate, which stood between the palace and the outer world, the colt swished her tail against the post, which shrieked loudly.
in a moment the king came running up, and he seized the colt's bridle.
"if you want my bay colt, you must first bring me the daughter of the king of the franks."
with slow steps went ian direach down to the shore where gille mairtean the fox awaited him.
"plainly i see that you have not done as i bid you, nor will you ever do it," spoke gille mairtean the fox; "but i will help you yet again for a third time i will change myself into a ship, and we will sail to france."
and to france they sailed, and, as he was the ship, the gille mairtean sailed where he would, and ran himself into the cleft of a rock, high on to the land.
then, he commanded ian direach to go up to the king's palace, saying that he had been wrecked, that his ship was made fast in a rock, and that none had been saved but himself only.
ian direach listened to the words of the fox, and he told a tale so pitiful, that the king and queen, and the princess their daughter, all came out to hear it.
and when they had heard, nought would please them except to go down to the shore and visit the ship, which by now was floating, for the tide was up.
torn and battered was she, as if she had passed through many dangers, yet music of a wondrous sweetness poured forth from within.
"bring hither a boat," cried the princess, "that i may go and see for myself the harp that gives forth such music."
and a boat was brought, and ian direach stepped in to row it to the side of the ship.
to the further side he rowed, so that none could see, and when he helped the princess on board he gave a push to the boat, so that she could not get back to it again.
and the music sounded always sweeter, though they could never see whence it came, and sought it from one part of the vessel to another.
when at last they reached the deck and looked around them, nought of land could they see, or anything save the rushing waters.
the princess stood silent, and her face grew grim.
at last she said: "an ill trick have you played me!
what is this that you have done, and whither are we going?"
"it is a queen you will be," answered ian direach, "for the king of erin has sent me for you, and in return he will give me his bay colt, that i may take him to the seven big women of dhiurradh, in exchange for the white sword of light.
this i must carry to the giant of the five heads and five necks and five humps, and, in place of it, he will bestow on me the blue falcon, which i have promised my stepmother, so that she may free me from the spell which she has laid on me.'"
i would rather be wife to you," answered the princess.
by-and-by the ship sailed into a harbour on the coast of erin, and cast anchor there.
and gille mairtean the fox bade ian direach tell the princess that she must bide yet a while in a cave amongst the rocks, for they had business on land, and after a while they would return to her.
then they took a boat and rowed up to some rocks, and as they touched the land gille mairtean changed himself into a fair woman, who laughed, and said to ian direach," i will give the king a fine wife."
now the king of erin had been hunting on the hill, and when he saw a strange ship sailing towards the harbour, he guessed that it might be ian direach, and left his hunting, and ran down to the hill to the stable.
hastily he led the bay colt from his stall, and put the golden saddle on her back, and the silver bridle over his head, and with the colt's bridle in his hand, he hurried to meet the princess."
i have brought you the king of france's daughter," said ian direach.
and the king of erin looked at the maiden, and was well pleased, not knowing that it was gille mairtean the fox.
and he bowed low, and besought her to do him the honour to enter the palace; and gille mairtean, as he went in, turned to look back at ian direach, and laughed.
in the great hall the king paused and pointed to an iron chest which stood in a corner.
"in that chest is the crown that has waited for you for many years," he said, "and at last you have come for it."
and he stooped down to unlock the box.
in an instant gille mairtean the fox had sprung on his back, and gave him such a bite that he fell down unconscious.
quickly the fox took his own shape again, and galloped away to the sea shore, where ian direach and the princess and the bay colt awaited him."
i will become a ship," cried gille mairtean, "and you shall go on board me."
and so he did, and ian direach let the bay colt into the ship and the princess went after them, and they set sail for dhiurradh.
the wind was behind them, and very soon they saw the rocks of dhiurradh in front.
then spoke gille mairtean the fox: "let the bay colt and the king's daughter hide in these rocks, and i will change myself into the colt, and go with you to the house of the seven big women."
joy filed the hearts of the big women when they beheld the bay colt led up to their door by ian direach.
and the youngest of them fetched the white sword of light, and gave it into the hands of ian direach, who took off the golden saddle and the silver bridle, and went down the hill with the sword to the place where the princess and the real colt awaited him.
"now we shall have the ride that we have longed for!"
cried the seven big women; and they saddled and bridled the colt, and the eldest one got upon the saddle.
then the second sister sat on the back of the first, and the third on the back of the second, and so on for the whole seven.
and when they were all seated, the eldest struck her side with a whip and the colt bounded forward.
over the moors she flew, and round and round the mountains, and still the big women clung to her and snorted with pleasure.
at last she leapt high in the air, and came down on top of monadh the high hill, where the crag is.
and she rested her fore feet on the crag, and threw up her hind legs, and the seven big women fell over the crag, and were dead when they reached the bottom.
and the colt laughed, and became a fox again and galloped away to the sea shore, where ian direach, and the princess and the real colt and the white sword of light were awaiting him."
i will make myself into a ship," said gille mairtean the fox, "and will carry you and the princess, and the bay colt and the white sword of light, back to the land."
and when the shore was reached, gille mairtean the fox took back his own shape, and spoke to ian direach in this wise: "let the princess and the white sword of light, and the bay colt, remain among the rocks, and i will change myself into the likeness of the white sword of light, and you shall bear me to the giant, and, instead, he will give you the blue falcon."
and ian direach did as the fox bade him, and set out for the giant's castle.
from afar the giant beheld the blaze of the white sword of light, and his heart rejoiced; and he took the blue falcon and put it in a basket, and gave it to ian direach, who bore it swiftly away to the place where the princess, and the bay colt, and the real sword of light were awaiting him.
so well content was the giant to possess the sword he had coveted for many a year, that he began at once to whirl it through the air, and to cut and slash with it.
for a little while gille mairtean let the giant play with him in this manner; then he turned in the giant's hand, and cut through the five necks, so that the five heads rolled on the ground.
afterwards he went back to ian direach and said to him: "saddle the colt with the golden saddle, and bridle her with the silver bridle, and sling the basket with the falcon over your shoulders, and hold the white sword of light with its back against your nose.
then mount the colt, and let the princess mount behind you, and ride thus to your father's palace.
but see that the back of the sword is ever against your nose, else when your stepmother beholds you, she will change you into a dry faggot.
if, however, you do as i bid you, she will become herself a bundle of sticks."
ian direach hearkened to the words of gille mairtean, and his stepmother fell as a bundle of sticks before him; and he set fire to her, and was free from her spells for ever.
after that he married the princess, who was the best wife in all the islands of the west.
henceforth he was safe from harm, for had he not the bay colt who could leave one wind behind her and catch the other wind, and the blue falcon to bring him game to eat, and the white sword of light to pierce through his foes?
and ian direach knew that all this he owed to gille mairtean the fox, and he made a compact with him that he might choose any beast out of his herds, whenever hunger seized him, and that henceforth no arrow should be let fly at him or at any of his race.
but gille mairtean the fox would take no reward for the help he had given to ian direach, only his friendship.
thus all things prospered with ian direach till he died.
the ugly duckling -lsb- from tales of the west highlands. -rsb-
it was summer in the land of denmark, and though for most of the year the country looks flat and ugly, it was beautiful now.
the wheat was yellow, the oats were green, the hay was dry and delicious to roll in, and from the old ruined house which nobody lived in, down to the edge of the canal, was a forest of great burdocks, so tall that a whole family of children might have dwelt in them and never have been found out.
it was under these burdocks that a duck had built herself a warm nest, and was not sitting all day on six pretty eggs.
five of them were white, but the sixth, which was larger than the others, was of an ugly grey colour.
the duck was always puzzled about that egg, and how it came to be so different from the rest.
other birds might have thought that when the duck went down in the morning and evening to the water to stretch her legs in a good swim, some lazy mother might have been on the watch, and have popped her egg into the nest.
but ducks are not clever at all, and are not quick at counting, so this duck did not worry herself about the matter, but just took care that the big egg should be as warm as the rest.
this was the first set of eggs that the duck had ever laid, and, to begin with, she was very pleased and proud, and laughed at the other mothers, who were always neglecting their duties to gossip with each other or to take little extra swims besides the two in the morning and evening that were necessary for health.
but at length she grew tired of sitting there all day.
"surely eggs take longer hatching than they did," she said to herself; and she pined for a little amusement also.
still, she knew that if she left her eggs and the ducklings in them to die none of her friends would ever speak to her again; so there she stayed, only getting off the eggs several times a day to see if the shells were cracking -- which may have been the very reason why they did not crack sooner.
she had looked at the eggs at least a hundred and fifty times, when, to her joy, she saw a tiny crack on two of them, and scrambling back to the nest she drew the eggs closer the one to the other, and never moved for the whole of that day.
next morning she was rewarded by noticing cracks in the whole five eggs, and by midday two little yellow heads were poking out from the shells.
this encouraged her so much that, after breaking the shells with her bill, so that the little creatures could get free of them, she sat steadily for a whole night upon the nest, and before the sun arose the five white eggs were empty, and ten pairs of eyes were gazing out upon the green world.
now the duck had been carefully brought up, and did not like dirt, and, besides, broken shells are not at all comfortable things to sit or walk upon; so she pushed the rest out over the side, and felt delighted to have some company to talk to till the big egg hatched.
but day after day went on, and the big egg showed no signs of cracking, and the duck grew more and more impatient, and began to wish to consult her husband, who never came."
i ca n't think what is the matter with it," the duck grumbled to her neighbour who had called in to pay her a visit.
"why i could have hatched two broods in the time that this one has taken!"
"let me look at it," said the old neighbour.
"ah, i thought so; it is a turkey's egg.
once, when i was young, they tricked me to sitting on a brood of turkey's eggs myself, and when they were hatched the creatures were so stupid that nothing would make them learn to swim.
i have no patience when i think of it."
"well, i will give it another chance," sighed the duck, "and if it does not come out of its shell in another twenty-four hours, i will just leave it alone and teach the rest of them to swim properly and to find their own food.
i really ca n't be expected to do two things at once."
and with a fluff of her feathers she pushed the egg into the middle of the nest.
all through the next day she sat on, giving up even her morning bath for fear that a blast of cold might strike the big egg.
in the evening, when she ventured to peep, she thought she saw a tiny crack in the upper part of the shell.
filled with hope, she went back to her duties, though she could hardly sleep all night for excitement.
when she woke with the first steaks of light she felt something stirring under her.
yes, there it was at last; and as she moved, a big awkward bird tumbled head foremost on the ground.
there was no denying it was ugly, even the mother was forced to admit that to herself, though she only said it was "large" and "strong."
"you wo n't need any teaching when you are once in the water," she told him, with a glance of surprise at the dull brown which covered his back, and at his long naked neck.
and indeed he did not, though he was not half so pretty to look at as the little yellow balls that followed her.
when they returned they found the old neighbour on the bank waiting for them to take them into the duckyard.
"no, it is not a young turkey, certainly," whispered she in confidence to the mother, "for though it is lean and skinny, and has no colour to speak of, yet there is something rather distinguished about it, and it holds its head up well."
"it is very kind of you to say so," answered the mother, who by this time had some secret doubts of its loveliness.
"of course, when you see it by itself it is all right, though it is different, somehow, from the others.
but one can not expect all one's children to be beautiful!"
by this time they had reached the centre of the yard, where a very old duck was sitting, who was treated with great respect by all the fowls present.
"you must go up and bow low before her," whispered the mother to her children, nodding her head in the direction of the old lady, "and keep your legs well apart, as you see me do.
no well-bred duckling turns in its toes.
it is a sign of common parents."
the little ducks tried hard to make their small fat bodies copy the movements of their mother, and the old lady was quite pleased with them; but the rest of the ducks looked on discontentedly, and said to each other: "oh, dear me, here are ever so many more!
the yard is full already; and did you ever see anything quite as ugly as that great tall creature?
he is a disgrace to any brood.
i shall go and chase him out!"
so saying she put up her feathers, and running to the big duckling bit his neck.
the duckling gave a loud quack; it was the first time he had felt any pain, and at the sound his mother turned quickly.
"leave him alone," she said fiercely, "or i will send for his father.
he was not troubling you."
"no; but he is so ugly and awkward no one can put up with him," answered the stranger.
and though the duckling did not understand the meaning of the words, he felt he was being blamed, and became more uncomfortable still when the old spanish duck who ruled the fowlyard struck in: "it certainly is a great pity he is so different from these beautiful darlings.
if he could only be hatched over again!"
the poor little fellow drooped his head, and did not know where to look, but was comforted when his mother answered: "he may not be quite as handsome as the others, but he swims better, and is very strong; i am sure he will make his way in the world as well as anybody."
"well, you must feel quite at home here," said the old duck waddling off.
and so they did, all except the duckling, who was snapped at by everyone when they thought his mother was not looking.
even the turkey-cock, who was so big, never passed him without mocking words, and his brothers and sisters, who would not have noticed any difference unless it had been put into their heads, soon became as rude and unkind as the rest.
at last he could bear it no longer, and one day he fancied he saw signs of his mother turning against him too; so that night, when the ducks and hens were still asleep, he stole away through an open door, and under cover of the burdock leaves scrambled on by the bank of the canal, till he reached a wide grassy moor, full of soft marshy places where the reeds grew.
here he lay down, but he was too tired and too frightened to fall asleep, and with the earliest peep of the sun the reeds began to rustle, and he saw that he had blundered into a colony of wild ducks.
but as he could not run away again he stood up and bowed politely.
"you are ugly," said the wild ducks, when they had looked him well over; "but, however, it is no business of ours, unless you wish to marry one of our daughters, and that we should not allow."
and the duckling answered that he had no idea of marrying anybody, and wanted nothing but to be left alone after his long journey.
so for two whole days he lay quietly among the reeds, eating such food as he could find, and drinking the water of the moorland pool, till he felt himself quite strong again.
he wished he might stay were he was for ever, he was so comfortable and happy, away from everyone, with nobody to bite him and tell him how ugly he was.
he was thinking these thoughts, when two young ganders caught sight of him as they were having their evening splash among the reeds, looking for their supper.
"we are getting tired of this moor," they said, "and to-morrow we think of trying another, where the lakes are larger and the feeding better.
will you come with us?"
"is it nicer than this?"
asked the duckling doubtfully.
and the words were hardly out of his mouth, when "pif!
pah!"
and the two new-comers were stretched dead beside him.
at the sound of the gun the wild ducks in the rushes flew into the air, and for a few minutes the firing continued.
luckily for himself the duckling could not fly, and he floundered along through the water till he could hide himself amidst some tall ferns which grew in a hollow.
but before he got there he met a huge creature on four legs, which he afterwards knew to be a dog, who stood and gazed at him with a long red tongue hanging out of his mouth.
the duckling grew cold with terror, and tried to hide his head beneath his little wings; but the dog snuffed at him and passed on, and he was able to reach his place of shelter."
i am too ugly even for a dog to eat," said he to himself.
"well, that is a great mercy."
and he curled himself up in the soft grass till the shots died away in the distance.
when all had been quiet for a long time, and there were only stars to see him, he crept out and looked about him.
he would never go near a pool again, never, thought he; and seeing that the moor stretched far away in the opposite direction from which he had come, he marched bravely on till he got to a small cottage, which seemed too tumbledown for the stones to hold together many hours longer.
even the door only hung upon one hinge, and as the only light in the room sprang from a tiny fire, the duckling edged himself cautiously in, and lay down under a chair close to the broken door, from which he could get out if necessary.
but no one seemed to see him or smell him; so he spend the rest of the night in peace.
now in the cottage dwelt an old woman, her cat, and a hen; and it was really they, and not she, who were masters of the house.
the old woman, who passed all her days in spinning yarn, which she sold at the nearest town, loved both the cat and the hen as her own children, and never contradicted them in any way; so it was their grace, and not hers, that the duckling would have to gain.
it was only next morning, when it grew light, that they noticed their visitor, who stood trembling before them, with his eye on the door ready to escape at any moment.
they did not, however, appear very fierce, and the duckling became less afraid as they approached him.
"can you lay eggs?"
asked the hen.
and the duckling answered meekly: "no; i do n't know how."
upon which the hen turned her back, and the cat came forward.
"can you ruffle your fur when you are angry, or purr when you are pleased?"
said she.
and again the duckling had to admit that he could do nothing but swim, which did not seem of much use to anybody.
so the cat and the hen went straight off to the old woman, who was still in bed.
"such a useless creature has taken refuge here," they said.
"it calls itself a duckling; but it can neither lay eggs nor purr!
what had we better do with it?"
"keep it, to be sure!"
replied the old woman briskly.
"it is all nonsense about it not laying eggs.
anyway, we will let it stay here for a bit, and see what happens."
so the duckling remained for three weeks, and shared the food of the cat and the hen; but nothing in the way of eggs happened at all.
then the sun came out, and the air grew soft, and the duckling grew tired of being in a hut, and wanted with all his might to have a swim.
and one morning he got so restless that even his friends noticed it.
"what is the matter?"
asked the hen; and the duckling told her."
i am so longing for the water again.
you ca n't think how delicious it is to put your head under the water and dive straight to the bottom.'"
i do n't think i should enjoy it," replied the hen doubtfully.
"and i do n't think the cat would like it either."
and the cat, when asked, agreed there was nothing she would hate so much."
i ca n't stay here any longer, i must get to the water," repeated the duck.
and the cat and the hen, who felt hurt and offended, answered shortly: "very well then, go."
the duckling would have liked to say good-bye, and thank them for their kindness, as he was polite by nature; but they had both turned their backs on him, so he went out of the rickety door feeling rather sad.
but, in spite of himself, he could not help a thrill of joy when he was out in the air and water once more, and cared little for the rude glances of the creatures he met.
for a while he was quite happy and content; but soon the winter came on, and snow began to fall, and everything to grow very wet and uncomfortable.
and the duckling soon found that it is one thing to enjoy being in the water, and quite another to like being damp on land.
the sun was setting one day, like a great scarlet globe, and the river, to the duckling's vast bewilderment, was getting hard and slippery, when he heard a sound of whirring wings, and high up in the air a flock of swans were flying.
they were as white as snow which had fallen during the night, and their long necks with yellow bills were stretched southwards, for they were going -- they did not quite know whither -- but to a land where the sun shone all day.
oh, if he only could have gone with them!
but that was not possible, of course; and besides, what sort of companion could an ugly thing like him be to those beautiful beings?
so he walked sadly down to a sheltered pool and dived to the very bottom, and tried to think it was the greatest happiness he could dream of.
but, all the same, he knew it was n't!
and every morning it grew colder and colder, and the duckling had hard work to keep himself warm.
indeed, it would be truer to say that he never was warm at all; and at last, after one bitter night, his legs moved so slowly that the ice crept closer and closer, and when the morning light broke he was caught fast, as in a trap; and soon his senses went from him.
a few hours more and the poor duckling's life had been ended.
but, by good fortune, a man was crossing the river on his way to his work, and saw in a moment what had happened.
he had on thick wooden shoes, and he went and stamped so hard on the ice that it broke, and then he picked up the duckling and tucked him under his sheepskin coat, where his frozen bones began to thaw a little.
instead of going on his work, the man turned back and took the bird to his children, who gave him a warm mess to eat and put him in a box by the fire, and when they came back from school he was much more comfortable than he had been since he had left the old woman's cottage.
they were kind little children, and wanted to play with him; but, alas!
the poor fellow had never played in his life, and thought they wanted to tease him, and flew straight into the milk-pan, and then into the butter-dish, and from that into the meal-barrel, and at last, terrified at the noise and confusion, right out of the door, and hid himself in the snow amongst the bushes at the back of the house.
he never could tell afterwards exactly how he had spent the rest of the winter.
he only knew that he was very miserable and that he never had enough to eat.
but by-and-by things grew better.
the earth became softer, the sun hotter, the birds sang, and the flowers once more appeared in the grass.
when he stood up, he felt different, somehow, from what he had done before he fell asleep among the reeds to which he had wandered after he had escaped from the peasant's hut.
his body seemed larger, and his wings stronger.
something pink looked at him from the side of a hill.
he thought he would fly towards it and see what it was.
oh, how glorious it felt to be rushing through the air, wheeling first one way and then the other!
he had never thought that flying could be like that!
the duckling was almost sorry when he drew near the pink cloud and found it was made up of apple blossoms growing beside a cottage whose garden ran down to the banks of the canal.
he fluttered slowly to the ground and paused for a few minutes under a thicket of syringas, and while he was gazing about him, there walked slowly past a flock of the same beautiful birds he had seen so many months ago.
fascinated, he watched them one by one step into the canal, and float quietly upon the waters as if they were part of them."
i will follow them," said the duckling to himself; "ugly though i am, i would rather be killed by them than suffer all i have suffered from cold and hunger, and from the ducks and fowls who should have treated me kindly."
and flying quickly down to the water, he swam after them as fast as he could.
it did not take him long to reach them, for they had stopped to rest in a green pool shaded by a tree whose branches swept the water.
and directly they saw him coming some of the younger ones swam out to meet him with cries of welcome, which again the duckling hardly understood.
he approached them glad, yet trembling, and turning to one of the older birds, who by this time had left the shade of the tree, he said: "if i am to die, i would rather you should kill me.
i do n't know why i was ever hatched, for i am too ugly to live."
and as he spoke, he bowed his head and looked down into the water.
reflected in the still pool he saw many white shapes, with long necks and golden bills, and, without thinking, he looked for the dull grey body and the awkward skinny neck.
but no such thing was there.
instead, he beheld beneath him a beautiful white swan!
"the new one is the best of all," said the children when they came down to feed the swans with biscuit and cake before going to bed.
"his feathers are whiter and his beak more golden than the rest."
and when he heard that, the duckling thought that it was worth while having undergone all the persecution and loneliness that he had passed through, as otherwise he would never have known what it was to be really happy.
the two caskets -lsb- hans andersen. -rsb-
far, far away, in the midst of a pine forest, there lived a woman who had both a daughter and a stepdaughter.
ever since her own daughter was born the mother had given her all that she cried for, so she grew up to be as cross and disagreeable as she was ugly.
her stepsister, on the other hand, had spent her childhood in working hard to keep house for her father, who died soon after his second marriage; and she was as much beloved by the neighbours for her goodness and industry as she was for her beauty.
as the years went on, the difference between the two girls grew more marked, and the old woman treated her stepdaughter worse than ever, and was always on the watch for some pretext for beating her, or depriving her of her food.
anything, however foolish, was good enough for this, and one day, when she could think of nothing better, she set both the girls to spin while sitting on the low wall of the well.
"and you had better mind what you do," said she, "for the one whose thread breaks first shall be thrown to the bottom."
but of course she took good care that her own daughter's flax was fine and strong, while the stepsister had only some coarse stuff, which no one would have thought of using.
as might be expected, in a very little while the poor girl's thread snapped, and the old woman, who had been watching from behind a door, seized her stepdaughter by her shoulders, and threw her into the well.
"that is an end of you!"
she said.
but she was wrong, for it was only the beginning.
down, down, down went the girl -- it seemed as if the well must reach to the very middle of the earth; but at last her feet touched the ground, and she found herself in a field more beautiful than even the summer pastures of her native mountains.
trees waved in the soft breeze, and flowers of the brightest colours danced in the grass.
and though she was quite alone, the girl's heart danced too, for she felt happier than she had since her father died.
so she walked on through the meadow till she came to an old tumbledown fence -- so old that it was a wonder it managed to stand up at all, and it looked as if it depended for support on the old man's beard that climbed all over it.
the girl paused for a moment as she came up, and gazed about for a place where she might safely cross.
but before she could move a voice cried from the fence: "do not hurt me, little maiden; i am so old, so old, i have not much longer to live."
and the maiden answered: "no, i will not hurt you; fear nothing."
and then seeing a spot where the clematis grew less thickly than in other places, she jumped lightly over.
"may all go well with thee," said the fence, as the girl walked on.
she soon left the meadow and turned into a path which ran between two flowery hedges.
right in front of her stood an oven, and through its open door she could see a pile of white loaves.
"eat as many loaves as you like, but do me no harm, little maiden," cried the oven.
and the maiden told her to fear nothing, for she never hurt anything, and was very grateful for the oven's kindness in giving her such a beautiful white loaf.
when she had finished it, down to the last crumb, she shut the oven door and said: "good-morning."
"may all go well with thee," said the oven, as the girl walked on.
by-and-by she became very thirsty, and seeing a cow with a milk-pail hanging on her horn, turned towards her.
"milk me and drink as much as you will, little maiden," cried the cow, "but be sure you spill none on the ground; and do me no harm, for i have never harmed anyone."
"nor i," answered the girl; "fear nothing."
so she sat down and milked till the pail was nearly full.
then she drank it all up except a little drop at the bottom.
"now throw any that is left over my hoofs, and hang the pail on my horns again," said the cow.
and the girl did as she was bid, and kissed the cow on her forehead and went her way.
many hours had now passed since the girl had fallen down the well, and the sun was setting.
"where shall i spend the night?"
thought she.
and suddenly she saw before her a gate which she had not noticed before, and a very old woman leaning against it.
"good evening," said the girl politely; and the old woman answered: "good evening, my child.
would that everyone was as polite as you.
are you in search of anything?'"
i am in search of a place," replied the girl; and the woman smiled and said: "then stop a little while and comb my hair, and you shall tell me all the things you can do."
"willingly, mother," answered the girl.
and she began combing out the old woman's hair, which was long and white.
half an hour passed in this way, and then the old woman said: "as you did not think yourself too good to comb me, i will show you where you may take service.
be prudent and patient and all will go well."
so the girl thanked her, and set out for a farm at a little distance, where she was engaged to milk the cows and sift the corn.
as soon as it was light next morning the girl got up and went into the cow-house.
"i'm sure you must be hungry," said she, patting each in turn.
and then she fetched hay from the barn, and while they were eating it, she swept out the cow-house, and strewed clean straw upon the floor.
the cows were so pleased with the care she took of them that they stood quite still while she milked them, and did not play any of the tricks on her that they had played on other dairymaids who were rough and rude.
and when she had done, and was going to get up from her stool, she found sitting round her a whole circle of cats, black and white, tabby and tortoise-shell, who all cried with one voice: "we are very thirsty, please give us some milk!"
"my poor little pussies," said she, "of course you shall have some."
and she went into the dairy, followed by all the cats, and gave each one a little red saucerful.
but before they drank they all rubbed themselves against her knees and purred by way of thanks.
the next thing the girl had to do was to go to the storehouse, and to sift the corn through a sieve.
while she was busy rubbing the corn she heard a whirr of wings, and a flock of sparrows flew in at the window.
"we are hungry; give us some corn!
give us some corn!"
cried they; and the girl answered: "you poor little birds, of course you shall have some!"
and scattered a fine handful over the floor.
when they had finished they flew on her shoulders and flapped their wings by way of thanks.
time went by, and no cows in the whole country-side were so fat and well tended as hers, and no dairy had so much milk to show.
the farmer's wife was so well satisfied that she gave her higher wages, and treated her like her own daughter.
at length, one day, the girl was bidden by her mistress to come into the kitchen, and when there, the old woman said to her: "i know you can tend cows and keep a diary; now let me see what you can do besides.
take this sieve to the well, and fill it with water, and bring it home to me without spilling one drop by the way."
the girl's heart sank at this order; for how was it possible for her to do her mistress's bidding?
however, she was silent, and taking the sieve went down to the well with it.
stopping over the side, she filled it to the brim, but as soon as she lifted it the water all ran out of the holes.
again and again she tried, but not a drop would remaining in the sieve, and she was just turning away in despair when a flock of sparrows flew down from the sky.
"ashes!
ashes!"
they twittered; and the girl looked at them and said: "well, i ca n't be in a worse plight than i am already, so i will take your advice."
and she ran back to the kitchen and filled her sieve with ashes.
then once more she dipped the sieve into the well, and, behold, this time not a drop of water disappeared!
"here is the sieve, mistress," cried the girl, going to the room where the old woman was sitting.
"you are cleverer than i expected," answered she; "or else someone helped you who is skilled in magic."
but the girl kept silence, and the old woman asked her no more questions.
many days passed during which the girl went about her work as usual, but at length one day the old woman called her and said: "i have something more for you to do.
there are here two yarns, the one white, the other black.
what you must do is to wash them in the river till the black one becomes white and the white black."
and the girl took them to the river and washed hard for several hours, but wash as she would they never changed one whit.
"this is worse than the sieve," thought she, and was about to give up in despair when there came a rush of wings through the air, and on every twig of the birch trees which grew by the bank was perched a sparrow.
"the black to the east, the white to the west!"
they sang, all at once; and the girl dried her tears and felt brave again.
picking up the black yarn, she stood facing the east and dipped it in the river, and in an instant it grew white as snow, then turning to the west, she held the white yarn in the water, and it became as black as a crow's wing.
she looked back at the sparrows and smiled and nodded to them, and flapping their wings in reply they flew swiftly away.
at the sight of the yarn the old woman was struck dumb; but when at length she found her voice she asked the girl what magician had helped her to do what no one had done before.
but she got no answer, for the maiden was afraid of bringing trouble on her little friends.
for many weeks the mistress shut herself up in her room, and the girl went about her work as usual.
she hoped that there was an end to the difficult tasks which had been set her; but in this she was mistaken, for one day the old woman appeared suddenly in the kitchen, and said to her: "there is one more trial to which i must put you, and if you do not fail in that you will be left in peace for evermore.
here are the yarns which you washed.
take them and weave them into a web that is as smooth as a king's robe, and see that it is spun by the time that the sun sets."
"this is the easiest thing i have been set to do," thought the girl, who was a good spinner.
but when she began she found that the skein tangled and broke every moment.
"oh, i can never do it!"
she cried at last, and leaned her head against the loom and wept; but at that instant the door opened, and there entered, one behind another, a procession of cats.
"what is the matter, fair maiden?"
asked they.
and the girl answered: "my mistress has given me this yarn to weave into a piece of cloth, which must be finished by sunset, and i have not even begun yet, for the yarn breaks whenever i touch it."
"if that is all, dry your eyes," said the cats; "we will manage it for you."
and they jumped on the loom, and wove so fast and so skilfully that in a very short time the cloth was ready and was as fine as any king ever wore.
the girl was so delighted at the sight of it that she gave each cat a kiss on his forehead as they left the room behind one the other as they had come.
"who has taught you this wisdom?"
asked the old woman, after she had passed her hands twice or thrice over the cloth and could find no roughness anywhere.
but the girl only smiled and did not answer.
she had learned early the value of silence.
after a few weeks the old woman sent for her maid and told her that as her year of service was now up, she was free to return home, but that, for her part, the girl had served her so well that she hoped she might stay with her.
but at these words the maid shook her head, and answered gently: "i have been happy here, madam, and i thank you for your goodness to me; but i have left behind me a stepsister and a stepmother, and i am fain to be with them once more."
the old woman looked at her for a moment, and then she said: "well, that must be as you like; but as you have worked faithfully for me i will give you a reward.
go now into the loft above the store house and there you will find many caskets.
choose the one which pleases you best, but be careful not to open it till you have set it in the place where you wish it to remain."
the girl left the room to go to the loft, and as soon as she got outside, she found all the cats waiting for her.
walking in procession, as was their custom, they followed her into the loft, which was filled with caskets big and little, plain and splendid.
she lifted up one and looked at it, and then put it down to examine another yet more beautiful.
which should she choose, the yellow or the blue, the red or the green, the gold or the silver?
she hesitated long, and went first to one and then to another, when she heard the cats" voices calling: "take the black!
take the black!"
the words make her look round -- she had seen no black casket, but as the cats continued their cry she peered into several corners that had remained unnoticed, and at length discovered a little black box, so small and so black, that it might easily have been passed over.
"this is the casket that pleases me best, mistress," said the girl, carrying it into the house.
and the old woman smiled and nodded, and bade her go her way.
so the girl set forth, after bidding farewell to the cows and the cats and the sparrows, who all wept as they said good-bye.
she walked on and on and on, till she reached the flowery meadow, and there, suddenly, something happened, she never knew what, but she was sitting on the wall of the well in her stepmother's yard.
then she got up and entered the house.
the woman and her daughter stared as if they had been turned into stone; but at length the stepmother gasped out: "so you are alive after all!
well, luck was ever against me!
and where have you been this year past?"
then the girl told how she had taken service in the under-world, and, beside her wages, had brought home with her a little casket, which she would like to set up in her room.
"give me the money, and take the ugly little box off to the outhouse," cried the woman, beside herself with rage, and the girl, quite frightened at her violence, hastened away, with her precious box clasped to her bosom.
the outhouse was in a very dirty state, as no one had been near it since the girl had fallen down the well; but she scrubbed and swept till everything was clean again, and then she placed the little casket on a small shelf in the corner.
"now i may open it," she said to herself; and unlocking it with the key which hung to its handle, she raised the lid, but started back as she did so, almost blinded by the light that burst upon her.
no one would ever have guessed that that little black box could have held such a quantity of beautiful things!
rings, crowns, girdles, necklaces -- all made of wonderful stones; and they shone with such brilliance that not only the stepmother and her daughter but all the people round came running to see if the house was on fire.
of course the woman felt quite ill with greed and envy, and she would have certainly taken all the jewels for herself had she not feared the wrath of the neighbours, who loved her stepdaughter as much as they hated her.
but if she could not steal the casket and its contents for herself, at least she could get another like it, and perhaps a still richer one.
so she bade her own daughter sit on the edge of the well, and threw her into the water, exactly as she had done to the other girl; and, exactly as before, the flowery meadow lay at the bottom.
every inch of the way she trod the path which her stepsister had trodden, and saw the things which she had seen; but there the likeness ended.
when the fence prayed her to do it no harm, she laughed rudely, and tore up some of the stakes so that she might get over the more easily; when the oven offered her bread, she scattered the loaves onto the ground and stamped on them; and after she had milked the cow, and drunk as much as she wanted, she threw the rest on the grass, and kicked the pail to bits, and never heard them say, as they looked after her: "you shall not have done this to me for nothing!"
towards evening she reached the spot where the old woman was leaning against the gate-post, but she passed her by without a word.
"have you no manners in your country?"
asked the crone."
i ca n't stop and talk; i am in a hurry," answered the girl.
"it is getting late, and i have to find a place."
"stop and comb my hair for a little," said the old woman, "and i will help you to get a place."
"comb your hair, indeed!
i have something better to do than that!"
and slamming the gate in the crone's face she went her way.
and she never heard the words that followed her: "you shall not have done this to me for nothing!"
by-and-by the girl arrived at the farm, and she was engaged to look after the cows and sift the corn as her stepsister had been.
but it was only when someone was watching her that she did her work; at other times the cow-house was dirty, and the cows ill-fed and beaten, so that they kicked over the pail, and tried to butt her; and everyone said they had never seen such thin cows or such poor milk.
as for the cats, she chased them away, and ill-treated them, so that they had not even the spirit to chase the rats and mice, which nowadays ran about everywhere.
and when the sparrows came to beg for some corn, they fared no better than the cows and the cats, for the girl threw her shoes at them, till they flew in a fright to the woods, and took shelter amongst the trees.
months passed in this manner, when, one day, the mistress called the girl to her.
"all that i have given you to do you have done ill," said she, "yet will i give you another chance.
for though you can not tend cows, or divide the grain from the chaff, there may be other things that you can do better.
therefore take this sieve to the well, and fill it with water, and see that you bring it back without spilling a drop."
the girl took the sieve and carried it to the well as her sister had done; but no little birds came to help her, and after dipping it in the well two or three times she brought it back empty."
i thought as much," said the old woman angrily; "she that is useless in one thing is useless in another."
perhaps the mistress may have thought that the girl had learnt a lesson, but, if she did, she was quite mistaken, as the work was no better done than before.
by-and-by she sent for her again, and gave her maid the black and white yarn to wash in the river; but there was no one to tell her the secret by which the black would turn white, and the white black; so she brought them back as they were.
this time the old woman only looked at her grimly but the girl was too well pleased with herself to care what anyone thought about her.
after some weeks her third trial came, and the yarn was given her to spin, as it had been given to her stepsister before her.
but no procession of cats entered the room to weave a web of fine cloth, and at sunset she only brought back to her mistress an armful of dirty, tangled wool.
"there seems nothing in the world you can do," said the old woman, and left her to herself.
soon after this the year was up, and the girl went to her mistress to tell her that she wished to go home.
"little desire have i to keep you," answered the old woman, "for no one thing have you done as you ought.
still, i will give you some payment, therefore go up into the loft, and choose for yourself one of the caskets that lies there.
but see that you do not open it till you place it where you wish it to stay."
this was what the girl had been hoping for, and so rejoiced was she, that, without even stopping to thank the old woman, she ran as fast as she could to the loft.
there were the caskets, blue and red, green and yellow, silver and gold; and there in the corner stood a little black casket just like the one her stepsister had brought home.
"if there are so many jewels in that little black thing, this big red one will hold twice the number," she said to herself; and snatching it up she set off on her road home without even going to bid farewell to her mistress.
"see, mother, see what i have brought!"
cried she, as she entered the cottage holding the casket in both hands.
"ah!
you have got something very different from that little black box," answered the old woman with delight.
but the girl was so busy finding a place for it to stand that she took little notice of her mother.
"it will look best here -- no, here," she said, setting it first on one piece of furniture and then on another.
"no, after all it is to fine to live in a kitchen, let us place it in the guest chamber."
so mother and daughter carried it proudly upstairs and put it on a shelf over the fireplace; then, untying the key from the handle, they opened the box.
as before, a bright light leapt out directly the lid was raised, but it did not spring from the lustre of jewels, but from hot flames, which darted along the walls and burnt up the cottage and all that was in it and the mother and daughter as well.
as they had done when the stepdaughter came home, the neighbours all hurried to see what was the matter; but they were too late.
only the hen-house was left standing; and, in spite of her riches, there the stepdaughter lived happily to the end of her days.
the goldsmith's fortune -lsb- from thorpe's yule-tide stories. -rsb-
once upon a time there was a goldsmith who lived in a certain village where the people were as bad and greedy, and covetous, as they could possibly be; however, in spite of his surroundings, he was fat and prosperous.
he had only one friend whom he liked, and that was a cowherd, who looked after cattle for one of the farmers in the village.
every evening the goldsmith would walk across to the cowherd's house and say: "come, let's go out for a walk!"
now the cowherd did n't like walking in the evening, because, he said, he had been out grazing the cattle all day, and was glad to sit down when night came; but the goldsmith always worried him so that the poor man had to go against his will.
this at last so annoyed him that he tried to think how he could pick a quarrel with the goldsmith, so that he should not beg him to walk with him any more.
he asked another cowherd for advice, and he said the best thing he could do was to go across and kill the goldsmith's wife, for then the goldsmith would be sure to regard him as an enemy; so, being a foolish person, and there being no laws in that country by which a man would be certainly punished for such a crime, the cowherd one evening took a big stick and went across to the goldsmith's house when only mrs. goldsmith was at home, and banged her on the head so hard that she died then and there.
when the goldsmith came back and found his wife dead he said nothing, but just took her outside into the dark lane and propped her up against the wall of his house, and then went into the courtyard and waited.
presently a rich stranger came along the lane, and seeing someone there, as he supposed, he said: "good-evening, friend!
a fine night to-night!"
but the goldsmith's wife said nothing.
the man then repeated his words louder; but still there was no reply.
a third time he shouted: "good-evening, friend!
are you deaf?"
but the figure never replied.
then the stranger, being angry at what he thought very rude behaviour, picked up a big stone and threw it at mrs. goldsmith, crying: "let that teach you manners!"
instantly poor mrs. goldsmith tumbled over; and the stranger, horrified at seeing what he had done, was immediately seized by the goldsmith, who ran out screaming: "wretch!
you have killed my wife!
oh, miserable one; we will have justice done to thee!"
with many protestations and reproaches they wrangled together, the stranger entreating the goldsmith to say nothing and he would pay him handsomely to atone for the sad accident.
at last the goldsmith quieted down, and agreed to accept one thousand gold pieces from the stranger, who immediately helped him to bury his poor wife, and then rushed off to the guest house, packed up his things and was off by daylight, lest the goldsmith should repent and accuse him as the murderer of his wife.
now it very soon appeared that the goldsmith had a lot of extra money, so that people began to ask questions, and finally demanded of him the reason for his sudden wealth.
"oh," said he, "my wife died, and i sold her."
"you sold your dead wife?"
cried the people.
"yes," said the goldsmith.
"for how much?'"
a thousand gold pieces," replied the goldsmith.
instantly the villagers went away and each caught hold of his own wife and throttled her, and the next day they all went off to sell their dead wives.
many a weary mile did they tramp, but got nothing but hard words or laughter, or directions to the nearest cemetery, from people to whom they offered dead wives for sale.
at last they perceived that they had been cheated somehow by that goldsmith.
so off they rushed home, seized the unhappy man, and, without listening to his cries and entreaties, hurried him down to the river bank and flung him -- plop!
-- into the deepest, weediest, and nastiest place they could find.
"that will teach him to play tricks on us," said they.
"for as he ca n't swim he'll drown, and we sha'n' t have any more trouble with him!"
now the goldsmith really could not swim, and as soon as he was thrown into the deep river he sank below the surface; so his enemies went away believing that they had seen the last of him.
but, in reality, he was carried down, half drowned, below the next bend in the river, where he fortunately came across a "snag" floating in the water -lrb- a snag is, you know, a part of a tree or bush which floats very nearly under the surface of the water -rrb-; and he held on to this snag, and by great good luck eventually came ashore some two or three miles down the river.
at the place where he landed he came across a fine fat cow buffalo, and immediately he jumped on her back and rode home.
when the village people saw him, they ran out in surprise, and said: "where on earth do you come from, and where did you get that buffalo?"
"ah!"
said the goldsmith, "you little know what delightful adventures i have had!
why, down in that place in the river where you threw me in i found meadows, and trees, and fine pastures, and buffaloes, and all kinds of cattle.
in fact, i could hardly tear myself away; but i thought that i must really let you all know about it."
"oh, oh!"
thought the greedy village people; "if there are buffaloes to be had for the taking we'll go after some too."
encouraged by the goldsmith they nearly all ran off the very next morning to the river; and, in order that they might get down quickly to the beautiful place the goldsmith told them of, they tied great stones on to their feet and their necks, and one after another they jumped into the water as fast as the could, and were drowned.
and whenever any one of them waved his hands about and struggled the goldsmith would cry out: "look!
he's beckoning the rest of you to come; he's got a fine buffalo!"
and others who were doubtful would jump in, until not one was left.
then the cunning goldsmith went back and took all the village for himself, and became very rich indeed.
but do you think he was happy?
not a bit.
lies never made a man happy yet.
truly, he got the better of a set of wicked and greedy people, but only by being wicked and greedy himself; and, as it turned out, when he got so rich he got very fat; and at last was so fat that he could n't move, and one day he got the apoplexy and died, and no one in the world cared the least bit.
the enchanted wreath -lsb- told by a pathan to major campbell. -rsb-
once upon a time there lived near a forest a man and his wife and two girls; one girl was the daughter of the man, and the other the daughter of his wife; and the man's daughter was good and beautiful, but the woman's daughter was cross and ugly.
however, her mother did not know that, but thought her the most bewitching maiden that ever was seen.
one day the man called to his daughter and bade her come with him into the forest to cut wood.
they worked hard all day, but in spite of the chopping they were very cold, for it rained heavily, and when they returned home, they were wet through.
then, to his vexation, the man found that he had left his axe behind him, and he knew that if it lay all night in the mud it would become rusty and useless.
so he said to his wife: "i have dropped my axe in the forest, bid your daughter go and fetch it, for mine has worked hard all day and is both wet and weary."
but the wife answered: "if your daughter is wet already, it is all the more reason that she should go and get the axe.
besides, she is a great strong girl, and a little rain will not hurt her, while my daughter would be sure to catch a bad cold."
by long experience the man knew there was no good saying any more, and with a sigh he told the poor girl she must return to the forest for the axe.
the walk took some time, for it was very dark, and her shoes often stuck in the mud, but she was brave as well as beautiful and never thought of turning back merely because the path was both difficult and unpleasant.
at last, with her dress torn by brambles that she could not see, and her fact scratched by the twigs on the trees, she reached the spot where she and her father had been cutting in the morning, and found the axe in the place he had left it.
to her surprise, three little doves were sitting on the handle, all of them looking very sad.
"you poor little things," said the girl, stroking them.
"why do you sit there and get wet?
go and fly home to your nest, it will be much warmer than this; but first eat this bread, which i saved from my dinner, and perhaps you will feel happier.
it is my father's axe you are sitting on, and i must take it back as fast as i can, or i shall get a terrible scolding from my stepmother."
she then crumbled the bread on the ground, and was pleased to see the doves flutter quite cheerfully towards it.
"good-bye," she said, picking up the axe, and went her way homewards.
by the time they had finished all the crumbs the doves felt must better, and were able to fly back to their nest in the top of a tree.
"that is a good girl," said one;" i really was too weak to stretch out a wing before she came.
i should like to do something to show how grateful i am."
"well, let us give her a wreath of flowers that will never fade as long as she wears it," cried another.
"and let the tiniest singing birds in the world sit amongst the flowers," rejoined the third.
"yes, that will do beautifully," said the first.
and when the girl stepped into her cottage a wreath of rosebuds was on her head, and a crowd of little birds were singing unseen.
the father, who was sitting by the fire, thought that, in spite of her muddy clothes, he had never seen his daughter looking so lovely; but the stepmother and the other girl grew wild with envy.
"how absurd to walk about on such a pouring night, dressed up like that," she remarked crossly, and roughly pulled off the wreath as she spoke, to place it on her own daughter.
as she did so the roses became withered and brown, and the birds flew out of the window.
"see what a trumpery thing it is!"
cried the stepmother; "and now take your supper and go to bed, for it is near upon midnight."
but though she pretended to despise the wreath, she longed none the less for her daughter to have one like it.
now it happened that the next evening the father, who had been alone in the forest, came back a second time without his axe.
the stepmother's heart was glad when she saw this, and she said quite mildly: "why, you have forgotten your axe again, you careless man!
but now your daughter shall stay at home, and mine shall go and bring it back"; and throwing a cloak over the girl's shoulders, she bade her hasten to the forest.
with a very ill grace the damsel set forth, grumbling to herself as she went; for though she wished for the wreath, she did not at all want the trouble of getting it.
by the time she reached the spot where her stepfather had been cutting the wood the girl was in a very bad temper indeed, and when she caught sight of the axe, there were the three little doves, with drooping heads and soiled, bedraggled feathers, sitting on the handle.
"you dirty creatures," cried she, "get away at once, or i will throw stones at you!
and the doves spread their wings in a fright and flew up to the very top of a tree, their bodies shaking with anger.
"what shall we do to revenge ourselves on her?"
asked the smallest of the doves, "we were never treated like that before."
"never," said the biggest dove.
"we must find some way of paying her back in her own coin!'"
i know," answered the middle dove; "she shall never be able to say anything but "dirty creatures" to the end of her life."
"oh, how clever of you!
that will do beautifully," exclaimed the other two.
and they flapped their wings and clucked so loud with delight, and made such a noise, that they woke up all the birds in the trees close by.
"what in the world is the matter?"
asked the birds sleepily.
"that is our secret," said the doves.
meanwhile the girl had reached home crosser than ever; but as soon as her mother heard her lift the latch of the door she ran out to hear her adventures.
"well, did you get the wreath?"
cried she.
"dirty creatures!"
answered her daughter.
"do n't speak to me like that!
what do you mean?"
asked the mother again.
"dirty creatures!"
repeated the daughter, and nothing else could she say.
then the woman saw that something evil had befallen her, and turned in her rage to her stepdaughter.
"you are at the bottom of this, i know," she cried; and as the father was out of the way she took a stick and beat the girl till she screamed with pain and went to bed sobbing.
if the poor girl's life had been miserable before, it was ten times worse now, for the moment her father's back was turned the others teased and tormented her from morning till night; and their fury was increased by the sight of her wreath, which the doves had placed again on her head.
things went on like this for some weeks, when, one day, as the king's son was riding through the forest, he heard some strange birds singing more sweetly than birds had ever sung before.
he tied his horse to a tree, and followed where the sound led him, and, to his surprise, he saw before him a beautiful girl chopping wood, with a wreath of pink rose-buds, out of which the singing came.
standing in the shelter of a tree, he watched her a long while, and then, hat in hand, he went up and spoke to her.
"fair maiden, who are you, and who gave you that wreath of singing roses?"
asked he, for the birds were so tiny that till you looked closely you never saw them."
i live in a hut on the edge of the forest," she answered, blushing, for she had never spoken to a prince before.
"as to the wreath, i know not how it came there, unless it may be the gift of some doves whom i fed when they were starving!
the prince was delighted with this answer, which showed the goodness of the girl's heart, and besides he had fallen in love with her beauty, and would not be content till she promised to return with him to the palace, and become his bride.
the old king was naturally disappointed at his son's choice of a wife, as he wished him to marry a neighbouring princess; but as from his birth the prince had always done exactly as he like, nothing was said and a splendid wedding feast was got ready.
the day after her marriage the bride sent a messenger, bearing handsome presents to her father, and telling him of the good fortune which had befallen her.
as may be imagined, the stepmother and her daughter were so filled with envy that they grew quite ill, and had to take to their beds, and nobody would have been sorry it they had never got up again; but that did not happen.
at length, however, they began to feel better, for the mother invented a plan by which she could be revenged on the girl who had never done her any harm.
her plan was this.
in the town where she had lived before she was married there was an old witch, who had more skill in magic that any other witch she knew.
to this witch she would go and beg her to make her a mask with the face of her stepdaughter, and when she had the mask the rest would be easy.
she told her daughter what she meant to do, and although the daughter could only say "dirty creatures," in answer, she nodded and smiled and looked well pleased.
everything fell out exactly as the woman had hoped.
by the aid of her magic mirror the witch beheld the new princess walking in her gardens in a dress of green silk, and in a few minutes had produced a mask so like her, that very few people could have told the difference.
however, she counselled the woman that when her daughter first wore it -- for that, of course, was what she intended her to do -- she had better pretend that she had a toothache, and cover her head with a lace veil.
the woman thanked her and paid her well, and returned to her hut, carrying the mask under her cloak.
in a few days she heard that a great hunt was planned, and the prince would leave the palace very early in the morning, so that his wife would be alone all day.
this was a chance not to be missed, and taking her daughter with her she went up to the palace, where she had never been before.
the princess was too happy in her new home to remember all that she had suffered in the old one, and she welcomed them both gladly, and gave them quantities of beautiful things to take back with them.
at last she took them down to the shore to see a pleasure boat which her husband had had made for her; and here, the woman seizing her opportunity, stole softly behind the girl and pushed her off the rock on which she was standing, into the deep water, where she instantly sank to the bottom.
then she fastened the mask on her daughter, flung over her shoulders a velvet cloak, which the princess had let fall, and finally arranged a lace veil over her head.
"rest your cheek on your hand, as if you were in pain, when the prince returns," said the mother; "and be careful not to speak, whatever you do.
i will go back to the witch and see if she can not take off the spell laid on you by those horrible birds.
ah!
why did i not think of it before!"
no sooner had the prince entered the palace than he hastened to the princess's apartments, where he found her lying on the sofa apparently in great pain.
"my dearest wife, what is the matter with you?"
he cried, kneeling down beside her, and trying to take her hand; but she snatched it away, and pointing to her cheek murmured something he could not catch.
"what is it?
tell me!
is the pain bad?
when did it begin?
shall i send for your ladies to bath the place?"
asked the prince, pouring out these and a dozen other questions, to which the girl only shook her head.
"but i ca n't leave you like this," he continued, starting up," i must summon all the court physicians to apply soothing balsams to the sore place!
and as he spoke he sprang to his feet to go in search of them once came near her the trick would at once be discovered, that she forgot her mother's counsel not to speak, and forgot even the spell that had been laid upon her, and catching hold of the prince's tunic, she cried in tones of entreaty: "dirty creatures!"
the young man stopped, not able to believe his ears, but supposed that pain had made the princess cross, as it sometimes does.
however, he guessed somehow that she wised to be left alone, so he only said: "well, i dare say a little sleep will do you good, if you can manage to get it, and that you will wake up better to-morrow."
now, that night happened to be very hot and airless, and the prince, after vainly trying to rest, at length got up and went to the window.
suddenly he beheld in the moonlight a form with a wreath of roses on her head rise out of the sea below him and step on to the sands, holding out her arms as she did so towards the palace.
"that maiden is strangely like my wife," thought he;" i must see her closer!
and he hastened down to the water.
but when he got there, the princess, for she indeed it was, had disappeared completely, and he began to wonder if his eyes had deceived him.
the next morning he went to the false bride's room, but her ladies told him she would neither speak nor get up, though she ate everything they set before her.
the prince was sorely perplexed as to what could be the matter with her, for naturally he could not guess that she was expecting her mother to return every moment, and to remove the spell the doves had laid upon her, and meanwhile was afraid to speak lest she should betray herself.
at length he made up his mind to summon all the court physicians; he did not tell her what he was going to do, lest it should make her worse, but he went himself and begged the four learned leeches attached to the king's person to follow him to the princess's apartments.
unfortunately, as they entered, the princess was so enraged at the sight of them that she forgot all about the doves, and shrieked out: "dirty creatures!
dirty creatures!"
which so offended the physicians that they left the room at once, and nothing that the prince could say would prevail on them to remain.
he then tried to persuade his wife to send them a message that she was sorry for her rudeness, but not a word would she say.
late that evening, when he had performed all the tiresome duties which fall to the lot of every prince, the young man was leaning out of his window, refreshing himself with the cool breezes that blew off the sea.
his thoughts went back to the scene of the morning, and he wondered if, after all, he had not made a great mistake in marrying a low-born wife, however beautiful she might be.
how could he have imagined that the quiet, gentle girl who had been so charming a companion to him during the first days of their marriage, could have become in a day the rude, sulky woman, who could not control her temper even to benefit herself.
one thing was clear, if she did not change her conduct very shortly he would have to send her away from court.
he was thinking these thoughts, when his eyes fell on the sea beneath him, and there, as before, was the figure that so closely resembled his wife, standing with her feet in the water, holding out her arms to him.
"wait for me!
wait for me!
wait for me!"
he cried; not even knowing he was speaking.
but when he reached the shore there was nothing to be seen but the shadows cast by the moonlight.
a state ceremonial in a city some distance off caused the prince to ride away at daybreak, and he left without seeing his wife again.
"perhaps she may have come to her senses by to-morrow," said he to himself; "and, anyhow, if i am going to send her back to her father, it might be better if we did not meet in the meantime!
then he put the matter from his mind, and kept his thoughts on the duty that lay before him.
it was nearly midnight before he returned to the palace, but, instead of entering, he went down to the shore and hid behind a rock.
he had scarcely done so when the girl came out of the sea, and stretched out her arms towards his window.
in an instant the prince had seized her hand, and though she made a frightened struggle to reach the water -- for she in her turn had had a spell laid upon her -- he held her fast.
"you are my own wife, and i shall never let you go," he said.
but the words were hardly out of his mouth when he found that it was a hare that he was holding by the paw.
then the hare changed into a fish, and the fish into a bird, and the bird into a slimy wriggling snake.
this time the prince's hand nearly opened of itself, but with a strong effort he kept his fingers shut, and drawing his sword cut off its head, when the spell was broken, and the girl stood before him as he had seen her first, the wreath upon her head and the birds singing for joy.
the very next morning the stepmother arrived at the palace with an ointment that the old witch had given her to place upon her daughter's tongue, which would break the dove's spell, if the rightful bride had really been drowned in the sea; if not, then it would be useless.
the mother assured her that she had seen her stepdaughter sink, and that there was no fear that she would ever come up again; but, to make all quite safe, the old woman might bewitch the girl; and so she did.
after that the wicked stepmother travelled all through the night to get to the palace as soon as possible, and made her way straight into her daughter's room."
i have got it!
i have got it!"
she cried triumphantly, and laid the ointment on her daughter's tongue.
"now what do you say?"
she asked proudly.
"dirty creatures!
dirty creatures!"
answered the daughter; and the mother wrung her hands and wept, as she knew that all her plans had failed.
at this moment the prince entered with his real wife.
"you both deserved death," he said, "and if it were left to me, you should have it.
but the princess has begged me to spare your lives, so you will be put into a ship and carried off to a desert island, where you will stay till you die."
then the ship was made ready and the wicked woman and her daughter were placed in it, and it sailed away, and no more was heard of them.
but the prince and his wife lived together long and happily, and ruled their people well.
the foolish weaver -lsb- adapted from thorpe's yule-tide stories. -rsb-
once a weaver, who was in want of work, took service with a certain farmer as a shepherd.
the farmer, knowing that the man was very slow-witted, gave him most careful instructions as to everything that he was to do.
finally he said: "if a wolf or any wild animal attempts to hurt the flock you should pick up a big stone like this" -lrb- suiting the action to the word -rrb- "and throw a few such at him, and he will be afraid and go away."
the weaver said that he understood, and started with the flocks to the hillsides where they grazed all day.
by chance in the afternoon a leopard appeared, and the weaver instantly ran home as fast as he could to get the stones which the farmer had shown him, to throw at the creature.
when he came back all the flock were scattered or killed, and when the farmer heard the tale he beat him soundly.
"were there no stones on the hillside that you should run back to get them, you senseless one?"
he cried; "you are not fit to herd sheep.
to-day you shall stay at home and mind my old mother who is sick, perhaps you will be able to drive flies off her face, if you ca n't drive beasts away from sheep!"
so, the next day, the weaver was left at home to take care of the farmer's old sick mother.
now as she lay outside on a bed, it turned out that the flies became very troublesome, and the weaver looked round for something to drive them away with; and as he had been told to pick up the nearest stone to drive the beasts away from the flock, he thought he would this time show how cleverly he could obey orders.
accordingly he seized the nearest stone, which was a big, heavy one, and dashed it at the flies; but, unhappily, he slew the poor old woman also; and then, being afraid of the wrath of the farmer, he fled and was not seen again in that neighbourhood.
all that day and all the next night he walked, and at length he came to a village where a great many weavers lived together.
"you are welcome," said they.
"eat and sleep, for to-morrow six of us start in search of fresh wool to weave, and we pray you to give us your company."
"willingly," answered the weaver.
so the next morning the seven weavers set out to go to the village where they could buy what they wanted.
on the way they had to cross a ravine which lately had been full of water, but now was quite dry.
the weavers, however, were accustomed to swim over this ravine; therefore, regardless of the fact that this time it was dry, they stripped, and, tying their clothes on their heads, they proceeded to swim across the dry sand and rocks that formed the bed of the ravine.
thus they got to the other side without further damage than bruised knees and elbows, and as soon as they were over, one of them began to count the party to make sure that all were safe there.
he counted all except himself, and then cried out that somebody was missing!
this set each of them counting; but each made the same mistake of counting all except himself, so that they became certain that one of their party was missing!
they ran up and down the bank of the ravine wringing their hands in great distress and looking for signs of their lost comrade.
there a farmer found them and asked what was the matter.
"alas!"
said one, "seven of us started from the other bank and one must have been drowned on the crossing, as we can only find six remaining!"
the farmer eyed them a minute, and then, picking up his stick, he dealt each a sounding blow, counting, as he did so, "one!
two!
three!"
and so on up to the seven.
when the weavers found that there were seven of them they were overcome with gratitude to one whom they took for a magician as he could thus make seven out of an obvious six.
the clever cat -lsb- from the pushto. -rsb-
once upon a time there lived an old man who dwelt with his son in a small hut on the edge of the plain.
he was very old, and had worked very hard, and when at last he was struck down by illness he felt that he should never rise from his bed again.
so, one day, he bade his wife summon their son, when he came back from his journey to the nearest town, where he had been to buy bread.
"come hither, my son," said he;" i know myself well to be dying, and i have nothing to leave you but my falcon, my cat and my greyhound; but if you make good use of them you will never lack food.
be good to your mother, as you have been to me.
and now farewell!"
then he turned his face to the wall and died.
there was great mourning in the hut for many days, but at length the son rose up, and calling to his greyhound, his cat and his falcon, he left the house saying that he would bring back something for dinner.
wandering over the plain, he noticed a troop of gazelles, and pointed to his greyhound to give chase.
the dog soon brought down a fine fat beast, and slinging it over his shoulders, the young man turned homewards.
on the way, however, he passed a pond, and as he approached a cloud of birds flew into the air.
shaking his wrist, the falcon seated on it darted into the air, and swooped down upon the quarry he had marked, which fell dead to the ground.
the young man picked it up, and put it in his pouch and then went towards home again.
near the hut was a small barn in which he kept the produce of the little patch of corn, which grew close to the garden.
here a rat ran out almost under his feet, followed by another and another; but quick as thought the cat was upon them and not one escaped her.
when all the rats were killed, the young man left the barn.
he took the path leading to the door of the hut, but stopped on feeling a hand laid on his shoulder.
"young man," said the ogre -lrb- for such was the stranger -rrb-, "you have been a good son, and you deserve the piece of luck which has befallen you this day.
come with me to that shining lake yonder, and fear nothing."
wondering a little at what might be going to happen to him, the youth did as the ogre bade him, and when they reached the shore of the lake, the ogre turned and said to him: "step into the water and shut your eyes!
you will find yourself sinking slowly to the bottom; but take courage, all will go well.
only bring up as much silver as you can carry, and we will divide it between us."
so the young man stepped bravely into the lake, and felt himself sinking, sinking, till he reached firm ground at last.
in front of him lay four heaps of silver, and in the midst of them a curious white shining stone, marked over with strange characters, such as he had never seen before.
he picked it up in order to examine it more closely, and as he held it the stone spoke.
"as long as you hold me, all your wishes will come true," it said.
"but hide me in your turban, and then call to the ogre that you are ready to come up."
in a few minutes the young man stood again by the shores of the lake.
"well, where is the silver?"
asked the ogre, who was awaiting him.
"ah, my father, how can i tell you!
so bewildered was i, and so dazzled with the splendours of everything i saw, that i stood like a statue, unable to move.
then hearing steps approaching i got frightened, and called to you, as you know."
"you are no better than the rest," cried the ogre, and turned away in a rage.
when he was out of sight the young man took the stone from his turban and looked at it."
i want the finest camel that can be found, and the most splendid garments," said he.
"shut your eyes then," replied the stone.
and he shut them; and when he opened them again the camel that he had wished for was standing before him, while the festal robes of a desert prince hung from his shoulders.
mounting the camel, he whistled the falcon to his wrist, and, followed by his greyhound and his cat, he started homewards.
his mother was sewing at her door when this magnificent stranger rode up, and, filled with surprise, she bowed low before him.
"do n't you know me, mother?"
he said with a laugh.
and on hearing his voice the good woman nearly fell to the ground with astonishment.
"how have you got that camel and those clothes?"
asked she.
"can a son of mine have committed murder in order to possess them?"
"do not be afraid; they are quite honestly come by," answered the youth."
i will explain all by-and-by; but now you must go to the palace and tell the king i wish to marry his daughter."
at these words the mother thought her son had certainly gone mad, and stared blankly at him.
the young man guessed what was in her heart, and replied with a smile: "fear nothing.
promise all that he asks; it will be fulfilled somehow."
so she went to the palace, where she found the king sitting in the hall of justice listening to the petitions of his people.
the woman waited until all had been heard and the hall was empty, and then went up and knelt before the throne.
"my son has sent me to ask for the hand of the princess," said she.
the king looked at her and thought that she was mad; but, instead of ordering his guards to turn her out, he answered gravely: "before he can marry the princess he must build me a palace of ice, which can be warmed with fires, and wherein the rarest singing-birds can live!"
"it shall be done, your majesty," said she, and got up and left the hall.
her son was anxiously awaiting her outside the palace gates, dressed in the clothes that he wore every day.
"well, what have i got to do?"
he asked impatiently, drawing his mother aside so that no one could overhear them.
"oh, something quite impossible; and i hope you will put the princess out of your head," she replied.
"well, but what is it?"
persisted he.
"nothing but to build a palace of ice wherein fires can burn that shall keep it so warm that the most delicate singing-birds can live in it!'"
i thought it would be something much harder than that," exclaimed the young man."
i will see about it at once."
and leaving his mother, he went into the country and took the stone from his turban."
i want a palace of ice that can be warmed with fires and filled with the rarest singing-birds!"
"shut your eyes, then," said the stone; and he shut them, and when he opened them again there was the palace, more beautiful than anything he could have imagined, the fires throwing a soft pink glow over the ice.
"it is fit even for the princess," thought he to himself.
as soon as the king awoke next morning he ran to the window, and there across the plain he beheld the palace.
"that young man must be a great wizard; he may be useful to me."
and when the mother came again to tell him that his orders had been fulfilled he received her with great honour, and bade her tell her son that the wedding was fixed for the following day.
the princess was delighted with her new home, and with her husband also; and several days slipped happily by, spent in turning over all the beautiful things that the palace contained.
but at length the young man grew tired of always staying inside walls, and he told his wife that the next day he must leave her for a few hours, and go out hunting.
"you will not mind?"
he asked.
and she answered as became a good wife: "yes, of course i shall mind; but i will spend the day in planning out some new dresses; and then it will be so delightful when you come back, you know!"
so the husband went off to hunt, with the falcon on his wrist, and the greyhound and the cat behind him -- for the palace was so warm that even the cat did not mind living in it.
no sooner had he gone, than the ogre who had been watching his chance for many days, knocked at the door of the palace."
i have just returned from a far country," he said, "and i have some of the largest and most brilliant stones in the world with me.
the princess is known to love beautiful things, perhaps she might like to buy some?"
now the princess had been wondering for many days what trimming she should put on her dresses, so that they should outshine the dresses of the other ladies at the court balls.
nothing that she thought of seemed good enough, so, when the message was brought that the ogre and his wares were below, she at once ordered that he should be brought to her chamber.
oh!
what beautiful stones he laid before her; what lovely rubies, and what rare pearls!
no other lady would have jewels like those -- of that the princess was quite sure; but she cast down her eyes so that the ogre might not see how much she longed for them."
i fear they are too costly for me," she said carelessly; "and besides, i have hardly need of any more jewels just now.'"
i have no particular wish to sell them myself," answered the ogre, with equal indifference.
"but i have a necklace of shining stones which was left me by father, and one, the largest engraven with weird characters, is missing.
i have heard that it is in your husband's possession, and if you can get me that stone you shall have any of these jewels that you choose.
but you will have to pretend that you want it for yourself; and, above all, do not mention me, for he sets great store by it, and would never part with it to a stranger!
to-morrow i will return with some jewels yet finer than those i have with me to-day.
so, madam, farewell!"
left alone, the princess began to think of many things, but chiefly as to whether she would persuade her husband to give her the stone or not.
at one moment she felt he had already bestowed so much upon her that it was a shame to ask for the only object he had kept back.
no, it would be mean; she could not do it!
but then, those diamonds, and those string of pearls!
after all, they had only been married a week, and the pleasure of giving it to her ought to be far greater than the pleasure of keeping it for himself.
and she was sure it would be!
well, that evening, when the young man had supped off his favourite dishes which the princess took care to have specially prepared for him, she sat down close beside him, and began stroking his head.
for some time she did not speak, but listened attentively to all the adventures that had befallen him that day.
"but i was thinking of you all the time," said he at the end, "and wishing that i could bring you back something you would like.
but, alas!
what is there that you do not possess already?"
"how good of you not to forget me when you are in the midst of such dangers and hardships," answered she.
"yes, it is true i have many beautiful things; but if you want to give me a present -- and to-morrow is my birthday -- there is one thing that i wish for very much."
"and what is that?
of course you shall have it directly!"
he asked eagerly.
"it is that bright stone which fell out of the folds of your turban a few days ago," she answered, playing with his finger; "the little stone with all those funny marks upon it.
i never saw any stone like it before."
the young man did not answer at first; then he said, slowly: "i have promised, and therefore i must perform.
but will you swear never to part from it, and to keep it safely about you always?
more i can not tell you, but i beg you earnestly to take heed to this."
the princess was a little startled by his manner, and began to be sorry that she had every listened to the ogre.
but she did not like to draw back, and pretended to be immensely delighted at her new toy, and kissed and thanked her husband for it.
"after all i need n't give it to the ogre," thought she as she dropped off to sleep.
unluckily the next morning the young man went hunting again, and the ogre, who was watching, knew this, and did not come till much later than before.
at the moment that he knocked at the door of the palace the princess had tired of all her employments, and her attendants were at their wits" end how to amuse her, when a tall negro dressed in scarlet came to announce that the ogre was below, and desired to know if the princess would speak to him.
"bring him hither at once!"
cried she, springing up from her cushions, and forgetting all her resolves of the previous night.
in another moment she was bending with rapture over the glittering gems.
"have you got it?"
asked the ogre in a whisper, for the princess's ladies were standing as near as they dared to catch a glimpse of the beautiful jewels.
"yes, here," she answered, slipping the stone from her sash and placing it among the rest.
then she raised her voice, and began to talk quickly of the prices of the chains and necklaces, and after some bargaining, to deceive the attendants, she declared that she liked one string of pearls better than all the rest, and that the ogre might take away the other things, which were not half as valuable as he supposed.
"as you please, madam," said he, bowing himself out of the palace.
soon after he had gone a curious thing happened.
the princess carelessly touched the wall of her room, which was wont to reflect the warm red light of the fire on the hearth, and found her hand quite wet.
she turned round, and -- was it her fancy?
or did the fire burn more dimly than before?
hurriedly she passed into the picture gallery, where pools of water showed here and there on the floor, and a cold chill ran through her whole body.
at that instant her frightened ladies came running down the stairs, crying: "madam!
madam!
what has happened?
the palace is disappearing under our eyes!"
"my husband will be home very soon," answered the princess -- who, though nearly as much frightened as her ladies, felt that she must set them a good example.
"wait till then, and he will tell us what to do."
so they waited, seated on the highest chairs they could find, wrapped in their warmest garments, and with piles of cushions under their feet, while the poor birds flew with numbed wings hither and thither, till they were so lucky as to discover an open window in some forgotten corner.
through this they vanished, and were seen no more.
at last, when the princess and her ladies had been forced to leave the upper rooms, where the walls and floors had melted away, and to take refuge in the hall, the young man came home.
he had ridden back along a winding road from which he did not see the palace till he was close upon it, and stood horrified at the spectacle before him.
he knew in an instant that his wife must have betrayed his trust, but he would not reproach her, as she must be suffering enough already.
hurrying on he sprang over all that was left of the palace walls, and the princess gave a cry of relief at the sight of him.
"come quickly," he said, "or you will be frozen to death!"
and a dreary little procession set out for the king's palace, the greyhound and the cat bringing up the rear.
at the gates he left them, though his wife besought him to allow her to enter.
"you have betrayed me and ruined me," he said sternly;" i go to seek my fortune alone."
and without another word he turned and left her.
with his falcon on his wrist, and his greyhound and cat behind him, the young man walked a long way, inquiring of everyone he met whether they had seen his enemy the ogre.
but nobody had.
then he bade his falcon fly up into the sky -- up, up, and up -- and try if his sharp eyes could discover the old thief.
the bird had to go so high that he did not return for some hours; but he told his master that the ogre was lying asleep in a splendid palace in a far country on the shores of the sea.
this was delightful news to the young man, who instantly bought some meat for the falcon, bidding him make a good meal.
"to-morrow," said he, "you will fly to the palace where the ogre lies, and while he is asleep you will search all about him for a stone on which is engraved strange signs; this you will bring to me.
in three days i shall expect you back here."
"well, i must take the cat with me," answered the bird.
the sun had not yet risen before the falcon soared high into the air, the cat seated on his back, with his paws tightly clasping the bird's neck.
"you had better shut your eyes or you may get giddy," said the bird; and the cat, you had never before been off the ground except to climb a tree, did as she was bid.
all that day and all that night they flew, and in the morning they saw the ogre's palace lying beneath them.
"dear me," said the cat, opening her eyes for the first time, "that looks to me very like a rat city down there, let us go down to it; they may be able to help us."
so they alighted in some bushes in the heart of the rat city.
the falcon remained where he was, but the cat lay down outside the principal gate, causing terrible excitement among the rats.
at length, seeing she did not move, one bolder than the rest put its head out of an upper window of the castle, and said, in a trembling voice: "why have you come here?
what do you want?
if it is anything in our power, tell us, and we will do it."
"if you would have let me speak to you before, i would have told you that i come as a friend," replied the cat; "and i shall be greatly obliged if you would send four of the strongest and cunningest among you, to do me a service."
"oh, we shall be delighted," answered the rat, much relieved.
"but if you will inform me what it is you wish them to do i shall be better able to judge who is most fitted for the post.'"
i thank you," said the cat.
"well, what they have to do is this: to-night they must burrow under the walls of the castle and go up to the room were an ogre lies asleep.
somewhere about him he has hidden a stone, on which are engraved strange signs.
when they have found it they must take it from him without his waking, and bring it to me."
"your orders shall be obeyed," replied the rat.
and he went out to give his instructions.
about midnight the cat, who was still sleeping before the gate, was awakened by some water flung at her by the head rat, who could not make up his mind to open the doors.
"here is the stone you wanted," said he, when the cat started up with a loud mew; "if you will hold up your paws i will drop it down."
and so he did.
"and now farewell," continued the rat; "you have a long way to go, and will do well to start before daybreak."
"your counsel is good," replied the cat, smiling to itself; and putting the stone in her mouth she went off to seek the falcon.
now all this time neither the cat nor the falcon had had any food, and the falcon soon got tired carrying such a heavy burden.
when night arrived he declared he could go no further, but would spend it on the banks of a river.
"and it is my turn to take care of the stone," said he, "or it will seem as if you had done everything and i nothing."
"no, i got it, and i will keep it," answered the cat, who was tired and cross; and they began a fine quarrel.
but, unluckily, in the midst of it, the cat raised her voice, and the stone fell into the ear of a big fish which happened to be swimming by, and though both the cat and the falcon sprang into the water after it, they were too late.
half drowned, and more than half choked, the two faithful servants scrambled back to land again.
the falcon flew to a tree and spread his wings in the sun to dry, but the cat, after giving herself a good shake, began to scratch up the sandy banks and to throw the bits into the stream.
"what are you doing that for?"
asked a little fish.
"do you know that you are making the water quite muddy?"
"that does n't matter at all to me," answered the cat."
i am going to fill up all the river, so that the fishes may die."
"that is very unkind, as we have never done you any harm," replied the fish.
"why are you so angry with us?"
"because one of you has got a stone of mine -- a stone with strange signs upon it -- which dropped into the water.
if you will promise to get it back for me, why, perhaps i will leave your river alone.'"
i will certainly try," answered the fish in a great hurry; "but you must have a little patience, as it may not be an easy task."
and in an instant his scales might be seen flashing quickly along.
the fish swam as fast as he could to the sea, which was not far distant, and calling together all his relations who lived in the neighbourhood, he told them of the terrible danger which threatened the dwellers in the river.
"none of us has got it," said the fishes, shaking their heads; "but in the bay yonder there is a tunny who, although he is so old, always goes everywhere.
he will be able to tell you about it, if anyone can."
so the little fish swam off to the tunny, and again related his story.
"why i was up that river only a few hours ago!"
cried the tunny; "and as i was coming back something fell into my ear, and there it is still, for i went to sleep, when i got home and forgot all about it.
perhaps it may be what you want."
and stretching up his tail he whisked out the stone.
"yes, i think that must be it," said the fish with joy.
and taking the stone in his mouth he carried it to the place where the cat was waiting for him."
i am much obliged to you," said the cat, as the fish laid the stone on the sand, "and to reward you, i will let your river alone."
and she mounted the falcon's back, and they flew to their master.
ah, how glad he was to see them again with the magic stone in their possession.
in a moment he had wished for a palace, but this time it was of green marble; and then he wished for the princess and her ladies to occupy it.
and there they lived for many years, and when the old king died the princess's husband reigned in his stead.
the story of manus -lsb- adapted from contes berberes. -rsb-
far away over the sea of the west there reigned a king who had two sons; and the name of the one was oireal, and the name of the other was iarlaid.
when the boys were still children, their father and mother died, and a great council was held, and a man was chosen from among them who would rule the kingdom till the boys were old enough to rule it themselves.
the years passed on, and by-and-by another council was held, and it was agreed that the king's sons were now of an age to take the power which rightly belonged to them.
so the youths were bidden to appear before the council, and oireal the elder was smaller and weaker than his brother."
i like not to leave the deer on the hill and the fish in the rivers, and sit in judgment on my people," said oireal, when he had listened to the words of the chief of the council.
and the chief waxed angry, and answered quickly: "not one clod of earth shall ever be yours if this day you do not take on yourself the vows that were taken by the king your father."
then spake iarlaid, the younger, and he said: "let one half be yours, and the other give to me; then you will have fewer people to rule over."
"yes, i will do that," answered oireal.
after this, one half of the men of the land of lochlann did homage to oireal, and the other half to iarlaid.
and they governed their kingdoms as they would, and in a few years they became grown men with beards on their chins; and iarlaid married the daughter of the king of greece, and oireal the daughter of the king of orkney.
the next year sons were born to oireal and iarlaid; and the son of oireal was big and strong, but the son of iarlaid was little and weak, and each had six foster brothers who went everywhere with the princes.
one day manus, son of oireal, and his cousin, the son of iarlaid, called to their foster brothers, and bade them come and play a game at shinny in the great field near the school where they were taught all that princes and nobles should know.
long they played, and swiftly did the ball pass from one to another, when manus drove the ball at his cousin, the son of iarlaid.
the boy, who was not used to be roughly handled, even in jest, cried out that he was sorely hurt, and went home with his foster brothers and told his tale to his mother.
the wife of iarlaid grew white and angry as she listened, and thrusting her son aside, sought the council hall where iarlaid was sitting.
"manus has driven a ball at my son, and fain would have slain him," said she.
"let an end be put to him and his ill deeds."
but iarlaid answered: "nay, i will not slay the son of my brother."
"and he shall not slay my son," said the queen.
and calling to her chamberlain she ordered him to lead the prince to the four brown boundaries of the world, and to leave him there with a wise man, who would care for him, and let no harm befall him.
and the wise man set the boy on the top of a hill where the sun always shone, and he could see every man, but no man could see him.
then she summoned manus to the castle, and for a whole year she kept him fast, and his own mother could not get speech of him.
but in the end, when the wife of oireal fell sick, manus fled from the tower which was his prison, and stole back to his on home.
for a few years he stayed there in peace, and then the wife of iarlaid his uncle sent for him.
"it is time that you were married," she said, when she saw that manus had grown tall and strong like unto iarlaid.
"tall and strong you are, and comely of face.
i know a bride that will suit you well, and that is the daughter of the mighty earl of finghaidh, that does homage for his lands to me.
i myself will go with a great following to his house, and you shall go with me."
thus it was done; and though the earl's wife was eager to keep her daughter with her yet a while, she was fain to yield, as the wife of iarlaid vowed that not a rood of land should the earl have, unless he did her bidding.
but if he would give his daughter to manus, she would bestow on him the third part of her own kingdom, with much treasure beside.
this she did, not from love to manus, but because she wished to destroy him.
so they were married, and rode back with the wife of iarlaid to her own palace.
and that night, while he was sleeping, there came a wise man, who was his father's friend, and awoke him saying: "danger lies very close to you, manus, son of oireal.
you hold yourself favoured because you have as a bride the daughter of a mighty earl; but do you know what bride the wife of iarlaid sought for her own son?
it was no worldly wife she found for him, but the swift march wind, and never can you prevail against her."
"is it thus?"
answered manu.
and at the first streak of dawn he went to the chamber where the queen lay in the midst of her maidens."
i have come," he said, "for the third part of the kingdom, and for the treasure which you promised me."
but the wife of iarlaid laughed as she heard him.
"not a clod shall you have here," spake she.
"you must go to the old bergen for that.
mayhap under its stones and rough mountains you may find a treasure!"
"then give me your son's six foster brothers as well as my own," answered he.
and the queen gave them to him, and they set out for old bergen.
a year passed by, and found them still in that wild land, hunting the reindeer, and digging pits for the mountain sheep to fall into.
for a time manus and his companions lived merrily, but at length manus grew weary of the strange country, and they all took ship for the land of lochlann.
the wind was fierce and cold, and long was the voyage; but, one spring day, they sailed into the harbour that lay beneath the castle of iarlaid.
the queen looked from her window and beheld him mounting the hill, with the twelve foster brothers behind him.
then she said to her husband: "manus has returned with his twelve foster brothers.
would that i could put an end to him and his murdering and his slaying."
"that were a great pity," answered iarlaid.
"and it is not i that will do it."
"if you will not do it i will," said she.
and she called the twelve foster brothers and made them vow fealty to herself.
so manus was left with no man, and sorrowful was he when he returned alone to old bergen.
it was late when his foot touched the shore, and took the path towards the forest.
on his way there met him a man in a red tunic.
"is it you, manus, come back again?"
asked he.
"it is i," answered manus; "alone have i returned from the land of lochlann."
the man eyed him silently for a moment, and then he said: "i dreamed that you were girt with a sword and became king of lochlann."
but manus answered: "i have no sword and my bow is broken.'"
i will give you a new sword if you will make me a promise," said the man once more.
"to be sure i will make it, if ever i am king," answered manus.
"but speak, and tell me what promise i am to make.'"
i was your grandfather's armourer," replied the man, "and i wish to be your armourer also."
"that i will promise readily," said manus; and followed the man into his house, which was at a little distance.
but the house was not like other houses, for the walls of every room were hung so thick with arms that you could not see the boards.
"choose what you will," said the man; and manus unhooked a sword and tried it across his knee, and it broke, and so did the next, and the next.
"leave off breaking the swords," cried the man, "and look at this old sword and helmet and tunic that i wore in the wars of your grandfather.
perhaps you may find them of stouter steel."
and manus bent the sword thrice across his knee but he could not break it.
so he girded it to his side, and put on the old helmet.
as he fastened the strap his eye fell on a cloth flapping outside the window.
"what cloth is that?"
asked he.
"it is a cloth that was woven by the little people of the forest," said the man; "and when you are hungry it will give you food and drink, and if you meet a foe, he will not hurt you, but will stoop and kiss the back of your hand in token of submission.
take it, and use it well."
manus gladly wrapped the shawl round his arm, and was leaving the house, when he heard the rattling of a chain blown by the wind.
"what chain is that?"
asked he.
"the creature who has that chain round his neck, need not fear a hundred enemies," answered the armourer.
and manus wound it round him and passed on into the forest.
suddenly there sprang out from the bushes two lions, and a lion cub with them.
the fierce beasts bounded towards him, roaring loudly, and would fain have eaten him, but quickly manus stooped and spread the cloth upon the ground.
at that the lions stopped, and bowing their great heads, kissed the back of his wrist and went their ways.
but the cub rolled itself up in the cloth; so manus picked them both up, and carried them with him to old bergen.
another year went by, and then he took the lion cub and set forth to the land of lochlann.
and the wife of iarlaid came to meet him, and a brown dog, small but full of courage, came with her.
when the dog beheld the lion cub he rushed towards him, thinking to eat him; but the cub caught the dog by the neck, and shook him, and he was dead.
and the wife of iarlaid mourned him sore, and her wrath was kindled, and many times she tried to slay manus and his cub, but she could not.
and at last they two went back to old bergen, and the twelve foster brothers went also.
"let them go," said the wife of iarlaid, when she heard of it.
"my brother the red gruagach will take the head off manus as well in old bergen as elsewhere."
now these words were carried by a messenger to the wife of oireal, and she made haste and sent a ship to old bergen to bear away her son before the red gruagach should take the head off him.
and in the ship was a pilot.
but the wife of iarlaid made a thick fog to cover the face of the sea, and the rowers could not row, lest they should drive the ship on to a rock.
and when night came, the lion cub, whose eyes were bright and keen, stole up to manus, and manus got on his back, and the lion cub sprang ashore and bade manus rest on the rock and wait for him.
so manus slept, and by-and-by a voice sounded in his ears, saying: "arise!"
and he saw a ship in the water beneath him, and in the ship sat the lion cup in the shape of the pilot.
then they sailed away through the fog, and none saw them; and they reached the land of lochlann, and the lion cub with the chain round his neck sprang from the ship and manus followed after.
and the lion cub killed all the men that guarded the castle, and iarlaid and his wife also, so that, in the end, manus son of oireal was crowned king of lochlann.
pinkel the thief -lsb- shortened from west highland tales. -rsb-
long, long ago there lived a widow who had three sons.
the two eldest were grown up, and though they were known to be idle fellows, some of the neighbours had given them work to do on account of the respect in which their mother was held.
but at the time this story begins they had both been so careless and idle that their masters declared they would keep them no longer.
so home they went to their mother and youngest brother, of whom they thought little, because he made himself useful about the house, and looked after the hens, and milked the cow.
"pinkel," they called him in scorn, and by-and-by "pinkel" became his name throughout the village.
the two young men thought it was much nicer to live at home and be idle than to be obliged to do a quantity of disagreeable things they did not like, and they would have stayed by the fire till the end of their lives had not the widow lost patience with them and said that since they would not look for work at home they must seek it elsewhere, for she would not have them under her roof any longer.
but she repented bitterly of her words when pinkel told her that he too was old enough to go out into the world, and that when he had made a fortune he would send for his mother to keep house for him.
the widow wept many tears at parting from her youngest son, but as she saw that his heart was set upon going with his brothers, she did not try to keep him.
so the young men started off one morning in high spirits, never doubting that work such as they might be willing to do would be had for the asking, as soon as their little store of money was spent.
but a very few days of wandering opened their eyes.
nobody seemed to want them, or, if they did, the young men declared that they were not able to undertake all that the farmers or millers or woodcutters required of them.
the youngest brother, who was wiser, would gladly have done some of the work that the others refused, but he was small and slight, and no one thought of offering him any.
therefore they went from one place to another, living only on the fruit and nuts they could find in the woods, and getting hungrier every day.
one night, after they had been walking for many hours and were very tired, they came to a large lake with an island in the middle of it.
from the island streamed a strong light, by which they could see everything almost as clearly as if the sun had been shining, and they perceived that, lying half hidden in the rushes, was a boat.
"let us take it and row over to the island, where there must be a house," said the eldest brother; "and perhaps they will give us food and shelter."
and they all got in and rowed across in the direction of the light.
as they drew near the island they saw that it came from a golden lantern hanging over the door of a hut, while sweet tinkling music proceeded from some bells attached to the golden horns of a goat which was feeding near the cottage.
the young men's hearts rejoiced as they thought that at last they would be able to rest their weary limbs, and they entered the hut, but were amazed to see an ugly old woman inside, wrapped in a cloak of gold which lighted up the whole house.
they looked at each other uneasily as she came forward with her daughter, as they knew by the cloak that this was a famous witch.
"what do you want?"
asked she, at the same time signing to her daughter to stir the large pot on the fire.
"we are tired and hungry, and would fain have shelter for the night," answered the eldest brother.
"you can not get it here," said the witch, "but you will find both food and shelter in the palace on the other side of the lake.
take your boat and go; but leave this boy with me -- i can find work for him, though something tells me he is quick and cunning, and will do me ill."
"what harm can a poor boy like me do a great troll like you?"
answered pinkel.
"let me go, i pray you, with my brothers.
i will promise never to hurt you."
and at last the witch let him go, and he followed his brothers to the boat.
the way was further than they thought, and it was morning before they reached the palace.
now, at last, their luck seemed to have turned, for while the two eldest were given places in the king's stables, pinkel was taken as page to the little prince.
he was a clever and amusing boy, who saw everything that passed under his eyes, and the king noticed this, and often employed him in his own service, which made his brothers very jealous.
things went on this way for some time, and pinkel every day rose in the royal favour.
at length the envy of his brothers became so great that they could bear it no longer, and consulted together how best they might ruin his credit with the king.
they did not wish to kill him -- though, perhaps, they would not have been sorry if they had heard he was dead -- but merely wished to remind him that he was after all only a child, not half so old and wise as they.
their opportunity soon came.
it happened to be the king's custom to visit his stables once a week, so that he might see that his horses were being properly cared for.
the next time he entered the stables the two brothers managed to be in the way, and when the king praised the beautiful satin skins of the horses under their charge, and remarked how different was their condition when his grooms had first come across the lake, the young men at once began to speak of the wonderful light which sprang from the lantern over the hut.
the king, who had a passion for collection all the rarest things he could find, fell into the trap directly, and inquired where he could get this marvellous lantern.
"send pinkel for it, sire," said they.
"it belongs to an old witch, who no doubt came by it in some evil way.
but pinkel has a smooth tongue, and he can get the better of any woman, old or young."
"then bid him go this very night," cried the king; "and if he brings me the lantern i will make him one of the chief men about my person."
pinkel was much pleased at the thought of his adventure, and without more ado he borrowed a little boat which lay moored to the shore, and rowed over to the island at once.
it was late by the time he arrived, and almost dark, but he knew by the savoury smell that reached him that the witch was cooking her supper.
so he climbed softly on to the roof, and, peering, watched till the old woman's back was turned, when he quickly drew a handful of salt from his pocket and threw it into the pot.
scarcely had he done this when the witch called her daughter and bade her lift the pot off the fire and put the stew into a dish, as it had been cooking quite long enough and she was hungry.
but no sooner had she tasted it than she put her spoon down, and declared that her daughter must have been meddling with it, for it was impossible to eat anything that was all made of salt.
"go down to the spring in the valley, and get some fresh water, that i may prepare a fresh supper," cried she, "for i feel half-starved."
"but, mother," answered the girl, "how can i find the well in this darkness?
for you know that the lantern's rays shed no light down there."
"well, then, take the lantern with you," answered the witch, "for supper i must have, and there is no water that is nearer."
so the girl took her pail in one hand and the golden lantern in the other, and hastened away to the well, followed by pinkel, who took care to keep out of the way of the rays.
when at last she stooped to fill her pail at the well pinkel pushed her into it, and snatching up the lantern hurried back to his boat and rowed off from the shore.
he was already a long distance from the island when the witch, who wondered what had become of her daughter, went to the door to look for her.
close around the hut was thick darkness, but what was that bobbing light that streamed across the water?
the witch's heart sank as all at once it flashed upon her what had happened.
"is that you, pinkel?"
cried she; and the youth answered: "yes, dear mother, it is i!"
"and are you not a knave for robbing me?"
said she.
"truly, dear mother, i am," replied pinkel, rowing faster than ever, for he was half afraid that the witch might come after him.
but she had no power on the water, and turned angrily into the hut, muttering to herself all the while: "take care!
take care!
a second time you will not escape so easily!"
the sun had not yet risen when pinkel returned to the palace, and, entering the king's chamber, he held up the lantern so that its rays might fall upon the bed.
in an instant the king awoke, and seeing the golden lantern shedding its light upon him, he sprang up, and embraced pinkel with joy."
o cunning one," cried he, "what treasure hast thou brought me!"
and calling for his attendants he ordered that rooms next his own should be prepared for pinkel, and that the youth might enter his presence at any hour.
and besides this, he was to have a seat on the council.
it may easily be guessed that all this made the brothers more envious than they were before; and they cast about in their minds afresh how best they might destroy him.
at length they remembered the goat with golden horns and the bells, and they rejoiced; "for," said they, "this time the old woman will be on the watch, and let him be as clever as he likes, the bells on the horns are sure to warn her."
so when, as before, the king came down to the stables and praised the cleverness of their brother, the young men told him of that other marvel possessed by the witch, the goat with the golden horns.
from this moment the king never closed his eyes at night for longing after this wonderful creature.
he understood something of the danger that there might be in trying to steal it, now that the witch's suspicions were aroused, and he spent hours in making plans for outwitting her.
but somehow he never could think of anything that would do, and at last, as the brothers had foreseen, he sent for pinkel."
i hear," he said, "that the old witch on the island has a goat with golden horns from which hang bells that tinkle the sweetest music.
that goat i must have!
but, tell me, how am i to get it?
i would give the third part of my kingdom to anyone who would bring it to me.'"
i will fetch it myself," answered pinkel.
this time it was easier for pinkel to approach the island unseen, as there was no golden lantern to thrown its beams over the water.
but, on the other hand, the goat slept inside the hut, and would therefore have to be taken from under the very eyes of the old woman.
how was he to do it?
all the way across the lake he thought and thought, till at length a plan came into his head which seemed as if it might do, though he knew it would be very difficult to carry out.
the first thing he did when he reached the shore was to look about for a piece of wood, and when he had found it he hid himself close to the hut, till it grew quite dark and near the hour when the witch and her daughter went to bed.
then he crept up and fixed the wood under the door, which opened outwards, in such a manner that the more you tried to shut it the more firmly it stuck.
and this was what happened when the girl went as usual to bolt the door and make all fast for the night.
"what are you doing?"
asked the witch, as her daughter kept tugging at the handle.
"there is something the matter with the door; it wo n't shut," answered she.
"well, leave it alone; there is nobody to hurt us," said the witch, who was very sleepy; and the girl did as she was bid, and went to bed.
very soon they both might have been heard snoring, and pinkel knew that his time was come.
slipping off his shoes he stole into the hut on tiptoe, and taking from his pocket some food of which the goat was particularly fond, he laid it under his nose.
then, while the animal was eating it, he stuffed each golden bell with wool which he had also brought with him, stopping every minute to listen, lest the witch should awaken, and he should find himself changed into some dreadful bird or beast.
but the snoring still continued, and he went on with his work as quickly as he could.
when the last bell was done he drew another handful of food out of his pocket, and held it out to the goat, which instantly rose to its feet and followed pinkel, who backed slowly to the door, and directly he got outside he seized the goat in his arms and ran down to the place where he had moored his boat.
as soon as he had reached the middle of the lake, pinkel took the wool out of the bells, which began to tinkle loudly.
their sound awoke the witch, who cried out as before: "is that you, pinkel?"
"yes, dear mother, it is i," said pinkel.
"have you stolen my golden goat?"
asked she.
"yes, dear mother, i have," answered pinkel.
"are you not a knave, pinkel?"
"yes, dear mother, i am," he replied.
and the old witch shouted in a rage: "ah!
beware how you come hither again, for next time you shall not escape me!"
but pinkel laughed and rowed on.
the king was so delighted with the goat that he always kept it by his side, night and day; and, as he had promised, pinkel was made ruler over the third part of the kingdom.
as may be supposed, the brothers were more furious than ever, and grew quite thin with rage.
"how can we get rid of him?"
said one to the other.
and at length they remembered the golden cloak.
"he will need to be clever if he is to steal that!"
they cried, with a chuckle.
and when next the king came to see his horses they began to speak of pinkel and his marvellous cunning, and how he had contrived to steal the lantern and the goat, which nobody else would have been able to do.
"but as he was there, it is a pity he could not have brought away the golden cloak," added they.
"the golden cloak!
what is that?"
asked the king.
and the young men described its beauties in such glowing words that the king declared he should never know a day's happiness till he had wrapped the cloak round his own shoulders.
"and," added he, "the man who brings it to me shall wed my daughter, and shall inherit my throne."
"none can get it save pinkel," said they; for they did not imagine that the witch, after two warnings, could allow their brother to escape a third time.
so pinkel was sent for, and with a glad heart he set out.
he passed many hours inventing first one plan and then another, till he had a scheme ready which he thought might prove successful.
thrusting a large bag inside his coat, he pushed off from the shore, taking care this time to reach the island in daylight.
having made his boat fast to a tree, he walked up to the hut, hanging his head, and putting on a face that was both sorrowful and ashamed.
"is that you, pinkel?"
asked the witch when she saw him, her eyes gleaming savagely.
"yes, dear mother, it is i," answered pinkel.
"so you have dared, after all you have done, to put yourself in my power!"
cried she.
"well, you sha'n' t escape me this time!"
and she took down a large knife and began to sharpen it."
"oh!
dear mother, spare me!"
shrieked pinkel, falling on his knees, and looking wildly about him.
"spare you, indeed, you thief!
where are my lantern and my goat?
no!
not!
there is only one fate for robbers!"
and she brandished the knife in the air so that it glittered in the firelight.
"then, if i must die," said pinkel, who, by this time, was getting really rather frightened, "let me at least choose the manner of my death.
i am very hungry, for i have had nothing to eat all day.
put some poison, if you like, into the porridge, but at least let me have a good meal before i die."
"that is not a bad idea," answered the woman; "as long as you do die, it is all one to me."
and ladling out a large bowl of porridge, she stirred some poisonous herbs into it, and set about work that had to be done.
then pinkel hastily poured all the contents of the bowl into his bag, and make a great noise with his spoon, as if he was scraping up the last morsel.
"poisoned or not, the porridge is excellent.
i have eaten it, every scrap; do give me some more," said pinkel, turning towards her.
"well, you have a fine appetite, young man," answered the witch; "however, it is the last time you will ever eat it, so i will give you another bowlful."
and rubbing in the poisonous herbs, she poured him out half of what remained, and then went to the window to call her cat.
in an instant pinkel again emptied the porridge into the bag, and the next minute he rolled on the floor, twisting himself about as if in agony, uttering loud groans the while.
suddenly he grew silent and lay still.
"ah!
i thought a second dose of that poison would be too much for you," said the witch looking at him."
i warned you what would happen if you came back.
i wish that all thieves were as dead as you!
but why does not my lazy girl bring the wood i sent her for, it will soon be too dark for her to find her way?
i suppose i must go and search for her.
what a trouble girls are!"
and she went to the door to watch if there were any signs of her daughter.
but nothing could be seen of her, and heavy rain was falling.
"it is no night for my cloak," she muttered; "it would be covered with mud by the time i got back."
so she took it off her shoulders and hung it carefully up in a cupboard in the room.
after that she put on her clogs and started to seek her daughter.
directly the last sound of the clogs had ceased, pinkel jumped up and took down the cloak, and rowed off as fast as he could.
he had not gone far when a puff of wind unfolded the cloak, and its brightness shed gleams across the water.
the witch, who was just entering the forest, turned round at that moment and saw the golden rays.
she forgot all about her daughter, and ran down to the shore, screaming with rage at being outwitted a third time.
"is that you, pinkel?"
cried she.
"yes, dear mother, it is i." "have you taken my gold cloak?"
"yes, dear mother, i have."
"are you not a great knave?"
"yes, truly dear mother, i am."
and so indeed he was!
but, all the same, he carried the cloak to the king's palace, and in return he received the hand of the king's daughter in marriage.
people said that it was the bride who ought to have worn the cloak at her wedding feast; but the king was so pleased with it that he would not part from it; and to the end of his life was never seen without it.
after his death, pinkel became king; and let up hope that he gave up his bad and thievish ways, and ruled his subjects well.
as for his brothers, he did not punish them, but left them in the stables, where they grumbled all day long.
the adventures of a jackal -lsb- thorpe's yule-tide stories. -rsb-
in a country which is full of wild beasts of all sorts there once lived a jackal and a hedgehog, and, unlike though they were, the two animals made great friends, and were often seen in each other's company.
one afternoon they were walking along a road together, when the jackal, who was the taller of the two, exclaimed: "oh!
there is a barn full of corn; let us go and eat some."
"yes, do let us!"
answered the hedgehog.
so they went to the barn, and ate till they could eat no more.
then the jackal put on his shoes, which he had taken off so as to make no noise, and they returned to the high road.
after they had gone some way they met a panther, who stopped, and bowing politely, said: "excuse my speaking to you, but i can not help admiring those shoes of yours.
do you mind telling me who made them?"
"yes, i think they are rather nice," answered the jackal;" i made them myself, though."
"could you make me a pair like them?"
asked the panther eagerly."
i would do my best, of course," replied the jackal; "but you must kill me a cow, and when we have eaten the flesh i will take the skin and make your shoes out of it."
so the panther prowled about until he saw a fine cow grazing apart from the rest of the herd.
he killed it instantly, and then gave a cry to the jackal and hedgehog to come to the place where he was.
they soon skinned the dead beasts, and spread its skin out to dry, after which they had a grand feast before they curled themselves up for the night, and slept soundly.
next morning the jackal got up early and set to work upon the shoes, while the panther sat by and looked on with delight.
at last they were finished, and the jackal arose and stretched himself.
"now go and lay them in the sun out there," said he; "in a couple of hours they will be ready to put on; but do not attempt to wear them before, or you will feel them most uncomfortable.
but i see the sun is high in the heavens, and we must be continuing our journey."
the panther, who always believed what everybody told him, did exactly as he was bid, and in two hours" time began to fasten on the shoes.
they certainly set off his paws wonderfully, and he stretched out his forepaws and looked at them with pride.
but when he tried to walk -- ah!
that was another story!
they were so stiff and hard that he nearly shrieked every step he took, and at last he sank down where he was, and actually began to cry.
after some time some little partridges who were hopping about heard the poor panther's groans, and went up to see what was the matter.
he had never tried to make his dinner off them, and they had always been quite friendly.
"you seem in pain," said one of them, fluttering close to him, "can we help you?"
"oh, it is the jackal!
he made me these shoes; they are so hard and tight that they hurt my feet, and i can not manage to kick them off."
"lie still, and we will soften them," answered the kind little partridge.
and calling to his brothers, they all flew to the nearest spring, and carried water in their beaks, which they poured over the shoes.
this they did till the hard leather grew soft, and the panther was able to slip his feet out of them.
"oh, thank you, thank you," he cried, skipping round with joy."
i feel a different creature.
now i will go after the jackal and pay him my debts."
and he bounded away into the forest.
but the jackal had been very cunning, and had trotted backwards and forwards and in and out, so that it was very difficult to know which track he had really followed.
at length, however, the panther caught sight of his enemy, at the same moment that the jackal had caught sight of him.
the panther gave a loud roar, and sprang forward, but the jackal was too quick for him and plunged into a dense thicket, where the panther could not follow.
disgusted with his failure, but more angry than ever, the panther lay down for a while to consider what he should do next, and as he was thinking, an old man came by.
"oh!
father, tell me how i can repay the jackal for the way he has served me!"
and without more ado he told his story.
"if you take my advice," answered the old man, "you will kill a cow, and invite all the jackals in the forest to the feast.
watch them carefully while they are eating, and you will see that most of them keep their eyes on their food.
but if one of them glances at you, you will know that is the traitor."
the panther, whose manners were always good, thanked the old man, and followed his counsel.
the cow was killed, and the partridges flew about with invitations to the jackals, who gathered in large numbers to the feast.
the wicked jackal came amongst them; but as the panther had only seen him once he could not distinguish him from the rest.
however, they all took their places on wooden seats placed round the dead cow, which was laid across the boughs of a fallen tree, and began their dinner, each jackal fixing his eyes greedily on the piece of meat before him.
only one of them seemed uneasy, and every now and then glanced in the direction of his host.
this the panther noticed, and suddenly made a bound at the culprit and seized his tail; but again the jackal was too quick for him, and catching up a knife he cut off his tail and darted into the forest, followed by all the rest of the party.
and before the panther had recovered from his surprise he found himself alone.
"what am i to do now?"
he asked the old man, who soon came back to see how things had turned out.
"it is very unfortunate, certainly," answered he; "but i think i know where you can find him.
there is a melon garden about two miles from here, and as jackals are very fond of melons they are nearly sure to have gone there to feed.
if you see a tailless jackal you will know that he is the one you want."
so the panther thanked him and went his way.
now the jackal had guessed what advice the old man would give his enemy, and so, while his friends were greedily eating the ripest melons in the sunniest corner of the garden, he stole behind them and tied their tails together.
he had only just finished when his ears caught the sound of breaking branches; and he cried: "quick!
quick!
here comes the master of the garden!"
and the jackals sprang up and ran away in all directions, leaving their tails behind them.
and how was the panther to know which was his enemy?
"they none of them had any tails," he said sadly to the old man, "and i am tired of hunting them.
i shall leave them alone and go and catch something for supper."
of course the hedgehog had not been able to take part in any of these adventures; but as soon as all danger was over, the jackal went to look for his friend, whom he was lucky enough to find at home.
"ah, there you are," he said gaily."
i have lost my tail since i saw you last.
and other people have lost theirs too; but that is no matter!
i am hungry, so come with me to the shepherd who is sitting over there, and we will ask him to sell us one of his sheep."
"yes, that is a good plan," answered the hedgehog.
and he walked as fast as his little legs would go to keep up with the jackal.
when they reached the shepherd the jackal pulled out his purse from under his foreleg, and made his bargain.
"only wait till to-morrow," said the shepherd, "and i will give you the biggest sheep you ever saw.
but he always feeds at some distance from the rest of the flock, and it would take me a long time to catch him."
"well, it is very tiresome, but i suppose i must wait," replied the jackal.
and he and the hedgehog looked about for a nice dry cave in which to make themselves comfortable for the night.
but, after they had gone, the shepherd killed one of his sheep, and stripped off his skin, which he sewed tightly round a greyhound he had with him, and put a cord round its neck.
then he lay down and went to sleep.
very, very early, before the sun was properly up, the jackal and the hedgehog were pulling at the shepherd's cloak.
"wake up," they said, "and give us that sheep.
we have had nothing to eat all night, and are very hungry."
the shepherd yawned and rubbed his eyes.
"he is tied up to that tree; go and take him."
so they went to the tree and unfastened the cord, and turned to go back to the cave where they had slept, dragging the greyhound after them.
when they reached the cave the jackal said to the hedgehog.
"before i kill him let me see whether he is fat or thin."
and he stood a little way back, so that he might the better examine the animal.
after looking at him, with his head on one side, for a minute or two, he nodded gravely.
"he is quite fat enough; he is a good sheep."
but the hedgehog, who sometimes showed more cunning than anyone would have guessed, answered: "my friend, you are talking nonsense.
the wool is indeed a sheep's wool, but the paws of my uncle the greyhound peep out from underneath."
"he is a sheep," repeated the jackal, who did not like to think anyone cleverer than himself.
"hold the cord while i look at him," answered the hedgehog.
very unwillingly the jackal held the rope, while the hedgehog walked slowly round the greyhound till he reached the jackal again.
he knew quite well by the paws and tail that it was a greyhound and not a sheep, that the shepherd had sold them; and as he could not tell what turn affairs might take, he resolved to get out of the way.
"oh!
yes, you are right," he said to the jackal; "but i never can eat till i have first drunk.
i will just go and quench my thirst from that spring at the edge of the wood, and then i shall be ready for breakfast."
"do n't be long, then," called the jackal, as the hedgehog hurried off at his best pace.
and he lay down under a rock to wait for him.
more than an hour passed by and the hedgehog had had plenty of time to go to the spring and back, and still there was no sign of him.
and this was very natural, as he had hidden himself in some long grass under a tree!
at length the jackal guessed that for some reason his friend had run away, and determined to wait for his breakfast no longer.
so he went up to the place where the greyhound had been tethered and untied the rope.
but just as he was about to spring on his back and give him a deadly bite, the jackal heard a low growl, which never proceeded from the throat of any sheep.
like a flash of lightning the jackal threw down the cord and was flying across the plain; but though his legs were long, the greyhound's legs were longer still, and he soon came up with his prey.
the jackal turned to fight, but he was no match for the greyhound, and in a few minutes he was lying dead on the ground, while the greyhound was trotting peacefully back to the shepherd.
the adventures of the jackal's eldest son -lsb- nouveaux contes berberes, par rene basset. -rsb-
now, though the jackal was dead, he had left two sons behind him, every whit as cunning and tricky as their father.
the elder of the two was a fine handsome creature, who had a pleasant manner and made many friends.
the animal he saw most of was a hyena; and one day, when they were taking a walk together, they picked up a beautiful green cloak, which had evidently been dropped by some one riding across the plain on a camel.
of course each wanted to have it, and they almost quarrelled over the matter; but at length it was settled that the hyena should wear the cloak by day and the jackal by night.
after a little while, however, the jackal became discontented with this arrangement, declaring that none of his friends, who were quite different from those of the hyena, could see the splendour of the mantle, and that it was only fair that he should sometimes be allowed to wear it by day.
to this the hyena would by no means consent, and they were on the eve of a quarrel when the hyena proposed that they should ask the lion to judge between them.
the jackal agreed to this, and the hyena wrapped the cloak about him, and they both trotted off to the lion's den.
the jackal, who was fond of talking, at once told the story; and when it was finished the lion turned to the hyena and asked if it was true.
"quite true, your majesty," answered the hyena.
"then lay the cloak on the ground at my feet," said the lion, "and i will give my judgment."
so the mantle was spread upon the red earth, the hyena and the jackal standing on each side of it.
there was silence for a few moments, and then the lion sat up, looking very great and wise.
"my judgment is that the garment shall belong wholly to whoever first rings the bell of the nearest mosque at dawn to-morrow.
now go; for much business awaits me!"
all that night the hyena sat up, fearing lest the jackal should reach the bell before him, for the mosque was close at hand.
with the first streak of dawn he bounded away to the bell, just as the jackal, who had slept soundly all night, was rising to his feet.
"good luck to you," cried the jackal.
and throwing the cloak over his back he darted away across the plain, and was seen no more by his friend the hyena.
after running several miles the jackal thought he was safe from pursuit, and seeing a lion and another hyena talking together, he strolled up to join them.
"good morning," he said; "may i ask what is the matter?
you seem very serious about something."
"pray sit down," answered the lion.
"we were wondering in which direction we should go to find the best dinner.
the hyena wishes to go to the forest, and i to the mountains.
what do you say?"
"well, as i was sauntering over the plain, just now, i noticed a flock of sheep grazing, and some of them had wandered into a little valley quite out of sight of the shepherd.
if you keep among the rocks you will never be observed.
but perhaps you will allow me to go with you and show you the way?"
"you are really very kind," answered the lion.
and they crept steadily along till at length they reached the mouth of the valley where a ram, a sheep and a lamb were feeding on the rich grass, unconscious of their danger.
"how shall we divide them?"
asked the lion in a whisper to the hyena.
"oh, it is easily done," replied the hyena.
"the lamb for me, the sheep for the jackal, and the ram for the lion."
"so i am to have that lean creature, which is nothing but horns, am i?"
cried the lion in a rage."
i will teach you to divide things in that manner!"
and he gave the hyena two great blows, which stretched him dead in a moment.
then he turned to the jackal and said: "how would you divide them?"
"quite differently from the hyena," replied the jackal.
"you will breakfast off the lamb, you will dine off the sheep, and you will sup off the ram."
"dear me, how clever you are!
who taught you such wisdom?"
exclaimed the lion, looking at him admiringly.
"the fate of the hyena," answered the jackal, laughing, and running off at his best speed; for he saw two men armed with spears coming close behind the lion!
the jackal continued to run till at last he could run no longer.
he flung himself under a tree panting for breath, when he heard a rustle amongst the grass, and his father's old friend the hedgehog appeared before him.
"oh, is it you?"
asked the little creature; "how strange that we should meet so far from home!'"
i have just had a narrow escape of my life," gasped the jackal, "and i need some sleep.
after that we must think of something to do to amuse ourselves."
and he lay down again and slept soundly for a couple of hours.
"now i am ready," said he; "have you anything to propose?"
"in a valley beyond those trees," answered the hedgehog, "there is a small farmhouse where the best butter in the world is made.
i know their ways, and in an hour's time the farmer's wife will be off to milk the cows, which she keeps at some distance.
we could easily get in at the window of the shed where she keeps the butter, and i will watch, lest some one should come unexpectedly, while you have a good meal.
then you shall watch, and i will eat."
"that sounds a good plan," replied the jackal; and they set off together.
but when they reached the farmhouse the jackal said to the hedgehog: "go in and fetch the pots of butter and i will hide them in a safe place."
"oh no," cried the hedgehog," i really could n't.
they would find out directly!
and, besides, it is so different just eating a little now and then."
"do as i bid you at once," said the jackal, looking at the hedgehog so sternly that the little fellow dared say no more, and soon rolled the jars to the window where the jackal lifted them out one by one.
when they were all in a row before him he gave a sudden start.
"run for your life," he whispered to his companion;" i see the woman coming over the hill!"
and the hedgehog, his heart beating, set off as fast as he could.
the jackal remained where he was, shaking with laughter, for the woman was not in sight at all, and he had only sent the hedgehog away because he did not want him to know where the jars of butter were buried.
but every day he stole out to their hiding-place and had a delicious feast.
at length, one morning, the hedgehog suddenly said: "you never told me what you did with those jars?"
"oh, i hid them safely till the farm people should have forgotten all about them," replied the jackal.
"but as they are still searching for them we must wait a little longer, and then i'll bring them home, and we will share them between us."
so the hedgehog waited and waited; but every time he asked if there was no chance of getting jars of butter the jackal put him off with some excuse.
after a while the hedgehog became suspicious, and said: "i should like to know where you have hidden them.
to-night, when it is quite dark, you shall show me the place.'"
i really ca n't tell you," answered the jackal.
"you talk so much that you would be sure to confide the secret to somebody, and then we should have had our trouble for nothing, besides running the risk of our necks being broken by the farmer.
i can see that he is getting disheartened, and very soon he will give up the search.
have patience just a little longer."
the hedgehop said no more, and pretended to be satisfied; but when some days had gone by he woke the jackal, who was sleeping soundly after a hunt which had lasted several hours."
i have just had notice," remarked the hedgehog, shaking him, "that my family wish to have a banquet to-morrow, and they have invited you to it.
will you come?"
"certainly," answered the jackal, "with pleasure.
but as i have to go out in the morning you can meet me on the road."
"that will do very well," replied the hedgehog.
and the jackal went to sleep again, for he was obliged to be up early.
punctual to the moment the hedgehog arrived at the place appointed for their meeting, and as the jackal was not there he sat down and waited for him.
"ah, there you are!"
he cried, when the dusky yellow form at last turned the corner."
i had nearly given you up!
indeed, i almost wish you had not come, for i hardly know where i shall hide you."
"why should you hide me anywhere?"
asked the jackal.
"what is the matter with you?"
"well, so many of the guests have brought their dogs and mules with them, that i fear it may hardly be safe for you to go amongst them.
no; do n't run off that way," he added quickly, "because there is another troop that are coming over the hill.
lie down here, and i will throw these sacks over you; and keep still for your life, whatever happens."
and what did happen was, that when the jackal was lying covered up, under a little hill, the hedgehog set a great stone rolling, which crushed him to death.
the adventures of the younger son of the jackal -lsb- contes berberes. -rsb-
now that the father and elder brother were both dead, all that was left of the jackal family was one son, who was no less cunning than the others had been.
he did not like staying in the same place any better than they, and nobody ever knew in what part of the country he might be found next.
one day, when we was wandering about he beheld a nice fat sheep, which was cropping the grass and seemed quite contented with her lot.
"good morning," said the jackal," i am so glad to see you.
i have been looking for you everywhere."
"for me?"
answered the sheep, in an astonished voice; "but we have never met before!"
"no; but i have heard of you.
oh!
you do n't know what fine things i have heard!
ah, well, some people have all the luck!"
"you are very kind, i am sure," answered the sheep, not knowing which way to look.
"is there any way in which i can help you?"
"there is something that i had set my heart on, though i hardly like to propose it on so short an acquaintance; but from what people have told me, i thought that you and i might keep house together comfortably, if you would only agree to try.
i have several fields belonging to me, and if they are kept well watered they bear wonderful crops."
"perhaps i might come for a short time," said the sheep, with a little hesitation; "and if we do not get on, we can part company."
"oh, thank you, thank you," cried the jackal; "do not let us lose a moment."
and he held out his paw in such an inviting manner that the sheep got up and trotted beside him till they reached home.
"now," said the jackal, "you go to the well and fetch the water, and i will pour it into the trenches that run between the patches of corn."
and as he did so he sang lustily.
the work was very hard, but the sheep did not grumble, and by-and-by was rewarded at seeing the little green heads poking themselves through earth.
after that the hot sun ripened them quickly, and soon harvest time was come.
then the grain was cut and ground and ready for sale.
when everything was complete, the jackal said to the sheep: "now let us divide it, so that we can each do what we like with his share."
"you do it," answered the sheep; "here are the scales.
you must weigh it carefully."
so the jackal began to weigh it, and when he had finished, he counted out loud: "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven parts for the jackal, and one part for the sheep.
if she likes it she can take it, if not, she can leave it."
the sheep looked at the two heaps in silence -- one so large, the other so small; and then she answered: "wait for a minute, while i fetch some sacks to carry away my share."
but it was not sacks that the sheep wanted; for as soon as the jackal could no longer see her she set forth at her best pace to the home of the greyhound, where she arrived panting with the haste she had made.
"oh, good uncle, help me, i pray you!"
she cried, as soon as she could speak.
"why, what is the matter?"
asked the greyhound, looking up with astonishment."
i beg you to return with me, and frighten the jackal into paying me what he owes me," answered the sheep.
"for months we have lived together, and i have twice every day drawn the water, while he only poured it into the trenches.
together we have reaped our harvest; and now, when the moment to divide our crop has come, he has taken seven parts for himself, and only left one for me."
she finished, and giving herself a twist, passed her woolly tail across her eyes; while the greyhound watched her, but held his peace.
then he said: "bring me a sack."
and the sheep hastened away to fetch one.
very soon she returned, and laid the sack down before him.
"open it wide, that i may get in," cried he; and when he was comfortably rolled up inside he bade the sheep take him on her back, and hasten to the place where she had left the jackal.
she found him waiting for her, and pretending to be asleep, though she clearly saw him wink one of his eyes.
however, she took no notice, but throwing the sack roughly on the ground, she exclaimed: "now measure!"
at this the jackal got up, and going to the heap of grain which lay close by, he divided it as before into eight portions -- seven for himself and one for the sheep.
"what are you doing that for?"
asked she indignantly.
"you know quite well that it was i who drew the water, and you who only poured it into the trenches."
"you are mistaken," answered the jackal.
"it was i who drew the water, and you who poured it into the trenches.
anybody will tell you that!
if you like, i will ask those people who are digging there!"
"very well," replied the sheep.
and the jackal called out: "ho!
you diggers, tell me: who was it you heard singing over the work?"
"why, it was you, of course, jackal!
you sang so loud that the whole world might have heard you!"
"and who it is that sings -- he who draws the water, or he who empties it?"
"why, certainly he who draws the water!"
"you hear?"
said the jackal, turning to the sheep.
"now come and carry away your own portion, or else i shall take it for myself."
"you have got the better of me," answered the sheep; "and i suppose i must confess myself beaten!
but as i bear no malice, go and eat some of the dates that i have brought in that sack."
and the jackal, who loved dates, ran instantly back, and tore open the mouth of the sack.
but just as he was about to plunge his nose in he saw two brown eyes calmly looking at him.
in an instant he had let fall the flap of the sack and bounded back to where the sheep was standing."
i was only in fun; and you have brought my uncle the greyhound.
take away the sack, we will make the division over again."
and he began rearranging the heaps.
"one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, for my mother the sheep, and one for the jackal," counted he; casting timid glances all the while at the sack.
"now you can take your share and go," said the sheep.
and the jackal did not need twice telling!
whenever the sheep looked up, she still saw him flying, flying across the plain; and, for all i know, he may be flying across it still.
the three treasures of the giants -lsb- contes berberes, par rene basset. -rsb-
long, long ago, there lived an old man and his wife who had three sons; the eldest was called martin, the second michael, while the third was named jack.
one evening they were all seated round the table, eating their supper of bread and milk.
"martin," said the old man suddenly," i feel that i can not live much longer.
you, as the eldest, will inherit this hut; but, if you value my blessing, be good to your mother and brothers."
"certainly, father; how can you suppose i should do them wrong?"
replied martin indignantly, helping himself to all the best bits in the dish as he spoke.
the old man saw nothing, but michael looked on in surprise, and jack was so astonished that he quite forgot to eat his own supper.
a little while after, the father fell ill, and sent for his sons, who were out hunting, to bid him farewell.
after giving good advice to the two eldest, he turned to jack.
"my boy," he said, "you have not got quite as much sense as other people, but if heaven has deprived you of some of your wits, it was given you a kind heart.
always listen to what it says, and take heed to the words of your mother and brothers, as well as you are able!"
so saying the old man sank back on his pillows and died.
the cries of grief uttered by martin and michael sounded through the house, but jack remained by the bedside of his father, still and silent, as if he were dead also.
at length he got up, and going into the garden, hid himself in some trees, and wept like a child, while his two brothers made ready for the funeral.
no sooner was the old man buried than martin and michael agreed that they would go into the world together to seek their fortunes, while jack stayed at home with their mother.
jack would have liked nothing better than to sit and dream by the fire, but the mother, who was very old herself, declared that there was no work for him to do, and that he must seek it with his brothers.
so, one fine morning, all three set out; martin and michael carried two great bags full of food, but jack carried nothing.
this made his brothers very angry, for the day was hot and the bags were heavy, and about noon they sat down under a tree and began to eat.
jack was as hungry as they were, but he knew that it was no use asking for anything; and he threw himself under another tree, and wept bitterly.
"another time perhaps you wo n't be so lazy, and will bring food for yourself," said martin, but to his surprise jack answered: "you are a nice pair!
you talk of seeking your fortunes so as not to be a burden on our mother, and you begin by carrying off all the food she has in the house!"
this reply was so unexpected that for some moments neither of the brothers made any answer.
then they offered their brother some of their food, and when he had finished eating they went their way once more.
towards evening they reached a small hut, and knocking at the door, asked if they might spend the night there.
the man, who was a wood-cutter, invited them him, and begged them to sit down to supper.
martin thanked him, but being very proud, explained that it was only shelter they wanted, as they had plenty of food with them; and he and michael at once opened their bags and began to eat, while jack hid himself in a corner.
the wife, on seeing this, took pity on him, and called him to come and share their supper, which he gladly did, and very good he found it.
at this, martin regretted deeply that he had been so foolish as to refuse, for his bits of bread and cheese seemed very hard when he smelt the savoury soup his brother was enjoying.
"he sha n't have such a chance again," thought he; and the next morning he insisted on plunging into a thick forest where they were likely to meet nobody.
for a long time they wandered hither and thither, for they had no path to guide them; but at last they came upon a wide clearing, in the midst of which stood a castle.
jack shouted with delight, but martin, who was in a bad temper, said sharply: "we must have taken a wrong turning!
let us go back."
"idiot!"
replied michael, who was hungry too, and, like many people when they are hungry, very cross also.
"we set out to travel through the world, and what does it matter if we go to the right or to the left?"
and, without another word, took the path to the castle, closely followed by jack, and after a moment by martin likewise.
the door of the castle stood open, and they entered a great hall, and looked about them.
not a creature was to be seen, and suddenly martin -- he did not know why -- felt a little frightened.
he would have left the castle at once, but stopped when jack boldly walked up to a door in the wall and opened it.
he could not for very shame be outdone by his younger brother, and passed behind him into another splendid hall, which was filled from floor to ceiling with great pieces of copper money.
the sight quite dazzled martin and michael, who emptied all the provisions that remained out of their bags, and heaped them up instead with handfuls of copper.
scarcely had they done this when jack threw open another door, and this time it led to a hall filled with silver.
in an instant his brothers had turned their bags upside down, so that the copper money tumbled out on to the floor, and were shovelling in handfuls of the silver instead.
they had hardly finished, when jack opened yet a third door, and all three fell back in amazement, for this room as a mass of gold, so bright that their eyes grew sore as they looked at it.
however, they soon recovered from their surprise, and quickly emptied their bags of silver, and filled them with gold instead.
when they would hold no more, martin said: "we had better hurry off now lest somebody else should come, and we might not know what to do"; and, followed by michael, he hastily left the castle.
jack lingered behind for a few minutes to put pieces of gold, silver, and copper into his pocket, and to eat the food that his brothers had thrown down in the first room.
then he went after them, and found them lying down to rest in the midst of a forest.
it was near sunset, and martin began to feel hungry, so, when jack arrived, he bade him return to the castle and bring the bread and cheese that they had left there.
"it is hardly worth doing that," answered jack; "for i picked up the pieces and ate them myself."
at this reply both brothers were beside themselves with anger, and fell upon the boy, beating him, and calling him names, till they were quite tired.
"go where you like," cried martin with a final kick; "but never come near us again."
and poor jack ran weeping into the woods.
the next morning his brothers went home, and bought a beautiful house, where they lived with their mother like great lords.
jack remained for some hours in hiding, thankful to be safe from his tormentors; but when no one came to trouble him, and his back did not ache so much, he began to think what he had better do.
at length he made up his mind to go to the caste and take away as much money with him as would enable him to live in comfort for the rest of his life.
this being decided, he sprang up, and set out along the path which led to the castle.
as before, the door stood open, and he went on till he had reached the hall of gold, and there he took off his jacket and tied the sleeves together so that it might make a kind of bag.
he then began to pour in the gold by handfuls, when, all at once, a noise like thunder shook the castle.
this was followed by a voice, hoarse as that of a bull, which cried: "i smell the smell of a man."
and two giants entered.
"so, little worm!
it is you who steal our treasures!"
exclaimed the biggest.
"well, we have got you now, and we will cook you for supper!"
but here the other giant drew him aside, and for a moment or two they whispered together.
at length the first giant spoke: "to please my friend i will spare your life on condition that, for the future, you shall guard our treasures.
if you are hungry take this little table and rap on it, saying, as you do so: "the dinner of an emperor!"
and you will get as much food as you want."
with a light heart jack promised all that was asked of him, and for some days enjoyed himself mightily.
he had everything he could wish for, and did nothing from morning till night; but by-and-by he began to get very tired of it all.
"let the giants guard their treasures themselves," he said to himself at last;" i am going away.
but i will leave all the gold and silver behind me, and will take nought but you, my good little table."
so, tucking the table under his arm, he started off for the forest, but he did not linger there long, and soon found himself in the fields on the other side.
there he saw an old man, who begged jack to give him something to eat.
"you could not have asked a better person," answered jack cheerfully.
and signing to him to sit down with him under a tree, he set the table in front of them, and struck it three times, crying: "the dinner of an emperor!"
he had hardly uttered the words when fish and meat of all kinds appeared on it!
"that is a clever trick of yours," said the old man, when he had eaten as much as he wanted.
"give it to me in exchange for a treasure i have which is still better.
do you see this cornet?
well, you have only to tell it that you wish for an army, and you will have as many soldiers as you require."
now, since he had been left to himself, jack had grown ambitious, so, after a moment's hesitation, he took the cornet and gave the table in exchange.
the old man bade him farewell, and set off down one path, while jack chose another, and for a long time he was quite pleased with his new possession.
then, as he felt hungry, he wished for his table back again, as no house was in sight, and he wanted some supper badly.
all at once he remembered his cornet, and a wicked thought entered his mind.
"two hundred hussars, forward!"
cried he.
and the neighing of horses and the clanking of swords were heard close at hand.
the officer who rode at their head approached jack, and politely inquired what he wished them to do."
a mile or two along that road," answered jack, "you will find an old man carrying a table.
take the table from him and bring it to me."
the officer saluted and went back to his men, who started at a gallop to do jack's bidding.
in ten minutes they had returned, bearing the table with them.
"that is all, thank you," said jack; and the soldiers disappeared inside the cornet.
oh, what a good supper jack had that night, quite forgetting that he owed it to a mean trick.
the next day he breakfasted early, and then walked on towards the nearest town.
on the way thither he met another old man, who begged for something to eat.
"certainly, you shall have something to eat," replied jack.
and, placing the table on the ground he cried: "the dinner of an emperor!"
when all sorts of food dishes appeared.
at first the old man ate quite greedily, and said nothing; but, after his hunger was satisfied, he turned to jack and said: "that is a very clever trick of yours.
give the table to me and you shall have something still better.'"
i do n't believe that there is anything better," answered jack.
"yes, there is.
here is my bag; it will give you as many castles as you can possibly want."
jack thought for a moment; then he replied: "very well, i will exchange with you."
and passing the table to the old man, he hung the bag over his arm.
five minutes later he summoned five hundred lancers out of the cornet and bade them go after the old man and fetch back the table.
now that by his cunning he had obtained possession of the three magic objects, he resolved to return to his native place.
smearing his face with dirt, and tearing his clothes so as to look like a beggar, he stopped the passers by and, on pretence of seeking money or food, he questioned them about the village gossip.
in this manner he learned that his brothers had become great men, much respected in all the country round.
when he heard that, he lost no time in going to the door of their fine house and imploring them to give him food and shelter; but the only thing he got was hard words, and a command to beg elsewhere.
at length, however, at their mother's entreaty, he was told that he might pass the night in the stable.
here he waited until everybody in the house was sound asleep, when he drew his bag from under his cloak, and desired that a castle might appear in that place; and the cornet gave him soldiers to guard the castle, while the table furnished him with a good supper.
in the morning, he caused it all to vanish, and when his brothers entered the stable they found him lying on the straw.
jack remained here for many days, doing nothing, and -- as far as anybody knew -- eating nothing.
this conduct puzzled his brothers greatly, and they put such constant questions to him, that at length he told them the secret of the table, and even gave a dinner to them, which far outdid any they had ever seen or heard of.
but though they had solemnly promised to reveal nothing, somehow or other the tale leaked out, and before long reached the ears of the king himself.
that very evening his chamberlain arrived at jack's dwelling, with a request from the king that he might borrow the table for three days.
"very well," answered jack, "you can take it back with you.
but tell his majesty that if he does not return it at the end of the three days i will make war upon him."
so the chamberlain carried away the table and took it straight to the king, telling him at the same time of jack's threat, at which they both laughed till their sides ached.
now the king was so delighted with the table, and the dinners it gave him, that when the three days were over he could not make up his mind to part with it.
instead, he sent for his carpenter, and bade him copy it exactly, and when it was done he told his chamberlain to return it to jack with his best thanks.
it happened to be dinner time, and jack invited the chamberlain, who knew nothing of the trick, to stay and dine with him.
the good man, who had eaten several excellent meals provided by the table in the last three days, accepted the invitation with pleasure, even though he was to dine in a stable, and sat down on the straw beside jack.
"the dinner of an emperor!"
cried jack.
but not even a morsel of cheese made its appearance.
"the dinner of an emperor!"
shouted jack in a voice of thunder.
then the truth dawned on him; and, crushing the table between his hands, he turned to the chamberlain, who, bewildered and half-frightened, was wondering how to get away.
"tell your false king that to-morrow i will destroy his castle as easily as i have broken this table."
the chamberlain hastened back to the palace, and gave the king jack's message, at which he laughed more than before, and called all his courtiers to hear the story.
but they were not quite so merry when they woke next morning and beheld ten thousand horsemen, and as many archers, surrounding the palace.
the king saw it was useless to hold out, and he took the white flag of truce in one hand, and the real table in the other, and set out to look for jack."
i committed a crime," said he; "but i will do my best to make up for it.
here is your table, which i own with shame that i tried to steal, and you shall have besides, my daughter as your wife!"
there was no need to delay the marriage when the table was able to furnish the most splendid banquet that ever was seen, and after everyone had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted, jack took his bag and commanded a castle filled with all sorts of treasures to arise in the park for himself and his bride.
at this proof of his power the king's heart died within him.
"your magic is greater than mine," he said; "and you are young and strong, while i am old and tired.
take, therefore, the sceptre from my hand, and my crown from my head, and rule my people better than i have done."
so at last jack's ambition was satisfied.
he could not hope to be more than king, and as long as he had his cornet to provide him with soldiers he was secure against his enemies.
he never forgave his brothers for the way they had treated him, though he presented his mother with a beautiful castle, and everything she could possibly wish for.
in the centre of his own palace was a treasure chamber, and in this chamber the table, the cornet, and the bag were kept as the most prized of all his possessions, and not a week passed without a visit from king john to make sure they were safe.
he reigned long and well, and died a very old man, beloved by his people.
but his good example was not followed by his sons and his grandsons.
they grew so proud that they were ashamed to think that the founder of their race had once been a poor boy; and as they and all the world could not fail to remember it, as long as the table, the cornet, and the bag were shown in the treasure chamber, one king, more foolish than the rest, thrust them into a dark and damp cellar.
for some time the kingdom remained, though it became weaker and weaker every year that passed.
then, one day, a rumour reached the king that a large army was marching against him.
vaguely he recollected some tales he had heard about a magic cornet which could provide as many soldiers as would serve to conquer the earth, and which had been removed by his grandfather to a cellar.
thither he hastened that he might renew his power once more, and in that black and slimy spot he found the treasures indeed.
but the table fell to pieces as he touched it, in the cornet there remained only a few fragments of leathern belts which the rats had gnawed, and in the bag nothing but broken bits of stone.
and the king bowed his head to the doom that awaited him, and in his heart cursed the ruin wrought by the pride and foolishness of himself and his forefathers.
the rover of the plain -lsb- from contes populaires slaves, par louis leger. -rsb-
a long way off, near the sea coast of the east of africa, there dwelt, once upon a time, a man and his wife.
they had two children, a son and a daughter, whom they loved very much, and, like parents in other countries, they often talked of the fine marriages the young people would make some day.
out there both boys and girls marry early, and very soon, it seemed to the mother, a message was sent by a rich man on the other side of the great hills offering a fat herd of oxen in exchange for the girl.
everyone in the house and in the village rejoiced, and the maiden was despatched to her new home.
when all was quiet again the father said to his son: "now that we own such a splendid troop of oxen you had better hasten and get yourself a wife, lest some illness should overtake them.
already we have seen in the villages round about one or two damsels whose parents would gladly part with them for less than half the herd.
therefore tell us which you like best, and we will buy her for you."
but the son answered: "not so; the maidens i have seen do not please me.
if, indeed, i must marry, let me travel and find a wife for myself."
"it shall be as you wish," said the parents; "but if by-and-by trouble should come of it, it will be your fault and not ours."
the youth, however, would not listen; and bidding his father and mother farewell, set out on his search.
far, far away he wandered, over mountains and across rivers, till he reached a village where the people were quite different from those of his own race.
he glanced about him and noticed that the girls were fair to look upon, as they pounded maize or stewed something that smelt very nice in earthen pots -- especially if you were hot and tired; and when one of the maidens turned round and offered the stranger some dinner, he made up his mind that he would wed her and nobody else.
so he sent a message to her parents asking their leave to take her for his wife, and they came next day to bring their answer.
"we will give you our daughter," said they, "if you can pay a good price for her.
never was there so hardworking a girl; and how we shall do without her we can not tell!
still -- no doubt your father and mother will come themselves and bring the price?"
"no; i have the price with me," replied the young man; laying down a handful of gold pieces.
"here it is -- take it."
the old couple's eyes glittered greedily; but custom forbade them to touch the price before all was arranged.
"at least," said they, after a moment's pause, "we may expect them to fetch your wife to her new home?"
"no; they are not used to travelling," answered the bridegroom.
"let the ceremony be performed without delay, and we will set forth at once.
it is a long journey."
then the parents called in the girl, who was lying in the sun outside the hut, and, in the presence of all the village, a goat was killed, the sacred dance took place, and a blessing was said over the heads of the young people.
after that the bride was led aside by her father, whose duty it was to bestow on her some parting advice as to her conduct in her married life.
"be good to your husband's parents," added he, "and always do the will of your husband."
and the girl nodded her head obediently.
next it was the mother's turn; and, as was the custom of the tribe, she spoke to her daughter: "will you choose which of your sisters shall go with you to cut your wood and carry your water?'"
i do not want any of them," answered she; "they are no use.
they will drop the wood and spill the water."
"then will you have any of the other children?
there are enough to spare," asked the mother again.
but the bride said quickly: "i will have none of them!
you must give me our buffalo, the rover of the plain; he alone shall serve me."
"what folly you talk!"
cried the parents.
"give you our buffalo, the rover of the plain?
why, you know that our life depends on him.
here he is well fed and lies on soft grass; but how can you tell what will befall him in another country?
the food may be bad, he will die of hunger; and, if he dies we die also."
"no, no," said the bride;" i can look after him as well as you.
get him ready, for the sun is sinking and it is time we set forth."
so she went away and put together a small pot filled with healing herms, a horn that she used in tending sick people, a little knife, and a calabash containing deer fat; and, hiding these about her, she took leave of her father and mother and started across the mountains by the side of her husband.
but the young man did not see the buffalo that followed them, which had left his home to be the servant of his wife.
no one ever knew how the news spread to the kraal that the young man was coming back, bringing a wife with him; but, somehow or other, when the two entered the village, every man and woman was standing in the road uttering shouts of welcome.
"ah, you are not dead after all," cried they; "and have found a wife to your liking, though you would have none of our girls.
well, well, you have chosen your own path; and if ill comes of it beware lest you grumble."
next day the husband took his wife to the fields and showed her which were his, and which belonged to his mother.
the girl listened carefully to all he told her, and walked with him back to the hut; but close to the door she stopped, and said: "i have dropped my necklace of beads in the field, and i must go and look for it."
but in truth she had done nothing of the sort, and it was only an excuse to go and seek the buffalo.
the beast was crouching under a tree when she came up, and snorted with pleasure at the sight of her.
"you can roam about this field, and this, and this," she said, "for they belong to my husband; and that is his wood, where you may hide yourself.
but the other fields are his mother's, so beware lest you touch them.'"
i will beware," answered the buffalo; and, patting his head, the girl left him.
oh, how much better a servant he was than any of the little girls the bride had refused to bring with her!
if she wanted water, she had only to cross the patch of maize behind the hut and seek out the place where the buffalo lay hidden, and put down her pail beside him.
then she would sit at her ease while he went to the lake and brought the bucket back brimming over.
if she wanted wood, he would break the branches off the trees and lay them at her feet.
and the villagers watched her return laden, and said to each other: "surely the girls of her country are stronger than our girls, for none of them could cut so quickly or carry so much!"
but then, nobody knew that she had a buffalo for a servant.
only, all this time she never gave the poor buffalo anything to eat, because she had just one dish, out of which she and her husband ate; while in her old home there was a dish put aside expressly for the rover of the plain.
the buffalo bore it as long as he could; but, one day, when his mistress bade him go to the lake and fetch water, his knees almost gave way from hunger.
he kept silence, however, till the evening, when he said to his mistress: "i am nearly starved; i have not touched food since i came here.
i can work no more."
"alas!"
answered she, "what can i do?
i have only one dish in the house.
you will have to steal some beans from the fields.
take a few here and a few there; but be sure not to take too many from one place, or the owner may notice it."
now the buffalo had always lived an honest life, but if his mistress did not feed him, he must get food for himself.
so that night, when all the village was asleep, he came out from the wood and ate a few beans here and a few there, as his mistress had bidden him.
and when at last his hunger was satisfied, he crept back to his lair.
but a buffalo is not a fairy, and the next morning, when the women arrived to work in the fields, they stood still with astonishment, and said to each other: "just look at this; a savage beast has been destroying our crops, and we can see the traces of his feet!"
and they hurried to their homes to tell their tale.
in the evening the girl crept out to the buffalo's hiding-place, and said to him: "they perceived what happened, of course; so to-night you had better seek your supper further off."
and the buffalo nodded his head and followed her counsel; but in the morning, when these women also went out to work, the races of hoofs were plainly to be seen, and they hastened to tell their husbands, and begged them to bring their guns, and to watch for the robber.
it happened that the stranger girl's husband was the best marksman in all the village, and he hid himself behind the trunk of a tree and waited.
the buffalo, thinking that they would probably make a search for him in the fields he had laid waste the evening before, returned to the bean patch belonging to his mistress.
the young man saw him coming with amazement.
"why, it is a buffalo!"
cried he;" i never have beheld one in this country before!"
and raising his gun, he aimed just behind the ear.
the buffalo gave a leap into the air, and then fell dead.
"it was a good shot," said the young man.
and he ran to the village to tell them that the thief was punished.
when he entered his hut he found his wife, who had somehow heard the news, twisting herself to and fro and shedding tears.
"are you ill?"
asked he.
and she answered: "yes; i have pains all over my body."
but she was not ill at all, only very unhappy at the death of the buffalo which had served her so well.
her husband felt anxious, and sent for the medicine man; but though she pretended to listen to him, she threw all his medicine out of the door directly he had gone away.
with the first rays of light the whole village was awake, and the women set forth armed with baskets and the men with knives in order to cut up the buffalo.
only the girl remained in her hut; and after a while she too went to join them, groaning and weeping as she walked along.
"what are you doing here?"
asked her husband when he saw her.
"if you are ill you are better at home."
"oh!
i could not stay alone in the village," said she.
and her mother-in-law left off her work to come and scold her, and to tell her that she would kill herself if she did such foolish things.
but the girl would not listen and sat down and looked on.
when they had divided the buffalo's flesh, and each woman had the family portion in her basket, the stranger wife got up and said: "let me have the head."
"you could never carry anything so heavy," answered the men, "and now you are ill besides."
"you do not know how strong i am," answered she.
and at last they gave it her.
she did not walk to the village with the others, but lingered behind, and, instead of entering her hut, she slipped into the little shed where the pots for cooking and storing maize were kept.
then she laid down the buffalo's head and sat beside it.
her husband came to seek her, and begged her to leave the shed and go to bed, as she must be tired out; but the girl would not stir, neither would she attend to the words of her mother-in-law."
i wish you would leave me alone!"
she answered crossly.
"it is impossible to sleep if somebody is always coming in."
and she turned her back on them, and would not even eat the food they had brought.
so they went away, and the young man soon stretched himself out on his mat; but his wife's odd conduct made him anxious, and he lay wake all night, listening.
when all was still the girl made a fire and boiled some water in a pot.
as soon as it was quite hot she shook in the medicine that she had brought from home, and then, taking the buffalo's head, she made incisions with her little knife behind the ear, and close to the temple where the shot had struck him.
next she applied the horn to the spot and blew with all her force till, at length, the blood began to move.
after that she spread some of the deer fat out of the calabash over the wound, which she held in the steam of the hot water.
last of all, she sang in a low voice a dirge over the rover of the plain.
as she chanted the final words the head moved, and the limbs came back.
the buffalo began to feel alive again and shook his horns, and stood up and stretched himself.
unluckily it was just at this moment that the husband said to himself: "i wonder if she is crying still, and what is the matter with her!
perhaps i had better go and see."
and he got up and, calling her by name, went out to the shed.
"go away!
i do n't want you!"
she cried angrily.
but it was too late.
the buffalo had fallen to the ground, dead, and with the wound in his head as before.
the young man who, unlike most of his tribe, was afraid of his wife, returned to his bed without having seen anything, but wondering very much what she could be doing all this time.
after waiting a few minutes, she began her task over again, and at the end the buffalo stood on his feet as before.
but just as the girl was rejoicing that her work was completed, in came the husband once more to see what his wife was doing; and this time he sat himself down in the hut, and said that he wished to watch whatever was going on.
then the girl took up the pitcher and all her other things and left the shed, trying for the third time to bring the buffalo back to life.
she was too late; the dawn was already breaking, and the head fell to the ground, dead and corrupt as it was before.
the girl entered the hut, where her husband and his mother were getting ready to go out."
i want to go down to the lake, and bathe," said she.
"but you could never walk so far," answered they.
"you are so tired, as it is, that you can hardly stand!"
however, in spite of their warnings, the girl left the hut in the direction of the lake.
very soon she came back weeping, and sobbed out: "i met some one in the village who lives in my country, and he told me that my mother is very, very ill, and if i do not go to her at once she will be dead before i arrive.
i will return as soon as i can, and now farewell."
and she set forth in the direction of the mountains.
but this story was not true; she knew nothing about her mother, only she wanted an excuse to go home and tell her family that their prophecies had come true, and that the buffalo was dead.
balancing her basket on her head, she walked along, and directly she had left the village behind her she broke out into the song of the rover of the plain, and at last, at the end of the day, she came to the group of huts where her parents lived.
her friends all ran to meet her, and, weeping, she told them that the buffalo was dead.
this sad news spread like lightning through the country, and the people flocked from far and near to bewail the loss of the beast who had been their pride.
"if you had only listened to us," they cried, "he would be alive now.
but you refused all the little girls we offered you, and would have nothing but the buffalo.
and remember what the medicine-man said: "if the buffalo dies you die also!""
so they bewailed their fate, one to the other, and for a while they did not perceive that the girl's husband was sitting in their midst, leaning his gun against a tree.
then one man, turning, beheld him, and bowed mockingly.
"hail, murderer!
hail!
you have slain us all!"
the young man stared, not knowing what he meant, and answered, wonderingly: "i shot a buffalo; is that why you call me a murderer?'"
a buffalo -- yes; but the servant of your wife!
it was he who carried the wood and drew the water.
did you not know it?"
"no; i did not know it," replied the husband in surprise.
"why did no one tell me?
of course i should not have shot him!"
"well, he is dead," answered they, "and we must die too."
at this the girl took a cup in which some poisonous herbs had been crushed, and holding it in her hands, she wailed: "o my father, rover of the plain!"
then drinking a deep draught from it, fell back dead.
one by one her parents, her brothers and her sisters, drank also and died, singing a dirge to the memory of the buffalo.
the girl's husband looked on with horror; and returned sadly home across the mountains, and, entering his hut, threw himself on the ground.
at first he was too tired to speak; but at length he raised his head and told all the story to his father and mother, who sat watching him.
when he had finished they shook their heads and said: "now you see that we spoke no idle words when we told you that ill would come of your marriage!
we offered you a good and hard-working wife, and you would have none of her.
and it is not only your wife you have lost, but your fortune also.
for who will give you back your money if they are all dead?"
"it is true, o my father," answered the young man.
but in his heart he thought more of the loss of his wife than of the money he had given for her.
the white doe -lsb- from l'etude ethnographique sur les baronga, par henri junod. -rsb-
once upon a time there lived a king and queen who loved each other dearly, and would have been perfectly happy if they had only had a little son or daughter to play with.
they never talked about it, and always pretended that there was nothing in the world to wish for; but, sometimes when they looked at other people's children, their faces grew sad, and their courtiers and attendants knew the reason why.
one day the queen was sitting alone by the side of a waterfall which sprung from some rocks in the large park adjoining the castle.
she was feeling more than usually miserable, and had sent away her ladies so that no one might witness her grief.
suddenly she heard a rustling movement in the pool below the waterfall, and, on glancing up, she saw a large crab climbing on to a stone beside her.
"great queen," said the crab," i am here to tell you that the desire of your heart will soon be granted.
but first you must permit me to lead you to the palace of the fairies, which, though hard by, has never been seen by mortal eyes because of the thick clouds that surround it.
when there you will know more; that is, if you will trust yourself to me."
the queen had never before heard an animal speak, and was struck dumb with surprise.
however, she was so enchanted at the words of the crab that she smiled sweetly and held out her hand; it was taken, not by the crab, which had stood there only a moment before, but by a little old woman smartly dressed in white and crimson with green ribbons in her grey hair.
and, wonderful to say, not a drop of water fell from her clothes.
the old woman ran lightly down a path along which the queen had been a hundred times before, but it seemed so different she could hardly believe it was the same.
instead of having to push her way through nettles and brambles, roses and jasmine hung about her head, while under her feet the ground was sweet with violets.
the orange trees were so tall and thick that, even at mid-day, the sun was never too hot, and at the end of the path was a glimmer of something so dazzling that the queen had to shade her eyes, and peep at it only between her fingers.
"what can it be?"
she asked, turning to her guide; who answered: "oh, that is the fairies" palace, and here are some of them coming to meet us."
as she spoke the gates swung back and six fairies approached, each bearing in her hand a flower made of precious stones, but so like a real one that it was only by touching you could tell the difference.
"madam," they said, "we know not how to thank you for this mark of your confidence, but have the happiness to tell you that in a short time you will have a little daughter."
the queen was so enchanted at this news that she nearly fainted with joy; but when she was able to speak, she poured out all her gratitude to the fairies for their promised gift.
"and now," she said," i ought not to stay any longer, for my husband will think that i have run away, or that some evil beast has devoured me."
in a little while it happened just as the fairies had foretold, and a baby girl was born in the palace.
of course both the king and queen were delighted, and the child was called desiree, which means "desired," for she had been "desired" for five years before her birth.
at first the queen could think of nothing but her new plaything, but then she remembered the fairies who had sent it to her.
bidding her ladies bring her the posy of jewelled flowers which had been given her at the palace, she took each flower in her hand and called it by name, and, in turn, each fairy appeared before her.
but, as unluckily often happens, the one to whom she owed the most, the crab-fairy, was forgotten, and by this, as in the case of other babies you have read about, much mischief was wrought.
however, for the moment all was gaiety in the palace, and everybody inside ran to the windows to watch the fairies" carriages, for no two were alike.
one had a car of ebony, drawn by white pigeons, another was lying back in her ivory chariot, driving ten black crows, while the rest had chosen rare woods or many-coloured sea-shells, with scarlet and blue macaws, long-tailed peacocks, or green love-birds for horses.
these carriages were only used on occasions of state, for when they went to war flying dragons, fiery serpents, lions or leopards, took the place of the beautiful birds.
the fairies entered the queen's chamber followed by little dwarfs who carried their presents and looked much prouder than their mistresses.
one by one their burdens were spread upon the ground, and no one had ever seen such lovely things.
everything that a baby could possibly wear or play with was there, and besides, they had other and more precious gifts to give her, which only children who have fairies for godmothers can ever hope to possess.
they were all gathered round the heap of pink cushions on which the baby lay asleep, when a shadow seemed to fall between them and the sun, while a cold wind blew through the room.
everybody looked up, and there was the crab-fairy, who had grown as tall as the ceiling in her anger.
"so i am forgotten!"
cried she, in a voice so loud that the queen trembled as she heard it.
"who was it soothed you in your trouble?
who was it led you to the fairies?
who was it brought you back in safety to your home again?
yet i -- i -- am overlooked, while these who have done nothing in comparison, are petted and thanked."
the queen, almost dumb with terror, in vain tried to think of some explanation or apology; but there was none, and she could only confess her fault and implore forgiveness.
the fairies also did their best to soften the wrath of their sister, and knowing that, like many plain people who are not fairies, she was very vain, they entreated her to drop her crab's disguise, and to become once more the charming person they were accustomed to see.
for some time the enraged fairy would listen to nothing; but at length the flatteries began to take effect.
the crab's shell fell from her, she shrank into her usual size, and lost some of her fierce expression.
"well," she said," i will not cause the princess's death, as i had meant to do, but at the same time she will have to bear the punishment of her mother's fault, as many other children have done before her.
the sentence i pass upon her is, that if she is allowed to see one ray of daylight before her fifteenth birthday she will rue it bitterly, and it may perhaps cost her her life."
and with these words she vanished by the window through which she came, while the fairies comforted the weeping queen and took counsel how best the princess might be kept safe during her childhood.
at the end of half an hour they had made up their minds what to do, and at the command of the fairies, a beautiful palace sprang up, close to that of the king and queen, but different from every palace in the world in having no windows, and only a door right under the earth.
however, once within, daylight was hardly missed, so brilliant were the multitudes of tapers that were burning on the walls.
now up to this time the princess's history has been like the history of many a princess that you have read about; but, when the period of her imprisonment was nearly over, her fortunes took another turn.
for almost fifteen years the fairies had taken care of her, and amused her and taught her, so that when she came into the world she might be no whit behind the daughters of other kings in all that makes a princess charming and accomplished.
they all loved her dearly, but the fairy tulip loved her most of all; and as the princess's fifteenth birthday drew near, the fairy began to tremble lest something terrible should happen -- some accident which had not been foreseen.
"do not let her out of your sight," said tulip to the queen, "and meanwhile, let her portrait be painted and carried to the neighbouring courts, as is the custom in order that the kings may see how far her beauty exceeds that of every other princess, and that they may demand her in marriage for their sons."
and so it was done; and as the fairy had prophesied, all the young princes fell in love with the picture; but the last one to whom it was shown could think of nothing else, and refused to let it be removed from his chamber, where he spent whole days gazing at it.
the king his father was much surprised at the change which had come over his son, who generally passed all his time in hunting or hawking, and his anxiety was increased by a conversation he overheard between two of his courtiers that they feared the prince must be going out of his mind, so moody had he become.
without losing a moment the king went to visit his son, and no sooner had he entered the room than the young man flung himself at his father's feet.
"you have betrothed me already to a bride i can never love!"
cried he; "but if you will not consent to break off the match, and ask for the hand of the princess desiree, i shall die of misery, thankful to be alive no longer."
these words much displeased the king, who felt that, in breaking off the marriage already arranged he would almost certainly be bringing on his subjects a long and bloody war; so, without answering, he turned away, hoping that a few days might bring his son to reason.
but the prince's condition grew rapidly so much worse that the king, in despair, promised to send an embassy at once to desiree's father.
this news cured the young man in an instant of all his ills; and he began to plan out every detail of dress and of horses and carriages which were necessary to make the train of the envoy, whose name was becasigue, as splendid as possible.
he longed to form part of the embassy himself, if only in the disguise of a page; but this the king would not allow, and so the prince had to content himself with searching the kingdom for everything that was rare and beautiful to send to the princess.
indeed, he arrived, just as the embassy was starting, with his portrait, which had been painted in secret by the court painter.
the king and queen wished for nothing better than that their daughter marry into such a great and powerful family, and received the ambassador with every sign of welcome.
they even wished him to see the princess desiree, but this was prevented by the fairy tulip, who feared some ill might come of it.
"and be sure you tell him," added she, "that the marriage can not be celebrated till she is fifteen years old, or else some terrible misfortune will happen to the child."
so when becasigue, surround by his train, made a formal request that the princess desiree might be given in marriage to his master's son, the king replied that he was much honoured, and would gladly give his consent; but that no one could even see the princess till her fifteenth birthday, as the spell laid upon her in her cradle by a spiteful fairy, would not cease to work till that was past.
the ambassador was greatly surprised and disappointed, but he knew too much about fairies to venture to disobey them, therefore he had to content himself with presenting the prince's portrait to the queen, who lost no time in carrying it to the princess.
as the girl took it in her hands it suddenly spoke, as it had been taught to do, and uttered a compliment of the most delicate and charming sort, which made the princess flush with pleasure.
"how would you like to have a husband like that?"
asked the queen, laughing.
"as if i knew anything about husbands!"
replied desiree, who had long ago guessed the business of the ambassador.
"well, he will be your husband in three months," answered the queen, ordering the prince's presents to be brought in.
the princess was very pleased with them, and admired them greatly, but the queen noticed that all the while her eyes constantly strayed from the softest silks and most brilliant jewels to the portrait of the prince.
the ambassador, finding that there was no hope of his being allowed to see the princess, took his leave, and returned to his own court; but here a new difficulty appeared.
the prince, though transported with joy at the thought that desiree was indeed to be his bride, was bitterly disappointed that she had not been allowed to return with becasigue, as he had foolishly expected; and never having been taught to deny himself anything or to control his feelings, he fell as ill as he had done before.
he would eat nothing nor take pleasure in anything, but lay all day on a heap of cushions, gazing at the picture of the princess.
"if i have to wait three months before i can marry the princess i shall die!"
was all this spoilt boy would say; and at length the king, in despair, resolved to send a fresh embassy to desiree's father to implore him to permit the marriage to be celebrated at once."
i would have presented my prayer in person, he added in his letter, "but my great age and infirmities do not suffer me to travel; however my envoy has orders to agree to any arrangement that you may propose."
on his arrival at the palace becasigue pleaded his young master's cause as fervently as the king his father could have done, and entreated that the princess might be consulted in the matter.
the queen hastened to the marble tower, and told her daughter of the sad state of the prince.
des the prince without risking the doom pronounced over her by the wicked fairy."
i see!"
she exclaimed joyfully at last.
"let a carriage be built through which no light can come, and let it be brought into my room.
i will then get into it, and we can travel swiftly during the night and arrive before dawn at the palace of the prince.
once there, i can remain in some underground chamber, where no light can come."
"ah, how clever you are," cried the queen, clasping her in her arms.
and she hurried away to tell the king.
"what a wife our prince will have!"
said becasigue bowing low; "but i must hasten back with the tidings, and to prepare the underground chamber for the princess."
and so he took his leave.
in a few days the carriage commanded by the princess was ready.
it was of green velvet, scattered over with large golden thistles, and lined inside with silver brocade embroidered with pink roses.
it had no windows, of course; but the fairy tulip, whose counsel had been asked, had managed to light it up with a soft glow that came no one knew whither.
it was carried straight up into the great hall of the tower, and the princess stepped into it, followed by her faithful maid of honour, eglantine, and by her lady in waiting cerisette, who also had fallen in love with the prince's portrait and was bitterly jealous of her mistress.
the fourth place in the carriage was filled by cerisette's mother, who had been sent by the queen to look after the three young people.
now the fairy of the fountain was the godmother of the princess nera, to whom the prince had been betrothed before the picture of desiree had made him faithless.
she was very angry at the slight put upon her godchild, and from that moment kept careful watch on the princess.
in this journey she saw her chance, and it was she who, invisible, sat by cerisette, and put bad thoughts into the minds of both her and her mother.
the way to the city where the prince lived ran for the most part through a thick forest, and every night when there was no moon, and not a single star could be seen through the trees, the guards who travelled with the princess opened the carriage to give it an airing.
this went on for several days, till only twelve hours journey lay between them and the palace.
the cerisette persuaded her mother to cut a great hole in the side of the carriage with a sharp knife which she herself had brought for the purpose.
in the forest the darkness was so intense that no one perceived what she had done, but when they left the last trees behind them, and emerged into the open country, the sun was up, and for the first time since her babyhood, desiree found herself in the light of day.
she looked up in surprise at the dazzling brilliance that streamed through the hole; then gave a sigh which seemed to come from her heart.
the carriage door swung back, as if by magic, and a white doe sprang out, and in a moment was lost to sight in the forest.
but, quick as she was, eglantine, her maid of honour, had time to see where she went, and jumped from the carriage in pursuit of her, followed at a distance by the guards.
cerisette and her mother looked at each other in surprise and joy.
they could hardly believe in their good fortune, for everything had happened exactly as they wished.
the first thing to be done was to conceal the hole which had been cut, and when this was managed -lrb- with the help of the angry fairy, though they did not know it -rrb-, cerisette hastened to take off her own clothes, and put on those of the princess, placing the crown of diamonds on her head.
she found this heavier than she expected; but then, she had never been accustomed to wear crowns, which makes all the difference.
at the gates of the city the carriage was stopped by a guard of honour sent by the king as an escort to his son's bride.
though cerisette and her mother could of course see nothing of what was going on outside, they heard plainly the shouts of welcome from the crowds along the streets.
the carriage stopped at length in the vast hall which becasigue had prepared for the reception of the princess.
the grand chamberlain and the lord high steward were awaiting her, and when the false bride stepped into the brilliantly lighted room, they bowed low, and said they had orders to inform his highness the moment she arrived.
the prince, whom the strict etiquette of the court had prevented from being present in the underground hall, was burning with impatience in his own apartments.
"so she had come!"
cried he, throwing down the bow he had been pretending to mend.
"well, was i not right?
is she not a miracle of beauty and grace?
and has she her equal in the whole world?"
the ministers looked at each other, and made no reply; till at length the chamberlain, who was the bolder of the two, observed: "my lord, as to her beauty, you can judge of that for yourself.
no doubt it is as great as you say; but at present it seems to have suffered, as is natural, from the fatigues of the journey."
this was certainly not what the prince had expected to hear.
could the portrait have flattered her?
he had known of such things before, and a cold shiver ran through him; but with an effort he kept silent from further questioning, and only said: "has the king been told that the princess is in the palace?"
"yes, highness; and he has probably already joined her."
"then i will go too," said the prince.
weak as he was from his long illness, the prince descended the staircase, supported by the ministers, and entered the room just in time to hear his father's loud cry of astonishment and disgust at the sight of cerisette.
"there was been treachery at work," he exclaimed, while the prince leant, dumb with horror, against the doorpost.
but the lady in waiting, who had been prepared for something of the sort, advanced, holding in her hand the letters which the king and queen had entrusted to her.
"this is the princess desiree," said she, pretending to have heard nothing, "and i have the honour to present to you these letters from my liege lord and lady, together with the casket containing the princess" jewels."
the king did not move or answer her; so the prince, leaning on the arm of becasigue, approached a little closer to the false princess, hoping against hope that his eyes had deceived him.
but the longer he looked the more he agreed with his father that there was treason somewhere, for in no single respect did the portrait resemble the woman before him.
cerisette was so tall that the dress of the princess did not reach her ankles, and so thin that her bones showed through the stuff.
besides that her nose was hooked, and her teeth black and ugly.
in his turn, the prince stood rooted to the spot.
at last he spoke, and his words were addressed to his father, and not to the bride who had come so far to marry him.
"we have been deceived," he said, "and it will cost me my life."
and he leaned so heavily on the envoy that becasigue feared he was going to faint, and hastily laid him on the floor.
for some minutes no one could attend to anybody but the prince; but as soon as he revived the lady in waiting made herself heard.
"oh, my lovely princess, why did we ever leave home?"
cried she.
"but the king your father will avenge the insults that have been heaped on you when we tell him how you have been treated.'"
i will tell him myself," replied the king in wrath; "he promised me a wonder of beauty, he has sent me a skeleton!
i am not surprised that he has kept her for fifteen years hidden away from the eyes of the world.
take them both away," he continued, turning to his guards, "and lodge them in the state prison.
there is something more i have to learn of this matter."
his orders were obeyed, and the prince, loudly bewailing his sad fate, was led back to bed, where for many days he lay in a high fever.
at length he slowly began to gain strength, but his sorrow was still so great that he could not bear the sight of a strange face, and shuddered at the notion of taking his proper part in the court ceremonies.
unknown to the king, or to anybody but becasigue, he planned that, as soon as he was able, he would make his escape and pass the rest of his life alone in some solitary place.
it was some weeks before he had regained his health sufficiently to carry out his design; but finally, one beautiful starlight night, the two friends stole away, and when the king woke next morning he found a letter lying by his bed, saying that his son had gone, he knew not whither.
he wept bitter tears at the news, for he loved the prince dearly; but he felt that perhaps the young man had done wisely, and he trusted to time and becasigue's influence to bring the wanderer home.
and while these things were happening, what had become of the white doe?
though when she sprang from the carriage she was aware that some unkind fate had changed her into an animal, yet, till she saw herself in a stream, she had no idea what it was.
"is it really, i, desiree?"
she said to herself, weeping.
"what wicked fairy can have treated me so; and shall i never, never take my own shape again?
my only comfort that, in this great forest, full of lions and serpents, my life will be a short one."
now the fairy tulip was as much grieved at the sad fate of the princess as desiree's own mother could have been if she had known of it.
still, she could not help feeling that if the king and queen had listened to her advice the girl would by this time be safely in the walls of her new home.
however, she loved desiree too much to let her suffer more than could be helped, and it was she who guided eglantine to the place where the white doe was standing, cropping the grass which was her dinner.
at the sound of footsteps the pretty creature lifted her head, and when she saw her faithful companion approaching she bounded towards her, and rubbed her head on eglantine's shoulder.
the maid of honour was surprised; but she was fond of animals, and stroked the white doe tenderly, speaking gently to her all the while.
suddenly the beautiful creature lifted her head, and looked up into eglantine's face, with tears streaming from her eyes.
a thought flashed through her mind, and quick as lightning the girl flung herself on her knees, and lifting the animal's feet kissed them one by one.
"my princess!
o my dear princess!"
cried she; and again the white doe rubbed her head against her, for thought the spiteful fairy had taken away her power of speech, she had not deprived her of her reason!
all day long the two remained together, and when eglantine grew hungry she was led by the white doe to a part of the forest where pears and peaches grew in abundance; but, as night came on, the maid of honour was filled with the terrors of wild beasts which had beset the princess during her first night in the forest.
"is there no hut or cave we could go into?"
asked she.
but the doe only shook her head; and the two sat down and wept with fright.
the fairy tulip, who, in spite of her anger, was very soft-hearted, was touched at their distress, and flew quickly to their help."
i can not take away the spell altogether," she said, "for the fairy of the fountain is stronger than i; but i can shorten the time of your punishment, and am able to make it less hard, for as soon as darkness fall you shall resume your own shape."
to think that by-and-by she would cease to be a white doe -- indeed, that she would at once cease to be one during the night -- was for the present joy enough for desiree, and she skipped about on the grass in the prettiest manner.
"go straight down the path in front of you," continued the fairy, smiling as she watched her; "go straight down the path and you will soon reach a little hut where you will find shelter."
and with these words she vanished, leaving her hearers happier than they ever thought they could be again.
an old woman was standing at the door of the hut when eglantine drew near, with the white doe trotting by her side.
"good evening!"
she said; "could you give me a night's lodging for myself and my doe?"
"certainly i can," replied the old woman.
and she led them into a room with two little white beds, so clean and comfortable that it made you sleepy even to look at them.
the door had hardly closed behind the old woman when the sun sank below the horizon, and desiree became a girl again.
"oh, eglantine!
what should i have done if you had not followed me," she cried.
and she flung herself into her friend's arms in a transport of delight.
early in the morning eglantine was awakened by the sound of someone scratching at the door, and on opening her eyes she saw the white doe struggling to get out.
the little creature looked up and into her face, and nodded her head as the maid of honour unfastened the latch, but bounded away into the woods, and was lost to sight in a moment.
meanwhile, the prince and becasigue were wandering through the wood, till at last the prince grew so tired, that he lay down under a tree, and told becasigue that he had better go in search of food, and of some place where they could sleep.
becasigue had not gone very far, when a turn of the path brought him face to face with the old woman who was feeding her doves before her cottage.
"could you give me some milk and fruit?"
asked he."
i am very hungry myself, and, besides, i have left a friend behind me who is still weak from illness."
"certainly i can," answered the old woman.
"but come and sit down in my kitchen while i catch the goat and milk it."
becasigue was glad enough to do as he was bid, and in a few minutes the old woman returned with a basket brimming over with oranges and grapes.
"if your friend has been ill he should not pass the night in the forest," said she."
i have room in my hut -- tiny enough, it is true; but better than nothing, and to that you are both heartily welcome."
becasigue thanked her warmly, and as by this time it was almost sunset, he set out to fetch the prince.
it was while he was absent that eglantine and the white doe entered the hut, and having, of course, no idea that in the very next room was the man whose childish impatience had been the cause of all their troubles.
in spite of his fatigue, the prince slept badly, and directly it was light he rose, and bidding becasigue remain where he was, as he wished to be alone, he strolled out into the forest.
he walked on slowly, just as his fancy led him, till, suddenly, he came to a wide open space, and in the middle was the white doe quietly eating her breakfast.
she bounded off at the sight of a man, but not before the prince, who had fastened on his bow without thinking, had let fly several arrows, which the fairy tulip took care should do her no harm.
but, quickly as she ran, she soon felt her strength failing her, for fifteen years of life in a tower had not taught her how to exercise her limbs.
luckily, the prince was too weak to follow her far, and a turn of a path brought her close to the hut, where eglantine was awaiting her.
panting for breath, she entered their room, and flung herself down on the floor.
when it was dark again, and she was once more the princess desiree, she told eglantine what had befallen her."
i feared the fairy of the fountain, and the cruel beasts," said she; "but somehow i never thought of the dangers that i ran from men.
i do not know now what saved me."
"you must stay quietly here till the time of your punishment is over," answered eglantine.
but when the morning dawned, and the girl turned into a doe, the longing for the forest came over her, and she sprang away as before.
as soon as the prince was awake he hastened to the place where, only the day before, he had found the white doe feeding; but of course she had taken care to go in the opposite direction.
much disappointed, he tried first one green path and then another, and at last, wearied with walking, he threw himself down and went fast asleep.
just at this moment the white doe sprang out of a thicket near by, and started back trembling when she beheld her enemy lying there.
yet, instead of turning to fly, something bade her go and look at him unseen.
as she gazed a thrill ran through her, for she felt that, worn and wasted though he was by illness, it was the face of her destined husband.
gently stooping over him she kissed his forehead, and at her touch he awoke.
for a minute they looked at each other, and to his amazement he recognized the white doe which had escaped him the previous day.
but in an instant the animal was aroused to a sense of her danger, and she fled with all her strength into the thickest part of the forest.
quick as lightning the prince was on her track, but this time it was with no wish to kill or even wound the beautiful creature.
"pretty doe!
pretty doe!
stop!
i wo n't hurt you," cried he, but his words were carried away by the wind.
at length the doe could run no more, and when the prince reached her, she was lying stretched out on the grass, waiting for her death blow.
but instead the prince knelt at her side, and stroked her, and bade her fear nothing, as he would take care of her.
so he fetched a little water from the stream in his horn hunting cup, then, cutting some branches from the trees, he twisted them into a litter which he covered with moss, and laid the white doe gently on it.
for a long time they remained thus, but when desiree saw by the way that the light struck the trees, that he sun must be near its setting, she was filled with alarm lest the darkness should fall, and the prince should behold her in her human shape.
"no, he must not see me for the first time here," she thought, and instantly began to plan how to get rid of him.
then she opened her mouth and let her tongue hang out, as if she were dying of thirst, and the prince, as she expected, hastened to the stream to get her some more water.
when he returned, the white doe was gone.
that night desiree confessed to eglantine that her pursuer was no other than the prince, and that far from flattering him, the portrait had never done him justice.
"is it not hard to meet him in this shape," wept she, "when we both love each other so much?"
but eglantine comforted her, and reminded her that in a short time all would be well.
the prince was very angry at the flight of the white doe, for whom he had taken so much trouble, and returning to the cottage he poured out his adventures and his wrath to becasigue, who could not help smiling.
"she shall not escape me again," cried the prince.
"if i hunt her every day for a year, i will have her at last."
and in this frame of mind he went to bed.
when the white doe entered the forest next morning, she had not made up her mind whether she would go and meet the prince, or whether she would shun him, and hide in thickets of which he knew nothing.
she decided that the last plan was the best; and so it would have been if the prince had not taken the very same direction in search of her.
quite by accident he caught sight of her white skin shining through the bushes, and at the same instant she heard a twig snap under his feet.
in a moment she was up and away, but the prince, not knowing how else to capture her, aimed an arrow at her leg, which brought her to the ground.
the young man felt like a murderer as he ran hastily up to where the white doe lay, and did his best to soothe the pain she felt, which, in reality, was the last part of the punishment sent by the fairy of the fountain.
first he brought her some water, and then he fetched some healing herbs, and having crushed them in his hand, laid them on the wound.
"ah!
what a wretch i was to have hurt you," cried he, resting her head upon his knees; "and now you will hate me and fly from me for ever!"
for some time the doe lay quietly where she was, but, as before, she remembered that the hour of her transformation was near.
she struggled to her feet, but the prince would not hear of her walking, and thinking the old woman might be able to dress her wound better than he could, he took her in his arms to carry her back to the hut.
but, small as she was, she made herself so heavy that, after staggering a few steps under her weight, he laid her down, and tied her fast to a tree with some of the ribbons of his hat.
this done he went away to get help.
meanwhile eglantine had grown very uneasy at the long absence of her mistress, and had come out to look for her.
just as the prince passed out of sight the fluttering ribbons dance before her eyes, and she descried her beautiful princess bound to a tree.
with all her might she worked at the knots, but not a single one could she undo, though all appeared so easy.
she was still busy with them when a voice behind her said: "pardon me, fair lady, but it is my doe you are trying to steal!"
"excuse me, good knight" answered eglantine, hardly glancing at him, "but it is my doe that is tied up here!
and if you wish for a proof of it, you can see if she knows me or not.
touch my heart, my little one," she continued, dropping on her knees.
and the doe lifted up its fore-foot and laid it on her side.
"now put your arms round my neck, and sigh."
and again the doe did as she was bid.
"you are right," said the prince; "but it is with sorrow i give her up to you, for though i have wounded her yet i love her deeply."
to this eglantine answered nothing; but carefully raising up the doe, she led her slowly to the hut.
now both the prince and becasigue were quite unaware that the old woman had any guests besides themselves, and, following afar, were much surprised to behold eglantine and her charge enter the cottage.
they lost no time in questioning the old woman, who replied that she knew nothing about the lady and her white doe, who slept next the chamber occupied by the prince and his friend, but that they were very quiet, and paid her well.
then she went back to her kitchen.
"do you know," said becasigue, when they were alone," i am certain that the lady we saw is the maid of honour to the princess desiree, whom i met at the palace.
and, as her room is next to this, it will be easy to make a small hole through which i can satisfy myself whether i am right or not."
so, taking a knife out of his pocket, he began to saw away the woodwork.
the girls heard the grating noise, but fancying it was a mouse, paid no attention, and becasigue was left in peace to pursue his work.
at length the hole was large enough for him to peep through, and the sight was one to strike him dumb with amazement.
he had guessed truly: the tall lady was eglantine herself; but the other -- where had he seen her?
ah!
now he knew -- it was the lady of the portrait!
desiree, in a flowing dress of green silk, was lying stretched out upon cushions, and as eglantine bent over her to bathe the wounded leg, she began to talk: "oh!
let me die," cried she, "rather than go on leading this life.
you can not tell the misery of being a beast all the day, and unable to speak to the man i love, to whose impatience i owe my cruel fate.
yet, even so, i can not bring myself to hate him."
these words, low though they were spoken, reached becasigue, who could hardly believe his ears.
he stood silent for a moment; then, crossing to the window out of which the prince was gazing, he took his arm and led him across the room.
a single glance was sufficient to show the prince that it was indeed desiree; and how another had come to the palace bearing her name, at that instant he neither knew nor cared.
stealing on tip-toe from the room, he knocked at the next door, which was opened by eglantine, who thought it was the old woman bearing their supper.
she started back at the sight of the prince, whom this time she also recognised.
but he thrust her aside, and flung himself at the feet of desiree, to whom he poured out all his heart!
dawn found them still conversing; and the sun was high in the heavens before the princess perceived that she retained her human form.
ah!
how happy she was when she knew that the days of her punishment were over; and with a glad voice she told the prince the tale of her enchantment.
so the story ended well after all; and the fairy tulip, who turned out to be the old woman of the hut, made the young couple such a wedding feast as had never been seen since the world began.
and everybody was delighted, except cerisette and her mother, who were put in a boat and carried to a small island, where they had to work hard for their living.
the girl-fish -lsb- contes des fees, par madame d'aulnoy. -rsb-
once upon a time there lived, on the bank of a stream, a man and a woman who had a daughter.
as she was an only child, and very pretty besides, they never could make up their minds to punish her for her faults or to teach her nice manners; and as for work -- she laughed in her mother's face if she asked her to help cook the dinner or to wash the plates.
all the girl would do was to spend her days in dancing and playing with her friends; and for any use she was to her parents they might as well have no daughter at all.
however, one morning her mother looked so tired that even the selfish girl could not help seeing it, and asked if there was anything she was able to do, so that her mother might rest a little.
the good woman looked so surprised and grateful for this offer that the girl felt rather ashamed, and at that moment would have scrubbed down the house if she had been requested; but her mother only begged her to take the fishing-net out to the bank of the river and mend some holes in it, as her father intended to go fishing that night.
the girl took the net and worked so hard that soon there was not a hole to be found.
she felt quite pleased with herself, though she had had plenty to amuse her, as everybody who passed by had stopped and had a chat with her.
but by this time the sun was high overhead, and she was just folding her net to carry it home again, when she heard a splash behind her, and looking round she saw a big fish jump into the air.
seizing the net with both hands, she flung it into the water where the circles were spreading one behind the other, and, more by luck than skill, drew out the fish.
"well, you are a beauty!"
she cried to herself; but the fish looked up to her and said: "you had better not kill me, for, if you do, i will turn you into a fish yourself!"
the girl laughed contemptuously, and ran straight in to her mother.
"look what i have caught," she said gaily; "but it is almost a pity to eat it, for it can talk, and it declares that, if i kill it, it will turn me into a fish too."
"oh, put it back, put it back!"
implored the mother.
"perhaps it is skilled in magic.
and i should die, and so would your father, if anything should happen to you."
"oh, nonsense, mother; what power could a creature like that have over me?
besides, i am hungry, and if i do n't have my dinner soon, i shall be cross."
and off she went to gather some flowers to stick in her hair.
about an hour later the blowing of a horn told her that dinner was ready.
"did n't i say that fish would be delicious?"
she cried; and plunging her spoon into the dish the girl helped herself to a large piece.
but the instant it touched her mouth a cold shiver ran through her.
her head seemed to flatten, and her eyes to look oddly round the corners; her legs and her arms were stuck to her sides, and she gasped wildly for breath.
with a mighty bound she sprang through the window and fell into the river, where she soon felt better, and was able to swim to the sea, which was close by.
no sooner had she arrived there than the sight of her sad face attracted the notice of some of the other fishes, and they pressed round her, begging her to tell them her story."
i am not a fish at all," said the new-comer, swallowing a great deal of salt water as she spoke; for you can not learn how to be a proper fish all in a moment."
i am not a fish at all, but a girl; at least i was a girl a few minutes ago, only --" and she ducked her head under the waves so that they should not see her crying.
"only you did not believe that the fish you caught had power to carry out its threat," said an old tunny.
"well, never mind, that has happened to all of us, and it really is not a bad life.
cheer up and come with us and see our queen, who lives in a palace that is much more beautiful than any your queens can boast of."
the new fish felt a little afraid of taking such a journey; but as she was still more afraid of being left alone, she waved her tail in token of consent, and off they all set, hundreds of them together.
the people on the rocks and in the ships that saw them pass said to each other: "look what a splendid shoal!"
and had no idea that they were hastening to the queen's palace; but, then, dwellers on land have so little notion of what goes on in the bottom of the sea!
certainly the little new fish had none.
she had watched jelly-fish and nautilus swimming a little way below the surface, and beautiful coloured sea-weeds floating about; but that was all.
now, when she plunged deeper her eyes fell upon strange things.
wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, inestimable stones, unvalued jewels -- all scattered in the bottom of the sea!
dead men's bones were there also, and long white creatures who had never seen the light, for they mostly dwelt in the clefts of rocks where the sun's rays could not come.
at first our little fish felt as if she were blind also, but by-and-by she began to make out one object after another in the green dimness, and by the time she had swum for a few hours all became clear.
"here we are at last," cried a big fish, going down into a deep valley, for the sea has its mountains and valleys just as much as the land.
"that is the palace of the queen of the fishes, and i think you must confess that the emperor himself has nothing so fine."
"it is beautiful indeed," gasped the little fish, who was very tired with trying to swim as fast as the rest, and beautiful beyond words the palace was.
the walls were made of pale pink coral, worn smooth by the waters, and round the windows were rows of pearls; the great doors were standing open, and the whole troop floated into the chamber of audience, where the queen, who was half a woman after all, was seated on a throne made of a green and blue shell.
"who are you, and where do you come from?"
said she to the little fish, whom the others had pushed in front.
and in a low, trembling voice, the visitor told her story."
i was once a girl too," answered the queen, when the fish had ended; "and my father was the king of a great country.
a husband was found for me, and on my wedding-day my mother placed her crown on my head and told me that as long as i wore it i should likewise be queen.
for many months i was as happy as a girl could be, especially when i had a little son to play with.
but, one morning, when i was walking in my gardens, there came a giant and snatched the crown from my head.
holding me fast, he told me that he intended to give the crown to his daughter, and to enchant my husband the prince, so that he should not know the difference between us.
since then she has filled my place and been queen in my stead.
as for me, i was so miserable that i threw myself into the sea, and my ladies, who loved me, declared that they would die too; but, instead of dying, some wizard, who pitied my fate, turned us all into fishes, though he allowed me to keep the face and body of a woman.
and fished we must remain till someone brings me back my crown again!'"
i will bring it back if you tell me what to do!"
cried the little fish, who would have promised anything that was likely to carry her up to earth again.
and the queen answered: "yes, i will tell you what to do."
she sat silent for a moment, and then went on: "there is no danger if you will only follow my counsel; and first you must return to earth, and go up to the top of a high mountain, where the giant has built his castle.
you will find him sitting on the steps weeping for his daughter, who has just died while the prince was away hunting.
at the last she sent her father my crown by a faithful servant.
but i warn you to be careful, for if he sees you he may kill you.
therefore i will give you the power to change yourself into any creature that may help you best.
you have only to strike your forehead, and call out its name."
this time the journey to land seemed much shorter than before, and when once the fish reached the shore she struck her forehead sharply with her tail, and cried: "deer, come to me!"
in a moment the small, slimy body disappeared, and in its place stood a beautiful beast with branching horns and slender legs, quivering with longing to be gone.
throwing back her head and snuffing the air, she broke into a run, leaping easily over the rivers and walls that stood in her way.
it happened that the king's son had been hunting since daybreak, but had killed nothing, and when the deer crossed his path as he was resting under a tree he determined to have her.
he flung himself on his horse, which went like the wind, and as the prince had often hunted the forest before, and knew all the short cuts, he at last came up with the panting beast.
"by your favour let me go, and do not kill me," said the deer, turning to the prince with tears in her eyes, "for i have far to run and much to do."
and as the prince, struck dumb with surprise, only looked at her, the deer cleared the next wall and was soon out of sight.
"that ca n't really be a deer," thought the prince to himself, reining in his horse and not attempting to follow her.
"no deer ever had eyes like that.
it must be an enchanted maiden, and i will marry her and no other."
so, turning his horse's head, he rode slowly back to his palace.
the deer reached the giant's castle quite out of breath, and her heart sank as she gazed at the tall, smooth walls which surrounded it.
then she plucked up courage and cried: "ant, come to me!"
and in a moment the branching horns and beautiful shape had vanished, and a tiny brown ant, invisible to all who did not look closely, was climbing up the walls.
it was wonderful how fast she went, that little creature!
the wall must have appeared miles high in comparison with her own body; yet, in less time than would have seemed possible, she was over the top and down in the courtyard on the other side.
here she paused to consider what had best be done next, and looking about her she saw that one of the walls had a tall tree growing by it, and in the corner was a window very nearly on a level with the highest branches of the tree.
"monkey, come to me!"
cried the ant; and before you could turn round a monkey was swinging herself from the topmost branches into the room where the giant lay snoring.
"perhaps he will be so frightened at the sight of me that he may die of fear, and i shall never get the crown," thought the monkey."
i had better become something else."
and she called softly: "parrot, come to me!"
then a pink and grey parrot hopped up to the giant, who by this time was stretching himself and giving yawns which shook the castle.
the parrot waited a little, until he was really awake, and then she said boldly that she had been sent to take away the crown, which was not his any longer, now his daughter the queen was dead.
on hearing these words the giant leapt out of bed with an angry roar, and sprang at the parrot in order to wring her neck with his great hands.
but the bird was too quick for him, and, flying behind his back, begged the giant to have patience, as her death would be of no use to him.
"that is true," answered the giant; "but i am not so foolish as to give you that crown for nothing.
let me think what i will have in exchange!"
and he scratched his huge head for several minutes, for giants" minds always move slowly.
"ah, yes, that will do!"
exclaimed the giant at last, his face brightening.
"you shall have the crown if you will bring me a collar of blue stones from the arch of st. martin, in the great city."
now when the parrot had been a girl she had often heard of this wonderful arch and the precious stones and marbles that had been let into it.
it sounded as if it would be a very hard thing to get them away from the building of which they formed a part, but all had gone well with her so far, and at any rate she could but try.
so she bowed to the giant, and made her way back to the window where the giant could not see her.
then she called quickly: "eagle, come to me!"
before she had even reached the tree she felt herself borne up on strong wings ready to carry her to the clouds if she wished to go there, and seeming a mere speck in the sky, she was swept along till she beheld the arch of st. martin far below, with the rays of the sun shining on it.
then she swooped down, and, hiding herself behind a buttress so that she could not be detected from below, she set herself to dig out the nearest blue stones with her beak.
it was even harder work than she had expected; but at last it was done, and hope arose in her heart.
she next drew out a piece of string that she had found hanging from a tree, and sitting down to rest strung the stones together.
when the necklace was finished she hung it round her neck, and called: "parrot, come to me!"
and a little later the pink and grey parrot stood before the giant.
"here is the necklace you asked for," said the parrot.
and the eyes of the giant glistened as he took the heap of blue stones in his hand.
but for all that he was not minded to give up the crown.
"they are hardly as blue as i expected," he grumbled, though the parrot knew as well as he did that he was not speaking the truth; "so you must bring me something else in exchange for the crown you covet so much.
if you fail it will cost you not only the crown but you life also."
"what is it you want now?"
asked the parrot; and the giant answered: "if i give you my crown i must have another still more beautiful; and this time you shall bring me a crown of stars."
the parrot turned away, and as soon as she was outside she murmured: "toad, come to me!"
and sure enough a toad she was, and off she set in search of the starry crown.
she had not gone far before she came to a clear pool, in which the stars were reflected so brightly that they looked quite real to touch and handle.
stooping down she filled a bag she was carrying with the shining water and, returning to the castle, wove a crown out of the reflected stars.
then she cried as before: "parrot, come to me!"
and in the shape of a parrot she entered the presence of the giant.
"here is the crown you asked for," she said; and this time the giant could not help crying out with admiration.
he knew he was beaten, and still holding the chaplet of stars, he turned to the girl.
"your power is greater than mine: take the crown; you have won it fairly!"
the parrot did not need to be told twice.
seizing the crown, she sprang on to the window, crying: "monkey, come to me!"
and to a monkey, the climb down the tree into the courtyard did not take half a minute.
when she had reached the ground she said again: "ant, come to me!"
and a little ant at once began to crawl over the high wall.
how glad the ant was to be out of the giant's castle, holding fast the crown which had shrunk into almost nothing, as she herself had done, but grew quite big again when the ant exclaimed: "deer, come to me!"
surely no deer ever ran so swiftly as that one!
on and on she went, bounding over rivers and crashing through tangles till she reached the sea.
here she cried for the last time: "fish, come to me!"
and, plunging in, she swam along the bottom as far as the palace, where the queen and all the fishes gathered together awaiting her.
the hours since she had left had gone very slowly -- as they always do to people that are waiting -- and many of them had quite given up hope."
i am tired of staying here," grumbled a beautiful little creature, whose colours changed with every movement of her body," i want to see what is going on in the upper world.
it must be months since that fish went away."
"it was a very difficult task, and the giant must certainly have killed her or she would have been back long ago," remarked another.
"the young flies will be coming out now," murmured a third, "and they will all be eaten up by the river fish!
it is really too bad!"
when, suddenly, a voice was heard from behind: "look!
look!
what is that bright thing that is moving so swiftly towards us?"
and the queen started up, and stood on her tail, so excited was she.
a silence fell on all the crowd, and even the grumblers held their peace and gazed like the rest.
on and on came the fish, holding the crown tightly in her mouth, and the others moved back to let her pass.
on she went right up to the queen, who bent and, taking the crown, placed it on her own head.
then a wonderful thing happened.
her tail dropped away or, rather, it divided and grew into two legs and a pair of the prettiest feet in the world, while her maidens, who were grouped around her, shed their scales and became girls again.
they all turned and looked at each other first, and next at the little fish who had regained her own shape and was more beautiful than any of them.
"it is you who have given us back our life; you, you!"
they cried; and fell to weeping from very joy.
so they all went back to earth and the queen's palace, and quite forgot the one that lay under the sea.
but they had been so long away that they found many changes.
the prince, the queen's husband, had died some years since, and in his place was her son, who had grown up and was king!
even in his joy at seeing his mother again an air of sadness clung to him, and at last the queen could bear it no longer, and begged him to walk with her in the garden.
seated together in a bower of jessamine -- where she had passed long hours as a bride -- she took her son's hand and entreated him to tell her the cause of his sorrow.
"for," said she, "if i can give you happiness you shall have it."
"it is no use," answered the prince; "nobody can help me.
i must bear it alone."
"but at least let me share your grief," urged the queen.
"no one can do that," said he."
i have fallen in love with what i can never marry, and i must get on as best i can."
"it may not be as impossible as you think," answered the queen.
"at any rate, tell me."
there was silence between them for a moment, then, turning away his head, the prince answered gently: "i have fallen in love with a beautiful deer!"
"ah, if that is all," exclaimed the queen joyfully.
and she told him in broken words that, as he had guessed, it was no deer but an enchanted maiden who had won back the crown and brought her home to her own people.
"she is here, in my palace," added the queen."
i will take you to her."
but when the prince stood before the girl, who was so much more beautiful than anything he had ever dreamed of, he lost all his courage, and stood with bent head before her.
then the maiden drew near, and her eyes, as she looked at him, were the eyes of the deer that day in the forest.
she whispered softly: "by your favour let me go, and do not kill me."
and the prince remembered her words, and his heart was filled with happiness.
and the queen, his mother, watched them and smiled.
the owl and the eagle -lsb- from cuentos populars catalans, por lo dr. d. francisco de s. maspons y labros. -rsb-
once upon a time, in a savage country where the snow lies deep for many months in the year, there lived an owl and an eagle.
though they were so different in many ways they became great friends, and at length set up house together, one passing the day in hunting and the other the night.
in this manner they did not see very much of each other -- and perhaps agreed all the better for that; but at any rate they were perfectly happy, and only wanted one thing, or, rather, two things, and that was a wife for each."
i really am too tired when i come home in the evening to clean up the house," said the eagle.
"and i am much too sleepy at dawn after a long night's hunting to begin to sweep and dust," answered the owl.
and they both made up their minds that wives they must have.
they flew about in their spare moments to the young ladies of their acquaintance, but the girls all declared they preferred one husband to two.
the poor birds began to despair, when, one evening, after they had been for a wonder hunting together, they found two sisters fast asleep on their two beds.
the eagle looked at the owl and the owl looked at the eagle.
"they will make capital wives if they will only stay with us," said they.
and they flew off to give themselves a wash, and to make themselves smart before the girls awoke.
for many hours the sisters slept on, for they had come a long way, from a town where there was scarcely anything to eat, and felt weak and tired.
but by-and-by they opened their eyes and saw the two birds watching them."
i hope you are rested?"
asked the owl politely.
"oh, yes, thank you," answered the girls.
"only we are so very hungry.
do you think we could have something to eat?"
"certainly!"
replied the eagle.
and he flew away to a farmhouse a mile or two off, and brought back a nest of eggs in his strong beak; while the owl, catching up a tin pot, went to a cottage where lived an old woman and her cow, and entering the shed by the window dipped the pot into the pail of new milk that stood there.
the girls were so much delighted with the kindness and cleverness of their hosts that, when the birds inquired if they would marry them and stay there for ever, they accepted without so much as giving it a second thought.
so the eagle took the younger sister to wife, and the owl the elder, and never was a home more peaceful than theirs!
all went well for several months, and then the eagle's wife had a son, while, on the same day, the owl's wife gave birth to a frog, which she placed directly on the banks of a stream near by, as he did not seem to like the house.
the children both grew quickly, and were never tired of playing together, or wanted any other companions.
one night in the spring, when the ice had melted, and the snow was gone, the sisters sat spinning in the house, awaiting their husbands" return.
but long though they watched, neither the owl nor the eagle ever came; neither that day nor the next, nor the next, nor the next.
at last the wives gave up all hope of their return; but, being sensible women, they did not sit down and cry, but called their children, and set out, determined to seek the whole world over till the missing husbands were found.
now the women had no idea in which direction the lost birds had gone, but they knew that some distance off was a thick forest, where good hunting was to be found.
it seemed a likely place to find them, or, at any rate, they might hear something of them, and they walked quickly on, cheered by the thought that they were doing something.
suddenly the younger sister, who was a little in front, gave a cry of surprise.
"oh!
look at that lake!"
she said, "we shall never get across it."
"yes we shall," answered the elder;" i know what to do."
and taking a long piece of string from her pocket, fastened it into the frog's mouth, like a bit.
"you must swim across the lake," she said, stooping to put him in, "and we will walk across on the line behind you."
and so they did, till they got to about the middle of the lake, when the frog boy stopped."
i do n't like it, and i wo n't go any further," cried he sulkily.
and his mother had to promise him all sorts of nice things before he would go on again.
when at last they reached the other side, the owl's wife untied the line from the frog's mouth and told him he might rest and play by the lake till they got back from the forest.
then she and her sister and the boy walked on, with the great forest looming before them.
but they had by this time come far and were very tired, and felt glad enough to see some smoke curling up from a little hut in front of them.
"let us go in and ask for some water," said the eagle's wife; and in they went.
the inside of the hut was so dark that at first they could see nothing at all; but presently they heard a feeble croak from one corner.
but sisters turned to look, and there, tied by wings and feet, and their eyes sunken, were the husbands that they sought.
quick as lightning the wives cut the deer-thongs which bound them; but the poor birds were too weak from pain and starvation to do more than utter soft sounds of joy.
hardly, however, were they set free, than a voice of thunder made the two sisters jump, while the little boy clung tightly round his mother's neck.
"what are you doing in my house?"
cried she.
and the wives answered boldly that now they had found their husbands they meant to save them from such a wicked witch.
"well, i will give you your chance," answered the ogress, with a hideous grin; "we will see if you can slide down this mountain.
if you can reach the bottom of the cavern, you shall have your husbands back again."
and as she spoke she pushed them before her out of the door to the edge of a precipice, which went straight down several hundreds of feet.
unseen by the witch, the frog's mother fastened one end of the magic line about her, and whispered to the little boy to hold fast the other.
she had scarcely done so when the witch turned round.
"you do n't seem to like your bargain," said she; but the girl answered: "oh, yes, i am quite ready.
i was only waiting for you!"
and sitting down she began her slide.
on, on, she went, down to such a depth that even the witch's eyes could not follow her; but she took for granted that the woman was dead, and told the sister to take her place.
at that instant, however, the head of the elder appeared above the rock, brought upwards by the magic line.
the witch gave a howl of disgust, and hid her face in her hands; thus giving the younger sister time to fasten the cord to her waist before the ogress looked up.
"you ca n't expect such luck twice," she said; and the girl sat down and slid over the edge.
but in a few minutes she too was back again, and the witch saw that she had failed, and feared lest her power was going.
trembling with rage though she was, she dared not show it, and only laughed hideously."
i sha'n' t let my prisoners go as easily as all that!"
she said.
"make my hair grow as thick and as black as yours, or else your husbands shall never see daylight again."
"that is quite simple," replied the elder sister; "only you must do as we did -- and perhaps you wo n't like the treatment."
"if you can bear it, of course i can," answered the witch.
and so the girls told her they had first smeared their heads with pitch and then laid hot stones upon them.
"it is very painful," said they, "but there is no other way that we know of.
and in order to make sure that all will go right, one of us will hold you down while the other pours on the pitch."
and so they did; and the elder sister let down her hair till it hung over the witch's eyes, so that she might believe it was her own hair growing.
then the other brought a huge stone, and, in short, there was an end of the witch.
the sisters were savages who had never seen a missionary.
so when the sisters saw that she was dead they went to the hut, and nursed their husbands till they grew strong.
then they picked up the frog, and all went to make another home on the other side of the great lake.
the frog and the lion fairy -lsb- from the journal of the anthropological institute. -rsb-
once upon a time there lived a king who was always at war with his neighbours, which was very strange, as he was a good and kind man, quite content with his own country, and not wanting to seize land belonging to other people.
perhaps he may have tried too much to please everybody, and that often ends in pleasing nobody; but, at any rate, he found himself, at the end of a hard struggle, defeated in battle, and obliged to fall back behind the walls of his capital city.
once there, he began to make preparations for a long siege, and the first thing he did was to plan how best to send his wife to a place of security.
the queen, who loved her husband dearly, would gladly have remained with him to share his dangers, but he would not allow it.
so they parted, with many tears, and the queen set out with a strong guard to a fortified castle on the outskirts of a great forest, some two hundred miles distant.
she cried nearly all the way, and when she arrived she cried still more, for everything in the castle was dusty and old, and outside there was only a gravelled courtyard, and the king had forbidden her to go beyond the walls without at least two soldiers to take care of her.
now the queen had only been married a few months, and in her own home she had been used to walk and ride all over the hills without any attendants at all; so she felt very dull at her being shut up in this way.
however, she bore it for a long while because it was the king's wish, but when time passed and there were no signs of the war drifting in the direction of the castle, she grew bolder, and sometimes strayed outside the walls, in the direction of the forest.
then came a dreadful period, when news from the king ceased entirely.
"he must surely be ill or dead," thought the poor girl, who even now was only sixteen."
i can bear it no longer, and if i do not get a letter from him soon i shall leave this horrible place and go back to see what is the matter.
oh!
i do wish i had never come away!"
so, without telling anyone what she intended to do, she ordered a little low carriage to be built, something like a sledge, only it was on two wheels -- just big enough to hold one person."
i am tired of being always in the castle," she said to her attendants; "and i mean to hunt a little.
quite close by, of course," she added, seeing the anxious look on their faces.
"and there is no reason that you should not hunt too."
all the faces brightened at that, for, to tell the truth, they were nearly as dull as their mistress; so the queen had her way, and two beautiful horses were brought from the stable to draw the little chariot.
at first the queen took care to keep near the rest of the hunt, but gradually she stayed away longer and longer, and at last, one morning, she took advantage of the appearance of a wild boar, after which her whole court instantly galloped, to turn into a path in the opposite direction.
unluckily, it did not happen to lead towards the king's palace, where she intended to go, but she was so afraid her flight would be noticed that she whipped up her horses till they ran away.
when she understood what was happening the poor young queen was terribly frightened, and, dropping the reins, clung to the side of the chariot.
the horses, thus left without any control, dashed blindly against a tree, and the queen was flung out on the ground, where she lay for some minutes unconscious.
a rustling sound near her at length caused her to open her eyes; before her stood a huge woman, almost a giantess, without any clothes save a lion's skin, which was thrown over her shoulders, while a dried snake's skin was plaited into her hair.
in one hand she held a club on which she leaned, and in the other a quiver full of arrows.
at the sight of this strange figure the queen thought she must be dead, and gazing on an inhabitant of another world.
so she murmured softly to herself: "i am not surprised that people are so loth to die when they know that they will see such horrible creatures."
but, low as she spoke, the giantess caught the words, and began to laugh.
"oh, do n't be afraid; you are still alive, and perhaps, after all, you may be sorry for it.
i am the lion fairy, and you are going to spend the rest of your days with me in my palace, which is quite near this.
so come along."
but the queen shrank back in horror.
"oh, madam lion, take me back, i pray you, to my castle; and fix what ransom you like, for my husband will pay it, whatever it is.
but the giantess shook her head."
i am rich enough already," she answered, "but i am often dull, and i think you may amuse me a little."
and, so saying, she changed her shape into that of a lion, and throwing the queen across her back, she went down the ten thousand steps that led to her palace.
the lion had reached the centre of the earth before she stopped in front of a house, lighted with lamps, and built on the edge of a lake of quicksilver.
in this lake various huge monsters might be seen playing or fighting -- the queen did not know which -- and around flew rooks and ravens, uttering dismal croaks.
in the distance was a mountain down whose sides waters slowly coursed -- these were the tears of unhappy lovers -- and nearer the gate were trees without either fruit of flowers, while nettles and brambles covered the ground.
if the castle had been gloomy, what did the queen feel about this?
for some days the queen was so much shaken by all she had gone through that she lay with her eyes closed, unable either to move or speak.
when she got better, the lion fairy told her that if she liked she could build herself a cabin, as she would have to spend her life in that place.
at these words the queen burst into tears, and implored her gaoler to put her to death rather than condemn her to such a life; but the lion fairy only laughed, and counselled her to try to make herself pleasant, as many worse things might befall her.
"is there no way in which i can touch your heart?"
asked the poor girl in despair.
"well, if you really wish to please me you will make me a pasty out of the stings of bees, and be sure it is good."
"but i do n't see any bees," answered the queen, looking round.
"oh, no, there are n't any," replied her tormentor; "but you will have to find them all the same."
and, so saying, she went away.
"after all, what does it matter?"
thought the queen to herself," i have only one life, and i can but lose it."
and not caring what she did, she left the palace and seating herself under a yew tree, poured out all her grief.
"oh, my dear husband," wept she, "what will you think when you come to the castle to fetch me and find me gone?
rather a thousand times that you should fancy me dead than imagine that i had forgotten you!
ah, how fortunate that the broken chariot should be lying in the wood, for then you may grieve for me as one devoured by wild beasts.
and if another should take my place in your heart -- well, at least i shall never know it."
she might have continued for long in this fashion had not the voice of a crow directly overhead attracted her attention.
looking up to see what was the matter she beheld, in the dim light, a crow holding a fat frog in his claws, which he evidently intended for his supper.
the queen rose hastily from the seat, and striking the bird sharply on the claws with the fan which hung from her side, she forced him to drop the frog, which fell to the round more dead than alive.
the crow, furious at his disappointment, flew angrily away.
as soon as the frog had recovered her senses she hopped up to the queen, who was still sitting under the yew.
standing on her hind legs, and bowing low before her, she said gently: "beautiful lady, by what mischance do you come here?
you are the only creature that i have seen do a kind deed since a fatal curiosity lured me to this place."
"what sort of a frog can you be that knows the language of mortals?"
asked the queen in her turn.
"but if you do, tell me, i pray, if i alone am a captive, for hitherto i have beheld no one but the monsters of the lake."
"once upon a time they were men and women like yourself," answered the frog, "but having power in their hands, they used it for their own pleasure.
therefore fate has sent them here for a while to bear the punishment of their misdoings."
"but you, friend frog, you are not one of these wicked people, i am sure?"
asked the queen."
i am half a fairy," replied the frog; "but, although i have certain magic gifts, i am not able to do all i wish.
and if the lion fairy were to know of my presence in her kingdom she would hasten to kill me."
"but if you are a fairy, how was it that you were so nearly slain by the crow?"
said the queen, wrinkling her forehead.
"because the secret of my power lies in my little cap that is made of rose leaves; but i had laid it aside for the moment, when that horrible crow pounced upon me.
once it is on my head i fear nothing.
but let me repeat; had it not been for you i could not have escaped death, and if i can do anything to help you, or soften your hard fate, you have only to tell me."
"alas," sighed the queen," i have been commanded by the lion fairy to make her a pasty out of the stings of bees, and, as far as i can discover, there are none here; as how should there be, seeing there are no flowers for them to feed on?
and, even if there were, how could i catch them?"
"leave it to me," said the frog," i will manage it for you."
and, uttering a strange noise, she struck the ground thrice with her foot.
in an instant six thousand frogs appeared before her, one of them bearing a little cap.
"cover yourselves with honey, and hop round by the beehives," commanded the frog, putting on the cap which her friend was holding in her mouth.
and turning to the queen, he added: "the lion fairy keeps a store of bees in a secret place near to the bottom of the ten thousand steps leading into the upper world.
not that she wants them for herself, but they are sometimes useful to her in punishing her victims.
however, this time we will get the better of her."
just as she had finished speaking the six thousand frogs returned, looking so strange with bees sticking to every part of them that, sad as she felt, the poor queen could not help laughing.
the bees were all so stupefied with what they had eaten that it was possible to draw their stings without hunting them.
so, with the help of her friend, the queen soon made ready her pasty and carried it to the lion fairy.
"not enough pepper," said the giantess, gulping down large morsels, in order the hide the surprise she felt.
"well, you have escaped this time, and i am glad to find i have got a companion a little more intelligent than the others i have tried.
now, you had better go and build yourself a house."
so the queen wandered away, and picking up a small axe which lay near the door she began with the help of her friend the frog to cut down some cypress trees for the purpose.
and not content with that the six thousand froggy servants were told to help also, and it was not long before they had built the prettiest little cabin in the world, and made a bed in one corner of dried ferns which they fetched from the top of the ten thousand steps.
it looked soft and comfortable, and the queen was very glad to lie down upon it, so tired was she with all that had happened since the morning.
scarcely, however, had she fallen asleep when the lake monsters began to make the most horrible noises just outside, while a small dragon crept in and terrified her so that she ran away, which was just what the dragon wanted!
the poor queen crouched under a rock for the rest of the night, and the next morning, when she woke from her troubled dreams, she was cheered at seeing the frog watching by her."
i hear we shall have to build you another palace," said she.
"well, this time we wo n't go so near the lake."
and she smiled with her funny wide mouth, till the queen took heart, and they went together to find wood for the new cabin.
the tiny palace was soon ready, and a fresh bed made of wild thyme, which smelt delicious.
neither the queen nor the frog said anything about it, but somehow, as always happens, the story came to the ears of the lion fairy, and she sent a raven to fetch the culprit.
"what gods or men are protecting you?"
she asked, with a frown.
"this earth, dried up by a constant rain of sulphur and fire, produces nothing, yet i hear that your bed is made of sweet smelling herbs.
however, as you can get flowers for yourself, of course you can get them for me, and in an hour's time i must have in my room a nosegay of the rarest flowers.
if not --!
now you can go."
the poor queen returned to her house looking so sad that the frog, who was waiting for her, noticed it directly.
"what is the matter?"
said she, smiling.
"oh, how can you laugh!"
replied the queen.
"this time i have to bring her in an hour a posy of the rarest flowers, and where am i to find them?
if i fail i know she will kill me."
"well, i must see if i ca n't help you," answered the frog.
"the only person i have made friends with here is a bat.
she is a good creature, and always does what i tell her, so i will just lend her my cap, and if she puts it on, and flies into the world, she will bring back all we want.
i would go myself, only she will be quicker."
then the queen dried her eyes, and waited patiently, and long before the hour had gone by the bat flew in with all the most beautiful and sweetest flowers that grew on the earth.
the girl sprang up overjoyed at the sight, and hurried with them to the lion fairy, who was so astonished that for once she had nothing to say.
now the smell and touch of the flowers had made the queen sick with longing for her home, and she told the frog that she would certainly die if she did not manage to escape somehow.
"let me consult my cap," said the frog; and taking it off she laid it in a box, and threw in after it a few sprigs of juniper, some capers, and two peas, which she carried under her right leg; she then shut down the lid of the box, and murmured some words which the queen did not catch.
in a few moments a voice was heard speaking from the box.
"fate, who rules us all," said the voice, "forbids your leaving this place till the time shall come when certain things are fulfilled.
but, instead, a gift shall be given you, which will comfort you in all your troubles."
and the voice spoke truly, for, a few days after, when the frog peeped in at the door she found the most beautiful baby in the world lying by the side of the queen.
"so the cap has kept its word," cried the frog with delight.
"how soft its cheeks are, and what tiny feet it has got!
what shall we call it?"
this was a very important point, and needed much discussion.
a thousand names were proposed and rejected for a thousand silly reasons.
one was another reminded the queen of somebody she did not like; but at length an idea flashed into the queen's head, and she called out: "i know!
we will call her muffette."
"that is the very thing," shouted the frog, jumping high into the air; and so it was settled.
the princess muffette was about six months old when the frog noticed that the queen had begun to grow sad again.
"why do you have that look in your eyes?"
she asked one day, when she had come in to play with the baby, who could now crawl.
the way they played their game was to let muffette creep close to the frog, and then for the frog to bound high into the air and alight on the child's head, or back, or legs, when she always sent up a shout of pleasure.
there is no play fellow like a frog; but then it must be a fairy frog, or else you might hurt it, and if you did something dreadful might happen to you.
well, as i have said, our frog was struck with the queen's sad face, and lost no time in asking her what was the reason."
i do n't see what you have to complain of now; muffette is quite well and quite happy, and even the lion fairy is kind to her when she sees her.
what is it?"
"oh!
if her father could only see her!"
broke forth the queen, clasping her hands.
"or if i could only tell him all that has happened since we parted.
but they will have brought him tidings of the broken carriage, and he will have thought me dead, or devoured by wild beasts.
and though he will mourn for me long -- i know that well -- yet in time they will persuade him to take a wife, and she will be young and fair, and he will forget me."
and in all this the queen guessed truly, save that nine long years were to pass before he would consent to put another in her place.
the frog answered nothing at the time, but stopped her game and hopped away among the cypress trees.
here she sat and thought and thought, and the next morning she went back to the queen and said: "i have come, madam, to make you an offer.
shall i go to the king instead of you, and tell him of your sufferings, and that he has the most charming baby in the world for his daughter?
the way is long, and i travel slowly; but, sooner or later, i shall be sure to arrive.
only, are you not afraid to be left without my protection?
ponder the matter carefully; it is for you to decide."
"oh, it needs no pondering," cried the queen joyfully, holding up her clasped hands, and making muffette do likewise, in token of gratitude.
but in order that he may know that you have come from me i will send him a letter."
and pricking her arm, she wrote a few words with her blood on the corner of her handkerchief.
then tearing it off, she gave it to the frog, and they bade each other farewell.
it took the frog a year and four days to mount the ten thousand steps that led to the upper world, but that was because she was still under the spell of a wicked fairy.
by the time she reached the top, she was so tired that she had to remain for another year on the banks of a stream to rest, and also to arrange the procession with which she was to present herself before the king.
for she knew far too well what was due to herself and her relations, to appear at court as if she was a mere nobody.
at length, after many consultations with her cap, the affair was settled, and at the end of the second year after her parting with the queen they all set out.
first walked her bodyguard of grasshoppers, followed by her maids of honour, who were those tiny green frogs you see in the fields, each one mounted on a snail, and seated on a velvet saddle.
next came the water-rats, dressed as pages, and lastly the frog herself, in a litter borne by eight toads, and made of tortoiseshell.
here she could lie at her ease, with her cap on her head, for it was quite large and roomy, and could easily have held two eggs when the frog was not in it.
the journey lasted seven years, and all this time the queen suffered tortures of hope, though muffette did her best to comfort her.
indeed, she would most likely have died had not the lion fairy taken a fancy that the child and her mother should go hunting with her in the upper world, and, in spite of her sorrows, it was always a joy to the queen to see the sun again.
as for little muffette, by the time she was seven her arrows seldom missed their mark.
so, after all, the years of waiting passed more quickly than the queen had dared to hope.
the frog was always careful to maintain her dignity, and nothing would have persuaded her to show her face in public places, or even along the high road, where there was a chance of meeting anyone.
but sometimes, when the procession had to cross a little stream, or go over a piece of marshy ground, orders would be given for a halt; fine clothes were thrown off, bridles were flung aside, and grasshoppers, water-rats, even the frog herself, spent a delightful hour or two playing in the mud.
but at length the end was in sight, and the hardships were forgotten in the vision of the towers of the king's palace; and, one bright morning, the cavalcade entered the gates with all the pomp and circumstance of a royal embassy.
and surely no ambassador had ever created such a sensation!
door and windows, even the roofs of houses, were filled with people, whose cheers reached the ears of the king.
however, he had no time to attend to such matters just then, as, after nine years, he had at last consented to the entreaties of his courtiers, and was on the eve of celebrating his second marriage.
the frog's heart beat high when her litter drew up before the steps of the palace, and leaning forward she beckoned to her side one of the guards who were standing in his doorway."
i wish to see his majesty," said he.
"his majesty is engaged, and can see no one," answered the soldier.
"his majesty will see me," returned the frog, fixing her eye upon him; and somehow the man found himself leading the procession along the gallery into the hall of audience, where the king sat surrounded by his nobles arranging the dresses which everyone was to wear at his marriage ceremony.
all stared in surprise as the procession advanced, and still more when the frog gave one bound from the litter on to the floor, and with another landed on the arm of the chair of state."
i am only just in time, sire," began the frog; "had i been a day later you would have broken your faith which you swore to the queen nine years ago."
"her remembrance will always be dear to me," answered the king gently, though all present expected him to rebuke the frog severely for her impertinence.
but know, lady frog, that a king can seldom do as he wishes, but must be bound by the desires of his subjects.
for nine years i have resisted them; now i can do so no longer, and have made choice of the fair young maiden playing at ball yonder."
"you can not wed her, however fair she may be, for the queen your wife is still alive, and sends you this letter written in her own blood," said the frog, holding out the square of handkerchief as she spoke.
"and, what is more, you have a daughter who is nearly nine years old, and more beautiful than all the other children in the world put together."
the king turned pale when he heard these words, and his hand trembled so that he could hardly read what the queen had written.
then he kissed the handkerchief twice or thrice, and burst into tears, and it was some minutes before he could speak.
when at length he found his voice he told his councillors that the writing was indeed that of the queen, and now that he had the joy of knowing she was alive he could, of course, proceed no further with his second marriage.
this naturally displeased the ambassadors who had conducted the bride to court, and one of them inquired indignantly if he meant to put such an insult on the princess on the word of a mere frog."
i am not a "mere frog," and i will give you proof of it," retorted the angry little creature.
and putting on her cap, she cried: fairies that are my friends, come hither!"
and in a moment a crowd of beautiful creatures, each one with a crown on her head, stood before her.
certainly none could have guessed that they were the snails, water-rats, and grasshoppers from which she had chosen her retinue.
at a sign from the frog the fairies danced a ballet, with which everyone was so delighted that they begged to have to repeated; but now it was not youths and maidens who were dancing, but flowers.
then these again melted into fountains, whose waters interlaced and, rushing down the sides of the hall, poured out in a cascade down the steps, and formed a river found the castle, with the most beautiful little boats upon it, all painted and gilded.
"oh, let us go in them for a sail!"
cried the princess, who had long ago left her game of ball for a sight of these marvels, and, as she was bent upon it, the ambassadors, who had been charged never to lose sight of her, were obliged to go also, though they never entered a boat if they could help it.
but the moment they and the princess had seated themselves on the soft cushions, river and boats vanished, and the princess and the ambassadors vanished too.
instead the snails and grasshoppers and water-rats stood round the frog in their natural shapes.
"perhaps," said she, "your majesty may now be convinced that i am a fairy and speak the truth.
therefore lose no time in setting in order the affairs of your kingdom and go in search of your wife.
here is a ring that will admit you into the presence of the queen, and will likewise allow you to address unharmed the lion fairy, though she is the most terrible creature that ever existed."
by this time the king had forgotten all about the princess, whom he had only chosen to please his people, and was as eager to depart on his journey as the frog was for him to go.
he made one of his ministers regent of the kingdom, and gave the frog everything her heart could desire; and with her ring on his finger he rode away to the outskirts of the forest.
here he dismounted, and bidding his horse go home, he pushed forward on foot.
having nothing to guide him as to where he was likely to find the entrance of the under-world, the king wandered hither and thither for a long while, till, one day, while he was resting under a tree, a voice spoke to him.
"why do you give yourself so much trouble for nought, when you might know what you want to know for the asking?
alone you will never discover the path that leads to your wife."
much startled, the king looked about him.
he could see nothing, and somehow, when he thought about it, the voice seemed as if it were part of himself.
suddenly his eyes fell on the ring, and he understood.
"fool that i was!"
cried he; "and how much precious time have i wasted?
dear ring, i beseech you, grant me a vision of my wife and my daughter!"
and even as he spoke there flashed past him a huge lioness, followed by a lady and a beautiful young maid mounted on fairy horses.
almost fainting with joy he gazed after them, and then sank back trembling on the ground.
"oh, lead me to them, lead me to them!"
he exclaimed.
and the ring, bidding him take courage, conducted him safely to the dismal place where his wife had lived for ten years.
now the lion fairy knew beforehand of his expected presence in her dominions, and she ordered a palace of crystal to be built in the middle of the lake of quicksilver; and in order to make it more difficult of approach she let it float whither it would.
immediately after their return from the chase, where the king had seen them, she conveyed the queen and muffette into the palace, and put them under the guard of the monsters of the lake, who one and all had fallen in love with the princess.
they were horribly jealous, and ready to eat each other up for her sake, so they readily accepted the charge.
some stationed themselves round the floating palace, some sat by the door, while the smallest and lightest perched themselves on the roof.
of course the king was quite ignorant of these arrangements, and boldly entered the palace of the lion fairy, who was waiting for him, with her tail lashing furiously, for she still kept her lion's shape.
with a roar that shook the walls she flung herself upon him; but he was on the watch, and a blow from his sword cut off the paw she had put forth to strike him dead.
she fell back, and with his helmet still on and his shield up, he set his foot on her throat.
"give me back the wife and the child you have stolen from me," he said, "or you shall not live another second!"
but the fairy answered: "look through the window at that lake and see if it is in my power to give them to you."
and the king looked, and through the crystal walls he beheld his wife and daughter floating on the quicksilver.
at that sight the lion fairy and all her wickedness was forgotten.
flinging off his helmet, he shouted to them with all his might.
the queen knew his voice, and she and muffette ran to the window and held out their hands.
then the king swore a solemn oath that he would never leave the spot without taking them if it should cost him his life; and he meant it, though at the moment he did not know what he was undertaking.
three years passed by, and the king was no nearer to obtaining his heart's desire.
he had suffered every hardship that could be imagined -- nettles had been his bed, wild fruits more bitter than gall his food, while his days had been spent in fighting the hideous monsters which kept him from the palace.
he had not advanced one single step, nor gained one solitary advantage.
now he was almost in despair, and ready to defy everything and throw himself into the lake.
it was at this moment of his blackest misery that, one night, a dragon who had long watched him from the roof crept to his side.
"you thought that love would conquer all obstacles," said he; "well, you have found it has n't!
but if you will swear to me by your crown and sceptre that you will give me a dinner of the food that i never grow tired of, whenever i choose to ask for it, i will enable you to reach your wife and daughter."
ah, how glad the king was to hear that!
what oath would he not have taken so as to clasp his wife and child in is arms?
joyfully he swore whatever the dragon asked of him; then he jumped on his back, and in another instant would have been carried by the strong wings into the castle if the nearest monsters had not happened to awake and hear the noise of talking and swum to the shore to give battle.
the fight was long and hard, and when the king at last beat back his foes another struggle awaited him.
at the entrance gigantic bats, owls, and crows set upon him from all sides; but the dragon had teeth and claws, while the queen broke off sharp bits of glass and stabbed and cut in her anxiety to help her husband.
at length the horrible creatures flew away; a sound like thunder was heard, the palace and the monsters vanished, while, at the same moment -- no one knew how -- the king found himself standing with his wife and daughter in the hall of his own home.
the dragon had disappeared with all the rest, and for some years no more was heard or thought of him.
muffette grew every day more beautiful, and when she was fourteen the kings and emperors of the neighbouring countries sent to ask her in marriage for themselves or their sons.
for a long time the girl turned a deaf ear to all their prayers; but at length a young prince of rare gifts touched her heart, and though the king had left her free to choose what husband she would, he had secretly hoped that out of all the wooers this one might be his son-in-law.
so they were betrothed that some day with great pomp, and then with many tears, the prince set out for his father's court, bearing with him a portrait of muffette.
the days passed slowly to muffette, in spite of her brave efforts to occupy herself and not to sadden other people by her complaints.
one morning she was playing on her harp in the queen's chamber when the king burst into the room and clasped his daughter in his arms with an energy that almost frightened her.
"oh, my child!
my dear child!
why were you ever born?"
cried he, as soon as he could speak.
"is the prince dead?"
faltered muffette, growing white and cold.
"no, no; but -- oh, how can i tell you!"
and he sank down on a pile of cushions while his wife and daughter knelt beside him.
at length he was able to tell his tale, and a terrible one it was!
there had just arrived at court a huge giant, as ambassador from the dragon by whose help the king had rescued the queen and muffette from the crystal palace.
the dragon had been very busy for many years past, and had quite forgotten the princess till the news of her betrothal reached his ears.
then he remembered the bargain he had made with her father; and the more he heard of muffette the more he felt sure she would make a delicious dish.
so he had ordered the giant who was his servant to fetch her at once.
no words would paint the horror of both the queen and the princess as they listened to this dreadful doom.
they rushed instantly to the hall, where the giant was awaiting them, and flinging themselves at his feet implored him to take the kingdom if he would, but to have pity on the princess.
the giant looked at them kindly, for he was not at all hard-hearted, but said that he had no power to do anything, and that if the princess did not go with him quietly the dragon would come himself.
several days went by, and the king and queen hardly ceased from entreating the aid of the giant, who by this time was getting weary of waiting.
"there is only one way of helping you," he said at last, "and that is to marry the princess to my nephew, who, besides being young and handsome, has been trained in magic, and will know how to keep her safe from the dragon."
"oh, thank you, thank you!"
cried the parents, clasping his great hands to their breasts.
"you have indeed lifted a load from us.
she shall have half the kingdom for her dowry."
but muffette stood up and thrust them aside."
i will not buy my life with faithlessness," she said proudly; "and i will go with you this moment to the dragon's abode."
and all her father's and mother's tears and prayers availed nothing to move her.
the next morning muffette was put into a litter, and, guarded by the giant and followed by the king and queen and the weeping maids of honour, they started for the foot of the mountain where the dragon had his castle.
the way, though rough and stony, seemed all too short, and when they reached the spot appointed by the dragon the giant ordered the men who bore the litter to stand still.
"it is time for you to bid farewell to your daughter," said he; "for i see the dragon coming to us."
it was true; a cloud appeared to pass over the sun, for between them and it they could all discern dimly a huge body half a mile long approaching nearer and nearer.
at first the king could not believe that this was the small beast who had seemed so friendly on the shore of the lake of quicksilver but then he knew very little of necromancy, and had never studied the art of expanding and contracting his body.
but it was the dragon and nothing else, whose six wings were carrying him forward as fast as might be, considering his great weight and the length of his tail, which had fifty twists and a half.
he came quickly, yes; but the frog, mounted on a greyhound, and wearing her cap on her head, went quicker still.
entering a room where the prince was sitting gazing at the portrait of his betrothed, she cried to him: "what are you doing lingering here, when the life of the princess is nearing its last moment?
in the courtyard you will find a green horse with three heads and twelve feet, and by its side a sword eighteen yards long.
hasten, lest you should be too late!"
the fight lasted all day, and the prince's strength was well-nigh spent, when the dragon, thinking that the victory was won, opened his jaws to give a roar of triumph.
the prince saw his chance, and before his foe could shut his mouth again had plunged his sword far down his adversary's throat.
there was a desperate clutching of the claws to the earth, a slow flagging of the great wings, then the monster rolled over on his side and moved no more.
muffette was delivered.
after this they all went back to the palace.
the marriage took place the following day, and muffette and her husband lived happy for ever after.
the adventures of covan the brown-haired -lsb- from les contes des fees, par madame d'aulnoy. -rsb-
on the shores of the west, where the great hills stand with their feet in the sea, dwelt a goatherd and his wife, together with their three sons and one daughter.
all day long the young men fished and hunted, while their sister took out the kids to pasture on the mountain, or stayed at home helping her mother and mending the nets.
for several years they all lived happily together, when one day, as the girl was out on the hill with the kids, the sun grew dark and an air cold as a thick white mist came creeping, creeping up from the sea.
she rose with a shiver, and tried to call to her kids, but the voice died away in her throat, and strong arms seemed to hold her.
loud were the wails in the hut by the sea when the hours passed on and the maiden came not.
many times the father and brothers jumped up, thinking they heard her steps, but in the thick darkness they could scarcely see their own hands, nor could they tell where the river lay, nor where the mountain.
one by one the kids came home, and at every bleat someone hurried to open the door, but no sound broke the stillness.
through the night no one slept, and when morning broke and the mist rolled back, they sought the maiden by sea and by land, but never a trace of her could be found anywhere.
thus a year and a day slipped by, and at the end of it gorla of the flocks and his wife seemed suddenly to have grown old.
their sons too were sadder than before, for they loved their sister well, and had never ceased to mourn for her.
at length ardan the eldest spoke and said: "it is now a year and a day since our sister was taken from us, and we have waited in grief and patience for her to return.
surely some evil has befallen her, or she would have sent us a token to put our hearts at rest; and i have vowed to myself that my eyes shall not know sleep till, living or dead, i have found her."
"if you have vowed, then must you keep your vow," answered gorla.
"but better had it been if you had first asked your father's leave before you made it.
yet, since it is so, your mother will bake you a cake for you to carry with you on your journey.
who can tell how long it may be?"
so the mother arose and baked not one cake but two, a big one and a little one.
"choose, my son," said she.
"will you have the little cake with your mother's blessing, or the big one without it, in that you have set aside your father and taken on yourself to make a vow?'"
i will have the large cake," answered the youth; "for what good would my mother's blessing do for me if i was dying of hunger?"
and taking the big cake he went his way.
straight on he strode, letting neither hill nor river hinder him.
swiftly he walked -- swiftly as the wind that blew down the mountain.
the eagles and the gulls looked on from their nests as he passed, leaving the deer behind him; but at length he stopped, for hunger had seized on him, and he could walk no more.
trembling with fatigue he sat himself on a rock and broke a piece off his cake.
"spare me a morsel, ardan son of gorla," asked a raven, fluttering down towards him.
"seek food elsewhere, o bearer of ill-news," answered ardan son of gorla; "it is but little i have for myself."
and he stretched himself out for a few moments, then rose to his feet again.
on and on went he till the little birds flew to their nests, and the brightness died out of the sky, and a darkness fell over the earth.
on and on, and on, till at last he saw a beam of light streaming from a house and hastened towards it.
the door was opened and he entered, but paused when he beheld an old man lying on a bench by the fire, while seated opposite him was a maiden combing out the locks of her golden hair with a comb of silver.
"welcome, fair youth," said the old man, turning his head.
"sit down and warm yourself, and tell me how fares the outer world.
it is long since i have seen it."
"all my news is that i am seeking service," answered ardan son of gorla;" i have come from far since sunrise, and glad was i to see the rays of your lamp stream into the darkness.'"
i need someone to herd my three dun cows, which are hornless," said the old man.
"if, for the space of a year, you can bring them back to me each evening before the sun sets, i will make you payment that will satisfy your soul."
but here the girl looked up and answered quickly: "ill will come of it if he listens to your offer."
"counsel unsought is worth nothing," replied, rudely, ardan son of gorla.
"it would be little indeed that i am fit for if i can not drive three cows out to pasture and keep them safe from the wolves that may come down from the mountains.
therefore, good father, i will take service with you at daybreak, and ask no payment till the new year dawns."
next morning the bell of the deer was not heard amongst the fern before the maiden with the hair of gold had milked the cows, and led them in front of the cottage where the old man and ardan son of gorla awaited them.
"let them wander where they will," he said to his servant, "and never seek to turn them from their way, for well they know the fields of good pasture.
but take heed to follow always behind them, and suffer nothing that you see, and nought that you hear, to draw you into leaving them.
now go, and may wisdom go with you."
as he ceased speaking he touched one of the cows on her forehead, and she stepped along the path, with the two others one on each side.
as he had been bidden, behind them came ardan son of gorla, rejoicing in his heart that work so easy had fallen to his lot.
at the year's end, thought he, enough money would lie in his pocket to carry him into far countries where his sister might be, and, in the meanwhile, someone might come past who could give him tidings of her.
thus he spoke to himself, when his eyes fell on a golden cock and a silver hen running swiftly along the grass in front of him.
in a moment the words that the old man had uttered vanished from his mind and he gave chase.
they were so near that he could almost seize their tails, yet each time he felt sure he could catch them his fingers closed on the empty air.
at length he could run no more, and stopped to breathe, while the cock and hen went on as before.
then he remembered the cows, and, somewhat frightened, turned back to seek them.
luckily they had not strayed far, and were quietly feeding on the thick green grass.
ardan son of gorla was sitting under a tree, when he beheld a staff of gold and a staff of silver doubling themselves in strange ways on the meadow in front of him, and starting up he hastened towards them.
he followed them till he was tired, but he could not catch them, though they seemed ever within his reach.
when at last he gave up the quest his knees trembled beneath him for very weariness, and glad was he to see a tree growing close by lade with fruits of different sorts, of which he ate greedily.
the sun was by now low in the heavens, and the cows left off feeding, and turned their faces home again, followed by ardan son of gorla.
at the door of their stable the maiden stood awaiting them, and saying nought to their herd, she sat down and began to milk.
but it was not milk that flowed into her pail; instead it was filled with a thin stream of water, and as she rose up from the last cow the old man appeared outside.
"faithless one, you have betrayed your trust!"
he said to ardan son of gorla.
"not even for one day could you keep true!
well, you shall have your reward at once, that others may take warning from you."
and waving his wand he touched with it the chest of the youth, who became a pillar of stone.
now gorla of the flocks and his wife were full of grief that they had lost a son as well as a daughter, for no tidings had come to them of ardan their eldest born.
at length, when two years and two days had passed since the maiden had led her kids to feed on the mountain and had been seen no more, ruais, second son of gorla, rose up one morning, and said: "time is long without my sister and ardan my brother.
so i have vowed to seek them wherever they may be."
and his father answered: "better it had been if you had first asked my consent and that of your mother; but as you have vowed so must you do."
then he bade his wife make a cake, but instead she made two, and offered ruais his choice, as she had done to ardan.
like ardan, ruais chose the large, unblessed cake, and set forth on his way, doing always, though he knew it not, that which ardan had done; so, needless is it to tell what befell him till he too stood, a pillar of stone, on the hill behind the cottage, so that all men might see the fate that awaited those who broke their faith.
another year and a day passed by, when covan the brown-haired, youngest son of gorla of the flocks, one morning spake to his parents, saying: "it is more than three years since my sister left us.
my brothers have also gone, no one know whither, and of us four none remains but i. no, therefore, i long to seek them, and i pray you and my mother to place no hindrance in my way."
and his father answered: "go, then, and take our blessing with you."
so the wife of gorla of the flocks baked two cakes, one large and one small; and covan took the small one, and started on his quest.
in the wood he felt hungry, for he had walked far, and he sat down to eat.
suddenly a voice behind him cried: "a bit for me!
a bit for me!"
and looking round he beheld the black raven of the wilderness.
"yes, you shall have a bit," said covan the brown-haired; and breaking off a piece he stretched it upwards to the raven, who ate it greedily.
then covan arose and went forward, till he saw the light from the cottage streaming before him, and glad was he, for night was at hand.
"maybe i shall find some work there," he thought, "and at least i shall gain money to help me in my search; for who knows how far my sister and my brothers may have wandered?"
the door stood open and he entered, and the old man gave him welcome, and the golden-haired maiden likewise.
as happened before, he was offered by the old man to herd his cows; and, as she had done to his brothers, the maiden counselled him to leave such work alone.
but, instead of answering rudely, like both ardan and ruais, he thanked her, with courtesy, though he had no mind to heed her; and he listened to the warnings and words of his new master.
next day he set forth at dawn with the dun cows in front of him, and followed patiently wherever they might lead him.
on the way he saw the gold cock and silver hen, which ran even closer to him than they had done to his brothers.
sorely tempted, he longed to give them chase; but, remembering in time that he had been bidden to look neither to the right nor to the left, with a mighty effort he turned his eyes away.
then the gold and silver staffs seemed to spring from the earth before him, but this time also he overcame; and though the fruit from the magic tree almost touched his mouth, he brushed it aside and went steadily on.
that day the cows wandered father than ever they had done before, and never stopped till they had reached a moor where the heather was burning.
the fire was fierce, but the cows took no heed, and walked steadily through it, covan the brown-haired following them.
next they plunged into a foaming river, and covan plunged in after them, though the water came high above his waist.
on the other side of the river lay a wide plain, and here the cows lay down, while covan looked about him.
near him was a house built of yellow stone, and from it came sweet songs, and covan listened, and his heart grew light within him.
while he was thus waiting there ran up to him a youth, scarcely able to speak so swiftly had he sped; and he cried aloud: "hasten, hasten, covan the brown-haired, for your cows are in the corn, and you must drive them out!"
"nay," said covan smiling, "it had been easier for you to have driven them out than to come here to tell me."
and he went on listening to the music.
very soon the same youth returned and cried with panting breath: "out upon you, covan son of gorla, that you stand there agape.
for our dogs are chasing your cows, and you must drive them off!"
"nay, then," answered covan as before, "it had been easier for you to call off your dogs than to come here to tell me."
and he stayed where he was till the music ceased.
then he turned to look for the cows, and found them all lying in the place where he had left them; but when they saw covan they rose up and walked homewards, taking a different path to that they had trod in the morning.
this time they passed over a plain so bare that a pin could not have lain there unnoticed, yet covan beheld with surprise a foal and its mother feeding there, both as fat as if they had pastured on the richest grass.
further on they crossed another plain, where the grass was thick and green, but on it were feeding a foal and its mother, so lean that you could have counted their ribs.
and further again the path led them by the shores of a lake whereon were floating two boats; one full of gay and happy youths, journeying to the land of the sun, and another with grim shapes clothed in black, travelling to the land of night.
"what can these things mean?"
said covan to himself, as he followed his cows.
darkness now fell, the wind howled, and torrents of rain poured upon them.
covan knew not how far they might yet have to go, or indeed if they were on the right road.
he could not even see his cows, and his heart sank lest, after all, he should have failed to bring them safely back.
what was he to do?
he waited thus, for he could go neither forwards nor backwards, till he felt a great friendly paw laid on his shoulder.
"my cave is just here," said the dog of maol-mor, of whom covan son of gorla had heard much.
"spend the night here, and you shall be fed on the flesh of lamb, and shall lay aside three-thirds of thy weariness."
and covan entered, and supped, and slept, and in the morning rose up a new man.
"farewell, covan," said the dog of maol-mor.
"may success go with you, for you took what i had to give and did not mock me.
so, when danger is your companion, wish for me, and i will not fail you."
at these words the dog of maol-mor disappeared into the forest, and covan went to seek his cows, which were standing in the hollow where the darkness had come upon them.
at the sight of covan the brown-haired they walked onwards, covan following ever behind them, and looking neither to the right nor to the left.
all that day they walked, and when night fell they were in a barren plain, with only rocks for shelter.
"we must rest here as best we can," spoke covan to the cows.
and they bowed their heads and lay down in the place where they stood.
then came the black raven of corri-nan-creag, whose eyes never closed, and whose wings never tired; and he fluttered before the face of covan and told him that he knew of a cranny in the rock where there was food in plenty, and soft moss for a bed.
"go with me thither," he said to covan, "and you shall lay aside three-thirds of your weariness, and depart in the morning refreshed," and covan listened thankfully to his words, and at dawn he rose up to seek his cows.
"farewell!"
cried the black raven.
"you trusted me, and took all i had to offer in return for the food you once gave me.
so if in time to come you need a friend, wish for me, and i will not fail you."
as before, the cows were standing in the spot where he had left them, ready to set out.
all that day they walked, on and on, and on, covan son of gorla walking behind them, till night fell while they were on the banks of a river.
"we can go no further," spake covan to the cows.
and they began to eat the grass by the side of the stream, while covan listened to them and longed for some supper also, for they had travelled far, and his limbs were weak under him.
then there was a swish of water at his feet, and out peeped the head of the famous otter doran-donn of the stream.
"trust to me and i will find you warmth and shelter," said doran-donn; "and for food fish in plenty."
and covan went with him thankfully, and ate and rested, and laid aside three-thirds of his weariness.
at sunrise he left his bed of dried sea-weed, which had floated up with the tide, and with a grateful heart bade farewell to doran-donn.
"because you trusted me and took what i had to offer, you have made me your friend, covan," said doran-donn.
"and if you should be in danger, and need help from one who can swim a river or dive beneath a wave, call to me and i will come to you."
then he plunged into the stream, and was seen no more.
the cows were standing ready in the place where covan had left them, and they journeyed on all that day, till, when night fell, they reached the cottage.
joyful indeed was the old man as the cows went into their stables, and he beheld the rich milk that flowed into the pail of the golden-haired maiden with the silver comb.
"you have done well indeed," he said to covan son of gorla.
"and now, what would you have as a reward?'"
i want nothing for myself," answered covan the brown-haired; "but i ask you to give me back my brothers and my sister who have been lost to us for three years past.
you are wise and know the lore of fairies and of witches; tell me where i can find them, and what i must do to bring them to life again."
the old man looked grave at the words of covan.
"yes, truly i know where they are," answered he, "and i say not that they may not be brought to life again.
but the perils are great -- too great for you to overcome."
"tell me what they are," said covan again, "and i shall know better if i may overcome them."
"listen, then, and judge.
in the mountain yonder there dwells a roe, white of foot, with horns that branch like the antlers of a deer.
on the lake that leads to the land of the sun floats a duck whose body is green and whose neck is of gold.
in the pool of corri-bui swims a salmon with a skin that shines like silver, and whose gills are red -- bring them all to me, and then you shall know where dwell your brothers and your sister!"
"to-morrow at cock-crow i will begone!"
answered covan.
the way to the mountain lay straight before him, and when he had climbed high he caught sight of the roe with the white feet and the spotted sides, on the peak in front.
full of hope he set out in pursuit of her, but by the time he had reached that peak she had left it and was to be seen on another.
and so it always happened, and covan's courage had well-nigh failed him, when the thought of the dog of maol-mor darted into his mind.
"oh, that he was here!"
he cried.
and looking up he saw him.
"why did you summon me?"
asked the dog of maol-mor.
and when covan had told him of his trouble, and how the roe always led him further and further, the dog only answered: "fear nothing; i will soon catch her for you."
and in a short while he laid the roe unhurt at covan's feet.
"what will you wish me to do with her?"
said the dog.
and covan answered: "the old man bade me bring her, and the duck with the golden neck, and the salmon with the silver sides, to his cottage; if i shall catch them, i know not.
but carry you the roe to the back of the cottage, and tether her so that she can not escape."
"it shall be done," said the dog of maol-mor.
then covan sped to the lake which led to the land of the sun, where the duck with the green body and the golden neck was swimming among the water-lilies.
"surely i can catch him, good swimmer as i am," to himself.
but, if he could swim well, the duck could swim better, and at length his strength failed him, and he was forced to seek the land.
"oh that the black raven were here to help me!"
he thought to himself.
and in a moment the black raven was perched on his shoulder.
"how can i help you?"
asked the raven.
and covan answered: "catch me the green duck that floats on the water."
and the raven flew with his strong wings and picked him up in his strong beak, and in another moment the bird was laid at the feet of covan.
this time it was easy for the young man to carry his prize, and after giving thanks to the raven for his aid, he went on to the river.
in the deep dark pool of which the old man had spoken the silver-sided salmon was lying under a rock.
"surely i, good fisher as i am, can catch him," said covan son of gorla.
and cutting a slender pole from a bush, he fastened a line to the end of it.
but cast with what skill he might, it availed nothing, for the salmon would not even look at the bait."
i am beaten at last, unless the doran-donn can deliver me," he cried.
and as he spoke there was a swish of the water, and the face of the doran-donn looked up at him."
o catch me, i pray you, that salmon under the rock!"
said covan son of gorla.
and the doran-donn dived, and laying hold of the salmon by his tail, bore it back to the place where covan was standing.
"the roe, and the duck, and the salmon are here," said covan to the old man, when he reached the cottage.
and the old man smiled on him and bade him eat and drink, and after he hungered no more, he would speak with him.
and this was what the old man said: "you began well, my son, so things have gone well with you.
you set store by your mother's blessing, therefore you have been blest.
you gave food to the raven when it hungered, you were true to the promise you had made to me, and did not suffer yourself to be turned aside by vain shows.
you were skilled to perceive that the boy who tempted you to leave the temple was a teller of false tales, and took with a grateful heart what the poor had to offer you.
last of all, difficulties gave you courage, instead of lending you despair.
and now, as to your reward, you shall in truth take your sister home with you, and your brothers i will restore to life; but idle and unfaithful as they are their lot is to wander for ever.
and so farewell, and may wisdom be with you."
"first tell me your name?"
asked covan softly."
i am the spirit of age," said the old man.
the princess bella-flor -lsb- taken from a celtic story.
translated by doctor macleod clarke. -rsb-
once upon a time there lived a man who had two sons.
when they grew up the elder went to seek his fortune in a far country, and for many years no one heard anything about him.
meanwhile the younger son stayed at home with his father, who died at last in a good old age, leaving great riches behind him.
for some time the son who stayed at home spent his father's wealth freely, believing that he alone remained to enjoy it.
but, one day, as he was coming down stairs, he was surprised to see a stranger enter the hall, looking about as if the house belonged to him.
"have you forgotten me?"
asked the man."
i ca n't forget a person i have never known," was the rude answer."
i am your brother," replied the stranger, "and i have returned home without the money i hoped to have made.
and, what is worse, they tell me in the village that my father is dead.
i would have counted my lost gold as nothing if i could have seen him once more."
"he died six months ago," said the rich brother, "and he left you, as your portion, the old wooden chest that stands in the loft.
you had better go there and look for it; i have no more time to waste."
and he went his way.
so the wanderer turned his steps to the loft, which was at the top of the storehouse, and there he found the wooden chest, so old that it looked as if it were dropping to pieces.
"what use is this old thing to me?"
he said to himself.
"oh, well, it will serve to light a fire at which i can warm myself; so things might be worse after all."
placing the chest on his back, the man, whose name was jose, set out for his inn, and, borrowing a hatchet, began to chop up the box.
in doing so he discovered a secret drawer, and in it lay a paper.
he opened the paper, not knowing what it might contain, and was astonished to find that it was the acknowledgment of a large debt that was owing to his father.
putting the precious writing in his pocket, he hastily inquired of the landlord where he could find the man whose name was written inside, and he ran out at once in search of him.
the debtor proved to be an old miser, who lived at the other end of the village.
he had hoped for many months that the paper he had written had been lost or destroyed, and, indeed, when he saw it, was very unwilling to pay what he owed.
however, the stranger threatened to drag him before the king, and when the miser saw that there was no help for it he counted out the coins one by one.
the stranger picked them up and put them in his pocket, and went back to his inn feeling that he was now a rich man.
a few weeks after this he was walking through the streets of the nearest town, when he met a poor woman crying bitterly.
he stopped and asked her what was the matter, and she answered between her sobs that her husband was dying, and, to make matters worse, a creditor whom he could not pay was anxious to have him taken to prison.
"comfort yourself," said the stranger kindly; "they shall neither send your husband to prison nor sell your goods.
i will not only pay his debts but, if he dies, the cost of his burial also.
and now go home, and nurse him as well as you can."
and so she did; but, in spite of her care, the husband died, and was buried by the stranger.
but everything cost more than he expected, and when all was paid he found that only three gold pieces were left.
"what am i to do now?"
said he to himself."
i think i had better go to court, and enter into the service of the king."
at first he was only a servant, who carried the king the water for his bath, and saw that his bed was made in a particular fashion.
but he did his duties so well that his master soon took notice of him, and in a short time he rose to be a gentleman of the bedchamber.
now, when this happened the younger brother had spent all the money he had inherited, and did not know how to make any for himself.
he then bethought him of the king's favourite, and went whining to the palace to beg that his brother, whom he had so ill-used, would give him his protection, and find him a place.
the elder, who was always ready to help everyone spoke to the king on his behalf, and the next day the young man took up is work at court.
unfortunately, the new-comer was by nature spiteful and envious, and could not bear anyone to have better luck than himself.
by dint of spying through keyholes and listening at doors, he learned that the king, old and ugly though he was, had fallen in love with the princess bella-flor, who would have nothing to say to him, and had hidden herself in some mountain castle, no one knew where.
"that will do nicely," thought the scoundrel, rubbing his hands.
"it will be quite easy to get the king to send my brother in search of her, and if he returns without finding her, his head will be the forfeit.
either way, he will be out of my path."
so he went at once to the lord high chamberlain and craved an audience of the king, to whom he declared he wished to tell some news of the highest importance.
the king admitted him into the presence chamber without delay, and bade him state what he had to say, and to be quick about it.
"oh, sire!
the princess bella-flor --" answered the man, and then stopped as if afraid.
"what of the princess bella-flor?"
asked the king impatiently."
i have heard -- it is whispered at court -- that your majesty desires to know where she lies in hiding.'"
i would give half my kingdom to the man who will bring her to me," cried the king, eagerly.
"speak on, knave; has a bird of the air revealed to you the secret?"
"it is not i, but my brother, who knows," replied the traitor; "if your majesty would ask him --" but before the words were out of his mouth the king had struck a blow with his sceptre on a golden plate that hung on the wall.
"order jose to appear before me instantly," he shouted to the servant who ran to obey his orders, so great was the noise his majesty had made; and when jose entered the hall, wondering what in the world could be the matter, the king was nearly dumb from rage and excitement.
"bring me the princess bella-flor this moment," stammered he, "for if you return without her i will have you drowned!"
and without another word he left the hall, leaving jose staring with surprise and horror.
"how can i find the princess bella-flor when i have never even seen her?"
thought he.
"but it is no use staying here, for i shall only be put to death."
and he walked slowly to the stables to choose himself a horse.
there were rows upon rows of fine beasts with their names written in gold above their stalls, and jose was looking uncertainly from one to the other, wondering which he should choose, when an old white horse turned its head and signed to him to approach.
"take me," it said in a gentle whisper, "and all will go well."
jose still felt so bewildered with the mission that the king had given him that he forgot to be astonished at hearing a horse talk.
mechanically he laid his hand on the bridle and led the white horse out of the stable.
he was about to mount on his back, when the animal spoke again: "pick up those three loaves of bread which you see there, and put them in your pocket."
jose did as he was told, and being in a great hurry to get away, asked no questions, but swung himself into the saddle.
they rode far without meeting any adventures, but at length they came to an ant-hill, and the horse stopped.
"crumble those three loaves for the ants," he said.
but jose hesitated.
"why, we may want them ourselves!"
answered he.
"never mind that; give them to the ants all the same.
do not lose a chance of helping others."
and when the loaves lay in crumbs on the road, the horse galloped on.
by-and-by they entered a rocky pass between two mountains, and here they saw an eagle which had been caught in a hunter's net.
"get down and cut the meshes of the net, and set the poor bird free," said the horse.
"but it will take so long," objected jose, "and we may miss the princess."
"never mind that; do not lose a chance of helping others," answered the horse.
and when the meshes were cut, and the eagle was free, the horse galloped on.
the had ridden many miles, and at last they came to a river, where they beheld a little fish lying gasping on the sand, and the horse said: "do you see that little fish?
it will die if you do not put it back in the water."
"but, really, we shall never find the princess bella-flor if we waste our time like this!"
cried jose.
"we never waste time when we are helping others," answered the horse.
and soon the little fish was swimming happily away.
a little while after they reached a castle, which was built in the middle of a very thick wood, and right in front was the princess bella-flor feeding her hens.
"now listen," said the horse."
i am going to give all sorts of little hops and skips, which will amuse the princess bella-flor.
then she will tell you that she would like to ride a little way, and you must help her to mount.
when she is seated i shall begin to neigh and kick, and you must say that i have never carried a woman before, and that you had better get up behind so as to be able to manage me.
once on my back we will go like the wind to the king's palace."
jose did exactly as the horse told him, and everything fell out as the animal prophesied; so that it was not until they were galloping breathlessly towards the palace that the princess knew that she was taken captive.
she said nothing, however, but quietly opened her apron which contained the bran for the chickens, and in a moment it lay scattered on the ground.
"oh, i have let fall my bran!"
cried she; "please get down and pick it up for me."
but jose only answered: "we shall find plenty of bran where we are going."
and the horse galloped on.
they were now passing through a forest, and the princess took out her handkerchief and threw it upwards, so that it stuck in one of the topmost branches of a tree.
"dear me; how stupid!
i have let my handkerchief blow away," said she.
"will you climb up and get it for me?"
but jose answered: "we shall find plenty of handkerchiefs where we are going."
and the horse galloped on.
after the wood they reached a river, and the princess slipped a ring off her finger and let it roll into the water.
"how careless of me," gasped she, beginning to sob."
i have lost my favourite ring; do stop for a moment and look if you can see it."
but jose answered: "you will find plenty of rings where you are going."
and the horse galloped on.
at last they entered the palace gates, and the king's heart bounded with joy at beholding his beloved princess bella-flor.
but the princess brushed him aside as if he had been a fly, and locked herself into the nearest room, which she would not open for all his entreaties.
"bring me the three things i lost on the way, and perhaps i may think about it," was all she would say.
and, in despair, the king was driven to take counsel of jose.
"there is no remedy that i can see," said his majesty, "but that you, who know where they are, should go and bring them back.
and if you return without them i will have you drowned."
poor jose was much troubled at these words.
he thought that he had done all that was required of him, and that his life was safe.
however, he bowed low, and went out to consult his friend the horse.
"do not vex yourself," said the horse, when he had heard the story; "jump up, and we will go and look for the things."
and jose mounted at once.
they rode on till they came to the ant-hill, and then the horse asked: "would you like to have the bran?"
"what is the use of liking?"
answered jose.
"well, call the ants, and tell them to fetch it for you; and, if some of it has been scattered by the wind, to bring in its stead the grains that were in the cakes you gave them."
jose listened in surprise.
he did not much believe in the horse's plan; but he could not think of anything better, so he called to the ants, and bade them collect the bran as fast as they could.
then he saw under a tree and waited, while his horse cropped the green turf.
"look there!"
said the animal, suddenly raising its head; and jose looked behind him and saw a little mountain of bran, which he put into a bag that was hung over his saddle.
"good deeds bear fruit sooner or later," observed the horse; "but mount again, as we have far to go."
when they arrived at the tree, they saw the handkerchief fluttering like a flag from the topmost branch, and jose's spirits sank again.
"how am i to get that handkerchief?"
cried he; "why i should need jacob's ladder!"
but the horse answered: "do not be frightened; call to the eagle you set free from the net, he will bring it to you."
so jose called to the eagle, and the eagle flew to the top of the tree and brought back the handkerchief in its beak.
jose thanked him, and vaulting on his horse they rode on to the river.
a great deal of rain had fallen in the night, and the river, instead of being clear as it was before, was dark and troubled.
"how am i to fetch the ring from the bottom of this river when i do not know exactly where it was dropped, and can not even see it?"
asked jose.
but the horse answered: "do not be frightened; call the little fish whose life you saved, and she will bring it to you."
so he called to the fish, and the fish dived to the bottom and slipped behind big stones, and moved little ones with its tail till it found the ring, and brought it to jose in its mouth.
well pleased with all he had done, jose returned to the palace; but when the king took the precious objects to bella-flor, she declared that she would never open her door till the bandit who had carried her off had been fried in oil."
i am very sorry," said the king to jose," i really would rather not; but you see i have no choice."
while the oil was being heated in the great caldron, jose went to the stables to inquire of his friend the horse if there was no way for him to escape.
"do not be frightened," said the horse.
"get on my back, and i will gallop till my whole body is wet with perspiration, then rub it all over your skin, and no matter how hot the oil may be you will never feel it."
jose did not ask any more questions, but did as the horse bade him; and men wondered at his cheerful face as they lowered him into the caldron of boiling oil.
he was left there till bella-flor cried that he must be cooked enough.
then out came a youth so young and handsome, that everyone fell in love with him, and bella-flor most of all.
as for the old king, he saw that he had lost the game; and in despair he flung himself into the caldron, and was fried instead of jose.
then jose was proclaimed king, on condition that he married bella-flor which he promised to do the next day.
but first he went to the stables and sought out the horse, and said to him: "it is to you that i owe my life and my crown.
why have you done all this for me?"
and the horse answered: "i am the soul of that unhappy man for whom you spent all your fortune.
and when i saw you in danger of death i begged that i might help you, as you had helped me.
for, as i told you, good deeds bear their own fruit!"
the bird of truth -lsb- from cuentos, oraciones, y adivinas, por fernan caballero. -rsb-
once upon a time there lived a poor fisher who built a hut on the banks of a stream which, shunning the glare of the sun and the noise of the towns, flowed quietly past trees and under bushes, listening to the songs of the birds overhead.
one day, when the fisherman had gone out as usual to cast his nets, he saw borne towards him on the current a cradle of crystal.
slipping his net quickly beneath it he drew it out and lifted the silk coverlet.
inside, lying on a soft bed of cotton, were two babies, a boy and a girl, who opened their eyes and smiled at him.
the man was filled with pity at the sight, and throwing down his lines he took the cradle and the babies home to his wife.
the good woman flung up her hands in despair when she beheld the contents of the cradle.
"are not eight children enough," she cried, "without bringing us two more?
how do you think we can feed them?"
"you would not have had me leave them to die of hunger," answered he, "or be swallowed up by the waves of the sea?
what is enough for eight is also enough for ten."
the wife said no more; and in truth her heart yearned over the little creatures.
somehow or other food was never lacking in the hut, and the children grew up and were so good and gentle that, in time, their foster-parents loved them as well or better than their own, who were quarrelsome and envious.
it did not take the orphans long to notice that the boys did not like them, and were always playing tricks on them, so they used to go away by themselves and spend whole hours by the banks of the river.
here they would take out the bits of bread they had saved from their breakfasts and crumble them for the birds.
in return, the birds taught them many things: how to get up early in the morning, how to sing, and how to talk their language, which very few people know.
but though the little orphans did their best to avoid quarrelling with their foster-brothers, it was very difficult always to keep the peace.
matters got worse and worse till, one morning, the eldest boy said to the twins: "it is all very well for you to pretend that you have such good manners, and are so much better than we, but we have at least a father and mother, while you have only got the river, like the toads and the frogs."
the poor children did not answer the insult; but it made them very unhappy.
and they told each other in whispers that they could not stay there any longer, but must go into the world and seek their fortunes.
so next day they arose as early as the birds and stole downstairs without anybody hearing them.
one window was open, and they crept softly out and ran to the side of the river.
then, feeling as if they had found a friend, they walked along its banks, hoping that by-and-by they should meet some one to take care of them.
the whole of that day they went steadily on without seeing a living creature, till, in the evening, weary and footsore, they saw before them a small hut.
this raised their spirits for a moment; but the door was shut, and the hut seemed empty, and so great was their disappointment that they almost cried.
however, the boy fought down his tears, and said cheerfully: "well, at any rate here is a bench where we can sit down, and when we are rested we will think what is best to do next."
then they sat down, and for some time they were too tired even to notice anything; but by-and-by they saw that under the tiles of the roof a number of swallows were sitting, chattering merrily to each other.
of course the swallows had no idea that the children understood their language, or they would not have talked so freely; but, as it was, they said whatever came into their heads.
"good evening, my fine city madam," remarked a swallow, whose manners were rather rough and countryfied to another who looked particularly distinguished.
"happy, indeed, are the eyes that behold you!
only think of your having returned to your long-forgotten country friends, after you have lived for years in a palace!'"
i have inherited this nest from my parents," replied the other, "and as they left it to me i certainly shall make it my home.
but," she added politely," i hope that you and all your family are well?"
"very well indeed, i am glad to say.
but my poor daughter had, a short time ago, such bad inflammation in her eyes that she would have gone blind had i not been able to find the magic herb, which cured her at once."
"and how is the nightingale singing?
does the lark soar as high as ever?
and does the linnet dress herself as smartly?"
but here the country swallow drew herself up."
i never talk gossip," she said severely.
"our people, who were once so innocent and well-behaved, have been corrupted by the bad examples of men.
it is a thousand pities."
"what!
innocence and good behaviour are not to be met with among birds, nor in the country!
my dear friend, what are you saying?"
"the truth and nothing more.
imagine, when we returned here, we met some linnets who, just as the spring and the flowers and the long days had come, were setting out for the north and the cold?
out of pure compassion we tried to persuade them to give up this folly; but they only replied with the utmost insolence."
"how shocking!"
exclaimed the city swallow.
"yes, it was.
and worse than that, the crested lark, that was formerly so timid and shy, is now no better than a thief, and steals maize and corn whenever she can find them.'"
i am astonished at what you say."
"you will be more astonished when i tell you that on my arrival here for the summer i found my nest occupied by a shameless sparrow!
""this is my nest," i said.
""yours?"
he answered, with a rude laugh.
""yes, mine; my ancestors were born here, and my sons will be born here also."
and at that my husband set upon him and threw him out of the nest.
i am sure nothing of this sort ever happens in a town."
"not exactly, perhaps.
but i have seen a great deal -- if you only knew!"
"oh!
do tell us!
do tell us!"
cried they all.
and when they had settled themselves comfortably, the city swallow began: "you must know, then that our king fell in love with the youngest daughter of a tailor, who was as good and gentle as she was beautiful.
his nobles hoped that he would have chosen a queen from one of their daughters, and tried to prevent the marriage; but the king would not listen to them, and it took place.
not many months later a war broke out, and the king rode away at the head of his army, while the queen remained behind, very unhappy at the separation.
when peace was made, and the king returned, he was told that his wife had had two babies in his absence, but that both were dead; that she herself had gone out of her mind and was obliged to be shut up in a tower in the mountains, where, in time, the fresh air might cure her."
"and was this not true?"
asked the swallows eagerly.
"of course not," answered the city lady, with some contempt for their stupidity.
"the children were alive at that very moment in the gardener's cottage; but at night the chamberlain came down and put them in a cradle of crystal, which he carried to the river.
"for a whole day they floated safely, for though the stream was deep it was very still, and the children took no harm.
in the morning -- so i am told by my friend the kingfisher -- they were rescued by a fisherman who lived near the river bank."
the children had been lying on the bench, listening lazily to the chatter up to this point; but when they heard the story of the crystal cradle which their foster-mother had always been fond of telling them, they sat upright and looked at each other.
"oh, how glad i am i learnt the birds" language!"
said the eyes of one to the eyes of the other.
meanwhile the swallows had spoken again.
"that was indeed good fortune!"
cried they.
"and when the children are grown up they can return to their father and set their mother free."
"it will not be so easy as you think," answered the city swallow, shaking her head; "for they will have to prove that they are the king's children, and also that their mother never went mad at all.
in fact, it is so difficult that there is only one way of proving it to the king."
"and what is that?"
cried all the swallows at once.
"and how do you know it?'"
i know it," answered the city swallow, "because, one day, when i was passing through the palace garden, i met a cuckoo, who, as i need not tell you, always pretends to be able to see into the future.
we began to talk about certain things which were happening in the palace, and of the events of past years.
""ah," said he, "the only person who can expose the wickedness of the ministers and show the king how wrong he has been, is the bird of truth, who can speak the language of men.""
""and where can this bird be found?"
i asked."
""it is shut up in a castle guarded by a fierce giant, who only sleeps one quarter of an hour out of the whole twenty-four," replied the cuckoo.
"and where is this castle?"
inquired the country swallow, who, like all the rest, and the children most of all, had been listening with deep attention.
"that is just what i do n't know," answered her friend.
"all i can tell you is that not far from here is a tower, where dwells an old witch, and it is she who knows the way, and she will only teach it to the person who promises to bring her the water from the fountain of many colours, which she uses for her enchantments.
but never will she betray the place where the bird of truth is hidden, for she hates him, and would kill him if she could; knowing well, however, that this bird can not die, as he is immortal, she keeps him closely shut up, and guarded night and day by the birds of bad faith, who seek to gag him so that his voice should not be heard."
"and is there no one else who can tell the poor boy where to find the bird, if he should ever manage to reach the tower?"
asked the country swallow.
"no one," replied the city swallow, "except an owl, who lives a hermit's life in that desert, and he knows only one word of man's speech, and that is "cross."
so that even if the prince did succeed in getting there, he could never understand what the owl said.
but, look, the sun is sinking to his nest in the depths of the sea, and i must go to mine.
good-night, friends, good-night!"
then the swallow flew away, and the children, who had forgotten both hunger and weariness in the joy of this strange news, rose up and followed in the direction of her flight.
after two hours" walking, they arrived at a large city, which they felt sure must be the capital of their father's kingdom.
seeing a good-natured looking woman standing at the door of a house, they asked her if she would give them a night's lodging, and she was so pleased with their pretty faces and nice manners that she welcomed them warmly.
it was scarcely light the next morning before the girl was sweeping out the rooms, and the boy watering the garden, so that by the time the good woman came downstairs there was nothing left for her to do.
this so delighted her that she begged the children to stay with her altogether, and the boy answered that he would leave his sisters with her gladly, but that he himself had serious business on hand and must not linger in pursuit of it.
so he bade them farewell and set out.
for three days he wandered by the most out-of-the-way paths, but no signs of a tower were to be seen anywhere.
on the fourth morning it was just the same, and, filled with despair, he flung himself on the ground under a tree and hid his face in his hands.
in a little while he heard a rustling over his head, and looking up, he saw a turtle dove watching him with her bright eyes.
"oh dove!"
cried the boy, addressing the bird in her own language, "oh dove!
tell me, i pray you, where is the castle of come-and-never-go?"
"poor child," answered the dove, "who has sent you on such a useless quest?"
"my good or evil fortune," replied the boy," i know not which."
"to get there," said the dove, "you must follow the wind, which to-day is blowing towards the castle."
the boy thanked her, and followed the wind, fearing all the time that it might change its direction and lead him astray.
but the wind seemed to feel pity for him and blew steadily on.
with each step the country became more and more dreary, but at nightfall the child could see behind the dark and bare rocks something darker still.
this was the tower in which dwelt the witch; and seizing the knocker he gave three loud knocks, which were echoed in the hollows of the rocks around.
the door opened slowly, and there appeared on the threshold an old woman holding up a candle to her face, which was so hideous that the boy involuntarily stepped backwards, almost as frightened by the troop of lizards, beetles and such creatures that surrounded her, as by the woman herself.
"who are you who dare to knock at my door and wake me?"
cried she.
"be quick and tell me what you want, or it will be the worse for you."
"madam," answered the child," i believe that you alone know the way to the castle of come-and-never-go, and i pray you to show it to me."
"very good," replied the witch, with something that she meant for a smile, "but to-day it is late.
to-morrow you shall go.
now enter, and you shall sleep with my lizards.'"
i can not stay," said he."
i must go back at once, so as to reach the road from which i started before day dawns."
"if i tell you, will you promise me that you will bring me this jar full of the many-coloured water from the spring in the court-yard of the castle?"
asked she.
"if you fail to keep your word i will change you into a lizard for ever.'"
i promise," answered the boy.
then the old woman called to a very thin dog, and said to him: "conduct this pig of a child to the castle of come-and-never-go, and take care that you warn my friend of his arrival."
and the dog arose and shook itself, and set out.
at the end of two hours they stopped in front of a large castle, big and black and gloomy, whose doors stood wide open, although neither sound nor light gave sign of any presence within.
the dog, however, seemed to know what to expect, and, after a wild howl, went on; but the boy, who was uncertain whether this was the quarter of an hour when the giant was asleep, hesitated to follow him, and paused for a moment under a wild olive that grew near by, the only tree which he had beheld since he had parted from the dove.
"oh, heaven, help me!"
cried he.
"cross!
cross!"
answered a voice.
the boy leapt for joy as he recognised the note of the owl of which the swallow had spoken, and he said softly in the bird's language: "oh, wise owl, i pray you to protect and guide me, for i have come in search of the bird of truth.
and first i must fill this far with the many-coloured water in the courtyard of the castle."
"do not do that," answered the owl, "but fill the jar from the spring which bubbles close by the fountain with the many-coloured water.
afterwards, go into the aviary opposite the great door, but be careful not to touch any of the bright-plumaged birds contained in it, which will cry to you, each one, that he is the bird of truth.
choose only a small white bird that is hidden in a corner, which the others try incessantly to kill, not knowing that it can not die.
and, be quick!
-- for at this very moment the giant has fallen asleep, and you have only a quarter of an hour to do everything."
the boy ran as fast as he could and entered the courtyard, where he saw the two spring close together.
he passed by the many-coloured water without casting a glance at it, and filled the jar from the fountain whose water was clear and pure.
he next hastened to the aviary, and was almost deafened by the clamour that rose as he shut the door behind him.
voices of peacocks, voices of ravens, voices of magpies, each claiming to be the bird of truth.
with steadfast face the boy walked by them all, to the corner, where, hemmed in by a hand of fierce crows, was the small white bird he sought.
putting her safely in his breast, he passed out, followed by the screams of the birds of bad faith which he left behind him.
once outside, he ran without stopping to the witch's tower, and handed to the old woman the jar she had given him.
"become a parrot!"
cried she, flinging the water over him.
but instead of losing his shape, as so many had done before, he only grew ten times handsomer; for the water was enchanted for good and not ill.
then the creeping multitude around the witch hastened to roll themselves in the water, and stood up, human beings again.
when the witch saw what was happening, she took a broomstick and flew away.
who can guess the delight of the sister at the sight of her brother, bearing the bird of truth?
but although the boy had accomplished much, something very difficult yet remained, and that was how to carry the bird of truth to the king without her being seized by the wicked courtiers, who would be ruined by the discovery of their plot.
soon -- no one knew how -- the news spread abroad that the bird of truth was hovering round the palace, and the courtiers made all sorts of preparations to hinder her reaching the king.
they got ready weapons that were sharpened, and weapons that were poisoned; they sent for eagles and falcons to hunt her down, and constructed cages and boxes in which to shut her up if they were not able to kill her.
they declared that her white plumage was really put on to hide her black feathers -- in fact there was nothing they did not do in order to prevent the king from seeing the bird or from paying attention to her words if he did.
as often happens in these cases, the courtiers brought about that which they feared.
they talked so much about the bird of truth that at last the king heard of it, and expressed a wish to see her.
the more difficulties that were put in his way the stronger grew his desire, and in the end the king published a proclamation that whoever found the bird of truth should bring her to him without delay.
as soon as he saw this proclamation the boy called his sister, and they hastened to the palace.
the bird was buttoned inside his tunic, but, as might have been expected, the courtiers barred the way, and told the child that he could not enter.
it was in vain that the boy declared that he was only obeying the king's commands; the courtiers only replied that his majesty was not yet out of bed, and it was forbidden to wake him.
they were still talking, when, suddenly, the bird settled the question by flying upwards through an open window into the king's own room.
alighting on the pillow, close to the king's head, she bowed respectfully, and said: "my lord, i am the bird of truth whom you wished to see, and i have been obliged to approach you in the manner because the boy who brought me is kept out of the palace by your courtiers."
"they shall pay for their insolence," said the king.
and he instantly ordered one of his attendants to conduct the boy at once to his apartments; and in a moment more the prince entered, holding his sister by the hand.
"who are you?"
asked the king; "and what has the bird of truth to do with you?"
"if it please your majesty, the bird of truth will explain that herself," answered the boy.
and the bird did explain; and the king heard for the first time of the wicked plot that had been successful for so many years.
he took his children in his arms, with tears in his eyes, and hurried off with them to the tower in the mountains where the queen was shut up.
the poor woman was as white as marble, for she had been living almost in darkness; but when she saw her husband and children, the colour came back to her face, and she was as beautiful as ever.
they all returned in state to the city, where great rejoicings were held.
the wicked courtiers had their heads cut off, and all their property was taken away.
as for the good old couple, they were given riches and honour, and were loved and cherished to the end of their lives.
the mink and the wolf -lsb- from cuentos, oraciones y adivinas, por fernan caballero. -rsb-
in a big forest in the north of america lived a quantity of wild animals of all sorts.
they were always very polite when they met; but, in spite of that, they kept a close watch one upon the other, as each was afraid of being killed and eaten by somebody else.
but their manners were so good that no one would ever had guessed that.
one day a smart young wolf went out to hunt, promising his grandfather and grandmother that he would be sure to be back before bedtime.
he trotted along quite happily through the forest till he came to a favourite place of his, just where the river runs into the sea.
there, just as he had hoped, he saw the chief mink fishing in a canoe."
i want to fish too," cried the wolf.
but the mink said nothing and pretended not to hear."
i wish you would take me into your boat!"
shouted the wolf, louder than before, and he continued to beseech the mink so long that at last he grew tired of it, and paddled to the shore close enough for the wolf to jump in.
"sit down quietly at that end or we shall be upset," said the mink; "and if you care about sea-urchins" eggs, you will find plenty in that basket.
but be sure you eat only the white ones, for the red ones would kill you."
so the wolf, who was always hungry, began to eat the eggs greedily; and when he had finished he told the mink he thought he would have a nap.
"well, then, stretch yourself out, and rest your head on that piece of wood," said the mink.
and the wolf did as he was bid, and was soon fast asleep.
then the mink crept up to him and stabbed him to the heart with his knife, and he died without moving.
after that he landed on the beach, skinned the wolf, and taking the skin to his cottage, he hung it up before the fire to dry.
not many days later the wolf's grandmother, who, with the help of her relations, had been searching for him everywhere, entered the cottage to buy some sea-urchins" eggs, and saw the skin, which she at once guessed to be that of her grandson."
i knew he was dead -- i knew it!
i knew it!"
she cried, weeping bitterly, till the mink told her rudely that if she wanted to make so much noise she had better do it outside as he liked to be quiet.
so, half-blinded by her tears, the old woman went home the way she had come, and running in at the door, she flung herself down in front of the fire.
"what are you crying for?"
asked the old wolf and some friends who had been spending the afternoon with him."
i shall never see my grandson any more!"
answered she.
"mink has killed him, oh!
oh!"
and putting her head down, she began to weep as loudly as ever.
"there!
there!"
said her husband, laying his paw on her shoulder.
"be comforted; if he is dead, we will avenge him."
and calling to the others they proceeded to talk over the best plan.
it took them a long time to make up their minds, as one wolf proposed one thing and one another; but at last it was agreed that the old wolf should give a great feast in his house, and that the mink should be invited to the party.
and in order that no time should be lost it was further agreed that each wolf should bear the invitations to the guests that lived nearest to him.
now the wolves thought they were very cunning, but the mink was more cunning still; and though he sent a message by a white hare, that was going that way, saying he should be delighted to be present, he determined that he would take his precautions.
so he went to a mouse who had often done him a good turn, and greeted her with his best bow."
i have a favour to ask of you, friend mouse," said he, "and if you will grant it i will carry you on my back every night for a week to the patch of maize right up the hill."
"the favour is mine," answered the mouse.
"tell me what it is that i can have the honour of doing for you."
"oh, something quite easy," replied the mink."
i only want you -- between to-day and the next full moon -- to gnaw through the bows and paddles of the wolf people, so that directly they use them they will break.
but of course you must manage it so that they notice nothing."
"of course," answered the mouse, "nothing is easier; but as the full moon is to-morrow night, and there is not much time, i had better begin at once."
then the mink thanked her, and went his way; but before he had gone far he came back again.
"perhaps, while you are about the wolf's house seeing after the bows, it would do no harm if you were to make that knot-hole in the wall a little bigger," said he.
"not large enough to draw attention, of course; but it might come in handy."
and with another nod he left her.
the next evening the mink washed and brushed himself carefully and set out for the feast.
he smiled to himself as he looked at the dusty track, and perceived that though the marks of wolves" feet were many, not a single guest was to be seen anywhere.
he knew very well what that meant; but he had taken his precautions and was not afraid.
the house door stood open, but through a crack the mink could see the wolves crowding in the corner behind it.
however, he entered boldly, and as soon as he was fairly inside the door was shut with a bang, and the whole herd sprang at him, with their red tongues hanging out of their mouths.
quick as they were they were too late, for the mink was already through the knot-hole and racing for his canoe.
the knot-hole was too small for the wolves, and there were so many of them in the hut that it was some time before they could get the door open.
then they seized the bows and arrows which were hanging on the walls and, once outside, aimed at the flying mink; but as they pulled the bows broke in their paws, so they threw them away, and bounded to the shore, with all their speed, to the place where their canoes were drawn up on the beach.
now, although the mink could not run as fast as the wolves, he had a good start, and was already afloat when the swiftest among them threw themselves into the nearest canoe.
they pushed off, but as they dipped the paddles into the water, they snapped as the bows had done, and were quite useless."
i know where there are some new ones," cried a young fellow, leaping on shore and rushing to a little cave at the back of the beach.
and the mink's heart smote him when he heard, for he had not known of this secret store.
after a long chase the wolves managed to surround their prey, and the mink, seeing it was no good resisting any more, gave himself up.
some of the elder wolves brought out some cedar bands, which they always carried wound round their bodies, but the mink laughed scornfully at the sight of them.
"why i could snap those in a moment," said he; "if you want to make sure that i can not escape, better take a line of kelp and bind me with that."
"you are right," answered the grandfather; "your wisdom is greater than ours."
and he bade his servants gather enough kelp from the rocks to make a line, as they had brought none with them.
"while the line is being made you might as well let me have one last dance," remarked the mink.
and the wolves replied: "very good, you may have your dance; perhaps it may amuse us as well as you."
so they brought two canoes and placed them one beside the other.
the mink stood up on his hind legs and began to dance, first in one canoe and then in the other; and so graceful was he, that the wolves forgot they were going to put him to death, and howled with pleasure.
"pull the canoes a little apart; they are too close for this new dance," he said, pausing for a moment.
and the wolves separated them while he gave a series of little springs, sometime pirouetting while he stood with one foot on the prow of both.
"now nearer, now further apart," he would cry as the dance went on.
"no!
further still."
and springing into the air, amidst howls of applause, he came down head-foremost, and dived to the bottom.
and through the wolves, whose howls had now changed into those of rage, sought him everywhere, they never found him, for he hid behind a rock till they were out of sight, and then made his home in another forest.
adventures of an indian brave -lsb- from the journal of the anthropological institute. -rsb-
a long, long way off, right away in the west of america, there once lived an old man who had one son.
the country round was covered with forests, in which dwelt all kinds of wild beasts, and the young man and his companions used to spend whole days in hunting them, and he was the finest hunter of all the tribe.
one morning, when winter was coming on, the youth and his companions set off as usual to bring back some of the mountain goats and deer to be salted down, as he was afraid of a snow-storm; and if the wind blew and the snow drifted the forest might be impassable for some weeks.
the old man and the wife, however, would not go out, but remained in the wigwam making bows and arrows.
it soon grew so cold in the forest that at last one of the men declared they could walk no more, unless they could manage to warm themselves.
"that is easily done," said the leader, giving a kick to a large tree.
flames broke out in the trunk, and before it had burnt up they were as hot as if it had been summer.
then they started off to the place where the goats and deer were to be found in the greatest numbers, and soon had killed as many as they wanted.
but the leader killed most, as he was the best shot.
"now we must cut up the game and divide it," said he; and so they did, each one taking his own share; and, walking one behind the other, set out for the village.
but when they reached a great river the young man did not want the trouble of carrying his pack any further, and left it on the bank."
i am going home another way," he told his companions.
and taking another road he reached the village long before they did.
"have you returned with empty hands?"
asked the old man, as his son opened the door.
"have i ever done that, that you put me such a question?"
asked the youth.
"no; i have slain enough to feast us for many moons, but it was heavy, and i left the pack on the bank of the great river.
give me the arrows, i will finish making them, and you can go to the river and bring home the pack!"
so the old man rose and went, and strapped the meat on his shoulder; but as he was crossing the ford the strap broke and the pack fell into the river.
he stooped to catch it, but it swirled past him.
he clutched again; but in doing so he over-balanced himself and was hurried into some rapids, where he was knocked against some rocks, and he sank and was drowned, and his body was carried down the stream into smoother water when it rose to the surface again.
but by this time it had lost all likeness to a man, and was changed into a piece of wood.
the wood floated on, and the river got bigger and bigger and entered a new country.
there it was borne by the current close to the shore, and a woman who was down there washing her clothes caught it as it passed, and drew it out, saying to herself: "what a nice smooth plank!
i will use it as a table to put my food upon."
and gathering up her clothes she took the plank with her into her hut.
when her supper time came she stretched the board across two strings which hung from the roof, and set upon it the pot containing a stew that smelt very good.
the woman had been working hard all day and was very hungry, so she took her biggest spoon and plunged it into the pot.
but what was her astonishment and disgust when both pot and food vanished instantly before her!
"oh, you horrid plank, you have brought me ill-luck!"
she cried.
and taking it up she flung it away from her.
the woman had been surprised before at the disappearance of her food, but she was more astonished still when, instead of the plank, she beheld a baby.
however, she was fond of children and had none of her own, so she made up her mind that she would keep it and take care of it.
the baby grew and throve as no baby in that country had ever done, and in four days he was a man, and as tall and strong as any brave of the tribe.
"you have treated me well," he said, "and meat shall never fail to your house.
but now i must go, for i have much work to do."
then he set out for his home.
it took him many days to get there, and when he saw his son sitting in his place his anger was kindled, and his heart was stirred to take vengeance upon him.
so he went out quickly into the forest and shed tears, and each tear became a bird.
"stay there till i want you," said he; and he returned to the hut."
i saw some pretty new birds, high up in a tree yonder," he remarked.
and the son answered: "show me the way and i will get them for dinner."
the two went out together, and after walking for about half an hour they old man stopped.
"that is the tree," he said.
and the son began to climb it.
now a strange thing happened.
the higher the young man climbed the higher the birds seemed to be, and when he looked down the earth below appeared no bigger than a star.
sill he tried to go back, but he could not, and though he could not see the birds any longer he felt as if something were dragging him up and up.
he thought that he had been climbing that tree for days, and perhaps he had, for suddenly a beautiful country, yellow with fields of maize, stretched before him, and he gladly left the top of the tree and entered it.
he walked through the maize without knowing where he was going, when he heard a sound of knocking, and saw two old blind women crushing their food between two stones.
he crept up to them on tiptoe, and when one old woman passed her dinner to the other he held out his hand and took it and ate if for himself.
"how slow you are kneading that cake," cried the other old woman at last.
"why, i have given you your dinner, and what more do you want?"
replied the second.
"you did n't; at least i never got it," said the other."
i certainly thought you took it from me; but here is some more."
and again the young man stretched out his hand; and the two old women fell to quarrelling afresh.
but when it happened for the third time the old women suspected some trick, and one of them exclaimed: "i am sure there is a man here; tell me, are you not my grandson?"
"yes," answered the young man, who wished to please her, "and in return for your good dinner i will see if i can not restore your sight; for i was taught in the art of healing by the best medicine man in the tribe."
and with that he left them, and wandered about till he found the herb which he wanted.
then he hastened back to the old women, and begging them to boil him some water, he threw the herb in.
as soon as the pot began to sing he took off the lid, and sprinkled the eyes of the women, and sight came back to them once more.
there was no night in that country, so, instead of going to bed very early, as he would have done in his own hut, the young man took another walk.
a splashing noise near by drew him down to a valley through which ran a large river, and up a waterfall some salmon were leaping.
how their silver sides glistened in the light, and how he longed to catch some of the great fellows!
but how could he do it?
he had beheld no one except the old women, and it was not very likely that they would be able to help him.
so with a sigh he turned away and went back to them, but, as he walked, a thought struck him.
he pulled out one of his hairs which hung nearly to his waist, and it instantly became a strong line, nearly a mile in length.
"weave me a net that i may catch some salmon," said he.
and they wove him the net he asked for, and for many weeks he watched by the river, only going back to the old women when he wanted a fish cooked.
at last, one day, when he was eating his dinner, the old woman who always spoke first, said to him: "we have been very glad to see you, grandson, but now it is time that you went home."
and pushing aside a rock, he saw a deep hole, so deep that he could not see to the bottom.
then they dragged a basket out of the house, and tied a rope to it.
"get in, and wrap this blanket round your head," said they; "and, whatever happens, do n't uncover it till you get to the bottom."
then they bade him farewell, and he curled himself up in the basket.
down, down, down he went; would he ever stop going?
but when the basket did stop, the young man forgot what he had been told, and put his head out to see what was the matter.
in an instant the basket moved, but, to his horror, instead of going down, he felt himself being drawn upwards, and shortly after he beheld the faces of the old women.
"you will never see your wife and son if you will not do as you are bid," said they.
"now get in, and do not stir till you hear a crow calling."
this time the young man was wiser, and though the basket often stopped, and strange creatures seemed to rest on him and to pluck at his blanket, he held it tight till he heard the crow calling.
then he flung off the blanket and sprang out, while the basket vanished in the sky.
he walked on quickly down the track that led to the hut, when, before him, he saw his wife with his little son on her back.
"oh!
there is father at last," cried the boy; but the mother bade him cease from idle talking.
"but, mother, it is true; father is coming!"
repeated the child.
and, to satisfy him, the woman turned round and perceived her husband.
oh, how glad they all were to be together again!
and when the wind whistled through the forest, and the snow stood in great banks round the door, the father used to take the little boy on his knee and tell him how he caught salmon in the land of the sun.
how the stalos were tricked -lsb- from the journal of the anthropological institute. -rsb-
"mother, i have seen such a wonderful man," said a little boy one day, as he entered a hut in lapland, bearing in his arms the bundle of sticks he had been sent out to gather.
"have you, my son; and what was he like?"
asked the mother, as she took off the child's sheepskin coat and shook it on the doorstep.
"well, i was tired of stooping for the sticks, and was leaning against a tree to rest, when i heard a noise of "sh - "sh, among the dead leaves.
i thought perhaps it was a wolf, so i stood very still.
but soon there came past a tall man -- oh!
twice as tall as father -- with a long red beard and a red tunic fastened with a silver girdle, from which hung a silver-handled knife.
behind him followed a great dog, which looked stronger than any wolf, or even a bear.
but why are you so pale, mother?"
"it was the stalo," replied she, her voice trembling; "stalo the man-eater!
you did well to hide, or you might never had come back.
but, remember that, though he is so tall and strong, he is very stupid, and many a lapp has escaped from his clutches by playing him some clever trick."
not long after the mother and son had held this talk, it began to be whispered in the forest that the children of an old man called patto had vanished one by one, no one knew whither.
the unhappy father searched the country for miles round without being able to find as much as a shoe or a handkerchief, to show him where they had passed, but at length a little boy came with news that he had seen the stalo hiding behind a well, near which the children used to play.
the boy had waited behind a clump of bushes to see what would happen, and by-and-by he noticed that the stalo had laid a cunning trap in the path to the well, and that anybody who fell over it would roll into the water and drown there.
and, as he watched, patto's youngest daughter ran gaily down the path, till her foot caught in the strings that were stretched across the steepest place.
she slipped and fell, and in another instant had rolled into the water within reach of the stalo.
as soon as patto heard this tale his heart was filled with rage, and he vowed to have his revenge.
so he straightway took an old fur coat from the hook where it hung, and putting it on went out into the forest.
when he reached the path that led to the well he looked hastily round to be sure that no one was watching him, then laid himself down as if he had been caught in the snare and had rolled into the well, though he took care to keep his head out of the water.
very soon he heard a "sh - "sh of the leaves, and there was the stalo pushing his way through the undergrowth to see what chance he had of a dinner.
at the first glimpse of patto's head in the well he laughed loudly, crying: "ha!
ha!
this time it is the old ass!
i wonder how he will taste?"
and drawing patto out of the well, he flung him across his shoulders and carried him home.
then he tied a cord round him and hung him over the fire to roast, while he finished a box that he was making before the door of the hut, which he meant to hold patto's flesh when it was cooked.
in a very short time the box was so nearly done that it only wanted a little more chipping out with an axe; but this part of the work was easier accomplished indoors, and he called to one of his sons who were lounging inside to bring him the tool.
the young man looked everywhere, but he could not find the axe, for the very good reason that patto had managed to pick it up and hide it in his clothes.
"stupid fellow!
what is the use of you?"
grumbled his father angrily; and he bade first one and then another of his sons to fetch him the tool, but they had no better success than their brother."
i must come myself, i suppose!"
said stalo, putting aside the box.
but, meanwhile, patto had slipped from the hook and concealed himself behind the door, so that, as stalo stepped in, his prisoner raised the axe, and with one blow the ogre's head was rolling on the ground.
his sons were so frightened at the sight that they all ran away.
and in this manner patto avenged his dead children.
but though stalo was dead, his three sons were still living, and not very far off either.
they had gone to their mother, who was tending some reindeer on the pastures, and told her that by some magic, they knew not what, their father's head had rolled from his body, and they had been so afraid that something dreadful would happen to them that they had come to take refuge with her.
the ogress said nothing.
long ago she had found out how stupid her sons were, so she just sent them out to milk the reindeer, while she returned to the other house to bury her husband's body.
now, three days" journey from the hut on the pastures two brothers sodno dwelt in a small cottage with their sister lyma, who tended a large herd of reindeer while they were out hunting.
of late it had been whispered from one to another that the three young stalos were to be seen on the pastures, but the sodno brothers did not disturb themselves, the danger seemed too far away.
unluckily, however, one day, when lyma was left by herself in the hut, the three stalos came down and carried her and the reindeer off to their own cottage.
the country was very lonely, and perhaps no one would have known in which direction she had gone had not the girl managed to tie a ball of thread to the handle of a door at the back of the cottage and let it trail behind her.
of course the ball was not long enough to go all the way, but it lay on the edge of a snowy track which led straight to the stalos" house.
when the brothers returned from their hunting they found both the hut and the sheds empty.
loudly they cried: "lyma!
lyma!"
but no voice answered them; and they fell to searching all about, lest perchance their sister might have dropped some clue to guide them.
at length their eyes dropped on the thread which lay on the snow, and they set out to follow it.
on and on they went, and when at length the thread stopped the brothers knew that another day's journey would bring them to the stalos" dwelling.
of course they did not dare to approach it openly, for the stalos had the strength of giants, and besides, there were three of them; so the two sodnos climbed into a big bushy tree which overhung a well.
"perhaps our sister may be sent to draw water here," they said to each other.
but it was not till the moon had risen that the sister came, and as she let down her bucket into the well, the leaves seemed to whisper "lyma!
lyma!"
the girl started and looked up, but could see nothing, and in a moment the voice came again.
"be careful -- take no notice, fill your buckets, but listen carefully all the while, and we will tell you what to do so that you may escape yourself and set free the reindeer also."
so lyman bent over the well lower than before, and seemed busier than ever.
"you know," said her brother, "that when a stalo finds that anything has been dropped into his food he will not eat a morsel, but throws it to his dogs.
now, after the pot has been hanging some time over the fire, and the broth is nearly cooked, just rake up the log of wood so that some of the ashes fly into the pot.
the stalo will soon notice this, and will call you to give all the food to the dogs; but, instead, you must bring it straight to us, as it is three days since we have eaten or drunk.
that is all you need do for the present."
then lyma took up her buckets and carried them into the house, and did as her brothers had told her.
they were so hungry that they ate the food up greedily without speaking, but when there was nothing left in the pot, the eldest one said: "listen carefully to what i have to tell you.
after the eldest stalo has cooked and eaten a fresh supper, he will go to bed and sleep so soundly that not even a witch could wake him.
you can hear him snoring a mile off, and then you must go into his room and pull off the iron mantle that covers him, and put it on the fire till it is almost red hot.
when that is done, come to us and we will give you further directions.'"
i will obey you in everything, dear brothers," answered lyman; and so she did.
it had happened that on this very evening the stalos had driven in some of the reindeer from the pasture, and had tied them up to the wall of the house so that they might be handy to kill for next day's dinner.
the two sodnos had seen what they were doing, and where the beasts were secured; so, at midnight, when all was still, they crept down from their tree and seized the reindeer by the horns which were locked together.
the animals were frightened, and began to neigh and kick, as if they were fighting together, and the noise became so great that even the eldest stalo was awakened by it, and that was a thing which had never occurred before.
raising himself in his bed, he called to his youngest brother to go out and separate the reindeer or they would certainly kill themselves.
the young stalo did as he was bid, and left the house; but no sooner was he out of the door than he was stabbed to the heart by one of the sodnos, and fell without a groan.
then they went back to worry the reindeer, and the noise became as great as ever, and a second time the stalo awoke.
"the boy does not seem to be able to part the beasts," he cried to his second brother; "go and help him, or i shall never get to sleep."
so the brother went, and in an instant was struck dead as he left the house by the sword of the eldest sodno.
the stalo waited in bed a little longer for things to get quiet, but as the clatter of the reindeer's horns was as bad as ever, he rose angrily from his bed muttering to himself: "it is extraordinary that they can not unlock themselves; but as no one else seems able to help them i suppose i must go and do it."
rubbing his eyes, he stood up on the floor and stretched his great arms and gave a yawn which shook the walls.
the sodnos heard it below, and posted themselves, one at the big door and one at the little door at the back, for they did not know what their enemy would come out at.
the stalo put out his hand to take his iron mantle from the bed, where it always lay, but the mantle was no there.
he wondered where it could be, and who could have moved it, and after searching through all the rooms, he found it hanging over the kitchen fire.
but the first touch burnt him so badly that he let it alone, and went with nothing, except a stick in his hand, through the back door.
the young sodno was standing ready for him, and as the stalo passed the threshold struck him such a blow on the head that he rolled over with a crash and never stirred again.
the two sodnos did not trouble about him, but quickly stripped the younger stalos of their clothes, in which they dressed themselves.
then they sat still till the dawn should break and they could find out from the stalos" mother where the treasure was hidden.
with the first rays of the sun the young sodno went upstairs and entered the old woman's room.
she was already up and dressed, and sitting by the window knitting, and the young man crept in softly and crouched down on the floor, laying his head on her lap.
for a while he kept silence, then he whispered gently: "tell me, dear mother, where did my eldest brother conceal his riches?"
"what a strange question!
surely you must know," answered she.
"no, i have forgotten; my memory is so bad."
"he dug a hole under the doorstep and placed it there," said she.
and there was another pause.
by-and-by the sodno asked again: "and where may my second brother's money be?"
"do n't you know that either?"
cried the mother in surprise.
"oh, yes; i did once.
but since i fell upon my head i can remember nothing."
"it is behind the oven," answered she.
and again was silence.
"mother, dear mother," said the young man at last," i am almost afraid to ask you; but i really have grown so stupid of late.
where did i hide my own money?"
but at this question the old woman flew into a passion, and vowed that if she could find a rod she would bring his memory back to him.
luckily, no rod was within her reach, and the sodno managed, after a little, to coax her back into good humour, and at length she told him that the youngest stalo had buried his treasure under the very place where she was sitting.
"dear mother," said lyman, who had come in unseen, and was kneeling in front of the fire.
"dear mother, do you know who it is you have been talking with?"
the old woman started, but answered quietly: "it is a sodno, i suppose?"
"you have guessed right," replied lyma.
the mother of the stalos looked round for her iron cane, which she always used to kill her victims, but it was not there, for lyma had put it in the fire.
"where is my iron cane?"
asked the old woman.
"there!"
answered lyma, pointing to the flames.
the old woman sprang forwards and seized it, but her clothes caught fire, and in a few minutes she was burned to ashes.
so the sodno brothers found the treasure, and they carried it, and their sister and the reindeer, to their own home, and were the richest men in all lapland.
andras baive -lsb- from lapplandische marchen, j. c. poestion. -rsb-
once upon a time there lived in lapland a man who was so very strong and swift of foot that nobody in his native town of vadso could come near him if they were running races in the summer evenings.
the people of vadso were very proud of their champion, and thought that there was no one like him in the world, till, by-and-by, it came to their ears that there dwelt among the mountains a lapp, andras baive by name, who was said by his friends to be even stronger and swifter than the bailiff.
of course not a creature in vadso believed that, and declared that if it made the mountaineers happier to talk such nonsense, why, let them!
the winter was long and cold, and the thoughts of the villagers were much busier with wolves than with andras baive, when suddenly, on a frosty day, he made his appearance in the little town of vadso.
the bailiff was delighted at this chance of trying his strength, and at once went out to seek andras and to coax him into giving proof of his vigour.
as he walked along his eyes fell upon a big eight-oared boat that lay upon the shore, and his face shone with pleasure.
"that is the very thing," laughed he," i will make him jump over that boat."
andras was quite ready to accept the challenge, and they soon settled the terms of the wager.
he who could jump over the boat without so much as touching it with his heel was to be the winner, and would get a large sum of money as the prize.
so, followed by many of the villagers, the two men walked down to the sea.
an old fisherman was chosen to stand near the boat to watch fair play, and to hold the stakes, and andras, as the stranger was told to jump first.
going back to the flag which had been stuck into the sand to mark the starting place, he ran forward, with his head well thrown back, and cleared the boat with a mighty bound.
the lookers-on cheered him, and indeed he well deserve it; but they waited anxiously all the same to see what the bailiff would do.
on he came, taller than andras by several inches, but heavier of build.
he too sprang high and well, but as he came down his heel just grazed the edge of the boat.
dead silence reigned amidst the townsfolk, but andras only laughed and said carelessly: "just a little too short, bailiff; next time you must do better than that."
the bailiff turned red with anger at his rival's scornful words, and answered quickly: "next time you will have something harder to do."
and turning his back on his friends, he went sulkily home.
andras, putting the money he had earned in his pocket, went home also.
the following spring andras happened to be driving his reindeer along a great fiord to the west of vadso.
a boy who had met him hastened to tell the bailiff that his enemy was only a few miles off; and the bailiff, disguising himself as a stalo, or ogre, called his son and his dog and rowed away across the fiord to the place where the boy had met andras.
now the mountaineer was lazily walking along the sands, thinking of the new hut that he was building with the money that he had won on the day of his lucky jump.
he wandered on, his eyes fixed on the sands, so that he did not see the bailiff drive his boat behind a rock, while he changed himself into a heap of wreckage which floated in on the waves.
a stumble over a stone recalled andras to himself, and looking up he beheld the mass of wreckage.
"dear me!
i may find some use for that," he said; and hastened down to the sea, waiting till he could lay hold of some stray rope which might float towards him.
suddenly -- he could not have told why -- a nameless fear seized upon him, and he fled away from the shore as if for his life.
as he ran he heard the sound of a pipe, such as only ogres of the stalo kind were wont to use; and there flashed into his mind what the bailiff had said when they jumped the boat: "next time you will have something harder to do."
so it was no wreckage after all that he had seen, but the bailiff himself.
it happened that in the long summer nights up in the mountain, where the sun never set, and it was very difficult to get to sleep, andras had spent many hours in the study of magic, and this stood him in good stead now.
the instant he heard the stalo music he wished himself to become the feet of a reindeer, and in this guise he galloped like the wind for several miles.
then he stopped to take breath and find out what his enemy was doing.
nothing he could see, but to his ears the notes of a pipe floated over the plain, and ever, as he listened, it drew nearer.
a cold shiver shook andras, and this time he wished himself the feet of a reindeer calf.
for when a reindeer calf has reached the age at which he begins first to lose his hair he is so swift that neither beast nor bird can come near him.
a reindeer calf is the swiftest of all things living.
yes; but not so swift as a stalo, as andras found out when he stopped to rest, and heard the pipe playing!
for a moment his heart sank, and he gave himself up for dead, till he remembered that, not far off, were two little lakes joined together by a short though very broad river.
in the middle of the river lay a stone that was always covered by water, except in dry seasons, and as the winter rains had been very heavy, he felt quite sure that not even the top of it could be seen.
the next minute, if anyone had been looking that way, he would have beheld a small reindeer calf speeding northwards, and by-and-by giving a great spring, which landed him in the midst of the stream.
but, instead of sinking to the bottom, he paused a second to steady himself, then gave a second spring which landed him on the further shore.
he next ran on to a little hill where he saw down and began to neigh loudly, so that the stalo might know exactly where he was.
"ah!
there you are," cried the stalo, appearing on the opposite bank; "for a moment i really thought i had lost you."
"no such luck," answered andras, shaking his head sorrowfully.
by this time he had taken his own shape again.
"well, but i do n't see how i am to get to you," said the stalo, looking up and down.
"jump over, as i did," answered andras; "it is quite easy."
"but i could not jump this river; and i do n't know how you did," replied the stalo."
i should be ashamed to say such things," exclaimed andras.
"do you mean to tell me that a jump, which the weakest lapp boy would make nothing of, is beyond your strength?"
the stalo grew red and angry when he heard these words, just as andras meant him to do.
he bounded into the air and fell straight into the river.
not that that would have mattered, for he was a good swimmer; but andras drew out the bow and arrows which every lapp carries, and took aim at him.
his aim was good, but the stalo sprang so high into the air that the arrow flew between his feet.
a second shot, directed at his forehead, fared no better, for this time the stalo jumped so high to the other side that the arrow passed between his finger and thumb.
then andras aimed his third arrow a little over the stalo's head, and when he sprang up, just an instant too soon, it hit him between the ribs.
mortally wounded as he was, the stalo was not yet dead, and managed to swim to the shore.
stretching himself on the sand, he said slowly to andras: "promise that you will give me an honourable burial, and when my body is laid in the grave go in my boat across the fiord, and take whatever you find in my house which belongs to me.
my dog you must kill, but spare my son, andras."
then he died; and andras sailed in his boat away across the fiord and found the dog and boy.
the dog, a fierce, wicked-looking creature, he slew with one blow from his fist, for it is well known that if a stalo's dog licks the blood that flows from his dead master's wounds the stalo comes to life again.
that is why no real stalo is ever seen without his dog; but the bailiff, being only half a stalo, had forgotten him, when he went to the little lakes in search of andras.
next, andras put all the gold and jewels which he found in the boat into his pockets, and bidding the boy get in, pushed it off from the shore, leaving the little craft to drift as it would, while he himself ran home.
with the treasure he possessed he was able to buy a great herd of reindeer; and he soon married a rich wife, whose parents would not have him as a son-in-law when he was poor, and the two lived happy for ever after.
the white slipper -lsb- from lapplandische mahrchen, j. c. poestion. -rsb-
once upon a time there lived a king who had a daughter just fifteen years old.
and what a daughter!
even the mothers who had daughters of their own could not help allowing that the princess was much more beautiful and graceful than any of them; and, as for the fathers, if one of them ever beheld her by accident he could talk of nothing else for a whole day afterwards.
of course the king, whose name was balancin, was the complete slave of his little girl from the moment he lifted her from the arms of her dead mother; indeed, he did not seem to know that there was anyone else in the world to love.
now diamantina, for that was her name, did not reach her fifteenth birthday without proposals for marriage from every country under heaven; but be the suitor who he might, the king always said him nay.
behind the palace a large garden stretched away to the foot of some hills, and more than one river flowed through.
hither the princess would come each evening towards sunset, attended by her ladies, and gather herself the flowers that were to adorn her rooms.
she also brought with her a pair of scissors to cut off the dead blooms, and a basket to put them in, so that when the sun rose next morning he might see nothing unsightly.
when she had finished this task she would take a walk through the town, so that the poor people might have a chance of speaking with her, and telling her of their troubles; and then she would seek out her father, and together they would consult over the best means of giving help to those who needed it.
but what has all this to do with the white slipper?
my readers will ask.
have patience, and you will see.
next to his daughter, balancin loved hunting, and it was his custom to spend several mornings every week chasing the boars which abounded in the mountains a few miles from the city.
one day, rushing downhill as fast as he could go, he put his foot into a hole and fell, rolling into a rocky pit of brambles.
the king's wounds were not very severe, but his face and hands were cut and torn, while his feet were in a worse plight still, for, instead of proper hunting boots, he only wore sandals, to enable him to run more swiftly.
in a few days the king was as well as ever, and the signs of the scratches were almost gone; but one foot still remained very sore, where a thorn had pierced deeply and had festered.
the best doctors in the kingdom treated it with all their skill; they bathed, and poulticed, and bandaged, but it was in vain.
the foot only grew worse and worse, and became daily more swollen and painful.
after everyone had tried his own particular cure, and found it fail, there came news of a wonderful doctor in some distant land who had healed the most astonishing diseases.
on inquiring, it was found that he never left the walls of his own city, and expected his patients to come to see him; but, by dint of offering a large sum of money, the king persuaded the famous physician to undertake the journey to his own court.
on his arrival the doctor was led at once into the king's presence, and made a careful examination of his foot.
"alas!
your majesty," he said, when he had finished, "the wound is beyond the power of man to heal; but though i can not cure it, i can at least deaden the pain, and enable you to walk without so much suffering."
"oh, if you can only do that," cried the king," i shall be grateful to you for life!
give your own orders; they shall be obeyed."
"then let your majesty bid the royal shoemaker make you a shoe of goat-skin very loose and comfortable, while i prepare a varnish to paint over it of which i alone have the secret!"
so saying, the doctor bowed himself out, leaving the king more cheerful and hopeful than he had been for long.
the days passed very slowly with him during the making of the shoe and the preparation of the varnish, but on the eighth morning the physician appeared, bringing with him the shoe in a case.
he drew it out to slip on the king's foot, and over the goat-skin he had rubbed a polish so white that the snow itself was not more dazzling.
"while you wear this shoe you will not feel the slightest pain," said the doctor.
"for the balsam with which i have rubbed it inside and out has, besides its healing balm, the quality of strengthening the material it touches, so that, even were your majesty to live a thousand years, you would find the slipper just as fresh at the end of that time as it is now."
the king was so eager to put it on that he hardly gave the physician time to finish.
he snatched it from the case and thrust his foot into it, nearly weeping for joy when he found he could walk and run as easily as any beggar boy.
"what can i give you?"
he cried, holding out both hands to the man who had worked this wonder.
"stay with me, and i will heap on you riches greater than ever you dreamed of."
but the doctor said he would accept nothing more than had been agreed on, and must return at once to his own country, where many sick people were awaiting him.
so king balancin had to content himself with ordering the physician to be treated with royal honours, and desiring that an escort should attend him on his journey home.
for two years everything went smoothly at court, and to king balancin and his daughter the sun no sooner rose than it seemed time for it to set.
now, the king's birthday fell in the month of june, and as the weather happened to be unusually fine, he told the princess to celebrate it in any way that pleased her.
diamantina was very fond of being on the river, and she was delighted at this chance of delighting her tastes.
she would have a merry-making such as never had been seen before, and in the evening, when they were tired of sailing and rowing, there should be music and dancing, plays and fireworks.
at the very end, before the people went home, every poor person should be given a loaf of bread and every girl who was to be married within the year a new dress.
the great day appeared to diamantina to be long in coming, but, like other days, it came at last.
before the sun was fairly up in the heavens the princess, too full of excitement to stay in the palace, was walking about the streets so covered with precious stones that you had to shade your eyes before you could look at her.
by-and-by a trumpet sounded, and she hurried home, only to appear again in a few moments walking by the side of her father down to the river.
here a splendid barge was waiting for them, and from it they watched all sorts of races and feats of swimming and diving.
when these were over the barge proceeded up the river to the field where the dancing and concerts were to take place, and after the prizes had been given away to the winners, and the loaves and the dresses had been distributed by the princess, they bade farewell to their guests, and turned to step into the barge which was to carry them back to the palace.
then a dreadful thing happened.
as the king stepped on board the boat one of the sandals of the white slipper, which had got loose, caught in a nail that was sticking out, and caused the king to stumble.
the pain was great, and unconsciously he turned and shook his foot, so that the sandals gave way, and in a moment the precious shoe was in the river.
it had all occurred so quickly that nobody had noticed the loss of the slipper, not even the princess, whom the king's cries speedily brought to his side.
"what is the matter, dear father?"
asked she.
but the king could not tell her; and only managed to gasp out: "my shoe!
my shoe!"
while the sailors stood round staring, thinking that his majesty had suddenly gone mad.
seeing her father's eyes fixed on the stream, diamantina looked hastily in that direction.
there, dancing on the current, was the point of something white, which became more and more distant the longer they watched it.
the king could bear the sight no more, and, besides, now that the healing ointment in the shoe had been removed the pain in his foot was as bad as ever; he gave a sudden cry, staggered, and fell over the bulwarks into the water.
in an instant the river was covered with bobbing heads all swimming their fastest towards the king, who had been carried far down by the swift current.
at length one swimmer, stronger than the rest, seized hold of his tunic, and drew him to the bank, where a thousand eager hands were ready to haul him out.
he was carried, unconscious, to the side of his daughter, who had fainted with terror on seeing her father disappear below the surface, and together they were place in a coach and driven to the palace, where the best doctors in the city were awaiting their arrival.
in a few hours the princess was as well as ever; but the pain, the wetting, and the shock of the accident, all told severely on the king, and for three days he lay in a high fever.
meanwhile, his daughter, herself nearly mad with grief, gave orders that the white slipper should be sought for far and wide; and so it was, but even the cleverest divers could find no trace of it at the bottom of the river.
when it became clear that the slipper must have been carried out to sea by the current, diamantina turned her thoughts elsewhere, and sent messengers in search of the doctor who had brought relief to her father, begging him to make another slipper as fast as possible, to supply the place of the one which was lost.
but the messengers returned with the sad news that the doctor had died some weeks before, and, what was worse, his secret had died with him.
in his weakness this intelligence had such an effect on the king that the physicians feared he would become as ill as before.
he could hardly be persuaded to touch food, and all night long he lay moaning, partly with pain, and partly over his own folly in not having begged the doctor to make him several dozens of white slippers, so that in case of accidents he might always have one to put on.
however, by-and-by he saw that it was no use weeping and wailing, and commanded that they should search for his lost treasure more diligently than ever.
what a sight the river banks presented in those days!
it seemed as if all the people in the country were gathered on them.
but this second search was no more fortunate than the first, and at last the king issued a proclamation that whoever found the missing slipper should be made heir to the crown, and should marry the princess.
now many daughters would have rebelled at being disposed of in the manner; and it must be admitted that diamantina's heart sank when she heard what the king had done.
still, she loved her father so much that she desired his comfort more than anything else in the world, so she said nothing, and only bowed her head.
of course the result of the proclamation was that the river banks became more crowded than before; for all the princess's suitors from distant lands flocked to the spot, each hoping that he might be the lucky finder.
many times a shining stone at the bottom of the stream was taken for the slipper itself, and every evening saw a band of dripping downcast men returning homewards.
but one youth always lingered longer than the rest, and night would still see him engaged in the search, though his clothes stuck to his skin and his teeth chattered.
one day, when the king was lying on his bed racked with pain, he heard the noise of a scuffle going on in his antechamber, and rang a golden bell that stood by his side to summon one of his servants.
"sire," answered the attendant, when the king inquired what was the matter, "the noise you heard was caused by a young man from the town, who has had the impudence to come here to ask if he may measure your majesty's foot, so as to make you another slipper in place of the lost one."
"and what have you done to the youth?"
said the king.
"the servants pushed him out of the palace, and, added a few blows to teach him not to be insolent," replied the man.
"then they did very ill," answered the king, with a frown.
"he came here from kindness, and there was no reason to maltreat him."
"oh, my lord, he had the audacity to wish to touch your majesty's sacred person -- he, a good-for-nothing boy, a mere shoemaker's apprentice, perhaps!
and even if he could make shoes to perfection they would be no use without the soothing balsam."
the king remained silent for a few moments, then he said: "never mind.
go and fetch the youth and bring him to me.
i would gladly try any remedy that may relieve my pain."
so, soon afterwards, the youth, who had not gone far from the palace, was caught and ushered into the king's presence.
he was tall and handsome and, though he professed to make shoes, his manners were good and modest, and he bowed low as he begged the king not only to allow him to take the measure of his foot, but also to suffer him to place a healing plaster over the wound.
balancin was pleased with the young man's voice and appearance, and thought that he looked as if he knew what he was doing.
so he stretched out his bad foot which the youth examined with great attention, and then gently laid on the plaster.
very shortly the ointment began to soothe the sharp pain, and the king, whose confidence increased every moment, begged the young man to tell him his name."
i have no parents; they died when i was six, sire," replied the youth, modestly.
"everyone in the town calls me gilguerillo, because, when i was little, i went singing through the world in spite of my misfortunes.
luckily for me i was born to be happy."
"and you really think you can cure me?"
asked the king.
"completely, my lord," answered gilguerillo.
"and how long do you think it will take?"
"it is not an easy task; but i will try to finish it in a fortnight," replied the youth.
a fortnight seemed to the king a long time to make one slipper.
but he only said: "do you need anything to help you?"
"only a good horse, if your majesty will be kind enough to give me one," answered gilguerillo.
and the reply was so unexpected that the courtiers could hardly restrain their smiles, while the king stared silently.
"you shall have the horse," he said at last, "and i shall expect you back in a fortnight.
if you fulfil your promise you know your reward; if not, i will have you flogged for your impudence."
gilguerillo bowed, and turned to leave the palace, followed by the jeers and scoffs of everyone he met.
but he paid no heed, for he had got what he wanted.
he waited in front of the gates till a magnificent horse was led up to him, and vaulting into the saddle with an ease which rather surprised the attendant, rode quickly out of the town amidst the jests of the assembled crowd, who had heard of his audacious proposal.
and while he is on his way let us pause for a moment and tell who he is.
both father and mother had died before the boy was six years old; and he had lived for many years with his uncle, whose life had been passed in the study of chemistry.
he could leave no money to his nephew, as he had a son of his own; but he taught him all he knew, and at his dead gilguerillo entered an office, where he worked for many hours daily.
in his spare time, instead of playing with the other boys, he passed hours poring over books, and because he was timid and liked to be alone he was held by everyone to be a little mad.
therefore, when it became known that he had promised to cure the king's foot, and had ridden away -- no one knew where -- a roar of laughter and mockery rang through the town, and jeers and scoffing words were sent after him.
but if they had only known what were gilguerillo's thoughts they would have thought him madder than ever.
the real truth was that, on the morning when the princess had walked through the streets before making holiday on the river gilguerillo had seen her from his window, and had straightway fallen in love with her.
of course he felt quite hopeless.
it was absurd to imagine that the apothecary's nephew could ever marry the king's daughter; so he did his best to forget her, and study harder than before, till the royal proclamation suddenly filled him with hope.
when he was free he no longer spent the precious moments poring over books, but, like the rest, he might have been seen wandering along the banks of the river, or diving into the stream after something that lay glistening in the clear water, but which turned out to be a white pebble or a bit of glass.
and at the end he understood that it was not by the river that he would win the princess; and, turning to his books for comfort, he studied harder than ever.
there is an old proverb which says: "everything comes to him who knows how to wait."
it is not all men who know hot to wait, any more than it is all men who can learn by experience; but gilguerillo was one of the few and instead of thinking his life wasted because he could not have the thing he wanted most, he tried to busy himself in other directions.
so, one day, when he expected it least, his reward came to him.
he happened to be reading a book many hundreds of years old, which told of remedies for all kinds of diseases.
most of them, he knew, were merely invented by old women, who sought to prove themselves wiser than other people; but at length he came to something which caused him to sit up straight in his chair, and made his eyes brighten.
this was the description of a balsam -- which would cure every kind of sore or wound -- distilled from a plant only to be found in a country so distant that it would take a man on foot two months to go and come back again.
when i say that the book declared that the balsam could heal every sort of sore or wound, there were a few against which it was powerless, and it gave certain signs by which these might be known.
this was the reason why gilguerillo demanded to see the king's foot before he would undertake to cure it; and to obtain admittance he gave out that he was a shoemaker.
however, the dreaded signs were absent, and his heart bounded at the thought that the princess was within his reach.
perhaps she was; but a great deal had to be accomplished yet, and he had allowed himself a very short time in which to do it.
he spared his horse only so much as was needful, yet it took him six days to reach the spot where the plant grew.
a thick wood lay in front of him, and, fastening the bridle tightly to a tree, he flung himself on his hands and knees and began to hunt for the treasure.
many time he fancied it was close to him, and many times it turned out to be something else; but, at last, when light was fading, and he had almost given up hope, he came upon a large bed of the plant, right under his feet!
trembling with joy, he picked every scrap he could see, and placed it in his wallet.
then, mounting his horse, he galloped quickly back towards the city.
it was night when he entered the gates, and the fifteen days allotted were not up till the next day.
his eyes were heavy with sleep, and his body ached with the long strain, but, without pausing to rest, he kindled a fire on is hearth, and quickly filling a pot with water, threw in the herbs and left them to boil.
after that he lay down and slept soundly.
the sun was shining when he awoke, and he jumped up and ran to the pot.
the plant had disappeared and in its stead was a thick syrup, just as the book had said there would be.
he lifted the syrup out with a spoon, and after spreading it in the sun till it was partly dry, poured it into a small flask of crystal.
he next washed himself thoroughly, and dressed himself, in his best clothes, and putting the flask in his pocket, set out for the palace, and begged to see the king without delay.
now balancin, whose foot had been much less painful since gilguerillo had wrapped it in the plaster, was counting the days to the young man's return; and when he was told gilguerillo was there, ordered him to be admitted at once.
as he entered, the king raised himself eagerly on his pillows, but his face fell when he saw no signs of a slipper.
"you have failed, then?"
he said, throwing up his hands in despair."
i hope not, your majesty; i think not," answered the youth.
and drawing the flask from his pocket, he poured two or three drops on the wound.
"repeat this for three nights, and you will find yourself cured," said he.
and before the king had time to thank him he had bowed himself out.
of course the news soon spread through the city, and men and women never tired of calling gilguerillo an impostor, and prophesying that the end of the three days would see him in prison, if not on the scaffold.
but gilguerillo paid no heed to their hard words, and no more did the king, who took care that no hand but his own should put on the healing balsam.
on the fourth morning the king awoke and instantly stretched out his wounded foot that he might prove the truth or falsehood of gilguerillo's remedy.
the wound was certainly cured on that side, but how about the other?
yes, that was cured also; and not even a scar was left to show where it had been!
was ever any king so happy as balancin when he satisfied himself of this?
lightly as a deer he jumped from his bed, and began to turn head over heels and to perform all sorts of antics, so as to make sure that his foot was in truth as well as it looked.
and when he was quite tired he sent for his daughter, and bade the courtiers bring the lucky young man to his room.
"he is really young and handsome," said the princess to herself, heaving a sigh of relief that it was not some dreadful old man who had healed her father; and while the king was announcing to his courtiers the wonderful cure that had been made, diamantina was thinking that if gilguerillo looked so well in his common dress, how much improved by the splendid garments of a king" son.
however, she held her peace, and only watched with amusement when the courtiers, knowing there was no help for it, did homage and obeisance to the chemist's boy.
then they brought to gilguerillo a magnificent tunic of green velvet bordered with gold, and a cap with three white plumes stuck in it; and at the sight of him so arrayed, the princess fell in love with him in a moment.
the wedding was fixed to take place in eight days, and at the ball afterwards nobody danced so long or so lightly as king balancin.
the magic book -lsb- from capullos de rosa, por d. enrique ceballos quintana. -rsb-
-lsb- from aeventyr fra zylland samlede og optegnede af tang kristensen.
translated from the danish by mrs. skavgaard-pedersen. -rsb-
there was once an old couple named peder and kirsten who had an only son called hans.
from the time he was a little boy he had been told that on his sixteenth birthday he must go out into the world and serve his apprenticeship.
so, one fine summer morning, he started off to seek his fortune with nothing but the clothes he wore on his back.
for many hours he trudged on merrily, now and then stopping to drink from some clear spring or to pick some ripe fruit from a tree.
the little wild creatures peeped at him from beneath the bushes, and he nodded and smiled, and wished them "good-morning."
after he had been walking for some time he met an old white-bearded man who was coming along the footpath.
the boy would not step aside, and the man was determined not to do so either, so they ran against one another with a bump.
"it seems to me," said the old fellow, "that a boy should give way to an old man."
"the path is for me as well as for you," answered young hans saucily, for he had never been taught politeness.
"well, that's true enough," answered the other mildly.
"and where are you going?'"
i am going into service," said hans.
"then you can come and serve me," replied the man.
well, hans could do that; but what would his wages be?
"two pounds a year, and nothing to do but keep some rooms clean," said the new-comer.
this seemed to hans to be easy enough; so he agreed to enter the old man's service, and they set out together.
on their way they crossed a deep valley and came to a mountain, where the man opened a trapdoor, and bidding hans follow him, he crept in and began to go down a long flight of steps.
when they got to the bottom hans saw a large number of rooms lit by many lamps and full of beautiful things.
while he was looking round the old man said to him: "now you know what you have to do.
you must keep these rooms clean, and strew sand on the floor every day.
here is a table where you will always find food and drink, and there is your bed.
you see there are a great many suits of clothes hanging on the wall, and you may wear any you please; but remember that you are never to open this locked door.
if you do ill will befall you.
farewell, for i am going away again and can not tell when i may return.
no sooner had the old man disappeared than hans sat down to a good meal, and after that went to bed and slept until the morning.
at first he could not remember what had happened to him, but by-and-by he jumped up and went into all the rooms, which he examined carefully.
"how foolish to bid me to put sand on the floors," he thought, "when there is nobody here by myself!
i shall do nothing of the sort."
and so he shut the doors quickly, and only cleaned and set in order his own room.
and after the first few days he felt that that was unnecessary too, because no one came there to see if the rooms where clean or not.
at last he did no work at all, but just sat and wondered what was behind the locked door, till he determined to go and look for himself.
the key turned easily in the lock.
hans entered, half frightened at what he was doing, and the first thing he beheld was a heap of bones.
that was not very cheerful; and he was just going out again when his eye fell on a shelf of books.
here was a good way of passing the time, he thought, for he was fond of reading, and he took one of the books from the shelf.
it was all about magic, and told you how you could change yourself into anything in the world you liked.
could anything be more exciting or more useful?
so he put it in his pocket, and ran quickly away out of the mountain by a little door which had been left open.
when he got home his parents asked him what he had been doing and where he had got the fine clothes he wore.
"oh, i earned them myself," answered he.
"you never earned them in this short time," said his father.
"be off with you; i wo n't keep you here.
i will have no thieves in my house!"
"well i only came to help you," replied the boy sulkily.
"now i'll be off, as you wish; but to-morrow morning when you rise you will see a great dog at the door.
do not drive it away, but take it to the castle and sell it to the duke, and they will give you ten dollars for it; only you must bring the strap you lead it with, back to the house."
sure enough the next day the dog was standing at the door waiting to be let in.
the old man was rather afraid of getting into trouble, but his wife urged him to sell the dog as the boy had bidden him, so he took it up to the castle and sold it to the duke for ten dollars.
but he did not forget to take off the strap with which he had led the animal, and to carry it home.
when he got there old kirsten met him at the door.
"well, peder, and have you sold the dog?"
asked she.
"yes, kirsten; and i have brought back ten dollars, as the boy told us," answered peder.
"ay!
but that's fine!"
said his wife.
"now you see what one gets by doing as one is bid; if it had not been for me you would have driven the dog away again, and we should have lost the money.
after all, i always know what is best."
"nonsense!"
said her husband; "women always think they know best.
i should have sold the dog just the same whatever you had told me.
put the money away in a safe place, and do n't talk so much."
the next day hans came again; but though everything had turned out as he had foretold, he found that his father was still not quite satisfied.
"be off with you!"
said he, "you'll get us into trouble.'"
i have n't helped you enough yet," replied the boy.
"to-morrow there will come a great fat cow, as big as the house.
take it to the king's palace and you'll get as much as a thousand dollars for it.
only you must unfasten the halter you lead it with and bring it back, and do n't return by the high road, but through the forest."
the next day, when the couple rose, they saw an enormous head looking in at their bedroom window, and behind it was a cow which was nearly as big as their hut.
kirsten was wild with joy to think of the money the cow would bring them.
"but how are you going to put the rope over her head?"
asked she.
"wait and you'll see, mother," answered her husband.
then peder took the ladder that led up to the hayloft and set it against the cow's neck, and he climbed up and slipped the rope over her head.
when he had made sure that the noose was fast they started for the palace, and met the king himself walking in his grounds."
i heard that the princess was going to be married," said peder, "so i've brought your majesty a cow which is bigger than any cow that was ever seen.
will your majesty deign to buy it?"
the king had, in truth, never seen so large a beast, and he willingly paid the thousand dollars, which was the price demanded; but peder remembered to take off the halter before he left.
after he was gone the king sent for the butcher and told him to kill the animal for the wedding feast.
the butcher got ready his pole-axe; but just as he was going to strike, the cow changed itself into a dove and flew away, and the butcher stood staring after it as if he were turned to stone.
however, as the dove could not be found, he was obliged to tell the king what had happened, and the king in his turn despatched messengers to capture the old man and bring him back.
but peder was safe in the woods, and could not be found.
when at last he felt the danger was over, and he might go home, kirsten nearly fainted with joy at the sight of all the money he brought with him.
"now that we are rich people we must build a bigger house," cried she; and was vexed to find that peder only shook his head and said: "no; if they did that people would talk, and say they had got their wealth by ill-doing."
a few mornings later hans came again.
"be off before you get us into trouble," said his father.
"so far the money has come right enough, but i do n't trust it."
"do n't worry over that, father," said hans.
"to-morrow you will find a horse outside by the gate.
ride it to market and you will get a thousand dollars for it.
only do n't forget to loosen the bridle when you sell it."
well, in the morning there was the horse; kirsten had never seen so find an animal.
"take care it does n't hurt you, peder," said she.
"nonsense, wife," answered he crossly.
"when i was a lad i lived with horses, and could ride anything for twenty miles round."
but that was not quite the truth, for he had never mounted a horse in his life.
still, the animal was quiet enough, so peder got safely to market on its back.
there he met a man who offered nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars for it, but peder would take nothing less than a thousand.
at last there came an old, grey-bearded man who looked at the horse and agreed to buy it; but the moment he touched it the horse began to kick and plunge."
i must take the bridle off," said peder.
"it is not to be sold with the animal as is usually the case."
"i'll give you a hundred dollars for the bridle," said the old man, taking out his purse.
"no, i ca n't sell it," replied hans's father.
"five hundred dollars!"
"no.'"
a thousand!"
at this splendid offer peder's prudence gave way; it was a shame to let so much money go.
so he agreed to accept it.
but he could hardly hold the horse, it became so unmanageable.
so he gave the animal in charge to the old man, and went home with his two thousand dollars.
kirsten, of course, was delighted at this new piece of good fortune, and insisted that the new house should be built and land bought.
this time peder consented, and soon they had quite a fine farm.
meanwhile the old man rode off on his new purchase, and when he came to a smithy he asked the smith to forge shoes for the horse.
the smith proposed that they should first have a drink together, and the horse was tied up by the spring whilst they went indoors.
the day was hot, and both men were thirsty, and, besides, they had much to say; and so the hours slipped by and found them still talking.
then the servant girl came out to fetch a pail of water, and, being a kind-hearted lass, she gave some to the horse to drink.
what was her surprise when the animal said to her: "take off my bridle and you will save my life.'"
i dare not," said she; "your master will be so angry."
"he can not hurt you," answered the horse, "and you will save my life."
at that she took off the bridle; but nearly fainted with astonishment when the horse turned into a dove and flew away just as the old man came out of the house.
directly he saw what had happened he changed himself into a hawk and flew after the dove.
over the woods and fields they went, and at length they reached a king's palace surrounded by beautiful gardens.
the princess was walking with her attendants in the rose garden when the dove turned itself into a gold ring and fell at her feet.
"why, here is a ring!"
she cried, "where could it have come from?"
and picking it up she put it on her finger.
as she did so the hill-man lost his power over hans -- for of course you understand that it was he who had been the dog, the cow, the horse and the dove.
"well, that is really strange," said the princess.
"it fits me as though it had been made for me!"
just at that moment up came the king.
"look at what i have found!"
cried his daughter.
"well, that is not worth much, my dear," said he.
"besides, you have rings enough, i should think."
"never mind, i like it," replied the princess.
but as soon as she was alone, to her amazement, the ring suddenly left her finger and became a man.
you can imagine how frightened she was, as, indeed, anybody would have been; but in an instant the man became a ring again, and then turned back to a man, and so it went on for some time until she began to get used to these sudden changes."
i am sorry i frightened you," said hans, when he thought he could safely speak to the princess without making her scream."
i took refuge with you because the old hill-man, whom i have offended, was trying to kill me, and here i am safe."
"you had better stay here then," said the princess.
so hans stayed, and he and she became good friends; though, of course, he only became a man when no one else was present.
this was all very well; but, one day, as they were talking together, the king happened to enter the room, and although hans quickly changed himself into a ring again it was too late.
the king was terribly angry.
"so this is why you have refused to marry all the kings and princes who have sought your hand?"
he cried.
and, without waiting for her to speak, he commanded that his daughter should be walled up in the summer-house and starved to death with her lover.
that evening the poor princess, still wearing her ring, was put into the summer-house with enough food to last for three days, and the door was bricked up.
but at the end of a week or two the king thought it was time to give her a grand funeral, in spite of her bad behaviour, and he had the summer-house opened.
he could hardly believe his eyes when he found that the princess was not there, nor hans either.
instead, there lay at his feet a large hole, big enough for two people to pass through.
now what had happened was this.
when the princess and hans had given up hope, and cast themselves down on the ground to die, they fell down this hole, and right through the earth as well, and at last they tumbled into a castle built of pure gold at the other side of the world, and there they lived happily.
but of this, of course, the king knew nothing.
"will anyone go down and see where the passage leads to?"
he asked, turning to his guards and courtiers."
i will reward splendidly the man who is brave enough to explore it."
for a long time nobody answered.
the hole was dark and deep, and if it had a bottom no one could see it.
at length a soldier, who was a careless sort of fellow, offered himself for the service, and cautiously lowered himself into the darkness.
but in a moment he, too, fell down, down, down.
was he going to fall for ever, he wondered!
oh, how thankful he was in the end to reach the castle, and to meet the princess and hans, looking quite well and not at all as if they had been starved.
they began to talk, and the soldier told them that the king was very sorry for the way he had treated his daughter, and wished day and night that he could have her back again.
then they all took ship and sailed home, and when they came to the princess's country, hans disguised himself as the sovereign of a neighbouring kingdom, and went up to the palace alone.
he was given a hearty welcome by the king, who prided himself on his hospitality, and a banquet was commanded in his honour.
that evening, whilst they sat drinking their wine, hans said to the king: "i have heard the fame of your majesty's wisdom, and i have travelled from far to ask your counsel.
a man in my country has buried his daughter alive because she loved a youth who was born a peasant.
how shall i punish this unnatural father, for it is left to me to give judgment?"
the king, who was still truly grieved for his daughter's loss, answered quickly: "burn him alive, and strew his ashes all over the kingdom."
hans looked at him steadily for a moment, and then threw off his disguise.
"you are the man," said he; "and i am he who loved your daughter, and became a gold ring on her finger.
she is safe, and waiting not far from here; but you have pronounced judgment on yourself."
then the king fell on his knees and begged for mercy; and as he had in other respects been a good father, they forgave him.
the wedding of hans and the princess was celebrated with great festivities which lasted a month.
as for the hill-man he intended to be present; but whilst he was walking along a street which led to the palace a loose stone fell on his head and killed him.
_book_title_: andrew_lang___the_pink_fairy_book.txt.out
the cat's elopement -lsb- from the japanische marchen und sagen, von david brauns -lrb- leipzig: wilhelm friedrich -rrb-. -rsb-
once upon a time there lived a cat of marvellous beauty, with a skin as soft and shining as silk, and wise green eyes, that could see even in the dark.
his name was gon, and he belonged to a music teacher, who was so fond and proud of him that he would not have parted with him for anything in the world.
now not far from the music master's house there dwelt a lady who possessed a most lovely little pussy cat called koma.
she was such a little dear altogether, and blinked her eyes so daintily, and ate her supper so tidily, and when she had finished she licked her pink nose so delicately with her little tongue, that her mistress was never tired of saying, "koma, koma, what should i do without you?"
well, it happened one day that these two, when out for an evening stroll, met under a cherry tree, and in one moment fell madly in love with each other.
gon had long felt that it was time for him to find a wife, for all the ladies in the neighbourhood paid him so much attention that it made him quite shy; but he was not easy to please, and did not care about any of them.
now, before he had time to think, cupid had entangled him in his net, and he was filled with love towards koma.
she fully returned his passion, but, like a woman, she saw the difficulties in the way, and consulted sadly with gon as to the means of overcoming them.
gon entreated his master to set matters right by buying koma, but her mistress would not part from her.
then the music master was asked to sell gon to the lady, but he declined to listen to any such suggestion, so everything remained as before.
at length the love of the couple grew to such a pitch that they determined to please themselves, and to seek their fortunes together.
so one moonlight night they stole away, and ventured out into an unknown world.
all day long they marched bravely on through the sunshine, till they had left their homes far behind them, and towards evening they found themselves in a large park.
the wanderers by this time were very hot and tired, and the grass looked very soft and inviting, and the trees cast cool deep shadows, when suddenly an ogre appeared in this paradise, in the shape of a big, big dog!
he came springing towards them showing all his teeth, and koma shrieked, and rushed up a cherry tree.
gon, however, stood his ground boldly, and prepared to give battle, for he felt that koma's eyes were upon him, and that he must not run away.
but, alas!
his courage would have availed him nothing had his enemy once touched him, for he was large and powerful, and very fierce.
from her perch in the tree koma saw it all, and screamed with all her might, hoping that some one would hear, and come to help.
luckily a servant of the princess to whom the park belonged was walking by, and he drove off the dog, and picking up the trembling gon in his arms, carried him to his mistress.
so poor little koma was left alone, while gon was borne away full of trouble, not in the least knowing what to do.
even the attention paid him by the princess, who was delighted with his beauty and pretty ways, did not console him, but there was no use in fighting against fate, and he could only wait and see what would turn up.
the princess, gon's new mistress, was so good and kind that everybody loved her, and she would have led a happy life, had it not been for a serpent who had fallen in love with her, and was constantly annoying her by his presence.
her servants had orders to drive him away as often as he appeared; but as they were careless, and the serpent very sly, it sometimes happened that he was able to slip past them, and to frighten the princess by appearing before her.
one day she was seated in her room, playing on her favourite musical instrument, when she felt something gliding up her sash, and saw her enemy making his way to kiss her cheek.
she shrieked and threw herself backwards, and gon, who had been curled up on a stool at her feet, understood her terror, and with one bound seized the snake by his neck.
he gave him one bite and one shake, and flung him on the ground, where he lay, never to worry the princess any more.
then she took gon in her arms, and praised and caressed him, and saw that he had the nicest bits to eat, and the softest mats to lie on; and he would have had nothing in the world to wish for if only he could have seen koma again.
time passed on, and one morning gon lay before the house door, basking in the sun.
he looked lazily at the world stretched out before him, and saw in the distance a big ruffian of a cat teasing and ill-treating quite a little one.
he jumped up, full of rage, and chased away the big cat, and then he turned to comfort the little one, when his heart nearly burst with joy to find that it was koma.
at first koma did not know him again, he had grown so large and stately; but when it dawned upon her who it was, her happiness knew no bounds.
and they rubbed their heads and their noses again and again, while their purring might have been heard a mile off.
paw in paw they appeared before the princess, and told her the story of their life and its sorrows.
the princess wept for sympathy, and promised that they should never more be parted, but should live with her to the end of their days.
by-and-bye the princess herself got married, and brought a prince to dwell in the palace in the park.
and she told him all about her two cats, and how brave gon had been, and how he had delivered her from her enemy the serpent.
and when the prince heard, he swore they should never leave them, but should go with the princess wherever she went.
so it all fell out as the princess wished; and gon and koma had many children, and so had the princess, and they all played together, and were friends to the end of their lives.
how the dragon was tricked from griechtsche und albanesische marchen, von j. g. von hahn.
-lrb- leipzig: engelmann.
1864. -rrb-
once upon a time there lived a man who had two sons but they did not get on at all well together, for the younger was much handsomer than his elder brother who was very jealous of him.
when they grew older, things became worse and worse, and at last one day as they were walking through a wood the elder youth seized hold of the other, tied him to a tree, and went on his way hoping that the boy might starve to death.
however, it happened that an old and humpbacked shepherd passed the tree with his flock, and seeing the prisoner, he stopped and said to him, "tell me, my son why are you tied to that tree?"
"because i was so crooked," answered the young man; "but it has quite cured me, and now my back is as straight as can be.'"
i wish you would bind me to a tree," exclaimed the shepherd, "so that my back would get straight."
"with all the pleasure in life," replied the youth.
"if you will loosen these cords i will tie you up with them as firmly as i can."
this was soon done, and then the young man drove off the sheep, leaving their real shepherd to repent of his folly; and before he had gone very far he met with a horse boy and a driver of oxen, and he persuaded them to turn with him and to seek for adventures.
by these and many other tricks he soon became so celebrated that his fame reached the king's ears, and his majesty was filled with curiosity to see the man who had managed to outwit everybody.
so he commanded his guards to capture the young man and bring him before him.
and when the young man stood before the king, the king spoke to him and said, "by your tricks and the pranks that you have played on other people, you have, in the eye of the law, forfeited your life.
but on one condition i will spare you, and that is, if you will bring me the flying horse that belongs to the great dragon.
fail in this, and you shall be hewn in a thousand pieces."
"if that is all," said the youth, "you shall soon have it."
so he went out and made his way straight to the stable where the flying horse was tethered.
he stretched his hand cautiously out to seize the bridle, when the horse suddenly began to neigh as loud as he could.
now the room in which the dragon slept was just above the stable, and at the sound of the neighing he woke and cried to the horse, "what is the matter, my treasure?
is anything hurting you?"
after waiting a little while the young man tried again to loose the horse, but a second time it neighed so loudly that the dragon woke up in a hurry and called out to know why the horse was making such a noise.
but when the same thing happened the third time, the dragon lost his temper, and went down into the stable and took a whip and gave the horse a good beating.
this offended the horse and made him angry, and when the young man stretched out his hand to untie his head, he made no further fuss, but suffered himself to be led quietly away.
once clear of the stable the young man sprang on his back and galloped off, calling over his shoulder, "hi!
dragon!
dragon!
if anyone asks you what has become of your horse, you can say that i have got him!"
but the king said, "the flying horse is all very well, but i want something more.
you must bring me the covering with the little bells that lies on the bed of the dragon, or i will have you hewn into a thousand pieces."
"is that all?"
answered the youth.
"that is easily done."
and when night came he went away to the dragon's house and climbed up on to the roof.
then he opened a little window in the roof and let down the chain from which the kettle usually hung, and tried to hook the bed covering and to draw it up.
but the little bells all began to ring, and the dragon woke and said to his wife, "wife, you have pulled off all the bed-clothes!"
and drew the covering towards him, pulling, as he did so, the young man into the room.
then the dragon flung himself on the youth and bound him fast with cords saying as he tied the last knot, "to-morrow when i go to church you must stay at home and kill him and cook him, and when i get back we will eat him together."
so the following morning the dragoness took hold of the young man and reached down from the shelf a sharp knife with which to kill him.
but as she untied the cords the better to get hold of him, the prisoner caught her by the legs, threw her to the ground, seized her and speedily cut her throat, just as she had been about to do for him, and put her body in the oven.
then he snatched up the covering and carried it to the king.
the king was seated on his throne when the youth appeared before him and spread out the covering with a deep bow.
"that is not enough," said his majesty; "you must bring me the dragon himself, or i will have you hewn into a thousand pieces."
"it shall be done," answered the youth; "but you must give me two years to manage it, for my beard must grow so that he may not know me."
"so be it," said the king.
and the first thing the young man did when his beard was grown was to take the road to the dragon's house and on the way he met a beggar, whom he persuaded to change clothes with him, and in the beggar's garments he went fearlessly forth to the dragon.
he found his enemy before his house, very busy making a box, and addressed him politely, "good morning, your worship.
have you a morsel of bread?"
"you must wait," replied the dragon,'till i have finished my box, and then i will see if i can find one."
"what will you do with the box when it is made?"
inquired the beggar.
"it is for the young man who killed my wife, and stole my flying horse and my bed covering," said the dragon.
"he deserves nothing better," answered the beggar, "for it was an ill deed.
still that box is too small for him, for he is a big man."
"you are wrong," said the dragon.
"the box is large enough even for me."
"well, the rogue is nearly as tall as you," replied the beggar, "and, of course, if you can get in, he can.
but i am sure you would find it a tight fit."
"no, there is plenty of room," said the dragon, tucking himself carefully inside.
but no sooner was he well in, than the young man clapped on the lid and called out, "now press hard, just to see if he will be able to get out."
the dragon pressed as hard as he could, but the lid never moved.
"it is all right," he cried; "now you can open it."
but instead of opening it, the young man drove in long nails to make it tighter still; then he took the box on his back and brought it to the king.
and when the king heard that the dragon was inside, he was so excited that he would not wait one moment, but broke the lock and lifted the lid just a little way to make sure he was really there.
he was very careful not to leave enough space for the dragon to jump out, but unluckily there was just room for his great mouth, and with one snap the king vanished down his wide red jaws.
then the young man married the king's daughter and ruled over the land, but what he did with the dragon nobody knows.
the goblin and the grocer translated from the german of hans andersen.
there was once a hard-working student who lived in an attic, and he had nothing in the world of his own.
there was also a hard-working grocer who lived on the first floor, and he had the whole house for his own.
the goblin belonged to him, for every christmas eve there was waiting for him at the grocer's a dish of jam with a large lump of butter in the middle.
the grocer could afford this, so the goblin stayed in the grocer's shop; and this teaches us a good deal.
one evening the student came in by the back door to buy a candle and some cheese; he had no one to send, so he came himself.
he got what he wanted, paid for it, and nodded a good evening to the grocer and his wife -lrb- she was a woman who could do more than nod; she could talk -rrb-.
when the student had said good night he suddenly stood still, reading the sheet of paper in which the cheese had been wrapped.
it was a leaf torn out of an old book -- a book of poetry "there's more of that over there!"
said the grocer" i gave an old woman some coffee for the book.
if you like to give me twopence you can have the rest."
"yes," said the student, "give me the book instead of the cheese.
i can eat my bread without cheese.
it would be a shame to leave the book to be torn up.
you are a clever and practical man, but about poetry you understand as much as that old tub over there!"
and that sounded rude as far as the tub was concerned, but the grocer laughed, and so did the student.
it was only said in fun.
but the goblin was angry that anyone should dare to say such a thing to a grocer who owned the house and sold the best butter.
when it was night and the shop was shut, and everyone was in bed except the student, the goblin went upstairs and took the grocer's wife's tongue.
she did not use it when she was asleep, and on whatever object in the room he put it that thing began to speak, and spoke out its thoughts and feelings just as well as the lady to whom it belonged.
but only one thing at a time could use it, and that was a good thing, or they would have all spoken together.
the goblin laid the tongue on the tub in which were the old newspapers.
"is it true," he asked," that you know nothing about poetry?"
"certainly not!"
answered the tub.
"poetry is something that is in the papers, and that is frequently cut out.
i have a great deal more in me than the student has, and yet i am only a small tub in the grocer's shop."
and the goblin put the tongue on the coffee-mill, and how it began to grind!
he put it on the butter-cask, and on the till, and all were of the same opinion as the waste-paper tub.
and one must believe the majority.
"now i will tell the student!"
and with these words he crept softly up the stairs to the attic where the student lived.
there was a light burning, and the goblin peeped through the key-hole and saw that he was reading the torn book that he had bought in the shop.
but how bright it was!
out of the book shot a streak of light which grew into a large tree and spread its branches far above the student.
every leaf was alive, and every flower was a beautiful girl's head, some with dark and shining eyes, others with wonderful blue ones.
every fruit was a glittering star, and there was a marvellous music in the student's room.
the little goblin had never even dreamt of such a splendid sight, much less seen it.
he stood on tiptoe gazing and gazing, till the candle in the attic was put out; the student had blown it out and had gone to bed, but the goblin remained standing outside listening to the music, which very softly and sweetly was now singing the student a lullaby."
i have never seen anything like this!"
said the goblin."
i never expected this!
i must stay with the student."
the little fellow thought it over, for he was a sensible goblin.
then he sighed, "the student has no jam!"
and on that he went down to the grocer again.
and it was a good thing that he did go back, for the tub had nearly worn out the tongue.
it had read everything that was inside it, on the one side, and was just going to turn itself round and read from the other side when the goblin came in and returned the tongue to its owner.
but the whole shop, from the till down to the shavings, from that night changed their opinion of the tub, and they looked up to it, and had such faith in it that they were under the impression that when the grocer read the art and drama critiques out of the paper in the evenings, it all came from the tub.
but the goblin could no longer sit quietly listening to the wisdom and intellect downstairs.
no, as soon as the light shone in the evening from the attic it seemed to him as though its beams were strong ropes dragging him up, and he had to go and peep through the key-hole.
there he felt the sort of feeling we have looking at the great rolling sea in a storm, and he burst into tears.
he could not himself say why he wept, but in spite of his tears he felt quite happy.
how beautiful it must be to sit under that tree with the student, but that he could not do; he had to content himself with the key-hole and be happy there!
there he stood out on the cold landing, the autumn wind blowing through the cracks of the floor.
it was cold -- very cold, but he first found it out when the light in the attic was put out and the music in the wood died away.
ah!
then it froze him, and he crept down again into his warm corner; there it was comfortable and cosy.
when christmas came, and with it the jam with the large lump of butter, ah!
then the grocer was first with him.
but in the middle of the night the goblin awoke, hearing a great noise and knocking against the shutters -- people hammering from outside.
the watchman was blowing his horn: a great fire had broken out; the whole town was in flames.
was it in the house?
or was it at a neighbour's?
where was it?
the alarm increased.
the grocer's wife was so terrified that she took her gold earrings out of her ears and put them in her pocket in order to save something.
the grocer seized his account books.
and the maid her black silk dress.
everyone wanted to save his most valuable possession; so did the goblin, and in a few leaps he was up the stairs and in the student's room.
he was standing quietly by the open window looking at the fire that was burning in the neighbour's house just opposite.
the goblin seized the book lying on the table, put it in his red cap, and clasped it with both hands.
the best treasure in the house was saved, and he climbed out on to the roof with it -- on to the chimney.
there he sat, lighted up by the flames from the burning house opposite, both hands holding tightly on his red cap, in which lay the treasure; and now he knew what his heart really valued most -- to whom he really belonged.
but when the fire was put out, and the goblin thought it over -- then --" i will divide myself between the two," he said."
i can not quite give up the grocer, because of the jam!"
and it is just the same with us.
we also can not quite give up the grocer -- because of the jam.
the house in the wood from the german of grimm.
a poor woodcutter lived with his wife and three daughters in a little hut on the borders of a great forest.
one morning as he was going to his work, he said to his wife, "let our eldest daughter bring me my lunch into the wood; and so that she shall not lose her way, i will take a bag of millet with me, and sprinkle the seed on the path."
when the sun had risen high over the forest, the girl set out with a basin of soup.
but the field and wood sparrows, the larks and finches, blackbirds and green finches had picked up the millet long ago, and the girl could not find her way.
she went on and on, till the sun set and night came on.
the trees rustled in the darkness, the owls hooted, and she began to be very much frightened.
then she saw in tile distance a light that twinkled between the trees.
"there must be people living yonder," she thought, "who will take me in for the night," and she began walking towards it.
not long afterwards she came to a house with lights in the windows.
she knocked at the door, and a gruff voice called, "come in!"
the girl stepped into the dark entrance, and tapped at the door of the room.
"just walk in," cried the voice, and when she opened the door there sat an old gray-haired man at the table.
his face was resting on his hands, and his white beard flowed over the table almost down to the ground.
by the stove lay three beasts, a hen, a cock, and a brindled cow.
the girl told the old man her story, and asked for a night's lodging.
the man said: pretty cock, pretty hen, and you, pretty brindled cow, what do you say now?
"duks," answered the beasts; and that must have meant, "we are quite willing," for the old man went on, "here is abundance; go into the back kitchen and cook us a supper."
the girl found plenty of everything in the kitchen, and cooked a good meal, but she did not think of the beasts.
she placed the full dishes on the table, sat down opposite the gray-haired man, and ate till her hunger was appeased.
when she was satisfied, she said, "but now i am so tired, where is a bed in which i can sleep?"
the beasts answered: you have eaten with him, you have drunk with him, of us you have not thought, sleep then as you ought!
then the old man said, "go upstairs, and there you will find a bedroom; shake the bed, and put clean sheets on, and go to sleep."
the maiden went upstairs, and when she had made the bed, she lay down.
after some time the gray-haired man came, looked at her by the light of his candle, and shook his head.
and when he saw that she was sound asleep, he opened a trapdoor and let her fall into the cellar.
the woodcutter came home late in the evening, and reproached his wife for leaving him all day without food.
"no, i did not," she answered; "the girl went off with your dinner.
she must have lost her way, but will no doubt come back to-morrow."
but at daybreak the woodcutter started off into the wood, and this time asked his second daughter to bring his food."
i will take a bag of lentils," said he; "they are larger than millet, and the girl will see them better and be sure to find her way."
at midday the maiden took the food, but the lentils had all gone; as on the previous day, the wood birds had eaten them all.
the maiden wandered about the wood till nightfall, when she came in the same way to the old man's house, and asked for food and a night's lodging.
the man with the white hair again asked the beasts: pretty cock, pretty hen, and you, pretty brindled cow, what do you say now?
the beasts answered, "duks," and everything happened as on the former day.
the girl cooked a good meal, ate and drank with the old man, and did not trouble herself about the animals.
and when she asked for a bed, they replied: you have eaten with him you have drunk with him, of us you have not thought, now sleep as you ought!
and when she was asleep, the old man shook his head over her, and let her fall into the cellar.
on the third morning the woodcutter said to his wife, "send our youngest child to-day with my dinner.
she is always good and obedient, and will keep to the right path, and not wander away like her sisters, idle drones!"
but the mother said, "must i lose my dearest child too?"
"do not fear," he answered; "she is too clever and intelligent to lose her way.
i will take plenty of peas with me and strew them along; they are even larger than lentils, and will show her the way."
but when the maiden started off with the basket on her arm, the wood pigeons had eaten up the peas, and she did not know which way to go.
she was much distressed, and thought constantly of her poor hungry father and her anxious mother.
at last, when it grew dark, she saw the little light, and came to the house in the wood.
she asked prettily if she might stay there for the night, and the man with the white beard asked his beasts again: pretty cock, pretty hen, and you, pretty brindled cow, what do you say now?
"duks," they said.
then the maiden stepped up to the stove where the animals were lying, and stroked the cock and the hen, and scratched the brindled cow between its horns.
and when at the bidding of the old man she had prepared a good supper, and the dishes were standing on the table, she said, "shall i have plenty while the good beasts have nothing?
there is food to spare outside; i will attend to them first."
then she went out and fetched barley and strewed it before the cock and hen, and brought the cow an armful of sweet-smelling hay.
"eat that, dear beasts," she said," and when you are thirsty you shall have a good drink."
then she fetched a bowl of water, and the cock and hen flew on to the edge, put their beaks in, and then held up their heads as birds do when they drink, and the brindled cow also drank her fill.
when the beasts were satisfied, the maiden sat down beside the old man at the table and ate what was left for her.
soon the cock and hen began to tuck their heads under their wings, and the brindled cow blinked its eyes, so the maiden said, "shall we not go to rest now?"
pretty cock, pretty hen, and you, pretty brindled cow, what do you say now?
the animals said, "duks: you have eaten with us, you have drunk with us, you have tended us right, so we wish you good night."
the maiden therefore went upstairs, made the bed and put on clean sheets and fell asleep.
she slept peacefully till midnight, when there was such a noise in the house that she awoke.
everything trembled and shook; the animals sprang up and dashed themselves in terror against the wall; the beams swayed as if they would be torn from their foundations, it seemed as if the stairs were tumbling down, and then the roof fell in with a crash.
then all became still, and as no harm came to the maiden she lay down again and fell asleep.
but when she awoke again in broad daylight, what a sight met her eyes!
she was lying in a splendid room furnished with royal splendour; the walls were covered with golden flowers on a green ground; the bed was of ivory and the counterpane of velvet, and on a stool near by lay a pair of slippers studded with pearls.
the maiden thought she must be dreaming, but in came three servants richly dressed, who asked what were her commands.
"go," said the maiden," i will get up at once and cook the old man's supper for him, and then i will feed the pretty cock and hen and the brindled cow."
but the door opened and in came a handsome young man, who said," i am a king's son, and was condemned by a wicked witch to live as an old man in this wood with no company but that of my three servants, who were transformed into a cock, a hen, and a brindled cow.
the spell could only be broken by the arrival of a maiden who should show herself kind not only to men but to beasts.
you are that maiden, and last night at midnight we were freed, and this poor house was again transformed into my royal palace.
as they stood there the king's son told his three servants to go and fetch the maiden's parents to be present at the wedding feast.
"but where are my two sisters?"
asked the maid."
i shut them up in the cellar, but in the morning they shall be led forth into the forest and shall serve a charcoal burner until they have improved, and will never again suffer poor animals to go hungry."
uraschimataro and the turtle from the japanische marchen und sagen, von david brauns -lrb- leipzig: wilhelm friedrich -rrb-.
there was once a worthy old couple who lived on the coast, and supported themselves by fishing.
they had only one child, a son, who was their pride and joy, and for his sake they were ready to work hard all day long, and never felt tired or discontented with their lot.
this son's name was uraschimataro, which means in japanese, "son of the island," and he was a fine well-grown youth and a good fisherman, minding neither wind nor weather.
not the bravest sailor in the whole village dared venture so far out to sea as uraschimataro, and many a time the neighbours used to shake their heads and say to his parents, "if your son goes on being so rash, one day he will try his luck once too often, and the waves will end by swallowing him up."
but uraschimataro paid no heed to these remarks, and as he was really very clever in managing a boat, the old people were very seldom anxious about him.
one beautiful bright morning, as he was hauling his well-filled nets into the boat, he saw lying among the fishes a tiny little turtle.
he was delighted with his prize, and threw it into a wooden vessel to keep till he got home, when suddenly the turtle found its voice, and tremblingly begged for its life.
"after all," it said, "what good can i do you?
i am so young and small, and i would so gladly live a little longer.
be merciful and set me free, and i shall know how to prove my gratitude."
now uraschimataro was very good-natured, and besides, he could never bear to say no, so he picked up the turtle, and put it back into the sea.
years flew by, and every morning uraschimataro sailed his boat into the deep sea.
but one day as he was making for a little bay between some rocks, there arose a fierce whirlwind, which shattered his boat to pieces, and she was sucked under by the waves.
uraschimataro himself very nearly shared the same fate.
but he was a powerful swimmer, and struggled hard to reach the shore.
then he saw a large turtle coming towards him, and above the howling of the storm he heard what it said: "i am the turtle whose life you once saved.
i will now pay my debt and show my gratitude.
the land is still far distant, and without my help you would never get there.
climb on my back, and i will take you where you will."
uraschimataro did not wait to be asked twice, and thankfully accepted his friend's help.
but scarcely was he seated firmly on the shell, when the turtle proposed that they should not return to the shore at once, but go under the sea, and look at some of the wonders that lay hidden there.
uraschimataro agreed willingly, and in another moment they were deep, deep down, with fathoms of blue water above their heads.
oh, how quickly they darted through the still, warm sea!
the young man held tight, and marvelled where they were going and how long they were to travel, but for three days they rushed on, till at last the turtle stopped before a splendid palace, shining with gold and silver, crystal and precious stones, and decked here and there with branches of pale pink coral and glittering pearls.
but if uraschimataro was astonished at the beauty of the outside, he was struck dumb at the sight of the hall within, which was lighted by the blaze of fish scales.
"where have you brought me?"
he asked his guide in a low voice.
"to the palace of ringu, the house of the sea god, whose subjects we all are," answered the turtle."
i am the first waiting maid of his daughter, the lovely princess otohime, whom you will shortly see."
uraschimataro was still so puzzled with the adventures that had befallen him, that he waited in a dazed condition for what would happen next.
but the turtle, who had talked so much of him to the princess that she had expressed a wish to see him, went at once to make known his arrival.
and directly the princess beheld him her heart was set on him, and she begged him to stay with her, and in return promised that he should never grow old, neither should his beauty fade.
"is not that reward enough?"
she asked, smiling, looking all the while as fair as the sun itself.
and uraschimataro said "yes," and so he stayed there.
for how long?
that he only knew later.
his life passed by, and each hour seemed happier than the last, when one day there rushed over him a terrible longing to see his parents.
he fought against it hard, knowing how it would grieve the princess, but it grew on him stronger and stronger, till at length he became so sad that the princess inquired what was wrong.
then he told her of the longing he had to visit his old home, and that he must see his parents once more.
the princess was almost frozen with horror, and implored him to stay with her, or something dreadful would be sure to happen.
"you will never come back, and we shall meet again no more," she moaned bitterly.
but uraschimataro stood firm and repeated, "only this once will i leave you, and then will i return to your side for ever."
sadly the princess shook her head, but she answered slowly, "one way there is to bring you safely back, but i fear you will never agree to the conditions of the bargain.'"
i will do anything that will bring me back to you," exclaimed uraschimataro, looking at her tenderly, but the princess was silent: she knew too well that when he left her she would see his face no more.
then she took from a shelf a tiny golden box, and gave it to uraschimataro, praying him to keep it carefully, and above all things never to open it.
"if you can do this," she said as she bade him farewell, "your friend the turtle will meet you at the shore, and will carry you back to me."
uraschimataro thanked her from his heart, and swore solemnly to do her bidding.
he hid the box safely in his garments, seated himself on the back of the turtle, and vanished in the ocean path, waving his hand to the princess.
three days and three nights they swam through the sea, and at length uraschimataro arrived at the beach which lay before his old home.
the turtle bade him farewell, and was gone in a moment.
uraschimataro drew near to the village with quick and joyful steps.
he saw the smoke curling through the roof, and the thatch where green plants had thickly sprouted.
he heard the children shouting and calling, and from a window that he passed came the twang of the koto, and everything seemed to cry a welcome for his return.
yet suddenly he felt a pang at his heart as he wandered down the street.
after all, everything was changed.
neither men nor houses were those he once knew.
quickly he saw his old home; yes, it was still there, but it had a strange look.
anxiously he knocked at the door, and asked the woman who opened it after his parents.
but she did not know their names, and could give him no news of them.
still more disturbed, he rushed to the burying ground, the only place that could tell him what he wished to know.
here at any rate he would find out what it all meant.
and he was right.
in a moment he stood before the grave of his parents, and the date written on the stone was almost exactly the date when they had lost their son, and he had forsaken them for the daughter of the sea.
and so he found that since he had deft his home, three hundred years had passed by.
shuddering with horror at his discovery he turned back into the village street, hoping to meet some one who could tell him of the days of old.
but when the man spoke, he knew he was not dreaming, though he felt as if he had lost his senses.
in despair he bethought him of the box which was the gift of the princess.
perhaps after all this dreadful thing was not true.
he might be the victim of some enchanter's spell, and in his hand lay the counter-charm.
almost unconsciously he opened it, and a purple vapour came pouring out.
he held the empty box in his hand, and as he looked he saw that the fresh hand of youth had grown suddenly shrivelled, like the hand of an old, old man.
he ran to the brook, which flowed in a clear stream down from the mountain.
and saw himself reflected as in a mirror.
it was the face of a mummy which looked back at him.
wounded to death, he crept back through the village, and no man knew the old, old man to be the strong handsome youth who had run down the street an hour before.
so he toiled wearily back, till he reached the shore, and here he sat sadly on a rock, and called loudly on the turtle.
but she never came back any more, but instead, death came soon, and set him free.
but before that happened, the people who saw him sitting lonely on the shore had heard his story, and when their children were restless they used to tell them of the good son who from love to his parents had given up for their sakes the splendour and wonders of the palace in the sea, and the most beautiful woman in the world besides.
the slaying of the tanuki from the japanische murchen und sagen.
near a big river, and between two high mountains, a man and his wife lived in a cottage a long, long time ago.
a dense forest lay all round the cottage, and there was hardly a path or a tree in the whole wood that was not familiar to the peasant from his boyhood.
in one of his wanderings he had made friends with a hare, and many an hour the two passed together, when the man was resting by the roadside, eating his dinner.
now this strange friendship was observed by the tanuki, a wicked, quarrelsome beast, who hated the peasant, and was never tired of doing him an ill turn.
again and again he had crept to the hut, and finding some choice morsel put away for the little hare, had either eaten it if he thought it nice, or trampled it to pieces so that no one else should get it, and at last the peasant lost patience, and made up his mind he would have the tanuki's blood.
so for many days the man lay hidden, waiting for the tanuki to come by, and when one morning he marched up the road thinking of nothing but the dinner he was going to steal, the peasant threw himself upon him and bound his four legs tightly, so that he could not move.
then he dragged his enemy joyfully to the house, feeling that at length he had got the better of the mischievous beast which had done him so many ill turns.
"he shall pay for them with his skin," he said to his wife.
"we will first kill him, and then cook him."
so saying, he hanged the tanuki, head downwards, to a beam, and went out to gather wood for a fire.
meanwhile the old woman was standing at the mortar pounding the rise that was to serve them for the week with a pestle that made her arms ache with its weight.
suddenly she heard something whining and weeping in the corner, and, stopping her work, she looked round to see what it was.
that was all that the rascal wanted, and he put on directly his most humble air, and begged the woman in his softest voice to loosen his bonds, which her hurting him sorely.
she was filled with pity for him, but did not dare to set him free, as she knew that her husband would be very angry.
the tanuki, however, did not despair, and seeing that her heart was softened, began his prayers anew.
"he only asked to have his bonds taken from him," he said.
"he would give his word not to attempt to escape, and if he was once set free he could soon pound her rice for her."
"then you can have a little rest," he went on, "for rice pounding is very tiring work, and not at all fit for weak women."
these last words melted the good woman completely, and she unfastened the bonds that held him.
poor foolish creature!
in one moment the tanuki had seized her, stripped off all her clothes, and popped her in the mortar.
in a few minutes more she was pounded as fine as the rice; and not content with that, the tanuki placed a pot on the hearth and made ready to cook the peasant a dinner from the flesh of his own wife!
when everything was complete he looked out of the door, and saw the old man coming from the forest carrying a large bundle of wood.
quick as lightning the tanuki not only put on the woman's clothes, but, as he was a magician, assumed her form as well.
then he took the wood, kindled the fire, and very soon set a large dinner before the old man, who was very hungry, and had forgotten for the moment all about his enemy.
but when the tanuki saw that he had eaten his fill and would be thinking about his prisoner, he hastily shook off the clothes behind a door and took his own shape.
then he said to the peasant, "you are a nice sort of person to seize animals and to talk of killing them!
you are caught in your own net.
it is your own wife that you have eaten, and if you want to find her bones you have only to look under the floor."
with these words he turned and made for the forest.
the old peasant grew cold with horror as he listened, and seemed frozen to the place where he stood.
when he had recovered himself a little, he collected the bones of his dead wife, buried them in the garden, and swore over the grave to be avenged on the tanuki.
after everything was done he sat himself down in his lonely cottage and wept bitterly, and the bitterest thought of all was that he would never be able to forget that he had eaten his own wife.
while he was thus weeping and wailing his friend the hare passed by, and, hearing the noise, pricked up his ears and soon recognised the old man's voice.
he wondered what had happened, and put his head in at the door and asked if anything was the matter.
with tears and groans the peasant told him the whole dreadful story, and the hare, filled with anger and compassion, comforted him as best he could, and promised to help him in his revenge.
"the false knave shall not go unpunished," said he.
so the first thing he did was to search the house for materials to make an ointment, which he sprinkled plentifully with pepper and then put in his pocket.
next he took a hatchet, bade farewell to the old man, and departed to the forest.
he bent his steps to the dwelling of the tanuki and knocked at the door.
the tanuki, who had no cause to suspect the hare, was greatly pleased to see him, for he noticed the hatchet at once, and began to lay plots how to get hold of it.
to do this he thought he had better offer to accompany the hare, which was exactly what the hare wished and expected, for he knew all the tanuki's cunning, and understood his little ways.
so he accepted the rascal's company with joy, and made himself very pleasant as they strolled along.
when they were wandering in this manner through the forest the hare carelessly raised his hatchet in passing, and cut down some thick boughs that were hanging over the path, but at length, after cutting down a good big tree, which cost him many hard blows, he declared that it was too heavy for him to carry home, and he must just leave it where it was.
this delighted the greedy tanuki, who said that they would be no weight for him, so they collected the large branches, which the hare bound tightly on his back.
then he trotted gaily to the house, the hare following after with his lighter bundle.
by this time the hare had decided what he would do, and as soon as they arrived, he quietly set on fire the wood on the back of the tanuki.
the tanuki, who was busy with something else, observed nothing, and only called out to ask what was the meaning of the crackling that he heard.
"it is just the rattle of the stones which are rolling down the side of the mountain," the hare said; and the tanuki was content, and made no further remarks, never noticing that the noise really sprang from the burning boughs on his back, until his fur was in flames, and it was almost too late to put it out.
shrieking with pain, he let fall the burning wood from his back, and stamped and howled with agony.
but the hare comforted him, and told him that he always carried with him an excellent plaster in case of need, which would bring him instant relief, and taking out his ointment he spread it on a leaf of bamboo, and laid it on the wound.
no sooner did it touch him than the tanuki leapt yelling into the air, and the hare laughed, and ran to tell his friend the peasant what a trick he had played on their enemy.
but the old man shook his head sadly, for he knew that the villain was only crushed for the moment, and that he would shortly be revenging himself upon them.
no, the only way every to get any peace and quiet was to render the tanuki harmless for ever.
long did the old man and the hare puzzle together how this was to be done, and at last they decided that they would make two boats, a small one of wood and a large one of clay.
then they fell to work at once, and when the boats were ready and properly painted, the hare went to the tanuki, who was still very ill, and invited him to a great fish-catching.
the tanuki was still feeling angry with the hare about the trick he had played him, but he was weak and very hungry, so he gladly accepted the proposal, and accompanied the hare to the bank of the river, where the two boats were moored, rocked by the waves.
they both looked exactly alike, and the tanuki only saw that one was bigger than the other, and would hold more fish, so he sprang into the large one, while the hare climbed into the one which was made of wood.
they loosened their moorings, and made for the middle of the stream, and when they were at some distance from the bank, the hare took his oar, and struck such a heavy blow at the other boat, that it broke in two.
the tanuki fell straight into the water, and was held there by the hare till he was quite dead.
then he put the body in his boat and rowed to land, and told the old man that his enemy was dead at last.
and the old man rejoiced that his wife was avenged, and he took the hare into his house, and they lived together all their days in peace and quietness upon the mountain.
the flying trunk translated from the german of hans andersen.
there was once a merchant who was so rich that he could have paved the whole street, and perhaps even a little side-street besides, with silver.
but he did not do that; he knew another way of spending his money.
if he spent a shilling he got back a florin-such an excellent merchant he was till he died.
now his son inherited all this money.
he lived very merrily; he went every night to the theatre, made paper kites out of five-pound notes, and played ducks and drakes with sovereigns instead of stones.
in this way the money was likely to come soon to an end, and so it did.
at last he had nothing left but four shillings, and he had no clothes except a pair of slippers and an old dressing-gown.
his friends did not trouble themselves any more about him; they would not even walk down the street with him.
but one of them who was rather good-natured sent him an old trunk with the message, "pack up!"
that was all very well, but he had nothing to pack up, so he got into the trunk himself.
it was an enchanted trunk, for as soon as the lock was pressed it could fly.
he pressed it, and away he flew in it up the chimney, high into the clouds, further and further away.
but whenever the bottom gave a little creak he was in terror lest the trunk should go to pieces, for then he would have turned a dreadful somersault-just think of it!
in this way he arrived at the land of the turks.
he hid the trunk in a wood under some dry leaves, and then walked into the town.
he could do that quite well, for all the turks were dressed just as he was-in a dressing-gown and slippers.
he met a nurse with a little child.
"halloa!
you turkish nurse," said he, "what is that great castle there close to the town?
the one with the windows so high up?"
"the sultan's daughter lives there," she replied.
"it is prophesied that she will be very unlucky in her husband, and so no one is allowed to see her except when the sultan and sultana are by."
"thank you," said the merchant's son, and he went into the wood, sat himself in his trunk, flew on to the roof, and crept through the window into the princess's room.
she was lying on the sofa asleep, and was so beautiful that the young merchant had to kiss her.
then she woke up and was very much frightened, but he said he was a turkish god who had come through the air to see her, and that pleased her very much.
they sat close to each other, and he told her a story about her eyes.
they were beautiful dark lakes in which her thoughts swam about like mermaids.
and her forehead was a snowy mountain, grand and shining.
these were lovely stories.
then he asked the princess to marry him, and she said yes at once.
"but you must come here on saturday," she said, "for then the sultan and the sultana are coming to tea with me.
they will be indeed proud that i receive the god of the turks.
but mind you have a really good story ready, for my parents like them immensely.
my mother likes something rather moral and high-flown, and my father likes something merry to make him laugh."
"yes, i shall only bring a fairy story for my dowry," said he, and so they parted.
but the princess gave him a sabre set with gold pieces which he could use.
then he flew away, bought himself a new dressing-gown, and sat down in the wood and began to make up a story, for it had to be ready by saturday, and that was no easy matter.
when he had it ready it was saturday.
the sultan, the sultana, and the whole court were at tea with the princess.
he was most graciously received.
"will you tell us a story?"
said the sultana; "one that is thoughtful and instructive?"
"but something that we can laugh at," said the sultan.
"oh, certainly," he replied, and began: "now, listen attentively.
there was once a box of matches which lay between a tinder-box and an old iron pot, and they told the story of their youth."
""we used to be on the green fir-boughs.
every morning and evening we had diamond-tea, which was the dew, and the whole day long we had sunshine, and the little birds used to tell us stories.
we were very rich, because the other trees only dressed in summer, but we had green dresses in summer and in winter.
then the woodcutter came, and our family was split up.
we have now the task of making light for the lowest people.
that is why we grand people are in the kitchen.""
""my fate was quite different," said the iron pot, near which the matches lay."
""since i came into the world i have been many times scoured, and have cooked much.
my only pleasure is to have a good chat with my companions when i am lying nice and clean in my place after dinner.""
""now you are talking too fast," spluttered the fire."
""yes, let us decide who is the grandest!"
said the matches."
""no, i do n't like talking about myself," said the pot."
""let us arrange an evening's entertainment.
i will tell the story of my life."
""on the baltic by the danish shore -" "what a beautiful beginning!"
said all the plates.
""that's a story that will please us all."
"and the end was just as good as the beginning.
all the plates clattered for joy."
""now i will dance," said the tongs, and she danced.
oh!
how high she could kick!
"the old chair-cover in the corner split when he saw her.
"the urn would have sung but she said she had a cold; she could not sing unless she boiled.
"in the window was an old quill pen.
there was nothing remarkable about her except that she had been dipped too deeply into the ink.
but she was very proud of that."
""if the urn will not sing," said she, "outside the door hangs a nightingale in a cage who will sing.""
""i do n't think it's proper," said the kettle, "that such a foreign bird should be heard.""
""oh, let us have some acting," said everyone.
""do let us!"
"suddenly the door opened and the maid came in.
everyone was quite quiet.
there was not a sound.
but each pot knew what he might have done, and how grand he was.
"the maid took the matches and lit the fire with them.
how they spluttered and flamed, to be sure!
""now everyone can see," they thought, "that we are the grandest!
how we sparkle!
what a light -" "but here they were burnt out."
"that was a delightful story!"
said the sultana."
i quite feel myself in the kitchen with the matches.
yes, now you shall marry our daughter."
"yes, indeed," said the sultan, "you shall marry our daughter on monday."
and they treated the young man as one of the family.
the wedding was arranged, and the night before the whole town was illuminated.
biscuits and gingerbreads were thrown among the people, the street boys stood on tiptoe crying hurrahs and whistling through their fingers.
it was all splendid.
"now i must also give them a treat," thought the merchant's son.
and so he bought rockets, crackers, and all the kinds of fireworks you can think of, put them in his trunk, and flew up with them into the air.
whirr-r-r, how they fizzed and blazed!
all the turks jumped so high that their slippers flew above their heads; such a splendid glitter they had never seen before.
now they could quite well understand that it was the god of the turks himself who was to marry the princess.
as soon as the young merchant came down again into the wood with his trunk he thought, "now i will just go into the town to see how the show has taken."
and it was quite natural that he should want to do this.
oh!
what stories the people had to tell!
each one whom he asked had seen it differently, but they had all found it beautiful."
i saw the turkish god himself," said one.
"he had eyes like glittering stars, and a beard like foaming water."
"he flew away in a cloak of fire," said another.
they were splendid things that he heard, and the next day was to be his wedding day.
then he went back into the wood to sit in his trunk; but what had become of it?
the trunk had been burnt.
a spark of the fireworks had set it alight, and the trunk was in ashes.
he could no longer fly, and could never reach his bride.
she stood the whole day long on the roof and waited; perhaps she is waiting there still.
but he wandered through the world and told stories; though they are not so merry as the one he told about the matches.
the snow-man translated from the german of hans andersen.
"how astonishingly cold it is!
my body is cracking all over!"
said the snow-man.
"the wind is really cutting one's very life out!
and how that fiery thing up there glares!"
he meant the sun, which was just setting.
"it sha'n' t make me blink, though, and i shall keep quite cool and collected."
instead of eyes he had two large three-cornered pieces of slate in his head; his mouth consisted of an old rake, so that he had teeth as well.
he was born amidst the shouts and laughter of the boys, and greeted by the jingling bells and cracking whips of the sledges.
the sun went down, the full moon rose, large, round, clear and beautiful, in the dark blue sky.
"there it is again on the other side!"
said the snow-man, by which he meant the sun was appearing again."
i have become quite accustomed to its glaring.
i hope it will hang there and shine, so that i may be able to see myself.
i wish i knew, though, how one ought to see about changing one's position.
i should very much like to move about.
if i only could, i would glide up and down the ice there, as i saw the boys doing; but somehow or other, i do n't know how to run."
"bow-wow!"
barked the old yard-dog; he was rather hoarse and could n't bark very well.
his hoarseness came on when he was a house-dog and used to lie in front of the stove.
"the sun will soon teach you to run!
i saw that last winter with your predecessor, and farther back still with his predecessors!
they have all run away!'"
i do n't understand you, my friend," said the snow-man.
"that thing up there is to teach me to run?"
he meant the moon.
"well, it certainly did run just now, for i saw it quite plainly over there, and now here it is on this side."
"you know nothing at all about it," said the yard-dog.
"why, you have only just been made.
the thing you see there is the moon; the other thing you saw going down the other side was the sun.
he will come up again tomorrow morning, and will soon teach you how to run away down the gutter.
the weather is going to change; i feel it already by the pain in my left hind-leg; the weather is certainly going to change.'"
i ca n't understand him," said the snow-man; "but i have an idea that he is speaking of something unpleasant.
that thing that glares so, and then disappears, the sun, as he calls it, is not my friend.
i know that by instinct."
"bow-wow!"
barked the yard-dog, and walked three times round himself, and then crept into his kennel to sleep.
the weather really did change.
towards morning a dense damp fog lay over the whole neighbourhood; later on came an icy wind, which sent the frost packing.
but when the sun rose, it was a glorious sight.
the trees and shrubs were covered with rime, and looked like a wood of coral, and every branch was thick with long white blossoms.
the most delicate twigs, which are lost among the foliage in summer-time, came now into prominence, and it was like a spider's web of glistening white.
the lady-birches waved in the wind; and when the sun shone, everything glittered and sparkled as if it were sprinkled with diamond dust, and great diamonds were lying on the snowy carpet.
"is n't it wonderful?"
exclaimed a girl who was walking with a young man in the garden.
they stopped near the snow-man, and looked at the glistening trees.
"summer can not show a more beautiful sight," she said, with her eyes shining.
"and one ca n't get a fellow like this in summer either," said the young man, pointing to the snow-man.
"he's a beauty!"
the girl laughed, and nodded to the snow-man, and then they both danced away over the snow.
"who were those two?"
asked the snow-man of the yard-dog.
"you have been in this yard longer than i have.
do you know who they are?"
"do i know them indeed?"
answered the yard-dog.
"she has often stroked me, and he has given me bones.
i do n't bite either of them!"
"but what are they?"
asked the snow-man.
"lovers!"
replied the yard-dog.
"they will go into one kennel and gnaw the same bone!"
"are they the same kind of beings that we are?"
asked the snow-man.
"they are our masters," answered the yard-dog.
"really people who have only been in the world one day know very little."
that's the conclusion i have come to.
now i have age and wisdom; i know everyone in the house, and i can remember a time when i was not lying here in a cold kennel.
bow-wow!"
"the cold is splendid," said the snow-man.
"tell me some more.
but do n't rattle your chain so, it makes me crack!"
"bow-wow!"
barked the yard-dog.
"they used to say i was a pretty little fellow; then i lay in a velvet-covered chair in my master's house.
my mistress used to nurse me, and kiss and fondle me, and call me her dear, sweet little alice!
but by-and-by i grew too big, and i was given to the housekeeper, and i went into the kitchen.
you can see into it from where you are standing; you can look at the room in which i was master, for so i was when i was with the housekeeper.
of course it was a smaller place than upstairs, but it was more comfortable, for i was n't chased about and teased by the children as i had been before.
my food was just as good, or even better.
i had my own pillow, and there was a stove there, which at this time of year is the most beautiful thing in the world.
i used to creep right under that stove.
ah me!
i often dream of that stove still!
bow-wow!"
"is a stove so beautiful?"
asked the snow-man.
"is it anything like me?"
"it is just the opposite of you!
it is coal-black, and has a long neck with a brass pipe.
it eats firewood, so that fire spouts out of its mouth.
one has to keep close beside it-quite underneath is the nicest of all.
you can see it through the window from where you are standing."
and the snow-man looked in that direction, and saw a smooth polished object with a brass pipe.
the flicker from the fire reached him across the snow.
the snow-man felt wonderfully happy, and a feeling came over him which he could not express; but all those who are not snow-men know about it.
"why did you leave her?"
asked the snow-man.
he had a feeling that such a being must be a lady.
"how could you leave such a place?'"
i had to!"
said the yard-dog.
"they turned me out of doors, and chained me up here.
i had bitten the youngest boy in the leg, because he took away the bone i was gnawing; a bone for a bone, i thought!
but they were very angry, and from that time i have been chained here, and i have lost my voice.
do n't you hear how hoarse i am?
bow-wow!
i ca n't speak like other dogs.
bow-wow!
that was the end of happiness!"
the snow-man, however, was not listening to him any more; he was looking into the room where the housekeeper lived, where the stove stood on its four iron legs, and seemed to be just the same size as the snow-man.
"how something is cracking inside me!"
he said.
"shall i never be able to get in there?
it is certainly a very innocent wish, and our innocent wishes ought to be fulfilled.
i must get there, and lean against the stove, if i have to break the window first!"
"you will never get inside there!"
said the yard-dog; "and if you were to reach the stove you would disappear.
bow-wow!"
"i'm as good as gone already!"
answered the snow-man."
i believe i'm breaking up!"
the whole day the snow-man looked through the window; towards dusk the room grew still more inviting; the stove gave out a mild light, not at all like the moon or even the sun; no, as only a stove can shine, when it has something to feed upon.
when the door of the room was open, it flared up-this was one of its peculiarities; it flickered quite red upon the snow-man's white face."
i ca n't stand it any longer!"
he said.
"how beautiful it looks with its tongue stretched out like that!"
it was a long night, but the snow-man did not find it so; there he stood, wrapt in his pleasant thoughts, and they froze, so that he cracked.
next morning the panes of the kitchen window were covered with ice, and the most beautiful ice-flowers that even a snow-man could desire, only they blotted out the stove.
the window would not open; he could n't see the stove which he thought was such a lovely lady.
there was a cracking and cracking inside him and all around; there was just such a frost as a snow-man would delight in.
but this snow-man was different: how could he feel happy?
"yours is a bad illness for a snow-man!"
said the yard-dog."
i also suffered from it, but i have got over it.
bow-wow!"
he barked.
"the weather is going to change!"
he added.
the weather did change.
there came a thaw.
when this set in the snow-man set off.
he did not say anything, and he did not complain, and those are bad signs.
one morning he broke up altogether.
and lo!
where he had stood there remained a broomstick standing upright, round which the boys had built him!
"ah!
now i understand why he loved the stove," said the yard-dog.
"that is the raker they use to clean out the stove!
the snow-man had a stove-raker in his body!
that's what was the matter with him!
and now it's all over with him!
bow-wow!"
and before long it was all over with the winter too!
"bow-wow!"
barked the hoarse yard-dog.
but the young girl sang: woods, your bright green garments don!
willows, your woolly gloves put on!
lark and cuckoo, daily sing -- february has brought the spring!
my heart joins in your song so sweet; come out, dear sun, the world to greet!
and no one thought of the snow-man.
the shirt-collar translated from the german of hans andersen.
there was once a fine gentleman whose entire worldly possessions consisted of a boot-jack and a hair-brush; but he had the most beautiful shirt-collar in the world, and it is about this that we are going to hear a story.
the shirt-collar was so old that he began to think about marrying; and it happened one day that he and a garter came into the wash-tub together.
"hulloa!"
said the shirt-collar, "never before have i seen anything so slim and delicate, so elegant and pretty!
may i be permitted to ask your name?'"
i sha n't tell you," said the garter.
"where is the place of your abode?"
asked the shirt-collar.
but the garter was of a bashful disposition, and did not think it proper to answer.
"perhaps you are a girdle?"
said the shirt-collar, "an under girdle?
for i see that you are for use as well as for ornament, my pretty miss!"
"you ought not to speak to me!"
said the garter" "i'm sure i have n't given you any encouragement!"
"when anyone is as beautiful as you," said the shirt-collar, "is not that encouragement enough?"
"go away, do n't come so close!"
said the garter.
"you seem to be a gentleman!"
"so i am, and a very fine one too!"
said the shirt-collar;" i possess a boot-jack and a hair-brush!"
that was not true; it was his master who owned these things; but he was a terrible boaster.
"do n't come so close," said the garter.
"i'm not accustomed to such treatment!"
"what affectation!"
said the shirt-collar.
and then they were taken out of the wash-tub, starched, and hung on a chair in the sun to dry, and then laid on the ironing-board.
then came the glowing iron.
"mistress widow!"
said the shirt-collar, "dear mistress widow!
i am becoming another man, all my creases are coming out; you are burning a hole in me!
ugh!
stop, i implore you!"
"you rag!"
said the iron, travelling proudly over the shirt-collar, for it thought it was a steam engine and ought to be at the station drawing trucks.
"rag!"
it said.
the shirt-collar was rather frayed out at the edge, so the scissors came to cut off the threads.
"oh!"
said the shirt-collar, "you must be a dancer!
how high you can kick!
that is the most beautiful thing i have ever seen!
no man can imitate you!'"
i know that!"
said the scissors.
"you ought to be a duchess!"
said the shirt-collar.
"my worldly possessions consist of a fine gentleman, a boot-jack, and a hair-brush.
if only i had a duchy!"
"what!
he wants to marry me?"
said the scissors, and she was so angry that she gave the collar a sharp snip, so that it had to be cast aside as good for nothing.
"well, i shall have to propose to the hair-brush!"
thought the shirt-collar.
"it is really wonderful what fine hair you have, madam!
have you never thought of marrying?"
"yes, that i have!"
answered the hair-brush; "i'm engaged to the boot-jack!"
"engaged!"
exclaimed the shirt-collar.
and now there was no one he could marry, so he took to despising matrimony.
time passed, and the shirt-collar came in a rag-bag to the paper-mill.
there was a large assortment of rags, the fine ones in one heap, and the coarse ones in another, as they should be.
they had all much to tell, but no one more than the shirt-collar, for he was a hopeless braggart."
i have had a terrible number of love affairs!"
he said.
"they give me no peace.
i was such a fine gentleman, so stiff with starch!
i had a boot-jack and a hair-brush, which i never used!
you should just have seen me then!
never shall i forget my first love!
she was a girdle, so delicate and soft and pretty!
she threw herself into a wash-tub for my sake!
then there was a widow, who glowed with love for me.
but i left her alone, till she became black.
then there was the dancer, who inflicted the wound which has caused me to be here now; she was very violent!
my own hair-brush was in love with me, and lost all her hair in consequence.
yes, i have experienced much in that line; but i grieve most of all for the garter,-i mean, the girdle, who threw herself into a wash-tub.
i have much on my conscience; it is high time for me to become white paper!"
and so he did!
he became white paper, the very paper on which this story is printed.
and that was because he had boasted so terribly about things which were not true.
we should take this to heart, so that it may not happen to us, for we can not indeed tell if we may not some day come to the rag-bag, and be made into white paper, on which will be printed our whole history, even the most secret parts, so that we too go about the world relating it, like the shirt-collar.
the princess in the chest translated from the danish.
there were once a king and a queen who lived in a beautiful castle, and had a large, and fair, and rich, and happy land to rule over.
from the very first they loved each other greatly, and lived very happily together, but they had no heir.
they had been married for seven years, but had neither son nor daughter, and that was a great grief to both of them.
more than once it happened that when the king was in a bad temper, he let it out on the poor queen, and said that here they were now, getting old, and neither they nor the kingdom had an heir, and it was all her fault.
this was hard to listen to, and she went and cried and vexed herself.
finally, the king said to her one day, "this ca n't be borne any longer.
i go about childless, and it's your fault.
i am going on a journey and shall be away for a year.
if you have a child when i come back again, all will be well, and i shall love you beyond all measure, and never more say an angry word to you.
but if the nest is just as empty when i come home, then i must part with you."
after the king had set out on his journey, the queen went about in her loneliness, and sorrowed and vexed herself more than ever.
at last her maid said to her one day," i think that some help could be found, if your majesty would seek it."
then she told about a wise old woman in that country, who had helped many in troubles of the same kind, and could no doubt help the queen as well, if she would send for her.
the queen did so, and the wise woman came, and to her she confided her sorrow, that she, was childless, and the king and his kingdom had no heir.
the wise woman knew help for this.
"out in the king's garden," said she, "under the great oak that stands on the left hand, just as one goes out from the castle, is a little bush, rather brown than green, with hairy leaves and long spikes.
on that bush there are just at this moment three buds.
if your majesty goes out there alone, fasting, before sunrise, and takes the middle one of the three buds, and eats it, then in six months you will bring a princess into the world.
as soon as she is born, she must have a nurse, whom i shall provide, and this nurse must live with the child in a secluded part of the palace; no other person must visit the child; neither the king nor the queen must see it until it is fourteen years old, for that would cause great sorrow and misfortune."
the queen rewarded the old woman richly, and next morning, before the sun rose, she was down in the garden, found at once the little bush with the three buds, plucked the middle one and ate it.
it was sweet to taste, but afterwards was as bitter as gall.
six months after this, she brought into the world a little girl.
there was a nurse in readiness, whom the wise woman had provided, and preparations were made for her living with the child, quite alone, in a secluded wing of the castle, looking out on the pleasure-park.
the queen did as the wise woman had told her; she gave up the child immediately, and the nurse took it and lived with it there.
when the king came home and heard that a daughter had been born to him, he was of course very pleased and happy, and wanted to see her at once.
the queen had then to tell him this much of the story, that it had been foretold that it would cause great sorrow and misfortune if either he or she got a sight of the child until it had completed its fourteenth year.
this was a long time to wait.
the king longed so much to get a sight of his daughter, and the queen no less than he, but she knew that it was not like other children, for it could speak immediately after it was born, and was as wise as older folk.
this the nurse had told her, for with her the queen had a talk now and again, but there was no one who had ever seen the princess.
the queen had also seen what the wise woman could do, so she insisted strongly that her warning should be obeyed.
the king often lost his patience, and was determined to see his daughter, but the queen always put him off the idea, and so things went on, until the very day before the princess completed her fourteenth year.
the king and the queen were out in the garden then, and the king said, "now i ca n't and i wo n't wait any longer.
i must see my daughter at once.
a few hours, more or less, ca n't make any difference."
the queen begged him to have patience till the morning.
when they had waited so long, they could surely wait a single day more.
but the king was quite unreasonable.
"no nonsense," said he; "she is just as much mine as yours, and i will see her," and with that he went straight up to her room.
he burst the door open, and pushed aside the nurse, who tried to stop him, and there he saw his daughter.
she was the loveliest young princess, red and white, like milk and blood, with clear blue eyes and golden hair, but right in the middle of her forehead there was a little tuft of brown hair.
the princess went to meet her father, fell on his neck and kissed him, but with that she said," o father, father!
what have you done now?
to-morrow i must die, and you must choose one of three things: either the land must be smitten with the black pestilence, or you must have a long and bloody war, or you must as soon as i am dead, lay me in a plain wooden chest, and set it in the church, and for a whole year place a sentinel beside it every night."
the king was frightened indeed, and thought she was raving, but in order to please her, he said, "well, of these three things i shall choose the last; if you die, i shall lay you at once in a plain wooden chest, and have it set in the church, and every night i shall place a sentinel beside it.
but you shall not die, even if you are ill now."
he immediately summoned all the best doctors in the country, and they came with all their prescriptions and their medicine bottles, but next day the princess was stiff and cold in death.
all the doctors could certify to that and they all put their names to this and appended their seals, and then they had done all they could.
the king kept his promise.
the princess's body was lain the same day in a plain wooden chest, and set in the chapel of the castle, and on that night and every night after it, a sentinel was posted in the church, to keep watch over the chest.
the first morning when they came to let the sentinel out, there was no sentinel there.
they thought he had just got frightened and run away, and next evening a new one was posted in the church.
in the morning he was also gone.
so it went every night.
when they came in the morning to let the sentinel out, there was no one there, and it was impossible to discover which way he had gone if he had run away.
and what should they run away for, every one of them, so that nothing more was over heard or seen of them, from the hour that they were set on guard beside the princess's chest?
it became now a general belief that the princess's ghost walked, and ate up all those who were to guard her chest, and very soon there was no one left who would be placed on this duty, and the king's soldiers deserted the service, before their turn came to be her bodyguard.
the king then promised a large reward to the soldier who would volunteer for the post.
this did for some time, as there were found a few reckless fellows, who wished to earn this good payment.
but they never got it, for in the morning, they too had disappeared like the rest.
so it had gone on for something like a whole year; every night a sentinel had been placed beside the chest, either by compulsion or of his own free will, but not a single one of the sentinels was to be seen, either on the following day or any time thereafter.
and so it had also gone with one, on the night before a certain day, when a merry young smith came wandering to the town where the king's castle stood.
it was the capital of the country, and people of every king came to it to get work.
this smith, whose name was christian, had come for that same purpose.
there was no work for him in the place he belonged to, and he wanted now to seek a place in the capital.
there he entered an inn where he sat down in the public room, and got something to eat.
some under-officers were sitting there, who were out to try to get some one enlisted to stand sentry.
they had to go in this way, day after day, and hitherto they had always succeeded in finding one or other reckless fellow.
but on this day they had, as yet, found no one.
it was too well known how all the sentinels disappeared, who were set on that post, and all that they had got hold of had refused with thanks.
these sat down beside christian, and ordered drinks, and drank along with him.
now christian was a merry fellow who liked good company; he could both drink and sing, and talk and boast as well, when he got a little drop in his head.
he told these under-officers that he was one of that kind of folk who never are afraid of anything.
then he was just the kind of man they liked, said they, and he might easily earn a good penny, before he was a day older, for the king paid a hundred dollars to anyone who would stand as sentinel in the church all night, beside his daughter's chest.
christian was not afraid of that he was n't afraid of anything, so they drank another bottle of wine on this, and christian went with them up to the colonel, where he was put into uniform with musket, and all the rest, and was then shut up in the church, to stand as sentinel that night.
it was eight o'clock when he took up his post, and for the first hour he was quite proud of his courage; during the second hour he was well pleased with the large reward that he would get, but in the third hour, when it was getting near eleven, the effects of the wine passed off, and he began to get uncomfortable, for he had heard about this post; that no one had ever escapeed alive from it, so far as was known.
but neither did anyone know what had become of all the sentinels.
the thought of this ran in his head so much, after the wine was out of it, that he searched about everywhere for a way of escape, and finally, at eleven o'clock, he found a little postern in the steeple which was not locked, and out at this he crept, intending to run away.
at the same moment as he put his foot outside the church door, he saw standing before him a little man, who said, "good evening, christian, where are you going?"
with that he felt as if he were rooted to the spot and could not move.
"nowhere," said he.
"oh, yes," said the little man, "you were just about to run away, but you have taken upon you to stand sentinel in the church to-night, and there you must stay."
christian said, very humbly, that he dared not, and therefore wanted to get away, and begged to be let go.
"no," said the little one, "you must remain at your post, but i shall give you a piece of good advice; you shall go up into the pulpit, and remain standing there.
you need never mind what you see or hear, it will not be able to do you any harm, if you remain in your place until you hear the lid of the chest slam down again behind the dead; then all danger is past, and you can go about the church, wherever you please."
the little man then pushed him in at the door again, and locked it after him.
christian made haste to get up into the pulpit, and stood there, without noticing anything, until the clock struck twelve.
then the lid of the princess's chest sprang up, and out of it there came something like the princess, dressed as you see in the picture.
it shrieked and howled, "sentry, where are you?
sentry, where are you?
if you do n't come, you shall get the most cruel death anyone had ever got."
it went all round the church, and when it finally caught sight of the smith, up in the pulpit, it came rushing thither and mounted the steps.
but it could not get up the whole way, and for all that it stretched and strained, it could not touch christian, who meanwhile stood and trembled up in the pulpit.
when the clock struck one, the appearance had to go back into the chest again, and christian heard the lid slam after it.
after this there was dead silence in the church.
he lay down where he was and fell asleep, and did not awake before it was bright daylight, and he heard steps outside, and the noise of the key being put into the lock.
then he came down from the pulpit, and stood with his musket in front of the princess's chest.
it was the colonel himself who came with the patrol, and he was not a little surprised when he found the recruit safe and sound.
he wanted to have a report, but christian would give him none, so he took him straight up to the king, and announced for the first time that here was the sentinel who had stood guard in the church over-night.
the king immediately got out of bed, and laid the hundred dollars for him on the table, and then wanted to question him.
"have you seen anything?"
said he.
"have you seen my daughter?'"
i have stood at my post," said the young smith, "and that is quite enough; i undertook nothing more."
he was not sure whether he dared tell what he had seen and heard, and besides he was also a little conceited because he had done what no other man had been able to do, or had had courage for.
the king professed to be quite satisfied, and asked him whether he would engage himself to stand on guard again the following night.
"no, thank you," said christian," i will have no more of that!"
"as you please," said the king, "you have behaved like a brave fellow, and now you shall have your breakfast.
you must be needing something to strengthen you after that turn."
the king had breakfast laid for him, and sat down at the table with him in person; he kept constantly filling his glass for him and praising him, and drinking his health.
christian needed no pressing, but did full justice both to the food and drink, and not least to the latter.
finally he grew bold, and said that if the king would give him two hundred dollars for it, he was his man to stand sentry next night as well.
when this was arranged, christian bade him "good-day," and went down among the guards, and then out into the town along with other soldiers and under-officers.
he had his pocket full of money, and treated them, and drank with them and boasted and made game of the good-for-nothings who were afraid to stand on guard, because they were frightened that the dead princess would eat them.
see whether she had eaten him!
so the day passed in mirth and glee, but when eight o'clock came, christian was again shut up in the church, all alone.
before he had been there two hours, he got tired of it, and thought only of getting away.
he found a little door behind the altar which was not locked, and at ten o'clock he slipped out at it, and took to his heels and made for the beach.
he had got half-way thither, when all at once the same little man stood in front of him and said, "good evening, christian, where are you going?"
"i've leave to go where i please," said the smith, but at the same time he noticed that he could not move a foot.
"no, you have undertaken to keep guard to-night as well," said the little man, "and you must attend to that."
he then took hold of him, and however unwilling he was, christian had to go with him right back to the same little door that he had crept out at.
when they got there, the little man said to him, "go in front of the altar now, and take in your hand the book that is lying there.
there you shall stay till you hear the lid of the chest slam down over the dead.
in that way you will come to no harm."
with that the little man shoved him in at the door, and locked it.
christian then immediately went in front of the altar, and took the book in his hand, and stood thus until the clock struck twelve, and the appearance sprang out of the chest.
"sentry, where are you?
sentry, where are you?"
it shrieked, and then rushed to the pulpit, and right up into it.
but there was no one there that night.
then it howled and shrieked again, my father has set no sentry in, war and pest this night begin.
at the same moment, it noticed the smith standing in front of the altar, and came rushing towards him.
"are you there?"
it screamed; "now i'll catch you."
but it could not come up over the step in front of the altar, and there it continued to howl, and scream, and threaten, until the clock struck one, when it had to go into the chest again, and christian heard the lid slam above it.
that night, however, it had not the same appearance as on the previous one; it was less ugly.
when all was quiet in the church, the smith lay down before the altar and slept calmly till the following morning, when the colonel came to fetch him.
he was taken up to the king again, and things went on as the day before.
he got his money, but would give no explanation whether he had seen the king's daughter, and he would not take the post again, he said.
but after he had got a good breakfast, and tasted well of the king's wines, he undertook to go on guard again the third night, but he would not do it for less than the half of the kingdom, he said, for it was a dangerous post, and the king had to agree, and promise him this.
the remainder of the day went like the previous one.
he played the boastful soldier, and the merry smith, and he had comrades and boon-companions in plenty.
at eight o'clock he had to put on his uniform again, and was shut up in the church.
he had not been there for an hour before he had come to his senses, and thought, "it's best to stop now, while the game is going well."
the third night, he was sure, would be the worst; he had been drunk when he promised it, and the half of the kingdom, the king could never have been in earnest about that!
so he decided to leave, without waiting so long as on the previous nights.
in that way he would escape the little man who had watched him before.
all the doors and posterns were locked, but he finally though of creeping up to a window, and opening that, and as the clock struck nine, he crept out there.
it was fairly high in the wall, but he got to the ground with no bones broken, and started to run.
he got down to the shore without meeting anyone, and there he got into a boat, and pushed off from land.
he laughed immensely to himself at the thought of how cleverly he had managed and how he had cheated the little man.
just then he heard a voice from the shore, "good evening, christian, where are you going?"
he gave no answer.
"to-night your legs will be too short," he thought, and pulled at the oars.
but he then felt something lay hold of the boat, and drag it straight in to shore, for all that he sat and struggled with the oars.
the man then laid hold of him, and said, "you must remain at your post, as you have promised," and whether he liked it or not, christian had just to go back with him the whole way to the church.
he could never get in at that window again, christian said; it was far too high up.
"you must go in there, and you shall go in there," said the little man, and with that he lifted him up on to the window-sill.
then he said to him: "notice well now what you have to do.
this evening you must stretch yourself out on the left-hand side of her chest.
the lid opens to the right, and she comes out to the left.
when she has got out of the chest and passed over you, you must get into it and lie there, and that in a hurry, without her seeing you.
there you must remain lying until day dawns, and whether she threatens you or entreats you, you must not come out of it, or give her any answer.
then she has no power over you, and both you and she are freed."
the smith then had to go in at the window, just as he came out, and went and laid himself all his length on the left side of the princess's chest, close up to it, and there he lay stiff as a rock until the clock struck twelve.
then the lid sprang up to the right, and the princess came out, straight over him, and rushed round the church, howling and shrieking "sentry, where are you?
sentry, where are you?"
she went towards the altar, and right up to it, but there was no one there; then she screamed again, my father has set no sentry in, war and pest will now begin.
then she went round the whole church, both up and down, sighing and weeping, my father has set no sentry in, war and pest will now begin.
then she went away again, and at the same moment the clock in the tower struck one.
then the smith heard in the church a soft music, which grew louder and louder, and soon filled the whole building.
he heard also a multitude of footsteps, as if the church was being filled with people.
he heard the priest go through the service in front of the altar, and there was singing more beautiful than he had ever heard before.
then he also heard the priest offer up a prayer of thanksgiving because the land had been freed from war and pestilence, and from all misfortune, and the king's daughter delivered from the evil one.
many voices joined in, and a hymn of praise was sung; then he heard the priest again, and heard his own name and that of the princess, and thought that he was being wedded to her.
the church was packed full, but he could see nothing.
then he heard again the many footsteps as ol' folk leaving the church, while the music sounded fainter and fainter, until it altogether died away.
when it was silent, the light of day began to break in through the windows.
the smith sprang up out of the chest and fell on his knees and thanked god.
the church was empty, but up in front of the altar lay the princess, white and red, like a human being, but sobbing and crying, and shaking with cold in her white shroud.
the smith took his sentry coat and wrapped it round her; then she dried her tears, and took his hand and thanked him, and said that he had now freed her from all the sorcery that had been in her from her birth, and which had come over her again when her father broke the command against seeing her until she had completed her fourteenth year.
she said further, that if he who had delivered her would take her in marriage, she would be his.
if not, she would go into a nunnery, and he could marry no other as long as she lived, for he was wedded to her with the service of the dead, which he had heard.
she was now the most beautiful young princess that anyone could wish to see, and he was now lord of half the kingdom, which had been promised him for standing on guard the third nigh.
so they agreed that they would have each other, and love each other all their days.
with the first sunbeam the watch came and opened the church, and not only was the colonel there, but the king in person, come to see what had happened to the sentinel.
he found them both sitting hand in hand on the step in front of the altar, and immediately knew his daughter again, and took her in his arms, thanking god and her deliverer.
he made no objections to what they had arranged, and so christian the smith held his wedding with the princess, and got half the kingdom at once, and the whole of it when the king died.
as for the other sentries, with so many doors and windows open, no doubt they had run away, and gone into the prussian service.
and as for what christian said he saw, he had been drinking more wine than was good for him.
the three brothers translated from the german of the brothers grimm.
there was once a man who had three sons, and no other possessions beyond the house in which he lived.
now the father loved his three sons equally, so that he could not make up his mind which of them should have the house after his death, because he did not wish to favour any one more than the others.
and he did not want to sell the house, because it had belonged to his family for generations; otherwise he could have divided the money equally amongst them.
at last an idea struck him, and he said to his sons: "you must all go out into the world, and look about you, and each learn a trade, and then, when you return, whoever can produce the best masterpiece shall have the house."
the sons were quite satisfied.
the eldest wished to be a blacksmith, the second a barber, and the third a fencing-master.
they appointed a time when they were to return home, and then they all set out.
it so happened that each found a good master, where he learnt all that was necessary for his trade in the best possible way.
the blacksmith had to shoe the king's horses, and thought to himself, "without doubt the house will be yours!"
the barber shaved the best men in the kingdom, and he, too, made sure that the house would be his.
the fencing-master received many a blow, but he set his teeth, and would not allow himself to be troubled by them, for he thought to himself, "if you are afraid of a blow you will never get the house."
when the appointed time had come the three brothers met once more, and they sat down and discussed the best opportunity of showing off their skill.
just then a hare came running across the field towards them.
"look!"
said the barber, "here comes something in the nick of time!"
seized basin and soap, made a lather whilst the hare was approaching, and then, as it ran at full tilt, shaved its moustaches, without cutting it or injuring a single hair on its body."
i like that very much indeed," said the father.
"unless the others exert themselves to the utmost, the house will be yours."
soon after they saw a man driving a carriage furiously towards them.
"now, father, you shall see what i can do!"
said the blacksmith, and he sprang after the carriage, tore off the four shoes of the horse as it was going at the top of its speed, and shod it with four new ones without checking its pace.
"you are a clever fellow!"
said the father, "and know your trade as well as your brother.
i really do n't know to which of you i shall give the house."
then the third son said, "father, let me also show you something;" and, as it was beginning to rain, he drew his sword and swung it in cross cuts above his head, so that not a drop fell on him, and the rain fell heavier and heavier, till at last it was coming down like a waterspout, but he swung his sword faster and faster, and kept as dry as if he were under cover.
when the father saw this he was astonished, and said, "you have produced the greatest masterpiece: the house is yours."
both the other brothers were quite satisfied, and praised him too, and as they were so fond of each other they all three remained at home and plied their trades: and as they were so experienced and skilful they earned a great deal of money.
so they lived happily together till they were quite old, and when one was taken ill and died the two others were so deeply grieved that they were also taken ill and died too.
and so, because they had all been so clever, and so fond of each other, they were all laid in one grave.
the snow-queen translated from the german of hans andersen by miss alma alleyne.
there was once a dreadfully wicked hobgoblin.
one day he was in capital spirits because he had made a looking-glass which reflected everything that was good and beautiful in such a way that it dwindled almost to nothing, but anything that was bad and ugly stood out very clearly and looked much worse.
the most beautiful landscapes looked like boiled spinach, and the best people looked repulsive or seemed to stand on their heads with no bodies; their faces were so changed that they could not be recognised, and if anyone had a freckle you might be sure it would be spread over the nose and mouth.
that was the best part of it, said the hobgoblin.
but one day the looking-glass was dropped, and it broke into a million-billion and more pieces.
and now came the greatest misfortune of all, for each of the pieces was hardly as large as a grain of sand and they flew about all over the world, and if anyone had a bit in his eye there it stayed, and then he would see everything awry, or else could only see the bad sides of a case.
for every tiny splinter of the glass possessed the same power that the whole glass had.
some people got a splinter in their hearts, and that was dreadful, for then it began to turn into a lump of ice.
the hobgoblin laughed till his sides ached, but still the tiny bits of glass flew about.
and now we will hear all about it.
in a large town, where there were so many people and houses that there was not room enough for everybody to have gardens, lived two poor children.
they were not brother and sister, but they loved each other just as much as if they were.
their parents lived opposite one another in two attics, and out on the leads they had put two boxes filled with flowers.
there were sweet peas in it, and two rose trees, which grow beautifully, and in summer the two children were allowed to take their little chairs and sit out under the roses.
then they had splendid games.
in the winter they could not do this, but then they put hot pennies against the frozen window-panes, and made round holes to look at each other through.
his name was kay, and hers was gerda.
outside it was snowing fast.
"those are the white bees swarming," said the old grandmother.
"have they also a queen bee?"
asked the little boy, for he knew that the real bees have one.
"to be sure," said the grandmother.
"she flies wherever they swarm the thickest.
she is larger than any of them, and never stays upon the earth, but flies again up into the black clouds.
often at midnight she flies through the streets, and peeps in at all the windows, and then they freeze in such pretty patterns and look like flowers."
"yes, we have seen that," said both children; they knew that it was true.
"can the snow-queen come in here?"
asked the little girl.
"just let her!"
cried the boy," i would put her on the stove, and melt her!"
but the grandmother stroked his hair, and told some more stories.
in the evening, when little kay was going to bed, he jumped on the chair by the window, and looked through the little hole.
a few snow-flakes were falling outside, and one of the, the largest, lay on the edge of one of the window-boxes.
the snow-flake grew larger and larger till it took the form of a maiden, dressed in finest white gauze.
she was so beautiful and dainty, but all of ice, hard bright ice.
still she was alive; her eyes glittered like two clear stars, but there was no rest or peace in them.
she nodded at the window, and beckoned with her hand.
the little boy was frightened, and sprang down from the chair.
it seemed as if a great white bird had flown past the window.
the next day there was a harder frost than before.
then came the spring, then the summer, when the roses grew and smelt more beautifully than ever.
kay and gerda were looking at one of their picture-books -- the clock in the great church-tower had just struck five, when kay exclaimed, "oh!
something has stung my heart, and i've got something in my eye!"
the little girl threw her arms round his neck; he winked hard with both his eyes; no, she could see nothing in them."
i think it is gone now," said he; but it had not gone.
it was one of the tiny splinters of the glass of the magic mirror which we have heard about, that turned everything great and good reflected in it small and ugly.
and poor kay had also a splinter in his heart, and it began to change into a lump of ice.
it did not hurt him at all, but the splinter was there all the same.
"why are you crying?"
he asked; "it makes you look so ugly!
there's nothing the matter with me.
just look!
that rose is all slug-eaten, and this one is stunted!
what ugly roses they are!"
and he began to pull them to pieces.
"kay, what are you doing?"
cried the little girl.
and when he saw how frightened she was, he pulled off another rose, and ran in at his window away from dear little gerda.
when she came later on with the picture book, he said that it was only fit for babies, and when his grandmother told them stories, he was always interrupting with, "but --" and then he would get behind her and put on her spectacles, and speak just as she did.
this he did very well, and everybody laughed.
very soon he could imitate the way all the people in the street walked and talked.
his games were now quite different.
on a winter's day he would take a burning glass and hold it out on his blue coat and let the snow-flakes fall on it.
"look in the glass, gerda!
just see how regular they are!
they are much more interesting than real flowers.
each is perfect; they are all made according to rule.
if only they did not melt!"
one morning kay came out with his warm gloves on, and his little sledge hung over his shoulder.
he shouted to gerda," i am going to the market-place to play with the other boys," and away he went.
in the market-place the boldest boys used often to fasten their sledges to the carts of the farmers, and then they got a good ride.
when they were in the middle of their games there drove into the square a large sledge, all white, and in it sat a figure dressed in a rough white fur pelisse with a white fur cap on.
the sledge drove twice round the square, and kay fastened his little sledge behind it and drove off.
it went quicker and quicker into the next street.
the driver turned round, and nodded to kay ina friendly way as if they had known each other before.
every time that kay tried to unfasten his sledge the driver nodded again, and kay sat still once more.
then they drove out of the town, and the snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not see his hand before him, and on and on they went.
he quickly unfastened the cord to get loose from the big sledge, but it was of no use; his little sledge hung on fast, and it went on like the wind.
then he cried out, but nobody heard him.
he was dreadfully frightened.
the snowflakes grew larger and larger till they looked like great white birds.
all at once they flew aside, the large sledge stood still, and the figure who was driving stood up.
the fur cloak and cap were all of snow.
it was a lady, tall and slim, and glittering.
it was the snow-queen.
"we have come at a good rate," she said; "but you are almost frozen.
creep in under my cloak."
and she set him close to her in the sledge and drew the cloak over him.
he felt as though he were sinking into a snow-drift.
"are you cold now?"
she asked, and kissed his forehead.
the kiss was cold as ice and reached down to his heart, which was already half a lump of ice.
"my sledge!
do n't forget my sledge!"
he thought of that first, and it was fastened to one of the great white birds who flew behind with the sledge on its back.
the snow-queen kissed kay again, and then he forgot all about little gerda, his grandmother, and everybody at home.
"now i must not kiss you any more," she said, "or else i should kiss you to death."
then away they flew over forests and lakes, over sea and land.
round them whistled the cold wind, the wolves howled, and the snow hissed; over them flew the black shrieking crows.
but high up the moon shone large and bright, and thus kay passed the long winter night.
in the day he slept at the snow-queen's feet.
but what happened to little gerda when kay did not come back?
what had become of him?
nobody knew.
the other boys told how they had seen him fasten his sledge on to a large one which had driven out of the town gate.
gerda cried a great deal.
the winter was long and dark to her.
then the spring came with warm sunshine."
i will go and look for kay," said gerda.
so she went down to the river and got into a little boat that was there.
presently the stream began to carry it away.
"perhaps the river will take me to kay," thought gerda.
she glided down, past trees and fields, till she came to a large cherry garden, in which stood a little house with strange red and blue windows and a straw roof.
before the door stood two wooden soldiers, who were shouldering arms.
gerda called to them, but they naturally did not answer.
the river carried the boat on to the land.
gerda called out still louder, and there came out of the house a very old woman.
she leant upon a crutch, and she wore a large sun-hat which was painted with the most beautiful flowers.
"you poor little girl!"
said the old woman.
and then she stepped into the water, brought the boat in close with her crutch, and lifted little gerda out.
"and now come and tell me who you are, and how you came here," she said.
then gerda told her everything, and asked her if she had seen kay.
but she said he had not passed that way yet, but he would soon come.
she told gerda not to be sad, and that she should stay with her and take of the cherry trees and flowers, which were better than any picture-bok, as they could each tell a story.
she then took gerda's hand and led her into the little house and shut the door.
the windows were very high, and the panes were red, blue, and yellow, so that the light came through in curious colours.
on the table were the most delicious cherries, and the old woman let gerda eat as many as she liked, while she combed her hair with a gold comb as she ate.
the beautiful sunny hair rippled and shone round the dear little face, which was so soft and sweet."
i have always longed to have a dear little girl just like you, and you shall see how happy we will be together."
and as she combed gerda's hair, gerda thought less and less about kay, for the old woman was a witch, but not a wicked witch, for she only enchanted now and then to amuse herself, and she did want to keep little gerda very much.
so she went into the garden and waved her stick over all the rose bushes and blossoms and all; they sank down into the black earth, and no one could see where they had been.
the old woman was afraid that if gerda saw the roses she would begin to think about her own, and then would remember kay and run away.
then she led gerda out into the garden.
how glorious it was, and what lovely scents filled the air!
all the flowers you can think of blossomed there all the year round.
gerda jumped for joy and played there till the sun set behind the tall cherry trees, and then she slept in a beautiful bed with red silk pillows filled with violets, and she slept soundly and dreamed as a queen does on her wedding day.
the next day she played again with the flowers in the warm sunshine, and so many days passed by.
gerda knew every flower, but although there were so many, it seemed to her as if one were not there, though she could not remember which.
she was looking one day at the old woman's sun-hat which had hte painted flowers on it, and there she saw a rose.
the witch had forgotten to make that vanish when she had made the other roses disappear under the earth.
it was so difficult to think of everything.
"why, there are no roses here!"
cried gerda,, and she hunted amongst all the flowers, but not one was to be found.
then she sat down and cried, but her tears fell just on the spot where a rose bush had sunk, and when her warm tears watered the earth, the bush came up in full bloom just as it had been before.
gerda kissed the roses and thought of the lovely roses at home, and with them came the thought of little kay.
"oh, what have i been doing!"
said the little girl."
i wanted to look for kay."
she ran to the end of the garden.
the gate was shut, but she pushed against the rusty lock so that it came open.
she ran out with her little bare feet.
no one came after her.
at last she could not run any longer, and she sat down on a large stone.
when she looked round she saw that the summer was over; it was late autumn.
it had not changed in the beautiful garden, where were sunshine and flowers all the year round.
"oh, dear, how late i have made myself!"
said gerda.
"it's autumn already!
i can not rest!"
and she sprang up to run on.
oh, how tired and sore her little feet grew, and it became colder and colder.
she had to rest again, and there on the snow in front of her was a large crow.
it had been looking at her for some time, and it nodded its head and said, "caw!
caw!
good day."
then it asked the little girl why she was alone in the world.
she told the crow her story, and asked if he had seen kay.
the crow nodded very thoughtfully and said, "it might be!
it might be!"
"what!
do you think you have?"
cried the little girl, and she almost squeezed the crow to death as she kissed him.
"gently, gently!"
said the crow."
i think -- i know i think -- it might be little kay, but now he has forgotten you for the princess!"
"does he live with a princess?"
asked gerda.
"yes, listen," said the crow.
then he told her all he knew.
"in the kingdom in which we are now sitting lives a princess who is dreadfully clever.
she has read all the newspapers in the world and has forgotten them again.
she is as clever as that.
the other day she came to the throne, and that is not so pleasant as people think.
then she began to say, "why should i not marry?"
but she wanted a husband who could answer when he was spoken to, not one who would stand up stiffly and look respectable -- that would be too dull.
"when she told all the court ladies, they were delighted.
you can believe every word i say," said the crow," i have a tame sweetheart in the palace, and she tells me everything."
of course his sweetheart was a crow.
"the newspapers came out next morning with a border of hearts round it, and the princess's monogram on it, and inside you could read that every good-looking young man might come into the palace and speak to the princess, and whoever should speak loud enough to be heard would be well fed and looked after, and the one who spoke best should become the princess's husband.
indeed," said the crow, "you can quite believe me.
it is as true as that i am sitting here.
"young men came in streams, and there was such a crowding and a mixing together!
but nothing came of it on the first nor on the second day.
they could all speak quite well when they were in the street, but as soon as they came inside the palace door, and saw the guards in silver, and upstairs the footmen in gold, and the great hall all lighted up, then their wits left them!
and when they stood in front of the throne where the princess was sitting, then they could not think of anything to say except to repeat the last word she had spoken, and she did not much care to hear that again.
it seemed as if they were walking in their sleep until they came out into the street again, when they could speak once more.
there was a row stretching from the gate of the town up to the castle.
"they were hungry and thirsty, but in the palace they did not even get a glass of water."
a few of the cleverest had brought some slices of bread and butter with them, but they did not share them with their neighbour, for they thought, "if he looks hungry, the princess will not take him!""
"but what about kay?"
asked gerda.
"when did he come?
was he in the crowd?"
"wait a bit; we are coming to him!
on the third day a little figure came without horse or carriage and walked jauntily up to the palace.
his eyes shone as yours do; he had lovely curling hair, but quite poor clothes."
"that was kay!"
cried gerda with delight.
"oh, then i have found him!"
and she clapped her hands.
"he had a little bundle on his back," said the crow.
"no, it must have been his skates, for he went away with his skates!"
"very likely," said the crow," i did not see for certain.
but i know this from my sweetheart, that when he came to the palace door and saw the royal guards in silver, and on the stairs the footmen in gold, he was not the least bit put out.
he nodded to them, saying, "it must be rather dull standing on the stairs; i would rather go inside!"
"the halls blazed with lights; councillors and ambassadors were walking about in noiseless shoes carrying gold dishes.
it was enough to make one nervous!
his boots creaked dreadfully loud, but he was not frightened."
"that must be kay!"
said gerda."
i know he had new boots on; i have heard them creaking in his grandmother's room!"
"they did creak, certainly!"
said the crow.
"and, not one bit afraid, up he went to the princess, who was sitting on a large pearl as round as a spinning wheel.
all the ladies-in-waiting were standing round, each with their attendants, and the lords-in-waiting with their attendants.
the nearer they stood to the door the prouder they were."
"it must have been dreadful!"
said little gerda.
"and kay did win the princess?'"
i heard from my tame sweetheart that he was merry and quick-witted; he had not come to woo, he said, but to listen to the princess's wisdom.
and the end of it was that they fell in love with each other."
"oh, yes; that was kay!"
said gerda.
"he was so clever; he could do sums with fractions.
oh, do lead me to the palace!"
"that's easily said!"
answered the crow, "but how are we to manage that?
i must talk it over with my tame sweetheart.
she may be able to advise us, for i must tell you that a little girl like you could never get permission to enter it."
"yes, i will get it!"
said gerda.
"when kay hears that i am there he will come out at once and fetch me!"
"wait for me by the railings," said the crow, and he nodded his head and flew away.
it was late in the evening when he came back.
"caw, caw!"
he said," i am to give you her love, and here is a little roll for you.
she took it out of the kitchen; there's plenty there, and you must be hungry.
you can not come into the palace.
the guards in silver and the footmen in gold would not allow it.
but do n't cry!
you shall get in all right.
my sweetheart knows a little back-stairs which leads to the sleeping-room, and she knows where to find the key."
they went into the garden, and when the lights in the palace were put out one after the other, the crow led gerda to a back-door.
oh, how gerda's heart beat with anxiety and longing!
it seemed as if she were going to do something wrong, but she only wanted to know if it were little kay.
yes, it must be he!
she remembered so well his clever eyes, his curly hair.
she could see him smiling as he did when they were at home under the rose trees!
he would be so pleased to see her, and to hear how they all were at home.
now they were on the stairs; a little lamp was burning, and on the landing stood the tame crow.
she put her head on one side and looked at gerda, who bowed as her grandmother had taught her.
"my betrothed has told me many nice things about you, my dear young lady," she said.
"will you take the lamp while i go in front?
we go this way so as to meet no one."
through beautiful rooms they came to the sleeping-room.
in the middle of it, hung on a thick rod of gold, were two beds, shaped like lilies, one all white, in which lay the princess, and the other red, in which gerda hoped to find kay.
she pushed aside the curtain, and saw a brown neck.
oh, it was kay!
she called his name out loud, holding the lamp towards him.
he woke up, turned his head and -- it was not kay!
it was only his neck that was like kay's, but he was young and handsome.
the princess sat up in her lily-bed and asked who was there.
then gerda cried, and told her story and all that the crows had done.
"you poor child!"
said the prince and princess, and they praised the crows, and said that they were not angry with them, but that they must not do it again.
now they should have a reward.
"would you like to fly away free?"
said the princess, "or will you have a permanent place as court crows with what you can get in the kitchen?"
and both crows bowed and asked for a permanent appointment, for they thought of their old age.
and they put gerda to bed, and she folded her hands, thinking, as she fell asleep, "how good people and animals are to me!"
the next day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and satin.
they wanted her to stay on in the palace, but she begged for a little carriage and a horse, and a pair of shoes so that she might go out again into the world to look for kay.
they gave her a muff as well as some shoes; she was warmly dressed, and when she was ready, there in front of the door stood a coach of pure gold, with a coachman, footmen and postilions with gold crowns on.
the prince and princess helped her into the carriage and wished her good luck.
the wild crow who was now married drove with her for the first three miles; the other crow could not come because she had a bad headache.
"good-bye, good-bye!"
called the prince and princess; and little gerda cried, and the crow cried.
when he said good-bye, he flew on to a tree and waved with his black wings as long as the carriage, which shone like the sun, was in sight.
they came at last to a dark wood, but the coach lit it up like a torch.
when the robbers saw it, they rushed out, exclaiming, "gold!
gold!"
they seized the horses, killed the coachman, footmen and postilions, and dragged gerda out of the carriage.
"she is plump and tender!
i will eat her!"
said the old robber-queen, and she drew her long knife, which glittered horribly.
"you shall not kill her!"
cried her little daughter.
"she shall play with me.
she shall give me her muff and her beautiful dress, and she shall sleep in my bed."
the little robber-girl was as big as gerda, but was stronger, broader, with dark hair and black eyes.
she threw her arms round gerda and said, "they shall not kill you, so long as you are not naughty.
are n't you a princess?"
"no," said gerda, and she told all that had happened to her, and how dearly she loved little kay.
the robber-girl looked at her very seriously, and nodded her head, saying, "they shall not kill you, even if you are naughty, for then i will kill you myself!"
and she dried gerda's eyes, and stuck both her hands in the beautiful warm muff.
the little robber-girl took gerda to a corner of the robbers" camp where she slept.
all round were more than a hundred wood-pigeons which seemed to be asleep, but they moved a little when the two girls came up.
there was also, near by, a reindeer which the robber-girl teased by tickling it with her long sharp knife.
gerda lay awake for some time.
"coo, coo!"
said the wood-pigeons.
"we have seen little kay.
a white bird carried his sledge; he was sitting in the snow-queen's carriage which drove over the forest when our little ones were in the nest.
she breathed on them, and all except we two died.
coo, coo!"
"what are you saying over there?"
cried gerda.
"where was the snow-queen going to?
do you know at all?"
"she was probably travelling to lapland, where there is always ice and snow.
ask the reindeer."
"there is capital ice and snow there!"
said the reindeer.
"one can jump about there in the great sparkling valleys.
there the snow-queen has her summer palace, but her best palace is up by the north pole, on the island called spitzbergen.'"
o kay, my little kay!"
sobbed gerda.
"you must lie still," said the little robber-girl, "or else i shall stick my knife into you!"
in the morning gerda told her all that the wood-pigeons had said.
she nodded.
"do you know where lapland is?"
she asked the reindeer.
"who should know better than i?"
said the beast, and his eyes sparkled."
i was born and bred there on the snow-fields."
"listen!"
said the robber-girl to gerda; "you see that all the robbers have gone; only my mother is left, and she will fall asleep in the afternoon -- then i will do something for you!"
when her mother had fallen asleep, the robber-girl went up to the reindeer and said," i am going to set you free so that you can run to lapland.
but you must go quickly and carry this little girl to the snow-queen's palace, where her playfellow is.
you must have heard all that she told about it, for she spoke loud enough!"
the reindeer sprang high for joy.
the robber-girl lifted little gerda up, and had the foresight to tie her on firmly, and even gave her a little pillow for a saddle.
"you must have your fur boots," she said, "for it will be cold; but i shall keep your muff, for it is so cosy!
but, so that you may not freeze, here are my mother's great fur gloves; they will come up to your elbows.
creep into them!"
and gerda cried for joy.
"do n't make such faces!"
said the little robber-girl.
"you must look very happy.
and here are two loaves and a sausage; now you wo n't be hungry!"
they were tied to the reindeer, the little robber-girl opened the door, made all the big dogs come away, cut through the halter with her sharp knife, and said to the reindeer, "run now!
but take great care of the little girl."
and gerda stretched out her hands with the large fur gloves towards the little robber-girl and said, "good-bye!"
then the reindeer flew over the ground, through the great forest, as fast as he could.
the wolves howled, the ravens screamed, the sky seemed on fire.
"those are my dear old northern lights," said the reindeer; "see how they shine!"
and then he ran faster still, day and night.
the loaves were eaten, and the sausage also, and then they came to lapland.
they stopped by a wretched little house; the roof almost touched the ground, and the door was so low that you had to creep in and out.
there was no one in the house except an old lapland woman who was cooking fish over an oil-lamp.
the reindeer told gerda's whole history, but first he told his own, for that seemed to him much more important, and gerda was so cold that she could not speak.
"ah, you poor creatures!"
said the lapland woman; "you have still further to go!
you must go over a hundred miles into finland, for there the snow-queen lives, and every night she burns bengal lights.
i will write some words on a dried stock-fish, for i have no paper, and you must give it to the finland woman, for she can give you better advice than i can."
and when gerda was warmed and had had something to eat and drink, the lapland woman wrote on a dried stock-fish, and begged gerda to take care of it, tied gerda securely on the reindeer's back, and away they went again.
the whole night was ablaze with northern lights, and then they came to finland and knocked at the finland woman's chimney, for door she had none.
inside it was so hot that the finland woman wore very few clothes; she loosened gerda's clothes and drew off her fur gloves and boots.
she laid a piece of ice on the reindeer's head, and then read what was written on the stock-fish.
she read it over three times till she knew it by heart, and then put the fish in the saucepan, for she never wasted anything.
then the reindeer told his story, and afterwards little gerda's and the finland woman blinked her eyes but said nothing.
"you are very clever," said the reindeer."
i know.
can not you give the little girl a drink so that she may have the strength of twelve men and overcome the snow-queen?"
"the strength of twelve men!"
said the finland woman; "that would not help much.
little kay is with the snow-queen and he likes everything there very much and thinks it the best place in the world.
but that is because he has a splinter of glass in his heart and a bit in his eye.
if these do not come out, he will never be free, and the snow-queen will keep her power over him."
"but can not you give little gerda something so that she can have power over her?'"
i can give her no greater power than she has already; do n't you see how great it is?
do n't you see how men and beasts must help her when she wanders into the wide world with her bare feet?
she is powerful already, because she is a dear little innocent child.
if she can not by herself conquer the snow-queen and take away the glass splinters from little kay, we can not help her!
the snow-queen's garden begins two miles from here.
you can carry the little maiden so far; put her down by the large bush with red berries growing in the snow.
then you must come back here as fast as you can."
then the finland woman lifted little gerda on the reindeer and away he sped.
"oh, i have left my gloves and boots behind!"
cried gerda.
she missed them in the piercing cold, but the reindeer did not dare to stop.
on he ran till he came to the bush with red berries.
then he set gerda down and kissed her mouth, and great big tears ran down his cheeks, and then he ran back.
there stood poor gerda, without shoes or gloves in the middle of the bitter cold of finland.
she ran on as fast as she could.
a regiment of gigantic snowflakes came against her, but they melted when they touched her, and she went on with fresh courage.
and now we must see what kay was doing.
he was not thinking of gerda, and never dreamt that she was standing outside the palace.
the walls of the palace were built of driven snow, and the doors and windows of piercing winds.
there were more than a hundred halls in it all of frozen snow.
the largest was several miles long; the bright northern lights lit them up, and very large and empty and cold and glittering they were!
in the middle of the great hall was a frozen lake which had cracked in a thousand pieces; each piece was exactly like the other.
here the snow-queen used to sit when she was at home.
little kay was almost blue and black with cold, but he did not feel it, for she had kissed away his feelings and his heart was a lump of ice.
he was pulling about some sharp, flat pieces of ice, and trying to fit one into the other.
he thought each was most beautiful, but that was because of the splinter of glass in his eye.
he fitted them into a great many shapes, but he wanted to make them spell the word "love."
the snow-queen had said, "if you can spell out that word you shalt be your own master.
i will give you the whole world and a new pair of skates."
but he could not do it.
"now i must fly to warmer countries," said the snow-queen."
i must go and powder my black kettles!"
-lrb- this was what she called mount etna and mount vesuvius. -rrb-
"it does the lemons and grapes good."
and off she flew, and kay sat alone in the great hall trying to do his puzzle.
he sat so still that you would have thought he was frozen.
then it happened that little gerda stepped into the hall.
the biting cold winds became quiet as if they had fallen asleep when she appeared in the great, empty, freezing hall.
she caught sight of kay; she recognised him, and ran and put her arms round his neck, crying, "kay!
dear little kay!
i have found you at last!"
but he sat quite still and cold.
then gerda wept hot tears which fell on his neck and thawed his heart and swept away the bit of the looking-glass.
he looked at her and then he burst into tears.
he cried so much that the glass splinter swam out of his eye; then he knew her, and cried out, "gerda!
dear little gerda!
where have you been so long?
and where have i been?"
and he looked round him.
"how cold it is here!
how wide and empty!"
and he threw himself on gerda, and she laughed and wept for joy.
it was such a happy time that the pieces of ice even danced round them for joy, and when they were tired and lay down again they formed themselves into the letters that the snow-queen had said he must spell in order to become his own master and have the whole world and a new pair of skates.
and gerda kissed his cheeks and they grew rosy; she kissed his eyes and they sparkled like hers; she kissed his hands and feet and he became warm and glowing.
the snow-queen might come home now; his release -- the word "love" -- stood written in sparkling ice.
they took each other's hands and wandered out of the great palace; they talked about the grandmother and the roses on the leads, wherever they came the winds hushed and the sun came out.
when they reached the bush with red berries there stood the reindeer waiting for them.
he carried kay and gerda first to the finland woman, who warmed them in her hot room and gave them advice for their journey home.
then they went to the lapland woman, who gave them new clothes and mended their sleigh.
the reindeer ran with them until they came to the green fields fresh with the spring green.
here he said good-bye.
they came to the forest, which was bursting into bud, and out of it came a splendid horse which gerda knew; it was the one which had drawn the gold coach ridden by a young girl with a red cap on and pistols in her belt.
it was the little robber girl who was tired of being at home and wanted to go out into the world.
she and gerda knew each other at once.
"you are a nice fellow!"
she said to kay."
i should like to know if you deserve to be run all over the world!"
but gerda patted her cheeks and asked after the prince and princess.
"they are travelling about," said the robber girl.
"and the crow?"
asked gerda.
"oh, the crow is dead!"
answered the robber-girl.
"his tame sweetheart is a widow and hops about with a bit of black crape round her leg.
she makes a great fuss, but that's all nonsense.
but tell me what happened to you, and how you caught him."
and kay and gerda told her all.
"dear, dear!"
said the robber-girl, shook both their hands, and promised that if she came to their town she would come and see them.
then she rode on.
but gerda and kay went home hand in hand.
there they found the grandmother and everything just as it had been, but when they went through the doorway they found they were grown-up.
there were the roses on the leads; it was summer, warm, glorious summer.
the fir-tree translated from the german of hans christian andersen.
there was once a pretty little fir-tree in a wood.
it was in a capital position, for it could get sun, and there was enough air, and all around grew many tall companions, both pines and firs.
it did not heed the warm sun and the fresh air, or notice the little peasant children who ran about chattering when they came out to gather wild strawberries and raspberries.
often they found a whole basketful and strung strawberries on a straw; they would sit down by the little fir-tree and say, "what a pretty little one this is!"
the tree did not like that at all.
by the next year it had grown a whole ring taller, and the year after that another ring more, for you can always tell a fir-tree's age from its rings.
"oh!
if i were only a great tree like the others!"
sighed the little fir-tree, "then i could stretch out my branches far and wide and look out into the great world!
the birds would build their nests in my branches, and when the wind blew i would bow to it politely just like the others!"
it took no pleasure in the sunshine, nor in the birds, nor in the rose-coloured clouds that sailed over it at dawn and at sunset.
then the winter came, and the snow lay white and sparkling all around, and a hare would come and spring right over the little fir-tree, which annoyed it very much.
but when two more winters had passed the fir-tree was so tall that the hare had to run round it.
"ah!
to grow and grow, and become great and old!
that is the only pleasure in life," thought the tree.
in the autumn the woodcutters used to come and hew some of the tallest trees; this happened every year, and the young fir-tree would shiver as the magnificent trees fell crashing and crackling to the ground, their branches hewn off, and the great trunks left bare, so that they were almost unrecognisable.
but then they were laid on waggons and dragged out of the wood by horses.
"where are they going?
what will happen to them?"
in spring, when the swallows and storks came, the fir-tree asked them, "do you know where they were taken?
have you met them?"
the swallows knew nothing of them, but the stork nodded his head thoughtfully, saying," i think i know.
i met many new ships as i flew from egypt; there were splendid masts on the ships.
i'll wager those were they!
they had the scent of fir-trees.
ah!
those are grand, grand!"
"oh!
if i were only big enough to sail away over the sea too!
what sort of thing is the sea?
what does it look like?"
"oh!
it would take much too long to tell you all that," said the stork, and off he went.
"rejoice in your youth," said the sunbeams, "rejoice in the sweet growing time, in the young life within you."
and the wind kissed it and the dew wept tears over it, but the fir-tree did not understand.
towards christmas-time quite little trees were cut down, some not as big as the young fir-tree, or just the same age, and now it had no peace or rest for longing to be away.
these little trees, which were chosen for their beauty, kept all their branches; they were put in carts and drawn out of the wood by horses.
"whither are those going?"
asked the fir-tree; "they are no bigger than i, and one there was much smaller even!
why do they keep their branches?
where are they taken to?"
"we know!
we know!"
twittered the sparrows.
"down there in the city we have peeped in at the windows, we know where they go!
they attain to the greatest splendour and magnificence you can imagine!
we have looked in at the windows and seen them planted in the middle of the warm room and adorned with the most beautiful things-golden apples, sweet-meats, toys and hundreds of candles."
"and then?"
asked the fir-tree, trembling in every limb with eagerness, "and then?
what happens then?"
"oh, we have n't seen anything more than that.
that was simply matchless!"
"am i too destined to the same brilliant career?"
wondered the fir-tree excitedly.
"that is even better than sailing over the sea!
i am sick with longing.
if it were only christmas!
now i am tall and grown-up like those which were taken away last year.
ah, if i were only in the cart!
if i were only in the warm room with all the splendour and magnificence!
and then?
then comes something better, something still more beautiful, else why should they dress us up?
there must be something greater, something grander to come -- but what?
oh!
i am pining away!
i really do n't know what's the matter with me!"
"rejoice in us," said the air and sunshine, "rejoice in your fresh youth in the free air!"
but it took no notice, and just grew and grew; there it stood fresh and green in winter and summer, and all who saw it said, "what a beautiful tree!"
and at christmas-time it was the first to be cut down.
the axe went deep into the pith; the tree fell to the ground with a groan; it felt bruised and faint.
it could not think of happiness, it was sad at leaving its home, the spot where it had sprung up; it knew, too, that it would never see again its dear old companions, or the little shrubs and flowers, perhaps not even the birds.
altogether the parting was not pleasant.
when the tree came to itself again it was packed in a yard with other trees, and a man was saying, "this is a splendid one, we shall only want this."
then came two footmen in livery and carried the fir-tree to a large and beautiful room.
there were pictures hanging on the walls, and near the dutch stove stood great chinese vases with lions on their lids; there were armchairs, silk-covered sofas, big tables laden with picture-books and toys, worth hundreds of pounds-at least, so the children said.
the fir-tree was placed in a great tub filled with sand, but no one could see that it was a tub, for it was all hung with greenery and stood on a gay carpet.
how the tree trembled!
what was coming now?
on its branches they hung little nets cut out of coloured paper, each full of sugarplums; gilt apples and nuts hung down as if they were growing, over a hundred red, blue, and white tapers were fastened among the branches.
dolls as life-like as human beings -- the fir-tree had never seen any before were suspended among the green, and right up at the top was fixed a gold tinsel star; it was gorgeous, quite unusually gorgeous!
"to-night," they all said, "to-night it will be lighted!"
"ah!"
thought the tree, "if it were only evening!
then the tapers would soon be lighted.
what will happen then?
i wonder whether the trees will come from the wood to see me, or if the sparrows will fly against the window panes?
am i to stand here decked out thus through winter and summer?"
it was not a bad guess, but the fir-tree had real bark-ache from sheer longing, and bark-ache in trees is just as bad as head-ache in human beings.
now the tapers were lighted.
what a glitter!
what splendour!
the tree quivered in all its branches so much, that one of the candles caught the green, and singed it.
"take care!"
cried the young ladies, and they extinguished it.
now the tree did not even dare to quiver.
it was really terrible!
it was so afraid of losing any of its ornaments, and it was quite bewildered by all the radiance.
and then the folding doors were opened, and a crowd of children rushed in, as though they wanted to knock down the whole tree, whilst the older people followed soberly.
the children stood quite silent, but only for a moment, and then they shouted again, and danced round the tree, and snatched off one present after another.
"what are they doing?"
thought the tree.
"what is going to happen?"
and the tapers burnt low on the branches, and were put out one by one, and then the children were given permission to plunder the tree.
they rushed at it so that all its boughs creaked; if it had not been fastened by the gold star at the top to the ceiling, it would have been overthrown.
the children danced about with their splendid toys, and no one looked at the tree, except the old nurse, who came and peeped amongst the boughs, just to see if a fig or an apple had been forgotten."
a story!
a story!"
cried the children, and dragged a little stout man to the tree; he sat down beneath it, saying, "here we are in the greenwood, and the tree will be delighted to listen!
but i am only going to tell one story.
shall it be henny penny or humpty dumpty who fell downstairs, and yet gained great honour and married a princess?"
"henny penny!"
cried some; "humpty dumpty!"
cried others; there was a perfect babel of voices!
only the fir-tree kept silent, and thought, "am i not to be in it?
am i to have nothing to do with it?"
but it had already been in it, and played out its part.
and the man told them about humpty dumpty who fell downstairs and married a princess.
the children clapped their hands and cried, "another!
another!"
they wanted the story of henny penny also, but they only got humpty dumpty.
the fir-tree stood quite astonished and thoughtful; the birds in the wood had never related anything like that.
"humpty dumpty fell downstairs and yet married a princess!
yes, that is the way of the world!"
thought the tree, and was sure it must be true, because such a nice man had told the story.
"well, who knows?
perhaps i shall fall downstairs and marry a princess."
and it rejoiced to think that next day it would be decked out again with candles, toys, glittering ornaments, and fruits.
"to-morrow i shall quiver again with excitement.
i shall enjoy to the full all my splendour.
to-morrow i shall hear humpty dumpty again, and perhaps henny penny too."
and the tree stood silent and lost in thought all through the night.
next morning the servants came in.
"now the dressing up will begin again," thought the tree.
but they dragged it out of the room, and up the stairs to the lumber-room, and put it in a dark corner, where no ray of light could penetrate.
"what does this mean?"
thought the tree.
"what am i to do here?
what is there for me to hear?"
and it leant against the wall, and thought and thought.
and there was time enough for that, for days and nights went by, and no one came; at last when some one did come, it was only to put some great boxes into the corner.
now the tree was quite covered; it seemed as if it had been quite forgotten.
"now it is winter out-doors," thought the fir-tree.
"the ground is hard and covered with snow, they ca n't plant me yet, and that is why i am staying here under cover till the spring comes.
how thoughtful they are!
only i wish it were not so terribly dark and lonely here; not even a little hare!
it was so nice out in the wood, when the snow lay all around, and the hare leapt past me; yes, even when he leapt over me: but i did n't like it then.
it's so dreadfully lonely up here."
"squeak, squeak!"
said a little mouse, stealing out, followed by a second.
they sniffed at the fir-tree, and then crept between its boughs.
"it's frightfully cold," said the little mice.
"how nice it is to be here!
do n't you think so too, you old fir-tree?"
"i'm not at all old," said the tree; "there are many much older than i am."
"where do you come from?"
asked the mice, "and what do you know?"
they were extremely inquisitive.
"do tell us about the most beautiful place in the world.
is that where you come from?
have you been in the storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from the ceiling, where one dances on tallow candles, and where one goes in thin and comes out fat?'"
i know nothing about that," said the tree.
"but i know the wood, where the sun shines, and the birds sing."
and then it told them all about its young days, and the little mice had never heard anything like that before, and they listened with all their ears, and said: "oh, how much you have seen!
how lucky you have been!"
"i?"
said the fir-tree, and then it thought over what it had told them.
"yes, on the whole those were very happy times."
but then it went on to tell them about christmas eve, when it had been adorned with sweet-meats and tapers.
"oh!"
said the little mice, "how lucky you have been, you old fir-tree!"
"i'm not at all old" said the tree."
i only came from the wood this winter.
i am only a little backward, perhaps, in my growth."
"how beautifully you tell stories!"
said the little mice.
and next evening they came with four others, who wanted to hear the tree's story, and it told still more, for it remembered everything so clearly and thought: "those were happy times!
but they may come again.
humpty dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married a princess; perhaps i shall also marry a princess!"
and then it thought of a pretty little birch-tree that grew out in the wood, and seemed to the fir-tree a real princess, and a very beautiful one too.
"who is humpty dumpty?"
asked the little mice.
and then the tree told the whole story; it could remember every single word, and the little mice were ready to leap on to the topmost branch out of sheer joy!
next night many more mice came, and on sunday even two rats; but they did not care about the story, and that troubled the little mice, for now they thought less of it too.
"is that the only story you know?"
asked the rats.
"the only one," answered the tree."
i heard that on my happiest evening, but i did not realise then how happy i was."
"that's a very poor story.
do n't you know one about bacon or tallow candles?
a storeroom story?"
"no," said the tree.
"then we are much obliged to you," said the rats, and they went back to their friends.
at last the little mice went off also, and the tree said, sighing: "really it was very pleasant when the lively little mice sat round and listened whilst i told them stories.
but now that's over too.
but now i will think of the time when i shall be brought out again, to keep up my spirits."
but when did that happen?
well, it was one morning when they came to tidy up the lumber-room; they threw it really rather roughly on the floor, but a servant dragged it off at once downstairs, where there was daylight once more.
"now life begins again!"
thought the tree.
it felt the fresh air, the first rays of the sun, and there it was out in the yard!
everything passed so quickly; the tree quite forgot to notice itself, there was so much to look at all around.
the yard opened on a garden full of flowers; the roses were so fresh and sweet, hanging over a little trellis, the lime-trees were in blossom, and the swallows flew about, saying: "quirre-virre-vil, my husband has come home;" but it was not the fir-tree they meant.
"now i shall live," thought the tree joyfully, stretching out its branches wide; but, alas!
they were all withered and yellow; and it was lying in a corner among weeds and nettles.
the golden star was still on its highest bough, and it glittered in the bright sunlight.
in the yard some of the merry children were playing, who had danced so gaily round the tree at christmas.
one of the little ones ran up, and tore off the gold star.
"look what was left on the ugly old fir-tree!"
he cried, and stamped on the boughs so that they cracked under his feet.
and the tree looked at all the splendour and freshness of the flowers in the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished that it had been left lying in the dark corner of the lumber-room; it thought of its fresh youth in the wood, of the merry christmas eve, and of the little mice who had listened so happily to the story of humpty dumpty.
"too late!
too late!"
thought the old tree.
"if only i had enjoyed myself whilst i could.
now all is over and gone."
and a servant came and cut the tree into small pieces, there was quite a bundle of them; they flickered brightly under the great copper in the brew-house; the tree sighed deeply, and each sigh was like a pistol-shot; so the children who were playing there ran up, and sat in front of the fire, gazing at it, and crying, "piff!
puff!
bang!"
but for each report, which was really a sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer's day in the wood, or of a winter's night out there, when the stars were shining; it thought of christmas eve, and of humpty dumpty, which was the only story it had heard, or could tell, and then the tree had burnt away.
the children played on in the garden, and the youngest had the golden star on his breast, which the tree had worn on the happiest evening of its life; and now that was past -- and the tree had passed away -- and the story too, all ended and done with.
and that's the way with all stories!
here our danish author ends.
this is what people call sentiment, and i hope you enjoy it!
hans, the mermaid's son translated from the danish.
in a village there once lived a smith called basmus, who was in a very poor way.
he was still a young man, and a strong handsome fellow to boot, but he had many little children and there was little to be earned by his trade.
he was, however, a diligent and hard-working man, and when he had no work in the smithy he was out at sea fishing, or gathering wreckage on the shore.
it happened one time that he had gone out to fish in good weather, all alone in a little boat, but he did not come home that day, nor the following one, so that all believed he had perished out at sea.
on the third day, however, basmus came to shore again and had his boat full of fish, so big and fat that no one had ever seen their like.
there was nothing the matter with him, and he complained neither of hunger or thirst.
he had got into a fog, he said, and could not find land again.
what he did not tell, however, was where he had been all the time; that only came out six years later, when people got to know that he had been caught by a mermaid out on the deep sea, and had been her guest during the three days that he was missing.
from that time forth he went out no more to fish; nor, indeed, did he require to do so, for whenever he went down to the shore it never failed that some wreckage was washed up, and in it all kinds of valuable things.
in those days everyone took what they found and got leave to keep it, so that the smith grew more prosperous day by day.
when seven years had passed since the smith went out to sea, it happened one morning, as he stood in the smithy, mending a plough, that a handsome young lad came in to him and said, "good-day, father; my mother the mermaid sends her greetings, and says that she has had me for six years now, and you can keep me for as long."
he was a strange enough boy to be six years old, for he looked as if he were eighteen, and was even bigger and stronger than lads commonly are at that age.
"will you have a bite of bread?"
said the smith.
"oh, yes," said hans, for that was his name.
the smith then told his wife to cut a piece of bread for him.
she did so, and the boy swallowed it at one mouthful and went out again to the smithy to his father.
"have you got all you can eat?"
said the smith.
"no," said hans, "that was just a little bit."
the smith went into the house and took a whole loaf, which he cut into two slices and put butter and cheese between them, and this he gave to hans.
in a while the boy came out to the smithy again.
"well, have you got as much as you can eat?"
said the smith.
"no, not nearly," said hans;" i must try to find a better place than this, for i can see that i shall never get my fill here."
hans wished to set off at once, as soon as his father would make a staff for him of such a kind as he wanted.
"it must be of iron," said he, "and one that can hold out."
the smith brought him an iron rod as thick as an ordinary staff, but hans took it and twisted it round his finger, so that would n't do.
then the smith came dragging one as thick as a waggon-pole, but hans bent it over his knee and broke it like a straw.
the smith then had to collect all the iron he had, and hans held it while his father forged for him a staff, which was heavier than the anvil.
when hans had got this he said, "many thanks, father; now i have got my inheritance."
with this he set off into the country, and the smith was very pleased to be rid of that son, before he ate him out of house and home.
hans first arrived at a large estate, and it so happened that the squire himself was standing outside the farmyard.
"where are you going?"
said the squire."
i am looking for a place," said hans, "where they have need of strong fellows, and can give them plenty to eat."
"well," said the squire," i generally have twenty-four men at this time of the year, but i have only twelve just now, so i can easily take you on."
"very well," said hans," i shall easily do twelve men's work, but then i must also have as much to eat as the twelve would."
all this was agreed to, and the squire took hans into the kitchen, and told the servant girls that the new man was to have as much food as the other twelve.
it was arranged that he should have a pot to himself, and he could then use the ladle to take his food with.
it was in the evening that hans arrived there, so he did nothing more that day than eat his supper -- a big pot of buck-wheat porridge, which he cleaned to the bottom and was then so far satisfied that he said he could sleep on that, so he went off to bed.
he slept both well and long, and all the rest were up and at their work while he was still sleeping soundly.
the squire was also on foot, for he was curious to see how the new man would behave who was both to eat and work for twelve.
but as yet there was no hans to be seen, and the sun was already high in the heavens, so the squire himself went and called on him.
"get up, hans," he cried; "you are sleeping too long."
hans woke up and rubbed his eyes.
"yes, that's true," he said," i must get up and have my breakfast."
so he rose and dressed himself, and went into the kitchen, where he got his pot of porridge; he swallowed all of this, and then asked what work he was to have.
he was to thresh that day, said the squire; the other twelve men were already busy at it.
there were twelve threshing-floors, and the twelve men were at work on six of them -- two on each.
hans must thresh by himself all that was lying upon the other six floors.
he went out to the barn and got hold of a flail.
then he looked to see how the others did it and did the same, but at hte first stroke he smashed the flail in pieces.
there were several flails hanging there, and hans took the one after the other, but they all went the same way, every one flying in splinters at the first stroke.
he then looked round for something else to work with, and found a pair of strong beams lying near.
next he caught sight of a horse-hide nailed up on the barn-door.
with the beams he made a flail, using the skin to tie them together.
the one beam he used as a handle, and the other to strike with, and now that was all right.
but the barn was too low, there was no room to swing the flail, and the floors were too small.
hans, however, found a remedy for this -- he simply lifted the whole roof off the barn, and set it down in the field beside.
he then emptied down all the corn that he could lay his hands on and threshed away.
he went through one lot after another, and it was ll the same to him what he got hold of, so before midday he had threshed all the squire's grain, his rye and wheat and barley and oats, all mixed through each other.
when he was finished with this, he lifted the roof up on the barn again, like setting a lid on a box, and went in and told the squire that the job was done.
the squire opened his eyes at this announcement; and came out to see if it was really true.
it was true, sure enough, but he was scarcely delighted with the mixed grain that he got from all his crops.
however, when he saw the flail that hans had used, and learned how he had made room for himself to swing it, he was so afraid of the strong fellow, that he dared not say anything, except that it was a good thing he had got it threshed; but it had still to be cleaned.
"what does that mean?"
asked hans.
it was explained to him that the corn and the chaff had to be separated; as yet both were lying in one heap, right up to the roof.
hans began to take up a little and sift it in his hands, but he soon saw that this would never do.
he soon thought of a plan, however; he opened both barn-doors, and then lay down at one end and blew, so that all the chaff flew out and lay like a sand-bank at the other end of the barn, and the grain was as clean as it could be.
then he reported to the squire that that job also was done.
the squire said that that was well; there was nothing more for him to do that day.
off went hans to the kitchen, and got as much as he could eat; then he went and took a midday nap which lasted till supper-time.
meanwhile the squire was quite miserable, and made his moan to his wife, saying that she must help him to find some means to getting rid of this strong fellow, for he durst not give him his leave.
she sent for the steward, and it was arranged that next day all the men should go to the forest for fire-wood, and that they should make a bargain among them, that the one who came home last with his load should be hanged.
they thought they could easily manage that it would be hans who would lose his life, for the others would be early on the road, while hans would certainly oversleep himself.
in the evening, therefore, the men sat and talked together, saying that next morning they must set out early to the forest, and as they had a hard day's work and a long journey before them, they would, for their amusement, make a compact, that whichever of them came home last with his load should lose his life on the gallows.
so hans had no objections to make.
long before the sun was up next morning, all the twelve men were on foot.
they took all the best horses and carts, and drove off to the forest.
hans, however, lay and slept on, and the squire said, "just let him lie."
at last, hans thought it was time to have his breakfast, so he got up and put on his clothes.
he took plenty of time to his breakfast, and then went out to get his horse and cart ready.
the others had taken everything that was any good, so that he had a difficulty in scraping together four wheels of different sizes and fixing them to an old cart, and he could find no other horses than a pair of old hacks.
he did not know where it lay, but he followed the track of the other carts, and in that way came to it all right.
on coming to the gate leading into the forest, he was unfortunate enough to break it in pieces, so he took a huge stone that was lying on the field, seven ells long, and seven ells broad, and set this in the gap, then he went on and joined the others.
these laughed at him heartily, for they had laboured as hard as they could since daybreak, and had helped each other to fell trees and put them on the carts, so that all of these were now loaded except one.
hans got hold of a woodman's axe and proceeded to fell a tree, but he destroyed the edge and broke the shaft at the first blow.
he therefore laid down the axe, put his arms round the tree, and pulled it up by the roots.
this he threw upon his cart, and then another and another, and thus he went on while all the others forgot their work, and stood with open mouths, gazing at this strange woodcraft.
all at once they began to hurry; the last cart was loaded, and they whipped up their horses, so as to be the first to arrive home.
when hans had finished his work, he again put his old hacks into the cart, but they could not move it from the spot.
he was annoyed at this, and took them out again, twisted a rope round the cart, and all the trees, lifted the whole affair on his back, and set off home, leading the horses behind him by the rein.
when he reached the gate, he found the whole row of carts standing there, unable to get any further for the stone which lay in the gap.
"what!"
said hans, "can twelve men not move that stone?"
with that he lifted it and threw it out of hte way, and went on with his burden on his back, and the horses behind him, and arrived at the farm long before any of the others.
the squire was walking about there, looking and looking, for he was very curious to know what had happened.
finally, he caught sight of hans coming along in this fashion, and was so frightened that he did not know what to do, but he shut the gate and put on the bar.
when hans reached the gate of the courtyard, he laid down the trees and hammered at it, but no one came to open it.
he then took the trees and tossed them over the barn into the yard, and the cart after them, so that every wheel flew off in a different direction.
when the squire saw this, he thought to himself, "the horses will come the same way if i do n't open the door," so he did this.
"good day, master," said hans, and put the horses into the stable, and went into the kitchen, to get something to eat.
at length the other men came home with their loads.
when they came in, hans said to them, "do you remember the bargain we made last night?
which of you is it that's going to be hanged?"
"oh," said they, "that was only a joke; it did n't mean anything."
"oh well, it does n't matter, "said hans, and there was no more about it.
the squire, however, and his wife and the steward, had much to say to each other about the terrible man they had got, and all were agreed that they must get rid of him in some way or other.
the steward said that he would manage this all right.
next morning they were to clean the well, and they would use of that opportunity.
they would get him down into the well, and then have a big mill-stone ready to throw down on top of him -- that would settle him.
after that they could just fill in the well, and then escape being at any expense for his funeral.
both the squire and his wife thought this a splendid idea, and went about rejoicing at the thought that now they would get rid of hans.
but hans was hard to kill, as we shall see.
he slept long next morning, as he always did, and finally, as he would not waken by himself, the squire had to go and call him.
"get up, hans, you are sleeping too long," he cried.
hans woke up and rubbed his eyes.
"that's so," said he," i shall rise and have my breakfast."
he got up then and dressed himself, while the breakfast stood waiting for him.
when he had finished the whole of this, he asked what he was to do that day.
he was told to help the other men to clean out the well.
that was all right, and he went out and found the other men waiting for him.
to these he said that they could choose whichever task they liked -- either to go down into the well and fill the buckets while he pulled them up, or pull them up, and he alone would go down to the bottom of the well.
they answered that they would rather stay above-ground, as there would be no room for so many of them down in the well.
hans therefore went down alone, and began to clean out the well, but the men had arranged how they were to act, and immediately each of them seized a stone from a heap of huge blocks, and threw them down above him, thinking to kill him with these.
hans, however, gave no more heed to this than to shout up to them, to keep the hens away from the well, for they were scraping gravel down on the top of him.
they then saw that they could not kill him with little stones, but they had still the big one left.
the whole twelve of them set to work with poles and rollers and rolled the big mill-stone to the brink of the well.
it was with the greatest difficulty that they got it thrown down there, and now they had no doubt that he had got all that he wanted.
but the stone happened to fall so luckily that his head went right through the hole in the middle of the mill-stone, so that it sat round his neck like a priest's collar.
at this, hans would stay down no longer.
he came out of the well, with the mill-stone round his neck, ad went straight to the squire and complained that the other men were trying to make a fool of him.
he would not be their priest, he said; he had too little learning for that.
saying this, he bent down his head and shook the stone off, so that it crushed one of the squire's big toes.
the squire went limping in to his wife, and the steward was sent for.
he was told that he must devise some plan for getting rid of this terrible person.
the scheme he had devised before had been of no use, and now good counsel was scarce.
"oh, no" said the steward, "there are good enough ways yet.
the squire can send him this evening to fish in devilmoss lake: he will never escape alive from there, for no one can go there by night for old eric."
that was a grand idea, both the squire and his wife thought, and so he limped out again to hans, and said that he would punish his men for having tried to make a fool of him.
meanwhile, hans could do a little job where he would be free from these rascals.
he should go out on the lake and fish there that night, and would then be free from all work on the following day.
"all right," said hans;" i am well content with that, but i must have something with me to eat -- a baking of bread, a cask of butter, a barrel of ale, and a keg of brandy.
i ca n't do with less than that."
the squire said that he could easily get all that, so hans got all of these tied up together, hung them over his shoulder on his good staff, and tramped away to devilmoss lake.
there he got into the boat, rowed out upon the lake, and got everything ready to fish.
as he now lay out there in the middle of the lake, and it was pretty late in the evening, he thought he would have something to eat first, before starting to work.
just as he was at his busiest with this, old eric rose out of the lake, caught him by the cuff of the neck, whipped him out of the boat, and dragged him down to the bottom.
it was a lucky thing that hans had his walking-stick with him that day, and had just time to catch hold of it when he felt old eric's claws in his neck, so when they got down to the bottom he said, "stop now, just wait a little; here is solid ground."
with that he caught old eric by the back of the neck with one hand, and hammered away on his back with the staff, till he beat him out as flat as a pancake.
old eric then began to lament and howl, begging him just to let him go, and he would never come back to the lake again.
"no, my good fellow," said hans, "you wo n't get off until you promise to bring all the fish in the lake up to the squire's courtyard, before to-morrow morning."
old eric eagerly promised this, if hans would only let him go; so hans rowed ashore, ate up the rest of his provisions, and went home to bed.
next morning, when the squire rose and opened his front door, the fish came tumbling into the porch, and the whole yard was crammed full of them.
he ran in again to his wife, for he could never devise anything himself, and said to her, "what shall we do with him now?
old eric has n't taken him.
i am certain that all the fish are out of the lake, for the yard is just filled with them."
"yes, that's a bad business," said she; "you must see if you ca n't get him sent to purgatory, to demand tribute."
the squire therefore made his way to the men's quarters, to speak to hans, and it took him all his time to push his way along the walls, under the eaves, on account of the fish that filled the yard.
he thanked hans for having fished so well, and said that now he had an errand for him, which he could only give to a trusty servant, and that was to journey to purgatory, and demand three years tribute, which, he said, was owing to him from that quarter.
"willingly," said hans; "but what road do i go, to get there?"
the squire stood, and did not know what to say, and had first to go in to his wife to ask her.
"oh, what a fool you are!"
said she, "ca n't you direct him straight forward, south through the wood?
whether he gets there or not, we shall be quit of him."
out goes the squire again to hans.
"the way lies straight forward, south through the wood," said he.
hans then must have his provisions for the journey; two bakings of bread, two casks of butter, two barrels of ale, and two kegs of brandy.
he tied all these up together, and got them on his shoulder hanging on his good walking-stick, and off he tramped southward.
after he had got through the wood, there was more than one road, and he was in doubt which of them was the right one, so he sat down and opened up his bundle of provisions.
he found he had left his knife at home, but by good chance, there was a plough lying close at hand, so he took the coulter of this to cut the bread with.
as he sat there and took his bite, a man came riding past him.
"where are you from?"
said hans.
"from purgatory," said the man.
"then stop and wait a little," said hans; but the man was in a hurry, and would not stop, so hans ran after him and caught the horse by the tail.
this brought it down on its hind legs, and the man went flying over its head into a ditch.
"just wait a little," said hans;" i am going the same way."
he got his provisions tied up again, and laid them on the horse's back; then he took hold of the reins and said to the man, "we two can go along together on foot."
as they went on their way hans told the stranger both about the errand he had on hand and the fun he had had with old eric.
the other said but little but he was well acquainted with the way, and it was no long time before they arrived at the gate.
there both horse and rider disappeared, and hans was left alone outside.
"they will come and let me in presently," he thought to himself; but no one came.
he hammered at the gate; still no one appeared.
then he got tired of waiting, and smashed at the gate with his staff until he knocked it in pieces and got inside.
a whole troop of little demons came down upon him and asked what he wanted.
his master's compliments, said hans, and he wanted three years" tribute.
at this they howled at him, and were about to lay hold of him and drag him off; but when they had got some raps from his walking-stick they let go again, howled still louder than before, and ran in to old eric, who was still in bed, after his adventure in the lake.
they told him that a messenger had come from the squire at devilmoss to demand three years" tribute.
he had knocked the gate to pieces and bruised their arms and legs with his iron staff.
"give him three years"!
give him ten!"
shouted old eric, "only do n't let him come near me."
so all the little demons came dragging so much silver and gold that it was something awful.
hans filled his bundle with gold and silver coins, put it on his neck, and tramped back to his master, who was scared beyond all measure at seeing him again.
but hans was also tired of service now.
of all the gold and silver he brought with him he let the squire keep one half, and he was glad enough, both for the money and at getting rid of hans.
the other half he took home to his father the smith in furreby.
to him also he said, "farewell;" he was now tired of living on shore among mortal men, and preferred to go home again to his mother.
since that time no one has ever seen hans, the mermaid's son.
peter bull from the danish.
there once lived in denmark a peasant and his wife who owned a very good farm, but had no children.
they often lamented to each other that they had no one of their own to inherit all the wealth that they possessed.
they continued to prosper, and became rich people, but there was no heir to it all.
one year it happened that they owned a pretty little bull-calf, which they called peter.
it was the prettiest little creature they had ever seen -- so beautiful and so wise that it understood everything that was said to it, and so gentle and so full of play that both the man and his wife came to be as fond of it as if it had been their own child.
one day the man said to his wife," i wonder, now, whether our parish clerk could teach peter to talk; in that case we could not do better than adopt him as our son, and let him inherit all that we possess."
"well, i do n't know," said his wife, "our clerk is tremendously learned, and knows much more than his paternoster, and i could almost believe that he might be able to teach peter to talk, for peter has a wonderfully good head too.
you might at least ask him about it."
off went the man to the clerk, and asked him whether he thought he could teach a bull-calf that they had to speak, for they wished so much to have it as their heir.
the clerk was no fool; he looked round about to see that no one could overhear them, and said, "oh, yes, i can easily do that, but you must not speak to anyone about it.
it must be done in all secrecy, and the priest must not know of it, otherwise i shall get into trouble, as it is forbidden.
it will also cost you something, as some very expensive books are required."
that did not matter at all, the man said; they would not care so very much what it cost.
the clerk could have a hundred dollars to begin with to buy the books.
he also promised to tell no one about it, and to bring the calf round in the evening.
he gave the clerk the hundred dollars on the spot, and in the evening took the calf round to him, and the clerk promised to do his best with it.
in a week's time he came back to the clerk to hear about the calf and see how it was thriving.
the clerk, however, said that he could not get a sight of it, for then peter would long after him and forget all that he had already learned.
he was getting on well with his learning, but another hundred dollars were needed, as they must have more books.
the peasant had the money with him, so he gave it to the clerk, and went home again with high hopes.
in another week the man came again to learn what progress peter had made now.
"he is getting on very well," said the clerk."
i suppose he ca n't say anything yet?"
said the man.
"oh, yes," said the clerk, "he can say "moo" now."
"do you think he will get on with his learning?"
asked the peasant.
"oh, yes," said the clerk, "but i shall want another hundred dollars for books.
peter ca n't learn well out of the ones that he has got."
"well, well," said the man, "what must be spent shall be spent."
so he gave the clerk the third hundred dollars for books, and a cask of good old ale for peter.
the clerk drank the ale himself, and gave the calf milk, which he thought would be better for it.
some weeks passed, during which the peasant did not come round to ask after the calf, being frightened lest it should cost him another hundred dollars, for he had begun to squirm a bit at having to part with so much money.
meanwhile the clerk decided that the calf was as fat as it could be, so he killed it.
after he had got all the beef out of the way he went inside, put on his black clothes, and made his way to the peasant's house.
as soon as he had said "good-day" he asked, "has peter come home here?"
"no, indeed, he has n't," said the man; "surely he has n't run away?'"
i hope," said the clerk, "that he would not behave so contemptibly after all the trouble i have had to teach him, and all that i have spent upon him.
i have had to spend at least a hundred dollars of my own money to buy books for him before i got him so far on.
he could say anything he liked now, so he said to-day that he longed to see his parents again.
i was willing to give him that pleasure, but i was afraid that he would n't be able to find the way here by himself, so i made myself ready to go with him.
when we had got outside the house i remembered that i had left my stick inside, and went in again to get it.
when i came out again peter had gone off on his own account.
i thought he would be here, and if he is n't i do n't know where he is."
the peasant and his wife began to lament bitterly that peter had run away in this fashion just when they were to have so much joy of him, and after they had spent so much on his education.
the worst of it was that now they had no heir after all.
the clerk comforted them as best he could; he also was greatly distressed that peter should have behaved in such a way just when he should have gained honour from his pupil.
perhaps he had only gone astray, and he would advertise him at church next sunday, and find out where anyone had seen him.
then he bade them "good-bye," and went home nad dined on a good fat veal roast.
now it so happened that the clerk took in a newspaper, and one day he chanced to read in its columns of a new merchant who had settled in a town at some distance, and whose name was "peter bull."
he put the newspaper in his pocket, and went round to the sorrowing couple who had lost their heir.
he read the paragraph to them, and added," i wonder, now, whether that could be your bull-calf peter?"
"yes, of course it is," said the man; "who else would it be?"
his wife then spoke up and said, "you must set out, good man, and see about him, for it is him, i am perfectly certain.
take a good sum of money with you, too; for who knows but what he may want some cash now that he has turned a merchant!"
next day the man got a bag of money on his back and a sandwich in his pocket, and his pipe in his mouth, and set out for the town where the new merchant lived.
it was no short way, and he travelled for many days before he finally arrived there.
he reached it one morning, just at daybreak, found out the right place, and asked if the merchant was at home.
yes, he was, said the people, but he was not up yet.
"that does n't matter," said the peasant, "for i am his father.
just show me up to his bedroom."
he was shown up to the room, and as soon as he entered it, ad caught sight of the merchant, he recognised him at once.
he had the same broad forehead, the same thick neck, and same red hair, but in other respects he was now like a human being.
the peasant rushed straight up to him and took a firm hold of him."
o peter," said he, "what a sorrow you have caused us, both myself and your mother, by running off like this just as we had got you well educated!
get up, now, so that i can see you properly, and have a talk with you."
the merchant thought that it was a lunatic who had made his way in to him, and thought it best to take things quietly.
"all right," said he," i shall do so at once."
he got out of bed and made haste to dress himself.
"ay," said the peasant, "now i can see how clever our clerk is.
he has done well by you, for now you look just like a human being.
if one did n't know it, one would never think that it was you we got from the red cow; will you come home with me now?"
"no," said the merchant," i ca n't find time just now.
i have a big business to look after."
"you could have the farm at once, you know," said the peasant, "and we old people would retire.
but if you would rather stay in business, of course you may do so.
are you in want of anything?"
"oh, yes," said the merchant;" i want nothing so much as money.
a merchant has always a use for that.'"
i can well believe that," said the peasant, "for you had nothing at all to start with.
i have brought some with me for that very end."
with that he emptied his bag of money out upon the table, so that it was all covered with bright dollars.
when the merchant saw what kind of man he had before him he began to speak him fair, and invited him to stay with him for some days, so that they might have some more talk together.
"very well," said the peasant, "but you must call me "father."'"
i have neither father nor mother alive," said peter bull."
i know that," said the man; "your real father was sold at hamburg last michaelmas, and your real mother died while calving in spring; but my wife and i have adopted you as our own, and you are our only heir, so you must call me "father.""
peter bull was quite willing to do so, and it was settled that he should keep the money, while the peasant made his will and left to him all that he had, before he went home to his wife, and told her the whole story.
she was delighted to hear that it was true enough about peter bull -- that he was no other than their own bull-calf.
"you must go at once and tell the clerk," said she, "and pay him the hundred dollars of his own money that he spent upon our son.
he has earned them well, and more besides, for all the joy he has given us in having such a son and heir."
the man agreed with this, and thanked the clerk for all he had done, and gave him two hundred dollars.
then he sold the farm, and removed with his wife to the town where their dear son and heir was living.
to him they gave all their wealth, and lived with him till their dying day.
the bird "grip" translated from the swedish.
it happened once that a king, who had a great kingdom and three sons, became blind, and no human skill or art could restore to him his sight.
at last there came to the palace an old woman, who told him that in the whole world there was only one thing that could give him back his sight, and that was to get the bird grip; his song would open the king's eyes.
when the king's eldest son heard this he offered to bring the bird grip, which was kept in a cage by a king in another country, and carefully guarded as his greatest treasure.
the blind king was greatly rejoiced at his son's resolve, fitted him out in the best way he could, and let him go.
when the prince had ridden some distance he came to an inn, in which there were many guests, all of whom were merry, and drank and sang and played at dice.
this joyous life pleased the prince so well that he stayed in the inn, took part in the playing and drinking, and forgot both his blind father and the bird grip.
meanwhile the king waited with both hope and anxiety for his son's return, but as time went on and nothing was heard of him, the second prince asked leave to go in search of his brother, as well as to bring the bird grip.
the king granted his request, and fitted him out in the finest fashion.
but when the prince came to the inn and found his brother among his merry companions, he also remained there and forgot both the bird grip and his blind father.
when the king noticed that neither of his sons returned, although a long time had passed since the second one set out, he was greatly distressed, for not only had he lost all hope of getting back his sight, but he had also lost his two eldest sons.
the youngest now came to him, and offered to go in search of his brothers and to bring the bird grip; he was quite certain that he would succeed in this.
the king was unwilling to risk his third son on such an errand, but he begged so long that his father had at last to consent.
this prince also was fitted out in the finest manner, like his brothers, and so rode away.
he also turned into the same inn as his brothers, and when these saw him they assailed him with many entreaties to remain with them and share their merry life.
but he answered that now, when he had found them, his next task was to get the bird grip, for which his blind father was longing, and so he had not a single hour to spare with them in the inn.
he then said farewell to his brothers, and rode on to find another inn in which to pass the night.
when he had ridden a long way, and it began to grow dark, he came to a house which lay deep in the forest.
here he was received in a very friendly manner by the host, who put his horse into the stable, and led the prince himself into the guest-chamber, where he ordered a maid-servant to lay the cloth and set down the supper.
it was now dark, and while the girl was laying the cloth and setting down the dishes, and the prince had begun to appease his hunger, he heard the most piteous shrieks and cries from the next room.
he sprang up from the table and asked the girl what those cries were, and whether he had fallen into a den of robbers.
the girl answered that these shrieks were heard every night, but it was no living being who uttered them; it was a dead man, who life the host had taken because he could not pay for the meals he had had in the inn.
the host further refused to bury the dead man, as he had left nothing to pay the expenses of the funeral, and every night he went and scourged the dead body of his victim.
when she had said this she lifted the cover off one of the dishes, and the prince saw that there lay on it a knife and an axe.
he understood then that the host meant to ask him by this what kind of death he preferred to die, unless he was willing to ransom his life with his money.
he then summoned the host, gave him a large sum for his own life, and paid the dead man's debt as well, besides paying him for burying the body, which the murderer now promised to attend to.
the prince, however, felt that his life was not safe in this murderer's den, and asked the maid to help him to escape that night.
she replied that the attempt to do so might cost her her own life, as the key of the stable in which the prince's horse stood lay under the host's pillow; but, as she herself was a prisoner there, she would help him to escape if he would take her along with him.
he promised to do so, and they succeeded in getting away from the inn, and rode on until they came to another far away from it, where the prince got a good place for the girl before proceeding on his journey.
as he now rode all alone through a forest there met him a fox, who greeted him in a friendly fashion, and asked him where he was going, and on what errand he was bent.
the prince answered that his errand was too important to be confided to everyone that he met.
"you are right in that," said the fox, "for it relates to the bird grip, which you want to take and bring home to your blind father; i could help you in this, but in that case you must follow my counsel."
the prince thought that this was a good offer, especially as the fox was ready to go with him and show him the way to the castle, where the bird grip sat in his cage, and so he promised to obey the fox's instructions.
when they had traversed the forest together they saw the castle at some distance.
then the fox gave the prince three grains of gold, one of which he was to throw into the guard-room, another into the room where the bird grip sat, and the third into its cage.
he could then take the bird, but he must beware of stroking it; otherwise it would go ill with him.
the prince took the grains of gold, and promised to follow the fox's directions faithfully.
when he came to the guard-room of the castle he threw one of the grains in there, and the guards at once fell asleep.
the same thing happened with those who kept watch in the room beside the bird grip, and when he threw the third grain into its cage the bird also fell asleep.
when the prince got the beautiful bird into his hand he could not resist the temptation to stroke it, whereupon it awoke and began to scream.
at this the whole castle woke up, and the prince was taken prisoner.
as he now sat in his prison, and bitterly lamented that his own disobedience had brought himself into trouble, and deprived his father of the chance of recovering his sight, the fox suddenly stood in front of him.
the prince was very pleased to see it again, and received with great meekness all its reproaches, as well as promised to be more obedient in the future, if the fox would only help him out of his fix.
the fox said that he had come to assist him, but he could do no more than advise the prince, when he was brought up for trial, to answer "yes" to all the judge's questions, and everything would go well.
the prince faithfully followed his instructions, so that when the judge asked him whether he had meant to steal the bird grip he said "yes," and when the judge asked him if he was a master-thief he again answered "yes."
when the king heard that he admitted being a master-thief, he said that he would forgive him the attempt to steal the bird if he would go to the next kingdom and carry off the world's most beautiful princess, and bring her to him.
to this also the prince said "yes."
when he left the castle he met the fox, who went along with him to the next kingdom, and when they came near the castle there, gave him three grains of gold -- one to throw into the guard-room, another into the princess's chamber, and the third into her bed.
at the same time he strictly warned him not to kiss the princess.
the prince went into the castle, and did with the grains of gold as the fox had told him, so that sleep fell upon everyone there; but when he had taken the princess into his arms he forgot the fox's warning, at the sight of her beauty, and kissed her.
then both she and all the others in the castle woke; the prince was taken prisoner, and put into a strong dungeon.
here the fox again came to him and reproached him with his disobedience, but promised to help him out of this trouble also if he would answer "yes" to everything they asked him at his trial.
the prince willingly agreed to this, and admitted to the judge that he had meant to steal the princess, and that he was a master-thief.
when the king learned this he said he would forgive his offence if he would go to the next kingdom and steal the horse with the four golden shoes.
to this also the prince said "yes."
when he had gone a little way from the castle he met the fox, and they continued on their journey together.
when they reached the end of it the prince for the third time received three grains of gold from the fox, with directions to throw one into the guard-chamber, another into the stable, and the third into the horse's stall.
but the fox told him that above the horse's stall hung a beautiful golden saddle, which he must not touch, if he did not want to bring himself into new troubles worse than those he had escaped from, for then the fox could help him no longer.
the prince promised to be firm this time.
he threw the grains of gold in the proper places, and untied the horse, but with that he caught sight of the golden saddle, and thought that none but it could suit so beautiful a horse, especially as it had golden shoes.
but just as he stretched out his hand to take it he received from some invisible being so hard a blow on the arm that it was made quite numb.
this recalled to him his promise and his danger, so he led out the horse without looking at the golden saddle again.
the fox was waiting for him outside the castle, and the prince confessed to him that he had very nearly given way to temptation this time as well."
i know that," said the fox, "for it was i who struck you over the arm."
as they now went on together the prince said that he could not forget the beautiful princess, and asked the fox whether he did not think that she ought to ride home to his father's palace on this horse with the golden shoes.
the fox agreed that this would be excellent; if the prince would now go and carry her off he would give him three grains of gold for that purpose.
the prince was quite ready, and promised to keep better command of himself this time, and not kiss her.
he got the grains of gold and entered the castle, where he carried off the princess, set her on the beautiful horse, and held on his way.
when they came near to the castle where the bird grip sat in his cage he again asked the fox for three grains of gold.
these he got, and with them he was successful in carrying off the bird.
he was now full of joy, for his blind father would now recover his sight, while he himself owned the world's most beautiful princess and the horse with the golden shoes.
the prince and princess travelled on together with mirth and happiness, and the fox followed them until they came to the forest where the prince first met with him.
"here our ways part," said the fox.
"you have now got all that your heart desired, and you will have a prosperous journey to your father's palace if only you do not ransom anyone's life with money."
the prince thanked the fox for all his help, promised to give heed to his warning, said farewell to him, and rode on, with the princess by his side and the bird grip on his wrist.
they soon arrived at the inn where the two eldest brothers had stayed, forgetting their errand.
but now no merry song or noise of mirth was heard from it.
when the prince came nearer he saw two gallows erected, and when he entered the inn along with the princess he saw that all the rooms were hung with black, and that everything inside foreboded sorrow and death.
he asked the reason of this, and was told that two princes were to be hanged that day for debt; they had spent all their money in feasting and playing, and were now deeply in debt to the host, and as no one could be found to ransom their lives they were about to be hanged according to the law.
the prince knew that it was his two brothers who had thus forfeited their lives and it cut him to the heart to think that two princes should suffer such a shameful death; and, as he had sufficient money with him, he paid their debts, and so ransomed their lives.
at first the brothers were grateful for their liberty, but when they saw the youngest brother's treasures they became jealous of his good fortune, and planned how to bring him to destruction, and then take the bird grip, the princess, and the horse with the golden shoes, and convey them to their blind father.
after they had agreed on how to carry out their treachery they enticed the prince to a den of lions and threw him down among them.
then they set the princess on horseback, took the bird grip, and rode homeward.
the princess wept bitterly, but they told her that it would cost her her life if she did not say that the two brothers had won all the treasures.
when they arrived at their father's palace there was great rejoicing, and everyone praised the two princes for their courage and bravery.
when the king inquired after the youngest brother they answered that he had led such a life in the inn that he had been hanged for debt.
the king sorrowed bitterly over this, because the youngest prince was his dearest son, and the joy over the treasures soon died away, for the bird grip would not sing so that the king might recover his sight, the princess wept night and day, and no one dared to venture so close to the horse as to have a look at his golden shoes.
now when the youngest prince was thrown down into the lions" den he found the fox sitting there, and the lions, instead of tearing him to pieces, showed him the greatest friendliness.
nor was the fox angry with him for having forgot his last warning.
he only said that sons who could so forget their old father and disgrace their royal birth as those had done would not hesitate to betray their brother either.
then he took the prince up out of the lion's den and gave him directions what to do now so as to come by his rights again.
the prince thanked the fox with all his heart for his true friendship, but the fox answered that if he had been of any use to him he would now for his own part ask a service of him.
the prince replied that he would do him any service that was in his power."
i have only one thing to ask of you," said the fox, "and that is, that you should cut off my head with your sword."
the prince was astonished, and said that he could not bring himself to cut the had off his truest friend, and to this he stuck in spite of all the fox's declarations that it was the greatest service he could do him.
at this the fox became very sorrowful, and declared that the prince's refusal to grant his request now compelled him to do a deed which he was very unwilling to do -- if the prince would not cut off his head, then he must kill the prince himself.
then at last the prince drew his good sword and cut off the fox's head, and the next moment a youth stood before him.
"thanks," said he, "for this service, which has freed me from a spell that not even death itself could loosen.
i am the dead man who lay unburied in the robber's inn, where you ransomed me and gave me honourable burial, and therefore i have helped you in your journey."
with this they parted and the prince, disguising himself as a horse-shoer, went up to his father's palace and offered his services there.
the king's men told him that a horse-shoer was indeed wanted at the palace, but he must be one who could lift up the feet of the horse with the golden shoes, and such a one they had not yet been able to find.
the prince asked to see the horse, and as soon as he entered the stable the steed began to neigh in a friendly fashion, and stood as quiet and still as a lamb while the prince lifted up his hoofs, one after the other, and showed the king's men the famous golden shoes.
after this the king's men began to talk about the bird grip, and how strange it was that he would not sing, however well he was attended to.
the horse-shoer then said that he knew the bird very well; he had seen it when it sat in its cage in another king's palace, and if it did not sing now it must be because it did not have all that it wanted.
he himself knew so much about the bird's ways that if he only got to see it he could tell at once what it lacked.
the king's men now took counsel whether they ought to take the stranger in before the king, for in his chamber sat the bird grip along with the weeping princess.
it was decided to risk doing so, and the horse-shoer was led into the king's chamber, where he had no sooner called the bird by its name than it began to sing and the princess to smile.
then the darkness cleared away from the king's eyes, and the more the bird sang the more clearly did he see, till at last in the strange horse-shoer he recognised his youngest son.
then the princess told the king how treacherously his eldest sons had acted, and he had them banished from his kingdom; but the youngest prince married the princess, and got the horse with the golden shoes and half the kingdom from his father, who kept for himself so long as he lived the bird grip, which now sang with all its heart to the king and all his court.
snowflake slavonic story.
contes populaires slaves, traduits par louis leger.
paris: leroux, editeur.
once upon a time there lived a peasant called ivan, and he had a wife whose name was marie.
they would have been quite happy except for one thing: they had no children to play with, and as they were now old people they did not find that watching the children of their neighbours at all made up to them for having one of their own.
one winter, which nobody living will ever forget, the snow lay so deep that it came up to the knees of even the tallest man.
when it had all fallen, and the sun was shining again, the children ran out into the street to play, and the old man and his wife sat at their window and gazed at them.
the children first made a sort of little terrace, and stamped it hard and firm, and then they began to make a snow woman.
ivan and marie watched them, the while thinking about many things.
suddenly ivan's face brightened, and, looking at his wife, he said, "wife, why should n't we make a snow woman too?"
"why not?"
replied marie, who happened to be in a very good temper; "it might amuse us a little.
but there is no use making a woman.
let us make a little snow child, and pretend it is a living one."
"yes, let us do that," said ivan, and he took down his cap and went into the garden with his old wife.
then the two set to work with all their might to make a doll out of the snow.
they shaped a little body and two little hands and two little feet.
on top of all they placed a ball of snow, out of which the head was to be.
"what in the world are you doing?"
asked a passer-by.
"ca n't you guess?"
returned ivan.
"making a snow-child," replied marie.
they had finished the nose and the chin.
two holes were left for the eyes, and ivan carefully shaped out the mouth.
no sooner had he done so than he felt a warm breath upon his cheek.
he started back in surprise and looked -- and behold!
the eyes of the child met his, and its lips, which were as red as raspberries, smiled at him!
"what is it?"
cried ivan, crossing himself.
"am i mad, or is the thing bewitched?"
the snow-child bent its head as if it had been really alive.
it moved its little arms and its little legs in the snow that lay about it just as the living children did theirs.
"ah!
ivan, ivan," exclaimed marie, trembling with joy, "heaven has sent us a child at last!"
and she threw herself upon snowflake -lrb- for that was the snow-child's name -rrb- and covered her with kisses.
and the loose snow fell away from snowflake as an egg shell does from an egg, and it was a little girl whom marie held in her arms.
"oh!
my darling snowflake!"
cried the old woman, and led her into the cottage.
and snowflake grew fast; each hour as well as each day made a difference, and every day she became more and more beautiful.
the old couple hardly knew how to contain themselves for joy, and thought of nothing else.
the cottage was always full of village children, for they amused snowflake, and there was nothing in the world they would not have done to amuse her.
she was their doll, and they were continually inventing new dresses for her, and teaching her songs or playing with her.
nobody knew how clever she was!
she noticed everything, and could learn a lesson in a moment.
anyone would have taken her for thirteen at least!
and, besides all that, she was so good and obedient; and so pretty, too!
her skin was as white as snow, her eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, and her hair was long and golden.
only her cheeks had no colour in them, but were as fair as her forehead.
so the winter went on, till at last the spring sun mounted higher in the heavens and began to warm the earth.
the grass grew green in the fields, and high in the air the larks were heard singing.
the village girls met and danced in a ring, singing, "beautiful spring, how came you here?
how came you here?
did you come on a plough, or was it a harrow?"
only snowflake sat quite still by the window of the cottage.
"what is the matter, dear child?"
asked marie.
"why are you so sad?
are you ill?
or have they treated you unkindly?"
"no," replied snowflake, "it is nothing, mother; no one has hurt me; i am well."
the spring sun had chased away the last snow from its hiding place under the hedges; the fields were full of flowers; nightingales sang in the trees, and all the world was gay.
but the gayer grew the birds and the flowers the sadder became snowflake.
she hid herself from her playmates, and curled herself up where the shadows were deepest, like a lily amongst its leaves.
her only pleasure was to lie amid the green willows near some sparkling stream.
at the dawn and at twilight only she seemed happy.
when a great storm broke, and the earth was white with hail, she became bright and joyous as the snowflake of old; but when the clouds passed, and the hail melted beneath the sun, snowflake would burst into tears and weep as a sister would weep over her brother.
the spring passed, and it was the eve of st. john, or midsummer day.
this was the greatest holiday of the year, when the young girls met in the woods to dance and play.
they went to fetch snowflake, and said to marie: "let her come and dance with us."
but marie was afraid; she could not tell why, only she could not bear the child to go.
snowflake did not wish to go either, but they had no excuse ready.
so marie kissed the girl and said: "go, my snowflake, and be happy with your friends, and you, dear children, be careful of her.
you know she is the light of my eyes to me."
"oh, we will take care of her," cried the girls gaily, and they ran off to the woods.
there they wore wreaths, gathered nosegays, and sang songs some sad, some merry.
and whatever they did snowflake did too.
when the sun set they lit a fire of dry grass, and placed themselves in a row, snowflake being the last of all.
"now, watch us," they said, "and run just as we do."
and they all began to sing and to jump one after another across the fire.
suddenly, close behind them, they heard a sigh, then a groan.
"ah!"
they turned hastily and looked at each other.
there was nothing.
they looked again.
where was snowflake?
she has hidden herself for fun, they thought, and searched for her everywhere.
"snowflake!
snowflake!"
but there was no answer.
"where can she be?
oh, she must have gone home."
they returned to the village, but there was no snowflake.
for days after that they sought her high and low.
they examined every bush and every hedge, but there was no snowflake.
and long after everyone else had given up hope ivan and marie would wander through the woods crying "snowflake, my dove, come back, come back!"
and sometimes they thought they heard a call, but it was never the voice of snowflake.
and what had become of her?
had a fierce wild beast seized her and dragged her into his lair in the forest?
had some bird carried her off across the wide blue sea?
no, no beast had touched her, no bird had borne her away.
with the first breath of flame that swept over her when she ran with her friends snowflake had melted away, and a little soft haze floating upwards was all that remained of her.
i know what i have learned from the danish.
there was once a man who had three daughters, and they were all married to trolls, who lived underground.
one day the man thought that he would pay them a visit, and his wife gave him some dry bread to eat by the way.
after he had walked some distance he grew both tired and hungry, so he sat down on the east side of a mound and began to eat his dry bread.
the mound then opened, and his youngest daughter came out of it, and said, "why, father!
why are you not coming in to see me?"
"oh," said he, "if i had known that you lived here, and had seen any entrance, i would have come in."
then he entered the mound along with her.
the troll came home soon after this, and his wife told him that her father was come, and asked him to go and buy some beef to make broth with.
"we can get it easier than that!"
said the troll.
he fixed an iron spike into one of the beams of the roof, and ran his head against this till he had knocked several large pieces off his head.
he was just as well as ever after doing this, and they got their broth without further trouble.
the troll then gave the old man a sackful of money, and laden with this he betook himself homewards.
when he came near his home he remembered that he had a cow about to calve, so he laid down the money on the ground, ran home as fast as he could, and asked his wife whether the cow had calved yet.
"what kind of a hurry is this to come home in?"
said she.
"no, the cow has not calved yet."
"then you must come out and help me in with a sackful of money," said the man."
a sackful of money?"
cried his wife.
"yes, a sackful of money," said he.
"is that so very wonderful?"
his wife did not believe very much what he told her, but she humoured him, and went out with him.
when they came to the spot where he had left it there was no money there; a thief had come along and stolen it.
his wife then grew angry and scolded him heartily.
"well, well!"
said he, "hang the money!
i know what i have learned."
"what have you learned?"
said she.
"ah!
i know that," said the man.
after some time had passed the man had a mind to visit his second eldest daughter.
his wife again gave him some dry bread to eat, and when he grew tired and hungry he sat down on the east side of a mound and began to eat it.
as he sat there his daughter came up out of the mound, and invited him to come inside, which he did very willingly.
soon after this the troll came home.
it was dark by that time, and his wife bade him go and buy some candles.
"oh, we shall soon get a light," said the troll.
with that he dipped his fingers into the fire, and they then gave light without being burned in the least.
the old man got two sacks of money here, and plodded away homewards with these.
when he was very nearly home he again thought of the cow that was with calf, so he laid down the money, ran home, and asked his wife whether the cow had calved yet.
"whatever is the matter with you?"
said she.
"you come hurrying as if the whole house was about to fall.
you may set your mind at rest: the cow has not calved yet."
the man now asked her to come and help him home with the two sacks of money.
she did not believe him very much, but he continued to assure her that it was quite true, till at last she gave in and went with him.
when they came to the spot there had again been a thief there and taken the money.
it was no wonder that the woman was angry about this, but the man only said, "ah, if you only knew what i have learned."
a third time the man set out -- to visit his eldest daughter.
when he came to a mound he sat down on the east side of it and ate the dry bread which his wife had given him to take with him.
the daughter then came out of the mound and invited her father to come inside.
in a little the troll came home, and his wife asked him to go and buy some fish.
"we can get them much more easily than that," said the troll.
"give me your dough trough and your ladle."
they seated themselves in the trough, and rowed out on the lake which was beside the mound.
when they had got out a little way the troll said to his wife, "are my eyes green?"
"no, not yet," said she.
he rowed on a little further and asked again, "are my eyes not green yet?"
"yes," said his wife, "they are green now."
then the troll sprang into the water and ladled up so many fish that in a short time the trough could hold no more.
they then rowed home again, and had a good meal off the fish.
the old man now got three sacks full of money, and set off home with them.
when he was almost home the cow again came into his head, and he laid down the money.
this time, however, he took his wooden shoes and laid them above the money, thinking that no one would take it after that.
then he ran home and asked his wife whether the cow had calved.
it had not, and she scolded him again for behaving in this way, but in the end he persuaded her to go with him to help him with the three sacks of money.
when they came to the spot they found only the wooden shoes, for a thief had come along in the meantime and taken all the money.
the woman was very angry, and broke out upon her husband; but he took it all very quietly, and only said, "hang the money!
i know what i have learned."
"what have you learned i should like to know?"
said his wife.
"you will see that yet," said the man.
one day his wife took a fancy for broth, and said to him, "oh, go to the village, and buy a piece of beef to make broth."
"there's no need of that," said he; "we can get it an easier way."
with that he drove a spike into a beam, and ran his head against it, and in consequence had to lie in bed for a long time afterwards.
after he had recovered from this his wife asked him one day to go and buy candles, as they had none.
"no," he said, "there's no need for that;" and he stuck his hand into the fire.
this also made him take to bed for a good while.
when he had got better again his wife one day wanted fish, and asked him to go and buy some.
the man, however, wished again to show what he had learned, so he asked her to come along with him and bring her dough trough and a ladle.
they both seated themselves in this, and rowed upon the lake.
when they had got out a little way the man said, "are my eyes green?"
"no," said his wife; "why should they be?"
they rowed a little further out, and he asked again, "are my eyes not green yet?"
"what nonsense is this?"
said she; "why should they be green?"
"oh, my dear," said he, "ca n't you just say that they are green?"
"very well," said she, "they are green."
as soon as he heard this he sprang out into the water with the ladle for the fishes, but he just got leave to stay there with them!
the cunning shoemaker sicilianische mahrchen.
once upon a time there lived a shoemaker who could get no work to do, and was so poor that he and his wife nearly died of hunger.
at last he said to her, "it is no use waiting on here -- i can find nothing; so i shall go down to mascalucia, and perhaps there i shall be more lucky."
so down he went to mascalucia, and walked through the streets crying, "who wants some shoes?"
and very soon a window was pushed up, and a woman's head was thrust out of it.
"here are a pair for you to patch," she said.
and he sat down on her doorstep and set about patching them.
"how much do i owe you?"
she asked when they were done."
a shilling."
"here is eighteen pence, and good luck to you."
and he went his way.
he turned into the next street and set up his cry again, and it was not long before another window was pushed up and another head appeared.
"here are some shoes for you to patch."
and the shoemaker sat down on the doorstep and patched them.
"how much do i owe you?"
asked the woman when the shoes were finished."
a florin."
"here is a crown piece, and good luck to you."
and she shut the window.
"well," thought the shoemaker," i have done finely.
but i will not go back to my wife just yet, as, if i only go on at this rate, i shall soon have enough money to buy a donkey."
having made up his mind what was best to do, he stayed in the town a few days longer till he had four gold pieces safe in his purse.
then he went to the market and for two of them he bought a good strong donkey, and, mounting on its back, he rode home to catania.
but as he entered a thick wood he saw in the distance a band of robbers who were coming quickly towards him."
i am lost," thought he; "they are sure to take from me all the money that i have earned, and i shall be as poor as ever i was.
what can i do?"
however, being a clever little man and full of spirit, he did not lose heart, but, taking five florins, he fastened them out of sight under the donkey's thick mane.
then he rode on.
directly the robber came up to him they seized him exactly as he had foretold and took away all his money.
"oh, dear friends!"
he cried, wringing his hands," i am only a poor shoemaker, and have nothing but this donkey left in the world."
as he spoke the donkey gave himself a shake, and down fell the five florins.
"where did that come from?"
asked the robbers.
"ah," replied the shoemaker, "you have guessed my secret.
the donkey is a golden donkey, and supplies me with all my money."
"sell him to us," said the robbers.
"we will give you any price you like."
the shoemaker at first declared that nothing would induce him to sell him, but at last he agreed to hand him over to the robbers for fifty gold pieces.
"but listen to what i tell you," said he.
"you must each take it in turn to own him for a night and a day, or else you will all be fighting over the money."
with these words they parted, the robbers driving the donkey to their cave in the forest and the shoemaker returning home, very pleased with the success of his trick.
he just stopped on the way to pick up a good dinner, and the next day spent most of his gains in buying a small vineyard.
meanwhile the robbers had arrived at the cave where they lived, and the captain, calling them all round him, announced that it as his right to have the donkey for the first night.
his companions agreed, and then he told his wife to put a mattress in the stable.
she asked if he had gone out of his mind, but he answered crossly, "what is that to you?
do as you are bid, and to-morrow i will bring you some treasures."
very early the captain awoke and searched the stable, but could find nothing, and guessed that master joseph had been making fun of them.
"well," he said to himself, "if i have been taken in, the others shall not come off any better."
so, when one of his men arrived and asked him eagerly how much money he had got, he answered gaily, "oh, comrade, if you only knew!
but i shall say nothing about it till everyone has had his turn!"
one after another they all took the donkey, but no money was forthcoming for anybody.
at length, when all the band had been tricked, they held a council, and resolved to march to the shoemaker's house and punish him well for his cunning.
just as before, the shoemaker saw them a long way off, and began to think how he could outwit them again.
when he had hit upon a plan he called his wife, and said to her, "take a bladder and fill it with blood, and bind it round your neck.
when the robbers come and demand the money they gave me for the donkey i shall shout to you and tell you to get it quickly.
you must argue with me, and decline to obey me, and then i shall plunge my knife into the bladder, and you must fall to the ground as if you were dead.
there you must lie till i play on my guitar; then get up and begin to dance."
the wife made haste to do as she was bid, and there was no time to lose, for the robbers were drawing very near the house.
they entered with a great noise, and overwhelmed the shoemaker with reproaches for having deceived them about the donkey.
"the poor beast must have lost its power owing to the change of masters," said he; "but we will not quarrel about it.
you shall have back the fifty gold pieces that you gave for him.
"aite," he cried to his wife, "go quickly to the chest upstairs, and bring down the money for these gentlemen."
"wait a little," answered she;" i must first bake this fish.
it will be spoilt if i leave it now."
"go this instant, as you are bid," shouted the shoemaker, stamping as if he was in a great passion; but, as she did not stir, he drew his knife, and stabbed her in the neck.
the blood spurted out freely, and she fell to the ground as if she was dead.
"what have you done?"
asked the robbers, looking at him in dismay.
"the poor woman was doing nothing."
"perhaps i was hasty, but it is easily set right," replied the shoemaker, taking down his guitar and beginning to play.
hardly had he struck the first notes than his wife sat up; then got on her feet and danced.
the robbers stared with open mouths, and at last they said, "master joseph, you may keep the fifty gold pieces.
but tell us what you will take for your guitar, for you must sell it to us?"
"oh, that is impossible!"
replied the shoemaker, "for every time i have a quarrel with my wife i just strike her dead, and so give vent to my anger.
this has become such a habit with me that i do n't think i could break myself of it; and, of course, if i got rid of the guitar i could never bring her back to life again."
however, the robbers would not listen to him, and at last he consented to take forty gold pieces for the guitar.
then they all returned to their cave in the forest, delighted with their new purchase, and longing for a chance of trying its powers.
but the captain declared that the first trial belonged to him, and after that the others might have their turn.
that evening he called to his wife and said, "what have you got for supper?"
"macaroni," answered she.
"why have you not boiled a fish?"
he cried, and stabber in the neck so that she fell dead.
the captain, who was not in the least angry, seized the guitar and began to play; but, let him play as loud as he would, the dead woman never stirred.
"oh, lying shoemaker!
oh, abominable knave!
twice has he got the better of me.
but i will pay him out!"
so he raged and swore, but it did him no good.
the fact remained that he had killed his wife and could not bring her back again.
the next morning came one of the robbers to fetch the guitar, and to hear what had happened.
"well, how have you got on?"
"oh, splendidly!
i stabbed my wife, and then began to play, and now she is as well as ever."
"did you really?
then this evening i will try for myself."
of course the same thing happened over again, till all the wives had been killed secretly, and when there were no more left they whispered to each other the dreadful tale, and swore to be avenged on the shoemaker.
the band lost no time in setting out for his house, and, as before, the shoemaker saw them coming from afar.
he called to his wife, who was washing in the kitchen: "listen, aita: when the robbers come and ask for me say i have gone to the vineyard.
then tell the dog to call me, and chase him from the house."
when he had given these directions he ran out of the back door and hid behind a barrel.
a few minutes later the robbers arrived, and called loudly for the shoemaker.
"alas!
good gentlemen, he is up in the vineyard, but i will send the dog after him at once.
here!
now quickly to the vineyard, and tell your master some gentlemen are here who wish to speak to him.
go as fast as you can."
and she opened the door and let the dog out.
"you can really trust the dog to call your husband?"
asked the robbers.
"dear me, yes!
he understands everything, and will always carry any message i give him."
by-and-bye the shoemaker came in and said, "good morning, gentlemen; the dog tells me you wish to speak to me."
"yes, we do," replied the robber; "we have come to speak to you about that guitar.
it is your fault that we have murdered all our wives; and, though we played as you told us, none of them ever came back to life."
"you could not have played properly," said the shoemaker.
"it was your own fault."
"well, we will forget all about it," answered the robbers, "if you will only sell us your dog."
"oh, that is impossible!
i should never get on without him."
but the robbers offered him forty gold pieces, and at last he agreed to let them have the dog.
so they departed, taking the dog with them, and when they got back to their cave the captain declared that it was his right to have the first trial.
he then called his daughter, and said to her," i am going to the inn; if anybody wants me, loose the dog, and send him to call me."
about an hour after some one arrived on business, and the girl untied the dog and said, "go to the inn and call my father!"
the dog bounded off, but ran straight to the shoemaker.
when the robber got home and found no dog he thought "he must have gone back to his old master," and, though night had already fallen, he went off after him.
"master joseph, is the dog here?"
asked he.
"ah!
yes, the poor beast is so fond of me!
you must give him time to get accustomed to new ways."
so the captain brought the dog back, and the following morning handed him over to another of the band, just saying that the animal really could do what the shoemaker had said.
the second robber carefully kept his own counsel, and fetched the dog secretly back from the shoemaker, and so on through the whole band.
at length, when everybody had suffered, they met and told the whole story, and next day they all marched off in fury to the man who had made game of them.
after reproaching him with having deceived them, they tied him up in a sack, and told him they were going to throw him into the sea.
the shoemaker lay quite still, and let them do as they would.
they went on till they came to a church, and the robbers said, "the sun is hot and the sack is heavy; let us leave it here and go in and rest."
so they put the sack down by the roadside, and went into the church.
now, on a hill near by there was a swineherd looking after a great herd of pigs and whistling merrily.
when master joseph heard him he cried out as loud as he could," i wo n't; i wo n't, i say."
"what wo n't you do?"
asked the swineherd.
"oh," replied the shoemaker.
"they want me to marry the king's daughter, and i wo n't do it."
"how lucky you are!"
sighed the swineherd.
"now, if it were only me!"
"oh, if that's all!"
replied the cunning shoemaker, "get you into this sack, and let me out."
then the swineherd opened the sack and took the place of the shoemaker, who went gaily off, driving the pigs before him.
when the robbers were rested they came out of the church, took up the sack, and carried it to the sea, where they threw it in, and it sank directly.
as they came back they met the shoemaker, and stared at him with open mouths.
"oh, if you only knew how many pigs live in the sea," he cried.
"and the deeper you go the more there are.
i have just brought up these, and mean to return for some more."
"there are still some left there?"
"oh, more than i could count," replied the shoemaker."
i will show you what you must do."
then he led the robbers back to the shore.
"now," said he, "you must each of you tie a stone to your necks, so that you may be sure to go deep enough, for i found the pigs that you saw very deep down indeed."
then the robbers all tied stones round their necks, and jumped in, and were drowned, and master joseph drove his pigs home, and was a rich man to the end of his days.
the king who would have a beautiful wife sicilianische mahrchen.
fifty years ago there lived a king who was very anxious to get married; but, as he was quite determined that his wife should be as beautiful as the sun, the thing was not so easy as it seemed, for no maiden came up to his standard.
then he commanded a trusty servant to search through the length and breadth of the land till he found a girl fair enough to be queen, and if he had the good luck to discover one he was to bring her back with him.
the servant set out at once on his journey, and sought high and low-in castles and cottages; but though pretty maidens were plentiful as blackberries, he felt sure that none of them would please the king.
one day he had wandered far and wide, and was feeling very tired and thirsty.
by the roadside stood a tiny little house, and here he knocked and asked for a cup of water.
now in this house dwelt two sisters, and one was eighty and the other ninety years old.
they were very poor, and earned their living by spinning.
this had kept their hands very soft and white, like the hands of a girl, and when the water was passed through the lattice, and the servant saw the small, delicate fingers, he said to himself: "a maiden must indeed be lovely if she has a hand like that."
and he made haste back, and told the king.
"go back at once," said his majesty, "and try to get a sight of her."
the faithful servant departed on his errand without losing any time, and again he knocked at the door of the little house and begged for some water.
as before, the old woman did not open the door, but passed the water through the lattice.
"do you live here alone?"
asked the man.
"no," replied she, "my sister lives with me.
we are poor girls, and have to work for our bread."
"how old are you?'"
i am fifteen, and she is twenty."
then the servant went back to the king, and told him all he knew.
and his majesty answered: "i will have the fifteen-year-old one.
go and bring her here."
the servant returned a third time to the little house and knocked at the door.
in reply to his knock the lattice window was pushed open, and a voice inquired what it was he wanted.
"the king has desired me to bring back the youngest of you to become his queen," he replied.
"tell his majesty i am ready to do his bidding, but since my birth no ray of light has fallen upon my face.
if it should ever do so i shall instantly grow black.
therefore beg, i pray you, his most gracious majesty to send this evening a shut carriage, and i will return in it to the castle.
when the king heard this he ordered his great golden carriage to be prepared, and in it to be placed some magnificent robes; and the old woman wrapped herself in a thick veil, and was driven to the castle.
the king was eagerly awaiting her, and when she arrived he begged her politely to raise her veil and let him see her face.
but she answered: "here the tapers are too bright and the light too strong.
would you have me turn black under your very eyes?"
and the king believed her words, and the marriage took place without the veil being once lifted.
afterwards, when they were alone, he raised the corner, and knew for the first time that he had wedded a wrinkled old woman.
and, in a furious burst of anger, he dashed open the window and flung her out.
but, luckily for her, her clothes caught on a nail in the wall, and kept her hanging between heaven and earth.
while she was thus suspended, expecting every moment to be dashed to the ground, four fairies happened to pass by.
"look, sisters," cried one, "surely that is the old woman that the king sent for.
shall we wish that her clothes may give way, and that she should be dashed to the ground?"
"oh no!
no!"
exclaimed another.
"let us wish her something good.
i myself will wish her youth."
"and i beauty."
"and i wisdom."
"and i a tender heart."
so spake the fairies, and went their way, leaving the most beautiful maiden in the world behind them.
the next morning when the king looked from his window he saw this lovely creature hanging on the nail.
"ah!
what have i done?
surely i must have been blind last night!"
and he ordered long ladders to be brought and the maiden to be rescued.
then he fell on his knees before her, and prayed her to forgive him, and a great feast was made in her honour.
some days after came the ninety-year-old sister to the palace and asked for the queen.
"who is that hideous old witch?"
said the king.
"oh, an old neighbour of mine, who is half silly," she replied.
but the old woman looked at her steadily, and knew her again, and said: "how have you managed to grow so young and beautiful?
i should like to be young and beautiful too."
this question she repeated the whole day long, till at length the queen lost patience and said: "i had my old head cut off, and this new head grew in its place."
then the old woman went to a barber, and spoke to him, saying," i will give you all you ask if you will only cut off my head, so that i may become young and lovely."
"but, my good woman, if i do that you will die!"
but the old woman would listen to nothing; and at last the barber took out his knife and struck the first blow at her neck.
"ah!"
she shrieked as she felt the pain.
"il faut souffrir pour etre belle," said the barber, who had been in france.
and at the second blow her head rolled off, and the old woman was dead for good and all.
catherine and her destiny sicilianische mahrchen von laura gonzenbach.
leipzig, engelmann, 1870.
long ago there lived a rich merchant who, besides possessing more treasures than any king in the world, had in his great hall three chairs, one of silver, one of gold, and one of diamonds.
but his greatest treasure of all was his only daughter, who was called catherine.
one day catherine was sitting in her own room when suddenly the door flew open, and in came a tall and beautiful woman holding in her hands a little wheel.
"catherine," she said, going up to the girl, "which would you rather have-a happy youth or a happy old age?"
catherine was so taken by surprise that she did not know what to answer, and the lady repeated again, "which would you rather have-a happy youth or a happy old age?"
then catherine thought to herself, "if i say a happy youth, then i shall have to suffer all the rest of my life.
no, i would bear trouble now, and have something better to look forward to."
so she looked up and replied, "give me a happy old age."
"so be it," said the lady, and turned her wheel as she spoke, vanishing the next moment as suddenly as she had come.
now this beautiful lady was the destiny of poor catherine.
only a few days after this the merchant heard the news that all his finest ships, laden with the richest merchandise, had been sunk in a storm, and he was left a beggar.
the shock was too much for him.
he took to his bed, and in a short time he was dead of his disappointment.
so poor catherine was left alone in the world without a penny or a creature to help her.
but she was a brave girl and full of spirit, and soon made up her mind that the best thing she could do was to go to the nearest town and become a servant.
she lost no time in getting herself ready, and did not take long over her journey; and as she was passing down the chief street of the town a noble lady saw her out of the window, and, struck by her sad face, said to her: "where are you going all alone, my pretty girl?"
"ah, my lady, i am very poor, and must go to service to earn my bread.'"
i will take you into my service," said she; and catherine served her well.
some time after her mistress said to catherine," i am obliged to go out for a long while, and must lock the house door, so that no thieves shall get in."
so she went away, and catherine took her work and sat down at the window.
suddenly the door burst open, and in came her destiny.
"oh!
so here you are, catherine!
did you really think i was going to leave you in peace?"
and as she spoke she walked to the linen press where catherine's mistress kept all her finest sheets and underclothes, tore everything in pieces, and flung them on the floor.
poor catherine wrung her hands and wept, for she thought to herself, "when my lady comes back and sees all this ruin she will think it is my fault," and starting up, she fled through the open door.
then destiny took all the pieces and made them whole again, and put them back in the press, and when everything was tidy she too left the house.
when the mistress reached home she called catherine, but no catherine was there.
"can she have robbed me?"
thought the old lady, and looked hastily round the house; but nothing was missing.
she wondered why catherine should have disappeared like this, but she heard no more of her, and in a few days she filled her place.
meanwhile catherine wandered on and on, without knowing very well where she was going, till at last she came to another town.
just as before, a noble lady happened to see her passing her window, and called out to her, "where are you going all alone, my pretty girl?"
and catherine answered, "ah, my lady, i am very poor, and must go to service to earn my bread.'"
i will take you into my service," said the lady; and catherine served her well, and hoped she might now be left in peace.
but, exactly as before, one day that catherine was left in the house alone her destiny came again and spoke to her with hard words: "what!
are you here now?"
and in a passion she tore up everything she saw, till in sheer misery poor catherine rushed out of the house.
and so it befell for seven years, and directly catherine found a fresh place her destiny came and forced her to leave it.
after seven years, however, destiny seemed to get tired of persecuting her, and a time of peace set in for catherine.
when she had been chased away from her last house by destiny's wicked pranks she had taken service with another lady, who told her that it would be part of her daily work to walk to a mountain that overshadowed the town, and, climbing up to the top, she was to lay on the ground some loaves of freshly baked bread, and cry with a loud voice," o destiny, my mistress," three times.
then her lady's destiny would come and take away the offering.
"that will i gladly do," said catherine.
so the years went by, and catherine was still there, and every day she climbed the mountain with her basket of bread on her arm.
she was happier than she had been, but sometimes, when no one saw her, she would weep as she thought over her old life, and how different it was to the one she was now leading.
one day her lady saw her, and said, "catherine, what is it?
why are you always weeping?"
and then catherine told her story."
i have got an idea," exclaimed the lady.
"to-morrow, when you take the bread to the mountain, you shall pray my destiny to speak to yours, and entreat her to leave you in peace.
perhaps something may come of it!"
at these words catherine dried her eyes, and next morning, when she climbed the mountain, she told all she had suffered, and cried," o destiny, my mistress, pray, i entreat you, of my destiny that she may leave me in peace."
and destiny answered, "oh, my poor girl, know you not your destiny lies buried under seven coverlids, and can hear nothing?
but if you will come to-morrow i will bring her with me."
and after catherine had gone her way her lady's destiny went to find her sister, and said to her, "dear sister, has not catherine suffered enough?
it is surely time for her good days to begin?"
and the sister answered, "to-morrow you shall bring her to me, and i will give her something that may help her out of her need."
the next morning catherine set out earlier than usual for the mountain, and her lady's destiny took the girl by the hand and led her to her sister, who lay under the seven coverlids.
and her destiny held out to catherine a ball of silk, saying, "keep this -- it may be useful some day;" then pulled the coverings over her head again.
but catherine walked sadly down the hill, and went straight to her lady and showed her the silken ball, which was the end of all her high hopes.
"what shall i do with it?"
she asked.
"it is not worth sixpence, and it is no good to me!"
"take care of it," replied her mistress.
"who can tell how useful it may be?"
a little while after this grand preparations were made for the king's marriage, and all the tailors in the town were busy embroidering fine clothes.
the wedding garment was so beautiful nothing like it had ever been seen before, but when it was almost finished the tailor found that he had no more silk.
the colour was very rare, and none could be found like it, and the king made a proclamation that if anyone happened to possess any they should bring it to the court, and he would give them a large sum.
"catherine!"
exclaimed the lady, who had been to the tailors and seen the wedding garment, "your ball of silk is exactly the right colour.
bring it to the king, and you can ask what you like for it."
then catherine put on her best clothes and went to the court, and looked more beautiful than any woman there.
"may it please your majesty," she said," i have brought you a ball of silk of the colour you asked for, as no one else has any in the town."
"your majesty," asked one of the courtiers, "shall i give the maiden its weight in gold?"
the king agreed, and a pair of scales were brought; and a handful of gold was placed in one scale and the silken ball in the other.
but lo!
let the king lay in the scales as many gold pieces as he would, the silk was always heavier still.
then the king took some larger scales, and heaped up all his treasures on one side, but the silk on the other outweighed them all.
at last there was only one thing left that had not been put in, and that was his golden crown.
and he took it from his head and set it on top of all, and at last the scale moved and the ball had founds its balance.
"where got you this silk?"
asked the king.
"it was given me, royal majesty, by my mistress," replied catherine.
"that is not true," said the king, "and if you do not tell me the truth i will have your head cut off this instant."
so catherine told him the whole story, and how she had once been as rich as he.
now there lived at the court a wise woman, and she said to catherine, "you have suffered much, my poor girl, but at length your luck has turned, and i know by the weighing of the scales through the crown that you will die a queen."
"so she shall," cried the king, who overheard these words; "she shall die my queen, for she is more beautiful than all the ladies of the court, and i will marry no one else."
and so it fell out.
the king sent back the bride he had promised to wed to her own country, and the same catherine was queen at the marriage feast instead, and lived happy and contented to the end of her life.
how the hermit helped to win the king's daughter sicilianische mahrchen long ago there lived a very rich man who had three sons.
when he felt himself to be dying he divided his property between them, making them share alike, both in money and lands.
soon after he died the king set forth a proclamation through the whole country that whoever could build a ship that should float both on land and sea should have his daughter to wife.
the eldest brother, when he heard it, said to the other," i think i will spend some of my money in trying to build that ship, as i should like to have the king for my father-in-law."
so he called together all the shipbuilders in the land, and gave them orders to begin the ship without delay.
and trees were cut down, and great preparations made, and in a few days everybody knew what it was all for; and there was a crowd of old people pressing round the gates of the yard, where the young man spent the most of his day.
"ah, master, give us work," they said, "so that we may earn our bread."
but he only gave them hard words, and spoke roughly to them.
"you are old, and have lost your strength; of what use are you?"
and he drove them away.
then came some boys and prayed him, "master, give us work," but he answered them, "of what use can you be, weaklings as you are!
get you gone!"
and if any presented themselves that were not skilled workmen he would have none of them.
at last there knocked at the gate a little old man with a long white beard, and said, "will you give me work, so that i may earn my bread?"
but he was only driven away like the rest.
the ship took a long while to build, and cost a great deal of money, and when it was launched a sudden squall rose, and it fell to pieces, and with it all the young man's hopes of winning the princess.
by this time he had not a penny left, so he went back to his two brothers and told his tale.
and the second brother said to himself as he listened, "certainly he has managed very badly, but i should like to see if i ca n't do better, and win the princess for my own self."
so he called together all the shipbuilders throughout the country, and gave them orders to build a ship which should float on the land as well as on the sea.
but his heart was no softer than his brother's, and every man that was not a skilled workman was chased away with hard words.
last came the white-bearded man, but he fared no better than the rest.
when the ship was finished the launch took place, and everything seemed going smoothly when a gale sprang up, and the vessel was dashed to pieces on the rocks.
the young man had spent his whole fortune on it, and now it was all swallowed up, was forced to beg shelter from his youngest brother.
when he told his story the youngest said to himself," i am not rich enough to support us all three.
i had better take my turn, and if i manage to win the princess there will be her fortune as well as my own for us to live on."
so he called together all the shipbuilders in the kingdom, and gave orders that a new ship should be built.
then all the old people came and asked for work, and he answered cheerfully, "oh, yes, there is plenty for everybody;" and when the boys begged to be allowed to help he found something that they could do.
and when the old man with the long white beard stood before him, praying that he might earn his bread, he replied, "oh, father, i could not suffer you to work, but you shall be overseer, and look after the rest."
now the old man was a holy hermit, and when he saw how kind-hearted the youth was he determined to do all he could for him to gain the wish of his heart.
by-and-bye, when the ship was finished, the hermit said to his young friend, "now you can go and claim the king's daughter, for hte ship will float both by land and sea."
"oh, good father," cried the young man, "you will not forsake me?
stay with me, i pray you, and lead me to the king!"
"if you wish it, i will," said the hermit, "on condition that you will give me half of anything you get."
"oh, if that is all," answered he, "it is easily promised!"
and they set out together on the ship.
after they had gone some distance they saw a man standing in a thick fog, which he was trying to put into a sack.
"oh, good father," exclaimed the youth, "what can he be doing?"
"ask him," said the old man.
"what are you doing, my fine fellow?'"
i am putting the fog into my sack.
that is my business."
"ask him if he will come with us," whispered the hermit.
and the man answered: "if you will give me enough to eat and drink i will gladly stay with you."
so they took him on their ship, and the youth said, as they started off again, "good father, before we were two, and now we are three!"
after they had travelled a little further they met a man who had torn up half the forest, and was carrying all the trees on his shoulders.
"good father," exclaimed the youth, "only look!
what can he have done that for?"
"ask him why he has torn up all those trees."
and the man replied, "why, i've merely been gathering a handful of brushwood."
"beg him to come with us," whispered the hermit.
and the strong man answered: "willingly, as long as you give me enough to eat and drink."
and he came on the ship.
and the youth said to the hermit, "good father, before we were three, and now we are four."
the ship travelled on again, and some miles further on they saw a man drinking out of a stream till he had nearly drunk it dry.
"good father," said the youth, "just look at that man!
did you ever see anybody drink like that?"
"ask him why he does it," answered the hermit.
"why, there is nothing very odd in taking a mouthful of water!"
replied the man, standing up.
"beg him to come with us."
and the youth did so.
"with pleasure, as long as you give me enough to eat and drink."
and the youth whispered to the hermit, "good father, before we were four, and now we are five."
a little way along they noticed another man in the middle of a stream, who was shooting into the water.
"good father," said the youth, "what can he be shooting at?"
"ask him," answered the hermit.
"hush, hush!"
cried the man; "now you have frightened it away.
in the underworld sits a quail on a tree, and i wanted to shoot it.
that is my business.
i hit everything i aim at."
"ask him if he will come with us."
and the man replied, "with all my heart, as long as i get enough to eat and drink."
so they took him into the ship, and the young man whispered, "good father, before we were five, and now we are six."
off they went again, and before they had gone far they met a man striding towards them whose steps were so long that while one foot was on the north of the island the other was right down in the south.
"good father, look at him!
what long steps he takes!"
"ask him why he does it," replied the hermit.
"oh, i am only going out for a little walk," answered he.
"ask him if he will come with us."
"gladly, if you will give me as much as i want to eat and drink," said he, climbing up into the ship.
and the young man whispered, "good father, before we were six, and now we are seven."
but the hermit knew what he was about, and why he gathered these strange people into the ship.
after many days, at last they reached the town where lived the king and his daughter.
they stopped the vessel right in front of the palace, and the young man went in and bowed low before the king."
o majesty, i have done your bidding, and now is the ship built that can travel over land and sea.
give me my reward, and let me have your daughter to wife."
but the king said to himself, "what!
am i to wed my daughter to a man of whom i know nothing.
not even whether he be rich or poor -- a knight or a beggar."
and aloud he spake: it is not enough that you have managed to build the ship.
you must find a runner who shall take this letter to the ruler of the underworld, and bring me the answer back in an hour."
"that is not in the bond," answered the young man.
"well, do as you like," replied the king, "only you will not get my daughter."
the young man went out, sorely troubled, to tell his old friend what had happened.
"silly boy!"
cried the hermit, "accept his terms at once.
and send off the long-legged man with the letter.
he will take it in no time at all."
so the youth's heard leapt for joy, and he returned to the king.
"majesty, i accept your terms.
here is the messenger who will do what you wish."
the king had no choice but to give the man the letter, and he strode off, making short work of the distance that lay between the palace and the underworld.
he soon found the ruler, who looked at the letter, and said to him, "wait a little while i write the answer;" but the man was soo tired with his quick walk that he went sound asleep and forgot all about his errand.
all this time the youth was anxiously counting the minutes till he could get back, and stood with his eyes fixed on the road down which his messenger must come.
"what can be keeping him," he said to the hermit when the hour was nearly up.
then the hermit sent for the man who could hit everything he aimed at, and said to him, "just see why the messenger stays so long."
"oh, he is sound asleep in the palace of the underworld.
however, i can wake him."
then he drew his bow, and shot an arrow straight into the man's knee.
the messenger awoke with such a start, and when he saw that the hour had almost run out he snatched up the answer and rushed back with such speed that the clock had not yet struck when he entered the palace.
now the young man thought he was sure of his bride, but the king said, "still you have not done enough.
before i give you my daughter you must find a man who can drink half the contents of my cellar in one day."
"that is not in the bond," complained the poor youth.
"well, do as you like, only you will not get my daughter."
the young man went sadly out, and asked the hermit what he was to do.
"silly boy!"
said he.
"why, tell the man to do it who drinks up everything."
so they sent for the man and said, "do you think you are able to drink half the royal cellar in one day?"
"dear me, yes, and as much more as you want," answered he."
i am never satisfied."
the king was not pleased at the young man agreeing so readily, but he had no choice, and ordered the servant to be taken downstairs.
oh, how he enjoyed himself!
all day long he drank, and drank, and drank, till instead of half the cellar, he had drunk the whole, and there was not a cask but what stood empty.
and when the king saw this he said to the youth, "you have conquered, and i can no longer withhold my daughter.
but, as her dowry, i shall only give so much as one man can carry away."
"but," answered he, "let a man be ever so strong, he can not carry more than a hundredweight, and what is that for a king's daughter?"
"well, do as you like; i have said my say.
it is your affair -- not mine."
the young man was puzzled, and did not know what to reply, for, though he would gladly have married the princess without a sixpence, he had spent all his money in building the ship, and knew he could not give her all she wanted.
so he went to the hermit and said to him, "the king will only give for her dowry as much as a man can carry.
i have no money of my own left, and my brothers have none either."
"silly boy!
why, you have only got to fetch the man who carried half the forest on his shoulders."
and the youth was glad, and called the strong man, and told him what he must do.
"take everything you can, till you are bent double.
never mind if you leave the palace bare."
the strong man promised, and nobly kept his word.
he piled all he could see on his back -- chairs, tables, wardrobes, chests of gold and silver -- till there was nothing left to pile.
at last he took the king's crown, and put it on the top.
he carried his burden to the ship and stowed his treasures away, and the youth followed, leading the king's daughter.
but the king was left raging in his empty palace, and he called together his army, and got ready his ships of war, in order that he might go after the vessel and bring back what had been taken away.
and the king's ships sailed very fast, and soon caught up the little vessel, and the sailors all shouted for joy.
then the hermit looked out and saw how near they were, and he said to the youth, "do you see that?"
the youth shrieked and cried, "ah, good father, it is a fleet of ships, and they are chasing us, and in a few moments they will be upon us."
but the hermit bade him call the man who had the fog in his sack, and the sack was opened and the fog flew out, and hung right round the king's ships, so that they could see nothing.
so they sailed back to the palace, and told the king what strange things had happened.
meanwhile the young man's vessel reached home in safety.
"well, here you are once more" said the hermit; "and now you can fulfil the promise you made me to give me the half of all you had."
"that will i do with all my heart," answered the youth, and began to divide all his treasures, putting part on one side for himself and setting aside the other for his friend.
"good father, it is finished," said he at length; "there is nothing more left to divide."
"nothing more left!"
cried the hermit.
"why, you have forgotten the best thing of all!"
"what can that be?"
asked he.
"we have divided everything."
"and the king's daughter?"
said the hermit.
then the young man's heart stood still, for he loved her dearly.
but he answered, "it is well; i have sworn, and i will keep my word," and drew his sword to cut her in pieces.
when the hermit saw that he held his honour dearer than his wife he lifted his hand and cried, "hold!
she is yours, and all the treasures too.
i gave you my help because you had pity on those that were in need.
and when you are in need yourself, call upon me, and i will come to you."
as he spoke he softly touched their heads and vanished.
the next day the wedding took place, and the two brothers came to the house, and they all lived happily together, but they never forgot the holy man who had been such a good friend.
the water of life cuentos populars catalans, per lo dr. d. francisco de s. maspous y labros.
barcelona, 1885.
three brothers and one sister lived together in a small cottage, and they loved one another dearly.
one day the eldest brother, who had never done anything but amuse himself from sunrise to sunset, said to the rest, "let us all work hard, and perhaps we shall grow rich, and be able to build ourselves a palace."
and his brothers and sister answered joyfully, "yes, we will all work!"
so they fell to working with all their might, till at last they became rich, and were able to build themselves a beautiful palace; and everyone came from miles round to see its wonders, and to say how splendid it was.
no one thought of finding any faults, till at length an old woman, who had been walking through the rooms with a crowd of people, suddenly exclaimed, "yes, it is a splendid palace, but there is still something it needs!"
"and what may that be?'"
a church."
when they heard this the brothers set to work again to earn some more money, and when they had got enough they set about building a church, which should be as large and beautiful as the palace itself.
and after the church was finished greater numbers of people than ever flocked to see the palace and the church and vast gardens and magnificent halls.
but one day, as the brothers were as usual doing the honours to their guests, an old man turned to them and said, "yes, it is all most beautiful, but there is still something it needs!"
"and what may that be?'"
a pitcher of the water of life, a branch of the tree the smell of whose flowers gives eternal beauty, and the talking bird."
"and where am i to find all those?"
"go to the mountain that is far off yonder, and you will find what you seek."
after the old man had bowed politely and taken farewell of them the eldest brother said to the rest," i will go in search of the water of life, and the talking bird, and the tree of beauty."
"but suppose some evil thing befalls you?"
asked his sister.
"how shall we know?"
"you are right," he replied;" i had not thought of that!"
then they followed the old man, and said to him, "my eldest brother wishes to seek for the water of life, and the tree of beauty, and the talking bird, that you tell him are needful to make our palace perfect.
but how shall we know if any evil thing befall him?"
so the old man took them a knife, and gave it to them, saying, "keep this carefully, and as long as the blade is bright all is well; but if the blade is bloody, then know that evil has befallen him."
the brothers thanked him, and departed, and went straight to the palace, where they found the young man making ready to set out for the mountain where the treasures he longed for lay hid.
and he walked, and he walked, and he walked, till he had gone a great way, and there he met a giant.
"can you tell me how much further i have still to go before i reach that mountain yonder?"
"and why do you wish to go there?'"
i am seeking the water of life, the talking bird, and a branch of the tree of beauty."
"many have passed by seeking those treasures, but none have ever come back; and you will never come back either, unless you mark my words.
follow this path, and when you reach the mountain you will find it covered with stones.
do not stop to look at them, but keep on your way.
as you go you will hear scoffs and laughs behind you; it will be the stones that mock.
do not heed them; above all, do not turn round.
if you do you will become as one of them.
walk straight on till you get to the top, and then take all you wish for."
the young man thanked him for his counsel, and walked, and walked, and walked, till he reached the mountain.
and as he climbed he heard behind him scoffs and jeers, but he kept his ears steadily closed to them.
at last the noise grew so loud that he lost patience, and he stooped to pick up a stone to hurl into the midst of the clamour, when suddenly his arm seemed to stiffen, and the next moment he was a stone himself!
that day his sister, who thought her brother's steps were long in returning, took out the knife and found the blade was red as blood.
then she cried out to her brothers that something terrible had come to pass."
i will go and find him," said the second.
and he went.
and he walked, and he walked, and he walked, till he met the giant, and asked him if he had seen a young man travelling towards the mountain.
and the giant answered, "yes, i have seen him pass, but i have not seen him come back.
the spell must have worked upon him."
"then what can i do to disenchant him, and find the water of life, the talking bird, and a branch of the tree of beauty?"
"follow this path, and when you reach the mountain you will find it covered with stones.
do not stop to look at them, but climb steadily on.
above all, heed not the laughs and scoffs that will arise on all sides, and never turn round.
and when you reach the top you can then take all you desire."
the young man thanked him for his counsel, and set out for the mountain.
but no sooner did he reach it than loud jests and gibes broke out on every side, and almost deafened him.
for some time he let them rail, and pushed boldly on, till he had passed the place which his brother had gained; then suddenly he thought that among the scoffing sounds he heard his brother's voice.
he stopped and looked back; and another stone was added to the number.
meanwhile the sister left at home was counting the days when her two brothers should return to her.
the time seemed long, and it would be hard to say how often she took out the knife and looked at its polished blade to make sure that this one at least was still safe.
the blade was always bright and clear; each time she looked she had the happiness of knowing that all was well, till one evening, tired and anxious, as she frequently was at the end of the day, she took it from its drawer, and behold!
the blade was red with blood.
her cry of horror brought her youngest brother to her, and, unable to speak, she held out the knife!"
i will go," he said.
so he walked, and he walked, and he walked, until he met the giant, and he asked, "have two young men, making for yonder mountain, passed this way?"
and the giant answered, "yes, they have passed by, but they never came back, and by this i know that the spell has fallen upon them."
"then what must i do to free them, and to get the water of life, and the talking bird, and the branch of the tree of beauty?"
"go to the mountain, which you will find so thickly covered with stones that you will hardly be able to place your feet, and walk straight forward, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left, and paying no heed to the laughs and scoffs which will follow you, till you reach the top, and then you may take all that you desire."
the young man thanked the giant for his counsel, and set forth to the mountain.
and when he began to climb there burst forth all around him a storm of scoffs and jeers; but he thought of the giant's words, and looked neither to the right hand nor to the left, till the mountain top lay straight before him.
a moment now and he would have gained it, when, through the groans and yells, he heard his brothers" voices.
he turned, and there was one stone the more.
and all this while his sister was pacing up and down the palace, hardly letting the knife out of her hand, and dreading what she knew she would see, and what she did see.
the blade grew red before her eyes, and she said, "now it is my turn."
so she walked, and she walked, and she walked till she came to the giant, and prayed him to tell her if he had seen three young men pass that way seeking the distant mountain."
i have seen them pass, but they have never returned, and by this i know that the spell has fallen upon them."
"and what must i do to set them free, and to find the water of life, and the talking bird, and a branch of the tree of beauty?"
"you must go to that mountain, which is so full of stones that your feet will hardly find a place to tread, and as you climb you will hear a noise as if all the stones in the world were mocking you; but pay no heed to anything you may hear, and, once you gain the top, you have gained everything."
the girl thanked him for his counsel, and set out for the mountain; and scarcely had she gone a few steps upwards when cries and screams broke forth around her, and she felt as if each stone she trod on was a living thing.
but she remembered the words of the giant, and knew not what had befallen her brothers, and kept her face steadily towards the mountain top, which grew nearer and nearer every moment.
but as she mounted the clamour increased sevenfold: high above them all rang the voices of her three brothers.
but the girl took no heed, and at last her feet stood upon the top.
then she looked round, and saw, lying in a hollow, the pool of the water of life.
and she took the brazen pitcher that she had brought with her, and filled it to the brim.
by the side of the pool stood the tree of beauty, with the talking bird on one of its boughs; and she caught the bird, and placed it in a cage, and broke off one of the branches.
after that she turned, and went joyfully down the hill again, carrying her treasures, but her long climb had tired her out, and the brazen pitcher was very heavy, and as she walked a few drops of the water spilt on the stones, and as it touched them they changed into young men and maidens, crowding about her to give thanks for their deliverance.
so she learnt by this how the evil spell might be broken, and she carefully sprinkled every stone till there was not one left -- only a great company of youths and girls who followed her down the mountain.
when they arrived at the palace she did not lose a moment in planting the branch of the tree of beauty and watering it with the water of life.
and the branch shot up into a tree, and was heavy with flowers, and the talking bird nestled in its branches.
now the fame of these wonders was noised abroad, and the people flocked in great numbers to see the three marvels, and the maiden who had won them; and among the sightseers came the king's son, who would not go till everything was shown him, and till he had heard how it had all happened.
and the prince admired the strangeness and beauty of the treasures in the palace, but more than all he admired the beauty and courage of the maiden who had brought them there.
so he went home and told his parents, and gained their consent to wed her for his wife.
then the marriage was celebrated in the church adjoining the palace.
then the bridegroom took her to his own home, where they lived happy for ever after.
the wounded lion cuentos populars catalans.
there was once a girl so poor that she had nothing to live on, and wandered about the world asking for charity.
one day she arrived at a thatched cottage, and inquired if they could give her any work.
the farmer said he wanted a cowherd, as his own had left him, and if the girl liked the place she might take it.
so she became a cowherd.
one morning she was driving her cows through the meadows when she heard near by a loud groan that almost sounded human.
she hastened to the spot from which the noise came, and found it proceeded from a lion who lay stretched upon the ground.
you can guess how frightened she was!
but the lion seemed in such pain that she was sorry for him, and drew nearer and nearer till she saw he had a large thorn in one foot.
she pulled out the thorn and bound up the place, and the lion was grateful, and licked her hand by way of thanks with his big rough tongue.
when the girl had finished she went back to find the cows, but they had gone, and though she hunted everywhere she never found them; and she had to return home and confess to her master, who scolded her bitterly, and afterwards beat her.
then he said, "now you will have to look after the asses."
so every day she had to take the asses to the woods to feed, until one morning, exactly a year after she had found the lion, she heard a groan which sounded quite human.
she went straight to the place from which the noise came, and, to her great surprise, beheld the same lion stretched on the ground with a deep wound across his face.
this time she was not afraid at all, and ran towards him, washing the wound and laying soothing herbs upon it; and when she had bound it up the lion thanked her in the same manner as before.
after that she returned to her flock, but they were nowhere to be seen.
she searched here and she searched there, but they had vanished completely!
then she had to go home and confess to her master, who first scolded her and afterwards beat her.
"now go," he ended, "and look after the pigs!"
so the next day she took out the pigs, and found them such good feeding grounds that they grew fatter every day.
another year passed by, and one morning when the maiden was out with her pigs she heard a groan which sounded quite human.
she ran to see what it was, and found her old friend the lion, wounded through and through, fast dying under a tree.
she fell on her knees before him and washed his wounds one by one, and laid healing herbs upon them.
and the lion licked her hands and thanked her, and asked if she would not stay and sit by him.
but the girl said she had her pigs to watch, and she must go and see after them.
so she ran to the place where she had left them, but they had vanished as if the earth had swallowed them up.
she whistled and called, but only the birds answered her.
then she sank down on the ground and wept bitterly, not daring to return home until some hours had passed away.
and when she had had her cry out she got up and searched all up and down the wood.
but it was no use; there was not a sign of the pigs.
at last she thought that perhaps if she climbed a tree she might see further.
but no sooner was she seated on the highest branch than something happened which put the pigs quite out of her head.
this was a handsome young man who was coming down the path; and when he had almost reached the tree he pulled aside a rock and disappeared behind it.
the maiden rubbed her eyes and wondered if she had been dreaming.
next she thought," i will not stir from here till i see him come out, and discover who he is."
accordingly she waited, and at dawn the next morning the rock moved to one side and a lion came out.
when he had gone quite out of sight the girl climbed down from the tree and went to the rock, which she pushed aside, and entered the opening before her.
the path led to a beautiful house.
she went in, swept and dusted the furniture, and put everything tidy.
then she ate a very good dinner, which was on a shelf in the corner, and once more clambered up to the top of her tree.
as the sun set she saw the same young man walking gaily down the path, and, as before, he pushed aside the rock and disappeared behind it.
next morning out came the lion.
he looked sharply about him on all sides, but saw no one, and then vanished into the forest.
the maiden then came down from the tree and did exactly as she had done the day before.
thus three days went by, and every day she went and tidied up the palace.
at length, when the girl found she was no nearer to discovering the secret, she resolved to ask him, and in the evening when she caught sight of him coming through the wood she came down from the tree and begged him to tell her his name.
the young man looked very pleased to see her, and said he thought it must be she who had secretly kept his house for so many days.
and he added that he was a prince enchanted by a powerful giant, but was only allowed to take his own shape at night, for all day he was forced to appear as the lion whom she had so often helped; and, more than this, it was the giant who had stolen the oxen and the asses and the pigs in revenge for her kindness.
and the girl asked him, "what can i do to disenchant you?"
but he said he was afraid it was very difficult, because the only way was to get a lock of hair from the head of a king's daughter, to spin it, and to make from it a cloak for the giant, who lived up on the top of a high mountain.
"very well," answered the girl," i will go to the city, and knock at the door of the king's palace, and ask the princess to take me as a servant."
so they parted, and when she arrived at the city she walked about the streets crying, "who will hire me for a servant?
who will hire me for a servant?"
but, though many people liked her looks, for she was clean and neat, the maiden would listen to none, and still continued crying, "who will hire me for a servant?
who will hire me for a servant?"
at last there came the waiting-maid of the princess.
"what can you do?"
she said; and the girl was forced to confess that she could do very little.
"then you will have to do scullion's work, and wash up dishes," said she; and they went straight back to the palace.
then the maiden dressed her hair afresh, and made herself look very neat and smart, and everyone admired and praised her, till by-and-bye it came to the ears of the princess.
and she sent for the girl, and when she saw her, and how beautifully she had dressed her hair, the princess told her she was to come and comb out hers.
now the hair of the princess was very thick and long, and shone like the sun.
and the girl combed it and combed it till it was brighter than ever.
and the princess was pleased, and bade her come every day and comb her hair, till at length the girl took courage, and begged leave to cut off one of the long, thick locks.
the princess, who was very proud of her hair, did not like the idea of parting with any of it, so she said no.
but the girl could not give up hope, and each day she entreated to be allowed to cut off just one tress.
at length the princess lost patience, and exclaimed, "you may have it, then, on condition that you shall find the handsomest prince in the world to be my bridegroom!"
and the girl answered that she would, and cut off the lock, and wove it into a coat that glittered like silk, and brought it to the young man, who told her to carry it straight to the giant.
but that she must be careful to cry out a long way off what she had with her, or else he would spring upon her and run her through with his sword.
so the maiden departed and climbed up the mountain, but before she reached the top the giant heard her footsteps, and rushed out breathing fire and flame, having a sword in one hand and a club in the other.
but she cried loudly that she had brought him the coat, and then he grew quiet, and invited her to come into his house.
he tried on the coat, but it was too short, and he threw it off, and declared it was no use.
and the girl picked it up sadly, and returned quite in despair to the king's palace.
the next morning, when she was combing the princess's hair, she begged leave to cut off another lock.
at first the princess said no, but the girl begged so hard that at length she gave in on condition that she should find her a prince as bridegroom.
the maiden told her that she had already found him, and spun the lock into shining stuff, and fastened it on to the end of the coat.
and when it was finished she carried it to the giant.
this time it fitted him, and he was quite pleased, and asked her what he could give her in return.
and she said that the only reward he could give her was to take the spell off the lion and bring him back to his own shape.
for a long time the giant would not hear of it, but in the end he gave in, and told her exactly how it must all be done.
she was to kill the lion herself and cut him up very small; then she must burn him, and cast his ashes into the water, and out of the water the prince would come free from enchantment for ever.
but the maiden went away weeping, lest the giant should have deceived her, and that after she had killed the lion she would find she had also slain the prince.
weeping she came down the mountain, and weeping she joined the prince, who was awaiting her at the bottom; and when he had heard her story he comforted her, and bade her be of good courage, and to do the bidding of the giant.
and the maiden believed what the prince told her; and in the morning when he put on his lion's form she took a knife and slew him, and cut him up very small, and burnt him, and cast his ashes into the water, and out of the water came the prince, beautiful as the day, and as glad to look upon as the sun himself.
then the young man thanked the maiden for all she had done for him, and said she should be his wife and none other.
but the maiden only wept sore, and answered that that she could never be, for she had given her promise to the princess when she cut off her hair that the prince should wed her and her only.
but the prince replied, "if it is the princess, we must go quickly.
come with me."
so they went together to the king's palace.
and when the king and queen and princess saw the young man a great joy filled their hearts, for they knew him for the eldest son, who had long ago been enchanted by a giant and lost to them.
and he asked his parents" consent that he might marry the girl who had saved him, and a great feast was made, and the maiden became a princess, and in due time a queen, and she richly deserved all the honours showered upon her.
the man without a heart once upon a time there were seven brothers, who were orphans, and had no sister.
therefore they were obliged to do all their own housework.
this they did not like at all; so after much deliberation they decided to get married.
there were, unfortunately, no young girls to be found in the place where they lived; but the elder brothers agreed to go out into the world and seek for brides, promising to bring back a very pretty wife for the youngest also if he would meanwhile stay at home and take care of the house.
he consented willingly, and the six young men set off in good spirits.
on their way they came to a small cottage standing quite by itself in a wood; and before the door stood an old, old man, who accosted the brothers saying, "hullo, you young fellows!
whither away so fast and cheerily?"
"we are going to find bonny brides for ourselves, and one for our youngest brother at home," they replied.
"oh!
dear youths," said the old man," i am terribly lonely here; pray bring a bride for me also; only remember, she must be young and pretty."
"what does a shrivelled old grey thing like that want with a pretty young bride?"
thought the brothers, and went on their way.
presently they came to a town where were seven sisters, as young and as lovely as anyone could wish.
each brother chose one, and the youngest they kept for their brother at home.
then the whole party set out on the return journey, and again their path led through the wood and past the old man's cottage.
there he stood before the door, and cried: "oh!
you fine fellows, what a charming bride you have brought me!"
"she is not for you, said the young men.
"she is for our youngest brother, as we promised."
"what!"
said the old man, "promised!
i'll make you eat your promises!"
and with that he took his magic wand, and, murmuring a charm, he touched both brothers and brides, and immediately they were turned into grey stones.
only the youngest sister he had not bewitched.
he took her into the cottage, and from that time she was obliged to keep house for him.
she was not very unhappy, but one thought troubled her.
what if the old man should die and leave her here alone in the solitary cottage deep in the heart of the wood!
she would be as "terribly lonely" as he had formerly been.
one day she told him of her fear.
"do n't be anxious," he said.
"you need neither fear my death nor desire it, for i have no heart in my breast!
however, if i should die, you will find my wand above the door, and with it you can set free your sisters and their lovers.
then you will surely have company enough."
"where in all the world do you keep your heart, if not in your breast?"
asked the girl.
"do you want to know everything?"
her husband said.
"well, if you must know, my heart is in the bed-cover."
when the old man had gone out about his business his bride passed her time in embroidering beautiful flowers on the bed quilt to make his heart happy.
the old man was much amused.
he laughed, and said to her: "you are a good child, but i was only joking.
my heart is really in -- in --" "now where is it, dear husband?"
"it is in the doorway," he replied.
next day, while he was out, the girl decorated the door with gay feathers and fresh flowers, and hung garlands upon it.
and on his return the old fellow asked what it all meant."
i did it to show my love for your heart," said the girl.
and again the old man smiled, saying, "you are a dear child, but my heart is not in the doorway."
then the poor young bride was very vexed, and said, "ah, my dear!
you really have a heart somewhere, so you may die and leave me all alone."
the old man did his best to comfort her by repeating all he had said before, but she begged him afresh to tell her truly where his heart was and at last he told her.
"far, far from here," said he, "in a lonely spot, stands a great church, as old as old can be.
its doors are of iron, and round it runs a deep moat, spanned by no bridge.
within that church is a bird which flies up and down; it never eats, and never drinks, and never dies.
no one can catch it, and while that bird lives so shall i, for in it is my heart."
it made the little bride quite sad to think she could do nothing to show her love for the old man's heart.
she used to think about it as she sat all alone during the long days, for her husband was almost always out.
one day a young traveller came past the house, and seeing such a pretty girl he wished her "good day."
she returned his greeting, and as he drew near she asked him whence he came and where he was going.
"alas!"
sighed the youth," i am very sorrowful.
i had six brothers, who went away to find brides for themselves and one for me; but they have never come home, so now i am going to look for them."
"oh, good friend," said the girl, "you need go no farther.
come, sit down, eat and drink, and afterwards i'll tell you all about it."
she gave him food, and when he had finished his meal she told him how his brothers had come to the town where she lived with her sisters, how they had each chosen a bride, and, taking herself with them, had started for home.
she wept as she told how the others were turned to stone, and how she was kept as the old man's bride.
she left out nothing, even telling him the story of her husband's heart.
when the young man heard this he said: "i shall go in search of the bird.
it may be that god will help me to find and catch it."
"yes, do go," she said; "it will be a good deed, for then you can set your brothers and my sisters free."
then she hid the young man, for it was now late, and her husband would soon be home.
next morning, when the old man had gone out, she prepared a supply of provisions for her guest, and sent him off on his travels, wishing him good luck and success.
he walked on and on till he thought it must be time for breakfast; so he opened his knapsack, and was delighted to find such a store of good things.
"what a feast!"
he exclaimed; "will anyone come and share it?"
"moo-oo," sounded close behind him, and looking round he saw a great red ox, which said," i have much pleasure in accepting your kind invitation."
"i'm delighted to see you.
pray help yourself.
all i have is at your service," said the hospitable youth.
and the ox lay down comfortably, licking his lips, and made a hearty meal.
"many thanks to you," said the animal as it rose up.
"when you are in danger or necessity call me, even if only by a thought," and it disappeared among the bushes.
the young man packed up all the food that was left, and wandered on till the shortening shadows and his own hunger warned him that it was midday.
he laid the cloth on the ground and spread out his provisions, saying at the same time: "dinner is ready, and anyone who wishes to share it is welcome."
then there was a great rustling in the undergrowth, and out ran a wild boar, grunting, "umph, umph, umph; someone said dinner was ready.
was it you?
and did you mean me to come?"
"by all means.
help yourself to what i have," said the young traveller.
and the two enjoyed their meal together.
afterwards the boar got up, saying, "thank you; when in need you be you must quickly call for me," and he rolled off.
for a long time the youth walked on.
by evening he was miles away.
he felt hungry again, and, having still some provisions left, thought he had better make ready his supper.
when it was all spread out he cried as before, "anyone who cares to share my meal is welcome."
he heard a sound overhead like the flapping of wings, and a shadow was cast upon the ground.
then a huge griffin appeared, saying: "i heard someone giving an invitation to eat; is there anything for me?"
"why not?"
said the youth.
"come down and take all you want.
there wo n't be much left after this."
so the griffin alighted and ate his fill, saying, as he flew away, "call me if you need me."
"what a hurry he was in!"
the youth said to himself.
"he might have been able to direct me to the church, for i shall never find it alone."
he gathered up his things, and started to walk a little farther before resting.
he had not gone far when all of a sudden he saw the church!
he soon came to it, or rather to the wide and deep moat which surrounded it without a single bridge by which to cross.
it was too late to attempt anything now; and, besides, the poor youth was very tired, so he lay down on the ground and fell fast asleep.
next morning, when he awoke, he began to wish himself over the moat; and the thought occurred to him that if only the red ox were there, and thirsty enough to drink up all the water in the moat, he might walk across it dry shod.
scarcely had the thought crossed his brain before the ox appeared and began to drink up the water.
the grateful youth hastened across as soon as the moat was dry, but found it impossible to penetrate the thick walls and strong iron doors of the church."
i believe that big boar would be of more use here than i am," he thought, and lo!
at the wish the wild boar came and began to push hard against the wall.
he managed to loosen one stone with his tusks, and, having made a beginning, stone after stone was poked out till he had made quite a large hole, big enough to let a man go through.
the young man quickly entered the church, and saw a bird flying about, but he could not catch it.
"oh!"
he exclaimed, "if only the griffin were here, he would soon catch it."
at these words the griffin appeared, and, seizing the bird, gave it to the youth, who carried it off carefully, while the griffin flew away.
the young man hurried home as fast as possible, and reached the cottage before evening.
he told his story to the little bride, who, after giving him some food and drink, hid him with his bird beneath the bed.
presently the old man came home, and complained of feeling ill.
nothing, he said, would go well with him any more: his "heart bird" was caught.
the youth under the bed heard this, and thought, "this old fellow has done me no particular harm, but then he has bewitched my brothers and their brides, and has kept my bride for himself, and that is certainly bad enough."
so he pinched the bird, and the old man cried, "ah!
i feel death gripping me!
child, i am dying!"
with these words he fell fainting from his chair, and as the youth, before he knew what he was doing, had squeezed the bird to death, the old man died also.
out crept the young man from under the bed, and the girl took the magic wand -lrb- which she found where the old man had told her -rrb-, and, touching the twelve grey stones, transformed them at once into the six brothers and their brides.
then there was great joy, and kissing and embracing.
and there lay the old man, quite dead, and no magic wand could restore him to life, even had they wished it.
after that they all went away and were married, and lived many years happily together.
the two brothers sicilianische malirchen.
l. gonzenbach.
long ago there lived two brothers, both of them very handsome, and both so very poor that they seldom had anything to eat but the fish which they caught.
one day they had been out in their boat since sunrise without a single bite, and were just thinking of putting up their lines and going home to bed when they felt a little feeble tug, and, drawing in hastily, they found a tiny fish at the end of the hook.
"what a wretched little creature!"
cried one brother.
"however, it is better than nothing, and i will bake him with bread crumbs and have him for supper."
"oh, do not kill me yet!"
begged the fish;" i will bring you good luck -- indeed i will!"
"you silly thing!"
said the young man; "i've caught you, and i shall eat you."
but his brother was sorry for the fish, and put in a word for him.
"let the poor little fellow live.
he would hardly make one bite, and, after all, how do we know we are not throwing away our luck!
put him back into the sea.
it will be much better."
"if you will let me live," said the fish, "you will find on the sands to-morrow morning two beautiful horses splendidly saddled and bridled, and on them you can go through the world as knights seeking adventures."
"oh dear, what nonsense!"
exclaimed the elder; "and, besides, what proof have we that you are speaking the truth?"
but again the younger brother interposed: "oh, do let him live!
you know if he is lying to us we can always catch him again.
it is quite worth while trying."
at last the young man gave in, and threw the fish back into the sea; and both brothers went supperless to bed, and wondered what fortune the next day would bring.
at the first streaks of dawn they were both up, and in a very few minutes were running down to the shore.
and there, just as the fish had said, stood two magnificent horses, saddled and bridled, and on their backs lay suits of armour and under-dresses, two swords, and two purses of gold.
"there!"
said the younger brother.
"are you not thankful you did not eat that fish?
he has brought us good luck, and there is no knowing how great we may become!
now, we will each seek our own adventures.
if you will take one road i will go the other."
"very well," replied the elder; "but how shall we let each other know if we are both living?"
"do you see this fig-tree?"
said the younger.
"well, whenever we want news of each other we have only to come here and make a slit with our swords in the back.
if milk flows, it is a sign that we are well and prosperous; but if, instead of milk, there is blood, then we are either dead or in great danger."
then the two brothers put on their armour, buckled their swords, and pocketed their purees; and, after taking a tender farewell of each other, they mounted their horses and went their various ways.
the elder brother rode straight on till he reached the borders of a strange kingdom.
he crossed the frontier, and soon found himself on the banks of a river; and before him, in the middle of the stream, a beautiful girl sat chained to a rock and weeping bitterly.
for in this river dwelt a serpent with seven heads, who threatened to lay waste the whole land by breathing fire and flame from his nostrils unless the king sent him every morning a man for his breakfast.
this had gone on so long that now there were no men left, and he had been obliged to send his own daughter instead, and the poor girl was waiting till the monster got hungry and felt inclined to eat her.
when the young man saw the maiden weeping bitterly he said to her, "what is the matter, my poor girl?"
"oh!"
she answered," i am chained here till a horrible serpent with seven heads comes to eat me.
oh, sir, do not linger here, or he will eat you too.'"
i shall stay," replied the young man, "for i mean to set you free."
"that is impossible.
you do not know what a fearful monster the serpent is; you can do nothing against him."
"that is my affair, beautiful captive," answered he; "only tell me, which way will the serpent come?"
"well, if you are resolved to free me, listen to my advice.
stand a little on one side, and then, when the serpent rises to the surface, i will say to him, "o serpent, to-day you can eat two people.
but you had better begin first with the young man, for i am chained and can not run away."
when he hears this most likely he will attack you."
so the young man stood carefully on one side, and by-and-bye he heard a great rushing in the water; and a horrible monster came up to the surface and looked out for the rock where the king's daughter was chained, for it was getting late and he was hungry.
but she cried out," o serpent, to-day you can eat two people.
and you had better begin with the young man, for i am chained and can not run away."
then the serpent made a rush at the youth with wide open jaws to swallow him at one gulp, but the young man leaped aside and drew his sword, and fought till he had cut off all the seven heads.
and when the great serpent lay dead at his feet he loosed the bonds of the king's daughter, and she flung herself into his arms and said, "you have saved me from that monster, and now you shall be my husband, for my father has made a proclamation that whoever could slay the serpent should have his daughter to wife."
but he answered," i can not become your husband yet, for i have still far to travel.
but wait for me seven years and seven months.
then, if i do not return, you are free to marry whom you will.
and in case you should have forgotten, i will take these seven tongues with me so that when i bring them forth you may know that i am really he who slew the serpent."
so saying he cut out the seven tongues, and the princess gave him a thick cloth to wrap them in; and he mounted his horse and rode away.
not long after he had gone there arrived at the river a slave who had been sent by the king to learn the fate of his beloved daughter.
and when the slave saw the princess standing free and safe before him, with the body of the monster lying at her feet, a wicked plan came into his head, and he said, "unless you promise to tell your father it was i who slew the serpent, i will kill you and bury you in this place, and no one will ever know what befell."
what could the poor girl do?
this time there was no knight to come to her aid.
so she promised to do as the slave wished, and he took up the seven heads and brought the princess to her father.
oh, how enchanted the king was to see her again, and the whole town shared his joy!
and the slave was called upon to tell how he had slain the monster, and when he had ended the king declared that he should have the princess to wife.
but she flung herself at her father's feet, and prayed him to delay.
"you have passed your royal word, and can not go back from it yet grant me this grace, and let seven years and seven months go by before you wed me.
when they are over, then i will marry the slave."
and the king listened to her, and seven years and seven months she looked for her bridegroom, and wept for him night and day.
all this time the young man was riding through the world, and when the seven years and seven months were over he came back to the town where the princess lived -- only a few days before the wedding.
and he stood before the king, and said to him: "give me your daughter, o king, for i slew the seven-headed serpent.
and as a sign that my words are true, look on these seven tongues, which i cut from his seven heads, and on this embroidered cloth, which was given me by your daughter."
then the princess lifted up her voice and said, "yes, dear father, he has spoken the truth, and it is he who is my real bridegroom.
yet pardon the slave, for he was sorely tempted."
but the king answered, "such treachery can no man pardon.
quick, away with him, and off with his head!"
so the false slave was put to death, that none might follow in his footsteps, and the wedding feast was held, and the hearts of all rejoiced that the true bridegroom had come at last.
these two lived happy and contentedly for a long while, when one evening, as the young man was looking from the window, he saw on a mountain that lay out beyond the town a great bright light.
"what can it be?"
he said to his wife.
"ah!
do not look at it," she answered, "for it comes from the house of a wicked witch whom no man can manage to kill."
but the princess had better have kept silence, for her words made her husband's heart burn within him, and he longed to try his strength against the witch's cunning.
and all day long the feeling grew stronger, till the next morning he mounted his horse, and in spite of his wife's tears, he rode off to the mountain.
the distance was greater than he thought, and it was dark before he reached the foot of the mountain; indeed, he could not have found the road at all had it not been for the bright light, which shone like the moon on his path.
at length he came to the door of a fine castle, which had a blaze streaming from every window.
he mounted a flight of steps and entered a hall where a hideous old woman was sitting on a golden chair.
she scowled at the young man and said, "with a single one of the hairs of my head i can turn you into stone."
"oh, what nonsense!"
cried he.
"be quiet, old woman.
what could you do with one hair?"
but the witch pulled out a hair and laid it on his shoulder, and his limbs grew cold and heavy, and he could not stir.
now at this very moment the younger brother was thinking of him, and wondering how he had got on during all the years since they had parted."
i will go to the fig-tree," he said to himself, "to see whether he is alive or dead."
so he rode through the forest till he came where the fig-tree stood, and cut a slit in the bark, and waited.
in a moment a little gurgling noise was heard, and out came a stream of blood, running fast.
"ah, woe is me!"
he cried bitterly.
"my brother is dead or dying!
shall i ever reach him in time to save his life?"
then, leaping on his horse, he shouted, "now, my steed, fly like the wind!"
and they rode right through the world, till one day they came to the town where the young man and his wife lived.
here the princess had been sitting every day since the morning that her husband had left her, weeping bitter tears, and listening for his footsteps.
and when she saw his brother ride under the balcony she mistook him for her own husband, for they were so alike that no man might tell the difference, and her heart bounded, and, leaning down, she called to him, "at last!
at last!
how long have i waited for thee!"
when the younger brother heard these words he said to himself, "so it was here that my brother lived, and this beautiful woman is my sister-in-law," but he kept silence, and let her believe he was indeed her husband.
full of joy, the princess led him to the old king, who welcomed him as his own son, and ordered a feast to be made for him.
and the princess was beside herself with gladness, but when she would have put her arms round him and kissed him he held up his hand to stop her, saying, "touch me not," at which she marvelled greatly.
in this manner several days went by.
and one evening, as the young man leaned from the balcony, he saw a bright light shining on the mountain.
"what can that be?"
he said to the princess.
"oh, come away," she cried; "has not that light already proved your bane?
do you wish to fight a second time with that old witch?"
he marked her words, though she knew it not, and they taught him where his brother was, and what had befallen him.
so before sunrise he stole out early, saddled his horse, and rode off to the mountain.
but the way was further than he thought, and on the road he met a little old man who asked him whither he was going.
then the young man told him his story, and added.
"somehow or other i must free my brother, who has fallen into the power of an old witch.'"
i will tell you what you must do," said the old man.
"the witch's power lies in her hair; so when you see her spring on her and seize her by the hair, and then she can not harm you.
be very careful never to let her hair go, bid her lead you to your brother, and force her to bring him back to life.
for she has an ointment that will heal all wounds, and even wake the dead.
and when your brother stands safe and well before you, then cut off her head, for she is a wicked woman."
the young man was grateful for these words, and promised to obey them.
then he rode on, and soon reached the castle.
he walked boldly up the steps and entered the hall, where the hideous old witch came to meet him.
she grinned horribly at him, and cried out, "with one hair of my head i can change you into stone."
"can you, indeed?"
said the young man, seizing her by the hair.
"you old wretch!
tell me what you have done with my brother, or i will cut your head off this very instant."
now the witch's strength was all gone from her, and she had to obey."
i will take you to your brother," she said, hoping to get the better of him by cunning, "but leave me alone.
you hold me so tight that i can not walk."
"you must manage somehow," he answered, and held her tighter than ever.
she led him into a large hall filled with stone statues, which once had been men, and, pointing out one, she said, "there is your brother."
the young man looked at them all and shook his head.
"my brother is not here.
take me to him, or it will be the worse for you."
but she tried to put him off with other statues, though it was no good, and it was not until they had reached the last hall of all that he saw his brother lying on the ground.
"that is my brother," said he.
"now give me the ointment that will restore him to life."
very unwillingly the old witch opened a cupboard close by filled with bottles and jars, and took down one and held it out to the young man.
but he was on the watch for trickery, and examined it carefully, and saw that it had no power to heal.
this happened many times, till at length she found it was no use, and gave him the one he wanted.
and when he had it safe he made her stoop down and smear it over his brother's face, taking care all the while never to loose her hair, and when the dead man opened his eyes the youth drew his sword and cut off her head with a single blow.
then the elder brother got up and stretched himself, and said, "oh, how long i have slept!
and where am i?"
"the old witch had enchanted you, but now she is dead and you are free.
we will wake up the other knights that she laid under her spells, and then we will go."
this they did, and, after sharing amongst them the jewels and gold they found in the castle, each man went his way.
the two brothers remained together, the elder tightly grasping the ointment which had brought him back to life.
they had much to tell each other as they rode along, and at last the younger man exclaimed," o fool, to leave such a beautiful wife to go and fight a witch!
she took me for her husband, and i did not say her nay."
when the elder brother heard this a great rage filled his heart, and, without saying one word, he drew his sword and slew his brother, and his body rolled in the dust.
then he rode on till he reached his home, where his wife was still sitting, weeping bitterly.
when she saw him she sprang up with a cry, and threw herself into his arms.
"oh, how long have i waited for thee!
never, never must you leave me any more!"
when the old king heard the news he welcomed him as a son, and made ready a feast, and all the court sat down.
and in the evening, when the young man was alone with his wife, she said to him, "why would you not let me touch you when you came back, but always thrust me away when i tried to put my arms round you or kiss you?"
then the young man understood how true his brother had been to him, and he sat down and wept and wrung his hands because of the wicked murder that he had done.
suddenly he sprang to his feet, for he remembered the ointment which lay hidden in his garments, and he rushed to the place where his brother still lay.
he fell on his knees beside the body, and, taking out the salve, he rubbed it over the neck where the wound was gaping wide, and the skin healed and the sinews grew strong, and the dead man sat up and looked round him.
and the two brothers embraced each other, and the elder asked forgiveness for his wicked blow; and they went back to the palace together, and were never parted any more.
master and pupil from the danish.
there was once a man who had a son who was very clever at reading, and took great delight in it.
he went out into the world to seek service somewhere, and as he was walking between some mounds he met a man, who asked him where he was going."
i am going about seeking for service," said the boy.
"will you serve me?"
asked the man.
"oh, yes; just as readily you as anyone else," said the boy.
"but can you read?"
asked the man.
"as well as the priest," said the boy.
then i ca n't have you," said the man.
"in fact, i was just wanting a boy who could n't read.
his only work would be to dust my old books."
the man then went on his way, and left the boy looking after him.
"it was a pity i did n't get that place," thought he "that was just the very thing for me."
making up his mind to get the situation if possible, he hid himself behind one of the mounds, and turned his jacket outside in, so that the man would not know him again so easily.
then he ran along behind the mounds, and met the man at the other end of them.
"where are you going, my little boy?"
said the man, who did not notice that it was the same one he had met before."
i am going about seeking for service?"
said the boy.
"will you serve me?"
asked the man.
"oh, yes; just as readily you as anyone else," said the boy.
"but can you read?"
said the man.
"no, i do n't know a single letter," said the boy.
the man then took him into his service, and all the work he had to do was to dust his master's books.
but as he did this he had plenty of time to read them as well, and he read away at them until at last he was just as wise as his master -- who was a great wizard -- and could perform all kinds of magic.
among other feats, he could change himself into the shape of any animal, or any other thing that he pleased.
when he had learned all this he did not think it worth while staying there any longer, so he ran away home to his parents again.
soon after this there was a market in the next village, and the boy told his mother that he had learned how to change himself into the shape of any animal he chose.
"now," said he," i shall change myself to a horse, and father can take me to market and sell me.
i shall come home again all right."
his mother was frightened at the idea, but the boy told her that she need not be alarmed; all would be well.
so he changed himself to a horse, such a fine horse, too, that his father got a high price for it at the market; but after the bargain was made, and the money paid, the boy changed again to his own shape, when no one was looking, and went home.
the story spread all over the country about the fine horse that had been sold and then had disappeared, and at last the news came to the ears of the wizard.
"aha!"
said he, "this is that boy of mine, who befooled me and ran away; but i shall have him yet."
the next time that there was a market the boy again changed himself to a horse, and was taken thither by his father.
the horse soon found a purchaser, and while the two were inside drinking the luck-penny the wizard came along and saw the horse.
he knew at once that it was not an ordinary one, so he also went inside, and offered the purchaser far more than he had paid for it, so the latter sold it to him.
the first thing the wizard now did was to lead the horse away to a smith to get a red-hot nail driven into its mouth, because after that it could not change its shape again.
when the horse saw this it changed itself to a dove, and flew up into the air.
the wizard at once changed himself into a hawk, and flew up after it.
the dove now turned into a gold ring, and fell into a girl's lap.
the hawk now turned into a man, and offered the girl a great sum of money for the gold ring, but she would not part with it, seeing that it had fallen down to her, as it were, from heaven.
however, the wizard kept on offering her more and more for it, until at last the gold ring grew frightened, and changed itself into a grain of barley, which fell on the ground.
the man then turned into a hen, and began to search for the grain of barley, but this again changed itself to a pole-cat, and took off the hen's head with a single snap.
the wizard was now dead, the pole-cat put on human shape, and the youth afterwards married the girl, and from that time forward let all his magic arts alone.
the golden lion sicilianische mahrchen.
l. gonzenbach.
there was once a rich merchant who had three sons, and when they were grown up the eldest said to him, "father, i wish to travel and see the world.
i pray you let me."
so the father ordered a beautiful ship to be fitted up, and the young man sailed away in it.
after some weeks the vessel cast anchor before a large town, and the merchant's son went on shore.
the first thing he saw was a large notice written on a board saying that if any man could find the king's daughter within eight days he should have her to wife, but that if he tried and failed his head must be the forfeit.
"well," thought the youth as he read this proclamation, "that ought not to be a very difficult matter;" and he asked an audience of the king, and told him that he wished to seek for the princess.
"certainly," replied the king.
"you have the whole palace to search in; but remember, if you fail it will cost you your head."
so saying, he commanded the doors to be thrown open, and food and drink to be set before the young man, who, after he had eaten, began to look for the princess.
but though he visited every corner and chest and cupboard, she was not in any of them, and after eight days he gave it up and his head was cut off.
all this time his father and brothers had had no news of him, and were very anxious.
at last the second son could bear it no longer, and said, "dear father, give me, i pray you, a large ship and some money, and let me go and seek for my brother."
so another ship was fitted out, and the young man sailed away, and was blown by the wind into the same harbour where his brother had landed.
now when he saw the first ship lying at anchor his heart beat high, and he said to himself, "my brother can not surely be far off," and he ordered a boat and was put on shore.
as he jumped on to the pier his eye caught the notice about the princess, and he thought, "he has undertaken to find her, and has certainly lost his head.
i must try myself, and seek him as well as her.
it can not be such a very difficult matter."
but he fared no better than his brother, and in eight days his head was cut off.
so now there was only the youngest at home, and when the other two never came he also begged for a ship that he might go in search of his lost brothers.
and when the vessel started a high wind arose, and blew him straight to the harbour where the notice was set.
"oho!"
said he, as he read, "whoever can find the king's daughter shall have her to wife.
it is quite clear now what has befallen my brothers.
but in spite of that i think i must try my luck," and he took the road to the castle.
on the way he met an old woman, who stopped and begged.
"leave me in peace, old woman," replied he.
"oh, do not send me away empty," she said.
"you are such a handsome young man you will surely not refuse an old woman a few pence.'"
i tell you, old woman, leave me alone."
"you are in some trouble?"
she asked.
"tell me what it is, and perhaps i can help you."
then he told her how he had set his heart on finding the king's daughter."
i can easily manage that for you as long as you have enough money."
"oh, as to that, i have plenty," answered he.
"well, you must take it to a goldsmith and get him to make it into a golden lion, with eyes of crystal; and inside it must have something that will enable it to play tunes.
when it is ready bring it to me."
the young man did as he was bid, and when the lion was made the old woman hid the youth in it, and brought it to the king, who was so delighted with it that he wanted to buy it.
but she replied, "it does not belong to me, and my master will not part from it at any price."
"at any rate, leave it with me for a few days," said he;" i should like to show it to my daughter."
"yes, i can do that," answered the old woman; "but to-morrow i must have it back again.
and she went away.
the king watched her till she was quite out of sight, so as to make sure that she was not spying upon him; then he took the golden lion into his room and lifted some loose boards from the floor.
below the floor there was a staircase, which he went down till he reached a door at the foot.
this he unlocked, and found himself in a narrow passage closed by another door, which he also opened.
the young man, hidden in the golden lion, kept count of everything, and marked that there were in all seven doors.
after they had all been unlocked the king entered a lovely hall, where the princess was amusing herself with eleven friends.
all twelve girls wore the same clothes, and were as like each other as two peas.
"what bad luck!"
thought the youth.
"even supposing that i managed to find my way here again, i do n't see how i could ever tell which was the princess."
and he stared hard at the princess as she clapped her hands with joy and ran up to them, crying," oh, do let us keep that delicious beast for to-night; it will make such a nice plaything."
the king did not stay long, and when he left he handed over the lion to the maidens, who amused themselves with it for some time, till they got sleepy, and thought it was time to go to bed.
but the princess took the lion into her own room and laid it on the floor.
she was just beginning to doze when she heard a voice quite close to her, which made her jump."
o lovely princess, if you only knew what i have gone through to find you!"
the princess jumped out of bed screaming, "the lion!
the lion!"
but her friends thought it was a nightmare, and did not trouble themselves to get up."
o lovely úprincess!"
continued the voice, "fear nothing!
i am the son of a rich merchant, and desire above all things to have you for my wife.
and in order to get to you i have hidden myself in this golden lion."
"what use is that?"
she asked.
"for if you can not pick me out from among my companions you will still lose your head.'"
i look to you to help me," he said."
i have done so much for you that you might do this one thing for me."
"then listen to me.
on the eighth day i will tie a white sash round my waist, and by that you will know me."
the next morning the king came very early to fetch the lion, as the old woman was already at the palace asking for it.
when they were safe from view she let the young man out, and he returned to the king and told him that he wished to find the princess.
"very good," said the king, who by this time was almost tired of repeating the same words; "but if you fail your head will be the forfeit."
so the youth remained quietly in the castle, eating and looking at all the beautiful things around him, and every now and then pretending to be searching busily in all the closets and corners.
on the eighth day he entered the room where the king was sitting.
"take up the floor in this place," he said.
the king gave a cry, but stopped himself, and asked, "what do you want the floor up for?
there is nothing there."
but as all his courtiers were watching him he did not like to make any more objections, and ordered the floor to be taken up, as the young man desired.
the youth then want straight down the staircase till he reached the door; then he turned and demanded that the key should be brought.
so the king was forced to unlock the door, and the next and the next and the next, till all seven were open, and they entered into the hall where the twelve maidens were standing all in a row, so like that none might tell them apart.
but as he looked one of them silently drew a white sash from her pocket and slipped it round her waist, and the young man sprang to her and said, "this is the princess, and i claim her for my wife."
and the king owned himself beaten, and commanded that the wedding feast should be held.
after eight days the bridal pair said farewell to the king, and set sail for the youth's own country, taking with them a whole shipload of treasures as the princess's dowry.
but they did not forget the old woman who had brought about all their happiness, and they gave her enough money to make her comfortable to the end of her days.
the sprig of rosemary cuentos populars catalans, per lo dr. d. francisco de s. maspons y labros -lrb- barcelona: libreria de don alvar verdaguer 1885 -rrb-.
once upon a time there lived a man with one daughter and he made her work hard all the day.
one morning when she had finished everything he had set her to do, he told her to go out into the woods and get some dry leaves and sticks to kindle a fire.
the girl went out, and soon collected a large bundle, and then she plucked at a sprig of sweet-smelling rosemary for herself.
but the harder she pulled the firmer seemed the plant, and at last, determined not to be beaten, she gave one great tug, and the rosemary remained in her hands.
then she heard a voice close to her saying, "well?"
and turning she saw before her a handsome young man, who asked why she had come to steal his firewood.
the girl, who felt much confused, only managed to stammer out as an excuse that her father had sent her.
"very well," replied the young man; "then come with me."
so he took her through the opening made by the torn-up root, and they travelled till they reached a beautiful palace, splendidly furnished, but only lighted from the top.
and when they had entered he told her that he was a great lord, and that never had he seen a maiden so beautiful as she, and that if she would give him her heart they would be married and live happy for ever after.
and the maiden said "yes, she would," and so they were married.
the next day the old dame who looked after the house handed her all the keys, but pointed her out one that she would do well never to use, for if she did the whole palace would fall to the ground, and the grass would grow over it, and the damsel herself would be remembered no more.
the bride promised to be careful, but in a little while, when there was nothing left for her to do, she began to wonder what could be in the chest, which was opened by the key.
as everybody knows, if we once begin to think we soon begin to do, and it was not very long before the key was no longer in the maiden's hand but in the lock of the chest.
but the lock was stiff and resisted all her efforts, and in the end she had to break it.
and what was inside after all?
why, nothing but a serpent's skin, which her husband, who was, unknown to her, a magician, put on when he was at work; and at the sight of it the girl was turning away in disgust, when the earth shook violently under her feet, the palace vanished as if it had never been, and the bride found herself in the middle of a field, not knowing where she was or whither to go.
she burst into a flood of bitter tears, partly at her own folly, but more for the loss of her husband, whom she dearly loved.
then, breaking a sprig of rosemary off a bush hard by, she resolved, cost what it might, to seek him through the world till she found him.
so she walked and she walked and she walked, till she arrived at a house built of straw.
and she knocked at the door, and asked if they wanted a servant.
the mistress said she did, and if the girl was willing she might stay.
but day by day the poor maiden grew more and more sad, till at last her mistress begged her to say what was the matter.
then she told her story -- how she was going through the world seeking after her husband.
and her mistress answered her, "where he is, none can tell better than the sun, the moon, and the wind, for they go everywhere!"
on hearing these words the damsel set forth once more, and walked till she reached the golden castle, where lived the sun.
and she knocked boldly at the door, saying, "all hail, o sun!
i have come to ask if, of your charity, you will help me in my need.
by my own fault have i fallen into these straits, and i am weary, for i seek my husband through the wide world."
"indeed!"
spoke the sun.
"do you, rich as you are, need help?
but though you live in a palace without windows, the sun enters everywhere, and he knows you."
then the bride told him the whole story.
and did not hide her own ill-doing.
and the sun listened, and was sorry for her; and though he could not tell her where to go, he gave her a nut, and bid her open it in a time of great distress.
the damsel thanked him with all her heart, and departed, and walked and walked and walked, till she came to another castle, and knocked at the door which was opened by an old woman.
"all hail!"
said the girl."
i have come, of your charity, to ask your help!"
"it is my mistress, the moon, you seek.
i will tell her of your prayer."
so the moon came out, and when she saw the maiden she knew her again, for she had watched her sleeping both in the cottage and in the palace.
and she spake to her and said: "do you, rich as you are, need help?"
then the girl told her the whole story, and the moon listened, and was sorry for her; and though she could not tell her where to find her husband, she gave her an almond, and told her to crack it when she was in great need.
so the damsel thanked her, and departed, and walked and walked and walked till she came to another castle.
and she knocked at the door, and said: "all hail!
i have come to ask if, of your charity, you will help me in my need."
"it is my lord, the wind, that you want," answered the old woman who opened it."
i will tell him of your prayer."
and the wind looked on her and knew her again, for he had seen her in the cottage and in the palace, and he spake to her and said: "do you, rich as you are, want help?"
and she told him the whole story.
and the wind listened, and was sorry for her, and he gave her a walnut that she was to eat in time of need.
but the girl did not go as the wind expected.
she was tired and sad, and knew not where to turn, so she began to weep bitterly.
the wind wept too for company, and said: "do n't be frightened; i will go and see if i can find out something."
and the wind departed with a great noise and fuss, and in the twinkling of an eye he was back again, beaming with delight.
"from what one person and another have let fall," he exclaimed," i have contrived to learn that he is in the palace of the king, who keeps him hidden lest anyone should see him; and that to-morrow he is to marry the princess, who, ugly creature that she is, has not been able to find any man to wed her."
who can tell the despair which seized the poor maiden when she heard this news!
as soon as she could speak she implored the wind to do all he could to get the wedding put off for two or three days, for it would take her all that time to reach the palace of the king.
the wind gladly promised to do what he could, and as he travelled much faster than the maiden he soon arrived at the palace, where he found five tailors working night and day at the wedding clothes of the princess.
down came the wind right in the middle of their lace and satin and trimmings of pearl!
away they all went whiz!
through the open windows, right up into the tops of the trees, across the river, among the dancing ears of corn!
after them ran the tailors, catching, jumping, climbing, but all to no purpose!
the lace was torn, the satin stained, the pearls knocked off!
there was nothing for it but to go to the shops to buy fresh, and to begin all over again!
it was plainly quite impossible that the wedding clothes could be ready next day.
however, the king was much too anxious to see his daughter married to listen to any excuses, and he declared that a dress must be put together somehow for the bride to wear.
but when he went to look at the princess, she was such a figure that he agreed that it would be unfitting for her position to be seen in such a gown, and he ordered the ceremony and the banquet to be postponed for a few hours, so that the tailors might take the dress to pieces and make it fit.
but by this time the maiden had arrived footsore and weary at the castle, and as soon as she reached the door she cracked her nut and drew out of it the most beautiful mantle in the world.
then she rang the bell, and asked: "is not the princess to be married to-day?"
"yes, she is."
"ask her if she would like to buy this mantle."
and when the princess saw the mantle she was delighted, for her wedding mantle had been spoilt with all the other things, and it was too late to make another.
so she told the maiden to ask what price she would, and it should be given her.
the maiden fixed a large sum, many pieces of gold, but the princess had set her heart on the mantle, and gave it readily.
now the maiden hid her gold in the pocket of her dress, and turned away from the castle.
the moment she was out of sight she broke her almond, and drew from it the most magnificent petticoats that ever were seen.
then she went back to the castle, and asked if the princess wished to buy any petticoats.
no sooner did the princess cast her eyes on the petticoats than she declared they were even more beautiful than the mantle, and that she would give the maiden whatever price she wanted for them.
and the maiden named many pieces of gold, which the princess paid her gladly, so pleased was she with her new possessions.
then the girl went down the steps where none could watch her and cracked her walnut, and out came the most splendid court dress that any dressmaker had ever invented; and, carrying it carefully in her arms, she knocked at the door, and asked if the princess wished to buy a court dress.
when the message was delivered the princess sprang to her feet with delight, for she had been thinking that after all it was not much use to have a lovely mantle and elegant petticoats if she had no dress, and she knew the tailors would never be ready in time.
so she sent at once to say she would buy the dress, and what sum did the maiden want for it.
this time the maiden answered that the price of the dress was the permission to see the bridegroom.
the princess was not at all pleased when she heard the maiden's reply, but, as she could not do without the dress, she was forced to give in, and contented herself with thinking that after all it did not matter much.
so the maiden was led to the rooms which had been given to her husband.
and when she came near she touched him with the sprig of rosemary that she carried; and his memory came back, and he knew her, and kissed her, and declared that she was his true wife, and that he loved her and no other.
then they went back to the maiden's home, and grew to be very old, and lived happy all the days of their life.
the white dove from the danish.
a king had two sons.
they were a pair of reckless fellows, who always had something foolish to do.
one day they rowed out alone on the sea in a little boat.
it was beautiful weather when they set out, but as soon as they had got some distance from the shore there arose a terrific storm.
the oars went overboard at once, and the little boat was tossed about on the rolling billows like a nut-shell.
the princes had to hold fast by the seats to keep from being thrown out of the boat.
in the midst of all this they met a wonderful vessel -- it was a dough-trough, in which there sat an old woman.
she called to them, and said that they could still get to shore alive if they would promise her the son that was next to come to their mother the queen.
"we ca n't do that," shouted the princes; "he does n't belong to us so we ca n't give him away."
"then you can rot at the bottom of the sea, both of you," said the old woman; "and perhaps it may be the case that your mother would rather keep the two sons she has than the one she has n't got yet."
then she rowed away in her dough-trough, while the storm howled still louder than before, and the water dashed over their boat until it was almost sinking.
then the princes thought that there was something in what the old woman had said about their mother, and being, of course, eager to save their lives, they shouted to her, and promised that she should have their brother if she would deliver them from this danger.
as soon as they had done so the storm ceased and the waves fell.
the boat drove ashore below their father's castle, and both princes were received with open arms by their father and mother, who had suffered great anxiety for them.
the two brothers said nothing about what they had promised, neither at that time nor later on when the queen's third son came, a beautiful boy, whom she loved more than anything else in the world.
he was brought up and educated in his father's house until he was full grown, and still his brothers had never seen or heard anything about the witch to whom they had promised him before he was born.
it happened one evening that there arose a raging storm, with mist and darkness.
it howled and roared around the king's palace, and in the midst of it there came a loud knock on the door of the hall where the youngest prince was.
he went to the door and found there an old woman with a dough - trough on her back, who said to him that he must go with her at once; his brothers had promised him to her if she would save their lives.
"yes," said he; "if you saved my brothers" lives, and they promised me to you, then i will go with you."
they therefore went down to the beach together, where he had to take his seat in the trough, along with the witch, who sailed away with him, over the sea, home to her dwelling.
the prince was now in the witch's power, and in her service.
the first thing she set him to was to pick feathers.
"the heap of feathers that you see here," said she, "you must get finished before i come home in the evening, otherwise you shall be set to harder work."
he started to the feathers, and picked and picked until there was only a single feather left that had not passed through his hands.
but then there came a whirlwind and sent all the feathers flying, and swept them along the floor into a heap, where they lay as if they were trampled together.
he had now to begin all his work over again, but by this time it only wanted an hour of evening, when the witch was to be expected home, and he easily saw that it was impossible for him to be finished by that time.
then he heard something tapping at the window pane, and a thin voice said, "let me in, and i will help you."
it was a white dove, which sat outside the window, and was pecking at it with its beak.
he opened the window, and the dove came in and set to work at once, and picked all the feathers out of the heap with its beak.
before the hour was past the feathers were all nicely arranged: the dove flew out at the window, and at, the same moment the witch came in at the door.
"well, well," said she, "it was more than i would have expected of you to get all the feathers put in order so nicely.
however, such a prince might be expected to have neat fingers."
next morning the witch said to the prince, "to-day you shall have some easy work to do.
outside the door i have some firewood lying; you must split that for me into little bits that i can kindle the fire with.
that will soon be done, but you must be finished before i come home."
the prince got a little axe and set to work at once.
he split and clove away, and thought that he was getting on fast; but the day wore on until it was long past midday, and he was still very far from having finished.
he thought, in fact, that the pile of wood rather grew bigger than smaller, in spite of what he took off it; so he let his hands fall by his side, and dried the sweat from his forehead, and was ill at ease, for he knew that it would be bad for him if he was not finished with the work before the witch came home.
then the white dove came flying and settled down on the pile of wood, and cooed and said, "shall i help you?"
"yes," said the prince, "many thanks for your help yesterday, and for what you offer to-day."
thereupon the little dove seized one piece of wood after another and split it with its beak.
the prince could not take away the wood as quickly as the dove could split it, and in a short time it was all cleft into little sticks.
the dove then flew up on his shoulder and sat there and the prince thanked it, and stroked and caressed its white feathers, and kissed its little red beak.
with that it was a dove no longer, but a beautiful young maiden, who stood by his side.
she told him then that she was a princess whom the witch had stolen, and had changed to this shape, but with his kiss she had got her human form again; and if he would be faithful to her, and take her to wife, she could free them both from the witch's power.
the prince was quite captivated by the beautiful princess, and was quite willing to do anything whatsoever to get her for himself.
she then said to him, "when the witch comes home you must ask her to grant you a wish, when you have accomplished so well all that she has demanded of you.
when she agrees to this you must ask her straight out for the princess that she has flying about as a white dove.
but just now you must take a red silk thread and tie it round my little finger, so that you may be able to recognise me again, into whatever shape she turns me."
the prince made haste to get the silk thread tied round her little white finger; at the same moment the princess became a dove again and flew away, and immediately after that the old witch came home with her dough-trough on he back.
"well," said she," i must say that you are clever at your work, and it is something, too, that such princely hands are not accustomed to."
"since you are so well pleased with my work, said the prince, "you will, no doubt, be willing to give me a little pleasure too, and give me something that i have taken a fancy to."
"oh yes, indeed," said the old woman; "what is it that you want?'"
i want the princess here who is in the shape of a white dove," said the prince.
"what nonsense!"
said the witch.
"why should you imagine that there are princesses here flying about in the shape of white doves?
but if you will have a princess, you can get one such as we have them."
she then came to him, dragging a shaggy little grey ass with long ears.
"will you have this?"
said she; "you ca n't get any other princess!"
the prince used his eyes and saw the red silk thread on one of the ass's hoofs, so he said, "yes, just let me have it."
"what will you do with it?"
asked the witch."
i will ride on it," said the prince; but with that the witch dragged it away again, and came back with an old, wrinkled, toothless hag, whose hands trembled with age.
"you can have no other princess," said she.
"will you have her?"
"yes, i will," said the prince, for he saw the red silk thread on the old woman's finger.
at this the witch became so furious that she danced about and knocked everything to pieces that she could lay her hands upon, so that the splinters flew about the ears of the prince and princess, who now stood there in her own beautiful shape.
then their marriage had to be celebrated, for the witch had to stick to what she had promised, and he must get the princess whatever might happen afterwards.
the princess now said to him, "at the marriage feast you may eat what you please, but you must not drink anything whatever, for if you do that you will forget me."
this, however, the prince forgot on the wedding day, and stretched out his hand and took a cup of wine; but the princess was keeping watch over him, and gave him a push with her elbow, so that the wine flew over the table - cloth.
then the witch got up and laid about her among the plates and dishes, so that the pieces flew about their ears, just as she had done when she was cheated the first time.
they were then taken to the bridal chamber, and the door was shut.
then the princess said, "now the witch has kept her promise, but she will do no more if she can help it, so we must fly immediately.
i shall lay two pieces of wood in the bed to answer for us when the witch speaks to us.
you can take the flower-pot and the glass of water that stands in the window, and we must slip out by that and get away."
no sooner said than done.
they hurried off out into the dark night, the princess leading, because she knew the way, having spied it out while she flew about as a dove.
at midnight the witch came to the door of the room and called in to them, and the two pieces of wood answered her, so that she believed they were there, and went away again.
before daybreak she was at the door again and called to them, and again the pieces of wood answered for them.
she thus thought that she had them, and when the sun rose the bridal night was past: she had then kept her promise, and could vent her anger and revenge on both of them.
with the first sunbeam she broke into the room, but there she found no prince and no princess -- nothing but the two pieces of firewood, which lay in the bed, and stared, and spoke not a word.
these she threw on the floor, so that they were splintered into a thousand pieces, and off she hastened after the fugitives.
with the first sunbeam the princess said to the prince, "look round; do you see anything behind us?"
"yes, i see a dark cloud, far away," said he.
"then throw the flower-pot over your head," said she.
when this was done there was a large thick forest behind them.
when the witch came to the forest she could not get through it until she went home and brought her axe to cut a path.
a little after this the princess said again to the prince, "look round; do you see anything behind us?"
"yes," said the prince, "the big black cloud is there again."
"then throw the glass of water over your head," said she.
when he had done this there was a great lake behind them, and this the witch could not cross until she ran home again and brought her dough-trough.
meanwhile the fugitives had reached the castle which was the prince's home.
they climbed over the garden wall, ran across the garden, and crept in at an open window.
by this time the witch was just at their heels, but the princess stood in the window and blew upon the witch; hundreds of white doves flew out of her mouth, fluttered and flapped around the witch's head until she grew so angry that she turned into flint, and there she stands to this day, in the shape of a large flint stone, outside the window.
within the castle there was great rejoicing over the prince and his bride.
his two elder brothers came and knelt before him and confessed what they had done, and said that he alone should inherit the kingdom, and they would always be his faithful subjects.
the troll's daughter from the danish.
there was once a lad who went to look for a place.
as he went along he met a man, who asked him where he was going.
he told him his errand, and the stranger said, "then you can serve me; i am just in want of a lad like you, and i will give you good wages -- a bushel of money the first year, two the second year, and three the third year, for you must serve me three years, and obey me in everything, however strange it seems to you.
you need not be afraid of taking service with me, for there is no danger in it if you only know how to obey."
the bargain was made, and the lad went home with the man to whom he had engaged himself.
it was a strange place indeed, for he lived in a bank in the middle of the wild forest, and the lad saw there no other person than his master.
the latter was a great troll, and had marvellous power over both men and beasts.
next day the lad had to begin his service.
the first thing that the troll set him to was to feed all the wild animals from the forest.
these the troll had tied up, and there were both wolves and bears, deer and hares, which the troll had gathered in the stalls and folds in his stable down beneath the ground, and that stable was a mile long.
the boy, however, accomplished all this work on that day, and the troll praised him and said that it was very well done.
next morning the troll said to him, "to-day the animals are not to be fed; they do n't get the like of that every day.
you shall have leave to play about for a little, until they are to be fed again."
then the troll said some words to him which he did not understand, and with that the lad turned into a hare, and ran out into the wood.
he got plenty to run for, too, for all the hunters aimed at him, and tried to shoot him, and the dogs barked and ran after him wherever they got wind of him.
he was the only animal that was left in the wood now, for the troll had tied up all the others, and every hunter in the whole country was eager to knock him over.
but in this they met with no success; there was no dog that could overtake him, and no marksman that could hit him.
they shot and shot at him, and he ran and ran.
it was an unquiet life, but in the long run he got used to it, when he saw that there was no danger in it, and it even amused him to befool all the hunters and dogs that were so eager after him.
thus a whole year passed, and when it was over the troll called him home, for he was now in his power like all the other animals.
the troll then said some words to him which he did not understand, and the hare immediately became a human being again.
"well, how do you like to serve me?"
said the troll, "and how do you like being a hare?"
the lad replied that he liked it very well; he had never been able to go over the ground so quickly before.
the troll then showed him the bushel of money that he had already earned, and the lad was well pleased to serve him for another year.
the first day of the second year the boy had the same work to do as on the previous one -- namely, to feed all the wild animals in the troll's stable.
when he had done this the troll again said some words to him, and with that he became a raven, and flew high up into the air.
this was delightful, the lad thought; he could go even faster now than when he was a hare, and the dogs could not come after him here.
this was a great delight to him, but he soon found out that he was not to be left quite at peace, for all the marksmen and hunters who saw him aimed at him and fired away, for they had no other birds to shoot at than himself, as the troll had tied up all the others.
this, however, he also got used to, when he saw that they could never hit him, and in this way he flew about all that year, until the troll called him home again, said some strange words to him, and gave him his human shape again.
"well, how did you like being a raven?"
said the troll."
i liked it very well," said the lad, "for never in all my days have i been able to rise so high."
the troll then showed him the two bushels of money which he had earned that year, and the lad was well content to remain in his service for another year.
next day he got his old task of feeding all the wild beasts.
when this was done the troll again said some words to him, and at these he turned into a fish, and sprang into the river.
he swam up and he swam down, and thought it was pleasant to let himself drive with the stream.
in this way he came right out into the sea, and swam further and further out.
at last he came to a glass palace, which stood at the bottom of the sea.
he could see into all the rooms and halls, where everything was very grand; all the furniture was of white ivory, inlaid with gold and pearl.
there were soft rugs and cushions of all the colours of the rainbow, and beautiful carpets that looked like the finest moss, and flowers and trees with curiously crooked branches, both green and yellow, white and red, and there were also little fountains which sprang up from the most beautiful snail-shells, and fell into bright mussel-shells, and at the same time made a most delightful music, which filled the whole palace.
the most beautiful thing of all, however, was a young girl who went about there, all alone.
she went about from one room to another, but did not seem to be happy with all the grandeur she had about her.
she walked in solitude and melancholy, and never even thought of looking at her own image in the polished glass walls that were on every side of her, although she was the prettiest creature anyone could wish to see.
the lad thought so too while he swam round the palace and peeped in from every side.
"here, indeed, it would be better to be a man than such a poor dumb fish as i am now," said he to himself; "if i could only remember the words that the troll says when he changes my shape, then perhaps i could help myself to become a man again."
he swam and he pondered and he thought over this until he remembered the sound of what the troll said, and then he tried to say it himself.
in a moment he stood in human form at the bottom of the sea.
he made haste then to enter the glass palace, and went up to the young girl and spoke to her.
at first he nearly frightened the life out of her, but he talked to her so kindly and explained how he had come down there that she soon recovered from her alarm, and was very pleased to have some company to relieve the terrible solitude that she lived in.
time passed so quickly for both of them that the youth -lrb- for now he was quite a young man, and no more a lad -rrb- forgot altogether how long he had been there.
one day the girl said to him that now it was close on the time when he must become a fish again -- the troll would soon call him home, and he would have to go, but before that he must put on the shape of the fish, otherwise he could not pass through the sea alive.
before this, while he was staying down there, she had told him that she was a daughter of the same troll whom the youth served, and he had shut her up there to keep her away from everyone.
she had now devised a plan by which they could perhaps succeed in getting to see each other again, and spending the rest of their lives together.
but there was much to attend to, and he must give careful heed to all that she told him.
she told him then that all the kings in the country round about were in debt to her father the troll, and the king of a certain kingdom, the name of which she told him, was the first who had to pay, and if he could not do so at the time appointed he would lose his head.
"and he can not pay," said she;" i know that for certain.
now you must, first of all, give up your service with my father; the three years are past, and you are at liberty to go.
you will go off with your six bushels of money, to the kingdom that i have told you of, and there enter the service of the king.
when the time comes near for his debt becoming due you will be able to notice by his manner that he is ill at ease.
you shall then say to him that you know well enough what it is that is weighing upon him -- that it is the debt which he owes to the troll and can not pay, but that you can lend him the money.
the amount is six bushels -- just what you have.
you shall, however, only lend them to him on condition that you may accompany him when he goes to make the payment, and that you then have permission to run before him as a fool.
when you arrive at the troll's abode, you must perform all kinds of foolish tricks, and see that you break a whole lot of his windows, and do all other damage that you can.
my father will then get very angry, and as the king must answer for what his fool does he will sentence him, even although he has paid his debt, either to answer three questions or to lose his life.
the first question my father will ask will be, "where is my daughter?"
then you shall step forward and answer "she is at the bottom of the sea."
he will then ask you whether you can recognise her, and to this you will answer "yes."
then he will bring forward a whole troop of women, and cause them to pass before you, in order that you may pick out the one that you take for his daughter.
you will not be able to recognise me at all, and therefore i will catch hold of you as i go past, so that you can notice it, and you must then make haste to catch me and hold me fast.
you have then answered his first question.
his next question will be, "where is my heart?"
you shall then step forward again and answer, "it is in a fish."
""do you know that fish?"
he will say, and you will again answer "yes."
he will then cause all kinds of fish to come before you, and you shall choose between them.
i shall take good care to keep by your side, and when the right fish comes i will give you a little push, and with that you will seize the fish and cut it up.
then all will be over with the troll; he will ask no more questions, and we shall be free to wed." when the youth had got all these directions as to what he had to do when he got ashore again the next thing was to remember the words which the troll said when he changed him from a human being to an animal; but these he had forgotten, and the girl did not know them either.
he went about all day in despair, and thought and thought, but he could not remember what they sounded like.
during the night he could not sleep, until towards morning he fell into a slumber, and all at once it flashed upon him what the troll used to say.
he made haste to repeat the words, and at the same moment he became a fish again and slipped out into the sea.
immediately after this he was called upon, and swam through the sea up the river to where the troll stood on the bank and restored him to human shape with the same words as before.
"well, how do you like to be a fish?"
asked the troll.
it was what he had liked best of all, said the youth, and that was no lie, as everybody can guess.
the troll then showed him the three bushels of money which he had earned during the past year; they stood beside the other three, and all the six now belonged to him.
"perhaps you will serve me for another year yet," said the troll, "and you will get six bushels of money for it; that makes twelve in all, and that is a pretty penny."
"no," said the youth; he thought he had done enough, and was anxious to go to some other place to serve, and learn other people's ways; but he would, perhaps, come back to the troll some other time.
the troll said that he would always be welcome; he had served him faithfully for the three years they had agreed upon, and he could make no objections to his leaving now.
the youth then got his six bushels of money, and with these he betook himself straight to the kingdom which his sweetheart had told him of.
he got his money buried in a lonely spot close to the king's palace, and then went in there and asked to be taken into service.
he obtained his request, and was taken on as stableman, to tend the king's horses.
some time passed, and he noticed how the king always went about sorrowing and grieving, and was never glad or happy.
one day the king came into the stable, where there was no one present except the youth, who said straight out to him that, with his majesty's permission, he wished to ask him why he was so sorrowful.
"it's of no use speaking about that," said the king; "you can not help me, at any rate."
"you do n't know about that," said the youth;" i know well enough what it is that lies so heavy on your mind, and i know also of a plan to get the money paid."
this was quite another case, and the king had more talk with the stableman, who said that he could easily lend the king the six bushels of money, but would only do it on condition that he should be allowed to accompany the king when he went to pay the debt, and that he should then be dressed like the king's court fool, and run before him.
he would cause some trouble, for which the king would be severely spoken to, but he would answer for it that no harm would befall him.
the king gladly agreed to all that the youth proposed, and it was now high time for them to set out.
when they came to the troll's dwelling it was no longer in the bank, but on the top of this there stood a large castle which the youth had never seen before.
the troll could, in fact, make it visible or invisible, just as he pleased, and, knowing as much as he did of the troll's magic arts, the youth was not at all surprised at this.
when they came near to this castle, which looked as if it was of pure glass, the youth ran on in front as the king's fool.
heran sometimes facing forwards, sometimes backwards, stood sometimes on his head, and sometimes on his feet, and he dashed in pieces so many of the troll's big glass windows and doors that it was something awful to see, and overturned everything he could, and made a fearful disturbance.
the troll came rushing out, and was so angry and furious, and abused the king with all his might for bringing such a wretched fool with him, as he was sure that he could not pay the least bit of all the damage that had been done when he could not even pay off his old debt.
the fool, however, spoke up, and said that he could do so quite easily, and the king then came forward with the six bushels of money which the youth had lent him.
they were measured and found to be correct.
this the troll had not reckoned on, but he could make no objection against it.
the old debt was honestly paid, and the king got his bond back again.
but there still remained all the damage that had been done that day, and the king had nothing with which to pay for this.
the troll, therefore, sentenced the king, either to answer three questions that he would put to him, or have his head taken off, as was agreed on in the old bond.
there was nothing else to be done than to try to answer the troll's riddles.
the fool then stationed himself just by the king's side while the troll came forward with his questions.
he first asked, "where is my daughter?"
the fool spoke up and said, "she is at the bottom of the sea."
"how do you know that?"
said the troll.
"the little fish saw it," said the fool.
"would you know her?"
said the troll.
"yes, bring her forward," said the fool.
the troll made a whole crowd of women go past them, one after the other, but all these were nothing but shadows and deceptions.
amongst the very last was the troll's real daughter, who pinched the fool as she went past him to make him aware of her presence.
he thereupon caught her round the waist and held her fast, and the troll had to admit that his first riddle was solved.
then the troll asked again: "where is my heart?"
"it is in a fish," said the fool.
"would you know that fish?"
said the troll.
"yes, bring it forward," said the fool.
then all the fishes came swimming past them, and meanwhile the troll's daughter stood just by the youth's side.
when at last the right fish came swimming along she gave him a nudge, and he seized it at once, drove his knife into it, and split it up, took the heart out of it, and cut it through the middle.
at the same moment the troll fell dead and turned into pieces of flint.
with that a, ll the bonds that the troll had bound were broken; all the wild beasts and birds which he had caught and hid under the ground were free now, and dispersed themselves in the woods and in the air.
the youth and his sweetheart entered the castle, which was now theirs, and held their wedding; and all the kings roundabout, who had been in the troll's debt, and were now out of it, came to the wedding, and saluted the youth as their emperor, and he ruled over them all, and kept peace between them, and lived in his castle with his beautiful empress in great joy and magnificence.
and if they have not died since they are living there to this day.
esben and the witch from the danish.
there was once a man who had twelve sons: the eleven eldest were both big and strong, but the twelfth, whose name was esben, was only a little fellow.
the eleven eldest went out with their father to field and forest, but esben preferred to stay at home with his mother, and so he was never reckoned at all by the rest, but was a sort of outcast among them.
when the eleven had grown up to be men they decided to go out into the world to try their fortune, and they plagued their father to give them what they required for the journey.
the father was not much in favour of this, for he was now old and weak, and could not well spare them from helping him with his work, but in the long run he had to give in.
each one of the eleven got a fine white horse and money for the journey, and so they said farewell to their father and their home, and rode away.
as for esben, no one had ever thought about him; his brothers had not even said farewell to him.
after the eleven were gone esben went to his father and said, "father, give me also a horse and money; i should also like to see round about me in the world."
"you are a little fool," said his father.
"if i could have let you go, and kept your eleven brothers at home, it would have been better for me in my old age."
"well, you will soon be rid of me at any rate," said esben.
as he could get no other horse, he went into the forest, broke off a branch, stripped the bark off it, so that it became still whiter than his brothers" horses, and, mounted on this.
rode off after his eleven brothers.
the brothers rode on the whole day, and towards evening they came to a great forest, which they entered.
far within the wood they came to a little house, and knocked at the door.
there came an old, ugly, bearded hag, and opened it, and they asked her whether all of them could get quarters for the night.
"yes," said the old, bearded hag, "you shall all have quarters for the night, and, in addition, each of you shall have one of my daughters."
the eleven brothers thought that they had come to very hospitable people.
they were well attended to, and when they went to bed, each of them got one of the hag's daughters.
esben had been coming along behind them, and had followed the same way, and had also found the same house in the forest.
he slipped into this, without either the witch or her daughters noticing him, and hid himself under one of the beds.
a little before midnight he crept quietly out and wakened his brothers.
he told these to change night-caps with the witch's daughters.
the brothers saw no reason for this, but, to get rid of esben's persistence, they made the exchange, and slept soundly again.
when midnight came esben heard the old witch come creeping along.
she had a broad-bladed axe in her hand, and went over all the eleven beds.
it was so dark that she could not see a hand's breadth before her, but she felt her way, and hacked the heads off all the sleepers who had the men's night-caps on -- and these were her own daughters.
as soon as she had gone her way esben wakened his brothers, and they hastily took their horses and rode off from the witch's house, glad that they had escaped so well.
they quite forgot to thank esben for what he had done for them.
when they had ridden onwards for some time they reached a king's palace, and inquired there whether they could be taken into service.
quite easily, they were told, if they would be stablemen, otherwise the king had no use for them.
they were quite ready for this, and got the task of looking after all the king's horses.
long after them came esben riding on his stick, and he also wanted to get a place in the palace, but no one had any use for him, and he was told that he could just go back the way he had come.
however, he stayed there and occupied himself as best he could.
he got his food, but nothing more, and by night he lay just where he could.
at this time there was in the palace a knight who was called sir red.
he was very well liked by the king, but hated by everyone else, for he was wicked both in will and deed.
this sir red became angry with the eleven brothers, because they would not always stand at attention for him, so he determined to avenge himself on them.
one day, therefore, he went to the king, and said that the eleven brothers who had come to the palace a little while ago, and served as stablemen, could do a great deal more than they pretended.
one day he had heard them say that if they liked they could get for the king a wonderful dove which had a feather of gold and a feather of silver time about.
but they would not procure it unless they were threatened with death.
the king then had the eleven brothers called before him, and said to them, "you have said that you can get me a dove which has feathers of gold and silver time about."
all the eleven assured him that they had never said anything of the kind, and they did not believe that such a dove existed in the whole world.
"take your own mind of it," said the king; "but if you do n't get that dove within three days you shall lose your heads, the whole lot of you."
with that the king let them go, and there was great grief among them; some wept and others lamented.
at that moment esben came along, and, seeing their sorrowful looks, said to them, "hello, what's the matter with you?"
"what good would it do to tell you, you little fool?
you ca n't help us."
"oh, you do n't know that," answered esben."
i have helped you before."
in the end they told him how unreasonable the king was, and how he had ordered them to get for him a dove with feathers of gold and silver time about.
"give me a bag of peas" said esben, "and i shall see what i can do for you."
esben got his bag of peas; then he took his white stick, and said, fly quick, my little stick, carry me across the stream.
straightway the stick carried him across the river and straight into the old witch's courtyard.
esben had noticed that she had such a dove; so when he arrived in the courtyard he shook the peas out of the bag, and the dove came fluttering down to pick them up.
esben caught it at once, put it into the bag, and hurried off before the witch caught sight of him; but the next moment she came running, and shouted after him," i hey is that you, esben.
?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"is it you that has taken my dove?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"was it you that made me kill my eleven daughters?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"are you coming back again?"
"that may be," said esben.
"then you'll catch it," shouted the witch.
the stick carried esben with the dove back to the king's palace, and his brothers were greatly delighted.
the king thanked them many times for the dove, and gave them in return both silver and gold.
at this sir red became still more embittered, and again thought of how to avenge himself on the brothers.
one day he went to the king and told him that the dove was by no means the best thing that the brothers could get for him; for one day he had heard them talking quietly among themselves, and they had said that they could procure a boar whose bristles were of gold and silver time about.
the king again summoned the brothers before him, and asked whether it was true that they had said that they could get for him a boar whose bristles were of gold and silver time about.
"no," said the brothers; they had never said nor thought such a thing, and they did not believe that there was such a boar in the whole world.
"you must get me that boar within three days," said the king, "or it will cost you your heads."
with that they had to go.
this was still worse than before, they thought.
where could they get such a marvellous boar?
they all went about hanging their heads; but when only one day remained of the three esben came along.
when he saw his brothers" sorrowful looks he cried, "hallo, what's the matter now?"
"oh, what's the use of telling you?"
said his brothers.
"you ca n't help us, at any rate."
"ah, you do n't know that," said esben; "i've helped you before."
in the end they told him how sir red had stirred up the king against them, so that he had ordered them to get for him a boar with bristles of gold and silver time about.
"that's all right," said esben; "give me a sack of malt, and it is not quite impossible that i may be able to help you."
esben got his sack of malt; then he took his little white stick, set himself upon it, and said, fly quick, my little stick, carry me across the stream.
off went the stick with him, and very soon he was again in the witch's courtyard.
there he emptied out the malt, and next moment came the boar, which had every second bristle of gold and of silver.
esben at once put it into his sack and hurried off before the witch should catch sight of him; but the next moment she came running, and shouted after him, "hey!
is that you, esben?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"is it you that has taken my pretty boar?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"it was also you that took my dove?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"and it was you that made me kill my eleven daughters?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"are you coming back again?"
"that may be," said esben.
"then you'll catch it," said the witch.
esben was soon back at the palace with the boar, and his brothers scarcely knew which leg to stand on, so rejoiced were they that they were safe again.
not one of them, however, ever thought of thanking esben for what he had done for them.
the king was still more rejoiced over the boar than he had been over the dove, and did not know what to give the brothers for it.
at this sir red was again possessed with anger and envy, and again he went about and planned how to get the brothers into trouble.
one day he went again to the king and said, "these eleven brothers have now procured the dove and the boar, but they can do much more than that; i know they have said that if they liked they could get for the king a lamp that can shine over seven kingdoms."
"if they have said that," said the king, "they shall also be made to bring it to me.
that would be a glorious lamp for me."
again the king sent a message to the brothers to come up to the palace.
they went accordingly, although very unwillingly, for they suspected that sir red had fallen on some new plan to bring them into trouble.
as soon as they came before the king he said to them, "you brothers have said that you could, if you liked, get for me a lamp that can shine over seven kingdoms.
that lamp must be mine within three days, or it will cost you your lives."
the brothers assured him that they had never said so, and they were sure that no such lamp existed, but their words were of no avail.
"the lamp!"
said the king, "or it will cost you your heads."
the brothers were now in greater despair than ever.
they did not know what to do, for such a lamp no one had ever heard of.
but just as things looked their worst along came esben.
"something wrong again?"
said he.
"what's the matter with you now?"
"oh, it's no use telling you," said they.
"you ca n't help us, at any rate."
"oh, you might at least tell me," said esben;" i have helped you before."
in the end they told him that the king had ordered them to bring him a lamp which could shine over seven kingdoms, but such a lamp no one had ever heard tell of.
"give me a bushel of salt," said esben, "and we shall see how matters go."
he got his bushel of salt, and then mounted his little white stick, and said, fly quick, my little stick, carry me across the stream.
with that both he and his bushel of salt were over beside the witch's courtyard.
but now matters were less easy, for he could not get inside the yard, as it was evening and the gate was locked.
finally he hit upon a plan; he got up on the roof and crept down the chimney.
he searched all round for the lamp, but could find it nowhere, for the witch always had it safely guarded, as it was one of her most precious treasures.
when he became tired of searching for it he crept into the baking - oven, intending to lie down there and sleep till morning; but just at that moment he heard the witch calling from her bed to one of her daughters, and telling her to make some porridge for her.
she had grown hungry, and had taken such a fancy to some porridge.
the daughter got out of bed, kindled the fire, and put on a pot with water in it.
"you must n't put any salt in the porridge, though," cried the witch.
"no, neither will i," said the daughter; but while she was away getting the meal esben slipped out of the oven and emptied the whole bushel of salt into the pot.
the daughter came back then and put in the meal, and after it had boiled a little she took it in to her mother.
the witch took a spoonful and tasted it.
"uh!"
said she; "did n't i tell you not to put any salt in it, and it's just as salt as the sea."
so the daughter had to go and make new porridge, and her mother warned her strictly not to put any salt in it.
but now there was no water in the house, so she asked her mother to give her the lamp, so that she could go to the well for more.
"there you have it, then," said the witch; "but take good care of it."
the daughter took the lamp which shone over seven kingdoms, and went out to the well for water, while esben slipped out after her.
when she was going to draw the water from the well she set the lamp down on a stone beside her.
esben watched his chance, seized the lamp, and gave her a push from behind, so that she plumped head first into the well.
then he made off with the lamp.
but the witch got out of her bed and ran after him, crying: "hey!
is that you again, esben?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"was it you that took my dove?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"was it also you that took my boar?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"and it was you that made me kill my eleven daughters?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"and now you have taken my lamp, and drowned my twelfth daughter in the well?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"are you coming back again?"
"that may be," said esben.
"then you'll catch it," said the witch.
it was only a minute before the stick had again landed esben at the king's palace, and the brothers were then freed from their distress.
the king gave them many fine presents, but esben did not get even so much as thanks from them.
never had sir red been so eaten up with envy as he was now, and he racked his brain day and night to find something quite impossible to demand from the brothers.
one day he went to the king and told him that the lamp the brothers had procured was good enough, but they could still get for him something that was far better.
the king asked what that was.
"it is," said sir red, "the most beautiful coverlet that any mortal ever heard tell of.
it also has the property that, when anyone touches it, it sounds so that it can be heard over eight kingdoms."
"that must be a splendid coverlet," said the king, and he at once sent for the brothers.
"you have said that you know of a coverlet, the most beautiful in the whole world, and which sounds over eight kingdoms when anyone touches it.
you shall procure it for me, or else lose your lives," said he.
the brothers answered him that they had never said a word about such a coverlet, did not believe it existed, and that it was quite impossible for them to procure it.
but the king would not hear a word; he drove them away, telling them that if they did not get it very soon it would cost them their heads.
things looked very black again for the brothers, for they were sure there was no escape for them.
the youngest of them, indeed, asked where esben was, but the others said that that little fool could scarcely keep himself in clothes, and it was not to be expected that he could help them.
not one of them thought it worth while to look for esben, but he soon came along of himself.
"well, what's the matter now?"
said he.
"oh, what's the use of telling you?"
said the brothers.
"you ca n't help us, at any rate."
"ah!
who knows that?"
said esben."
i have helped you before."
in the end the brothers told him about the coverlet which, when one touched it, sounded so that it could be heard over eight kingdoms.
esben thought that this was the worst errand that he had had yet, but he could not do worse than fail, and so he would make the attempt.
he again took his little white stick, set himself on it, and said, fly quick, my little stick, carry me across the stream.
next moment he was across the river and beside the witch's house.
it was evening, and the door was locked, but he knew the way down the chimney.
when he had got into the house, however, the worst yet remained to do, for the coverlet was on the bed in which the witch lay and slept.
he slipped into the room without either she or her daughter wakening; but as soon as he touched the coverlet to take it it sounded so that it could be heard over eight kingdoms.
the witch awoke, sprang out of bed, and caught hold of esben.
he struggled with her, but could not free himself, and the witch called to her daughter, "come and help me; we shall put him into the little dark room to be fattened.
ho, ho!
now i have him!"
esben was now put into a little dark hole, where he neither saw sun nor moon, and there he was fed on sweet milk and nut-kernels.
the daughter had enough to do cracking nuts for him, and at the end of fourteen days she had only one tooth left in her mouth; she had broken all the rest with the nuts.
in this time however, she had taken a liking to esben, and would willingly have set him free, but could not.
when some time had passed the witch told her daughter to go and cut a finger off esben, so that she could see whether he was nearly fat enough yet.
the daughter went and told esben, and asked him what she should do.
esben told her to take an iron nail and wrap a piece of skin round it: she could then give her mother this to bite at.
the daughter did so, but when the witch bit it she cried, "uh!
no, no!
this is nothing but skin and bone; he must be fattened much longer yet."
so esben was fed for a while longer on sweet milk and nut-kernels, until one day the witch thought that now he must surely be fat enough, and told her daughter again to go and cut a finger off him.
by this time esben was tired of staying in the dark hole, so he told her to go and cut a teat off a cow, and give it to the witch to bite at.
this the daughter did, and the witch cried, "ah!
now he is fat -- so fat that one can scarcely feel the bone in him.
now he shall be killed."
now this was just the very time that the witch had to go to troms church, where all the witches gather once every year, so she had no time to deal with esben herself.
she therefore told her daughter to heat up the big oven while she was away, take esben out of his prison, and roast him in there before she came back.
the daughter promised all this, and the witch went off on her journey.
the daughter then made the oven as hot as could be, and took esben out of his prison in order to roast him.
she brought the oven spade, and told esben to seat himself on it, so that she could shoot him into the oven.
esben accordingly took his seat on it, but when she had got him to the mouth of the oven he spread his legs out wide, so that she could not get him pushed in.
"you must n't sit like that," said she.
"how then?"
said esben.
"you must cross your legs," said the daughter; but esben could not understand what she meant by this.
"get out of the way," said she, "and i will show you how to place yourself."
she seated herself on the oven spade, but no sooner had she done so than esben laid hold of it, shot her into the oven, and fastened the door of it.
then he ran and seized the coverlet, but as soon as he did so it sounded so that it could be heard over eight kingdoms, and the witch, who was at troms church, came flying home, and shouted, "hey!
is that you again, esben?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"it was you that made me kill my eleven daughters?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"and took my dove?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"and my beautiful boar?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"and drowned my twelfth daughter in the well, and took my lamp?"
"ye -- e -- s!"
"and now you have roasted my thirteenth and last daughter in the oven, and taken my coverlet?"
"yeäeäs!"
"are you coming back again?"
"no, never again," said esben.
at this the witch became so furious that she sprang into numberless pieces of flint, and from this come all the flint stones that one finds about the country.
esben had found again his little stick, which the witch had taken from him, so he said, fly quick, my little stick, carry me across the stream.
next moment he was back at the king's palace.
here things were in a bad way, for the king had thrown all the eleven brothers into prison, and they were to be executed very shortly because they had not brought him the coverlet.
esben now went up to the king and gave him the coverlet, with which the king was greatly delighted.
when he touched it it could be heard over eight kingdoms, and all the other kings sat and were angry because they had not one like it.
esben also told how everything had happened, and how sir red had done the brothers all the ill he could devise because he was envious of them.
the brothers were at once set at liberty, while sir red, for his wickedness, was hanged on the highest tree that could be found, and so he got the reward he deserved.
much was made of esben and his brothers, and these now thanked him for all that he had done for them.
the twelve of them received as much gold and silver as they could carry, and betook themselves home to their old father.
when he saw again his twelve sons, whom he had never expected to see more, he was so glad that he wept for joy.
the brothers told him how much esben had done, and how he had saved their lives, and from that time forward he was no longer the butt of the rest at home.
princess minon-minette bibliotheque des fees et aes genies once upon a time there lived a young king whose name was souci, and he had been brought up, ever since he was a baby, by the fairy inconstancy.
now the fairy girouette had a kind heart, but she was a very trying person to live with, for she never knew her own mind for two minutes together, and as she was the sole ruler at court till the prince grew up everything was always at sixes and sevens.
at first she determined to follow the old custom of keeping the young king ignorant of the duties he would have to perform some day; then, quite suddenly, she resigned the reins of government into his hands; but, unluckily, it was too late to train him properly for the post.
however, the fairy did not think of that, but, carried away by her new ideas, she hastily formed a council, and named as prime minister the excellent "ditto," so called because he had never been known to contradict anybody.
young prince souci had a handsome face, and at the bottom a good deal of common sense; but he had never been taught good manners, and was shy and awkward; and had, besides, never learned how to use his brains.
under these circumstances it is not surprising that the council did not get through much work.
indeed, the affairs of the country fell into such disorder that at last the people broke out into open rebellion, and it was only the courage of the king, who continued to play the flute while swords and spears were flashing before the palace gate, that prevented civil war from being declared.
no sooner was the revolt put down than the council turned their attention to the question of the young king's marriage.
various princesses were proposed to him, and the fairy, who was anxious to get the affair over before she left the court for ever, gave it as her opinion that the princess diaphana would make the most suitable wife.
accordingly envoys were sent to bring back an exact report of the princess's looks and ways, and they returned saying that she was tall and well made, but so very light that the equerries who accompanied her in her walks had to be always watching her, lest she should suddenly be blown away.
this had happened so often that her subjects lived in terror of losing her altogether, and tried everything they could think of to keep her to the ground.
they even suggested that she should carry weights in her pockets, or have them tied to her ankles; but this idea was given up, as the princess found it so uncomfortable.
at length it was decided that she was never to go out in a wind, and in order to make matters surer still the equerries each held the end of a string which was fastened to her waist.
the council talked over this report for some days, and then the king made up his mind that he would judge for himself, and pretend to be his own ambassador.
this plan was by no means new, but it had often succeeded, and, anyhow, they could think of nothing better.
such a splendid embassy had never before been seen in any country.
the kingdom was left in the charge of the prime minister, who answered "ditto" to everything; but the choice was better than it seemed, for the worthy man was much beloved by the people, as he agreed with all they said, and they left him feeling very pleased with themselves and their own wisdom.
when the king arrived at diaphana's court he found a magnificent reception awaiting him, for, though they pretended not to know who he was, secrets like this are never hidden.
now the young king had a great dislike to long ceremonies, so he proposed that his second interview with the princess should take place in the garden.
the princess made some difficulties, but, as the weather was lovely and very still, she at last consented to the king's wishes.
but no sooner had they finished their first bows and curtseys than a slight breeze sprung up, and began to sway the princess, whose equerries had retired out of respect.
the king went forward to steady her, but the wind that he caused only drove her further away from him.
he rushed after her exclaiming," o princess!
are you really running away from me?"
"good gracious, no!"
she replied.
"run a little quicker and you will be able to stop me, and i shall be for ever grateful.
that is what comes of talking in a garden," she added in disgust; "as if one was n't much better in a room that was tightly closed all round."
the king ran as fast as he could, but the wind ran faster still, and in a moment the princess was whirled to the bottom of the garden, which was bounded by a ditch.
she cleared it like a bird, and the king, who was obliged to stop short at the edge, saw the lovely diaphana flying over the plain, sometimes driven to the right, sometimes to the left, till at last she vanished out of sight.
by this time the whole court were running over the plain, some on foot and some on horseback, all hurrying to the help of their princess, who really was in some danger, for the wind was rising to the force of a gale.
the king looked on for a little, and then returned with his attendants to the palace, reflecting all the while on the extreme lightness of his proposed bride and the absurdity of having a wife that rose in the air better than any kite.
he thought on the whole that it would be wiser not to wait longer, but to depart at once, and he started on horseback at the very moment when the princess had been found by her followers, wet to the skin, and blown against a rick.
souci met the carriage which was bringing her home, and stopped to congratulate her on her escape, and to advise her to put on dry clothes.
then he continued his journey.
it took a good while for the king to get home again, and he was rather cross at having had so much trouble for nothing.
besides which, his courtiers made fun at his adventure, and he did not like being laughed at, though of course they did not dare to do it before his face.
and the end of it was that very soon he started on his travels again, only allowing one equerry to accompany him, and even this attendant he managed to lose the moment he had left his own kingdom behind him.
now it was the custom in those days for princes and princesses to be brought up by fairies, who loved them as their own children, and did not mind what inconvenience they put other people to for their sakes, for all the world as if they had been real mothers.
the fairy aveline, who lived in a country that touched at one point the kingdom of king souci, had under her care the lovely princess minon-minette, and had made up her mind to marry her to the young king, who, in spite of his awkward manners, which could be improved, was really very much nicer than most of the young men she was likely to meet.
so aveline made her preparations accordingly, and began by arranging that the equerry should lose himself in the forest, after which she took away the king's sword and his horse while he lay asleep under a tree.
her reason for this was that she felt persuaded that, finding himself suddenly alone and robbed of everything, the king would hide his real birth, and would have to fall back on his powers of pleasing, like other men, which would be much better for him.
when the king awoke and found that the tree to which he had tied his horse had its lowest branch broken, and that nothing living was in sight, he was much dismayed, and sought high and low for his lost treasure, but all in vain.
after a time he began to get hungry, so he decided that he had better try to find his way out of the forest, and perhaps he might have a chance of getting something to eat.
he had only gone a few steps when he met aveline, who had taken the shape of an old woman with a heavy bundle of faggots on her back.
she staggered along the path and almost fell at his feet, and souci, afraid that she might have hurt herself, picked her up and set her on her feet again before passing on his way.
but he was not to be let off so easy.
"what about my bundle?"
cried the old woman.
"where is your politeness?
really, you seem to have been very nicely brought up!
what have they taught you?"
"taught me?
nothing," replied he."
i can well believe it!"
she said.
"you do n't know even how to pick up a bundle.
oh, you can come near; i am cleverer than you, and know how to pick up a bundle very well."
the king blushed at her words, which he felt had a great deal of truth in them, and took up the bundle meekly.
aveline, delighted at the success of her first experiment, hobbled along after him, chattering all the while, as old women do."
i wish," she said, "that all kings had done as much once in their lives.
then they would know what a lot of trouble it takes to get wood for their fires."
souci felt this to be true, and was sorry for the old woman.
"where are we going to?"
asked he.
"to the castle of the white demon; and if you are in want of work i will find you something to do."
"but i ca n't do anything," he said, "except carry a bundle, and i sha n't earn much by that."
"oh, you are learning," replied the old woman, "and it is n't bad for a first lesson."
but the king was paying very little attention to her, for he was rather cross and very tired.
indeed, he felt that he really could not carry the bundle any further, and was about to lay it down when up came a young maiden more beautiful than the day, and covered with precious stones.
she ran to them, exclaiming to the old woman, "oh, you poor thing!
i was just coming after you to see if i could help you."
"here is a young man," replied the old woman, "who will be quite ready to give you up the bundle.
you see he does not look as if he enjoyed carrying it."
"will you let me take it, sir?"
she asked.
but the king felt ashamed of himself, and held on to it tightly, while the presence of the princess put him in a better temper.
so they all travelled together till they arrived at a very ordinary-looking house, which aveline pointed out as the castle of the white demon, and told the king that he might put down his bundle in the courtyard.
the young man was terribly afraid of being recognised by someone in this strange position, and would have turned on his heel and gone away had it not been for the thought of minon-minette.
still, he felt very awkward and lonely, for both the princess and the old woman had entered the castle without taking the slightest notice of the young man, who remained where he was for some time, not quite knowing what he had better do.
at length a servant arrived and led him up into a beautiful room filled with people, who were either playing on musical instruments or talking in a lively manner, which astonished the king, who stood silently listening, and not at all pleased at the want of attention paid him.
matters went on this way for some time.
every day the king fell more and more in love with minon-minette, and every day the princess seemed more and more taken up with other people.
at last, in despair, the prince sought out the old woman, to try to get some advice from her as to his conduct, or, anyway, to have the pleasure of talking about minon-minette.
he found her spinning in an underground chamber, but quite ready to tell him all he wanted to know.
in answer to his questions he learned that in order to win the hand of the princess it was not enough to be born a prince, for she would marry nobody who had not proved himself faithful, and had, besides, all those talents and accomplishments which help to make people happy.
for a moment souci was very much cast down on hearing this, but then he plucked up.
"tell me what i must do in order to win the heart of the princess, and no matter how hard it is i will do it.
and show me how i can repay you for your kindness, and you shall have anything i can give you.
shall i bring in your bundle of faggots every day?"
"it is enough that you should have made the offer," replied the old woman; and she added, holding out a skein of thread, "take this; one day you will be thankful for it, and when it becomes useless your difficulties will be past."
"is it the skein of my life?"
he asked.
"it is the skein of your love's ill-luck," she said.
and he took it and went away.
now the fairy girouette, who had brought up souci, had an old friend called grimace, the protectress of prince fluet.
grimace often talked over the young prince's affairs with girouette, and, when she decided that he was old enough to govern his own kingdom, consulted girouette as to a suitable wife.
girouette, who never stopped to think or to make inquiries, drew such a delightful picture of minon-minette that grimace determined to spare no pains to bring about the marriage, and accordingly fluet was presented at court.
but though the young man was pleasant and handsome, the princess thought him rather womanish in some ways, and displayed her opinion so openly as to draw upon herself and aveline the anger of the fairy, who declared that minon-minette should never know happiness till she had found a bridge without an arch and a bird without feathers.
so saying, she also went away.
before the king set out afresh on his travels aveline had restored to him his horse and his sword, and though these were but small consolation for the absence of the princess, they were better than nothing, for he felt that somehow they might be the means of leading him back to her.
after crossing several deserts the king arrived at length in a country that seemed inhabited, but the instant he stepped over the border he was seized and flung into chains, and dragged at once to the capital.
he asked his guards why he was treated like this, but the only answer he got was that he was in the territory of the iron king, for in those days countries had no names of their own, but were called after their rulers.
the young man was led into the presence of the iron king, who was seated on a black throne in a hall also hung with black, as a token of mourning for all the relations whom he had put to death.
"what are you doing in my country?"
he cried fiercely."
i came here by accident," replied souci, "and if i ever escape from your clutches i will take warning by you and treat my subjects differently."
"do you dare to insult me in my own court?"
cried the king.
"away with him to little ease!"
now little ease was an iron cage hung by four thick chains in the middle of a great vaulted hall, and the prisoner inside could neither sit, nor stand, nor lie; and, besides that, he was made to suffer by turns unbearable heat and cold, while a hundred heavy bolts kept everything safe.
girouette, whose business it was to see after souci, had forgotten his existence in the excitement of some new idea, and he would not have been alive long to trouble anybody if aveline had not come to the rescue and whispered in his ear, "and the skein of thread?"
he took it up obediently, though he did not see how it would help him but he tied it round one of the iron bars of his cage, which seemed the only thing he could do, and gave a pull.
to his surprise the bar gave way at once, and he found he could break it into a thousand pieces.
after this it did not take him long to get out of his cage, or to treat the closely barred windows of the hall in the same manner.
but even after he had done all this freedom appeared as far from him as ever, for between him and the open country was a high wall, and so smooth that not even a monkey could climb it.
then souci's heart died within him.
he saw nothing for it but to submit to some horrible death, but he determined that the iron king should not profit more than he could help, and flung his precious thread into the air, saying, as he did so," o fairy, my misfortunes are greater than your power.
i am grateful for your goodwill, but take back your gift!"
the fairy had pity on his youth and want of faith, and took care that one end of the thread remained in his hand.
he suddenly felt a jerk, and saw that the thread must have caught on something, and this thought filled him with the daring that is born of despair.
"better," he said to himself, "trust to a thread than to the mercies of a king;" and, gliding down, he found himself safe on the other side of the wall.
then he rolled up the thread and put it carefully into his pocket, breathing silent thanks to the fairy.
now minon-minette had been kept informed by aveline of the prince's adventures, and when she heard of the way in which he had been treated by the iron king she became furious, and began to prepare for war.
she made her plans with all the secrecy she could, but when great armies are collected people are apt to suspect a storm is brewing, and of course it is very difficult to keep anything hidden from fairy godmothers.
anyway, grimace soon heard of it, and as she had never forgiven minon-minette for refusing prince fluet, she felt that here was her chance of revenge.
up to this time aveline had been able to put a stop to many of grimace's spiteful tricks, and to keep guard over minon-minette, but she had no power over anything that happened at a distance; and when the princess declared her intention of putting herself at the head of her army, and began to train herself to bear fatigue by hunting daily, the fairy entreated her to be careful never to cross the borders of her dominions without aveline to protect her.
the princess at once gave her promise, and all went well for some days.
unluckily one morning, as minon-minette was cantering slowly on her beautiful white horse, thinking a great deal about souci and not at all of the boundaries of her kingdom -lrb- of which, indeed, she was very ignorant -rrb-, she suddenly found herself in front of a house made entirely of dead leaves, which somehow brought all sorts of unpleasant things into her head.
she remembered aveline's warning, and tried to turn her horse, but it stood as still as if it had been marble.
then the princess felt that she was slowly, and against her will, being dragged to the ground.
she shrieked, and clung tightly to the saddle, but it was all in vain; she longed to fly, but something outside herself proved too strong for her, and she was forced to take the path that led to the house of dead leaves.
scarcely had her feet touched the threshold than grimace appeared.
"so here you are at last, minon-minette!
i have been watching for you a long time, and my trap was ready for you from the beginning.
come here, my darling!
i will teach you to make war on my friends!
things wo n't turn out exactly as you fancied.
what you have got to do now is to go on your knees to the king and crave his pardon, and before he consents to a peace you will have to implore him to grant you the favour of becoming his wife.
meanwhile you will have to be my servant."
from that day the poor princess was put to the hardest and dirtiest work, and each morning something more disagreeable seemed to await her.
besides which, she had no food but a little black bread, and no bed but a little straw.
out of pure spite she was sent in the heat of the day to look after the geese, and would most likely have got a sunstroke if she had not happened to pick up in the fields a large fan, with which she sheltered her face.
to be sure, a fan seems rather an odd possession for a goose girl, but the princess did not think of that, and she forgot all her troubles when, on opening the fan to use it as a parasol, out tumbled a letter from her lover.
then she felt sure that the fairy had not forgotten her, and took heart.
when grimace saw that minon-minette still managed to look as white as snow, instead of being burnt as brown as a berry, she wondered what could have happened, and began to watch her closely.
the following day, when the sun was at its highest and hottest, she noticed her draw a fan from the folds of her dress and hold it before her eyes.
the fairy, in a rage, tried to snatch it from her, but the princess would not let it go.
"give me that fan at once!"
cried grimace.
"never while i live!"
answered the princess, and, not knowing where it would be safest, placed it under her feet.
in an instant she felt herself rising from the ground, with the fan always beneath her, and while grimace was too much blinded by her fury to notice what was going on the princess was quickly soaring out of her reach.
all this time souci had been wandering through the world with his precious thread carefully fastened round him, seeking every possible and impossible place where his beloved princess might chance to be.
but though he sometimes found traces of her, or even messages scratched on a rock, or cut in the bark of a tree, she herself was nowhere to be found.
"if she is not on the earth," said souci to himself, "perhaps she is hiding somewhere in the air.
it is there that i shall find her."
so, by the help of his thread, he tried to mount upwards, but he could go such a little way, and hurt himself dreadfully when he tumbled back to earth again.
still he did not give up, and after many days of efforts and tumbles he found to his great joy that he could go a little higher and stay up a little longer than he had done at first, and by-and-bye he was able to live in the air altogether.
but alas!
the world of the air seemed as empty of her as the world below, and souci was beginning to despair, and to think that he must go and search the world that lay in the sea.
he was floating sadly along, not paying any heed to where he was going, when he saw in the distance a beautiful, bright sort of bird coming towards him.
his heart beat fast -- he did not know why -- and as they both drew near the voice of the princess exclaimed, "behold the bird without feathers and the bridge without an arch!"
so their first meeting took place in the air, but it was none the less happy for that; and the fan grew big enough to hold the king as well as aveline, who had hastened to give them some good advice.
she guided the fan above the spot where the two armies lay encamped before each other ready to give battle.
the fight was long and bloody, but in the end the iron king was obliged to give way and surrender to the princess, who set him to keep king souci's sheep, first making him swear a solemn oath that he would treat them kindly.
then the marriage took place, in the presence of girouette, whom they had the greatest trouble to find, and who was much astonished to discover how much business had been got through in her absence.
maiden bright-eye from the danish once, upon a time there was a man and his wife who had two children, a boy and a girl.
the wife died, and the man married again.
his new wife had an only daughter, who was both ugly and untidy, whereas her stepdaughter was a beautiful girl, and was known as maiden bright-eye.
her stepmother was very cruel to her on this account; she had always to do the hardest work, and got very little to eat, and no attention paid to her; but to her own daughter she was all that was good.
she was spared from all the hardest of the housework, and had always the prettiest clothes to wear.
maiden bright-eye had also to watch the sheep, but of course it would never do to let her go idle and enjoy herself too much at this work, so she had to pull heather while she was out on the moors with them.
her stepmother gave her pancakes to take with her for her dinner, but she had mixed the flour with ashes, and made them just as bad as she could.
the little girl came out on the moor and began to pull heather on the side of a little mound, but next minute a little fellow with a red cap on his head popped up out of the mound and said: "who's that pulling the roof off my house?"
"oh, it's me, a poor little girl," said she; "my mother sent me out here, and told me to pull heather.
if you will be good to me i will give you a bit of my dinner."
the little fellow was quite willing, and she gave him the biggest share of her pancakes.
they were not particularly good, but when one is hungry anything tastes well.
after he had got them all eaten he said to her: "now, i shall give you three wishes, for you are a very nice little girl; but i will choose the wishes for you.
you are beautiful, and much more beautiful shall you be; yes, so lovely that there will not be your like in the world.
the next wish shall be that every time you open your mouth a gold coin shall fall out of it, and your voice shall be like the most beautiful music.
the third wish shall be that you may be married to the young king, and become the queen of the country.
at the same time i shall give you a cap, which you must carefully keep, for it can save you, if you ever are in danger of your life, if you just put it on your head.
maiden bright-eye thanked the little bergman ever so often, and drove home her sheep in the evening.
by that time she had grown so beautiful that her people could scarcely recognise her.
her stepmother asked her how it had come about that she had grown so beautiful.
she told the whole story -- for she always told the truth -- that a little man had come to her out on the moor and had given her all this beauty.
she did not tell, however, that she had given him a share of her dinner.
the stepmother thought to herself, "if one can become so beautiful by going out there, my own daughter shall also be sent, for she can well stand being made a little prettier."
next morning she baked for her the finest cakes, and dressed her prettily to go out with the sheep.
but she was afraid to go away there without having a stick to defend herself with if anything should come near her.
she was not very much inclined for pulling the heather, as she never was in the habit of doing any work, but she was only a minute or so at it when up came the same little fellow with the red cap, and said: "who's that pulling the roof off my house?"
"what's that to you?"
said she.
"well, if you will give me a bit of your dinner i wo n't do you any mischief," said he."
i will give you something else in place of my dinner," said she."
i can easily eat it myself; but if you will have something you can have a whack of my stick," and with that she raised it in the air and struck the bergman over the head with it.
"what a wicked little girl you are!"
said he; "but you shall be none the better of this.
i shall give you three wishes, and choose them for you.
first, i shall say, "ugly are you, but you shall become so ugly that there will not be an uglier one on earth."
next i shall wish that every time you open your mouth a big toad may fall out of it, and your voice shall be like the roaring of a bull.
in the third place i shall wish for you a violent death."
the girl went home in the evening, and when her mother saw her she was as vexed as she could be, and with good reason, too; but it was still worse when she saw the toads fall out of her mouth and heard her voice.
now we must hear something about the stepson.
he had gone out into the world to look about him, and took service in the king's palace.
about this time he got permission to go home and see his sister, and when he saw how lovely and beautiful she was, he was so pleased and delighted that when he came back to the king's palace everyone there wanted to know what he was always so happy about.
he told them that it was because he had such a lovely sister at home.
at last it came to the ears of the king what the brother said about his sister, and, besides that, the report of her beauty spread far and wide, so that the youth was summoned before the king, who asked him if everything was true that was told about the girl.
he said it was quite true, for he had seen her beauty with his own eyes, and had heard with his own ears how sweetly she could sing and what a lovely voice she had.
the king then took a great desire for her, and ordered her brother to go home and bring her back with him, for he trusted no one better to accomplish that errand.
he got a ship, and everything else that he required, and sailed home for his sister.
as soon as the stepmother heard what his errand was she at once said to herself, "this will never come about if i can do anything to hinder it.
she must not be allowed to come to such honour."
she then got a dress made for her own daughter, like the finest robe for a queen, and she had a mask prepared and put upon her face, so that she looked quite pretty, and gave her strict orders not to take it off until the king had promised to wed her.
the brother now set sail with his two sisters, for the stepmother pretended that the ugly one wanted to see the other a bit on her way.
but when they got out to sea, and maiden bright-eye came up on deck, the sister did as her mother had instructed her -- she gave her a push and made her fall into the water.
when the brother learned what had happened he was greatly distressed, and did not know what to do.
he could not bring himself to tell the truth about what had happened, nor did he expect that the king would believe it.
in the long run he decided to hold on his way, and let things go as they liked.
what he had expected happened -- the king received his sister and wedded her at once, but repented it after the first night, as he could scarcely put down his foot in the morning for all the toads that were about the room, and when he saw her real face he was so enraged against the brother that he had him thrown into a pit full of serpents.
he was so angry, not merely because he had been deceived, but because he could not get rid of the ugly wretch that was now tied to him for life.
now we shall hear a little about maiden bright-eye when she fell into the water she was fortunate enough to get the bergman's cap put on her head, for now she was in danger of her life, and she was at once transformed into a duck.
the duck swam away after the ship, and came to the king's palace on the next evening.
there it waddled up the drain, and so into the kitchen, where her little dog lay on the hearth-stone; it could not bear to stay in the fine chambers along with the ugly sister, and had taken refuge down here.
the duck hopped up till it could talk to the dog.
"good evening," it said.
"thanks, maiden bright-eye," said the dog.
"where is my brother?"
"he is in the serpent-pit."
"where is my wicked sister?"
"she is with the noble king."
"alas!
alas!
i am here this evening, and shall be for two evenings yet, and then i shall never come again."
when it had said this the duck waddled off again.
several of the servant girls heard the conversation, and were greatly surprised at it, and thought that it would be worth while to catch the bird next evening and see into the matter a little more closely.
they had heard it say that it would come again.
next evening it appeared as it had said, and a great many were present to see it.
it came waddling in by the drain, and went up to the dog, which was lying on the hearth-stone.
"good evening," it said.
"thanks, maiden bright-eye," said the dog.
"where is my brother?"
"he is in the serpent-pit."
"where is my wicked sister?"
"she is with the noble king."
"alas!
alas!
i am here this evening, and shall be for one evening yet, and then i shall never come again."
after this it slipped out, and no one could get hold of it.
but the king's cook thought to himself," i shall see if i ca n't get hold of you to-morrow evening."
on the third evening the duck again came waddling in by the drain, and up to the dog on the hearth-stone.
"good evening," it said.
"thanks, maiden bright-eye," said the dog.
"where is my brother?"
"he is in the serpent-pit."
"where is my wicked sister?"
"she is with the noble king."
"alas!
alas!
now i shall never come again."
with this it slipped out again, but in the meantime the cook had posted himself at the outer end of the drain with a net, which he threw over it as it came out.
in this way he caught it, and came in to the others with the most beautiful duck they had ever seen -- with so many golden feathers on it that everyone marvelled.
no one, however, knew what was to be done with it; but after what they had heard they knew that there was something uncommon about it, so they took good care of it.
at this time the brother in the serpent-pit dreamed that his right sister had come swimming to the king's palace in the shape of a duck, and that she could not regain her own form until her beak was cut off.
he got this dream told to some one, so that the king at last came to hear of it, and had him taken up out of the pit and brought before him.
the king then asked him if he could produce to him his sister as beautiful as he had formerly described her.
the brother said he could if they would bring him the duck and a knife.
both of them were brought to him, and he said," i wonder how you would look if i were to cut the point off your beak."
with this he cut a piece off the beak, and there came a voice which said, "oh, oh, you cut my little finger!"
next moment maiden bright-eye stood there, as lovely and beautiful as he had seen her when he was home.
this was his sister now, he said; and the whole story now came out of how the other had behaved to her.
the wicked sister was put into a barrel with spikes round it which was dragged off by six wild horses, and so she came to her end.: but the king was delighted with maiden bright-eye, and immediately made her his queen, while her brother became his prime minister.
the merry wives from the danish there lay three houses in a row, in one of which there lived a tailor, in another a carpenter, and in the third a smith.
all three were married, and their wives were very good friends.
they often talked about how stupid their husbands were, but they could never agree as to which of them had the most stupid one; each one stuck up for her own husband, and maintained that it was he.
the three wives went to church together every sunday, and had a regular good gossip on the way, and when they were coming home from church they always turned into the tavern which lay by the wayside and drank half a pint together.
this was at the time when half a pint of brandy cost threepence, so that was just a penny from each of them.
but the brandy went up in price, and the taverner said that he must have fourpence for the half-pint.
they were greatly annoyed at this, for there were only the three of them to share it, and none of them was willing to pay the extra penny.
as they went home from the church that day they decided to wager with each other as to whose husband was the most stupid, and the one who, on the following sunday, should be judged to have played her husband the greatest trick should thereafter go free from paying, and each of the two others would give twopence for their sunday's half-pint.
next day the tailor's wife said to her husband," i have some girls coming to-day to help to card my wool there is a great deal to do, and we must be very busy.
i am so annoyed that our watchdog is dead, for in the evening the young fellows will come about to get fun with the girls, and they will get nothing done.
if we had only had a fierce watchdog he would have kept them away."
"yes," said the man, "that would have been a good thing."
"listen, good man," said the wife, "you must just be the watchdog yourself, and scare the fellows away from the house."
the husband was not very sure about this, although otherwise he was always ready to give in to her.
"oh yes, you will see it will work all right," said the wife.
and so towards evening she got the tailor dressed up in a shaggy fur coat, tied a black woollen cloth round his head, and chained him up beside the dog's kennel."
there he stood and barked and growled at everyone that moved in his neighbourhood.
the neighbour wives knew all about this, and were greatly amused at it.
on the day after this the carpenter had been out at work, and came home quite merry; but as soon as he entered the house his wife clapped her hands together and cried, "my dear, what makes you look like that?
you are ill."
the carpenter knew nothing about being ill; he only thought that he wanted something to eat, so he sat down at the table and began his dinner.
his wife sat straight in front of him, with her hands folded, and shook her head, and looked at him with an anxious air.
"you are getting worse, my dear," she said; "you are quite pale now; you have a serious illness about you; i can see it by your looks."
the husband now began to grow anxious, and thought that perhaps he was not quite well.
"no, indeed," said she; "it's high time that you were in bed."
she then got him to lie down, and piled above him all the bedclothes she could find, and gave him various medicines, while he grew worse and worse.
"you will never get over it," said she;" i am afraid you are going to die."
"do you think so?"
said the carpenter;" i can well believe it, for i am indeed very poorly."
in a little while she said again, "ah, now i must part with you.
here comes death.
now i must close your eyes."
and she did so.
the carpenter believed everything that his wife said, and so he believed now that he was dead, and lay still and let her do as she pleased.
she got her neighbours summoned, and they helped to lay him in the coffin -- it was one of those he himself had made; but his wife had bored holes in it to let him get some air.
she made a soft bed under him, and put a coverlet over him, and she folded his hands over his breast; but instead of a flower or a psalm-book, she gave him a pint-bottle of brandy in his hands.
after he had lain for a little he took a little pull at this, and then another and another, and he thought this did him good, and soon he was sleeping sweetly, and dreaming that he was in heaven.
meanwhile word had gone round the village that the carpenter was dead, and was to be buried next day.
it was now the turn of the smith's wife.
her husband was lying sleeping off the effects of a drinking bout, so she pulled off all his clothes and made him black as coal from head to foot, and then let him sleep till far on in the day.
the funeral party had already met at the carpenter's, and marched oft towards the church with the coffin, when the smith's wife came rushing in to her husband.
"gracious, man," said she, "you are lying there yet?
you are sleeping too long.
you know you are going to the funeral."
the smith was quite confused; he knew nothing about any funeral.
"it's our neighbour the carpenter," said his wife, "who is to be buried to-day.
they are already half-way to church with him."
"all right," said the smith, "make haste to help me on with my black clothes."
"what nonsense!"
said his wife, "you have them on already.
be off with you now."
the smith looked down at his person and saw that he was a good deal blacker than he usually was, so he caught up his hat and ran out after the funeral.
this was already close to the church, and the smith wanted to take part in carrying the coffin, like a good neighbour.
so he ran with all his might, and shouted after them, "hey!
wait a little; let me get a hold of him!"
the people turned round and saw the black figure coming, and thought it was the devil himself, who wanted to get hold of the carpenter, so they threw down the coffin and took to their heels.
the lid sprang off the coffin with the shock, and the carpenter woke up and looked out.
he remembered the whole affair; he knew that he was dead and was going to be buried, and recognising the smith, he said to him, in a low voice, "my good neighbour, if i had n't been dead already, i should have laughed myself to death now to see you coming like this to my funeral."
from that time forth the carpenter's wife drank free of expense every sunday, for the others had to admit that she had fooled her husband the best.
king lindorm from the swedish.
there once lived a king and a queen who ruled over a very great kingdom.
they had large revenues, and lived happily with each other; but, as the years went past, the king's heart became heavy, because the queen had no children.
she also sorrowed greatly over it, because, although the king said nothing to her about this trouble, yet she could see that it vexed him that they had no heir to the kingdom; and she wished every day that she might have one.
one day a poor old woman came to the castle and asked to speak with the queen.
the royal servants answered that they could not let such a poor beggar-woman go in to their royal mistress.
they offered her a penny, and told her to go away.
then the woman desired them to tell the queen that there stood at the palace gate one who would help her secret sorrow.
this message was taken to the queen, who gave orders to bring the old woman to her.
this was done, and the old woman said to her: "i know your secret sorrow, o queen, and am come to help you in it.
you wish to have a son; you shall have two if you follow my instructions."
the queen was greatly surprised that the old woman knew her secret wish so well, and promised to follow her advice.
"you must have a bath set in your room, o queen," said she, "and filled with running water.
when you have bathed in this you will find.
under the bath two red onions.
these you must carefully peel and eat, and in time your wish will be fulfilled."
the queen did as the poor woman told her; and after she had bathed she found the two onions under the bath.
they were both alike in size and appearance.
when she saw these she knew that the woman had been something more than she seemed to be, and in her delight she ate up one of the onions, skin and all.
when she had done so she remembered that the woman had told her to peel them carefully before she ate them.
it was now too late for the one of them, but she peeled the other and then ate it too.
in due time it happened as the woman had said; but the first that the queen gave birth to was a hideous lindorm, or serpent.
no one saw this but her waiting-woman, who threw it out of the window into the forest beside the castle.
the next that came into the world was the most beautiful little prince, and he was shown to the king and queen, who knew nothing about his brother the lindorm.
there was now joy in all the palace and over the whole country on account of the beautiful prince; but no one knew that the queen's first-born was a lindorm, and lay in the wild forest.
time passed with the king, the queen, and the young prince in all happiness and prosperity, until he was twenty years of his age.
then his parents said to him that he should journey to another kingdom and seek for himself a bride, for they were beginning to grow old, and would fain see their son married.
before they were laid in their grave.
the prince obeyed, had his horses harnessed to his gilded chariot, and set out to woo his bride.
but when he came to the first cross-ways there lay a huge and terrible lindorm right across the road, so that his horses had to come to a standstill.
"where are you driving to?"
asked the lindorm with a hideous voice.
"that does not concern you," said the prince."
i am the prince, and can drive where i please."
"turn back," said the lindorm."
i know your errand, but you shall get no bride until i have got a mate and slept by her side."
the prince turned home again, and told the king and the queen what he had met at the cross-roads; but they thought that he should try again on the following day, and see whether he could not get past it, so that he might seek a bride in another kingdom.
the prince did so, but got no further than the first cross-roads; there lay the lindorm again, who stopped him in the same way as before.
the same thing happened on the third day when the prince tried to get past: the lindorm said, with a threatening voice, that before the prince could get a bride he himself must find a mate.
when the king and queen heard this for the third time they could think of no better plan than to invite the lindorm to the palace, and they should find him a mate.
they thought that a lindorm would be quite well satisfied with anyone that they might give him, and so they would get some slave-woman to marry the monster.
the lindorm came to the palace and received a bride of this kind, but in the morning she lay torn in pieces.
so it happened every time that the king and queen compelled any woman to be his bride.
the report of this soon spread over all the country.
now it happened that there was a man who had married a second time, and his wife heard of the lindorm with great delight.
her husband had a daughter by his first wife who was more beautiful than all other maidens, and so gentle and good that she won the heart of all who knew her.
his second wife, however, had also a grown-up daughter, who by herself would have been ugly and disagreeable enough, but beside her good and beautiful stepsister seemed still more ugly and wicked, so that all turned from her with loathing.
the stepmother had long been annoyed that her husband's daughter was so much more beautiful than her own, and in her heart she conceived a bitter hatred for her stepdaughter.
when she now heard that there was in the king's palace a lindorm which tore in pieces all the women that were married to him, and demanded a beautiful maiden for his bride, she went to the king, and said that her stepdaughter wished to wed the lindorm, so that the country's only prince might travel and seek a bride.
at this the king was greatly delighted, and gave orders that the young girl should be brought to the palace.
when the messengers came to fetch her she was terribly frightened, for she knew that it was her wicked stepmother who in this way was aiming at her life.
she begged that she might be allowed to spend another night in her father's house.
this was granted her, and she went to her mother's grave.
there she lamented her hard fate in being given over to the lindorm, and earnestly prayed her mother for counsel.
how long she lay there by the grave and wept one can not tell, but sure it is that she fell asleep and slept until the sun rose.
then she rose up from the grave, quite happy at heart, and began to search about in the fields.
there she found three nuts, which she carefully put away in her pocket.
"when i come into very great danger i must break one of these," she said to herself.
then she went home, and set out quite willingly with the king's messengers.
when these arrived at the palace with the beautiful young maiden everyone pitied her fate; but she herself was of good courage, and asked the queen for another bridal chamber than the one the lindorm had had before.
she got this, and then she requested them to put a pot full of strong lye on the fire and lay down three new scrubbing brushes.
the queen gave orders that everything should be done as she desired; and then the maiden dressed herself in seven clean snow-white shirts, and held her wedding with the lindorm.
when they were left alone in the bridal chamber the lindorm, in a threatening voice, ordered her to undress herself.
"undress yourself first!"
said she.
"none of the others bade me do that," said he in surprise.
"but i bid you," said she.
then the lindorm began to writhe, and groan, and breathe heavily; and after a little he had cast his outer skin, which lay on the floor, hideous to behold.
then his bride took off one of her snow-white shirts, and cast it on the lindorm's skin.
again he ordered her to undress, and again she commanded him to do so first.
he had to obey, and with groaning and pain cast off one skin after another, and for each skin the maiden threw off one of her shirts, until there lay on the floor seven lindorm skins and six snow-white shirts; the seventh she still had on.
the lindorm now lay before her as a formless, slimy mass, which she with all her might began to scrub with the lye and new scrubbing brushes.
when she had nearly worn out the last of these there stood before her the loveliest youth in the world.
he thanked her for having saved him from his enchantment, and told her that he was the king and queen's eldest son, and heir to the kingdom.
then he asked her whether she would keep the promise she had made to the lindorm, to share everything with him.
to this she was well content to answer "yes."
each time that the lindorm had held his wedding one of the king's retainers was sent next morning to open the door of the bridal chamber and see whether the bride was alive.
this next morning also he peeped in at the door, but what he saw there surprised him so much that he shut the door in a hurry, and hastened to the king and queen, who were waiting for his report.
he told them of the wonderful sight he had seen.
on the floor lay seven lindorm skins and six snow-white shirts, and beside these three worn-out scrubbing brushes, while in the bed a beautiful youth was lying asleep beside the fair young maiden.
the king and queen marvelled greatly what this could mean; but just then the old woman who was spoken of in the beginning of the story was again brought in to the queen.
she reminded her how she had not followed her instructions, but had eaten the first onion with all its skins, on which account her first-born had been a lindorm.
the waiting-woman was then summoned, and admitted that she had thrown it out through the window into the forest.
the king and queen now sent for their eldest son and his young bride.
they took them both in their arms, and asked him to tell about his sorrowful lot during the twenty years he had lived in the forest as a hideous lindorm.
this he did, and then his parents had it proclaimed over the whole country that he was their eldest son, and along with his spouse should inherit the country and kingdom after them.
prince lindorm and his beautiful wife now lived in joy and prosperity for a time in the palace; and when his father was laid in the grave, not long after this, he obtained the whole kingdom.
soon afterwards his mother also departed from this world.
now it happened that an enemy declared war against the young king; and, as he foresaw that it would be three years at the least before he could return to his country and his queen, he ordered all his servants who remained at home to guard her most carefully.
that they might be able to write to each other in confidence, he had two seal rings made, one for himself and one for his young queen, and issued an order that no one, under pain of death, was to open any letter that was sealed with one of these.
then he took farewell of his queen, and marched out to war.
the queen's wicked stepmother had heard with great grief that her beautiful stepdaughter had prospered so well that she had not only preserved her life, but had even become queen of the country.
she now plotted continually how she might destroy her good fortune.
while king lindorm was away at the war the wicked woman came to the queen, and spoke fair to her, saying that she had always foreseen that her stepdaughter was destined to be something great in the world, and that she had on this account secured that she should be the enchanted prince's bride.
the queen, who did not imagine that any person could be so deceitful, bade her stepmother welcome, and kept her beside her.
soon after this the queen had two children, the prettiest boys that anyone could see.
when she had written a letter to the king to tell him of this her stepmother asked leave to comb her hair for her, as her own mother used to do.
the queen gave her permission, and the stepmother combed her hair until she fell asleep.
then she took the seal ring off her neck, and exchanged the letter for another, in which she had written that the queen had given birth to two whelps.
when the king received.
this letter he was greatly distressed, but he remembered how he himself had lived for twenty years as a lindorm, and had been freed from the spell by his young queen.
he therefore wrote back to his most trusted retainer that the queen and her two whelps should be taken care of while he was away.
the stepmother, however, took this letter as well, and wrote a new one, in which the king ordered that the queen and the two little princes should be burnt at the stake.
this she also sealed with the queen's seal, which was in all respects like the king's.
the retainer was greatly shocked and grieved at the king's orders, for which he could discover no reason; but, as he had not the heart to destroy three innocent beings, he had a great fire kindled, and in this he burned a sheep and two lambs, so as to make people believe that he had carried out the king's commands.
the stepmother had made these known to the people, adding that the queen was a wicked sorceress.
the faithful servant, however, told the queen that it was the king's command that during the years he was absent in the war she should keep herself concealed in the castle, so that no one but himself should see her and the little princes.
the queen obeyed, and no one knew but that both she and her children had been burned.
but when the time came near for king lindorm to return home from the war the old retainer grew frightened because he had not obeyed his orders.
he therefore went to the queen, and told her everything, at the same time showing her the king's letter containing the command to burn her and the princes.
he then begged her to leave the palace before the king returned.
the queen now took her two little sons, and wandered out into the wild forest.
they walked all day without ending a human habitation, and became very tired.
the queen then caught sight of a man who carried some venison.
he seemed very poor and wretched, but the queen was glad to see a human being, and asked him whether he knew where she and her little children could get a house over their heads for the night.
the man answered that he had a little hut in the forest, and that she could rest there; but he also said that he was one who lived entirely apart from men, and owned no more than the hut, a horse, and a dog, and supported himself by hunting.
the queen followed him to the hut and rested there overnight with her children, and when she awoke in the morning the man had already gone out hunting.
the queen then began to put the room in order and prepare food, so that when the man came home he found everything neat and tidy, and this seemed to give him some pleasure.
he spoke but little, however, and all that he said about himself was that his name was peter.
later in the day he rode out into the forest, and the queen thought that he looked very unhappy.
while he was away she looked about her in the hut a little more closely, and found a tub full of shirts stained with blood, lying among water.
she was surprised at this, but thought that the man would get the blood on his shirt when he was carrying home venison.
she washed the shirts, and hung them up to dry, and said nothing to peter about the matter.
after some time had passed she noticed that every day he came riding home from the forest he took off a blood-stained shirt and put on a clean one.
she then saw that it was something else than the blood of the deer that stained his shirts, so one day she took courage and asked him about it.
at first he refused to tell her, but she then related to him her own story, and how she had succeeded in delivering the lindorm.
he then told her that he had formerly lived a wild life, and had finally entered into a written contract * with the evil spirit.
before this contract had expired he had repented and turned from his evil ways, and withdrawn himself to this solitude.
the evil one had then lost all power to take him, but so long as he had the contract he could compel him to meet him in the forest each day at a certain time, where the evil spirits then scourged him till he bled.
next day, when the time came for the man to ride into the forest, the queen asked him to stay at home and look after the princes, and she would go to meet the evil spirits in his place.
the man was amazed, and said that this would not only cost her her life, but would also bring upon him a greater misfortune than the one he was already under.
she bade him be of good courage, looked to see that she had the three nuts which she had found beside her mother's grave, mounted her horse, and rode out into the forest.
when she had ridden for some time the evil spirits came forth and said, "here comes peter's horse and peter's hound; but peter himself is not with them."
then at a distance she heard a terrible voice demanding to know what she wanted."
i have come to get peter's contract," said she.
at this there arose a terrible uproar among the evil spirits, and the worst voice among them all said, "ride home and tell peter that when he comes to-morrow he shall get twice as many strokes as usual."
the queen then took one of her nuts and cracked it, and turned her horse about.
at this sparks of fire flew out of all the trees, and the evil spirits howled as if they were being scourged back to their abode.
next day at the same time the queen again rode out into the forest; but on this occasion the spirits did not dare to come so near her.
they would not, however, give up the contract, but threatened both her and the man.
then she cracked her second nut, and all the forest behind her seemed to be in fire and flames, and the evil spirits howled even worse than on the previous day; but the contract they would not give up.
the queen had only one nut left now, but even that she was ready to give up in order to deliver the man.
this time she cracked the nut as soon as she came near the place where the spirits appeared, and what then happened to them she could not see, but amid wild screams and howls the contract was handed to her at the end of a long branch.
the queen rode happy home to the hut, and happier still was the man, who had been sitting there in great anxiety, for now he was freed from all the power of the evil spirits.
meanwhile king lindorm had come home from the war, and the first question he asked when he entered the palace was about the queen and the whelps.
the attendants were surprised: they knew of no whelps.
the queen had had two beautiful princes; but the king had sent orders that all these were to be burned.
the king grew pale with sorrow and anger, and ordered them to summon his trusted retainer, to whom he had sent the instructions that the queen and the whelps were to be carefully looked after.
the retainer, however, showed him the letter in which there was written that the queen and her children were to be burned, and everyone then understood that some great treachery had been enacted.
when the king's trusted retainer saw his master's deep sorrow he confessed to him that he had spared the lives of the queen and the princes, and had only burned a sheep and two lambs, and had kept the queen and her children hidden in the palace for three years, but had sent her out into the wild forest just when the king was expected home.
when the king heard this his sorrow was lessened, and he said that he would wander out into the forest and search for his wife and children.
if he found them he would return to his palace; but if he did not find them he would never see it again, and in that case the faithful retainer who had saved the lives of the queen and the princes should be king in his stead.
the king then went forth alone into the wild forest, and wandered there the whole day without seeing a single human being.
so it went with him the second day also, but on the third day he came by roundabout ways to the little hut.
he went in there, and asked for leave to rest himself for a little on the bench.
the queen and the princes were there, but she was poorly clad and so sorrowful that the king did not recognise her, neither did he think for a moment that the two children, who were dressed only in rough skins, were his own sons.
he lay down on the bench, and, tired as he was, he soon fell asleep.
the bench was a narrow one, and as he slept his arm fell down and hung by the side of it.
"my son, go and lift your father's arm up on the bench," said the queen to one of the princes, for she easily knew the king again, although she was afraid to make herself known to him.
the boy went and took the king's arm, but, being only a child, he did not lift it up very gently on to the bench.
the king woke at this, thinking at first that he had fallen into a den of robbers, but he decided to keep quiet and pretend that he was asleep until he should find out what kind of folk were in the house.
he lay still for a little, and, as no one moved in the room, he again let his arm glide down off the bench.
then he heard a woman's voice say, "my son, go you and lift your father's arm up on the bench, but do n't do it so rough!y as your brother did."
then he felt a pair of little hands softly clasping his arm; he opened his eyes, and saw his queen and her children.
he sprang up and caught all three in his arms, and afterwards took them, along with the man and his horse and his hound, back to the palace with great joy.
the most unbounded rejoicing reigned there then, as well as over the whole kingdom, but the wicked stepmother was burned.
king lindorm lived long and happily with his queen, and there are some who say that if they are not dead now they are still living to this day.
the jackal, the dove, and the panther contes populaires des bassoutos.
recueillis et traduits par e. jacottet.
paris: leroux, editeur.
there was once a dove who built a nice soft nest as a home for her three little ones.
she was very proud of their beauty, and perhaps talked about them to her neighbours more than she need have done, till at last everybody for miles round knew where the three prettiest baby doves in the whole country-side were to be found.
one day a jackal who was prowling about in search of a dinner came by chance to the foot of the rock where the dove's nest was hidden away, and he suddenly bethought himself that if he could get nothing better he might manage to make a mouthful of one of the young doves.
so he shouted as loud as he could, "ohe, ohe, mother dove."
and the dove replied, trembling with fear, "what do you want, sir?"
"one of your children," said he; "and if you do n't throw it to me i will eat up you and the others as well."
now, the dove was nearly driven distracted at the jackal's words; but, in order to save the lives of the other two, she did at last throw the little one out of the nest.
the jackal ate it up, and went home to sleep.
meanwhile the mother dove sat on the edge of her nest, crying bitterly, when a heron, who was flying slowly past the rock, was filled with pity for her, and stopped to ask, "what is the matter, you poor dove?"
and the dove answered," a jackal came by, and asked me to give him one of my little ones, and said that if i refused he would jump on my nest and eat us all up."
but the heron replied, "you should not have believed him.
he could never have jumped so high.
he only deceived you because he wanted something for supper."
and with these words the heron flew off.
he had hardly got out of sight when again the jackal came creeping slowly round the foot of the rock.
and when he saw the dove he cried out a second time, "ohe, ohe, mother dove!
give me one of your little ones, or i will jump on your nest and eat you all up."
this time the dove knew better, and she answered boldly, "indeed, i shall do nothing of the sort," though her heart beat wildly with fear when she saw the jackal preparing for a spring.
however, he only cut himself against the rock, and thought he had better stick to threats, so he started again with his old cry, "mother dove, mother dove!
be quick and give me one of your little ones, or i will eat you all up."
but the mother dove only answered as before, "indeed, i shall do nothing of the sort, for i know we are safely out of your reach."
the jackal felt it was quite hopeless to get what he wanted, and asked, "tell me, mother dove, how have you suddenly become so wise?"
"it was the heron who told me," replied she.
"and which way did he go?"
said the jackal.
"down there among the reeds.
you can see him if you look," said the dove.
then the jackal nodded good-bye, and went quickly after the heron.
he soon came up to the great bird, who was standing on a stone on the edge of the river watching for a nice fat fish.
"tell me, heron," said he, "when the wind blows from that quarter, to which side do you turn?"
"and which side do you turn to?"
asked the heron.
the jackal answered," i always turn to this side."
"then that is the side i turn to," remarked the heron.
"and when the rain comes from that quarter, which side do you turn to?"
and the heron replied, "and which side do you turn to?"
"oh, i always turn to this side," said the jackal.
"then that is the side i turn to," said the heron.
"and when the rain comes straight down, what do you do?"
"what do you do yourself?"
asked the heron."
i do this," answered the jackal."
i cover my head with my paws."
"then that is what i do," said the heron."
i cover my head with my wings," and as he spoke he lifted his large wings and spread them completely over his head.
with one bound the jackal had seized him by the neck, and began to shake him.
"oh, have pity, have pity!"
cried the heron."
i never did you any harm."
"you told the dove how to get the better of me, and i am going to eat you for it."
"but if you will let me go," entreated the heron," i will show you the place where the panther has her lair."
"then you had better be quick about it," said the jackal, holding tight on to the heron until he had pointed out the panther's den.
"now you may go, my friend, for there is plenty of food here for me."
so the jackal came up to the panther, and asked politely, "panther, would you like me to look after your children while you are out hunting?'"
i should be very much obliged," said the panther; "but be sure you take care of them.
they always cry all the time that i am away."
so saying she trotted off, and the jackal marched into the cave, where he found ten little panthers, and instantly ate one up.
by-and-bye the panther returned from hunting, and said to him, "jackal, bring out my little ones for their supper."
the jackal fetched them out one by one till he had brought out nine, and he took the last one and brought it out again, so the whole ten seemed to be there, and the panther was quite satisfied.
next day she went again to the chase, and the jackal ate up another little panther, so now there were only eight.
in the evening, when she came back, the panther said, "jackal, bring out my little ones!"
and the jackal brought out first one and then another, and the last one he brought out three times, so that the whole ten seemed to be there.
the following day the same thing happened, and the next and the next and the next, till at length there was not even one left, and the rest of the day the jackal busied himself with digging a large hole at the back of the den.
that night, when the panther returned from hunting, she said to him as usual, "jackal, bring out my little ones."
but the jackal replied: "bring out your little ones, indeed!
why, you know as well as i do that you have eaten them all up."
of course the panther had not the least idea what the jackal meant by this, and only repeated, "jackal, bring out my children."
as she got no answer she entered the cave, but found no jackal, for he had crawled through the hole he had made and escaped.
and, what was worse, she did not find the little ones either.
now the panther was not going to let the jackal get off like that, and set off at a trot to catch him.
the jackal, however, had got a good start, and he reached a place where a swarm of bees deposited their honey in the cleft of a rock.
then he stood still and waited till the panther came up to him: "jackal, where are my little ones?"
she asked.
and the jackal answered: "they are up there.
it is where i keep school."
the panther looked about, and then inquired, "but where?
i see nothing of them."
"come a little this way," said the jackal, "and you will hear how beautifully they sing."
so the panther drew near the cleft of the rock.
"do n't you hear them?"
said the jackal; "they are in there," and slipped away while the panther was listening to the song of the children.
she was still standing in the same place when a baboon went by.
"what are you doing there, panther?'"
i am listening to my children singing.
it is here that the jackal keeps his school."
then the baboon seized a stick, and poked it in the cleft of the rock, exclaiming, "well, then, i should like to see your children!"
the bees flew out in a huge swarm, and made furiously for the panther, whom they attacked on all sides, while the baboon soon climbed up out of the way, crying, as he perched himself on the branch of a tree," i wish you joy of your children!"
while from afar the jackal's voice was heard exclaiming: "sting, her well!
do n't let her go!"
the panther galloped away as if she was mad, and flung herself into the nearest lake, but every time she raised her head, the bees stung her afresh so at last the poor beast was drowned altogether.
the little hare contes populaires des bassoutos.
recueillis et traduits par e. jacottet.
paris: leroux, editeur.
a long, long way off, in a land where water is very scarce, there lived a man and his wife and several children.
one day the wife said to her husband," i am pining to have the liver of a nyamatsane for my dinner.
if you love me as much as you say you do, you will go out and hunt for a nyamatsane, and will kill it and get its liver.
if not, i shall know that your love is not worth having."
"bake some bread," was all her husband answered, "then take the crust and put it in this little bag."
the wife did as she was told, and when she had finished she said to her husband, "the bag is all ready and quite full."
"very well," said he, "and now good-bye; i am going after the nyamatsane."
but the nyamatsane was not so easy to find as the woman had hoped.
the husband walked on and on and on without ever seeing one, and every now and then he felt so hungry that he was obliged to eat one of the crusts of bread out of his bag.
at last, when he was ready to drop from fatigue, he found himself on the edge of a great marsh, which bordered on one side the country of the nyamatsanes.
but there were no more nyamatsanes here than anywhere else.
they had all gone on a hunting expedition, as their larder was empty, and the only person left at home was their grandmother, who was so feeble she never went out of the house.
our friend looked on this as a great piece of luck, and made haste to kill her before the others returned, and to take out her liver, after which he dressed himself in her skin as well as he could.
he had scarcely done this when he heard the noise of the nyamatsanes coming back to their grandmother, for they were very fond of her, and never stayed away from her longer than they could help.
they rushed clattering into the hut, exclaiming, "we smell human flesh!
some man is here," and began to look about for him; but they only saw their old grandmother, who answered, in a trembling voice, "no, my children, no!
what should any man be doing here?"
the nyamatsanes paid no attention to her, and began to open all the cupboards, and peep under all the beds, crying out all the while," a man is here!
a man is here!"
but they could find nobody, and at length, tired out with their long day's hunting, they curled themselves up and fell asleep.
next morning they woke up quite refreshed, and made ready to start on another expedition; but as they did not feel happy about their grandmother they said to her, "grandmother, wo n't you come to-day and feed with us?"
and they led their grandmother outside, and all of them began hungrily to eat pebbles.
our friend pretended to do the same, but in reality he slipped the stones into his pouch, and swallowed the crusts of bread instead.
however, as the nyamatsanes did not see this they had no idea that he was not really their grandmother.
when they had eaten a great many pebbles they thought they had done enough for that day, and all went home together and curled themselves up to sleep.
next morning when they woke they said, "let us go and amuse ourselves by jumping over the ditch," and every time they cleared it with a bound.
then they begged their grandmother to jump over it too, end with a tremendous effort she managed to spring right over to the other side.
after this they had no doubt at all of its being their true grandmother, and went off to their hunting, leaving our friend at home in the hut.
as soon as they had gone out of sight our hero made haste to take the liver from the place where he had hid it, threw off the skin of the old nyamatsane, and ran away as hard as he could, only stopping to pick up a very brilliant and polished little stone, which he put in his bag by the side of the liver.
towards evening the nyamatsanes came back to the hut full of anxiety to know how their grandmother had got on during their absence.
the first thing they saw on entering the door was her skin lying on the floor, and then they knew that they had been deceived, and they said to each other, "so we were right, after all, and it was human flesh we smelt."
then they stooped down to find traces of the man's footsteps, and when they had got them instantly set out in hot pursuit.
meanwhile our friend had journeyed many miles, and was beginning to feel quite safe and comfortable, when, happening to look round, he saw in the distance a thick cloud of dust moving rapidly.
his heart stood still within him, and he said to himself," i am lost.
it is the nyamatsanes, and they will tear me in pieces," and indeed the cloud of dust was drawing near with amazing quickness, and the nyamatsanes almost felt as if they were already devouring him.
then as a last hope the man took the little stone that he had picked up out of his bag and flung it on the ground.
the moment it touched the soil it became a huge rock, whose steep sides were smooth as glass, and on the top of it our hero hastily seated himself.
it was in vain that the nyamatsanes tried to climb up and reach him; they slid down again much faster than they had gone up; and by sunset they were quite worn out, and fell asleep at the foot of the rock.
no sooner had the nyamatsanes tumbled off to sleep than the man stole softly down and fled away as fast as his legs would carry him, and by the time his enemies were awake he was a very long way off.
they sprang quickly to their feet and began to sniff the soil round the rock, in order to discover traces of his footsteps, and they galloped after him with terrific speed.
the chase continued for several days and nights; several times the nyamatsanes almost reached him, and each time he was saved by his little pebble.
between his fright and his hurry he was almost dead of exhaustion when he reached his own village, where the nyamatsanes could not follow him, because of their enemies the dogs, which swarmed over all the roads.
so they returned home.
then our friend staggered into his own hut and called to his wife: "ichou!
how tired i am!
quick, give me something to drink.
then go and get fuel and light a fire."
so she did what she was bid, and then her husband took the nyamatsane's liver from his pouch and said to her, "there, i have brought you what you wanted, and now you know that i love you truly."
and the wife answered, "it is well.
now go and take out the children, so that i may remain alone in the hut," and as she spoke she lifted down an old stone pot and put on the liver to cook.
her husband watched her for a moment, and then said, "be sure you eat it all yourself.
do not give a scrap to any of the children, but eat every morsel up."
so the woman took the liver and ate it all herself.
directly the last mouthful had disappeared she was seized with such violent thirst that she caught up a great pot full of water and drank it at a single draught.
then, having no more in the house, she ran in next door and said, "neighbour, give me, i pray you, something to drink."
the neighbour gave her a large vessel quite full, and the woman drank it off at a single draught, and held it out for more.
but the neighbour pushed her away, saying, "no, i shall have none left for my children."
so the woman went into another house, and drank all the water she could find; but the more she drank the more thirsty she became.
she wandered in this manner through the whole village till she had drunk every water-pot dry.
then she rushed off to the nearest spring, and swallowed that, and when she had finished all the springs and wells about she drank up first the river and then a lake.
but by this time she had drunk so much that she could not rise from the ground.
in the evening, when it was time for the animals to have their drink before going to bed, they found the lake quite dry, and they had to make up their minds to be thirsty till the water flowed again and the streams were full.
even then, for some time, the lake was very dirty, and the lion, as king of the beasts, commanded that no one should drink till it was quite clear again.
but the little hare, who was fond of having his own way, and was very thirsty besides, stole quietly off when all the rest were asleep in their dens, and crept down to the margin of the lake and drank his fill.
then he smeared the dirty water all over the rabbit's face and paws, so that it might look as if it were he who had been disobeying big lion's orders.
the next day, as soon as it was light, big lion marched straight for the lake, and all the other beasts followed him.
he saw at once that the water had been troubled again, and was very angry.
"who has been drinking my water?"
said he; and the little hare gave a jump, and, pointing to the rabbit, he answered, "look there!
it must be he!
why, there is mud all over his face and paws!"
the rabbit, frightened out of his wits, tried to deny the fact, exclaiming, "oh, no, indeed i never did;" but big lion would not listen, and commanded them to cane him with a birch rod.
now the little hare was very much pleased with his cleverness in causing the rabbit to be beaten instead of himself, and went about boasting of it.
at last one of the other animals overheard him, and called out, "little hare, little hare!
what is that you are saying?"
but the little hare hastily replied," i only asked you to pass me my stick."
an hour or two later, thinking that no one was near him, he said to himself again, "it was really i who drank up the water, but i made them think it was the rabbit."
but one of the beasts whose ears were longer than the rest caught the words, and went to tell big lion about it.
do you hear what the little hare is saying?"
so big lion sent for the little hare, and asked him what he meant by talking like that.
the little hare saw that there was no use trying to hide it, so he answered pertly, "it was i who drank the water, but i made them think it was the rabbit."
then he turned and ran as fast as he could, with all the other beasts pursuing him.
they were almost up to him when he dashed into a very narrow cleft in the rock, much too small for them to follow; but in his hurry he had left one of his long ears sticking out, which they just managed to seize.
but pull as hard as they might they could not drag him out of the hole, and at last they gave it up and left him, with his ear very much torn and scratched.
when the last tail was out of sight the little hare crept cautiously out, and the first person he met was the rabbit.
he had plenty of impudence, so he put a bold face on the matter, and said, "well, my good rabbit, you see i have had a beating as well as you."
but the rabbit was still sore and sulky, and he did not care to talk, so he answered, coldly, "you have treated me very badly.
it was really you who drank that water, and you accused me of having done it."
"oh, my good rabbit, never mind that!
i've got such a wonderful secret to tell you!
do you know what to do so as to escape death?"
"no, i do n't."
"well, we must begin by digging a hole."
so they dug a hole, and then the little hare said, "the next thing is to make a fire in the hole," and they set to work to collect wood, and lit quite a large fire.
when it was burning brightly the little hare said to the rabbit, "rabbit, my friend, throw me into the fire, and when you hear my fur crackling, and i call "itchi, itchi," then be quick and pull me out."
the rabbit did as he was told, and threw the little hare into the fire; but no sooner did the little hare begin to feel the heat of the flames than he took some green bay leaves he had plucked for the purpose and held them in the middle of the fire, where they crackled and made a great noise.
then he called loudly "itchi, itchi!
rabbit, my friend, be quick, be quick!
do n't you hear how my skin is crackling?"
and the rabbit came in a great hurry and pulled him out.
then the little hare said, "now it is your turn!"
and he threw the rabbit in the fire.
the moment the rabbit felt the flames he cried out "itchi, itchi, i am burning; pull me out quick, my friend!"
but the little hare only laughed, and said, "no, you may stay there!
it is your own fault.
why were you such a fool as to let yourself be thrown in?
did n't you know that fire burns?"
and in a very few minutes nothing was left of the rabbit but a few bones.
when the fire was quite out the little hare went and picked up one of these bones, and made a flute out of it, and sang this song: pii, pii, o flute that i love, pii, pii, rabbits are but little boys.
pii, pii, he would have burned me if he could; pii, pii, but i burned him, and he crackled finely.
when he got tired of going through the world singing this the little hare went back to his friends and entered the service of big lion.
one day he said to his master, "grandfather, shall i show you a splendid way to kill game?"
"what is it?"
asked big lion.
"we must dig a ditch, and then you must lie in it and pretend to be dead."
big lion did as he was told, and when he had lain down the little hare got up on a wall blew a trumpet and shouted -- pii, pii, all you animals come and see, big lion is dead, and now peace will be.
directly they heard this they all came running.
the little hare received them and said, "pass on, this way to the lion."
so they all entered into the animal kingdom.
last of all came the monkey with her baby on her back.
she approached the ditch, and took a blade of grass and tickled big lion's nose, and his nostrils moved in spite of his efforts to keep them still.
then the monkey cried, "come, my baby, climb on my back and let us go.
what sort of a dead body is it that can still feel when it is tickled?"
and she and her baby went away in a fright.
then the little hare said to the other beasts, "now, shut the gate of the animal kingdom."
and it was shut, and great stones were rolled against it.
when everything was tight closed the little hare turned to big lion and said "now!"
and big lion bounded out of the ditch and tore the other animals in pieces.
but big lion kept all the choice bits for himself, and only gave away the little scraps that he did not care about eating; and the little hare grew very angry, and determined to have his revenge.
he had long ago found out that big lion was very easily taken in; so he laid his plans accordingly.
he said to him, as if the idea had just come into his head, "grandfather, let us build a hut," and big lion consented.
and when they had driven the stakes into the ground, and had made the walls of the hut, the little hare told big lion to climb upon the top while he stayed inside.
when he was ready he called out, "now, grandfather, begin," and big lion passed his rod through the reeds with which the roofs are always covered in that country.
the little hare took it and cried, "now it is my turn to pierce them," and as he spoke he passed the rod back through the reeds and gave big lion's tail a sharp poke.
"what is pricking me so?"
asked big lion.
"oh, just a little branch sticking out.
i am going to break it," answered the little hare; but of course he had done it on purpose, as he wanted to fix big lion's tail so firmly to the hut that he would not be able to move.
in a little while he gave another prick, and big lion called again, "what is pricking me so?"
this time the little hare said to himself, "he will find out what i am at.
i must try some other plan.
"so he called out, "grandfather, you had better put your tongue here, so that the branches shall not touch you."
big lion did as he was bid, and the little hare tied it tightly to the stakes of the wall.
then he went outside and shouted, "grandfather, you can come down now," and big lion tried, but he could not move an inch.
then the little hare began quietly to eat big lion's dinner right before his eyes, and paying no attention at all to his growls of rage.
when he had quite done he climbed up on the hut, and, blowing his flute, he chanted "pii, pii, fall rain and hail," and directly the sky was full of clouds, the thunder roared, and huge hailstones whitened the roof of the hut.
the little hare, who had taken refuge within, called out again, "big lion, be quick and come down and dine with me."
but there was no answer, not even a growl, for the hailstones had killed big lion.
the little hare enjoyed himself vastly for some time, living comfortably in the hut, with plenty of food to eat and no trouble at all in getting it.
but one day a great wind arose, and flung down the big lion's half-dried skin from the roof of the hut.
the little hare bounded with terror at the noise, for he thought big lion must have come to life again; but on discovering what had happened he set about cleaning the skin, and propped the mouth open with sticks so that he could get through.
so, dressed in big lion's skin, the little hare started on his travels.
the first visit he paid was to the hyaenas, who trembled at the sight of him, and whispered to each other, "how shall we escape from this terrible beast?"
meanwhile the little hare did not trouble himself about them, but just asked where the king of the hyaenas lived, and made himself quite at home there.
every morning each hyaena thought to himself, "to-day he is certain to eat me;" but several days went by, and they were all still alive.
at length, one evening, the little hare, looking round for something to amuse him, noticed a great pot full of boiling water, so he strolled up to one of the hyaenas and said, "go and get in."
the hyaena dared not disobey, and in a few minutes was scalded to death.
then the little hare went the round of the village, saying to every hyaena he met, "go and get into the boiling water," so that in a little while there was hardly a male left in the village.
one day all the hyaenas that remained alive went out very early into the fields, leaving only one little daughter at home.
the little hare, thinking he was all alone, came into the enclosure, and, wishing to feel what it was like to be a hare again, threw off big lion's skin, and began to jump and dance, singing -- i am just the little hare, the little hare, the little hare; i am just the little hare who killed the great hyaenas.
the little hyaena gazed at him in surprise, saying to herself, "what!
was it really this tiny beast who put to death all our best people?"
when suddenly a gust of wind rustled the reeds that surrounded the enclosure, and the little hare, in a fright, hastily sprang back into big lion's skin.
when the hyaenas returned to their homes the little hyaena said to her father: "father, our tribe has very nearly been swept away, and all this has been the work of a tiny creature dressed in the lion's skin."
but her father answered, "oh, my dear child, you do n't know what you are talking about."
she replied, "yes, father, it is quite true.
i saw it with my own eyes."
the father did not know what to think, and told one of his friends, who said, "to-morrow we had better keep watch ourselves."
and the next day they hid themselves and waited till the little hare came out of the royal hut.
he walked gaily towards the enclosure, threw off, big lion's skin, and sang and danced as before -- i am just the little hare, the little hare, the little hare, i am just the little hare, who killed the great hyaenas.
that night the two hyaenas told all the rest, saying, "do you know that we have allowed ourselves to be trampled on by a wretched creature with nothing of the lion about him but his skin?"
when supper was being cooked that evening, before they all went to bed, the little hare, looking fierce and terrible in big lion's skin, said as usual to one of the hyaenas "go and get into the boiling water."
but the hyaena never stirred.
there was silence for a moment; then a hyaena took a stone, and flung it with all his force against the lion's skin.
the little hare jumped out through the mouth with a single spring, and fled away like lightning, all the hyaenas in full pursuit uttering great cries.
as he turned a corner the little hare cut off both his ears, so that they should not know him, and pretended to be working at a grindstone which lay there.
the hyaenas soon came up to him and said, "tell me, friend, have you seen the little hare go by?"
"no, i have seen no one."
"where can he be?"
said the hyaenas one to another.
"of course, this creature is quite different, and not at all like the little hare."
then they went on their way, but, finding no traces of the little hare, they returned sadly to their village, saying, "to think we should have allowed ourselves to be swept away by a wretched creature like that!"
the sparrow with the slit tongue from the japanische marchen und sagen.
a long long time ago, an old couple dwelt in the very heart of a high mountain.
they lived together in peace and harmony, although they were very different in character, the man being good-natured and honest, and the wife being greedy and quarrelsome when anyone came her way that she could possibly quarrel with.
one day the old man was sitting in front of his cottage, as he was very fond of doing, when he saw flying towards him a little sparrow, followed by a big black raven.
the poor little thing was very much frightened and cried out as it flew, and the great bird came behind it terribly fast, flapping its wings and craning its beak, for it was hungry and wanted some dinner.
but as they drew near the old man, he jumped up, and beat back the raven, which mounted, with hoarse screams of disappointment, into the sky, and the little bird, freed from its enemy, nestled into the old man's hand, and he carried it into the house.
he stroked its feathers, and told it not to be afraid, for it was quite safe; but as he still felt its heart beating, he put it into a cage, where it soon plucked up courage to twitter and hop about.
the old man was fond of all creatures, and every morning he used to open the cage door, and the sparrow flew happily about until it caught sight of a cat or a rat or some other fierce beast, when it would instantly return to the cage, knowing that there no harm could come to it.
the woman, who was always on the look-out for something to grumble at, grew very jealous of her husband's affection for the bird, and would gladly have done it some harm had she dared.
at last, one morning her opportunity came.
her husband had gone to the town some miles away down the mountain, and would not be back for several hours, but before he left he did not forget to open the door of the cage.
the sparrow hopped about as usual, twittering happily, and thinking no evil, and all the while the woman's brow became blacker and blacker, and at length her fury broke out.
she threw her broom at the bird, who was perched on a bracket high up on the wall.
the broom missed the bird, but knocked down and broke the vase on the bracket, which did not soothe the angry woman.
then she chased it from place to place, and at last had it safe between her fingers, almost as frightened as on the day that it had made its first entrance into the hut.
by this time the woman was more furious than ever.
if she had dared, she would have killed the sparrow then and there, but as it was she only ventured to slit its tongue.
the bird struggled and piped, but there was no one to hear it, and then, crying out loud with the pain, it flew from the house and was lost in the depths of the forest.
by-and-bye the old man came back, and at once began to ask for his pet.
his wife, who was still in a very bad temper, told him the whole story, and scolded him roundly for being so silly as to make such a fuss over a bird.
but the old man, who was much troubled, declared she was a bad, hard-hearted woman, to have behaved so to a poor harmless bird; then he left the house, and went into the forest to seek for his pet.
he walked many hours, whistling and calling for it, but it never came, and he went sadly home, resolved to be out with the dawn and never to rest till he had brought the wanderer back.
day after day he searched and called; and evening after evening he returned in despair.
at length he gave up hope, and made up his mind that he should see his little friend no more.
one hot summer morning, the old man was walking slowly under the cool shadows of the big trees, and without thinking where he was going, he entered a bamboo thicket.
as the bamboos became thinner, he found himself opposite to a beautiful garden, in the centre of which stood a tiny spick-and-span little house, and out of the house came a lovely maiden, who unlatched the gate and invited him in the most hospitable way to enter and rest.
"oh, my dear old friend," she exclaimed, "how glad i am you have found me at last!
i am your little sparrow, whose life you saved, and whom you took such care of."
the old man seized her hands eagerly, but no time was given him to ask any questions, for the maiden drew him into the house, and set food before him, and waited on him herself.
while he was eating, the damsel and her maids took their lutes, and sang and danced to him, and altogether the hours passed so swiftly that the old man never saw that darkness had come, or remembered the scolding he would get from his wife for returning home so late.
thus, in dancing and singing, and talking over the days when the maiden was a sparrow hopping in and out of her cage, the night passed away, and when the first rays of sun broke through the hedge of bamboo, the old man started up, thanked his hostess for her friendly welcome, and prepared to say farewell."
i am not going to let you depart like that," said she;" i have a present for you, which you must take as a sign of my gratitude."
and as she spoke, her servants brought in two chests, one of them very small, the other large and heavy.
"now choose which of them you will carry with you."
so the old man chose the small chest, and hid it under his cloak, and set out on his homeward way.
but as he drew near the house his heart sank a little, for he knew what a fury his wife would be in, and how she would abuse him for his absence.
and it was even worse than he expected.
however, long experience had taught him to let her storm and say nothing, so he lit his pipe and waited till she was tired out.
the woman was still raging, and did not seem likely to stop, when her husband, who by this time had forgotten all about her, drew out the chest from under his cloak, and opened it.
oh, what a blaze met his eyes!
gold and precious stones were heaped up to the very lid, and lay dancing in he sunlight.
at the sight of these wonders even the scolding tongue ceased, and the woman approached, and took the stones in her hand, setting greedily aside those that were the largest and most costly.
then her voice softened, and she begged him quite politely to tell her where he had spent his evening, and how he had come by these wonderful riches.
so he told her the whole story, and she listened with amazement, till he came to the choice which had been given him between the two chests.
at this her tongue broke loose again, as she abused him for his folly in taking the little one, and she never rested till her husband had described the exact way which led to the sparrow-princess's house.
when she had got it into her head, she put on her best clothes and set out at once.
but in her blind haste she often missed the path, and she wandered for several hours before she at length reached the little house.
she walked boldly up to the door and entered the room as if the whole place belonged to her, and quite frightened the poor girl, who was startled at the sight of her old enemy.
however, she concealed her feelings as well as she could, and bade the intruder welcome, placing before her food and wine, hoping that when she had eaten and drunk she might take her leave.
but nothing of the sort.
"you will not let me go without a little present?"
said the greedy wife, as she saw no signs of one being offered her.
"of course not," replied the girl, and at her orders two chests were brought in, as they had been before.
the old woman instantly seized the bigger, and staggering under the weight of it, disappeared into the forest, hardly waiting even to say good-bye.
it was a long way to her own house, and the chest seemed to grow heavier at every step.
sometimes she felt as if it would be impossible for her to get on at all, but her greed gave her strength, and at last she arrived at her own door.
she sank down on the threshold, overcome with weariness, but in a moment was on her feet again, fumbling with the lock of the chest.
but by this time night had come, and there was no light in the house, and the woman was in too much hurry to get to her treasures, to go and look for one.
at length, however, the lock gave way, and the lid flew open, when, o horror!
instead of gold and jewels, she saw before her serpents with glittering eyes and forky tongues.
and they twined themselves about her and darted poison into her veins, and she died, and no man regretted her.
the story of ciccu from sicilianische mahrchen.
once upon a time there lived a man who had three sons.
the eldest was called peppe, the second alfin, and the youngest ciccu.
they were all very poor, and at last things got so bad that they really had not enough to eat.
so the father called his sons, and said to them," my dear boys, i am too old to work any more, and there is nothing left for me but to beg in the streets."
"no, no!"
exclaimed his sons; "that you shall never do.
rather, if it must be, would we do it ourselves.
but we have thought of a better plan than that."
"what is it?"
asked the father.
"well, we will take you in the forest, where you shall cut wood, and then we will bind it up in bundles and sell it in the town."
so their father let them do as they said, and they all made their way into the forest; and as the old man was weak from lack of food his sons took it in turns to carry him on their backs.
then they built a little hut where they might take shelter, and set to work.
every morning early the father cut his sticks, and the sons bound them in bundles, and carried them to the town, bringing back the food the old man so much needed.
some months passed in this way, and then the father suddenly fell ill, and knew that the time had come when he must die.
he bade his sons fetch a lawyer, so that he might make his will, and when the man arrived he explained his wishes."
i have," said he," a little house in the village, and over it grows a fig-tree.
the house i leave to my sons, who are to live in it together; the fig-tree i divide as follows.
to my son peppe i leave the branches.
to my son alfin i leave the trunk.
to my son ciccu i leave the fruit.
besides the house and tree, i have an old coverlet, which i leave to my eldest son.
and an old purse, which i leave to my second son.
and a horn, which i leave to my youngest son.
and now farewell."
thus speaking, he laid himself down, and died quietly.
the brothers wept bitterly for their father, whom they loved, and when they had buried him they began to talk over their future lives.
"what shall we do now?"
said they.
"shall we live in the wood, or go back to the village?"
and they made up their minds to stay where they were and continue to earn their living by selling firewood.
one very hot evening, after they had been working hard all day, they fell asleep under a tree in front of the hut.
and as they slept there came by three fairies, who stopped to look at them.
"what fine fellows!"
said one.
"let us give them a present."
"yes, what shall it be?"
asked another.
"this youth has a coverlet over him," said the first fairy.
"when he wraps it round him, and wishes himself in any place, he will find himself there in an instant."
then said the second fairy: "this youth has a purse in his hand.
i will promise that it shall always give him as much gold as he asks for."
last came the turn of the third fairy.
"this one has a horn slung round him.
when he blows at the small end the seas shall be covered with ships.
and if he blows at the wide end they shall all be sunk in the waves."
so they vanished, without knowing that ciccu had been awake and heard all they said.
the next day, when they were all cutting wood, he said to his brothers, "that old coverlet and the purse are no use to you; i wish you would give them to me.
i have a fancy for them, for the sake of old times."
now peppe and alfin were very fond of ciccu, and never refused him anything, so they let him have the coverlet and the purse without a word.
when he had got them safely ciccu went on, "dear brothers, i am tired of the forest.
i want to live in the town, and work at some trade.'"
o ciccu!
stay with us," they cried.
"we are very happy here; and who knows how we shall get on elsewhere?"
"we can always try," answered ciccu; "and if times are bad we can come back here and take up wood-cutting."
so saying he picked up his bundle of sticks, and his brothers did the same.
but when they reached the town they found that the market was overstocked with firewood, and they did not sell enough to buy themselves a dinner, far less to get any food to carry home.
they were wondering sadly what they should do when ciccu said, "come with me to the inn and let us have something to eat."
they were so hungry by this time that they did not care much whether they paid for it or not, so they followed ciccu, who gave his orders to the host.
"bring us three dishes, the nicest that you have, and a good bottle of wine."
"ciccu!
ciccu!"
whispered his brothers, horrified at this extravagance, "are you mad?
how do you ever mean to pay for it?"
"let me alone," replied ciccu;" i know what i am about."
and when they had finished their dinner ciccu told the others to go on, and he would wait to pay the bill.
the brothers hurried on, without needing to be told twice, "for," thought they, "he has no money, and of course there will be a row."
when they were out of sight ciccu asked the landlord how much he owed, and then said to his purse, "dear purse, give me, i pray you, six florins," and instantly six florins were in the purse.
then he paid the bill and joined his brothers.
"how did you manage?"
they asked.
"never you mind," answered he."
i have paid every penny," and no more would he say.
but the other two were very uneasy, for they felt sure something must be wrong, and the sooner they parted company with ciccu the better.
ciccu understood what they were thinking, and, drawing forty gold pieces from his pocket, he held out twenty to each, saying, "take these and turn them to good account.
i am going away to seek my own fortune."
then he embraced them, and struck down another road.
he wandered on for many days, till at length he came to the town where the king had his court.
the first thing ciccu did was to order himself some fine clothes, and then buy a grand house, just opposite the palace.
next he locked his door, and ordered a shower of gold to cover the staircase, and when this was done, the door was flung wide open, and everyone came and peeped at the shining golden stairs.
lastly the rumour of these wonders reached the ears of the king, who left his palace to behold these splendours with his own eyes.
and ciccu received him with all respect, and showed him over the house.
when the king went home he told such stories of what he had seen that his wife and daughter declared that they must go and see them too.
so the king sent to ask ciccu's leave, and ciccu answered that if the queen and the princess would be pleased to do him such great honour he would show them anything they wished.
now the princess was as beautiful as the sun, and when ciccu looked upon her his heart went out to her, and he longed to have her to wife.
the princess saw what was passing in his mind, and how she could make use of it to satisfy her curiosity as to the golden stairs; so she praised him and flattered him, and put cunning questions, till at length ciccu's head was quite turned, and he told her the whole story of the fairies and their gifts.
then she begged him to lend her the purse for a few days, so that she could have one made like it, and so great was the love he had for her that he gave it to her at once.
the princess returned to the palace, taking with her the purse, which she had not the smallest intention of ever restoring to ciccu.
very soon ciccu had spent all the money he had by him, and could get no more without the help of his purse.
of course, he went at once to the king's daughter, and asked her if she had done with it, but she put him off with some excuse, and told him to come back next day.
the next day it was the same thing, and the next, till a great rage filled ciccu's heart instead of the love that had been there.
and when night came he took in his hand a thick stick, wrapped himself in the coverlet, and wished himself in the chamber of the princess.
the princess was asleep, but ciccu seized her arm and pulled her out of bed, and beat her till she gave back the purse.
then he took up the coverlet, and wished he was safe in his own house.
no sooner had he gone than the princess hastened to her father and complained of her sufferings.
then the king rose up in a fury, and commanded ciccu to be brought before him.
"you richly deserve death," said he, "but i will allow you to live if you will instantly hand over to me the coverlet, the purse, and the horn."
what could ciccu do?
life was sweet, and he was in the power of the king; so he gave up silently his ill-gotten goods, and was as poor as when he was a boy.
while he was wondering how he was to live it suddenly came into his mind that this was the season for the figs to ripen, and he said to himself," i will go and see if the tree has borne well."
so he set off home, where his brothers still lived, and found them living very uncomfortably, for they had spent all their money, and did not know how to make any more.
however, he was pleased to see that the fig-tree looked in splendid condition, and was full of fruit.
he ran and fetched a basket, and was just feeling the figs, to make sure which of them were ripe, when his brother peppe called to him, "stop!
the figs of course are yours, but the branches they grow on are mine, and i forbid you to touch them."
ciccu did not answer, but set a ladder against the tree, so that he could reach the topmost branches, and had his foot already on the first rung when he heard the voice of his brother alfin: "stop!
the trunk belongs to me, and i forbid you to touch it!"
then they began to quarrel violently, and there seemed no chance that they would ever cease, till one of them said, "let us go before a judge."
the others agreed, and when they had found a man whom they could trust ciccu told him the whole story.
"this is my verdict," said the judge.
"the figs in truth belong to you, but you can not pluck them without touching both the trunk and the branches.
therefore you must give your first basketful to your brother peppe, as the price of his leave to put your ladder against the tree; and the second basketful to your brother alfin, for leave to shake his boughs.
the rest you can keep for yourself."
and the brothers were contented, and returned home, saying one to the other, "we will each of us send a basket of figs to the king.
perhaps he will give us something in return, and if he does we will divide it faithfully between us."
so the best figs were carefully packed in a basket, and peppe set out with it to the castle.
on the road he met a little old man who stopped and said to him, "what have you got there, my fine fellow?"
"what is that to you?"
was the answer; "mind your own business."
but the old man only repeated his question, and peppe, to get rid of him, exclaimed in anger, "dirt."
"good," replied the old man; "dirt you have said, and dirt let it be."
peppe only tossed his head and went on his way till he got to the castle, where he knocked at the door."
i have a basket of lovely figs for the king," he said to the servant who opened it, "if his majesty will be graciously pleased to accept them with my humble duty."
the king loved figs, and ordered peppe to be admitted to his presence, and a silver dish to be brought on which to put the figs.
when peppe uncovered his basket sure enough a layer of beautiful purple figs met the king's eyes, but underneath there was nothing but dirt.
"how dare you play me such a trick?"
shrieked the king in a rage.
"take him away, and give him fifty lashes."
this was done, and peppe returned home, sore and angry, but determined to say nothing about his adventure.
and when his brothers asked him what had happened he only answered, "when we have all three been i will tell you."
a few days after this more figs were ready for plucking, and alfin in his turn set out for the palace.
he had not gone far down the road before he met the old man, who asked him what he had in his basket.
"horns," answered alfin, shortly.
"good," replied the old man; "horns you have said, and horns let it be."
when alfin reached the castle he knocked at the door and said to the servant: "here is a basket of lovely figs, if his majesty will be good enough to accept them with my humble duty."
the king commanded that alfin should be admitted to his presence, and a silver dish to be brought on which to lay the figs.
when the basket was uncovered some beautiful purple figs lay on the top, but underneath there was nothing but horns.
then the king was beside himself with passion, and screamed out, "is this a plot to mock me?
take him away, and give him a hundred and fifty lashes!"
so alfin went sadly home, but would not tell anything about his adventures, only saying grimly, "now it is ciccu's turn."
ciccu had to wait a little before he gathered the last figs on the tree, and these were not nearly so good as the first set.
however, he plucked them, as they had agreed, and set out for the king's palace.
the old man was still on the road, and he came up and said to ciccu, "what have you got in that basket?"
"figs for the king," answered he.
"let me have a peep," and ciccu lifted the lid.
"oh, do give me one, i am so fond of figs," begged the little man."
i am afraid if i do that the hole will show," replied ciccu, but as he was very good-natured he gave him one.
the old man ate it greedily and kept the stalk in his hand, and then asked for another and another and another till he had eaten half the basketful.
"but there are not enough left to take to the king," murmured ciccu.
"do n't be anxious," said the old man, throwing the stalks back into the basket; "just go on and carry the basket to the castle, and it will bring you luck."
ciccu did not much like it; however he went on his way, and with a trembling heart rang the castle bell.
"here are some lovely figs for the king," said he, "if his majesty will graciously accept them with my humble duty."
when the king was told that there was another man with a basket of figs he cried out, "oh, have him in, have him in!
i suppose it is a wager!"
but ciccu uncovered the basket, and there lay a pile of beautiful ripe figs.
and the king was delighted, and emptied them himself on the silver dish, and gave five florins to ciccu, and offered besides to take him into his service.
ciccu accepted gratefully, but said he must first return home and give the five florins to his brothers.
when he got home peppe spoke: "now we will see what we each have got from the king.
i myself received from him fifty lashes."
"and i a hundred and fifty," added alfin.
"and i five florins and some sweets, which you can divide between you, for the king has taken me into his service."
then ciccu went back to the court and served the king, and the king loved him.
the other two brothers heard that ciccu had become quite an important person, and they grew envious, and thought how they could put him to shame.
at last they came to the king and said to him," o king!
your palace is beautiful indeed, but to be worthy of you it lacks one thing -- the sword of the man-eater."
"how can i get it?"
asked the king.
"oh, ciccu can get it for you; ask him."
so the king sent for ciccu and said to him, "ciccu, you must at any price manage to get the sword of the man-eater."
ciccu was very much surprised at this sudden command, and he walked thoughtfully away to the stables and began to stroke his favourite horse, saying to himself, "ah, my pet, we must bid each other good-bye, for the king has sent me away to get the sword of the maneater."
now this horse was not like other horses, for it was a talking horse, and knew a great deal about many things, so it answered, "fear nothing, and do as i tell you.
beg the king to give you fifty gold pieces and leave to ride me, and the rest will be easy."
ciccu believed what the horse said, and prayed the king to grant him what he asked.
then the two friends set out, but the horse chose what roads he pleased, and directed ciccu in everything.
it took them many days" hard riding before they reached the country where the man-eater lived, and then the horse told ciccu to stop a group of old women who were coming chattering through the wood, and offer them each a shilling if they would collect a number of mosquitos and tie them up in a bag.
when the bag was full ciccu put it on his shoulder and stole into the house of the man-eater -lrb- who had gone to look for his dinner -rrb- and let them all out in his bedroom.
he himself hid carefully under the bed and waited.
the man-eater came in late, very tired with his long walk, and flung himself on the bed, placing his sword with its shining blade by his side.
scarcely had he lain down than the mosquitos began to buzz about and bite him, and he rolled from side to side trying to catch them, which he never could do, though they always seemed to be close to his nose.
he was so busy over the mosquitos that he did not hear ciccu steal softly out, or see him catch up the sword.
but the horse heard and stood ready at the door, and as ciccu came flying down the stairs and jumped on his back he sped away like the wind, and never stopped till they arrived at the king's palace.
the king had suffered much pain in his absence, thinking that if the man-eater ate ciccu, it would be all his fault.
and he was so overjoyed to have him safe that he almost forgot the sword which he had sent him to bring.
but the two brothers did not love ciccu any better because he had succeeded when they hoped he would have failed, and one day they spoke to the king.
"it is all very well for ciccu to have got possession of the sword, but it would have been far more to your majesty's honour if he had captured the man-eater himself."
the king thought upon these words, and at last he said to ciccu, "ciccu, i shall never rest until you bring me back the man-eater himself.
you may have any help you like, but somehow or other you must manage to do it."
ciccu felt very much cast, down at these words, and went to the stable to ask advice of his friend the horse.
"fear nothing," said the horse; "just say you want me and fifty pieces of gold."
ciccu did as he was bid, and the two set out together.
when they reached the country of the man-eater, ciccu made all the church bells toll and a proclamation to be made.
"ciccu, the servant of the king, is dead."
the man-eater soon heard what everyone was saying, and was glad in his heart, for he thought, "well, it is good news that the thief who stole my sword is dead."
but ciccu bought an axe and a saw, and cut down a pine tree in the nearest wood, and began to hew it into planks.
"what are you doing in my wood?"
asked the maneater, coming up.
"noble lord," answered ciccu," i am making a coffin for the body of ciccu, who is dead."
"do n't be in a hurry," answered the man-eater, who of course did not know whom he was talking to, "and perhaps i can help you;" and they set to work sawing and fitting, and very soon the coffin was finished.
then ciccu scratched his ear thoughtfully, and cried, "idiot that i am!
i never took any measures.
how am i to know if it is big enough?
but now i come to think of it, ciccu was about your size.
i wonder if you would be so good as just to put yourself in the coffin, and see if there is enough room."
"oh, delighted!"
said the man-eater, and laid himself at full length in the coffin.
ciccu clapped on the lid, put a strong cord round it, tied it fast on his horse, and rode back to the king.
and when the king saw that he really had brought back the man-eater, he commanded a huge iron chest to be brought, and locked the coffin up inside.
just about this time the queen died, and soon after the king thought he should like to marry again.
he sought everywhere, but he could not hear of any princess that took his fancy.
then the two envious brothers came to him and said," o king!
there is but one woman that is worthy of being your wife, and that is she who is the fairest in the whole world."
"but where can i find her?"
asked the king "oh, ciccu will know, and he will bring her to you."
now the king had got so used to depending on ciccu, that he really believed he could do everything.
so he sent for him and said, "ciccu, unless within eight days you bring me the fairest in the whole world, i will have you hewn into a thousand pieces."
this mission seemed to ciccu a hundred times worse than either of the others, and with tears in his eyes he took his way to the stables.
"cheer up," laughed the horse; "tell the king you must have some bread and honey, and a purse of gold, and leave the rest to me."
ciccu did as he was bid, and they started at a gallop.
after they had ridden some way, they saw a swarm of bees lying on the ground, so hungry and weak that they were unable to fly.
"get down, and give the poor things some honey," said the horse, and ciccu dismounted.
by-and-bye they came to a stream, on the bank of which was a fish, flapping feebly about in its efforts to reach the water.
"jump down, and throw the fish into the water; he will be useful to us," and ciccu did so.
farther along the hillside they saw an eagle whose leg was caught in a snare.
"go and free that eagle from the snare; he will be useful to us;" and in a moment the eagle was soaring up into the sky.
at length they came to the castle where the fairest in the world lived with her parents.
then said the horse, "you must get down and sit upon that stone, for i must enter the castle alone.
directly you see me come tearing by with the princess on my back, jump up behind, and hold her tight, so that she does not escape you.
if you fail to do this, we are both lost."
ciccu seated himself on the stone, and the horse went on to the courtyard of the castle, where he began to trot round in a graceful and elegant manner.
soon a crowd collected first to watch him and then to pat him, and the king and queen and princess came with the rest.
the eyes of the fairest in the world brightened as she looked, and she sprang on the horse's saddle, crying, "oh, i really must ride him a little!"
but the horse made one bound forward, and the princess was forced to hold tight by his mane, lest she should fall off.
and as they dashed past the stone where ciccu was waiting for them, he swung himself up and held her round the waist.
as he put his arms round her waist, the fairest in the world unwound the veil from her head and cast it to the ground, and then she drew a ring from her finger and flung it into the stream.
but she said nothing, and they rode on fast, fast.
the king of ciccu's country was watching for them from the top of a tower, and when he saw in the distance a cloud of dust, he ran down to the steps so as to be ready to receive them.
bowing low before the fairest in the world, he spoke: "noble lady, will you do me the honour to become my wife?"
but she answered, "that can only be when ciccu brings me the veil that i let fall on my way here."
and the king turned to ciccu and said, "ciccu, if you do not find the veil at once, you shall lose your head."
ciccu, who by this time had hoped for a little peace, felt his heart sink at this fresh errand, and he went into the stable to complain to the faithful horse.
"it will be all right," answered the horse when he had heard his tale; "just take enough food for the day for both of us, and then get on my back."
they rode back all the way they had come till they reached the place where they had found the eagle caught in the snare; then the horse bade ciccu to call three times on the king of the birds, and when he replied, to beg him to fetch the veil which the fairest in the world had let fall.
"wait a moment," answered a voice that seemed to come from somewhere very high up indeed.
"an eagle is playing with it just now, but he will be here with it in an instant;" and a few minutes after there was a sound of wings, and an eagle came fluttering towards them with the veil in his beak.
and ciccu saw it was the very same eagle that he had freed from the snare.
so he took the veil and rode back to the king.
now the king was enchanted to see him so soon, and took the veil from ciccu and flung it over the princess, crying, "here is the veil you asked for, so i claim you for my wife."
"not so fast," answered she."
i can never be your wife till ciccu puts on my finger the ring i threw into the stream.
ciccu, who was standing by expecting something of the sort, bowed his head when he heard her words, and went straight to the horse.
"mount at once," said the horse; "this time it is very simple," and he carried ciccu to the banks of the little stream.
"now, call three times on the emperor of the fishes, and beg him to restore you the ring that the princess dropped.
ciccu did as the horse told him, and a voice was heard in answer that seemed to come from a very long way off.
"what is your will?"
it asked; and ciccu replied that he had been commanded to bring back the ring that the princess had flung away, as she rode past."
a fish is playing with it just now," replied the voice; "however, you shall have it without delay."
and sure enough, very soon a little fish was seen rising to the surface with the lost ring in his mouth.
and ciccu knew him to be the fish that he had saved from death, and he took the ring and rode back with it to the king.
"that is not enough," exclaimed the princess when she saw the ring; "before we can be man and wife, the oven must be heated for three days and three nights, and ciccu must jump in."
and the king forgot how ciccu had served him, and desired him to do as the princess had said.
this time ciccu felt that no escape was possible, and he went to the horse and laid his hand on his neck.
"now it is indeed good-bye, and there is no help to be got even from you," and he told him what fate awaited him.
but the horse said, "oh, never lose heart, but jump on my back, and make me go till the foam flies in flecks all about me.
then get down, and scrape off the foam with a knife.
this you must rub all over you, and when you are quite covered, you may suffer yourself to be cast into the oven, for the fire will not hurt you, nor anything else."
and ciccu did exactly as the horse bade him, and went back to the king, and before the eyes of the fairest in the world he sprang into the oven.
and when the fairest in the world saw what he had done, love entered into her heart, and she said to the king, "one thing more: before i can be your wife, you must jump into the oven as ciccu has done."
"willingly," replied the king, stooping over the oven.
but on the brink he paused a moment and called to ciccu, "tell me, ciccu, how did you manage to prevent the fire burning you?"
now ciccu could not forgive his master, whom he had served so faithfully, for sending him to his death without a thought, so he answered," i rubbed myself over with fat, and i am not even singed."
when he heard these words, the king, whose head was full of the princess, never stopped to inquire if they could be true, and smeared himself over with fat, and sprang into the oven.
and in a moment the fire caught him, and he was burned up.
then the fairest in the world held out her hand to ciccu and smiled, saying, "now we will be man and wife."
so ciccu married the fairest in the world, and became king of the country.
don giovanni de la fortuna sicilianische mahrchen there was once a man whose name was don giovanni de la fortuna, and he lived in a beautiful house that his father had built, and spent a great deal of money.
indeed, he spent so much that very soon there was none left, and don giovanni, instead of being a rich man with everything he could wish for, was forced to put on the dress of a pilgrim, and to wander from place to place begging his bread.
one day he was walking down a broad road when he was stopped by a handsome man he had never seen before, who, little as don giovanni knew it, was the devil himself.
"would you like to be rich," asked the devil, "and to lead a pleasant life?"
"yes, of course i should," replied the don.
"well, here is a purse; take it and say to it, "dear purse, give me some money," and you will get as much as you can want but the charm will only work if you promise to remain three years, three months, and three days without washing and without combing and without shaving your beard or changing your clothes.
if you do all this faithfully, when the time is up you shall keep the purse for yourself, and i will let you off any other conditions."
now don giovanni was a man who never troubled his head about the future.
he did not once think how very uncomfortable he should be all those three years, but only that he should be able, by means of the purse, to have all sorts of things he had been obliged to do without; so he joyfully put the purse in his pocket and went on his way.
he soon began to ask for money for the mere pleasure of it, and there was always as much as he needed.
for a little while he even forgot to notice how dirty he was getting, but this did not last long, for his hair became matted with dirt and hung over his eyes, and his pilgrim's dress was a mass of horrible rags and tatters.
he was in this state when, one morning, he happened to be passing a fine palace; and, as the sun was shining bright and warm, he sat down on the steps and tried to shake off some of the dust which he had picked up on the road.
but in a few minutes a maid saw him, and said to her master," i pray you, sir, to drive away that beggar who is sitting on the steps, or he will fill the whole house with his dirt."
so the master went out and called from some distance off, for he was really afraid to go near the man, "you filthy beggar, leave my house at once!"
"you need not be so rude," said don giovanni;" i am not a beggar, and if i chose i could force you and your wife to leave your house."
"what is that you can do?"
laughed the gentleman.
"will you sell me your house?"
asked don giovanni."
i will buy it from you on the spot."
"oh, the dirty creature is quite mad!"
thought the gentleman."
i shall just accept his offer for a joke."
and aloud he said: "all right; follow me, and we will go to a lawyer and get him to make a contract."
and don giovanni followed him, and an agreement was drawn up by which the house was to be sold at once, and a large sum of money paid down in eight days.
then the don went to an inn, where he hired two rooms, and, standing in one of them, said to his purse," dear purse, fill this room with gold;" and when the eight days were up it was so full you could not have put in another sovereign.
when the owner of the house came to take away his money don giovanni led him into the room and said: "there, just pocket what you want."
the gentleman stared with open mouth at the astonishing sight; but he had given his word to sell the house, so he took his money, as he was told, and went away with his wife to look for some place to live in.
and don giovanni left the inn and dwelt in the beautiful rooms, where his rags and dirt looked sadly out of place.
and every day these got worse and worse.
by-and-bye the fame of his riches reached the ears of the king, and, as he himself was always in need of money, he sent for don giovanni, as he wished to borrow a large sum.
don giovanni readily agreed to lend him what he wanted, and sent next day a huge waggon laden with sacks of gold.
"who can he be?"
thought the king to himself.
"why, he is much richer than i!"
the king took as much as he had need of; then ordered the rest to be returned to don giovanni, who refused to receive it, saying, "tell his majesty i am much hurt at his proposal.
i shall certainly not take back that handful of gold, and, if he declines to accept it, keep it yourself."
the servant departed and delivered the message, and the king wondered more than ever how anyone could be so rich.
at last he spoke to the queen: "dear wife, this man has done me a great service, and has, besides, behaved like a gentleman in not allowing me to send back the money.
i wish to give him the hand of our eldest daughter."
the queen was quite pleased at this idea, and again messenger was sent to don giovanni, offering him the hand of the eldest princess.
"his majesty is too good," he replied."
i can only humbly accept the honour."
the messenger took back this answer, but a second time returned with the request that don giovanni would present them with his picture, so that they might know what sort of a person to expect.
but when it came, and the princess saw the horrible figure, she screamed out, "what!
marry this dirty beggar?
never, never!"
"ah, child," answered the king, "how could i ever guess that the rich don giovanni would ever look like that?
but i have passed my royal word, and i can not break it, so there is no help for you."
"no, father; you may cut off my head, if you choose, but marry that horrible beggar -- i never will!"
and the queen took her part, and reproached her husband bitterly for wishing his daughter to marry a creature like that.
then the youngest daughter spoke: "dear father, do not look so sad.
as you have given your word, i will marry don giovanni."
the king fell on her neck, and thanked her and kissed her, but the queen and the elder girl had nothing for her but laughs and jeers.
so it was settled, and then the king bade one of his lords go to don giovanni and ask him when the wedding day was to be, so that the princess might make ready.
"let it be in two months," answered don giovanni, for the time was nearly up that the devil had fixed, and he wanted a whole month to himself to wash off the dirt of the past three years.
the very minute that the compact with the devil had come to an end his beard was shaved, his hair was cut, and his rags were burned, and day and night he lay in a bath of clear warm water.
at length he felt he was clean again, and he put on splendid clothes, and hired a beautiful ship, and arrived in state at the king's palace.
the whole of the royal family came down to the ship to receive him, and the whole way the queen and the elder princess teased the sister about the dirty husband she was going to have.
but when they saw how handsome he really was their hearts were filled with envy and anger, so that their eyes were blinded, and they fell over into the sea and were drowned.
and the youngest daughter rejoiced in the good luck that had come to her, and they had a splendid wedding when the days of mourning for her mother and sister were ended.
soon after the old king died, and don giovanni became king.
_book_title_: andrew_lang___the_red_fairy_book.txt.out
the twelve dancing princesses i once upon a time there lived in the village of montignies-sur-roc a little cow-boy, without either father or mother.
his real name was michael, but he was always called the star gazer, because when he drove his cows over the commons to seek for pasture, he went along with his head in the air, gaping at nothing.
as he had a white skin, blue eyes, and hair that curled all over his head, the village girls used to cry after him, "well, star gazer, what are you doing?"
and michael would answer, "oh, nothing," and go on his way without even turning to look at them.
the fact was he thought them very ugly, with their sun-burnt necks, their great red hands, their coarse petticoats and their wooden shoes.
he had heard that somewhere in the world there were girls whose necks were white and whose hands were small, who were always dressed in the finest silks and laces, and were called princesses, and while his companions round the fire saw nothing in the flames but common everyday fancies, he dreamed that he had the happiness to marry a princess.
ii one morning about the middle of august, just at mid-day when the sun was hottest, michael ate his dinner of a piece of dry bread, and went to sleep under an oak.
and while he slept he dreamt that there appeared before him a beautiful lady, dressed in a robe of cloth of gold, who said to him: "go to the castle of beloeil, and there you shall marry a princess."
that evening the little cow-boy, who had been thinking a great deal about the advice of the lady in the golden dress, told his dream to the farm people.
but, as was natural, they only laughed at the star gazer.
the next day at the same hour he went to sleep again under the same tree.
the lady appeared to him a second time, and said: "go to the castle of beloeil, and you shall marry a princess."
in the evening michael told his friends that he had dreamed the same dream again, but they only laughed at him more than before.
"never mind," he thought to himself; "if the lady appears to me a third time, i will do as she tells me."
the following day, to the great astonishment of all the village, about two o'clock in the afternoon a voice was heard singing: "raleo, raleo, how the cattle go!"
it was the little cow-boy driving his herd back to the byre.
the farmer began to scold him furiously, but he answered quietly," i am going away," made his clothes into a bundle, said good-bye to all his friends, and boldly set out to seek his fortunes.
there was great excitement through all the village, and on the top of the hill the people stood holding their sides with laughing, as they watched the star gazer trudging bravely along the valley with his bundle at the end of his stick.
it was enough to make anyone laugh, certainly.
iii it was well known for full twenty miles round that there lived in the castle of beloeil twelve princesses of wonderful beauty, and as proud as they were beautiful, and who were besides so very sensitive and of such truly royal blood, that they would have felt at once the presence of a pea in their beds, even if the mattresses had been laid over it.
it was whispered about that they led exactly the lives that princesses ought to lead, sleeping far into the morning, and never getting up till mid-day.
they had twelve beds all in the same room, but what was very extraordinary was the fact that though they were locked in by triple bolts, every morning their satin shoes were found worn into holes.
when they were asked what they had been doing all night, they always answered that they had been asleep; and, indeed, no noise was ever heard in the room, yet the shoes could not wear themselves out alone!
at last the duke of beloeil ordered the trumpet to be sounded, and a proclamation to be made that whoever could discover how his daughters wore out their shoes should choose one of them for his wife.
on hearing the proclamation a number of princes arrived at the castle to try their luck.
they watched all night behind the open door of the princesses, but when the morning came they had all disappeared, and no one could tell what had become of them.
iv when he reached the castle, michael went straight to the gardener and offered his services.
now it happened that the garden boy had just been sent away, and though the star gazer did not look very sturdy, the gardener agreed to take him, as he thought that his pretty face and golden curls would please the princesses.
the first thing he was told was that when the princesses got up he was to present each one with a bouquet, and michael thought that if he had nothing more unpleasant to do than that he should get on very well.
accordingly he placed himself behind the door of the princesses" room, with the twelve bouquets in a basket.
he gave one to each of the sisters, and they took them without even deigning to look at the lad, except lina the youngest, who fixed her large black eyes as soft as velvet on him, and exclaimed, "oh, how pretty he is -- our new flower boy!"
the rest all burst out laughing, and the eldest pointed out that a princess ought never to lower herself by looking at a garden boy.
now michael knew quite well what had happened to all the princes, but notwithstanding, the beautiful eyes of the princess lina inspired him with a violent longing to try his fate.
unhappily he did not dare to come forward, being afraid that he should only be jeered at, or even turned away from the castle on account of his impudence.
v nevertheless, the star gazer had another dream.
the lady in the golden dress appeared to him once more, holding in one hand two young laurel trees, a cherry laurel and a rose laurel, and in the other hand a little golden rake, a little golden bucket, and a silken towel.
she thus addressed him: "plant these two laurels in two large pots, rake them over with the rake, water them with the bucket, and wipe them with the towel.
when they have grown as tall as a girl of fifteen, say to each of them," my beautiful laurel, with the golden rake i have raked you, with the golden bucket i have watered you, with the silken towel i have wiped you."
then after that ask anything you choose, and the laurels will give it to you."
michael thanked the lady in the golden dress, and when he woke he found the two laurel bushes beside him.
so he carefully obeyed the orders he had been given by the lady.
the trees grew very fast, and when they were as tall as a girl of fifteen he said to the cherry laurel, "my lovely cherry laurel, with the golden rake i have raked thee, with the golden bucket i have watered thee, with the silken towel i have wiped thee.
teach me how to become invisible."
then there instantly appeared on the laurel a pretty white flower, which michael gathered and stuck into his button-hole.
vi that evening, when the princesses went upstairs to bed, he followed them barefoot, so that he might make no noise, and hid himself under one of the twelve beds, so as not to take up much room.
the princesses began at once to open their wardrobes and boxes.
they took out of them the most magnificent dresses, which they put on before their mirrors, and when they had finished, turned themselves all round to admire their appearances.
michael could see nothing from his hiding-place, but he could hear everything, and he listened to the princesses laughing and jumping with pleasure.
at last the eldest said, "be quick, my sisters, our partners will be impatient."
at the end of an hour, when the star gazer heard no more noise, he peeped out and saw the twelve sisters in splendid garments, with their satin shoes on their feet, and in their hands the bouquets he had brought them.
"are you ready?"
asked the eldest.
"yes," replied the other eleven in chorus, and they took their places one by one behind her.
then the eldest princess clapped her hands three times and a trap door opened.
all the princesses disappeared down a secret staircase, and michael hastily followed them.
as he was following on the steps of the princess lina, he carelessly trod on her dress.
"there is somebody behind me," cried the princess; "they are holding my dress."
"you foolish thing," said her eldest sister, "you are always afraid of something.
it is only a nail which caught you."
vii they went down, down, down, till at last they came to a passage with a door at one end, which was only fastened with a latch.
the eldest princess opened it, and they found themselves immediately in a lovely little wood, where the leaves were spangled with drops of silver which shone in the brilliant light of the moon.
they next crossed another wood where the leaves were sprinkled with gold, and after that another still, where the leaves glittered with diamonds.
at last the star gazer perceived a large lake, and on the shores of the lake twelve little boats with awnings, in which were seated twelve princes, who, grasping their oars, awaited the princesses.
each princess entered one of the boats, and michael slipped into that which held the youngest.
the boats glided along rapidly, but lina's, from being heavier, was always behind the rest.
"we never went so slowly before," said the princess; "what can be the reason?'"
i do n't know," answered the prince."
i assure you i am rowing as hard as i can."
on the other side of the lake the garden boy saw a beautiful castle splendidly illuminated, whence came the lively music of fiddles, kettle-drums, and trumpets.
in a moment they touched land, and the company jumped out of the boats; and the princes, after having securely fastened their barques, gave their arms to the princesses and conducted them to the castle.
viii michael followed, and entered the ball-room in their train.
everywhere were mirrors, lights, flowers, and damask hangings.
the star gazer was quite bewildered at the magnificence of the sight.
he placed himself out of the way in a corner, admiring the grace and beauty of the princesses.
their loveliness was of every kind.
some were fair and some were dark; some had chestnut hair, or curls darker still, and some had golden locks.
never were so many beautiful princesses seen together at one time, but the one whom the cow-boy thought the most beautiful and the most fascinating was the little princess with the velvet eyes.
with what eagerness she danced!
leaning on her partner's shoulder she swept by like a whirlwind.
her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled, and it was plain that she loved dancing better than anything else.
the poor boy envied those handsome young men with whom she danced so gracefully, but he did not know how little reason he had to be jealous of them.
the young men were really the princes who, to the number of fifty at least, had tried to steal the princesses" secret.
the princesses had made them drink something of a philtre, which froze the heart and left nothing but the love of dancing.
ix they danced on till the shoes of the princesses were worn into holes.
when the cock crowed the third time the fiddles stopped, and a delicious supper was served by negro boys, consisting of sugared orange flowers, crystallised rose leaves, powdered violets, cracknels, wafers, and other dishes, which are, as everyone knows, the favourite food of princesses.
after supper, the dancers all went back to their boats, and this time the star gazer entered that of the eldest princess.
they crossed again the wood with the diamond-spangled leaves, the wood with gold-sprinkled leaves, and the wood whose leaves glittered with drops of silver, and as a proof of what he had seen, the boy broke a small branch from a tree in the last wood.
lina turned as she heard the noise made by the breaking of the branch.
"what was that noise?"
she said.
"it was nothing," replied her eldest sister; "it was only the screech of the barn-owl that roosts in one of the turrets of the castle."
while she was speaking michael managed to slip in front, and running up the staircase, he reached the princesses" room first.
he flung open the window, and sliding down the vine which climbed up the wall, found himself in the garden just as the sun was beginning to rise, and it was time for him to set to his work.
x that day, when he made up the bouquets, michael hid the branch with the silver drops in the nosegay intended for the youngest princess.
when lina discovered it she was much surprised.
however, she said nothing to her sisters, but as she met the boy by accident while she was walking under the shade of the elms, she suddenly stopped as if to speak to him; then, altering her mind, went on her way.
the same evening the twelve sisters went again to the ball, and the star gazer again followed them and crossed the lake in lina's boat.
this time it was the prince who complained that the boat seemed very heavy.
"it is the heat," replied the princess.
"i, too, have been feeling very warm."
during the ball she looked everywhere for the gardener's boy, but she never saw him.
as they came back, michael gathered a branch from the wood with the gold-spangled leaves, and now it was the eldest princess who heard the noise that it made in breaking.
"it is nothing," said lina; "only the cry of the owl which roosts in the turrets of the castle."
xi as soon as she got up she found the branch in her bouquet.
when the sisters went down she stayed a little behind and said to the cow-boy: "where does this branch come from?"
"your royal highness knows well enough," answered michael.
"so you have followed us?"
"yes, princess."
"how did you manage it?
we never saw you.'"
i hid myself," replied the star gazer quietly.
the princess was silent a moment, and then said: "you know our secret!
-- keep it.
here is the reward of your discretion."
and she flung the boy a purse of gold."
i do not sell my silence," answered michael, and he went away without picking up the purse.
for three nights lina neither saw nor heard anything extraordinary; on the fourth she heard a rustling among the diamond-spangled leaves of the wood.
that day there was a branch of the trees in her bouquet.
she took the star gazer aside, and said to him in a harsh voice: "you know what price my father has promised to pay for our secret?'"
i know, princess," answered michael.
"do n't you mean to tell him?"
"that is not my intention."
"are you afraid?"
"no, princess."
"what makes you so discreet, then?"
but michael was silent.
xii lina's sisters had seen her talking to the little garden boy, and jeered at her for it.
"what prevents your marrying him?"
asked the eldest, "you would become a gardener too; it is a charming profession.
you could live in a cottage at the end of the park, and help your husband to draw up water from the well, and when we get up you could bring us our bouquets."
the princess lina was very angry, and when the star gazer presented her bouquet, she received it in a disdainful manner.
michael behaved most respectfully.
he never raised his eyes to her, but nearly all day she felt him at her side without ever seeing him.
one day she made up her mind to tell everything to her eldest sister.
"what!"
said she, "this rogue knows our secret, and you never told me!
i must lose no time in getting rid of him."
"but how?"
"why, by having him taken to the tower with the dungeons, of course."
for this was the way that in old times beautiful princesses got rid of people who knew too much.
but the astonishing part of it was that the youngest sister did not seem at all to relish this method of stopping the mouth of the gardener's boy, who, after all, had said nothing to their father.
xiii it was agreed that the question should be submitted to the other ten sisters.
all were on the side of the eldest.
then the youngest sister declared that if they laid a finger on the little garden boy, she would herself go and tell their father the secret of the holes in their shoes.
at last it was decided that michael should be put to the test; that they would take him to the ball, and at the end of supper would give him the philtre which was to enchant him like the rest.
they sent for the star gazer, and asked him how he had contrived to learn their secret; but still he remained silent.
then, in commanding tones, the eldest sister gave him the order they had agreed upon.
he only answered: "i will obey."
he had really been present, invisible, at the council of princesses, and had heard all; but he had made up his mind to drink of the philtre, and sacrifice himself to the happiness of her he loved.
not wishing, however, to cut a poor figure at the ball by the side of the other dancers, he went at once to the laurels, and said: "my lovely rose laurel, with the golden rake i have raked thee, with the golden bucket i have watered thee, with a silken towel i have dried thee.
dress me like a prince."
a beautiful pink flower appeared.
michael gathered it, and found himself in a moment clothed in velvet, which was as black as the eyes of the little princess, with a cap to match, a diamond aigrette, and a blossom of the rose laurel in his button-hole.
thus dressed, he presented himself that evening before the duke of beloeil, and obtained leave to try and discover his daughters" secret.
he looked so distinguished that hardly anyone would have known who he was.
xiv the twelve princesses went upstairs to bed.
michael followed them, and waited behind the open door till they gave the signal for departure.
this time he did not cross in lina's boat.
he gave his arm to the eldest sister, danced with each in turn, and was so graceful that everyone was delighted with him.
at last the time came for him to dance with the little princess.
she found him the best partner in the world, but he did not dare to speak a single word to her.
when he was taking her back to her place she said to him in a mocking voice: "here you are at the summit of your wishes: you are being treated like a prince."
"do n't be afraid," replied the star gazer gently.
"you shall never be a gardener's wife."
the little princess stared at him with a frightened face, and he left her without waiting for an answer.
when the satin slippers were worn through the fiddles stopped, and the negro boys set the table.
michael was placed next to the eldest sister, and opposite to the youngest.
they gave him the most exquisite dishes to eat, and the most delicate wines to drink; and in order to turn his head more completely, compliments and flattery were heaped on him from every side.
but he took care not to be intoxicated, either by the wine or the compliments.
xv at last the eldest sister made a sign, and one of the black pages brought in a large golden cup.
"the enchanted castle has no more secrets for you," she said to the star gazer.
"let us drink to your triumph."
he cast a lingering glance at the little princess, and without hesitation lifted the cup.
"do n't drink!"
suddenly cried out the little princess;" i would rather marry a gardener."
and she burst into tears.
michael flung the contents of the cup behind him, sprang over the table, and fell at lina's feet.
the rest of the princes fell likewise at the knees of the princesses, each of whom chose a husband and raised him to her side.
the charm was broken.
the twelve couples embarked in the boats, which crossed back many times in order to carry over the other princes.
then they all went through the three woods, and when they had passed the door of the underground passage a great noise was heard, as if the enchanted castle was crumbling to the earth.
they went straight to the room of the duke of beloeil, who had just awoke.
michael held in his hand the golden cup, and he revealed the secret of the holes in the shoes.
"choose, then," said the duke, "whichever you prefer."
"my choice is already made," replied the garden boy, and he offered his hand to the youngest princess, who blushed and lowered her eyes.
xvi the princess lina did not become a gardener's wife; on the contrary, it was the star gazer who became a prince: but before the marriage ceremony the princess insisted that her lover should tell her how he came to discover the secret.
so he showed her the two laurels which had helped him, and she, like a prudent girl, thinking they gave him too much advantage over his wife, cut them off at the root and threw them in the fire.
and this is why the country girls go about singing: nous n'irons plus au bois, les lauriers sont coupes," and dancing in summer by the light of the moon.
the princess mayblossom once upon a time there lived a king and queen whose children had all died, first one and then another, until at last only one little daughter remained, and the queen was at her wits" end to know where to find a really good nurse who would take care of her, and bring her up.
a herald was sent who blew a trumpet at every street corner, and commanded all the best nurses to appear before the queen, that she might choose one for the little princess.
so on the appointed day the whole palace was crowded with nurses, who came from the four corners of the world to offer themselves, until the queen declared that if she was ever to see the half of them, they must be brought out to her, one by one, as she sat in a shady wood near the palace.
this was accordingly done, and the nurses, after they had made their curtsey to the king and queen, ranged themselves in a line before her that she might choose.
most of them were fair and fat and charming, but there was one who was dark-skinned and ugly, and spoke a strange language which nobody could understand.
the queen wondered how she dared offer herself, and she was told to go away, as she certainly would not do.
upon which she muttered something and passed on, but hid herself in a hollow tree, from which she could see all that happened.
the queen, without giving her another thought, chose a pretty rosy-faced nurse, but no sooner was her choice made than a snake, which was hidden in the grass, bit that very nurse on her foot, so that she fell down as if dead.
the queen was very much vexed by this accident, but she soon selected another, who was just stepping forward when an eagle flew by and dropped a large tortoise upon her head, which was cracked in pieces like an egg-shell.
at this the queen was much horrified; nevertheless, she chose a third time, but with no better fortune, for the nurse, moving quickly, ran into the branch of a tree and blinded herself with a thorn.
then the queen in dismay cried that there must be some malignant influence at work, and that she would choose no more that day; and she had just risen to return to the palace when she heard peals of malicious laughter behind her, and turning round saw the ugly stranger whom she had dismissed, who was making very merry over the disasters and mocking everyone, but especially the queen.
this annoyed her majesty very much, and she was about to order that she should be arrested, when the witch -- for she was a witch -- with two blows from a wand summoned a chariot of fire drawn by winged dragons, and was whirled off through the air uttering threats and cries.
when the king saw this he cried: "alas!
now we are ruined indeed, for that was no other than the fairy carabosse, who has had a grudge against me ever since i was a boy and put sulphur into her porridge one day for fun."
then the queen began to cry.
"if i had only known who it was," she said," i would have done my best to make friends with her; now i suppose all is lost."
the king was sorry to have frightened her so much, and proposed that they should go and hold a council as to what was best to be done to avert the misfortunes which carabosse certainly meant to bring upon the little princess.
so all the counsellors were summoned to the palace, and when they had shut every door and window, and stuffed up every keyhole that they might not be overheard, they talked the affair over, and decided that every fairy for a thousand leagues round should be invited to the christening of the princess, and that the time of the ceremony should be kept a profound secret, in case the fairy carabosse should take it into her head to attend it.
the queen and her ladies set to work to prepare presents for the fairies who were invited: for each one a blue velvet cloak, a petticoat of apricot satin, a pair of high-heeled shoes, some sharp needles, and a pair of golden scissors.
of all the fairies the queen knew, only five were able to come on the day appointed, but they began immediately to bestow gifts upon the princess.
one promised that she should be perfectly beautiful, the second that she should understand anything -- no matter what -- the first time it was explained to her, the third that she should sing like a nightingale, the fourth that she should succeed in everything she undertook, and the fifth was opening her mouth to speak when a tremendous rumbling was heard in the chimney, and carabosse, all covered with soot, came rolling down, crying: "i say that she shall be the unluckiest of the unlucky until she is twenty years old."
then the queen and all the fairies began to beg and beseech her to think better of it, and not be so unkind to the poor little princess, who had never done her any harm.
but the ugly old fairy only grunted and made no answer.
so the last fairy, who had not yet given her gift, tried to mend matters by promising the princess a long and happy life after the fatal time was over.
at this carabosse laughed maliciously, and climbed away up the chimney, leaving them all in great consternation, and especially the queen.
however, she entertained the fairies splendidly, and gave them beautiful ribbons, of which they are very fond, in addition to the other presents.
when they were going away the oldest fairy said that they were of opinion that it would be best to shut the princess up in some place, with her waiting-women, so that she might not see anyone else until she was twenty years old.
so the king had a tower built on purpose.
it had no windows, so it was lighted with wax candles, and the only way into it was by an underground passage, which had iron doors only twenty feet apart, and guards were posted everywhere.
the princess had been named mayblossom, because she was as fresh and blooming as spring itself, and she grew up tall and beautiful, and everything she did and said was charming.
every time the king and queen came to see her they were more delighted with her than before, but though she was weary of the tower, and often begged them to take her away from it, they always refused.
the princess's nurse, who had never left her, sometimes told her about the world outside the tower, and though the princess had never seen anything for herself, yet she always understood exactly, thanks to the second fairy's gift.
often the king said to the queen: "we were cleverer than carabosse after all.
our mayblossom will be happy in spite of her predictions."
and the queen laughed until she was tired at the idea of having outwitted the old fairy.
they had caused the princess's portrait to be painted and sent to all the neighbouring courts, for in four days she would have completed her twentieth year, and it was time to decide whom she should marry.
all the town was rejoicing at the thought of the princess's approaching freedom, and when the news came that king merlin was sending his ambassador to ask her in marriage for his son, they were still more delighted.
the nurse, who kept the princess informed of everything that went forward in the town, did not fail to repeat the news that so nearly concerned her, and gave such a description of the splendour in which the ambassador fanfaronade would enter the town, that the princess was wild to see the procession for herself.
"what an unhappy creature i am," she cried, "to be shut up in this dismal tower as if i had committed some crime!
i have never seen the sun, or the stars, or a horse, or a monkey, or a lion, except in pictures, and though the king and queen tell me i am to be set free when i am twenty, i believe they only say it to keep me amused, when they never mean to let me out at all."
and then she began to cry, and her nurse, and the nurse's daughter, and the cradle-rocker, and the nursery-maid, who all loved her dearly, cried too for company, so that nothing could be heard but sobs and sighs.
it was a scene of woe.
when the princess saw that they all pitied her she made up her mind to have her own way.
so she declared that she would starve herself to death if they did not find some means of letting her see fanfaronade's grand entry into the town.
"if you really love me," she said, "you will manage it, somehow or other, and the king and queen need never know anything about it."
then the nurse and all the others cried harder than ever, and said everything they could think of to turn the princess from her idea.
but the more they said the more determined she was, and at last they consented to make a tiny hole in the tower on the side that looked towards the city gates.
after scratching and scraping all day and all night, they presently made a hole through which they could, with great difficulty, push a very slender needle, and out of this the princess looked at the daylight for the first time.
she was so dazzled and delighted by what she saw, that there she stayed, never taking her eyes away from the peep-hole for a single minute, until presently the ambassador's procession appeared in sight.
at the head of it rode fanfaronade himself upon a white horse, which pranced and caracoled to the sound of the trumpets.
nothing could have been more splendid than the ambassador's attire.
his coat was nearly hidden under an embroidery of pearls and diamonds, his boots were solid gold, and from his helmet floated scarlet plumes.
at the sight of him the princess lost her wits entirely, and determined that fanfaronade and nobody else would she marry.
"it is quite impossible," she said, "that his master should be half as handsome and delightful.
i am not ambitious, and having spent all my life in this tedious tower, anything -- even a house in the country -- will seem a delightful change.
i am sure that bread and water shared with fanfaronade will please me far better than roast chicken and sweetmeats with anybody else."
and so she went on talk, talk, talking, until her waiting-women wondered where she got it all from.
but when they tried to stop her, and represented that her high rank made it perfectly impossible that she should do any such thing, she would not listen, and ordered them to be silent.
as soon as the ambassador arrived at the palace, the queen started to fetch her daughter.
all the streets were spread with carpets, and the windows were full of ladies who were waiting to see the princess, and carried baskets of flowers and sweetmeats to shower upon her as she passed.
they had hardly begun to get the princess ready when a dwarf arrived, mounted upon an elephant.
he came from the five fairies, and brought for the princess a crown, a sceptre, and a robe of golden brocade, with a petticoat marvellously embroidered with butterflies" wings.
they also sent a casket of jewels, so splendid that no one had ever seen anything like it before, and the queen was perfectly dazzled when she opened it.
but the princess scarcely gave a glance to any of these treasures, for she thought of nothing but fanfaronade.
the dwarf was rewarded with a gold piece, and decorated with so many ribbons that it was hardly possible to see him at all.
the princess sent to each of the fairies a new spinning-wheel with a distaff of cedar wood, and the queen said she must look through her treasures and find something very charming to send them also.
when the princess was arrayed in all the gorgeous things the dwarf had brought, she was more beautiful than ever, and as she walked along the streets the people cried: "how pretty she is!
how pretty she is!"
the procession consisted of the queen, the princess, five dozen other princesses her cousins, and ten dozen who came from the neighbouring kingdoms; and as they proceeded at a stately pace the sky began to grow dark, then suddenly the thunder growled, and rain and hail fell in torrents.
the queen put her royal mantle over her head, and all the princesses did the same with their trains.
mayblossom was just about to follow their example when a terrific croaking, as of an immense army of crows, rooks, ravens, screech-owls, and all birds of ill-omen was heard, and at the same instant a huge owl skimmed up to the princess, and threw over her a scarf woven of spiders" webs and embroidered with bats" wings.
and then peals of mocking laughter rang through the air, and they guessed that this was another of the fairy carabosse's unpleasant jokes.
the queen was terrified at such an evil omen, and tried to pull the black scarf from the princess's shoulders, but it really seemed as if it must be nailed on, it clung so closely.
"ah!"
cried the queen, "can nothing appease this enemy of ours?
what good was it that i sent her more than fifty pounds of sweetmeats, and as much again of the best sugar, not to mention two westphalia hams?
she is as angry as ever."
while she lamented in this way, and everybody was as wet as if they had been dragged through a river, the princess still thought of nothing but the ambassador, and just at this moment he appeared before her, with the king, and there was a great blowing of trumpets, and all the people shouted louder than ever.
fanfaronade was not generally at a loss for something to say, but when he saw the princess, she was so much more beautiful and majestic than he had expected that he could only stammer out a few words, and entirely forgot the harangue which he had been learning for months, and knew well enough to have repeated it in his sleep.
to gain time to remember at least part of it, he made several low bows to the princess, who on her side dropped half-a-dozen curtseys without stopping to think, and then said, to relieve his evident embarrassment: "sir ambassador, i am sure that everything you intend to say is charming, since it is you who mean to say it; but let us make haste into the palace, as it is pouring cats and dogs, and the wicked fairy carabosse will be amused to see us all stand dripping here.
when we are once under shelter we can laugh at her."
upon this the ambassador found his tongue, and replied gallantly that the fairy had evidently foreseen the flames that would be kindled by the bright eyes of the princess, and had sent this deluge to extinguish them.
then he offered his hand to conduct the princess, and she said softly: "as you could not possibly guess how much i like you, sir fanfaronade, i am obliged to tell you plainly that, since i saw you enter the town on your beautiful prancing horse, i have been sorry that you came to speak for another instead of for yourself.
so, if you think about it as i do, i will marry you instead of your master.
of course i know you are not a prince, but i shall be just as fond of you as if you were, and we can go and live in some cosy little corner of the world, and be as happy as the days are long."
the ambassador thought he must be dreaming, and could hardly believe what the lovely princess said.
he dared not answer, but only squeezed the princess's hand until he really hurt her little finger, but she did not cry out.
when they reached the palace the king kissed his daughter on both cheeks, and said: "my little lambkin, are you willing to marry the great king merlin's son, for this ambassador has come on his behalf to fetch you?"
"if you please, sire," said the princess, dropping a curtsey."
i consent also," said the queen; "so let the banquet be prepared."
this was done with all speed, and everybody feasted except mayblossom and fanfaronade, who looked at one another and forgot everything else.
after the banquet came a ball, and after that again a ballet, and at last they were all so tired that everyone fell asleep just where he sat.
only the lovers were as wide-awake as mice, and the princess, seeing that there was nothing to fear, said to fanfaronade: "let us be quick and run away, for we shall never have a better chance than this."
then she took the king's dagger, which was in a diamond sheath, and the queen's neck-handkerchief, and gave her hand to fanfaronade, who carried a lantern, and they ran out together into the muddy street and down to the sea-shore.
here they got into a little boat in which the poor old boatman was sleeping, and when he woke up and saw the lovely princess, with all her diamonds and her spiders" -- web scarf, he did not know what to think, and obeyed her instantly when she commanded him to set out.
they could see neither moon nor stars, but in the queen's neck-handkerchief there was a carbuncle which glowed like fifty torches.
fanfaronade asked the princess where she would like to go, but she only answered that she did not care where she went as long as he was with her.
"but, princess," said he," i dare not take you back to king merlin's court.
he would think hanging too good for me."
"oh, in that case," she answered, "we had better go to squirrel island; it is lonely enough, and too far off for anyone to follow us there."
so she ordered the old boatman to steer for squirrel island.
meanwhile the day was breaking, and the king and queen and all the courtiers began to wake up and rub their eyes, and think it was time to finish the preparations for the wedding.
and the queen asked for her neck-handkerchief, that she might look smart.
then there was a scurrying hither and thither, and a hunting everywhere: they looked into every place, from the wardrobes to the stoves, and the queen herself ran about from the garret to the cellar, but the handkerchief was nowhere to be found.
by this time the king had missed his dagger, and the search began all over again.
they opened boxes and chests of which the keys had been lost for a hundred years, and found numbers of curious things, but not the dagger, and the king tore his beard, and the queen tore her hair, for the handkerchief and the dagger were the most valuable things in the kingdom.
when the king saw that the search was hopeless he said: "never mind, let us make haste and get the wedding over before anything else is lost."
and then he asked where the princess was.
upon this her nurse came forward and said: "sire, i have been seeking her these two hours, but she is nowhere to be found."
this was more than the queen could bear.
she gave a shriek of alarm and fainted away, and they had to pour two barrels of eau-de-cologne over her before she recovered.
when she came to herself everybody was looking for the princess in the greatest terror and confusion, but as she did not appear, the king said to his page: "go and find the ambassador fanfaronade, who is doubtless asleep in some corner, and tell him the sad news."
so the page hunted hither and thither, but fanfaronade was no more to be found than the princess, the dagger, or the neck-handkerchief!
then the king summoned his counsellors and his guards, and, accompanied by the queen, went into his great hall.
as he had not had time to prepare his speech beforehand, the king ordered that silence should be kept for three hours, and at the end of that time he spoke as follows: "listen, great and small!
my dear daughter mayblossom is lost: whether she has been stolen away or has simply disappeared i can not tell.
the queen's neck-handkerchief and my sword, which are worth their weight in gold, are also missing, and, what is worst of all, the ambassador fanfaronade is nowhere to be found.
i greatly fear that the king, his master, when he receives no tidings from him, will come to seek him among us, and will accuse us of having made mince-meat of him.
perhaps i could bear even that if i had any money, but i assure you that the expenses of the wedding have completely ruined me.
advise me, then, my dear subjects, what had i better do to recover my daughter, fanfaronade, and the other things."
this was the most eloquent speech the king had been known to make, and when everybody had done admiring it the prime minister made answer: "sire, we are all very sorry to see you so sorry.
we would give everything we value in the world to take away the cause of your sorrow, but this seems to be another of the tricks of the fairy carabosse.
the princess's twenty unlucky years were not quite over, and really, if the truth must be told, i noticed that fanfaronade and the princess appeared to admire one another greatly.
perhaps this may give some clue to the mystery of their disappearance."
here the queen interrupted him, saying, "take care what you say, sir.
believe me, the princess mayblossom was far too well brought up to think of falling in love with an ambassador."
at this the nurse came forward, and, falling on her knees, confessed how they had made the little needle-hole in the tower, and how the princess had declared when she saw the ambassador that she would marry him and nobody else.
then the queen was very angry, and gave the nurse, and the cradle-rocker, and the nursery-maid such a scolding that they shook in their shoes.
but the admiral cocked-hat interrupted her, crying: "let us be off after this good-for-nothing fanfaronade, for with out a doubt he has run away with our princess."
then there was a great clapping of hands, and everybody shouted, "by all means let us be after him."
so while some embarked upon the sea, the others ran from kingdom to kingdom beating drums and blowing trumpets, and wherever a crowd collected they cried: "whoever wants a beautiful doll, sweetmeats of all kinds, a little pair of scissors, a golden robe, and a satin cap has only to say where fanfaronade has hidden the princess mayblossom."
but the answer everywhere was, "you must go farther, we have not seen them."
however, those who went by sea were more fortunate, for after sailing about for some time they noticed a light before them which burned at night like a great fire.
at first they dared not go near it, not knowing what it might be, but by-and-by it remained stationary over squirrel island, for, as you have guessed already, the light was the glowing of the carbuncle.
the princess and fanfaronade on landing upon the island had given the boatman a hundred gold pieces, and made him promise solemnly to tell no one where he had taken them; but the first thing that happened was that, as he rowed away, he got into the midst of the fleet, and before he could escape the admiral had seen him and sent a boat after him.
when he was searched they found the gold pieces in his pocket, and as they were quite new coins, struck in honour of the princess's wedding, the admiral felt certain that the boatman must have been paid by the princess to aid her in her flight.
but he would not answer any questions, and pretended to be deaf and dumb.
then the admiral said: "oh!
deaf and dumb is he?
lash him to the mast and give him a taste of the cat-o" - nine-tails.
i do n't know anything better than that for curing the deaf and dumb!"
and when the old boatman saw that he was in earnest, he told all he knew about the cavalier and the lady whom he had landed upon squirrel island, and the admiral knew it must be the princess and fanfaronade; so he gave the order for the fleet to surround the island.
meanwhile the princess mayblossom, who was by this time terribly sleepy, had found a grassy bank in the shade, and throwing herself down had already fallen into a profound slumber, when fanfaronade, who happened to be hungry and not sleepy, came and woke her up, saying, very crossly: "pray, madam, how long do you mean to stay here?
i see nothing to eat, and though you may be very charming, the sight of you does not prevent me from famishing."
"what!
fanfaronade," said the princess, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, "is it possible that when i am here with you you can want anything else?
you ought to be thinking all the time how happy you are."
"happy!"
cried he; "say rather unhappy.
i wish with all my heart that you were back in your dark tower again."
"darling, do n't be cross," said the princess."
i will go and see if i can find some wild fruit for you.'"
i wish you might find a wolf to eat you up," growled fanfaronade.
the princess, in great dismay, ran hither and thither all about the wood, tearing her dress, and hurting her pretty white hands with the thorns and brambles, but she could find nothing good to eat, and at last she had to go back sorrowfully to fanfaronade.
when he saw that she came empty-handed he got up and left her, grumbling to himself.
the next day they searched again, but with no better success.
"alas!"
said the princess, "if only i could find something for you to eat, i should not mind being hungry myself."
"no, i should not mind that either," answered fanfaronade.
"is it possible," said she, "that you would not care if i died of hunger?
oh, fanfaronade, you said you loved me!"
"that was when we were in quite another place and i was not hungry," said he.
"it makes a great difference in one's ideas to be dying of hunger and thirst on a desert island."
at this the princess was dreadfully vexed, and she sat down under a white rose bush and began to cry bitterly.
"happy roses," she thought to herself, "they have only to blossom in the sunshine and be admired, and there is nobody to be unkind to them."
and the tears ran down her cheeks and splashed on to the rose-tree roots.
presently she was surprised to see the whole bush rustling and shaking, and a soft little voice from the prettiest rosebud said: "poor princess!
look in the trunk of that tree, and you will find a honeycomb, but do n't be foolish enough to share it with fanfaronade."
mayblossom ran to the tree, and sure enough there was the honey.
without losing a moment she ran with it to fanfaronade, crying gaily: "see, here is a honeycomb that i have found.
i might have eaten it up all by myself, but i had rather share it with you."
but without looking at her or thanking her he snatched the honey comb out of her hands and ate it all up -- every bit, without offering her a morsel.
indeed, when she humbly asked for some he said mockingly that it was too sweet for her, and would spoil her teeth.
mayblossom, more downcast than ever, went sadly away and sat down under an oak tree, and her tears and sighs were so piteous that the oak fanned her with his rustling leaves, and said: "take courage, pretty princess, all is not lost yet.
take this pitcher of milk and drink it up, and whatever you do, do n't leave a drop for fanfaronade."
the princess, quite astonished, looked round, and saw a big pitcher full of milk, but before she could raise it to her lips the thought of how thirsty fanfaronade must be, after eating at least fifteen pounds of honey, made her run back to him and say: "here is a pitcher of milk; drink some, for you must be thirsty i am sure; but pray save a little for me, as i am dying of hunger and thirst."
but he seized the pitcher and drank all it contained at a single draught, and then broke it to atoms on the nearest stone, saying with a malicious smile: "as you have not eaten anything you can not be thirsty."
"ah!"
cried the princess," i am well punished for disappointing the king and queen, and running away with this ambassador about whom i knew nothing."
and so saying she wandered away into the thickest part of the wood, and sat down under a thorn tree, where a nightingale was singing.
presently she heard him say: "search under the bush princess; you will find some sugar, almonds, and some tarts there but do n't be silly enough to offer fanfaronade any."
and this time the princess, who was fainting with hunger, took the nightingale's advice, and ate what she found all by herself.
but fanfaronade, seeing that she had found something good, and was not going to share it with him, ran after her in such a fury that she hastily drew out the queen's carbuncle, which had the property of rendering people invisible if they were in danger, and when she was safely hidden from him she reproached him gently for his unkindness.
meanwhile admiral cocked-hat had despatched jack-the-chatterer-of-the-straw-boots, courier in ordinary to the prime minister, to tell the king that the princess and the ambassador had landed on squirrel island, but that not knowing the country he had not pursued them, for fear of being captured by concealed enemies.
their majesties were overjoyed at the news, and the king sent for a great book, each leaf of which was eight ells long.
it was the work of a very clever fairy, and contained a description of the whole earth.
he very soon found that squirrel island was uninhabited.
"go," said he, to jack-the-chatterer, "tell the admiral from me to land at once.
i am surprised at his not having done so sooner."
as soon as this message reached the fleet, every preparation was made for war, and the noise was so great that it reached the ears of the princess, who at once flew to protect her lover.
as he was not very brave he accepted her aid gladly.
"you stand behind me," said she, "and i will hold the carbuncle which will make us invisible, and with the king's dagger i can protect you from the enemy."
so when the soldiers landed they could see nothing, but the princess touched them one after another with the dagger, and they fell insensible upon the sand, so that at last the admiral, seeing that there was some enchantment, hastily gave orders for a retreat to be sounded, and got his men back into their boats in great confusion.
fanfaronade, being once more left with the princess, began to think that if he could get rid of her, and possess himself of the carbuncle and the dagger, he would be able to make his escape.
so as they walked back over the cliffs he gave the princess a great push, hoping she would fall into the sea; but she stepped aside so quickly that he only succeeded in overbalancing himself, and over he went, and sank to the bottom of the sea like a lump of lead, and was never heard of any more.
while the princess was still looking after him in horror, her attention was attracted by a rushing noise over her head, and looking up she saw two chariots approaching rapidly from opposite directions.
one was bright and glittering, and drawn by swans and peacocks, while the fairy who sat in it was beautiful as a sunbeam; but the other was drawn by bats and ravens, and contained a frightful little dwarf, who was dressed in a snake's skin, and wore a great toad upon her head for a hood.
the chariots met with a frightful crash in mid-air, and the princess looked on in breathless anxiety while a furious battle took place between the lovely fairy with her golden lance, and the hideous little dwarf and her rusty pike.
but very soon it was evident that the beauty had the best of it, and the dwarf turned her bats" heads and flickered away in great confusion, while the fairy came down to where the princess stood, and said, smiling, "you see princess, i have completely routed that malicious old carabosse.
will you believe it!
she actually wanted to claim authority over you for ever, because you came out of the tower four days before the twenty years were ended.
however, i think i have settled her pretensions, and i hope you will be very happy and enjoy the freedom i have won for you."
the princess thanked her heartily, and then the fairy despatched one of her peacocks to her palace to bring a gorgeous robe for mayblossom, who certainly needed it, for her own was torn to shreds by the thorns and briars.
another peacock was sent to the admiral to tell him that he could now land in perfect safety, which he at once did, bringing all his men with him, even to jack-the-chatterer, who, happening to pass the spit upon which the admiral's dinner was roasting, snatched it up and brought it with him.
admiral cocked-hat was immensely surprised when he came upon the golden chariot, and still more so to see two lovely ladies walking under the trees a little farther away.
when he reached them, of course he recognised the princess, and he went down on his knees and kissed her hand quite joyfully.
then she presented him to the fairy, and told him how carabosse had been finally routed, and he thanked and congratulated the fairy, who was most gracious to him.
while they were talking she cried suddenly: "i declare i smell a savoury dinner."
"why yes, madam, here it is," said jack-the-chatterer, holding up the spit, where all the pheasants and partridges were frizzling.
"will your highness please to taste any of them?"
"by all means," said the fairy, "especially as the princess will certainly be glad of a good meal."
so the admiral sent back to his ship for everything that was needful, and they feasted merrily under the trees.
by the time they had finished the peacock had come back with a robe for the princess, in which the fairy arrayed her.
it was of green and gold brocade, embroidered with pearls and rubies, and her long golden hair was tied back with strings of diamonds and emeralds, and crowned with flowers.
the fairy made her mount beside her in the golden chariot, and took her on board the admiral's ship, where she bade her farewell, sending many messages of friendship to the queen, and bidding the princess tell her that she was the fifth fairy who had attended the christening.
then salutes were fired, the fleet weighed anchor, and very soon they reached the port.
here the king and queen were waiting, and they received the princess with such joy and kindness that she could not get a word in edgewise, to say how sorry she was for having run away with such a very poor spirited ambassador.
but, after all, it must have been all carabosse's fault.
just at this lucky moment who should arrive but king merlin's son, who had become uneasy at not receiving any news from his ambassador, and so had started himself with a magnificent escort of a thousand horsemen, and thirty body-guards in gold and scarlet uniforms, to see what could have happened.
as he was a hundred times handsomer and braver than the ambassador, the princess found she could like him very much.
so the wedding was held at once, with so much splendour and rejoicing that all the previous misfortunes were quite forgotten.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- -lrb- 1 -rrb- la princesse printaniere.
par mme. d'aulnoy.
soria moria castle there was once upon a time a couple of folks who had a son called halvor.
ever since he had been a little boy he had been unwilling to do any work, and had just sat raking about among the ashes.
his parents sent him away to learn several things, but halvor stayed nowhere, for when he had been gone two or three days he always ran away from his master, hurried off home, and sat down in the chimney corner to grub among the ashes again.
one day, however, a sea captain came and asked halvor if he had n't a fancy to come with him and go to sea, and behold foreign lands.
and halvor had a fancy for that, so he was not long in getting ready.
how long they sailed i have no idea, but after a long, long time there was a terrible storm, and when it was over and all had become calm again, they knew not where they were, for they had been driven away to a strange coast of which none of them had any knowledge.
as there was no wind at all they lay there becalmed, and halvor asked the skipper to give him leave to go on shore to look about him, for he would much rather do that than lie there and sleep.
"dost thou think that thou art fit to go where people can see thee?"
said the skipper; "thou hast no clothes but those rags thou art going about in!"
halvor still begged for leave, and at last got it, but he was to come back at once if the wind began to rise.
so he went on shore, and it was a delightful country; whithersoever he went there were wide plains with fields and meadows, but as for people, there were none to be seen.
the wind began to rise, but halvor thought that he had not seen enough yet, and that he would like to walk about a little longer, to try if he could not meet somebody.
so after a while he came to a great highway, which was so smooth that an egg might have been rolled along it without breaking.
halvor followed this, and when evening drew near he saw a big castle far away in the distance, and there were lights in it.
so as he had now been walking the whole day and had not brought anything to eat away with him, he was frightfully hungry.
nevertheless, the nearer he came to the castle the more afraid he was.
a fire was burning in the castle, and halvor went into the kitchen, which was more magnificent than any kitchen he had ever yet beheld.
there were vessels of gold and silver, but not one human being was to be seen.
when halvor had stood there for some time, and no one had come out, he went in and opened a door, and inside a princess was sitting at her wheel spinning.
"nay!"
she cried, "can christian folk dare to come hither?
but the best thing that you can do is to go away again, for if not the troll will devour you.
a troll with three heads lives here.'"
i should have been just as well pleased if he had had four heads more, for i should have enjoyed seeing the fellow," said the youth; "and i wo n't go away, for i have done no harm, but you must give me something to eat, for i am frightfully hungry."
when halvor had eaten his fill, the princess told him to try if he could wield the sword which was hanging on the wall, but he could not wield it, nor could he even lift it up.
"well, then, you must take a drink out of that bottle which is hanging by its side, for that's what the troll does whenever he goes out and wants to use the sword," said the princess.
halvor took a draught, and in a moment he was able to swing the sword about with perfect ease.
and now he thought it was high time for the troll to make his appearance, and at that very moment he came, panting for breath.
halvor got behind the door.
"hutetu!"
said the troll as he put his head in at the door.
"it smells just as if there were christian man's blood here!"
"yes, you shall learn that there is!"
said halvor, and cut off all his heads.
the princess was so rejoiced to be free that she danced and sang, but then she remembered her sisters, and said: "if my sisters were but free too!"
"where are they?"
asked halvor.
so she told him where they were.
one of them had been taken away by a troll to his castle, which was six miles off, and the other had been carried off to a castle which was nine miles farther off still.
"but now," said she, "you must first help me to get this dead body away from here."
halvor was so strong that he cleared everything away, and made all clean and tidy very quickly.
so then they ate and drank, and were happy, and next morning he set off in the grey light of dawn.
he gave himself no rest, but walked or ran the livelong day.
when he came in sight of the castle he was again just a little afraid.
it was much more splendid than the other, but here too there was not a human being to be seen.
so halvor went into the kitchen, and did not linger there either, but went straight in.
"nay!
do christian folk dare to come here?"
cried the second princess."
i know not how long it is since i myself came, but during all that time i have never seen a christian man.
it will be better for you to depart at once, for a troll lives here who has six heads."
"no, i shall not go," said halvor; "even if he had six more i would not."
"he will swallow you up alive," said the princess.
but she spoke to no purpose, for halvor would not go; he was not afraid of the troll, but he wanted some meat and drink, for he was hungry after his journey.
so she gave him as much as he would have, and then she once more tried to make him go away.
"no," said halvor," i will not go, for i have not done anything wrong, and i have no reason to be afraid."
"he wo n't ask any questions about that," said the princess, "for he will take you without leave or right; but as you will not go, try if you can wield that sword which the troll uses in battle."
he could not brandish the sword; so the princess said that he was to take a draught from the flask which hung by its side, and when he had done that he could wield the sword.
soon afterwards the troll came, and he was so large and stout that he was forced to go sideways to get through the door.
when the troll got his first head in he cried: "hutetu!
it smells of a christian man's blood here!"
with that halvor cut off the first head, and so on with all the rest.
the princess was now exceedingly delighted, but then she remembered her sisters, and wished that they too were free.
halvor thought that might be managed, and wanted to set off immediately; but first he had to help the princess to remove the troll's body, so it was not until morning that he set forth on his way.
it was a long way to the castle, and he both walked and ran to get there in time.
late in the evening he caught sight of it, and it was very much more magnificent than either of the others.
and this time he was not in the least afraid, but went into the kitchen, and then straight on inside the castle.
there a princess was sitting, who was so beautiful that there was never anyone to equal her.
she too said what the others had said, that no christian folk had ever been there since she had come, and entreated him to go away again, or else the troll would swallow him up alive.
the troll had nine heads, she told him.
"yes, and if he had nine added to the nine, and then nine more still, i would not go away," said halvor, and went and stood by the stove.
the princess begged him very prettily to go lest the troll should devour him; but halvor said, "let him come when he will."
so she gave him the troll's sword, and bade him take a drink from the flask to enable him to wield it.
at that same moment the troll came, breathing hard, and he was ever so much bigger and stouter than either of the others, and he too was forced to go sideways to get in through the door.
"hutetu!
what a smell of christian blood there is here!"
said he.
then halvor cut off the first head, and after that the others, but the last was the toughest of them all, and it was the hardest work that halvor had ever done to get it off, but he still believed that he would have strength enough to do it.
and now all the princesses came to the castle, and were together again, and they were happier than they had ever been in their lives; and they were delighted with halvor, and he with them, and he was to choose the one he liked best; but of the three sisters the youngest loved him best.
but halvor went about and was so strange and so mournful and quiet that the princesses asked what it was that he longed for, and if he did not like to be with them.
he said that he did like to be with them, for they had enough to live on, and he was very comfortable there; but he longed to go home, for his father and mother were alive, and he had a great desire to see them again.
they thought that this might easily be done.
"you shall go and return in perfect safety if you will follow our advice," said the princesses.
so he said that he would do nothing that they did not wish.
then they dressed him so splendidly that he was like a king's son; and they put a ring on his finger, and it was one which would enable him to go there and back again by wishing, but they told him that he must not throw it away, or name their names; for if he did, all his magnificence would be at an end, and then he would never see them more.
"if i were but at home again, or if home were but here!"
said halvor, and no sooner had he wished this than it was granted.
halvor was standing outside his father and mother's cottage before he knew what he was about.
the darkness of night was coming on, and when the father and mother saw such a splendid and stately stranger walk in, they were so startled that they both began to bow and curtsey.
halvor then inquired if he could stay there and have lodging for the night.
no, that he certainly could not.
"we can give you no such accommodation," they said, "for we have none of the things that are needful when a great lord like you is to be entertained.
it will be better for you to go up to the farm.
it is not far off, you can see the chimney-pots from here, and there they have plenty of everything."
halvor would not hear of that, he was absolutely determined to stay where he was; but the old folks stuck to what they had said, and told him that he was to go to the farm, where he could get both meat and drink, whereas they themselves had not even a chair to offer him.
"no," said halvor," i will not go up there till early to-morrow morning; let me stay here to-night.
i can sit down on the hearth."
they could say nothing against that, so halvor sat down on the hearth, and began to rake about among the ashes just as he had done before, when he lay there idling away his time.
they chattered much about many things, and told halvor of this and of that, and at last he asked them if they had never had any child.
"yes," they said; they had had a boy who was called halvor, but they did not know where he had gone, and they could not even say whether he were dead or alive.
"could i be he?"
said halvor."
i should know him well enough," said the old woman rising.
"our halvor was so idle and slothful that he never did anything at all, and he was so ragged that one hole ran into another all over his clothes.
such a fellow as he was could never turn into such a man as you are, sir."
in a short time the old woman had to go to the fireplace to stir the fire, and when the blaze lit up halvor, as it used to do when he was at home raking up the ashes, she knew him again.
"good heavens!
is that you, halvor?"
said she, and such great gladness fell on the old parents that there were no bounds to it.
and now he had to relate everything that had befallen him, and the old woman was so delighted with him that she would take him up to the farm at once to show him to the girls who had formerly looked down on him so.
she went there first, and halvor followed her.
when she got there she told them how halvor had come home again, and now they should just see how magnificent he was.
"he looks like a prince," she said.
"we shall see that he is just the same ragamuffin that he was before," said the girls, tossing their heads.
at that same moment halvor entered, and the girls were so astonished that they left their kirtles lying in the chimney corner, and ran away in nothing but their petticoats.
when they came in again they were so shamefaced that they hardly dared to look at halvor, towards whom they had always been so proud and haughty before.
"ay, ay!
you have always thought that you were so pretty and dainty that no one was equal to you," said halvor, "but you should just see the eldest princess whom i set free.
you look like herds-women compared with her, and the second princess is also much prettier than you; but the youngest, who is my sweetheart, is more beautiful than either sun or moon.
i wish to heaven they were here, and then you would see them."
scarcely had he said this before they were standing by his side, but then he was very sorrowful, for the words which they had said to him came to his mind.
up at the farm a great feast was made ready for the princesses, and much respect paid to them, but they would not stay there.
"we want to go down to your parents," they said to halvor, "so we will go out and look about us."
he followed them out, and they came to a large pond outside the farm-house.
very near the water there was a pretty green bank, and there the princesses said they would sit down and while away an hour, for they thought that it would be pleasant to sit and look out over the water, they said.
there they sat down, and when they had sat for a short time the youngest princess said," i may as well comb your hair a little, halvor."
so halvor laid his head down on her lap, and she combed it, and it was not long before he fell asleep.
then she took her ring from him and put another in its place, and then she said to her sisters: "hold me as i am holding you.
i would that we were at soria moria castle."
when halvor awoke he knew that he had lost the princesses, and began to weep and lament, and was so unhappy that he could not be comforted.
in spite of all his father's and mother's entreaties, he would not stay, but bade them farewell, saying that he would never see them more, for if he did not find the princess again he did not think it worth while to live.
he again had three hundred dollars, which he put into his pocket and went on his way.
when he had walked some distance he met a man with a tolerably good horse.
halvor longed to buy it, and began to bargain with the man.
"well, i have not exactly been thinking of selling him," said the man, "but if we could agree, perhaps --" halvor inquired how much he wanted to have for the horse."
i did not give much for him, and he is not worth much; he is a capital horse to ride, but good for nothing at drawing; but he will always be able to carry your bag of provisions and you too, if you walk and ride by turns."
at last they agreed about the price, and halvor laid his bag on the horse, and sometimes he walked and sometimes he rode.
in the evening he came to a green field, where stood a great tree, under which he seated himself.
then he let the horse loose and lay down to sleep, but before he did that he took his bag off the horse.
at daybreak he set off again, for he did not feel as if he could take any rest.
so he walked and rode the whole day, through a great wood where there were many green places which gleamed very prettily among the trees.
he did not know where he was or whither he was going, but he never lingered longer in any place than was enough to let his horse get a little food when they came to one of these green spots, while he himself took out his bag of provisions.
so he walked and he rode, and it seemed to him that the wood would never come to an end.
but on the evening of the second day he saw a light shining through the trees.
"if only there were some people up there i might warm myself and get something to eat," thought halvor.
when he got to the place where the light had come from, he saw a wretched little cottage, and through a small pane of glass he saw a couple of old folks inside.
they were very old, and as grey-headed as a pigeon, and the old woman had such a long nose that she sat in the chimney corner and used it to stir the fire.
"good evening i good evening!"
said the old hag; "but what errand have you that can bring you here?
no christian folk have been here for more than a hundred years."
so halvor told her that he wanted to get to soria moria castle, and inquired if she knew the way thither.
"no," said the old woman, "that i do not, but the moon will be here presently, and i will ask her, and she will know.
she can easily see it, for she shines on all things."
so when the moon stood clear and bright above the tree-tops the old woman went out.
"moon!
moon!"
she screamed.
"canst thou tell me the way to soria moria castle?"
"no," said the moon, "that i ca n't, for when i shone there, there was a cloud before me."
"wait a little longer," said the old woman to halvor, "for the west wind will presently be here, and he will know it, for he breathes gently or blows into every corner."
"what!
have you a horse too?"
she said when she came in again.
"oh!
let the poor creature loose in our bit of fenced-in pasture, and do n't let it stand there starving at our very door.
but wo n't you exchange him with me?
we have a pair of old boots here with which you can go fifteen quarters of a mile at each step.
you shall have them for the horse, and then you will be able to get sooner to soria moria castle."
halvor consented to this at once, and the old woman was so delighted with the horse that she was ready to dance.
"for now i, too, shall be able to ride to church," she said.
halvor could take no rest, and wanted to set off immediately; but the old woman said that there was no need to hasten.
"lie down on the bench and sleep a little, for we have no bed to offer you," said she, "and i will watch for the coming of the west wind."
ere long came the west wind, roaring so loud that the walls creaked.
the old woman went out and cried: "west wind!
west wind!
canst thou tell me the way to soria moria castle?
here is one who would go thither."
"yes, i know it well," said the west wind."
i am just on my way there to dry the clothes for the wedding which is to take place.
if he is fleet of foot he can go with me."
out ran halvor.
"you will have to make haste if you mean to go with me," said the west wind; and away it went over hill and dale, and moor and morass, and halvor had enough to do to keep up with it.
"well, now i have no time to stay with you any longer," said the west wind, "for i must first go and tear down a bit of spruce fir before i go to the bleaching-ground to dry the clothes; but just go along the side of the hill, and you will come to some girls who are standing there washing clothes, and then you will not have to walk far before you are at soria moria castle."
shortly afterwards halvor came to the girls who were standing washing, and they asked him if he had seen anything of the west wind, who was to come there to dry the clothes for the wedding.
"yes," said halvor, "he has only gone to break down a bit of spruce fir.
it wo n't be long before he is here."
and then he asked them the way to soria moria castle.
they put him in the right way, and when he came in front of the castle it was so full of horses and people that it swarmed with them.
but halvor was so ragged and torn with following the west wind through bushes and bogs that he kept on one side, and would not go among the crowd until the last day, when the feast was to be held at noon.
so when, as was the usage and custom, all were to drink to the bride and the young girls who were present, the cup-bearer filled the cup for each in turn, both bride and bridegroom, and knights and servants, and at last, after a very long time, he came to halvor.
he drank their health, and then slipped the ring which the princess had put on his finger when they were sitting by the waterside into the glass, and ordered the cup-bearer to carry the glass to the bride from him and greet her.
then the princess at once rose up from the table, and said, "who is most worthy to have one of us -- he who has delivered us from the trolls or he who is sitting here as bridegroom?"
there could be but one opinion as to that, everyone thought, and when halvor heard what they said he was not long in flinging off his beggar's rags and arraying himself as a bridegroom.
"yes, he is the right one," cried the youngest princess when she caught sight of him; so she flung the other out of the window and held her wedding with halvor.
-lrb- 2 -rrb- -lrb- 2 -rrb- from p. c. asbjornsen.
the death of koshchei the deathless in a certain kingdom there lived a prince ivan.
he had three sisters.
the first was the princess marya, the second the princess olga, the third the princess anna.
when their father and mother lay at the point of death, they had thus enjoined their son: "give your sisters in marriage to the very first suitors who come to woo them.
do n't go keeping them by you!"
they died, and the prince buried them, and then, to solace his grief, he went with his sisters into the garden green to stroll.
suddenly the sky was covered by a black cloud; a terrible storm arose.
"let us go home, sisters!"
he cried.
hardly had they got into the palace, when the thunder pealed, the ceiling split open, and into the room where they were came flying a falcon bright.
the falcon smote upon the ground, became a brave youth, and said: "hail, prince ivan!
before i came as a guest, but now i have come as a wooer!
i wish to propose for your sister, the princess marya."
"if you find favour in the eyes of my sister, i will not interfere with her wishes.
let her marry you, in god's name!"
the princess marya gave her consent; the falcon married her and bore her away into his own realm.
days follow days, hours chase hours; a whole year goes by.
one day prince ivan and his two sisters went out to stroll in the garden green.
again there arose a storm-cloud, with whirlwind and lightning.
"let us go home, sisters!"
cries the prince.
scarcely had they entered the palace when the thunder crashed, the roof burst into a blaze, the ceiling split in twain, and in flew an eagle.
the eagle smote upon the ground and became a brave youth.
"hail, prince ivan!
i before i came as a guest, but now i have come as a wooer!"
and he asked for the hand of the princess olga.
prince ivan replied: "if you find favour in the eyes of the princess olga, then let her marry you.
i will not interfere with her liberty of choice."
the princess olga gave her consent and married the eagle.
the eagle took her and carried her off to his own kingdom.
another year went by.
prince ivan said to his youngest sister: "let us go out and stroll in the garden green!"
they strolled about for a time.
again there arose a storm-cloud, with whirlwind and lightning.
"let us return home, sister!"
said he.
they returned home, but they had n't had time to sit down when the thunder crashed, the ceiling split open, and in flew a raven.
the raven smote upon the floor and became a brave youth.
the former youths had been handsome, but this one was handsomer still.
"well, prince ivan!
before i came as a guest, but now i have come as a wooer!
give me the princess anna to wife.'"
i wo n't interfere with my sister's freedom.
if you gain her affections, let her marry you."
so the princess anna married the raven, and he bore her away into his own realm.
prince ivan was left alone.
a whole year he lived without his sisters; then he grew weary, and said: "i will set out in search of my sisters."
he got ready for the journey, he rode and rode, and one day he saw a whole army lying dead on the plain.
he cried aloud, "if there be a living man there, let him make answer!
who has slain this mighty host?"
there replied unto him a living man: "all this mighty host has been slain by the fair princess marya morevna."
prince ivan rode further on, and came to a white tent, and forth came to meet him the fair princess marya morevna.
"hail, prince!"
says she; "whither does god send you?
and is it of your free will or against your will?"
prince ivan replied, "not against their will do brave youths ride!"
"well, if your business be not pressing, tarry awhile in my tent."
thereat was prince ivan glad.
he spent two nights in the tent, and he found favour in the eyes of marya morevna, and she married him.
the fair princess, marya morevna, carried him off into her own realm.
they spent some time together, and then the princess took it into her head to go a warring.
so she handed over all the house-keeping affairs to prince ivan, and gave him these instructions: "go about everywhere, keep watch over everything; only do not venture to look into that closet there."
he could n't help doing so.
the moment marya morevna had gone he rushed to the closet, pulled open the door, and looked in -- there hung koshchei the deathless, fettered by twelve chains.
then koshchei entreated prince ivan, saying: "have pity upon me and give me to drink!
ten years long have i been here in torment, neither eating nor drinking; my throat is utterly dried up."
the prince gave him a bucketful of water; he drank it up and asked for more, saying: "a single bucket of water will not quench my thirst; give me more!"
the prince gave him a second bucketful.
koshchei drank it up and asked for a third, and when he had swallowed the third bucketful, he regained his former strength, gave his chains a shake, and broke all twelve at once.
"thanks, prince ivan!"
cried koshchei the deathless, "now you will sooner see your own ears than marya morevna!"
and out of the window he flew in the shape of a terrible whirlwind.
and he came up with the fair princess marya morevna as she was going her way, laid hold of her and carried her off home with him.
but prince ivan wept full sore, and he arrayed himself and set out a-wandering, saying to himself, "whatever happens, i will go and look for marya morevna!"
one day passed, another day passed; at the dawn of the third day he saw a wondrous palace, and by the side of the palace stood an oak, and on the oak sat a falcon bright.
down flew the falcon from the oak, smote upon the ground, turned into a brave youth, and cried aloud: "ha, dear brother-in-law!
how deals the lord with you?"
out came running the princess marya, joyfully greeted her brother ivan, and began inquiring after his health, and telling him all about herself.
the prince spent three days with them; then he said: "i can not abide with you; i must go in search of my wife, the fair princess marya morevna."
"hard will it be for you to find her," answered the falcon.
"at all events leave with us your silver spoon.
we will look at it and remember you."
so prince ivan left his silver spoon at the falcon's, and went on his way again.
on he went one day, on he went another day, and by the dawn of the third day he saw a palace still grander than the former one and hard by the palace stood an oak, and on the oak sat an eagle.
down flew the eagle from the oak, smote upon the ground, turned into a brave youth, and cried aloud: "rise up, princess olga!
hither comes our brother dear!"
the princess olga immediately ran to meet him, and began kissing him and embracing him, asking after his health, and telling him all about herself.
with them prince ivan stopped three days; then he said: "i can not stay here any longer.
i am going to look for my wife, the fair princess marya morevna."
"hard will it be for you to find her," replied the eagle.
"leave with us a silver fork.
we will look at it and remember you."
he left a silver fork behind, and went his way.
he travelled one day, he travelled two days; at daybreak on the third day he saw a palace grander than the first two, and near the palace stood an oak, and on the oak sat a raven.
down flew the raven from the oak, smote upon the ground, turned into a brave youth, and cried aloud: "princess anna, come forth quickly i our brother is coming."
out ran the princess anna, greeted him joyfully, and began kissing and embracing him, asking after his health and telling him all about herself.
prince ivan stayed with them three days; then he said: "farewell!
i am going to look for my wife, the fair princess marya morevna."
"hard will it be for you to find her," replied the raven.
"anyhow, leave your silver snuff-box with us.
we will look at it and remember you."
the prince handed over his silver snuff-box, took his leave, and went his way.
one day he went, another day he went, and on the third day he came to where marya morevna was.
she caught sight of her love, flung her arms around his neck, burst into tears, and exclaimed: "oh, prince ivan!
why did you disobey me and go looking into the closet and letting out koshchei the deathless?"
"forgive me, marya morevna!
remember not the past; much better fly with me while koshchei the deathless is out of sight.
perhaps he wo n't catch us."
so they got ready and fled.
now koshchei was out hunting.
towards evening he was returning home, when his good steed stumbled beneath him.
"why stumblest thou, sorry jade?
scentest thou some ill?"
the steed replied: "prince ivan has come and carried off marya morevna."
"is it possible to catch them?"
"it is possible to sow wheat, to wait till it grows up, to reap it and thresh it, to grind it to flour, to make five pies of it, to eat those pies, and then to start in pursuit -- and even then to be in time."
koshchei galloped off and caught up prince ivan.
"now," says he, "this time i will forgive you, in return for your kindness in giving me water to drink.
and a second time i will forgive you; but the third time beware!
i will cut you to bits."
then he took marya morevna from him, and carried her off.
but prince ivan sat down on a stone and burst into tears.
he wept and wept -- and then returned back again to marya morevna.
now koshchei the deathless happened not to be at home.
"let us fly, marya morevna!"
"ah, prince ivan!
he will catch us."
"suppose he does catch us.
at all events we shall have spent an hour or two together."
so they got ready and fled.
as koshchei the deathless was returning home, his good steed stumbled beneath him.
"why stumblest thou, sorry jade?
scentest thou some ill?"
"prince ivan has come and carried off marya morevna."
"is it possible to catch them?"
"it is possible to sow barley, to wait till it grows up, to reap it and thresh it, to brew beer, to drink ourselves drunk on it, to sleep our fill, and then to set off in pursuit -- and yet to be in time."
koshchei galloped off, caught up prince ivan: "did n't i tell you that you should not see marya morevna any more than your own ears?"
and he took her away and carried her off home with him.
prince ivan was left there alone.
he wept and wept; then he went back again after marya morevna.
koshchei happened to be away from home at that moment.
"let us fly, marya morevna!"
"ah, prince ivan!
he is sure to catch us and hew you in pieces."
"let him hew away!
i can not live without you.
so they got ready and fled.
koshchei the deathless was returning home when his good steed stumbled beneath him.
"why stumblest thou?
scentest thou any ill?"
"prince ivan has come and has carried off marya morevna."
koshchei galloped off, caught prince ivan, chopped him into little pieces, put them into a barrel, smeared it with pitch and bound it with iron hoops, and flung it into the blue sea.
but marya morevna he carried off home.
at that very time the silver articles turned black which prince ivan had left with his brothers-in-law.
"ah!"
said they, "the evil is accomplished sure enough!"
then the eagle hurried to the blue sea, caught hold of the barrel, and dragged it ashore; the falcon flew away for the water of life, and the raven for the water of death.
afterwards they all three met, broke open the barrel, took out the remains of prince ivan, washed them, and put them together in fitting order.
the raven sprinkled them with the water of death -- the pieces joined together, the body became whole.
the falcon sprinkled it with the water of life -- prince ivan shuddered, stood up, and said: "ah!
what a time i've been sleeping!"
"you'd have gone on sleeping a good deal longer if it had n't been for us," replied his brothers-in-law.
"now come and pay us a visit."
"not so, brothers; i shall go and look for marya morevna."
and when he had found her, he said to her: "find out from koshchei the deathless whence he got so good a steed."
so marya morevna chose a favourable moment, and began asking koshchei about it.
koshchei replied: "beyond thrice nine lands, in the thirtieth kingdom, on the other side of the fiery river, there lives a baba yaga.
she has so good a mare that she flies right round the world on it every day.
and she has many other splendid mares.
i watched her herds for three days without losing a single mare, and in return for that the baba yaga gave me a foal."
"but how did you get across the fiery river?"
"why, i've a handkerchief of this kind -- when i wave it thrice on the right hand, there springs up a very lofty bridge, and the fire can not reach it."
marya morevna listened to all this, and repeated it to prince ivan, and she carried off the handkerchief and gave it to him.
so he managed to get across the fiery river, and then went on to the baba yaga's.
long went he on without getting anything either to eat or to drink.
at last he came across an outlandish bird and its young ones.
says prince ivan: "i'll eat one of these chickens."
"do n't eat it, prince ivan!"
begs the outlandish bird; "some time or other i'll do you a good turn."
he went on farther and saw a hive of bees in the forest.
"i'll get a bit of honeycomb," says he.
"do n't disturb my honey, prince ivan!"
exclaims the queen-bee; "some time or other i'll do you a good turn."
so he did n't disturb it, but went on.
presently there met him a lioness with her cub.
"anyhow, i'll eat this lion cub," says he; "i'm so hungry i feel quite unwell!"
"please let us alone, prince ivan!"
begs the lioness; "some time or other i'll do you a good turn."
"very well; have it your own way," says he.
hungry and faint he wandered on, walked farther and farther, and at last came to where stood the house of the baba yaga.
round the house were set twelve poles in a circle, and on each of eleven of these poles was stuck a human head; the twelfth alone remained unoccupied.
"hail, granny!"
"hail, prince ivan!
wherefore have you come?
is it of your own accord, or on compulsion?'"
i have come to earn from you an heroic steed."
"so be it, prince!
you wo n't have to serve a year with me, but just three days.
if you take good care of my mares, i'll give you an heroic steed.
but if you do n't -- why, then you must n't be annoyed at finding your head stuck on top of the last pole up there."
prince ivan agreed to these terms.
the baba yaga gave him food and drink, and bade him set about his business.
but the moment he had driven the mares afield, they cocked up their tails, and away they tore across the meadows in all directions.
before the prince had time to look round they were all out of sight.
thereupon he began to weep and to disquiet himself, and then he sat down upon a stone and went to sleep.
but when the sun was near its setting the outlandish bird came flying up to him, and awakened him, saying: "arise, prince ivan!
the mares are at home now."
the prince arose and returned home.
there the baba yaga was storming and raging at her mares, and shrieking: "whatever did ye come home for?"
"how could we help coming home?"
said they.
"there came flying birds from every part of the world, and all but pecked our eyes out."
"well, well!
to-morrow do n't go galloping over the meadows, but disperse amid the thick forests."
prince ivan slept all night.
in the morning the baba yaga says to him: "mind, prince!
if you do n't take good care of the mares, if you lose merely one of them -- your bold head will be stuck on that pole!"
he drove the mares afield.
immediately they cocked up their tails and dispersed among the thick forests.
again did the prince sit down on the stone, weep and weep, and then go to sleep.
the sun went down behind the forest.
up came running the lioness.
"arise, prince ivan!
the mares are all collected."
prince ivan arose and went home.
more than ever did the baba yaga storm at her mares and shriek: "whatever did ye come back home for?"
"how could we help coming back?
beasts of prey came running at us from all parts of the world, and all but tore us utterly to pieces."
"well, to-morrow run off into the blue sea."
again did prince ivan sleep through the night.
next morning the baba yaga sent him forth to watch the mares.
"if you do n't take good care of them," says she, "your bold head will be stuck on that pole!"
he drove the mares afield.
immediately they cocked up their tails, disappeared from sight, and fled into the blue sea.
there they stood, up to their necks in water.
prince ivan sat down on the stone, wept, and fell asleep.
but when the sun had set behind the forest, up came flying a bee, and said: "arise, prince!
the mares are all collected.
but when you get home, do n't let the baba yaga set eyes on you, but go into the stable and hide behind the mangers.
there you will find a sorry colt rolling in the muck.
do you steal it, and at the dead of night ride away from the house."
prince ivan arose, slipped into the stable, and lay down behind the mangers, while the baba yaga was storming away at her mares and shrieking: "why did ye come back?"
"how could we help coming back?
there came flying bees in countless numbers from all parts of the world, and began stinging us on all sides till the blood came!"
the baba yaga went to sleep.
in the dead of the night prince ivan stole the sorry colt, saddled it, jumped on its back, and galloped away to the fiery river.
when he came to that river he waved the handkerchief three times on the right hand, and suddenly, springing goodness knows whence, there hung across the river, high in the air, a splendid bridge.
the prince rode across the bridge and waved the handkerchief twice only on the left hand; there remained across the river a thin, ever so thin a bridge!
when the baba yaga got up in the morning the sorry colt was not to be seen!
off she set in pursuit.
at full speed did she fly in her iron mortar, urging it on with the pestle, sweeping away her traces with the broom.
she dashed up to the fiery river, gave a glance, and said," a capital bridge!"
she drove on to the bridge, but had only got half-way when the bridge broke in two, and the baba yaga went flop into the river.
there truly did she meet with a cruel death!
prince ivan fattened up the colt in the green meadows, and it turned into a wondrous steed.
then he rode to where marya morevna was.
she came running out, and flung herself on his neck, crying: "by what means has god brought you back to life?"
"thus and thus," says he.
"now come along with me.'"
i am afraid, prince ivan!
if koshchei catches us you will be cut in pieces again."
"no, he wo n't catch us!
i have a splendid heroic steed now; it flies just like a bird."
so they got on its back and rode away.
koshchei the deathless was returning home when his horse stumbled beneath him.
"what art thou stumbling for, sorry jade?
dost thou scent any ill?"
"prince ivan has come and carried off marya morevna."
"can we catch them?"
"god knows!
prince ivan has a horse now which is better than i." "well, i ca n't stand it," says koshchei the deathless."
i will pursue."
after a time he came up with prince ivan, lighted on the ground, and was going to chop him up with his sharp sword.
but at that moment prince ivan's horse smote koshchei the deathless full swing with its hoof, and cracked his skull, and the prince made an end of him with a club.
afterwards the prince heaped up a pile of wood, set fire to it, burnt koshchei the deathless on the pyre, and scattered his ashes to the wind.
then marya morevna mounted koshchei's horse and prince ivan got on his own, and they rode away to visit first the raven, and then the eagle, and then the falcon.
wherever they went they met with a joyful greeting.
"ah, prince ivan!
why, we never expected to see you again.
well, it was n't for nothing that you gave yourself so much trouble.
such a beauty as marya morevna one might search for all the world over -- and never find one like her!"
and so they visited, and they feasted; and afterwards they went off to their own realm.
-lrb- 3 -rrb- -lrb- 3 -rrb- ralston.
the black thief and knight of the glen.
in times of yore there was a king and a queen in the south of ireland who had three sons, all beautiful children; but the queen, their mother, sickened unto death when they were yet very young, which caused great grief throughout the court, particularly to the king, her husband, who could in no wise be comforted.
seeing that death was drawing near her, she called the king to her and spoke as follows: "i am now going to leave you, and as you are young and in your prime, of course after my death you will marry again.
now all the request i ask of you is that you will build a tower in an island in the sea, wherein you will keep your three sons until they are come of age and fit to do for themselves; so that they may not be under the power or jurisdiction of any other woman.
neglect not to give them education suitable to their birth, and let them be trained up to every exercise and pastime requisite for king's sons to learn.
this is all i have to say, so farewell."
the king had scarce time, with tears in his eyes, to assure her she should be obeyed in everything, when she, turning herself in her bed, with a smile gave up the ghost.
never was greater mourning seen than was throughout the court and the whole kingdom; for a better woman than the queen, to rich and poor, was not to be found in the world.
she was interred with great pomp and magnificence, and the king, her husband, became in a manner inconsolable for the loss of her.
however, he caused the tower to be built and his sons placed in it, under proper guardians, according to his promise.
in process of time the lords and knights of the kingdom counselled the king -lrb- as he was young -rrb- to live no longer as he had done, but to take a wife; which counsel prevailing, they chose him a rich and beautiful princess to be his consort -- a neighbouring king's daughter, of whom he was very fond.
not long after, the queen had a fine son, which caused great feasting and rejoicing at the court, insomuch that the late queen, in a manner, was entirely forgotten.
that fared well, and king and queen lived happy together for several years.
at length the queen, having some business with the hen-wife, went herself to her, and, after a long conference passed, was taking leave of her, when the hen-wife prayed that if ever she should come back to her again she might break her neck.
the queen, greatly incensed at such a daring insult from one of her meanest subjects, demanded immediately the reason, or she would have her put to death.
"it was worth your while, madam," says the hen-wife, "to pay me well for it, for the reason i prayed so on you concerns you much."
"what must i pay you?"
asked the queen.
"you must give me," says she, "the full of a pack of wool, and i have an ancient crock which you must fill with butter, likewise a barrel which you must fill for me full of wheat."
"how much wool will it take to the pack?"
says the queen.
"it will take seven herds of sheep," said she, "and their increase for seven years."
"how much butter will it take to fill your crock?"
"seven dairies," said she, "and their increase for seven years."
"and how much will it take to fill the barrel you have?"
says the queen.
"it will take the increase of seven barrels of wheat for seven years."
"that is a great quantity," says the queen; "but the reason must be extraordinary, and before i want it, i will give you all you demand."
"well," says the hen-wife, "it is because you are so stupid that you do n't observe or find out those affairs that are so dangerous and hurtful to yourself and your child."
"what is that?"
says the queen.
"why," says she, "the king your husband has three fine sons he had by the late queen, whom he keeps shut up in a tower until they come of age, intending to divide the kingdom between them, and let your son push his fortune; now, if you do n't find some means of destroying them; your child and perhaps yourself will be left desolate in the end."
"and what would you advise me to do?"
said she;" i am wholly at a loss in what manner to act in this affair."
"you must make known to the king," says the hen-wife, "that you heard of his sons, and wonder greatly that he concealed them all this time from you; tell him you wish to see them, and that it is full time for them to be liberated, and that you would be desirous he would bring them to the court.
the king will then do so, and there will be a great feast prepared on that account, and also diversions of every sort to amuse the people; and in these sports," said she, "ask the king's sons to play a game at cards with you, which they will not refuse.
now," says the hen-wife, "you must make a bargain, that if you win they must do whatever you command them, and if they win, that you must do whatever they command you to do; this bargain must be made before the assembly, and here is a pack of cards," says she, "that i am thinking you will not lose by."
the queen immediately took the cards, and, after returning the hen-wife thanks for her kind instruction, went back to the palace, where she was quite uneasy until she got speaking to the king in regard of his children; at last she broke it off to him in a very polite and engaging manner, so that he could see no muster or design in it.
he readily consented to her desire, and his sons were sent for to the tower, who gladly came to court, rejoicing that they were freed from such confinement.
they were all very handsome, and very expert in all arts and exercises, so that they gained the love and esteem of all that had seen them.
the queen, more jealous with them than ever, thought it an age until all the feasting and rejoicing was over, that she might get making her proposal, depending greatly on the power of the hen-wife's cards.
at length this royal assembly began to sport and play at all kinds of diversions, and the queen very cunningly challenged the three princes to play at cards with her, making bargain with them as she had been instructed.
they accepted the challenge, and the eldest son and she played the first game, which she won; then the second son played, and she won that game likewise; the third son and she then played the last game, and he won it, which sorely grieved her that she had not him in her power as well as the rest, being by far the handsomest and most beloved of the three.
however, everyone was anxious to hear the queen's commands in regard to the two princes, not thinking that she had any ill design in her head against them.
whether it was the hen-wife instructed her, or whether it was from her own knowledge, i can not tell; but she gave out they must go and bring her the knight of the glen's wild steed of bells, or they should lose their heads.
the young princes were not in the least concerned, not knowing what they had to do; but the whole court was amazed at her demand, knowing very well that it was impossible for them ever to get the steed, as all that ever sought him perished in the attempt.
however, they could not retract the bargain, and the youngest prince was desired to tell what demand he had on the queen, as he had won his game.
"my brothers," says he, "are now going to travel, and, as i understand, a perilous journey wherein they know not what road to take or what may happen them.
i am resolved, therefore, not to stay here, but to go with them, let what will betide; and i request and command, according to my bargain, that the queen shall stand on the highest tower of the palace until we come back -lrb- or find out that we are certainly dead -rrb-, with nothing but sheaf corn for her food and cold water for her drink, if it should be for seven years and longer."
all things being now fixed, the three princes departed the court in search of the knight of the glen's palace, and travelling along the road they came up with a man who was a little lame, and seemed to be somewhat advanced in years; they soon fell into discourse, and the youngest of the princes asked the stranger his name, or what was the reason he wore so remarkable a black cap as he saw on him."
i am called," said he, "the thief of sloan, and sometimes the black thief from my cap; "and so telling the prince the most of his adventures, he asked him again where they were bound for, or what they were about.
the prince, willing to gratify his request, told him their affairs from the beginning to the end.
"and now," said he, "we are travelling, and do not know whether we are on the right road or not."
"ah!
my brave fellows," says the black thief, "you little know the danger you run.
i am after that steed myself these seven years, and can never steal him on account of a silk covering he has on him in the stable, with sixty bells fixed to it, and whenever you approach the place he quickly observes it and shakes himself; which, by the sound of the bells, not only alarms the prince and his guards, but the whole country round, so that it is impossible ever to get him, and those that are so unfortunate as to be taken by the knight of the glen are boiled in a red-hot fiery furnace."
"bless me," says the young prince, "what will we do?
if we return without the steed we will lose our heads, so i see we are ill fixed on both sides."
"well," says the thief of sloan, "if it were my case i would rather die by the knight than by the wicked queen; besides, i will go with you myself and show you the road, and whatever fortune you will have, i will take chance of the same."
they returned him sincere thanks for his kindness, and he, being well acquainted with the road, in a short time brought them within view of the knight's castle.
"now," says he, "we must stay here till night comes; for i know all the ways of the place, and if there be any chance for it, it is when they are all at rest; for the steed is all the watch the knight keeps there."
accordingly, in the dead hour of the night, the king's three sons and the thief of sloan attempted the steed of bells in order to carry him away, but before they could reach the stables the steed neighed most terribly and shook himself so, and the bells rung with such noise, that the knight and all his men were up in a moment.
the black thief and the king's sons thought to make their escape, but they were suddenly surrounded by the knight's guards and taken prisoners; where they were brought into that dismal part of the palace where the knight kept a furnace always boiling, in which he threw all offenders that ever came in his way, which in a few moments would entirely consume them.
"audacious villains!"
says the knight of the glen, "how dare you attempt so bold an action as to steal my steed?
see, now, the reward of your folly; for your greater punishment i will not boil you all together, but one after the other, so that he that survives may witness the dire afflictions of his unfortunate companions."
so saying he ordered his servants to stir up the fire: "we will boil the eldest-looking of these young men first," said he, "and so on to the last, which will be this old champion with the black cap.
he seems to be the captain, and looks as if he had come through many toils.'"
i was as near death once as the prince is yet," says the black thief, "and escaped; and so will he too."
"no, you never were," said the knight; "for he is within two or three minutes of his latter end."
"but," says the black thief," i was within one moment of my death, and i am here yet."
"how was that?"
says the knight;" i would be glad to hear it, for it seems impossible."
"if you think, sir knight," says the black thief, "that the danger i was in surpasses that of this young man, will you pardon him his crime?'"
i will," says the knight, "so go on with your story.'"
i was, sir," says he," a very wild boy in my youth, and came through many distresses; once in particular, as i was on my rambling, i was benighted and could find no lodging.
at length i came to an old kiln, and being much fatigued i went up and lay on the ribs.
i had not been long there when i saw three witches coming in with three bags of gold.
each put their bags of gold under their heads, as if to sleep.
i heard one of them say to the other that if the black thief came on them while they slept, he would not leave them a penny.
i found by their discourse that everybody had got my name into their mouth, though i kept silent as death during their discourse.
at length they fell fast asleep, and then i stole softly down, and seeing some turf convenient, i placed one under each of their heads, and off i went, with their gold, as fast as i could."
i had not gone far," continued the thief of sloan, "until i saw a grey-hound, a hare, and a hawk in pursuit of me, and began to think it must be the witches that had taken the shapes in order that i might not escape them unseen either by land or water.
seeing they did not appear in any formidable shape, i was more than once resolved to attack them, thinking that with my broad sword i could easily destroy them.
but considering again that it was perhaps still in their power to become alive again, i gave over the attempt and climbed with difficulty up a tree, bringing my sword in my hand and all the gold along with me.
however, when they came to the tree they found what i had done, and making further use of their hellish art, one of them was changed into a smith's anvil and another into a piece of iron, of which the third soon made a hatchet.
having the hatchet made, she fell to cutting down the tree, and in the course of an hour it began to shake with me.
at length it began to bend, and i found that one or two blows at the most would put it down.
i then began to think that my death was inevitable, considering that those who were capable of doing so much would soon end my life; but just as she had the stroke drawn that would terminate my fate, the cock crew, and the witches disappeared, having resumed their natural shapes for fear of being known, and i got safe off with my bags of gold.
"now, sir," says he to the knight of the glen, "if that be not as great an adventure as ever you heard, to be within one blow of a hatchet of my end, and that blow even drawn, and after all to escape, i leave it to yourself."
"well, i can not say but it is very extraordinary," says the knight of the glen, "and on that account pardon this young man his crime; so stir up the fire, till i boil this second one."
"indeed," says the black thief," i would fain think he would not die this time either."
"how so?"
says the knight; "it is impossible for him to escape.'"
i escaped death more wonderfully myself," says the thief of sloan, "than if you had him ready to throw into the furnace, and i hope it will be the case with him likewise."
"why, have you been in another great danger?"
says the knight."
i would be glad to hear the story too, and if it be as wonderful as the last, i will pardon this young man as i did the other."
"my way of living, sir," says the black thief, "was not good, as i told you before; and being at a certain time fairly run out of cash, and meeting with no enterprise worthy of notice, i was reduced to great straits.
at length a rich bishop died in the neighbourhood i was then in, and i heard he was interred with a great deal of jewels and rich robes upon him, all which i intended in a short time to be master of.
accordingly that very night i set about it, and coming to the place, i understood he was placed at the further end of a long dark vault, which i slowly entered.
i had not gone in far until i heard a foot coming towards me with a quick pace, and although naturally bold and daring, yet, thinking of the deceased bishop and the crime i was engaged in, i lost courage, and ran towards the entrance of the vault.
i had retreated but a few paces when i observed, between me and the light, the figure of a tall black man standing in the entrance.
being in great fear and not knowing how to pass, i fired a pistol at him, and he immediately fell across the entrance.
perceiving he still retained the figure of a mortal man, i began to imagine that it could not be the bishop's ghost; recovering myself therefore from the fear i was in, i ventured to the upper end of the vault, where i found a large bundle, and upon further examination i found that the corpse was already rifled, and that which i had taken to be a ghost was no more than one of his own clergy.
i was then very sorry that i had the misfortune to kill him, but it then could not be helped.
i took up the bundle that contained everything belonging to the corpse that was valuable, intending to take my departure from this melancholy abode; but just as i came to the mouth of the entrance i saw the guards of the place coming towards me, and distinctly heard them saying that they would look in the vault, for that the black thief would think little of robbing the corpse if he was anywhere in the place.
i did not then know in what manner to act, for if i was seen i would surely lose my life, as everybody had a look-out at that time, and because there was no person bold enough to come in on me.
i knew very well on the first sight of me that could be got, i would be shot like a dog.
however, i had not time to lose.
i took and raised up the man which i had killed, as if he was standing on his feet, and i, crouching behind him, bore him up as well as i could, so that the guards readily saw him as they came up to the vault.
seeing the man in black, one of the men cried that was the black thief, and, presenting his piece, fired at the man, at which i let him fall, and crept into a little dark corner myself, that was at the entrance of the place.
when they saw the man fall, they ran all into the vault, and never stopped until they were at the end of it, for fear, as i thought, that there might be some others along with him that was killed.
but while they were busy inspecting the corpse and the vault to see what they could miss, i slipped out, and, once away, and still away; but they never had the black thief in their power since."
"well, my brave fellow," says the knight of the glen," i see you have come through many dangers: you have freed these two princes by your stories; but i am sorry myself that this young prince has to suffer for all.
now, if you could tell me something as wonderful as you have told already, i would pardon him likewise; i pity this youth and do not want to put him to death if i could help it."
"that happens well," says the thief of sloan, "for i like him best myself, and have reserved the most curious passage for the last on his account."
"well, then," says the knight, "let us hear it.'"
i was one day on my travels," says the black thief, "and i came into a large forest, where i wandered a long time, and could not get out of it.
at length i came to a large castle, and fatigue obliged me to call in the same, where i found a young woman and a child sitting on her knee, and she crying.
i asked her what made her cry, and where the lord of the castle was, for i wondered greatly that i saw no stir of servants or any person about the place."
""it is well for you," says the young woman, "that the lord of this castle is not at home at present; for he is a monstrous giant, with but one eye on his forehead, who lives on human flesh.
he brought me this child," says she, "i do not know where he got it, and ordered me to make it into a pie, and i can not help crying at the command.""
i told her that if she knew of any place convenient that i could leave the child safely i would do it, rather than it should be killed by such a monster.
"she told me of a house a distance off where i would get a woman who would take care of it.
""but what will i do in regard of the pie?""
""cut a finger off it," said i, "and i will bring you in a young wild pig out of the forest, which you may dress as if it was the child, and put the finger in a certain place, that if the giant doubts anything about it you may know where to turn it over at the first, and when he sees it he will be fully satisfied that the pie is made of the child."
"she agreed to the scheme i proposed, and, cutting off the child's finger, by her direction i soon had it at the house she told me of, and brought her the little pig in the place of it.
she then made ready the pie, and after eating and drinking heartily myself, i was just taking my leave of the young woman when we observed the giant coming through the castle gates."
""bless me," said she, "what will you do now?
run away and lie down among the dead bodies that he has in the room -lrb- showing me the place -rrb-, and strip off your clothes that he may not know you from the rest if he has occasion to go that way.""
i took her advice, and laid myself down among the rest, as if dead, to see how he would behave.
the first thing i heard was him calling for his pie.
when she set it down before him he swore it smelled like swine's flesh, but knowing where to find the finger, she immediately turned it up, which fairly convinced him of the contrary.
the pie only served to sharpen his appetite, and i heard him sharpening his knife and saying he must have a collop or two, for he was not near satisfied.
but what was my terror when i heard the giant groping among the bodies, and, fancying myself, cut the half of my hip off, and took it with him to be roasted.
you may be certain i was in great pain, but the fear of being killed prevented me from making any complaint.
however, when he had eaten all he began to drink hot liquors in great abundance, so that in a short time he could not hold up his head, but threw himself on a large creel he had made for the purpose, and fell fast asleep.
when i heard him snoring, as i was i went up and caused the woman to bind my wound with a handkerchief; and, taking the giant's spit, reddened it in the fire, and ran it through the eye, but was not able to kill him.
"however, i left the spit sticking in his head, and took to my heels; but i soon found he was in pursuit of me, although blind; and having an enchanted ring he threw it at me, and it fell on my big toe and remained fastened to it.
"the giant then called to the ring, where it was, and to my great surprise it made him answer on my foot; and he, guided by the same, made a leap at me which i had the good luck to observe, and fortunately escaped the danger.
however, i found running was of no use in saving me, as long as i had the ring on my foot; so i took my sword and cut off the toe it was fastened on, and threw both into a large fish-pond that was convenient.
the giant called again to the ring, which by the power of enchantment always made him answer; but he, not knowing what i had done, imagined it was still on some part of me, and made a violent leap to seize me, when he went into the pond, over head and ears, and was drowned.
now, sir knight," says the thief of sloan, "you see what dangers i came through and always escaped; but, indeed, i am lame for the want of my toe ever since."
"my lord and master," says an old woman that was listening all the time, "that story is but too true, as i well know, for i am the very woman that was in the giant's castle, and you, my lord, the child that i was to make into a pie; and this is the very man that saved your life, which you may know by the want of your finger that was taken off, as you have heard, to deceive the giant."
the knight of the glen, greatly surprised at what he had heard the old woman tell, and knowing he wanted his finger from his childhood, began to understand that the story was true enough.
"and is this my deliverer?"
says he."
o brave fellow, i not only pardon you all, but will keep you with myself while you live, where you shall feast like princes, and have every attendance that i have myself."
they all returned thanks on their knees, and the black thief told him the reason they attempted to steal the steed of bells, and the necessity they were under in going home.
"well," says the knight of the glen, "if that's the case i bestow you my steed rather than this brave fellow should die; so you may go when you please, only remember to call and see me betimes, that we may know each other well."
they promised they would, and with great joy they set off for the king their father's palace, and the black thief along with them.
the wicked queen was standing all this time on the tower, and, hearing the bells ringing at a great distance off, knew very well it was the princes coming home, and the steed with them, and through spite and vexation precipitated herself from the tower and was shattered to pieces.
the three princes lived happy and well during their father's reign, and always keeping the black thief along with them; but how they did after the old king's death is not known.
-lrb- 4 -rrb- -lrb- 4 -rrb- the hibernian tales.
the master thief there was once upon a time a husbandman who had three sons.
he had no property to bequeath to them, and no means of putting them in the way of getting a living, and did not know what to do, so he said that they had his leave to take to anything they most fancied, and go to any place they best liked.
he would gladly accompany them for some part of their way, he said, and that he did.
he went with them till they came to a place where three roads met, and there each of them took his own way, and the father bade them farewell and returned to his own home again.
what became of the two elder i have never been able to discover, but the youngest went both far and wide.
it came to pass, one night, as he was going through a great wood, that a terrible storm came on.
it blew so hard and rained so heavily that he could scarcely keep his eyes open, and before he was aware of it he had got quite out of the track, and could neither find road nor path.
but he went on, and at last he saw a light far away in the wood.
then he thought he must try and get to it, and after a long, long time he did reach it.
there was a large house, and the fire was burning so brightly inside that he could tell that the people were not in bed.
so he went in, and inside there was an old woman who was busy about some work.
"good evening, mother!"
said the youth.
"good evening!"
said the old woman.
"hutetu!
it is terrible weather outside to-night," said the young fellow.
"indeed it is," said the old woman.
"can i sleep here, and have shelter for the night?"
asked the youth.
"it would n't be good for you to sleep here," said the old hag, "for if the people of the house come home and find you, they will kill both you and me."
"what kind of people are they then, who dwell here?"
said the youth.
"oh!
robbers, and rabble of that sort," said the old woman; "they stole me away when i was little, and i have had to keep house for them ever since.'"
i still think i will go to bed, all the same," said the youth.
"no matter what happens, i'll not go out to-night in such weather as this."
"well, then, it will be the worse for yourself," said the old woman.
the young man lay down in a bed which stood near, but he dared not go to sleep: and it was better that he did n't, for the robbers came, and the old woman said that a young fellow who was a stranger had come there, and she had not been able to get him to go away again.
"did you see if he had any money?"
said the robbers.
"he's not one to have money, he is a tramp!
if he has a few clothes to his back, that is all."
then the robbers began to mutter to each other apart about what they should do with him, whether they should murder him, or what else they should do.
in the meantime the boy got up and began to talk to them, and ask them if they did not want a man-servant, for he could find pleasure enough in serving them.
"yes," said they, "if you have a mind to take to the trade that we follow, you may have a place here."
"it's all the same to me what trade i follow," said the youth, "for when i came away from home my father gave me leave to take to any trade i fancied."
"have you a fancy for stealing, then?"
said the robbers.
"yes," said the boy, for he thought that was a trade which would not take long to learn.
not very far off there dwelt a man who had three oxen, one of which he was to take to the town to sell.
the robbers had heard of this, so they told the youth that if he were able to steal the ox from him on the way, without his knowing, and without doing him any harm, he should have leave to be their servant-man.
so the youth set off, taking with him a pretty shoe with a silver buckle that was lying about in the house.
he put this in the road by which the man must go with his ox, and then went into the wood and hid himself under a bush.
when the man came up he at once saw the shoe.
"that's a brave shoe," said he.
"if i had but the fellow to it, i would carry it home with me, and then i should put my old woman into a good humour for once."
for he had a wife who was so cross and ill-tempered that the time between the beatings she gave him was very short.
but then he bethought himself that he could do nothing with one shoe if he had not the fellow to it, so he journeyed onwards and let it lie where it was.
then the youth picked up the shoe and hurried off away through the wood as fast as he was able, to get in front of the man, and then put the shoe in the road before him again.
when the man came with the ox and saw the shoe, he was quite vexed at having been so stupid as to leave the fellow to it lying where it was, instead of bringing it on with him."
i will just run back again and fetch it now," he said to himself, "and then i shall take back a pair of good shoes to the old woman, and she may perhaps throw a kind word to me for once."
so he went and searched and searched for the other shoe for a long, long time, but no shoe was to be found, and at last he was forced to go back with the one which he had.
in the meantime the youth had taken the ox and gone off with it.
when the man got there and found that his ox was gone, he began to weep and wail, for he was afraid that when his old woman got to know she would be the death of him.
but all at once it came into his head to go home and get the other ox, and drive it to the town, and take good care that his old wife knew nothing about it.
so he did this; he went home and took the ox without his wife's knowing about it, and went on his way to the town with it.
but the robbers they knew it well, because they got out their magic.
so they told the youth that if he could take this ox also without the man knowing anything about it, and without doing him any hurt, he should then be on an equality with them.
"well, that will not be a very hard thing to do," thought the youth.
this time he took with him a rope and put it under his arms and tied himself up to a tree, which hung over the road that the man would have to take.
so the man came with his ox, and when he saw the body hanging there he felt a little queer.
"what a hard lot yours must have been to make you hang yourself!"
said he.
"ah, well!
you may hang there for me; i ca n't breathe life into you again."
so on he went with his ox.
then the youth sprang down from the tree, ran by a short cut and got before him, and once more hung himself up on a tree in the road before the man.
"how i should like to know if you really were so sick at heart that you hanged yourself there, or if it is only a hobgoblin that's before me!"
said the man.
"ah, well!
you may hang there for me, whether you are a hobgoblin or not," and on he went with his ox.
once more the youth did just as he had done twice already; jumped down from the tree, ran by a short cut through the wood, and again hanged himself in the very middle of the road before him.
but when the man once more saw this he said to himself, "what a bad business this is!
can they all have been so heavy-hearted that they have all three hanged themselves?
no, i ca n't believe that it is anything but witchcraft!
but i will know the truth," he said; "if the two others are still hanging there it is true but if they are not it's nothing else but witchcraft."
so he tied up his ox and ran back to see if they really were hanging there.
while he was going, and looking up at every tree as he went, the youth leapt down and took his ox and went off with it.
any one may easily imagine what a fury the man fell into when he came back and saw that his ox was gone.
he wept and he raged, but at last he took comfort and told himself that the best thing to do was to go home and take the third ox, without letting his wife know anything about it, and then try to sell it so well that he got a good sum of money for it.
so he went home and took the third ox, and drove it off without his wife knowing anything about it.
but the robbers knew all about it, and they told the youth that if he could steal this as he had stolen the two others, he should be master of the whole troop.
so the youth set out and went to the wood, and when the man was coming along with the ox he began to bellow loudly, just like a great ox somewhere inside the wood.
when the man heard that he was right glad, for he fancied he recognised the voice of his big bullock, and thought that now he should find both of them again.
so he tied up the third, and ran away off the road to look for them in the wood.
in the meantime the youth went away with the third ox.
when the man returned and found that he had lost that too, he fell into such a rage that there was no bounds to it.
he wept and lamented, and for many days he did not dare to go home again, for he was afraid that the old woman would slay him outright.
the robbers, also, were not very well pleased at this, for they were forced to own that the youth was at the head of them all.
so one day they made up their minds to set to work to do something which it was not in his power to accomplish, and they all took to the road together, and left him at home alone.
when they were well out of the house, the first thing that he did was to drive the oxen out on the road, whereupon they all ran home again to the man from whom he had stolen them, and right glad was the husbandman to see them.
then he brought out all the horses the robbers had, and loaded them with the most valuable things which he could find -- vessels of gold and of silver, and clothes and other magnificent things -- and then he told the old woman to greet the robbers from him and thank them from him, and say that he had gone away, and that they would have a great deal of difficulty in finding him again, and with that he drove the horses out of the courtyard.
after a long, long time he came to the road on which he was travelling when he came to the robbers.
and when he had got very near home, and was in sight of the house where his father lived, he put on a uniform which he had found among the things he had taken from the robbers, and which was made just like a general's, and drove into the yard just as if he were a great man.
then he entered the house and asked if he could find a lodging there.
"no, indeed you ca n't!"
said his father.
"how could i possibly be able to lodge such a great gentleman as you?
it is all that i can do to find clothes and bedding for myself, and wretched they are."
"you were always a hard man," said the youth, "and hard you are still if you refuse to let your own son come into your house."
"are you my son?"
said the man.
"do you not know me again then?"
said the youth.
then he recognised him and said, "but what trade have you taken to that has made you such a great man in so short a time?"
"oh, that i will tell you," answered the youth.
"you said that i might take to anything i liked, so i apprenticed myself to some thieves and robbers, and now i have served my time and have become master thief."
now the governor of the province lived by his father's cottage, and this governor had such a large house and so much money that he did not even know how much it was, and he had a daughter too who was both pretty and dainty, and good and wise.
so the master thief was determined to have her to wife, and told his father that he was to go to the governor, and ask for his daughter for him.
"if he asks what trade i follow, you may say that i am a master thief," said he."
i think you must be crazy," said the man, "for you ca n't be in your senses if you think of anything so foolish."
"you must go to the governor and beg for his daughter -- there is no help," said the youth.
"but i dare not go to the governor and say this.
he is so rich and has so much wealth of all kinds," said the man.
"there is no help for it," said the master thief; "go you must, whether you like it or not.
if i ca n't get you to go by using good words, i will soon make you go with bad ones."
but the man was still unwilling, so the master thief followed him, threatening him with a great birch stick, till he went weeping and wailing through the door to the governor of the province.
"now, my man, and what's amiss with you?"
said the governor.
so he told him that he had three sons who had gone away one day, and how he had given them permission to go where they chose, and take to whatsoever work they fancied.
"now," he said, "the youngest of them has come home, and has threatened me till i have come to you to ask for your daughter for him, and i am to say that he is a master thief," and again the man fell a-weeping and lamenting.
"console yourself, my man," said the governor, laughing.
"you may tell him from me that he must first give me some proof of this.
if he can steal the joint off the spit in the kitchen on sunday, when every one of us is watching it, he shall have my daughter.
will you tell him that?"
the man did tell him, and the youth thought it would be easy enough to do it.
so he set himself to work to catch three hares alive, put them in a bag, clad himself in some old rags so that he looked so poor and wretched that it was quite pitiable to see him, and in this guise on sunday forenoon he sneaked into the passage with his bag, like any beggar boy.
the governor himself and every one in the house was in the kitchen, keeping watch over the joint.
while they were doing this the youth let one of the hares slip out of his bag, and off it set and began to run round the yard.
"just look at that hare," said the people in the kitchen, and wanted to go out and catch it.
the governor saw it too, but said, "oh, let it go!
it's no use to think of catching a hare when it's running away."
it was not long before the youth let another hare out, and the people in the kitchen saw this too, and thought that it was the same.
so again they wanted to go out and catch it, but the governor again told them that it was of no use to try.
very soon afterwards, however, the youth let slip the third hare, and it set off and ran round and round the courtyard.
the people in the kitchen saw this too, and believed that it was still the same hare that was running about, so they wanted to go out and catch it.
"it's a remarkably fine hare!"
said the governor.
"come and let us see if we can get hold of it."
so out he went, and the others with him, and away went the hare, and they after it, in real earnest.
in the meantime, however, the master thief took the joint and ran off with it, and whether the governor got any roast meat for his dinner that day i know not, but i know that he had no roast hare, though he chased it till he was both hot and tired.
at noon came the priest, and when the governor had told him of the trick played by the master thief there was no end to the ridicule he cast on the governor.
"for my part," said the priest," i ca n't imagine myself being made a fool of by such a fellow as that!"
"well, i advise you to be careful," said the governor, "for he may be with you before you are at all aware."
but the priest repeated what he had said, and mocked the governor for having allowed himself to be made such a fool of.
later in the afternoon the master thief came and wanted to have the governor's daughter as he had promised.
"you must first give some more samples of your skill," said the governor, trying to speak him fair, "for what you did to-day was no such very great thing after all.
could n't you play off a really good trick on the priest?
for he is sitting inside there and calling me a fool for having let myself be taken in by such a fellow as you."
"well, it would n't be very hard to do that," said the master thief.
so he dressed himself up like a bird, and threw a great white sheet over himself; broke off a goose's wings, and set them on his back; and in this attire climbed into a great maple tree which stood in the priest's garden.
so when the priest returned home in the evening the youth began to cry, "father lawrence!
father lawrence!
"for the priest was called father lawrence.
"who is calling me?"
said the priest."
i am an angel sent to announce to thee that because of thy piety thou shalt be taken away alive into heaven," said the master thief.
"wilt thou hold thyself in readiness to travel away next monday night?
for then will i come and fetch thee, and bear thee away with me in a sack, and thou must lay all thy gold and silver, and whatsoever thou may "st possess of this world's wealth, in a heap in thy best parlour."
so father lawrence fell down on his knees before the angel and thanked him, and the following sunday he preached a farewell sermon, and gave out that an angel had come down into the large maple tree in his garden, and had announced to him that, because of his righteousness, he should be taken up alive into heaven, and as he thus preached and told them this everyone in the church, old or young, wept.
on monday night the master thief once more came as an angel, and before the priest was put into the sack he fell on his knees and thanked him; but no sooner was the priest safely inside it than the master thief began to drag him away over stocks and stones.
"oh!
oh!
"cried the priest in the sack.
"where are you taking me?"
"this is the way to heaven.
the way to heaven is not an easy one," said the master thief, and dragged him along till he all but killed him.
at last he flung him into the governor's goose-house, and the geese began to hiss and peck at him, till he felt more dead than alive.
"oh!
oh!
oh!
where am i now?"
asked the priest.
"now you are in purgatory," said the master thief, and off he went and took the gold and the silver and all the precious things which the priest had laid together in his best parlour.
next morning, when the goose-girl came to let out the geese, she heard the priest bemoaning himself as he lay in the sack in the goose-house.
"oh, heavens!
who is that, and what ails you?"
said she.
"oh," said the priest, "if you are an angel from heaven do let me out and let me go back to earth again, for no place was ever so bad as this -- the little fiends nip me so with their tongs.'"
i am no angel," said the girl, and helped the priest out of the sack."
i only look after the governor's geese, that's what i do, and they are the little fiends which have pinched your reverence."
"this is the master thief's doing!
oh, my gold and my silver and my best clothes!"
shrieked the priest, and, wild with rage, he ran home so fast that the goose-girl thought he had suddenly gone mad.
when the governor learnt what had happened to the priest he laughed till he nearly killed himself, but when the master thief came and wanted to have his daughter according to promise, he once more gave him nothing but fine words, and said, "you must give me one more proof of your skill, so that i can really judge of your worth.
i have twelve horses in my stable, and i will put twelve stable boys in it, one on each horse.
if you are clever enough to steal the horses from under them, i will see what i can do for you."
"what you set me to do can be done," said the master thief, "but am i certain to get your daughter when it is?"
"yes; if you can do that i will do my best for you," said the governor.
so the master thief went to a shop, and bought enough brandy to fill two pocket flasks, and he put a sleeping drink into one of these, but into the other he poured brandy only.
then he engaged eleven men to lie that night in hiding behind the governor's stable.
after this, by fair words and good payment, he borrowed a ragged gown and a jerkin from an aged woman, and then, with a staff in his hand and a poke on his back, he hobbled off as evening came on towards the governor's stable.
the stable boys were just watering the horses for the night, and it was quite as much as they could do to attend to that.
"what on earth do you want here?"
said one of them to the old woman.
"oh dear!
oh dear!
how cold it is!"
she said, sobbing, and shivering with cold.
"oh dear!
oh dear!
it's cold enough to freeze a poor old body to death!"
and she shivered and shook again, and said, "for heaven's sake give me leave to stay here and sit just inside the stable door."
"you will get nothing of the kind!
be off this moment!
if the governor were to catch sight of you here, he would lead us a pretty dance," said one.
"oh!
what a poor helpless old creature!"
said another, who felt sorry for her.
"that poor old woman can do no harm to anyone.
she may sit there and welcome."
the rest of them thought that she ought not to stay, but while they were disputing about this and looking after the horses, she crept farther and farther into the stable, and at last sat down behind the door, and when once she was inside no one took any more notice of her.
as the night wore on the stable boys found it rather cold work to sit still on horseback.
"hutetu!
but it is fearfully cold!"
said one, and began to beat his arms backwards and forwards across his breast.
"yes, i am so cold that my teeth are chattering," said another.
"if one had but a little tobacco," said a third.
well, one of them had a little, so they shared it among them, though there was very little for each man, but they chewed it.
this was some help to them, but very soon they were just as cold as before.
"hutetu!"
said one of them, shivering again.
"hutetu!"
said the old woman, gnashing her teeth together till they chattered inside her mouth; and then she got out the flask which contained nothing but brandy, and her hands trembled so that she shook the bottle about, and when she drank it made a great gulp in her throat.
"what is that you have in your flask, old woman?"
asked one of the stable boys.
"oh, it's only a little drop of brandy, your honour," she said.
"brandy!
what!
let me have a drop!
let me have a drop!"
screamed all the twelve at once.
"oh, but what i have is so little," whimpered the old woman.
"it will not even wet your mouths."
but they were determined to have it, and there was nothing to be done but give it; so she took out the flask with the sleeping drink and put it to the lips of the first of them; and now she shook no more, but guided the flask so that each of them got just as much as he ought, and the twelfth had not done drinking before the first was already sitting snoring.
then the master thief flung off his beggar's rags, and took one stable boy after the other and gently set him astride on the partitions which divided the stalls, and then he called his eleven men who were waiting outside, and they rode off with the governor's horses.
in the morning when the governor came to look after his stable boys they were just beginning to come to again.
they were driving their spurs into the partition till the splinters flew about, and some of the boys fell off, and some still hung on and sat looking like fools.
"ah, well," said the governor, "it is easy to see who has been here; but what a worthless set of fellows you must be to sit here and let the master thief steal the horses from under you!"
and they all got a beating for not having kept watch better.
later in the day the master thief came and related what he had done, and wanted to have the governor's daughter as had been promised.
but the governor gave him a hundred dollars, and said that he must do something that was better still.
"do you think you can steal my horse from under me when i am out riding on it?"
said he.
"well, it might be done," said the master thief, "if i were absolutely certain that i should get your daughter."
so the governor said that he would see what he could do, and then he said that on a certain day he would ride out to a great common where they drilled the soldiers.
so the master thief immediately got hold of an old worn-out mare, and set himself to work to make a collar for it of green withies and branches of broom; bought a shabby old cart and a great cask, and then he told a poor old beggar woman that he would give her ten dollars if she would get into the cask and keep her mouth wide-open beneath the tap-hole, into which he was going to stick his finger.
no harm should happen to her, he said; she should only be driven about a little, and if he took his finger out more than once, she should have ten dollars more.
then he dressed himself in rags, dyed himself with soot, and put on a wig and a great beard of goat's hair, so that it was impossible to recognise him, and went to the parade ground, where the governor had already been riding about a long time.
when the master thief got there the mare went along so slowly and quietly that the cart hardly seemed to move from the spot.
the mare pulled it a little forward, and then a little back, and then it stopped quite short.
then the mare pulled a little forward again, and it moved with such difficulty that the governor had not the least idea that this was the master thief.
he rode straight up to him, and asked if he had seen anyone hiding anywhere about in a wood that was close by.
"no," said the man, "that have i not."
"hark you," said the governor.
"if you will ride into that wood, and search it carefully to see if you can light upon a fellow who is hiding in there, you shall have the loan of my horse and a good present of money for your trouble.'"
i am not sure that i can do it," said the man, "for i have to go to a wedding with this cask of mead which i have been to fetch, and the tap has fallen out on the way, so now i have to keep my finger in the tap-hole as i drive."
"oh, just ride off," said the governor, "and i will look after the cask and the horse too."
so the man said that if he would do that he would go, but he begged the governor to be very careful to put his finger into the tap-hole the moment he took his out.
so the governor said that he would do his very best, and the master thief got on the governor's horse.
but time passed, and it grew later and later, and still the man did not come back, and at last the governor grew so weary of keeping his finger in the tap-hole that he took it out.
"now i shall have ten dollars more!"
cried the old woman inside the cask; so he soon saw what kind of mead it was, and set out homewards.
when he had gone a very little way he met his servant bringing him the horse, for the master thief had already taken it home.
the following day he went to the governor and wanted to have his daughter according to promise.
but the governor again put him off with fine words, and only gave him three hundred dollars, saying that he must do one more masterpiece of skill, and if he were but able to do that he should have her.
well, the master thief thought he might if he could hear what it was.
"do you think you can steal the sheet off our bed, and my wife's night-gown?"
said the governor.
"that is by no means impossible," said the master thief."
i only wish i could get your daughter as easily."
so late at night the master thief went and cut down a thief who was hanging on the gallows, laid him on his own shoulders, and took him away with him.
then he got hold of a long ladder, set it up against the governor's bedroom window, and climbed up and moved the dead man's head up and down, just as if he were some one who was standing outside and peeping in.
"there's the master thief, mother!"
said the governor, nudging his wife.
"now i'll just shoot him, that i will!"
so he took up a rifle which he had laid at his bedside.
"oh no, you must not do that," said his wife; "you yourself arranged that he was to come here."
"yes, mother, i will shoot him," said he, and lay there aiming, and then aiming again, for no sooner was the head up and he caught sight of it than it was gone again.
at last he got a chance and fired, and the dead body fell with a loud thud to the ground, and down went the master thief too, as fast as he could.
"well," said the governor," i certainly am the chief man about here, but people soon begin to talk, and it would be very unpleasant if they were to see this dead body; the best thing that i can do is to go out and bury him."
"just do what you think best, father," said his wife.
so the governor got up and went downstairs, and as soon as he had gone out through the door, the master thief stole in and went straight upstairs to the woman.
"well, father dear," said she, for she thought it was her husband.
"have you got done already?"
"oh yes, i only put him into a hole," said he, "and raked a little earth over him; that's all i have been able to do to-night, for it is fearful weather outside.
i will bury him better afterwards, but just let me have the sheet to wipe myself with, for he was bleeding, and i have got covered with blood with carrying him."
so she gave him the sheet.
"you will have to let me have your night-gown too," he said, "for i begin to see that the sheet wo n't be enough."
then she gave him her night-gown, but just then it came into his head that he had forgotten to lock the door, and he was forced to go downstairs and do it before he could lie down in bed again.
so off he went with the sheet, and the night-gown too.
an hour later the real governor returned.
"well, what a time it has taken to lock the house door, father!"
said his wife, "and what have you done with the sheet and the night-gown?"
"what do you mean?"
asked the governor.
"oh, i am asking you what you have done with the night-gown and sheet that you got to wipe the blood off yourself with," said she.
"good heavens!"
said the governor, "has he actually got the better of me again?"
when day came the master thief came too, and wanted to have the governor's daughter as had been promised, and the governor dared do no otherwise than give her to him, and much money besides, for he feared that if he did not the master thief might steal the very eyes out of his head, and that he himself would be ill spoken of by all men.
the master thief lived well and happily from that time forth, and whether he ever stole any more or not i can not tell you, but if he did it was but for pastime.
-lrb- 5 -rrb- from p. c. asbjornsen.
brother and sister brother took sister by the hand and said: "look here; we have n't had one single happy hour since our mother died.
that stepmother of ours beats us regularly every day, and if we dare go near her she kicks us away.
we never get anything but hard dry crusts to eat -- why, the dog under the table is better off than we are.
she does throw him a good morsel or two now and then.
oh dear!
if our own dear mother only knew all about it!
come along, and let us go forth into the wide world together."
so off they started through fields and meadows, over hedges and ditches, and walked the whole day long, and when it rained sister said: "heaven and our hearts are weeping together."
towards evening they came to a large forest, and were so tired out with hunger and their long walk, as well as all their trouble, that they crept into a hollow tree and soon fell fast asleep.
next morning, when they woke up, the sun was already high in the heavens and was shining down bright and warm into the tree.
then said brother: "i'm so thirsty, sister; if i did but know where to find a little stream, i'd go and have a drink.
i do believe i hear one."
he jumped up, took sister by the hand, and they set off to hunt for the brook.
now their cruel stepmother was in reality a witch, and she knew perfectly well that the two children had run away.
she had crept secretly after them, and had cast her spells over all the streams in the forest.
presently the children found a little brook dancing and glittering over the stones, and brother was eager to drink of it, but as it rushed past sister heard it murmuring: "who drinks of me will be a tiger!
who drinks of me will be a tiger!"
so she cried out, "oh!
dear brother, pray do n't drink, or you'll be turned into a wild beast and tear me to pieces."
brother was dreadfully thirsty, but he did not drink.
"very well," said he, "i'll wait till we come to the next spring."
when they came to the second brook, sister heard it repeating too: "who drinks of me will be a wolf i who drinks of me will be a wolf!"
and she cried, "oh!
brother, pray do n't drink here either, or you'll be turned into a wolf and eat me up."
again brother did not drink, but he said: "well, i'll wait a little longer till we reach the next stream, but then, whatever you may say, i really must drink, for i can bear this thirst no longer."
and when they got to the third brook, sister heard it say as it rushed past: "who drinks of me will be a roe!
who drinks of me will be a roe!"
and she begged, "ah!
brother, do n't drink yet, or you'll become a roe and run away from me."
but her brother was already kneeling by the brook and bending over it to drink, and, sure enough, no sooner had his lips touched the water than he fell on the grass transformed into a little roebuck.
sister cried bitterly over her poor bewitched brother, and the little roe wept too, and sat sadly by her side.
at last the girl said: "never mind, dear little fawn, i will never forsake you," and she took off her golden garter and tied it round the roe's neck.
then she plucked rushes and plaited a soft cord of them, which she fastened to the collar.
when she had done this she led the roe farther and farther, right into the depths of the forest.
after they had gone a long, long way they came to a little house, and when the girl looked into it she found it was quite empty, and she thought "perhaps we might stay and live here."
so she hunted up leaves and moss to make a soft bed for the little roe, and every morning and evening she went out and gathered roots, nuts, and berries for herself, and tender young grass for the fawn.
and he fed from her hand, and played round her and seemed quite happy.
in the evening, when sister was tired, she said her prayers and then laid her head on the fawn's back and fell sound asleep with it as a pillow.
and if brother had but kept his natural form, really it would have been a most delightful kind of life.
they had been living for some time in the forest in this way, when it came to pass that the king of that country had a great hunt through the woods.
then the whole forest rang with such a blowing of horns, baying of dogs, and joyful cries of huntsmen, that the little roe heard it and longed to join in too.
"ah!"
said he to sister, "do let me go off to the hunt!
i ca n't keep still any longer."
and he begged and prayed till at last she consented.
"but," said she, "mind you come back in the evening.
i shall lock my door fast for fear of those wild huntsmen; so, to make sure of my knowing you, knock at the door and say, "my sister dear, open; i'm here."
if you do n't speak i sha n't open the door."
so off sprang the little roe, and he felt quite well and happy in the free open air.
the king and his huntsmen soon saw the beautiful creature and started in pursuit, but they could not come up with it, and whenever they thought they were sure to catch it, it bounded off to one side into the bushes and disappeared.
when night came on it ran home, and knocking at the door of the little house cried: "my sister dear, open; i'm here."
the door opened, and he ran in and rested all night on his soft mossy bed.
next morning the hunt began again, and as soon as the little roe heard the horns and the "ho!
ho!
"of the huntsmen, he could not rest another moment, and said: "sister, open the door, i must get out."
so sister opened the door and said, "now mind and get back by nightfall, and say your little rhyme."
as soon as the king and his huntsmen saw the roe with the golden collar they all rode off after it, but it was far too quick and nimble for them.
this went on all day, but as evening came on the huntsmen had gradually encircled the roe, and one of them wounded it slightly in the foot, so that it limped and ran off slowly.
then the huntsman stole after it as far as the little house, and heard it call out, "my sister dear, open; i'm here," and he saw the door open and close immediately the fawn had run in.
the huntsman remembered all this carefully, and went off straight to the king and told him all he had seen and heard.
"to-morrow we will hunt again," said the king.
poor sister was terribly frightened when she saw how her little fawn had been wounded.
she washed off the blood, bound up the injured foot with herbs, and said: "now, dear, go and lie down and rest, so that your wound may heal."
the wound was really so slight that it was quite well next day, and the little roe did not feel it at all.
no sooner did it hear the sounds of hunting in the forest than it cried: "i ca n't stand this, i must be there too; i'll take care they sha n't catch me."
sister began to cry, and said, "they are certain to kill you, and then i shall be left all alone in the forest and forsaken by everyone.
i ca n't and wo n't let you out."
"then i shall die of grief," replied the roe, "for when i hear that horn i feel as if i must jump right out of my skin."
so at last, when sister found there was nothing else to be done, she opened the door with a heavy heart, and the roe darted forth full of glee and health into the forest.
as soon as the king saw the roe, he said to his huntsman, "now then, give chase to it all day till evening, but mind and be careful not to hurt it."
when the sun had set the king said to his huntsman, "now come and show me the little house in the wood."
and when he got to the house he knocked at the door and said, "my sister dear, open; i'm here."
then the door opened and the king walked in, and there stood the loveliest maiden he had ever seen.
the girl was much startled when instead of the little roe she expected she saw a man with a gold crown on his head walk in.
but the king looked kindly at her, held out his hand, and said, "will you come with me to my castle and be my dear wife?"
"oh yes!"
replied the maiden, "but you must let my roe come too.
i could not possibly forsake it."
"it shall stay with you as long as you live, and shall want for nothing," the king promised.
in the meantime the roe came bounding in, and sister tied the rush cord once more to its collar, took the end in her hand, and so they left the little house in the forest together.
the king lifted the lonely maiden on to his horse, and led her to his castle, where the wedding was celebrated with the greatest splendour.
the roe was petted and caressed, and ran about at will in the palace gardens.
now all this time the wicked stepmother, who had been the cause of these poor children's misfortunes and trying adventures, was feeling fully persuaded that sister had been torn to pieces by wild beasts, and brother shot to death in the shape of a roe.
when she heard how happy and prosperous they were, her heart was filled with envy and hatred, and she could think of nothing but how to bring some fresh misfortune on them.
her own daughter, who was as hideous as night and had only one eye, reproached her by saying, "it is i who ought to have had this good luck and been queen."
"be quiet, will you," said the old woman; "when the time comes i shall be at hand."
now after some time it happened one day when the king was out hunting that the queen gave birth to a beautiful little boy.
the old witch thought here was a good chance for her; so she took the form of the lady in waiting, and, hurrying into the room where the queen lay in her bed, called out, "the bath is quite ready; it will help to make you strong again.
come, let us be quick, for fear the water should get cold."
her daughter was at hand, too, and between them they carried the queen, who was still very weak, into the bath-room and laid her in the bath; then they locked the door and ran away.
they took care beforehand to make a blazing hot fire under the bath, so that the lovely young queen might be suffocated.
as soon as they were sure this was the case, the old witch tied a cap on her daughter's head and laid her in the queen's bed.
she managed, too, to make her figure and general appearance look like the queen's, but even her power could not restore the eye she had lost; so she made her lie on the side of the missing eye, in order to prevent the king's noticing anything.
in the evening, when the king came home and heard the news of his son's birth, he was full of delight, and insisted on going at once to his dear wife's bedside to see how she was getting on.
but the old witch cried out, "take care and keep the curtains drawn; do n't let the light get into the queen's eyes; she must be kept perfectly quiet."
so the king went away and never knew that it was a false queen who lay in the bed.
when midnight came and everyone in the palace was sound asleep, the nurse who alone watched by the baby's cradle in the nursery saw the door open gently, and who should come in but the real queen.
she lifted the child from its cradle, laid it on her arm, and nursed it for some time.
then she carefully shook up the pillows of the little bed, laid the baby down and tucked the coverlet in all round him.
she did not forget the little roe either, but went to the corner where it lay, and gently stroked its back.
then she silently left the room, and next morning when the nurse asked the sentries if they had seen any one go into the castle that night, they all said, "no, we saw no one at all."
for many nights the queen came in the same way, but she never spoke a word, and the nurse was too frightened to say anything about her visits.
after some little time had elapsed the queen spoke one night, and said: "is my child well?
is my roe well?
i'll come back twice and then farewell."
the nurse made no answer, but as soon as the queen had disappeared she went to the king and told him all.
the king exclaimed, "good heavens!
what do you say?
i will watch myself to-night by the child's bed."
when the evening came he went to the nursery, and at midnight the queen appeared and said: "is my child well?
is my roe well?
i'll come back once and then farewell."
and she nursed and petted the child as usual before she disappeared.
the king dared not trust himself to speak to her, but the following night he kept watch again.
that night when the queen came she said: "is my child well?
is my roe well?
i've come this once, and now farewell."
then the king could restrain himself no longer, but sprang to her side and cried, "you can be no one but my dear wife!"
"yes," said she," i am your dear wife!"
and in the same moment she was restored to life, and was as fresh and well and rosy as ever.
then she told the king all the cruel things the wicked witch and her daughter had done.
the king had them both arrested at once and brought to trial, and they were condemned to death.
the daughter was led into the forest, where the wild beasts tore her to pieces, and the old witch was burnt at the stake.
as soon as she reduced to ashes the spell was taken off the little roe, and he was restored to his natural shape once more, and so brother and sister lived happily ever after.
-lrb- 6 -rrb- -lrb- 6 -rrb- grimm.
princess rosette once upon a time there lived a king and queen who had two beautiful sons and one little daughter, who was so pretty that no one who saw her could help loving her.
when it was time for the christening of the princess, the queen -- as she always did -- sent for all the fairies to be present at the ceremony, and afterwards invited them to a splendid banquet.
when it was over, and they were preparing to go away, the queen said to them: "do not forget your usual good custom.
tell me what is going to happen to rosette."
for that was the name they had given the princess.
but the fairies said they had left their book of magic at home, and they would come another day and tell her.
"ah!"
said the queen," i know very well what that means -- you have nothing good to say; but at least i beg that you will not hide anything from me."
so, after a great deal of persuasion, they said: "madam, we fear that rosette may be the cause of great misfortunes to her brothers; they may even meet with their death through her; that is all we have been able to foresee about your dear little daughter.
we are very sorry to have nothing better to tell you."
then they went away, leaving the queen very sad, so sad that the king noticed it, and asked her what was the matter.
the queen said that she had been sitting too near the fire, and had burnt all the flax that was upon her distaff.
"oh!
is that all?"
said the king, and he went up into the garret and brought her down more flax than she could spin in a hundred years.
but the queen still looked sad, and the king asked her again what was the matter.
she answered that she had been walking by the river and had dropped one of her green satin slippers into the water.
"oh!
if that's all," said the king, and he sent to all the shoe-makers in his kingdom, and they very soon made the queen ten thousand green satin slippers, but still she looked sad.
so the king asked her again what was the matter, and this time she answered that in eating her porridge too hastily she had swallowed her wedding-ring.
but it so happened that the king knew better, for he had the ring himself, and he said: "oh i you are not telling me the truth, for i have your ring here in my purse."
then the queen was very much ashamed, and she saw that the king was vexed with her; so she told him all that the fairies had predicted about rosette, and begged him to think how the misfortunes might be prevented.
then it was the king's turn to look sad, and at last he said: "i see no way of saving our sons except by having rosette's head cut off while she is still little."
but the queen cried that she would far rather have her own head cut off, and that he had better think of something else, for she would never consent to such a thing.
so they thought and thought, but they could not tell what to do, until at last the queen heard that in a great forest near the castle there was an old hermit, who lived in a hollow tree, and that people came from far and near to consult him; so she said: "i had better go and ask his advice; perhaps he will know what to do to prevent the misfortunes which the fairies foretold."
she set out very early the next morning, mounted upon a pretty little white mule, which was shod with solid gold, and two of her ladies rode behind her on beautiful horses.
when they reached the forest they dismounted, for the trees grew so thickly that the horses could not pass, and made their way on foot to the hollow tree where the hermit lived.
at first when he saw them coming he was vexed, for he was not fond of ladies; but when he recognised the queen, he said: "you are welcome, queen.
what do you come to ask of me?"
then the queen told him all the fairies had foreseen for rosette, and asked what she should do, and the hermit answered that she must shut the princess up in a tower and never let her come out of it again.
the queen thanked and rewarded him, and hastened back to the castle to tell the king.
when he heard the news he had a great tower built as quickly as possible, and there the princess was shut up, and the king and queen and her two brothers went to see her every day that she might not be dull.
the eldest brother was called "the great prince," and the second "the little prince."
they loved their sister dearly, for she was the sweetest, prettiest princess who was ever seen, and the least little smile from her was worth more than a hundred pieces of gold.
when rosette was fifteen years old the great prince went to the king and asked if it would not soon be time for her to be married, and the little prince put the same question to the queen.
their majesties were amused at them for thinking of it, but did not make any reply, and soon after both the king and the queen were taken ill, and died on the same day.
everybody was sorry, rosette especially, and all the bells in the kingdom were tolled.
then all the dukes and counsellors put the great prince upon a golden throne, and crowned him with a diamond crown, and they all cried, "long live the king!"
and after that there was nothing but feasting and rejoicing.
the new king and his brother said to one another: "now that we are the masters, let us take our sister out of that dull tower which she is so tired of."
they had only to go across the garden to reach the tower, which was very high, and stood up in a corner.
rosette was busy at her embroidery, but when she saw her brothers she got up, and taking the king's hand cried: "good morning, dear brother.
now that you are king, please take me out of this dull tower, for i am so tired of it."
then she began to cry, but the king kissed her and told her to dry her tears, as that was just what they had come for, to take her out of the tower and bring her to their beautiful castle, and the prince showed her the pocketful of sugar plums he had brought for her, and said: "make haste, and let us get away from this ugly tower, and very soon the king will arrange a grand marriage for you."
when rosette saw the beautiful garden, full of fruit and flowers, with green grass and sparkling fountains, she was so astonished that not a word could she say, for she had never in her life seen anything like it before.
she looked about her, and ran hither and thither gathering fruit and flowers, and her little dog frisk, who was bright green all over, and had but one ear, danced before her, crying "bow-wow-wow," and turning head over heels in the most enchanting way.
everybody was amused at frisk's antics, but all of a sudden he ran away into a little wood, and the princess was following him, when, to her great delight, she saw a peacock, who was spreading his tail in the sunshine.
rosette thought she had never seen anything so pretty.
she could not take her eyes off him, and there she stood entranced until the king and the prince came up and asked what was amusing her so much.
she showed them the peacock, and asked what it was, and they answered that it was a bird which people sometimes ate.
"what!"
said the princess, "do they dare to kill that beautiful creature and eat it?
i declare that i will never marry any one but the king of the peacocks, and when i am queen i will take very good care that nobody eats any of my subjects."
at this the king was very much astonished.
"but, little sister," said he, "where shall we find the king of the peacocks?"
"oh!
wherever you like, sire," she answered, "but i will never marry any one else."
after this they took rosette to the beautiful castle, and the peacock was brought with her, and told to walk about on the terrace outside her windows, so that she might always see him, and then the ladies of the court came to see the princess, and they brought her beautiful presents -- dresses and ribbons and sweetmeats, diamonds and pearls and dolls and embroidered slippers, and she was so well brought up, and said, "thank you!"
so prettily, and was so gracious, that everyone went away delighted with her.
meanwhile the king and the prince were considering how they should find the king of the peacocks, if there was such a person in the world.
and first of all they had a portrait made of the princess, which was so like her that you really would not have been surprised if it had spoken to you.
then they said to her: "since you will not marry anyone but the king of the peacocks, we are going out together into the wide world to search for him.
if we find him for you we shall be very glad.
in the meantime, mind you take good care of our kingdom."
rosette thanked them for all the trouble they were taking on her account, and promised to take great care of the kingdom, and only to amuse herself by looking at the peacock, and making frisk dance while they were away.
so they set out, and asked everyone they met -- "do you know the king of the peacocks?"
but the answer was always, "no, no."
then they went on and on, so far that no one has ever been farther, and at last they came to the kingdom of the cockchafers.
they had never before seen such a number of cockchafers, and the buzzing was so loud that the king was afraid he should be deafened by it.
he asked the most distinguished-looking cockchafer they met if he knew where they could find the king of the peacocks.
"sire," replied the cockchafer, "his kingdom is thirty thousand leagues from this; you have come the longest way."
"and how do you know that?"
said the king.
"oh!"
said the cockchafer, "we all know you very well, since we spend two or three months in your garden every year."
thereupon the king and the prince made great friends with him, and they all walked arm-in-arm and dined together, and afterwards the cockchafer showed them all the curiosities of his strange country, where the tiniest green leaf costs a gold piece and more.
then they set out again to finish their journey, and this time, as they knew the way, they were not long upon the road.
it was easy to guess that they had come to the right place, for they saw peacocks in every tree, and their cries could be heard a long way off: when they reached the city they found it full of men and women who were dressed entirely in peacocks" feathers, which were evidently thought prettier than anything else.
they soon met the king, who was driving about in a beautiful little golden carriage which glittered with diamonds, and was drawn at full speed by twelve peacocks.
the king and the prince were delighted to see that the king of the peacocks was as handsome as possible.
he had curly golden hair and was very pale, and he wore a crown of peacocks" feathers.
when he saw rosette's brothers he knew at once that they were strangers, and stopping his carriage he sent for them to speak to him.
when they had greeted him they said: "sire, we have come from very far away to show you a beautiful portrait."
so saying they drew from their travelling bag the picture of rosette.
the king looked at it in silence a long time, but at last he said: "i could not have believed that there was such a beautiful princess in the world!"
"indeed, she is really a hundred times as pretty as that," said her brothers."
i think you must be making fun of me," replied the king of the peacocks.
"sire," said the prince, "my brother is a king, like yourself.
he is called "the king," i am called "the prince," and that is the portrait of our sister, the princess rosette.
we have come to ask if you would like to marry her.
she is as good as she is beautiful, and we will give her a bushel of gold pieces for her dowry."
"oh!
with all my heart," replied the king, "and i will make her very happy.
she shall have whatever she likes, and i shall love her dearly; only i warn you that if she is not as pretty as you have told me, i will have your heads cut off."
"oh!
certainly, we quite agree to that," said the brothers in one breath.
"very well.
off with you into prison, and stay there until the princess arrives," said the king of the peacocks.
and the princes were so sure that rosette was far prettier than her portrait that they went without a murmur.
they were very kindly treated, and that they might not feel dull the king came often to see them.
as for rosette's portrait that was taken up to the palace, and the king did nothing but gaze at it all day and all night.
as the king and the prince had to stay in prison, they sent a letter to the princess telling her to pack up all her treasures as quickly as possible, and come to them, as the king of the peacocks was waiting to marry her; but they did not say that they were in prison, for fear of making her uneasy.
when rosette received the letter she was so delighted that she ran about telling everyone that the king of the peacocks was found, and she was going to marry him.
guns were fired, and fireworks let off.
everyone had as many cakes and sweetmeats as he wanted.
and for three days everybody who came to see the princess was presented with a slice of bread-and-jam, a nightingale's egg, and some hippocras.
after having thus entertained her friends, she distributed her dolls among them, and left her brother's kingdom to the care of the wisest old men of the city, telling them to take charge of everything, not to spend any money, but save it all up until the king should return, and above all, not to forget to feed her peacock.
then she set out, only taking with her her nurse, and the nurse's daughter, and the little green dog frisk.
they took a boat and put out to sea, carrying with them the bushel of gold pieces, and enough dresses to last the princess ten years if she wore two every day, and they did nothing but laugh and sing.
the nurse asked the boatman: "can you take us, can you take us to the kingdom of the peacocks?"
but he answered: "oh no!
oh no!"
then she said: "you must take us, you must take us."
and he answered: "very soon, very soon."
then the nurse said: "will you take us?
will you take us?"
and the boatman answered: "yes, yes."
then she whispered in his ear: "do you want to make your fortune?"
and he said: "certainly i do.'"
i can tell you how to get a bag of gold," said she."
i ask nothing better," said the boatman.
"well," said the nurse, "to-night, when the princess is asleep, you must help me to throw her into the sea, and when she is drowned i will put her beautiful clothes upon my daughter, and we will take her to the king of the peacocks, who will be only too glad to marry her, and as your reward you shall have your boat full of diamonds."
the boatman was very much surprised at this proposal, and said: "but what a pity to drown such a pretty princess!"
however, at last the nurse persuaded him to help her, and when the night came and the princess was fast asleep as usual, with frisk curled up on his own cushion at the foot of her bed, the wicked nurse fetched the boatman and her daughter, and between them they picked up the princess, feather bed, mattress, pillows, blankets and all, and threw her into the sea, without even waking her.
now, luckily, the princess's bed was entirely stuffed with phoenix feathers, which are very rare, and have the property of always floating upon water, so rosette went on swimming about as if she had been in a boat.
after a little while she began to feel very cold, and turned round so often that she woke frisk, who started up, and, having a very good nose, smelt the soles and herrings so close to him that he began to bark.
he barked so long and so loud that he woke all the other fish, who came swimming up round the princess's bed, and poking at it with their great heads.
as for her, she said to herself: "how our boat does rock upon the water!
i am really glad that i am not often as uncomfortable as i have been to-night."
the wicked nurse and the boatman, who were by this time quite a long way off, heard frisk barking, and said to each other: "that horrid little animal and his mistress are drinking our health in sea-water now.
let us make haste to land, for we must be quite near the city of the king of the peacocks."
the king had sent a hundred carriages to meet them, drawn by every kind of strange animal.
there were lions, bears, wolves, stags, horses, buffaloes, eagles, and peacocks.
the carriage intended for the princess rosette had six blue monkeys, which could turn summer-saults, and dance on a tight-rope, and do many other charming tricks.
their harness was all of crimson velvet with gold buckles, and behind the carriage walked sixty beautiful ladies chosen by the king to wait upon rosette and amuse her.
the nurse had taken all the pains imaginable to deck out her daughter.
she put on her rosette's prettiest frock, and covered her with diamonds from head to foot.
but she was so ugly that nothing could make her look nice, and what was worse, she was sulky and ill-tempered, and did nothing but grumble all the time.
when she stepped from the boat and the escort sent by the king of the peacocks caught sight of her, they were so surprised that they could not say a single word.
"now then, look alive," cried the false princess.
"if you do n't bring me something to eat i will have all your heads cut off!"
then they whispered one to another: "here's a pretty state of things!
she is as wicked as she is ugly.
what a bride for our poor king!
she certainly was not worth bringing from the other end of the world!"
but she went on ordering them all about, and for no fault at all would give slaps and pinches to everyone she could reach.
as the procession was so long it advanced but slowly, and the nurse's daughter sat up in her carriage trying to look like a queen.
but the peacocks, who were sitting upon every tree waiting to salute her, and who had made up their minds to cry, "long live our beautiful queen!"
when they caught sight of the false bride could not help crying instead: "oh!
how ugly she is!"
which offended her so much that she said to the guards: "make haste and kill all these insolent peacocks who have dared to insult me."
but the peacocks only flew away, laughing at her.
the rogue of a boatman, who noticed all this, said softly to the nurse: "this is a bad business for us, gossip; your daughter ought to have been prettier."
but she answered: "be quiet, stupid, or you will spoil everything."
now they told the king that the princess was approaching.
"well," said he, "did her brothers tell me truly?
is she prettier than her portrait?"
"sire," they answered, "if she were as pretty that would do very well."
"that's true," said the king;" i for one shall be quite satisfied if she is.
let us go and meet her."
for they knew by the uproar that she had arrived, but they could not tell what all the shouting was about.
the king thought he could hear the words: "how ugly she is!
how ugly she is!"
and he fancied they must refer to some dwarf the princess was bringing with her.
it never occurred to him that they could apply to the bride herself.
the princess rosette's portrait was carried at the head of the procession, and after it walked the king surrounded by his courtiers.
he was all impatience to see the lovely princess, but when he caught sight of the nurse's daughter he was furiously angry, and would not advance another step.
for she was really ugly enough to have frightened anybody.
"what!"
he cried, "have the two rascals who are my prisoners dared to play me such a trick as this?
do they propose that i shall marry this hideous creature?
let her be shut up in my great tower, with her nurse and those who brought her here; and as for them, i will have their heads cut off."
meanwhile the king and the prince, who knew that their sister must have arrived, had made themselves smart, and sat expecting every minute to be summoned to greet her.
so when the gaoler came with soldiers, and carried them down into a black dungeon which swarmed with toads and bats, and where they were up to their necks in water, nobody could have been more surprised and dismayed than they were.
"this is a dismal kind of wedding," they said; "what can have happened that we should be treated like this?
they must mean to kill us."
and this idea annoyed them very much.
three days passed before they heard any news, and then the king of the peacocks came and berated them through a hole in the wall.
"you have called yourselves king and prince," he cried, "to try and make me marry your sister, but you are nothing but beggars, not worth the water you drink.
i mean to make short work with you, and the sword is being sharpened that will cut off your heads!"
"king of the peacocks," answered the king angrily, "you had better take care what you are about.
i am as good a king as yourself, and have a splendid kingdom and robes and crowns, and plenty of good red gold to do what i like with.
you are pleased to jest about having our heads cut off; perhaps you think we have stolen something from you?"
at first the king of the peacocks was taken aback by this bold speech, and had half a mind to send them all away together; but his prime minister declared that it would never do to let such a trick as that pass unpunished, everybody would laugh at him; so the accusation was drawn up against them, that they were impostors, and that they had promised the king a beautiful princess in marriage who, when she arrived, proved to be an ugly peasant girl.
this accusation was read to the prisoners, who cried out that they had spoken the truth, that their sister was indeed a princess more beautiful than the day, and that there was some mystery about all this which they could not fathom.
therefore they demanded seven days in which to prove their innocence, the king of the peacocks was so angry that he would hardly even grant them this favour, but at last he was persuaded to do so.
while all this was going on at court, let us see what had been happening to the real princess.
when the day broke she and frisk were equally astonished at finding themselves alone upon the sea, with no boat and no one to help them.
the princess cried and cried, until even the fishes were sorry for her.
"alas!"
she said, "the king of the peacocks must have ordered me to be thrown into the sea because he had changed his mind and did not want to marry me.
but how strange of him, when i should have loved him so much, and we should have been so happy together!"
and then she cried harder than ever, for she could not help still loving him.
so for two days they floated up and down the sea, wet and shivering with the cold, and so hungry that when the princess saw some oysters she caught them, and she and frisk both ate some, though they did n't like them at all.
when night came the princess was so frightened that she said to frisk: "oh!
do please keep on barking for fear the soles should come and eat us up!"
now it happened that they had floated close in to the shore, where a poor old man lived all alone in a little cottage.
when he heard frisk's barking he thought to himself: "there must have been a shipwreck!"
-lrb- for no dogs ever passed that way by any chance -rrb-, and he went out to see if he could be of any use.
he soon saw the princess and frisk floating up and down, and rosette, stretching out her hands to him, cried: "oh!
good old man, do save me, or i shall die of cold and hunger!"
when he heard her cry out so piteously he was very sorry for her, and ran back into his house to fetch a long boat-hook.
then he waded into the water up to his chin, and after being nearly drowned once or twice he at last succeeded in getting hold of the princess's bed and dragging it on shore.
rosette and frisk were joyful enough to find themselves once more on dry land, and the princess thanked the old man heartily; then, wrapping herself up in her blankets, she daintily picked her way up to the cottage on her little bare feet.
there the old man lighted a fire of straw, and then drew from an old box his wife's dress and shoes, which the princess put on, and thus roughly clad looked as charming as possible, and frisk danced his very best to amuse her.
the old man saw that rosette must be some great lady, for her bed coverings were all of satin and gold.
he begged that she would tell him all her history, as she might safely trust him.
the princess told him everything, weeping bitterly again at the thought that it was by the king's orders that she had been thrown overboard.
"and now, my daughter, what is to be done?"
said the old man.
"you are a great princess, accustomed to fare daintily, and i have nothing to offer you but black bread and radishes, which will not suit you at all.
shall i go and tell the king of the peacocks that you are here?
if he sees you he will certainly wish to marry you."
"oh no!"
cried rosette, "he must be wicked, since he tried to drown me.
do n't let us tell him, but if you have a little basket give it to me."
the old man gave her a basket, and tying it round frisk's neck she said to him: "go and find out the best cooking-pot in the town and bring the contents to me."
away went frisk, and as there was no better dinner cooking in all the town than the king's, he adroitly took the cover off the pot and brought all it contained to the princess, who said: "now go back to the pantry, and bring the best of everything you find there."
so frisk went back and filled his basket with white bread, and red wine, and every kind of sweetmeat, until it was almost too heavy for him to carry.
when the king of the peacocks wanted his dinner there was nothing in the pot and nothing in the pantry.
all the courtiers looked at one another in dismay, and the king was terribly cross.
"oh well!
"he said, "if there is no dinner i can not dine, but take care that plenty of things are roasted for supper."
when evening came the princess said to frisk: "go into the town and find out the best kitchen, and bring me all the nicest morsels that are being roasted upon the spit."
frisk did as he was told, and as he knew of no better kitchen than the king's, he went in softly, and when the cook's back was turned took everything that was upon the spit, as it happened it was all done to a turn, and looked so good that it made him hungry only to see it.
he carried his basket to the princess, who at once sent him back to the pantry to bring all the tarts and sugar plums that had been prepared for the king's supper.
the king, as he had had no dinner, was very hungry and wanted his supper early, but when he asked for it, lo and behold it was all gone, and he had to go to bed half-starved and in a terrible temper.
the next day the same thing happened, and the next, so that for three days the king got nothing at all to eat, because just when the dinner or the supper was ready to be served it mysteriously disappeared.
at last the prime minister began to be afraid that the king would be starved to death, so he resolved to hide himself in some dark corner of the kitchen, and never take his eyes off the cooking-pot.
his surprise was great when he presently saw a little green dog with one ear slip softly into the kitchen, uncover the pot, transfer all its contents to his basket, and run off.
the prime minister followed hastily, and tracked him all through the town to the cottage of the good old man; then he ran back to the king and told him that he had found out where all his dinners and suppers went.
the king, who was very much astonished, said he should like to go and see for himself.
so he set out, accompanied by the prime minister and a guard of archers, and arrived just in time to find the old man and the princess finishing his dinner.
the king ordered that they should be seized and bound with ropes, and frisk also.
when they were brought back to the palace some one told the king, who said: "to-day is the last day of the respite granted to those impostors; they shall have their heads cut off at the same time as these stealers of my dinner."
then the old man went down on his knees before the king and begged for time to tell him everything.
while he spoke the king for the first time looked attentively at the princess, because he was sorry to see how she cried, and when he heard the old man saying that her name was rosette, and that she had been treacherously thrown into the sea, he turned head over heels three times without stopping, in spite of being quite weak from hunger, and ran to embrace her, and untied the ropes which bound her with his own hands, declaring that he loved her with all his heart.
messengers were sent to bring the princes out of prison, and they came very sadly, believing that they were to be executed at once: the nurse and her daughter and the boatman were brought also.
as soon as they came in rosette ran to embrace her brothers, while the traitors threw themselves down before her and begged for mercy.
the king and the princess were so happy that they freely forgave them, and as for the good old man he was splendidly rewarded, and spent the rest of his days in the palace.
the king of the peacocks made ample amends to the king and prince for the way in which they had been treated, and did everything in his power to show how sorry he was.
the nurse restored to rosette all her dresses and jewels, and the bushel of gold pieces; the wedding was held at once, and they all lived happily ever after -- even to frisk, who enjoyed the greatest luxury, and never had anything worse than the wing of a partridge for dinner all the rest of his life.
-lrb- 7 -rrb- -lrb- 7 -rrb- madame d'aulnoy.
the enchanted pig once upon a time there lived a king who had three daughters.
now it happened that he had to go out to battle, so he called his daughters and said to them: "my dear children, i am obliged to go to the wars.
the enemy is approaching us with a large army.
it is a great grief to me to leave you all.
during my absence take care of yourselves and be good girls; behave well and look after everything in the house.
you may walk in the garden, and you may go into all the rooms in the palace, except the room at the back in the right-hand corner; into that you must not enter, for harm would befall you."
"you may keep your mind easy, father," they replied.
"we have never been disobedient to you.
go in peace, and may heaven give you a glorious victory!"
when everything was ready for his departure, the king gave them the keys of all the rooms and reminded them once more of what he had said.
his daughters kissed his hands with tears in their eyes, and wished him prosperity, and he gave the eldest the keys.
now when the girls found themselves alone they felt so sad and dull that they did not know what to do.
so, to pass the time, they decided to work for part of the day, to read for part of the day, and to enjoy themselves in the garden for part of the day.
as long as they did this all went well with them.
but this happy state of things did not last long.
every day they grew more and more curious, and you will see what the end of that was.
"sisters," said the eldest princess, "all day long we sew, spin, and read.
we have been several days quite alone, and there is no corner of the garden that we have not explored.
we have been in all the rooms of our father's palace, and have admired the rich and beautiful furniture: why should not we go into the room that our father forbad us to enter?"
sister," said the youngest," i can not think how you can tempt us to break our father's command.
when he told us not to go into that room he must have known what he was saying, and have had a good reason for saying it."
"surely the sky wo n't fall about our heads if we do go in," said the second princess.
"dragons and such like monsters that would devour us will not be hidden in the room.
and how will our father ever find out that we have gone in?"
while they were speaking thus, encouraging each other, they had reached the room; the eldest fitted the key into the lock, and snap!
the door stood open.
the three girls entered, and what do you think they saw?
the room was quite empty, and without any ornament, but in the middle stood a large table, with a gorgeous cloth, and on it lay a big open book.
now the princesses were curious to know what was written in the book, especially the eldest, and this is what she read: "the eldest daughter of this king will marry a prince from the east."
then the second girl stepped forward, and turning over the page she read: "the second daughter of this king will marry a prince from the west."
the girls were delighted, and laughed and teased each other.
but the youngest princess did not want to go near the table or to open the book.
her elder sisters however left her no peace, and will she, nill she, they dragged her up to the table, and in fear and trembling she turned over the page and read: "the youngest daughter of this king will be married to a pig from the north."
now if a thunderbolt had fallen upon her from heaven it would not have frightened her more.
she almost died of misery, and if her sisters had not held her up, she would have sunk to the ground and cut her head open.
when she came out of the fainting fit into which she had fallen in her terror, her sisters tried to comfort her, saying: "how can you believe such nonsense?
when did it ever happen that a king's daughter married a pig?"
"what a baby you are!"
said the other sister; "has not our father enough soldiers to protect you, even if the disgusting creature did come to woo you?"
the youngest princess would fain have let herself be convinced by her sisters" words, and have believed what they said, but her heart was heavy.
her thoughts kept turning to the book, in which stood written that great happiness waited her sisters, but that a fate was in store for her such as had never before been known in the world.
besides, the thought weighed on her heart that she had been guilty of disobeying her father.
she began to get quite ill, and in a few days she was so changed that it was difficult to recognise her; formerly she had been rosy and merry, now she was pale and nothing gave her any pleasure.
she gave up playing with her sisters in the garden, ceased to gather flowers to put in her hair, and never sang when they sat together at their spinning and sewing.
in the meantime the king won a great victory, and having completely defeated and driven off the enemy, he hurried home to his daughters, to whom his thoughts had constantly turned.
everyone went out to meet him with cymbals and fifes and drums, and there was great rejoicing over his victorious return.
the king's first act on reaching home was to thank heaven for the victory he had gained over the enemies who had risen against him.
he then entered his palace, and the three princesses stepped forward to meet him.
his joy was great when he saw that they were all well, for the youngest did her best not to appear sad.
in spite of this, however, it was not long before the king noticed that his third daughter was getting very thin and sad-looking.
and all of a sudden he felt as if a hot iron were entering his soul, for it flashed through his mind that she had disobeyed his word.
he felt sure he was right; but to be quite certain he called his daughters to him, questioned them, and ordered them to speak the truth.
they confessed everything, but took good care not to say which had led the other two into temptation.
the king was so distressed when he heard it that he was almost overcome by grief.
but he took heart and tried to comfort his daughters, who looked frightened to death.
he saw that what had happened had happened, and that a thousand words would not alter matters by a hair's - breadth.
well, these events had almost been forgotten when one fine day a prince from the east appeared at the court and asked the king for the hand of his eldest daughter.
the king gladly gave his consent.
a great wedding banquet was prepared, and after three days of feasting the happy pair were accompanied to the frontier with much ceremony and rejoicing.
after some time the same thing befell the second daughter, who was wooed and won by a prince from the west.
now when the young princess saw that everything fell out exactly as had been written in the book, she grew very sad.
she refused to eat, and would not put on her fine clothes nor go out walking, and declared that she would rather die than become a laughing-stock to the world.
but the king would not allow her to do anything so wrong, and he comforted her in all possible ways.
so the time passed, till lo and behold!
one fine day an enormous pig from the north walked into the palace, and going straight up to the king said, "hail!
oh king.
may your life be as prosperous and bright as sunrise on a clear day!'"
i am glad to see you well, friend," answered the king, "but what wind has brought you hither?'"
i come a-wooing," replied the pig.
now the king was astonished to hear so fine a speech from a pig, and at once it occurred to him that something strange was the matter.
he would gladly have turned the pig's thoughts in another direction, as he did not wish to give him the princess for a wife; but when he heard that the court and the whole street were full of all the pigs in the world he saw that there was no escape, and that he must give his consent.
the pig was not satisfied with mere promises, but insisted that the wedding should take place within a week, and would not go away till the king had sworn a royal oath upon it.
the king then sent for his daughter, and advised her to submit to fate, as there was nothing else to be done.
and he added: "my child, the words and whole behaviour of this pig are quite unlike those of other pigs.
i do not myself believe that he always was a pig.
depend upon it some magic or witchcraft has been at work.
obey him, and do everything that he wishes, and i feel sure that heaven will shortly send you release."
"if you wish me to do this, dear father, i will do it," replied the girl.
in the meantime the wedding-day drew near.
after the marriage, the pig and his bride set out for his home in one of the royal carriages.
on the way they passed a great bog, and the pig ordered the carriage to stop, and got out and rolled about in the mire till he was covered with mud from head to foot; then he got back into the carriage and told his wife to kiss him.
what was the poor girl to do?
she bethought herself of her father's words, and, pulling out her pocket handkerchief, she gently wiped the pig's snout and kissed it.
by the time they reached the pig's dwelling, which stood in a thick wood, it was quite dark.
they sat down quietly for a little, as they were tired after their drive; then they had supper together, and lay down to rest.
during the night the princess noticed that the pig had changed into a man.
she was not a little surprised, but remembering her father's words, she took courage, determined to wait and see what would happen.
and now she noticed that every night the pig became a man, and every morning he was changed into a pig before she awoke.
this happened several nights running, and the princess could not understand it at all.
clearly her husband must be bewitched.
in time she grew quite fond of him, he was so kind and gentle.
one fine day as she was sitting alone she saw an old witch go past.
she felt quite excited, as it was so long since she had seen a human being, and she called out to the old woman to come and talk to her.
among other things the witch told her that she understood all magic arts, and that she could foretell the future, and knew the healing powers of herbs and plants."
i shall be grateful to you all my life, old dame," said the princess, "if you will tell me what is the matter with my husband.
why is he a pig by day and a human being by night?'"
i was just going to tell you that one thing, my dear, to show you what a good fortune-teller i am.
if you like, i will give you a herb to break the spell."
"if you will only give it to me," said the princess," i will give you anything you choose to ask for, for i can not bear to see him in this state."
"here, then, my dear child," said the witch, "take this thread, but do not let him know about it, for if he did it would lose its healing power.
at night, when he is asleep, you must get up very quietly, and fasten the thread round his left foot as firmly as possible; and you will see in the morning he will not have changed back into a pig, but will still be a man.
i do not want any reward.
i shall be sufficiently repaid by knowing that you are happy.
it almost breaks my heart to think of all you have suffered, and i only wish i had known it sooner, as i should have come to your rescue at once."
when the old witch had gone away the princess hid the thread very carefully, and at night she got up quietly, and with a beating heart she bound the thread round her husband's foot.
just as she was pulling the knot tight there was a crack, and the thread broke, for it was rotten.
her husband awoke with a start, and said to her, "unhappy woman, what have you done?
three days more and this unholy spell would have fallen from me, and now, who knows how long i may have to go about in this disgusting shape?
i must leave you at once, and we shall not meet again until you have worn out three pairs of iron shoes and blunted a steel staff in your search for me."
so saying he disappeared.
now, when the princess was left alone she began to weep and moan in a way that was pitiful to hear; but when she saw that her tears and groans did her no good, she got up, determined to go wherever fate should lead her.
on reaching a town, the first thing she did was to order three pairs of iron sandals and a steel staff, and having made these preparations for her journey, she set out in search of her husband.
on and on she wandered over nine seas and across nine continents; through forests with trees whose stems were as thick as beer-barrels; stumbling and knocking herself against the fallen branches, then picking herself up and going on; the boughs of the trees hit her face, and the shrubs tore her hands, but on she went, and never looked back.
at last, wearied with her long journey and worn out and overcome with sorrow, but still with hope at her heart, she reached a house.
now who do you think lived there?
the moon.
the princess knocked at the door, and begged to be let in that she might rest a little.
the mother of the moon, when she saw her sad plight, felt a great pity for her, and took her in and nursed and tended her.
and while she was here the princess had a little baby.
one day the mother of the moon asked her: "how was it possible for you, a mortal, to get hither to the house of the moon?"
then the poor princess told her all that happened to her, and added" i shall always be thankful to heaven for leading me hither, and grateful to you that you took pity on me and on my baby, and did not leave us to die.
now i beg one last favour of you; can your daughter, the moon, tell me where my husband is?"
"she can not tell you that, my child," replied the goddess, "but, if you will travel towards the east until you reach the dwelling of the sun, he may be able to tell you something."
then she gave the princess a roast chicken to eat, and warned her to be very careful not to lose any of the bones, because they might be of great use to her.
when the princess had thanked her once more for her hospitality and for her good advice, and had thrown away one pair of shoes that were worn out, and had put on a second pair, she tied up the chicken bones in a bundle, and taking her baby in her arms and her staff in her hand, she set out once more on her wanderings.
on and on and on she went across bare sandy deserts, where the roads were so heavy that for every two steps that she took forwards she fell back one; but she struggled on till she had passed these dreary plains; next she crossed high rocky mountains, jumping from crag to crag and from peak to peak.
sometimes she would rest for a little on a mountain, and then start afresh always farther and farther on.
she had to cross swamps and to scale mountain peaks covered with flints, so that her feet and knees and elbows were all torn and bleeding, and sometimes she came to a precipice across which she could not jump, and she had to crawl round on hands and knees, helping herself along with her staff.
at length, wearied to death, she reached the palace in which the sun lived.
she knocked and begged for admission.
the mother of the sun opened the door, and was astonished at beholding a mortal from the distant earthly shores, and wept with pity when she heard of all she had suffered.
then, having promised to ask her son about the princess's husband, she hid her in the cellar, so that the sun might notice nothing on his return home, for he was always in a bad temper when he came in at night.
the next day the princess feared that things would not go well with her, for the sun had noticed that some one from the other world had been in the palace.
but his mother had soothed him with soft words, assuring him that this was not so.
so the princess took heart when she saw how kindly she was treated, and asked: "but how in the world is it possible for the sun to be angry?
he is so beautiful and so good to mortals."
"this is how it happens," replied the sun's mother.
"in the morning when he stands at the gates of paradise he is happy, and smiles on the whole world, but during the day he gets cross, because he sees all the evil deeds of men, and that is why his heat becomes so scorching; but in the evening he is both sad and angry, for he stands at the gates of death; that is his usual course.
from there he comes back here."
she then told the princess that she had asked about her hus-band, but that her son had replied that he knew nothing about him, and that her only hope was to go and inquire of the wind.
before the princess left the mother of the sun gave her a roast chicken to eat, and advised her to take great care of the bones, which she did, wrapping them up in a bundle.
she then threw away her second pair of shoes, which were quite worn out, and with her child on her arm and her staff in her hand, she set forth on her way to the wind.
in these wanderings she met with even greater difficulties than before, for she came upon one mountain of flints after another, out of which tongues of fire would flame up; she passed through woods which had never been trodden by human foot, and had to cross fields of ice and avalanches of snow.
the poor woman nearly died of these hardships, but she kept a brave heart, and at length she reached an enormous cave in the side of a mountain.
this was where the wind lived.
there was a little door in the railing in front of the cave, and here the princess knocked and begged for admission.
the mother of the wind had pity on her and took her in, that she might rest a little.
here too she was hidden away, so that the wind might not notice her.
the next morning the mother of the wind told her that her husband was living in a thick wood, so thick that no axe had been able to cut a way through it; here he had built himself a sort of house by placing trunks of trees together and fastening them with withes and here he lived alone, shunning human kind.
after the mother of the wind had given the princess a chicken to eat, and had warned her to take care of the bones, she advised her to go by the milky way, which at night lies across the sky, and to wander on till she reached her goal.
having thanked the old woman with tears in her eyes for her hospitality, and for the good news she had given her, the princess set out on her journey and rested neither night nor day, so great was her longing to see her husband again.
on and on she walked until her last pair of shoes fell in pieces.
so she threw them away and went on with bare feet, not heeding the bogs nor the thorns that wounded her, nor the stones that bruised her.
at last she reached a beautiful green meadow on the edge of a wood.
her heart was cheered by the sight of the flowers and the soft cool grass, and she sat down and rested for a little.
but hearing the birds chirping to their mates among the trees made her think with longing of her husband, and she wept bitterly, and taking her child in her arms, and her bundle of chicken bones on her shoulder, she entered the wood.
for three days and three nights she struggled through it, but could find nothing.
she was quite worn out with weariness and hunger, and even her staff was no further help to her, for in her many wanderings it had become quite blunted.
she almost gave up in despair, but made one last great effort, and suddenly in a thicket she came upon the sort of house that the mother of the wind had described.
it had no windows, and the door was up in the roof.
round the house she went, in search of steps, but could find none.
what was she to do?
how was she to get in?
she thought and thought, and tried in vain to climb up to the door.
then suddenly she be-thought her of the chicken bones that she had dragged all that weary way, and she said to herself: "they would not all have told me to take such good care of these bones if they had not had some good reason for doing so.
perhaps now, in my hour of need, they may be of use to me."
so she took the bones out of her bundle, and having thought for a moment, she placed the two ends together.
to her surprise they stuck tight; then she added the other bones, till she had two long poles the height of the house; these she placed against the wall, at a distance of a yard from one another.
across them she placed the other bones, piece by piece, like the steps of a ladder.
as soon as one step was finished she stood upon it and made the next one, and then the next, till she was close to the door.
but just as she got near the top she noticed that there were no bones left for the last rung of the ladder.
what was she to do?
without that last step the whole ladder was useless.
she must have lost one of the bones.
then suddenly an idea came to her.
taking a knife she chopped off her little finger, and placing it on the last step, it stuck as the bones had done.
the ladder was complete, and with her child on her arm she entered the door of the house.
here she found everything in perfect order.
having taken some food, she laid the child down to sleep in a trough that was on the floor, and sat down herself to rest.
when her husband, the pig, came back to his house, he was startled by what he saw.
at first he could not believe his eyes, and stared at the ladder of bones, and at the little finger on the top of it.
he felt that some fresh magic must be at work, and in his terror he almost turned away from the house; but then a better idea came to him, and he changed himself into a dove, so that no witchcraft could have power over him, and flew into the room without touching the ladder.
here he found a woman rocking a child.
at the sight of her, looking so changed by all that she had suffered for his sake, his heart was moved by such love and longing and by so great a pity that he suddenly became a man.
the princess stood up when she saw him, and her heart beat with fear, for she did not know him.
but when he had told her who he was, in her great joy she forgot all her sufferings, and they seemed as nothing to her.
he was a very handsome man, as straight as a fir tree.
they sat down together and she told him all her adventures, and he wept with pity at the tale.
and then he told her his own history."
i am a king's son.
once when my father was fighting against some dragons, who were the scourge of our country, i slew the youngest dragon.
his mother, who was a witch, cast a spell over me and changed me into a pig.
it was she who in the disguise of an old woman gave you the thread to bind round my foot.
so that instead of the three days that had to run before the spell was broken, i was forced to remain a pig for three more years.
now that we have suffered for each other, and have found each other again, let us forget the past."
and in their joy they kissed one another.
next morning they set out early to return to his father's kingdom.
great was the rejoicing of all the people when they saw him and his wife; his father and his mother embraced them both, and there was feasting in the palace for three days and three nights.
then they set out to see her father.
the old king nearly went out of his mind with joy at beholding his daughter again.
when she had told him all her adventures, he said to her: "did not i tell you that i was quite sure that that creature who wooed and won you as his wife had not been born a pig?
you see, my child, how wise you were in doing what i told you."
and as the king was old and had no heirs, he put them on the throne in his place.
and they ruled as only kings rule who have suffered many things.
and if they are not dead they are still living and ruling happily.
-lrb- 8 -rrb- -lrb- 8 -rrb- rumanische marchen ubersetzt von nite kremnitz.
the norka once upon a time there lived a king and queen.
they had three sons, two of them with their wits about them, but the third a simpleton.
now the king had a deer park in which were quantities of wild animals of different kinds.
into that park there used to come a huge beast -- norka was its name -- and do fearful mischief, devouring some of the animals every night.
the king did all he could, but he was unable to destroy it.
so at last he called his sons together and said, "whoever will destroy the norka, to him will i give the half of my kingdom."
well, the eldest son undertook the task.
as soon as it was night, he took his weapons and set out.
but before he reached the park, he went into a traktir -lrb- or tavern -rrb-, and there he spent the whole night in revelry.
when he came to his senses it was too late; the day had already dawned.
he felt himself disgraced in the eyes of his father, but there was no help for it.
the next day the second son went, and did just the same.
their father scolded them both soundly, and there was an end of it.
well, on the third day the youngest son undertook the task.
they all laughed him to scorn, because he was so stupid, feeling sure he would n't do anything.
but he took his arms, and went straight into the park, and sat down on the grass in such a position that the moment he went asleep his weapons would prick him, and he would awake.
presently the midnight hour sounded.
the earth began to shake, and the norka came rushing up, and burst right through the fence into the park, so huge was it.
the prince pulled himself together, leapt to his feet, crossed himself, and went straight at the beast.
it fled back, and the prince ran after it.
but he soon saw that he could n't catch it on foot, so he hastened to the stable, laid his hands on the best horse there, and set off in pursuit.
presently he came up with the beast, and they began a fight.
they fought and fought; the prince gave the beast three wounds.
at last they were both utterly exhausted, so they lay down to take a short rest.
but the moment the prince closed his eyes, up jumped the beast and took to flight.
the prince's horse awoke him; up he jumped in a moment, and set off again in pursuit, caught up the beast, and again began fighting with it.
again the prince gave the beast three wounds, and then he and the beast lay down again to rest.
thereupon away fled the beast as before.
the prince caught it up, and again gave it three wounds.
but all of a sudden, just as the prince began chasing it for the fourth time, the beast fled to a great white stone, tilted it up, and escaped into the other world, crying out to the prince: "then only will you overcome me, when you enter here."
the prince went home, told his father all that had happened, and asked him to have a leather rope plaited, long enough to reach to the other world.
his father ordered this to be done.
when the rope was made, the prince called for his brothers, and he and they, having taken servants with them, and everything that was needed for a whole year, set out for the place where the beast had disappeared under the stone.
when they got there, they built a palace on the spot, and lived in it for some time.
but when everything was ready, the youngest brother said to the others: "now, brothers, who is going to lift this stone?"
neither of them could so much as stir it, but as soon as he touched it, away it flew to a distance, though it was ever so big -- big as a hill.
and when he had flung the stone aside, he spoke a second time to his brothers, saying: "who is going into the other world, to overcome the norka?"
neither of them offered to do so.
then he laughed at them for being such cowards, and said: "well, brothers, farewell!
lower me into the other world, and do n't go away from here, but as soon as the cord is jerked, pull it up."
his brothers lowered him accordingly, and when he had reached the other world, underneath the earth, he went on his way.
he walked and walked.
presently he espied a horse with rich trappings, and it said to him: "hail, prince ivan!
long have i awaited thee!"
he mounted the horse and rode on -- rode and rode, until he saw standing before him a palace made of copper.
he entered the courtyard, tied up his horse, and went indoors.
in one of the rooms a dinner was laid out.
he sat down and dined, and then went into a bedroom.
there he found a bed, on which he lay down to rest.
presently there came in a lady, more beautiful than can be imagined anywhere but in a fairy tale, who said: "thou who art in my house, name thyself!
if thou art an old man, thou shalt be my father; if a middle-aged man, my brother; but if a young man, thou shalt be my husband dear.
and if thou art a woman, and an old one, thou shalt be my grandmother; if middle-aged, my mother; and if a girl, thou shalt be my own sister."
thereupon he came forth.
and when she saw him she was delighted with him, and said: "wherefore, o prince ivan -- my husband dear shalt thou be!
-- wherefore hast thou come hither?"
then he told her all that had happened, and she said: "that beast which thou wishest to overcome is my brother.
he is staying just now with my second sister, who lives not far from here in a silver palace.
i bound up three of the wounds which thou didst give him."
well, after this they drank, and enjoyed themselves, and held sweet converse together, and then the prince took leave of her, and went on to the second sister, the one who lived in the silver palace, and with her also he stayed awhile.
she told him that her brother norka was then at her youngest sister's.
so he went on to the youngest sister, who lived in a golden palace.
she told him that her brother was at that time asleep on the blue sea, and she gave him a sword of steel and a draught of the water of strength, and she told him to cut off her brother's head at a single stroke.
and when he had heard these things, he went his way.
and when the prince came to the blue sea, he looked -- there slept the norka on a stone in the middle of the sea; and when it snored, the water was agitated for seven miles around.
the prince crossed himself, went up to it, and smote it on the head with his sword.
the head jumped off, saying the while, "well, i'm done for now!"
and rolled far away into the sea.
after killing the beast, the prince went back again, picking up all the three sisters by the way, with the intention of taking them out into the upper world: for they all loved him and would not be separated from him.
each of them turned her palace into an egg -- for they were all enchantresses -- and they taught him how to turn the eggs into palaces, and back again, and they handed over the eggs to him.
and then they all went to the place from which they had to be hoisted into the upper world.
and when they came to where the rope was, the prince took hold of it and made the maidens fast to it.
then he jerked away at the rope and his brothers began to haul it up.
and when they had hauled it up, and had set eyes on the wondrous maidens, they went aside and said: "let's lower the rope, pull our brother part of the way up, and then cut the rope.
perhaps he'll be killed; but then if he is n't, he'll never give us these beauties as wives."
so when they had agreed on this, they lowered the rope.
but their brother was no fool; he guessed what they were at, so he fastened the rope to a stone, and then gave it a pull.
his brothers hoisted the stone to a great height, and then cut the rope.
down fell the stone and broke in pieces; the prince poured forth tears and went away.
well, he walked and walked.
presently a storm arose; the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, the rain fell in torrents.
he went up to a tree in order to take shelter under it, and on that tree he saw some young birds which were being thoroughly drenched.
so he took off his coat and covered them over with it, and he himself sat down under the tree.
presently there came flying a bird -- such a big one that the light was blotted out by it.
it had been dark there before, but now it became darker still.
now this was the mother of those small birds which the prince had covered up.
and when the bird had come flying up, she perceived that her little ones were covered over, and she said, "who has wrapped up my nestlings?"
and presently, seeing the prince, she added: "didst thou do that?
thanks!
in return, ask of me anything thou desirest.
i will do anything for thee."
"then carry me into the other world," he replied.
"make me a large vessel with a partition in the middle," she said; "catch all sorts of game, and put them into one half of it, and into the other half pour water; so that there may be meat and drink for me."
all this the prince did.
then the bird -- having taken the vessel on her back, with the prince sitting in the middle of it -- began to fly.
and after flying some distance she brought him to his journey's end, took leave of him, and flew away back.
but he went to the house of a certain tailor, and engaged himself as his servant.
so much the worse for wear was he, so thoroughly had he altered in appearance, that nobody would have suspected him of being a prince.
having entered into the service of this master, the prince began to ask what was going on in that country.
and his master replied: "our two princes -- for the third one has disappeared -- have brought away brides from the other world, and want to marry them, but those brides refuse.
for they insist on having all their wedding-clothes made for them first, exactly like those which they used to have in the other world, and that without being measured for them.
the king has called all the workmen together, but not one of them will undertake to do it."
the prince, having heard all this, said, "go to the king, master, and tell him that you will provide everything that's in your line."
"however can i undertake to make clothes of that sort?
i work for quite common folks," says his master.
"go along, master!
i will answer for everything," says the prince.
so the tailor went.
the king was delighted that at least one good workman had been found, and gave him as much money as ever he wanted.
when his tailor had settled everything, he went home.
and the prince said to him: "now then, pray to god, and lie down to sleep; to-morrow all will be ready."
and the tailor followed his lad's advice, and went to bed.
midnight sounded.
the prince arose, went out of the city into the fields, took out of his pocket the eggs which the maidens had given him, and, as they had taught him, turned them into three palaces.
into each of these he entered, took the maidens" robes, went out again, turned the palaces back into eggs, and went home.
and when he got there he hung up the robes on the wall, and lay down to sleep.
early in the morning his master awoke, and behold!
there hung such robes as he had never seen before, all shining with gold and silver and precious stones.
he was delighted, and he seized them and carried them off to the king.
when the princesses saw that the clothes were those which had been theirs in the other world, they guessed that prince ivan was in this world, so they exchanged glances with each other, but they held their peace.
and the master, having handed over the clothes, went home, but he no longer found his dear journeyman there.
for the prince had gone to a shoemaker's, and him too he sent to work for the king; and in the same way he went the round of all the artificers, and they all proffered him thanks, inasmuch as through him they were enriched by the king.
by the time the princely workman had gone the round of all the artificers, the princesses had received what they had asked for; all their clothes were just like what they had been in the other world.
then they wept bitterly because the prince had not come, and it was impossible for them to hold out any longer; it was necessary that they should be married.
but when they were ready for the wedding, the youngest bride said to the king: "allow me, my father, to go and give alms to the beggars."
he gave her leave, and she went and began bestowing alms upon them, and examining them closely.
and when she had come to one of them, and was going to give him some money, she caught sight of the ring which she had given to the prince in the other world, and her sisters" rings too -- for it really was he.
so she seized him by the hand, and brought him into the hall, and said to the king: "here is he who brought us out of the other world.
his brothers forbade us to say that he was alive, threatening to slay us if we did."
then the king was wroth with those sons, and punished them as he thought best.
and afterwards three weddings were celebrated.
the wonderful birch once upon a time there were a man and a woman, who had an only daughter.
now it happened that one of their sheep went astray, and they set out to look for it, and searched and searched, each in a different part of the wood.
then the good wife met a witch, who said to her: "if you spit, you miserable creature, if you spit into the sheath of my knife, or if you run between my legs, i shall change you into a black sheep."
the woman neither spat, nor did she run between her legs, but yet the witch changed her into a sheep.
then she made herself look exactly like the woman, and called out to the good man: "ho, old man, halloa!
i have found the sheep already!"
the man thought the witch was really his wife, and he did not know that his wife was the sheep; so he went home with her, glad at heart because his sheep was found.
when they were safe at home the witch said to the man: "look here, old man, we must really kill that sheep lest it run away to the wood again."
the man, who was a peaceable quiet sort of fellow, made no objections, but simply said: "good, let us do so."
the daughter, however, had overheard their talk, and she ran to the flock and lamented aloud: "oh, dear little mother, they are going to slaughter you!"
"well, then, if they do slaughter me," was the black sheep's answer, "eat you neither the meat nor the broth that is made of me, but gather all my bones, and bury them by the edge of the field."
shortly after this they took the black sheep from the flock and slaughtered it.
the witch made pease-soup of it, and set it before the daughter.
but the girl remembered her mother's warning.
she did not touch the soup, but she carried the bones to the edge of the field and buried them there; and there sprang up on the spot a birch tree -- a very lovely birch tree.
some time had passed away -- who can tell how long they might have been living there?
-- when the witch, to whom a child had been born in the meantime, began to take an ill-will to the man's daughter, and to torment her in all sorts of ways.
now it happened that a great festival was to be held at the palace, and the king had commanded that all the people should be invited, and that this proclamation should be made: "come, people all!
poor and wretched, one and all!
blind and crippled though ye be, mount your steeds or come by sea."
and so they drove into the king's feast all the outcasts, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind.
in the good man's house, too, preparations were made to go to the palace.
the witch said to the man: "go you on in front, old man, with our youngest; i will give the elder girl work to keep her from being dull in our absence."
so the man took the child and set out.
but the witch kindled a fire on the hearth, threw a potful of barleycorns among the cinders, and said to the girl: "if you have not picked the barley out of the ashes, and put it all back in the pot before nightfall, i shall eat you up!"
then she hastened after the others, and the poor girl stayed at home and wept.
she tried to be sure to pick up the grains of barley, but she soon saw how useless her labour was; and so she went in her sore trouble to the birch tree on her mother's grave, and cried and cried, because her mother lay dead beneath the sod and could help her no longer.
in the midst of her grief she suddenly heard her mother's voice speak from the grave, and say to her: "why do you weep, little daughter?"
"the witch has scattered barleycorns on the hearth, and bid me pick them out of the ashes," said the girl; "that is why i weep, dear little mother."
"do not weep," said her mother consolingly.
"break off one of my branches, and strike the hearth with it crosswise, and all will be put right."
the girl did so.
she struck the hearth with the birchen branch, and lo!
the barleycorns flew into the pot, and the hearth was clean.
then she went back to the birch tree and laid the branch upon the grave.
then her mother bade her bathe on one side of the stem, dry herself on another, and dress on the third.
when the girl had done all that, she had grown so lovely that no one on earth could rival her.
splendid clothing was given to her, and a horse, with hair partly of gold, partly of silver, and partly of something more precious still.
the girl sprang into the saddle, and rode as swift as an arrow to the palace.
as she turned into the courtyard of the castle the king's son came out to meet her, tied her steed to a pillar, and led her in.
he never left her side as they passed through the castle rooms; and all the people gazed at her, and wondered who the lovely maiden was, and from what castle she came; but no one knew her -- no one knew anything about her.
at the banquet the prince invited her to sit next him in the place of honour; but the witch's daughter gnawed the bones under the table.
the prince did not see her, and thinking it was a dog, he gave her such a push with his foot that her arm was broken.
are you not sorry for the witch's daughter?
it was not her fault that her mother was a witch.
towards evening the good man's daughter thought it was time to go home; but as she went, her ring caught on the latch of the door, for the king's son had had it smeared with tar.
she did not take time to pull it off, but, hastily unfastening her horse from the pillar, she rode away beyond the castle walls as swift as an arrow.
arrived at home, she took off her clothes by the birch tree, left her horse standing there, and hastened to her place behind the stove.
in a short time the man and the woman came home again too, and the witch said to the girl: "ah!
you poor thing, there you are to be sure!
you do n't know what fine times we have had at the palace!
the king's son carried my daughter about, but the poor thing fell and broke her arm."
the girl knew well how matters really stood, but she pretended to know nothing about it, and sat dumb behind the stove.
the next day they were invited again to the king's banquet.
"hey!
old man," said the witch, "get on your clothes as quick as you can; we are bidden to the feast.
take you the child; i will give the other one work, lest she weary."
she kindled the fire, threw a potful of hemp seed among the ashes, and said to the girl: "if you do not get this sorted, and all the seed back into the pot, i shall kill you!"
the girl wept bitterly; then she went to the birch tree, washed herself on one side of it and dried herself on the other; and this time still finer clothes were given to her, and a very beautiful steed.
she broke off a branch of the birch tree, struck the hearth with it, so that the seeds flew into the pot, and then hastened to the castle.
again the king's son came out to meet her, tied her horse to a pillar, and led her into the banqueting hall.
at the feast the girl sat next him in the place of honour, as she had done the day before.
but the witch's daughter gnawed bones under the table, and the prince gave her a push by mistake, which broke her leg -- he had never noticed her crawling about among the people's feet.
she was very unlucky!
the good man's daughter hastened home again betimes, but the king's son had smeared the door-posts with tar, and the girl's golden circlet stuck to it.
she had not time to look for it, but sprang to the saddle and rode like an arrow to the birch tree.
there she left her horse and her fine clothes, and said to her mother: "i have lost my circlet at the castle; the door-post was tarred, and it stuck fast."
"and even had you lost two of them," answered her mother," i would give you finer ones."
then the girl hastened home, and when her father came home from the feast with the witch, she was in her usual place behind the stove.
then the witch said to her: "you poor thing!
what is there to see here compared with what we have seen at the palace?
the king's son carried my daughter from one room to another; he let her fall,'t is true, and my child's foot was broken."
the man's daughter held her peace all the time, and busied herself about the hearth.
the night passed, and when the day began to dawn, the witch awakened her husband, crying: "hi!
get up, old man!
we are bidden to the royal banquet."
so the old man got up.
then the witch gave him the child, saying: "take you the little one; i will give the other girl work to do, else she will weary at home alone."
she did as usual.
this time it was a dish of milk she poured upon the ashes, saying: "if you do not get all the milk into the dish again before i come home, you will suffer for it."
how frightened the girl was this time!
she ran to the birch tree, and by its magic power her task was accomplished; and then she rode away to the palace as before.
when she got to the courtyard she found the prince waiting for her.
he led her into the hall, where she was highly honoured; but the witch's daughter sucked the bones under the table, and crouching at the people's feet she got an eye knocked out, poor thing!
now no one knew any more than before about the good man's daughter, no one knew whence she came; but the prince had had the threshold smeared with tar, and as she fled her gold slippers stuck to it.
she reached the birch tree, and laying aside her finery, she said: "alas i dear little mother, i have lost my gold slippers!"
"let them be," was her mother's reply; "if you need them i shall give you finer ones."
scarcely was she in her usual place behind the stove when her father came home with the witch.
immediately the witch began to mock her, saying: "ah!
you poor thing, there is nothing for you to see here, and we -- ah: what great things we have seen at the palace!
my little girl was carried about again, but had the ill-luck to fall and get her eye knocked out.
you stupid thing, you, what do you know about anything?"
"yes, indeed, what can i know?"
replied the girl;" i had enough to do to get the hearth clean."
now the prince had kept all the things the girl had lost, and he soon set about finding the owner of them.
for this purpose a great banquet was given on the fourth day, and all the people were invited to the palace.
the witch got ready to go too.
she tied a wooden beetle on where her child's foot should have been, a log of wood instead of an arm, and stuck a bit of dirt in the empty socket for an eye, and took the child with her to the castle.
when all the people were gathered together, the king's son stepped in among the crowd and cried: "the maiden whose finger this ring slips over, whose head this golden hoop encircles, and whose foot this shoe fits, shall be my bride."
what a great trying on there was now among them all!
the things would fit no one, however.
"the cinder wench is not here," said the prince at last; "go and fetch her, and let her try on the things."
so the girl was fetched, and the prince was just going to hand the ornaments to her, when the witch held him back, saying: "do n't give them to her; she soils everything with cinders; give them to my daughter rather."
well, then the prince gave the witch's daughter the ring, and the woman filed and pared away at her daughter's finger till the ring fitted.
it was the same with the circlet and the shoes of gold.
the witch would not allow them to be handed to the cinder wench; she worked at her own daughter's head and feet till she got the things forced on.
what was to be done now?
the prince had to take the witch's daughter for his bride whether he would or no; he sneaked away to her father's house with her, however, for he was ashamed to hold the wedding festivities at the palace with so strange a bride.
some days passed, and at last he had to take his bride home to the palace, and he got ready to do so.
just as they were taking leave, the kitchen wench sprang down from her place by the stove, on the pretext of fetching something from the cowhouse, and in going by she whispered in the prince's ear as he stood in the yard: "alas!
dear prince, do not rob me of my silver and my gold."
thereupon the king's son recognised the cinder wench; so he took both the girls with him, and set out.
after they had gone some little way they came to the bank of a river, and the prince threw the witch's daughter across to serve as a bridge, and so got over with the cinder wench.
there lay the witch's daughter then, like a bridge over the river, and could not stir, though her heart was consumed with grief.
no help was near, so she cried at last in her anguish: "may there grow a golden hemlock out of my body!
perhaps my mother will know me by that token."
scarcely had she spoken when a golden hemlock sprang up from her, and stood upon the bridge.
now, as soon as the prince had got rid of the witch's daughter he greeted the cinder wench as his bride, and they wandered together to the birch tree which grew upon the mother's grave.
there they received all sorts of treasures and riches, three sacks full of gold, and as much silver, and a splendid steed, which bore them home to the palace.
there they lived a long time together, and the young wife bore a son to the prince.
immediately word was brought to the witch that her daughter had borne a son -- for they all believed the young king's wife to be the witch's daughter.
"so, so," said the witch to herself;" i had better away with my gift for the infant, then."
and so saying she set out.
thus it happened that she came to the bank of the river, and there she saw the beautiful golden hemlock growing in the middle of the bridge, and when she began to cut it down to take to her grandchild, she heard a voice moaning: "alas!
dear mother, do not cut me so!"
"are you here?"
demanded the witch.
"indeed i am, dear little mother," answered the daughter "they threw me across the river to make a bridge of me."
in a moment the witch had the bridge shivered to atoms, and then she hastened away to the palace.
stepping up to the young queen's bed, she began to try her magic arts upon her, saying: "spit, you wretch, on the blade of my knife; bewitch my knife's blade for me, and i shall change you into a reindeer of the forest."
"are you there again to bring trouble upon me?"
said the young woman.
she neither spat nor did anything else, but still the witch changed her into a reindeer, and smuggled her own daughter into her place as the prince's wife.
but now the child grew restless and cried, because it missed its mother's care.
they took it to the court, and tried to pacify it in every conceivable way, but its crying never ceased.
"what makes the child so restless?"
asked the prince, and he went to a wise widow woman to ask her advice.
"ay, ay, your own wife is not at home," said the widow woman; "she is living like a reindeer in the wood; you have the witch's daughter for a wife now, and the witch herself for a mother-in-law."
"is there any way of getting my own wife back from the wood again?"
asked the prince.
"give me the child," answered the widow woman.
"i'll take it with me to-morrow when i go to drive the cows to the wood.
i'll make a rustling among the birch leaves and a trembling among the aspens -- perhaps the boy will grow quiet when he hears it."
"yes, take the child away, take it to the wood with you to quiet it," said the prince, and led the widow woman into the castle.
"how now?
you are going to send the child away to the wood?"
said the witch in a suspicious tone, and tried to interfere.
but the king's son stood firm by what he had commanded, and said: "carry the child about the wood; perhaps that will pacify it."
so the widow woman took the child to the wood.
she came to the edge of a marsh, and seeing a herd of reindeer there, she began all at once to sing -- "little bright-eyes, little redskin, come nurse the child you bore!
that bloodthirsty monster, that man-eater grim, shall nurse him, shall tend him no more.
they may threaten and force as they will, he turns from her, shrinks from her still," and immediately the reindeer drew near, and nursed and tended the child the whole day long; but at nightfall it had to follow the herd, and said to the widow woman: "bring me the child to-morrow, and again the following day; after that i must wander with the herd far away to other lands."
the following morning the widow woman went back to the castle to fetch the child.
the witch interfered, of course, but the prince said: "take it, and carry it about in the open air; the boy is quieter at night, to be sure, when he has been in the wood all day."
so the widow took the child in her arms, and carried it to the marsh in the forest.
there she sang as on the preceding day -- "little bright-eyes, little redskin, come nurse the child you bore!
that bloodthirsty monster, that man-eater grim, shall nurse him, shall tend him no more.
they may threaten and force as they will, he turns from her, shrinks from her still," and immediately the reindeer left the herd and came to the child, and tended it as on the day before.
and so it was that the child throve, till not a finer boy was to be seen anywhere.
but the king's son had been pondering over all these things, and he said to the widow woman: "is there no way of changing the reindeer into a human being again?'"
i do n't rightly know," was her answer.
"come to the wood with me, however; when the woman puts off her reindeer skin i shall comb her head for her; whilst i am doing so you must burn the skin."
thereupon they both went to the wood with the child; scarcely were they there when the reindeer appeared and nursed the child as before.
then the widow woman said to the reindeer: "since you are going far away to-morrow, and i shall not see you again, let me comb your head for the last time, as a remembrance of you."
good; the young woman stript off the reindeer skin, and let the widow woman do as she wished.
in the meantime the king's son threw the reindeer skin into the fire unobserved.
"what smells of singeing here?"
asked the young woman, and looking round she saw her own husband.
"woe is me!
you have burnt my skin.
why did you do that?"
"to give you back your human form again."
"alack-a-day!
i have nothing to cover me now, poor creature that i am!"
cried the young woman, and transformed herself first into a distaff, then into a wooden beetle, then into a spindle, and into all imaginable shapes.
but all these shapes the king's son went on destroying till she stood before him in human form again.
alas!
wherefore take me home with you again," cried the young woman, "since the witch is sure to eat me up?"
"she will not eat you up," answered her husband; and they started for home with the child.
but when the witch wife saw them she ran away with her daughter, and if she has not stopped she is running still, though at a great age.
and the prince, and his wife, and the baby lived happy ever afterwards.
-lrb- 9 -rrb- -lrb- 9 -rrb- from the russo-karelian.
jack and the beanstalk jack sells the cow once upon a time there was a poor widow who lived in a little cottage with her only son jack.
jack was a giddy, thoughtless boy, but very kind-hearted and affectionate.
there had been a hard winter, and after it the poor woman had suffered from fever and ague.
jack did no work as yet, and by degrees they grew dreadfully poor.
the widow saw that there was no means of keeping jack and herself from starvation but by selling her cow; so one morning she said to her son," i am too weak to go myself, jack, so you must take the cow to market for me, and sell her."
jack liked going to market to sell the cow very much; but as he was on the way, he met a butcher who had some beautiful beans in his hand.
jack stopped to look at them, and the butcher told the boy that they were of great value, and persuaded the silly lad to sell the cow for these beans.
when he brought them home to his mother instead of the money she expected for her nice cow, she was very vexed and shed many tears, scolding jack for his folly.
he was very sorry, and mother and son went to bed very sadly that night; their last hope seemed gone.
at daybreak jack rose and went out into the garden.
"at least," he thought," i will sow the wonderful beans.
mother says that they are just common scarlet-runners, and nothing else; but i may as well sow them."
so he took a piece of stick, and made some holes in the ground, and put in the beans.
that day they had very little dinner, and went sadly to bed, knowing that for the next day there would be none and jack, unable to sleep from grief and vexation, got up at day-dawn and went out into the garden.
what was his amazement to find that the beans had grown up in the night, and climbed up and up till they covered the high cliff that sheltered the cottage, and disappeared above it!
the stalks had twined and twisted themselves together till they formed quite a ladder.
"it would be easy to climb it," thought jack.
and, having thought of the experiment, he at once resolved to carry it out, for jack was a good climber.
however, after his late mistake about the cow, he thought he had better consult his mother first.
wonderful growth of the beanstalk so jack called his mother, and they both gazed in silent wonder at the beanstalk, which was not only of great height, but was thick enough to bear jack's weight."
i wonder where it ends," said jack to his mother;" i think i will climb up and see."
his mother wished him not to venture up this strange ladder, but jack coaxed her to give her consent to the attempt, for he was certain there must be something wonderful in the beanstalk; so at last she yielded to his wishes.
jack instantly began to climb, and went up and up on the ladder-like bean till everything he had left behind him -- the cottage, the village, and even the tall church tower -- looked quite little, and still he could not see the top of the beanstalk.
jack felt a little tired, and thought for a moment that he would go back again; but he was a very persevering boy, and he knew that the way to succeed in anything is not to give up.
so after resting for a moment he went on.
after climbing higher and higher, till he grew afraid to look down for fear he should be giddy, jack at last reached the top of the beanstalk, and found himself in a beautiful country, finely wooded, with beautiful meadows covered with sheep.
a crystal stream ran through the pastures; not far from the place where he had got off the beanstalk stood a fine, strong castle.
jack wondered very much that he had never heard of or seen this castle before; but when he reflected on the subject, he saw that it was as much separated from the village by the perpendicular rock on which it stood as if it were in another land.
while jack was standing looking at the castle, a very strange-looking woman came out of the wood, and advanced towards him.
she wore a pointed cap of quilted red satin turned up with ermine, her hair streamed loose over her shoulders, and she walked with a staff.
jack took off his cap and made her a bow.
"if you please, ma'am," said he, "is this your house?"
"no," said the old lady.
"listen, and i will tell you the story of that castle.
"once upon a time there was a noble knight, who lived in this castle, which is on the borders of fairyland.
he had a fair and beloved wife and several lovely children: and as his neighbours, the little people, were very friendly towards him, they bestowed on him many excellent and precious gifts.
"rumour whispered of these treasures; and a monstrous giant, who lived at no great distance, and who was a very wicked being, resolved to obtain possession of them.
"so he bribed a false servant to let him inside the castle, when the knight was in bed and asleep, and he killed him as he lay.
then he went to the part of the castle which was the nursery, and also killed all the poor little ones he found there.
"happily for her, the lady was not to be found.
she had gone with her infant son, who was only two or three months old, to visit her old nurse, who lived in the valley; and she had been detained all night there by a storm.
"the next morning, as soon as it was light, one of the servants at the castle, who had managed to escape, came to tell the poor lady of the sad fate of her husband and her pretty babes.
she could scarcely believe him at first, and was eager at once to go back and share the fate of her dear ones; but the old nurse, with many tears, besought her to remember that she had still a child, and that it was her duty to preserve her life for the sake of the poor innocent.
"the lady yielded to this reasoning, and consented to remain at her nurse's house as the best place of concealment; for the servant told her that the giant had vowed, if he could find her, he would kill both her and her baby.
years rolled on.
the old nurse died, leaving her cottage and the few articles of furniture it contained to her poor lady, who dwelt in it, working as a peasant for her daily bread.
her spinning-wheel and the milk of a cow, which she had purchased with the little money she had with her, sufficed for the scanty subsistence of herself and her little son.
there was a nice little garden attached to the cottage, in which they cultivated peas, beans, and cabbages, and the lady was not ashamed to go out at harvest time, and glean in the fields to supply her little son's wants.
"jack, that poor lady is your mother.
this castle was once your father's, and must again be yours."
jack uttered a cry of surprise.
"my mother!
oh, madam, what ought i to do?
my poor father!
my dear mother!"
"your duty requires you to win it back for your mother.
but the task is a very difficult one, and full of peril, jack.
have you courage to undertake it?'"
i fear nothing when i am doing right," said jack.
"then," said the lady in the red cap, "you are one of those who slay giants.
you must get into the castle, and if possible possess yourself of a hen that lays golden eggs, and a harp that talks.
remember, all the giant possesses is really yours."
as she ceased speaking, the lady of the red hat suddenly disappeared, and of course jack knew she was a fairy.
jack determined at once to attempt the adventure; so he advanced, and blew the horn which hung at the castle portal.
the door was opened in a minute or two by a frightful giantess, with one great eye in the middle of her forehead.
as soon as jack saw her he turned to run away, but she caught him, and dragged him into the castle.
"ho, ho!"
she laughed terribly.
"you did n't expect to see me here, that is clear!
no, i sha n't let you go again.
i am weary of my life.
i am so overworked, and i do n't see why i should not have a page as well as other ladies.
and you shall be my boy.
you shall clean the knives, and black the boots, and make the fires, and help me generally when the giant is out.
when he is at home i must hide you, for he has eaten up all my pages hitherto, and you would be a dainty morsel, my little lad."
while she spoke she dragged jack right into the castle.
the poor boy was very much frightened, as i am sure you and i would have been in his place.
but he remembered that fear disgraces a man; so he struggled to be brave and make the best of things."
i am quite ready to help you, and do all i can to serve you, madam," he said, "only i beg you will be good enough to hide me from your husband, for i should not like to be eaten at all."
"that's a good boy," said the giantess, nodding her head; "it is lucky for you that you did not scream out when you saw me, as the other boys who have been here did, for if you had done so my husband would have awakened and have eaten you, as he did them, for breakfast.
come here, child; go into my wardrobe: he never ventures to open that; you will be safe there."
and she opened a huge wardrobe which stood in the great hall, and shut him into it.
but the keyhole was so large that it ad-mitted plenty of air, and he could see everything that took place through it.
by-and-by he heard a heavy tramp on the stairs, like the lumbering along of a great cannon, and then a voice like thunder cried out; "fe, fa, fi-fo-fum, i smell the breath of an englishman.
let him be alive or let him be dead, i'll grind his bones to make my bread."
"wife," cried the giant, "there is a man in the castle.
let me have him for breakfast."
"you are grown old and stupid," cried the lady in her loud tones.
"it is only a nice fresh steak off an elephant, that i have cooked for you, which you smell.
there, sit down and make a good breakfast."
and she placed a huge dish before him of savoury steaming meat, which greatly pleased him, and made him forget his idea of an englishman being in the castle.
when he had breakfasted he went out for a walk; and then the giantess opened the door, and made jack come out to help her.
he helped her all day.
she fed him well, and when evening came put him back in the wardrobe.
the hen that lays golden eggs.
the giant came in to supper.
jack watched him through the keyhole, and was amazed to see him pick a wolf's bone, and put half a fowl at a time into his capacious mouth.
when the supper was ended he bade his wife bring him his hen that laid the golden eggs.
"it lays as well as it did when it belonged to that paltry knight," he said; "indeed i think the eggs are heavier than ever."
the giantess went away, and soon returned with a little brown hen, which she placed on the table before her husband.
"and now, my dear," she said," i am going for a walk, if you do n't want me any longer."
"go," said the giant;" i shall be glad to have a nap by-and-by."
then he took up the brown hen and said to her: "lay!"
and she instantly laid a golden egg.
"lay!"
said the giant again.
and she laid another.
"lay!"
he repeated the third time.
and again a golden egg lay on the table.
now jack was sure this hen was that of which the fairy had spoken.
by-and-by the giant put the hen down on the floor, and soon after went fast asleep, snoring so loud that it sounded like thunder.
directly jack perceived that the giant was fast asleep, he pushed open the door of the wardrobe and crept out; very softly he stole across the room, and, picking up the hen, made haste to quit the apartment.
he knew the way to the kitchen, the door of which he found was left ajar; he opened it, shut and locked it after him, and flew back to the beanstalk, which he descended as fast as his feet would move.
when his mother saw him enter the house she wept for joy, for she had feared that the fairies had carried him away, or that the giant had found him.
but jack put the brown hen down before her, and told her how he had been in the giant's castle, and all his adventures.
she was very glad to see the hen, which would make them rich once more.
the money bags.
jack made another journey up the beanstalk to the giant's castle one day while his mother had gone to market; but first he dyed his hair and disguised himself.
the old woman did not know him again, and dragged him in as she had done before, to help her to do the work; but she heard her husband coming, and hid him in the wardrobe, not thinking that it was the same boy who had stolen the hen.
she bade him stay quite still there, or the giant would eat him.
then the giant came in saying: "fe, fa, fi-fo-fum, i smell the breath of an englishman.
let him be alive or let him be dead, i'll grind his bones to make my bread."
"nonsense!"
said the wife, "it is only a roasted bullock that i thought would be a tit-bit for your supper; sit down and i will bring it up at once."
the giant sat down, and soon his wife brought up a roasted bullock on a large dish, and they began their supper.
jack was amazed to see them pick the bones of the bullock as if it had been a lark.
as soon as they had finished their meal, the giantess rose and said: "now, my dear, with your leave i am going up to my room to finish the story i am reading.
if you want me call for me."
"first," answered the giant, "bring me my money bags, that i may count my golden pieces before i sleep."
the giantess obeyed.
she went and soon returned with two large bags over her shoulders, which she put down by her husband.
"there," she said; "that is all that is left of the knight's money.
when you have spent it you must go and take another baron's castle."
"that he sha n't, if i can help it," thought jack.
the giant, when his wife was gone, took out heaps and heaps of golden pieces, and counted them, and put them in piles, till he was tired of the amusement.
then he swept them all back into their bags, and leaning back in his chair fell fast asleep, snoring so loud that no other sound was audible.
jack stole softly out of the wardrobe, and taking up the bags of money -lrb- which were his very own, because the giant had stolen them from his father -rrb-, he ran off, and with great difficulty descending the beanstalk, laid the bags of gold on his mother's table.
she had just returned from town, and was crying at not finding jack.
"there, mother, i have brought you the gold that my father lost."
"oh, jack!
you are a very good boy, but i wish you would not risk your precious life in the giant's castle.
tell me how you came to go there again."
and jack told her all about it.
jack's mother was very glad to get the money, but she did not like him to run any risk for her.
but after a time jack made up his mind to go again to the giant's castle.
the talking harp.
so he climbed the beanstalk once more, and blew the horn at the giant's gate.
the giantess soon opened the door; she was very stupid, and did not know him again, but she stopped a minute before she took him in.
she feared another robbery; but jack's fresh face looked so innocent that she could not resist him, and so she bade him come in, and again hid him away in the wardrobe.
by-and-by the giant came home, and as soon as he had crossed the threshold he roared out: "fe, fa, fi-fo-fum, i smell the breath of an englishman.
let him be alive or let him be dead, i'll grind his bones to make my bread."
"you stupid old giant," said his wife, "you only smell a nice sheep, which i have grilled for your dinner."
and the giant sat down, and his wife brought up a whole sheep for his dinner.
when he had eaten it all up, he said: "now bring me my harp, and i will have a little music while you take your walk."
the giantess obeyed, and returned with a beautiful harp.
the framework was all sparkling with diamonds and rubies, and the strings were all of gold.
"this is one of the nicest things i took from the knight," said the giant."
i am very fond of music, and my harp is a faithful servant."
so he drew the harp towards him, and said: "play!"
and the harp played a very soft, sad air.
"play something merrier!"
said the giant.
and the harp played a merry tune.
"now play me a lullaby," roared the giant; and the harp played a sweet lullaby, to the sound of which its master fell asleep.
then jack stole softly out of the wardrobe, and went into the huge kitchen to see if the giantess had gone out; he found no one there, so he went to the door and opened it softly, for he thought he could not do so with the harp in his hand.
then he entered the giant's room and seized the harp and ran away with it; but as he jumped over the threshold the harp called out: "master!
master!"
and the giant woke up.
with a tremendous roar he sprang from his seat, and in two strides had reached the door.
but jack was very nimble.
he fled like lightning with the harp, talking to it as he went -lrb- for he saw it was a fairy -rrb-, and telling it he was the son of its old master, the knight.
still the giant came on so fast that he was quite close to poor jack, and had stretched out his great hand to catch him.
but, luckily, just at that moment he stepped upon a loose stone, stumbled, and fell flat on the ground, where he lay at his full length.
this accident gave jack time to get on the beanstalk and hasten down it; but just as he reached their own garden he beheld the giant descending after him.
"mother i mother!"
cried jack, "make haste and give me the axe."
his mother ran to him with a hatchet in her hand, and jack with one tremendous blow cut through all the beanstalks except one.
"now, mother, stand out of the way!"
said he.
the giant breaks his neck.
jack's mother shrank back, and it was well she did so, for just as the giant took hold of the last branch of the beanstalk, jack cut the stem quite through and darted from the spot.
down came the giant with a terrible crash, and as he fell on his head, he broke his neck, and lay dead at the feet of the woman he had so much injured.
before jack and his mother had recovered from their alarm and agitation, a beautiful lady stood before them.
"jack," said she, "you have acted like a brave knight's son, and deserve to have your inheritance restored to you.
dig a grave and bury the giant, and then go and kill the giantess."
"but," said jack," i could not kill anyone unless i were fighting with him; and i could not draw my sword upon a woman.
moreover, the giantess was very kind to me."
the fairy smiled on jack."
i am very much pleased with your generous feeling," she said.
"nevertheless, return to the castle, and act as you will find needful."
jack asked the fairy if she would show him the way to the castle, as the beanstalk was now down.
she told him that she would drive him there in her chariot, which was drawn by two peacocks.
jack thanked her, and sat down in the chariot with her.
the fairy drove him a long distance round, till they reached a village which lay at the bottom of the hill.
here they found a number of miserable-looking men assembled.
the fairy stopped her carriage and addressed them: "my friends," said she, "the cruel giant who oppressed you and ate up all your flocks and herds is dead, and this young gentleman was the means of your being delivered from him, and is the son of your kind old master, the knight."
the men gave a loud cheer at these words, and pressed forward to say that they would serve jack as faithfully as they had served his father.
the fairy bade them follow her to the castle, and they marched thither in a body, and jack blew the horn and demanded admittance.
the old giantess saw them coming from the turret loop-hole.
she was very much frightened, for she guessed that something had happened to her husband; and as she came downstairs very fast she caught her foot in her dress, and fell from the top to the bottom and broke her neck.
when the people outside found that the door was not opened to them, they took crowbars and forced the portal.
nobody was to be seen, but on leaving the hall they found the body of the giantess at the foot of the stairs.
thus jack took possession of the castle.
the fairy went and brought his mother to him, with the hen and the harp.
he had the giantess buried, and endeavoured as much as lay in his power to do right to those whom the giant had robbed.
before her departure for fairyland, the fairy explained to jack that she had sent the butcher to meet him with the beans, in order to try what sort of lad he was.
if you had looked at the gigantic beanstalk and only stupidly wondered about it," she said," i should have left you where misfortune had placed you, only restoring her cow to your mother.
but you showed an inquiring mind, and great courage and enterprise, therefore you deserve to rise; and when you mounted the beanstalk you climbed the ladder of fortune."
she then took her leave of jack and his mother.
the little good mouse once upon a time there lived a king and queen who loved each other so much that they were never happy unless they were together.
day after day they went out hunting or fishing; night after night they went to balls or to the opera; they sang, and danced, and ate sugar-plums, and were the gayest of the gay, and all their subjects followed their example so that the kingdom was called the joyous land.
now in the next kingdom everything was as different as it could possibly be.
the king was sulky and savage, and never enjoyed himself at all.
he looked so ugly and cross that all his subjects feared him, and he hated the very sight of a cheerful face; so if he ever caught anyone smiling he had his head cut off that very minute.
this kingdom was very appropriately called the land of tears.
now when this wicked king heard of the happiness of the jolly king, he was so jealous that he collected a great army and set out to fight him, and the news of his approach was soon brought to the king and queen.
the queen, when she heard of it, was frightened out of her wits, and began to cry bitterly.
"sire," she said, "let us collect all our riches and run away as far as ever we can, to the other side of the world."
but the king answered: "fie, madam!
i am far too brave for that.
it is better to die than to be a coward."
then he assembled all his armed men, and after bidding the queen a tender farewell, he mounted his splendid horse and rode away.
when he was lost to sight the queen could do nothing but weep, and wring her hands, and cry.
"alas!
if the king is killed, what will become of me and of my little daughter?"
and she was so sorrowful that she could neither eat nor sleep.
the king sent her a letter every day, but at last, one morning, as she looked out of the palace window, she saw a messenger approaching in hot haste.
"what news, courier?
what news?"
cried the queen, and he answered: "the battle is lost and the king is dead, and in another moment the enemy will be here."
the poor queen fell back insensible, and all her ladies carried her to bed, and stood round her weeping and wailing.
then began a tremendous noise and confusion, and they knew that the enemy had arrived, and very soon they heard the king himself stamping about the palace seeking the queen.
then her ladies put the little princess into her arms, and covered her up, head and all, in the bedclothes, and ran for their lives, and the poor queen lay there shaking, and hoping she would not be found.
but very soon the wicked king clattered into the room, and in a fury because the queen would not answer when he called to her, he tore back her silken coverings and tweaked off her lace cap, and when all her lovely hair came tumbling down over her shoulders, he wound it three times round his hand and threw her over his shoulder, where he carried her like a sack of flour.
the poor queen held her little daughter safe in her arms and shrieked for mercy, but the wicked king only mocked her, and begged her to go on shrieking, as it amused him, and so mounted his great black horse, and rode back to his own country.
when he got there he declared that he would have the queen and the little princess hanged on the nearest tree; but his courtiers said that seemed a pity, for when the baby grew up she would be a very nice wife for the king's only son.
the king was rather pleased with this idea, and shut the queen up in the highest room of a tall tower, which was very tiny, and miserably furnished with a table and a very hard bed upon the floor.
then he sent for a fairy who lived near his kingdom, and after receiving her with more politeness than he generally showed, and entertaining her at a sumptuous feast, he took her up to see the queen.
the fairy was so touched by the sight of her misery that when she kissed her hand she whispered: "courage, madam!
i think i see a way to help you."
the queen, a little comforted by these words, received her graciously, and begged her to take pity upon the poor little princess, who had met with such a sudden reverse of fortune.
but the king got very cross when he saw them whispering together, and cried harshly: "make an end of these fine speeches, madam.
i brought you here to tell me if the child will grow up pretty and fortunate."
then the fairy answered that the princess would be as pretty, and clever, and well brought up as it was possible to be, and the old king growled to the queen that it was lucky for her that it was so, as they would certainly have been hanged if it were otherwise.
then he stamped off, taking the fairy with him, and leaving the poor queen in tears.
"how can i wish my little daughter to grow up pretty if she is to be married to that horrid little dwarf, the king's son," she said to herself, "and yet, if she is ugly we shall both be killed.
if i could only hide her away somewhere, so that the cruel king could never find her."
as the days went on, the queen and the little princess grew thinner and thinner, for their hard-hearted gaoler gave them every day only three boiled peas and a tiny morsel of black bread, so they were always terribly hungry.
at last, one evening, as the queen sat at her spinning-wheel -- for the king was so avaricious that she was made to work day and night -- she saw a tiny, pretty little mouse creep out of a hole, and said to it: "alas, little creature!
what are you coming to look for here?
i only have three peas for my day's provision, so unless you wish to fast you must go elsewhere."
but the mouse ran hither and thither, and danced and capered so prettily, that at last the queen gave it her last pea, which she was keeping for her supper, saying: "here, little one, eat it up; i have nothing better to offer you, but i give this willingly in return for the amusement i have had from you."
she had hardly spoken when she saw upon the table a delicious little roast partridge, and two dishes of preserved fruit.
"truly," said she," a kind action never goes unrewarded; "and she and the little princess ate their supper with great satisfaction, and then the queen gave what was left to the little mouse, who danced better than ever afterwards.
the next morning came the gaoler with the queen's allowance of three peas, which he brought in upon a large dish to make them look smaller; but as soon as he set it down the little mouse came and ate up all three, so that when the queen wanted her dinner there was nothing left for her.
then she was quite provoked, and said: "what a bad little beast that mouse must be!
if it goes on like this i shall be starved."
but when she glanced at the dish again it was covered with all sorts of nice things to eat, and the queen made a very good dinner, and was gayer than usual over it.
but afterwards as she sat at her spinning-wheel she began to consider what would happen if the little princess did not grow up pretty enough to please the king, and she said to herself: "oh!
if i could only think of some way of escaping."
as she spoke she saw the little mouse playing in a corner with some long straws.
the queen took them and began to plait them, saying: "if only i had straws enough i would make a basket with them, and let my baby down in it from the window to any kind passer-by who would take care of her."
by the time the straws were all plaited the little mouse had dragged in more and more, until the queen had plenty to make her basket, and she worked at it day and night, while the little mouse danced for her amusement; and at dinner and supper time the queen gave it the three peas and the bit of black bread, and always found something good in the dish in their place.
she really could not imagine where all the nice things came from.
at last one day when the basket was finished, the queen was looking out of the window to see how long a cord she must make to lower it to the bottom of the tower, when she noticed a little old woman who was leaning upon her stick and looking up at her.
presently she said: "i know your trouble, madam.
if you like i will help you."
"oh!
my dear friend," said the queen.
"if you really wish to be of use to me you will come at the time that i will appoint, and i will let down my poor little baby in a basket.
if you will take her, and bring her up for me, when i am rich i will reward you splendidly.'"
i do n't care about the reward," said the old woman, "but there is one thing i should like.
you must know that i am very particular about what i eat, and if there is one thing that i fancy above all others, it is a plump, tender little mouse.
if there is such a thing in your garret just throw it down to me, and in return i will promise that your little daughter shall be well taken care of."
the queen when she heard this began to cry, but made no answer, and the old woman after waiting a few minutes asked her what was the matter.
"why," said the queen, "there is only one mouse in this garret, and that is such a dear, pretty little thing that i can not bear to think of its being killed."
"what!"
cried the old woman, in a rage.
"do you care more for a miserable mouse than for your own baby?
good-bye, madam!
i leave you to enjoy its company, and for my own part i thank my stars that i can get plenty of mice without troubling you to give them to me."
and she hobbled off grumbling and growling.
as to the queen, she was so disappointed that, in spite of finding a better dinner than usual, and seeing the little mouse dancing in its merriest mood, she could do nothing but cry.
that night when her baby was fast asleep she packed it into the basket, and wrote on a slip of paper, "this unhappy little girl is called delicia!"
this she pinned to its robe, and then very sadly she was shutting the basket, when in sprang the little mouse and sat on the baby's pillow.
"ah!
little one," said the queen, "it cost me dear to save your life.
how shall i know now whether my delicia is being taken care of or no?
anyone else would have let the greedy old woman have you, and eat you up, but i could not bear to do it."
whereupon the mouse answered: "believe me, madam, you will never repent of your kindness."
the queen was immensely astonished when the mouse began to speak, and still more so when she saw its little sharp nose turn to a beautiful face, and its paws to hands and feet; then it suddenly grew tall, and the queen recognised the fairy who had come with the wicked king to visit her.
the fairy smiled at her astonished look, and said: "i wanted to see if you were faithful and capable of feeling a real friendship for me, for you see we fairies are rich in everything but friends, and those are hard to find."
"it is not possible that you should want for friends, you charming creature," said the queen, kissing her.
"indeed it is so," the fairy said.
"for those who are only friendly with me for their own advantage, i do not count at all.
but when you cared for the poor little mouse you could not have known there was anything to be gained by it, and to try you further i took the form of the old woman whom you talked to from the window, and then i was convinced that you really loved me."
then, turning to the little princess, she kissed her rosy lips three times, saying: "dear little one, i promise that you shall be richer than your father, and shall live a hundred years, always pretty and happy, without fear of old age and wrinkles."
the queen, quite delighted, thanked the fairy gratefully, and begged her to take charge of the little delicia and bring her up as her own daughter.
this she agreed to do, and then they shut the basket and lowered it carefully, baby and all, to the ground at the foot of the tower.
the fairy then changed herself back into the form of a mouse, and this delayed her a few seconds, after which she ran nimbly down the straw rope, but only to find when she got to the bottom that the baby had disappeared.
in the greatest terror she ran up again to the queen, crying: "all is lost!
my enemy cancaline has stolen the princess away.
you must know that she is a cruel fairy who hates me, and as she is older than i am and has more power, i can do nothing against her.
i know no way of rescuing delicia from her clutches."
when the queen heard this terrible news she was heart-broken, and begged the fairy to do all she could to get the poor little princess back again.
at this moment in came the gaoler, and when he missed the little princess he at once told the king, who came in a great fury asking what the queen had done with her.
she answered that a fairy, whose name she did not know, had come and carried her off by force.
upon this the king stamped upon the ground, and cried in a terrible voice: "you shall be hung!
i always told you you should."
and without another word he dragged the unlucky queen out into the nearest wood, and climbed up into a tree to look for a branch to which he could hang her.
but when he was quite high up, the fairy, who had made herself invisible and followed them, gave him a sudden push, which made him lose his footing and fall to the ground with a crash and break four of his teeth, and while he was trying to mend them the fairy carried the queen off in her flying chariot to a beautiful castle, where she was so kind to her that but for the loss of delicia the queen would have been perfectly happy.
but though the good little mouse did her very utmost, they could not find out where cancaline had hidden the little princess.
thus fifteen years went by, and the queen had somewhat recovered from her grief, when the news reached her that the son of the wicked king wished to marry the little maiden who kept the turkeys, and that she had refused him; the wedding-dresses had been made, nevertheless, and the festivities were to be so splendid that all the people for leagues round were flocking in to be present at them.
the queen felt quite curious about a little turkey-maiden who did not wish to be a queen, so the little mouse conveyed herself to the poultry-yard to find out what she was like.
she found the turkey-maiden sitting upon a big stone, barefooted, and miserably dressed in an old, coarse linen gown and cap; the ground at her feet was all strewn with robes of gold and silver, ribbons and laces, diamonds and pearls, over which the turkeys were stalking to and fro, while the king's ugly, disagreeable son stood opposite her, declaring angrily that if she would not marry him she should be killed.
the turkey-maiden answered proudly: "i never will marry you i you are too ugly and too much like your cruel father.
leave me in peace with my turkeys, which i like far better than all your fine gifts."
the little mouse watched her with the greatest admiration, for she was as beautiful as the spring; and as soon as the wicked prince was gone, she took the form of an old peasant woman and said to her: "good day, my pretty one!
you have a fine flock of turkeys there."
the young turkey-maiden turned her gentle eyes upon the old woman, and answered: "yet they wish me to leave them to become a miserable queen!
what is your advice upon the matter?"
"my child," said the fairy," a crown is a very pretty thing, but you know neither the price nor the weight of it.'"
i know so well that i have refused to wear one," said the little maiden, "though i do n't know who was my father, or who was my mother, and i have not a friend in the world."
"you have goodness and beauty, which are of more value than ten kingdoms," said the wise fairy.
"but tell me, child, how came you here, and how is it you have neither father, nor mother, nor friend?'"
a fairy called cancaline is the cause of my being here," answered she, "for while i lived with her i got nothing but blows and harsh words, until at last i could bear it no longer, and ran away from her without knowing where i was going, and as i came through a wood the wicked prince met me, and offered to give me charge of the poultry-yard.
i accepted gladly, not knowing that i should have to see him day by day.
and now he wants to marry me, but that i will never consent to."
upon hearing this the fairy became convinced that the little turkey-maiden was none other than the princess delicia.
"what is your name, my little one?"
said she."
i am called delicia, if it please you," she answered.
then the fairy threw her arms round the princess's neck, and nearly smothered her with kisses, saying: "ah, delicia!
i am a very old friend of yours, and i am truly glad to find you at last; but you might look nicer than you do in that old gown, which is only fit for a kitchen-maid.
take this pretty dress and let us see the difference it will make."
so delicia took off the ugly cap, and shook out all her fair shining hair, and bathed her hands and face in clear water from the nearest spring till her cheeks were like roses, and when she was adorned with the diamonds and the splendid robe the fairy had given her, she looked the most beautiful princess in the world, and the fairy with great delight cried: "now you look as you ought to look, delicia: what do you think about it yourself?"
and delicia answered: "i feel as if i were the daughter of some great king."
"and would you be glad if you were?"
said the fairy.
"indeed i should," answered she.
"ah, well," said the fairy, "to-morrow i may have some pleasant news for you."
so she hurried back to her castle, where the queen sat busy with her embroidery, and cried: "well, madam!
will you wager your thimble and your golden needle that i am bringing you the best news you could possibly hear?"
"alas!"
sighed the queen, "since the death of the jolly king and the loss of my delicia, all the news in the world is not worth a pin to me.
"there, there, do n't be melancholy," said the fairy."
i assure you the princess is quite well, and i have never seen her equal for beauty.
she might be a queen to-morrow if she chose; "and then she told all that had happened, and the queen first rejoiced over the thought of delicia's beauty, and then wept at the idea of her being a turkey-maiden."
i will not hear of her being made to marry the wicked king's son," she said.
"let us go at once and bring her here."
in the meantime the wicked prince, who was very angry with delicia, had sat himself down under a tree, and cried and howled with rage and spite until the king heard him, and cried out from the window: "what is the matter with you, that you are making all this disturbance?"
the prince replied: "it is all because our turkey-maiden will not love me!"
"wo n't love you?
eh!"
said the king.
"we'll very soon see about that!"
so he called his guards and told them to go and fetch delicia.
"see if i do n't make her change her mind pretty soon!"
said the wicked king with a chuckle.
then the guards began to search the poultry-yard, and could find nobody there but delicia, who, with her splendid dress and her crown of diamonds, looked such a lovely princess that they hardly dared to speak to her.
but she said to them very politely: "pray tell me what you are looking for here?"
"madam," they answered, "we are sent for an insignificant little person called delicia."
"alas!"
said she, "that is my name.
what can you want with me?"
so the guards tied her hands and feet with thick ropes, for fear she might run away, and brought her to the king, who was waiting with his son.
when he saw her he was very much astonished at her beauty, which would have made anyone less hard-hearted sorry for her.
but the wicked king only laughed and mocked at her, and cried: "well, little fright, little toad!
why do n't you love my son, who is far too handsome and too good for you?
make haste and begin to love him this instant, or you shall be tarred and feathered."
then the poor little princess, shaking with terror, went down on her knees, crying: "oh, do n't tar and feather me, please!
it would be so uncomfortable.
let me have two or three days to make up my mind, and then you shall do as you like with me."
the wicked prince would have liked very much to see her tarred and feathered, but the king ordered that she should be shut up in a dark dungeon.
it was just at this moment that the queen and the fairy arrived in the flying chariot, and the queen was dreadfully distressed at the turn affairs had taken, and said miserably that she was destined to be unfortunate all her days.
but the fairy bade her take courage.
"i'll pay them out yet," said she, nodding her head with an air of great determination.
that very same night, as soon as the wicked king had gone to bed, the fairy changed herself into the little mouse, and creeping up on to his pillow nibbled his ear, so that he squealed out quite loudly and turned over on his other side; but that was no good, for the little mouse only set to work and gnawed away at the second ear until it hurt more than the first one.
then the king cried "murder!"
and "thieves!"
and all his guards ran to see what was the matter, but they could find nothing and nobody, for the little mouse had run off to the prince's room and was serving him in exactly the same way.
all night long she ran from one to the other, until at last, driven quite frantic by terror and want of sleep, the king rushed out of the palace crying: "help!
help!
i am pursued by rats."
the prince when he heard this got up also, and ran after the king, and they had not gone far when they both fell into the river and were never heard of again.
then the good fairy ran to tell the queen, and they went together to the black dungeon where delicia was imprisoned.
the fairy touched each door with her wand, and it sprang open instantly, but they had to go through forty before they came to the princess, who was sitting on the floor looking very dejected.
but when the queen rushed in, and kissed her twenty times in a minute, and laughed, and cried, and told delicia all her history, the princess was wild with delight.
then the fairy showed her all the wonderful dresses and jewels she had brought for her, and said: "do n't let us waste time; we must go and harangue the people."
so she walked first, looking very serious and dignified, and wearing a dress the train of which was at least ten ells long.
behind her came the queen wearing a blue velvet robe embroidered with gold, and a diamond crown that was brighter than the sun itself.
last of all walked delicia, who was so beautiful that it was nothing short of marvellous.
they proceeded through the streets, returning the salutations of all they met, great or small, and all the people turned and followed them, wondering who these noble ladies could be.
when the audience hall was quite full, the fairy said to the subjects of the wicked king that if they would accept delicia, who was the daughter of the jolly king, as their queen, she would undertake to find a suitable husband for her, and would promise that during their reign there should be nothing but rejoicing and merry-making, and all dismal things should be entirely banished.
upon this the people cried with one accord, "we will, we will!
we have been gloomy and miserable too long already."
and they all took hands and danced round the queen, and delicia, and the good fairy, singing: "yes, yes; we will, we will!"
then there were feasts and fireworks in every street in the town, and early the next morning the fairy, who had been all over the world in the night, brought back with her, in her flying chariot, the most handsome and good-tempered prince she could find anywhere.
he was so charming that delicia loved him from the moment their eyes met, and as for him, of course he could not help thinking himself the luckiest prince in the world.
the queen felt that she had really come to the end of her misfortunes at last, and they all lived happily ever after.
-lrb- 10 -rrb- -lrb- 10 -rrb- la bonne vetite souris" par madame d'aulnoy.
graciosa and percinet once upon a time there lived a king and queen who had one charming daughter.
she was so graceful and pretty and clever that she was called graciosa, and the queen was so fond of her that she could think of nothing else.
everyday she gave the princess a lovely new frock of gold brocade, or satin, or velvet, and when she was hungry she had bowls full of sugar-plums, and at least twenty pots of jam.
everybody said she was the happiest princess in the world.
now there lived at this same court a very rich old duchess whose name was grumbly.
she was more frightful than tongue can tell; her hair was red as fire, and she had but one eye, and that not a pretty one!
her face was as broad as a full moon, and her mouth was so large that everybody who met her would have been afraid they were going to be eaten up, only she had no teeth.
as she was as cross as she was ugly, she could not bear to hear everyone saying how pretty and how charming graciosa was; so she presently went away from the court to her own castle, which was not far off.
but if anybody who went to see her happened to mention the charming princess, she would cry angrily: "it's not true that she is lovely.
i have more beauty in my little finger than she has in her whole body."
soon after this, to the great grief of the princess, the queen was taken ill and died, and the king became so melancholy that for a whole year he shut himself up in his palace.
at last his physicians, fearing that he would fall ill, ordered that he should go out and amuse himself; so a hunting party was arranged, but as it was very hot weather the king soon got tired, and said he would dismount and rest at a castle which they were passing.
this happened to be the duchess grumbly's castle, and when she heard that the king was coming she went out to meet him, and said that the cellar was the coolest place in the whole castle if he would condescend to come down into it.
so down they went together, and the king seeing about two hundred great casks ranged side by side, asked if it was only for herself that she had this immense store of wine.
"yes, sire," answered she, "it is for myself alone, but i shall be most happy to let you taste some of it.
which do you like, canary, st. julien, champagne, hermitage sack, raisin, or cider?"
"well," said the king, "since you are so kind as to ask me, i prefer champagne to anything else."
then duchess grumbly took up a little hammer and tapped upon the cask twice, and out came at least a thousand crowns.
"what's the meaning of this?"
said she smiling.
then she tapped the next cask, and out came a bushel of gold pieces."
i do n't understand this at all," said the duchess, smiling more than before.
then she went on to the third cask, tap, tap, and out came such a stream of diamonds and pearls that the ground was covered with them.
"ah!"
she cried, "this is altogether beyond my comprehension, sire.
someone must have stolen my good wine and put all this rubbish in its place."
"rubbish, do you call it, madam grumbly?"
cried the king.
"rubbish!
why there is enough there to buy ten kingdoms."
"well," said she, "you must know that all those casks are full of gold and jewels, and if you like to marry me it shall all be yours."
now the king loved money more than anything else in the world, so he cried joyfully: "marry you?
why with all my heart!
to-morrow if you like."
"but i make one condition," said the duchess;" i must have entire control of your daughter to do as i please with her."
"oh certainly, you shall have your own way; let us shake hands upon the bargain," said the king.
so they shook hands and went up out of the cellar of treasure together, and the duchess locked the door and gave the key to the king.
when he got back to his own palace graciosa ran out to meet him, and asked if he had had good sport."
i have caught a dove," answered he.
"oh!
do give it to me," said the princess, "and i will keep it and take care of it.'"
i can hardly do that," said he, "for, to speak more plainly, i mean that i met the duchess grumbly, and have promised to marry her."
"and you call her a dove?"
cried the princess."
i should have called her a screech owl."
"hold your tongue," said the king, very crossly."
i intend you to behave prettily to her.
so now go and make yourself fit to be seen, as i am going to take you to visit her."
so the princess went very sorrowfully to her own room, and her nurse, seeing her tears, asked what was vexing her.
"alas!
who would not be vexed?"
answered she, "for the king intends to marry again, and has chosen for his new bride my enemy, the hideous duchess grumbly."
"oh, well!"
answered the nurse, "you must remember that you are a princess, and are expected to set a good example in making the best of whatever happens.
you must promise me not to let the duchess see how much you dislike her."
at first the princess would not promise, but the nurse showed her so many good reasons for it that in the end she agreed to be amiable to her step-mother.
then the nurse dressed her in a robe of pale green and gold brocade, and combed out her long fair hair till it floated round her like a golden mantle, and put on her head a crown of roses and jasmine with emerald leaves.
when she was ready nobody could have been prettier, but she still could not help looking sad.
meanwhile the duchess grumbly was also occupied in attiring herself.
she had one of her shoe heels made an inch or so higher than the other, that she might not limp so much, and put in a cunningly made glass eye in the place of the one she had lost.
she dyed her red hair black, and painted her face.
then she put on a gorgeous robe of lilac satin lined with blue, and a yellow petticoat trimmed with violet ribbons, and because she had heard that queens always rode into their new dominions, she ordered a horse to be made ready for her to ride.
while graciosa was waiting until the king should be ready to set out, she went down all alone through the garden into a little wood, where she sat down upon a mossy bank and began to think.
and her thoughts were so doleful that very soon she began to cry, and she cried, and cried, and forgot all about going back to the palace, until she suddenly saw a handsome page standing before her.
he was dressed in green, and the cap which he held in his hand was adorned with white plumes.
when graciosa looked at him he went down on one knee, and said to her: "princess, the king awaits you."
the princess was surprised, and, if the truth must be told, very much delighted at the appearance of this charming page, whom she could not remember to have seen before.
thinking he might belong to the household of the duchess, she said: "how long have you been one of the king's pages?'"
i am not in the service of the king, madam," answered he, "but in yours."
"in mine?"
said the princess with great surprise.
"then how is it that i have never seen you before?"
"ah, princess!"
said he," i have never before dared to present myself to you, but now the king's marriage threatens you with so many dangers that i have resolved to tell you at once how much i love you already, and i trust that in time i may win your regard.
i am prince percinet, of whose riches you may have heard, and whose fairy gift will, i hope, be of use to you in all your difficulties, if you will permit me to accompany you under this disguise."
"ah, percinet!"
cried the princess, "is it really you?
i have so often heard of you and wished to see you.
if you will indeed be my friend, i shall not be afraid of that wicked old duchess any more."
so they went back to the palace together, and there graciosa found a beautiful horse which percinet had brought for her to ride.
as it was very spirited he led it by the bridle, and this arrangement enabled him to turn and look at the princess often, which he did not fail to do.
indeed, she was so pretty that it was a real pleasure to look at her.
when the horse which the duchess was to ride appeared beside graciosa's, it looked no better than an old cart horse, and as to their trappings, there was simply no comparison between them, as the princess's saddle and bridle were one glittering mass of diamonds.
the king had so many other things to think of that he did not notice this, but all his courtiers were entirely taken up with admiring the princess and her charming page in green, who was more handsome and distinguished-looking than all the rest of the court put together.
when they met the duchess grumbly she was seated in an open carriage trying in vain to look dignified.
the king and the princess saluted her, and her horse was brought forward for her to mount.
but when she saw graciosa's she cried angrily: "if that child is to have a better horse than mine, i will go back to my own castle this very minute.
what is the good of being a queen if one is to be slighted like this?"
upon this the king commanded graciosa to dismount and to beg the duchess to honour her by mounting her horse.
the princess obeyed in silence, and the duchess, without looking at her or thanking her, scrambled up upon the beautiful horse, where she sat looking like a bundle of clothes, and eight officers had to hold her up for fear she should fall off.
even then she was not satisfied, and was still grumbling and muttering, so they asked her what was the matter."
i wish that page in green to come and lead the horse, as he did when graciosa rode it," said she very sharply.
and the king ordered the page to come and lead the queen's horse.
percinet and the princess looked at one another, but said never a word, and then he did as the king commanded, and the procession started in great pomp.
the duchess was greatly elated, and as she sat there in state would not have wished to change places even with graciosa.
but at the moment when it was least expected the beautiful horse began to plunge and rear and kick, and finally to run away at such a pace that it was impossible to stop him.
at first the duchess clung to the saddle, but she was very soon thrown off and fell in a heap among the stones and thorns, and there they found her, shaken to a jelly, and collected what was left of her as if she had been a broken glass.
her bonnet was here and her shoes there, her face was scratched, and her fine clothes were covered with mud.
never was a bride seen in such a dismal plight.
they carried her back to the palace and put her to bed, but as soon as she recovered enough to be able to speak, she began to scold and rage, and declared that the whole affair was graciosa's fault, that she had contrived it on purpose to try and get rid of her, and that if the king would not have her punished, she would go back to her castle and enjoy her riches by herself.
at this the king was terribly frightened, for he did not at all want to lose all those barrels of gold and jewels.
so he hastened to appease the duchess, and told her she might punish graciosa in any way she pleased.
thereupon she sent for graciosa, who turned pale and trembled at the summons, for she guessed that it promised nothing agreeable for her.
she looked all about for percinet, but he was nowhere to be seen; so she had no choice but to go to the duchess grumbly's room.
she had hardly got inside the door when she was seized by four waiting women, who looked so tall and strong and cruel that the princess shuddered at the sight of them, and still more when she saw them arming themselves with great bundles of rods, and heard the duchess call out to them from her bed to beat the princess without mercy.
poor graciosa wished miserably that percinet could only know what was happening and come to rescue her.
but no sooner did they begin to beat her than she found, to her great relief, that the rods had changed to bundles of peacock's feathers, and though the duchess's women went on till they were so tired that they could no longer raise their arms from their sides, yet she was not hurt in the least.
however, the duchess thought she must be black and blue after such a beating; so graciosa, when she was released, pretended to feel very bad, and went away into her own room, where she told her nurse all that had happened, and then the nurse left her, and when the princess turned round there stood percinet beside her.
she thanked him gratefully for helping her so cleverly, and they laughed and were very merry over the way they had taken in the duchess and her waiting-maids; but percinet advised her still to pretend to be ill for a few days, and after promising to come to her aid whenever she needed him, he disappeared as suddenly as he had come.
the duchess was so delighted at the idea that graciosa was really ill, that she herself recovered twice as fast as she would have done otherwise, and the wedding was held with great magnificence.
now as the king knew that, above all other things, the queen loved to be told that she was beautiful, he ordered that her portrait should be painted, and that a tournament should be held, at which all the bravest knights of his court should maintain against all comers that grumbly was the most beautiful princess in the world.
numbers of knights came from far and wide to accept the challenge, and the hideous queen sat in great state in a balcony hung with cloth of gold to watch the contests, and graciosa had to stand up behind her, where her loveliness was so conspicuous that the combatants could not keep their eyes off her.
but the queen was so vain that she thought all their admiring glances were for herself, especially as, in spite of the badness of their cause, the king's knights were so brave that they were the victors in every combat.
however, when nearly all the strangers had been defeated, a young unknown knight presented himself.
he carried a portrait, enclosed in a bow encrusted with diamonds, and he declared himself willing to maintain against them all that the queen was the ugliest creature in the world, and that the princess whose portrait he carried was the most beautiful.
so one by one the knights came out against him, and one by one he vanquished them all, and then he opened the box, and said that, to console them, he would show them the portrait of his queen of beauty, and when he did so everyone recognised the princess graciosa.
the unknown knight then saluted her gracefully and retired, without telling his name to anybody.
but graciosa had no difficulty in guessing that it was percinet.
as to the queen, she was so furiously angry that she could hardly speak; but she soon recovered her voice, and overwhelmed graciosa with a torrent of reproaches.
"what!"
she said, "do you dare to dispute with me for the prize of beauty, and expect me to endure this insult to my knights?
but i will not bear it, proud princess.
i will have my revenge.'"
i assure you, madam," said the princess, "that i had nothing to do with it and am quite willing that you shall be declared queen of beauty "ah!
you are pleased to jest, popinjay!"
said the queen, "but it will be my turn soon!"
the king was speedily told what had happened, and how the princess was in terror of the angry queen, but he only said: "the queen must do as she pleases.
graciosa belongs to her!"
the wicked queen waited impatiently until night fell, and then she ordered her carriage to be brought.
graciosa, much against her will, was forced into it, and away they drove, and never stopped until they reached a great forest, a hundred leagues from the palace.
this forest was so gloomy, and so full of lions, tigers, bears and wolves, that nobody dared pass through it even by daylight, and here they set down the unhappy princess in the middle of the black night, and left her in spite of all her tears and entreaties.
the princess stood quite still at first from sheer bewilderment, but when the last sound of the retreating carriages died away in the distance she began to run aimlessly hither and thither, sometimes knocking herself against a tree, sometimes tripping over a stone, fearing every minute that she would be eaten up by the lions.
presently she was too tired to advance another step, so she threw herself down upon the ground and cried miserably: "oh, percinet!
where are you?
have you forgotten me altogether?"
she had hardly spoken when all the forest was lighted up with a sudden glow.
every tree seemed to be sending out a soft radiance, which was clearer than moonlight and softer than daylight, and at the end of a long avenue of trees opposite to her the princess saw a palace of clear crystal which blazed like the sun.
at that moment a slight sound behind her made her start round, and there stood percinet himself.
"did i frighten you, my princess?"
said he."
i come to bid you welcome to our fairy palace, in the name of the queen, my mother, who is prepared to love you as much as i do."
the princess joyfully mounted with him into a little sledge, drawn by two stags, which bounded off and drew them swiftly to the wonderful palace, where the queen received her with the greatest kindness, and a splendid banquet was served at once.
graciosa was so happy to have found percinet, and to have escaped from the gloomy forest and all its terrors, that she was very hungry and very merry, and they were a gay party.
after supper they went into another lovely room, where the crystal walls were covered with pictures, and the princess saw with great surprise that her own history was represented, even down to the moment when percinet found her in the forest.
"your painters must indeed be diligent," she said, pointing out the last picture to the prince.
"they are obliged to be, for i will not have anything forgotten that happens to you," he answered.
when the princess grew sleepy, twenty-four charming maidens put her to bed in the prettiest room she had ever seen, and then sang to her so sweetly that graciosa's dreams were all of mermaids, and cool sea waves, and caverns, in which she wandered with percinet; but when she woke up again her first thought was that, delightful as this fairy palace seemed to her, yet she could not stay in it, but must go back to her father.
when she had been dressed by the four-and-twenty maidens in a charming robe which the queen had sent for her, and in which she looked prettier than ever, prince percinet came to see her, and was bitterly disappointed when she told him what she had been thinking.
he begged her to consider again how unhappy the wicked queen would make her, and how, if she would but marry him, all the fairy palace would be hers, and his one thought would be to please her.
but, in spite of everything he could say, the princess was quite determined to go back, though he at last persuaded her to stay eight days, which were so full of pleasure and amusement that they passed like a few hours.
on the last day, graciosa, who had often felt anxious to know what was going on in her father's palace, said to percinet that she was sure that he could find out for her, if he would, what reason the queen had given her father for her sudden disappearance.
percinet at first offered to send his courier to find out, but the princess said: "oh!
is n't there a quicker way of knowing than that?"
"very well," said percinet, "you shall see for yourself."
so up they went together to the top of a very high tower, which, like the rest of the castle, was built entirely of rock-crystal.
there the prince held graciosa's hand in his, and made her put the tip of her little finger into her mouth, and look towards the town, and immediately she saw the wicked queen go to the king, and heard her say to him, "that miserable princess is dead, and no great loss either.
i have ordered that she shall be buried at once."
and then the princess saw how she dressed up a log of wood and had it buried, and how the old king cried, and all the people murmured that the queen had killed graciosa with her cruelties, and that she ought to have her head cut off.
when the princess saw that the king was so sorry for her pretended death that he could neither eat nor drink, she cried: "ah, percinet!
take me back quickly if you love me."
and so, though he did not want to at all, he was obliged to promise that he would let her go.
"you may not regret me, princess," he said sadly, "for i fear that you do not love me well enough; but i foresee that you will more than once regret that you left this fairy palace where we have been so happy."
but, in spite of all he could say, she bade farewell to the queen, his mother, and prepared to set out; so percinet, very unwillingly, brought the little sledge with the stags and she mounted beside him.
but they had hardly gone twenty yards when a tremendous noise behind her made graciosa look back, and she saw the palace of crystal fly into a million splinters, like the spray of a fountain, and vanish.
"oh, percinet!"
she cried, "what has happened?
the palace is gone."
"yes," he answered, "my palace is a thing of the past; you will see it again, but not until after you have been buried."
"now you are angry with me," said graciosa in her most coaxing voice, "though after all i am more to be pitied than you are."
when they got near the palace the prince made the sledge and themselves invisible, so the princess got in unobserved, and ran up to the great hall where the king was sitting all by himself.
at first he was very much startled by graciosa's sudden appearance, but she told him how the queen had left her out in the forest, and how she had caused a log of wood to be buried.
the king, who did not know what to think, sent quickly and had it dug up, and sure enough it was as the princess had said.
then he caressed graciosa, and made her sit down to supper with him, and they were as happy as possible.
but someone had by this time told the wicked queen that graciosa had come back, and was at supper with the king, and in she flew in a terrible fury.
the poor old king quite trembled before her, and when she declared that graciosa was not the princess at all, but a wicked impostor, and that if the king did not give her up at once she would go back to her own castle and never see him again, he had not a word to say, and really seemed to believe that it was not graciosa after all.
so the queen in great triumph sent for her waiting women, who dragged the unhappy princess away and shut her up in a garret; they took away all her jewels and her pretty dress, and gave her a rough cotton frock, wooden shoes, and a little cloth cap.
there was some straw in a corner, which was all she had for a bed, and they gave her a very little bit of black bread to eat.
in this miserable plight graciosa did indeed regret the fairy palace, and she would have called percinet to her aid, only she felt sure he was still vexed with her for leaving him, and thought that she could not expect him to come.
meanwhile the queen had sent for an old fairy, as malicious as herself, and said to her: "you must find me some task for this fine princess which she can not possibly do, for i mean to punish her, and if she does not do what i order, she will not be able to say that i am unjust."
so the old fairy said she would think it over, and come again the next day.
when she returned she brought with her a skein of thread, three times as big as herself; it was so fine that a breath of air would break it, and so tangled that it was impossible to see the beginning or the end of it.
the queen sent for graciosa, and said to her: "do you see this skein?
set your clumsy fingers to work upon it, for i must have it disentangled by sunset, and if you break a single thread it will be the worse for you."
so saying she left her, locking the door behind her with three keys.
the princess stood dismayed at the sight of the terrible skein.
if she did but turn it over to see where to begin, she broke a thousand threads, and not one could she disentangle.
at last she threw it into the middle of the floor, crying: "oh, percinet!
this fatal skein will be the death of me if you will not forgive me and help me once more."
and immediately in came percinet as easily as if he had all the keys in his own possession.
"here i am, princess, as much as ever at your service," said he, "though really you are not very kind to me."
then he just stroked the skein with his wand, and all the broken threads joined themselves together, and the whole skein wound itself smoothly off in the most surprising manner, and the prince, turning to graciosa, asked if there was nothing else that she wished him to do for her, and if the time would never come when she would wish for him for his own sake.
"do n't be vexed with me, percinet," she said."
i am unhappy enough without that."
"but why should you be unhappy, my princess?"
cried he.
"only come with me and we shall be as happy as the day is long together."
"but suppose you get tired of me?"
said graciosa.
the prince was so grieved at this want of confidence that he left her without another word.
the wicked queen was in such a hurry to punish graciosa that she thought the sun would never set; and indeed it was before the appointed time that she came with her four fairies, and as she fitted the three keys into the locks she said: "i'll venture to say that the idle minx has not done anything at all -- she prefers to sit with her hands before her to keep them white."
but, as soon as she entered, graciosa presented her with the ball of thread in perfect order, so that she had no fault to find, and could only pretend to discover that it was soiled, for which imaginary fault she gave graciosa a blow on each cheek, that made her white and pink skin turn green and yellow.
and then she sent her back to be locked into the garret once more.
then the queen sent for the fairy again and scolded her furiously.
"do n't make such a mistake again; find me something that it will be quite impossible for her to do," she said.
so the next day the fairy appeared with a huge barrel full of the feathers of all sorts of birds.
there were nightingales, canaries, goldfinches, linnets, tomtits, parrots, owls, sparrows, doves, ostriches, bustards, peacocks, larks, partridges, and everything else that you can think of.
these feathers were all mixed up in such confusion that the birds themselves could not have chosen out their own.
"here," said the fairy, "is a little task which it will take all your prisoner's skill and patience to accomplish.
tell her to pick out and lay in a separate heap the feathers of each bird.
she would need to be a fairy to do it."
the queen was more than delighted at the thought of the despair this task would cause the princess.
she sent for her, and with the same threats as before locked her up with the three keys, ordering that all the feathers should be sorted by sunset.
graciosa set to work at once, but before she had taken out a dozen feathers she found that it was perfectly impossible to know one from another.
"ah!
well," she sighed, "the queen wishes to kill me, and if i must die i must.
i can not ask percinet to help me again, for if he really loved me he would not wait till i called him, he would come without that.'"
i am here, my graciosa," cried percinet, springing out of the barrel where he had been hiding.
"how can you still doubt that i love you with all my heart?"
then he gave three strokes of his wand upon the barrel, and all the feathers flew out in a cloud and settled down in neat little separate heaps all round the room.
"what should i do without you, percinet?"
said graciosa gratefully.
but still she could not quite make up her mind to go with him and leave her father's kingdom for ever; so she begged him to give her more time to think of it, and he had to go away disappointed once more.
when the wicked queen came at sunset she was amazed and infuriated to find the task done.
however, she complained that the heaps of feathers were badly arranged, and for that the princess was beaten and sent back to her garret.
then the queen sent for the fairy once more, and scolded her until she was fairly terrified, and promised to go home and think of another task for graciosa, worse than either of the others.
at the end of three days she came again, bringing with her a box.
"tell your slave," said he, "to carry this wherever you please, but on no account to open it.
she will not be able to help doing so, and then you will be quite satisfied with the result."
so the queen came to graciosa, and said: "carry this box to my castle, and place it upon the table in my own room.
but i forbid you on pain of death to look at what it contains."
graciosa set out, wearing her little cap and wooden shoes and the old cotton frock, but even in this disguise she was so beautiful that all the passers-by wondered who she could be.
she had not gone far before the heat of the sun and the weight of the box tired her so much that she sat down to rest in the shade of a little wood which lay on one side of a green meadow.
she was carefully holding the box upon her lap when she suddenly felt the greatest desire to open it.
"what could possibly happen if i did?"
she said to herself."
i should not take anything out.
i should only just see what was there."
and without farther hesitation she lifted the cover.
instantly out came swarms of little men and women, no taller than her finger, and scattered themselves all over the meadow, singing and dancing, and playing the merriest games, so that at first graciosa was delighted and watched them with much amusement.
but presently, when she was rested and wished to go on her way, she found that, do what she would, she could not get them back into their box.
if she chased them in the meadow they fled into the wood, and if she pursued them into the wood they dodged round trees and behind sprigs of moss, and with peals of elfin laughter scampered back again into the meadow.
at last, weary and terrified, she sat down and cried.
"it is my own fault," she said sadly.
"percinet, if you can still care for such an imprudent princess, do come and help me once more."
immediately percinet stood before her.
"ah, princess!"
he said, "but for the wicked queen i fear you would never think of me at all."
"indeed i should," said graciosa;" i am not so ungrateful as you think.
only wait a little and i believe i shall love you quite dearly."
percinet was pleased at this, and with one stroke of his wand compelled all the wilful little people to come back to their places in the box, and then rendering the princess invisible he took her with him in his chariot to the castle.
when the princess presented herself at the door, and said that the queen had ordered her to place the box in her own room, the governor laughed heartily at the idea.
"no, no, my little shepherdess," said he, "that is not the place for you.
no wooden shoes have ever been over that floor yet."
then graciosa begged him to give her a written message telling the queen that he had refused to admit her.
this he did, and she went back to percinet, who was waiting for her, and they set out together for the palace.
you may imagine that they did not go the shortest way, but the princess did not find it too long, and before they parted she had promised that if the queen was still cruel to her, and tried again to play her any spiteful trick, she would leave her and come to percinet for ever.
when the queen saw her returning she fell upon the fairy, whom she had kept with her, and pulled her hair, and scratched her face, and would really have killed her if a fairy could be killed.
and when the princess presented the letter and the box she threw them both upon the fire without opening them, and looked very much as if she would like to throw the princess after them.
however, what she really did do was to have a great hole as deep as a well dug in her garden, and the top of it covered with a flat stone.
then she went and walked near it, and said to graciosa and all her ladies who were with her: "i am told that a great treasure lies under that stone; let us see if we can lift it."
so they all began to push and pull at it, and graciosa among the others, which was just what the queen wanted; for as soon as the stone was lifted high enough, she gave the princess a push which sent her down to the bottom of the well, and then the stone was let fall again, and there she was a prisoner.
graciosa felt that now indeed she was hopelessly lost, surely not even percinet could find her in the heart of the earth.
"this is like being buried alive," she said with a shudder.
"oh, percinet!
if you only knew how i am suffering for my want of trust in you!
but how could i be sure that you would not be like other men and tire of me from the moment you were sure i loved you?"
as she spoke she suddenly saw a little door open, and the sunshine blazed into the dismal well.
graciosa did not hesitate an instant, but passed through into a charming garden.
flowers and fruit grew on every side, fountains plashed, and birds sang in the branches overhead, and when she reached a great avenue of trees and looked up to see where it would lead her, she found herself close to the palace of crystal.
yes!
there was no mistaking it, and the queen and percinet were coming to meet her.
"ah, princess!"
said the queen, "do n't keep this poor percinet in suspense any longer.
you little guess the anxiety he has suffered while you were in the power of that miserable queen."
the princess kissed her gratefully, and promised to do as she wished in everything, and holding out her hand to percinet, with a smile, she said: "do you remember telling me that i should not see your palace again until i had been buried?
i wonder if you guessed then that, when that happened, i should tell you that i love you with all my heart, and will marry you whenever you like?"
prince percinet joyfully took the hand that was given him, and, for fear the princess should change her mind, the wedding was held at once with the greatest splendour, and graciosa and percinet lived happily ever after.
-lrb- 11 -rrb- -lrb- 11 -rrb- gracieuse et percinet.
mdme.
d'aulnoy.
the three princesses of whiteland there was once upon a time a fisherman, who lived hard by a palace and fished for the king's table.
one day he was out fishing, but caught nothing at all.
let him do what he might with rod and line, there was never even so much as a sprat on his hook; but when the day was well nigh over, a head rose up out of the water, and said: "if you will give me what your wife shows you when you go home, you shall catch fish enough."
so the man said "yes" in a moment, and then he caught fish in plenty; but when he got home at night, and his wife showed him a baby which had just been born, and fell a-weeping and wailing when he told her of the promise which he had given, he was very unhappy.
all this was soon told to the king up at the palace, and when he heard what sorrow the woman was in, and the reason of it, he said that he himself would take the child and see if he could not save it.
the baby was a boy, and the king took him at once and brought him up as his own son until the lad grew up.
then one day he begged to have leave to go out with his father to fish; he had a strong desire to do this, he said.
the king was very unwilling to permit it, but at last the lad got leave.
he stayed with his father, and all went prosperously and well with them the whole day, until they came back to land in the evening.
then the lad found that he had lost his pocket-handkerchief, and would go out in the boat after it; but no sooner had he got into the boat than it began to move off with him so quickly that the water foamed all round about, and all that the lad did to keep the boat back with the oars was done to no purpose, for it went on and on the whole night through, and at last he came to a white strand that lay far, far away.
there he landed, and when he had walked on for some distance he met an old man with a long white beard.
"what is the name of this country?"
said the youth.
"whiteland," answered the man, and then he begged the youth to tell him whence he came and what he was going to do, and the youth did so.
"well, then," said the man, "if you walk on farther along the seashore here, you will come to three princesses who are standing in the earth so that their heads alone are out of it.
then the first of them will call you -- she is the eldest -- and will beg you very prettily to come to her and help her, and the second will do the same, but you must not go near either of them.
hurry past, as if you neither saw nor heard them; but you shall go to the third and do what she bids you; it will bring you good fortune."
when the youth came to the first princess, she called to him and begged him to come to her very prettily, but he walked on as if he did not even see her, and he passed by the second in the same way, but he went up to the third.
"if thou wilt do what i tell thee, thou shalt choose among us three," said the princess.
so the lad said that he was most willing, and she told him that three trolls had planted them all three there in the earth, but that formerly they had dwelt in the castle which he could see at some distance in the wood.
"now," she said, "thou shalt go into the castle, and let the trolls beat thee one night for each of us, and if thou canst but endure that, thou wilt set us free."
"yes," answered the lad," i will certainly try to do so."
"when thou goest in," continued the princess, "two lions will stand by the doorway, but if thou only goest straight between them they will do thee no harm; go straight forward into a small dark chamber; there thou shalt lie down.
then the troll will come and beat thee, but thou shalt take the flask which is hanging on the wall, and anoint thyself wheresoever he has wounded thee, after which thou shalt be as well as before.
then lay hold of the sword which is hanging by the side of the flask, and smite the troll dead."
so he did what the princess had told him.
he walked straight in between the lions just as if he did not see them, and then into the small chamber, and lay down on the bed.
the first night a troll came with three heads and three rods, and beat the lad most unmercifully; but he held out until the troll was done with him, and then he took the flask and rubbed himself.
having done this, he grasped the sword and smote the troll dead.
in the morning when he went to the sea-shore the princesses were out of the earth as far as their waists.
the next night everything happened in the same way, but the troll who came then had six heads and six rods, and he beat him much more severely than the first had done but when the lad went out of doors next morning, the princesses were out of the earth as far as their knees.
on the third night a troll came who had nine heads and nine rods, and he struck the lad and flogged him so long, that at last he swooned away; so the troll took him up and flung him against the wall, and this made the flask of ointment fall down, and it splashed all over him, and he became as strong as ever again.
then, without loss of time, he grasped the sword and struck the troll dead, and in the morning when he went out of the castle the princesses were standing there entirely out of the earth.
so he took the youngest for his queen, and lived with her very happily for a long time.
at last, however, he took a fancy to go home for a short time to see his parents.
his queen did not like this, but when his longing grew so great that he told her he must and would go, she said to him: "one thing shalt thou promise me, and that is, to do what thy father bids thee, but not what thy mother bids thee," and this he promised.
so she gave him a ring, which enabled him who wore it to obtain two wishes.
he wished himself at home, and instantly found himself there; but his parents were so amazed at the splendour of his apparel that their wonder never ceased.
when he had been at home for some days his mother wanted him to go up to the palace, to show the king what a great man he had become.
the father said, "no; he must not do that, for if he does we shall have no more delight in him this time; "but he spoke in vain, for the mother begged and prayed until at last he went.
when he arrived there he was more splendid, both in raiment and in all else, than the other king, who did not like it, and said: "well, you can see what kind of queen mine is, but i ca n't see yours.
i do not believe you have such a pretty queen as i have."
"would to heaven she were standing here, and then you would be able to see!"
said the young king, and in an instant she was standing there.
but she was very sorrowful, and said to him, "why didst thou not remember my words, and listen only to what thy father said?
now must i go home again at once, and thou hast wasted both thy wishes."
then she tied a ring in his hair, which had her name upon it, and wished herself at home again.
and now the young king was deeply afflicted, and day out and day in went about thinking of naught else but how to get back again to his queen."
i will try to see if there is any place where i can learn how to find whiteland," he thought, and journeyed forth out into the world.
when he had gone some distance he came to a mountain, where he met a man who was lord over all the beasts in the forest -- for they all came to him when he blew a horn which he had.
so the king asked where whiteland was."
i do not know that," he answered, "but i will ask my beasts."
then he blew his horn and inquired whether any of them knew where whiteland lay, but there was not one who knew that.
so the man gave him a pair of snow shoes.
"when you have these on," he said, "you will come to my brother, who lives hundreds of miles from here; he is lord over all the birds in the air -- ask him.
when you have got there, just turn the shoes so that the toes point this way, and then they will come home again of their own accord."
when the king arrived there he turned the shoes as the lord of the beasts had bidden him, and they went back.
and now he once more asked after whiteland, and the man summoned all the birds together, and inquired if any of them knew where whiteland lay.
no, none knew this.
long after the others there came an old eagle.
he had been absent ten whole years, but he too knew no more than the rest.
"well, well," said the man, "then you shall have the loan of a pair of snow shoes of mine.
if you wear them you will get to my brother, who lives hundreds of miles from here.
he is lord of all the fish in the sea -- you can ask him.
but do not forget to turn the shoes round."
the king thanked him, put on the shoes, and when he had got to him who was lord of all the fish in the sea, he turned the snow shoes round, and back they went just as the others had gone, and he asked once more where whiteland was.
the man called the fish together with his horn, but none of them knew anything about it.
at last came an old, old pike, which he had great difficulty in bringing home to him.
when he asked the pike, it said, "yes, whiteland is well known to me, for i have been cook there these ten years.
to-morrow morning i have to go back there, for now the queen, whose king is staying away, is to marry some one else."
"if that be the case i will give you a piece of advice," said the man.
"not far from here on a moor stand three brothers, who have stood there a hundred years fighting for a hat, a cloak, and a pair of boots; if any one has these three things he can make himself invisible, and if he desires to go to any place, he has but to wish and he is there.
you may tell them that you have a desire to try these things, and then you will be able to decide which of the men is to have them."
so the king thanked him and went, and did what he had said.
"what is this that you are standing fighting about for ever and ever?"
said he to the brothers; "let me make a trial of these things, and then i will judge between you."
they willingly consented to this, but when he had got the hat, the cloak, and the boots, he said, "next time we meet you shall have my decision," and hereupon he wished himself away.
while he was going quickly through the air he fell in with the north wind.
"and where may you be going?"
said the north wind.
"to whiteland," said the king, and then he related what had happened to him.
"well," said the north wind, "you can easily go a little quicker than i can, for i have to puff and blow into every corner; but when you get there, place yourself on the stairs by the side of the door, and then i will come blustering in as if i wanted to blow down the whole castle, and when the prince who is to have your queen comes out to see what is astir, just take him by the throat and fling him out, and then i will try to carry him away from court."
as the north wind had said, so did the king.
he stood on the stairs, and when the north wind came howling and roaring, and caught the roof and walls of the castle till they shook again, the prince went out to see what was the matter; but as soon as he came the king took him by the neck and flung him out, and then the north wind laid hold of him and carried him off.
and when he was rid of him the king went into the castle.
at first the queen did not know him, because he had grown so thin and pale from having travelled so long and so sorrowfully; but when she saw her ring she was heartily glad, and then the rightful wedding was held, and held in such a way that it was talked about far and wide.
-lrb- 12 -rrb- -lrb- 12 -rrb- from j. moe.
the voice of death once upon a time there lived a man whose one wish and prayer was to get rich.
day and night he thought of nothing else, and at last his prayers were granted, and he became very wealthy.
now being so rich, and having so much to lose, he felt that it would be a terrible thing to die and leave all his possessions behind; so he made up his mind to set out in search of a land where there was no death.
he got ready for his journey, took leave of his wife, and started.
whenever he came to a new country the first question that he asked was whether people died in that land, and when he heard that they did, he set out again on his quest.
at last he reached a country where he was told that the people did not even know the meaning of the word death.
our traveller was delighted when he heard this, and said: "but surely there are great numbers of people in your land, if no one ever dies?"
"no," they replied, "there are not great numbers, for you see from time to time a voice is heard calling first one and then another, and whoever hears that voice gets up and goes away, and never comes back."
"and do they see the person who calls them," he asked, "or do they only hear his voice?"
"they both see and hear him," was the answer.
well, the man was amazed when he heard that the people were stupid enough to follow the voice, though they knew that if they went when it called them they would never return.
and he went back to his own home and got all his possessions together, and, taking his wife and family, he set out resolved to go and live in that country where the people did not die, but where instead they heard a voice calling them, which they followed into a land from which they never returned.
for he had made up his own mind that when he or any of his family heard that voice they would pay no heed to it, however loudly it called.
after he had settled down in his new home, and had got everything in order about him, he warned his wife and family that, unless they wanted to die, they must on no account listen to a voice which they might some day hear calling them.
for some years everything went well with them, and they lived happily in their new home.
but one day, while they were all sit-ting together round the table, his wife suddenly started up, exclaiming in a loud voice: "i am coming!
i am coming!"
and she began to look round the room for her fur coat, but her husband jumped up, and taking firm hold of her by the hand, held her fast, and reproached her, saying: "do n't you remember what i told you?
stay where you are unless you wish to die."
"but do n't you hear that voice calling me?"
she answered."
i am merely going to see why i am wanted.
i shall come back directly."
so she fought and struggled to get away from her husband, and to go where the voice summoned.
but he would not let her go, and had all the doors of the house shut and bolted.
when she saw that he had done this, she said: "very well, dear husband, i shall do what you wish, and remain where i am."
so her husband believed that it was all right, and that she had thought better of it, and had got over her mad impulse to obey the voice.
but a few minutes later she made a sudden dash for one of the doors, opened it and darted out, followed by her husband.
he caught her by the fur coat, and begged and implored her not to go, for if she did she would certainly never return.
she said nothing, but let her arms fall backwards, and suddenly bending herself forward, she slipped out of the coat, leaving it in her husband's hands.
he, poor man, seemed turned to stone as he gazed after her hurrying away from him, and calling at the top of her voice, as she ran: "i am coming!
i am coming!"
when she was quite out of sight her husband recovered his wits and went back into his house, murmuring: "if she is so foolish as to wish to die, i ca n't help it.
i warned and implored her to pay no heed to that voice, however loudly it might call."
well, days and weeks and months and years passed, and nothing happened to disturb the peace of the household.
but one day the man was at the barber's as usual, being shaved.
the shop was full of people, and his chin had just been covered with a lather of soap, when, suddenly starting up from the chair, he called out in a loud voice: "i wo n't come, do you hear?
i wo n't come!"
the barber and the other people in the shop listened to him with amazement.
but again looking towards the door, he exclaimed: "i tell you, once and for all, i do not mean to come, so go away."
and a few minutes later he called out again: "go away, i tell you, or it will be the worse for you.
you may call as much as you like but you will never get me to come."
and he got so angry that you might have thought that some one was actually standing at the door, tormenting him.
at last he jumped up, and caught the razor out of the barber's hand, exclaiming: "give me that razor, and i'll teach him to let people alone for the future."
and he rushed out of the house as if he were running after some one, whom no one else saw.
the barber, determined not to lose his razor, pursued the man, and they both continued running at full speed till they had got well out of the town, when all of a sudden the man fell head foremost down a precipice, and never was seen again.
so he too, like the others, had been forced against his will to follow the voice that called him.
the barber, who went home whistling and congratulating himself on the escape he had made, described what had happened, and it was noised abroad in the country that the people who had gone away, and had never returned, had all fallen into that pit; for till then they had never known what had happened to those who had heard the voice and obeyed its call.
but when crowds of people went out from the town to examine the ill-fated pit that had swallowed up such numbers, and yet never seemed to be full, they could discover nothing.
all that they could see was a vast plain, that looked as if it had been there since the beginning of the world.
and from that time the people of the country began to die like ordinary mortals all the world over.
-lrb- 13 -rrb- -lrb- 13 -rrb- roumanian tales from the german of mite thremnitz.
the six sillies once upon a time there was a young girl who reached the age of thirty-seven without ever having had a lover, for she was so foolish that no one wanted to marry her.
one day, however, a young man arrived to pay his addresses to her, and her mother, beaming with joy, sent her daughter down to the cellar to draw a jug of beer.
as the girl never came back the mother went down to see what had become of her, and found her sitting on the stairs, her head in her hands, while by her side the beer was running all over the floor, as she had forgotten to close the tap.
"what are you doing there?"
asked the mother."
i was thinking what i shall call my first child after i am married to that young man.
all the names in the calendar are taken already."
the mother sat down on the staircase beside her daughter and said," i will think about it with you, my dear."
the father who had stayed upstairs with the young man was surprised that neither his wife nor his daughter came back, and in his turn went down to look for them.
he found them both sitting on the stairs, while beside them the beer was running all over the ground from the tap, which was wide open.
"what are you doing there?
the beer is running all over the cellar."
"we were thinking what we should call the children that our daughter will have when she marries that young man.
all the names in the calendar are taken already."
"well," said the father," i will think about it with you."
as neither mother nor daughter nor father came upstairs again, the lover grew impatient, and went down into the cellar to see what they could all be doing.
he found them all three sitting on the stairs, while beside them the beer was running all over the ground from the tap, which was wide open.
"what in the world are you all doing that you do n't come upstairs, and that you let the beer run all over the cellar?"
"yes, i know, my boy," said the father, "but if you marry our daughter what shall you call your children?
all the names in the calendar are taken."
when the young man heard this answer he replied: "well!
good-bye, i am going away.
when i shall have found three people sillier than you i will come back and marry your daughter."
so he continued his journey, and after walking a long way he reached an orchard.
then he saw some people knocking down walnuts, and trying to throw them into a cart with a fork.
"what are you doing there?"
he asked.
"we want to load the cart with our walnuts, but we ca n't manage to do it."
the lover advised them to get a basket and to put the walnuts in it, so as to turn them into the cart.
"well," he said to himself," i have already found someone more foolish than those three."
so he went on his way, and by-and-by he came to a wood.
there he saw a man who wanted to give his pig some acorns to eat, and was trying with all his might to make him climb up the oak-tree.
"what are you doing, my good man?"
asked he."
i want to make my pig eat some acorns, and i ca n't get him to go up the tree."
"if you were to climb up and shake down the acorns the pig would pick them up."
"oh, i never thought of that."
"here is the second idiot," said the lover to himself.
some way farther along the road he came upon a man who had never worn any trousers, and who was trying to put on a pair.
so he had fastened them to a tree and was jumping with all his might up in the air so that he should hit the two legs of the trousers as he came down.
"it would be much better if you held them in your hands," said the young man, "and then put your legs one after the other in each hole."
"dear me to be sure!
you are sharper than i am, for that never occurred to me."
and having found three people more foolish than his bride, or her father or her mother, the lover went back to marry the young lady.
and in course of time they had a great many children.
story from hainaut.
-lrb- m. lemoine.
la tradition.
no, 34, -rrb- kari woodengown there was once upon a time a king who had become a widower.
his queen had left one daughter behind her, and she was so wise and so pretty that it was impossible for any one to be wiser or prettier.
for a long time the king went sorrowing for his wife, for he had loved her exceedingly; but at last he grew tired of living alone, and married a queen who was a widow, and she also had a daughter, who was just as ill-favoured and wicked as the other was good and beautiful.
the stepmother and her daughter were envious of the king's daughter because she was so pretty, but so long as the king was at home they dared do her no harm, because his love for her was so great.
then there came a time when he made war on another king and went away to fight, and then the new queen thought that she could do what she liked; so she both hungered and beat the king's daughter and chased her about into every corner.
at last she thought that everything was too good for her, and set her to work to look after the cattle.
so she went about with the cattle, and herded them in the woods and in the fields.
of food she got little or none, and grew pale and thin, and was nearly always weeping and sad.
among the herd there was a great blue bull, which always kept itself very smart and sleek, and often came to the king's daughter and let her stroke him.
so one day, when she was again sitting crying and sorrowing, the bull came up to her and asked why she was always so full of care?
she made no answer, but continued to weep.
"well," said the bull," i know what it is, though you will not tell me; you are weeping because the queen is unkind to you, and because she wants to starve you to death.
but you need be under no concern about food, for in my left ear there lies a cloth, and if you will but take it and spread it out, you can have as many dishes as you like."
so she did this, and took the cloth and spread it out upon the grass, and then it was covered with the daintiest dishes that any one could desire, and there was wine, and mead, and cake.
and now she became brisk and well again, and grew so rosy, and plump, and fair that the queen and her scraggy daughter turned blue and white with vexation at it.
the queen could not imagine how her step-daughter could look so well on such bad food, so she ordered one of her handmaidens to follow her into the wood and watch her, and see how it was, for she thought that some of the servants must be giving her food.
so the maid followed her into the wood and watched, and saw how the step-daughter took the cloth out of the blue bull's ear, and spread it out, and how the cloth was then covered with the most delicate dishes, which the step-daughter ate and regaled herself with.
so the waiting-maid went home and told the queen.
and now the king came home, and he had conquered the other king with whom he had been at war.
so there was great gladness in the palace, but no one was more glad than the king's daughter.
the queen, however, pretended to be ill, and gave the doctor much money to say that she would never be well again unless she had some of the flesh of the blue bull to eat.
both the king's daughter and the people in the palace asked the doctor if there were no other means of saving her, and begged for the bull's life, for they were all fond of him, and they all declared that there was no such bull in the whole country; but it was all in vain, he was to be killed, and should be killed, and nothing else would serve.
when the king's daughter heard it she was full of sorrow, and went down to the byre to the bull.
he too was standing there hanging his head, and looking so downcast that she fell a-weeping over him.
"what are you weeping for?"
said the bull.
so she told him that the king had come home again, and that the queen had pretended to be ill, and that she had made the doctor say that she could never be well again unless some of the flesh of the blue bull was given her to eat, and that now he was to be killed.
"when once they have taken my life they will soon kill you also," said the bull.
"if you are of the same mind with me, we will take our departure this very night."
the king's daughter thought that it was bad to go and leave her father, but that it was worse still to be in the same house with the queen, so she promised the bull that she would come.
at night, when all the others had gone to bed, the king's daughter stole softly down to the byre to the bull, and he took her on his back and got out of the courtyard as quickly as he could.
so at cock-crow next morning, when the people came to kill the bull, he was gone, and when the king got up and asked for his daughter she was gone too.
he sent forth messengers to all parts of the kingdom to search for them, and published his loss in all the parish churches, but there was no one who had seen anything of them.
in the meantime the bull travelled through many lands with the king's daughter on his back, and one day they came to a great copper-wood, where the trees, and the branches, and the leaves, and the flowers, and everything else was of copper.
but before they entered the wood the bull said to the king's daughter: "when we enter into this wood, you must take the greatest care not to touch a leaf of it, or all will be over both with me and with you, for a troll with three heads, who is the owner of the wood, lives here."
so she said she would be on her guard, and not touch anything.
and she was very careful, and bent herself out of the way of the branches, and put them aside with her hands; but it was so thickly wooded that it was all but impossible to get forward, and do what she might, she somehow or other tore off a leaf which got into her hand.
"oh!
oh!
what have you done now?"
said the bull.
"it will now cost us a battle for life or death; but do be careful to keep the leaf."
very soon afterwards they came to the end of the wood, and the troll with three heads came rushing up to them.
"who is that who is touching my wood?"
said the troll.
"the wood is just as much mine as yours!"
said the bull.
"we shall have a tussle for that!"
shrieked the troll.
"that may be," said the bull.
so they rushed on each other and fought, and as for the bull he butted and kicked with all the strength of his body, but the troll fought quite as well as he did, and the whole day went by before the bull put an end to him, and then he himself was so full of wounds and so worn out that he was scarcely able to move.
so they had to wait a day, and the bull told the king's daughter to take the horn of ointment which hung at the troll's belt, and rub him with it; then he was himself again, and the next day they set off once more.
and now they journeyed on for many, many days, and then after a long, long time they came to a silver wood.
the trees, and the boughs, and the leaves, and the flowers, and everything else was of silver.
before the bull went into the wood, he said to the king's daughter: "when we enter into this wood you must, for heaven's sake, be very careful not to touch anything at all, and not to pluck off even so much as one leaf, or else all will be over both with you and with me.
a troll with six heads lives here, who is the owner of the wood, and i do not think i should be able to overcome him."
"yes," said the king's daughter," i will take good care not to touch what you do not wish me to touch."
but when they got into the wood it was so crowded, and the trees so close together, that they could scarcely get forward.
she was as careful as she could be, and bent aside to get out of the way of the branches, and thrust them away from before her with her hands; but every instant a branch struck against her eyes, and in spite of all her care, she happened to pull off one leaf.
"oh!
oh!
what have you done now?"
said the bull.
it will now cost us a battle for life or death, for this troll has six heads and is twice as strong as the other, but do be careful to keep the leaf."
just as he said this came the troll.
"who is that who is touching my wood?"
he said.
"it is just as much mine as yours!"
"we shall have a tussle for that!"
screamed the troll.
"that may be," said the bull, and rushed at the troll, and gored out his eyes, and drove his horns right through him so that his entrails gushed out, but the troll fought just as well as he did, and it was three whole days before the bull got the life out of him.
but the bull was then so weak and worn out that it was only with pain and effort that he could move, and so covered with wounds that the blood streamed from him.
so he told the king's daughter to take the horn of ointment that was hanging at the troll's belt, and anoint him with it.
she did this, and then he came to himself again, but they had to stay there and rest for a week before the bull was able to go any farther.
at last they set forth on their way again, but the bull was still weak, and at first could not go quickly.
the king's daughter wished to spare him, and said that she was so young and light of foot that she would willingly walk, but he would not give her leave to do that, and she was forced to seat herself on his back again.
so they travelled for a long time, and through many lands, and the king's daughter did not at all know where he was taking her, but after a long, long time they came to a gold wood.
it was so golden that the gold dripped off it, and the trees, and the branches, and the flowers, and the leaves were all of pure gold.
here all happened just as it had happened in the copper wood and silver wood.
the bull told the king's daughter that on no account was she to touch it, for there was a troll with nine heads who was the owner, and that he was much larger and stronger than both the others put together, and that he did not believe that he could overcome him.
so she said that she would take great care not to touch anything, and he should see that she did.
but when they got into the wood it was still thicker than the silver wood, and the farther they got into it the worse it grew.
the wood became thicker and thicker, and closer and closer, and at last she thought there was no way whatsoever by which they could get forward; she was so terrified lest she should break anything off, that she sat and twisted, and turned herself on this side and on that, to get out of the way of the branches, and pushed them away from her with her hands, but every moment they struck against her eyes, so that she could not see what she was clutching at, and before she knew what she was doing she had a golden apple in her hands.
she was now in such terror that she began to cry, and wanted to throw it away, but the bull said that she was to keep it, and take the greatest care of it, and comforted her as well as he could, but he believed that it would be a hard struggle, and he doubted whether it would go well with him.
just then the troll with nine heads came, and he was so frightful that the king's daughter scarcely dared to look at him "who is this who is breaking my wood?"
he screamed "it is as much mine as yours!"
said the bull.
"we shall have a tussle for that!"
screamed the troll.
"that may be," said the bull; so they rushed at each other, and fought, and it was such a dreadful sight that the king's daughter very nearly swooned.
the bull gored the troll's eyes out and ran his horns right through him, but the troll fought as well as he did, and when the bull had gored one head to death the other heads breathed life into it again, so it was a whole week before the bull was able to kill him.
but then he himself was so worn out and weak that he could not move at all.
his body was all one wound, and he could not even so much as tell the king's daughter to take the horn of ointment out of the troll's belt and rub him with it.
she did this without being told; so he came to himself again, but he had to lie there for three weeks and rest before he was in a state to move.
then they journeyed onwards by degrees, for the bull said that they had still a little farther to go, and in this way they crossed many high hills and thick woods.
this lasted for a while, and then they came upon the fells.
"do you see anything?"
asked the bull.
"no, i see nothing but the sky above and the wild fell side," said the king's daughter.
then they climbed up higher, and the fell grew more level, so that they could see farther around them.
"do you see anything now?"
said the bull.
"yes, i see a small castle, far, far away," said the princess.
"it is not so very little after all," said the bull.
after a long, long time they came to a high hill, where there was a precipitous wall of rock.
"do you see nothing now?"
said the bull.
"yes, now i see the castle quite near, and now it is much, much larger," said the king's daughter.
"thither shall you go," said the bull; "immediately below the castle there is a pig-sty, where you shall dwell.
when you get there, you will find a wooden gown which you are to put on, and then go to the castle and say that you are called kari woodengown, and that you are seeking a place.
but now you must take out your little knife and cut off my head with it, and then you must flay me and roll up my hide and put it there under the rock, and beneath the hide you must lay the copper leaf, and the silver leaf, and the golden apple.
close beside the rock a stick is standing, and when you want me for anything you have only to knock at the wall of rock with that."
at first she would not do it, but when the bull said that this was the only reward that he would have for what he had done for her, she could do no otherwise.
so though she thought it very cruel, she slaved on and cut at the great animal with the knife till she had cut off his head and hide, and then she folded up the hide and laid it beneath the mountain wall, and put the copper leaf, and the silver leaf, and the golden apple inside it.
when she had done that she went away to the pig-sty, but all the way as she went she wept, and was very sorrowful.
then she put on the wooden gown, and walked to the king's palace.
when she got there she went into the kitchen and begged for a place, saying that her name was kari woodengown.
the cook told her that she might have a place and leave to stay there at once and wash up, for the girl who had done that before had just gone away.
"and as soon as you get tired of being here you will take yourself off too," said he.
"no," said she, "that i shall certainly not."
and then she washed up, and did it very tidily.
on sunday some strangers were coming to the king's palace, so kari begged to have leave to carry up the water for the prince's bath, but the others laughed at her and said, "what do you want there?
do you think the prince will ever look at such a fright as you?"
she would not give it up, however, but went on begging until at last she got leave.
when she was going upstairs her wooden gown made such a clatter that the prince came out and said, "what sort of a creature may you be?'"
i was to take this water to you," said kari.
"do you suppose that i will have any water that you bring?"
said the prince, and emptied it over her.
she had to bear that, but then she asked permission to go to church.
she got that, for the church was very near.
but first she went to the rock and knocked at it with the stick which was standing there, as the bull had told her to do.
instantly a man came forth and asked what she wanted.
the king's daughter said that she had got leave to go to church and listen to the priest, but that she had no clothes to go in.
so he brought her a gown that was as bright as the copper wood, and she got a horse and saddle too from him.
when she reached the church she was so pretty and so splendidly dressed that every one wondered who she could be, and hardly anyone listened to what the priest was saying, for they were all looking far too much at her, and the prince himself liked her so well that he could not take his eyes off her for an instant.
as she was walking out of church the prince followed her and shut the church door after her, and thus he kept one of her gloves in his hand.
then she went away and mounted her horse again; the prince again followed her, and asked her whence she came.
"oh!
i am from bathland," said kari.
and when the prince took out the glove and wanted to give it back to her, she said: "darkness behind me, but light on my way, that the prince may not see where i'm going to-day!"
the prince had never seen the equal of that glove, and he went far and wide, asking after the country which the proud lady, who rode away without her glove, had said that she came from, but there was no one who could tell him where it lay.
next sunday some one had to take up a towel to the prince.
"ah!
may i have leave to go up with that?"
said kari.
"what would be the use of that?"
said the others who were in the kitchen; "you saw what happened last time."
kari would not give in, but went on begging for leave till she got it, and then she ran up the stairs so that her wooden gown clattered again.
out came the prince, and when he saw that it was kari, he snatched the towel from her and flung it right in her eyes.
"be off at once, you ugly troll," said he; "do you think that i will have a towel that has been touched by your dirty fingers?"
after that the prince went to church, and kari also asked leave to go.
they all asked how she could want to go to church when she had nothing to wear but that wooden gown, which was so black and hideous.
but kari said she thought the priest was such a good man at preaching that she got so much benefit from what he said, and at last she got leave.
she went to the rock and knocked, whereupon out came the man and gave her a gown which was much more magnificent than the first.
it was embroidered with silver all over it, and it shone like the silver wood, and he gave her also a most beautiful horse, with housings embroidered with silver, and a bridle of silver too.
when the king's daughter got to church all the people were standing outside upon the hillside, and all of them wondered who on earth she could be, and the prince was on the alert in a moment, and came and wanted to hold her horse while she alighted.
but she jumped off and said that there was no need for that, for the horse was so well broken in that it stood still when she bade it and came when she called it.
so they all went into the church together, but there was scarcely any one who listened to what the priest was saying, for they were all looking far too much at her, and the prince fell much more deeply in love with her than he had been before.
when the sermon was over and she went out of the church, and was just going to mount her horse, the prince again came and asked her where she came from."
i am from towelland," said the king's daughter, and as she spoke she dropped her riding-whip, and while the prince was stooping to pick it up she said: "darkness behind me, but light on my way, that the prince may not see where i'm going to-day!"
and she was gone again, neither could the prince see what had become of her.
he went far and wide to inquire for that country from whence she had said that she came, but there was no one who could tell him where it lay, so he was forced to have patience once more.
next sunday some one had to go to the prince with a comb.
kari begged for leave to go with it, but the others reminded her of what had happened last time, and scolded her for wanting to let the prince see her when she was so black and so ugly in her wooden gown, but she would not give up asking until they gave her leave to go up to the prince with the comb.
when she went clattering up the stairs again, out came the prince and took the comb and flung it at her, and ordered her to be off as fast as she could.
after that the prince went to church, and kari also begged for leave to go.
again they all asked what she would do there, she who was so black and ugly, and had no clothes that she could be seen in by other people.
the prince or some one else might very easily catch sight of her, they said, and then both she and they would suffer for it; but kari said that they had something else to do than to look at her, and she never ceased begging until she got leave to go.
and now all happened just as it had happened twice already.
she went away to the rock and knocked at it with the stick, and then the man came out and gave her a gown which was very much more magnificent than either of the others.
it was almost entirely made of pure gold and diamonds, and she also got a noble horse with housings embroidered with gold, and a golden bridle.
when the king's daughter came to the church the priest and people were all standing on the hillside waiting for her, and the prince ran up and wanted to hold the horse, but she jumped off, saying: "no, thank you, there is no need; my horse is so well broken in that it will stand still when i bid it."
so they all hastened into the church together and the priest got into the pulpit, but no one listened to what he said, for they were looking far too much at her and wondering whence she came; and the prince was far more in love than he had been on either of the former occasions, and he was mindful of nothing but of looking at her.
when the sermon was over and the king's daughter was about to leave the church, the prince had caused a firkin of tar to be emptied out in the porch in order that he might go to help her over it; she, however, did not trouble herself in the least about the tar, but set her foot down in the middle of it and jumped over it, and thus one of her gold shoes was left sticking in it.
when she had seated herself on the horse the prince came running out of the church and asked her whence she came.
"from combland," said kari.
but when the prince wanted to reach her her gold shoe, she said: "darkness behind me, but light on my way, that the prince may not see where i'm going to-day!"
the prince did not know what had become of her, so he travelled for a long and wearisome time all over the world, asking where combland was; but when no one could tell him where that country was, he caused it to be made known everywhere that he would marry any woman who could put on the gold shoe.
so fair maidens and ugly maidens came thither from all regions, but there was none who had a foot so small that she could put on the gold shoe.
after a long, long while came kari woodengown's wicked stepmother, with her daughter too, and the shoe fitted her.
but she was so ugly and looked so loathsome that the prince was very unwilling to do what he had promised.
nevertheless all was got ready for the wedding, and she was decked out as a bride, but as they were riding to church a little bird sat upon a tree and sang: "a slice off her heel and a slice off her toes, kari woodengown's shoe fills with blood as she goes!"
and when they looked to it the bird had spoken the truth, for blood was trickling out of the shoe.
so all the waiting-maids, and all the womenkind in the castle had to come and try on the shoe, but there was not one whom it would fit.
"but where is kari woodengown, then?"
asked the prince, when all the others had tried on the shoe, for he understood the song of birds and it came to his mind what the bird had said.
"oh!
that creature!"
said the others; "it's not the least use for her to come here, for she has feet like a horse!"
"that may be," said the prince, "but as all the others have tried it, kari may try it too."
"kari!"
he called out through the door, and kari came upstairs, and her wooden gown clattered as if a whole regiment of dragoons were coming up.
"now, you are to try on the gold shoe and be a princess," said the other servants, and they laughed at her and mocked her.
kari took up the shoe, put her foot into it as easily as possible, and then threw off her wooden gown, and there she stood in the golden gown which flashed like rays of sunshine, and on her other foot she had the fellow to the gold shoe.
the prince knew her in a moment, and was so glad that he ran and took her in his arms and kissed her, and when he heard that she was a king's daughter he was gladder still, and then they had the wedding.
-lrb- 14 -rrb- -lrb- 14 -rrb- from p. c. asbjornsen.
drakestail drakestail was very little, that is why he was called drakestail; but tiny as he was he had brains, and he knew what he was about, for having begun with nothing he ended by amassing a hundred crowns.
now the king of the country, who was very extravagant and never kept any money, having heard that drakestail had some, went one day in his own person to borrow his hoard, and, my word, in those days drakestail was not a little proud of having lent money to the king.
but after the first and second year, seeing that they never even dreamed of paying the interest, he became uneasy, so much so that at last he resolved to go and see his majesty himself, and get repaid.
so one fine morning drakestail, very spruce and fresh, takes the road, singing: "quack, quack, quack, when shall i get my money back?"
he had not gone far when he met friend fox, on his rounds that way.
"good-morning, neighbour," says the friend, "where are you off to so early?'"
i am going to the king for what he owes me."
"oh!
take me with thee!"
drakestail said to himself: "one ca n't have too many friends."
..." i will," says he, "but going on all-fours you will soon be tired.
make yourself quite small, get into my throat -- go into my gizzard and i will carry you."
"happy thought!"
says friend fox.
he takes bag and baggage, and, presto!
is gone like a letter into the post.
and drakestail is off again, all spruce and fresh, still singing: "quack, quack, quack, when shall i have my money back?"
he had not gone far when he met his lady-friend ladder, leaning on her wall.
"good morning, my duckling," says the lady friend, "whither away so bold?'"
i am going to the king for what he owes me."
"oh!
take me with thee!"
drakestail said to himself: "one ca n't have too many friends."
..." i will," says he, "but with your wooden legs you will soon be tired.
make yourself quite small, get into my throat -- go into my gizzard and i will carry you."
"happy thought!"
says my friend ladder, and nimble, bag and baggage, goes to keep company with friend fox.
and "quack, quack, quack."
drakestail is off again, singing and spruce as before.
a little farther he meets his sweetheart, my friend river, wandering quietly in the sunshine.
"thou, my cherub," says she, "whither so lonesome, with arching tail, on this muddy road?'"
i am going to the king, you know, for what he owes me."
"oh!
take me with thee!"
drakestail said to himself: "we ca n't be too many friends."
..." i will," says he, "but you who sleep while you walk will soon be tired.
make yourself quite small, get into my throat -- go into my gizzard and i will carry you."
"ah!
happy thought!"
says my friend river.
she takes bag and baggage, and glou, glou, glou, she takes her place between friend fox and my friend ladder.
and "quack, quack, quack."
drakestail is off again singing.
a little farther on he meets comrade wasp's - nest, manoeuvring his wasps.
"well, good-morning, friend drakestail," said comrade wasp's - nest, "where are we bound for so spruce and fresh?'"
i am going to the king for what he owes me."
"oh!
take me with thee!"
drakestail said to himself, "one ca n't have too many friends."
..." i will," says he, "but with your battalion to drag along, you will soon be tired.
make yourself quite small, go into my throat -- get into my gizzard and i will carry you."
"by jove i that's a good idea!"
says comrade wasp's - nest.
and left file!
he takes the same road to join the others with all his party.
there was not much more room, but by closing up a bit they managed... and drakestail is off again singing.
he arrived thus at the capital, and threaded his way straight up the high street, still running and singing "quack, quack, quack, when shall i get my money back?"
to the great astonishment of the good folks, till he came to the king's palace.
he strikes with the knocker: "toc!
toc!"
"who is there?"
asks the porter, putting his head out of the wicket."
tis i, drakestail.
i wish to speak to the king."
"speak to the king!
... that's easily said.
the king is dining, and will not be disturbed."
"tell him that it is i, and i have come he well knows why."
the porter shuts his wicket and goes up to say it to the king, who was just sitting down to dinner with a napkin round his neck, and all his ministers.
"good, good!"
said the king laughing."
i know what it is!
make him come in, and put him with the turkeys and chickens."
the porter descends.
"have the goodness to enter."
"good!"
says drakestail to himself," i shall now see how they eat at court."
"this way, this way," says the porter.
"one step further... there, there you are."
"how?
what?
in the poultry yard?"
fancy how vexed drakestail was!
"ah!
so that's it," says he.
"wait!
i will compel you to receive me.
quack, quack, quack, when shall i get my money back?"
but turkeys and chickens are creatures who do n't like people that are not as themselves.
when they saw the new-comer and how he was made, and when they heard him crying too, they began to look black at him.
"what is it?
what does he want?"
finally they rushed at him all together, to overwhelm him with pecks."
i am lost!"
said drakestail to himself, when by good luck he remembers his comrade friend fox, and he cries: "reynard, reynard, come out of your earth, or drakestail's life is of little worth."
then friend fox, who was only waiting for these words, hastens out, throws himself on the wicked fowls, and quick!
quack!
he tears them to pieces; so much so that at the end of five minutes there was not one left alive.
and drakestail, quite content, began to sing again, "quack, quack, quack, when shall i get my money back?"
when the king who was still at table heard this refrain, and the poultry woman came to tell him what had been going on in the yard, he was terribly annoyed.
he ordered them to throw this tail of a drake into the well, to make an end of him.
and it was done as he commanded.
drakestail was in despair of getting himself out of such a deep hole, when he remembered his lady friend, the ladder.
"ladder, ladder, come out of thy hold, or drakestail's days will soon be told."
my friend ladder, who was only waiting for these words, hastens out, leans her two arms on the edge of the well, then drakestail climbs nimbly on her back, and hop!
he is in the yard, where he begins to sing louder than ever.
when the king, who was still at table and laughing at the good trick he had played his creditor, heard him again reclaiming his money, he became livid with rage.
he commanded that the furnace should be heated, and this tail of a drake thrown into it, because he must be a sorcerer.
the furnace was soon hot, but this time drakestail was not so afraid; he counted on his sweetheart, my friend river.
"river, river, outward flow, or to death drakestail must go."
my friend river hastens out, and errouf!
throws herself into the furnace, which she floods, with all the people who had lighted it; after which she flowed growling into the hall of the palace to the height of more than four feet.
and drakestail, quite content, begins to swim, singing deafeningly, "quack, quack, quack, when shall i get my money back?"
the king was still at table, and thought himself quite sure of his game; but when he heard drakestail singing again, and when they told him all that had passed, he became furious and got up from table brandishing his fists.
"bring him here, and i'll cut his throat!
bring him here quick!"
cried he.
and quickly two footmen ran to fetch drakestail.
"at last," said the poor chap, going up the great stairs, "they have decided to receive me."
imagine his terror when on entering he sees the king as red as a turkey cock, and all his ministers attending him standing sword in hand.
he thought this time it was all up with him.
happily, he remembered that there was still one remaining friend, and he cried with dying accents: "wasp's - nest, wasp's - nest, make a sally, or drakestail nevermore may rally."
hereupon the scene changes.
"bs, bs, bayonet them!
"the brave wasp's - nest rushes out with all his wasps.
they threw themselves on the infuriated king and his ministers, and stung them so fiercely in the face that they lost their heads, and not knowing where to hide themselves they all jumped pell-mell from the window and broke their necks on the pavement.
behold drakestail much astonished, all alone in the big saloon and master of the field.
he could not get over it.
nevertheless, he remembered shortly what he had come for to the palace, and improving the occasion, he set to work to hunt for his dear money.
but in vain he rummaged in all the drawers; he found nothing; all had been spent.
and ferreting thus from room to room he came at last to the one with the throne in it, and feeling fatigued, he sat himself down on it to think over his adventure.
in the meanwhile the people had found their king and his ministers with their feet in the air on the pavement, and they had gone into the palace to know how it had occurred.
on entering the throne-room, when the crowd saw that there was already someone on the royal seat, they broke out in cries of surprise and joy: "the king is dead, long live the king!
heaven has sent us down this thing."
drakestail, who was no longer surprised at anything, received the acclamations of the people as if he had never done anything else all his life.
a few of them certainly murmured that a drakestail would make a fine king; those who knew him replied that a knowing drakestail was a more worthy king than a spendthrift like him who was lying on the pavement.
in short, they ran and took the crown off the head of the deceased, and placed it on that of drakestail, whom it fitted like wax.
thus he became king.
"and now," said he after the ceremony, "ladies and gentlemen, let's go to supper.
i am so hungry!"
-lrb- 15 -rrb- -lrb- 15 -rrb- contes of ch.
marelles.
the ratcatcher a very long time ago the town of hamel in germany was invaded by bands of rats, the like of which had never been seen before nor will ever be again.
they were great black creatures that ran boldly in broad daylight through the streets, and swarmed so, all over the houses, that people at last could not put their hand or foot down anywhere without touching one.
when dressing in the morning they found them in their breeches and petticoats, in their pockets and in their boots; and when they wanted a morsel to eat, the voracious horde had swept away everything from cellar to garret.
the night was even worse.
as soon as the lights were out, these untiring nibblers set to work.
and everywhere, in the ceilings, in the floors, in the cupboards, at the doors, there was a chase and a rummage, and so furious a noise of gimlets, pincers, and saws, that a deaf man could not have rested for one hour together.
neither cats nor dogs, nor poison nor traps, nor prayers nor candles burnt to all the saints -- nothing would do anything.
the more they killed the more came.
and the inhabitants of hamel began to go to the dogs -lrb- not that they were of much use -rrb-, when one friday there arrived in the town a man with a queer face, who played the bagpipes and sang this refrain: "qui vivra verra: le voila, le preneur des rats."
he was a great gawky fellow, dry and bronzed, with a crooked nose, a long rat-tail moustache, two great yellow piercing and mocking eyes, under a large felt hat set off by a scarlet cock's feather.
he was dressed in a green jacket with a leather belt and red breeches, and on his feet were sandals fastened by thongs passed round his legs in the gipsy fashion.
that is how he may be seen to this day, painted on a window of the cathedral of hamel.
he stopped on the great market-place before the town hall, turned his back on the church and went on with his music, singing: "who lives shall see: this is he, the ratcatcher."
the town council had just assembled to consider once more this plague of egypt, from which no one could save the town.
the stranger sent word to the counsellors that, if they would make it worth his while, he would rid them of all their rats before night, down to the very last.
"then he is a sorcerer!"
cried the citizens with one voice; "we must beware of him."
the town counsellor, who was considered clever, reassured them.
he said: "sorcerer or no, if this bagpiper speaks the truth, it was he who sent us this horrible vermin that he wants to rid us of to-day for money.
well, we must learn to catch the devil in his own snares.
you leave it to me."
"leave it to the town counsellor," said the citizens one to another.
and the stranger was brought before them.
"before night," said he," i shall have despatched all the rats in hamel if you will but pay me a gros a head.'"
a gros a head!"
cried the citizens, "but that will come to millions of florins!"
the town counsellor simply shrugged his shoulders and said to the stranger: "a bargain!
to work; the rats will be paid one gros a head as you ask."
the bagpiper announced that he would operate that very evening when the moon rose.
he added that the inhabitants should at that hour leave the streets free, and content themselves with looking out of their windows at what was passing, and that it would be a pleasant spectacle.
when the people of hamel heard of the bargain, they too exclaimed: "a gros a head!
but this will cost us a deal of money!"
"leave it to the town counsellor," said the town council with a malicious air.
and the good people of hamel repeated with their counsellors, "leave it to the town counsellor."
towards nine at night the bagpiper re-appeared on the market place.
he turned, as at first, his back to the church, and the moment the moon rose on the horizon, "trarira, trari!"
the bagpipes resounded.
it was first a slow, caressing sound, then more and more lively and urgent, and so sonorous and piercing that it penetrated as far as the farthest alleys and retreats of the town.
soon from the bottom of the cellars, the top of the garrets, from under all the furniture, from all the nooks and corners of the houses, out come the rats, search for the door, fling themselves into the street, and trip, trip, trip, begin to run in file towards the front of the town hall, so squeezed together that they covered the pavement like the waves of flooded torrent.
when the square was quite full the bagpiper faced about, and, still playing briskly, turned towards the river that runs at the foot of the walls of hamel.
arrived there he turned round; the rats were following.
"hop!
hop!"
he cried, pointing with his finger to the middle of the stream, where the water whirled and was drawn down as if through a funnel.
and hop!
hop!
without hesitating, the rats took the leap, swam straight to the funnel, plunged in head foremost and disappeared.
the plunging continued thus without ceasing till midnight.
at last, dragging himself with difficulty, came a big rat, white with age, and stopped on the bank.
it was the king of the band.
"are they all there, friend blanchet?"
asked the bagpiper.
"they are all there," replied friend blanchet.
"and how many were they?"
"nine hundred and ninety thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine."
"well reckoned?"
"well reckoned."
"then go and join them, old sire, and au revoir."
then the old white rat sprang in his turn into the river, swam to the whirlpool and disappeared.
when the bagpiper had thus concluded his business he went to bed at his inn.
and for the first time during three months the people of hamel slept quietly through the night.
the next morning, at nine o'clock, the bagpiper repaired to the town hall, where the town council awaited him.
"all your rats took a jump into the river yesterday," said he to the counsellors, "and i guarantee that not one of them comes back.
they were nine hundred and ninety thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine, at one gros a head.
reckon!"
"let us reckon the heads first.
one gros a head is one head the gros.
where are the heads?"
the ratcatcher did not expect this treacherous stroke.
he paled with anger and his eyes flashed fire.
"the heads!"
cried he, "if you care about them, go and find them in the river."
"so," replied the town counsellor, "you refuse to hold to the terms of your agreement?
we ourselves could refuse you all payment.
but you have been of use to us, and we will not let you go without a recompense," and he offered him fifty crowns.
"keep your recompense for yourself," replied the ratcatcher proudly.
"if you do not pay me i will be paid by your heirs."
thereupon he pulled his hat down over his eyes, went hastily out of the hall, and left the town without speaking to a soul.
when the hamel people heard how the affair had ended they rubbed their hands, and with no more scruple than their town counsellor, they laughed over the ratcatcher, who, they said, was caught in his own trap.
but what made them laugh above all was his threat of getting himself paid by their heirs.
ha!
they wished that they only had such creditors for the rest of their lives.
next day, which was a sunday, they all went gaily to church, thinking that after mass they would at last be able to eat some good thing that the rats had not tasted before them.
they never suspected the terrible surprise that awaited them on their return home.
no children anywhere, they had all disappeared!
"our children!
where are our poor children?"
was the cry that was soon heard in all the streets.
then through the east door of the town came three little boys, who cried and wept, and this is what they told: while the parents were at church a wonderful music had resounded.
soon all the little boys and all the little girls that had been left at home had gone out, attracted by the magic sounds, and had rushed to the great market-place.
there they found the ratcatcher playing his bagpipes at the same spot as the evening before.
then the stranger had begun to walk quickly, and they had followed, running, singing and dancing to the sound of the music, as far as the foot of the mountain which one sees on entering hamel.
at their approach the mountain had opened a little, and the bagpiper had gone in with them, after which it had closed again.
only the three little ones who told the adventure had remained outside, as if by a miracle.
one was bandy-legged and could not run fast enough; the other, who had left the house in haste, one foot shod the other bare, had hurt himself against a big stone and could not walk without difficulty; the third had arrived in time, but in harrying to go in with the others had struck so violently against the wall of the mountain that he fell backwards at the moment it closed upon his comrades.
at this story the parents redoubled their lamentations.
they ran with pikes and mattocks to the mountain, and searched till evening to find the opening by which their children had disappeared, without being able to find it.
at last, the night falling, they returned desolate to hamel.
but the most unhappy of all was the town counsellor, for he lost three little boys and two pretty little girls, and to crown all, the people of hamel overwhelmed him with reproaches, forgetting that the evening before they had all agreed with him.
what had become of all these unfortunate children?
the parents always hoped they were not dead, and that the rat-catcher, who certainly must have come out of the mountain, would have taken them with him to his country.
that is why for several years they sent in search of them to different countries, but no one ever came on the trace of the poor little ones.
it was not till much later that anything was to be heard of them.
about one hundred and fifty years after the event, when there was no longer one left of the fathers, mothers, brothers or sisters of that day, there arrived one evening in hamel some merchants of bremen returning from the east, who asked to speak with the citizens.
they told that they, in crossing hungary, had sojourned in a mountainous country called transylvania, where the inhabitants only spoke german, while all around them nothing was spoken but hungarian.
these people also declared that they came from germany, but they did not know how they chanced to be in this strange country.
"now," said the merchants of bremen, "these germans can not be other than the descendants of the lost children of hamel."
the people of hamel did not doubt it; and since that day they regard it as certain that the transylvanians of hungary are their country folk, whose ancestors, as children, were brought there by the ratcatcher.
there are more difficult things to believe than that.
-lrb- 16 -rrb- -lrb- 16 -rrb- ch.
marelles.
the true history of little golden hood you know the tale of poor little red riding-hood, that the wolf deceived and devoured, with her cake, her little butter can, and her grandmother; well, the true story happened quite differently, as we know now.
and first of all the little girl was called and is still called little golden-hood; secondly, it was not she, nor the good grand-dame, but the wicked wolf who was, in the end, caught and devoured.
only listen.
the story begins something like the tale.
there was once a little peasant girl, pretty and nice as a star in its season.
her real name was blanchette, but she was more often called little golden-hood, on account of a wonderful little cloak with a hood, gold - and fire-coloured, which she always had on.
this little hood was given her by her grandmother, who was so old that she did not know her age; it ought to bring her good luck, for it was made of a ray of sunshine, she said.
and as the good old woman was considered something of a witch, everyone thought the little hood rather bewitched too.
and so it was, as you will see.
one day the mother said to the child: "let us see, my little golden-hood, if you know now how to find your way by yourself.
you shall take this good piece of cake to your grandmother for a sunday treat to-morrow.
you will ask her how she is, and come back at once, without stopping to chatter on the way with people you do n't know.
do you quite understand?'"
i quite understand," replied blanchette gaily.
and off she went with the cake, quite proud of her errand.
but the grandmother lived in another village, and there was a big wood to cross before getting there.
at a turn of the road under the trees, suddenly "who goes there?"
"friend wolf."
he had seen the child start alone, and the villain was waiting to devour her; when at the same moment he perceived some wood-cutters who might observe him, and he changed his mind.
instead of falling upon blanchette he came frisking up to her like a good dog."
tis you!
my nice little golden-hood," said he.
so the little girl stops to talk with the wolf, who, for all that, she did not know in the least.
"you know me, then!"
said she; "what is your name?"
"my name is friend wolf.
and where are you going thus, my pretty one, with your little basket on your arm?'"
i am going to my grandmother, to take her a good piece of cake for her sunday treat to-morrow."
"and where does she live, your grandmother?"
"she lives at the other side of the wood, in the first house in the village, near the windmill, you know."
"ah!
yes!
i know now," said the wolf.
"well, that's just where i'm going; i shall get there before you, no doubt, with your little bits of legs, and i'll tell her you're coming to see her; then she'll wait for you."
thereupon the wolf cuts across the wood, and in five minutes arrives at the grandmother's house.
he knocks at the door: toc, toc.
no answer.
he knocks louder.
nobody.
then he stands up on end, puts his two fore-paws on the latch and the door opens.
not a soul in the house.
the old woman had risen early to sell herbs in the town, and she had gone off in such haste that she had left her bed unmade, with her great night-cap on the pillow.
"good!"
said the wolf to himself," i know what i'll do."
he shuts the door, pulls on the grandmother's night-cap down to his eyes, then he lies down all his length in the bed and draws the curtains.
in the meantime the good blanchette went quietly on her way, as little girls do, amusing herself here and there by picking easter daisies, watching the little birds making their nests, and running after the butterflies which fluttered in the sunshine.
at last she arrives at the door.
knock, knock.
"who is there?"
says the wolf, softening his rough voice as best he can.
"it's me, granny, your little golden-hood.
i'm bringing you a big piece of cake for your sunday treat to-morrow."
"press your finger on the latch, then push and the door opens."
"why, you've got a cold, granny," said she, coming in.
"ahem!
a little, a little..." replies the wolf, pretending to cough.
"shut the door well, my little lamb.
put your basket on the table, and then take off your frock and come and lie down by me: you shall rest a little."
the good child undresses, but observe this!
she kept her little hood upon her head.
when she saw what a figure her granny cut in bed, the poor little thing was much surprised.
"oh!"
cries she, "how like you are to friend wolf, grandmother!"
"that's on account of my night-cap, child," replies the wolf.
"oh!
what hairy arms you've got, grandmother!"
"all the better to hug you, my child."
"oh!
what a big tongue you've got, grandmother!"
"all the better for answering, child."
"oh!
what a mouthful of great white teeth you have, grandmother!"
"that's for crunching little children with!
"and the wolf opened his jaws wide to swallow blanchette.
but she put down her head crying: "mamma!
mamma!"
and the wolf only caught her little hood.
thereupon, oh dear!
oh dear!
he draws back, crying and shaking his jaw as if he had swallowed red-hot coals.
it was the little fire-coloured hood that had burnt his tongue right down his throat.
the little hood, you see, was one of those magic caps that they used to have in former times, in the stories, for making oneself invisible or invulnerable.
so there was the wolf with his throat burnt, jumping off the bed and trying to find the door, howling and howling as if all the dogs in the country were at his heels.
just at this moment the grandmother arrives, returning from the town with her long sack empty on her shoulder.
"ah, brigand!"
she cries, "wait a bit!"
quickly she opens her sack wide across the door, and the maddened wolf springs in head downwards.
it is he now that is caught, swallowed like a letter in the post.
for the brave old dame shuts her sack, so; and she runs and empties it in the well, where the vagabond, still howling, tumbles in and is drowned.
"ah, scoundrel!
you thought you would crunch my little grandchild!
well, to-morrow we will make her a muff of your skin, and you yourself shall be crunched, for we will give your carcass to the dogs."
thereupon the grandmother hastened to dress poor blanchette, who was still trembling with fear in the bed.
"well," she said to her, "without my little hood where would you be now, darling?"
and, to restore heart and legs to the child, she made her eat a good piece of her cake, and drink a good draught of wine, after which she took her by the hand and led her back to the house.
and then, who was it who scolded her when she knew all that had happened?
it was the mother.
but blanchette promised over and over again that she would never more stop to listen to a wolf, so that at last the mother forgave her.
and blanchette, the little golden-hood, kept her word.
and in fine weather she may still be seen in the fields with her pretty little hood, the colour of the sun.
but to see her you must rise early.
-lrb- 17 -rrb- -lrb- 17 -rrb- ch.
marelles the golden branch once upon a time there was a king who was so morose and disagreeable that he was feared by all his subjects, and with good reason, as for the most trifling offences he would have their heads cut off.
this king grumpy, as he was called, had one son, who was as different from his father as he could possibly be.
no prince equalled him in cleverness and kindness of heart, but unfortunately he was most terribly ugly.
he had crooked legs and squinting eyes, a large mouth all on one side, and a hunchback.
never was there a beautiful soul in such a frightful little body, but in spite of his appearance everybody loved him.
the queen, his mother, called him curlicue, because it was a name she rather liked, and it seemed to suit him.
king grumpy, who cared a great deal more for his own grandeur than for his son's happiness, wished to betroth the prince to the daughter of a neighbouring king, whose great estates joined his own, for he thought that this alliance would make him more powerful than ever, and as for the princess she would do very well for prince curlicue, for she was as ugly as himself.
indeed, though she was the most amiable creature in the world, there was no concealing the fact that she was frightful, and so lame that she always went about with a crutch, and people called her princess cabbage-stalk.
the king, having asked for and received a portrait of this princess, had it placed in his great hall under a canopy, and sent for prince curlicue, to whom he said that as this was the portrait of his future bride, he hoped the prince found it charming.
the prince after one glance at it turned away with a disdainful air, which greatly offended his father.
"am i to understand that you are not pleased?"
he said very sharply.
"no, sire," replied the prince.
"how could i be pleased to marry an ugly, lame princess?"
"certainly it is becoming in you to object to that," said king grumpy, "since you are ugly enough to frighten anyone yourself."
"that is the very reason," said the prince, "that i wish to marry someone who is not ugly.
i am quite tired enough of seeing myself.'"
i tell you that you shall marry her," cried king grumpy angrily.
and the prince, seeing that it was of no use to remonstrate, bowed and retired.
as king grumpy was not used to being contradicted in anything, he was very much displeased with his son, and ordered that he should be imprisoned in the tower that was kept on purpose for rebellious princes, but had not been used for about two hundred years, because there had not been any.
the prince thought all the rooms looked strangely old-fashioned, with their antique furniture, but as there was a good library he was pleased, for he was very fond of reading, and he soon got permission to have as many books as he liked.
but when he looked at them he found that they were written in a forgotten language, and he could not understand a single word, though he amused himself with trying.
king grumpy was so convinced that prince curlicue would soon get tired of being in prison, and so consent to marry the princess cabbage-stalk, that he sent ambassadors to her father proposing that she should come and be married to his son, who would make her perfectly happy.
the king was delighted to receive so good an offer for his unlucky daughter, though, to tell the truth, he found it impossible to admire the prince's portrait which had been sent to him.
however, he had it placed in as favourable a light as possible, and sent for the princess, but the moment she caught sight of it she looked the other way and began to cry.
the king, who was very much annoyed to see how greatly she disliked it, took a mirror, and holding it up before the unhappy princess, said: "i see you do not think the prince handsome, but look at yourself, and see if you have any right to complain about that."
"sire," she answered," i do not wish to complain, only i beg of you do not make me marry at all.
i had rather be the unhappy princess cabbage-stalk all my life than inflict the sight of my ugliness on anyone else."
but the king would not listen to her, and sent her away with the ambassadors.
in the meantime the prince was kept safely locked up in his tower, and, that he might be as dull as possible, king grumpy ordered that no one should speak to him, and that they should give him next to nothing to eat.
but all the princess guards were so fond of him that they did everything they dared, in spite of the king, to make the time pass pleasantly.
one day, as the prince was walking up and down the great gallery, thinking how miserable it was to be so ugly, and to be forced to marry an equally frightful princess, he looked up suddenly and noticed that the painted windows were particularly bright and beautiful, and for the sake of doing something that would change his sad thoughts he began to examine them attentively.
he found that the pictures seemed to be scenes from the life of a man who appeared in every window, and the prince, fancying that he saw in this man some resemblance to himself, began to be deeply interested.
in the first window there was a picture of him in one of the turrets of the tower, farther on he was seeking something in a chink in the wall, in the next picture he was opening an old cabinet with a golden key, and so it went on through numbers of scenes, and presently the prince noticed that another figure occupied the most important place in each scene, and this time it was a tall handsome young man: poor prince curlicue found it a pleasure to look at him, he was so straight and strong.
by this time it had grown dark, and the prince had to go back to his own room, and to amuse himself he took up a quaint old book and began to look at the pictures.
but his surprise was great to find that they represented the same scenes as the windows of the gallery, and what was more, that they seemed to be alive.
in looking at pictures of musicians he saw their hands move and heard sweet sounds; there was a picture of a ball, and the prince could watch the little dancing people come and go.
he turned a page, and there was an excellent smell of a savoury dinner, and one of the figures who sat at the feast looked at him and said: "we drink your health, curlicue.
try to give us our queen again, for if you do you will be rewarded; if not, it will be the worse for you."
at these words the prince, who had been growing more and more astonished, was fairly terrified, and dropping the book with a crash he sank back insensible.
the noise he made brought his guards to his aid, and as soon as he revived they asked him what was the matter.
he answered that he was so faint and giddy with hunger that he had imagined he saw and heard all sorts of strange things.
thereupon, in spite of the king's orders, the guards gave him an excellent supper, and when he had eaten it he again opened his book, but could see none of the wonderful pictures, which convinced him that he must have been dreaming before.
however, when he went into he gallery next day and looked at the painted windows again, he found that they moved, and the figures came and went as if they had been alive, and after watching the one who was like himself find the key in the crack of the turret wall and open the old cabinet, he determined to go and examine the place himself, and try to find out what the mystery was.
so he went up into the turret and began to search about and tap upon the walls, and all at once he came upon a place that sounded hollow.
taking a hammer he broke away a bit of the stone, and found behind it a little golden key.
the next thing to do was to find the cabinet, and the prince soon came to it, hidden away in a dark corner, though indeed it was so old and battered-looking that he would never have noticed it of his own accord.
at first he could not see any keyhole, but after a careful search he found one hidden in the carving, and the golden key just fitted it; so the prince gave it a vigorous turn and the doors flew open.
ugly and old as the cabinet was outside, nothing could have been more rich and beautiful than what met the prince's astonished eyes.
every drawer was made of crystal, of amber, or of some precious stone, and was quite full of every kind of treasure.
prince curlicue was delighted; he opened one after another, until at last he came to one tiny drawer which contained only an emerald key."
i believe that this must open that little golden door in the middle," said the prince to himself.
and he fitted in the little key and turned it.
the tiny door swung back, and a soft crimson light gleamed over the whole cabinet.
the prince found that it proceeded from an immense glowing carbuncle, made into a box, which lay before him.
he lost no time in opening it, but what was his horror when he found that it contained a man's hand, which was holding a portrait.
his first thought was to put back the terrible box and fly from the turret; but a voice in his ear said, "this hand belonged to one whom you can help and restore.
look at this beautiful portrait, the original of which was the cause of all my misfortunes, and if you wish to help me, go without a moment's delay to the great gallery, notice where the sun's rays fall most brightly, and if you seek there you will find my treasure."
the voice ceased, and though the prince in his bewilderment asked various questions, he received no answer.
so he put back the box and locked the cabinet up again, and, having replaced the key in the crack in the wall, hastened down to the gallery.
when he entered it all the windows shook and clattered in the strangest way, but the prince did not heed them; he was looking so carefully for the place where the sun shone most brightly, and it seemed to him that it was upon the portrait of a most splendidly handsome young man.
he went up and examined it, and found that it rested against the ebony and gold panelling, just like any of the other pictures in the gallery.
he was puzzled, not knowing what to do next, until it occurred to him to see if the windows would help him, and, looking at the nearest, he saw a picture of himself lifting the picture from the wall.
the prince took the hint, and lifting aside the picture without difficulty, found himself in a marble hall adorned with statues; from this he passed on through numbers of splendid rooms, until at last he reached one all hung with blue gauze.
the walls were of turquoises, and upon a low couch lay a lovely lady, who seemed to be asleep.
her hair, black as ebony, was spread across the pillows, making her face look ivory white, and the prince noticed that she was unquiet; and when he softly advanced, fearing to wake her, he could hear her sigh, and murmur to herself: "ah!
how dared you think to win my love by separating me from my beloved florimond, and in my presence cutting off that dear hand that even you should have feared and honoured?"
and then the tears rolled slowly down the lovely lady's cheeks, and prince curlicue began to comprehend that she was under an enchantment, and that it was the hand of her lover that he had found.
at this moment a huge eagle flew into the room, holding in its talons a golden branch, upon which were growing what looked like clusters of cherries, only every cherry was a single glowing ruby.
this he presented to the prince, who guessed by this time that he was in some way to break the enchantment that surrounded the sleeping lady.
taking the branch he touched her lightly with it, saying: "fair one, i know not by what enchantment thou art bound, but in the name of thy beloved florimond i conjure thee to come back to the life which thou hast lost, but not forgotten."
instantly the lady opened her lustrous eyes, and saw the eagle hovering near.
"ah!
stay, dear love, stay," she cried.
but the eagle, uttering a dolorous cry, fluttered his broad wings and disappeared.
then the lady turned to prince curlicue, and said: "i know that it is to you i owe my deliverance from an enchantment which has held me for two hundred years.
if there is anything that i can do for you in return, you have only to tell me, and all my fairy power shall be used to make you happy."
"madam," said prince curlicue," i wish to be allowed to restore your beloved florimond to his natural form, since i can not forget the tears you shed for him."
"that is very amiable of you, dear prince," said the fairy, "but it is reserved for another person to do that.
i can not explain more at present.
but is there nothing you wish for yourself?"
"madam," cried the prince, flinging himself down at her feet, "only look at my ugliness.
i am called curlicue, and am an object of derision; i entreat you to make me less ridiculous."
"rise, prince," said the fairy, touching him with the golden branch.
"be as accomplished as you are handsome, and take the name of prince peerless, since that is the only title which will suit you now."
silent from joy, the prince kissed her hand to express his thanks, and when he rose and saw his new reflection in the mirrors which surrounded him, he understood that curlicue was indeed gone for ever.
"how i wish," said the fairy, "that i dared to tell you what is in store for you, and warn you of the traps which lie in your path, but i must not.
fly from the tower, prince, and remember that the fairy douceline will be your friend always."
when she had finished speaking, the prince, to his great astonishment, found himself no longer in the tower, but set down in a thick forest at least a hundred leagues away from it.
and there we must leave him for the present, and see what was happening elsewhere.
when the guards found that the prince did not ask for his supper as usual, they went into his room, and not finding him there, were very much alarmed, and searched the tower from turret to dungeon, but without success.
knowing that the king would certainly have their heads cut off for allowing the prince to escape, they then agreed to say that he was ill, and after making the smallest among them look as much like prince curlicue as possible, they put him into his bed and sent to inform the king.
king grumpy was quite delighted to hear that his son was ill, for he thought that he would all the sooner be brought to do as he wished, and marry the princess.
so he sent back to the guards to say that the prince was to be treated as severely as before, which was just what they had hoped he would say.
in the meantime the princess cabbage-stalk had reached the palace, travelling in a litter.
king grumpy went out to meet her, but when he saw her, with a skin like a tortoise's, her thick eyebrows meeting above her large nose, and her mouth from ear to ear, he could not help crying out: "well, i must say curlicue is ugly enough, but i do n't think you need have thought twice before consenting to marry him."
"sire," she replied," i know too well what i am like to be hurt by what you say, but i assure you that i have no wish to marry your son i had rather be called princess cabbage-stalk than queen curlicue."
this made king grumpy very angry.
"your father has sent you here to marry my son," he said, "and you may be sure that i am not going to offend him by altering his arrangements."
so the poor princess was sent away in disgrace to her own apartments, and the ladies who attended upon her were charged to bring her to a better mind.
at this juncture the guards, who were in great fear that they would be found out, sent to tell the king that his son was dead, which annoyed him very much.
he at once made up his mind that it was entirely the princess's fault, and gave orders that she should be imprisoned in the tower in prince curlicue's place.
the princess cabbage-stalk was immensely astonished at this unjust proceeding, and sent many messages of remonstrance to king grumpy, but he was in such a temper that no one dared to deliver them, or to send the letters which the princess wrote to her father.
however, as she did not know this, she lived in hope of soon going back to her own country, and tried to amuse herself as well as she could until the time should come.
every day she walked up and down the long gallery, until she too was attracted and fascinated by the ever-changing pictures in the windows, and recognised herself in one of the figures.
"they seem to have taken a great delight in painting me since i came to this country," she said to herself.
"one would think that i and my crutch were put in on purpose to make that slim, charming young shepherdess in the next picture look prettier by contrast.
ah!
how nice it would be to be as pretty as that."
and then she looked at herself in a mirror, and turned away quickly with tears in her eyes from the doleful sight.
all at once she became aware that she was not alone, for behind her stood a tiny old woman in a cap, who was as ugly again as herself and quite as lame.
"princess," she said, "your regrets are so piteous that i have come to offer you the choice of goodness or beauty.
if you wish to be pretty you shall have your way, but you will also be vain, capricious, and frivolous.
if you remain as you are now, you shall be wise and amiable and modest."
"alas i madam," cried the princess, "is it impossible to be at once wise and beautiful?"
"no, child," answered the old woman, "only to you it is decreed that you must choose between the two.
see, i have brought with me my white and yellow muff.
breathe upon the yellow side and you will become like the pretty shepherdess you so much admire, and you will have won the love of the handsome shepherd whose picture i have already seen you studying with interest.
breathe upon the white side and your looks will not alter, but you will grow better and happier day by day.
now you may choose."
"ah well," said the princess," i suppose one ca n't have everything, and it's certainly better to be good than pretty."
and so she breathed upon the white side of the muff and thanked the old fairy, who immediately disappeared.
the princess cabbage-stalk felt very forlorn when she was gone, and began to think that it was quite time her father sent an army to rescue her.
"if i could but get up into the turret," she thought, "to see if any one is coming."
but to climb up there seemed impossible.
nevertheless she presently hit upon a plan.
the great clock was in the turret, as she knew, though the weights hung down into the gallery.
taking one of them off the rope, she tied herself on in its place, and when the clock was wound, up she went triumphantly into the turret.
she looked out over the country the first thing, but seeing nothing she sat down to rest a little, and accidentally leant back against the wall which curlicue, or rather prince peerless, had so hastily mended.
out fell the broken stone, and with it the golden key.
the clatter it made upon the floor attracted the princess cabbage-stalk's attention.
she picked it up, and after a moment's consideration decided that it must belong to the curious old cabinet in the corner, which had no visible keyhole.
and then it was not long before she had it open, and was admiring the treasures it contained as much as prince peerless had done before her, and at last she came to the carbuncle box.
no sooner had she opened it than with a shudder of horror she tried to throw it down, but found that some mysterious power compelled her to hold it against her will.
and at this moment a voice in her ear said softly: "take courage, princess; upon this adventure your future happiness depends."
"what am i to do?"
said the princess trembling.
"take the box," replied the voice, "and hide it under your pillow, and when you see an eagle, give it to him without losing a moment."
terrified as the princess was, she did not hesitate to obey, and hastened to put back all the other precious things precisely as she had found them.
by this time her guards were seeking her everywhere, and they were amazed to find her up in the turret, for they said she could only have got there by magic.
for three days nothing happened, but at last in the night the princess heard something flutter against her window, and drawing back her curtains she saw in the moonlight that it was an eagle.
limping across at her utmost speed she threw the window open, and the great eagle sailed in beating with his wings for joy.
the princess lost no time in offering it the carbuncle box, which it grasped in its talons, and instantly disappeared, leaving in its place the most beautiful prince she had ever seen, who was splendidly dressed, and wore a diamond crown.
"princess," said he, "for two hundred years has a wicked enchanter kept me here.
we both loved the same fairy, but she preferred me.
however, he was more powerful than i, and succeeded, when for a moment i was off my guard, in changing me into an eagle, while my queen was left in an enchanted sleep.
i knew that after two hundred years a prince would recall her to the light of day, and a princess, in restoring to me the hand which my enemy had cut off, would give me back my natural form.
the fairy who watches over your destiny told me this, and it was she who guided you to the cabinet in the turret, where she had placed my hand.
it is she also who permits me to show my gratitude to you by granting whatever favour you may ask of me.
tell me, princess, what is it that you wish for most?
shall i make you as beautiful as you deserve to be?"
"ah, if you only would!"
cried the princess, and at the same moment she heard a crick-cracking in all her bones.
she grew tall and straight and pretty, with eyes like shining stars, and a skin as white as milk.
"oh, wonderful!
can this really be my poor little self?"
she exclaimed, looking down in amazement at her tiny worn-out crutch as it lay upon the floor.
"indeed, princess," replied florimond, "it is yourself, but you must have a new name, since the old one does not suit you now.
be called princess sunbeam, for you are bright and charming enough to deserve the name."
and so saying he disappeared, and the princess, without knowing how she got there, found herself walking under shady trees by a clear river.
of course, the first thing she did was to look at her own reflection in the water, and she was extremely surprised to find that she was exactly like the shepherdess she had so much admired, and wore the same white dress and flowery wreath that she had seen in the painted windows.
to complete the resemblance, her flock of sheep appeared, grazing round her, and she found a gay crook adorned with flowers upon the bank of the river.
quite tired out by so many new and wonderful experiences, the princess sat down to rest at the foot of a tree, and there she fell fast asleep.
now it happened that it was in this very country that prince peerless had been set down, and while the princess sunbeam was still sleeping peacefully, he came strolling along in search of a shady pasture for his sheep.
the moment he caught sight of the princess he recognised her as the charming shepherdess whose picture he had seen so often in the tower, and as she was far prettier than he had remembered her, he was delighted that chance had led him that way.
he was still watching her admiringly when the princess opened her eyes, and as she also recognised him they were soon great friends.
the princess asked prince peerless, as he knew the country better than she did, to tell her of some peasant who would give her a lodging, and he said he knew of an old woman whose cottage would be the very place for her, it was so nice and so pretty.
so they went there together, and the princess was charmed with the old woman and everything belonging to her.
supper was soon spread for her under a shady tree, and she invited the prince to share the cream and brown bread which the old woman provided.
this he was delighted to do, and having first fetched from his own garden all the strawberries, cherries, nuts and flowers he could find.
they sat down together and were very merry.
after this they met every day as they guarded their flocks, and were so happy that prince peerless begged the princess to marry him, so that they might never be parted again.
now though the princess sunbeam appeared to be only a poor shepherdess, she never forgot that she was a real princess, and she was not at all sure that she ought to marry a humble shepherd, though she knew she would like to do so very much.
so she resolved to consult an enchanter of whom she had heard a great deal since she had been a shepherdess, and without saying a word to anybody she set out to find the castle in which he lived with his sister, who was a powerful fairy.
the way was long, and lay through a thick wood, where the princess heard strange voices calling to her from every side, but she was in such a hurry that she stopped for nothing, and at last she came to the courtyard of the enchanter's castle.
the grass and briers were growing as high as if it were a hundred years since anyone had set foot there, but the princess got through at last, though she gave herself a good many scratches by the way, and then she went into a dark, gloomy hall, where there was but one tiny hole in the wall through which the daylight could enter.
the hangings were all of bats" wings, and from the ceiling hung twelve cats, who filled the hall with their ear piercing yells.
upon the long table twelve mice were fastened by the tail, and just in front of each one's nose, but quite beyond its reach, lay a tempting morsel of fat bacon.
so the cats could always see the mice, but could not touch them, and the hungry mice were tormented by the sight and smell of the delicious morsels which they could never seize.
the princess was looking at the poor creatures in dismay, when the enchanter suddenly entered, wearing a long black robe and with a crocodile upon his head.
in his hand he carried a whip made of twenty long snakes, all alive and writhing, and the princess was so terrified at the sight that she heartily wished she had never come.
without saying a word she ran to the door, but it was covered with a thick spider's web, and when she broke it she found another, and another, and another.
in fact, there was no end to them; the princess's arms ached with tearing them down, and yet she was no nearer to getting out, and the wicked enchanter behind her laughed maliciously.
at last he said: "you might spend the rest of your life over that without doing any good, but as you are young, and quite the prettiest creature i have seen for a long time, i will marry you if you like, and i will give you those cats and mice that you see there for your own.
they are princes and princesses who have happened to offend me.
they used to love one another as much as they now hate one another.
aha!
it's a pretty little revenge to keep them like that."
"oh!
if you would only change me into a mouse too," cried the princess.
"oh!
so you wo n't marry me?"
said he.
"little simpleton, you should have everything heart can desire."
"no, indeed; nothing should make me marry you; in fact, i do n't think i shall ever love anyone," cried the princess.
"in that case," said the enchanter, touching her, "you had better become a particular kind of creature that is neither fish nor fowl; you shall be light and airy, and as green as the grass you live in.
off with you, madam grasshopper."
and the princess, rejoicing to find herself free once more, skipped out into the garden, the prettiest little green grasshopper in the world.
but as soon as she was safely out she began to be rather sorry for herself.
"ah!
florimond," she sighed, "is this the end of your gift?
certainly beauty is short-lived, and this funny little face and a green crape dress are a comical end to it.
i had better have married my amiable shepherd.
it must be for my pride that i am condemned to be a grasshopper, and sing day and night in the grass by this brook, when i feel far more inclined to cry."
in the meantime prince peerless had discovered the princess's absence, and was lamenting over it by the river's brim, when he suddenly became aware of the presence of a little old woman.
she was quaintly dressed in a ruff and farthingale, and a velvet hood covered her snow-white hair.
"you seem sorrowful, my son," she said.
"what is the matter?"
"alas!
mother," answered the prince," i have lost my sweet shepherdess, but i am determined to find her again, though i should have to traverse the whole world in search of her."
"go that way, my son," said the old woman, pointing towards the path that led to the castle."
i have an idea that you will soon overtake her."
the prince thanked her heartily and set out.
as he met with no hindrance, he soon reached the enchanted wood which surrounded the castle, and there he thought he saw the princess sunbeam gliding before him among the trees.
prince peerless hastened after her at the top of his speed, but could not get any nearer; then he called to her: "sunbeam, my darling -- only wait for me a moment."
but the phantom did but fly the faster, and the prince spent the whole day in this vain pursuit.
when night came he saw the castle before him all lighted up, and as he imagined that the princess must be in it, he made haste to get there too.
he entered without difficulty, and in the hall the terrible old fairy met him.
she was so thin that the light shone through her, and her eyes glowed like lamps; her skin was like a shark's, her arms were thin as laths, and her fingers like spindles.
nevertheless she wore rouge and patches, a mantle of silver brocade and a crown of diamonds, and her dress was covered with jewels, and green and pink ribbons.
"at last you have come to see me, prince," said she.
"do n't waste another thought upon that little shepherdess, who is unworthy of your notice.
i am the queen of the comets, and can bring you to great honour if you will marry me."
"marry you, madam," cried the prince, in horror.
"no, i will never consent to that."
thereupon the fairy, in a rage, gave two strokes of her wand and filled the gallery with horrible goblins, against whom the prince had to fight for his life.
though he had only his dagger, he defended himself so well that he escaped without any harm, and presently the old fairy stopped the fray and asked the prince if he was still of the same mind.
when he answered firmly that he was, she called up the appearance of the princess sunbeam to the other end of the gallery, and said: "you see your beloved there?
take care what you are about, for if you again refuse to marry me she shall be torn in pieces by two tigers."
the prince was distracted, for he fancied he heard his dear shepherdess weeping and begging him to save her.
in despair he cried: "oh, fairy douceline, have you abandoned me after so many promises of friendship?
help, help us now!"
immediately a soft voice said in his ear: "be firm, happen what may, and seek the golden branch."
thus encouraged, the prince persevered in his refusal, and at length the old fairy in a fury cried: "get out of my sight, obstinate prince.
become a cricket!"
and instantly the handsome prince peerless became a poor little black cricket, whose only idea would have been to find himself a cosy cranny behind some blazing hearth, if he had not luckily remembered the fairy douceline's injunction to seek the golden branch.
so he hastened to depart from the fatal castle, and sought shelter in a hollow tree, where he found a forlorn looking little grasshopper crouching in a corner, too miserable to sing.
without in the least expecting an answer, the prince asked it: "and where may you be going, gammer grasshopper?"
"where are you going yourself, gaffer cricket?"
replied the grasshopper.
"what!
can you speak?"
said he.
"why should i not speak as well as you?
is n't a grasshopper as good as a cricket?"
said she."
i can talk because i was a prince," said the cricket.
"and for that very same reason i ought to be able to talk more than you, for i was a princess," replied the grasshopper.
"then you have met with the same fate as i have," said he.
"but where are you going now?
can not we journey together?'"
i seemed to hear a voice in the air which said: "be firm, happen what may, and seek the golden branch,"" answered the grasshopper, "and i thought the command must be for me, so i started at once, though i do n't know the way."
at this moment their conversation was interrupted by two mice, who, breathless from running, flung themselves headlong through the hole into the tree, nearly crushing the grasshopper and the cricket, though they got out of the way as fast as they could and stood up in a dark corner.
"ah, madam," said the fatter of the two," i have such a pain in my side from running so fast.
how does your highness find yourself?'"
i have pulled my tail off," replied the younger mouse, "but as i should still be on the sorcerer's table unless i had, i do not regret it.
are we pursued, think you?
how lucky we were to escape!'"
i only trust that we may escape cats and traps, and reach the golden branch soon," said the fat mouse.
"you know the way then?"
said the other.
"oh dear, yes!
as well as the way to my own house, madam.
this golden branch is indeed a marvel, a single leaf from it makes one rich for ever.
it breaks enchantments, and makes all who approach it young and beautiful.
we must set out for it at the break of day."
"may we have the honour of travelling with you -- this respectable cricket and myself?"
said the grasshopper, stepping forward.
"we also are on a pilgrimage to the golden branch."
the mice courteously assented, and after many polite speeches the whole party fell asleep.
with the earliest dawn they were on their way, and though the mice were in constant fear of being overtaken or trapped, they reached the golden branch in safety.
it grew in the midst of a wonderful garden, all the paths of which were strewn with pearls as big as peas.
the roses were crimson diamonds, with emerald leaves.
the pomegranates were garnets, the marigolds topazes, the daffodils yellow diamonds, the violets sapphires, the corn-flowers turquoises, the tulips amethysts, opals and diamonds, so that the garden borders blazed like the sun.
the golden branch itself had become as tall as a forest tree, and sparkled with ruby cherries to its topmost twig.
no sooner had the grasshopper and the cricket touched it than they were restored to their natural forms, and their surprise and joy were great when they recognised each other.
at this moment florimond and the fairy douceline appeared in great splendour, and the fairy, as she descended from her chariot, said with a smile: "so you two have found one another again, i see, but i have still a surprise left for you.
do n't hesitate, princess, to tell your devoted shepherd how dearly you love him, as he is the very prince your father sent you to marry.
so come here both of you and let me crown you, and we will have the wedding at once."
the prince and princess thanked her with all their hearts, and declared that to her they owed all their happiness, and then the two princesses, who had so lately been mice, came and begged that the fairy would use her power to release their unhappy friends who were still under the enchanter's spell.
"really," said the fairy douceline, "on this happy occasion i can not find it in my heart to refuse you anything."
and she gave three strokes of her wand upon the golden branch, and immediately all the prisoners in the enchanter's castle found themselves free, and came with all speed to the wonderful garden, where one touch of the golden branch restored each one to his natural form, and they greeted one another with many rejoicings.
to complete her generous work the fairy presented them with the wonderful cabinet and all the treasures it contained, which were worth at least ten kingdoms.
but to prince peerless and the princess sunbeam she gave the palace and garden of the golden branch, where, immensely rich and greatly beloved by all their subjects, they lived happily ever after.
-lrb- 18 -rrb- -lrb- 18 -rrb- le rameau d'or.
par madame d'aulnoy.
the three dwarfs there was once upon a time a man who lost his wife, and a woman who lost her husband; and the man had a daughter and so had the woman.
the two girls were great friends and used often to play together.
one day the woman turned to the man's daughter and said: "go and tell your father that i will marry him, and then you shall wash in milk and drink wine, but my own daughter shall wash in water and drink it too."
the girl went straight home and told her father what the woman had said.
"what am i to do?"
he answered.
"marriage is either a success or it is a failure."
at last, being of an undecided character and not being able to make up his mind, he took off his boot, and handing it to his daughter, said: "take this boot which has a hole in the sole, hang it up on a nail in the hayloft, and pour water into it.
if it holds water i will marry again, but if it does n't i wo n't."
the girl did as she was bid, but the water drew the hole together and the boot filled up to the very top.
so she went and told her father the result.
he got up and went to see for himself, and when he saw that it was true and no mistake, he accepted his fate, proposed to the widow, and they were married at once.
on the morning after the wedding, when the two girls awoke, milk was standing for the man's daughter to wash in and wine for her to drink; but for the woman's daughter, only water to wash in and only water to drink.
on the second morning, water to wash in and water to drink was standing for the man's daughter as well.
and on the third morning, water to wash in and water to drink was standing for the man's daughter, and milk to wash in and wine to drink for the woman's daughter; and so it continued ever after.
the woman hated her stepdaughter from the bottom of her heart, and did all she could to make her life miserable.
she was as jealous as she could possibly be, because the girl was so beautiful and charming, while her own daughter was both ugly and repulsive.
one winter's day when there was a hard frost, and mountain and valley were covered with snow, the woman made a dress of paper, and calling the girl to her said: "there, put on this dress and go out into the wood and fetch me a basket of strawberries!"
"now heaven help us," replied her stepdaughter; "strawberries do n't grow in winter; the earth is all frozen and the snow has covered up everything; and why send me in a paper dress?
it is so cold outside that one's very breath freezes; the wind will whistle through my dress, and the brambles tear it from my body."
"how dare you contradict me!"
said her stepmother; "be off with you at once, and do n't show your face again till you have filled the basket with strawberries."
then she gave her a hard crust of bread, saying: "that will be enough for you to-day," and she thought to herself: "the girl will certainly perish of hunger and cold outside, and i sha n't be bothered with her any more."
the girl was so obedient that she put on the paper dress and set out with her little basket.
there was nothing but snow far and near, and not a green blade of grass to be seen anywhere.
when she came to the wood she saw a little house, and out of it peeped three little dwarfs.
she wished them good-day, and knocked modestly at the door.
they called out to her to enter, so she stepped in and sat down on a seat by the fire, wishing to warm herself and eat her breakfast.
the dwarfs said at once: "give us some of your food!"
"gladly," she said, and breaking her crust in two, she gave them the half.
then they asked her what she was doing in the depths of winter in her thin dress.
"oh," she answered," i have been sent to get a basketful of strawberries, and i dare n't show my face again at home till i bring them with me."
when she had finished her bread they gave her a broom and told her to sweep away the snow from the back door.
as soon as she left the room to do so, the three little men consulted what they should give her as a reward for being so sweet and good, and for sharing her last crust with them.
the first said: "every day she shall grow prettier."
the second: "every time she opens her mouth a piece of gold shall fall out."
and the third: "a king shall come and marry her."
the girl in the meantime was doing as the dwarfs had bidden her, and was sweeping the snow away from the back door, and what do you think she found there?
-- heaps of fine ripe strawberries that showed out dark red against the white snow.
she joyfully picked enough to fill her basket, thanked the little men for their kindness, shook hands with them, and ran home to bring her stepmother what she had asked for.
when she walked in and said; good evening," a piece of gold fell out of her mouth.
then she told what had hap-pened to her in the wood, and at every word pieces of gold dropped from her mouth, so that the room was soon covered with them.
"she's surely more money than wit to throw gold about like that," said her stepsister, but in her secret heart she was very jealous, and determined that she too would go to the wood and look for strawberries.
but her mother refused to let her go, saying: "my dear child, it is far too cold; you might freeze to death."
the girl however left her no peace, so she was forced at last to give in, but she insisted on her putting on a beautiful fur cloak, and she gave her bread and butter and cakes to eat on the way.
the girl went straight to the little house in the wood, and as before the three little men were looking out of the window.
she took no notice of them, and without as much as "by your leave," or "with your leave," she flounced into the room, sat herself down at the fire, and began to eat her bread and butter and cakes.
"give us some," cried the dwarfs.
but she answered: "no, i wo n't, it's hardly enough for myself; so catch me giving you any."
when she had finished eating they said: "there's a broom for you, go and clear up our back door."
"i'll see myself further," she answered rudely.
"do it yourselves; i'm not your servant."
when she saw that they did not mean to give her anything, she left the house in no amiable frame of mind.
then the three little men consulted what they should do to her, because she was so bad and had such an evil, covetous heart, that she grudged everybody their good fortune.
the first said: "she shall grow uglier every day."
the second: "every time she speaks a toad shall jump out of her mouth."
and the third: "she shall die a most miserable death."
the girl searched for strawberries, but she found none, and returned home in a very bad temper.
when she opened her mouth to tell her mother what had befallen her in the wood, a toad jumped out, so that everyone was quite disgusted with her.
then the stepmother was more furious than ever, and did nothing but plot mischief against the man's daughter, who was daily growing more and more beautiful.
at last, one day the wicked woman took a large pot, put it on the fire and boiled some yarn in it.
when it was well scalded she hung it round the poor girl's shoulder, and giving her an axe, she bade her break a hole in the frozen river, and rinse the yarn in it.
her stepdaughter obeyed as usual, and went and broke a hole in the ice.
when she was in the act of wringing out the yarn a magnificent carriage passed, and the king sat inside.
the carriage stood still, and the king asked her: "my child, who are you, and what in the wide world are you doing here?'"
i am only a poor girl," she answered, "and am rinsing out my yarn in the river."
then the king was sorry for her, and when he saw how beautiful she was he said: "will you come away with me?"
"most gladly," she replied, for she knew how willingly she would leave her stepmother and sister, and how glad they would be to be rid of her.
so she stepped into the carriage and drove away with the king, and when they reached his palace the wedding was celebrated with much splendour.
so all turned out just as the three little dwarfs had said.
after a year the queen gave birth to a little son.
when her stepmother heard of her good fortune she came to the palace with her daughter by way of paying a call, and took up her abode there.
now one day, when the king was out and nobody else near, the bad woman took the queen by her head, and the daughter took her by her heels, and they dragged her from her bed, and flung her out of the window into the stream which flowed beneath it.
then the stepmother laid her ugly daughter in the queen's place, and covered her up with the clothes, so that nothing of her was seen.
when the king came home and wished to speak to his wife the woman called out: "quietly, quietly i this will never do; your wife is very ill, you must let her rest all to-day."
the king suspected no evil, and did n't come again till next morning.
when he spoke to his wife and she answered him, instead of the usual piece of gold a toad jumped out of her mouth.
then he asked what it meant, and the old woman told him it was nothing but weakness, and that she would soon be all right again.
but that same evening the scullion noticed a duck swimming up the gutter, saying as it passed: "what does the king, i pray you tell, is he awake or sleeps he well?"
and receiving no reply, it continued: "and all my guests, are they asleep?"
and the scullion answered: "yes, one and all they slumber deep."
then the duck went on: "and what about my baby dear?"
and he answered: "oh, it sleeps soundly, never fear."
then the duck assumed the queen's shape, went up to the child's room, tucked him up comfortably in his cradle, and then swam back down the gutter again, in the likeness of a duck.
this was repeated for two nights, and on the third the duck said to the scullion: "go and tell the king to swing his sword three times over me on the threshold."
the scullion did as the creature bade him, and the king came with his sword and swung it three times over the bird, and lo and behold!
his wife stood before him once more, alive, and as blooming as ever.
the king rejoiced greatly, but he kept the queen in hiding till the sunday on which the child was to be christened.
after the christening he said: "what punishment does that person deserve who drags another out of bed, and throws him or her, as the case may be, into the water?"
then the wicked old stepmother answered: "no better fate than to be put into a barrel lined with sharp nails, and to be rolled in it down the hill into the water."
"you have pronounced your own doom," said the king; and he ordered a barrel to be made lined with sharp nails, and in it he put the bad old woman and her daughter.
then it was fastened down securely, and the barrel was rolled down the hill till it fell into the river.
-lrb- 19 -rrb- -lrb- 19 -rrb- grimm.
dapplegrim there was once upon a time a couple of rich folks who had twelve sons, and when the youngest was grown up he would not stay at home any longer, but would go out into the world and seek his fortune.
his father and mother said that they thought he was very well off at home, and that he was welcome to stay with them; but he could not rest, and said that he must and would go, so at last they had to give him leave.
when he had walked a long way, he came to a king's palace.
there he asked for a place and got it.
now the daughter of the king of that country had been carried off into the mountains by a troll, and the king had no other children, and for this cause both he and all his people were full of sorrow and affliction, and the king had promised the princess and half his kingdom to anyone who could set her free; but there was no one who could do it, though a great number had tried.
so when the youth had been there for the space of a year or so, he wanted to go home again to pay his parents a visit; but when he got there his father and mother were dead, and his brothers had divided everything that their parents possessed between themselves, so that there was nothing at all left for him.
"shall i, then, receive nothing at all of my inheritance?"
asked the youth.
"who could know that you were still alive -- you who have been a wanderer so long?"
answered the brothers.
"however, there are twelve mares upon the hills which we have not yet divided among us, and if you would like to have them for your share, you may take them."
so the youth, well pleased with this, thanked them, and at once set off to the hill where the twelve mares were at pasture.
when he got up there and found them, each mare had her foal, and by the side of one of them was a big dapple-grey foal as well, which was so sleek that it shone again.
"well, my little foal, you are a fine fellow!"
said the youth.
"yes, but if you will kill all the other little foals so that i can suck all the mares for a year, you shall see how big and handsome i shall be then!"
said the foal.
so the youth did this -- he killed all the twelve foals, and then went back again.
next year, when he came home again to look after his mares and the foal, it was as fat as it could be, and its coat shone with brightness, and it was so big that the lad had the greatest difficulty in getting on its back, and each of the mares had another foal.
"well, it's very evident that i have lost nothing by letting you suck all my mares," said the lad to the yearling; "but now you are quite big enough, and must come away with me."
"no," said the colt," i must stay here another year; kill the twelve little foals, and then i can suck all the mares this year also, and you shall see how big and handsome i shall be by summer."
so the youth did it again, and when he went up on the hill next year to look after his colt and the mares, each of the mares had her foal again; but the dappled colt was so big that when the lad wanted to feel its neck to see how fat it was, he could not reach up to it, it was so high?
and it was so bright that the light glanced off its coat.
"big and handsome you were last year, my colt, but this year you are ever so much handsomer," said the youth; "in all the king's court no such horse is to be found.
but now you shall come away with me."
"no," said the dappled colt once more; "here i must stay for another year.
just kill the twelve little foals again, so that i can suck the mares this year also, and then come and look at me in the summer."
so the youth did it -- he killed all the little foals, and then went home again.
but next year, when he returned to look after the dappled colt and the mares, he was quite appalled.
he had never imagined that any horse could become so big and overgrown, for the dappled horse had to lie down on all fours before the youth could get on his back, and it was very hard to do that even when it was lying down, and it was so plump that its coat shone and glistened just as if it had been a looking-glass.
this time the dappled horse was not unwilling to go away with the youth, so he mounted it, and when he came riding home to his brothers they all smote their hands together and crossed themselves, for never in their lives had they either seen or heard tell of such a horse as that.
"if you will procure me the best shoes for my horse, and the most magnificent saddle and bridle that can be found," said the youth, "you may have all my twelve mares just as they are standing out on the hill, and their twelve foals into the bargain."
for this year also each mare had her foal.
the brothers were quite willing to do this; so the lad got such shoes for his horse that the sticks and stones flew high up into the air as he rode away over the hills, and such a gold saddle and such a gold bridle that they could be seen glittering and glancing from afar.
"and now we will go to the king's palace," said dapplegrim -- that was the horse's name, "but bear in mind that you must ask the king for a good stable and excellent fodder for me."
so the lad promised not to forget to do that.
he rode to the palace, and it will be easily understood that with such a horse as he had he was not long on the way.
when he arrived there, the king was standing out on the steps, and how he did stare at the man who came riding up!
"nay," said he, "never in my whole life have i seen such a man and such a horse."
and when the youth inquired if he could have a place in the king's palace, the king was so delighted that he could have danced on the steps where he was standing, and there and then the lad was told that he should have a place.
"yes; but i must have a good stable and most excellent fodder for my horse," said he.
so they told him that he should have sweet hay and oats, and as much of them as the dappled horse chose to have, and all the other riders had to take their horses out of the stable that dapplegrim might stand alone and really have plenty of room.
but this did not last long, for the other people in the king's court became envious of the lad, and there was no bad thing that they would not have done to him if they had but dared.
at last they bethought themselves of telling the king that the youth had said that, if he chose, he was quite able to rescue the princess who had been carried off into the mountain a long time ago by the troll.
the king immediately summoned the lad into his presence, and said that he had been informed that he had said that it was in his power to rescue the princess, so he was now to do it.
if he succeeded in this, he no doubt knew that the king had promised his daughter and half the kingdom to anyone who set her free, which promise should be faithfully and honourably kept, but if he failed he should be put to death.
the youth denied that he had said this, but all to no purpose, for the king was deaf to all his words; so there was nothing to be done but say that he would make the attempt.
he went down into the stable, and very sad and full of care he was.
then dapplegrim inquired why he was so troubled, and the youth told him, and said that he did not know what to do, "for as to setting the princess free, that was downright impossible."
"oh, but it might be done," said dapplegrim."
i will help you; but you must first have me well shod.
you must ask for ten pounds of iron and twelve pounds of steel for the shoeing, and one smith to hammer and one to hold."
so the youth did this, and no one said him nay.
he got both the iron and the steel, and the smiths, and thus was dapplegrim shod strongly and well, and when the youth went out of the king's palace a cloud of dust rose up behind him.
but when he came to the mountain into which the princess had been carried, the difficulty was to ascend the precipitous wall of rock by which he was to get on to the mountain beyond, for the rock stood right up on end, as steep as a house side and as smooth as a sheet of glass.
the first time the youth rode at it he got a little way up the precipice, but then both dapplegrim's fore legs slipped, and down came horse and rider with a sound like thunder among the mountains.
the next time that he rode at it he got a little farther up, but then one of dapplegrim's fore legs slipped, and down they went with the sound of a landslip.
but the third time dapplegrim said: "now we must show what we can do," and went at it once more till the stones sprang up sky high, and thus they got up.
then the lad rode into the mountain cleft at full gallop and caught up the princess on his saddle-bow, and then out again before the troll even had time to stand up, and thus the princess was set free.
when the youth returned to the palace the king was both happy and delighted to get his daughter back again, as may easily be believed, but somehow or other the people about the court had so worked on him that he was angry with the lad too.
"thou shalt have my thanks for setting my princess free," he said, when the youth came into the palace with her, and was then about to go away.
she ought to be just as much my princess as she is yours now, for you are a man of your word," said the youth.
"yes, yes," said the king.
"have her thou shalt, as i have said it; but first of all thou must make the sun shine into my palace here."
for there was a large and high hill outside the windows which overshadowed the palace so much that the sun could not shine in.
"that was no part of our bargain," answered the youth.
"but as nothing that i can say will move you, i suppose i shall have to try to do my best, for the princess i will have."
so he went down to dapplegrim again and told him what the king desired, and dapplegrim thought that it might easily be done; but first of all he must have new shoes, and ten pounds of iron and twelve pounds of steel must go to the making of them, and two smiths were also necessary, one to hammer and one to hold, and then it would be very easy to make the sun shine into the king's palace.
the lad asked for these things and obtained them instantly, for the king thought that for very shame he could not refuse to give them, and so dapplegrim got new shoes, and they were good ones.
the youth seated himself on him, and once more they went their way, and for each hop that dapplegrim made, down went the hill fifteen ells into the earth, and so they went on until there was no hill left for the king to see.
when the youth came down again to the king's palace he asked the king if the princess should not at last be his, for now no one could say that the sun was not shining into the palace.
but the other people in the palace had again stirred up the king, and he answered that the youth should have her, and that he had never intended that he should not; but first of all he must get her quite as good a horse to ride to the wedding on as that which he had himself.
the youth said that the king had never told him he was to do that, and it seemed to him that he had now really earned the princess; but the king stuck to what he had said, and if the youth were unable to do it he was to lose his life, the king said.
the youth went down to the stable again, and very sad and sorrowful he was, as anyone may well imagine.
then he told dapplegrim that the king had now required that he should get the princess as good a bridal horse as that which the bridegroom had, or he should lose his life.
"but that will be no easy thing to do," said he, "for your equal is not to be found in all the world."
"oh yes, there is one to match me," said dapplegrim.
"but it will not be easy to get him, for he is underground.
however, we will try.
now you must go up to the king and ask for new shoes for me, and for them we must again have ten pounds of iron, twelve pounds of steel, and two smiths, one to hammer and one to hold, but be very particular to see that the hooks are very sharp.
and you must also ask for twelve barrels of rye, and twelve slaughtered oxen must we have with us, and all the twelve ox-hides with twelve hundred spikes set in each of them; all these things must we have, likewise a barrel of tar with twelve tons of tar in it.
the youth went to the king and asked for all the things that dapplegrim had named, and once more, as the king thought that it would be disgraceful to refuse them to him, he obtained them all.
so he mounted dapplegrim and rode away from the court, and when he had ridden for a long, long time over hills and moors, dapplegrim asked: "do you hear anything?"
"yes; there is such a dreadful whistling up above in the air that i think i am growing alarmed," said the youth.
"that is all the wild birds in the forest flying about; they are sent to stop us," said dapplegrim.
"but just cut a hole in the corn sacks, and then they will be so busy with the corn that they will forget us."
the youth did it.
he cut holes in the corn sacks so that barley and rye ran out on every side, and all the wild birds that were in the forest came in such numbers that they darkened the sun.
but when they caught sight of the corn they could not refrain from it, but flew down and began to scratch and pick at the corn and rye, and at last they began to fight among themselves, and forgot all about the youth and dapplegrim, and did them no harm.
and now the youth rode onwards for a long, long time, over hill and dale, over rocky places and morasses, and then dapplegrim began to listen again, and asked the youth if he heard anything now.
"yes; now i hear such a dreadful crackling and crashing in the forest on every side that i think i shall be really afraid," said the youth.
"that is all the wild beasts in the forest," said dapplegrim; "they are sent out to stop us.
but just throw out the twelve carcasses of the oxen, and they will be so much occupied with them that they will quite forget us."
so the youth threw out the carcasses of the oxen, and then all the wild beasts in the forest, both bears and wolves, and lions, and grim beasts of all kinds, came.
but when they caught sight of the carcasses of the oxen they began to fight for them till the blood flowed, and they entirely forgot dapplegrim and the youth.
so the youth rode onwards again, and many and many were the new scenes they saw, for travelling on dapplegrim's back was not travelling slowly, as may be imagined, and then dapplegrim neighed.
"do you hear anything?
he said.
"yes; i heard something like a foal neighing quite plainly a long, long way off," answered the youth.
"that's a full-grown colt," said dapplegrim, "if you hear it so plainly when it is so far away from us."
so they travelled onwards a long time, and saw one new scene after another once more.
then dapplegrim neighed again.
"do you hear anything now?"
said he.
"yes; now i heard it quite distinctly, and it neighed like a full-grown horse," answered the youth.
"yes, and you will hear it again very soon," said dapplegrim; "and then you will hear what a voice it has."
so they travelled on through many more different kinds of country, and then dapplegrim neighed for the third time; but before he could ask the youth if he heard anything, there was such a neighing on the other side of the heath that the youth thought that hills and rocks would be rent in pieces.
"now he is here!"
said dapplegrim.
"be quick, and fling over me the ox-hides that have the spikes in them, throw the twelve tons of tar over the field, and climb up into that great spruce fir tree.
when he comes, fire will spurt out of both his nostrils, and then the tar will catch fire.
now mark what i say -- if the flame ascends i conquer, and if it sinks i fail; but if you see that i am winning, fling the bridle, which you must take off me, over his head, and then he will become quite gentle."
just as the youth had flung all the hides with the spikes over dapplegrim, and the tar over the field, and had got safely up into the spruce fir, a horse came with flame spouting from his nostrils, and the tar caught fire in a moment; and dapplegrim and the horse began to fight until the stones leapt up to the sky.
they bit, and they fought with their fore legs and their hind legs, and sometimes the youth looked at them.
and sometimes he looked at the tar, but at last the flames began to rise, for wheresoever the strange horse bit or wheresoever he kicked he hit upon the spikes in the hides, and at length he had to yield.
when the youth saw that, he was not long in getting down from the tree and flinging the bridle over the horse's head, and then he became so tame that he might have been led by a thin string.
this horse was dappled too, and so like dapplegrim that no one could distinguish the one from the other.
the youth seated himself on the dappled horse which he had captured, and rode home again to the king's palace, and dapplegrim ran loose by his side.
when he got there, the king was standing outside in the courtyard.
"can you tell me which is the horse i have caught, and which is the one i had before?"
said the youth.
"if you ca n't, i think your daughter is mine."
the king went and looked at both the dappled horses; he looked high and he looked low, he looked before and he looked behind, but there was not a hair's difference between the two.
"no," said the king; "that i can not tell thee, and as thou hast procured such a splendid bridal horse for my daughter thou shalt have her; but first we must have one more trial, just to see if thou art fated to have her.
she shall hide herself twice, and then thou shalt hide thyself twice.
if thou canst find her each time that she hides herself, and if she can not find thee in thy hiding-places, then it is fated, and thou shalt have the princess."
"that, too, was not in our bargain," said the youth.
"but we will make this trial since it must be so."
so the king's daughter was to hide herself first.
then she changed herself into a duck, and lay swimming in a lake that was just outside the palace.
but the youth went down into the stable and asked dapplegrim what she had done with herself.
"oh, all that you have to do is to take your gun, and go down to the water and aim at the duck which is swimming about there, and she will soon discover herself," said dapplegrim.
the youth snatched up his gun and ran to the lake."
i will just have a shot at that duck," said he, and began to aim at it.
"oh, no, dear friend, do n't shoot!
it is i," said the princess.
so he had found her once.
the second time the princess changed herself into a loaf, and laid herself on the table among four other loaves; and she was so like the other loaves that no one could see any difference between them.
but the youth again went down to the stable to dapplegrim, and told him that the princess had hidden herself again, and that he had not the least idea what had become of her.
"oh, just take a very large bread-knife, sharpen it, and pretend that you are going to cut straight through the third of the four loaves which are lying on the kitchen table in the king's palace -- count them from right to left -- and you will soon find her," said dapplegrim.
so the youth went up to the kitchen, and began to sharpen the largest bread-knife that he could find; then he caught hold of the third loaf on the left-hand side, and put the knife to it as if he meant to cut it straight in two."
i will have a bit of this bread for myself," said he.
"no, dear friend, do n't cut, it is i!"
said the princess again; so he had found her the second time.
and now it was his turn to go and hide himself; but dapplegrim had given him such good instructions that it was not easy to find him.
first he turned himself into a horse-fly, and hid himself in dapplegrim's left nostril.
the princess went poking about and searching everywhere, high and low, and wanted to go into dapplegrim's stall too, but he began to bite and kick about so that she was afraid to go there, and could not find the youth.
"well," said she, "as i am unable to find you, you must show yourself; "whereupon the youth immediately appeared standing there on the stable floor.
dapplegrim told him what he was to do the second time, and he turned himself into a lump of earth, and stuck himself between the hoof and the shoe on dapplegrim's left fore foot.
once more the king's daughter went and sought everywhere, inside and outside, until at last she came into the stable, and wanted to go into the stall beside dapplegrim.
so this time he allowed her to go into it, and she peered about high and low, but she could not look under his hoofs, for he stood much too firmly on his legs for that, and she could not find the youth.
"well, you will just have to show where you are yourself, for i ca n't find you," said the princess, and in an instant the youth was standing by her side on the floor of the stable.
"now you are mine!"
said he to the princess.
"now you can see that it is fated that she should be mine," he said to the king.
"yes, fated it is," said the king.
"so what must be, must."
then everything was made ready for the wedding with great splendour and promptitude, and the youth rode to church on dapplegrim, and the king's daughter on the other horse.
so everyone must see that they could not be long on their way thither.
-lrb- 20 -rrb- -lrb- 20 -rrb- from j. moe.
the enchanted canary i once upon a time, in the reign of king cambrinus, there lived at avesnes one of his lords, who was the finest man -- by which i mean the fattest -- in the whole country of flanders.
he ate four meals a day, slept twelve hours out of the twenty-four, and the only thing he ever did was to shoot at small birds with his bow and arrow.
still, with all his practice he shot very badly, he was so fat and heavy, and as he grew daily fatter, he was at last obliged to give up walking, and be dragged about in a wheel-chair, and the people made fun of him, and gave him the name of my lord tubby.
now, the only trouble that lord tubby had was about his son, whom he loved very much, although they were not in the least alike, for the young prince was as thin as a cuckoo.
and what vexed him more than all was, that though the young ladies throughout all his lands did their best to make the prince fall in love with them, he would have nothing to say to any of them, and told his father he did not wish to marry.
instead of chatting with them in the dusk, he wandered about the woods, whispering to the moon.
no wonder the young ladies thought him very odd, but they liked him all the better for that; and as he had received at his birth the name of desire, they all called him d'amour desire.
"what is the matter with you?"
his father often said to him.
"you have everything you can possibly wish for: a good bed, good food, and tuns full of beer.
the only thing you want, in order to become as fat as a pig, is a wife that can bring you broad, rich lands.
so marry, and you will be perfectly happy.'"
i ask nothing better than to marry," replied desire, "but i have never seen a woman that pleases me.
all the girls here are pink and white, and i am tired to death of their eternal lilie and roses.
"my faith!"
cried tubby; "do you want to marry a negress, and give me grandchildren as ugly as monkeys and as stupid as owls?"
"no, father, nothing of the sort.
but there must be women somewhere in the world who are neither pink nor white, and i tell you, once for all, that i will never marry until i have found one exactly to my taste."
ii some time afterwards, it happened that the prior of the abbey of saint amand sent to the lord of avesnes a basket of oranges, with a beautifully-written letter saying that these golden fruit, then unknown in flanders, came straight from a land where the sun always shone.
that evening tubby and his son ate the golden apples at supper, and thought them delicious.
next morning as the day dawned, desire went down to the stable and saddled his pretty white horse.
then he went, all dressed for a journey, to the bedside of tubby, and found him smoking his first pipe.
"father," he said gravely," i have come to bid you farewell.
last night i dreamed that i was walking in a wood, where the trees were covered with golden apples.
i gathered one of them, and when i opened it there came out a lovely princess with a golden skin.
that is the wife i want, and i am going to look for her."
the lord of avesnes was so much astonished that he let his pipe fall to the ground; then he became so diverted at the notion of his son marrying a yellow woman, and a woman shut up inside an orange, that he burst into fits of laughter.
desire waited to bid him good-bye until he was quiet again; but as his father went on laughing and showed no signs of stopping, the young man took his hand, kissed it tenderly, opened the door, and in the twinkling of an eye was as at the bottom of the staircase.
he jumped lightly on his horse, and was a mile from home before tubby had ceased laughing."
a yellow wife!
he must be mad!
fit for a strait waistcoat!"
cried the good man, when he was able to speak.
"here!
quick!
bring him back to me."
the servants mounted their horses and rode after the prince; but as they did not know which road he had taken, they went all ways except the right one, and instead of bringing him back they returned themselves when it grew dark, with their horses worn out and covered with dust.
iii when desire thought they could no longer catch him, he pulled his horse into a walk, like a prudent man who knows he has far to go.
he travelled in this way for many weeks, passing by villages, towns, mountains, valleys, and plains, but always pushing south, where every day the sun seemed hotter and more brilliant.
at last one day at sunset desire felt the sun so warm, that he thought he must now be near the place of his dream.
he was at that moment close to the corner of a wood where stood a little hut, before the door of which his horse stopped of his own accord.
an old man with a white beard was sitting on the doorstep enjoying the fresh air.
the prince got down from his horse and asked leave to rest.
"come in, my young friend," said the old man; "my house is not large, but it is big enough to hold a stranger."
the traveller entered, and his host put before him a simple meal.
when his hunger was satisfied the old man said to him: "if i do not mistake, you come from far.
may i ask where you are going?'"
i will tell you," answered desire, "though most likely you will laugh at me.
i dreamed that in the land of the sun there was a wood full of orange trees, and that in one of the oranges i should find a beautiful princess who is to be my wife.
it is she i am seeking."
"why should i laugh?"
asked the old man.
"madness in youth is true wisdom.
go, young man, follow your dream, and if you do not find the happiness that you seek, at any rate you will have had the happiness of seeking it."
iv the next day the prince arose early and took leave of his host.
"the wood that you saw in your dream is not far from here," said the old man.
"it is in the depth of the forest, and this road will lead you there.
you will come to a vast park surrounded by high walls.
in the middle of the park is a castle, where dwells a horrible witch who allows no living being to enter the doors.
behind the castle is the orange grove.
follow the wall till you come to a heavy iron gate.
do n't try to press it open, but oil the hinges with this," and the old man gave him a small bottle.
"the gate will open of itself," he continued, "and a huge dog which guards the castle will come to you with his mouth wide open, but just throw him this oat cake.
next, you will see a baking woman leaning over her heated oven.
give her this brush.
lastly, you will find a well on your left; do not forget to take the cord of the bucket and spread it in the sun.
when you have done this, do not enter the castle, but go round it and enter the orange grove.
then gather three oranges, and get back to the gate as fast as you can.
once out of the gate, leave the forest by the opposite side.
"now, attend to this: whatever happens, do not open your oranges till you reach the bank of a river, or a fountain.
out of each orange will come a princess, and you can choose which you like for your wife.
your choice once made, be very careful never to leave your bride for an instant, and remember that the danger which is most to be feared is never the danger we are most afraid of."
v desire thanked his host warmly, and took the road he pointed out.
in less than an hour he arrived at the wall, which was very high indeed.
he sprang to the ground, fastened his horse to a tree, and soon found the iron gate.
then he took out his bottle and oiled the hinges, when the gate opened of itself, and he saw an old castle standing inside.
the prince entered boldly into the courtyard.
suddenly he heard fierce howls, and a dog as tall as a donkey, with eyes like billiard balls, came towards him, showing his teeth, which were like the prongs of a fork.
desire flung him the oat cake, which the great dog instantly snapped up, and the young prince passed quietly on.
a few yards further he saw a huge oven, with a wide, red-hot gaping mouth.
a woman as tall as a giant was leaning over the oven.
desire gave her the brush, which she took in silence.
then he went on to the well, drew up the cord, which was half rotten, and stretched it out in the sun.
lastly he went round the castle, and plunged into the orange grove.
there he gathered the three most beautiful oranges he could find, and turned to go back to the gate.
but just at this moment the sun was darkened, the earth trembled, and desire heard a voice crying: "baker, baker, take him by his feet, and throw him into the oven!"
"no," replied the baker;" a long time has passed since i first began to scour this oven with my own flesh.
you never cared to give me a brush; but he has given me one, and he shall go in peace."
"rope, o rope!"
cried the voice again, "twine yourself round his neck and strangle him."
"no," replied the rope; "you have left me for many years past to fall to pieces with the damp.
he has stretched me out in the sun.
let him go in peace."
"dog, my good dog," cried the voice, more and more angry, "jump at his throat and eat him up."
"no," replied the dog; "though i have served you long, you never gave me any bread.
he has given me as much as i want.
let him go in peace."
"iron gate, iron gate," cried the voice, growling like thunder, "fall on him and grind him to powder."
"no," replied the gate; "it is a hundred years since you left me to rust, and he has oiled me.
let him go in peace."
vi once outside, the young adventurer put his oranges into a bag that hung from his saddle, mounted his horse, and rode quickly out of the forest.
now, as he was longing to see the princesses, he was very anxious to come to a river or a fountain, but, though he rode for hours, a river or fountain was nowhere to be seen.
still his heart was light, for he felt that he had got through the most difficult part of his task, and the rest was easy.
about mid-day he reached a sandy plain, scorching in the sun.
here he was seized with dreadful thirst; he took his gourd and raised it to his lips.
but the gourd was empty; in the excitement of his joy he had forgotten to fill it.
he rode on, struggling with his sufferings, but at last he could bear it no longer.
he let himself slide to the earth, and lay down beside his horse, his throat burning, his chest heaving, and his head going round.
already he felt that death was near him, when his eyes fell on the bag where the oranges peeped out.
poor desire, who had braved so many dangers to win the lady of his dreams, would have given at this moment all the princesses in the world, were they pink or golden, for a single drop of water.
"ah!"
he said to himself.
"if only these oranges were real fruit -- fruit as refreshing as what i ate in flanders!
and, after all, who knows?"
this idea put some life into him.
he had the strength to lift himself up and put his hand into his bag.
he drew out an orange and opened it with his knife.
out of it flew the prettiest little female canary that ever was seen.
"give me something to drink, i am dying of thirst," said the golden bird.
"wait a minute," replied desire, so much astonished that he forgot his own sufferings; and to satisfy the bird he took a second orange, and opened it without thinking what he was doing.
out of it flew another canary, and she too began to cry: "i am dying of thirst; give me something to drink."
then tubby's son saw his folly, and while the two canaries flew away he sank on the ground, where, exhausted by his last effort, he lay unconscious.
vii when he came to himself, he had a pleasant feeling of freshness all about him.
it was night, the sky was sparkling with stars, and the earth was covered with a heavy dew.
the traveller having recovered, mounted his horse, and at the first streak of dawn he saw a stream dancing in front of him, and stooped down and drank his fill.
he hardly had courage to open his last orange.
then he remembered that the night before he had disobeyed the orders of the old man.
perhaps his terrible thirst was a trick of the cunning witch, and suppose, even though he opened the orange on the banks of the stream, that he did not find in it the princess that he sought?
he took his knife and cut it open.
alas!
out of it flew a little canary, just like the others, who cried: "i am thirsty; give me something to drink."
great was the disappointment of desire.
however, he was determined not to let this bird fly away; so he took up some water in the palm of his hand and held it to its beak.
scarcely had the canary drunk when she became a beautiful girl, tall and straight as a poplar tree, with black eyes and a golden skin.
desire had never seen anyone half so lovely, and he stood gazing at her in delight.
on her side she seemed quite bewildered, but she looked about her with happy eyes, and was not at all afraid of her deliverer.
he asked her name.
she answered that she was called the princess zizi; she was about sixteen years old, and for ten years of that time the witch had kept her shut up in an orange, in the shape of a canary.
"well, then, my charming zizi," said the young prince, who was longing to marry her, "let us ride away quickly so as to escape from the wicked witch."
but zizi wished to know where he meant to take her.
"to my father's castle," he said.
he mounted his horse and took her in front of him, and, holding her carefully in his arms, they began their journey.
viii everything the princess saw was new to her, and in passing through mountains, valleys, and towns, she asked a thousand questions.
desire was charmed to answer them.
it is so delightful to teach those one loves!
once she inquired what the girls in his country were like.
"they are pink and white," he replied, "and their eyes are blue."
"do you like blue eyes?"
said the princess; but desire thought it was a good opportunity to find out what was in her heart, so he did not answer.
"and no doubt," went on the princess, "one of them is your intended bride?"
still he was silent, and zizi drew herself up proudly.
"no," he said at last.
"none of the girls of my own country are beautiful in my eyes, and that is why i came to look for a wife in the land of the sun.
was i wrong, my lovely zizi?"
this time it was zizi's turn to be silent.
ix talking in this way they drew near to the castle.
when they were about four stone-throws from the gates they dismounted in the forest, by the edge of a fountain.
"my dear zizi," said tubby's son, "we can not present ourselves before my father like two common people who have come back from a walk.
we must enter the castle with more ceremony.
wait for me here, and in an hour i will return with carriages and horses fit for a princess."
"do n't be long," replied zizi, and she watched him go with wistful eyes.
when she was left by herself the poor girl began to feel afraid.
she was alone for the first time in her life, and in the middle of a thick forest.
suddenly she heard a noise among the trees.
fearing lest it should be a wolf, she hid herself in the hollow trunk of a willow tree which hung over the fountain.
it was big enough to hold her altogether, but she peeped out, and her pretty head was reflected in the clear water.
then there appeared, not a wolf, but a creature quite as wicked and quite as ugly.
let us see who this creature was.
x not far from the fountain there lived a family of bricklayers.
now, fifteen years before this time, the father in walking through the forest found a little girl, who had been deserted by the gypsies.
he carried her home to his wife, and the good woman was sorry for her, and brought her up with her own sons.
as she grew older, the little gypsy became much more remarkable for strength and cunning than for sense or beauty.
she had a low forehead, a flat nose, thick lips, coarse hair, and a skin not golden like that of zizi, but the colour of clay.
as she was always being teased about her complexion, she got as noisy and cross as a titmouse.
so they used to call her titty.
titty was often sent by the bricklayer to fetch water from the fountain, and as she was very proud and lazy the gypsy disliked this very much.
it was she who had frightened zizi by appearing with her pitcher on her shoulder.
just as she was stooping to fill it, she saw reflected in the water the lovely image of the princess.
"what a pretty face!"
she exclaimed, "why, it must be mine!
how in the world can they call me ugly?
i am certainly much too pretty to be their water carrier!"
so saying, she broke her pitcher and went home.
"where is your pitcher?"
asked the bricklayer.
"well, what do you expect?
the pitcher may go many times to the well..." "but at last it is broken.
well, here is a bucket that will not break."
the gypsy returned to the fountain, and addressing once more the image of zizi, she said: "no; i do n't mean to be a beast of burden any longer."
and she flung the bucket so high in the air that it stuck in the branches of an oak."
i met a wolf," she told the bricklayer, "and i broke the bucket across his nose."
the bricklayer asked her no more questions, but took down a broom and gave her such a beating that her pride was humbled a little.
then he handed to her an old copper milk-can, and said: "if you do n't bring it back full, your bones shall suffer for it."
xi titty went off rubbing her sides; but this time she did not dare to disobey, and in a very bad temper stooped down over the well.
it was not at all easy to fill the milk-can, which was large and round.
it would not go down into the well, and the gypsy had to try again and again.
at last her arms grew so tired that when she did manage to get the can properly under the water she had no strength to pull it up, and it rolled to the bottom.
on seeing the can disappear, she made such a miserable face that zizi, who had been watching her all this time, burst into fits of laughter.
titty turned round and perceived the mistake she had made; and she felt so angry that she made up her mind to be revenged at once.
"what are you doing there, you lovely creature?"
she said to zizi."
i am waiting for my lover," zizi replied; and then, with a simplicity quite natural in a girl who so lately had been a canary, she told all her story.
the gypsy had often seen the young prince pass by, with his gun on his shoulder, when he was going after crows.
she was too ugly and ragged for him ever to have noticed her, but titty on her side had admired him, though she thought he might well have been a little fatter.
"dear, dear!"
she said to herself.
"so he likes yellow women!
why, i am yellow too, and if i could only think of a way --" it was not long before she did think of it.
"what!"
cried the sly titty, "they are coming with great pomp to fetch you, and you are not afraid to show yourself to so many fine lords and ladies with your hair down like that?
get down at once, my poor child, and let me dress your hair for you!"
the innocent zizi came down at once, and stood by titty.
the gypsy began to comb her long brown locks, when suddenly she drew a pin from her stays, and, just as the titmouse digs its beak into the heads of linnets and larks, titty dug the pin into the head of zizi.
no sooner did zizi feel the prick of the pin than she became a bird again, and, spreading her wings, she flew away.
"that was neatly done," said the gypsy.
"the prince will be clever if he finds his bride."
and, arranging her dress, she seated herself on the grass to await desire.
xii meanwhile the prince was coming as fast as his horse could carry him.
he was so impatient that he was always full fifty yards in front of the lords and ladies sent by tubby to bring back zizi.
at the sight of the hideous gypsy he was struck dumb with surprise and horror.
"ah me!"
said titty, "so you do n't know your poor zizi?
while you were away the wicked witch came, and turned me into this.
but if you only have the courage to marry me i shall get back my beauty."
and she began to cry bitterly.
now the good-natured desire was as soft-hearted as he was brave.
"poor girl," he thought to himself.
"it is not her fault, after all, that she has grown so ugly, it is mine.
oh!
why did i not follow the old man's advice?
why did i leave her alone?
and besides, it depends on me to break the spell, and i love her too much to let her remain like this."
so he presented the gypsy to the lords and ladies of the court, explaining to them the terrible misfortune which had befallen his beautiful bride.
they all pretended to believe it, and the ladies at once put on the false princess the rich dresses they had brought for zizi.
she was then perched on the top of a magnificent ambling palfrey, and they set forth to the castle.
but unluckily the rich dress and jewels only made titty look uglier still, and desire could not help feeling hot and uncomfortable when he made his entry with her into the city.
bells were pealing, chimes ringing, and the people filling the streets and standing at their doors to watch the procession go by, and they could hardly believe their eyes as they saw what a strange bride their prince had chosen.
in order to do her more honour, tubby came to meet her at the foot of the great marble staircase.
at the sight of the hideous creature he almost fell backwards.
"what!"
he cried.
"is this the wonderful beauty?"
"yes, father, it is she," replied desire with a sheepish look.
"but she has been bewitched by a wicked sorceress, and will not regain her beauty until she is my wife."
"does she say so?
well, if you believe that, you may drink cold water and think it bacon," the unhappy tubby answered crossly.
but all the same, as he adored his son, he gave the gypsy his hand and led her to the great hall, where the bridal feast was spread.
xiii the feast was excellent, but desire hardly touched anything.
however, to make up, the other guests ate greedily, and, as for tubby, nothing ever took away his appetite.
when the moment arrived to serve the roast goose, there was a pause, and tubby took the opportunity to lay down his knife and fork for a little.
but as the goose gave no sign of appearing, he sent his head carver to find out what was the matter in the kitchen.
now this was what had happened.
while the goose was turning on the spit, a beautiful little canary hopped on to the sill of the open window.
"good-morning, my fine cook," she said in a silvery voice to the man who was watching the roast.
"good-morning, lovely golden bird," replied the chief of the scullions, who had been well brought up."
i pray that heaven may send you to sleep," said the golden bird, "and that the goose may burn, so that there may be none left for titty."
and instantly the chief of the scullions fell fast asleep, and the goose was burnt to a cinder.
when he awoke he was horrified, and gave orders to pluck another goose, to stuff it with chestnuts, and put it on the spit.
while it was browning at the fire, tubby inquired for his goose a second time.
the master cook himself mounted to the hall to make his excuses, and to beg his lord to have a little patience.
tubby showed his patience by abusing his son.
"as if it was n't enough," he grumbled between his teeth, "that the boy should pick up a hag without a penny, but the goose must go and burn now.
it is n't a wife he has brought me, it is famine herself."
xiv while the master cook was upstairs, the golden bird came again to perch on the window-sill, and called in his clear voice to the head scullion, who was watching the spit: "good-morning, my fine scullion!"
"good-morning, lovely golden bird," replied the scullion, whom the master cook had forgotten in his excitement to warn."
i pray heaven," went on the canary, "that it will send you to sleep, and that the goose may burn, so that there may be none left for titty."
and the scullion fell fast asleep, and when the master cook came back he found the goose as black as the chimney.
in a fury he woke the scullion, who in order to save himself from blame told the whole story.
"that accursed bird," said the cook; "it will end by getting me sent away.
come, some of you, and hide yourselves, and if it comes again, catch it and wring its neck."
he spitted a third goose, lit a huge fire, and seated himself by it.
the bird appeared a third time, and said: "good-morning, my fine cook."
"good-morning, lovely golden bird," replied the cook, as if nothing had happened, and at the moment that the canary was beginning," i pray heaven that it may send," a scullion who was hidden outside rushed out and shut the shutters.
the bird flew into the kitchen.
then all the cooks and scullions sprang after it, knocking at it with their aprons.
at length one of them caught it just at the very moment that tubby entered the kitchen, waving his sceptre.
he had come to see for himself why the goose had never made its appearance.
the scullion stopped at once, just as he was about to wring the canary's neck.
xv "will some one be kind enough to tell me the meaning of all this?"
cried the lord of avesnes.
"your excellency, it is the bird," replied the scullion, and he placed it in his hand.
"nonsense!
what a lovely bird!"
said tubby, and in stroking its head he touched a pin that was sticking between its feathers.
he pulled it out, and lo!
the canary at once became a beautiful girl with a golden skin who jumped lightly to the ground.
"gracious!
what a pretty girl!"
said tubby.
"father!
it is she!
it is zizi!"
exclaimed desire, who entered at this moment.
and he took her in his arms, crying: "my darling zizi, how happy i am to see you once more!"
"well, and the other one?"
asked tubby.
the other one was stealing quietly to the door.
"stop her!
called tubby.
"we will judge her cause at once."
and he seated himself solemnly on the oven, and condemned titty to be burned alive.
after which the lords and cooks formed themselves in lines, and tubby betrothed desire to zizi.
xvi the marriage took place a few days later.
all the boys in the country side were there, armed with wooden swords, and decorated with epaulets made of gilt paper.
zizi obtained titty's pardon, and she was sent back to the brick-fields, followed and hooted at by all the boys.
and this is why to-day the country boys always throw stones at a titmouse.
on the evening of the wedding-day all the larders, cellars, cupboards and tables of the people, whether rich or poor, were loaded as if by enchantment with bread, wine, beer, cakes and tarts, roast larks, and even geese, so that tubby could not complain any more that his son had married famine.
since that time there has always been plenty to eat in that country, and since that time, too, you see in the midst of the fair-haired blue-eyed women of flanders a few beautiful girls, whose eyes are black and whose skins are the colour of gold.
they are the descendants of zizi.
-lrb- 21 -rrb- -lrb- 21 -rrb- charles deulin, contes du roi gambrinus.
the twelve brothers there were once upon a time a king and a queen who lived happily together, and they had twelve children, all of whom were boys.
one day the king said to his wife: "if our thirteenth child is a girl, all her twelve brothers must die, so that she may be very rich and the kingdom hers alone."
then he ordered twelve coffins to be made, and filled them with shavings, and placed a little pillow in each.
these he put away in an empty room, and, giving the key to his wife, he bade her tell no one of it.
the queen grieved over the sad fate of her sons and refused to be comforted, so much so that the youngest boy, who was always with her, and whom she had christened benjamin, said to her one day: "dear mother, why are you so sad?"
"my child," she answered," i may not tell you the reason."
but he left her no peace, till she went and unlocked the room and showed him the twelve coffins filled with shavings, and with the little pillow laid in each.
then she said: "my dearest benjamin, your father has had these coffins made for you and your eleven brothers, because if i bring a girl into the world you are all to be killed and buried in them."
she wept bitterly as she spoke, but her son comforted her and said: "do n't cry, dear mother; we'll manage to escape somehow, and will fly for our lives."
"yes," replied his mother, "that is what you must do -- go with your eleven brothers out into the wood, and let one of you always sit on the highest tree you can find, keeping watch on the tower of the castle.
if i give birth to a little son i will wave a white flag, and then you may safely return; but if i give birth to a little daughter i will wave a red flag, which will warn you to fly away as quickly as you can, and may the kind heaven have pity on you.
every night i will get up and pray for you, in winter that you may always have a fire to warm yourselves by, and in summer that you may not languish in the heat."
then she blessed her sons and they set out into the wood.
they found a very high oak tree, and there they sat, turn about, keeping their eyes always fixed on the castle tower.
on the twelfth day, when the turn came to benjamin, he noticed a flag waving in the air, but alas!
it was not white, but blood red, the sign which told them they must all die.
when the brothers heard this they were very angry, and said: "shall we forsooth suffer death for the sake of a wretched girl?
let us swear vengeance, and vow that wherever and whenever we shall meet one of her sex, she shall die at our hands."
then they went their way deeper into the wood, and in the middle of it, where it was thickest and darkest, they came upon a little enchanted house which stood empty.
"here," they said, "let us take up our abode, and you, benjamin, you are the youngest and weakest, you shall stay at home and keep house for us; we others will go out and fetch food."
so they went forth into the wood, and shot hares and roe-deer, birds and wood-pigeons, and any other game they came across.
they always brought their spoils home to benjamin, who soon learnt to make them into dainty dishes.
so they lived for ten years in this little house, and the time slipped merrily away.
in the meantime their little sister at home was growing up quickly.
she was kind-hearted and of a fair countenance, and she had a gold star right in the middle of her forehead.
one day a big washing was going on at the palace, and the girl looking down from her window saw twelve men's shirts hanging up to dry, and asked her mother: "who in the world do these shirts belong to?
surely they are far too small for my father?"
and the queen answered sadly: "dear child, they belong to your twelve brothers."
"but where are my twelve brothers?"
said the girl."
i have never even heard of them."
"heaven alone knows in what part of the wide world they are wandering," replied her mother.
then she took the girl and opened the locked-up room; she showed her the twelve coffins filled with shavings, and with the little pillow laid in each.
"these coffins," she said, "were intended for your brothers, but they stole secretly away before you were born."
then she to tell her all that had happened, and when she had finished her daughter said: "do not cry, dearest mother; i will go and seek my brothers till i find them."
so she took the twelve shirts and went on straight into the middle of the big wood.
she walked all day long, and came in the evening to the little enchanted house.
she stepped in and found a youth who, marvelling at her beauty, at the royal robes she wore, and at the golden star on her forehead, asked her where she came from and whither she was going."
i am a princess," she answered, "and am seeking for my twelve brothers.
i mean to wander as far as the blue sky stretches over the earth till i find them."
then she showed him the twelve shirts which she had taken with her, and benjamin saw that it must be his sister, and said: "i am benjamin, your youngest brother."
so they wept for joy, and kissed and hugged each other again and again.
after a time benjamin said: "dear sister, there is still a little difficulty, for we had all agreed that any girl we met should die at our hands, because it was for the sake of a girl that we had to leave our kingdom."
"but," she replied," i will gladly die if by that means i can restore my twelve brothers to their own."
"no," he answered, "there is no need for that; only go and hide under that tub till our eleven brothers come in, and i'll soon make matters right with them."
she did as she was bid, and soon the others came home from the chase and sat down to supper.
"well, benjamin, what's the news?"
they asked.
but he replied," i like that; have you nothing to tell me?"
"no," they answered.
then he said: "well, now, you've been out in the wood all the day and i've stayed quietly at home, and all the same i know more than you do."
"then tell us," they cried.
but he answered: "only on condition that you promise faithfully that the first girl we meet shall not be killed."
"she shall be spared," they promised, "only tell us the news."
then benjamin said: "our sister is here!"
and he lifted up the tub and the princess stepped forward, with her royal robes and with the golden star on her forehead, looking so lovely and sweet and charming that they all fell in love with her on the spot.
they arranged that she should stay at home with benjamin and help him in the house work, while the rest of the brothers went out into the wood and shot hares and roe-deer, birds and wood-pigeons.
and benjamin and his sister cooked their meals for them.
she gathered herbs to cook the vegetables in, fetched the wood, and watched the pots on the fire, and always when her eleven brothers returned she had their supper ready for them.
besides this, she kept the house in order, tidied all the rooms, and made herself so generally useful that her brothers were delighted, and they all lived happily together.
one day the two at home prepared a fine feast, and when they were all assembled they sat down and ate and drank and made merry.
now there was a little garden round the enchanted house, in which grew twelve tall lilies.
the girl, wishing to please her brothers, plucked the twelve flowers, meaning to present one to each of them as they sat at supper.
but hardly had she plucked the flowers when her brothers were turned into twelve ravens, who flew croaking over the wood, and the house and garden vanished also.
so the poor girl found herself left all alone in the wood, and as she looked round her she noticed an old woman standing close beside her, who said: "my child, what have you done?
why did n't you leave the flowers alone?
they were your twelve brothers.
now they are changed for ever into ravens."
the girl asked, sobbing: "is there no means of setting them free?"
"no," said the old woman, "there is only one way in the whole world, and that is so difficult that you wo n't free them by it, for you would have to be dumb and not laugh for seven years, and if you spoke a single word, though but an hour were wanting to the time, your silence would all have been in vain, and that one word would slay your brothers."
then the girl said to herself: "if that is all i am quite sure i can free my brothers."
so she searched for a high tree, and when she had found one she climbed up it and spun all day long, never laughing or speaking one word.
now it happened one day that a king who was hunting in the wood had a large greyhound, who ran sniffing to the tree on which the girl sat, and jumped round it, yelping and barking furiously.
the king's attention was attracted, and when he looked up and beheld the beautiful princess with the golden star on her forehead, he was so enchanted by her beauty that he asked her on the spot to be his wife.
she gave no answer, but nodded slightly with her head.
then he climbed up the tree himself, lifted her down, put her on his horse and bore her home to his palace.
the marriage was celebrated with much pomp and ceremony, but the bride neither spoke nor laughed.
when they had lived a few years happily together, the king's mother, who was a wicked old woman, began to slander the young queen, and said to the king: "she is only a low-born beggar maid that you have married; who knows what mischief she is up to?
if she is deaf and ca n't speak, she might at least laugh; depend upon it, those who do n't laugh have a bad conscience."
at first the king paid no heed to her words, but the old woman harped so long on the subject, and accused the young queen of so many bad things, that at last he let himself be talked over, and condemned his beautiful wife to death.
so a great fire was lit in the courtyard of the palace, where she was to be burnt, and the king watched the proceedings from an upper window, crying bitterly the while, for he still loved his wife dearly.
but just as she had been bound to the stake, and the flames were licking her garments with their red tongues, the very last moment of the seven years had come.
then a sudden rushing sound was heard in the air, and twelve ravens were seen flying overhead.
they swooped downwards, and as soon as they touched the ground they turned into her twelve brothers, and she knew that she had freed them.
they quenched the flames and put out the fire, and, unbinding their dear sister from the stake, they kissed and hugged her again and again.
and now that she was able to open her mouth and speak, she told the king why she had been dumb and not able to laugh.
the king rejoiced greatly when he heard she was innocent, and they all lived happily ever afterwards.
-lrb- 22 -rrb- -lrb- 22 -rrb- grimm.
rapunzel once upon a time there lived a man and his wife who were very unhappy because they had no children.
these good people had a little window at the back of their house, which looked into the most lovely garden, full of all manner of beautiful flowers and vegetables; but the garden was surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared to enter it, for it belonged to a witch of great power, who was feared by the whole world.
one day the woman stood at the window overlooking the garden, and saw there a bed full of the finest rampion: the leaves looked so fresh and green that she longed to eat them.
the desire grew day by day, and just because she knew she could n't possibly get any, she pined away and became quite pale and wretched.
then her husband grew alarmed and said: "what ails you, dear wife?"
"oh," she answered, "if i do n't get some rampion to eat out of the garden behind the house, i know i shall die."
the man, who loved her dearly, thought to himself, "come!
rather than let your wife die you shall fetch her some rampion, no matter the cost."
so at dusk he climbed over the wall into the witch's garden, and, hastily gathering a handful of rampion leaves, he returned with them to his wife.
she made them into a salad, which tasted so good that her longing for the forbidden food was greater than ever.
if she were to know any peace of mind, there was nothing for it but that her husband should climb over the garden wall again, and fetch her some more.
so at dusk over he got, but when he reached the other side he drew back in terror, for there, standing before him, was the old witch.
"how dare you," she said, with a wrathful glance, "climb into my garden and steal my rampion like a common thief?
you shall suffer for your foolhardiness."
"oh!"
he implored, "pardon my presumption; necessity alone drove me to the deed.
my wife saw your rampion from her window, and conceived such a desire for it that she would certainly have died if her wish had not been gratified."
then the witch's anger was a little appeased, and she said: "if it's as you say, you may take as much rampion away with you as you like, but on one condition only -- that you give me the child your wife will shortly bring into the world.
all shall go well with it, and i will look after it like a mother."
the man in his terror agreed to everything she asked, and as soon as the child was born the witch appeared, and having given it the name of rapunzel, which is the same as rampion, she carried it off with her.
rapunzel was the most beautiful child under the sun.
when she was twelve years old the witch shut her up in a tower, in the middle of a great wood, and the tower had neither stairs nor doors, only high up at the very top a small window.
when the old witch wanted to get in she stood underneath and called out: "rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your golden hair," for rapunzel had wonderful long hair, and it was as fine as spun gold.
whenever she heard the witch's voice she unloosed her plaits, and let her hair fall down out of the window about twenty yards below, and the old witch climbed up by it.
after they had lived like this for a few years, it happened one day that a prince was riding through the wood and passed by the tower.
as he drew near it he heard someone singing so sweetly that he stood still spell-bound, and listened.
it was rapunzel in her loneliness trying to while away the time by letting her sweet voice ring out into the wood.
the prince longed to see the owner of the voice, but he sought in vain for a door in the tower.
he rode home, but he was so haunted by the song he had heard that he returned every day to the wood and listened.
one day, when he was standing thus behind a tree, he saw the old witch approach and heard her call out: "rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your golden hair."
then rapunzel let down her plaits, and the witch climbed up by them.
"so that's the staircase, is it?"
said the prince.
"then i too will climb it and try my luck."
so on the following day, at dusk, he went to the foot of the tower and cried: "rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your golden hair," and as soon as she had let it down the prince climbed up.
at first rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man came in, for she had never seen one before; but the prince spoke to her so kindly, and told her at once that his heart had been so touched by her singing, that he felt he should know no peace of mind till he had seen her.
very soon rapunzel forgot her fear, and when he asked her to marry him she consented at once.
"for," she thought, "he is young and handsome, and i'll certainly be happier with him than with the old witch."
so she put her hand in his and said: "yes, i will gladly go with you, only how am i to get down out of the tower?
every time you come to see me you must bring a skein of silk with you, and i will make a ladder of them, and when it is finished i will climb down by it, and you will take me away on your horse."
they arranged that till the ladder was ready, he was to come to her every evening, because the old woman was with her during the day.
the old witch, of course, knew nothing of what was going on, till one day rapunzel, not thinking of what she was about, turned to the witch and said: "how is it, good mother, that you are so much harder to pull up than the young prince?
he is always with me in a moment."
"oh!
you wicked child," cried the witch.
"what is this i hear?
i thought i had hidden you safely from the whole world, and in spite of it you have managed to deceive me."
in her wrath she seized rapunzel's beautiful hair, wound it round and round her left hand, and then grasping a pair of scissors in her right, snip snap, off it came, and the beautiful plaits lay on the ground.
and, worse than this, she was so hard-hearted that she took rapunzel to a lonely desert place, and there left her to live in loneliness and misery.
but on the evening of the day in which she had driven poor rapunzel away, the witch fastened the plaits on to a hook in the window, and when the prince came and called out: "rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your golden hair," she let them down, and the prince climbed up as usual, but instead of his beloved rapunzel he found the old witch, who fixed her evil, glittering eyes on him, and cried mockingly: "ah, ah!
you thought to find your lady love, but the pretty bird has flown and its song is dumb; the cat caught it, and will scratch out your eyes too.
rapunzel is lost to you for ever -- you will never see her more."
the prince was beside himself with grief, and in his despair he jumped right down from the tower, and, though he escaped with his life, the thorns among which he fell pierced his eyes out.
then he wandered, blind and miserable, through the wood, eating nothing but roots and berries, and weeping and lamenting the loss of his lovely bride.
so he wandered about for some years, as wretched and unhappy as he could well be, and at last he came to the desert place where rapunzel was living.
of a sudden he heard a voice which seemed strangely familiar to him.
he walked eagerly in the direction of the sound, and when he was quite close, rapunzel recognised him and fell on his neck and wept.
but two of her tears touched his eyes, and in a moment they became quite clear again, and he saw as well as he had ever done.
then he led her to his kingdom, where they were received and welcomed with great joy, and they lived happily ever after.
-lrb- 23 -rrb- -lrb- 23 -rrb- grimm.
the nettle spinner i once upon a time there lived at quesnoy, in flanders, a great lord whose name was burchard, but whom the country people called burchard the wolf.
now burchard had such a wicked, cruel heart, that it was whispered how he used to harness his peasants to the plough, and force them by blows from his whip to till his land with naked feet.
his wife, on the other hand, was always tender and pitiful to the poor and miserable.
every time that she heard of another misdeed of her husband's she secretly went to repair the evil, which caused her name to be blessed throughout the whole country-side.
this countess was adored as much as the count was hated.
ii one day when he was out hunting the count passed through a forest, and at the door of a lonely cottage he saw a beautiful girl spinning hemp.
"what is your name?"
he asked her.
"renelde, my lord."
"you must get tired of staying in such a lonely place?'"
i am accustomed to it, my lord, and i never get tired of it."
"that may be so; but come to the castle, and i will make you lady's maid to the countess.'"
i can not do that, my lord.
i have to look after my grandmother, who is very helpless."
"come to the castle, i tell you.
i shall expect you this evening," and he went on his way.
but renelde, who was betrothed to a young wood-cutter called guilbert, had no intention of obeying the count, and she had, besides, to take care of her grandmother.
three days later the count again passed by.
"why did n't you come?"
he asked the pretty spinner."
i told you, my lord, that i have to look after my grandmother."
"come to-morrow, and i will make you lady-in-waiting to the countess," and he went on his way.
this offer produced no more effect than the other, and renelde did not go to the castle.
"if you will only come," said the count to her when next he rode by," i will send away the countess, and will marry you."
but two years before, when renelde's mother was dying of a long illness, the countess had not forgotten them, but had given help when they sorely needed it.
so even if the count had really wished to marry renelde, she would always have refused.
iii some weeks passed before burchard appeared again.
renelde hoped she had got rid of him, when one day he stopped at the door, his duck-gun under his arm and his game-bag on his shoulder.
this time renelde was spinning not hemp, but flax.
"what are you spinning?"
he asked in a rough voice.
"my wedding shift, my lord."
"you are going to be married, then?"
"yes, my lord, by your leave."
for at that time no peasant could marry without the leave of his master."
i will give you leave on one condition.
do you see those tall nettles that grow on the tombs in the churchyard?
go and gather them, and spin them into two fine shifts.
one shall be your bridal shift, and the other shall be my shroud.
for you shall be married the day that i am laid in my grave."
and the count turned away with a mocking laugh.
renelde trembled.
never in all locquignol had such a thing been heard of as the spinning of nettles.
and besides, the count seemed made of iron and was very proud of his strength, often boasting that he should live to be a hundred.
every evening, when his work was done, guilbert came to visit his future bride.
this evening he came as usual, and renelde told him what burchard had said.
"would you like me to watch for the wolf, and split his skull with a blow from my axe?"
"no," replied renelde, "there must be no blood on my bridal bouquet.
and then we must not hurt the count.
remember how good the countess was to my mother."
an old, old woman now spoke: she was the mother of renelde's grandmother, and was more than ninety years old.
all day long she sat in her chair nodding her head and never saying a word.
"my children," she said, "all the years that i have lived in the world, i have never heard of a shift spun from nettles.
but what god commands, man can do.
why should not renelde try it?"
iv renelde did try, and to her great surprise the nettles when crushed and prepared gave a good thread, soft and light and firm.
very soon she had spun the first shift, which was for her own wedding.
she wove and cut it out at once, hoping that the count would not force her to begin the other.
just as she had finished sewing it, burchard the wolf passed by.
"well," said he, "how are the shifts getting on?"
"here, my lord, is my wedding garment," answered renelde, showing him the shift, which was the finest and whitest ever seen.
the count grew pale, but he replied roughly, "very good.
now begin the other."
the spinner set to work.
as the count returned to the castle, a cold shiver passed over him, and he felt, as the saying is, that some one was walking over his grave.
he tried to eat his supper, but could not; he went to bed shaking with fever.
but he did not sleep, and in the morning could not manage to rise.
this sudden illness, which every instant became worse, made him very uneasy.
no doubt renelde's spinning-wheel knew all about it.
was it not necessary that his body, as well as his shroud, should be ready for the burial?
the first thing burchard did was to send to renelde and to stop her wheel.
renelde obeyed, and that evening guilbert asked her: "has the count given his consent to our marriage?"
"no," said renelde.
"continue your work, sweetheart.
it is the only way of gaining it.
you know he told you so himself."
v the following morning, as soon as she had put the house in order, the girl sat down to spin.
two hours after there arrived some soldiers, and when they saw her spinning they seized her, tied her arms and legs, and carried her to the bank of the river, which was swollen by the late rains.
when they reached the bank they flung her in, and watched her sink, after which they left her.
but renelde rose to the surface, and though she could not swim she struggled to land.
directly she got home she sat down and began to spin.
again came the two soldiers to the cottage and seized the girl, carried her to the river bank, tied a stone to her neck and flung her into the water.
the moment their backs were turned the stone untied itself.
renelde waded the ford, returned to the hut, and sat down to spin.
this time the count resolved to go to locquignol himself; but, as he was very weak and unable to walk, he had himself borne in a litter.
and still the spinner spun.
when he saw her he fired a shot at her, as he would have fired at a wild beast.
the bullet rebounded without harming the spinner, who still spun on.
burchard fell into such a violent rage that it nearly killed him.
he broke the wheel into a thousand pieces, and then fell fainting on the ground.
he was carried back to the castle, unconscious.
the next day the wheel was mended, and the spinner sat down to spin.
feeling that while she was spinning he was dying, the count ordered that her hands should be tied, and that they should not lose sight of her for one instant.
but the guards fell asleep, the bonds loosed themselves, and the spinner spun on.
burchard had every nettle rooted up for three leagues round.
scarcely had they been torn from the soil when they sowed themselves afresh, and grew as you were looking at them.
they sprung up even in the well-trodden floor of the cottage, and as fast as they were uprooted the distaff gathered to itself a supply of nettles, crushed, prepared, and ready for spinning.
and every day burchard grew worse, and watched his end approaching.
vi moved by pity for her husband, the countess at last found out the cause of his illness, and entreated him to allow himself to be cured.
but the count in his pride refused more than ever to give his consent to the marriage.
so the lady resolved to go without his knowledge to pray for mercy from the spinner, and in the name of renelde's dead mother she besought her to spin no more.
renelde gave her promise, but in the evening guilbert arrived at the cottage.
seeing that the cloth was no farther advanced than it was the evening before, he inquired the reason.
renelde confessed that the countess had prayed her not to let her husband die.
"will he consent to our marriage?"
"no."
"let him die then."
"but what will the countess say?"
"the countess will understand that it is not your fault; the count alone is guilty of his own death."
"let us wait a little.
perhaps his heart may be softened."
so they waited for one month, for two, for six, for a year.
the spinner spun no more.
the count had ceased to persecute her, but he still refused his consent to the marriage.
guilbert became impatient.
the poor girl loved him with her whole soul, and she was more unhappy than she had been before, when burchard was only tormenting her body.
"let us have done with it," said guilbert.
"wait a little still," pleaded renelde.
but the young man grew weary.
he came more rarely to locquignol, and very soon he did not come at all.
renelde felt as if her heart would break, but she held firm.
one day she met the count.
she clasped her hands as if in prayer, and cried: "my lord, have mercy!"
burchard the wolf turned away his head and passed on.
she might have humbled his pride had she gone to her spinning-wheel again, but she did nothing of the sort.
not long after she learnt that guilbert had left the country.
he did not even come to say good-bye to her, but, all the same, she knew the day and hour of his departure, and hid herself on the road to see him once more.
when she came in she put her silent wheel into a corner, and cried for three days and three nights.
vii so another year went by.
then the count fell ill, and the countess supposed that renelde, weary of waiting, had begun her spinning anew; but when she came to the cottage to see, she found the wheel silent.
however, the count grew worse and worse till he was given up by the doctors.
the passing bell was rung, and he lay expecting death to come for him.
but death was not so near as the doctors thought, and still he lingered.
he seemed in a desperate condition, but he got neither better nor worse.
he could neither live nor die; he suffered horribly, and called loudly on death to put an end to his pains.
in this extremity he remembered what he had told the little spinner long ago.
if death was so slow in coming, it was because he was not ready to follow him, having no shroud for his burial.
he sent to fetch renelde, placed her by his bedside, and ordered her at once to go on spinning his shroud.
hardly had the spinner begun to work when the count began to feel his pains grow less.
then at last his heart melted; he was sorry for all the evil he had done out of pride, and implored renelde to forgive him.
so renelde forgave him, and went on spinning night and day.
when the thread of the nettles was spun she wove it with her shuttle, and then cut the shroud and began to sew it.
and as before, when she sewed the count felt his pains grow less, and the life sinking within him, and when the needle made the last stitch he gave his last sigh.
viii at the same hour guilbert returned to the country, and, as he had never ceased to love renelde, he married her eight days later.
he had lost two years of happiness, but comforted himself with thinking that his wife was a clever spinner, and, what was much more rare, a brave and good woman.
-lrb- 24 -rrb- -lrb- 24 -rrb- ch.
denlin.
farmer weatherbeard there was once upon a time a man and a woman who had an only son, and he was called jack.
the woman thought that it was his duty to go out to service, and told her husband that he was to take him somewhere.
"you must get him such a good place that he will become master of all masters," she said, and then she put some food and a roll of tobacco into a bag for them.
well, they went to a great many masters, but all said that they could make the lad as good as they were themselves, but better than that they could not make him.
when the man came home to the old woman with this answer, she said," i shall be equally well pleased whatever you do with him; but this i do say, that you are to have him made a master over all masters."
then she once more put some food and a roll of tobacco into the bag, and the man and his son had to set out again.
when they had walked some distance they got upon the ice, and there they met a man in a carriage who was driving a black horse.
"where are you going?"
he said."
i have to go and get my son apprenticed to someone who will be able to teach him a trade, for my old woman comes of such well-to-do folk that she insists on his being taught to be master of all masters," said the man.
"we are not ill met, then," said the man who was driving, "for i am the kind of man who can do that, and i am just looking out for such an apprentice.
get up behind with you," he said to the boy, and off the horse went with them straight up into the air.
"no, no, wait a little!"
screamed the father of the boy."
i ought to know what your name is and where you live."
"oh, i am at home both in the north and the south and the east and the west, and i am called farmer weatherbeard," said the master.
"you may come here again in a year's time, and then i will tell you if the lad suits me."
and then they set off again and were gone.
when the man got home the old woman inquired what had become of the son.
"ah!
heaven only knows what has become of him!"
said the man.
"they went up aloft."
and then he told her what had happened.
but when the woman heard that, and found that the man did not at all know either when their son would be out of his apprentice-ship, or where he had gone, she packed him off again to find out, and gave him a bag of food and a roll of tobacco to take away with him.
when he had walked for some time he came to a great wood, and it stretched before him all day long as he went on, and when night began to fall he saw a great light, and went towards it.
after a long, long time he came to a small hut at the foot of a rock, outside which an old woman was standing drawing water up from a well with her nose, it was so long.
"good-evening, mother," said the man.
"good-evening to you too," said the old woman.
"no one has called me mother this hundred years."
"can i lodge here to-night?"
said the man.
"no," said the old woman.
but the man took out his roll of tobacco, lighted a little of it, and then gave her a whiff.
then she was so delighted that she began to dance, and thus the man got leave to stay the night there.
it was not long before he asked about farmer weatherbeard.
she said that she knew nothing about him, but that she ruled over all the four-footed beasts, and some of them might know him.
so she gathered them all together by blowing a whistle which she had, and questioned them, but there was not one of them which knew anything about farmer weatherbeard.
"well," said the old woman, "there are three of us sisters; it may be that one of the other two knows where he is to be found.
you shall have the loan of my horse and carriage, and then you will get there by night; but her house is three hundred miles off, go the nearest way you will."
the man set out and got there at night.
when he arrived, this old woman also was standing drawing water out of the well with her nose.
"good-evening, mother," said the man.
"good-evening to you," said the old woman.
"no one has ever called me mother this hundred years."
"can i lodge here to-night?"
said the man.
"no," said the old woman.
then he took out the roll of tobacco, took a whiff, and gave the old woman some snuff on the back of her hand.
then she was so delighted that she began to dance, and the man got leave to stay all night.
it was not long before he began to ask about farmer weatherbeard.
she knew nothing about him, but she ruled over all the fishes, she said, and perhaps some of them might know something.
so she gathered them all together by blowing a whistle which she had, and questioned them, but there was not one of them which knew anything about farmer weatherbeard.
"well," said the old woman," i have another sister; perhaps she may know something about him.
she lives six hundred miles off, but you shall have my horse and carriage, and then you will get there by nightfall."
so the man set off and he got there by nightfall.
the old woman was standing raking the fire, and she was doing it with her nose, so long it was.
"good-evening, mother," said the man.
"good-evening to you," said the old woman.
"no one has called me mother this hundred years."
"can i lodge here to-night?"
said the man.
"no," said the old woman.
but the man pulled out his roll of tobacco again, and filled his pipe with some of it, and gave the old woman enough snuff to cover the back of her hand.
then she was so delighted that she began to dance, and the man got leave to stay in her house.
it was not long before he asked about farmer weatherbeard.
she knew nothing at all about him, she said, but she governed all the birds; and she gathered them together with her whistle.
when she questioned them all, the eagle was not there, but it came soon afterwards, and when asked, it said that it had just come from farmer weatherbeard's.
then the old woman said that it was to guide the man to him.
but the eagle would have something to eat first, and then it wanted to wait until the next day, for it was so tired with the long journey that it was scarcely able to rise from the earth.
when the eagle had had plenty of food and rest, the old woman plucked a feather out of its tail, and set the man in the feather's place, and then the bird flew away with him, but they did not get to farmer weatherbeard's before midnight.
when they got there the eagle said: "there are a great many dead bodies lying outside the door, but you must not concern yourself about them.
the people who are inside the house are all so sound asleep that it will not be easy to awake them; but you must go straight to the table-drawer, and take out three bits of bread, and if you hear anyone snoring, pluck three feathers from his head; he will not waken for that."
the man did this; when he had got the bits of bread he first plucked out one feather.
"oof!"
screamed farmer weatherbeard.
so the man plucked out another, and then farmer weatherbeard shrieked "oof!"
again; but when the man had plucked the third, farmer weatherbeard screamed so loudly that the man thought that brick and mortar would be rent in twain, but for all that he went on sleeping.
and now the eagle told the man what he was to do next, and he did it.
he went to the stable door, and there he stumbled against a hard stone, which he picked up, and beneath it lay three splinters of wood, which he also picked up.
he knocked at the stable door and it opened at once.
he threw down the three little bits of bread and a hare came out and ate them.
he caught the hare.
then the eagle told him to pluck three feathers out of its tail, and put in the hare, the stone, the splinters of wood and himself instead of them, and then he would be able to carry them all home.
when the eagle had flown a long way it alighted on a stone.
"do you see anything?"
it asked.
"yes; i see a flock of crows coming flying after us," said the man.
"then we shall do well to fly on a little farther," said the eagle, and off it set.
in a short time it asked again, "do you see anything now?"
"yes; now the crows are close behind us," said the man.
"then throw down the three feathers which you plucked out of his head," said the eagle.
so the man did this, and no sooner had he flung them down than the feathers became a flock of ravens, which chased the crows home again.
then the eagle flew on much farther with the man, but at length it alighted on a stone for a while.
"do you see anything?"
it said."
i am not quite certain," said the man, "but i think i see something coming in the far distance."
"then we shall do well to fly on a little farther," said the eagle, and away it went.
"do you see anything now?"
it said, after some time had gone by.
"yes; now they are close behind us," said the man.
"then throw down the splinters of wood which you took from beneath the gray stone by the stable door," said the eagle.
the man did this, and no sooner had he flung them down than they grew up into a great thick wood, and farmer weatherbeard had to go home for an axe to cut his way through it.
so the eagle flew on a long, long way, but then it grew tired and sat down on a fir tree.
"do you see anything?"
it asked.
"yes; i am not quite certain," said the man, "but i think i can catch a glimpse of something far, far away."
"then we shall do well to fly on a little farther," said the eagle, and it set off again.
"do you see anything now?"
it said after some time had gone by.
"yes; he is close behind us now," said the man.
"then you must fling down the great stone which you took away from the stable door," said the eagle.
the man did so, and it turned into a great high mountain of stone, which farmer weatherbeard had to break his way through before he could follow them.
but when he had got to the middle of the mountain he broke one of his legs, so he had to go home to get it put right.
while he was doing this the eagle flew off to the man's home with him, and with the hare, and when they had got home the man went to the churchyard, and had some christian earth laid upon the hare, and then it turned into his son jack.
when the time came for the fair the youth turned himself into a light-coloured horse, and bade his father go to the market with him.
"if anyone should come who wants to buy me," said he, "you are to tell him that you want a hundred dollars for me; but you must not forget to take off the halter, for if you do i shall never be able to get away from farmer weatherbeard, for he is the man who will come and bargain for me."
and thus it happened.
a horse-dealer came who had a great fancy to bargain for the horse, and the man got a hundred dollars for it, but when the bargain was made, and jack's father had got the money, the horse-dealer wanted to have the halter.
"that was no part of our bargain," said the man, "and the halter you shall not have, for i have other horses which i shall have to sell."
so each of them went his way.
but the horse dealer had not got very far with jack before he resumed his own form again, and when the man got home he was sitting on the bench by the stove.
the next day he changed himself into a brown horse and told his father that he was to set off to market with him.
"if a man should come who wants to buy me," said jack, "you are to tell him that you want two hundred dollars, for that he will give, and treat you besides; but whatsoever you drink, and whatsoever you do, do n't forget to take the halter off me, or you will never see me more."
and thus it happened.
the man got his two hundred dollars for the horse, and was treated as well, and when they parted from each other it was just as much as he could do to remember to take off the halter.
but the buyer had not got far on his way before the youth took his own form again, and when the man reached home jack was already sitting on the bench by the stove.
on the third day all happened in the same way.
the youth changed himself into a great black horse, and told his father that if a man came and offered him three hundred dollars, and treated him well and handsomely into the bargain, he was to sell him, but whatsoever he did, or how much soever he drank, he must not forget to take off the halter, or else he himself would never get away from farmer weatherbeard as long as he lived.
"no," said the man," i will not forget."
when he got to the market, he received the three hundred dollars, but farmer weatherbeard treated him so handsomely that he quite forgot to take off the halter; so farmer weatherbeard went away with the horse.
when he had got some distance he had to go into an inn to get some more brandy; so he set a barrel full of red-hot nails under his horse's nose, and a trough filled with oats beneath its tail, and then he tied the halter fast to a hook and went away into the inn.
so the horse stood there stamping, and kicking, and snorting, and rearing, and out came a girl who thought it a sin and a shame to treat a horse so ill.
"ah, poor creature, what a master you must have to treat you thus!"
she said, and pushed the halter off the hook so that the horse might turn round and eat the oats."
i am here!"
shrieked farmer weatherbeard, rushing out of doors.
but the horse had already shaken off the halter and flung himself into a goose-pond, where he changed himself into a little fish.
farmer weatherbeard went after him, and changed himself into a great pike.
so jack turned himself into a dove, and farmer weatherbeard turned himself into a hawk, and flew after the dove and struck it.
but a princess was standing at a window in the king's palace watching the struggle.
"if thou didst but know as much as i know, thou wouldst fly in to me through the window," said the princess to the dove.
so the dove came flying in through the window and changed itself into jack again, and told her all as it had happened.
"change thyself into a gold ring, and set thyself on my finger," said the princess.
"no, that will not do," said jack, "for then farmer weatherbeard will make the king fall sick, and there will be no one who can make him well again before farmer weatherbeard comes and cures him, and for that he will demand the gold ring.'"
i will say that it was my mother's, and that i will not part with it," said the princess.
so jack changed himself into a gold ring, and set himself on the princess's finger, and farmer weatherbeard could not get at him there.
but then all that the youth had foretold came to pass.
the king became ill, and there was no doctor who could cure him till farmer weatherbeard arrived, and he demanded the ring which was on the princess's finger as a reward.
so the king sent a messenger to the princess for the ring.
she, however, refused to part with it, because she had inherited it from her mother.
when the king was informed of this he fell into a rage, and said that he would have the ring, let her have inherited it from whom she might.
"well, it's of no use to be angry about it," said the princess, "for i ca n't get it off.
if you want the ring you will have to take the finger too!'"
i will try, and then the ring will very soon come off," said farmer weatherbeard.
"no, thank you, i will try myself," said the princess, and she went away to the fireplace and put some ashes on the ring.
so the ring came off and was lost among the ashes.
farmer weatherbeard changed himself into a hare, which scratched and scraped about in the fireplace after the ring until the ashes were up to its ears.
but jack changed himself into a fox, and bit the hare's head off, and if farmer weatherbeard was possessed by the evil one all was now over with him.
-lrb- 25 -rrb- -lrb- 25 -rrb- from p. c. asbjornsen.
mother holle once upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters; one of them was pretty and clever, and the other ugly and lazy.
but as the ugly one was her own daughter, she liked her far the best of the two, and the pretty one had to do all the work of the house, and was in fact the regular maid of all work.
every day she had to sit by a well on the high road, and spin till her fingers were so sore that they often bled.
one day some drops of blood fell on her spindle, so she dipped it into the well meaning to wash it, but, as luck would have it, it dropped from her hand and fell right in.
she ran weeping to her stepmother, and told her what had happened, but she scolded her harshly, and was so merciless in her anger that she said: "well, since you've dropped the spindle down, you must just go after it yourself, and do n't let me see your face again until you bring it with you."
then the poor girl returned to the well, and not knowing what she was about, in the despair and misery of her heart she sprang into the well and sank to the bottom.
for a time she lost all consciousness, and when she came to herself again she was lying in a lovely meadow, with the sun shining brightly overhead, and a thousand flowers blooming at her feet.
she rose up and wandered through this enchanted place, till she came to a baker's oven full of bread, and the bread called out to her as she passed: "oh!
take me out, take me out, or i shall be burnt to a cinder.
i am quite done enough."
so she stepped up quickly to the oven and took out all the loaves one after the other.
then she went on a little farther and came to a tree laden with beautiful rosy-cheeked apples, and as she passed by it called out: "oh i shake me, shake me, my apples are all quite ripe."
she did as she was asked, and shook the tree till the apples fell like rain and none were left hanging.
when she had gathered them all up into a heap she went on her way again, and came at length to a little house, at the door of which sat an old woman.
the old dame had such large teeth that the girl felt frightened and wanted to run away, but the old woman called after her: "what are you afraid of, dear child?
stay with me and be my little maid, and if you do your work well i will reward you handsomely; but you must be very careful how you make my bed -- you must shake it well till the feathers fly; then people in the world below say it snows, for i am mother holle."
she spoke so kindly that the girl took heart and agreed readily to enter her service.
she did her best to please the old woman, and shook her bed with such a will that the feathers flew about like snow-flakes; so she led a very easy life, was never scolded, and lived on the fat of the land.
but after she had been some time with mother holle she grew sad and depressed, and at first she hardly knew herself what was the matter.
at last she discovered that she was homesick, so she went to mother holle and said: "i know i am a thousand times better off here than i ever was in my life before, but notwithstanding, i have a great longing to go home, in spite of all your kindness to me.
i can remain with you no longer, but must return to my own people."
"your desire to go home pleases me," said mother holle, "and because you have served me so faithfully, i will show you the way back into the world myself."
so she took her by the hand and led her to an open door, and as the girl passed through it there fell a heavy shower of gold all over her, till she was covered with it from top to toe.
"that's a reward for being such a good little maid," said mother holle, and she gave her the spindle too that had fallen into the well.
then she shut the door, and the girl found herself back in the world again, not far from her own house; and when she came to the courtyard the old hen, who sat on the top of the wall, called out: "click, clock, clack, our golden maid's come back."
then she went in to her stepmother, and as she had returned covered with gold she was welcomed home.
she proceeded to tell all that had happened to her, and when the mother heard how she had come by her riches, she was most anxious to secure the same luck for her own idle, ugly daughter; so she told her to sit at the well and spin.
in order to make her spindle bloody, she stuck her hand into a hedge of thorns and pricked her finger.
then she threw the spindle into the well, and jumped in herself after it.
like her sister she came to the beautiful meadow, and followed the same path.
when she reached the baker's oven the bread called out as before: "oh!
take me out, take me out, or i shall be burnt to a cinder.
i am quite done enough."
but the good-for-nothing girl answered: "a pretty joke, indeed; just as if i should dirty my hands for you!"
and on she went.
soon she came to the apple tree, which cried: "oh!
shake me, shake me, my apples are all quite ripe."
"i'll see myself farther," she replied, "one of them might fall on my head."
and so she pursued her way.
when she came to mother holle's house she was n't the least afraid, for she had been warned about her big teeth, and she readily agreed to become her maid.
the first day she worked very hard, and did all her mistress told her, for she thought of the gold she would give her; but on the second day she began to be lazy, and on the third she would n't even get up in the morning.
she did n't make mother holle's bed as she ought to have done, and never shook it enough to make the feathers fly.
so her mistress soon grew weary of her, and dismissed her, much to the lazy creature's delight.
"for now," she thought, "the shower of golden rain will come."
mother holle led her to the same door as she had done her sister, but when she passed through it, instead of the gold rain a kettle full of pitch came showering over her.
"that's a reward for your service," said mother holle, and she closed the door behind her.
so the lazy girl came home all covered with pitch, and when the old hen on the top of the wall saw her, it called out: "click, clock, clack, our dirty slut's come back."
but the pitch remained sticking to her, and never as long as she lived could it be got off.
-lrb- 26 -rrb- -lrb- 26 -rrb- grimm.
minnikin there was once upon a time a couple of needy folk who lived in a wretched hut, in which there was nothing but black want; so they had neither food to eat nor wood to burn.
but if they had next to nothing of all else they had the blessing of god so far as children were concerned, and every year brought them one more.
the man was not overpleased at this.
he was always going about grumbling and growling, and saying that it seemed to him that there might be such a thing as having too many of these good gifts; so shortly before another baby was born he went away into the wood for some firewood, saying that he did not want to see the new child; he would hear him quite soon enough when he began to squall for some food.
as soon as this baby was born it began to look about the room.
"ah, my dear mother!"
said he, "give me some of my brothers" old clothes, and food enough for a few days, and i will go out into the world and seek my fortune, for, so far as i can see, you have children enough."
"heaven help thee, my son!"
said the mother, "that will never do; thou art still far too little."
but the little creature was determined to do it, and begged and prayed so long that the mother was forced to let him have some old rags, and tie up a little food for him, and then gaily and happily he went out into the world.
but almost before he was out of the house another boy was born, and he too looked about him, and said, "ah, my dear mother!
give me some of my brothers" old clothes, and food for some days, and then i will go out into the world and find my twin brother, for you have children enough."
"heaven help thee, little creature!
thou art far too little for that," said the woman; "it would never do."
but she spoke to no purpose, for the boy begged and prayed until he had got some old rags and a bundle of provisions, and then he set out manfully into the world to find his twin brother.
when the younger had walked for some time he caught sight of his brother a short distance in front of him, and called to him and bade him to stop.
"wait a minute," he said; "you are walking as if for a wager, but you ought to have stayed to see your younger brother before you hurried off into the world."
so the elder stood still and looked back, and when the younger had got up to him, and had told him that he was his brother, he said: "but now, let us sit down and see what kind of food our mother has given us," and that they did.
when they had walked on a little farther they came to a brook which ran through a green meadow, and there the younger said that they ought to christen each other.
"as we had to make such haste, and had no time to do it at home, we may as well do it here," said he.
"what will you be called?"
asked the elder."
i will be called minnikin," answered the second; "and you, what will you be called?'"
i will be called king pippin," answered the elder.
they christened each other and then went onwards.
when they had walked for some time they came to a crossway, and there they agreed to part, and each take his own road.
this they did, but no sooner had they walked a short distance than they met again.
so they parted once more, and each took his own road, but in a very short time the same thing happened again -- they met each other before they were at all aware, and so it happened the third time also.
then they arranged with each other that each should choose his own quarter, and one should go east and the other west.
"but if ever you fall into any need or trouble," said the elder, "call me thrice, and i will come and help you; only you must not call me until you are in the utmost need."
"in that case we shall not see each other for some time," said minnikin; so they bade farewell to each other, and minnikin went east and king pippin went west.
when minnikin had walked a long way alone, he met an old, old crook-backed hag, who had only one eye.
minnikin stole it.
"oh!
oh!"
cried the old hag, "what has become of my eye?"
"what will you give me to get your eye back?"
said minnikin."
i will give thee a sword which is such a sword that it can conquer a whole army, let it be ever so great," replied the woman.
"let me have it, then," said minnikin.
the old hag gave him the sword, so she got her eye back.
then minnikin went onwards, and when he had wandered on for some time he again met an old, old crook-backed hag, who had only one eye.
minnikin stole it before she was aware.
"oh!
oh!
what has become of my eye?"
cried the old hag.
"what will you give me to get your eye back?"
said minnikin."
i will give thee a ship which can sail over fresh water and salt water, over high hills and deep dales," answered the old woman.
"let me have it then," said minnikin.
so the old woman gave him a little bit of a ship which was no bigger than he could put in his pocket, and then she got her eye back, and she went her way and minnikin his.
when he had walked on for a long time, he met for the third time an old, old crook-backed hag, who had only one eye.
this eye also minnikin stole, and when the woman screamed and lamented, and asked what had become of her eye, minnikin said, "what will you give me to get your eye back?'"
i will give thee the art to brew a hundred lasts of malt in one brewing."
so, for teaching that art, the old hag got her eye back, and they both went away by different roads.
but when minnikin had walked a short distance, it seemed to him that it might be worth while to see what his ship could do; so he took it out of his pocket, and first he put one foot into it, and then the other, and no sooner had he put one foot into the ship than it became much larger, and when he set the other foot into it, it grew as large as ships that sail on the sea.
then minnikin said: "now go over fresh water and salt water, over high hills and deep dales, and do not stop until thou comest to the king's palace."
and in an instant the ship went away as swiftly as any bird in the air till it got just below the king's palace, and there it stood still.
from the windows of the king's palace many persons had seen minnikin come sailing thither, and had stood to watch him; and they were all so astounded that they ran down to see what manner of man this could be who came sailing in a ship through the air.
but while they were running down from the king's palace, minnikin had got out of the ship and had put it in his pocket again; for the moment he got out of it, it once more became as small as it had been when he got it from the old woman, and those who came from the king's palace could see nothing but a ragged little boy who was standing down by the sea-shore.
the king asked where he had come from, but the boy said he did not know, nor yet could he tell them how he had got there, but he begged very earnestly and prettily for a place in the king's palace.
if there was nothing else for him to do, he said he would fetch wood and water for the kitchen-maid, and that he obtained leave to do.
when minnikin went up to the king's palace he saw that everything there was hung with black both outside and inside, from the bottom to the top; so he asked the kitchen-maid what that meant.
"oh, i will tell you that," answered the kitchen-maid.
"the king's daughter was long ago promised away to three trolls, and next thursday evening one of them is to come to fetch her.
ritter red has said that he will be able to set her free, but who knows whether he will be able to do it?
so you may easily imagine what grief and distress we are in here."
so when thursday evening came, ritter red accompanied the princess to the sea-shore; for there she was to meet the troll, and ritter red was to stay with her and protect her.
he, however, was very unlikely to do the troll much injury, for no sooner had the princess seated herself by the sea-shore than ritter red climbed up into a great tree which was standing there, and hid himself as well as he could among the branches.
the princess wept, and begged him most earnestly not to go and leave her; but ritter red did not concern himself about that.
"it is better that one should die than two," said he.
in the meantime minnikin begged the kitchen-maid very prettily to give him leave to go down to the strand for a short time.
"oh, what could you do down at the strand?"
said the kitchen-maid.
"you have nothing to do there."
"oh yes, my dear, just let me go," said minnikin."
i should so like to go and amuse myself with the other children."
"well, well, go then!"
said the kitchen-maid, "but do n't let me find you staying there over the time when the pan has to be set on the fire for supper, and the roast put on the spit; and mind you bring back a good big armful of wood for the kitchen."
minnikin promised this, and ran down to the sea-shore.
just as he got to the place where the king's daughter was sitting, the troll came rushing up with a great whistling and whirring, and he was so big and stout that he was terrible to see, and he had five heads.
"fire!"
screeched the troll.
"fire yourself!"
said minnikin.
"can you fight?"
roared the troll.
"if not, i can learn," said minnikin.
so the troll struck at him with a great thick iron bar which he had in his fist, till the sods flew five yards up into the air.
"fie!"
said minnikin.
"that was not much of a blow.
now you shall see one of mine."
so he grasped the sword which he had got from the old crook-backed woman, and slashed at the troll so that all five heads went flying away over the sands.
when the princess saw that she was delivered she was so delighted that she did not know what she was doing, and skipped and danced.
"come and sleep a bit with your head in my lap," she said to minnikin, and as he slept she put a golden dress on him.
but when ritter red saw that there was no longer any danger afoot, he lost no time in creeping down from the tree.
he then threatened the princess, until at length she was forced to promise to say that it was he who had rescued her, for he told her that if she did not he would kill her.
then he took the troll's lungs and tongue and put them in his pocket-handkerchief, and led the princess back to the king's palace; and whatsoever had been lacking to him in the way of honour before was lacking no longer, for the king did not know how to exalt him enough, and always set him on his own right hand at table.
as for minnikin, first he went out on the troll's ship and took a great quantity of gold and silver hoops away with him, and then he trotted back to the king's palace.
when the kitchen-maid caught sight of all this gold and silver she was quite amazed, and said: "my dear friend minnikin, where have you got all that from?"
for she was half afraid that he had not come by it honestly.
"oh," answered minnikin," i have been home a while, and these hoops had fallen off some of our buckets, so i brought them away with me for you."
so when the kitchen-maid heard that they were for her, she asked no more questions about the matter.
she thanked minnikin, and everything was right again at once.
next thursday evening all went just the same, and everyone was full of grief and affliction, but ritter red said that he had been able to deliver the king's daughter from one troll, so that he could very easily deliver her from another, and he led her down to the sea-shore.
but he did not do much harm to this troll either, for when the time came when the troll might be expected, he said as he had said before: "it is better that one should die than two," and then climbed up into the tree again.
minnikin once more begged the cook's leave to go down to the sea-shore for a short time.
"oh, what can you do there?"
said the cook.
"my dear, do let me go!"
said minnikin;" i should so like to go down there and amuse myself a little with the other children."
so this time also she said that he should have leave to go, but he must first promise that he would be back by the time the joint was turned and that he would bring a great armful of wood with him.
no sooner had minnikin got down to the strand than the troll came rushing along with a great whistling and whirring, and he was twice as big as the first troll, and he had ten heads.
"fire!"
shrieked the troll.
"fire yourself!"
said minnikin.
"can you fight?"
roared the troll.
"if not, i can learn," said minnikin.
so the troll struck at him with his iron club -- which was still bigger than that which the first troll had had -- so that the earth flew ten yards up in the air.
"fie!"
said minnikin.
"that was not much of a blow.
now you shall see one of my blows."
then he grasped his sword and struck at the troll, so that all his ten heads danced away over the sands.
and again the king's daughter said to him, "sleep a while on my lap," and while minnikin lay there she drew some silver raiment over him.
as soon as ritter red saw that there was no longer any danger afoot, he crept down from the tree and threatened the princess, until at last she was again forced to promise to say that it was he who had rescued her; after which he took the tongue and the lungs of the troll and put them in his pocket-handkerchief, and then he conducted the princess back to the palace.
there was joy and gladness in the palace, as may be imagined, and the king did not know how to show enough honour and respect to ritter red.
minnikin, however, took home with him an armful of gold and silver hoops from the troll's ship.
when he came back to the king's palace the kitchen-maid clapped her hands and wondered where he could have got all that gold and silver; but minnikin answered that he had been home for a short time, and that it was only the hoops which had fallen off some pails, and that he had brought them away for the kitchen-maid.
when the third thursday evening came, everything happened exactly as it had happened on the two former occasions.
everything in the king's palace was hung with black, and everyone was sorrowful and distressed; but ritter red said that he did not think that they had much reason to be afraid -- he had delivered the king's daughter from two trolls, so he could easily deliver her from the third as well.
he led her down to the strand, but when the time drew near for the troll to come, he climbed up into the tree again and hid himself.
the princess wept and entreated him to stay, but all to no purpose.
he stuck to his old speech, "it is better that one life should be lost than two."
this evening also, minnikin begged for leave to go down to the sea-shore.
"oh, what can you do there?"
answered the kitchen-maid.
however, he begged until at last he got leave to go, but he was forced to promise that he would be back again in the kitchen when the roast had to be turned.
almost immediately after he had got down to the sea-shore the troll came with a great whizzing and whirring, and he was much, much bigger than either of the two former ones, and he had fifteen heads.
"fire!"
roared the troll.
"fire yourself!"
said minnikin.
"can you fight?"
screamed the troll.
"if not, i can learn," said minnikin."
i will teach you," yelled the troll, and struck at him with his iron club so that the earth flew up fifteen yards high into the air.
"fie!"
said minnikin.
"that was not much of a blow.
now i will let you see one of my blows."
so saying he grasped his sword, and cut at the troll in such a way that all his fifteen heads danced away over the sands.
then the princess was delivered, and she thanked minnikin and blessed him for saving her.
"sleep a while now on my lap," said she, and while he lay there she put a garment of brass upon him.
"but now, how shall we have it made known that it was you who saved me?"
said the king's daughter.
"that i will tell you," answered minnikin.
"when ritter red has taken you home again, and given out that it was he who rescued you, he will, as you know, have you to wife, and half the kingdom.
but when they ask you on your wedding-day whom you will have to be your cup-bearer, you must say, "i will have the ragged boy who is in the kitchen, and carries wood and water for the kitchen-maid;" and when i am filling your cups for you, i will spill a drop upon his plate but none upon yours, and then he will be angry and strike me, and this will take place thrice.
but the third time you must say, "shame on you thus to smite the beloved of mine heart.
it is he who delivered me from the troll, and he is the one whom i will have.""
then minnikin ran back to the king's palace as he had done before, but first he went on board the troll's ship and took a great quantity of gold and silver and other precious things, and out of these he once more gave to the kitchen-maid a whole armful of gold and silver hoops.
no sooner did ritter red see that all danger was over than he crept down from the tree, and threatened the king's daughter till he made her promise to say that he had rescued her.
then he conducted her back to the king's palace, and if honour enough had not been done him before it was certainly done now, for the king had no other thought than how to make much of the man who had saved his daughter from the three trolls; and it was settled then that ritter red should marry her, and receive half the kingdom.
on the wedding-day, however, the princess begged that she might have the little boy who was in the kitchen, and carried wood and water for the kitchen-maid, to fill the wine-cups at the wedding feast.
"oh, what can you want with that dirty, ragged boy, in here?"
said ritter red, but the princess said that she insisted on having him as cup-bearer and would have no one else; and at last she got leave, and then everything was done as had been agreed on between the princess and minnikin.
he spilt a drop on ritter red's plate but none upon hers, and each time that he did it ritter red fell into a rage and struck him.
at the first blow all the ragged garments which he had worn in the kitchen fell from off minnikin, at the second blow the brass garments fell off, and at the third the silver raiment, and there he stood in the golden raiment, which was so bright and splendid that light flashed from it.
then the king's daughter said: "shame on you thus to smite the beloved of my heart.
it is he who delivered me from the troll, and he is the one whom i will have."
ritter red swore that he was the man who had saved her, but the king said: "he who delivered my daughter must have some token in proof of it."
so ritter red ran off at once for his handkerchief with the lungs and tongue, and minnikin went and brought all the gold and silver and precious things which he had taken out of the trolls" ships; and they each of them laid these tokens before the king.
"he who has such precious things in gold and silver and diamonds," said the king, "must be the one who killed the troll, for such things are not to be had anywhere else."
so ritter red was thrown into the snake-pit, and minnikin was to have the princess, and half the kingdom.
one day the king went out walking with minnikin, and minnikin asked him if he had never had any other children.
"yes," said the king," i had another daughter, but the troll carried her away because there was no one who could deliver her.
you are going to have one daughter of mine, but if you can set free the other, who has been taken by the troll, you shall willingly have her too, and the other half of the kingdom as well.'"
i may as well make the attempt," said minnikin, "but i must have an iron rope which is five hundred ells long, and then i must have five hundred men with me, and provisions for five weeks, for i have a long voyage before me."
so the king said he should have these things, but the king was afraid that he had no ship large enough to carry them all.
"but i have a ship of my own," said minnikin, and he took the one which the old woman had given him out of his pocket.
the king laughed at him and thought that it was only one of his jokes, but minnikin begged him just to give him what he had asked for, and then he should see something.
then all that minnikin had asked for was brought; and first he ordered them to lay the cable in the ship, but there was no one who was able to lift it, and there was only room for one or two men at a time in the little bit of a ship.
then minnikin himself took hold of the cable, and laid one or two links of it into the ship, and as he threw the links into it the ship grew bigger and bigger, and at last it was so large that the cable, and the five hundred men, and provisions, and minnikin himself, had room enough.
"now go over fresh water and salt water, over hill and dale, and do not stop until thou comest to where the king's daughter is," said minnikin to the ship, and off it went in a moment over land and water till the wind whistled and moaned all round about it.
when they had sailed thus a long, long way, the ship stopped short in the middle of the sea.
"ah, now we have got there," said minnikin, "but how we are to get back again is a very different thing."
then he took the cable and tied one end of it round his body.
"now i must go to the bottom," he said, "but when i give a good jerk to the cable and want to come up again, you must all pull like one man, or there will be an end of all life both for you and for me."
so saying he sprang into the water, and yellow bubbles rose up all around him.
he sank lower and lower, and at last he came to the bottom.
there he saw a large hill with a door in it, and in he went.
when he had got inside he found the other princess sitting sewing, but when she saw minnikin she clapped her hands.
"ah, heaven be praised!"
she cried," i have not seen a christian man since i came here.'"
i have come for you," said minnikin.
"alas!
you will not be able to get me," said the king's daughter.
"it is no use even to think of that; if the troll catches sight of you he will take your life."
"you had better tell me about him," said minnikin.
"where is he gone?
it would be amusing to see him."
so the king's daughter told minnikin that the troll was out trying to get hold of someone who could brew a hundred lasts of malt at one brewing, for there was to be a feast at the troll's, at which less than that would not be drunk."
i can do that," said minnikin.
"ah!
if only the troll were not so quick-tempered i might have told him that," answered the princess, "but he is so ill-natured that he will tear you to pieces, i fear, as soon as he comes in.
but i will try to find some way of doing it.
can you hide yourself here in the cupboard?
and then we will see what happens."
minnikin did this, and almost before he had crept into the cupboard and hidden himself, came the troll.
"huf!
what a smell of christian man's blood!"
said the troll.
"yes, a bird flew over the roof with a christian man's bone in his bill, and let it fall down our chimney," answered the princess."
i made haste enough to get it away again, but it must be that which smells so, notwithstanding."
"yes, it must be that," said the troll.
then the princess asked if he had got hold of anyone who could brew a hundred lasts of malt at one brewing.
"no, there is no one who can do it," said the troll."
a short time since there was a man here who said he could do it," said the king's daughter.
"how clever you always are!"
said the troll.
"how could you let him go away?
you must have known that i was just wanting a man of that kind."
"well, but i did n't let him go, after all," said the princess; "but father is so quick-tempered, so i hid him in the cupboard, but if father has not found any one then the man is still here."
"let him come in," said the troll.
when minnikin came, the troll asked if it were true that he could brew a hundred lasts of malt at one brewing.
"yes," said minnikin, "it is."
"it is well then that i have lighted on thee," said the troll.
"fall to work this very minute, but heaven help thee if thou dost not brew the ale strong."
"oh, it shall taste well," said minnikin, and at once set himself to work to brew.
"but i must have more trolls to help to carry what is wanted," said minnikin; "these that i have are good for nothing."
so he got more and so many that there was a swarm of them, and then the brewing went on.
when the sweet-wort was ready they were all, as a matter of course, anxious to taste it, first the troll himself and then the others; but minnikin had brewed the wort so strong that they all fell down dead like so many flies as soon as they had drunk any of it.
at last there was no one left but one wretched old hag who was lying behind the stove.
"oh, poor old creature!"
said minnikin, "you shall have a taste of the wort too like the rest."
so he went away and scooped up a little from the bottom of the brewing vat in a milk pan, and gave it to her, and then he was quit of the whole of them.
while minnikin was now standing there looking about him, he cast his eye on a large chest.
this he took and filled it with gold and silver, and then he tied the cable round himself and the princess and the chest, and tugged at the rope with all his might, whereupon his men drew them up safe and sound.
as soon as minnikin had got safely on his ship again, he said: "now go over salt water and fresh water, over hill and dale, and do not stop until thou comest unto the king's palace."
and in a moment the ship went off so fast that the yellow foam rose up all round about it.
when those who were in the king's palace saw the ship, they lost no time in going to meet him with song and music, and thus they marched up towards minnikin with great rejoicings; but the gladdest of all was the king, for now he had got his other daughter back again.
but now minnikin was not happy, for both the princesses wanted to have him, and he wanted to have none other than the one whom he had first saved, and she was the younger.
for this cause he was continually walking backwards and forwards, thinking how he could contrive to get her, and yet do nothing that was unkind to her sister.
one day when he was walking about and thinking of this, it came into his mind that if he only had his brother, king pippin, with him, who was so like himself that no one could distinguish the one from the other, he could let him have the elder princess and half the kingdom; as for himself, he thought, the other half was quite enough.
as soon as this thought occurred to him he went outside the palace and called for king pippin, but no one came.
so he called a second time, and a little louder, but no!
still no one came.
so minnikin called for the third time, and with all his might, and there stood his brother by his side."
i told you that you were not to call me unless you were in the utmost need," he said to minnikin, "and there is not even so much as a midge here who can do you any harm!"
and with that he gave minnikin such a blow that he rolled over on the grass.
"shame on you to strike me!"
said minnikin.
"first have i won one princess and half the kingdom, and then the other princess and the other half of the kingdom; and now, when i was just thinking that i would give you one of the princesses and one of the halves of the kingdom, do you think you have any reason to give me such a blow?"
when king pippin heard that he begged his brother's pardon, and they were reconciled at once and became good friends.
"now, as you know," said minnikin, "we are so like each other that no one can tell one of us from the other; so just change clothes with me and go up to the palace, and then the princesses will think that i am coming in, and the one who kisses you first shall be yours, and i will have the other."
for he knew that the elder princess was the stronger, so he could very well guess how things would go.
king pippin at once agreed to this.
he changed clothes with his brother, and went into the palace.
when he entered the princess's apartments they believed that he was minnikin, and both of them ran up to him at once; but the elder, who was bigger and stronger, pushed her sister aside, and threw her arms round king pippin's neck and kissed him; so he got her to wife, and minnikin the younger sister.
it will be easy to understand that two weddings took place, and they were so magnificent that they were heard of and talked about all over seven kingdoms.
-lrb- 27 -rrb- -lrb- 27 -rrb- from j. moe.
bushy bride there was once on a time a widower who had a son and a daughter by his first wife.
they were both good children, and loved each other with all their hearts.
after some time had gone by the man married again, and he chose a widow with one daughter who was ugly and wicked, and her mother was ugly and wicked too.
from the very day that the new wife came into the house there was no peace for the man's children, and not a corner to be found where they could get any rest; so the boy thought that the best thing he could do was to go out into the world and try to earn his own bread.
when he had roamed about for some time he came to the king's palace, where he obtained a place under the coachman; and very brisk and active he was, and the horses that he looked after were so fat and sleek, that they shone again.
but his sister, who was still at home, fared worse and worse.
both her step-mother and her step-sister were always finding fault with her, whatsoever she did and whithersoever she went, and they scolded her and abused her so that she never had an hour's peace.
they made her do all the hard work, and hard words fell to her lot early and late, but little enough food accompanied them.
one day they sent her to the brook to fetch some water home, and an ugly and horrible head rose up out of the water, and said, "wash me, girl!"
"yes, i will wash you with pleasure," said the girl, and began to wash and scrub the ugly face, but she could n't help thinking that it was a very unpleasant piece of work.
when she had done it, and done it well, another head rose up out of the water, and this one was uglier still.
"brush me, girl!"
said the head.
"yes, i will brush you with pleasure," said the girl, and set to work with the tangled hair, and, as may be easily imagined, this too was by no means pleasant work.
when she had got it done, another and a much more ugly and horrible-looking head rose up out of the water.
"kiss me, girl!"
said the head.
"yes, i will kiss you," said the man's daughter, and she did it, but she thought it was the worst bit of work that she had ever had to do in her life.
so the heads all began to talk to each other, and to ask what they should do for this girl who was so full of kindliness.
"she shall be the prettiest girl that ever was, and fair and bright as the day," said the first head.
"gold shall drop from her hair whenever she brushes it," said the second.
"gold shall drop from her mouth whenever she speaks," said the third head.
so when the man's daughter went home, looking as beautiful and bright as day, the step-mother and her daughter grew much more ill-tempered, and it was worse still when she began to talk, and they saw that golden coins dropped from her mouth.
the step-mother fell into such a towering passion that she drove the man's daughter into the pig-stye -- she might stay there with her fine show of gold, the step-mother said, but she should not be permitted to set foot in the house.
it was not long before the mother wanted her own daughter to go to the stream to fetch some water.
when she got there with her pails, the first head rose up out of the water close to the bank.
"wash me, girl!"
it said.
"wash yourself!"
answered the woman's daughter.
then the second head appeared.
"brush me, girl!"
said the head.
"brush yourself!"
said the woman's daughter.
so down it went to the bottom, and the third head came up.
"kiss me, girl!"
said the head.
"as if i would kiss your ugly mouth!"
said the girl.
so again the heads talked together about what they should do for this girl who was so ill-tempered and full of her own importance, and they agreed that she should have a nose that was four ells long, and a jaw that was three ells, and a fir bush in the middle of her forehead, and every time she spoke ashes should fall from her mouth.
when she came back to the cottage door with her pails, she called to her mother who was inside, "open the door!"
"open the door yourself, my own dear child!"
said the mother."
i ca n't get near, because of my nose," said the daughter.
when the mother came and saw her you may imagine what a state of mind she was in, and how she screamed and lamented, but neither the nose nor the jaw grew any the less for that.
now the brother, who was in service in the king's palace, had taken a portrait of his sister, and he had carried the picture away with him, and every morning and evening he knelt down before it and prayed for his sister, so dearly did he love her.
the other stable-boys had heard him doing this, so they peeped through the key-hole into his room, and saw that he was kneeling there before a picture; so they told everyone that every morning and evening the youth knelt down and prayed to an idol which he had; and at last they went to the king himself, and begged that he too would peep through the key-hole, and see for himself what the youth did.
at first the king would not believe this, but after a long, long time, they prevailed with him, and he crept on tip-toe to the door, peeped through, and saw the youth on his knees, with his hands clasped together before a picture which was hanging on the wall.
"open the door!"
cried the king, but the youth did not hear.
so the king called to him again, but the youth was praying so fervently that he did not hear him this time either.
"open the door, i say!"
cried the king again.
"it is i!
i want to come in."
so the youth sprang to the door and unlocked it, but in his haste he forgot to hide the picture.
when the king entered and saw it, he stood still as if he were in fetters, and could not stir from the spot, for the picture seemed to him so beautiful.
"there is nowhere on earth so beautiful a woman as this!"
said the king.
but the youth told him that she was his sister, and that he had painted her, and that if she was not prettier than the picture she was at all events not uglier.
"well, if she is as beautiful as that, i will have her for my queen," said the king, and he commanded the youth to go home and fetch her without a moment's delay, and to lose no time in coming back.
the youth promised to make all the haste he could, and set forth from the king's palace.
when the brother arrived at home to fetch his sister, her stepmother and step-sister would go too.
so they all set out together, and the man's daughter took with her a casket in which she kept her gold, and a dog which was called little snow.
these two things were all that she had inherited from her mother.
when they had travelled for some time they had to cross the sea, and the brother sat down at the helm, and the mother and the two half-sisters went to the fore-part of the vessel, and they sailed a long, long way.
at last they came in sight of land.
"look at that white strand there; that is where we shall land," said the brother, pointing across the sea.
"what is my brother saying?"
inquired the man's daughter.
"he says that you are to throw your casket out into the sea," answered the step-mother.
"well, if my brother says so, i must do it," said the man's daughter, and she flung her casket into the sea.
when they had sailed for some time longer, the brother once more pointed over the sea.
"there you may see the palace to which we are bound," said he.
"what is my brother saying?"
asked the man's daughter.
"now he says that you are to throw your dog into the sea," answered the step-mother.
the man's daughter wept, and was sorely troubled, for little snow was the dearest thing she had on earth, but at last she threw him overboard.
"if my brother says that, i must do it, but heaven knows how unwilling i am to throw thee out, little snow!"
said she.
so they sailed onwards a long way farther.
"there may "st thou see the king coming out to meet thee," said the brother, pointing to the sea-shore.
"what is my brother saying?"
asked his sister again.
"now he says that you are to make haste and throw yourself overboard," answered the step-mother.
she wept and she wailed, but as her brother had said that, she thought she must do it; so she leaped into the sea.
but when they arrived at the palace, and the king beheld the ugly bride with a nose that was four ells long, a jaw that was three ells, and a forehead that had a bush in the middle of it, he was quite terrified; but the wedding feast was all prepared, as regarded brewing and baking, and all the wedding guests were sitting waiting, so, ugly as she was, the king was forced to take her.
but he was very wroth, and none can blame him for that; so he caused the brother to be thrown into a pit full of snakes.
on the first thursday night after this, a beautiful maiden came into the kitchen of the palace, and begged the kitchen-maid, who slept there, to lend her a brush.
she begged very prettily, and got it, and then she brushed her hair, and the gold dropped from it.
a little dog was with her, and she said to it, "go out, little snow, and see if it will soon be day!"
this she said thrice, and the third time that she sent out the dog to see, it was very near dawn.
then she was forced to depart, but as she went she said: "out on thee, ugly bushy bride, sleeping so soft by the young king's side, on sand and stones my bed i make, and my brother sleeps with the cold snake, unpitied and unwept."
i shall come twice more, and then never again," said she.
in the morning the kitchen-maid related what she had seen and heard, and the king said that next thursday night he himself would watch in the kitchen and see if this were true, and when it had begun to grow dark he went out into the kitchen to the girl.
but though he rubbed his eyes and did everything he could to keep himself awake it was all in vain, for the bushy bride crooned and sang till his eyes were fast closed, and when the beautiful young maiden came he was sound asleep and snoring.
this time also, as before, she borrowed a brush and brushed her hair with it, and the gold dropped down as she did it; and again she sent the dog out three times, and when day dawned she departed, but as she was going she said as she had said before," i shall come once more, and then never again."
on the third thursday night the king once more insisted on keeping watch.
then he set two men to hold him; each of them was to take an arm, and shake him and jerk him by the arm whenever he seemed to be going to fall asleep; and he set two men to watch his bushy bride.
but as the night wore on the bushy bride again began to croon and to sing, so that his eyes began to close and his head to droop on one side.
then came the lovely maiden, and got the brush and brushed her hair till the gold dropped from it, and then she sent her little snow out to see if it would soon be day, and this she did three times.
the third time it was just beginning to grow light, and then she said: "out on thee, ugly bushy bride, sleeping so soft by the young king's side, on sand and stones my bed i make, and my brother sleeps with the cold snake, unpitied and unwept."
"now i shall never come again," she said, and then she turned to go.
but the two men who were holding the king by the arms seized his hands and forced a knife into his grasp, and then made him cut her little finger just enough to make it bleed.
thus the true bride was freed.
the king then awoke, and she told him all that had taken place, and how her step-mother and step-sister had betrayed her.
then the brother was at once taken out of the snake-pit -- the snakes had never touched him -- and the step-mother and step-sister were flung down into it instead of him.
no one can tell how delighted the king was to get rid of that hideous bushy bride, and get a queen who was bright and beautiful as day itself.
and now the real wedding was held, and held in such a way that it was heard of and spoken about all over seven kingdoms.
the king and his bride drove to church, and little snow was in the carriage too.
when the blessing was given they went home again, and after that i saw no more of them.
-lrb- 28 -rrb- -lrb- 28 -rrb- from j. moe.
snowdrop once upon a time, in the middle of winter when the snow-flakes were falling like feathers on the earth, a queen sat at a window framed in black ebony and sewed.
and as she sewed and gazed out to the white landscape, she pricked her finger with the needle, and three drops of blood fell on the snow outside, and because the red showed out so well against the white she thought to herself: "oh!
what would n't i give to have a child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as ebony!"
and her wish was granted, for not long after a little daughter was born to her, with a skin as white as snow, lips and cheeks as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.
they called her snowdrop, and not long after her birth the queen died.
after a year the king married again.
his new wife was a beautiful woman, but so proud and overbearing that she could n't stand any rival to her beauty.
she possessed a magic mirror, and when she used to stand before it gazing at her own reflection and ask: "mirror, mirror, hanging there, who in all the land's most fair?"
it always replied: "you are most fair, my lady queen, none fairer in the land, i ween."
then she was quite happy, for she knew the mirror always spoke the truth.
but snowdrop was growing prettier and prettier every day, and when she was seven years old she was as beautiful as she could be, and fairer even than the queen herself.
one day when the latter asked her mirror the usual question, it replied: "my lady queen, you are fair,'t is true, but snowdrop is fairer far than you."
then the queen flew into the most awful passion, and turned every shade of green in her jealousy.
from this hour she hated poor snowdrop like poison, and every day her envy, hatred, and malice grew, for envy and jealousy are like evil weeds which spring up and choke the heart.
at last she could endure snowdrop's presence no longer, and, calling a huntsman to her, she said: "take the child out into the wood, and never let me see her face again.
you must kill her, and bring me back her lungs and liver, that i may know for certain she is dead."
the huntsman did as he was told and led snowdrop out into the wood, but as he was in the act of drawing out his knife to slay her, she began to cry, and said: "oh, dear huntsman, spare my life, and i will promise to fly forth into the wide wood and never to return home again."
and because she was so young and pretty the huntsman had pity on her, and said: "well, run along, poor child."
for he thought to himself: "the wild beasts will soon eat her up."
and his heart felt lighter because he had n't had to do the deed himself.
and as he turned away a young boar came running past, so he shot it, and brought its lungs and liver home to the queen as a proof that snowdrop was really dead.
and the wicked woman had them stewed in salt, and ate them up, thinking she had made an end of snowdrop for ever.
now when the poor child found herself alone in the big wood the very trees around her seemed to assume strange shapes, and she felt so frightened she did n't know what to do.
then she began to run over the sharp stones, and through the bramble bushes, and the wild beasts ran past her, but they did her no harm.
she ran as far as her legs would carry her, and as evening approached she saw a little house, and she stepped inside to rest.
everything was very small in the little house, but cleaner and neater than anything you can imagine.
in the middle of the room there stood a little table, covered with a white tablecloth, and seven little plates and forks and spoons and knives and tumblers.
side by side against the wall there were seven little beds, covered with snow-white counterpanes.
snowdrop felt so hungry and so thirsty that she ate a bit of bread and a little porridge from each plate, and drank a drop of wine out of each tumbler.
then feeling tired and sleepy she lay down on one of the beds, but it was n't comfortable; then she tried all the others in turn, but one was too long, and another too short, and it was only when she got to the seventh that she found one to suit her exactly.
so she lay down upon it, said her prayers like a good child, and fell fast asleep.
when it got quite dark the masters of the little house returned.
they were seven dwarfs who worked in the mines, right down deep in the heart of the mountain.
they lighted their seven little lamps, and as soon as their eyes got accustomed to the glare they saw that someone had been in the room, for all was not in the same order as they had left it.
the first said: "who's been sitting on my little chair?"
the second said: "who's been eating my little loaf?"
the third said: "who's been tasting my porridge?"
the fourth said: "who's been eating out of my little plate?"
the fifth said: "who's been using my little fork?"
the sixth said: "who's been cutting with my little knife?"
the seventh said: "who's been drinking out of my little tumbler?"
then the first dwarf looked round and saw a little hollow in his bed, and he asked again: "who's been lying on my bed?"
the others came running round, and cried when they saw their beds: "somebody has lain on ours too."
but when the seventh came to his bed, he started back in amazement, for there he beheld snowdrop fast asleep.
then he called the others, who turned their little lamps full on the bed, and when they saw snowdrop lying there they nearly fell down with surprise.
"goodness gracious!"
they cried, "what a beautiful child!"
and they were so enchanted by her beauty that they did not wake her, but let her sleep on in the little bed.
but the seventh dwarf slept with his companions one hour in each bed, and in this way he managed to pass the night.
in the morning snowdrop awoke, but when she saw the seven little dwarfs she felt very frightened.
but they were so friendly and asked her what her name was in such a kind way, that she replied: "i am snowdrop."
"why did you come to our house?"
continued the dwarfs.
then she told them how her stepmother had wished her put to death, and how the huntsman had spared her life, and how she had run the whole day till she had come to their little house.
the dwarfs, when they had heard her sad story, asked her: "will you stay and keep house for us, cook, make the beds, the washing, sew and knit?
and if you give satisfaction and keep everything neat and clean, you shall want for nothing."
"yes," answered snowdrop," i will gladly do all you ask."
and so she took up her abode with them.
every morning the dwarfs went into the mountain to dig for gold, and in the evening, when they returned home, snowdrop always had their supper ready for them.
but during the day the girl was left quite alone, so the good dwarfs warned her, saying: "beware of your step-mother.
she will soon find out you are here, and whatever you do do n't let anyone into the house."
now the queen, after she thought she had eaten snowdrop's lungs and liver, never dreamed but that she was once more the most beautiful woman in the world; so stepping before her mirror one day she said: "mirror, mirror, hanging there, who in all the land's most fair?"
and the mirror replied: "my lady queen, you are fair,'t is true, but snowdrop is fairer far than you.
snowdrop, who dwells with the seven little men, is as fair as you, as fair again."
when the queen heard these words she was nearly struck dumb with horror, for the mirror always spoke the truth, and she knew now that the huntsman must have deceived her, and that snowdrop was still alive.
she pondered day and night how she might destroy her, for as long as she felt she had a rival in the land her jealous heart left her no rest.
at last she hit upon a plan.
she stained her face and dressed herself up as an old peddler wife, so that she was quite unrecognisable.
in this guise she went over the seven hills till she came to the house of the seven dwarfs.
there she knocked at the door, calling out at the same time: "fine wares to sell, fine wares to sell!"
snowdrop peeped out of the window, and called out: "good-day, mother, what have you to sell?"
"good wares, fine wares," she answered; "laces of every shade and description," and she held one up that was made of some gay coloured silk.
"surely i can let the honest woman in," thought snowdrop; so she unbarred the door and bought the pretty lace.
"good gracious!
child," said the old woman, "what a figure you've got.
come!
i'll lace you up properly for once."
snowdrop, suspecting no evil, stood before her and let her lace her bodice up, but the old woman laced her so quickly and so tightly that it took snowdrop's breath away, and she fell down dead.
"now you are no longer the fairest," said the wicked old woman, and then she hastened away.
in the evening the seven dwarfs came home, and you may think what a fright they got when they saw their dear snowdrop lying on the floor, as still and motionless as a dead person.
they lifted her up tenderly, and when they saw how tightly laced she was they cut the lace in two, and she began to breathe a little and gradually came back to life.
when the dwarfs heard what had happened, they said: "depend upon it, the old peddler wife was none other than the old queen.
in future you must be sure to let no one in, if we are not at home."
as soon as the wicked old queen got home she went straight to her mirror, and said: "mirror, mirror, hanging there, who in all the land's most fair?"
and the mirror answered as before: "my lady queen, you are fair,'t is true, but snowdrop is fairer far than you.
snowdrop, who dwells with the seven little men, is as fair as you, as fair again."
when she heard this she became as pale as death, because she saw at once that snowdrop must be alive again.
"this time," she said to herself," i will think of something that will make an end of her once and for all."
and by the witchcraft which she understood so well she made a poisonous comb; then she dressed herself up and assumed the form of another old woman.
so she went over the seven hills till she reached the house of the seven dwarfs, and knocking at the door she called out: "fine wares for sale."
snowdrop looked out of the window and said: "you must go away, for i may not let anyone in."
"but surely you are not forbidden to look out?"
said the old woman, and she held up the poisonous comb for her to see.
it pleased the girl so much that she let herself be taken in, and opened the door.
when they had settled their bargain the old woman said: "now i'll comb your hair properly for you, for once in the way."
poor snowdrop thought no evil, but hardly had the comb touched her hair than the poison worked and she fell down unconscious.
"now, my fine lady, you're really done for this time," said the wicked woman, and she made her way home as fast as she could.
fortunately it was now near evening, and the seven dwarfs returned home.
when they saw snowdrop lying dead on the ground, they at once suspected that her wicked step-mother had been at work again; so they searched till they found the poisonous comb, and the moment they pulled it out of her head snowdrop came to herself again, and told them what had happened.
then they warned her once more to be on her guard, and to open the door to no one.
as soon as the queen got home she went straight to her mirror, and asked: "mirror, mirror, hanging there, who in all the land's most fair?"
and it replied as before: "my lady queen, you are fair,'t is true, but snowdrop is fairer far than you.
snowdrop, who dwells with the seven little men, is as fair as you, as fair again."
when she heard these words she literally trembled and shook with rage.
"snowdrop shall die," she cried; "yes, though it cost me my own life."
then she went to a little secret chamber, which no one knew of but herself, and there she made a poisonous apple.
outwardly it looked beautiful, white with red cheeks, so that everyone who saw it longed to eat it, but anyone who might do so would certainly die on the spot.
when the apple was quite finished she stained her face and dressed herself up as a peasant, and so she went over the seven hills to the seven dwarfs".
she knocked at the door, as usual, but snowdrop put her head out of the window and called out: "i may not let anyone in, the seven dwarfs have forbidden me to do so."
"are you afraid of being poisoned?"
asked the old woman.
"see, i will cut this apple in half.
i'll eat the white cheek and you can eat the red."
but the apple was so cunningly made that only the red cheek was poisonous.
snowdrop longed to eat the tempting fruit, and when she saw that the peasant woman was eating it herself, she could n't resist the temptation any longer, and stretching out her hand she took the poisonous half.
but hardly had the first bite passed her lips than she fell down dead on the ground.
then the eyes of the cruel queen sparkled with glee, and laughing aloud she cried: "as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as ebony, this time the dwarfs wo n't be able to bring you back to life."
when she got home she asked the mirror: "mirror, mirror, hanging there, who in all the land's most fair?"
and this time it replied: "you are most fair, my lady queen, none fairer in the land, i ween."
then her jealous heart was at rest -- at least, as much at rest as a jealous heart can ever be.
when the little dwarfs came home in the evening they found snowdrop lying on the ground, and she neither breathed nor stirred.
they lifted her up, and looked round everywhere to see if they could find anything poisonous about.
they unlaced her bodice, combed her hair, washed her with water and wine, but all in vain; the child was dead and remained dead.
then they placed her on a bier, and all the seven dwarfs sat round it, weeping and sobbing for three whole days.
at last they made up their minds to bury her, but she looked as blooming as a living being, and her cheeks were still such a lovely colour, that they said: "we ca n't hide her away in the black ground."
so they had a coffin made of transparent glass, and they laid her in it, and wrote on the lid in golden letters that she was a royal princess.
then they put the coffin on the top of the mountain, and one of the dwarfs always remained beside it and kept watch over it.
and the very birds of the air came and bewailed snowdrop's death, first an owl, and then a raven, and last of all a little dove.
snowdrop lay a long time in the coffin, and she always looked the same, just as if she were fast asleep, and she remained as white as snow, as red as blood, and her hair as black as ebony.
now it happened one day that a prince came to the wood and passed by the dwarfs" house.
he saw the coffin on the hill, with the beautiful snowdrop inside it, and when he had read what was written on it in golden letters, he said to the dwarf: "give me the coffin.
i'll give you whatever you like for it."
but the dwarf said: "no; we would n't part with it for all the gold in the world."
"well, then," he replied, "give it to me, because i ca n't live without snowdrop.
i will cherish and love it as my dearest possession."
he spoke so sadly that the good dwarfs had pity on him, and gave him the coffin, and the prince made his servants bear it away on their shoulders.
now it happened that as they were going down the hill they stumbled over a bush, and jolted the coffin so violently that the poisonous bit of apple snowdrop had swallowed fell out of her throat.
she gradually opened her eyes, lifted up the lid of the coffin, and sat up alive and well.
"oh!
dear me, where am i?"
she cried.
the prince answered joyfully, "you are with me," and he told her all that had happened, adding," i love you better than anyone in the whole wide world.
will you come with me to my father's palace and be my wife?"
snowdrop consented, and went with him, and the marriage was celebrated with great pomp and splendour.
now snowdrop's wicked step-mother was one of the guests invited to the wedding feast.
when she had dressed herself very gorgeously for the occasion, she went to the mirror, and said: "mirror, mirror, hanging there, who in all the land's most fair?"
and the mirror answered: "my lady queen, you are fair,'t is true, but snowdrop is fairer far than you."
when the wicked woman heard these words she uttered a curse, and was beside herself with rage and mortification.
at first she did n't want to go to the wedding at all, but at the same time she felt she would never be happy till she had seen the young queen.
as she entered snowdrop recognised her, and nearly fainted with fear; but red-hot iron shoes had been prepared for the wicked old queen, and she was made to get into them and dance till she fell down dead.
-lrb- 29 -rrb- -lrb- 29 -rrb- grimm.
the golden goose there was once a man who had three sons.
the youngest of them was called dullhead, and was sneered and jeered at and snubbed on every possible opportunity.
one day it happened that the eldest son wished to go into the forest to cut wood, and before he started his mother gave him a fine rich cake and a bottle of wine, so that he might be sure not to suffer from hunger or thirst.
when he reached the forest he met a little old grey man who wished him "good-morning," and said: "do give me a piece of that cake you have got in your pocket, and let me have a draught of your wine -- i am so hungry and thirsty."
but this clever son replied: "if i give you my cake and wine i shall have none left for myself; you just go your own way;" and he left the little man standing there and went further on into the forest.
there he began to cut down a tree, but before long he made a false stroke with his axe, and cut his own arm so badly that he was obliged to go home and have it bound up.
then the second son went to the forest, and his mother gave him a good cake and a bottle of wine as she had to his elder brother.
he too met the little old grey man, who begged him for a morsel of cake and a draught of wine.
but the second son spoke most sensibly too, and said: "whatever i give to you i deprive myself of.
just go your own way, will you?"
not long after his punishment overtook him, for no sooner had he struck a couple of blows on a tree with his axe, than he cut his leg so badly that he had to be carried home.
so then dullhead said: "father, let me go out and cut wood."
but his father answered: "both your brothers have injured themselves.
you had better leave it alone; you know nothing about it."
but dullhead begged so hard to be allowed to go that at last his father said: "very well, then -- go.
perhaps when you have hurt yourself, you may learn to know better."
his mother only gave him a very plain cake made with water and baked in the cinders, and a bottle of sour beer.
when he got to the forest, he too met the little grey old man, who greeted him and said: "give me a piece of your cake and a draught from your bottle; i am so hungry and thirsty."
and dullhead replied: "i've only got a cinder-cake and some sour beer, but if you care to have that, let us sit down and eat."
so they sat down, and when dullhead brought out his cake he found it had turned into a fine rich cake, and the sour beer into excellent wine.
then they ate and drank, and when they had finished the little man said: "now i will bring you luck, because you have a kind heart and are willing to share what you have with others.
there stands an old tree; cut it down, and amongst its roots you'll find something."
with that the little man took leave.
then dullhead fell to at once to hew down the tree, and when it fell he found amongst its roots a goose, whose feathers were all of pure gold.
he lifted it out, carried it off, and took it with him to an inn where he meant to spend the night.
now the landlord of the inn had three daughters, and when they saw the goose they were filled with curiosity as to what this wonderful bird could be, and each longed to have one of its golden feathers.
the eldest thought to herself: "no doubt i shall soon find a good opportunity to pluck out one of its feathers," and the first time dullhead happened to leave the room she caught hold of the goose by its wing.
but, lo and behold!
her fingers seemed to stick fast to the goose, and she could not take her hand away.
soon after the second daughter came in, and thought to pluck a golden feather for herself too; but hardly had she touched her sister than she stuck fast as well.
at last the third sister came with the same intentions, but the other two cried out: "keep off!
for heaven's sake, keep off!"
the younger sister could not imagine why she was to keep off, and thought to herself: "if they are both there, why should not i be there too?"
so she sprang to them; but no sooner had she touched one of them than she stuck fast to her.
so they all three had to spend the night with the goose.
next morning dullhead tucked the goose under his arm and went off, without in the least troubling himself about the three girls who were hanging on to it.
they just had to run after him right or left as best they could.
in the middle of a field they met the parson, and when he saw this procession he cried: "for shame, you bold girls!
what do you mean by running after a young fellow through the fields like that?
do you call that proper behaviour?"
and with that he caught the youngest girl by the hand to try and draw her away.
but directly he touched her he hung on himself, and had to run along with the rest of them.
not long after the clerk came that way, and was much surprised to see the parson following the footsteps of three girls.
"why, where is your reverence going so fast?"
cried he; "do n't forget there is to be a christening to-day;" and he ran after him, caught him by the sleeve, and hung on to it himself: as the five of them trotted along in this fashion one after the other, two peasants were coming from their work with their hoes.
on seeing them the parson called out and begged them to come and rescue him and the clerk.
but no sooner did they touch the clerk than they stuck on too, and so there were seven of them running after dullhead and his goose.
after a time they all came to a town where a king reigned whose daughter was so serious and solemn that no one could ever manage to make her laugh.
so the king had decreed that whoever should succeed in making her laugh should marry her.
when dullhead heard this he marched before the princess with his goose and its appendages, and as soon as she saw these seven people continually running after each other she burst out laughing, and could not stop herself.
then dullhead claimed her as his bride, but the king, who did not much fancy him as a son-in-law, made all sorts of objections, and told him he must first find a man who could drink up a whole cellarful of wine.
dullhead bethought him of the little grey man, who could, he felt sure, help him; so he went off to the forest, and on the very spot where he had cut down the tree he saw a man sitting with a most dismal expression of face.
dullhead asked him what he was taking so much to heart, and the man answered: "i do n't know how i am ever to quench this terrible thirst i am suffering from.
cold water does n't suit me at all.
to be sure i've emptied a whole barrel of wine, but what is one drop on a hot stone?'"
i think i can help you," said dullhead.
"come with me, and you shall drink to your heart's content."
so he took him to the king's cellar, and the man sat down before the huge casks and drank and drank till he drank up the whole contents of the cellar before the day closed.
then dullhead asked once more for his bride, but the king felt vexed at the idea of a stupid fellow whom people called "dullhead" carrying off his daughter, and he began to make fresh conditions.
he required dullhead to find a man who could eat a mountain of bread.
dullhead did not wait to consider long but went straight off to the forest, and there on the same spot sat a man who was drawing in a strap as tight as he could round his body, and making a most woeful face the while.
said he: "i've eaten up a whole oven full of loaves, but what's the good of that to anyone who is as hungry as i am?
i declare my stomach feels quite empty, and i must draw my belt tight if i'm not to die of starvation."
dullhead was delighted, and said: "get up and come with me, and you shall have plenty to eat," and he brought him to the king's court.
now the king had given orders to have all the flour in his kingdom brought together, and to have a huge mountain baked of it.
but the man from the wood just took up his stand before the mountain and began to eat, and in one day it had all vanished.
for the third time dullhead asked for his bride, but again the king tried to make some evasion, and demanded a ship "which could sail on land or water!
when you come sailing in such a ship," said he, "you shall have my daughter without further delay."
again dullhead started off to the forest, and there he found the little old grey man with whom he had shared his cake, and who said: "i have eaten and i have drunk for you, and now i will give you the ship.
i have done all this for you because you were kind and merciful to me."
then he gave dullhead a ship which could sail on land or water, and when the king saw it he felt he could no longer refuse him his daughter.
so they celebrated the wedding with great rejoicings; and after the king's death dullhead succeeded to the kingdom, and lived happily with his wife for many years after.
-lrb- 30 -rrb- -lrb- 30 -rrb- grimm.
the seven foals there was once upon a time a couple of poor folks who lived in a wretched hut, far away from everyone else, in a wood.
they only just managed to live from hand to mouth, and had great difficulty in doing even so much as that, but they had three sons, and the youngest of them was called cinderlad, for he did nothing else but lie and poke about among the ashes.
one day the eldest lad said that he would go out to earn his living; he soon got leave to do that, and set out on his way into the world.
he walked on and on for the whole day, and when night was beginning to fall he came to a royal palace.
the king was standing outside on the steps, and asked where he was going.
"oh, i am going about seeking a place, my father," said the youth.
"wilt thou serve me, and watch my seven foals?"
asked the king.
"if thou canst watch them for a whole day and tell me at night what they eat and drink, thou shalt have the princess and half my kingdom, but if thou canst not, i will cut three red stripes on thy back."
the youth thought that it was very easy work to watch the foals, and that he could do it well enough.
next morning, when day was beginning to dawn, the king's master of the horse let out the seven foals; and they ran away, and the youth after them just as it chanced, over hill and dale, through woods end bogs.
when the youth had run thus for a long time he began to be tired, and when he had held on a little longer he was heartily weary of watching at all, and at the same moment he came to a cleft in a rock where an old woman was sitting spinning with her distaff in her hand.
as soon as she caught sight of the youth, who was running after the foals till the perspiration streamed down his face, she cried: "come hither, come hither, my handsome son, and let me comb your hair for you."
the lad was willing enough, so he sat down in the cleft of the rock beside the old hag, and laid his head on her knees, and she combed his hair all day while he lay there and gave himself up to idleness.
when evening was drawing near, the youth wanted to go."
i may just as well go straight home again," said he, "for it is no use to go to the king's palace."
"wait till it is dusk," said the old hag, "and then the king's foals will pass by this place again, and you can run home with them; no one will ever know that you have been lying here all day instead of watching the foals."
so when they came she gave the lad a bottle of water and a bit of moss, and told him to show these to the king and say that this was what his seven foals ate and drank.
"hast thou watched faithfully and well the whole day long?"
said the king, when the lad came into his presence in the evening.
"yes, that i have!"
said the youth.
"then you are able to tell me what it is that my seven foals eat and drink," said the king.
so the youth produced the bottle of water and the bit of moss which he had got from the old woman, saying: "here you see their meat, and here you see their drink."
then the king knew how his watching had been done, and fell into such a rage that he ordered his people to chase the youth back to his own home at once; but first they were to cut three red stripes in his back, and rub salt into them.
when the youth reached home again, anyone can imagine what a state of mind he was in.
he had gone out once to seek a place, he said, but never would he do such a thing again.
next day the second son said that he would now go out into the world to seek his fortune.
his father and mother said "no," and bade him look at his brother's back, but the youth would not give up his design, and stuck to it, and after a long, long time he got leave to go, and set forth on his way.
when he had walked all day he too came to the king's palace, and the king was standing outside on the steps, and asked where he was going; and when the youth replied that he was going about in search of a place, the king said that he might enter into his service and watch his seven foals.
then the king promised him the same punishment and the same reward that he had promised his brother.
the youth at once consented to this and entered into the king's service, for he thought he could easily watch the foals and inform the king what they ate and drank.
in the grey light of dawn the master of the horse let out the seven foals, and off they went again over hill and dale, and off went the lad after them.
but all went with him as it had gone with his brother.
when he had run after the foals for a long, long time and was hot and tired, he passed by a cleft in the rock where an old woman was sitting spinning with a distaff, and she called to him: "come hither, come hither, my handsome son, and let me comb your hair."
the youth liked the thought of this, let the foals run where they chose, and seated himself in the cleft of the rock by the side of the old hag.
so there he sat with his head on her lap, taking his ease the livelong day.
the foals came back in the evening, and then he too got a bit of moss and a bottle of water from the old hag, which things he was to show to the king.
but when the king asked the youth: "canst thou tell me what my seven foals eat and drink?"
and the youth showed him the bit of moss and the bottle of water, and said: "yes here may you behold their meat, and here their drink," the king once more became wroth, and commanded that three red stripes should be cut on the lad's back, that salt should be strewn upon them, and that he should then be instantly chased back to his own home.
so when the youth got home again he too related all that had happened to him, and he too said that he had gone out in search of a place once, but that never would he do it again.
on the third day cinderlad wanted to set out.
he had a fancy to try to watch the seven foals himself, he said.
the two others laughed at him, and mocked him.
"what i when all went so ill with us, do you suppose that you are going to succeed?
you look like succeeding -- you who have never done anything else but lie and poke about among the ashes!"
said they.
"yes, i will go too," said cinderlad, "for i have taken it into my head."
the two brothers laughed at him, and his father and mother begged him not to go, but all to no purpose, and cinderlad set out on his way.
so when he had walked the whole day, he too came to the king's palace as darkness began to fall.
there stood the king outside on the steps, and he asked whither he was bound."
i am walking about in search of a place," said cinderlad.
"from whence do you come, then?"
inquired the king, for by this time he wanted to know a little more about the men before he took any of them into his service.
so cinderlad told him whence he came, and that he was brother to the two who had watched the seven foals for the king, and then he inquired if he might be allowed to try to watch them on the following day.
"oh, shame on them!"
said the king, for it enraged him even to think of them.
"if thou art brother to those two, thou too art not good for much.
i have had enough of such fellows."
"well, but as i have come here, you might just give me leave to make the attempt," said cinderlad.
"oh, very well, if thou art absolutely determined to have thy back flayed, thou may "st have thine own way if thou wilt," said the king."
i would much rather have the princess," said cinderlad.
next morning, in the grey light of dawn, the master of the horse let out the seven foals again, and off they set over hill and dale, through woods and bogs, and off went cinderlad after them.
when he had run thus for a long time, he too came to the cleft in the rock.
there the old hag was once more sitting spinning from her distaff, and she cried to cinderlad; "come hither, come hither, my handsome son, and let me comb your hair for you."
"come to me, then; come to me!"
said cinderlad, as he passed by jumping and running, and keeping tight hold of one of the foals" tails.
when he had got safely past the cleft in the rock, the youngest foal said: "get on my back, for we have still a long way to go."
so the lad did this.
and thus they journeyed onwards a long, long way.
"dost thou see anything now?"
said the foal.
"no," said cinderlad.
so they journeyed onwards a good bit farther.
"dost thou see anything now?"
asked the foal.
"oh, no," said the lad.
when they had gone thus for a long, long way, the foal again asked: "dost thou see anything now?"
"yes, now i see something that is white," said cinderlad.
"it looks like the trunk of a great thick birch tree."
"yes, that is where we are to go in," said the foal.
when they got to the trunk, the eldest foal broke it down on one side, and then they saw a door where the trunk had been standing, and inside this there was a small room, and in the room there was scarcely anything but a small fire-place and a couple of benches, but behind the door hung a great rusty sword and a small pitcher.
"canst thou wield that sword?"
asked the foal.
cinderlad tried, but could not do it; so he had to take a draught from the pitcher, and then one more, and after that still another, and then he was able to wield the sword with perfect ease.
"good," said the foal; "and now thou must take the sword away with thee, and with it shalt thou cut off the heads of all seven of us on thy wedding-day, and then we shall become princes again as we were before.
for we are brothers of the princess whom thou art to have when thou canst tell the king what we eat and drink, but there is a mighty troll who has cast a spell over us.
when thou hast cut off our heads, thou must take the greatest care to lay each head at the tail of the body to which it belonged before, and then the spell which the troll has cast upon us will lose all its power."
cinderlad promised to do this, and then they went on farther.
when they had travelled a long, long way, the foal said: "dost thou see anything?"
"no," said cinderlad.
so they went on a great distance farther.
"and now?"
inquired the foal, "seest thou nothing now?"
"alas!
no," said cinderlad.
so they travelled onwards again, for many and many a mile, over hill and dale.
"now, then," said the foal, "dost thou not see anything now?"
"yes," said cinderlad; "now i see something like a bluish streak, far, far away."
"that is a river," said the foal, "and we have to cross it."
there was a long, handsome bridge over the river, and when they had got to the other side of it they again travelled on a long, long way, and then once more the foal inquired if cinderlad saw anything.
yes, this time he saw something that looked black, far, far away, and was rather like a church tower.
"yes," said the foal, "we shall go into that."
when the foals got into the churchyard they turned into men and looked like the sons of a king, and their clothes were so magnificent that they shone with splendour, and they went into the church and received bread and wine from the priest, who was standing before the altar, and cinderlad went in too.
but when the priest had laid his hands on the princes and read the blessing, they went out of the church again, and cinderlad went out too, but he took with him a flask of wine and some consecrated bread.
no sooner had the seven princes come out into the churchyard than they became foals again, and cinderlad got upon the back of the youngest, and they returned by the way they had come, only they went much, much faster.
first they went over the bridge, and then past the trunk of the birch tree, and then past the old hag who sat in the cleft of the rock spinning, and they went by so fast that cinderlad could not hear what the old hag screeched after him, but just heard enough to understand that she was terribly enraged.
it was all but dark when they got back to the king at nightfall, and he himself was standing in the courtyard waiting for them.
"hast thou watched well and faithfully the whole day?"
said the king to cinderlad."
i have done my best," replied cinderlad.
"then thou canst tell me what my seven foals eat and drink?"
asked the king.
so cinderlad pulled out the consecrated bread and the flask of wine, and showed them to the king.
"here may you behold their meat, and here their drink," said he.
"yes, diligently and faithfully hast thou watched," said the king, "and thou shalt have the princess and half the kingdom."
so all was made ready for the wedding, and the king said that it was to be so stately and magnificent that everyone should hear of it, and everyone inquire about it.
but when they sat down to the marriage-feast, the bridegroom arose and went down to the stable, for he said that he had forgotten something which he must go and look to.
when he got there, he did what the foals had bidden him, and cut off the heads of all the seven.
first the eldest, and then the second, and so on according to their age, and he was extremely careful to lay each head at the tail of the foal to which it had belonged, and when that was done, all the foals became princes again.
when he returned to the marriage-feast with the seven princes, the king was so joyful that he both kissed cinderlad and clapped him on the back, and his bride was still more delighted with him than she had been before.
"half my kingdom is thine already," said the king, "and the other half shall be thine after my death, for my sons can get countries and kingdoms for themselves now that they have become princes again."
therefore, as all may well believe, there was joy and merriment at that wedding.
-lrb- 31 -rrb- -lrb- 31 -rrb- from j. moe.
the marvellous musician there was once upon a time a marvellous musician.
one day he was wandering through a wood all by himself, thinking now of one thing, now of another, till there was nothing else left to think about.
then he said to himself: "time hangs very heavily on my hands when i'm all alone in the wood.
i must try and find a pleasant companion."
so he took his fiddle out, and fiddled till he woke the echoes round.
after a time a wolf came through the thicket and trotted up to the musician.
"oh!
it's a wolf, is it?"
said he.
"i've not the smallest wish for his society."
but the wolf approached him and said: "oh, my dear musician, how beautifully you play!
i wish you'd teach me how it's done."
"that's easily learned," answered the fiddler; "you must only do exactly as i tell you."
"of course i will," replied the wolf."
i can promise that you will find me a most apt pupil."
so they joined company and went on their way together, and after a time they came to an old oak tree, which was hollow and had a crack in the middle of the trunk.
"now," said the musician, "if you want to learn to fiddle, here's your chance.
lay your front paws in this crack."
the wolf did as he was told, and the musician quickly seized a stone, and wedged both his fore paws so firmly into the crack that he was held there, a fast prisoner.
"wait there till i return," said the fiddler, and he went on his way.
after a time he said to himself again: "time hangs very heavily on my hands when i'm all alone in the wood; i must try and find a companion."
so he drew out his fiddle, and fiddled away lustily.
presently a fox slunk through the trees.
"aha i what have we here?"
said the musician."
a fox; well, i have n't the smallest desire for his company."
the fox came straight up to him and said: "my dear friend, how beautifully you play the fiddle; i would like to learn how you do it."
"nothing easier," said the musician, "if you'll promise to do exactly as i tell you."
"certainly," answered the fox, "you have only to say the word."
"well, then, follow me," replied the fiddler.
when they had gone a bi of the way, they came to a path with high trees on each side.
here the musician halted, bent a stout hazel bough down to the ground from one side of the path, and put his foot on the end of it to keep it down.
then he bent a branch down from the other side and said: "give me your left front paw, my little fox, if you really wish to learn how it's done."
the fox did as he was told, and the musician tied his front paw to the end of one of the branches.
"now, my friend," he said, "give me your right paw."
this he bound to the other branch, and having carefully seen that his knots were all secure, he stepped off the ends of the branches, and they sprang back, leaving the poor fox suspended in mid-air.
"just you wait where you are till i return," said the musician, and he went on his way again.
once more he said to himself: "time hangs heavily on my hands when i'm all alone in the wood; i must try and find another companion."
so he took out his fiddle and played as merrily as before.
this time a little hare came running up at the sound.
"oh!
here comes a hare," said the musician; "i've not the smallest desire for his company."
"how beautifully you play, dear mr. fiddler," said the little hare."
i wish i could learn how you do it."
"it's easily learnt," answered the musician; "just do exactly as i tell you."
"that i will," said the hare, "you will find me a most attentive pupil."
they went on a bit together, till they came to a thin part of the wood, where they found an aspen tree growing.
the musician bound a long cord round the little hare's neck, the other end of which he fastened to the tree.
"now, my merry little friend," said the musician, "run twenty times round the tree."
the little hare obeyed, and when it had run twenty times round the tree, the cord had twisted itself twenty times round the trunk, so that the poor little beast was held a fast prisoner, and it might bite and tear as much as it liked, it could n't free itself, and the cord only cut its tender neck.
"wait there till i return," said the musician, and went on his way.
in the meantime the wolf had pulled and bitten and scratched at the stone, till at last he succeeded in getting his paws out.
full of anger, he hurried after the musician, determined when he met him to tear him to pieces.
when the fox saw him running by, he called out as loud as he could: "brother wolf, come to my rescue, the musician has deceived me too."
the wolf pulled the branches down, bit the cord in two, and set the fox free.
so they went on their way together, both vowing vengeance on the musician.
they found the poor imprisoned little hare, and having set him free also, they all set out to look for their enemy.
during this time the musician had once more played his fiddle, and had been more fortunate in the result.
the sounds pierced to the ears of a poor woodman, who instantly left his work, and with his hatchet under his arm came to listen to the music.
"at last i've got a proper sort of companion," said the musician, "for it was a human being i wanted all along, and not a wild animal."
and he began playing so enchantingly that the poor man stood there as if bewitched, and his heart leapt for joy as he listened.
and as he stood thus, the wolf and fox and little hare came up, and the woodman saw at once that they meant mischief.
he lifted his glittering axe and placed himself in front of the musician, as much as to say: "if you touch a hair of his head, beware, for you will have to answer for it to me."
then the beasts were frightened, and they all three ran back into the wood, and the musician played the woodman one of his best tunes, by way of thanks, and then continued his way.
-lrb- 32 -rrb- -lrb- 32 -rrb- grimm.
the story of sigurd -lrb- this is a very old story: the danes who used to fight with the english in king alfred's time knew this story.
they have carved on the rocks pictures of some of the things that happen in the tale, and those carvings may still be seen.
because it is so old and so beautiful the story is told here again, but it has a sad ending -- indeed it is all sad, and all about fighting and killing, as might be expected from the danes. -rrb-
once upon a time there was a king in the north who had won many wars, but now he was old.
yet he took a new wife, and then another prince, who wanted to have married her, came up against him with a great army.
the old king went out and fought bravely, but at last his sword broke, and he was wounded and his men fled.
but in the night, when the battle was over, his young wife came out and searched for him among the slain, and at last she found him, and asked whether he might be healed.
but he said "no," his luck was gone, his sword was broken, and he must die.
and he told her that she would have a son, and that son would be a great warrior, and would avenge him on the other king, his enemy.
and he bade her keep the broken pieces of the sword, to make a new sword for his son, and that blade should be called gram.
then he died.
and his wife called her maid to her and said, "let us change clothes, and you shall be called by my name, and i by yours, lest the enemy finds us."
so this was done, and they hid in a wood, but there some strangers met them and carried them off in a ship to denmark.
and when they were brought before the king, he thought the maid looked like a queen, and the queen like a maid.
so he asked the queen, "how do you know in the dark of night whether the hours are wearing to the morning?"
and she said: "i know because, when i was younger, i used to have to rise and light the fires, and still i waken at the same time.'"
a strange queen to light the fires," thought the king.
then he asked the queen, who was dressed like a maid, "how do you know in the dark of night whether the hours are wearing near the dawn?"
"my father gave me a gold ring," said she, "and always, ere the dawning, it grows cold on my finger.'"
a rich house where the maids wore gold," said the king.
"truly you are no maid, but a king's daughter."
so he treated her royally, and as time went on she had a son called sigurd, a beautiful boy and very strong.
he had a tutor to be with him, and once the tutor bade him go to the king and ask for a horse.
"choose a horse for yourself," said the king; and sigurd went to the wood, and there he met an old man with a white beard, and said, "come!
help me in horse-choosing."
then the old man said, "drive all the horses into the river, and choose the one that swims across."
so sigurd drove them, and only one swam across.
sigurd chose him: his name was grani, and he came of sleipnir's breed, and was the best horse in the world.
for sleipnir was the horse of odin, the god of the north, and was as swift as the wind.
but a day or two later his tutor said to sigurd, "there is a great treasure of gold hidden not far from here, and it would become you to win it."
but sigurd answered," i have heard stories of that treasure, and i know that the dragon fafnir guards it, and he is so huge and wicked that no man dares to go near him."
"he is no bigger than other dragons," said the tutor, "and if you were as brave as your father you would not fear him.'"
i am no coward," says sigurd; "why do you want me to fight with this dragon?"
then his tutor, whose name was regin, told him that all this great hoard of red gold had once belonged to his own father.
and his father had three sons -- the first was fafnir, the dragon; the next was otter, who could put on the shape of an otter when he liked; and the next was himself, regin, and he was a great smith and maker of swords.
now there was at that time a dwarf called andvari, who lived in a pool beneath a waterfall, and there he had hidden a great hoard of gold.
and one day otter had been fishing there, and had killed a salmon and eaten it, and was sleeping, like an otter, on a stone.
then someone came by, and threw a stone at the otter and killed it, and flayed off the skin, and took it to the house of otter's father.
then he knew his son was dead, and to punish the person who had killed him he said he must have the otter's skin filled with gold, and covered all over with red gold, or it should go worse with him.
then the person who had killed otter went down and caught the dwarf who owned all the treasure and took it from him.
only one ring was left, which the dwarf wore, and even that was taken from him.
then the poor dwarf was very angry, and he prayed that the gold might never bring any but bad luck to all the men who might own it, for ever.
then the otter skin was filled with gold and covered with gold, all but one hair, and that was covered with the poor dwarf's last ring.
but it brought good luck to nobody.
first fafnir, the dragon, killed his own father, and then he went and wallowed on the gold, and would let his brother have none, and no man dared go near it.
when sigurd heard the story he said to regin: "make me a good sword that i may kill this dragon."
so regin made a sword, and sigurd tried it with a blow on a lump of iron, and the sword broke.
another sword he made, and sigurd broke that too.
then sigurd went to his mother, and asked for the broken pieces of his father's blade, and gave them to regin.
and he hammered and wrought them into a new sword, so sharp that fire seemed to burn along its edges.
sigurd tried this blade on the lump of iron, and it did not break, but split the iron in two.
then he threw a lock of wool into the river, and when it floated down against the sword it was cut into two pieces.
so sigurd said that sword would do.
but before he went against the dragon he led an army to fight the men who had killed his father, and he slew their king, and took all his wealth, and went home.
when he had been at home a few days, he rode out with regin one morning to the heath where the dragon used to lie.
then he saw the track which the dragon made when he went to a cliff to drink, and the track was as if a great river had rolled along and left a deep valley.
then sigurd went down into that deep place, and dug many pits in it, and in one of the pits he lay hidden with his sword drawn.
there he waited, and presently the earth began to shake with the weight of the dragon as he crawled to the water.
and a cloud of venom flew before him as he snorted and roared, so that it would have been death to stand before him.
but sigurd waited till half of him had crawled over the pit, and then he thrust the sword gram right into his very heart.
then the dragon lashed with his tail till stones broke and trees crashed about him.
then he spoke, as he died, and said: "whoever thou art that hast slain me this gold shall be thy ruin, and the ruin of all who own it."
sigurd said: "i would touch none of it if by losing it i should never die.
but all men die, and no brave man lets death frighten him from his desire.
die thou, fafnir," and then fafnir died.
and after that sigurd was called fafnir's bane, and dragonslayer.
then sigurd rode back, and met regin, and regin asked him to roast fafnir's heart and let him taste of it.
so sigurd put the heart of fafnir on a stake, and roasted it.
but it chanced that he touched it with his finger, and it burned him.
then he put his finger in his mouth, and so tasted the heart of fafnir.
then immediately he understood the language of birds, and he heard the woodpeckers say: "there is sigurd roasting fafnir's heart for another, when he should taste of it himself and learn all wisdom."
the next bird said: "there lies regin, ready to betray sigurd, who trusts him."
the third bird said: "let him cut off regin's head, and keep all the gold to himself."
the fourth bird said: "that let him do, and then ride over hindfell, to the place where brynhild sleeps."
when sigurd heard all this, and how regin was plotting to betray him, he cut off regin's head with one blow of the sword gram.
then all "he birds broke out singing: "we know a fair maid, a fair maiden sleeping; sigurd, be not afraid, sigurd, win thou the maid fortune is keeping.
"high over hindfell red fire is flaming, there doth the maiden dwell she that should love thee well, meet for thy taming.
"there must she sleep till thou comest for her waking rise up and ride, for now sure she will swear the vow fearless of breaking."
then sigurd remembered how the story went that somewhere, far away, there was a beautiful lady enchanted.
she was under a spell, so that she must always sleep in a castle surrounded by flaming fire; there she must sleep for ever till there came a knight who would ride through the fire and waken her.
there he determined to go, but first he rode right down the horrible trail of fafnir.
and fafnir had lived in a cave with iron doors, a cave dug deep down in the earth, and full of gold bracelets, and crowns, and rings; and there, too, sigurd found the helm of dread, a golden helmet, and whoever wears it is invisible.
all these he piled on the back of the good horse grani, and then he rode south to hindfell.
now it was night, and on the crest of the hill sigurd saw a red fire blazing up into the sky, and within the flame a castle, and a banner on the topmost tower.
then he set the horse grani at the fire, and he leaped through it lightly, as if it had been through the heather.
so sigurd went within the castle door, and there he saw someone sleeping, clad all in armour.
then he took the helmet off the head of the sleeper, and behold, she was a most beautiful lady.
and she wakened and said, "ah!
is it sigurd, sigmund's son, who has broken the curse, and comes here to waken me at last?"
this curse came upon her when the thorn of the tree of sleep ran into her hand long ago as a punishment because she had displeased odin the god.
long ago, too, she had vowed never to marry a man who knew fear, and dared not ride through the fence of flaming fire.
for she was a warrior maid herself, and went armed into the battle like a man.
but now she and sigurd loved each other, and promised to be true to each other, and he gave her a ring, and it was the last ring taken from the dwarf andvari.
then sigurd rode away, and he came to the house of a king who had a fair daughter.
her name was gudrun, and her mother was a witch.
now gudrun fell in love with sigurd, but he was always talking of brynhild, how beautiful she was and how dear.
so one day gudrun's witch mother put poppy and forgetful drugs in a magical cup, and bade sigurd drink to her health, and he drank, and instantly he forgot poor brynhild and he loved gudrun, and they were married with great rejoicings.
now the witch, the mother of gudrun, wanted her son gunnar to marry brynhild, and she bade him ride out with sigurd and go and woo her.
so forth they rode to her father's house, for brynhild had quite gone out of sigurd's mind by reason of the witch's wine, but she remembered him and loved him still.
then brynhild's father told gunnar that she would marry none but him who could ride the flame in front of her enchanted tower, and thither they rode, and gunnar set his horse at the flame, but he would not face it.
then gunnar tried sigurd's horse grani, but he would not move with gunnar on his back.
then gunnar remembered witchcraft that his mother had taught him, and by his magic he made sigurd look exactly like himself, and he looked exactly like gunnar.
then sigurd, in the shape of gunnar and in his mail, mounted on grani, and grani leaped the fence of fire, and sigurd went in and found brynhild, but he did not remember her yet, because of the forgetful medicine in the cup of the witch's wine.
now brynhild had no help but to promise she would be his wife, the wife of gunnar as she supposed, for sigurd wore gunnar's shape, and she had sworn to wed whoever should ride the flames.
and he gave her a ring, and she gave him back the ring he had given her before in his own shape as sigurd, and it was the last ring of that poor dwarf andvari.
then he rode out again, and he and gunnar changed shapes, and each was himself again, and they went home to the witch queen's, and sigurd gave the dwarf's ring to his wife, gudrun.
and brynhild went to her father, and said that a king had come called gunnar, and had ridden the fire, and she must marry him.
"yet i thought," she said, "that no man could have done this deed but sigurd, fafnir's bane, who was my true love.
but he has forgotten me, and my promise i must keep."
so gunnar and brynhild were married, though it was not gunnar but sigurd in gunnar's shape, that had ridden the fire.
and when the wedding was over and all the feast, then the magic of the witch's wine went out of sigurd's brain, and he remembered all.
he remembered how he had freed brynhild from the spell, and how she was his own true love, and how he had forgotten and had married another woman, and won brynhild to be the wife of another man.
but he was brave, and he spoke not a word of it to the others to make them unhappy.
still he could not keep away the curse which was to come on every one who owned the treasure of the dwarf andvari, and his fatal golden ring.
and the curse soon came upon all of them.
for one day, when brynhild and gudrun were bathing, brynhild waded farthest out into the river, and said she did that to show she was guirun's superior.
for her husband, she said, had ridden through the flame when no other man dared face it.
then gudrun was very angry, and said that it was sigurd, not gunnar, who had ridden the flame, and had received from brynhild that fatal ring, the ring of the dwarf andvari.
then brynhild saw the ring which sigard had given to gudrun, and she knew it and knew all, and she turned as pale as a dead woman, and went home.
all that evening she never spoke.
next day she told gunnar, her husband, that he was a coward and a liar, for he had never ridden the flame, but had sent sigurd to do it for him, and pretended that he had done it himself.
and she said he would never see her glad in his hall, never drinking wine, never playing chess, never embroidering with the golden thread, never speaking words of kindness.
then she rent all her needlework asunder and wept aloud, so that everyone in the house heard her.
for her heart was broken, and her pride was broken in the same hour.
she had lost her true love, sigurd, the slayer of fafnir, and she was married to a man who was a liar.
then sigurd came and tried to comfort her, but she would not listen, and said she wished the sword stood fast in his heart.
"not long to wait," he said,'till the bitter sword stands fast in my heart, and thou will not live long when i am dead.
but, dear brynhild, live and be comforted, and love gunnar thy husband, and i will give thee all the gold, the treasure of the dragon fafnir."
brynhild said: "it is too late."
then sigurd was so grieved and his heart so swelled in his breast that it burst the steel rings of his shirt of mail.
sigurd went out and brynhild determined to slay him.
she mixed serpent's venom and wolf's flesh, and gave them in one dish to her husband's younger brother, and when he had tasted them he was mad, and he went into sigurd's chamber while he slept and pinned him to the bed with a sword.
but sigurd woke, and caught the sword gram into his hand, and threw it at the man as he fled, and the sword cut him in twain.
thus died sigurd, fafnir's bane, whom no ten men could have slain in fair fight.
then gudrun wakened and saw him dead, and she moaned aloud, and brynhild heard her and laughed; but the kind horse grani lay down and died of very grief.
and then brynhild fell a-weeping till her heart broke.
so they attired sigurd in all his golden armour, and built a great pile of wood on board his ship, and at night laid on it the dead sigurd and the dead brynhild, and the good horse, grani, and set fire to it, and launched the ship.
and the wind bore it blazing out to sea, flaming into the dark.
so there were sigurd and brynhild burned together, and the curse of the dwarf andvari was fulfilled.
_book_title_: andrew_lang___the_violet_fairy_book.txt.out
a tale of the tontlawald long, long ago there stood in the midst of a country covered with lakes a vast stretch of moorland called the tontlawald, on which no man ever dared set foot.
from time to time a few bold spirits had been drawn by curiosity to its borders, and on their return had reported that they had caught a glimpse of a ruined house in a grove of thick trees, and round about it were a crowd of beings resembling men, swarming over the grass like bees.
the men were as dirty and ragged as gipsies, and there were besides a quantity of old women and half-naked children.
one night a peasant who was returning home from a feast wandered a little farther into the tontlawald, and came back with the same story.
a countless number of women and children were gathered round a huge fire, and some were seated on the ground, while others danced strange dances on the smooth grass.
one old crone had a broad iron ladle in her hand, with which every now and then she stirred the fire, but the moment she touched the glowing ashes the children rushed away, shrieking like night owls, and it was a long while before they ventured to steal back.
and besides all this there had once or twice been seen a little old man with a long beard creeping out of the forest, carrying a sack bigger than himself.
the women and children ran by his side, weeping and trying to drag the sack from off his back, but he shook them off, and went on his way.
there was also a tale of a magnificent black cat as large as a foal, but men could not believe all the wonders told by the peasant, and it was difficult to make out what was true and what was false in his story.
however, the fact remained that strange things did happen there, and the king of sweden, to whom this part of the country belonged, more than once gave orders to cut down the haunted wood, but there was no one with courage enough to obey his commands.
at length one man, bolder than the rest, struck his axe into a tree, but his blow was followed by a stream of blood and shrieks as of a human creature in pain.
the terrified woodcutter fled as fast as his legs would carry him, and after that neither orders nor threats would drive anybody to the enchanted moor.
a few miles from the tontlawald was a large village, where dwelt a peasant who had recently married a young wife.
as not uncommonly happens in such cases, she turned the whole house upside down, and the two quarrelled and fought all day long.
by his first wife the peasant had a daughter called elsa, a good quiet girl, who only wanted to live in peace, but this her stepmother would not allow.
she beat and cuffed the poor child from morning till night, but as the stepmother had the whip-hand of her husband there was no remedy.
for two years elsa suffered all this ill-treatment, when one day she went out with the other village children to pluck strawberries.
carelessly they wandered on, till at last they reached the edge of the tontlawald, where the finest strawberries grew, making the grass red with their colour.
the children flung themselves down on the ground, and, after eating as many as they wanted, began to pile up their baskets, when suddenly a cry arose from one of the older boys: "run, run as fast as you can!
we are in the tontlawald!"
quicker than lightning they sprang to their feet, and rushed madly away, all except elsa, who had strayed farther than the rest, and had found a bed of the finest strawberries right under the trees.
like the others, she heard the boy's cry, but could not make up her mind to leave the strawberries.
"after all, what does it matter?"
thought she.
"the dwellers in the tontlawald can not be worse than my stepmother"; and looking up she saw a little black dog with a silver bell on its neck come barking towards her, followed by a maiden clad all in silk.
"be quiet," said she; then turning to elsa she added: "i am so glad you did not run away with the other children.
stay here with me and be my friend, and we will play delightful games together, and every day we will go and gather strawberries.
nobody will dare to beat you if i tell them not.
come, let us go to my mother"; and taking elsa's hand she led her deeper into the wood, the little black dog jumping up beside them and barking with pleasure.
oh!
what wonders and splendours unfolded themselves before elsa's astonished eyes!
she thought she really must be in heaven.
fruit trees and bushes loaded with fruit stood before them, while birds gayer than the brightest butterfly sat in their branches and filled the air with their song.
and the birds were not shy, but let the girls take them in their hands, and stroke their gold and silver feathers.
in the centre of the garden was the dwelling-house, shining with glass and precious stones, and in the doorway sat a woman in rich garments, who turned to elsa's companion and asked: "what sort of a guest are you bringing to me?'"
i found her alone in the wood," replied her daughter, "and brought her back with me for a companion.
you will let her stay?"
the mother laughed, but said nothing, only she looked elsa up and down sharply.
then she told the girl to come near, and stroked her cheeks and spoke kindly to her, asking if her parents were alive, and if she really would like to stay with them.
elsa stooped and kissed her hand, then, kneeling down, buried her face in the woman's lap, and sobbed out: "my mother has lain for many years under the ground.
my father is still alive, but i am nothing to him, and my stepmother beats me all the day long.
i can do nothing right, so let me, i pray you, stay with you.
i will look after the flocks or do any work you tell me; i will obey your lightest word; only do not, i entreat you, send me back to her.
she will half kill me for not having come back with the other children."
and the woman smiled and answered, "well, we will see what we can do with you," and, rising, went into the house.
then the daughter said to elsa, "fear nothing, my mother will be your friend.
i saw by the way she looked that she would grant your request when she had thought over it," and, telling elsa to wait, she entered the house to seek her mother.
elsa meanwhile was tossed about between hope and fear, and felt as if the girl would never come.
at last elsa saw her crossing the grass with a box in her hand.
"my mother says we may play together to-day, as she wants to make up her mind what to do about you.
but i hope you will stay here always, as i ca n't bear you to go away.
have you ever been on the sea?"
"the sea?"
asked elsa, staring; "what is that?
i've never heard of such a thing!"
"oh, i'll soon show you," answered the girl, taking the lid from the box, and at the very bottom lay a scrap of a cloak, a mussel shell, and two fish scales.
two drops of water were glistening on the cloak, and these the girl shook on the ground.
in an instant the garden and lawn and everything else had vanished utterly, as if the earth had opened and swallowed them up, and as far as the eye could reach you could see nothing but water, which seemed at last to touch heaven itself.
only under their feet was a tiny dry spot.
then the girl placed the mussel shell on the water and took the fish scales in her hand.
the mussel shell grew bigger and bigger, and turned into a pretty little boat, which would have held a dozen children.
the girls stepped in, elsa very cautiously, for which she was much laughed at by her friend, who used the fish scales for a rudder.
the waves rocked the girls softly, as if they were lying in a cradle, and they floated on till they met other boats filled with men, singing and making merry.
"we must sing you a song in return," said the girl, but as elsa did not know any songs, she had to sing by herself.
elsa could not understand any of the men's songs, but one word, she noticed, came over and over again, and that was "kisika."
elsa asked what it meant, and the girl replied that it was her name.
it was all so pleasant that they might have stayed there for ever had not a voice cried out to them, "children, it is time for you to come home!"
so kisika took the little box out of her pocket, with the piece of cloth lying in it, and dipped the cloth in the water, and lo!
they were standing close to a splendid house in the middle of the garden.
everything round them was dry and firm, and there was no water anywhere.
the mussel shell and the fish scales were put back in the box, and the girls went in.
they entered a large hall, where four and twenty richly dressed women were sitting round a table, looking as if they were about to attend a wedding.
at the head of the table sat the lady of the house in a golden chair.
elsa did not know which way to look, for everything that met her eyes was more beautiful than she could have dreamed possible.
but she sat down with the rest, and ate some delicious fruit, and thought she must be in heaven.
the guests talked softly, but their speech was strange to elsa, and she understood nothing of what was said.
then the hostess turned round and whispered something to a maid behind her chair, and the maid left the hall, and when she came back she brought a little old man with her, who had a beard longer than himself.
he bowed low to the lady and then stood quietly near the door.
"do you see this girl?"
said the lady of the house, pointing to elsa."
i wish to adopt her for my daughter.
make me a copy of her, which we can send to her native village instead of herself."
the old man looked elsa all up and down, as if he was taking her measure, bowed again to the lady, and left the hall.
after dinner the lady said kindly to elsa, "kisika has begged me to let you stay with her, and you have told her you would like to live here.
is that so?"
at these words elsa fell on her knees, and kissed the lady's hands and feet in gratitude for her escape from her cruel stepmother; but her hostess raised her from the ground and patted her head, saying, "all will go well as long as you are a good, obedient child, and i will take care of you and see that you want for nothing till you are grown up and can look after yourself.
my waiting-maid, who teaches kisika all sorts of fine handiwork, shall teach you too."
not long after the old man came back with a mould full of clay on his shoulders, and a little covered basket in his left hand.
he put down his mould and his basket on the ground, took up a handful of clay, and made a doll as large as life.
when it was finished he bored a hole in the doll's breast and put a bit of bread inside; then, drawing a snake out of the basket, forced it to enter the hollow body.
"now," he said to the lady, "all we want is a drop of the maiden's blood."
when she heard this elsa grew white with horror, for she thought she was selling her soul to the evil one.
"do not be afraid!"
the lady hastened to say; "we do not want your blood for any bad purpose, but rather to give you freedom and happiness."
then she took a tiny golden needle, pricked elsa in the arm, and gave the needle to the old man, who stuck it into the heart of the doll.
when this was done he placed the figure in the basket, promising that the next day they should all see what a beautiful piece of work he had finished.
when elsa awoke the next morning in her silken bed, with its soft white pillows, she saw a beautiful dress lying over the back of a chair, ready for her to put on.
a maid came in to comb out her long hair, and brought the finest linen for her use; but nothing gave elsa so much joy as the little pair of embroidered shoes that she held in her hand, for the girl had hitherto been forced to run about barefoot by her cruel stepmother.
in her excitement she never gave a thought to the rough clothes she had worn the day before, which had disappeared as if by magic during the night.
who could have taken them?
well, she was to know that by-and-by.
but we can guess that the doll had been dressed in them, which was to go back to the village in her stead.
by the time the sun rose the doll had attained her full size, and no one could have told one girl from the other.
elsa started back when she met herself as she looked only yesterday.
"you must not be frightened," said the lady, when she noticed her terror; "this clay figure can do you no harm.
it is for your stepmother, that she may beat it instead of you.
let her flog it as hard as she will, it can never feel any pain.
and if the wicked woman does not come one day to a better mind your double will be able at last to give her the punishment she deserves."
from this moment elsa's life was that of the ordinary happy child, who has been rocked to sleep in her babyhood in a lovely golden cradle.
she had no cares or troubles of any sort, and every day her tasks became easier, and the years that had gone before seemed more and more like a bad dream.
but the happier she grew the deeper was her wonder at everything around her, and the more firmly she was persuaded that some great unknown power must be at the bottom of it all.
in the courtyard stood a huge granite block about twenty steps from the house, and when meal times came round the old man with the long beard went to the block, drew out a small silver staff, and struck the stone with it three times, so that the sound could be heard a long way off.
at the third blow, out sprang a large golden cock, and stood upon the stone.
whenever he crowed and flapped his wings the rock opened and something came out of it.
first a long table covered with dishes ready laid for the number of persons who would be seated round it, and this flew into the house all by itself.
when the cock crowed for the second time, a number of chairs appeared, and flew after the table; then wine, apples, and other fruit, all without trouble to anybody.
after everybody had had enough, the old man struck the rock again.
the golden cock crowed afresh, and back went dishes, table, chairs, and plates into the middle of the block.
when, however, it came to the turn of the thirteenth dish, which nobody ever wanted to eat, a huge black cat ran up, and stood on the rock close to the cock, while the dish was on his other side.
there they all remained, till they were joined by the old man.
he picked up the dish in one hand, tucked the cat under his arm, told the cock to get on his shoulder, and all four vanished into the rock.
and this wonderful stone contained not only food, but clothes and everything you could possibly want in the house.
at first a language was often spoken at meals which was strange to elsa, but by the help of the lady and her daughter she began slowly to understand it, though it was years before she was able to speak it herself.
one day she asked kisika why the thirteenth dish came daily to the table and was sent daily away untouched, but kisika knew no more about it than she did.
the girl must, however, have told her mother what elsa had said, for a few days later she spoke to elsa seriously: "do not worry yourself with useless wondering.
you wish to know why we never eat of the thirteenth dish?
that, dear child, is the dish of hidden blessings, and we can not taste of it without bringing our happy life here to an end.
and the world would be a great deal better if men, in their greed, did not seek to snatch every thing for themselves, instead of leaving something as a thankoffering to the giver of the blessings.
greed is man's worst fault."
the years passed like the wind for elsa, and she grew into a lovely woman, with a knowledge of many things that she would never have learned in her native village; but kisika was still the same young girl that she had been on the day of her first meeting with elsa.
each morning they both worked for an hour at reading and writing, as they had always done, and elsa was anxious to learn all she could, but kisika much preferred childish games to anything else.
if the humour seized her, she would fling aside her tasks, take her treasure box, and go off to play in the sea, where no harm ever came to her.
"what a pity," she would often say to elsa, "that you have grown so big, you can not play with me any more."
nine years slipped away in this manner, when one day the lady called elsa into her room.
elsa was surprised at the summons, for it was unusual, and her heart sank, for she feared some evil threatened her.
as she crossed the threshold, she saw that the lady's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes full of tears, which she dried hastily, as if she would conceal them from the girl.
"dearest child," she began, "the time has come when we must part."
"part?"
cried elsa, burying her head in the lady's lap.
"no, dear lady, that can never be till death parts us.
you once opened your arms to me; you can not thrust me away now."
"ah, be quiet, child," replied the lady; "you do not know what i would do to make you happy.
now you are a woman, and i have no right to keep you here.
you must return to the world of men, where joy awaits you."
"dear lady," entreated elsa again.
"do not, i beseech you, send me from you.
i want no other happiness but to live and die beside you.
make me your waiting maid, or set me to any work you choose, but do not cast me forth into the world.
it would have been better if you had left me with my stepmother, than first to have brought me to heaven and then send me back to a worse place."
"do not talk like that, dear child," replied the lady; "you do not know all that must be done to secure your happiness, however much it costs me.
but it has to be.
you are only a common mortal, who will have to die one day, and you can not stay here any longer.
though we have the bodies of men, we are not men at all, though it is not easy for you to understand why.
some day or other you will find a husband who has been made expressly for you, and will live happily with him till death separates you.
it will be very hard for me to part from you, but it has to be, and you must make up your mind to it."
then she drew her golden comb gently through elsa's hair, and bade her go to bed; but little sleep had the poor girl!
life seemed to stretch before her like a dark starless night.
now let us look back a moment, and see what had been going on in elsa's native village all these years, and how her double had fared.
it is a well-known fact that a bad woman seldom becomes better as she grows older, and elsa's stepmother was no exception to the rule; but as the figure that had taken the girl's place could feel no pain, the blows that were showered on her night and day made no difference.
if the father ever tried to come to his daughter's help, his wife turned upon him, and things were rather worse than before.
one day the stepmother had given the girl a frightful beating, and then threatened to kill her outright.
mad with rage, she seized the figure by the throat with both hands, when out came a black snake from her mouth and stung the woman's tongue, and she fell dead without a sound.
at night, when the husband came home, he found his wife lying dead upon the ground, her body all swollen and disfigured, but the girl was nowhere to be seen.
his screams brought the neighbours from their cottages, but they were unable to explain how it had all come about.
it was true, they said, that about mid-day they had heard a great noise, but as that was a matter of daily occurrence they did not think much of it.
the rest of the day all was still, but no one had seen anything of the daughter.
the body of the dead woman was then prepared for burial, and her tired husband went to bed, rejoicing in his heart that he had been delivered from the firebrand who had made his home unpleasant.
on the table he saw a slice of bread lying, and, being hungry, he ate it before going to sleep.
in the morning he too was found dead, and as swollen as his wife, for the bread had been placed in the body of the figure by the old man who made it.
a few days later he was placed in the grave beside his wife, but nothing more was ever heard of their daughter.
all night long after her talk with the lady elsa had wept and wailed her hard fate in being cast out from her home which she loved.
next morning, when she got up, the lady placed a gold seal ring on her finger, strung a little golden box on a ribbon, and placed it round her neck; then she called the old man, and, forcing back her tears, took leave of elsa.
the girl tried to speak, but before she could sob out her thanks the old man had touched her softly on the head three times with his silver staff.
in an instant elsa knew that she was turning into a bird: wings sprang from beneath her arms; her feet were the feet of eagles, with long claws; her nose curved itself into a sharp beak, and feathers covered her body.
then she soared high in the air, and floated up towards the clouds, as if she had really been hatched an eagle.
for several days she flew steadily south, resting from time to time when her wings grew tired, for hunger she never felt.
and so it happened that one day she was flying over a dense forest, and below hounds were barking fiercely, because, not having wings themselves, she was out of their reach.
suddenly a sharp pain quivered through her body, and she fell to the ground, pierced by an arrow.
when elsa recovered her senses, she found herself lying under a bush in her own proper form.
what had befallen her, and how she got there, lay behind her like a bad dream.
as she was wondering what she should do next the king's son came riding by, and, seeing elsa, sprang from his horse, and took her by the hand, sawing, "ah!
it was a happy chance that brought me here this morning.
every night, for half a year, have i dreamed, dear lady, that i should one day find you in this wood.
and although i have passed through it hundreds of times in vain, i have never given up hope.
to-day i was going in search of a large eagle that i had shot, and instead of the eagle i have found -- you."
then he took elsa on his horse, and rode with her to the town, where the old king received her graciously.
a few days later the wedding took place, and as elsa was arranging the veil upon her hair fifty carts arrived laden with beautiful things which the lady of the tontlawald had sent to elsa.
and after the king's death elsa became queen, and when she was old she told this story.
but that was the last that was ever heard of the tontlawald.
-lrb- from ehstnische marchen. -rrb-
the finest liar in the world at the edge of a wood there lived an old man who had only one son, and one day he called the boy to him and said he wanted some corn ground, but the youth must be sure never to enter any mill where the miller was beardless.
the boy took the corn and set out, and before he had gone very far he saw a large mill in front of him, with a beardless man standing in the doorway.
"good greeting, beardless one!"
cried he.
"good greeting, sonny," replied the man.
"could i grind something here?"
"yes, certainly!
i will finish what i am doing and then you can grind as long as you like."
but suddenly the boy remembered what his father had told him, and bade farewell to the man, and went further down the river, till he came to another mill, not knowing that as soon as his back was turned the beardless man had picked up a bag of corn and run hastily to the same mill before him.
when the boy reached the second mill, and saw a second beardless man sitting there, he did not stop, and walked on till he came to a third mill.
but this time also the beardless man had been too clever for him, and had arrived first by another road.
when it happened a fourth time the boy grew cross, and said to himself, "it is no good going on; there seems to be a beardless man in every mill"; and he took his sack from his back, and made up his mind to grind his corn where he was.
the beardless man finished grinding his own corn, and when he had done he said to the boy, who was beginning to grind his, "suppose, sonny, we make a cake of what you have there."
now the boy had been rather uneasy when he recollected his father's words, but he thought to himself, "what is done can not be undone," and answered, "very well, so let it be."
then the beardless one got up, threw the flour into the tub, and made a hole in the middle, telling the boy to fetch some water from the river in his two hands, to mix the cake.
when the cake was ready for baking they put it on the fire, and covered it with hot ashes, till it was cooked through.
then they leaned it up against the wall, for it was too big to go into a cupboard, and the beardless one said to the boy: "look here, sonny: if we share this cake we shall neither of us have enough.
let us see who can tell the biggest lie, and the one who lies the best shall have the whole cake."
the boy, not knowing what else to do, answered, "all right; you begin."
so the beardless one began to lie with all his might, and when he was tired of inventing new lies the boy said to him, "my good fellow, if that is all you can do it is not much!
listen to me, and i will tell you a true story.
"in my youth, when i was an old man, we had a quantity of beehives.
every morning when i got up i counted them over, and it was quite easy to number the bees, but i never could reckon the hives properly.
one day, as i was counting the bees, i discovered that my best bee was missing, and without losing a moment i saddled a cock and went out to look for him.
i traced him as far as the shore, and knew that he had crossed the sea, and that i must follow.
when i had reached the other side i found a man had harnessed my bee to a plough, and with his help was sowing millet seed."
""that is my bee!"
i shouted.
""where did you get him from?""
""brother," replied the man, "if he is yours, take him."
and he not only gave me back my bee, but a sack of millet seed into the bargain, because he had made use of my bee.
then i put the bag on my shoulders, took the saddle from the cock, and placed it on the back of the bee, which i mounted, leading the cock by a string, so that he should have a rest.
as we were flying home over the sea one of the strings that held the bag of millet broke in two, and the sack dropped straight into the ocean.
it was quite lost, of course, and there was no use thinking about it, and by the time we were safe back again night had come.
i then got down from my bee, and let him loose, that he might get his supper, gave the cock some hay, and went to sleep myself.
but when i awoke with the sun what a scene met my eyes!
during the night wolves had come and had eaten my bee.
and honey lay ankle-deep in the valley and knee-deep on the hills.
then i began to consider how i could best collect some, to take home with me.
"now it happened that i had with me a small hatchet, and this i took to the wood, hoping to meet some animal which i could kill, whose skin i might turn into a bag.
as i entered the forest i saw two roe-deer hopping on one foot, so i slew them with a single blow, and made three bags from their skins, all of which i filled with honey and placed on the back of the cock.
at length i reached home, where i was told that my father had just been born, and that i must go at once to fetch some holy water to sprinkle him with.
as i went i turned over in my mind if there was no way for me to get back my millet seed, which had dropped into the sea, and when i arrived at the place with the holy water i saw the seed had fallen on fruitful soil, and was growing before my eyes.
and more than that, it was even cut by an invisible hand, and made into a cake.
"so i took the cake as well as the holy water, and was flying back with them over the sea, when there fell a great rain, and the sea was swollen, and swept away my millet cake.
ah, how vexed i was at its loss when i was safe on earth again.
"suddenly i remembered that my hair was very long.
if i stood it touched the ground, although if i was sitting it only reached my ears.
i seized a knife and cut off a large lock, which i plaited together, and when night came tied it into a knot, and prepared to use it for a pillow.
but what was i to do for a fire?
a tinder box i had, but no wood.
then it occurred to me that i had stuck a needle in my clothes, so i took the needle and split it in pieces, and lit it, then laid myself down by the fire and went to sleep.
but ill-luck still pursued me.
while i was sleeping a spark from the fire lighted on the hair, which was burnt up in a moment.
in despair i threw myself on the ground, and instantly sank in it as far as my waist.
i struggled to get out, but only fell in further; so i ran to the house, seized a spade, dug myself out, and took home the holy water.
on the way i noticed that the ripe fields were full of reapers, and suddenly the air became so frightfully hot that the men dropped down in a faint.
then i called to them, "why do n't you bring out our mare, which is as tall as two days, and as broad as half a day, and make a shade for yourselves?"
my father heard what i said and jumped quickly on the mare, and the reapers worked with a will in the shadow, while i snatched up a wooden pail to bring them some water to drink.
when i got to the well everything was frozen hard, so in order to draw some water i had to take off my head and break the ice with it.
as i drew near them, carrying the water, the reapers all cried out, "why, what has become of your head?"
i put up my hand and discovered that i really had no head, and that i must have left it in the well.
i ran back to look for it, but found that meanwhile a fox which was passing by had pulled my head out of the water, and was tearing at my brains.
i stole cautiously up to him, and gave him such a kick that he uttered a loud scream, and let fall a parchment on which was written, "the cake is mine, and the beardless one goes empty-handed.""
with these words the boy rose, took the cake, and went home, while the beardless one remained behind to swallow his disappointment.
-lrb- volksmarchen der serben. -rrb-
the story of three wonderful beggars there once lived a merchant whose name was mark, and whom people called "mark the rich."
he was a very hard-hearted man, for he could not bear poor people, and if he caught sight of a beggar anywhere near his house, he would order the servants to drive him away, or would set the dogs at him.
one day three very poor old men came begging to the door, and just as he was going to let the fierce dogs loose on them, his little daughter, anastasia, crept close up to him and said: "dear daddy, let the poor old men sleep here to-night, do -- to please me."
her father could not bear to refuse her, and the three beggars were allowed to sleep in a loft, and at night, when everyone in the house was fast asleep, little anastasia got up, climbed up to the loft, and peeped in.
the three old men stood in the middle of the loft, leaning on their sticks, with their long grey beards flowing down over their hands, and were talking together in low voices.
"what news is there?"
asked the eldest.
"in the next village the peasant ivan has just had his seventh son.
what shall we name him, and what fortune shall we give him?"
said the second.
the third whispered, "call him vassili, and give him all the property of the hard-hearted man in whose loft we stand, and who wanted to drive us from his door."
after a little more talk the three made themselves ready and crept softly away.
anastasia, who had heard every word, ran straight to her father, and told him all.
mark was very much surprised; he thought, and thought, and in the morning he drove to the next village to try and find out if such a child really had been born.
he went first to the priest, and asked him about the children in his parish.
"yesterday," said the priest," a boy was born in the poorest house in the village.
i named the unlucky little thing "vassili."
he is the seventh son, and the eldest is only seven years old, and they hardly have a mouthful amongst them all.
who can be got to stand godfather to such a little beggar boy?"
the merchant's heart beat fast, and his mind was full of bad thoughts about that poor little baby.
he would be godfather himself, he said, and he ordered a fine christening feast; so the child was brought and christened, and mark was very friendly to its father.
after the ceremony was over he took ivan aside and said: "look here, my friend, you are a poor man.
how can you afford to bring up the boy?
give him to me and i'll make something of him, and i'll give you a present of a thousand crowns.
is that a bargain?"
ivan scratched his head, and thought, and thought, and then he agreed.
mark counted out the money, wrapped the baby up in a fox skin, laid it in the sledge beside him, and drove back towards home.
when he had driven some miles he drew up, carried the child to the edge of a steep precipice and threw it over, muttering, "there, now try to take my property!"
very soon after this some foreign merchants travelled along that same road on the way to see mark and to pay the twelve thousand crowns which they owed him.
as they were passing near the precipice they heard a sound of crying, and on looking over they saw a little green meadow wedged in between two great heaps of snow, and on the meadow lay a baby amongst the flowers.
the merchants picked up the child, wrapped it up carefully, and drove on.
when they saw mark they told him what a strange thing they had found.
mark guessed at once that the child must be his godson, asked to see him, and said: "that's a nice little fellow; i should like to keep him.
if you will make him over to me, i will let you off your debt."
the merchants were very pleased to make so good a bargain, left the child with mark, and drove off.
at night mark took the child, put it in a barrel, fastened the lid tight down, and threw it into the sea.
the barrel floated away to a great distance, and at last it floated close up to a monastery.
the monks were just spreading out their nets to dry on the shore, when they heard the sound of crying.
it seemed to come from the barrel which was bobbing about near the water's edge.
they drew it to land and opened it, and there was a little child!
when the abbot heard the news, he decided to bring up the boy, and named him "vassili."
the boy lived on with the monks, and grew up to be a clever, gentle, and handsome young man.
no one could read, write, or sing better than he, and he did everything so well that the abbot made him wardrobe keeper.
now, it happened about this time that the merchant, mark, came to the monastery in the course of a journey.
the monks were very polite to him and showed him their house and church and all they had.
when he went into the church the choir was singing, and one voice was so clear and beautiful, that he asked who it belonged to.
then the abbot told him of the wonderful way in which vassili had come to them, and mark saw clearly that this must be his godson whom he had twice tried to kill.
he said to the abbot: "i ca n't tell you how much i enjoy that young man's singing.
if he could only come to me i would make him overseer of all my business.
as you say, he is so good and clever.
do spare him to me.
i will make his fortune, and will present your monastery with twenty thousand crowns."
the abbot hesitated a good deal, but he consulted all the other monks, and at last they decided that they ought not to stand in the way of vassili's good fortune.
then mark wrote a letter to his wife and gave it to vassili to take to her, and this was what was in the letter: "when the bearer of this arrives, take him into the soap factory, and when you pass near the great boiler, push him in.
if you do n't obey my orders i shall be very angry, for this young man is a bad fellow who is sure to ruin us all if he lives."
vassili had a good voyage, and on landing set off on foot for mark's home.
on the way he met three beggars, who asked him: "where are you going, vassili?'"
i am going to the house of mark the merchant, and have a letter for his wife," replied vassili.
"show us the letter."
vassili handed them the letter.
they blew on it and gave it back to him, saying: "now go and give the letter to mark's wife.
you will not be forsaken."
vassili reached the house and gave the letter.
when the mistress read it she could hardly believe her eyes and called for her daughter.
in the letter was written, quite plainly: "when you receive this letter, get ready for a wedding, and let the bearer be married next day to my daughter, anastasia.
if you do n't obey my orders i shall be very angry."
anastasia saw the bearer of the letter and he pleased her very much.
they dressed vassili in fine clothes and next day he was married to anastasia.
in due time, mark returned from his travels.
his wife, daughter, and son-in-law all went out to meet him.
when mark saw vassili he flew into a terrible rage with his wife.
"how dared you marry my daughter without my consent?"
he asked."
i only carried out your orders," said she.
"here is your letter."
mark read it.
it certainly was his handwriting, but by no means his wishes.
"well," thought he, "you've escaped me three times, but i think i shall get the better of you now."
and he waited a month and was very kind and pleasant to his daughter and her husband.
at the end of that time he said to vassili one day," i want you to go for me to my friend the serpent king, in his beautiful country at the world's end.
twelve years ago he built a castle on some land of mine.
i want you to ask for the rent for those twelve years and also to find out from him what has become of my twelve ships which sailed for his country three years ago."
vassili dared not disobey.
he said good-bye to his young wife, who cried bitterly at parting, hung a bag of biscuits over his shoulders, and set out.
i really can not tell you whether the journey was long or short.
as he tramped along he suddenly heard a voice saying: "vassili!
where are you going?"
vassili looked about him, and, seeing no one, called out: "who spoke to me?'"
i did; this old wide-spreading oak.
tell me where you are going.'"
i am going to the serpent king to receive twelve years" rent from him."
"when the time comes, remember me and ask the king: "rotten to the roots, half dead but still green, stands the old oak.
is it to stand much longer on the earth?""
vassili went on further.
he came to a river and got into the ferryboat.
the old ferryman asked: "are you going far, my friend?'"
i am going to the serpent king."
"then think of me and say to the king: "for thirty years the ferryman has rowed to and fro.
will the tired old man have to row much longer?""
"very well," said vassili; "i'll ask him."
and he walked on.
in time he came to a narrow strait of the sea and across it lay a great whale over whose back people walked and drove as if it had been a bridge or a road.
as he stepped on it the whale said, "do tell me where you are going.'"
i am going to the serpent king."
and the whale begged: "think of me and say to the king: "the poor whale has been lying three years across the strait, and men and horses have nearly trampled his back into his ribs.
is he to lie there much longer?"'"
i will remember," said vassili, and he went on.
he walked, and walked, and walked, till he came to a great green meadow.
in the meadow stood a large and splendid castle.
its white marble walls sparkled in the light, the roof was covered with mother o" pearl, which shone like a rainbow, and the sun glowed like fire on the crystal windows.
vassili walked in, and went from one room to another astonished at all the splendour he saw.
when he reached the last room of all, he found a beautiful girl sitting on a bed.
as soon as she saw him she said: "oh, vassili, what brings you to this accursed place?"
vassili told her why he had come, and all he had seen and heard on the way.
the girl said: "you have not been sent here to collect rents, but for your own destruction, and that the serpent may devour you."
she had not time to say more, when the whole castle shook, and a rustling, hissing, groaning sound was heard.
the girl quickly pushed vassili into a chest under the bed, locked it and whispered: "listen to what the serpent and i talk about."
then she rose up to receive the serpent king.
the monster rushed into the room, and threw itself panting on the bed, crying: "i've flown half over the world.
i'm tired, very tired, and want to sleep -- scratch my head."
the beautiful girl sat down near him, stroking his hideous head, and said in a sweet coaxing voice: "you know everything in the world.
after you left, i had such a wonderful dream.
will you tell me what it means?"
"out with it then, quick!
what was it?'"
i dreamt i was walking on a wide road, and an oak tree said to me: "ask the king this: rotten at the roots, half dead, and yet green stands the old oak.
is it to stand much longer on the earth?""
"it must stand till some one comes and pushes it down with his foot.
then it will fall, and under its roots will be found more gold and silver than even mark the rich has got."
"then i dreamt i came to a river, and the old ferryman said to me: "for thirty year's the ferryman has rowed to and fro.
will the tired old man have to row much longer?""
"that depends on himself.
if some one gets into the boat to be ferried across, the old man has only to push the boat off, and go his way without looking back.
the man in the boat will then have to take his place."
"and at last i dreamt that i was walking over a bridge made of a whale's back, and the living bridge spoke to me and said: "here have i been stretched out these three years, and men and horses have trampled my back down into my ribs.
must i lie here much longer?""
"he will have to lie there till he has thrown up the twelve ships of mark the rich which he swallowed.
then he may plunge back into the sea and heal his back."
and the serpent king closed his eyes, turned round on his other side, and began to snore so loud that the windows rattled.
in all haste the lovely girl helped vassili out of the chest, and showed him part of his way back.
he thanked her very politely, and hurried off.
when he reached the strait the whale asked: "have you thought of me?"
"yes, as soon as i am on the other side i will tell you what you want to know."
when he was on the other side vassili said to the whale: "throw up those twelve ships of mark's which you swallowed three years ago."
the great fish heaved itself up and threw up all the twelve ships and their crews.
then he shook himself for joy, and plunged into the sea.
vassili went on further till he reached the ferry, where the old man asked: "did you think of me?"
"yes, and as soon as you have ferried me across i will tell you what you want to know."
when they had crossed over, vassili said: "let the next man who comes stay in the boat, but do you step on shore, push the boat off, and you will be free, and the other man must take your place.
then vassili went on further still, and soon came to the old oak tree, pushed it with his foot, and it fell over.
there, at the roots, was more gold and silver than even mark the rich had.
and now the twelve ships which the whale had thrown up came sailing along and anchored close by.
on the deck of the first ship stood the three beggars whom vassili had met formerly, and they said: "heaven has blessed you, vassili."
then they vanished away and he never saw them again.
the sailors carried all the gold and silver into the ship, and then they set sail for home with vassili on board.
mark was more furious than ever.
he had his horses harnessed and drove off himself to see the serpent king and to complain of the way in which he had been betrayed.
when he reached the river he sprang into the ferryboat.
the ferryman, however, did not get in but pushed the boat off... vassili led a good and happy life with his dear wife, and his kind mother-in-law lived with them.
he helped the poor and fed and clothed the hungry and naked and all mark's riches became his.
for many years mark has been ferrying people across the river.
his face is wrinkled, his hair and beard are snow white, and his eyes are dim; but still he rows on.
-lrb- from the serbian. -rrb-
schippeitaro it was the custom in old times that as soon as a japanese boy reached manhood he should leave his home and roam through the land in search of adventures.
sometimes he would meet with a young man bent on the same business as himself, and then they would fight in a friendly manner, merely to prove which was the stronger, but on other occasions the enemy would turn out to be a robber, who had become the terror of the neighbourhood, and then the battle was in deadly earnest.
one day a youth started off from his native village, resolved never to come back till he had done some great deed that would make his name famous.
but adventures did not seem very plentiful just then, and he wandered about for a long time without meeting either with fierce giants or distressed damsels.
at last he saw in the distance a wild mountain, half covered with a dense forest, and thinking that this promised well at once took the road that led to it.
the difficulties he met with -- huge rocks to be climbed, deep rivers to be crossed, and thorny tracts to be avoided -- only served to make his heart beat quicker, for he was really brave all through, and not merely when he could not help himself, like a great many people.
but in spite of all his efforts he could not find his way out of the forest, and he began to think he should have to pass the night there.
once more he strained his eyes to see if there was no place in which he could take shelter, and this time he caught sight of a small chapel in a little clearing.
he hastened quickly towards it, and curling himself up in a warm corner soon fell asleep.
not a sound was heard through the whole forest for some hours, but at midnight there suddenly arose such a clamour that the young man, tired as he was, started broad awake in an instant.
peeping cautiously between the wooden pillars of the chapel, he saw a troop of hideous cats, dancing furiously, making the night horrible with their yells.
the full moon lighted up the weird scene, and the young warrior gazed with astonishment, taking great care to keep still, lest he should be discovered.
after some time he thought that in the midst of all their shrieks he could make out the words, "do not tell schippeitaro!
keep it hidden and secret!
do not tell schippeitaro!"
then, the midnight hour having passed, they all vanished, and the youth was left alone.
exhausted by all that had been going on round him, he flung himself on the ground and slept till the sun rose.
the moment he woke he felt very hungry, and began to think how he could get something to eat.
so he got up and walked on, and before he had gone very far was lucky enough to find a little side-path, where he could trace men's footsteps.
he followed the track, and by-and-by came on some scattered huts, beyond which lay a village.
delighted at this discovery, he was about to hasten to the village when he heard a woman's voice weeping and lamenting, and calling on the men to take pity on her and help her.
the sound of her distress made him forget he was hungry, and he strode into the hut to find out for himself what was wrong.
but the men whom he asked only shook their heads and told him it was not a matter in which he could give any help, for all this sorrow was caused by the spirit of the mountain, to whom every year they were bound to furnish a maiden for him to eat.
"to-morrow night," said they, "the horrible creature will come for his dinner, and the cries you have heard were uttered by the girl before you, upon whom the lot has fallen."
and when the young man asked if the girl was carried off straight from her home, they answered no, but that a large cask was set in the forest chapel, and into this she was fastened.
as he listened to this story, the young man was filled with a great longing to rescue the maiden from her dreadful fate.
the mention of the chapel set him thinking of the scene of the previous night, and he went over all the details again in his mind.
"who is schippeitaro?"
he suddenly asked; "can any of you tell me?"
"schippeitaro is the great dog that belongs to the overseer of our prince," said they; "and he lives not far away."
and they began to laugh at the question, which seemed to them so odd and useless.
the young man did not laugh with them, but instead left the hut and went straight to the owner of the dog, whom he begged to lend him the animal just for one night.
schippeitaro's master was not at all willing to give him in charge to a man of whom he knew nothing, but in the end he consented, and the youth led the dog away, promising faithfully to return him next day to his master.
he next hurried to the hut where the maiden lived, and entreated her parents to shut her up safely in a closet, after which he took schippeitaro to the cask, and fastened him into it.
in the evening he knew that the cask would be placed in the chapel, so he hid himself there and waited.
at midnight, when the full moon appeared above the top of the mountain, the cats again filled the chapel and shrieked and yelled and danced as before.
but this time they had in their midst a huge black cat who seemed to be their king, and whom the young man guessed to be the spirit of the mountain.
the monster looked eagerly about him, and his eyes sparkled with joy when he saw the cask.
he bounded high into the air with delight and uttered cries of pleasure; then he drew near and undid the bolts.
but instead of fastening his teeth in the neck of a beautiful maiden, schippeitaro's teeth were fastened in him, and the youth ran up and cut off his head with his sword.
the other cats were so astonished at the turn things had taken that they forgot to run away, and the young man and schippeitaro between them killed several more before they thought of escaping.
at sunrise the brave dog was taken back to his master, and from that time the mountain girls were safe, and every year a feast was held in memory of the young warrior and the dog schippeitaro.
-lrb- japanische marchen. -rrb-
the three princes and their beasts -lrb- lithuanian fairy tale -rrb- once on a time there were three princes, who had a step-sister.
one day they all set out hunting together.
when they had gone some way through a thick wood they came on a great grey wolf with three cubs.
just as they were going to shoot, the wolf spoke and said, "do not shoot me, and i will give each of you one of my young ones.
it will be a faithful friend to you."
so the princes went on their way, and a little wolf followed each of them.
soon after they came on a lioness with three cubs.
and she too begged them not to shoot her, and she would give each of them a cub.
and so it happened with a fox, a hare, a boar, and a bear, till each prince had quite a following of young beasts padding along behind him.
towards evening they came to a clearing in the wood, where three birches grew at the crossing of three roads.
the eldest prince took an arrow, and shot it into the trunk of one of the birch trees.
turning to his brothers he said: "let each of us mark one of these trees before we part on different ways.
when any one of us comes back to this place, he must walk round the trees of the other two, and if he sees blood flowing from the mark in the tree he will know that that brother is dead, but if milk flows he will know that his brother is alive."
so each of the princes did as the eldest brother had said, and when the three birches were marked by their arrows they turned to their step-sister and asked her with which of them she meant to live.
"with the eldest," she answered.
then the brothers separated from each other, and each of them set out down a different road, followed by their beasts.
and the step-sister went with the eldest prince.
after they had gone a little way along the road they came into a forest, and in one of the deepest glades they suddenly found themselves opposite a castle in which there lived a band of robbers.
the prince walked up to the door and knocked.
the moment it was opened the beasts rushed in, and each seized on a robber, killed him, and dragged the body down to the cellar.
now, one of the robbers was not really killed, only badly wounded, but he lay quite still and pretended to be dead like the others.
then the prince and his step-sister entered the castle and took up their abode in it.
the next morning the prince went out hunting.
before leaving he told his step-sister that she might go into every room in the house except into the cave where the dead robbers lay.
but as soon as his back was turned she forgot what he had said, and having wandered through all the other rooms she went down to the cellar and opened the door.
as soon as she looked in the robber who had only pretended to be dead sat up and said to her: "do n't be afraid.
do what i tell you, and i will be your friend.
if you marry me you will be much happier with me than with your brother.
but you must first go into the sitting-room and look in the cupboard.
there you will find three bottles.
in one of them there is a healing ointment which you must put on my chin to heal the wound; then if i drink the contents of the second bottle it will make me well, and the third bottle will make me stronger than i ever was before.
then, when your brother comes back from the wood with his beasts you must go to him and say, "brother, you are very strong.
if i were to fasten your thumbs behind your back with a stout silk cord, could you wrench yourself free?"
and when you see that he can not do it, call me."
when the brother came home, the step-sister did as the robber had told her, and fastened her brother's thumbs behind his back.
but with one wrench he set himself free, and said to her, "sister, that cord is not strong enough for me."
the next day he went back to the wood with his beasts, and the robber told her that she must take a much stouter cord to bind his thumbs with.
but again he freed himself, though not so easily as the first time, and he said to his sister: "even that cord is not strong enough."
the third day, on his return from the wood he consented to have his strength tested for the last time.
so she took a very strong cord of silk, which she had prepared by the robber's advice, and this time, though the prince pulled and tugged with all his might, he could not break the cord.
so he called to her and said: "sister, this time the cord is so strong i can not break it.
come and unfasten it for me."
but instead of coming she called to the robber, who rushed into the room brandishing a knife, with which he prepared to attack the prince.
but the prince spoke and said: "have patience for one minute.
i would like before i die to blow three blasts on my hunting horn -- one in this room, one on the stairs, and one in the courtyard."
so the robber consented, and the prince blew the horn.
at the first blast, the fox, which was asleep in the cage in the courtyard, awoke, and knew that his master needed help.
so he awoke the wolf by flicking him across the eyes with his brush.
then they awoke the lion, who sprang against the door of the cage with might and main, so that it fell in splinters on the ground, and the beasts were free.
rushing through the court to their master's aid, the fox gnawed the cord in two that bound the prince's thumbs behind his back, and the lion flung himself on the robber, and when he had killed him and torn him in pieces each of the beasts carried off a bone.
then the prince turned to the step-sister and said: "i will not kill you, but i will leave you here to repent."
and he fastened her with a chain to the wall, and put a great bowl in front of her and said," i will not see you again till you have filled this bowl with your tears."
so saying, he called his beasts, and set out on his travels.
when he had gone a little way he came to an inn.
everyone in the inn seemed so sad that he asked them what was the matter.
"ah," replied they, "to-day our king's daughter is to die.
she is to be handed over to a dreadful nine-headed dragon."
then the prince said: "why should she die?
i am very strong, i will save her."
and he set out to the sea-shore, where the dragon was to meet the princess.
and as he waited with his beasts round him a great procession came along, accompanying the unfortunate princess: and when the shore was reached all the people left her, and returned sadly to their houses.
but the prince remained, and soon he saw a movement in the water a long way off.
as it came nearer, he knew what it was, for skimming swiftly along the waters came a monster dragon with nine heads.
then the prince took counsel with his beasts, and as the dragon approached the shore the fox drew his brush through the water and blinded the dragon by scattering the salt water in his eyes, while the bear and the lion threw up more water with their paws, so that the monster was bewildered and could see nothing.
then the prince rushed forward with his sword and killed the dragon, and the beasts tore the body in pieces.
then the princess turned to the prince and thanked him for delivering her from the dragon, and she said to him: "step into this carriage with me, and we will drive back to my father's palace."
and she gave him a ring and half of her handkerchief.
but on the way back the coachman and footman spoke to one another and said: "why should we drive this stranger back to the palace?
let us kill him, and then we can say to the king that we slew the dragon and saved the princess, and one of us shall marry her."
so they killed the prince, and left him dead on the roadside.
and the faithful beasts came round the dead body and wept, and wondered what they should do.
then suddenly the wolf had an idea, and he started off into the wood, where he found an ox, which he straightway killed.
then he called the fox, and told him to mount guard over the dead ox, and if a bird came past and tried to peck at the flesh he was to catch it and bring it to the lion.
soon after a crow flew past, and began to peck at the dead ox.
in a moment the fox had caught it and brought it to the lion.
then the lion said to the crow: "we will not kill you if you will promise to fly to the town where there are three wells of healing and to bring back water from them in your beak to make this dead man alive."
so the crow flew away, and she filled her beak at the well of healing, the well of strength, and the well of swiftness, and she flew back to the dead prince and dropped the water from her beak upon his lips, and he was healed, and could sit up and walk.
then he set out for the town, accompanied by his faithful beasts.
and when they reached the king's palace they found that preparations for a great feast were being made, for the princess was to marry the coachman.
so the prince walked into the palace, and went straight up to the coachman and said: "what token have you got that you killed the dragon and won the hand of the princess?
i have her token here -- this ring and half her handkerchief."
and when the king saw these tokens he knew that the prince was speaking the truth.
so the coachman was bound in chains and thrown into prison, and the prince was married to the princess and rewarded with half the kingdom.
one day, soon after his marriage, the prince was walking through the woods in the evening, followed by his faithful beasts.
darkness came on, and he lost his way, and wandered about among the trees looking for the path that would lead him back to the palace.
as he walked he saw the light of a fire, and making his way to it he found an old woman raking sticks and dried leaves together, and burning them in a glade of the wood.
as he was very tired, and the night was very dark, the prince determined not to wander further.
so he asked the old woman if he might spend the night beside her fire.
"of course you may," she answered.
"but i am afraid of your beasts.
let me hit them with my rod, and then i shall not be afraid of them."
"very well," said the prince," i do n't mind"; and she stretched out her rod and hit the beasts, and in one moment they were turned into stone, and so was the prince.
now soon after this the prince's youngest brother came to the cross-roads with the three birches, where the brothers had parted from each other when they set out on their wanderings.
remembering what they had agreed to do, he walked round the two trees, and when he saw that blood oozed from the cut in the eldest prince's tree he knew that his brother must be dead.
so he set out, followed by his beasts, and came to the town over which his brother had ruled, and where the princess he had married lived.
and when he came into the town all the people were in great sorrow because their prince had disappeared.
but when they saw his youngest brother, and the beasts following him, they thought it was their own prince, and they rejoiced greatly, and told him how they had sought him everywhere.
then they led him to the king, and he too thought that it was his son-in-law.
but the princess knew that he was not her husband, and she begged him to go out into the woods with his beasts, and to look for his brother till he found him.
so the youngest prince set out to look for his brother, and he too lost his way in the wood and night overtook him.
then he came to the clearing among the trees, where the fire was burning and where the old woman was raking sticks and leaves into the flames.
and he asked her if he might spend the night beside her fire, as it was too late and too dark to go back to the town.
and she answered: "certainly you may.
but i am afraid of your beasts.
may i give them a stroke with my rod, then i shall not be afraid of them."
and he said she might, for he did not know that she was a witch.
so she stretched out her rod, and in a moment the beasts and their master were turned into stone.
it happened soon after that the second brother returned from his wanderings and came to the cross-roads where the three birches grew.
as he went round the trees he saw that blood poured from the cuts in the bark of two of the trees.
then he wept and said: "alas!
both my brothers are dead."
and he too set out towards the town in which his brother had ruled, and his faithful beasts followed him.
when he entered the town, all the people thought it was their own prince come back to them, and they gathered round him, as they had gathered round his youngest brother, and asked him where he had been and why he had not returned.
and they led him to the king's palace, but the princess knew that he was not her husband.
so when they were alone together she besought him to go and seek for his brother and bring him home.
calling his beasts round him, he set out and wandered through the woods.
and he put his ear down to the earth, to listen if he could hear the sound of his brother's beasts.
and it seemed to him as if he heard a faint sound far off, but he did not know from what direction it came.
so he blew on his hunting horn and listened again.
and again he heard the sound, and this time it seemed to come from the direction of a fire burning in the wood.
so he went towards the fire, and there the old woman was raking sticks and leaves into the embers.
and he asked her if he might spend the night beside her fire.
but she told him she was afraid of his beasts, and he must first allow her to give each of them a stroke with her rod.
but he answered her: "certainly not.
i am their master, and no one shall strike them but i myself.
give me the rod"; and he touched the fox with it, and in a moment it was turned into stone.
then he knew that the old woman was a witch, and he turned to her and said: "unless you restore my brothers and their beasts back to life at once, my lion will tear you in pieces."
then the witch was terrified, and taking a young oak tree she burnt it into white ashes, and sprinkled the ashes on the stones that stood around.
and in a moment the two princes stood before their brother, and their beasts stood round them.
then the three princes set off together to the town.
and the king did not know which was his son-in-law, but the princess knew which was her husband, and there were great rejoicings throughout the land.
the goat's ears of the emperor trojan once upon a time there lived an emperor whose name was trojan, and he had ears like a goat.
every morning, when he was shaved, he asked if the man saw anything odd about him, and as each fresh barber always replied that the emperor had goat's ears, he was at once ordered to be put to death.
now after this state of things had lasted a good while, there was hardly a barber left in the town that could shave the emperor, and it came to be the turn of the master of the company of barbers to go up to the palace.
but, unluckily, at the very moment that he should have set out, the master fell suddenly ill, and told one of his apprentices that he must go in his stead.
when the youth was taken to the emperor's bedroom, he was asked why he had come and not his master.
the young man replied that the master was ill, and there was no one but himself who could be trusted with the honour.
the emperor was satisfied with the answer, and sat down, and let a sheet of fine linen be put round him.
directly the young barber began his work, he, like the rest, remarked the goat's ears of the emperor, but when he had finished and the emperor asked his usual question as to whether the youth had noticed anything odd about him, the young man replied calmly, "no, nothing at all."
this pleased the emperor so much that he gave him twelve ducats, and said, "henceforth you shall come every day to shave me."
so when the apprentice returned home, and the master inquired how he had got on with the emperor, the young man answered, "oh, very well, and he says i am to shave him every day, and he has given me these twelve ducats"; but he said nothing about the goat's ears of the emperor.
from this time the apprentice went regularly up to the palace, receiving each morning twelve ducats in payment.
but after a while, his secret, which he had carefully kept, burnt within him, and he longed to tell it to somebody.
his master saw there was something on his mind, and asked what it was.
the youth replied that he had been tormenting himself for some months, and should never feel easy until some one shared his secret.
"well, trust me," said the master," i will keep it to myself; or, if you do not like to do that, confess it to your pastor, or go into some field outside the town and dig a hole, and, after you have dug it, kneel down and whisper your secret three times into the hole.
then put back the earth and come away."
the apprentice thought that this seemed the best plan, and that very afternoon went to a meadow outside the town, dug a deep hole, then knelt and whispered to it three times over, "the emperor trojan has goat's ears."
and as he said so a great burden seemed to roll off him, and he shovelled the earth carefully back and ran lightly home.
weeks passed away, and there sprang up in the hole an elder tree which had three stems, all as straight as poplars.
some shepherds, tending their flocks near by, noticed the tree growing there, and one of them cut down a stem to make flutes of; but, directly he began to play, the flute would do nothing but sing: "the emperor trojan has goat's ears."
of course, it was not long before the whole town knew of this wonderful flute and what it said; and, at last, the news reached the emperor in his palace.
he instantly sent for the apprentice and said to him: "what have you been saying about me to all my people?"
the culprit tried to defend himself by saying that he had never told anyone what he had noticed; but the emperor, instead of listening, only drew his sword from its sheath, which so frightened the poor fellow that he confessed exactly what he had done, and how he had whispered the truth three times to the earth, and how in that very place an elder tree had sprung up, and flutes had been cut from it, which would only repeat the words he had said.
then the emperor commanded his coach to be made ready, and he took the youth with him, and they drove to the spot, for he wished to see for himself whether the young man's confession was true; but when they reached the place only one stem was left.
so the emperor desired his attendants to cut him a flute from the remaining stem, and, when it was ready, he ordered his chamberlain to play on it.
but no tune could the chamberlain play, though he was the best flute player about the court -- nothing came but the words, "the emperor trojan has goat's ears."
then the emperor knew that even the earth gave up its secrets, and he granted the young man his life, but he never allowed him to be his barber any more.
-lrb- volksmarchen der serben. -rrb-
the nine pea-hens and the golden apples once upon a time there stood before the palace of an emperor a golden apple tree, which blossomed and bore fruit each night.
but every morning the fruit was gone, and the boughs were bare of blossom, without anyone being able to discover who was the thief.
at last the emperor said to his eldest son, "if only i could prevent those robbers from stealing my fruit, how happy i should be!"
and his son replied," i will sit up to-night and watch the tree, and i shall soon see who it is!"
so directly it grew dark the young man went and hid himself near the apple tree to begin his watch, but the apples had scarcely begun to ripen before he fell asleep, and when he awoke at sunrise the apples were gone.
he felt very much ashamed of himself, and went with lagging feet to tell his father!
of course, though the eldest son had failed, the second made sure that he would do better, and set out gaily at nightfall to watch the apple tree.
but no sooner had he lain himself down than his eyes grew heavy, and when the sunbeams roused him from his slumbers there was not an apple left on the tree.
next came the turn of the youngest son, who made himself a comfortable bed under the apple tree, and prepared himself to sleep.
towards midnight he awoke, and sat up to look at the tree.
and behold!
the apples were beginning to ripen, and lit up the whole palace with their brightness.
at the same moment nine golden pea-hens flew swiftly through the air, and while eight alighted upon the boughs laden with fruit, the ninth fluttered to the ground where the prince lay, and instantly was changed into a beautiful maiden, more beautiful far than any lady in the emperor's court.
the prince at once fell in love with her, and they talked together for some time, till the maiden said her sisters had finished plucking the apples, and now they must all go home again.
the prince, however, begged her so hard to leave him a little of the fruit that the maiden gave him two apples, one for himself and one for his father.
then she changed herself back into a pea-hen, and the whole nine flew away.
as soon as the sun rose the prince entered the palace, and held out the apple to his father, who was rejoiced to see it, and praised his youngest son heartily for his cleverness.
that evening the prince returned to the apple tree, and everything passed as before, and so it happened for several nights.
at length the other brothers grew angry at seeing that he never came back without bringing two golden apples with him, and they went to consult an old witch, who promised to spy after him, and discover how he managed to get the apples.
so, when the evening came, the old woman hid herself under the tree and waited for the prince.
before long he arrived and laid down on his bed, and was soon fast asleep.
towards midnight there was a rush of wings, and the eight pea-hens settled on the tree, while the ninth became a maiden, and ran to greet the prince.
then the witch stretched out her hand, and cut off a lock of the maiden's hair, and in an instant the girl sprang up, a pea-hen once more, spread her wings and flew away, while her sisters, who were busily stripping the boughs, flew after her.
when he had recovered from his surprise at the unexpected disappearance of the maiden, the prince exclaimed, "what can be the matter?"
and, looking about him, discovered the old witch hidden under the bed.
he dragged her out, and in his fury called his guards, and ordered them to put her to death as fast as possible.
but that did no good as far as the pea-hens went.
they never came back any more, though the prince returned to the tree every night, and wept his heart out for his lost love.
this went on for some time, till the prince could bear it no longer, and made up his mind he would search the world through for her.
in vain his father tried to persuade him that his task was hopeless, and that other girls were to be found as beautiful as this one.
the prince would listen to nothing, and, accompanied by only one servant, set out on his quest.
after travelling for many days, he arrived at length before a large gate, and through the bars he could see the streets of a town, and even the palace.
the prince tried to pass in, but the way was barred by the keeper of the gate, who wanted to know who he was, why he was there, and how he had learnt the way, and he was not allowed to enter unless the empress herself came and gave him leave.
a message was sent to her, and when she stood at the gate the prince thought he had lost his wits, for there was the maiden he had left his home to seek.
and she hastened to him, and took his hand, and drew him into the palace.
in a few days they were married, and the prince forgot his father and his brothers, and made up his mind that he would live and die in the castle.
one morning the empress told him that she was going to take a walk by herself, and that she would leave the keys of twelve cellars to his care.
"if you wish to enter the first eleven cellars," said she, "you can; but beware of even unlocking the door of the twelfth, or it will be the worse for you."
the prince, who was left alone in the castle, soon got tired of being by himself, and began to look about for something to amuse him.
"what can there be in that twelfth cellar," he thought to himself, "which i must not see?"
and he went downstairs and unlocked the doors, one after the other.
when he got to the twelfth he paused, but his curiosity was too much for him, and in another instant the key was turned and the cellar lay open before him.
it was empty, save for a large cask, bound with iron hoops, and out of the cask a voice was saying entreatingly, "for goodness" sake, brother, fetch me some water; i am dying of thirst!"
the prince, who was very tender-hearted, brought some water at once, and pushed it through a hole in the barrel; and as he did so one of the iron hoops burst.
he was turning away, when a voice cried the second time, "brother, for pity's sake fetch me some water; i'm dying of thirst!"
so the prince went back, and brought some more water, and again a hoop sprang.
and for the third time the voice still called for water; and when water was given it the last hoop was rent, the cask fell in pieces, and out flew a dragon, who snatched up the empress just as she was returning from her walk, and carried her off.
some servants who saw what had happened came rushing to the prince, and the poor young man went nearly mad when he heard the result of his own folly, and could only cry out that he would follow the dragon to the ends of the earth, until he got his wife again.
for months and months he wandered about, first in this direction and then in that, without finding any traces of the dragon or his captive.
at last he came to a stream, and as he stopped for a moment to look at it he noticed a little fish lying on the bank, beating its tail convulsively, in a vain effort to get back into the water.
"oh, for pity's sake, my brother," shrieked the little creature, "help me, and put me back into the river, and i will repay you some day.
take one of my scales, and when you are in danger twist it in your fingers, and i will come!"
the prince picked up the fish and threw it into the water; then he took off one of its scales, as he had been told, and put it in his pocket, carefully wrapped in a cloth.
then he went on his way till, some miles further down the road, he found a fox caught in a trap.
"oh!
be a brother to me!"
called the fox, "and free me from this trap, and i will help you when you are in need.
pull out one of my hairs, and when you are in danger twist it in your fingers, and i will come."
so the prince unfastened the trap, pulled out one of the fox's hairs, and continued his journey.
and as he was going over the mountain he passed a wolf entangled in a snare, who begged to be set at liberty.
"only deliver me from death," he said, "and you will never be sorry for it.
take a lock of my fur, and when you need me twist it in your fingers."
and the prince undid the snare and let the wolf go.
for a long time he walked on, without having any more adventures, till at length he met a man travelling on the same road.
"oh, brother!"
asked the prince, "tell me, if you can, where the dragon-emperor lives?"
the man told him where he would find the palace, and how long it would take him to get there, and the prince thanked him, and followed his directions, till that same evening he reached the town where the dragon-emperor lived.
when he entered the palace, to his great joy he found his wife sitting alone in a vast hall, and they began hastily to invent plans for her escape.
there was no time to waste, as the dragon might return directly, so they took two horses out of the stable, and rode away at lightning speed.
hardly were they out of sight of the palace than the dragon came home and found that his prisoner had flown.
he sent at once for his talking horse, and said to him: "give me your advice; what shall i do -- have my supper as usual, or set out in pursuit of them?"
"eat your supper with a free mind first," answered the horse, "and follow them afterwards."
so the dragon ate till it was past mid-day, and when he could eat no more he mounted his horse and set out after the fugitives.
in a short time he had come up with them, and as he snatched the empress out of her saddle he said to the prince: "this time i will forgive you, because you brought me the water when i was in the cask; but beware how you return here, or you will pay for it with your life."
half mad with grief, the prince rode sadly on a little further, hardly knowing what he was doing.
then he could bear it no longer and turned back to the palace, in spite of the dragon's threats.
again the empress was sitting alone, and once more they began to think of a scheme by which they could escape the dragon's power.
"ask the dragon when he comes home," said the prince, "where he got that wonderful horse from, and then you can tell me, and i will try to find another like it."
then, fearing to meet his enemy, he stole out of the castle.
soon after the dragon came home, and the empress sat down near him, and began to coax and flatter him into a good humour, and at last she said: "but tell me about that wonderful horse you were riding yesterday.
there can not be another like it in the whole world.
where did you get it from?"
and he answered: "the way i got it is a way which no one else can take.
on the top of a high mountain dwells an old woman, who has in her stables twelve horses, each one more beautiful than the other.
and in one corner is a thin, wretched-looking animal whom no one would glance at a second time, but he is in reality the best of the lot.
he is twin brother to my own horse, and can fly as high as the clouds themselves.
but no one can ever get this horse without first serving the old woman for three whole days.
and besides the horses she has a foal and its mother, and the man who serves her must look after them for three whole days, and if he does not let them run away he will in the end get the choice of any horse as a present from the old woman.
but if he fails to keep the foal and its mother safe on any one of the three nights his head will pay."
the next day the prince watched till the dragon left the house, and then he crept in to the empress, who told him all she had learnt from her gaoler.
the prince at once determined to seek the old woman on the top of the mountain, and lost no time in setting out.
it was a long and steep climb, but at last he found her, and with a low bow he began: "good greeting to you, little mother!"
"good greeting to you, my son!
what are you doing here?'"
i wish to become your servant," answered he.
"so you shall," said the old woman.
"if you can take care of my mare for three days i will give you a horse for wages, but if you let her stray you will lose your head"; and as she spoke she led him into a courtyard surrounded with palings, and on every post a man's head was stuck.
one post only was empty, and as they passed it cried out: "woman, give me the head i am waiting for!"
the old woman made no answer, but turned to the prince and said: "look!
all those men took service with me, on the same conditions as you, but not one was able to guard the mare!"
but the prince did not waver, and declared he would abide by his words.
when evening came he led the mare out of the stable and mounted her, and the colt ran behind.
he managed to keep his seat for a long time, in spite of all her efforts to throw him, but at length he grew so weary that he fell fast asleep, and when he woke he found himself sitting on a log, with the halter in his hands.
he jumped up in terror, but the mare was nowhere to be seen, and he started with a beating heart in search of her.
he had gone some way without a single trace to guide him, when he came to a little river.
the sight of the water brought back to his mind the fish whom he had saved from death, and he hastily drew the scale from his pocket.
it had hardly touched his fingers when the fish appeared in the stream beside him.
"what is it, my brother?"
asked the fish anxiously.
"the old woman's mare strayed last night, and i do n't know where to look for her."
"oh, i can tell you that: she has changed herself into a big fish, and her foal into a little one.
but strike the water with the halter and say, "come here, o mare of the mountain witch!"
and she will come."
the prince did as he was bid, and the mare and her foal stood before him.
then he put the halter round her neck, and rode her home, the foal always trotting behind them.
the old woman was at the door to receive them, and gave the prince some food while she led the mare back to the stable.
"you should have gone among the fishes," cried the old woman, striking the animal with a stick."
i did go among the fishes," replied the mare; "but they are no friends of mine, for they betrayed me at once."
"well, go among the foxes this time," said she, and returned to the house, not knowing that the prince had overheard her.
so when it began to grow dark the prince mounted the mare for the second time and rode into the meadows, and the foal trotted behind its mother.
again he managed to stick on till midnight: then a sleep overtook him that he could not battle against, and when he woke up he found himself, as before, sitting on the log, with the halter in his hands.
he gave a shriek of dismay, and sprang up in search of the wanderers.
as he went he suddenly remembered the words that the old woman had said to the mare, and he drew out the fox hair and twisted it in his fingers.
"what is it, my brother?"
asked the fox, who instantly appeared before him.
"the old witch's mare has run away from me, and i do not know where to look for her."
"she is with us," replied the fox, "and has changed herself into a big fox, and her foal into a little one, but strike the ground with a halter and say, "come here, o mare of the mountain witch!""
the prince did so, and in a moment the fox became a mare and stood before him, with the little foal at her heels.
he mounted and rode back, and the old woman placed food on the table, and led the mare back to the stable.
"you should have gone to the foxes, as i told you," said she, striking the mare with a stick."
i did go to the foxes," replied the mare, "but they are no friends of mine and betrayed me."
"well, this time you had better go to the wolves," said she, not knowing that the prince had heard all she had been saying.
the third night the prince mounted the mare and rode her out to the meadows, with the foal trotting after.
he tried hard to keep awake, but it was of no use, and in the morning there he was again on the log, grasping the halter.
he started to his feet, and then stopped, for he remembered what the old woman had said, and pulled out the wolf's grey lock.
"what is it, my brother?"
asked the wolf as it stood before him.
"the old witch's mare has run away from me," replied the prince, "and i do n't know where to find her."
"oh, she is with us," answered the wolf, "and she has changed herself into a she-wolf, and the foal into a cub; but strike the earth here with the halter, and cry, "come to me, o mare of the mountain witch.""
the prince did as he was bid, and as the hair touched his fingers the wolf changed back into a mare, with the foal beside her.
and when he had mounted and ridden her home the old woman was on the steps to receive them, and she set some food before the prince, but led the mare back to her stable.
"you should have gone among the wolves," said she, striking her with a stick.
"so i did," replied the mare, "but they are no friends of mine and betrayed me."
the old woman made no answer, and left the stable, but the prince was at the door waiting for her."
i have served you well," said he, "and now for my reward."
"what i promised that will i perform," answered she.
"choose one of these twelve horses; you can have which you like."
"give me, instead, that half-starved creature in the corner," asked the prince."
i prefer him to all those beautiful animals."
"you ca n't really mean what you say?"
replied the woman.
"yes, i do," said the prince, and the old woman was forced to let him have his way.
so he took leave of her, and put the halter round his horse's neck and led him into the forest, where he rubbed him down till his skin was shining like gold.
then he mounted, and they flew straight through the air to the dragon's palace.
the empress had been looking for him night and day, and stole out to meet him, and he swung her on to his saddle, and the horse flew off again.
not long after the dragon came home, and when he found the empress was missing he said to his horse, "what shall we do?
shall we eat and drink, or shall we follow the runaways?"
and the horse replied, "whether you eat or do n't eat, drink or do n't drink, follow them or stay at home, matters nothing now, for you can never, never catch them."
but the dragon made no reply to the horse's words, but sprang on his back and set off in chase of the fugitives.
and when they saw him coming they were frightened, and urged the prince's horse faster and faster, till he said, "fear nothing; no harm can happen to us," and their hearts grew calm, for they trusted his wisdom.
soon the dragon's horse was heard panting behind, and he cried out, "oh, my brother, do not go so fast!
i shall sink to the earth if i try to keep up with you."
and the prince's horse answered, "why do you serve a monster like that?
kick him off, and let him break in pieces on the ground, and come and join us."
and the dragon's horse plunged and reared, and the dragon fell on a rock, which broke him in pieces.
then the empress mounted his horse, and rode back with her husband to her kingdom, over which they ruled for many years.
-lrb- volksmarchen der serben. -rrb-
the lute player once upon a time there was a king and queen who lived happily and comfortably together.
they were very fond of each other and had nothing to worry them, but at last the king grew restless.
he longed to go out into the world, to try his strength in battle against some enemy and to win all kinds of honour and glory.
so he called his army together and gave orders to start for a distant country where a heathen king ruled who ill-treated or tormented everyone he could lay his hands on.
the king then gave his parting orders and wise advice to his ministers, took a tender leave of his wife, and set off with his army across the seas.
i can not say whether the voyage was short or long; but at last he reached the country of the heathen king and marched on, defeating all who came in his way.
but this did not last long, for in time he came to a mountain pass, where a large army was waiting for him, who put his soldiers to flight, and took the king himself prisoner.
he was carried off to the prison where the heathen king kept his captives, and now our poor friend had a very bad time indeed.
all night long the prisoners were chained up, and in the morning they were yoked together like oxen and had to plough the land till it grew dark.
this state of things went on for three years before the king found any means of sending news of himself to his dear queen, but at last he contrived to send this letter: "sell all our castles and palaces, and put all our treasures in pawn and come and deliver me out of this horrible prison."
the queen received the letter, read it, and wept bitterly as she said to herself, "how can i deliver my dearest husband?
if i go myself and the heathen king sees me he will just take me to be one of his wives.
if i were to send one of the ministers!
-- but i hardly know if i can depend on them."
she thought, and thought, and at last an idea came into her head.
she cut off all her beautiful long brown hair and dressed herself in boy's clothes.
then she took her lute and, without saying anything to anyone, she went forth into the wide world.
she travelled through many lands and saw many cities, and went through many hardships before she got to the town where the heathen king lived.
when she got there she walked all round the palace and at the back she saw the prison.
then she went into the great court in front of the palace, and taking her lute in her hand, she began to play so beautifully that one felt as though one could never hear enough.
after she had played for some time she began to sing, and her voice was sweeter than the lark's: "i come from my own country far into this foreign land, of all i own i take alone my sweet lute in my hand.
"oh!
who will thank me for my song, reward my simple lay?
like lover's sighs it still shall rise to greet thee day by day."
i sing of blooming flowers made sweet by sun and rain; of all the bliss of love's first kiss, and parting's cruel pain.
"of the sad captive's longing within his prison wall, of hearts that sigh when none are nigh to answer to their call.
"my song begs for your pity, and gifts from out your store, and as i play my gentle lay i linger near your door.
"and if you hear my singing within your palace, sire, oh!
give, i pray, this happy day, to me my heart's desire."
no sooner had the heathen king heard this touching song sung by such a lovely voice, than he had the singer brought before him.
"welcome, o lute player," said he.
"where do you come from?"
"my country, sire, is far away across many seas.
for years i have been wandering about the world and gaining my living by my music."
"stay here then a few days, and when you wish to leave i will give you what you ask for in your song -- your heart's desire."
so the lute player stayed on in the palace and sang and played almost all day long to the king, who could never tire of listening and almost forgot to eat or drink or to torment people.
he cared for nothing but the music, and nodded his head as he declared, "that's something like playing and singing.
it makes me feel as if some gentle hand had lifted every care and sorrow from me."
after three days the lute player came to take leave of the king.
"well," said the king, "what do you desire as your reward?"
"sire, give me one of your prisoners.
you have so many in your prison, and i should be glad of a companion on my journeys.
when i hear his happy voice as i travel along i shall think of you and thank you."
"come along then," said the king, "choose whom you will."
and he took the lute player through the prison himself.
the queen walked about amongst the prisoners, and at length she picked out her husband and took him with her on her journey.
they were long on their way, but he never found out who she was, and she led him nearer and nearer to his own country.
when they reached the frontier the prisoner said: "let me go now, kind lad; i am no common prisoner, but the king of this country.
let me go free and ask what you will as your reward."
"do not speak of reward," answered the lute player.
"go in peace."
"then come with me, dear boy, and be my guest."
"when the proper time comes i shall be at your palace," was the reply, and so they parted.
the queen took a short way home, got there before the king and changed her dress.
an hour later all the people in the palace were running to and fro and crying out: "our king has come back!
our king has returned to us."
the king greeted every one very kindly, but he would not so much as look at the queen.
then he called all his council and ministers together and said to them: "see what sort of a wife i have.
here she is falling on my neck, but when i was pining in prison and sent her word of it she did nothing to help me."
and his council answered with one voice, "sire, when news was brought from you the queen disappeared and no one knew where she went.
she only returned to-day."
then the king was very angry and cried, "judge my faithless wife!
never would you have seen your king again, if a young lute player had not delivered him.
i shall remember him with love and gratitude as long as i live."
whilst the king was sitting with his council, the queen found time to disguise herself.
she took her lute, and slipping into the court in front of the palace she sang, clear and sweet: "i sing the captive's longing within his prison wall, of hearts that sigh when none are nigh to answer to their call.
"my song begs for your pity, and gifts from out your store, and as i play my gentle lay i linger near your door.
"and if you hear my singing within your palace, sire, oh!
give, i pray, this happy day, to me my heart's desire."
as soon as the king heard this song he ran out to meet the lute player, took him by the hand and led him into the palace.
"here," he cried, "is the boy who released me from my prison.
and now, my true friend, i will indeed give you your heart's desire.'"
i am sure you will not be less generous than the heathen king was, sire.
i ask of you what i asked and obtained from him.
but this time i do n't mean to give up what i get.
i want you -- yourself!"
and as she spoke she threw off her long cloak and everyone saw it was the queen.
who can tell how happy the king was?
in the joy of his heart he gave a great feast to the whole world, and the whole world came and rejoiced with him for a whole week.
i was there too, and ate and drank many good things.
i sha'n' t forget that feast as long as i live.
-lrb- from the russian. -rrb-
the grateful prince once upon a time the king of the goldland lost himself in a forest, and try as he would he could not find the way out.
as he was wandering down one path which had looked at first more hopeful than the rest he saw a man coming towards him.
"what are you doing here, friend?"
asked the stranger; "darkness is falling fast, and soon the wild beasts will come from their lairs to seek for food.'"
i have lost myself," answered the king, "and am trying to get home."
"then promise me that you will give me the first thing that comes out of your house, and i will show you the way," said the stranger.
the king did not answer directly, but after awhile he spoke: "why should i give away my best sporting dog.
i can surely find my way out of the forest as well as this man."
so the stranger left him, but the king followed path after path for three whole days, with no better success than before.
he was almost in despair, when the stranger suddenly appeared, blocking up his way.
"promise you will give me the first thing that comes out of your house to meet you?"
but still the king was stiff-necked and would promise nothing.
for some days longer he wandered up and down the forest, trying first one path, then another, but his courage at last gave way, and he sank wearily on the ground under a tree, feeling sure his last hour had come.
then for the third time the stranger stood before the king, and said: "why are you such a fool?
what can a dog be to you, that you should give your life for him like this?
just promise me the reward i want, and i will guide you out of the forest."
"well, my life is worth more than a thousand dogs," answered the king, "the welfare of my kingdom depends on me.
i accept your terms, so take me to my palace."
scarcely had he uttered the words than he found himself at the edge of the wood, with the palace in the dim distance.
he made all the haste he could, and just as he reached the great gates out came the nurse with the royal baby, who stretched out his arms to his father.
the king shrank back, and ordered the nurse to take the baby away at once.
then his great boarhound bounded up to him, but his caresses were only answered by a violent push.
when the king's anger was spent, and he was able to think what was best to be done, he exchanged his baby, a beautiful boy, for the daughter of a peasant, and the prince lived roughly as the son of poor people, while the little girl slept in a golden cradle, under silken sheets.
at the end of a year, the stranger arrived to claim his property, and took away the little girl, believing her to be the true child of the king.
the king was so delighted with the success of his plan that he ordered a great feast to be got ready, and gave splendid presents to the foster parents of his son, so that he might lack nothing.
but he did not dare to bring back the baby, lest the trick should be found out.
the peasants were quite contented with this arrangement, which gave them food and money in abundance.
by-and-by the boy grew big and tall, and seemed to lead a happy life in the house of his foster parents.
but a shadow hung over him which really poisoned most of his pleasure, and that was the thought of the poor innocent girl who had suffered in his stead, for his foster father had told him in secret, that he was the king's son.
and the prince determined that when he grew old enough he would travel all over the world, and never rest till he had set her free.
to become king at the cost of a maiden's life was too heavy a price to pay.
so one day he put on the dress of a farm servant, threw a sack of peas on his back, and marched straight into the forest where eighteen years before his father had lost himself.
after he had walked some way he began to cry loudly: "oh, how unlucky i am!
where can i be?
is there no one to show me the way out of the wood?"
then appeared a strange man with a long grey beard, with a leather bag hanging from his girdle.
he nodded cheerfully to the prince, and said: "i know this place well, and can lead you out of it, if you will promise me a good reward."
"what can a beggar such as i promise you?"
answered the prince."
i have nothing to give you save my life; even the coat on my back belongs to my master, whom i serve for my keep and my clothes."
the stranger looked at the sack of peas, and said, "but you must possess something; you are carrying this sack, which seems to be very heavy."
"it is full of peas," was the reply.
"my old aunt died last night, without leaving money enough to buy peas to give the watchers, as is the custom throughout the country.
i have borrowed these peas from my master, and thought to take a short cut across the forest; but i have lost myself, as you see."
"then you are an orphan?"
asked the stranger.
"why should you not enter my service?
i want a sharp fellow in the house, and you please me."
"why not, indeed, if we can strike a bargain?"
said the other."
i was born a peasant, and strange bread is always bitter, so it is the same to me whom i serve!
what wages will you give me?"
"every day fresh food, meat twice a week, butter and vegetables, your summer and winter clothes, and a portion of land for your own use.'"
i shall be satisfied with that," said the youth.
"somebody else will have to bury my aunt.
i will go with you!"
now this bargain seemed to please the old fellow so much that he spun round like a top, and sang so loud that the whole wood rang with his voice.
then he set out with his companion, and chattered so fast that he never noticed that his new servant kept dropping peas out of the sack.
at night they slept under a fig tree, and when the sun rose started on their way.
about noon they came to a large stone, and here the old fellow stopped, looked carefully round, gave a sharp whistle, and stamped three times on the ground with his left foot.
suddenly there appeared under the stone a secret door, which led to what looked like the mouth of a cave.
the old fellow seized the youth by the arm, and said roughly, "follow me!"
thick darkness surrounded them, yet it seemed to the prince as if their path led into still deeper depths.
after a long while he thought he saw a glimmer of light, but the light was neither that of the sun nor of the moon.
he looked eagerly at it, but found it was only a kind of pale cloud, which was all the light this strange underworld could boast.
earth and water, trees and plants, birds and beasts, each was different from those he had seen before; but what most struck terror into his heart was the absolute stillness that reigned everywhere.
not a rustle or a sound could be heard.
here and there he noticed a bird sitting on a branch, with head erect and swelling throat, but his ear caught nothing.
the dogs opened their mouths as if to bark, the toiling oxen seemed about to bellow, but neither bark nor bellow reached the prince.
the water flowed noiselessly over the pebbles, the wind bowed the tops of the trees, flies and chafers darted about, without breaking the silence.
the old greybeard uttered no word, and when his companion tried to ask him the meaning of it all he felt that his voice died in his throat.
how long this fearful stillness lasted i do not know, but the prince gradually felt his heart turning to ice, his hair stood up like bristles, and a cold chill was creeping down his spine, when at last -- oh, ecstasy!
-- a faint noise broke on his straining ears, and this life of shadows suddenly became real.
it sounded as if a troop of horses were ploughing their way over a moor.
then the greybeard opened his mouth, and said: "the kettle is boiling; we are expected at home."
they walked on a little further, till the prince thought he heard the grinding of a saw-mill, as if dozens of saws were working together, but his guide observed, "the grandmother is sleeping soundly; listen how she snores."
when they had climbed a hill which lay before them the prince saw in the distance the house of his master, but it was so surrounded with buildings of all kinds that the place looked more like a village or even a small town.
they reached it at last, and found an empty kennel standing in front of the gate.
"creep inside this," said the master, "and wait while i go in and see my grandmother.
like all very old people, she is very obstinate, and can not bear fresh faces about her."
the prince crept tremblingly into the kennel, and began to regret the daring which had brought him into this scrape.
by-and-by the master came back, and called him from his hiding-place.
something had put out his temper, for with a frown he said, "watch carefully our ways in the house, and beware of making any mistake, or it will go ill with you.
keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut, obey without questions.
be grateful if you will, but never speak unless you are spoken to."
when the prince stepped over the threshold he caught sight of a maiden of wonderful beauty, with brown eyes and fair curly hair.
"well!"
the young man said to himself, "if the old fellow has many daughters like that i should not mind being his son-in-law.
this one is just what i admire"; and he watched her lay the table, bring in the food, and take her seat by the fire as if she had never noticed that a strange man was present.
then she took out a needle and thread, and began to darn her stockings.
the master sat at table alone, and invited neither his new servant nor the maid to eat with him.
neither was the old grandmother anywhere to be seen.
his appetite was tremendous: he soon cleared all the dishes, and ate enough to satisfy a dozen men.
when at last he could eat no more he said to the girl, "now you can pick up the pieces, and take what is left in the iron pot for your own dinner, but give the bones to the dog."
the prince did not at all like the idea of dining off scraps, which he helped the girl to pick up, but, after all, he found that there was plenty to eat, and that the food was very good.
during the meal he stole many glances at the maiden, and would even have spoken to her, but she gave him no encouragement.
every time he opened his mouth for the purpose she looked at him sternly, as if to say, "silence," so he could only let his eyes speak for him.
besides, the master was stretched on a bench by the oven after his huge meal, and would have heard everything.
after supper that night, the old man said to the prince, "for two days you may rest from the fatigues of the journey, and look about the house.
but the day after to-morrow you must come with me, and i will point out the work you have to do.
the maid will show you where you are to sleep."
the prince thought, from this, he had leave to speak, but his master turned on him with a face of thunder and exclaimed: "you dog of a servant!
if you disobey the laws of the house you will soon find yourself a head shorter!
hold your tongue, and leave me in peace."
the girl made a sign to him to follow her, and, throwing open a door, nodded to him to go in.
he would have lingered a moment, for he thought she looked sad, but dared not do so, for fear of the old man's anger.
"it is impossible that she can be his daughter!"
he said to himself, "for she has a kind heart.
i am quite sure she must be the same girl who was brought here instead of me, so i am bound to risk my head in this mad adventure."
he got into bed, but it was long before he fell asleep, and even then his dreams gave him no rest.
he seemed to be surrounded by dangers, and it was only the power of the maiden who helped him through it all.
when he woke his first thoughts were for the girl, whom he found hard at work.
he drew water from the well and carried it to the house for her, kindled the fire under the iron pot, and, in fact, did everything that came into his head that could be of any use to her.
in the afternoon he went out, in order to learn something of his new home, and wondered greatly not to come across the old grandmother.
in his rambles he came to the farmyard, where a beautiful white horse had a stall to itself; in another was a black cow with two white-faced calves, while the clucking of geese, ducks, and hens reached him from a distance.
breakfast, dinner, and supper were as savoury as before, and the prince would have been quite content with his quarters had it not been for the difficulty of keeping silence in the presence of the maiden.
on the evening of the second day he went, as he had been told, to receive his orders for the following morning."
i am going to set you something very easy to do to-morrow," said the old man when his servant entered.
"take this scythe and cut as much grass as the white horse will want for its day's feed, and clean out its stall.
if i come back and find the manger empty it will go ill with you.
so beware!"
the prince left the room, rejoicing in his heart, and saying to himself, "well, i shall soon get through that!
if i have never yet handled either the plough or the scythe, at least i have often watched the country people work them, and know how easy it is."
he was just going to open his door, when the maiden glided softly past and whispered in his ear: "what task has he set you?"
"for to-morrow," answered the prince, "it is really nothing at all!
just to cut hay for the horse, and to clean out his stall!"
"oh, luckless being!"
sighed the girl; "how will you ever get through with it.
the white horse, who is our master's grandmother, is always hungry: it takes twenty men always mowing to keep it in food for one day, and another twenty to clean out its stall.
how, then, do you expect to do it all by yourself?
but listen to me, and do what i tell you.
it is your only chance.
when you have filled the manger as full as it will hold you must weave a strong plait of the rushes which grow among the meadow hay, and cut a thick peg of stout wood, and be sure that the horse sees what you are doing.
then it will ask you what it is for, and you will say, "with this plait i intend to bind up your mouth so that you can not eat any more, and with this peg i am going to keep you still in one spot, so that you can not scatter your corn and water all over the place!"
after these words the maiden went away as softly as she had come.
early the next morning he set to work.
his scythe danced through the grass much more easily than he had hoped, and soon he had enough to fill the manger.
he put it in the crib, and returned with a second supply, when to his horror he found the crib empty.
then he knew that without the maiden's advice he would certainly have been lost, and began to put it into practice.
he took out the rushes which had somehow got mixed up with the hay, and plaited them quickly.
"my son, what are you doing?"
asked the horse wonderingly.
"oh, nothing!"
replied he.
"just weaving a chin strap to bind your jaws together, in case you might wish to eat any more!"
the white horse sighed deeply when it heard this, and made up its mind to be content with what it had eaten.
the youth next began to clean out the stall, and the horse knew it had found a master; and by mid-day there was still fodder in the manger, and the place was as clean as a new pin.
he had barely finished when in walked the old man, who stood astonished at the door.
"is it really you who have been clever enough to do that?"
he asked.
"or has some one else given you a hint?"
"oh, i have had no help," replied the prince, "except what my poor weak head could give me."
the old man frowned, and went away, and the prince rejoiced that everything had turned out so well.
in the evening his master said, "to-morrow i have no special task to set you, but as the girl has a great deal to do in the house you must milk the black cow for her.
but take care you milk her dry, or it may be the worse for you."
"well," thought the prince as he went away, "unless there is some trick behind, this does not sound very hard.
i have never milked a cow before, but i have good strong fingers."
he was very sleepy, and was just going toward his room, when the maiden came to him and asked: "what is your task to-morrow?'"
i am to help you," he answered, "and have nothing to do all day, except to milk the black cow dry."
"oh, you are unlucky," cried she.
"if you were to try from morning till night you could n't do it.
there is only one way of escaping the danger, and that is, when you go to milk her, take with you a pan of burning coals and a pair of tongs.
place the pan on the floor of the stall, and the tongs on the fire, and blow with all your might, till the coals burn brightly.
the black cow will ask you what is the meaning of all this, and you must answer what i will whisper to you."
and she stood on tip-toe and whispered something in his ear, and then went away.
the dawn had scarcely reddened the sky when the prince jumped out of bed, and, with the pan of coals in one hand and the milk pail in the other, went straight to the cow's stall, and began to do exactly as the maiden had told him the evening before.
the black cow watched him with surprise for some time, and then said: "what are you doing, sonny?"
"oh, nothing," answered he;" i am only heating a pair of tongs in case you may not feel inclined to give as much milk as i want."
the cow sighed deeply, and looked at the milkman with fear, but he took no notice, and milked briskly into the pail, till the cow ran dry.
just at that moment the old man entered the stable, and sat down to milk the cow himself, but not a drop of milk could he get.
"have you really managed it all yourself, or did somebody help you?'"
i have nobody to help me," answered the prince, "but my own poor head."
the old man got up from his seat and went away.
that night, when the prince went to his master to hear what his next day's work was to be, the old man said: "i have a little hay-stack out in the meadow which must be brought in to dry.
to-morrow you will have to stack it all in the shed, and, as you value your life, be careful not to leave the smallest strand behind."
the prince was overjoyed to hear he had nothing worse to do.
"to carry a little hay-rick requires no great skill," thought he, "and it will give me no trouble, for the horse will have to draw it in.
i am certainly not going to spare the old grandmother."
by-and-by the maiden stole up to ask what task he had for the next day.
the young man laughed, and said: "it appears that i have got to learn all kinds of farmer's work.
to-morrow i have to carry a hay-rick, and leave not a stalk in the meadow, and that is my whole day's work!"
"oh, you unlucky creature!"
cried she; "and how do you think you are to do it.
if you had all the men in the world to help you, you could not clear off this one little hay-rick in a week.
the instant you have thrown down the hay at the top, it will take root again from below.
but listen to what i say.
you must steal out at daybreak to-morrow and bring out the white horse and some good strong ropes.
then get on the hay-stack, put the ropes round it, and harness the horse to the ropes.
when you are ready, climb up the hay-stack and begin to count one, two, three.
the horse will ask you what you are counting, and you must be sure to answer what i whisper to you."
so the maiden whispered something in his ear, and left the room.
and the prince knew nothing better to do than to get into bed.
he slept soundly, and it was still almost dark when he got up and proceeded to carry out the instructions given him by the girl.
first he chose some stout ropes, and then he led the horse out of the stable and rode it to the hay-stack, which was made up of fifty cartloads, so that it could hardly be called" a little one."
the prince did all that the maiden had told him, and when at last he was seated on top of the rick, and had counted up to twenty, he heard the horse ask in amazement: "what are you counting up there, my son?"
"oh, nothing," said he," i was just amusing myself with counting the packs of wolves in the forest, but there are really so many of them that i do n't think i should ever be done."
the word "wolf" was hardly out of his mouth than the white horse was off like the wind, so that in the twinkling of an eye it had reached the shed, dragging the hay-stack behind it.
the master was dumb with surprise as he came in after breakfast and found his man's day's work quite done.
"was it really you who were so clever?"
asked he.
"or did some one give you good advice?"
"oh, i have only myself to take counsel with," said the prince, and the old man went away, shaking his head.
late in the evening the prince went to his master to learn what he was to do next day.
"to-morrow," said the old man, "you must bring the white-headed calf to the meadow, and, as you value your life, take care it does not escape from you."
the prince answered nothing, but thought, "well, most peasants of nineteen have got a whole herd to look after, so surely i can manage one."
and he went towards his room, where the maiden met him.
"to morrow i have got an idiot's work," said he; "nothing but to take the white-headed calf to the meadow."
"oh, you unlucky being!"
sighed she.
"do you know that this calf is so swift that in a single day he can run three times round the world?
take heed to what i tell you.
bind one end of this silk thread to the left fore-leg of the calf, and the other end to the little toe of your left foot, so that the calf will never be able to leave your side, whether you walk, stand, or lie."
after this the prince went to bed and slept soundly.
the next morning he did exactly what the maiden had told him, and led the calf with the silken thread to the meadow, where it stuck to his side like a faithful dog.
by sunset, it was back again in its stall, and then came the master and said, with a frown, "were you really so clever yourself, or did somebody tell you what to do?"
"oh, i have only my own poor head," answered the prince, and the old man went away growling," i do n't believe a word of it!
i am sure you have found some clever friend!"
in the evening he called the prince and said: "to-morrow i have no work for you, but when i wake you must come before my bed, and give me your hand in greeting."
the young man wondered at this strange freak, and went laughing in search of the maiden.
"ah, it is no laughing matter," sighed she.
"he means to eat you, and there is only one way in which i can help you.
you must heat an iron shovel red hot, and hold it out to him instead of your hand."
so next morning he wakened very early, and had heated the shovel before the old man was awake.
at length he heard him calling, "you lazy fellow, where are you?
come and wish me good morning."
but when the prince entered with the red-hot shovel his master only said," i am very ill to-day, and too weak even to touch your hand.
you must return this evening, when i may be better."
the prince loitered about all day, and in the evening went back to the old man's room.
he was received in the most; friendly manner, and, to his surprise, his master exclaimed," i am very well satisfied with you.
come to me at dawn and bring the maiden with you.
i know you have long loved each other, and i wish to make you man and wife."
the young man nearly jumped into the air for joy, but, remembering the rules of the house, he managed to keep still.
when he told the maiden, he saw to his astonishment that she had become as white as a sheet, and she was quite dumb.
"the old man has found out who was your counsellor," she said when she could speak, "and he means to destroy us both."
we must escape somehow, or else we shall be lost.
take an axe, and cut off the head of the calf with one blow.
with a second, split its head in two, and in its brain you will see a bright red ball.
bring that to me.
meanwhile, i will do what is needful here.
and the prince thought to himself, "better kill the calf than be killed ourselves.
if we can once escape, we will go back home.
the peas which i strewed about must have sprouted, so that we shall not miss the way."
then he went into the stall, and with one blow of the axe killed the calf, and with the second split its brain.
in an instant the place was filled with light, as the red ball fell from the brain of the calf.
the prince picked it up, and, wrapping it round with a thick cloth, hid it in his bosom.
mercifully, the cow slept through it all, or by her cries she would have awakened the master.
he looked round, and at the door stood the maiden, holding a little bundle in her arms.
"where is the ball?"
she asked.
"here," answered he.
"we must lose no time in escaping," she went on, and uncovered a tiny bit of the shining ball, to light them on their way.
as the prince had expected the peas had taken root, and grown into a little hedge, so that they were sure they would not lose the path.
as they fled, the girl told him that she had overheard a conversation between the old man and his grandmother, saying that she was a king's daughter, whom the old fellow had obtained by cunning from her parents.
the prince, who knew all about the affair, was silent, though he was glad from his heart that it had fallen to his lot to set her free.
so they went on till the day began to dawn.
the old man slept very late that morning, and rubbed his eyes till he was properly awake.
then he remembered that very soon the couple were to present themselves before him.
after waiting and waiting till quite a long time had passed, he said to himself, with a grin, "well, they are not in much hurry to be married," and waited again.
at last he grew a little uneasy, and cried loudly, "man and maid!
what has become of you?"
after repeating this many times, he became quite frightened, but, call as he would, neither man nor maid appeared.
at last he jumped angrily out of bed to go in search of the culprits, but only found an empty house, and beds that had never been slept in.
then he went straight to the stable, where the sight of the dead calf told him all.
swearing loudly, he opened the door of the third stall quickly, and cried to his goblin servants to go and chase the fugitives.
"bring them to me, however you may find them, for have them i must!"
he said.
so spake the old man, and the servants fled like the wind.
the runaways were crossing a great plain, when the maiden stopped.
"something has happened!"
she said.
"the ball moves in my hand, and i'm sure we are being followed!"
and behind them they saw a black cloud flying before the wind.
then the maiden turned the ball thrice in her hand, and cried, "listen to me, my ball, my ball.
be quick and change me into a brook, and my lover into a little fish."
and in an instant there was a brook with a fish swimming in it.
the goblins arrived just after, but, seeing nobody, waited for a little, then hurried home, leaving the brook and the fish undisturbed.
when they were quite out of sight, the brook and the fish returned to their usual shapes and proceeded on their journey.
when the goblins, tired and with empty hands, returned, their master inquired what they had seen, and if nothing strange had befallen them.
"nothing," said they; "the plain was quite empty, save for a brook and a fish swimming in it."
"idiots!"
roared the master; "of course it was they!"
and dashing open the door of the fifth stall, he told the goblins inside that they must go and drink up the brook, and catch the fish.
and the goblins jumped up, and flew like the wind.
the young pair had almost reached the edge of the wood, when the maiden stopped again.
"something has happened," said she.
"the ball is moving in my hand," and looking round she beheld a cloud flying towards them, large and blacker than the first, and striped with red.
"those are our pursuers," cried she, and turning the ball three times in her hand she spoke to it thus: "listen to me, my ball, my ball.
be quick and change us both.
me into a wild rose bush, and him into a rose on my stem."
and in the twinkling of an eye it was done.
only just in time too, for the goblins were close at hand, and looked round eagerly for the stream and the fish.
but neither stream nor fish was to be seen; nothing but a rose bush.
so they went sorrowing home, and when they were out of sight the rose bush and rose returned to their proper shapes and walked all the faster for the little rest they had had.
"well, did you find them?"
asked the old man when his goblins came back.
"no," replied the leader of the goblins, "we found neither brook nor fish in the desert."
"and did you find nothing else at all?"
"oh, nothing but a rose tree on the edge of a wood, with a rose hanging on it."
"idiots!"
cried he.
"why, that was they."
and he threw open the door of the seventh stall, where his mightiest goblins were locked in.
"bring them to me, however you find them, dead or alive!"
thundered he, "for i will have them!
tear up the rose tree and the roots too, and do n't leave anything behind, however strange it may be!"
the fugitives were resting in the shade of a wood, and were refreshing themselves with food and drink.
suddenly the maiden looked up.
"something has happened," said she.
"the ball has nearly jumped out of my bosom!
some one is certainly following us, and the danger is near, but the trees hide our enemies from us."
as she spoke she took the ball in her hand, and said: "listen to me, my ball, my ball.
be quick and change me into a breeze, and make my lover into a midge."
an instant, and the girl was dissolved into thin air, while the prince darted about like a midge.
the next moment a crowd of goblins rushed up, and looked about in search of something strange, for neither a rose bush nor anything else was to be seen.
but they had hardly turned their backs to go home empty-handed when the prince and the maiden stood on the earth again.
"we must make all the haste we can," said she, "before the old man himself comes to seek us, for he will know us under any disguise."
they ran on till they reached such a dark part of the forest that, if it had not been for the light shed by the ball, they could not have made their way at all.
worn out and breathless, they came at length to a large stone, and here the ball began to move restlessly.
the maiden, seeing this, exclaimed: "listen to me, my ball, my ball.
roll the stone quickly to one side, that we may find a door."
and in a moment the stone had rolled away, and they had passed through the door to the world again.
"now we are safe," cried she.
"here the old wizard has no more power over us, and we can guard ourselves from his spells.
but, my friend, we have to part!
you will return to your parents, and i must go in search of mine."
"no!
no!"
exclaimed the prince."
i will never part from you.
you must come with me and be my wife.
we have gone through many troubles together, and now we will share our joys.
the maiden resisted his words for some time, but at last she went with him.
in the forest they met a woodcutter, who told them that in the palace, as well as in all the land, there had been great sorrow over the loss of the prince, and many years had now passed away during which they had found no traces of him.
so, by the help of the magic ball, the maiden managed that he should put on the same clothes that he had been wearing at the time he had vanished, so that his father might know him more quickly.
she herself stayed behind in a peasant's hut, so that father and son might meet alone.
but the father was no longer there, for the loss of his son had killed him; and on his deathbed he confessed to his people how he had contrived that the old wizard should carry away a peasant's child instead of the prince, wherefore this punishment had fallen upon him.
the prince wept bitterly when he heard this news, for he had loved his father well, and for three days he ate and drank nothing.
but on the fourth day he stood in the presence of his people as their new king, and, calling his councillors, he told them all the strange things that had befallen him, and how the maiden had borne him safe through all.
and the councillors cried with one voice, "let her be your wife, and our liege lady."
and that is the end of the story.
-lrb- ehstnische marchen. -rrb-
the child who came from an egg once upon a time there lived a queen whose heart was sore because she had no children.
she was sad enough when her husband was at home with her, but when he was away she would see nobody, but sat and wept all day long.
now it happened that a war broke out with the king of a neighbouring country, and the queen was left in the palace alone.
she was so unhappy that she felt as if the walls would stifle her, so she wandered out into the garden, and threw herself down on a grassy bank, under the shade of a lime tree.
she had been there for some time, when a rustle among the leaves caused her to look up, and she saw an old woman limping on her crutches towards the stream that flowed through the grounds.
when she had quenched her thirst, she came straight up to the queen, and said to her: "do not take it evil, noble lady, that i dare to speak to you, and do not be afraid of me, for it may be that i shall bring you good luck."
the queen looked at her doubtfully, and answered: "you do not seem as if you had been very lucky yourself, or to have much good fortune to spare for anyone else."
"under rough bark lies smooth wood and sweet kernel," replied the old woman.
"let me see your hand, that i may read the future."
the queen held out her hand, and the old woman examined its lines closely.
then she said, "your heart is heavy with two sorrows, one old and one new.
the new sorrow is for your husband, who is fighting far away from you; but, believe me, he is well, and will soon bring you joyful news.
but your other sorrow is much older than this.
your happiness is spoilt because you have no children."
at these words the queen became scarlet, and tried to draw away her hand, but the old woman said: "have a little patience, for there are some things i want to see more clearly."
"but who are you?"
asked the queen, "for you seem to be able to read my heart."
"never mind my name," answered she, "but rejoice that it is permitted to me to show you a way to lessen your grief.
you must, however, promise to do exactly what i tell you, if any good is to come of it."
"oh, i will obey you exactly," cried the queen, "and if you can help me you shall have in return anything you ask for."
the old woman stood thinking for a little: then she drew something from the folds of her dress, and, undoing a number of wrappings, brought out a tiny basket made of birch-bark.
she held it out to the queen, saying, "in the basket you will find a bird's egg.
this you must be careful to keep in a warm place for three months, when it will turn into a doll.
lay the doll in a basket lined with soft wool, and leave it alone, for it will not need any food, and by-and-by you will find it has grown to be the size of a baby.
then you will have a baby of your own, and you must put it by the side of the other child, and bring your husband to see his son and daughter.
the boy you will bring up yourself, but you must entrust the little girl to a nurse.
when the time comes to have them christened you will invite me to be godmother to the princess, and this is how you must send the invitation.
hidden in the cradle, you will find a goose's wing: throw this out of the window, and i will be with you directly; but be sure you tell no one of all the things that have befallen you."
the queen was about to reply, but the old woman was already limping away, and before she had gone two steps she had turned into a young girl, who moved so quickly that she seemed rather to fly than to walk.
the queen, watching this transformation, could hardly believe her eyes, and would have taken it all for a dream, had it not been for the basket which she held in her hand.
feeling a different being from the poor sad woman who had wandered into the garden so short a time before, she hastened to her room, and felt carefully in the basket for the egg.
there it was, a tiny thing of soft blue with little green spots, and she took it out and kept it in her bosom, which was the warmest place she could think of.
a fortnight after the old woman had paid her visit, the king came home, having conquered his enemies.
at this proof that the old woman had spoken truth, the queen's heart bounded, for she now had fresh hopes that the rest of the prophecy might be fulfilled.
she cherished the basket and the egg as her chiefest treasures, and had a golden case made for the basket, so that when the time came to lay the egg in it, it might not risk any harm.
three months passed, and, as the old woman had bidden her, the queen took the egg from her bosom, and laid it snugly amidst the warm woollen folds.
the next morning she went to look at it, and the first thing she saw was the broken eggshell, and a little doll lying among the pieces.
then she felt happy at last, and leaving the doll in peace to grow, waited, as she had been told, for a baby of her own to lay beside it.
in course of time, this came also, and the queen took the little girl out of the basket, and placed it with her son in a golden cradle which glittered with precious stones.
next she sent for the king, who nearly went mad with joy at the sight of the children.
soon there came a day when the whole court was ordered to be present at the christening of the royal babies, and when all was ready the queen softly opened the window a little, and let the goose wing fly out.
the guests were coming thick and fast, when suddenly there drove up a splendid coach drawn by six cream-coloured horses, and out of it stepped a young lady dressed in garments that shone like the sun.
her face could not be seen, for a veil covered her head, but as she came up to the place where the queen was standing with the babies she drew the veil aside, and everyone was dazzled with her beauty.
she took the little girl in her arms, and holding it up before the assembled company announced that henceforward it would be known by the name of dotterine -- a name which no one understood but the queen, who knew that the baby had come from the yolk of an egg.
the boy was called willem.
after the feast was over and the guests were going away, the godmother laid the baby in the cradle, and said to the queen, "whenever the baby goes to sleep, be sure you lay the basket beside her, and leave the eggshells in it.
as long as you do that, no evil can come to her; so guard this treasure as the apple of your eye, and teach your daughter to do so likewise."
then, kissing the baby three times, she mounted her coach and drove away.
the children throve well, and dotterine's nurse loved her as if she were the baby's real mother.
every day the little girl seemed to grow prettier, and people used to say she would soon be as beautiful as her godmother, but no one knew, except the nurse, that at night, when the child slept, a strange and lovely lady bent over her.
at length she told the queen what she had seen, but they determined to keep it as a secret between themselves.
the twins were by this time nearly two years old, when the queen was taken suddenly ill.
all the best doctors in the country were sent for, but it was no use, for there is no cure for death.
the queen knew she was dying, and sent for dotterine and her nurse, who had now become her lady-in-waiting.
to her, as her most faithful servant, she gave the lucky basket in charge, and besought her to treasure it carefully.
"when my daughter," said the queen, "is ten years old, you are to hand it over to her, but warn her solemnly that her whole future happiness depends on the way she guards it.
about my son, i have no fears.
he is the heir of the kingdom, and his father will look after him."
the lady-in-waiting promised to carry out the queen's directions, and above all to keep the affair a secret.
and that same morning the queen died.
after some years the king married again, but he did not love his second wife as he had done his first, and had only married her for reasons of ambition.
she hated her step-children, and the king, seeing this, kept them out of the way, under the care of dotterine's old nurse.
but if they ever strayed across the path of the queen, she would kick them out of her sight like dogs.
on dotterine's tenth birthday her nurse handed her over the cradle, and repeated to her her mother's dying words; but the child was too young to understand the value of such a gift, and at first thought little about it.
two more years slipped by, when one day during the king's absence the stepmother found dotterine sitting under a lime tree.
she fell as usual into a passion, and beat the child so badly that dotterine went staggering to her own room.
her nurse was not there, but suddenly, as she stood weeping, her eyes fell upon the golden case in which lay the precious basket.
she thought it might contain something to amuse her, and looked eagerly inside, but nothing was there save a handful of wool and two empty eggshells.
very much disappointed, she lifted the wool, and there lay the goose's wing.
"what old rubbish," said the child to herself, and, turning, threw the wing out of the open window.
in a moment a beautiful lady stood beside her.
"do not be afraid," said the lady, stroking dotterine's head."
i am your godmother, and have come to pay you a visit.
your red eyes tell me that you are unhappy.
i know that your stepmother is very unkind to you, but be brave and patient, and better days will come.
she will have no power over you when you are grown up, and no one else can hurt you either, if only you are careful never to part from your basket, or to lose the eggshells that are in it.
make a silken case for the little basket, and hide it away in your dress night and day and you will be safe from your stepmother and anyone that tries to harm you.
but if you should happen to find yourself in any difficulty, and can not tell what to do, take the goose's wing from the basket, and throw it out of the window, and in a moment i will come to help you.
now come into the garden, that i may talk to you under the lime trees, where no one can hear us."
they had so much to say to each other, that the sun was already setting when the godmother had ended all the good advice she wished to give the child, and saw it was time for her to be going.
"hand me the basket," said she, "for you must have some supper.
i can not let you go hungry to bed."
then, bending over the basket, she whispered some magic words, and instantly a table covered with fruits and cakes stood on the ground before them.
when they had finished eating, the godmother led the child back, and on the way taught her the words she must say to the basket when she wanted it to give her something.
in a few years more, dotterine was a grown-up young lady, and those who saw her thought that the world did not contain so lovely a girl.
about this time a terrible war broke out, and the king and his army were beaten back and back, till at length they had to retire into the town, and make ready for a siege.
it lasted so long that food began to fail, and even in the palace there was not enough to eat.
so one morning dotterine, who had had neither supper nor breakfast, and was feeling very hungry, let her wing fly away.
she was so weak and miserable, that directly her godmother appeared she burst into tears, and could not speak for some time.
"do not cry so, dear child," said the godmother."
i will carry you away from all this, but the others i must leave to take their chance."
then, bidding dotterine follow her, she passed through the gates of the town, and through the army outside, and nobody stopped them, or seemed to see them.
the next day the town surrendered, and the king and all his courtiers were taken prisoners, but in the confusion his son managed to make his escape.
the queen had already met her death from a spear carelessly thrown.
as soon as dotterine and her godmother were clear of the enemy, dotterine took off her own clothes, and put on those of a peasant, and in order to disguise her better her godmother changed her face completely.
"when better times come," her protectress said cheerfully, "and you want to look like yourself again, you have only to whisper the words i have taught you into the basket, and say you would like to have your own face once more, and it will be all right in a moment.
but you will have to endure a little longer yet."
then, warning her once more to take care of the basket, the lady bade the girl farewell.
for many days dotterine wandered from one place to another without finding shelter, and though the food which she got from the basket prevented her from starving, she was glad enough to take service in a peasant's house till brighter days dawned.
at first the work she had to do seemed very difficult, but either she was wonderfully quick in learning, or else the basket may have secretly helped her.
anyhow at the end of three days she could do everything as well as if she had cleaned pots and swept rooms all her life.
one morning dotterine was busy scouring a wooden tub, when a noble lady happened to pass through the village.
the girl's bright face as she stood in the front of the door with her tub attracted the lady, and she stopped and called the girl to come and speak to her.
"would you not like to come and enter my service?"
she asked.
"very much," replied dotterine, "if my present mistress will allow me."
"oh, i will settle that," answered the lady; and so she did, and the same day they set out for the lady's house, dotterine sitting beside the coachman.
six months went by, and then came the joyful news that the king's son had collected an army and had defeated the usurper who had taken his father's place, but at the same moment dotterine learned that the old king had died in captivity.
the girl wept bitterly for his loss, but in secrecy, as she had told her mistress nothing about her past life.
at the end of a year of mourning, the young king let it be known that he intended to marry, and commanded all the maidens in the kingdom to come to a feast, so that he might choose a wife from among them.
for weeks all the mothers and all the daughters in the land were busy preparing beautiful dresses and trying new ways of putting up their hair, and the three lovely daughters of dotterine's mistress were as much excited as the rest.
the girl was clever with her fingers, and was occupied all day with getting ready their smart clothes, but at night when she went to bed she always dreamed that her godmother bent over her and said, "dress your young ladies for the feast, and when they have started follow them yourself.
nobody will be so fine as you."
when the great day came, dotterine could hardly contain herself, and when she had dressed her young mistresses and seen them depart with their mother she flung herself on her bed, and burst into tears.
then she seemed to hear a voice whisper to her, "look in your basket, and you will find in it everything that you need."
dotterine did not want to be told twice!
up she jumped, seized her basket, and repeated the magic words, and behold!
there lay a dress on the bed, shining as a star.
she put it on with fingers that trembled with joy, and, looking in the glass, was struck dumb at her own beauty.
she went downstairs, and in front of the door stood a fine carriage, into which she stepped and was driven away like the wind.
the king's palace was a long way off, yet it seemed only a few minutes before dotterine drew up at the great gates.
she was just going to alight, when she suddenly remembered she had left her basket behind her.
what was she to do?
go back and fetch it, lest some ill-fortune should befall her, or enter the palace and trust to chance that nothing evil would happen?
but before she could decide, a little swallow flew up with the basket in its beak, and the girl was happy again.
the feast was already at its height, and the hall was brilliant with youth and beauty, when the door was flung wide and dotterine entered, making all the other maidens look pale and dim beside her.
their hopes faded as they gazed, but their mothers whispered together, saying, "surely this is our lost princess!"
the young king did not know her again, but he never left her side nor took his eyes from her.
and at midnight a strange thing happened.
a thick cloud suddenly filled the hall, so that for a moment all was dark.
then the mist suddenly grew bright, and dotterine's godmother was seen standing there.
"this," she said, turning to the king, "is the girl whom you have always believed to be your sister, and who vanished during the siege.
she is not your sister at all, but the daughter of the king of a neighbouring country, who was given to your mother to bring up, to save her from the hands of a wizard."
then she vanished, and was never seen again, nor the wonder-working basket either; but now that dotterine's troubles were over she could get on without them, and she and the young king lived happily together till the end of their days.
-lrb- ehstnische marchen. -rrb-
stan bolovan once upon a time what happened did happen, and if it had not happened this story would never have been told.
on the outskirts of a village just where the oxen were turned out to pasture, and the pigs roamed about burrowing with their noses among the roots of the trees, there stood a small house.
in the house lived a man who had a wife, and the wife was sad all day long.
"dear wife, what is wrong with you that you hang your head like a drooping rosebud?"
asked her husband one morning.
"you have everything you want; why can not you be merry like other women?"
"leave me alone, and do not seek to know the reason," replied she, bursting into tears, and the man thought that it was no time to question her, and went away to his work.
he could not, however, forget all about it, and a few days after he inquired again the reason of her sadness, but only got the same reply.
at length he felt he could bear it no longer, and tried a third time, and then his wife turned and answered him.
"good gracious!"
cried she, "why can not you let things be as they are?
if i were to tell you, you would become just as wretched as myself.
if you would only believe, it is far better for you to know nothing."
but no man yet was ever content with such an answer.
the more you beg him not to inquire, the greater is his curiosity to learn the whole.
"well, if you must know," said the wife at last," i will tell you.
there is no luck in this house -- no luck at all!"
"is not your cow the best milker in all the village?
are not your trees as full of fruit as your hives are full of bees?
has anyone cornfields like ours?
really you talk nonsense when you say things like that!"
"yes, all that you say is true, but we have no children."
then stan understood, and when a man once understands and has his eyes opened it is no longer well with him.
from that day the little house in the outskirts contained an unhappy man as well as an unhappy woman.
and at the sight of her husband's misery the woman became more wretched than ever.
and so matters went on for some time.
some weeks had passed, and stan thought he would consult a wise man who lived a day's journey from his own house.
the wise man was sitting before his door when he came up, and stan fell on his knees before him.
"give me children, my lord, give me children."
"take care what you are asking," replied the wise man.
"will not children be a burden to you?
are you rich enough to feed and clothe them?"
"only give them to me, my lord, and i will manage somehow!"
and at a sign from the wise man stan went his way.
he reached home that evening tired and dusty, but with hope in his heart.
as he drew near his house a sound of voices struck upon his ear, and he looked up to see the whole place full of children.
children in the garden, children in the yard, children looking out of every window -- it seemed to the man as if all the children in the world must be gathered there.
and none was bigger than the other, but each was smaller than the other, and every one was more noisy and more impudent and more daring than the rest, and stan gazed and grew cold with horror as he realised that they all belonged to him.
"good gracious!
how many there are!
how many!"
he muttered to himself.
"oh, but not one too many," smiled his wife, coming up with a crowd more children clinging to her skirts.
but even she found that it was not so easy to look after a hundred children, and when a few days had passed and they had eaten up all the food there was in the house, they began to cry, "father!
i am hungry -- i am hungry," till stan scratched his head and wondered what he was to do next.
it was not that he thought there were too many children, for his life had seemed more full of joy since they appeared, but now it came to the point he did not know how he was to feed them.
the cow had ceased to give milk, and it was too early for the fruit trees to ripen.
"do you know, old woman!"
said he one day to his wife," i must go out into the world and try to bring back food somehow, though i can not tell where it is to come from."
to the hungry man any road is long, and then there was always the thought that he had to satisfy a hundred greedy children as well as himself.
stan wandered, and wandered, and wandered, till he reached to the end of the world, where that which is, is mingled with that which is not, and there he saw, a little way off, a sheepfold, with seven sheep in it.
in the shadow of some trees lay the rest of the flock.
stan crept up, hoping that he might manage to decoy some of them away quietly, and drive them home for food for his family, but he soon found this could not be.
for at midnight he heard a rushing noise, and through the air flew a dragon, who drove apart a ram, a sheep, and a lamb, and three fine cattle that were lying down close by.
and besides these he took the milk of seventy-seven sheep, and carried it home to his old mother, that she might bathe in it and grow young again.
and this happened every night.
the shepherd bewailed himself in vain: the dragon only laughed, and stan saw that this was not the place to get food for his family.
but though he quite understood that it was almost hopeless to fight against such a powerful monster, yet the thought of the hungry children at home clung to him like a burr, and would not be shaken off, and at last he said to the shepherd, "what will you give me if i rid you of the dragon?"
"one of every three rams, one of every three sheep, one of every three lambs," answered the herd.
"it is a bargain," replied stan, though at the moment he did not know how, supposing he did come off the victor, he would ever be able to drive so large a flock home.
however, that matter could be settled later.
at present night was not far off, and he must consider how best to fight with the dragon.
just at midnight, a horrible feeling that was new and strange to him came over stan -- a feeling that he could not put into words even to himself, but which almost forced him to give up the battle and take the shortest road home again.
he half turned; then he remembered the children, and turned back.
"you or i," said stan to himself, and took up his position on the edge of the flock.
"stop!"
he suddenly cried, as the air was filled with a rushing noise, and the dragon came dashing past.
"dear me!"
exclaimed the dragon, looking round.
"who are you, and where do you come from?'"
i am stan bolovan, who eats rocks all night, and in the day feeds on the flowers of the mountain; and if you meddle with those sheep i will carve a cross on your back."
when the dragon heard these words he stood quite still in the middle of the road, for he knew he had met with his match.
"but you will have to fight me first," he said in a trembling voice, for when you faced him properly he was not brave at all."
i fight you?"
replied stan, "why i could slay you with one breath!"
then, stooping to pick up a large cheese which lay at his feet, he added, "go and get a stone like this out of the river, so that we may lose no time in seeing who is the best man."
the dragon did as stan bade him, and brought back a stone out of the brook.
"can you get buttermilk out of your stone?"
asked stan.
the dragon picked up his stone with one hand, and squeezed it till it fell into powder, but no buttermilk flowed from it.
"of course i ca n't!"
he said, half angrily.
"well, if you ca n't, i can," answered stan, and he pressed the cheese till buttermilk flowed through his fingers.
when the dragon saw that, he thought it was time he made the best of his way home again, but stan stood in his path.
"we have still some accounts to settle," said he, "about what you have been doing here," and the poor dragon was too frightened to stir, lest stan should slay him at one breath and bury him among the flowers in the mountain pastures.
"listen to me," he said at last."
i see you are a very useful person, and my mother has need of a fellow like you.
suppose you enter her service for three days, which are as long as one of your years, and she will pay you each day seven sacks full of ducats."
three times seven sacks full of ducats!
the offer was very tempting, and stan could not resist it.
he did not waste words, but nodded to the dragon, and they started along the road.
it was a long, long way, but when they came to the end they found the dragon's mother, who was as old as time itself, expecting them.
stan saw her eyes shining like lamps from afar, and when they entered the house they beheld a huge kettle standing on the fire, filled with milk.
when the old mother found that her son had arrived empty-handed she grew very angry, and fire and flame darted from her nostrils, but before she could speak the dragon turned to stan.
"stay here," said he, "and wait for me; i am going to explain things to my mother."
stan was already repenting bitterly that he had ever come to such a place, but, since he was there, there was nothing for it but to take everything quietly, and not show that he was afraid.
"listen, mother," said the dragon as soon as they were alone," i have brought this man in order to get rid of him.
he is a terrific fellow who eats rocks, and can press buttermilk out of a stone," and he told her all that had happened the night before.
"oh, just leave him to me!"
she said."
i have never yet let a man slip through my fingers."
so stan had to stay and do the old mother service.
the next day she told him that he and her son should try which was the strongest, and she took down a huge club, bound seven times with iron.
the dragon picked it up as if it had been a feather, and, after whirling it round his head, flung it lightly three miles away, telling stan to beat that if he could.
they walked to the spot where the club lay.
stan stooped and felt it; then a great fear came over him, for he knew that he and all his children together would never lift that club from the ground.
"what are you doing?"
asked the dragon."
i was thinking what a beautiful club it was, and what a pity it is that it should cause your death."
"how do you mean -- my death?"
asked the dragon.
"only that i am afraid that if i throw it you will never see another dawn.
you do n't know how strong i am!"
"oh, never mind that be quick and throw."
"if you are really in earnest, let us go and feast for three days: that will at any rate give you three extra days of life."
stan spoke so calmly that this time the dragon began to get a little frightened, though he did not quite believe that things would be as bad as stan said.
they returned to the house, took all the food that could be found in the old mother's larder, and carried it back to the place where the club was lying.
then stan seated himself on the sack of provisions, and remained quietly watching the setting moon.
"what are you doing?"
asked the dragon.
"waiting till the moon gets out of my way."
"what do you mean?
i do n't understand."
"do n't you see that the moon is exactly in my way?
but of course, if you like, i will throw the club into the moon."
at these words the dragon grew uncomfortable for the second time.
he prized the club, which had been left him by his grandfather, very highly, and had no desire that it should be lost in the moon.
"i'll tell you what," he said, after thinking a little.
"do n't throw the club at all.
i will throw it a second time, and that will do just as well."
"no, certainly not!"
replied stan.
"just wait till the moon sets."
but the dragon, in dread lest stan should fulfil his threats, tried what bribes could do, and in the end had to promise stan seven sacks of ducats before he was suffered to throw back the club himself.
"oh, dear me, that is indeed a strong man," said the dragon, turning to his mother.
"would you believe that i have had the greatest difficulty in preventing him from throwing the club into the moon?"
then the old woman grew uncomfortable too!
only to think of it!
it was no joke to throw things into the moon!
so no more was heard of the club, and the next day they had all something else to think about.
"go and fetch me water!"
said the mother, when the morning broke, and gave them twelve buffalo skins with the order to keep filling them till night.
they set out at once for the brook, and in the twinkling of an eye the dragon had filled the whole twelve, carried them into the house, and brought them back to stan.
stan was tired: he could scarcely lift the buckets when they were empty, and he shuddered to think of what would happen when they were full.
but he only took an old knife out of his pocket and began to scratch up the earth near the brook.
"what are you doing there?
how are you going to carry the water into the house?"
asked the dragon.
"how?
dear me, that is easy enough!
i shall just take the brook!"
at these words the dragon's jaw dropped.
this was the last thing that had ever entered his head, for the brook had been as it was since the days of his grandfather.
"i'll tell you what!"
he said.
"let me carry your skins for you."
"most certainly not," answered stan, going on with his digging, and the dragon, in dread lest he should fulfil his threat, tried what bribes would do, and in the end had again to promise seven sacks of ducats before stan would agree to leave the brook alone and let him carry the water into the house.
on the third day the old mother sent stan into the forest for wood, and, as usual, the dragon went with him.
before you could count three he had pulled up more trees than stan could have cut down in a lifetime, and had arranged them neatly in rows.
when the dragon had finished, stan began to look about him, and, choosing the biggest of the trees, he climbed up it, and, breaking off a long rope of wild vine, bound the top of the tree to the one next it.
and so he did to a whole line of trees.
"what are you doing there?"
asked the dragon.
"you can see for yourself," answered stan, going quietly on with his work.
"why are you tying the trees together?"
"not to give myself unnecessary work; when i pull up one, all the others will come up too."
"but how will you carry them home?"
"dear me!
do n't you understand that i am going to take the whole forest back with me?"
said stan, tying two other trees as he spoke.
"i'll tell you what," cried the dragon, trembling with fear at the thought of such a thing; "let me carry the wood for you, and you shall have seven times seven sacks full of ducats."
"you are a good fellow, and i agree to your proposal," answered stan, and the dragon carried the wood.
now the three days" service which were to be reckoned as a year were over, and the only thing that disturbed stan was, how to get all those ducats back to his home!
in the evening the dragon and his mother had a long talk, but stan heard every word through a crack in the ceiling.
"woe be to us, mother," said the dragon; "this man will soon get us into his power.
give him his money, and let us be rid of him."
but the old mother was fond of money, and did not like this.
"listen to me," said she; "you must murder him this very night.'"
i am afraid," answered he.
"there is nothing to fear," replied the old mother.
"when he is asleep take the club, and hit him on the head with it.
it is easily done."
and so it would have been, had not stan heard all about it.
and when the dragon and his mother had put out their lights, he took the pigs" trough and filled it with earth, and placed it in his bed, and covered it with clothes.
then he hid himself underneath, and began to snore loudly.
very soon the dragon stole softly into the room, and gave a tremendous blow on the spot where stan's head should have been.
stan groaned loudly from under the bed, and the dragon went away as softly as he had come.
directly he had closed the door, stan lifted out the pigs" trough, and lay down himself, after making everything clean and tidy, but he was wise enough not to shut his eyes that night.
the next morning he came into the room when the dragon and his mother were having their breakfast.
"good morning," said he.
"good morning.
how did you sleep?"
"oh, very well, but i dreamed that a flea had bitten me, and i seem to feel it still."
the dragon and his mother looked at each other.
"do you hear that?"
whispered he.
"he talks of a flea.
i broke my club on his head."
this time the mother grew as frightened as her son.
there was nothing to be done with a man like this, and she made all haste to fill the sacks with ducats, so as to get rid of stan as soon as possible.
but on his side stan was trembling like an aspen, as he could not lift even one sack from the ground.
so he stood still and looked at them.
"what are you standing there for?"
asked the dragon.
"oh, i was standing here because it has just occurred to me that i should like to stay in your service for another year.
i am ashamed that when i get home they should see i have brought back so little.
i know that they will cry out, "just look at stan bolovan, who in one year has grown as weak as a dragon.""
here a shriek of dismay was heard both from the dragon and his mother, who declared they would give him seven or even seven times seven the number of sacks if he would only go away.
"i'll tell you what!"
said stan at last."
i see you do n't want me to stay, and i should be very sorry to make myself disagreeable.
i will go at once, but only on condition that you shall carry the money home yourself, so that i may not be put to shame before my friends."
the words were hardly out of his mouth before the dragon had snatched up the sacks and piled them on his back.
then he and stan set forth.
the way, though really not far, was yet too long for stan, but at length he heard his children's voices, and stopped short.
he did not wish the dragon to know where he lived, lest some day he should come to take back his treasure.
was there nothing he could say to get rid of the monster?
suddenly an idea came into stan's head, and he turned round."
i hardly know what to do," said he."
i have a hundred children, and i am afraid they may do you harm, as they are always ready for a fight.
however, i will do my best to protect you."
a hundred children!
that was indeed no joke!
the dragon let fall the sacks from terror, and then picked them up again.
but the children, who had had nothing to eat since their father had left them, came rushing towards him, waving knives in their right hands and forks in their left, and crying, "give us dragon's flesh; we will have dragon's flesh."
at this dreadful sight the dragon waited no longer: he flung down his sacks where he stood and took flight as fast as he could, so terrified at the fate that awaited him that from that day he has never dared to show his face in the world again.
-lrb- adapted from rumanische marchen. -rrb-
the two frogs once upon a time in the country of japan there lived two frogs, one of whom made his home in a ditch near the town of osaka, on the sea coast, while the other dwelt in a clear little stream which ran through the city of kioto.
at such a great distance apart, they had never even heard of each other; but, funnily enough, the idea came into both their heads at once that they should like to see a little of the world, and the frog who lived at kioto wanted to visit osaka, and the frog who lived at osaka wished to go to kioto, where the great mikado had his palace.
so one fine morning in the spring they both set out along the road that led from kioto to osaka, one from one end and the other from the other.
the journey was more tiring than they expected, for they did not know much about travelling, and half way between the two towns there arose a mountain which had to be climbed.
it took them a long time and a great many hops to reach the top, but there they were at last, and what was the surprise of each to see another frog before him!
they looked at each other for a moment without speaking, and then fell into conversation, explaining the cause of their meeting so far from their homes.
it was delightful to find that they both felt the same wish -- to learn a little more of their native country -- and as there was no sort of hurry they stretched themselves out in a cool, damp place, and agreed that they would have a good rest before they parted to go their ways.
"what a pity we are not bigger," said the osaka frog; "for then we could see both towns from here, and tell if it is worth our while going on."
"oh, that is easily managed," returned the kioto frog.
"we have only got to stand up on our hind legs, and hold on to each other, and then we can each look at the town he is travelling to."
this idea pleased the osaka frog so much that he at once jumped up and put his front paws on the shoulders of his friend, who had risen also.
there they both stood, stretching themselves as high as they could, and holding each other tightly, so that they might not fall down.
the kioto frog turned his nose towards osaka, and the osaka frog turned his nose towards kioto; but the foolish things forgot that when they stood up their great eyes lay in the backs of their heads, and that though their noses might point to the places to which they wanted to go their eyes beheld the places from which they had come.
"dear me!"
cried the osaka frog, "kioto is exactly like osaka.
it is certainly not worth such a long journey.
i shall go home!"
"if i had had any idea that osaka was only a copy of kioto i should never have travelled all this way," exclaimed the frog from kioto, and as he spoke he took his hands from his friend's shoulders, and they both fell down on the grass.
then they took a polite farewell of each other, and set off for home again, and to the end of their lives they believed that osaka and kioto, which are as different to look at as two towns can be, were as like as two peas.
-lrb- japanische marchen. -rrb-
the story of a gazelle once upon a time there lived a man who wasted all his money, and grew so poor that his only food was a few grains of corn, which he scratched like a fowl from out of a dust-heap.
one day he was scratching as usual among a dust-heap in the street, hoping to find something for breakfast, when his eye fell upon a small silver coin, called an eighth, which he greedily snatched up.
"now i can have a proper meal," he thought, and after drinking some water at a well he lay down and slept so long that it was sunrise before he woke again.
then he jumped up and returned to the dust-heap.
"for who knows," he said to himself, "whether i may not have some good luck again."
as he was walking down the road, he saw a man coming towards him, carrying a cage made of twigs.
"hi!
you fellow!"
called he, "what have you got inside there?"
"gazelles," replied the man.
"bring them here, for i should like to see them."
as he spoke, some men who were standing by began to laugh, saying to the man with the cage: "you had better take care how you bargain with him, for he has nothing at all except what he picks up from a dust-heap, and if he ca n't feed himself, will he be able to feed a gazelle?"
but the man with the cage made answer: "since i started from my home in the country, fifty people at the least have called me to show them my gazelles, and was there one among them who cared to buy?
it is the custom for a trader in merchandise to be summoned hither and thither, and who knows where one may find a buyer?"
and he took up his cage and went towards the scratcher of dust-heaps, and the men went with him.
"what do you ask for your gazelles?"
said the beggar.
"will you let me have one for an eighth?"
and the man with the cage took out a gazelle, and held it out, saying, "take this one, master!"
and the beggar took it and carried it to the dust-heap, where he scratched carefully till he found a few grains of corn, which he divided with his gazelle.
this he did night and morning, till five days went by.
then, as he slept, the gazelle woke him, saying, "master."
and the man answered, "how is it that i see a wonder?"
"what wonder?"
asked the gazelle.
"why, that you, a gazelle, should be able to speak, for, from the beginning, my father and mother and all the people that are in the world have never told me of a talking gazelle."
"never mind that," said the gazelle, "but listen to what i say!
first, i took you for my master.
second, you gave for me all you had in the world.
i can not run away from you, but give me, i pray you, leave to go every morning and seek food for myself, and every evening i will come back to you.
what you find in the dust-heaps is not enough for both of us."
"go, then," answered the master; and the gazelle went.
when the sun had set, the gazelle came back, and the poor man was very glad, and they lay down and slept side by side.
in the morning it said to him," i am going away to feed."
and the man replied, "go, my son," but he felt very lonely without his gazelle, and set out sooner than usual for the dust-heap where he generally found most corn.
and glad he was when the evening came, and he could return home.
he lay on the grass chewing tobacco, when the gazelle trotted up.
"good evening, my master; how have you fared all day?
i have been resting in the shade in a place where there is sweet grass when i am hungry, and fresh water when i am thirsty, and a soft breeze to fan me in the heat.
it is far away in the forest, and no one knows of it but me, and to-morrow i shall go again."
so for five days the gazelle set off at daybreak for this cool spot, but on the fifth day it came to a place where the grass was bitter, and it did not like it, and scratched, hoping to tear away the bad blades.
but, instead, it saw something lying in the earth, which turned out to be a diamond, very large and bright.
"oh, ho!"
said the gazelle to itself, "perhaps now i can do something for my master who bought me with all the money he had; but i must be careful or they will say he has stolen it.
i had better take it myself to some great rich man, and see what it will do for me."
directly the gazelle had come to this conclusion, it picked up the diamond in its mouth, and went on and on and on through the forest, but found no place where a rich man was likely to dwell.
for two more days it ran, from dawn to dark, till at last early one morning it caught sight of a large town, which gave it fresh courage.
the people were standing about the streets doing their marketing, when the gazelle bounded past, the diamond flashing as it ran.
they called after it, but it took no notice till it reached the palace, where the sultan was sitting, enjoying the cool air.
and the gazelle galloped up to him, and laid the diamond at his feet.
the sultan looked first at the diamond and next at the gazelle; then he ordered his attendants to bring cushions and a carpet, that the gazelle might rest itself after its long journey.
and he likewise ordered milk to be brought, and rice, that it might eat and drink and be refreshed.
and when the gazelle was rested, the sultan said to it: "give me the news you have come with."
and the gazelle answered: "i am come with this diamond, which is a pledge from my master the sultan darai.
he has heard you have a daughter, and sends you this small token, and begs you will give her to him to wife."
and the sultan said: "i am content.
the wife is his wife, the family is his family, the slave is his slave.
let him come to me empty-handed, i am content."
when the sultan had ended, the gazelle rose, and said: "master, farewell; i go back to our town, and in eight days, or it may be in eleven days, we shall arrive as your guests."
and the sultan answered: "so let it be."
all this time the poor man far away had been mourning and weeping for his gazelle, which he thought had run away from him for ever.
and when it came in at the door he rushed to embrace it with such joy that he would not allow it a chance to speak.
"be still, master, and do n't cry," said the gazelle at last; "let us sleep now, and in the morning, when i go, follow me."
with the first ray of dawn they got up and went into the forest, and on the fifth day, as they were resting near a stream, the gazelle gave its master a sound beating, and then bade him stay where he was till it returned.
and the gazelle ran off, and about ten o'clock it came near the sultan's palace, where the road was all lined with soldiers who were there to do honour to sultan darai.
and directly they caught sight of the gazelle in the distance one of the soldiers ran on and said, "sultan darai is coming: i have seen the gazelle."
then the sultan rose up, and called his whole court to follow him, and went out to meet the gazelle, who, bounding up to him, gave him greeting.
the sultan answered politely, and inquired where it had left its master, whom it had promised to bring back.
"alas!"
replied the gazelle, "he is lying in the forest, for on our way here we were met by robbers, who, after beating and robbing him, took away all his clothes.
and he is now hiding under a bush, lest a passing stranger might see him."
the sultan, on hearing what had happened to his future son-in-law, turned his horse and rode to the palace, and bade a groom to harness the best horse in the stable and order a woman slave to bring a bag of clothes, such as a man might want, out of the chest; and he chose out a tunic and a turban and a sash for the waist, and fetched himself a gold-hilted sword, and a dagger and a pair of sandals, and a stick of sweet-smelling wood.
"now," said he to the gazelle, "take these things with the soldiers to the sultan, that he may be able to come."
and the gazelle answered: "can i take those soldiers to go and put my master to shame as he lies there naked?
i am enough by myself, my lord."
"how will you be enough," asked the sultan, "to manage this horse and all these clothes?"
"oh, that is easily done," replied the gazelle.
"fasten the horse to my neck and tie the clothes to the back of the horse, and be sure they are fixed firmly, as i shall go faster than he does."
everything was carried out as the gazelle had ordered, and when all was ready it said to the sultan: "farewell, my lord, i am going."
"farewell, gazelle," answered the sultan; "when shall we see you again?"
"to-morrow about five," replied the gazelle, and, giving a tug to the horse's rein, they set off at a gallop.
the sultan watched them till they were out of sight: then he said to his attendants, "that gazelle comes from gentle hands, from the house of a sultan, and that is what makes it so different from other gazelles."
and in the eyes of the sultan the gazelle became a person of consequence.
meanwhile the gazelle ran on till it came to the place where its master was seated, and his heart laughed when he saw the gazelle.
and the gazelle said to him, "get up, my master, and bathe in the stream!"
and when the man had bathed it said again, "now rub yourself well with earth, and rub your teeth well with sand to make them bright and shining."
and when this was done it said, "the sun has gone down behind the hills; it is time for us to go": so it went and brought the clothes from the back of the horse, and the man put them on and was well pleased.
"master!"
said the gazelle when the man was ready, "be sure that where we are going you keep silence, except for giving greetings and asking for news.
leave all the talking to me.
i have provided you with a wife, and have made her presents of clothes and turbans and rare and precious things, so it is needless for you to speak."
"very good, i will be silent," replied the man as he mounted the horse.
"you have given all this; it is you who are the master, and i who am the slave, and i will obey you in all things."
"so they went their way, and they went and went till the gazelle saw in the distance the palace of the sultan.
then it said, "master, that is the house we are going to, and you are not a poor man any longer: even your name is new."
"what is my name, eh, my father?"
asked the man.
"sultan darai," said the gazelle.
very soon some soldiers came to meet them, while others ran off to tell the sultan of their approach.
and the sultan set off at once, and the viziers and the emirs, and the judges, and the rich men of the city, all followed him.
directly the gazelle saw them coming, it said to its master: "your father-in-law is coming to meet you; that is he in the middle, wearing a mantle of sky-blue.
get off your horse and go to greet him."
and sultan darai leapt from his horse, and so did the other sultan, and they gave their hands to one another and kissed each other, and went together into the palace.
the next morning the gazelle went to the rooms of the sultan, and said to him: "my lord, we want you to marry us our wife, for the soul of sultan darai is eager."
"the wife is ready, so call the priest," answered he, and when the ceremony was over a cannon was fired and music was played, and within the palace there was feasting.
"master," said the gazelle the following morning," i am setting out on a journey, and i shall not be back for seven days, and perhaps not then.
but be careful not to leave the house till i come."
and the master answered," i will not leave the house."
and it went to the sultan of the country and said to him: "my lord, sultan darai has sent me to his town to get the house in order.
it will take me seven days, and if i am not back in seven days he will not leave the palace till i return."
"very good," said the sultan.
and it went and it went through the forest and wilderness, till it arrived at a town full of fine houses.
at the end of the chief road was a great house, beautiful exceedingly, built of sapphire and turquoise and marbles.
"that," thought the gazelle, "is the house for my master, and i will call up my courage and go and look at the people who are in it, if any people there are.
for in this town have i as yet seen no people.
if i die, i die, and if i live, i live.
here can i think of no plan, so if anything is to kill me, it will kill me."
then it knocked twice at the door, and cried "open," but no one answered.
and it cried again, and a voice replied: "who are you that are crying "open"?"
and the gazelle said, "it is i, great mistress, your grandchild."
"if you are my grandchild," returned the voice, "go back whence you came.
do n't come and die here, and bring me to my death as well."
"open, mistress, i entreat, i have something to say to you."
"grandchild," replied she," i fear to put your life in danger, and my own too."
"oh, mistress, my life will not be lost, nor yours either; open, i pray you."
so she opened the door.
"what is the news where you come from, my grandson," asked she.
"great lady, where i come from it is well, and with you it is well."
"ah, my son, here it is not well at all.
if you seek a way to die, or if you have not yet seen death, then is to-day the day for you to know what dying is."
"if i am to know it, i shall know it," replied the gazelle; "but tell me, who is the lord of this house?"
and she said: "ah, father!
in this house is much wealth, and much people, and much food, and many horses.
and the lord of it all is an exceeding great and wonderful snake."
"oh!"
cried the gazelle when he heard this; "tell me how i can get at the snake to kill him?"
"my son," returned the old woman, "do not say words like these; you risk both our lives.
he has put me here all by myself, and i have to cook his food.
when the great snake is coming there springs up a wind, and blows the dust about, and this goes on till the great snake glides into the courtyard and calls for his dinner, which must always be ready for him in those big pots.
he eats till he has had enough, and then drinks a whole tankful of water.
after that he goes away.
every second day he comes, when the sun is over the house.
and he has seven heads.
how then can you be a match for him, my son?"
"mind your own business, mother," answered the gazelle, "and do n't mind other people's!
has this snake a sword?"
"he has a sword, and a sharp one too.
it cuts like a dash of lightning."
"give it to me, mother!"
said the gazelle, and she unhooked the sword from the wall, as she was bidden.
"you must be quick," she said, "for he may be here at any moment.
hark!
is not that the wind rising?
he has come!"
they were silent, but the old woman peeped from behind a curtain, and saw the snake busy at the pots which she had placed ready for him in the courtyard.
and after he had done eating and drinking he came to the door: "you old body!"
he cried; "what smell is that i smell inside that is not the smell of every day?"
"oh, master!"
answered she," i am alone, as i always am!
but to-day, after many days, i have sprinkled fresh scent all over me, and it is that which you smell.
what else could it be, master?"
all this time the gazelle had been standing close to the door, holding the sword in one of its front paws.
and as the snake put one of his heads through the hole that he had made so as to get in and out comfortably, it cut it of so clean that the snake really did not feel it.
the second blow was not quite so straight, for the snake said to himself, "who is that who is trying to scratch me?"
and stretched out his third head to see; but no sooner was the neck through the hole than the head went rolling to join the rest.
when six of his heads were gone the snake lashed his tail with such fury that the gazelle and the old woman could not see each other for the dust he made.
and the gazelle said to him, "you have climbed all sorts of trees, but this you ca n't climb," and as the seventh head came darting through it went rolling to join the rest.
then the sword fell rattling on the ground, for the gazelle had fainted.
the old woman shrieked with delight when she saw her enemy was dead, and ran to bring water to the gazelle, and fanned it, and put it where the wind could blow on it, till it grew better and gave a sneeze.
and the heart of the old woman was glad, and she gave it more water, till by-and-by the gazelle got up.
"show me this house," it said, "from beginning to end, from top to bottom, from inside to out."
so she arose and showed the gazelle rooms full of gold and precious things, and other rooms full of slaves.
"they are all yours, goods and slaves," said she.
but the gazelle answered, "you must keep them safe till i call my master."
for two days it lay and rested in the house, and fed on milk and rice, and on the third day it bade the old woman farewell and started back to its master.
and when he heard that the gazelle was at the door he felt like a man who has found the time when all prayers are granted, and he rose and kissed it, saying: "my father, you have been a long time; you have left sorrow with me.
i can not eat, i can not drink, i can not laugh; my heart felt no smile at anything, because of thinking of you."
and the gazelle answered: "i am well, and where i come from it is well, and i wish that after four days you would take your wife and go home."
and he said: "it is for you to speak.
where you go, i will follow."
"then i shall go to your father-in-law and tell him this news."
"go, my son."
so the gazelle went to the father-in-law and said: "i am sent by my master to come and tell you that after four days he will go away with his wife to his own home."
"must he really go so quickly?
we have not yet sat much together, i and sultan darai, nor have we yet talked much together, nor have we yet ridden out together, nor have we eaten together; yet it is fourteen days since he came."
but the gazelle replied: "my lord, you can not help it, for he wishes to go home, and nothing will stop him."
"very good," said the sultan, and he called all the people who were in the town, and commanded that the day his daughter left the palace ladies and guards were to attend her on her way.
and at the end of four days a great company of ladies and slaves and horses went forth to escort the wife of sultan darai to her new home.
they rode all day, and when the sun sank behind the hills they rested, and ate of the food the gazelle gave them, and lay down to sleep.
and they journeyed on for many days, and they all, nobles and slaves, loved the gazelle with a great love -- more than they loved the sultan darai.
at last one day signs of houses appeared, far, far off.
and those who saw cried out, "gazelle!"
and it answered, "ah, my mistresses, that is the house of sultan darai."
at this news the women rejoiced much, and the slaves rejoiced much, and in the space of two hours they came to the gates, and the gazelle bade them all stay behind, and it went on to the house with sultan darai.
when the old woman saw them coming through the courtyard she jumped and shouted for joy, and as the gazelle drew near she seized it in her arms, and kissed it.
the gazelle did not like this, and said to her: "old woman, leave me alone; the one to be carried is my master, and the one to be kissed is my master."
and she answered, "forgive me, my son.
i did not know this was our master," and she threw open all the doors so that the master might see everything that the rooms and storehouses contained.
sultan darai looked about him, and at length he said: "unfasten those horses that are tied up, and let loose those people that are bound.
and let some sweep, and some spread the beds, and some cook, and some draw water, and some come out and receive the mistress."
and when the sultana and her ladies and her slaves entered the house, and saw the rich stuffs it was hung with, and the beautiful rice that was prepared for them to eat, they cried: "ah, you gazelle, we have seen great houses, we have seen people, we have heard of things.
but this house, and you, such as you are, we have never seen or heard of."
after a few days, the ladies said they wished to go home again.
the gazelle begged them hard to stay, but finding they would not, it brought many gifts, and gave some to the ladies and some to their slaves.
and they all thought the gazelle greater a thousand times than its master, sultan darai.
the gazelle and its master remained in the house many weeks, and one day it said to the old woman," i came with my master to this place, and i have done many things for my master, good things, and till to-day he has never asked me: "well, my gazelle, how did you get this house?
who is the owner of it?
and this town, were there no people in it?"
all good things i have done for the master, and he has not one day done me any good thing.
but people say, "if you want to do any one good, do n't do him good only, do him evil also, and there will be peace between you."
so, mother, i have done: i want to see the favours i have done to my master, that he may do me the like."
"good," replied the old woman, and they went to bed.
in the morning, when light came, the gazelle was sick in its stomach and feverish, and its legs ached.
and it said "mother!"
and she answered, "here, my son?"
and it said, "go and tell my master upstairs the gazelle is very ill."
"very good, my son; and if he should ask me what is the matter, what am i to say?"
"tell him all my body aches badly; i have no single part without pain."
the old woman went upstairs, and she found the mistress and master sitting on a couch of marble spread with soft cushions, and they asked her, "well, old woman, what do you want?"
"to tell the master the gazelle is ill," said she.
"what is the matter?"
asked the wife.
"all its body pains; there is no part without pain."
"well, what can i do?
make some gruel of red millet, and give to it."
but his wife stared and said: "oh, master, do you tell her to make the gazelle gruel out of red millet, which a horse would not eat?
eh, master, that is not well."
but he answered, "oh, you are mad!
rice is only kept for people."
"eh, master, this is not like a gazelle.
it is the apple of your eye.
if sand got into that, it would trouble you."
"my wife, your tongue is long," and he left the room.
the old woman saw she had spoken vainly, and went back weeping to the gazelle.
and when the gazelle saw her it said, "mother, what is it, and why do you cry?
if it be good, give me the answer; and if it be bad, give me the answer."
but still the old woman would not speak, and the gazelle prayed her to let it know the words of the master.
at last she said: "i went upstairs and found the mistress and the master sitting on a couch, and he asked me what i wanted, and i told him that you, his slave, were ill.
and his wife asked what was the matter, and i told her that there was not a part of your body without pain.
and the master told me to take some red millet and make you gruel, but the mistress said, "eh, master, the gazelle is the apple of your eye; you have no child, this gazelle is like your child; so this gazelle is not one to be done evil to.
this is a gazelle in form, but not a gazelle in heart; he is in all things better than a gentleman, be he who he may."
and he answered her, "silly chatterer, your words are many.
i know its price; i bought it for an eighth.
what loss will it be to me?"
the gazelle kept silence for a few moments.
then it said, "the elders said, "one that does good like a mother," and i have done him good, and i have got this that the elders said.
but go up again to the master, and tell him the gazelle is very ill, and it has not drunk the gruel of red millet."
so the old woman returned, and found the master and the mistress drinking coffee.
and when he heard what the gazelle had said, he cried: "hold your peace, old woman, and stay your feet and close your eyes, and stop your ears with wax; and if the gazelle bids you come to me, say your legs are bent, and you can not walk; and if it begs you to listen, say your ears are stopped with wax; and if it wishes to talk, reply that your tongue has got a hook in it."
the heart of the old woman wept as she heard such words, because she saw that when the gazelle first came to that town it was ready to sell its life to buy wealth for its master.
then it happened to get both life and wealth, but now it had no honour with its master.
and tears sprung likewise to the eyes of the sultan's wife, and she said," i am sorry for you, my husband, that you should deal so wickedly with that gazelle"; but he only answered, "old woman, pay no heed to the talk of the mistress: tell it to perish out of the way.
i can not sleep, i can not eat, i can not drink, for the worry of that gazelle.
shall a creature that i bought for an eighth trouble me from morning till night?
not so, old woman!"
the old woman went downstairs, and there lay the gazelle, blood flowing from its nostrils.
and she took it in her arms and said, "my son, the good you did is lost; there remains only patience."
and it said, "mother, i shall die, for my soul is full of anger and bitterness.
my face is ashamed, that i should have done good to my master, and that he should repay me with evil."
it paused for a moment, and then went on, "mother, of the goods that are in this house, what do i eat?
i might have every day half a basinful, and would my master be any the poorer?
but did not the elders say, "he that does good like a mother!""
and it said, "go and tell my master that the gazelle is nearer death than life."
so she went, and spoke as the gazelle had bidden her; but he answered," i have told you to trouble me no more."
but his wife's heart was sore, and she said to him: "ah, master, what has the gazelle done to you?
how has he failed you?
the things you do to him are not good, and you will draw on yourself the hatred of the people.
for this gazelle is loved by all, by small and great, by women and men.
ah, my husband!
i thought you had great wisdom, and you have not even a little!"
but he answered, "you are mad, my wife."
the old woman stayed no longer, and went back to the gazelle, followed secretly by the mistress, who called a maidservant and bade her take some milk and rice and cook it for the gazelle.
"take also this cloth," she said, "to cover it with, and this pillow for its head.
and if the gazelle wants more, let it ask me, and not its master.
and if it will, i will send it in a litter to my father, and he will nurse it till it is well."
and the maidservant did as her mistress bade her, and said what her mistress had told her to say, but the gazelle made no answer, but turned over on its side and died quietly.
when the news spread abroad, there was much weeping among the people, and sultan darai arose in wrath, and cried, "you weep for that gazelle as if you wept for me!
and, after all, what is it but a gazelle, that i bought for an eighth?"
but his wife answered, "master, we looked upon that gazelle as we looked upon you.
it was the gazelle who came to ask me of my father, it was the gazelle who brought me from my father, and i was given in charge to the gazelle by my father."
and when the people heard her they lifted up their voices and spoke: "we never saw you, we saw the gazelle.
it was the gazelle who met with trouble here, it was the gazelle who met with rest here.
so, then, when such an one departs from this world we weep for ourselves, we do not weep for the gazelle."
and they said furthermore: "the gazelle did you much good, and if anyone says he could have done more for you he is a liar!
therefore, to us who have done you no good, what treatment will you give?
the gazelle has died from bitterness of soul, and you ordered your slaves to throw it into the well.
ah!
leave us alone that we may weep."
but sultan darai would not heed their words, and the dead gazelle was thrown into the well.
when the mistress heard of it, she sent three slaves, mounted on donkeys, with a letter to her father the sultan, and when the sultan had read the letter he bowed his head and wept, like a man who had lost his mother.
and he commanded horses to be saddled, and called the governor and the judges and all the rich men, and said: "come now with me; let us go and bury it."
night and day they travelled, till the sultan came to the well where the gazelle had been thrown.
and it was a large well, built round a rock, with room for many people; and the sultan entered, and the judges and the rich men followed him.
and when he saw the gazelle lying there he wept afresh, and took it in his arms and carried it away.
when the three slaves went and told their mistress what the sultan had done, and how all the people were weeping, she answered: "i too have eaten no food, neither have i drunk water, since the day the gazelle died.
i have not spoken, and i have not laughed."
the sultan took the gazelle and buried it, and ordered the people to wear mourning for it, so there was great mourning throughout the city.
now after the days of mourning were at an end, the wife was sleeping at her husband's side, and in her sleep she dreamed that she was once more in her father's house, and when she woke up it was no dream.
and the man dreamed that he was on the dust-heap, scratching.
and when he woke, behold!
that also was no dream, but the truth.
-lrb- swahili tales. -rrb-
how a fish swam in the air and a hare in the water.
once upon a time an old man and his wife lived together in a little village.
they might have been happy if only the old woman had had the sense to hold her tongue at proper times.
but anything which might happen indoors, or any bit of news which her husband might bring in when he had been anywhere, had to be told at once to the whole village, and these tales were repeated and altered till it often happened that much mischief was made, and the old man's back paid for it.
one day, he drove to the forest.
when he reached the edge of it he got out of his cart and walked beside it.
suddenly he stepped on such a soft spot that his foot sank in the earth.
"what can this be?"
thought he.
"i'll dig a bit and see."
so he dug and dug, and at last he came on a little pot full of gold and silver.
"oh, what luck!
now, if only i knew how i could take this treasure home with me -- but i can never hope to hide it from my wife, and once she knows of it she'll tell all the world, and then i shall get into trouble."
he sat down and thought over the matter a long time, and at last he made a plan.
he covered up the pot again with earth and twigs, and drove on into the town, where he bought a live pike and a live hare in the market.
then he drove back to the forest and hung the pike up at the very top of a tree, and tied up the hare in a fishing net and fastened it on the edge of a little stream, not troubling himself to think how unpleasant such a wet spot was likely to be to the hare.
then he got into his cart and trotted merrily home.
"wife!"
cried he, the moment he got indoors.
"you ca n't think what a piece of good luck has come our way."
"what, what, dear husband?
do tell me all about it at once."
"no, no, you'll just go off and tell everyone."
"no, indeed!
how can you think such things!
for shame!
if you like i will swear never to --" "oh, well!
if you are really in earnest then, listen."
and he whispered in her ear: "i've found a pot full of gold and silver in the forest!
hush!
--" "and why did n't you bring it back?"
"because we'll drive there together and bring it carefully back between us."
so the man and his wife drove to the forest.
as they were driving along the man said: "what strange things one hears, wife!
i was told only the other day that fish will now live and thrive in the tree tops and that some wild animals spend their time in the water.
well!
well!
times are certainly changed."
"why, you must be crazy, husband!
dear, dear, what nonsense people do talk sometimes."
"nonsense, indeed!
why, just look.
bless my soul, if there is n't a fish, a real pike i do believe, up in that tree."
"gracious!"
cried his wife.
"how did a pike get there?
it is a pike -- you need n't attempt to say it's not.
can people have said true --" but the man only shook his head and shrugged his shoulders and opened his mouth and gaped as if he really could not believe his own eyes.
"what are you standing staring at there, stupid?"
said his wife.
"climb up the tree quick and catch the pike, and we'll cook it for dinner."
the man climbed up the tree and brought down the pike, and they drove on.
when they got near the stream he drew up.
"what are you staring at again?"
asked his wife impatiently.
"drive on, ca n't you?"
"why, i seem to see something moving in that net i set.
i must just go and see what it is."
he ran to it, and when he had looked in it he called to his wife: "just look!
here is actually a four-footed creature caught in the net.
i do believe it's a hare."
"good heavens!"
cried his wife.
"how did the hare get into your net?
it is a hare, so you need n't say it is n't.
after all, people must have said the truth --" but her husband only shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as if he could not believe his own eyes.
"now what are you standing there for, stupid?"
cried his wife.
"take up the hare.
a nice fat hare is a dinner for a feast day."
the old man caught up the hare, and they drove on to the place where the treasure was buried.
they swept the twigs away, dug up the earth, took out the pot, and drove home again with it.
and now the old couple had plenty of money and were cheery and comfortable.
but the wife was very foolish.
every day she asked a lot of people to dinner and feasted them, till her husband grew quite impatient.
he tried to reason with her, but she would not listen.
"you've got no right to lecture me!"
said she.
"we found the treasure together, and together we will spend it."
her husband took patience, but at length he said to her: "you may do as you please, but i sha'n' t give you another penny."
the old woman was very angry.
"oh, what a good-for-nothing fellow to want to spend all the money himself!
but just wait a bit and see what i shall do."
off she went to the governor to complain of her husband.
"oh, my lord, protect me from my husband!
ever since he found the treasure there is no bearing him.
he only eats and drinks, and wo n't work, and he keeps all the money to himself."
the governor took pity on the woman, and ordered his chief secretary to look into the matter.
the secretary called the elders of the village together, and went with them to the man's house.
"the governor," said he, "desires you to give all that treasure you found into my care."
the man shrugged his shoulders and said: "what treasure?
i know nothing about a treasure."
"how?
you know nothing?
why your wife has complained of you.
do n't attempt to tell lies.
if you do n't hand over all the money at once you will be tried for daring to raise treasure without giving due notice to the governor about it."
"pardon me, your excellency, but what sort of treasure was it supposed to have been?
my wife must have dreamt of it, and you gentlemen have listened to her nonsense."
"nonsense, indeed," broke in his wife."
a kettle full of gold and silver, do you call that nonsense?"
"you are not in your right mind, dear wife.
sir, i beg your pardon.
ask her how it all happened, and if she convinces you i'll pay for it with my life."
"this is how it all happened, mr. secretary," cried the wife.
"we were driving through the forest, and we saw a pike up in the top of a tree --" "what, a pike?"
shouted the secretary.
"do you think you may joke with me, pray?"
"indeed, i'm not joking, mr. secretary!
i'm speaking the bare truth."
"now you see, gentlemen," said her husband, "how far you can trust her, when she chatters like this."
"chatter, indeed?
i!!
perhaps you have forgotten, too, how we found a live hare in the river?"
everyone roared with laughter; even the secretary smiled and stroked his beard, and the man said: "come, come, wife, everyone is laughing at you.
you see for yourself, gentlemen, how far you can believe her."
"yes, indeed," said the village elders, "it is certainly the first time we have heard that hares thrive in the water or fish among the tree tops."
the secretary could make nothing of it all, and drove back to the town.
the old woman was so laughed at that she had to hold her tongue and obey her husband ever after, and the man bought wares with part of the treasure and moved into the town, where he opened a shop, and prospered, and spent the rest of his days in peace.
two in a sack what a life that poor man led with his wife, to be sure!
not a day passed without her scolding him and calling him names, and indeed sometimes she would take the broom from behind the stove and beat him with it.
he had no peace or comfort at all, and really hardly knew how to bear it.
one day, when his wife had been particularly unkind and had beaten him black and blue, he strolled slowly into the fields, and as he could not endure to be idle he spread out his nets.
what kind of bird do you think he caught in his net?
he caught a crane, and the crane said, "let me go free, and i'll show myself grateful."
the man answered, "no, my dear fellow.
i shall take you home, and then perhaps my wife wo n't scold me so much."
said the crane: "you had better come with me to my house," and so they went to the crane's house.
when they got there, what do you think the crane took from the wall?
he took down a sack, and he said: "two out of a sack!"
instantly two pretty lads sprang out of the sack.
they brought in oak tables, which they spread with silken covers, and placed all sorts of delicious dishes and refreshing drinks on them.
the man had never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and he was delighted.
then the crane said to him, "now take this sack to your wife."
the man thanked him warmly, took the sack, and set out.
his home was a good long way off, and as it was growing dark, and he was feeling tired, he stopped to rest at his cousin's house by the way.
the cousin had three daughters, who laid out a tempting supper, but the man would eat nothing, and said to his cousin, "your supper is bad."
"oh, make the best of it," said she, but the man only said: "clear away!"
and taking out his sack he cried, as the crane had taught him: "two out of the sack!"
and out came the two pretty boys, who quickly brought in the oak tables, spread the silken covers, and laid out all sorts of delicious dishes and refreshing drinks.
never in their lives had the cousin and her daughters seen such a supper, and they were delighted and astonished at it.
but the cousin quietly made up her mind to steal the sack, so she called to her daughters: "go quickly and heat the bathroom: i am sure our dear guest would like to have a bath before he goes to bed."
when the man was safe in the bathroom she told her daughters to make a sack exactly like his, as quickly as possible.
then she changed the two sacks, and hid the man's sack away.
the man enjoyed his bath, slept soundly, and set off early next morning, taking what he believed to be the sack the crane had given him.
all the way home he felt in such good spirits that he sang and whistled as he walked through the wood, and never noticed how the birds were twittering and laughing at him.
as soon as he saw his house he began to shout from a distance, "hallo!
old woman!
come out and meet me!"
his wife screamed back: "you come here, and i'll give you a good thrashing with the poker!"
the man walked into the house, hung his sack on a nail, and said, as the crane had taught him: "two out of the sack!"
but not a soul came out of the sack.
then he said again, exactly as the crane had taught him: "two out of the sack!"
his wife, hearing him chattering goodness knows what, took up her wet broom and swept the ground all about him.
the man took flight and rushed oft into the field, and there he found the crane marching proudly about, and to him he told his tale.
"come back to my house," said the crane, and so they went to the crane's house, and as soon as they got there, what did the crane take down from the wall?
why, he took down a sack, and he said: "two out of the sack!"
and instantly two pretty lads sprang out of the sack, brought in oak tables, on which they laid silken covers, and spread all sorts of delicious dishes and refreshing drinks on them.
"take this sack," said the crane.
the man thanked him heartily, took the sack, and went.
he had a long way to walk, and as he presently got hungry, he said to the sack, as the crane had taught him: "two out of the sack!"
and instantly two rough men with thick sticks crept out of the bag and began to beat him well, crying as they did so: "do n't boast to your cousins of what you have got, one -- two -- or you'll find you will catch it uncommonly hot, one -- two --" and they beat on till the man panted out: "two into the sack."
the words were hardly out of his mouth, when the two crept back into the sack.
then the man shouldered the sack, and went off straight to his cousin's house.
he hung the sack up on a nail, and said: "please have the bathroom heated, cousin."
the cousin heated the bathroom, and the man went into it, but he neither washed nor rubbed himself, he just sat there and waited.
meantime his cousin felt hungry, so she called her daughters, and all four sat down to table.
then the mother said: "two out of the sack."
instantly two rough men crept out of the sack, and began to beat the cousin as they cried: "greedy pack!
thievish pack!
one -- two -- give the peasant back his sack!
one -- two --" and they went on beating till the woman called to her eldest daughter: "go and fetch your cousin from the bathroom.
tell him these two ruffians are beating me black and blue."
"i've not finished rubbing myself yet," said the peasant.
and the two ruffians kept on beating as they sang: "greedy pack!
thievish pack!
one -- two -- give the peasant back his sack!
one -- two --" then the woman sent her second daughter and said: "quick, quick, get him to come to me."
"i'm just washing my head," said the man.
then she sent the youngest girl, and he said: "i've not done drying myself."
at last the woman could hold out no longer, and sent him the sack she had stolen.
now he had quite finished his bath, and as he left the bathroom he cried: "two into the sack."
and the two crept back at once into the sack.
then the man took both sacks, the good and the bad one, and went away home.
when he was near the house he shouted: "hallo, old woman, come and meet me!"
his wife only screamed out: "you broomstick, come here!
your back shall pay for this."
the man went into the cottage, hung his sack on a nail, and said, as the crane had taught him: "two out of the sack."
instantly two pretty lads sprang out of the sack, brought in oak tables, laid silken covers on them, and spread them with all sorts of delicious dishes and refreshing drinks.
the woman ate and drank, and praised her husband.
"well, now, old man, i wo n't beat you any more," said she.
when they had done eating, the man carried off the good sack, and put it away in his store-room, but hung the bad sack up on the nail.
then he lounged up and down in the yard.
meantime his wife became thirsty.
she looked with longing eyes at the sack, and at last she said, as her husband had done: "two out of the sack."
and at once the two rogues with their big sticks crept out of the sack, and began to belabour her as they sang: "would you beat your husband true?
do n't cry so!
now we'll beat you black and blue!
oh!
oh!"
the woman screamed out: "old man, old man!
come here, quick!
here are two ruffians pommelling me fit to break my bones."
her husband only strolled up and down and laughed, as he said: "yes, they'll beat you well, old lady."
and the two thumped away and sang again: "blows will hurt, remember, crone, we mean you well, we mean you well; in future leave the stick alone, for how it hurts, you now can tell, one -- two --" at last her husband took pity on her, and cried: "two into the sack."
he had hardly said the words before they were back in the sack again.
from this time the man and his wife lived so happily together that it was a pleasure to see them, and so the story has an end.
-lrb- from russiche marchen. -rrb-
the envious neighbour long, long ago an old couple lived in a village, and, as they had no children to love and care for, they gave all their affection to a little dog.
he was a pretty little creature, and instead of growing spoilt and disagreeable at not getting everything he wanted, as even children will do sometimes, the dog was grateful to them for their kindness, and never left their side, whether they were in the house or out of it.
one day the old man was working in his garden, with his dog, as usual, close by.
the morning was hot, and at last he put down his spade and wiped his wet forehead, noticing, as he did so, that the animal was snuffling and scratching at a spot a little way off.
there was nothing very strange in this, as all dogs are fond of scratching, and he went on quietly with his digging, when the dog ran up to his master, barking loudly, and back again to the place where he had been scratching.
this he did several times, till the old man wondered what could be the matter, and, picking up the spade, followed where the dog led him.
the dog was so delighted at his success that he jumped round, barking loudly, till the noise brought the old woman out of the house.
curious to know if the dog had really found anything, the husband began to dig, and very soon the spade struck against something.
he stooped down and pulled out a large box, filled quite full with shining gold pieces.
the box was so heavy that the old woman had to help to carry it home, and you may guess what a supper the dog had that night!
now that he had made them rich, they gave him every day all that a dog likes best to eat, and the cushions on which he lay were fit for a prince.
the story of the dog and his treasure soon became known, and a neighbour whose garden was next the old people's grew so envious of their good luck that he could neither eat nor sleep.
as the dog had discovered a treasure once, this foolish man thought he must be able to discover one always, and begged the old couple to lend him their pet for a little while, so that he might be made rich also.
"how can you ask such a thing?"
answered the old man indignantly.
"you know how much we love him, and that he is never out of our sight for five minutes."
but the envious neighbour would not heed his words, and came daily with the same request, till at last the old people, who could not bear to say no to anyone, promised to lend the dog, just for a night or two.
no sooner did the man get hold of the dog than he turned him into the garden, but the dog did nothing but race about, and the man was forced to wait with what patience he could.
the next morning the man opened the house door, and the dog bounded joyfully into the garden, and, running up to the foot of a tree, began to scratch wildly.
the man called loudly to his wife to bring a spade, and followed the dog, as he longed to catch the first glimpse of the expected treasure.
but when he had dug up the ground, what did he find?
why, nothing but a parcel of old bones, which smelt so badly that he could not stay there a moment longer.
and his heart was filled with rage against the dog who had played him this trick, and he seized a pickaxe and killed it on the spot, before he knew what he was doing.
when he remembered that he would have to go with his story to the old man and his wife he was rather frightened, but there was nothing to be gained by putting it off, so he pulled a very long face and went to his neighbour's garden.
"your dog," said he, pretending to weep, "has suddenly fallen down dead, though i took every care of him, and gave him everything he could wish for.
and i thought i had better come straight and tell you."
weeping bitterly, the old man went to fetch the body of his favourite, and brought it home and buried it under the fig-tree where he had found the treasure.
from morning till night he and his wife mourned over their loss, and nothing could comfort them.
at length, one night when he was asleep, he dreamt that the dog appeared to him and told him to cut down the fig-tree over his grave, and out of its wood to make a mortar.
but when the old man woke and thought of his dream he did not feel at all inclined to cut down the tree, which bore well every year, and consulted his wife about it.
the woman did not hesitate a moment, and said that after what had happened before, the dog's advice must certainly be obeyed, so the tree was felled, and a beautiful mortar made from it.
and when the season came for the rice crop to be gathered the mortar was taken down from its shelf, and the grains placed in it for pounding, when, lo and behold!
in a twinkling of an eye, they all turned into gold pieces.
at the sight of all this gold the hearts of the old people were glad, and once more they blessed their faithful dog.
but it was not long before this story also came to the ears of their envious neighbour, and he lost no time in going to the old people and asking if they happened to have a mortar which they could lend him.
the old man did not at all like parting with his precious treasure, but he never could say no, so the neighbour went off with the mortar under his arm.
the moment he got into his own house he took a great handful of rice, and began to shell off the husks, with the help of his wife.
but, instead of the gold pieces for which they looked, the rice turned into berries with such a horrible smell that they were obliged to run away, after smashing the mortar in a rage and setting fire to the bits.
the old people next door were naturally very much put out when they learned the fate of their mortar, and were not at all comforted by the explanations and excuses made by their neighbour.
but that night the dog again appeared in a dream to his master, and told him that he must go and collect the ashes of the burnt mortar and bring them home.
then, when he heard that the daimio, or great lord to whom this part of the country belonged, was expected at the capital, he was to carry the ashes to the high road, through which the procession would have to pass.
and as soon as it was in sight he was to climb up all the cherry-trees and sprinkle the ashes on them, and they would soon blossom as they had never blossomed before.
this time the old man did not wait to consult his wife as to whether he was to do what his dog had told him, but directly he got up he went to his neighbour's house and collected the ashes of the burnt mortar.
he put them carefully in a china vase, and carried it to the high road, sitting down on a seat till the daimio should pass.
the cherry-trees were bare, for it was the season when small pots of them were sold to rich people, who kept them in hot places, so that they might blossom early and decorate their rooms.
as to the trees in the open air, no one would ever think of looking for the tiniest bud for more than a month yet.
the old man had not been waiting very long before he saw a cloud of dust in the far distance, and knew that it must be the procession of the daimio.
on they came, every man dressed in his finest clothes, and the crowd that was lining the road bowed their faces to the ground as they went by.
only the old man did not bow himself, and the great lord saw this, and bade one of his courtiers, in anger, go and inquire why he had disobeyed the ancient customs.
but before the messenger could reach him the old man had climbed the nearest tree and scattered his ashes far and wide, and in an instant the white flowers had flashed into life, and the heart of the daimio rejoiced, and he gave rich presents to the old man, whom he sent for to his castle.
we may be sure that in a very little while the envious neighbour had heard this also, and his bosom was filled with hate.
he hastened to the place where he had burned the mortar, collected a few of the ashes which the old man had left behind, and took them to the road, hoping that his luck might be as good as the old man's, or perhaps even better.
his heart beat with pleasure when he caught the first glimpses of the daimio's train, and he held himself ready for the right moment.
as the daimio drew near he flung a great handful of ashes over the trees, but no buds or flowers followed the action: instead, the ashes were all blown back into the eyes of the daimio and his warriors, till they cried out from pain.
then the prince ordered the evil-doer to be seized and bound and thrown into prison, where he was kept for many months.
by the time he was set free everybody in his native village had found out his wickedness, and they would not let him live there any longer; and as he would not leave off his evil ways he soon went from bad to worse, and came to a miserable end.
-lrb- japanische marchen. -rrb-
the fairy of the dawn once upon a time what should happen did happen; and if it had not happened this tale would never have been told.
there was once an emperor, very great and mighty, and he ruled over an empire so large that no one knew where it began and where it ended.
but if nobody could tell the exact extent of his sovereignty everybody was aware that the emperor's right eye laughed, while his left eye wept.
one or two men of valour had the courage to go and ask him the reason of this strange fact, but he only laughed and said nothing; and the reason of the deadly enmity between his two eyes was a secret only known to the monarch himself.
and all the while the emperor's sons were growing up.
and such sons!
all three like the morning stars in the sky!
florea, the eldest, was so tall and broad-shouldered that no man in the kingdom could approach him.
costan, the second, was quite different.
small of stature, and slightly built, he had a strong arm and stronger wrist.
petru, the third and youngest, was tall and thin, more like a girl than a boy.
he spoke very little, but laughed and sang, sang and laughed, from morning till night.
he was very seldom serious, but then he had a way when he was thinking of stroking his hair over his forehead, which made him look old enough to sit in his father's council!
"you are grown up, florea," said petru one day to his eldest brother; "do go and ask father why one eye laughs and the other weeps."
but florea would not go.
he had learnt by experience that this question always put the emperor in a rage.
petru next went to costan, but did not succeed any better with him.
"well, well, as everyone else is afraid, i suppose i must do it myself," observed petru at length.
no sooner said than done; the boy went straight to his father and put his question.
"may you go blind!"
exclaimed the emperor in wrath; "what business is it of yours?"
and boxed petru's ears soundly.
petru returned to his brothers, and told them what had befallen him; but not long after it struck him that his father's left eye seemed to weep less, and the right to laugh more."
i wonder if it has anything to do with my question," thought he.
"i'll try again!
after all, what do two boxes on the ear matter?"
so he put his question for the second time, and had the same answer; but the left eye only wept now and then, while the right eye looked ten years younger.
"it really must be true," thought petru.
"now i know what i have to do.
i shall have to go on putting that question, and getting boxes on the ear, till both eyes laugh together."
no sooner said than done.
petru never, never forswore himself.
"petru, my dear boy," cried the emperor, both his eyes laughing together," i see you have got this on the brain.
well, i will let you into the secret.
my right eye laughs when i look at my three sons, and see how strong and handsome you all are, and the other eye weeps because i fear that after i die you will not be able to keep the empire together, and to protect it from its enemies.
but if you can bring me water from the spring of the fairy of the dawn, to bathe my eyes, then they will laugh for evermore; for i shall know that my sons are brave enough to overcome any foe."
thus spoke the emperor, and petru picked up his hat and went to find his brothers.
the three young men took counsel together, and talked the subject well over, as brothers should do.
and the end of it was that florea, as the eldest, went to the stables, chose the best and handsomest horse they contained, saddled him, and took leave of the court."
i am starting at once," said he to his brothers, "and if after a year, a month, a week, and a day i have not returned with the water from the spring of the fairy of the dawn, you, costan, had better come after me."
so saying he disappeared round a corner of the palace.
for three days and three nights he never drew rein.
like a spirit the horse flew over mountains and valleys till he came to the borders of the empire.
here was a deep, deep trench that girdled it the whole way round, and there was only a single bridge by which the trench could be crossed.
florea made instantly for the bridge, and there pulled up to look around him once more, to take leave of his native land then he turned, but before him was standing a dragon -- oh!
such a dragon!
-- a dragon with three heads and three horrible faces, all with their mouths wide open, one jaw reaching to heaven and the other to earth.
at this awful sight florea did not wait to give battle.
he put spurs to his horse and dashed off, where he neither knew nor cared.
the dragon heaved a sigh and vanished without leaving a trace behind him.
a week went by.
florea did not return home.
two passed; and nothing was heard of him.
after a month costan began to haunt the stables and to look out a horse for himself.
and the moment the year, the month, the week, and the day were over costan mounted his horse and took leave of his youngest brother.
"if i fail, then you come," said he, and followed the path that florea had taken.
the dragon on the bridge was more fearful and his three heads more terrible than before, and the young hero rode away still faster than his brother had done.
nothing more was heard either of him or florea; and petru remained alone."
i must go after my brothers," said petru one day to his father.
"go, then," said his father, "and may you have better luck than they"; and he bade farewell to petru, who rode straight to the borders of the kingdom.
the dragon on the bridge was yet more dreadful than the one florea and costan had seen, for this one had seven heads instead of only three.
petru stopped for a moment when he caught sight of this terrible creature.
then he found his voice.
"get out of the way!"
cried he.
"get out of the way!"
he repeated again, as the dragon did not move.
"get out of the way!"
and with this last summons he drew his sword and rushed upon him.
in an instant the heavens seemed to darken round him and he was surrounded by fire -- fire to right of him, fire to left of him, fire to front of him, fire to rear of him; nothing but fire whichever way he looked, for the dragon's seven heads were vomiting flame.
the horse neighed and reared at the horrible sight, and petru could not use the sword he had in readiness.
"be quiet!
this wo n't do!"
he said, dismounting hastily, but holding the bridle firmly in his left hand and grasping his sword in his right.
but even so he got on no better, for he could see nothing but fire and smoke.
"there is no help for it; i must go back and get a better horse," said he, and mounted again and rode homewards.
at the gate of the palace his nurse, old birscha, was waiting for him eagerly.
"ah, petru, my son, i knew you would have to come back," she cried.
"you did not set about the matter properly."
"how ought i to have set about it?"
asked petru, half angrily, half sadly.
"look here, my boy," replied old birscha.
"you can never reach the spring of the fairy of the dawn unless you ride the horse which your father, the emperor, rode in his youth.
go and ask where it is to be found, and then mount it and be off with you."
petru thanked her heartily for her advice, and went at once to make inquiries about the horse.
"by the light of my eyes!"
exclaimed the emperor when petru had put his question.
"who has told you anything about that?
it must have been that old witch of a birscha?
have you lost your wits?
fifty years have passed since i was young, and who knows where the bones of my horse may be rotting, or whether a scrap of his reins still lie in his stall?
i have forgotten all about him long ago."
petru turned away in anger, and went back to his old nurse.
"do not be cast down," she said with a smile; "if that is how the affair stands all will go well.
go and fetch the scrap of the reins; i shall soon know what must be done."
the place was full of saddles, bridles, and bits of leather.
petru picked out the oldest, and blackest, and most decayed pair of reins, and brought them to the old woman, who murmured something over them and sprinkled them with incense, and held them out to the young man.
"take the reins," said she, "and strike them violently against the pillars of the house."
petru did what he was told, and scarcely had the reins touched the pillars when something happened -- how i have no idea -- that made petru stare with surprise.
a horse stood before him -- a horse whose equal in beauty the world had never seen; with a saddle on him of gold and precious stones, and with such a dazzling bridle you hardly dared to look at it, lest you should lose your sight.
a splendid horse, a splendid saddle, and a splendid bridle, all ready for the splendid young prince!
"jump on the back of the brown horse," said the old woman, and she turned round and went into the house.
the moment petru was seated on the horse he felt his arm three times as strong as before, and even his heart felt braver.
"sit firmly in the saddle, my lord, for we have a long way to go and no time to waste," said the brown horse, and petru soon saw that they were riding as no man and horse had ever ridden before.
on the bridge stood a dragon, but not the same one as he had tried to fight with, for this dragon had twelve heads, each more hideous and shooting forth more terrible flames than the other.
but, horrible though he was, he had met his match.
petru showed no fear, but rolled up his sleeves, that his arms might be free.
"get out of the way!"
he said when he had done, but the dragon's heads only breathed forth more flames and smoke.
petru wasted no more words, but drew his sword and prepared to throw himself on the bridge.
"stop a moment; be careful, my lord," put in the horse, "and be sure you do what i tell you.
dig your spurs in my body up to the rowel, draw your sword, and keep yourself ready, for we shall have to leap over both bridge and dragon.
when you see that we are right above the dragon cut off his biggest head, wipe the blood off the sword, and put it back clean in the sheath before we touch earth again."
so petru dug in his spurs, drew his sword, cut of the head, wiped the blood, and put the sword back in the sheath before the horse's hoofs touched the ground again.
and in this fashion they passed the bridge.
"but we have got to go further still," said petru, after he had taken a farewell glance at his native land.
"yes, forwards," answered the horse; "but you must tell me, my lord, at what speed you wish to go.
like the wind?
like thought?
like desire?
or like a curse?"
petru looked about him, up at the heavens and down again to the earth.
a desert lay spread out before him, whose aspect made his hair stand on end.
"we will ride at different speeds," said he, "not so fast as to grow tired nor so slow as to waste time."
and so they rode, one day like the wind, the next like thought, the third and fourth like desire and like a curse, till they reached the borders of the desert.
"now walk, so that i may look about, and see what i have never seen before," said petru, rubbing his eyes like one who wakes from sleep, or like him who beholds something so strange that it seems as if... before petru lay a wood made of copper, with copper trees and copper leaves, with bushes and flowers of copper also.
petru stood and stared as a man does when he sees something that he has never seen, and of which he has never heard.
then he rode right into the wood.
on each side of the way the rows of flowers began to praise petru, and to try and persuade him to pick some of them and make himself a wreath.
"take me, for i am lovely, and can give strength to whoever plucks me," said one.
"no, take me, for whoever wears me in his hat will be loved by the most beautiful woman in the world," pleaded the second; and then one after another bestirred itself, each more charming than the last, all promising, in soft sweet voices, wonderful things to petru, if only he would pick them.
petru was not deaf to their persuasion, and was just stooping to pick one when the horse sprang to one side.
"why do n't you stay still?"
asked petru roughly.
"do not pick the flowers; it will bring you bad luck; answered the horse.
"why should it do that?"
"these flowers are under a curse.
whoever plucks them must fight the welwa -lrb- 1 -rrb- of the woods."
-lrb- 1 -rrb- a goblin.
"what kind of a goblin is the welwa?"
"oh, do leave me in peace!
but listen.
look at the flowers as much as you like, but pick none," and the horse walked on slowly.
petru knew by experience that he would do well to attend to the horse's advice, so he made a great effort and tore his mind away from the flowers.
but in vain!
if a man is fated to be unlucky, unlucky he will be, whatever he may do!
the flowers went on beseeching him, and his heart grew ever weaker and weaker.
"what must come will come," said petru at length; "at any rate i shall see the welwa of the woods, what she is like, and which way i had best fight her.
if she is ordained to be the cause of my death, well, then it will be so; but if not i shall conquer her though she were twelve hundred welwas," and once more he stooped down to gather the flowers.
"you have done very wrong," said the horse sadly.
"but it ca n't be helped now.
get yourself ready for battle, for here is the welwa!"
hardly had he done speaking, scarcely had petru twisted his wreath, when a soft breeze arose on all sides at once.
out of the breeze came a storm wind, and the storm wind swelled and swelled till everything around was blotted out in darkness, and darkness covered them as with a thick cloak, while the earth swayed and shook under their feet.
"are you afraid?"
asked the horse, shaking his mane.
"not yet," replied petru stoutly, though cold shivers were running down his back.
"what must come will come, whatever it is."
"do n't be afraid," said the horse."
i will help you.
take the bridle from my neck, and try to catch the welwa with it."
the words were hardly spoken, and petru had no time even to unbuckle the bridle, when the welwa herself stood before him; and petru could not bear to look at her, so horrible was she.
she had not exactly a head, yet neither was she without one.
she did not fly through the air, but neither did she walk upon the earth.
she had a mane like a horse, horns like a deer, a face like a bear, eyes like a polecat; while her body had something of each.
and that was the welwa.
petru planted himself firmly in his stirrups, and began to lay about him with his sword, but could feel nothing.
a day and a night went by, and the fight was still undecided, but at last the welwa began to pant for breath.
"let us wait a little and rest," gasped she.
petru stopped and lowered his sword.
"you must not stop an instant," said the horse, and petru gathered up all his strength, and laid about him harder than ever.
the welwa gave a neigh like a horse and a howl like a wolf, and threw herself afresh on petru.
for another day and night the battle raged more furiously than before.
and petru grew so exhausted he could scarcely move his arm.
"let us wait a little and rest," cried the welwa for the second time, "for i see you are as weary as i am."
"you must not stop an instant," said the horse.
and petru went on fighting, though he barely had strength to move his arm.
but the welwa had ceased to throw herself upon him, and began to deliver her blows cautiously, as if she had no longer power to strike.
and on the third day they were still fighting, but as the morning sky began to redden petru somehow managed -- how i can not tell -- to throw the bridle over the head of the tired welwa.
in a moment, from the welwa sprang a horse -- the most beautiful horse in the world.
"sweet be your life, for you have delivered me from my enchantment," said he, and began to rub his nose against his brother's.
and he told petru all his story, and how he had been bewitched for many years.
so petru tied the welwa to his own horse and rode on.
where did he ride?
that i can not tell you, but he rode on fast till he got out of the copper wood.
"stay still, and let me look about, and see what i never have seen before," said petru again to his horse.
for in front of him stretched a forest that was far more wonderful, as it was made of glistening trees and shining flowers.
it was the silver wood.
as before, the flowers began to beg the young man to gather them.
"do not pluck them," warned the welwa, trotting beside him, "for my brother is seven times stronger than i"; but though petru knew by experience what this meant, it was no use, and after a moment's hesitation he began to gather the flowers, and to twist himself a wreath.
then the storm wind howled louder, the earth trembled more violently, and the night grew darker, than the first time, and the welwa of the silver wood came rushing on with seven times the speed of the other.
for three days and three nights they fought, but at last petru cast the bridle over the head of the second welwa.
"sweet be your life, for you have delivered me from enchantment," said the second welwa, and they all journeyed on as before.
but soon they came to a gold wood more lovely far than the other two, and again petru's companions pleaded with him to ride through it quickly, and to leave the flowers alone.
but petru turned a deaf ear to all they said, and before he had woven his golden crown he felt that something terrible, that he could not see, was coming near him right out of the earth.
he drew his sword and made himself ready for the fight."
i will die!"
cried he, "or he shall have my bridle over his head."
he had hardly said the words when a thick fog wrapped itself around him, and so thick was it that he could not see his own hand, or hear the sound of his voice.
for a day and a night he fought with his sword, without ever once seeing his enemy, then suddenly the fog began to lighten.
by dawn of the second day it had vanished altogether, and the sun shone brightly in the heavens.
it seemed to petru that he had been born again.
and the welwa?
she had vanished.
"you had better take breath now you can, for the fight will have to begin all over again," said the horse.
"what was it?"
asked petru.
"it was the welwa," replied the horse, "changed into a fog "listen!
she is coming!"
and petru had hardly drawn a long breath when he felt something approaching from the side, though what he could not tell.
a river, yet not a river, for it seemed not to flow over the earth, but to go where it liked, and to leave no trace of its passage.
"woe be to me!"
cried petru, frightened at last.
"beware, and never stand still," called the brown horse, and more he could not say, for the water was choking him.
the battle began anew.
for a day and a night petru fought on, without knowing at whom or what he struck.
at dawn on the second, he felt that both his feet were lame.
"now i am done for," thought he, and his blows fell thicker and harder in his desperation.
and the sun came out and the water disappeared, without his knowing how or when.
"take breath," said the horse, "for you have no time to lose.
the welwa will return in a moment."
petru made no reply, only wondered how, exhausted as he was, he should ever be able to carry on the fight.
but he settled himself in his saddle, grasped his sword, and waited.
and then something came to him -- what i can not tell you.
perhaps, in his dreams, a man may see a creature which has what it has not got, and has not got what it has.
at least, that was what the welwa seemed like to petru.
she flew with her feet, and walked with her wings; her head was in her back, and her tail was on top of her body; her eyes were in her neck, and her neck in her forehead, and how to describe her further i do not know.
petru felt for a moment as if he was wrapped in a garment of fear; then he shook himself and took heart, and fought as he had never yet fought before.
as the day wore on, his strength began to fail, and when darkness fell he could hardly keep his eyes open.
by midnight he knew he was no longer on his horse, but standing on the ground, though he could not have told how he got there.
when the grey light of morning came, he was past standing on his feet, but fought now upon his knees.
"make one more struggle; it is nearly over now," said the horse, seeing that petru's strength was waning fast.
petru wiped the sweat from his brow with his gauntlet, and with a desperate effort rose to his feet.
"strike the welwa on the mouth with the bridle," said the horse, and petru did it.
the welwa uttered a neigh so loud that petru thought he would be deaf for life, and then, though she too was nearly spent, flung herself upon her enemy; but petru was on the watch and threw the bridle over her head, as she rushed on, so that when the day broke there were three horses trotting beside him.
"may your wife be the most beautiful of women," said the welwa, "for you have delivered me from my enchantment."
so the four horses galloped fast, and by nightfall they were at the borders of the golden forest.
then petru began to think of the crowns that he wore, and what they had cost him.
"after all, what do i want with so many?
i will keep the best," he said to himself; and taking off first the copper crown and then the silver, he threw them away.
"stay!"
cried the horse, "do not throw them away!
perhaps we shall find them of use.
get down and pick them up."
so petru got down and picked them up, and they all went on.
in the evening, when the sun is getting low, and all the midges are beginning to bite, peter saw a wide heath stretching before him.
at the same instant the horse stood still of itself.
"what is the matter?"
asked petru."
i am afraid that something evil will happen to us," answered the horse.
"but why should it?"
"we are going to enter the kingdom of the goddess mittwoch, -lrb- 2 -rrb- and the further we ride into it the colder we shall get.
but all along the road there are huge fires, and i dread lest you should stop and warm yourself at them."
-lrb- 2 -rrb- in german "mittwoch," the feminine form of mercury.
"and why should i not warm myself?"
"something fearful will happen to you if you do," replied the horse sadly.
"well, forward!"
cried petru lightly, "and if i have to bear cold, i must bear it!"
with every step they went into the kingdom of mittwoch, the air grew colder and more icy, till even the marrow in their bones was frozen.
but petru was no coward; the fight he had gone through had strengthened his powers of endurance, and he stood the test bravely.
along the road on each side were great fires, with men standing by them, who spoke pleasantly to petru as he went by, and invited him to join them.
the breath froze in his mouth, but he took no notice, only bade his horse ride on the faster.
how long petru may have waged battle silently with the cold one can not tell, for everybody knows that the kingdom of mittwoch is not to be crossed in a day, but he struggled on, though the frozen rocks burst around, and though his teeth chattered, and even his eyelids were frozen.
at length they reached the dwelling of mittwoch herself, and, jumping from his horse, petru threw the reins over his horse's neck and entered the hut.
"good-day, little mother!"
said he.
"very well, thank you, my frozen friend!"
petru laughed, and waited for her to speak.
"you have borne yourself bravely," went on the goddess, tapping him on the shoulder.
"now you shall have your reward," and she opened an iron chest, out of which she took a little box.
"look!"
said she; "this little box has been lying here for ages, waiting for the man who could win his way through the ice kingdom.
take it, and treasure it, for some day it may help you.
if you open it, it will tell you anything you want, and give you news of your fatherland."
petru thanked her gratefully for her gift, mounted his horse, and rode away.
when he was some distance from the hut, he opened the casket.
"what are your commands?"
asked a voice inside.
"give me news of my father," he replied, rather nervously.
"he is sitting in council with his nobles," answered the casket.
"is he well?"
"not particularly, for he is furiously angry."
"what has angered him?"
"your brothers costan and florea," replied the casket.
"it seems to me they are trying to rule him and the kingdom as well, and the old man says they are not fit to do it."
"push on, good horse, for we have no time to lose!"
cried petru; then he shut up the box, and put it in his pocket.
they rushed on as fast as ghosts, as whirlwinds, as vampires when they hunt at midnight, and how long they rode no man can tell, for the way is far.
"stop!
i have some advice to give you," said the horse at last.
"what is it?"
asked petru.
"you have known what it is to suffer cold; you will have to endure heat, such as you have never dreamed of.
be as brave now as you were then.
let no one tempt you to try to cool yourself, or evil will befall you."
"forwards!"
answered petru.
"do not worry yourself.
if i have escaped without being frozen, there is no chance of my melting."
"why not?
this is a heat that will melt the marrow in your bones -- a heat that is only to be felt in the kingdom of the goddess of thunder."
-lrb- 3 -rrb- -lrb- 3 -rrb- in the german "donnerstag" -- the day of the thunder god, i.e. jupiter.
and it was hot.
the very iron of the horse's shoes began to melt, but petru gave no heed.
the sweat ran down his face, but he dried it with his gauntlet.
what heat could be he never knew before, and on the way, not a stone's throw from the road, lay the most delicious valleys, full of shady trees and bubbling streams.
when petru looked at them his heart burned within him, and his mouth grew parched.
and standing among the flowers were lovely maidens who called to him in soft voices, till he had to shut his eyes against their spells.
"come, my hero, come and rest; the heat will kill you," said they.
petru shook his head and said nothing, for he had lost the power of speech.
long he rode in this awful state, how long none can tell.
suddenly the heat seemed to become less, and, in the distance, he saw a little hut on a hill.
this was the dwelling of the goddess of thunder, and when he drew rein at her door the goddess herself came out to meet him.
she welcomed him, and kindly invited him in, and bade him tell her all his adventures.
so petru told her all that had happened to him, and why he was there, and then took farewell of her, as he had no time to lose.
"for," he said, "who knows how far the fairy of the dawn may yet be?"
"stay for one moment, for i have a word of advice to give you.
you are about to enter the kingdom of venus; -lrb- 4 -rrb- go and tell her, as a message from me, that i hope she will not tempt you to delay.
on your way back, come to me again, and i will give you something that may be of use to you."
-lrb- 4 -rrb- "vineri" is friday, and also "venus."
so petru mounted his horse, and had hardly ridden three steps when he found himself in a new country.
here it was neither hot nor cold, but the air was warm and soft like spring, though the way ran through a heath covered with sand and thistles.
"what can that be?"
asked petru, when he saw a long, long way off, at the very end of the heath, something resembling a house.
"that is the house of the goddess venus," replied the horse, "and if we ride hard we may reach it before dark"; and he darted off like an arrow, so that as twilight fell they found themselves nearing the house.
petru's heart leaped at the sight, for all the way along he had been followed by a crowd of shadowy figures who danced about him from right to left, and from back to front, and petru, though a brave man, felt now and then a thrill of fear.
"they wo n't hurt you," said the horse; "they are just the daughters of the whirlwind amusing themselves while they are waiting for the ogre of the moon."
then he stopped in front of the house, and petru jumped off and went to the door.
"do not be in such a hurry," cried the horse.
"there are several things i must tell you first.
you can not enter the house of the goddess venus like that.
she is always watched and guarded by the whirlwind."
"what am i to do then?"
"take the copper wreath, and go with it to that little hill over there.
when you reach it, say to yourself, "were there ever such lovely maidens!
such angels!
such fairy souls!"
then hold the wreath high in the air and cry, "oh!
if i knew whether any one would accept this wreath from me... if i knew!
if i knew!"
and throw the wreath from you!"
"and why should i do all this?"
said petru.
"ask no questions, but go and do it," replied the horse.
and petru did.
scarcely had he flung away the copper wreath than the whirlwind flung himself upon it, and tore it in pieces.
then petru turned once more to the horse.
"stop!"
cried the horse again."
i have other things to tell you.
take the silver wreath and knock at the windows of the goddess venus.
when she says, "who is there?"
answer that you have come on foot and lost your way on the heath.
she will then tell you to go your way back again; but take care not to stir from the spot.
instead, be sure you say to her, "no, indeed i shall do nothing of the sort, as from my childhood i have heard stories of the beauty of the goddess venus, and it was not for nothing that i had shoes made of leather with soles of steel, and have travelled for nine years and nine months, and have won in battle the silver wreath, which i hope you may allow me to give you, and have done and suffered everything to be where i now am."
this is what you must say.
what happens after is your affair."
petru asked no more, but went towards the house.
by this time it was pitch dark, and there was only the ray of light that streamed through the windows to guide him, and at the sound of his footsteps two dogs began to bark loudly.
"which of those dogs is barking?
is he tired of life?"
asked the goddess venus.
"it is i, o goddess!"
replied petru, rather timidly."
i have lost my way on the heath, and do not know where i am to sleep this night."
"where did you leave your horse?"
asked the goddess sharply.
petru did not answer.
he was not sure if he was to lie, or whether he had better tell the truth.
"go away, my son, there is no place for you here," replied she, drawing back from the window.
then petru repeated hastily what the horse had told him to say, and no sooner had he done so than the goddess opened the window, and in gentle tones she asked him: "let me see this wreath, my son," and petru held it out to her.
"come into the house," went on the goddess; "do not fear the dogs, they always know my will."
and so they did, for as the young man passed they wagged their tails to him.
"good evening," said petru as he entered the house, and, seating himself near the fire, listened comfortably to whatever the goddess might choose to talk about, which was for the most part the wickedness of men, with whom she was evidently very angry.
but petru agreed with her in everything, as he had been taught was only polite.
but was anybody ever so old as she!
i do not know why petru devoured her so with his eyes, unless it was to count the wrinkles on her face; but if so he would have had to live seven lives, and each life seven times the length of an ordinary one, before he could have reckoned them up.
but venus was joyful in her heart when she saw petru's eyes fixed upon her.
"nothing was that is, and the world was not a world when i was born," said she.
"when i grew up and the world came into being, everyone thought i was the most beautiful girl that ever was seen, though many hated me for it.
but every hundred years there came a wrinkle on my face.
and now i am old."
then she went on to tell petru that she was the daughter of an emperor, and their nearest neighbour was the fairy of the dawn, with whom she had a violent quarrel, and with that she broke out into loud abuse of her.
petru did not know what to do.
he listened in silence for the most part, but now and then he would say, "yes, yes, you must have been badly treated," just for politeness" sake; what more could he do?"
i will give you a task to perform, for you are brave, and will carry it through," continued venus, when she had talked a long time, and both of them were getting sleepy.
"close to the fairy's house is a well, and whoever drinks from it will blossom again like a rose.
bring me a flagon of it, and i will do anything to prove my gratitude.
it is not easy!
no one knows that better than i do!
the kingdom is guarded on every side by wild beasts and horrible dragons; but i will tell you more about that, and i also have something to give you."
then she rose and lifted the lid of an iron-bound chest, and took out of it a very tiny flute.
"do you see this?"
she asked.
"an old man gave it to me when i was young: whoever listens to this flute goes to sleep, and nothing can wake him.
take it and play on it as long as you remain in the kingdom of the fairy of the dawn, and you will be safe.
at this, petru told her that he had another task to fulfil at the well of the fairy of the dawn, and venus was still better pleased when she heard his tale.
so petru bade her good-night, put the flute in its case, and laid himself down in the lowest chamber to sleep.
before the dawn he was awake again, and his first care was to give to each of his horses as much corn as he could eat, and then to lead them to the well to water.
then he dressed himself and made ready to start.
"stop," cried venus from her window," i have still a piece of advice to give you.
leave one of your horses here, and only take three.
ride slowly till you get to the fairy's kingdom, then dismount and go on foot.
when you return, see that all your three horses remain on the road, while you walk.
but above all beware never to look the fairy of the dawn in the face, for she has eyes that will bewitch you, and glances that will befool you.
she is hideous, more hideous than anything you can imagine, with owl's eyes, foxy face, and cat's claws.
do you hear?
do you hear?
be sure you never look at her."
petru thanked her, and managed to get off at last.
far, far away, where the heavens touch the earth, where the stars kiss the flowers, a soft red light was seen, such as the sky sometimes has in spring, only lovelier, more wonderful.
that light was behind the palace of the fairy of the dawn, and it took petru two days and nights through flowery meadows to reach it.
and besides, it was neither hot nor cold, bright nor dark, but something of them all, and petru did not find the way a step too long.
after some time petru saw something white rise up out of the red of the sky, and when he drew nearer he saw it was a castle, and so splendid that his eyes were dazzled when they looked at it.
he did not know there was such a beautiful castle in the world.
but no time was to be lost, so he shook himself, jumped down from his horse, and, leaving him on the dewy grass, began to play on his flute as he walked along.
he had hardly gone many steps when he stumbled over a huge giant, who had been lulled to sleep by the music.
this was one of the guards of the castle!
as he lay there on his back, he seemed so big that in spite of petru's haste he stopped to measure him.
the further went petru, the more strange and terrible were the sights he saw -- lions, tigers, dragons with seven heads, all stretched out in the sun fast asleep.
it is needless to say what the dragons were like, for nowadays everyone knows, and dragons are not things to joke about.
petru ran through them like the wind.
was it haste or fear that spurred him on?
at last he came to a river, but let nobody think for a moment that this river was like other rivers?
instead of water, there flowed milk, and the bottom was of precious stones and pearls, instead of sand and pebbles.
and it ran neither fast nor slow, but both fast and slow together.
and the river flowed round the castle, and on its banks slept lions with iron teeth and claws; and beyond were gardens such as only the fairy of the dawn can have, and on the flowers slept a fairy!
all this saw petru from the other side.
but how was he to get over?
to be sure there was a bridge, but, even if it had not been guarded by sleeping lions, it was plainly not meant for man to walk on.
who could tell what it was made of?
it looked like soft little woolly clouds!
so he stood thinking what was to be done, for get across he must.
after a while, he determined to take the risk, and strode back to the sleeping giant.
"wake up, my brave man!"
he cried, giving him a shake.
the giant woke and stretched out his hand to pick up petru, just as we should catch a fly.
but petru played on his flute, and the giant fell back again.
petru tried this three times, and when he was satisfied that the giant was really in his power he took out a handkerchief, bound the two little fingers of the giant together, drew his sword, and cried for the fourth time, "wake up, my brave man."
when the giant saw the trick which had been played on him he said to petru.
"do you call this a fair fight?
fight according to rules, if you really are a hero!'"
i will by-and-by, but first i want to ask you a question!
will you swear that you will carry me over the river if i fight honourably with you?"
and the giant swore.
when his hands were freed, the giant flung himself upon petru, hoping to crush him by his weight.
but he had met his match.
it was not yesterday, nor the day before, that petru had fought his first battle, and he bore himself bravely.
for three days and three nights the battle raged, and sometimes one had the upper hand, and sometimes the other, till at length they both lay struggling on the ground, but petru was on top, with the point of his sword at the giant's throat.
"let me go!
let me go!"
shrieked he."
i own that i am beaten!"
"will you take me over the river?"
asked petru."
i will," gasped the giant.
"what shall i do to you if you break your word?"
"kill me, any way you like!
but let me live now."
"very well," said petru, and he bound the giant's left hand to his right foot, tied one handkerchief round his mouth to prevent him crying out, and another round his eyes, and led him to the river.
once they had reached the bank he stretched one leg over to the other side, and, catching up petru in the palm of his hand, set him down on the further shore.
"that is all right," said petru.
then he played a few notes on his flute, and the giant went to sleep again.
even the fairies who had been bathing a little lower down heard the music and fell asleep among the flowers on the bank.
petru saw them as he passed, and thought, "if they are so beautiful, why should the fairy of the dawn be so ugly?"
but he dared not linger, and pushed on.
and now he was in the wonderful gardens, which seemed more wonderful still than they had done from afar.
but petru could see no faded flowers, nor any birds, as he hastened through them to the castle.
no one was there to bar his way, for all were asleep.
even the leaves had ceased to move.
he passed through the courtyard, and entered the castle itself.
what he beheld there need not be told, for all the world knows that the palace of the fairy of the dawn is no ordinary place.
gold and precious stones were as common as wood with us, and the stables where the horses of the sun were kept were more splendid than the palace of the greatest emperor in the world.
petru went up the stairs and walked quickly through eight-and-forty rooms, hung with silken stuffs, and all empty.
in the forty-ninth he found the fairy of the dawn herself.
in the middle of this room, which was as large as a church, petru saw the celebrated well that he had come so far to seek.
it was a well just like other wells, and it seemed strange that the fairy of the dawn should have it in her own chamber; yet anyone could tell it had been there for hundreds of years.
and by the well slept the fairy of the dawn -- the fairy of the dawn -- herself!
and as petru looked at her the magic flute dropped by his side, and he held his breath.
near the well was a table, on which stood bread made with does" milk, and a flagon of wine.
it was the bread of strength and the wine of youth, and petru longed for them.
he looked once at the bread and once at the wine, and then at the fairy of the dawn, still sleeping on her silken cushions.
as he looked a mist came over his senses.
the fairy opened her eyes slowly and looked at petru, who lost his head still further; but he just managed to remember his flute, and a few notes of it sent the fairy to sleep again, and he kissed her thrice.
then he stooped and laid his golden wreath upon her forehead, ate a piece of the bread and drank a cupful of the wine of youth, and this he did three times over.
then he filled a flask with water from the well, and vanished swiftly.
as he passed through the garden it seemed quite different from what it was before.
the flowers were lovelier, the streams ran quicker, the sunbeams shone brighter, and the fairies seemed gayer.
and all this had been caused by the three kisses petru had given the fairy of the dawn.
he passed everything safely by, and was soon seated in his saddle again.
faster than the wind, faster than thought, faster than longing, faster than hatred rode petru.
at length he dismounted, and, leaving his horses at the roadside, went on foot to the house of venus.
the goddess venus knew that he was coming, and went to meet him, bearing with her white bread and red wine.
"welcome back, my prince," said she.
"good day, and many thanks," replied the young man, holding out the flask containing the magic water.
she received it with joy, and after a short rest petru set forth, for he had no time to lose.
he stopped a few minutes, as he had promised, with the goddess of thunder, and was taking a hasty farewell of her, when she called him back.
"stay, i have a warning to give you," said she.
"beware of your life; make friends with no man; do not ride fast, or let the water go out of your hand; believe no one, and flee flattering tongues.
go, and take care, for the way is long, the world is bad, and you hold something very precious.
but i will give you this cloth to help you.
it is not much to look at, but it is enchanted, and whoever carries it will never be struck by lightning, pierced by a lance, or smitten with a sword, and the arrows will glance off his body."
petru thanked her and rode off, and, taking out his treasure box, inquired how matters were going at home.
not well, it said.
the emperor was blind altogether now, and florea and costan had besought him to give the government of the kingdom into their hands; but he would not, saying that he did not mean to resign the government till he had washed his eyes from the well of the fairy of the dawn.
then the brothers had gone to consult old birscha, who told them that petru was already on his way home bearing the water.
they had set out to meet him, and would try to take the magic water from him, and then claim as their reward the government of the emperor.
"you are lying!"
cried petru angrily, throwing the box on the ground, where it broke into a thousand pieces.
it was not long before he began to catch glimpses of his native land, and he drew rein near a bridge, the better to look at it.
he was still gazing, when he heard a sound in the distance as if some one was calling hit by his name.
"you, petru!"
it said.
"on!
on!"
cried the horse; "it will fare ill with you if you stop."
"no, let us stop, and see who and what it is!"
answered petru, turning his horse round, and coming face to face with his two brothers.
he had forgotten the warning given him by the goddess of thunder, and when costan and florea drew near with soft and flattering words he jumped straight off his horse, and rushed to embrace them.
he had a thousand questions to ask, and a thousand things to tell.
but his brown horse stood sadly hanging his head.
"petru, my dear brother," at length said florea, "would it not be better if we carried the water for you?
some one might try to take it from you on the road, while no one would suspect us."
"so it would," added costan.
"florea speaks well."
but petru shook his head, and told them what the goddess of thunder had said, and about the cloth she had given him.
and both brothers understood there was only one way in which they could kill him.
at a stone's throw from where they stood ran a rushing stream, with clear deep pools.
"do n't you feel thirsty, costan?"
asked florea, winking at him.
"yes," replied costan, understanding directly what was wanted.
"come, petru, let us drink now we have the chance, and then we will set out on our way home.
it is a good thing you have us with you, to protect you from harm."
the horse neighed, and petru knew what it meant, and did not go with his brothers.
no, he went home to his father, and cured his blindness; and as for his brothers, they never returned again.
-lrb- from rumanische marchen. -rrb-
the enchanted knife once upon a time there lived a young man who vowed that he would never marry any girl who had not royal blood in her veins.
one day he plucked up all his courage and went to the palace to ask the emperor for his daughter.
the emperor was not much pleased at the thought of such a match for his only child, but being very polite, he only said: "very well, my son, if you can win the princess you shall have her, and the conditions are these.
in eight days you must manage to tame and bring to me three horses that have never felt a master.
the first is pure white, the second a foxy-red with a black head, the third coal black with a white head and feet.
and besides that, you must also bring as a present to the empress, my wife, as much gold as the three horses can carry."
the young man listened in dismay to these words, but with an effort he thanked the emperor for his kindness and left the palace, wondering how he was to fulfil the task allotted to him.
luckily for him, the emperor's daughter had overheard everything her father had said, and peeping through a curtain had seen the youth, and thought him handsomer than anyone she had ever beheld.
so returning hastily to her own room, she wrote him a letter which she gave to a trusty servant to deliver, begging her wooer to come to her rooms early the next day, and to undertake nothing without her advice, if he ever wished her to be his wife.
that night, when her father was asleep, she crept softly into his chamber and took out an enchanted knife from the chest where he kept his treasures, and hid it carefully in a safe place before she went to bed.
the sun had hardly risen the following morning when the princess's nurse brought the young man to her apartments.
neither spoke for some minutes, but stood holding each other's hands for joy, till at last they both cried out that nothing but death should part them.
then the maiden said: "take my horse, and ride straight through the wood towards the sunset till you come to a hill with three peaks.
when you get there, turn first to the right and then to the left, and you will find yourself in a sun meadow, where many horses are feeding.
out of these you must pick out the three described to you by my father.
if they prove shy, and refuse to let you get near them, draw out your knife, and let the sun shine on it so that the whole meadow is lit up by its rays, and the horses will then approach you of their own accord, and will let you lead them away.
when you have them safely, look about till you see a cypress tree, whose roots are of brass, whose boughs are of silver, and whose leaves are of gold.
go to it, and cut away the roots with your knife, and you will come to countless bags of gold.
load the horses with all they can carry, and return to my father, and tell him that you have done your task, and can claim me for your wife."
the princess had finished all she had to say, and now it depended on the young man to do his part.
he hid the knife in the folds of his girdle, mounted his horse, and rode off in search of the meadow.
this he found without much difficulty, but the horses were all so shy that they galloped away directly he approached them.
then he drew his knife, and held it up towards the sun, and directly there shone such a glory that the whole meadow was bathed in it.
from all sides the horses rushed pressing round, and each one that passed him fell on its knees to do him honour.
but he only chose from them all the three that the emperor had described.
these he secured by a silken rope to his own horse, and then looked about for the cypress tree.
it was standing by itself in one corner, and in a moment he was beside it, tearing away the earth with his knife.
deeper and deeper he dug, till far down, below the roots of brass, his knife struck upon the buried treasure, which lay heaped up in bags all around.
with a great effort he lifted them from their hiding place, and laid them one by one on his horses" backs, and when they could carry no more he led them back to the emperor.
and when the emperor saw him, he wondered, but never guessed how it was the young man had been too clever for him, till the betrothal ceremony was over.
then he asked his newly made son-in-law what dowry he would require with his bride.
to which the bridegroom made answer, "noble emperor!
all i desire is that i may have your daughter for my wife, and enjoy for ever the use of your enchanted knife."
-lrb- volksmarchen der serben. -rrb-
jesper who herded the hares there was once a king who ruled over a kingdom somewhere between sunrise and sunset.
it was as small as kingdoms usually were in old times, and when the king went up to the roof of his palace and took a look round he could see to the ends of it in every direction.
but as it was all his own, he was very proud of it, and often wondered how it would get along without him.
he had only one child, and that was a daughter, so he foresaw that she must be provided with a husband who would be fit to be king after him.
where to find one rich enough and clever enough to be a suitable match for the princess was what troubled him, and often kept him awake at night.
at last he devised a plan.
he made a proclamation over all his kingdom -lrb- and asked his nearest neighbours to publish it in theirs as well -rrb- that whoever could bring him a dozen of the finest pearls the king had ever seen, and could perform certain tasks that would be set him, should have his daughter in marriage and in due time succeed to the throne.
the pearls, he thought, could only be brought by a very wealthy man, and the tasks would require unusual talents to accomplish them.
there were plenty who tried to fulfil the terms which the king proposed.
rich merchants and foreign princes presented themselves one after the other, so that some days the number of them was quite annoying; but, though they could all produce magnificent pearls, not one of them could perform even the simplest of the tasks set them.
some turned up, too, who were mere adventurers, and tried to deceive the old king with imitation pearls; but he was not to be taken in so easily, and they were soon sent about their business.
at the end of several weeks the stream of suitors began to fall off, and still there was no prospect of a suitable son-in-law.
now it so happened that in a little corner of the king's dominions, beside the sea, there lived a poor fisher, who had three sons, and their names were peter, paul, and jesper.
peter and paul were grown men, while jesper was just coming to manhood.
the two elder brothers were much bigger and stronger than the youngest, but jesper was far the cleverest of the three, though neither peter nor paul would admit this.
it was a fact, however, as we shall see in the course of our story.
one day the fisherman went out fishing, and among his catch for the day he brought home three dozen oysters.
when these were opened, every shell was found to contain a large and beautiful pearl.
hereupon the three brothers, at one and the same moment, fell upon the idea of offering themselves as suitors for the princess.
after some discussion, it was agreed that the pearls should be divided by lot, and that each should have his chance in the order of his age: of course, if the oldest was successful the other two would be saved the trouble of trying.
next morning peter put his pearls in a little basket, and set off for the king's palace.
he had not gone far on his way when he came upon the king of the ants and the king of the beetles, who, with their armies behind them, were facing each other and preparing for battle.
"come and help me," said the king of the ants; "the beetles are too big for us.
i may help you some day in return.'"
i have no time to waste on other people's affairs," said peter; "just fight away as best you can;" and with that he walked off and left them.
a little further on the way he met an old woman.
"good morning, young man," said she; "you are early astir.
what have you got in your basket?"
"cinders," said peter promptly, and walked on, adding to himself, "take that for being so inquisitive."
"very well, cinders be it," the old woman called after him, but he pretended not to hear her.
very soon he reached the palace, and was at once brought before the king.
when he took the cover off the basket, the king and all his courtiers said with one voice that these were the finest pearls they had ever seen, and they could not take their eyes off them.
but then a strange thing happened: the pearls began to lose their whiteness and grew quite dim in colour; then they grew blacker and blacker till at last they were just like so many cinders.
peter was so amazed that he could say nothing for himself, but the king said quite enough for both, and peter was glad to get away home again as fast as his legs would carry him.
to his father and brothers, however, he gave no account of his attempt, except that it had been a failure.
next day paul set out to try his luck.
he soon came upon the king of the ants and the king of the beetles, who with their armies had encamped on the field of battle all night, and were ready to begin the fight again.
"come and help me," said the king of the ants; "we got the worst of it yesterday.
i may help you some day in return.'"
i do n't care though you get the worst of it to-day too," said paul."
i have more important business on hand than mixing myself up in your quarrels."
so he walked on, and presently the same old woman met him.
"good morning," said she; "what have you got in your basket?"
"cinders," said paul, who was quite as insolent as his brother, and quite as anxious to teach other people good manners.
"very well, cinders be it," the old woman shouted after him, but paul neither looked back nor answered her.
he thought more of what she said, however, after his pearls also turned to cinders before the eyes of king and court: then he lost no time in getting home again, and was very sulky when asked how he had succeeded.
the third day came, and with it came jesper's turn to try his fortune.
he got up and had his breakfast, while peter and paul lay in bed and made rude remarks, telling him that he would come back quicker than he went, for if they had failed it could not be supposed that he would succeed.
jesper made no reply, but put his pearls in the little basket and walked off.
the king of the ants and the king of the beetles were again marshalling their hosts, but the ants were greatly reduced in numbers, and had little hope of holding out that day.
"come and help us," said their king to jesper, "or we shall be completely defeated.
i may help you some day in return."
now jesper had always heard the ants spoken of as clever and industrious little creatures, while he never heard anyone say a good word for the beetles, so he agreed to give the wished-for help.
at the first charge he made, the ranks of the beetles broke and fled in dismay, and those escaped best that were nearest a hole, and could get into it before jesper's boots came down upon them.
in a few minutes the ants had the field all to themselves; and their king made quite an eloquent speech to jesper, thanking him for the service he had done them, and promising to assist him in any difficulty.
"just call on me when you want me," he said, "where-ever you are.
i'm never far away from anywhere, and if i can possibly help you, i shall not fail to do it."
jesper was inclined to laugh at this, but he kept a grave face, said he would remember the offer, and walked on.
at a turn of the road he suddenly came upon the old woman.
"good morning," said she; "what have you got in your basket?"
"pearls," said jesper; "i'm going to the palace to win the princess with them."
and in case she might not believe him, he lifted the cover and let her see them.
"beautiful," said the old woman; "very beautiful indeed; but they will go a very little way towards winning the princess, unless you can also perform the tasks that are set you.
however," she said," i see you have brought something with you to eat.
wo n't you give that to me: you are sure to get a good dinner at the palace."
"yes, of course," said jesper," i had n't thought of that"; and he handed over the whole of his lunch to the old woman.
he had already taken a few steps on the way again, when the old woman called him back.
"here," she said; "take this whistle in return for your lunch.
it is n't much to look at, but if you blow it, anything that you have lost or that has been taken from you will find its way back to you in a moment."
jesper thanked her for the whistle, though he did not see of what use it was to be to him just then, and held on his way to the palace.
when jesper presented his pearls to the king there were exclamations of wonder and delight from everyone who saw them.
it was not pleasant, however, to discover that jesper was a mere fisher-lad; that was n't the kind of son-in-law that the king had expected, and he said so to the queen.
"never mind," said she, "you can easily set him such tasks as he will never be able to perform: we shall soon get rid of him."
"yes, of course," said the king; "really i forget things nowadays, with all the bustle we have had of late."
that day jesper dined with the king and queen and their nobles, and at night was put into a bedroom grander than anything of the kind he had ever seen.
it was all so new to him that he could not sleep a wink, especially as he was always wondering what kind of tasks would be set him to do, and whether he would be able to perform them.
in spite of the softness of the bed, he was very glad when morning came at last.
after breakfast was over, the king said to jesper, "just come with me, and i'll show you what you must do first."
he led him out to the barn, and there in the middle of the floor was a large pile of grain.
"here," said the king, "you have a mixed heap of wheat, barley, oats, and rye, a sackful of each.
by an hour before sunset you must have these sorted out into four heaps, and if a single grain is found to be in a wrong heap you have no further chance of marrying my daughter.
i shall lock the door, so that no one can get in to assist you, and i shall return at the appointed time to see how you have succeeded."
the king walked off, and jesper looked in despair at the task before him.
then he sat down and tried what he could do at it, but it was soon very clear that single-handed he could never hope to accomplish it in the time.
assistance was out of the question -- unless, he suddenly thought -- unless the king of the ants could help.
on him he began to call, and before many minutes had passed that royal personage made his appearance.
jesper explained the trouble he was in.
"is that all?"
said the ant; "we shall soon put that to rights."
he gave the royal signal, and in a minute or two a stream of ants came pouring into the barn, who under the king's orders set to work to separate the grain into the proper heaps.
jesper watched them for a while, but through the continual movement of the little creatures, and his not having slept during the previous night, he soon fell sound asleep.
when he woke again, the king had just come into the barn, and was amazed to find that not only was the task accomplished, but that jesper had found time to take a nap as well.
"wonderful," said he;" i could n't have believed it possible.
however, the hardest is yet to come, as you will see to-morrow."
jesper thought so too when the next day's task was set before him.
the king's gamekeepers had caught a hundred live hares, which were to be let loose in a large meadow, and there jesper must herd them all day, and bring them safely home in the evening: if even one were missing, he must give up all thought of marrying the princess.
before he had quite grasped the fact that this was an impossible task, the keepers had opened the sacks in which the hares were brought to the field, and, with a whisk of the short tail and a flap of the long ears, each one of the hundred flew in a different direction.
"now," said the king, "as he walked away, "let's see what your cleverness can do here."
jesper stared round him in bewilderment, and having nothing better to do with his hands, thrust them into his pockets, as he was in the habit of doing.
here he found something which turned out to be the whistle given to him by the old woman.
he remembered what she had said about the virtues of the whistle, but was rather doubtful whether its powers would extend to a hundred hares, each of which had gone in a different direction and might be several miles distant by this time.
however, he blew the whistle, and in a few minutes the hares came bounding through the hedge on all the four sides of the field, and before long were all sitting round him in a circle.
after that, jesper allowed them to run about as they pleased, so long as they stayed in the field.
the king had told one of the keepers to hang about for a little and see what became of jesper, not doubting, however, that as soon as he saw the coast clear he would use his legs to the best advantage, and never show face at the palace again.
it was therefore with great surprise and annoyance that he now learned of the mysterious return of the hares and the likelihood of jesper carrying out his task with success.
"one of them must be got out of his hands by hook or crook," said he.
"i'll go and see the queen about it; she's good at devising plans."
a little later, a girl in a shabby dress came into the field and walked up to jesper.
"do give me one of those hares," she said; "we have just got visitors who are going to stay to dinner, and there's nothing we can give them to eat.'"
i ca n't," said jesper.
"for one thing, they're not mine; for another, a great deal depends on my having them all here in the evening."
but the girl -lrb- and she was a very pretty girl, though so shabbily dressed -rrb- begged so hard for one of them that at last he said: "very well; give me a kiss and you shall have one of them."
he could see that she did n't quite care for this, but she consented to the bargain, and gave him the kiss, and went away with a hare in her apron.
scarcely had she got outside the field, however, when jesper blew his whistle, and immediately the hare wriggled out of its prison like an eel, and went back to its master at the top of its speed.
not long after this the hare-herd had another visit.
this time it was a stout old woman in the dress of a peasant, who also was after a hare to provide a dinner for unexpected visitors.
jesper again refused, but the old lady was so pressing, and would take no refusal, that at last he said: "very well, you shall have a hare, and pay nothing for it either, if you will only walk round me on tiptoe, look up to the sky, and cackle like a hen."
"fie," said she; "what a ridiculous thing to ask anyone to do; just think what the neighbours would say if they saw me.
they would think i had taken leave of my senses."
"just as you like," said jesper; "you know best whether you want the hare or not."
there was no help for it, and a pretty figure the old lady made in carrying out her task; the cackling was n't very well done, but jesper said it would do, and gave her the hare.
as soon as she had left the field, the whistle was sounded again, and back came long-legs-and-ears at a marvellous speed.
the next to appear on the same errand was a fat old fellow in the dress of a groom: it was the royal livery he wore, and he plainly thought a good deal of himself.
"young man," said he," i want one of those hares; name your price, but i must have one of them."
"all right," said jesper; "you can have one at an easy rate.
just stand on your head, whack your heels together, and cry "hurrah," and the hare is yours."
"eh, what!"
said the old fellow; "me stand on my head, what an idea!"
"oh, very well," said jesper, "you need n't unless you like, you know; but then you wo n't get the hare."
it went very much against the grain, one could see, but after some efforts the old fellow had his head on the grass and his heels in the air; the whacking and the "hurrah" were rather feeble, but jesper was not very exacting, and the hare was handed over.
of course, it was n't long in coming back again, like the others.
evening came, and home came jesper with the hundred hares behind him.
great was the wonder over all the palace, and the king and queen seemed very much put out, but it was noticed that the princess actually smiled to jesper.
"well, well," said the king; "you have done that very well indeed.
if you are as successful with a little task which i shall give you to-morrow we shall consider the matter settled, and you shall marry the princess."
next day it was announced that the task would be performed in the great hall of the palace, and everyone was invited to come and witness it.
the king and queen sat on their thrones, with the princess beside them, and the lords and ladies were all round the hall.
at a sign from the king, two servants carried in a large empty tub, which they set down in the open space before the throne, and jesper was told to stand beside it.
"now," said the king, "you must tell us as many undoubted truths as will fill that tub, or you ca n't have the princess."
"but how are we to know when the tub is full?"
said jesper.
"do n't you trouble about that," said the king; "that's my part of the business."
this seemed to everybody present rather unfair, but no one liked to be the first to say so, and jesper had to put the best face he could on the matter, and begin his story.
"yesterday," he said, "when i was herding the hares, there came to me a girl, in a shabby dress, and begged me to give her one of them.
she got the hare, but she had to give me a kiss for it; and that girl was the princess.
is n't that true?"
said he, looking at her.
the princess blushed and looked very uncomfortable, but had to admit that it was true.
"that has n't filled much of the tub," said the king.
"go on again."
"after that," said jesper," a stout old woman, in a peasant's dress, came and begged for a hare.
before she got it, she had to walk round me on tiptoe, turn up her eyes, and cackle like a hen; and that old woman was the queen.
is n't that true, now?"
the queen turned very red and hot, but could n't deny it.
"h-m," said the king; "that is something, but the tub is n't full yet."
to the queen he whispered," i did n't think you would be such a fool."
"what did you do?"
she whispered in return.
"do you suppose i would do anything for him?"
said the king, and then hurriedly ordered jesper to go on.
"in the next place," said jesper, "there came a fat old fellow on the same errand.
he was very proud and dignified, but in order to get the hare he actually stood on his head, whacked his heels together, and cried "hurrah"; and that old fellow was the --" "stop, stop," shouted the king; "you need n't say another word; the tub is full."
then all the court applauded, and the king and queen accepted jesper as their son-in-law, and the princess was very well pleased, for by this time she had quite fallen in love with him, because he was so handsome and so clever.
when the old king got time to think over it, he was quite convinced that his kingdom would be safe in jesper's hands if he looked after the people as well as he herded the hares.
-lrb- scandinavian. -rrb-
the underground workers on a bitter night somewhere between christmas and the new year, a man set out to walk to the neighbouring village.
it was not many miles off, but the snow was so thick that there were no roads, or walls, or hedges left to guide him, and very soon he lost his way altogether, and was glad to get shelter from the wind behind a thick juniper tree.
here he resolved to spend the night, thinking that when the sun rose he would be able to see his path again.
so he tucked his legs snugly under him like a hedgehog, rolled himself up in his sheepskin, and went to sleep.
how long he slept, i can not tell you, but after awhile he became aware that some one was gently shaking him, while a stranger whispered, "my good man, get up!
if you lie there any more, you will be buried in the snow, and no one will ever know what became of you."
the sleeper slowly raised his head from his furs, and opened his heavy eyes.
near him stood a long thin man, holding in his hand a young fir tree taller than himself.
"come with me," said the man," a little way off we have made a large fire, and you will rest far better there than out upon this moor."
the sleeper did not wait to be asked twice, but rose at once and followed the stranger.
the snow was falling so fast that he could not see three steps in front of him, till the stranger waved his staff, when the drifts parted before them.
very soon they reached a wood, and saw the friendly glow of a fire.
"what is your name?"
asked the stranger, suddenly turning round."
i am called hans, the son of long hans," said the peasant.
in front of the fire three men were sitting clothed in white, just as if it was summer, and for about thirty feet all round winter had been banished.
the moss was dry and the plants green, while the grass seemed all alive with the hum of bees and cockchafers.
but above the noise the son of long hans could hear the whistling of the wind and the crackling of the branches as they fell beneath the weight of the snow.
"well!
you son of long hans, is n't this more comfortable than your juniper bush?"
laughed the stranger, and for answer hans replied he could not thank his friend enough for having brought him here, and, throwing off his sheepskin, rolled it up as a pillow.
then, after a hot drink which warmed both their hearts, they lay down on the ground.
the stranger talked for a little to the other men in a language hans did not understand, and after listening for a short time he once more fell asleep.
when he awoke, neither wood nor fire was to be seen, and he did not know where he was.
he rubbed his eyes, and began to recall the events of the night, thinking he must have been dreaming; but for all that, he could not make out how he came to be in this place.
suddenly a loud noise struck on his ear, and he felt the earth tremble beneath his feet.
hans listened for a moment, then resolved to go towards the place where the sound came from, hoping he might come across some human being.
he found himself at length at the mouth of a rocky cave in which a fire seemed burning.
he entered, and saw a huge forge, and a crowd of men in front of it, blowing bellows and wielding hammers, and to each anvil were seven men, and a set of more comical smiths could not be found if you searched all the world through!
their heads were bigger than their little bodies, and their hammers twice the size of themselves, but the strongest men on earth could not have handled their iron clubs more stoutly or given lustier blows.
the little blacksmiths were clad in leather aprons, which covered them from their necks to their feet in front, and left their backs naked.
on a high stool against the wall sat the man with the pinewood staff, watching sharply the way the little fellows did their work, and near him stood a large can, from which every now and then the workers would come and take a drink.
the master no longer wore the white garments of the day before, but a black jerkin, held in its place by a leathern girdle with huge clasps.
from time to time he would give his workmen a sign with his staff, for it was useless to speak amid such a noise.
if any of them had noticed that there was a stranger present they took no heed of him, but went on with what they were doing.
after some hours" hard labour came the time for rest, and they all flung their hammers to the ground and trooped out of the cave.
then the master got down from his seat and said to hans: "i saw you come in, but the work was pressing, and i could not stop to speak to you.
to-day you must be my guest, and i will show you something of the way in which i live.
wait here for a moment, while i lay aside these dirty clothes."
with these words he unlocked a door in the cave, and bade hans pass in before him.
oh, what riches and treasures met hans" astonished eyes!
gold and silver bars lay piled on the floor, and glittered so that you could not look at them!
hans thought he would count them for fun, and had already reached the five hundred and seventieth when his host returned and cried, laughing: "do not try to count them, it would take too long; choose some of the bars from the heap, as i should like to make you a present of them."
hans did not wait to be asked twice, and stooped to pick up a bar of gold, but though he put forth all his strength he could not even move it with both hands, still less lift it off the ground.
"why, you have no more power than a flea," laughed the host; "you will have to content yourself with feasting your eyes upon them!"
so he bade hans follow him through other rooms, till they entered one bigger than a church, filled, like the rest, with gold and silver.
hans wondered to see these vast riches, which might have bought all the kingdoms of the world, and lay buried, useless, he thought, to anyone.
"what is the reason," he asked of his guide, "that you gather up these treasures here, where they can do good to nobody?
if they fell into the hands of men, everyone would be rich, and none need work or suffer hunger."
"and it is exactly for that reason," answered he, "that i must keep these riches out of their way.
the whole world would sink to idleness if men were not forced to earn their daily bread.
it is only through work and care that man can ever hope to be good for anything."
hans stared at these words, and at last he begged that his host would tell him what use it was to anybody that this gold and silver should lie mouldering there, and the owner of it be continually trying to increase his treasure, which already overflowed his store rooms."
i am not really a man," replied his guide, "though i have the outward form of one, but one of those beings to whom is given the care of the world.
it is my task and that of my workmen to prepare under the earth the gold and silver, a small portion of which finds its way every year to the upper world, but only just enough to help them carry on their business.
to none comes wealth without trouble: we must first dig out the gold and mix the grains with earth, clay, and sand.
then, after long and hard seeking, it will be found in this state, by those who have good luck or much patience.
but, my friend, the hour of dinner is at hand.
if you wish to remain in this place, and feast your eyes on this gold, then stay till i call you."
in his absence hans wandered from one treasure chamber to another, sometimes trying to break off a little lump of gold, but never able to do it.
after awhile his host came back, but so changed that hans could not believe it was really he.
his silken clothes were of the brightest flame colour, richly trimmed with gold fringes and lace; a golden girdle was round his waist, while his head was encircled with a crown of gold, and precious stones twinkled about him like stars in a winter's night, and in place of his wooden stick he held a finely worked golden staff.
the lord of all this treasure locked the doors and put the keys in his pocket, then led hans into another room, where dinner was laid for them.
table and seats were all of silver, while the dishes and plates were of solid gold.
directly they sat down, a dozen little servants appeared to wait on them, which they did so cleverly and so quickly that hans could hardly believe they had no wings.
as they did not reach as high as the table, they were often obliged to jump and hop right on to the top to get at the dishes.
everything was new to hans, and though he was rather bewildered he enjoyed himself very much, especially when the man with the golden crown began to tell him many things he had never heard of before.
"between christmas and the new year," said he," i often amuse myself by wandering about the earth watching the doings of men and learning something about them.
but as far as i have seen and heard i can not speak well of them.
the greater part of them are always quarrelling and complaining of each other's faults, while nobody thinks of his own."
hans tried to deny the truth of these words, but he could not do it, and sat silent, hardly listening to what his friend was saying.
then he went to sleep in his chair, and knew nothing of what was happening.
wonderful dreams came to him during his sleep, where the bars of gold continually hovered before his eyes.
he felt stronger than he had ever felt during his waking moments, and lifted two bars quite easily on to his back.
he did this so often that at length his strength seemed exhausted, and he sank almost breathless on the ground.
then he heard the sound of cheerful voices, and the song of the blacksmiths as they blew their bellows -- he even felt as if he saw the sparks flashing before his eyes.
stretching himself, he awoke slowly, and here he was in the green forest, and instead of the glow of the fire in the underworld the sun was streaming on him, and he sat up wondering why he felt so strange.
at length his memory came back to him, and as he called to mind all the wonderful things he had seen he tried in vain to make them agree with those that happen every day.
after thinking it over till he was nearly mad, he tried at last to believe that one night between christmas and the new year he had met a stranger in the forest, and had slept all night in his company before a big fire; the next day they had dined together, and had drunk a great deal more than was good for them -- in short, he had spent two whole days revelling with another man.
but here, with the full tide of summer around him, he could hardly accept his own explanation, and felt that he must have been the plaything or sport of some magician.
near him, in the full sunlight, were the traces of a dead fire, and when he drew close to it he saw that what he had taken for ashes was really fine silver dust, and that the half burnt firewood was made of gold.
oh, how lucky hans thought himself; but where should he get a sack to carry his treasure home before anyone else found it?
but necessity is the mother of invention: hans threw off his fur coat, gathered up the silver ashes so carefully in it that none remained behind, laid the gold sticks on top, and tied up the bag thus made with his girdle, so that nothing should fall out.
the load was not, in point of fact, very heavy, although it seemed so to his imagination, and he moved slowly along till he found a safe hiding-place for it.
in this way hans suddenly became rich -- rich enough to buy a property of his own.
but being a prudent man, he finally decided that it would be best for him to leave his old neighbourhood and look for a home in a distant part of the country, where nobody knew anything about him.
it did not take him long to find what he wanted, and after he had paid for it there was plenty of money left over.
when he was settled, he married a pretty girl who lived near by, and had some children, to whom on his death-bed he told the story of the lord of the underworld, and how he had made hans rich.
-lrb- ehstnische marchen. -rrb-
the history of dwarf long nose it is a great mistake to think that fairies, witches, magicians, and such people lived only in eastern countries and in such times as those of the caliph haroun al-raschid.
fairies and their like belong to every country and every age, and no doubt we should see plenty of them now -- if we only knew how.
in a large town in germany there lived, some couple of hundred years ago, a cobbler and his wife.
they were poor and hard-working.
the man sat all day in a little stall at the street corner and mended any shoes that were brought him.
his wife sold the fruit and vegetables they grew in their garden in the market place, and as she was always neat and clean and her goods were temptingly spread out she had plenty of customers.
the couple had one boy called jem.
a handsome, pleasant-faced boy of twelve, and tall for his age.
he used to sit by his mother in the market and would carry home what people bought from her, for which they often gave him a pretty flower, or a slice of cake, or even some small coin.
one day jem and his mother sat as usual in the market place with plenty of nice herbs and vegetables spread out on the board, and in some smaller baskets early pears, apples, and apricots.
jem cried his wares at the top of his voice: "this way, gentlemen!
see these lovely cabbages and these fresh herbs!
early apples, ladies; early pears and apricots, and all cheap.
come, buy, buy!"
as he cried an old woman came across the market place.
she looked very torn and ragged, and had a small sharp face, all wrinkled, with red eyes, and a thin hooked nose which nearly met her chin.
she leant on a tall stick and limped and shuffled and stumbled along as if she were going to fall on her nose at any moment.
in this fashion she came along till she got to the stall where jem and his mother were, and there she stopped.
"are you hannah the herb seller?"
she asked in a croaky voice as her head shook to and fro.
"yes, i am," was the answer.
"can i serve you?"
"we'll see; we'll see!
let me look at those herbs.
i wonder if you've got what i want," said the old woman as she thrust a pair of hideous brown hands into the herb basket, and began turning over all the neatly packed herbs with her skinny fingers, often holding them up to her nose and sniffing at them.
the cobbler's wife felt much disgusted at seeing her wares treated like this, but she dared not speak.
when the old hag had turned over the whole basket she muttered, "bad stuff, bad stuff; much better fifty years ago -- all bad."
this made jem very angry "you are a very rude old woman," he cried out.
"first you mess all our nice herbs about with your horrid brown fingers and sniff at them with your long nose till no one else will care to buy them, and then you say it's all bad stuff, though the duke's cook himself buys all his herbs from us."
the old woman looked sharply at the saucy boy, laughed unpleasantly, and said: "so you do n't like my long nose, sonny?
well, you shall have one yourself, right down to your chin."
as she spoke she shuffled towards the hamper of cabbages, took up one after another, squeezed them hard, and threw them back, muttering again, "bad stuff, bad stuff."
"do n't waggle your head in that horrid way," begged jem anxiously.
"your neck is as thin as a cabbage-stalk, and it might easily break and your head fall into the basket, and then who would buy anything?"
"do n't you like thin necks?"
laughed the old woman.
"then you sha'n' t have any, but a head stuck close between your shoulders so that it may be quite sure not to fall off."
"do n't talk such nonsense to the child," said the mother at last.
"if you wish to buy, please make haste, as you are keeping other customers away."
"very well, i will do as you ask," said the old woman, with an angry look."
i will buy these six cabbages, but, as you see, i can only walk with my stick and can carry nothing.
let your boy carry them home for me and i'll pay him for his trouble."
the little fellow did n't like this, and began to cry, for he was afraid of the old woman, but his mother ordered him to go, for she thought it wrong not to help such a weakly old creature; so, still crying, he gathered the cabbages into a basket and followed the old woman across the market place.
it took her more than half an hour to get to a distant part of the little town, but at last she stopped in front of a small tumble-down house.
she drew a rusty old hook from her pocket and stuck it into a little hole in the door, which suddenly flew open.
how surprised jem was when they went in!
the house was splendidly furnished, the walls and ceiling of marble, the furniture of ebony inlaid with gold and precious stones, the floor of such smooth slippery glass that the little fellow tumbled down more than once.
the old woman took out a silver whistle and blew it till the sound rang through the house.
immediately a lot of guinea pigs came running down the stairs, but jem thought it rather odd that they all walked on their hind legs, wore nutshells for shoes, and men's clothes, whilst even their hats were put on in the newest fashion.
"where are my slippers, lazy crew?"
cried the old woman, and hit about with her stick.
"how long am i to stand waiting here?"
they rushed upstairs again and returned with a pair of cocoa nuts lined with leather, which she put on her feet.
now all limping and shuffling was at an end.
she threw away her stick and walked briskly across the glass floor, drawing little jem after her.
at last she paused in a room which looked almost like a kitchen, it was so full of pots and pans, but the tables were of mahogany and the sofas and chairs covered with the richest stuffs.
"sit down," said the old woman pleasantly, and she pushed jem into a corner of a sofa and put a table close in front of him.
"sit down, you've had a long walk and a heavy load to carry, and i must give you something for your trouble.
wait a bit, and i'll give you some nice soup, which you'll remember as long as you live."
so saying, she whistled again.
first came in guinea pigs in men's clothing.
they had tied on large kitchen aprons, and in their belts were stuck carving knives and sauce ladles and such things.
after them hopped in a number of squirrels.
they too walked on their hind legs, wore full turkish trousers, and little green velvet caps on their heads.
they seemed to be the scullions, for they clambered up the walls and brought down pots and pans, eggs, flour, butter, and herbs, which they carried to the stove.
here the old woman was bustling about, and jem could see that she was cooking something very special for him.
at last the broth began to bubble and boil, and she drew off the saucepan and poured its contents into a silver bowl, which she set before jem.
"there, my boy," said she, "eat this soup and then you'll have everything which pleased you so much about me.
and you shall be a clever cook too, but the real herb -- no, the real herb you'll never find.
why had your mother not got it in her basket?"
the child could not think what she was talking about, but he quite understood the soup, which tasted most delicious.
his mother had often given him nice things, but nothing had ever seemed so good as this.
the smell of the herbs and spices rose from the bowl, and the soup tasted both sweet and sharp at the same time, and was very strong.
as he was finishing it the guinea pigs lit some arabian incense, which gradually filled the room with clouds of blue vapour.
they grew thicker and thicker and the scent nearly overpowered the boy.
he reminded himself that he must get back to his mother, but whenever he tried to rouse himself to go he sank back again drowsily, and at last he fell sound asleep in the corner of the sofa.
strange dreams came to him.
he thought the old woman took off all his clothes and wrapped him up in a squirrel skin, and that he went about with the other squirrels and guinea pigs, who were all very pleasant and well mannered, and waited on the old woman.
first he learned to clean her cocoa-nut shoes with oil and to rub them up.
then he learnt to catch the little sun moths and rub them through the finest sieves, and the flour from them he made into soft bread for the toothless old woman.
in this way he passed from one kind of service to another, spending a year in each, till in the fourth year he was promoted to the kitchen.
here he worked his way up from under-scullion to head-pastrycook, and reached the greatest perfection.
he could make all the most difficult dishes, and two hundred different kinds of patties, soup flavoured with every sort of herb -- he had learnt it all, and learnt it well and quickly.
when he had lived seven years with the old woman she ordered him one day, as she was going out, to kill and pluck a chicken, stuff it with herbs, and have it very nicely roasted by the time she got back.
he did this quite according to rule.
he wrung the chicken's neck, plunged it into boiling water, carefully plucked out all the feathers, and rubbed the skin nice and smooth.
then he went to fetch the herbs to stuff it with.
in the store-room he noticed a half-opened cupboard which he did not remember having seen before.
he peeped in and saw a lot of baskets from which came a strong and pleasant smell.
he opened one and found a very uncommon herb in it.
the stems and leaves were a bluish green, and above them was a little flower of a deep bright red, edged with yellow.
he gazed at the flower, smelt it, and found it gave the same strong strange perfume which came from the soup the old woman had made him.
but the smell was so sharp that he began to sneeze again and again, and at last -- he woke up!
there he lay on the old woman's sofa and stared about him in surprise.
"well, what odd dreams one does have to be sure!"
he said to himself.
"why, i could have sworn i had been a squirrel, a companion of guinea pigs and such creatures, and had become a great cook, too.
how mother will laugh when i tell her!
but wo n't she scold me, though, for sleeping away here in a strange house, instead of helping her at market!"
he jumped up and prepared to go: all his limbs still seemed quite stiff with his long sleep, especially his neck, for he could not move his head easily, and he laughed at his own stupidity at being still so drowsy that he kept knocking his nose against the wall or cupboards.
the squirrels and guinea pigs ran whimpering after him, as though they would like to go too, and he begged them to come when he reached the door, but they all turned and ran quickly back into the house again.
the part of the town was out of the way, and jem did not know the many narrow streets in it and was puzzled by their windings and by the crowd of people, who seemed excited about some show.
from what he heard, he fancied they were going to see a dwarf, for he heard them call out: "just look at the ugly dwarf!"
"what a long nose he has, and see how his head is stuck in between his shoulders, and only look at his ugly brown hands!"
if he had not been in such a hurry to get back to his mother, he would have gone too, for he loved shows with giants and dwarfs and the like.
he was quite puzzled when he reached the market-place.
there sat his mother, with a good deal of fruit still in her baskets, so he felt he could not have slept so very long, but it struck him that she was sad, for she did not call to the passers-by, but sat with her head resting on her hand, and as he came nearer he thought she looked paler than usual.
he hesitated what to do, but at last he slipped behind her, laid a hand on her arm, and said: "mammy, what's the matter?
are you angry with me?"
she turned round quickly and jumped up with a cry of horror.
"what do you want, you hideous dwarf?"
she cried; "get away; i ca n't bear such tricks."
"but, mother dear, what's the matter with you?"
repeated jem, quite frightened.
"you ca n't be well.
why do you want to drive your son away?'"
i have said already, get away," replied hannah, quite angrily.
"you wo n't get anything out of me by your games, you monstrosity."
"oh dear, oh dear!
she must be wandering in her mind," murmured the lad to himself.
"how can i manage to get her home?
dearest mother, do look at me close.
ca n't you see i am your own son jem?"
"well, did you ever hear such impudence?"
asked hannah, turning to a neighbour.
"just see that frightful dwarf -- would you believe that he wants me to think he is my son jem?"
then all the market women came round and talked all together and scolded as hard as they could, and said what a shame it was to make game of mrs. hannah, who had never got over the loss of her beautiful boy, who had been stolen from her seven years ago, and they threatened to fall upon jem and scratch him well if he did not go away at once.
poor jem did not know what to make of it all.
he was sure he had gone to market with his mother only that morning, had helped to set out the stall, had gone to the old woman's house, where he had some soup and a little nap, and now, when he came back, they were all talking of seven years.
and they called him a horrid dwarf!
why, what had happened to him?
when he found that his mother would really have nothing to do with him he turned away with tears in his eyes, and went sadly down the street towards his father's stall.
"now i'll see whether he will know me," thought he.
"i'll stand by the door and talk to him."
when he got to the stall he stood in the doorway and looked in.
the cobbler was so busy at work that he did not see him for some time, but, happening to look up, he caught sight of his visitor, and letting shoes, thread, and everything fall to the ground, he cried with horror: "good heavens!
what is that?"
"good evening, master," said the boy, as he stepped in.
"how do you do?"
"very ill, little sir, replied the father, to jem's surprise, for he did not seem to know him.
"business does not go well.
i am all alone, and am getting old, and a workman is costly."
"but have n't you a son who could learn your trade by degrees?"
asked jem."
i had one: he was called jem, and would have been a tall sturdy lad of twenty by this time, and able to help me well.
why, when he was only twelve he was quite sharp and quick, and had learnt many little things, and a good-looking boy too, and pleasant, so that customers were taken by him.
well, well!
so goes the world!"
"but where is your son?"
asked jem, with a trembling voice.
"heaven only knows!"
replied the man; "seven years ago he was stolen from the market-place, and we have heard no more of him."
"seven years ago!"
cried jem, with horror.
"yes, indeed, seven years ago, though it seems but yesterday that my wife came back howling and crying, and saying the child had not come back all day.
i always thought and said that something of the kind would happen.
jem was a beautiful boy, and everyone made much of him, and my wife was so proud of him, and liked him to carry the vegetables and things to grand folks" houses, where he was petted and made much of.
but i used to say, "take care -- the town is large, there are plenty of bad people in it -- keep a sharp eye on jem."
and so it happened; for one day an old woman came and bought a lot of things -- more than she could carry; so my wife, being a kindly soul, lent her the boy, and -- we have never seen him since."
"and that was seven years ago, you say?"
"yes, seven years: we had him cried -- we went from house to house.
many knew the pretty boy, and were fond of him, but it was all in vain.
no one seemed to know the old woman who bought the vegetables either; only one old woman, who is ninety years old, said it might have been the fairy herbaline, who came into the town once in every fifty years to buy things."
as his father spoke, things grew clearer to jem's mind, and he saw now that he had not been dreaming, but had really served the old woman seven years in the shape of a squirrel.
as he thought it over rage filled his heart.
seven years of his youth had been stolen from him, and what had he got in return?
to learn to rub up cocoa nuts, and to polish glass floors, and to be taught cooking by guinea pigs!
he stood there thinking, till at last his father asked him: "is there anything i can do for you, young gentleman?
shall i make you a pair of slippers, or perhaps" with a smile --" a case for your nose?"
"what have you to do with my nose?"
asked jem.
"and why should i want a case for it?"
"well, everyone to his taste," replied the cobbler; "but i must say if i had such a nose i would have a nice red leather cover made for it.
here is a nice piece; and think what a protection it would be to you.
as it is, you must be constantly knocking up against things."
the lad was dumb with fright.
he felt his nose.
it was thick, and quite two hands long.
so, then, the old woman had changed his shape, and that was why his own mother did not know him, and called him a horrid dwarf!
"master," said he, "have you got a glass that i could see myself in?"
"young gentleman," was the answer, "your appearance is hardly one to be vain of, and there is no need to waste your time looking in a glass.
besides, i have none here, and if you must have one you had better ask urban the barber, who lives over the way, to lend you his.
good morning."
so saying, he gently pushed jem into the street, shut the door, and went back to his work.
jem stepped across to the barber, whom he had known in old days.
"good morning, urban," said he; "may i look at myself in your glass for a moment?"
"with pleasure," said the barber, laughing, and all the people in his shop fell to laughing also.
"you are a pretty youth, with your swan-like neck and white hands and small nose.
no wonder you are rather vain; but look as long as you like at yourself."
so spoke the barber, and a titter ran round the room.
meantime jem had stepped up to the mirror, and stood gazing sadly at his reflection.
tears came to his eyes.
"no wonder you did not know your child again, dear mother," thought he; "he was n't like this when you were so proud of his looks."
his eyes had grown quite small, like pigs" eyes, his nose was huge and hung down over his mouth and chin, his throat seemed to have disappeared altogether, and his head was fixed stiffly between his shoulders.
he was no taller than he had been seven years ago, when he was not much more than twelve years old, but he made up in breadth, and his back and chest had grown into lumps like two great sacks.
his legs were small and spindly, but his arms were as large as those of a well-grown man, with large brown hands, and long skinny fingers.
then he remembered the morning when he had first seen the old woman, and her threats to him, and without saying a word he left the barber's shop.
he determined to go again to his mother, and found her still in the market-place.
he begged her to listen quietly to him, and he reminded her of the day when he went away with the old woman, and of many things in his childhood, and told her how the fairy had bewitched him, and he had served her seven years.
hannah did not know what to think -- the story was so strange; and it seemed impossible to think her pretty boy and this hideous dwarf were the same.
at last she decided to go and talk to her husband about it.
she gathered up her baskets, told jem to follow her, and went straight to the cobbler's stall.
"look here," said she, "this creature says he is our lost son.
he has been telling me how he was stolen seven years ago, and bewitched by a fairy."
"indeed!"
interrupted the cobbler angrily.
"did he tell you this?
wait a minute, you rascal!
why i told him all about it myself only an hour ago, and then he goes off to humbug you.
so you were bewitched, my son were you?
wait a bit, and i'll bewitch you!"
so saying, he caught up a bundle of straps, and hit out at jem so hard that he ran off crying.
the poor little dwarf roamed about all the rest of the day without food or drink, and at night was glad to lie down and sleep on the steps of a church.
he woke next morning with the first rays of light, and began to think what he could do to earn a living.
suddenly he remembered that he was an excellent cook, and he determined to look out for a place.
as soon as it was quite daylight he set out for the palace, for he knew that the grand duke who reigned over the country was fond of good things.
when he reached the palace all the servants crowded about him, and made fun of him, and at last their shouts and laughter grew so loud that the head steward rushed out, crying, "for goodness sake, be quiet, ca n't you.
do n't you know his highness is still asleep?"
some of the servants ran off at once, and others pointed out jem.
indeed, the steward found it hard to keep himself from laughing at the comic sight, but he ordered the servants off and led the dwarf into his own room.
when he heard him ask for a place as cook, he said: "you make some mistake, my lad.
i think you want to be the grand duke's dwarf, do n't you?"
"no, sir," replied jem."
i am an experienced cook, and if you will kindly take me to the head cook he may find me of some use."
"well, as you will; but believe me, you would have an easier place as the grand ducal dwarf."
so saying, the head steward led him to the head cook's room.
"sir," asked jem, as he bowed till his nose nearly touched the floor, "do you want an experienced cook?"
the head cook looked him over from head to foot, and burst out laughing.
"you a cook!
do you suppose our cooking stoves are so low that you can look into any saucepan on them?
oh, my dear little fellow, whoever sent you to me wanted to make fun of you."
but the dwarf was not to be put off.
"what matters an extra egg or two, or a little butter or flour and spice more or less, in such a house as this?"
said he.
"name any dish you wish to have cooked, and give me the materials i ask for, and you shall see."
he said much more, and at last persuaded the head cook to give him a trial.
they went into the kitchen -- a huge place with at least twenty fireplaces, always alight.
a little stream of clear water ran through the room, and live fish were kept at one end of it.
everything in the kitchen was of the best and most beautiful kind, and swarms of cooks and scullions were busy preparing dishes.
when the head cook came in with jem everyone stood quite still.
"what has his highness ordered for luncheon?"
asked the head cook.
"sir, his highness has graciously ordered a danish soup and red hamburg dumplings."
"good," said the head cook.
"have you heard, and do you feel equal to making these dishes?
not that you will be able to make the dumplings, for they are a secret receipt."
"is that all!"
said jem, who had often made both dishes.
"nothing easier.
let me have some eggs, a piece of wild boar, and such and such roots and herbs for the soup; and as for the dumplings," he added in a low voice to the head cook," i shall want four different kinds of meat, some wine, a duck's marrow, some ginger, and a herb called heal-well."
"why," cried the astonished cook, "where did you learn cooking?
yes, those are the exact materials, but we never used the herb heal-well, which, i am sure, must be an improvement."
and now jem was allowed to try his hand.
he could not nearly reach up to the kitchen range, but by putting a wide plank on two chairs he managed very well.
all the cooks stood round to look on, and could not help admiring the quick, clever way in which he set to work.
at last, when all was ready, jem ordered the two dishes to be put on the fire till he gave the word.
then he began to count: "one, two, three," till he got to five hundred when he cried, "now!"
the saucepans were taken off, and he invited the head cook to taste.
the first cook took a golden spoon, washed and wiped it, and handed it to the head cook, who solemnly approached, tasted the dishes, and smacked his lips over them.
"first rate, indeed!"
he exclaimed.
"you certainly are a master of the art, little fellow, and the herb heal-well gives a particular relish."
as he was speaking, the duke's valet came to say that his highness was ready for luncheon, and it was served at once in silver dishes.
the head cook took jem to his own room, but had hardly had time to question him before he was ordered to go at once to the grand duke.
he hurried on his best clothes and followed the messenger.
the grand duke was looking much pleased.
he had emptied the dishes, and was wiping his mouth as the head cook came in.
"who cooked my luncheon to-day?"
asked he."
i must say your dumplings are always very good; but i do n't think i ever tasted anything so delicious as they were to-day.
who made them?"
"it is a strange story, your highness," said the cook, and told him the whole matter, which surprised the duke so much that he sent for the dwarf and asked him many questions.
of course, jem could not say he had been turned into a squirrel, but he said he was without parents and had been taught cooking by an old woman.
"if you will stay with me," said the grand duke, "you shall have fifty ducats a year, besides a new coat and a couple of pairs of trousers.
you must undertake to cook my luncheon yourself and to direct what i shall have for dinner, and you shall be called assistant head cook."
jem bowed to the ground, and promised to obey his new master in all things.
he lost no time in setting to work, and everyone rejoiced at having him in the kitchen, for the duke was not a patient man, and had been known to throw plates and dishes at his cooks and servants if the things served were not quite to his taste.
now all was changed.
he never even grumbled at anything, had five meals instead of three, thought everything delicious, and grew fatter daily.
and so jem lived on for two years, much respected and considered, and only saddened when he thought of his parents.
one day passed much like another till the following incident happened.
dwarf long nose -- as he was always called -- made a practice of doing his marketing as much as possible himself, and whenever time allowed went to the market to buy his poultry and fruit.
one morning he was in the goose market, looking for some nice fat geese.
no one thought of laughing at his appearance now; he was known as the duke's special body cook, and every goose-woman felt honoured if his nose turned her way.
he noticed one woman sitting apart with a number of geese, but not crying or praising them like the rest.
he went up to her, felt and weighed her geese, and, finding them very good, bought three and the cage to put them in, hoisted them on his broad shoulders, and set off on his way back.
as he went, it struck him that two of the geese were gobbling and screaming as geese do, but the third sat quite still, only heaving a deep sigh now and then, like a human being.
"that goose is ill," said he;" i must make haste to kill and dress her."
but the goose answered him quite distinctly: "squeeze too tight and i'll bite, if my neck a twist you gave i'd bring you to an early grave."
quite frightened, the dwarf set down the cage, and the goose gazed at him with sad wise-looking eyes and sighed again.
"good gracious!"
said long nose.
"so you can speak, mistress goose.
i never should have thought it!
well, do n't be anxious.
i know better than to hurt so rare a bird.
but i could bet you were not always in this plumage -- was n't i a squirrel myself for a time?"
"you are right," said the goose, "in supposing i was not born in this horrid shape.
ah!
no one ever thought that mimi, the daughter of the great weatherbold, would be killed for the ducal table."
"be quite easy, mistress mimi," comforted jem.
"as sure as i'm an honest man and assistant head cook to his highness, no one shall harm you.
i will make a hutch for you in my own rooms, and you shall be well fed, and i'll come and talk to you as much as i can.
i'll tell all the other cooks that i am fattening up a goose on very special food for the grand duke, and at the first good opportunity i will set you free."
the goose thanked him with tears in her eyes, and the dwarf kept his word.
he killed the other two geese for dinner, but built a little shed for mimi in one of his rooms, under the pretence of fattening her under his own eye.
he spent all his spare time talking to her and comforting her, and fed her on all the daintiest dishes.
they confided their histories to each other, and jem learnt that the goose was the daughter of the wizard weatherbold, who lived on the island of gothland.
he fell out with an old fairy, who got the better of him by cunning and treachery, and to revenge herself turned his daughter into a goose and carried her off to this distant place.
when long nose told her his story she said: "i know a little of these matters, and what you say shows me that you are under a herb enchantment -- that is to say, that if you can find the herb whose smell woke you up the spell would be broken."
this was but small comfort for jem, for how and where was he to find the herb?
about this time the grand duke had a visit from a neighbouring prince, a friend of his.
he sent for long nose and said to him: "now is the time to show what you can really do.
this prince who is staying with me has better dinners than any one except myself, and is a great judge of cooking.
as long as he is here you must take care that my table shall be served in a manner to surprise him constantly.
at the same time, on pain of my displeasure, take care that no dish shall appear twice.
get everything you wish and spare nothing.
if you want to melt down gold and precious stones, do so.
i would rather be a poor man than have to blush before him."
the dwarf bowed and answered: "your highness shall be obeyed.
i will do all in my power to please you and the prince."
from this time the little cook was hardly seen except in the kitchen, where, surrounded by his helpers, he gave orders, baked, stewed, flavoured and dished up all manner of dishes.
the prince had been a fortnight with the grand duke, and enjoyed himself mightily.
they ate five times a day, and the duke had every reason to be content with the dwarf's talents, for he saw how pleased his guest looked.
on the fifteenth day the duke sent for the dwarf and presented him to the prince.
"you are a wonderful cook," said the prince, "and you certainly know what is good.
all the time i have been here you have never repeated a dish, and all were excellent.
but tell me why you have never served the queen of all dishes, a suzeraine pasty?"
the dwarf felt frightened, for he had never heard of this queen of pasties before.
but he did not lose his presence of mind, and replied: "i have waited, hoping that your highness" visit here would last some time, for i proposed to celebrate the last day of your stay with this truly royal dish."
"indeed," laughed the grand duke; "then i suppose you would have waited for the day of my death to treat me to it, for you have never sent it up to me yet.
however, you will have to invent some other farewell dish, for the pasty must be on my table to-morrow."
"as your highness pleases," said the dwarf, and took leave.
but it did not please him at all.
the moment of disgrace seemed at hand, for he had no idea how to make this pasty.
he went to his rooms very sad.
as he sat there lost in thought the goose mimi, who was left free to walk about, came up to him and asked what was the matter?
when she heard she said: "cheer up, my friend.
i know the dish quite well: we often had it at home, and i can guess pretty well how it was made."
then she told him what to put in, adding: "i think that will be all right, and if some trifle is left out perhaps they wo n't find it out."
sure enough, next day a magnificent pasty all wreathed round with flowers was placed on the table.
jem himself put on his best clothes and went into the dining hall.
as he entered the head carver was in the act of cutting up the pie and helping the duke and his guests.
the grand duke took a large mouthful and threw up his eyes as he swallowed it.
"oh!
oh!
this may well be called the queen of pasties, and at the same time my dwarf must be called the king of cooks.
do n't you think so, dear friend?"
the prince took several small pieces, tasted and examined carefully, and then said with a mysterious and sarcastic smile: "the dish is very nicely made, but the suzeraine is not quite complete -- as i expected."
the grand duke flew into a rage.
"dog of a cook," he shouted; "how dare you serve me so?
i've a good mind to chop off your great head as a punishment."
"for mercy's sake, do n't, your highness!
i made the pasty according to the best rules; nothing has been left out.
ask the prince what else i should have put in."
the prince laughed."
i was sure you could not make this dish as well as my cook, friend long nose.
know, then, that a herb is wanting called relish, which is not known in this country, but which gives the pasty its peculiar flavour, and without which your master will never taste it to perfection."
the grand duke was more furious than ever.
"but i will taste it to perfection," he roared.
"either the pasty must be made properly to-morrow or this rascal's head shall come off.
go, scoundrel, i give you twenty-four hours respite."
the poor dwarf hurried back to his room, and poured out his grief to the goose.
"oh, is that all," said she, "then i can help you, for my father taught me to know all plants and herbs.
luckily this is a new moon just now, for the herb only springs up at such times.
but tell me, are there chestnut trees near the palace?"
"oh, yes!"
cried long nose, much relieved; "near the lake -- only a couple of hundred yards from the palace -- is a large clump of them.
but why do you ask?"
"because the herb only grows near the roots of chestnut trees," replied mimi; "so let us lose no time in finding it.
take me under your arm and put me down out of doors, and i'll hunt for it."
he did as she bade, and as soon as they were in the garden put her on the ground, when she waddled off as fast as she could towards the lake, jem hurrying after her with an anxious heart, for he knew that his life depended on her success.
the goose hunted everywhere, but in vain.
she searched under each chestnut tree, turning every blade of grass with her bill -- nothing to be seen, and evening was drawing on!
suddenly the dwarf noticed a big old tree standing alone on the other side of the lake.
"look," cried he, "let us try our luck there."
the goose fluttered and skipped in front, and he ran after as fast as his little legs could carry him.
the tree cast a wide shadow, and it was almost dark beneath it, but suddenly the goose stood still, flapped her wings with joy, and plucked something, which she held out to her astonished friend, saying: "there it is, and there is more growing here, so you will have no lack of it."
the dwarf stood gazing at the plant.
it gave out a strong sweet scent, which reminded him of the day of his enchantment.
the stems and leaves were a bluish green, and it bore a dark, bright red flower with a yellow edge.
"what a wonder!"
cried long nose."
i do believe this is the very herb which changed me from a squirrel into my present miserable form.
shall i try an experiment?"
"not yet," said the goose.
"take a good handful of the herb with you, and let us go to your rooms.
we will collect all your money and clothes together, and then we will test the powers of the herb."
so they went back to jem's rooms, and here he gathered together some fifty ducats he had saved, his clothes and shoes, and tied them all up in a bundle.
then he plunged his face into the bunch of herbs, and drew in their perfume.
as he did so, all his limbs began to crack and stretch; he felt his head rising above his shoulders; he glanced down at his nose, and saw it grow smaller and smaller; his chest and back grew flat, and his legs grew long.
the goose looked on in amazement.
"oh, how big and how beautiful you are!"
she cried.
"thank heaven, you are quite changed."
jem folded his hands in thanks, as his heart swelled with gratitude.
but his joy did not make him forget all he owed to his friend mimi."
i owe you my life and my release," he said, "for without you i should never have regained my natural shape, and, indeed, would soon have been beheaded.
i will now take you back to your father, who will certainly know how to disenchant you."
the goose accepted his offer with joy, and they managed to slip out of the palace unnoticed by anyone.
they got through the journey without accident, and the wizard soon released his daughter, and loaded jem with thanks and valuable presents.
he lost no time in hastening back to his native town, and his parents were very ready to recognise the handsome, well-made young man as their long-lost son.
with the money given him by the wizard he opened a shop, which prospered well, and he lived long and happily.
i must not forget to mention that much disturbance was caused in the palace by jem's sudden disappearance, for when the grand duke sent orders next day to behead the dwarf, if he had not found the necessary herbs, the dwarf was not to be found.
the prince hinted that the duke had allowed his cook to escape, and had therefore broken his word.
the matter ended in a great war between the two princes, which was known in history as the "herb war."
after many battles and much loss of life, a peace was at last concluded, and this peace became known as the "pasty peace," because at the banquet given in its honour the prince's cook dished up the queen of pasties -- the suzeraine -- and the grand duke declared it to be quite excellent.
the nunda, eater of people once upon a time there lived a sultan who loved his garden dearly, and planted it with trees and flowers and fruits from all parts of the world.
he went to see them three times every day: first at seven o'clock, when he got up, then at three, and lastly at half-past five.
there was no plant and no vegetable which escaped his eye, but he lingered longest of all before his one date tree.
now the sultan had seven sons.
six of them he was proud of, for they were strong and manly, but the youngest he disliked, for he spent all his time among the women of the house.
the sultan had talked to him, and he paid no heed; and he had beaten him, and he paid no heed; and he had tied him up, and he paid no heed, till at last his father grew tired of trying to make him change his ways, and let him alone.
time passed, and one day the sultan, to his great joy, saw signs of fruit on his date tree.
and he told his vizir, "my date tree is bearing;" and he told the officers, "my date tree is bearing;" and he told the judges, "my date tree is bearing;" and he told all the rich men of the town.
he waited patiently for some days till the dates were nearly ripe, and then he called his six sons, and said: "one of you must watch the date tree till the dates are ripe, for if it is not watched the slaves will steal them, and i shall not have any for another year."
and the eldest son answered," i will go, father," and he went.
the first thing the youth did was to summon his slaves, and bid them beat drums all night under the date tree, for he feared to fall asleep.
so the slaves beat the drums, and the young man danced till four o'clock, and then it grew so cold he could dance no longer, and one of the slaves said to him: "it is getting light; the tree is safe; lie down, master, and go to sleep."
so he lay down and slept, and his slaves slept likewise.
a few minutes went by, and a bird flew down from a neighbouring thicket, and ate all the dates, without leaving a single one.
and when the tree was stripped bare, the bird went as it had come.
soon after, one of the slaves woke up and looked for the dates, but there were no dates to see.
then he ran to the young man and shook him, saying: "your father set you to watch the tree, and you have not watched, and the dates have all been eaten by a bird."
the lad jumped up and ran to the tree to see for himself, but there was not a date anywhere.
and he cried aloud, "what am i to say to my father?
shall i tell him that the dates have been stolen, or that a great rain fell and a great storm blew?
but he will send me to gather them up and bring them to him, and there are none to bring!
shall i tell him that bedouins drove me away, and when i returned there were no dates?
and he will answer, "you had slaves, did they not fight with the bedouins?"
it is the truth that will be best, and that will i tell him."
then he went straight to his father, and found him sitting in his verandah with his five sons round him; and the lad bowed his head.
"give me the news from the garden," said the sultan.
and the youth answered, "the dates have all been eaten by some bird: there is not one left."
the sultan was silent for a moment: then he asked, "where were you when the bird came?"
the lad answered: "i watched the date tree till the cocks were crowing and it was getting light; then i lay down for a little, and i slept.
when i woke a slave was standing over me, and he said, "there is not one date left on the tree!"
and i went to the date tree, and saw it was true; and that is what i have to tell you."
and the sultan replied," a son like you is only good for eating and sleeping.
i have no use for you.
go your way, and when my date tree bears again, i will send another son; perhaps he will watch better."
so he waited many months, till the tree was covered with more dates than any tree had ever borne before.
when they were near ripening he sent one of his sons to the garden: saying, "my son, i am longing to taste those dates: go and watch over them, for to-day's sun will bring them to perfection."
and the lad answered: "my father, i am going now, and to-morrow, when the sun has passed the hour of seven, bid a slave come and gather the dates."
"good," said the sultan.
the youth went to the tree, and lay down and slept.
and about midnight he arose to look at the tree, and the dates were all there -- beautiful dates, swinging in bunches.
"ah, my father will have a feast, indeed," thought he.
"what a fool my brother was not to take more heed!
now he is in disgrace, and we know him no more.
well, i will watch till the bird comes.
i should like to see what manner of bird it is."
and he sat and read till the cocks crew and it grew light, and the dates were still on the tree.
"oh my father will have his dates; they are all safe now," he thought to himself."
i will make myself comfortable against this tree," and he leaned against the trunk, and sleep came on him, and the bird flew down and ate all the dates.
when the sun rose, the head-man came and looked for the dates, and there were no dates.
and he woke the young man, and said to him, "look at the tree."
and the young man looked, and there were no dates.
and his ears were stopped, and his legs trembled, and his tongue grew heavy at the thought of the sultan.
his slave became frightened as he looked at him, and asked, "my master, what is it?"
he answered," i have no pain anywhere, but i am ill everywhere.
my whole body is well, and my whole body is sick i fear my father, for did i not say to him, "to-morrow at seven you shall taste the dates"?
and he will drive me away, as he drove away my brother!
i will go away myself, before he sends me."
then he got up and took a road that led straight past the palace, but he had not walked many steps before he met a man carrying a large silver dish, covered with a white cloth to cover the dates.
and the young man said, "the dates are not ripe yet; you must return to-morrow."
and the slave went with him to the palace, where the sultan was sitting with his four sons.
"good greeting, master!"
said the youth.
and the sultan answered, "have you seen the man i sent?'"
i have, master; but the dates are not yet ripe."
but the sultan did not believe his words, and said; "this second year i have eaten no dates, because of my sons.
go your ways, you are my son no longer!"
and the sultan looked at the four sons that were left him, and promised rich gifts to whichever of them would bring him the dates from the tree.
but year by year passed, and he never got them.
one son tried to keep himself awake with playing cards; another mounted a horse and rode round and round the tree, while the two others, whom their father as a last hope sent together, lit bonfires.
but whatever they did, the result was always the same.
towards dawn they fell asleep, and the bird ate the dates on the tree.
the sixth year had come, and the dates on the tree were thicker than ever.
and the head-man went to the palace and told the sultan what he had seen.
but the sultan only shook his head, and said sadly, "what is that to me?
i have had seven sons, yet for five years a bird has devoured my dates; and this year it will be the same as ever."
now the youngest son was sitting in the kitchen, as was his custom, when he heard his father say those words.
and he rose up, and went to his father, and knelt before him.
"father, this year you shall eat dates," cried he.
"and on the tree are five great bunches, and each bunch i will give to a separate nation, for the nations in the town are five.
this time, i will watch the date tree myself."
but his father and his mother laughed heartily, and thought his words idle talk.
one day, news was brought to the sultan that the dates were ripe, and he ordered one of his men to go and watch the tree.
his son, who happened to be standing by, heard the order, and he said: "how is it that you have bidden a man to watch the tree, when i, your son, am left?"
and his father answered, "ah, six were of no use, and where they failed, will you succeed?"
but the boy replied: "have patience to-day, and let me go, and to-morrow you shall see whether i bring you dates or not."
"let the child go, master," said his wife; "perhaps we shall eat the dates -- or perhaps we shall not -- but let him go."
and the sultan answered: "i do not refuse to let him go, but my heart distrusts him.
his brothers all promised fair, and what did they do?"
but the boy entreated, saying, "father, if you and i and mother be alive to-morrow, you shall eat the dates."
"go then," said his father.
when the boy reached the garden, he told the slaves to leave him, and to return home themselves and sleep.
when he was alone, he laid himself down and slept fast till one o'clock, when he arose, and sat opposite the date tree.
then he took some indian corn out of one fold of his dress, and some sandy grit out of another.
and he chewed the corn till he felt he was growing sleepy, and then he put some grit into his mouth, and that kept him awake till the bird came.
it looked about at first without seeing him, and whispering to itself, "there is no one here," fluttered lightly on to the tree and stretched out his beak for the dates.
then the boy stole softly up, and caught it by the wing.
the bird turned and flew quickly away, but the boy never let go, not even when they soared high into the air.
"son of adam," the bird said when the tops of the mountains looked small below them, "if you fall, you will be dead long before you reach the ground, so go your way, and let me go mine."
but the boy answered, "wherever you go, i will go with you.
you can not get rid of me.'"
i did not eat your dates," persisted the bird, "and the day is dawning.
leave me to go my way."
but again the boy answered him: "my six brothers are hateful to my father because you came and stole the dates, and to-day my father shall see you, and my brothers shall see you, and all the people of the town, great and small, shall see you.
and my father's heart will rejoice."
"well, if you will not leave me, i will throw you off," said the bird.
so it flew up higher still -- so high that the earth shone like one of the other stars.
"how much of you will be left if you fall from here?"
asked the bird.
"if i die, i die," said the boy, "but i will not leave you."
and the bird saw it was no use talking, and went down to the earth again.
"here you are at home, so let me go my way," it begged once more; "or at least make a covenant with me."
"what covenant?"
said the boy.
"save me from the sun," replied the bird, "and i will save you from rain."
"how can you do that, and how can i tell if i can trust you?"
"pull a feather from my tail, and put it in the fire, and if you want me i will come to you, wherever i am."
and the boy answered, "well, i agree; go your way."
"farewell, my friend.
when you call me, if it is from the depths of the sea, i will come."
the lad watched the bird out of sight; then he went straight to the date tree.
and when he saw the dates his heart was glad, and his body felt stronger and his eyes brighter than before.
and he laughed out loud with joy, and said to himself, "this is my luck, mine, sit-in-the-kitchen!
farewell, date tree, i am going to lie down.
what ate you will eat you no more."
the sun was high in the sky before the head-man, whose business it was, came to look at the date tree, expecting to find it stripped of all its fruit, but when he saw the dates so thick that they almost hid the leaves he ran back to his house, and beat a big drum till everybody came running, and even the little children wanted to know what had happened.
"what is it?
what is it, head-man?"
cried they.
"ah, it is not a son that the master has, but a lion!
this day sit-in-the-kitchen has uncovered his face before his father!"
"but how, head-man?"
"to day the people may eat the dates."
"is it true, head-man?"
"oh yes, it is true, but let him sleep till each man has brought forth a present.
he who has fowls, let him take fowls; he who has a goat, let him take a goat; he who has rice, let him take rice."
and the people did as he had said.
then they took the drum, and went to the tree where the boy lay sleeping.
and they picked him up, and carried him away, with horns and clarionets and drums, with clappings of hands and shrieks of joy, straight to his father's house.
when his father heard the noise and saw the baskets made of green leaves, brimming over with dates, and his son borne high on the necks of slaves, his heart leaped, and he said to himself "to-day at last i shall eat dates."
and he called his wife to see what her son had done, and ordered his soldiers to take the boy and bring him to his father.
"what news, my son?"
said he.
"news?
i have no news, except that if you will open your mouth you shall see what dates taste like."
and he plucked a date, and put it into his father's mouth.
"ah!
you are indeed my son," cried the sultan.
"you do not take after those fools, those good-for-nothings.
but, tell me, what did you do with the bird, for it was you, and you only who watched for it?"
"yes, it was i who watched for it and who saw it.
and it will not come again, neither for its life, nor for your life, nor for the lives of your children."
"oh, once i had six sons, and now i have only one.
it is you, whom i called a fool, who have given me the dates: as for the others, i want none of them."
but his wife rose up and went to him, and said, "master, do not, i pray you, reject them," and she entreated long, till the sultan granted her prayer, for she loved the six elder ones more than her last one.
so they all lived quietly at home, till the sultan's cat went and caught a calf.
and the owner of the calf went and told the sultan, but he answered, "the cat is mine, and the calf mine," and the man dared not complain further.
two days after, the cat caught a cow, and the sultan was told, "master, the cat has caught a cow," but he only said, "it was my cow and my cat."
and the cat waited a few days, and then it caught a donkey, and they told the sultan, "master, the cat has caught a donkey," and he said, "my cat and my donkey."
next it was a horse, and after that a camel, and when the sultan was told he said, "you do n't like this cat, and want me to kill it.
and i shall not kill it.
let it eat the camel: let it even eat a man."
and it waited till the next day, and caught some one's child.
and the sultan was told, "the cat has caught a child."
and he said, "the cat is mine and the child mine."
then it caught a grown-up man.
after that the cat left the town and took up its abode in a thicket near the road.
so if any one passed, going for water, it devoured him.
if it saw a cow going to feed, it devoured him.
if it saw a goat, it devoured him.
whatever went along that road the cat caught and ate.
then the people went to the sultan in a body, and told him of all the misdeeds of that cat.
but he answered as before, "the cat is mine and the people are mine."
and no man dared kill the cat, which grew bolder and bolder, and at last came into the town to look for its prey.
one day, the sultan said to his six sons," i am going into the country, to see how the wheat is growing, and you shall come with me."
they went on merrily along the road, till they came to a thicket, when out sprang the cat, and killed three of the sons.
"the cat!
the cat!"
shrieked the soldiers who were with him.
and this time the sultan said: "seek for it and kill it.
it is no longer a cat, but a demon!"
and the soldiers answered him, "did we not tell you, master, what the cat was doing, and did you not say, "my cat and my people"?"
and he answered: "true, i said it."
now the youngest son had not gone with the rest, but had stayed at home with his mother; and when he heard that his brothers had been killed by the cat he said, "let me go, that it may slay me also."
his mother entreated him not to leave her, but he would not listen, and he took his sword and a spear and some rice cakes, and went after the cat, which by this time had run of to a great distance.
the lad spent many days hunting the cat, which now bore the name of "the nunda, eater of people," but though he killed many wild animals he saw no trace of the enemy he was hunting for.
there was no beast, however fierce, that he was afraid of, till at last his father and mother begged him to give up the chase after the nunda.
but he answered: "what i have said, i can not take back.
if i am to die, then i die, but every day i must go and seek for the nunda."
and again his father offered him what he would, even the crown itself, but the boy would hear nothing, and went on his way.
many times his slaves came and told him, "we have seen footprints, and to-day we shall behold the nunda."
but the footprints never turned out to be those of the nunda.
they wandered far through deserts and through forests, and at length came to the foot of a great hill.
and something in the boy's soul whispered that here was the end of all their seeking, and to-day they would find the nunda.
but before they began to climb the mountain the boy ordered his slaves to cook some rice, and they rubbed the stick to make a fire, and when the fire was kindled they cooked the rice and ate it.
then they began their climb.
suddenly, when they had almost reached the top, a slave who was on in front cried: "master!
master!"
and the boy pushed on to where the slave stood, and the slave said: "cast your eyes down to the foot of the mountain."
and the boy looked, and his soul told him it was the nunda.
and he crept down with his spear in his hand, and then he stopped and gazed below him.
"this must be the real nunda," thought he.
"my mother told me its ears were small, and this one's are small.
she told me it was broad and not long, and this is broad and not long.
she told me it had spots like a civet-cat, and this has spots like a civet-cat."
then he left the nunda lying asleep at the foot of the mountain, and went back to his slaves.
"we will feast to-day," he said; "make cakes of batter, and bring water," and they ate and drank.
and when they had finished he bade them hide the rest of the food in the thicket, that if they slew the nunda they might return and eat and sleep before going back to the town.
and the slaves did as he bade them.
it was now afternoon, and the lad said: "it is time we went after the nunda."
and they went till they reached the bottom and came to a great forest which lay between them and the nunda.
here the lad stopped, and ordered every slave that wore two cloths to cast one away and tuck up the other between his legs.
"for," said he, "the wood is not a little one.
perhaps we may be caught by the thorns, or perhaps we may have to run before the nunda, and the cloth might bind our legs, and cause us to fall before it."
and they answered, "good, master," and did as he bade them.
then they crawled on their hands and knees to where the nunda lay asleep.
noiselessly they crept along till they were quite close to it; then, at a sign from the boy, they threw their spears.
the nunda did not stir: the spears had done their work, but a great fear seized them all, and they ran away and climbed the mountain.
the sun was setting when they reached the top, and glad they were to take out the fruit and the cakes and the water which they had hidden away, and sit down and rest themselves.
and after they had eaten and were filled, they lay down and slept till morning.
when the dawn broke they rose up and cooked more rice, and drank more water.
after that they walked all round the back of the mountain to the place where they had left the nunda, and they saw it stretched out where they had found it, stiff and dead.
and they took it up and carried it back to the town, singing as they went, "he has killed the nunda, the eater of people."
and when his father heard the news, and that his son was come, and was bringing the nunda with him, he felt that the man did not dwell on the earth whose joy was greater than his.
and the people bowed down to the boy and gave him presents, and loved him, because he had delivered them from the bondage of fear, and had slain the nunda.
-lrb- adapted from swahili tales. -rrb-
the story of hassebu once upon a time there lived a poor woman who had only one child, and he was a little boy called hassebu.
when he ceased to be a baby, and his mother thought it was time for him to learn to read, she sent him to school.
and, after he had done with school, he was put into a shop to learn how to make clothes, and did not learn; and he was put to do silversmith's work, and did not learn; and whatsoever he was taught, he did not learn it.
his mother never wished him to do anything he did not like, so she said: "well, stay at home, my son."
and he stayed at home, eating and sleeping.
one day the boy said to his mother: "what was my father's business?"
"he was a very learned doctor," answered she.
"where, then, are his books?"
asked hassebu.
"many days have passed, and i have thought nothing of them.
but look inside and see if they are there."
so hassebu looked, and saw they were eaten by insects, all but one book, which he took away and read.
he was sitting at home one morning poring over the medicine book, when some neighbours came by and said to his mother: "give us this boy, that we may go together to cut wood."
for wood-cutting was their trade, and they loaded several donkeys with the wood, and sold it in the town.
and his mother answered, "very well; to-morrow i will buy him a donkey, and you can all go together."
so the donkey was bought, and the neighbours came, and they worked hard all day, and in the evening they brought the wood back into the town, and sold it for a good sum of money.
and for six days they went and did the like, but on the seventh it rained, and the wood-cutters ran and hid in the rocks, all but hassebu, who did not mind wetting, and stayed where he was.
while he was sitting in the place where the wood-cutters had left him, he took up a stone that lay near him, and idly dropped it on the ground.
it rang with a hollow sound, and he called to his companions, and said, "come here and listen; the ground seems hollow!"
"knock again!"
cried they.
and he knocked and listened.
"let us dig," said the boy.
and they dug, and found a large pit like a well, filled with honey up to the brim.
"this is better than firewood," said they; "it will bring us more money.
and as you have found it, hassebu, it is you who must go inside and dip out the honey and give to us, and we will take it to the town and sell it, and will divide the money with you."
the following day each man brought every bowl and vessel he could find at home, and hassebu filled them all with honey.
and this he did every day for three months.
at the end of that time the honey was very nearly finished, and there was only a little left, quite at the bottom, and that was very deep down, so deep that it seemed as if it must be right in the middle of the earth.
seeing this, the men said to hassebu, "we will put a rope under your arms, and let you down, so that you may scrape up all the honey that is left, and when you have done we will lower the rope again, and you shall make it fast, and we will draw you up."
"very well," answered the boy, and he went down, and he scraped and scraped till there was not so much honey left as would cover the point of a needle.
"now i am ready!"
he cried; but they consulted together and said, "let us leave him there inside the pit, and take his share of the money, and we will tell his mother, "your son was caught by a lion and carried off into the forest, and we tried to follow him, but could not.""
then they arose and went into the town and told his mother as they had agreed, and she wept much and made her mourning for many months.
and when the men were dividing the money, one said, "let us send a little to our friend's mother," and they sent some to her; and every day one took her rice, and one oil; one took her meat, and one took her cloth, every day.
it did not take long for hassebu to find out that his companions had left him to die in the pit, but he had a brave heart, and hoped that he might be able to find a way out for himself.
so he at once began to explore the pit and found it ran back a long way underground.
and by night he slept, and by day he took a little of the honey he had gathered and ate it; and so many days passed by.
one morning, while he was sitting on a rock having his breakfast, a large scorpion dropped down at his feet, and he took a stone and killed it, fearing it would sting him.
then suddenly the thought darted into his head, "this scorpion must have come from somewhere!
perhaps there is a hole.
i will go and look for it," and he felt all round the walls of the pit till he found a very little hole in the roof of the pit, with a tiny glimmer of light at the far end of it.
then his heart felt glad, and he took out his knife and dug and dug, till the little hole became a big one, and he could wriggle himself through.
and when he had got outside, he saw a large open space in front of him, and a path leading out of it.
he went along the path, on and on, till he reached a large house, with a golden door standing open.
inside was a great hall, and in the middle of the hall a throne set with precious stones and a sofa spread with the softest cushions.
and he went in and lay down on it, and fell fast asleep, for he had wandered far.
by-and-by there was a sound of people coming through the courtyard, and the measured tramp of soldiers.
this was the king of the snakes coming in state to his palace.
they entered the hall, but all stopped in surprise at finding a man lying on the king's own bed.
the soldiers wished to kill him at once, but the king said, "leave him alone, put me on a chair," and the soldiers who were carrying him knelt on the floor, and he slid from their shoulders on to a chair.
when he was comfortably seated, he turned to his soldiers, and bade them wake the stranger gently.
and they woke him, and he sat up and saw many snakes all round him, and one of them very beautiful, decked in royal robes.
"who are you?"
asked hassebu."
i am the king of the snakes," was the reply, "and this is my palace.
and will you tell me who you are, and where you come from?"
"my name is hassebu, but whence i come i know not, nor whither i go."
"then stay for a little with me," said the king, and he bade his soldiers bring water from the spring and fruits from the forest, and to set them before the guest.
for some days hassebu rested and feasted in the palace of the king of the snakes, and then he began to long for his mother and his own country.
so he said to the king of the snakes, "send me home, i pray."
but the king of the snakes answered, "when you go home, you will do me evil!'"
i will do you no evil," replied hassebu; "send me home, i pray."
but the king said," i know it.
if i send you home, you will come back, and kill me.
i dare not do it."
but hassebu begged so hard that at last the king said, "swear that when you get home you will not go to bathe where many people are gathered."
and hassebu swore, and the king ordered his soldiers to take hassebu in sight of his native city.
then he went straight to his mother's house, and the heart of his mother was glad.
now the sultan of the city was very ill, and all the wise men said that the only thing to cure him was the flesh of the king of the snakes, and that the only man who could get it was a man with a strange mark on his chest.
so the vizir had set people to watch at the public baths, to see if such a man came there.
for three days hassebu remembered his promise to the king of the snakes, and did not go near the baths; then came a morning so hot he could hardly breathe, and he forgot all about it.
the moment he had slipped off his robe he was taken before the vizir, who said to him, "lead us to the place where the king of the snakes lives.'"
i do not know it!"
answered he, but the vizir did not believe him, and had him bound and beaten till his back was all torn.
then hassebu cried, "loose me, that i may take you."
they went together a long, long way, till they reached the palace of the king of the snakes.
and hassebu said to the king: "it was not i: look at my back and you will see how they drove me to it."
"who has beaten you like this?"
asked the king.
"it was the vizir," replied hassebu.
"then i am already dead," said the king sadly, "but you must carry me there yourself."
so hassebu carried him.
and on the way the king said, "when i arrive, i shall be killed, and my flesh will be cooked.
but take some of the water that i am boiled in, and put it in a bottle and lay it on one side.
the vizir will tell you to drink it, but be careful not to do so.
then take some more of the water, and drink it, and you will become a great physician, and the third supply you will give to the sultan.
and when the vizir comes to you and asks, "did you drink what i gave you?"
you must answer, "i did, and this is for you," and he will drink it and die!
and your soul will rest."
and they went their way into the town, and all happened as the king of the snakes had said.
and the sultan loved hassebu, who became a great physician, and cured many sick people.
but he was always sorry for the poor king of the snakes.
-lrb- adapted from swahili tales, -rrb- the maiden with the wooden helmet in a little village in the country of japan there lived long, long ago a man and his wife.
for many years they were happy and prosperous, but bad times came, and at last nothing was left them but their daughter, who was as beautiful as the morning.
the neighbours were very kind, and would have done anything they could to help their poor friends, but the old couple felt that since everything had changed they would rather go elsewhere, so one day they set off to bury themselves in the country, taking their daughter with them.
now the mother and daughter had plenty to do in keeping the house clean and looking after the garden, but the man would sit for hours together gazing straight in front of him, and thinking of the riches that once were his.
each day he grew more and more wretched, till at length he took to his bed and never got up again.
his wife and daughter wept bitterly for his loss, and it was many months before they could take pleasure in anything.
then one morning the mother suddenly looked at the girl, and found that she had grown still more lovely than before.
once her heart would have been glad at the sight, but now that they two were alone in the world she feared some harm might come of it.
so, like a good mother, she tried to teach her daughter all she knew, and to bring her up to be always busy, so that she would never have time to think about herself.
and the girl was a good girl, and listened to all her mother's lessons, and so the years passed away.
at last one wet spring the mother caught cold, and though in the beginning she did not pay much attention to it, she gradually grew more and more ill, and knew that she had not long to live.
then she called her daughter and told her that very soon she would be alone in the world; that she must take care of herself, as there would be no one to take care of her.
and because it was more difficult for beautiful women to pass unheeded than for others, she bade her fetch a wooden helmet out of the next room, and put it on her head, and pull it low down over her brows, so that nearly the whole of her face should lie in its shadow.
the girl did as she was bid, and her beauty was so hidden beneath the wooden cap, which covered up all her hair, that she might have gone through any crowd, and no one would have looked twice at her.
and when she saw this the heart of the mother was at rest, and she lay back in her bed and died.
the girl wept for many days, but by-and-by she felt that, being alone in the world, she must go and get work, for she had only herself to depend upon.
there was none to be got by staying where she was, so she made her clothes into a bundle, and walked over the hills till she reached the house of the man who owned the fields in that part of the country.
and she took service with him and laboured for him early and late, and every night when she went to bed she was at peace, for she had not forgotten one thing that she had promised her mother; and, however hot the sun might be, she always kept the wooden helmet on her head, and the people gave her the nickname of hatschihime.
in spite, however, of all her care the fame of her beauty spread abroad: many of the impudent young men that are always to be found in the world stole softly up behind her while she was at work, and tried to lift off the wooden helmet.
but the girl would have nothing to say to them, and only bade them be off; then they began to talk to her, but she never answered them, and went on with what she was doing, though her wages were low and food not very plentiful.
still she could manage to live, and that was enough.
one day her master happened to pass through the field where she was working, and was struck by her industry and stopped to watch her.
after a while he put one or two questions to her, and then led her into his house, and told her that henceforward her only duty should be to tend his sick wife.
from this time the girl felt as if all her troubles were ended, but the worst of them was yet to come.
not very long after hatschihime had become maid to the sick woman, the eldest son of the house returned home from kioto, where he had been studying all sorts of things.
he was tired of the splendours of the town and its pleasures, and was glad enough to be back in the green country, among the peach-blossoms and sweet flowers.
strolling about in the early morning, he caught sight of the girl with the odd wooden helmet on her head, and immediately he went to his mother to ask who she was, and where she came from, and why she wore that strange thing over her face.
his mother answered that it was a whim, and nobody could persuade her to lay it aside; whereat the young man laughed, but kept his thoughts to himself.
one hot day, however, he happened to be going towards home when he caught sight of his mother's waiting maid kneeling by a little stream that flowed through the garden, splashing some water over her face.
the helmet was pushed on one side, and as the youth stood watching from behind a tree he had a glimpse of the girl's great beauty; and he determined that no one else should be his wife.
but when he told his family of his resolve to marry her they were very angry, and made up all sorts of wicked stories about her.
however, they might have spared themselves the trouble, as he knew it was only idle talk."
i have merely to remain firm," thought he, "and they will have to give in."
it was such a good match for the girl that it never occurred to anyone that she would refuse the young man, but so it was.
it would not be right, she felt, to make a quarrel in the house, and though in secret she wept bitterly, for a long while, nothing would make her change her mind.
at length one night her mother appeared to her in a dream, and bade her marry the young man.
so the next time he asked her -- as he did nearly every day -- to his surprise and joy she consented.
the parents then saw they had better make the best of a bad business, and set about making the grand preparations suitable to the occasion.
of course the neighbours said a great many ill-natured things about the wooden helmet, but the bridegroom was too happy to care, and only laughed at them.
when everything was ready for the feast, and the bride was dressed in the most beautiful embroidered dress to be found in japan, the maids took hold of the helmet to lift it off her head, so that they might do her hair in the latest fashion.
but the helmet would not come, and the harder they pulled, the faster it seemed to be, till the poor girl yelled with pain.
hearing her cries the bridegroom ran in and soothed her, and declared that she should be married in the helmet, as she could not be married without.
then the ceremonies began, and the bridal pair sat together, and the cup of wine was brought them, out of which they had to drink.
and when they had drunk it all, and the cup was empty, a wonderful thing happened.
the helmet suddenly burst with a loud noise, and fell in pieces on the ground; and as they all turned to look they found the floor covered with precious stones which had fallen out of it.
but the guests were less astonished at the brilliancy of the diamonds than at the beauty of the bride, which was beyond anything they had ever seen or heard of.
the night was passed in singing and dancing, and then the bride and bridegroom went to their own house, where they lived till they died, and had many children, who were famous throughout japan for their goodness and beauty.
-lrb- japanische marchen. -rrb-
the monkey and the jelly-fish children must often have wondered why jelly-fishes have no shells, like so many of the creatures that are washed up every day on the beach.
in old times this was not so; the jelly-fish had as hard a shell as any of them, but he lost it through his own fault, as may be seen in this story.
the sea-queen otohime, whom you read of in the story of uraschimatoro, grew suddenly very ill.
the swiftest messengers were sent hurrying to fetch the best doctors from every country under the sea, but it was all of no use; the queen grew rapidly worse instead of better.
everyone had almost given up hope, when one day a doctor arrived who was cleverer than the rest, and said that the only thing that would cure her was the liver of an ape.
now apes do not dwell under the sea, so a council of the wisest heads in the nation was called to consider the question how a liver could be obtained.
at length it was decided that the turtle, whose prudence was well known, should swim to land and contrive to catch a living ape and bring him safely to the ocean kingdom.
it was easy enough for the council to entrust this mission to the turtle, but not at all so easy for him to fulfil it.
however he swam to a part of the coast that was covered with tall trees, where he thought the apes were likely to be; for he was old, and had seen many things.
it was some time before he caught sight of any monkeys, and he often grew tired with watching for them, so that one hot day he fell fast asleep, in spite of all his efforts to keep awake.
by-and-by some apes, who had been peeping at him from the tops of the trees, where they had been carefully hidden from the turtle's eyes, stole noiselessly down, and stood round staring at him, for they had never seen a turtle before, and did not know what to make of it.
at last one young monkey, bolder than the rest, stooped down and stroked the shining shell that the strange new creature wore on its back.
the movement, gentle though it was, woke the turtle.
with one sweep he seized the monkey's hand in his mouth, and held it tight, in spite of every effort to pull it away.
the other apes, seeing that the turtle was not to be trifled with, ran off, leaving their young brother to his fate.
then the turtle said to the monkey, "if you will be quiet, and do what i tell you, i wo n't hurt you.
but you must get on my back and come with me."
the monkey, seeing there was no help for it, did as he was bid; indeed he could not have resisted, as his hand was still in the turtle's mouth.
delighted at having secured his prize, the turtle hastened back to the shore and plunged quickly into the water.
he swam faster than he had ever done before, and soon reached the royal palace.
shouts of joy broke forth from the attendants when he was seen approaching, and some of them ran to tell the queen that the monkey was there, and that before long she would be as well as ever she was.
in fact, so great was their relief that they gave the monkey such a kind welcome, and were so anxious to make him happy and comfortable, that he soon forgot all the fears that had beset him as to his fate, and was generally quite at his ease, though every now and then a fit of home-sickness would come over him, and he would hide himself in some dark corner till it had passed away.
it was during one of these attacks of sadness that a jelly-fish happened to swim by.
at that time jelly-fishes had shells.
at the sight of the gay and lively monkey crouching under a tall rock, with his eyes closed and his head bent, the jelly-fish was filled with pity, and stopped, saying, "ah, poor fellow, no wonder you weep; a few days more, and they will come and kill you and give your liver to the queen to eat."
the monkey shrank back horrified at these words and asked the jelly-fish what crime he had committed that deserved death.
"oh, none at all," replied the jelly-fish, "but your liver is the only thing that will cure our queen, and how can we get at it without killing you?
you had better submit to your fate, and make no noise about it, for though i pity you from my heart there is no way of helping you."
then he went away, leaving the ape cold with horror.
at first he felt as if his liver was already being taken from his body, but soon he began to wonder if there was no means of escaping this terrible death, and at length he invented a plan which he thought would do.
for a few days he pretended to be gay and happy as before, but when the sun went in, and rain fell in torrents, he wept and howled from dawn to dark, till the turtle, who was his head keeper, heard him, and came to see what was the matter.
then the monkey told him that before he left home he had hung his liver out on a bush to dry, and if it was always going to rain like this it would become quite useless.
and the rogue made such a fuss and moaning that he would have melted a heart of stone, and nothing would content him but that somebody should carry him back to land and let him fetch his liver again.
the queen's councillors were not the wisest of people, and they decided between them that the turtle should take the monkey back to his native land and allow him to get his liver off the bush, but desired the turtle not to lose sight of his charge for a single moment.
the monkey knew this, but trusted to his power of beguiling the turtle when the time came, and mounted on his back with feelings of joy, which he was, however, careful to conceal.
they set out, and in a few hours were wandering about the forest where the ape had first been caught, and when the monkey saw his family peering out from the tree tops, he swung himself up by the nearest branch, just managing to save his hind leg from being seized by the turtle.
he told them all the dreadful things that had happened to him, and gave a war cry which brought the rest of the tribe from the neighbouring hills.
at a word from him they rushed in a body to the unfortunate turtle, threw him on his back, and tore off the shield that covered his body.
then with mocking words they hunted him to the shore, and into the sea, which he was only too thankful to reach alive.
faint and exhausted he entered the queen's palace for the cold of the water struck upon his naked body, and made him feel ill and miserable.
but wretched though he was, he had to appear before the queen's advisers and tell them all that had befallen him, and how he had suffered the monkey to escape.
but, as sometimes happens, the turtle was allowed to go scot-free, and had his shell given back to him, and all the punishment fell on the poor jelly-fish, who was condemned by the queen to go shieldless for ever after.
-lrb- japanische marchen. -rrb-
the headless dwarfs there was once a minister who spent his whole time in trying to find a servant who would undertake to ring the church bells at midnight, in addition to all his other duties.
of course it was not everyone who cared to get up in the middle of the night, when he had been working hard all day; still, a good many had agreed to do it.
but the strange thing was that no sooner had the servant set forth to perform his task than he disappeared, as if the earth had swallowed him up.
no bells were rung, and no ringer ever came back.
the minister did his best to keep the matter secret, but it leaked out for all that, and the end of it was that no one would enter his service.
indeed, there were even those who whispered that the minister himself had murdered the missing men!
it was to no purpose that sunday after sunday the minister gave out from his pulpit that double wages would be paid to anyone that would fulfil the sacred duty of ringing the bells of the church.
no one took the slightest notice of any offer he might make, and the poor man was in despair, when one day, as he was standing at his house door, a youth known in the village as clever hans came up to him."
i am tired of living with a miser who will not give me enough to eat and drink," said he, "and i am ready to do all you want."
"very good, my son," replied the minister, "you shall have the chance of proving your courage this very night.
to-morrow we will settle what your wages are to be."
hans was quite content with this proposal, and went straight into the kitchen to begin his work, not knowing that his new master was quite as stingy as his old one.
in the hope that his presence might be a restraint upon them, the minister used to sit at the table during his servants" meals, and would exhort them to drink much and often, thinking that they would not be able to eat as well, and beef was dearer than beer.
but in hans he had met his match, and the minister soon found to his cost that in his case at any rate a full cup did not mean an empty plate.
about an hour before midnight, hans entered the church and locked the door behind him, but what was his surprise when, in place of the darkness and silence he expected, he found the church brilliantly lighted, and a crowd of people sitting round a table playing cards.
hans felt no fear at this strange sight, or was prudent enough to hide it if he did, and, going up to the table, sat down amongst the players.
one of them looked up and asked, "my friend, what are you doing here?"
and hans gazed at him for a moment, then laughed and answered, "well, if anybody has a right to put that question, it is i!
and if i do not put it, it will certainly be wiser for you not to do so!"
then he picked up some cards, and played with the unknown men as if he had known them all his life.
the luck was on his side, and soon the money of the other gamblers found its way from their pockets into his.
on the stroke of midnight the cock crew, and in an instant lights, table, cards, and people all had vanished, and hans was left alone.
he groped about for some time, till he found the staircase in the tower, and then began to feel his way up the steps.
on the first landing a glimmer of light came through a slit in the wall, and he saw a tiny man sitting there, without a head.
"ho!
ho!
my little fellow, what are you doing there?"
asked hans, and, without waiting for an answer, gave him a kick which sent him flying down the stairs.
then he climbed higher still, and finding as he went dumb watchers sitting on every landing, treated them as he had done the first.
at last he reached the top, and as he paused for a moment to look round him he saw another headless man cowering in the very bell itself, waiting till hans should seize the bell-pull in order to strike him a blow with the clapper, which would soon have made an end of him.
"stop, my little friend!"
cried hans.
"that is not part of the bargain!
perhaps you saw how your comrades walked down stairs, and you are going after them.
but as you are in the highest place you shall make a more dignified exit, and follow them through the window!"
with these words he began to climb the ladder, in order to take the little man from the bell and carry out his threat.
at this the dwarf cried out imploringly, "oh, brother!
spare my life, and i promise that neither i nor my comrades will ever trouble you any more.
i am small and weak, but who knows whether some day i shall not be able to reward you."
"you wretched little shrimp," replied hans," a great deal of good your gratitude is likely to do me!
but as i happen to be feeling in a cheerful mood to-night i will let you have your life.
but take care how you come across me again, or you may not escape so easily!"
the headless man thanked him humbly, slid hastily down the bell rope, and ran down the steps of the tower as if he had left a fire behind him.
then hans began to ring lustily.
when the minister heard the sound of the midnight bells he wondered greatly, but rejoiced that he had at last found some one to whom he could trust this duty.
hans rang the bells for some time, then went to the hay-loft, and fell fast asleep.
now it was the custom of the minister to get up very early, and to go round to make sure that the men were all at their work.
this morning everyone was in his place except hans, and no one knew anything about him.
nine o'clock came, and no hans, but when eleven struck the minister began to fear that he had vanished like the ringers who had gone before him.
when, however, the servants all gathered round the table for dinner, hans at last made his appearance stretching himself and yawning.
"where have you been all this time?"
asked the minister.
"asleep," said hans.
"asleep!"
exclaimed the minister in astonishment.
"you do n't mean to tell me that you can go on sleeping till mid-day?"
"that is exactly what i do mean," replied hans.
"if one works in the night one must sleep in the day, just as if one works in the day one sleeps in the night.
if you can find somebody else to ring the bells at midnight i am ready to begin work at dawn; but if you want me to ring them i must go on sleeping till noon at the very earliest."
the minister tried to argue the point with him, but at length the following agreement was come to.
hans was to give up the ringing, and was to work like the rest from sunrise to sunset, with the exception of an hour after breakfast and an hour after dinner, when he might go to sleep.
"but, of course," added the minister carelessly, "it may happen now and then, especially in winter, when the days are short, that you will have to work a little longer, to get something finished."
"not at all!"
answered hans.
"unless i were to leave off work earlier in summer, i will not do a stroke more than i have promised, and that is from dawn to dark; so you know what you have to expect."
a few weeks later the minister was asked to attend a christening in the neighbouring town.
he bade hans come with him, but, as the town was only a few hours" ride from where he lived, the minister was much surprised to see hans come forth laden with a bag containing food.
"what are you taking that for?"
asked the minister.
"we shall be there before dark."
"who knows?"
replied hans.
"many things may happen to delay our journey, and i need not remind you of our contract that the moment the sun sets i cease to be your servant.
if we do n't reach the town while it is still daylight i shall leave you to shift for yourself."
the minister thought he was joking, and made no further remark.
but when they had left the village behind them, and had ridden a few miles, they found that snow had fallen during the night, and had been blown by the wind into drifts.
this hindered their progress, and by the time they had entered the thick wood which lay between them and their destination the sun was already touching the tops of the trees.
the horses ploughed their way slowly through the deep soft snow and as they went hans kept turning to look at the sun, which lay at their backs.
"is there anything behind you?"
asked the minister.
"or what is it you are always turning round for?'"
i turn round because i have no eyes in the back of my neck," said hans.
"cease talking nonsense," replied the minister, "and give all your mind to getting us to the town before nightfall."
hans did not answer, but rode on steadily, though every now and then he cast a glance over his shoulder.
when they arrived in the middle of the wood the sun sank altogether.
then hans reined up his horse, took his knapsack, and jumped out of the sledge.
"what are you doing?
are you mad?"
asked the minister, but hans answered quietly, "the sun is set and my work is over, and i am going to camp here for the night."
in vain the master prayed and threatened, and promised hans a large reward if he would only drive him on.
the young man was not to be moved.
"are you not ashamed to urge me to break my word?"
said he.
"if you want to reach the town to-night you must go alone.
the hour of my freedom has struck, and i can not go with you."
"my good hans," entreated the minister," i really ought not to leave you here.
consider what danger you would be in!
yonder, as you see, a gallows is set up, and two evil-doers are hanging on it.
you could not possibly sleep with such ghastly neighbours."
"why not?"
asked hans.
"those gallows birds hang high in the air, and my camp will be on the ground; we shall have nothing to do with each other."
as he spoke, he turned his back on the minister, and went his way.
there was no help for it, and the minister had to push on by himself, if he expected to arrive in time for the christening.
his friends were much surprised to see him drive up without a coachman, and thought some accident had happened.
but when he told them of his conversation with hans they did not know which was the most foolish, master or man.
it would have mattered little to hans had he known what they were saying or thinking of him.
he satisfied his hunger with the food he had in his knapsack, lit his pipe, pitched his tent under the boughs of a tree, wrapped himself in his furs, and went sound asleep.
after some hours, he was awakened by a sudden noise, and sat up and looked about him.
the moon was shining brightly above his head, and close by stood two headless dwarfs, talking angrily.
at the sight of hans the little dwarfs cried out: "it is he!
it is he!"
and one of them stepping nearer exclaimed, "ah, my old friend!
it is a lucky chance that has brought us here.
my bones still ache from my fall down the steps of the tower.
i dare say you have not forgotten that night!
now it is the turn of your bones.
hi!
comrades, make haste!
make haste!"
like a swarm of midges, a host of tiny headless creatures seemed to spring straight out of the ground, and every one was armed with a club.
although they were so small, yet there were such numbers of them and they struck so hard that even a strong man could do nothing against them.
hans thought his last hour was come, when just as the fight was at the hottest another little dwarf arrived on the scene.
"hold, comrades!"
he shouted, turning to the attacking party.
"this man once did me a service, and i am his debtor.
when i was in his power he granted me my life.
and even if he did throw you downstairs, well, a warm bath soon cured your bruises, so you must just forgive him and go quietly home."
the headless dwarfs listened to his words and disappeared as suddenly as they had come.
as soon as hans recovered himself a little he looked at his rescuer, and saw he was the dwarf he had found seated in the church bell.
"ah!"
said the dwarf, seating himself quietly under the tree.
"you laughed at me when i told you that some day i might do you a good turn.
now you see i was right, and perhaps you will learn for the future not to despise any creature, however small.'"
i thank you from my heart," answered hans.
"my bones are still sore from their blows, and had it not been for you i should indeed have fared badly.'"
i have almost paid my debt," went on the little man, "but as you have suffered already, i will do more, and give you a piece of information.
you need not remain any longer in the service of that stingy minister, but when you get home to-morrow go at once to the north corner of the church, and there you will find a large stone built into the wall, but not cemented like the rest.
the day after to-morrow the moon is full, and at midnight you must go to the spot and get the stone out of the wall with a pickaxe.
under the stone lies a great treasure, which has been hidden there in time of war.
besides church plate, you will find bags of money, which have been lying in this place for over a hundred years, and no one knows to whom it all belongs.
a third of this money you must give to the poor, but the rest you may keep for yourself."
as he finished, the cocks in the village crowed, and the little man was nowhere to be seen.
hans found that his limbs no longer pained him, and lay for some time thinking of the hidden treasure.
towards morning he fell asleep.
the sun was high in the heavens when his master returned from the town.
"hans," said he, "what a fool you were not to come with me yesterday!
i was well feasted and entertained, and i have money in my pocket into the bargain," he went on, rattling some coins while he spoke, to make hans understand how much he had lost.
"ah, sir," replied hans calmly, "in order to have gained so much money you must have lain awake all night, but i have earned a hundred times that amount while i was sleeping soundly."
"how did you manage that?"
asked the minister eagerly, but hans answered, "it is only fools who boast of their farthings; wise men take care to hide their crowns."
they drove home, and hans neglected none of his duties, but put up the horses and gave them their food before going to the church corner, where he found the loose stone, exactly in the place described by the dwarf.
then he returned to his work.
the first night of the full moon, when the whole village was asleep, he stole out, armed with a pickaxe, and with much difficulty succeeded in dislodging the stone from its place.
sure enough, there was the hole, and in the hole lay the treasure, exactly as the little man had said.
the following sunday he handed over the third part to the village poor, and informed the minister that he wished to break his bond of service.
as, however, he did not claim any wages, the minister made no objections, but allowed him to do as he wished.
so hans went his way, bought himself a large house, and married a young wife, and lived happily and prosperously to the end of his days.
-lrb- ehstnische marchen. -rrb-
the young man who would have his eyes opened once upon a time there lived a youth who was never happy unless he was prying into something that other people knew nothing about.
after he had learned to understand the language of birds and beasts, he discovered accidentally that a great deal took place under cover of night which mortal eyes never saw.
from that moment he felt he could not rest till these hidden secrets were laid bare to him, and he spent his whole time wandering from one wizard to another, begging them to open his eyes, but found none to help him.
at length he reached an old magician called mana, whose learning was greater than that of the rest, and who could tell him all he wanted to know.
but when the old man had listened attentively to him, he said, warningly: "my son, do not follow after empty knowledge, which will not bring you happiness, but rather evil.
much is hidden from the eyes of men, because did they know everything their hearts would no longer be at peace.
knowledge kills joy, therefore think well what you are doing, or some day you will repent.
but if you will not take my advice, then truly i can show you the secrets of the night.
only you will need more than a man's courage to bear the sight."
he stopped and looked at the young man, who nodded his head, and then the wizard continued, "to-morrow night you must go to the place where, once in seven years, the serpent-king gives a great feast to his whole court.
in front of him stands a golden bowl filled with goats" milk, and if you can manage to dip a piece of bread in this milk, and eat it before you are obliged to fly, you will understand all the secrets of the night that are hidden from other men.
it is lucky for you that the serpent-king's feast happens to fall this year, otherwise you would have had long to wait for it.
but take care to be quick and bold, or it will be the worse for you."
the young man thanked the wizard for his counsel, and went his way firmly resolved to carry out his purpose, even if he paid for it with his life; and when night came he set out for a wide, lonely moor, where the serpent-king held his feast.
with sharpened eyes, he looked eagerly all round him, but could see nothing but a multitude of small hillocks, that lay motionless under the moonlight.
he crouched behind a bush for some time, till he felt that midnight could not be far off, when suddenly there arose in the middle of the moor a brilliant glow, as if a star was shining over one of the hillocks.
at the same moment all the hillocks began to writhe and to crawl, and from each one came hundreds of serpents and made straight for the glow, where they knew they should find their king.
when they reached the hillock where he dwelt, which was higher and broader than the rest, and had a bright light hanging over the top, they coiled themselves up and waited.
the whirr and confusion from all the serpent-houses were so great that the youth did not dare to advance one step, but remained where he was, watching intently all that went on; but at last he began to take courage, and moved on softly step by step.
what he saw was creepier than creepy, and surpassed all he had ever dreamt of.
thousands of snakes, big and little and of every colour, were gathered together in one great cluster round a huge serpent, whose body was as thick as a beam, and which had on its head a golden crown, from which the light sprang.
their hissings and darting tongues so terrified the young man that his heart sank, and he felt he should never have courage to push on to certain death, when suddenly he caught sight of the golden bowl in front of the serpent-king, and knew that if he lost this chance it would never come back.
so, with his hair standing on end and his blood frozen in his veins, he crept forwards.
oh!
what a noise and a whirr rose afresh among the serpents.
thousands of heads were reared, and tongues were stretched out to sting the intruder to death, but happily for him their bodies were so closely entwined one in the other that they could not disentangle themselves quickly.
like lightning he seized a bit of bread, dipped it in the bowl, and put it in his mouth, then dashed away as if fire was pursuing him.
on he flew as if a whole army of foes were at his heels, and he seemed to hear the noise of their approach growing nearer and nearer.
at length his breath failed him, and he threw himself almost senseless on the turf.
while he lay there dreadful dreams haunted him.
he thought that the serpent-king with the fiery crown had twined himself round him, and was crushing out his life.
with a loud shriek he sprang up to do battle with his enemy, when he saw that it was rays of the sun which had wakened him.
he rubbed his eyes and looked all round, but nothing could he see of the foes of the past night, and the moor where he had run into such danger must be at least a mile away.
but it was no dream that he had run hard and far, or that he had drunk of the magic goats" milk.
and when he felt his limbs, and found them whole, his joy was great that he had come through such perils with a sound skin.
after the fatigues and terrors of the night, he lay still till mid-day, but he made up his mind he would go that very evening into the forest to try what the goats" milk could really do for him, and if he would now be able to understand all that had been a mystery to him.
and once in the forest his doubts were set at rest, for he saw what no mortal eyes had ever seen before.
beneath the trees were golden pavilions, with flags of silver all brightly lighted up.
he was still wondering why the pavilions were there, when a noise was heard among the trees, as if the wind had suddenly got up, and on all sides beautiful maidens stepped from the trees into the bright light of the moon.
these were the wood-nymphs, daughters of the earth-mother, who came every night to hold their dances, in the forest.
the young man, watching from his hiding place, wished he had a hundred eyes in his head, for two were not nearly enough for the sight before him, the dances lasting till the first streaks of dawn.
then a silvery veil seemed to be drawn over the ladies, and they vanished from sight.
but the young man remained where he was till the sun was high in the heavens, and then went home.
he felt that day to be endless, and counted the minutes till night should come, and he might return to the forest.
but when at last he got there he found neither pavilions nor nymphs, and though he went back many nights after he never saw them again.
still, he thought about them night and day, and ceased to care about anything else in the world, and was sick to the end of his life with longing for that beautiful vision.
and that was the way he learned that the wizard had spoken truly when he said, "blindness is man's highest good."
-lrb- ehstnische marchen. -rrb-
the boys with the golden stars once upon a time what happened did happen: and if it had not happened, you would never have heard this story.
well, once upon a time there lived an emperor who had half a world all to himself to rule over, and in this world dwelt an old herd and his wife and their three daughters, anna, stana, and laptitza.
anna, the eldest, was so beautiful that when she took the sheep to pasture they forgot to eat as long as she was walking with them.
stana, the second, was so beautiful that when she was driving the flock the wolves protected the sheep.
but laptitza, the youngest, with a skin as white as the foam on the milk, and with hair as soft as the finest lamb's wool, was as beautiful as both her sisters put together -- as beautiful as she alone could be.
one summer day, when the rays of the sun were pouring down on the earth, the three sisters went to the wood on the outskirts of the mountain to pick strawberries.
as they were looking about to find where the largest berries grew they heard the tramp of horses approaching, so loud that you would have thought a whole army was riding by.
but it was only the emperor going to hunt with his friends and attendants.
they were all fine handsome young men, who sat their horses as if they were part of them, but the finest and handsomest of all was the young emperor himself.
as they drew near the three sisters, and marked their beauty, they checked their horses and rode slowly by.
"listen, sisters!"
said anna, as they passed on.
"if one of those young men should make me his wife, i would bake him a loaf of bread which should keep him young and brave for ever."
"and if i," said stana, "should be the one chosen, i would weave my husband a shirt which will keep him unscathed when he fights with dragons; when he goes through water he will never even be wet; or if through fire, it will not scorch him."
"and i," said laptitza, "will give the man who chooses me two boys, twins, each with a golden star on his forehead, as bright as those in the sky."
and though they spoke low the young men heard, and turned their horses" heads."
i take you at your word, and mine shall you be, most lovely of empresses!"
cried the emperor, and swung laptitza and her strawberries on the horse before him.
"and i will have you," "and i you," exclaimed two of his friends, and they all rode back to the palace together.
the following morning the marriage ceremony took place, and for three days and three nights there was nothing but feasting over the whole kingdom.
and when the rejoicings were over the news was in everybody's mouth that anna had sent for corn, and had made the loaf of which she had spoken at the strawberry beds.
and then more days and nights passed, and this rumour was succeeded by another one -- that stana had procured some flax, and had dried it, and combed it, and spun it into linen, and sewed it herself into the shirt of which she had spoken over the strawberry beds.
now the emperor had a stepmother, and she had a daughter by her first husband, who lived with her in the palace.
the girl's mother had always believed that her daughter would be empress, and not the "milkwhite maiden," the child of a mere shepherd.
so she hated the girl with all her heart, and only bided her time to do her ill.
but she could do nothing as long as the emperor remained with his wife night and day, and she began to wonder what she could do to get him away from her.
at last, when everything else had failed, she managed to make her brother, who was king of the neighbouring country, declare war against the emperor, and besiege some of the frontier towns with a large army.
this time her scheme was successful.
the young emperor sprang up in wrath the moment he heard the news, and vowed that nothing, not even his wife, should hinder his giving them battle.
and hastily assembling whatever soldiers happened to be at hand he set off at once to meet the enemy.
the other king had not reckoned on the swiftness of his movements, and was not ready to receive him.
the emperor fell on him when he was off his guard, and routed his army completely.
then when victory was won, and the terms of peace hastily drawn up, he rode home as fast as his horse would carry him, and reached the palace on the third day.
but early that morning, when the stars were growing pale in the sky, two little boys with golden hair and stars on their foreheads were born to laptitza.
and the stepmother, who was watching, took them away, and dug a hole in the corner of the palace, under the windows of the emperor, and put them in it, while in their stead she placed two little puppies.
the emperor came into the palace, and when they told him the news he went straight to laptitza's room.
no words were needed; he saw with his own eyes that laptitza had not kept the promise she had made at the strawberry beds, and, though it nearly broke his heart, he must give orders for her punishment.
so he went out sadly and told his guards that the empress was to be buried in the earth up to her neck, so that everyone might know what would happen to those who dared to deceive the emperor.
not many days after, the stepmother's wish was fulfilled.
the emperor took her daughter to wife, and again the rejoicings lasted for three days and three nights.
let us now see what happened to the two little boys.
the poor little babies had found no rest even in their graves.
in the place where they had been buried there sprang up two beautiful young aspens, and the stepmother, who hated the sight of the trees, which reminded her of her crime, gave orders that they should be uprooted.
but the emperor heard of it, and forbade the trees to be touched, saying, "let them alone; i like to see them there!
they are the finest aspens i have ever beheld!"
and the aspens grew as no aspens had ever grown before.
in each day they added a year's growth, and each night they added a year's growth, and at dawn, when the stars faded out of the sky, they grew three years" growth in the twinkling of an eye, and their boughs swept across the palace windows.
and when the wind moved them softly, the emperor would sit and listen to them all the day long.
the stepmother knew what it all meant, and her mind never ceased from trying to invent some way of destroying the trees.
it was not an easy thing, but a woman's will can press milk out of a stone, and her cunning will overcome heroes.
what craft will not do soft words may attain, and if these do not succeed there still remains the resource of tears.
one morning the empress sat on the edge of her husband's bed, and began to coax him with all sorts of pretty ways.
it was some time before the bait took, but at length -- even emperors are only men!
"well, well," he said at last, "have your way and cut down the trees; but out of one they shall make a bed for me, and out of the other, one for you!"
and with this the empress was forced to be content.
the aspens were cut down next morning, and before night the new bed had been placed in the emperor's room.
now when the emperor lay down in it he seemed as if he had grown a hundred times heavier than usual, yet he felt a kind of calm that was quite new to him.
but the empress felt as if she was lying on thorns and nettles, and could not close her eyes.
when the emperor was fast asleep, the bed began to crack loudly, and to the empress each crack had a meaning.
she felt as if she were listening to a language which no one but herself could understand.
"is it too heavy for you, little brother?"
asked one of the beds.
"oh, no, it is not heavy at all," answered the bed in which the emperor was sleeping."
i feel nothing but joy now that my beloved father rests over me."
"it is very heavy for me!"
said the other bed, "for on me lies an evil soul."
and so they talked on till the morning, the empress listening all the while.
by daybreak the empress had determined how to get rid of the beds.
she would have two others made exactly like them, and when the emperor had gone hunting they should be placed in his room.
this was done and the aspen beds were burnt in a large fire, till only a little heap of ashes was left.
yet while they were burning the empress seemed to hear the same words, which she alone could understand.
then she stooped and gathered up the ashes, and scattered them to the four winds, so that they might blow over fresh lands and fresh seas, and nothing remain of them.
but she had not seen that where the fire burnt brightest two sparks flew up, and, after floating in the air for a few moments, fell down into the great river that flows through the heart of the country.
here the sparks had turned into two little fishes with golden scales, and one was so exactly like the other that everyone could tell at the first glance that they must be twins.
early one morning the emperor's fishermen went down to the river to get some fish for their master's breakfast, and cast their nets into the stream.
as the last star twinkled out of the sky they drew them in, and among the multitude of fishes lay two with scales of gold, such as no man had ever looked on.
they all gathered round and wondered, and after some talk they decided that they would take the little fishes alive as they were, and give them as a present to the emperor.
"do not take us there, for that is whence we came, and yonder lies our destruction," said one of the fishes.
"but what are we to do with you?"
asked the fisherman.
"go and collect all the dew that lies on the leaves, and let us swim in it.
then lay us in the sun, and do not come near us till the sun's rays shall have dried off the dew," answered the other fish.
the fisherman did as they told him -- gathered the dew from the leaves and let them swim in it, then put them to lie in the sun till the dew should be all dried up.
and when he came back, what do you think he saw?
why, two boys, two beautiful young princes, with hair as golden as the stars on their foreheads, and each so like the other, that at the first glance every one would have known them for twins.
the boys grew fast.
in every day they grew a year's growth, and in every night another year's growth, but at dawn, when the stars were fading, they grew three years" growth in the twinkling of an eye.
and they grew in other things besides height, too.
thrice in age, and thrice in wisdom, and thrice in knowledge.
and when three days and three nights had passed they were twelve years in age, twenty-four in strength, and thirty-six in wisdom.
"now take us to our father," said they.
so the fisherman gave them each a lambskin cap which half covered their faces, and completely hid their golden hair and the stars on their foreheads, and led them to the court.
by the time they arrived there it was midday, and the fisherman and his charges went up to an official who was standing about.
"we wish to speak with the emperor," said one of the boys.
"you must wait until he has finished his dinner," replied the porter.
"no, while he is eating it," said the second boy, stepping across the threshold.
the attendants all ran forward to thrust such impudent youngsters outside the palace, but the boys slipped through their fingers like quicksilver, and entered a large hall, where the emperor was dining, surrounded by his whole court.
"we desire to enter," said one of the princes sharply to a servant who stood near the door.
"that is quite impossible," replied the servant.
"is it?
let us see!"
said the second prince, pushing the servants to right and left.
but the servants were many, and the princes only two.
there was the noise of a struggle, which reached the emperor's ears.
"what is the matter?"
asked he angrily.
the princes stopped at the sound of their father's voice.
"two boys who want to force their way in," replied one of the servants, approaching the emperor.
"to force their way in?
who dares to use force in my palace?
what boys are they?"
said the emperor all in one breath.
"we know not, o mighty emperor," answered the servant, "but they must surely be akin to you, for they have the strength of lions, and have scattered the guards at the gate.
and they are as proud as they are strong, for they will not take their caps from their heads."
the emperor, as he listened, grew red with anger.
"thrust them out," cried he.
"set the dogs after them."
"leave us alone, and we will go quietly," said the princes, and stepped backwards, weeping silently at the harsh words.
they had almost reached the gates when a servant ran up to them.
"the emperor commands you to return," panted he: "the empress wishes to see you."
the princes thought a moment: then they went back the way they had come, and walked straight up to the emperor, their caps still on their heads.
he sat at the top of a long table covered with flowers and filled with guests.
and beside him sat the empress, supported by twelve cushions.
when the princes entered one of the cushions fell down, and there remained only eleven.
"take off your caps," said one of the courtiers."
a covered head is among men a sign of honour.
we wish to seem what we are."
"never mind," said the emperor, whose anger had dropped before the silvery tones of the boy's voice.
"stay as you are, but tell me who you are!
where do you come from, and what do you want?"
"we are twins, two shoots from one stem, which has been broken, and half lies in the ground and half sits at the head of this table.
we have travelled a long way, we have spoken in the rustle of the wind, have whispered in the wood, we have sung in the waters, but now we wish to tell you a story which you know without knowing it, in the speech of men."
and a second cushion fell down.
"let them take their silliness home," said the empress.
"oh, no, let them go on," said the emperor.
"you wished to see them, but i wish to hear them.
go on, boys, sing me the story."
the empress was silent, but the princes began to sing the story of their lives.
"there was once an emperor," began they, and the third cushion fell down.
when they reached the warlike expedition of the emperor three of the cushions fell down at once.
and when the tale was finished there were no more cushions under the empress, but the moment that they lifted their caps, and showed their golden hair and the golden stars, the eyes of the emperor and of all his guests were bent on them, and they could hardly bear the power of so many glances.
and there happened in the end what should have happened in the beginning.
laptitza sat next her husband at the top of the table.
the stepmother's daughter became the meanest sewing maid in the palace, the stepmother was tied to a wild horse, and every one knew and has never forgotten that whoever has a mind turned to wickedness is sure to end badly.
-lrb- rumanische marchen. -rrb-
the frog once upon a time there was a woman who had three sons.
though they were peasants they were well off, for the soil on which they lived was fruitful, and yielded rich crops.
one day they all three told their mother they meant to get married.
to which their mother replied: "do as you like, but see that you choose good housewives, who will look carefully after your affairs; and, to make certain of this, take with you these three skeins of flax, and give it to them to spin.
whoever spins the best will be my favourite daughter-in-law."
now the two eldest sons had already chosen their wives; so they took the flax from their mother, and carried it off with them, to have it spun as she had said.
but the youngest son was puzzled what to do with his skein, as he knew no girl -lrb- never having spoken to any -rrb- to whom he could give it to be spun.
he wandered hither and thither, asking the girls that he met if they would undertake the task for him, but at the sight of the flax they laughed in his face and mocked at him.
then in despair he left their villages, and went out into the country, and, seating himself on the bank of a pond began to cry bitterly.
suddenly there was a noise close beside him, and a frog jumped out of the water on to the bank and asked him why he was crying.
the youth told her of his trouble, and how his brothers would bring home linen spun for them by their promised wives, but that no one would spin his thread.
then the frog answered: "do not weep on that account; give me the thread, and i will spin it for you."
and, having said this, she took it out of his hand, and flopped back into the water, and the youth went back, not knowing what would happen next.
in a short time the two elder brothers came home, and their mother asked to see the linen which had been woven out of the skeins of flax she had given them.
they all three left the room; and in a few minutes the two eldest returned, bringing with them the linen that had been spun by their chosen wives.
but the youngest brother was greatly troubled, for he had nothing to show for the skein of flax that had been given to him.
sadly he betook himself to the pond, and sitting down on the bank, began to weep.
flop!
and the frog appeared out of the water close beside him.
"take this," she said; "here is the linen that i have spun for you."
you may imagine how delighted the youth was.
she put the linen into his hands, and he took it straight back to his mother, who was so pleased with it that she declared she had never seen linen so beautifully spun, and that it was far finer and whiter than the webs that the two elder brothers had brought home.
then she turned to her sons and said: "but this is not enough, my sons, i must have another proof as to what sort of wives you have chosen.
in the house there are three puppies.
each of you take one, and give it to the woman whom you mean to bring home as your wife.
she must train it and bring it up.
whichever dog turns out the best, its mistress will be my favourite daughter-in-law."
so the young men set out on their different ways, each taking a puppy with him.
the youngest, not knowing where to go, returned to the pond, sat down once more on the bank, and began to weep.
flop!
and close beside him, he saw the frog.
"why are you weeping?"
she said.
then he told her his difficulty, and that he did not know to whom he should take the puppy.
"give it to me," she said, "and i will bring it up for you."
and, seeing that the youth hesitated, she took the little creature out of his arms, and disappeared with it into the pond.
the weeks and months passed, till one day the mother said she would like to see how the dogs had been trained by her future daughters-in-law.
the two eldest sons departed, and returned shortly, leading with them two great mastiffs, who growled so fiercely, and looked so savage, that the mere sight of them made the mother tremble with fear.
the youngest son, as was his custom, went to the pond, and called on the frog to come to his rescue.
in a minute she was at his side, bringing with her the most lovely little dog, which she put into his arms.
it sat up and begged with its paws, and went through the prettiest tricks, and was almost human in the way it understood and did what it was told.
in high spirits the youth carried it off to his mother.
as soon as she saw it, she exclaimed: "this is the most beautiful little dog i have ever seen.
you are indeed fortunate, my son; you have won a pearl of a wife."
then, turning to the others, she said: "here are three shirts; take them to your chosen wives.
whoever sews the best will be my favourite daughter-in-law."
so the young men set out once more; and again, this time, the work of the frog was much the best and the neatest.
this time the mother said: "now that i am content with the tests i gave, i want you to go and fetch home your brides, and i will prepare the wedding-feast."
you may imagine what the youngest brother felt on hearing these words.
whence was he to fetch a bride?
would the frog be able to help him in this new difficulty?
with bowed head, and feeling very sad, he sat down on the edge of the pond.
flop!
and once more the faithful frog was beside him.
"what is troubling you so much?"
she asked him, and then the youth told her everything.
"will you take me for a wife?"
she asked.
"what should i do with you as a wife," he replied, wondering at her strange proposal.
"once more, will you have me or will you not?"
she said."
i will neither have you, nor will i refuse you," said he.
at this the frog disappeared; and the next minute the youth beheld a lovely little chariot, drawn by two tiny ponies, standing on the road.
the frog was holding the carriage door open for him to step in.
"come with me," she said.
and he got up and followed her into the chariot.
as they drove along the road they met three witches; the first of them was blind, the second was hunchbacked, and the third had a large thorn in her throat.
when the three witches beheld the chariot, with the frog seated pompously among the cushions, they broke into such fits of laughter that the eyelids of the blind one burst open, and she recovered her sight; the hunchback rolled about on the ground in merriment till her back became straight, and in a roar of laughter the thorn fell out of the throat of the third witch.
their first thought was to reward the frog, who had unconsciously been the means of curing them of their misfortunes.
the first witch waved her magic wand over the frog, and changed her into the loveliest girl that had ever been seen.
the second witch waved the wand over the tiny chariot and ponies, and they were turned into a beautiful large carriage with prancing horses, and a coachman on the seat.
the third witch gave the girl a magic purse, filled with money.
having done this, the witches disappeared, and the youth with his lovely bride drove to his mother's home.
great was the delight of the mother at her youngest son's good fortune.
a beautiful house was built for them; she was the favourite daughter-in-law; everything went well with them, and they lived happily ever after.
-lrb- from the italian. -rrb-
the princess who was hidden underground once there was a king who had great riches, which, when he died, he divided among his three sons.
the two eldest of these lived in rioting and feasting, and thus wasted and squandered their father's wealth till nothing remained, and they found themselves in want and misery.
the youngest of the three sons, on the contrary, made good use of his portion.
he married a wife and soon they had a most beautiful daughter, for whom, when she was grown up, he caused a great palace to be built underground, and then killed the architect who had built it.
next he shut up his daughter inside, and then sent heralds all over the world to make known that he who should find the king's daughter should have her to wife.
if he were not capable of finding her then he must die.
many young men sought to discover her, but all perished in the attempt.
after many had met their death thus, there came a young man, beautiful to behold, and as clever as he was beautiful, who had a great desire to attempt the enterprise.
first he went to a herdsman, and begged him to hide him in a sheepskin, which had a golden fleece, and in this disguise to take him to the king.
the shepherd let himself be persuaded so to do, took a skin having a golden fleece, sewed the young man in it, putting in also food and drink, and so brought him before the king.
when the latter saw the golden lamb, he asked the herd: "will you sell me this lamb?"
but the herd answered: "no, oh king; i will not sell it; but if you find pleasure therein, i will be willing to oblige you, and i will lend it to you, free of charge, for three days, after that you must give it back to me."
this the king agreed to do, and he arose and took the lamb to his daughter.
when he had led it into her palace, and through many rooms, he came to a shut door.
then he called "open, sartara martara of the earth!"
and the door opened of itself.
after that they went through many more rooms, and came to another closed door.
again the king called out: "open, sartara martara of the earth!"
and this door opened like the other, and they came into the apartment where the princess dwelt, the floor, walls, and roof of which were all of silver.
when the king had embraced the princess, he gave her the lamb, to her great joy.
she stroked it, caressed it, and played with it.
after a while the lamb got loose, which, when the princess saw, she said: "see, father, the lamb is free."
but the king answered: "it is only a lamb, why should it not be free?"
then he left the lamb with the princess, and went his way.
in the night, however, the young man threw off the skin.
when the princess saw how beautiful he was, she fell in love with him, and asked him: "why did you come here disguised in a sheepskin like that?"
then he answered: "when i saw how many people sought you, and could not find you, and lost their lives in so doing, i invented this trick, and so i am come safely to you."
the princess exclaimed: "you have done well so to do; but you must know that your wager is not yet won, for my father will change me and my maidens into ducks, and will ask you, "which of these ducks is the princess?"
then i will turn my head back, and with my bill will clean my wings, so that you may know me."
when they had spent three days together, chatting and caressing one another, the herd came back to the king, and demanded his lamb.
then the king went to his daughter to bring it away, which troubled the princess very much, for she said they had played so nicely together.
but the king said: "i can not leave it with you, my daughter, for it is only lent to me."
so he took it away with him, and gave it back to the shepherd.
then the young man threw the skin from off him, and went to the king, saying: "sire, i am persuaded i can find your daughter."
when the king saw how handsome he was, he said: "my lad, i have pity on your youth.
this enterprise has already cost the lives of many, and will certainly be your death as well."
but the young man answered," i accept your conditions, oh king; i will either find her or lose my head."
thereupon he went before the king, who followed after him, till they came to the great door.
then the young man said to the king: "speak the words that it may open."
and the king answered: "what are the words?
shall i say something like this: "shut; shut; shut"?"
"no," said he; "say "open, sartara martara of the earth.""
when the king had so said, the door opened of itself, and they went in, while the king gnawed his moustache in anger.
then they came to the second door, where the same thing happened as at the first, and they went in and found the princess.
then spoke the king and said: "yes, truly, you have found the princess.
now i will turn her as well as all her maidens into ducks, and if you can guess which of these ducks is my daughter, then you shall have her to wife."
and immediately the king changed all the maidens into ducks, and he drove them before the young man, and said: "now show me which is my daughter."
then the princess, according to their understanding, began to clean her wings with her bill, and the lad said: "she who cleans her wings is the princess."
now the king could do nothing more but give her to the young man to wife, and they lived together in great joy and happiness.
-lrb- from the german. -rrb-
the girl who pretended to be a boy once upon a time there lived an emperor who was a great conqueror, and reigned over more countries than anyone in the world.
and whenever he subdued a fresh kingdom, he only granted peace on condition that the king should deliver him one of his sons for ten years" service.
now on the borders of his kingdom lay a country whose emperor was as brave as his neighbour, and as long as he was young he was the victor in every war.
but as years passed away, his head grew weary of making plans of campaign, and his people wanted to stay at home and till their fields, and at last he too felt that he must do homage to the other emperor.
one thing, however, held him back from this step which day by day he saw more clearly was the only one possible.
his new overlord would demand the service of one of his sons.
and the old emperor had no son; only three daughters.
look on which side he would, nothing but ruin seemed to lie before him, and he became so gloomy, that his daughters were frightened, and did everything they could think of to cheer him up, but all to no purpose.
at length one day when they were at dinner, the eldest of the three summoned up all her courage and said to her father: "what secret grief is troubling you?
are your subjects discontented?
or have we given you cause for displeasure?
to smooth away your wrinkles, we would gladly shed our blood, for our lives are bound up in yours; and this you know."
"my daughter," answered the emperor, "what you say is true.
never have you given me one moment's pain.
yet now you can not help me.
ah!
why is not one of you a boy!'"
i do n't understand," she answered in surprise.
"tell us what is wrong: and though we are not boys, we are not quite useless!"
"but what can you do, my dear children?
spin, sew, and weave -- that is all your learning.
only a warrior can deliver me now, a young giant who is strong to wield the battle-axe: whose sword deals deadly blows."
"but why do you need a son so much at present?
tell us all about it!
it will not make matters worse if we know!"
"listen then, my daughters, and learn the reason of my sorrow.
you have heard that as long as i was young no man ever brought an army against me without it costing him dear.
but the years have chilled my blood and drunk my strength.
and now the deer can roam the forest, my arrows will never pierce his heart; strange soldiers will set fire to my houses and water their horses at my wells, and my arm can not hinder them.
no, my day is past, and the time has come when i too must bow my head under the yoke of my foe!
but who is to give him the ten years" service that is part of the price which the vanquished must pay?'"
i will," cried the eldest girl, springing to her feet.
but her father only shook his head sadly.
"never will i bring shame upon you," urged the girl.
"let me go.
am i not a princess, and the daughter of an emperor?"
"go then!"
he said.
the brave girl's heart almost stopped beating from joy, as she set about her preparations.
she was not still for a single moment, but danced about the house, turning chests and wardrobes upside down.
she set aside enough things for a whole year -- dresses embroidered with gold and precious stones, and a great store of provisions.
and she chose the most spirited horse in the stable, with eyes of flame, and a coat of shining silver.
when her father saw her mounted and curvetting about the court, he gave her much wise advice, as to how she was to behave like the young man she appeared to be, and also how to behave as the girl she really was.
then he gave her his blessing, and she touched her horse with the spur.
the silver armour of herself and her steed dazzled the eyes of the people as she darted past.
she was soon out of sight, and if after a few miles she had not pulled up to allow her escort to join her, the rest of the journey would have been performed alone.
but though none of his daughters were aware of the fact, the old emperor was a magician, and had laid his plans accordingly.
he managed, unseen, to overtake his daughter, and throw a bridge of copper over a stream which she would have to cross.
then, changing himself into a wolf, he lay down under one of the arches, and waited.
he had chosen his time well, and in about half an hour the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard.
his feet were almost on the bridge, when a big grey wolf with grinning teeth appeared before the princess.
with a deep growl that froze the blood, he drew himself up, and prepared to spring.
the appearance of the wolf was so sudden and so unexpected, that the girl was almost paralysed, and never even dreamt of flight, till the horse leaped violently to one side.
then she turned him round, and urging him to his fullest speed, never drew rein till she saw the gates of the palace rising before her.
the old emperor, who had got back long since, came to the door to meet her, and touching her shining armour, he said, "did i not tell you, my child, that flies do not make honey?"
the days passed on, and one morning the second princess implored her father to allow her to try the adventure in which her sister had made such a failure.
he listened unwillingly, feeling sure it was no use, but she begged so hard that in the end he consented, and having chosen her arms, she rode away.
but though, unlike her sister, she was quite prepared for the appearance of the wolf when she reached the copper bridge, she showed no greater courage, and galloped home as fast as her horse could carry her.
on the steps of the castle her father was standing, and as still trembling with fright she knelt at his feet, he said gently, "did i not tell you, my child, that every bird is not caught in a net?"
the three girls stayed quietly in the palace for a little while, embroidering, spinning, weaving, and tending their birds and flowers, when early one morning, the youngest princess entered the door of the emperor's private apartments.
"my father, it is my turn now.
perhaps i shall get the better of that wolf!"
"what, do you think you are braver than your sisters, vain little one?
you who have hardly left your long clothes behind you!"
but she did not mind being laughed at, and answered, "for your sake, father, i would cut the devil himself into small bits, or even become a devil myself.
i think i shall succeed, but if i fail, i shall come home without more shame than my sisters."
still the emperor hesitated, but the girl petted and coaxed him till at last he said, "well, well, if you must go, you must.
it remains to be seen what i shall get by it, except perhaps a good laugh when i see you come back with your head bent and your eyes on the ground."
"he laughs best who laughs last," said the princess.
happy at having got her way, the princess decided that the first thing to be done was to find some old white-haired boyard, whose advice she could trust, and then to be very careful in choosing her horse.
so she went straight to the stables where the most beautiful horses in the empire were feeding in the stalls, but none of them seemed quite what she wanted.
almost in despair she reached the last box of all, which was occupied by her father's ancient war-horse, old and worn like himself, stretched sadly out on the straw.
the girl's eyes filled with tears, and she stood gazing at him.
the horse lifted his head, gave a little neigh, and said softly, "you look gentle and pitiful, but i know it is your love for your father which makes you tender to me.
ah, what a warrior he was, and what good times we shared together!
but now i too have grown old, and my master has forgotten me, and there is no reason to care whether my coat is dull or shining.
yet, it is not too late, and if i were properly tended, in a week i could vie with any horse in the stables!"
"and how should you be tended?"
asked the girl."
i must be rubbed down morning and evening with rain water, my barley must be boiled in milk, because of my bad teeth, and my feet must be washed in oil.'"
i should like to try the treatment, as you might help me in carrying out my scheme."
"try it then, mistress, and i promise you will never repent."
so in a week's time the horse woke up one morning with a sudden shiver through all his limbs; and when it had passed away, he found his skin shining like a mirror, his body as fat as a water melon, his movement light as a chamois.
then looking at the princess who had come early to the stable, he said joyfully, "may success await on the steps of my master's daughter, for she has given me back my life.
tell me what i can do for you, princess, and i will do it.'"
i want to go to the emperor who is our over-lord, and i have no one to advise me.
which of all the white-headed boyards shall i choose as counsellor?"
"if you have me, you need no one else: i will serve you as i served your father, if you will only listen to what i say.'"
i will listen to everything.
can you start in three days?"
"this moment, if you like," said the horse.
the preparations of the emperor's youngest daughter were much fewer and simpler than those of her sisters.
they only consisted of some boy's clothes, a small quantity of linen and food, and a little money in case of necessity.
then she bade farewell to her father, and rode away.
a day's journey from the palace, she reached the copper bridge, but before they came in sight of it, the horse, who was a magician, had warned her of the means her father would take to prove her courage.
still in spite of his warning she trembled all over when a huge wolf, as thin as if he had fasted for a month, with claws like saws, and mouth as wide as an oven, bounded howling towards her.
for a moment her heart failed her, but the next, touching the horse lightly with her spur, she drew her sword from its sheath, ready to separate the wolf's head from its body at a single blow.
the beast saw the sword, and shrank back, which was the best thing it could do, as now the girl's blood was up, and the light of battle in her eyes.
then without looking round, she rode across the bridge.
the emperor, proud of this first victory, took a short cut, and waited for her at the end of another day's journey, close to a river, over which he threw a bridge of silver.
and this time he took the shape of a lion.
but the horse guessed this new danger and told the princess how to escape it.
but it is one thing to receive advice when we feel safe and comfortable, and quite another to be able to carry it out when some awful peril is threatening us.
and if the wolf had made the girl quake with terror, it seemed like a lamb beside this dreadful lion.
at the sound of his roar the very trees quivered and his claws were so large that every one of them looked like a cutlass.
the breath of the princess came and went, and her feet rattled in the stirrups.
suddenly the remembrance flashed across her of the wolf whom she had put to flight, and waving her sword, she rushed so violently on the lion that he had barely time to spring on one side, so as to avoid the blow.
then, like a flash, she crossed this bridge also.
now during her whole life, the princess had been so carefully brought up, that she had never left the gardens of the palace, so that the sight of the hills and valleys and tinkling streams, and the song of the larks and blackbirds, made her almost beside herself with wonder and delight.
she longed to get down and bathe her face in the clear pools, and pick the brilliant flowers, but the horse said "no," and quickened his pace, neither turning to the right or the left.
"warriors," he told her, "only rest when they have won the victory.
you have still another battle to fight, and it is the hardest of all."
this time it was neither a wolf nor a lion that was waiting for her at the end of the third day's journey, but a dragon with twelve heads, and a golden bridge behind it.
the princess rode up without seeing anything to frighten her, when a sudden puff of smoke and flame from beneath her feet, caused her to look down, and there was the horrible creature twisted and writhing, its twelve heads reared up as if to seize her between them.
the bridle fell from her hand: and the sword which she had just grasped slid back into its sheath, but the horse bade her fear nothing, and with a mighty effort she sat upright and spurred straight on the dragon.
the fight lasted an hour and the dragon pressed her hard.
but in the end, by a well-directed side blow, she cut off one of the heads, and with a roar that seemed to rend the heavens in two, the dragon fell back on the ground, and rose as a man before her.
although the horse had informed the princess the dragon was really her own father, the girl had hardly believed him, and stared in amazement at the transformation.
but he flung his arms round her and pressed her to his heart saying, "now i see that you are as brave as the bravest, and as wise as the wisest.
you have chosen the right horse, for without his help you would have returned with a bent head and downcast eyes.
you have filled me with the hope that you may carry out the task you have undertaken, but be careful to forget none of my counsels, and above all to listen to those of your horse."
when he had done speaking, the princess knelt down to receive his blessing, and they went their different ways.
the princess rode on and on, till at last she came to the mountains which hold up the roof of the world.
there she met two genii who had been fighting fiercely for two years, without one having got the least advantage over the other.
seeing what they took to be a young man seeking adventures, one of the combatants called out, "fet-fruners!
deliver me from my enemy, and i will give you the horn that can be heard the distance of a three days" journey;" while the other cried, "fet-fruners!
help me to conquer this pagan thief, and you shall have my horse, sunlight."
before answering, the princess consulted her own horse as to which offer she should accept, and he advised her to side with the genius who was master of sunlight, his own younger brother, and still more active than himself.
so the girl at once attacked the other genius, and soon clove his skull; then the one who was left victor begged her to come back with him to his house and he would hand her over sunlight, as he had promised.
the mother of the genius was rejoiced to see her son return safe and sound, and prepared her best room for the princess, who, after so much fatigue, needed rest badly.
but the girl declared that she must first make her horse comfortable in his stable; but this was really only an excuse, as she wanted to ask his advice on several matters.
but the old woman had suspected from the very first that the boy who had come to the rescue of her son was a girl in disguise, and told the genius that she was exactly the wife he needed.
the genius scoffed, and inquired what female hand could ever wield a sabre like that; but, in spite of his sneers, his mother persisted, and as a proof of what she said, laid at night on each of their pillows a handful of magic flowers, that fade at the touch of man, but remain eternally fresh in the fingers of a woman.
it was very clever of her, but unluckily the horse had warned the princess what to expect, and when the house was silent, she stole very softly to the genius's room, and exchanged his faded flowers for those she held.
then she crept back to her own bed and fell fast asleep.
at break of day, the old woman ran to see her son, and found, as she knew she would, a bunch of dead flowers in his hand.
she next passed on to the bedside of the princess, who still lay asleep grasping the withered flowers.
but she did not believe any the more that her guest was a man, and so she told her son.
so they put their heads together and laid another trap for her.
after breakfast the genius gave his arm to his guest, and asked her to come with him into the garden.
for some time they walked about looking at the flowers, the genius all the while pressing her to pick any she fancied.
but the princess, suspecting a trap, inquired roughly why they were wasting the precious hours in the garden, when, as men, they should be in the stables looking after their horses.
then the genius told his mother that she was quite wrong, and his deliverer was certainly a man.
but the old woman was not convinced for all that.
she would try once more she said, and her son must lead his visitor into the armoury, where hung every kind of weapon used all over the world -- some plain and bare, others ornamented with precious stones -- and beg her to make choice of one of them.
the princess looked at them closely, and felt the edges and points of their blades, then she hung at her belt an old sword with a curved blade, that would have done credit to an ancient warrior.
after this she informed the genius that she would start early next day and take sunlight with her.
and there was nothing for the mother to do but to submit, though she still stuck to her own opinion.
the princess mounted sunlight, and touched him with her spur, when the old horse, who was galloping at her side, suddenly said: "up to this time, mistress, you have obeyed my counsels and all has gone well.
listen to me once more, and do what i tell you.
i am old, and -- now that there is someone to take my place, i will confess it -- i am afraid that my strength is not equal to the task that lies before me.
give me leave, therefore, to return home, and do you continue your journey under the care of my brother.
put your faith in him as you put it in me, and you will never repent.
wisdom has come early to sunlight."
"yes, my old comrade, you have served me well; and it is only through your help that up to now i have been victorious.
so grieved though i am to say farewell, i will obey you yet once more, and will listen to your brother as i would to yourself.
only, i must have a proof that he loves me as well as you do."
"how should i not love you?"
answered sunlight; "how should i not be proud to serve a warrior such as you?
trust me, mistress, and you shall never regret the absence of my brother.
i know there will be difficulties in our path, but we will face them together."
then, with tears in her eyes, the princess took leave of her old horse, who galloped back to her father.
she had ridden only a few miles further, when she saw a golden curl lying on the road before her.
checking her horse, she asked whether it would be better to take it or let it lie.
"if you take it," said sunlight, "you will repent, and if you do n't, you will repent too: so take it."
on this the girl dismounted, and picking up the curl, wound it round her neck for safety.
they passed by hills, they passed by mountains, they passed through valleys, leaving behind them thick forests, and fields covered with flowers; and at length they reached the court of the over-lord.
he was sitting on his throne, surrounded by the sons of the other emperors, who served him as pages.
these youths came forward to greet their new companion, and wondered why they felt so attracted towards him.
however, there was no time for talking and concealing her fright.
the princess was led straight up to the throne, and explained, in a low voice, the reason of her coming.
the emperor received her kindly, and declared himself fortunate at finding a vassal so brave and so charming, and begged the princess to remain in attendance on his person.
she was, however, very careful in her behaviour towards the other pages, whose way of life did not please her.
one day, however, she had been amusing herself by making sweetmeats, when two of the young princes looked in to pay her a visit.
she offered them some of the food which was already on the table, and they thought it so delicious that they even licked their fingers so as not to lose a morsel.
of course they did not keep the news of their discovery to themselves, but told all their companions that they had just been enjoying the best supper they had had since they were born.
and from that moment the princess was left no peace, till she had promised to cook them all a dinner.
now it happened that, on the very day fixed, all the cooks in the palace became intoxicated, and there was no one to make up the fire.
when the pages heard of this shocking state of things, they went to their companion and implored her to come to the rescue.
the princess was fond of cooking, and was, besides, very good-natured; so she put on an apron and went down to the kitchen without delay.
when the dinner was placed before the emperor he found it so nice that he ate much more than was good for him.
the next morning, as soon as he woke, he sent for his head cook, and told him to send up the same dishes as before.
the cook, seized with fright at this command, which he knew he could not fulfil, fell on his knees, and confessed the truth.
the emperor was so astonished that he forgot to scold, and while he was thinking over the matter, some of his pages came in and said that their new companion had been heard to boast that he knew where iliane was to be found -- the celebrated iliane of the song which begins: "golden hair the fields are green," and that to their certain knowledge he had a curl of her hair in his possession.
when he heard that, the emperor desired the page to be brought before him, and, as soon as the princess obeyed his summons, he said to her abruptly: "fet-fruners, you have hidden from me the fact that you knew the golden-haired iliane!
why did you do this?
for i have treated you more kindly than all my other pages."
then, after making the princess show him the golden curl which she wore round her neck, he added: "listen to me; unless by some means or other you bring me the owner of this lock, i will have your head cut off in the place where you stand.
now go!"
in vain the poor girl tried to explain how the lock of hair came into her possession; the emperor would listen to nothing, and, bowing low, she left his presence and went to consult sunlight what she was to do.
at his first words she brightened up.
"do not be afraid, mistress; only last night my brother appeared to me in a dream and told me that a genius had carried off iliane, whose hair you picked up on the road.
but iliane declares that, before she marries her captor, he must bring her, as a present, the whole stud of mares which belong to her.
the genius, half crazy with love, thinks of nothing night and day but how this can be done, and meanwhile she is quite safe in the island swamps of the sea.
go back to the emperor and ask him for twenty ships filled with precious merchandise.
the rest you shall know by-and-by."
on hearing this advice, the princess went at once into the emperor's presence.
"may a long life be yours, o sovereign all mighty!"
said she."
i have come to tell you that i can do as you command if you will give me twenty ships, and load them with the most precious wares in your kingdom."
"you shall have all that i possess if you will bring me the golden-haired iliane," said the emperor.
the ships were soon ready, and the princess entered the largest and finest, with sunlight at her side.
then the sails were spread and the voyage began.
for seven weeks the wind blew them straight towards the west, and early one morning they caught sight of the island swamps of the sea.
they cast anchor in a little bay, and the princess made haste to disembark with sunlight, but, before leaving the ship, she tied to her belt a pair of tiny gold slippers, adorned with precious stones.
then mounting sunlight, she rode about till she came to several palaces, built on hinges, so that they could always turn towards the sun.
the most splendid of these was guarded by three slaves, whose greedy eyes were caught by the glistening gold of the slippers.
they hastened up to the owner of these treasures, and inquired who he was."
a merchant," replied the princess, "who had somehow missed his road, and lost himself among the island swamps of the sea."
not knowing if it was proper to receive him or not, the slaves returned to their mistress and told her all they had seen, but not before she had caught sight of the merchant from the roof of her palace.
luckily her gaoler was away, always trying to catch the stud of mares, so for the moment she was free and alone.
the slaves told their tale so well that their mistress insisted on going down to the shore and seeing the beautiful slippers for herself.
they were even lovelier than she expected, and when the merchant besought her to come on board, and inspect some that he thought were finer still, her curiosity was too great to refuse, and she went.
once on board ship, she was so busy turning over all the precious things stored there, that she never knew that the sails were spread, and that they were flying along with the wind behind them; and when she did know, she rejoiced in her heart, though she pretended to weep and lament at being carried captive a second time.
thus they arrived at the court of the emperor.
they were just about to land, when the mother of the genius stood before them.
she had learnt that iliane had fled from her prison in company with a merchant, and, as her son was absent, had come herself in pursuit.
striding over the blue waters, hopping from wave to wave, one foot reaching to heaven, and the other planted in the foam, she was close at their heels, breathing fire and flame, when they stepped on shore from the ship.
one glance told iliane who the horrible old woman was, and she whispered hastily to her companion.
without saying a word, the princess swung her into sunlight's saddle, and leaping up behind her, they were off like a flash.
it was not till they drew near the town that the princess stooped and asked sunlight what they should do.
"put your hand into my left ear," said he, "and take out a sharp stone, which you must throw behind you."
the princess did as she was told, and a huge mountain sprang up behind them.
the mother of the genius began to climb up it, and though they galloped quickly, she was quicker still.
they heard her coming, faster, faster; and again the princess stooped to ask what was to be done now.
"put your hand into my right ear," said the horse, "and throw the brush you will find there behind you."
the princess did so, and a great forest sprang up behind them, and, so thick were its leaves, that even a wren could not get through.
but the old woman seized hold of the branches and flung herself like a monkey from one to the others, and always she drew nearer -- always, always -- till their hair was singed by the flames of her mouth.
then, in despair, the princess again bent down and asked if there was nothing more to be done, and sunlight replied "quick, quick, take off the betrothal ring on the finger of iliane and throw it behind you."
this time there sprang up a great tower of stone, smooth as ivory, hard as steel, which reached up to heaven itself.
and the mother of the genius gave a howl of rage, knowing that she could neither climb it nor get through it.
but she was not beaten yet, and gathering herself together, she made a prodigious leap, which landed her on the top of the tower, right in the middle of iliane's ring which lay there, and held her tight.
only her claws could be seen grasping the battlements.
all that could be done the old witch did; but the fire that poured from her mouth never reached the fugitives, though it laid waste the country a hundred miles round the tower, like the flames of a volcano.
then, with one last effort to free herself, her hands gave way, and, falling down to the bottom of the tower, she was broken in pieces.
when the flying princess saw what had happened she rode back to the spot, as sunlight counselled her, and placed her finger on the top of the tower, which was gradually shrinking into the earth.
in an instant the tower had vanished as if it had never been, and in its place was the finger of the princess with a ring round it.
the emperor received iliane with all the respect that was due to her, and fell in love at first sight besides.
but this did not seem to please iliane, whose face was sad as she walked about the palace or gardens, wondering how it was that, while other girls did as they liked, she was always in the power of someone whom she hated.
so when the emperor asked her to share his throne iliane answered: "noble sovereign, i may not think of marriage till my stud of horses has been brought me, with their trappings all complete."
when he heard this, the emperor once more sent for fet-fruners, and said: "fet-fruners, fetch me instantly the stud of mares, with their trappings all complete.
if not, your head shall pay the forfeit."
"mighty emperor, i kiss your hands!
i have but just returned from doing your bidding, and, behold, you send me on another mission, and stake my head on its fulfilment, when your court is full of valiant young men, pining to win their spurs.
they say you are a just man; then why not entrust this quest to one of them?
where am i to seek these mares that i am to bring you?"
"how do i know?
they may be anywhere in heaven or earth; but, wherever they are, you will have to find them."
the princess bowed and went to consult sunlight.
he listened while she told her tale, and then said: "fetch quickly nine buffalo skins; smear them well with tar, and lay them on my back.
do not fear; you will succeed in this also; but, in the end, the emperor's desires will be his undoing."
the buffalo skins were soon got, and the princess started off with sunlight.
the way was long and difficult, but at length they reached the place where the mares were grazing.
here the genius who had carried off iliane was wandering about, trying to discover how to capture them, all the while believing that iliane was safe in the palace where he had left her.
as soon as she caught sight of him, the princess went up and told him that iliane had escaped, and that his mother, in her efforts to recapture her, had died of rage.
at this news a blind fury took possession of the genius, and he rushed madly upon the princess, who awaited his onslaught with perfect calmness.
as he came on, with his sabre lifted high in the air, sunlight bounded right over his head, so that the sword fell harmless.
and when in her turn the princess prepared to strike, the horse sank upon his knees, so that the blade pierced the genius's thigh.
the fight was so fierce that it seemed as if the earth would give way under them, and for twenty miles round the beasts in the forests fled to their caves for shelter.
at last, when her strength was almost gone, the genius lowered his sword for an instant.
the princess saw her chance, and, with one swoop of her arm, severed her enemy's head from his body.
still trembling from the long struggle, she turned away, and went to the meadow where the stud were feeding.
by the advice of sunlight, she took care not to let them see her, and climbed a thick tree, where she could see and hear without being seen herself.
then he neighed, and the mares came galloping up, eager to see the new comer -- all but one horse, who did not like strangers, and thought they were very well as they were.
as sunlight stood his ground, well pleased with the attention paid him, this sulky creature suddenly advanced to the charge, and bit so violently that had it not been for the nine buffalo skins sunlight's last moment would have come.
when the fight was ended, the buffalo skins were in ribbons, and the beaten animal writhing with pain on the grass.
nothing now remained to be done but to drive the whole stud to the emperor's court.
so the princess came down from the tree and mounted sunlight, while the stud followed meekly after, the wounded horse bringing up the rear.
on reaching the palace, she drove them into a yard, and went to inform the emperor of her arrival.
the news was told at once to iliane, who ran down directly and called them to her one by one, each mare by its name.
and at the first sight of her the wounded animal shook itself quickly, and in a moment its wounds were healed, and there was not even a mark on its glossy skin.
by this time the emperor, on hearing where she was, joined her in the yard, and at her request ordered the mares to be milked, so that both he and she might bathe in the milk and keep young for ever.
but they would suffer no one to come near them, and the princess was commanded to perform this service also.
at this, the heart of the girl swelled within her.
the hardest tasks were always given to her, and long before the two years were up, she would be worn out and useless.
but while these thoughts passed through her mind, a fearful rain fell, such as no man remembered before, and rose till the mares were standing up to their knees in water.
then as suddenly it stopped, and, behold!
the water was ice, which held the animals firmly in its grasp.
and the princess's heart grew light again, and she sat down gaily to milk them, as if she had done it every morning of her life.
the love of the emperor for iliane waxed greater day by day, but she paid no heed to him, and always had an excuse ready to put off their marriage.
at length, when she had come to the end of everything she could think of, she said to him one day: "grant me, sire, just one request more, and then i will really marry you; for you have waited patiently this long time."
"my beautiful dove," replied the emperor, "both i and all i possess are yours, so ask your will, and you shall have it."
"get me, then," she said," a flask of the holy water that is kept in a little church beyond the river jordan, and i will be your wife."
then the emperor ordered fet-fruners to ride without delay to the river jordan, and to bring back, at whatever cost, the holy water for iliane.
"this, my mistress," said sunlight, when she was saddling him, "is the last and most difficult of your tasks.
but fear nothing, for the hour of the emperor has struck."
so they started; and the horse, who was not a wizard for nothing, told the princess exactly where she was to look for the holy water.
"it stands," he said, "on the altar of a little church, and is guarded by a troop of nuns.
they never sleep, night or day, but every now and then a hermit comes to visit them, and from him they learn certain things it is needful for them to know.
when this happens, only one of the nuns remains on guard at a time, and if we are lucky enough to hit upon this moment, we may get hold of the vase at once; if not, we shall have to wait the arrival of the hermit, however long it may be; for there is no other means of obtaining the holy water."
they came in sight of the church beyond the jordan, and, to their great joy, beheld the hermit just arriving at the door.
they could hear him calling the nuns around him, and saw them settle themselves under a tree, with the hermit in their midst -- all but one, who remained on guard, as was the custom.
the hermit had a great deal to say, and the day was very hot, so the nun, tired of sitting by herself, lay down right across the threshold, and fell sound asleep.
then sunlight told the princess what she was to do, and the girl stepped softly over the sleeping nun, and crept like a cat along the dark aisle, feeling the wall with her fingers, lest she should fall over something and ruin it all by a noise.
but she reached the altar in safety, and found the vase of holy water standing on it.
this she thrust into her dress, and went back with the same care as she came.
with a bound she was in the saddle, and seizing the reins bade sunlight take her home as fast as his legs could carry him.
the sound of the flying hoofs aroused the nun, who understood instantly that the precious treasure was stolen, and her shrieks were so loud and piercing that all the rest came flying to see what was the matter.
the hermit followed at their heels, but seeing it was impossible to overtake the thief, he fell on his knees and called his most deadly curse down on her head, praying that if the thief was a man, he might become a woman; and if she was a woman, that she might become a man.
in either case he thought that the punishment would be severe.
but punishments are things about which people do not always agree, and when the princess suddenly felt she was really the man she had pretended to be, she was delighted, and if the hermit had only been within reach she would have thanked him from her heart.
by the time she reached the emperor's court, fet-fruners looked a young man all over in the eyes of everyone; and even the mother of the genius would now have had her doubts set at rest.
he drew forth the vase from his tunic and held it up to the emperor, saying: "mighty sovereign, all hail!
i have fulfilled this task also, and i hope it is the last you have for me; let another now take his turn.'"
i am content, fet-fruners," replied the emperor, "and when i am dead it is you who will sit upon my throne; for i have yet no son to come after me.
but if one is given me, and my dearest wish is accomplished, then you shall be his right hand, and guide him with your counsels."
but though the emperor was satisfied, iliane was not, and she determined to revenge herself on the emperor for the dangers which he had caused fet-fruners to run.
and as for the vase of holy water, she thought that, in common politeness, her suitor ought to have fetched it himself, which he could have done without any risk at all.
so she ordered the great bath to be filled with the milk of her mares, and begged the emperor to clothe himself in white robes, and enter the bath with her, an invitation he accepted with joy.
then, when both were standing with the milk reaching to their necks, she sent for the horse which had fought sunlight, and made a secret sign to him.
the horse understood what he was to do, and from one nostril he breathed fresh air over iliane, and from the other, he snorted a burning wind which shrivelled up the emperor where he stood, leaving only a little heap of ashes.
his strange death, which no one could explain, made a great sensation throughout the country, and the funeral his people gave him was the most splendid ever known.
when it was over, iliane summoned fet-fruners before her, and addressed him thus: "fet-fruners!
it is you who brought me and have saved my life, and obeyed my wishes.
it is you who gave me back my stud; you who killed the genius, and the old witch his mother; you who brought me the holy water.
and you, and none other, shall be my husband."
"yes, i will marry you," said the young man, with a voice almost as soft as when he was a princess.
"but know that in our house, it will be the cock who sings and not the hen!"
-lrb- from sept contes roumains, jules brun and leo bachelin. -rrb-
the story of halfman in a certain town there lived a judge who was married but had no children.
one day he was standing lost in thought before his house, when an old man passed by.
"what is the matter, sir, said he, "you look troubled?"
"oh, leave me alone, my good man!"
"but what is it?"
persisted the other.
"well, i am successful in my profession and a person of importance, but i care nothing for it all, as i have no children."
then the old man said, "here are twelve apples.
if your wife eats them, she will have twelve sons."
the judge thanked him joyfully as he took the apples, and went to seek his wife.
"eat these apples at once," he cried, "and you will have twelve sons."
so she sat down and ate eleven of them, but just as she was in the middle of the twelfth her sister came in, and she gave her the half that was left.
the eleven sons came into the world, strong and handsome boys; but when the twelfth was born, there was only half of him.
by-and-by they all grew into men, and one day they told their father it was high time he found wives for them."
i have a brother," he answered, "who lives away in the east, and he has twelve daughters; go and marry them."
so the twelve sons saddled their horses and rode for twelve days, till they met an old woman.
"good greeting to you, young men!"
said she, "we have waited long for you, your uncle and i.
the girls have become women, and are sought, in marriage by many, but i knew you would come one day, and i have kept them for you.
follow me into my house."
and the twelve brothers followed her gladly, and their father's brother stood at the door, and gave them meat and drink.
but at night, when every one was asleep, halfman crept softly to his brothers, and said to them, "listen, all of you!
this man is no uncle of ours, but an ogre."
"nonsense; of course he is our uncle," answered they.
"well, this very night you will see!"
said halfman.
and he did not go to bed, but hid himself and watched.
now in a little while he saw the wife of the ogre steal into the room on tiptoe and spread a red cloth over the brothers and then go and cover her daughters with a white cloth.
after that she lay down and was soon snoring loudly.
when halfman was quite sure she was sound asleep, he took the red cloth from his brothers and put it on the girls, and laid their white cloth over his brothers.
next he drew their scarlet caps from their heads and exchanged them for the veils which the ogre's daughters were wearing.
this was hardly done when he heard steps coming along the floor, so he hid himself quickly in the folds of a curtain.
there was only half of him!
the ogress came slowly and gently along, stretching out her hands before her, so that she might not fall against anything unawares, for she had only a tiny lantern slung at her waist, which did not give much light.
and when she reached the place where the sisters were lying, she stooped down and held a corner of the cloth up to the lantern.
yes!
it certainly was red!
still, to make sure that there was no mistake, she passed her hands lightly over their heads, and felt the caps that covered them.
then she was quite certain the brothers lay sleeping before her, and began to kill them one by one.
and halfman whispered to his brothers, "get up and run for your lives, as the ogress is killing her daughters."
the brothers needed no second bidding, and in a moment were out of the house.
by this time the ogress had slain all her daughters but one, who awoke suddenly and saw what had happened.
"mother, what are you doing?"
cried she.
"do you know that you have killed my sisters?"
"oh, woe is me!"
wailed the ogress.
"halfman has outwitted me after all!"
and she turned to wreak vengeance on him, but he and his brothers were far away.
they rode all day till they got to the town where their real uncle lived, and inquired the way to his house.
"why have you been so long in coming?"
asked he, when they had found him.
"oh, dear uncle, we were very nearly not coming at all!"
replied they.
"we fell in with an ogress who took us home and would have killed us if it had not been for halfman.
he knew what was in her mind and saved us, and here we are.
now give us each a daughter to wife, and let us return whence we came."
"take them!"
said the uncle; "the eldest for the eldest, the second for the second, and so on to the youngest."
but the wife of halfman was the prettiest of them all, and the other brothers were jealous and said to each other: "what, is he who is only half a man to get the best?
let us put him to death and give his wife to our eldest brother!"
and they waited for a chance.
after they had all ridden, in company with their brides, for some distance, they arrived at a brook, and one of them asked, "now, who will go and fetch water from the brook?"
"halfman is the youngest," said the elder brother, "he must go."
so halfman got down and filled a skin with water, and they drew it up by a rope and drank.
when they had done drinking, halfman, who was standing in the middle of the stream, called out: "throw me the rope and draw me up, for i can not get out alone."
and the brothers threw him a rope to draw him up the steep bank; but when he was half-way up they cut the rope, and he fell back into the stream.
then the brothers rode away as fast as they could, with his bride.
halfman sank down under the water from the force of the fall, but before he touched the bottom a fish came and said to him, "fear nothing, halfman; i will help you."
and the fish guided him to a shallow place, so that he scrambled out.
on the way it said to him, "do you understand what your brothers, whom you saved from death, have done to you?"
"yes; but what am i to do?"
asked halfman.
"take one of my scales," said the fish, "and when you find yourself in danger, throw it in the fire.
then i will appear before you."
"thank you," said halfman, and went his way, while the fish swam back to its home.
the country was strange to halfman, and he wandered about without knowing where he was going, till he suddenly found the ogress standing before him.
"ah, halfman, have i got you at last?
you killed my daughters and helped your brothers to escape.
what do you think i shall do with you?"
"whatever you like!"
said halfman.
"come into my house, then," said the ogress, and he followed her.
"look here!"
she called to her husband," i have got hold of halfman.
i am going to roast him, so be quick and make up the fire!"
so the ogre brought wood, and heaped it up till the flames roared up the chimney.
then he turned to his wife and said: "it is all ready, let us put him on!"
"what is the hurry, my good ogre?"
asked halfman.
"you have me in your power, and i can not escape.
i am so thin now, i shall hardly make one mouthful.
better fatten me up; you will enjoy me much more."
"that is a very sensible remark," replied the ogre; "but what fattens you quickest?"
"butter, meat, and red wine," answered halfman.
"very good; we will lock you into this room, and here you shall stay till you are ready for eating."
so halfman was locked into the room, and the ogre and his wife brought him his food.
at the end of three months he said to his gaolers: "now i have got quite fat; take me out, and kill me."
"get out, then!"
said the ogre.
"but," went on halfman, "you and your wife had better go to invite your friends to the feast, and your daughter can stay in the house and look after me!"
"yes, that is a good idea," answered they.
"you had better bring the wood in here," continued halfman, "and i will split it up small, so that there may be no delay in cooking me."
so the ogress gave halfman a pile of wood and an axe, and then set out with her husband, leaving halfman and her daughter busy in the house.
after he had chopped for a little while he called to the girl, "come and help me, or else i sha n't have it all ready when your mother gets back."
"all right," said she, and held a billet of wood for him to chop.
but he raised his axe and cut off her head, and ran away like the wind.
by-and-by the ogre and his wife returned and found their daughter lying without her head, and they began to cry and sob, saying, "this is halfman's work, why did we listen to him?"
but halfman was far away.
when he escaped from the house he ran on straight before him for some time, looking for a safe shelter, as he knew that the ogre's legs were much longer than his, and that it was his only chance.
at last he saw an iron tower which he climbed up.
soon the ogre appeared, looking right and left lest his prey should be sheltering behind a rock or tree, but he did not know halfman was so near till he heard his voice calling, "come up!
come up!
you will find me here!"
"but how can i come up?"
said the ogre," i see no door, and i could not possibly climb that tower."
"oh, there is no door," replied halfman.
"then how did you climb up?'"
a fish carried me on his back."
"and what am i to do?"
"you must go and fetch all your relations, and tell them to bring plenty of sticks; then you must light a fire, and let it burn till the tower becomes red hot.
after that you can easily throw it down."
"very good," said the ogre, and he went round to every relation he had, and told them to collect wood and bring it to the tower where halfman was.
the men did as they were ordered, and soon the tower was glowing like coral, but when they flung themselves against it to overthrow it, they caught themselves on fire and were burnt to death.
and overhead sat halfman, laughing heartily.
but the ogre's wife was still alive, for she had taken no part in kindling the fire.
"oh," she shrieked with rage, "you have killed my daughters and my husband, and all the men belonging to me; how can i get at you to avenge myself?"
"oh, that is easy enough," said halfman."
i will let down a rope, and if you tie it tightly round you, i will draw it up."
"all right," returned the ogress, fastening the rope which halfman let down.
"now pull me up."
"are you sure it is secure?"
"yes, quite sure."
"do n't be afraid."
"oh, i am not afraid at all!"
so halfman slowly drew her up, and when she was near the top he let go the rope, and she fell down and broke her neck.
then halfman heaved a great sigh and said, "that was hard work; the rope has hurt my hands badly, but now i am rid of her for ever."
so halfman came down from the tower, and went on, till he got to a desert place, and as he was very tired, he lay down to sleep.
while it was still dark, an ogress passed by, and she woke him and said, "halfman, to-morrow your brother is to marry your wife."
"oh, how can i stop it?"
asked he.
"will you help me?"
"yes, i will," replied the ogress.
"thank you, thank you!"
cried halfman, kissing her on the forehead.
"my wife is dearer to me than anything else in the world, and it is not my brother's fault that i am not dead long ago."
"very well, i will rid you of him," said the ogress, "but only on one condition.
if a boy is born to you, you must give him to me!"
"oh, anything," answered halfman, "as long as you deliver me from my brother, and get me my wife."
"mount on my back, then, and in a quarter of an hour we shall be there."
the ogress was as good as her word, and in a few minutes they arrived at the outskirts of the town where halfman and his brothers lived.
here she left him, while she went into the town itself, and found the wedding guests just leaving the brother's house.
unnoticed by anyone, the ogress crept into a curtain, changing herself into a scorpion, and when the brother was going to get into bed, she stung him behind the ear, so that he fell dead where he stood.
then she returned to halfman and told him to go and claim his bride.
he jumped up hastily from his seat, and took the road to his father's house.
as he drew near he heard sounds of weeping and lamentations, and he said to a man he met: "what is the matter?"
"the judge's eldest son was married yesterday, and died suddenly before night."
"well," thought halfman, "my conscience is clear anyway, for it is quite plain he coveted my wife, and that is why he tried to drown me."
he went at once to his father's room, and found him sitting in tears on the floor.
"dear father," said halfman, "are you not glad to see me?
you weep for my brother, but i am your son too, and he stole my bride from me and tried to drown me in the brook.
if he is dead, i at least am alive."
"no, no, he was better than you!"
moaned the father.
"why, dear father?"
"he told me you had behaved very ill," said he.
"well, call my brothers," answered halfman, "as i have a story to tell them."
so the father called them all into his presence.
then halfman began: "after we were twelve days" journey from home, we met an ogress, who gave us greeting and said, "why have you been so long coming?
the daughters of your uncle have waited for you in vain," and she bade us follow her to the house, saying, "now there need be no more delay; you can marry your cousins as soon as you please, and take them with you to your own home."
but i warned my brothers that the man was not our uncle, but an ogre.
"when we lay down to sleep, she spread a red cloth over us, and covered her daughters with a white one; but i changed the cloths, and when the ogress came back in the middle of the night, and looked at the cloths, she mistook her own daughters for my brothers, and killed them one by one, all but the youngest.
then i woke my brothers, and we all stole softly from the house, and we rode like the wind to our real uncle.
"and when he saw us, he bade us welcome, and married us to his twelve daughters, the eldest to the eldest, and so on to me, whose bride was the youngest of all and also the prettiest.
and my brothers were filled with envy, and left me to drown in a brook, but i was saved by a fish who showed me how to get out.
now, you are a judge!
who did well, and who did evil -- i or my brothers?"
"is this story true?"
said the father, turning to his sons.
"it is true, my father," answered they.
"it is even as halfman has said, and the girl belongs to him."
then the judge embraced halfman and said to him: "you have done well, my son.
take your bride, and may you both live long and happily together!"
at the end of the year halfman's wife had a son, and not long after she came one day hastily into the room, and found her husband weeping.
"what is the matter?"
she asked.
"the matter?"
said he.
"yes, why are you weeping?"
"because," replied halfman, "the baby is not really ours, but belongs to an ogress."
"are you mad?"
cried the wife.
"what do you mean by talking like that?'"
i promised," said halfman, "when she undertook to kill my brother and to give you to me, that the first son we had should be hers."
"and will she take him from us now?"
said the poor woman.
"no, not quite yet," replied halfman; "when he is bigger."
"and is she to have all our children?"
asked she.
"no, only this one," returned halfman.
day by day the boy grew bigger, and one day as he was playing in the street with the other children, the ogress came by.
"go to your father," she said, "and repeat this speech to him: "i want my forfeit; when am i to have it?""
"all right," replied the child, but when he went home forgot all about it.
the next day the ogress came again, and asked the boy what answer the father had given."
i forgot all about it," said he.
"well, put this ring on your finger, and then you wo n't forget."
"very well," replied the boy, and went home.
the next morning, as he was at breakfast, his mother said to him, "child, where did you get that ring?'"
a woman gave it to me yesterday, and she told me, father, to tell you that she wanted her forfeit, and when was she to have it?"
then his father burst into tears and said, "if she comes again you must say to her that your parents bid her take her forfeit at once, and depart."
at this they both began to weep afresh, and his mother kissed him, and put on his new clothes and said, "if the woman bids you to follow her, you must go," but the boy did not heed her grief, he was so pleased with his new clothes.
and when he went out, he said to his play-fellows, "look how smart i am; i am going away with my aunt to foreign lands."
at that moment the ogress came up and asked him, "did you give my message to your father and mother?"
"yes, dear aunt, i did."
"and what did they say?"
"take it away at once!"
so she took him.
but when dinner-time came, and the boy did not return, his father and mother knew that he would never come back, and they sat down and wept all day.
at last halfman rose up and said to his wife, "be comforted; we will wait a year, and then i will go to the ogress and see the boy, and how he is cared for."
"yes, that will be the best," said she.
the year passed away, then halfman saddled his horse, and rode to the place where the ogress had found him sleeping.
she was not there, but not knowing what to do next, he got off his horse and waited.
about midnight she suddenly stood before him.
"halfman, why did you come here?"
said she."
i have a question i want to ask you."
"well, ask it; but i know quite well what it is.
your wife wishes you to ask whether i shall carry off your second son as i did the first."
"yes, that is it," replied halfman.
then he seized her hand and said, "oh, let me see my son, and how he looks, and what he is doing."
the ogress was silent, but stuck her staff hard in the earth, and the earth opened, and the boy appeared and said, "dear father, have you come too?"
and his father clasped him in his arms, and began to cry.
but the boy struggled to be free, saying "dear father, put me down.
i have got a new mother, who is better than the old one; and a new father, who is better than you."
then his father sat him down and said, "go in peace, my boy, but listen first to me.
tell your father the ogre and your mother the ogress, that never more shall they have any children of mine."
"all right," replied the boy, and called "mother!"
"what is it?"
"you are never to take away any more of my father and mother's children!"
"now that i have got you, i do n't want any more," answered she.
then the boy turned to his father and said, "go in peace, dear father, and give my mother greeting and tell her not to be anxious any more, for she can keep all her children."
and halfman mounted his horse and rode home, and told his wife all he had seen, and the message sent by mohammed -- mohammed the son of halfman, the son of the judge.
-lrb- marchen und gedichte aus der stadt tripolis.
hans von stumme. -rrb-
the prince who wanted to see the world there was once a king who had only one son, and this young man tormented his father from morning till night to allow him to travel in far countries.
for a long time the king refused to give him leave; but at last, wearied out, he granted permission, and ordered his treasurer to produce a large sum of money for the prince's expenses.
the youth was overjoyed at the thought that he was really going to see the world, and after tenderly embracing his father he set forth.
he rode on for some weeks without meeting with any adventures; but one night when he was resting at an inn, he came across another traveller, with whom he fell into conversation, in the course of which the stranger inquired if he never played cards.
the young man replied that he was very fond of doing so.
cards were brought, and in a very short time the prince had lost every penny he possessed to his new acquaintance.
when there was absolutely nothing left at the bottom of the bag, the stranger proposed that they should have just one more game, and that if the prince won he should have the money restored to him, but in case he lost, should remain in the inn for three years, and besides that should be his servant for another three.
the prince agreed to those terms, played, and lost; so the stranger took rooms for him, and furnished him with bread and water every day for three years.
the prince lamented his lot, but it was no use; and at the end of three years he was released and had to go to the house of the stranger, who was really the king of a neighbouring country, and be his servant.
before he had gone very far he met a woman carrying a child, which was crying from hunger.
the prince took it from her, and fed it with his last crust of bread and last drop of water, and then gave it back to its mother.
the woman thanked him gratefully, and said: "listen, my lord.
you must walk straight on till you notice a very strong scent, which comes from a garden by the side of the road.
go in and hide yourself close to a tank, where three doves will come to bathe.
as the last one flies past you, catch hold of its robe of feathers, and refuse to give it back till the dove has promised you three things."
the young man did as he was told, and everything happened as the woman had said.
he took the robe of feathers from the dove, who gave him in exchange for it a ring, a collar, and one of its own plumes, saying: "when you are in any trouble, cry "come to my aid, o dove!"
i am the daughter of the king you are going to serve, who hates your father and made you gamble in order to cause your ruin."
thus the prince went on his way, and in course of time he arrived at the king's palace.
as soon as his master knew he was there, the young man was sent for into his presence, and three bags were handed to him with these words: "take this wheat, this millet, and this barley, and sow them at once, so that i may have loaves of them all to-morrow."
the prince stood speechless at this command, but the king did not condescend to give any further explanation, and when he was dismissed the young man flew to the room which had been set aside for him, and pulling out his feather, he cried: "dove, dove!
be quick and come."
"what is it?"
said the dove, flying in through the open window, and the prince told her of the task before him, and of his despair at being unable to accomplish it.
"fear nothing; it will be all right," replied the dove, as she flew away again.
the next morning when the prince awoke he saw the three loaves standing beside his bed.
he jumped up and dressed, and he was scarcely ready when a page arrived with the message that he was to go at once into the king's chamber.
taking the loaves in his arm he followed the boy, and, bowing low, laid them down before the king.
the monarch looked at the loaves for a moment without speaking, then he said: "good.
the man who can do this can also find the ring which my eldest daughter dropped into the sea."
the prince hastened back to his room and summoned the dove, and when she heard this new command she said: "now listen.
to-morrow take a knife and a basin and go down to the shore and get into a boat you will find there."
the young man did not know what he was to do when he was in the boat or where he was to go, but as the dove had come to his rescue before, he was ready to obey her blindly.
when he reached the boat he found the dove perched on one of the masts, and at a signal from her he put to sea; the wind was behind them and they soon lost sight of land.
the dove then spoke for the first time and said, "take that knife and cut off my head, but be careful that not a single drop of blood falls to the ground.
afterwards you must throw it into the sea."
wondering at this strange order, the prince picked up his knife and severed the dove's head from her body at one stroke.
a little while after a dove rose from the water with a ring in its beak, and laying it in the prince's hand, dabbled itself with the blood that was in the basin, when its head became that of a beautiful girl.
another moment and it had vanished completely, and the prince took the ring and made his way back to the palace.
the king stared with surprise at the sight of the ring, but he thought of another way of getting rid of the young man which was surer even than the other two.
"this evening you will mount my colt and ride him to the field, and break him in properly."
the prince received this command as silently as he had received the rest, but no sooner was he in his room than he called for the dove, who said: "attend to me.
my father longs to see you dead, and thinks he will kill you by this means.
he himself is the colt, my mother is the saddle, my two sisters are the stirrups, and i am the bridle.
do not forget to take a good club, to help you in dealing with such a crew."
so the prince mounted the colt, and gave him such a beating that when he came to the palace to announce that the animal was now so meek that it could be ridden by the smallest child, he found the king so bruised that he had to be wrapped in cloths dipped in vinegar, the mother was too stiff to move, and several of the daughters" ribs were broken.
the youngest, however, was quite unharmed.
that night she came to the prince and whispered to him: "now that they are all in too much pain to move, we had better seize our chance and run away.
go to the stable and saddle the leanest horse you can find there."
but the prince was foolish enough to choose the fattest: and when they had started and the princess saw what he had done, she was very sorry, for though this horse ran like the wind, the other flashed like thought.
however, it was dangerous to go back, and they rode on as fast as the horse would go.
in the night the king sent for his youngest daughter, and as she did not come he sent again; but she did not come any the more for that.
the queen, who was a witch, discovered that her daughter had gone off with the prince, and told her husband he must leave his bed and go after them.
the king got slowly up, groaning with pain, and dragged himself to the stables, where he saw the lean horse still in his stall.
leaping on his back he shook the reins, and his daughter, who knew what to expect and had her eyes open, saw the horse start forward, and in the twinkling of an eye changed her own steed into a cell, the prince into a hermit, and herself into a nun.
when the king reached the chapel, he pulled up his horse and asked if a girl and a young man had passed that way.
the hermit raised his eyes, which were bent on the ground, and said that he had not seen a living creature.
the king, much disgusted at this news, and not knowing what to do, returned home and told his wife that, though he had ridden for miles, he had come across nothing but a hermit and a nun in a cell.
"why those were the runaways, of course," she cried, flying into a passion, "and if you had only brought a scrap of the nun's dress, or a bit of stone from the wall, i should have had them in my power."
at these words the king hastened back to the stable, and brought out the lean horse who travelled quicker than thought.
but his daughter saw him coming, and changed her horse into a plot of ground, herself into a rose-tree covered with roses, and the prince into a gardener.
as the king rode up, the gardener looked up from the tree which he was trimming and asked if anything was the matter.
"have you seen a young man and a girl go by?"
said the king, and the gardener shook his head and replied that no one had passed that way since he had been working there.
so the king turned his steps homewards and told his wife.
"idiot!"
cried she, "if you had only brought me one of the roses, or a handful of earth, i should have had them in my power.
but there is no time to waste.
i shall have to go with you myself."
the girl saw them from afar, and a great fear fell on her, for she knew her mother's skill in magic of all kinds.
however, she determined to fight to the end, and changed the horse into a deep pool, herself into an eel, and the prince into a turtle.
but it was no use.
her mother recognised them all, and, pulling up, asked her daughter if she did not repent and would not like to come home again.
the eel wagged "no" with her tail, and the queen told her husband to put a drop of water from the pool into a bottle, because it was only by that means that she could seize hold of her daughter.
the king did as he was bid, and was just in the act of drawing the bottle out of the water after he had filled it, when the turtle knocked against and spilt it all.
the king then filled it a second time, but again the turtle was too quick for him.
the queen saw that she was beaten, and called down a curse on her daughter that the prince should forget all about her.
after having relieved her feelings in this manner, she and the king went back to the palace.
the others resumed their proper shapes and continued their journey, but the princess was so silent that at last the prince asked her what was the matter.
"it is because i know you will soon forget all about me," said she, and though he laughed at her and told her it was impossible, she did not cease to believe it.
they rode on and on and on, till they reached the end of the world, where the prince lived, and leaving the girl in an inn he went himself to the palace to ask leave of his father to present her to him as his bride; but in his joy at seeing his family once more he forgot all about her, and even listened when the king spoke of arranging a marriage for him.
when the poor girl heard this she wept bitterly, and cried out, "come to me, my sisters, for i need you badly!"
in a moment they stood beside her, and the elder one said, "do not be sad, all will go well," and they told the innkeeper that if any of the king's servants wanted any birds for their master they were to be sent up to them, as they had three doves for sale.
and so it fell out, and as the doves were very beautiful the servant bought them for the king, who admired them so much that he called his son to look at them.
the prince was much pleased with the doves and was coaxing them to come to him, when one fluttered on to the top of the window and said, "if you could only hear us speak, you would admire us still more."
and another perched on a table and added, "talk away, it might help him to remember!"
and the third flew on his shoulder and whispered to him, "put on this ring, prince, and see if it fits you."
and it did.
then they hung a collar round his neck, and held a feather on which was written the name of the dove.
and at last his memory came back to him, and he declared he would marry the princess and nobody else.
so the next day the wedding took place, and they lived happy till they died.
-lrb- from the portuguese. -rrb-
virgilius the sorcerer long, long ago there was born to a roman knight and his wife maja a little boy called virgilius.
while he was still quite little, his father died, and the kinsmen, instead of being a help and protection to the child and his mother, robbed them of their lands and money, and the widow, fearing that they might take the boy's life also, sent him away to spain, that he might study in the great university of toledo.
virgilius was fond of books, and pored over them all day long.
but one afternoon, when the boys were given a holiday, he took a long walk, and found himself in a place where he had never been before.
in front of him was a cave, and, as no boy ever sees a cave without entering it, he went in.
the cave was so deep that it seemed to virgilius as if it must run far into the heart of the mountain, and he thought he would like to see if it came out anywhere on the other side.
for some time he walked on in pitch darkness, but he went steadily on, and by-and-by a glimmer of light shot across the floor, and he heard a voice calling, "virgilius!
virgilius!"
"who calls?"
he asked, stopping and looking round.
"virgilius!"
answered the voice, "do you mark upon the ground where you are standing a slide or bolt?'"
i do," replied virgilius.
"then," said the voice, "draw back that bolt, and set me free."
"but who are you?"
asked virgilius, who never did anything in a hurry."
i am an evil spirit," said the voice, "shut up here till doomsday, unless a man sets me free.
if you will let me out i will give you some magic books, which will make you wiser than any other man."
now virgilius loved wisdom, and was tempted by these promises, but again his prudence came to his aid, and he demanded that the books should be handed over to him first, and that he should be told how to use them.
the evil spirit, unable to help itself, did as virgilius bade him, and then the bolt was drawn back.
underneath was a small hole, and out of this the evil spirit gradually wriggled himself; but it took some time, for when at last he stood upon the ground he proved to be about three times as large as virgilius himself, and coal black besides.
"why, you ca n't have been as big as that when you were in the hole!"
cried virgilius.
"but i was!"
replied the spirit."
i do n't believe it!"
answered virgilius.
"well, i'll just get in and show you," said the spirit, and after turning and twisting, and curling himself up, then he lay neatly packed into the hole.
then virgilius drew the bolt, and, picking the books up under his arm, he left the cave.
for the next few weeks virgilius hardly ate or slept, so busy was he in learning the magic the books contained.
but at the end of that time a messenger from his mother arrived in toledo, begging him to come at once to rome, as she had been ill, and could look after their affairs no longer.
though sorry to leave toledo, where he was much thought of as showing promise of great learning, virgilius would willingly have set out at once, but there were many things he had first to see to.
so he entrusted to the messenger four pack-horses laden with precious things, and a white palfrey on which she was to ride out every day.
then he set about his own preparations, and, followed by a large train of scholars, he at length started for rome, from which he had been absent twelve years.
his mother welcomed him back with tears in her eyes, and his poor kinsmen pressed round him, but the rich ones kept away, for they feared that they would no longer be able to rob their kinsman as they had done for many years past.
of course, virgilius paid no attention to this behaviour, though he noticed they looked with envy on the rich presents he bestowed on the poorer relations and on anyone who had been kind to his mother.
soon after this had happened the season of tax-gathering came round, and everyone who owned land was bound to present himself before the emperor.
like the rest, virgilius went to court, and demanded justice from the emperor against the men who had robbed him.
but as these were kinsmen to the emperor he gained nothing, as the emperor told him he would think over the matter for the next four years, and then give judgment.
this reply naturally did not satisfy virgilius, and, turning on his heel, he went back to his own home, and, gathering in his harvest, he stored it up in his various houses.
when the enemies of virgilius heard of this, they assembled together and laid siege to his castle.
but virgilius was a match for them.
coming forth from the castle so as to meet them face to face, he cast a spell over them of such power that they could not move, and then bade them defiance.
after which he lifted the spell, and the invading army slunk back to rome, and reported what virgilius had said to the emperor.
now the emperor was accustomed to have his lightest word obeyed, almost before it was uttered, and he hardly knew how to believe his ears.
but he got together another army, and marched straight off to the castle.
but directly they took up their position virgilius girded them about with a great river, so that they could neither move hand nor foot, then, hailing the emperor, he offered him peace, and asked for his friendship.
the emperor, however, was too angry to listen to anything, so virgilius, whose patience was exhausted, feasted his own followers in the presence of the starving host, who could not stir hand or foot.
things seemed getting desperate, when a magician arrived in the camp and offered to sell his services to the emperor.
his proposals were gladly accepted, and in a moment the whole of the garrison sank down as if they were dead, and virgilius himself had much ado to keep awake.
he did not know how to fight the magician, but with a great effort struggled to open his black book, which told him what spells to use.
in an instant all his foes seemed turned to stone, and where each man was there he stayed.
some were half way up the ladders, some had one foot over the wall, but wherever they might chance to be there every man remained, even the emperor and his sorcerer.
all day they stayed there like flies upon the wall, but during the night virgilius stole softly to the emperor, and offered him his freedom, as long as he would do him justice.
the emperor, who by this time was thoroughly frightened, said he would agree to anything virgilius desired.
so virgilius took off his spells, and, after feasting the army and bestowing on every man a gift, bade them return to rome.
and more than that, he built a square tower for the emperor, and in each corner all that was said in that quarter of the city might be heard, while if you stood in the centre every whisper throughout rome would reach your ears.
having settled his affairs with the emperor and his enemies, virgilius had time to think of other things, and his first act was to fall in love!
the lady's name was febilla, and her family was noble, and her face fairer than any in rome, but she only mocked virgilius, and was always playing tricks upon him.
to this end, she bade him one day come to visit her in the tower where she lived, promising to let down a basket to draw him up as far as the roof.
virgilius was enchanted at this quite unexpected favour, and stepped with glee into the basket.
it was drawn up very slowly, and by-and-by came altogether to a standstill, while from above rang the voice of febilla crying, "rogue of a sorcerer, there shalt thou hang!"
and there he hung over the market-place, which was soon thronged with people, who made fun of him till he was mad with rage.
at last the emperor, hearing of his plight, commanded febilla to release him, and virgilius went home vowing vengeance.
the next morning every fire in rome went out, and as there were no matches in those days this was a very serious matter.
the emperor, guessing that this was the work of virgilius, besought him to break the spell.
then virgilius ordered a scaffold to be erected in the market-place, and febilla to be brought clothed in a single white garment.
and further, he bade every one to snatch fire from the maiden, and to suffer no neighbour to kindle it.
and when the maiden appeared, clad in her white smock, flames of fire curled about her, and the romans brought some torches, and some straw, and some shavings, and fires were kindled in rome again.
for three days she stood there, till every hearth in rome was alight, and then she was suffered to go where she would.
but the emperor was wroth at the vengeance of virgilius, and threw him into prison, vowing that he should be put to death.
and when everything was ready he was led out to the viminal hill, where he was to die.
he went quietly with his guards, but the day was hot, and on reaching his place of execution he begged for some water.
a pail was brought, and he, crying'em peror, all hail!
seek for me in sicily," jumped headlong into the pail, and vanished from their sight.
for some time we hear no more of virgilius, or how he made his peace with the emperor, but the next event in his history was his being sent for to the palace to give the emperor advice how to guard rome from foes within as well as foes without.
virgilius spent many days in deep thought, and at length invented a plan which was known to all as the "preservation of rome."
on the roof of the capitol, which was the most famous public building in the city, he set up statues representing the gods worshipped by every nation subject to rome, and in the middle stood the god of rome herself.
each of the conquered gods held in its hand a bell, and if there was even a thought of treason in any of the countries its god turned its back upon the god of rome and rang its bell furiously, and the senators came hurrying to see who was rebelling against the majesty of the empire.
then they made ready their armies, and marched against the foe.
now there was a country which had long felt bitter jealousy of rome, and was anxious for some way of bringing about its destruction.
so the people chose three men who could be trusted, and, loading them with money, sent them to rome, bidding them to pretend that they were diviners of dreams.
no sooner had the messengers reached the city than they stole out at night and buried a pot of gold far down in the earth, and let down another into the bed of the tiber, just where a bridge spans the river.
next day they went to the senate house, where the laws were made, and, bowing low, they said, "oh, noble lords, last night we dreamed that beneath the foot of a hill there lies buried a pot of gold.
have we your leave to dig for it?"
and leave having been given, the messengers took workmen and dug up the gold and made merry with it.
a few days later the diviners again appeared before the senate, and said, "oh, noble lords, grant us leave to seek out another treasure, which has been revealed to us in a dream as lying under the bridge over the river."
and the senators gave leave, and the messengers hired boats and men, and let down ropes with hooks, and at length drew up the pot of gold, some of which they gave as presents to the senators.
a week or two passed by, and once more they appeared in the senate house.
"o, noble lords!"
said they, "last night in a vision we beheld twelve casks of gold lying under the foundation stone of the capitol, on which stands the statue of the preservation of rome.
now, seeing that by your goodness we have been greatly enriched by our former dreams, we wish, in gratitude, to bestow this third treasure on you for your own profit; so give us workers, and we will begin to dig without delay."
and receiving permission they began to dig, and when the messengers had almost undermined the capitol they stole away as secretly as they had come.
and next morning the stone gave way, and the sacred statue fell on its face and was broken.
and the senators knew that their greed had been their ruin.
from that day things went from bad to worse, and every morning crowds presented themselves before the emperor, complaining of the robberies, murders, and other crimes that were committed nightly in the streets.
the emperor, desiring nothing so much as the safety of his subjects, took counsel with virgilius how this violence could be put down.
virgilius thought hard for a long time, and then he spoke: "great prince," said he,'cause a copper horse and rider to be made, and stationed in front of the capitol.
then make a proclamation that at ten o'clock a bell will toll, and every man is to enter his house, and not leave it again."
the emperor did as virgilius advised, but thieves and murderers laughed at the horse, and went about their misdeeds as usual.
but at the last stroke of the bell the horse set off at full gallop through the streets of rome, and by daylight men counted over two hundred corpses that it had trodden down.
the rest of the thieves -- and there were still many remaining -- instead of being frightened into honesty, as virgilius had hoped, prepared rope ladders with hooks to them, and when they heard the sound of the horse's hoofs they stuck their ladders into the walls, and climbed up above the reach of the horse and its rider.
then the emperor commanded two copper dogs to be made that would run after the horse, and when the thieves, hanging from the walls, mocked and jeered at virgilius and the emperor, the dogs leaped high after them and pulled them to the ground, and bit them to death.
thus did virgilius restore peace and order to the city.
now about this time there came to be noised abroad the fame of the daughter of the sultan who ruled over the province of babylon, and indeed she was said to be the most beautiful princess in the world.
virgilius, like the rest, listened to the stories that were told of her, and fell so violently in love with all he heard that he built a bridge in the air, which stretched all the way between rome and babylon.
he then passed over it to visit the princess, who, though somewhat surprised to see him, gave him welcome, and after some conversation became in her turn anxious to see the distant country where this stranger lived, and he promised that he would carry her there himself, without wetting the soles of his feet.
the princess spent some days in the palace of virgilius, looking at wonders of which she had never dreamed, though she declined to accept the presents he longed to heap on her.
the hours passed as if they were minutes, till the princess said that she could be no longer absent from her father.
then virgilius conducted her himself over the airy bridge, and laid her gently down on her own bed, where she was found next morning by her father.
she told him all that had happened to her, and he pretended to be very much interested, and begged that the next time virgilius came he might be introduced to him.
soon after, the sultan received a message from his daughter that the stranger was there, and he commanded that a feast should be made ready, and, sending for the princess delivered into her hands a cup, which he said she was to present to virgilius herself, in order to do him honour.
when they were all seated at the feast the princess rose and presented the cup to virgilius, who directly he had drunk fell into a deep sleep.
then the sultan ordered his guards to bind him, and left him there till the following day.
directly the sultan was up he summoned his lords and nobles into his great hall, and commanded that the cords which bound virgilius should be taken off, and the prisoner brought before him.
the moment he appeared the sultan's passion broke forth, and he accused his captive of the crime of conveying the princess into distant lands without his leave.
virgilius replied that if he had taken her away he had also brought her back, when he might have kept her, and that if they would set him free to return to his own land he would come hither no more.
"not so!"
cried the sultan, "but a shameful death you shall die!"
and the princess fell on her knees, and begged she might die with him.
"you are out in your reckoning, sir sultan!"
said virgilius, whose patience was at an end, and he cast a spell over the sultan and his lords, so that they believed that the great river of babylon was flowing through the hall, and that they must swim for their lives.
so, leaving them to plunge and leap like frogs and fishes, virgilius took the princess in his arms, and carried her over the airy bridge back to rome.
now virgilius did not think that either his palace, or even rome itself, was good enough to contain such a pearl as the princess, so he built her a city whose foundations stood upon eggs, buried far away down in the depths of the sea.
and in the city was a square tower, and on the roof of the tower was a rod of iron, and across the rod he laid a bottle, and on the bottle he placed an egg, and from the egg there hung chained an apple, which hangs there to this day.
and when the egg shakes the city quakes, and when the egg shall be broken the city shall be destroyed.
and the city virgilius filled full of wonders, such as never were seen before, and he called its name naples.
-lrb- adapted from "virgilius the sorcerer." -rrb-
mogarzea and his son there was once a little boy, whose father and mother, when they were dying, left him to the care of a guardian.
but the guardian whom they chose turned out to be a wicked man, and spent all the money, so the boy determined to go away and strike out a path for himself.
so one day he set off, and walked and walked through woods and meadows till when evening came he was very tired, and did not know where to sleep.
he climbed a hill and looked about him to see if there was no light shining from a window.
at first all seemed dark, but at length he noticed a tiny spark far, far off, and, plucking up his spirits, he at once went in search of it.
the night was nearly half over before he reached the spark, which turned out to be a big fire, and by the fire a man was sleeping who was so tall he might have been a giant.
the boy hesitated for a moment what he should do; then he crept close up to the man, and lay down by his legs.
when the man awoke in the morning he was much surprised to find the boy nestling up close to him.
"dear me!
where do you come from?"
said he."
i am your son, born in the night," replied the boy.
"if that is true," said the man, "you shall take care of my sheep, and i will give you food.
but take care you never cross the border of my land, or you will repent it."
then he pointed out where the border of his land lay, and bade the boy begin his work at once.
the young shepherd led his flock out to the richest meadows and stayed with them till evening, when he brought them back, and helped the man to milk them.
when this was done, they both sat down to supper, and while they were eating the boy asked the big man: "what is your name, father?"
"mogarzea," answered he."
i wonder you are not tired of living by yourself in this lonely place."
"there is no reason you should wonder!
do n't you know that there was never a bear yet who danced of his own free will?"
"yes, that is true," replied the boy.
"but why is it you are always so sad?
tell me your history, father."
"what is the use of my telling you things that would only make you sad too?"
"oh, never mind that!
i should like to hear.
are you not my father, and am i not your son?"
"well, if you really want to know my story, this is it: as i told you, my name is mogarzea, and my father is an emperor.
i was on my way to the sweet milk lake, which lies not far from here, to marry one of the three fairies who have made the lake their home.
but on the road three wicked elves fell on me, and robbed me of my soul, so that ever since i have stayed in this spot watching my sheep without wishing for anything different, without having felt one moment's joy, or ever once being able to laugh.
and the horrible elves are so ill-natured that if anyone sets one foot on their land he is instantly punished.
that is why i warn you to be careful, lest you should share my fate."
"all right, i will take great care.
do let me go, father," said the boy, as they stretched themselves out to sleep.
at sunrise the boy got up and led his sheep out to feed, and for some reason he did not feel tempted to cross into the grassy meadows belonging to the elves, but let his flock pick up what pasture they could on mogarzea's dry ground.
on the third day he was sitting under the shadow of a tree, playing on his flute -- and there was nobody in the world who could play a flute better -- when one of his sheep strayed across the fence into the flowery fields of the elves, and another and another followed it.
but the boy was so absorbed in his flute that he noticed nothing till half the flock were on the other side.
he jumped up, still playing on his flute, and went after the sheep, meaning to drive them back to their own side of the border, when suddenly he saw before him three beautiful maidens who stopped in front of him, and began to dance.
the boy understood what he must do, and played with all his might, but the maidens danced on till evening.
"now let me go," he cried at last, "for poor mogarzea must be dying of hunger.
i will come and play for you to-morrow."
"well, you may go!"
they said, "but remember that even if you break your promise you will not escape us."
so they both agreed that the next day he should come straight there with the sheep, and play to them till the sun went down.
this being settled, they each returned home.
mogarzea was surprised to find that his sheep gave so much more milk than usual, but as the boy declared he had never crossed the border the big man did not trouble his head further, and ate his supper heartily.
with the earliest gleams of light, the boy was off with his sheep to the elfin meadow, and at the first notes of his flute the maidens appeared before him and danced and danced and danced till evening came.
then the boy let the flute slip through his fingers, and trod on it, as if by accident.
if you had heard the noise he made, and how he wrung his hands and wept and cried that he had lost his only companion, you would have been sorry for him.
the hearts of the elves were quite melted, and they did all they could to comfort him."
i shall never find another flute like that, moaned he."
i have never heard one whose tone was as sweet as mine!
it was cut from the centre of a seven-year-old cherry tree!"
"there is a cherry tree in our garden that is exactly seven years old," said they.
"come with us, and you shall make yourself another flute."
so they all went to the cherry tree, and when they were standing round it the youth explained that if he tried to cut it down with an axe he might very likely split open the heart of the tree, which was needed for the flute.
in order to prevent this, he would make a little cut in the bark, just large enough for them to put their fingers in, and with this help he could manage to tear the tree in two, so that the heart should run no risk of damage.
the elves did as he told them without a thought; then he quickly drew out the axe, which had been sticking into the cleft, and behold!
all their fingers were imprisoned tight in the tree.
it was in vain that they shrieked with pain and tried to free themselves.
they could do nothing, and the young man remained cold as marble to all their entreaties.
then he demanded of them mogarzea's soul.
"oh, well, if you must have it, it is in a bottle on the window sill," said they, hoping that they might obtain their freedom at once.
but they were mistaken.
"you have made so many men suffer," answered he sternly, "that it is but just you should suffer yourselves, but to-morrow i will let you go."
and he turned towards home, taking his sheep and the soul of mogarzea with him.
mogarzea was waiting at the door, and as the boy drew near he began scolding him for being so late.
but at the first word of explanation the man became beside himself with joy, and he sprang so high into the air that the false soul which the elves had given him flew out of his mouth, and his own, which had been shut tightly into the flask of water, took its place.
when his excitement had somewhat calmed down, he cried to the boy, "whether you are really my son matters nothing to me; tell me, how can i repay you for what you have done for me?"
"by showing me where the milk lake is, and how i can get one of the three fairies who lives there to wife, and by letting me remain your son for ever."
the night was passed by mogarzea and his son in songs and feasting, for both were too happy to sleep, and when day dawned they set out together to free the elves from the tree.
when they reached the place of their imprisonment, mogarzea took the cherry tree and all the elves with it on his back, and carried them off to his father's kingdom, where everyone rejoiced to see him home again.
but all he did was to point to the boy who had saved him, and had followed him with his flock.
for three days the boy stayed in the palace, receiving the thanks and praises of the whole court.
then he said to mogarzea: "the time has come for me to go hence, but tell me, i pray you, how to find the sweet milk lake, and i will return, and will bring my wife back with me."
mogarzea tried in vain to make him stay, but, finding it was useless, he told him all he knew, for he himself had never seen the lake.
for three summer days the boy and his flute journeyed on, till one evening he reached the lake, which lay in the kingdom of a powerful fairy.
the next morning had scarcely dawned when the youth went down to the shore, and began to play on his flute, and the first notes had hardly sounded when he saw a beautiful fairy standing before him, with hair and robes that shone like gold.
he gazed at her in wonder, when suddenly she began to dance.
her movements were so graceful that he forgot to play, and as soon as the notes of his flute ceased she vanished from his sight.
the next day the same thing happened, but on the third he took courage, and drew a little nearer, playing on his flute all the while.
suddenly he sprang forward, seized her in his arms and kissed her, and plucked a rose from her hair.
the fairy gave a cry, and begged him to give her back her rose, but he would not.
he only stuck the rose in his hat, and turned a deaf ear to all her prayers.
at last she saw that her entreaties were vain, and agreed to marry him, as he wished.
and they went together to the palace, where mogarzea was still waiting for him, and the marriage was celebrated by the emperor himself.
but every may they returned to the milk lake, they and their children, and bathed in its waters.
_book_title_: charles_dickens___a_christmas_carol.txt.out
stave one marley's ghost marley was dead, to begin with.
there is no doubt whatever about that.
the register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner.
scrooge signed it.
and scrooge's name was good upon "change for anything he chose to put his hand to.
old marley was as dead as a door-nail.
mind!
i do n't mean to say that i know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail.
i might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade.
but the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the country's done for.
you will, therefore, permit me to repeat, emphatically, that marley was as dead as a door-nail.
scrooge knew he was dead?
of course he did.
how could it be otherwise?
scrooge and he were partners for i do n't know how many years.
scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner.
and even scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnised it with an undoubted bargain.
the mention of marley's funeral brings me back to the point i started from.
there is no doubt that marley was dead.
this must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story i am going to relate.
if we were not perfectly convinced that hamlet's father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot -- say st. paul's church-yard, for instance -- literally to astonish his son's weak mind.
scrooge never painted out old marley's name.
there it stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door: scrooge and marley.
the firm was known as scrooge and marley.
sometimes people new to the business called scrooge scrooge, and sometimes marley, but he answered to both names.
it was all the same to him.
oh!
but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, scrooge!
a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner!
hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.
the cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice.
a frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin.
he carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and did n't thaw it one degree at christmas.
external heat and cold had little influence on scrooge.
no warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him.
no wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty.
foul weather did n't know where to have him.
the heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect.
they often "came down" handsomely and scrooge never did.
nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, "my dear scrooge, how are you?
when will you come to see me?"
no beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of scrooge.
even the blind men's dogs appeared to know him; and, when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though they said, "no eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!"
but what did scrooge care?
it was the very thing he liked.
to edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing ones call "nuts" to scrooge.
once upon a time -- of all the good days in the year, on christmas eve -- old scrooge sat busy in his counting-house.
it was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them.
the city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already -- it had not been light all day -- and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbouring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air.
the fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that, although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms.
to see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one might have thought that nature lived hard by and was brewing on a large scale.
the door of scrooge's counting-house was open, that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters.
scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal.
but he could n't replenish it, for scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part.
wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of strong imagination, he failed.
""a merry christmas, uncle!
god save you!"
cried a cheerful voice.
it was the voice of scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.
""bah!"
said scrooge.
""humbug!"
he had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.
""christmas a humbug, uncle!"
said scrooge's nephew.
""you do n't mean that, i am sure?"
""i do," said scrooge.
""merry christmas!
what right have you to be merry?
what reason have you to be merry?
you're poor enough."
""come, then," returned the nephew gaily.
""what right have you to be dismal?
what reason have you to be morose?
you're rich enough."
scrooge, having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, "bah!"
again; and followed it up with "humbug!"
""do n't be cross, uncle!"
said the nephew.
-lsb- illustration: "a merry christmas, uncle!
god save you!"
cried a cheerful voice.
-rsb- "what else can i be," returned the uncle, "when i live in such a world of fools as this?
merry christmas!
out upon merry christmas!
what's christmas-time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, and not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books, and having every item in'em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you?
if i could work my will," said scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with "merry christmas" on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.
he should!"
""uncle!"
pleaded the nephew.
""nephew!"
returned the uncle sternly, "keep christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine."
""keep it!"
repeated scrooge's nephew.
""but you do n't keep it."
""let me leave it alone, then," said scrooge.
""much good may it do you!
much good it has ever done you!"
""there are many things from which i might have derived good, by which i have not profited, i dare say," returned the nephew; "christmas among the rest.
but i am sure i have always thought of christmas-time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time i know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys.
and therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, i believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and i say, god bless it!"
the clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded.
becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark for ever.
""let me hear another sound from you," said scrooge, "and you'll keep your christmas by losing your situation!
you're quite a powerful speaker, sir," he added, turning to his nephew.
""i wonder you do n't go into parliament."
""do n't be angry, uncle.
come!
dine with us to-morrow."
scrooge said that he would see him -- yes, indeed he did.
he went the whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that extremity first.
""but why?"
cried scrooge's nephew.
""why?"
""why did you get married?"
said scrooge.
""because i fell in love."
""because you fell in love!"
growled scrooge, as if that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry christmas.
""good afternoon!"
""nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened.
why give it as a reason for not coming now?"
""good afternoon," said scrooge.
""i want nothing from you; i ask nothing of you; why can not we be friends?"
""good afternoon!"
said scrooge.
""i am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute.
we have never had any quarrel to which i have been a party.
but i have made the trial in homage to christmas, and i'll keep my christmas humour to the last.
so a merry christmas, uncle!"
""good afternoon," said scrooge.
""and a happy new year!"
""good afternoon!"
said scrooge.
his nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding.
he stopped at the outer door to bestow the greetings of the season on the clerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer than scrooge; for he returned them cordially.
""there's another fellow," muttered scrooge, who overheard him: "my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talking about a merry christmas.
i'll retire to bedlam."
this lunatic, in letting scrooge's nephew out, had let two other people in.
they were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with their hats off, in scrooge's office.
they had books and papers in their hands, and bowed to him.
""scrooge and marley's, i believe," said one of the gentlemen, referring to his list.
""have i the pleasure of addressing mr. scrooge, or mr. marley?"
""mr. marley has been dead these seven years," scrooge replied.
""he died seven years ago, this very night."
""we have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner," said the gentleman, presenting his credentials.
it certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits.
at the ominous word "liberality" scrooge frowned, and shook his head, and handed the credentials back.
""at this festive season of the year, mr. scrooge," said the gentleman, taking up a pen, "it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time.
many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir."
""are there no prisons?"
asked scrooge.
""plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.
""and the union workhouses?"
demanded scrooge.
""are they still in operation?"
""they are.
still," returned the gentleman, "i wish i could say they were not."
""the treadmill and the poor law are in full vigour, then?"
said scrooge.
""both very busy, sir."
""oh!
i was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course," said scrooge.
""i am very glad to hear it."
""under the impression that they scarcely furnish christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude," returned the gentleman, "a few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth.
we choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when want is keenly felt, and abundance rejoices.
what shall i put you down for?"
""nothing!"
scrooge replied.
""you wish to be anonymous?"
""i wish to be left alone," said scrooge.
""since you ask me what i wish, gentlemen, that is my answer.
i do n't make merry myself at christmas, and i ca n't afford to make idle people merry.
i help to support the establishments i have mentioned -- they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there."
""many ca n't go there; and many would rather die."
""if they would rather die," said scrooge, "they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.
besides -- excuse me -- i do n't know that."
""but you might know it," observed the gentleman.
""it's not my business," scrooge returned.
""it's enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people's.
mine occupies me constantly.
good afternoon, gentlemen!"
seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentlemen withdrew.
scrooge resumed his labours with an improved opinion of himself, and in a more facetious temper than was usual with him.
meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so, that people ran about with flaring links, proffering their services to go before horses in carriages, and conduct them on their way.
the ancient tower of a church, whose gruff old bell was always peeping slily down at scrooge out of a gothic window in the wall, became invisible, and struck the hours and quarters in the clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwards, as if its teeth were chattering in its frozen head up there.
the cold became intense.
in the main street, at the corner of the court, some labourers were repairing the gas-pipes, and had lighted a great fire in a brazier, round which a party of ragged men and boys were gathered: warming their hands and winking their eyes before the blaze in rapture.
the water-plug being left in solitude, its overflowings suddenly congealed, and turned to misanthropic ice.
the brightness of the shops, where holly sprigs and berries crackled in the lamp heat of the windows, made pale faces ruddy as they passed.
poulterers" and grocers" trades became a splendid joke: a glorious pageant, with which it was next to impossible to believe that such dull principles as bargain and sale had anything to do.
the lord mayor, in the stronghold of the mighty mansion house, gave orders to his fifty cooks and butlers to keep christmas as a lord mayor's household should; and even the little tailor, whom he had fined five shillings on the previous monday for being drunk and blood-thirsty in the streets, stirred up to-morrow's pudding in his garret, while his lean wife and the baby sallied out to buy the beef.
foggier yet, and colder!
piercing, searching, biting cold.
if the good st. dunstan had but nipped the evil spirit's nose with a touch of such weather as that, instead of using his familiar weapons, then indeed he would have roared to lusty purpose.
the owner of one scant young nose, gnawed and mumbled by the hungry cold as bones are gnawed by dogs, stooped down at scrooge's keyhole to regale him with a christmas carol; but, at the first sound of "god bless you, merry gentleman, may nothing you dismay!"
scrooge seized the ruler with such energy of action, that the singer fled in terror, leaving the keyhole to the fog, and even more congenial frost.
at length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived.
with an ill-will scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant clerk in the tank, who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat.
""you'll want all day to-morrow, i suppose?"
said scrooge.
""if quite convenient, sir."
""it's not convenient," said scrooge, "and it's not fair.
if i was to stop half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself ill used, i'll be bound?"
the clerk smiled faintly.
""and yet," said scrooge, "you do n't think me ill used when i pay a day's wages for no work."
the clerk observed that it was only once a year.
""a poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of december!"
said scrooge, buttoning his great-coat to the chin.
""but i suppose you must have the whole day.
be here all the earlier next morning."
the clerk promised that he would; and scrooge walked out with a growl.
the office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends of his white comforter dangling below his waist -lrb- for he boasted no great-coat -rrb-, went down a slide on cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honour of its being christmas-eve, and then ran home to camden town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman's buff.
scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern; and having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening with his banker's book, went home to bed.
he lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased partner.
they were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard, where it had so little business to be, that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and have forgotten the way out again.
it was old enough now, and dreary enough; for nobody lived in it but scrooge, the other rooms being all let out as offices.
the yard was so dark that even scrooge, who knew its every stone, was fain to grope with his hands.
the fog and frost so hung about the black old gateway of the house, that it seemed as if the genius of the weather sat in mournful meditation on the threshold.
now, it is a fact that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large.
it is also a fact that scrooge had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place; also that scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the city of london, even including -- which is a bold word -- the corporation, aldermen, and livery.
let it also be borne in mind that scrooge had not bestowed one thought on marley since his last mention of his seven-years" - dead partner that afternoon.
and then let any man explain to me, if he can, how it happened that scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change -- not a knocker, but marley's face.
marley's face.
it was not in impenetrable shadow, as the other objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar.
it was not angry or ferocious, but looked at scrooge as marley used to look: with ghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead.
the hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath of hot air; and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless.
that, and its livid colour, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be in spite of the face, and beyond its control, rather than a part of its own expression.
as scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again.
to say that he was not startled, or that his blood was not conscious of a terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger from infancy, would be untrue.
but he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.
he did pause, with a moment's irresolution, before he shut the door; and he did look cautiously behind it first, as if he half expected to be terrified with the sight of marley's pigtail sticking out into the hall.
but there was nothing on the back of the door, except the screws and nuts that held the knocker on, so he said, "pooh, pooh!"
and closed it with a bang.
the sound resounded through the house like thunder.
every room above, and every cask in the wine merchant's cellars below, appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own.
scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes.
he fastened the door, and walked across the hall, and up the stairs: slowly, too: trimming his candle as he went.
you may talk vaguely about driving a coach and six up a good old flight of stairs, or through a bad young act of parliament; but i mean to say you might have got a hearse up that staircase, and taken it broadwise, with the splinter-bar towards the wall, and the door towards the balustrades: and done it easy.
there was plenty of width for that, and room to spare; which is perhaps the reason why scrooge thought he saw a locomotive hearse going on before him in the gloom.
half-a-dozen gas-lamps out of the street would n't have lighted the entry too well, so you may suppose that it was pretty dark with scrooge's dip.
up scrooge went, not caring a button for that.
darkness is cheap, and scrooge liked it.
but, before he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms to see that all was right.
he had just enough recollection of the face to desire to do that.
sitting-room, bedroom, lumber-room.
all as they should be.
nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa; a small fire in the grate; spoon and basin ready; and the little saucepan of gruel -lrb- scrooge had a cold in his head -rrb- upon the hob.
nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet; nobody in his dressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the wall.
lumber-room as usual.
old fire-guard, old shoes, two fish baskets, washing-stand on three legs, and a poker.
quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in; double locked himself in, which was not his custom.
thus secured against surprise, he took off his cravat; put on his dressing-gown and slippers, and his nightcap; and sat down before the fire to take his gruel.
it was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such a bitter night.
he was obliged to sit close to it, and brood over it, before he could extract the least sensation of warmth from such a handful of fuel.
the fire-place was an old one, built by some dutch merchant long ago, and paved all round with quaint dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the scriptures.
there were cains and abels, pharaoh's daughters, queens of sheba, angelic messengers descending through the air on clouds like feather beds, abrahams, belshazzars, apostles putting off to sea in butter-boats, hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts; and yet that face of marley, seven years dead, came like the ancient prophet's rod, and swallowed up the whole.
if each smooth tile had been a blank at first, with power to shape some picture on its surface from the disjointed fragments of his thoughts, there would have been a copy of old marley's head on every one.
""humbug!"
said scrooge; and walked across the room.
after several turns he sat down again.
as he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and communicated, for some purpose now forgotten, with a chamber in the highest story of the building.
it was with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that, as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing.
it swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.
this might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an hour.
the bells ceased, as they had begun, together.
they were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below, as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine merchant's cellar.
scrooge then remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains.
the cellar door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.
""it's humbug still!"
said scrooge.
""i wo n't believe it."
his colour changed, though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes.
upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, "i know him!
marley's ghost!"
and fell again.
the same face: the very same.
marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat, tights, and boots; the tassels on the latter bristling, like his pigtail, and his coat-skirts, and the hair upon his head.
the chain he drew was clasped about his middle.
it was long, and wound about him like a tail; and it was made -lrb- for scrooge observed it closely -rrb- of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel.
his body was transparent; so that scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind.
scrooge had often heard it said that marley had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now.
no, nor did he believe it even now.
though he looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him; though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes; and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before; he was still incredulous, and fought against his senses.
""how now!"
said scrooge, caustic and cold as ever.
""what do you want with me?"
""much!"
-- marley's voice, no doubt about it.
""who are you?"
""ask me who i was."
""who were you, then?"
said scrooge, raising his voice.
""you're particular, for a shade."
he was going to say" to a shade," but substituted this, as more appropriate.
""in life i was your partner, jacob marley."
""can you -- can you sit down?"
asked scrooge, looking doubtfully at him.
""i can."
""do it, then."
scrooge asked the question, because he did n't know whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt that, in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation.
but the ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fire-place, as if he were quite used to it.
""you do n't believe in me," observed the ghost.
""i do n't," said scrooge.
""what evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your own senses?"
""i do n't know," said scrooge.
""why do you doubt your senses?"
""because," said scrooge, "a little thing affects them.
a slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats.
you may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato.
there's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"
scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel in his heart by any means waggish then.
the truth is, that he tried to be smart, as a means of distracting his own attention, and keeping down his terror; for the spectre's voice disturbed the very marrow in his bones.
to sit staring at those fixed glazed eyes in silence, for a moment, would play, scrooge felt, the very deuce with him.
there was something very awful, too, in the spectre's being provided with an infernal atmosphere of his own.
scrooge could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the case; for though the ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts, and tassels were still agitated as by the hot vapour from an oven.
""you see this toothpick?"
said scrooge, returning quickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned; and wishing, though it were only for a second, to divert the vision's stony gaze from himself.
""i do," replied the ghost.
""you are not looking at it," said scrooge.
""but i see it," said the ghost, "notwithstanding."
""well!"
returned scrooge, "i have but to swallow this, and be for the rest of my days persecuted by a legion of goblins, all of my own creation.
humbug, i tell you; humbug!"
at this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that scrooge held on tight to his chair, to save himself from falling in a swoon.
but how much greater was his horror when the phantom, taking off the bandage round his head, as if it were too warm to wear indoors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast!
scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.
""mercy!"
he said.
""dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?"
""man of the worldly mind!"
replied the ghost, "do you believe in me or not?"
""i do," said scrooge.
""i must.
but why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me?"
-lsb- illustration: to sit staring at those fixed glazed eyes in silence, for a moment, would play, scrooge felt, the very deuce with him.
-rsb- "it is required of every man," the ghost returned, "that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and, if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death.
it is doomed to wander through the world -- oh, woe is me!
-- and witness what it can not share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!"
again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy hands.
""you are fettered," said scrooge, trembling.
""tell me why?"
""i wear the chain i forged in life," replied the ghost.
""i made it link by link, and yard by yard; i girded it on of my own free-will, and of my own free-will i wore it.
is its pattern strange to you?"
scrooge trembled more and more.
""or would you know," pursued the ghost, "the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself?
it was full as heavy and as long as this, seven christmas-eves ago.
you have laboured on it since.
it is a ponderous chain!"
scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable, but he could see nothing.
""jacob!"
he said imploringly.
""old jacob marley, tell me more!
speak comfort to me, jacob!"
""i have none to give," the ghost replied.
""it comes from other regions, ebenezer scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men.
nor can i tell you what i would.
a very little more is all permitted to me.
i can not rest, i can not stay, i can not linger anywhere.
my spirit never walked beyond our counting-house -- mark me; -- in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!"
it was a habit with scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put his hands in his breeches pockets.
pondering on what the ghost had said, he did so now, but without lifting up his eyes, or getting off his knees.
""you must have been very slow about it, jacob," scrooge observed in a business-like manner, though with humility and deference.
""slow!"
the ghost repeated.
""seven years dead," mused scrooge.
""and travelling all the time?"
""the whole time," said the ghost.
""no rest, no peace.
incessant torture of remorse."
""you travel fast?"
said scrooge.
""on the wings of the wind," replied the ghost.
""you might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years," said scrooge.
the ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry, and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night, that the ward would have been justified in indicting it for a nuisance.
""oh!
captive, bound, and double-ironed," cried the phantom, "not to know that ages of incessant labour, by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed!
not to know that any christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness!
not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunities misused!
yet such was i!
oh, such was i!"
""but you were always a good man of business, jacob," faltered scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.
""business!"
cried the ghost, wringing its hands again.
""mankind was my business.
the common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were, all, my business.
the dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!"
it held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.
""at this time of the rolling year," the spectre said, "i suffer most.
why did i walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed star which led the wise men to a poor abode?
were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me?"
scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly.
""hear me!"
cried the ghost.
""my time is nearly gone."
""i will," said scrooge.
""but do n't be hard upon me!
do n't be flowery, jacob!
pray!"
""how it is that i appear before you in a shape that you can see, i may not tell.
i have sat invisible beside you many and many a day."
it was not an agreeable idea.
scrooge shivered, and wiped the perspiration from his brow.
""that is no light part of my penance," pursued the ghost.
""i am here to-night to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate.
a chance and hope of my procuring, ebenezer."
""you were always a good friend to me," said scrooge.
""thankee!"
""you will be haunted," resumed the ghost, "by three spirits."
scrooge's countenance fell almost as low as the ghost's had done.
""is that the chance and hope you mentioned, jacob?"
he demanded in a faltering voice.
""it is."
""i -- i think i'd rather not," said scrooge.
""without their visits," said the ghost, "you can not hope to shun the path i tread.
expect the first to-morrow when the bell tolls one."
""could n't i take'em all at once, and have it over, jacob?"
hinted scrooge.
""expect the second on the next night at the same hour.
the third, upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate.
look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!"
when it had said these words, the spectre took its wrapper from the table, and bound it round its head as before.
scrooge knew this by the smart sound its teeth made when the jaws were brought together by the bandage.
he ventured to raise his eyes again, and found his supernatural visitor confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about its arm.
the apparition walked backward from him; and, at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that, when the spectre reached it, it was wide open.
it beckoned scrooge to approach, which he did.
when they were within two paces of each other, marley's ghost held up its hand, warning him to come no nearer.
scrooge stopped.
not so much in obedience as in surprise and fear; for, on the raising of the hand, he became sensible of confused noises in the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory.
the spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.
scrooge followed to the window: desperate in his curiosity.
he looked out.
the air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in restless haste, and moaning as they went.
every one of them wore chains like marley's ghost; some few -lrb- they might be guilty governments -rrb- were linked together; none were free.
many had been personally known to scrooge in their lives.
he had been quite familiar with one old ghost in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw below upon a doorstep.
the misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever.
whether these creatures faded into mist, or mist enshrouded them, he could not tell.
but they and their spirit voices faded together; and the night became as it had been when he walked home.
scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the ghost had entered.
it was double locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed.
he tried to say "humbug!"
but stopped at the first syllable.
and being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the invisible world, or the dull conversation of the ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of repose, went straight to bed without undressing, and fell asleep upon the instant.
stave two the first of the three spirits when scrooge awoke it was so dark, that, looking out of bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber.
he was endeavouring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a neighbouring church struck the four quarters.
so he listened for the hour.
to his great astonishment, the heavy bell went on from six to seven, and from seven to eight, and regularly up to twelve; then stopped.
twelve!
it was past two when he went to bed.
the clock was wrong.
an icicle must have got into the works.
twelve!
he touched the spring of his repeater, to correct this most preposterous clock.
its rapid little pulse beat twelve, and stopped.
""why, it is n't possible," said scrooge, "that i can have slept through a whole day and far into another night.
it is n't possible that anything has happened to the sun, and this is twelve at noon!"
the idea being an alarming one, he scrambled out of bed, and groped his way to the window.
he was obliged to rub the frost off with the sleeve of his dressing-gown before he could see anything; and could see very little then.
all he could make out was, that it was still very foggy and extremely cold, and that there was no noise of people running to and fro, and making a great stir, as there unquestionably would have been if night had beaten off bright day, and taken possession of the world.
this was a great relief, because "three days after sight of this first of exchange pay to mr. ebenezer scrooge or his order," and so forth, would have become a mere united states security if there were no days to count by.
scrooge went to bed again, and thought, and thought, and thought it over and over, and could make nothing of it.
the more he thought, the more perplexed he was; and, the more he endeavoured not to think, the more he thought.
marley's ghost bothered him exceedingly.
every time he resolved within himself, after mature inquiry, that it was all a dream, his mind flew back again, like a strong spring released, to its first position, and presented the same problem to be worked all through, "was it a dream or not?"
scrooge lay in this state until the chime had gone three quarters more, when he remembered, on a sudden, that the ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled one.
he resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed; and, considering that he could no more go to sleep than go to heaven, this was, perhaps, the wisest resolution in his power.
the quarter was so long, that he was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed the clock.
at length it broke upon his listening ear.
""ding, dong!"
""a quarter past," said scrooge, counting.
""ding, dong!"
""half past," said scrooge.
""ding, dong!"
""a quarter to it," said scrooge.
""ding, dong!"
""the hour itself," said scrooge triumphantly, "and nothing else!"
he spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy one.
light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.
the curtains of his bed were drawn aside, i tell you, by a hand.
not the curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which his face was addressed.
the curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them: as close to it as i am now to you, and i am standing in the spirit at your elbow.
it was a strange figure -- like a child: yet not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a child's proportions.
its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white, as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin.
the arms were very long and muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength.
its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those upper members, bare.
it wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful.
it held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand: and, in singular contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers.
but the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.
even this, though, when scrooge looked at it with increasing steadiness, was not its strangest quality.
for, as its belt sparkled and glittered, now in one part and now in another, and what was light one instant at another time was dark, so the figure itself fluctuated in its distinctness: being now a thing with one arm, now with one leg, now with twenty legs, now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a body: of which dissolving parts no outline would be visible in the dense gloom wherein they melted away.
and, in the very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and clear as ever.
""are you the spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?"
asked scrooge.
""i am!"
the voice was soft and gentle.
singularly low, as if, instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.
""who and what are you?"
scrooge demanded.
""i am the ghost of christmas past."
""long past?"
inquired scrooge; observant of its dwarfish stature.
""no.
your past."
perhaps scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could have asked him; but he had a special desire to see the spirit in his cap; and begged him to be covered.
""what!"
exclaimed the ghost, "would you so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light i give?
is it not enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow?"
scrooge reverently disclaimed all intention to offend or any knowledge of having wilfully "bonneted" the spirit at any period of his life.
he then made bold to inquire what business brought him there.
""your welfare!"
said the ghost.
scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help thinking that a night of unbroken rest would have been more conducive to that end.
the spirit must have heard him thinking, for it said immediately: "your reclamation, then.
take heed!"
it put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the arm.
""rise!
and walk with me!"
it would have been in vain for scrooge to plead that the weather and the hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm, and the thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in his slippers, dressing-gown, and nightcap; and that he had a cold upon him at that time.
the grasp, though gentle as a woman's hand, was not to be resisted.
he rose: but, finding that the spirit made towards the window, clasped its robe in supplication.
""i am a mortal," scrooge remonstrated, "and liable to fall."
""bear but a touch of my hand there," said the spirit, laying it upon his heart, "and you shall be upheld in more than this!"
as the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand.
the city had entirely vanished.
not a vestige of it was to be seen.
the darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with the snow upon the ground.
""good heaven!"
said scrooge, clasping his hands together as he looked about him.
""i was bred in this place.
i was a boy here!"
the spirit gazed upon him mildly.
its gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man's sense of feeling.
he was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long forgotten!
""your lip is trembling," said the ghost.
""and what is that upon your cheek?"
scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was a pimple; and begged the ghost to lead him where he would.
""you recollect the way?"
inquired the spirit.
""remember it!"
cried scrooge with fervour; "i could walk it blindfold."
""strange to have forgotten it for so many years!"
observed the ghost.
""let us go on."
-lsb- illustration: "you recollect the way?"
inquired the spirit.
""remember it!"
cried scrooge with fervour; "i could walk it blindfold."
-rsb- they walked along the road, scrooge recognising every gate, and post, and tree, until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river.
some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with boys upon their backs, who called to other boys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers.
all these boys were in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it.
""these are but shadows of the things that have been," said the ghost.
""they have no consciousness of us."
the jocund travellers came on; and as they came, scrooge knew and named them every one.
why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them?
why did his cold eye glisten, and his heart leap up as they went past?
why was he filled with gladness when he heard them give each other merry christmas, as they parted at cross-roads and by-ways for their several homes?
what was merry christmas to scrooge?
out upon merry christmas!
what good had it ever done to him?
""the school is not quite deserted," said the ghost.
""a solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still."
scrooge said he knew it.
and he sobbed.
they left the high-road by a well-remembered lane, and soon approached a mansion of dull red brick, with a little weather-cock surmounted cupola on the roof and a bell hanging in it.
it was a large house, but one of broken fortunes: for the spacious offices were little used, their walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their gates decayed.
fowls clucked and strutted in the stables; and the coach-houses and sheds were overrun with grass.
nor was it more retentive of its ancient state within; for, entering the dreary hall, and glancing through the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold, and vast.
there was an earthly savour in the air, a chilly bareness in the place, which associated itself somehow with too much getting up by candle-light, and not too much to eat.
they went, the ghost and scrooge, across the hall, to a door at the back of the house.
it opened before them, and disclosed a long, bare, melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms and desks.
at one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; and scrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as he had used to be.
not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle from the mice behind the panelling, not a drip from the half-thawed water-spout in the dull yard behind, not a sigh among the leafless boughs of one despondent poplar, not the idle swinging of an empty storehouse door, no, not a clicking in the fire, but fell upon the heart of scrooge with softening influence, and gave a freer passage to his tears.
the spirit touched him on the arm, and pointed to his younger self, intent upon his reading.
suddenly a man in foreign garments: wonderfully real and distinct to look at: stood outside the window, with an axe stuck in his belt, and leading by the bridle an ass laden with wood.
""why, it's ali baba!"
scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy.
""it's dear old honest ali baba!
yes, yes, i know.
one christmas-time when yonder solitary child was left here all alone, he did come, for the first time, just like that.
poor boy!
and valentine," said scrooge, "and his wild brother, orson; there they go!
and what's his name, who was put down in his drawers, asleep, at the gate of damascus; do n't you see him?
and the sultan's groom turned upside down by the genii: there he is upon his head!
serve him right!
i'm glad of it.
what business had he to be married to the princess?"
to hear scrooge expending all the earnestness of his nature on such subjects, in a most extraordinary voice between laughing and crying; and to see his heightened and excited face; would have been a surprise to his business friends in the city, indeed.
-lsb- illustration: "why, it's ali baba!"
scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy.
""it's dear old honest ali baba."
-rsb- "there's the parrot!"
cried scrooge.
""green body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing out of the top of his head; there he is!
poor robin crusoe he called him, when he came home again after sailing round the island.
"poor robin crusoe, where have you been, robin crusoe?"
the man thought he was dreaming, but he was n't.
it was the parrot, you know.
there goes friday, running for his life to the little creek!
halloa!
hoop!
halloo!"
then, with a rapidity of transition very foreign to his usual character, he said, in pity for his former self, "poor boy!"
and cried again.
""i wish," scrooge muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, and looking about him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: "but it's too late now."
""what is the matter?"
asked the spirit.
""nothing," said scrooge.
""nothing.
there was a boy singing a christmas carol at my door last night.
i should like to have given him something: that's all."
the ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand: saying, as it did so, "let us see another christmas!"
scrooge's former self grew larger at the words, and the room became a little darker and more dirty.
the panels shrunk, the windows cracked; fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling, and the naked laths were shown instead; but how all this was brought about scrooge knew no more than you do.
he only knew that it was quite correct: that everything had happened so; that there he was, alone again, when all the other boys had gone home for the jolly holidays.
he was not reading now, but walking up and down despairingly.
scrooge looked at the ghost, and, with a mournful shaking of his head, glanced anxiously towards the door.
it opened; and a little girl, much younger than the boy, came darting in, and, putting her arms about his neck, and often kissing him, addressed him as her "dear, dear brother."
""i have come to bring you home, dear brother!"
said the child, clapping her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh.
""to bring you home, home, home!"
""home, little fan?"
returned the boy.
""yes!"
said the child, brimful of glee.
""home for good and all.
home for ever and ever.
father is so much kinder than he used to be, that home's like heaven!
he spoke so gently to me one dear night when i was going to bed, that i was not afraid to ask him once more if you might come home; and he said yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bring you.
and you're to be a man!"
said the child, opening her eyes; "and are never to come back here; but first we're to be together all the christmas long, and have the merriest time in all the world."
""you are quite a woman, little fan!"
exclaimed the boy.
she clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head; but, being too little, laughed again, and stood on tiptoe to embrace him.
then she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, towards the door; and he, nothing loath to go, accompanied her.
a terrible voice in the hall cried, "bring down master scrooge's box, there!"
and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself, who glared on master scrooge with a ferocious condescension, and threw him into a dreadful state of mind by shaking hands with him.
he then conveyed him and his sister into the veriest old well of a shivering best parlour that ever was seen, where the maps upon the wall, and the celestial and terrestrial globes in the windows, were waxy with cold.
here he produced a decanter of curiously light wine, and a block of curiously heavy cake, and administered instalments of those dainties to the young people: at the same time sending out a meagre servant to offer a glass of "something" to the postboy who answered that he thanked the gentleman, but, if it was the same tap as he had tasted before, he had rather not.
master scrooge's trunk being by this time tied on to the top of the chaise, the children bade the schoolmaster good-bye right willingly; and, getting into it, drove gaily down the garden sweep; the quick wheels dashing the hoar frost and snow from off the dark leaves of the evergreens like spray.
""always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered," said the ghost.
""but she had a large heart!"
""so she had," cried scrooge.
""you're right.
i will not gainsay it, spirit.
god forbid!"
""she died a woman," said the ghost, "and had, as i think, children."
""one child," scrooge returned.
""true," said the ghost.
""your nephew!"
scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, "yes."
although they had but that moment left the school behind them, they were now in the busy thoroughfares of a city, where shadowy passengers passed and repassed; where shadowy carts and coaches battled for the way, and all the strife and tumult of a real city were.
it was made plain enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here, too, it was christmas-time again; but it was evening, and the streets were lighted up.
the ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked scrooge if he knew it.
""know it!"
said scrooge.
""was i apprenticed here?"
they went in.
at sight of an old gentleman in a welsh wig, sitting behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller, he must have knocked his head against the ceiling, scrooge cried in great excitement: "why, it's old fezziwig!
bless his heart, it's fezziwig alive again!"
old fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven.
he rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out, in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice: "yo ho, there!
ebenezer!
dick!"
scrooge's former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow - "prentice.
""dick wilkins, to be sure!"
said scrooge to the ghost.
""bless me, yes.
there he is.
he was very much attached to me, was dick.
poor dick!
dear, dear!"
""yo ho, my boys!"
said fezziwig.
""no more work to-night.
christmas-eve, dick.
christmas, ebenezer!
let's have the shutters up," cried old fezziwig with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say jack robinson!"
you would n't believe how those two fellows went at it!
they charged into the street with the shutters -- one, two, three -- had'em up in their places -- four, five, six -- barred'em and pinned'em -- seven, eight, nine -- and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like race-horses.
""hilli-ho!"
cried old fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk with wonderful agility.
""clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!
hilli-ho, dick!
chirrup, ebenezer!"
clear away!
there was nothing they would n't have cleared away, or could n't have cleared away, with old fezziwig looking on.
it was done in a minute.
every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.
in came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomachaches.
in came mrs. fezziwig, one vast substantial smile.
in came the three miss fezziwigs, beaming and lovable.
in came the six young followers whose hearts they broke.
in came all the young men and women employed in the business.
in came the housemaid, with her cousin the baker.
in came the cook, with her brother's particular friend the milkman.
in came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress.
in they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, any how and every how.
away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them!
when this result was brought about, old fezziwig, clapping his hands to stop the dance, cried out, "well done!"
and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose.
but, scorning rest upon his reappearance, he instantly began again, though there were no dancers yet, as if the other fiddler had been carried home, exhausted, on a shutter, and he were a bran-new man resolved to beat him out of sight, or perish.
there were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of cold roast, and there was a great piece of cold boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer.
but the great effect of the evening came after the roast and boiled, when the fiddler -lrb- an artful dog, mind!
the sort of man who knew his business better than you or i could have told it him! -rrb-
struck up "sir roger de coverley."
then old fezziwig stood out to dance with mrs. fezziwig.
top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners; people who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking.
but if they had been twice as many -- ah!
four times -- old fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would mrs. fezziwig.
as to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term.
if that's not high praise, tell me higher, and i'll use it.
a positive light appeared to issue from fezziwig's calves.
they shone in every part of the dance like moons.
you could n't have predicted, at any given time, what would become of them next.
and when old fezziwig and mrs. fezziwig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsy, cork-screw, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; fezziwig "cut" -- cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger.
when the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up.
mr. and mrs. fezziwig took their stations, one on either side the door, and, shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a merry christmas.
when everybody had retired but the two "prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds; which were under a counter in the back-shop.
during the whole of this time scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits.
his heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self.
he corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest agitation.
it was not until now, when the bright faces of his former self and dick were turned from them, that he remembered the ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full upon him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.
""a small matter," said the ghost, "to make these silly folks so full of gratitude."
""small!"
echoed scrooge.
the spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in praise of fezziwig; and, when he had done so, said: "why!
is it not?
he has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money: three or four, perhaps.
is that so much that he deserves this praise?"
""it is n't that," said scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter self.
""it is n't that, spirit.
he has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil.
say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count'em up: what then?
the happiness he gives is quite as great as if it cost a fortune."
he felt the spirit's glance, and stopped.
""what is the matter?"
asked the ghost.
""nothing particular," said scrooge.
""something, i think?"
the ghost insisted.
""no," said scrooge, "no.
i should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now.
that's all."
his former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish; and scrooge and the ghost again stood side by side in the open air.
""my time grows short," observed the spirit.
""quick!"
this was not addressed to scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, but it produced an immediate effect.
for again scrooge saw himself.
he was older now; a man in the prime of life.
his face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice.
there was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of the growing tree would fall.
he was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a mourning dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the ghost of christmas past.
""it matters little," she said softly.
""to you, very little.
another idol has displaced me; and, if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come as i would have tried to do, i have no just cause to grieve."
""what idol has displaced you?"
he rejoined.
""a golden one."
""this is the even-handed dealing of the world!"
he said.
""there is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!"
""you fear the world too much," she answered gently.
""all your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach.
i have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master passion, gain, engrosses you.
have i not?"
""what then?"
he retorted.
""even if i have grown so much wiser, what then?
i am not changed towards you."
she shook her head.
""am i?"
""our contract is an old one.
it was made when we were both poor, and content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly fortune by our patient industry.
you are changed.
when it was made you were another man."
""i was a boy," he said impatiently.
""your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are," she returned.
""i am.
that which promised happiness when we were one in heart is fraught with misery now that we are two.
how often and how keenly i have thought of this i will not say.
it is enough that i have thought of it, and can release you."
""have i ever sought release?"
""in words.
no.
never."
""in what, then?"
""in a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another hope as its great end.
in everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight.
if this had never been between us," said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him, "tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now?
ah, no!"
he seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition in spite of himself.
but he said, with a struggle, "you think not."
""i would gladly think otherwise if i could," she answered.
""heaven knows!
when i have learned a truth like this, i know how strong and irresistible it must be.
but if you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even i believe that you would choose a dowerless girl -- you who, in your very confidence with her, weigh everything by gain: or, choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do i not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow?
i do; and i release you.
with a full heart, for the love of him you once were."
he was about to speak; but, with her head turned from him, she resumed.
""you may -- the memory of what is past half makes me hope you will -- have pain in this.
a very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the recollection of it gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened well that you awoke.
may you be happy in the life you have chosen!"
she left him, and they parted.
""spirit!"
said scrooge, "show me no more!
conduct me home.
why do you delight to torture me?"
""one shadow more!"
exclaimed the ghost.
""no more!"
cried scrooge.
""no more!
i do n't wish to see it.
show me no more!"
but the relentless ghost pinioned him in both his arms, and forced him to observe what happened next.
they were in another scene and place; a room, not very large or handsome, but full of comfort.
near to the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl, so like that last that scrooge believed it was the same, until he saw her, now a comely matron, sitting opposite her daughter.
the noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous, for there were more children there than scrooge in his agitated state of mind could count; and, unlike the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not forty children conducting themselves like one, but every child was conducting itself like forty.
the consequences were uproarious beyond belief; but no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very much; and the latter, soon beginning to mingle in the sports, got pillaged by the young brigands most ruthlessly.
what would i not have given to be one of them!
though i never could have been so rude, no, no!
i would n't for the wealth of all the world have crushed that braided hair, and torn it down; and, for the precious little shoe, i would n't have plucked it off, god bless my soul!
to save my life.
as to measuring her waist in sport, as they did, bold young brood, i could n't have done it; i should have expected my arm to have grown round it for a punishment, and never come straight again.
and yet i should have dearly liked, i own, to have touched her lips; to have questioned her, that she might have opened them; to have looked upon the lashes of her downcast eyes, and never raised a blush; to have let loose waves of hair, an inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: in short, i should have liked, i do confess, to have had the lightest licence of a child, and yet to have been man enough to know its value.
but now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a rush immediately ensued that she, with laughing face and plundered dress, was borne towards it in the centre of a flushed and boisterous group, just in time to greet the father, who came home attended by a man laden with christmas toys and presents.
then the shouting and the struggling, and the onslaught that was made on the defenceless porter!
the scaling him, with chairs for ladders, to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown-paper parcels, hold on tight by his cravat, hug him round the neck, pummel his back, and kick his legs in irrepressible affection!
the shouts of wonder and delight with which the development of every package was received!
the terrible announcement that the baby had been taken in the act of putting a doll's frying-pan into his mouth, and was more than suspected of having swallowed a fictitious turkey, glued on a wooden platter!
the immense relief of finding this a false alarm!
the joy, and gratitude, and ecstasy!
they are all indescribable alike.
it is enough that by degrees, the children and their emotions got out of the parlour, and, by one stair at a time, up to the top of the house, where they went to bed, and so subsided.
and now scrooge looked on more attentively than ever, when the master of the house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down with her and her mother at his own fireside; and when he thought that such another creature, quite as graceful and as full of promise, might have called him father, and been a spring-time in the haggard winter of his life, his sight grew very dim indeed.
""belle," said the husband, turning to his wife with a smile, "i saw an old friend of yours this afternoon."
""who was it?"
""guess!"
""how can i?
tut, do n't i know?"
she added in the same breath, laughing as he laughed.
""mr. scrooge."
""mr. scrooge it was.
i passed his office window; and as it was not shut up, and he had a candle inside, i could scarcely help seeing him.
his partner lies upon the point of death, i hear; and there he sat alone.
quite alone in the world, i do believe."
""spirit!"
said scrooge in a broken voice, "remove me from this place."
""i told you these were shadows of the things that have been," said the ghost.
""that they are what they are, do not blame me!"
""remove me!"
scrooge exclaimed.
""i can not bear it!"
he turned upon the ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a face in which in some strange way there were fragments of all the faces it had shown him, wrestled with it.
""leave me!
take me back!
haunt me no longer!"
in the struggle -- if that can be called a struggle in which the ghost, with no visible resistance on its own part, was undisturbed by any effort of its adversary -- scrooge observed that its light was burning high and bright; and dimly connecting that with its influence over him, he seized the extinguisher cap, and by a sudden action pressed it down upon its head.
the spirit dropped beneath it, so that the extinguisher covered its whole form; but, though scrooge pressed it down with all his force, he could not hide the light, which streamed from under it in an unbroken flood upon the ground.
he was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own bedroom.
he gave the cap a parting squeeze, in which his hand relaxed; and had barely time to reel to bed before he sank into a heavy sleep.
stave three the second of the three spirits awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, scrooge had no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of one.
he felt that he was restored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the especial purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger dispatched to him through jacob marley's intervention.
but, finding that he turned uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains this new spectre would draw back, he put them every one aside with his own hands, and, lying down again, established a sharp look-out all round the bed.
for he wished to challenge the spirit on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise and made nervous.
gentlemen of the free-and-easy sort, who plume themselves on being acquainted with a move or two, and being usually equal to the time of day, express the wide range of their capacity for adventure by observing that they are good for anything from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter; between which opposite extremes, no doubt, there lies a tolerably wide and comprehensive range of subjects.
without venturing for scrooge quite as hardily as this, i do n't mind calling on you to believe that he was ready for a good broad field of strange appearances, and that nothing between a baby and a rhinoceros would have astonished him very much.
now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing; and consequently, when the bell struck one, and no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling.
five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came.
all this time he lay upon his bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour; and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant, or would be at; and was sometimes apprehensive that he might be at that very moment an interesting case of spontaneous combustion, without having the consolation of knowing it.
at last, however, he began to think -- as you or i would have thought at first; for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too -- at last, i say, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine.
this idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly, and shuffled in his slippers to the door.
the moment scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by his name, and bade him enter.
he obeyed.
it was his own room.
there was no doubt about that.
but it had undergone a surprising transformation.
the walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which bright gleaming berries glistened.
the crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney as that dull petrifaction of a hearth had never known in scrooge's time, or marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone.
heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam.
in easy state upon this couch there sat a jolly giant, glorious to see; who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on scrooge as he came peeping round the door.
""come in!"
exclaimed the ghost.
""come in!
and know me better, man!"
scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this spirit.
he was not the dogged scrooge he had been; and, though the spirit's eyes were clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.
""i am the ghost of christmas present," said the spirit.
""look upon me!"
scrooge reverently did so.
it was clothed in one simple deep green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur.
this garment hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any artifice.
its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles.
its dark brown curls were long and free; free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air.
girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.
""you have never seen the like of me before!"
exclaimed the spirit.
""never," scrooge made answer to it.
""have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning -lrb- for i am very young -rrb- my elder brothers born in these later years?"
pursued the phantom.
""i do n't think i have," said scrooge.
""i am afraid i have not.
have you had many brothers, spirit?"
""more than eighteen hundred," said the ghost.
""a tremendous family to provide for," muttered scrooge.
the ghost of christmas present rose.
""spirit," said scrooge submissively, "conduct me where you will.
i went forth last night on compulsion, and i learnt a lesson which is working now.
to-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it."
""touch my robe!"
scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast.
holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, meat, pigs, sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, fruit, and punch, all vanished instantly.
so did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, the hour of night, and they stood in the city streets on christmas morning, where -lrb- for the weather was severe -rrb- the people made a rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the tops of their houses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come plumping down into the road below, and splitting into artificial little snow-storms.
the house-fronts looked black enough, and the windows blacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs, and with the dirtier snow upon the ground; which last deposit had been ploughed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and waggons; furrows that crossed and recrossed each other hundreds of times where the great streets branched off; and made intricate channels, hard to trace, in the thick yellow mud and icy water.
the sky was gloomy, and the shortest streets were choked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen, whose heavier particles descended in a shower of sooty atoms, as if all the chimneys in great britain had, by one consent, caught fire, and were blazing away to their dear hearts" content.
there was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain.
for, the people who were shovelling away on the housetops were jovial and full of glee; calling out to one another from the parapets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball -- better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest -- laughing heartily if it went right, and not less heartily if it went wrong.
the poulterers" shops were still half open, and the fruiterers" were radiant in their glory.
there were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence.
there were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthed spanish onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like spanish friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe.
there were pears and apples clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers" benevolence, to dangle from conspicuous hooks that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were norfolk biffins, squab and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags, and eaten after dinner.
the very gold and silver fish, set forth among these choice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnant-blooded race, appeared to know that there was something going on; and, to a fish, went gasping round and round their little world in slow and passionless excitement.
the grocers"!
oh, the grocers"!
nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses!
it was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint, and subsequently bilious.
nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the french plums blushed in modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and in its christmas dress; but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best humour possible; while the grocer and his people were so frank and fresh, that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for christmas daws to peck at if they chose.
but soon the steeples called good people all to church and chapel, and away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and with their gayest faces.
and at the same time there emerged, from scores of by-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the bakers" shops.
the sight of these poor revellers appeared to interest the spirit very much, for he stood with scrooge beside him in a baker's doorway, and, taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch.
and it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice, when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their good-humour was restored directly.
for they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon christmas-day.
and so it was!
god love it, so it was!
in time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut up; and yet there was a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners, and the progress of their cooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker's oven; where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too.
""is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your torch?"
asked scrooge.
""there is.
my own."
""would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?"
asked scrooge.
""to any kindly given.
to a poor one most."
""why to a poor one most?"
asked scrooge.
""because it needs it most."
""spirit!"
said scrooge after a moment's thought.
""i wonder you, of all the beings in the many worlds about us, should desire to cramp these people's opportunities of innocent enjoyment."
""i!"
cried the spirit.
""you would deprive them of their means of dining every seventh day, often the only day on which they can be said to dine at all," said scrooge; "would n't you?"
""i!"
cried the spirit.
""you seek to close these places on the seventh day," said scrooge.
""and it comes to the same thing.""
i seek!"
exclaimed the spirit.
""forgive me if i am wrong.
it has been done in your name, or at least in that of your family," said scrooge.
""there are some upon this earth of yours," returned the spirit, "who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us, and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived.
remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us."
scrooge promised that he would; and they went on, invisible, as they had been before, into the suburbs of the town.
it was a remarkable quality of the ghost -lrb- which scrooge had observed at the baker's -rrb-, that, notwithstanding his gigantic size, he could accommodate himself to any place with ease; and that he stood beneath a low roof quite as gracefully and like a supernatural creature as it was possible he could have done in any lofty hall.
and perhaps it was the pleasure the good spirit had in showing off this power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to scrooge's clerk's; for there he went, and took scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and, on the threshold of the door, the spirit smiled, and stopped to bless bob cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch.
think of that!
bob had but fifteen "bob" a week himself; he pocketed on saturdays but fifteen copies of his christian name; and yet the ghost of christmas present blessed his four-roomed house!
then up rose mrs. cratchit, cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap, and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by belinda cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while master peter cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and, getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar -lrb- bob's private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day -rrb- into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable parks.
and now two smaller cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own; and, basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young cratchits danced about the table, and exalted master peter cratchit to the skies, while he -lrb- not proud, although his collars nearly choked him -rrb- blew the fire, until the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan lid to be let out and peeled.
""what has ever got your precious father, then?"
said mrs. cratchit.
""and your brother, tiny tim?
and martha war n't as late last christmas-day by half an hour!"
""here's martha, mother!"
said a girl, appearing as she spoke.
""here's martha, mother!"
cried the two young cratchits.
""hurrah!
there's such a goose, martha!"
""why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!"
said mrs. cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal.
""we'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, "and had to clear away this morning, mother!"
""well!
never mind so long as you are come," said mrs. cratchit.
""sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, lord bless ye!"
""no, no!
there's father coming," cried the two young cratchits, who were everywhere at once.
""hide, martha, hide!"
so martha hid herself, and in came little bob, the father, with at least three feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed to look seasonable; and tiny tim upon his shoulder.
alas for tiny tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!
""why, where's our martha?"
cried bob cratchit, looking round.
""not coming," said mrs. cratchit.
""not coming!"
said bob with a sudden declension in his high spirits; for he had been tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come home rampant.
""not coming upon christmas-day!"
martha did n't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the two young cratchits hustled tiny tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.
""and how did little tim behave?"
asked mrs. cratchit when she had rallied bob on his credulity, and bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content.
""as good as gold," said bob, "and better.
somehow, he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard.
he told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon christmas-day who made lame beggars walk and blind men see."
bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he said that tiny tim was growing strong and hearty.
his active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came tiny tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool beside the fire; and while bob, turning up his cuffs -- as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby -- compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round, and put it on the hob to simmer, master peter and the two ubiquitous young cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.
such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course -- and, in truth, it was something very like it in that house.
mrs. cratchit made the gravy -lrb- ready beforehand in a little saucepan -rrb- hissing hot; master peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; miss belinda sweetened up the apple sauce; martha dusted the hot plates; bob took tiny tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and, mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped.
at last the dishes were set on, and grace was said.
it was succeeded by a breathless pause, as mrs. cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even tiny tim, excited by the two young cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried hurrah!
there never was such a goose.
bob said he did n't believe there ever was such a goose cooked.
its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration.
eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as mrs. cratchit said with great delight -lrb- surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish -rrb-, they had n't ate it all at last!
yet every one had had enough, and the youngest cratchits, in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows!
but now, the plates being changed by miss belinda, mrs. cratchit left the room alone -- too nervous to bear witnesses -- to take the pudding up, and bring it in.
suppose it should not be done enough!
suppose it should break in turning out!
suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose -- a supposition at which the two young cratchits became livid!
all sorts of horrors were supposed.
hallo!
a great deal of steam!
the pudding was out of the copper.
a smell like a washing-day!
that was the cloth.
a smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that!
that was the pudding!
in half a minute mrs. cratchit entered -- flushed, but smiling proudly -- with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with christmas holly stuck into the top.
oh, a wonderful pudding!
bob cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by mrs. cratchit since their marriage.
mrs. cratchit said that, now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had her doubts about the quantity of flour.
everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family.
it would have been flat heresy to do so.
any cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.
at last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up.
the compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel full of chestnuts on the fire.
then all the cratchit family drew round the hearth in what bob cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at bob cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass.
two tumblers and a custard cup without a handle.
these held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily.
then bob proposed: "a merry christmas to us all, my dears.
god bless us!"
which all the family re-echoed.
""god bless us every one!"
said tiny tim, the last of all.
he sat very close to his father's side, upon his little stool.
bob held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.
""spirit," said scrooge with an interest he had never felt before, "tell me if tiny tim will live."
""i see a vacant seat," replied the ghost, "in the poor chimney-corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved.
if these shadows remain unaltered by the future, the child will die."
""no, no," said scrooge.
""oh, no, kind spirit!
say he will be spared."
""if these shadows remain unaltered by the future, none other of my race," returned the ghost, "will find him here.
what then?
if he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population."
scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the spirit, and was overcome with penitence and grief.
""man," said the ghost, "if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered what the surplus is, and where it is.
will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die?
it may be that, in the sight of heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man's child.
oh god!
to hear the insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers in the dust!"
scrooge bent before the ghost's rebuke, and, trembling, cast his eyes upon the ground.
but he raised them speedily on hearing his own name.
""mr. scrooge!"
said bob.
""i'll give you mr. scrooge, the founder of the feast!"
""the founder of the feast, indeed!"
cried mrs. cratchit, reddening.
""i wish i had him here.
i'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and i hope he'd have a good appetite for it."
""my dear," said bob, "the children!
christmas-day."
""it should be christmas-day, i am sure," said she, "on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as mr. scrooge.
you know he is, robert!
nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow!"
""my dear!"
was bob's mild answer.
""christmas-day."
""i'll drink his health for your sake and the day's," said mrs. cratchit, "not for his.
long life to him!
a merry christmas and a happy new year!
he'll be very merry and very happy, i have no doubt!"
the children drank the toast after her.
it was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness in it.
tiny tim drank it last of all, but he did n't care twopence for it.
scrooge was the ogre of the family.
the mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.
after it had passed away they were ten times merrier than before, from the mere relief of scrooge the baleful being done with.
bob cratchit told them how he had a situation in his eye for master peter, which would bring in, if obtained, full five-and-sixpence weekly.
the two young cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of peter's being a man of business; and peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from between his collars, as if he were deliberating what particular investments he should favour when he came into the receipt of that bewildering income.
martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner's, then told them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she worked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed to-morrow morning for a good long rest; to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home.
also how she had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord "was much about as tall as peter"; at which peter pulled up his collars so high, that you could n't have seen his head if you had been there.
all this time the chestnuts and the jug went round and round; and by-and-by they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from tiny tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed.
there was nothing of high mark in this.
they were not a handsome family; they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being waterproof; their clothes were scanty; and peter might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawn-broker's.
but they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the spirit's torch at parting, scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on tiny tim, until the last.
by this time it was getting dark, and snowing pretty heavily; and as scrooge and the spirit went along the streets, the brightness of the roaring fires in kitchens, parlours, and all sorts of rooms was wonderful.
here, the flickering of the blaze showed preparations for a cosy dinner, with hot plates baking through and through before the fire, and deep red curtains, ready to be drawn to shut out cold and darkness.
there, all the children of the house were running out into the snow to meet their married sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and be the first to greet them.
here, again, were shadows on the window blinds of guests assembling; and there a group of handsome girls, all hooded and fur-booted, and all chattering at once, tripped lightly off to some near neighbour's house; where, woe upon the single man who saw them enter -- artful witches, well they knew it -- in a glow!
but, if you had judged from the numbers of people on their way to friendly gatherings, you might have thought that no one was at home to give them welcome when they got there, instead of every house expecting company, and piling up its fires half-chimney high.
blessings on it, how the ghost exulted!
how it bared its breadth of breast, and opened its capacious palm, and floated on, outpouring, with a generous hand, its bright and harmless mirth on everything within its reach!
the very lamp-lighter, who ran on before, dotting the dusky street with specks of light, and who was dressed to spend the evening somewhere, laughed out loudly as the spirit passed, though little kenned the lamp-lighter that he had any company but christmas.
and now, without a word of warning from the ghost, they stood upon a bleak and desert moor, where monstrous masses of rude stone were cast about, as though it were the burial-place or giants; and water spread itself wheresoever it listed; or would have done so, but for the frost that held it prisoner; and nothing grew but moss and furze, and coarse, rank grass.
down in the west the setting sun had left a streak of fiery red, which glared upon the desolation for an instant, like a sullen eye, and, frowning lower, lower, lower yet, was lost in the thick gloom of darkest night.
""what place is this?"
asked scrooge.
""a place where miners live, who labour in the bowels of the earth," returned the spirit.
""but they know me.
see!"
a light shone from the window of a hut, and swiftly they advanced towards it.
passing through the wall of mud and stone, they found a cheerful company assembled round a glowing fire.
an old, old man and woman, with their children and their children's children, and another generation beyond that, all decked out gaily in their holiday attire.
the old man, in a voice that seldom rose above the howling of the wind upon the barren waste, was singing them a christmas song; it had been a very old song when he was a boy; and from time to time they all joined in the chorus.
so surely as they raised their voices, the old man got quite blithe and loud; and, so surely as they stopped, his vigour sank again.
the spirit did not tarry here, but bade scrooge hold his robe, and, passing on above the moor, sped whither?
not to sea?
to sea.
to scrooge's horror, looking back, he saw the last of the land, a frightful range of rocks, behind them; and his ears were deafened by the thundering of water, as it rolled and roared, and raged among the dreadful caverns it had worn, and fiercely tried to undermine the earth.
built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks, some league or so from shore, on which the waters chafed and dashed, the wild year through, there stood a solitary lighthouse.
great heaps of seaweed clung to its base, and storm-birds -- born of the wind, one might suppose, as seaweed of the water -- rose and fell about it, like the waves they skimmed.
but, even here, two men who watched the light had made a fire that through the loophole in the thick stone wall shed out a ray of brightness on the awful sea.
joining their horny hands over the rough table at which they sat, they wished each other merry christmas in their can of grog; and one of them, the elder too, with his face all damaged and scarred with hard weather, as the figure-head of an old ship might be, struck up a sturdy song that was like a gale in itself.
again the ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea -- on, on -- until, being far away, as he told scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a ship.
they stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in their several stations; but every man among them hummed a christmas tune, or had a christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his companion of some bygone christmas-day, with homeward hopes belonging to it.
and every man on board, waking or sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinder word for one another on that day than on any day in the year; and had shared to some extent in its festivities; and had remembered those he cared for at a distance, and had known that they delighted to remember him.
it was a great surprise to scrooge, while listening to the moaning of the wind, and thinking what a solemn thing it was to move on through the lonely darkness over an unknown abyss, whose depths were secrets as profound as death: it was a great surprise to scrooge, while thus engaged, to hear a hearty laugh.
it was a much greater surprise to scrooge to recognise it as his own nephew's, and to find himself in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking at that same nephew with approving affability!
""ha, ha!"
laughed scrooge's nephew.
""ha, ha, ha!"
if you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blessed in a laugh than scrooge's nephew, all i can say is, i should like to know him too.
introduce him to me, and i'll cultivate his acquaintance.
it is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that, while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour.
when scrooge's nephew laughed in this way, holding his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions, scrooge's niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he.
and their assembled friends, being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.
""ha, ha!
ha, ha, ha, ha!"
""he said that christmas was a humbug, as i live!"
cried scrooge's nephew.
""he believed it, too!"
""more shame for him, fred!"
said scrooge's niece indignantly.
bless those women!
they never do anything by halves.
they are always in earnest.
she was very pretty; exceedingly pretty.
with a dimpled, surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth, that seemed made to be kissed -- as no doubt it was; all kinds of good little dots about her chin, that melted into one another when she laughed; and the sunniest pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature's head.
altogether she was what you would have called provoking, you know; but satisfactory, too.
oh, perfectly satisfactory!
""he's a comical old fellow," said scrooge's nephew, "that's the truth; and not so pleasant as he might be.
however, his offences carry their own punishment, and i have nothing to say against him."
""i'm sure he is very rich, fred," hinted scrooge's niece.
""at least, you always tell me so."
""what of that, my dear?"
said scrooge's nephew.
""his wealth is of no use to him.
he do n't do any good with it.
he do n't make himself comfortable with it.
he has n't the satisfaction of thinking -- ha, ha, ha!
-- that he is ever going to benefit us with it."
""i have no patience with him," observed scrooge's niece.
scrooge's niece's sisters, and all the other ladies, expressed the same opinion.
""oh, i have!"
said scrooge's nephew.
""i am sorry for him; i could n't be angry with him if i tried.
who suffers by his ill whims?
himself always.
here he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he wo n't come and dine with us.
what's the consequence?
he do n't lose much of a dinner."
""indeed, i think he loses a very good dinner," interrupted scrooge's niece.
everybody else said the same, and they must be allowed to have been competent judges, because they had just had dinner; and, with the dessert upon the table, were clustered round the fire, by lamp-light.
""well!
i am very glad to hear it," said scrooge's nephew, "because i have n't any great faith in these young housekeepers.
what do you say, topper?"
topper had clearly got his eye upon one of scrooge's niece's sisters, for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast, who had no right to express an opinion on the subject.
whereat scrooge's niece's sister -- the plump one with the lace tucker, not the one with the roses -- blushed.
""do go on, fred," said scrooge's niece, clapping her hands.
""he never finishes what he begins to say!
he is such a ridiculous fellow!"
scrooge's nephew revelled in another laugh, and, as it was impossible to keep the infection off, though the plump sister tried hard to do it with aromatic vinegar, his example was unanimously followed.
""i was only going to say," said scrooge's nephew, "that the consequence of his taking a dislike to us, and not making merry with us, is, as i think, that he loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no harm.
i am sure he loses pleasanter companions than he can find in his own thoughts, either in his mouldy old office or his dusty chambers.
i mean to give him the same chance every year, whether he likes it or not, for i pity him.
he may rail at christmas till he dies, but he ca n't help thinking better of it -- i defy him -- if he finds me going there in good temper, year after year, and saying, "uncle scrooge, how are you?"
if it only puts him in the vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds, that's something; and i think i shook him yesterday."
it was their turn to laugh, now, at the notion of his shaking scrooge.
but, being thoroughly good-natured, and not much caring what they laughed at, so that they laughed at any rate, he encouraged them in their merriment, and passed the bottle, joyously.
after tea they had some music.
for they were a musical family, and knew what they were about when they sung a glee or catch, i can assure you: especially topper, who could growl away in the bass like a good one, and never swell the large veins in his forehead, or get red in the face over it.
scrooge's niece played well upon the harp; and played, among other tunes, a simple little air -lrb- a mere nothing: you might learn to whistle it in two minutes -rrb-, which had been familiar to the child who fetched scrooge from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the ghost of christmas past.
when this strain of music sounded, all the things that ghost had shown him came upon his mind; he softened more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, he might have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own happiness with his own hands, without resorting to the sexton's spade that buried jacob marley.
but they did n't devote the whole evening to music.
after awhile they played at forfeits; for it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at christmas, when its mighty founder was a child himself.
stop!
there was first a game at blindman's buff.
of course there was.
and i no more believe topper was really blind than i believe he had eyes in his boots.
my opinion is, that it was a done thing between him and scrooge's nephew; and that the ghost of christmas present knew it.
the way he went after that plump sister in the lace tucker was an outrage on the credulity of human nature.
knocking down the fire-irons, tumbling over the chairs, bumping up against the piano, smothering himself amongst the curtains, wherever she went, there went he!
he always knew where the plump sister was.
he would n't catch anybody else.
if you had fallen up against him -lrb- as some of them did -rrb- on purpose, he would have made a feint of endeavouring to seize you, which would have been an affront to your understanding, and would instantly have sidled off in the direction of the plump sister.
she often cried out that it was n't fair; and it really was not.
but when, at last, he caught her; when, in spite of all her silken rustlings, and her rapid flutterings past him, he got her into a corner whence there was no escape, then his conduct was the most execrable.
for his pretending not to know her; his pretending that it was necessary to touch her head-dress, and further to assure himself of her identity by pressing a certain ring upon her finger, and a certain chain about her neck, was vile, monstrous!
no doubt she told him her opinion of it when, another blind man being in office, they were so very confidential together behind the curtains.
scrooge's niece was not one of the blindman's buff party, but was made comfortable with a large chair and a footstool, in a snug corner where the ghost and scrooge were close behind her.
but she joined in the forfeits, and loved her love to admiration with all the letters of the alphabet.
likewise at the game of how, when, and where, she was very great, and, to the secret joy of scrooge's nephew, beat her sisters hollow: though they were sharp girls too, as topper could have told you.
there might have been twenty people there, young and old, but they all played, and so did scrooge; for, wholly forgetting, in the interest he had in what was going on, that his voice made no sound in their ears, he sometimes came out with his guess quite loud, and very often guessed right, too, for the sharpest needle, best whitechapel, warranted not to cut in the eye, was not sharper than scrooge; blunt as he took it in his head to be.
the ghost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked upon him with such favour, that he begged like a boy to be allowed to stay until the guests departed.
but this the spirit said could not be done.
""here is a new game," said scrooge.
""one half-hour, spirit, only one!"
it was a game called yes and no, where scrooge's nephew had to think of something, and the rest must find out what; he only answering to their questions yes or no, as the case was.
the brisk fire of questioning to which he was exposed elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, and lived in london, and walked about the streets, and was n't made a show of, and was n't led by anybody, and did n't live in a menagerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear.
at every fresh question that was put to him, this nephew burst into a fresh roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that he was obliged to get up off the sofa, and stamp.
at last the plump sister, falling into a similar state, cried out: "i have found it out!
i know what it is, fred!
i know what it is!"
""what is it?"
cried fred.
""it's your uncle scro-o-o-o-oge!"
which it certainly was.
admiration was the universal sentiment, though some objected that the reply to "is it a bear?"
ought to have been "yes": inasmuch as an answer in the negative was sufficient to have diverted their thoughts from mr. scrooge, supposing they had ever had any tendency that way.
""he has given us plenty of merriment, i am sure," said fred, "and it would be ungrateful not to drink his health.
here is a glass of mulled wine ready to our hand at the moment; and i say, "uncle scrooge!""
""well!
uncle scrooge!"
they cried.
""a merry christmas and a happy new year to the old man, whatever he is!"
said scrooge's nephew.
""he would n't take it from me, but may he have it nevertheless.
uncle scrooge!"
uncle scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart, that he would have pledged the unconscious company in return, and thanked them in an inaudible speech, if the ghost had given him time.
but the whole scene passed off in the breath of the last word spoken by his nephew; and he and the spirit were again upon their travels.
much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, but always with a happy end.
the spirit stood beside sick-beds, and they were cheerful; on foreign lands, and they were close at home; by struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope; by poverty, and it was rich.
in almshouse, hospital, and gaol, in misery's every refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fast the door, and barred the spirit out, he left his blessing, and taught scrooge his precepts.
it was a long night, if it were only a night; but scrooge had his doubts of this, because the christmas holidays appeared to be condensed into the space of time they passed together.
it was strange, too, that, while scrooge remained unaltered in his outward form, the ghost grew older, clearly older.
scrooge had observed this change, but never spoke of it, until they left a children's twelfth-night party, when, looking at the spirit as they stood together in an open place, he noticed that its hair was grey.
""are spirits" lives so short?"
asked scrooge.
""my life upon this globe is very brief," replied the ghost.
""it ends to-night."
""to-night!"
cried scrooge.
""to-night at midnight.
hark!
the time is drawing near."
the chimes were ringing the three-quarters past eleven at that moment.
""forgive me if i am not justified in what i ask," said scrooge, looking intently at the spirit's robe, "but i see something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts.
is it a foot or a claw?"
""it might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it," was the spirit's sorrowful reply.
""look here."
from the foldings of its robe it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable.
they knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.
""oh, man!
look here!
look, look, down here!"
exclaimed the ghost.
they were a boy and girl.
yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility.
where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds.
where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing.
no change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.
scrooge started back, appalled.
having them shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.
""spirit!
are they yours?"
scrooge could say no more.
""they are man's," said the spirit, looking down upon them.
""and they cling to me, appealing from their fathers.
this boy is ignorance.
this girl is want.
beware of them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow i see that written which is doom, unless the writing be erased.
deny it!"
cried the spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city.
""slander those who tell it ye!
admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse!
and bide the end!"
""have they no refuge or resource?"
cried scrooge.
""are there no prisons?"
said the spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words.
""are there no workhouses?"
the bell struck twelve.
scrooge looked about him for the ghost, and saw it not.
as the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of old jacob marley, and, lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn phantom, draped and hooded, coming like a mist along the ground towards him.
stave four the last of the spirits the phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached.
when it came near him, scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.
it was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible, save one outstretched hand.
but for this, it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded.
he felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread.
he knew no more, for the spirit neither spoke nor moved.
""i am in the presence of the ghost of christmas yet to come?"
said scrooge.
the spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.
""you are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us," scrooge pursued.
""is that so, spirit?"
the upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its folds, as if the spirit had inclined its head.
that was the only answer he received.
although well used to ghostly company by this time, scrooge feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it.
the spirit paused a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time to recover.
but scrooge was all the worse for this.
it thrilled him with a vague uncertain horror to know that, behind the dusky shroud, there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heap of black.
""ghost of the future!"
he exclaimed, "i fear you more than any spectre i have seen.
but, as i know your purpose is to do me good, and as i hope to live to be another man from what i was, i am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart.
will you not speak to me?"
it gave him no reply.
the hand was pointed straight before them.
""lead on!"
said scrooge.
""lead on!
the night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, i know.
lead on, spirit!"
the phantom moved away as it had come towards him.
scrooge followed in the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him along.
they scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed to spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act.
but there they were in the heart of it; on "change, amongst the merchants; who hurried up and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed in groups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their great gold seals; and so forth, as scrooge had seen them often.
the spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men.
observing that the hand was pointed to them, scrooge advanced to listen to their talk.
""no," said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, "i do n't know much about it either way.
i only know he's dead."
""when did he die?"
inquired another.
""last night, i believe."
""why, what was the matter with him?"
asked a third, taking a vast quantity of snuff out of a very large snuff-box.
""i thought he'd never die."
""god knows," said the first with a yawn.
""what has he done with his money?"
asked a red-faced gentleman with a pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose, that shook like the gills of a turkey-cock.
""i have n't heard," said the man with the large chin, yawning again.
""left it to his company, perhaps.
he has n't left it to me.
that's all i know."
this pleasantry was received with a general laugh.
""it's likely to be a very cheap funeral," said the same speaker; "for, upon my life, i do n't know of anybody to go to it.
suppose we make up a party, and volunteer?"
""i do n't mind going if a lunch is provided," observed the gentleman with the excrescence on his nose.
""but i must be fed if i make one."
another laugh.
""well, i am the most disinterested among you, after all," said the first speaker, "for i never wear black gloves, and i never eat lunch.
but i'll offer to go if anybody else will.
when i come to think of it, i'm not at all sure that i was n't his most particular friend; for we used to stop and speak whenever we met.
bye, bye!"
speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups.
scrooge knew the men, and looked towards the spirit for an explanation.
the phantom glided on into a street.
its finger pointed to two persons meeting.
scrooge listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie here.
he knew these men, also, perfectly.
they were men of business: very wealthy, and of great importance.
he had made a point always of standing well in their esteem: in a business point of view, that is; strictly in a business point of view.
""how are you?"
said one.
""how are you?"
returned the other.
""well!"
said the first.
""old scratch has got his own at last, hey?"
""so i am told," returned the second.
""cold, is n't it?"
""seasonable for christmas-time.
you are not a skater, i suppose?"
""no.
no.
something else to think of.
good morning!"
not another word.
that was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.
scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the spirit should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but, feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what it was likely to be.
they could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the death of jacob, his old partner, for that was past, and this ghost's province was the future.
nor could he think of any one immediately connected with himself, to whom he could apply them.
but nothing doubting that, to whomsoever they applied, they had some latent moral for his own improvement, he resolved to treasure up every word he heard, and everything he saw; and especially to observe the shadow of himself when it appeared.
for he had an expectation that the conduct of his future self would give him the clue he missed, and would render the solution of these riddles easy.
he looked about in that very place for his own image, but another man stood in his accustomed corner, and, though the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, he saw no likeness of himself among the multitudes that poured in through the porch.
it gave him little surprise, however; for he had been revolving in his mind a change of life, and thought and hoped he saw his new-born resolutions carried out in this.
quiet and dark, beside him stood the phantom, with its outstretched hand.
when he roused himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied, from the turn of the hand, and its situation in reference to himself, that the unseen eyes were looking at him keenly.
it made him shudder, and feel very cold.
they left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town, where scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognised its situation and its bad repute.
the ways were foul and narrow; the shops and houses wretched; the people half naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly.
alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences of smell, and dirt, and life upon the straggling streets; and the whole quarter reeked with crime, with filth and misery.
far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed, beetling shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and greasy offal were bought.
upon the floor within were piled up heaps of rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights, and refuse iron of all kinds.
secrets that few would like to scrutinise were bred and hidden in mountains of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, and sepulchres of bones.
sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by a charcoal stove made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal, nearly seventy years of age, who had screened himself from the cold air without by a frouzy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters hung upon a line, and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm retirement.
scrooge and the phantom came into the presence of this man, just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop.
but she had scarcely entered, when another woman, similarly laden, came in too, and she was closely followed by a man in faded black, who was no less startled by the sight of them than they had been upon the recognition of each other.
after a short period of blank astonishment, in which the old man with the pipe had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh.
""let the charwoman alone to be the first!"
cried she who had entered first.
""let the laundress alone to be the second; and let the undertaker's man alone to be the third.
look here, old joe, here's a chance!
if we have n't all three met here without meaning it!"
""you could n't have met in a better place," said old joe, removing his pipe from his mouth.
""come into the parlour.
you were made free of it long ago, you know; and the other two a n't strangers.
stop till i shut the door of the shop.
ah!
how it skreeks!
there a n't such a rusty bit of metal in the place as its own hinges, i believe; and i'm sure there's no such old bones here as mine.
ha!
ha!
we're all suitable to our calling, we're well matched.
come into the parlour.
come into the parlour."
the parlour was the space behind the screen of rags.
the old man raked the fire together with an old stair-rod, and, having trimmed his smoky lamp -lrb- for it was night -rrb- with the stem of his pipe, put it into his mouth again.
while he did this, the woman who had already spoken threw her bundle on the floor, and sat down in a flaunting manner on a stool; crossing her elbows on her knees, and looking with a bold defiance at the other two.
""what odds, then?
what odds, mrs. dilber?"
said the woman.
""every person has a right to take care of themselves.
he always did!"
""that's true, indeed!"
said the laundress.
""no man more so."
""why, then, do n't stand staring as if you was afraid, woman!
who's the wiser?
we're not going to pick holes in each other's coats, i suppose?"
""no, indeed!"
said mrs. dilber and the man together.
""we should hope not."
""very well, then!"
cried the woman.
""that's enough.
who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these?
not a dead man, i suppose?"
""no, indeed," said mrs. dilber, laughing.
""if he wanted to keep'em after he was dead, a wicked old screw," pursued the woman, "why was n't he natural in his lifetime?
if he had been, he'd have had somebody to look after him when he was struck with death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by himself."
""it's the truest word that ever was spoke," said mrs. dilber, "it's a judgment on him."
""i wish it was a little heavier judgment," replied the woman; "and it should have been, you may depend upon it, if i could have laid my hands on anything else.
open that bundle, old joe, and let me know the value of it.
speak out plain.
i'm not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for them to see it.
we knew pretty well that we were helping ourselves before we met here, i believe.
it's no sin.
open the bundle, joe."
but the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this; and the man in faded black, mounting the breach first, produced his plunder.
it was not extensive.
a seal or two, a pencil-case, a pair of sleeve-buttons, and a brooch of no great value, were all.
they were severally examined and appraised by old joe, who chalked the sums he was disposed to give for each upon the wall, and added them up into a total when he found that there was nothing more to come.
""that's your account," said joe, "and i would n't give another sixpence, if i was to be boiled for not doing it.
who's next?"
mrs. dilber was next.
sheets and towels, a little wearing apparel, two old-fashioned silver tea-spoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a few boots.
her account was stated on the wall in the same manner.
""i always give too much to ladies.
it's a weakness of mine, and that's the way i ruin myself," said old joe.
""that's your account.
if you asked me for another penny, and made it an open question, i'd repent of being so liberal, and knock off half-a-crown."
""and now undo my bundle, joe," said the first woman.
joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening it, and, having unfastened a great many knots, dragged out a large heavy roll of some dark stuff.
""what do you call this?"
said joe.
""bed-curtains?"
""ah!"
returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on her crossed arms.
""bed-curtains!"
""you do n't mean to say you took'em down, rings and all, with him lying there?"
said joe.
""yes, i do," replied the woman.
""why not?"
""you were born to make your fortune," said joe, "and you'll certainly do it."
""i certainly sha n't hold my hand, when i can get anything in it by reaching it out, for the sake of such a man as he was, i promise you, joe," returned the woman coolly.
""do n't drop that oil upon the blankets, now."
""his blankets?"
asked joe.
""whose else's do you think?"
replied the woman.
""he is n't likely to take cold without'em, i dare say."
""i hope he did n't die of anything catching?
eh?"
said old joe, stopping in his work, and looking up.
""do n't you be afraid of that," returned the woman.
""i a n't so fond of his company that i'd loiter about him for such things, if he did.
ah!
you may look through that shirt till your eyes ache; but you wo n't find a hole in it, nor a threadbare place.
it's the best he had, and a fine one too.
they'd have wasted it, if it had n't been for me."
""what do you call wasting of it?"
asked old joe.
""putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure," replied the woman with a laugh.
""somebody was fool enough to do it, but i took it off again.
if calico a n't good enough for such a purpose, it is n't good enough for anything.
it's quite as becoming to the body.
he ca n't look uglier than he did in that one."
scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror.
as they sat grouped about their spoil, in the scanty light afforded by the old man's lamp, he viewed them with a detestation and disgust which could hardly have been greater, though they had been obscene demons, marketing the corpse itself.
""ha, ha!"
laughed the same woman when old joe, producing a flannel bag with money in it, told out their several gains upon the ground.
""this is the end of it, you see!
he frightened every one away from him when he was alive, to profit us when he was dead!
ha, ha, ha!"
""spirit!"
said scrooge, shuddering from head to foot.
""i see, i see.
the case of this unhappy man might be my own.
my life tends that way now.
merciful heaven, what is this?"
he recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language.
the room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it was.
a pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed: and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.
scrooge glanced towards the phantom.
its steady hand was pointed to the head.
the cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon scrooge's part, would have disclosed the face.
he thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the spectre at his side.
oh, cold, cold, rigid, dreadful death, set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion!
but of the loved, revered, and honoured head thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious.
it is not that the hand is heavy, and will fall down when released; it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand was open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender; and the pulse a man's.
strike, shadow, strike!
and see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal!
no voice pronounced these words in scrooge's ears, and yet he heard them when he looked upon the bed.
he thought, if this man could be raised up now, what would be his foremost thoughts?
avarice, hard dealing, griping cares?
they have brought him to a rich end, truly!
he lay, in the dark, empty house, with not a man, a woman, or a child to say he was kind to me in this or that, and for the memory of one kind word i will be kind to him.
a cat was tearing at the door, and there was a sound of gnawing rats beneath the hearth-stone.
what they wanted in the room of death, and why they were so restless and disturbed, scrooge did not dare to think.
""spirit!"
he said, "this is a fearful place.
in leaving it, i shall not leave its lesson, trust me.
let us go!"
still the ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.
""i understand you," scrooge returned, "and i would do it if i could.
but i have not the power, spirit.
i have not the power."
again it seemed to look upon him.
""if there is any person in the town who feels emotion caused by this man's death," said scrooge, quite agonised, "show that person to me, spirit!
i beseech you."
the phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing; and, withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight, where a mother and her children were.
she was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness; for she walked up and down the room; started at every sound; looked out from the window; glanced at the clock; tried, but in vain, to work with her needle; and could hardly bear the voices of her children in their play.
at length the long-expected knock was heard.
she hurried to the door, and met her husband; a man whose face was careworn and depressed, though he was young.
there was a remarkable expression in it now; a kind of serious delight of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to repress.
he sat down to the dinner that had been hoarding for him by the fire, and, when she asked him faintly what news -lrb- which was not until after a long silence -rrb-, he appeared embarrassed how to answer.
""is it good," she said, "or bad?"
to help him.
""bad," he answered.
""we are quite ruined?"
""no.
there is hope yet, caroline."
""if he relents," she said, amazed, "there is!
nothing is past hope, if such a miracle has happened."
""he is past relenting," said her husband.
""he is dead."
she was a mild and patient creature, if her face spoke truth; but she was thankful in her soul to hear it, and she said so with clasped hands.
she prayed forgiveness the next moment, and was sorry; but the first was the emotion of her heart.
""what the half-drunken woman, whom i told you of last night, said to me when i tried to see him and obtain a week's delay, and what i thought was a mere excuse to avoid me, turns out to have been quite true.
he was not only very ill, but dying, then."
""to whom will our debt be transferred?"
""i do n't know.
but, before that time, we shall be ready with the money; and, even though we were not, it would be bad fortune indeed to find so merciless a creditor in his successor.
we may sleep to-night with light hearts, caroline!"
yes.
soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter.
the children's faces, hushed and clustered round to hear what they so little understood, were brighter; and it was a happier house for this man's death!
the only emotion that the ghost could show him, caused by the event, was one of pleasure.
""let me see some tenderness connected with a death," said scrooge; "or that dark chamber, spirit, which we left just now, will be for ever present to me."
the ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to his feet; and, as they went along, scrooge looked here and there to find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen.
they entered poor bob cratchit's house, -- the dwelling he had visited before, -- and found the mother and the children seated round the fire.
quiet.
very quiet.
the noisy little cratchits were as still as statues in one corner, and sat looking up at peter, who had a book before him.
the mother and her daughters were engaged in sewing.
but surely they were very quiet!"
"and he took a child, and set him in the midst of them.""
where had scrooge heard those words?
he had not dreamed them.
the boy must have read them out, as he and the spirit crossed the threshold.
why did he not go on?
the mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to her face.
""the colour hurts my eyes," she said.
the colour?
ah, poor tiny tim!
""they're better now again," said cratchit's wife.
""it makes them weak by candle-light; and i would n't show weak eyes to your father, when he comes home, for the world.
it must be near his time."
""past it rather," peter answered, shutting up his book.
""but i think he has walked a little slower than he used, these few last evenings, mother."
they were very quiet again.
at last she said, and in a steady, cheerful voice, that only faltered once: "i have known him walk with -- i have known him walk with tiny tim upon his shoulder very fast indeed."
""and so have i," cried peter.
""often."
""and so have i," exclaimed another.
so had all.
""but he was very light to carry," she resumed, intent upon her work, "and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble: no trouble.
and there is your father at the door!"
she hurried out to meet him; and little bob in his comforter -- he had need of it, poor fellow -- came in.
his tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most.
then the two young cratchits got upon his knees, and laid, each child, a little cheek against his face, as if they said, "do n't mind it, father.
do n't be grieved!"
bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family.
he looked at the work upon the table, and praised the industry and speed of mrs. cratchit and the girls.
they would be done long before sunday, he said.
""sunday!
you went to-day, then, robert?"
said his wife.
""yes, my dear," returned bob.
""i wish you could have gone.
it would have done you good to see how green a place it is.
but you'll see it often.
i promised him that i would walk there on a sunday.
my little, little child!"
cried bob.
""my little child!"
he broke down all at once.
he could n't help it.
if he could have helped it, he and his child would have been farther apart, perhaps, than they were.
he left the room, and went up-stairs into the room above, which was lighted cheerfully, and hung with christmas.
there was a chair set close beside the child, and there were signs of some one having been there lately.
poor bob sat down in it, and, when he had thought a little and composed himself, he kissed the little face.
he was reconciled to what had happened, and went down again quite happy.
they drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and mother working still.
bob told them of the extraordinary kindness of mr. scrooge's nephew, whom he had scarcely seen but once, and who, meeting him in the street that day, and seeing that he looked a little -- "just a little down, you know," said bob, inquired what had happened to distress him.
""on which," said bob, "for he is the pleasantest-spoken gentleman you ever heard, i told him."
i am heartily sorry for it, mr. cratchit," he said, "and heartily sorry for your good wife."
by-the-bye, how he ever knew that i do n't know."
""knew what, my dear?"
""why, that you were a good wife," replied bob.
""everybody knows that," said peter.
""very well observed, my boy!"
cried bob.
""i hope they do.
"heartily sorry," he said, "for your good wife.
if i can be of service to you in any way," he said, giving me his card, "that's where i live.
pray come to me."
now, it was n't," cried bob, "for the sake of anything he might be able to do for us, so much as for his kind way, that this was quite delightful.
it really seemed as if he had known our tiny tim, and felt with us."
""i'm sure he's a good soul!"
said mrs. cratchit.
""you would be sure of it, my dear," returned bob, "if you saw and spoke to him.
i should n't be at all surprised -- mark what i say!
-- if he got peter a better situation."
""only hear that, peter," said mrs. cratchit.
""and then," cried one of the girls, "peter will be keeping company with some one, and setting up for himself."
""get along with you!"
retorted peter, grinning.
""it's just as likely as not," said bob, "one of these days; though there's plenty of time for that, my dear.
but, however and whenever we part from one another, i am sure we shall none of us forget poor tiny tim -- shall we -- or this first parting that there was among us?"
""never, father!"
cried they all.
""and i know," said bob, "i know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was, although he was a little, little child, we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor tiny tim in doing it."
""no, never, father!"
they all cried again.
""i am very happy," said little bob, "i am very happy!"
mrs. cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two young cratchits kissed him, and peter and himself shook hands.
spirit of tiny tim, thy childish essence was from god!
""spectre," said scrooge, "something informs me that our parting moment is at hand.
i know it, but i know not how.
tell me what man that was whom we saw lying dead?"
the ghost of christmas yet to come conveyed him, as before -- though at a different time, he thought: indeed, there seemed no order in these latter visions, save that they were in the future -- into the resorts of business men, but showed him not himself.
indeed, the spirit did not stay for anything, but went straight on, as to the end just now desired, until besought by scrooge to tarry for a moment.
""this court," said scrooge, "through which we hurry now, is where my place of occupation is, and has been for a length of time.
i see the house.
let me behold what i shall be in days to come."
the spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.
""the house is yonder," scrooge exclaimed.
""why do you point away?"
the inexorable finger underwent no change.
scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and looked in.
it was an office still, but not his.
the furniture was not the same, and the figure in the chair was not himself.
the phantom pointed as before.
he joined it once again, and, wondering why and whither he had gone, accompanied it until they reached an iron gate.
he paused to look round before entering.
a churchyard.
here, then, the wretched man, whose name he had now to learn, lay underneath the ground.
it was a worthy place.
walled in by houses; overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation's death, not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted appetite.
a worthy place!
the spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to one.
he advanced towards it trembling.
the phantom was exactly as it had been, but he dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape.
""before i draw nearer to that stone to which you point," said scrooge, "answer me one question.
are these the shadows of the things that will be, or are they shadows of the things that may be only?"
still the ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.
""men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead," said scrooge.
""but if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.
say it is thus with what you show me!"
the spirit was immovable as ever.
scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and, following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, ebenezer scrooge.
""am i that man who lay upon the bed?"
he cried upon his knees.
the finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.
""no, spirit!
oh no, no!"
the finger still was there.
""spirit!"
he cried, tight clutching at its robe, "hear me!
i am not the man i was.
i will not be the man i must have been but for this intercourse.
why show me this, if i am past all hope?"
for the first time the hand appeared to shake.
""good spirit," he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it: "your nature intercedes for me, and pities me.
assure me that i yet may change these shadows you have shown me by an altered life?"
the kind hand trembled.
""i will honour christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.
i will live in the past, the present, and the future.
the spirits of all three shall strive within me.
i will not shut out the lessons that they teach.
oh, tell me i may sponge away the writing on this stone!"
in his agony, he caught the spectral hand.
it sought to free itself, but he was strong in his entreaty, and detained it.
the spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him.
holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the phantom's hood and dress.
it shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.
stave five the end of it yes!
and the bedpost was his own.
the bed was his own, the room was his own.
best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends in!
""i will live in the past, the present, and the future!"
scrooge repeated as he scrambled out of bed.
""the spirits of all three shall strive within me.
oh, jacob marley!
heaven and the christmas time be praised for this!
i say it on my knees, old jacob; on my knees!"
he was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his call.
he had been sobbing violently in his conflict with the spirit, and his face was wet with tears.
""they are not torn down," cried scrooge, folding one of his bed-curtains in his arms, "they are not torn down, rings and all.
they are here -- i am here -- the shadows of the things that would have been may be dispelled.
they will be.
i know they will!"
his hands were busy with his garments all this time; turning them inside out, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to every kind of extravagance.
""i do n't know what to do!"
cried scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect laocoön of himself with his stockings.
""i am as light as a feather, i am as happy as an angel, i am as merry as a school-boy.
i am as giddy as a drunken man.
a merry christmas to everybody!
a happy new year to all the world!
hallo here!
whoop!
hallo!"
he had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly winded.
""there's the saucepan that the gruel was in!"
cried scrooge, starting off again, and going round the fire-place.
""there's the door by which the ghost of jacob marley entered!
there's the corner where the ghost of christmas present sat!
there's the window where i saw the wandering spirits!
it's all right, it's all true, it all happened.
ha, ha, ha!"
really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh.
the father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs!
""i do n't know what day of the month it is," said scrooge.
""i do n't know how long i have been among the spirits.
i do n't know anything.
i'm quite a baby.
never mind.
i do n't care.
i'd rather be a baby.
hallo!
whoop!
hallo here!"
he was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard.
clash, clash, hammer; ding, dong, bell!
bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash!
oh, glorious, glorious!
running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head.
no fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; golden sun-light; heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells.
oh, glorious!
glorious!
""what's to-day?"
cried scrooge, calling downward to a boy in sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
""eh?"
returned the boy with all his might of wonder.
""what's to-day, my fine fellow?"
said scrooge.
""to-day!"
replied the boy.
""why, christmas day."
""it's christmas day!"
said scrooge to himself.
""i have n't missed it.
the spirits have done it all in one night.
they can do anything they like.
of course they can.
of course they can.
hallo, my fine fellow!"
""hallo!"
returned the boy.
""do you know the poulterer's in the next street but one, at the corner?"
scrooge inquired.
""i should hope i did," replied the lad.
""an intelligent boy!"
said scrooge.
""a remarkable boy!
do you know whether they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there?
-- not the little prize turkey: the big one?"
""what!
the one as big as me?"
returned the boy.
""what a delightful boy!"
said scrooge.
""it's a pleasure to talk to him.
yes, my buck!"
""it's hanging there now," replied the boy.
""is it?"
said scrooge.
""go and buy it."
""walk-er!"
exclaimed the boy.
""no, no," said scrooge, "i am in earnest.
go and buy it, and tell'em to bring it here, that i may give them the directions where to take it.
come back with the man, and i'll give you a shilling.
come back with him in less than five minutes, and i'll give you half-a-crown!"
the boy was off like a shot.
he must have had a steady hand at a trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast.
""i'll send it to bob cratchit's," whispered scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh.
""he sha n't know who sends it.
it's twice the size of tiny tim.
joe miller never made such a joke as sending it to bob's will be!"
the hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one; but write it he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to open the street-door, ready for the coming of the poulterer's man.
as he stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker caught his eye.
""i shall love it as long as i live!"
cried scrooge, patting it with his hand.
""i scarcely ever looked at it before.
what an honest expression it has in its face!
it's a wonderful knocker!
-- here's the turkey.
hallo!
whoop!
how are you?
merry christmas!"
it was a turkey!
he never could have stood upon his legs, that bird.
he would have snapped'em short off in a minute, like sticks of sealing-wax.
""why, it's impossible to carry that to camden town," said scrooge.
""you must have a cab."
the chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried.
shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much; and shaving requires attention, even when you do n't dance while you are at it.
but, if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have put a piece of sticking-plaster over it, and been quite satisfied.
he dressed himself "all in his best," and at last got out into the streets.
the people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the ghost of christmas present; and, walking with his hands behind him, scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile.
he looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humoured fellows said, "good morning, sir!
a merry christmas to you!"
and scrooge said often afterwards that, of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.
he had not gone far when, coming on towards him, he beheld the portly gentleman who had walked into his counting-house the day before, and said, "scrooge and marley's, i believe?"
it sent a pang across his heart to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.
""my dear sir," said scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old gentleman by both his hands, "how do you do?
i hope you succeeded yesterday.
it was very kind of you.
a merry christmas to you, sir!"
""mr. scrooge?"
""yes," said scrooge.
""that is my name, and i fear it may not be pleasant to you.
allow me to ask your pardon.
and will you have the goodness --" here scrooge whispered in his ear.
""lord bless me!"
cried the gentleman, as if his breath were taken away.
""my dear mr. scrooge, are you serious?"
""if you please," said scrooge.
""not a farthing less.
a great many back-payments are included in it, i assure you.
will you do me that favour?"
""my dear sir," said the other, shaking hands with him, "i do n't know what to say to such munifi --" "do n't say anything, please," retorted scrooge.
""come and see me.
will you come and see me?"
""i will!"
cried the old gentleman.
and it was clear he meant to do it.
""thankee," said scrooge.
""i am much obliged to you.
i thank you fifty times.
bless you!"
he went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted the children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows; and found that everything could yield him pleasure.
he had never dreamed that any walk -- that anything -- could give him so much happiness.
in the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew's house.
he passed the door a dozen times before he had the courage to go up and knock.
but he made a dash, and did it.
""is your master at home, my dear?"
said scrooge to the girl.
nice girl!
very.
""yes sir."
""where is he, my love?"
said scrooge.
""he's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress.
i'll show you up-stairs, if you please."
""thankee.
he knows me," said scrooge, with his hand already on the dining-room lock.
""i'll go in here, my dear."
he turned it gently, and sidled his face in round the door.
they were looking at the table -lrb- which was spread out in great array -rrb-; for these young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see that everything is right.
""fred!"
said scrooge.
dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started!
scrooge had forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting in the corner with the footstool, or he would n't have done it on any account.
""why, bless my soul!"
cried fred, "who's that?"
""it's i. your uncle scrooge.
i have come to dinner.
will you let me in, fred?"
let him in!
it is a mercy he did n't shake his arm off.
he was at home in five minutes.
nothing could be heartier.
his niece looked just the same.
so did topper when he came.
so did the plump sister when she came.
so did every one when they came.
wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!
but he was early at the office next morning.
oh, he was early there!
if he could only be there first, and catch bob cratchit coming late!
that was the thing he had set his heart upon.
and he did it; yes, he did!
the clock struck nine.
no bob.
a quarter past.
no bob.
he was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time.
scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the tank.
his hat was off before he opened the door; his comforter too.
he was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock.
""hallo!"
growled scrooge in his accustomed voice as near as he could feign it.
""what do you mean by coming here at this time of day?"
""i am very sorry, sir," said bob.
""i am behind my time."
""you are!"
repeated scrooge.
""yes.
i think you are.
step this way, sir, if you please."
""it's only once a year, sir," pleaded bob, appearing from the tank.
""it shall not be repeated.
i was making rather merry yesterday, sir."
""now, i'll tell you what, my friend," said scrooge.
""i am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer.
and therefore," he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the tank again: "and therefore i am about to raise your salary!"
bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler.
he had a momentary idea of knocking scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.
""a merry christmas, bob!"
said scrooge with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back.
""a merrier christmas, bob, my good fellow, than i have given you for many a year!
i'll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a christmas bowl of smoking bishop, bob!
make up the fires and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, bob cratchit!"
* * * * * scrooge was better than his word.
he did it all, and infinitely more; and to tiny tim, who did not die, he was a second father.
he became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough in the good old world.
some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and, knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins as have the malady in less attractive forms.
his own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.
he had no further intercourse with spirits, but lived upon the total-abstinence principle ever afterwards; and it was always said of him that he knew how to keep christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.
may that be truly said of us, and all of us!
_book_title_: charles_dickens___the_cricket_on_the_hearth.txt.out
the cricket on the hearth a fairy tale of home chirp the first the kettle began it!
do n't tell me what mrs. peerybingle said.
i know better.
mrs. peerybingle may leave it on record to the end of time that she could n't say which of them began it; but i say the kettle did.
i ought to know, i hope?
the kettle began it, full five minutes by the little waxy-faced dutch clock in the corner, before the cricket uttered a chirp.
as if the clock had n't finished striking, and the convulsive little hay-maker at the top of it, jerking away right and left with a scythe in front of a moorish palace, had n't mowed down half an acre of imaginary grass before the cricket joined in at all!
why, i am not naturally positive.
every one knows that i would n't set my own opinion against the opinion of mrs. peerybingle, unless i were quite sure, on any account whatever.
nothing should induce me.
but, this is a question of fact.
and the fact is, that the kettle began it at least five minutes before the cricket gave any sign of being in existence.
contradict me, and i'll say ten.
let me narrate exactly how it happened.
i should have proceeded to do so, in my very first word, but for this plain consideration -- if i am to tell a story i must begin at the beginning; and how is it possible to begin at the beginning without beginning at the kettle?
it appeared as if there were a sort of match, or trial of skill, you must understand, between the kettle and the cricket.
and this is what led to it, and how it came about.
mrs. peerybingle, going out into the raw twilight, and clicking over the wet stones in a pair of pattens that worked innumerable rough impressions of the first proposition in euclid all about the yard -- mrs. peerybingle filled the kettle at the water-butt.
presently returning, less the pattens -lrb- and a good deal less, for they were tall, and mrs. peerybingle was but short -rrb-, she set the kettle on the fire.
in doing which she lost her temper, or mislaid it for an instant; for, the water being uncomfortably cold, and in that slippy, slushy, sleety sort of state wherein it seems to penetrate through every kind of substance, patten rings included -- had laid hold of mrs. peerybingle's toes, and even splashed her legs.
and when we rather plume ourselves -lrb- with reason too -rrb- upon our legs, and keep ourselves particularly neat in point of stockings, we find this, for the moment, hard to bear.
besides, the kettle was aggravating and obstinate.
it would n't allow itself to be adjusted on the top bar; it would n't hear of accommodating itself kindly to the knobs of coal; it would lean forward with a drunken air, and dribble, a very idiot of a kettle, on the hearth.
it was quarrelsome, and hissed and spluttered morosely at the fire.
to sum up all, the lid, resisting mrs. peerybingle's fingers, first of all turned topsy-turvy, and then, with an ingenious pertinacity deserving of a better cause, dived sideways in -- down to the very bottom of the kettle.
and the hull of the royal george has never made half the monstrous resistance to coming out of the water which the lid of that kettle employed against mrs. peerybingle before she got it up again.
it looked sullen and pig-headed enough, even then; carrying its handle with an air of defiance, and cocking its spout pertly and mockingly at mrs. peerybingle, as if it said, "i wo n't boil.
nothing shall induce me!"
but, mrs. peerybingle, with restored good-humour, dusted her chubby little hands against each other, and sat down before the kettle laughing.
meantime, the jolly blaze uprose and fell, flashing and gleaming on the little hay-maker at the top of the dutch clock, until one might have thought he stood stock-still before the moorish palace, and nothing was in motion but the flame.
he was on the move, however; and had his spasms, two to the second, all right and regular.
but his sufferings when the clock was going to strike were frightful to behold; and when a cuckoo looked out of a trap-door in the palace, and gave note six times, it shook him, each time, like a spectral voice -- or like a something wiry plucking at his legs.
it was not until a violent commotion and a whirring noise among the weights and ropes below him had quite subsided that this terrified hay-maker became himself again.
nor was he startled without reason; for these rattling, bony skeletons of clocks are very disconcerting in their operation, and i wonder very much how any set of men, but most of all how dutchmen, can have had a liking to invent them.
there is a popular belief that dutchmen love broad cases and much clothing for their own lower selves; and they might know better than to leave their clocks so very lank and unprotected, surely.
now it was, you observe, that the kettle began to spend the evening.
now it was that the kettle, growing mellow and musical, began to have irrepressible gurglings in its throat, and to indulge in short vocal snorts, which it checked in the bud, as if it had n't quite made up its mind yet to be good company.
now it was that after two or three such vain attempts to stifle its convivial sentiments, it threw off all moroseness, all reserve, and burst into a stream of song so cosy and hilarious as never maudlin nightingale yet formed the least idea of.
so plain, too!
bless you, you might have understood it like a book -- better than some books you and i could name, perhaps.
with its warm breath gushing forth in a light cloud which merrily and gracefully ascended a few feet, then hung about the chimney-corner as its own domestic heaven, it trolled its song with that strong energy of cheerfulness, that its iron body hummed and stirred upon the fire; and the lid itself, the recently rebellious lid -- such is the influence of a bright example -- performed a sort of jig, and clattered like a deaf and dumb young cymbal that had never known the use of its twin brother.
that this song of the kettle's was a song of invitation and welcome to somebody out of doors: to somebody at that moment coming on towards the snug small home and the crisp fire: there is no doubt whatever.
mrs. peerybingle knew it perfectly, as she sat musing before the hearth.
it's a dark night, sang the kettle, and the rotten leaves are lying by the way; and, above, all is mist and darkness, and, below, all is mire and clay; and there's only one relief in all the sad and murky air; and i do n't know that it is one, for it's nothing but a glare; of deep and angry crimson, where the sun and wind together; set a brand upon the clouds for being guilty of such weather; and the widest open country is a long dull streak of black; and there's hoar frost on the finger-post, and thaw upon the track; and the ice it is n't water, and the water is n't free; and you could n't say that anything is what it ought to be; but he's coming, coming, coming!
-- and here, if you like, the cricket did chime in!
with a chirrup, chirrup, chirrup of such magnitude, by way of chorus; with a voice so astoundingly disproportionate to its size, as compared with the kettle; -lrb- size!
you could n't see it! -rrb-
that, if it had then and there burst itself like an overcharged gun, if it had fallen a victim on the spot, and chirruped its little body into fifty pieces, it would have seemed a natural and inevitable consequence, for which it had expressly laboured.
the kettle had had the last of its solo performance.
it persevered with undiminished ardour; but the cricket took first fiddle, and kept it.
good heaven, how it chirped!
its shrill, sharp, piercing voice resounded through the house, and seemed to twinkle in the outer darkness like a star.
there was an indescribable little trill and tremble in it at its loudest, which suggested its being carried off its legs, and made to leap again, by its own intense enthusiasm.
yet they went very well together, the cricket and the kettle.
the burden of the song was still the same; and louder, louder, louder still, they sang it in their emulation.
the fair little listener -- for fair she was, and young; though something of what is called the dumpling shape; but i do n't myself object to that -- lighted a candle, glanced at the hay-maker on the top of the clock, who was getting in a pretty average crop of minutes; and looked out of the window, where she saw nothing, owing to the darkness, but her own face imaged in the glass.
and my opinion is -lrb- and so would yours have been -rrb- that she might have looked a long way and seen nothing half so agreeable.
when she came back, and sat down in her former seat, the cricket and the kettle were still keeping it up, with a perfect fury of competition.
the kettle's weak side clearly being that he did n't know when he was beat.
there was all the excitement of a race about it.
chirp, chirp, chirp!
cricket a mile ahead.
hum, hum, hum -- m -- m!
kettle making play in the distance, like a great top.
chirp, chirp, chirp!
cricket round the corner.
hum, hum, hum -- m -- m!
kettle sticking to him in his own way; no idea of giving in.
chirp, chirp, chirp!
cricket fresher than ever.
hum, hum, hum -- m -- m!
kettle slow and steady.
chirp, chirp, chirp!
cricket going in to finish him.
hum, hum, hum -- m -- m!
kettle not to be finished.
until at last they got so jumbled together, in the hurry-skurry, helter-skelter, of the match, that whether the kettle chirped and the cricket hummed, or the cricket chirped and the kettle hummed, or they both chirped and both hummed, it would have taken a clearer head than yours or mine to have decided with anything like certainty.
but of this there is no doubt: that, the kettle and the cricket, at one and the same moment, and by some power of amalgamation best known to themselves, sent, each, his fireside song of comfort streaming into a ray of the candle that shone out through the window, and a long way down the lane.
and this light, bursting on a certain person who, on the instant, approached towards it through the gloom, expressed the whole thing to him, literally in a twinkling, and cried, "welcome home, old fellow!
welcome home, my boy!"
this end attained, the kettle, being dead beat, boiled over, and was taken off the fire.
mrs. peerybingle then went running to the door, where, what with the wheels of a cart, the tramp of a horse, the voice of a man, the tearing in and out of an excited dog, and the surprising and mysterious appearance of a baby, there was soon the very what's - his-name to play.
where the baby came from, or how mrs. peerybingle got hold of it in that flash of time, i do n't know.
but a live baby there was in mrs. peerybingle's arms; and a pretty tolerable amount of pride she seemed to have in it, when she was drawn gently to the fire, by a sturdy figure of a man, much taller and much older than herself, who had to stoop a long way down to kiss her.
but she was worth the trouble.
six foot six, with the lumbago, might have done it.
""oh goodness, john!"
said mrs. p. "what a state you're in with the weather!"
-lsb- illustration: "a dot and" -- here he glanced at the baby -- "a dot and carry -- i wo n't say it, for fear i should spoil it; but i was very near a joke."
-rsb- he was something the worse for it undeniably.
the thick mist hung in clots upon his eyelashes like candied thaw; and, between the fog and fire together, there were rainbows in his very whiskers.
""why, you see, dot," john made answer slowly, as he unrolled a shawl from about his throat, and warmed his hands; "it -- it a n't exactly summer weather.
so no wonder."
""i wish you would n't call me dot, john.
i do n't like it," said mrs. peerybingle: pouting in a way that clearly showed she did like it very much.
""why, what else are you?"
returned john, looking down upon her with a smile, and giving her waist as light a squeeze as his huge hand and arm could give.
""a dot and" -- here he glanced at the baby -- "a dot and carry -- i wo n't say it, for fear i should spoil it; but i was very near a joke.
i do n't know as ever i was nearer."
he was often near to something or other very clever, by his own account: this lumbering, slow, honest john; this john so heavy, but so light of spirit; so rough upon the surface, but so gentle at the core; so dull without, so quick within; so stolid, but so good!
oh, mother nature, give thy children the true poetry of heart that hid itself in this poor carrier's breast -- he was but a carrier, by the way -- and we can bear to have them talking prose, and leading lives of prose; and bear to bless thee for their company!
it was pleasant to see dot, with her little figure and her baby in her arms: a very doll of a baby: glancing with a coquettish thoughtfulness at the fire, and inclining her delicate little head just enough on one side to let it rest in an odd, half-natural, half-affected, wholly nestling and agreeable manner, on the great rugged figure of the carrier.
it was pleasant to see him, with his tender awkwardness, endeavouring to adapt his rude support to her slight need, and make his burly middle age a leaning-staff not inappropriate to her blooming youth.
it was pleasant to observe how tilly slowboy, waiting in the background for the baby, took special cognizance -lrb- though in her earliest teens -rrb- of this grouping; and stood with her mouth and eyes wide open, and her head thrust forward, taking it in as if it were air.
nor was it less agreeable to observe how john the carrier, reference being made by dot to the aforesaid baby, checked his hand when on the point of touching the infant, as if he thought he might crack it; and, bending down, surveyed it from a safe distance, with a kind of puzzled pride, such as an amiable mastiff might be supposed to show if he found himself, one day, the father of a young canary.
""a n't he beautiful, john?
do n't he look precious in his sleep?"
""very precious," said john.
""very much so.
he generally is asleep, a n't he?"
""lor, john!
good gracious, no!"
""oh!"
said john, pondering.
""i thought his eyes was generally shut.
halloa!"
""goodness, john, how you startle one!"
""it a n't right for him to turn'em up in that way," said the astonished carrier, "is it?
see how he's winking with both of'em at once!
and look at his mouth!
why, he's gasping like a gold and silver fish!"
""you do n't deserve to be a father, you do n't," said dot, with all the dignity of an experienced matron.
""but how should you know what little complaints children are troubled with, john?
you would n't so much as know their names, you stupid fellow."
and when she had turned the baby over on her left arm, and had slapped its back as a restorative, she pinched her husband's ear, laughing.
""no," said john, pulling off his outer coat.
""it's very true, dot.
i do n't know much about it.
i only know that i've been fighting pretty stiffly with the wind to-night.
it's been blowing north-east, straight into the cart, the whole way home."
""poor old man, so it has!"
cried mrs. peerybingle, instantly becoming very active.
""here, take the precious darling, tilly, while i make myself of some use.
bless it, i could smother it with kissing it, i could!
hie then, good dog!
hie, boxer, boy!
only let me make the tea first, john; and then i'll help you with the parcels, like a busy bee.
"how doth the little" -- and all the rest of it, you know, john.
did you ever learn "how doth the little," when you went to school, john?"
""not to quite know it," john returned.
""i was very near it once.
but i should only have spoilt it, i dare say."
""ha, ha!"
laughed dot.
she had the blithest little laugh you ever heard.
""what a dear old darling of a dunce you are, john, to be sure!"
not at all disputing this position, john went out to see that the boy with the lantern, which had been dancing to and fro before the door and window, like a will of the wisp, took due care of the horse; who was fatter than you would quite believe, if i gave you his measure, and so old that his birthday was lost in the mists of antiquity.
boxer, feeling that his attentions were due to the family in general, and must be impartially distributed, dashed in and out with bewildering inconstancy; now describing a circle of short barks round the horse, where he was being rubbed down at the stable door; now feigning to make savage rushes at his mistress, and facetiously bringing himself to sudden stops; now eliciting a shriek from tilly slowboy, in the low nursing-chair near the fire, by the unexpected application of his moist nose to her countenance; now exhibiting an obtrusive interest in the baby; now going round and round upon the hearth, and lying down as if he had established himself for the night; now getting up again, and taking that nothing of a fag-end of a tail of his out into the weather, as if he had just remembered an appointment, and was off at a round trot, to keep it.
""there!
there's the teapot, ready on the hob!"
said dot; as briskly busy as a child at play at keeping house.
""and there's the cold knuckle of ham; and there's the butter; and there's the crusty loaf, and all!
here's a clothes basket for the small parcels, john, if you've got any there.
where are you, john?
do n't let the dear child fall under the grate, tilly, whatever you do!"
it may be noted of miss slowboy, in spite of her rejecting the caution with some vivacity, that she had a rare and surprising talent for getting this baby into difficulties: and had several times imperilled its short life in a quiet way peculiarly her own.
she was of a spare and straight shape, this young lady, insomuch that her garments appeared to be in constant danger of sliding off those sharp pegs, her shoulders, on which they were loosely hung.
her costume was remarkable for the partial development, on all possible occasions, of some flannel vestment of a singular structure; also for affording glimpses, in the region of the back, of a corset, or a pair of stays, in colour a dead green.
being always in a state of gaping admiration at everything, and absorbed, besides, in the perpetual contemplation of her mistress's perfections and the baby's, miss slowboy, in her little errors of judgment, may be said to have done equal honour to her head and to her heart; and though these did less honour to the baby's head, which they were the occasional means of bringing into contact with deal doors, dressers, stair-rails, bed-posts, and other foreign substances, still they were the honest results of tilly slowboy's constant astonishment at finding herself so kindly treated, and installed in such a comfortable home.
for the maternal and paternal slowboy were alike unknown to fame, and tilly had been bred by public charity, a foundling; which word, though only differing from fondling by one vowel's length, is very different in meaning, and expresses quite another thing.
to have seen little mrs. peerybingle come back with her husband, tugging at the clothes basket, and making the most strenuous exertions to do nothing at all -lrb- for he carried it -rrb-, would have amused you almost as much as it amused him.
it may have entertained the cricket, too, for anything i know; but, certainly, it now began to chirp again vehemently.
-lsb- illustration: tilly slowboy.
-rsb- "heyday!"
said john in his slow way.
""it's merrier than ever to-night, i think."
""and it's sure to bring us good fortune, john!
it always has done so.
to have a cricket on the hearth is the luckiest thing in all the world!"
john looked at her as if he had very nearly got the thought into his head that she was his cricket in chief, and he quite agreed with her.
but it was probably one of his narrow escapes, for he said nothing.
""the first time i heard its cheerful little note, john, was on that night when you brought me home -- when you brought me to my new home here; its little mistress.
nearly a year ago.
you recollect, john?"
oh, yes!
john remembered.
i should think so!
""its chirp was such a welcome to me!
it seemed so full of promise and encouragement.
it seemed to say, you would be kind and gentle with me, and would not expect -lrb- i had a fear of that, john, then -rrb- to find an old head on the shoulders of your foolish little wife."
john thoughtfully patted one of the shoulders, and then the head, as though he would have said no, no; he had had no such expectation; he had been quite content to take them as they were.
and really he had reason.
they were very comely.
""it spoke the truth, john, when it seemed to say so: for you have ever been, i am sure, the best, the most considerate, the most affectionate of husbands to me.
this has been a happy home, john; and i love the cricket for its sake!"
""why, so do i, then," said the carrier.
""so do i, dot."
""i love it for the many times i have heard it, and the many thoughts its harmless music has given me.
sometimes, in the twilight, when i have felt a little solitary and down-hearted, john -- before baby was here, to keep me company and make the house gay -- when i have thought how lonely you would be if i should die; how lonely i should be, if i could know that you had lost me, dear; its chirp, chirp, chirp upon the hearth has seemed to tell me of another little voice, so sweet, so very dear to me, before whose coming sound my trouble vanished like a dream.
and when i used to fear -- i did fear once, john; i was very young, you know -- that ours might prove to be an ill-assorted marriage, i being such a child, and you more like my guardian than my husband; and that you might not, however hard you tried, be able to learn to love me, as you hoped and prayed you might; its chirp, chirp, chirp has cheered me up again, and filled me with new trust and confidence.
i was thinking of these things to-night, dear, when i sat expecting you; and i love the cricket for their sake!"
""and so do i," repeated john.
""but, dot!
i hope and pray that i might learn to love you?
how you talk!
i had learnt that long before i brought you here, to be the cricket's little mistress, dot!"
she laid her hand, an instant, on his arm, and looked up at him with an agitated face, as if she would have told him something.
next moment, she was down upon her knees before the basket; speaking in a sprightly voice, and busy with the parcels.
""there are not many of them to-night, john, but i saw some goods behind the cart just now; and though they give more trouble, perhaps, still they pay as well; so we have no reason to grumble, have we?
besides, you have been delivering, i dare say, as you came along?"
""oh, yes!"
john said.
""a good many."
""why, what's this round box?
heart alive, john, it's a wedding-cake!"
""leave a woman alone to find out that," said john admiringly.
""now, a man would never have thought of it!
whereas, it's my belief that if you was to pack a wedding-cake up in a tea-chest, or a turn-up bedstead, or a pickled-salmon keg, or any unlikely thing, a woman would be sure to find it out directly.
yes; i called for it at the pastrycook's."
""and it weighs i do n't know what -- whole hundredweights!"
cried dot, making a great demonstration of trying to lift it.
""whose is it, john?
where is it going?"
""read the writing on the other side," said john.
""why, john!
my goodness, john!"
""ah!
who'd have thought it?"
john returned.
""you never mean to say," pursued dot, sitting on the floor and shaking her head at him, "that it's gruff and tackleton the toymaker!"
john nodded.
mrs. peerybingle nodded also, fifty times at least.
not in assent -- in dumb and pitying amazement; screwing up her lips, the while, with all their little force -lrb- they were never made for screwing up; i am clear of that -rrb-, and looking the good carrier through and through, in her abstraction.
miss slowboy, in the meantime, who had a mechanical power of reproducing scraps of current conversation for the delectation of the baby, with all the sense struck out of them, and all the nouns changed into the plural number, inquired aloud of that young creature, was it gruffs and tackletons the toymakers then, and would it call at pastrycooks for wedding-cakes, and did its mothers know the boxes when its fathers brought them home; and so on.
""and that is really to come about!"
said dot.
""why, she and i were girls at school together, john."
he might have been thinking of her, or nearly thinking of her, perhaps, as she was in that same school-time.
he looked upon her with a thoughtful pleasure, but he made no answer.
""and he's as old!
as unlike her!
-- why, how many years older than you is gruff and tackleton, john?"
""how many more cups of tea shall i drink to-night, at one sitting, than gruff and tackleton ever took in four, i wonder?"
replied john good-humouredly, as he drew a chair to the round table, and began at the cold ham.
""as to eating, i eat but little; but that little i enjoy, dot."
even this, his usual sentiment at meal-times, one of his innocent delusions -lrb- for his appetite was always obstinate, and flatly contradicted him -rrb-, awoke no smile in the face of his little wife, who stood among the parcels, pushing the cake-box slowly from her with her foot, and never once looked, though her eyes were cast down too, upon the dainty shoe she generally was so mindful of.
absorbed in thought, she stood there, heedless alike of the tea and john -lrb- although he called to her and rapped the table with his knife to startle her -rrb-, until he rose and touched her on the arm; when she looked at him for a moment, and hurried to her place behind the tea-board, laughing at her negligence.
but not as she had laughed before.
the manner and the music were quite changed.
the cricket, too, had stopped.
somehow, the room was not so cheerful as it had been.
nothing like it.
""so, these are all the parcels, are they, john?"
she said, breaking a long silence, which the honest carrier had devoted to the practical illustration of one part of his favourite sentiment -- certainly enjoying what he ate, if it could n't be admitted that he ate but little.
""so these are all the parcels, are they, john?"
""that's all," said john.
""why -- no -- i" -- laying down his knife and fork, and taking a long breath -- "i declare -- i've clean forgotten the old gentleman!"
""the old gentleman?"
""in the cart," said john.
""he was asleep among the straw, the last time i saw him.
i've very nearly remembered him, twice, since i came in; but he went out of my head again.
halloa!
yahip there!
rouse up!
that's my hearty!"
john said these latter words outside the door, whither he had hurried with the candle in his hand.
miss slowboy, conscious of some mysterious reference to the old gentleman, and connecting, in her mystified imagination, certain associations of a religious nature with the phrase, was so disturbed, that hastily rising from the low chair by the fire to seek protection near the skirt of her mistress, and coming into contact, as she crossed the doorway, with an ancient stranger, she instinctively made a charge or butt at him with the only offensive instrument within her reach.
this instrument happening to be the baby, great commotion and alarm ensued, which the sagacity of boxer rather tended to increase; for that good dog, more thoughtful than his master, had, it seemed, been watching the old gentleman in his sleep, lest he should walk off with a few young poplar-trees that were tied up behind the cart; and he still attended on him very closely, worrying his gaiters, in fact, and making dead sets at the buttons.
""you're such an undeniably good sleeper, sir," said john, when tranquillity was restored -lrb- in the meantime the old gentleman had stood, bareheaded and motionless, in the centre of the room -rrb-, "that i have half a mind to ask you where the other six are -- only that would be a joke, and i know i should spoil it.
very near, though," murmured the carrier with a chuckle; "very near!"
the stranger, who had long white hair, good features, singularly bold and well defined for an old man, and dark, bright, penetrating eyes, looked round with a smile, and saluted the carrier's wife by gravely inclining his head.
his garb was very quaint and odd -- a long, long way behind the time.
its hue was brown, all over.
in his hand he held a great brown club or walking-stick; and, striking this upon the floor, it fell asunder, and became a chair.
on which he sat down quite composedly.
""there!"
said the carrier, turning to his wife.
""that's the way i found him, sitting by the roadside!
upright as a milestone.
and almost as deaf."
""sitting in the open air, john?"
""in the open air," replied the carrier, "just at dusk.
"carriage paid," he said; and gave me eighteen-pence.
then he got in.
and there he is."
""he's going, john, i think!"
not at all.
he was only going to speak.
""if you please, i was to be left till called for," said the stranger mildly.
""do n't mind me."
with that he took a pair of spectacles from one of his large pockets, and a book from another, and leisurely began to read.
making no more of boxer than if he had been a house lamb!
the carrier and his wife exchanged a look of perplexity.
the stranger raised his head; and, glancing from the latter to the former, said: "your daughter, my good friend?"
""wife," returned john.
""niece?"
said the stranger.
""wife!"
roared john.
""indeed?"
observed the stranger.
""surely?
very young!"
he quietly turned over, and resumed his reading.
but, before he could have read two lines, he again interrupted himself to say: "baby yours?"
john gave him a gigantic nod: equivalent to an answer in the affirmative, delivered through a speaking trumpet.
""girl?"
""bo-o-oy!"
roared john.
""also very young, eh?"
mrs. peerybingle instantly struck in.
""two months and three da-ays.
vaccinated just six weeks ago-o!
took very fine-ly!
considered, by the doctor, a remarkably beautiful chi-ild!
equal to the general run of children at five months o-ld!
takes notice in a way quite wonder-ful!
may seem impossible to you, but feels his legs al-ready!"
-lsb- illustration: "that's the way i found him, sitting by the roadside!
upright as a milestone."
-rsb- here, the breathless little mother, who had been shrieking these short sentences into the old man's ear, until her pretty face was crimsoned, held up the baby before him as a stubborn and triumphant fact; while tilly slowboy, with a melodious cry of "ketcher, ketcher" -- which sounded like some unknown words, adapted to a popular sneeze -- performed some cow-like gambols around that all unconscious innocent.
""hark!
he's called for, sure enough," said john.
""there's somebody at the door.
open it, tilly."
before she could reach it, however, it was opened from without; being a primitive sort of door, with a latch that any one could lift if he chose -- and a good many people did choose, for all kinds of neighbours liked to have a cheerful word or two with the carrier, though he was no great talker himself.
being opened, it gave admission to a little, meagre, thoughtful, dingy-faced man, who seemed to have made himself a great-coat from the sackcloth covering of some old box; for, when he turned to shut the door and keep the weather out, he disclosed upon the back of that garment the inscription g & t in large black capitals.
also the word glass in bold characters.
""good evening, john!"
said the little man.
""good evening, mum!
good evening, tilly!
good evening, unbeknown!
how's baby, mum?
boxer's pretty well i hope?"
""all thriving, caleb," replied dot.
""i am sure you need only look at the dear child, for one, to know that."
""and i'm sure i need only look at you for another," said caleb.
he did n't look at her, though; he had a wandering and thoughtful eye, which seemed to be always projecting itself into some other time and place, no matter what he said; a description which will equally apply to his voice.
""or at john for another," said caleb.
""or at tilly, as far as that goes.
or certainly at boxer."
""busy just now, caleb?"
asked the carrier.
""why, pretty well, john," he returned, with the distraught air of a man who was casting about for the philosopher's stone, at least.
""pretty much so.
there's rather a run on noah's arks at present.
i could have wished to improve on the family, but i do n't see how it's to be done at the price.
it would be a satisfaction to one's mind to make it clearer which was shems and hams, and which was wives.
flies a n't on that scale, neither, as compared with elephants, you know!
ah, well!
have you got anything in the parcel line for me, john?"
the carrier put his hand into a pocket of the coat he had taken off; and brought out, carefully preserved in moss and paper, a tiny flower-pot.
""there it is!"
he said, adjusting it with great care.
""not so much as a leaf damaged.
full of buds!"
caleb's dull eye brightened as he took it, and thanked him.
""dear, caleb," said the carrier.
""very dear at this season."
""never mind that.
it would be cheap to me, what ever it cost," returned the little man.
""anything else, john?"
""a small box," replied the carrier.
""here you are!""
"for caleb plummer,"" said the little man, spelling out the direction."
"with cash."
with cash, john?
i do n't think it's for me."
""with care," returned the carrier, looking over his shoulder.
""where do you make out cash?"
""oh!
to be sure!"
said caleb.
""it's all right.
with care!
yes, yes; that's mine.
it might have been with cash, indeed, if my dear boy in the golden south americas had lived, john.
you loved him like a son; did n't you?
you need n't say you did.
i know, of course.
"caleb plummer.
with care."
yes, yes, it's all right.
it's a box of dolls" eyes for my daughters" work.
i wish it was her own sight in a box, john."
""i wish it was, or could be!"
cried the carrier.
""thankee," said the little man.
""you speak very hearty.
to think that she should never see the dolls -- and them a staring at her, so bold, all day long!
that's where it cuts.
what's the damage, john?"
""i'll damage you," said john, "if you inquire.
dot!
very near?"
""well!
it's like you to say so," observed the little man.
""it's your kind way.
let me see.
i think that's all."
""i think not," said the carrier.
""try again."
""something for our governor, eh?"
said caleb after pondering a little while.
""to be sure.
that's what i came for; but my head's so running on them arks and things!
he has n't been here, has he?"
""not he," returned the carrier.
""he's too busy, courting."
""he's coming round, though," said caleb; "for he told me to keep on the near side of the road going home, and it was ten to one he'd take me up.
i had better go, by-the-bye.
-- you could n't have the goodness to let me pinch boxer's tail, mum, for half a moment, could you?"
""why, caleb, what a question!"
""oh, never mind, mum!"
said the little man.
""he might n't like it, perhaps.
there's a small order just come in for barking dogs; and i should wish to go as close to natur" as i could for sixpence.
that's all.
never mind, mum."
it happened opportunely that boxer, without receiving the proposed stimulus, began to bark with great zeal.
but, as this implied the approach of some new visitor, caleb, postponing his study from the life to a more convenient season, shouldered the round box, and took a hurried leave.
he might have spared himself the trouble, for he met the visitor upon the threshold.
""oh!
you are here, are you?
wait a bit.
i'll take you home.
john peerybingle, my service to you.
more of my service to your pretty wife.
handsomer every day!
better too, if possible!
and younger," mused the speaker in a low voice, "that's the devil of it!"
""i should be astonished at your paying compliments, mr. tackleton," said dot, not with the best grace in the world, "but for your condition."
""you know all about it, then?"
""i have got myself to believe it somehow," said dot.
""after a hard struggle, i suppose?"
""very."
tackleton the toy merchant, pretty generally known as gruff and tackleton -- for that was the firm, though gruff had been bought out long ago; only leaving his name, and, as some said, his nature, according to its dictionary meaning, in the business -- tackleton the toy merchant was a man whose vocation had been quite misunderstood by his parents and guardians.
if they had made him a money lender, or a sharp attorney, or a sheriff's officer, or a broker, he might have sown his discontented oats in his youth, and, after having had the full run of himself in ill-natured transactions, might have turned out amiable, at last, for the sake of a little freshness and novelty.
but, cramped and chafing in the peaceable pursuit of toymaking, he was a domestic ogre, who had been living on children all his life, and was their implacable enemy.
he despised all toys; would n't have bought one for the world; delighted, in his malice, to insinuate grim expressions into the faces of brown-paper farmers who drove pigs to market, bellmen who advertised lost lawyers" consciences, movable old ladies who darned stockings or carved pies; and other like samples of his stock-in-trade.
in appalling masks; hideous, hairy, red-eyed jacks in boxes; vampire kites; demoniacal tumblers who would n't lie down, and were perpetually flying forward, to stare infants out of countenance; his soul perfectly revelled.
they were his only relief, and safety-valve.
he was great in such inventions.
anything suggestive of a pony nightmare was delicious to him.
he had even lost money -lrb- and he took to that toy very kindly -rrb- by getting up goblin slides for magic lanterns, whereon the powers of darkness were depicted as a sort of supernatural shell-fish, with human faces.
in intensifying the portraiture of giants, he had sunk quite a little capital; and, though no painter himself, he could indicate, for the instruction of his artists, with a piece of chalk, a certain furtive leer for the countenances of those monsters, which was safe to destroy the peace of mind of any young gentleman between the ages of six and eleven, for the whole christmas or midsummer vacation.
what he was in toys, he was -lrb- as most men are -rrb- in other things.
you may easily suppose, therefore, that within the great green cape, which reached down to the calves of his legs, there was buttoned up to the chin an uncommonly pleasant fellow; and that he was about as choice a spirit, and as agreeable a companion, as ever stood in a pair of bull-headed-looking boots with mahogany-coloured tops.
still, tackleton, the toy merchant, was going to be married.
in spite of all this, he was going to be married.
and to a young wife too, a beautiful young wife.
he did n't look much like a bridegroom, as he stood in the carrier's kitchen, with a twist in his dry face, and a screw in his body, and his hat jerked over the bridge of his nose, and his hands tucked down into the bottoms of his pockets, and his whole sarcastic, ill-conditioned self peering out of one little corner of one little eye, like the concentrated essence of any number of ravens.
but a bridegroom he designed to be.
""in three days" time.
next thursday.
the last day of the first month in the year.
that's my wedding-day," said tackleton.
did i mention that he had always one eye wide open, and one eye nearly shut; and that the one eye nearly shut was always the expressive eye?
i do n't think i did.
""that's my wedding-day!"
said tackleton, rattling his money.
""why, it's our wedding-day too," exclaimed the carrier.
""ha, ha!"
laughed tackleton.
""odd!
you're just such another couple.
just!"
the indignation of dot at this presumptuous assertion is not to be described.
what next?
his imagination would compass the possibility of just such another baby, perhaps.
the man was mad.
""i say!
a word with you," murmured tackleton, nudging the carrier with his elbow, and taking him a little apart.
""you'll come to the wedding?
we're in the same boat, you know."
""how in the same boat?"
inquired the carrier.
""a little disparity, you know," said tackleton with another nudge.
""come and spend an evening with us beforehand."
""why?"
demanded john, astonished at this pressing hospitality.
""why?"
returned the other.
""that's a new way of receiving an invitation.
why, for pleasure -- sociability, you know, and all that."
""i thought you were never sociable," said john in his plain way.
""tchah!
it's of no use to be anything but free with you, i see," said tackleton.
""why, then, the truth is, you have a -- what tea-drinking people call a sort of a comfortable appearance together, you and your wife.
we know better, you know, but --" "no, we do n't know better," interposed john.
""what are you talking about?"
""well!
we do n't know better, then," said tackleton.
""we'll agree that we do n't.
as you like; what does it matter?
i was going to say, as you have that sort of appearance, your company will produce a favourable effect on mrs. tackleton that will be.
and, though i do n't think your good lady's very friendly to me in this matter, still she ca n't help herself from falling into my views, for there's a compactness and cosiness of appearance about her that always tells, even in an indifferent case.
you'll say you'll come?"
""we have arranged to keep our wedding-day -lrb- as far as that goes -rrb- at home," said john.
""we have made the promise to ourselves these six months.
we think, you see, that home --" "bah!
what's home?"
cried tackleton.
""four walls and a ceiling!
-lrb- why do n't you kill that cricket?
i would!
i always do.
i hate their noise. -rrb-
there are four walls and a ceiling at my house.
come to me!"
""you kill your crickets, eh?"
said john.
""scrunch'em, sir," returned the other, setting his heel heavily on the floor.
""you'll say you'll come?
it's as much your interest as mine, you know, that the women should persuade each other that they're quiet and contented, and could n't be better off.
i know their way.
whatever one woman says, another woman is determined to clinch always.
there's that spirit of emulation among'em, sir, that if your wife says to my wife, "i'm the happiest woman in the world, and mine's the best husband in the world, and i dote on him," my wife will say the same to yours, or more, and half believe it."
""do you mean to say she do n't, then?"
asked the carrier.
""do n't!"
cried tackleton with a short, sharp laugh.
""do n't what?"
the carrier had some faint idea of adding, "dote upon you."
but, happening to meet the half-closed eye, as it twinkled upon him over the turned-up collar of the cape, which was within an ace of poking it out, he felt it such an unlikely part and parcel of anything to be doted on, that he substituted, "that she do n't believe it?"
""ah, you dog!
you're joking," said tackleton.
but the carrier, though slow to understand the full drift of his meaning, eyed him in such a serious manner, that he was obliged to be a little more explanatory.
""i have the humour," said tackleton: holding up the fingers of his left hand, and tapping the forefinger, to imply, "there i am, tackleton to wit": "i have the humour, sir, to marry a young wife, and a pretty wife": here he rapped his little finger, to express the bride; not sparingly, but sharply; with a sense of power.
""i'm able to gratify that humour, and i do.
it's my whim.
but -- now look there!"
he pointed to where dot was sitting, thoughtfully before the fire: leaning her dimpled chin upon her hand, and watching the bright blaze.
the carrier looked at her, and then at him, and then at her, and then at him again.
""she honours and obeys, no doubt, you know," said tackleton; "and that, as i am not a man of sentiment, is quite enough for me.
but do you think there's anything more in it?"
""i think," observed the carrier, "that i should chuck any man out of window who said there was n't."
""exactly so," returned the other with an unusual alacrity of assent.
""to be sure!
doubtless you would.
of course.
i'm certain of it.
good night.
pleasant dreams!"
the carrier was puzzled, and made uncomfortable and uncertain, in spite of himself.
he could n't help showing it in his manner.
""good night, my dear friend!"
said tackleton compassionately.
""i'm off.
we're exactly alike in reality, i see.
you wo n't give us to-morrow evening?
well!
next day you go out visiting, i know.
i'll meet you there, and bring my wife that is to be.
it'll do her good.
you're agreeable?
thankee.
what's that?"
it was a loud cry from the carrier's wife: a loud, sharp, sudden cry, that made the room ring like a glass vessel.
she had risen from her seat, and stood like one transfixed by terror and surprise.
the stranger had advanced towards the fire to warm himself, and stood within a short stride of her chair.
but quite still.
""dot!"
cried the carrier.
""mary!
darling!
what's the matter?"
they were all about her in a moment.
caleb, who had been dozing on the cake-box, in the first imperfect recovery of his suspended presence of mind, seized miss slowboy by the hair of her head, but immediately apologised.
""mary!"
exclaimed the carrier, supporting her in his arms.
""are you ill?
what is it?
tell me dear!"
she only answered by beating her hands together, and falling into a wild fit of laughter.
then, sinking from his grasp upon the ground, she covered her face with her apron, and wept bitterly.
and then, she laughed again, and then she cried again, and then she said how cold she was, and suffered him to lead her to the fire, where she sat down as before.
the old man standing, as before, quite still.
""i'm better, john," she said.
""i'm quite well now -- i --" "john!"
but john was on the other side of her.
why turn her face towards the strange old gentleman, as if addressing him.
was her brain wandering?
""only a fancy, john dear -- a kind of shock -- a something coming suddenly before my eyes -- i do n't know what it was.
it's quite gone, quite gone."
""i'm glad it's gone," muttered tackleton, turning the expressive eye all round the room.
""i wonder where it's gone, and what it was.
humph!
caleb, come here!
who's that with the grey hair?"
""i do n't know, sir," returned caleb in a whisper.
""never see him before in all my life.
a beautiful figure for a nut-cracker; quite a new model.
with a screw-jaw opening down into his waistcoat, he'd be lovely."
""not ugly enough," said tackleton.
""or for a fire-box either," observed caleb in deep contemplation, "what a model!
unscrew his head to put the matches in; turn him heels up "ards for the light; and what a fire-box for a gentleman's mantel-shelf, just as he stands!"
""not half ugly enough," said tackleton.
""nothing in him at all.
come!
bring that box!
all right now, i hope?"
""oh, quite gone!
quite gone!"
said the little woman, waving him hurriedly away.
""good night!"
""good night!"
said tackleton.
""good night, john peerybingle!
take care how you carry that box, caleb.
let it fall, and i'll murder you!
dark as pitch, and weather worse than ever, eh?
good night!"
so, with another sharp look round the room, he went out at the door; followed by caleb with the wedding-cake on his head.
the carrier had been so much astounded by his little wife, and so busily engaged in soothing and tending her, that he had scarcely been conscious of the stranger's presence until now, when he again stood there, their only guest.
""he do n't belong to them, you see," said john.
""i must give him a hint to go."
""i beg your pardon, friend," said the old gentleman, advancing to him; "the more so as i fear your wife has not been well; but the attendant whom my infirmity," he touched his ears, and shook his head, "renders almost indispensable, not having arrived, i fear there must be some mistake.
the bad night which made the shelter of your comfortable cart -lrb- may i never have a worse! -rrb-
so acceptable, is still as bad as ever.
would you, in your kindness, suffer me to rent a bed here?"
""yes, yes," cried dot.
""yes!
certainly!"
""oh!"
said the carrier, surprised by the rapidity of this consent.
""well!
i do n't object; but still i'm not quite sure that --" "hush!"
she interrupted.
""dear john!"
""why, he's stone deaf," urged john.
""i know he is, but -- yes, sir, certainly.
yes, certainly!
i'll make him up a bed directly, john."
as she hurried off to do it, the flutter of her spirits, and the agitation of her manner, were so strange, that the carrier stood looking after her, quite confounded.
""did its mothers make it up a beds, then!"
cried miss slowboy to the baby; "and did its hair grow brown and curly when its caps was lifted off, and frighten it, a precious pets, a sitting by the fires!"
with that unaccountable attraction of the mind to trifles, which is often incidental to a state of doubt and confusion, the carrier, as he walked slowly to and fro, found himself mentally repeating even these absurd words, many times.
so many times, that he got them by heart, and was still conning them over and over, like a lesson, when tilly, after administering as much friction to the little bald head with her hand as she thought wholesome -lrb- according to the practice of nurses -rrb-, had once more tied the baby's cap on.
""and frighten it, a precious pets, a sitting by the fires.
what frightened dot, i wonder?"
mused the carrier, pacing to and fro.
he scouted, from his heart, the insinuations of the toy merchant, and yet they filled him with a vague, indefinite uneasiness.
for tackleton was quick and sly; and he had that painful sense, himself, of being a man of slow perception, that a broken hint was always worrying to him.
he certainly had no intention in his mind of linking anything that tackleton had said with the unusual conduct of his wife, but the two subjects of reflection came into his mind together, and he could not keep them asunder.
the bed was soon made ready; and the visitor, declining all refreshment but a cup of tea, retired.
then, dot -- quite well again, she said, quite well again -- arranged the great chair in the chimney-corner for her husband; filled his pipe and gave it him; and took her usual little stool beside him on the hearth.
she always would sit on that little stool.
i think she must have had a kind of notion that it was a coaxing, wheedling little stool.
she was, out and out, the very best filler of a pipe, i should say, in the four quarters of the globe.
to see her put that chubby little finger in the bowl, and then blow down the pipe to clear the tube, and, when she had done so, affect to think that there was really something in the tube, and blow a dozen times, and hold it to her eye like a telescope, with a most provoking twist in her capital little face, as she looked down it, was quite a brilliant thing.
as to the tobacco, she was perfect mistress of the subject; and her lighting of the pipe, with a wisp of paper, when the carrier had it in his mouth -- going so very near his nose, and yet not scorching it -- was art, high art.
and the cricket and the kettle, turning up again, acknowledged it!
the bright fire, blazing up again, acknowledged it!
the little mower on the clock, in his unheeded work, acknowledged it!
the carrier, in his smoothing forehead and expanding face, acknowledged it, the readiest of all.
and as he soberly and thoughtfully puffed at his old pipe, and as the dutch clock ticked, and as the red fire gleamed, and as the cricket chirped, that genius of his hearth and home -lrb- for such the cricket was -rrb- came out, in fairy shape, into the room, and summoned many forms of home about him.
dots of all ages and all sizes filled the chamber.
dots who were merry children, running on before him, gathering flowers in the fields; coy dots, half shrinking from, half yielding to, the pleading of his own rough image; newly-married dots, alighting at the door, and taking wondering possession of the household keys; motherly little dots, attended by fictitious slowboys, bearing babies to be christened; matronly dots, still young and blooming, watching dots of daughters, as they danced at rustic balls; fat dots, encircled and beset by troops of rosy grandchildren; withered dots, who leaned on sticks, and tottered as they crept along.
old carriers, too, appeared with blind old boxers lying at their feet; and newer carts with younger drivers -lrb- "peerybingle brothers" on the tilt -rrb-; and sick old carriers, tended by the gentlest hands; and graves of dead and gone old carriers, green in the churchyard.
and as the cricket showed him all these things -- he saw them plainly, though his eyes were fixed upon the fire -- the carrier's heart grew light and happy, and he thanked his household gods with all his might, and cared no more for gruff and tackleton than you do.
* * * * * but what was that young figure of a man, which the same fairy cricket set so near her stool, and which remained there, singly and alone?
why did it linger still, so near her, with its arm upon the chimney-piece, ever repeating "married!
and not to me!"
oh, dot!
oh, failing dot!
there is no place for it in all your husband's visions.
why has its shadow fallen on his hearth?
chirp the second caleb plummer and his blind daughter lived all alone by themselves, as the story books say -- and my blessing, with yours, to back it i hope, on the story books, for saying anything in this work-a-day world!
-- caleb plummer and his blind daughter lived all alone by themselves, in a little cracked nutshell of a wooden house, which was, in truth, no better than a pimple on the prominent red-brick nose of gruff and tackleton.
the premises of gruff and tackleton were the great feature of the street; but you might have knocked down caleb plummer's dwelling with a hammer or two, and carried off the pieces in a cart.
if any one had done the dwelling-house of caleb plummer the honour to miss it after such an inroad, it would have been, no doubt, to commend its demolition as a vast improvement.
it stuck to the premises of gruff and tackleton like a barnacle to a ship's keel, or a snail to a door, or a little bunch of toadstools to the stem of a tree.
but it was the germ from which the full-grown trunk of gruff and tackleton had sprung; and, under its crazy roof, the gruff before last had, in a small way, made toys for a generation of old boys and girls, who had played with them, and found them out, and broken them, and gone to sleep.
i have said that caleb and his poor blind daughter lived here.
i should have said that caleb lived here, and his poor blind daughter somewhere else -- in an enchanted home of caleb's furnishing, where scarcity and shabbiness were not, and trouble never entered.
caleb was no sorcerer; but in the only magic art that still remains to us, the magic of devoted, deathless love, nature had been the mistress of his study; and, from her teaching, all the wonder came.
the blind girl never knew that ceilings were discoloured, walls blotched and bare of plaster here and there, high crevices unstopped and widening every day, beams mouldering and tending downward.
the blind girl never knew that iron was rusting, wood rotting, paper peeling off; the size, and shape, and true proportion of the dwelling, withering away.
the blind girl never knew that ugly shapes of delf and earthenware were on the board; that sorrow and faint-heartedness were in the house; that caleb's scanty hairs were turning greyer and more grey before her sightless face.
the blind girl never knew they had a master, cold, exacting, and uninterested -- never knew that tackleton was tackleton, in short; but lived in the belief of an eccentric humorist, who loved to have his jest with them, and who, while he was the guardian angel of their lives, disdained to hear one word of thankfulness.
and all was caleb's doing; all the doing of her simple father!
but he, too, had a cricket on his hearth; and listening sadly to its music when the motherless blind child was very young that spirit had inspired him with the thought that even her great deprivation might be almost changed into a blessing, and the girl made happy by these little means.
for all the cricket tribe are potent spirits, even though the people who hold converse with them do not know it -lrb- which is frequently the case -rrb-, and there are not in the unseen world voices more gentle and more true, that may be so implicitly relied on, or that are so certain to give none but tenderest counsel, as the voices in which the spirits of the fireside and the hearth address themselves to humankind.
caleb and his daughter were at work together in their usual working-room, which served them for their ordinary living-room as well; and a strange place it was.
there were houses in it, finished and unfinished, for dolls of all stations in life.
suburban tenements for dolls of moderate means; kitchens and single apartments for dolls of the lower classes; capital town residences for dolls of high estate.
some of these establishments were already furnished according to estimate, with a view to the convenience of dolls of limited income; others could be fitted on the most expensive scale, at a moment's notice, from whole shelves of chairs and tables, sofas, bedsteads, and upholstery.
the nobility and gentry and public in general, for whose accommodation these tenements were designed, lay here and there, in baskets, staring straight up at the ceiling; but in denoting their degrees in society, and confining them to their respective stations -lrb- which experience shows to be lamentably difficult in real life -rrb-, the makers of these dolls had far improved on nature, who is often froward and perverse; for they, not resting on such arbitrary marks as satin, cotton print, and bits of rag, had superadded striking personal differences which allowed of no mistake.
thus, the doll-lady of distinction had wax limbs of perfect symmetry; but only she and her compeers.
the next grade in the social scale being made of leather, and the next of coarse linen stuff.
as to the common people, they had just so many matches out of tinder-boxes for their arms and legs, and there they were -- established in their sphere at once, beyond the possibility of getting out of it.
there were various other samples of his handicraft besides dolls in caleb plummer's room.
there were noah's arks, in which the birds and beasts were an uncommonly tight fit, i assure you; though they could be crammed in, anyhow, at the roof, and rattled and shaken into the smallest compass.
by a bold poetical licence, most of these noah's arks had knockers on the doors; inconsistent appendages, perhaps, as suggestive of morning callers and a postman, yet a pleasant finish to the outside of the building.
there were scores of melancholy little carts, which, when the wheels went round, performed most doleful music.
many small fiddles, drums, and other instruments of torture; no end of cannon, shields, swords, spears, and guns.
there were little tumblers in red breeches, incessantly swarming up high obstacles of red tape, and coming down, head first, on the other side; and there were innumerable old gentlemen of respectable, not to say venerable appearance, insanely flying over horizontal pegs, inserted, for the purpose, in their own street-doors.
there were beasts of all sorts; horses, in particular, of every breed, from the spotted barrel on four pegs with a small tippet for a mane, to the thorough-bred rocker on his highest mettle.
as it would have been hard to count the dozens upon dozens of grotesque figures that were ever ready to commit all sorts of absurdities on the turning of a handle, so it would have been no easy task to mention any human folly, vice, or weakness that had not its type, immediate or remote, in caleb plummer's room.
and not in an exaggerated form, for very little handles will move men and women to as strange performances as any toy was ever made to undertake.
in the midst of all these objects, caleb and his daughter sat at work.
the blind girl busy as a doll's dressmaker; caleb painting and glazing the four-pair front of a desirable family mansion.
the care imprinted in the lines of caleb's face, and his absorbed and dreamy manner, which would have sat well on some alchemist or abstruse student, were at first sight an odd contrast to his occupation and the trivialities about him.
but trivial things, invented and pursued for bread, become very serious matters of fact: and, apart from this consideration, i am not at all prepared to say, myself, that if caleb had been a lord chamberlain, or a member of parliament, or a lawyer, or even a great speculator, he would have dealt in toys one whit less whimsical, while i have a very great doubt whether they would have been as harmless.
""so you were out in the rain last night, father, in your beautiful new great-coat," said caleb's daughter.
""in my beautiful new great-coat," answered caleb, glancing towards a clothes-line in the room, on which the sackcloth garment previously described was carefully hung up to dry.
""how glad i am you bought it, father!"
""and of such a tailor too," said caleb.
""quite a fashionable tailor.
it's too good for me."
the blind girl rested from her work, and laughed with delight.
""too good, father!
what can be too good for you?"
""i'm half ashamed to wear it, though," said caleb, watching the effect of what he said upon her brightening face, "upon my word!
when i hear the boys and people say behind me, "halloa!
here's a swell!"
i do n't know which way to look.
and when the beggar would n't go away last night; and, when i said i was a very common man, said, "no, your honour!
bless your honour, do n't say that!"
i was quite ashamed.
i really felt as if i had n't a right to wear it."
happy blind girl!
how merry she was in her exultation!
""i see you, father," she said, clasping her hands, "as plainly as if i had the eyes i never want when you are with me.
a blue coat --" "bright blue," said caleb.
""yes, yes!
bright blue!"
exclaimed the girl, turning up her radiant face; "the colour i can just remember in the blessed sky!
you told me it was blue before!
a bright blue coat --" "made loose to the figure," suggested caleb.
""yes!
loose to the figure!"
cried the blind girl, laughing heartily; "and in it, you, dear father, with your merry eye, your smiling face, your free step, and your dark hair -- looking so young and handsome!"
""halloa!
halloa!"
said caleb.
""i shall be vain presently!""
i think you are already," cried the blind girl, pointing at him in her glee.
""i know you, father!
ha, ha, ha!
i've found you out, you see!"
how different the picture in her mind, from caleb, as he sat observing her!
she had spoken of his free step.
she was right in that.
for years and years he had never once crossed that threshold at his own slow pace, but with a footfall counterfeited for her ear; and never had he, when his heart was heaviest, forgotten the light tread that was to render hers so cheerful and courageous!
heaven knows!
but i think caleb's vague bewilderment of manner may have half originated in his having confused himself about himself and everything around him, for the love of his blind daughter.
how could the little man be otherwise than bewildered, after labouring for so many years to destroy his own identity, and that of all the objects that had any bearing on it?
""there we are," said caleb, falling back a pace or two to form the better judgment of his work; "as near the real thing as sixpenn "orth of halfpence is to sixpence.
what a pity that the whole front of the house opens at once!
if there was only a staircase in it now, and regular doors to the rooms to go in at!
but that's the worst of my calling, i'm always deluding myself, and swindling myself."
""you are speaking quite softly.
you are not tired, father?"
""tired!"
echoed caleb with a great burst of animation.
""what should tire me, bertha?
i was never tired.
what does it mean?"
to give the greater force to his words, he checked himself in an involuntary imitation of two half-length stretching and yawning figures on the mantel-shelf, who were represented as in one eternal state of weariness from the waist upwards; and hummed a fragment of a song.
it was a bacchanalian song, something about a sparkling bowl.
he sang it with an assumption of a devil-may-care voice, that made his face a thousand times more meagre and more thoughtful than ever.
""what!
you're singing, are you?"
said tackleton, putting his head in at the door.
""go it!
i ca n't sing."
nobody would have suspected him of it.
he had n't what is generally termed a singing face, by any means.
""i ca n't afford to sing," said tackleton.
""i'm glad you can.
i hope you can afford to work too.
hardly time for both, i should think?"
""if you could only see him, bertha, how he's winking at me!"
whispered caleb.
""such a man to joke!
you'd think, if you did n't know him, he was in earnest -- would n't you now?"
the blind girl smiled and nodded.
""the bird that can sing and wo n't sing must be made to sing, they say," grumbled tackleton.
""what about the owl that ca n't sing, and ought n't to sing, and will sing; is there anything that he should be made to do?"
""the extent to which he's winking at this moment!"
whispered caleb to his daughter.
""oh, my gracious!"
""always merry and light-hearted with us!"
cried the smiling bertha.
""oh!
you're there, are you?"
answered tackleton.
""poor idiot!"
he really did believe she was an idiot; and he founded the belief, i ca n't say whether consciously or not, upon her being fond of him.
""well!
and being there, -- how are you?"
said tackleton in his grudging way.
""oh!
well; quite well!
and as happy as even you can wish me to be.
as happy as you would make the whole world, if you could!"
""poor idiot!"
muttered tackleton.
""no gleam of reason.
not a gleam!"
the blind girl took his hand and kissed it; held it for a moment in her own two hands; and laid her cheek against it tenderly before releasing it.
there was such unspeakable affection and such fervent gratitude in the act, that tackleton himself was moved to say, in a milder growl than usual: "what's the matter now?"
""i stood it close beside my pillow when i went to sleep last night, and remembered it in my dreams.
and when the day broke, and the glorious red sun -- the red sun, father?"
""red in the mornings and the evenings, bertha," said poor caleb with a woeful glance at his employer.
""when it rose, and the bright light i almost fear to strike myself against in walking, came into the room, i turned the little tree towards it, and blessed heaven for making things so precious, and blessed you for sending them to cheer me!"
""bedlam broke loose!"
said tackleton under his breath.
""we shall arrive at the strait-waistcoat and mufflers soon.
we're getting on!"
caleb, with his hands hooked loosely in each other, stared vacantly before him while his daughter spoke, as if he really were uncertain -lrb- i believe he was -rrb- whether tackleton had done anything to deserve her thanks or not.
if he could have been a perfectly free agent at that moment, required, on pain of death, to kick the toy merchant, or fall at his feet, according to his merits, i believe it would have been an even chance which course he would have taken.
yet caleb knew that with his own hands he had brought the little rose-tree home for her so carefully, and that with his own lips he had forged the innocent deception which should help to keep her from suspecting how much, how very much, he every day denied himself, that she might be happier.
""bertha!"
said tackleton, assuming, for the nonce, a little cordiality.
""come here."
""oh, i can come straight to you!
you need n't guide me!"
she rejoined.
""shall i tell you a secret, bertha?"
""if you will!"
she answered eagerly.
how bright the darkened face!
how adorned with light the listening head!
""this is the day on which little what's - her-name, the spoilt child, peerybingle's wife, pays her regular visit to you -- makes her fantastic picnic here, a n't it?"
said tackleton with a strong expression of distaste for the whole concern.
""yes," replied bertha.
""this is the day."
""i thought so," said tackleton.
""i should like to join the party."
""do you hear that, father?"
cried the blind girl in an ecstasy.
""yes, yes, i hear it," murmured caleb with the fixed look of a sleep-walker; "but i do n't believe it.
it's one of my lies, i've no doubt."
""you see i -- i want to bring the peerybingles a little more into company with may fielding," said tackleton.
""i'm going to be married to may."
""married!"
cried the blind girl, starting from him.
""she's such a con-founded idiot," muttered tackleton, "that i was afraid she'd never comprehend me.
ah, bertha!
married!
church, parson, clerk, beadle, glass coach, bells, breakfast, bridecake, favours, marrow-bones, cleavers, and all the rest of the tomfoolery.
a wedding, you know; a wedding.
do n't you know what a wedding is?"
""i know," replied the blind girl in a gentle tone.
""i understand!"
""do you?"
muttered tackleton.
""it's more than i expected.
well!
on that account i want to join the party, and to bring may and her mother.
i'll send in a little something or other, before the afternoon.
a cold leg of mutton, or some comfortable trifle of that sort.
you'll expect me?"
""yes," she answered.
she had drooped her head, and turned away; and so stood, with her hands crossed, musing.
""i do n't think you will," muttered tackleton, looking at her; "for you seem to have forgotten all about it already.
caleb!"
""i may venture to say i'm here, i suppose," thought caleb.
""sir!"
""take care she do n't forget what i've been saying to her.""
she never forgets," returned caleb.
""it's one of the few things she a n't clever in."
""every man thinks his own geese swans," observed the toy merchant with a shrug.
""poor devil!"
having delivered himself of which remark with infinite contempt, old gruff and tackleton withdrew.
bertha remained where he had left her, lost in meditation.
the gaiety had vanished from her downcast face, and it was very sad.
three or four times she shook her head, as if bewailing some remembrance or some loss; but her sorrowful reflections found no vent in words.
it was not until caleb had been occupied some time in yoking a team of horses to a waggon by the summary process of nailing the harness to the vital parts of their bodies, that she drew near to his working-stool, and, sitting down beside him, said: "father, i am lonely in the dark.
i want my eyes, my patient, willing eyes."
""here they are," said caleb.
""always ready.
they are more yours than mine, bertha, any hour in the four-and-twenty.
what shall your eyes do for you, dear?"
""look round the room, father."
""all right," said caleb.
""no sooner said than done, bertha."
""tell me about it."
""it's much the same as usual," said caleb.
""homely, but very snug.
the gay colours on the walls; the bright flowers on the plates and dishes; the shining wood, where there are beams or panels; the general cheerfulness and neatness of the building, -- make it very pretty."
cheerful and neat it was, wherever bertha's hands could busy themselves.
but nowhere else were cheerfulness and neatness possible in the old crazy shed which caleb's fancy so transformed.
""you have your working dress on, and are not so gallant as when you wear the handsome coat?"
said bertha, touching him.
""not quite so gallant," answered caleb.
""pretty brisk, though."
""father," said the blind girl, drawing close to his side, and stealing one arm round his neck, "tell me something about may.
she is very fair?"
""she is indeed," said caleb.
and she was indeed.
it was quite a rare thing to caleb not to have to draw on his invention.
""her hair is dark," said bertha pensively, "darker than mine.
her voice is sweet and musical, i know.
i have often loved to hear it.
her shape --" "there's not a doll's in all the room to equal it," said caleb.
""and her eyes!
--" he stopped; for bertha had drawn closer round his neck, and, from the arm that clung about him, came a warning pressure which he understood too well.
he coughed a moment, hammered for a moment, and then fell back upon the song about the sparkling bowl, his infallible resource in all such difficulties.
""our friend, father, our benefactor.
i am never tired, you know, of hearing about him.
-- now, was i ever?"
she said hastily.
""of course not," answered caleb, "and with reason."
""ah!
with how much reason!"
cried the blind girl.
with such fervency, that caleb, though his motives were so pure, could not endure to meet her face; but dropped his eyes, as if she could have read in them his innocent deceit.
""then tell me again about him, dear father," said bertha.
""many times again!
his face is benevolent, kind, and tender.
honest and true, i am sure it is.
the manly heart that tries to cloak all favours with a show of roughness and unwillingness, beats in its every look and glance."
""and makes it noble," added caleb in his quiet desperation.
""and makes it noble," cried the blind girl.
""he is older than may, father."
""ye-es," said caleb reluctantly.
""he's a little older than may.
but that do n't signify."
""oh, father, yes!
to be his patient companion in infirmity and age; to be his gentle nurse in sickness, and his constant friend in suffering and sorrow; to know no weariness in working for his sake; to watch him, tend him, sit beside his bed and talk to him awake, and pray for him asleep; what privileges these would be!
what opportunities for proving all her truth and her devotion to him!
would she do all this, dear father?"
""no doubt of it," said caleb.
""i love her, father; i can love her from my soul!"
exclaimed the blind girl.
and, saying so, she laid her poor blind face on caleb's shoulder, and so wept and wept, that he was almost sorry to have brought that tearful happiness upon her.
in the meantime there had been a pretty sharp commotion at john peerybingle's, for little mrs. peerybingle naturally could n't think of going anywhere without the baby; and to get the baby under way took time.
not that there was much of the baby, speaking of it as a thing of weight and measure, but there was a vast deal to do about and about it, and it all had to be done by easy stages.
for instance, when the baby was got, by hook and by crook, to a certain point of dressing, and you might have rationally supposed that another touch or two would finish him off, and turn him out a tiptop baby challenging the world, he was unexpectedly extinguished in a flannel cap, and hustled off to bed; where he simmered -lrb- so to speak -rrb- between two blankets for the best part of an hour.
from this state of inaction he was then recalled, shining very much and roaring violently, to partake of -- well?
i would rather say, if you'll permit me to speak generally -- of a slight repast.
after which he went to sleep again.
mrs. peerybingle took advantage of this interval, to make herself as smart in a small way as ever you saw anybody in all your life; and, during the same short truce, miss slowboy insinuated herself into a spencer of a fashion so surprising and ingenious, that it had no connection with herself, or anything else in the universe, but was a shrunken, dog's - eared, independent fact, pursuing its lonely course without the least regard to anybody.
by this time, the baby, being all alive again, was invested, by the united efforts of mrs. peerybingle and miss slowboy, with a cream-coloured mantle for its body, and a sort of nankeen raised pie for its head; and so, in course of time, they all three got down to the door, where the old horse had already taken more than the full value of his day's toll out of the turnpike trust, by tearing up the road with his impatient autographs; and whence boxer might be dimly seen in the remote perspective, standing looking back, and tempting him to come on without orders.
as to a chair, or anything of that kind for helping mrs. peerybingle into the cart, you know very little of john, if you think that was necessary.
before you could have seen him lift her from the ground, there she was in her place, fresh and rosy, saying, "john!
how can you?
think of tilly!"
if i might be allowed to mention a young lady's legs on any terms, i would observe of miss slowboy's that there was a fatality about them which rendered them singularly liable to be grazed; and that she never effected the smallest ascent or descent without recording the circumstance upon them with a notch, as robinson crusoe marked the days upon his wooden calendar.
but, as this might be considered ungenteel, i'll think of it.
""john!
you've got the basket with the veal and ham pie and things, and the bottles of beer?"
said dot.
""if you have n't you must turn round again this very minute."
""you're a nice little article," returned the carrier, "to be talking about turning round, after keeping me a full quarter of an hour behind my time."
""i am sorry for it, john," said dot in a great bustle, "but i really could not think of going to bertha's -- i would not do it, john, on any account -- without the veal and ham pie and things, and the bottles of beer.
way!"
this monosyllable was addressed to the horse, who did n't mind it at all.
""oh, do way, john!"
said mrs. peerybingle.
""please!"
""it'll be time enough to do that," returned john, "when i begin to leave things behind me.
the basket's safe enough."
""what a hard-hearted monster you must be, john, not to have said so at once, and save me such a turn!
i declare i would n't go to bertha's without the veal and ham pie and things, and the bottles of beer, for any money.
regularly once a fortnight ever since we have been married, john, have we made our little picnic there.
if anything was to go wrong with it, i should almost think we were never to be lucky again."
""it was a kind thought in the first instance," said the carrier; "and i honour you for it, little woman."
""my dear john!"
replied dot, turning very red.
""do n't talk about honouring me.
good gracious!"
""by-the-bye" -- observed the carrier -- "that old gentleman --" again so visibly and instantly embarrassed!
""he's an odd fish," said the carrier, looking straight along the road before them.
""i ca n't make him out.
i do n't believe there's any harm in him."
""none at all.
i'm -- i'm sure there's none at all."
""yes," said the carrier, with his eyes attracted to her face by the great earnestness of her manner.
""i am glad you feel so certain of it, because it's a confirmation to me.
it's curious that he should have taken it into his head to ask leave to go on lodging with us; a n't it?
things come about so strangely."
""so very strangely," she rejoined in a low voice, scarcely audible.
""however, he's a good-natured old gentleman," said john, "and pays as a gentleman, and i think his word is to be relied upon, like a gentleman's.
i had quite a long talk with him this morning: he can hear me better already, he says, as he gets more used to my voice.
he told me a great deal about himself, and i told him a good deal about myself, and a rare lot of questions he asked me.
i gave him information about my having two beats, you know, in my business; one day to the right from our house and back again; another day to the left from our house and back again -lrb- for he's a stranger, and do n't know the names of places about here -rrb-; and he seemed quite pleased.
"why, then i shall be returning home to-night your way," he says, "when i thought you'd be coming in an exactly opposite direction.
that's capital!
i may trouble you for another lift, perhaps, but i'll engage not to fall so sound asleep again."
he was sound asleep, sure-ly!
-- dot!
what are you thinking of?"
""thinking of, john?
i -- i was listening to you."
""oh!
that's all right!"
said the honest carrier.
""i was afraid, from the look of your face, that i had gone rambling on so long as to set you thinking about something else.
i was very near it, i'll be bound."
dot making no reply, they jogged on, for some little time, in silence.
but, it was not easy to remain silent very long in john peerybingle's cart, for everybody on the road had something to say.
though it might only be "how are you?"
and, indeed, it was very often nothing else, still, to give that back again in the right spirit of cordiality, required, not merely a nod and a smile, but as wholesome an action of the lungs withal as a long-winded parliamentary speech.
sometimes, passengers on foot, or horseback, plodded on a little way beside the cart, for the express purpose of having a chat; and then there was a great deal to be said on both sides.
then, boxer gave occasion to more good-natured recognitions of, and by, the carrier, than half-a-dozen christians could have done!
everybody knew him all along the road -- especially the fowls and pigs, who, when they saw him approaching, with his body all on one side, and his ears pricked up inquisitively, and that knob of a tail making the most of itself in the air, immediately withdrew into remote back-settlements, without waiting for the honour of a nearer acquaintance.
he had business elsewhere; going down all the turnings, looking into all the wells, bolting in and out of all the cottages, dashing into the midst of all the dame schools, fluttering all the pigeons, magnifying the tails of all the cats, and trotting into the public-houses like a regular customer.
wherever he went, somebody or other might have been heard to cry, "halloa!
here's boxer!"
and out came that somebody forthwith, accompanied by at least two or three other somebodies, to give john peerybingle and his pretty wife good day.
the packages and parcels for the errand cart were numerous; and there were many stoppages to take them in and give them out, which were not by any means the worst parts of the journey.
some people were so full of expectation about their parcels, and other people were so full of wonder about their parcels, and other people were so full of inexhaustible directions about their parcels, and john had such a lively interest in all the parcels, that it was as good as a play.
likewise, there were articles to carry, which required to be considered and discussed, and in reference to the adjustment and disposition of which councils had to be holden by the carrier and the senders: at which boxer usually assisted, in short fits of the closest attention, and long fits of tearing round and round the assembled sages, and barking himself hoarse.
of all these little incidents, dot was the amused and open-eyed spectatress from her chair in the cart; and as she sat there, looking on -- a charming little portrait framed to admiration by the tilt -- there was no lack of nudgings and glancings and whisperings and envyings among the younger men.
and this delighted john the carrier beyond measure; for he was proud to have his little wife admired, knowing that she did n't mind it -- that, if anything, she rather liked it perhaps.
the trip was a little foggy, to be sure, in the january weather; and was raw and cold.
but who cared for such trifles?
not dot, decidedly.
not tilly slowboy, for she deemed sitting in a cart, on any terms, to be the highest point of human joys; the crowning circumstance of earthly hope.
not the baby, i'll be sworn; for it's not in baby nature to be warmer or more sound asleep, though its capacity is great in both respects, than that blessed young peerybingle was, all the way.
you could n't see very far in the fog, of course; but you could see a great deal!
it's astonishing how much you may see in a thicker fog than that, if you will only take the trouble to look for it.
why, even to sit watching for the fairyrings in the fields, and for the patches of hoar frost still lingering in the shade, near hedges and by trees, was a pleasant occupation, to make no mention of the unexpected shapes in which the trees themselves came starting out of the mist, and glided into it again.
the hedges were tangled and bare, and waved a multitude of blighted garlands in the wind; but there was no discouragement in this.
it was agreeable to contemplate; for it made the fireside warmer in possession, and the summer greener in expectancy.
the river looked chilly; but it was in motion, and moving at a good pace -- which was a great point.
the canal was rather slow and torpid; that must be admitted.
never mind.
it would freeze the sooner when the frost set fairly in, and then there would be skating and sliding; and the heavy old barges, frozen up somewhere near a wharf, would smoke their rusty iron chimney-pipes all day, and have a lazy time of it.
in one place there was a great mound of weeds or stubble burning; and they watched the fire, so white in the daytime, flaring through the fog, with only here and there a dash of red in it, until, in consequence, as she observed, of the smoke "getting up her nose," miss slowboy choked -- she could do anything of that sort, on the smallest provocation -- and woke the baby, who would n't go to sleep again.
but boxer, who was in advance some quarter of a mile or so, had already passed the outposts of the town, and gained the corner of the street where caleb and his daughter lived; and, long before they had reached the door, he and the blind girl were on the pavement waiting to receive them.
boxer, by the way, made certain delicate distinctions of his own, in his communication with bertha, which persuade me fully that he knew her to be blind.
he never sought to attract her attention by looking at her, as he often did with other people, but touched her invariably.
what experience he could ever have had of blind people or blind dogs i do n't know.
he had never lived with a blind master; nor had mr. boxer the elder, nor mrs. boxer, nor any of his respectable family on either side, ever been visited with blindness, that i am aware of.
he may have found it out for himself, perhaps, but he had got hold of it somehow; and therefore he had hold of bertha too, by the skirt, and kept hold, until mrs. peerybingle and the baby, and miss slowboy and the basket, were all got safely within doors.
may fielding was already come; and so was her mother -- a little querulous chip of an old lady with a peevish face, who, in right of having preserved a waist like a bedpost, was supposed to be a most transcendent figure; and who, in consequence of having once been better off, or of labouring under an impression that she might have been, if something had happened which never did happen, and seemed to have never been particularly likely to come to pass -- but it's all the same -- was very genteel and patronising indeed.
gruff and tackleton was also there, doing the agreeable, with the evident sensation of being as perfectly at home, and as unquestionably in his own element, as a fresh young salmon on the top of the great pyramid.
""may!
my dear old friend!"
cried dot, running up to meet her.
""what a happiness to see you!"
her old friend was, to the full, as hearty and as glad as she; and it really was, if you'll believe me, quite a pleasant sight to see them embrace.
tackleton was a man of taste, beyond all question.
may was very pretty.
you know sometimes, when you are used to a pretty face, how, when it comes into contact and comparison with another pretty face, it seems for the moment to be homely and faded, and hardly to deserve the high opinion you have had of it.
now, this was not at all the case, either with dot or may; for may's face set off dot's, and dot's face set off may's, so naturally and agreeably, that, as john peerybingle was very near saying when he came into the room, they ought to have been born sisters -- which was the only improvement you could have suggested.
tackleton had brought his leg of mutton, and, wonderful to relate, a tart besides -- but we do n't mind a little dissipation when our brides are in the case; we do n't get married every day -- and, in addition to these dainties, there were the veal and ham pie, and "things," as mrs. peerybingle called them; which were chiefly nuts and oranges, and cakes, and such small deer.
when the repast was set forth on the board, flanked by caleb's contribution, which was a great wooden bowl of smoking potatoes -lrb- he was prohibited, by solemn compact, from producing any other viands -rrb-, tackleton led his intended mother-in-law to the post of honour.
for the better gracing of this place at the high festival, the majestic old soul had adorned herself with a cap, calculated to inspire the thoughtless with sentiments of awe.
she also wore her gloves.
but let us be genteel, or die!
caleb sat next his daughter; dot and her old schoolfellow were side by side; the good carrier took care of the bottom of the table.
miss slowboy was isolated, for the time being, from every article of furniture but the chair she sat on, that she might have nothing else to knock the baby's head against.
as tilly stared about her at the dolls and toys, they stared at her and at the company.
the venerable old gentleman at the street-doors -lrb- who were all in full action -rrb- showed especial interest in the party, pausing occasionally before leaping, as if they were listening to the conversation, and then plunging wildly over and over, a great many times, without halting for breath -- as in a frantic state of delight with the whole proceedings.
certainly, if these old gentlemen were inclined to have a fiendish joy in the contemplation of tackleton's discomfiture, they had good reason to be satisfied.
tackleton could n't get on at all; and the more cheerful his intended bride became in dot's society, the less he liked it, though he had brought them together for that purpose.
for he was a regular dog in the manger, was tackleton; and, when they laughed and he could n't, he took it into his head, immediately, that they must be laughing at him.
""ah, may!"
said dot.
""dear, dear, what changes!
to talk of those merry school days makes one young again."
""why, you a n't particularly old at any time, are you?"
said tackleton.
""look at my sober, plodding husband there," returned dot.
""he adds twenty years to my age at least.
do n't you, john?"
""forty," john replied.
""how many you'll add to mary's, i am sure i do n't know," said dot, laughing.
""but she ca n't be much less than a hundred years of age on her next birthday."
""ha, ha!"
laughed tackleton.
hollow as a drum that laugh, though.
and he looked as if he could have twisted dot's neck comfortably.
""dear, dear!"
said dot.
""only to remember how we used to talk, at school, about the husbands we would choose.
i do n't know how young, and how handsome, and how gay, and how lively mine was not to be!
and as to may's!
-- ah dear!
i do n't know whether to laugh or cry, when i think what silly girls we were."
may seemed to know which to do; for the colour flashed into her face, and tears stood in her eyes.
""even the very persons themselves -- real live young men -- we fixed on sometimes," said dot.
""we little thought how things would come about.
i never fixed on john, i'm sure; i never so much as thought of him.
and, if i had told you you were ever to be married to mr. tackleton, why, you'd have slapped me.
would n't you, may?"
though may did n't say yes, she certainly did n't say no, or express no, by any means.
tackleton laughed -- quite shouted, he laughed so loud.
john peerybingle laughed too, in his ordinary good-natured and contented manner; but his was a mere whisper of a laugh to tackleton's.
""you could n't help yourselves, for all that.
you could n't resist us, you see," said tackleton.
""here we are!
here we are!
where are your gay young bridegrooms now?"
""some of them are dead," said dot; "and some of them forgotten.
some of them, if they could stand among us at this moment, would not believe we were the same creatures; would not believe that what they saw and heard was real, and we could forget them so.
no!
they would not believe one word of it!"
""why, dot!"
exclaimed the carrier.
""little woman!"
she had spoken with such earnestness and fire, that she stood in need of some recalling to herself, without doubt.
her husband's check was very gentle, for he merely interfered, as he supposed, to shield old tackleton; but it proved effectual, for she stopped, and said no more.
there was an uncommon agitation, even in her silence, which the wary tackleton, who had brought his half-shut eye to bear upon her, noted closely, and remembered to some purpose too.
may uttered no word, good or bad, but sat quite still, with her eyes cast down, and made no sign of interest in what had passed.
the good lady her mother now interposed, observing, in the first instance, that girls were girls, and bygones bygones, and that, so long as young people were young and thoughtless, they would probably conduct themselves like young and thoughtless persons: with two or three other positions of a no less sound and incontrovertible character.
she then remarked, in a devout spirit, that she thanked heaven she had always found in her daughter may a dutiful and obedient child: for which she took no credit to herself, though she had every reason to believe it was entirely owing to herself.
with regard to mr. tackleton, she said, that he was in a moral point of view an undeniable individual, and that he was in an eligible point of view a son-in-law to be desired, no one in their senses could doubt.
-lrb- she was very emphatic here. -rrb-
with regard to the family into which he was so soon about, after some solicitation, to be admitted, she believed mr. tackleton knew that, although reduced in purse, it had some pretensions to gentility; and that if certain circumstances, not wholly unconnected, she would go so far as to say, with the indigo trade, but to which she would not more particularly refer, had happened differently, it might perhaps have been in possession of wealth.
she then remarked that she would not allude to the past, and would not mention that her daughter had for some time rejected the suit of mr. tackleton; and that she would not say a great many other things which she did say at great length.
finally, she delivered it as the general result of her observation and experience, that those marriages in which there was least of what was romantically and sillily called love, were always the happiest; and that she anticipated the greatest possible amount of bliss -- not rapturous bliss; but the solid, steady-going article -- from the approaching nuptials.
she concluded by informing the company that to-morrow was the day she had lived for expressly; and that, when it was over, she would desire nothing better than to be packed up and disposed of in any genteel place of burial.
as these remarks were quite unanswerable -- which is the happy property of all remarks that are sufficiently wide of the purpose -- they changed the current of the conversation, and diverted the general attention to the veal and ham pie, the cold mutton, the potatoes, and the tart.
in order that the bottled beer might not be slighted, john peerybingle proposed to-morrow: the wedding-day; and called upon them to drink a bumper to it, before he proceeded on his journey.
for you ought to know that he only rested there, and gave the old horse a bait.
he had to go some four or five miles farther on; and, when he returned in the evening, he called for dot, and took another rest on his way home.
this was the order of the day on all the picnic occasions, and had been ever since their institution.
there were two persons present, besides the bride and bridegroom elect, who did but indifferent honour to the toast.
one of these was dot, too flushed and discomposed to adapt herself to any small occurrence of the moment; the other, bertha, who rose up hurriedly before the rest, and left the table.
""good-bye!"
said stout john peerybingle, pulling on his dreadnought coat.
""i shall be back at the old time.
good-bye all!"
""good-bye, john," returned caleb.
he seemed to say it by rote, and to wave his hand in the same unconscious manner; for he stood observing bertha with an anxious wondering face, that never altered its expression.
""good-bye, young shaver!"
said the jolly carrier, bending down to kiss the child; which tilly slowboy, now intent upon her knife and fork, had deposited asleep -lrb- and, strange to say, without damage -rrb- in a little cot of bertha's furnishing; "good-bye!
time will come, i suppose, when you'll turn out into the cold, my little friend, and leave your old father to enjoy his pipe and his rheumatics in the chimney-corner; eh?
where's dot?"
""i'm here, john!"
she said, starting.
""come, come!"
returned the carrier, clapping his sounding hands.
""where's the pipe?"
""i quite forgot the pipe, john."
forgot the pipe!
was such a wonder ever heard of?
she!
forgot the pipe!
""i'll -- i'll fill it directly.
it's soon done."
but it was not so soon done, either.
it lay in the usual place -- the carrier's dreadnought pocket -- with the little pouch, her own work, from which she was used to fill it; but her hand shook so, that she entangled it -lrb- and yet her hand was small enough to have come out easily, i am sure -rrb-, and bungled terribly.
the filling of the pipe and lighting it, those little offices in which i have commended her discretion, were vilely done from first to last.
during the whole process, tackleton stood looking on maliciously with the half-closed eye; which, whenever it met hers -- or caught it, for it can hardly be said to have ever met another eye: rather being a kind of trap to snatch it up -- augmented her confusion in a most remarkable degree.
""why, what a clumsy dot you are this afternoon!"
said john.
""i could have done it better myself, i verily believe!"
with these good-natured words, he strode away, and presently was heard, in company with boxer, and the old horse, and the cart, making lively music down the road.
what time the dreamy caleb still stood, watching his blind daughter, with the same expression on his face.
""bertha!"
said caleb, softly.
""what has happened?
how changed you are, my darling, in a few hours -- since this morning!
you silent and dull all day!
what is it?
tell me!"
""oh, father, father!"
cried the blind girl, bursting into tears.
""oh, my hard, hard fate!"
caleb drew his hand across his eyes before he answered her.
""but think how cheerful and how happy you have been, bertha!
how good, and how much loved, by many people."
""that strikes me to the heart, dear father!
always so mindful of me!
always so kind to me!"
caleb was very much perplexed to understand her.
""to be -- to be blind, bertha, my poor dear," he faltered, "is a great affliction; but --" "i have never felt it!"
cried the blind girl.
""i have never felt it in its fulness.
never!
i have sometimes wished that i could see you, or could see him -- only once, dear father, only for one little minute -- that i might know what it is i treasure up," she laid her hands upon her breast, "and hold here!
that i might be sure i have it right!
and sometimes -lrb- but then i was a child -rrb- i have wept in my prayers at night, to think that, when your images ascended from my heart to heaven, they might not be the true resemblance of yourselves.
but i have never had these feelings long.
they have passed away, and left me tranquil and contented."
""and they will again," said caleb.
""but, father!
oh, my good gentle father, bear with me, if i am wicked!"
said the blind girl.
""this is not the sorrow that so weighs me down!"
her father could not choose but let his moist eyes overflow; she was so earnest and pathetic.
but he did not understand her yet.
""bring her to me," said bertha.
""i can not hold it closed and shut within myself.
bring her to me, father!"
she knew he hesitated, and said, "may.
bring may!"
may heard the mention of her name, and, coming quietly towards her, touched her on the arm.
the blind girl turned immediately, and held her by both hands.
""look into my face, dear heart, sweet heart!"
said bertha.
""read it with your beautiful eyes, and tell me if the truth is written on it."
""dear bertha, yes!"
the blind girl, still upturning the blank sightless face, down which the tears were coursing fast, addressed her in these words: "there is not, in my soul, a wish or thought that is not for your good, bright may!
there is not, in my soul, a grateful recollection stronger than the deep remembrance which is stored there of the many many times when, in the full pride of sight and beauty, you have had consideration for blind bertha, even when we two were children, or when bertha was as much a child as ever blindness can be!
every blessing on your head!
light upon your happy course!
not the less, my dear may," -- and she drew towards her in a closer grasp, -- "not the less, my bird, because, to-day, the knowledge that you are to be his wife has wrung my heart almost to breaking!
father, may, mary!
oh, forgive me that it is so, for the sake of all he has done to relieve the weariness of my dark life: and for the sake of the belief you have in me, when i call heaven to witness that i could not wish him married to a wife more worthy of his goodness!"
while speaking, she had released may fielding's hands, and clasped her garments in an attitude of mingled supplication and love.
sinking lower and lower down, as she proceeded in her strange confession, she dropped at last at the feet of her friend, and hid her blind face in the folds of her dress.
""great power!"
exclaimed her father, smitten at one blow with the truth, "have i deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart at last?"
it was well for all of them that dot, that beaming, useful, busy little dot -- for such she was, whatever faults she had, and however you may learn to hate her, in good time -- it was well for all of them, i say, that she was there, or where this would have ended, it were hard to tell.
but dot, recovering her self-possession, interposed, before may could reply, or caleb say another word.
""come, come, dear bertha!
come away with me!
give her your arm, may!
so.
how composed she is, you see, already; and how good it is of her to mind us," said the cheery little woman, kissing her upon the forehead.
""come away, dear bertha!
come!
and here's her good father will come with her, wo n't you, caleb?
to -- be -- sure!"
well, well!
she was a noble little dot in such things, and it must have been an obdurate nature that could have withstood her influence.
when she had got poor caleb and his bertha away, that they might comfort and console each other, as she knew they only could, she presently came bouncing back, -- the saying is, as fresh as any daisy; i say fresher -- to mount guard over that bridling little piece of consequence in the cap and gloves, and prevent the dear old creature from making discoveries.
""so bring me the precious baby, tilly," said she, drawing a chair to the fire; "and while i have it in my lap, here's mrs. fielding, tilly, will tell me all about the management of babies, and put me right in twenty points where i'm as wrong as can be.
wo n't you, mrs. fielding?"
not even the welsh giant, who, according to the popular expression, was so "slow" as to perform a fatal surgical operation upon himself, in emulation of a juggling trick achieved by his arch enemy at breakfast-time; not even he fell half so readily into the snare prepared for him as the old lady into this artful pitfall.
the fact of tackleton having walked out; and furthermore, of two or three people having been talking together at a distance, for two minutes, leaving her to her own resources; was quite enough to have put her on her dignity, and the bewailment of that mysterious convulsion in the indigo trade, for four-and-twenty hours.
but this becoming deference to her experience, on the part of the young mother, was so irresistible, that after a short affectation of humility, she began to enlighten her with the best grace in the world; and, sitting bolt upright before the wicked dot, she did, in half an hour, deliver more infallible domestic recipes and precepts than would -lrb- if acted on -rrb- have utterly destroyed and done up that young peerybingle, though he had been an infant samson.
to change the theme, dot did a little needlework -- she carried the contents of a whole workbox in her pocket; however she contrived it, i do n't know -- then did a little nursing; then a little more needlework; then had a little whispering chat with may, while the old lady dozed; and so in little bits of bustle, which was quite her manner always, found it a very short afternoon.
then, as it grew dark, and as it was a solemn part of this institution of the picnic that she should perform all bertha's household tasks, she trimmed the fire, and swept the hearth, and set the tea-board out, and drew the curtain, and lighted a candle.
then she played an air or two on a rude kind of harp, which caleb had contrived for bertha, and played them very well; for nature had made her delicate little ear as choice a one for music as it would have been for jewels, if she had had any to wear.
by this time it was the established hour for having tea; and tackleton came back again to share the meal, and spend the evening.
caleb and bertha had returned some time before, and caleb had sat down to his afternoon's work.
but he could n't settle to it, poor fellow, being anxious and remorseful for his daughter.
it was touching to see him sitting idle on his working stool, regarding her so wistfully, and always saying in his face, "have i deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart?"
when it was night, and tea was done, and dot had nothing more to do in washing up the cups and saucers; in a word -- for i must come to it, and there is no use in putting it off -- when the time drew nigh for expecting the carrier's return in every sound of distant wheels, her manner changed again, her colour came and went, and she was very restless.
not as good wives are when listening for their husbands.
no, no, no.
it was another sort of restlessness from that.
wheels heard.
a horse's feet.
the barking of a dog.
the gradual approach of all the sounds.
the scratching paw of boxer at the door!
""whose step is that?"
cried bertha, starting up.
""whose step?"
returned the carrier, standing in the portal, with his brown face ruddy as a winter berry from the keen night air.
""why, mine."
""the other step," said bertha.
""the man's tread behind you!"
""she is not to be deceived," observed the carrier, laughing.
""come along, sir.
you'll be welcome, never fear!"
he spoke in a loud tone; and, as he spoke, the deaf old gentleman entered.
""he's not so much a stranger that you have n't seen him once, caleb," said the carrier.
""you'll give him house room till we go?"
""oh, surely, john, and take it as an honour!"
""he's the best company on earth to talk secrets in," said john.
""i have reasonable good lungs, but he tries'em i can tell you.
sit down, sir.
all friends here, and glad to see you!"
when he had imparted this assurance, in a voice that amply corroborated what he had said about his lungs, he added in his natural tone, "a chair in the chimney-corner, and leave to sit quite silent and look pleasantly about him, is all he cares for.
he's easily pleased."
bertha had been listening intently.
she called caleb to her side, when he had set the chair, and asked him, in a low voice, to describe their visitor.
when he had done so -lrb- truly now, with scrupulous fidelity -rrb-, she moved, for the first time since he had come in, and sighed, and seemed to have no further interest concerning him.
the carrier was in high spirits, good fellow that he was, and fonder of his little wife than ever.
""a clumsy dot she was, this afternoon!"
he said, encircling her with his rough arm, as she stood, removed from the rest; "and yet i like her somehow.
see yonder, dot!"
he pointed to the old man.
she looked down.
i think she trembled.
""he's -- ha, ha, ha!
-- he's full of admiration for you!"
said the carrier.
""talked of nothing else the whole way here.
why, he's a brave old boy!
i like him for it!"
""i wish he had a better subject, john," she said with an uneasy glance about the room.
at tackleton especially.
""a better subject!"
cried the jovial john.
""there's no such thing.
come!
off with the great-coat, off with the thick shawl, off with the heavy wrappers!
and a cosy half-hour by the fire.
my humble service, mistress.
a game at cribbage, you and i?
that's hearty.
the cards and board, dot.
and a glass of beer here, if there's any left, small wife!"
his challenge was addressed to the old lady, who, accepting it with gracious readiness, they were soon engaged upon the game.
at first, the carrier looked about him sometimes with a smile, or now and then called dot to peep over his shoulder at his hand, and advise him on some knotty point.
but his adversary being a rigid disciplinarian, and subject to an occasional weakness in respect of pegging more than she was entitled to, required such vigilance on his part, as left him neither eyes nor ears to spare.
thus, his whole attention gradually became absorbed upon the cards; and he thought of nothing else, until a hand upon his shoulder restored him to a consciousness of tackleton.
""i am sorry to disturb you -- but a word directly."
""i'm going to deal," returned the carrier.
""it's a crisis."
""it is," said tackleton.
""come here, man!"
there was that in his pale face which made the other rise immediately, and ask him, in a hurry, what the matter was.
""hush!
john peerybingle," said tackleton, "i am sorry for this.
i am indeed.
i have been afraid of it.
i have suspected it from the first."
""what is it?"
asked the carrier with a frightened aspect.
""hush!
i'll show you, if you'll come with me."
the carrier accompanied him without another word.
they went across a yard, where the stars were shining, and by a little side-door, into tackleton's own counting-house, where there was a glass window, commanding the ware-room, which was closed for the night.
there was no light in the counting-house itself, but there were lamps in the long narrow ware-room; and consequently the window was bright.
""a moment!"
said tackleton.
""can you bear to look through that window, do you think?"
""why not?"
returned the carrier.
""a moment more," said tackleton.
""do n't commit any violence.
it's of no use.
it's dangerous too.
you're a strong-made man; and you might do murder before you know it."
the carrier looked him in the face, and recoiled a step as if he had been struck.
in one stride he was at the window, and he saw -- oh, shadow on the hearth!
oh, truthful cricket!
oh, perfidious wife!
he saw her with the old man -- old no longer, but erect and gallant -- bearing in his hand the false white hair that had won his way into their desolate and miserable home.
he saw her listening to him, as he bent his head to whisper in her ear; and suffering him to clasp her round the waist, as they moved slowly down the dim wooden gallery towards the door by which they had entered it.
he saw them stop, and saw her turn -- to have the face, the face he loved so, so presented to his view!
-- and saw her, with her own hands, adjust the lie upon his head, laughing, as she did it, at his unsuspicious nature!
he clenched his strong right hand at first, as if it would have beaten down a lion.
but, opening it immediately again, he spread it out before the eyes of tackleton -lrb- for he was tender of her even then -rrb-, and so, as they passed out, fell down upon a desk, and was as weak as any infant.
he was wrapped up to the chin, and busy with his horse and parcels, when she came into the room, prepared for going home.
""now, john dear!
good night, may!
good night, bertha!"
could she kiss them?
could she be blithe and cheerful in her parting?
could she venture to reveal her face to them without a blush?
yes.
tackleton observed her closely, and she did all this.
tilly was hushing the baby, and she crossed and recrossed tackleton a dozen times, repeating drowsily: "did the knowledge that it was to be its wives, then, wring its hearts almost to breaking; and did its fathers deceive it from its cradles but to break its hearts at last!"
""now, tilly, give me the baby!
good night, mr. tackleton.
where's john, for goodness" sake?"
""he's going to walk beside the horse's head," said tackleton; who helped her to her seat.
""my dear john!
walk?
to-night?"
the muffled figure of her husband made a hasty sign in the affirmative; and, the false stranger and the little nurse being in their places, the old horse moved off.
boxer, the unconscious boxer, running on before, running back, running round and round the cart, and barking as triumphantly and merrily as ever.
when tackleton had gone off likewise, escorting may and her mother home, poor caleb sat down by the fire beside his daughter; anxious and remorseful at the core; and still saying, in his wistful contemplation of her, "have i deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart at last?"
the toys that had been set in motion for the baby had all stopped and run down long ago.
in the faint light and silence, the imperturbably calm dolls, the agitated rocking-horses with distended eyes and nostrils, the old gentlemen at the street-doors, standing half doubled up upon their failing knees and ankles, the wry-faced nut-crackers, the very beasts upon their way into the ark, in twos, like a boarding-school out walking, might have been imagined to be stricken motionless with fantastic wonder at dot being false, or tackleton beloved, under any combination of circumstances.
chirp the third the dutch clock in the corner struck ten when the carrier sat down by his fireside.
so troubled and grief-worn that he seemed to scare the cuckoo, who, having cut his ten melodious announcements as short as possible, plunged back into the moorish palace again, and clapped his little door behind him, as if the unwonted spectacle were too much for his feelings.
if the little hay-maker had been armed with the sharpest of scythes, and had cut at every stroke into the carrier's heart, he never could have gashed and wounded it as dot had done.
it was a heart so full of love for her; so bound up and held together by innumerable threads of winning remembrance, spun from the daily working of her many qualities of endearment; it was a heart in which she had enshrined herself so gently and so closely; a heart so single and so earnest in its truth, so strong in right, so weak in wrong, -- that it could cherish neither passion nor revenge at first, and had only room to hold the broken image of its idol.
but, slowly, slowly, as the carrier sat brooding on his hearth, now cold and dark, other and fiercer thoughts began to rise within him, as an angry wind comes rising in the night.
the stranger was beneath his outraged roof.
three steps would take him to his chamber door.
one blow would beat it in.
""you might do murder before you know it," tackleton had said.
how could it be murder, if he gave the villain time to grapple with him hand to hand?
he was the younger man.
it was an ill-timed thought, bad for the dark mood of his mind.
it was an angry thought, goading him to some avenging act, that should change the cheerful house into a haunted place which lonely travellers would dread to pass by night; and where the timid would see shadows struggling in the ruined windows when the moon was dim, and hear wild noises in the stormy weather.
he was the younger man!
yes, yes; some lover who had won the heart that he had never touched.
some lover of her early choice, of whom she had thought and dreamed, for whom she had pined and pined, when he had fancied her so happy by his side.
oh, agony to think of it!
she had been above-stairs with the baby; getting it to bed.
as he sat brooding on the hearth, she came close beside him, without his knowledge -- in the turning of the rack of his great misery, he lost all other sounds -- and put her little stool at his feet.
he only knew it when he felt her hand upon his own, and saw her looking up into his face.
with wonder?
no.
it was his first impression, and he was fain to look at her again, to set it right.
no, not with wonder.
with an eager and inquiring look; but not with wonder.
at first it was alarmed and serious; then, it changed into a strange, wild, dreadful smile of recognition of his thoughts; then, there was nothing but her clasped hands on her brow, and her bent head, and falling hair.
though the power of omnipotence had been his to wield at that moment, he had too much of its diviner property of mercy in his breast, to have turned one feather's weight of it against her.
but he could not bear to see her crouching down upon the little seat where he had often looked on her, with love and pride, so innocent and gay; and, when she rose and left him, sobbing as she went, he felt it a relief to have the vacant place beside him rather than her so long-cherished presence.
this in itself was anguish keener than all, reminding him how desolate he was become, and how the great bond of his life was rent asunder.
-lsb- illustration: when suddenly, the struggling fire illuminated the whole chimney with a glow of light; and the cricket on the hearth began to chirp!
-rsb- the more he felt this, and the more he knew he could have better borne to see her lying prematurely dead before him with her little child upon her breast, the higher and the stronger rose his wrath against his enemy.
he looked about him for a weapon.
there was a gun hanging on the wall.
he took it down, and moved a pace or two towards the door of the perfidious stranger's room.
he knew the gun was loaded.
some shadowy idea that it was just to shoot this man like a wild beast seized him, and dilated in his mind until it grew into a monstrous demon in complete possession of him, casting out all milder thoughts, and setting up its undivided empire.
that phrase is wrong.
not casting out his milder thoughts, but artfully transforming them.
changing them into scourges to drive him on.
turning water into blood, love into hate, gentleness into blind ferocity.
her image, sorrowing, humbled, but still pleading to his tenderness and mercy with resistless power, never left his mind; but, staying there, it urged him to the door; raised the weapon to his shoulder; fitted and nerved his fingers to the trigger; and cried "kill him!
in his bed!"
he reversed the gun to beat the stock upon the door; he already held it lifted in the air; some indistinct design was in his thoughts of calling out to him to fly, for god's sake, by the window -- when suddenly, the struggling fire illuminated the whole chimney with a glow of light; and the cricket on the hearth began to chirp!
no sound he could have heard, no human voice, not even hers, could so have moved and softened him.
the artless words in which she had told him of her love for this same cricket were once more freshly spoken; her trembling, earnest manner at the moment was again before him; her pleasant voice -- oh, what a voice it was for making household music at the fireside of an honest man!
-- thrilled through and through his better nature, and awoke it into life and action.
he recoiled from the door, like a man walking in his sleep, awakened from a frightful dream; and put the gun aside.
clasping his hands before his face, he then sat down again beside the fire, and found relief in tears.
the cricket on the hearth came out into the room, and stood in fairy shape before him.""
i love it,"" said the fairy voice, repeating what he well remembered," "for the many times i have heard it, and the many thoughts its harmless music has given me.""
""she said so!"
cried the carrier.
""true!""
"this has been a happy home, john!
and i love the cricket for its sake!""
""it has been, heaven knows," returned the carrier.
""she made it happy, always, -- until now."
""so gracefully sweet-tempered; so domestic, joyful, busy, and light-hearted!"
said the voice.
""otherwise i never could have loved her as i did," returned the carrier.
the voice, correcting him, said "do."
the carrier repeated "as i did."
but not firmly.
his faltering tongue resisted his control, and would speak in its own way for itself and him.
the figure, in an attitude of invocation, raised its hand and said: "upon your own hearth --" "the hearth she has blighted," interposed the carrier.
""the hearth she has -- how often!
-- blessed and brightened," said the cricket; "the hearth which, but for her, were only a few stones and bricks and rusty bars, but which has been, through her, the altar of your home; on which you have nightly sacrificed some petty passion, selfishness, or care, and offered up the homage of a tranquil mind, a trusting nature, and an overflowing heart; so that the smoke from this poor chimney has gone upward with a better fragrance than the richest incense that is burnt before the richest shrines in all the gaudy temples of this world!
-- upon your own hearth; in its quiet sanctuary; surrounded by its gentle influences and associations; hear her!
hear me!
hear everything that speaks the language of your hearth and home!"
""and pleads for her?"
inquired the carrier.
""all things that speak the language of your hearth and home must plead for her!"
returned the cricket.
""for they speak the truth."
and while the carrier, with his head upon his hands, continued to sit meditating in his chair, the presence stood beside him, suggesting his reflections by its power, and presenting them before him, as in a glass or picture.
it was not a solitary presence.
from the hearth-stone, from the chimney, from the clock, the pipe, the kettle, and the cradle; from the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and the stairs; from the cart without, and the cupboard within, and the household implements; from everything and every place with which she had ever been familiar, and with which she had ever entwined one recollection of herself in her unhappy husband's mind, -- fairies came trooping forth.
not to stand beside him as the cricket did, but to busy and bestir themselves.
to do all honour to her image.
to pull him by the skirts, and point to it when it appeared.
to cluster round it, and embrace it, and strew flowers for it to tread on.
to try to crown its fair head with their tiny hands.
to show that they were fond of it, and loved it; and that there was not one ugly, wicked, or accusatory creature to claim knowledge of it -- none but their playful and approving selves.
his thoughts were constant to her image.
it was always there.
she sat plying her needle, before the fire, and singing to herself.
such a blithe, thriving, steady little dot!
the fairy figures turned upon him all at once, by one consent, with one prodigious concentrated stare, and seemed to say, "is this the light wife you are mourning for?"
there were sounds of gaiety outside, musical instruments, and noisy tongues, and laughter.
a crowd of young merry-makers came pouring in, among whom were may fielding and a score of pretty girls.
dot was the fairest of them all; as young as any of them too.
they came to summon her to join their party.
it was a dance.
if ever little foot were made for dancing, hers was, surely.
but she laughed, and shook her head, and pointed to her cookery on the fire, and her table ready spread; with an exulting defiance that rendered her more charming than she was before.
and so she merrily dismissed them, nodding to her would-be partners, one by one, as they passed out, with a comical indifference, enough to make them go and drown themselves immediately if they were her admirers -- and they must have been so, more or less; they could n't help it.
and yet indifference was not her character.
oh no!
for presently there came a certain carrier to the door; and, bless her, what a welcome she bestowed upon him!
again the staring figures turned upon him all at once, and seemed to say, "is this the wife who has forsaken you?"
a shadow fell upon the mirror or the picture: call it what you will.
a great shadow of the stranger, as he first stood underneath their roof; covering its surface, and blotting out all other objects.
but, the nimble fairies worked like bees to clear it off again.
and dot again was there.
still bright and beautiful.
rocking her little baby in its cradle, singing to it softly, and resting her head upon a shoulder which had its counterpart in the musing figure by which the fairy cricket stood.
the night -- i mean the real night: not going by fairy clocks -- was wearing now; and, in this stage of the carrier's thoughts, the moon burst out, and shone brightly in the sky.
perhaps some calm and quiet light had risen also in his mind; and he could think more soberly of what had happened.
although the shadow of the stranger fell at intervals upon the glass -- always distinct, and big, and thoroughly defined -- it never fell so darkly as at first.
whenever it appeared, the fairies uttered a general cry of consternation, and plied their little arms and legs with inconceivable activity to rub it out.
and whenever they got at dot again, and showed her to him once more, bright and beautiful, they cheered in the most inspiring manner.
they never showed her otherwise than beautiful and bright, for they were household spirits to whom falsehood is an annihilation; and being so, what dot was there for them, but the one active, beaming, pleasant little creature who had been the light and sun of the carrier's home?
the fairies were prodigiously excited when they showed her, with the baby, gossipping among a knot of sage old matrons, and affecting to be wondrous old and matronly herself, and leaning in a staid demure old way upon her husband's arm, attempting -- she!
such a bud of a little woman -- to convey the idea of having abjured the vanities of the world in general, and of being the sort of person to whom it was no novelty at all to be a mother; yet, in the same breath, they showed her laughing at the carrier for being awkward, and pulling up his shirt collar to make him smart, and mincing merrily about that very room to teach him how to dance!
they turned, and stared immensely at him when they showed her with the blind girl; for, though she carried cheerfulness and animation with her wheresoever she went, she bore those influences into caleb plummer's home, heaped up and running over.
the blind girl's love for her, and trust in her, and gratitude to her; her own good busy way of setting bertha's thanks aside; her dexterous little arts for filling up each moment of the visit in doing something useful to the house, and really working hard while feigning to make holiday; her bountiful provision of those standing delicacies, the veal and ham pie and the bottles of beer; her radiant little face arriving at the door, and taking leave; the wonderful expression in her whole self, from her neat foot to the crown of her head, of being a part of the establishment -- a something necessary to it, which it could n't be without, -- all this the fairies revelled in, and loved her for.
and once again they looked upon him all at once, appealingly, and seemed to say, while some among them nestled in her dress and fondled her, "is this the wife who has betrayed your confidence?"
more than once, or twice, or thrice, in the long thoughtful night, they showed her to him sitting on her favourite seat, with her bent head, her hands clasped on her brow, her falling hair.
as he had seen her last.
and when they found her thus, they neither turned nor looked upon him, but gathered close round her, and comforted and kissed her, and pressed on one another, to show sympathy and kindness to her, and forgot him altogether.
thus the night passed.
the moon went down; the stars grew pale; the cold day broke; the sun rose.
the carrier still sat, musing, in the chimney-corner.
he had sat there, with his head upon his hands, all night.
all night the faithful cricket had been chirp, chirp, chirping on the hearth.
all night he had listened to its voice.
all night the household fairies had been busy with him.
all night she had been amiable and blameless in the glass, except when that one shadow fell upon it.
he rose up when it was broad day, and washed and dressed himself.
he could n't go about his customary cheerful avocations -- he wanted spirit for them -- but it mattered the less that it was tackleton's wedding-day, and he had arranged to make his rounds by proxy.
he had thought to have gone merrily to church with dot.
but such plans were at an end.
it was their own wedding-day too.
ah!
how little he had looked for such a close to such a year!
the carrier expected that tackleton would pay him an early visit; and he was right.
he had not walked to and fro before his own door many minutes, when he saw the toy merchant coming in his chaise along the road.
as the chaise drew nearer, he perceived that tackleton was dressed out sprucely for his marriage, and that he had decorated his horse's head with flowers and favours.
the horse looked much more like a bridegroom than tackleton, whose half-closed eye was more disagreeably expressive than ever.
but the carrier took little heed of this.
his thoughts had other occupation.
""john peerybingle!"
said tackleton with an air of condolence.
""my good fellow, how do you find yourself this morning?"
""i have had but a poor night, master tackleton," returned the carrier, shaking his head: "for i have been a good deal disturbed in my mind.
but it's over now!
can you spare me half an hour or so, for some private talk?"
""i came on purpose," returned tackleton, alighting.
""never mind the horse.
he'll stand quiet enough, with the reins over this post, if you'll give him a mouthful of hay."
the carrier having brought it from his stable and set it before him, they turned into the house.
""you are not married before noon," he said, "i think?"
""no," answered tackleton.
""plenty of time.
plenty of time."
when they entered the kitchen, tilly slowboy was rapping at the stranger's door; which was only removed from it by a few steps.
one of her very red eyes -lrb- for tilly had been crying all night long, because her mistress cried -rrb- was at the keyhole; and she was knocking very loud, and seemed frightened.
""if you please i ca n't make nobody hear," said tilly, looking round.
""i hope nobody a n't gone and been and died if you please!"
this philanthropic wish miss slowboy emphasized with various new raps and kicks at the door, which led to no result whatever.
""shall i go?"
said tackleton.
""it's curious."
the carrier, who had turned his face from the door, signed him to go if he would.
so tackleton went to tilly slowboy's relief; and he too kicked and knocked; and he too failed to get the least reply.
but he thought of trying the handle of the door; and, as it opened easily, he peeped in, looked in, went in, and soon came running out again.
""john peerybingle," said tackleton in his ear, "i hope there has been nothing -- nothing rash in the night?"
the carrier turned upon him quickly.
""because he's gone!"
said tackleton; "and the window's open.
i do n't see any marks -- to be sure, it's almost on a level with the garden: but i was afraid there might have been some -- some scuffle.
eh?"
he nearly shut up the expressive eye altogether; he looked at him so hard.
and he gave his eye, and his face, and his whole person, a sharp twist.
as if he would have screwed the truth out of him.
""make yourself easy," said the carrier.
""he went into that room last night, without harm in word or deed from me, and no one has entered it since.
he is away of his own free-will.
i'd go out gladly at that door, and beg my bread from house to house, for life, if i could so change the past that he had never come.
but he has come and gone.
and i have done with him!"
""oh!
-- well, i think he has got off pretty easy," said tackleton, taking a chair.
the sneer was lost upon the carrier, who sat down too, and shaded his face with his hand, for some little time, before proceeding.
""you showed me last night," he said at length, "my wife -- my wife that i love -- secretly --" "and tenderly," insinuated tackleton."
-- conniving at that man's disguise, and giving him opportunities of meeting her alone.
i think there's no sight i would n't have rather seen than that.
i think there's no man in the world i would n't have rather had to show it me."
""i confess to having had my suspicions always," said tackleton.
""and that has made me objectionable here, i know."
""but, as you did show it me," pursued the carrier, not minding him; "and as you saw her, my wife, my wife that i love" -- his voice, and eye, and hand grew steadier and firmer as he repeated these words: evidently in pursuance of a steadfast purpose -- "as you saw her at this disadvantage, it is right and just that you should also see with my eyes, and look into my breast, and know what my mind is upon the subject.
for it's settled," said the carrier, regarding him attentively.
""and nothing can shake it now."
tackleton muttered a few general words of assent about its being necessary to vindicate something or other; but he was overawed by the manner of his companion.
plain and unpolished as it was, it had a something dignified and noble in it, which nothing but the soul of generous honour dwelling in the man could have imparted.
""i am a plain, rough man," pursued the carrier "with very little to recommend me.
i am not a clever man, as you very well know.
i am not a young man.
i loved my little dot, because i had seen her grow up, from a child, in her father's house; because i knew how precious she was; because she had been my life for years and years.
there's many men i ca n't compare with, who never could have loved my little dot like me, i think!"
he paused, and softly beat the ground a short time with his foot, before resuming: "i often thought that though i was n't good enough for her, i should make her a kind husband, and perhaps know her value better than another; and in this way i reconciled it to myself, and came to think it might be possible that we should be married.
and, in the end, it came about, and we were married!"
""hah!"
said tackleton with a significant shake of his head.
""i had studied myself; i had had experience of myself; i knew how much i loved her, and how happy i should be," pursued the carrier.
""but i had not -- i feel it now -- sufficiently considered her."
""to be sure," said tackleton.
""giddiness, frivolity, fickleness, love of admiration!
not considered!
all left out of sight!
hah!"
""you had best not interrupt me," said the carrier with some sternness, "till you understand me; and you're wide of doing so.
if, yesterday, i'd have struck that man down at a blow, who dared to breathe a word against her, to-day i'd set my foot upon his face, if he was my brother!"
the toy merchant gazed at him in astonishment.
he went on in a softer tone: "did i consider," said the carrier, "that i took her -- at her age, and with her beauty -- from her young companions, and the many scenes of which she was the ornament; in which she was the brightest little star that ever shone, to shut her up from day to day in my dull house, and keep my tedious company?
did i consider how little suited i was to her sprightly humour, and how wearisome a plodding man like me must be to one of her quick spirit?
did i consider that it was no merit in me, or claim in me, that i loved her, when everybody must who knew her?
never.
i took advantage of her hopeful nature and her cheerful disposition; and i married her.
i wish i never had!
for her sake; not for mine!"
the toy merchant gazed at him without winking.
even the half-shut eye was open now.
""heaven bless her!"
said the carrier, "for the cheerful constancy with which she has tried to keep the knowledge of this from me!
and heaven help me, that, in my slow mind, i have not found it out before!
poor child!
poor dot!
i not to find it out, who have seen her eyes fill with tears when such a marriage as our own was spoken of!
i, who have seen the secret trembling on her lips a hundred times, and never suspected it, till last night!
poor girl!
that i could ever hope she would be fond of me!
that i could ever believe she was!"
""she made a show of it," said tackleton.
""she made such a show of it, that, to tell you the truth, it was the origin of my misgivings."
and here he asserted the superiority of may fielding, who certainly made no sort of show of being fond of him.
""she has tried," said the poor carrier with greater emotion than he had exhibited yet; "i only now begin to know how hard she has tried, to be my dutiful and zealous wife.
how good she has been; how much she has done; how brave and strong a heart she has; let the happiness i have known under this roof bear witness!
it will be some help and comfort to me when i am here alone."
""here alone?"
said tackleton.
""oh!
then you do mean to take some notice of this?"
""i mean," returned the carrier, "to do her the greatest kindness, and make her the best reparation, in my power.
i can release her from the daily pain of an unequal marriage, and the struggle to conceal it.
she shall be as free as i can render her."
""make her reparation!"
exclaimed tackleton, twisting and turning his great ears with his hands.
""there must be something wrong here.
you did n't say that, of course."
the carrier set his grip upon the collar of the toy merchant, and shook him like a reed.
""listen to me!"
he said.
""and take care that you hear me right.
listen to me.
do i speak plainly?"
""very plainly indeed," answered tackleton.
""as if i meant it?"
""very much as if you meant it."
""i sat upon that hearth, last night, all night," exclaimed the carrier.
""on the spot where she has often sat beside me, with her sweet face looking into mine.
i called up her whole life day by day.
i had her dear self, in its every passage, in review before me.
and, upon my soul, she is innocent, if there is one to judge the innocent and guilty!"
staunch cricket on the hearth!
loyal household fairies!
""passion and distrust have left me!"
said the carrier; "and nothing but my grief remains.
in an unhappy moment some old lover, better suited to her tastes and years than i, forsaken, perhaps, for me, against her will, returned.
in an unhappy moment, taken by surprise, and wanting time to think of what she did, she made herself a party to his treachery by concealing it.
last night she saw him, in the interview we witnessed.
it was wrong.
but, otherwise than this, she is innocent, if there is truth on earth!"
""if that is your opinion --" tackleton began.
""so, let her go!"
pursued the carrier.
""go, with my blessing for the many happy hours she has given me, and my forgiveness for any pang she has caused me.
let her go, and have the peace of mind i wish her!
she'll never hate me.
she'll learn to like me better when i'm not a drag upon her, and she wears the chain i have riveted more lightly.
this is the day on which i took her, with so little thought for her enjoyment, from her home.
to-day she shall return to it, and i will trouble her no more.
her father and mother will be here to-day -- we had made a little plan for keeping it together -- and they shall take her home.
i can trust her there, or anywhere.
she leaves me without blame, and she will live so i am sure.
if i should die -- i may perhaps while she is still young; i have lost some courage in a few hours -- she'll find that i remembered her, and loved her to the last!
this is the end of what you showed me.
now, it's over!"
""oh no, john, not over!
do not say it's over yet!
not quite yet.
i have heard your noble words.
i could not steal away, pretending to be ignorant of what has affected me with such deep gratitude.
do not say it's over till the clock has struck again!"
she had entered shortly after tackleton, and had remained there.
she never looked at tackleton, but fixed her eyes upon her husband.
but she kept away from him, setting as wide a space as possible between them; and, though she spoke with most impassioned earnestness, she went no nearer to him even then.
how different in this from her old self!
""no hand can make the clock which will strike again for me the hours that are gone," replied the carrier with a faint smile.
""but let it be so, if you will, my dear.
it will strike soon.
it's of little matter what we say.
i'd try to please you in a harder case than that."
""well!"
muttered tackleton.
""i must be off, for, when the clock strikes again, it'll be necessary for me to be upon my way to church.
good morning, john peerybingle.
i'm sorry to be deprived of the pleasure of your company.
sorry for the loss, and the occasion of it too!"
""i have spoken plainly?"
said the carrier, accompanying him to the door.
""oh, quite!"
""and you'll remember what i have said?"
""why, if you compel me to make the observation," said tackleton, previously taking the precaution of getting into his chaise, "i must say that it was so very unexpected, that i'm far from being likely to forget it."
""the better for us both," returned the carrier.
""good-bye.
i give you joy!"
""i wish i could give it to you," said tackleton.
""as i ca n't, thankee.
between ourselves -lrb- as i told you before, eh? -rrb-
i do n't much think i shall have the less joy in my married life because may has n't been too officious about me, and too demonstrative.
good-bye!
take care of yourself."
the carrier stood looking after him until he was smaller in the distance than his horse's flowers and favours near at hand; and then, with a deep sigh, went strolling like a restless, broken man, among some neighbouring elms; unwilling to return until the clock was on the eve of striking.
his little wife, being left alone, sobbed piteously; but often dried her eyes and checked herself, to say how good he was, how excellent he was!
and once or twice she laughed; so heartily, triumphantly, and incoherently -lrb- still crying all the time -rrb-, that tilly was quite horrified.
""ow, if you please, do n't!"
said tilly.
""it's enough to dead and bury the baby, so it is if you please."
""will you bring him sometimes to see his father, tilly," inquired her mistress, drying her eyes, -- "when i ca n't live here, and have gone to my old home?"
""ow, if you please, do n't!"
cried tilly, throwing back her head, and bursting out into a howl -- she looked at the moment uncommonly like boxer.
""ow, if you please, do n't!
ow, what has everybody gone and been and done with everybody, making everybody else so wretched?
ow-w-w-w!"
the soft-hearted slowboy tailed off at this juncture into such a deplorable howl, the more tremendous from its long suppression, that she must infallibly have awakened the baby, and frightened him into something serious -lrb- probably convulsions -rrb-, if her eyes had not encountered caleb plummer leading in his daughter.
this spectacle restoring her to a sense of the proprieties, she stood for some few moments silent, with her mouth wide open; and then, posting off to the bed on which the baby lay asleep, danced in a weird, st. vitus manner on the floor, and at the same time rummaged with her face and head among the bedclothes, apparently deriving much relief from those extraordinary operations.
""mary!"
said bertha.
""not at the marriage!"
""i told her you would not be there, mum," whispered caleb.
""i heard as much last night.
but bless you," said the little man, taking her tenderly by both hands," i do n't care for what they say.
i do n't believe them.
there a n't much of me, but that little should be torn to pieces sooner than i'd trust a word against you!"
he put his arms about her neck and hugged her, as a child might have hugged one of his own dolls.
""bertha could n't stay at home this morning," said caleb.
""she was afraid, i know, to hear the bells ring, and could n't trust herself to be so near them on their wedding-day.
so we started in good time, and came here.
i have been thinking of what i have done," said caleb after a moment's pause; "i have been blaming myself till i hardly knew what to do, or where to turn, for the distress of mind i have caused her; and i've come to the conclusion that i'd better, if you'll stay with me, mum, the while, tell her the truth.
you'll stay with me the while?"
he inquired, trembling from head to foot.
""i do n't know what effect it may have upon her; i do n't know what she'll think of me; i do n't know that she'll ever care for her poor father afterwards.
but it's best for her that she should be undeceived, and i must bear the consequences as i deserve!"
""mary," said bertha, "where is your hand?
ah!
here it is; here it is!"
pressing it to her lips with a smile, and drawing it through her arm.
""i heard them speaking softly among themselves last night of some blame against you.
they were wrong."
the carrier's wife was silent.
caleb answered for her.
""they were wrong," he said.
""i knew it!"
cried bertha, proudly.
""i told them so.
i scorned to hear a word!
blame her with justice!"
she pressed the hand between her own, and the soft cheek against her face.
""no, i am not so blind as that."
her father went on one side of her, while dot remained upon the other, holding her hand.
""i know you all," said bertha, "better than you think.
but none so well as her.
not even you, father.
there is nothing half so real and so true about me as she is.
if i could be restored to sight this instant, and not a word were spoken, i could choose her from a crowd!
my sister!"
""bertha, my dear!"
said caleb.
""i have something on my mind i want to tell you while we three are alone.
hear me kindly!
i have a confession to make to you, my darling!"
""a confession, father?"
""i have wandered from the truth, and lost myself, my child," said caleb with a pitiable expression in his bewildered face.
""i have wandered from the truth, intending to be kind to you; and have been cruel."
she turned her wonder-stricken face towards him, and repeated "cruel!"
""he accuses himself too strongly, bertha," said dot.
""you'll say so presently.
you'll be the first to tell him so."
""he cruel to me!"
cried bertha with a smile of incredulity.
""not meaning it, my child," said caleb.
""but i have been: though i never suspected it till yesterday.
my dear blind daughter, hear me and forgive me.
the world you live in, heart of mine, does n't exist as i have represented it.
the eyes you have trusted in have been false to you."
she turned her wonder-stricken face towards him still; but drew back, and clung closer to her friend.
""your road in life was rough, my poor one," said caleb, "and i meant to smooth it for you.
i have altered objects, changed the characters of people, invented many things that never have been, to make you happier.
i have had concealments from you, put deceptions on you, god forgive me!
and surrounded you with fancies."
""but living people are not fancies?"
she said hurriedly, and turning very pale, and still retiring from him.
""you ca n't change them."
""i have done so, bertha," pleaded caleb.
""there is one person that you know, my dove --" "oh, father!
why do you say, i know?"
she answered in a term of keen reproach.
""what and whom do i know?
i who have no leader!
i so miserably blind!"
in the anguish of her heart, she stretched out her hands, as if she were groping her way; then spread them, in a manner most forlorn and sad, upon her face.
""the marriage that takes place to-day," said caleb, "is with a stern, sordid, grinding man.
a hard master to you and me, my dear, for many years.
ugly in his looks, and in his nature.
cold and callous always.
unlike what i have painted him to you in everything, my child.
in everything."
""oh, why," cried the blind girl, tortured, as it seemed, almost beyond endurance, "why did you ever do this?
why did you ever fill my heart so full, and then come in like death, and tear away the objects of my love?
o heaven, how blind i am!
how helpless and alone!"
her afflicted father hung his head, and offered no reply but in his penitence and sorrow.
she had been but a short time in this passion of regret when the cricket on the hearth, unheard by all but her, began to chirp.
not merrily, but in a low, faint, sorrowing way.
it was so mournful, that her tears began to flow; and, when the presence which had been beside the carrier all night, appeared behind her, pointing to her father, they fell down like rain.
she heard the cricket-voice more plainly soon, and was conscious, through her blindness, of the presence hovering about her father.
""mary," said the blind girl, "tell me what my home is.
what it truly is."
""it is a poor place, bertha; very poor and bare indeed.
the house will scarcely keep out wind and rain another winter.
it is as roughly shielded from the weather, bertha," dot continued in a low, clear voice, "as your poor father in his sackcloth coat."
the blind girl, greatly agitated, rose, and led the carrier's little wife aside.
""those presents that i took such care of; that came almost at my wish, and were so dearly welcome to me," she said, trembling; "where did they come from?
did you send them?"
""no."
""who, then?"
dot saw she knew already, and was silent.
the blind girl spread her hands before her face again.
but in quite another manner now.
""dear mary, a moment.
one moment.
more this way.
speak softly to me.
you are true i know.
you'd not deceive me now; would you?"
""no, bertha, indeed!"
""no, i am sure you would not.
you have too much pity for me.
mary, look across the room to where we were just now -- to where my father is -- my father, so compassionate and loving to me -- and tell me what you see."
""i see," said dot, who understood her well, "an old man sitting in a chair, and leaning sorrowfully on the back, with his face resting on his hand.
as if his child should comfort him, bertha."
""yes, yes.
she will.
go on."
""he is an old man, worn with care and work.
he is a spare, dejected, thoughtful, grey-haired man.
i see him now, despondent and bowed down, and striving against nothing.
but, bertha, i have seen him many times before, and striving hard in many ways, for one great sacred object.
and i honour his grey head, and bless him!"
the blind girl broke away from her; and, throwing herself upon her knees before him, took the grey head to her breast.
""it is my sight restored.
it is my sight!"
she cried.
""i have been blind, and now my eyes are open.
i never knew him!
to think i might have died, and never truly seen the father who has been so loving to me!"
there were no words for caleb's emotion.
""there is not a gallant figure on this earth," exclaimed the blind girl, holding him in her embrace, "that i would love so dearly, and would cherish so devotedly, as this!
the greyer, and more worn, the dearer, father!
never let them say i am blind again.
there's not a furrow in his face, there's not a hair upon his head, that shall be forgotten in my prayers and thanks to heaven!"
caleb managed to articulate, "my bertha!"
""and in my blindness i believed him," said the girl, caressing him with tears of exquisite affection, "to be so different.
and having him beside me day by day, so mindful of me always, never dreamed of this!"
""the fresh smart father in the blue coat, bertha," said poor caleb.
""he's gone!"
""nothing is gone," she answered.
""dearest father, no!
everything is here -- in you.
the father that i loved so well; the father that i never loved enough, and never knew; the benefactor whom i first began to reverence and love, because he had such sympathy for me, -- all are here in you.
nothing is dead to me.
the soul of all that was most dear to me is here -- here, with the worn face, and the grey head.
and i am not blind, father, any longer!"
dot's whole attention had been concentrated, during this discourse, upon the father and daughter; but looking, now, towards the little hay-maker in the moorish meadow, she saw that the clock was within a few minutes of striking, and fell, immediately, into a nervous and excited state.
""father!"
said bertha, hesitating.
""mary!"
""yes, my dear," returned caleb.
""here she is."
""there is no change in her.
you never told me anything of her that was not true?"
""i should have done it, my dear, i'm afraid," returned caleb, "if i could have made her better than she was.
but i must have changed her for the worse, if i had changed her at all.
nothing could improve her, bertha."
confident as the blind girl had been when she asked the question, her delight and pride in the reply, and her renewed embrace of dot, were charming to behold.
""more changes than you think for may happen, though, my dear," said dot.
""changes for the better, i mean; changes for great joy to some of us.
you must n't let them startle you too much, if any such should ever happen, and affect you.
are those wheels upon the road?
you've a quick ear, bertha.
are they wheels?"
""yes.
coming very fast."
""i -- i -- i know you have a quick ear," said dot, placing her hand upon her heart, and evidently talking on as fast as she could, to hide its palpitating state, "because i have noticed it often, and because you were so quick to find out that strange step last night.
though why you should have said, as i very well recollect you did say, bertha, "whose step is that?"
and why you should have taken any greater observation of it than of any other step, i do n't know.
though, as i said just now, there are great changes in the world: great changes: and we ca n't do better than prepare ourselves to be surprised at hardly anything."
caleb wondered what this meant; perceiving that she spoke to him, no less than to his daughter.
he saw her, with astonishment, so fluttered and distressed that she could scarcely breathe; and holding to a chair, to save herself from falling.
""they are wheels indeed!"
she panted.
""coming nearer!
nearer!
very close!
and now you hear them stopping at the garden-gate!
and now you hear a step outside the door -- the same step, bertha, is it not?
-- and now --!"
she uttered a wild cry of uncontrollable delight; and running up to caleb, put her hands upon his eyes, as a young man rushed into the room, and, flinging away his hat into the air, came sweeping down upon them.
""is it over?"
cried dot.
""yes!"
""happily over?"
""yes!"
""do you recollect the voice, dear caleb?
did you ever hear the like of it before?"
cried dot.
""if my boy in the golden south americas was alive --!"
said caleb, trembling.
""he is alive!"
shrieked dot, removing her hands from his eyes, and clapping them in ecstasy.
""look at him!
see where he stands before you, healthy and strong!
your own dear son.
your own dear living, loving brother, bertha!"
all honour to the little creature for her transports!
all honour to her tears and laughter, when the three were locked in one another's arms!
all honour to the heartiness with which she met the sunburnt sailor-fellow, with his dark streaming hair, half-way, and never turned her rosy little mouth aside, but suffered him to kiss it freely, and to press her to his bounding heart!
and honour to the cuckoo too -- why not?
-- for bursting out of the trap-door in the moorish palace like a housebreaker, and hiccoughing twelve times on the assembled company, as if he had got drunk for joy!
the carrier, entering, started back.
and well he might, to find himself in such good company.
""look, john!"
said caleb, exultingly, "look here!
my own boy from the golden south americas!
my own son!
him that you fitted out, and sent away yourself!
him that you were always such a friend to!"
the carrier advanced to seize him by the hand; but, recoiling, as some feature in his face awakened a remembrance of the deaf man in the cart, said: "edward!
was it you?"
""now tell him all!"
cried dot.
""tell him all, edward; and do n't spare me, for nothing shall make me spare myself in his eyes, ever again."
""i was the man," said edward.
""and could you steal, disguised, into the house of your old friend?"
rejoined the carrier.
""there was a frank boy once -- how many years is it, caleb, since we heard that he was dead, and had it proved, we thought?
-- who never would have done that."
""there was a generous friend of mine once; more a father to me than a friend," said edward; "who never would have judged me, or any other man, unheard.
you were he.
so i am certain you will hear me now."
the carrier, with a troubled glance at dot, who still kept far away from him, replied, "well!
that's but fair.
i will."
""you must know that when i left here a boy," said edward, "i was in love, and my love was returned.
she was a very young girl, who perhaps -lrb- you may tell me -rrb- did n't know her own mind.
but i knew mine, and i had a passion for her."
""you had!"
exclaimed the carrier.
""you!"
""indeed i had," returned the other.
""and she returned it.
i have ever since believed she did, and now i am sure she did."
""heaven help me!"
said the carrier.
""this is worse than all."
""constant to her," said edward, "and returning, full of hope, after many hardships and perils, to redeem my part of our old contract, i heard, twenty miles away, that she was false to me; that she had forgotten me; and had bestowed herself upon another and a richer man.
i had no mind to reproach her; but i wished to see her, and to prove beyond dispute that this was true.
i hoped she might have been forced into it against her own desire and recollection.
it would be small comfort, but it would be some, i thought, and on i came.
that i might have the truth, the real truth, observing freely for myself, and judging for myself, without obstruction on the one hand, or presenting my own influence -lrb- if i had any -rrb- before her, on the other, i dressed myself unlike myself -- you know how; and waited on the road -- you know where.
you had no suspicion of me; neither had -- had she," pointing to dot, "until i whispered in her ear at that fireside, and she so nearly betrayed me."
""but when she knew that edward was alive, and had come back," sobbed dot, now speaking for herself, as she had burned to do, all through this narrative; "and when she knew his purpose, she advised him by all means to keep his secret close; for his old friend john peerybingle was much too open in his nature, and too clumsy in all artifice -- being a clumsy man in general," said dot, half laughing and half crying -- "to keep it for him.
and when she -- that's me, john," sobbed the little woman -- "told him all, and how his sweetheart had believed him to be dead; and how she had at last been over-persuaded by her mother into a marriage which the silly, dear old thing called advantageous; and when she -- that's me again, john -- told him they were not yet married -lrb- though close upon it -rrb-, and that it would be nothing but a sacrifice if it went on, for there was no love on her side; and when he went nearly mad with joy to hear it, -- then she -- that's me again -- said she would go between them, as she had often done before in old times, john, and would sound his sweetheart, and be sure that what she -- me again, john -- said and thought was right.
and it was right, john!
and they were brought together, john!
and they were married, john, an hour ago!
and here's the bride!
and gruff and tackleton may die a bachelor!
and i'm a happy little woman, may, god bless you!"
she was an irresistible little woman, if that be anything to the purpose; and never so completely irresistible as in her present transports.
there never were congratulations so endearing and delicious as those she lavished on herself and on the bride.
amid the tumult of emotions in his breast, the honest carrier had stood confounded.
flying, now, towards her, dot stretched out her hand to stop him, and retreated as before.
""no, john, no!
hear all!
do n't love me any more, john, till you've heard every word i have to say.
it was wrong to have a secret from you, john.
i'm very sorry.
i did n't think it any harm, till i came and sat down by you on the little stool last night.
but when i knew, by what was written in your face, that you had seen me walking in the gallery with edward, and when i knew what you thought, i felt how giddy and how wrong it was.
but oh, dear john, how could you, could you think so?"
little woman, how she sobbed again!
john peerybingle would have caught her in his arms.
but no; she would n't let him.
""do n't love me yet, please, john!
not for a long time yet!
when i was sad about this intended marriage, dear, it was because i remembered may and edward such young lovers; and knew that her heart was far away from tackleton.
you believe that, now, do n't you, john?"
john was going to make another rush at this appeal; but she stopped him again.
""no; keep there, please, john!
when i laugh at you, as i sometimes do, john, and call you clumsy and a dear old goose, and names of that sort, it's because i love you, john, so well, and take such pleasure in your ways, and would n't see you altered in the least respect to have you made a king to-morrow."
""hooroar!"
said caleb with unusual vigour.
""my opinion!"
""and when i speak of people being middle-aged and steady, john, and pretend that we are a humdrum couple, going on in a jog-trot sort of way, it's only because i'm such a silly little thing, john, that i like, sometimes, to act as a kind of play with baby, and all that: and make believe."
she saw that he was coming; and stopped him again.
but she was very nearly too late.
""no, do n't love me for another minute or two, if you please, john!
what i want most to tell you, i have kept to the last.
my dear, good, generous john, when we were talking the other night about the cricket, i had it on my lips to say, that at first i did not love you quite so dearly as i do now; when i first came home here, i was half afraid that i might n't learn to love you every bit as well as i hoped and prayed i might -- being so very young, john!
but, dear john, every day and hour i loved you more and more.
and if i could have loved you better than i do, the noble words i heard you say this morning would have made me.
but i ca n't.
all the affection that i had -lrb- it was a great deal, john -rrb- i gave you, as you well deserve, long, long ago, and i have no more left to give.
now, my dear husband, take me to your heart again!
that's my home, john; and never, never think of sending me to any other!"
you never will derive so much delight from seeing a glorious little woman in the arms of a third party as you would have felt if you had seen dot run into the carrier's embrace.
it was the most complete, unmitigated, soul-fraught little piece of earnestness that ever you beheld in all your days.
you may be sure the carrier was in a state of perfect rapture; and you may be sure dot was likewise; and you may be sure they all were, inclusive of miss slowboy, who wept copiously for joy, and, wishing to include her young charge in the general interchange of congratulations, handed round the baby to everybody in succession, as if it were something to drink.
but, now, the sound of wheels was heard again outside the door; and somebody exclaimed that gruff and tackleton was coming back.
speedily that worthy gentleman appeared, looking warm and flustered.
""why, what the devil's this, john peerybingle?"
said tackleton.
""there's some mistake.
i appointed mrs. tackleton to meet me at the church, and i'll swear i passed her on the road, on her way here.
oh!
here she is!
i beg your pardon, sir; i have n't the pleasure of knowing you; but, if you can do me the favour to spare this young lady, she has rather a particular engagement this morning."
""but i ca n't spare her," returned edward.
""i could n't think of it."
""what do you mean, you vagabond?"
said tackleton.
""i mean that, as i can make allowance for your being vexed," returned the other with a smile, "i am as deaf to harsh discourse this morning as i was to all discourse last night."
the look that tackleton bestowed upon him, and the start he gave!
""i am sorry, sir," said edward, holding out may's left hand, and especially the third finger, "that the young lady ca n't accompany you to church; but, as she has been there once this morning, perhaps you'll excuse her."
tackleton looked hard at the third finger, and took a little piece of silver paper, apparently containing a ring, from his waistcoat pocket.
""miss slowboy," said tackleton, "will you have the kindness to throw that in the fire?
thankee."
""it was a previous engagement, quite an old engagement, that prevented my wife from keeping her appointment with you, i assure you," said edward.
""mr. tackleton will do me the justice to acknowledge that i revealed it to him faithfully; and that i told him, many times, i never could forget it," said may, blushing.
""oh, certainly!"
said tackleton.
""oh, to be sure!
oh, it's all right, it's quite correct!
mrs. edward plummer, i infer?"
""that's the name," returned the bridegroom.
""ah!
i should n't have known you, sir," said tackleton, scrutinising his face narrowly, and making a low bow.
""i give you joy, sir!"
""thankee."
""mrs. peerybingle," said tackleton, turning suddenly to where she stood with her husband; "i'm sorry.
you have n't done me a very great kindness, but, upon my life, i am sorry.
you are better than i thought you.
john peerybingle, i am sorry.
you understand me; that's enough.
it's quite correct, ladies and gentlemen all, and perfectly satisfactory.
good morning!"
with these words he carried it off, and carried himself off too: merely stopping at the door to take the flowers and favours from his horse's head, and to kick that animal once in the ribs, as a means of informing him that there was a screw loose in his arrangements.
of course, it became a serious duty now to make such a day of it as should mark these events for a high feast and festival in the peerybingle calendar for evermore.
accordingly, dot went to work to produce such an entertainment as should reflect undying honour on the house and on every one concerned; and, in a very short space of time, she was up to her dimpled elbows in flour, and whitening the carrier's coat, every time he came near her, by stopping him to give him a kiss.
that good fellow washed the greens, and peeled the turnips, and broke the plates, and upset iron pots full of cold water on the fire, and made himself useful in all sorts of ways: while a couple of professional assistants, hastily called in from somewhere in the neighbourhood, as on a point of life or death, ran against each other in all the doorways and round all the corners, and everybody tumbled over tilly slowboy and the baby, everywhere.
tilly never came out in such force before.
her ubiquity was the theme of general admiration.
she was a stumbling-block in the passage at five-and-twenty minutes past two; a man-trap in the kitchen at half-past two precisely; and a pitfall in the garret at five-and-twenty minutes to three.
the baby's head was, as it were, a test and touchstone for every description of matter, animal, vegetable, and mineral.
nothing was in use that day that did n't come, at some time or other, into close acquaintance with it.
then there was a great expedition set on foot to go and find out mrs. fielding; and to be dismally penitent to that excellent gentlewoman; and to bring her back, by force, if needful, to be happy and forgiving.
and when the expedition first discovered her, she would listen to no terms at all, but said, an unspeakable number of times, that ever she should have lived to see the day!
and could n't be got to say anything else, except "now carry me to the grave": which seemed absurd, on account of her not being dead, or anything at all like it.
after a time she lapsed into a state of dreadful calmness, and observed that, when that unfortunate train of circumstances had occurred in the indigo trade, she had foreseen that she would be exposed, during her whole life, to every species of insult and contumely; and that she was glad to find it was the case; and begged they would n't trouble themselves about her, -- for what was she?
-- oh dear!
a nobody!
-- but would forget that such a being lived, and would take their course in life without her.
from this bitterly sarcastic mood she passed into an angry one, in which she gave vent to the remarkable expression that the worm would turn if trodden on; and, after that, she yielded to a soft regret, and said, if they had only given her their confidence, what might she not have had it in her power to suggest!
taking advantage of this crisis in her feelings, the expedition embraced her; and she very soon had her gloves on, and was on her way to john peerybingle's in a state of unimpeachable gentility; with a paper parcel at her side containing a cap of state, almost as tall, and quite as stiff, as a mitre.
then, there were dot's father and mother to come in another little chaise; and they were behind their time; and fears were entertained; and there was much looking out for them down the road; and mrs. fielding always would look in the wrong and morally impossible direction; and, being apprised thereof, hoped she might take the liberty of looking where she pleased.
at last they came; a chubby little couple, jogging along in a snug and comfortable little way that quite belonged to the dot family; and dot and her mother, side by side, were wonderful to see.
they were so like each other.
then dot's mother had to renew her acquaintance with may's mother; and may's mother always stood on her gentility; and dot's mother never stood on anything but her active little feet.
and old dot -- so to call dot's father, i forgot it was n't his right name, but never mind -- took liberties, and shook hands at first sight, and seemed to think a cap but so much starch and muslin, and did n't defer himself at all to the indigo trade, but said there was no help for it now; and, in mrs. fielding's summing up, was a good-natured kind of man -- but coarse, my dear.
i would n't have missed dot, doing the honours in her wedding-gown, my benison on her bright face!
for any money.
no!
nor the good carrier, so jovial and so ruddy, at the bottom of the table.
nor the brown, fresh sailor-fellow, and his handsome wife.
nor any one among them.
to have missed the dinner would have been to miss as jolly and as stout a meal as man need eat; and to have missed the overflowing cups in which they drank the wedding day would have been the greatest miss of all.
after dinner caleb sang the song about the sparkling bowl.
as i'm a living man, hoping to keep so for a year or two, he sang it through.
and, by-the-bye, a most unlooked-for incident occurred, just as he finished the last verse.
there was a tap at the door; and a man came staggering in, without saying with your leave, or by your leave, with something heavy on his head.
setting this down in the middle of the table, symmetrically in the centre of the nuts and apples, he said: "mr. tackleton's compliments, and, as he has n't got no use for the cake himself, p "raps you'll eat it."
and, with those words, he walked off.
there was some surprise among the company, as you may imagine.
mrs. fielding, being a lady of infinite discernment, suggested that the cake was poisoned, and related a narrative of a cake which, within her knowledge, had turned a seminary for young ladies blue.
but she was overruled by acclamation; and the cake was cut by may with much ceremony and rejoicing.
i do n't think any one had tasted it, when there came another tap at the door, and the same man appeared again, having under his arm a vast brown-paper parcel.
""mr. tackleton's compliments, and he's sent a few toys for the babby.
they ai n't ugly."
after the delivery of which expressions, he retired again.
the whole party would have experienced great difficulty in finding words for their astonishment, even if they had had ample time to seek them.
but they had none at all; for the messenger had scarcely shut the door behind him, when there came another tap, and tackleton himself walked in.
""mrs. peerybingle!"
said the toy merchant, hat in hand, "i'm sorry.
i'm more sorry than i was this morning.
i have had time to think of it.
john peerybingle!
i am sour by disposition; but i ca n't help being sweetened, more or less, by coming face to face with such a man as you.
caleb!
this unconscious little nurse gave me a broken hint last night, of which i have found the thread.
i blush to think how easily i might have bound you and your daughter to me, and what a miserable idiot i was when i took her for one!
friends, one and all, my house is very lonely to-night.
i have not so much as a cricket on my hearth.
i have scared them all away.
be gracious to me: let me join this happy party!"
he was at home in five minutes.
you never saw such a fellow.
what had he been doing with himself all his life, never to have known before his great capacity of being jovial?
or what had the fairies been doing with him, to have effected such a change?
""john!
you wo n't send me home this evening, will you?"
whispered dot.
he had been very near it, though.
there wanted but one living creature to make the party complete; and, in the twinkling of an eye, there he was, very thirsty with hard running, and engaged in hopeless endeavours to squeeze his head into a narrow pitcher.
he had gone with the cart to its journey's end, very much disgusted with the absence of his master, and stupendously rebellious to the deputy.
after lingering about the stable for some little time, vainly attempting to incite the old horse to the mutinous act of returning on his own account, he had walked into the taproom, and laid himself down before the fire.
but, suddenly yielding to the conviction that the deputy was a humbug, and must be abandoned, he had got up again, turned tail, and come home.
there was a dance in the evening.
with which general mention of that recreation, i should have left it alone, if i had not some reason to suppose that it was quite an original dance, and one of a most uncommon figure.
it was formed in an odd way; in this way.
edward, that sailor-fellow -- a good free dashing sort of fellow he was -- had been telling them various marvels concerning parrots, and mines, and mexicans, and gold dust, when all at once he took it in his head to jump up from his seat and propose a dance; for bertha's harp was there, and she such a hand upon it as you seldom hear.
dot -lrb- sly little piece of affectation when she chose -rrb- said her dancing days were over; i think because the carrier was smoking his pipe, and she liked sitting by him best.
mrs. fielding had no choice, of course, but to say her dancing days were over, after that; and everybody said the same, except may; may was ready.
so, may and edward get up, amid great applause, to dance alone; and bertha plays her liveliest tune.
well!
if you'll believe me, they had not been dancing five minutes, when suddenly the carrier flings his pipe away, takes dot round the waist, dashes out into the room, and starts off with her, toe and heel, quite wonderfully.
tackleton no sooner sees this than he skims across to mrs. fielding, takes her round the waist, and follows suit.
old dot no sooner sees this than up he is, all alive, whisks off mrs. dot into the middle of the dance, and is foremost there.
caleb no sooner sees this than he clutches tilly slowboy by both hands, and goes off at score; miss slowboy, firm in the belief that diving hotly in among the other couples, and effecting any number of concussions with them, is your only principle of footing it.
hark!
how the cricket joins the music with its chirp, chirp, chirp; and how the kettle hums!
* * * * * but what is this?
even as i listen to them blithely, and turn towards dot, for one last glimpse of a little figure very pleasant to me, she and the rest have vanished into air, and i am left alone.
_book_title_: charles_kingsley___the_water-babies.txt.out
the water babies chapter i "i heard a thousand blended notes, while in a grove i sate reclined; in that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
""to her fair works did nature link the human soul that through me ran; and much it grieved my heart to think, what man has made of man."
wordsworth.
once upon a time there was a little chimney-sweep, and his name was tom.
that is a short name, and you have heard it before, so you will not have much trouble in remembering it.
he lived in a great town in the north country, where there were plenty of chimneys to sweep, and plenty of money for tom to earn and his master to spend.
he could not read nor write, and did not care to do either; and he never washed himself, for there was no water up the court where he lived.
he had never been taught to say his prayers.
he never had heard of god, or of christ, except in words which you never have heard, and which it would have been well if he had never heard.
he cried half his time, and laughed the other half.
he cried when he had to climb the dark flues, rubbing his poor knees and elbows raw; and when the soot got into his eyes, which it did every day in the week; and when his master beat him, which he did every day in the week; and when he had not enough to eat, which happened every day in the week likewise.
and he laughed the other half of the day, when he was tossing halfpennies with the other boys, or playing leap-frog over the posts, or bowling stones at the horses" legs as they trotted by, which last was excellent fun, when there was a wall at hand behind which to hide.
as for chimney-sweeping, and being hungry, and being beaten, he took all that for the way of the world, like the rain and snow and thunder, and stood manfully with his back to it till it was over, as his old donkey did to a hail - storm; and then shook his ears and was as jolly as ever; and thought of the fine times coming, when he would be a man, and a master sweep, and sit in the public-house with a quart of beer and a long pipe, and play cards for silver money, and wear velveteens and ankle-jacks, and keep a white bull-dog with one gray ear, and carry her puppies in his pocket, just like a man.
and he would have apprentices, one, two, three, if he could.
how he would bully them, and knock them about, just as his master did to him; and make them carry home the soot sacks, while he rode before them on his donkey, with a pipe in his mouth and a flower in his button-hole, like a king at the head of his army.
yes, there were good times coming; and, when his master let him have a pull at the leavings of his beer, tom was the jolliest boy in the whole town.
one day a smart little groom rode into the court where tom lived.
tom was just hiding behind a wall, to heave half a brick at his horse's legs, as is the custom of that country when they welcome strangers; but the groom saw him, and halloed to him to know where mr. grimes, the chimney-sweep, lived.
now, mr. grimes was tom's own master, and tom was a good man of business, and always civil to customers, so he put the half-brick down quietly behind the wall, and proceeded to take orders.
mr. grimes was to come up next morning to sir john harthover's, at the place, for his old chimney-sweep was gone to prison, and the chimneys wanted sweeping.
and so he rode away, not giving tom time to ask what the sweep had gone to prison for, which was a matter of interest to tom, as he had been in prison once or twice himself.
moreover, the groom looked so very neat and clean, with his drab gaiters, drab breeches, drab jacket, snow-white tie with a smart pin in it, and clean round ruddy face, that tom was offended and disgusted at his appearance, and considered him a stuck-up fellow, who gave himself airs because he wore smart clothes, and other people paid for them; and went behind the wall to fetch the half - brick after all; but did not, remembering that he had come in the way of business, and was, as it were, under a flag of truce.
his master was so delighted at his new customer that he knocked tom down out of hand, and drank more beer that night than he usually did in two, in order to be sure of getting up in time next morning; for the more a man's head aches when he wakes, the more glad he is to turn out, and have a breath of fresh air.
and, when he did get up at four the next morning, he knocked tom down again, in order to teach him -lrb- as young gentlemen used to be taught at public schools -rrb- that he must be an extra good boy that day, as they were going to a very great house, and might make a very good thing of it, if they could but give satisfaction.
and tom thought so likewise, and, indeed, would have done and behaved his best, even without being knocked down.
for, of all places upon earth, harthover place -lrb- which he had never seen -rrb- was the most wonderful, and, of all men on earth, sir john -lrb- whom he had seen, having been sent to gaol by him twice -rrb- was the most awful.
harthover place was really a grand place, even for the rich north country; with a house so large that in the frame-breaking riots, which tom could just remember, the duke of wellington, and ten thousand soldiers to match, were easily housed therein; at least, so tom believed; with a park full of deer, which tom believed to be monsters who were in the habit of eating children; with miles of game-preserves, in which mr. grimes and the collier lads poached at times, on which occasions tom saw pheasants, and wondered what they tasted like; with a noble salmon-river, in which mr. grimes and his friends would have liked to poach; but then they must have got into cold water, and that they did not like at all.
in short, harthover was a grand place, and sir john a grand old man, whom even mr. grimes respected; for not only could he send mr. grimes to prison when he deserved it, as he did once or twice a week; not only did he own all the land about for miles; not only was he a jolly, honest, sensible squire, as ever kept a pack of hounds, who would do what he thought right by his neighbours, as well as get what he thought right for himself; but, what was more, he weighed full fifteen stone, was nobody knew how many inches round the chest, and could have thrashed mr. grimes himself in fair fight, which very few folk round there could do, and which, my dear little boy, would not have been right for him to do, as a great many things are not which one both can do, and would like very much to do.
so mr. grimes touched his hat to him when he rode through the town, and called him a "buirdly awd chap," and his young ladies "gradely lasses," which are two high compliments in the north country; and thought that that made up for his poaching sir john's pheasants; whereby you may perceive that mr. grimes had not been to a properly-inspected government national school.
now, i dare say, you never got up at three o'clock on a midsummer morning.
some people get up then because they want to catch salmon; and some because they want to climb alps; and a great many more because they must, like tom.
but, i assure you, that three o'clock on a midsummer morning is the pleasantest time of all the twenty-four hours, and all the three hundred and sixty-five days; and why every one does not get up then, i never could tell, save that they are all determined to spoil their nerves and their complexions by doing all night what they might just as well do all day.
but tom, instead of going out to dinner at half-past eight at night, and to a ball at ten, and finishing off somewhere between twelve and four, went to bed at seven, when his master went to the public-house, and slept like a dead pig; for which reason he was as piert as a game-cock -lrb- who always gets up early to wake the maids -rrb-, and just ready to get up when the fine gentlemen and ladies were just ready to go to bed.
so he and his master set out; grimes rode the donkey in front, and tom and the brushes walked behind; out of the court, and up the street, past the closed window-shutters, and the winking weary policemen, and the roofs all shining gray in the gray dawn.
they passed through the pitmen's village, all shut up and silent now, and through the turnpike; and then the were out in the real country, and plodding along the black dusty road, between black slag walls, with no sound but the groaning and thumping of the pit - engine in the next field.
but soon the road grew white, and the walls likewise; and at the wall's foot grew long grass and gay flowers, all drenched with dew; and instead of the groaning of the pit-engine, they heard the skylark saying his matins high up in the air, and the pit-bird warbling in the sedges, as he had warbled all night long.
all else was silent.
for old mrs. earth was still fast asleep; and, like many pretty people, she looked still prettier asleep than awake.
the great elm-trees in the gold-green meadows were fast asleep above, and the cows fast asleep beneath them; nay, the few clouds which were about were fast asleep likewise, and so tired that they had lain down on the earth to rest, in long white flakes and bars, among the stems of the elm-trees, and along the tops of the alders by the stream, waiting for the sun to bid them rise and go about their day's business in the clear blue overhead.
on they went; and tom looked, and looked, for he never had been so far into the country before; and longed to get over a gate, and pick buttercups, and look for birds" nests in the hedge; but mr. grimes was a man of business, and would not have heard of that.
soon they came up with a poor irishwoman, trudging along with a bundle at her back.
she had a gray shawl over her head, and a crimson madder petticoat; so you may be sure she came from galway.
she had neither shoes nor stockings, and limped along as if she were tired and footsore; but she was a very tall handsome woman, with bright gray eyes, and heavy black hair hanging about her cheeks.
and she took mr. grimes" fancy so much, that when he came alongside he called out to her: "this is a hard road for a gradely foot like that.
will ye up, lass, and ride behind me?"
but, perhaps, she did not admire mr. grimes" look and voice; for she answered quietly: "no, thank you: i'd sooner walk with your little lad here."
""you may please yourself," growled grimes, and went on smoking.
so she walked beside tom, and talked to him, and asked him where he lived, and what he knew, and all about himself, till tom thought he had never met such a pleasant-spoken woman.
and she asked him, at last, whether he said his prayers!
and seemed sad when he told her that he knew no prayers to say.
then he asked her where she lived, and she said far away by the sea.
and tom asked her about the sea; and she told him how it rolled and roared over the rocks in winter nights, and lay still in the bright summer days, for the children to bathe and play in it; and many a story more, till tom longed to go and see the sea, and bathe in it likewise.
at last, at the bottom of a hill, they came to a spring; not such a spring as you see here, which soaks up out of a white gravel in the bog, among red fly-catchers, and pink bottle-heath, and sweet white orchis; nor such a one as you may see, too, here, which bubbles up under the warm sandbank in the hollow lane by the great tuft of lady ferns, and makes the sand dance reels at the bottom, day and night, all the year round; not such a spring as either of those; but a real north country limestone fountain, like one of those in sicily or greece, where the old heathen fancied the nymphs sat cooling themselves the hot summer's day, while the shepherds peeped at them from behind the bushes.
out of a low cave of rock, at the foot of a limestone crag, the great fountain rose, quelling, and bubbling, and gurgling, so clear that you could not tell where the water ended and the air began; and ran away under the road, a stream large enough to turn a mill; among blue geranium, and golden globe-flower, and wild raspberry, and the bird-cherry with its tassels of snow.
and there grimes stopped, and looked; and tom looked too.
tom was wondering whether anything lived in that dark cave, and came out at night to fly in the meadows.
but grimes was not wondering at all.
without a word, he got off his donkey, and clambered over the low road wall, and knelt down, and began dipping his ugly head into the spring -- and very dirty he made it.
tom was picking the flowers as fast as he could.
the irishwoman helped him, and showed him how to tie them up; and a very pretty nosegay they had made between them.
but when he saw grimes actually wash, he stopped, quite astonished; and when grimes had finished, and began shaking his ears to dry them, he said: "why, master, i never saw you do that before."
""nor will again, most likely.
't was n't for cleanliness i did it, but for coolness.
i'd be ashamed to want washing every week or so, like any smutty collier lad."
""i wish i might go and dip my head in," said poor little tom.
""it must be as good as putting it under the town-pump; and there is no beadle here to drive a chap away."
""thou come along," said grimes; "what dost want with washing thyself?
thou did not drink half a gallon of beer last night, like me."
""i do n't care for you," said naughty tom, and ran down to the stream, and began washing his face.
grimes was very sulky, because the woman preferred tom's company to his; so he dashed at him with horrid words, and tore him up from his knees, and began beating him.
but tom was accustomed to that, and got his head safe between mr. grimes" legs, and kicked his shins with all his might.
""are you not ashamed of yourself, thomas grimes?"
cried the irishwoman over the wall.
grimes looked up, startled at her knowing his name; but all he answered was, "no, nor never was yet;" and went on beating tom.
""true for you.
if you ever had been ashamed of yourself, you would have gone over into vendale long ago."
""what do you know about vendale?"
shouted grimes; but he left off beating tom.
""i know about vendale, and about you, too.
i know, for instance, what happened in aldermire copse, by night, two years ago come martinmas."
""you do?"
shouted grimes; and leaving tom, he climbed up over the wall, and faced the woman.
tom thought he was going to strike her; but she looked him too full and fierce in the face for that.
""yes; i was there," said the irishwoman quietly.
""you are no irishwoman, by your speech," said grimes, after many bad words.
""never mind who i am.
i saw what i saw; and if you strike that boy again, i can tell what i know."
grimes seemed quite cowed, and got on his donkey without another word.
""stop!"
said the irishwoman.
""i have one more word for you both; for you will both see me again before all is over.
those that wish to be clean, clean they will be; and those that wish to be foul, foul they will be.
remember."
and she turned away, and through a gate into the meadow.
grimes stood still a moment, like a man who had been stunned.
then he rushed after her, shouting, "you come back."
but when he got into the meadow, the woman was not there.
had she hidden away?
there was no place to hide in.
but grimes looked about, and tom also, for he was as puzzled as grimes himself at her disappearing so suddenly; but look where they would, she was not there.
grimes came back again, as silent as a post, for he was a little frightened; and, getting on his donkey, filled a fresh pipe, and smoked away, leaving tom in peace.
and now they had gone three miles and more, and came to sir john's lodge-gates.
very grand lodges they were, with very grand iron gates and stone gate-posts, and on the top of each a most dreadful bogy, all teeth, horns, and tail, which was the crest which sir john's ancestors wore in the wars of the roses; and very prudent men they were to wear it, for all their enemies must have run for their lives at the very first sight of them.
grimes rang at the gate, and out came a keeper on the spot, and opened.
""i was told to expect thee," he said.
""now thou "lt be so good as to keep to the main avenue, and not let me find a hare or a rabbit on thee when thou comest back.
i shall look sharp for one, i tell thee."
""not if it's in the bottom of the soot-bag," quoth grimes, and at that he laughed; and the keeper laughed and said: "if that's thy sort, i may as well walk up with thee to the hall."
""i think thou best had.
it's thy business to see after thy game, man, and not mine."
so the keeper went with them; and, to tom's surprise, he and grimes chatted together all the way quite pleasantly.
he did not know that a keeper is only a poacher turned outside in, and a poacher a keeper turned inside out.
they walked up a great lime avenue, a full mile long, and between their stems tom peeped trembling at the horns of the sleeping deer, which stood up among the ferns.
tom had never seen such enormous trees, and as he looked up he fancied that the blue sky rested on their heads.
but he was puzzled very much by a strange murmuring noise, which followed them all the way.
so much puzzled, that at last he took courage to ask the keeper what it was.
he spoke very civilly, and called him sir, for he was horribly afraid of him, which pleased the keeper, and he told him that they were the bees about the lime flowers.
""what are bees?"
asked tom.
""what make honey."
""what is honey?"
asked tom.
""thou hold thy noise," said grimes.
""let the boy be," said the keeper.
""he's a civil young chap now, and that's more than he'll be long if he bides with thee."
grimes laughed, for he took that for a compliment.
""i wish i were a keeper," said tom, "to live in such a beautiful place, and wear green velveteens, and have a real dog-whistle at my button, like you."
the keeper laughed; he was a kind-hearted fellow enough.
""let well alone, lad, and ill too at times.
thy life's safer than mine at all events, eh, mr. grimes?"
and grimes laughed again, and then the two men began talking, quite low.
tom could hear, though, that it was about some poaching fight; and at last grimes said surlily, "hast thou anything against me?"
""not now."
""then do n't ask me any questions till thou hast, for i am a man of honour."
and at that they both laughed again, and thought it a very good joke.
and by this time they were come up to the great iron gates in front of the house; and tom stared through them at the rhododendrons and azaleas, which were all in flower; and then at the house itself, and wondered how many chimneys there were in it, and how long ago it was built, and what was the man's name that built it, and whether he got much money for his job?
these last were very difficult questions to answer.
for harthover had been built at ninety different times, and in nineteen different styles, and looked as if somebody had built a whole street of houses of every imaginable shape, and then stirred them together with a spoon.
for the attics were anglo-saxon.
the third door norman.
the second cinque-cento.
the first-floor elizabethan.
the right wing pure doric.
the centre early english, with a huge portico copied from the parthenon.
the left wing pure boeotian, which the country folk admired most of all, became it was just like the new barracks in the town, only three times as big.
the grand staircase was copied from the catacombs at rome.
the back staircase from the tajmahal at agra.
this was built by sir john's great-great-great-uncle, who won, in lord clive's indian wars, plenty of money, plenty of wounds, and no more taste than his betters.
the cellars were copied from the caves of elephanta.
the offices from the pavilion at brighton.
and the rest from nothing in heaven, or earth, or under the earth.
so that harthover house was a great puzzle to antiquarians, and a thorough naboth's vineyard to critics, and architects, and all persons who like meddling with other men's business, and spending other men's money.
so they were all setting upon poor sir john, year after year, and trying to talk him into spending a hundred thousand pounds or so, in building, to please them and not himself.
but he always put them off, like a canny north-countryman as he was.
one wanted him to build a gothic house, but he said he was no goth; and another to build an elizabethan, but he said he lived under good queen victoria, and not good queen bess; and another was bold enough to tell him that his house was ugly, but he said he lived inside it, and not outside; and another, that there was no unity in it, but he said that that was just why he liked the old place.
for he liked to see how each sir john, and sir hugh, and sir ralph, and sir randal, had left his mark upon the place, each after his own taste; and he had no more notion of disturbing his ancestors" work than of disturbing their graves.
for now the house looked like a real live house, that had a history, and had grown and grown as the world grew; and that it was only an upstart fellow who did not know who his own grandfather was, who would change it for some spick and span new gothic or elizabethan thing, which looked as if it bad been all spawned in a night, as mushrooms are.
from which you may collect -lrb- if you have wit enough -rrb- that sir john was a very sound-headed, sound-hearted squire, and just the man to keep the country side in order, and show good sport with his hounds.
but tom and his master did not go in through the great iron gates, as if they had been dukes or bishops, but round the back way, and a very long way round it was; and into a little back-door, where the ash-boy let them in, yawning horribly; and then in a passage the housekeeper met them, in such a flowered chintz dressing-gown, that tom mistook her for my lady herself, and she gave grimes solemn orders about "you will take care of this, and take care of that," as if he was going up the chimneys, and not tom.
and grimes listened, and said every now and then, under his voice, "you'll mind that, you little beggar?"
and tom did mind, all at least that he could.
and then the housekeeper turned them into a grand room, all covered up in sheets of brown paper, and bade them begin, in a lofty and tremendous voice; and so after a whimper or two, and a kick from his master, into the grate tom went, and up the chimney, while a housemaid stayed in the room to watch the furniture; to whom mr. grimes paid many playful and chivalrous compliments, but met with very slight encouragement in return.
how many chimneys tom swept i can not say; but he swept so many that he got quite tired, and puzzled too, for they were not like the town flues to which he was accustomed, but such as you would find -- if you would only get up them and look, which perhaps you would not like to do -- in old country-houses, large and crooked chimneys, which had been altered again and again, till they ran one into another, anastomosing -lrb- as professor owen would say -rrb- considerably.
so tom fairly lost his way in them; not that he cared much for that, though he was in pitchy darkness, for he was as much at home in a chimney as a mole is underground; but at last, coming down as he thought the right chimney, he came down the wrong one, and found himself standing on the hearthrug in a room the like of which he had never seen before.
tom had never seen the like.
he had never been in gentlefolks" rooms but when the carpets were all up, and the curtains down, and the furniture huddled together under a cloth, and the pictures covered with aprons and dusters; and he had often enough wondered what the rooms were like when they were all ready for the quality to sit in.
and now he saw, and he thought the sight very pretty.
the room was all dressed in white, -- white window-curtains, white bed-curtains, white furniture, and white walls, with just a few lines of pink here and there.
the carpet was all over gay little flowers; and the walls were hung with pictures in gilt frames, which amused tom very much.
there were pictures of ladies and gentlemen, and pictures of horses and dogs.
the horses he liked; but the dogs he did not care for much, for there were no bull-dogs among them, not even a terrier.
but the two pictures which took his fancy most were, one a man in long garments, with little children and their mothers round him, who was laying his hand upon the children's heads.
that was a very pretty picture, tom thought, to hang in a lady's room.
for he could see that it was a lady's room by the dresses which lay about.
the other picture was that of a man nailed to a cross, which surprised tom much.
he fancied that he had seen something like it in a shop-window.
but why was it there?
""poor man," thought tom, "and he looks so kind and quiet.
but why should the lady have such a sad picture as that in her room?
perhaps it was some kinsman of hers, who had been murdered by the savages in foreign parts, and she kept it there for a remembrance."
and tom felt sad, and awed, and turned to look at something else.
the next thing he saw, and that too puzzled him, was a washing - stand, with ewers and basins, and soap and brushes, and towels, and a large bath full of clean water -- what a heap of things all for washing!
""she must be a very dirty lady," thought tom, "by my master's rule, to want as much scrubbing as all that.
but she must be very cunning to put the dirt out of the way so well afterwards, for i do n't see a speck about the room, not even on the very towels."
and then, looking toward the bed, he saw that dirty lady, and held his breath with astonishment.
under the snow-white coverlet, upon the snow-white pillow, lay the most beautiful little girl that tom had ever seen.
her cheeks were almost as white as the pillow, and her hair was like threads of gold spread all about over the bed.
she might have been as old as tom, or maybe a year or two older; but tom did not think of that.
he thought only of her delicate skin and golden hair, and wondered whether she was a real live person, or one of the wax dolls he had seen in the shops.
but when he saw her breathe, he made up his mind that she was alive, and stood staring at her, as if she had been an angel out of heaven.
no.
she can not be dirty.
she never could have been dirty, thought tom to himself.
and then he thought, "and are all people like that when they are washed?"
and he looked at his own wrist, and tried to rub the soot off, and wondered whether it ever would come off.
""certainly i should look much prettier then, if i grew at all like her."
and looking round, he suddenly saw, standing close to him, a little ugly, black, ragged figure, with bleared eyes and grinning white teeth.
he turned on it angrily.
what did such a little black ape want in that sweet young lady's room?
and behold, it was himself, reflected in a great mirror, the like of which tom had never seen before.
and tom, for the first time in his life, found out that he was dirty; and burst into tears with shame and anger; and turned to sneak up the chimney again and hide; and upset the fender and threw the fire-irons down, with a noise as of ten thousand tin kettles tied to ten thousand mad dogs" tails.
up jumped the little white lady in her bed, and, seeing tom, screamed as shrill as any peacock.
in rushed a stout old nurse from the next room, and seeing tom likewise, made up her mind that he had come to rob, plunder, destroy, and burn; and dashed at him, as he lay over the fender, so fast that she caught him by the jacket.
but she did not hold him.
tom had been in a policeman's hands many a time, and out of them too, what is more; and he would have been ashamed to face his friends for ever if he had been stupid enough to be caught by an old woman; so he doubled under the good lady's arm, across the room, and out of the window in a moment.
he did not need to drop out, though he would have done so bravely enough.
nor even to let himself down a spout, which would have been an old game to him; for once he got up by a spout to the church roof, he said to take jackdaws" eggs, but the policeman said to steal lead; and, when he was seen on high, sat there till the sun got too hot, and came down by another spout, leaving the policemen to go back to the stationhouse and eat their dinners.
but all under the window spread a tree, with great leaves and sweet white flowers, almost as big as his head.
it was magnolia, i suppose; but tom knew nothing about that, and cared less; for down the tree he went, like a cat, and across the garden lawn, and over the iron railings and up the park towards the wood, leaving the old nurse to scream murder and fire at the window.
the under gardener, mowing, saw tom, and threw down his scythe; caught his leg in it, and cut his shin open, whereby he kept his bed for a week; but in his hurry he never knew it, and gave chase to poor tom.
the dairymaid heard the noise, got the churn between her knees, and tumbled over it, spilling all the cream; and yet she jumped up, and gave chase to tom.
a groom cleaning sir john's hack at the stables let him go loose, whereby he kicked himself lame in five minutes; but he ran out and gave chase to tom.
grimes upset the soot-sack in the new-gravelled yard, and spoilt it all utterly; but he ran out and gave chase to tom.
the old steward opened the park-gate in such a hurry, that he hung up his pony's chin upon the spikes, and, for aught i know, it hangs there still; but he jumped off, and gave chase to tom.
the ploughman left his horses at the headland, and one jumped over the fence, and pulled the other into the ditch, plough and all; but he ran on, and gave chase to tom.
the keeper, who was taking a stoat out of a trap, let the stoat go, and caught his own finger; but he jumped up, and ran after tom; and considering what he said, and how he looked, i should have been sorry for tom if he had caught him.
sir john looked out of his study window -lrb- for he was an early old gentleman -rrb- and up at the nurse, and a marten dropped mud in his eye, so that he had at last to send for the doctor; and yet he ran out, and gave chase to tom.
the irishwoman, too, was walking up to the house to beg, -- she must have got round by some byway -- but she threw away her bundle, and gave chase to tom likewise.
only my lady did not give chase; for when she had put her head out of the window, her night-wig fell into the garden, and she had to ring up her lady's - maid, and send her down for it privately, which quite put her out of the running, so that she came in nowhere, and is consequently not placed.
in a word, never was there heard at hall place -- not even when the fox was killed in the conservatory, among acres of broken glass, and tons of smashed flower-pots -- such a noise, row, hubbub, babel, shindy, hullabaloo, stramash, charivari, and total contempt of dignity, repose, and order, as that day, when grimes, gardener, the groom, the dairymaid, sir john, the steward, the ploughman, the keeper, and the irishwoman, all ran up the park, shouting, "stop thief," in the belief that tom had at least a thousand pounds" worth of jewels in his empty pockets; and the very magpies and jays followed tom up, screaking and screaming, as if he were a hunted fox, beginning to droop his brush.
and all the while poor tom paddled up the park with his little bare feet, like a small black gorilla fleeing to the forest.
alas for him!
there was no big father gorilla therein to take his part -- to scratch out the gardener's inside with one paw, toss the dairymaid into a tree with another, and wrench off sir john's head with a third, while he cracked the keeper's skull with his teeth as easily as if it had been a cocoa-nut or a paving-stone.
however, tom did not remember ever having had a father; so he did not look for one, and expected to have to take care of himself; while as for running, he could keep up for a couple of miles with any stage-coach, if there was the chance of a copper or a cigar - end, and turn coach-wheels on his hands and feet ten times following, which is more than you can do.
wherefore his pursuers found it very difficult to catch him; and we will hope that they did not catch him at all.
tom, of course, made for the woods.
he had never been in a wood in his life; but he was sharp enough to know that he might hide in a bush, or swarm up a tree, and, altogether, had more chance there than in the open.
if he had not known that, he would have been foolisher than a mouse or a minnow.
but when he got into the wood, he found it a very different sort of place from what he had fancied.
he pushed into a thick cover of rhododendrons, and found himself at once caught in a trap.
the boughs laid hold of his legs and arms, poked him in his face and his stomach, made him shut his eyes tight -lrb- though that was no great loss, for he could not see at best a yard before his nose -rrb-; and when he got through the rhododendrons, the hassock-grass and sedges tumbled him over, and cut his poor little fingers afterwards most spitefully; the birches birched him as soundly as if he had been a nobleman at eton, and over the face too -lrb- which is not fair swishing as all brave boys will agree -rrb-; and the lawyers tripped him up, and tore his shins as if they had sharks" teeth -- which lawyers are likely enough to have.
""i must get out of this," thought tom, "or i shall stay here till somebody comes to help me -- which is just what i do n't want."
but how to get out was the difficult matter.
and indeed i do n't think he would ever have got out at all, but have stayed there till the cock-robins covered him with leaves, if he had not suddenly run his head against a wall.
now running your head against a wall is not pleasant, especially if it is a loose wall, with the stones all set on edge, and a sharp cornered one hits you between the eyes and makes you see all manner of beautiful stars.
the stars are very beautiful, certainly; but unfortunately they go in the twenty-thousandth part of a split second, and the pain which comes after them does not.
and so tom hurt his head; but he was a brave boy, and did not mind that a penny.
he guessed that over the wall the cover would end; and up it he went, and over like a squirrel.
and there he was, out on the great grouse-moors, which the country folk called harthover fell -- heather and bog and rock, stretching away and up, up to the very sky.
now, tom was a cunning little fellow -- as cunning as an old exmoor stag.
why not?
though he was but ten years old, he had lived longer than most stags, and had more wits to start with into the bargain.
he knew as well as a stag, that if he backed he might throw the hounds out.
so the first thing he did when he was over the wall was to make the neatest double sharp to his right, and run along under the wall for nearly half a mile.
whereby sir john, and the keeper, and the steward, and the gardener, and the ploughman, and the dairymaid, and all the hue - and-cry together, went on ahead half a mile in the very opposite direction, and inside the wall, leaving him a mile off on the outside; while tom heard their shouts die away in the woods and chuckled to himself merrily.
at last he came to a dip in the land, and went to the bottom of it, and then he turned bravely away from the wall and up the moor; for he knew that he had put a hill between him and his enemies, and could go on without their seeing him.
but the irishwoman, alone of them all, had seen which way tom went.
she had kept ahead of every one the whole time; and yet she neither walked nor ran.
she went along quite smoothly and gracefully, while her feet twinkled past each other so fast that you could not see which was foremost; till every one asked the other who the strange woman was; and all agreed, for want of anything better to say, that she must be in league with tom.
but when she came to the plantation, they lost sight of her; and they could do no less.
for she went quietly over the wall after tom, and followed him wherever he went.
sir john and the rest saw no more of her; and out of sight was out of mind.
and now tom was right away into the heather, over just such a moor as those in which you have been bred, except that there were rocks and stones lying about everywhere, and that, instead of the moor growing flat as he went upwards, it grew more and more broken and hilly, but not so rough but that little tom could jog along well enough, and find time, too, to stare about at the strange place, which was like a new world to him.
he saw great spiders there, with crowns and crosses marked on their backs, who sat in the middle of their webs, and when they saw tom coming, shook them so fast that they became invisible.
then he saw lizards, brown and gray and green, and thought they were snakes, and would sting him; but they were as much frightened as he, and shot away into the heath.
and then, under a rock, he saw a pretty sight -- a great brown, sharp-nosed creature, with a white tag to her brush, and round her four or five smutty little cubs, the funniest fellows tom ever saw.
she lay on her back, rolling about, and stretching out her legs and head and tail in the bright sunshine; and the cubs jumped over her, and ran round her, and nibbled her paws, and lugged her about by the tail; and she seemed to enjoy it mightily.
but one selfish little fellow stole away from the rest to a dead crow close by, and dragged it off to hide it, though it was nearly as big as he was.
whereat all his little brothers set off after him in full cry, and saw tom; and then all ran back, and up jumped mrs. vixen, and caught one up in her mouth, and the rest toddled after her, and into a dark crack in the rocks; and there was an end of the show.
and next he had a fright; for, as he scrambled up a sandy brow -- whirr-poof-poof-cock-cock-kick -- something went off in his face, with a most horrid noise.
he thought the ground had blown up, and the end of the world come.
and when he opened his eyes -lrb- for he shut them very tight -rrb- it was only an old cock-grouse, who had been washing himself in sand, like an arab, for want of water; and who, when tom had all but trodden on him, jumped up with a noise like the express train, leaving his wife and children to shift for themselves, like an old coward, and went off, screaming "cur-ru-u-uck, cur-ru-u-uck -- murder, thieves, fire -- cur-u-uck-cock-kick -- the end of the world is come -- kick-kick - cock-kick."
he was always fancying that the end of the world was come, when anything happened which was farther off than the end of his own nose.
but the end of the world was not come, any more than the twelfth of august was; though the old grouse-cock was quite certain of it.
so the old grouse came back to his wife and family an hour afterwards, and said solemnly, "cock-cock-kick; my dears, the end of the world is not quite come; but i assure you it is coming the day after to-morrow -- cock."
but his wife had heard that so often that she knew all about it, and a little more.
and, besides, she was the mother of a family, and had seven little poults to wash and feed every day; and that made her very practical, and a little sharp-tempered; so all she answered was: "kick-kick-kick -- go and catch spiders, go and catch spiders -- kick."
so tom went on and on, he hardly knew why; but he liked the great wide strange place, and the cool fresh bracing air.
but he went more and more slowly as he got higher up the hill; for now the ground grew very bad indeed.
instead of soft turf and springy heather, he met great patches of flat limestone rock, just like ill-made pavements, with deep cracks between the stones and ledges, filled with ferns; so he had to hop from stone to stone, and now and then he slipped in between, and hurt his little bare toes, though they were tolerably tough ones; but still he would go on and up, he could not tell why.
what would tom have said if he had seen, walking over the moor behind him, the very same irishwoman who had taken his part upon the road?
but whether it was that he looked too little behind him, or whether it was that she kept out of sight behind the rocks and knolls, he never saw her, though she saw him.
and now he began to get a little hungry, and very thirsty; for he had run a long way, and the sun had risen high in heaven, and the rock was as hot as an oven, and the air danced reels over it, as it does over a limekiln, till everything round seemed quivering and melting in the glare.
but he could see nothing to eat anywhere, and still less to drink.
the heath was full of bilberries and whimberries; but they were only in flower yet, for it was june.
and as for water; who can find that on the top of a limestone rock?
now and then he passed by a deep dark swallow-hole, going down into the earth, as if it was the chimney of some dwarfs house underground; and more than once, as he passed, he could hear water falling, trickling, tinkling, many many feet below.
how he longed to get down to it, and cool his poor baked lips!
but, brave little chimney-sweep as he was, he dared not climb down such chimneys as those.
so he went on and on, till his head spun round with the heat, and he thought he heard church-bells ringing a long way off.
""ah!"
he thought, "where there is a church there will be houses and people; and, perhaps, some one will give me a bit and a sup."
so he set off again, to look for the church; for he was sure that he heard the bells quite plain.
and in a minute more, when he looked round, he stopped again, and said, "why, what a big place the world is!"
and so it was; for, from the top of the mountain he could see -- what could he not see?
behind him, far below, was harthover, and the dark woods, and the shining salmon river; and on his left, far below, was the town, and the smoking chimneys of the collieries; and far, far away, the river widened to the shining sea; and little white specks, which were ships, lay on its bosom.
before him lay, spread out like a map, great plains, and farms, and villages, amid dark knots of trees.
they all seemed at his very feet; but he had sense to see that they were long miles away.
and to his right rose moor after moor, hill after hill, till they faded away, blue into blue sky.
but between him and those moors, and really at his very feet, lay something, to which, as soon as tom saw it, he determined to go, for that was the place for him.
a deep, deep green and rocky valley, very narrow, and filled with wood; but through the wood, hundreds of feet below him, he could see a clear stream glance.
oh, if he could but get down to that stream!
then, by the stream, he saw the roof of a little cottage, and a little garden set out in squares and beds.
and there was a tiny little red thing moving in the garden, no bigger than a fly.
as tom looked down, he saw that it was a woman in a red petticoat.
ah!
perhaps she would give him something to eat.
and there were the church-bells ringing again.
surely there must be a village down there.
well, nobody would know him, or what had happened at the place.
the news could not have got there yet, even if sir john had set all the policemen in the county after him; and he could get down there in five minutes.
tom was quite right about the hue-and-cry not having got thither; for he had come without knowing it, the best part of ten miles from harthover; but he was wrong about getting down in five minutes, for the cottage was more than a mile off, and a good thousand feet below.
however, down he went; like a brave little man as he was, though he was very footsore, and tired, and hungry, and thirsty; while the church-bells rang so loud, he began to think that they must be inside his own head, and the river chimed and tinkled far below; and this was the song which it sang: - clear and cool, clear and cool, by laughing shallow, and dreaming pool; cool and clear, cool and clear, by shining shingle, and foaming wear; under the crag where the ouzel sings, and the ivied wall where the church-bell rings, undefiled, for the undefiled; play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.
dank and foul, dank and foul, by the smoky town in its murky cowl; foul and dank, foul and dank, by wharf and sewer and slimy bank; darker and darker the farther i go, baser and baser the richer i grow; who dares sport with the sin-defiled?
shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child.
strong and free, strong and free, the floodgates are open, away to the sea, free and strong, free and strong, cleansing my streams as i hurry along, to the golden sands, and the leaping bar, and the taintless tide that awaits me afar.
as i lose myself in the infinite main, like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again.
undefiled, for the undefiled; play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.
so tom went down; and all the while he never saw the irishwoman going down behind him.
chapter ii "and is there care in heaven?
and is there love in heavenly spirits to these creatures base that may compassion of their evils move?
there is: - else much more wretched were the case of men than beasts: but oh!
the exceeding grace of highest god that loves his creatures so, and all his works with mercy doth embrace, that blessed angels he sends to and fro, to serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe!"
spenser.
a mile off, and a thousand feet down.
so tom found it; though it seemed as if he could have chucked a pebble on to the back of the woman in the red petticoat who was weeding in the garden, or even across the dale to the rocks beyond.
for the bottom of the valley was just one field broad, and on the other side ran the stream; and above it, gray crag, gray down, gray stair, gray moor walled up to heaven.
a quiet, silent, rich, happy place; a narrow crack cut deep into the earth; so deep, and so out of the way, that the bad bogies can hardly find it out.
the name of the place is vendale; and if you want to see it for yourself, you must go up into the high craven, and search from bolland forest north by ingleborough, to the nine standards and cross fell; and if you have not found it, you must turn south, and search the lake mountains, down to scaw fell and the sea; and then, if you have not found it, you must go northward again by merry carlisle, and search the cheviots all across, from annan water to berwick law; and then, whether you have found vendale or not, you will have found such a country, and such a people, as ought to make you proud of being a british boy.
so tom went to go down; and first he went down three hundred feet of steep heather, mixed up with loose brown grindstone, as rough as a file; which was not pleasant to his poor little heels, as he came bump, stump, jump, down the steep.
and still he thought he could throw a stone into the garden.
then he went down three hundred feet of lime-stone terraces, one below the other, as straight as if a carpenter had ruled them with his ruler and then cut them out with his chisel.
there was no heath there, but - first, a little grass slope, covered with the prettiest flowers, rockrose and saxifrage, and thyme and basil, and all sorts of sweet herbs.
then bump down a two-foot step of limestone.
then another bit of grass and flowers.
then bump down a one-foot step.
then another bit of grass and flowers for fifty yards, as steep as the house-roof, where he had to slide down on his dear little tail.
then another step of stone, ten feet high; and there he had to stop himself, and crawl along the edge to find a crack; for if he had rolled over, he would have rolled right into the old woman's garden, and frightened her out of her wits.
then, when he had found a dark narrow crack, full of green-stalked fern, such as hangs in the basket in the drawing-room, and had crawled down through it, with knees and elbows, as he would down a chimney, there was another grass slope, and another step, and so on, till -- oh, dear me!
i wish it was all over; and so did he.
and yet he thought he could throw a stone into the old woman's garden.
at last he came to a bank of beautiful shrubs; white-beam with its great silver-backed leaves, and mountain-ash, and oak; and below them cliff and crag, cliff and crag, with great beds of crown-ferns and wood-sedge; while through the shrubs he could see the stream sparkling, and hear it murmur on the white pebbles.
he did not know that it was three hundred feet below.
you would have been giddy, perhaps, at looking down: but tom was not.
he was a brave little chimney-sweep; and when he found himself on the top of a high cliff, instead of sitting down and crying for his baba -lrb- though he never had had any baba to cry for -rrb-, he said, "ah, this will just suit me!"
though he was very tired; and down he went, by stock and stone, sedge and ledge, bush and rush, as if he had been born a jolly little black ape, with four hands instead of two.
and all the while he never saw the irishwoman coming down behind him.
but he was getting terribly tired now.
the burning sun on the fells had sucked him up; but the damp heat of the woody crag sucked him up still more; and the perspiration ran out of the ends of his fingers and toes, and washed him cleaner than he had been for a whole year.
but, of course, he dirtied everything, terribly as he went.
there has been a great black smudge all down the crag ever since.
and there have been more black beetles in vendale since than ever were known before; all, of course, owing to tom's having blacked the original papa of them all, just as he was setting off to be married, with a sky-blue coat and scarlet leggins, as smart as a gardener's dog with a polyanthus in his mouth.
at last he got to the bottom.
but, behold, it was not the bottom -- as people usually find when they are coming down a mountain.
for at the foot of the crag were heaps and heaps of fallen limestone of every size from that of your head to that of a stage-waggon, with holes between them full of sweet heath-fern; and before tom got through them, he was out in the bright sunshine again; and then he felt, once for all and suddenly, as people generally do, that he was b-e-a-t, beat.
you must expect to be beat a few times in your life, little man, if you live such a life as a man ought to live, let you be as strong and healthy as you may: and when you are, you will find it a very ugly feeling.
i hope that that day you may have a stout staunch friend by you who is not beat; for, if you have not, you had best lie where you are, and wait for better times, as poor tom did.
he could not get on.
the sun was burning, and yet he felt chill all over.
he was quite empty, and yet he felt quite sick.
there was but two hundred yards of smooth pasture between him and the cottage, and yet he could not walk down it.
he could hear the stream murmuring only one field beyond it, and yet it seemed to him as if it was a hundred miles off.
he lay down on the grass till the beetles ran over him, and the flies settled on his nose.
i do n't know when he would have got up again, if the gnats and the midges had not taken compassion on him.
but the gnats blew their trumpets so loud in his ear, and the midges nibbled so at his hands and face wherever they could find a place free from soot, that at last he woke up, and stumbled away, down over a low wall, and into a narrow road, and up to the cottage-door.
and a neat pretty cottage it was, with clipped yew hedges all round the garden, and yews inside too, cut into peacocks and trumpets and teapots and all kinds of queer shapes.
and out of the open door came a noise like that of the frogs on the great-a, when they know that it is going to be scorching hot to-morrow -- and how they know that i do n't know, and you do n't know, and nobody knows.
he came slowly up to the open door, which was all hung round with clematis and roses; and then peeped in, half afraid.
and there sat by the empty fireplace, which was filled with a pot of sweet herbs, the nicest old woman that ever was seen, in her red petticoat, and short dimity bedgown, and clean white cap, with a black silk handkerchief over it, tied under her chin.
at her feet sat the grandfather of all the cats; and opposite her sat, on two benches, twelve or fourteen neat, rosy, chubby little children, learning their chris-cross-row; and gabble enough they made about it.
such a pleasant cottage it was, with a shiny clean stone floor, and curious old prints on the walls, and an old black oak sideboard full of bright pewter and brass dishes, and a cuckoo clock in the corner, which began shouting as soon as tom appeared: not that it was frightened at tom, but that it was just eleven o'clock.
all the children started at tom's dirty black figure, -- the girls began to cry, and the boys began to laugh, and all pointed at him rudely enough; but tom was too tired to care for that.
""what art thou, and what dost want?"
cried the old dame.
""a chimney-sweep!
away with thee!
i'll have no sweeps here."
""water," said poor little tom, quite faint.
""water?
there's plenty i" the beck," she said, quite sharply.
""but i ca n't get there; i'm most clemmed with hunger and drought."
and tom sank down upon the door-step, and laid his head against the post.
and the old dame looked at him through her spectacles one minute, and two, and three; and then she said, "he's sick; and a bairn's a bairn, sweep or none."
""water," said tom.
""god forgive me!"
and she put by her spectacles, and rose, and came to tom.
""water's bad for thee; i'll give thee milk."
and she toddled off into the next room, and brought a cup of milk and a bit of bread.
tom drank the milk off at one draught, and then looked up, revived.
""where didst come from?"
said the dame.
""over fell, there," said tom, and pointed up into the sky.
""over harthover?
and down lewthwaite crag?
art sure thou art not lying?"
""why should i?"
said tom, and leant his head against the post.
""and how got ye up there?"
""i came over from the place;" and tom was so tired and desperate he had no heart or time to think of a story, so he told all the truth in a few words.
""bless thy little heart!
and thou hast not been stealing, then?"
""no."
""bless thy little heart!
and i'll warrant not.
why, god's guided the bairn, because he was innocent!
away from the place, and over harthover fell, and down lewthwaite crag!
who ever heard the like, if god had n't led him?
why dost not eat thy bread?"
""i ca n't."
""it's good enough, for i made it myself."
""i ca n't," said tom, and he laid his head on his knees, and then asked - "is it sunday?"
""no, then; why should it be?"
""because i hear the church-bells ringing so."
""bless thy pretty heart!
the bairn's sick.
come wi" me, and i'll hap thee up somewhere.
if thou wert a bit cleaner i'd put thee in my own bed, for the lord's sake.
but come along here."
but when tom tried to get up, he was so tired and giddy that she had to help him and lead him.
she put him in an outhouse upon soft sweet hay and an old rug, and bade him sleep off his walk, and she would come to him when school was over, in an hour's time.
and so she went in again, expecting tom to fall fast asleep at once.
but tom did not fall asleep.
instead of it he turned and tossed and kicked about in the strangest way, and felt so hot all over that he longed to get into the river and cool himself; and then he fell half asleep, and dreamt that he heard the little white lady crying to him, "oh, you're so dirty; go and be washed;" and then that he heard the irishwoman saying, "those that wish to be clean, clean they will be."
and then he heard the church-bells ring so loud, close to him too, that he was sure it must be sunday, in spite of what the old dame had said; and he would go to church, and see what a church was like inside, for he had never been in one, poor little fellow, in all his life.
but the people would never let him come in, all over soot and dirt like that.
he must go to the river and wash first.
and he said out loud again and again, though being half asleep he did not know it, "i must be clean, i must be clean."
and all of a sudden he found himself, not in the outhouse on the hay, but in the middle of a meadow, over the road, with the stream just before him, saying continually, "i must be clean, i must be clean."
he had got there on his own legs, between sleep and awake, as children will often get out of bed, and go about the room, when they are not quite well.
but he was not a bit surprised, and went on to the bank of the brook, and lay down on the grass, and looked into the clear, clear limestone water, with every pebble at the bottom bright and clean, while the little silver trout dashed about in fright at the sight of his black face; and he dipped his hand in and found it so cool, cool, cool; and he said, "i will be a fish; i will swim in the water; i must be clean, i must be clean."
so he pulled off all his clothes in such haste that he tore some of them, which was easy enough with such ragged old things.
and he put his poor hot sore feet into the water; and then his legs; and the farther he went in, the more the church-bells rang in his head.
""ah," said tom, "i must be quick and wash myself; the bells are ringing quite loud now; and they will stop soon, and then the door will be shut, and i shall never be able to get in at all."
tom was mistaken: for in england the church doors are left open all service time, for everybody who likes to come in, churchman or dissenter; ay, even if he were a turk or a heathen; and if any man dared to turn him out, as long as he behaved quietly, the good old english law would punish that man, as he deserved, for ordering any peaceable person out of god's house, which belongs to all alike.
but tom did not know that, any more than he knew a great deal more which people ought to know.
and all the while he never saw the irishwoman, not behind him this time, but before.
for just before he came to the river side, she had stept down into the cool clear water; and her shawl and her petticoat floated off her, and the green water-weeds floated round her sides, and the white water-lilies floated round her head, and the fairies of the stream came up from the bottom and bore her away and down upon their arms; for she was the queen of them all; and perhaps of more besides.
""where have you been?"
they asked her.
""i have been smoothing sick folks" pillows, and whispering sweet dreams into their ears; opening cottage casements, to let out the stifling air; coaxing little children away from gutters, and foul pools where fever breeds; turning women from the gin-shop door, and staying men's hands as they were going to strike their wives; doing all i can to help those who will not help themselves: and little enough that is, and weary work for me.
but i have brought you a new little brother, and watched him safe all the way here."
then all the fairies laughed for joy at the thought that they had a little brother coming.
""but mind, maidens, he must not see you, or know that you are here.
he is but a savage now, and like the beasts which perish; and from the beasts which perish he must learn.
so you must not play with him, or speak to him, or let him see you: but only keep him from being harmed."
then the fairies were sad, because they could not play with their new brother, but they always did what they were told.
and their queen floated away down the river; and whither she went, thither she came.
but all this tom, of course, never saw or heard: and perhaps if he had it would have made little difference in the story; for was so hot and thirsty, and longed so to be clean for once, that he tumbled himself as quick as he could into the clear cool stream.
and he had not been in it two minutes before he fell fast asleep, into the quietest, sunniest, cosiest sleep that ever he had in his life; and he dreamt about the green meadows by which he had walked that morning, and the tall elm-trees, and the sleeping cows; and after that he dreamt of nothing at all.
the reason of his falling into such a delightful sleep is very simple; and yet hardly any one has found it out.
it was merely that the fairies took him.
some people think that there are no fairies.
cousin cramchild tells little folks so in his conversations.
well, perhaps there are none -- in boston, u.s., where he was raised.
there are only a clumsy lot of spirits there, who ca n't make people hear without thumping on the table: but they get their living thereby, and i suppose that is all they want.
and aunt agitate, in her arguments on political economy, says there are none.
well, perhaps there are none -- in her political economy.
but it is a wide world, my little man -- and thank heaven for it, for else, between crinolines and theories, some of us would get squashed -- and plenty of room in it for fairies, without people seeing them; unless, of course, they look in the right place.
the most wonderful and the strongest things in the world, you know, are just the things which no one can see.
there is life in you; and it is the life in you which makes you grow, and move, and think: and yet you ca n't see it.
and there is steam in a steam-engine; and that is what makes it move: and yet you ca n't see it; and so there may be fairies in the world, and they may be just what makes the world go round to the old tune of "c'est l'amour, l'amour, l'amour qui fait la monde a la ronde:" and yet no one may be able to see them except those whose hearts are going round to that same tune.
at all events, we will make believe that there are fairies in the world.
it will not be the last time by many a one that we shall have to make believe.
and yet, after all, there is no need for that.
there must be fairies; for this is a fairy tale: and how can one have a fairy tale if there are no fairies?
you do n't see the logic of that?
perhaps not.
then please not to see the logic of a great many arguments exactly like it, which you will hear before your beard is gray.
the kind old dame came back at twelve, when school was over, to look at tom: but there was no tom there.
she looked about for his footprints; but the ground was so hard that there was no slot, as they say in dear old north devon.
and if you grow up to be a brave healthy man, you may know some day what no slot means, and know too, i hope, what a slot does mean -- a broad slot, with blunt claws, which makes a man put out his cigar, and set his teeth, and tighten his girths, when he sees it; and what his rights mean, if he has them, brow, bay, tray, and points; and see something worth seeing between haddon wood and countisbury cliff, with good mr. palk collyns to show you the way, and mend your bones as fast as you smash them.
only when that jolly day comes, please do n't break your neck; stogged in a mire you never will be, i trust; for you are a heath-cropper bred and born.
so the old dame went in again quite sulky, thinking that little tom had tricked her with a false story, and shammed ill, and then run away again.
but she altered her mind the next day.
for, when sir john and the rest of them had run themselves out of breath, and lost tom, they went back again, looking very foolish.
and they looked more foolish still when sir john heard more of the story from the nurse; and more foolish still, again, when they heard the whole story from miss ellie, the little lady in white.
all she had seen was a poor little black chimney-sweep, crying and sobbing, and going to get up the chimney again.
of course, she was very much frightened: and no wonder.
but that was all.
the boy had taken nothing in the room; by the mark of his little sooty feet, they could see that he had never been off the hearthrug till the nurse caught hold of him.
it was all a mistake.
so sir john told grimes to go home, and promised him five shillings if he would bring the boy quietly up to him, without beating him, that he might be sure of the truth.
for he took for granted, and grimes too, that tom had made his way home.
but no tom came back to mr. grimes that evening; and he went to the police-office, to tell them to look out for the boy.
but no tom was heard of.
as for his having gone over those great fells to vendale, they no more dreamed of that than of his having gone to the moon.
so mr. grimes came up to harthover next day with a very sour face; but when he got there, sir john was over the hills and far away; and mr. grimes had to sit in the outer servants" hall all day, and drink strong ale to wash away his sorrows; and they were washed away long before sir john came back.
for good sir john had slept very badly that night; and he said to his lady, "my dear, the boy must have got over into the grouse - moors, and lost himself; and he lies very heavily on my conscience, poor little lad.
but i know what i will do."
so, at five the next morning up he got, and into his bath, and into his shooting-jacket and gaiters, and into the stableyard, like a fine old english gentleman, with a face as red as a rose, and a hand as hard as a table, and a back as broad as a bullock's; and bade them bring his shooting pony, and the keeper to come on his pony, and the huntsman, and the first whip, and the second whip, and the under-keeper with the bloodhound in a leash -- a great dog as tall as a calf, of the colour of a gravel-walk, with mahogany ears and nose, and a throat like a church-bell.
they took him up to the place where tom had gone into the wood; and there the hound lifted up his mighty voice, and told them all he knew.
then he took them to the place where tom had climbed the wall; and they shoved it down, and all got through.
and then the wise dog took them over the moor, and over the fells, step by step, very slowly; for the scent was a day old, you know, and very light from the heat and drought.
but that was why cunning old sir john started at five in the morning.
and at last he came to the top of lewthwaite crag, and there he bayed, and looked up in their faces, as much as to say, "i tell you he is gone down here!"
they could hardly believe that tom would have gone so far; and when they looked at that awful cliff, they could never believe that he would have dared to face it.
but if the dog said so, it must be true.
""heaven forgive us!"
said sir john.
""if we find him at all, we shall find him lying at the bottom."
and he slapped his great hand upon his great thigh, and said - "who will go down over lewthwaite crag, and see if that boy is alive?
oh that i were twenty years younger, and i would go down myself!"
and so he would have done, as well as any sweep in the county.
then he said - "twenty pounds to the man who brings me that boy alive!"
and as was his way, what he said he meant.
now among the lot was a little groom-boy, a very little groom indeed; and he was the same who had ridden up the court, and told tom to come to the hall; and he said - "twenty pounds or none, i will go down over lewthwaite crag, if it's only for the poor boy's sake.
for he was as civil a spoken little chap as ever climbed a flue."
so down over lewthwaite crag he went: a very smart groom he was at the top, and a very shabby one at the bottom; for he tore his gaiters, and he tore his breeches, and he tore his jacket, and he burst his braces, and he burst his boots, and he lost his hat, and what was worst of all, he lost his shirt pin, which he prized very much, for it was gold, and he had won it in a raffle at malton, and there was a figure at the top of it, of t "ould mare, noble old beeswing herself, as natural as life; so it was a really severe loss: but he never saw anything of tom.
and all the while sir john and the rest were riding round, full three miles to the right, and back again, to get into vendale, and to the foot of the crag.
when they came to the old dame's school, all the children came out to see.
and the old dame came out too; and when she saw sir john, she curtsied very low, for she was a tenant of his.
""well, dame, and how are you?"
said sir john.
""blessings on you as broad as your back, harthover," says she -- she did n't call him sir john, but only harthover, for that is the fashion in the north country -- "and welcome into vendale: but you're no hunting the fox this time of the year?"
""i am hunting, and strange game too," said he.
""blessings on your heart, and what makes you look so sad the morn?"
""i'm looking for a lost child, a chimney-sweep, that is run away."
""oh, harthover, harthover," says she, "ye were always a just man and a merciful; and ye'll no harm the poor little lad if i give you tidings of him?"
""not i, not i, dame.
i'm afraid we hunted him out of the house all on a miserable mistake, and the hound has brought him to the top of lewthwaite crag, and --" whereat the old dame broke out crying, without letting him finish his story.
""so he told me the truth after all, poor little dear!
ah, first thoughts are best, and a body's heart'll guide them right, if they will but hearken to it."
and then she told sir john all.
""bring the dog here, and lay him on," said sir john, without another word, and he set his teeth very hard.
and the dog opened at once; and went away at the back of the cottage, over the road, and over the meadow, and through a bit of alder copse; and there, upon an alder stump, they saw tom's clothes lying.
and then they knew as much about it all as there was any need to know.
and tom?
ah, now comes the most wonderful part of this wonderful story.
tom, when he woke, for of course he woke -- children always wake after they have slept exactly as long as is good for them -- found himself swimming about in the stream, being about four inches, or -- that i may be accurate -- 3.87902 inches long and having round the parotid region of his fauces a set of external gills -lrb- i hope you understand all the big words -rrb- just like those of a sucking eft, which he mistook for a lace frill, till he pulled at them, found he hurt himself, and made up his mind that they were part of himself, and best left alone.
in fact, the fairies had turned him into a water-baby.
a water-baby?
you never heard of a water-baby.
perhaps not.
that is the very reason why this story was written.
there are a great many things in the world which you never heard of; and a great many more which nobody ever heard of; and a great many things, too, which nobody will ever hear of, at least until the coming of the cocqcigrues, when man shall be the measure of all things.
""but there are no such things as water-babies."
how do you know that?
have you been there to see?
and if you had been there to see, and had seen none, that would not prove that there were none.
if mr. garth does not find a fox in eversley wood -- as folks sometimes fear he never will -- that does not prove that there are no such things as foxes.
and as is eversley wood to all the woods in england, so are the waters we know to all the waters in the world.
and no one has a right to say that no water - babies exist, till they have seen no water-babies existing; which is quite a different thing, mind, from not seeing water-babies; and a thing which nobody ever did, or perhaps ever will do.
""but surely if there were water-babies, somebody would have caught one at least?"
well.
how do you know that somebody has not?
""but they would have put it into spirits, or into the illustrated news, or perhaps cut it into two halves, poor dear little thing, and sent one to professor owen, and one to professor huxley, to see what they would each say about it."
ah, my dear little man!
that does not follow at all, as you will see before the end of the story.
""but a water-baby is contrary to nature."
well, but, my dear little man, you must learn to talk about such things, when you grow older, in a very different way from that.
you must not talk about "ai n't" and "ca n't" when you speak of this great wonderful world round you, of which the wisest man knows only the very smallest corner, and is, as the great sir isaac newton said, only a child picking up pebbles on the shore of a boundless ocean.
you must not say that this can not be, or that that is contrary to nature.
you do not know what nature is, or what she can do; and nobody knows; not even sir roderick murchison, or professor owen, or professor sedgwick, or professor huxley, or mr. darwin, or professor faraday, or mr. grove, or any other of the great men whom good boys are taught to respect.
they are very wise men; and you must listen respectfully to all they say: but even if they should say, which i am sure they never would, "that can not exist.
that is contrary to nature," you must wait a little, and see; for perhaps even they may be wrong.
it is only children who read aunt agitate's arguments, or cousin cramchild's conversations; or lads who go to popular lectures, and see a man pointing at a few big ugly pictures on the wall, or making nasty smells with bottles and squirts, for an hour or two, and calling that anatomy or chemistry - - who talk about "can not exist," and "contrary to nature."
wise men are afraid to say that there is anything contrary to nature, except what is contrary to mathematical truth; for two and two can not make five, and two straight lines can not join twice, and a part can not be as great as the whole, and so on -lrb- at least, so it seems at present -rrb-: but the wiser men are, the less they talk about "can not."
that is a very rash, dangerous word, that "can not"; and if people use it too often, the queen of all the fairies, who makes the clouds thunder and the fleas bite, and takes just as much trouble about one as about the other, is apt to astonish them suddenly by showing them, that though they say she can not, yet she can, and what is more, will, whether they approve or not.
and therefore it is, that there are dozens and hundreds of things in the world which we should certainly have said were contrary to nature, if we did not see them going on under our eyes all day long.
if people had never seen little seeds grow into great plants and trees, of quite different shape from themselves, and these trees again produce fresh seeds, to grow into fresh trees, they would have said, "the thing can not be; it is contrary to nature."
and they would have been quite as right in saying so, as in saying that most other things can not be.
or suppose again, that you had come, like m. du chaillu, a traveller from unknown parts; and that no human being had ever seen or heard of an elephant.
and suppose that you described him to people, and said, "this is the shape, and plan, and anatomy of the beast, and of his feet, and of his trunk, and of his grinders, and of his tusks, though they are not tusks at all, but two fore teeth run mad; and this is the section of his skull, more like a mushroom than a reasonable skull of a reasonable or unreasonable beast; and so forth, and so forth; and though the beast -lrb- which i assure you i have seen and shot -rrb- is first cousin to the little hairy coney of scripture, second cousin to a pig, and -lrb- i suspect -rrb- thirteenth or fourteenth cousin to a rabbit, yet he is the wisest of all beasts, and can do everything save read, write, and cast accounts."
people would surely have said, "nonsense; your elephant is contrary to nature;" and have thought you were telling stories -- as the french thought of le vaillant when he came back to paris and said that he had shot a giraffe; and as the king of the cannibal islands thought of the english sailor, when he said that in his country water turned to marble, and rain fell as feathers.
they would tell you, the more they knew of science, "your elephant is an impossible monster, contrary to the laws of comparative anatomy, as far as yet known."
to which you would answer the less, the more you thought.
did not learned men, too, hold, till within the last twenty-five years, that a flying dragon was an impossible monster?
and do we not now know that there are hundreds of them found fossil up and down the world?
people call them pterodactyles: but that is only because they are ashamed to call them flying dragons, after denying so long that flying dragons could exist.
the truth is, that folks" fancy that such and such things can not be, simply because they have not seen them, is worth no more than a savage's fancy that there can not be such a thing as a locomotive, because he never saw one running wild in the forest.
wise men know that their business is to examine what is, and not to settle what is not.
they know that there are elephants; they know that there have been flying dragons; and the wiser they are, the less inclined they will be to say positively that there are no water-babies.
no water-babies, indeed?
why, wise men of old said that everything on earth had its double in the water; and you may see that that is, if not quite true, still quite as true as most other theories which you are likely to hear for many a day.
there are land-babies -- then why not water-babies?
are there not water-rats, water-flies, water-crickets, water-crabs, water-tortoises, water-scorpions, water-tigers and water-hogs, water-cats and water-dogs, sea-lions and sea-bears, sea-horses and sea-elephants, sea-mice and sea - urchins, sea-razors and sea-pens, sea-combs and sea-fans; and of plants, are there not water-grass, and water-crowfoot, water - milfoil, and so on, without end?
""but all these things are only nicknames; the water things are not really akin to the land things."
that's not always true.
they are, in millions of cases, not only of the same family, but actually the same individual creatures.
do not even you know that a green drake, and an alder-fly, and a dragon-fly, live under water till they change their skins, just as tom changed his?
and if a water animal can continually change into a land animal, why should not a land animal sometimes change into a water animal?
do n't be put down by any of cousin cramchild's arguments, but stand up to him like a man, and answer him -lrb- quite respectfully, of course -rrb- thus: - if cousin cramchild says, that if there are water-babies, they must grow into water-men, ask him how he knows that they do not?
and then, how he knows that they must, any more than the proteus of the adelsberg caverns grows into a perfect newt.
if he says that it is too strange a transformation for a land-baby to turn into a water-baby, ask him if he ever heard of the transformation of syllis, or the distomas, or the common jelly - fish, of which m. quatrefages says excellently well -- "who would not exclaim that a miracle had come to pass, if he saw a reptile come out of the egg dropped by the hen in his poultry-yard, and the reptile give birth at once to an indefinite number of fishes and birds?
yet the history of the jelly-fish is quite as wonderful as that would be."
ask him if he knows about all this; and if he does not, tell him to go and look for himself; and advise him -lrb- very respectfully, of course -rrb- to settle no more what strange things can not happen, till he has seen what strange things do happen every day.
if he says that things can not degrade, that is, change downwards into lower forms, ask him, who told him that water-babies were lower than land-babies?
but even if they were, does he know about the strange degradation of the common goose-barnacles, which one finds sticking on ships" bottoms; or the still stranger degradation of some cousins of theirs, of which one hardly likes to talk, so shocking and ugly it is?
and, lastly, if he says -lrb- as he most certainly will -rrb- that these transformations only take place in the lower animals, and not in the higher, say that that seems to little boys, and to some grown people, a very strange fancy.
for if the changes of the lower animals are so wonderful, and so difficult to discover, why should not there be changes in the higher animals far more wonderful, and far more difficult to discover?
and may not man, the crown and flower of all things, undergo some change as much more wonderful than all the rest, as the great exhibition is more wonderful than a rabbit-burrow?
let him answer that.
and if he says -lrb- as he will -rrb- that not having seen such a change in his experience, he is not bound to believe it, ask him respectfully, where his microscope has been?
does not each of us, in coming into this world, go through a transformation just as wonderful as that of a sea-egg, or a butterfly?
and do not reason and analogy, as well as scripture, tell us that that transformation is not the last?
and that, though what we shall be, we know not, yet we are here but as the crawling caterpillar, and shall be hereafter as the perfect fly.
the old greeks, heathens as they were, saw as much as that two thousand years ago; and i care very little for cousin cramchild, if he sees even less than they.
and so forth, and so forth, till he is quite cross.
and then tell him that if there are no water-babies, at least there ought to be; and that, at least, he can not answer.
and meanwhile, my dear little man, till you know a great deal more about nature than professor owen and professor huxley put together, do n't tell me about what can not be, or fancy that anything is too wonderful to be true.
""we are fearfully and wonderfully made," said old david; and so we are; and so is everything around us, down to the very deal table.
yes; much more fearfully and wonderfully made, already, is the table, as it stands now, nothing but a piece of dead deal wood, than if, as foxes say, and geese believe, spirits could make it dance, or talk to you by rapping on it.
am i in earnest?
oh dear no!
do n't you know that this is a fairy tale, and all fun and pretence; and that you are not to believe one word of it, even if it is true?
but at all events, so it happened to tom.
and, therefore, the keeper, and the groom, and sir john made a great mistake, and were very unhappy -lrb- sir john at least -rrb- without any reason, when they found a black thing in the water, and said it was tom's body, and that he had been drowned.
they were utterly mistaken.
tom was quite alive; and cleaner, and merrier, than he ever had been.
the fairies had washed him, you see, in the swift river, so thoroughly, that not only his dirt, but his whole husk and shell had been washed quite off him, and the pretty little real tom was washed out of the inside of it, and swam away, as a caddis does when its case of stones and silk is bored through, and away it goes on its back, paddling to the shore, there to split its skin, and fly away as a caperer, on four fawn-coloured wings, with long legs and horns.
they are foolish fellows, the caperers, and fly into the candle at night, if you leave the door open.
we will hope tom will be wiser, now he has got safe out of his sooty old shell.
but good sir john did not understand all this, not being a fellow of the linnaean society; and he took it into his head that tom was drowned.
when they looked into the empty pockets of his shell, and found no jewels there, nor money -- nothing but three marbles, and a brass button with a string to it -- then sir john did something as like crying as ever he did in his life, and blamed himself more bitterly than he need have done.
so he cried, and the groom-boy cried, and the huntsman cried, and the dame cried, and the little girl cried, and the dairymaid cried, and the old nurse cried -lrb- for it was somewhat her fault -rrb-, and my lady cried, for though people have wigs, that is no reason why they should not have hearts; but the keeper did not cry, though he had been so good-natured to tom the morning before; for he was so dried up with running after poachers, that you could no more get tears out of him than milk out of leather: and grimes did not cry, for sir john gave him ten pounds, and he drank it all in a week.
sir john sent, far and wide, to find tom's father and mother: but he might have looked till doomsday for them, for one was dead, and the other was in botany bay.
and the little girl would not play with her dolls for a whole week, and never forgot poor little tom.
and soon my lady put a pretty little tombstone over tom's shell in the little churchyard in vendale, where the old dalesmen all sleep side by side between the lime-stone crags.
and the dame decked it with garlands every sunday, till she grew so old that she could not stir abroad; then the little children decked it, for her.
and always she sang an old old song, as she sat spinning what she called her wedding-dress.
the children could not understand it, but they liked it none the less for that; for it was very sweet, and very sad; and that was enough for them.
and these are the words of it: - when all the world is young, lad, and all the trees are green; and every goose a swan, lad, and every lass a queen; then hey for boot and horse, lad, and round the world away; young blood must have its course, lad, and every dog his day.
when all the world is old, lad, and all the trees are brown; and all the sport is stale, lad, and all the wheels run down; creep home, and take your place there, the spent and maimed among: god grant you find one face there, you loved when all was young.
those are the words: but they are only the body of it: the soul of the song was the dear old woman's sweet face, and sweet voice, and the sweet old air to which she sang; and that, alas!
one can not put on paper.
and at last she grew so stiff and lame, that the angels were forced to carry her; and they helped her on with her wedding-dress, and carried her up over harthover fells, and a long way beyond that too; and there was a new schoolmistress in vendale, and we will hope that she was not certificated.
and all the while tom was swimming about in the river, with a pretty little lace-collar of gills about his neck, as lively as a grig, and as clean as a fresh-run salmon.
now if you do n't like my story, then go to the schoolroom and learn your multiplication-table, and see if you like that better.
some people, no doubt, would do so.
so much the better for us, if not for them.
it takes all sorts, they say, to make a world.
chapter iii "he prayeth well who loveth well both men and bird and beast; he prayeth best who loveth best all things both great and small: for the dear god who loveth us, he made and loveth all."
coleridge.
tom was now quite amphibious.
you do not know what that means?
you had better, then, ask the nearest government pupil-teacher, who may possibly answer you smartly enough, thus - "amphibious.
adjective, derived from two greek words, amphi, a fish, and bios, a beast.
an animal supposed by our ignorant ancestors to be compounded of a fish and a beast; which therefore, like the hippopotamus, ca n't live on the land, and dies in the water."
however that may be, tom was amphibious: and what is better still, he was clean.
for the first time in his life, he felt how comfortable it was to have nothing on him but himself.
but he only enjoyed it: he did not know it, or think about it; just as you enjoy life and health, and yet never think about being alive and healthy; and may it be long before you have to think about it!
he did not remember having ever been dirty.
indeed, he did not remember any of his old troubles, being tired, or hungry, or beaten, or sent up dark chimneys.
since that sweet sleep, he had forgotten all about his master, and harthover place, and the little white girl, and in a word, all that had happened to him when he lived before; and what was best of all, he had forgotten all the bad words which he had learned from grimes, and the rude boys with whom he used to play.
that is not strange: for you know, when you came into this world, and became a land-baby, you remembered nothing.
so why should he, when he became a water-baby?
then have you lived before?
my dear child, who can tell?
one can only tell that, by remembering something which happened where we lived before; and as we remember nothing, we know nothing about it; and no book, and no man, can ever tell us certainly.
there was a wise man once, a very wise man, and a very good man, who wrote a poem about the feelings which some children have about having lived before; and this is what he said - "our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; the soul that rises with us, our life's star, hath elsewhere had its setting, and cometh from afar: not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory, do we come from god, who is our home."
there, you can know no more than that.
but if i was you, i would believe that.
for then the great fairy science, who is likely to be queen of all the fairies for many a year to come, can only do you good, and never do you harm; and instead of fancying with some people, that your body makes your soul, as if a steam-engine could make its own coke; or, with some people, that your soul has nothing to do with your body, but is only stuck into it like a pin into a pincushion, to fall out with the first shake; -- you will believe the one true, orthodox, inductive, rational, deductive, philosophical, seductive, logical, productive, irrefragable, salutary, nominalistic, comfortable, realistic, and on-all-accounts-to-be-received doctrine of this wonderful fairy tale; which is, that your soul makes your body, just as a snail makes his shell.
for the rest, it is enough for us to be sure that whether or not we lived before, we shall live again; though not, i hope, as poor little heathen tom did.
for he went downward into the water: but we, i hope, shall go upward to a very different place.
but tom was very happy in the water.
he had been sadly overworked in the land-world; and so now, to make up for that, he had nothing but holidays in the water-world for a long, long time to come.
he had nothing to do now but enjoy himself, and look at all the pretty things which are to be seen in the cool clear water-world, where the sun is never too hot, and the frost is never too cold.
and what did he live on?
water-cresses, perhaps; or perhaps water - gruel, and water-milk; too many land-babies do so likewise.
but we do not know what one-tenth of the water-things eat; so we are not answerable for the water-babies.
sometimes he went along the smooth gravel water-ways, looking at the crickets which ran in and out among the stones, as rabbits do on land; or he climbed over the ledges of rock, and saw the sand - pipes hanging in thousands, with every one of them a pretty little head and legs peeping out; or he went into a still corner, and watched the caddises eating dead sticks as greedily as you would eat plum-pudding, and building their houses with silk and glue.
very fanciful ladies they were; none of them would keep to the same materials for a day.
one would begin with some pebbles; then she would stick on a piece of green wood; then she found a shell, and stuck it on too; and the poor shell was alive, and did not like at all being taken to build houses with: but the caddis did not let him have any voice in the matter, being rude and selfish, as vain people are apt to be; then she stuck on a piece of rotten wood, then a very smart pink stone, and so on, till she was patched all over like an irishman's coat.
then she found a long straw, five times as long as herself, and said, "hurrah!
my sister has a tail, and i'll have one too;" and she stuck it on her back, and marched about with it quite proud, though it was very inconvenient indeed.
and, at that, tails became all the fashion among the caddis-baits in that pool, as they were at the end of the long pond last may, and they all toddled about with long straws sticking out behind, getting between each other's legs, and tumbling over each other, and looking so ridiculous, that tom laughed at them till he cried, as we did.
but they were quite right, you know; for people must always follow the fashion, even if it be spoon-bonnets.
then sometimes he came to a deep still reach; and there he saw the water-forests.
they would have looked to you only little weeds: but tom, you must remember, was so little that everything looked a hundred times as big to him as it does to you, just as things do to a minnow, who sees and catches the little water-creatures which you can only see in a microscope.
and in the water-forest he saw the water-monkeys and water - squirrels -lrb- they had all six legs, though; everything almost has six legs in the water, except efts and water-babies -rrb-; and nimbly enough they ran among the branches.
there were water-flowers there too, in thousands; and tom tried to pick them: but as soon as he touched them, they drew themselves in and turned into knots of jelly; and then tom saw that they were all alive -- bells, and stars, and wheels, and flowers, of all beautiful shapes and colours; and all alive and busy, just as tom was.
so now he found that there was a great deal more in the world than he had fancied at first sight.
there was one wonderful little fellow, too, who peeped out of the top of a house built of round bricks.
he had two big wheels, and one little one, all over teeth, spinning round and round like the wheels in a thrashing-machine; and tom stood and stared at him, to see what he was going to make with his machinery.
and what do you think he was doing?
brick-making.
with his two big wheels he swept together all the mud which floated in the water: all that was nice in it he put into his stomach and ate; and all the mud he put into the little wheel on his breast, which really was a round hole set with teeth; and there he spun it into a neat hard round brick; and then he took it and stuck it on the top of his house - wall, and set to work to make another.
now was not he a clever little fellow?
tom thought so: but when he wanted to talk to him the brick-maker was much too busy and proud of his work to take notice of him.
now you must know that all the things under the water talk; only not such a language as ours; but such as horses, and dogs, and cows, and birds talk to each other; and tom soon learned to understand them and talk to them; so that he might have had very pleasant company if he had only been a good boy.
but i am sorry to say, he was too like some other little boys, very fond of hunting and tormenting creatures for mere sport.
some people say that boys can not help it; that it is nature, and only a proof that we are all originally descended from beasts of prey.
but whether it is nature or not, little boys can help it, and must help it.
for if they have naughty, low, mischievous tricks in their nature, as monkeys have, that is no reason why they should give way to those tricks like monkeys, who know no better.
and therefore they must not torment dumb creatures; for if they do, a certain old lady who is coming will surely give them exactly what they deserve.
but tom did not know that; and he pecked and howked the poor water - things about sadly, till they were all afraid of him, and got out of his way, or crept into their shells; so he had no one to speak to or play with.
the water-fairies, of course, were very sorry to see him so unhappy, and longed to take him, and tell him how naughty he was, and teach him to be good, and to play and romp with him too: but they had been forbidden to do that.
tom had to learn his lesson for himself by sound and sharp experience, as many another foolish person has to do, though there may be many a kind heart yearning over them all the while, and longing to teach them what they can only teach themselves.
at last one day he found a caddis, and wanted it to peep out of its house: but its house-door was shut.
he had never seen a caddis with a house-door before: so what must he do, the meddlesome little fellow, but pull it open, to see what the poor lady was doing inside.
what a shame!
how should you like to have any one breaking your bedroom-door in, to see how you looked when you where in bed?
so tom broke to pieces the door, which was the prettiest little grating of silk, stuck all over with shining bits of crystal; and when he looked in, the caddis poked out her head, and it had turned into just the shape of a bird's.
but when tom spoke to her she could not answer; for her mouth and face were tight tied up in a new night-cap of neat pink skin.
however, if she did n't answer, all the other caddises did; for they held up their hands and shrieked like the cats in struwelpeter: "oh, you nasty horrid boy; there you are at it again!
and she had just laid herself up for a fortnight's sleep, and then she would have come out with such beautiful wings, and flown about, and laid such lots of eggs: and now you have broken her door, and she ca n't mend it because her mouth is tied up for a fortnight, and she will die.
who sent you here to worry us out of our lives?"
so tom swam away.
he was very much ashamed of himself, and felt all the naughtier; as little boys do when they have done wrong and wo n't say so.
then he came to a pool full of little trout, and began tormenting them, and trying to catch them: but they slipped through his fingers, and jumped clean out of water in their fright.
but as tom chased them, he came close to a great dark hover under an alder root, and out floushed a huge old brown trout ten times as big as he was, and ran right against him, and knocked all the breath out of his body; and i do n't know which was the more frightened of the two.
then he went on sulky and lonely, as he deserved to be; and under a bank he saw a very ugly dirty creature sitting, about half as big as himself; which had six legs, and a big stomach, and a most ridiculous head with two great eyes and a face just like a donkey's.
""oh," said tom, "you are an ugly fellow to be sure!"
and he began making faces at him; and put his nose close to him, and halloed at him, like a very rude boy.
when, hey presto; all the thing's donkey-face came off in a moment, and out popped a long arm with a pair of pincers at the end of it, and caught tom by the nose.
it did not hurt him much; but it held him quite tight.
""yah, ah!
oh, let me go!"
cried tom.
""then let me go," said the creature.
""i want to be quiet.
i want to split."
tom promised to let him alone, and he let go.
""why do you want to split?"
said tom.
""because my brothers and sisters have all split, and turned into beautiful creatures with wings; and i want to split too.
do n't speak to me.
i am sure i shall split.
i will split!"
tom stood still, and watched him.
and he swelled himself, and puffed, and stretched himself out stiff, and at last -- crack, puff, bang -- he opened all down his back, and then up to the top of his head.
and out of his inside came the most slender, elegant, soft creature, as soft and smooth as tom: but very pale and weak, like a little child who has been ill a long time in a dark room.
it moved its legs very feebly; and looked about it half ashamed, like a girl when she goes for the first time into a ballroom; and then it began walking slowly up a grass stem to the top of the water.
tom was so astonished that he never said a word but he stared with all his eyes.
and he went up to the top of the water too, and peeped out to see what would happen.
and as the creature sat in the warm bright sun, a wonderful change came over it.
it grew strong and firm; the most lovely colours began to show on its body, blue and yellow and black, spots and bars and rings; out of its back rose four great wings of bright brown gauze; and its eyes grew so large that they filled all its head, and shone like ten thousand diamonds.
""oh, you beautiful creature!"
said tom; and he put out his hand to catch it.
but the thing whirred up into the air, and hung poised on its wings a moment, and then settled down again by tom quite fearless.
""no!"
it said, "you can not catch me.
i am a dragon-fly now, the king of all the flies; and i shall dance in the sunshine, and hawk over the river, and catch gnats, and have a beautiful wife like myself.
i know what i shall do.
hurrah!"
and he flew away into the air, and began catching gnats.
""oh!
come back, come back," cried tom, "you beautiful creature.
i have no one to play with, and i am so lonely here.
if you will but come back i will never try to catch you."
""i do n't care whether you do or not," said the dragon-fly; "for you ca n't.
but when i have had my dinner, and looked a little about this pretty place, i will come back, and have a little chat about all i have seen in my travels.
why, what a huge tree this is!
and what huge leaves on it!"
it was only a big dock: but you know the dragon-fly had never seen any but little water-trees; starwort, and milfoil, and water - crowfoot, and such like; so it did look very big to him.
besides, he was very short-sighted, as all dragon-flies are; and never could see a yard before his nose; any more than a great many other folks, who are not half as handsome as he.
the dragon-fly did come back, and chatted away with tom.
he was a little conceited about his fine colours and his large wings; but you know, he had been a poor dirty ugly creature all his life before; so there were great excuses for him.
he was very fond of talking about all the wonderful things he saw in the trees and the meadows; and tom liked to listen to him, for he had forgotten all about them.
so in a little while they became great friends.
and i am very glad to say, that tom learned such a lesson that day, that he did not torment creatures for a long time after.
and then the caddises grew quite tame, and used to tell him strange stories about the way they built their houses, and changed their skins, and turned at last into winged flies; till tom began to long to change his skin, and have wings like them some day.
and the trout and he made it up -lrb- for trout very soon forget if they have been frightened and hurt -rrb-.
so tom used to play with them at hare and hounds, and great fun they had; and he used to try to leap out of the water, head over heels, as they did before a shower came on; but somehow he never could manage it.
he liked most, though, to see them rising at the flies, as they sailed round and round under the shadow of the great oak, where the beetles fell flop into the water, and the green caterpillars let themselves down from the boughs by silk ropes for no reason at all; and then changed their foolish minds for no reason at all either; and hauled themselves up again into the tree, rolling up the rope in a ball between their paws; which is a very clever rope-dancer's trick, and neither blondin nor leotard could do it: but why they should take so much trouble about it no one can tell; for they can not get their living, as blondin and leotard do, by trying to break their necks on a string.
and very often tom caught them just as they touched the water; and caught the alder-flies, and the caperers, and the cock-tailed duns and spinners, yellow, and brown, and claret, and gray, and gave them to his friends the trout.
perhaps he was not quite kind to the flies; but one must do a good turn to one's friends when one can.
and at last he gave up catching even the flies; for he made acquaintance with one by accident and found him a very merry little fellow.
and this was the way it happened; and it is all quite true.
he was basking at the top of the water one hot day in july, catching duns and feeding the trout, when he saw a new sort, a dark gray little fellow with a brown head.
he was a very little fellow indeed: but he made the most of himself, as people ought to do.
he cocked up his head, and he cocked up his wings, and he cocked up his tail, and he cocked up the two whisks at his tail-end, and, in short, he looked the cockiest little man of all little men.
and so he proved to be; for instead of getting away, he hopped upon tom's finger, and sat there as bold as nine tailors; and he cried out in the tiniest, shrillest, squeakiest little voice you ever heard, "much obliged to you, indeed; but i do n't want it yet."
""want what?"
said tom, quite taken aback by his impudence.
""your leg, which you are kind enough to hold out for me to sit on.
i must just go and see after my wife for a few minutes.
dear me!
what a troublesome business a family is!"
-lrb- though the idle little rogue did nothing at all, but left his poor wife to lay all the eggs by herself -rrb-.
""when i come back, i shall be glad of it, if you'll be so good as to keep it sticking out just so;" and off he flew.
tom thought him a very cool sort of personage; and still more so, when, in five minutes he came back, and said -- "ah, you were tired waiting?
well, your other leg will do as well."
and he popped himself down on tom's knee, and began chatting away in his squeaking voice.
""so you live under the water?
it's a low place.
i lived there for some time; and was very shabby and dirty.
but i did n't choose that that should last.
so i turned respectable, and came up to the top, and put on this gray suit.
it's a very business-like suit, you think, do n't you?"
""very neat and quiet indeed," said tom.
""yes, one must be quiet and neat and respectable, and all that sort of thing for a little, when one becomes a family man.
but i'm tired of it, that's the truth.
i've done quite enough business, i consider, in the last week, to last me my life.
so i shall put on a ball dress, and go out and be a smart man, and see the gay world, and have a dance or two.
why should n't one be jolly if one can?"
""and what will become of your wife?"
""oh!
she is a very plain stupid creature, and that's the truth; and thinks about nothing but eggs.
if she chooses to come, why she may; and if not, why i go without her; -- and here i go."
and, as he spoke, he turned quite pale, and then quite white.
""why, you're ill!"
said tom.
but he did not answer.
""you're dead," said tom, looking at him as he stood on his knee as white as a ghost.
""no, i ai n't!"
answered a little squeaking voice over his head.
""this is me up here, in my ball-dress; and that's my skin.
ha, ha!
you could not do such a trick as that!"
and no more tom could, nor houdin, nor robin, nor frikell, nor all the conjurors in the world.
for the little rogue had jumped clean out of his own skin, and left it standing on tom's knee, eyes, wings, legs, tail, exactly as if it had been alive.
""ha, ha!"
he said, and he jerked and skipped up and down, never stopping an instant, just as if he had st. vitus's dance.
""ai n't i a pretty fellow now?"
and so he was; for his body was white, and his tail orange, and his eyes all the colours of a peacock's tail.
and what was the oddest of all, the whisks at the end of his tail had grown five times as long as they were before.
""ah!"
said he, "now i will see the gay world.
my living, wo n't cost me much, for i have no mouth, you see, and no inside; so i can never be hungry nor have the stomach-ache neither."
no more he had.
he had grown as dry and hard and empty as a quill, as such silly shallow-hearted fellows deserve to grow.
but, instead of being ashamed of his emptiness, he was quite proud of it, as a good many fine gentlemen are, and began flirting and flipping up and down, and singing - "my wife shall dance, and i shall sing, so merrily pass the day; for i hold it for quite the wisest thing, to drive dull care away."
and he danced up and down for three days and three nights, till he grew so tired, that he tumbled into the water, and floated down.
but what became of him tom never knew, and he himself never minded; for tom heard him singing to the last, as he floated down - "to drive dull care away-ay-ay!"
and if he did not care, why nobody else cared either.
but one day tom had a new adventure.
he was sitting on a water - lily leaf, he and his friend the dragon-fly, watching the gnats dance.
the dragon-fly had eaten as many as he wanted, and was sitting quite still and sleepy, for it was very hot and bright.
the gnats -lrb- who did not care the least for their poor brothers" death -rrb- danced a foot over his head quite happily, and a large black fly settled within an inch of his nose, and began washing his own face and combing his hair with his paws: but the dragon-fly never stirred, and kept on chatting to tom about the times when he lived under the water.
suddenly, tom heard the strangest noise up the stream; cooing, and grunting, and whining, and squeaking, as if you had put into a bag two stock-doves, nine mice, three guinea-pigs, and a blind puppy, and left them there to settle themselves and make music.
he looked up the water, and there he saw a sight as strange as the noise; a great ball rolling over and over down the stream, seeming one moment of soft brown fur, and the next of shining glass: and yet it was not a ball; for sometimes it broke up and streamed away in pieces, and then it joined again; and all the while the noise came out of it louder and louder.
tom asked the dragon-fly what it could be: but, of course, with his short sight, he could not even see it, though it was not ten yards away.
so he took the neatest little header into the water, and started off to see for himself; and, when he came near, the ball turned out to be four or five beautiful creatures, many times larger than tom, who were swimming about, and rolling, and diving, and twisting, and wrestling, and cuddling, and kissing and biting, and scratching, in the most charming fashion that ever was seen.
and if you do n't believe me, you may go to the zoological gardens -lrb- for i am afraid that you wo n't see it nearer, unless, perhaps, you get up at five in the morning, and go down to cordery's moor, and watch by the great withy pollard which hangs over the backwater, where the otters breed sometimes -rrb-, and then say, if otters at play in the water are not the merriest, lithest, gracefullest creatures you ever saw.
but, when the biggest of them saw tom, she darted out from the rest, and cried in the water-language sharply enough, "quick, children, here is something to eat, indeed!"
and came at poor tom, showing such a wicked pair of eyes, and such a set of sharp teeth in a grinning mouth, that tom, who had thought her very handsome, said to himself, handsome is that handsome does, and slipped in between the water-lily roots as fast as he could, and then turned round and made faces at her.
""come out," said the wicked old otter, "or it will be worse for you."
but tom looked at her from between two thick roots, and shook them with all his might, making horrible faces all the while, just as he used to grin through the railings at the old women, when he lived before.
it was not quite well bred, no doubt; but you know, tom had not finished his education yet.
""come, away, children," said the otter in disgust, "it is not worth eating, after all.
it is only a nasty eft, which nothing eats, not even those vulgar pike in the pond."
""i am not an eft!"
said tom; "efts have tails."
""you are an eft," said the otter, very positively; "i see your two hands quite plain, and i know you have a tail."
""i tell you i have not," said tom.
""look here!"
and he turned his pretty little self quite round; and, sure enough, he had no more tail than you.
the otter might have got out of it by saying that tom was a frog: but, like a great many other people, when she had once said a thing, she stood to it, right or wrong; so she answered: "i say you are an eft, and therefore you are, and not fit food for gentlefolk like me and my children.
you may stay there till the salmon eat you -lrb- she knew the salmon would not, but she wanted to frighten poor tom -rrb-.
ha!
ha!
they will eat you, and we will eat them;" and the otter laughed such a wicked cruel laugh -- as you may hear them do sometimes; and the first time that you hear it you will probably think it is bogies.
""what are salmon?"
asked tom.
""fish, you eft, great fish, nice fish to eat.
they are the lords of the fish, and we are lords of the salmon;" and she laughed again.
""we hunt them up and down the pools, and drive them up into a corner, the silly things; they are so proud, and bully the little trout, and the minnows, till they see us coming, and then they are so meek all at once, and we catch them, but we disdain to eat them all; we just bite out their soft throats and suck their sweet juice -- oh, so good!"
-- -lrb- and she licked her wicked lips -rrb- -- "and then throw them away, and go and catch another.
they are coming soon, children, coming soon; i can smell the rain coming up off the sea, and then hurrah for a fresh, and salmon, and plenty of eating all day long."
and the otter grew so proud that she turned head over heels twice, and then stood upright half out of the water, grinning like a cheshire cat.
""and where do they come from?"
asked tom, who kept himself very close, for he was considerably frightened.
""out of the sea, eft, the great wide sea, where they might stay and be safe if they liked.
but out of the sea the silly things come, into the great river down below, and we come up to watch for them; and when they go down again we go down and follow them.
and there we fish for the bass and the pollock, and have jolly days along the shore, and toss and roll in the breakers, and sleep snug in the warm dry crags.
ah, that is a merry life too, children, if it were not for those horrid men."
""what are men?"
asked tom; but somehow he seemed to know before he asked.
""two-legged things, eft: and, now i come to look at you, they are actually something like you, if you had not a tail" -lrb- she was determined that tom should have a tail -rrb-, "only a great deal bigger, worse luck for us; and they catch the fish with hooks and lines, which get into our feet sometimes, and set pots along the rocks to catch lobsters.
they speared my poor dear husband as he went out to find something for me to eat.
i was laid up among the crags then, and we were very low in the world, for the sea was so rough that no fish would come in shore.
but they speared him, poor fellow, and i saw them carrying him away upon a pole.
all, he lost his life for your sakes, my children, poor dear obedient creature that he was."
and the otter grew so sentimental -lrb- for otters can be very sentimental when they choose, like a good many people who are both cruel and greedy, and no good to anybody at all -rrb- that she sailed solemnly away down the burn, and tom saw her no more for that time.
and lucky it was for her that she did so; for no sooner was she gone, than down the bank came seven little rough terrier doors, snuffing and yapping, and grubbing and splashing, in full cry after the otter.
tom hid among the water-lilies till they were gone; for he could not guess that they were the water-fairies come to help him.
but he could not help thinking of what the otter had said about the great river and the broad sea.
and, as he thought, he longed to go and see them.
he could not tell why; but the more he thought, the more he grew discontented with the narrow little stream in which he lived, and all his companions there; and wanted to get out into the wide wide world, and enjoy all the wonderful sights of which he was sure it was full.
and once he set off to go down the stream.
but the stream was very low; and when he came to the shallows he could not keep under water, for there was no water left to keep under.
so the sun burned his back and made him sick; and he went back again and lay quiet in the pool for a whole week more.
and then, on the evening of a very hot day, he saw a sight.
he had been very stupid all day, and so had the trout; for they would not move an inch to take a fly, though there were thousands on the water, but lay dozing at the bottom under the shade of the stones; and tom lay dozing too, and was glad to cuddle their smooth cool sides, for the water was quite warm and unpleasant.
but toward evening it grew suddenly dark, and tom looked up and saw a blanket of black clouds lying right across the valley above his head, resting on the crags right and left.
he felt not quite frightened, but very still; for everything was still.
there was not a whisper of wind, nor a chirp of a bird to be heard; and next a few great drops of rain fell plop into the water, and one hit tom on the nose, and made him pop his head down quickly enough.
and then the thunder roared, and the lightning flashed, and leapt across vendale and back again, from cloud to cloud, and cliff to cliff, till the very rocks in the stream seemed to shake: and tom looked up at it through the water, and thought it the finest thing he ever saw in his life.
but out of the water he dared not put his head; for the rain came down by bucketsful, and the hail hammered like shot on the stream, and churned it into foam; and soon the stream rose, and rushed down, higher and higher, and fouler and fouler, full of beetles, and sticks; and straws, and worms, and addle-eggs, and wood-lice, and leeches, and odds and ends, and omnium-gatherums, and this, that, and the other, enough to fill nine museums.
tom could hardly stand against the stream, and hid behind a rock.
but the trout did not; for out they rushed from among the stones, and began gobbling the beetles and leeches in the most greedy and quarrelsome way, and swimming about with great worms hanging out of their mouths, tugging and kicking to get them away from each other.
and now, by the flashes of the lightning, tom saw a new sight -- all the bottom of the stream alive with great eels, turning and twisting along, all down stream and away.
they had been hiding for weeks past in the cracks of the rocks, and in burrows in the mud; and tom had hardly ever seen them, except now and then at night: but now they were all out, and went hurrying past him so fiercely and wildly that he was quite frightened.
and as they hurried past he could hear them say to each other, "we must run, we must run.
what a jolly thunderstorm!
down to the sea, down to the sea!"
and then the otter came by with all her brood, twining and sweeping along as fast as the eels themselves; and she spied tom as she came by, and said "now is your time, eft, if you want to see the world.
come along, children, never mind those nasty eels: we shall breakfast on salmon to-morrow.
down to the sea, down to the sea!"
then came a flash brighter than all the rest, and by the light of it -- in the thousandth part of a second they were gone again -- but he had seen them, he was certain of it -- three beautiful little white girls, with their arms twined round each other's necks, floating down the torrent, as they sang, "down to the sea, down to the sea!"
""oh stay!
wait for me!"
cried tom; but they were gone: yet he could hear their voices clear and sweet through the roar of thunder and water and wind, singing as they died away, "down to the sea!"
""down to the sea?"
said tom; "everything is going to the sea, and i will go too.
good-bye, trout."
but the trout were so busy gobbling worms that they never turned to answer him; so that tom was spared the pain of bidding them farewell.
and now, down the rushing stream, guided by the bright flashes of the storm; past tall birch-fringed rocks, which shone out one moment as clear as day, and the next were dark as night; past dark hovers under swirling banks, from which great trout rushed out on tom, thinking him to be good to eat, and turned back sulkily, for the fairies sent them home again with a tremendous scolding, for daring to meddle with a water-baby; on through narrow strids and roaring cataracts, where tom was deafened and blinded for a moment by the rushing waters; along deep reaches, where the white water - lilies tossed and flapped beneath the wind and hail; past sleeping villages; under dark bridge-arches, and away and away to the sea.
and tom could not stop, and did not care to stop; he would see the great world below, and the salmon, and the breakers, and the wide wide sea.
and when the daylight came, tom found himself out in the salmon river.
and what sort of a river was it?
was it like an irish stream, winding through the brown bogs, where the wild ducks squatter up from among the white water-lilies, and the curlews flit to and fro, crying "tullie-wheep, mind your sheep;" and dennis tells you strange stories of the peishtamore, the great bogy-snake which lies in the black peat pools, among the old pine-stems, and puts his head out at night to snap at the cattle as they come down to drink?
-- but you must not believe all that dennis tells you, mind; for if you ask him: "is there a salmon here, do you think, dennis?"
""is it salmon, thin, your honour manes?
salmon?
cartloads it is of thim, thin, an" ridgmens, shouldthering ache out of water, av" ye'd but the luck to see thim."
then you fish the pool all over, and never get a rise.
""but there ca n't be a salmon here, dennis!
and, if you'll but think, if one had come up last tide, he'd be gone to the higher pools by now."
""shure thin, and your honour's the thrue fisherman, and understands it all like a book.
why, ye spake as if ye'd known the wather a thousand years!
as i said, how could there be a fish here at all, just now?"
""but you said just now they were shouldering each other out of water?"
and then dennis will look up at you with his handsome, sly, soft, sleepy, good-natured, untrustable, irish gray eye, and answer with the prettiest smile: "shure, and did n't i think your honour would like a pleasant answer?"
so you must not trust dennis, because he is in the habit of giving pleasant answers: but, instead of being angry with him, you must remember that he is a poor paddy, and knows no better; so you must just burst out laughing; and then he will burst out laughing too, and slave for you, and trot about after you, and show you good sport if he can -- for he is an affectionate fellow, and as fond of sport as you are -- and if he ca n't, tell you fibs instead, a hundred an hour; and wonder all the while why poor ould ireland does not prosper like england and scotland, and some other places, where folk have taken up a ridiculous fancy that honesty is the best policy.
or was it like a welsh salmon river, which is remarkable chiefly -lrb- at least, till this last year -rrb- for containing no salmon, as they have been all poached out by the enlightened peasantry, to prevent the cythrawl sassenach -lrb- which means you, my little dear, your kith and kin, and signifies much the same as the chinese fan quei -rrb- from coming bothering into wales, with good tackle, and ready money, and civilisation, and common honesty, and other like things of which the cymry stand in no need whatsoever?
or was it such a salmon stream as i trust you will see among the hampshire water-meadows before your hairs are gray, under the wise new fishing-laws?
-- when winchester apprentices shall covenant, as they did three hundred years ago, not to be made to eat salmon more than three days a week; and fresh-run fish shall be as plentiful under salisbury spire as they are in holly-hole at christchurch; in the good time coming, when folks shall see that, of all heaven's gifts of food, the one to be protected most carefully is that worthy gentleman salmon, who is generous enough to go down to the sea weighing five ounces, and to come back next year weighing five pounds, without having cost the soil or the state one farthing?
or was it like a scotch stream, such as arthur clough drew in his "bothie": - "where over a ledge of granite into a granite bason the amber torrent descended... beautiful there for the colour derived from green rocks under; beautiful most of all, where beads of foam uprising mingle their clouds of white with the delicate hue of the stillness... cliff over cliff for its sides, with rowan and pendant birch boughs."
... ah, my little man, when you are a big man, and fish such a stream as that, you will hardly care, i think, whether she be roaring down in full spate, like coffee covered with scald cream, while the fish are swirling at your fly as an oar-blade swirls in a boat-race, or flashing up the cataract like silver arrows, out of the fiercest of the foam; or whether the fall be dwindled to a single thread, and the shingle below be as white and dusty as a turnpike road, while the salmon huddle together in one dark cloud in the clear amber pool, sleeping away their time till the rain creeps back again off the sea.
you will not care much, if you have eyes and brains; for you will lay down your rod contentedly, and drink in at your eyes the beauty of that glorious place; and listen to the water-ouzel piping on the stones, and watch the yellow roes come down to drink and look up at you with their great soft trustful eyes, as much as to say, "you could not have the heart to shoot at us?"
and then, if you have sense, you will turn and talk to the great giant of a gilly who lies basking on the stone beside you.
he will tell you no fibs, my little man; for he is a scotchman, and fears god, and not the priest; and, as you talk with him, you will be surprised more and more at his knowledge, his sense, his humour, his courtesy; and you will find out -- unless you have found it out before -- that a man may learn from his bible to be a more thorough gentleman than if he had been brought up in all the drawing-rooms in london.
no.
it was none of these, the salmon stream at harthover.
it was such a stream as you see in dear old bewick; bewick, who was born and bred upon them.
a full hundred yards broad it was, sliding on from broad pool to broad shallow, and broad shallow to broad pool, over great fields of shingle, under oak and ash coverts, past low cliffs of sandstone, past green meadows, and fair parks, and a great house of gray stone, and brown moors above, and here and there against the sky the smoking chimney of a colliery.
you must look at bewick to see just what it was like, for he has drawn it a hundred times with the care and the love of a true north countryman; and, even if you do not care about the salmon river, you ought, like all good boys, to know your bewick.
at least, so old sir john used to say, and very sensibly he put it too, as he was wont to do: "if they want to describe a finished young gentleman in france, i hear, they say of him, "il sait son rabelais."
but if i want to describe one in england, i say, "he knows his bewick."
and i think that is the higher compliment."
but tom thought nothing about what the river was like.
all his fancy was, to get down to the wide wide sea.
and after a while he came to a place where the river spread out into broad still shallow reaches, so wide that little tom, as he put his head out of the water, could hardly see across.
and there he stopped.
he got a little frightened.
""this must be the sea," he thought.
""what a wide place it is!
if i go on into it i shall surely lose my way, or some strange thing will bite me.
i will stop here and look out for the otter, or the eels, or some one to tell me where i shall go."
so he went back a little way, and crept into a crack of the rock, just where the river opened out into the wide shallows, and watched for some one to tell him his way: but the otter and the eels were gone on miles and miles down the stream.
there he waited, and slept too, for he was quite tired with his night's journey; and, when he woke, the stream was clearing to a beautiful amber hue, though it was still very high.
and after a while he saw a sight which made him jump up; for he knew in a moment it was one of the things which he had come to look for.
such a fish!
ten times as big as the biggest trout, and a hundred times as big as tom, sculling up the stream past him, as easily as tom had sculled down.
such a fish!
shining silver from head to tail, and here and there a crimson dot; with a grand hooked nose and grand curling lip, and a grand bright eye, looking round him as proudly as a king, and surveying the water right and left as if all belonged to him.
surely he must be the salmon, the king of all the fish.
tom was so frightened that he longed to creep into a hole; but he need not have been; for salmon are all true gentlemen, and, like true gentlemen, they look noble and proud enough, and yet, like true gentlemen, they never harm or quarrel with any one, but go about their own business, and leave rude fellows to themselves.
the salmon looked at him full in the face, and then went on without minding him, with a swish or two of his tail which made the stream boil again.
and in a few minutes came another, and then four or five, and so on; and all passed tom, rushing and plunging up the cataract with strong strokes of their silver tails, now and then leaping clean out of water and up over a rock, shining gloriously for a moment in the bright sun; while tom was so delighted that he could have watched them all day long.
and at last one came up bigger than all the rest; but he came slowly, and stopped, and looked back, and seemed very anxious and busy.
and tom saw that he was helping another salmon, an especially handsome one, who had not a single spot upon it, but was clothed in pure silver from nose to tail.
""my dear," said the great fish to his companion, "you really look dreadfully tired, and you must not over-exert yourself at first.
do rest yourself behind this rock;" and he shoved her gently with his nose, to the rock where tom sat.
you must know that this was the salmon's wife.
for salmon, like other true gentlemen, always choose their lady, and love her, and are true to her, and take care of her and work for her, and fight for her, as every true gentleman ought; and are not like vulgar chub and roach and pike, who have no high feelings, and take no care of their wives.
then he saw tom, and looked at him very fiercely one moment, as if he was going to bite him.
""what do you want here?"
he said, very fiercely.
""oh, do n't hurt me!"
cried tom.
""i only want to look at you; you are so handsome."
""ah?"
said the salmon, very stately but very civilly.
""i really beg your pardon; i see what you are, my little dear.
i have met one or two creatures like you before, and found them very agreeable and well-behaved.
indeed, one of them showed me a great kindness lately, which i hope to be able to repay.
i hope we shall not be in your way here.
as soon as this lady is rested, we shall proceed on our journey."
what a well-bred old salmon he was!
""so you have seen things like me before?"
asked tom.
""several times, my dear.
indeed, it was only last night that one at the river's mouth came and warned me and my wife of some new stake-nets which had got into the stream, i can not tell how, since last winter, and showed us the way round them, in the most charmingly obliging way."
""so there are babies in the sea?"
cried tom, and clapped his little hands.
""then i shall have some one to play with there?
how delightful!"
""were there no babies up this stream?"
asked the lady salmon.
""no!
and i grew so lonely.
i thought i saw three last night; but they were gone in an instant, down to the sea.
so i went too; for i had nothing to play with but caddises and dragon-flies and trout."
""ugh!"
cried the lady, "what low company!"
""my dear, if he has been in low company, he has certainly not learnt their low manners," said the salmon.
""no, indeed, poor little dear: but how sad for him to live among such people as caddises, who have actually six legs, the nasty things; and dragon-flies, too!
why they are not even good to eat; for i tried them once, and they are all hard and empty; and, as for trout, every one knows what they are."
whereon she curled up her lip, and looked dreadfully scornful, while her husband curled up his too, till he looked as proud as alcibiades.
""why do you dislike the trout so?"
asked tom.
""my dear, we do not even mention them, if we can help it; for i am sorry to say they are relations of ours who do us no credit.
a great many years ago they were just like us: but they were so lazy, and cowardly, and greedy, that instead of going down to the sea every year to see the world and grow strong and fat, they chose to stay and poke about in the little streams and eat worms and grubs; and they are very properly punished for it; for they have grown ugly and brown and spotted and small; and are actually so degraded in their tastes, that they will eat our children."
""and then they pretend to scrape acquaintance with us again," said the lady.
""why, i have actually known one of them propose to a lady salmon, the little impudent little creature."
""i should hope," said the gentleman, "that there are very few ladies of our race who would degrade themselves by listening to such a creature for an instant.
if i saw such a thing happen, i should consider it my duty to put them both to death upon the spot."
so the old salmon said, like an old blue-blooded hidalgo of spain; and what is more, he would have done it too.
for you must know, no enemies are so bitter against each other as those who are of the same race; and a salmon looks on a trout, as some great folks look on some little folks, as something just too much like himself to be tolerated.
chapter iv "sweet is the lore which nature brings; our meddling intellect mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things we murder to dissect.
enough of science and of art: close up these barren leaves; come forth, and bring with you a heart that watches and receives."
wordsworth.
so the salmon went up, after tom had warned them of the wicked old otter; and tom went down, but slowly and cautiously, coasting along shore.
he was many days about it, for it was many miles down to the sea; and perhaps he would never have found his way, if the fairies had not guided him, without his seeing their fair faces, or feeling their gentle hands.
and, as he went, he had a very strange adventure.
it was a clear still september night, and the moon shone so brightly down through the water, that he could not sleep, though he shut his eyes as tight as possible.
so at last he came up to the top, and sat upon a little point of rock, and looked up at the broad yellow moon, and wondered what she was, and thought that she looked at him.
and he watched the moonlight on the rippling river, and the black heads of the firs, and the silver-frosted lawns, and listened to the owl's hoot, and the snipe's bleat, and the fox's bark, and the otter's laugh; and smelt the soft perfume of the birches, and the wafts of heather honey off the grouse moor far above; and felt very happy, though he could not well tell why.
you, of course, would have been very cold sitting there on a september night, without the least bit of clothes on your wet back; but tom was a water-baby, and therefore felt cold no more than a fish.
suddenly, he saw a beautiful sight.
a bright red light moved along the river-side, and threw down into the water a long tap-root of flame.
tom, curious little rogue that he was, must needs go and see what it was; so he swam to the shore, and met the light as it stopped over a shallow run at the edge of a low rock.
and there, underneath the light, lay five or six great salmon, looking up at the flame with their great goggle eyes, and wagging their tails, as if they were very much pleased at it.
tom came to the top, to look at this wonderful light nearer, and made a splash.
and he heard a voice say: "there was a fish rose."
he did not know what the words meant: but he seemed to know the sound of them, and to know the voice which spoke them; and he saw on the bank three great two-legged creatures, one of whom held the light, flaring and sputtering, and another a long pole.
and he knew that they were men, and was frightened, and crept into a hole in the rock, from which he could see what went on.
the man with the torch bent down over the water, and looked earnestly in; and then he said: "tak" that muckle fellow, lad; he's ower fifteen punds; and haud your hand steady."
tom felt that there was some danger coming, and longed to warn the foolish salmon, who kept staring up at the light as if he was bewitched.
but before he could make up his mind, down came the pole through the water; there was a fearful splash and struggle, and tom saw that the poor salmon was speared right through, and was lifted out of the water.
and then, from behind, there sprang on these three men three other men; and there were shouts, and blows, and words which tom recollected to have heard before; and he shuddered and turned sick at them now, for he felt somehow that they were strange, and ugly, and wrong, and horrible.
and it all began to come back to him.
they were men; and they were fighting; savage, desperate, up-and - down fighting, such as tom had seen too many times before.
and he stopped his little ears, and longed to swim away; and was very glad that he was a water-baby, and had nothing to do any more with horrid dirty men, with foul clothes on their backs, and foul words on their lips; but he dared not stir out of his hole: while the rock shook over his head with the trampling and struggling of the keepers and the poachers.
all of a sudden there was a tremendous splash, and a frightful flash, and a hissing, and all was still.
for into the water, close to tom, fell one of the men; he who held the light in his hand.
into the swift river he sank, and rolled over and over in the current.
tom heard the men above run along seemingly looking for him; but he drifted down into the deep hole below, and there lay quite still, and they could not find him.
tom waited a long time, till all was quiet; and then he peeped out, and saw the man lying.
at last he screwed up his courage and swam down to him.
""perhaps," he thought, "the water has made him fall asleep, as it did me."
then he went nearer.
he grew more and more curious, he could not tell why.
he must go and look at him.
he would go very quietly, of course; so he swam round and round him, closer and closer; and, as he did not stir, at last he came quite close and looked him in the face.
the moon shone so bright that tom could see every feature; and, as he saw, he recollected, bit by bit, it was his old master, grimes.
tom turned tail, and swam away as fast as he could.
""oh dear me!"
he thought, "now he will turn into a water-baby.
what a nasty troublesome one he will be!
and perhaps he will find me out, and beat me again."
so he went up the river again a little way, and lay there the rest of the night under an alder root; but, when morning came, he longed to go down again to the big pool, and see whether mr. grimes had turned into a water-baby yet.
so he went very carefully, peeping round all the rocks, and hiding under all the roots.
mr. grimes lay there still; he had not turned into a water-baby.
in the afternoon tom went back again.
he could not rest till he had found out what had become of mr. grimes.
but this time mr. grimes was gone; and tom made up his mind that he was turned into a water-baby.
he might have made himself easy, poor little man; mr. grimes did not turn into a water-baby, or anything like one at all.
but he did not make himself easy; and a long time he was fearful lest he should meet grimes suddenly in some deep pool.
he could not know that the fairies had carried him away, and put him, where they put everything which falls into the water, exactly where it ought to be.
but, do you know, what had happened to mr. grimes had such an effect on him that he never poached salmon any more.
and it is quite certain that, when a man becomes a confirmed poacher, the only way to cure him is to put him under water for twenty-four hours, like grimes.
so when you grow to be a big man, do you behave as all honest fellows should; and never touch a fish or a head of game which belongs to another man without his express leave; and then people will call you a gentleman, and treat you like one; and perhaps give you good sport: instead of hitting you into the river, or calling you a poaching snob.
then tom went on down, for he was afraid of staying near grimes: and as he went, all the vale looked sad.
the red and yellow leaves showered down into the river; the flies and beetles were all dead and gone; the chill autumn fog lay low upon the hills, and sometimes spread itself so thickly on the river that he could not see his way.
but he felt his way instead, following the flow of the stream, day after day, past great bridges, past boats and barges, past the great town, with its wharfs, and mills, and tall smoking chimneys, and ships which rode at anchor in the stream; and now and then he ran against their hawsers, and wondered what they were, and peeped out, and saw the sailors lounging on board smoking their pipes; and ducked under again, for he was terribly afraid of being caught by man and turned into a chimney-sweep once more.
he did not know that the fairies were close to him always, shutting the sailors" eyes lest they should see him, and turning him aside from millraces, and sewer-mouths, and all foul and dangerous things.
poor little fellow, it was a dreary journey for him; and more than once he longed to be back in vendale, playing with the trout in the bright summer sun.
but it could not be.
what has been once can never come over again.
and people can be little babies, even water-babies, only once in their lives.
besides, people who make up their minds to go and see the world, as tom did, must needs find it a weary journey.
lucky for them if they do not lose heart and stop half-way, instead of going on bravely to the end as tom did.
for then they will remain neither boys nor men, neither fish, flesh, nor good red-herring: having learnt a great deal too much, and yet not enough; and sown their wild oats, without having the advantage of reaping them.
but tom was always a brave, determined, little english bull-dog, who never knew when he was beaten; and on and on he held, till he saw a long way off the red buoy through the fog.
and then he found to his surprise, the stream turned round, and running up inland.
it was the tide, of course: but tom knew nothing of the tide.
he only knew that in a minute more the water, which had been fresh, turned salt all round him.
and then there came a change over him.
he felt as strong, and light, and fresh, as if his veins had run champagne; and gave, he did not know why, three skips out of the water, a yard high, and head over heels, just as the salmon do when they first touch the noble rich salt water, which, as some wise men tell us, is the mother of all living things.
he did not care now for the tide being against him.
the red buoy was in sight, dancing in the open sea; and to the buoy he would go, and to it he went.
he passed great shoals of bass and mullet, leaping and rushing in after the shrimps, but he never heeded them, or they him; and once he passed a great black shining seal, who was coming in after the mullet.
the seal put his head and shoulders out of water, and stared at him, looking exactly like a fat old greasy negro with a gray pate.
and tom, instead of being frightened, said, "how d'ye do, sir; what a beautiful place the sea is!"
and the old seal, instead of trying to bite him, looked at him with his soft sleepy winking eyes, and said, "good tide to you, my little man; are you looking for your brothers and sisters?
i passed them all at play outside."
""oh, then," said tom, "i shall have playfellows at last," and he swam on to the buoy, and got upon it -lrb- for he was quite out of breath -rrb- and sat there, and looked round for water-babies: but there were none to be seen.
the sea-breeze came in freshly with the tide and blew the fog away; and the little waves danced for joy around the buoy, and the old buoy danced with them.
the shadows of the clouds ran races over the bright blue bay, and yet never caught each other up; and the breakers plunged merrily upon the wide white sands, and jumped up over the rocks, to see what the green fields inside were like, and tumbled down and broke themselves all to pieces, and never minded it a bit, but mended themselves and jumped up again.
and the terns hovered over tom like huge white dragon-flies with black heads, and the gulls laughed like girls at play, and the sea-pies, with their red bills and legs, flew to and fro from shore to shore, and whistled sweet and wild.
and tom looked and looked, and listened; and he would have been very happy, if he could only have seen the water-babies.
then when the tide turned, he left the buoy, and swam round and round in search of them: but in vain.
sometimes he thought he heard them laughing: but it was only the laughter of the ripples.
and sometimes he thought he saw them at the bottom: but it was only white and pink shells.
and once he was sure he had found one, for he saw two bright eyes peeping out of the sand.
so he dived down, and began scraping the sand away, and cried, "do n't hide; i do want some one to play with so much!"
and out jumped a great turbot with his ugly eyes and mouth all awry, and flopped away along the bottom, knocking poor tom over.
and he sat down at the bottom of the sea, and cried salt tears from sheer disappointment.
to have come all this way, and faced so many dangers, and yet to find no water-babies!
how hard!
well, it did seem hard: but people, even little babies, can not have all they want without waiting for it, and working for it too, my little man, as you will find out some day.
and tom sat upon the buoy long days, long weeks, looking out to sea, and wondering when the water-babies would come back; and yet they never came.
then he began to ask all the strange things which came in out of the sea if they had seen any; and some said "yes," and some said nothing at all.
he asked the bass and the pollock; but they were so greedy after the shrimps that they did not care to answer him a word.
then there came in a whole fleet of purple sea-snails, floating along, each on a sponge full of foam, and tom said, "where do you come from, you pretty creatures?
and have you seen the water - babies?"
and the sea-snails answered, "whence we come we know not; and whither we are going, who can tell?
we float out our life in the mid-ocean, with the warm sunshine above our heads, and the warm gulf-stream below; and that is enough for us.
yes; perhaps we have seen the water-babies.
we have seen many strange things as we sailed along."
and they floated away, the happy stupid things, and all went ashore upon the sands.
then there came in a great lazy sunfish, as big as a fat pig cut in half; and he seemed to have been cut in half too, and squeezed in a clothes-press till he was flat; but to all his big body and big fins he had only a little rabbit's mouth, no bigger than tom's; and, when tom questioned him, he answered in a little squeaky feeble voice: "i'm sure i do n't know; i've lost my way.
i meant to go to the chesapeake, and i'm afraid i've got wrong somehow.
dear me!
it was all by following that pleasant warm water.
i'm sure i've lost my way."
and, when tom asked him again, he could only answer, "i've lost my way.
do n't talk to me; i want to think."
but, like a good many other people, the more he tried to think the less he could think; and tom saw him blundering about all day, till the coast-guardsmen saw his big fin above the water, and rowed out, and struck a boat-hook into him, and took him away.
they took him up to the town and showed him for a penny a head, and made a good day's work of it.
but of course tom did not know that.
then there came by a shoal of porpoises, rolling as they went -- papas, and mammas, and little children -- and all quite smooth and shiny, because the fairies french-polish them every morning; and they sighed so softly as they came by, that tom took courage to speak to them: but all they answered was, "hush, hush, hush;" for that was all they had learnt to say.
and then there came a shoal of basking sharks" some of them as long as a boat, and tom was frightened at them.
but they were very lazy good-natured fellows, not greedy tyrants, like white sharks and blue sharks and ground sharks and hammer-heads, who eat men, or saw-fish and threshers and ice-sharks, who hunt the poor old whales.
they came and rubbed their great sides against the buoy, and lay basking in the sun with their backfins out of water; and winked at tom: but he never could get them to speak.
they had eaten so many herrings that they were quite stupid; and tom was glad when a collier brig came by and frightened them all away; for they did smell most horribly, certainly, and he had to hold his nose tight as long as they were there.
and then there came by a beautiful creature, like a ribbon of pure silver with a sharp head and very long teeth; but it seemed very sick and sad.
sometimes it rolled helpless on its side; and then it dashed away glittering like white fire; and then it lay sick again and motionless.
""where do you come from?"
asked tom.
""and why are you so sick and sad?"
""i come from the warm carolinas, and the sandbanks fringed with pines; where the great owl-rays leap and flap, like giant bats, upon the tide.
but i wandered north and north, upon the treacherous warm gulf-stream, till i met with the cold icebergs, afloat in the mid ocean.
so i got tangled among the icebergs, and chilled with their frozen breath.
but the water-babies helped me from among them, and set me free again.
and now i am mending every day; but i am very sick and sad; and perhaps i shall never get home again to play with the owl-rays any more."
""oh!"
cried tom.
""and you have seen water-babies?
have you seen any near here?"
""yes; they helped me again last night, or i should have been eaten by a great black porpoise."
how vexatious!
the water-babies close to him, and yet he could not find one.
and then he left the buoy, and used to go along the sands and round the rocks, and come out in the night -- like the forsaken merman in mr. arnold's beautiful, beautiful poem, which you must learn by heart some day -- and sit upon a point of rock, among the shining sea-weeds, in the low october tides, and cry and call for the water-babies; but he never heard a voice call in return.
and at last, with his fretting and crying, he grew quite lean and thin.
but one day among the rocks he found a playfellow.
it was not a water-baby, alas!
but it was a lobster; and a very distinguished lobster he was; for he had live barnacles on his claws, which is a great mark of distinction in lobsterdom, and no more to be bought for money than a good conscience or the victoria cross.
tom had never seen a lobster before; and he was mightily taken with this one; for he thought him the most curious, odd, ridiculous creature he had ever seen; and there he was not far wrong; for all the ingenious men, and all the scientific men, and all the fanciful men, in the world, with all the old german bogy-painters into the bargain, could never invent, if all their wits were boiled into one, anything so curious, and so ridiculous, as a lobster.
he had one claw knobbed and the other jagged; and tom delighted in watching him hold on to the seaweed with his knobbed claw, while he cut up salads with his jagged one, and then put them into his mouth, after smelling at them, like a monkey.
and always the little barnacles threw out their casting-nets and swept the water, and came in for their share of whatever there was for dinner.
but tom was most astonished to see how he fired himself off -- snap!
like the leap-frogs which you make out of a goose's breast-bone.
certainly he took the most wonderful shots, and backwards, too.
for, if he wanted to go into a narrow crack ten yards off, what do you think he did?
if he had gone in head foremost, of course he could not have turned round.
so he used to turn his tail to it, and lay his long horns, which carry his sixth sense in their tips -lrb- and nobody knows what that sixth sense is -rrb-, straight down his back to guide him, and twist his eyes back till they almost came out of their sockets, and then made ready, present, fire, snap!
-- and away he went, pop into the hole; and peeped out and twiddled his whiskers, as much as to say, "you could n't do that."
tom asked him about water-babies.
""yes," he said.
he had seen them often.
but he did not think much of them.
they were meddlesome little creatures, that went about helping fish and shells which got into scrapes.
well, for his part, he should be ashamed to be helped by little soft creatures that had not even a shell on their backs.
he had lived quite long enough in the world to take care of himself.
he was a conceited fellow, the old lobster, and not very civil to tom; and you will hear how he had to alter his mind before he was done, as conceited people generally have.
but he was so funny, and tom so lonely, that he could not quarrel with him; and they used to sit in holes in the rocks, and chat for hours.
and about this time there happened to tom a very strange and important adventure -- so important, indeed, that he was very near never finding the water-babies at all; and i am sure you would have been sorry for that.
i hope that you have not forgotten the little white lady all this while.
at least, here she comes, looking like a clean white good little darling, as she always was, and always will be.
for it befell in the pleasant short december days, when the wind always blows from the south-west, till old father christmas comes and spreads the great white table-cloth, ready for little boys and girls to give the birds their christmas dinner of crumbs -- it befell -lrb- to go on -rrb- in the pleasant december days, that sir john was so busy hunting that nobody at home could get a word out of him.
four days a week he hunted, and very good sport he had; and the other two he went to the bench and the board of guardians, and very good justice he did; and, when he got home in time, he dined at five; for he hated this absurd new fashion of dining at eight in the hunting season, which forces a man to make interest with the footman for cold beef and beer as soon as he comes in, and so spoil his appetite, and then sleep in an arm-chair in his bedroom, all stiff and tired, for two or three hours before he can get his dinner like a gentleman.
and do you be like sir john, my dear little man, when you are your own master; and, if you want either to read hard or ride hard, stick to the good old cambridge hours of breakfast at eight and dinner at five; by which you may get two days" work out of one.
but, of course, if you find a fox at three in the afternoon and run him till dark, and leave off twenty miles from home, why you must wait for your dinner till you can get it, as better men than you have done.
only see that, if you go hungry, your horse does not; but give him his warm gruel and beer, and take him gently home, remembering that good horses do n't grow on the hedge like blackberries.
it befell -lrb- to go on a second time -rrb- that sir john, hunting all day, and dining at five, fell asleep every evening, and snored so terribly that all the windows in harthover shook, and the soot fell down the chimneys.
whereon my lady, being no more able to get conversation out of him than a song out of a dead nightingale, determined to go off and leave him, and the doctor, and captain swinger the agent, to snore in concert every evening to their hearts" content.
so she started for the seaside with all the children, in order to put herself and them into condition by mild applications of iodine.
she might as well have stayed at home and used parry's liquid horse-blister, for there was plenty of it in the stables; and then she would have saved her money, and saved the chance, also, of making all the children ill instead of well -lrb- as hundreds are made -rrb-, by taking them to some nasty smelling undrained lodging, and then wondering how they caught scarlatina and diphtheria: but people wo n't be wise enough to understand that till they are dead of bad smells, and then it will be too late; besides you see, sir john did certainly snore very loud.
but where she went to nobody must know, for fear young ladies should begin to fancy that there are water-babies there!
and so hunt and howk after them -lrb- besides raising the price of lodgings -rrb-, and keep them in aquariums, as the ladies at pompeii -lrb- as you may see by the paintings -rrb- used to keep cupids in cages.
but nobody ever heard that they starved the cupids, or let them die of dirt and neglect, as english young ladies do by the poor sea-beasts.
so nobody must know where my lady went.
letting water-babies die is as bad as taking singing birds" eggs; for, though there are thousands, ay, millions, of both of them in the world, yet there is not one too many.
now it befell that, on the very shore, and over the very rocks, where tom was sitting with his friend the lobster, there walked one day the little white lady, ellie herself, and with her a very wise man indeed -- professor ptthmllnsprts.
his mother was a dutchwoman, and therefore he was born at curacao -lrb- of course you have learnt your geography, and therefore know why -rrb-; and his father a pole, and therefore he was brought up at petropaulowski -lrb- of course you have learnt your modern politics, and therefore know why -rrb-: but for all that he was as thorough an englishman as ever coveted his neighbour's goods.
and his name, as i said, was professor ptthmllnsprts, which is a very ancient and noble polish name.
he was, as i said, a very great naturalist, and chief professor of necrobioneopalaeonthydrochthonanthropopithekology in the new university which the king of the cannibal islands had founded; and, being a member of the acclimatisation society, he had come here to collect all the nasty things which he could find on the coast of england, and turn them loose round the cannibal islands, because they had not nasty things enough there to eat what they left.
but he was a very worthy kind good-natured little old gentleman; and very fond of children -lrb- for he was not the least a cannibal himself -rrb-; and very good to all the world as long as it was good to him.
only one fault he had, which cock-robins have likewise, as you may see if you look out of the nursery window -- that, when any one else found a curious worm, he would hop round them, and peck them, and set up his tail, and bristle up his feathers, just as a cock-robin would; and declare that he found the worm first; and that it was his worm; and, if not, that then it was not a worm at all.
he had met sir john at scarborough, or fleetwood, or somewhere or other -lrb- if you do n't care where, nobody else does -rrb-, and had made acquaintance with him, and become very fond of his children.
now, sir john knew nothing about sea-cockyolybirds, and cared less, provided the fishmonger sent him good fish for dinner; and my lady knew as little: but she thought it proper that the children should know something.
for in the stupid old times, you must understand, children were taught to know one thing, and to know it well; but in these enlightened new times they are taught to know a little about everything, and to know it all ill; which is a great deal pleasanter and easier, and therefore quite right.
so ellie and he were walking on the rocks, and he was showing her about one in ten thousand of all the beautiful and curious things which are to be seen there.
but little ellie was not satisfied with them at all.
she liked much better to play with live children, or even with dolls, which she could pretend were alive; and at last she said honestly, "i do n't care about all these things, because they ca n't play with me, or talk to me.
if there were little children now in the water, as there used to be, and i could see them, i should like that."
""children in the water, you strange little duck?"
said the professor.
""yes," said ellie.
""i know there used to be children in the water, and mermaids too, and mermen.
i saw them all in a picture at home, of a beautiful lady sailing in a car drawn by dolphins, and babies flying round her, and one sitting in her lap; and the mermaids swimming and playing, and the mermen trumpeting on conch-shells; and it is called "the triumph of galatea;" and there is a burning mountain in the picture behind.
it hangs on the great staircase, and i have looked at it ever since i was a baby, and dreamt about it a hundred times; and it is so beautiful, that it must be true."
but the professor had not the least notion of allowing that things were true, merely because people thought them beautiful.
for at that rate, he said, the baltas would be quite right in thinking it a fine thing to eat their grandpapas, because they thought it an ugly thing to put them underground.
the professor, indeed, went further, and held that no man was forced to believe anything to be true, but what he could see, hear, taste, or handle.
he held very strange theories about a good many things.
he had even got up once at the british association, and declared that apes had hippopotamus majors in their brains just as men have.
which was a shocking thing to say; for, if it were so, what would become of the faith, hope, and charity of immortal millions?
you may think that there are other more important differences between you and an ape, such as being able to speak, and make machines, and know right from wrong, and say your prayers, and other little matters of that kind; but that is a child's fancy, my dear.
nothing is to be depended on but the great hippopotamus test.
if you have a hippopotamus major in your brain, you are no ape, though you had four hands, no feet, and were more apish than the apes of all aperies.
but if a hippopotamus major is ever discovered in one single ape's brain, nothing will save your great-great-great-great - great-great-great-great-great-great-great-greater-greatest - grandmother from having been an ape too.
no, my dear little man; always remember that the one true, certain, final, and all - important difference between you and an ape is, that you have a hippopotamus major in your brain, and it has none; and that, therefore, to discover one in its brain will be a very wrong and dangerous thing, at which every one will be very much shocked, as we may suppose they were at the professor.
-- though really, after all, it do n't much matter; because -- as lord dundreary and others would put it -- nobody but men have hippopotamuses in their brains; so, if a hippopotamus was discovered in an ape's brain, why it would not be one, you know, but something else.
but the professor had gone, i am sorry to say, even further than that; for he had read at the british association at melbourne, australia, in the year 1999, a paper which assured every one who found himself the better or wiser for the news, that there were not, never had been, and could not be, any rational or half - rational beings except men, anywhere, anywhen, or anyhow; that nymphs, satyrs, fauns, inui, dwarfs, trolls, elves, gnomes, fairies, brownies, nixes, wills, kobolds, leprechaunes, cluricaunes, banshees, will-o" - the-wisps, follets, lutins, magots, goblins, afrits, marids, jinns, ghouls, peris, deevs, angels, archangels, imps, bogies, or worse, were nothing at all, and pure bosh and wind.
and he had to get up very early in the morning to prove that, and to eat his breakfast overnight; but he did it, at least to his own satisfaction.
whereon a certain great divine, and a very clever divine was he, called him a regular sadducee; and probably he was quite right.
whereon the professor, in return, called him a regular pharisee; and probably he was quite right too.
but they did not quarrel in the least; for, when men are men of the world, hard words run off them like water off a duck's back.
so the professor and the divine met at dinner that evening, and sat together on the sofa afterwards for an hour, and talked over the state of female labour on the antarctic continent -lrb- for nobody talks shop after his claret -rrb-, and each vowed that the other was the best company he ever met in his life.
what an advantage it is to be men of the world!
from all which you may guess that the professor was not the least of little ellie's opinion.
so he gave her a succinct compendium of his famous paper at the british association, in a form suited for the youthful mind.
but, as we have gone over his arguments against water-babies once already, which is once too often, we will not repeat them here.
now little ellie was, i suppose, a stupid little girl; for, instead of being convinced by professor ptthmllnsprts" arguments, she only asked the same question over again.
""but why are there not water-babies?"
i trust and hope that it was because the professor trod at that moment on the edge of a very sharp mussel, and hurt one of his corns sadly, that he answered quite sharply, forgetting that he was a scientific man, and therefore ought to have known that he could n't know; and that he was a logician, and therefore ought to have known that he could not prove a universal negative -- i say, i trust and hope it was because the mussel hurt his corn, that the professor answered quite sharply: "because there ai n't."
which was not even good english, my dear little boy; for, as you must know from aunt agitate's arguments, the professor ought to have said, if he was so angry as to say anything of the kind -- because there are not: or are none: or are none of them; or -lrb- if he had been reading aunt agitate too -rrb- because they do not exist.
and he groped with his net under the weeds so violently, that, as it befell, he caught poor little tom.
he felt the net very heavy; and lifted it out quickly, with tom all entangled in the meshes.
""dear me!"
he cried.
""what a large pink holothurian; with hands, too!
it must be connected with synapta."
and he took him out.
""it has actually eyes!"
he cried.
""why, it must be a cephalopod!
this is most extraordinary!"
""no, i ai n't!"
cried tom, as loud as he could; for he did not like to be called bad names.
""it is a water-baby!"
cried ellie; and of course it was.
""water-fiddlesticks, my dear!"
said the professor; and he turned away sharply.
there was no denying it.
it was a water-baby: and he had said a moment ago that there were none.
what was he to do?
he would have liked, of course, to have taken tom home in a bucket.
he would not have put him in spirits.
of course not.
he would have kept him alive, and petted him -lrb- for he was a very kind old gentleman -rrb-, and written a book about him, and given him two long names, of which the first would have said a little about tom, and the second all about himself; for of course he would have called him hydrotecnon ptthmllnsprtsianum, or some other long name like that; for they are forced to call everything by long names now, because they have used up all the short ones, ever since they took to making nine species out of one.
but -- what would all the learned men say to him after his speech at the british association?
and what would ellie say, after what he had just told her?
there was a wise old heathen once, who said, "maxima debetur pueris reverentia" -- the greatest reverence is due to children; that is, that grown people should never say or do anything wrong before children, lest they should set them a bad example.
-- cousin cramchild says it means, "the greatest respectfulness is expected from little boys."
but he was raised in a country where little boys are not expected to be respectful, because all of them are as good as the president: - well, every one knows his own concerns best; so perhaps they are.
but poor cousin cramchild, to do him justice, not being of that opinion, and having a moral mission, and being no scholar to speak of, and hard up for an authority -- why, it was a very great temptation for him.
but some people, and i am afraid the professor was one of them, interpret that in a more strange, curious, one-sided, left-handed, topsy-turvy, inside-out, behind-before fashion than even cousin cramchild; for they make it mean, that you must show your respect for children, by never confessing yourself in the wrong to them, even if you know that you are so, lest they should lose confidence in their elders.
now, if the professor had said to ellie, "yes, my darling, it is a water-baby, and a very wonderful thing it is; and it shows how little i know of the wonders of nature, in spite of forty years" honest labour.
i was just telling you that there could be no such creatures; and, behold!
here is one come to confound my conceit and show me that nature can do, and has done, beyond all that man's poor fancy can imagine.
so, let us thank the maker, and inspirer, and lord of nature for all his wonderful and glorious works, and try and find out something about this one;" -- i think that, if the professor had said that, little ellie would have believed him more firmly, and respected him more deeply, and loved him better, than ever she had done before.
but he was of a different opinion.
he hesitated a moment.
he longed to keep tom, and yet he half wished he never had caught him; and at last he quite longed to get rid of him.
so he turned away and poked tom with his finger, for want of anything better to do; and said carelessly, "my dear little maid, you must have dreamt of water-babies last night, your head is so full of them."
now tom had been in the most horrible and unspeakable fright all the while; and had kept as quiet as he could, though he was called a holothurian and a cephalopod; for it was fixed in his little head that if a man with clothes on caught him, he might put clothes on him too, and make a dirty black chimney-sweep of him again.
but, when the professor poked him, it was more than he could bear; and, between fright and rage, he turned to bay as valiantly as a mouse in a corner, and bit the professor's finger till it bled.
""oh!
ah!
yah!"
cried he; and glad of an excuse to be rid of tom, dropped him on to the seaweed, and thence he dived into the water and was gone in a moment.
""but it was a water-baby, and i heard it speak!"
cried ellie.
""ah, it is gone!"
and she jumped down off the rock, to try and catch tom before he slipped into the sea.
too late!
and what was worse, as she sprang down, she slipped, and fell some six feet, with her head on a sharp rock, and lay quite still.
the professor picked her up, and tried to waken her, and called to her, and cried over her, for he loved her very much: but she would not waken at all.
so he took her up in his arms and carried her to her governess, and they all went home; and little ellie was put to bed, and lay there quite still; only now and then she woke up and called out about the water-baby: but no one knew what she meant, and the professor did not tell, for he was ashamed to tell.
and, after a week, one moonlight night, the fairies came flying in at the window and brought her such a pretty pair of wings that she could not help putting them on; and she flew with them out of the window, and over the land, and over the sea, and up through the clouds, and nobody heard or saw anything of her for a very long while.
and this is why they say that no one has ever yet seen a water - baby.
for my part, i believe that the naturalists get dozens of them when they are out dredging; but they say nothing about them, and throw them overboard again, for fear of spoiling their theories.
but, you see the professor was found out, as every one is in due time.
a very terrible old fairy found the professor out; she felt his bumps, and cast his nativity, and took the lunars of him carefully inside and out; and so she knew what he would do as well as if she had seen it in a print book, as they say in the dear old west country; and he did it; and so he was found out beforehand, as everybody always is; and the old fairy will find out the naturalists some day, and put them in the times, and then on whose side will the laugh be?
so the old fairy took him in hand very severely there and then.
but she says she is always most severe with the best people, because there is most chance of curing them, and therefore they are the patients who pay her best; for she has to work on the same salary as the emperor of china's physicians -lrb- it is a pity that all do not -rrb-, no cure, no pay.
so she took the poor professor in hand: and because he was not content with things as they are, she filled his head with things as they are not, to try if he would like them better; and because he did not choose to believe in a water-baby when he saw it, she made him believe in worse things than water-babies -- in unicorns, fire - drakes, manticoras, basilisks, amphisbaenas, griffins, phoenixes, rocs, orcs, dog-headed men, three-headed dogs, three-bodied geryons, and other pleasant creatures, which folks think never existed yet, and which folks hope never will exist, though they know nothing about the matter, and never will; and these creatures so upset, terrified, flustered, aggravated, confused, astounded, horrified, and totally flabbergasted the poor professor that the doctors said that he was out of his wits for three months; and perhaps they were right, as they are now and then.
so all the doctors in the county were called in to make a report on his case; and of course every one of them flatly contradicted the other: else what use is there in being men of science?
but at last the majority agreed on a report in the true medical language, one half bad latin, the other half worse greek, and the rest what might have been english, if they had only learnt to write it.
and this is the beginning thereof - "the subanhypaposupernal anastomoses of peritomic diacellurite in the encephalo digital region of the distinguished individual of whose symptomatic phoenomena we had the melancholy honour -lrb- subsequently to a preliminary diagnostic inspection -rrb- of making an inspectorial diagnosis, presenting the interexclusively quadrilateral and antinomian diathesis known as bumpsterhausen's blue follicles, we proceeded" - but what they proceeded to do my lady never knew; for she was so frightened at the long words that she ran for her life, and locked herself into her bedroom, for fear of being squashed by the words and strangled by the sentence.
a boa constrictor, she said, was bad company enough: but what was a boa constrictor made of paving stones?
""it was quite shocking!
what can they think is the matter with him?"
said she to the old nurse.
""that his wit's just addled; may be wi" unbelief and heathenry," quoth she.
""then why ca n't they say so?"
and the heaven, and the sea, and the rocks, and the vales re - echoed -- "why indeed?"
but the doctors never heard them.
so she made sir john write to the times to command the chancellor of the exchequer for the time being to put a tax on long words; - a light tax on words over three syllables, which are necessary evils, like rats: but, like them, must be kept down judiciously.
a heavy tax on words over four syllables, as heterodoxy, spontaneity, spiritualism, spuriosity, etc..
and on words over five syllables -lrb- of which i hope no one will wish to see any examples -rrb-, a totally prohibitory tax.
and a similar prohibitory tax on words derived from three or more languages at once; words derived from two languages having become so common that there was no more hope of rooting out them than of rooting out peth-winds.
the chancellor of the exchequer, being a scholar and a man of sense, jumped at the notion; for he saw in it the one and only plan for abolishing schedule d: but when he brought in his bill, most of the irish members, and -lrb- i am sorry to say -rrb- some of the scotch likewise, opposed it most strongly, on the ground that in a free country no man was bound either to understand himself or to let others understand him.
so the bill fell through on the first reading; and the chancellor, being a philosopher, comforted himself with the thought that it was not the first time that a woman had hit off a grand idea and the men turned up their stupid noses thereat.
now the doctors had it all their own way; and to work they went in earnest, and they gave the poor professor divers and sundry medicines, as prescribed by the ancients and moderns, from hippocrates to feuchtersleben, as below, viz.
- 1.
hellebore, to wit - hellebore of aeta.
hellebore of galatia.
hellebore of sicily.
and all other hellebores, after the method of the helleborising helleborists of the helleboric era.
but that would not do.
bumpsterhausen's blue follicles would not stir an inch out of his encephalo digital region.
2.
trying to find out what was the matter with him, after the method of hippocrates, aretaeus, celsus, coelius aurelianus, and galen.
but they found that a great deal too much trouble, as most people have since; and so had recourse to - 3.
borage.
cauteries.
boring a hole in his head to let out fumes, which -lrb- says gordonius -rrb- "will, without doubt, do much good."
but it did n't.
bezoar stone.
diamargaritum.
a ram's brain boiled in spice.
oil of wormwood.
water of nile.
capers.
good wine -lrb- but there was none to be got -rrb-.
the water of a smith's forge.
ambergris.
mandrake pillows.
dormouse fat.
hares" ears.
starvation.
camphor.
salts and senna.
musk.
opium.
strait-waistcoats.
bullyings.
bumpings.
bleedings.
bucketings with cold water.
knockings down.
kneeling on his chest till they broke it in, etc. etc.; after the medieval or monkish method: but that would not do.
bumpsterhausen's blue follicles stuck there still.
then - 4.
coaxing.
kissing.
champagne and turtle.
red herrings and soda water.
good advice.
gardening.
croquet.
musical soirees.
aunt salty.
mild tobacco.
the saturday review.
a carriage with outriders, etc. etc..
after the modern method.
but that would not do.
and if he had but been a convict lunatic, and had shot at the queen, killed all his creditors to avoid paying them, or indulged in any other little amiable eccentricity of that kind, they would have given him in addition - the healthiest situation in england, on easthampstead plain.
free run of windsor forest.
the times every morning.
a double-barrelled gun and pointers, and leave to shoot three wellington college boys a week -lrb- not more -rrb- in case black game was scarce.
but as he was neither mad enough nor bad enough to be allowed such luxuries, they grew desperate, and fell into bad ways, viz.
- 5.
suffumigations of sulphur.
herrwiggius his "incomparable drink for madmen:" only they could not find out what it was.
suffumigation of the liver of the fish * * * only they had forgotten its name, so dr. gray could not well procure them a specimen.
metallic tractors.
holloway's ointment.
electro-biology.
valentine greatrakes his stroking cure.
spirit-rapping.
holloway's pills.
table-turning.
morison's pills.
homoeopathy.
parr's life pills.
mesmerism.
pure bosh.
exorcisms, for which the read maleus maleficarum, nideri formicarium, delrio, wierus, etc..
but could not get one that mentioned water-babies.
hydropathy.
madame rachel's elixir of youth.
the poughkeepsie seer his prophecies.
the distilled liquor of addle eggs.
pyropathy.
as successfully employed by the old inquisitors to cure the malady of thought, and now by the persian mollahs to cure that of rheumatism.
geopathy, or burying him.
atmopathy, or steaming him.
sympathy, after the method of basil valentine his triumph of antimony, and kenelm digby his weapon-salve, which some call a hair of the dog that bit him.
hermopathy, or pouring mercury down his throat to move the animal spirits.
meteoropathy, or going up to the moon to look for his lost wits, as ruggiero did for orlando furioso's: only, having no hippogriff, they were forced to use a balloon; and, falling into the north sea, were picked up by a yarmouth herring-boat, and came home much the wiser, and all over scales.
antipathy, or using him like "a man and a brother."
apathy, or doing nothing at all.
with all other ipathies and opathies which noodle has invented, and foodle tried, since black-fellows chipped flints at abbeville -- which is a considerable time ago, to judge by the great exhibition.
but nothing would do; for he screamed and cried all day for a water-baby, to come and drive away the monsters; and of course they did not try to find one, because they did not believe in them, and were thinking of nothing but bumpsterhausen's blue follicles; having, as usual, set the cart before the horse, and taken the effect for the cause.
so they were forced at last to let the poor professor ease his mind by writing a great book, exactly contrary to all his old opinions; in which he proved that the moon was made of green cheese, and that all the mites in it -lrb- which you may see sometimes quite plain through a telescope, if you will only keep the lens dirty enough, as mr. weekes kept his voltaic battery -rrb- are nothing in the world but little babies, who are hatching and swarming up there in millions, ready to come down into this world whenever children want a new little brother or sister.
which must be a mistake, for this one reason: that, there being no atmosphere round the moon -lrb- though some one or other says there is, at least on the other side, and that he has been round at the back of it to see, and found that the moon was just the shape of a bath bun, and so wet that the man in the moon went about on midsummer - day in macintoshes and cording's boots, spearing eels and sneezing -rrb-; that, therefore, i say, there being no atmosphere, there can be no evaporation; and therefore the dew-point can never fall below 71.5 degrees below zero of fahrenheit: and, therefore, it can not be cold enough there about four o'clock in the morning to condense the babies" mesenteric apophthegms into their left ventricles; and, therefore, they can never catch the hooping-cough; and if they do not have hooping-cough, they can not be babies at all; and, therefore, there are no babies in the moon.
-- q.e.d. which may seem a roundabout reason; and so, perhaps, it is: but you will have heard worse ones in your time, and from better men than you are.
but one thing is certain; that, when the good old doctor got his book written, he felt considerably relieved from bumpsterhausen's blue follicles, and a few things infinitely worse; to wit, from pride and vain-glory, and from blindness and hardness of heart; which are the true causes of bumpsterhausen's blue follicles, and of a good many other ugly things besides.
whereon the foul flood - water in his brains ran down, and cleared to a fine coffee colour, such as fish like to rise in, till very fine clean fresh-run fish did begin to rise in his brains; and he caught two or three of them -lrb- which is exceedingly fine sport, for brain rivers -rrb-, and anatomised them carefully, and never mentioned what he found out from them, except to little children; and became ever after a sadder and a wiser man; which is a very good thing to become, my dear little boy, even though one has to pay a heavy price for the blessing.
chapter v "stern lawgiver!
yet thou dost wear the godhead's most benignant grace; nor know we anything so fair as is the smile upon thy face: flowers laugh before thee on their beds and fragrance in thy footing treads; thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; and the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong."
wordsworth, ode to duty.
what became of little tom?
he slipped away off the rocks into the water, as i said before.
but he could not help thinking of little ellie.
he did not remember who she was; but he knew that she was a little girl, though she was a hundred times as big as he.
that is not surprising: size has nothing to do with kindred.
a tiny weed may be first cousin to a great tree; and a little dog like vick knows that lioness is a dog too, though she is twenty times larger than herself.
so tom knew that ellie was a little girl, and thought about her all that day, and longed to have had her to play with; but he had very soon to think of something else.
and here is the account of what happened to him, as it was published next morning, in the water-proof gazette, on the finest watered paper, for the use of the great fairy, mrs. bedonebyasyoudid, who reads the news very carefully every morning, and especially the police cases, as you will hear very soon.
he was going along the rocks in three-fathom water, watching the pollock catch prawns, and the wrasses nibble barnacles off the rocks, shells and all, when he saw a round cage of green withes; and inside it, looking very much ashamed of himself, sat his friend the lobster, twiddling his horns, instead of thumbs.
""what, have you been naughty, and have they put you in the lock - up?"
asked tom.
the lobster felt a little indignant at such a notion, but he was too much depressed in spirits to argue; so he only said, "i ca n't get out."
""why did you get in?"
""after that nasty piece of dead fish."
he had thought it looked and smelt very nice when he was outside, and so it did, for a lobster: but now he turned round and abused it because he was angry with himself.
""where did you get in?"
""through that round hole at the top."
""then why do n't you get out through it?"
""because i ca n't:" and the lobster twiddled his horns more fiercely than ever, but he was forced to confess.
""i have jumped upwards, downwards, backwards, and sideways, at least four thousand times; and i ca n't get out: i always get up underneath there, and ca n't find the hole."
tom looked at the trap, and having more wit than the lobster, he saw plainly enough what was the matter; as you may if you will look at a lobster-pot.
""stop a bit," said tom.
""turn your tail up to me, and i'll pull you through hindforemost, and then you wo n't stick in the spikes."
but the lobster was so stupid and clumsy that he could n't hit the hole.
like a great many fox-hunters, he was very sharp as long as he was in his own country; but as soon as they get out of it they lose their heads; and so the lobster, so to speak, lost his tail.
tom reached and clawed down the hole after him, till he caught hold of him; and then, as was to be expected, the clumsy lobster pulled him in head foremost.
""hullo!
here is a pretty business," said tom.
""now take your great claws, and break the points off those spikes, and then we shall both get out easily."
""dear me, i never thought of that," said the lobster; "and after all the experience of life that i have had!"
you see, experience is of very little good unless a man, or a lobster, has wit enough to make use of it.
for a good many people, like old polonius, have seen all the world, and yet remain little better than children after all.
but they had not got half the spikes away when they saw a great dark cloud over them: and lo, and behold, it was the otter.
how she did grin and grin when she saw tom.
""yar!"
said she, "you little meddlesome wretch, i have you now!
i will serve you out for telling the salmon where i was!"
and she crawled all over the pot to get in.
tom was horribly frightened, and still more frightened when she found the hole in the top, and squeezed herself right down through it, all eyes and teeth.
but no sooner was her head inside than valiant mr. lobster caught her by the nose and held on.
and there they were all three in the pot, rolling over and over, and very tight packing it was.
and the lobster tore at the otter, and the otter tore at the lobster, and both squeezed and thumped poor tom till he had no breath left in his body; and i do n't know what would have happened to him if he had not at last got on the otter's back, and safe out of the hole.
he was right glad when he got out: but he would not desert his friend who had saved him; and the first time he saw his tail uppermost he caught hold of it, and pulled with all his might.
but the lobster would not let go.
""come along," said tom; "do n't you see she is dead?"
and so she was, quite drowned and dead.
and that was the end of the wicked otter.
but the lobster would not let go.
""come along, you stupid old stick-in-the-mud," cried tom, "or the fisherman will catch you!"
and that was true, for tom felt some one above beginning to haul up the pot.
but the lobster would not let go.
tom saw the fisherman haul him up to the boat-side, and thought it was all up with him.
but when mr. lobster saw the fisherman, he gave such a furious and tremendous snap, that he snapped out of his hand, and out of the pot, and safe into the sea.
but he left his knobbed claw behind him; for it never came into his stupid head to let go after all, so he just shook his claw off as the easier method.
it was something of a bull, that; but you must know the lobster was an irish lobster, and was hatched off island magee at the mouth of belfast lough.
tom asked the lobster why he never thought of letting go.
he said very determinedly that it was a point of honour among lobsters.
and so it is, as the mayor of plymouth found out once to his cost -- eight or nine hundred years ago, of course; for if it had happened lately it would be personal to mention it.
for one day he was so tired with sitting on a hard chair, in a grand furred gown, with a gold chain round his neck, hearing one policeman after another come in and sing, "what shall we do with the drunken sailor, so early in the morning?"
and answering them each exactly alike: "put him in the round house till he gets sober, so early in the morning" - that, when it was over, he jumped up, and played leap-frog with the town-clerk till he burst his buttons, and then had his luncheon, and burst some more buttons, and then said: "it is a low spring - tide; i shall go out this afternoon and cut my capers."
now he did not mean to cut such capers as you eat with boiled mutton.
it was the commandant of artillery at valetta who used to amuse himself with cutting them, and who stuck upon one of the bastions a notice, "no one allowed to cut capers here but me," which greatly edified the midshipmen in port, and the maltese on the nix mangiare stairs.
but all that the mayor meant was that he would go and have an afternoon's fun, like any schoolboy, and catch lobsters with an iron hook.
so to the mewstone he went, and for lobsters he looked.
and when he came to a certain crack in the rocks he was so excited that, instead of putting in his hook, he put in his hand; and mr. lobster was at home, and caught him by the finger, and held on.
""yah!"
said the mayor, and pulled as hard as he dared: but the more he pulled, the more the lobster pinched, till he was forced to be quiet.
then he tried to get his hook in with his other hand; but the hole was too narrow.
then he pulled again; but he could not stand the pain.
then he shouted and bawled for help: but there was no one nearer him than the men-of-war inside the breakwater.
then he began to turn a little pale; for the tide flowed, and still the lobster held on.
then he turned quite white; for the tide was up to his knees, and still the lobster held on.
then he thought of cutting off his finger; but he wanted two things to do it with -- courage and a knife; and he had got neither.
then he turned quite yellow; for the tide was up to his waist, and still the lobster held on.
then he thought over all the naughty things he ever had done; all the sand which he had put in the sugar, and the sloe-leaves in the tea, and the water in the treacle, and the salt in the tobacco -lrb- because his brother was a brewer, and a man must help his own kin -rrb-.
then he turned quite blue; for the tide was up to his breast, and still the lobster held on.
then, i have no doubt, he repented fully of all the said naughty things which he had done, and promised to mend his life, as too many do when they think they have no life left to mend.
whereby, as they fancy, they make a very cheap bargain.
but the old fairy with the birch rod soon undeceives them.
and then he grew all colours at once, and turned up his eyes like a duck in thunder; for the water was up to his chin, and still the lobster held on.
and then came a man-of-war's boat round the mewstone, and saw his head sticking up out of the water.
one said it was a keg of brandy, and another that it was a cocoa-nut, and another that it was a buoy loose, and another that it was a black diver, and wanted to fire at it, which would not have been pleasant for the mayor: but just then such a yell came out of a great hole in the middle of it that the midshipman in charge guessed what it was, and bade pull up to it as fast as they could.
so somehow or other the jack-tars got the lobster out, and set the mayor free, and put him ashore at the barbican.
he never went lobster-catching again; and we will hope he put no more salt in the tobacco, not even to sell his brother's beer.
and that is the story of the mayor of plymouth, which has two advantages -- first, that of being quite true; and second, that of having -lrb- as folks say all good stories ought to have -rrb- no moral whatsoever: no more, indeed, has any part of this book, because it is a fairy tale, you know.
and now happened to tom a most wonderful thing; for he had not left the lobster five minutes before he came upon a water-baby.
a real live water-baby, sitting on the white sand, very busy about a little point of rock.
and when it saw tom it looked up for a moment, and then cried, "why, you are not one of us.
you are a new baby!
oh, how delightful!"
and it ran to tom, and tom ran to it, and they hugged and kissed each other for ever so long, they did not know why.
but they did not want any introductions there under the water.
at last tom said, "oh, where have you been all this while?
i have been looking for you so long, and i have been so lonely."
""we have been here for days and days.
there are hundreds of us about the rocks.
how was it you did not see us, or hear us when we sing and romp every evening before we go home?"
tom looked at the baby again, and then he said: "well, this is wonderful!
i have seen things just like you again and again, but i thought you were shells, or sea-creatures.
i never took you for water-babies like myself."
now, was not that very odd?
so odd, indeed, that you will, no doubt, want to know how it happened, and why tom could never find a water-baby till after he had got the lobster out of the pot.
and, if you will read this story nine times over, and then think for yourself, you will find out why.
it is not good for little boys to be told everything, and never to be forced to use their own wits.
they would learn, then, no more than they do at dr. dulcimer's famous suburban establishment for the idler members of the youthful aristocracy, where the masters learn the lessons and the boys hear them -- which saves a great deal of trouble -- for the time being.
""now," said the baby, "come and help me, or i shall not have finished before my brothers and sisters come, and it is time to go home."
""what shall i help you at?"
""at this poor dear little rock; a great clumsy boulder came rolling by in the last storm, and knocked all its head off, and rubbed off all its flowers.
and now i must plant it again with seaweeds, and coralline, and anemones, and i will make it the prettiest little rock-garden on all the shore."
so they worked away at the rock, and planted it, and smoothed the sand down round, it, and capital fun they had till the tide began to turn.
and then tom heard all the other babies coming, laughing and singing and shouting and romping; and the noise they made was just like the noise of the ripple.
so he knew that he had been hearing and seeing the water-babies all along; only he did not know them, because his eyes and ears were not opened.
and in they came, dozens and dozens of them, some bigger than tom and some smaller, all in the neatest little white bathing dresses; and when they found that he was a new baby, they hugged him and kissed him, and then put him in the middle and danced round him on the sand, and there was no one ever so happy as poor little tom.
""now then," they cried all at once, "we must come away home, we must come away home, or the tide will leave us dry.
we have mended all the broken sea-weed, and put all the rock-pools in order, and planted all the shells again in the sand, and nobody will see where the ugly storm swept in last week."
and this is the reason why the rock-pools are always so neat and clean; because the water-babies come inshore after every storm to sweep them out, and comb them down, and put them all to rights again.
only where men are wasteful and dirty, and let sewers run into the sea instead of putting the stuff upon the fields like thrifty reasonable souls; or throw herrings" heads and dead dog-fish, or any other refuse, into the water; or in any way make a mess upon the clean shore -- there the water-babies will not come, sometimes not for hundreds of years -lrb- for they can not abide anything smelly or foul -rrb-, but leave the sea-anemones and the crabs to clear away everything, till the good tidy sea has covered up all the dirt in soft mud and clean sand, where the water-babies can plant live cockles and whelks and razor-shells and sea-cucumbers and golden - combs, and make a pretty live garden again, after man's dirt is cleared away.
and that, i suppose, is the reason why there are no water-babies at any watering-place which i have ever seen.
and where is the home of the water-babies?
in st. brandan's fairy isle.
did you never hear of the blessed st. brandan, how he preached to the wild irish on the wild, wild kerry coast, he and five other hermits, till they were weary and longed to rest?
for the wild irish would not listen to them, or come to confession and to mass, but liked better to brew potheen, and dance the pater o'pee, and knock each other over the head with shillelaghs, and shoot each other from behind turf-dykes, and steal each other's cattle, and burn each other's homes; till st. brandan and his friends were weary of them, for they would not learn to be peaceable christians at all.
so st. brandan went out to the point of old dunmore, and looked over the tide-way roaring round the blasquets, at the end of all the world, and away into the ocean, and sighed -- "ah that i had wings as a dove!"
and far away, before the setting sun, he saw a blue fairy sea, and golden fairy islands, and he said, "those are the islands of the blest."
then he and his friends got into a hooker, and sailed away and away to the westward, and were never heard of more.
but the people who would not hear him were changed into gorillas, and gorillas they are until this day.
and when st. brandan and the hermits came to that fairy isle they found it overgrown with cedars and full of beautiful birds; and he sat down under the cedars and preached to all the birds in the air.
and they liked his sermons so well that they told the fishes in the sea; and they came, and st. brandan preached to them; and the fishes told the water-babies, who live in the caves under the isle; and they came up by hundreds every sunday, and st. brandan got quite a neat little sunday-school.
and there he taught the water - babies for a great many hundred years, till his eyes grew too dim to see, and his beard grew so long that he dared not walk for fear of treading on it, and then he might have tumbled down.
and at last he and the five hermits fell fast asleep under the cedar - shades, and there they sleep unto this day.
but the fairies took to the water-babies, and taught them their lessons themselves.
and some say that st. brandan will awake and begin to teach the babies once more: but some think that he will sleep on, for better for worse, till the coming of the cocqcigrues.
but, on still clear summer evenings, when the sun sinks down into the sea, among golden cloud-capes and cloud-islands, and locks and friths of azure sky, the sailors fancy that they see, away to westward, st. brandan's fairy isle.
but whether men can see it or not, st. brandan's isle once actually stood there; a great land out in the ocean, which has sunk and sunk beneath the waves.
old plato called it atlantis, and told strange tales of the wise men who lived therein, and of the wars they fought in the old times.
and from off that island came strange flowers, which linger still about this land: - the cornish heath, and cornish moneywort, and the delicate venus's hair, and the london-pride which covers the kerry mountains, and the little pink butterwort of devon, and the great blue butterwort of ireland, and the connemara heath, and the bristle-fern of the turk waterfall, and many a strange plant more; all fairy tokens left for wise men and good children from off st. brandan's isle.
now when tom got there, he found that the isle stood all on pillars, and that its roots were full of caves.
there were pillars of black basalt, like staffa; and pillars of green and crimson serpentine, like kynance; and pillars ribboned with red and white and yellow sandstone, like livermead; and there were blue grottoes like capri, and white grottoes like adelsberg; all curtained and draped with seaweeds, purple and crimson, green and brown; and strewn with soft white sand, on which the water-babies sleep every night.
but, to keep the place clean and sweet, the crabs picked up all the scraps off the floor and ate them like so many monkeys; while the rocks were covered with ten thousand sea-anemones, and corals and madrepores, who scavenged the water all day long, and kept it nice and pure.
but, to make up to them for having to do such nasty work, they were not left black and dirty, as poor chimney-sweeps and dustmen are.
no; the fairies are more considerate and just than that, and have dressed them all in the most beautiful colours and patterns, till they look like vast flower-beds of gay blossoms.
if you think i am talking nonsense, i can only say that it is true; and that an old gentleman named fourier used to say that we ought to do the same by chimney-sweeps and dustmen, and honour them instead of despising them; and he was a very clever old gentleman: but, unfortunately for him and the world, as mad as a march hare.
and, instead of watchmen and policemen to keep out nasty things at night, there were thousands and thousands of water-snakes, and most wonderful creatures they were.
they were all named after the nereids, the sea-fairies who took care of them, eunice and polynoe, phyllodoce and psamathe, and all the rest of the pretty darlings who swim round their queen amphitrite, and her car of cameo shell.
they were dressed in green velvet, and black velvet, and purple velvet; and were all jointed in rings; and some of them had three hundred brains apiece, so that they must have been uncommonly shrewd detectives; and some had eyes in their tails; and some had eyes in every joint, so that they kept a very sharp look-out; and when they wanted a baby-snake, they just grew one at the end of their own tails, and when it was able to take care of itself it dropped off; so that they brought up their families very cheaply.
but if any nasty thing came by, out they rushed upon it; and then out of each of their hundreds of feet there sprang a whole cutler's shop of scythes, javelins, billhooks, lances, pickaxes, halberts, forks, gisarines, penknives, poleaxes, rapiers, fishhooks, sabres, bradawls, yataghans, gimblets, creeses, corkscrews, ghoorka swords, pins, tucks, needles, and so forth, which stabbed, shot, poked, pricked, scratched, ripped, pinked, and crimped those naughty beasts so terribly, that they had to run for their lives, or else be chopped into small pieces and be eaten afterwards.
and, if that is not all, every word, true, then there is no faith in microscopes, and all is over with the linnaean society.
and there were the water-babies in thousands, more than tom, or you either, could count.
-- all the little children whom the good fairies take to, because their cruel mothers and fathers will not; all who are untaught and brought up heathens, and all who come to grief by ill-usage or ignorance or neglect; all the little children who are overlaid, or given gin when they are young, or are let to drink out of hot kettles, or to fall into the fire; all the little children in alleys and courts, and tumble-down cottages, who die by fever, and cholera, and measles, and scarlatina, and nasty complaints which no one has any business to have, and which no one will have some day, when folks have common sense; and all the little children who have been killed by cruel masters and wicked soldiers; they were all there, except, of course, the babes of bethlehem who were killed by wicked king herod; for they were taken straight to heaven long ago, as everybody knows, and we call them the holy innocents.
but i wish tom had given up all his naughty tricks, and left off tormenting dumb animals now that he had plenty of playfellows to amuse him.
instead of that, i am sorry to say, he would meddle with the creatures, all but the water-snakes, for they would stand no nonsense.
so he tickled the madrepores, to make them shut up; and frightened the crabs, to make them hide in the sand and peep out at him with the tips of their eyes; and put stones into the anemones" mouths, to make them fancy that their dinner was coming.
the other children warned him, and said, "take care what you are at.
mrs. bedonebyasyoudid is coming."
but tom never heeded them, being quite riotous with high spirits and good luck, till, one friday morning early, mrs. bedonebyasyoudid came indeed.
a very tremendous lady she was; and when the children saw her they all stood in a row, very upright indeed, and smoothed down their bathing dresses, and put their hands behind them, just as if they were going to be examined by the inspector.
and she had on a black bonnet, and a black shawl, and no crinoline at all; and a pair of large green spectacles, and a great hooked nose, hooked so much that the bridge of it stood quite up above her eyebrows; and under her arm she carried a great birch-rod.
indeed, she was so ugly that tom was tempted to make faces at her: but did not; for he did not admire the look of the birch-rod under her arm.
and she looked at the children one by one, and seemed very much pleased with them, though she never asked them one question about how they were behaving; and then began giving them all sorts of nice sea-things -- sea-cakes, sea-apples, sea-oranges, sea-bullseyes, sea-toffee; and to the very best of all she gave sea-ices, made out of sea-cows" cream, which never melt under water.
and, if you do n't quite believe me, then just think -- what is more cheap and plentiful than sea-rock?
then why should there not be sea-toffee as well?
and every one can find sea-lemons -lrb- ready quartered too -rrb- if they will look for them at low tide; and sea - grapes too sometimes, hanging in bunches; and, if you will go to nice, you will find the fish-market full of sea-fruit, which they call "frutta di mare:" though i suppose they call them "fruits de mer" now, out of compliment to that most successful, and therefore most immaculate, potentate who is seemingly desirous of inheriting the blessing pronounced on those who remove their neighbours" land - mark.
and, perhaps, that is the very reason why the place is called nice, because there are so many nice things in the sea there: at least, if it is not, it ought to be.
now little tom watched all these sweet things given away, till his mouth watered, and his eyes grew as round as an owl's.
for he hoped that his turn would come at last; and so it did.
for the lady called him up, and held out her fingers with something in them, and popped it into his mouth; and, lo and behold, it was a nasty cold hard pebble.
""you are a very cruel woman," said he, and began to whimper.
""and you are a very cruel boy; who puts pebbles into the sea - anemones" mouths, to take them in, and make them fancy that they had caught a good dinner!
as you did to them, so i must do to you."
""who told you that?"
said tom.
""you did yourself, this very minute."
tom had never opened his lips; so he was very much taken aback indeed.
""yes; every one tells me exactly what they have done wrong; and that without knowing it themselves.
so there is no use trying to hide anything from me.
now go, and be a good boy, and i will put no more pebbles in your mouth, if you put none in other creatures"."
""i did not know there was any harm in it," said tom.
""then you know now.
people continually say that to me: but i tell them, if you do n't know that fire burns, that is no reason that it should not burn you; and if you do n't know that dirt breeds fever, that is no reason why the fevers should not kill you.
the lobster did not know that there was any harm in getting into the lobster - pot; but it caught him all the same."
""dear me," thought tom, "she knows everything!"
and so she did, indeed.
""and so, if you do not know that things are wrong that is no reason why you should not be punished for them; though not as much, not as much, my little man" -lrb- and the lady looked very kindly, after all -rrb-, "as if you did know."
""well, you are a little hard on a poor lad," said tom.
""not at all; i am the best friend you ever had in all your life.
but i will tell you; i can not help punishing people when they do wrong.
i like it no more than they do; i am often very, very sorry for them, poor things: but i can not help it.
if i tried not to do it, i should do it all the same.
for i work by machinery, just like an engine; and am full of wheels and springs inside; and am wound up very carefully, so that i can not help going."
""was it long ago since they wound you up?"
asked tom.
for he thought, the cunning little fellow, "she will run down some day: or they may forget to wind her up, as old grimes used to forget to wind up his watch when he came in from the public-house; and then i shall be safe."
""i was wound up once and for all, so long ago, that i forget all about it."
""dear me," said tom, "you must have been made a long time!"
""i never was made, my child; and i shall go for ever and ever; for i am as old as eternity, and yet as young as time."
and there came over the lady's face a very curious expression -- very solemn, and very sad; and yet very, very sweet.
and she looked up and away, as if she were gazing through the sea, and through the sky, at something far, far off; and as she did so, there came such a quiet, tender, patient, hopeful smile over her face that tom thought for the moment that she did not look ugly at all.
and no more she did; for she was like a great many people who have not a pretty feature in their faces, and yet are lovely to behold, and draw little children's hearts to them at once because though the house is plain enough, yet from the windows a beautiful and good spirit is looking forth.
and tom smiled in her face, she looked so pleasant for the moment.
and the strange fairy smiled too, and said: "yes.
you thought me very ugly just now, did you not?"
tom hung down his head, and got very red about the ears.
""and i am very ugly.
i am the ugliest fairy in the world; and i shall be, till people behave themselves as they ought to do.
and then i shall grow as handsome as my sister, who is the loveliest fairy in the world; and her name is mrs. doasyouwouldbedoneby.
so she begins where i end, and i begin where she ends; and those who will not listen to her must listen to me, as you will see.
now, all of you run away, except tom; and he may stay and see what i am going to do.
it will be a very good warning for him to begin with, before he goes to school.
""now, tom, every friday i come down here and call up all who have ill-used little children and serve them as they served the children."
and at that tom was frightened, and crept under a stone; which made the two crabs who lived there very angry, and frightened their friend the butter-fish into flapping hysterics: but he would not move for them.
and first she called up all the doctors who give little children so much physic -lrb- they were most of them old ones; for the young ones have learnt better, all but a few army surgeons, who still fancy that a baby's inside is much like a scotch grenadier's -rrb-, and she set them all in a row; and very rueful they looked; for they knew what was coming.
and first she pulled all their teeth out; and then she bled them all round: and then she dosed them with calomel, and jalap, and salts and senna, and brimstone and treacle; and horrible faces they made; and then she gave them a great emetic of mustard and water, and no basons; and began all over again; and that was the way she spent the morning.
and then she called up a whole troop of foolish ladies, who pinch up their children's waists and toes; and she laced them all up in tight stays, so that they were choked and sick, and their noses grew red, and their hands and feet swelled; and then she crammed their poor feet into the most dreadfully tight boots, and made them all dance, which they did most clumsily indeed; and then she asked them how they liked it; and when they said not at all, she let them go: because they had only done it out of foolish fashion, fancying it was for their children's good, as if wasps" waists and pigs" toes could be pretty, or wholesome, or of any use to anybody.
then she called up all the careless nurserymaids, and stuck pins into them all over, and wheeled them about in perambulators with tight straps across their stomachs and their heads and arms hanging over the side, till they were quite sick and stupid, and would have had sun-strokes: but, being under the water, they could only have water-strokes; which, i assure you, are nearly as bad, as you will find if you try to sit under a mill-wheel.
and mind -- when you hear a rumbling at the bottom of the sea, sailors will tell you that it is a ground-swell: but now you know better.
it is the old lady wheeling the maids about in perambulators.
and by that time she was so tired, she had to go to luncheon.
and after luncheon she set to work again, and called up all the cruel schoolmasters -- whole regiments and brigades of them; and when she saw them, she frowned most terribly, and set to work in earnest, as if the best part of the day's work was to come.
more than half of them were nasty, dirty, frowzy, grubby, smelly old monks, who, because they dare not hit a man of their own size, amused themselves with beating little children instead; as you may see in the picture of old pope gregory -lrb- good man and true though he was, when he meddled with things which he did understand -rrb-, teaching children to sing their fa-fa-mi-fa with a cat-o" - nine tails under his chair: but, because they never had any children of their own, they took into their heads -lrb- as some folks do still -rrb- that they were the only people in the world who knew how to manage children: and they first brought into england, in the old anglo-saxon times, the fashion of treating free boys, and girls too, worse than you would treat a dog or a horse: but mrs. bedonebyasyoudid has caught them all long ago; and given them many a taste of their own rods; and much good may it do them.
and she boxed their ears, and thumped them over the head with rulers, and pandied their hands with canes, and told them that they told stories, and were this and that bad sort of people; and the more they were very indignant, and stood upon their honour, and declared they told the truth, the more she declared they were not, and that they were only telling lies; and at last she birched them all round soundly with her great birch-rod and set them each an imposition of three hundred thousand lines of hebrew to learn by heart before she came back next friday.
and at that they all cried and howled so, that their breaths came all up through the sea like bubbles out of soda-water; and that is one reason of the bubbles in the sea.
there are others: but that is the one which principally concerns little boys.
and by that time she was so tired that she was glad to stop; and, indeed, she had done a very good day's work.
tom did not quite dislike the old lady: but he could not help thinking her a little spiteful -- and no wonder if she was, poor old soul; for if she has to wait to grow handsome till people do as they would be done by, she will have to wait a very long time.
poor old mrs. bedonebyasyoudid!
she has a great deal of hard work before her, and had better have been born a washerwoman, and stood over a tub all day: but, you see, people can not always choose their own profession.
but tom longed to ask her one question; and after all, whenever she looked at him, she did not look cross at all; and now and then there was a funny smile in her face, and she chuckled to herself in a way which gave tom courage, and at last he said: "pray, ma'am, may i ask you a question?"
""certainly, my little dear."
""why do n't you bring all the bad masters here and serve them out too?
the butties that knock about the poor collier-boys; and the nailers that file off their lads" noses and hammer their fingers; and all the master sweeps, like my master grimes?
i saw him fall into the water long ago; so i surely expected he would have been here.
i'm sure he was bad enough to me."
then the old lady looked so very stern that tom was quite frightened, and sorry that he had been so bold.
but she was not angry with him.
she only answered, "i look after them all the week round; and they are in a very different place from this, because they knew that they were doing wrong."
she spoke very quietly; but there was something in her voice which made tom tingle from head to foot, as if he had got into a shoal of sea-nettles.
""but these people," she went on, "did not know that they were doing wrong: they were only stupid and impatient; and therefore i only punish them till they become patient, and learn to use their common sense like reasonable beings.
but as for chimney-sweeps, and collier-boys, and nailer lads, my sister has set good people to stop all that sort of thing; and very much obliged to her i am; for if she could only stop the cruel masters from ill-using poor children, i should grow handsome at least a thousand years sooner.
and now do you be a good boy, and do as you would be done by, which they did not; and then, when my sister, madame doasyouwouldbedoneby, comes on sunday, perhaps she will take notice of you, and teach you how to behave.
she understands that better than i do."
and so she went.
tom was very glad to hear that there was no chance of meeting grimes again, though he was a little sorry for him, considering that he used sometimes to give him the leavings of the beer: but he determined to be a very good boy all saturday; and he was; for he never frightened one crab, nor tickled any live corals, nor put stones into the sea anemones" mouths, to make them fancy they had got a dinner; and when sunday morning came, sure enough, mrs. doasyouwouldbedoneby came too.
whereat all the little children began dancing and clapping their hands, and tom danced too with all his might.
and as for the pretty lady, i can not tell you what the colour of her hair was, or, of her eyes: no more could tom; for, when any one looks at her, all they can think of is, that she has the sweetest, kindest, tenderest, funniest, merriest face they ever saw, or want to see.
but tom saw that she was a very tall woman, as tall as her sister: but instead of being gnarly and horny, and scaly, and prickly, like her, she was the most nice, soft, fat, smooth, pussy, cuddly, delicious creature who ever nursed a baby; and she understood babies thoroughly, for she had plenty of her own, whole rows and regiments of them, and has to this day.
and all her delight was, whenever she had a spare moment, to play with babies, in which she showed herself a woman of sense; for babies are the best company, and the pleasantest playfellows, in the world; at least, so all the wise people in the world think.
and therefore when the children saw her, they naturally all caught hold of her, and pulled her till she sat down on a stone, and climbed into her lap, and clung round her neck, and caught hold of her hands; and then they all put their thumbs into their mouths, and began cuddling and purring like so many kittens, as they ought to have done.
while those who could get nowhere else sat down on the sand, and cuddled her feet -- for no one, you know, wear shoes in the water, except horrid old bathing-women, who are afraid of the water-babies pinching their horny toes.
and tom stood staring at them; for he could not understand what it was all about.
""and who are you, you little darling?"
she said.
""oh, that is the new baby!"
they all cried, pulling their thumbs out of their mouths; "and he never had any mother," and they all put their thumbs back again, for they did not wish to lose any time.
""then i will be his mother, and he shall have the very best place; so get out, all of you, this moment."
and she took up two great armfuls of babies -- nine hundred under one arm, and thirteen hundred under the other -- and threw them away, right and left, into the water.
but they minded it no more than the naughty boys in struwelpeter minded when st. nicholas dipped them in his inkstand; and did not even take their thumbs out of their mouths, but came paddling and wriggling back to her like so many tadpoles, till you could see nothing of her from head to foot for the swarm of little babies.
but she took tom in her arms, and laid him in the softest place of all, and kissed him, and patted him, and talked to him, tenderly and low, such things as he had never heard before in his life; and tom looked up into her eyes, and loved her, and loved, till he fell fast asleep from pure love.
and when he woke she was telling the children a story.
and what story did she tell them?
one story she told them, which begins every christmas eve, and yet never ends at all for ever and ever; and, as she went on, the children took their thumbs out of their mouths and listened quite seriously; but not sadly at all; for she never told them anything sad; and tom listened too, and never grew tired of listening.
and he listened so long that he fell fast asleep again, and, when he woke, the lady was nursing him still.
""do n't go away," said little tom.
""this is so nice.
i never had any one to cuddle me before."
""do n't go away," said all the children; "you have not sung us one song."
""well, i have time for only one.
so what shall it be?"
""the doll you lost!
the doll you lost!"
cried all the babies at once.
so the strange fairy sang: - i once had a sweet little doll, dears, the prettiest doll in the world; her cheeks were so red and so white, dears, and her hair was so charmingly curled.
but i lost my poor little doll, dears, as i played in the heath one day; and i cried for her more than a week, dears, but i never could find where she lay.
i found my poor little doll, dears, as i played in the heath one day: folks say she is terribly changed, dears, for her paint is all washed away, and her arm trodden off by the cows, dears, and her hair not the least bit curled: yet, for old sakes" sake she is still, dears, the prettiest doll in the world.
what a silly song for a fairy to sing!
and what silly water-babies to be quite delighted at it!
well, but you see they have not the advantage of aunt agitate's arguments in the sea-land down below.
""now," said the fairy to tom, "will you be a good boy for my sake, and torment no more sea-beasts till i come back?"
""and you will cuddle me again?"
said poor little tom.
""of course i will, you little duck.
i should like to take you with me and cuddle you all the way, only i must not;" and away she went.
so tom really tried to be a good boy, and tormented no sea-beasts after that as long as he lived; and he is quite alive, i assure you, still.
oh, how good little boys ought to be who have kind pussy mammas to cuddle them and tell them stories; and how afraid they ought to be of growing naughty, and bringing tears into their mammas" pretty eyes!
chapter vi "thou little child, yet glorious in the night of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke the years to bring the inevitable yoke - thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, and custom lie upon thee with a weight heavy as frost, and deep almost as life."
wordsworth.
i come to the very saddest part of all my story.
i know some people will only laugh at it, and call it much ado about nothing.
but i know one man who would not; and he was an officer with a pair of gray moustaches as long as your arm, who said once in company that two of the most heart-rending sights in the world, which moved him most to tears, which he would do anything to prevent or remedy, were a child over a broken toy and a child stealing sweets.
the company did not laugh at him; his moustaches were too long and too gray for that: but, after he was gone, they called him sentimental and so forth, all but one dear little old quaker lady with a soul as white as her cap, who was not, of course, generally partial to soldiers; and she said very quietly, like a quaker: "friends, it is borne upon my mind that that is a truly brave man."
now you may fancy that tom was quite good, when he had everything that he could want or wish: but you would be very much mistaken.
being quite comfortable is a very good thing; but it does not make people good.
indeed, it sometimes makes them naughty, as it has made the people in america; and as it made the people in the bible, who waxed fat and kicked, like horses overfed and underworked.
and i am very sorry to say that this happened to little tom.
for he grew so fond of the sea-bullseyes and sea-lollipops that his foolish little head could think of nothing else: and he was always longing for more, and wondering when the strange lady would come again and give him some, and what she would give him, and how much, and whether she would give him more than the others.
and he thought of nothing but lollipops by day, and dreamt of nothing else by night -- and what happened then?
that he began to watch the lady to see where she kept the sweet things: and began hiding, and sneaking, and following her about, and pretending to be looking the other way, or going after something else, till he found out that she kept them in a beautiful mother-of-pearl cabinet away in a deep crack of the rocks.
and he longed to go to the cabinet, and yet he was afraid; and then he longed again, and was less afraid; and at last, by continual thinking about it, he longed so violently that he was not afraid at all.
and one night, when all the other children were asleep, and he could not sleep for thinking of lollipops, he crept away among the rocks, and got to the cabinet, and behold!
it was open.
but, when he saw all the nice things inside, instead of being delighted, he was quite frightened, and wished he had never come there.
and then he would only touch them, and he did; and then he would only taste one, and he did; and then he would only eat one, and he did; and then he would only eat two, and then three, and so on; and then he was terrified lest she should come and catch him, and began gobbling them down so fast that he did not taste them, or have any pleasure in them; and then he felt sick, and would have only one more; and then only one more again; and so on till he had eaten them all up.
and all the while, close behind him, stood mrs. bedonebyasyoudid.
some people may say, but why did she not keep her cupboard locked?
well, i know.
-- it may seem a very strange thing, but she never does keep her cupboard locked; every one may go and taste for themselves, and fare accordingly.
it is very odd, but so it is; and i am quite sure that she knows best.
perhaps she wishes people to keep their fingers out of the fire, by having them burned.
she took off her spectacles, because she did not like to see too much; and in her pity she arched up her eyebrows into her very hair, and her eyes grew so wide that they would have taken in all the sorrows of the world, and filled with great big tears, as they too often do.
but all she said was: "ah, you poor little dear!
you are just like all the rest."
but she said it to herself, and tom neither heard nor saw her.
now, you must not fancy that she was sentimental at all.
if you do, and think that she is going to let off you, or me, or any human being when we do wrong, because she is too tender-hearted to punish us, then you will find yourself very much mistaken, as many a man does every year and every day.
but what did the strange fairy do when she saw all her lollipops eaten?
did she fly at tom, catch him by the scruff of the neck, hold him, howk him, hump him, hurry him, hit him, poke him, pull him, pinch him, pound him, put him in the corner, shake him, slap him, set him on a cold stone to reconsider himself, and so forth?
not a bit.
you may watch her at work if you know where to find her.
but you will never see her do that.
for, if she had, she knew quite well tom would have fought, and kicked, and bit, and said bad words, and turned again that moment into a naughty little heathen chimney-sweep, with his hand, like ishmael's of old, against every man, and every man's hand against him.
did she question him, hurry him, frighten him, threaten him, to make him confess?
not a bit.
you may see her, as i said, at her work often enough if you know where to look for her: but you will never see her do that.
for, if she had, she would have tempted him to tell lies in his fright; and that would have been worse for him, if possible, than even becoming a heathen chimney-sweep again.
no.
she leaves that for anxious parents and teachers -lrb- lazy ones, some call them -rrb-, who, instead of giving children a fair trial, such as they would expect and demand for themselves, force them by fright to confess their own faults -- which is so cruel and unfair that no judge on the bench dare do it to the wickedest thief or murderer, for the good british law forbids it -- ay, and even punish them to make them confess, which is so detestable a crime that it is never committed now, save by inquisitors, and kings of naples, and a few other wretched people of whom the world is weary.
and then they say, "we have trained up the child in the way he should go, and when he grew up he has departed from it.
why then did solomon say that he would not depart from it?"
but perhaps the way of beating, and hurrying and frightening, and questioning, was not the way that the child should go; for it is not even the way in which a colt should go if you want to break it in and make it a quiet serviceable horse.
some folks may say, "ah!
but the fairy does not need to do that if she knows everything already."
true.
but, if she did not know, she would not surely behave worse than a british judge and jury; and no more should parents and teachers either.
so she just said nothing at all about the matter, not even when tom came next day with the rest for sweet things.
he was horribly afraid of coming: but he was still more afraid of staying away, lest any one should suspect him.
he was dreadfully afraid, too, lest there should be no sweets -- as was to be expected, he having eaten them all -- and lest then the fairy should inquire who had taken them.
but, behold!
she pulled out just as many as ever, which astonished tom, and frightened him still more.
and, when the fairy looked him full in the face, he shook from head to foot: however she gave him his share like the rest, and he thought within himself that she could not have found him out.
but, when he put the sweets into his mouth, he hated the taste of them; and they made him so sick that he had to get away as fast as he could; and terribly sick he was, and very cross and unhappy, all the week after.
then, when next week came, he had his share again; and again the fairy looked him full in the face; but more sadly than she had ever looked.
and he could not bear the sweets: but took them again in spite of himself.
and when mrs. doasyouwouldbedoneby came, he wanted to be cuddled like the rest; but she said very seriously: "i should like to cuddle you; but i can not, you are so horny and prickly."
and tom looked at himself: and he was all over prickles, just like a sea-egg.
which was quite natural; for you must know and believe that people's souls make their bodies just as a snail makes its shell -lrb- i am not joking, my little man; i am in serious, solemn earnest -rrb-.
and therefore, when tom's soul grew all prickly with naughty tempers, his body could not help growing prickly, too, so that nobody would cuddle him, or play with him, or even like to look at him.
what could tom do now but go away and hide in a corner and cry?
for nobody would play with him, and he knew full well why.
and he was so miserable all that week that when the ugly fairy came and looked at him once more full in the face, more seriously and sadly than ever, he could stand it no longer, and thrust the sweetmeats away, saying, "no, i do n't want any: i ca n't bear them now," and then burst out crying, poor little man, and told mrs. bedonebyasyoudid every word as it happened.
he was horribly frightened when he had done so; for he expected her to punish him very severely.
but, instead, she only took him up and kissed him, which was not quite pleasant, for her chin was very bristly indeed; but he was so lonely-hearted, he thought that rough kissing was better than none.
""i will forgive you, little man," she said.
""i always forgive every one the moment they tell me the truth of their own accord."
""then you will take away all these nasty prickles?"
""that is a very different matter.
you put them there yourself, and only you can take them away."
""but how can i do that?"
asked tom, crying afresh.
""well, i think it is time for you to go to school; so i shall fetch you a schoolmistress, who will teach you how to get rid of your prickles."
and so she went away.
tom was frightened at the notion of a school-mistress; for he thought she would certainly come with a birch-rod or a cane; but he comforted himself, at last, that she might be something like the old woman in vendale -- which she was not in the least; for, when the fairy brought her, she was the most beautiful little girl that ever was seen, with long curls floating behind her like a golden cloud, and long robes floating all round her like a silver one.
""there he is," said the fairy; "and you must teach him to be good, whether you like or not."
""i know," said the little girl; but she did not seem quite to like, for she put her finger in her mouth, and looked at tom under her brows; and tom put his finger in his mouth, and looked at her under his brows, for he was horribly ashamed of himself.
the little girl seemed hardly to know how to begin; and perhaps she would never have begun at all if poor tom had not burst out crying, and begged her to teach him to be good and help him to cure his prickles; and at that she grew so tender-hearted that she began teaching him as prettily as ever child was taught in the world.
and what did the little girl teach tom?
she taught him, first, what you have been taught ever since you said your first prayers at your mother's knees; but she taught him much more simply.
for the lessons in that world, my child, have no such hard words in them as the lessons in this, and therefore the water-babies like them better than you like your lessons, and long to learn them more and more; and grown men can not puzzle nor quarrel over their meaning, as they do here on land; for those lessons all rise clear and pure, like the test out of overton pool, out of the everlasting ground of all life and truth.
so she taught tom every day in the week; only on sundays she always went away home, and the kind fairy took her place.
and before she had taught tom many sundays, his prickles had vanished quite away, and his skin was smooth and clean again.
""dear me!"
said the little girl; "why, i know you now.
you are the very same little chimney-sweep who came into my bedroom."
""dear me!"
cried tom.
""and i know you, too, now.
you are the very little white lady whom i saw in bed."
and he jumped at her, and longed to hug and kiss her; but did not, remembering that she was a lady born; so he only jumped round and round her till he was quite tired.
and then they began telling each other all their story -- how he had got into the water, and she had fallen over the rock; and how he had swum down to the sea, and how she had flown out of the window; and how this, that, and the other, till it was all talked out: and then they both began over again, and i ca n't say which of the two talked fastest.
and then they set to work at their lessons again, and both liked them so well that they went on well till seven full years were past and gone.
you may fancy that tom was quite content and happy all those seven years; but the truth is, he was not.
he had always one thing on his mind, and that was -- where little ellie went, when she went home on sundays.
to a very beautiful place, she said.
but what was the beautiful place like, and where was it?
ah!
that is just what she could not say.
and it is strange, but true, that no one can say; and that those who have been oftenest in it, or even nearest to it, can say least about it, and make people understand least what it is like.
there are a good many folks about the other-end-of-nowhere -lrb- where tom went afterwards -rrb-, who pretend to know it from north to south as well as if they had been penny postmen there; but, as they are safe at the other-end-of - nowhere, nine hundred and ninety-nine million miles away, what they say can not concern us.
but the dear, sweet, loving, wise, good, self-sacrificing people, who really go there, can never tell you anything about it, save that it is the most beautiful place in all the world; and, if you ask them more, they grow modest, and hold their peace, for fear of being laughed at; and quite right they are.
so all that good little ellie could say was, that it was worth all the rest of the world put together.
and of course that only made tom the more anxious to go likewise.
""miss ellie," he said at last, "i will know why i can not go with you when you go home on sundays, or i shall have no peace, and give you none either."
""you must ask the fairies that."
so when the fairy, mrs. bedonebyasyoudid, came next, tom asked her.
""little boys who are only fit to play with sea-beasts can not go there," she said.
""those who go there must go first where they do not like, and do what they do not like, and help somebody they do not like."
""why, did ellie do that?"
""ask her."
and ellie blushed, and said, "yes, tom; i did not like coming here at first; i was so much happier at home, where it is always sunday.
and i was afraid of you, tom, at first, because -- because --" "because i was all over prickles?
but i am not prickly now, am i, miss ellie?"
""no," said ellie.
""i like you very much now; and i like coming here, too."
""and perhaps," said the fairy, "you will learn to like going where you do n't like, and helping some one that you do n't like, as ellie has."
but tom put his finger in his mouth, and hung his head down; for he did not see that at all.
so when mrs. doasyouwouldbedoneby came, tom asked her; for he thought in his little head, she is not so strict as her sister, and perhaps she may let me off more easily.
ah, tom, tom, silly fellow!
and yet i do n't know why i should blame you, while so many grown people have got the very same notion in their heads.
but, when they try it, they get just the same answer as tom did.
for, when he asked the second fairy, she told him just what the first did, and in the very same words.
tom was very unhappy at that.
and, when ellie went home on sunday, he fretted and cried all day, and did not care to listen to the fairy's stories about good children, though they were prettier than ever.
indeed, the more he overheard of them, the less he liked to listen, because they were all about children who did what they did not like, and took trouble for other people, and worked to feed their little brothers and sisters instead of caring only for their play.
and, when she began to tell a story about a holy child in old times, who was martyred by the heathen because it would not worship idols, tom could bear no more, and ran away and hid among the rocks.
and, when ellie came back, he was shy with her, because he fancied she looked down on him, and thought him a coward.
and then he grew quite cross with her, because she was superior to him, and did what he could not do.
and poor ellie was quite surprised and sad; and at last tom burst out crying; but he would not tell her what was really in his mind.
and all the while he was eaten up with curiosity to know where ellie went to; so that he began not to care for his playmates, or for the sea-palace or anything else.
but perhaps that made matters all the easier for him; for he grew so discontented with everything round him that he did not care to stay, and did not care where he went.
""well," he said, at last, "i am so miserable here, i'll go; if only you will go with me?"
""ah!"
said ellie, "i wish i might; but the worst of it is, that the fairy says that you must go alone if you go at all.
now do n't poke that poor crab about, tom" -lrb- for he was feeling very naughty and mischievous -rrb-, "or the fairy will have to punish you."
tom was very nearly saying, "i do n't care if she does;" but he stopped himself in time.
""i know what she wants me to do," he said, whining most dolefully.
""she wants me to go after that horrid old grimes.
i do n't like him, that's certain.
and if i find him, he will turn me into a chimney-sweep again, i know.
that's what i have been afraid of all along."
""no, he wo n't -- i know as much as that.
nobody can turn water - babies into sweeps, or hurt them at all, as long as they are good."
""ah," said naughty tom, "i see what you want; you are persuading me all along to go, because you are tired of me, and want to get rid of me."
little ellie opened her eyes very wide at that, and they were all brimming over with tears.
""oh, tom, tom!"
she said, very mournfully -- and then she cried, "oh, tom!
where are you?"
and tom cried, "oh, ellie, where are you?"
for neither of them could see each other -- not the least.
little ellie vanished quite away, and tom heard her voice calling him, and growing smaller and smaller, and fainter and fainter, till all was silent.
who was frightened then but tom?
he swam up and down among the rocks, into all the halls and chambers, faster than ever he swam before, but could not find her.
he shouted after her, but she did not answer; he asked all the other children, but they had not seen her; and at last he went up to the top of the water and began crying and screaming for mrs. bedonebyasyoudid -- which perhaps was the best thing to do -- for she came in a moment.
""oh!"
said tom.
""oh dear, oh dear!
i have been naughty to ellie, and i have killed her -- i know i have killed her."
""not quite that," said the fairy; "but i have sent her away home, and she will not come back again for i do not know how long."
and at that tom cried so bitterly that the salt sea was swelled with his tears, and the tide was.3,954,620,819 of an inch higher than it had been the day before: but perhaps that was owing to the waxing of the moon.
it may have been so; but it is considered right in the new philosophy, you know, to give spiritual causes for physical phenomena -- especially in parlour-tables; and, of course, physical causes for spiritual ones, like thinking, and praying, and knowing right from wrong.
and so they odds it till it comes even, as folks say down in berkshire.
""how cruel of you to send ellie away!"
sobbed tom.
""however, i will find her again, if i go to the world's end to look for her."
the fairy did not slap tom, and tell him to hold his tongue: but she took him on her lap very kindly, just as her sister would have done; and put him in mind how it was not her fault, because she was wound up inside, like watches, and could not help doing things whether she liked or not.
and then she told him how he had been in the nursery long enough, and must go out now and see the world, if he intended ever to be a man; and how he must go all alone by himself, as every one else that ever was born has to go, and see with his own eyes, and smell with his own nose, and make his own bed and lie on it, and burn his own fingers if he put them into the fire.
and then she told him how many fine things there were to be seen in the world, and what an odd, curious, pleasant, orderly, respectable, well-managed, and, on the whole, successful -lrb- as, indeed, might have been expected -rrb- sort of a place it was, if people would only be tolerably brave and honest and good in it; and then she told him not to be afraid of anything he met, for nothing would harm him if he remembered all his lessons, and did what he knew was right.
and at last she comforted poor little tom so much that he was quite eager to go, and wanted to set out that minute.
""only," he said, "if i might see ellie once before i went!"
""why do you want that?"
""because -- because i should be so much happier if i thought she had forgiven me."
and in the twinkling of an eye there stood ellie, smiling, and looking so happy that tom longed to kiss her; but was still afraid it would not be respectful, because she was a lady born.
""i am going, ellie!"
said tom.
""i am going, if it is to the world's end.
but i do n't like going at all, and that's the truth."
""pooh!
pooh!
pooh!"
said the fairy.
""you will like it very well indeed, you little rogue, and you know that at the bottom of your heart.
but if you do n't, i will make you like it.
come here, and see what happens to people who do only what is pleasant."
and she took out of one of her cupboards -lrb- she had all sorts of mysterious cupboards in the cracks of the rocks -rrb- the most wonderful waterproof book, full of such photographs as never were seen.
for she had found out photography -lrb- and this is a fact -rrb- more than 13,598,000 years before anybody was born; and, what is more, her photographs did not merely represent light and shade, as ours do, but colour also, and all colours, as you may see if you look at a black-cock's tail, or a butterfly's wing, or indeed most things that are or can be, so to speak.
and therefore her photographs were very curious and famous, and the children looked with great delight for the opening of the book.
and on the title-page was written, "the history of the great and famous nation of the doasyoulikes, who came away from the country of hardwork, because they wanted to play on the jews" harp all day long."
in the first picture they saw these doasyoulikes living in the land of readymade, at the foot of the happy-go-lucky mountains, where flapdoodle grows wild; and if you want to know what that is, you must read peter simple.
they lived very much such a life as those jolly old greeks in sicily, whom you may see painted on the ancient vases, and really there seemed to be great excuses for them, for they had no need to work.
instead of houses they lived in the beautiful caves of tufa, and bathed in the warm springs three times a day; and, as for clothes, it was so warm there that the gentlemen walked about in little beside a cocked hat and a pair of straps, or some light summer tackle of that kind; and the ladies all gathered gossamer in autumn -lrb- when they were not too lazy -rrb- to make their winter dresses.
they were very fond of music, but it was too much trouble to learn the piano or the violin; and as for dancing, that would have been too great an exertion.
so they sat on ant-hills all day long, and played on the jews" harp; and, if the ants bit them, why they just got up and went to the next ant-hill, till they were bitten there likewise.
and they sat under the flapdoodle-trees, and let the flapdoodle drop into their mouths; and under the vines, and squeezed the grape-juice down their throats; and, if any little pigs ran about ready roasted, crying, "come and eat me," as was their fashion in that country, they waited till the pigs ran against their mouths, and then took a bite, and were content, just as so many oysters would have been.
they needed no weapons, for no enemies ever came near their land; and no tools, for everything was readymade to their hand; and the stern old fairy necessity never came near them to hunt them up, and make them use their wits, or die.
and so on, and so on, and so on, till there were never such comfortable, easy-going, happy-go-lucky people in the world.
""well, that is a jolly life," said tom.
""you think so?"
said the fairy.
""do you see that great peaked mountain there behind," said the fairy, "with smoke coming out of its top?"
""yes."
""and do you see all those ashes, and slag, and cinders lying about?"
""yes."
""then turn over the next five hundred years, and you will see what happens next."
and behold the mountain had blown up like a barrel of gunpowder, and then boiled over like a kettle; whereby one-third of the doasyoulikes were blown into the air, and another third were smothered in ashes; so that there was only one-third left.
""you see," said the fairy, "what comes of living on a burning mountain."
""oh, why did you not warn them?"
said little ellie.
""i did warn them all that i could.
i let the smoke come out of the mountain; and wherever there is smoke there is fire.
and i laid the ashes and cinders all about; and wherever there are cinders, cinders may be again.
but they did not like to face facts, my dears, as very few people do; and so they invented a cock-and-bull story, which, i am sure, i never told them, that the smoke was the breath of a giant, whom some gods or other had buried under the mountain; and that the cinders were what the dwarfs roasted the little pigs whole with; and other nonsense of that kind.
and, when folks are in that humour, i can not teach them, save by the good old birch-rod."
and then she turned over the next five hundred years: and there were the remnant of the doasyoulikes, doing as they liked, as before.
they were too lazy to move away from the mountain; so they said, if it has blown up once, that is all the more reason that it should not blow up again.
and they were few in number: but they only said, the more the merrier, but the fewer the better fare.
however, that was not quite true; for all the flapdoodle-trees were killed by the volcano, and they had eaten all the roast pigs, who, of course, could not be expected to have little ones.
so they had to live very hard, on nuts and roots which they scratched out of the ground with sticks.
some of them talked of sowing corn, as their ancestors used to do, before they came into the land of readymade; but they had forgotten how to make ploughs -lrb- they had forgotten even how to make jews" harps by this time -rrb-, and had eaten all the seed-corn which they brought out of the land of hardwork years since; and of course it was too much trouble to go away and find more.
so they lived miserably on roots and nuts, and all the weakly little children had great stomachs, and then died.
""why," said tom, "they are growing no better than savages."
""and look how ugly they are all getting," said ellie.
""yes; when people live on poor vegetables instead of roast beef and plum-pudding, their jaws grow large, and their lips grow coarse, like the poor paddies who eat potatoes."
and she turned over the next five hundred years.
and there they were all living up in trees, and making nests to keep off the rain.
and underneath the trees lions were prowling about.
""why," said ellie, "the lions seem to have eaten a good many of them, for there are very few left now."
""yes," said the fairy; "you see it was only the strongest and most active ones who could climb the trees, and so escape."
""but what great, hulking, broad-shouldered chaps they are," said tom; "they are a rough lot as ever i saw."
""yes, they are getting very strong now; for the ladies will not marry any but the very strongest and fiercest gentlemen, who can help them up the trees out of the lions" way."
and she turned over the next five hundred years.
and in that they were fewer still, and stronger, and fiercer; but their feet had changed shape very oddly, for they laid hold of the branches with their great toes, as if they had been thumbs, just as a hindoo tailor uses his toes to thread his needle.
the children were very much surprised, and asked the fairy whether that was her doing.
""yes, and no," she said, smiling.
""it was only those who could use their feet as well as their hands who could get a good living: or, indeed, get married; so that they got the best of everything, and starved out all the rest; and those who are left keep up a regular breed of toe-thumb-men, as a breed of short-horns, or are skye - terriers, or fancy pigeons is kept up."
""but there is a hairy one among them," said ellie.
""ah!"
said the fairy, "that will be a great man in his time, and chief of all the tribe."
and, when she turned over the next five hundred years, it was true.
for this hairy chief had had hairy children, and they hairier children still; and every one wished to marry hairy husbands, and have hairy children too; for the climate was growing so damp that none but the hairy ones could live: all the rest coughed and sneezed, and had sore throats, and went into consumptions, before they could grow up to be men and women.
then the fairy turned over the next five hundred years.
and they were fewer still.
""why, there is one on the ground picking up roots," said ellie, "and he can not walk upright."
no more he could; for in the same way that the shape of their feet had altered, the shape of their backs had altered also.
""why," cried tom, "i declare they are all apes."
""something fearfully like it, poor foolish creatures," said the fairy.
""they are grown so stupid now, that they can hardly think: for none of them have used their wits for many hundred years.
they have almost forgotten, too, how to talk.
for each stupid child forgot some of the words it heard from its stupid parents, and had not wits enough to make fresh words for itself.
beside, they are grown so fierce and suspicious and brutal that they keep out of each other's way, and mope and sulk in the dark forests, never hearing each other's voice, till they have forgotten almost what speech is like.
i am afraid they will all be apes very soon, and all by doing only what they liked."
and in the next five hundred years they were all dead and gone, by bad food and wild beasts and hunters; all except one tremendous old fellow with jaws like a jack, who stood full seven feet high; and m. du chaillu came up to him, and shot him, as he stood roaring and thumping his breast.
and he remembered that his ancestors had once been men, and tried to say, "am i not a man and a brother?"
but had forgotten how to use his tongue; and then he had tried to call for a doctor, but he had forgotten the word for one.
so all he said was "ubboboo!"
and died.
and that was the end of the great and jolly nation of the doasyoulikes.
and, when tom and ellie came to the end of the book, they looked very sad and solemn; and they had good reason so to do, for they really fancied that the men were apes, and never thought, in their simplicity, of asking whether the creatures had hippopotamus majors in their brains or not; in which case, as you have been told already, they could not possibly have been apes, though they were more apish than the apes of all aperies.
""but could you not have saved them from becoming apes?"
said little ellie, at last.
""at first, my dear; if only they would have behaved like men, and set to work to do what they did not like.
but the longer they waited, and behaved like the dumb beasts, who only do what they like, the stupider and clumsier they grew; till at last they were past all cure, for they had thrown their own wits away.
it is such things as this that help to make me so ugly, that i know not when i shall grow fair."
""and where are they all now?"
asked ellie.
""exactly where they ought to be, my dear."
""yes!"
said the fairy, solemnly, half to herself, as she closed the wonderful book.
""folks say now that i can make beasts into men, by circumstance, and selection, and competition, and so forth.
well, perhaps they are right; and perhaps, again, they are wrong.
that is one of the seven things which i am forbidden to tell, till the coming of the cocqcigrues; and, at all events, it is no concern of theirs.
whatever their ancestors were, men they are; and i advise them to behave as such, and act accordingly.
but let them recollect this, that there are two sides to every question, and a downhill as well as an uphill road; and, if i can turn beasts into men, i can, by the same laws of circumstance, and selection, and competition, turn men into beasts.
you were very near being turned into a beast once or twice, little tom.
indeed, if you had not made up your mind to go on this journey, and see the world, like an englishman, i am not sure but that you would have ended as an eft in a pond."
""oh, dear me!"
said tom; "sooner than that, and be all over slime, i'll go this minute, if it is to the world's end."
chapter vii "and nature, the old nurse, took the child upon her knee, saying, "here is a story book thy father hath written for thee."
"come wander with me," she said, "into regions yet untrod, and read what is still unread in the manuscripts of god."
""and he wandered away and away with nature, the dear old nurse, who sang to him night and day the rhymes of the universe."
longfellow.
""now," said tom, "i am ready be off, if it's to the world's end."
""ah!"
said the fairy, "that is a brave, good boy.
but you must go farther than the world's end, if you want to find mr. grimes; for he is at the other-end-of-nowhere.
you must go to shiny wall, and through the white gate that never was opened; and then you will come to peacepool, and mother carey's haven, where the good whales go when they die.
and there mother carey will tell you the way to the other-end-of-nowhere, and there you will find mr. grimes."
""oh, dear!"
said tom.
""but i do not know my way to shiny wall, or where it is at all."
""little boys must take the trouble to find out things for themselves, or they will never grow to be men; so that you must ask all the beasts in the sea and the birds in the air, and if you have been good to them, some of them will tell you the way to shiny wall."
""well," said tom, "it will be a long journey, so i had better start at once.
good-bye, miss ellie; you know i am getting a big boy, and i must go out and see the world."
""i know you must," said ellie; "but you will not forget me, tom.
i shall wait here till you come."
and she shook hands with him, and bade him good-bye.
tom longed very much again to kiss her; but he thought it would not be respectful, considering she was a lady born; so he promised not to forget her: but his little whirl-about of a head was so full of the notion of going out to see the world, that it forgot her in five minutes: however, though his head forgot her, i am glad to say his heart did not.
so he asked all the beasts in the sea, and all the birds in the air, but none of them knew the way to shiny wall.
for why?
he was still too far down south.
then he met a ship, far larger than he had ever seen -- a gallant ocean-steamer, with a long cloud of smoke trailing behind; and he wondered how she went on without sails, and swam up to her to see.
a school of dolphins were running races round and round her, going three feet for her one, and tom asked them the way to shiny wall: but they did not know.
then he tried to find out how she moved, and at last he saw her screw, and was so delighted with it that he played under her quarter all day, till he nearly had his nose knocked off by the fans, and thought it time to move.
then he watched the sailors upon deck, and the ladies, with their bonnets and parasols: but none of them could see him, because their eyes were not opened, -- as, indeed, most people's eyes are not.
at last there came out into the quarter-gallery a very pretty lady, in deep black widow's weeds, and in her arms a baby.
she leaned over the quarter-gallery, and looked back and back toward england far away; and as she looked she sang: i. "soft soft wind, from out the sweet south sliding, waft thy silver cloud-webs athwart the summer sea; thin thin threads of mist on dewy fingers twining weave a veil of dappled gauze to shade my babe and me.
ii.
""deep deep love, within thine own abyss abiding, pour thyself abroad, o lord, on earth and air and sea; worn weary hearts within thy holy temple hiding, shield from sorrow, sin, and shame my helpless babe and me."
her voice was so soft and low, and the music of the air so sweet, that tom could have listened to it all day.
but as she held the baby over the gallery rail, to show it the dolphins leaping and the water gurgling in the ship's wake, lo!
and behold, the baby saw tom.
he was quite sure of that for when their eyes met, the baby smiled and held out his hands; and tom smiled and held out his hands too; and the baby kicked and leaped, as if it wanted to jump overboard to him.
""what do you see, my darling?"
said the lady; and her eyes followed the baby's till she too caught sight of tom, swimming about among the foam-beads below.
she gave a little shriek and start; and then she said, quite quietly, "babies in the sea?
well, perhaps it is the happiest place for them;" and waved her hand to tom, and cried, "wait a little, darling, only a little: and perhaps we shall go with you and be at rest."
and at that an old nurse, all in black, came out and talked to her, and drew her in.
and tom turned away northward, sad and wondering; and watched the great steamer slide away into the dusk, and the lights on board peep out one by one, and die out again, and the long bar of smoke fade away into the evening mist, till all was out of sight.
and he swam northward again, day after day, till at last he met the king of the herrings, with a curry-comb growing out of his nose, and a sprat in his mouth for a cigar, and asked him the way to shiny wall; so he bolted his sprat head foremost, and said: "if i were you, young gentleman, i should go to the allalonestone, and ask the last of the gairfowl.
she is of a very ancient clan, very nearly as ancient as my own; and knows a good deal which these modern upstarts do n't, as ladies of old houses are likely to do."
tom asked his way to her, and the king of the herrings told him very kindly, for he was a courteous old gentleman of the old school, though he was horribly ugly, and strangely bedizened too, like the old dandies who lounge in the club-house windows.
but just as tom had thanked him and set off, he called after him: "hi!
i say, can you fly?"
""i never tried," says tom.
""why?"
""because, if you can, i should advise you to say nothing to the old lady about it.
there; take a hint.
good-bye."
and away tom went for seven days and seven nights due north-west, till he came to a great codbank, the like of which he never saw before.
the great cod lay below in tens of thousands, and gobbled shell-fish all day long; and the blue sharks roved above in hundreds, and gobbled them when they came up.
so they ate, and ate, and ate each other, as they had done since the making of the world; for no man had come here yet to catch them, and find out how rich old mother carey is.
and there he saw the last of the gairfowl, standing up on the allalonestones all alone.
and a very grand old lady she was, full three feet high, and bolt upright, like some old highland chieftainess.
she had on a black velvet gown, and a white pinner and apron, and a very high bridge to her nose -lrb- which is a sure mark of high breeding -rrb-, and a large pair of white spectacles on it, which made her look rather odd: but it was the ancient fashion of her house.
and instead of wings, she had two little feathery arms, with which she fanned herself, and complained of the dreadful heat; and she kept on crooning an old song to herself, which she learnt when she was a little baby-bird, long ago - "two little birds they sat on a stone, one swam away, and then there was one, with a fal-lal-la-lady.
""the other swam after, and then there was none, and so the poor stone was left all alone; with a fal-lal-la-lady."
it was "flew" away, properly, and not "swam" away: but, as she could not fly, she had a right to alter it.
however, it was a very fit song for her to sing, because she was a lady herself.
tom came up to her very humbly, and made his bow; and the first thing she said was - "have you wings?
can you fly?"
""oh dear, no, ma'am; i should not think of such thing," said cunning little tom.
""then i shall have great pleasure in talking to you, my dear.
it is quite refreshing nowadays to see anything without wings.
they must all have wings, forsooth, now, every new upstart sort of bird, and fly.
what can they want with flying, and raising themselves above their proper station in life?
in the days of my ancestors no birds ever thought of having wings, and did very well without; and now they all laugh at me because i keep to the good old fashion.
why, the very marrocks and dovekies have got wings, the vulgar creatures, and poor little ones enough they are; and my own cousins too, the razor-bills, who are gentlefolk born, and ought to know better than to ape their inferiors."
and so she was running on, while tom tried to get in a word edgeways; and at last he did, when the old lady got out of breath, and began fanning herself again; and then he asked if she knew the way to shiny wall.
""shiny wall?
who should know better than i?
we all came from shiny wall, thousands of years ago, when it was decently cold, and the climate was fit for gentlefolk; but now, what with the heat, and what with these vulgar-winged things who fly up and down and eat everything, so that gentlepeople's hunting is all spoilt, and one really can not get one's living, or hardly venture off the rock for fear of being flown against by some creature that would not have dared to come within a mile of one a thousand years ago -- what was i saying?
why, we have quite gone down in the world, my dear, and have nothing left but our honour.
and i am the last of my family.
a friend of mine and i came and settled on this rock when we were young, to be out of the way of low people.
once we were a great nation, and spread over all the northern isles.
but men shot us so, and knocked us on the head, and took our eggs -- why, if you will believe it, they say that on the coast of labrador the sailors used to lay a plank from the rock on board the thing called their ship, and drive us along the plank by hundreds, till we tumbled down into the ship's waist in heaps; and then, i suppose, they ate us, the nasty fellows!
well -- but -- what was i saying?
at last, there were none of us left, except on the old gairfowlskerry, just off the iceland coast, up which no man could climb.
even there we had no peace; for one day, when i was quite a young girl, the land rocked, and the sea boiled, and the sky grew dark, and all the air was filled with smoke and dust, and down tumbled the old gairfowlskerry into the sea.
the dovekies and marrocks, of course, all flew away; but we were too proud to do that.
some of us were dashed to pieces, and some drowned; and those who were left got away to eldey, and the dovekies tell me they are all dead now, and that another gairfowlskerry has risen out of the sea close to the old one, but that it is such a poor flat place that it is not safe to live on: and so here i am left alone."
this was the gairfowl's story, and, strange as it may seem, it is every word of it true.
""if you only had had wings!"
said tom; "then you might all have flown away too."
""yes, young gentleman: and if people are not gentleman and ladies, and forget that noblesse oblige, they will find it as easy to get on in the world as other people who do n't care what they do.
why, if i had not recollected that noblesse oblige, i should not have been all alone now."
and the poor old lady sighed.
""how was that, ma'am?"
""why, my dear, a gentleman came hither with me, and after we had been here some time, he wanted to marry -- in fact, he actually proposed to me.
well, i ca n't blame him; i was young, and very handsome then, i do n't deny: but you see, i could not hear of such a thing, because he was my deceased sister's husband, you see?"
""of course not, ma'am," said tom; though, of course, he knew nothing about it.
""she was very much diseased, i suppose?"
""you do not understand me, my dear.
i mean, that being a lady, and with right and honourable feelings, as our house always has had, i felt it my duty to snub him, and howk him, and peck him continually, to keep him at his proper distance; and, to tell the truth, i once pecked him a little too hard, poor fellow, and he tumbled backwards off the rock, and -- really, it was very unfortunate, but it was not my fault -- a shark coming by saw him flapping, and snapped him up.
and since then i have lived all alone - "with a fal-lal-la-lady."
and soon i shall be gone, my little dear, and nobody will miss me; and then the poor stone will be left all alone."
""but, please, which is the way to shiny wall?"
said tom.
""oh, you must go, my little dear -- you must go.
let me see -- i am sure -- that is -- really, my poor old brains are getting quite puzzled.
do you know, my little dear, i am afraid, if you want to know, you must ask some of these vulgar birds about, for i have quite forgotten."
and the poor old gairfowl began to cry tears of pure oil; and tom was quite sorry for her; and for himself too, for he was at his wit's end whom to ask.
but by there came a flock of petrels, who are mother carey's own chickens; and tom thought them much prettier than lady gairfowl, and so perhaps they were; for mother carey had had a great deal of fresh experience between the time that she invented the gairfowl and the time that she invented them.
they flitted along like a flock of black swallows, and hopped and skipped from wave to wave, lifting up their little feet behind them so daintily, and whistling to each other so tenderly, that tom fell in love with them at once, and called them to know the way to shiny wall.
""shiny wall?
do you want shiny wall?
then come with us, and we will show you.
we are mother carey's own chickens, and she sends us out over all the seas, to show the good birds the way home."
tom was delighted, and swam off to them, after he had made his bow to the gairfowl.
but she would not return his bow: but held herself bolt upright, and wept tears of oil as she sang: "and so the poor stone was left all alone; with a fal-lal-la-lady."
but she was wrong there; for the stone was not left all alone: and the next time that tom goes by it, he will see a sight worth seeing.
the old gairfowl is gone already: but there are better things come in her place; and when tom comes he will see the fishing-smacks anchored there in hundreds, from scotland, and from ireland, and from the orkneys, and the shetlands, and from all the northern ports, full of the children of the old norse vikings, the masters of the sea.
and the men will be hauling in the great cod by thousands, till their hands are sore from the lines; and they will be making cod-liver oil and guano, and salting down the fish; and there will be a man-of-war steamer there to protect them, and a lighthouse to show them the way; and you and i, perhaps, shall go some day to the allalonestone to the great summer sea-fair, and dredge strange creatures such as man never saw before; and we shall hear the sailors boast that it is not the worst jewel in queen victoria's crown, for there are eighty miles of codbank, and food for all the poor folk in the land.
that is what tom will see, and perhaps you and i shall see it too.
and then we shall not be sorry because we can not get a gairfowl to stuff, much less find gairfowl enough to drive them into stone pens and slaughter them, as the old norsemen did, or drive them on board along a plank till the ship was victualled with them, as the old english and french rovers used to do, of whom dear old hakluyt tells: but we shall remember what mr. tennyson says: how "the old order changeth, giving place to the new, and god fulfils himself in many ways."
and now tom was all agog to start for shiny wall; but the petrels said no.
they must go first to allfowlsness, and wait there for the great gathering of all the sea-birds, before they start for their summer breeding-places far away in the northern isles; and there they would be sure to find some birds which were going to shiny wall: but where allfowlsness was, he must promise never to tell, lest men should go there and shoot the birds, and stuff them, and put them into stupid museums, instead of leaving them to play and breed and work in mother carey's water-garden, where they ought to be.
so where allfowlsness is nobody must know; and all that is to be said about it is, that tom waited there many days; and as he waited, he saw a very curious sight.
on the rabbit burrows on the shore there gathered hundreds and hundreds of hoodie-crows, such as you see in cambridgeshire.
and they made such a noise, that tom came on shore and went up to see what was the matter.
and there he found them holding their great caucus, which they hold every year in the north; and all their stump-orators were speechifying; and for a tribune, the speaker stood on an old sheep's skull.
and they cawed and cawed, and boasted of all the clever things they had done; how many lambs" eyes they had picked out, and how many dead bullocks they had eaten, and how many young grouse they had swallowed whole, and how many grouse-eggs they had flown away with, stuck on the point of their bills, which is the hoodie-crow's particularly clever feat, of which he is as proud as a gipsy is of doing the hokany-baro; and what that is, i wo n't tell you.
and at last they brought out the prettiest, neatest young lady-crow that ever was seen, and set her in the middle, and all began abusing and vilifying, and rating, and bullyragging at her, because she had stolen no grouse-eggs, and had actually dared to say that she would not steal any.
so she was to be tried publicly by their laws -lrb- for the hoodies always try some offenders in their great yearly parliament -rrb-.
and there she stood in the middle, in her black gown and gray hood, looking as meek and as neat as a quakeress, and they all bawled at her at once - and it was in vain that she pleaded - that she did not like grouse-eggs; that she could get her living very well without them; that she was afraid to eat them, for fear of the gamekeepers; that she had not the heart to eat them, because the grouse were such pretty, kind, jolly birds; and a dozen reasons more.
for all the other scaul-crows set upon her, and pecked her to death there and then, before tom could come to help her; and then flew away, very proud of what they had done.
now, was not this a scandalous transaction?
but they are true republicans, these hoodies, who do every one just what he likes, and make other people do so too; so that, for any freedom of speech, thought, or action, which is allowed among them, they might as well be american citizens of the new school.
but the fairies took the good crow, and gave her nine new sets of feathers running, and turned her at last into the most beautiful bird of paradise with a green velvet suit and a long tail, and sent her to eat fruit in the spice islands, where cloves and nutmegs grow.
and mrs. bedonebyasyoudid settled her account with the wicked hoodies.
for, as they flew away, what should they find but a nasty dead dog?
-- on which they all set to work, peeking and gobbling and cawing and quarrelling to their hearts" content.
but the moment afterwards, they all threw up their bills into the air, and gave one screech; and then turned head over heels backward, and fell down dead, one hundred and twenty-three of them at once.
for why?
the fairy had told the gamekeeper in a dream, to fill the dead dog full of strychnine; and so he did.
and after a while the birds began to gather at allfowlsness, in thousands and tens of thousands, blackening all the air; swans and brant geese, harlequins and eiders, harolds and garganeys, smews and goosanders, divers and loons, grebes and dovekies, auks and razor-bills, gannets and petrels, skuas and terns, with gulls beyond all naming or numbering; and they paddled and washed and splashed and combed and brushed themselves on the sand, till the shore was white with feathers; and they quacked and clucked and gabbled and chattered and screamed and whooped as they talked over matters with their friends, and settled where they were to go and breed that summer, till you might have heard them ten miles off; and lucky it was for them that there was no one to hear them but the old keeper, who lived all alone upon the ness, in a turf hut thatched with heather and fringed round with great stones slung across the roof by bent-ropes, lest the winter gales should blow the hut right away.
but he never minded the birds nor hurt them, because they were not in season; indeed, he minded but two things in the whole world, and those were, his bible and his grouse; for he was as good an old scotchman as ever knit stockings on a winter's night: only, when all the birds were going, he toddled out, and took off his cap to them, and wished them a merry journey and a safe return; and then gathered up all the feathers which they had left, and cleaned them to sell down south, and make feather - beds for stuffy people to lie on.
then the petrels asked this bird and that whether they would take tom to shiny wall: but one set was going to sutherland, and one to the shetlands, and one to norway, and one to spitzbergen, and one to iceland, and one to greenland: but none would go to shiny wall.
so the good-natured petrels said that they would show him part of the way themselves, but they were only going as far as jan mayen's land; and after that he must shift for himself.
and then all the birds rose up, and streamed away in long black lines, north, and north-east, and north-west, across the bright blue summer sky; and their cry was like ten thousand packs of hounds, and ten thousand peals of bells.
only the puffins stayed behind, and killed the young rabbits, and laid their eggs in the rabbit-burrows; which was rough practice, certainly; but a man must see to his own family.
and, as tom and the petrels went north-eastward, it began to blow right hard; for the old gentleman in the gray great-coat, who looks after the big copper boiler, in the gulf of mexico, had got behindhand with his work; so mother carey had sent an electric message to him for more steam; and now the steam was coming, as much in an hour as ought to have come in a week, puffing and roaring and swishing and swirling, till you could not see where the sky ended and the sea began.
but tom and the petrels never cared, for the gale was right abaft, and away they went over the crests of the billows, as merry as so many flying-fish.
and at last they saw an ugly sight -- the black side of a great ship, waterlogged in the trough of the sea.
her funnel and her masts were overboard, and swayed and surged under her lee; her decks were swept as clean as a barn floor, and there was no living soul on board.
the petrels flew up to her, and wailed round her; for they were very sorry indeed, and also they expected to find some salt pork; and tom scrambled on board of her and looked round, frightened and sad.
and there, in a little cot, lashed tight under the bulwark, lay a baby fast asleep; the very same baby, tom saw at once, which he had seen in the singing lady's arms.
he went up to it, and wanted to wake it; but behold, from under the cot out jumped a little black and tan terrier dog, and began barking and snapping at tom, and would not let him touch the cot.
tom knew the dog's teeth could not hurt him: but at least it could shove him away, and did; and he and the dog fought and struggled, for he wanted to help the baby, and did not want to throw the poor dog overboard: but as they were struggling there came a tall green sea, and walked in over the weather side of the ship, and swept them all into the waves.
""oh, the baby, the baby!"
screamed tom: but the next moment he did not scream at all; for he saw the cot settling down through the green water, with the baby, smiling in it, fast asleep; and he saw the fairies come up from below, and carry baby and cradle gently down in their soft arms; and then he knew it was all right, and that there would be a new water-baby in st. brandan's isle.
and the poor little dog?
why, after he had kicked and coughed a little, he sneezed so hard, that he sneezed himself clean out of his skin, and turned into a water-dog, and jumped and danced round tom, and ran over the crests of the waves, and snapped at the jelly-fish and the mackerel, and followed tom the whole way to the other-end-of-nowhere.
then they went on again, till they began to see the peak of jan mayen's land, standing-up like a white sugar-loaf, two miles above the clouds.
and there they fell in with a whole flock of molly-mocks, who were feeding on a dead whale.
""these are the fellows to show you the way," said mother carey's chickens; "we can not help you farther north.
we do n't like to get among the ice pack, for fear it should nip our toes: but the mollys dare fly anywhere."
so the petrels called to the mollys: but they were so busy and greedy, gobbling and peeking and spluttering and fighting over the blubber, that they did not take the least notice.
""come, come," said the petrels, "you lazy greedy lubbers, this young gentleman is going to mother carey, and if you do n't attend on him, you wo n't earn your discharge from her, you know."
""greedy we are," says a great fat old molly, "but lazy we ai n't; and, as for lubbers, we're no more lubbers than you.
let's have a look at the lad."
and he flapped right into tom's face, and stared at him in the most impudent way -lrb- for the mollys are audacious fellows, as all whalers know -rrb-, and then asked him where he hailed from, and what land he sighted last.
and, when tom told him, he seemed pleased, and said he was a good plucked one to have got so far.
""come along, lads," he said to the rest, "and give this little chap a cast over the pack, for mother carey's sake.
we've eaten blubber enough for to-day, and we'll e "en work out a bit of our time by helping the lad."
so the mollys took tom up on their backs, and flew off with him, laughing and joking -- and oh, how they did smell of train oil!
""who are you, you jolly birds?"
asked tom.
""we are the spirits of the old greenland skippers -lrb- as every sailor knows -rrb-, who hunted here, right whales and horse-whales, full hundreds of years agone.
but, because we were saucy and greedy, we were all turned into mollys, to eat whale's blubber all our days.
but lubbers we are none, and could sail a ship now against any man in the north seas, though we do n't hold with this new-fangled steam.
and it's a shame of those black imps of petrels to call us so; but because they're her grace's pets, they think they may say anything they like."
""and who are you?"
asked tom of him, for he saw that he was the king of all the birds.
""my name is hendrick hudson, and a right good skipper was i; and my name will last to the world's end, in spite of all the wrong i did.
for i discovered hudson river, and i named hudson's bay; and many have come in my wake that dared not have shown me the way.
but i was a hard man in my time, that's truth, and stole the poor indians off the coast of maine, and sold them for slaves down in virginia; and at last i was so cruel to my sailors, here in these very seas, that they set me adrift in an open boat, and i never was heard of more.
so now i'm the king of all mollys, till i've worked out my time."
and now they came to the edge of the pack, and beyond it they could see shiny wall looming, through mist, and snow, and storm.
but the pack rolled horribly upon the swell, and the ice giants fought and roared, and leapt upon each other's backs, and ground each other to powder, so that tom was afraid to venture among them, lest he should be ground to powder too.
and he was the more afraid, when he saw lying among the ice pack the wrecks of many a gallant ship; some with masts and yards all standing, some with the seamen frozen fast on board.
alas, alas, for them!
they were all true english hearts; and they came to their end like good knights-errant, in searching for the white gate that never was opened yet.
but the good mollys took tom and his dog up, and flew with them safe over the pack and the roaring ice giants, and set them down at the foot of shiny wall.
""and where is the gate?"
asked tom.
""there is no gate," said the mollys.
""no gate?"
cried tom, aghast.
""none; never a crack of one, and that's the whole of the secret, as better fellows, lad, than you have found to their cost; and if there had been, they'd have killed by now every right whale that swims the sea."
""what am i to do, then?"
""dive under the floe, to be sure, if you have pluck."
""i've not come so far to turn now," said tom; "so here goes for a header."
""a lucky voyage to you, lad," said the mollys; "we knew you were one of the right sort.
so good-bye."
""why do n't you come too?"
asked tom.
but the mollys only wailed sadly, "we ca n't go yet, we ca n't go yet," and flew away over the pack.
so tom dived under the great white gate which never was opened yet, and went on in black darkness, at the bottom of the sea, for seven days and seven nights.
and yet he was not a bit frightened.
why should he be?
he was a brave english lad, whose business is to go out and see all the world.
and at last he saw the light, and clear clear water overhead; and up he came a thousand fathoms, among clouds of sea-moths, which fluttered round his head.
there were moths with pink heads and wings and opal bodies, that flapped about slowly; moths with brown wings that flapped about quickly; yellow shrimps that hopped and skipped most quickly of all; and jellies of all the colours in the world, that neither hopped nor skipped, but only dawdled and yawned, and would not get out of his way.
the dog snapped at them till his jaws were tired; but tom hardly minded them at all, he was so eager to get to the top of the water, and see the pool where the good whales go.
and a very large pool it was, miles and miles across, though the air was so clear that the ice cliffs on the opposite side looked as if they were close at hand.
all round it the ice cliffs rose, in walls and spires and battlements, and caves and bridges, and stories and galleries, in which the ice-fairies live, and drive away the storms and clouds, that mother carey's pool may lie calm from year's end to year's end.
and the sun acted policeman, and walked round outside every day, peeping just over the top of the ice wall, to see that all went right; and now and then he played conjuring tricks, or had an exhibition of fireworks, to amuse the ice-fairies.
for he would make himself into four or five suns at once, or paint the sky with rings and crosses and crescents of white fire, and stick himself in the middle of them, and wink at the fairies; and i daresay they were very much amused; for anything's fun in the country.
and there the good whales lay, the happy sleepy beasts, upon the still oily sea.
they were all right whales, you must know, and finners, and razor-backs, and bottle-noses, and spotted sea - unicorns with long ivory horns.
but the sperm whales are such raging, ramping, roaring, rumbustious fellows, that, if mother carey let them in, there would be no more peace in peacepool.
so she packs them away in a great pond by themselves at the south pole, two hundred and sixty-three miles south-south-east of mount erebus, the great volcano in the ice; and there they butt each other with their ugly noses, day and night from year's end to year's end.
but here there were only good quiet beasts, lying about like the black hulls of sloops, and blowing every now and then jets of white steam, or sculling round with their huge mouths open, for the sea - moths to swim down their throats.
there were no threshers there to thresh their poor old backs, or sword-fish to stab their stomachs, or saw-fish to rip them up, or ice-sharks to bite lumps out of their sides, or whalers to harpoon and lance them.
they were quite safe and happy there; and all they had to do was to wait quietly in peacepool, till mother carey sent for them to make them out of old beasts into new.
tom swam up to the nearest whale, and asked the way to mother carey.
""there she sits in the middle," said the whale.
tom looked; but he could see nothing in the middle of the pool, but one peaked iceberg: and he said so.
""that's mother carey," said the whale, "as you will find when you get to her.
there she sits making old beasts into new all the year round."
""how does she do that?"
""that's her concern, not mine," said the old whale; and yawned so wide -lrb- for he was very large -rrb- that there swam into his mouth 943 sea-moths, 13,846 jelly-fish no bigger than pins" heads, a string of salpae nine yards long, and forty-three little ice-crabs, who gave each other a parting pinch all round, tucked their legs under their stomachs, and determined to die decently, like julius caesar.
""i suppose," said tom, "she cuts up a great whale like you into a whole shoal of porpoises?"
at which the old whale laughed so violently that he coughed up all the creatures; who swam away again very thankful at having escaped out of that terrible whalebone net of his, from which bourne no traveller returns; and tom went on to the iceberg, wondering.
and, when he came near it, it took the form of the grandest old lady he had ever seen -- a white marble lady, sitting on a white marble throne.
and from the foot of the throne there swum away, out and out into the sea, millions of new-born creatures, of more shapes and colours than man ever dreamed.
and they were mother carey's children, whom she makes out of the sea-water all day long.
he expected, of course -- like some grown people who ought to know better -- to find her snipping, piecing, fitting, stitching, cobbling, basting, filing, planing, hammering, turning, polishing, moulding, measuring, chiselling, clipping, and so forth, as men do when they go to work to make anything.
but, instead of that, she sat quite still with her chin upon her hand, looking down into the sea with two great grand blue eyes, as blue as the sea itself.
her hair was as white as the snow -- for she was very very old -- in fact, as old as anything which you are likely to come across, except the difference between right and wrong.
and, when she saw tom, she looked at him very kindly.
""what do you want, my little man?
it is long since i have seen a water-baby here."
tom told her his errand, and asked the way to the other-end-of - nowhere.
""you ought to know yourself, for you have been there already."
""have i, ma'am?
i'm sure i forget all about it."
""then look at me."
and, as tom looked into her great blue eyes, he recollected the way perfectly.
now, was not that strange?
""thank you, ma'am," said tom.
""then i wo n't trouble your ladyship any more; i hear you are very busy."
""i am never more busy than i am now," she said, without stirring a finger.
""i heard, ma'am, that you were always making new beasts out of old."
""so people fancy.
but i am not going to trouble myself to make things, my little dear.
i sit here and make them make themselves."
""you are a clever fairy, indeed," thought tom.
and he was quite right.
that is a grand trick of good old mother carey's, and a grand answer, which she has had occasion to make several times to impertinent people.
there was once, for instance, a fairy who was so clever that she found out how to make butterflies.
i do n't mean sham ones; no: but real live ones, which would fly, and eat, and lay eggs, and do everything that they ought; and she was so proud of her skill that she went flying straight off to the north pole, to boast to mother carey how she could make butterflies.
but mother carey laughed.
""know, silly child," she said, "that any one can make things, if they will take time and trouble enough: but it is not every one who, like me, can make things make themselves."
but people do not yet believe that mother carey is as clever as all that comes to; and they will not till they, too, go the journey to the other-end-of-nowhere.
""and now, my pretty little man," said mother carey, "you are sure you know the way to the other-end-of-nowhere?"
tom thought; and behold, he had forgotten it utterly.
""that is because you took your eyes off me."
tom looked at her again, and recollected; and then looked away, and forgot in an instant.
""but what am i to do, ma'am?
for i ca n't keep looking at you when i am somewhere else."
""you must do without me, as most people have to do, for nine hundred and ninety-nine thousandths of their lives; and look at the dog instead; for he knows the way well enough, and will not forget it.
besides, you may meet some very queer-tempered people there, who will not let you pass without this passport of mine, which you must hang round your neck and take care of; and, of course, as the dog will always go behind you, you must go the whole way backward."
""backward!"
cried tom.
""then i shall not be able to see my way."
""on the contrary, if you look forward, you will not see a step before you, and be certain to go wrong; but, if you look behind you, and watch carefully whatever you have passed, and especially keep your eye on the dog, who goes by instinct, and therefore ca n't go wrong, then you will know what is coming next, as plainly as if you saw it in a looking-glass."
tom was very much astonished: but he obeyed her, for he had learnt always to believe what the fairies told him.
""so it is, my dear child," said mother carey; "and i will tell you a story, which will show you that i am perfectly right, as it is my custom to be.
""once on a time, there were two brothers.
one was called prometheus, because he always looked before him, and boasted that he was wise beforehand.
the other was called epimetheus, because he always looked behind him, and did not boast at all; but said humbly, like the irishman, that he had sooner prophesy after the event.
""well, prometheus was a very clever fellow, of course, and invented all sorts of wonderful things.
but, unfortunately, when they were set to work, to work was just what they would not do: wherefore very little has come of them, and very little is left of them; and now nobody knows what they were, save a few archaeological old gentlemen who scratch in queer corners, and find little there save ptinum furem, blaptem mortisagam, acarum horridum, and tineam laciniarum.
""but epimetheus was a very slow fellow, certainly, and went among men for a clod, and a muff, and a milksop, and a slowcoach, and a bloke, and a boodle, and so forth.
and very little he did, for many years: but what he did, he never had to do over again.
""and what happened at last?
there came to the two brothers the most beautiful creature that ever was seen, pandora by name; which means, all the gifts of the gods.
but because she had a strange box in her hand, this fanciful, forecasting, suspicious, prudential, theoretical, deductive, prophesying prometheus, who was always settling what was going to happen, would have nothing to do with pretty pandora and her box.
""but epimetheus took her and it, as he took everything that came; and married her for better for worse, as every man ought, whenever he has even the chance of a good wife.
and they opened the box between them, of course, to see what was inside: for, else, of what possible use could it have been to them?
""and out flew all the ills which flesh is heir to; all the children of the four great bogies, self-will, ignorance, fear, and dirt -- for instance: measles, famines, monks, quacks, scarlatina, unpaid bills, idols, tight stays, hooping-coughs, potatoes, popes, bad wine, wars, despots, peacemongers, demagogues, and, worst of all, naughty boys and girls.
but one thing remained at the bottom of the box, and that was, hope.
""so epimetheus got a great deal of trouble, as most men do in this world: but he got the three best things in the world into the bargain -- a good wife, and experience, and hope: while prometheus had just as much trouble, and a great deal more -lrb- as you will hear -rrb-, of his own making; with nothing beside, save fancies spun out of his own brain, as a spider spins her web out of her stomach.
""and prometheus kept on looking before him so far ahead, that as he was running about with a box of lucifers -lrb- which were the only useful things he ever invented, and do as much harm as good -rrb-, he trod on his own nose, and tumbled down -lrb- as most deductive philosophers do -rrb-, whereby he set the thames on fire; and they have hardly put it out again yet.
so he had to be chained to the top of a mountain, with a vulture by him to give him a peck whenever he stirred, lest he should turn the whole world upside down with his prophecies and his theories.
""but stupid old epimetheus went working and grubbing on, with the help of his wife pandora, always looking behind him to see what had happened, till he really learnt to know now and then what would happen next; and understood so well which side his bread was buttered, and which way the cat jumped, that he began to make things which would work, and go on working, too; to till and drain the ground, and to make looms, and ships, and railroads, and steam ploughs, and electric telegraphs, and all the things which you see in the great exhibition; and to foretell famine, and bad weather, and the price of stocks and -lrb- what is hardest of all -rrb- the next vagary of the great idol whirligig, which some call public opinion; till at last he grew as rich as a jew, and as fat as a farmer, and people thought twice before they meddled with him, but only once before they asked him to help them; for, because he earned his money well, he could afford to spend it well likewise.
""and his children are the men of science, who get good lasting work done in the world; but the children of prometheus are the fanatics, and the theorists, and the bigots, and the bores, and the noisy windy people, who go telling silly folk what will happen, instead of looking to see what has happened already."
now, was not mother carey's a wonderful story?
and, i am happy to say, tom believed it every word.
for so it happened to tom likewise.
he was very sorely tried; for though, by keeping the dog to heels -lrb- or rather to toes, for he had to walk backward -rrb-, he could see pretty well which way the dog was hunting, yet it was much slower work to go backwards than to go forwards.
but, what was more trying still, no sooner had he got out of peacepool, than there came running to him all the conjurors, fortune-tellers, astrologers, prophesiers, projectors, prestigiators, as many as were in those parts -lrb- and there are too many of them everywhere -rrb-, old mother shipton on her broomstick, with merlin, thomas the rhymer, gerbertus, rabanus maurus, nostradamus, zadkiel, raphael, moore, old nixon, and a good many in black coats and white ties who might have known better, considering in what century they were born, all bawling and screaming at him, "look a-head, only look a-head; and we will show you what man never saw before, and right away to the end of the world!"
but i am proud to say that, though tom had not been to cambridge -- for, if he had, he would have certainly been senior wrangler -- he was such a little dogged, hard, gnarly, foursquare brick of an english boy, that he never turned his head round once all the way from peacepool to the other-end-of-nowhere: but kept his eye on the dog, and let him pick out the scent, hot or cold, straight or crooked, wet or dry, up hill or down dale; by which means he never made a single mistake, and saw all the wonderful and hitherto by - no-mortal-man-imagined things, which it is my duty to relate to you in the next chapter.
chapter viii and last "come to me, o ye children!
for i hear you at your play; and the questions that perplexed me have vanished quite away.
""ye open the eastern windows, that look towards the sun, where thoughts are singing swallows, and the brooks of morning run.
* * * * * "for what are all our contrivings and the wisdom of our books, when compared with your caresses, and the gladness of your looks?
""ye are better than all the ballads that ever were sung or said; for ye are living poems, and all the rest are dead."
longfellow.
here begins the never-to-be-too-much-studied account of the nine - hundred-and-ninety-ninth part of the wonderful things which tom saw on his journey to the other-end-of-nowhere; which all good little children are requested to read; that, if ever they get to the other-end-of-nowhere, as they may very probably do, they may not burst out laughing, or try to run away, or do any other silly vulgar thing which may offend mrs. bedonebyasyoudid.
now, as soon as tom had left peacepool, he came to the white lap of the great sea-mother, ten thousand fathoms deep; where she makes world-pap all day long, for the steam-giants to knead, and the fire-giants to bake, till it has risen and hardened into mountain - loaves and island-cakes.
and there tom was very near being kneaded up in the world-pap, and turned into a fossil water-baby; which would have astonished the geological society of new zealand some hundreds of thousands of years hence.
for, as he walked along in the silence of the sea-twilight, on the soft white ocean floor, he was aware of a hissing, and a roaring, and a thumping, and a pumping, as of all the steam-engines in the world at once.
and, when he came near, the water grew boiling-hot; not that that hurt him in the least: but it also grew as foul as gruel; and every moment he stumbled over dead shells, and fish, and sharks, and seals, and whales, which had been killed by the hot water.
and at last he came to the great sea-serpent himself, lying dead at the bottom; and as he was too thick to scramble over, tom had to walk round him three-quarters of a mile and more, which put him out of his path sadly; and, when he had got round, he came to the place called stop.
and there he stopped, and just in time.
for he was on the edge of a vast hole in the bottom of the sea, up which was rushing and roaring clear steam enough to work all the engines in the world at once; so clear, indeed, that it was quite light at moments; and tom could see almost up to the top of the water above, and down below into the pit for nobody knows how far.
but, as soon as he bent his head over the edge, he got such a rap on the nose from pebbles, that he jumped back again; for the steam, as it rushed up, rasped away the sides of the hole, and hurled it up into the sea in a shower of mud and gravel and ashes; and then it spread all around, and sank again, and covered in the dead fish so fast, that before tom had stood there five minutes he was buried in silt up to his ankles, and began to be afraid that he should have been buried alive.
and perhaps he would have been, but that while he was thinking, the whole piece of ground on which he stood was torn off and blown upwards, and away flew tom a mile up through the sea, wondering what was coming next.
at last he stopped -- thump!
and found himself tight in the legs of the most wonderful bogy which he had ever seen.
it had i do n't know how many wings, as big as the sails of a windmill, and spread out in a ring like them; and with them it hovered over the steam which rushed up, as a ball hovers over the top of a fountain.
and for every wing above it had a leg below, with a claw like a comb at the tip, and a nostril at the root; and in the middle it had no stomach and one eye; and as for its mouth, that was all on one side, as the madreporiform tubercle in a star - fish is.
well, it was a very strange beast; but no stranger than some dozens which you may see.
""what do you want here," it cried quite peevishly, "getting in my way?"
and it tried to drop tom: but he held on tight to its claws, thinking himself safer where he was.
so tom told him who he was, and what his errand was.
and the thing winked its one eye, and sneered: "i am too old to be taken in in that way.
you are come after gold - - i know you are."
""gold!
what is gold?"
and really tom did not know; but the suspicious old bogy would not believe him.
but after a while tom began to understand a little.
for, as the vapours came up out of the hole, the bogy smelt them with his nostrils, and combed them and sorted them with his combs; and then, when they steamed up through them against his wings, they were changed into showers and streams of metal.
from one wing fell gold-dust, and from another silver, and from another copper, and from another tin, and from another lead, and so on, and sank into the soft mud, into veins and cracks, and hardened there.
whereby it comes to pass that the rocks are full of metal.
but, all of a sudden, somebody shut off the steam below, and the hole was left empty in an instant: and then down rushed the water into the hole, in such a whirlpool that the bogy spun round and round as fast as a teetotum.
but that was all in his day's work, like a fair fall with the hounds; so all he did was to say to tom - "now is your time, youngster, to get down, if you are in earnest, which i do n't believe."
""you'll soon see," said tom; and away he went, as bold as baron munchausen, and shot down the rushing cataract like a salmon at ballisodare.
and, when he got to the bottom, he swam till he was washed on shore safe upon the other-end-of-nowhere; and he found it, to his surprise, as most other people do, much more like this-end-of - somewhere than he had been in the habit of expecting and first he went through waste-paper-land, where all the stupid books lie in heaps, up hill and down dale, like leaves in a winter wood; and there he saw people digging and grubbing among them, to make worse books out of bad ones, and thrashing chaff to save the dust of it; and a very good trade they drove thereby, especially among children.
then he went by the sea of slops, to the mountain of messes, and the territory of tuck, where the ground was very sticky, for it was all made of bad toffee -lrb- not everton toffee, of course -rrb-, and full of deep cracks and holes choked with wind-fallen fruit, and green goose-berries, and sloes, and crabs, and whinberries, and hips and haws, and all the nasty things which little children will eat, if they can get them.
but the fairies hide them out of the way in that country as fast as they can, and very hard work they have, and of very little use it is.
for as fast as they hide away the old trash, foolish and wicked people make fresh trash full of lime and poisonous paints, and actually go and steal receipts out of old madame science's big book to invent poisons for little children, and sell them at wakes and fairs and tuck-shops.
very well.
let them go on.
dr. letheby and dr. hassall can not catch them, though they are setting traps for them all day long.
but the fairy with the birch-rod will catch them all in time, and make them begin at one corner of their shops, and eat their way out at the other: by which time they will have got such stomach-aches as will cure them of poisoning little children.
next he saw all the little people in the world, writing all the little books in the world, about all the other little people in the world; probably because they had no great people to write about: and if the names of the books were not squeeky, nor the pump - lighter, nor the narrow narrow world, nor the hills of the chattermuch, nor the children's twaddeday, why then they were something else.
and, all the rest of the little people in the world read the books, and thought themselves each as good as the president; and perhaps they were right, for every one knows his own business best.
but tom thought he would sooner have a jolly good fairy tale, about jack the giant-killer or beauty and the beast, which taught him something that he did n't know already.
and next he came to the centre of creation -lrb- the hub, they call it there -rrb-, which lies in latitude 42.21 degrees south, and longitude 108.56 degrees east.
and there he found all the wise people instructing mankind in the science of spirit-rapping, while their house was burning over their heads: and when tom told them of the fire, they held an indignation meeting forthwith, and unanimously determined to hang tom's dog for coming into their country with gunpowder in his mouth.
tom could n't help saying that though they did fancy they had carried all the wit away with them out of lincolnshire two hundred years ago, yet if they had had one such lincolnshire nobleman among them as good old lord yarborough, he would have called for the fire-engines before he hanged other people's dogs.
but it was of no use, and the dog was hanged: and tom could n't even have his carcase; for they had abolished the have-his-carcase act in that country, for fear lest when rogues fell out, honest men should come by their own.
and so they would have succeeded perfectly, as they always do, only that -lrb- as they also always do -rrb- they failed in one little particular, viz.
that the dog would not die, being a water-dog, but bit their fingers so abominably that they were forced to let him go, and tom likewise, as british subjects.
whereon they recommenced rapping for the spirits of their fathers; and very much astonished the poor old spirits were when they came, and saw how, according to the laws of mrs. bedonebyasyoudid, their descendants had weakened their constitution by hard living.
then came tom to the island of polupragmosyne -lrb- which some call rogues" harbour; but they are wrong; for that is in the middle of bramshill bushes, and the county police have cleared it out long ago -rrb-.
there every one knows his neighbour's business better than his own; and a very noisy place it is, as might be expected, considering that all the inhabitants are ex officio on the wrong side of the house in the "parliament of man, and the federation of the world;" and are always making wry mouths, and crying that the fairies" grapes were sour.
there tom saw ploughs drawing horses, nails driving hammers, birds" nests taking boys, books making authors, bulls keeping china-shops, monkeys shaving cats, dead dogs drilling live lions, blind brigadiers shelfed as principals of colleges, play-actors not in the least shelfed as popular preachers; and, in short, every one set to do something which he had not learnt, because in what he had learnt, or pretended to learn, he had failed.
there stands the pantheon of the great unsuccessful, from the builders of the tower of babel to those of the trafalgar fountains; in which politicians lecture on the constitutions which ought to have marched, conspirators on the revolutions which ought to have succeeded, economists on the schemes which ought to have made every one's fortune, and projectors on the discoveries which ought to have set the thames on fire.
there cobblers lecture on orthopedy -lrb- whatsoever that may be -rrb- because they can not sell their shoes; and poets on aesthetics -lrb- whatsoever that may be -rrb- because they can not sell their poetry.
there philosophers demonstrate that england would be the freest and richest country in the world, if she would only turn papist again; penny-a-liners abuse the times, because they have not wit enough to get on its staff; and young ladies walk about with lockets of charles the first's hair -lrb- or of somebody else's, when the jews" genuine stock is used up -rrb-, inscribed with the neat and appropriate legend -- which indeed is popular through all that land, and which, i hope, you will learn to translate in due time and to perpend likewise: - "victrix causa diis placuit, sed victa puellis."
when he got into the middle of the town, they all set on him at once, to show him his way; or rather, to show him that he did not know his way; for as for asking him what way he wanted to go, no one ever thought of that.
but one pulled him hither, and another poked him thither, and a third cried - "you must n't go west, i tell you; it is destruction to go west."
""but i am not going west, as you may see," said tom.
and another, "the east lies here, my dear; i assure you this is the east."
""but i do n't want to go east," said tom.
""well, then, at all events, whichever way you are going, you are going wrong," cried they all with one voice -- which was the only thing which they ever agreed about; and all pointed at once to all the thirty-and-two points of the compass, till tom thought all the sign-posts in england had got together, and fallen fighting.
and whether he would have ever escaped out of the town, it is hard to say, if the dog had not taken it into his head that they were going to pull his master in pieces, and tackled them so sharply about the gastrocnemius muscle, that he gave them some business of their own to think of at last; and while they were rubbing their bitten calves, tom and the dog got safe away.
on the borders of that island he found gotham, where the wise men live; the same who dragged the pond because the moon had fallen into it, and planted a hedge round the cuckoo, to keep spring all the year.
and he found them bricking up the town gate, because it was so wide that little folks could not get through.
and, when he asked why, they told him they were expanding their liturgy.
so he went on; for it was no business of his: only he could not help saying that in his country, if the kitten could not get in at the same hole as the cat, she might stay outside and mew.
but he saw the end of such fellows, when he came to the island of the golden asses, where nothing but thistles grow.
for there they were all turned into mokes with ears a yard long, for meddling with matters which they do not understand, as lucius did in the story.
and like him, mokes they must remain, till, by the laws of development, the thistles develop into roses.
till then, they must comfort themselves with the thought, that the longer their ears are, the thicker their hides; and so a good beating do n't hurt them.
then came tom to the great land of hearsay, in which are no less than thirty and odd kings, beside half a dozen republics, and perhaps more by next mail.
and there he fell in with a deep, dark, deadly, and destructive war, waged by the princes and potentates of those parts, both spiritual and temporal, against what do you think?
one thing i am sure of.
that unless i told you, you would never know; nor how they waged that war either; for all their strategy and art military consisted in the safe and easy process of stopping their ears and screaming, "oh, do n't tell us!"
and then running away.
so when tom came into that land, he found them all, high and low, man, woman, and child, running for their lives day and night continually, and entreating not to be told they did n't know what: only the land being an island, and they having a dislike to the water -lrb- being a musty lot for the most part -rrb-, they ran round and round the shore for ever, which -lrb- as the island was exactly of the same circumference as the planet on which we have the honour of living -rrb- was hard work, especially to those who had business to look after.
but before them, as bandmaster and fugleman, ran a gentleman shearing a pig; the melodious strains of which animal led them for ever, if not to conquest, still to flight; and kept up their spirits mightily with the thought that they would at least have the pig's wool for their pains.
and running after them, day and night, came such a poor, lean, seedy, hard-worked old giant, as ought to have been cockered up, and had a good dinner given him, and a good wife found him, and been set to play with little children; and then he would have been a very presentable old fellow after all; for he had a heart, though it was considerably overgrown with brains.
he was made up principally of fish bones and parchment, put together with wire and canada balsam; and smelt strongly of spirits, though he never drank anything but water: but spirits he used somehow, there was no denying.
he had a great pair of spectacles on his nose, and a butterfly-net in one hand, and a geological hammer in the other; and was hung all over with pockets, full of collecting boxes, bottles, microscopes, telescopes, barometers, ordnance maps, scalpels, forceps, photographic apparatus, and all other tackle for finding out everything about everything, and a little more too.
and, most strange of all, he was running not forwards but backwards, as fast as he could.
away all the good folks ran from him, except tom, who stood his ground and dodged between his legs; and the giant, when he had passed him, looked down, and cried, as if he was quite pleased and comforted, - "what?
who are you?
and you actually do n't run away, like all the rest?"
but he had to take his spectacles off, tom remarked, in order to see him plainly.
tom told him who he was; and the giant pulled out a bottle and a cork instantly, to collect him with.
but tom was too sharp for that, and dodged between his legs and in front of him; and then the giant could not see him at all.
""no, no, no!"
said tom, "i've not been round the world, and through the world, and up to mother carey's haven, beside being caught in a net and called a holothurian and a cephalopod, to be bottled up by any old giant like you."
and when the giant understood what a great traveller tom had been, he made a truce with him at once, and would have kept him there to this day to pick his brains, so delighted was he at finding any one to tell him what he did not know before.
""ah, you lucky little dog!"
said he at last, quite simply -- for he was the simplest, pleasantest, honestest, kindliest old dominie sampson of a giant that ever turned the world upside down without intending it -- "ah, you lucky little dog!
if i had only been where you have been, to see what you have seen!"
""well," said tom, "if you want to do that, you had best put your head under water for a few hours, as i did, and turn into a water - baby, or some other baby, and then you might have a chance."
""turn into a baby, eh?
if i could do that, and know what was happening to me for but one hour, i should know everything then, and be at rest.
but i ca n't; i ca n't be a little child again; and i suppose if i could, it would be no use, because then i should then know nothing about what was happening to me.
ah, you lucky little dog!"
said the poor old giant.
""but why do you run after all these poor people?"
said tom, who liked the giant very much.
""my dear, it's they that have been running after me, father and son, for hundreds and hundreds of years, throwing stones at me till they have knocked off my spectacles fifty times, and calling me a malignant and a turbaned turk, who beat a venetian and traduced the state -- goodness only knows what they mean, for i never read poetry - - and hunting me round and round -- though catch me they ca n't, for every time i go over the same ground, i go the faster, and grow the bigger.
while all i want is to be friends with them, and to tell them something to their advantage, like mr. joseph ady: only somehow they are so strangely afraid of hearing it.
but, i suppose i am not a man of the world, and have no tact."
""but why do n't you turn round and tell them so?"
""because i ca n't.
you see, i am one of the sons of epimetheus, and must go backwards, if i am to go at all."
""but why do n't you stop, and let them come up to you?"
""why, my dear, only think.
if i did, all the butterflies and cockyolybirds would fly past me, and then i should catch no more new species, and should grow rusty and mouldy, and die.
and i do n't intend to do that, my dear; for i have a destiny before me, they say: though what it is i do n't know, and do n't care."
""do n't care?"
said tom.
""no.
do the duty which lies nearest you, and catch the first beetle you come across, is my motto; and i have thriven by it for some hundred years.
now i must go on.
dear me, while i have been talking to you, at least nine new species have escaped me."
and on went the giant, behind before, like a bull in a china-shop, till he ran into the steeple of the great idol temple -lrb- for they are all idolaters in those parts, of course, else they would never be afraid of giants -rrb-, and knocked the upper half clean off, hurting himself horribly about the small of the back.
but little he cared; for as soon as the ruins of the steeple were well between his legs, he poked and peered among the falling stones, and shifted his spectacles, and pulled out his pocket - magnifier, and cried - "an entirely new oniscus, and three obscure podurellae!
besides a moth which m. le roi des papillons -lrb- though he, like all frenchmen, is given to hasty inductions -rrb- says is confined to the limits of the glacial drift.
this is most important!"
and down he sat on the nave of the temple -lrb- not being a man of the world -rrb- to examine his podurellae.
whereon -lrb- as was to be expected -rrb- the roof caved in bodily, smashing the idols, and sending the priests flying out of doors and windows, like rabbits out of a burrow when a ferret goes in.
but he never heeded; for out of the dust flew a bat, and the giant had him in a moment.
""dear me!
this is even more important!
here is a cognate species to that which macgilliwaukie brown insists is confined to the buddhist temples of little thibet; and now when i look at it, it may be only a variety produced by difference of climate!"
and having bagged his bat, up he got, and on he went; while all the people ran, being in none the better humour for having their temple smashed for the sake of three obscure species of podurella, and a buddhist bat.
""well," thought tom, "this is a very pretty quarrel, with a good deal to be said on both sides.
but it is no business of mine."
and no more it was, because he was a water-baby, and had the original sow by the right ear; which you will never have, unless you be a baby, whether of the water, the land, or the air, matters not, provided you can only keep on continually being a baby.
so the giant ran round after the people, and the people ran round after the giant, and they are running, unto this day for aught i know, or do not know; and will run till either he, or they, or both, turn into little children.
and then, as shakespeare says -lrb- and therefore it must be true -rrb- - "jack shall have gill nought shall go ill the man shall have his mare again, and all go well."
then tom came to a very famous island, which was called, in the days of the great traveller captain gulliver, the isle of laputa.
but mrs. bedonebyasyoudid has named it over again the isle of tomtoddies, all heads and no bodies.
and when tom came near it, he heard such a grumbling and grunting and growling and wailing and weeping and whining that he thought people must be ringing little pigs, or cropping puppies" ears, or drowning kittens: but when he came nearer still, he began to hear words among the noise; which was the tomtoddies" song which they sing morning and evening, and all night too, to their great idol examination - "i ca n't learn my lesson: the examiner's coming!"
and that was the only song which they knew.
and when tom got on shore the first thing he saw was a great pillar, on one side of which was inscribed, "playthings not allowed here;" at which he was so shocked that he would not stay to see what was written on the other side.
then he looked round for the people of the island: but instead of men, women, and children, he found nothing but turnips and radishes, beet and mangold wurzel, without a single green leaf among them, and half of them burst and decayed, with toad-stools growing out of them.
those which were left began crying to tom, in half a dozen different languages at once, and all of them badly spoken, "i ca n't learn my lesson; do come and help me!"
and one cried, "can you show me how to extract this square root?"
and another, "can you tell me the distance between -lsb- alpha -rsb- lyrae and -lsb- beta -rsb- camelopardis?"
and another, "what is the latitude and longitude of snooksville, in noman's county, oregon, u.s.?"
and another, "what was the name of mutius scaevola's thirteenth cousin's grandmother's maid's cat?"
and another, "how long would it take a school-inspector of average activity to tumble head over heels from london to york?"
and another, "can you tell me the name of a place that nobody ever heard of, where nothing ever happened, in a country which has not been discovered yet?"
and another, "can you show me how to correct this hopelessly corrupt passage of graidiocolosyrtus tabenniticus, on the cause why crocodiles have no tongues?"
and so on, and so on, and so on, till one would have thought they were all trying for tide-waiters" places, or cornetcies in the heavy dragoons.
""and what good on earth will it do you if i did tell you?"
quoth tom.
well, they did n't know that: all they knew was the examiner was coming.
then tom stumbled on the hugest and softest nimblecomequick turnip you ever saw filling a hole in a crop of swedes, and it cried to him, "can you tell me anything at all about anything you like?"
""about what?"
says tom.
""about anything you like; for as fast as i learn things i forget them again.
so my mamma says that my intellect is not adapted for methodic science, and says that i must go in for general information."
tom told him that he did not know general information, nor any officers in the army; only he had a friend once that went for a drummer: but he could tell him a great many strange things which he had seen in his travels.
so he told him prettily enough, while the poor turnip listened very carefully; and the more he listened, the more he forgot, and the more water ran out of him.
tom thought he was crying: but it was only his poor brains running away, from being worked so hard; and as tom talked, the unhappy turnip streamed down all over with juice, and split and shrank till nothing was left of him but rind and water; whereat tom ran away in a fright, for he thought he might be taken up for killing the turnip.
but, on the contrary, the turnip's parents were highly delighted, and considered him a saint and a martyr, and put up a long inscription over his tomb about his wonderful talents, early development, and unparalleled precocity.
were they not a foolish couple?
but there was a still more foolish couple next to them, who were beating a wretched little radish, no bigger than my thumb, for sullenness and obstinacy and wilful stupidity, and never knew that the reason why it could n't learn or hardly even speak was, that there was a great worm inside it eating out all its brains.
but even they are no foolisher than some hundred score of papas and mammas, who fetch the rod when they ought to fetch a new toy, and send to the dark cupboard instead of to the doctor.
tom was so puzzled and frightened with all he saw, that he was longing to ask the meaning of it; and at last he stumbled over a respectable old stick lying half covered with earth.
but a very stout and worthy stick it was, for it belonged to good roger ascham in old time, and had carved on its head king edward the sixth, with the bible in his hand.
""you see," said the stick, "there were as pretty little children once as you could wish to see, and might have been so still if they had been only left to grow up like human beings, and then handed over to me; but their foolish fathers and mothers, instead of letting them pick flowers, and make dirt-pies, and get birds" nests, and dance round the gooseberry bush, as little children should, kept them always at lessons, working, working, working, learning week-day lessons all week-days, and sunday lessons all sunday, and weekly examinations every saturday, and monthly examinations every month, and yearly examinations every year, everything seven times over, as if once was not enough, and enough as good as a feast -- till their brains grew big, and their bodies grew small, and they were all changed into turnips, with little but water inside; and still their foolish parents actually pick the leaves off them as fast as they grow, lest they should have anything green about them."
""ah!"
said tom, "if dear mrs. doasyouwouldbedoneby knew of it she would send them a lot of tops, and balls, and marbles, and ninepins, and make them all as jolly as sand-boys."
""it would be no use," said the stick.
""they ca n't play now, if they tried.
do n't you see how their legs have turned to roots and grown into the ground, by never taking any exercise, but sapping and moping always in the same place?
but here comes the examiner - of-all-examiners.
so you had better get away, i warn you, or he will examine you and your dog into the bargain, and set him to examine all the other dogs, and you to examine all the other water - babies.
there is no escaping out of his hands, for his nose is nine thousand miles long, and can go down chimneys, and through keyholes, upstairs, downstairs, in my lady's chamber, examining all little boys, and the little boys" tutors likewise.
but when he is thrashed -- so mrs. bedonebyasyoudid has promised me -- i shall have the thrashing of him: and if i do n't lay it on with a will it's a pity."
tom went off: but rather slowly and surlily; for he was somewhat minded to face this same examiner-of-all-examiners, who came striding among the poor turnips, binding heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and laying them on little children's shoulders, like the scribes and pharisees of old, and not touching the same with one of his fingers; for he had plenty of money, and a fine house to live in, and so forth; which was more than the poor little turnips had.
but when he got near, he looked so big and burly and dictatorial, and shouted so loud to tom, to come and be examined, that tom ran for his life, and the dog too.
and really it was time; for the poor turnips, in their hurry and fright, crammed themselves so fast to be ready for the examiner, that they burst and popped by dozens all round him, till the place sounded like aldershot on a field - day, and tom thought he should be blown into the air, dog and all.
as he went down to the shore he passed the poor turnip's new tomb.
but mrs. bedonebyasyoudid had taken away the epitaph about talents and precocity and development, and put up one of her own instead which tom thought much more sensible: - "instruction sore long time i bore, and cramming was in vain; till heaven did please my woes to ease with water on the brain."
so tom jumped into the sea, and swam on his way, singing: - "farewell, tomtoddies all; i thank my stars that nought i know save those three royal r's: reading and riting sure, with rithmetick, will help a lad of sense through thin and thick."
whereby you may see that tom was no poet: but no more was john bunyan, though he was as wise a man as you will meet in a month of sundays.
and next he came to oldwivesfabledom, where the folks were all heathens, and worshipped a howling ape.
and there he found a little boy sitting in the middle of the road, and crying bitterly.
""what are you crying for?"
said tom.
""because i am not as frightened as i could wish to be."
""not frightened?
you are a queer little chap: but, if you want to be frightened, here goes -- boo!"
""ah," said the little boy, "that is very kind of you; but i do n't feel that it has made any impression."
tom offered to upset him, punch him, stamp on him, fettle him over the head with a brick, or anything else whatsoever which would give him the slightest comfort.
but he only thanked tom very civilly, in fine long words which he had heard other folk use, and which therefore, he thought were fit and proper to use himself; and cried on till his papa and mamma came, and sent off for the powwow man immediately.
and a very good-natured gentleman and lady they were, though they were heathens; and talked quite pleasantly to tom about his travels, till the powwow man arrived, with his thunderbox under his arm.
and a well-fed, ill-favoured gentleman he was, as ever served her majesty at portland.
tom was a little frightened at first; for he thought it was grimes.
but he soon saw his mistake: for grimes always looked a man in the face; and this fellow never did.
and when he spoke, it was fire and smoke; and when he sneezed, it was squibs and crackers; and when he cried -lrb- which he did whenever it paid him -rrb-, it was boiling pitch; and some of it was sure to stick.
""here we are again!"
cried he, like the clown in a pantomime.
""so you ca n't feel frightened, my little dear -- eh?
i'll do that for you.
i'll make an impression on you!
yah!
boo!
whirroo!
hullabaloo!"
and he rattled, thumped, brandished his thunder-box, yelled, shouted, raved, roared, stamped, and danced corrobory like any black fellow; and then he touched a spring in the thunderbox, and out popped turnip-ghosts and magic-lanthorns and pasteboard bogies and spring-heeled jacks, and sallaballas, with such a horrid din, clatter, clank, roll, rattle, and roar, that the little boy turned up the whites of his eyes, and fainted right away.
and at that his poor heathen papa and mamma were as much delighted as if they had found a gold mine; and fell down upon their knees before the powwow man, and gave him a palanquin with a pole of solid silver and curtains of cloth of gold; and carried him about in it on their own backs: but as soon as they had taken him up, the pole stuck to their shoulders, and they could not set him down any more, but carried him on willynilly, as sinbad carried the old man of the sea: which was a pitiable sight to see; for the father was a very brave officer, and wore two swords and a blue button; and the mother was as pretty a lady as ever had pinched feet like a chinese.
but you see, they had chosen to do a foolish thing just once too often; so, by the laws of mrs. bedonebyasyoudid, they had to go on doing it whether they chose or not, till the coming of the cocqcigrues.
ah!
do n't you wish that some one would go and convert those poor heathens, and teach them not to frighten their little children into fits?
""now, then," said the powwow man to tom, "would n't you like to be frightened, my little dear?
for i can see plainly that you are a very wicked, naughty, graceless, reprobate boy."
""you're another," quoth tom, very sturdily.
and when the man ran at him, and cried "boo!"
tom ran at him in return, and cried "boo!"
likewise, right in his face, and set the little dog upon him; and at his legs the dog went.
at which, if you will believe it, the fellow turned tail, thunderbox and all, with a "woof!"
like an old sow on the common; and ran for his life, screaming, "help!
thieves!
murder!
fire!
he is going to kill me!
i am a ruined man!
he will murder me; and break, burn, and destroy my precious and invaluable thunderbox; and then you will have no more thunder-showers in the land.
help!
help!
help!"
at which the papa and mamma and all the people of oldwivesfabledom flew at tom, shouting, "oh, the wicked, impudent, hard-hearted, graceless boy!
beat him, kick him, shoot him, drown him, hang him, burn him!"
and so forth: but luckily they had nothing to shoot, hang, or burn him with, for the fairies had hid all the killing - tackle out of the way a little while before; so they could only pelt him with stones; and some of the stones went clean through him, and came out the other side.
but he did not mind that a bit; for the holes closed up again as fast as they were made, because he was a water-baby.
however, he was very glad when he was safe out of the country, for the noise there made him all but deaf.
then he came to a very quiet place, called leaveheavenalone.
and there the sun was drawing water out of the sea to make steam - threads, and the wind was twisting them up to make cloud-patterns, till they had worked between them the loveliest wedding veil of chantilly lace, and hung it up in their own crystal palace for any one to buy who could afford it; while the good old sea never grudged, for she knew they would pay her back honestly.
so the sun span, and the wind wove, and all went well with the great steam - loom; as is likely, considering -- and considering -- and considering - and at last, after innumerable adventures, each more wonderful than the last, he saw before him a huge building, much bigger, and -- what is most surprising -- a little uglier than a certain new lunatic asylum, but not built quite of the same materials.
none of it, at least -- or, indeed, for aught that i ever saw, any part of any other building whatsoever -- is cased with nine-inch brick inside and out, and filled up with rubble between the walls, in order that any gentleman who has been confined during her majesty's pleasure may be unconfined during his own pleasure, and take a walk in the neighbouring park to improve his spirits, after an hour's light and wholesome labour with his dinner-fork or one of the legs of his iron bedstead.
no.
the walls of this building were built on an entirely different principle, which need not be described, as it has not yet been discovered.
tom walked towards this great building, wondering what it was, and having a strange fancy that he might find mr. grimes inside it, till he saw running toward him, and shouting "stop!"
three or four people, who, when they came nearer, were nothing else than policemen's truncheons, running along without legs or arms.
tom was not astonished.
he was long past that.
besides, he had seen the naviculae in the water move nobody knows how, a hundred times, without arms, or legs, or anything to stand in their stead.
neither was he frightened for he had been doing no harm.
so he stopped; and, when the foremost truncheon came up and asked his business, he showed mother carey's pass; and the truncheon looked at it in the oddest fashion; for he had one eye in the middle of his upper end, so that when he looked at anything, being quite stiff, he had to slope himself, and poke himself, till it was a wonder why he did not tumble over; but, being quite full of the spirit of justice -lrb- as all policemen, and their truncheons, ought to be -rrb-, he was always in a position of stable equilibrium, whichever way he put himself.
""all right -- pass on," said he at last.
and then he added: "i had better go with you, young man."
and tom had no objection, for such company was both respectable and safe; so the truncheon coiled its thong neatly round its handle, to prevent tripping itself up -- for the thong had got loose in running -- and marched on by tom's side.
""why have you no policeman to carry you?"
asked tom, after a while.
""because we are not like those clumsy-made truncheons in the land - world, which can not go without having a whole man to carry them about.
we do our own work for ourselves; and do it very well, though i say it who should not."
""then why have you a thong to your handle?"
asked tom.
""to hang ourselves up by, of course, when we are off duty."
tom had got his answer, and had no more to say, till they came up to the great iron door of the prison.
and there the truncheon knocked twice, with its own head.
a wicket in the door opened, and out looked a tremendous old brass blunderbuss charged up to the muzzle with slugs, who was the porter; and tom started back a little at the sight of him.
""what case is this?"
he asked in a deep voice, out of his broad bell mouth.
""if you please, sir, it is no case; only a young gentleman from her ladyship, who wants to see grimes, the master-sweep."
""grimes?"
said the blunderbuss.
and he pulled in his muzzle, perhaps to look over his prison-lists.
""grimes is up chimney no. 345," he said from inside.
""so the young gentleman had better go on to the roof."
tom looked up at the enormous wall, which seemed at least ninety miles high, and wondered how he should ever get up: but, when he hinted that to the truncheon, it settled the matter in a moment.
for it whisked round, and gave him such a shove behind as sent him up to the roof in no time, with his little dog under his arm.
and there he walked along the leads, till he met another truncheon, and told him his errand.
""very good," it said.
""come along: but it will be of no use.
he is the most unremorseful, hard-hearted, foul-mouthed fellow i have in charge; and thinks about nothing but beer and pipes, which are not allowed here, of course."
so they walked along over the leads, and very sooty they were, and tom thought the chimneys must want sweeping very much.
but he was surprised to see that the soot did not stick to his feet, or dirty them in the least.
neither did the live coals, which were lying about in plenty, burn him; for, being a water-baby, his radical humours were of a moist and cold nature, as you may read at large in lemnius, cardan, van helmont, and other gentlemen, who knew as much as they could, and no man can know more.
and at last they came to chimney no. 345.
out of the top of it, his head and shoulders just showing, stuck poor mr. grimes, so sooty, and bleared, and ugly, that tom could hardly bear to look at him.
and in his mouth was a pipe; but it was not a-light; though he was pulling at it with all his might.
""attention, mr. grimes," said the truncheon; "here is a gentleman come to see you."
but mr. grimes only said bad words; and kept grumbling, "my pipe wo n't draw.
my pipe wo n't draw."
""keep a civil tongue, and attend!"
said the truncheon; and popped up just like punch, hitting grimes such a crack over the head with itself, that his brains rattled inside like a dried walnut in its shell.
he tried to get his hands out, and rub the place: but he could not, for they were stuck fast in the chimney.
now he was forced to attend.
""hey!"
he said, "why, it's tom!
i suppose you have come here to laugh at me, you spiteful little atomy?"
tom assured him he had not, but only wanted to help him.
""i do n't want anything except beer, and that i ca n't get; and a light to this bothering pipe, and that i ca n't get either."
""i'll get you one," said tom; and he took up a live coal -lrb- there were plenty lying about -rrb- and put it to grimes" pipe: but it went out instantly.
""it's no use," said the truncheon, leaning itself up against the chimney and looking on.
""i tell you, it is no use.
his heart is so cold that it freezes everything that comes near him.
you will see that presently, plain enough."
""oh, of course, it's my fault.
everything's always my fault," said grimes.
""now do n't go to hit me again" -lrb- for the truncheon started upright, and looked very wicked -rrb-; "you know, if my arms were only free, you dare n't hit me then."
the truncheon leant back against the chimney, and took no notice of the personal insult, like a well-trained policeman as it was, though he was ready enough to avenge any transgression against morality or order.
""but ca n't i help you in any other way?
ca n't i help you to get out of this chimney?"
said tom.
""no," interposed the truncheon; "he has come to the place where everybody must help themselves; and he will find it out, i hope, before he has done with me."
""oh, yes," said grimes, "of course it's me.
did i ask to be brought here into the prison?
did i ask to be set to sweep your foul chimneys?
did i ask to have lighted straw put under me to make me go up?
did i ask to stick fast in the very first chimney of all, because it was so shamefully clogged up with soot?
did i ask to stay here -- i do n't know how long -- a hundred years, i do believe, and never get my pipe, nor my beer, nor nothing fit for a beast, let alone a man?"
""no," answered a solemn voice behind.
""no more did tom, when you behaved to him in the very same way."
it was mrs. bedonebyasyoudid.
and, when the truncheon saw her, it started bolt upright -- attention!
-- and made such a low bow, that if it had not been full of the spirit of justice, it must have tumbled on its end, and probably hurt its one eye.
and tom made his bow too.
""oh, ma'am," he said, "do n't think about me; that's all past and gone, and good times and bad times and all times pass over.
but may not i help poor mr. grimes?
may n't i try and get some of these bricks away, that he may move his arms?"
""you may try, of course," she said.
so tom pulled and tugged at the bricks: but he could not move one.
and then he tried to wipe mr. grimes" face: but the soot would not come off.
""oh, dear!"
he said.
""i have come all this way, through all these terrible places, to help you, and now i am of no use at all."
""you had best leave me alone," said grimes; "you are a good-natured forgiving little chap, and that's truth; but you'd best be off.
the hail's coming on soon, and it will beat the eyes out of your little head."
""what hail?"
""why, hail that falls every evening here; and, till it comes close to me, it's like so much warm rain: but then it turns to hail over my head, and knocks me about like small shot."
""that hail will never come any more," said the strange lady.
""i have told you before what it was.
it was your mother's tears, those which she shed when she prayed for you by her bedside; but your cold heart froze it into hail.
but she is gone to heaven now, and will weep no more for her graceless son."
then grimes was silent awhile; and then he looked very sad.
""so my old mother's gone, and i never there to speak to her!
ah!
a good woman she was, and might have been a happy one, in her little school there in vendale, if it had n't been for me and my bad ways."
""did she keep the school in vendale?"
asked tom.
and then he told grimes all the story of his going to her house, and how she could not abide the sight of a chimney-sweep, and then how kind she was, and how he turned into a water-baby.
""ah!"
said grimes, "good reason she had to hate the sight of a chimney-sweep.
i ran away from her and took up with the sweeps, and never let her know where i was, nor sent her a penny to help her, and now it's too late -- too late!"
said mr. grimes.
and he began crying and blubbering like a great baby, till his pipe dropped out of his mouth, and broke all to bits.
""oh, dear, if i was but a little chap in vendale again, to see the clear beck, and the apple-orchard, and the yew-hedge, how different i would go on!
but it's too late now.
so you go along, you kind little chap, and do n't stand to look at a man crying, that's old enough to be your father, and never feared the face of man, nor of worse neither.
but i'm beat now, and beat i must be.
i've made my bed, and i must lie on it.
foul i would be, and foul i am, as an irishwoman said to me once; and little i heeded it.
it's all my own fault: but it's too late."
and he cried so bitterly that tom began crying too.
""never too late," said the fairy, in such a strange soft new voice that tom looked up at her; and she was so beautiful for the moment, that tom half fancied she was her sister.
no more was it too late.
for, as poor grimes cried and blubbered on, his own tears did what his mother's could not do, and tom's could not do, and nobody's on earth could do for him; for they washed the soot off his face and off his clothes; and then they washed the mortar away from between the bricks; and the chimney crumbled down; and grimes began to get out of it.
up jumped the truncheon, and was going to hit him on the crown a tremendous thump, and drive him down again like a cork into a bottle.
but the strange lady put it aside.
""will you obey me if i give you a chance?"
""as you please, ma'am.
you're stronger than me -- that i know too well, and wiser than me, i know too well also.
and, as for being my own master, i've fared ill enough with that as yet.
so whatever your ladyship pleases to order me; for i'm beat, and that's the truth."
""be it so then -- you may come out.
but remember, disobey me again, and into a worse place still you go."
""i beg pardon ma'am, but i never disobeyed you that i know of.
i never had the honour of setting eyes upon you till i came to these ugly quarters."
""never saw me?
who said to you, those that will be foul, foul they will be?"
grimes looked up; and tom looked up too; for the voice was that of the irishwoman who met them the day that they went out together to harthover.
""i gave you your warning then: but you gave it yourself a thousand times before and since.
every bad word that you said -- every cruel and mean thing that you did -- every time that you got tipsy -- every day that you went dirty -- you were disobeying me, whether you knew it or not."
""if i'd only known, ma'am --" "you knew well enough that you were disobeying something, though you did not know it was me.
but come out and take your chance.
perhaps it may be your last."
so grimes stepped out of the chimney, and really, if it had not been for the scars on his face, he looked as clean and respectable as a master-sweep need look.
""take him away," said she to the truncheon, "and give him his ticket-of-leave."
""and what is he to do, ma'am?"
""get him to sweep out the crater of etna; he will find some very steady men working out their time there, who will teach him his business: but mind, if that crater gets choked again, and there is an earthquake in consequence, bring them all to me, and i shall investigate the case very severely."
so the truncheon marched off mr. grimes, looking as meek as a drowned worm.
and for aught i know, or do not know, he is sweeping the crater of etna to this very day.
""and now," said the fairy to tom, "your work here is done.
you may as well go back again."
""i should be glad enough to go," said tom, "but how am i to get up that great hole again, now the steam has stopped blowing?"
""i will take you up the backstairs: but i must bandage your eyes first; for i never allow anybody to see those backstairs of mine."
""i am sure i shall not tell anybody about them, ma'am, if you bid me not."
""aha!
so you think, my little man.
but you would soon forget your promise if you got back into the land-world.
for, if people only once found out that you had been up my backstairs, you would have all the fine ladies kneeling to you, and the rich men emptying their purses before you, and statesmen offering you place and power; and young and old, rich and poor, crying to you, "only tell us the great backstairs secret, and we will be your slaves; we will make you lord, king, emperor, bishop, archbishop, pope, if you like -- only tell us the secret of the backstairs.
for thousands of years we have been paying, and petting, and obeying, and worshipping quacks who told us they had the key of the backstairs, and could smuggle us up them; and in spite of all our disappointments, we will honour, and glorify, and adore, and beatify, and translate, and apotheotise you likewise, on the chance of your knowing something about the backstairs, that we may all go on pilgrimage to it; and, even if we can not get up it, lie at the foot of it, and cry - "oh, backstairs, precious backstairs, invaluable backstairs, requisite backstairs, necessary backstairs, good-natured backstairs, cosmopolitan backstairs, comprehensive backstairs, accommodating backstairs, well-bred backstairs, commercial backstairs, economical backstairs, practical backstairs, logical backstairs, deductive backstairs, comfortable backstairs, humane backstairs, reasonable backstairs, long-sought backstairs, coveted backstairs, aristocratic backstairs, respectable backstairs, gentlenmanlike backstairs, ladylike backstairs, orthodox backstairs, probable backstairs, credible backstairs, demonstrable backstairs, irrefragable backstairs, potent backstairs, all-but-omnipotent backstairs, & c. save us from the consequences of our own actions, and from the cruel fairy, mrs. bedonebyasyoudid!"
do not you think that you would be a little tempted then to tell what you know, laddie?"
tom thought so certainly.
""but why do they want so to know about the backstairs?"
asked he, being a little frightened at the long words, and not understanding them the least; as, indeed, he was not meant to do, or you either.
""that i shall not tell you.
i never put things into little folks" heads which are but too likely to come there of themselves.
so come -- now i must bandage your eyes."
so she tied the bandage on his eyes with one hand, and with the other she took it off.
""now," she said, "you are safe up the stairs."
tom opened his eyes very wide, and his mouth too; for he had not, as he thought, moved a single step.
but, when he looked round him, there could be no doubt that he was safe up the backstairs, whatsoever they may be, which no man is going to tell you, for the plain reason that no man knows.
the first thing which tom saw was the black cedars, high and sharp against the rosy dawn; and st. brandan's isle reflected double in the still broad silver sea.
the wind sang softly in the cedars, and the water sang among the eaves: the sea-birds sang as they streamed out into the ocean, and the land-birds as they built among the boughs; and the air was so full of song that it stirred st. brandan and his hermits, as they slumbered in the shade; and they moved their good old lips, and sang their morning hymn amid their dreams.
but among all the songs one came across the water more sweet and clear than all; for it was the song of a young girl's voice.
and what was the song which she sang?
ah, my little man, i am too old to sing that song, and you too young to understand it.
but have patience, and keep your eye single, and your hands clean, and you will learn some day to sing it yourself, without needing any man to teach you.
and as tom neared the island, there sat upon a rock the most graceful creature that ever was seen, looking down, with her chin upon her hand, and paddling with her feet in the water.
and when they came to her she looked up, and behold it was ellie.
""oh, miss ellie," said he, "how you are grown!"
""oh, tom," said she, "how you are grown too!"
and no wonder; they were both quite grown up -- he into a tall man, and she into a beautiful woman.
""perhaps i may be grown," she said.
""i have had time enough; for i have been sitting here waiting for you many a hundred years, till i thought you were never coming."
""many a hundred years?"
thought tom; but he had seen so much in his travels that he had quite given up being astonished; and, indeed, he could think of nothing but ellie.
so he stood and looked at ellie, and ellie looked at him; and they liked the employment so much that they stood and looked for seven years more, and neither spoke nor stirred.
at last they heard the fairy say: "attention, children.
are you never going to look at me again?"
""we have been looking at you all this while," they said.
and so they thought they had been.
""then look at me once more," said she.
they looked -- and both of them cried out at once, "oh, who are you, after all?"
""you are our dear mrs. doasyouwouldbedoneby."
""no, you are good mrs. bedonebyasyoudid; but you are grown quite beautiful now!"
""to you," said the fairy.
""but look again."
""you are mother carey," said tom, in a very low, solemn voice; for he had found out something which made him very happy, and yet frightened him more than all that he had ever seen.
""but you are grown quite young again."
""to you," said the fairy.
""look again."
""you are the irishwoman who met me the day i went to harthover!"
and when they looked she was neither of them, and yet all of them at once.
""my name is written in my eyes, if you have eyes to see it there."
and they looked into her great, deep, soft eyes, and they changed again and again into every hue, as the light changes in a diamond.
""now read my name," said she, at last.
and her eyes flashed, for one moment, clear, white, blazing light: but the children could not read her name; for they were dazzled, and hid their faces in their hands.
""not yet, young things, not yet," said she, smiling; and then she turned to ellie.
""you may take him home with you now on sundays, ellie.
he has won his spurs in the great battle, and become fit to go with you and be a man; because he has done the thing he did not like."
so tom went home with ellie on sundays, and sometimes on week-days, too; and he is now a great man of science, and can plan railroads, and steam-engines, and electric telegraphs, and rifled guns, and so forth; and knows everything about everything, except why a hen's egg do n't turn into a crocodile, and two or three other little things which no one will know till the coming of the cocqcigrues.
and all this from what he learnt when he was a water-baby, underneath the sea.
""and of course tom married ellie?"
my dear child, what a silly notion!
do n't you know that no one ever marries in a fairy tale, under the rank of a prince or a princess?
""and tom's dog?"
oh, you may see him any clear night in july; for the old dog-star was so worn out by the last three hot summers that there have been no dog-days since; so that they had to take him down and put tom's dog up in his place.
therefore, as new brooms sweep clean, we may hope for some warm weather this year.
and that is the end of my story.
moral.
and now, my dear little man, what should we learn from this parable?
we should learn thirty-seven or thirty-nine things, i am not exactly sure which: but one thing, at least, we may learn, and that is this -- when we see efts in the pond, never to throw stones at them, or catch them with crooked pins, or put them into vivariums with sticklebacks, that the sticklebacks may prick them in their poor little stomachs, and make them jump out of the glass into somebody's work-box, and so come to a bad end.
for these efts are nothing else but the water-babies who are stupid and dirty, and will not learn their lessons and keep themselves clean; and, therefore -lrb- as comparative anatomists will tell you fifty years hence, though they are not learned enough to tell you now -rrb-, their skulls grow flat, their jaws grow out, and their brains grow small, and their tails grow long, and they lose all their ribs -lrb- which i am sure you would not like to do -rrb-, and their skins grow dirty and spotted, and they never get into the clear rivers, much less into the great wide sea, but hang about in dirty ponds, and live in the mud, and eat worms, as they deserve to do.
but that is no reason why you should ill-use them: but only why you should pity them, and be kind to them, and hope that some day they will wake up, and be ashamed of their nasty, dirty, lazy, stupid life, and try to amend, and become something better once more.
for, perhaps, if they do so, then after 379,423 years, nine months, thirteen days, two hours, and twenty-one minutes -lrb- for aught that appears to the contrary -rrb-, if they work very hard and wash very hard all that time, their brains may grow bigger, and their jaws grow smaller, and their ribs come back, and their tails wither off, and they will turn into water-babies again, and perhaps after that into land-babies; and after that perhaps into grown men.
you know they wo n't?
very well, i daresay you know best.
but you see, some folks have a great liking for those poor little efts.
they never did anybody any harm, or could if they tried; and their only fault is, that they do no good -- any more than some thousands of their betters.
but what with ducks, and what with pike, and what with sticklebacks, and what with water-beetles, and what with naughty boys, they are "sae sair hadden doun," as the scotsmen say, that it is a wonder how they live; and some folks ca n't help hoping, with good bishop butler, that they may have another chance, to make things fair and even, somewhere, somewhen, somehow.
meanwhile, do you learn your lessons, and thank god that you have plenty of cold water to wash in; and wash in it too, like a true englishman.
and then, if my story is not true, something better is; and if i am not quite right, still you will be, as long as you stick to hard work and cold water.
_book_title_: harriet_elizabeth_beecher_stowe___uncle_tom's_cabin,_young_folks'_edition.txt.out
hapter i uncle tom and little harry are sold very many years ago, instead of having servants to wait upon them and work for them, people used to have slaves.
these slaves were paid no wages.
their masters gave them only food and clothes in return for their work.
when any one wanted servants he went to market to buy them, just as nowadays we buy horses and cows, or even tables and chairs.
if the poor slaves were bought by kind people they would be quite happy.
then they would work willingly for their masters and mistresses, and even love them.
but very often cruel people bought slaves.
these cruel people used to beat them and be unkind to them in many other ways.
it was very wicked to buy and sell human beings as if they were cattle.
yet christian people did it, and many who were good and kind otherwise thought there was no wrong in being cruel to their poor slaves.
"they are only black people," they said to themselves.
"black people do not feel things as we do."
that was not kind, as black people suffer pain just in the same way as white people do.
one of the saddest things for the poor slaves was that they could never long be a happy family all together -- father, mother, and little brothers and sisters -- because at any time the master might sell the father or the mother or one of the children to some one else.
when this happened those who were left behind were very sad indeed -- more sad than if their dear one had died.
uncle tom was a slave.
he was a very faithful and honest servant, and his master, mr. shelby, was kind to him.
uncle tom's wife was called aunt chloe.
she was mr. shelby's head cook, and a very good one too, she was.
nobody in all the country round could make such delicious pies and cakes as aunt chloe.
uncle tom and aunt chloe lived together in a pretty little cottage built of wood, quite close to mr. shelby's big house.
the little cottage was covered with climbing roses, and the garden was full of beautiful bright flowers and lovely fruit trees.
uncle tom and aunt chloe lived happily for many years in their little cottage, or cabin, as it was called.
all day uncle tom used to work in the fields, while aunt chloe was busy in the kitchen at mr. shelby's house.
when evening came they both went home to their cottage and their children, and were merry together.
mr. shelby was a good man, and kind to his slaves, but he was not very careful of his money.
when he had spent all he had, he did not know what to do to get more.
at last he borrowed money from a man called haley, hoping to be able to pay it back again some day.
but that day never came.
haley grew impatient, and said, "if you do n't pay what you owe me, i will take your house and lands, and sell them to pay myself back all the money i have lent to you."
so mr. shelby sold everything he could spare and gathered money together in every way he could think of, but still there was not enough.
then haley said, "give me that slave of yours called tom -- he is worth a lot of money."
but mr. shelby knew that haley was not a nice man.
he knew he did not want tom for a servant, but only wanted to sell him again, to make more money.
so mr. shelby said, "no, i ca n't do that.
i never mean to sell any of my slaves, least of all tom.
he has been with me since he was a little boy."
"oh very well," said haley," i shall sell your house and lands, as i said i should."
mr. shelby could not bear to think of that, so he agreed to let haley have tom.
he made him promise, however, not to sell tom again except to a kind master.
"very well," said haley, "but tom is n't enough.
i must have another slave."
just at this moment a little boy came dancing into the room where mr. shelby and haley were talking.
he was a pretty, merry little fellow, the son of a slave called eliza, who was mrs. shelby's maid.
"there now," said haley, "give me that little chap, as well as tom, and we will say no more about the money you owe me.'"
i ca n't," said mr. shelby.
"my wife is very fond of eliza, and would never hear of having harry sold."
"oh, very well," said haley once more," i must just sell your house."
so again mr. shelby gave in, and haley went away with the promise that next morning uncle tom and little harry should be given to him, to be his slaves.
chapter ii eliza runs away with little harry mr. shelby was very unhappy because of what he had done.
he knew his wife would be very unhappy too, and he did not know how to tell her.
he had to do it that night, however, before she went to bed.
mrs. shelby could hardly believe it.
"oh, you do not mean this," she said.
"you must not sell our good tom and dear little harry.
do anything rather than that.
it is a wicked, wicked thing to do.
"there is nothing else i can do," said mr. shelby."
i have sold everything i can think of, and at any rate now that haley has set his heart on having tom and harry, he would not take anything or anybody instead."
mrs. shelby cried very much about it, but at last, though she was very, very unhappy she fell asleep.
but some one whom mr. and mrs. shelby never thought of was listening to this talk.
eliza was sitting in the next room.
the door was not quite closed, so she could not help hearing what was said.
as she listened she grew pale and cold and a terrible look of pain came into her face.
eliza had had three dear little children, but two of them had died when they were tiny babies.
she loved and cared for harry all the more because she had lost the others.
now he was to be taken from her and sold to cruel men, and she would never see him again.
she felt she could not bear it.
eliza's husband was called george, and was a slave too.
he did not belong to mr. shelby, but to another man, who had a farm quite near.
george and eliza could not live together as a husband and wife generally do.
indeed, they hardly ever saw each other.
george's master was a cruel man, and would not let him come to see his wife.
he was so cruel, and beat george so dreadfully, that the poor slave made up his mind to run away.
he had come that very day to tell eliza what he meant to do.
as soon as mr. and mrs. shelby stopped talking, eliza crept away to her own room, where little harry was sleeping.
there he lay with his pretty curls around his face.
his rosy mouth was half open, his fat little hands thrown out over the bed-clothes, and a smile like a sunbeam upon his face.
"my baby, my sweet-one," said eliza, "they have sold you.
but mother will save you yet!"
she did not cry.
she was too sad and sorrowful for that.
taking a piece of paper and a pencil, she wrote quickly.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "oh, missis!
dear missis!
do n't think me ungrateful -- do n't think hard of me, anyway!
i heard all you and master said to-night.
i am going to try to save my boy -- you will not blame me i god bless and reward you for all your kindness!"
eliza was going to run away.
she gathered a few of harry's clothes into a bundle, put on her hat and jacket, and went to wake him.
poor harry was rather frightened at being waked in the middle of the night, and at seeing his mother bending over him, with her hat and jacket on.
"what is the matter, mother?"
he said beginning to cry.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "hush," she said, "harry must n't cry or speak aloud, or they will hear us.
a wicked man was coming to take little harry away from his mother, and carry him "way off in the dark.
but mother wo n't let him.
she's going to put on her little boy's cap and coat, and run off with him, so the ugly man ca n't catch him."
harry stopped crying at once, and was good and quiet as a little mouse, while his mother dressed him.
when he was ready, she lifted him in her arms, and crept softly out of the house.
it was a beautiful, clear, starlight night, but very cold, for it was winter-time.
eliza ran quickly to uncle tom's cottage, and tapped on the window.
aunt chloe was not asleep, so she jumped up at once, and opened the door.
she was very much astonished to see eliza standing there with harry in her arms.
uncle tom followed her to the door, and was very much astonished too.
"i'm running away, uncle tom and aunt chloe -- carrying off my child," said eliza.
"master sold him."
"sold him?"
they both echoed, lifting up their hands in dismay.
"yes, sold him," said eliza."
i heard master tell missis that he had sold my harry, and you, uncle tom.
the man is coming to take you away to-morrow."
at first tom could hardly believe what he heard.
then he sank down, and buried his face in his hands.
"the good lord have pity on us!"
said aunt chloe.
"what has tom done that master should sell him?"
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "he has n't done anything -- it is n't for that.
master do n't want to sell; but he owes this man money.
if he does n't pay him it will end in his having to sell the house and all the slaves.
master said he was sorry.
but missis she talked like an angel.
i'm a wicked girl to leave her so, but i ca n't help it.
it must be right; but if it a n't right, the good lord will forgive me, for i ca n't help doing it.
"tom," said aunt chloe, "why do n't you go too?
there's time."
tom slowly raised his head and looked sorrowfully at her.
"no, no," he said.
"let eliza go.
it is right that she should try to save her boy.
mas" r has always trusted me, and i ca n't leave him like that.
it is better for me to go alone than for the whole place to be sold.
mas" r is n't to blame, chloe.
he will take care of you and the poor --" tom could say no more.
big man though he was, he burst into tears, at the thought of leaving his wife and dear little children, never to see them any more.
"aunt chloe," said eliza, in a minute or two," i must go.
i saw my husband to-day.
he told me he meant to run away soon, because his master is so cruel to him.
try to send him a message from me.
tell him i have run away to save our boy.
tell him to come after me if he can.
good-bye, good-bye.
god bless you!"
then eliza went out again into the dark night with her little boy in her arms, and aunt chloe shut the door softly behind her.
chapter iii the morning after next morning, when it was discovered that eliza had run away with her little boy, there was great excitement and confusion all over the house.
mrs. shelby was very glad.
"thank god!"
she said."
i hope eliza will get right away.
i could not bear to think of harry being sold to that cruel man."
mr. shelby was angry.
"haley knew i did n't want to sell the child," he said.
"he will blame me for this."
one person only was quite silent, and that was aunt chloe.
she went on, making the breakfast as if she heard and saw nothing of the excitement round her.
all the little black boys belonging to the house thought it was fine fun.
very soon, about a dozen young imps were roosting, like so many crows, on the railings, waiting for haley to come.
they wanted to see how angry he would be, when he heard the news.
and he was dreadfully angry.
the little nigger boys thought it was grand.
they shouted and laughed and made faces at him to their hearts" content.
at last haley became so angry, that mr. shelby offered to give him two men to help him to find eliza.
but these two men, sam and andy, knew quite well that mrs. shelby did not want eliza to be caught, so they put off as much time as they could.
they let loose their horses and haley's too.
then they frightened and chased them, till they raced like mad things all over the great lawns which surrounded the house.
whenever it seemed likely that a horse would be caught, sam ran up, waving his hat and shouting wildly, "now for it!
cotch him!
cotch him!"
this frightened the horses so much that they galloped off faster than before.
haley rushed up and down, shouting and using dreadful, naughty words, and stamping with rage all the time.
at last, about twelve o'clock, sam came riding up with haley's horse.
"he's cotched," he said, seemingly very proud of himself."
i cotched him!"
of course, now it was too late to start before dinner.
besides, the horses were so tired with all their running about, that they had to have a rest.
when at last they did start, sam led them by a wrong road.
so the sun was almost setting before they arrived at the village where haley hoped to find eliza.
chapter iv the chase when eliza left uncle tom's cabin, she felt very sad and lonely.
she knew she was leaving all the friends she had ever had behind her.
at first harry was frightened.
soon he grew sleepy.
"mother, i do n't need to keep awake, do i?"
he said.
"no, my darling, sleep, if you want to."
"but, mother, if i do get asleep, you wo n't let the bad man take me?"
"no!"
"you're sure, a n't you, mother?"
"yes, sure."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- harry dropped his little weary head upon her shoulder, and was soon fast asleep.
eliza walked on and on, never resting, all through the night.
when the sun rose, she was many miles away from her old home.
still she walked on, only stopping, in the middle of the day, to buy a little dinner for herself and harry at a farm-house.
at last, when it was nearly dark, she arrived at a village, on the banks of the river ohio.
if she could only get across that river, eliza felt she would be safe.
she went to a little inn on the bank, where a kind-looking woman was busy cooking supper.
"is there a boat that takes people across the river now?"
she asked.
"no, indeed," replied the woman.
"the boats has stopped running.
it is n't safe, there be too many blocks of ice floating about."
eliza looked so sad and disappointed when she heard this, that the good woman was sorry for her.
harry too was so tired, that he began to cry.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "here, take him into this room," said the woman, opening the door into a small bed-room.
eliza laid her tired little boy upon the bed, and he soon fell fast asleep.
but for her there was no rest.
she stood at the window, watching the river with its great floating blocks of ice, wondering how she could cross it.
as she stood there she heard a shout.
looking up she saw sam.
she drew back just in time, for haley and andy were riding only a yard or two behind him.
it was a dreadful moment for eliza.
her room opened by a side door to the river.
she seized her child and sprang down the steps towards it.
haley caught sight of her as she disappeared down the bank.
throwing himself from his horse, and calling loudly to sam and andy, he was after her in a moment.
in that terrible moment her feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground.
the next, she was at the water's edge.
on they came behind her.
with one wild cry and flying leap, she jumped right over the water by the shore, on to the raft of ice beyond.
it was a desperate leap.
haley, sam, and andy cried out, and lifted up their hands in astonishment.
the great piece of ice pitched and creaked as her weight came upon it.
but she stayed there not a moment.
with wild cries she leaped to another and still another -- stumbling -- leaping -- slipping -- springing up again!
her shoes were gone, her stockings cut from her feet by the sharp edges of the ice.
blood marked every step.
but she knew nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, as in a dream, she saw the ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank.
"yer a brave gal, now, whoever ye are!"
said the man.
"oh, save me -- do save me -- do hide me," she cried.
"why, what's the matter?"
asked the man.
"my child!
this boy -- mas" r sold him.
there's his new mas "r," she said, pointing to the other shore.
"oh, save me."
"yer a right brave gal," said the man.
"go there," pointing to a big white house close by.
"they are kind folks; they'll help you."
"oh, thank you, thank you," said eliza, as she walked quickly away.
the man stood and looked after her wonderingly.
on the other side of the river haley was standing perfectly amazed at the scene.
when eliza disappeared over the bank he turned and looked at sam and andy, with terrible anger in his eyes.
but sam and andy were glad, oh, so glad, that eliza had escaped.
they were so glad that they laughed till the tears rolled down their cheeks.
"i'll make ye laugh," said haley, laying about their heads with his riding whip.
they ducked their heads, ran shouting up the bank, and were on their horses before he could reach them.
"good evening, mas "r," said sam."
i berry much "spect missis be anxious "bout us.
mas" r haley wo n't want us no longer."
then off they went as fast as their horses could gallop.
it was late at night before they reached home again, but mrs. shelby was waiting for them.
as soon as she heard the horses galloping up she ran out to the balcony.
"is that you, sam?"
she called.
"where are they?"
"mas" r haley's a-restin" at the tavern.
he's drefful fatigued, missis."
"and eliza, sam?"
"come up here, sam," called mr. shelby, who had followed his wife, "and tell your mistress what she wants to know."
so sam went up and told the wonderful story of how eliza had crossed the river on the floating ice.
mr. and mrs. shelby found it hard to believe that such a thing was possible.
mrs. shelby was very, very glad that eliza had escaped.
she told aunt chloe to give sam and andy a specially good supper.
then they went to bed quite pleased with their day's work.
chapter v eliza finds a refuge a lady and gentleman were sitting talking happily together in the drawing-room of the white house to which eliza had gone.
suddenly their old black man-of-all-work put his head in at the door and said, "will missis come into the kitchen?"
the lady went.
presently she called to her husband," i do wish you would come here a moment."
he rose and went into the kitchen.
there lay eliza on two kitchen chairs.
her poor feet were all cut and bleeding, and she had fainted quite away.
the master of the house drew his breath short, and stood silent.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- his wife and the cook were trying to bring eliza round.
the old man had harry on his knee, and was busy pulling off his shoes and stockings, to warm the little cold feet.
"poor creature," said the lady.
suddenly eliza opened her eyes.
a dreadful look of pain came into her face.
she sprang up saying, "oh, my harry, have they got him?"
as soon as he heard her voice, harry jumped from the old man's knee, and running to her side, put up his arms.
"oh, he's here!
he's here," she said, kissing him.
"oh, ma'am," she went, on turning wildly to the lady of the house, "do protect us, do n't let them get him."
"nobody shall hurt you here, poor woman," said the lady.
"you are safe; do n't be afraid."
"god bless you," said eliza, covering her face and sobbing, while harry, seeing her crying, tried to get into her lap to comfort her.
"you need n't be afraid of anything; we are friends here, poor woman.
tell me where you come from and what you want," said the lady."
i came from the other side of the river," said eliza.
"when?"
said the gentleman, very much astonished.
"to-night."
"how did you come?'"
i crossed on the ice."
"crossed on the ice!"
exclaimed every one.
"yes," said eliza slowly," i did.
god helped me, and i crossed on the ice.
they were close behind me -- right behind, and there was no other way."
"law, missis," said the old servant, "the ice is all in broken up blocks, a-swinging up and down in the water.'"
i know it is.
i know it," said eliza wildly.
"but i did it.
i would "nt have thought i could -- i did n't think i could get over, but i did n't care.
i could but die if i did n't.
and god helped me."
"were you a slave?"
said the gentleman.
"yes, sir."
"was your master unkind to you?"
"no, sir."
"was your mistress unkind to you?"
"no, sir -- no.
my mistress was always good to me."
"what could make you leave a good home, then, and run away, and go through such danger?"
"they wanted to take my boy away from me -- to sell him -- to sell him down south, ma'am.
to go all alone -- a baby that had never been away from his mother in his life.
i could n't bear it.
i took him, and ran away in the night.
they chased me, they were coming down close behind me, and i heard'em.
i jumped right on to the ice.
how i got across i do n't know.
the first i knew, a man was helping me up the bank."
it was such a sad story, that the tears came into the eyes of everyone who heard her tell it.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "where do you mean to go to, poor woman?"
asked the lady.
"to canada, if i only knew where that was.
is it very far off, is canada"?
said eliza, looking up in a simple, trusting way, to the kind lady's face.
"poor woman," said she again.
"is it a great way off?"
asked eliza.
"yes," said the lady of the house sadly, "it is far away.
but we will try to help you to get there."
eliza wanted to go to canada, because it belonged to the british.
they did not allow any one to be made a slave there.
george, too, was going to try to reach canada.
"wife," said the gentleman, when they had gone back again into their own sitting-room, "we must get that poor woman away to-night.
she is not safe here.
i know some good people, far in the country, who will take care of her."
so this kind gentleman got the carriage ready, and drove eliza and her boy a long, long way, through the dark night, to a cottage far in the country.
there he left her with a good man and his wife, who promised to be kind to her, and help her to go to canada.
he gave some money to the good man too, and told him to use it for eliza.
chapter vi uncle tom says good-bye the day after the hunt for eliza was a very sad one in uncle tom's cabin.
it was the day on which haley was going to take uncle tom away.
aunt chloe had been up very early.
she had washed and ironed all tom's clothes, and packed his trunk neatly.
now she was cooking the breakfast, -- the last breakfast she would ever cook for her dear husband.
her eyes were quite red and swollen with crying, and the tears kept running down her cheeks all the time.
"it's the last time," said tom sadly.
aunt chloe could not answer.
she sat down, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed aloud.
's "pose we must be resigned.
but, o lord, how can i?
if i knew anything where you was goin", or how they'd treat you!
missis says she'll try and buy you back again in a year or two.
but, lor", nobody never comes back that goes down there."
"there'll be the same god there, chloe, that there is here."
"well," said aunt chloe,'s "pose dere will.
but the lord lets drefful things happen sometimes.
i do n't seem to get no comfort dat way."
"let's think on our mercies," said tom, in a shaking voice.
"mercies!"
said aunt chloe, "do n't see any mercies in "t.
it is n't right!
it is n't right it should be so!
mas" r never ought to have left it so that ye could be took for his debts.
mebbe he ca n't help himself now, but i feel it's wrong.
nothing can beat that out of me.
such a faithful crittur as ye've been, reckonin" on him more than your own wife and chil "en."
"chloe!
now, if ye love me, you wo n't talk so, when it is perhaps jest the last time we'll ever have together," said tom.
"wall, anyway, there's wrong about it somewhere," said aunt chloe," i ca n't jest make out where't is.
but there is wrong somewhere, i'm sure of that."
neither tom nor chloe could eat any breakfast; their hearts were too full of sorrow.
but the little children, who hardly understood what was happening, enjoyed theirs.
it was not often that they had such a fine one as chloe had cooked for tom's last morning at home.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- breakfast was just finished, when mrs. shelby came.
chloe was not very pleased to see her.
she was angry, and blamed her for letting tom be sold.
but mrs. shelby did not seem to see aunt chloe's angry looks.
"tom," she said, turning to him," i come to --" she could say no more, she was crying so bitterly.
then all aunt chloe's anger faded away.
"lor", now missis, do n't - do n't," she said.
she too burst out crying again, and for a few minutes they all sobbed together.
"tom," said mrs. shelby at last," i ca n't do anything for you now.
but i promise you, most solemnly, to save as much, money as i can.
as soon as i have enough, i will buy you back again."
just then haley arrived.
tom said a last sad good-bye to his wife and children, and got into the cart, which haley had brought with him.
as soon as tom was seated in the cart, haley took a heavy chain, and fastened it round his ankles.
poor tom had done nothing wrong, yet he was treated worse than a thief, just because he was a slave.
"you do n't need to do that," said mrs. shelby, "tom wo n't run away."
"do n't know so much about that, ma'am; i've lost one already.
i ca n't afford to run any more risks," replied haley.
"please give my love to mas" r george," said tom, looking round sadly.
"tell him how sorry i am he is not at home to say good-bye."
master george was mr. and mrs. shelby's son.
he was very fond of tom, and was teaching him to write.
he often used to come and have tea in uncle tom's little cottage.
aunt chloe used to make her very nicest cakes when mas" r george came to tea.
but he was not at home now, and did not know that tom had been sold.
haley whipped up the horse, and, with a last sad look at the old place, tom was whirled away to a town called washington.
chapter vii uncle tom meets eva haley stayed in washington several days.
he went to market each day and bought more slaves.
he put heavy chains on their hands and feet, and sent them to prison along with tom.
when he had bought all the slaves he wanted, and was ready to go, he drove them before him, like a herd of cattle, on to a boat which was going south.
it was a beautiful boat.
the deck was gay with lovely ladies and fine gentlemen walking about enjoying the bright spring sunshine.
down on the lower deck, in the dark, among the luggage, were crowded tom and the other poor slaves.
some of the ladies and gentlemen on board were very sorry for the poor niggers, and pitied them.
others never thought about them at all, or if they did, thought it was quite just and proper that they should be treated badly.
"they are only slaves," they said.
among the passengers was a pretty little girl, about six years old.
she had beautiful golden hair, and big blue eyes.
she ran about here, there, and everywhere, dancing and laughing like a little fairy.
there were other children on board, but not one so pretty or so merry as she.
she was always dressed in white, and tom thought she looked like a little angel, as she danced and ran about.
often and often she would come and walk sadly around the place where the poor slaves sat in their chains.
she would look pityingly at them, and then go slowly away.
once or twice she came with her dress full of sweets, nuts, and oranges, and gave them all some.
tom watched the little lady, and tried to make friends with her.
his pockets were full of all kinds of things, with which he used to amuse his old master's children.
he could make whistles of every sort and size, cut baskets out of cherry-stones, faces out of nut-shells, jumping figures out of bits of wood.
he brought these out one by one, and though the little girl was shy at first, they soon grew to be great friends.
"what is missy's name?"
said tom one day.
"evangeline st. clare," said the little girl; "though papa and everybody else call me eva.
now, what's your name?"
"my name's tom.
the little chil "en at my old home used to call me uncle tom."
"then i mean to call you uncle tom, because, you see, i like you," said eva.
"so, uncle tom, where are you going?'"
i do n't know, miss eva."
"do n't know?"
said eva.
"no.
i'm going to be sold to somebody.
i do n't know who."
"my papa can buy you, said eva quickly.
"if he buys you you will have good times.
i mean to ask him to, this very day."
"thank you, my little lady," said tom.
just at this moment, the boat stopped at a small landing-place to take in some wood.
eva heard her father's voice, and ran away to speak to him.
tom too rose and walked to the side.
he was allowed to go about now without chains.
he was so good and gentle, that even a man like haley could not help seeing that it could do no harm to let him go free.
tom helped the sailors to carry the wood on the boat.
he was so big and strong that they were very glad to have his help.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- eva and her father were standing by the railings as the boat once more began to move.
it had hardly left the landing-stage when, some how or other, eva lost her balance.
she fell right over the side of the boat into the water.
tom was standing just under her, on the lower deck, as she fell.
in one moment he sprang after her.
the next he had caught her his arms, and was swimming with her to the boat-side, where eager hands were held out to take her.
the whole boat was in confusion.
every one ran to help eva, while the poor slave went back to his place, unnoticed and uncared for.
but mr. st. clare did not forget.
the next day tom sat on the lower deck, with folded arms, anxiously watching him as he talked to haley.
eva's father was a very handsome man.
he was like eva, with the same beautiful blue eyes and golden-brown hair.
he was very fond of fun and laughter, and though he had quite made up his mind to buy tom, he was now teasing haley, and pretending to think that he was asking too much money for him.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "papa do buy him, it's no matter what you pay", whispered eva softly, putting her arms around her father's neck.
"you have money enough, i know.
i want him."
"what for, pussy?
are you going to use him for a rattle-box, or a rocking-horse, or what?'"
i want to make him happy."
mr. st. clare laughed; but after making a few more jokes about it, he gave haley the money he asked for, and tom had a new master.
"come, eva," said mr. st. clare, and, taking her hand, went across the boat to tom.
"look up, tom," he said to him, "and see how you like your new master."
tom looked up.
mr. st. clare had such a gay, young, handsome face, that tom could not help feeling glad.
grateful tears rushed to his eyes as he said, "god bless you, mas "r." "can you drive horses, tom?"
"i've been allays used to horses," said tom.
"well, i think i'll make you a coachman.
but you must not get drunk."
tom looked surprised and a little hurt."
i never drink", mas "r," he said.
"never mind, my boy," said mr. st. clare, seeing him look so grave;" i do n't doubt you mean to do well.'"
i certainly do, mas "r," said tom.
"and you shall have good times," said eva.
"papa is very good to everybody, only he always will laugh at them."
"papa is much obliged to you," said mr. st. clare laughing, as he walked away.
chapter viii eliza among the quakers while uncle tom was sailing south, down the wide river, to his new master's home, eliza with her boy was travelling north to canada.
kind people helped her all the way.
she passed from friend to friend, till she arrived safely at a village where the people were quakers.
the quakers were gentle, quiet people.
they all dressed alike in plain grey clothes, and the women wore big, white muslin caps.
because they thought it was wicked to have slaves, they helped those who ran away from their cruel masters.
often they were punished for doing this, but still they went on helping the poor slaves.
for though the laws said it was wrong, they felt quite sure that it was really right to do so.
the kind quaker women grew to be very fond of eliza, and would have been glad if she would have stayed with them.
but eliza said, "no, i must go on; i dare not stop.
i ca n't sleep at night: i ca n't rest.
last night i dreamed i saw that man come into the yard."
"poor child," said rachel, the kind quaker woman to whom she was speaking, "poor child, thee must n't feel so.
no slave that has run away has ever been stolen from our village.
it is safe here."
while they were talking, simeon, rachel's husband, came to the door and called, "wife, i want to speak to thee a minute."
rachel went out to him.
"eliza's husband is here," he said.
"art thee sure?"
asked rachel, her face bright with joy.
"yes, quite certain; he will be here soon.
will thee tell her?"
rachel went back into the kitchen, where eliza was sewing, and, opening the door of a small bedroom, said gently, "come in here with me, my daughter; i have news to tell thee."
eliza rose trembling, she was so afraid it was bad news.
"no, no!
never fear thee.
it's good news, eliza," said simeon, rachel shut the door, and drew eliza towards her.
"the lord has been very good to thee," she said gently.
"thy husband hath escaped, and will be here to-night."
"to-night!"
repeated eliza, "to-night!"
then it seemed as if the room and everything in it swam round her, and she fell into rachel's arms.
very gently rachel laid her down on the bed.
eliza slept as she had not slept since the dreadful night when she had taken her boy and run away through the cold, dark night.
she dreamed of a beautiful country -- a land, it seemed to her, of rest -- green shores, pleasant islands, and lovely glittering water.
there in a house, which kind voices told her was her home, she saw harry playing happily.
she heard her husband's footstep.
she felt him coming nearer.
his arms were around her, his tears falling upon her face, and she awoke.
it was no dream.
the sun had set, the candles were lit.
harry was sleeping by her side, and george, her husband, was holding her in his arms.
chapter ix uncle tom's new home uncle tom soon settled down in his new home.
he was as happy as he could be, so far away from his wife and dear little children.
he had a kind master.
mrs. st. clare, however, was not nearly so nice as her husband.
she was cruel, and would often have beaten her poor slaves, but mr. st. clare would not allow it.
she always pretended that she was very ill, and spent most of her time lying on a sofa, or driving about in her comfortable carriage.
mrs. st. clare said she really was too ill to look after the house, so everything was left to the slaves.
soon things began to be very uncomfortable, and even good-natured mr. st. clare could stand it no longer.
he went to his cousin, miss ophelia st. clare, and begged her to come and keep house for him, and to look after eva.
it was on the journey back with her that the accident to eva happened, which ended in his buying tom.
miss ophelia was a very prim and precise person, not at all like the st. clares.
in her home people did not have slaves.
though her cousin had a great many, and was kind to them, she could not help seeing that it was a very wicked thing to buy and sell men and women as if they were cattle.
she was very, very sorry for the poor slaves, and would have liked to free them all.
yet she did not love them.
she could not bear even to have them near her, nor to touch them, just because they were black.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- it made her quite ill to see eva kissing and hugging the black slave women when she came home.
"well, i could n't do that," she said.
"why not?"
said mr. st. clare, who was looking on.
"well, i want to be kind to every one.
i would n't have anybody hurt.
but, as to kissing niggers --" she gave a little shudder.
"how can she?"
presently a gay laugh sounded from the court.
mr. st. clare stepped out to see what was happening.
"what is it?"
said miss ophelia, following him.
there sat tom on a little mossy seat in the court.
every one of his buttonholes was stuck full of flowers.
eva, laughing gaily, was hanging a wreath of roses round his neck.
then, still laughing, she perched on his knee like a little sparrow.
"oh, tom, you look so funny!"
tom had a sober smile on his face.
he seemed in his own quiet way to be enjoying the fun quite as much as his little mistress.
when he lifted his eyes and saw his master he looked as if he were afraid he might be scolded.
but mr. st. clare only smiled.
"how can you let her do that?"
said miss ophelia.
"why not?"
said mr. st. clare.
"why?
i do n't know.
it seems dreadful to me."
"you would think it was quite right and natural if you saw eva playing with a large dog, even if he was black.
but a fellow-creature that can think, and reason, and feel, and is immortal, you shudder at.
i know how you north-country people feel about it.
you loathe the blacks as you would a toad or a snake.
yet you pity them, and are angry because they are often ill-treated."
"well, cousin," said miss ophelia thoughtfully," i daresay you are right.
i suppose i must try to get over my feeling."
chapter x uncle tom's letter uncle tom felt that he was indeed very fortunate to have found such a kind master and so good a home.
he had nice clothes, plenty of food, and a comfortable room to sleep in.
he had no hard, disagreeable work to do.
his chief duties were to drive mrs. st. clare's carriage when she wanted to go out, and to attend on eva when she wanted him.
he soon grew to love his little mistress very, very much indeed.
mr. st. clare too began to find tom very useful.
he was dreadfully careless about money, and his chief servant was just as careless as his master.
so between them a great deal was not only spent but wasted.
mr. shelby had trusted tom in everything, and tom had always been careful of his master's money -- as careful as if it had been his own.
waste seemed dreadful to him, and he tried to do something to stop it now.
mr. st. clare was not long in finding out how clever tom was, and soon trusted him as thoroughly as mr. shelby had done.
but in spite of all his good fortune, tom used to long very much to go home to see his dear ones again.
he had plenty of spare time, and whenever he had nothing to do he would pull his bible out of his pocket and try to find comfort in reading it.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- but as time went on, uncle tom longed more and more for his home.
at last one day he had a grand idea.
he would write a letter.
before uncle tom was sold, george shelby had been teaching him to write so he thought he could manage a letter.
he begged a sheet of writing-paper from eva, and going to his room began to make a rough copy on his slate.
it was very difficult.
poor uncle tom found that he had quite forgotten how to make some of the letters.
of those he did remember, he was not quite sure which he ought to use.
yes, it was a very difficult thing indeed.
while he was working away, breathing very hard over it, eva came behind him, and peeped over his shoulder.
"oh, uncle tom!
what funny things you are making there!"
eva put her little golden head close to uncle tom's black one, and the two began a grave and anxious talk over the letter.
they were both very earnest, and both very ignorant.
but after a great deal of consulting over every word, the writing began, they really thought, to look quite like a proper letter.
"yes, uncle tom, it begins to look beautiful," said eva, gazing on it with delight.
"how pleased your wife will be, and the poor little children!
oh, it is a shame that you ever had to go away from them!
i mean to ask papa to let you go back, some day."
"missis said that she would send down money for me, as soon as they could get it together," said tom.
"young mas" r george, he said he'd come for me.
he gave me this dollar as a sign," and tom drew the precious dollar from under his coat.
"oh, he is sure to come, then," said eva," i am so glad.'"
i wanted to send a letter, you see, to let'em know where i was, and tell poor chloe that i was well off,'cause she felt so dreadful, poor soul.'"
i say, tom," said mr. st. clare, coming in at the door at this minute.
tom and eva both started.
"what's this?"
mr. st. clare went on, coming up and looking at the slate.
"oh, it's tom's letter.
i'm helping him to write it," said eva.
"is n't it nice?'"
i would n't discourage either of you," said her father; "but i rather think, tom, you had better let me write your letter for you.
i'll do it when i come home from my ride."
"it is very important that he should write," said eva, "because his mistress is going to send money to buy him back again, you know, papa.
he told me they had said so."
mr. st. clare thought in his heart that very likely this meant nothing.
he thought it was only one of these things which good-natured people said to their slaves to comfort them when they were taken away from their dear ones to be sold.
he did not really believe mrs. shelby meant to buy tom back again.
however, he did not say so out loud, but just told tom to get the horses ready for a ride.
that evening the letter was written, and uncle tom carried it joyfully to the post-office.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- chapter xii george fights for freedom the day after george and eliza met each other once more at the end of so many sad months of parting, was a very happy one in the quaker house.
the two had much to say to each other.
george had to tell how he had escaped from his cruel master, and how he had followed eliza all the way and at last found her.
then there were plans to make for going on towards canada.
it was arranged that they should start that night at ten o'clock.
"the pursuers are hard after thee, we must not delay," said simeon.
rachel was happy and busy, packing up food and clothes for them to take on the journey.
late in the afternoon another quaker, called phineas, came with the dreadful news that the wicked men, whom haley had sent to catch eliza, were only a few miles away.
so george and eliza decided to start as soon as it was dark.
a little while after supper a large covered waggon drew up before the door.
they got in and the waggon drove off.
on and on, all through the dark night they drove.
about three o'clock, george heard the click of a horse's hoof coming behind them.
"that's simeon," said phineas, who was driving, as he pulled up the horses to listen.
"halloa, there, simeon," he shouted, "what news?
are they coming?"
"yes, right on behind, eight or ten of them."
"oh!
what shall we do?"
groaned eliza.
but phineas knew the road well.
he lashed the horses till they flew along, the waggon rattling and jumping over the hard road behind them.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- on they went till they came to a place where the rocks rose straight up from the road like a wall.
it seemed impossible for any one to climb up there.
but phineas knew a way.
he stopped the horses.
"here, simeon," he said, "take the waggon, and drive on as fast as thou canst, and bring back help.
now follow me," he said to the others, "quick, for your lives.
run now, if you you ever did run."
quicker than we can say it, they were following him up a tiny narrow path to the top of the rocks, and simeon was galloping the horses with the empty waggon along the road.
"we are pretty safe here," said phineas, when they had reached the top.
"only one person can come up that path at a time.
if any one tries it, shoot him."
the men who were chasing them had now arrived at the foot of of the rocks.
they were led by a big man called tom loker, and another mean-looking little man, whom haley had sent.
after some hunting about, they found the path, and, headed by tom loker, began to climb up.
"come up if you like," george called out, "but if you do we will shoot you."
for answer, the little man took aim at george, and fired.
eliza screamed, but the shot did not hurt him.
it passed close to his hair, nearly touched her cheek, and, struck a tree behind.
tom loker came on.
george waited until he was near enough, then he fired.
the shot hit him in the side.
but, though wounded, he would not go back.
with a yell like that of a mad bull he came leaping on, and sprang right in among them.
quakers are not allowed to use guns and pistols, so phineas had been standing back while george shot.
now he sprang forward.
as tom loker landed in the middle of them, he gave him a great push, saying, "friend, thee is n't wanted here."
down fell tom loker, down, down the steep side of the rock.
he crashed and crackled among trees, bushes, logs, loose stones, till he lay bruised and groaning far below.
the fall might have killed him, had it not been broken by his clothes catching on the branches of a large tree.
cruel people are, very often, cowardly too.
when the men saw their leader first wounded, and then thrown down, they all ran away.
mounting their horses, they rode off as fast as they could, leaving tom loker lying on the ground wounded and groaning with pain.
as soon as phineas and the others saw that the wicked men had really ridden away, they climbed down, meaning to walk along the road till they met simeon.
they had just reached the bottom, when they saw him coming back with the waggon and two other men.
"now we are safe," cried phineas joyfully.
"well, do stop then," said eliza, "and do something for that poor man.
he is groaning dreadfully."
"it would be no more than christian," said george.
"let us take him with us."
they lifted the wounded man gently, as if he had been a friend instead of a cruel enemy, and laid him in the waggon.
then they all set out once more.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- a drive of about an hour brought them to a neat farm-house.
there the tired travellers were kindly received and given a good breakfast.
tom loker was put into a comfortable bed, far cleaner and softer than any he had ever slept in before.
george and eliza walked about the garden hand-in-hand, feeling happy together, and almost safe.
they were so near canada now.
chapter xiii aunt dinah miss ophelia found that it was no easy matter to bring anything like order into the st. clare household.
the slaves had been left to themselves so long, and had grown so untidy, that they were not at all pleased with miss feely, as they called her, for trying to make them be tidy.
however, she had quite made up her mind that order there must be.
she got up at four o'clock in the morning, much to the surprise of the housemaids.
all day long she was busy dusting and tidying, till mrs. st. clare said it made her tired to see cousin ophelia so busy.
chapter xiv topsy one morning, while miss ophelia was busy, as usual, she heard mr. st. clare calling her from the foot of the stairs.
"come down here, cousin.
i have something to show you."
"what is it?"
said miss ophelia, coming down with her sewing in her hand."
i have bought something for you.
see here," he said, pulling forward a little negro girl of about eight or nine years old.
she was quite black.
her round, shining eyes glittered like glass beads.
her wooly hair was plaited into little tails which stuck out in all directions.
her clothes were dirty and ragged.
miss ophelia thought she had never seen such a dreadful little girl in all her life.
"cousin, what in the world have you brought that thing here for?"
she asked, in dismay.
"for you to teach, to be sure, and train in the way she should go," said mr. st. clare, laughing.
"topsy," he went on, "this is your new mistress.
see, now, that you behave yourself."
"yes, mas "r," said topsy gravely, but her eyes had a wicked twinkle in them.
"you're going to be good, topsy, you understand?"
said mr. st. clare.
"oh yes, mas "r" said topsy again, meekly folding her hands, but with another twinkle in her eyes.
"now cousin, what is this for?
your house is full of these little plagues as it is.
i get up in the morning and find one asleep behind the door; see one black head poking out from under the table; another lying on the mat.
they tumble over the kitchen floor, so that a body ca n't put their foot down without treading on them.
what on earth did you want to bring this one for?"
"for you to teach, did n't i tell you?'"
i do n't want her, i'm sure.
i have more to do with them now than i want."
"well the fact is, cousin," said mr. st. clare, drawing her aside, "she belonged to some people who were dreadfully cruel and beat her.
i could n't bear to hear her screaming every day, so i bought her.
i will give her to you.
do try and make something of her."
"well, i'll do what i can," said miss ophelia.
"she is fearfully dirty, and half naked."
"well, take her downstairs, and tell somebody to clean her up, and give her some decent clothes."
getting topsy clean was a very long business.
but at last it was done.
then, sitting down before her, miss ophelia began to question her.
"how old are you, topsy?"
"dunno, missis," said she, grinning like an ugly little black doll.
"do n't know how old you are!
did nobody ever tell you?
who was your mother?"
"never had none," said topsy, with another grin.
"never had any mother!
what do you mean?
where were you born?"
"never was born."
"you must n't answer me like that, child," said miss ophelia sternly."
i am not playing with you.
tell me where you were born, and who your father and mother were."
"never was born," said topsy again very decidedly.
"never had no father, nor mother, nor nothin!"
miss ophelia hardly knew what to make of her.
"how long have you lived with your master and mistress, then?"
she asked.
"dunno, missis."
"is it a year, or more, or less?"
"dunno, missis."
"have you ever heard anything about god, topsy?"
asked miss ophelia next.
topsy looked puzzled, but kept on grinning.
"do you know who made you?"
"nobody as i knows on," replied topsy, with a laugh.
"spect i grow'd.
do n't think nobody ever made me."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "do you know how to sew?"
asked miss ophelia, quite shocked.
"no, missis."
"what can you do?
what did you do for your master and mistress?"
"fetch water, and wash dishes, and clean knives, and wait on folks."
"well, now, topsy, i'm going to show you just how my bed is to be made.
i am very particular about my bed.
you must learn exactly how to do it."
"yes, missis," said topsy, with a deep sigh and a face of woeful earnestness.
"now, topsy, look here.
this is the hem of the sheet.
this is the right side of the sheet.
this is the wrong.
will you remember?"
"yes, missis," said topsy with another sigh.
"well, now, the under-sheet you must bring over the bolster -- so, and tuck it right down under the mattress nice and smooth -- so.
do you see?"
"yes, missis."
"but the upper sheet," said miss ophelia, "must be brought down in this way, and tucked under, firm and smooth, at the foot -- so, the narrow hem at the foot."
"yes, missis," said topsy as before.
but while miss ophelia was bending over the bed she had quickly seized a pair of gloves and a ribbon, which were lying on the dressing-table, and slipped them up her sleeves.
when miss ophelia looked up again, the naughty little girl was standing with meekly-folded hand as before.
"now, topsy, let me see you do this," said miss ophelia, pulling the clothes off again and seating herself.
topsy, looking very earnest, did it all just as she had been shown.
she did it so quickly and well that miss ophelia was very pleased.
but, alas!
as she was finishing, an end of ribbon came dangling out of her sleeve.
"what is this?"
said miss ophelia, seizing it.
"you naughty, wicked child -- you have been stealing this."
the ribbon was pulled out of topsy's own sleeve.
yet she did not seem a bit ashamed.
she only looked at it with an air of surprise and innocence.
"why, that's miss feely's ribbon, a n't it?
how could it a got into my sleeve?"
"topsy, you naughty girl, do n't tell me a lie.
you stole that ribbon," "missis, i declare i did n't.
never seed it till dis blessed minnit."
"topsy," said miss ophelia, "do n't you know it is wicked to tell lies?'"
i never tells no lies, miss feely," said topsy.
"it's jist the truth i've been, tellin" now.
it a n't nothin" else."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "topsy, i shall have to whip you, if you tell lies so."
"laws, missis, if you whip's all day, could n't say no other way," said topsy, beginning to cry."
i never seed dat ribbon.
it must a caught in my sleeve.
miss feely must" a left it on the bed, and it got caught in the clothes, and so got in my sleeve."
miss ophelia was so angry at such a barefaced lie that she caught topsy and shook her.
"do n't tell me that again," she said.
the shake brought the gloves on the floor from the other sleeve.
"there," said miss ophelia, "will you tell me now you did n't steal the ribbon?"
topsy now confessed to stealing the gloves.
but she, still said she had not taken the ribbon.
"now, topsy", said miss ophelia kindly, "if you will confess all about it i wo n't whip you this time."
so topsy confessed to having stolen both the ribbon and the gloves.
she said she was very, very sorry, and would never do it again.
"well, now, tell me," said miss ophelia, "have you taken anything else since you have been in the house?
if you confess i wo n't whip you."
"laws, missis, i took miss eva's red thing she wears on her neck."
"you did, you naughty child!
well, what else?'"
i took rosa's ear-rings -- them red ones."
"go and bring them to me this minute -- both of them."
"laws, missis, i ca n't -- they's burnt up."
"burnt up?
what a story!
go and get them, or i shall whip you."
topsy began to cry and groan, and declare that she could not.
"they's burnt up, they is."
"what did you burn them up for?"
asked miss ophelia.
'cause i's wicked, i is.
i's mighty wicked, anyhow.
i ca n't help it."
just at this minute eva came into the room wearing her coral necklace.
"why, eva, where did you get your necklace?"
said miss ophelia.
"get it?
why, i have had it on all day," answered eva, rather surprised.
"and what is funny, aunty, i had it on all night too.
i forgot to take it off when i went to bed."
miss ophelia looked perfectly astonished.
she was more astonished still when, next minute, rosa, who was one of the housemaids, came in with a basket of clean clothes, wearing her coral ear-rings as usual.
i'm sure i do n't know what to do with such a child," she said, in despair.
"what in the world made you tell me you took those things, topsy?"
"why, missis said i must "fess.
i could n't think of nothing else to "fess," said topsy, wiping her eyes.
"but of course, i did n't want you to confess things you did n't do," said miss ophelia.
"that is telling a lie just as much as the other."
"laws, now, is it?"
said topsy, looking surprised and innocent.
"poor topsy," said eva, "why need you steal?
you are going to be taken good care of now.
i am sure i would rather give you anything of mine than have you steal it."
topsy had never been spoken to so kindly and gently in all her life.
for a minute she looked as if she were going to cry.
the next she was grinning as usual in her ugly way.
what was to be done with topsy?
miss ophelia was quite puzzled.
she shut her up in a dark room till she could think about it."
i do n't see," she said to mr. st. clare, "how i am going to manage that child without whipping her."
"well, whip her, then.'"
i never heard of bringing up children without it," said miss ophelia.
"oh, well, do as you think best.
only, i have seen this child beaten with a poker, knocked down with the shovel or tongs, or anything that came handy.
so i do n't think your beatings will have much effect."
"what is to be done with her, then?"
said miss ophelia."
i never saw such a child as this."
but mr. st. clare could not answer her question.
so miss ophelia had to go on, as best she could, trying to make topsy a good girl.
she taught her to read and to sew.
topsy liked reading, and learned her letters like magic.
but she could not bear sewing.
so she broke her needles or threw them away.
she tangled, broke, and dirtied her cotton and hid her reels.
miss ophelia felt sure all these things could not be accidents.
yet she could never catch topsy doing them.
in a very few days topsy had learned how to do miss ophelia's room perfectly, for she was very quick and clever.
but if miss ophelia ever left her to do it by herself there was sure to be dreadful confusion.
instead of making the bed, she would amuse herself with pulling off the pillow-cases.
then she would butt her woolly head among the pillows, until it was covered with feathers sticking out in all directions.
she would climb the bedpost, and hang head downwards from the top; wave the sheets and covers all over the room; dress the bolster up in miss ophelia's nightgown and act scenes with it, singing, whistling, and making faces at herself in the looking-glass all the time.
"topsy," miss ophelia would say, when her patience was at an end, "what makes you behave so badly?"
"dunno, missis -- i "spects" cause i's so wicked.'"
i do n't know what i shall do with you, topsy."
"laws, missis, you must whip me.
my old missis always did.
i a n't used to workin" unless i gets whipped."
so miss ophelia tried it.
topsy would scream and groan and implore.
but half an hour later she would be sitting among the other little niggers belonging to the house, laughing about it.
"miss feely whip!"
she would say, "she ca n't do it nohow."
"law, you niggers," she would go on, "does you know you's all sinners?
well, you is; everybody is.
white folks is sinners too -- miss feely says so.
but i "spects niggers is the biggest ones.
but ye a n't any of ye up to me.
i's so awful wicked, there ca n't nobody do nothin" with me.
i "spects i's the wickedest crittur in the world."
then she would turn a somersault, and come up bright and smiling, evidently quite pleased with herself.
chapter xv eva and topsy two or three years passed.
uncle tom was still with mr. st. clare, far away from his home.
he was not really unhappy.
but always in his heart was the aching longing to see his dear ones again.
now he began to have a new sorrow.
he loved his little mistress eva very tenderly, and she was ill.
he saw that she was growing white and thin.
she no longer ran and played in the garden for hours together as she used to do.
she was always tired now.
miss ophelia noticed it too, and tried to make mr. st. clare see it.
but he would not.
he loved his little eva so much, that he did not want to believe that anything could be the matter with her.
mrs. st. clare never thought that any one, except herself, could be ill.
so eva grew daily thinner and weaker, and uncle tom and aunt ophelia more and more sad and anxious.
but at last she became so unwell, that even mr. st. clare had to own that something was wrong, and the doctor was sent for.
in a week or two she was very much better.
once more she ran about playing and laughing, and her father was delighted.
only miss ophelia and the doctor sighed and shook their heads.
and little eva herself knew; but she was not troubled.
she knew she was going to god.
"papa" she said one day, "there are some things i want to say to you.
i want to say them now while i am able."
she seated herself on his knee, and laid her head on his shoulder.
"it is all no use, papa, to keep it to myself any longer.
the time is coming when i am going to leave you.
i am going, never to come back", and eva sobbed.
"eva, darling, do n't say such things; you are better you know."
"no, papa, i am not any better.
i know it quite well, and i am going soon."
"and i want to go," she went on, "only i do n't want to leave you -- it almost breaks my heart."
"do n't, eva, do n't talk so.
what makes you so sad?'"
i feel sad for our poor people.
i wish, papa, they were all free.
is n't there any way to have all slaves made free?"
"that is a difficult question, dearest.
there is no doubt that this way is a very bad one.
a great many people think so.
i do myself.
i wish there was not a slave in the land.
but then, i do n't know what is to be done about it."
"papa, you are such a good man, and so noble and kind.
could n't you go all around and try and persuade people to do right about this?
when i am dead, papa, then you will think of me, and do it for my sake."
"when you are dead, eva!
oh, child, do n't talk to me so."
"promise me at least, father, that tom shall have his freedom, as soon as i am gone."
"yes, dear, i will do anything you wish.
only do n't talk so."
miss ophelia and eva had been to church together.
miss ophelia had gone to her room to take off her bonnet, while eva talked to her father.
suddenly mr. st. clare and his little girl heard a great noise coming from miss ophelia's room.
a minute later she appeared, dragging topsy behind her.
"come out here" she was saying."
i will tell your master."
"what is the matter now?"
asked mr. st. clare.
"the matter is that i can not be plagued with this child any longer" said miss ophelia.
"it is past all bearing.
here, i locked her up, and gave her a hymn to learn.
what does she do, but spy out where i put my key.
she has gone to my wardrobe, taken a bonnet-trimming, and cut it all to pieces to make dolls" jackets!
i never saw anything like it in my life."
-lsb- illustration -rsb-" i do n't know what to do" she went on;" i have taught and taught.
i have talked till i'm tired.
i've whipped her.
i've punished her in every way i can think of, and still she is as naughty as she was at first."
"come here, topsy, you monkey," said mr. st. clare.
topsy came, her hard, round eyes glittering and blinking, half in fear, half in mischief.
"what makes you behave so?"
said mr. st. clare, who could not help being amused at her funny expression.
"spects it's my wicked heart; miss feely says so."
"do n't you see how much miss ophelia has done for you?
she says she has done everything she can think of."
"lor", yes, mas "r!
old missis used to say so, too.
she whipped me a heap harder, and used to pull my hair and knock my head agin the door.
but it did n't do me no good.
i "spect if they is to pull every hair out o" my head it would n't do no good neither.
i's so wicked.
laws!
i's nothin" but a nigger noways.'"
i shall have to give her up," said miss ophelia."
i ca n't have that trouble any longer."
eva had stood silent, listening.
now she took topsy by the hand, and led her into a little room close by.
"what makes you so naughty, topsy?"
she said, with tears in her eyes.
"why do n't you try to be good?
do n't you love anybody, topsy?"
"dunno nothin" "bout love.
i love candy, that's all."
"but you love your father and mother?"
"never had none, ye know.
i telled ye that, miss eva."
"oh, i forgot," said eva sadly.
"but had n't you any brother, or sister or aunt, or --" "no, none on'em.
never had nothin" nor nobody."
"but, topsy, if you would only try to be good you might --" "could n't never be nothin" but a nigger, if i was ever so good," said topsy.
"if i could be skinned, and come white, i'd try then."
"but people can love you, if you are black, topsy.
miss ophelia would love you if you were good."
topsy laughed scornfully.
"do n't you think so?"
said eva.
"no.
she ca n't bear me,'cause i'm a nigger.
she'd as soon have a toad touch her.
there ca n't nobody love niggers, and niggers ca n't do nothin".
i do n't care," and topsy began whistling to show that she did n't.
"oh, topsy!
i love you," said eva, laying her little, thin hand on topsy's shoulder."
i love you, because you have n't had any mother, or father, or friends; because you have been a poor, ill-used child.
i love you, and i want you to be good.
it makes me sorry to have you so naughty.
i wish you would try to be good for my sake, because i'm going to die soon.
i sha n't be here very long."
topsy's round, bright eyes grew suddenly dim with tears.
she did believe at last that it was possible for some one to love her.
she laid her head down between her knees and wept and sobbed.
"poor topsy," said eva gently.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "oh, miss eva, dear miss eva," cried the poor little black child," i will try, i will try.
i never did care nothin" about it before."
chapter xvi eva's last good-bye it soon became quite plain to everybody that eva was very ill indeed.
she never ran about and played now, but spent most of the day lying on the sofa in her own pretty room.
every one loved her, and tried to do things for her.
even naughty little topsy used to bring her flowers, and try to be good for her sake.
uncle tom was a great deal in eva's room.
she used to get very restless, and then she liked to be carried about.
he was so big and strong that he could do it very easily.
he would walk about with her under the orange-trees in the garden, or sitting down on some of their old seats, would sing their favorite hymns.
he loved to do it, and could not bear to be long away from his little mistress.
he gave up sleeping in his bed, and lay all night on the mat outside her door.
one day eva made her aunt cut off a lot of her beautiful hair.
then she called all the slaves together, said good-bye to them, and gave them each a curl of her hair as a keepsake.
they all cried very much, and said they would never forget her, and would try to be good for her sake.
a few nights later miss ophelia came quickly to tom, as he lay on the mat outside eva's door.
"go, tom," she said, "go as fast as you can for the doctor."
tom ran.
but in the morning little eva lay on her bed, cold and white, with closed eyes and folded hands.
she had gone to god.
mr. st. clare was very, very unhappy for a long time after eva died.
he had loved her so much, that now his life seemed quite empty without her.
he did not forget his promise to her about tom.
he went to his lawyer, and told him to begin writing out the papers that would make tom free.
it took some time to make a slave free.
"well, tom," said mr. st. clare the day after he had spoken to his lawyer, "i'm going to make a free man of you.
so have your trunk packed and get ready to set out for home."
joy shone in uncle tom's face.
"bless the lord," he said, raising his hands to heaven.
mr. st. clare felt rather hurt.
he did not like tom to be so glad to leave him.
"you have n't had such a very bad time here that you need be in such rapture, tom," he said.
"no, no, mas "r!
ta n't that.
it's bein" a free man!
that's what i'm joyin" for."
"why, tom, do n't you think that you are really better off as you are?"
"no, indeed, mas" r st. clare," said tom, very decidedly; "no, indeed."
"but, tom, you could n't possibly have earned by your work such clothes and such nice, comfortable rooms and good food as i have given you.'"
i knows all that, mas" r st. clare.
mas" r has been too good.
but, mas "r, i'd rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor everything, and have'em mine than have the best, and have'em any man's else.
i had so, mas "r. i thinks it's nature, mas "r."' i suppose so, tom.
you will be going off and leaving me, in a month or two," he said, rather discontentedly.
"though why you should n't, i do n't know," he added, in a gayer voice.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "not while mas" r is in trouble," said tom.
"i'll stay with mas" r as long as he wants me -- so as i can be of any use."
"not while i am in trouble, tom?"
said mr. st. clare, looking sadly out of the window.
"and when will my trouble be over?"
then half-smiling he turned from the window, and laid his hand on tom's shoulder.
"ah, tom, you soft, silly boy," he said."
i wo n't keep you.
go home to your wife and children, and give them all my love."
"cousin," said miss ophelia, coming into the room," i want to speak to you about topsy."
"what has she been doing now?"
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "nothing; she is a much better girl than she used to be.
but i want to ask you, whose is she -- yours or mine?"
"why yours, of course; i gave her to you," said mr. st. clare.
"but not by law.
there is no use my trying to make this child a christian, unless i can be quite sure that she will not be sold as a slave again.
if you are really willing i should have her, i want you to give me a paper saying she is mine."
"but you think it is wicked to keep slaves.
now you want to have one of your own.
oh!
shocking, cousin," said mr. st. clare, who loved to tease.
"nonsense!
i only want to have her, so that i can set her free."
"very well," said mr. st. clare," i will write the paper for you."
then he sat down and began to read.
"but i want it done now," said miss ophelia.
"why are you in such a hurry?"
"because now is the only time there ever is to do a thing in," said miss ophelia.
"want to make sure of it.
you may die or lose all your money.
then topsy would be taken away and sold, in spite of anything i could say."
mr. st. clare hated being made to do things when he did n't want to.
however, after teasing his cousin a little more, he wrote out the paper, and topsy belonged to miss ophelia.
that evening mr. st. clare went out for a ride.
tom saw him go, and asked if he should come too.
"no, my boy," said mr. st. clare," i shall be back in an hour."
tom sat down on the verandah to wait till his master came home.
while he waited, he fell asleep.
presently he was awakened by loud knocking, and the sound of voices at the gate.
he ran to open it.
several men were there carrying a load.
it was mr. st. clare.
he had been hurt in an accident, and was dying.
very gently they laid him on a sofa.
nothing could be done.
in a short time he had gone to join his little eva.
chapter xvii uncle tom's new master there had been great grief in the house when eva died.
now there was not only sorrow, but gloom and fear.
the kind master was dead, and the poor slaves asked themselves in despair what would happen to them now.
they were not long left in doubt.
one morning mrs. st. clare told them that they were all to be sold.
she was going back to her father's house to live, and would not want them any more.
poor uncle tom!
the news was a dreadful blow to him.
for a few days he had been so happy in the thought of going home.
once more, after all these years, he thought he would see his dear wife and little children.
now, at one stroke, he had lost both his kind master and his hope of freedom.
instead of going home, he was to be sent farther away than ever from his dear ones.
he could not bear it.
he tried to say, "thy will be done", but bitter tears almost choked the words.
he had one hope left.
he would ask miss ophelia to speak to mrs. st. clare for him.
"mas" r st. clare promised me my freedom, miss feely," he said.
"he told me that he had begun to take it out for me.
and now, perhaps, if you would be good enough to speak about it to missis, she would feel like going on with it.
seeing it was mas" r st. clare's wish, she might."
"i'll speak for you, tom, and do my best," said miss ophelia."
i have n't much hope, but i will try."
so miss ophelia asked mrs. st. clare to set tom free.
"indeed, i shall do no such thing," she replied.
"tom is worth more than any of the other slaves.
i could n't afford to lose so much money.
besides, what does he want with his freedom?
he is a great deal better off as he is."
"but he does want it very much," replied miss ophelia.
"and his master promised it to him.'"
i dare say he does want it," replied mrs. st. clare.
"they all want it.
just because they are a discontented set, always wanting what they have n't got."
"but tom is so good and gentle, and such a splendid worker.
if you sell him there is the chance of his getting a bad master."
"oh, i have no fear about that.
most masters are good, in spite of all the talk people make about it," replied mrs. st. clare.
"well", said miss ophelia at last," i know it was one of the last wishes of your husband that tom should have his freedom.
he promised dear little eva that he should have it.
i think you ought to do it."
then mrs. st. clare began to cry, and say every one was unkind to her, and miss ophelia saw it was no use saying anything more.
there was only one other thing she could do.
she wrote to mrs. shelby, telling her that poor uncle tom was going to be sold again.
she asked her to send money to buy him back, as soon as possible.
the next day, uncle tom and the other slaves belonging to mr. st. clare were sent to market to be sold.
as uncle tom stood in the market-place, waiting for some one to buy him, he looked anxiously round.
in the crowd of faces, he was trying to find one kind, handsome one, like mr. st. clare's.
but there was none.
presently a short, broad man, with a coarse, ugly face and dirty hands, came up to tom.
he looked him all over, pulled his mouth open and looked at his teeth, pinched his arms, made him walk and jump, and indeed treated him as he would a horse or cow he had wished to buy.
tom knew from the way this man looked and spoke, that he must be bad and cruel.
he prayed in his heart that this might not be his new master.
but it was.
his name was legree.
he bought uncle tom, several other men slaves, and two women.
one of the women was a pretty young girl, who had never been away from her mother before, and who was very much afraid of her new master.
the other was an old woman.
the two women were chained together.
the men, uncle tom among them, had heavy chains put on both hands and feet.
then legree drove them all on to a boat which was going up the river to his plantation.
it was a sad journey.
this time there was no pretty eva, nor kind-hearted mr. st. clare, to bring any happiness to the poor slaves.
one of the first things legree did was to take away all tom's nice clothes which mr. st. clare had given him.
he made him put on his oldest clothes, then he sold all the others to the sailors.
legree made his slaves unhappy in every way he could think of.
then he would come up to them and say, "come, come, i do n't allow any sulky looks.
be cheerful, now, or --" and he would crack his whip in a way to make them tremble.
at last the weary journey was over.
legree and his slaves landed.
his house was a long way from the river.
the men slaves walked, while legree and the two women drove in a cart.
mile after mile they trudged along, over the rough road through wild and dreary country, till, hungry, thirsty, and tired, they arrived at the farm, or plantation as it was called.
legree was not a gentleman like mr. shelby or mr. st. clare.
he was a very rough kind of farmer.
on his farm he grew cotton.
the cotton had to be gathered and tied into bundles.
then he sold it to people who made it into calico, muslin, and other things, which we need to use and wear.
gathering cotton is very hard work.
the house legree lived in had once been a very fine one, and had belonged to a rich gentleman.
now, it was old, neglected, and almost in ruins.
the house was bad enough, but the cabins where the slaves lived were far worse.
they were roughly built of wood.
the wind and the rain came through the chinks between the planks.
there were no windows.
the floors were nothing but the bare earth.
there was no furniture of any kind in them, only heaps of dirty straw to sleep upon.
uncle tom felt more unhappy than ever.
he had hoped at least to have a little room which he could keep clean and tidy.
but this hole he did not even have to himself.
he had to share it with five or six others.
now began the saddest time of uncle tom's life.
every morning very early the slaves were driven out into the fields like cattle.
all day long they worked hard.
the burning sun blazed down upon them, making them hot and tired.
legree and his two chief slaves, called quimbo and sambo, marched about all the time with whips in their hands.
at night they drove the slaves back again to their miserable huts.
but before they could rest, they had to grind and cook the corn for their supper.
when at last they did go to sleep, they had to lie on the heaps of dirty straw instead of in comfortable beds.
chapter xviii george and eliza find freedom tom loker lay tossing and tumbling in his clean, comfortable bed at the quaker farmhouse.
a pretty, old quaker lady, with white hair and a kind face, was nursing him.
tom loker did not like being ill and having to lie in bed.
he threw the clothes about, grumbling and using naughty words all the tune."
i must ask thee, thomas loker, not to use such language," said the nice lady, as she smoothed his sheets, and made his bed comfortable again for him.
"well, i wo n't, granny, if i can help it," he replied; "but it is enough to make a fellow swear, it is so awfully hot."
he gave another great lunge, and made the sheets and blankets all untidy again."
i suppose that fellow george and the girl eliza are here," he said, in a sulky voice, after a few minutes" silence.
"yes, they are," said the old lady.
"they had better get away across the lake," said tom loker, "the quicker the better."
"very likely they will do so," said the old lady, calmly going on with her knitting.
"but, listen," said tom loker, getting excited, "there are people who are watching the boats for us.
i do n't care if i tell now.
i hope they will get away, just to spite the others for going and leaving me as they did -- the mean puppies, the --" "thomas loker!"
said the old lady."
i tell you, granny, if you bottle a fellow up too tight he'll split," said tom loker.
"but about eliza -- tell them to dress her up some way so as to alter her.
we have sent a description of what she looks like to the town where the boats start from.
she will be caught yet if she does n't dress up differently.'"
i thank thee, thomas loker," replied the old lady with her usual calmness.
"we will attend to that.
thank thee."
then she went to tell george and eliza what tom loker had said.
they were indeed very grateful to him, and very glad that they had not left him, as his own friends had done, to die by the roadside.
so next day eliza cut off all her beautiful black hair, and dressed herself like a boy.
"do n't i make a pretty young fellow?"
she said to george, laughing and blushing at the same time.
"you always will be pretty," said george gravely, "do what you will."
"what makes you so sober?"
asked eliza, kneeling on one knee, and laying her hand on his.
"we are within twenty-four hours of canada, they say.
only a day and a night on the lake, and then -- oh, then!'"
o eliza," said george, holding her fast, "that is just it.
to be so near liberty, to be almost in sight of it -- and then if we lost it.
o eliza, i should die."
"do n't fear," said eliza hopefully.
"the good lord would not have brought us so far if he did n't mean to save us.
i seem to feel him with us, george."
so george kissed his wife and took heart again.
then the kind old lady brought harry in dressed as a little girl.
and a very pretty girl he made too.
they called him "harriet," as it was so like harry it was easy to remember.
harry did not know his mamma, dressed as she was, and clung to the kind lady, feeling rather afraid of the strange young man.
that was just as well, as he was too young to understand what this dressing-up and pretending meant, and he might have spoiled it all by calling the nice-looking young man "mamma."
so the kind lady was going with them, pretending to be the little girl's aunt.
when everything was ready they got into a cab, and drove to the wharf.
the two young men, as they seemed to be, got out, eliza helping the kind lady and little girl, while george saw to the luggage.
as he was standing at the office, taking the tickets, george overheard two men talking by his side.
"i've watched every one that came on board," said one, "and i know they are not on this boat."
"you would scarcely know the woman from a white one," said the other.
"the man is very fair too.
he has an h burned into the palm of his hand."
the hand with which george was taking the tickets and change trembled a little, but he turned calmly round, looked straight at the speaker, and then walked slowly away to where eliza was waiting for him.
it was a terribly anxious time, but at last the bell rang, the boat began to move, and george and eliza drew long sighs of relief as they saw the shore getting farther and farther away.
it was a lovely day.
the blue waves of lake erie danced, rippling and sparkling, in the sunlight.
hour after hour the boat steamed on.
night came; and in the morning, clear and beautiful before them, rose the shores of canada.
george and his wife stood arm in arm as the boat came near the little town, where they were going to land.
his breath came thick and short; a mist gathered before his eyes; he silently pressed the little hand that lay trembling on his arm.
the bell rang -- the boat stopped.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- scarcely seeing what he did, george looked out his luggage, and gathered his little party.
they were landed on the shore, and stood still till the boat had started again.
then with tears of joy, the husband and wife, with their wondering little boy in their arms, knelt down and lifted up their hearts to god.
they were free.
chapter xix uncle tom finds freedom the letter which miss ophelia wrote to mrs. shelby, telling her that tom was to be sold again, was delayed a long time in the post.
when at last it did arrive, mr. shelby was very ill, and though mrs. shelby felt dreadfully sorry about uncle tom, she could do nothing, as her husband was so ill.
soon mr. shelby died.
mrs. shelby was very sad, but in her sorrow she did not forget her promise to aunt chloe and uncle tom.
as soon as she could, she sold some land, and george shelby, taking the money with him, went off to try to find uncle tom and buy him back again.
but by the time george shelby, came to the place where mr. st. clare used to live, uncle tom had been sold to legree, and no one knew where he had gone.
at last, after searching about for months, george shelby found out where uncle tom was, and followed him.
two days after legree had been so cruel, george shelby drove up the avenue and stopped at the door of the old house."
i hear," he said to legree, "that you bought a slave named tom.
he used to belong to my father.
i have come to buy him back again."
legree's face grew black with anger.
"yes, i did buy such a fellow," he growled in rage.
"and a bad bargain it was, too!
the most rebellious, saucy, impudent dog!
set up my niggers to run away.
he owned to it, and, when i bid him tell me where they were, he said he knew, but would n't tell.
he stuck to it, too, though i gave him the very worst beating i ever gave a nigger yet.
i believe he is trying to die.
i should n't wonder if he did."
"where is he?"
said george.
"let me see him."
his cheeks were crimson, and his eye flashed fire at the thought that legree had dared to treat dear uncle tom so badly.
"he is in that shed," said a little fellow who was holding george shelby's horse.
george, without saying another word, hurried to the place to which the little boy pointed.
as he entered the shed, his head felt giddy and his heart sick.
uncle tom lay on a heap of straw on the floor, still and quiet.
"oh, dear uncle tom," cried george as he knelt beside him, "dear uncle tom, do wake -- do speak once more.
here's mas" r george -- your own little mas" r george.
do n't you know me?"
"mas" r george!"
said tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice.
"mas" r george?
it is -- it is.
it's all i wanted.
they have n't forgot me.
it warms my soul; it does my old heart good.
now i shall die content."
"you sha n't die!
you must n't die, nor think of it.
i've come to buy you and take you home," said george, and the tears came into his eyes as he bent over poor uncle tom.
"oh, mas" r george, ye're too late.
the lord has bought me, and is going to take me home."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "oh, do n't.
it breaks my heart to think of what you've suffered -- lying in this old shed, too."
"you must n't, now, tell chloe, poor soul, how ye found me," said tom, taking george by the hand.
"it would seem so dreadful to her.
only tell her ye found me going into glory, and that i could n't stay for no one.
and oh, the poor chil "en, and the baby -- my old heart's been most broke for them.
tell them to follow me.
give my love to mas "r, and dear, good missis, and everybody in the place.
i love them all."
he closed his eyes, and with a smile he fell asleep.
uncle tom too was free.
beyond the gates of legree's farm, george had noticed a dry, sandy knoll, shaded by a few trees.
there he made uncle tom's grave.
no stone marks his last resting-place.
he needs none.
god knows where he lies.
kneeling there george bent his head, in shame and sorrow.
"here me, dear god," he said, "from this day, i will do what one man can to drive out the curse of slavery from this land."
chapter xx george shelby frees his slaves george shelby wrote a little note to his mother, telling her that he was coming home.
he tried to write about uncle tom, but he could not; tears blinded him, and sobs choked him.
on the day he was expected every one was in a state of bustle and excitement.
aunt chloe in a new print dress, and clean white apron walked round the supper-table, making sure that everything was right.
her black face shone with joy at the thought of seeing uncle tom again.
"i'm thinking my old man wo n't know the boys and the baby," she said.
mrs. shelby sighed.
ever since the letter had come from george she had had a very sad heart.
she felt sure something must be wrong.
"he wo n't know the baby, my old man wo n't," said chloe again, "why, it's five years since they took him."
just then the sound of wheels was heard.
"it's mas" r george," cried aunt chloe, running to the window in great excitement.
mrs. shelby ran to the door.
as george met her he put his arms round her, and kissed her tenderly.
aunt chloe stood behind anxiously looking out into the darkness.
"oh, poor aunt chloe," said george, gently taking her hard, black hand between both his own.
"i'd have given all my fortune to have brought uncle tom home with me; but he has gone to a better country."
mrs. shelby cried out as if she had been hurt, but aunt chloe did not make a sound.
in silence they went into the supper-room.
-lsb- illustration:] "there," said aunt chloe, holding out her trembling hands to her mistress, "it's just as i knew it would be.
he's been sold and murdered on dem old plantations."
then she turned and walked proudly out of the room.
mrs. shelby followed her softly, took one of her hands, drew her down into a chair, and sat down beside her.
"my poor, good chloe," she said gently.
chloe leaned her head on her mistress's shoulder, and sobbed out, "oh, missis, "scuse me, my heart's broke -- dat's all.'"
i know it is," said mrs. shelby, as her tears fell fast, "and i can not heal it."
there was silence for a little as they wept together.
then george sat down beside aunt chloe, and took her hand.
he talked gently to her, telling her of uncle tom's last loving messages.
so she was comforted a little.
one morning, about a month after this, george shelby called all his servants together, telling them he had something to say to them.
they wondered what it could be, and were very much surprised when he appeared, carrying a bundle of papers in his hand.
they were still more astonished when he gave a paper to each one, and told them all that they were free.
with sobs and tears and shouts they pressed round him, thanking and blessing him.
but some of them came with anxious faces, begging him to take their free papers back again, and not to send them away.
"we do n't want to be any freer than we are," they said.
"we have always had all we wanted."
"we do n't want to leave the old place, and young mas" r and missis, and the rest."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "my good friends," said george, when he could get silence, "there will be no need for you to leave me.
we want quite as many servants as we did before.
but now you are free men and free women.
i shall pay you wages for your work, and if i die, or get into debt, you ca n't be taken away to be sold.
that is all the difference.
i want you all to stay with me, for i want to teach you how to live as free men and women ought."
"one thing more," added george, when the cheering and rejoicing had died away a little.
"you all remember our good old uncle tom.
you have heard how he died, and how he sent his love to you all.
it was on his grave, my friends, that i made up my mind, with god's help, never to own another slave, if it were possible to free him.
i resolved that nobody, through my fault, should ever run the risk of being parted from his dear ones, and of dying far from them, as he died.
"so, when you rejoice in your freedom, remember that you owe it to dear old uncle tom, and pay it back in kindness to his wife and children.
think of your freedom every time you see uncle tom's cabin; and let it help you to try to live as he did, and be as honest and faithful and christian as he was."
_book_title_: james_matthew_barrie___peter_pan.txt.out
chapter 1 peter breaks through all children, except one, grow up.
they soon know that they will grow up, and the way wendy knew was this.
one day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother.
i suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for mrs. darling put her hand to her heart and cried, "oh, why ca n't you remain like this for ever!"
this was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth wendy knew that she must grow up.
you always know after you are two.
two is the beginning of the end.
of course they lived at 14 -lsb- their house number on their street -rsb-, and until wendy came her mother was the chief one.
she was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth.
her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling east, however many you discover there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner.
the way mr. darling won her was this: the many gentlemen who had been boys when she was a girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her, and they all ran to her house to propose to her except mr. darling, who took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her.
he got all of her, except the innermost box and the kiss.
he never knew about the box, and in time he gave up trying for the kiss.
wendy thought napoleon could have got it, but i can picture him trying, and then going off in a passion, slamming the door.
mr. darling used to boast to wendy that her mother not only loved him but respected him.
he was one of those deep ones who know about stocks and shares.
of course no one really knows, but he quite seemed to know, and he often said stocks were up and shares were down in a way that would have made any woman respect him.
mrs. darling was married in white, and at first she kept the books perfectly, almost gleefully, as if it were a game, not so much as a brussels sprout was missing; but by and by whole cauliflowers dropped out, and instead of them there were pictures of babies without faces.
she drew them when she should have been totting up.
they were mrs. darling's guesses.
wendy came first, then john, then michael.
for a week or two after wendy came it was doubtful whether they would be able to keep her, as she was another mouth to feed.
mr. darling was frightfully proud of her, but he was very honourable, and he sat on the edge of mrs. darling's bed, holding her hand and calculating expenses, while she looked at him imploringly.
she wanted to risk it, come what might, but that was not his way; his way was with a pencil and a piece of paper, and if she confused him with suggestions he had to begin at the beginning again.
""now do n't interrupt," he would beg of her.
""i have one pound seventeen here, and two and six at the office; i can cut off my coffee at the office, say ten shillings, making two nine and six, with your eighteen and three makes three nine seven, with five naught naught in my cheque-book makes eight nine seven -- who is that moving?
-- eight nine seven, dot and carry seven -- do n't speak, my own -- and the pound you lent to that man who came to the door -- quiet, child -- dot and carry child -- there, you've done it!
-- did i say nine nine seven?
yes, i said nine nine seven; the question is, can we try it for a year on nine nine seven?"
""of course we can, george," she cried.
but she was prejudiced in wendy's favour, and he was really the grander character of the two.
""remember mumps," he warned her almost threateningly, and off he went again.
""mumps one pound, that is what i have put down, but i daresay it will be more like thirty shillings -- do n't speak -- measles one five, german measles half a guinea, makes two fifteen six -- do n't waggle your finger -- whooping-cough, say fifteen shillings" -- and so on it went, and it added up differently each time; but at last wendy just got through, with mumps reduced to twelve six, and the two kinds of measles treated as one.
there was the same excitement over john, and michael had even a narrower squeak; but both were kept, and soon, you might have seen the three of them going in a row to miss fulsom's kindergarten school, accompanied by their nurse.
mrs. darling loved to have everything just so, and mr. darling had a passion for being exactly like his neighbours; so, of course, they had a nurse.
as they were poor, owing to the amount of milk the children drank, this nurse was a prim newfoundland dog, called nana, who had belonged to no one in particular until the darlings engaged her.
she had always thought children important, however, and the darlings had become acquainted with her in kensington gardens, where she spent most of her spare time peeping into perambulators, and was much hated by careless nursemaids, whom she followed to their homes and complained of to their mistresses.
she proved to be quite a treasure of a nurse.
how thorough she was at bath-time, and up at any moment of the night if one of her charges made the slightest cry.
of course her kennel was in the nursery.
she had a genius for knowing when a cough is a thing to have no patience with and when it needs stocking around your throat.
she believed to her last day in old-fashioned remedies like rhubarb leaf, and made sounds of contempt over all this new-fangled talk about germs, and so on.
it was a lesson in propriety to see her escorting the children to school, walking sedately by their side when they were well behaved, and butting them back into line if they strayed.
on john's footer -lsb- in england soccer was called football, "footer" for short -rsb- days she never once forgot his sweater, and she usually carried an umbrella in her mouth in case of rain.
there is a room in the basement of miss fulsom's school where the nurses wait.
they sat on forms, while nana lay on the floor, but that was the only difference.
they affected to ignore her as of an inferior social status to themselves, and she despised their light talk.
she resented visits to the nursery from mrs. darling's friends, but if they did come she first whipped off michael's pinafore and put him into the one with blue braiding, and smoothed out wendy and made a dash at john's hair.
no nursery could possibly have been conducted more correctly, and mr. darling knew it, yet he sometimes wondered uneasily whether the neighbours talked.
he had his position in the city to consider.
nana also troubled him in another way.
he had sometimes a feeling that she did not admire him.
""i know she admires you tremendously, george," mrs. darling would assure him, and then she would sign to the children to be specially nice to father.
lovely dances followed, in which the only other servant, liza, was sometimes allowed to join.
such a midget she looked in her long skirt and maid's cap, though she had sworn, when engaged, that she would never see ten again.
the gaiety of those romps!
and gayest of all was mrs. darling, who would pirouette so wildly that all you could see of her was the kiss, and then if you had dashed at her you might have got it.
there never was a simpler happier family until the coming of peter pan.
mrs. darling first heard of peter when she was tidying up her children's minds.
it is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day.
if you could keep awake -lrb- but of course you ca n't -rrb- you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her.
it is quite like tidying up drawers.
you would see her on her knees, i expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight.
when you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.
i do n't know whether you have ever seen a map of a person's mind.
doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but catch them trying to draw a map of a child's mind, which is not only confused, but keeps going round all the time.
there are zigzag lines on it, just like your temperature on a card, and these are probably roads in the island, for the neverland is always more or less an island, with astonishing splashes of colour here and there, and coral reefs and rakish-looking craft in the offing, and savages and lonely lairs, and gnomes who are mostly tailors, and caves through which a river runs, and princes with six elder brothers, and a hut fast going to decay, and one very small old lady with a hooked nose.
it would be an easy map if that were all, but there is also first day at school, religion, fathers, the round pond, needle-work, murders, hangings, verbs that take the dative, chocolate pudding day, getting into braces, say ninety-nine, three-pence for pulling out your tooth yourself, and so on, and either these are part of the island or they are another map showing through, and it is all rather confusing, especially as nothing will stand still.
of course the neverlands vary a good deal.
john's, for instance, had a lagoon with flamingoes flying over it at which john was shooting, while michael, who was very small, had a flamingo with lagoons flying over it.
john lived in a boat turned upside down on the sands, michael in a wigwam, wendy in a house of leaves deftly sewn together.
john had no friends, michael had friends at night, wendy had a pet wolf forsaken by its parents, but on the whole the neverlands have a family resemblance, and if they stood still in a row you could say of them that they have each other's nose, and so forth.
on these magic shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles -lsb- simple boat -rsb-.
we too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.
of all delectable islands the neverland is the snuggest and most compact, not large and sprawly, you know, with tedious distances between one adventure and another, but nicely crammed.
when you play at it by day with the chairs and table-cloth, it is not in the least alarming, but in the two minutes before you go to sleep it becomes very real.
that is why there are night-lights.
occasionally in her travels through her children's minds mrs. darling found things she could not understand, and of these quite the most perplexing was the word peter.
she knew of no peter, and yet he was here and there in john and michael's minds, while wendy's began to be scrawled all over with him.
the name stood out in bolder letters than any of the other words, and as mrs. darling gazed she felt that it had an oddly cocky appearance.
""yes, he is rather cocky," wendy admitted with regret.
her mother had been questioning her.
""but who is he, my pet?"
""he is peter pan, you know, mother."
at first mrs. darling did not know, but after thinking back into her childhood she just remembered a peter pan who was said to live with the fairies.
there were odd stories about him, as that when children died he went part of the way with them, so that they should not be frightened.
she had believed in him at the time, but now that she was married and full of sense she quite doubted whether there was any such person.
""besides," she said to wendy, "he would be grown up by this time."
""oh no, he is n't grown up," wendy assured her confidently, "and he is just my size."
she meant that he was her size in both mind and body; she did n't know how she knew, she just knew it.
mrs. darling consulted mr. darling, but he smiled pooh-pooh.
""mark my words," he said, "it is some nonsense nana has been putting into their heads; just the sort of idea a dog would have.
leave it alone, and it will blow over."
but it would not blow over and soon the troublesome boy gave mrs. darling quite a shock.
children have the strangest adventures without being troubled by them.
for instance, they may remember to mention, a week after the event happened, that when they were in the wood they had met their dead father and had a game with him.
it was in this casual way that wendy one morning made a disquieting revelation.
some leaves of a tree had been found on the nursery floor, which certainly were not there when the children went to bed, and mrs. darling was puzzling over them when wendy said with a tolerant smile: "i do believe it is that peter again!"
""whatever do you mean, wendy?"
""it is so naughty of him not to wipe his feet," wendy said, sighing.
she was a tidy child.
she explained in quite a matter-of-fact way that she thought peter sometimes came to the nursery in the night and sat on the foot of her bed and played on his pipes to her.
unfortunately she never woke, so she did n't know how she knew, she just knew.
""what nonsense you talk, precious.
no one can get into the house without knocking."
""i think he comes in by the window," she said.
""my love, it is three floors up."
""were not the leaves at the foot of the window, mother?"
it was quite true; the leaves had been found very near the window.
mrs. darling did not know what to think, for it all seemed so natural to wendy that you could not dismiss it by saying she had been dreaming.
""my child," the mother cried, "why did you not tell me of this before?"
""i forgot," said wendy lightly.
she was in a hurry to get her breakfast.
oh, surely she must have been dreaming.
but, on the other hand, there were the leaves.
mrs. darling examined them very carefully; they were skeleton leaves, but she was sure they did not come from any tree that grew in england.
she crawled about the floor, peering at it with a candle for marks of a strange foot.
she rattled the poker up the chimney and tapped the walls.
she let down a tape from the window to the pavement, and it was a sheer drop of thirty feet, without so much as a spout to climb up by.
certainly wendy had been dreaming.
but wendy had not been dreaming, as the very next night showed, the night on which the extraordinary adventures of these children may be said to have begun.
on the night we speak of all the children were once more in bed.
it happened to be nana's evening off, and mrs. darling had bathed them and sung to them till one by one they had let go her hand and slid away into the land of sleep.
all were looking so safe and cosy that she smiled at her fears now and sat down tranquilly by the fire to sew.
it was something for michael, who on his birthday was getting into shirts.
the fire was warm, however, and the nursery dimly lit by three night-lights, and presently the sewing lay on mrs. darling's lap.
then her head nodded, oh, so gracefully.
she was asleep.
look at the four of them, wendy and michael over there, john here, and mrs. darling by the fire.
there should have been a fourth night-light.
while she slept she had a dream.
she dreamt that the neverland had come too near and that a strange boy had broken through from it.
he did not alarm her, for she thought she had seen him before in the faces of many women who have no children.
perhaps he is to be found in the faces of some mothers also.
but in her dream he had rent the film that obscures the neverland, and she saw wendy and john and michael peeping through the gap.
the dream by itself would have been a trifle, but while she was dreaming the window of the nursery blew open, and a boy did drop on the floor.
he was accompanied by a strange light, no bigger than your fist, which darted about the room like a living thing and i think it must have been this light that wakened mrs. darling.
she started up with a cry, and saw the boy, and somehow she knew at once that he was peter pan.
if you or i or wendy had been there we should have seen that he was very like mrs. darling's kiss.
he was a lovely boy, clad in skeleton leaves and the juices that ooze out of trees but the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth.
when he saw she was a grown-up, he gnashed the little pearls at her.
chapter 2 the shadow mrs. darling screamed, and, as if in answer to a bell, the door opened, and nana entered, returned from her evening out.
she growled and sprang at the boy, who leapt lightly through the window.
again mrs. darling screamed, this time in distress for him, for she thought he was killed, and she ran down into the street to look for his little body, but it was not there; and she looked up, and in the black night she could see nothing but what she thought was a shooting star.
she returned to the nursery, and found nana with something in her mouth, which proved to be the boy's shadow.
as he leapt at the window nana had closed it quickly, too late to catch him, but his shadow had not had time to get out; slam went the window and snapped it off.
you may be sure mrs. darling examined the shadow carefully, but it was quite the ordinary kind.
nana had no doubt of what was the best thing to do with this shadow.
she hung it out at the window, meaning "he is sure to come back for it; let us put it where he can get it easily without disturbing the children."
but unfortunately mrs. darling could not leave it hanging out at the window, it looked so like the washing and lowered the whole tone of the house.
she thought of showing it to mr. darling, but he was totting up winter great-coats for john and michael, with a wet towel around his head to keep his brain clear, and it seemed a shame to trouble him; besides, she knew exactly what he would say: "it all comes of having a dog for a nurse."
she decided to roll the shadow up and put it away carefully in a drawer, until a fitting opportunity came for telling her husband.
ah me!
the opportunity came a week later, on that never-to-be-forgotten friday.
of course it was a friday.
""i ought to have been specially careful on a friday," she used to say afterwards to her husband, while perhaps nana was on the other side of her, holding her hand.
""no, no," mr. darling always said, "i am responsible for it all.
i, george darling, did it.
mea culpa, mea culpa."
he had had a classical education.
they sat thus night after night recalling that fatal friday, till every detail of it was stamped on their brains and came through on the other side like the faces on a bad coinage.
""if only i had not accepted that invitation to dine at 27," mrs. darling said.
""if only i had not poured my medicine into nana's bowl," said mr. darling.
""if only i had pretended to like the medicine," was what nana's wet eyes said.
""my liking for parties, george."
""my fatal gift of humour, dearest."
""my touchiness about trifles, dear master and mistress."
then one or more of them would break down altogether; nana at the thought, "it's true, it's true, they ought not to have had a dog for a nurse."
many a time it was mr. darling who put the handkerchief to nana's eyes.
""that fiend!"
mr. darling would cry, and nana's bark was the echo of it, but mrs. darling never upbraided peter; there was something in the right-hand corner of her mouth that wanted her not to call peter names.
they would sit there in the empty nursery, recalling fondly every smallest detail of that dreadful evening.
it had begun so uneventfully, so precisely like a hundred other evenings, with nana putting on the water for michael's bath and carrying him to it on her back.
""i wo n't go to bed," he had shouted, like one who still believed that he had the last word on the subject, "i wo n't, i wo n't.
nana, it is n't six o'clock yet.
oh dear, oh dear, i sha n't love you any more, nana.
i tell you i wo n't be bathed, i wo n't, i wo n't!"
then mrs. darling had come in, wearing her white evening-gown.
she had dressed early because wendy so loved to see her in her evening-gown, with the necklace george had given her.
she was wearing wendy's bracelet on her arm; she had asked for the loan of it.
wendy loved to lend her bracelet to her mother.
she had found her two older children playing at being herself and father on the occasion of wendy's birth, and john was saying: "i am happy to inform you, mrs. darling, that you are now a mother," in just such a tone as mr. darling himself may have used on the real occasion.
wendy had danced with joy, just as the real mrs. darling must have done.
then john was born, with the extra pomp that he conceived due to the birth of a male, and michael came from his bath to ask to be born also, but john said brutally that they did not want any more.
michael had nearly cried.
""nobody wants me," he said, and of course the lady in the evening-dress could not stand that.
""i do," she said, "i so want a third child."
""boy or girl?"
asked michael, not too hopefully.
""boy."
then he had leapt into her arms.
such a little thing for mr. and mrs. darling and nana to recall now, but not so little if that was to be michael's last night in the nursery.
they go on with their recollections.
""it was then that i rushed in like a tornado, was n't it?"
mr. darling would say, scorning himself; and indeed he had been like a tornado.
perhaps there was some excuse for him.
he, too, had been dressing for the party, and all had gone well with him until he came to his tie.
it is an astounding thing to have to tell, but this man, though he knew about stocks and shares, had no real mastery of his tie.
sometimes the thing yielded to him without a contest, but there were occasions when it would have been better for the house if he had swallowed his pride and used a made-up tie.
this was such an occasion.
he came rushing into the nursery with the crumpled little brute of a tie in his hand.
""why, what is the matter, father dear?"
""matter!"
he yelled; he really yelled.
""this tie, it will not tie."
he became dangerously sarcastic.
""not round my neck!
round the bed-post!
oh yes, twenty times have i made it up round the bed-post, but round my neck, no!
oh dear no!
begs to be excused!"
he thought mrs. darling was not sufficiently impressed, and he went on sternly, "i warn you of this, mother, that unless this tie is round my neck we do n't go out to dinner to-night, and if i do n't go out to dinner to-night, i never go to the office again, and if i do n't go to the office again, you and i starve, and our children will be flung into the streets."
even then mrs. darling was placid.
""let me try, dear," she said, and indeed that was what he had come to ask her to do, and with her nice cool hands she tied his tie for him, while the children stood around to see their fate decided.
some men would have resented her being able to do it so easily, but mr. darling had far too fine a nature for that; he thanked her carelessly, at once forgot his rage, and in another moment was dancing round the room with michael on his back.
""how wildly we romped!"
says mrs. darling now, recalling it.
""our last romp!"
mr. darling groaned.
""o george, do you remember michael suddenly said to me, "how did you get to know me, mother?""
""i remember!"
""they were rather sweet, do n't you think, george?"
""and they were ours, ours!
and now they are gone."
the romp had ended with the appearance of nana, and most unluckily mr. darling collided against her, covering his trousers with hairs.
they were not only new trousers, but they were the first he had ever had with braid on them, and he had had to bite his lip to prevent the tears coming.
of course mrs. darling brushed him, but he began to talk again about its being a mistake to have a dog for a nurse.
""george, nana is a treasure."
""no doubt, but i have an uneasy feeling at times that she looks upon the children as puppies."
""oh no, dear one, i feel sure she knows they have souls."
""i wonder," mr. darling said thoughtfully, "i wonder."
it was an opportunity, his wife felt, for telling him about the boy.
at first he pooh-poohed the story, but he became thoughtful when she showed him the shadow.
""it is nobody i know," he said, examining it carefully, "but it does look a scoundrel."
""we were still discussing it, you remember," says mr. darling, "when nana came in with michael's medicine.
you will never carry the bottle in your mouth again, nana, and it is all my fault."
strong man though he was, there is no doubt that he had behaved rather foolishly over the medicine.
if he had a weakness, it was for thinking that all his life he had taken medicine boldly, and so now, when michael dodged the spoon in nana's mouth, he had said reprovingly, "be a man, michael."
""wo n't; wo n't!"
michael cried naughtily.
mrs. darling left the room to get a chocolate for him, and mr. darling thought this showed want of firmness.
""mother, do n't pamper him," he called after her.
""michael, when i was your age i took medicine without a murmur.
i said, "thank you, kind parents, for giving me bottles to make me well.""
he really thought this was true, and wendy, who was now in her night-gown, believed it also, and she said, to encourage michael, "that medicine you sometimes take, father, is much nastier, is n't it?"
""ever so much nastier," mr. darling said bravely, "and i would take it now as an example to you, michael, if i had n't lost the bottle."
he had not exactly lost it; he had climbed in the dead of night to the top of the wardrobe and hidden it there.
what he did not know was that the faithful liza had found it, and put it back on his wash-stand.
""i know where it is, father," wendy cried, always glad to be of service.
""i'll bring it," and she was off before he could stop her.
immediately his spirits sank in the strangest way.
""john," he said, shuddering, "it's most beastly stuff.
it's that nasty, sticky, sweet kind."
""it will soon be over, father," john said cheerily, and then in rushed wendy with the medicine in a glass.
""i have been as quick as i could," she panted.
""you have been wonderfully quick," her father retorted, with a vindictive politeness that was quite thrown away upon her.
""michael first," he said doggedly.
""father first," said michael, who was of a suspicious nature.
""i shall be sick, you know," mr. darling said threateningly.
""come on, father," said john.
""hold your tongue, john," his father rapped out.
wendy was quite puzzled.
""i thought you took it quite easily, father."
""that is not the point," he retorted.
""the point is, that there is more in my glass than in michael's spoon."
his proud heart was nearly bursting.
""and it is n't fair: i would say it though it were with my last breath; it is n't fair."
""father, i am waiting," said michael coldly.
""it's all very well to say you are waiting; so am i waiting."
""father's a cowardly custard."
""so are you a cowardly custard."
""i'm not frightened."
""neither am i frightened."
""well, then, take it."
""well, then, you take it."
wendy had a splendid idea.
""why not both take it at the same time?"
""certainly," said mr. darling.
""are you ready, michael?"
wendy gave the words, one, two, three, and michael took his medicine, but mr. darling slipped his behind his back.
there was a yell of rage from michael, and "o father!"
wendy exclaimed.
""what do you mean by" o father"?"
mr. darling demanded.
""stop that row, michael.
i meant to take mine, but i -- i missed it."
it was dreadful the way all the three were looking at him, just as if they did not admire him.
""look here, all of you," he said entreatingly, as soon as nana had gone into the bathroom.
""i have just thought of a splendid joke.
i shall pour my medicine into nana's bowl, and she will drink it, thinking it is milk!"
it was the colour of milk; but the children did not have their father's sense of humour, and they looked at him reproachfully as he poured the medicine into nana's bowl.
""what fun!"
he said doubtfully, and they did not dare expose him when mrs. darling and nana returned.
""nana, good dog," he said, patting her, "i have put a little milk into your bowl, nana."
nana wagged her tail, ran to the medicine, and began lapping it.
then she gave mr. darling such a look, not an angry look: she showed him the great red tear that makes us so sorry for noble dogs, and crept into her kennel.
mr. darling was frightfully ashamed of himself, but he would not give in.
in a horrid silence mrs. darling smelt the bowl.
""o george," she said, "it's your medicine!"
""it was only a joke," he roared, while she comforted her boys, and wendy hugged nana.
""much good," he said bitterly, "my wearing myself to the bone trying to be funny in this house."
and still wendy hugged nana.
""that's right," he shouted.
""coddle her!
nobody coddles me.
oh dear no!
i am only the breadwinner, why should i be coddled -- why, why, why!"
""george," mrs. darling entreated him, "not so loud; the servants will hear you."
somehow they had got into the way of calling liza the servants.
""let them!"
he answered recklessly.
""bring in the whole world.
but i refuse to allow that dog to lord it in my nursery for an hour longer."
the children wept, and nana ran to him beseechingly, but he waved her back.
he felt he was a strong man again.
""in vain, in vain," he cried; "the proper place for you is the yard, and there you go to be tied up this instant."
""george, george," mrs. darling whispered, "remember what i told you about that boy."
alas, he would not listen.
he was determined to show who was master in that house, and when commands would not draw nana from the kennel, he lured her out of it with honeyed words, and seizing her roughly, dragged her from the nursery.
he was ashamed of himself, and yet he did it.
it was all owing to his too affectionate nature, which craved for admiration.
when he had tied her up in the back-yard, the wretched father went and sat in the passage, with his knuckles to his eyes.
in the meantime mrs. darling had put the children to bed in unwonted silence and lit their night-lights.
they could hear nana barking, and john whimpered, "it is because he is chaining her up in the yard," but wendy was wiser.
""that is not nana's unhappy bark," she said, little guessing what was about to happen; "that is her bark when she smells danger."
danger!
""are you sure, wendy?"
""oh, yes."
mrs. darling quivered and went to the window.
it was securely fastened.
she looked out, and the night was peppered with stars.
they were crowding round the house, as if curious to see what was to take place there, but she did not notice this, nor that one or two of the smaller ones winked at her.
yet a nameless fear clutched at her heart and made her cry, "oh, how i wish that i was n't going to a party to-night!"
even michael, already half asleep, knew that she was perturbed, and he asked, "can anything harm us, mother, after the night-lights are lit?"
""nothing, precious," she said; "they are the eyes a mother leaves behind her to guard her children."
she went from bed to bed singing enchantments over them, and little michael flung his arms round her.
""mother," he cried, "i'm glad of you."
they were the last words she was to hear from him for a long time.
no. 27 was only a few yards distant, but there had been a slight fall of snow, and father and mother darling picked their way over it deftly not to soil their shoes.
they were already the only persons in the street, and all the stars were watching them.
stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on for ever.
it is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was.
so the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak -lrb- winking is the star language -rrb-, but the little ones still wonder.
they are not really friendly to peter, who had a mischievous way of stealing up behind them and trying to blow them out; but they are so fond of fun that they were on his side to-night, and anxious to get the grown-ups out of the way.
so as soon as the door of 27 closed on mr. and mrs. darling there was a commotion in the firmament, and the smallest of all the stars in the milky way screamed out: "now, peter!"
chapter 3 come away, come away!
for a moment after mr. and mrs. darling left the house the night-lights by the beds of the three children continued to burn clearly.
they were awfully nice little night-lights, and one can not help wishing that they could have kept awake to see peter; but wendy's light blinked and gave such a yawn that the other two yawned also, and before they could close their mouths all the three went out.
there was another light in the room now, a thousand times brighter than the night-lights, and in the time we have taken to say this, it had been in all the drawers in the nursery, looking for peter's shadow, rummaged the wardrobe and turned every pocket inside out.
it was not really a light; it made this light by flashing about so quickly, but when it came to rest for a second you saw it was a fairy, no longer than your hand, but still growing.
it was a girl called tinker bell exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf, cut low and square, through which her figure could be seen to the best advantage.
she was slightly inclined to embonpoint.
-lsb- plump hourglass figure -rsb- a moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and peter dropped in.
he had carried tinker bell part of the way, and his hand was still messy with the fairy dust.
""tinker bell," he called softly, after making sure that the children were asleep, "tink, where are you?"
she was in a jug for the moment, and liking it extremely; she had never been in a jug before.
""oh, do come out of that jug, and tell me, do you know where they put my shadow?"
the loveliest tinkle as of golden bells answered him.
it is the fairy language.
you ordinary children can never hear it, but if you were to hear it you would know that you had heard it once before.
tink said that the shadow was in the big box.
she meant the chest of drawers, and peter jumped at the drawers, scattering their contents to the floor with both hands, as kings toss ha "pence to the crowd.
in a moment he had recovered his shadow, and in his delight he forgot that he had shut tinker bell up in the drawer.
if he thought at all, but i do n't believe he ever thought, it was that he and his shadow, when brought near each other, would join like drops of water, and when they did not he was appalled.
he tried to stick it on with soap from the bathroom, but that also failed.
a shudder passed through peter, and he sat on the floor and cried.
his sobs woke wendy, and she sat up in bed.
she was not alarmed to see a stranger crying on the nursery floor; she was only pleasantly interested.
""boy," she said courteously, "why are you crying?"
peter could be exceeding polite also, having learned the grand manner at fairy ceremonies, and he rose and bowed to her beautifully.
she was much pleased, and bowed beautifully to him from the bed.
""what's your name?"
he asked.
""wendy moira angela darling," she replied with some satisfaction.
""what is your name?"
""peter pan."
she was already sure that he must be peter, but it did seem a comparatively short name.
""is that all?"
""yes," he said rather sharply.
he felt for the first time that it was a shortish name.
""i'm so sorry," said wendy moira angela.
""it does n't matter," peter gulped.
she asked where he lived.
""second to the right," said peter, "and then straight on till morning."
""what a funny address!"
peter had a sinking.
for the first time he felt that perhaps it was a funny address.
""no, it is n't," he said.
""i mean," wendy said nicely, remembering that she was hostess, "is that what they put on the letters?"
he wished she had not mentioned letters.
""do n't get any letters," he said contemptuously.
""but your mother gets letters?"
""do n't have a mother," he said.
not only had he no mother, but he had not the slightest desire to have one.
he thought them very over-rated persons.
wendy, however, felt at once that she was in the presence of a tragedy.
""o peter, no wonder you were crying," she said, and got out of bed and ran to him.
""i was n't crying about mothers," he said rather indignantly.
""i was crying because i ca n't get my shadow to stick on.
besides, i was n't crying."
""it has come off?"
""yes."
then wendy saw the shadow on the floor, looking so draggled, and she was frightfully sorry for peter.
""how awful!"
she said, but she could not help smiling when she saw that he had been trying to stick it on with soap.
how exactly like a boy!
fortunately she knew at once what to do.
""it must be sewn on," she said, just a little patronisingly.
""what's sewn?"
he asked.
""you're dreadfully ignorant."
""no, i'm not."
but she was exulting in his ignorance.
""i shall sew it on for you, my little man," she said, though he was tall as herself, and she got out her housewife -lsb- sewing bag -rsb-, and sewed the shadow on to peter's foot.
""i daresay it will hurt a little," she warned him.
""oh, i sha n't cry," said peter, who was already of the opinion that he had never cried in his life.
and he clenched his teeth and did not cry, and soon his shadow was behaving properly, though still a little creased.
""perhaps i should have ironed it," wendy said thoughtfully, but peter, boylike, was indifferent to appearances, and he was now jumping about in the wildest glee.
alas, he had already forgotten that he owed his bliss to wendy.
he thought he had attached the shadow himself.
""how clever i am!"
he crowed rapturously, "oh, the cleverness of me!"
it is humiliating to have to confess that this conceit of peter was one of his most fascinating qualities.
to put it with brutal frankness, there never was a cockier boy.
but for the moment wendy was shocked.
""you conceit -lsb- braggart -rsb-," she exclaimed, with frightful sarcasm; "of course i did nothing!"
""you did a little," peter said carelessly, and continued to dance.
""a little!"
she replied with hauteur -lsb- pride -rsb-; "if i am no use i can at least withdraw," and she sprang in the most dignified way into bed and covered her face with the blankets.
to induce her to look up he pretended to be going away, and when this failed he sat on the end of the bed and tapped her gently with his foot.
""wendy," he said, "do n't withdraw.
i ca n't help crowing, wendy, when i'm pleased with myself."
still she would not look up, though she was listening eagerly.
""wendy," he continued, in a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist, "wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys."
now wendy was every inch a woman, though there were not very many inches, and she peeped out of the bed-clothes.
""do you really think so, peter?"
""yes, i do."
""i think it's perfectly sweet of you," she declared, "and i'll get up again," and she sat with him on the side of the bed.
she also said she would give him a kiss if he liked, but peter did not know what she meant, and he held out his hand expectantly.
""surely you know what a kiss is?"
she asked, aghast.
""i shall know when you give it to me," he replied stiffly, and not to hurt his feeling she gave him a thimble.
""now," said he, "shall i give you a kiss?"
and she replied with a slight primness, "if you please."
she made herself rather cheap by inclining her face toward him, but he merely dropped an acorn button into her hand, so she slowly returned her face to where it had been before, and said nicely that she would wear his kiss on the chain around her neck.
it was lucky that she did put it on that chain, for it was afterwards to save her life.
when people in our set are introduced, it is customary for them to ask each other's age, and so wendy, who always liked to do the correct thing, asked peter how old he was.
it was not really a happy question to ask him; it was like an examination paper that asks grammar, when what you want to be asked is kings of england.
""i do n't know," he replied uneasily, "but i am quite young."
he really knew nothing about it, he had merely suspicions, but he said at a venture, "wendy, i ran away the day i was born."
wendy was quite surprised, but interested; and she indicated in the charming drawing-room manner, by a touch on her night-gown, that he could sit nearer her.
""it was because i heard father and mother," he explained in a low voice, "talking about what i was to be when i became a man."
he was extraordinarily agitated now.
""i do n't want ever to be a man," he said with passion.
""i want always to be a little boy and to have fun.
so i ran away to kensington gardens and lived a long long time among the fairies."
she gave him a look of the most intense admiration, and he thought it was because he had run away, but it was really because he knew fairies.
wendy had lived such a home life that to know fairies struck her as quite delightful.
she poured out questions about them, to his surprise, for they were rather a nuisance to him, getting in his way and so on, and indeed he sometimes had to give them a hiding -lsb- spanking -rsb-.
still, he liked them on the whole, and he told her about the beginning of fairies.
""you see, wendy, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies."
tedious talk this, but being a stay-at-home she liked it.
""and so," he went on good-naturedly, "there ought to be one fairy for every boy and girl."
""ought to be?
is n't there?"
""no.
you see children know such a lot now, they soon do n't believe in fairies, and every time a child says," i do n't believe in fairies," there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead."
really, he thought they had now talked enough about fairies, and it struck him that tinker bell was keeping very quiet.
""i ca n't think where she has gone to," he said, rising, and he called tink by name.
wendy's heart went flutter with a sudden thrill.
""peter," she cried, clutching him, "you do n't mean to tell me that there is a fairy in this room!"
""she was here just now," he said a little impatiently.
""you do n't hear her, do you?"
and they both listened.
""the only sound i hear," said wendy, "is like a tinkle of bells."
""well, that's tink, that's the fairy language.
i think i hear her too."
the sound came from the chest of drawers, and peter made a merry face.
no one could ever look quite so merry as peter, and the loveliest of gurgles was his laugh.
he had his first laugh still.
""wendy," he whispered gleefully, "i do believe i shut her up in the drawer!"
he let poor tink out of the drawer, and she flew about the nursery screaming with fury.
""you should n't say such things," peter retorted.
""of course i'm very sorry, but how could i know you were in the drawer?"
wendy was not listening to him.
""o peter," she cried, "if she would only stand still and let me see her!"
""they hardly ever stand still," he said, but for one moment wendy saw the romantic figure come to rest on the cuckoo clock.
""o the lovely!"
she cried, though tink's face was still distorted with passion.
""tink," said peter amiably, "this lady says she wishes you were her fairy."
tinker bell answered insolently.
""what does she say, peter?"
he had to translate.
""she is not very polite.
she says you are a great -lsb- huge -rsb- ugly girl, and that she is my fairy."
he tried to argue with tink.
""you know you ca n't be my fairy, tink, because i am an gentleman and you are a lady."
to this tink replied in these words, "you silly ass," and disappeared into the bathroom.
""she is quite a common fairy," peter explained apologetically, "she is called tinker bell because she mends the pots and kettles -lsb- tinker  tin worker -rsb-."
-lsb- similar to "cinder" plus "elle" to get cinderella -rsb- they were together in the armchair by this time, and wendy plied him with more questions.
""if you do n't live in kensington gardens now --" "sometimes i do still."
""but where do you live mostly now?"
""with the lost boys."
""who are they?"
""they are the children who fall out of their perambulators when the nurse is looking the other way.
if they are not claimed in seven days they are sent far away to the neverland to defray expenses.
i'm captain."
""what fun it must be!"
""yes," said cunning peter, "but we are rather lonely.
you see we have no female companionship."
""are none of the others girls?"
""oh, no; girls, you know, are much too clever to fall out of their prams."
this flattered wendy immensely.
""i think," she said, "it is perfectly lovely the way you talk about girls; john there just despises us."
for reply peter rose and kicked john out of bed, blankets and all; one kick.
this seemed to wendy rather forward for a first meeting, and she told him with spirit that he was not captain in her house.
however, john continued to sleep so placidly on the floor that she allowed him to remain there.
""and i know you meant to be kind," she said, relenting, "so you may give me a kiss."
for the moment she had forgotten his ignorance about kisses.
""i thought you would want it back," he said a little bitterly, and offered to return her the thimble.
""oh dear," said the nice wendy, "i do n't mean a kiss, i mean a thimble."
""what's that?"
""it's like this."
she kissed him.
""funny!"
said peter gravely.
""now shall i give you a thimble?"
""if you wish to," said wendy, keeping her head erect this time.
peter thimbled her, and almost immediately she screeched.
""what is it, wendy?"
""it was exactly as if someone were pulling my hair."
""that must have been tink.
i never knew her so naughty before."
and indeed tink was darting about again, using offensive language.
""she says she will do that to you, wendy, every time i give you a thimble."
""but why?"
""why, tink?"
again tink replied, "you silly ass."
peter could not understand why, but wendy understood, and she was just slightly disappointed when he admitted that he came to the nursery window not to see her but to listen to stories.
""you see, i do n't know any stories.
none of the lost boys knows any stories."
""how perfectly awful," wendy said.
""do you know," peter asked "why swallows build in the eaves of houses?
it is to listen to the stories.
o wendy, your mother was telling you such a lovely story."
""which story was it?"
""about the prince who could n't find the lady who wore the glass slipper."
""peter," said wendy excitedly, "that was cinderella, and he found her, and they lived happily ever after."
peter was so glad that he rose from the floor, where they had been sitting, and hurried to the window.
""where are you going?"
she cried with misgiving.
""to tell the other boys."
""do n't go peter," she entreated, "i know such lots of stories."
those were her precise words, so there can be no denying that it was she who first tempted him.
he came back, and there was a greedy look in his eyes now which ought to have alarmed her, but did not.
""oh, the stories i could tell to the boys!"
she cried, and then peter gripped her and began to draw her toward the window.
""let me go!"
she ordered him.
""wendy, do come with me and tell the other boys."
of course she was very pleased to be asked, but she said, "oh dear, i ca n't.
think of mummy!
besides, i ca n't fly."
""i'll teach you."
""oh, how lovely to fly."
""i'll teach you how to jump on the wind's back, and then away we go."
""oo!"
she exclaimed rapturously.
""wendy, wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars."
""oo!"
""and, wendy, there are mermaids."
""mermaids!
with tails?"
""such long tails."
""oh," cried wendy, "to see a mermaid!"
he had become frightfully cunning.
""wendy," he said, "how we should all respect you."
she was wriggling her body in distress.
it was quite as if she were trying to remain on the nursery floor.
but he had no pity for her.
""wendy," he said, the sly one, "you could tuck us in at night."
""oo!"
""none of us has ever been tucked in at night."
""oo," and her arms went out to him.
""and you could darn our clothes, and make pockets for us.
none of us has any pockets."
how could she resist.
""of course it's awfully fascinating!"
she cried.
""peter, would you teach john and michael to fly too?"
""if you like," he said indifferently, and she ran to john and michael and shook them.
""wake up," she cried, "peter pan has come and he is to teach us to fly."
john rubbed his eyes.
""then i shall get up," he said.
of course he was on the floor already.
""hallo," he said, "i am up!"
michael was up by this time also, looking as sharp as a knife with six blades and a saw, but peter suddenly signed silence.
their faces assumed the awful craftiness of children listening for sounds from the grown-up world.
all was as still as salt.
then everything was right.
no, stop!
everything was wrong.
nana, who had been barking distressfully all the evening, was quiet now.
it was her silence they had heard.
""out with the light!
hide!
quick!"
cried john, taking command for the only time throughout the whole adventure.
and thus when liza entered, holding nana, the nursery seemed quite its old self, very dark, and you would have sworn you heard its three wicked inmates breathing angelically as they slept.
they were really doing it artfully from behind the window curtains.
liza was in a bad temper, for she was mixing the christmas puddings in the kitchen, and had been drawn from them, with a raisin still on her cheek, by nana's absurd suspicions.
she thought the best way of getting a little quiet was to take nana to the nursery for a moment, but in custody of course.
""there, you suspicious brute," she said, not sorry that nana was in disgrace.
""they are perfectly safe, are n't they?
every one of the little angels sound asleep in bed.
listen to their gentle breathing."
here michael, encouraged by his success, breathed so loudly that they were nearly detected.
nana knew that kind of breathing, and she tried to drag herself out of liza's clutches.
but liza was dense.
""no more of it, nana," she said sternly, pulling her out of the room.
""i warn you if you bark again i shall go straight for master and missus and bring them home from the party, and then, oh, wo n't master whip you, just."
she tied the unhappy dog up again, but do you think nana ceased to bark?
bring master and missus home from the party!
why, that was just what she wanted.
do you think she cared whether she was whipped so long as her charges were safe?
unfortunately liza returned to her puddings, and nana, seeing that no help would come from her, strained and strained at the chain until at last she broke it.
in another moment she had burst into the dining-room of 27 and flung up her paws to heaven, her most expressive way of making a communication.
mr. and mrs. darling knew at once that something terrible was happening in their nursery, and without a good-bye to their hostess they rushed into the street.
but it was now ten minutes since three scoundrels had been breathing behind the curtains, and peter pan can do a great deal in ten minutes.
we now return to the nursery.
""it's all right," john announced, emerging from his hiding-place.
""i say, peter, can you really fly?"
instead of troubling to answer him peter flew around the room, taking the mantelpiece on the way.
""how topping!"
said john and michael.
""how sweet!"
cried wendy.
""yes, i'm sweet, oh, i am sweet!"
said peter, forgetting his manners again.
it looked delightfully easy, and they tried it first from the floor and then from the beds, but they always went down instead of up.
""i say, how do you do it?"
asked john, rubbing his knee.
he was quite a practical boy.
""you just think lovely wonderful thoughts," peter explained, "and they lift you up in the air."
he showed them again.
""you're so nippy at it," john said, "could n't you do it very slowly once?"
peter did it both slowly and quickly.
""i've got it now, wendy!"
cried john, but soon he found he had not.
not one of them could fly an inch, though even michael was in words of two syllables, and peter did not know a from z. of course peter had been trifling with them, for no one can fly unless the fairy dust has been blown on him.
fortunately, as we have mentioned, one of his hands was messy with it, and he blew some on each of them, with the most superb results.
""now just wiggle your shoulders this way," he said, "and let go."
they were all on their beds, and gallant michael let go first.
he did not quite mean to let go, but he did it, and immediately he was borne across the room.
""i flewed!"
he screamed while still in mid-air.
john let go and met wendy near the bathroom.
""oh, lovely!"
""oh, ripping!"
""look at me!"
""look at me!"
""look at me!"
they were not nearly so elegant as peter, they could not help kicking a little, but their heads were bobbing against the ceiling, and there is almost nothing so delicious as that.
peter gave wendy a hand at first, but had to desist, tink was so indignant.
up and down they went, and round and round.
heavenly was wendy's word.
""i say," cried john, "why should n't we all go out?"
of course it was to this that peter had been luring them.
michael was ready: he wanted to see how long it took him to do a billion miles.
but wendy hesitated.
""mermaids!"
said peter again.
""oo!"
""and there are pirates."
""pirates," cried john, seizing his sunday hat, "let us go at once."
it was just at this moment that mr. and mrs. darling hurried with nana out of 27.
they ran into the middle of the street to look up at the nursery window; and, yes, it was still shut, but the room was ablaze with light, and most heart-gripping sight of all, they could see in shadow on the curtain three little figures in night attire circling round and round, not on the floor but in the air.
not three figures, four!
in a tremble they opened the street door.
mr. darling would have rushed upstairs, but mrs. darling signed him to go softly.
she even tried to make her heart go softly.
will they reach the nursery in time?
if so, how delightful for them, and we shall all breathe a sigh of relief, but there will be no story.
on the other hand, if they are not in time, i solemnly promise that it will all come right in the end.
they would have reached the nursery in time had it not been that the little stars were watching them.
once again the stars blew the window open, and that smallest star of all called out: "cave, peter!"
then peter knew that there was not a moment to lose.
""come," he cried imperiously, and soared out at once into the night, followed by john and michael and wendy.
mr. and mrs. darling and nana rushed into the nursery too late.
the birds were flown.
chapter 4 the flight "second to the right, and straight on till morning."
that, peter had told wendy, was the way to the neverland; but even birds, carrying maps and consulting them at windy corners, could not have sighted it with these instructions.
peter, you see, just said anything that came into his head.
at first his companions trusted him implicitly, and so great were the delights of flying that they wasted time circling round church spires or any other tall objects on the way that took their fancy.
john and michael raced, michael getting a start.
they recalled with contempt that not so long ago they had thought themselves fine fellows for being able to fly round a room.
not long ago.
but how long ago?
they were flying over the sea before this thought began to disturb wendy seriously.
john thought it was their second sea and their third night.
sometimes it was dark and sometimes light, and now they were very cold and again too warm.
did they really feel hungry at times, or were they merely pretending, because peter had such a jolly new way of feeding them?
his way was to pursue birds who had food in their mouths suitable for humans and snatch it from them; then the birds would follow and snatch it back; and they would all go chasing each other gaily for miles, parting at last with mutual expressions of good-will.
but wendy noticed with gentle concern that peter did not seem to know that this was rather an odd way of getting your bread and butter, nor even that there are other ways.
certainly they did not pretend to be sleepy, they were sleepy; and that was a danger, for the moment they popped off, down they fell.
the awful thing was that peter thought this funny.
""there he goes again!"
he would cry gleefully, as michael suddenly dropped like a stone.
""save him, save him!"
cried wendy, looking with horror at the cruel sea far below.
eventually peter would dive through the air, and catch michael just before he could strike the sea, and it was lovely the way he did it; but he always waited till the last moment, and you felt it was his cleverness that interested him and not the saving of human life.
also he was fond of variety, and the sport that engrossed him one moment would suddenly cease to engage him, so there was always the possibility that the next time you fell he would let you go.
he could sleep in the air without falling, by merely lying on his back and floating, but this was, partly at least, because he was so light that if you got behind him and blew he went faster.
""do be more polite to him," wendy whispered to john, when they were playing "follow my leader."
""then tell him to stop showing off," said john.
when playing follow my leader, peter would fly close to the water and touch each shark's tail in passing, just as in the street you may run your finger along an iron railing.
they could not follow him in this with much success, so perhaps it was rather like showing off, especially as he kept looking behind to see how many tails they missed.
""you must be nice to him," wendy impressed on her brothers.
""what could we do if he were to leave us!"
""we could go back," michael said.
""how could we ever find our way back without him?"
""well, then, we could go on," said john.
""that is the awful thing, john.
we should have to go on, for we do n't know how to stop."
this was true, peter had forgotten to show them how to stop.
john said that if the worst came to the worst, all they had to do was to go straight on, for the world was round, and so in time they must come back to their own window.
""and who is to get food for us, john?"
""i nipped a bit out of that eagle's mouth pretty neatly, wendy."
""after the twentieth try," wendy reminded him.
""and even though we became good at picking up food, see how we bump against clouds and things if he is not near to give us a hand."
indeed they were constantly bumping.
they could now fly strongly, though they still kicked far too much; but if they saw a cloud in front of them, the more they tried to avoid it, the more certainly did they bump into it.
if nana had been with them, she would have had a bandage round michael's forehead by this time.
peter was not with them for the moment, and they felt rather lonely up there by themselves.
he could go so much faster than they that he would suddenly shoot out of sight, to have some adventure in which they had no share.
he would come down laughing over something fearfully funny he had been saying to a star, but he had already forgotten what it was, or he would come up with mermaid scales still sticking to him, and yet not be able to say for certain what had been happening.
it was really rather irritating to children who had never seen a mermaid.
""and if he forgets them so quickly," wendy argued, "how can we expect that he will go on remembering us?"
indeed, sometimes when he returned he did not remember them, at least not well.
wendy was sure of it.
she saw recognition come into his eyes as he was about to pass them the time of day and go on; once even she had to call him by name.
""i'm wendy," she said agitatedly.
he was very sorry.
""i say, wendy," he whispered to her, "always if you see me forgetting you, just keep on saying "i'm wendy," and then i'll remember."
of course this was rather unsatisfactory.
however, to make amends he showed them how to lie out flat on a strong wind that was going their way, and this was such a pleasant change that they tried it several times and found that they could sleep thus with security.
indeed they would have slept longer, but peter tired quickly of sleeping, and soon he would cry in his captain voice, "we get off here."
so with occasional tiffs, but on the whole rollicking, they drew near the neverland; for after many moons they did reach it, and, what is more, they had been going pretty straight all the time, not perhaps so much owing to the guidance of peter or tink as because the island was looking for them.
it is only thus that any one may sight those magic shores.
""there it is," said peter calmly.
""where, where?"
""where all the arrows are pointing."
indeed a million golden arrows were pointing it out to the children, all directed by their friend the sun, who wanted them to be sure of their way before leaving them for the night.
wendy and john and michael stood on tip-toe in the air to get their first sight of the island.
strange to say, they all recognized it at once, and until fear fell upon them they hailed it, not as something long dreamt of and seen at last, but as a familiar friend to whom they were returning home for the holidays.
""john, there's the lagoon."
""wendy, look at the turtles burying their eggs in the sand."
""i say, john, i see your flamingo with the broken leg!"
""look, michael, there's your cave!"
""john, what's that in the brushwood?"
""it's a wolf with her whelps.
wendy, i do believe that's your little whelp!"
""there's my boat, john, with her sides stove in!"
""no, it is n't.
why, we burned your boat."
""that's her, at any rate.
i say, john, i see the smoke of the redskin camp!"
""where?
show me, and i'll tell you by the way smoke curls whether they are on the war-path."
""there, just across the mysterious river."
""i see now.
yes, they are on the war-path right enough."
peter was a little annoyed with them for knowing so much, but if he wanted to lord it over them his triumph was at hand, for have i not told you that anon fear fell upon them?
it came as the arrows went, leaving the island in gloom.
in the old days at home the neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime.
then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, black shadows moved about in them, the roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and above all, you lost the certainty that you would win.
you were quite glad that the night-lights were on.
you even liked nana to say that this was just the mantelpiece over here, and that the neverland was all make-believe.
of course the neverland had been make-believe in those days, but it was real now, and there were no night-lights, and it was getting darker every moment, and where was nana?
they had been flying apart, but they huddled close to peter now.
his careless manner had gone at last, his eyes were sparkling, and a tingle went through them every time they touched his body.
they were now over the fearsome island, flying so low that sometimes a tree grazed their feet.
nothing horrid was visible in the air, yet their progress had become slow and laboured, exactly as if they were pushing their way through hostile forces.
sometimes they hung in the air until peter had beaten on it with his fists.
""they do n't want us to land," he explained.
""who are they?"
wendy whispered, shuddering.
but he could not or would not say.
tinker bell had been asleep on his shoulder, but now he wakened her and sent her on in front.
sometimes he poised himself in the air, listening intently, with his hand to his ear, and again he would stare down with eyes so bright that they seemed to bore two holes to earth.
having done these things, he went on again.
his courage was almost appalling.
""would you like an adventure now," he said casually to john, "or would you like to have your tea first?"
wendy said "tea first" quickly, and michael pressed her hand in gratitude, but the braver john hesitated.
""what kind of adventure?"
he asked cautiously.
""there's a pirate asleep in the pampas just beneath us," peter told him.
""if you like, we'll go down and kill him."
""i do n't see him," john said after a long pause.
""i do."
""suppose," john said, a little huskily, "he were to wake up."
peter spoke indignantly.
""you do n't think i would kill him while he was sleeping!
i would wake him first, and then kill him.
that's the way i always do."
""i say!
do you kill many?"
""tons."
john said "how ripping," but decided to have tea first.
he asked if there were many pirates on the island just now, and peter said he had never known so many.
""who is captain now?"
""hook," answered peter, and his face became very stern as he said that hated word.
""jas.
hook?"
""ay."
then indeed michael began to cry, and even john could speak in gulps only, for they knew hook's reputation.
""he was blackbeard's bo "sun," john whispered huskily.
""he is the worst of them all.
he is the only man of whom barbecue was afraid."
""that's him," said peter.
""what is he like?
is he big?"
""he is not so big as he was."
""how do you mean?"
""i cut off a bit of him."
""you!"
""yes, me," said peter sharply.
""i was n't meaning to be disrespectful."
""oh, all right."
""but, i say, what bit?"
""his right hand."
""then he ca n't fight now?"
""oh, ca n't he just!"
""left-hander?"
""he has an iron hook instead of a right hand, and he claws with it."
""claws!"
""i say, john," said peter.
""yes."
""say, "ay, ay, sir.""
""ay, ay, sir."
""there is one thing," peter continued, "that every boy who serves under me has to promise, and so must you."
john paled.
""it is this, if we meet hook in open fight, you must leave him to me."
""i promise," john said loyally.
for the moment they were feeling less eerie, because tink was flying with them, and in her light they could distinguish each other.
unfortunately she could not fly so slowly as they, and so she had to go round and round them in a circle in which they moved as in a halo.
wendy quite liked it, until peter pointed out the drawbacks.
""she tells me," he said, "that the pirates sighted us before the darkness came, and got long tom out."
""the big gun?"
""yes.
and of course they must see her light, and if they guess we are near it they are sure to let fly."
""wendy!"
""john!"
""michael!"
""tell her to go away at once, peter," the three cried simultaneously, but he refused.
""she thinks we have lost the way," he replied stiffly, "and she is rather frightened.
you do n't think i would send her away all by herself when she is frightened!"
for a moment the circle of light was broken, and something gave peter a loving little pinch.
""then tell her," wendy begged, "to put out her light."
""she ca n't put it out.
that is about the only thing fairies ca n't do.
it just goes out of itself when she falls asleep, same as the stars."
""then tell her to sleep at once," john almost ordered.
""she ca n't sleep except when she's sleepy.
it is the only other thing fairies ca n't do."
""seems to me," growled john, "these are the only two things worth doing."
here he got a pinch, but not a loving one.
""if only one of us had a pocket," peter said, "we could carry her in it."
however, they had set off in such a hurry that there was not a pocket between the four of them.
he had a happy idea.
john's hat!
tink agreed to travel by hat if it was carried in the hand.
john carried it, though she had hoped to be carried by peter.
presently wendy took the hat, because john said it struck against his knee as he flew; and this, as we shall see, led to mischief, for tinker bell hated to be under an obligation to wendy.
in the black topper the light was completely hidden, and they flew on in silence.
it was the stillest silence they had ever known, broken once by a distant lapping, which peter explained was the wild beasts drinking at the ford, and again by a rasping sound that might have been the branches of trees rubbing together, but he said it was the redskins sharpening their knives.
even these noises ceased.
to michael the loneliness was dreadful.
""if only something would make a sound!"
he cried.
as if in answer to his request, the air was rent by the most tremendous crash he had ever heard.
the pirates had fired long tom at them.
the roar of it echoed through the mountains, and the echoes seemed to cry savagely, "where are they, where are they, where are they?"
thus sharply did the terrified three learn the difference between an island of make-believe and the same island come true.
when at last the heavens were steady again, john and michael found themselves alone in the darkness.
john was treading the air mechanically, and michael without knowing how to float was floating.
""are you shot?"
john whispered tremulously.
""i have n't tried -lsb- myself out -rsb- yet," michael whispered back.
we know now that no one had been hit.
peter, however, had been carried by the wind of the shot far out to sea, while wendy was blown upwards with no companion but tinker bell.
it would have been well for wendy if at that moment she had dropped the hat.
i do n't know whether the idea came suddenly to tink, or whether she had planned it on the way, but she at once popped out of the hat and began to lure wendy to her destruction.
tink was not all bad; or, rather, she was all bad just now, but, on the other hand, sometimes she was all good.
fairies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time.
they are, however, allowed to change, only it must be a complete change.
at present she was full of jealousy of wendy.
what she said in her lovely tinkle wendy could not of course understand, and i believe some of it was bad words, but it sounded kind, and she flew back and forward, plainly meaning "follow me, and all will be well."
what else could poor wendy do?
she called to peter and john and michael, and got only mocking echoes in reply.
she did not yet know that tink hated her with the fierce hatred of a very woman.
and so, bewildered, and now staggering in her flight, she followed tink to her doom.
chapter 5 the island come true feeling that peter was on his way back, the neverland had again woke into life.
we ought to use the pluperfect and say wakened, but woke is better and was always used by peter.
in his absence things are usually quiet on the island.
the fairies take an hour longer in the morning, the beasts attend to their young, the redskins feed heavily for six days and nights, and when pirates and lost boys meet they merely bite their thumbs at each other.
but with the coming of peter, who hates lethargy, they are under way again: if you put your ear to the ground now, you would hear the whole island seething with life.
on this evening the chief forces of the island were disposed as follows.
the lost boys were out looking for peter, the pirates were out looking for the lost boys, the redskins were out looking for the pirates, and the beasts were out looking for the redskins.
they were going round and round the island, but they did not meet because all were going at the same rate.
all wanted blood except the boys, who liked it as a rule, but to-night were out to greet their captain.
the boys on the island vary, of course, in numbers, according as they get killed and so on; and when they seem to be growing up, which is against the rules, peter thins them out; but at this time there were six of them, counting the twins as two.
let us pretend to lie here among the sugar-cane and watch them as they steal by in single file, each with his hand on his dagger.
they are forbidden by peter to look in the least like him, and they wear the skins of the bears slain by themselves, in which they are so round and furry that when they fall they roll.
they have therefore become very sure-footed.
the first to pass is tootles, not the least brave but the most unfortunate of all that gallant band.
he had been in fewer adventures than any of them, because the big things constantly happened just when he had stepped round the corner; all would be quiet, he would take the opportunity of going off to gather a few sticks for firewood, and then when he returned the others would be sweeping up the blood.
this ill-luck had given a gentle melancholy to his countenance, but instead of souring his nature had sweetened it, so that he was quite the humblest of the boys.
poor kind tootles, there is danger in the air for you to-night.
take care lest an adventure is now offered you, which, if accepted, will plunge you in deepest woe.
tootles, the fairy tink, who is bent on mischief this night is looking for a tool -lsb- for doing her mischief -rsb-, and she thinks you are the most easily tricked of the boys.
"ware tinker bell.
would that he could hear us, but we are not really on the island, and he passes by, biting his knuckles.
next comes nibs, the gay and debonair, followed by slightly, who cuts whistles out of the trees and dances ecstatically to his own tunes.
slightly is the most conceited of the boys.
he thinks he remembers the days before he was lost, with their manners and customs, and this has given his nose an offensive tilt.
curly is fourth; he is a pickle, -lsb- a person who gets in pickles-predicaments -rsb- and so often has he had to deliver up his person when peter said sternly, "stand forth the one who did this thing," that now at the command he stands forth automatically whether he has done it or not.
last come the twins, who can not be described because we should be sure to be describing the wrong one.
peter never quite knew what twins were, and his band were not allowed to know anything he did not know, so these two were always vague about themselves, and did their best to give satisfaction by keeping close together in an apologetic sort of way.
the boys vanish in the gloom, and after a pause, but not a long pause, for things go briskly on the island, come the pirates on their track.
we hear them before they are seen, and it is always the same dreadful song: "avast belay, yo ho, heave to, a-pirating we go, and if we're parted by a shot we're sure to meet below!"
a more villainous-looking lot never hung in a row on execution dock.
here, a little in advance, ever and again with his head to the ground listening, his great arms bare, pieces of eight in his ears as ornaments, is the handsome italian cecco, who cut his name in letters of blood on the back of the governor of the prison at gao.
that gigantic black behind him has had many names since he dropped the one with which dusky mothers still terrify their children on the banks of the guadjo-mo.
here is bill jukes, every inch of him tattooed, the same bill jukes who got six dozen on the walrus from flint before he would drop the bag of moidores -lsb- portuguese gold pieces -rsb-; and cookson, said to be black murphy's brother -lrb- but this was never proved -rrb-, and gentleman starkey, once an usher in a public school and still dainty in his ways of killing; and skylights -lrb- morgan's skylights -rrb-; and the irish bo "sun smee, an oddly genial man who stabbed, so to speak, without offence, and was the only non-conformist in hook's crew; and noodler, whose hands were fixed on backwards; and robt.
mullins and alf mason and many another ruffian long known and feared on the spanish main.
in the midst of them, the blackest and largest in that dark setting, reclined james hook, or as he wrote himself, jas.
hook, of whom it is said he was the only man that the sea-cook feared.
he lay at his ease in a rough chariot drawn and propelled by his men, and instead of a right hand he had the iron hook with which ever and anon he encouraged them to increase their pace.
as dogs this terrible man treated and addressed them, and as dogs they obeyed him.
in person he was cadaverous -lsb- dead looking -rsb- and blackavized -lsb- dark faced -rsb-, and his hair was dressed in long curls, which at a little distance looked like black candles, and gave a singularly threatening expression to his handsome countenance.
his eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly.
in manner, something of the grand seigneur still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air, and i have been told that he was a raconteur -lsb- storyteller -rsb- of repute.
he was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding; and the elegance of his diction, even when he was swearing, no less than the distinction of his demeanour, showed him one of a different cast from his crew.
a man of indomitable courage, it was said that the only thing he shied at was the sight of his own blood, which was thick and of an unusual colour.
in dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of charles ii, having heard it said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange resemblance to the ill-fated stuarts; and in his mouth he had a holder of his own contrivance which enabled him to smoke two cigars at once.
but undoubtedly the grimmest part of him was his iron claw.
let us now kill a pirate, to show hook's method.
skylights will do.
as they pass, skylights lurches clumsily against him, ruffling his lace collar; the hook shoots forth, there is a tearing sound and one screech, then the body is kicked aside, and the pirates pass on.
he has not even taken the cigars from his mouth.
such is the terrible man against whom peter pan is pitted.
which will win?
on the trail of the pirates, stealing noiselessly down the war-path, which is not visible to inexperienced eyes, come the redskins, every one of them with his eyes peeled.
they carry tomahawks and knives, and their naked bodies gleam with paint and oil.
strung around them are scalps, of boys as well as of pirates, for these are the piccaninny tribe, and not to be confused with the softer-hearted delawares or the hurons.
in the van, on all fours, is great big little panther, a brave of so many scalps that in his present position they somewhat impede his progress.
bringing up the rear, the place of greatest danger, comes tiger lily, proudly erect, a princess in her own right.
she is the most beautiful of dusky dianas -lsb- diana  goddess of the woods -rsb- and the belle of the piccaninnies, coquettish -lsb- flirting -rsb-, cold and amorous -lsb- loving -rsb- by turns; there is not a brave who would not have the wayward thing to wife, but she staves off the altar with a hatchet.
observe how they pass over fallen twigs without making the slightest noise.
the only sound to be heard is their somewhat heavy breathing.
the fact is that they are all a little fat just now after the heavy gorging, but in time they will work this off.
for the moment, however, it constitutes their chief danger.
the redskins disappear as they have come like shadows, and soon their place is taken by the beasts, a great and motley procession: lions, tigers, bears, and the innumerable smaller savage things that flee from them, for every kind of beast, and, more particularly, all the man-eaters, live cheek by jowl on the favoured island.
their tongues are hanging out, they are hungry to-night.
when they have passed, comes the last figure of all, a gigantic crocodile.
we shall see for whom she is looking presently.
the crocodile passes, but soon the boys appear again, for the procession must continue indefinitely until one of the parties stops or changes its pace.
then quickly they will be on top of each other.
all are keeping a sharp look-out in front, but none suspects that the danger may be creeping up from behind.
this shows how real the island was.
the first to fall out of the moving circle was the boys.
they flung themselves down on the sward -lsb- turf -rsb-, close to their underground home.
""i do wish peter would come back," every one of them said nervously, though in height and still more in breadth they were all larger than their captain.
""i am the only one who is not afraid of the pirates," slightly said, in the tone that prevented his being a general favourite; but perhaps some distant sound disturbed him, for he added hastily, "but i wish he would come back, and tell us whether he has heard anything more about cinderella."
they talked of cinderella, and tootles was confident that his mother must have been very like her.
it was only in peter's absence that they could speak of mothers, the subject being forbidden by him as silly.
""all i remember about my mother," nibs told them, "is that she often said to my father, "oh, how i wish i had a cheque-book of my own!"
i do n't know what a cheque-book is, but i should just love to give my mother one."
while they talked they heard a distant sound.
you or i, not being wild things of the woods, would have heard nothing, but they heard it, and it was the grim song: "yo ho, yo ho, the pirate life, the flag o" skull and bones, a merry hour, a hempen rope, and hey for davy jones."
at once the lost boys -- but where are they?
they are no longer there.
rabbits could not have disappeared more quickly.
i will tell you where they are.
with the exception of nibs, who has darted away to reconnoitre -lsb- look around -rsb-, they are already in their home under the ground, a very delightful residence of which we shall see a good deal presently.
but how have they reached it?
for there is no entrance to be seen, not so much as a large stone, which if rolled away, would disclose the mouth of a cave.
look closely, however, and you may note that there are here seven large trees, each with a hole in its hollow trunk as large as a boy.
these are the seven entrances to the home under the ground, for which hook has been searching in vain these many moons.
will he find it tonight?
as the pirates advanced, the quick eye of starkey sighted nibs disappearing through the wood, and at once his pistol flashed out.
but an iron claw gripped his shoulder.
""captain, let go!"
he cried, writhing.
now for the first time we hear the voice of hook.
it was a black voice.
""put back that pistol first," it said threateningly.
""it was one of those boys you hate.
i could have shot him dead."
""ay, and the sound would have brought tiger lily's redskins upon us.
do you want to lose your scalp?"
""shall i after him, captain," asked pathetic smee, "and tickle him with johnny corkscrew?"
smee had pleasant names for everything, and his cutlass was johnny corkscrew, because he wiggled it in the wound.
one could mention many lovable traits in smee.
for instance, after killing, it was his spectacles he wiped instead of his weapon.
""johnny's a silent fellow," he reminded hook.
""not now, smee," hook said darkly.
""he is only one, and i want to mischief all the seven.
scatter and look for them."
the pirates disappeared among the trees, and in a moment their captain and smee were alone.
hook heaved a heavy sigh, and i know not why it was, perhaps it was because of the soft beauty of the evening, but there came over him a desire to confide to his faithful bo "sun the story of his life.
he spoke long and earnestly, but what it was all about smee, who was rather stupid, did not know in the least.
anon -lsb- later -rsb- he caught the word peter.
""most of all," hook was saying passionately, "i want their captain, peter pan.
't was he cut off my arm."
he brandished the hook threateningly.
""i've waited long to shake his hand with this.
oh, i'll tear him!"
""and yet," said smee, "i have often heard you say that hook was worth a score of hands, for combing the hair and other homely uses."
""ay," the captain answered, "if i was a mother i would pray to have my children born with this instead of that," and he cast a look of pride upon his iron hand and one of scorn upon the other.
then again he frowned.
""peter flung my arm," he said, wincing, "to a crocodile that happened to be passing by."
""i have often," said smee, "noticed your strange dread of crocodiles."
""not of crocodiles," hook corrected him, "but of that one crocodile."
he lowered his voice.
""it liked my arm so much, smee, that it has followed me ever since, from sea to sea and from land to land, licking its lips for the rest of me."
""in a way," said smee, "it's sort of a compliment."
""i want no such compliments," hook barked petulantly.
""i want peter pan, who first gave the brute its taste for me."
he sat down on a large mushroom, and now there was a quiver in his voice.
""smee," he said huskily, "that crocodile would have had me before this, but by a lucky chance it swallowed a clock which goes tick tick inside it, and so before it can reach me i hear the tick and bolt."
he laughed, but in a hollow way.
""some day," said smee, "the clock will run down, and then he'll get you."
hook wetted his dry lips.
""ay," he said, "that's the fear that haunts me."
since sitting down he had felt curiously warm.
""smee," he said, "this seat is hot."
he jumped up.
""odds bobs, hammer and tongs i'm burning."
they examined the mushroom, which was of a size and solidity unknown on the mainland; they tried to pull it up, and it came away at once in their hands, for it had no root.
stranger still, smoke began at once to ascend.
the pirates looked at each other.
""a chimney!"
they both exclaimed.
they had indeed discovered the chimney of the home under the ground.
it was the custom of the boys to stop it with a mushroom when enemies were in the neighbourhood.
not only smoke came out of it.
there came also children's voices, for so safe did the boys feel in their hiding-place that they were gaily chattering.
the pirates listened grimly, and then replaced the mushroom.
they looked around them and noted the holes in the seven trees.
""did you hear them say peter pan's from home?"
smee whispered, fidgeting with johnny corkscrew.
hook nodded.
he stood for a long time lost in thought, and at last a curdling smile lit up his swarthy face.
smee had been waiting for it.
""unrip your plan, captain," he cried eagerly.
""to return to the ship," hook replied slowly through his teeth, "and cook a large rich cake of a jolly thickness with green sugar on it.
there can be but one room below, for there is but one chimney.
the silly moles had not the sense to see that they did not need a door apiece.
that shows they have no mother.
we will leave the cake on the shore of the mermaids" lagoon.
these boys are always swimming about there, playing with the mermaids.
they will find the cake and they will gobble it up, because, having no mother, they do n't know how dangerous't is to eat rich damp cake."
he burst into laughter, not hollow laughter now, but honest laughter.
""aha, they will die."
smee had listened with growing admiration.
""it's the wickedest, prettiest policy ever i heard of!"
he cried, and in their exultation they danced and sang: "avast, belay, when i appear, by fear they're overtook; nought's left upon your bones when you have shaken claws with hook."
they began the verse, but they never finished it, for another sound broke in and stilled them.
there was at first such a tiny sound that a leaf might have fallen on it and smothered it, but as it came nearer it was more distinct.
tick tick tick tick!
hook stood shuddering, one foot in the air.
""the crocodile!"
he gasped, and bounded away, followed by his bo "sun.
it was indeed the crocodile.
it had passed the redskins, who were now on the trail of the other pirates.
it oozed on after hook.
once more the boys emerged into the open; but the dangers of the night were not yet over, for presently nibs rushed breathless into their midst, pursued by a pack of wolves.
the tongues of the pursuers were hanging out; the baying of them was horrible.
""save me, save me!"
cried nibs, falling on the ground.
""but what can we do, what can we do?"
it was a high compliment to peter that at that dire moment their thoughts turned to him.
""what would peter do?"
they cried simultaneously.
almost in the same breath they cried, "peter would look at them through his legs."
and then, "let us do what peter would do."
it is quite the most successful way of defying wolves, and as one boy they bent and looked through their legs.
the next moment is the long one, but victory came quickly, for as the boys advanced upon them in the terrible attitude, the wolves dropped their tails and fled.
now nibs rose from the ground, and the others thought that his staring eyes still saw the wolves.
but it was not wolves he saw.
""i have seen a wonderfuller thing," he cried, as they gathered round him eagerly.
""a great white bird.
it is flying this way."
""what kind of a bird, do you think?"
""i do n't know," nibs said, awestruck, "but it looks so weary, and as it flies it moans, "poor wendy,"" "poor wendy?"
""i remember," said slightly instantly, "there are birds called wendies."
""see, it comes!"
cried curly, pointing to wendy in the heavens.
wendy was now almost overhead, and they could hear her plaintive cry.
but more distinct came the shrill voice of tinker bell.
the jealous fairy had now cast off all disguise of friendship, and was darting at her victim from every direction, pinching savagely each time she touched.
""hullo, tink," cried the wondering boys.
tink's reply rang out: "peter wants you to shoot the wendy."
it was not in their nature to question when peter ordered.
""let us do what peter wishes!"
cried the simple boys.
""quick, bows and arrows!"
all but tootles popped down their trees.
he had a bow and arrow with him, and tink noted it, and rubbed her little hands.
""quick, tootles, quick," she screamed.
""peter will be so pleased."
tootles excitedly fitted the arrow to his bow.
""out of the way, tink," he shouted, and then he fired, and wendy fluttered to the ground with an arrow in her breast.
chapter 6 the little house foolish tootles was standing like a conqueror over wendy's body when the other boys sprang, armed, from their trees.
""you are too late," he cried proudly, "i have shot the wendy.
peter will be so pleased with me."
overhead tinker bell shouted "silly ass!"
and darted into hiding.
the others did not hear her.
they had crowded round wendy, and as they looked a terrible silence fell upon the wood.
if wendy's heart had been beating they would all have heard it.
slightly was the first to speak.
""this is no bird," he said in a scared voice.
""i think this must be a lady."
""a lady?"
said tootles, and fell a-trembling.
""and we have killed her," nibs said hoarsely.
they all whipped off their caps.
""now i see," curly said: "peter was bringing her to us."
he threw himself sorrowfully on the ground.
""a lady to take care of us at last," said one of the twins, "and you have killed her!"
they were sorry for him, but sorrier for themselves, and when he took a step nearer them they turned from him.
tootles" face was very white, but there was a dignity about him now that had never been there before.
""i did it," he said, reflecting.
""when ladies used to come to me in dreams, i said, "pretty mother, pretty mother."
but when at last she really came, i shot her."
he moved slowly away.
""do n't go," they called in pity.
""i must," he answered, shaking; "i am so afraid of peter."
it was at this tragic moment that they heard a sound which made the heart of every one of them rise to his mouth.
they heard peter crow.
""peter!"
they cried, for it was always thus that he signalled his return.
""hide her," they whispered, and gathered hastily around wendy.
but tootles stood aloof.
again came that ringing crow, and peter dropped in front of them.
""greetings, boys," he cried, and mechanically they saluted, and then again was silence.
he frowned.
""i am back," he said hotly, "why do you not cheer?"
they opened their mouths, but the cheers would not come.
he overlooked it in his haste to tell the glorious tidings.
""great news, boys," he cried, "i have brought at last a mother for you all."
still no sound, except a little thud from tootles as he dropped on his knees.
""have you not seen her?"
asked peter, becoming troubled.
""she flew this way."
""ah me!"
once voice said, and another said, "oh, mournful day."
tootles rose.
""peter," he said quietly, "i will show her to you," and when the others would still have hidden her he said, "back, twins, let peter see."
so they all stood back, and let him see, and after he had looked for a little time he did not know what to do next.
""she is dead," he said uncomfortably.
""perhaps she is frightened at being dead."
he thought of hopping off in a comic sort of way till he was out of sight of her, and then never going near the spot any more.
they would all have been glad to follow if he had done this.
but there was the arrow.
he took it from her heart and faced his band.
""whose arrow?"
he demanded sternly.
""mine, peter," said tootles on his knees.
""oh, dastard hand," peter said, and he raised the arrow to use it as a dagger.
tootles did not flinch.
he bared his breast.
""strike, peter," he said firmly, "strike true."
twice did peter raise the arrow, and twice did his hand fall.
""i can not strike," he said with awe, "there is something stays my hand."
all looked at him in wonder, save nibs, who fortunately looked at wendy.
""it is she," he cried, "the wendy lady, see, her arm!"
wonderful to relate -lsb- tell -rsb-, wendy had raised her arm.
nibs bent over her and listened reverently.
""i think she said, "poor tootles,"" he whispered.
""she lives," peter said briefly.
slightly cried instantly, "the wendy lady lives."
then peter knelt beside her and found his button.
you remember she had put it on a chain that she wore round her neck.
""see," he said, "the arrow struck against this.
it is the kiss i gave her.
it has saved her life."
""i remember kisses," slightly interposed quickly, "let me see it.
ay, that's a kiss."
peter did not hear him.
he was begging wendy to get better quickly, so that he could show her the mermaids.
of course she could not answer yet, being still in a frightful faint; but from overhead came a wailing note.
""listen to tink," said curly, "she is crying because the wendy lives."
then they had to tell peter of tink's crime, and almost never had they seen him look so stern.
""listen, tinker bell," he cried, "i am your friend no more.
begone from me for ever."
she flew on to his shoulder and pleaded, but he brushed her off.
not until wendy again raised her arm did he relent sufficiently to say, "well, not for ever, but for a whole week."
do you think tinker bell was grateful to wendy for raising her arm?
oh dear no, never wanted to pinch her so much.
fairies indeed are strange, and peter, who understood them best, often cuffed -lsb- slapped -rsb- them.
but what to do with wendy in her present delicate state of health?
""let us carry her down into the house," curly suggested.
""ay," said slightly, "that is what one does with ladies."
""no, no," peter said, "you must not touch her.
it would not be sufficiently respectful."
""that," said slightly, "is what i was thinking."
""but if she lies there," tootles said, "she will die."
""ay, she will die," slightly admitted, "but there is no way out."
""yes, there is," cried peter.
""let us build a little house round her."
they were all delighted.
""quick," he ordered them, "bring me each of you the best of what we have.
gut our house.
be sharp."
in a moment they were as busy as tailors the night before a wedding.
they skurried this way and that, down for bedding, up for firewood, and while they were at it, who should appear but john and michael.
as they dragged along the ground they fell asleep standing, stopped, woke up, moved another step and slept again.
""john, john," michael would cry, "wake up!
where is nana, john, and mother?"
and then john would rub his eyes and mutter, "it is true, we did fly."
you may be sure they were very relieved to find peter.
""hullo, peter," they said.
""hullo," replied peter amicably, though he had quite forgotten them.
he was very busy at the moment measuring wendy with his feet to see how large a house she would need.
of course he meant to leave room for chairs and a table.
john and michael watched him.
""is wendy asleep?"
they asked.
""yes."
""john," michael proposed, "let us wake her and get her to make supper for us," but as he said it some of the other boys rushed on carrying branches for the building of the house.
""look at them!"
he cried.
""curly," said peter in his most captainy voice, "see that these boys help in the building of the house."
""ay, ay, sir."
""build a house?"
exclaimed john.
""for the wendy," said curly.
""for wendy?"
john said, aghast.
""why, she is only a girl!"
""that," explained curly, "is why we are her servants."
""you?
wendy's servants!"
""yes," said peter, "and you also.
away with them."
the astounded brothers were dragged away to hack and hew and carry.
""chairs and a fender -lsb- fireplace -rsb- first," peter ordered.
""then we shall build a house round them."
""ay," said slightly, "that is how a house is built; it all comes back to me."
peter thought of everything.
""slightly," he cried, "fetch a doctor."
""ay, ay," said slightly at once, and disappeared, scratching his head.
but he knew peter must be obeyed, and he returned in a moment, wearing john's hat and looking solemn.
""please, sir," said peter, going to him, "are you a doctor?"
the difference between him and the other boys at such a time was that they knew it was make-believe, while to him make-believe and true were exactly the same thing.
this sometimes troubled them, as when they had to make-believe that they had had their dinners.
if they broke down in their make-believe he rapped them on the knuckles.
""yes, my little man," slightly anxiously replied, who had chapped knuckles.
""please, sir," peter explained, "a lady lies very ill."
she was lying at their feet, but slightly had the sense not to see her.
""tut, tut, tut," he said, "where does she lie?"
""in yonder glade."
""i will put a glass thing in her mouth," said slightly, and he made-believe to do it, while peter waited.
it was an anxious moment when the glass thing was withdrawn.
""how is she?"
inquired peter.
""tut, tut, tut," said slightly, "this has cured her."
""i am glad!"
peter cried.
""i will call again in the evening," slightly said; "give her beef tea out of a cup with a spout to it;" but after he had returned the hat to john he blew big breaths, which was his habit on escaping from a difficulty.
in the meantime the wood had been alive with the sound of axes; almost everything needed for a cosy dwelling already lay at wendy's feet.
""if only we knew," said one, "the kind of house she likes best."
""peter," shouted another, "she is moving in her sleep."
""her mouth opens," cried a third, looking respectfully into it.
""oh, lovely!"
""perhaps she is going to sing in her sleep," said peter.
""wendy, sing the kind of house you would like to have."
immediately, without opening her eyes, wendy began to sing: "i wish i had a pretty house, the littlest ever seen, with funny little red walls and roof of mossy green."
they gurgled with joy at this, for by the greatest good luck the branches they had brought were sticky with red sap, and all the ground was carpeted with moss.
as they rattled up the little house they broke into song themselves: "we've built the little walls and roof and made a lovely door, so tell us, mother wendy, what are you wanting more?"
to this she answered greedily: "oh, really next i think i'll have gay windows all about, with roses peeping in, you know, and babies peeping out."
with a blow of their fists they made windows, and large yellow leaves were the blinds.
but roses --?
""roses," cried peter sternly.
quickly they made-believe to grow the loveliest roses up the walls.
babies?
to prevent peter ordering babies they hurried into song again: "we've made the roses peeping out, the babes are at the door, we can not make ourselves, you know, "cos we've been made before."
peter, seeing this to be a good idea, at once pretended that it was his own.
the house was quite beautiful, and no doubt wendy was very cosy within, though, of course, they could no longer see her.
peter strode up and down, ordering finishing touches.
nothing escaped his eagle eyes.
just when it seemed absolutely finished: "there's no knocker on the door," he said.
they were very ashamed, but tootles gave the sole of his shoe, and it made an excellent knocker.
absolutely finished now, they thought.
not of bit of it.
""there's no chimney," peter said; "we must have a chimney."
""it certainly does need a chimney," said john importantly.
this gave peter an idea.
he snatched the hat off john's head, knocked out the bottom -lsb- top -rsb-, and put the hat on the roof.
the little house was so pleased to have such a capital chimney that, as if to say thank you, smoke immediately began to come out of the hat.
now really and truly it was finished.
nothing remained to do but to knock.
""all look your best," peter warned them; "first impressions are awfully important."
he was glad no one asked him what first impressions are; they were all too busy looking their best.
he knocked politely, and now the wood was as still as the children, not a sound to be heard except from tinker bell, who was watching from a branch and openly sneering.
what the boys were wondering was, would any one answer the knock?
if a lady, what would she be like?
the door opened and a lady came out.
it was wendy.
they all whipped off their hats.
she looked properly surprised, and this was just how they had hoped she would look.
""where am i?"
she said.
of course slightly was the first to get his word in.
""wendy lady," he said rapidly, "for you we built this house."
""oh, say you're pleased," cried nibs.
""lovely, darling house," wendy said, and they were the very words they had hoped she would say.
""and we are your children," cried the twins.
then all went on their knees, and holding out their arms cried, "o wendy lady, be our mother."
""ought i?"
wendy said, all shining.
""of course it's frightfully fascinating, but you see i am only a little girl.
i have no real experience."
""that does n't matter," said peter, as if he were the only person present who knew all about it, though he was really the one who knew least.
""what we need is just a nice motherly person."
""oh dear!"
wendy said, "you see, i feel that is exactly what i am."
""it is, it is," they all cried; "we saw it at once."
""very well," she said, "i will do my best.
come inside at once, you naughty children; i am sure your feet are damp.
and before i put you to bed i have just time to finish the story of cinderella."
in they went; i do n't know how there was room for them, but you can squeeze very tight in the neverland.
and that was the first of the many joyous evenings they had with wendy.
by and by she tucked them up in the great bed in the home under the trees, but she herself slept that night in the little house, and peter kept watch outside with drawn sword, for the pirates could be heard carousing far away and the wolves were on the prowl.
the little house looked so cosy and safe in the darkness, with a bright light showing through its blinds, and the chimney smoking beautifully, and peter standing on guard.
after a time he fell asleep, and some unsteady fairies had to climb over him on their way home from an orgy.
any of the other boys obstructing the fairy path at night they would have mischiefed, but they just tweaked peter's nose and passed on.
chapter 7 the home under the ground one of the first things peter did next day was to measure wendy and john and michael for hollow trees.
hook, you remember, had sneered at the boys for thinking they needed a tree apiece, but this was ignorance, for unless your tree fitted you it was difficult to go up and down, and no two of the boys were quite the same size.
once you fitted, you drew in -lsb- let out -rsb- your breath at the top, and down you went at exactly the right speed, while to ascend you drew in and let out alternately, and so wriggled up.
of course, when you have mastered the action you are able to do these things without thinking of them, and nothing can be more graceful.
but you simply must fit, and peter measures you for your tree as carefully as for a suit of clothes: the only difference being that the clothes are made to fit you, while you have to be made to fit the tree.
usually it is done quite easily, as by your wearing too many garments or too few, but if you are bumpy in awkward places or the only available tree is an odd shape, peter does some things to you, and after that you fit.
once you fit, great care must be taken to go on fitting, and this, as wendy was to discover to her delight, keeps a whole family in perfect condition.
wendy and michael fitted their trees at the first try, but john had to be altered a little.
after a few days" practice they could go up and down as gaily as buckets in a well.
and how ardently they grew to love their home under the ground; especially wendy.
it consisted of one large room, as all houses should do, with a floor in which you could dig -lsb- for worms -rsb- if you wanted to go fishing, and in this floor grew stout mushrooms of a charming colour, which were used as stools.
a never tree tried hard to grow in the centre of the room, but every morning they sawed the trunk through, level with the floor.
by tea-time it was always about two feet high, and then they put a door on top of it, the whole thus becoming a table; as soon as they cleared away, they sawed off the trunk again, and thus there was more room to play.
there was an enormous fireplace which was in almost any part of the room where you cared to light it, and across this wendy stretched strings, made of fibre, from which she suspended her washing.
the bed was tilted against the wall by day, and let down at 6:30, when it filled nearly half the room; and all the boys slept in it, except michael, lying like sardines in a tin.
there was a strict rule against turning round until one gave the signal, when all turned at once.
michael should have used it also, but wendy would have -lsb- desired -rsb- a baby, and he was the littlest, and you know what women are, and the short and long of it is that he was hung up in a basket.
it was rough and simple, and not unlike what baby bears would have made of an underground house in the same circumstances.
but there was one recess in the wall, no larger than a bird-cage, which was the private apartment of tinker bell.
it could be shut off from the rest of the house by a tiny curtain, which tink, who was most fastidious -lsb- particular -rsb-, always kept drawn when dressing or undressing.
no woman, however large, could have had a more exquisite boudoir -lsb- dressing room -rsb- and bed-chamber combined.
the couch, as she always called it, was a genuine queen mab, with club legs; and she varied the bedspreads according to what fruit-blossom was in season.
her mirror was a puss-in-boots, of which there are now only three, unchipped, known to fairy dealers; the washstand was pie-crust and reversible, the chest of drawers an authentic charming the sixth, and the carpet and rugs the best -lrb- the early -rrb- period of margery and robin.
there was a chandelier from tiddlywinks for the look of the thing, but of course she lit the residence herself.
tink was very contemptuous of the rest of the house, as indeed was perhaps inevitable, and her chamber, though beautiful, looked rather conceited, having the appearance of a nose permanently turned up.
i suppose it was all especially entrancing to wendy, because those rampagious boys of hers gave her so much to do.
really there were whole weeks when, except perhaps with a stocking in the evening, she was never above ground.
the cooking, i can tell you, kept her nose to the pot, and even if there was nothing in it, even if there was no pot, she had to keep watching that it came aboil just the same.
you never exactly knew whether there would be a real meal or just a make-believe, it all depended upon peter's whim: he could eat, really eat, if it was part of a game, but he could not stodge -lsb- cram down the food -rsb- just to feel stodgy -lsb- stuffed with food -rsb-, which is what most children like better than anything else; the next best thing being to talk about it.
make-believe was so real to him that during a meal of it you could see him getting rounder.
of course it was trying, but you simply had to follow his lead, and if you could prove to him that you were getting loose for your tree he let you stodge.
wendy's favourite time for sewing and darning was after they had all gone to bed.
then, as she expressed it, she had a breathing time for herself; and she occupied it in making new things for them, and putting double pieces on the knees, for they were all most frightfully hard on their knees.
when she sat down to a basketful of their stockings, every heel with a hole in it, she would fling up her arms and exclaim, "oh dear, i am sure i sometimes think spinsters are to be envied!"
her face beamed when she exclaimed this.
you remember about her pet wolf.
well, it very soon discovered that she had come to the island and it found her out, and they just ran into each other's arms.
after that it followed her about everywhere.
as time wore on did she think much about the beloved parents she had left behind her?
this is a difficult question, because it is quite impossible to say how time does wear on in the neverland, where it is calculated by moons and suns, and there are ever so many more of them than on the mainland.
but i am afraid that wendy did not really worry about her father and mother; she was absolutely confident that they would always keep the window open for her to fly back by, and this gave her complete ease of mind.
what did disturb her at times was that john remembered his parents vaguely only, as people he had once known, while michael was quite willing to believe that she was really his mother.
these things scared her a little, and nobly anxious to do her duty, she tried to fix the old life in their minds by setting them examination papers on it, as like as possible to the ones she used to do at school.
the other boys thought this awfully interesting, and insisted on joining, and they made slates for themselves, and sat round the table, writing and thinking hard about the questions she had written on another slate and passed round.
they were the most ordinary questions -- "what was the colour of mother's eyes?
which was taller, father or mother?
was mother blonde or brunette?
answer all three questions if possible.""
-lrb- a -rrb- write an essay of not less than 40 words on how i spent my last holidays, or the characters of father and mother compared.
only one of these to be attempted."
or" -lrb- 1 -rrb- describe mother's laugh; -lrb- 2 -rrb- describe father's laugh; -lrb- 3 -rrb- describe mother's party dress; -lrb- 4 -rrb- describe the kennel and its inmate."
they were just everyday questions like these, and when you could not answer them you were told to make a cross; and it was really dreadful what a number of crosses even john made.
of course the only boy who replied to every question was slightly, and no one could have been more hopeful of coming out first, but his answers were perfectly ridiculous, and he really came out last: a melancholy thing.
peter did not compete.
for one thing he despised all mothers except wendy, and for another he was the only boy on the island who could neither write nor spell; not the smallest word.
he was above all that sort of thing.
by the way, the questions were all written in the past tense.
what was the colour of mother's eyes, and so on.
wendy, you see, had been forgetting, too.
adventures, of course, as we shall see, were of daily occurrence; but about this time peter invented, with wendy's help, a new game that fascinated him enormously, until he suddenly had no more interest in it, which, as you have been told, was what always happened with his games.
it consisted in pretending not to have adventures, in doing the sort of thing john and michael had been doing all their lives, sitting on stools flinging balls in the air, pushing each other, going out for walks and coming back without having killed so much as a grizzly.
to see peter doing nothing on a stool was a great sight; he could not help looking solemn at such times, to sit still seemed to him such a comic thing to do.
he boasted that he had gone walking for the good of his health.
for several suns these were the most novel of all adventures to him; and john and michael had to pretend to be delighted also; otherwise he would have treated them severely.
he often went out alone, and when he came back you were never absolutely certain whether he had had an adventure or not.
he might have forgotten it so completely that he said nothing about it; and then when you went out you found the body; and, on the other hand, he might say a great deal about it, and yet you could not find the body.
sometimes he came home with his head bandaged, and then wendy cooed over him and bathed it in lukewarm water, while he told a dazzling tale.
but she was never quite sure, you know.
there were, however, many adventures which she knew to be true because she was in them herself, and there were still more that were at least partly true, for the other boys were in them and said they were wholly true.
to describe them all would require a book as large as an english-latin, latin-english dictionary, and the most we can do is to give one as a specimen of an average hour on the island.
the difficulty is which one to choose.
should we take the brush with the redskins at slightly gulch?
it was a sanguinary -lsb- cheerful -rsb- affair, and especially interesting as showing one of peter's peculiarities, which was that in the middle of a fight he would suddenly change sides.
at the gulch, when victory was still in the balance, sometimes leaning this way and sometimes that, he called out, "i'm redskin to-day; what are you, tootles?"
and tootles answered, "redskin; what are you, nibs?"
and nibs said, "redskin; what are you twin?"
and so on; and they were all redskins; and of course this would have ended the fight had not the real redskins fascinated by peter's methods, agreed to be lost boys for that once, and so at it they all went again, more fiercely than ever.
the extraordinary upshot of this adventure was -- but we have not decided yet that this is the adventure we are to narrate.
perhaps a better one would be the night attack by the redskins on the house under the ground, when several of them stuck in the hollow trees and had to be pulled out like corks.
or we might tell how peter saved tiger lily's life in the mermaids" lagoon, and so made her his ally.
or we could tell of that cake the pirates cooked so that the boys might eat it and perish; and how they placed it in one cunning spot after another; but always wendy snatched it from the hands of her children, so that in time it lost its succulence, and became as hard as a stone, and was used as a missile, and hook fell over it in the dark.
or suppose we tell of the birds that were peter's friends, particularly of the never bird that built in a tree overhanging the lagoon, and how the nest fell into the water, and still the bird sat on her eggs, and peter gave orders that she was not to be disturbed.
that is a pretty story, and the end shows how grateful a bird can be; but if we tell it we must also tell the whole adventure of the lagoon, which would of course be telling two adventures rather than just one.
a shorter adventure, and quite as exciting, was tinker bell's attempt, with the help of some street fairies, to have the sleeping wendy conveyed on a great floating leaf to the mainland.
fortunately the leaf gave way and wendy woke, thinking it was bath-time, and swam back.
or again, we might choose peter's defiance of the lions, when he drew a circle round him on the ground with an arrow and dared them to cross it; and though he waited for hours, with the other boys and wendy looking on breathlessly from trees, not one of them dared to accept his challenge.
which of these adventures shall we choose?
the best way will be to toss for it.
i have tossed, and the lagoon has won.
this almost makes one wish that the gulch or the cake or tink's leaf had won.
of course i could do it again, and make it best out of three; however, perhaps fairest to stick to the lagoon.
chapter 8 the mermaids" lagoon if you shut your eyes and are a lucky one, you may see at times a shapeless pool of lovely pale colours suspended in the darkness; then if you squeeze your eyes tighter, the pool begins to take shape, and the colours become so vivid that with another squeeze they must go on fire.
but just before they go on fire you see the lagoon.
this is the nearest you ever get to it on the mainland, just one heavenly moment; if there could be two moments you might see the surf and hear the mermaids singing.
the children often spent long summer days on this lagoon, swimming or floating most of the time, playing the mermaid games in the water, and so forth.
you must not think from this that the mermaids were on friendly terms with them: on the contrary, it was among wendy's lasting regrets that all the time she was on the island she never had a civil word from one of them.
when she stole softly to the edge of the lagoon she might see them by the score, especially on marooners" rock, where they loved to bask, combing out their hair in a lazy way that quite irritated her; or she might even swim, on tiptoe as it were, to within a yard of them, but then they saw her and dived, probably splashing her with their tails, not by accident, but intentionally.
they treated all the boys in the same way, except of course peter, who chatted with them on marooners" rock by the hour, and sat on their tails when they got cheeky.
he gave wendy one of their combs.
the most haunting time at which to see them is at the turn of the moon, when they utter strange wailing cries; but the lagoon is dangerous for mortals then, and until the evening of which we have now to tell, wendy had never seen the lagoon by moonlight, less from fear, for of course peter would have accompanied her, than because she had strict rules about every one being in bed by seven.
she was often at the lagoon, however, on sunny days after rain, when the mermaids come up in extraordinary numbers to play with their bubbles.
the bubbles of many colours made in rainbow water they treat as balls, hitting them gaily from one to another with their tails, and trying to keep them in the rainbow till they burst.
the goals are at each end of the rainbow, and the keepers only are allowed to use their hands.
sometimes a dozen of these games will be going on in the lagoon at a time, and it is quite a pretty sight.
but the moment the children tried to join in they had to play by themselves, for the mermaids immediately disappeared.
nevertheless we have proof that they secretly watched the interlopers, and were not above taking an idea from them; for john introduced a new way of hitting the bubble, with the head instead of the hand, and the mermaids adopted it.
this is the one mark that john has left on the neverland.
it must also have been rather pretty to see the children resting on a rock for half an hour after their mid-day meal.
wendy insisted on their doing this, and it had to be a real rest even though the meal was make-believe.
so they lay there in the sun, and their bodies glistened in it, while she sat beside them and looked important.
it was one such day, and they were all on marooners" rock.
the rock was not much larger than their great bed, but of course they all knew how not to take up much room, and they were dozing, or at least lying with their eyes shut, and pinching occasionally when they thought wendy was not looking.
she was very busy, stitching.
while she stitched a change came to the lagoon.
little shivers ran over it, and the sun went away and shadows stole across the water, turning it cold.
wendy could no longer see to thread her needle, and when she looked up, the lagoon that had always hitherto been such a laughing place seemed formidable and unfriendly.
it was not, she knew, that night had come, but something as dark as night had come.
no, worse than that.
it had not come, but it had sent that shiver through the sea to say that it was coming.
what was it?
there crowded upon her all the stories she had been told of marooners" rock, so called because evil captains put sailors on it and leave them there to drown.
they drown when the tide rises, for then it is submerged.
of course she should have roused the children at once; not merely because of the unknown that was stalking toward them, but because it was no longer good for them to sleep on a rock grown chilly.
but she was a young mother and she did not know this; she thought you simply must stick to your rule about half an hour after the mid-day meal.
so, though fear was upon her, and she longed to hear male voices, she would not waken them.
even when she heard the sound of muffled oars, though her heart was in her mouth, she did not waken them.
she stood over them to let them have their sleep out.
was it not brave of wendy?
it was well for those boys then that there was one among them who could sniff danger even in his sleep.
peter sprang erect, as wide awake at once as a dog, and with one warning cry he roused the others.
he stood motionless, one hand to his ear.
""pirates!"
he cried.
the others came closer to him.
a strange smile was playing about his face, and wendy saw it and shuddered.
while that smile was on his face no one dared address him; all they could do was to stand ready to obey.
the order came sharp and incisive.
""dive!"
there was a gleam of legs, and instantly the lagoon seemed deserted.
marooners" rock stood alone in the forbidding waters as if it were itself marooned.
the boat drew nearer.
it was the pirate dinghy, with three figures in her, smee and starkey, and the third a captive, no other than tiger lily.
her hands and ankles were tied, and she knew what was to be her fate.
she was to be left on the rock to perish, an end to one of her race more terrible than death by fire or torture, for is it not written in the book of the tribe that there is no path through water to the happy hunting-ground?
yet her face was impassive; she was the daughter of a chief, she must die as a chief's daughter, it is enough.
they had caught her boarding the pirate ship with a knife in her mouth.
no watch was kept on the ship, it being hook's boast that the wind of his name guarded the ship for a mile around.
now her fate would help to guard it also.
one more wail would go the round in that wind by night.
in the gloom that they brought with them the two pirates did not see the rock till they crashed into it.
""luff, you lubber," cried an irish voice that was smee's; "here's the rock.
now, then, what we have to do is to hoist the redskin on to it and leave her here to drown."
it was the work of one brutal moment to land the beautiful girl on the rock; she was too proud to offer a vain resistance.
quite near the rock, but out of sight, two heads were bobbing up and down, peter's and wendy's.
wendy was crying, for it was the first tragedy she had seen.
peter had seen many tragedies, but he had forgotten them all.
he was less sorry than wendy for tiger lily: it was two against one that angered him, and he meant to save her.
an easy way would have been to wait until the pirates had gone, but he was never one to choose the easy way.
there was almost nothing he could not do, and he now imitated the voice of hook.
""ahoy there, you lubbers!"
he called.
it was a marvellous imitation.
""the captain!"
said the pirates, staring at each other in surprise.
""he must be swimming out to us," starkey said, when they had looked for him in vain.
""we are putting the redskin on the rock," smee called out.
""set her free," came the astonishing answer.
""free!"
""yes, cut her bonds and let her go."
""but, captain --" "at once, d'ye hear," cried peter, "or i'll plunge my hook in you."
""this is queer!"
smee gasped.
""better do what the captain orders," said starkey nervously.
""ay, ay."
smee said, and he cut tiger lily's cords.
at once like an eel she slid between starkey's legs into the water.
of course wendy was very elated over peter's cleverness; but she knew that he would be elated also and very likely crow and thus betray himself, so at once her hand went out to cover his mouth.
but it was stayed even in the act, for "boat ahoy!"
rang over the lagoon in hook's voice, and this time it was not peter who had spoken.
peter may have been about to crow, but his face puckered in a whistle of surprise instead.
""boat ahoy!"
again came the voice.
now wendy understood.
the real hook was also in the water.
he was swimming to the boat, and as his men showed a light to guide him he had soon reached them.
in the light of the lantern wendy saw his hook grip the boat's side; she saw his evil swarthy face as he rose dripping from the water, and, quaking, she would have liked to swim away, but peter would not budge.
he was tingling with life and also top-heavy with conceit.
""am i not a wonder, oh, i am a wonder!"
he whispered to her, and though she thought so also, she was really glad for the sake of his reputation that no one heard him except herself.
he signed to her to listen.
the two pirates were very curious to know what had brought their captain to them, but he sat with his head on his hook in a position of profound melancholy.
""captain, is all well?"
they asked timidly, but he answered with a hollow moan.
""he sighs," said smee.
""he sighs again," said starkey.
""and yet a third time he sighs," said smee.
then at last he spoke passionately.
""the game's up," he cried, "those boys have found a mother."
affrighted though she was, wendy swelled with pride.
""o evil day!"
cried starkey.
""what's a mother?"
asked the ignorant smee.
wendy was so shocked that she exclaimed.
""he does n't know!"
and always after this she felt that if you could have a pet pirate smee would be her one.
peter pulled her beneath the water, for hook had started up, crying, "what was that?"
""i heard nothing," said starkey, raising the lantern over the waters, and as the pirates looked they saw a strange sight.
it was the nest i have told you of, floating on the lagoon, and the never bird was sitting on it.
""see," said hook in answer to smee's question, "that is a mother.
what a lesson!
the nest must have fallen into the water, but would the mother desert her eggs?
no."
there was a break in his voice, as if for a moment he recalled innocent days when -- but he brushed away this weakness with his hook.
smee, much impressed, gazed at the bird as the nest was borne past, but the more suspicious starkey said, "if she is a mother, perhaps she is hanging about here to help peter."
hook winced.
""ay," he said, "that is the fear that haunts me."
he was roused from this dejection by smee's eager voice.
""captain," said smee, "could we not kidnap these boys" mother and make her our mother?"
""it is a princely scheme," cried hook, and at once it took practical shape in his great brain.
""we will seize the children and carry them to the boat: the boys we will make walk the plank, and wendy shall be our mother."
again wendy forgot herself.
""never!"
she cried, and bobbed.
""what was that?"
but they could see nothing.
they thought it must have been a leaf in the wind.
""do you agree, my bullies?"
asked hook.
""there is my hand on it," they both said.
""and there is my hook.
swear."
they all swore.
by this time they were on the rock, and suddenly hook remembered tiger lily.
""where is the redskin?"
he demanded abruptly.
he had a playful humour at moments, and they thought this was one of the moments.
""that is all right, captain," smee answered complacently; "we let her go."
""let her go!"
cried hook."
't was your own orders," the bo "sun faltered.
""you called over the water to us to let her go," said starkey.
""brimstone and gall," thundered hook, "what cozening -lsb- cheating -rsb- is going on here!"
his face had gone black with rage, but he saw that they believed their words, and he was startled.
""lads," he said, shaking a little, "i gave no such order."
""it is passing queer," smee said, and they all fidgeted uncomfortably.
hook raised his voice, but there was a quiver in it.
""spirit that haunts this dark lagoon to-night," he cried, "dost hear me?"
of course peter should have kept quiet, but of course he did not.
he immediately answered in hook's voice: "odds, bobs, hammer and tongs, i hear you."
in that supreme moment hook did not blanch, even at the gills, but smee and starkey clung to each other in terror.
""who are you, stranger?
speak!"
hook demanded.
""i am james hook," replied the voice, "captain of the jolly roger."
""you are not; you are not," hook cried hoarsely.
""brimstone and gall," the voice retorted, "say that again, and i'll cast anchor in you."
hook tried a more ingratiating manner.
""if you are hook," he said almost humbly, "come tell me, who am i?"
""a codfish," replied the voice, "only a codfish."
""a codfish!"
hook echoed blankly, and it was then, but not till then, that his proud spirit broke.
he saw his men draw back from him.
""have we been captained all this time by a codfish!"
they muttered.
""it is lowering to our pride."
they were his dogs snapping at him, but, tragic figure though he had become, he scarcely heeded them.
against such fearful evidence it was not their belief in him that he needed, it was his own.
he felt his ego slipping from him.
""do n't desert me, bully," he whispered hoarsely to it.
in his dark nature there was a touch of the feminine, as in all the great pirates, and it sometimes gave him intuitions.
suddenly he tried the guessing game.
""hook," he called, "have you another voice?"
now peter could never resist a game, and he answered blithely in his own voice, "i have."
""and another name?"
""ay, ay."
""vegetable?"
asked hook.
""no."
""mineral?"
""no."
""animal?"
""yes."
""man?"
""no!"
this answer rang out scornfully.
""boy?"
""yes."
""ordinary boy?"
""no!"
""wonderful boy?"
to wendy's pain the answer that rang out this time was "yes."
""are you in england?"
""no."
""are you here?"
""yes."
hook was completely puzzled.
""you ask him some questions," he said to the others, wiping his damp brow.
smee reflected.
""i ca n't think of a thing," he said regretfully.
""ca n't guess, ca n't guess!"
crowed peter.
""do you give it up?"
of course in his pride he was carrying the game too far, and the miscreants -lsb- villains -rsb- saw their chance.
""yes, yes," they answered eagerly.
""well, then," he cried, "i am peter pan."
pan!
in a moment hook was himself again, and smee and starkey were his faithful henchmen.
""now we have him," hook shouted.
""into the water, smee.
starkey, mind the boat.
take him dead or alive!"
he leaped as he spoke, and simultaneously came the gay voice of peter.
""are you ready, boys?"
""ay, ay," from various parts of the lagoon.
""then lam into the pirates."
the fight was short and sharp.
first to draw blood was john, who gallantly climbed into the boat and held starkey.
there was fierce struggle, in which the cutlass was torn from the pirate's grasp.
he wriggled overboard and john leapt after him.
the dinghy drifted away.
here and there a head bobbed up in the water, and there was a flash of steel followed by a cry or a whoop.
in the confusion some struck at their own side.
the corkscrew of smee got tootles in the fourth rib, but he was himself pinked -lsb- nicked -rsb- in turn by curly.
farther from the rock starkey was pressing slightly and the twins hard.
where all this time was peter?
he was seeking bigger game.
the others were all brave boys, and they must not be blamed for backing from the pirate captain.
his iron claw made a circle of dead water round him, from which they fled like affrighted fishes.
but there was one who did not fear him: there was one prepared to enter that circle.
strangely, it was not in the water that they met.
hook rose to the rock to breathe, and at the same moment peter scaled it on the opposite side.
the rock was slippery as a ball, and they had to crawl rather than climb.
neither knew that the other was coming.
each feeling for a grip met the other's arm: in surprise they raised their heads; their faces were almost touching; so they met.
some of the greatest heroes have confessed that just before they fell to -lsb- began combat -rsb- they had a sinking -lsb- feeling in the stomach -rsb-.
had it been so with peter at that moment i would admit it.
after all, he was the only man that the sea-cook had feared.
but peter had no sinking, he had one feeling only, gladness; and he gnashed his pretty teeth with joy.
quick as thought he snatched a knife from hook's belt and was about to drive it home, when he saw that he was higher up the rock that his foe.
it would not have been fighting fair.
he gave the pirate a hand to help him up.
it was then that hook bit him.
not the pain of this but its unfairness was what dazed peter.
it made him quite helpless.
he could only stare, horrified.
every child is affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly.
all he thinks he has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness.
after you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but will never afterwards be quite the same boy.
no one ever gets over the first unfairness; no one except peter.
he often met it, but he always forgot it.
i suppose that was the real difference between him and all the rest.
so when he met it now it was like the first time; and he could just stare, helpless.
twice the iron hand clawed him.
a few moments afterwards the other boys saw hook in the water striking wildly for the ship; no elation on the pestilent face now, only white fear, for the crocodile was in dogged pursuit of him.
on ordinary occasions the boys would have swum alongside cheering; but now they were uneasy, for they had lost both peter and wendy, and were scouring the lagoon for them, calling them by name.
they found the dinghy and went home in it, shouting "peter, wendy" as they went, but no answer came save mocking laughter from the mermaids.
""they must be swimming back or flying," the boys concluded.
they were not very anxious, because they had such faith in peter.
they chuckled, boylike, because they would be late for bed; and it was all mother wendy's fault!
when their voices died away there came cold silence over the lagoon, and then a feeble cry.
""help, help!"
two small figures were beating against the rock; the girl had fainted and lay on the boy's arm.
with a last effort peter pulled her up the rock and then lay down beside her.
even as he also fainted he saw that the water was rising.
he knew that they would soon be drowned, but he could do no more.
as they lay side by side a mermaid caught wendy by the feet, and began pulling her softly into the water.
peter, feeling her slip from him, woke with a start, and was just in time to draw her back.
but he had to tell her the truth.
""we are on the rock, wendy," he said, "but it is growing smaller.
soon the water will be over it."
she did not understand even now.
""we must go," she said, almost brightly.
""yes," he answered faintly.
""shall we swim or fly, peter?"
he had to tell her.
""do you think you could swim or fly as far as the island, wendy, without my help?"
she had to admit that she was too tired.
he moaned.
""what is it?"
she asked, anxious about him at once.
""i ca n't help you, wendy.
hook wounded me.
i can neither fly nor swim."
""do you mean we shall both be drowned?"
""look how the water is rising."
they put their hands over their eyes to shut out the sight.
they thought they would soon be no more.
as they sat thus something brushed against peter as light as a kiss, and stayed there, as if saying timidly, "can i be of any use?"
it was the tail of a kite, which michael had made some days before.
it had torn itself out of his hand and floated away.
""michael's kite," peter said without interest, but next moment he had seized the tail, and was pulling the kite toward him.
""it lifted michael off the ground," he cried; "why should it not carry you?"
""both of us!"
""it ca n't lift two; michael and curly tried."
""let us draw lots," wendy said bravely.
""and you a lady; never."
already he had tied the tail round her.
she clung to him; she refused to go without him; but with a "good-bye, wendy," he pushed her from the rock; and in a few minutes she was borne out of his sight.
peter was alone on the lagoon.
the rock was very small now; soon it would be submerged.
pale rays of light tiptoed across the waters; and by and by there was to be heard a sound at once the most musical and the most melancholy in the world: the mermaids calling to the moon.
peter was not quite like other boys; but he was afraid at last.
a tremour ran through him, like a shudder passing over the sea; but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them, and peter felt just the one.
next moment he was standing erect on the rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him.
it was saying, "to die will be an awfully big adventure."
chapter 9 the never bird the last sound peter heard before he was quite alone were the mermaids retiring one by one to their bedchambers under the sea.
he was too far away to hear their doors shut; but every door in the coral caves where they live rings a tiny bell when it opens or closes -lrb- as in all the nicest houses on the mainland -rrb-, and he heard the bells.
steadily the waters rose till they were nibbling at his feet; and to pass the time until they made their final gulp, he watched the only thing on the lagoon.
he thought it was a piece of floating paper, perhaps part of the kite, and wondered idly how long it would take to drift ashore.
presently he noticed as an odd thing that it was undoubtedly out upon the lagoon with some definite purpose, for it was fighting the tide, and sometimes winning; and when it won, peter, always sympathetic to the weaker side, could not help clapping; it was such a gallant piece of paper.
it was not really a piece of paper; it was the never bird, making desperate efforts to reach peter on the nest.
by working her wings, in a way she had learned since the nest fell into the water, she was able to some extent to guide her strange craft, but by the time peter recognised her she was very exhausted.
she had come to save him, to give him her nest, though there were eggs in it.
i rather wonder at the bird, for though he had been nice to her, he had also sometimes tormented her.
i can suppose only that, like mrs. darling and the rest of them, she was melted because he had all his first teeth.
she called out to him what she had come for, and he called out to her what she was doing there; but of course neither of them understood the other's language.
in fanciful stories people can talk to the birds freely, and i wish for the moment i could pretend that this were such a story, and say that peter replied intelligently to the never bird; but truth is best, and i want to tell you only what really happened.
well, not only could they not understand each other, but they forgot their manners.
""i -- want -- you -- to -- get -- into -- the -- nest," the bird called, speaking as slowly and distinctly as possible, "and -- then -- you -- can -- drift -- ashore, but -- i -- am -- too -- tired -- to -- bring -- it -- any -- nearer -- so -- you -- must -- try to -- swim -- to -- it."
""what are you quacking about?"
peter answered.
""why do n't you let the nest drift as usual?"
""i -- want -- you --" the bird said, and repeated it all over.
then peter tried slow and distinct.
""what -- are -- you -- quacking -- about?"
and so on.
the never bird became irritated; they have very short tempers.
""you dunderheaded little jay," she screamed, "why do n't you do as i tell you?"
peter felt that she was calling him names, and at a venture he retorted hotly: "so are you!"
then rather curiously they both snapped out the same remark: "shut up!"
""shut up!"
nevertheless the bird was determined to save him if she could, and by one last mighty effort she propelled the nest against the rock.
then up she flew; deserting her eggs, so as to make her meaning clear.
then at last he understood, and clutched the nest and waved his thanks to the bird as she fluttered overhead.
it was not to receive his thanks, however, that she hung there in the sky; it was not even to watch him get into the nest; it was to see what he did with her eggs.
there were two large white eggs, and peter lifted them up and reflected.
the bird covered her face with her wings, so as not to see the last of them; but she could not help peeping between the feathers.
i forget whether i have told you that there was a stave on the rock, driven into it by some buccaneers of long ago to mark the site of buried treasure.
the children had discovered the glittering hoard, and when in a mischievous mood used to fling showers of moidores, diamonds, pearls and pieces of eight to the gulls, who pounced upon them for food, and then flew away, raging at the scurvy trick that had been played upon them.
the stave was still there, and on it starkey had hung his hat, a deep tarpaulin, watertight, with a broad brim.
peter put the eggs into this hat and set it on the lagoon.
it floated beautifully.
the never bird saw at once what he was up to, and screamed her admiration of him; and, alas, peter crowed his agreement with her.
then he got into the nest, reared the stave in it as a mast, and hung up his shirt for a sail.
at the same moment the bird fluttered down upon the hat and once more sat snugly on her eggs.
she drifted in one direction, and he was borne off in another, both cheering.
of course when peter landed he beached his barque -lsb- small ship, actually the never bird's nest in this particular case in point -rsb- in a place where the bird would easily find it; but the hat was such a great success that she abandoned the nest.
it drifted about till it went to pieces, and often starkey came to the shore of the lagoon, and with many bitter feelings watched the bird sitting on his hat.
as we shall not see her again, it may be worth mentioning here that all never birds now build in that shape of nest, with a broad brim on which the youngsters take an airing.
great were the rejoicings when peter reached the home under the ground almost as soon as wendy, who had been carried hither and thither by the kite.
every boy had adventures to tell; but perhaps the biggest adventure of all was that they were several hours late for bed.
this so inflated them that they did various dodgy things to get staying up still longer, such as demanding bandages; but wendy, though glorying in having them all home again safe and sound, was scandalised by the lateness of the hour, and cried, "to bed, to bed," in a voice that had to be obeyed.
next day, however, she was awfully tender, and gave out bandages to every one, and they played till bed-time at limping about and carrying their arms in slings.
chapter 10 the happy home one important result of the brush -lsb- with the pirates -rsb- on the lagoon was that it made the redskins their friends.
peter had saved tiger lily from a dreadful fate, and now there was nothing she and her braves would not do for him.
all night they sat above, keeping watch over the home under the ground and awaiting the big attack by the pirates which obviously could not be much longer delayed.
even by day they hung about, smoking the pipe of peace, and looking almost as if they wanted tit-bits to eat.
they called peter the great white father, prostrating themselves -lsb- lying down -rsb- before him; and he liked this tremendously, so that it was not really good for him.
""the great white father," he would say to them in a very lordly manner, as they grovelled at his feet, "is glad to see the piccaninny warriors protecting his wigwam from the pirates."
""me tiger lily," that lovely creature would reply.
""peter pan save me, me his velly nice friend.
me no let pirates hurt him."
she was far too pretty to cringe in this way, but peter thought it his due, and he would answer condescendingly, "it is good.
peter pan has spoken."
always when he said, "peter pan has spoken," it meant that they must now shut up, and they accepted it humbly in that spirit; but they were by no means so respectful to the other boys, whom they looked upon as just ordinary braves.
they said "how-do?"
to them, and things like that; and what annoyed the boys was that peter seemed to think this all right.
secretly wendy sympathised with them a little, but she was far too loyal a housewife to listen to any complaints against father.
""father knows best," she always said, whatever her private opinion must be.
her private opinion was that the redskins should not call her a squaw.
we have now reached the evening that was to be known among them as the night of nights, because of its adventures and their upshot.
the day, as if quietly gathering its forces, had been almost uneventful, and now the redskins in their blankets were at their posts above, while, below, the children were having their evening meal; all except peter, who had gone out to get the time.
the way you got the time on the island was to find the crocodile, and then stay near him till the clock struck.
the meal happened to be a make-believe tea, and they sat around the board, guzzling in their greed; and really, what with their chatter and recriminations, the noise, as wendy said, was positively deafening.
to be sure, she did not mind noise, but she simply would not have them grabbing things, and then excusing themselves by saying that tootles had pushed their elbow.
there was a fixed rule that they must never hit back at meals, but should refer the matter of dispute to wendy by raising the right arm politely and saying, "i complain of so-and-so;" but what usually happened was that they forgot to do this or did it too much.
""silence," cried wendy when for the twentieth time she had told them that they were not all to speak at once.
""is your mug empty, slightly darling?"
""not quite empty, mummy," slightly said, after looking into an imaginary mug.
""he has n't even begun to drink his milk," nibs interposed.
this was telling, and slightly seized his chance.
""i complain of nibs," he cried promptly.
john, however, had held up his hand first.
""well, john?"
""may i sit in peter's chair, as he is not here?"
""sit in father's chair, john!"
wendy was scandalised.
""certainly not."
""he is not really our father," john answered.
""he did n't even know how a father does till i showed him."
this was grumbling.
""we complain of john," cried the twins.
tootles held up his hand.
he was so much the humblest of them, indeed he was the only humble one, that wendy was specially gentle with him.
""i do n't suppose," tootles said diffidently -lsb- bashfully or timidly -rsb-, "that i could be father."
""no, tootles."
once tootles began, which was not very often, he had a silly way of going on.
""as i ca n't be father," he said heavily, "i do n't suppose, michael, you would let me be baby?"
""no, i wo n't," michael rapped out.
he was already in his basket.
""as i ca n't be baby," tootles said, getting heavier and heavier and heavier, "do you think i could be a twin?"
""no, indeed," replied the twins; "it's awfully difficult to be a twin."
""as i ca n't be anything important," said tootles, "would any of you like to see me do a trick?"
""no," they all replied.
then at last he stopped.
""i had n't really any hope," he said.
the hateful telling broke out again.
""slightly is coughing on the table."
""the twins began with cheese-cakes."
""curly is taking both butter and honey."
""nibs is speaking with his mouth full."
""i complain of the twins."
""i complain of curly."
""i complain of nibs."
""oh dear, oh dear," cried wendy, "i'm sure i sometimes think that spinsters are to be envied."
she told them to clear away, and sat down to her work-basket, a heavy load of stockings and every knee with a hole in it as usual.
""wendy," remonstrated -lsb- scolded -rsb- michael, "i'm too big for a cradle."
""i must have somebody in a cradle," she said almost tartly, "and you are the littlest.
a cradle is such a nice homely thing to have about a house."
while she sewed they played around her; such a group of happy faces and dancing limbs lit up by that romantic fire.
it had become a very familiar scene, this, in the home under the ground, but we are looking on it for the last time.
there was a step above, and wendy, you may be sure, was the first to recognize it.
""children, i hear your father's step.
he likes you to meet him at the door."
above, the redskins crouched before peter.
""watch well, braves.
i have spoken."
and then, as so often before, the gay children dragged him from his tree.
as so often before, but never again.
he had brought nuts for the boys as well as the correct time for wendy.
""peter, you just spoil them, you know," wendy simpered -lsb- exaggerated a smile -rsb-.
""ah, old lady," said peter, hanging up his gun.
""it was me told him mothers are called old lady," michael whispered to curly.
""i complain of michael," said curly instantly.
the first twin came to peter.
""father, we want to dance."
""dance away, my little man," said peter, who was in high good humour.
""but we want you to dance."
peter was really the best dancer among them, but he pretended to be scandalised.
""me!
my old bones would rattle!"
""and mummy too."
""what," cried wendy, "the mother of such an armful, dance!"
""but on a saturday night," slightly insinuated.
it was not really saturday night, at least it may have been, for they had long lost count of the days; but always if they wanted to do anything special they said this was saturday night, and then they did it.
""of course it is saturday night, peter," wendy said, relenting.
""people of our figure, wendy!"
""but it is only among our own progeny -lsb- children -rsb-."
""true, true."
so they were told they could dance, but they must put on their nighties first.
""ah, old lady," peter said aside to wendy, warming himself by the fire and looking down at her as she sat turning a heel, "there is nothing more pleasant of an evening for you and me when the day's toil is over than to rest by the fire with the little ones near by."
""it is sweet, peter, is n't it?"
wendy said, frightfully gratified.
""peter, i think curly has your nose."
""michael takes after you."
she went to him and put her hand on his shoulder.
""dear peter," she said, "with such a large family, of course, i have now passed my best, but you do n't want to -lsb- ex -rsb- change me, do you?"
""no, wendy."
certainly he did not want a change, but he looked at her uncomfortably, blinking, you know, like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep.
""peter, what is it?"
""i was just thinking," he said, a little scared.
""it is only make-believe, is n't it, that i am their father?"
""oh yes," wendy said primly -lsb- formally and properly -rsb-.
""you see," he continued apologetically, "it would make me seem so old to be their real father."
""but they are ours, peter, yours and mine."
""but not really, wendy?"
he asked anxiously.
""not if you do n't wish it," she replied; and she distinctly heard his sigh of relief.
""peter," she asked, trying to speak firmly, "what are your exact feelings to -lsb- about -rsb- me?"
""those of a devoted son, wendy."
""i thought so," she said, and went and sat by herself at the extreme end of the room.
""you are so queer," he said, frankly puzzled, "and tiger lily is just the same.
there is something she wants to be to me, but she says it is not my mother."
""no, indeed, it is not," wendy replied with frightful emphasis.
now we know why she was prejudiced against the redskins.
""then what is it?"
""it is n't for a lady to tell."
""oh, very well," peter said, a little nettled.
""perhaps tinker bell will tell me."
""oh yes, tinker bell will tell you," wendy retorted scornfully.
""she is an abandoned little creature."
here tink, who was in her bedroom, eavesdropping, squeaked out something impudent.
""she says she glories in being abandoned," peter interpreted.
he had a sudden idea.
""perhaps tink wants to be my mother?"
""you silly ass!"
cried tinker bell in a passion.
she had said it so often that wendy needed no translation.
""i almost agree with her," wendy snapped.
fancy wendy snapping!
but she had been much tried, and she little knew what was to happen before the night was out.
if she had known she would not have snapped.
none of them knew.
perhaps it was best not to know.
their ignorance gave them one more glad hour; and as it was to be their last hour on the island, let us rejoice that there were sixty glad minutes in it.
they sang and danced in their night-gowns.
such a deliciously creepy song it was, in which they pretended to be frightened at their own shadows, little witting that so soon shadows would close in upon them, from whom they would shrink in real fear.
so uproariously gay was the dance, and how they buffeted each other on the bed and out of it!
it was a pillow fight rather than a dance, and when it was finished, the pillows insisted on one bout more, like partners who know that they may never meet again.
the stories they told, before it was time for wendy's good-night story!
even slightly tried to tell a story that night, but the beginning was so fearfully dull that it appalled not only the others but himself, and he said happily: "yes, it is a dull beginning.
i say, let us pretend that it is the end."
and then at last they all got into bed for wendy's story, the story they loved best, the story peter hated.
usually when she began to tell this story he left the room or put his hands over his ears; and possibly if he had done either of those things this time they might all still be on the island.
but to-night he remained on his stool; and we shall see what happened.
chapter 11 wendy's story "listen, then," said wendy, settling down to her story, with michael at her feet and seven boys in the bed.
""there was once a gentleman --" "i had rather he had been a lady," curly said.
""i wish he had been a white rat," said nibs.
""quiet," their mother admonished -lsb- cautioned -rsb- them.
""there was a lady also, and --" "oh, mummy," cried the first twin, "you mean that there is a lady also, do n't you?
she is not dead, is she?"
""oh, no."
""i am awfully glad she is n't dead," said tootles.
""are you glad, john?"
""of course i am."
""are you glad, nibs?"
""rather."
""are you glad, twins?"
""we are glad."
""oh dear," sighed wendy.
""little less noise there," peter called out, determined that she should have fair play, however beastly a story it might be in his opinion.
""the gentleman's name," wendy continued, "was mr. darling, and her name was mrs. darling."
""i knew them," john said, to annoy the others.
""i think i knew them," said michael rather doubtfully.
""they were married, you know," explained wendy, "and what do you think they had?"
""white rats," cried nibs, inspired.
""no."
""it's awfully puzzling," said tootles, who knew the story by heart.
""quiet, tootles.
they had three descendants."
""what is descendants?"
""well, you are one, twin."
""did you hear that, john?
i am a descendant."
""descendants are only children," said john.
""oh dear, oh dear," sighed wendy.
""now these three children had a faithful nurse called nana; but mr. darling was angry with her and chained her up in the yard, and so all the children flew away."
""it's an awfully good story," said nibs.
""they flew away," wendy continued, "to the neverland, where the lost children are."
""i just thought they did," curly broke in excitedly.
""i do n't know how it is, but i just thought they did!"
""o wendy," cried tootles, "was one of the lost children called tootles?"
""yes, he was."
""i am in a story.
hurrah, i am in a story, nibs."
""hush.
now i want you to consider the feelings of the unhappy parents with all their children flown away."
""oo!"
they all moaned, though they were not really considering the feelings of the unhappy parents one jot.
""think of the empty beds!"
""oo!"
""it's awfully sad," the first twin said cheerfully.
""i do n't see how it can have a happy ending," said the second twin.
""do you, nibs?"
""i'm frightfully anxious."
""if you knew how great is a mother's love," wendy told them triumphantly, "you would have no fear."
she had now come to the part that peter hated.
""i do like a mother's love," said tootles, hitting nibs with a pillow.
""do you like a mother's love, nibs?"
""i do just," said nibs, hitting back.
""you see," wendy said complacently, "our heroine knew that the mother would always leave the window open for her children to fly back by; so they stayed away for years and had a lovely time."
""did they ever go back?"
""let us now," said wendy, bracing herself up for her finest effort, "take a peep into the future;" and they all gave themselves the twist that makes peeps into the future easier.
""years have rolled by, and who is this elegant lady of uncertain age alighting at london station?"
""o wendy, who is she?"
cried nibs, every bit as excited as if he did n't know.
""can it be -- yes -- no -- it is -- the fair wendy!"
""oh!"
""and who are the two noble portly figures accompanying her, now grown to man's estate?
can they be john and michael?
they are!"
""oh!""
"see, dear brothers," says wendy pointing upwards, "there is the window still standing open.
ah, now we are rewarded for our sublime faith in a mother's love."
so up they flew to their mummy and daddy, and pen can not describe the happy scene, over which we draw a veil."
that was the story, and they were as pleased with it as the fair narrator herself.
everything just as it should be, you see.
off we skip like the most heartless things in the world, which is what children are, but so attractive; and we have an entirely selfish time, and then when we have need of special attention we nobly return for it, confident that we shall be rewarded instead of smacked.
so great indeed was their faith in a mother's love that they felt they could afford to be callous for a bit longer.
but there was one there who knew better, and when wendy finished he uttered a hollow groan.
""what is it, peter?"
she cried, running to him, thinking he was ill.
she felt him solicitously, lower down than his chest.
""where is it, peter?"
""it is n't that kind of pain," peter replied darkly.
""then what kind is it?"
""wendy, you are wrong about mothers."
they all gathered round him in affright, so alarming was his agitation; and with a fine candour he told them what he had hitherto concealed.
""long ago," he said, "i thought like you that my mother would always keep the window open for me, so i stayed away for moons and moons and moons, and then flew back; but the window was barred, for mother had forgotten all about me, and there was another little boy sleeping in my bed."
i am not sure that this was true, but peter thought it was true; and it scared them.
""are you sure mothers are like that?"
""yes."
so this was the truth about mothers.
the toads!
still it is best to be careful; and no one knows so quickly as a child when he should give in.
""wendy, let us -lsb- let's -rsb- go home," cried john and michael together.
""yes," she said, clutching them.
""not to-night?"
asked the lost boys bewildered.
they knew in what they called their hearts that one can get on quite well without a mother, and that it is only the mothers who think you ca n't.
""at once," wendy replied resolutely, for the horrible thought had come to her: "perhaps mother is in half mourning by this time."
this dread made her forgetful of what must be peter's feelings, and she said to him rather sharply, "peter, will you make the necessary arrangements?"
""if you wish it," he replied, as coolly as if she had asked him to pass the nuts.
not so much as a sorry-to-lose-you between them!
if she did not mind the parting, he was going to show her, was peter, that neither did he.
but of course he cared very much; and he was so full of wrath against grown-ups, who, as usual, were spoiling everything, that as soon as he got inside his tree he breathed intentionally quick short breaths at the rate of about five to a second.
he did this because there is a saying in the neverland that, every time you breathe, a grown-up dies; and peter was killing them off vindictively as fast as possible.
then having given the necessary instructions to the redskins he returned to the home, where an unworthy scene had been enacted in his absence.
panic-stricken at the thought of losing wendy the lost boys had advanced upon her threateningly.
""it will be worse than before she came," they cried.
""we sha n't let her go."
""let's keep her prisoner."
""ay, chain her up."
in her extremity an instinct told her to which of them to turn.
""tootles," she cried, "i appeal to you."
was it not strange?
she appealed to tootles, quite the silliest one.
grandly, however, did tootles respond.
for that one moment he dropped his silliness and spoke with dignity.
""i am just tootles," he said, "and nobody minds me.
but the first who does not behave to wendy like an english gentleman i will blood him severely."
he drew back his hanger; and for that instant his sun was at noon.
the others held back uneasily.
then peter returned, and they saw at once that they would get no support from him.
he would keep no girl in the neverland against her will.
""wendy," he said, striding up and down, "i have asked the redskins to guide you through the wood, as flying tires you so."
""thank you, peter."
""then," he continued, in the short sharp voice of one accustomed to be obeyed, "tinker bell will take you across the sea.
wake her, nibs."
nibs had to knock twice before he got an answer, though tink had really been sitting up in bed listening for some time.
""who are you?
how dare you?
go away," she cried.
""you are to get up, tink," nibs called, "and take wendy on a journey."
of course tink had been delighted to hear that wendy was going; but she was jolly well determined not to be her courier, and she said so in still more offensive language.
then she pretended to be asleep again.
""she says she wo n't!"
nibs exclaimed, aghast at such insubordination, whereupon peter went sternly toward the young lady's chamber.
""tink," he rapped out, "if you do n't get up and dress at once i will open the curtains, and then we shall all see you in your negligee -lsb- nightgown -rsb-."
this made her leap to the floor.
""who said i was n't getting up?"
she cried.
in the meantime the boys were gazing very forlornly at wendy, now equipped with john and michael for the journey.
by this time they were dejected, not merely because they were about to lose her, but also because they felt that she was going off to something nice to which they had not been invited.
novelty was beckoning to them as usual.
crediting them with a nobler feeling wendy melted.
""dear ones," she said, "if you will all come with me i feel almost sure i can get my father and mother to adopt you."
the invitation was meant specially for peter, but each of the boys was thinking exclusively of himself, and at once they jumped with joy.
""but wo n't they think us rather a handful?"
nibs asked in the middle of his jump.
""oh no," said wendy, rapidly thinking it out, "it will only mean having a few beds in the drawing-room; they can be hidden behind the screens on first thursdays."
""peter, can we go?"
they all cried imploringly.
they took it for granted that if they went he would go also, but really they scarcely cared.
thus children are ever ready, when novelty knocks, to desert their dearest ones.
""all right," peter replied with a bitter smile, and immediately they rushed to get their things.
""and now, peter," wendy said, thinking she had put everything right, "i am going to give you your medicine before you go."
she loved to give them medicine, and undoubtedly gave them too much.
of course it was only water, but it was out of a bottle, and she always shook the bottle and counted the drops, which gave it a certain medicinal quality.
on this occasion, however, she did not give peter his draught -lsb- portion -rsb-, for just as she had prepared it, she saw a look on his face that made her heart sink.
""get your things, peter," she cried, shaking.
""no," he answered, pretending indifference, "i am not going with you, wendy."
""yes, peter."
""no."
to show that her departure would leave him unmoved, he skipped up and down the room, playing gaily on his heartless pipes.
she had to run about after him, though it was rather undignified.
""to find your mother," she coaxed.
now, if peter had ever quite had a mother, he no longer missed her.
he could do very well without one.
he had thought them out, and remembered only their bad points.
""no, no," he told wendy decisively; "perhaps she would say i was old, and i just want always to be a little boy and to have fun."
""but, peter --" "no."
and so the others had to be told.
""peter is n't coming."
peter not coming!
they gazed blankly at him, their sticks over their backs, and on each stick a bundle.
their first thought was that if peter was not going he had probably changed his mind about letting them go.
but he was far too proud for that.
""if you find your mothers," he said darkly, "i hope you will like them."
the awful cynicism of this made an uncomfortable impression, and most of them began to look rather doubtful.
after all, their faces said, were they not noodles to want to go?
""now then," cried peter, "no fuss, no blubbering; good-bye, wendy;" and he held out his hand cheerily, quite as if they must really go now, for he had something important to do.
she had to take his hand, and there was no indication that he would prefer a thimble.
""you will remember about changing your flannels, peter?"
she said, lingering over him.
she was always so particular about their flannels.
""yes."
""and you will take your medicine?"
""yes."
that seemed to be everything, and an awkward pause followed.
peter, however, was not the kind that breaks down before other people.
""are you ready, tinker bell?"
he called out.
""ay, ay."
""then lead the way."
tink darted up the nearest tree; but no one followed her, for it was at this moment that the pirates made their dreadful attack upon the redskins.
above, where all had been so still, the air was rent with shrieks and the clash of steel.
below, there was dead silence.
mouths opened and remained open.
wendy fell on her knees, but her arms were extended toward peter.
all arms were extended to him, as if suddenly blown in his direction; they were beseeching him mutely not to desert them.
as for peter, he seized his sword, the same he thought he had slain barbecue with, and the lust of battle was in his eye.
chapter 12 the children are carried off the pirate attack had been a complete surprise: a sure proof that the unscrupulous hook had conducted it improperly, for to surprise redskins fairly is beyond the wit of the white man.
by all the unwritten laws of savage warfare it is always the redskin who attacks, and with the wiliness of his race he does it just before the dawn, at which time he knows the courage of the whites to be at its lowest ebb.
the white men have in the meantime made a rude stockade on the summit of yonder undulating ground, at the foot of which a stream runs, for it is destruction to be too far from water.
there they await the onslaught, the inexperienced ones clutching their revolvers and treading on twigs, but the old hands sleeping tranquilly until just before the dawn.
through the long black night the savage scouts wriggle, snake-like, among the grass without stirring a blade.
the brushwood closes behind them, as silently as sand into which a mole has dived.
not a sound is to be heard, save when they give vent to a wonderful imitation of the lonely call of the coyote.
the cry is answered by other braves; and some of them do it even better than the coyotes, who are not very good at it.
so the chill hours wear on, and the long suspense is horribly trying to the paleface who has to live through it for the first time; but to the trained hand those ghastly calls and still ghastlier silences are but an intimation of how the night is marching.
that this was the usual procedure was so well known to hook that in disregarding it he can not be excused on the plea of ignorance.
the piccaninnies, on their part, trusted implicitly to his honour, and their whole action of the night stands out in marked contrast to his.
they left nothing undone that was consistent with the reputation of their tribe.
with that alertness of the senses which is at once the marvel and despair of civilised peoples, they knew that the pirates were on the island from the moment one of them trod on a dry stick; and in an incredibly short space of time the coyote cries began.
every foot of ground between the spot where hook had landed his forces and the home under the trees was stealthily examined by braves wearing their mocassins with the heels in front.
they found only one hillock with a stream at its base, so that hook had no choice; here he must establish himself and wait for just before the dawn.
everything being thus mapped out with almost diabolical cunning, the main body of the redskins folded their blankets around them, and in the phlegmatic manner that is to them, the pearl of manhood squatted above the children's home, awaiting the cold moment when they should deal pale death.
here dreaming, though wide-awake, of the exquisite tortures to which they were to put him at break of day, those confiding savages were found by the treacherous hook.
from the accounts afterwards supplied by such of the scouts as escaped the carnage, he does not seem even to have paused at the rising ground, though it is certain that in that grey light he must have seen it: no thought of waiting to be attacked appears from first to last to have visited his subtle mind; he would not even hold off till the night was nearly spent; on he pounded with no policy but to fall to -lsb- get into combat -rsb-.
what could the bewildered scouts do, masters as they were of every war-like artifice save this one, but trot helplessly after him, exposing themselves fatally to view, while they gave pathetic utterance to the coyote cry.
around the brave tiger lily were a dozen of her stoutest warriors, and they suddenly saw the perfidious pirates bearing down upon them.
fell from their eyes then the film through which they had looked at victory.
no more would they torture at the stake.
for them the happy hunting-grounds was now.
they knew it; but as their father's sons they acquitted themselves.
even then they had time to gather in a phalanx -lsb- dense formation -rsb- that would have been hard to break had they risen quickly, but this they were forbidden to do by the traditions of their race.
it is written that the noble savage must never express surprise in the presence of the white.
thus terrible as the sudden appearance of the pirates must have been to them, they remained stationary for a moment, not a muscle moving; as if the foe had come by invitation.
then, indeed, the tradition gallantly upheld, they seized their weapons, and the air was torn with the war-cry; but it was now too late.
it is no part of ours to describe what was a massacre rather than a fight.
thus perished many of the flower of the piccaninny tribe.
not all unavenged did they die, for with lean wolf fell alf mason, to disturb the spanish main no more, and among others who bit the dust were geo.
scourie, chas.
turley, and the alsatian foggerty.
turley fell to the tomahawk of the terrible panther, who ultimately cut a way through the pirates with tiger lily and a small remnant of the tribe.
to what extent hook is to blame for his tactics on this occasion is for the historian to decide.
had he waited on the rising ground till the proper hour he and his men would probably have been butchered; and in judging him it is only fair to take this into account.
what he should perhaps have done was to acquaint his opponents that he proposed to follow a new method.
on the other hand, this, as destroying the element of surprise, would have made his strategy of no avail, so that the whole question is beset with difficulties.
one can not at least withhold a reluctant admiration for the wit that had conceived so bold a scheme, and the fell -lsb- deadly -rsb- genius with which it was carried out.
what were his own feelings about himself at that triumphant moment?
fain -lsb- gladly -rsb- would his dogs have known, as breathing heavily and wiping their cutlasses, they gathered at a discreet distance from his hook, and squinted through their ferret eyes at this extraordinary man.
elation must have been in his heart, but his face did not reflect it: ever a dark and solitary enigma, he stood aloof from his followers in spirit as in substance.
the night's work was not yet over, for it was not the redskins he had come out to destroy; they were but the bees to be smoked, so that he should get at the honey.
it was pan he wanted, pan and wendy and their band, but chiefly pan.
peter was such a small boy that one tends to wonder at the man's hatred of him.
true he had flung hook's arm to the crocodile, but even this and the increased insecurity of life to which it led, owing to the crocodile's pertinacity -lsb- persistance -rsb-, hardly account for a vindictiveness so relentless and malignant.
the truth is that there was a something about peter which goaded the pirate captain to frenzy.
it was not his courage, it was not his engaging appearance, it was not --.
there is no beating about the bush, for we know quite well what it was, and have got to tell.
it was peter's cockiness.
this had got on hook's nerves; it made his iron claw twitch, and at night it disturbed him like an insect.
while peter lived, the tortured man felt that he was a lion in a cage into which a sparrow had come.
the question now was how to get down the trees, or how to get his dogs down?
he ran his greedy eyes over them, searching for the thinnest ones.
they wriggled uncomfortably, for they knew he would not scruple -lsb- hesitate -rsb- to ram them down with poles.
in the meantime, what of the boys?
we have seen them at the first clang of the weapons, turned as it were into stone figures, open-mouthed, all appealing with outstretched arms to peter; and we return to them as their mouths close, and their arms fall to their sides.
the pandemonium above has ceased almost as suddenly as it arose, passed like a fierce gust of wind; but they know that in the passing it has determined their fate.
which side had won?
the pirates, listening avidly at the mouths of the trees, heard the question put by every boy, and alas, they also heard peter's answer.
""if the redskins have won," he said, "they will beat the tom-tom; it is always their sign of victory."
now smee had found the tom-tom, and was at that moment sitting on it.
""you will never hear the tom-tom again," he muttered, but inaudibly of course, for strict silence had been enjoined -lsb- urged -rsb-.
to his amazement hook signed him to beat the tom-tom, and slowly there came to smee an understanding of the dreadful wickedness of the order.
never, probably, had this simple man admired hook so much.
twice smee beat upon the instrument, and then stopped to listen gleefully.
""the tom-tom," the miscreants heard peter cry; "an indian victory!"
the doomed children answered with a cheer that was music to the black hearts above, and almost immediately they repeated their good-byes to peter.
this puzzled the pirates, but all their other feelings were swallowed by a base delight that the enemy were about to come up the trees.
they smirked at each other and rubbed their hands.
rapidly and silently hook gave his orders: one man to each tree, and the others to arrange themselves in a line two yards apart.
chapter 13 do you believe in fairies?
the more quickly this horror is disposed of the better.
the first to emerge from his tree was curly.
he rose out of it into the arms of cecco, who flung him to smee, who flung him to starkey, who flung him to bill jukes, who flung him to noodler, and so he was tossed from one to another till he fell at the feet of the black pirate.
all the boys were plucked from their trees in this ruthless manner; and several of them were in the air at a time, like bales of goods flung from hand to hand.
a different treatment was accorded to wendy, who came last.
with ironical politeness hook raised his hat to her, and, offering her his arm, escorted her to the spot where the others were being gagged.
he did it with such an air, he was so frightfully distingue -lsb- imposingly distinguished -rsb-, that she was too fascinated to cry out.
she was only a little girl.
perhaps it is tell-tale to divulge that for a moment hook entranced her, and we tell on her only because her slip led to strange results.
had she haughtily unhanded him -lrb- and we should have loved to write it of her -rrb-, she would have been hurled through the air like the others, and then hook would probably not have been present at the tying of the children; and had he not been at the tying he would not have discovered slightly's secret, and without the secret he could not presently have made his foul attempt on peter's life.
they were tied to prevent their flying away, doubled up with their knees close to their ears; and for the trussing of them the black pirate had cut a rope into nine equal pieces.
all went well until slightly's turn came, when he was found to be like those irritating parcels that use up all the string in going round and leave no tags -lsb- ends -rsb- with which to tie a knot.
the pirates kicked him in their rage, just as you kick the parcel -lrb- though in fairness you should kick the string -rrb-; and strange to say it was hook who told them to belay their violence.
his lip was curled with malicious triumph.
while his dogs were merely sweating because every time they tried to pack the unhappy lad tight in one part he bulged out in another, hook's master mind had gone far beneath slightly's surface, probing not for effects but for causes; and his exultation showed that he had found them.
slightly, white to the gills, knew that hook had surprised -lsb- discovered -rsb- his secret, which was this, that no boy so blown out could use a tree wherein an average man need stick.
poor slightly, most wretched of all the children now, for he was in a panic about peter, bitterly regretted what he had done.
madly addicted to the drinking of water when he was hot, he had swelled in consequence to his present girth, and instead of reducing himself to fit his tree he had, unknown to the others, whittled his tree to make it fit him.
sufficient of this hook guessed to persuade him that peter at last lay at his mercy, but no word of the dark design that now formed in the subterranean caverns of his mind crossed his lips; he merely signed that the captives were to be conveyed to the ship, and that he would be alone.
how to convey them?
hunched up in their ropes they might indeed be rolled down hill like barrels, but most of the way lay through a morass.
again hook's genius surmounted difficulties.
he indicated that the little house must be used as a conveyance.
the children were flung into it, four stout pirates raised it on their shoulders, the others fell in behind, and singing the hateful pirate chorus the strange procession set off through the wood.
i do n't know whether any of the children were crying; if so, the singing drowned the sound; but as the little house disappeared in the forest, a brave though tiny jet of smoke issued from its chimney as if defying hook.
hook saw it, and it did peter a bad service.
it dried up any trickle of pity for him that may have remained in the pirate's infuriated breast.
the first thing he did on finding himself alone in the fast falling night was to tiptoe to slightly's tree, and make sure that it provided him with a passage.
then for long he remained brooding; his hat of ill omen on the sward, so that any gentle breeze which had arisen might play refreshingly through his hair.
dark as were his thoughts his blue eyes were as soft as the periwinkle.
intently he listened for any sound from the nether world, but all was as silent below as above; the house under the ground seemed to be but one more empty tenement in the void.
was that boy asleep, or did he stand waiting at the foot of slightly's tree, with his dagger in his hand?
there was no way of knowing, save by going down.
hook let his cloak slip softly to the ground, and then biting his lips till a lewd blood stood on them, he stepped into the tree.
he was a brave man, but for a moment he had to stop there and wipe his brow, which was dripping like a candle.
then, silently, he let himself go into the unknown.
he arrived unmolested at the foot of the shaft, and stood still again, biting at his breath, which had almost left him.
as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light various objects in the home under the trees took shape; but the only one on which his greedy gaze rested, long sought for and found at last, was the great bed.
on the bed lay peter fast asleep.
unaware of the tragedy being enacted above, peter had continued, for a little time after the children left, to play gaily on his pipes: no doubt rather a forlorn attempt to prove to himself that he did not care.
then he decided not to take his medicine, so as to grieve wendy.
then he lay down on the bed outside the coverlet, to vex her still more; for she had always tucked them inside it, because you never know that you may not grow chilly at the turn of the night.
then he nearly cried; but it struck him how indignant she would be if he laughed instead; so he laughed a haughty laugh and fell asleep in the middle of it.
sometimes, though not often, he had dreams, and they were more painful than the dreams of other boys.
for hours he could not be separated from these dreams, though he wailed piteously in them.
they had to do, i think, with the riddle of his existence.
at such times it had been wendy's custom to take him out of bed and sit with him on her lap, soothing him in dear ways of her own invention, and when he grew calmer to put him back to bed before he quite woke up, so that he should not know of the indignity to which she had subjected him.
but on this occasion he had fallen at once into a dreamless sleep.
one arm dropped over the edge of the bed, one leg was arched, and the unfinished part of his laugh was stranded on his mouth, which was open, showing the little pearls.
thus defenceless hook found him.
he stood silent at the foot of the tree looking across the chamber at his enemy.
did no feeling of compassion disturb his sombre breast?
the man was not wholly evil; he loved flowers -lrb- i have been told -rrb- and sweet music -lrb- he was himself no mean performer on the harpsichord -rrb-; and, let it be frankly admitted, the idyllic nature of the scene stirred him profoundly.
mastered by his better self he would have returned reluctantly up the tree, but for one thing.
what stayed him was peter's impertinent appearance as he slept.
the open mouth, the drooping arm, the arched knee: they were such a personification of cockiness as, taken together, will never again, one may hope, be presented to eyes so sensitive to their offensiveness.
they steeled hook's heart.
if his rage had broken him into a hundred pieces every one of them would have disregarded the incident, and leapt at the sleeper.
though a light from the one lamp shone dimly on the bed, hook stood in darkness himself, and at the first stealthy step forward he discovered an obstacle, the door of slightly's tree.
it did not entirely fill the aperture, and he had been looking over it.
feeling for the catch, he found to his fury that it was low down, beyond his reach.
to his disordered brain it seemed then that the irritating quality in peter's face and figure visibly increased, and he rattled the door and flung himself against it.
was his enemy to escape him after all?
but what was that?
the red in his eye had caught sight of peter's medicine standing on a ledge within easy reach.
he fathomed what it was straightaway, and immediately knew that the sleeper was in his power.
lest he should be taken alive, hook always carried about his person a dreadful drug, blended by himself of all the death-dealing rings that had come into his possession.
these he had boiled down into a yellow liquid quite unknown to science, which was probably the most virulent poison in existence.
five drops of this he now added to peter's cup.
his hand shook, but it was in exultation rather than in shame.
as he did it he avoided glancing at the sleeper, but not lest pity should unnerve him; merely to avoid spilling.
then one long gloating look he cast upon his victim, and turning, wormed his way with difficulty up the tree.
as he emerged at the top he looked the very spirit of evil breaking from its hole.
donning his hat at its most rakish angle, he wound his cloak around him, holding one end in front as if to conceal his person from the night, of which it was the blackest part, and muttering strangely to himself, stole away through the trees.
peter slept on.
the light guttered -lsb- burned to edges -rsb- and went out, leaving the tenement in darkness; but still he slept.
it must have been not less than ten o'clock by the crocodile, when he suddenly sat up in his bed, wakened by he knew not what.
it was a soft cautious tapping on the door of his tree.
soft and cautious, but in that stillness it was sinister.
peter felt for his dagger till his hand gripped it.
then he spoke.
""who is that?"
for long there was no answer: then again the knock.
""who are you?"
no answer.
he was thrilled, and he loved being thrilled.
in two strides he reached the door.
unlike slightly's door, it filled the aperture -lsb- opening -rsb-, so that he could not see beyond it, nor could the one knocking see him.
""i wo n't open unless you speak," peter cried.
then at last the visitor spoke, in a lovely bell-like voice.
""let me in, peter."
it was tink, and quickly he unbarred to her.
she flew in excitedly, her face flushed and her dress stained with mud.
""what is it?"
""oh, you could never guess!"
she cried, and offered him three guesses.
""out with it!"
he shouted, and in one ungrammatical sentence, as long as the ribbons that conjurers -lsb- magicians -rsb- pull from their mouths, she told of the capture of wendy and the boys.
peter's heart bobbed up and down as he listened.
wendy bound, and on the pirate ship; she who loved everything to be just so!
""i'll rescue her!"
he cried, leaping at his weapons.
as he leapt he thought of something he could do to please her.
he could take his medicine.
his hand closed on the fatal draught.
""no!"
shrieked tinker bell, who had heard hook mutter about his deed as he sped through the forest.
""why not?"
""it is poisoned."
""poisoned?
who could have poisoned it?"
""hook."
""do n't be silly.
how could hook have got down here?"
alas, tinker bell could not explain this, for even she did not know the dark secret of slightly's tree.
nevertheless hook's words had left no room for doubt.
the cup was poisoned.
""besides," said peter, quite believing himself "i never fell asleep."
he raised the cup.
no time for words now; time for deeds; and with one of her lightning movements tink got between his lips and the draught, and drained it to the dregs.
""why, tink, how dare you drink my medicine?"
but she did not answer.
already she was reeling in the air.
""what is the matter with you?"
cried peter, suddenly afraid.
""it was poisoned, peter," she told him softly; "and now i am going to be dead."
""o tink, did you drink it to save me?"
""yes."
""but why, tink?"
her wings would scarcely carry her now, but in reply she alighted on his shoulder and gave his nose a loving bite.
she whispered in his ear "you silly ass," and then, tottering to her chamber, lay down on the bed.
his head almost filled the fourth wall of her little room as he knelt near her in distress.
every moment her light was growing fainter; and he knew that if it went out she would be no more.
she liked his tears so much that she put out her beautiful finger and let them run over it.
her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said.
then he made it out.
she was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies.
peter flung out his arms.
there were no children there, and it was night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees.
""do you believe?"
he cried.
tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate.
she fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she was n't sure.
""what do you think?"
she asked peter.
""if you believe," he shouted to them, "clap your hands; do n't let tink die."
many clapped.
some did n't.
a few beasts hissed.
the clapping stopped suddenly; as if countless mothers had rushed to their nurseries to see what on earth was happening; but already tink was saved.
first her voice grew strong, then she popped out of bed, then she was flashing through the room more merry and impudent than ever.
she never thought of thanking those who believed, but she would have like to get at the ones who had hissed.
""and now to rescue wendy!"
the moon was riding in a cloudy heaven when peter rose from his tree, begirt -lsb- belted -rsb- with weapons and wearing little else, to set out upon his perilous quest.
it was not such a night as he would have chosen.
he had hoped to fly, keeping not far from the ground so that nothing unwonted should escape his eyes; but in that fitful light to have flown low would have meant trailing his shadow through the trees, thus disturbing birds and acquainting a watchful foe that he was astir.
he regretted now that he had given the birds of the island such strange names that they are very wild and difficult of approach.
there was no other course but to press forward in redskin fashion, at which happily he was an adept -lsb- expert -rsb-.
but in what direction, for he could not be sure that the children had been taken to the ship?
a light fall of snow had obliterated all footmarks; and a deathly silence pervaded the island, as if for a space nature stood still in horror of the recent carnage.
he had taught the children something of the forest lore that he had himself learned from tiger lily and tinker bell, and knew that in their dire hour they were not likely to forget it.
slightly, if he had an opportunity, would blaze -lsb- cut a mark in -rsb- the trees, for instance, curly would drop seeds, and wendy would leave her handkerchief at some important place.
the morning was needed to search for such guidance, and he could not wait.
the upper world had called him, but would give no help.
the crocodile passed him, but not another living thing, not a sound, not a movement; and yet he knew well that sudden death might be at the next tree, or stalking him from behind.
he swore this terrible oath: "hook or me this time."
now he crawled forward like a snake, and again erect, he darted across a space on which the moonlight played, one finger on his lip and his dagger at the ready.
he was frightfully happy.
chapter 14 the pirate ship one green light squinting over kidd's creek, which is near the mouth of the pirate river, marked where the brig, the jolly roger, lay, low in the water; a rakish-looking -lsb- speedy-looking -rsb- craft foul to the hull, every beam in her detestable, like ground strewn with mangled feathers.
she was the cannibal of the seas, and scarce needed that watchful eye, for she floated immune in the horror of her name.
she was wrapped in the blanket of night, through which no sound from her could have reached the shore.
there was little sound, and none agreeable save the whir of the ship's sewing machine at which smee sat, ever industrious and obliging, the essence of the commonplace, pathetic smee.
i know not why he was so infinitely pathetic, unless it were because he was so pathetically unaware of it; but even strong men had to turn hastily from looking at him, and more than once on summer evenings he had touched the fount of hook's tears and made it flow.
of this, as of almost everything else, smee was quite unconscious.
a few of the pirates leant over the bulwarks, drinking in the miasma -lsb- putrid mist -rsb- of the night; others sprawled by barrels over games of dice and cards; and the exhausted four who had carried the little house lay prone on the deck, where even in their sleep they rolled skillfully to this side or that out of hook's reach, lest he should claw them mechanically in passing.
hook trod the deck in thought.
o man unfathomable.
it was his hour of triumph.
peter had been removed for ever from his path, and all the other boys were in the brig, about to walk the plank.
it was his grimmest deed since the days when he had brought barbecue to heel; and knowing as we do how vain a tabernacle is man, could we be surprised had he now paced the deck unsteadily, bellied out by the winds of his success?
but there was no elation in his gait, which kept pace with the action of his sombre mind.
hook was profoundly dejected.
he was often thus when communing with himself on board ship in the quietude of the night.
it was because he was so terribly alone.
this inscrutable man never felt more alone than when surrounded by his dogs.
they were socially inferior to him.
hook was not his true name.
to reveal who he really was would even at this date set the country in a blaze; but as those who read between the lines must already have guessed, he had been at a famous public school; and its traditions still clung to him like garments, with which indeed they are largely concerned.
thus it was offensive to him even now to board a ship in the same dress in which he grappled -lsb- attacked -rsb- her, and he still adhered in his walk to the school's distinguished slouch.
but above all he retained the passion for good form.
good form!
however much he may have degenerated, he still knew that this is all that really matters.
from far within him he heard a creaking as of rusty portals, and through them came a stern tap-tap-tap, like hammering in the night when one can not sleep.
""have you been good form to-day?"
was their eternal question.
""fame, fame, that glittering bauble, it is mine," he cried.
""is it quite good form to be distinguished at anything?"
the tap-tap from his school replied.
""i am the only man whom barbecue feared," he urged, "and flint feared barbecue."
""barbecue, flint -- what house?"
came the cutting retort.
most disquieting reflection of all, was it not bad form to think about good form?
his vitals were tortured by this problem.
it was a claw within him sharper than the iron one; and as it tore him, the perspiration dripped down his tallow -lsb- waxy -rsb- countenance and streaked his doublet.
ofttimes he drew his sleeve across his face, but there was no damming that trickle.
ah, envy not hook.
there came to him a presentiment of his early dissolution -lsb- death -rsb-.
it was as if peter's terrible oath had boarded the ship.
hook felt a gloomy desire to make his dying speech, lest presently there should be no time for it.
""better for hook," he cried, "if he had had less ambition!"
it was in his darkest hours only that he referred to himself in the third person.
""no little children to love me!"
strange that he should think of this, which had never troubled him before; perhaps the sewing machine brought it to his mind.
for long he muttered to himself, staring at smee, who was hemming placidly, under the conviction that all children feared him.
feared him!
feared smee!
there was not a child on board the brig that night who did not already love him.
he had said horrid things to them and hit them with the palm of his hand, because he could not hit with his fist, but they had only clung to him the more.
michael had tried on his spectacles.
to tell poor smee that they thought him lovable!
hook itched to do it, but it seemed too brutal.
instead, he revolved this mystery in his mind: why do they find smee lovable?
he pursued the problem like the sleuth-hound that he was.
if smee was lovable, what was it that made him so?
a terrible answer suddenly presented itself -- "good form?"
had the bo "sun good form without knowing it, which is the best form of all?
he remembered that you have to prove you do n't know you have it before you are eligible for pop -lsb- an elite social club at eton -rsb-.
with a cry of rage he raised his iron hand over smee's head; but he did not tear.
what arrested him was this reflection: "to claw a man because he is good form, what would that be?"
""bad form!"
the unhappy hook was as impotent -lsb- powerless -rsb- as he was damp, and he fell forward like a cut flower.
his dogs thinking him out of the way for a time, discipline instantly relaxed; and they broke into a bacchanalian -lsb- drunken -rsb- dance, which brought him to his feet at once, all traces of human weakness gone, as if a bucket of water had passed over him.
""quiet, you scugs," he cried, "or i'll cast anchor in you;" and at once the din was hushed.
""are all the children chained, so that they can not fly away?"
""ay, ay."
""then hoist them up."
the wretched prisoners were dragged from the hold, all except wendy, and ranged in line in front of him.
for a time he seemed unconscious of their presence.
he lolled at his ease, humming, not unmelodiously, snatches of a rude song, and fingering a pack of cards.
ever and anon the light from his cigar gave a touch of colour to his face.
""now then, bullies," he said briskly, "six of you walk the plank to-night, but i have room for two cabin boys.
which of you is it to be?"
""do n't irritate him unnecessarily," had been wendy's instructions in the hold; so tootles stepped forward politely.
tootles hated the idea of signing under such a man, but an instinct told him that it would be prudent to lay the responsibility on an absent person; and though a somewhat silly boy, he knew that mothers alone are always willing to be the buffer.
all children know this about mothers, and despise them for it, but make constant use of it.
so tootles explained prudently, "you see, sir, i do n't think my mother would like me to be a pirate.
would your mother like you to be a pirate, slightly?"
he winked at slightly, who said mournfully, "i do n't think so," as if he wished things had been otherwise.
""would your mother like you to be a pirate, twin?"
""i do n't think so," said the first twin, as clever as the others.
""nibs, would --" "stow this gab," roared hook, and the spokesmen were dragged back.
""you, boy," he said, addressing john, "you look as if you had a little pluck in you.
didst never want to be a pirate, my hearty?"
now john had sometimes experienced this hankering at maths.
prep.; and he was struck by hook's picking him out.
""i once thought of calling myself red-handed jack," he said diffidently.
""and a good name too.
we'll call you that here, bully, if you join."
""what do you think, michael?"
asked john.
""what would you call me if i join?"
michael demanded.
""blackbeard joe."
michael was naturally impressed.
""what do you think, john?"
he wanted john to decide, and john wanted him to decide.
""shall we still be respectful subjects of the king?"
john inquired.
through hook's teeth came the answer: "you would have to swear, "down with the king.""
perhaps john had not behaved very well so far, but he shone out now.
""then i refuse," he cried, banging the barrel in front of hook.
""and i refuse," cried michael.
""rule britannia!"
squeaked curly.
the infuriated pirates buffeted them in the mouth; and hook roared out, "that seals your doom.
bring up their mother.
get the plank ready."
they were only boys, and they went white as they saw jukes and cecco preparing the fatal plank.
but they tried to look brave when wendy was brought up.
no words of mine can tell you how wendy despised those pirates.
to the boys there was at least some glamour in the pirate calling; but all that she saw was that the ship had not been tidied for years.
there was not a porthole on the grimy glass of which you might not have written with your finger "dirty pig"; and she had already written it on several.
but as the boys gathered round her she had no thought, of course, save for them.
""so, my beauty," said hook, as if he spoke in syrup, "you are to see your children walk the plank."
fine gentlemen though he was, the intensity of his communings had soiled his ruff, and suddenly he knew that she was gazing at it.
with a hasty gesture he tried to hide it, but he was too late.
""are they to die?"
asked wendy, with a look of such frightful contempt that he nearly fainted.
""they are," he snarled.
""silence all," he called gloatingly, "for a mother's last words to her children."
at this moment wendy was grand.
""these are my last words, dear boys," she said firmly.
""i feel that i have a message to you from your real mothers, and it is this: "we hope our sons will die like english gentlemen.""
even the pirates were awed, and tootles cried out hysterically, "i am going to do what my mother hopes.
what are you to do, nibs?"
""what my mother hopes.
what are you to do, twin?"
""what my mother hopes.
john, what are --" but hook had found his voice again.
""tie her up!"
he shouted.
it was smee who tied her to the mast.
""see here, honey," he whispered, "i'll save you if you promise to be my mother."
but not even for smee would she make such a promise.
""i would almost rather have no children at all," she said disdainfully -lsb- scornfully -rsb-.
it is sad to know that not a boy was looking at her as smee tied her to the mast; the eyes of all were on the plank: that last little walk they were about to take.
they were no longer able to hope that they would walk it manfully, for the capacity to think had gone from them; they could stare and shiver only.
hook smiled on them with his teeth closed, and took a step toward wendy.
his intention was to turn her face so that she should see the boys walking the plank one by one.
but he never reached her, he never heard the cry of anguish he hoped to wring from her.
he heard something else instead.
it was the terrible tick-tick of the crocodile.
they all heard it -- pirates, boys, wendy; and immediately every head was blown in one direction; not to the water whence the sound proceeded, but toward hook.
all knew that what was about to happen concerned him alone, and that from being actors they were suddenly become spectators.
very frightful was it to see the change that came over him.
it was as if he had been clipped at every joint.
he fell in a little heap.
the sound came steadily nearer; and in advance of it came this ghastly thought, "the crocodile is about to board the ship!"
even the iron claw hung inactive; as if knowing that it was no intrinsic part of what the attacking force wanted.
left so fearfully alone, any other man would have lain with his eyes shut where he fell: but the gigantic brain of hook was still working, and under its guidance he crawled on the knees along the deck as far from the sound as he could go.
the pirates respectfully cleared a passage for him, and it was only when he brought up against the bulwarks that he spoke.
""hide me!"
he cried hoarsely.
they gathered round him, all eyes averted from the thing that was coming aboard.
they had no thought of fighting it.
it was fate.
only when hook was hidden from them did curiosity loosen the limbs of the boys so that they could rush to the ship's side to see the crocodile climbing it.
then they got the strangest surprise of the night of nights; for it was no crocodile that was coming to their aid.
it was peter.
he signed to them not to give vent to any cry of admiration that might rouse suspicion.
then he went on ticking.
chapter 15 "hook or me this time" odd things happen to all of us on our way through life without our noticing for a time that they have happened.
thus, to take an instance, we suddenly discover that we have been deaf in one ear for we do n't know how long, but, say, half an hour.
now such an experience had come that night to peter.
when last we saw him he was stealing across the island with one finger to his lips and his dagger at the ready.
he had seen the crocodile pass by without noticing anything peculiar about it, but by and by he remembered that it had not been ticking.
at first he thought this eerie, but soon concluded rightly that the clock had run down.
without giving a thought to what might be the feelings of a fellow-creature thus abruptly deprived of its closest companion, peter began to consider how he could turn the catastrophe to his own use; and he decided to tick, so that wild beasts should believe he was the crocodile and let him pass unmolested.
he ticked superbly, but with one unforeseen result.
the crocodile was among those who heard the sound, and it followed him, though whether with the purpose of regaining what it had lost, or merely as a friend under the belief that it was again ticking itself, will never be certainly known, for, like slaves to a fixed idea, it was a stupid beast.
peter reached the shore without mishap, and went straight on, his legs encountering the water as if quite unaware that they had entered a new element.
thus many animals pass from land to water, but no other human of whom i know.
as he swam he had but one thought: "hook or me this time."
he had ticked so long that he now went on ticking without knowing that he was doing it.
had he known he would have stopped, for to board the brig by help of the tick, though an ingenious idea, had not occurred to him.
on the contrary, he thought he had scaled her side as noiseless as a mouse; and he was amazed to see the pirates cowering from him, with hook in their midst as abject as if he had heard the crocodile.
the crocodile!
no sooner did peter remember it than he heard the ticking.
at first he thought the sound did come from the crocodile, and he looked behind him swiftly.
then he realised that he was doing it himself, and in a flash he understood the situation.
""how clever of me!"
he thought at once, and signed to the boys not to burst into applause.
it was at this moment that ed teynte the quartermaster emerged from the forecastle and came along the deck.
now, reader, time what happened by your watch.
peter struck true and deep.
john clapped his hands on the ill-fated pirate's mouth to stifle the dying groan.
he fell forward.
four boys caught him to prevent the thud.
peter gave the signal, and the carrion was cast overboard.
there was a splash, and then silence.
how long has it taken?
""one!"
-lrb- slightly had begun to count. -rrb-
none too soon, peter, every inch of him on tiptoe, vanished into the cabin; for more than one pirate was screwing up his courage to look round.
they could hear each other's distressed breathing now, which showed them that the more terrible sound had passed.
""it's gone, captain," smee said, wiping off his spectacles.
""all's still again."
slowly hook let his head emerge from his ruff, and listened so intently that he could have caught the echo of the tick.
there was not a sound, and he drew himself up firmly to his full height.
""then here's to johnny plank!"
he cried brazenly, hating the boys more than ever because they had seen him unbend.
he broke into the villainous ditty: "yo ho, yo ho, the frisky plank, you walks along it so, till it goes down and you goes down to davy jones below!"
to terrorize the prisoners the more, though with a certain loss of dignity, he danced along an imaginary plank, grimacing at them as he sang; and when he finished he cried, "do you want a touch of the cat -lsb- o" nine tails -rsb- before you walk the plank?"
at that they fell on their knees.
""no, no!"
they cried so piteously that every pirate smiled.
""fetch the cat, jukes," said hook; "it's in the cabin."
the cabin!
peter was in the cabin!
the children gazed at each other.
""ay, ay," said jukes blithely, and he strode into the cabin.
they followed him with their eyes; they scarce knew that hook had resumed his song, his dogs joining in with him: "yo ho, yo ho, the scratching cat, its tails are nine, you know, and when they're writ upon your back --" what was the last line will never be known, for of a sudden the song was stayed by a dreadful screech from the cabin.
it wailed through the ship, and died away.
then was heard a crowing sound which was well understood by the boys, but to the pirates was almost more eerie than the screech.
""what was that?"
cried hook.
""two," said slightly solemnly.
the italian cecco hesitated for a moment and then swung into the cabin.
he tottered out, haggard.
""what's the matter with bill jukes, you dog?"
hissed hook, towering over him.
""the matter wi" him is he's dead, stabbed," replied cecco in a hollow voice.
""bill jukes dead!"
cried the startled pirates.
""the cabin's as black as a pit," cecco said, almost gibbering, "but there is something terrible in there: the thing you heard crowing."
the exultation of the boys, the lowering looks of the pirates, both were seen by hook.
""cecco," he said in his most steely voice, "go back and fetch me out that doodle-doo."
cecco, bravest of the brave, cowered before his captain, crying "no, no"; but hook was purring to his claw.
""did you say you would go, cecco?"
he said musingly.
cecco went, first flinging his arms despairingly.
there was no more singing, all listened now; and again came a death-screech and again a crow.
no one spoke except slightly.
""three," he said.
hook rallied his dogs with a gesture."
's "death and odds fish," he thundered, "who is to bring me that doodle-doo?"
""wait till cecco comes out," growled starkey, and the others took up the cry.
""i think i heard you volunteer, starkey," said hook, purring again.
""no, by thunder!"
starkey cried.
""my hook thinks you did," said hook, crossing to him.
""i wonder if it would not be advisable, starkey, to humour the hook?"
""i'll swing before i go in there," replied starkey doggedly, and again he had the support of the crew.
""is this mutiny?"
asked hook more pleasantly than ever.
""starkey's ringleader!"
""captain, mercy!"
starkey whimpered, all of a tremble now.
""shake hands, starkey," said hook, proffering his claw.
starkey looked round for help, but all deserted him.
as he backed up hook advanced, and now the red spark was in his eye.
with a despairing scream the pirate leapt upon long tom and precipitated himself into the sea.
""four," said slightly.
""and now," hook said courteously, "did any other gentlemen say mutiny?"
seizing a lantern and raising his claw with a menacing gesture, "i'll bring out that doodle-doo myself," he said, and sped into the cabin.
""five."
how slightly longed to say it.
he wetted his lips to be ready, but hook came staggering out, without his lantern.
""something blew out the light," he said a little unsteadily.
""something!"
echoed mullins.
""what of cecco?"
demanded noodler.
""he's as dead as jukes," said hook shortly.
his reluctance to return to the cabin impressed them all unfavourably, and the mutinous sounds again broke forth.
all pirates are superstitious, and cookson cried, "they do say the surest sign a ship's accurst is when there's one on board more than can be accounted for."
""i've heard," muttered mullins, "he always boards the pirate craft last.
had he a tail, captain?"
""they say," said another, looking viciously at hook, "that when he comes it's in the likeness of the wickedest man aboard."
""had he a hook, captain?"
asked cookson insolently; and one after another took up the cry, "the ship's doomed!"
at this the children could not resist raising a cheer.
hook had well-nigh forgotten his prisoners, but as he swung round on them now his face lit up again.
""lads," he cried to his crew, "now here's a notion.
open the cabin door and drive them in.
let them fight the doodle-doo for their lives.
if they kill him, we're so much the better; if he kills them, we're none the worse."
for the last time his dogs admired hook, and devotedly they did his bidding.
the boys, pretending to struggle, were pushed into the cabin and the door was closed on them.
""now, listen!"
cried hook, and all listened.
but not one dared to face the door.
yes, one, wendy, who all this time had been bound to the mast.
it was for neither a scream nor a crow that she was watching, it was for the reappearance of peter.
she had not long to wait.
in the cabin he had found the thing for which he had gone in search: the key that would free the children of their manacles, and now they all stole forth, armed with such weapons as they could find.
first signing them to hide, peter cut wendy's bonds, and then nothing could have been easier than for them all to fly off together; but one thing barred the way, an oath, "hook or me this time."
so when he had freed wendy, he whispered for her to conceal herself with the others, and himself took her place by the mast, her cloak around him so that he should pass for her.
then he took a great breath and crowed.
to the pirates it was a voice crying that all the boys lay slain in the cabin; and they were panic-stricken.
hook tried to hearten them; but like the dogs he had made them they showed him their fangs, and he knew that if he took his eyes off them now they would leap at him.
""lads," he said, ready to cajole or strike as need be, but never quailing for an instant, "i've thought it out.
there's a jonah aboard."
""ay," they snarled, "a man wi" a hook."
""no, lads, no, it's the girl.
never was luck on a pirate ship wi" a woman on board.
we'll right the ship when she's gone."
some of them remembered that this had been a saying of flint's.
""it's worth trying," they said doubtfully.
""fling the girl overboard," cried hook; and they made a rush at the figure in the cloak.
""there's none can save you now, missy," mullins hissed jeeringly.
""there's one," replied the figure.
""who's that?"
""peter pan the avenger!"
came the terrible answer; and as he spoke peter flung off his cloak.
then they all knew who't was that had been undoing them in the cabin, and twice hook essayed to speak and twice he failed.
in that frightful moment i think his fierce heart broke.
at last he cried, "cleave him to the brisket!"
but without conviction.
""down, boys, and at them!"
peter's voice rang out; and in another moment the clash of arms was resounding through the ship.
had the pirates kept together it is certain that they would have won; but the onset came when they were still unstrung, and they ran hither and thither, striking wildly, each thinking himself the last survivor of the crew.
man to man they were the stronger; but they fought on the defensive only, which enabled the boys to hunt in pairs and choose their quarry.
some of the miscreants leapt into the sea; others hid in dark recesses, where they were found by slightly, who did not fight, but ran about with a lantern which he flashed in their faces, so that they were half blinded and fell as an easy prey to the reeking swords of the other boys.
there was little sound to be heard but the clang of weapons, an occasional screech or splash, and slightly monotonously counting -- five -- six -- seven eight -- nine -- ten -- eleven.
i think all were gone when a group of savage boys surrounded hook, who seemed to have a charmed life, as he kept them at bay in that circle of fire.
they had done for his dogs, but this man alone seemed to be a match for them all.
again and again they closed upon him, and again and again he hewed a clear space.
he had lifted up one boy with his hook, and was using him as a buckler -lsb- shield -rsb-, when another, who had just passed his sword through mullins, sprang into the fray.
""put up your swords, boys," cried the newcomer, "this man is mine."
thus suddenly hook found himself face to face with peter.
the others drew back and formed a ring around them.
for long the two enemies looked at one another, hook shuddering slightly, and peter with the strange smile upon his face.
""so, pan," said hook at last, "this is all your doing."
""ay, james hook," came the stern answer, "it is all my doing."
""proud and insolent youth," said hook, "prepare to meet thy doom."
""dark and sinister man," peter answered, "have at thee."
without more words they fell to, and for a space there was no advantage to either blade.
peter was a superb swordsman, and parried with dazzling rapidity; ever and anon he followed up a feint with a lunge that got past his foe's defence, but his shorter reach stood him in ill stead, and he could not drive the steel home.
hook, scarcely his inferior in brilliancy, but not quite so nimble in wrist play, forced him back by the weight of his onset, hoping suddenly to end all with a favourite thrust, taught him long ago by barbecue at rio; but to his astonishment he found this thrust turned aside again and again.
then he sought to close and give the quietus with his iron hook, which all this time had been pawing the air; but peter doubled under it and, lunging fiercely, pierced him in the ribs.
at the sight of his own blood, whose peculiar colour, you remember, was offensive to him, the sword fell from hook's hand, and he was at peter's mercy.
""now!"
cried all the boys, but with a magnificent gesture peter invited his opponent to pick up his sword.
hook did so instantly, but with a tragic feeling that peter was showing good form.
hitherto he had thought it was some fiend fighting him, but darker suspicions assailed him now.
""pan, who and what art thou?"
he cried huskily.
""i'm youth, i'm joy," peter answered at a venture, "i'm a little bird that has broken out of the egg."
this, of course, was nonsense; but it was proof to the unhappy hook that peter did not know in the least who or what he was, which is the very pinnacle of good form.
""to" t again," he cried despairingly.
he fought now like a human flail, and every sweep of that terrible sword would have severed in twain any man or boy who obstructed it; but peter fluttered round him as if the very wind it made blew him out of the danger zone.
and again and again he darted in and pricked.
hook was fighting now without hope.
that passionate breast no longer asked for life; but for one boon it craved: to see peter show bad form before it was cold forever.
abandoning the fight he rushed into the powder magazine and fired it.
""in two minutes," he cried, "the ship will be blown to pieces."
now, now, he thought, true form will show.
but peter issued from the powder magazine with the shell in his hands, and calmly flung it overboard.
what sort of form was hook himself showing?
misguided man though he was, we may be glad, without sympathising with him, that in the end he was true to the traditions of his race.
the other boys were flying around him now, flouting, scornful; and he staggered about the deck striking up at them impotently, his mind was no longer with them; it was slouching in the playing fields of long ago, or being sent up -lsb- to the headmaster -rsb- for good, or watching the wall-game from a famous wall.
and his shoes were right, and his waistcoat was right, and his tie was right, and his socks were right.
james hook, thou not wholly unheroic figure, farewell.
for we have come to his last moment.
seeing peter slowly advancing upon him through the air with dagger poised, he sprang upon the bulwarks to cast himself into the sea.
he did not know that the crocodile was waiting for him; for we purposely stopped the clock that this knowledge might be spared him: a little mark of respect from us at the end.
he had one last triumph, which i think we need not grudge him.
as he stood on the bulwark looking over his shoulder at peter gliding through the air, he invited him with a gesture to use his foot.
it made peter kick instead of stab.
at last hook had got the boon for which he craved.
""bad form," he cried jeeringly, and went content to the crocodile.
thus perished james hook.
""seventeen," slightly sang out; but he was not quite correct in his figures.
fifteen paid the penalty for their crimes that night; but two reached the shore: starkey to be captured by the redskins, who made him nurse for all their papooses, a melancholy come-down for a pirate; and smee, who henceforth wandered about the world in his spectacles, making a precarious living by saying he was the only man that jas.
hook had feared.
wendy, of course, had stood by taking no part in the fight, though watching peter with glistening eyes; but now that all was over she became prominent again.
she praised them equally, and shuddered delightfully when michael showed her the place where he had killed one; and then she took them into hook's cabin and pointed to his watch which was hanging on a nail.
it said "half-past one!"
the lateness of the hour was almost the biggest thing of all.
she got them to bed in the pirates" bunks pretty quickly, you may be sure; all but peter, who strutted up and down on the deck, until at last he fell asleep by the side of long tom.
he had one of his dreams that night, and cried in his sleep for a long time, and wendy held him tightly.
chapter 16 the return home by three bells that morning they were all stirring their stumps -lsb- legs -rsb-; for there was a big sea running; and tootles, the bo "sun, was among them, with a rope's end in his hand and chewing tobacco.
they all donned pirate clothes cut off at the knee, shaved smartly, and tumbled up, with the true nautical roll and hitching their trousers.
it need not be said who was the captain.
nibs and john were first and second mate.
there was a woman aboard.
the rest were tars -lsb- sailors -rsb- before the mast, and lived in the fo "c "sle.
peter had already lashed himself to the wheel; but he piped all hands and delivered a short address to them; said he hoped they would do their duty like gallant hearties, but that he knew they were the scum of rio and the gold coast, and if they snapped at him he would tear them.
the bluff strident words struck the note sailors understood, and they cheered him lustily.
then a few sharp orders were given, and they turned the ship round, and nosed her for the mainland.
captain pan calculated, after consulting the ship's chart, that if this weather lasted they should strike the azores about the 21st of june, after which it would save time to fly.
some of them wanted it to be an honest ship and others were in favour of keeping it a pirate; but the captain treated them as dogs, and they dared not express their wishes to him even in a round robin -lsb- one person after another, as they had to cpt.
hook -rsb-.
instant obedience was the only safe thing.
slightly got a dozen for looking perplexed when told to take soundings.
the general feeling was that peter was honest just now to lull wendy's suspicions, but that there might be a change when the new suit was ready, which, against her will, she was making for him out of some of hook's wickedest garments.
it was afterwards whispered among them that on the first night he wore this suit he sat long in the cabin with hook's cigar-holder in his mouth and one hand clenched, all but for the forefinger, which he bent and held threateningly aloft like a hook.
instead of watching the ship, however, we must now return to that desolate home from which three of our characters had taken heartless flight so long ago.
it seems a shame to have neglected no. 14 all this time; and yet we may be sure that mrs. darling does not blame us.
if we had returned sooner to look with sorrowful sympathy at her, she would probably have cried, "do n't be silly; what do i matter?
do go back and keep an eye on the children."
so long as mothers are like this their children will take advantage of them; and they may lay to -lsb- bet on -rsb- that.
even now we venture into that familiar nursery only because its lawful occupants are on their way home; we are merely hurrying on in advance of them to see that their beds are properly aired and that mr. and mrs. darling do not go out for the evening.
we are no more than servants.
why on earth should their beds be properly aired, seeing that they left them in such a thankless hurry?
would it not serve them jolly well right if they came back and found that their parents were spending the week-end in the country?
it would be the moral lesson they have been in need of ever since we met them; but if we contrived things in this way mrs. darling would never forgive us.
one thing i should like to do immensely, and that is to tell her, in the way authors have, that the children are coming back, that indeed they will be here on thursday week.
this would spoil so completely the surprise to which wendy and john and michael are looking forward.
they have been planning it out on the ship: mother's rapture, father's shout of joy, nana's leap through the air to embrace them first, when what they ought to be prepared for is a good hiding.
how delicious to spoil it all by breaking the news in advance; so that when they enter grandly mrs. darling may not even offer wendy her mouth, and mr. darling may exclaim pettishly, "dash it all, here are those boys again."
however, we should get no thanks even for this.
we are beginning to know mrs. darling by this time, and may be sure that she would upbraid us for depriving the children of their little pleasure.
""but, my dear madam, it is ten days till thursday week; so that by telling you what's what, we can save you ten days of unhappiness."
""yes, but at what a cost!
by depriving the children of ten minutes of delight."
""oh, if you look at it in that way!"
""what other way is there in which to look at it?"
you see, the woman had no proper spirit.
i had meant to say extraordinarily nice things about her; but i despise her, and not one of them will i say now.
she does not really need to be told to have things ready, for they are ready.
all the beds are aired, and she never leaves the house, and observe, the window is open.
for all the use we are to her, we might well go back to the ship.
however, as we are here we may as well stay and look on.
that is all we are, lookers-on.
nobody really wants us.
so let us watch and say jaggy things, in the hope that some of them will hurt.
the only change to be seen in the night-nursery is that between nine and six the kennel is no longer there.
when the children flew away, mr. darling felt in his bones that all the blame was his for having chained nana up, and that from first to last she had been wiser than he.
of course, as we have seen, he was quite a simple man; indeed he might have passed for a boy again if he had been able to take his baldness off; but he had also a noble sense of justice and a lion's courage to do what seemed right to him; and having thought the matter out with anxious care after the flight of the children, he went down on all fours and crawled into the kennel.
to all mrs. darling's dear invitations to him to come out he replied sadly but firmly: "no, my own one, this is the place for me."
in the bitterness of his remorse he swore that he would never leave the kennel until his children came back.
of course this was a pity; but whatever mr. darling did he had to do in excess, otherwise he soon gave up doing it.
and there never was a more humble man than the once proud george darling, as he sat in the kennel of an evening talking with his wife of their children and all their pretty ways.
very touching was his deference to nana.
he would not let her come into the kennel, but on all other matters he followed her wishes implicitly.
every morning the kennel was carried with mr. darling in it to a cab, which conveyed him to his office, and he returned home in the same way at six.
something of the strength of character of the man will be seen if we remember how sensitive he was to the opinion of neighbours: this man whose every movement now attracted surprised attention.
inwardly he must have suffered torture; but he preserved a calm exterior even when the young criticised his little home, and he always lifted his hat courteously to any lady who looked inside.
it may have been quixotic, but it was magnificent.
soon the inward meaning of it leaked out, and the great heart of the public was touched.
crowds followed the cab, cheering it lustily; charming girls scaled it to get his autograph; interviews appeared in the better class of papers, and society invited him to dinner and added, "do come in the kennel."
on that eventful thursday week, mrs. darling was in the night-nursery awaiting george's return home; a very sad-eyed woman.
now that we look at her closely and remember the gaiety of her in the old days, all gone now just because she has lost her babes, i find i wo n't be able to say nasty things about her after all.
if she was too fond of her rubbishy children, she could n't help it.
look at her in her chair, where she has fallen asleep.
the corner of her mouth, where one looks first, is almost withered up.
her hand moves restlessly on her breast as if she had a pain there.
some like peter best, and some like wendy best, but i like her best.
suppose, to make her happy, we whisper to her in her sleep that the brats are coming back.
they are really within two miles of the window now, and flying strong, but all we need whisper is that they are on the way.
let's.
it is a pity we did it, for she has started up, calling their names; and there is no one in the room but nana.
""o nana, i dreamt my dear ones had come back."
nana had filmy eyes, but all she could do was put her paw gently on her mistress's lap; and they were sitting together thus when the kennel was brought back.
as mr. darling puts his head out to kiss his wife, we see that his face is more worn than of yore, but has a softer expression.
he gave his hat to liza, who took it scornfully; for she had no imagination, and was quite incapable of understanding the motives of such a man.
outside, the crowd who had accompanied the cab home were still cheering, and he was naturally not unmoved.
""listen to them," he said; "it is very gratifying."
""lots of little boys," sneered liza.
""there were several adults to-day," he assured her with a faint flush; but when she tossed her head he had not a word of reproof for her.
social success had not spoilt him; it had made him sweeter.
for some time he sat with his head out of the kennel, talking with mrs. darling of this success, and pressing her hand reassuringly when she said she hoped his head would not be turned by it.
""but if i had been a weak man," he said.
""good heavens, if i had been a weak man!"
""and, george," she said timidly, "you are as full of remorse as ever, are n't you?"
""full of remorse as ever, dearest!
see my punishment: living in a kennel."
""but it is punishment, is n't it, george?
you are sure you are not enjoying it?"
""my love!"
you may be sure she begged his pardon; and then, feeling drowsy, he curled round in the kennel.
""wo n't you play me to sleep," he asked, "on the nursery piano?"
and as she was crossing to the day-nursery he added thoughtlessly, "and shut that window.
i feel a draught."
""o george, never ask me to do that.
the window must always be left open for them, always, always."
now it was his turn to beg her pardon; and she went into the day-nursery and played, and soon he was asleep; and while he slept, wendy and john and michael flew into the room.
oh no.
we have written it so, because that was the charming arrangement planned by them before we left the ship; but something must have happened since then, for it is not they who have flown in, it is peter and tinker bell.
peter's first words tell all.
""quick tink," he whispered, "close the window; bar it!
that's right.
now you and i must get away by the door; and when wendy comes she will think her mother has barred her out; and she will have to go back with me."
now i understand what had hitherto puzzled me, why when peter had exterminated the pirates he did not return to the island and leave tink to escort the children to the mainland.
this trick had been in his head all the time.
instead of feeling that he was behaving badly he danced with glee; then he peeped into the day-nursery to see who was playing.
he whispered to tink, "it's wendy's mother!
she is a pretty lady, but not so pretty as my mother.
her mouth is full of thimbles, but not so full as my mother's was."
of course he knew nothing whatever about his mother; but he sometimes bragged about her.
he did not know the tune, which was "home, sweet home," but he knew it was saying, "come back, wendy, wendy, wendy"; and he cried exultantly, "you will never see wendy again, lady, for the window is barred!"
he peeped in again to see why the music had stopped, and now he saw that mrs. darling had laid her head on the box, and that two tears were sitting on her eyes.
""she wants me to unbar the window," thought peter, "but i wo n't, not i!"
he peeped again, and the tears were still there, or another two had taken their place.
""she's awfully fond of wendy," he said to himself.
he was angry with her now for not seeing why she could not have wendy.
the reason was so simple: "i'm fond of her too.
we ca n't both have her, lady."
but the lady would not make the best of it, and he was unhappy.
he ceased to look at her, but even then she would not let go of him.
he skipped about and made funny faces, but when he stopped it was just as if she were inside him, knocking.
""oh, all right," he said at last, and gulped.
then he unbarred the window.
""come on, tink," he cried, with a frightful sneer at the laws of nature; "we do n't want any silly mothers;" and he flew away.
thus wendy and john and michael found the window open for them after all, which of course was more than they deserved.
they alighted on the floor, quite unashamed of themselves, and the youngest one had already forgotten his home.
""john," he said, looking around him doubtfully, "i think i have been here before."
""of course you have, you silly.
there is your old bed."
""so it is," michael said, but not with much conviction.
""i say," cried john, "the kennel!"
and he dashed across to look into it.
""perhaps nana is inside it," wendy said.
but john whistled.
""hullo," he said, "there's a man inside it."
""it's father!"
exclaimed wendy.
""let me see father," michael begged eagerly, and he took a good look.
""he is not so big as the pirate i killed," he said with such frank disappointment that i am glad mr. darling was asleep; it would have been sad if those had been the first words he heard his little michael say.
wendy and john had been taken aback somewhat at finding their father in the kennel.
""surely," said john, like one who had lost faith in his memory, "he used not to sleep in the kennel?"
""john," wendy said falteringly, "perhaps we do n't remember the old life as well as we thought we did."
a chill fell upon them; and serve them right.
""it is very careless of mother," said that young scoundrel john, "not to be here when we come back."
it was then that mrs. darling began playing again.
""it's mother!"
cried wendy, peeping.
""so it is!"
said john.
""then are you not really our mother, wendy?"
asked michael, who was surely sleepy.
""oh dear!"
exclaimed wendy, with her first real twinge of remorse -lsb- for having gone -rsb-, "it was quite time we came back."
""let us creep in," john suggested, "and put our hands over her eyes."
but wendy, who saw that they must break the joyous news more gently, had a better plan.
""let us all slip into our beds, and be there when she comes in, just as if we had never been away."
and so when mrs. darling went back to the night-nursery to see if her husband was asleep, all the beds were occupied.
the children waited for her cry of joy, but it did not come.
she saw them, but she did not believe they were there.
you see, she saw them in their beds so often in her dreams that she thought this was just the dream hanging around her still.
she sat down in the chair by the fire, where in the old days she had nursed them.
they could not understand this, and a cold fear fell upon all the three of them.
""mother!"
wendy cried.
""that's wendy," she said, but still she was sure it was the dream.
""mother!"
""that's john," she said.
""mother!"
cried michael.
he knew her now.
""that's michael," she said, and she stretched out her arms for the three little selfish children they would never envelop again.
yes, they did, they went round wendy and john and michael, who had slipped out of bed and run to her.
""george, george!"
she cried when she could speak; and mr. darling woke to share her bliss, and nana came rushing in.
there could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a little boy who was staring in at the window.
he had had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be for ever barred.
chapter 17 when wendy grew up i hope you want to know what became of the other boys.
they were waiting below to give wendy time to explain about them; and when they had counted five hundred they went up.
they went up by the stair, because they thought this would make a better impression.
they stood in a row in front of mrs. darling, with their hats off, and wishing they were not wearing their pirate clothes.
they said nothing, but their eyes asked her to have them.
they ought to have looked at mr. darling also, but they forgot about him.
of course mrs. darling said at once that she would have them; but mr. darling was curiously depressed, and they saw that he considered six a rather large number.
""i must say," he said to wendy, "that you do n't do things by halves," a grudging remark which the twins thought was pointed at them.
the first twin was the proud one, and he asked, flushing, "do you think we should be too much of a handful, sir?
because, if so, we can go away."
""father!"
wendy cried, shocked; but still the cloud was on him.
he knew he was behaving unworthily, but he could not help it.
""we could lie doubled up," said nibs.
""i always cut their hair myself," said wendy.
""george!"
mrs. darling exclaimed, pained to see her dear one showing himself in such an unfavourable light.
then he burst into tears, and the truth came out.
he was as glad to have them as she was, he said, but he thought they should have asked his consent as well as hers, instead of treating him as a cypher -lsb- zero -rsb- in his own house.
""i do n't think he is a cypher," tootles cried instantly.
""do you think he is a cypher, curly?"
""no, i do n't.
do you think he is a cypher, slightly?"
""rather not.
twin, what do you think?"
it turned out that not one of them thought him a cypher; and he was absurdly gratified, and said he would find space for them all in the drawing-room if they fitted in.
""we'll fit in, sir," they assured him.
""then follow the leader," he cried gaily.
""mind you, i am not sure that we have a drawing-room, but we pretend we have, and it's all the same.
hoop la!"
he went off dancing through the house, and they all cried "hoop la!"
and danced after him, searching for the drawing-room; and i forget whether they found it, but at any rate they found corners, and they all fitted in.
as for peter, he saw wendy once again before he flew away.
he did not exactly come to the window, but he brushed against it in passing so that she could open it if she liked and call to him.
that is what she did.
""hullo, wendy, good-bye," he said.
""oh dear, are you going away?"
""yes."
""you do n't feel, peter," she said falteringly, "that you would like to say anything to my parents about a very sweet subject?"
""no."
""about me, peter?"
""no."
mrs. darling came to the window, for at present she was keeping a sharp eye on wendy.
she told peter that she had adopted all the other boys, and would like to adopt him also.
""would you send me to school?"
he inquired craftily.
""yes."
""and then to an office?"
""i suppose so."
""soon i would be a man?"
""very soon."
""i do n't want to go to school and learn solemn things," he told her passionately.
""i do n't want to be a man.
o wendy's mother, if i was to wake up and feel there was a beard!"
""peter," said wendy the comforter, "i should love you in a beard;" and mrs. darling stretched out her arms to him, but he repulsed her.
""keep back, lady, no one is going to catch me and make me a man."
""but where are you going to live?"
""with tink in the house we built for wendy.
the fairies are to put it high up among the tree tops where they sleep at nights."
""how lovely," cried wendy so longingly that mrs. darling tightened her grip.
""i thought all the fairies were dead," mrs. darling said.
""there are always a lot of young ones," explained wendy, who was now quite an authority, "because you see when a new baby laughs for the first time a new fairy is born, and as there are always new babies there are always new fairies.
they live in nests on the tops of trees; and the mauve ones are boys and the white ones are girls, and the blue ones are just little sillies who are not sure what they are."
""i shall have such fun," said peter, with eye on wendy.
""it will be rather lonely in the evening," she said, "sitting by the fire."
""i shall have tink."
""tink ca n't go a twentieth part of the way round," she reminded him a little tartly.
""sneaky tell-tale!"
tink called out from somewhere round the corner.
""it does n't matter," peter said.
""o peter, you know it matters."
""well, then, come with me to the little house."
""may i, mummy?"
""certainly not.
i have got you home again, and i mean to keep you."
""but he does so need a mother."
""so do you, my love."
""oh, all right," peter said, as if he had asked her from politeness merely; but mrs. darling saw his mouth twitch, and she made this handsome offer: to let wendy go to him for a week every year to do his spring cleaning.
wendy would have preferred a more permanent arrangement; and it seemed to her that spring would be long in coming; but this promise sent peter away quite gay again.
he had no sense of time, and was so full of adventures that all i have told you about him is only a halfpenny-worth of them.
i suppose it was because wendy knew this that her last words to him were these rather plaintive ones: "you wo n't forget me, peter, will you, before spring cleaning time comes?"
of course peter promised; and then he flew away.
he took mrs. darling's kiss with him.
the kiss that had been for no one else, peter took quite easily.
funny.
but she seemed satisfied.
of course all the boys went to school; and most of them got into class iii, but slightly was put first into class iv and then into class v. class i is the top class.
before they had attended school a week they saw what goats they had been not to remain on the island; but it was too late now, and soon they settled down to being as ordinary as you or me or jenkins minor -lsb- the younger jenkins -rsb-.
it is sad to have to say that the power to fly gradually left them.
at first nana tied their feet to the bed-posts so that they should not fly away in the night; and one of their diversions by day was to pretend to fall off buses -lsb- the english double-deckers -rsb-; but by and by they ceased to tug at their bonds in bed, and found that they hurt themselves when they let go of the bus.
in time they could not even fly after their hats.
want of practice, they called it; but what it really meant was that they no longer believed.
michael believed longer than the other boys, though they jeered at him; so he was with wendy when peter came for her at the end of the first year.
she flew away with peter in the frock she had woven from leaves and berries in the neverland, and her one fear was that he might notice how short it had become; but he never noticed, he had so much to say about himself.
she had looked forward to thrilling talks with him about old times, but new adventures had crowded the old ones from his mind.
""who is captain hook?"
he asked with interest when she spoke of the arch enemy.
""do n't you remember," she asked, amazed, "how you killed him and saved all our lives?"
""i forget them after i kill them," he replied carelessly.
when she expressed a doubtful hope that tinker bell would be glad to see her he said, "who is tinker bell?"
""o peter," she said, shocked; but even when she explained he could not remember.
""there are such a lot of them," he said.
""i expect she is no more."
i expect he was right, for fairies do n't live long, but they are so little that a short time seems a good while to them.
wendy was pained too to find that the past year was but as yesterday to peter; it had seemed such a long year of waiting to her.
but he was exactly as fascinating as ever, and they had a lovely spring cleaning in the little house on the tree tops.
next year he did not come for her.
she waited in a new frock because the old one simply would not meet; but he never came.
""perhaps he is ill," michael said.
""you know he is never ill."
michael came close to her and whispered, with a shiver, "perhaps there is no such person, wendy!"
and then wendy would have cried if michael had not been crying.
peter came next spring cleaning; and the strange thing was that he never knew he had missed a year.
that was the last time the girl wendy ever saw him.
for a little longer she tried for his sake not to have growing pains; and she felt she was untrue to him when she got a prize for general knowledge.
but the years came and went without bringing the careless boy; and when they met again wendy was a married woman, and peter was no more to her than a little dust in the box in which she had kept her toys.
wendy was grown up.
you need not be sorry for her.
she was one of the kind that likes to grow up.
in the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than other girls.
all the boys were grown up and done for by this time; so it is scarcely worth while saying anything more about them.
you may see the twins and nibs and curly any day going to an office, each carrying a little bag and an umbrella.
michael is an engine-driver -lsb- train engineer -rsb-.
slightly married a lady of title, and so he became a lord.
you see that judge in a wig coming out at the iron door?
that used to be tootles.
the bearded man who does n't know any story to tell his children was once john.
wendy was married in white with a pink sash.
it is strange to think that peter did not alight in the church and forbid the banns -lsb- formal announcement of a marriage -rsb-.
years rolled on again, and wendy had a daughter.
this ought not to be written in ink but in a golden splash.
she was called jane, and always had an odd inquiring look, as if from the moment she arrived on the mainland she wanted to ask questions.
when she was old enough to ask them they were mostly about peter pan.
she loved to hear of peter, and wendy told her all she could remember in the very nursery from which the famous flight had taken place.
it was jane's nursery now, for her father had bought it at the three per cents -lsb- mortgage rate -rsb- from wendy's father, who was no longer fond of stairs.
mrs. darling was now dead and forgotten.
there were only two beds in the nursery now, jane's and her nurse's; and there was no kennel, for nana also had passed away.
she died of old age, and at the end she had been rather difficult to get on with; being very firmly convinced that no one knew how to look after children except herself.
once a week jane's nurse had her evening off; and then it was wendy's part to put jane to bed.
that was the time for stories.
it was jane's invention to raise the sheet over her mother's head and her own, thus making a tent, and in the awful darkness to whisper: "what do we see now?"
""i do n't think i see anything to-night," says wendy, with a feeling that if nana were here she would object to further conversation.
""yes, you do," says jane, "you see when you were a little girl."
""that is a long time ago, sweetheart," says wendy.
""ah me, how time flies!"
""does it fly," asks the artful child, "the way you flew when you were a little girl?"
""the way i flew?
do you know, jane, i sometimes wonder whether i ever did really fly."
""yes, you did."
""the dear old days when i could fly!"
""why ca n't you fly now, mother?"
""because i am grown up, dearest.
when people grow up they forget the way."
""why do they forget the way?"
""because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless.
it is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly."
""what is gay and innocent and heartless?
i do wish i were gay and innocent and heartless."
or perhaps wendy admits she does see something.
""i do believe," she says, "that it is this nursery."
""i do believe it is," says jane.
""go on."
they are now embarked on the great adventure of the night when peter flew in looking for his shadow.
""the foolish fellow," says wendy, "tried to stick it on with soap, and when he could not he cried, and that woke me, and i sewed it on for him."
""you have missed a bit," interrupts jane, who now knows the story better than her mother.
""when you saw him sitting on the floor crying, what did you say?"
""i sat up in bed and i said, "boy, why are you crying?""
""yes, that was it," says jane, with a big breath.
""and then he flew us all away to the neverland and the fairies and the pirates and the redskins and the mermaid's lagoon, and the home under the ground, and the little house."
""yes!
which did you like best of all?"
""i think i liked the home under the ground best of all."
""yes, so do i.
what was the last thing peter ever said to you?"
""the last thing he ever said to me was, "just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.""
""yes."
""but, alas, he forgot all about me," wendy said it with a smile.
she was as grown up as that.
""what did his crow sound like?"
jane asked one evening.
""it was like this," wendy said, trying to imitate peter's crow.
""no, it was n't," jane said gravely, "it was like this;" and she did it ever so much better than her mother.
wendy was a little startled.
""my darling, how can you know?"
""i often hear it when i am sleeping," jane said.
""ah yes, many girls hear it when they are sleeping, but i was the only one who heard it awake."
""lucky you," said jane.
and then one night came the tragedy.
it was the spring of the year, and the story had been told for the night, and jane was now asleep in her bed.
wendy was sitting on the floor, very close to the fire, so as to see to darn, for there was no other light in the nursery; and while she sat darning she heard a crow.
then the window blew open as of old, and peter dropped in on the floor.
he was exactly the same as ever, and wendy saw at once that he still had all his first teeth.
he was a little boy, and she was grown up.
she huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.
""hullo, wendy," he said, not noticing any difference, for he was thinking chiefly of himself; and in the dim light her white dress might have been the nightgown in which he had seen her first.
""hullo, peter," she replied faintly, squeezing herself as small as possible.
something inside her was crying "woman, woman, let go of me."
""hullo, where is john?"
he asked, suddenly missing the third bed.
""john is not here now," she gasped.
""is michael asleep?"
he asked, with a careless glance at jane.
""yes," she answered; and now she felt that she was untrue to jane as well as to peter.
""that is not michael," she said quickly, lest a judgment should fall on her.
peter looked.
""hullo, is it a new one?"
""yes."
""boy or girl?"
""girl."
now surely he would understand; but not a bit of it.
""peter," she said, faltering, "are you expecting me to fly away with you?"
""of course; that is why i have come."
he added a little sternly, "have you forgotten that this is spring cleaning time?"
she knew it was useless to say that he had let many spring cleaning times pass.
""i ca n't come," she said apologetically, "i have forgotten how to fly."
""i'll soon teach you again."
""o peter, do n't waste the fairy dust on me."
she had risen; and now at last a fear assailed him.
""what is it?"
he cried, shrinking.
""i will turn up the light," she said, "and then you can see for yourself."
for almost the only time in his life that i know of, peter was afraid.
""do n't turn up the light," he cried.
she let her hands play in the hair of the tragic boy.
she was not a little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet eyed smiles.
then she turned up the light, and peter saw.
he gave a cry of pain; and when the tall beautiful creature stooped to lift him in her arms he drew back sharply.
""what is it?"
he cried again.
she had to tell him.
""i am old, peter.
i am ever so much more than twenty.
i grew up long ago."
""you promised not to!"
""i could n't help it.
i am a married woman, peter."
""no, you're not."
""yes, and the little girl in the bed is my baby."
""no, she's not."
but he supposed she was; and he took a step towards the sleeping child with his dagger upraised.
of course he did not strike.
he sat down on the floor instead and sobbed; and wendy did not know how to comfort him, though she could have done it so easily once.
she was only a woman now, and she ran out of the room to try to think.
peter continued to cry, and soon his sobs woke jane.
she sat up in bed, and was interested at once.
""boy," she said, "why are you crying?"
peter rose and bowed to her, and she bowed to him from the bed.
""hullo," he said.
""hullo," said jane.
""my name is peter pan," he told her.
""yes, i know."
""i came back for my mother," he explained, "to take her to the neverland."
""yes, i know," jane said, "i have been waiting for you."
when wendy returned diffidently she found peter sitting on the bed-post crowing gloriously, while jane in her nighty was flying round the room in solemn ecstasy.
""she is my mother," peter explained; and jane descended and stood by his side, with the look in her face that he liked to see on ladies when they gazed at him.
""he does so need a mother," jane said.
""yes, i know."
wendy admitted rather forlornly; "no one knows it so well as i." "good-bye," said peter to wendy; and he rose in the air, and the shameless jane rose with him; it was already her easiest way of moving about.
wendy rushed to the window.
""no, no," she cried.
""it is just for spring cleaning time," jane said, "he wants me always to do his spring cleaning."
""if only i could go with you," wendy sighed.
""you see you ca n't fly," said jane.
of course in the end wendy let them fly away together.
our last glimpse of her shows her at the window, watching them receding into the sky until they were as small as stars.
as you look at wendy, you may see her hair becoming white, and her figure little again, for all this happened long ago.
jane is now a common grown-up, with a daughter called margaret; and every spring cleaning time, except when he forgets, peter comes for margaret and takes her to the neverland, where she tells him stories about himself, to which he listens eagerly.
when margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.
_book_title_: james_matthew_barrie___peter_pan_in_kensington_gardens,_version_1.txt.out
i the grand tour of the gardens you must see for yourselves that it will be difficult to follow peter pan's adventures unless you are familiar with the kensington gardens.
they are in london, where the king lives, and i used to take david there nearly every day unless he was looking decidedly flushed.
no child has ever been in the whole of the gardens, because it is so soon time to turn back.
the reason it is soon time to turn back is that, if you are as small as david, you sleep from twelve to one.
if your mother was not so sure that you sleep from twelve to one, you could most likely see the whole of them.
the gardens are bounded on one side by a never-ending line of omnibuses, over which your nurse has such authority that if she holds up her finger to any one of them it stops immediately.
she then crosses with you in safety to the other side.
there are more gates to the gardens than one gate, but that is the one you go in at, and before you go in you speak to the lady with the balloons, who sits just outside.
this is as near to being inside as she may venture, because, if she were to let go her hold of the railings for one moment, the balloons would lift her up, and she would be flown away.
she sits very squat, for the balloons are always tugging at her, and the strain has given her quite a red face.
once she was a new one, because the old one had let go, and david was very sorry for the old one, but as she did let go, he wished he had been there to see.
-lsb- illustration: the hump, which is the part of the broad walk where all the big races are run -rsb- the gardens are a tremendous big place, with millions and hundreds of trees; and first you come to the figs, but you scorn to loiter there, for the figs is the resort of superior little persons, who are forbidden to mix with the commonalty, and is so named, according to legend, because they dress in full fig.
these dainty ones are themselves contemptuously called figs by david and other heroes, and you have a key to the manners and customs of this dandiacal section of the gardens when i tell you that cricket is called crickets here.
occasionally a rebel fig climbs over the fence into the world, and such a one was miss mabel grey, of whom i shall tell you when we come to miss mabel grey's gate.
she was the only really celebrated fig.
we are now in the broad walk, and it is as much bigger than the other walks as your father is bigger than you.
david wondered if it began little, and grew and grew, until it was quite grown up, and whether the other walks are its babies, and he drew a picture, which diverted him very much, of the broad walk giving a tiny walk an airing in a perambulator.
in the broad walk you meet all the people who are worth knowing, and there is usually a grown-up with them to prevent them going on the damp grass, and to make them stand disgraced at the corner of a seat if they have been mad-dog or mary-annish.
to be mary-annish is to behave like a girl, whimpering because nurse wo n't carry you, or simpering with your thumb in your mouth, and it is a hateful quality; but to be mad-dog is to kick out at everything, and there is some satisfaction in that.
if i were to point out all the notable places as we pass up the broad walk, it would be time to turn back before we reach them, and i simply wave my stick at cecco hewlett's tree, that memorable spot where a boy called cecco lost his penny, and, looking for it, found twopence.
there has been a good deal of excavation going on there ever since.
farther up the walk is the little wooden house in which marmaduke perry hid.
there is no more awful story of the gardens than this of marmaduke perry, who had been mary-annish three days in succession, and was sentenced to appear in the broad walk dressed in his sister's clothes.
he hid in the little wooden house, and refused to emerge until they brought him knickerbockers with pockets.
you now try to go to the round pond, but nurses hate it, because they are not really manly, and they make you look the other way, at the big penny and the baby's palace.
she was the most celebrated baby of the gardens, and lived in the palace all alone, with ever so many dolls, so people rang the bell, and up she got out of her bed, though it was past six o'clock, and she lighted a candle and opened the door in her nighty, and then they all cried with great rejoicings, "hail, queen of england!"
what puzzled david most was how she knew where the matches were kept.
the big penny is a statue about her.
next we come to the hump, which is the part of the broad walk where all the big races are run; and even though you had no intention of running you do run when you come to the hump, it is such a fascinating, slide-down kind of place.
often you stop when you have run about half-way down it, and then you are lost; but there is another little wooden house near here, called the lost house, and so you tell the man that you are lost and then he finds you.
it is glorious fun racing down the hump, but you ca n't do it on windy days because then you are not there, but the fallen leaves do it instead of you.
there is almost nothing that has such a keen sense of fun as a fallen leaf.
from the hump we can see the gate that is called after miss mabel grey, the fig i promised to tell you about.
there were always two nurses with her, or else one mother and one nurse, and for a long time she was a pattern-child who always coughed off the table and said, "how do you do?"
to the other figs, and the only game she played at was flinging a ball gracefully and letting the nurse bring it back to her.
then one day she tired of it all and went mad-dog, and, first, to show that she really was mad-dog, she unloosened both her boot-laces and put out her tongue east, west, north, and south.
she then flung her sash into a puddle and danced on it till dirty water was squirted over her frock, after which she climbed the fence and had a series of incredible adventures, one of the least of which was that she kicked off both her boots.
at last she came to the gate that is now called after her, out of which she ran into streets david and i have never been in though we have heard them roaring, and still she ran on and would never again have been heard of had not her mother jumped into a "bus and thus overtaken her.
it all happened, i should say, long ago, and this is not the mabel grey whom david knows.
-lsb- illustration: there is almost nothing that has such a keen sense of fun as a fallen leaf -lrb- missing from book -rrb- -rsb- returning up the broad walk we have on our right the baby walk, which is so full of perambulators that you could cross from side to side stepping on babies, but the nurses wo n't let you do it.
from this walk a passage called bunting's thumb, because it is that length, leads into picnic street, where there are real kettles, and chestnut-blossom falls into your mug as you are drinking.
quite common children picnic here also, and the blossom falls into their mugs just the same.
next comes st. govor's well, which was full of water when malcolm the bold fell into it.
he was his mother's favourite, and he let her put her arm round his neck in public because she was a widow; but he was also partial to adventures, and liked to play with a chimney-sweep who had killed a good many bears.
the sweep's name was sooty, and one day, when they were playing near the well, malcolm fell in and would have been drowned had not sooty dived in and rescued him; and the water had washed sooty clean, and he now stood revealed as malcolm's long-lost father.
so malcolm would not let his mother put her arm round his neck any more.
between the well and the round pond are the cricket pitches, and frequently the choosing of sides exhausts so much time that there is scarcely any cricket.
everybody wants to bat first, and as soon as he is out he bowls unless you are the better wrestler, and while you are wrestling with him the fielders have scattered to play at something else.
the gardens are noted for two kinds of cricket: boy cricket, which is real cricket with a bat, and girl cricket, which is with a racquet and the governess.
girls ca n't really play cricket, and when you are watching their futile efforts you make funny sounds at them.
nevertheless, there was a very disagreeable incident one day when some forward girls challenged david's team, and a disturbing creature called angela clare sent down so many yorkers that -- however, instead of telling you the result of that regrettable match i shall pass on hurriedly to the round pond, which is the wheel that keeps all the gardens going.
-lsb- illustration: the serpentine is a lovely lake, and there is a drowned forest at the bottom of it.
if you peer over the edge you can see the trees all growing upside down, and they say that at night there are also drowned stars in it -rsb- it is round because it is in the very middle of the gardens, and when you are come to it you never want to go any farther.
you ca n't be good all the time at the round pond, however much you try.
you can be good in the broad walk all the time, but not at the round pond, and the reason is that you forget, and, when you remember, you are so wet that you may as well be wetter.
there are men who sail boats on the round pond, such big boats that they bring them in barrows, and sometimes in perambulators, and then the baby has to walk.
the bow-legged children in the gardens are those who had to walk too soon because their father needed the perambulator.
you always want to have a yacht to sail on the round pond, and in the end your uncle gives you one; and to carry it to the pond the first day is splendid, also to talk about it to boys who have no uncle is splendid, but soon you like to leave it at home.
for the sweetest craft that slips her moorings in the round pond is what is called a stick-boat, because she is rather like a stick until she is in the water and you are holding the string.
then as you walk round, pulling her, you see little men running about her deck, and sails rise magically and catch the breeze, and you put in on dirty nights at snug harbours which are unknown to the lordly yachts.
night passes in a twink, and again your rakish craft noses for the wind, whales spout, you glide over buried cities, and have brushes with pirates, and cast anchor on coral isles.
you are a solitary boy while all this is taking place, for two boys together can not adventure far upon the round pond, and though you may talk to yourself throughout the voyage, giving orders and executing them with despatch, you know not, when it is time to go home, where you have been or what swelled your sails; your treasure-trove is all locked away in your hold, so to speak, which will be opened, perhaps, by another little boy many years afterwards.
but those yachts have nothing in their hold.
does any one return to this haunt of his youth because of the yachts that used to sail it?
oh no.
it is the stick-boat that is freighted with memories.
the yachts are toys, their owner a fresh-water mariner; they can cross and recross a pond only while the stick-boat goes to sea.
you yachtsmen with your wands, who think we are all there to gaze on you, your ships are only accidents of this place, and were they all to be boarded and sunk by the ducks, the real business of the round pond would be carried on as usual.
-lsb- illustration: the island on which all the birds are born that become baby boys and girls -lrb- missing from book -rrb- -rsb- paths from everywhere crowd like children to the pond.
some of them are ordinary paths, which have a rail on each side, and are made by men with their coats off, but others are vagrants, wide at one spot, and at another so narrow that you can stand astride them.
they are called paths that have made themselves, and david did wish he could see them doing it.
but, like all the most wonderful things that happen in the gardens, it is done, we concluded, at night after the gates are closed.
we have also decided that the paths make themselves because it is their only chance of getting to the round pond.
one of these gypsy paths comes from the place where the sheep get their hair cut.
when david shed his curls at the hairdresser's, i am told, he said good-bye to them without a tremor, though his mother has never been quite the same bright creature since; so he despises the sheep as they run from their shearer, and calls out tauntingly, "cowardly, cowardly custard!"
but when the man grips them between his legs david shakes a fist at him for using such big scissors.
another startling moment is when the man turns back the grimy wool from the sheep's shoulders and they look suddenly like ladies in the stalls of a theatre.
the sheep are so frightened by the shearing that it makes them quite white and thin, and as soon as they are set free they begin to nibble the grass at once, quite anxiously, as if they feared that they would never be worth eating.
david wonders whether they know each other, now that they are so different, and if it makes them fight with the wrong ones.
they are great fighters, and thus so unlike country sheep that every year they give my st. bernard dog, porthos, a shock.
he can make a field of country sheep fly by merely announcing his approach, but these town sheep come toward him with no promise of gentle entertainment, and then a light from last year breaks upon porthos.
he can not with dignity retreat, but he stops and looks about him as if lost in admiration of the scenery, and presently he strolls away with a fine indifference and a glint at me from the corner of his eye.
-lsb- illustration: porthos -rsb- the serpentine begins near here.
it is a lovely lake, and there is a drowned forest at the bottom of it.
if you peer over the edge you can see the trees all growing upside down, and they say that at night there are also drowned stars in it.
if so, peter pan sees them when he is sailing across the lake in the thrush's nest.
a small part only of the serpentine is in the gardens, for soon it passes beneath a bridge to far away where the island is on which all the birds are born that become baby boys and girls.
no one who is human, except peter pan -lrb- and he is only half human -rrb-, can land on the island, but you may write what you want -lrb- boy or girl, dark or fair -rrb- on a piece of paper, and then twist it into the shape of a boat and slip it into the water, and it reaches peter pan's island after dark.
-lsb- illustration: one of the paths that have made themselves -rsb- we are on the way home now, though of course, it is all pretence that we can go to so many of the places in one day.
i should have had to be carrying david long ago, and resting on every seat like old mr. salford.
that was what we called him, because he always talked to us of a lovely place called salford where he had been born.
he was a crab-apple of an old gentleman who wandered all day in the gardens from seat to seat trying to fall in with somebody who was acquainted with the town of salford, and when we had known him for a year or more we actually did meet another aged solitary who had once spent saturday to monday in salford.
he was meek and timid, and carried his address inside his hat, and whatever part of london he was in search of he always went to westminster abbey first as a starting-point.
him we carried in triumph to our other friend, with the story of that saturday to monday, and never shall i forget the gloating joy with which mr. salford leapt at him.
they have been cronies ever since, and i notice that mr. salford, who naturally does most of the talking, keeps tight grip of the other old man's coat.
-lsb- illustration: old mr. salford was a crab-apple of an old gentleman who wandered all day in the gardens -rsb- -lsb- illustration: away he flew, right over the houses to the gardens -rsb- the two last places before you come to our gate are the dogs" cemetery and the chaffinch's nest, but we pretend not to know what the dogs" cemetery is, as porthos is always with us.
the nest is very sad.
it is quite white, and the way we found it was wonderful.
we were having another look among the bushes for david's lost worsted ball, and instead of the ball we found a lovely nest made of the worsted, and containing four eggs, with scratches on them very like david's handwriting, so we think they must have been the mother's love-letters to the little ones inside.
every day we were in the gardens we paid a call at the nest, taking care that no cruel boy should see us, and we dropped crumbs, and soon the bird knew us as friends, and sat in the nest looking at us kindly with her shoulders hunched up.
but one day when we went there were only two eggs in the nest, and the next time there were none.
the saddest part of it was that the poor little chaffinch fluttered about the bushes, looking so reproachfully at us that we knew she thought we had done it; and though david tried to explain to her, it was so long since he had spoken the bird language that i fear she did not understand.
he and i left the gardens that day with our knuckles in our eyes.
-lsb- illustration: tailpiece to "the grand tour of the gardens" -rsb- -lsb- illustration: headpiece to "peter pan" -rsb- ii peter pan if you ask your mother whether she knew about peter pan when she was a little girl, she will say, "why, of course i did, child"; and if you ask her whether he rode on a goat in those days, she will say, "what a foolish question to ask; certainly he did."
then if you ask your grandmother whether she knew about peter pan when she was a girl, she also says, "why, of course i did, child," but if you ask her whether he rode on a goat in those days, she says she never heard of his having a goat.
perhaps she has forgotten, just as she sometimes forgets your name and calls you mildred, which is your mother's name.
still, she could hardly forget such an important thing as the goat.
therefore there was no goat when your grandmother was a little girl.
this shows that, in telling the story of peter pan, to begin with the goat -lrb- as most people do -rrb- is as silly as to put on your jacket before your vest.
of course, it also shows that peter is ever so old, but he is really always the same age, so that does not matter in the least.
his age is one week, and though he was born so long ago he has never had a birthday, nor is there the slightest chance of his ever having one.
the reason is that he escaped from being a human when he was seven days old; he escaped by the window and flew back to the kensington gardens.
if you think he was the only baby who ever wanted to escape, it shows how completely you have forgotten your own young days.
when david heard this story first he was quite certain that he had never tried to escape, but i told him to think back hard, pressing his hands to his temples, and when he had done this hard, and even harder, he distinctly remembered a youthful desire to return to the tree-tops, and with that memory came others, as that he had lain in bed planning to escape as soon as his mother was asleep, and how she had once caught him half-way up the chimney.
all children could have such recollections if they would press their hands hard to their temples, for, having been birds before they were human, they are naturally a little wild during the first few weeks, and very itchy at the shoulders, where their wings used to be.
so david tells me.
-lsb- illustration: the fairies have their tiffs with the birds -rsb- i ought to mention here that the following is our way with a story: first i tell it to him, and then he tells it to me, the understanding being that it is quite a different story; and then i retell it with his additions, and so we go on until no one could say whether it is more his story or mine.
in this story of peter pan, for instance, the bald narrative and most of the moral reflections are mine, though not all, for this boy can be a stern moralist; but the interesting bits about the ways and customs of babies in the bird-stage are mostly reminiscences of david's, recalled by pressing his hands to his temples and thinking hard.
well, peter pan got out by the window, which had no bars.
standing on the ledge he could see trees far away, which were doubtless the kensington gardens, and the moment he saw them he entirely forgot that he was now a little boy in a nightgown, and away he flew, right over the houses to the gardens.
it is wonderful that he could fly without wings, but the place itched tremendously, and -- and -- perhaps we could all fly if we were as dead-confident-sure of our capacity to do it as was bold peter pan that evening.
he alighted gaily on the open sward, between the baby's palace and the serpentine, and the first thing he did was to lie on his back and kick.
he was quite unaware already that he had ever been human, and thought he was a bird, even in appearance, just the same as in his early days, and when he tried to catch a fly he did not understand that the reason he missed it was because he had attempted to seize it with his hand, which, of course, a bird never does.
he saw, however, that it must be past lock-out time, for there were a good many fairies about, all too busy to notice him; they were getting breakfast ready, milking their cows, drawing water, and so on, and the sight of the water-pails made him thirsty, so he flew over to the round pond to have a drink.
he stooped and dipped his beak in the pond; he thought it was his beak, but, of course, it was only his nose, and therefore, very little water came up, and that not so refreshing as usual, so next he tried a puddle and he fell flop into it.
when a real bird falls in flop, he spreads out his feathers and pecks them dry, but peter could not remember what was the thing to do, and he decided rather sulkily to go to sleep on the weeping-beech in the baby walk.
at first he found some difficulty in balancing himself on a branch, but presently he remembered the way, and fell asleep.
he awoke long before morning, shivering, and saying to himself," i never was out on such a cold night"; he had really been out on colder nights when he was a bird, but, of course, as everybody knows, what seems a warm night to a bird is a cold night to a boy in a nightgown.
peter also felt strangely uncomfortable, as if his head was stuffy; he heard loud noises that made him look round sharply, though they were really himself sneezing.
there was something he wanted very much, but, though he knew he wanted it, he could not think what it was.
what he wanted so much was his mother to blow his nose, but that never struck him, so he decided to appeal to the fairies for enlightenment.
they are reputed to know a good deal.
-lsb- illustration: when he heard peter's voice he popped in alarm behind a tulip -rsb- there were two of them strolling along the baby walk, with their arms round each other's waists, and he hopped down to address them.
the fairies have their tiffs with the birds, but they usually give a civil answer to a civil question, and he was quite angry when these two ran away the moment they saw him.
another was lolling on a garden chair, reading a postage-stamp which some human had let fall, and when he heard peter's voice he popped in alarm behind a tulip.
to peter's bewilderment he discovered that every fairy he met fled from him.
a band of workmen, who were sawing down a toadstool, rushed away, leaving their tools behind them.
a milkmaid turned her pail upside down and hid in it.
soon the gardens were in an uproar.
crowds of fairies were running this way and that, asking each other stoutly who was afraid; lights were extinguished, doors barricaded, and from the grounds of queen mab's palace came the rub-a-dub of drums, showing that the royal guard had been called out.
a regiment of lancers came charging down the broad walk, armed with holly-leaves, with which they jag the enemy horribly in passing.
peter heard the little people crying everywhere that there was a human in the gardens after lock-out time, but he never thought for a moment that he was the human.
he was feeling stuffier and stuffier, and more and more wistful to learn what he wanted done to his nose, but he pursued them with the vital question in vain; the timid creatures ran from him, and even the lancers, when he approached them up the hump, turned swiftly into a side-walk, on the pretence that they saw him there.
-lsb- illustration: a band of workmen, who were sawing down a toadstool, rushed away, leaving their tools behind them -rsb- despairing of the fairies, he resolved to consult the birds, but now he remembered, as an odd thing, that all the birds on the weeping-beech had flown away when he alighted on it, and though this had not troubled him at the time, he saw its meaning now.
every living thing was shunning him.
poor little peter pan!
he sat down and cried, and even then he did not know that, for a bird, he was sitting on his wrong part.
it is a blessing that he did not know, for otherwise he would have lost faith in his power to fly, and the moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it.
the reason birds can fly and we ca n't is simply that they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.
now, except by flying, no one can reach the island in the serpentine, for the boats of humans are forbidden to land there, and there are stakes round it, standing up in the water, on each of which a bird-sentinel sits by day and night.
it was to the island that peter now flew to put his strange case before old solomon caw, and he alighted on it with relief, much heartened to find himself at last at home, as the birds call the island.
all of them were asleep, including the sentinels, except solomon, who was wide awake on one side, and he listened quietly to peter's adventures, and then told him their true meaning.
"look at your nightgown, if you do n't believe me," solomon said; and with staring eyes peter looked at his nightgown, and then at the sleeping birds.
not one of them wore anything.
"how many of your toes are thumbs?"
said solomon a little cruelly, and peter saw, to his consternation, that all his toes were fingers.
the shock was so great that it drove away his cold.
"ruffle your feathers," said that grim old solomon, and peter tried most desperately hard to ruffle his feathers, but he had none.
then he rose up, quaking, and for the first time since he stood on the window ledge, he remembered a lady who had been very fond of him.
-lsb- illustration: put his strange case before old solomon caw -lrb- missing from book -rrb- -rsb-" i think i shall go back to mother," he said, timidly.
"good-bye," replied solomon caw with a queer look.
but peter hesitated.
"why do n't you go?"
the old one asked politely."
i suppose," said peter huskily," i suppose i can still fly?"
you see he had lost faith.
"poor little half-and-half!"
said solomon, who was not really hard-hearted, "you will never be able to fly again, not even on windy days.
you must live here on the island always."
"and never even go to the kensington gardens?"
peter asked tragically.
"how could you get across?"
said solomon.
he promised very kindly, however, to teach peter as many of the bird ways as could be learned by one of such an awkward shape.
"then i sha n't be exactly a human?"
peter asked.
"no."
"nor exactly a bird?"
"no."
"what shall i be?"
"you will be a betwixt-and-between," solomon said, and certainly he was a wise old fellow, for that is exactly how it turned out.
the birds on the island never got used to him.
his oddities tickled them every day, as if they were quite new, though it was really the birds that were new.
they came out of the eggs daily, and laughed at him at once; then off they soon flew to be humans, and other birds came out of other eggs; and so it went on for ever.
the crafty mother-birds, when they tired of sitting on their eggs, used to get the young ones to break their shells a day before the right time by whispering to them that now was their chance to see peter washing or drinking or eating.
thousands gathered round him daily to watch him do these things, just as you watch the peacocks, and they screamed with delight when he lifted the crusts they flung him with his hands instead of in the usual way with the mouth.
all his food was brought to him from the gardens at solomon's orders by the birds.
he would not eat worms or insects -lrb- which they thought very silly of him -rrb-, so they brought him bread in their beaks.
thus, when you cry out, "greedy!
greedy!"
to the bird that flies away with the big crust, you know now that you ought not to do this, for he is very likely taking it to peter pan.
-lsb- illustration: the birds on the island never got used to him.
his oddities tickled them every day -rsb- peter wore no nightgown now.
you see, the birds were always begging him for bits of it to line their nests with, and, being very good-natured, he could not refuse, so by solomon's advice he had hidden what was left of it.
but, though he was now quite naked, you must not think that he was cold or unhappy.
he was usually very happy and gay, and the reason was that solomon had kept his promise and taught him many of the bird ways.
to be easily pleased, for instance, and always to be really doing something, and to think that whatever he was doing was a thing of vast importance.
peter became very clever at helping the birds to build their nests; soon he could build better than a wood-pigeon, and nearly as well as a blackbird, though never did he satisfy the finches, and he made nice little water-troughs near the nests and dug up worms for the young ones with his fingers.
he also became very learned in bird-lore, and knew an east wind from a west wind by its smell, and he could see the grass growing and hear the insects walking about inside the tree-trunks.
but the best thing solomon had done was to teach him to have a glad heart.
all birds have glad hearts unless you rob their nests, and so, as they were the only kind of heart solomon knew about, it was easy to him to teach peter how to have one.
-lsb- illustration: peter screamed out, "do it again!"
and with great good-nature they did it several times -rsb- peter's heart was so glad that he felt he must sing all day long, just as the birds sing for joy, but, being partly human, he needed an instrument, so he made a pipe of reeds, and he used to sit by the shore of the island of an evening, practising the sough of the wind and the ripple of the water, and catching handfuls of the shine of the moon, and he put them all in his pipe and played them so beautifully that even the birds were deceived, and they would say to each other, "was that a fish leaping in the water or was it peter playing leaping fish on his pipe?"
and sometimes he played the birth of birds, and then the mothers would turn round in their nests to see whether they had laid an egg.
if you are a child of the gardens you must know the chestnut-tree near the bridge, which comes out in flower first of all the chestnuts, but perhaps you have not heard why this tree leads the way.
it is because peter wearies for summer and plays that it has come, and the chestnut being so near, hears him and is cheated.
-lsb- illustration: a hundred flew off with the string, and peter clung to the tail -rsb- but as peter sat by the shore tootling divinely on his pipe he sometimes fell into sad thoughts, and then the music became sad also, and the reason of all this sadness was that he could not reach the gardens, though he could see them through the arch of the bridge.
he knew he could never be a real human again, and scarcely wanted to be one, but oh!
how he longed to play as other children play, and of course there is no such lovely place to play in as the gardens.
the birds brought him news of how boys and girls play, and wistful tears started in peter's eyes.
perhaps you wonder why he did not swim across.
the reason was that he could not swim.
he wanted to know how to swim, but no one on the island knew the way except the ducks, and they are so stupid.
they were quite willing to teach him, but all they could say about it was, "you sit down on the top of the water in this way, and then you kick out like that."
peter tried it often, but always before he could kick out he sank.
what he really needed to know was how you sit on the water without sinking, and they said it was quite impossible to explain such an easy thing as that.
occasionally swans touched on the island, and he would give them all his day's food and then ask them how they sat on the water, but as soon as he had no more to give them the hateful things hissed at him and sailed away.
once he really thought he had discovered a way of reaching the gardens.
a wonderful white thing, like a runaway newspaper, floated high over the island and then tumbled, rolling over and over after the manner of a bird that has broken its wing.
peter was so frightened that he hid, but the birds told him it was only a kite, and what a kite is, and that it must have tugged its string out of a boy's hand, and soared away.
after that they laughed at peter for being so fond of the kite; he loved it so much that he even slept with one hand on it, and i think this was pathetic and pretty, for the reason he loved it was because it had belonged to a real boy.
-lsb- illustration: after this the birds said that they would help him no more in his mad enterprise -rsb- to the birds this was a very poor reason, but the older ones felt grateful to him at this time because he had nursed a number of fledglings through the german measles, and they offered to show him how birds fly a kite.
so six of them took the end of the string in their beaks and flew away with it; and to his amazement it flew after them and went even higher than they.
peter screamed out, "do it again!"
and with great good-nature they did it several times, and always instead of thanking them he cried, "do it again!"
which shows that even now he had not quite forgotten what it was to be a boy.
at last, with a grand design burning within his brave heart, he begged them to do it once more with him clinging to the tail, and now a hundred flew off with the string, and peter clung to the tail, meaning to drop off when he was over the gardens.
but the kite broke to pieces in the air, and he would have been drowned in the serpentine had he not caught hold of two indignant swans and made them carry him to the island.
after this the birds said that they would help him no more in his mad enterprise.
nevertheless, peter did reach the gardens at last by the help of shelley's boat, as i am now to tell you.
-lsb- illustration: tailpiece to "peter pan" -rsb- -lsb- illustration: headpiece to "the thrush's nest" -rsb- iii the thrush's nest shelley was a young gentleman and as grown-up as he need ever expect to be.
he was a poet; and they are never exactly grown-up.
they are people who despise money except what you need for to-day, and he had all that and five pounds over.
so, when he was walking in the kensington gardens, he made a paper boat of his bank-note, and sent it sailing on the serpentine.
it reached the island at night; and the look-out brought it to solomon caw, who thought at first that it was the usual thing, a message from a lady, saying she would be obliged if he could let her have a good one.
they always ask for the best one he has, and if he likes the letter he sends one from class a, but if it ruffles him he sends very funny ones indeed.
sometimes he sends none at all, and at another time he sends a nestful; it all depends on the mood you catch him in.
he likes you to leave it all to him, and if you mention particularly that you hope he will see his way to making it a boy this time, he is almost sure to send another girl.
and whether you are a lady or only a little boy who wants a baby-sister, always take pains to write your address clearly.
you ca n't think what a lot of babies solomon has sent to the wrong house.
shelley's boat, when opened, completely puzzled solomon, and he took counsel of his assistants, who having walked over it twice, first with their toes pointed out, and then with their toes pointed in, decided that it came from some greedy person who wanted five.
they thought this because there was a large five printed on it.
"preposterous!"
cried solomon in a rage, and he presented it to peter; anything useless which drifted upon the island was usually given to peter as a plaything.
but he did not play with his precious bank-note, for he knew what it was at once, having been very observant during the week when he was an ordinary boy.
with so much money, he reflected, he could surely at last contrive to reach the gardens, and he considered all the possible ways, and decided -lrb- wisely, i think -rrb- to choose the best way.
but, first, he had to tell the birds of the value of shelley's boat; and though they were too honest to demand it back, he saw that they were galled, and they cast such black looks at solomon, who was rather vain of his cleverness, that he flew away to the end of the island, and sat there very depressed with his head buried in his wings.
now peter knew that unless solomon was on your side, you never got anything done for you in the island, so he followed him and tried to hearten him.
-lsb- illustration: "preposterous!"
cried solomon in a rage -rsb- nor was this all that peter did to gain the powerful old fellow's good-will.
you must know that solomon had no intention of remaining in office all his life.
he looked forward to retiring by and by, and devoting his green old age to a life of pleasure on a certain yew-stump in the figs which had taken his fancy, and for years he had been quietly filling his stocking.
it was a stocking belonging to some bathing person which had been cast upon the island, and at the time i speak of it contained a hundred and eighty crumbs, thirty-four nuts, sixteen crusts, a pen-wiper, and a boot-lace.
when his stocking was full, solomon calculated that he would be able to retire on a competency.
peter now gave him a pound.
he cut it off his bank-note with a sharp stick.
this made solomon his friend for ever, and after the two had consulted together they called a meeting of the thrushes.
you will see presently why thrushes only were invited.
the scheme to be put before them was really peter's, but solomon did most of the talking, because he soon became irritable if other people talked.
he began by saying that he had been much impressed by the superior ingenuity shown by the thrushes in nest-building, and this put them into good-humour at once, as it was meant to do; for all the quarrels between birds are about the best way of building nests.
other birds, said solomon, omitted to line their nests with mud, and as a result they did not hold water.
here he cocked his head as if he had used an unanswerable argument; but, unfortunately, a mrs. finch had come to the meeting uninvited, and she squeaked out, "we do n't build nests to hold water, but to hold eggs," and then the thrushes stopped cheering, and solomon was so perplexed that he took several sips of water.
"consider," he said at last, "how warm the mud makes the nest."
"consider," cried mrs. finch, "that when water gets into the nest it remains there and your little ones are drowned."
the thrushes begged solomon with a look to say something crushing in reply to this, but again he was perplexed.
"try another drink," suggested mrs. finch pertly.
kate was her name, and all kates are saucy.
-lsb- illustration: for years he had been quietly filling his stocking -rsb- solomon did try another drink, and it inspired him.
"if," said he," a finch's nest is placed on the serpentine it fills and breaks to pieces, but a thrush's nest is still as dry as the cup of a swan's back."
how the thrushes applauded!
now they knew why they lined their nests with mud, and when mrs. finch called out, "we do n't place our nests on the serpentine," they did what they should have done at first -- chased her from the meeting.
after this it was most orderly.
what they had been brought together to hear, said solomon, was this: their young friend, peter pan, as they well knew, wanted very much to be able to cross to the gardens, and he now proposed, with their help, to build a boat.
at this the thrushes began to fidget, which made peter tremble for his scheme.
solomon explained hastily that what he meant was not one of the cumbrous boats that humans use; the proposed boat was to be simply a thrush's nest large enough to hold peter.
but still, to peter's agony, the thrushes were sulky.
"we are very busy people," they grumbled, "and this would be a big job."
"quite so," said solomon, "and, of course, peter would not allow you to work for nothing.
you must remember that he is now in comfortable circumstances, and he will pay you such wages as you have never been paid before.
peter pan authorises me to say that you shall all be paid sixpence a day."
then all the thrushes hopped for joy, and that very day was begun the celebrated building of the boat.
all their ordinary business fell into arrears.
it was the time of the year when they should have been pairing, but not a thrush's nest was built except this big one, and so solomon soon ran short of thrushes with which to supply the demand from the mainland.
the stout, rather greedy children, who look so well in perambulators but get puffed easily when they walk, were all young thrushes once, and ladies often ask specially for them.
what do you think solomon did?
he sent over to the house-tops for a lot of sparrows and ordered them to lay their eggs in old thrushes" nests, and sent their young to the ladies and swore they were all thrushes!
it was known afterwards on the island as the sparrows" year; and so, when you meet grown-up people in the gardens who puff and blow as if they thought themselves bigger than they are, very likely they belong to that year.
you ask them.
-lsb- illustration: when you meet grown-up people in the gardens who puff and blow as if they thought themselves bigger than they are -rsb- peter was a just master, and paid his work-people every evening.
they stood in rows on the branches, waiting politely while he cut the paper sixpences out of his bank-note, and presently he called the roll, and then each bird, as the names were mentioned, flew down and got sixpence.
it must have been a fine sight.
and at last, after months of labour, the boat was finished.
o the glory of peter as he saw it growing more and more like a great thrush's nest!
from the very beginning of the building of it he slept by its side, and often woke up to say sweet things to it, and after it was lined with mud and the mud had dried he always slept in it.
he sleeps in his nest still, and has a fascinating way of curling round in it, for it is just large enough to hold him comfortably when he curls round like a kitten.
it is brown inside, of course, but outside it is mostly green, being woven of grass and twigs, and when these wither or snap the walls are thatched afresh.
there are also a few feathers here and there, which came off the thrushes while they were building.
the other birds were extremely jealous, and said that the boat would not balance on the water, but it lay most beautifully steady; they said the water would come into it, but no water came into it.
next they said that peter had no oars, and this caused the thrushes to look at each other in dismay; but peter replied that he had no need of oars, for he had a sail, and with such a proud, happy face he produced a sail which he had fashioned out of his nightgown, and though it was still rather like a nightgown it made a lovely sail.
and that night, the moon being full, and all the birds asleep, he did enter his coracle -lrb- as master francis pretty would have said -rrb- and depart out of the island.
and first, he knew not why, he looked upward, with his hands clasped, and from that moment his eyes were pinned to the west.
he had promised the thrushes to begin by making short voyages, with them as his guides, but far away he saw the kensington gardens beckoning to him beneath the bridge, and he could not wait.
his face was flushed, but he never looked back; there was an exultation in his little breast that drove out fear.
was peter the least gallant of the english mariners who have sailed westward to meet the unknown?
at first, his boat turned round and round, and he was driven back to the place of his starting, whereupon he shortened sail, by removing one of the sleeves, and was forthwith carried backwards by a contrary breeze, to his no small peril.
he now let go the sail, with the result that he was drifted towards the far shore, where are black shadows he knew not the dangers of, but suspected them, and so once more hoisted his nightgown and went roomer of the shadows until he caught a favouring wind, which bore him westward, but at so great a speed that he was like to be broke against the bridge.
which, having avoided, he passed under the bridge and came, to his great rejoicing, within full sight of the delectable gardens.
but having tried to cast anchor, which was a stone at the end of a piece of the kite-string, he found no bottom, and was fain to hold off, seeking for moorage; and, feeling his way, he buffeted against a sunken reef that cast him overboard by the greatness of the shock, and he was near to being drowned, but clambered back into the vessel.
there now arose a mighty storm, accompanied by roaring of waters, such as he had never heard the like, and he was tossed this way and that, and his hands so numbed with the cold that he could not close them.
having escaped the danger of which, he was mercifully carried into a small bay, where his boat rode at peace.
nevertheless, he was not yet in safety; for, on pretending to disembark, he found a multitude of small people drawn up on the shore to contest his landing, and shouting shrilly to him to be off, for it was long past lock-out time.
this, with much brandishing of their holly-leaves; and also a company of them carried an arrow which some boy had left in the gardens, and this they were prepared to use as a battering-ram.
then peter, who knew them for the fairies, called out that he was not an ordinary human and had no desire to do them displeasure, but to be their friend; nevertheless, having found a jolly harbour, he was in no temper to draw off therefrom, and he warned them if they sought to mischief him to stand to their harms.
so saying, he boldly leapt ashore, and they gathered around him with intent to slay him, but there then arose a great cry among the women, and it was because they had now observed that his sail was a baby's nightgown.
whereupon, they straightway loved him, and grieved that their laps were too small, the which i can not explain, except by saying that such is the way of women.
the men-fairies now sheathed their weapons on observing the behaviour of their women, on whose intelligence they set great store, and they led him civilly to their queen, who conferred upon him the courtesy of the gardens after lock-out time, and henceforth peter could go whither he chose, and the fairies had orders to put him in comfort.
-lsb- illustration: he passed under the bridge and came within full sight of the delectable gardens -rsb- such was his first voyage to the gardens, and you may gather from the antiquity of the language that it took place a long time ago.
but peter never grows any older, and if we could be watching for him under the bridge to-night -lrb- but, of course, we ca n't -rrb-, i dare say we should see him hoisting his nightgown and sailing or paddling towards us in the thrush's nest.
when he sails, he sits down, but he stands up to paddle.
i shall tell you presently how he got his paddle.
long before the time for the opening of the gates comes he steals back to the island, for people must not see him -lrb- he is not so human as all that -rrb-, but this gives him hours for play, and he plays exactly as real children play.
at least he thinks so, and it is one of the pathetic things about him that he often plays quite wrongly.
you see, he had no one to tell him how children really play, for the fairies are all more or less in hiding until dusk, and so know nothing, and though the birds pretended that they could tell him a great deal, when the time for telling came, it was wonderful how little they really knew.
they told him the truth about hide-and-seek, and he often plays it by himself, but even the ducks on the round pond could not explain to him what it is that makes the pond so fascinating to boys.
every night the ducks have forgotten all the events of the day, except the number of pieces of cake thrown to them.
they are gloomy creatures, and say that cake is not what it was in their young days.
so peter had to find out many things for himself.
he often played ships at the round pond, but his ship was only a hoop which he had found on the grass.
of course, he had never seen a hoop, and he wondered what you play at with them, and decided that you play at pretending they are boats.
this hoop always sank at once, but he waded in for it, and sometimes he dragged it gleefully round the rim of the pond, and he was quite proud to think that he had discovered what boys do with hoops.
-lsb- illustration: there now arose a mighty storm, and he was tossed this way and that -lrb- missing from book -rrb- -rsb- another time, when he found a child's pail, he thought it was for sitting in, and he sat so hard in it that he could scarcely get out of it.
also he found a balloon.
it was bobbing about on the hump, quite as if it was having a game by itself, and he caught it after an exciting chase.
but he thought it was a ball, and jenny wren had told him that boys kick balls, so he kicked it; and after that he could not find it anywhere.
perhaps the most surprising thing he found was a perambulator.
it was under a lime-tree, near the entrance to the fairy queen's winter palace -lrb- which is within the circle of the seven spanish chestnuts -rrb-, and peter approached it warily, for the birds had never mentioned such things to him.
lest it was alive, he addressed it politely; and then, as it gave no answer, he went nearer and felt it cautiously.
he gave it a little push, and it ran from him, which made him think it must be alive after all; but, as it had run from him, he was not afraid.
so he stretched out his hand to pull it to him, but this time it ran at him, and he was so alarmed that he leapt the railing and scudded away to his boat.
you must not think, however, that he was a coward, for he came back next night with a crust in one hand and a stick in the other, but the perambulator had gone, and he never saw any other one.
i have promised to tell you also about his paddle.
it was a child's spade which he had found near st. govor's well, and he thought it was a paddle.
do you pity peter pan for making these mistakes?
if so, i think it rather silly of you.
what i mean is that, of course, one must pity him now and then, but to pity him all the time would be impertinence.
he thought he had the most splendid time in the gardens, and to think you have it is almost quite as good as really to have it.
he played without ceasing, while you often waste time by being mad-dog or mary-annish.
he could be neither of these things, for he had never heard of them, but do you think he is to be pitied for that?
oh, he was merry!
he was as much merrier than you, for instance, as you are merrier than your father.
sometimes he fell, like a spinning-top, from sheer merriment.
have you seen a greyhound leaping the fences of the gardens?
that is how peter leaps them.
-lsb- illustration: fairies are all more or less in hiding until dusk -rsb- and think of the music of his pipe.
gentlemen who walk home at night write to the papers to say they heard a nightingale in the gardens, but it is really peter's pipe they hear.
of course, he had no mother -- at least, what use was she to him?
you can be sorry for him for that, but do n't be too sorry, for the next thing i mean to tell you is how he revisited her.
it was the fairies who gave him the chance.
-lsb- illustration: tailpiece to "the thrush's nest" -rsb- -lsb- illustration: headpiece to "lock-out time" -rsb- iv lock-out time it is frightfully difficult to know much about the fairies, and almost the only thing known for certain is that there are fairies wherever there are children.
long ago children were forbidden the gardens, and at that time there was not a fairy in the place; then the children were admitted, and the fairies came trooping in that very evening.
they ca n't resist following the children, but you seldom see them, partly because they live in the daytime behind the railings, where you are not allowed to go, and also partly because they are so cunning.
they are not a bit cunning after lock-out, but until lock-out, my word!
-lsb- illustration: they are so cunning -rsb- -lsb- illustration: when they think you are not looking they skip along pretty lively -lrb- missing from book -rrb- -rsb- when you were a bird you knew the fairies pretty well, and you remember a good deal about them in your babyhood, which it is a great pity you ca n't write down, for gradually you forget, and i have heard of children who declared that they had never once seen a fairy.
very likely if they said this in the kensington gardens, they were standing looking at a fairy all the time.
the reason they were cheated was that she pretended to be something else.
this is one of their best tricks.
they usually pretend to be flowers, because the court sits in the fairies" basin, and there are so many flowers there, and all along the baby walk, that a flower is the thing least likely to attract attention.
they dress exactly like flowers, and change with the seasons, putting on white when lilies are in and blue for bluebells, and so on.
they like crocus and hyacinth time best of all, as they are partial to a bit of colour, but tulips -lrb- except white ones, which are the fairy cradles -rrb- they consider garish, and they sometimes put off dressing like tulips for days, so that the beginning of the tulip weeks is almost the best time to catch them.
when they think you are not looking they skip along pretty lively, but if you look, and they fear there is no time to hide, they stand quite still pretending to be flowers.
then, after you have passed without knowing that they were fairies, they rush home and tell their mothers they have had such an adventure.
the fairy basin, you remember, is all covered with ground-ivy -lrb- from which they make their castor-oil -rrb-, with flowers growing in it here and there.
most of them really are flowers, but some of them are fairies.
you never can be sure of them, but a good plan is to walk by looking the other way, and then turn round sharply.
another good plan, which david and i sometimes follow, is to stare them down.
after a long time they ca n't help winking, and then you know for certain that they are fairies.
-lsb- illustration: but if you look, and they fear there is no time to hide, they stand quite still pretending to be flowers -lrb- missing from book -rrb- -rsb- there are also numbers of them along the baby walk, which is a famous gentle place, as spots frequented by fairies are called.
once twenty-four of them had an extraordinary adventure.
they were a girls" school out for a walk with the governess, and all wearing hyacinth gowns, when she suddenly put her finger to her mouth, and then they all stood still on an empty bed and pretended to be hyacinths.
unfortunately what the governess had heard was two gardeners coming to plant new flowers in that very bed.
they were wheeling a hand-cart with the flowers in it, and were quite surprised to find the bed occupied.
"pity to lift them hyacinths," said the one man.
"duke's orders," replied the other, and, having emptied the cart, they dug up the boarding-school and put the poor, terrified things in it in five rows.
of course, neither the governess nor the girls dare let on that they were fairies, so they were carted far away to a potting-shed, out of which they escaped in the night without their shoes, but there was a great row about it among the parents, and the school was ruined.
as for their houses, it is no use looking for them, because they are the exact opposite of our houses.
you can see our houses by day but you ca n't see them by dark.
well, you can see their houses by dark, but you ca n't see them by day, for they are the colour of night, and i never heard of any one yet who could see night in the daytime.
this does not mean that they are black, for night has its colours just as day has, but ever so much brighter.
their blues and reds and greens are like ours with a light behind them.
the palace is entirely built of many-coloured glasses, and it is quite the loveliest of all royal residences, but the queen sometimes complains because the common people will peep in to see what she is doing.
they are very inquisitive folk, and press quite hard against the glass, and that is why their noses are mostly snubby.
the streets are miles long and very twisty, and have paths on each side made of bright worsted.
the birds used to steal the worsted for their nests, but a policeman has been appointed to hold on at the other end.
-lsb- illustration: the fairies are exquisite dancers -rsb- one of the great differences between the fairies and us is that they never do anything useful.
when the first baby laughed for the first time, his laugh broke into a million pieces, and they all went skipping about.
that was the beginning of fairies.
they look tremendously busy, you know, as if they had not a moment to spare, but if you were to ask them what they are doing, they could not tell you in the least.
they are frightfully ignorant, and everything they do is make-believe.
they have a postman, but he never calls except at christmas with his little box, and though they have beautiful schools, nothing is taught in them; the youngest child being chief person is always elected mistress, and when she has called the roll, they all go out for a walk and never come back.
it is a very noticeable thing that, in fairy families, the youngest is always chief person, and usually becomes a prince or princess; and children remember this, and think it must be so among humans also, and that is why they are often made uneasy when they come upon their mother furtively putting new frills on the basinette.
you have probably observed that your baby-sister wants to do all sorts of things that your mother and her nurse want her not to do -- to stand up at sitting-down time, and to sit down at stand-up time, for instance, or to wake up when she should fall asleep, or to crawl on the floor when she is wearing her best frock, and so on, and perhaps you put this down to naughtiness.
but it is not; it simply means that she is doing as she has seen the fairies do; she begins by following their ways, and it takes about two years to get her into the human ways.
her fits of passion, which are awful to behold, and are usually called teething, are no such thing; they are her natural exasperation, because we do n't understand her, though she is talking an intelligible language.
she is talking fairy.
the reason mothers and nurses know what her remarks mean, before other people know, as that "guch" means "give it to me at once," while "wa" is "why do you wear such a funny hat?"
is because, mixing so much with babies, they have picked up a little of the fairy language.
-lsb- illustration: a fairy ring -rsb- of late david has been thinking back hard about the fairy tongue, with his hands clutching his temples, and he has remembered a number of their phrases which i shall tell you some day if i do n't forget.
he had heard them in the days when he was a thrush, and though i suggested to him that perhaps it is really bird language he is remembering, he says not, for these phrases are about fun and adventures, and the birds talked of nothing but nest-building.
he distinctly remembers that the birds used to go from spot to spot like ladies at shop windows, looking at the different nests and saying, "not my colour, my dear," and "how would that do with a soft lining?"
and "but will it wear?"
and "what hideous trimming!"
and so on.
-lsb- illustration: these tricky fairies sometimes slyly change the board on a ball night -rsb- the fairies are exquisite dancers, and that is why one of the first things the baby does is to sign to you to dance to him and then to cry when you do it.
they hold their great balls in the open air, in what is called a fairy ring.
for weeks afterwards you can see the ring on the grass.
it is not there when they begin, but they make it by waltzing round and round.
sometimes you will find mushrooms inside the ring, and these are fairy chairs that the servants have forgotten to clear away.
the chairs and the rings are the only tell-tale marks these little people leave behind them, and they would remove even these were they not so fond of dancing that they toe it till the very moment of the opening of the gates.
david and i once found a fairy ring quite warm.
but there is also a way of finding out about the ball before it takes place.
you know the boards which tell at what time the gardens are to close to-day.
well, these tricky fairies sometimes slyly change the board on a ball night, so that it says the gardens are to close at six-thirty, for instance, instead of at seven.
this enables them to get begun half an hour earlier.
if on such a night we could remain behind in the gardens, as the famous maimie mannering did, we might see delicious sights; hundreds of lovely fairies hastening to the ball, the married ones wearing their wedding rings round their waists; the gentlemen, all in uniform, holding up the ladies" trains, and linkmen running in front carrying winter cherries, which are the fairy-lanterns; the cloakroom where they put on their silver slippers and get a ticket for their wraps; the flowers streaming up from the baby walk to look on, and always welcome because they can lend a pin; the supper-table, with queen mab at the head of it, and behind her chair the lord chamberlain, who carries a dandelion on which he blows when her majesty wants to know the time.
-lsb- illustration: linkmen running in front carrying winter cherries -rsb- the table-cloth varies according to the seasons, and in may it is made of chestnut blossom.
the way the fairy servants do is this: the men, scores of them, climb up the trees and shake the branches, and the blossom falls like snow.
then the lady servants sweep it together by whisking their skirts until it is exactly like a tablecloth, and that is how they get their tablecloth.
they have real glasses and real wine of three kinds, namely, blackthorn wine, berberris wine, and cowslip wine, and the queen pours out, but the bottles are so heavy that she just pretends to pour out.
there is bread-and-butter to begin with, of the size of a threepenny bit; and cakes to end with, and they are so small that they have no crumbs.
the fairies sit round on mushrooms, and at first they are well-behaved and always cough off the table, and so on, but after a bit they are not so well-behaved and stick their fingers into the butter, which is got from the roots of old trees, and the really horrid ones crawl over the tablecloth chasing sugar or other delicacies with their tongues.
when the queen sees them doing this she signs to the servants to wash up and put away, and then everybody adjourns to the dance, the queen walking in front while the lord chamberlain walks behind her, carrying two little pots, one of which contains the juice of wallflower and the other the juice of solomon's seal.
wallflower juice is good for reviving dancers who fall to the ground in a fit, and solomon's seal juice is for bruises.
they bruise very easily, and when peter plays faster and faster they foot it till they fall down in fits.
for, as you know without my telling you, peter pan is the fairies" orchestra.
he sits in the middle of the ring, and they would never dream of having a smart dance nowadays without him.
"p. p." is written on the corner of the invitation-cards sent out by all really good families.
they are grateful little people, too, and at the princess's coming-of-age ball -lrb- they come of age on their second birthday and have a birthday every month -rrb- they gave him the wish of his heart.
-lsb- illustration: when her majesty wants to know the time -rsb- the way it was done was this.
the queen ordered him to kneel, and then said that for playing so beautifully she would give him the wish of his heart.
then they all gathered round peter to hear what was the wish of his heart, but for a long time he hesitated, not being certain what it was himself.
"if i chose to go back to mother," he asked at last, "could you give me that wish?"
now this question vexed them, for were he to return to his mother they should lose his music, so the queen tilted her nose contemptuously and said, "pooh!
ask for a much bigger wish than that."
"is that quite a little wish?"
he inquired.
"as little as this," the queen answered, putting her hands near each other.
"what size is a big wish?"
he asked.
she measured it off on her skirt and it was a very handsome length.
then peter reflected and said, "well, then, i think i shall have two little wishes instead of one big one."
of course, the fairies had to agree, though his cleverness rather shocked them, and he said that his first wish was to go to his mother, but with the right to return to the gardens if he found her disappointing.
his second wish he would hold in reserve.
they tried to dissuade him, and even put obstacles in the way."
i can give you the power to fly to her house," the queen said, "but i ca n't open the door for you."
"the window i flew out at will be open," peter said confidently.
"mother always keeps it open in the hope that i may fly back."
"how do you know?"
they asked, quite surprised, and, really, peter could not explain how he knew."
i just do know," he said.
so as he persisted in his wish, they had to grant it.
the way they gave him power to fly was this: they all tickled him on the shoulder, and soon he felt a funny itching in that part, and then up he rose higher and higher, and flew away out of the gardens and over the housetops.
it was so delicious that instead of flying straight to his own home he skimmed away over st. paul's to the crystal palace and back by the river and regent's park, and by the time he reached his mother's window he had quite made up his mind that his second wish should be to become a bird.
the window was wide open, just as he knew it would be, and in he fluttered, and there was his mother lying asleep.
peter alighted softly on the wooden rail at the foot of the bed and had a good look at her.
she lay with her head on her hand, and the hollow in the pillow was like a nest lined with her brown wavy hair.
he remembered, though he had long forgotten it, that she always gave her hair a holiday at night.
how sweet the frills of her nightgown were!
he was very glad she was such a pretty mother.
but she looked sad, and he knew why she looked sad.
one of her arms moved as if it wanted to go round something, and he knew what it wanted to go round."
o mother!"
said peter to himself, "if you just knew who is sitting on the rail at the foot of the bed."
very gently he patted the little mound that her feet made, and he could see by her face that she liked it.
he knew he had but to say "mother" ever so softly, and she would wake up.
they always wake up at once if it is you that says their name.
then she would give such a joyous cry and squeeze him tight.
how nice that would be to him, but oh!
how exquisitely delicious it would be to her.
that, i am afraid, is how peter regarded it.
in returning to his mother he never doubted that he was giving her the greatest treat a woman can have.
nothing can be more splendid, he thought, than to have a little boy of your own.
how proud of him they are!
and very right and proper, too.
-lsb- illustration: the fairies sit round on mushrooms, and at first they are well behaved -rsb- but why does peter sit so long on the rail; why does he not tell his mother that he has come back?
i quite shrink from the truth, which is that he sat there in two minds.
sometimes he looked longingly at his mother, and sometimes he looked longingly at the window.
certainly it would be pleasant to be her boy again, but on the other hand, what times those had been in the gardens!
was he so sure that he should enjoy wearing clothes again?
he popped off the bed and opened some drawers to have a look at his old garments.
they were still there, but he could not remember how you put them on.
the socks, for instance, were they worn on the hands or on the feet?
he was about to try one of them on his hand, when he had a great adventure.
perhaps the drawer had creaked; at any rate, his mother woke up, for he heard her say "peter," as if it was the most lovely word in the language.
he remained sitting on the floor and held his breath, wondering how she knew that he had come back.
if she said "peter" again, he meant to cry "mother" and run to her.
but she spoke no more, she made little moans only, and when he next peeped at her she was once more asleep, with tears on her face.
it made peter very miserable, and what do you think was the first thing he did?
sitting on the rail at the foot of the bed, he played a beautiful lullaby to his mother on his pipe.
he had made it up himself out of the way she said "peter," and he never stopped playing until she looked happy.
he thought this so clever of him that he could scarcely resist wakening her to hear her say," o peter, how exquisitely you play!"
however, as she now seemed comfortable, he again cast looks at the window.
you must not think that he meditated flying away and never coming back.
he had quite decided to be his mother's boy, but hesitated about beginning to-night.
it was the second wish which troubled him.
he no longer meant to make it a wish to be a bird, but not to ask for a second wish seemed wasteful, and, of course, he could not ask for it without returning to the fairies.
also, if he put off asking for his wish too long it might go bad.
he asked himself if he had not been hard-hearted to fly away without saying good-bye to solomon."
i should like awfully to sail in my boat just once more," he said wistfully to his sleeping mother.
he quite argued with her as if she could hear him.
"it would be so splendid to tell the birds of this adventure," he said coaxingly."
i promise to come back," he said solemnly, and meant it, too.
-lsb- illustration: butter is got from the roots of old trees -lrb- missing from book -rrb- -rsb- and in the end, you know, he flew away.
twice he came back from the window, wanting to kiss his mother, but he feared the delight of it might waken her, so at last he played her a lovely kiss on his pipe, and then he flew back to the gardens.
many nights, and even months, passed before he asked the fairies for his second wish; and i am not sure that i quite know why he delayed so long.
one reason was that he had so many good-byes to say, not only to his particular friends, but to a hundred favourite spots.
then he had his last sail, and his very last sail, and his last sail of all, and so on.
again, a number of farewell feasts were given in his honour; and another comfortable reason was that, after all, there was no hurry, for his mother would never weary of waiting for him.
this last reason displeased old solomon, for it was an encouragement to the birds to procrastinate.
solomon had several excellent mottoes for keeping them at their work, such as "never put off laying to-day because you can lay to-morrow," and "in this world there are no second chances," and yet here was peter gaily putting off and none the worse for it.
the birds pointed this out to each other, and fell into lazy habits.
but, mind you, though peter was so slow in going back to his mother, he was quite decided to go back.
the best proof of this was his caution with the fairies.
they were most anxious that he should remain in the gardens to play to them, and to bring this to pass they tried to trick him into making such a remark as" i wish the grass was not so wet," and some of them danced out of time in the hope that he might cry," i do wish you would keep time!"
then they would have said that this was his second wish.
but he smoked their design, and though on occasions he began," i wish --" he always stopped in time.
so when at last he said to them bravely," i wish now to go back to mother for ever and always," they had to tickle his shoulders and let him go.
he went in a hurry in the end, because he had dreamt that his mother was crying, and he knew what was the great thing she cried for, and that a hug from her splendid peter would quickly make her to smile.
oh!
he felt sure of it, and so eager was he to be nestling in her arms that this time he flew straight to the window, which was always to be open for him.
-lsb- illustration: wallflower juice is good for reviving dancers who fall to the ground in a fit -rsb- but the window was closed, and there were iron bars on it, and peering inside he saw his mother sleeping peacefully with her arm round another little boy.
peter called, "mother!
mother!"
but she heard him not; in vain he beat his little limbs against the iron bars.
he had to fly back, sobbing, to the gardens, and he never saw his dear again.
what a glorious boy he had meant to be to her!
ah, peter!
we who have made the great mistake, how differently we should all act at the second chance.
but solomon was right -- there is no second chance, not for most of us.
when we reach the window it is lock-out time.
the iron bars are up for life.
-lsb- illustration: tailpiece to "lock-out time" -rsb- -lsb- illustration: headpiece to "the little house" -rsb- v the little house everybody has heard of the little house in the kensington gardens, which is the only house in the whole world that the fairies have built for humans.
but no one has really seen it, except just three or four, and they have not only seen it but slept in it, and unless you sleep in it you never see it.
this is because it is not there when you lie down, but it is there when you wake up and step outside.
in a kind of way every one may see it, but what you see is not really it, but only the light in the windows.
you see the light after lock-out time.
david, for instance, saw it quite distinctly far away among the trees as we were going home from the pantomime, and oliver bailey saw it the night he stayed so late at the temple, which is the name of his father's office.
angela clare, who loves to have a tooth extracted because then she is treated to tea in a shop, saw more than one light, she saw hundreds of them all together; and this must have been the fairies building the house, for they build it every night, and always in a different part of the gardens.
she thought one of the lights was bigger than the others, though she was not quite sure, for they jumped about so, and it might have been another one that was bigger.
but if it was the same one, it was peter pan's light.
heaps of children have seen the light, so that is nothing.
but maimie mannering was the famous one for whom the house was first built.
maimie was always rather a strange girl, and it was at night that she was strange.
she was four years of age, and in the daytime she was the ordinary kind.
she was pleased when her brother tony, who was a magnificent fellow of six, took notice of her, and she looked up to him in the right way, and tried in vain to imitate him, and was flattered rather than annoyed when he shoved her about.
also, when she was batting, she would pause though the ball was in the air to point out to you that she was wearing new shoes.
she was quite the ordinary kind in the daytime.
-lsb- illustration: peter pan is the fairies" orchestra -rsb- but as the shades of night fell, tony, the swaggerer, lost his contempt for maimie and eyed her fearfully; and no wonder, for with dark there came into her face a look that i can describe only as a leary look.
it was also a serene look that contrasted grandly with tony's uneasy glances.
then he would make her presents of his favourite toys -lrb- which he always took away from her next morning -rrb-, and she accepted them with a disturbing smile.
the reason he was now become so wheedling and she so mysterious was -lrb- in brief -rrb- that they knew they were about to be sent to bed.
it was then that maimie was terrible.
tony entreated her not to do it to-night, and the mother and their coloured nurse threatened her, but maimie merely smiled her agitating smile.
and by and by when they were alone with their night-light she would start up in bed crying "hsh!
what was that?"
tony beseeches her, "it was nothing -- do n't, maimie, do n't!"
and pulls the sheet over his head.
"it is coming nearer!"
she cries.
"oh, look at it, tony!
it is feeling your bed with its horns -- it is boring for you, o tony, oh!"
and she desists not until he rushes downstairs in his combinations, screeching.
when they came up to whip maimie they usually found her sleeping tranquilly -- not shamming, you know, but really sleeping, and looking like the sweetest little angel, which seems to me to make it almost worse.
but of course it was daytime when they were in the gardens, and then tony did most of the talking.
you could gather from his talk that he was a very brave boy, and no one was so proud of it as maimie.
she would have loved to have a ticket on her saying that she was his sister.
and at no time did she admire him more than when he told her, as he often did with splendid firmness, that one day he meant to remain behind in the gardens after the gates were closed."
o tony," she would say with awful respect, "but the fairies will be so angry!'"
i dare say," replied tony carelessly.
"perhaps," she said, thrilling, "peter pan will give you a sail in his boat!'"
i shall make him," replied tony; no wonder she was proud of him.
-lsb- illustration: they all tickled him on the shoulder -lrb- missing from book -rrb- -rsb- but they should not have talked so loudly, for one day they were overheard by a fairy who had been gathering skeleton leaves, from which the little people weave their summer curtains, and after that tony was a marked boy.
they loosened the rails before he sat on them, so that down he came on the back of his head; they tripped him up by catching his bootlace, and bribed the ducks to sink his boat.
nearly all the nasty accidents you meet with in the gardens occur because the fairies have taken an ill-will to you, and so it behoves you to be careful what you say about them.
maimie was one of the kind who like to fix a day for doing things, but tony was not that kind, and when she asked him which day he was to remain behind in the gardens after lock-out he merely replied, "just some day"; he was quite vague about which day except when she asked, "will it be to-day?"
and then he could always say for certain that it would not be to-day.
so she saw that he was waiting for a real good chance.
this brings us to an afternoon when the gardens were white with snow, and there was ice on the round pond; not thick enough to skate on, but at least you could spoil it for to-morrow by flinging stones, and many bright little boys and girls were doing that.
when tony and his sister arrived they wanted to go straight to the pond, but their ayah said they must take a sharp walk first, and as she said this she glanced at the time-board to see when the gardens closed that night.
it read half-past five.
poor ayah!
she is the one who laughs continuously because there are so many white children in the world, but she was not to laugh much more that day.
well, they went up the baby walk and back, and when they returned to the time-board she was surprised to see that it now read five o'clock for closing-time.
but she was unacquainted with the tricky ways of the fairies, and so did not see -lrb- as maimie and tony saw at once -rrb- that they had changed the hour because there was to be a ball to-night.
she said there was only time now to walk to the top of the hump and back, and as they trotted along with her she little guessed what was thrilling their little breasts.
you see the chance had come of seeing a fairy ball.
never, tony felt, could he hope for a better chance.
-lsb- illustration: one day they were overheard by a fairy -rsb- he had to feel this, for maimie so plainly felt it for him.
her eager eyes asked the question, "is it to-day?"
and he gasped and then nodded.
maimie slipped her hand into tony's, and hers was hot, but his was cold.
she did a very kind thing; she took off her scarf and gave it to him.
"in case you should feel cold," she whispered.
her face was aglow, but tony's was very gloomy.
as they turned on the top of the hump he whispered to her, "i'm afraid nurse would see me, so i sha n't be able to do it."
maimie admired him more than ever for being afraid of nothing but their ayah, when there were so many unknown terrors to fear, and she said aloud, "tony, i shall race you to the gate," and in a whisper, "then you can hide," and off they ran.
tony could always outdistance her easily, but never had she known him speed away so quickly as now, and she was sure he hurried that he might have more time to hide.
"brave, brave!"
her doting eyes were crying when she got a dreadful shock; instead of hiding, her hero had run out at the gate!
at this bitter sight maimie stopped blankly, as if all her lapful of darling treasures were suddenly spilled, and then for very disdain she could not sob; in a swell of protest against all puling cowards she ran to st. govor's well and hid in tony's stead.
when the ayah reached the gate and saw tony far in front she thought her other charge was with him and passed out.
twilight crept over the gardens, and hundreds of people passed out, including the last one, who always has to run for it, but maimie saw them not.
she had shut her eyes tight and glued them with passionate tears.
when she opened them something very cold ran up her legs and up her arms and dropped into her heart.
it was the stillness of the gardens.
then she heard clang, then from another part clang, then clang, clang far away.
it was the closing of the gates.
immediately the last clang had died away maimie distinctly heard a voice say, "so that's all right."
it had a wooden sound and seemed to come from above, and she looked up in time to see an elm-tree stretching out its arms and yawning.
-lsb- illustration: the little people weave their summer curtains from skeleton leaves -rsb- she was about to say," i never knew you could speak!"
when a metallic voice that seemed to come from the ladle at the well remarked to the elm," i suppose it is a bit coldish up there?"
and the elm replied, "not particularly, but you do get numb standing so long on one leg," and he flapped his arms vigorously just as the cabmen do before they drive off.
maimie was quite surprised to see that a number of other tall trees were doing the same sort of thing, and she stole away to the baby walk and crouched observantly under a minorca holly which shrugged its shoulders but did not seem to mind her.
she was not in the least cold.
she was wearing a russet-coloured pelisse and had the hood over her head, so that nothing of her showed except her dear little face and her curls.
the rest of her real self was hidden far away inside so many warm garments that in shape she seemed rather like a ball.
she was about forty round the waist.
there was a good deal going on in the baby walk, where maimie arrived in time to see a magnolia and a persian lilac step over the railing and set off for a smart walk.
they moved in a jerky sort of way certainly, but that was because they used crutches.
an elderberry hobbled across the walk, and stood chatting with some young quinces, and they all had crutches.
the crutches were the sticks that are tied to young trees and shrubs.
they were quite familiar objects to maimie, but she had never known what they were for until to-night.
-lsb- illustration: there was a good deal going on in the baby walk -rsb- she peeped up the walk and saw her first fairy.
he was a street boy fairy who was running up the walk closing the weeping trees.
the way he did it was this: he pressed a spring in the trunks and they shut like umbrellas, deluging the little plants beneath with snow."
o you naughty, naughty child!"
maimie cried indignantly, for she knew what it was to have a dripping umbrella about your ears.
fortunately the mischievous fellow was out of earshot, but a chrysanthemum heard her, and said so pointedly, "hoity-toity, what is this?"
that she had to come out and show herself.
then the whole vegetable kingdom was rather puzzled what to do.
-lsb- illustration: an afternoon when the gardens were white with snow -rsb- "of course it is no affair of ours," a spindle-tree said after they had whispered together, "but you know quite well you ought not to be here, and perhaps our duty is to report you to the fairies; what do you think yourself?'"
i think you should not," maimie replied, which so perplexed them that they said petulantly there was no arguing with her."
i would n't ask it of you," she assured them, "if i thought it was wrong," and of course after this they could not well carry tales.
they then said, "well-a-day," and "such is life," for they can be frightfully sarcastic; but she felt sorry for those of them who had no crutches, and she said good-naturedly, "before i go to the fairies" ball, i should like to take you for a walk one at a time; you can lean on me, you know."
at this they clapped their hands, and she escorted them up the baby walk and back again, one at a time, putting an arm or a finger round the very frail, setting their leg right when it got too ridiculous, and treating the foreign ones quite as courteously as the english, though she could not understand a word they said.
they behaved well on the whole, though some whimpered that she had not taken them as far as she took nancy or grace or dorothy, and others jagged her, but it was quite unintentional, and she was too much of a lady to cry out.
so much walking tired her, and she was anxious to be off to the ball, but she no longer felt afraid.
the reason she felt no more fear was that it was now night-time, and in the dark, you remember, maimie was always rather strange.
they were now loth to let her go, for, "if the fairies see you," they warned her, "they will mischief you -- stab you to death, or compel you to nurse their children, or turn you into something tedious, like an evergreen oak."
as they said this they looked with affected pity at an evergreen oak, for in winter they are very envious of the evergreens.
"oh, la!"
replied the oak bitingly, "how deliciously cosy it is to stand here buttoned to the neck and watch you poor naked creatures shivering."
this made them sulky, though they had really brought it on themselves, and they drew for maimie a very gloomy picture of the perils that would face her if she insisted on going to the ball.
-lsb- illustration: she ran to st. govor's well and hid -rsb- she learned from a purple filbert that the court was not in its usual good temper at present, the cause being the tantalising heart of the duke of christmas daisies.
he was an oriental fairy, very poorly of a dreadful complaint, namely, inability to love, and though he had tried many ladies in many lands he could not fall in love with one of them.
queen mab, who rules in the gardens, had been confident that her girls would bewitch him, but alas!
his heart, the doctor said, remained cold.
this rather irritating doctor, who was his private physician, felt the duke's heart immediately after any lady was presented, and then always shook his bald head and murmured, "cold, quite cold."
naturally queen mab felt disgraced, and first she tried the effect of ordering the court into tears for nine minutes, and then she blamed the cupids and decreed that they should wear fools" caps until they thawed the duke's frozen heart.
"how i should love to see the cupids in their dear little fools" caps!"
maimie cried, and away she ran to look for them very recklessly, for the cupids hate to be laughed at.
it is always easy to discover where a fairies" ball is being held, as ribbons are stretched between it and all the populous parts of the gardens, on which those invited may walk to the dance without wetting their pumps.
this night the ribbons were red, and looked very pretty on the snow.
-lsb- illustration: she escorted them up the baby walk and back again -rsb- maimie walked alongside one of them for some distance without meeting anybody, but at last she saw a fairy cavalcade approaching.
to her surprise they seemed to be returning from the ball, and she had just time to hide from them by bending her knees and holding out her arms and pretending to be a garden chair.
there were six horsemen in front and six behind; in the middle walked a prim lady wearing a long train held up by two pages, and on the train, as if it were a couch, reclined a lovely girl, for in this way do aristocratic fairies travel about.
she was dressed in golden rain, but the most enviable part of her was her neck, which was blue in colour and of a velvet texture, and of course showed off her diamond necklace as no white throat could have glorified it.
the high-born fairies obtain this admired effect by pricking their skin, which lets the blue blood come through and dye them, and you can not imagine anything so dazzling unless you have seen the ladies" busts in the jewellers" windows.
maimie also noticed that the whole cavalcade seemed to be in a passion, tilting their noses higher than it can be safe for even fairies to tilt them, and she concluded that this must be another case in which the doctor had said, "cold, quite cold."
-lsb- illustration: an elderberry hobbled across the walk, and stood chatting with some young quinces -rsb- well, she followed the ribbon to a place where it became a bridge over a dry puddle into which another fairy had fallen and been unable to climb out.
at first this little damsel was afraid of maimie, who most kindly went to her aid, but soon she sat in her hand chatting gaily and explaining that her name was brownie, and that though only a poor street singer she was on her way to the ball to see if the duke would have her.
"of course," she said," i am rather plain," and this made maimie uncomfortable, for indeed the simple little creature was almost quite plain for a fairy.
it was difficult to know what to reply."
i see you think i have no chance," brownie said falteringly."
i do n't say that," maimie answered politely; "of course your face is just a tiny bit homely, but --" really it was quite awkward for her.
fortunately she remembered about her father and the bazaar.
he had gone to a fashionable bazaar where all the most beautiful ladies in london were on view for half a crown the second day, but on his return home, instead of being dissatisfied with maimie's mother, he had said, "you ca n't think, my dear, what a relief it is to see a homely face again."
maimie repeated this story, and it fortified brownie tremendously, indeed she had no longer the slightest doubt that the duke would choose her.
so she scudded away up the ribbon, calling out to maimie not to follow lest the queen should mischief her.
but maimie's curiosity tugged her forward, and presently at the seven spanish chestnuts she saw a wonderful light.
she crept forward until she was quite near it, and then she peeped from behind a tree.
-lsb- illustration: a chrysanthemum heard her, and said pointedly, "hoity-toity, what is this?" -rsb-
the light, which was as high as your head above the ground, was composed of myriads of glow-worms all holding on to each other, and so forming a dazzling canopy over the fairy ring.
there were thousands of little people looking on, but they were in shadow and drab in colour compared to the glorious creatures within that luminous circle, who were so bewilderingly bright that maimie had to wink hard all the time she looked at them.
it was amazing and even irritating to her that the duke of christmas daisies should be able to keep out of love for a moment: yet out of love his dusky grace still was: you could see it by the shamed looks of the queen and court -lrb- though they pretended not to care -rrb-, by the way darling ladies brought forward for his approval burst into tears as they were told to pass on, and by his own most dreary face.
maimie could also see the pompous doctor feeling the duke's heart and hear him give utterance to his parrot cry, and she was particularly sorry for the cupids, who stood in their fools" caps in obscure places and, every time they heard that "cold, quite cold," bowed their disgraced little heads.
she was disappointed not to see peter pan, and i may as well tell you now why he was so late that night.
it was because his boat had got wedged on the serpentine between fields of floating ice, through which he had to break a perilous passage with his trusty paddle.
the fairies had as yet scarcely missed him, for they could not dance, so heavy were their hearts.
they forget all the steps when they are sad, and remember them again when they are merry.
david tells me that fairies never say, "we feel happy": what they say is, "we feel dancey."
well, they were looking very undancey indeed, when sudden laughter broke out among the onlookers, caused by brownie, who had just arrived and was insisting on her right to be presented to the duke.
maimie craned forward eagerly to see how her friend fared, though she had really no hope; no one seemed to have the least hope except brownie herself, who, however, was absolutely confident.
she was led before his grace, and the doctor putting a finger carelessly on the ducal heart, which for convenience" sake was reached by a little trap-door in his diamond shirt, had begun to say mechanically, "cold, qui --," when he stopped abruptly.
"what's this?"
he cried, and first he shook the heart like a watch, and then he put his ear to it.
"bless my soul!"
cried the doctor, and by this time of course the excitement among the spectators was tremendous, fairies fainting right and left.
-lsb- illustration: they warned her -rsb- everybody stared breathlessly at the duke, who was very much startled, and looked as if he would like to run away.
"good gracious me!"
the doctor was heard muttering, and now the heart was evidently on fire, for he had to jerk his fingers away from it and put them in his mouth.
the suspense was awful.
then in a loud voice, and bowing low, "my lord duke," said the physician elatedly," i have the honour to inform your excellency that your grace is in love."
you ca n't conceive the effect of it.
brownie held out her arms to the duke and he flung himself into them, the queen leapt into the arms of the lord chamberlain, and the ladies of the court leapt into the arms of her gentlemen, for it is etiquette to follow her example in everything.
thus in a single moment about fifty marriages took place, for if you leap into each other's arms it is a fairy wedding.
of course a clergyman has to be present.
how the crowd cheered and leapt!
trumpets brayed, the moon came out, and immediately a thousand couples seized hold of its rays as if they were ribbons in a may dance and waltzed in wild abandon round the fairy ring.
most gladsome sight of all, the cupids plucked the hated fools" caps from their heads and cast them high in the air.
and then maimie went and spoiled everything.
she could n't help it.
she was crazy with delight over her little friend's good fortune, so she took several steps forward and cried in an ecstasy," o brownie, how splendid!"
everybody stood still, the music ceased, the lights went out, and all in the time you may take to say, "oh dear!"
an awful sense of her peril came upon maimie; too late she remembered that she was a lost child in a place where no human must be between the locking and the opening of the gates; she heard the murmur of an angry multitude; she saw a thousand swords flashing for her blood, and she uttered a cry of terror and fled.
how she ran!
and all the time her eyes were starting out of her head.
many times she lay down, and then quickly jumped up and ran on again.
her little mind was so entangled in terrors that she no longer knew she was in the gardens.
the one thing she was sure of was that she must never cease to run, and she thought she was still running long after she had dropped in the figs and gone to sleep.
she thought the snowflakes falling on her face were her mother kissing her good-night.
she thought her coverlet of snow was a warm blanket, and tried to pull it over her head.
and when she heard talking through her dreams she thought it was mother bringing father to the nursery door to look at her as she slept.
but it was the fairies.
i am very glad to be able to say that they no longer desired to mischief her.
when she rushed away they had rent the air with such cries as "slay her!"
"turn her into something extremely unpleasant!"
and so on, but the pursuit was delayed while they discussed who should march in front, and this gave duchess brownie time to cast herself before the queen and demand a boon.
every bride has a right to a boon, and what she asked for was maimie's life.
"anything except that," replied queen mab sternly, and all the fairies echoed, "anything except that."
but when they learned how maimie had befriended brownie and so enabled her to attend the ball to their great glory and renown, they gave three huzzas for the little human, and set off, like an army, to thank her, the court advancing in front and the canopy keeping step with it.
they traced maimie easily by her footprints in the snow.
but though they found her deep in snow in the figs, it seemed impossible to thank maimie, for they could not waken her.
they went through the form of thanking her -- that is to say, the new king stood on her body and read her a long address of welcome, but she heard not a word of it.
they also cleared the snow off her, but soon she was covered again, and they saw she was in danger of perishing of cold.
"turn her into something that does not mind the cold," seemed a good suggestion of the doctor's, but the only thing they could think of that does not mind cold was a snowflake.
"and it might melt," the queen pointed out, so that idea had to be given up.
a magnificent attempt was made to carry her to a sheltered spot, but though there were so many of them she was too heavy.
by this time all the ladies were crying in their handkerchiefs, but presently the cupids had a lovely idea.
"build a house round her," they cried, and at once everybody perceived that this was the thing to do; in a moment a hundred fairy sawyers were among the branches, architects were running round maimie, measuring her; a bricklayer's yard sprang up at her feet, seventy-five masons rushed up with the foundation-stone, and the queen laid it, overseers were appointed to keep the boys off, scaffoldings were run up, the whole place rang with hammers and chisels and turning-lathes, and by this time the roof was on and the glaziers were putting in the windows.
-lsb- illustration: queen mab, who rules in the gardens -rsb- the house was exactly the size of maimie, and perfectly lovely.
one of her arms was extended, and this had bothered them for a second, but they built a verandah round it leading to the front door.
the windows were the size of a coloured picture-book and the door rather smaller, but it would be easy for her to get out by taking off the roof.
the fairies, as is their custom, clapped their hands with delight over their cleverness, and they were so madly in love with the little house that they could not bear to think they had finished it.
so they gave it ever so many little extra touches, and even then they added more extra touches.
for instance, two of them ran up a ladder and put on a chimney.
"now we fear it is quite finished," they sighed.
but no, for another two ran up the ladder, and tied some smoke to the chimney.
"that certainly finishes it," they said reluctantly.
"not at all," cried a glow-worm; "if she were to wake without seeing a night-light she might be frightened, so i shall be her night-light."
"wait one moment," said a china merchant, "and i shall make you a saucer."
now, alas!
it was absolutely finished.
oh, dear no!
"gracious me!"
cried a brass manufacturer, "there's no handle on the door," and he put one on.
an ironmonger added a scraper, and an old lady ran up with a door-mat.
carpenters arrived with a water-butt, and the painters insisted on painting it.
finished at last!
"finished!
how can it be finished," the plumber demanded scornfully, "before hot and cold are put in?"
and he put in hot and cold.
then an army of gardeners arrived with fairy carts and spades and seeds and bulbs and forcing-houses, and soon they had a flower-garden to the right of the verandah, and a vegetable garden to the left, and roses and clematis on the walls of the house, and in less time than five minutes all these dear things were in full bloom.
-lsb- illustration: shook his bald head and murmured, "cold, quite cold" -rsb- oh, how beautiful the little house was now!
but it was at last finished true as true, and they had to leave it and return to the dance.
they all kissed their hands to it as they went away, and the last to go was brownie.
she stayed a moment behind the others to drop a pleasant dream down the chimney.
all through the night the exquisite little house stood there in the figs taking care of maimie, and she never knew.
she slept until the dream was quite finished, and woke feeling deliciously cosy just as morning was breaking from its egg, and then she almost fell asleep again, and then she called out, "tony," for she thought she was at home in the nursery.
as tony made no answer, she sat up, whereupon her head hit the roof, and it opened like the lid of a box, and to her bewilderment she saw all around her the kensington gardens lying deep in snow.
as she was not in the nursery she wondered whether this was really herself, so she pinched her cheeks, and then she knew it was herself, and this reminded her that she was in the middle of a great adventure.
she remembered now everything that had happened to her from the closing of the gates up to her running away from the fairies, but how ever, she asked herself, had she got into this funny place?
she stepped out by the roof, right over the garden, and then she saw the dear house in which she had passed the night.
it so entranced her that she could think of nothing else."
o you darling!
o you sweet!
o you love!"
she cried.
perhaps a human voice frightened the little house, or maybe it now knew that its work was done, for no sooner had maimie spoken than it began to grow smaller; it shrank so slowly that she could scarce believe it was shrinking, yet she soon knew that it could not contain her now.
it always remained as complete as ever, but it became smaller and smaller, and the garden dwindled at the same time, and the snow crept closer, lapping house and garden up.
now the house was the size of a little dog's kennel, and now of a noah's ark, but still you could see the smoke and the door-handle and the roses on the wall, every one complete.
the glow-worm light was waning too, but it was still there.
"darling, loveliest, do n't go!"
maimie cried, falling on her knees, for the little house was now the size of a reel of thread, but still quite complete.
but as she stretched out her arms imploringly the snow crept up on all sides until it met itself, and where the little house had been was now one unbroken expanse of snow.
-lsb- illustration: fairies never say, "we feel happy": what they say is, "we feel dancey" -rsb- maimie stamped her foot naughtily, and was putting her fingers to her eyes, when she heard a kind voice say, "do n't cry, pretty human, do n't cry," and then she turned round and saw a beautiful little naked boy regarding her wistfully.
she knew at once that he must be peter pan.
-lsb- illustration: tailpiece to "the little house" -rsb- -lsb- illustration: headpiece to "peter's goat" -rsb- vi peter's goat maimie felt quite shy, but peter knew not what shy was."
i hope you have had a good night," he said earnestly.
"thank you," she replied," i was so cosy and warm.
but you" -- and she looked at his nakedness awkwardly -- "do n't you feel the least bit cold?"
now cold was another word peter had forgotten, so he answered," i think not, but i may be wrong: you see i am rather ignorant.
i am not exactly a boy; solomon says i am a betwixt-and-between."
"so that is what it is called," said maimie thoughtfully.
"that's not my name," he explained, "my name is peter pan."
"yes, of course," she said," i know, everybody knows."
you ca n't think how pleased peter was to learn that all the people outside the gates knew about him.
he begged maimie to tell him what they knew and what they said, and she did so.
they were sitting by this time on a fallen tree; peter had cleared off the snow for maimie, but he sat on a snowy bit himself.
"squeeze closer," maimie said.
"what is that?"
he asked, and she showed him, and then he did it.
they talked together and he found that people knew a great deal about him, but not everything, not that he had gone back to his mother and been barred out, for instance, and he said nothing of this to maimie, for it still humiliated him.
"do they know that i play games exactly like real boys?"
he asked very proudly."
o maimie, please tell them!"
but when he revealed how he played, by sailing his hoop on the round pond, and so on, she was simply horrified.
"all your ways of playing," she said with her big eyes on him, "are quite, quite wrong, and not in the least like how boys play."
poor peter uttered a little moan at this, and he cried for the first time for i know not how long.
maimie was extremely sorry for him, and lent him her handkerchief, but he did n't know in the least what to do with it, so she showed him, that is to say, she wiped her eyes, and then gave it back to him, saying, "now you do it," but instead of wiping his own eyes he wiped hers, and she thought it best to pretend that this was what she had meant.
-lsb- illustration: looking very undancey indeed -rsb- she said out of pity for him," i shall give you a kiss if you like," but though he once knew, he had long forgotten what kisses are, and he replied, "thank you," and held out his hand, thinking she had offered to put something into it.
this was a great shock to her, but she felt she could not explain without shaming him, so with charming delicacy she gave peter a thimble which happened to be in her pocket, and pretended that it was a kiss.
poor little boy!
he quite believed her, and to this day he wears it on his finger, though there can be scarcely any one who needs a thimble so little.
you see, though still a tiny child, it was really years and years since he had seen his mother, and i dare say the baby who had supplanted him was now a man with whiskers.
but you must not think that peter pan was a boy to pity rather than to admire; if maimie began by thinking this, she soon found she was very much mistaken.
her eyes glistened with admiration when he told her of his adventures, especially of how he went to and fro between the island and the gardens in the thrush's nest.
"how romantic!"
maimie exclaimed, but this was another unknown word, and he hung his head thinking she was despising him."
i suppose tony would not have done that?"
he said very humbly.
"never, never!"
she answered with conviction, "he would have been afraid."
"what is afraid?"
asked peter longingly.
he thought it must be some splendid thing."
i do wish you would teach me how to be afraid, maimie," he said."
i believe no one could teach that to you," she answered adoringly, but peter thought she meant that he was stupid.
she had told him about tony and of the wicked thing she did in the dark to frighten him -lrb- she knew quite well that it was wicked -rrb-, but peter misunderstood her meaning and said, "oh, how i wish i was as brave as tony!"
it quite irritated her.
"you are twenty thousand times braver than tony," she said; "you are ever so much the bravest boy i ever knew."
he could scarcely believe she meant it, but when he did believe he screamed with joy.
"and if you want very much to give me a kiss," maimie said, "you can do it."
very reluctantly peter began to take the thimble off his finger.
he thought she wanted it back."
i do n't mean a kiss," she said hurriedly," i mean a thimble."
"what's that?"
peter asked.
"it's like this," she said, and kissed him."
i should love to give you a thimble," peter said gravely, so he gave her one.
he gave her quite a number of thimbles, and then a delightful idea came into his head.
"maimie," he said, "will you marry me?"
-lsb- illustration: "my lord duke," said the physician elatedly," i have the honour to inform your excellency that your grace is in love" -rsb- now, strange to tell, the same idea had come at exactly the same time into maimie's head."
i should like to," she answered, "but will there be room in your boat for two?"
"if you squeeze close," he said eagerly.
"perhaps the birds would be angry?"
he assured her that the birds would love to have her, though i am not so certain of it myself.
also that there were very few birds in winter.
"of course they might want your clothes," he had to admit rather falteringly.
she was somewhat indignant at this.
"they are always thinking of their nests," he said apologetically, "and there are some bits of you" -- he stroked the fur on her pelisse -- "that would excite them very much."
"they sha n't have my fur," she said sharply.
"no," he said, still fondling it, however, "no.
o maimie," he said rapturously, "do you know why i love you?
it is because you are like a beautiful nest."
somehow this made her uneasy."
i think you are speaking more like a bird than a boy now," she said, holding back, and indeed he was even looking rather like a bird.
"after all," she said, "you are only a betwixt-and-between."
but it hurt him so much that she immediately added, "it must be a delicious thing to be."
"come and be one, then, dear maimie," he implored her, and they set off for the boat, for it was now very near open-gate time.
"and you are not a bit like a nest," he whispered to please her.
"but i think it is rather nice to be like one," she said in a woman's contradictory way.
"and, peter, dear, though i ca n't give them my fur, i would n't mind their building in it.
fancy a nest in my neck with little spotty eggs in it!
o peter, how perfectly lovely!"
-lsb- illustration: building the house for maimie -rsb- but as they drew near the serpentine, she shivered a little, and said, "of course i shall go and see mother often, quite often.
it is not as if i was saying good-bye for ever to mother, it is not in the least like that."
"oh no," answered peter, but in his heart he knew it was very like that, and he would have told her so had he not been in a quaking fear of losing her.
he was so fond of her, he felt he could not live without her.
"she will forget her mother in time, and be happy with me," he kept saying to himself, and he hurried her on, giving her thimbles by the way.
but even when she had seen the boat and exclaimed ecstatically over its loveliness, she still talked tremblingly about her mother.
"you know quite well, peter, do n't you," she said, "that i would n't come unless i knew for certain i could go back to mother whenever i want to?
peter, say it."
he said it, but he could no longer look her in the face.
"if you are sure your mother will always want you," he added rather sourly.
"the idea of mother's not always wanting me!"
maimie cried, and her face glistened.
"if she does n't bar you out," said peter huskily.
"the door," replied maimie, "will always, always be open, and mother will always be waiting at it for me."
"then," said peter, not without grimness, "step in, if you feel so sure of her," and he helped maimie into the thrush's nest.
"but why do n't you look at me?"
she asked, taking him by the arm.
peter tried hard not to look, he tried to push off, then he gave a great gulp and jumped ashore and sat down miserably in the snow.
she went to him.
"what is it, dear, dear peter?"
she said, wondering."
o maimie," he cried, "it is n't fair to take you with me if you think you can go back!
your mother" -- he gulped again -- "you do n't know them as well as i do."
and then he told her the woeful story of how he had been barred out, and she gasped all the time.
"but my mother," she said," my mother --" "yes, she would," said peter, "they are all the same.
i dare say she is looking for another one already."
maimie said aghast," i ca n't believe it.
you see, when you went away your mother had none, but my mother has tony, and surely they are satisfied when they have one."
peter replied bitterly, "you should see the letters solomon gets from ladies who have six."
just then they heard a grating creak, followed by creak, creak, all round the gardens.
it was the opening of the gates, and peter jumped nervously into his boat.
he knew maimie would not come with him now, and he was trying bravely not to cry.
but maimie was sobbing painfully.
"if i should be too late," she said in agony," o peter, if she has got another one already!"
again he sprang ashore as if she had called him back."
i shall come and look for you to-night," he said, squeezing close, "but if you hurry away i think you will be in time."
then he pressed a last thimble on her sweet little mouth, and covered his face with his hands so that he might not see her go.
"dear peter!"
she cried.
"dear maimie!"
cried the tragic boy.
she leapt into his arms, so that it was a sort of fairy wedding, and then she hurried away.
oh, how she hastened to the gates!
peter, you may be sure, was back in the gardens that night as soon as lock-out sounded, but he found no maimie, and so he knew she had been in time.
for long he hoped that some night she would come back to him; often he thought he saw her waiting for him by the shore of the serpentine as his bark drew to land, but maimie never went back.
she wanted to, but she was afraid that if she saw her dear betwixt-and-between again she would linger with him too long, and besides the ayah now kept a sharp eye on her.
but she often talked lovingly of peter, and she knitted a kettle-holder for him, and one day when she was wondering what easter present he would like, her mother made a suggestion.
-lsb- illustration: if the bad ones among the fairies happen to be out -lrb- missing from book -rrb- -rsb- "nothing," she said thoughtfully, "would be so useful to him as a goat."
"he could ride on it," cried maimie, "and play on his pipe at the same time."
"then," her mother asked, "wo n't you give him your goat, the one you frighten tony with at night?"
"but it is n't a real goat," maimie said.
"it seems very real to tony," replied her mother.
"it seems frightfully real to me too," maimie admitted, "but how could i give it to peter?"
her mother knew a way, and next day, accompanied by tony -lrb- who was really quite a nice boy, though of course he could not compare -rrb-, they went to the gardens, and maimie stood alone within a fairy ring, and then her mother, who was a rather gifted lady, said -- "my daughter, tell me, if you can, what have you got for peter pan?"
to which maimie replied --" i have a goat for him to ride, observe me cast it far and wide."
she then flung her arms about as if she were sowing seed, and turned round three times.
next tony said -- "if p. doth find it waiting here, wilt ne'er again make me to fear?"
and maimie answered -- "by dark or light i fondly swear never to see goats anywhere."
she also left a letter to peter in a likely place, explaining what she had done, and begging him to ask the fairies to turn the goat into one convenient for riding on.
well, it all happened just as she hoped, for peter found the letter, and of course nothing could be easier for the fairies than to turn the goat into a real one, and so that is how peter got the goat on which he now rides round the gardens every night playing sublimely on his pipe.
and maimie kept her promise, and never frightened tony with a goat again, though i have heard that she created another animal.
until she was quite a big girl she continued to leave presents for peter in the gardens -lrb- with letters explaining how humans play with them -rrb-, and she is not the only one who has done this.
david does it, for instance, and he and i know the likeliest place for leaving them in, and we shall tell you if you like, but for mercy's sake do n't ask us before porthos, for he is so fond of toys that, were he to find out the place, he would take every one of them.
-lsb- illustration: they will certainly mischief you -lrb- missing from book -rrb- -rsb- though peter still remembers maimie he is become as gay as ever, and often in sheer happiness he jumps off his goat and lies kicking merrily on the grass.
oh, he has a joyful time!
but he has still a vague memory that he was a human once, and it makes him especially kind to the house-swallows when they visit the island, for house-swallows are the spirits of little children who have died.
they always build in the eaves of the houses where they lived when they were humans, and sometimes they try to fly in at a nursery window, and perhaps that is why peter loves them best of all the birds.
and the little house?
every lawful night -lrb- that is to say, every night except ball nights -rrb- the fairies now build the little house lest there should be a human child lost in the gardens, and peter rides the marches looking for lost ones, and if he finds them he carries them on his goat to the little house, and when they wake up they are in it, and when they step out they see it.
the fairies build the house merely because it is so pretty, but peter rides round in memory of maimie, and because he still loves to do just as he believes real boys would do.
but you must not think that, because somewhere among the trees the little house is twinkling, it is a safe thing to remain in the gardens after lock-out time.
if the bad ones among the fairies happen to be out that night they will certainly mischief you, and even though they are not, you may perish of cold and dark before peter pan comes round.
he has been too late several times, and when he sees he is too late he runs back to the thrush's nest for his paddle, of which maimie had told him the true use, and he digs a grave for the child and erects a little tombstone, and carves the poor thing's initials on it.
he does this at once because he thinks it is what real boys would do, and you must have noticed the little stones, and that there are always two together.
he puts them in twos because they seem less lonely.
i think that quite the most touching sight in the gardens is the two tombstones of walter stephen matthews and phoebe phelps.
they stand together at the spot where the parish of westminster st. mary's is said to meet the parish of paddington.
here peter found the two babes, who had fallen unnoticed from their perambulators, phoebe aged thirteen months and walter probably still younger, for peter seems to have felt a delicacy about putting any age on his stone.
they lie side by side, and the simple inscriptions read -- + --------- + + --------- + | w. | | 13a | | st. m. | and | p. p. | | | | 1841.
| + --------- + + --------- + david sometimes places white flowers on these two innocent graves.
-lsb- illustration: i think that quite the most touching sight in the gardens is the two tombstones of walter stephen matthews and phoebe phelps -rsb- but how strange for parents, when they hurry into the gardens at the opening of the gates looking for their lost one, to find the sweetest little tombstone instead.
i do hope that peter is not too ready with his spade.
it is all rather sad.
_book_title_: james_matthew_barrie___peter_pan_in_kensington_gardens,_version_2.txt.out
peter pan if you ask your mother whether she knew about peter pan when she was a little girl she will say, "why, of course, i did, child," and if you ask her whether he rode on a goat in those days she will say, "what a foolish question to ask, certainly he did."
then if you ask your grandmother whether she knew about peter pan when she was a girl, she also says, "why, of course, i did, child," but if you ask her whether he rode on a goat in those days, she says she never heard of his having a goat.
perhaps she has forgotten, just as she sometimes forgets your name and calls you mildred, which is your mother's name.
still, she could hardly forget such an important thing as the goat.
therefore there was no goat when your grandmother was a little girl.
this shows that, in telling the story of peter pan, to begin with the goat -lrb- as most people do -rrb- is as silly as to put on your jacket before your vest.
of course, it also shows that peter is ever so old, but he is really always the same age, so that does not matter in the least.
his age is one week, and though he was born so long ago he has never had a birthday, nor is there the slightest chance of his ever having one.
the reason is that he escaped from being a human when he was seven days" old; he escaped by the window and flew back to the kensington gardens.
if you think he was the only baby who ever wanted to escape, it shows how completely you have forgotten your own young days.
when david heard this story first he was quite certain that he had never tried to escape, but i told him to think back hard, pressing his hands to his temples, and when he had done this hard, and even harder, he distinctly remembered a youthful desire to return to the tree-tops, and with that memory came others, as that he had lain in bed planning to escape as soon as his mother was asleep, and how she had once caught him half-way up the chimney.
all children could have such recollections if they would press their hands hard to their temples, for, having been birds before they were human, they are naturally a little wild during the first few weeks, and very itchy at the shoulders, where their wings used to be.
so david tells me.
i ought to mention here that the following is our way with a story: first, i tell it to him, and then he tells it to me, the understanding being that it is quite a different story; and then i retell it with his additions, and so we go on until no one could say whether it is more his story or mine.
in this story of peter pan, for instance, the bald narrative and most of the moral reflections are mine, though not all, for this boy can be a stern moralist, but the interesting bits about the ways and customs of babies in the bird-stage are mostly reminiscences of david's, recalled by pressing his hands to his temples and thinking hard.
well, peter pan got out by the window, which had no bars.
standing on the ledge he could see trees far away, which were doubtless the kensington gardens, and the moment he saw them he entirely forgot that he was now a little boy in a nightgown, and away he flew, right over the houses to the gardens.
it is wonderful that he could fly without wings, but the place itched tremendously, and, perhaps we could all fly if we were as dead-confident-sure of our capacity to do it as was bold peter pan that evening.
he alighted gaily on the open sward, between the baby's palace and the serpentine, and the first thing he did was to lie on his back and kick.
he was quite unaware already that he had ever been human, and thought he was a bird, even in appearance, just the same as in his early days, and when he tried to catch a fly he did not understand that the reason he missed it was because he had attempted to seize it with his hand, which, of course, a bird never does.
he saw, however, that it must be past lock-out time, for there were a good many fairies about, all too busy to notice him; they were getting breakfast ready, milking their cows, drawing water, and so on, and the sight of the water-pails made him thirsty, so he flew over to the round pond to have a drink.
he stooped, and dipped his beak in the pond; he thought it was his beak, but, of course, it was only his nose, and, therefore, very little water came up, and that not so refreshing as usual, so next he tried a puddle, and he fell flop into it.
when a real bird falls in flop, he spreads out his feathers and pecks them dry, but peter could not remember what was the thing to do, and he decided, rather sulkily, to go to sleep on the weeping beech in the baby walk.
at first he found some difficulty in balancing himself on a branch, but presently he remembered the way, and fell asleep.
he awoke long before morning, shivering, and saying to himself, "i never was out in such a cold night;" he had really been out in colder nights when he was a bird, but, of course, as everybody knows, what seems a warm night to a bird is a cold night to a boy in a nightgown.
peter also felt strangely uncomfortable, as if his head was stuffy, he heard loud noises that made him look round sharply, though they were really himself sneezing.
there was something he wanted very much, but, though he knew he wanted it, he could not think what it was.
what he wanted so much was his mother to blow his nose, but that never struck him, so he decided to appeal to the fairies for enlightenment.
they are reputed to know a good deal.
there were two of them strolling along the baby walk, with their arms round each other's waists, and he hopped down to address them.
the fairies have their tiffs with the birds, but they usually give a civil answer to a civil question, and he was quite angry when these two ran away the moment they saw him.
another was lolling on a garden-chair, reading a postage-stamp which some human had let fall, and when he heard peter's voice he popped in alarm behind a tulip.
to peter's bewilderment he discovered that every fairy he met fled from him.
a band of workmen, who were sawing down a toadstool, rushed away, leaving their tools behind them.
a milkmaid turned her pail upside down and hid in it.
soon the gardens were in an uproar.
crowds of fairies were running this way and that, asking each other stoutly, who was afraid, lights were extinguished, doors barricaded, and from the grounds of queen mab's palace came the rubadub of drums, showing that the royal guard had been called out.
a regiment of lancers came charging down the broad walk, armed with holly-leaves, with which they jog the enemy horribly in passing.
peter heard the little people crying everywhere that there was a human in the gardens after lock-out time, but he never thought for a moment that he was the human.
he was feeling stuffier and stuffier, and more and more wistful to learn what he wanted done to his nose, but he pursued them with the vital question in vain; the timid creatures ran from him, and even the lancers, when he approached them up the hump, turned swiftly into a side-walk, on the pretence that they saw him there.
despairing of the fairies, he resolved to consult the birds, but now he remembered, as an odd thing, that all the birds on the weeping beech had flown away when he alighted on it, and though that had not troubled him at the time, he saw its meaning now.
every living thing was shunning him.
poor little peter pan, he sat down and cried, and even then he did not know that, for a bird, he was sitting on his wrong part.
it is a blessing that he did not know, for otherwise he would have lost faith in his power to fly, and the moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.
the reason birds can fly and we ca n't is simply that they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.
now, except by flying, no one can reach the island in the serpentine, for the boats of humans are forbidden to land there, and there are stakes round it, standing up in the water, on each of which a bird-sentinel sits by day and night.
it was to the island that peter now flew to put his strange case before old solomon caw, and he alighted on it with relief, much heartened to find himself at last at home, as the birds call the island.
all of them were asleep, including the sentinels, except solomon, who was wide awake on one side, and he listened quietly to peter's adventures, and then told him their true meaning.
""look at your night-gown, if you do n't believe me," solomon said, and with staring eyes peter looked at his nightgown, and then at the sleeping birds.
not one of them wore anything.
""how many of your toes are thumbs?"
said solomon a little cruelly, and peter saw to his consternation, that all his toes were fingers.
the shock was so great that it drove away his cold.
""ruffle your feathers," said that grim old solomon, and peter tried most desperately hard to ruffle his feathers, but he had none.
then he rose up, quaking, and for the first time since he stood on the window-ledge, he remembered a lady who had been very fond of him.
""i think i shall go back to mother," he said timidly.
""good-bye," replied solomon caw with a queer look.
but peter hesitated.
""why do n't you go?"
the old one asked politely.
""i suppose," said peter huskily, "i suppose i can still fly?"
you see, he had lost faith.
""poor little half-and-half," said solomon, who was not really hard-hearted, "you will never be able to fly again, not even on windy days.
you must live here on the island always."
""and never even go to the kensington gardens?"
peter asked tragically.
""how could you get across?"
said solomon.
he promised very kindly, however, to teach peter as many of the bird ways as could be learned by one of such an awkward shape.
""then i sha'n' t be exactly a human?"
peter asked.
""no."
""nor exactly a bird?"
""no."
""what shall i be?"
""you will be a betwixt-and-between," solomon said, and certainly he was a wise old fellow, for that is exactly how it turned out.
the birds on the island never got used to him.
his oddities tickled them every day, as if they were quite new, though it was really the birds that were new.
they came out of the eggs daily, and laughed at him at once, then off they soon flew to be humans, and other birds came out of other eggs, and so it went on forever.
the crafty mother-birds, when they tired of sitting on their eggs, used to get the young one to break their shells a day before the right time by whispering to them that now was their chance to see peter washing or drinking or eating.
thousands gathered round him daily to watch him do these things, just as you watch the peacocks, and they screamed with delight when he lifted the crusts they flung him with his hands instead of in the usual way with the mouth.
all his food was brought to him from the gardens at solomon's orders by the birds.
he would not eat worms or insects -lrb- which they thought very silly of him -rrb-, so they brought him bread in their beaks.
thus, when you cry out, "greedy!
greedy!"
to the bird that flies away with the big crust, you know now that you ought not to do this, for he is very likely taking it to peter pan.
peter wore no night-gown now.
you see, the birds were always begging him for bits of it to line their nests with, and, being very good-natured, he could not refuse, so by solomon's advice he had hidden what was left of it.
but, though he was now quite naked, you must not think that he was cold or unhappy.
he was usually very happy and gay, and the reason was that solomon had kept his promise and taught him many of the bird ways.
to be easily pleased, for instance, and always to be really doing something, and to think that whatever he was doing was a thing of vast importance.
peter became very clever at helping the birds to build their nests; soon he could build better than a wood-pigeon, and nearly as well as a blackbird, though never did he satisfy the finches, and he made nice little water-troughs near the nests and dug up worms for the young ones with his fingers.
he also became very learned in bird-lore, and knew an east-wind from a west-wind by its smell, and he could see the grass growing and hear the insects walking about inside the tree-trunks.
but the best thing solomon had done was to teach him to have a glad heart.
all birds have glad hearts unless you rob their nests, and so as they were the only kind of heart solomon knew about, it was easy to him to teach peter how to have one.
peter's heart was so glad that he felt he must sing all day long, just as the birds sing for joy, but, being partly human, he needed in instrument, so he made a pipe of reeds, and he used to sit by the shore of the island of an evening, practising the sough of the wind and the ripple of the water, and catching handfuls of the shine of the moon, and he put them all in his pipe and played them so beautifully that even the birds were deceived, and they would say to each other, "was that a fish leaping in the water or was it peter playing leaping fish on his pipe?"
and sometimes he played the birth of birds, and then the mothers would turn round in their nests to see whether they had laid an egg.
if you are a child of the gardens you must know the chestnut-tree near the bridge, which comes out in flower first of all the chestnuts, but perhaps you have not heard why this tree leads the way.
it is because peter wearies for summer and plays that it has come, and the chestnut being so near, hears him and is cheated.
but as peter sat by the shore tootling divinely on his pipe he sometimes fell into sad thoughts and then the music became sad also, and the reason of all this sadness was that he could not reach the gardens, though he could see them through the arch of the bridge.
he knew he could never be a real human again, and scarcely wanted to be one, but oh, how he longed to play as other children play, and of course there is no such lovely place to play in as the gardens.
the birds brought him news of how boys and girls play, and wistful tears started in peter's eyes.
perhaps you wonder why he did not swim across.
the reason was that he could not swim.
he wanted to know how to swim, but no one on the island knew the way except the ducks, and they are so stupid.
they were quite willing to teach him, but all they could say about it was, "you sit down on the top of the water in this way, and then you kick out like that."
peter tried it often, but always before he could kick out he sank.
what he really needed to know was how you sit on the water without sinking, and they said it was quite impossible to explain such an easy thing as that.
occasionally swans touched on the island, and he would give them all his day's food and then ask them how they sat on the water, but as soon as he had no more to give them the hateful things hissed at him and sailed away.
once he really thought he had discovered a way of reaching the gardens.
a wonderful white thing, like a runaway newspaper, floated high over the island and then tumbled, rolling over and over after the manner of a bird that has broken its wing.
peter was so frightened that he hid, but the birds told him it was only a kite, and what a kite is, and that it must have tugged its string out of a boy's hand, and soared away.
after that they laughed at peter for being so fond of the kite, he loved it so much that he even slept with one hand on it, and i think this was pathetic and pretty, for the reason he loved it was because it had belonged to a real boy.
to the birds this was a very poor reason, but the older ones felt grateful to him at this time because he had nursed a number of fledglings through the german measles, and they offered to show him how birds fly a kite.
so six of them took the end of the string in their beaks and flew away with it; and to his amazement it flew after them and went even higher than they.
peter screamed out, "do it again!"
and with great good nature they did it several times, and always instead of thanking them he cried, "do it again!"
which shows that even now he had not quite forgotten what it was to be a boy.
at last, with a grand design burning within his brave heart, he begged them to do it once more with him clinging to the tail, and now a hundred flew off with the string, and peter clung to the tail, meaning to drop off when he was over the gardens.
but the kite broke to pieces in the air, and he would have drowned in the serpentine had he not caught hold of two indignant swans and made them carry him to the island.
after this the birds said that they would help him no more in his mad enterprise.
nevertheless, peter did reach the gardens at last by the help of shelley's boat, as i am now to tell you.
the thrush's nest shelley was a young gentleman and as grown-up as he need ever expect to be.
he was a poet; and they are never exactly grown-up.
they are people who despise money except what you need for to-day, and he had all that and five pounds over.
so, when he was walking in the kensington gardens, he made a paper boat of his bank-note, and sent it sailing on the serpentine.
it reached the island at night: and the look-out brought it to solomon caw, who thought at first that it was the usual thing, a message from a lady, saying she would be obliged if he could let her have a good one.
they always ask for the best one he has, and if he likes the letter he sends one from class a, but if it ruffles him he sends very funny ones indeed.
sometimes he sends none at all, and at another time he sends a nestful; it all depends on the mood you catch him in.
he likes you to leave it all to him, and if you mention particularly that you hope he will see his way to making it a boy this time, he is almost sure to send another girl.
and whether you are a lady or only a little boy who wants a baby-sister, always take pains to write your address clearly.
you ca n't think what a lot of babies solomon has sent to the wrong house.
shelley's boat, when opened, completely puzzled solomon, and he took counsel of his assistants, who having walked over it twice, first with their toes pointed out, and then with their toes pointed in, decided that it came from some greedy person who wanted five.
they thought this because there was a large five printed on it.
""preposterous!"
cried solomon in a rage, and he presented it to peter; anything useless which drifted upon the island was usually given to peter as a play-thing.
but he did not play with his precious bank-note, for he knew what it was at once, having been very observant during the week when he was an ordinary boy.
with so much money, he reflected, he could surely at last contrive to reach the gardens, and he considered all the possible ways, and decided -lrb- wisely, i think -rrb- to choose the best way.
but, first, he had to tell the birds of the value of shelley's boat; and though they were too honest to demand it back, he saw that they were galled, and they cast such black looks at solomon, who was rather vain of his cleverness, that he flew away to the end of the island, and sat there very depressed with his head buried in his wings.
now peter knew that unless solomon was on your side, you never got anything done for you in the island, so he followed him and tried to hearten him.
nor was this all that peter did to pin the powerful old fellow's good will.
you must know that solomon had no intention of remaining in office all his life.
he looked forward to retiring by-and-by, and devoting his green old age to a life of pleasure on a certain yew-stump in the figs which had taken his fancy, and for years he had been quietly filling his stocking.
it was a stocking belonging to some bathing person which had been cast upon the island, and at the time i speak of it contained a hundred and eighty crumbs, thirty-four nuts, sixteen crusts, a pen-wiper and a bootlace.
when his stocking was full, solomon calculated that he would be able to retire on a competency.
peter now gave him a pound.
he cut it off his bank-note with a sharp stick.
this made solomon his friend for ever, and after the two had consulted together they called a meeting of the thrushes.
you will see presently why thrushes only were invited.
the scheme to be put before them was really peter's, but solomon did most of the talking, because he soon became irritable if other people talked.
he began by saying that he had been much impressed by the superior ingenuity shown by the thrushes in nest-building, and this put them into good-humour at once, as it was meant to do; for all the quarrels between birds are about the best way of building nests.
other birds, said solomon, omitted to line their nests with mud, and as a result they did not hold water.
here he cocked his head as if he had used an unanswerable argument; but, unfortunately, a mrs. finch had come to the meeting uninvited, and she squeaked out, "we do n't build nests to hold water, but to hold eggs," and then the thrushes stopped cheering, and solomon was so perplexed that he took several sips of water.
""consider," he said at last, "how warm the mud makes the nest."
""consider," cried mrs. finch, "that when water gets into the nest it remains there and your little ones are drowned."
the thrushes begged solomon with a look to say something crushing in reply to this, but again he was perplexed.
""try another drink," suggested mrs. finch pertly.
kate was her name, and all kates are saucy.
solomon did try another drink, and it inspired him.
""if," said he, "a finch's nest is placed on the serpentine it fills and breaks to pieces, but a thrush's nest is still as dry as the cup of a swan's back."
how the thrushes applauded!
now they knew why they lined their nests with mud, and when mrs. finch called out, "we do n't place our nests on the serpentine," they did what they should have done at first: chased her from the meeting.
after this it was most orderly.
what they had been brought together to hear, said solomon, was this: their young friend, peter pan, as they well knew, wanted very much to be able to cross to the gardens, and he now proposed, with their help, to build a boat.
at this the thrushes began to fidget, which made peter tremble for his scheme.
solomon explained hastily that what he meant was not one of the cumbrous boats that humans use; the proposed boat was to be simply a thrush's nest large enough to hold peter.
but still, to peter's agony, the thrushes were sulky.
""we are very busy people," they grumbled, "and this would be a big job."
""quite so," said solomon, "and, of course, peter would not allow you to work for nothing.
you must remember that he is now in comfortable circumstances, and he will pay you such wages as you have never been paid before.
peter pan authorises me to say that you shall all be paid sixpence a day."
then all the thrushes hopped for joy, and that very day was begun the celebrated building of the boat.
all their ordinary business fell into arrears.
it was the time of year when they should have been pairing, but not a thrush's nest was built except this big one, and so solomon soon ran short of thrushes with which to supply the demand from the mainland.
the stout, rather greedy children, who look so well in perambulators but get puffed easily when they walk, were all young thrushes once, and ladies often ask specially for them.
what do you think solomon did?
he sent over to the housetops for a lot of sparrows and ordered them to lay their eggs in old thrushes" nests and sent their young to the ladies and swore they were all thrushes!
it was known afterward on the island as the sparrows" year, and so, when you meet, as you doubtless sometimes do, grown-up people who puff and blow as if they thought themselves bigger than they are, very likely they belong to that year.
you ask them.
peter was a just master, and paid his work-people every evening.
they stood in rows on the branches, waiting politely while he cut the paper sixpences out of his bank-note, and presently he called the roll, and then each bird, as the names were mentioned, flew down and got sixpence.
it must have been a fine sight.
and at last, after months of labor, the boat was finished.
oh, the deportment of peter as he saw it growing more and more like a great thrush's nest!
from the very beginning of the building of it he slept by its side, and often woke up to say sweet things to it, and after it was lined with mud and the mud had dried he always slept in it.
he sleeps in his nest still, and has a fascinating way of curling round in it, for it is just large enough to hold him comfortably when he curls round like a kitten.
it is brown inside, of course, but outside it is mostly green, being woven of grass and twigs, and when these wither or snap the walls are thatched afresh.
there are also a few feathers here and there, which came off the thrushes while they were building.
the other birds were extremely jealous and said that the boat would not balance on the water, but it lay most beautifully steady; they said the water would come into it, but no water came into it.
next they said that peter had no oars, and this caused the thrushes to look at each other in dismay, but peter replied that he had no need of oars, for he had a sail, and with such a proud, happy face he produced a sail which he had fashioned out of this night-gown, and though it was still rather like a night-gown it made a lovely sail.
and that night, the moon being full, and all the birds asleep, he did enter his coracle -lrb- as master francis pretty would have said -rrb- and depart out of the island.
and first, he knew not why, he looked upward, with his hands clasped, and from that moment his eyes were pinned to the west.
he had promised the thrushes to begin by making short voyages, with them to his guides, but far away he saw the kensington gardens beckoning to him beneath the bridge, and he could not wait.
his face was flushed, but he never looked back; there was an exultation in his little breast that drove out fear.
was peter the least gallant of the english mariners who have sailed westward to meet the unknown?
at first, his boat turned round and round, and he was driven back to the place of his starting, whereupon he shortened sail, by removing one of the sleeves, and was forthwith carried backward by a contrary breeze, to his no small peril.
he now let go the sail, with the result that he was drifted toward the far shore, where are black shadows he knew not the dangers of, but suspected them, and so once more hoisted his night-gown and went roomer of the shadows until he caught a favouring wind, which bore him westward, but at so great a speed that he was like to be broke against the bridge.
which, having avoided, he passed under the bridge and came, to his great rejoicing, within full sight of the delectable gardens.
but having tried to cast anchor, which was a stone at the end of a piece of the kite-string, he found no bottom, and was fain to hold off, seeking for moorage, and, feeling his way, he buffeted against a sunken reef that cast him overboard by the greatness of the shock, and he was near to being drowned, but clambered back into the vessel.
there now arose a mighty storm, accompanied by roaring of waters, such as he had never heard the like, and he was tossed this way and that, and his hands so numbed with the cold that he could not close them.
having escaped the danger of which, he was mercifully carried into a small bay, where his boat rode at peace.
nevertheless, he was not yet in safety; for, on pretending to disembark, he found a multitude of small people drawn up on the shore to contest his landing; and shouting shrilly to him to be off, for it was long past lock-out time.
this, with much brandishing of their holly-leaves, and also a company of them carried an arrow which some boy had left in the gardens, and this they were prepared to use as a battering-ram.
then peter, who knew them for the fairies, called out that he was not an ordinary human and had no desire to do them displeasure, but to be their friend, nevertheless, having found a jolly harbour, he was in no temper to draw off there-from, and he warned them if they sought to mischief him to stand to their harms.
so saying; he boldly leapt ashore, and they gathered around him with intent to slay him, but there then arose a great cry among the women, and it was because they had now observed that his sail was a baby's night-gown.
whereupon, they straightway loved him, and grieved that their laps were too small, the which i can not explain, except by saying that such is the way of women.
the men-fairies now sheathed their weapons on observing the behaviour of their women, on whose intelligence they set great store, and they led him civilly to their queen, who conferred upon him the courtesy of the gardens after lock-out time, and henceforth peter could go whither he chose, and the fairies had orders to put him in comfort.
such was his first voyage to the gardens, and you may gather from the antiquity of the language that it took place a long time ago.
but peter never grows any older, and if we could be watching for him under the bridge to-night -lrb- but, of course, we ca n't -rrb-, i daresay we should see him hoisting his night-gown and sailing or paddling toward us in the thrush's nest.
when he sails, he sits down, but he stands up to paddle.
i shall tell you presently how he got his paddle.
long before the time for the opening of the gates comes he steals back to the island, for people must not see him -lrb- he is not so human as all that -rrb-, but this gives him hours for play, and he plays exactly as real children play.
at least he thinks so, and it is one of the pathetic things about him that he often plays quite wrongly.
you see, he had no one to tell him how children really play, for the fairies were all more or less in hiding until dusk, and so know nothing, and though the buds pretended that they could tell him a great deal, when the time for telling came, it was wonderful how little they really knew.
they told him the truth about hide-and-seek, and he often plays it by himself, but even the ducks on the round pond could not explain to him what it is that makes the pond so fascinating to boys.
every night the ducks have forgotten all the events of the day, except the number of pieces of cake thrown to them.
they are gloomy creatures, and say that cake is not what it was in their young days.
so peter had to find out many things for himself.
he often played ships at the round pond, but his ship was only a hoop which he had found on the grass.
of course, he had never seen a hoop, and he wondered what you play at with them, and decided that you play at pretending they are boats.
this hoop always sank at once, but he waded in for it, and sometimes he dragged it gleefully round the rim of the pond, and he was quite proud to think that he had discovered what boys do with hoops.
another time, when he found a child's pail, he thought it was for sitting in, and he sat so hard in it that he could scarcely get out of it.
also he found a balloon.
it was bobbing about on the hump, quite as if it was having a game by itself, and he caught it after an exciting chase.
but he thought it was a ball, and jenny wren had told him that boys kick balls, so he kicked it; and after that he could not find it anywhere.
perhaps the most surprising thing he found was a perambulator.
it was under a lime-tree, near the entrance to the fairy queen's winter palace -lrb- which is within the circle of the seven spanish chestnuts -rrb-, and peter approached it warily, for the birds had never mentioned such things to him.
lest it was alive, he addressed it politely, and then, as it gave no answer, he went nearer and felt it cautiously.
he gave it a little push, and it ran from him, which made him think it must be alive after all; but, as it had run from him, he was not afraid.
so he stretched out his hand to pull it to him, but this time it ran at him, and he was so alarmed that he leapt the railing and scudded away to his boat.
you must not think, however, that he was a coward, for he came back next night with a crust in one hand and a stick in the other, but the perambulator had gone, and he never saw another one.
i have promised to tell you also about his paddle.
it was a child's spade which he had found near st. govor's well, and he thought it was a paddle.
do you pity peter pan for making these mistakes?
if so, i think it rather silly of you.
what i mean is that, of course, one must pity him now and then, but to pity him all the time would be impertinence.
he thought he had the most splendid time in the gardens, and to think you have it is almost quite as good as really to have it.
he played without ceasing, while you often waste time by being mad-dog or mary-annish.
he could be neither of these things, for he had never heard of them, but do you think he is to be pitied for that?
oh, he was merry.
he was as much merrier than you, for instance, as you are merrier than your father.
sometimes he fell, like a spinning-top, from sheer merriment.
have you seen a greyhound leaping the fences of the gardens?
that is how peter leaps them.
and think of the music of his pipe.
gentlemen who walk home at night write to the papers to say they heard a nightingale in the gardens, but it is really peter's pipe they hear.
of course, he had no mother -- at least, what use was she to him?
you can be sorry for him for that, but do n't be too sorry, for the next thing i mean to tell you is how he revisited her.
it was the fairies who gave him the chance.
the little house everybody has heard of the little house in the kensington gardens, which is the only house in the whole world that the fairies have built for humans.
but no one has really seen it, except just three or four, and they have not only seen it but slept in it, and unless you sleep in it you never see it.
this is because it is not there when you lie down, but it is there when you wake up and step outside.
in a kind of way everyone may see it, but what you see is not really it, but only the light in the windows.
you see the light after lock-out time.
david, for instance, saw it quite distinctly far away among the trees as we were going home from the pantomime, and oliver bailey saw it the night he stayed so late at the temple, which is the name of his father's office.
angela clare, who loves to have a tooth extracted because then she is treated to tea in a shop, saw more than one light, she saw hundreds of them all together, and this must have been the fairies building the house, for they build it every night and always in a different part of the gardens.
she thought one of the lights was bigger than the others, though she was not quite sure, for they jumped about so, and it might have been another one that was bigger.
but if it was the same one, it was peter pan's light.
heaps of children have seen the fight, so that is nothing.
but maimie mannering was the famous one for whom the house was first built.
maimie was always rather a strange girl, and it was at night that she was strange.
she was four years of age, and in the daytime she was the ordinary kind.
she was pleased when her brother tony, who was a magnificent fellow of six, took notice of her, and she looked up to him in the right way, and tried in vain to imitate him and was flattered rather than annoyed when he shoved her about.
also, when she was batting she would pause though the ball was in the air to point out to you that she was wearing new shoes.
she was quite the ordinary kind in the daytime.
but as the shades of night fell, tony, the swaggerer, lost his contempt for maimie and eyed her fearfully, and no wonder, for with dark there came into her face a look that i can describe only as a leary look.
it was also a serene look that contrasted grandly with tony's uneasy glances.
then he would make her presents of his favourite toys -lrb- which he always took away from her next morning -rrb- and she accepted them with a disturbing smile.
the reason he was now become so wheedling and she so mysterious was -lrb- in brief -rrb- that they knew they were about to be sent to bed.
it was then that maimie was terrible.
tony entreated her not to do it to-night, and the mother and their coloured nurse threatened her, but maimie merely smiled her agitating smile.
and by-and-by when they were alone with their night-light she would start up in bed crying "hsh!
what was that?"
tony beseeches her!
""it was nothing -- do n't, maimie, do n't!"
and pulls the sheet over his head.
""it is coming nearer!"
she cries; "oh, look at it, tony!
it is feeling your bed with its horns -- it is boring for you, oh, tony, oh!"
and she desists not until he rushes downstairs in his combinations, screeching.
when they came up to whip maimie they usually found her sleeping tranquilly, not shamming, you know, but really sleeping, and looking like the sweetest little angel, which seems to me to make it almost worse.
but of course it was daytime when they were in the gardens, and then tony did most of the talking.
you could gather from his talk that he was a very brave boy, and no one was so proud of it as maimie.
she would have loved to have a ticket on her saying that she was his sister.
and at no time did she admire him more than when he told her, as he often did with splendid firmness, that one day he meant to remain behind in the gardens after the gates were closed.
""oh, tony," she would say, with awful respect, "but the fairies will be so angry!"
""i daresay," replied tony, carelessly.
""perhaps," she said, thrilling, "peter pan will give you a sail in his boat!"
""i shall make him," replied tony; no wonder she was proud of him.
but they should not have talked so loudly, for one day they were overheard by a fairy who had been gathering skeleton leaves, from which the little people weave their summer curtains, and after that tony was a marked boy.
they loosened the rails before he sat on them, so that down he came on the back of his head; they tripped him up by catching his bootlace and bribed the ducks to sink his boat.
nearly all the nasty accidents you meet with in the gardens occur because the fairies have taken an ill-will to you, and so it behoves you to be careful what you say about them.
maimie was one of the kind who like to fix a day for doing things, but tony was not that kind, and when she asked him which day he was to remain behind in the gardens after lock-out he merely replied, "just some day;" he was quite vague about which day except when she asked "will it be today?"
and then he could always say for certain that it would not be to-day.
so she saw that he was waiting for a real good chance.
this brings us to an afternoon when the gardens were white with snow, and there was ice on the round pond, not thick enough to skate on but at least you could spoil it for tomorrow by flinging stones, and many bright little boys and girls were doing that.
when tony and his sister arrived they wanted to go straight to the pond, but their ayah said they must take a sharp walk first, and as she said this she glanced at the time-board to see when the gardens closed that night.
it read half-past five.
poor ayah!
she is the one who laughs continuously because there are so many white children in the world, but she was not to laugh much more that day.
well, they went up the baby walk and back, and when they returned to the time-board she was surprised to see that it now read five o'clock for closing time.
but she was unacquainted with the tricky ways of the fairies, and so did not see -lrb- as maimie and tony saw at once -rrb- that they had changed the hour because there was to be a ball to-night.
she said there was only time now to walk to the top of the hump and back, and as they trotted along with her she little guessed what was thrilling their little breasts.
you see the chance had come of seeing a fairy ball.
never, tony felt, could he hope for a better chance.
he had to feel this, for maimie so plainly felt it for him.
her eager eyes asked the question, "is it to-day?"
and he gasped and then nodded.
maimie slipped her hand into tony's, and hers was hot, but his was cold.
she did a very kind thing; she took off her scarf and gave it to him!
""in case you should feel cold," she whispered.
her face was aglow, but tony's was very gloomy.
as they turned on the top of the hump he whispered to her, "i'm afraid nurse would see me, so i sha'n' t be able to do it."
maimie admired him more than ever for being afraid of nothing but their ayah, when there were so many unknown terrors to fear, and she said aloud, "tony, i shall race you to the gate," and in a whisper, "then you can hide," and off they ran.
tony could always outdistance her easily, but never had she known him speed away so quickly as now, and she was sure he hurried that he might have more time to hide.
""brave, brave!"
her doting eyes were crying when she got a dreadful shock; instead of hiding, her hero had run out at the gate!
at this bitter sight maimie stopped blankly, as if all her lapful of darling treasures were suddenly spilled, and then for very disdain she could not sob; in a swell of protest against all puling cowards she ran to st. govor's well and hid in tony's stead.
when the ayah reached the gate and saw tony far in front she thought her other charge was with him and passed out.
twilight came on, and scores and hundreds of people passed out, including the last one, who always has to run for it, but maimie saw them not.
she had shut her eyes tight and glued them with passionate tears.
when she opened them something very cold ran up her legs and up her arms and dropped into her heart.
it was the stillness of the gardens.
then she heard clang, then from another part clang, then clang, clang far away.
it was the closing of the gates.
immediately the last clang had died away maimie distinctly heard a voice say, "so that's all right."
it had a wooden sound and seemed to come from above, and she looked up in time to see an elm tree stretching out its arms and yawning.
she was about to say, "i never knew you could speak!"
when a metallic voice that seemed to come from the ladle at the well remarked to the elm, "i suppose it is a bit coldish up there?"
and the elm replied, "not particularly, but you do get numb standing so long on one leg," and he flapped his arms vigorously just as the cabmen do before they drive off.
maimie was quite surprised to see that a number of other tall trees were doing the same sort of thing and she stole away to the baby walk and crouched observantly under a minorca holly which shrugged its shoulders but did not seem to mind her.
she was not in the least cold.
she was wearing a russet-coloured pelisse and had the hood over her head, so that nothing of her showed except her dear little face and her curls.
the rest of her real self was hidden far away inside so many warm garments that in shape she seemed rather like a ball.
she was about forty round the waist.
there was a good deal going on in the baby walk, when maimie arrived in time to see a magnolia and a persian lilac step over the railing and set off for a smart walk.
they moved in a jerky sort of way certainly, but that was because they used crutches.
an elderberry hobbled across the walk, and stood chatting with some young quinces, and they all had crutches.
the crutches were the sticks that are tied to young trees and shrubs.
they were quite familiar objects to maimie, but she had never known what they were for until to-night.
she peeped up the walk and saw her first fairy.
he was a street boy fairy who was running up the walk closing the weeping trees.
the way he did it was this, he pressed a spring in the trunk and they shut like umbrellas, deluging the little plants beneath with snow.
""oh, you naughty, naughty child!"
maimie cried indignantly, for she knew what it was to have a dripping umbrella about your ears.
fortunately the mischievous fellow was out of earshot, but the chrysanthemums heard her, and they all said so pointedly "hoity-toity, what is this?"
that she had to come out and show herself.
then the whole vegetable kingdom was rather puzzled what to do.
""of course it is no affair of ours," a spindle tree said after they had whispered together, "but you know quite well you ought not to be here, and perhaps our duty is to report you to the fairies; what do you think yourself?"
""i think you should not," maimie replied, which so perplexed them that they said petulantly there was no arguing with her.
""i would n't ask it of you," she assured them, "if i thought it was wrong," and of course after this they could not well carry tales.
they then said, "well-a-day," and "such is life!"
for they can be frightfully sarcastic, but she felt sorry for those of them who had no crutches, and she said good-naturedly, "before i go to the fairies" ball, i should like to take you for a walk one at a time; you can lean on me, you know."
at this they clapped their hands, and she escorted them up to the baby walk and back again, one at a time, putting an arm or a finger round the very frail, setting their leg right when it got too ridiculous, and treating the foreign ones quite as courteously as the english, though she could not understand a word they said.
they behaved well on the whole, though some whimpered that she had not taken them as far as she took nancy or grace or dorothy, and others jagged her, but it was quite unintentional, and she was too much of a lady to cry out.
so much walking tired her and she was anxious to be off to the ball, but she no longer felt afraid.
the reason she felt no more fear was that it was now night-time, and in the dark, you remember, maimie was always rather strange.
they were now loath to let her go, for, "if the fairies see you," they warned her, "they will mischief you, stab you to death or compel you to nurse their children or turn you into something tedious, like an evergreen oak."
as they said this they looked with affected pity at an evergreen oak, for in winter they are very envious of the evergreens.
""oh, la!"
replied the oak bitingly, "how deliciously cosy it is to stand here buttoned to the neck and watch you poor naked creatures shivering!"
this made them sulky though they had really brought it on themselves, and they drew for maimie a very gloomy picture of the perils that faced her if she insisted on going to the ball.
she learned from a purple filbert that the court was not in its usual good temper at present, the cause being the tantalising heart of the duke of christmas daisies.
he was an oriental fairy, very poorly of a dreadful complaint, namely, inability to love, and though he had tried many ladies in many lands he could not fall in love with one of them.
queen mab, who rules in the gardens, had been confident that her girls would bewitch him, but alas, his heart, the doctor said, remained cold.
this rather irritating doctor, who was his private physician, felt the duke's heart immediately after any lady was presented, and then always shook his bald head and murmured, "cold, quite cold!"
naturally queen mab felt disgraced, and first she tried the effect of ordering the court into tears for nine minutes, and then she blamed the cupids and decreed that they should wear fools" caps until they thawed the duke's frozen heart.
""how i should love to see the cupids in their dear little fools" caps!"
maimie cried, and away she ran to look for them very recklessly, for the cupids hate to be laughed at.
it is always easy to discover where a fairies" ball is being held, as ribbons are stretched between it and all the populous parts of the gardens, on which those invited may walk to the dance without wetting their pumps.
this night the ribbons were red and looked very pretty on the snow.
maimie walked alongside one of them for some distance without meeting anybody, but at last she saw a fairy cavalcade approaching.
to her surprise they seemed to be returning from the ball, and she had just time to hide from them by bending her knees and holding out her arms and pretending to be a garden chair.
there were six horsemen in front and six behind, in the middle walked a prim lady wearing a long train held up by two pages, and on the train, as if it were a couch, reclined a lovely girl, for in this way do aristocratic fairies travel about.
she was dressed in golden rain, but the most enviable part of her was her neck, which was blue in colour and of a velvet texture, and of course showed off her diamond necklace as no white throat could have glorified it.
the high-born fairies obtain this admired effect by pricking their skin, which lets the blue blood come through and dye them, and you can not imagine anything so dazzling unless you have seen the ladies" busts in the jewellers" windows.
maimie also noticed that the whole cavalcade seemed to be in a passion, tilting their noses higher than it can be safe for even fairies to tilt them, and she concluded that this must be another case in which the doctor had said "cold, quite cold!"
well, she followed the ribbon to a place where it became a bridge over a dry puddle into which another fairy had fallen and been unable to climb out.
at first this little damsel was afraid of maimie, who most kindly went to her aid, but soon she sat in her hand chatting gaily and explaining that her name was brownie, and that though only a poor street singer she was on her way to the ball to see if the duke would have her.
""of course," she said, "i am rather plain," and this made maimie uncomfortable, for indeed the simple little creature was almost quite plain for a fairy.
it was difficult to know what to reply.
""i see you think i have no chance," brownie said falteringly.
""i do n't say that," maimie answered politely, "of course your face is just a tiny bit homely, but --" really it was quite awkward for her.
fortunately she remembered about her father and the bazaar.
he had gone to a fashionable bazaar where all the most beautiful ladies in london were on view for half-a-crown the second day, but on his return home instead of being dissatisfied with maimie's mother he had said, "you ca n't think, my dear, what a relief it is to see a homely face again."
maimie repeated this story, and it fortified brownie tremendously, indeed she had no longer the slightest doubt that the duke would choose her.
so she scudded away up the ribbon, calling out to maimie not to follow lest the queen should mischief her.
but maimie's curiosity tugged her forward, and presently at the seven spanish chestnuts, she saw a wonderful light.
she crept forward until she was quite near it, and then she peeped from behind a tree.
the light, which was as high as your head above the ground, was composed of myriads of glow-worms all holding on to each other, and so forming a dazzling canopy over the fairy ring.
there were thousands of little people looking on, but they were in shadow and drab in colour compared to the glorious creatures within that luminous circle who were so bewilderingly bright that maimie had to wink hard all the time she looked at them.
it was amazing and even irritating to her that the duke of christmas daisies should be able to keep out of love for a moment: yet out of love his dusky grace still was: you could see it by the shamed looks of the queen and court -lrb- though they pretended not to care -rrb-, by the way darling ladies brought forward for his approval burst into tears as they were told to pass on, and by his own most dreary face.
maimie could also see the pompous doctor feeling the duke's heart and hear him give utterance to his parrot cry, and she was particularly sorry for the cupids, who stood in their fools" caps in obscure places and, every time they heard that "cold, quite cold," bowed their disgraced little heads.
she was disappointed not to see peter pan, and i may as well tell you now why he was so late that night.
it was because his boat had got wedged on the serpentine between fields of floating ice, through which he had to break a perilous passage with his trusty paddle.
the fairies had as yet scarcely missed him, for they could not dance, so heavy were their hearts.
they forget all the steps when they are sad and remember them again when they are merry.
david tells me that fairies never say "we feel happy": what they say is, "we feel dancey."
well, they were looking very undancy indeed, when sudden laughter broke out among the onlookers, caused by brownie, who had just arrived and was insisting on her right to be presented to the duke.
maimie craned forward eagerly to see how her friend fared, though she had really no hope; no one seemed to have the least hope except brownie herself who, however, was absolutely confident.
she was led before his grace, and the doctor putting a finger carelessly on the ducal heart, which for convenience sake was reached by a little trap-door in his diamond shirt, had begun to say mechanically, "cold, qui --," when he stopped abruptly.
""what's this?"
he cried, and first he shook the heart like a watch, and then put his ear to it.
""bless my soul!"
cried the doctor, and by this time of course the excitement among the spectators was tremendous, fairies fainting right and left.
everybody stared breathlessly at the duke, who was very much startled and looked as if he would like to run away.
""good gracious me!"
the doctor was heard muttering, and now the heart was evidently on fire, for he had to jerk his fingers away from it and put them in his mouth.
the suspense was awful!
then in a loud voice, and bowing low, "my lord duke," said the physician elatedly, "i have the honour to inform your excellency that your grace is in love."
you ca n't conceive the effect of it.
brownie held out her arms to the duke and he flung himself into them, the queen leapt into the arms of the lord chamberlain, and the ladies of the court leapt into the arms of her gentlemen, for it is etiquette to follow her example in everything.
thus in a single moment about fifty marriages took place, for if you leap into each other's arms it is a fairy wedding.
of course a clergyman has to be present.
how the crowd cheered and leapt!
trumpets brayed, the moon came out, and immediately a thousand couples seized hold of its rays as if they were ribbons in a may dance and waltzed in wild abandon round the fairy ring.
most gladsome sight of all, the cupids plucked the hated fools" caps from their heads and cast them high in the air.
and then maimie went and spoiled everything.
she could n't help it.
she was crazy with delight over her little friend's good fortune, so she took several steps forward and cried in an ecstasy, "oh, brownie, how splendid!"
everybody stood still, the music ceased, the lights went out, and all in the time you may take to say "oh dear!"
an awful sense of her peril came upon maimie, too late she remembered that she was a lost child in a place where no human must be between the locking and the opening of the gates, she heard the murmur of an angry multitude, she saw a thousand swords flashing for her blood, and she uttered a cry of terror and fled.
how she ran!
and all the time her eyes were starting out of her head.
many times she lay down, and then quickly jumped up and ran on again.
her little mind was so entangled in terrors that she no longer knew she was in the gardens.
the one thing she was sure of was that she must never cease to run, and she thought she was still running long after she had dropped in the figs and gone to sleep.
she thought the snowflakes falling on her face were her mother kissing her good-night.
she thought her coverlet of snow was a warm blanket, and tried to pull it over her head.
and when she heard talking through her dreams she thought it was mother bringing father to the nursery door to look at her as she slept.
but it was the fairies.
i am very glad to be able to say that they no longer desired to mischief her.
when she rushed away they had rent the air with such cries as "slay her!"
""turn her into something extremely unpleasant!"
and so on, but the pursuit was delayed while they discussed who should march in front, and this gave duchess brownie time to cast herself before the queen and demand a boon.
every bride has a right to a boon, and what she asked for was maimie's life.
""anything except that," replied queen mab sternly, and all the fairies chanted "anything except that."
but when they learned how maimie had befriended brownie and so enabled her to attend the ball to their great glory and renown, they gave three huzzas for the little human, and set off, like an army, to thank her, the court advancing in front and the canopy keeping step with it.
they traced maimie easily by her footprints in the snow.
but though they found her deep in snow in the figs, it seemed impossible to thank maimie, for they could not waken her.
they went through the form of thanking her, that is to say, the new king stood on her body and read her a long address of welcome, but she heard not a word of it.
they also cleared the snow off her, but soon she was covered again, and they saw she was in danger of perishing of cold.
""turn her into something that does not mind the cold," seemed a good suggestion of the doctor's, but the only thing they could think of that does not mind cold was a snowflake.
""and it might melt," the queen pointed out, so that idea had to be given up.
a magnificent attempt was made to carry her to a sheltered spot, but though there were so many of them she was too heavy.
by this time all the ladies were crying in their handkerchiefs, but presently the cupids had a lovely idea.
""build a house round her," they cried, and at once everybody perceived that this was the thing to do; in a moment a hundred fairy sawyers were among the branches, architects were running round maimie, measuring her; a bricklayer's yard sprang up at her feet, seventy-five masons rushed up with the foundation stone and the queen laid it, overseers were appointed to keep the boys off, scaffoldings were run up, the whole place rang with hammers and chisels and turning lathes, and by this time the roof was on and the glaziers were putting in the windows.
the house was exactly the size of maimie and perfectly lovely.
one of her arms was extended and this had bothered them for a second, but they built a verandah round it, leading to the front door.
the windows were the size of a coloured picture-book and the door rather smaller, but it would be easy for her to get out by taking off the roof.
the fairies, as is their custom, clapped their hands with delight over their cleverness, and they were all so madly in love with the little house that they could not bear to think they had finished it.
so they gave it ever so many little extra touches, and even then they added more extra touches.
for instance, two of them ran up a ladder and put on a chimney.
""now we fear it is quite finished," they sighed.
but no, for another two ran up the ladder, and tied some smoke to the chimney.
""that certainly finishes it," they cried reluctantly.
""not at all," cried a glow-worm, "if she were to wake without seeing a night-light she might be frightened, so i shall be her night-light."
""wait one moment," said a china merchant, "and i shall make you a saucer."
now alas, it was absolutely finished.
oh, dear no!
""gracious me," cried a brass manufacturer, "there's no handle on the door," and he put one on.
an ironmonger added a scraper and an old lady ran up with a door-mat.
carpenters arrived with a water-butt, and the painters insisted on painting it.
finished at last!
""finished!
how can it be finished," the plumber demanded scornfully, "before hot and cold are put in?"
and he put in hot and cold.
then an army of gardeners arrived with fairy carts and spades and seeds and bulbs and forcing-houses, and soon they had a flower garden to the right of the verandah and a vegetable garden to the left, and roses and clematis on the walls of the house, and in less time than five minutes all these dear things were in full bloom.
oh, how beautiful the little house was now!
but it was at last finished true as true, and they had to leave it and return to the dance.
they all kissed their hands to it as they went away, and the last to go was brownie.
she stayed a moment behind the others to drop a pleasant dream down the chimney.
all through the night the exquisite little house stood there in the figs taking care of maimie, and she never knew.
she slept until the dream was quite finished and woke feeling deliciously cosy just as morning was breaking from its egg, and then she almost fell asleep again, and then she called out, "tony," for she thought she was at home in the nursery.
as tony made no answer, she sat up, whereupon her head hit the roof, and it opened like the lid of a box, and to her bewilderment she saw all around her the kensington gardens lying deep in snow.
as she was not in the nursery she wondered whether this was really herself, so she pinched her cheeks, and then she knew it was herself, and this reminded her that she was in the middle of a great adventure.
she remembered now everything that had happened to her from the closing of the gates up to her running away from the fairies, but however, she asked herself, had she got into this funny place?
she stepped out by the roof, right over the garden, and then she saw the dear house in which she had passed the night.
it so entranced her that she could think of nothing else.
""oh, you darling, oh, you sweet, oh, you love!"
she cried.
perhaps a human voice frightened the little house, or maybe it now knew that its work was done, for no sooner had maimie spoken than it began to grow smaller; it shrank so slowly that she could scarce believe it was shrinking, yet she soon knew that it could not contain her now.
it always remained as complete as ever, but it became smaller and smaller, and the garden dwindled at the same time, and the snow crept closer, lapping house and garden up.
now the house was the size of a little dog's kennel, and now of a noah's ark, but still you could see the smoke and the door-handle and the roses on the wall, every one complete.
the glow-worm fight was waning too, but it was still there.
""darling, loveliest, do n't go!"
maimie cried, falling on her knees, for the little house was now the size of a reel of thread, but still quite complete.
but as she stretched out her arms imploringly the snow crept up on all sides until it met itself, and where the little house had been was now one unbroken expanse of snow.
maimie stamped her foot naughtily, and was putting her fingers to her eyes, when she heard a kind voice say, "do n't cry, pretty human, do n't cry," and then she turned round and saw a beautiful little naked boy regarding her wistfully.
she knew at once that he must be peter pan.
lock-out time it is frightfully difficult to know much about the fairies, and almost the only thing known for certain is that there are fairies wherever there are children.
long ago children were forbidden the gardens, and at that time there was not a fairy in the place; then the children were admitted, and the fairies came trooping in that very evening.
they ca n't resist following the children, but you seldom see them, partly because they live in the daytime behind the railings, where you are not allowed to go, and also partly because they are so cunning.
they are not a bit cunning after lock-out, but until lock-out, my word!
when you were a bird you knew the fairies pretty well, and you remember a good deal about them in your babyhood, which it is a great pity you ca n't write down, for gradually you forget, and i have heard of children who declared that they had never once seen a fairy.
very likely if they said this in the kensington gardens, they were standing looking at a fairy all the time.
the reason they were cheated was that she pretended to be something else.
this is one of their best tricks.
they usually pretend to be flowers, because the court sits in the fairies" basin, and there are so many flowers there, and all along the baby walk, that a flower is the thing least likely to attract attention.
they dress exactly like flowers, and change with the seasons, putting on white when lilies are in and blue for blue-bells, and so on.
they like crocus and hyacinth time best of all, as they are partial to a bit of colour, but tulips -lrb- except white ones, which are the fairy-cradles -rrb- they consider garish, and they sometimes put off dressing like tulips for days, so that the beginning of the tulip weeks is almost the best time to catch them.
when they think you are not looking they skip along pretty lively, but if you look and they fear there is no time to hide, they stand quite still, pretending to be flowers.
then, after you have passed without knowing that they were fairies, they rush home and tell their mothers they have had such an adventure.
the fairy basin, you remember, is all covered with ground-ivy -lrb- from which they make their castor-oil -rrb-, with flowers growing in it here and there.
most of them really are flowers, but some of them are fairies.
you never can be sure of them, but a good plan is to walk by looking the other way, and then turn round sharply.
another good plan, which david and i sometimes follow, is to stare them down.
after a long time they ca n't help winking, and then you know for certain that they are fairies.
there are also numbers of them along the baby walk, which is a famous gentle place, as spots frequented by fairies are called.
once twenty-four of them had an extraordinary adventure.
they were a girls" school out for a walk with the governess, and all wearing hyacinth gowns, when she suddenly put her finger to her mouth, and then they all stood still on an empty bed and pretended to be hyacinths.
unfortunately, what the governess had heard was two gardeners coming to plant new flowers in that very bed.
they were wheeling a handcart with flowers in it, and were quite surprised to find the bed occupied.
""pity to lift them hyacinths," said the one man.
""duke's orders," replied the other, and, having emptied the cart, they dug up the boarding-school and put the poor, terrified things in it in five rows.
of course, neither the governess nor the girls dare let on that they were fairies, so they were carted far away to a potting-shed, out of which they escaped in the night without their shoes, but there was a great row about it among the parents, and the school was ruined.
as for their houses, it is no use looking for them, because they are the exact opposite of our houses.
you can see our houses by day but you ca n't see them by dark.
well, you can see their houses by dark, but you ca n't see them by day, for they are the colour of night, and i never heard of anyone yet who could see night in the daytime.
this does not mean that they are black, for night has its colours just as day has, but ever so much brighter.
their blues and reds and greens are like ours with a light behind them.
the palace is entirely built of many-coloured glasses, and is quite the loveliest of all royal residences, but the queen sometimes complains because the common people will peep in to see what she is doing.
they are very inquisitive folk, and press quite hard against the glass, and that is why their noses are mostly snubby.
the streets are miles long and very twisty, and have paths on each side made of bright worsted.
the birds used to steal the worsted for their nests, but a policeman has been appointed to hold on at the other end.
one of the great differences between the fairies and us is that they never do anything useful.
when the first baby laughed for the first time, his laugh broke into a million pieces, and they all went skipping about.
that was the beginning of fairies.
they look tremendously busy, you know, as if they had not a moment to spare, but if you were to ask them what they are doing, they could not tell you in the least.
they are frightfully ignorant, and everything they do is make-believe.
they have a postman, but he never calls except at christmas with his little box, and though they have beautiful schools, nothing is taught in them; the youngest child being chief person is always elected mistress, and when she has called the roll, they all go out for a walk and never come back.
it is a very noticeable thing that, in fairy families, the youngest is always chief person, and usually becomes a prince or princess, and children remember this, and think it must be so among humans also, and that is why they are often made uneasy when they come upon their mother furtively putting new frills on the basinette.
you have probably observed that your baby-sister wants to do all sorts of things that your mother and her nurse want her not to do: to stand up at sitting-down time, and to sit down at standing-up time, for instance, or to wake up when she should fall asleep, or to crawl on the floor when she is wearing her best frock, and so on, and perhaps you put this down to naughtiness.
but it is not; it simply means that she is doing as she has seen the fairies do; she begins by following their ways, and it takes about two years to get her into the human ways.
her fits of passion, which are awful to behold, and are usually called teething, are no such thing; they are her natural exasperation, because we do n't understand her, though she is talking an intelligible language.
she is talking fairy.
the reason mothers and nurses know what her remarks mean, before other people know, as that "guch" means "give it to me at once," while "wa" is "why do you wear such a funny hat?"
is because, mixing so much with babies, they have picked up a little of the fairy language.
of late david has been thinking back hard about the fairy tongue, with his hands clutching his temples, and he has remembered a number of their phrases which i shall tell you some day if i do n't forget.
he had heard them in the days when he was a thrush, and though i suggested to him that perhaps it is really bird language he is remembering, he says not, for these phrases are about fun and adventures, and the birds talked of nothing but nest-building.
he distinctly remembers that the birds used to go from spot to spot like ladies at shop-windows, looking at the different nests and saying, "not my colour, my dear," and "how would that do with a soft lining?"
and "but will it wear?"
and "what hideous trimming!"
and so on.
the fairies are exquisite dancers, and that is why one of the first things the baby does is to sign to you to dance to him and then to cry when you do it.
they hold their great balls in the open air, in what is called a fairy-ring.
for weeks afterward you can see the ring on the grass.
it is not there when they begin, but they make it by waltzing round and round.
sometimes you will find mushrooms inside the ring, and these are fairy chairs that the servants have forgotten to clear away.
the chairs and the rings are the only tell-tale marks these little people leave behind them, and they would remove even these were they not so fond of dancing that they toe it till the very moment of the opening of the gates.
david and i once found a fairy-ring quite warm.
but there is also a way of finding out about the ball before it takes place.
you know the boards which tell at what time the gardens are to close to-day.
well, these tricky fairies sometimes slyly change the board on a ball night, so that it says the gardens are to close at six-thirty for instance, instead of at seven.
this enables them to get begun half an hour earlier.
if on such a night we could remain behind in the gardens, as the famous maimie mannering did, we might see delicious sights, hundreds of lovely fairies hastening to the ball, the married ones wearing their wedding-rings round their waists, the gentlemen, all in uniform, holding up the ladies" trains, and linkmen running in front carrying winter cherries, which are the fairy-lanterns, the cloakroom where they put on their silver slippers and get a ticket for their wraps, the flowers streaming up from the baby walk to look on, and always welcome because they can lend a pin, the supper-table, with queen mab at the head of it, and behind her chair the lord chamberlain, who carries a dandelion on which he blows when her majesty wants to know the time.
the table-cloth varies according to the seasons, and in may it is made of chestnut-blossom.
the way the fairy-servants do is this: the men, scores of them, climb up the trees and shake the branches, and the blossom falls like snow.
then the lady servants sweep it together by whisking their skirts until it is exactly like a table-cloth, and that is how they get their table-cloth.
they have real glasses and real wine of three kinds, namely, blackthorn wine, berberris wine, and cowslip wine, and the queen pours out, but the bottles are so heavy that she just pretends to pour out.
there is bread and butter to begin with, of the size of a threepenny bit; and cakes to end with, and they are so small that they have no crumbs.
the fairies sit round on mushrooms, and at first they are very well-behaved and always cough off the table, and so on, but after a bit they are not so well-behaved and stick their fingers into the butter, which is got from the roots of old trees, and the really horrid ones crawl over the table-cloth chasing sugar or other delicacies with their tongues.
when the queen sees them doing this she signs to the servants to wash up and put away, and then everybody adjourns to the dance, the queen walking in front while the lord chamberlain walks behind her, carrying two little pots, one of which contains the juice of wall-flower and the other the juice of solomon's seals.
wall-flower juice is good for reviving dancers who fall to the ground in a fit, and solomon's seals juice is for bruises.
they bruise very easily and when peter plays faster and faster they foot it till they fall down in fits.
for, as you know without my telling you, peter pan is the fairies" orchestra.
he sits in the middle of the ring, and they would never dream of having a smart dance nowadays without him.
""p. p." is written on the corner of the invitation-cards sent out by all really good families.
they are grateful little people, too, and at the princess's coming-of-age ball -lrb- they come of age on their second birthday and have a birthday every month -rrb- they gave him the wish of his heart.
the way it was done was this.
the queen ordered him to kneel, and then said that for playing so beautifully she would give him the wish of his heart.
then they all gathered round peter to hear what was the wish of his heart, but for a long time he hesitated, not being certain what it was himself.
""if i chose to go back to mother," he asked at last, "could you give me that wish?"
now this question vexed them, for were he to return to his mother they should lose his music, so the queen tilted her nose contemptuously and said, "pooh, ask for a much bigger wish than that."
""is that quite a little wish?"
he inquired.
""as little as this," the queen answered, putting her hands near each other.
""what size is a big wish?"
he asked.
she measured it off on her skirt and it was a very handsome length.
then peter reflected and said, "well, then, i think i shall have two little wishes instead of one big one."
of course, the fairies had to agree, though his cleverness rather shocked them, and he said that his first wish was to go to his mother, but with the right to return to the gardens if he found her disappointing.
his second wish he would hold in reserve.
they tried to dissuade him, and even put obstacles in the way.
""i can give you the power to fly to her house," the queen said, "but i ca n't open the door for you."
""the window i flew out at will be open," peter said confidently.
""mother always keeps it open in the hope that i may fly back.
""how do you know?"
they asked, quite surprised, and, really, peter could not explain how he knew.
""i just do know," he said.
so as he persisted in his wish, they had to grant it.
the way they gave him power to fly was this: they all tickled him on the shoulder, and soon he felt a funny itching in that part and then up he rose higher and higher and flew away out of the gardens and over the house-tops.
it was so delicious that instead of flying straight to his old home he skimmed away over st. paul's to the crystal palace and back by the river and regent's park, and by the time he reached his mother's window he had quite made up his mind that his second wish should be to become a bird.
the window was wide open, just as he knew it would be, and in he fluttered, and there was his mother lying asleep.
peter alighted softly on the wooden rail at the foot of the bed and had a good look at her.
she lay with her head on her hand, and the hollow in the pillow was like a nest lined with her brown wavy hair.
he remembered, though he had long forgotten it, that she always gave her hair a holiday at night.
how sweet the frills of her night-gown were.
he was very glad she was such a pretty mother.
but she looked sad, and he knew why she looked sad.
one of her arms moved as if it wanted to go round something, and he knew what it wanted to go round.
""oh, mother," said peter to himself, "if you just knew who is sitting on the rail at the foot of the bed."
very gently he patted the little mound that her feet made, and he could see by her face that she liked it.
he knew he had but to say "mother" ever so softly, and she would wake up.
they always wake up at once if it is you that says their name.
then she would give such a joyous cry and squeeze him tight.
how nice that would be to him, but oh, how exquisitely delicious it would be to her.
that i am afraid is how peter regarded it.
in returning to his mother he never doubted that he was giving her the greatest treat a woman can have.
nothing can be more splendid, he thought, than to have a little boy of your own.
how proud of him they are; and very right and proper, too.
but why does peter sit so long on the rail, why does he not tell his mother that he has come back?
i quite shrink from the truth, which is that he sat there in two minds.
sometimes he looked longingly at his mother, and sometimes he looked longingly at the window.
certainly it would be pleasant to be her boy again, but, on the other hand, what times those had been in the gardens!
was he so sure that he would enjoy wearing clothes again?
he popped off the bed and opened some drawers to have a look at his old garments.
they were still there, but he could not remember how you put them on.
the socks, for instance, were they worn on the hands or on the feet?
he was about to try one of them on his hand, when he had a great adventure.
perhaps the drawer had creaked; at any rate, his mother woke up, for he heard her say "peter," as if it was the most lovely word in the language.
he remained sitting on the floor and held his breath, wondering how she knew that he had come back.
if she said "peter" again, he meant to cry "mother" and run to her.
but she spoke no more, she made little moans only, and when next he peeped at her she was once more asleep, with tears on her face.
it made peter very miserable, and what do you think was the first thing he did?
sitting on the rail at the foot of the bed, he played a beautiful lullaby to his mother on his pipe.
he had made it up himself out of the way she said "peter," and he never stopped playing until she looked happy.
he thought this so clever of him that he could scarcely resist wakening her to hear her say, "oh, peter, how exquisitely you play."
however, as she now seemed comfortable, he again cast looks at the window.
you must not think that he meditated flying away and never coming back.
he had quite decided to be his mother's boy, but hesitated about beginning to-night.
it was the second wish which troubled him.
he no longer meant to make it a wish to be a bird, but not to ask for a second wish seemed wasteful, and, of course, he could not ask for it without returning to the fairies.
also, if he put off asking for his wish too long it might go bad.
he asked himself if he had not been hard-hearted to fly away without saying good-bye to solomon.
""i should like awfully to sail in my boat just once more," he said wistfully to his sleeping mother.
he quite argued with her as if she could hear him.
""it would be so splendid to tell the birds of this adventure," he said coaxingly.
""i promise to come back," he said solemnly and meant it, too.
and in the end, you know, he flew away.
twice he came back from the window, wanting to kiss his mother, but he feared the delight of it might waken her, so at last he played her a lovely kiss on his pipe, and then he flew back to the gardens.
many nights and even months passed before he asked the fairies for his second wish; and i am not sure that i quite know why he delayed so long.
one reason was that he had so many good-byes to say, not only to his particular friends, but to a hundred favourite spots.
then he had his last sail, and his very last sail, and his last sail of all, and so on.
again, a number of farewell feasts were given in his honour; and another comfortable reason was that, after all, there was no hurry, for his mother would never weary of waiting for him.
this last reason displeased old solomon, for it was an encouragement to the birds to procrastinate.
solomon had several excellent mottoes for keeping them at their work, such as "never put off laying to-day, because you can lay to-morrow," and "in this world there are no second chances," and yet here was peter gaily putting off and none the worse for it.
the birds pointed this out to each other, and fell into lazy habits.
but, mind you, though peter was so slow in going back to his mother, he was quite decided to go back.
the best proof of this was his caution with the fairies.
they were most anxious that he should remain in the gardens to play to them, and to bring this to pass they tried to trick him into making such a remark as "i wish the grass was not so wet," and some of them danced out of time in the hope that he might cry, "i do wish you would keep time!"
then they would have said that this was his second wish.
but he smoked their design, and though on occasions he began, "i wish --" he always stopped in time.
so when at last he said to them bravely, "i wish now to go back to mother for ever and always," they had to tickle his shoulder and let him go.
he went in a hurry in the end because he had dreamt that his mother was crying, and he knew what was the great thing she cried for, and that a hug from her splendid peter would quickly make her to smile.
oh, he felt sure of it, and so eager was he to be nestling in her arms that this time he flew straight to the window, which was always to be open for him.
but the window was closed, and there were iron bars on it, and peering inside he saw his mother sleeping peacefully with her arm round another little boy.
peter called, "mother!
mother!"
but she heard him not; in vain he beat his little limbs against the iron bars.
he had to fly back, sobbing, to the gardens, and he never saw his dear again.
what a glorious boy he had meant to be to her.
ah, peter, we who have made the great mistake, how differently we should all act at the second chance.
but solomon was right; there is no second chance, not for most of us.
when we reach the window it is lock-out time.
_book_title_: james_matthew_barrie___peter_and_wendy.txt.out
chapter i peter breaks through all children, except one, grow up.
they soon know that they will grow up, and the way wendy knew was this.
one day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother.
i suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for mrs. darling put her hand to her heart and cried, "oh, why ca n't you remain like this for ever!"
this was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth wendy knew that she must grow up.
you always know after you are two.
two is the beginning of the end.
of course they lived at 14, and until wendy came her mother was the chief one.
she was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth.
her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling east, however many you discover there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner.
the way mr. darling won her was this: the many gentlemen who had been boys when she was a girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her, and they all ran to her house to propose to her except mr. darling, who took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her.
he got all of her, except the innermost box and the kiss.
he never knew about the box, and in time he gave up trying for the kiss.
wendy thought napoleon could have got it, but i can picture him trying, and then going off in a passion, slamming the door.
mr. darling used to boast to wendy that her mother not only loved him but respected him.
he was one of those deep ones who know about stocks and shares.
of course no one really knows, but he quite seemed to know, and he often said stocks were up and shares were down in a way that would have made any woman respect him.
mrs. darling was married in white, and at first she kept the books perfectly, almost gleefully, as if it were a game, not so much as a brussels sprout was missing; but by and by whole cauliflowers dropped out, and instead of them there were pictures of babies without faces.
she drew them when she should have been totting up.
they were mrs. darling's guesses.
wendy came first, then john, then michael.
for a week or two after wendy came it was doubtful whether they would be able to keep her, as she was another mouth to feed.
mr. darling was frightfully proud of her, but he was very honourable, and he sat on the edge of mrs. darling's bed, holding her hand and calculating expenses, while she looked at him imploringly.
she wanted to risk it, come what might, but that was not his way; his way was with a pencil and a piece of paper, and if she confused him with suggestions he had to begin at the beginning again.
"now do n't interrupt," he would beg of her."
i have one pound seventeen here, and two and six at the office; i can cut off my coffee at the office, say ten shillings, making two nine and six, with your eighteen and three makes three nine seven, with five naught naught in my cheque-book makes eight nine seven, -- who is that moving?
-- eight nine seven, dot and carry seven -- do n't speak, my own -- and the pound you lent to that man who came to the door -- quiet, child -- dot and carry child -- there, you've done it!
-- did i say nine nine seven?
yes, i said nine nine seven; the question is, can we try it for a year on nine nine seven?"
"of course we can, george," she cried.
but she was prejudiced in wendy's favour, and he was really the grander character of the two.
"remember mumps," he warned her almost threateningly, and off he went again.
"mumps one pound, that is what i have put down, but i daresay it will be more like thirty shillings -- do n't speak -- measles one five, german measles half a guinea, makes two fifteen six -- do n't waggle your finger -- whooping-cough, say fifteen shillings" -- and so on it went, and it added up differently each time; but at last wendy just got through, with mumps reduced to twelve six, and the two kinds of measles treated as one.
there was the same excitement over john, and michael had even a narrower squeak; but both were kept, and soon you might have seen the three of them going in a row to miss fulsom's kindergarten school, accompanied by their nurse.
mrs. darling loved to have everything just so, and mr. darling had a passion for being exactly like his neighbours; so, of course, they had a nurse.
as they were poor, owing to the amount of milk the children drank, this nurse was a prim newfoundland dog, called nana, who had belonged to no one in particular until the darlings engaged her.
she had always thought children important, however, and the darlings had become acquainted with her in kensington gardens, where she spent most of her spare time peeping into perambulators, and was much hated by careless nursemaids, whom she followed to their homes and complained of to their mistresses.
she proved to be quite a treasure of a nurse.
how thorough she was at bath-time; and up at any moment of the night if one of her charges made the slightest cry.
of course her kennel was in the nursery.
she had a genius for knowing when a cough is a thing to have no patience with and when it needs stocking round your throat.
she believed to her last day in old-fashioned remedies like rhubarb leaf, and made sounds of contempt over all this new-fangled talk about germs, and so on.
it was a lesson in propriety to see her escorting the children to school, walking sedately by their side when they were well behaved, and butting them back into line if they strayed.
on john's footer days she never once forgot his sweater, and she usually carried an umbrella in her mouth in case of rain.
there is a room in the basement of miss fulsom's school where the nurses wait.
they sat on forms, while nana lay on the floor, but that was the only difference.
they affected to ignore her as of an inferior social status to themselves, and she despised their light talk.
she resented visits to the nursery from mrs. darling's friends, but if they did come she first whipped off michael's pinafore and put him into the one with blue braiding, and smoothed out wendy and made a dash at john's hair.
no nursery could possibly have been conducted more correctly, and mr. darling knew it, yet he sometimes wondered uneasily whether the neighbours talked.
he had his position in the city to consider.
nana also troubled him in another way.
he had sometimes a feeling that she did not admire him."
i know she admires you tremendously, george," mrs. darling would assure him, and then she would sign to the children to be specially nice to father.
lovely dances followed, in which the only other servant, liza, was sometimes allowed to join.
such a midget she looked in her long skirt and maid's cap, though she had sworn, when engaged, that she would never see ten again.
the gaiety of those romps!
and gayest of all was mrs. darling, who would pirouette so wildly that all you could see of her was the kiss, and then if you had dashed at her you might have got it.
there never was a simpler happier family until the coming of peter pan.
mrs. darling first heard of peter when she was tidying up her children's minds.
it is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day.
if you could keep awake -lrb- but of course you ca n't -rrb- you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her.
it is quite like tidying up drawers.
you would see her on her knees, i expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight.
when you wake in the morning, the naughtinesses and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind; and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.
i do n't know whether you have ever seen a map of a person's mind.
doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but catch them trying to draw a map of a child's mind, which is not only confused, but keeps going round all the time.
there are zigzag lines on it, just like your temperature on a card, and these are probably roads in the island; for the neverland is always more or less an island, with astonishing splashes of colour here and there, and coral reefs and rakish-looking craft in the offing, and savages and lonely lairs, and gnomes who are mostly tailors, and caves through which a river runs, and princes with six elder brothers, and a hut fast going to decay, and one very small old lady with a hooked nose.
it would be an easy map if that were all; but there is also first day at school, religion, fathers, the round pond, needlework, murders, hangings, verbs that take the dative, chocolate pudding day, getting into braces, say ninety-nine, three-pence for pulling out your tooth yourself, and so on; and either these are part of the island or they are another map showing through, and it is all rather confusing, especially as nothing will stand still.
of course the neverlands vary a good deal.
john's, for instance, had a lagoon with flamingoes flying over it at which john was shooting, while michael, who was very small, had a flamingo with lagoons flying over it.
john lived in a boat turned upside down on the sands, michael in a wigwam, wendy in a house of leaves deftly sewn together.
john had no friends, michael had friends at night, wendy had a pet wolf forsaken by its parents; but on the whole the neverlands have a family resemblance, and if they stood still in a row you could say of them that they have each other's nose, and so forth.
on these magic shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles.
we too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.
of all delectable islands the neverland is the snuggest and most compact; not large and sprawly, you know, with tedious distances between one adventure and another, but nicely crammed.
when you play at it by day with the chairs and table-cloth, it is not in the least alarming, but in the two minutes before you go to sleep it becomes very nearly real.
that is why there are night-lights.
occasionally in her travels through her children's minds mrs. darling found things she could not understand, and of these quite the most perplexing was the word peter.
she knew of no peter, and yet he was here and there in john and michael's minds, while wendy's began to be scrawled all over with him.
the name stood out in bolder letters than any of the other words, and as mrs. darling gazed she felt that it had an oddly cocky appearance.
"yes, he is rather cocky," wendy admitted with regret.
her mother had been questioning her.
"but who is he, my pet?"
"he is peter pan, you know, mother."
at first mrs. darling did not know, but after thinking back into her childhood she just remembered a peter pan who was said to live with the fairies.
there were odd stories about him; as that when children died he went part of the way with them, so that they should not be frightened.
she had believed in him at the time, but now that she was married and full of sense she quite doubted whether there was any such person.
"besides," she said to wendy, "he would be grown up by this time."
"oh no, he is n't grown up," wendy assured her confidently, "and he is just my size."
she meant that he was her size in both mind and body; she did n't know how she knew it, she just knew it.
mrs. darling consulted mr. darling, but he smiled pooh-pooh.
"mark my words," he said, "it is some nonsense nana has been putting into their heads; just the sort of idea a dog would have.
leave it alone, and it will blow over."
but it would not blow over; and soon the troublesome boy gave mrs. darling quite a shock.
children have the strangest adventures without being troubled by them.
for instance, they may remember to mention, a week after the event happened, that when they were in the wood they met their dead father and had a game with him.
it was in this casual way that wendy one morning made a disquieting revelation.
some leaves of a tree had been found on the nursery floor, which certainly were not there when the children went to bed, and mrs. darling was puzzling over them when wendy said with a tolerant smile: "i do believe it is that peter again!"
"whatever do you mean, wendy?"
"it is so naughty of him not to wipe," wendy said, sighing.
she was a tidy child.
she explained in quite a matter-of-fact way that she thought peter sometimes came to the nursery in the night and sat on the foot of her bed and played on his pipes to her.
unfortunately she never woke, so she did n't know how she knew, she just knew.
"what nonsense you talk, precious.
no one can get into the house without knocking.'"
i think he comes in by the window," she said.
"my love, it is three floors up."
"were not the leaves at the foot of the window, mother?"
it was quite true; the leaves had been found very near the window.
mrs. darling did not know what to think, for it all seemed so natural to wendy that you could not dismiss it by saying she had been dreaming.
"my child," the mother cried, "why did you not tell me of this before?'"
i forgot," said wendy lightly.
she was in a hurry to get her breakfast.
oh, surely she must have been dreaming.
but, on the other hand, there were the leaves.
mrs. darling examined them carefully; they were skeleton leaves, but she was sure they did not come from any tree that grew in england.
she crawled about the floor, peering at it with a candle for marks of a strange foot.
she rattled the poker up the chimney and tapped the walls.
she let down a tape from the window to the pavement, and it was a sheer drop of thirty feet, without so much as a spout to climb up by.
certainly wendy had been dreaming.
but wendy had not been dreaming, as the very next night showed, the night on which the extraordinary adventures of these children may be said to have begun.
on the night we speak of all the children were once more in bed.
it happened to be nana's evening off, and mrs. darling had bathed them and sung to them till one by one they had let go her hand and slid away into the land of sleep.
all were looking so safe and cosy that she smiled at her fears now and sat down tranquilly by the fire to sew.
it was something for michael, who on his birthday was getting into shirts.
the fire was warm, however, and the nursery dimly lit by three night-lights, and presently the sewing lay on mrs. darling's lap.
then her head nodded, oh, so gracefully.
she was asleep.
look at the four of them, wendy and michael over there, john here, and mrs. darling by the fire.
there should have been a fourth night-light.
while she slept she had a dream.
she dreamt that the neverland had come too near and that a strange boy had broken through from it.
he did not alarm her, for she thought she had seen him before in the faces of many women who have no children.
perhaps he is to be found in the faces of some mothers also.
but in her dream he had rent the film that obscures the neverland, and she saw wendy and john and michael peeping through the gap.
the dream by itself would have been a trifle, but while she was dreaming the window of the nursery blew open, and a boy did drop on the floor.
he was accompanied by a strange light, no bigger than your fist, which darted about the room like a living thing; and i think it must have been this light that wakened mrs. darling.
she started up with a cry, and saw the boy, and somehow she knew at once that he was peter pan.
if you or i or wendy had been there we should have seen that he was very like mrs. darling's kiss.
he was a lovely boy, clad in skeleton leaves and the juices that ooze out of trees; but the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth.
when he saw she was a grown-up, he gnashed the little pearls at her.
chapter ii the shadow mrs. darling screamed, and, as if in answer to a bell, the door opened, and nana entered, returned from her evening out.
she growled and sprang at the boy, who leapt lightly through the window.
again mrs. darling screamed, this time in distress for him, for she thought he was killed, and she ran down into the street to look for his little body, but it was not there; and she looked up, and in the black night she could see nothing but what she thought was a shooting star.
she returned to the nursery, and found nana with something in her mouth, which proved to be the boy's shadow.
as he leapt at the window nana had closed it quickly, too late to catch him, but his shadow had not had time to get out; slam went the window and snapped it off.
you may be sure mrs. darling examined the shadow carefully, but it was quite the ordinary kind.
nana had no doubt of what was the best thing to do with this shadow.
she hung it out at the window, meaning "he is sure to come back for it; let us put it where he can get it easily without disturbing the children."
but unfortunately mrs. darling could not leave it hanging out at the window; it looked so like the washing and lowered the whole tone of the house.
she thought of showing it to mr. darling, but he was totting up winter greatcoats for john and michael, with a wet towel round his head to keep his brain clear, and it seemed a shame to trouble him; besides, she knew exactly what he would say: "it all comes of having a dog for a nurse."
she decided to roll the shadow up and put it away carefully in a drawer, until a fitting opportunity came for telling her husband.
ah me!
the opportunity came a week later, on that never-to-be-forgotten friday.
of course it was a friday."
i ought to have been specially careful on a friday," she used to say afterwards to her husband, while perhaps nana was on the other side of her, holding her hand.
"no, no," mr. darling always said," i am responsible for it all.
i, george darling, did it.
mea culpa, mea culpa.
' he had had a classical education.
they sat thus night after night recalling that fatal friday, till every detail of it was stamped on their brains and came through on the other side like the faces on a bad coinage.
"if only i had not accepted that invitation to dine at 27," mrs. darling said.
"if only i had not poured my medicine into nana's bowl," said mr. darling.
"if only i had pretended to like the medicine," was what nana's wet eyes said.
"my liking for parties, george."
"my fatal gift of humour, dearest."
"my touchiness about trifles, dear master and mistress."
then one or more of them would break down altogether; nana at the thought, "it's true, it's true, they ought not to have had a dog for a nurse."
many a time it was mr. darling who put the handkerchief to nana's eyes.
"that fiend!"
mr. darling would cry, and nana's bark was the echo of it, but mrs. darling never upbraided peter; there was something in the right-hand corner of her mouth that wanted her not to call peter names.
they would sit there in the empty nursery, recalling fondly every smallest detail of that dreadful evening.
it had begun so uneventfully, so precisely like a hundred other evenings, with nana putting on the water for michael's bath and carrying him to it on her back."
i wo n't go to bed," he had shouted, like one who still believed that he had the last word on the subject," i wo n't, i wo n't.
nana, it is n't six o'clock yet.
oh dear, oh dear, i sha n't love you any more, nana.
i tell you i wo n't be bathed, i wo n't, i wo n't!"
then mrs. darling had come in, wearing her white evening-gown.
she had dressed early because wendy so loved to see her in her evening-gown, with the necklace george had given her.
she was wearing wendy's bracelet on her arm; she had asked for the loan of it.
wendy so loved to lend her bracelet to her mother.
she had found her two older children playing at being herself and father on the occasion of wendy's birth, and john was saying: "i am happy to inform you, mrs. darling, that you are now a mother," in just such a tone as mr. darling himself may have used on the real occasion.
wendy had danced with joy, just as the real mrs. darling must have done.
then john was born, with the extra pomp that he conceived due to the birth of a male, and michael came from his bath to ask to be born also, but john said brutally that they did not want any more.
michael had nearly cried.
"nobody wants me," he said, and of course the lady in evening-dress could not stand that."
i do," she said," i so want a third child."
"boy or girl?"
asked michael, not too hopefully.
"boy."
then he had leapt into her arms.
such a little thing for mr. and mrs. darling and nana to recall now, but not so little if that was to be michael's last night in the nursery.
they go on with their recollections.
"it was then that i rushed in like a tornado, was n't it?"
mr. darling would say, scorning himself; and indeed he had been like a tornado.
perhaps there was some excuse for him.
he, too, had been dressing for the party, and all had gone well with him until he came to his tie.
it is an astounding thing to have to tell, but this man, though he knew about stocks and shares, had no real mastery of his tie.
sometimes the thing yielded to him without a contest, but there were occasions when it would have been better for the house if he had swallowed his pride and used a made-up tie.
this was such an occasion.
he came rushing into the nursery with the crumpled little brute of a tie in his hand.
"why, what is the matter, father dear?"
"matter!"
he yelled; he really yelled.
"this tie, it will not tie."
he became dangerously sarcastic.
"not round my neck!
round the bed-post!
oh yes, twenty times have i made it up round the bed-post, but round my neck, no!
oh dear no!
begs to be excused!"
he thought mrs. darling was not sufficiently impressed, and he went on sternly," i warn you of this, mother, that unless this tie is round my neck we do n't go out to dinner to-night, and if i do n't go out to dinner to-night, i never go to the office again, and if i do n't go to the office again, you and i starve, and our children will be flung into the streets."
even then mrs. darling was placid.
"let me try, dear," she said, and indeed that was what he had come to ask her to do; and with her nice cool hands she tied his tie for him, while the children stood around to see their fate decided.
some men would have resented her being able to do it so easily, but mr. darling was far too fine a nature for that; he thanked her carelessly, at once forgot his rage, and in another moment was dancing round the room with michael on his back.
"how wildly we romped!"
says mrs. darling now, recalling it.
"our last romp!"
mr. darling groaned."
o george, do you remember michael suddenly said to me, "how did you get to know me, mother?"'"
i remember!"
"they were rather sweet, do n't you think, george?"
"and they were ours, ours, and now they are gone."
the romp had ended with the appearance of nana, and most unluckily mr. darling collided against her, covering his trousers with hairs.
they were not only new trousers, but they were the first he had ever had with braid on them, and he had to bite his lip to prevent the tears coming.
of course mrs. darling brushed him, but he began to talk again about its being a mistake to have a dog for a nurse.
"george, nana is a treasure."
"no doubt, but i have an uneasy feeling at times that she looks upon the children as puppies."
"oh no, dear one, i feel sure she knows they have souls.'"
i wonder," mr. darling said thoughtfully," i wonder."
it was an opportunity, his wife felt, for telling him about the boy.
at first he pooh-poohed the story, but he became thoughtful when she showed him the shadow.
"it is nobody i know," he said, examining it carefully, "but he does look a scoundrel."
"we were still discussing it, you remember," says mr. darling, "when nana came in with michael's medicine.
you will never carry the bottle in your mouth again, nana, and it is all my fault.
strong man though he was, there is no doubt that he had behaved rather foolishly over the medicine.
if he had a weakness, it was for thinking that all his life he had taken medicine boldly; and so now, when michael dodged the spoon in nana's mouth, he had said reprovingly, "be a man, michael."
"wo n't; wo n't," michael cried naughtily.
mrs. darling left the room to get a chocolate for him, and mr. darling thought this showed want of firmness.
"mother, do n't pamper him," he called after her.
"michael, when i was your age i took medicine without a murmur.
i said "thank you, kind parents, for giving me bottles to make me well.""
he really thought this was true, and wendy, who was now in her night-gown, believed it also, and she said, to encourage michael, "that medicine you sometimes take, father, is much nastier, is n't it?"
"ever so much nastier, "mr. darling said bravely, "and i would take it now as an example to you, michael, if i had n't lost the bottle."
he had not exactly lost it; he had climbed in the dead of night to the top of the wardrobe and hidden it there.
what he did not know was that the faithful liza had found it, and put it back on his wash-stand."
i know where it is, father," wendy cried, always glad to be of service.
"i'll bring it," and she was off before he could stop her.
immediately his spirits sank in the strangest way.
"john," he said, shuddering, "it's most beastly stuff.
it's that nasty, sticky, sweet kind."
"it will soon be over, father," john said cheerily, and then in rushed wendy with the medicine in a glass."
i have been as quick as i could," she panted.
"you have been wonderfully quick," her father retorted, with a vindictive politeness that was quite thrown away upon her.
"michael first," he said doggedly.
"father first," said michael, who was of a suspicious nature."
i shall be sick, you know," mr. darling said threateningly.
"come on, father," said john.
"hold your tongue, john," his father rapped out.
wendy was quite puzzled."
i thought you took it quite easily, father."
"that is not the point," he retorted.
"the point is, that there is more in my glass than in michael's spoon."
his proud heart was nearly bursting.
"and it is n't fair; i would say it though it were with my last breath; it is n't fair."
"father, i am waiting," said michael coldly.
"it's all very well to say you are waiting; so am i waiting."
"father's a cowardy custard."
"so are you a cowardy custard."
"i'm not frightened."
"neither am i frightened."
"well, then, take it."
"well, then, you take it."
wendy had a splendid idea.
"why not both take it at the same time?"
"certainly," said mr. darling.
"are you ready, michael?"
wendy gave the words, one, two, three, and michael took his medicine, but mr. darling slipped his behind his back.
there was a yell of rage from michael, and" o father!"
wendy exclaimed.
"what do you mean by "o father"?"
mr. darling demanded.
"stop that row, michael.
i meant to take mine, but i -- i missed it."
it was dreadful the way all the three were looking at him, just as if they did not admire him.
"look here, all of you," he said entreatingly, as soon as nana had gone into the bathroom," i have just thought of a splendid joke.
i shall pour my medicine into nana's bowl, and she will drink it, thinking it is milk!"
it was the colour of milk; but the children did not have their father's sense of humour, and they looked at him reproachfully as he poured the medicine into nana's bowl.
"what fun," he said doubtfully, and they did not dare expose him when mrs. darling and nana returned.
"nana, good dog," he said, patting her," i have put a little milk into your bowl, nana."
nana wagged her tail, ran to the medicine, and began lapping it.
then she gave mr. darling such a look, not an angry look: she showed him the great red tear that makes us so sorry for noble dogs, and crept into her kennel.
mr. darling was frightfully ashamed of himself, but he would not give in.
in a horrid silence mrs. darling smelt the bowl."
o george," she said, "it's your medicine!"
"it was only a joke," he roared, while she comforted her boys, and wendy hugged nana.
"much good," he said bitterly, "my wearing myself to the bone trying to be funny in this house."
and still wendy hugged nana.
"that's right," he shouted.
"coddle her!
nobody coddles me.
oh dear no!
i am only the breadwinner, why should i be coddled, why, why, why!"
"george," mrs. darling entreated him, "not so loud; the servants will hear you."
somehow they had got into the way of calling liza the servants.
"let them," he answered recklessly.
"bring in the whole world.
but i refuse to allow that dog to lord it in my nursery for an hour longer."
the children wept, and nana ran to him beseechingly, but he waved her back.
he felt he was a strong man again.
"in vain, in vain," he cried; "the proper place for you is the yard, and there you go to be tied up this instant."
"george, george," mrs. darling whispered, "remember what i told you about that boy."
alas, he would not listen.
he was determined to show who was master in that house, and when commands would not draw nana from the kennel, he lured her out of it with honeyed words, and seizing her roughly, dragged her from the nursery.
he was ashamed of himself, and yet he did it.
it was all owing to his too affectionate nature, which craved for admiration.
when he had tied her up in the back-yard, the wretched father went and sat in the passage, with his knuckles to his eyes.
in the meantime mrs. darling had put the children to bed in unwonted silence and lit their night-lights.
they could hear nana barking, and john whimpered, "it is because he is chaining her up in the yard," but wendy was wiser.
"that is not nana's unhappy bark," she said, little guessing what was about to happen; "that is her bark when she smells danger."
danger!
"are you sure, wendy?"
"oh yes."
mrs. darling quivered and went to the window.
it was securely fastened.
she looked out, and the night was peppered with stars.
they were crowding round the house, as if curious to see what was to take place there, but she did not notice this, nor that one or two of the smaller ones winked at her.
yet a nameless fear clutched at her heart and made her cry, "oh, how i wish that i was n't going to a party to-night!"
even michael, already half asleep, knew that she was perturbed, and he asked, "can anything harm us, mother, after the night-lights are lit?"
"nothing, precious," she said; "they are the eyes a mother leaves behind her to guard her children."
she went from bed to bed singing enchantments over them, and little michael flung his arms round her.
"mother," he cried, "i'm glad of you."
they were the last words she was to hear from him for a long time.
-lsb- illustration: peter flew in -rsb- no. 27 was only a few yards distant, but there had been a slight fall of snow, and father and mother darling picked their way over it deftly not to soil their shoes.
they were already the only persons in the street, and all the stars were watching them.
stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on for ever.
it is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was.
so the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak -lrb- winking is the star language -rrb-, but the little ones still wonder.
they are not really friendly to peter, who has a mischievous way of stealing up behind them and trying to blow them out; but they are so fond of fun that they were on his side to-night, and anxious to get the grown-ups out of the way.
so as soon as the door of 27 closed on mr. and mrs. darling there was a commotion in the firmament, and the smallest of all the stars in the milky way screamed out: "now, peter!"
chapter iii come away, come away!
for a moment after mr. and mrs. darling left the house the night-lights by the beds of the three children continued to burn clearly.
they were awfully nice little night-lights, and one can not help wishing that they could have kept awake to see peter; but wendy's light blinked and gave such a yawn that the other two yawned also, and before they could close their mouths all the three went out.
there was another light in the room now, a thousand times brighter than the night-lights, and in the time we have taken to say this, it has been in all the drawers in the nursery, looking for peter's shadow, rummaged the wardrobe and turned every pocket inside out.
it was not really a light; it made this light by flashing about so quickly, but when it came to rest for a second you saw it was a fairy, no longer than your hand, but still growing.
it was a girl called tinker bell exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf, cut low and square, through which her figure could be seen to the best advantage.
she was slightly inclined to embonpoint.
a moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and peter dropped in.
he had carried tinker bell part of the way, and his hand was still messy with the fairy dust.
"tinker bell," he called softly, after making sure that the children were asleep, "tink, where are you?"
she was in a jug for the moment, and liking it extremely; she had never been in a jug before.
"oh, do come out of that jug, and tell me, do you know where they put my shadow?"
the loveliest tinkle as of golden bells answered him.
it is the fairy language.
you ordinary children can never hear it, but if you were to hear it you would know that you had heard it once before.
tink said that the shadow was in the big box.
she meant the chest of drawers, and peter jumped at the drawers, scattering their contents to the floor with both hands, as kings toss ha "pence to the crowd.
in a moment he had recovered his shadow, and in his delight he forgot that he had shut tinker bell up in the drawer.
if he thought at all, but i do n't believe he ever thought, it was that he and his shadow, when brought near each other, would join like drops of water; and when they did not he was appalled.
he tried to stick it on with soap from the bathroom, but that also failed.
a shudder passed through peter, and he sat on the floor and cried.
his sobs woke wendy, and she sat up in bed.
she was not alarmed to see a stranger crying on the nursery floor; she was only pleasantly interested.
"boy," she said courteously, "why are you crying?"
peter could be exceedingly polite also, having learned the grand manner at fairy ceremonies, and he rose and bowed to her beautifully.
she was much pleased, and bowed beautifully to him from the bed.
"what's your name?"
he asked.
"wendy moira angela darling," she replied with some satisfaction.
"what is your name?"
"peter pan."
she was already sure that he must be peter, but it did seem a comparatively short name.
"is that all?"
"yes," he said rather sharply.
he felt for the first time that it was a shortish name.
"i'm so sorry," said wendy moira angela.
"it does n't matter," peter gulped.
she asked where he lived.
"second to the right," said peter, "and then straight on till morning."
"what a funny address!"
peter had a sinking.
for the first time he felt that perhaps it was a funny address.
"no, it is n't," he said."
i mean," wendy said nicely, remembering that she was hostess, "is that what they put on the letters?"
he wished she had not mentioned letters.
"do n't get any letters," he said contemptuously.
"but your mother gets letters?"
"do n't have a mother," he said.
not only had he no mother, but he had not the slightest desire to have one.
he thought them very overrated persons.
wendy, however, felt at once that she was in the presence of a tragedy."
o peter, no wonder you were crying," she said, and got out of bed and ran to him."
i was n't crying about mothers," he said rather indignantly."
i was crying because i ca n't get my shadow to stick on.
besides, i was n't crying."
"it has come off?"
"yes."
then wendy saw the shadow on the floor, looking so draggled, and she was frightfully sorry for peter.
"how awful!"
she said, but she could not help smiling when she saw that he had been trying to stick it on with soap.
how exactly like a boy!
fortunately she knew at once what to do "it must be sewn on," she said, just a little patronisingly.
"what's sewn?"
he asked.
"you're dreadfully ignorant."
"no, i'm not."
but she was exulting in his ignorance."
i shall sew it on for you, my little man," she said, though he was as tall as herself; and she got out her housewife, and sewed the shadow on to peter's foot."
i daresay it will hurt a little," she warned him.
"oh, i sha n't cry," said peter, who was already of opinion that he had never cried in his life.
and he clenched his teeth and did not cry; and soon his shadow was behaving properly, though still a little creased.
"perhaps i should have ironed it," wendy said thoughtfully; but peter, boylike, was indifferent to appearances, and he was now jumping about in the wildest glee.
alas, he had already forgotten that he owed his bliss to wendy.
he thought he had attached the shadow himself.
"how clever i am," he crowed rapturously, "oh, the cleverness of me!"
it is humiliating to have to confess that this conceit of peter was one of his most fascinating qualities.
to put it with brutal frankness, there never was a cockier boy.
but for the moment wendy was shocked.
"you conceit," she exclaimed, with frightful sarcasm; "of course i did nothing!"
"you did a little," peter said carelessly, and continued to dance."
a little!"
she replied with hauteur; "if i am no use i can at least withdraw"; and she sprang in the most dignified way into bed and covered her face with the blankets.
to induce her to look up he pretended to be going away, and when this failed he sat on the end of the bed and tapped her gently with his foot.
"wendy," he said, "do n't withdraw.
i ca n't help crowing, wendy, when i'm pleased with myself."
still she would not look up, though she was listening eagerly.
"wendy," he continued, in a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist, "wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys."
now wendy was every inch a woman, though there were not very many inches, and she peeped out of the bedclothes.
"do you really think so, peter?"
"yes, i do.'"
i think it's perfectly sweet of you," she declared, "and i'll get up again"; and she sat with him on the side of the bed.
she also said she would give him a kiss if he liked, but peter did not know what she meant, and he held out his hand expectantly.
"surely you know what a kiss is?"
she asked, aghast."
i shall know when you give it to me," he replied stiffly; and not to hurt his feelings she gave him a thimble.
"now," said he, "shall i give you a kiss?"
and she replied with a slight primness, "if you please."
she made herself rather cheap by inclining her face toward him, but he merely dropped an acorn button into her hand; so she slowly returned her face to where it had been before, and said nicely that she would wear his kiss on the chain round her neck.
it was lucky that she did put it on that chain, for it was afterwards to save her life.
when people in our set are introduced, it is customary for them to ask each other's age, and so wendy, who always liked to do the correct thing, asked peter how old he was.
it was not really a happy question to ask him; it was like an examination paper that asks grammar, when what you want to be asked is kings of england."
i do n't know," he replied uneasily, "but i am quite young."
he really knew nothing about it; he had merely suspicions, but he said at a venture, "wendy, i ran away the day i was born."
wendy was quite surprised, but interested; and she indicated in the charming drawing-room manner, by a touch on her night-gown, that he could sit nearer her.
"it was because i heard father and mother," he explained in a low voice, "talking about what i was to be when i became a man."
he was extraordinarily agitated now."
i do n't want ever to be a man," he said with passion."
i want always to be a little boy and to have fun.
so i ran away to kensington gardens and lived a long long time among the fairies."
she gave him a look of the most intense admiration, and he thought it was because he had run away, but it was really because he knew fairies.
wendy had lived such a home life that to know fairies struck her as quite delightful.
she poured out questions about them, to his surprise, for they were rather a nuisance to him, getting in his way and so on, and indeed he sometimes had to give them a hiding.
still, he liked them on the whole, and he told her about the beginning of fairies.
"you see, wendy, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies."
tedious talk this, but being a stay-at-home she liked it.
"and so," he went on good-naturedly, "there ought to be one fairy for every boy and girl."
"ought to be?
is n't there?"
"no.
you see children know such a lot now, they soon do n't believe in fairies, and every time a child says," i do n't believe in fairies," there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead.
really, he thought they had now talked enough about fairies, and it struck him that tinker bell was keeping very quiet."
i ca n't think where she has gone to," he said, rising, and he called tink by name.
wendy's heart went flutter with a sudden thrill.
"peter," she cried, clutching him, "you do n't mean to tell me that there is a fairy in this room!"
"she was here just now," he said a little impatiently.
"you do n't hear her, do you?"
and they both listened.
"the only sound i hear," said wendy, "is like a tinkle of bells."
"well, that's tink, that's the fairy language.
i think i hear her too."
the sound came from the chest of drawers, and peter made a merry face.
no one could ever look quite so merry as peter, and the loveliest of gurgles was his laugh.
he had his first laugh still.
"wendy," he whispered gleefully," i do believe i shut her up in the drawer!"
he let poor tink out of the drawer, and she flew about the nursery screaming with fury.
"you should n't say such things," peter retorted.
"of course i'm very sorry, but how could i know you were in the drawer?"
wendy was not listening to him."
o peter," she cried, "if she would only stand still and let me see her!"
"they hardly ever stand still," he said, but for one moment wendy saw the romantic figure come to rest on the cuckoo clock."
o the lovely!"
she cried, though tink's face was still distorted with passion.
"tink," said peter amiably, "this lady says she wishes you were her fairy."
tinker bell answered insolently.
"what does she say, peter?"
he had to translate.
"she is not very polite.
she says you are a great ugly girl, and that she is my fairy."
he tried to argue with tink.
"you know you ca n't be my fairy, tink, because i am a gentleman and you are a lady."
to this tink replied in these words, "you silly ass," and disappeared into the bathroom.
"she is quite a common fairy," peter explained apologetically; "she is called tinker bell because she mends the pots and kettles."
they were together in the armchair by this time, and wendy plied him with more questions.
"if you do n't live in kensington gardens now --" "sometimes i do still."
"but where do you live mostly now?"
"with the lost boys."
"who are they?"
"they are the children who fall out of their perambulators when the nurse is looking the other way.
if they are not claimed in seven days they are sent far away to the neverland to defray expenses.
i'm captain."
"what fun it must be!"
"yes," said cunning peter, "but we are rather lonely.
you see we have no female companionship."
"are none of the others girls?"
"oh no; girls, you know, are much too clever to fall out of their prams."
this flattered wendy immensely."
i think," she said, "it is perfectly lovely the way you talk about girls; john there just despises us."
for reply peter rose and kicked john out of bed, blankets and all; one kick.
this seemed to wendy rather forward for a first meeting, and she told him with spirit that he was not captain in her house.
however, john continued to sleep so placidly on the floor that she allowed him to remain there.
"and i know you meant to be kind," she said, relenting, "so you may give me a kiss."
for the moment she had forgotten his ignorance about kisses."
i thought you would want it back," he said a little bitterly, and offered to return her the thimble.
"oh dear," said the nice wendy," i do n't mean a kiss, i mean a thimble."
"what's that?"
"it's like this."
she kissed him.
"funny!"
said peter gravely.
"now shall i give you a thimble?"
"if you wish to," said wendy, keeping her head erect this time.
peter thimbled her, and almost immediately she screeched.
"what is it, wendy?"
"it was exactly as if some one were pulling my hair."
"that must have been tink.
i never knew her so naughty before."
and indeed tink was darting about again, using offensive language.
"she says she will do that to you, wendy, every time i give you a thimble."
"but why?"
"why, tink?"
again tink replied, "you silly ass."
peter could not understand why, but wendy understood; and she was just slightly disappointed when he admitted that he came to the nursery window not to see her but to listen to stories.
"you see i do n't know any stories.
none of the lost boys know any stories."
"how perfectly awful," wendy said.
"do you know," peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses?
it is to listen to the stories.
o wendy, your mother was telling you such a lovely story."
"which story was it?"
"about the prince who could n't find the lady who wore the glass slipper."
"peter," said wendy excitedly, "that was cinderella, and he found her, and they lived happy ever after."
peter was so glad that he rose from the floor, where they had been sitting, and hurried to the window.
"where are you going?"
she cried with misgiving.
"to tell the other boys."
"do n't go, peter," she entreated," i know such lots of stories."
those were her precise words, so there can be no denying that it was she who first tempted him.
he came back, and there was a greedy look in his eyes now which ought to have alarmed her, but did not.
"oh, the stories i could tell to the boys!"
she cried, and then peter gripped her and began to draw her toward the window.
"let me go!"
she ordered him.
"wendy, do come with me and tell the other boys."
of course she was very pleased to be asked, but she said, "oh dear, i ca n't.
think of mummy!
besides, i ca n't fly."
"i'll teach you."
"oh, how lovely to fly."
"i'll teach you how to jump on the wind's back, and then away we go."
"oo!"
she exclaimed rapturously.
"wendy, wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars."
"oo!"
"and, wendy, there are mermaids."
"mermaids!
with tails?"
"such long tails."
"oh," cried wendy, "to see a mermaid!"
he had become frightfully cunning.
"wendy," he said, "how we should all respect you."
she was wriggling her body in distress.
it was quite as if she were trying to remain on the nursery floor.
but he had no pity for her.
"wendy," he said, the sly one, "you could tuck us in at night."
"oo!"
"none of us has ever been tucked in at night."
"oo," and her arms went out to him.
"and you could darn our clothes, and make pockets for us.
none of us has any pockets."
how could she resist.
"of course it's awfully fascinating!"
she cried.
"peter, would you teach john and michael to fly too?"
"if you like," he said indifferently; and she ran to john and michael and shook them.
"wake up," she cried, "peter pan has come and he is to teach us to fly."
john rubbed his eyes.
"then i shall get up," he said.
of course he was on the floor already.
"hallo," he said," i am up!"
michael was up by this time also, looking as sharp as a knife with six blades and a saw, but peter suddenly signed silence.
their faces assumed the awful craftiness of children listening for sounds from the grown-up world.
all was as still as salt.
then everything was right.
no, stop!
everything was wrong.
nana, who had been barking distressfully all the evening, was quiet now.
it was her silence they had heard.
"out with the light!
hide!
quick!"
cried john, taking command for the only time throughout the whole adventure.
and thus when liza entered, holding nana, the nursery seemed quite its old self, very dark; and you could have sworn you heard its three wicked inmates breathing angelically as they slept.
they were really doing it artfully from behind the window curtains.
liza was in a bad temper, for she was mixing the christmas puddings in the kitchen, and had been drawn away from them, with a raisin still on her cheek, by nana's absurd suspicions.
she thought the best way of getting a little quiet was to take nana to the nursery for a moment, but in custody of course.
"there, you suspicious brute," she said, not sorry that nana was in disgrace, "they are perfectly safe, are n't they?
every one of the little angels sound asleep in bed.
listen to their gentle breathing."
here michael, encouraged by his success, breathed so loudly that they were nearly detected.
nana knew that kind of breathing, and she tried to drag herself out of liza's clutches.
but liza was dense.
"no more of it, nana," she said sternly, pulling her out of the room."
i warn you if you bark again i shall go straight for master and missus and bring them home from the party, and then, oh, wo n't master whip you, just."
she tied the unhappy dog up again, but do you think nana ceased to bark?
bring master and missus home from the party!
why, that was just what she wanted.
do you think she cared whether she was whipped so long as her charges were safe?
unfortunately liza returned to her puddings, and nana, seeing that no help would come from her, strained and strained at the chain until at last she broke it.
in another moment she had burst into the dining-room of 27 and flung up her paws to heaven, her most expressive way of making a communication.
mr. and mrs. darling knew at once that something terrible was happening in their nursery, and without a good-bye to their hostess they rushed into the street.
but it was now ten minutes since three scoundrels had been breathing behind the curtains; and peter pan can do a great deal in ten minutes.
we now return to the nursery.
"it's all right," john announced, emerging from his hiding-place."
i say, peter, can you really fly?"
instead of troubling to answer him peter flew round the room, taking the mantelpiece on the way.
"how topping!"
said john and michael.
"how sweet!"
cried wendy.
"yes, i'm sweet, oh, i am sweet!"
said peter, forgetting his manners again.
it looked delightfully easy, and they tried it first from the floor and then from the beds, but they always went down instead of up."
i say, how do you do it?"
asked john, rubbing his knee.
he was quite a practical boy.
"you just think lovely wonderful thoughts," peter explained, "and they lift you up in the air."
he showed them again.
"you're so nippy at it," john said; "could n't you do it very slowly once?"
peter did it both slowly and quickly.
"i've got it now, wendy!"
cried john, but soon he found he had not.
not one of them could fly an inch, though even michael was in words of two syllables, and peter did not know a from z. of course peter had been trifling with them, for no one can fly unless the fairy dust has been blown on him.
fortunately, as we have mentioned, one of his hands was messy with it, and he blew some on each of them, with the most superb results.
"now just wriggle your shoulders this way," he said, "and let go."
they were all on their beds, and gallant michael let go first.
he did not quite mean to let go, but he did it, and immediately he was borne across the room."
i flewed!"
he screamed while still in mid-air.
john let go and met wendy near the bathroom.
"oh, lovely!"
"oh, ripping!"
"look at me!"
"look at me!"
"look at me!"
they were not nearly so elegant as peter, they could not help kicking a little, but their heads were bobbing against the ceiling, and there is almost nothing so delicious as that.
peter gave wendy a hand at first, but had to desist, tink was so indignant.
up and down they went, and round and round.
heavenly was wendy's word."
i say," cried john, "why should n't we all go out!"
of course it was to this that peter had been luring them.
michael was ready: he wanted to see how long it took him to do a billion miles.
but wendy hesitated.
"mermaids!"
said peter again.
"oo!"
"and there are pirates."
"pirates," cried john, seizing his sunday hat, "let us go at once."
it was just at this moment that mr. and mrs. darling hurried with nana out of 27.
they ran into the middle of the street to look up at the nursery window; and, yes, it was still shut, but the room was ablaze with light, and most heart-gripping sight of all, they could see in shadow on the curtain three little figures in night attire circling round and round, not on the floor but in the air.
not three figures, four!
in a tremble they opened the street door.
mr. darling would have rushed upstairs, but mrs. darling signed to him to go softly.
she even tried to make her heart go softly.
will they reach the nursery in time?
if so, how delightful for them, and we shall all breathe a sigh of relief, but there will be no story.
on the other hand, if they are not in time, i solemnly promise that it will all come right in the end.
they would have reached the nursery in time had it not been that the little stars were watching them.
once again the stars blew the window open, and that smallest star of all called out: "cave, peter!"
then peter knew that there was not a moment to lose.
"come," he cried imperiously, and soared out at once into the night, followed by john and michael and wendy.
mr. and mrs. darling and nana rushed into the nursery too late.
the birds were flown.
-lsb- illustration: the birds were flown -rsb- chapter iv the flight "second to the right, and straight on till morning."
that, peter had told wendy, was the way to the neverland; but even birds, carrying maps and consulting them at windy corners, could not have sighted it with these instructions.
peter, you see, just said anything that came into his head.
at first his companions trusted him implicitly, and so great were the delights of flying that they wasted time circling round church spires or any other tall objects on the way that took their fancy.
john and michael raced, michael getting a start.
they recalled with contempt that not so long ago they had thought themselves fine fellows for being able to fly round a room.
not so long ago.
but how long ago?
they were flying over the sea before this thought began to disturb wendy seriously.
john thought it was their second sea and their third night.
sometimes it was dark and sometimes light, and now they were very cold and again too warm.
did they really feel hungry at times, or were they merely pretending, because peter had such a jolly new way of feeding them?
his way was to pursue birds who had food in their mouths suitable for humans and snatch it from them; then the birds would follow and snatch it back; and they would all go chasing each other gaily for miles, parting at last with mutual expressions of good-will.
but wendy noticed with gentle concern that peter did not seem to know that this was rather an odd way of getting your bread and butter, nor even that there are other ways.
certainly they did not pretend to be sleepy, they were sleepy; and that was a danger, for the moment they popped off, down they fell.
the awful thing was that peter thought this funny.
"there he goes again!"
he would cry gleefully, as michael suddenly dropped like a stone.
"save him, save him!"
cried wendy, looking with horror at the cruel sea far below.
eventually peter would dive through the air, and catch michael just before he could strike the sea, and it was lovely the way he did it; but he always waited till the last moment, and you felt it was his cleverness that interested him and not the saving of human life.
also he was fond of variety, and the sport that engrossed him one moment would suddenly cease to engage him, so there was always the possibility that the next time you fell he would let you go.
he could sleep in the air without falling, by merely lying on his back and floating, but this was, partly at least, because he was so light that if you got behind him and blew he went faster.
"do be more polite to him," wendy whispered to john, when they were playing "follow my leader."
"then tell him to stop showing off," said john.
when playing follow my leader, peter would fly close to the water and touch each shark's tail in passing, just as in the street you may run your finger along an iron railing.
they could not follow him in this with much success, so perhaps it was rather like showing off, especially as he kept looking behind to see how many tails they missed.
"you must be nice to him," wendy impressed on her brothers.
"what could we do if he were to leave us?"
"we could go back," michael said.
"how could we ever find our way back without him?"
"well, then, we could go on," said john.
"that is the awful thing, john.
we should have to go on, for we do n't know how to stop."
this was true; peter had forgotten to show them how to stop.
john said that if the worst came to the worst, all they had to do was to go straight on, for the world was round, and so in time they must come back to their own window.
"and who is to get food for us, john?'"
i nipped a bit out of that eagle's mouth pretty neatly, wendy."
"after the twentieth try," wendy reminded him.
"and even though we became good at picking up food, see how we bump against clouds and things if he is not near to give us a hand."
indeed they were constantly bumping.
they could now fly strongly, though they still kicked far too much; but if they saw a cloud in front of them, the more they tried to avoid it, the more certainly did they bump into it.
if nana had been with them, she would have had a bandage round michael's forehead by this time.
peter was not with them for the moment, and they felt rather lonely up there by themselves.
he could go so much faster than they that he would suddenly shoot out of sight, to have some adventure in which they had no share.
he would come down laughing over something fearfully funny he had been saying to a star, but he had already forgotten what it was, or he would come up with mermaid scales still sticking to him, and yet not be able to say for certain what had been happening.
it was really rather irritating to children who had never seen a mermaid.
"and if he forgets them, so quickly," wendy argued, "how can we expect that he will go on remembering us?"
indeed, sometimes when he returned he did not remember them, at least not well.
wendy was sure of it.
she saw recognition come into his eyes as he was about to pass them the time of day and go on; once even she had to tell him her name.
"i'm wendy," she said agitatedly.
he was very sorry."
i say, wendy," he whispered to her, "always if you see me forgetting you, just keep on saying "i'm wendy," and then i'll remember."
of course this was rather unsatisfactory.
however, to make amends he showed them how to lie out flat on a strong wind that was going their way, and this was such a pleasant change that they tried it several times and found they could sleep thus with security.
indeed they would have slept longer, but peter tired quickly of sleeping, and soon he would cry in his captain voice, "we get off here."
so with occasional tiffs, but on the whole rollicking, they drew near the neverland; for after many moons they did reach it, and, what is more, they had been going pretty straight all the time, not perhaps so much owing to the guidance of peter or tink as because the island was out looking for them.
it is only thus that any one may sight those magic shores.
"there it is," said peter calmly.
"where, where?"
"where all the arrows are pointing."
indeed a million golden arrows were pointing out the island to the children, all directed by their friend the sun, who wanted them to be sure of their way before leaving them for the night.
-lsb- illustration: "let him keep who can" -rsb- wendy and john and michael stood on tiptoe in the air to get their first sight of the island.
strange to say, they all recognised it at once, and until fear fell upon them they hailed it, not as something long dreamt of and seen at last, but as a familiar friend to whom they were returning home for the holidays.
"john, there's the lagoon."
"wendy, look at the turtles burying their eggs in the sand.'"
i say, john, i see your flamingo with the broken leg."
"look, michael, there's your cave."
"john, what's that in the brushwood?"
"it's a wolf with her whelps.
wendy, i do believe that's your little whelp."
"there's my boat, john, with her sides stove in."
"no, it is n't.
why, we burned your boat."
"that's her, at any rate.
i say, john, i see the smoke of the redskin camp."
"where?
show me, and i'll tell you by the way the smoke curls whether they are on the war-path."
"there, just across the mysterious river.'"
i see now.
yes, they are on the war-path right enough."
peter was a little annoyed with them for knowing so much; but if he wanted to lord it over them his triumph was at hand, for have i not told you that anon fear fell upon them?
it came as the arrows went, leaving the island in gloom.
in the old days at home the neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime.
then unexplored patches arose in it and spread; black shadows moved about in them; the roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and above all, you lost the certainty that you would win.
you were quite glad that the night-lights were in.
you even liked nana to say that this was just the mantelpiece over here, and that the neverland was all make-believe.
of course the neverland had been make-believe in those days; but it was real now, and there were no night-lights, and it was getting darker every moment, and where was nana?
they had been flying apart, but they huddled close to peter now.
his careless manner had gone at last, his eyes were sparkling, and a tingle went through them every time they touched his body.
they were now over the fearsome island, flying so low that sometimes a tree grazed their feet.
nothing horrid was visible in the air, yet their progress had become slow and laboured, exactly as if they were pushing their way through hostile forces.
sometimes they hung in the air until peter had beaten on it with his fists.
"they do n't want us to land," he explained.
"who are they?"
wendy whispered, shuddering.
but he could not or would not say.
tinker bell had been asleep on his shoulder, but now he wakened her and sent her on in front.
sometimes he poised himself in the air, listening intently with his hand to his ear, and again he would stare down with eyes so bright that they seemed to bore two holes to earth.
having done these things, he went on again.
his courage was almost appalling.
"do you want an adventure now," he said casually to john, "or would you like to have your tea first?"
wendy said "tea first" quickly, and michael pressed her hand in gratitude, but the braver john hesitated.
"what kind of adventure?"
he asked cautiously.
"there's a pirate asleep in the pampas just beneath us," peter told him.
"if you like, we'll go down and kill him.'"
i do n't see him," john said after a long pause."
i do."
"suppose," john said a little huskily, "he were to wake up."
peter spoke indignantly.
"you do n't think i would kill him while he was sleeping!
i would wake him first, and then kill him.
that's the way i always do.'"
i say!
do you kill many?"
"tons."
john said "how ripping," but decided to have tea first.
he asked if there were many pirates on the island just now, and peter said he had never known so many.
"who is captain now?"
"hook," answered peter; and his face became very stern as he said that hated word.
"jas.
hook?"
"ay."
then indeed michael began to cry, and even john could speak in gulps only, for they knew hook's reputation.
"he was blackbeard's bo "sun," john whispered huskily.
"he is the worst of them all.
he is the only man of whom barbecue was afraid."
"that's him," said peter.
"what is he like?
is he big?"
"he is not so big as he was."
"how do you mean?'"
i cut off a bit of him."
"you!"
"yes, me," said peter sharply."
i was n't meaning to be disrespectful."
"oh, all right" "but, i say, what bit?"
"his right hand."
"then he ca n't fight now?"
"oh, ca n't he just!"
"left-hander?"
"he has an iron hook instead of a right hand, and he claws with it."
"claws!'"
i say, john," said peter.
"yes."
"say, "ay, ay, sir.""
"ay, ay, sir."
"there is one thing," peter continued, "that every boy who serves under me has to promise, and so must you."
john paled.
"it is this, if we meet hook in open fight, you must leave him to me.'"
i promise," john said loyally.
for the moment they were feeling less eerie, because tink was flying with them, and in her light they could distinguish each other.
unfortunately she could not fly so slowly as they, and so she had to go round and round them in a circle in which they moved as in a halo.
wendy quite liked it, until peter pointed out the drawback.
"she tells me," he said, "that the pirates sighted us before the darkness came, and got long tom out."
"the big gun?"
"yes.
and of course they must see her light, and if they guess we are near it they are sure to let fly."
"wendy!"
"john!"
"michael!"
"tell her to go away at once, peter," the three cried simultaneously, but he refused.
"she thinks we have lost the way," he replied stiffly, "and she is rather frightened.
you do n't think i would send her away all by herself when she is frightened!"
for a moment the circle of light was broken, and something gave peter a loving little pinch.
"then tell her," wendy begged, "to put out her light."
"she ca n't put it out.
that is about the only thing fairies ca n't do.
it just goes out of itself when she falls asleep, same as the stars."
"then tell her to sleep at once," john almost ordered.
"she ca n't sleep except when she's sleepy.
it is the only other thing fairies ca n't do."
"seems to me," growled john, "these are the only two things worth doing."
here he got a pinch, but not a loving one.
"if only one of us had a pocket," peter said, "we could carry her in it."
however, they had set off in such a hurry that there was not a pocket between the four of them.
he had a happy idea.
john's hat!
tink agreed to travel by hat if it was carried in the hand.
john carried it, though she had hoped to be carried by peter.
presently wendy took the hat, because john said it struck against his knee as he flew; and this, as we shall see, led to mischief, for tinker bell hated to be under an obligation to wendy.
in the black topper the light was completely hidden, and they flew on in silence.
it was the stillest silence they had ever known, broken once by a distant lapping, which peter explained was the wild beasts drinking at the ford, and again by a rasping sound that might have been the branches of trees rubbing together, but he said it was the redskins sharpening their knives.
even these noises ceased.
to michael the loneliness was dreadful.
"if only something would make a sound!"
he cried.
as if in answer to his request, the air was rent by the most tremendous crash he had ever heard.
the pirates had fired long tom at them.
the roar of it echoed through the mountains, and the echoes seemed to cry savagely, "where are they, where are they, where are they?"
thus sharply did the terrified three learn the difference between an island of make-believe and the same island come true.
when at last the heavens were steady again, john and michael found themselves alone in the darkness.
john was treading the air mechanically, and michael without knowing how to float was floating.
"are you shot?"
john whispered tremulously."
i have n't tried yet," michael whispered back.
we know now that no one had been hit.
peter, however, had been carried by the wind of the shot far out to sea, while wendy was blown upwards with no companion but tinker bell.
it would have been well for wendy if at that moment she had dropped the hat.
i do n't know whether the idea came suddenly to tink, or whether she had planned it on the way, but she at once popped out of the hat and began to lure wendy to her destruction.
tink was not all bad: or, rather, she was all bad just now, but, on the other hand, sometimes she was all good.
fairies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time.
they are, however, allowed to change, only it must be a complete change.
at present she was full of jealousy of wendy.
what she said in her lovely tinkle wendy could not of course understand, and i believe some of it was bad words, but it sounded kind, and she flew back and forward, plainly meaning "follow me, and all will be well."
what else could poor wendy do?
she called to peter and john and michael, and got only mocking echoes in reply.
she did not yet know that tink hated her with the fierce hatred of a very woman.
and so, bewildered, and now staggering in her flight, she followed tink to her doom.
chapter v the island come true feeling that peter was on his way back, the neverland had again woke into life.
we ought to use the pluperfect and say wakened, but woke is better and was always used by peter.
in his absence things are usually quiet on the island.
the fairies take an hour longer in the morning, the beasts attend to their young, the redskins feed heavily for six days and nights, and when pirates and lost boys meet they merely bite their thumbs at each other.
but with the coming of peter, who hates lethargy, they are all under way again: if you put your ear to the ground now, you would hear the whole island seething with life.
on this evening the chief forces of the island were disposed as follows.
the lost boys were out looking for peter, the pirates were out looking for the lost boys, the redskins were out looking for the pirates, and the beasts were out looking for the redskins.
they were going round and round the island, but they did not meet because all were going at the same rate.
all wanted blood except the boys, who liked it as a rule, but to-night were out to greet their captain.
the boys on the island vary, of course, in numbers, according as they get killed and so on; and when they seem to be growing up, which is against the rules, peter thins them out; but at this time there were six of them, counting the twins as two.
let us pretend to lie here among the sugar-cane and watch them as they steal by in single file, each with his hand on his dagger.
they are forbidden by peter to look in the least like him, and they wear the skins of bears slain by themselves, in which they are so round and furry that when they fall they roll.
they have therefore become very sure-footed.
the first to pass is tootles, not the least brave but the most unfortunate of all that gallant band.
he had been in fewer adventures than any of them, because the big things constantly happened just when he had stepped round the corner; all would be quiet, he would take the opportunity of going off to gather a few sticks for firewood, and then when he returned the others would be sweeping up the blood.
this ill-luck had given a gentle melancholy to his countenance, but instead of souring his nature had sweetened it, so that he was quite the humblest of the boys.
poor kind tootles, there is danger in the air for you to-night.
take care lest an adventure is now offered you, which, if accepted, will plunge you in deepest woe.
tootles, the fairy tink who is bent on mischief this night is looking for a tool, and she thinks you the most easily tricked of the boys.
"ware tinker bell.
would that he could hear us, but we are not really on the island, and he passes by, biting his knuckles.
next comes nibs, the gay and debonair, followed by slightly, who cuts whistles out of the trees and dances ecstatically to his own tunes.
slightly is the most conceited of the boys.
he thinks he remembers the days before he was lost, with their manners and customs, and this has given his nose an offensive tilt.
curly is fourth; he is a pickle, and so often has he had to deliver up his person when peter said sternly, "stand forth the one who did this thing," that now at the command he stands forth automatically whether he has done it or not.
last come the twins, who can not be described because we should be sure to be describing the wrong one.
peter never quite knew what twins were, and his band were not allowed to know anything he did not know, so these two were always vague about themselves, and did their best to give satisfaction by keeping close together in an apologetic sort of way.
the boys vanish in the gloom, and after a pause, but not a long pause, for things go briskly on the island, come the pirates on their track.
we hear them before they are seen, and it is always the same dreadful song: "avast belay, yo ho, heave to, a-pirating we go, and if we're parted by a shot we're sure to meet below!"
a more villainous-looking lot never hung in a row on execution dock.
here, a little in advance, ever and again with his head to the ground listening, his great arms bare, pieces of eight in his ears as ornaments, is the handsome italian cecco, who cut his name in letters of blood on the back of the governor of the prison at gao.
that gigantic black behind him has had many names since he dropped the one with which dusky mothers still terrify their children on the banks of the guadjo-mo.
here is bill jukes, every inch of him tattooed, the same bill jukes who got six dozen on the walrus from flint before he would drop the bag of moidores; and cookson, said to be black murphy's brother -lrb- but this was never proved -rrb-; and gentleman starkey, once an usher in a public school and still dainty in his ways of killing; and skylights -lrb- morgan's skylights -rrb-; and the irish bo "sun smee, an oddly genial man who stabbed, so to speak, without offence, and was the only nonconformist in hook's crew; and noodler, whose hands were fixed on backwards; and robt.
mullins and alf mason and many another ruffian long known and feared on the spanish main.
in the midst of them, the blackest and largest jewel in that dark setting, reclined james hook, or as he wrote himself, jas.
hook, of whom it is said he was the only man that the sea-cook feared.
he lay at his ease in a rough chariot drawn and propelled by his men, and instead of a right hand he had the iron hook with which ever and anon he encouraged them to increase their pace.
as dogs this terrible man treated and addressed them, and as dogs they obeyed him.
in person he was cadaverous and blackavized, and his hair was dressed in long curls, which at a little distance looked like black candles, and gave a singularly threatening expression to his handsome countenance.
his eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly.
in manner, something of the grand seigneur still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air, and i have been told that he was a raconteur of repute.
he was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding; and the elegance of his diction, even when he was swearing, no less than the distinction of his demeanour, showed him one of a different caste from his crew.
a man of indomitable courage, it was said of him that the only thing he shied at was the sight of his own blood, which was thick and of an unusual colour.
in dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of charles ii., having heard it said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange resemblance to the ill-fated stuarts; and in his mouth he had a holder of his own contrivance which enabled him to smoke two cigars at once.
but undoubtedly the grimmest part of him was his iron claw.
let us now kill a pirate, to show hook's method.
skylights will do.
as they pass, skylights lurches clumsily against him, ruffling his lace collar; the hook shoots forth, there is a tearing sound and one screech, then the body is kicked aside, and the pirates pass on.
he has not even taken the cigars from his mouth.
such is the terrible man against whom peter pan is pitted.
which will win?
on the trail of the pirates, stealing noiselessly down the war-path, which is not visible to inexperienced eyes, come the redskins, every one of them with his eyes peeled.
they carry tomahawks and knives, and their naked bodies gleam with paint and oil.
strung around them are scalps, of boys as well as of pirates, for these are the piccaninny tribe, and not to be confused with the softer-hearted delawares or the hurons.
in the van, on all fours, is great big little panther, a brave of so many scalps that in his present position they somewhat impede his progress.
bringing up the rear, the place of greatest danger, comes tiger lily, proudly erect, a princess in her own right.
she is the most beautiful of dusky dianas and the belle of the piccaninnies, coquettish, cold and amorous by turns; there is not a brave who would not have the wayward thing to wife, but she staves off the altar with a hatchet.
observe how they pass over fallen twigs without making the slightest noise.
the only sound to be heard is their somewhat heavy breathing.
the fact is that they are all a little fat just now after the heavy gorging, but in time they will work this off.
for the moment, however, it constitutes their chief danger.
the redskins disappear as they have come like shadows, and soon their place is taken by the beasts, a great and motley procession: lions, tigers, bears, and the innumerable smaller savage things that flee from them, for every kind of beast, and, more particularly; all the man-eaters, live cheek by jowl on the favoured island.
their tongues are hanging out, they are hungry to-night.
when they have passed, comes the last figure of all, a gigantic crocodile.
we shall see for whom she is looking presently.
the crocodile passes, but soon the boys appear again, for the procession must continue indefinitely until one of the parties stops or changes its pace.
then quickly they will be on top of each other.
all are keeping a sharp look-out in front, but none suspects that the danger may be creeping up from behind.
this shows how real the island was.
the first to fall out of the moving circle was the boys.
they flung themselves down on the sward, close to their underground home."
i do wish peter would come back," every one of them said nervously, though in height and still more in breadth they were all larger than their captain."
i am the only one who is not afraid of the pirates," slightly said, in the tone that prevented his being a general favourite; but perhaps some distant sound disturbed him, for he added hastily, "but i wish he would come back, and tell us whether he has heard anything more about cinderella."
they talked of cinderella, and tootles was confident that his mother must have been very like her.
it was only in peter's absence that they could speak of mothers, the subject being forbidden by him as silly.
"all i remember about my mother," nibs told them, "is that she often said to father, "oh, how i wish i had a cheque-book of my own."
i do n't know what a cheque-book is, but i should just love to give my mother one."
while they talked they heard a distant sound.
you or i, not being wild things of the woods, would have heard nothing, but they heard it, and it was the grim song: "yo ho, yo ho, the pirate life, the flag o" skull and bones, a merry hour, a hempen rope, and hey for davy jones."
at once the lost boys -- but where are they?
they are no longer there.
rabbits could not have disappeared more quickly.
i will tell you where they are.
with the exception of nibs, who has darted away to reconnoitre, they are already in their home under the ground, a very delightful residence of which we shall see a good deal presently.
but how have they reached it?
for there is no entrance to be seen, not so much as a pile of brushwood, which if removed would disclose the mouth of a cave.
look closely, however, and you may note that there are here seven large trees, each having in its hollow trunk a hole as large as a boy.
these are the seven entrances to the home under the ground, for which hook has been searching in vain these many moons.
will he find it to-night?
as the pirates advanced, the quick eye of starkey sighted nibs disappearing through the wood, and at once his pistol flashed out.
but an iron claw gripped his shoulder.
"captain, let go," he cried, writhing.
now for the first time we hear the voice of hook.
it was a black voice.
"put back that pistol first," it said threateningly.
"it was one of those boys you hate.
i could have shot him dead."
"ay, and the sound would have brought tiger lily's redskins upon us.
do you want to lose your scalp?"
"shall i after him, captain," asked pathetic smee, "and tickle him with johnny corkscrew?"
smee had pleasant names for everything, and his cutlass was johnny corkscrew, because he wriggled it in the wound.
one could mention many lovable traits in smee.
for instance, after killing, it was his spectacles he wiped instead of his weapon.
"johnny's a silent fellow," he reminded hook.
"not now, smee," hook said darkly.
"he is only one, and i want to mischief all the seven.
scatter and look for them."
the pirates disappeared among the trees, and in a moment their captain and smee were alone.
hook heaved a heavy sigh; and i know not why it was, perhaps it was because of the soft beauty of the evening, but there came over him a desire to confide to his faithful bo "sun the story of his life.
he spoke long and earnestly, but what it was all about smee, who was rather stupid, did not know in the least.
anon he caught the word peter.
"most of all," hook was saying passionately," i want their captain, peter pan.
't was he cut off my arm."
he brandished the hook threateningly.
"i've waited long to shake his hand with this.
oh, i'll tear him."
"and yet," said smee," i have often heard you say that hook was worth a score of hands, for combing the hair and other homely uses."
"ay," the captain answered, "if i was a mother i would pray to have my children born with this instead of that," and he cast a look of pride upon his iron hand and one of scorn upon the other.
then again he frowned.
"peter flung my arm," he said, wincing, "to a crocodile that happened to be passing by.'"
i have often," said smee, "noticed your strange dread of crocodiles."
"not of crocodiles," hook corrected him, "but of that one crocodile."
he lowered his voice.
"it liked my arm so much, smee, that it has followed me ever since, from sea to sea and from land to land, licking its lips for the rest of me."
"in a way," said smee, "it's a sort of compliment.'"
i want no such compliments," hook barked petulantly."
i want peter pan, who first gave the brute its taste for me."
he sat down on a large mushroom, and now there was a quiver in his voice.
"smee," he said huskily, "that crocodile would have had me before this, but by a lucky chance it swallowed a clock which goes tick tick inside it, and so before it can reach me i hear the tick and bolt."
he laughed, but in a hollow way.
"some day," said smee, "the clock will run down, and then he'll get you."
hook wetted his dry lips.
"ay," he said, "that's the fear that haunts me."
since sitting down he had felt curiously warm.
"smee," he said, "this seat is hot."
he jumped up.
"odds bobs, hammer and tongs i'm burning."
they examined the mushroom, which was of a size and solidity unknown on the mainland; they tried to pull it up, and it came away at once in their hands, for it had no root.
stranger still, smoke began at once to ascend.
the pirates looked at each other."
a chimney!"
they both exclaimed.
they had indeed discovered the chimney of the home under the ground.
it was the custom of the boys to stop it with a mushroom when enemies were in the neighbourhood.
not only smoke came out of it.
there came also children's voices, for so safe did the boys feel in their hiding-place that they were gaily chattering.
the pirates listened grimly, and then replaced the mushroom.
they looked around them and noted the holes in the seven trees.
"did you hear them say peter pan's from home?"
smee whispered, fidgeting with johnny corkscrew.
hook nodded.
he stood for a long time lost in thought, and at last a curdling smile lit up his swarthy face.
smee had been waiting for it.
"unrip your plan, captain," he cried eagerly.
"to return to the ship," hook replied slowly through his teeth, "and cook a large rich cake of a jolly thickness with green sugar on it.
there can be but one room below, for there is but one chimney.
the silly moles had not the sense to see that they did not need a door apiece.
that shows they have no mother.
we will leave the cake on the shore of the mermaids" lagoon.
these boys are always swimming about there, playing with the mermaids.
they will find the cake and they will gobble it up, because, having no mother, they do n't know how dangerous't is to eat rich damp cake."
he burst into laughter, not hollow laughter now, but honest laughter.
"aha, they will die."
smee had listened with growing admiration.
"it's the wickedest, prettiest policy ever i heard of," he cried, and in their exultation they danced and sang: "avast, belay, when i appear, by fear they're overtook; nought's left upon your bones when you have shaken claws with cook."
they began the verse, but they never finished it, for another sound broke in and stilled them.
it was at first such a tiny sound that a leaf might have fallen on it and smothered it, but as it came nearer it was more distinct.
tick tick tick tick.
hook stood shuddering, one foot in the air.
"the crocodile," he gasped, and bounded away, followed by his bo "sun.
it was indeed the crocodile.
it had passed the redskins, who were now on the trail of the other pirates.
it oozed on after hook.
once more the boys emerged into the open; but the dangers of the night were not yet over, for presently nibs rushed breathless into their midst, pursued by a pack of wolves.
the tongues of the pursuers were hanging out; the baying of them was horrible.
"save me, save me!"
cried nibs, falling on the ground.
"but what can we do, what can we do?"
it was a high compliment to peter that at that dire moment their thoughts turned to him.
"what would peter do?"
they cried simultaneously.
almost in the same breath they added, "peter would look at them through his legs."
and then, "let us do what peter would do."
it is quite the most successful way of defying wolves, and as one boy they bent and looked through their legs.
the next moment is the long one; but victory came quickly, for as the boys advanced upon them in this terrible attitude, the wolves dropped their tails and fled.
now nibs rose from the ground, and the others thought that his staring eyes still saw the wolves.
but it was not wolves he saw."
i have seen a wonderfuller thing," he cried, as they gathered round him eagerly."
a great white bird.
it is flying this way."
"what kind of a bird, do you think?'"
i do n't know," nibs said, awestruck, "but it looks so weary, and as it flies it moans, "poor wendy.""
"poor wendy?'"
i remember," said slightly instantly, "there are birds called wendies."
"see, it comes," cried curly, pointing to wendy in the heavens.
wendy was now almost overhead, and they could hear her plaintive cry.
but more distinct came the shrill voice of tinker bell.
the jealous fairy had now cast off all disguise of friendship, and was darting at her victim from every direction, pinching savagely each time she touched.
"hullo, tink," cried the wondering boys.
tink's reply rang out: "peter wants you to shoot the wendy."
it was not in their nature to question when peter ordered.
"let us do what peter wishes," cried the simple boys.
"quick, bows and arrows."
all but tootles popped down their trees.
he had a bow and arrow with him, and tink noted it, and rubbed her little hands.
"quick, tootles, quick," she screamed.
"peter will be so pleased."
tootles excitedly fitted the arrow to his bow.
"out of the way, tink," he shouted; and then he fired, and wendy fluttered to the ground with an arrow in her breast.
chapter vi the little house foolish tootles was standing like a conqueror over wendy's body when the other boys sprang, armed, from their trees.
"you are too late," he cried proudly," i have shot the wendy.
peter will be so pleased with me."
overhead tinker bell shouted "silly ass!"
and darted into hiding.
the others did not hear her.
they had crowded round wendy, and as they looked a terrible silence fell upon the wood.
if wendy's heart had been beating they would all have heard it.
slightly was the first to speak.
"this is no bird," he said in a scared voice."
i think it must be a lady.'"
a lady?"
said tootles, and fell a-trembling.
"and we have killed her," nibs said hoarsely.
they all whipped off their caps.
"now i see," curly said; "peter was bringing her to us."
he threw himself sorrowfully on the ground."
a lady to take care of us at last," said one of the twins, "and you have killed her."
they were sorry for him, but sorrier for themselves, and when he took a step nearer them they turned from him.
tootles" face was very white, but there was a dignity about him now that had never been there before."
i did it," he said, reflecting.
"when ladies used to come to me in dreams, i said, "pretty mother, pretty mother."
but when at last she really came, i shot her."
he moved slowly away.
"do n't go," they called in pity."
i must," he answered, shaking;" i am so afraid of peter."
it was at this tragic moment that they heard a sound which made the heart of every one of them rise to his mouth.
they heard peter crow.
"peter!"
they cried, for it was always thus that he signalled his return.
"hide her," they whispered, and gathered hastily around wendy.
but tootles stood aloof.
again came that ringing crow, and peter dropped in front of them.
"greeting, boys," he cried, and mechanically they saluted, and then again was silence.
he frowned."
i am back," he said hotly, "why do you not cheer?"
they opened their mouths, but the cheers would not come.
he overlooked it in his haste to tell the glorious tidings.
"great news, boys," he cried," i have brought at last a mother for you all."
still no sound, except a little thud from tootles as he dropped on his knees.
"have you not seen her?"
asked peter, becoming troubled.
"she flew this way."
"ah me," one voice said, and another said, "oh, mournful day."
tootles rose.
"peter," he said quietly," i will show her to you"; and when the others would still have hidden her he said, "back, twins, let peter see."
so they all stood back, and let him see, and after he had looked for a little time he did not know what to do next.
"she is dead," he said uncomfortably.
"perhaps she is frightened at being dead."
he thought of hopping off in a comic sort of way till he was out of sight of her, and then never going near the spot any more.
they would all have been glad to follow if he had done this.
but there was the arrow.
he took it from her heart and faced his band.
"whose arrow?"
he demanded sternly.
"mine, peter," said tootles on his knees.
"oh, dastard hand," peter said, and he raised the arrow to use it as a dagger.
tootles did not flinch.
he bared his breast.
"strike, peter," he said firmly, "strike true."
twice did peter raise the arrow, and twice did his hand fall."
i can not strike," he said with awe, "there is something stays my hand."
all looked at him in wonder, save nibs, who fortunately looked at wendy.
"it is she," he cried, "the wendy lady; see, her arm."
wonderful to relate, wendy had raised her arm.
nibs bent over her and listened reverently."
i think she said "poor tootles,"" he whispered.
"she lives," peter said briefly.
slightly cried instantly, "the wendy lady lives."
then peter knelt beside her and found his button.
you remember she had put it on a chain that she wore round her neck.
"see," he said, "the arrow struck against this.
it is the kiss i gave her.
it has saved her life.'"
i remember kisses," slightly interposed quickly, "let me see it.
ay, that's a kiss."
peter did not hear him.
he was begging wendy to get better quickly, so that he could show her the mermaids.
of course she could not answer yet, being still in a frightful faint; but from overhead came a wailing note.
"listen to tink," said curly, "she is crying because the wendy lives."
then they had to tell peter of tink's crime, and almost never had they seen him look so stern.
"listen, tinker bell," he cried;" i am your friend no more.
begone from me for ever."
she flew on to his shoulder and pleaded, but he brushed her off.
not until wendy again raised her arm did he relent sufficiently to say, "well, not for ever, but for a whole week."
do you think tinker bell was grateful to wendy for raising her arm?
oh dear no, never wanted to pinch her so much.
fairies indeed are strange, and peter, who understood them best, often cuffed them.
but what to do with wendy in her present delicate state of health?
"let us carry her down into the house," curly suggested.
"ay," said slightly, "that is what one does with ladies."
"no, no," peter said, "you must not touch her.
it would not be sufficiently respectful."
"that," said slightly, "is what i was thinking."
"but if she lies there," tootles said, "she will die."
"ay, she will die," slightly admitted, "but there is no way out."
"yes, there is," cried peter.
"let us build a little house round her."
they were all delighted.
"quick," he ordered them, "bring me each of you the best of what we have.
gut our house.
be sharp."
in a moment they were as busy as tailors the night before a wedding.
they skurried this way and that, down for bedding, up for firewood, and while they were at it, who should appear but john and michael.
as they dragged along the ground they fell asleep standing, stopped, woke up, moved another step and slept again.
"john, john," michael would cry, "wake up.
where is nana, john, and mother?"
and then john would rub his eyes and mutter, "it is true, we did fly."
you may be sure they were very relieved to find peter.
"hullo, peter," they said.
"hullo," replied peter amicably, though he had quite forgotten them.
he was very busy at the moment measuring wendy with his feet to see how large a house she would need.
of course he meant to leave room for chairs and a table.
john and michael watched him.
"is wendy asleep?"
they asked.
"yes."
"john," michael proposed, "let us wake her and get her to make supper for us"; but as he said it some of the other boys rushed on carrying branches for the building of the house.
"look at them!"
he cried.
"curly," said peter in his most captainy voice, "see that these boys help in the building of the house."
"ay, ay, sir."
"build a house?"
exclaimed john.
"for the wendy," said curly.
"for wendy?"
john said, aghast.
"why, she is only a girl."
"that," explained curly, "is why we are her servants."
"you?
wendy's servants!"
"yes," said peter, "and you also.
away with them."
the astounded brothers were dragged away to hack and hew and carry.
"chairs and a fender first," peter ordered.
"then we shall build the house round them."
"ay," said slightly, "that is how a house is built; it all comes back to me."
peter thought of everything.
"slightly," he ordered, "fetch a doctor."
"ay, ay," said slightly at once, and disappeared, scratching his head.
but he knew peter must be obeyed, and he returned in a moment, wearing john's hat and looking solemn.
"please, sir," said peter, going to him, "are you a doctor?"
the difference between him and the other boys at such a time was that they knew it was make-believe, while to him make-believe and true were exactly the same thing.
this sometimes troubled them, as when they had to make-believe that they had had their dinners.
if they broke down in their make-believe he rapped them on the knuckles.
"yes, my little man," anxiously replied slightly, who had chapped knuckles.
"please, sir," peter explained," a lady lies very ill."
she was lying at their feet, but slightly had the sense not to see her.
"tut, tut, tut," he said, "where does she lie?"
"in yonder glade.'"
i will put a glass thing in her mouth," said slightly; and he made-believe to do it, while peter waited.
it was an anxious moment when the glass thing was withdrawn.
"how is she?"
inquired peter.
"tut, tut, tut," said slightly, "this has cured her.'"
i am glad," peter cried."
i will call again in the evening," slightly said; "give her beef tea out of a cup with a spout to it"; but after he had returned the hat to john he blew big breaths, which was his habit on escaping from a difficulty.
in the meantime the wood had been alive with the sound of axes; almost everything needed for a cosy dwelling already lay at wendy's feet.
"if only we knew," said one, "the kind of house she likes best."
"peter," shouted another, "she is moving in her sleep."
"her mouth opens," cried a third, looking respectfully into it.
"oh, lovely!"
"perhaps she is going to sing in her sleep," said peter.
"wendy, sing the kind of house you would like to have."
immediately, without opening her eyes, wendy began to sing: "i wish i had a pretty house, the littlest ever seen, with funny little red walls and roof of mossy green."
they gurgled with joy at this, for by the greatest good luck the branches they had brought were sticky with red sap, and all the ground was carpeted with moss.
as they rattled up the little house they broke into song themselves: "we've built the little walls and roof and made a lovely door, so tell us, mother wendy, what are you wanting more?"
to this she answered rather greedily: "oh, really next i think i'll have gay windows all about, with roses peeping in, you know, and babies peeping out."
with a blow of their fists they made windows, and large yellow leaves were the blinds.
but roses --?
"roses," cried peter sternly.
quickly they made-believe to grow the loveliest roses up the walls.
babies?
to prevent peter ordering babies they hurried into song again: "we've made the roses peeping out, the babes are at the door, we can not make ourselves, you know, "cos we've been made before."
peter, seeing this to be a good idea, at once pretended that it was his own.
the house was quite beautiful, and no doubt wendy was very cosy within, though, of course, they could no longer see her.
peter strode up and down, ordering finishing touches.
nothing escaped his eagle eye.
just when it seemed absolutely finished, "there's no knocker on the door," he said.
they were very ashamed, but tootles gave the sole of his shoe, and it made an excellent knocker.
absolutely finished now, they thought.
not a bit of it.
"there's no chimney," peter said; "we must have a chimney."
"it certainly does need a chimney," said john importantly.
this gave peter an idea.
he snatched the hat off john's head, knocked out the bottom, and put the hat on the roof.
the little house was so pleased to have such a capital chimney that, as if to say thank you, smoke immediately began to come out of the hat.
now really and truly it was finished.
nothing remained to do but to knock.
"all look your best," peter warned them; "first impressions are awfully important."
he was glad no one asked him what first impressions are; they were all too busy looking their best.
he knocked politely; and now the wood was as still as the children, not a sound to be heard except from tinker bell, who was watching from a branch and openly sneering.
what the boys were wondering was, would any one answer the knock?
if a lady, what would she be like?
the door opened and a lady came out.
it was wendy.
they all whipped off their hats.
she looked properly surprised, and this was just how they had hoped she would look.
"where am i?"
she said.
of course slightly was the first to get his word in.
"wendy lady," he said rapidly, "for you we built this house."
"oh, say you're pleased," cried nibs.
"lovely, darling house," wendy said, and they were the very words they had hoped she would say.
"and we are your children," cried the twins.
then all went on their knees, and holding out their arms cried," o wendy lady, be our mother."
"ought i?"
wendy said, all shining.
"of course it's frightfully fascinating, but you see i am only a little girl.
i have no real experience."
"that does n't matter," said peter, as if he were the only person present who knew all about it, though he was really the one who knew least.
"what we need is just a nice motherly person."
"oh dear!"
wendy said, "you see i feel that is exactly what i am."
"it is, it is," they all cried; "we saw it at once."
"very well," she said," i will do my best.
come inside at once, you naughty children; i am sure your feet are damp.
and before i put you to bed i have just time to finish the story of cinderella."
in they went; i do n't know how there was room for them, but you can squeeze very tight in the neverland.
and that was the first of the many joyous evenings they had with wendy.
by and by she tucked them up in the great bed in the home under the trees, but she herself slept that night in the little house, and peter kept watch outside with drawn sword, for the pirates could be heard carousing far away and the wolves were on the prowl.
the little house looked so cosy and safe in the darkness, with a bright light showing through its blinds, and the chimney smoking beautifully, and peter standing on guard.
after a time he fell asleep, and some unsteady fairies had to climb over him on their way home from an orgy.
any of the other boys obstructing the fairy path at night they would have mischiefed, but they just tweaked peter's nose and passed on.
-lsb- illustration: peter on guard -rsb- chapter vii the home under the ground one of the first things peter did next day was to measure wendy and john and michael for hollow trees.
hook, you remember, had sneered at the boys for thinking they needed a tree apiece, but this was ignorance, for unless your tree fitted you it was difficult to go up and down, and no two of the boys were quite the same size.
once you fitted, you drew in your breath at the top, and down you went at exactly the right speed, while to ascend you drew in and let out alternately, and so wriggled up.
of course, when you have mastered the action you are able to do these things without thinking of them, and then nothing can be more graceful.
but you simply must fit, and peter measures you for your tree as carefully as for a suit of clothes: the only difference being that the clothes are made to fit you, while you have to be made to fit the tree.
usually it is done quite easily, as by your wearing too many garments or too few; but if you are bumpy in awkward places or the only available tree is an odd shape, peter does some things to you, and after that you fit.
once you fit, great care must be taken to go on fitting, and this, as wendy was to discover to her delight, keeps a whole family in perfect condition.
wendy and michael fitted their trees at the first try, but john had to be altered a little.
after a few days" practice they could go up and down as gaily as buckets in a well.
and how ardently they grew to love their home under the ground; especially wendy.
it consisted of one large room, as all houses should do, with a floor in which you could dig if you wanted to go fishing, and in this floor grew stout mushrooms of a charming colour, which were used as stools.
a never tree tried hard to grow in the centre of the room, but every morning they sawed the trunk through, level with the floor.
by tea-time it was always about two feet high, and then they put a door on top of it, the whole thus becoming a table; as soon as they cleared away, they sawed off the trunk again, and thus there was more room to play.
there was an enormous fireplace which was in almost any part of the room where you cared to light it, and across this wendy stretched strings, made of fibre, from which she suspended her washing.
the bed was tilted against the wall by day, and let down at 6.30, when it filled nearly half the room; and all the boys except michael slept in it, lying like sardines in a tin.
there was a strict rule against turning round until one gave the signal, when all turned at once.
michael should have used it also; but wendy would have a baby, and he was the littlest, and you know what women are, and the short and the long of it is that he was hung up in a basket.
it was rough and simple, and not unlike what baby bears would have made of an underground house in the same circumstances.
but there was one recess in the wall, no larger than a bird-cage, which was the private apartment of tinker bell.
it could be shut off from the rest of the home by a tiny curtain, which tink, who was most fastidious, always kept drawn when dressing or undressing.
no woman, however large, could have had a more exquisite boudoir and bedchamber combined.
the couch, as she always called it, was a genuine queen mab, with club legs; and she varied the bedspreads according to what fruit-blossom was in season.
her mirror was a puss-in-boots, of which there are now only three, unchipped, known to the fairy dealers; the wash-stand was pie-crust and reversible, the chest of drawers an authentic charming the sixth, and the carpet and rugs of the best -lrb- the early -rrb- period of margery and robin.
there was a chandelier from tiddly winks for the look of the thing, but of course she lit the residence herself.
tink was very contemptuous of the rest of the house, as indeed was perhaps inevitable; and her chamber, though beautiful, looked rather conceited, having the appearance of a nose permanently turned up.
i suppose it was all especially entrancing to wendy, because those rampagious boys of hers gave her so much to do.
really there were whole weeks when, except perhaps with a stocking in the evening, she was never above ground.
the cooking, i can tell you, kept her nose to the pot.
their chief food was roasted breadfruit, yams, cocoa-nuts, baked pig, mammee-apples, tappa rolls and bananas, washed down with calabashes of poe-poe; but you never exactly knew whether there would be a real meal or just a make-believe, it all depended upon peter's whim.
he could eat, really eat, if it was part of a game, but he could not stodge just to feel stodgy, which is what most children like better than anything else; the next best thing being to talk about it.
make-believe was so real to him that during a meal of it you could see him getting rounder.
of course it was trying, but you simply had to follow his lead, and if you could prove to him that you were getting loose for your tree he let you stodge.
wendy's favourite time for sewing and darning was after they had all gone to bed.
then, as she expressed it, she had a breathing time for herself; and she occupied it in making new things for them, and putting double pieces on the knees, for they were all most frightfully hard on their knees.
when she sat down to a basketful of their stockings, every heel with a hole in it, she would fling up her arms and exclaim, "oh dear, i am sure i sometimes think spinsters are to be envied."
her face beamed when she exclaimed this.
you remember about her pet wolf.
well, it very soon discovered that she had come to the island and it found her out, and they just ran into each other's arms.
after that it followed her about everywhere.
as time wore on did she think much about the beloved parents she had left behind her?
this is a difficult question, because it is quite impossible to say how time does wear on in the neverland, where it is calculated by moons and suns, and there are ever so many more of them than on the mainland.
but i am afraid that wendy did not really worry about her father and mother; she was absolutely confident that they would always keep the window open for her to fly back by, and this gave her complete ease of mind.
what did disturb her at times was that john remembered his parents vaguely only, as people he had once known, while michael was quite willing to believe that she was really his mother.
these things scared her a little, and nobly anxious to do her duty, she tried to fix the old life in their minds by setting them examination papers on it, as like as possible to the ones she used to do at school.
the other boys thought this awfully interesting, and insisted on joining, and they made slates for themselves, and sat round the table, writing and thinking hard about the questions she had written on another slate and passed round.
they were the most ordinary questions -- "what was the colour of mother's eyes?
which was taller, father or mother?
was mother blonde or brunette?
answer all three questions if possible.'"
-lrb- a -rrb- write an essay of not less than 40 words on how i spent my last holidays, or the caracters of father and mother compared.
only one of these to be attempted."
or" -lrb- 1 -rrb- describe mother's laugh; -lrb- 2 -rrb- describe father's laugh; -lrb- 3 -rrb- describe mother's party dress; -lrb- 4 -rrb- describe the kennel and its inmate."
they were just everyday questions like these, and when you could not answer them you were told to make a cross; and it was really dreadful what a number of crosses even john made.
of course the only boy who replied to every question was slightly, and no one could have been more hopeful of coming out first, but his answers were perfectly ridiculous, and he really came out last: a melancholy thing.
peter did not compete.
for one thing he despised all mothers except wendy, and for another he was the only boy on the island who could neither write nor spell; not the smallest word.
he was above all that sort of thing.
by the way, the questions were all written in the past tense.
what was the colour of mother's eyes, and so on.
wendy, you see, had been forgetting too.
adventures, of course, as we shall see, were of daily occurrence; but about this time peter invented, with wendy's help, a new game that fascinated him enormously, until he suddenly had no more interest in it, which, as you have been told, was what always happened with his games.
it consisted in pretending not to have adventures, in doing the sort of thing john and michael had been doing all their lives: sitting on stools flinging balls in the air, pushing each other, going out for walks and coming back without having killed so much as a grizzly.
to see peter doing nothing on a stool was a great sight; he could not help looking solemn at such times, to sit still seemed to him such a comic thing to do.
he boasted that he had gone a walk for the good of his health.
for several suns these were the most novel of all adventures to him; and john and michael had to pretend to be delighted also; otherwise he would have treated them severely.
he often went out alone, and when he came back you were never absolutely certain whether he had had an adventure or not.
he might have forgotten it so completely that he said nothing about it; and then when you went out you found the body; and, on the other hand, he might say a great deal about it, and yet you could not find the body.
sometimes he came home with his head bandaged, and then wendy cooed over him and bathed it in lukewarm water, while he told a dazzling tale.
but she was never quite sure, you know.
there were, however, many adventures which she knew to be true because she was in them herself, and there were still more that were at least partly true, for the other boys were in them and said they were wholly true.
to describe them all would require a book as large as an english-latin, latin-english dictionary, and the most we can do is to give one as a specimen of an average hour on the island.
the difficulty is which one to choose.
should we take the brush with the redskins at slightly gulch?
it was a sanguinary affair, and especially interesting as showing one of peter's peculiarities, which was that in the middle of a fight he would suddenly change sides.
at the gulch, when victory was still in the balance, sometimes leaning this way and sometimes that, he called out, "i'm redskin to-day; what are you, tootles?"
and tootles answered, "redskin; what are you, nibs?"
and nibs said, "redskin; what are you, twin?"
and so on; and they were all redskin; and of course this would have ended the fight had not the real redskins, fascinated by peter's methods, agreed to be lost boys for that once, and so at it they all went again, more fiercely than ever.
the extraordinary upshot of this adventure was -- but we have not decided yet that this is the adventure we are to narrate.
perhaps a better one would be the night attack by the redskins on the house under the ground, when several of them stuck in the hollow trees and had to be pulled out like corks.
or we might tell how peter saved tiger lily's life in the mermaids" lagoon, and so made her his ally.
or we could tell of that cake the pirates cooked so that the boys might eat it and perish; and how they placed it in one cunning spot after another; but always wendy snatched it from the hands of her children, so that in time it lost its succulence, and became as hard as a stone, and was used as a missile, and hook fell over it in the dark.
or suppose we tell of the birds that were peter's friends, particularly of the never bird that built in a tree overhanging the lagoon, and how the nest fell into the water, and still the bird sat on her eggs, and peter gave orders that she was not to be disturbed.
that is a pretty story, and the end shows how grateful a bird can be; but if we tell it we must also tell the whole adventure of the lagoon, which would of course be telling two adventures rather than just one.
a shorter adventure, and quite as exciting, was tinker bell's attempt, with the help of some street fairies, to have the sleeping wendy conveyed on a great floating leaf to the mainland.
fortunately the leaf gave way and wendy woke, thinking it was bath-time, and swam back.
or again, we might choose peter's defiance of the lions, when he drew a circle round him on the ground with an arrow and defied them to cross it; and though he waited for hours, with the other boys and wendy looking on breathlessly from trees, not one of them dared to accept his challenge.
which of these adventures shall we choose?
the best way will be to toss for it.
i have tossed, and the lagoon has won.
this almost makes one wish that the gulch or the cake or tink's leaf had won.
of course i could do it again, and make it best out of three; however, perhaps fairest to stick to the lagoon.
chapter viii the mermaids" lagoon if you shut your eyes and are a lucky one, you may see at times a shapeless pool of lovely pale colours suspended in the darkness; then if you squeeze your eyes tighter, the pool begins to take shape, and the colours become so vivid that with another squeeze they must go on fire.
but just before they go on fire you see the lagoon.
this is the nearest you ever get to it on the mainland, just one heavenly moment; if there could be two moments you might see the surf and hear the mermaids singing.
the children often spent long summer days on this lagoon, swimming or floating most of the time, playing the mermaid games in the water, and so forth.
you must not think from this that the mermaids were on friendly terms with them; on the contrary, it was among wendy's lasting regrets that all the time she was on the island she never had a civil word from one of them.
when she stole softly to the edge of the lagoon she might see them by the score, especially on marooners" rock, where they loved to bask, combing out their hair in a lazy way that quite irritated her; or she might even swim, on tiptoe as it were, to within a yard of them, but then they saw her and dived, probably splashing her with their tails, not by accident, but intentionally.
-lsb- illustration: summer days on the lagoon -rsb- they treated all the boys in the same way, except of course peter, who chatted with them on marooners" rock by the hour, and sat on their tails when they got cheeky.
he gave wendy one of their combs.
the most haunting time at which to see them is at the turn of the moon, when they utter strange wailing cries; but the lagoon is dangerous for mortals then, and until the evening of which we have now to tell, wendy had never seen the lagoon by moonlight, less from fear, for of course peter would have accompanied her, than because she had strict rules about every one being in bed by seven.
she was often at the lagoon, however, on sunny days after rain, when the mermaids come up in extraordinary numbers to play with their bubbles.
the bubbles of many colours made in rainbow water they treat as balls, hitting them gaily from one to another with their tails, and trying to keep them in the rainbow till they burst.
the goals are at each end of the rainbow, and the keepers only are allowed to use their hands.
sometimes hundreds of mermaids will be playing in the lagoon at a time, and it is quite a pretty sight.
but the moment the children tried to join in they had to play by themselves, for the mermaids immediately disappeared.
nevertheless we have proof that they secretly watched the interlopers, and were not above taking an idea from them; for john introduced a new way of hitting the bubble, with the head instead of the hand, and the mermaid goal-keepers adopted it.
this is the one mark that john has left on the neverland.
it must also have been rather pretty to see the children resting on a rock for half an hour after their midday meal.
wendy insisted on their doing this, and it had to be a real rest even though the meal was make-believe.
so they lay there in the sun, and their bodies glistened in it, while she sat beside them and looked important.
it was one such day, and they were all on marooners" rock.
the rock was not much larger than their great bed, but of course they all knew how not to take up much room, and they were dozing, or at least lying with their eyes shut, and pinching occasionally when they thought wendy was not looking.
she was very busy, stitching.
while she stitched a change came to the lagoon.
little shivers ran over it, and the sun went away and shadows stole across the water, turning it cold.
wendy could no longer see to thread her needle, and when she looked up, the lagoon that had always hitherto been such a laughing place seemed formidable and unfriendly.
it was not, she knew, that night had come, but something as dark as night had come.
no, worse than that.
it had not come, but it had sent that shiver through the sea to say that it was coming.
what was it?
there crowded upon her all the stories she had been told of marooners" rock, so called because evil captains put sailors on it and leave them there to drown.
they drown when the tide rises, for then it is submerged.
of course she should have roused the children at once; not merely because of the unknown that was stalking toward them, but because it was no longer good for them to sleep on a rock grown chilly.
but she was a young mother and she did not know this; she thought you simply must stick to your rule about half an hour after the midday meal.
so, though fear was upon her, and she longed to hear male voices, she would not waken them.
even when she heard the sound of muffled oars, though her heart was in her mouth, she did not waken them.
she stood over them to let them have their sleep out.
was it not brave of wendy?
it was well for those boys then that there was one among them who could sniff danger even in his sleep.
peter sprang erect, as wide awake at once as a dog, and with one warning cry he roused the others.
he stood motionless, one hand to his ear.
"pirates!"
he cried.
the others came closer to him.
a strange smile was playing about his face, and wendy saw it and shuddered.
while that smile was on his face no one dared address him; all they could do was to stand ready to obey.
the order came sharp and incisive.
"dive!"
there was a gleam of legs, and instantly the lagoon seemed deserted.
marooners" rock stood alone in the forbidding waters, as if it were itself marooned.
the boat drew nearer.
it was the pirate dinghy, with three figures in her, smee and starkey, and the third a captive, no other than tiger lily.
her hands and ankles were tied, and she knew what was to be her fate.
she was to be left on the rock to perish, an end to one of her race more terrible than death by fire or torture, for is it not written in the book of the tribe that there is no path through water to the happy hunting-ground?
yet her face was impassive; she was the daughter of a chief, she must die as a chief's daughter, it is enough.
they had caught her boarding the pirate ship with a knife in her mouth.
no watch was kept on the ship, it being hook's boast that the wind of his name guarded the ship for a mile around.
now her fate would help to guard it also.
one more wail would go the round in that wind by night.
in the gloom that they brought with them the two pirates did not see the rock till they crashed into it.
"luff, you lubber," cried an irish voice that was smee's; "here's the rock.
now, then, what we have to do is to hoist the redskin on to it and leave her there to drown."
it was the work of one brutal moment to land the beautiful girl on the rock; she was too proud to offer a vain resistance.
quite near the rock, but out of sight, two heads were bobbing up and down, peter's and wendy's.
wendy was crying, for it was the first tragedy she had seen.
peter had seen many tragedies, but he had forgotten them all.
he was less sorry than wendy for tiger lily: it was two against one that angered him, and he meant to save her.
an easy way would have been to wait until the pirates had gone, but he was never one to choose the easy way.
there was almost nothing he could not do, and he now imitated the voice of hook.
"ahoy there, you lubbers," he called.
it was a marvellous imitation.
"the captain," said the pirates, staring at each other in surprise.
"he must be swimming out to us," starkey said, when they had looked for him in vain.
"we are putting the redskin on the rock," smee called out.
"set her free," came the astonishing answer.
"free!"
"yes, cut her bonds and let her go."
"but, captain --" "at once, d'ye hear," cried peter, "or i'll plunge my hook in you."
"this is queer," smee gasped.
"better do what the captain orders," said starkey nervously.
"ay, ay," smee said, and he cut tiger lily's cords.
at once like an eel she slid between starkey's legs into the water.
of course wendy was very elated over peter's cleverness; but she knew that he would be elated also and very likely crow and thus betray himself, so at once her hand went out to cover his mouth.
but it was stayed even in the act, for "boat ahoy!"
rang over the lagoon in hook's voice, and this time it was not peter who had spoken.
peter may have been about to crow, but his face puckered in a whistle of surprise instead.
"boat ahoy!"
again came the cry.
now wendy understood.
the real hook was also in the water.
he was swimming to the boat, and as his men showed a light to guide him he had soon reached them.
in the light of the lantern wendy saw his hook grip the boat's side; she saw his evil swarthy face as he rose dripping from the water, and, quaking, she would have liked to swim away, but peter would not budge.
he was tingling with life and also top-heavy with conceit.
"am i not a wonder, oh, i am a wonder!"
he whispered to her; and though she thought so also, she was really glad for the sake of his reputation that no one heard him except herself.
he signed to her to listen.
the two pirates were very curious to know what had brought their captain to them, but he sat with his head on his hook in a position of profound melancholy.
"captain, is all well?"
they asked timidly, but he answered with a hollow moan.
"he sighs," said smee.
"he sighs again," said starkey.
"and yet a third time he sighs," said smee.
"what's up, captain?"
then at last he spoke passionately.
"the game's up," he cried, "those boys have found a mother."
affrighted though she was, wendy swelled with pride."
o evil day," cried starkey.
"what's a mother?"
asked the ignorant smee.
wendy was so shocked that she exclaimed, "he does n't know!"
and always after this she felt that if you could have a pet pirate smee would be her one.
peter pulled her beneath the water, for hook had started up, crying, "what was that?'"
i heard nothing," said starkey, raising the lantern over the waters, and as the pirates looked they saw a strange sight.
it was the nest i have told you of, floating on the lagoon, and the never bird was sitting on it.
"see," said hook in answer to smee's question, "that is a mother.
what a lesson.
the nest must have fallen into the water, but would the mother desert her eggs?
no."
there was a break in his voice, as if for a moment he recalled innocent days when -- but he brushed away this weakness with his hook.
smee, much impressed, gazed at the bird as the nest was borne past, but the more suspicious starkey said, "if she is a mother, perhaps she is hanging about here to help peter."
hook winced.
"ay," he said, "that is the fear that haunts me."
he was roused from this dejection by smee's eager voice.
"captain," said smee, "could we not kidnap these boys" mother and make her our mother?"
"it is a princely scheme," cried hook, and at once it took practical shape in his great brain.
"we will seize the children and carry them to the boat: the boys we will make walk the plank, and wendy shall be our mother."
again wendy forgot herself.
"never!"
she cried, and bobbed.
"what was that?"
but they could see nothing.
they thought it must have been but a leaf in the wind.
"do you agree, my bullies?"
asked hook.
"there is my hand on it," they both said.
"and there is my hook.
swear."
"they all swore.
by this time they were on the rock, and suddenly hook remembered tiger lily.
"where is the redskin?"
he demanded abruptly.
he had a playful humour at moments, and they thought this was one of the moments.
"that is all right, captain," smee answered complacently; "we let her go."
"let her go!"
cried hook."
twas your own orders," the bo "sun faltered.
"you called over the water to us to let her go," said starkey.
"brimstone and gall," thundered hook, "what cozening is here?"
his face had gone black with rage, but he saw that they believed their words, and he was startled.
"lads," he said, shaking a little," i gave no such order."
"it is passing queer," smee said, and they all fidgeted uncomfortably.
hook raised his voice, but there was a quiver in it.
"spirit that haunts this dark lagoon to-night," he cried, "dost hear me?"
of course peter should have kept quiet, but of course he did not.
he immediately answered in hook's voice: "odds, bobs, hammer and tongs, i hear you."
in that supreme moment hook did not blanch, even at the gills, but smee and starkey clung to each other in terror.
"who are you, stranger, speak?"
hook demanded."
i am james hook," replied the voice, "captain of the jolly roger."
"you are not; you are not," hook cried hoarsely.
"brimstone and gall," the voice retorted, "say that again, and i'll cast anchor in you."
hook tried a more ingratiating manner.
"if you are hook," he said almost humbly, "come tell me, who am i?'"
a codfish," replied the voice, "only a codfish.'"
a codfish!"
hook echoed blankly; and it was then, but not till then, that his proud spirit broke.
he saw his men draw back from him.
"have we been captained all this time by a codfish!"
they muttered.
"it is lowering to our pride."
they were his dogs snapping at him, but, tragic figure though he had become, he scarcely heeded them.
against such fearful evidence it was not their belief in him that he needed, it was his own.
he felt his ego slipping from him.
"do n't desert me, bully," he whispered hoarsely to it.
in his dark nature there was a touch of the feminine, as in all the great pirates, and it sometimes gave him intuitions.
suddenly he tried the guessing game.
"hook," he called, "have you another voice?"
now peter could never resist a game, and he answered blithely in his own voice," i have."
"and another name?"
"ay, ay."
"vegetable?"
asked hook.
"no."
"mineral?"
"no."
"animal?"
"yes."
"man?"
"no!"
this answer rang out scornfully.
"boy?"
"yes."
"ordinary boy?"
"no!"
"wonderful boy?"
to wendy's pain the answer that rang out this time was "yes."
"are you in england?"
"no."
"are you here?"
"yes."
hook was completely puzzled.
"you ask him some questions," he said to the others, wiping his damp brow.
smee reflected."
i ca n't think of a thing," he said regretfully.
"ca n't guess, ca n't guess," crowed peter.
"do you give it up?"
of course in his pride he was carrying the game too far, and the miscreants saw their chance.
"yes, yes," they answered eagerly.
"well, then," he cried," i am peter pan."
pan!
in a moment hook was himself again, and smee and starkey were his faithful henchmen.
"now we have him," hook shouted.
"into the water, smee.
starkey, mind the boat.
take him dead or alive."
he leaped as he spoke, and simultaneously came the gay voice of peter.
"are you ready, boys?"
"ay, ay," from various parts of the lagoon.
"then lam into the pirates."
the fight was short and sharp.
first to draw blood was john, who gallantly climbed into the boat and held starkey.
there was a fierce struggle, in which the cutlass was torn from the pirate's grasp.
he wriggled overboard and john leapt after him.
the dinghy drifted away.
here and there a head bobbed up in the water, and there was a flash of steel followed by a cry or a whoop.
in the confusion some struck at their own side.
the corkscrew of smee got tootles in the fourth rib, but he was himself pinked in turn by curly.
farther from the rock starkey was pressing slightly and the twins hard.
where all this time was peter?
he was seeking bigger game.
the others were all brave boys, and they must not be blamed for backing from the pirate captain.
his iron claw made a circle of dead water round him, from which they fled like affrighted fishes.
but there was one who did not fear him: there was one prepared to enter that circle.
strangely, it was not in the water that they met.
hook rose to the rock to breathe, and at the same moment peter scaled it on the opposite side.
the rock was slippery as a ball, and they had to crawl rather than climb.
neither knew that the other was coming.
each feeling for a grip met the other's arm: in surprise they raised their heads; their faces were almost touching; so they met.
some of the greatest heroes have confessed that just before they fell to they had a sinking.
had it been so with peter at that moment i would admit it.
after all, this was the only man that the sea-cook had feared.
but peter had no sinking, he had one feeling only, gladness; and he gnashed his pretty teeth with joy.
quick as thought he snatched a knife from hook's belt and was about to drive it home, when he saw that he was higher up the rock than his foe.
it would not have been fighting fair.
he gave the pirate a hand to help him up.
it was then that hook bit him.
not the pain of this but its unfairness was what dazed peter.
it made him quite helpless.
he could only stare, horrified.
every child is affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly.
all he thinks he has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness.
after you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but he will never afterwards be quite the same boy.
no one ever gets over the first unfairness; no one except peter.
he often met it, but he always forgot it.
i suppose that was the real difference between him and all the rest.
so when he met it now it was like the first time; and he could just stare, helpless.
twice the iron hand clawed him.
a few minutes afterwards the other boys saw hook in the water striking wildly for the ship; no elation on his pestilent face now, only white fear, for the crocodile was in dogged pursuit of him.
on ordinary occasions the boys would have swum alongside cheering; but now they were uneasy, for they had lost both peter and wendy, and were scouring the lagoon for them, calling them by name.
they found the dinghy and went home in it, shouting "peter, wendy" as they went, but no answer came save mocking laughter from the mermaids.
"they must be swimming back or flying," the boys concluded.
they were not very anxious, they had such faith in peter.
they chuckled, boylike, because they would be late for bed; and it was all mother wendy's fault!
when their voices died away there came cold silence over the lagoon, and then a feeble cry.
"help, help!"
two small figures were beating against the rock; the girl had fainted and lay on the boy's arm.
with a last effort peter pulled her up the rock and then lay down beside her.
even as he also fainted he saw that the water was rising.
he knew that they would soon be drowned, but he could do no more.
as they lay side by side a mermaid caught wendy by the feet, and began pulling her softly into the water.
peter, feeling her slip from him, woke with a start, and was just in time to draw her back.
but he had to tell her the truth.
"we are on the rock, wendy," he said, "but it is growing smaller.
soon the water will be over it."
she did not understand even now.
"we must go," she said, almost brightly.
"yes," he answered faintly.
"shall we swim or fly, peter?"
he had to tell her.
"do you think you could swim or fly as far as the island, wendy, without my help?"
she had to admit that she was too tired.
he moaned.
"what is it?"
she asked, anxious about him at once."
i ca n't help you, wendy.
hook wounded me.
i can neither fly nor swim."
"do you mean we shall both be drowned?"
"look how the water is rising."
they put their hands over their eyes to shut out the sight.
they thought they would soon be no more.
as they sat thus something brushed against peter as light as a kiss, and stayed there, as if saying timidly, "can i be of any use?"
it was the tail of a kite, which michael had made some days before.
it had torn itself out of his hand and floated away.
"michael's kite," peter said without interest, but next moment he had seized the tail, and was pulling the kite toward him.
"it lifted michael off the ground," he cried; "why should it not carry you?"
"both of us!"
"it ca n't lift two; michael and curly tried."
"let us draw lots," wendy said bravely.
"and you a lady; never."
already he had tied the tail round her.
she clung to him; she refused to go without him; but with a "good-bye, wendy," he pushed her from the rock; and in a few minutes she was borne out of his sight.
peter was alone on the lagoon.
the rock was very small now; soon it would be submerged.
pale rays of light tiptoed across the waters; and by and by there was to be heard a sound at once the most musical and the most melancholy in the world: the mermaids calling to the moon.
peter was not quite like other boys; but he was afraid at last.
a tremor ran through him, like a shudder passing over the sea; but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them, and peter felt just the one.
next moment he was standing erect on the rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him.
it was saying, "to die will be an awfully big adventure."
-lsb- illustration: "to die will be an awfully big adventure" -rsb- chapter ix the never bird the last sounds peter heard before he was quite alone were the mermaids retiring one by one to their bedchambers under the sea.
he was too far away to hear their doors shut; but every door in the coral caves where they live rings a tiny bell when it opens or closes -lrb- as in all the nicest houses on the mainland -rrb-, and he heard the bells.
steadily the waters rose till they were nibbling at his feet; and to pass the time until they made their final gulp, he watched the only thing moving on the lagoon.
he thought it was a piece of floating paper, perhaps part of the kite, and wondered idly how long it would take to drift ashore.
presently he noticed as an odd thing that it was undoubtedly out upon the lagoon with some definite purpose, for it was fighting the tide, and sometimes winning; and when it won, peter, always sympathetic to the weaker side, could not help clapping; it was such a gallant piece of paper.
it was not really a piece of paper; it was the never bird, making desperate efforts to reach peter on her nest.
by working her wings, in a way she had learned since the nest fell into the water, she was able to some extent to guide her strange craft, but by the time peter recognised her she was very exhausted.
she had come to save him, to give him her nest, though there were eggs in it.
i rather wonder at the bird, for though he had been nice to her, he had also sometimes tormented her.
i can suppose only that, like mrs. darling and the rest of them, she was melted because he had all his first teeth.
she called out to him what she had come for, and he called out to her what was she doing there; but of course neither of them understood the other's language.
in fanciful stories people can talk to the birds freely, and i wish for the moment i could pretend that this was such a story, and say that peter replied intelligently to the never bird; but truth is best, and i want to tell only what really happened.
well, not only could they not understand each other, but they forgot their manners.
"i -- want -- you -- to -- get -- into -- the -- nest," the bird called, speaking as slowly and distinctly as possible, "and -- then -- you -- can -- drift -- ashore, but -- i -- am -- too -- tired -- to -- bring -- it -- any -- nearer -- so -- you -- must -- try -- to -- swim -- to -- it."
"what are you quacking about?"
peter answered.
"why do n't you let the nest drift as usual?"
"i -- want -- you --" the bird said, and repeated it all over.
then peter tried slow and distinct.
"what -- are -- you -- quacking -- about?"
and so on.
the never bird became irritated; they have very short tempers.
"you dunderheaded little jay," she screamed, "why do n't you do as i tell you?"
peter felt that she was calling him names, and at a venture he retorted hotly: "so are you!"
then rather curiously they both snapped out the same remark: "shut up!"
"shut up!"
nevertheless the bird was determined to save him if she could, and by one last mighty effort she propelled the nest against the rock.
then up she flew; deserting her eggs, so as to make her meaning clear.
then at last he understood, and clutched the nest and waved his thanks to the bird as she fluttered overhead.
it was not to receive his thanks, however, that she hung there in the sky; it was not even to watch him get into the nest; it was to see what he did with her eggs.
there were two large white eggs, and peter lifted them up and reflected.
the bird covered her face with her wings, so as not to see the last of her eggs; but she could not help peeping between the feathers.
i forget whether i have told you that there was a stave on the rock, driven into it by some buccaneers of long ago to mark the site of buried treasure.
the children had discovered the glittering hoard, and when in mischievous mood used to fling showers of moidores, diamonds, pearls and pieces of eight to the gulls, who pounced upon them for food, and then flew away, raging at the scurvy trick that had been played upon them.
the stave was still there, and on it starkey had hung his hat, a deep tarpaulin, watertight, with a broad brim.
peter put the eggs into this hat and set it on the lagoon.
it floated beautifully.
the never bird saw at once what he was up to, and screamed her admiration of him; and, alas, peter crowed his agreement with her.
then he got into the nest, reared the stave in it as a mast, and hung up his shirt for a sail.
at the same moment the bird fluttered down upon the hat and once more sat snugly on her eggs.
she drifted in one direction, and he was borne off in another, both cheering.
of course when peter landed he beached his barque in a place where the bird would easily find it; but the hat was such a great success that she abandoned the nest.
it drifted about till it went to pieces, and often starkey came to the shore of the lagoon, and with many bitter feelings watched the bird sitting on his hat.
as we shall not see her again, it may be worth mentioning here that all never birds now build in that shape of nest, with a broad brim on which the youngsters take an airing.
great were the rejoicings when peter reached the home under the ground almost as soon as wendy, who had been carried hither and thither by the kite.
every boy had adventures to tell; but perhaps the biggest adventure of all was that they were several hours late for bed.
this so inflated them that they did various dodgy things to get staying up still longer, such as demanding bandages; but wendy, though glorying in having them all home again safe and sound, was scandalised by the lateness of the hour, and cried, "to bed, to bed," in a voice that had to be obeyed.
next day, however, she was awfully tender, and gave out bandages to every one; and they played till bed-time at limping about and carrying their arms in slings.
chapter x the happy home one important result of the brush on the lagoon was that it made the redskins their friends.
peter had saved tiger lily from a dreadful fate, and now there was nothing she and her braves would not do for him.
all night they sat above, keeping watch over the home under the ground and awaiting the big attack by the pirates which obviously could not be much longer delayed.
even by day they hung about, smoking the pipe of peace, and looking almost as if they wanted tit-bits to eat.
they called peter the great white father, prostrating themselves before him; and he liked this tremendously, so that it was not really good for him.
"the great white father," he would say to them in a very lordly manner, as they grovelled at his feet, "is glad to see the piccaninny warriors protecting his wigwam from the pirates."
"me tiger lily," that lovely creature would reply.
"peter pan save me, me his velly nice friend.
me no let pirates hurt him."
she was far too pretty to cringe in this way, but peter thought it his due, and he would answer condescendingly, "it is good.
peter pan has spoken."
always when he said, "peter pan has spoken," it meant that they must now shut up, and they accepted it humbly in that spirit; but they were by no means so respectful to the other boys, whom they looked upon as just ordinary braves.
they said "how-do?"
to them, and things like that; and what annoyed the boys was that peter seemed to think this all right.
secretly wendy sympathised with them a little, but she was far too loyal a housewife to listen to any complaints against father.
"father knows best," she always said, whatever her private opinion must be.
her private opinion was that the redskins should not call her a squaw.
we have now reached the evening that was to be known among them as the night of nights, because of its adventures and their upshot.
the day, as if quietly gathering its forces, had been almost uneventful, and now the redskins in their blankets were at their posts above, while, below, the children were having their evening meal; all except peter, who had gone out to get the time.
the way you got the time on the island was to find the crocodile, and then stay near him till the clock struck.
this meal happened to be a make-believe tea, and they sat round the board, guzzling in their greed; and really, what with their chatter and recriminations, the noise, as wendy said, was positively deafening.
to be sure, she did not mind noise, but she simply would not have them grabbing things, and then excusing themselves by saying that tootles had pushed their elbow.
there was a fixed rule that they must never hit back at meals, but should refer the matter of dispute to wendy by raising the right arm politely and saying," i complain of so-and-so"; but what usually happened was that they forgot to do this or did it too much.
"silence," cried wendy when for the twentieth time she had told them that they were not all to speak at once.
"is your calabash empty, slightly darling?"
"not quite empty, mummy," slightly said, after looking into an imaginary mug.
"he has n't even begun to drink his milk," nibs interposed.
this was telling, and slightly seized his chance."
i complain of nibs," he cried promptly.
john, however, had held up his hand first.
"well, john?"
"may i sit in peter's chair, as he is not here?"
"sit in father's chair, john!"
wendy was scandalised.
"certainly not."
"he is not really our father," john answered.
"he did n't even know how a father does till i showed him."
this was grumbling.
"we complain of john," cried the twins.
tootles held up his hand.
he was so much the humblest of them, indeed he was the only humble one, that wendy was specially gentle with him."
i do n't suppose," tootles said diffidently, "that i could be father."
"no, tootles."
once tootles began, which was not very often, he had a silly way of going on.
"as i ca n't be father," he said heavily," i do n't suppose, michael, you would let me be baby?"
"no, i wo n't," michael rapped out.
he was already in his basket.
"as i ca n't be baby," tootles said, getting heavier and heavier, "do you think i could be a twin?"
"no, indeed," replied the twins; "it's awfully difficult to be a twin."
"as i ca n't be anything important," said tootles, "would any of you like to see me do a trick?"
"no," they all replied.
then at last he stopped."
i had n't really any hope," he said.
the hateful telling broke out again.
"slightly is coughing on the table."
"the twins began with mammee-apples."
"curly is taking both tappa rolls and yams."
"nibs is speaking with his mouth full.'"
i complain of the twins.'"
i complain of curly.'"
i complain of nibs."
"oh dear, oh dear," cried wendy, "i'm sure i sometimes think that children are more trouble than they are worth."
she told them to clear away, and sat down to her work-basket: a heavy load of stockings and every knee with a hole in it as usual.
"wendy," remonstrated michael, "i'm too big for a cradle.'"
i must have somebody in a cradle," she said almost tartly, "and you are the littlest.
a cradle is such a nice homely thing to have about a house."
while she sewed they played around her; such a group of happy faces and dancing limbs lit up by that romantic fire.
it had become a very familiar scene this in the home under the ground, but we are looking on it for the last time.
there was a step above, and wendy, you may be sure, was the first to recognise it.
"children, i hear your father's step.
he likes you to meet him at the door."
above, the redskins crouched before peter.
"watch well, braves.
i have spoken."
and then, as so often before, the gay children dragged him from his tree.
as so often before, but never again.
he had brought nuts for the boys as well as the correct time for wendy.
"peter, you just spoil them, you know," wendy simpered.
"ah, old lady," said peter, hanging up his gun.
"it was me told him mothers are called old lady," michael whispered to curly."
i complain of michael," said curly instantly.
the first twin came to peter.
"father, we want to dance."
"dance away, my little man," said peter, who was in high good humour.
"but we want you to dance."
peter was really the best dancer among them, but he pretended to be scandalised.
"me!
my old bones would rattle."
"and mummy too."
"what," cried wendy, "the mother of such an armful, dance!"
"but on a saturday night," slightly insinuated.
it was not really saturday night, at least it may have been, for they had long lost count of the days; but always if they wanted to do anything special they said this was saturday night, and then they did it.
"of course it is saturday night, peter," wendy said, relenting.
"people of our figure, wendy."
"but it is only among our own progeny."
"true, true."
so they were told they could dance, but they must put on their nighties first.
"ah, old lady," peter said aside to wendy, warming himself by the fire and looking down at her as she sat turning a heel, "there is nothing more pleasant, of an evening for you and me when the day's toil is over than to rest by the fire with the little ones near by."
"it is sweet, peter, is n't it?"
wendy said, frightfully gratified.
"peter, i think curly has your nose."
"michael takes after you."
she went to him and put her hand on his shoulder.
"dear peter," she said, "with such a large family, of course, i have now passed my best, but you do n't want to change me, do you?"
"no, wendy."
certainly he did not want a change, but he looked at her uncomfortably; blinking, you know, like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep.
"peter, what is it?'"
i was just thinking," he said, a little scared.
"it is only make-believe, is n't it, that i am their father?"
"oh yes," wendy said primly.
"you see," he continued apologetically, "it would make me seem so old to be their real father."
"but they are ours, peter, yours and mine."
"but not really, wendy?"
he asked anxiously.
"not if you do n't wish it," she replied; and she distinctly heard his sigh of relief.
"peter," she asked, trying to speak firmly, "what are your exact feelings for me?"
"those of a devoted son, wendy.'"
i thought so," she said, and went and sat by herself at the extreme end of the room.
"you are so queer," he said, frankly puzzled, "and tiger lily is just the same.
there is something she wants to be to me, but she says it is not my mother."
"no, indeed, it is not," wendy replied with frightful emphasis.
now we know why she was prejudiced against the redskins.
"then what is it?"
"it is n't for a lady to tell."
"oh, very well," peter said, a little nettled.
"perhaps tinker bell will tell me."
"oh yes, tinker bell will tell you," wendy retorted scornfully.
"she is an abandoned little creature."
here tink, who was in her boudoir, eavesdropping, squeaked out something impudent.
"she says she glories in being abandoned," peter interpreted.
he had a sudden idea.
"perhaps tink wants to be my mother?"
"you silly ass!"
cried tinker bell in a passion.
she had said it so often that wendy needed no translation."
i almost agree with her," wendy snapped.
fancy wendy snapping.
but she had been much tried, and she little knew what was to happen before the night was out.
if she had known she would not have snapped.
none of them knew.
perhaps it was best not to know.
their ignorance gave them one more glad hour; and as it was to be their last hour on the island, let us rejoice that there were sixty glad minutes in it.
they sang and danced in their night-gowns.
such a deliciously creepy song it was, in which they pretended to be frightened at their own shadows; little witting that so soon shadows would close in upon them, from whom they would shrink in real fear.
so uproariously gay was the dance, and how they buffeted each other on the bed and out of it!
it was a pillow fight rather than a dance, and when it was finished, the pillows insisted on one bout more, like partners who know that they may never meet again.
the stories they told, before it was time for wendy's good-night story!
even slightly tried to tell a story that night, but the beginning was so fearfully dull that it appalled even himself, and he said gloomily: "yes, it is a dull beginning.
i say, let us pretend that it is the end."
and then at last they all got into bed for wendy's story, the story they loved best, the story peter hated.
usually when she began to tell this story he left the room or put his hands over his ears; and possibly if he had done either of those things this time they might all still be on the island.
but to-night he remained on his stool; and we shall see what happened.
chapter xi wendy's story "listen, then," said wendy, settling down to her story, with michael at her feet and seven boys in the bed.
"there was once a gentleman --"' i had rather he had been a lady," curly said."
i wish he had been a white rat," said nibs.
"quiet," their mother admonished them.
"there was a lady also, and --"' o mummy," cried the first twin, "you mean that there is a lady also, do n't you?
she is not dead, is she?"
"oh no.'"
i am awfully glad she is n't dead," said tootles.
"are you glad, john?"
"of course i am."
"are you glad, nibs?"
"rather."
"are you glad, twins?"
"we are just glad."
"oh dear," sighed wendy.
"little less noise there," peter called out, determined that she should have fair play, however beastly a story it might be in his opinion.
"the gentleman's name," wendy continued, "was mr. darling, and her name was mrs. darling.'"
i knew them," john said, to annoy the others."
i think i knew them," said michael rather doubtfully.
"they were married, you know," explained wendy, "and what do you think they had?"
"white rats," cried nibs, inspired.
"no."
"it's awfully puzzling," said tootles, who knew the story by heart.
"quiet, tootles.
they had three descendants."
"what is descendants?"
"well, you are one, twin.
"do you hear that, john?
i am a descendant."
"descendants are only children," said john.
"oh dear, oh dear," sighed wendy.
"now these three children had a faithful nurse called nana; but mr. darling was angry with her and chained her up in the yard; and so all the children flew away."
"it's an awfully good story," said nibs.
"they flew away," wendy continued, "to the neverland, where the lost children are.'"
i just thought they did," curly broke in excitedly."
i do n't know how it is, but i just thought they did.'"
o wendy," cried tootles, "was one of the lost children called tootles?"
"yes, he was.'"
i am in a story.
hurrah, i am in a story, nibs."
"hush.
now i want you to consider the feelings of the unhappy parents with all their children flown away."
"oo!"
they all moaned, though they were not really considering the feelings of the unhappy parents one jot.
"think of the empty beds!"
"oo!"
"it's awfully sad," the first twin said cheerfully."
i do n't see how it can have a happy ending," said the second twin.
"do you, nibs?"
"i'm frightfully anxious."
"if you knew how great is a mother's love," wendy told them triumphantly, "you would have no fear."
she had now come to the part that peter hated."
i do like a mother's love," said tootles, hitting nibs with a pillow.
"do you like a mother's love, nibs?'"
i do just," said nibs, hitting back.
"you see," wendy said complacently, "our heroine knew that the mother would always leave the window open for her children to fly back by; so they stayed away for years and had a lovely time."
"did they ever go back?"
"let us now," said wendy, bracing herself for her finest effort, "take a peep into the future"; and they all gave themselves the twist that makes peeps into the future easier.
"years have rolled by; and who is this elegant lady of uncertain age alighting at london station?'"
o wendy, who is she?"
cried nibs, every bit as excited as if he did n't know.
"can it be -- yes -- no -- it is -- the fair wendy!"
"oh!"
"and who are the two noble portly figures accompanying her, now grown to man's estate?
can they be john and michael?
they are!"
"oh!'"
""see, dear brothers," says wendy, pointing upwards," "there is the window still standing open.
ah, now we are rewarded for our sublime faith in a mother's love."
so up they flew to their mummy and daddy; and pen can not describe the happy scene, over which we draw a veil."
that was the story, and they were as pleased with it as the fair narrator herself.
everything just as it should be, you see.
off we skip like the most heartless things in the world, which is what children are, but so attractive; and we have an entirely selfish time; and then when we have need of special attention we nobly return for it, confident that we shall be embraced instead of smacked.
so great indeed was their faith in a mother's love that they felt they could afford to be callous for a bit longer.
but there was one there who knew better; and when wendy finished he uttered a hollow groan.
"what is it, peter?"
she cried, running to him, thinking he was ill.
she felt him solicitously, lower down than his chest.
"where is it, peter?"
"it is n't that kind of pain," peter replied darkly.
"then what kind is it?"
"wendy, you are wrong about mothers."
they all gathered round him in affright, so alarming was his agitation; and with a fine candour he told them what he had hitherto concealed.
"long ago," he said," i thought like you that my mother would always keep the window open for me; so i stayed away for moons and moons and moons, and then flew back; but the window was barred, for mother had forgotten all about me, and there was another little boy sleeping in my bed."
i am not sure that this was true, but peter thought it was true; and it scared them.
"are you sure mothers are like that?"
"yes."
so this was the truth about mothers.
the toads!
still it is best to be careful; and no one knows so quickly as a child when he should give in.
"wendy, let us go home," cried john and michael together.
"yes," she said, clutching them.
"not to-night?"
asked the lost boys bewildered.
they knew in what they called their hearts that one can get on quite well without a mother, and that it is only the mothers who think you ca n't.
"at once," wendy replied resolutely, for the horrible thought had come to her: "perhaps mother is in half mourning by this time."
this dread made her forgetful of what must be peter's feelings, and she said to him rather sharply, "peter, will you make the necessary arrangements?"
"if you wish it,", he replied, as coolly as if she had asked him to pass the nuts.
-lsb- illustration: wendy's story -rsb- not so much as a sorry-to-lose-you between them!
if she did not mind the parting, he was going to show her, was peter, that neither did he.
but of course he cared very much; and he was so full of wrath against grown-ups, who, as usual, were spoiling everything, that as soon as he got inside his tree he breathed intentionally quick short breaths at the rate of about five to a second.
he did this because there is a saying in the neverland that, every time you breathe, a grown-up dies; and peter was killing them off vindictively as fast as possible.
then having given the necessary instructions to the redskins he returned to the home, where an unworthy scene had been enacted in his absence.
panic-stricken at the thought of losing wendy the lost boys had advanced upon her threateningly.
"it will be worse than before she came," they cried.
"we sha n't let her go."
"let's keep her prisoner."
"ay, chain her up."
in her extremity an instinct told her to which of them to turn.
"tootles," she cried," i appeal to you."
was it not strange?
she appealed to tootles, quite the silliest one.
grandly, however, did tootles respond.
for that one moment he dropped his silliness and spoke with dignity."
i am just tootles," he said, "and nobody minds me.
but the first who does not behave to wendy like an english gentleman i will blood him severely."
he drew his hanger; and for that instant his sun was at noon.
the others held back uneasily.
then peter returned, and they saw at once that they would get no support from him.
he would keep no girl in the neverland against her will.
"wendy," he said, striding up and down," i have asked the redskins to guide you through the wood, as flying tires you so."
"thank you, peter."
"then," he continued, in the short sharp voice of one accustomed to be obeyed, "tinker bell will take you across the sea.
wake her, nibs."
nibs had to knock twice before he got an answer, though tink had really been sitting up in bed listening for some time.
"who are you?
how dare you?
go away," she cried.
"you are to get up, tink," nibs called, "and take wendy on a journey."
of course tink had been delighted to hear that wendy was going; but she was jolly well determined not to be her courier, and she said so in still more offensive language.
then she pretended to be asleep again.
"she says she wo n't," nibs exclaimed, aghast at such insubordination, whereupon peter went sternly toward the young lady's chamber.
"tink," he rapped out, "if you do n't get up and dress at once i will open the curtains, and then we shall all see you in your négligée."
this made her leap to the floor.
"who said i was n't getting up?"
she cried.
in the meantime the boys were gazing very forlornly at wendy, now equipped with john and michael for the journey.
by this time they were dejected, not merely because they were about to lose her, but also because they felt that she was going off to something nice to which they had not been invited.
novelty was beckoning to them as usual.
crediting them with a nobler feeling wendy melted.
"dear ones," she said, "if you will all come with me i feel almost sure i can get my father and mother to adopt you."
the invitation was meant specially for peter; but each of the boys was thinking exclusively of himself, and at once they jumped with joy.
"but wo n't they think us rather a handful?"
nibs asked in the middle of his jump.
"oh no," said wendy, rapidly thinking it out, "it will only mean having a few beds in the drawing-room; they can be hidden behind screens on first thursdays."
"peter, can we go?"
they all cried imploringly.
they took it for granted that if they went he would go also, but really they scarcely cared.
thus children are ever ready, when novelty knocks, to desert their dearest ones.
"all right," peter replied with a bitter smile; and immediately they rushed to get their things.
"and now, peter," wendy said, thinking she had put everything right," i am going to give you your medicine before you go."
she loved to give them medicine, and undoubtedly gave them too much.
of course it was only water, but it was out of a calabash, and she always shook the calabash and counted the drops, which gave it a certain medicinal quality.
on this occasion, however, she did not give peter his draught, for just as she had prepared it, she saw a look on his face that made her heart sink.
"get your things, peter," she cried, shaking.
"no," he answered, pretending indifference," i am not going with you, wendy."
"yes, peter."
"no."
to show that her departure would leave him unmoved, he skipped up and down the room, playing gaily on his heartless pipes.
she had to run about after him, though it was rather undignified.
"to find your mother," she coaxed.
now, if peter had ever quite had a mother, he no longer missed her.
he could do very well without one.
he had thought them out, and remembered only their bad points.
"no, no," he told wendy decisively; "perhaps she would say i was old, and i just want always to be a little boy and to have fun."
"but, peter --" "no."
and so the others had to be told.
"peter is n't coming."
peter not coming!
they gazed blankly at him, their sticks over their backs, and on each stick a bundle.
their first thought was that if peter was not going he had probably changed his mind about letting them go.
but he was far too proud for that.
"if you find your mothers," he said darkly," i hope you will like them."
the awful cynicism of this made an uncomfortable impression, and most of them began to look rather doubtful.
after all, their faces said, were they not noodles to want to go?
"now then," cried peter, "no fuss, no blubbering; good-bye, wendy"; and he held out his hand cheerily, quite as if they must really go now, for he had something important to do.
she had to take his hand, as there was no indication that he would prefer a thimble.
"you will remember about changing your flannels, peter?"
she said, lingering over him.
she was always so particular about their flannels.
"yes."
"and you will take your medicine?"
"yes."
that seemed to be everything; and an awkward pause followed.
peter, however, was not the kind that breaks down before people.
"are you ready, tinker bell?"
he called out.
"ay, ay."
"then lead the way."
tink darted up the nearest tree; but no one followed her, for it was at this moment that the pirates made their dreadful attack upon the redskins.
above, where all had been so still, the air was rent with shrieks and the clash of steel.
below, there was dead silence.
mouths opened and remained open.
wendy fell on her knees, but her arms were extended toward peter.
all arms were extended to him, as if suddenly blown in his direction; they were beseeching him mutely not to desert them.
as for peter, he seized his sword, the same he thought he had slain barbecue with; and the lust of battle was in his eye.
chapter xii the children are carried off the pirate attack had been a complete surprise: a sure proof that the unscrupulous hook had conducted it improperly, for to surprise redskins fairly is beyond the wit of the white man.
by all the unwritten laws of savage warfare it is always the redskin who attacks, and with the wiliness of his race he does it just before the dawn, at which time he knows the courage of the whites to be at its lowest ebb.
the white men have in the meantime made a rude stockade on the summit of yonder undulating ground, at the foot of which a stream runs; for it is destruction to be too far from water.
there they await the onslaught, the inexperienced ones clutching their revolvers and treading on twigs, but the old hands sleeping tranquilly until just before the dawn.
through the long black night the savage scouts wriggle, snake-like, among the grass without stirring a blade.
the brushwood closes behind them as silently as sand into which a mole has dived.
not a sound is to be heard, save when they give vent to a wonderful imitation of the lonely call of the coyote.
the cry is answered by other braves; and some of them do it even better than the coyotes, who are not very good at it.
so the chill hours wear on, and the long suspense is horribly trying to the paleface who has to live through it for the first time; but to the trained hand those ghastly calls and still ghastlier silences are but an intimation of how the night is marching.
that this was the usual procedure was so well known to hook that in disregarding it he can not be excused on the plea of ignorance.
the piccaninnies, on their part, trusted implicitly to his honour, and their whole action of the night stands out in marked contrast to his.
they left nothing undone that was consistent with the reputation of their tribe.
with that alertness of the senses which is at once the marvel and despair of civilised peoples, they knew that the pirates were on the island from the moment one of them trod on a dry stick; and in an incredibly short space of time the coyote cries began.
every foot of ground between the spot where hook had landed his forces and the home under the trees was stealthily examined by braves wearing their mocassins with the heels in front.
they found only one hillock with a stream at its base, so that hook had no choice; here he must establish himself and wait for just before the dawn.
everything being thus mapped out with almost diabolical cunning, the main body of the redskins folded their blankets around them, and in the phlegmatic manner that is to them the pearl of manhood squatted above the children's home, awaiting the cold moment when they should deal pale death.
here dreaming, though wide-awake, of the exquisite tortures to which they were to put him at break of day, those confiding savages were found by the treacherous hook.
from the accounts afterwards supplied by such of the scouts as escaped the carnage, he does not seem even to have paused at the rising ground, though it is certain that in that grey light he must have seen it: no thought of waiting to be attacked appears from first to last to have visited his subtle mind; he would not even hold off till the night was nearly spent; on he pounded with no policy but to fall to.
what could the bewildered scouts do, masters as they were of every warlike artifice save this one, but trot helplessly after him, exposing themselves fatally to view, the while they gave pathetic utterance to the coyote cry.
around the brave tiger lily were a dozen of her stoutest warriors, and they suddenly saw the perfidious pirates bearing down upon them.
fell from their eyes then the film through which they had looked at victory.
no more would they torture at the stake.
for them the happy hunting-grounds now.
they knew it; but as their fathers" sons they acquitted themselves.
even then they had time to gather in a phalanx that would have been hard to break had they risen quickly, but this they were forbidden to do by the traditions of their race.
it is written that the noble savage must never express surprise in the presence of the white.
thus terrible as the sudden appearance of the pirates must have been to them, they remained stationary for a moment, not a muscle moving; as if the foe had come by invitation.
then, indeed, the tradition gallantly upheld, they seized their weapons, and the air was torn with the warcry; but it was now too late.
it is no part of ours to describe what was a massacre rather than a fight.
thus perished many of the flower of the piccaninny tribe.
not all unavenged did they die, for with lean wolf fell alf mason, to disturb the spanish main no more; and among others who bit the dust were geo.
scourie, chas.
turley, and the alsatian foggerty.
turley fell to the tomahawk of the terrible panther, who ultimately cut a way through the pirates with tiger lily and a small remnant of the tribe.
to what extent hook is to blame for his tactics on this occasion is for the historian to decide.
had he waited on the rising ground till the proper hour he and his men would probably have been butchered; and in judging him it is only fair to take this into account.
what he should perhaps have done was to acquaint his opponents that he proposed to follow a new method.
on the other hand this, as destroying the element of surprise, would have made his strategy of no avail, so that the whole question is beset with difficulties.
one can not at least withhold a reluctant admiration for the wit that had conceived so bold a scheme, and the fell genius with which it was carried out.
what were his own feelings about himself at that triumphant moment?
fain would his dogs have known, as breathing heavily and wiping their cutlasses, they gathered at a discreet distance from his hook, and squinted through their ferret eyes at this extraordinary man.
elation must have been in his heart, but his face did not reflect it: ever a dark and solitary enigma, he stood aloof from his followers in spirit as in substance.
the night's work was not yet over, for it was not the redskins he had come out to destroy; they were but the bees to be smoked, so that he should get at the honey.
it was pan he wanted, pan and wendy and their band, but chiefly pan.
peter was such a small boy that one tends to wonder at the man's hatred of him.
true he had flung hook's arm to the crocodile; but even this and the increased insecurity of life to which it led, owing to the crocodile's pertinacity, hardly account for a vindictiveness so relentless and malignant.
the truth is that there was a something about peter which goaded the pirate captain to frenzy.
it was not his courage, it was not his engaging appearance, it was not --.
there is no beating about the bush, for we know quite well what it was, and have got to tell.
it was peter's cockiness.
this had got on hook's nerves; it made his iron claw twitch, and at night it disturbed him like an insect.
while peter lived, the tortured man felt that he was a lion in a cage into which a sparrow had come.
the question now was how to get down the trees, or how to get his dogs down?
he ran his greedy eyes over them, searching for the thinnest ones.
they wriggled uncomfortably, for they knew he would not scruple to ram them down with poles.
in the meantime, what of the boys?
we have seen them at the first clang of weapons, turned as it were into stone figures, open-mouthed, all appealing with outstretched arms to peter; and we return to them as their mouths close, and their arms fall to their sides.
the pandemonium above has ceased almost as suddenly as it arose, passed like a fierce gust of wind; but they know that in the passing it has determined their fate.
which side had won?
the pirates, listening avidly at the mouths of the trees, heard the question put by every boy, and alas, they also heard peter's answer.
"if the redskins have won," he said, "they will beat the tom-tom; it is always their sign of victory."
now smee had found the tom-tom, and was at that moment sitting on it.
"you will never hear the tom-tom again," he muttered, but inaudibly of course, for strict silence had been enjoined.
to his amazement hook signed to him to beat the tom-tom; and slowly there came to smee an understanding of the dreadful wickedness of the order.
never, probably, had this simple man admired hook so much.
twice smee beat upon the instrument, and then stopped to listen gleefully.
"the tom-tom," the miscreants heard peter cry; "an indian victory!"
the doomed children answered with a cheer that was music to the black hearts above, and almost immediately they repeated their goodbyes to peter.
this puzzled the pirates, but all their other feelings were swallowed by a base delight that the enemy were about to come up the trees.
they smirked at each other and rubbed their hands.
rapidly and silently hook gave his orders: one man to each tree, and the others to arrange themselves in a line two yards apart.
chapter xiii do you believe in fairies?
the more quickly this horror is disposed of the better.
the first to emerge from his tree was curly.
he rose out of it into the arms of cecco, who flung him to smee, who flung him to starkey, who flung him to bill jukes, who flung him to noodler, and so he was tossed from one to another till he fell at the feet of the black pirate.
all the boys were plucked from their trees in this ruthless manner; and several of them were in the air at a time, like bales of goods flung from hand to hand.
-lsb- illustration: flung like bales -rsb- a different treatment was accorded to wendy, who came last.
with ironical politeness hook raised his hat to her, and, offering her his arm, escorted her to the spot where the others were being gagged.
he did it with such an air, he was so frightfully distingué, that she was too fascinated to cry out.
she was only a little girl.
perhaps it is tell-tale to divulge that for a moment hook entranced her, and we tell on her only because her slip led to strange results.
had she haughtily unhanded him -lrb- and we should have loved to write it of her -rrb-, she would have been hurled through the air like the others, and then hook would probably not have been present at the tying of the children; and had he not been at the tying he would not have discovered slightly's secret, and without the secret he could not presently have made his foul attempt on peter's life.
they were tied to prevent their flying away, doubled up with their knees close to their ears; and for the trussing of them the black pirate had cut a rope into nine equal pieces.
all went well until slightly's turn came, when he was found to be like those irritating parcels that use up all the string in going round and leave no tags with which to tie a knot.
the pirates kicked him in their rage, just as you kick the parcel -lrb- though in fairness you should kick the string -rrb-; and strange to say it was hook who told them to belay their violence.
his lip was curled with malicious triumph.
while his dogs were merely sweating because every time they tried to pack the unhappy lad tight in one part he bulged out in another, hook's master mind had gone far beneath slightly's surface, probing not for effects but for causes; and his exultation showed that he had found them.
slightly, white to the gills, knew that hook had surprised his secret, which was this, that no boy so blown out could use a tree wherein an average man need stick.
poor slightly, most wretched of all the children now, for he was in a panic about peter, bitterly regretted what he had done.
madly addicted to the drinking of water when he was hot, he had swelled in consequence to his present girth, and instead of reducing himself to fit his tree he had, unknown to the others, whittled his tree to make it fit him.
sufficient of this hook guessed to persuade him that peter at last lay at his mercy; but no word of the dark design that now formed in the subterranean caverns of his mind crossed his lips; he merely signed that the captives were to be conveyed to the ship, and that he would be alone.
how to convey them?
hunched up in their ropes they might indeed be rolled down hill like barrels, but most of the way lay through a morass.
again hook's genius surmounted difficulties.
he indicated that the little house must be used as a conveyance.
the children were flung into it, four stout pirates raised it on their shoulders, the others fell in behind, and singing the hateful pirate chorus the strange procession set off through the wood.
i do n't know whether any of the children were crying; if so, the singing drowned the sound; but as the little house disappeared in the forest, a brave though tiny jet of smoke issued from its chimney as if defying hook.
hook saw it, and it did peter a bad service.
it dried up any trickle of pity for him that may have remained in the pirate's infuriated breast.
the first thing he did on finding himself alone in the fast falling night was to tiptoe to slightly's tree, and make sure that it provided him with a passage.
then for long he remained brooding; his hat of ill omen on the sward, so that a gentle breeze which had arisen might play refreshingly through his hair.
dark as were his thoughts his blue eyes were as soft as the periwinkle.
intently he listened for any sound from the nether world, but all was as silent below as above; the house under the ground seemed to be but one more empty tenement in the void.
was that boy asleep, or did he stand waiting at the foot of slightly's tree, with his dagger in his hand?
there was no way of knowing, save by going down.
hook let his cloak slip softly to the ground, and then biting his lips till a lewd blood stood on them, he stepped into the tree.
he was a brave man; but for a moment he had to stop there and wipe his brow, which was dripping like a candle.
then silently he let himself go into the unknown.
he arrived unmolested at the foot of the shaft, and stood still again, biting at his breath, which had almost left him.
as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light various objects in the home under the trees took shape; but the only one on which his greedy gaze rested, long sought for and found at last, was the great bed.
on the bed lay peter fast asleep.
unaware of the tragedy being enacted above, peter had continued, for a little time after the children left, to play gaily on his pipes: no doubt rather a forlorn attempt to prove to himself that he did not care.
then he decided not to take his medicine, so as to grieve wendy.
then he lay down on the bed outside the coverlet, to vex her still more; for she had always tucked them inside it, because you never know that you may not grow chilly at the turn of the night.
then he nearly cried; but it struck him how indignant she would be if he laughed instead; so he laughed a haughty laugh and fell asleep in the middle of it.
sometimes, though not often, he had dreams, and they were more painful than the dreams of other boys.
for hours he could not be separated from these dreams, though he wailed piteously in them.
they had to do, i think, with the riddle of his existence.
at such times it had been wendy's custom to take him out of bed and sit with him on her lap, soothing him in dear ways of her own invention, and when he grew calmer to put him back to bed before he quite woke up, so that he should not know of the indignity to which she had subjected him.
but on this occasion he had fallen at once into a dreamless sleep.
one arm dropped over the edge of the bed, one leg was arched, and the unfinished part of his laugh was stranded on his mouth, which was open, showing the little pearls.
thus defenceless hook found him.
he stood silent at the foot of the tree looking across the chamber at his enemy.
did no feeling of compassion disturb his sombre breast?
the man was not wholly evil; he loved flowers -lrb- i have been told -rrb- and sweet music -lrb- he was himself no mean performer on the harpsichord -rrb-; and, let it be frankly admitted, the idyllic nature of the scene stirred him profoundly.
mastered by his better self he would have returned reluctantly up the tree, but for one thing.
what stayed him was peter's impertinent appearance as he slept.
the open mouth, the drooping arm, the arched knee: they were such a personification of cockiness as, taken together, will never again one may hope be presented to eyes so sensitive to their offensiveness.
they steeled hook's heart.
if his rage had broken him into a hundred pieces every one of them would have disregarded the incident, and leapt at the sleeper.
though a light from the one lamp shone dimly on the bed hook stood in darkness himself, and at the first stealthy step forward he discovered an obstacle, the door of slightly's tree.
it did not entirely fill the aperture, and he had been looking over it.
feeling for the catch, he found to his fury that it was low down, beyond his reach.
to his disordered brain it seemed then that the irritating quality in peter's face and figure visibly increased, and he rattled the door and flung himself against it.
was his enemy to escape him after all.
but what was that?
the red in his eye had caught sight of peter's medicine standing on a ledge within easy reach.
he fathomed what it was straightway, and immediately he knew that the sleeper was in his power.
lest he should be taken alive, hook always carried about his person a dreadful drug, blended by himself of all the death-dealing rings that had come into his possession.
these he had boiled down into a yellow liquid quite unknown to science, which was probably the most virulent poison in existence.
five drops of this he now added to peter's cup.
his hand shook, but it was in exultation rather than in shame.
as he did it he avoided glancing at the sleeper, but not lest pity should unnerve him; merely to avoid spilling.
then one long gloating look he cast upon his victim, and turning, wormed his way with difficulty up the tree.
as he emerged at the top he looked the very spirit of evil breaking from its hole.
donning his hat at its most rakish angle, he wound his cloak around him, holding one end in front as if to conceal his person from the night, of which it was the blackest part, and muttering strangely to himself stole away through the trees.
peter slept on.
the light guttered and went out, leaving the tenement in darkness; but still he slept.
it must have been not less than ten o'clock by the crocodile, when he suddenly sat up in his bed, wakened by he knew not what.
it was a soft cautious tapping on the door of his tree.
soft and cautious, but in that stillness it was sinister.
peter felt for his dagger till his hand gripped it.
then he spoke.
"who is that?"
for long there was no answer: then again the knock.
"who are you?"
no answer.
he was thrilled, and he loved being thrilled.
in two strides he reached his door.
unlike slightly's door it filled the aperture, so that he could not see beyond it, nor could the one knocking see him."
i wo n't open unless you speak," peter cried.
then at last the visitor spoke, in a lovely bell-like voice.
"let me in, peter."
it was tink, and quickly he unbarred to her.
she flew in excitedly, her face flushed and her dress stained with mud.
"what is it?"
"oh, you could never guess," she cried, and offered him three guesses.
"out with it!"
he shouted; and in one ungrammatical sentence, as long as the ribbons conjurers pull from their mouths, she told of the capture of wendy and the boys.
peter's heart bobbed up and down as he listened.
wendy bound, and on the pirate ship; she who loved everything to be just so!
"i'll rescue her," he cried, leaping at his weapons.
as he leapt he thought of something he could do to please her.
he could take his medicine.
his hand closed on the fatal draught.
"no!"
shrieked tinker bell, who had heard hook muttering about his deed as he sped through the forest.
"why not?"
"it is poisoned."
"poisoned?
who could have poisoned it?"
"hook."
"do n't be silly.
how could hook have got down here?"
alas, tinker bell could not explain this, for even she did not know the dark secret of slightly's tree.
nevertheless hook's words had left no room for doubt.
the cup was poisoned.
"besides," said peter, quite believing himself," i never fell asleep."
he raised the cup.
no time for words now; time for deeds; and with one of her lightning movements tink got between his lips and the draught, and drained it to the dregs.
"why, tink, how dare you drink my medicine?"
but she did not answer.
already she was reeling in the air.
"what is the matter with you?"
cried peter, suddenly afraid.
"it was poisoned, peter," she told him softly; "and now i am going to be dead.'"
o tink, did you drink it to save me?"
"yes."
"but why, tink?"
her wings would scarcely carry her now, but in reply she alighted on his shoulder and gave his chin a loving bite.
she whispered in his ear "you silly ass"; and then, tottering to her chamber, lay down on the bed.
his head almost filled the fourth wall of her little room as he knelt near her in distress.
every moment her light was growing fainter; and he knew that if it went out she would be no more.
she liked his tears so much that she put out her beautiful finger and let them run over it.
her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said.
then he made it out.
she was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies.
peter flung out his arms.
there were no children there, and it was night-time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees.
"do you believe?"
he cried.
tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate.
she fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she was n't sure.
"what do you think?"
she asked peter.
"if you believe," he shouted to them, "clap your hands; do n't let tink die."
many clapped.
some did n't.
a few little beasts hissed.
the clapping stopped suddenly; as if countless mothers had rushed to their nurseries to see what on earth was happening; but already tink was saved.
first her voice grew strong; then she popped out of bed; then she was flashing through the room more merry and impudent than ever.
she never thought of thanking those who believed, but she would have liked to get at the ones who had hissed.
"and now to rescue wendy."
the moon was riding in a cloudy heaven when peter rose from his tree, begirt with weapons and wearing little else, to set out upon his perilous quest.
it was not such a night as he would have chosen.
he had hoped to fly, keeping not far from the ground so that nothing unwonted should escape his eyes; but in that fitful light to have flown low would have meant trailing his shadow through the trees, thus disturbing the birds and acquainting a watchful foe that he was astir.
he regretted now that he had given the birds of the island such strange names that they are very wild and difficult of approach.
there was no other course but to press forward in redskin fashion, at which happily he was an adept.
but in what direction, for he could not be sure that the children had been taken to the ship?
a slight fall of snow had obliterated all footmarks; and a deathly silence pervaded the island, as if for a space nature stood still in horror of the recent carnage.
he had taught the children something of the forest lore that he had himself learned from tiger lily and tinker bell, and knew that in their dire hour they were not likely to forget it.
slightly, if he had an opportunity, would blaze the trees, for instance, curly would drop seeds, and wendy would leave her handkerchief at some important place.
but morning was needed to search for such guidance, and he could not wait.
the upper world had called him, but would give no help.
the crocodile passed him, but not another living thing, not a sound, not a movement; and yet he knew well that sudden death might be at the next tree, or stalking him from behind.
he swore this terrible oath: "hook or me this time."
now he crawled forward like a snake; and again, erect, he darted across a space on which the moonlight played: one finger on his lip and his dagger at the ready.
he was frightfully happy.
chapter xiv the pirate ship one green light squinting over kidd's creek, which is near the mouth of the pirate river, marked where the brig, the jolly roger, lay, low in the water; a rakish-looking craft foul to the hull, every beam in her detestable like ground strewn with mangled feathers.
she was the cannibal of the seas, and scarce needed that watchful eye, for she floated immune in the horror of her name.
she was wrapped in the blanket of night, through which no sound from her could have reached the shore.
there was little sound, and none agreeable save the whir of the ship's sewing machine at which smee sat, ever industrious and obliging, the essence of the commonplace, pathetic smee.
i know not why he was so infinitely pathetic, unless it were because he was so pathetically unaware of it; but even strong men had to turn hastily from looking at him, and more than once on summer evenings he had touched the fount of hook's tears and made it flow.
of this, as of almost everything else, smee was quite unconscious.
a few of the pirates leant over the bulwarks drinking in the miasma of the night; others sprawled by barrels over games of dice and cards; and the exhausted four who had carried the little house lay prone on the deck, where even in their sleep they rolled skilfully to this side or that out of hook's reach, lest he should claw them mechanically in passing.
hook trod the deck in thought.
o man unfathomable.
it was his hour of triumph.
peter had been removed for ever from his path, and all the other boys were on the brig, about to walk the plank.
it was his grimmest deed since the days when he had brought barbecue to heel; and knowing as we do how vain a tabernacle is man, could we be surprised had he now paced the deck unsteadily, bellied out by the winds of his success?
but there was no elation in his gait, which kept pace with the action of his sombre mind.
hook was profoundly dejected.
he was often thus when communing with himself on board ship in the quietude of the night.
it was because he was so terribly alone.
this inscrutable man never felt more alone than when surrounded by his dogs.
they were socially so inferior to him.
hook was not his true name.
to reveal who he really was would even at this date set the country in a blaze; but as those who read between the lines must already have guessed, he had been at a famous public school; and its traditions still clung to him like garments, with which indeed they are largely concerned.
thus it was offensive to him even now to board a ship in the same dress in which he grappled her; and he still adhered in his walk to the school's distinguished slouch.
but above all he retained the passion for good form.
good form!
however much he may have degenerated, he still knew that this is all that really matters.
from far within him he heard a creaking as of rusty portals, and through them came a stern tap-tap-tap, like hammering in the night when one can not sleep.
"have you been good form to-day?"
was their eternal question.
"fame, fame, that glittering bauble, it is mine," he cried.
"is it quite good form to be distinguished at anything?"
the tap-tap from his school replied."
i am the only man whom barbecue feared," he urged; "and flint himself feared barbecue."
"barbecue, flint -- what house?"
came the cutting retort.
most disquieting reflection of all, was it not bad form to think about good form?
his vitals were tortured by this problem.
it was a claw within him sharper than the iron one; and as it tore him, the perspiration dripped down his tallow countenance and streaked his doublet.
ofttimes he drew his sleeve across his face, but there was no damming that trickle.
ah, envy not hook.
there came to him a presentiment of his early dissolution.
it was as if peter's terrible oath had boarded the ship.
hook felt a gloomy desire to make his dying speech, lest presently there should be no time for it.
"better for hook," he cried, "if he had had less ambition."
it was in his darkest hours only that he referred to himself in the third person.
"no little children love me."
strange that he should think of this, which had never troubled him before; perhaps the sewing machine brought it to his mind.
for long he muttered to himself, staring at smee, who was hemming placidly, under the conviction that all children feared him.
feared him!
feared smee!
there was not a child on board the brig that night who did not already love him.
he had said horrid things to them and hit them with the palm of his hand, because he could not hit with his fist; but they had only clung to him the more.
michael had tried on his spectacles.
to tell poor smee that they thought him lovable!
hook itched to do it, but it seemed too brutal.
instead, he revolved this mystery in his mind: why do they find smee lovable?
he pursued the problem like the sleuth-hound that he was.
if smee was lovable, what was it that made him so?
a terrible answer suddenly presented itself: "good form?"
had the bo "sun good form without knowing it, which is the best form of all?
he remembered that you have to prove you do n't know you have it before you are eligible for pop.
with a cry of rage he raised his iron hand over smee's head; but he did not tear.
what arrested him was this reflection: "to claw a man because he is good form, what would that be?"
"bad form!"
the unhappy hook was as impotent as he was damp, and he fell forward like a cut flower.
his dogs thinking him out of the way for a time, discipline instantly relaxed; and they broke into a bacchanalian dance, which brought him to his feet at once; all traces of human weakness gone, as if a bucket of water had passed over him.
"quiet, you scugs," he cried, "or i'll cast anchor in you"; and at once the din was hushed.
"are all the children chained, so that they can not fly away?"
"ay, ay."
"then hoist them up."
the wretched prisoners were dragged from the hold, all except wendy, and ranged in line in front of him.
for a time he seemed unconscious of their presence.
he lolled at his ease, humming, not unmelodiously, snatches of a rude song, and fingering a pack of cards.
ever and anon the light from his cigar gave a touch of colour to his face.
"now then, bullies," he said briskly, "six of you walk the plank to-night, but i have room for two cabin boys.
which of you is it to be?"
"do n't irritate him unnecessarily," had been wendy's instructions in the hold; so tootles stepped forward politely.
tootles hated the idea of signing under such a man, but an instinct told him that it would be prudent to lay the responsibility on an absent person; and though a somewhat silly boy, he knew that mothers alone are always willing to be the buffer.
all children know this about mothers, and despise them for it, but make constant use of it.
so tootles explained prudently, "you see, sir, i do n't think my mother would like me to be a pirate.
would your mother like you to be a pirate, slightly?"
he winked at slightly, who said mournfully," i do n't think so," as if he wished things had been otherwise.
"would your mother like you to be a pirate, twin?'"
i do n't think so," said the first twin, as clever as the others.
"nibs, would --" "stow this gab," roared hook, and the spokesmen were dragged back.
"you, boy," he said, addressing john, "you look as if you had a little pluck in you.
didst never want to be a pirate, my hearty?"
now john had sometimes experienced this hankering at maths.
prep.; and he was struck by hook's picking him out."
i once thought of calling myself red-handed jack," he said diffidently.
"and a good name too.
we'll call you that here, bully, if you join."
"what do you think, michael?"
asked john.
"what would you call me if i join?"
michael demanded.
"blackbeard joe."
michael was naturally impressed.
"what do you think, john?"
he wanted john to decide, and john wanted him to decide.
"shall we still be respectful subjects of the king?"
john inquired.
through hook's teeth came the answer: "you would have to swear, "down with the king.""
perhaps john had not behaved very well so far, but he shone out now.
"then i refuse," he cried, banging the barrel in front of hook.
"and i refuse," cried michael.
"rule britannia!"
squeaked curly.
the infuriated pirates buffeted them in the mouth; and hook roared out, "that seals your doom.
bring up their mother.
get the plank ready."
they were only boys, and they went white as they saw jukes and cecco preparing the fatal plank.
but they tried to look brave when wendy was brought up.
no words of mine can tell you how wendy despised those pirates.
to the boys there was at least some glamour in the pirate calling; but all that she saw was that the ship had not been scrubbed for years.
there was not a porthole, on the grimy glass of which you might not have written with your finger "dirty pig"; and she had already written it on several.
but as the boys gathered round her she had no thought, of course, save for them.
"so, my beauty," said hook, as if he spoke in syrup, "you are to see your children walk the plank."
fine gentleman though he was, the intensity of his communings had soiled his ruff, and suddenly he knew that she was gazing at it.
with a hasty gesture he tried to hide it, but he was too late.
"are they to die?"
asked wendy, with a look of such frightful contempt that he nearly fainted.
"they are," he snarled.
"silence all," he called gloatingly, "for a mother's last words to her children."
at this moment wendy was grand.
"these are my last words, dear boys," she said firmly."
i feel that i have a message to you from your real mothers, and it is this: "we hope our sons will die like english gentlemen.""
even the pirates were awed; and tootles cried out hysterically," i am going to do what my mother hopes.
what are you to do, nibs?"
"what my mother hopes.
what are you to do, twin?"
"what my mother hopes.
john, what are --" but hook had found his voice again.
"tie her up," he shouted.
it was smee who tied her to the mast.
"see here, honey," he whispered, "i'll save you if you promise to be my mother."
but not even for smee would she make such a promise."
i would almost rather have no children at all," she said disdainfully.
it is sad to know that not a boy was looking at her as smee tied her to the mast; the eyes of all were on the plank: that last little walk they were about to take.
they were no longer able to hope that they would walk it manfully, for the capacity to think had gone from them; they could stare and shiver only.
hook smiled on them with his teeth closed, and took a step toward wendy.
his intention was to turn her face so that she should see the boys walking the plank one by one.
but he never reached her, he never heard the cry of anguish he hoped to wring from her.
he heard something else instead.
it was the terrible tick-tick of the crocodile.
they all heard it -- pirates, boys, wendy; and immediately every head was blown in one direction; not to the water whence the sound proceeded, but toward hook.
all knew that what was about to happen concerned him alone, and that from being actors they were suddenly become spectators.
very frightful was it to see the change that came over him.
it was as if he had been clipped at every joint.
he fell in a little heap.
the sound came steadily nearer; and in advance of it came this ghastly thought, "the crocodile is about to board the ship."
even the iron claw hung inactive; as if knowing that it was no intrinsic part of what the attacking force wanted.
left so fearfully alone, any other man would have lain with his eyes shut where he fell: but the gigantic brain of hook was still working, and under its guidance he crawled on his knees along the deck as far from the sound as he could go.
the pirates respectfully cleared a passage for him, and it was only when he brought up against the bulwarks that he spoke.
"hide me," he cried hoarsely.
they gathered round him; all eyes averted from the thing that was coming aboard.
they had no thought of fighting it.
it was fate.
only when hook was hidden from them did curiosity loosen the limbs of the boys so that they could rush to the ship's side to see the crocodile climbing it.
then they got the strangest surprise of this night of nights; for it was no crocodile that was coming to their aid.
it was peter.
he signed to them not to give vent to any cry of admiration that might rouse suspicion.
then he went on ticking.
chapter xv "hook or me this time" odd things happen to all of us on our way through life without our noticing for a time that they have happened.
thus, to take an instance, we suddenly discover that we have been deaf in one ear for we do n't know how long, but, say, half an hour.
now such an experience had come that night to peter.
when last we saw him he was stealing across the island with one finger to his lips and his dagger at the ready.
he had seen the crocodile pass by without noticing anything peculiar about it, but by and by he remembered that it had not been ticking.
at first he thought this eerie, but soon he concluded rightly that the clock had run down.
without giving a thought to what might be the feelings of a fellow-creature thus abruptly deprived of its closest companion, peter at once considered how he could turn the catastrophe to his own use; and he decided to tick, so that wild beasts should believe he was the crocodile and let him pass unmolested.
he ticked superbly, but with one unforeseen result.
the crocodile was among those who heard the sound, and it followed him, though whether with the purpose of regaining what it had lost, or merely as a friend under the belief that it was again ticking itself, will never be certainly known, for, like all slaves to a fixed idea, it was a stupid beast.
peter reached the shore without mishap, and went straight on; his legs encountering the water as if quite unaware that they had entered a new element.
thus many animals pass from land to water, but no other human of whom i know.
as he swam he had but one thought: "hook or me this time."
he had ticked so long that he now went on ticking without knowing that he was doing it.
had he known he would have stopped, for to board the brig by the help of the tick, though an ingenious idea, had not occurred to him.
-lsb- illustration: hook or me this time -rsb- on the contrary, he thought he had scaled her side as noiseless as a mouse; and he was amazed to see the pirates cowering from him, with hook in their midst as abject as if he had heard the crocodile.
the crocodile!
no sooner did peter remember it than he heard the ticking.
at first he thought the sound did come from the crocodile, and he looked behind him swiftly.
then he realised that he was doing it himself, and in a flash he understood the situation.
"how clever of me," he thought at once, and signed to the boys not to burst into applause.
it was at this moment that ed teynte the quartermaster emerged from the forecastle and came along the deck.
now, reader, time what happened by your watch.
peter struck true and deep.
john clapped his hands on the ill-fated pirate's mouth to stifle the dying groan.
he fell forward.
four boys caught him to prevent the thud.
peter gave the signal, and the carrion was cast overboard.
there was a splash, and then silence.
how long has it taken?
"one!"
-lrb- slightly had begun to count. -rrb-
none too soon, peter, every inch of him on tiptoe, vanished into the cabin; for more than one pirate was screwing up his courage to look round.
they could hear each other's distressed breathing now, which showed them that the more terrible sound had passed.
"it's gone, captain," smee said, wiping his spectacles.
"all's still again."
slowly hook let his head emerge from his ruff, and listened so intently that he could have caught the echo of the tick.
there was not a sound, and he drew himself up firmly to his full height.
"then here's to johnny plank," he cried brazenly, hating the boys more than ever because they had seen him unbend.
he broke into the villainous ditty: "yo ho, yo ho, the frisky plank, you walks along it so, till it goes down and you goes down to davy jones below!"
to terrorise the prisoners the more, though with a certain loss of dignity, he danced along an imaginary plank, grimacing at them as he sang; and when he finished he cried, "do you want a touch of the cat before you walk the plank?"
at that they fell on their knees.
"no, no," they cried so piteously that every pirate smiled.
"fetch the cat, jukes," said hook; "it's in the cabin."
the cabin!
peter was in the cabin!
the children gazed at each other.
"ay, ay," said jukes blithely, and he strode into the cabin.
they followed him with their eyes; they scarce knew that hook had resumed his song, his dogs joining in with him: "yo ho, yo ho, the scratching cat, its tails are nine, you know, and when they're writ upon your back -- what was the last line will never be known, for of a sudden the song was stayed by a dreadful screech from the cabin.
it wailed through the ship, and died away.
then was heard a crowing sound which was well understood by the boys, but to the pirates was almost more eerie than the screech.
"what was that?"
cried hook.
"two," said slightly solemnly.
the italian cecco hesitated for a moment and then swung into the cabin.
he tottered out, haggard.
"what's the matter with bill jukes, you dog?"
hissed hook, towering over him.
"the matter wi" him is he's dead, stabbed," replied cecco in a hollow voice.
"bill jukes dead!"
cried the startled pirates.
"the cabin's as black as a pit," cecco said, almost gibbering, "but there is something terrible in there: the thing you heard crowing."
the exultation of the boys, the lowering looks of the pirates, both were seen by hook.
"cecco," he said in his most steely voice, "go back and fetch me out that doodle-doo."
cecco, bravest of the brave, cowered before his captain, crying "no, no"; but hook was purring to his claw.
"did you say you would go, cecco?"
he said musingly.
cecco went, first flinging up his arms despairingly.
there was no more singing, all listened now; and again came a death-screech and again a crow.
no one spoke except slightly.
"three," he said.
hook rallied his dogs with a gesture."
sdeath and odds fish," he thundered, "who is to bring me that doodle-doo?"
"wait till cecco comes out," growled starkey, and the others took up the cry."
i think i heard you volunteer, starkey," said hook, purring again.
"no, by thunder!"
starkey cried.
"my hook thinks you did," said hook, crossing to him."
i wonder if it would not be advisable, starkey, to humour the hook?"
"i'll swing before i go in there," replied starkey doggedly, and again he had the support of the crew.
"is it mutiny?"
asked hook more pleasantly than ever.
"starkey's ringleader."
"captain, mercy," starkey whimpered, all of a tremble now.
"shake hands, starkey," said hook, proffering his claw.
starkey looked round for help, but all deserted him.
as he backed hook advanced, and now the red spark was in his eye.
with a despairing scream the pirate leapt upon long tom and precipitated himself into the sea.
"four," said slightly.
"and now," hook asked courteously, "did any other gentleman say mutiny?"
seizing a lantern and raising his claw with a menacing gesture, "i'll bring out that doodle-doo myself," he said, and sped into the cabin.
"five."
how slightly longed to say it.
he wetted his lips to be ready, but hook came staggering out, without his lantern.
"something blew out the light," he said a little unsteadily.
"something!"
echoed mullins.
"what of cecco?"
demanded noodler.
"he's as dead as jukes," said hook shortly.
his reluctance to return to the cabin impressed them all unfavourably, and the mutinous sounds again broke forth.
all pirates are superstitious; and cookson cried, "they do say the surest sign a ship's accurst is when there's one on board more than can be accounted for."
"i've heard," muttered mullins, "he always boards the pirate craft at last.
had he a tail, captain?"
"they say," said another, looking viciously at hook, "that when he comes it's in the likeness of the wickedest man aboard."
"had he a hook, captain?"
asked cookson insolently; and one after another took up the cry, "the ship's doomed."
at this the children could not resist raising a cheer.
hook had well-nigh forgotten his prisoners, but as he swung round on them now his face lit up again.
"lads," he cried to his crew, "here's a notion.
open the cabin door and drive them in.
let them fight the doodle-doo for their lives.
if they kill him, we're so much the better; if he kills them, we're none the worse."
for the last time his dogs admired hook, and devotedly they did his bidding.
the boys, pretending to struggle, were pushed into the cabin and the door was closed on them.
"now, listen," cried hook, and all listened.
but not one dared to face the door.
yes, one, wendy, who all this time had been bound to the mast.
it was for neither a scream nor a crow that she was watching; it was for the reappearance of peter.
she had not long to wait.
in the cabin he had found the thing for which he had gone in search: the key that would free the children of their manacles; and now they all stole forth, armed with such weapons as they could find.
first signing to them to hide, peter cut wendy's bonds, and then nothing could have been easier than for them all to fly off together; but one thing barred the way, an oath, "hook or me this time."
so when he had freed wendy, he whispered to her to conceal herself with the others, and himself took her place by the mast, her cloak around him so that he should pass for her.
then he took a great breath and crowed.
to the pirates it was a voice crying that all the boys lay slain in the cabin; and they were panic-stricken.
hook tried to hearten them; but like the dogs he had made them they showed him their fangs, and he knew that if he took his eyes off them now they would leap at him.
"lads," he said, ready to cajole or strike as need be, but never quailing for an instant, "i've thought it out.
there's a jonah abroad."
"ay," they snarled," a man wi" a hook."
"no, lads, no, it's the girl.
never was luck on a pirate ship wi" a woman on board.
we'll right the ship when she's gone."
some of them remembered that this had been a saying of flint's.
"it's worth trying," they said doubtfully.
"fling the girl overboard," cried hook; and they made a rush at the figure in the cloak.
"there's none can save you now, missy," mullins hissed jeeringly.
"there's one," replied the figure.
"who's that?"
"peter pan the avenger!"
came the terrible answer; and as he spoke peter flung off his cloak.
then they all knew who't was that had been undoing them in the cabin, and twice hook essayed to speak and twice he failed.
in that frightful moment i think his fierce heart broke.
at last he cried, "cleave him to the brisket," but without conviction.
"down, boys, and at them," peter's voice rang out; and in another moment the clash of arms was resounding through the ship.
had the pirates kept together it is certain that they would have won; but the onset came when they were all unstrung, and they ran hither and thither, striking wildly, each thinking himself the last survivor of the crew.
man to man they were the stronger; but they fought on the defensive only, which enabled the boys to hunt in pairs and choose their quarry.
some of the miscreants leapt into the sea; others hid in dark recesses, where they were found by slightly, who did not fight, but ran about with a lantern which he flashed in their faces, so that they were half blinded and fell an easy prey to the reeking swords of the other boys.
there was little sound to be heard but the clang of weapons, an occasional screech or splash, and slightly monotonously counting -- five -- six -- seven -- eight -- nine -- ten -- eleven.
i think all were gone when a group of savage boys surrounded hook, who seemed to have a charmed life, as he kept them at bay in that circle of fire.
they had done for his dogs, but this man alone seemed to be a match for them all.
again and again they closed upon him, and again and again he hewed a clear space.
he had lifted up one boy with his hook, and was using him as a buckler, when another, who had just passed his sword through mullins, sprang into the fray.
"put up your swords, boys," cried the newcomer, "this man is mine."
-lsb- illustration: "this man is mine!" -rsb-
thus suddenly hook found himself face to face with peter.
the others drew back and formed a ring round them.
for long the two enemies looked at one another; hook shuddering slightly, and peter with the strange smile upon his face.
"so, pan," said hook at last, "this is all your doing."
"ay, james hook," came the stern answer, "it is all my doing."
"proud and insolent youth," said hook, "prepare to meet thy doom."
"dark and sinister man," peter answered, "have at thee."
without more words they fell to, and for a space there was no advantage to either blade.
peter was a superb swordsman, and parried with dazzling rapidity; ever and anon he followed up a feint with a lunge that got past his foe's defence, but his shorter reach stood him in ill stead, and he could not drive the steel home.
hook, scarcely his inferior in brilliancy, but not quite so nimble in wrist play, forced him back by the weight of his onset, hoping suddenly to end all with a favourite thrust, taught him long ago by barbecue at rio; but to his astonishment he found this thrust turned aside again and again.
then he sought to close and give the quietus with his iron hook, which all this time had been pawing the air; but peter doubled under it and, lunging fiercely, pierced him in the ribs.
at sight of his own blood, whose peculiar colour, you remember, was offensive to him, the sword fell from hook's hand, and he was at peter's mercy.
"now!"
cried all the boys; but with a magnificent gesture peter invited his opponent to pick up his sword.
hook did so instantly, but with a tragic feeling that peter was showing good form.
hitherto he had thought it was some fiend fighting him, but darker suspicions assailed him now.
"pan, who and what art thou?"
he cried huskily.
"i'm youth, i'm joy," peter answered at a venture, "i'm a little bird that has broken out of the egg."
this, of course, was nonsense; but it was proof to the unhappy hook that peter did not know in the least who or what he was, which is the very pinnacle of good form.
"to" t again," he cried despairingly.
he fought now like a human flail, and every sweep of that terrible sword would have severed in twain any man or boy who obstructed it; but peter fluttered round him as if the very wind it made blew him out of the danger zone.
and again and again he darted in and pricked.
hook was fighting now without hope.
that passionate breast no longer asked for life; but for one boon it craved: to see peter bad form before it was cold for ever.
abandoning the fight he rushed into the powder magazine and fired it.
"in two minutes," he cried, "the ship will be blown to pieces."
now, now, he thought, true form will show.
but peter issued from the powder magazine with the shell in his hands, and calmly flung it overboard.
what sort of form was hook himself showing?
misguided man though he was, we may be glad, without sympathising with him, that in the end he was true to the traditions of his race.
the other boys were flying around him now, flouting, scornful; and as he staggered about the deck striking up at them impotently, his mind was no longer with them; it was slouching in the playing fields of long ago, or being sent up for good, or watching the wall-game from a famous wall.
and his shoes were right, and his waistcoat was right, and his tie was right, and his socks were right.
james hook, thou not wholly unheroic figure, farewell.
for we have come to his last moment.
seeing peter slowly advancing upon him through the air with dagger poised, he sprang upon the bulwarks to cast himself into the sea.
he did not know that the crocodile was waiting for him; for we purposely stopped the clock that this knowledge might be spared him: a little mark of respect from us at the end.
he had one last triumph, which i think we need not grudge him.
as he stood on the bulwark looking over his shoulder at peter gliding through the air, he invited him with a gesture to use his foot.
it made peter kick instead of stab.
at last hook had got the boon for which he craved.
"bad form," he cried jeeringly, and went content to the crocodile.
thus perished james hook.
"seventeen," slightly sang out; but he was not quite correct in his figures.
fifteen paid the penalty for their crimes that night; but two reached the shore: starkey to be captured by the redskins, who made him nurse for all their papooses, a melancholy come-down for a pirate; and smee, who henceforth wandered about the world in his spectacles, making a precarious living by saying he was the only man that jas.
hook had feared.
wendy, of course, had stood by taking no part in the fight, though watching peter with glistening eyes; but now that all was over she became prominent again.
she praised them equally, and shuddered delightfully when michael showed her the place where he had killed one; and then she took them into hook's cabin and pointed to his watch which was hanging on a nail.
it said "half-past one"!
the lateness of the hour was almost the biggest thing of all.
she got them to bed in the pirates" bunks pretty quickly, you may be sure; all but peter, who strutted up and down on deck, until at last he fell asleep by the side of long tom.
he had one of his dreams that night, and cried in his sleep for a long time, and wendy held him tight.
chapter xvi the return home by two bells that morning they were all stirring their stumps; for there was a big sea running; and tootles, the bo "sun, was among them, with a rope's end in his hand and chewing tobacco.
they all donned pirate clothes cut off at the knee, shaved smartly, and tumbled up, with the true nautical roll and hitching their trousers.
it need not be said who was the captain.
nibs and john were first and second mate.
there was a woman aboard.
the rest were tars before the mast, and lived in the fo "c "sle.
peter had already lashed himself to the wheel; but he piped all hands and delivered a short address to them; said he hoped they would do their duty like gallant hearties, but that he knew they were the scum of rio and the gold coast, and if they snapped at him he would tear them.
his bluff strident words struck the note sailors understand, and they cheered him lustily.
then a few sharp orders were given, and they turned the ship round, and nosed her for the mainland.
captain pan calculated, after consulting the ship's chart, that if this weather lasted they should strike the azores about the 21st of june, after which it would save time to fly.
some of them wanted it to be an honest ship and others were in favour of keeping it a pirate; but the captain treated them as dogs, and they dared not express their wishes to him even in a round robin.
instant obedience was the only safe thing.
slightly got a dozen for looking perplexed when told to take soundings.
the general feeling was that peter was honest just now to lull wendy's suspicions, but that there might be a change when the new suit was ready, which, against her will, she was making for him out of some of hook's wickedest garments.
it was afterwards whispered among them that on the first night he wore this suit he sat long in the cabin with hook's cigar-holder in his mouth and one hand clenched, all but the forefinger, which he bent and held threateningly aloft like a hook.
instead of watching the ship, however, we must now return to that desolate home from which three of our characters had taken heartless flight so long ago.
it seems a shame to have neglected no. 14 all this time; and yet we may be sure that mrs. darling does not blame us.
if we had returned sooner to look with sorrowful sympathy at her, she would probably have cried, "do n't be silly; what do i matter?
do go back and keep an eye on the children."
so long as mothers are like this their children will take advantage of them; and they may lay to that.
even now we venture into that familiar nursery only because its lawful occupants are on their way home; we are merely hurrying on in advance of them to see that their beds are properly aired and that mr. and mrs. darling do not go out for the evening.
we are no more than servants.
why on earth should their beds be properly aired, seeing that they left them in such a thankless hurry?
would it not serve them jolly well right if they came back and found that their parents were spending the week-end in the country?
it would be the moral lesson they have been in need of ever since we met them; but if we contrived things in this way mrs. darling would never forgive us.
one thing i should like to do immensely, and that is to tell her, in the way authors have, that the children are coming back, that indeed they will be here on thursday week.
this would spoil so completely the surprise to which wendy and john and michael are looking forward.
they have been planning it out on the ship: mother's rapture, father's shout of joy, nana's leap through the air to embrace them first, when what they ought to be preparing for is a good hiding.
how delicious to spoil it all by breaking the news in advance; so that when they enter grandly mrs. darling may not even offer wendy her mouth, and mr. darling may exclaim pettishly, "dash it all, here are those boys again."
however, we should get no thanks even for this.
we are beginning to know mrs. darling by this time, and may be sure that she would upbraid us for depriving the children of their little pleasure.
"but, my dear madam, it is ten days till thursday week; so that by telling you what's what, we can save you ten days of unhappiness."
"yes, but at what a cost!
by depriving the children of ten minutes of delight."
"oh, if you look at it in that way."
"what other way is there in which to look at it?"
you see, the woman had no proper spirit.
i had meant to say extraordinarily nice things about her; but i despise her, and not one of them will i say now.
she does not really need to be told to have things ready, for they are ready.
all the beds are aired, and she never leaves the house, and observe, the window is open.
for all the use we are to her, we might go back to the ship.
however, as we are here we may as well stay and look on.
that is all we are, lookers-on.
nobody really wants us.
so let us watch and say jaggy things, in the hope that some of them will hurt.
the only change to be seen in the night-nursery is that between nine and six the kennel is no longer there.
when the children flew away, mr. darling felt in his bones that all the blame was his for having chained nana up, and that from first to last she had been wiser than he.
of course, as we have seen, he was quite a simple man; indeed he might have passed for a boy again if he had been able to take his baldness off; but he had also a noble sense of justice and a lion courage to do what seemed right to him; and having thought the matter out with anxious care after the flight of the children, he went down on all fours and crawled into the kennel.
to all mrs. darling's dear invitations to him to come out he replied sadly but firmly: "no, my own one, this is the place for me."
in the bitterness of his remorse he swore that he would never leave the kennel until his children came back.
of course this was a pity; but whatever mr. darling did he had to do in excess; otherwise he soon gave up doing it.
and there never was a more humble man than the once proud george darling, as he sat in the kennel of an evening talking with his wife of their children and all their pretty ways.
very touching was his deference to nana.
he would not let her come into the kennel, but on all other matters he followed her wishes implicitly.
every morning the kennel was carried with mr. darling in it to a cab, which conveyed him to his office, and he returned home in the same way at six.
something of the strength of character of the man will be seen if we remember how sensitive he was to the opinion of neighbours: this man whose every movement now attracted surprised attention.
inwardly he must have suffered torture; but he preserved a calm exterior even when the young criticised his little home, and he always lifted his hat courteously to any lady who looked inside.
it may have been quixotic, but it was magnificent.
soon the inward meaning of it leaked out, and the great heart of the public was touched.
crowds followed the cab, cheering it lustily; charming girls scaled it to get his autograph; interviews appeared in the better class of papers, and society invited him to dinner and added, "do come in the kennel."
on that eventful thursday week mrs. darling was in the night-nursery awaiting george's return home: a very sad-eyed woman.
now that we look at her closely and remember the gaiety of her in the old days, all gone now just because she has lost her babes, i find i wo n't be able to say nasty things about her after all.
if she was too fond of her rubbishy children she could n't help it.
look at her in her chair, where she has fallen asleep.
the corner of her mouth, where one looks first, is almost withered up.
her hand moves restlessly on her breast as if she had a pain there.
some like peter best and some like wendy best, but i like her best.
suppose, to make her happy, we whisper to her in her sleep that the brats are coming back.
they are really within two miles of the window now, and flying strong, but all we need whisper is that they are on the way.
let's.
it is a pity we did it, for she has started up, calling their names; and there is no one in the room but nana."
o nana, i dreamt my dear ones had come back."
nana had filmy eyes, but all she could do was to put her paw gently on her mistress's lap; and they were sitting together thus when the kennel was brought back.
as mr. darling puts his head out at it to kiss his wife, we see that his face is more worn than of yore, but has a softer expression.
he gave his hat to liza, who took it scornfully; for she had no imagination, and was quite incapable of understanding the motives of such a man.
outside, the crowd who had accompanied the cab home were still cheering, and he was naturally not unmoved.
"listen to them," he said; "it is very gratifying."
"lot of little boys," sneered liza.
"there were several adults to-day," he assured her with a faint flush; but when she tossed her head he had not a word of reproof for her.
social success had not spoilt him; it had made him sweeter.
for some time he sat half out of the kennel, talking with mrs. darling of this success, and pressing her hand reassuringly when she said she hoped his head would not be turned by it.
"but if i had been a weak man," he said.
"good heavens, if i had been a weak man!"
"and, george," she said timidly, "you are as full of remorse as ever, are n't you?"
"full of remorse as ever, dearest!
see my punishment: living in a kennel."
"but it is punishment, is n't it, george?
you are sure you are not enjoying it?"
"my love!"
you may be sure she begged his pardon; and then, feeling drowsy, he curled round in the kennel.
"wo n't you play me to sleep," he asked, "on the nursery piano?"
and as she was crossing to the day nursery he added thoughtlessly, "and shut that window.
i feel a draught.'"
o george, never ask me to do that.
the window must always be left open for them, always, always."
now it was his turn to beg her pardon; and she went into the day nursery and played, and soon he was asleep; and while he slept, wendy and john and michael flew into the room.
oh no.
we have written it so, because that was the charming arrangement planned by them before we left the ship; but something must have happened since then, for it is not they who have flown in, it is peter and tinker bell.
peter's first words tell all.
"quick, tink," he whispered, "close the window; bar it.
that's right.
now you and i must get away by the door; and when wendy comes she will think her mother has barred her out; and she will have to go back with me."
now i understand what had hitherto puzzled me, why when peter had exterminated the pirates he did not return to the island and leave tink to escort the children to the mainland.
this trick had been in his head all the time.
instead of feeling that he was behaving badly he danced with glee; then he peeped into the day-nursery to see who was playing.
he whispered to tink, "it's wendy's mother.
she is a pretty lady, but not so pretty as my mother.
her mouth is full of thimbles, but not so full as my mother's was."
of course he knew nothing whatever about his mother; but he sometimes bragged about her.
he did not know the tune, which was "home, sweet home," but he knew it was saying, "come back, wendy, wendy, wendy"; and he cried exultantly, "you will never see wendy again, lady, for the window is barred."
he peeped in again to see why the music had stopped; and now he saw that mrs. darling had laid her head on the box, and that two tears were sitting on her eyes.
"she wants me to unbar the window," thought peter, "but i wo n't, not i." he peeped again, and the tears were still there, or another two had taken their place.
"she's awfully fond of wendy," he said to himself.
he was angry with her now for not seeing why she could not have wendy.
the reason was so simple: "i'm fond of her too.
we ca n't both have her, lady."
but the lady would not make the best of it, and he was unhappy.
he ceased to look at her, but even then she would not let go of him.
he skipped about and made funny faces, but when he stopped it was just as if she were inside him, knocking.
"oh, all right," he said at last, and gulped.
then he unbarred the window.
"come on, tink," he cried, with a frightful sneer at the laws of nature; "we do n't want any silly mothers"; and he flew away.
thus wendy and john and michael found the window open for them after all, which of course was more than they deserved.
they alighted on the floor, quite unashamed of themselves; and the youngest one had already forgotten his home.
"john," he said, looking around him doubtfully," i think i have been here before."
"of course you have, you silly.
there is your old bed."
"so it is," michael said, but not with much conviction."
i say," cried john, "the kennel!"
and he dashed across to look into it.
"perhaps nana is inside it," wendy said.
but john whistled.
"hullo," he said, "there's a man inside it."
"it's father!"
exclaimed wendy.
"let me see father," michael begged eagerly, and he took a good look.
"he is not so big as the pirate i killed," he said with such frank disappointment that i am glad mr. darling was asleep; it would have been sad if those had been the first words he heard his little michael say.
wendy and john had been taken aback somewhat at finding their father in the kennel.
"surely," said john, like one who had lost faith in his memory, "he used not to sleep in the kennel?"
"john," wendy said falteringly, "perhaps we do n't remember the old life as well as we thought we did."
a chill fell upon them; and serve them right.
"it is very careless of mother," said that young scoundrel john, "not to be here when we come back."
it was then that mrs. darling began playing again.
"it's mother!"
cried wendy, peeping.
"so it is!"
said john.
"then are you not really our mother, wendy?"
asked michael, who was surely sleepy.
"oh dear!"
exclaimed wendy, with her first real twinge of remorse, "it was quite time we came back."
"let us creep in," john suggested, "and put our hands over her eyes."
but wendy, who saw that they must break the joyous news more gently, had a better plan.
"let us all slip into our beds, and be there when she comes in, just as if we had never been away."
and so when mrs. darling went back to the night-nursery to see if her husband was asleep, all the beds were occupied.
the children waited for her cry of joy, but it did not come.
she saw them, but she did not believe they were there.
you see, she saw them in their beds so often in her dreams that she thought this was just the dream hanging around her still.
she sat down in the chair by the fire, where in the old days she had nursed them.
they could not understand this, and a cold fear fell upon all the three of them.
"mother!"
wendy cried.
"that's wendy," she said, but still she was sure it was the dream.
"mother!"
"that's john," she said.
"mother!"
cried michael.
he knew her now.
"that's michael," she said, and she stretched out her arms for the three little selfish children they would never envelop again.
yes, they did, they went round wendy and john and michael, who had slipped out of bed and run to her.
"george, george," she cried when she could speak; and mr. darling woke to share her bliss, and nana came rushing in.
there could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a strange boy who was staring in at the window.
he had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be for ever barred.
chapter xvii when wendy grew up i hope you want to know what became of the other boys.
they were waiting below to give wendy time to explain about them; and when they had counted five hundred they went up.
they went up by the stair, because they thought this would make a better impression.
they stood in a row in front of mrs. darling, with their hats off, and wishing they were not wearing their pirate clothes.
they said nothing, but their eyes asked her to have them.
they ought to have looked at mr. darling also, but they forgot about him.
of course mrs. darling said at once that she would have them; but mr. darling was curiously depressed, and they saw that he considered six a rather large number."
i must say," he said to wendy, "that you do n't do things by halves," a grudging remark which the twins thought was pointed at them.
the first twin was the proud one, and he asked, flushing, "do you think we should be too much of a handful, sir?
because if so we can go away."
"father!"
wendy cried, shocked; but still the cloud was on him.
he knew he was behaving unworthily, but he could not help it.
"we could lie doubled up," said nibs."
i always cut their hair myself," said wendy.
"george!"
mrs. darling exclaimed, pained to see her dear one showing himself in such an unfavourable light.
then he burst into tears, and the truth came out.
he was as glad to have them as she was, he said, but he thought they should have asked his consent as well as hers, instead of treating him as a cypher in his own house."
i do n't think he is a cypher," tootles cried instantly.
"do you think he is a cypher, curly?"
"no, i do n't.
do you think he is a cypher, slightly?"
"rather not.
twin, what do you think?"
it turned out that not one of them thought him a cypher; and he was absurdly gratified, and said he would find space for them all in the drawing-room if they fitted in.
"we'll fit in, sir," they assured him.
"then follow the leader," he cried gaily.
"mind you, i am not sure that we have a drawing-room, but we pretend we have, and it's all the same.
hoop la!"
he went off dancing through the house, and they all cried "hoop la!"
and danced after him, searching for the drawing-room; and i forget whether they found it, but at any rate they found corners, and they all fitted in.
as for peter, he saw wendy once again before he flew away.
he did not exactly come to the window, but he brushed against it in passing, so that she could open it if she liked and call to him.
that was what she did.
"hullo, wendy, good-bye," he said.
"oh dear, are you going away?"
"yes."
"you do n't feel, peter," she said falteringly, "that you would like to say anything to my parents about a very sweet subject?"
"no."
"about me, peter?"
"no."
mrs. darling came to the window, for at present she was keeping a sharp eye on wendy.
she told peter that she had adopted all the other boys, and would like to adopt him also.
"would you send me to school?"
he inquired craftily.
"yes."
"and then to an office?'"
i suppose so."
"soon i should be a man?"
"very soon.'"
i do n't want to go to school and learn solemn things," he told her passionately."
i do n't want to be a man.
o wendy's mother, if i was to wake up and feel there was a beard!"
"peter," said wendy the comforter," i should love you in a beard"; and mrs. darling stretched out her arms to him, but he repulsed her.
"keep back, lady, no one is going to catch me and make me a man."
"but where are you going to live?"
"with tink in the house we built for wendy.
the fairies are to put it high up among the tree tops where they sleep at nights."
"how lovely," cried wendy so longingly that mrs. darling tightened her grip."
i thought all the fairies were dead," mrs. darling said.
"there are always a lot of young ones," explained wendy, who was now quite an authority, "because you see when a new baby laughs for the first time a new fairy is born, and as there are always new babies there are always new fairies.
they live in nests on the tops of trees; and the mauve ones are boys and the white ones are girls, and the blue ones are just little sillies who are not sure what they are.'"
i shall have such fun," said peter, with one eye on wendy.
"it will be rather lonely in the evening," she said, "sitting by the fire.'"
i shall have tink."
"tink ca n't go a twentieth part of the way round," she reminded him a little tartly.
"sneaky tell-tale!"
tink called out from somewhere round the corner.
"it does n't matter," peter said."
o peter, you know it matters."
"well, then, come with me to the little house."
"may i, mummy?"
"certainly not.
i have got you home again, and i mean to keep you."
"but he does so need a mother."
"so do you, my love."
"oh, all right," peter said, as if he had asked her from politeness merely; but mrs. darling saw his mouth twitch, and she made this handsome offer: to let wendy go to him for a week every year to do his spring cleaning.
wendy would have preferred a more permanent arrangement; and it seemed to her that spring would be long in coming; but this promise sent peter away quite gay again.
he had no sense of time, and was so full of adventures that all i have told you about him is only a halfpenny-worth of them.
i suppose it was because wendy knew this that her last words to him were these rather plaintive ones: "you wo n't forget me, peter, will you, before spring-cleaning time comes?"
of course peter promised; and then he flew away.
he took mrs. darling's kiss with him.
the kiss that had been for no one else peter took quite easily.
funny.
but she seemed satisfied.
of course all the boys went to school; and most of them got into class iii., but slightly was put first into class iv.
and then into class v. class i. is the top class.
before they had attended school a week they saw what goats they had been not to remain on the island; but it was too late now, and soon they settled down to being as ordinary as you or me or jenkins minor.
it is sad to have to say that the power to fly gradually left them.
at first nana tied their feet to the bed-posts so that they should not fly away in the night; and one of their diversions by day was to pretend to fall off "buses; but by and by they ceased to tug at their bonds in bed, and found that they hurt themselves when they let go of the "bus.
in time they could not even fly after their hats.
want of practice, they called it; but what it really meant was that they no longer believed.
michael believed longer than the other boys, though they jeered at him; so he was with wendy when peter came for her at the end of the first year.
she flew away with peter in the frock she had woven from leaves and berries in the neverland, and her one fear was that he might notice how short it had become; but he never noticed, he had so much to say about himself.
she had looked forward to thrilling talks with him about old times, but new adventures had crowded the old ones from his mind.
"who is captain hook?"
he asked with interest when she spoke of the arch enemy.
"do n't you remember," she asked, amazed, "how you killed him and saved all our lives?'"
i forget them after i kill them," he replied carelessly.
when she expressed a doubtful hope that tinker bell would be glad to see her he said, "who is tinker bell?'"
o peter," she said, shocked; but even when she explained he could not remember.
"there are such a lot of them," he said."
i expect she is no more."
i expect he was right, for fairies do n't live long, but they are so little that a short time seems a good while to them.
wendy was pained too to find that the past year was but as yesterday to peter; it had seemed such a long year of waiting to her.
but he was exactly as fascinating as ever, and they had a lovely spring cleaning in the little house on the tree tops.
next year he did not come for her.
she waited in a new frock because the old one simply would not meet; but he never came.
"perhaps he is ill," michael said.
"you know he is never ill."
michael came close to her and whispered, with a shiver, "perhaps there is no such person, wendy!"
and then wendy would have cried if michael had not been crying.
peter came next spring cleaning; and the strange thing was that he never knew he had missed a year.
that was the last time the girl wendy ever saw him.
for a little longer she tried for his sake not to have growing pains; and she felt she was untrue to him when she got a prize for general knowledge.
but the years came and went without bringing the careless boy; and when they met again wendy was a married woman, and peter was no more to her than a little dust in the box in which she had kept her toys.
wendy was grown up.
you need not be sorry for her.
she was one of the kind that likes to grow up.
in the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than other girls.
all the boys were grown up and done for by this time; so it is scarcely worth while saying anything more about them.
you may see the twins and nibs and curly any day going to an office, each carrying a little bag and an umbrella.
michael is an engine-driver.
slightly married a lady of title, and so he became a lord.
you see that judge in a wig coming out at the iron door?
that used to be tootles.
the bearded man who does n't know any story to tell his children was once john.
wendy was married in white with a pink sash.
it is strange to think that peter did not alight in the church and forbid the banns.
years rolled on again, and wendy had a daughter.
this ought not to be written in ink but in a golden splash.
she was called jane, and always had an odd inquiring look, as if from the moment she arrived on the mainland she wanted to ask questions.
when she was old enough to ask them they were mostly about peter pan.
she loved to hear of peter, and wendy told her all she could remember in the very nursery from which the famous flight had taken place.
it was jane's nursery now, for her father had bought it at the three per cents.
from wendy's father, who was no longer fond of stairs.
mrs. darling was now dead and forgotten.
there were only two beds in the nursery now, jane's and her nurse's; and there was no kennel, for nana also had passed away.
she died of old age, and at the end she had been rather difficult to get on with; being very firmly convinced that no one knew how to look after children except herself.
once a week jane's nurse had her evening off; and then it was wendy's part to put jane to bed.
that was the time for stories.
it was jane's invention to raise the sheet over her mother's head and her own, thus making a tent, and in the awful darkness to whisper: "what do we see now?'"
i do n't think i see anything to-night," says wendy, with a feeling that if nana were here she would object to further conversation.
"yes, you do," says jane, "you see when you were a little girl."
"that is a long time ago, sweetheart," says wendy.
"ah me, how time flies!"
"does it fly," asks the artful child, "the way you flew when you were a little girl?"
"the way i flew!
do you know, jane, i sometimes wonder whether i ever did really fly."
"yes, you did."
"the dear old days when i could fly!"
"why ca n't you fly now, mother?"
"because i am grown up, dearest.
when people grow up they forget the way."
"why do they forget the way?"
"because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless.
it is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly."
"what is gay and innocent and heartless?
i do wish i was gay and innocent and heartless."
or perhaps wendy admits that she does see something."
i do believe," she says, "that it is this nursery.'"
i do believe it is," says jane.
"go on."
they are now embarked on the great adventure of the night when peter flew in looking for his shadow.
"the foolish fellow," says wendy, "tried to stick it on with soap, and when he could not he cried, and that woke me, and i sewed it on for him."
"you have missed a bit," interrupts jane, who now knows the story better than her mother.
"when you saw him sitting on the floor crying what did you say?'"
i sat up in bed and i said, "boy, why are you crying?""
"yes, that was it," says jane, with a big breath.
"and then he flew us all away to the neverland and the fairies and the pirates and the redskins and the mermaids" lagoon, and the home under the ground, and the little house."
"yes!
which did you like best of all?'"
i think i liked the home under the ground best of all."
"yes, so do i.
what was the last thing peter ever said to you?"
"the last thing he ever said to me was, "just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.""
"yes."
"but, alas, he forgot all about me."
wendy said it with a smile.
she was as grown up as that.
"what did his crow sound like?"
jane asked one evening.
"it was like this," wendy said, trying to imitate peter's crow.
"no, it was n't," jane said gravely, "it was like this"; and she did it ever so much better than her mother.
wendy was a little startled.
"my darling, how can you know?'"
i often hear it when i am sleeping," jane said.
"ah yes, many girls hear it when they are sleeping, but i was the only one who heard it awake."
"lucky you," said jane.
and then one night came the tragedy.
it was the spring of the year, and the story had been told for the night, and jane was now asleep in her bed.
wendy was sitting on the floor, very close to the fire, so as to see to darn, for there was no other light in the nursery; and while she sat darning she heard a crow.
then the window blew open as of old, and peter dropped on the floor.
he was exactly the same as ever, and wendy saw at once that he still had all his first teeth.
he was a little boy, and she was grown up.
she huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.
"hullo, wendy," he said, not noticing any difference, for he was thinking chiefly of himself; and in the dim light her white dress might have been the night-gown in which he had seen her first.
"hullo, peter," she replied faintly, squeezing herself as small as possible.
something inside her was crying "woman, woman, let go of me."
"hullo, where is john?"
he asked, suddenly missing the third bed.
"john is not here now," she gasped.
"is michael asleep?"
he asked, with a careless glance at jane.
"yes," she answered; and now she felt that she was untrue to jane as well as to peter.
"that is not michael," she said quickly, lest a judgment should fall on her.
peter looked.
"hullo, is it a new one?"
"yes."
"boy or girl?"
"girl."
now surely he would understand; but not a bit of it.
"peter," she said, faltering, "are you expecting me to fly away with you?"
"of course that is why i have come."
he added a little sternly, "have you forgotten that this is spring-cleaning time?"
she knew it was useless to say that he had let many spring-cleaning times pass."
i ca n't come," she said apologetically," i have forgotten how to fly."
"i'll soon teach you again.'"
o peter, do n't waste the fairy dust on me."
she had risen; and now at last a fear assailed him.
"what is it?"
he cried, shrinking."
i will turn up the light," she said, "and then you can see for yourself."
for almost the only time in his life that i know of, peter was afraid.
"do n't turn up the light," he cried.
she let her hands play in the hair of the tragic boy.
she was not a little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet smiles.
then she turned up the light, and peter saw.
he gave a cry of pain; and when the tall beautiful creature stooped to lift him in her arms he drew back sharply.
"what is it?"
he cried again.
she had to tell him."
i am old, peter.
i am ever so much more than twenty.
i grew up long ago."
"you promised not to!'"
i could n't help it.
i am a married woman, peter."
"no, you're not."
"yes, and the little girl in the bed is my baby."
"no, she's not."
but he supposed she was; and he took a step towards the sleeping child with his dagger upraised.
of course he did not strike.
he sat down on the floor instead and sobbed; and wendy did not know how to comfort him, though she could have done it so easily once.
she was only a woman now, and she ran out of the room to try to think.
peter continued to cry, and soon his sobs woke jane.
she sat up in bed, and was interested at once.
-lsb- illustration: peter and jane -rsb- "boy," she said, "why are you crying?"
peter rose and bowed to her, and she bowed to him from the bed.
"hullo," he said.
"hullo," said jane.
"my name is peter pan," he told her.
"yes, i know.'"
i came back for my mother," he explained; "to take her to the neverland."
"yes, i know," jane said," i been waiting for you."
when wendy returned diffidently she found peter sitting on the bed-post crowing gloriously, while jane in her nighty was flying round the room in solemn ecstasy.
"she is my mother," peter explained; and jane descended and stood by his side, with the look on her face that he liked to see on ladies when they gazed at him.
"he does so need a mother," jane said.
"yes, i know," wendy admitted rather forlornly; "no one knows it so well as i." "good-bye," said peter to wendy; and he rose in the air, and the shameless jane rose with him; it was already her easiest way of moving about.
wendy rushed to the window.
"no, no," she cried.
"it is just for spring-cleaning time," jane said; "he wants me always to do his spring cleaning."
"if only i could go with you," wendy sighed.
"you see you ca n't fly," said jane.
of course in the end wendy let them fly away together.
our last glimpse of her shows her at the window, watching them receding into the sky until they were as small as stars.
as you look at wendy you may see her hair becoming white, and her figure little again, for all this happened long ago.
jane is now a common grown-up, with a daughter called margaret; and every spring-cleaning time, except when he forgets, peter comes for margaret and takes her to the neverland, where she tells him stories about himself, to which he listens eagerly.
when margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.
_book_title_: lewis_carroll___alice's_adventures_under_ground.txt.out
chapter 1 -lsb- illustration -rsb- alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, and where is the use of a book, thought alice, without pictures or conversations?
so she was considering in her own mind, -lrb- as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid, -rrb- whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain was worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when a white rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.
there was nothing very remarkable in that, nor did alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the rabbit say to itself "dear, dear!
i shall be too late!"
-lrb- when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural -rrb-; but when the rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, looked at it, and then hurried on, alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket or a watch to take out of it, and, full of curiosity, she hurried across the field after it, and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.
in a moment down went alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.
the rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly, that alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself, before she found herself falling down what seemed a deep well.
either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what would happen next.
first, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything: then, she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves: here and there were maps and pictures hung on pegs.
she took a jar down off one of the shelves as she passed: it was labelled "orange marmalade," but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar, for fear of killing somebody underneath, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.
""well!"
thought alice to herself, "after such a fall as this, i shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs!
how brave they'll all think me at home!
why, i would n't say anything about it, even if i fell off the top of the house!"
-lrb- which was most likely true. -rrb-
down, down, down.
would the fall never come to an end?
""i wonder how many miles i've fallen by this time?"
she said aloud, "i must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth.
let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, i think --" -lrb- for you see alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this was not a very good opportunity of showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to hear her, still it was good practice to say it over, -rrb- "yes that's the right distance, but then what longitude or latitude-line shall i be in?"
-lrb- alice had no idea what longitude was, or latitude either, but she thought they were nice grand words to say. -rrb-
presently she began again: "i wonder if i shall fall right through the earth!
how funny it'll be to come out among the people that walk with their heads downwards!
but i shall have to ask them what the name of the country is, you know.
please, ma'am, is this new zealand or australia?"
-- and she tried to curtsey as she spoke -lrb- fancy curtseying as you're falling through the air!
do you think you could manage it? -rrb-
""and what an ignorant little girl she'll think me for asking!
no, it'll never do to ask: perhaps i shall see it written up somewhere."
down, down, down: there was nothing else to do, so alice soon began talking again.
""dinah will miss me very much tonight, i should think!"
-lrb- dinah was the cat. -rrb-
""i hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time!
oh, dear dinah, i wish i had you here!
there are no mice in the air, i'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you know, my dear.
but do cats eat bats, i wonder?"
and here alice began to get rather sleepy, and kept on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way "do cats eat bats?
do cats eat bats?"
and sometimes, "do bats eat cats?"
for, as she could n't answer either question, it did n't much matter which way she put it.
she felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with dinah, and was saying to her very earnestly, "now, dinah, my dear, tell me the truth.
did you ever eat a bat?"
when suddenly, bump!
bump!
down she came upon a heap of sticks and shavings, and the fall was over.
alice was not a bit hurt, and jumped on to her feet directly: she looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage, and the white rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it.
there was not a moment to be lost: away went alice like the wind, and just heard it say, as it turned a corner, "my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!"
she turned the corner after it, and instantly found herself in a long, low hall, lit up by a row of lamps which hung from the roof.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- there were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked, and when alice had been all round it, and tried them all, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again: suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass; there was nothing lying upon it, but a tiny golden key, and alice's first idea was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall, but alas!
either the locks were too large, or the key too small, but at any rate it would open none of them.
however, on the second time round, she came to a low curtain, behind which was a door about eighteen inches high: she tried the little key in the keyhole, and it fitted!
alice opened the door, and looked down a small passage, not larger than a rat-hole, into the loveliest garden you ever saw.
how she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head through the doorway, "and even if my head would go through," thought poor alice, "it would be very little use without my shoulders.
oh, how i wish i could shut up like a telescope!
i think i could, if i only knew how to begin."
for, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that alice began to think very few things indeed were really impossible.
there was nothing else to do, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting up people like telescopes: this time there was a little bottle on it -- "which certainly was not there before" said alice -- and tied round the neck of the bottle was a paper label with the words drink me beautifully printed on it in large letters.
it was all very well to say "drink me," "but i'll look first," said the wise little alice, "and see whether the bottle's marked "poison" or not," for alice had read several nice little stories about children that got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts, and other unpleasant things, because they would not remember the simple rules their friends had given them, such as, that, if you get into the fire, it will burn you, and that, if you cut your finger very deeply with a knife, it generally bleeds, and she had never forgotten that, if you drink a bottle marked "poison," it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.
however, this bottle was not marked poison, so alice tasted it, and finding it very nice, -lrb- it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffy, and hot buttered toast, -rrb- she very soon finished it off.
* * * * * "what a curious feeling!"
said alice, "i must be shutting up like a telescope."
it was so indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened up as it occurred to her that she was now the right size for going through the little door into that lovely garden.
first, however, she waited for a few minutes to see whether she was going to shrink any further: she felt a little nervous about this, "for it might end, you know," said alice to herself, "in my going out altogether, like a candle, and what should i be like then, i wonder?"
and she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after the candle is blown out, for she could not remember having ever seen one.
however, nothing more happened so she decided on going into the garden at once, but, alas for poor alice!
when she got to the door, she found she had forgotten the little golden key, and when she went back to the table for the key, she found she could not possibly reach it: she could see it plainly enough through the glass, and she tried her best to climb up one of the legs of the table, but it was too slippery, and when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "come!
there's no use in crying!"
said alice to herself rather sharply, "i advise you to leave off this minute!"
-lrb- she generally gave herself very good advice, and sometimes scolded herself so severely as to bring tears into her eyes, and once she remembered boxing her own ears for having been unkind to herself in a game of croquet she was playing with herself, for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people, -rrb- "but it's no use now," thought poor alice, "to pretend to be two people!
why, there's hardly enough of me left to make one respectable person!"
soon her eyes fell on a little ebony box lying under the table: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which was lying a card with the words eat me beautifully printed on it in large letters.
""i'll eat," said alice, "and if it makes me larger, i can reach the key, and if it makes me smaller, i can creep under the door, so either way i'll get into the garden, and i do n't care which happens!"
she ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself "which way?
which way?"
and laid her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing, and was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size: to be sure this is what generally happens when one eats cake, but alice had got into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the way things to happen, and it seemed quite dull and stupid for things to go on in the common way.
so she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.
* * * * * "curiouser and curiouser!"
cried alice, -lrb- she was so surprised that she quite forgot how to speak good english, -rrb- "now i'm opening out like the largest telescope that ever was!
goodbye, feet!"
-lrb- for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed almost out of sight, they were getting so far off, -rrb- "oh, my poor little feet, i wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears?
i'm sure i ca n't!
i shall be a great deal too far off to bother myself about you: you must manage the best way you can -- but i must be kind to them," thought alice, "or perhaps they wo n't walk the way i want to go!
let me see: i'll give them a new pair of boots every christmas."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- and she went on planning to herself how she would manage it "they must go by the carrier," she thought, "and how funny it'll seem, sending presents to one's own feet!
and how odd the directions will look!
alice's right foot, esq..
the carpet, with alice's love oh dear!
what nonsense i am talking!"
just at this moment, her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact, she was now rather more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden key, and hurried off to the garden door.
poor alice!
it was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye, but to get through was more hopeless than ever: she sat down and cried again.
""you ought to be ashamed of yourself," said alice, "a great girl like you," -lrb- she might well say this, -rrb- "to cry in this way!
stop this instant, i tell you!"
but she cried on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool, about four inches deep, all round her, and reaching half way across the hall.
after a time, she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and dried her eyes to see what was coming.
it was the white rabbit coming back again, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand, and a nosegay in the other.
alice was ready to ask help of any one, she felt so desperate, and as the rabbit passed her, she said, in a low, timid voice, "if you please, sir --" the rabbit started violently, looked up once into the roof of the hall, from which the voice seemed to come, and then dropped the nosegay and the white kid gloves, and skurried away into the darkness, as hard as it could go.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- alice took up the nosegay and gloves, and found the nosegay so delicious that she kept smelling at it all the time she went on talking to herself -- "dear, dear!
how queer everything is today!
and yesterday everything happened just as usual: i wonder if i was changed in the night?
let me think: was i the same when i got up this morning?
i think i remember feeling rather different.
but if i'm not the same, who in the world am i?
ah, that's the great puzzle!"
and she began thinking over all the children she knew of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.
""i'm sure i'm not gertrude," she said, "for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine does n't go in ringlets at all -- and i'm sure i ca'n' t be florence, for i know all sorts of things, and she, oh!
she knows such a very little!
besides, she's she, and i'm i, and -- oh dear!
how puzzling it all is!
i'll try if i know all the things i used to know.
let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is fourteen -- oh dear!
i shall never get to twenty at this rate!
but the multiplication table do n't signify -- let's try geography.
london is the capital of france, and rome is the capital of yorkshire, and paris -- oh dear!
dear!
that's all wrong, i'm certain!
i must have been changed for florence!
i'll try and say "how doth the little,"" and she crossed her hands on her lap, and began, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not sound the same as they used to do: "how doth the little crocodile improve its shining tail, and pour the waters of the nile on every golden scale!
""how cheerfully it seems to grin!
how neatly spreads its claws!
and welcomes little fishes in with gently-smiling jaws!"
""i'm sure those are not the right words," said poor alice, and her eyes filled with tears as she thought "i must be florence after all, and i shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh!
ever so many lessons to learn!
no!
i've made up my mind about it: if i'm florence, i'll stay down here!
it'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying "come up, dear!"
i shall only look up and say "who am i then?
answer me that first, and then, if i like being that person, i'll come up: if not, i'll stay down here till i'm somebody else -- but, oh dear!"
cried alice with a sudden burst of tears, "i do wish they would put their heads down!
i am so tired of being all alone here!"
as she said this, she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to find she had put on one of the rabbit's little gloves while she was talking.
""how can i have done that?"
thought she, "i must be growing small again."
she got up and went to the table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly: soon she found out that the reason of it was the nosegay she held in her hand: she dropped it hastily, just in time to save herself from shrinking away altogether, and found that she was now only three inches high.
""now for the garden!"
cried alice, as she hurried back to the little door, but the little door was locked again, and the little gold key was lying on the glass table as before, and "things are worse than ever!"
thought the poor little girl, "for i never was as small as this before, never!
and i declare it's too bad, it is!"
-lsb- illustration -rsb- at this moment her foot slipped, and splash!
she was up to her chin in salt water.
her first idea was that she had fallen into the sea: then she remembered that she was under ground, and she soon made out that it was the pool of tears she had wept when she was nine feet high.
""i wish i had n't cried so much!"
said alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out, "i shall be punished for it now, i suppose, by being drowned in my own tears!
well!
that'll be a queer thing, to be sure!
however, every thing is queer today."
very soon she saw something splashing about in the pool near her: at first she thought it must be a walrus or a hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she was herself, and soon made out that it was only a mouse, that had slipped in like herself.
""would it be any use, now," thought alice, "to speak to this mouse?
the rabbit is something quite out-of-the-way, no doubt, and so have i been, ever since i came down here, but that is no reason why the mouse should not be able to talk.
i think i may as well try."
so she began: "oh mouse, do you know how to get out of this pool?
i am very tired of swimming about here, oh mouse!"
the mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "perhaps it does n't understand english," thought alice; "i daresay it's a french mouse, come over with william the conqueror!"
-lrb- for, with all her knowledge of history, alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened, -rrb- so she began again: "où est ma chatte?"
which was the first sentence out of her french lesson-book.
the mouse gave a sudden jump in the pool, and seemed to quiver with fright: "oh, i beg your pardon!"
cried alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal's feelings, "i quite forgot you did n't like cats!"
""not like cats!"
cried the mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice, "would you like cats if you were me?"
""well, perhaps not," said alice in a soothing tone, "do n't be angry about it.
and yet i wish i could show you our cat dinah: i think you'd take a fancy to cats if you could only see her.
she is such a dear quiet thing," said alice, half to herself, as she swam lazily about in the pool, "she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face: and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse, and she's such a capital one for catching mice -- oh!
i beg your pardon!"
cried poor alice again, for this time the mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain that it was really offended, "have i offended you?"
""offended indeed!"
cried the mouse, who seemed to be positively trembling with rage, "our family always hated cats!
nasty, low, vulgar things!
do n't talk to me about them any more!"
""i wo n't indeed!"
said alice, in a great hurry to change the conversation, "are you -- are you -- fond of -- dogs?"
the mouse did not answer, so alice went on eagerly: "there is such a nice little dog near our house i should like to show you!
a little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh!
such long curly brown hair!
and it'll fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things -- i ca'n' t remember half of them -- and it belongs to a farmer, and he says it kills all the rats and -- oh dear!"
said alice sadly, "i'm afraid i've offended it again!"
for the mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.
so she called softly after it: "mouse dear!
do come back again, and we wo n't talk about cats and dogs any more, if you do n't like them!"
when the mouse heard this, it turned and swam slowly back to her: its face was quite pale, -lrb- with passion, alice thought, -rrb- and it said in a trembling low voice "let's get to the shore, and then i'll tell you my history, and you'll understand why it is i hate cats and dogs."
it was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite full of birds and animals that had fallen into it.
there was a duck and a dodo, a lory and an eaglet, and several other curious creatures.
alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- chapter ii -lsb- illustration -rsb- they were indeed a curious looking party that assembled on the bank -- the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close to them -- all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable.
the first question of course was, how to get dry: they had a consultation about this, and alice hardly felt at all surprised at finding herself talking familiarly with the birds, as if she had known them all her life.
indeed, she had quite a long argument with the lory, who at last turned sulky, and would only say "i am older than you, and must know best," and this alice would not admit without knowing how old the lory was, and as the lory positively refused to tell its age, there was nothing more to be said.
at last the mouse, who seemed to have some authority among them, called out "sit down, all of you, and attend to me!
i'll soon make you dry enough!"
they all sat down at once, shivering, in a large ring, alice in the middle, with her eyes anxiously fixed on the mouse, for she felt sure she would catch a bad cold if she did not get dry very soon.
""ahem!"
said the mouse, with a self-important air, "are you all ready?
this is the driest thing i know.
silence all round, if you please!
""william the conqueror, whose cause was favoured by the pope, was soon submitted to by the english, who wanted leaders, and had been of late much accustomed to usurpation and conquest.
edwin and morcar, the earls of mercia and northumbria --" "ugh!"
said the lory with a shiver.
""i beg your pardon?"
said the mouse, frowning, but very politely, "did you speak?"
""not i!"
said the lory hastily.
""i thought you did," said the mouse, "i proceed.
edwin and morcar, the earls of mercia and northumbria, declared for him; and even stigand, the patriotic archbishop of canterbury, found it advisable to go with edgar atheling to meet william and offer him the crown.
william's conduct was at first moderate -- how are you getting on now, dear?"
said the mouse, turning to alice as it spoke.
""as wet as ever," said poor alice, "it does n't seem to dry me at all."
""in that case," said the dodo solemnly, rising to his feet, "i move that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic remedies --" "speak english!"
said the duck, "i do n't know the meaning of half those long words, and what's more, i do n't believe you do either!"
and the duck quacked a comfortable laugh to itself.
some of the other birds tittered audibly.
""i only meant to say," said the dodo in a rather offended tone, "that i know of a house near here, where we could get the young lady and the rest of the party dried, and then we could listen comfortably to the story which i think you were good enough to promise to tell us," bowing gravely to the mouse.
the mouse made no objection to this, and the whole party moved along the river bank, -lrb- for the pool had by this time began to flow out of the hall, and the edge of it was fringed with rushes and forget-me-nots, -rrb- in a slow procession, the dodo leading the way.
after a time the dodo became impatient, and, leaving the duck to bring up the rest of the party, moved on at a quicker pace with alice, the lory, and the eaglet, and soon brought them to a little cottage, and there they sat snugly by the fire, wrapped up in blankets, until the rest of the party had arrived, and they were all dry again.
then they all sat down again in a large ring on the bank, and begged the mouse to begin his story.
""mine is a long and a sad tale!"
said the mouse, turning to alice, and sighing.
""it is a long tail, certainly," said alice, looking down with wonder at the mouse's tail, which was coiled nearly all round the party, "but why do you call it sad?"
and she went on puzzling about this as the mouse went on speaking, so that her idea of the tale was something like this: we lived beneath the mat warm and snug and fat but one woe, & that was the cat!
to our joys a clog, in our eyes a fog, on our hearts a log was the dog!
when the cat's away, then the mice will play, but, alas!
one day, -lrb- so they say -rrb- came the dog and cat, hunting for a rat, crushed the mice all flat; each one as he sat.
u n d e r n e a t h t h e m a t, m r a w g u n s & t a f & t h i n k?
o f t h a t!
""you are not attending!"
said the mouse to alice severely, "what are you thinking of?"
""i beg your pardon," said alice very humbly, "you had got to the fifth bend, i think?"
""i had not!"
cried the mouse, sharply and very angrily.
""a knot!"
said alice, always ready to make herself useful, and looking anxiously about her, "oh, do let me help to undo it!"
""i shall do nothing of the sort!"
said the mouse, getting up and walking away from the party, "you insult me by talking such nonsense!"
""i did n't mean it!"
pleaded poor alice, "but you're so easily offended, you know."
the mouse only growled in reply.
""please come back and finish your story!"
alice called after it, and the others all joined in chorus "yes, please do!"
but the mouse only shook its ears, and walked quickly away, and was soon out of sight.
""what a pity it would n't stay!"
sighed the lory, and an old crab took the opportunity of saying to its daughter "ah, my dear!
let this be a lesson to you never to lose your temper!"
""hold your tongue, ma!"
said the young crab, a little snappishly, "you're enough to try the patience of an oyster!"
""i wish i had our dinah here, i know i do!"
said alice aloud, addressing no one in particular, "she'd soon fetch it back!"
""and who is dinah, if i might venture to ask the question?"
said the lory.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- alice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet, "dinah's our cat.
and she's such a capital one for catching mice, you ca n't think!
and oh!
i wish you could see her after the birds!
why, she'll eat a little bird as soon as look at it!"
this answer caused a remarkable sensation among the party: some of the birds hurried off at once; one old magpie began wrapping itself up very carefully, remarking "i really must be getting home: the night air does not suit my throat," and a canary called out in a trembling voice to its children "come away from her, my dears, she's no fit company for you!"
on various pretexts, they all moved off, and alice was soon left alone.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- she sat for some while sorrowful and silent, but she was not long before she recovered her spirits, and began talking to herself again as usual: "i do wish some of them had stayed a little longer!
and i was getting to be such friends with them -- really the lory and i were almost like sisters!
and so was that dear little eaglet!
and then the duck and the dodo!
how nicely the duck sang to us as we came along through the water: and if the dodo had n't known the way to that nice little cottage, i do n't know when we should have got dry again --" and there is no knowing how long she might have prattled on in this way, if she had not suddenly caught the sound of pattering feet.
it was the white rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking anxiously about it as it went, as if it had lost something, and she heard it muttering to itself "the marchioness!
the marchioness!
oh my dear paws!
oh my fur and whiskers!
she'll have me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets!
where can i have dropped them, i wonder?"
alice guessed in a moment that it was looking for the nosegay and the pair of white kid gloves, and she began hunting for them, but they were now nowhere to be seen -- everything seemed to have changed since her swim in the pool, and her walk along the river-bank with its fringe of rushes and forget-me-nots, and the glass table and the little door had vanished.
soon the rabbit noticed alice, as she stood looking curiously about her, and at once said in a quick angry tone, "why, mary ann!
what are you doing out here?
go home this moment, and look on my dressing-table for my gloves and nosegay, and fetch them here, as quick as you can run, do you hear?"
and alice was so much frightened that she ran off at once, without saying a word, in the direction which the rabbit had pointed out.
she soon found herself in front of a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass plate with the name w. rabbit, esq..
she went in, and hurried upstairs, for fear she should meet the real mary ann and be turned out of the house before she had found the gloves: she knew that one pair had been lost in the hall, "but of course," thought alice, "it has plenty more of them in its house.
how queer it seems to be going messages for a rabbit!
i suppose dinah'll be sending me messages next!"
and she began fancying the sort of things that would happen: "miss alice!
come here directly and get ready for your walk!"
""coming in a minute, nurse!
but i've got to watch this mousehole till dinah comes back, and see that the mouse does n't get out --" "only i do n't think," alice went on, "that they'd let dinah stop in the house, if it began ordering people about like that!"
-lsb- illustration -rsb- by this time she had found her way into a tidy little room, with a table in the window on which was a looking-glass and, -lrb- as alice had hoped, -rrb- two or three pairs of tiny white kid gloves: she took up a pair of gloves, and was just going to leave the room, when her eye fell upon a little bottle that stood near the looking-glass: there was no label on it this time with the words "drink me," but nonetheless she uncorked it and put it to her lips: "i know something interesting is sure to happen," she said to herself, "whenever i eat or drink anything, so i'll see what this bottle does.
i do hope it'll make me grow larger, for i'm quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!"
-lsb- illustration -rsb- it did so indeed, and much sooner than she expected: before she had drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceiling, and she stooped to save her neck from being broken, and hastily put down the bottle, saying to herself "that's quite enough -- i hope i sha'n' t grow any more -- i wish i had n't drunk so much!"
-lsb- illustration -rsb- alas!
it was too late: she went on growing and growing, and very soon had to kneel down: in another minute there was not room even for this, and she tried the effect of lying down, with one elbow against the door, and the other arm curled round her head.
still she went on growing, and as a last resource she put one arm out of the window, and one foot up the chimney, and said to herself "now i can do no more -- what will become of me?"
luckily for alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect, and she grew no larger; still it was very uncomfortable, and as there seemed to be no sort of chance of ever getting out of the room again, no wonder she felt unhappy.
""it was much pleasanter at home," thought poor alice, "when one was n't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits -- i almost wish i had n't gone down that rabbit-hole, and yet, and yet -- it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life.
i do wonder what can have happened to me!
when i used to read fairy-tales, i fancied that sort of thing never happened, and now here i am in the middle of one!
there out to be a book written about me, that there ought!
and when i grow up i'll write one -- but i'm grown up now" said she in a sorrowful tone, "at least there's no room to grow up any more here."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "but then," thought alice, "shall i never get any older than i am now?
that'll be a comfort, one way -- never to be an old woman -- but then -- always to have lessons to learn!
oh, i should n't like that!"
""oh, you foolish alice!"
she said again, "how can you learn lessons in here?
why, there's hardly room for you, and no room at all for any lesson-books!"
and so she went on, taking first one side, and then the other, and making quite a conversation of it altogether, but after a few minutes she heard a voice outside, which made her stop to listen.
""mary ann!
mary ann!"
said the voice, "fetch me my gloves this moment!"
then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs: alice knew it was the rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as large as the rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it.
presently the rabbit came to the door, and tried to open it, but as it opened inwards, and alice's elbow was against it, the attempt proved a failure.
alice heard it say to itself "then i'll go round and get in at the window."
""that you wo'n' t!"
thought alice, and, after waiting till she fancied she heard the rabbit, just under the window, she suddenly spread out her hand, and made a snatch in the air.
she did not get hold of anything, but she heard a little shriek and a fall and a crash of breaking glass, from which she concluded that it was just possible it had fallen into a cucumber-frame, or something of the sort.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- next came an angry voice -- the rabbit's -- "pat, pat!
where are you?"
and then a voice she had never heard before, "shure then i'm here!
digging for apples, anyway, yer honour!"
""digging for apples indeed!"
said the rabbit angrily, "here, come and help me out of this!"
-- sound of more breaking glass.
""now, tell me, pat, what is that coming out of the window?"
""shure it's an arm, yer honour!"
-lrb- he pronounced it "arrum". -rrb-
""an arm, you goose!
who ever saw an arm that size?
why, it fills the whole window, do n't you see?"
""shure, it does, yer honour, but it's an arm for all that."
""well, it's no business there: go and take it away!"
there was a long silence after this, and alice could only hear whispers now and then, such as "shure i do n't like it, yer honour, at all at all!"
""do as i tell you, you coward!"
and at last she spread out her hand again and made another snatch in the air.
this time there were two little shrieks, and more breaking glass -- "what a number of cucumber-frames there must be!"
thought alice, "i wonder what they'll do next!
as for pulling me out of the window, i only wish they could!
i'm sure i do n't want to stop in here any longer!"
she waited for some time without hearing anything more: at last came a rumbling of little cart-wheels, and the sound of a good many voices all talking together: she made out the words "where's the other ladder?
-- why, i had n't to bring but one, bill's got the other -- here, put'em up at this corner -- no, tie'em together first -- they do n't reach high enough yet -- oh, they'll do well enough, do n't be particular -- here, bill!
catch hold of this rope -- will the roof bear?
-- mind that loose slate -- oh, it's coming down!
heads below!
--" -lrb- a loud crash -rrb- "now, who did that?
-- it was bill, i fancy -- who's to go down the chimney?
-- nay, i sha'n' t!
you do it!
-- that i wo n't then -- bill's got to go down -- here, bill!
the master says you've to go down the chimney!"
""oh, so bill's got to come down the chimney, has he?"
said alice to herself, "why, they seem to put everything upon bill!
i would n't be in bill's place for a good deal: the fireplace is a pretty tight one, but i think i can kick a little!"
she drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could, and waited till she heard a little animal -lrb- she could n't guess what sort it was -rrb- scratching and scrambling in the chimney close above her: then, saying to herself "this is bill," she gave one sharp kick, and waited again to see what would happen next.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- the first thing was a general chorus of "there goes bill!"
then the rabbit's voice alone "catch him, you by the hedge!"
then silence, and then another confusion of voices, "how was it, old fellow?
what happened to you?
tell us all about it."
last came a little feeble squeaking voice, -lrb- "that's bill" thought alice, -rrb- which said "well, i hardly know -- i'm all of a fluster myself -- something comes at me like a jack-in-the-box, and the next minute up i goes like a rocket!"
""and so you did, old fellow!"
said the other voices.
""we must burn the house down!"
said the voice of the rabbit, and alice called out as loud as she could "if you do, i'll set dinah at you!"
this caused silence again, and while alice was thinking "but how can i get dinah here?"
she found to her great delight that she was getting smaller: very soon she was able to get up out of the uncomfortable position in which she had been lying, and in two or three minutes more she was once more three inches high.
she ran out of the house as quick as she could, and found quite a crowd of little animals waiting outside -- guinea-pigs, white mice, squirrels, and "bill" a little green lizard, that was being supported in the arms of one of the guinea-pigs, while another was giving it something out of a bottle.
they all made a rush at her the moment she appeared, but alice ran her hardest, and soon found herself in a thick wood.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- chapter iii -lsb- illustration -rsb- "the first thing i've got to do," said alice to herself, as she wandered about in the wood, "is to grow to my right size, and the second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden.
i think that will be the best plan."
it sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and simply arranged: the only difficulty was, that she had not the smallest idea how to set about it, and while she was peering anxiously among the trees round her, a little sharp bark just over her head made her look up in a great hurry.
an enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, and feebly stretching out one paw, trying to reach her: "poor thing!"
said alice in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to it, but she was terribly alarmed all the while at the thought that it might be hungry, in which case it would probably devour her in spite of all her coaxing.
hardly knowing what she did, she picked up a little bit of stick, and held it out to the puppy: whereupon the puppy jumped into the air off all its feet at once, and with a yelp of delight rushed at the stick, and made believe to worry it then alice dodged behind a great thistle to keep herself from being run over, and, the moment she appeared at the other side, the puppy made another dart at the stick, and tumbled head over heels in its hurry to get hold: then alice, thinking it was very like having a game of play with a cart-horse, and expecting every moment to be trampled under its feet, ran round the thistle again: then the puppy begin a series of short charges at the stick, running a very little way forwards each time and a long way back, and barking hoarsely all the while, till at last it sat down a good way off, panting, with its tongue hanging out of its mouth, and its great eyes half shut.
this seemed to alice a good opportunity for making her escape.
she set off at once, and ran till the puppy's bark sounded quite faint in the distance, and till she was quite tired and out of breath.
""and yet what a dear little puppy it was!"
said alice, as she leant against a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with her hat.
""i should have liked teaching it tricks, if -- if i'd only been the right size to do it!
oh!
i'd nearly forgotten that i've got to grow up again!
let me see; how is it to be managed?
i suppose i ought to eat or drink something or other, but the great question is what?"
the great question certainly was, what?
alice looked all round her at the flowers and the blades of grass but could not see anything that looked like the right thing to eat under the circumstances.
there was a large mushroom near her, about the same height as herself, and when she had looked under it, and on both sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her to look and see what was on the top of it.
she stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the mushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large blue caterpillar, which was sitting with its arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah, and taking not the least notice of her or of anything else.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- for some time they looked at each other in silence: at last the caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and languidly addressed her.
""who are you?"
said the caterpillar.
this was not an encouraging opening for a conversation: alice replied rather shyly, "i -- i hardly know, sir, just at present -- at least i know who i was when i got up this morning, but i think i must have been changed several times since that."
""what do you mean by that?"
said the caterpillar, "explain yourself!"
""i ca'n' t explain myself, i'm afraid, sir," said alice, "because i'm not myself, you see."
""i do n't see," said the caterpillar.
""i'm afraid i ca n't put it more clearly," alice replied very politely, "for i ca'n' t understand it myself, and really to be so many different sizes in one day is very confusing."
""it is n't," said the caterpillar.
""well, perhaps you have n't found it so yet," said alice, "but when you have to turn into a chrysalis, you know, and then after that into a butterfly, i should think it'll feel a little queer, do n't you think so?"
""not a bit," said the caterpillar.
""all i know is," said alice, "it would feel queer to me."
""you!"
said the caterpillar contemptuously, "who are you?"
which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation: alice felt a little irritated at the caterpillar making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said very gravely "i think you ought to tell me who you are, first."
""why?"
said the caterpillar.
here was another puzzling question: and as alice had no reason ready, and the caterpillar seemed to be in a very bad temper, she turned round and walked away.
""come back!"
the caterpillar called after her, "i've something important to say!"
this sounded promising: alice turned and came back again.
""keep your temper," said the caterpillar.
""is that all?"
said alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.
""no," said the caterpillar.
alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all the caterpillar might tell her something worth hearing.
for some minutes it puffed away at its hookah without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said "so you think you're changed, do you?"
""yes, sir," said alice, "i ca'n' t remember the things i used to know -- i've tried to say "how doth the little busy bee" and it came all different!"
""try and repeat "you are old, father william"," said the caterpillar.
alice folded her hands, and began: -lsb- illustration -rsb- 1.
""you are old, father william," the young man said, "and your hair is exceedingly white: and yet you incessantly stand on your head -- do you think, at your age, it is right?"
2.
""in my youth," father william replied to his son, "i feared it might injure the brain but now that i'm perfectly sure i have none, why, i do it again and again."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- 3.
""you are old," said the youth, "as i mentioned before, and have grown most uncommonly fat: yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door -- pray what is the reason of that?"
4.
""in my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks, "i kept all my limbs very supple, by the use of this ointment, five shillings the box -- allow me to sell you a couple."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- 5.
""you are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak for anything tougher than suet: yet you eat all the goose, with the bones and the beak -- pray, how did you manage to do it?"
6.
""in my youth," said the old man, "i took to the law, and argued each case with my wife, and the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, has lasted the rest of my life."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- 7.
""you are old," said the youth; "one would hardly suppose that your eye was as steady as ever: yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose -- what made you so awfully clever?"
8.
""i have answered three questions, and that is enough," said his father, "do n't give yourself airs!
do you think i can listen all day to such stuff?
be off, or i'll kick you down stairs!"
""that is not said right," said the caterpillar.
""not quite right, i'm afraid," said alice timidly, "some of the words have got altered."
""it is wrong from beginning to end," said the caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes: the caterpillar was the first to speak.
""what size do you want to be?"
it asked.
""oh, i'm not particular as to size," alice hastily replied, "only one does n't like changing so often, you know."
""are you content now?"
said the caterpillar.
""well, i should like to be a little larger, sir, if you would n't mind," said alice, "three inches is such a wretched height to be."
""it is a very good height indeed!"
said the caterpillar loudly and angrily, rearing itself straight up as it spoke -lrb- it was exactly three inches high -rrb-.
""but i'm not used to it!"
pleaded poor alice in a piteous tone, and she thought to herself "i wish the creatures would n't be so easily offended!"
""you'll get used to it in time," said the caterpillar, and it put the hookah into its mouth, and began smoking again.
this time alice waited quietly until it chose to speak again: in a few minutes the caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and got down off the mushroom, and crawled away into the grass, merely remarking as it went; "the top will make you grow taller, and the stalk will make you grow shorter."
""the top of what?
the stalk of what?"
thought alice.
""of the mushroom," said the caterpillar, just as if she had asked it aloud, and in another moment was out of sight.
alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute, and then picked it and carefully broke it in two, taking the stalk in one hand, and the top in the other.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "which does the stalk do?"
she said, and nibbled a little bit of it to try; the next moment she felt a violent blow on her chin: it had struck her foot!
she was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but as she did not shrink any further, and had not dropped the top of the mushroom, she did not give up hope yet.
there was hardly room to open her mouth, with her chin pressing against her foot, but she did it at last, and managed to bite off a little bit of the top of the mushroom.
* * * * * "come!
my head's free at last!"
said alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be seen: she looked down upon an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "what can all that green stuff be?"
said alice, "and where have my shoulders got to?
and oh!
my poor hands!
how is it i ca'n' t see you?"
she was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little rustling among the leaves.
then she tried to bring her head down to her hands, and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about easily in every direction, like a serpent.
she had just succeeded in bending it down in a beautiful zig-zag, and was going to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be the tops of the trees of the wood she had been wandering in, when a sharp hiss made her draw back: a large pigeon had flown into her face, and was violently beating her with its wings.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "serpent!"
screamed the pigeon.
""i'm not a serpent!"
said alice indignantly, "let me alone!"
""i've tried every way!"
the pigeon said desperately, with a kind of sob: "nothing seems to suit'em!"
""i have n't the least idea what you mean," said alice.
""i've tried the roots of trees, and i've tried banks, and i've tried hedges," the pigeon went on without attending to her, "but them serpents!
there's no pleasing'em!"
alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in saying anything till the pigeon had finished.
""as if it was n't trouble enough hatching the eggs!"
said the pigeon, "without being on the look out for serpents, day and night!
why, i have n't had a wink of sleep these three weeks!"
""i'm very sorry you've been annoyed," said alice, beginning to see its meaning.
""and just as i'd taken the highest tree in the wood," said the pigeon raising its voice to a shriek, "and was just thinking i was free of'em at last, they must needs come down from the sky!
ugh!
serpent!"
""but i'm not a serpent," said alice, "i'm a -- i'm a --" "well!
what are you?"
said the pigeon, "i see you're trying to invent something."
""i -- i'm a little girl," said alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through.
""a likely story indeed!"
said the pigeon, "i've seen a good many of them in my time, but never one with such a neck as yours!
no, you're a serpent, i know that well enough!
i suppose you'll tell me next that you never tasted an egg!"
""i have tasted eggs, certainly," said alice, who was a very truthful child, "but indeed i do'n' t want any of yours.
i do'n' t like them raw."
""well, be off, then!"
said the pigeon, and settled down into its nest again.
alice crouched down among the trees, as well as she could, as her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and several times she had to stop and untwist it.
soon she remembered the pieces of mushroom which she still held in her hands, and set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual size.
it was so long since she had been of the right size that it felt quite strange at first, but she got quite used to it in a minute or two, and began talking to herself as usual: "well!
there's half my plan done now!
how puzzling all these changes are!
i'm never sure what i'm going to be, from one minute to another!
however, i've got to my right size again: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden -- how is that to be done, i wonder?"
just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a doorway leading right into it.
""that's very curious!"
she thought, "but everything's curious today: i may as well go in."
and in she went.
once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the little glass table: "now, i'll manage better this time" she said to herself, and began by taking the little golden key, and unlocking the door that led into the garden.
then she set to work eating the pieces of mushroom till she was about fifteen inches high: then she walked down the little passage: and then -- she found herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flowerbeds and the cool fountains.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- chapter iv -lsb- illustration -rsb- a large rose tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily painting them red.
this alice thought a very curious thing, and she went near to watch them, and just as she came up she heard one of them say "look out, five!
do n't go splashing paint over me like that!"
""i could n't help it," said five in a sulky tone, "seven jogged my elbow."
on which seven lifted up his head and said "that's right, five!
always lay the blame on others!"
""you'd better not talk!"
said five, "i heard the queen say only yesterday she thought of having you beheaded!"
""what for?"
said the one who had spoken first.
""that's not your business, two!"
said seven.
""yes, it is his business!"
said five, "and i'll tell him: it was for bringing in tulip-roots to the cook instead of potatoes."
seven flung down his brush, and had just begun "well!
of all the unjust things --" when his eye fell upon alice, and he stopped suddenly; the others looked round, and all of them took off their hats and bowed low.
""would you tell me, please," said alice timidly, "why you are painting those roses?"
five and seven looked at two, but said nothing: two began, in a low voice, "why, miss, the fact is, this ought to have been a red rose tree, and we put a white one in by mistake, and if the queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off.
so, you see, we're doing our best, before she comes, to --" at this moment five, who had been looking anxiously across the garden called out "the queen!
the queen!"
and the three gardeners instantly threw themselves flat upon their faces.
there was a sound of many footsteps, and alice looked round, eager to see the queen.
first came ten soldiers carrying clubs; these were all shaped like the three gardeners, flat and oblong, with their hands and feet at the corners: next the ten courtiers; these were all ornamented with diamonds, and walked two and two, as the soldiers did.
after these came the royal children: there were ten of them, and the little dears came jumping merrily along, hand in hand, in couples: they were all ornamented with hearts.
next came the guests, mostly kings and queens, among whom alice recognised the white rabbit: it was talking in a hurried nervous manner, smiling at everything that was said, and went by without noticing her.
then followed the knave of hearts, carrying the king's crown on a cushion, and, last of all this grand procession, came the king and queen of hearts.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- when the procession came opposite to alice, they all stopped and looked at her, and the queen said severely "who is this?"
she said it to the knave of hearts, who only bowed and smiled in reply.
""idiot!"
said the queen, turning up her nose, and asked alice "what's your name?"
""my name is alice, so please your majesty," said alice boldly, for she thought to herself "why, they're only a pack of cards!
i need n't be afraid of them!"
""who are these?"
said the queen, pointing to the three gardeners lying round the rose tree, for, as they were lying on their faces, and the pattern on their backs was the same as the rest of the pack, she could not tell whether they were gardeners, or soldiers, or courtiers, or three of her own children.
""how should i know?"
said alice, surprised at her own courage, "it's no business of mine."
the queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for a minute, began in a voice of thunder "off with her --" "nonsense!"
said alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the queen was silent.
the king laid his hand upon her arm, and said timidly "remember, my dear!
she is only a child!"
the queen turned angrily away from him, and said to the knave "turn them over!"
the knave did so, very carefully, with one foot.
""get up!"
said the queen, in a shrill loud voice, and the three gardeners instantly jumped up, and began bowing to the king, the queen, the royal children, and everybody else.
""leave off that!"
screamed the queen, "you make me giddy."
and then, turning to the rose tree, she went on "what have you been doing here?"
""may it please your majesty," said two very humbly, going down on one knee as he spoke, "we were trying --" "i see!"
said the queen, who had meantime been examining the roses, "off with their heads!"
and the procession moved on, three of the soldiers remaining behind to execute the three unfortunate gardeners, who ran to alice for protection.
""you sha'n' t be beheaded!"
said alice, and she put them into her pocket: the three soldiers marched once round her, looking for them, and then quietly marched off after the others.
""are their heads off?"
shouted the queen.
""their heads are gone," the soldiers shouted in reply, "if it please your majesty!"
""that's right!"
shouted the queen, "can you play croquet?"
the soldiers were silent, and looked at alice, as the question was evidently meant for her.
""yes!"
shouted alice at the top of her voice.
""come on then!"
roared the queen, and alice joined the procession, wondering very much what would happen next.
""it's -- it's a very fine day!"
said a timid little voice: she was walking by the white rabbit, who was peeping anxiously into her face.
""very," said alice, "where's the marchioness?"
""hush, hush!"
said the rabbit in a low voice, "she'll hear you.
the queen's the marchioness: did n't you know that?"
""no, i did n't," said alice, "what of?"
""queen of hearts," said the rabbit in a whisper, putting its mouth close to her ear, "and marchioness of mock turtles."
""what are they?"
said alice, but there was no time for the answer, for they had reached the croquet-ground, and the game began instantly.
alice thought she had never seen such a curious croquet-ground in all her life: it was all in ridges and furrows: the croquet-balls were live hedgehogs, the mallets live ostriches, and the soldiers had to double themselves up, and stand on their feet and hands, to make the arches.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- -lsb- illustration -rsb- the chief difficulty which alice found at first was to manage her ostrich: she got its body tucked away, comfortably enough, under her arm, with its legs hanging down, but generally, just as she had got its neck straightened out nicely, and was going to give a blow with its head, it would twist itself round, and look up into her face, with such a puzzled expression that she could not help bursting out laughing: and when she had got its head down, and was going to begin again, it was very confusing to find that the hedgehog had unrolled itself, and was in the act of crawling away: besides all this, there was generally a ridge or a furrow in her way, wherever she wanted to send the hedgehog to, and as the doubled-up soldiers were always getting up and walking off to other parts of the ground, alice soon came to the conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed.
the players all played at once without waiting for turns, and quarrelled all the while at the tops of their voices, and in a very few minutes the queen was in a furious passion, and went stamping about and shouting "off with his head!"
of "off with her head!"
about once in a minute.
all those whom she sentenced were taken into custody by the soldiers, who of course had to leave off being arches to do this, so that, by the end of half an hour or so, there were no arches left, and all the players, except the king, the queen, and alice, were in custody, and under sentence of execution.
then the queen left off, quite out of breath, and said to alice "have you seen the mock turtle?"
""no," said alice, "i do n't even know what a mock turtle is."
""come on then," said the queen, "and it shall tell you its history."
as they walked off together, alice heard the king say in a low voice, to the company generally, "you are all pardoned."
""come, that's a good thing!"
thought alice, who had felt quite grieved at the number of executions which the queen had ordered.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- they very soon came upon a gryphon, which lay fast asleep in the sun: -lrb- if you do n't know what a gryphon is, look at the picture -rrb-: "up, lazy thing!"
said the queen, "and take this young lady to see the mock turtle, and to hear its history.
i must go back and see after some executions i ordered," and she walked off, leaving alice with the gryphon.
alice did not quite like the look of the creature, but on the whole she thought it quite as safe to stay as to go after that savage queen: so she waited.
the gryphon sat up and rubbed its eyes: then it watched the queen till she was out of sight: then it chuckled.
""what fun!"
said the gryphon, half to itself, half to alice.
""what is the fun?"
said alice.
""why, she," said the gryphon; "it's all her fancy, that: they never executes nobody, you know: come on!"
""everybody says "come on!"
here," thought alice as she walked slowly after the gryphon; "i never was ordered about so before in all my life -- never!"
they had not gone far before they saw the mock turtle in the distance, sitting sad and lonely on a little ledge of rock, and, as they came nearer, alice could here it sighing as if its heart would break.
she pitied it deeply: "what is its sorrow?"
she asked the gryphon, and the gryphon answered, very nearly in the same words as before, "it's all its fancy, that: it has n't got no sorrow, you know: come on!"
-lsb- illustration -rsb- so they went up to the mock turtle, who looked at them with large eyes full of tears, but said nothing.
""this here young lady" said the gryphon, "wants for to know your history, she do."
""i'll tell it," said the mock turtle, in a deep hollow tone, "sit down, and do n't speak till i've finished."
so they sat down, and no one spoke for some minutes: alice thought to herself "i do n't see how it can ever finish, if it does n't begin," but she waited patiently.
""once," said the mock turtle at last, with a deep sigh, "i was a real turtle."
these words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional exclamation of "hjckrrh!"
from the gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing of the mock turtle.
alice was very nearly getting up and saying, "thank you, sir, for your interesting story," but she could not help thinking there must be more to come, so she sat still and said nothing.
""when we were little," the mock turtle went on, more calmly, though still sobbing a little now and then, "we went to school in the sea.
the master was an old turtle -- we used to call him tortoise --" "why did you call him tortoise, if he was n't one?"
asked alice.
""we called him tortoise because he taught us," said the mock turtle angrily, "really you are very dull!"
""you ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple question," added the gryphon, and then they both sat silent and looked at poor alice, who felt ready to sink into the earth: at last the gryphon said to the mock turtle, "get on, old fellow!
do n't be all day!"
and the mock turtle went on in these words: "you may not have lived much under the sea --" -lrb- "i have n't," said alice, -rrb- "and perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster --" -lrb- alice began to say "i once tasted --" but hastily checked herself, and said "no, never," instead, -rrb- "so you can have no idea what a delightful thing a lobster quadrille is!"
""no, indeed," said alice, "what sort of a thing is it?"
""why," said the gryphon, "you form into a line along the sea shore --" "two lines!"
cried the mock turtle, "seals, turtles, salmon, and so on -- advance twice --" "each with a lobster as partner!"
cried the gryphon.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "of course," the mock turtle said, "advance twice, set to partners --" "change lobsters, and retire in same order --" interrupted the gryphon.
""then, you know," continued the mock turtle, "you throw the --" "the lobsters!"
shouted the gryphon, with a bound into the air.
""as far out to sea as you can --" "swim after them!"
screamed the gryphon.
""turn a somersault in the sea!"
cried the mock turtle, capering wildly about.
""change lobsters again!"
yelled the gryphon at the top of its voice, "and then --" "that's all," said the mock turtle, suddenly dropping its voice, and the two creatures, who had been jumping about like mad things all this time, sat down again very sadly and quietly, and looked at alice.
""it must be a very pretty dance," said alice timidly.
""would you like to see a little of it?"
said the mock turtle.
""very much indeed," said alice.
""come, let's try the first figure!"
said the mock turtle to the gryphon, "we can do it without lobsters, you know.
which shall sing?"
""oh!
you sing!"
said the gryphon, "i've forgotten the words."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- so they began solemnly dancing round and round alice, every now and then treading on her toes when they came too close, and waving their fore-paws to mark the time, while the mock turtle sang, slowly and sadly, these words: "beneath the waters of the sea are lobsters thick as thick can be -- they love to dance with you and me, my own, my gentle salmon!"
the gryphon joined in singing the chorus, which was: "salmon come up!
salmon go down!
salmon come twist your tail around!
of all the fishes of the sea there's none so good as salmon!"
""thank you," said alice, feeling very glad that the figure was over.
""shall we try the second figure?"
said the gryphon, "or would you prefer a song?"
""oh, a song, please!"
alice replied, so eagerly, that the gryphon said, in a rather offended tone, "hm!
no accounting for tastes!
sing her "mock turtle soup", will you, old fellow!"
the mock turtle sighed deeply, and began, in a voice sometimes choked with sobs, to sing this: "beautiful soup, so rich and green, waiting in a hot tureen!
who for such dainties would not stoop?
soup of the evening, beautiful soup!
soup of the evening, beautiful soup!
beau -- ootiful soo -- oop!
beau -- ootiful soo -- oop!
soo -- oop of the e -- e -- evening, beautiful beautiful soup!
""chorus again!"
cried the gryphon, and the mock turtle had just begun to repeat it, when a cry of "the trial's beginning!"
was heard in the distance.
""come on!"
cried the gryphon, and, taking alice by the hand, he hurried off, without waiting for the end of the song.
""what trial is it?"
panted alice as she ran, but the gryphon only answered "come on!"
and ran the faster, and more and more faintly came, borne on the breeze that followed them, the melancholy words: "soo -- oop of the e -- e -- evening, beautiful beautiful soup!"
the king and queen were seated on their throne when they arrived, with a great crowd assembled around them: the knave was in custody: and before the king stood the white rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other.
""herald!
read the accusation!"
said the king.
on this the white rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows: -lsb- illustration -rsb- "the queen of hearts she made some tarts all on a summer day: the knave of hearts he stole those tarts, and took them quite away!"
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "now for the evidence," said the king, "and then the sentence."
""no!"
said the queen, "first the sentence, and then the evidence!"
""nonsense!"
cried alice, so loudly that everybody jumped, "the idea of having the sentence first!"
""hold your tongue!"
said the queen.
""i wo n't!"
said alice, "you're nothing but a pack of cards!
who cares for you?"
at this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her: she gave a little scream of fright, and tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some leaves that had fluttered down from the trees on to her face.
""wake up!
alice dear!"
said her sister, "what a nice long sleep you've had!"
""oh, i've had such a curious dream!"
said alice, and she told her sister all her adventures under ground, as you have read them, and when she had finished, her sister kissed her and said "it was a curious dream, dear, certainly!
but now run in to your tea: it's getting late."
so alice ran off, thinking while she ran -lrb- as well she might -rrb- what a wonderful dream it had been.
* * * * * but her sister sat there some while longer, watching the setting sun, and thinking of little alice and her adventures, till she too began dreaming after a fashion, and this was her dream: she saw an ancient city, and a quiet river winding near it along the plain, and up the stream went slowly gliding a boat with a merry party of children on board -- she could hear their voices and laughter like music over the water -- and among them was another little alice, who sat listening with bright eager eyes to a tale that was being told, and she listened for the words of the tale, and lo!
it was the dream of her own little sister.
so the boat wound slowly along, beneath the bright summer-day, with its merry crew and its music of voices and laughter, till it passed round one of the many turnings of the stream, and she saw it no more.
then she thought, -lrb- in a dream within the dream, as it were, -rrb- how this same little alice would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman: and how she would keep, through her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather around her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a wonderful tale, perhaps even with these very adventures of the little alice of long-ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- happy summer days.
the end.
* * * * * postscript.
the profits, if any, of this book will be given to children's hospitals and convalescent homes for sick children; and the accounts, down to june 30 in each year, will be published in the st. james's gazette, on the second tuesday of the following december.
p.p.s. -- the thought, so prettily expressed by the little boy, is also to be found in longfellow's "hiawatha," where he appeals to those who believe" that the feeble hands and helpless, groping blindly in the darkness, touch god's right hand in that darkness, and are lifted up and strengthened."
* * * * * "who will riddle me the how and the why?"
so questions one of england's sweetest singers.
the "how?"
has already been told, after a fashion, in the verses prefixed to "alice in wonderland"; and some other memories of that happy summer day are set down, for those who care to see them, in this little book -- the germ that was to grow into the published volume.
but the "why?"
can not, and need not, be put into words.
those for whom a child's mind is a sealed book, and who see no divinity in a child's smile, would read such words in vain: while for any one that has ever loved one true child, no words are needed.
for he will have known the awe that falls on one in the presence of a spirit fresh from god's hands, on whom no shadow of sin, and but the outermost fringe of the shadow of sorrow, has yet fallen: he will have felt the bitter contrast between the haunting selfishness that spoils his best deeds and the life that is but an overflowing love -- for i think a child's first attitude to the world is a simple love for all living things: and he will have learned that the best work a man can do is when he works for love's sake only, with no thought of name, or gain, or earthly reward.
no deed of ours, i suppose, on this side the grave, is really unselfish: yet if one can put forth all one's powers in a task where nothing of reward is hoped for but a little child's whispered thanks, and the airy touch of a little child's pure lips, one seems to come somewhere near to this.
there was no idea of publication in my mind when i wrote this little book: that was wholly an afterthought, pressed on me by the "perhaps too partial friends" who always have to bear the blame when a writer rushes into print: and i can truly say that no praise of theirs has ever given me one hundredth part of the pleasure it has been to think of the sick children in hospitals -lrb- where it has been a delight to me to send copies -rrb- forgetting, for a few bright hours, their pain and weariness -- perhaps thinking lovingly of the unknown writer of the tale -- perhaps even putting up a childish prayer -lrb- and oh, how much it needs! -rrb-
for one who can but dimly hope to stand, some day, not quite out of sight of those pure young faces, before the great white throne.
""i am very sure," writes a lady-visitor at a home for sick children, "that there will be many loving earnest prayers for you on easter morning from the children.
" i would like to quote further from her letters, as embodying a suggestion that may perhaps thus come to the notice of some one able and willing to carry it out.
" i want you to send me one of your easter greetings for a very dear child who is dying at our home.
she is just fading away, and "alice" has brightened some of the weary hours in her illness, and i know that letter would be such a delight to her -- especially if you would put "minnie" at the top, and she could know you had sent it for her.
she knows you, and would so value it... she suffers so much that i long for what i know would so please her."
... "thank you very much for sending me the letter, and for writing minnie's name... i am quite sure that all these children will say a loving prayer for the "alice-man" on easter day: and i am sure the letter will help the little ones to the real easter joy.
how i do wish that you, who have won the hearts and confidence of so many children, would do for them what is so very near my heart, and yet what no one will do, viz.
write a book for children about god and themselves, which is not goody, and which begins at the right end, about religion, to make them see what it really is.
i get quite miserable very often over the children i come across: hardly any of them have an idea of really knowing that god loves them, or of loving and confiding in him.
they will love and trust me, and be sure that i want them to be happy, and will not let them suffer more than is necessary: but as for going to him in the same way, they would never think of it.
they are dreadfully afraid of him, if they think of him at all, which they generally only do when they have been naughty, and they look on all connected with him as very grave and dull: and, when they are full of fun and thoroughly happy, i am sure they unconsciously hope he is not looking.
i am sure i do n't wonder they think of him in this way, for people never talk of him in connection with what makes their little lives the brightest.
if they are naughty, people put on solemn faces, and say he is very angry or shocked, or something which frightens them: and, for the rest, he is talked about only in a way that makes them think of church and having to be quiet.
as for being taught that all joy and all gladness and brightness is his joy -- that he is wearying for them to be happy, and is not hard and stern, but always doing things to make their days brighter, and caring for them so tenderly, and wanting them to run to him with all their little joys and sorrows, they are not taught that.
i do so long to make them trust him as they trust us, to feel that he will "take their part" as they do with us in their little woes, and to go to him in their plays and enjoyments and not only when they say their prayers.
i was quite grateful to one little dot, a short time ago, who said to his mother "when i am in bed, i put out my hand to see if i can feel jesus and my angel.
i thought perhaps in the dark they'd touch me, but they never have yet."
i do so want them to want to go to him, and to feel how, if he is there, it must be happy.
" let me add -- for i feel i have drifted into far too serious a vein for a preface to a fairy-tale -- the deliciously naïve remark of a very dear child-friend, whom i asked, after an acquaintance of two or three days, if she had read "alice" and the "looking-glass."
""oh yes," she replied readily, "i've read both of them!
and i think" -lrb- this more slowly and thoughtfully -rrb- "i think "through the looking-glass" is more stupid than "alice's adventures."
do n't you think so?"
but this was a question i felt it would be hardly discreet for me to enter upon.
lewis carroll.
dec. 1886.
* * * * * an easter greeting to every child who loves "alice."
dear child, please to fancy, if you can, that you are reading a real letter, from a real friend whom you have seen, and whose voice you can seem to yourself to hear wishing you, as i do now with all my heart, a happy easter.
do you know that delicious dreamy feeling when one first wakes on a summer morning, with the twitter of birds in the air, and the fresh breeze coming in at the open window -- when, lying lazily with eyes half shut, one sees as in a dream green boughs waving, or waters rippling in a golden light?
it is a pleasure very near to sadness, bringing tears to one's eyes like a beautiful picture or poem.
and is not that a mother's gentle hand that undraws your curtains, and a mother's sweet voice that summons you to rise?
to rise and forget, in the bright sunlight, the ugly dreams that frightened you so when all was dark -- to rise and enjoy another happy day, first kneeling to thank that unseen friend, who sends you the beautiful sun?
are these strange words from a writer of such tales as "alice"?
and is this a strange letter to find in a book of nonsense?
it may be so.
some perhaps may blame me for thus mixing together things grave and gay; others may smile and think it odd that any one should speak of solemn things at all, except in church and on a sunday: but i think -- nay, i am sure -- that some children will read this gently and lovingly, and in the spirit in which i have written it.
for i do not believe god means us thus to divide life into two halves -- to wear a grave face on sunday, and to think it out-of-place to even so much as mention him on a week-day.
do you think he cares to see only kneeling figures, and to hear only tones of prayer -- and that he does not also love to see the lambs leaping in the sunlight, and to hear the merry voices of the children, as they roll among the hay?
surely their innocent laughter is as sweet in his ears as the grandest anthem that ever rolled up from the "dim religious light" of some solemn cathedral?
and if i have written anything to add to those stores of innocent and healthy amusement that are laid up in books for the children i love so well, it is surely something i may hope to look back upon without shame and sorrow -lrb- as how much of life must then be recalled! -rrb-
when my turn comes to walk through the valley of shadows.
this easter sun will rise on you, dear child, feeling your "life in every limb," and eager to rush out into the fresh morning air -- and many an easter-day will come and go, before it finds you feeble and gray-headed, creeping wearily out to bask once more in the sunlight -- but it is good, even now, to think sometimes of that great morning when the "sun of righteousness shall arise with healing in his wings."
surely your gladness need not be the less for the thought that you will one day see a brighter dawn than this -- when lovelier sights will meet your eyes than any waving trees or rippling waters -- when angel-hands shall undraw your curtains, and sweeter tones than ever loving mother breathed shall wake you to a new and glorious day -- and when all the sadness, and the sin, that darkened life on this little earth, shall be forgotten like the dreams of a night that is past!
your affectionate friend, lewis carroll.
easter, 1876.
* * * * * christmas greetings.
-lsb- from a fairy to a child. -rsb-
lady dear, if fairies may for a moment lay aside cunning tricks and elfish play,'t is at happy christmas-tide.
we have heard the children say -- gentle children, whom we love -- long ago, on christmas day, came a message from above.
still, as christmas-tide comes round, they remember it again -- echo still the joyful sound "peace on earth, good-will to men!"
yet the hearts must childlike be where such heavenly guests abide: unto children, in their glee, all the year is christmas-tide!
thus, forgetting tricks and play for a moment, lady dear, we would wish you, if we may, merry christmas, glad new year!
lewis carroll.
christmas, 1867.
* * * * * works by lewis carroll.
published by macmillan and co., london.
alice's adventures in wonderland.
with forty-two illustrations by tenniel.
-lrb- first published in 1865. -rrb-
crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, price 6_s.
seventy-eighth thousand.
aventures d'alice au pays des merveilles.
traduit de l'anglais par henri bué.
ouvrage illustré de 42 vignettes par john tenniel.
-lrb- first published in 1869. -rrb-
crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, price 6_s.
alice's abenteuer im wunderland.
aus dem englischen, von antonie zimmermann.
mitt 42 illustrationen von john tenniel.
-lrb- first published in 1869. -rrb-
crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, price 6_s.
le avventure d'alice nel paese delle meraviglie.
tradotte dall" inglese da t. pietrocòla-rossetti.
con 42 vignette di giovanni tenniel.
-lrb- first published in 1872. -rrb-
crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, price 6_s.
through the looking-glass and what alice found there.
with fifty illustrations by tenniel.
-lrb- first published in 1871. -rrb-
crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, price 6_s.
fifty sixth thousand.
rhyme?
and reason?
with sixty-five illustrations by arthur b. frost, and nine by henry holiday.
-lrb- this book, first published in 1883, is a reprint, with a few additions, of the comic portion of "phantasmagoria and other poems," published in 1869, and of "the hunting of the snark," published in 1876.
mr. frost's pictures are new. -rrb-
crown 8vo, cloth, coloured edges, price 6_s.
fifth thousand.
* * * * * works by lewis carroll.
published by macmillan and co., london.
a tangled tale.
reprinted from the monthly packet.
with six illustrations by arthur b. frost.
-lrb- first published in 1885. -rrb-
crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, 4_s.
6_d.
third thousand.
the game of logic.
-lrb- with an envelope containing a card diagram and nine counters -- four red and five grey. -rrb-
crown 8vo, cloth, price 3_s.
n.b. -- the envelope, etc., may be had separately at 3_d.
each.
alice's adventures under ground.
being a facsimile of the original ms. book, afterwards developed into "alice's adventures in wonderland."
with thirty-seven illustrations by the author.
crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges.
4_s.
the nursery alice.
a selection of twenty of the pictures in "alice's adventures in wonderland," enlarged and coloured under the artist's superintendence, with explanations.
-lsb- in preparation.
* * * * * n.b..
in selling the above-mentioned books to the trade, messrs. macmillan and co. will abate 2_d.
in the shilling -lrb- no odd copies -rrb-, and allow 5 per cent.
discount for payment within six months, and 10 per cent.
for cash.
in selling them to the public -lrb- for cash only -rrb- they will allow 10 per cent.
discount.
* * * * * mr. lewis carroll, having been requested to allow "an easter greeting" -lrb- a leaflet, addressed to children, first published in 1876, and frequently given with his books -rrb- to be sold separately, has arranged with messrs. harrison, of 59, pall mall, who will supply a single copy for 1_d.
, or 12 for 9_d.
, or 100 for 5_s.
_book_title_: lewis_carroll___through_the_looking-glass.txt.out
chapter i. looking-glass house one thing was certain, that the white kitten had had nothing to do with it: -- it was the black kitten's fault entirely.
for the white kitten had been having its face washed by the old cat for the last quarter of an hour -lrb- and bearing it pretty well, considering -rrb-; so you see that it could n't have had any hand in the mischief.
the way dinah washed her children's faces was this: first she held the poor thing down by its ear with one paw, and then with the other paw she rubbed its face all over, the wrong way, beginning at the nose: and just now, as i said, she was hard at work on the white kitten, which was lying quite still and trying to purr -- no doubt feeling that it was all meant for its good.
but the black kitten had been finished with earlier in the afternoon, and so, while alice was sitting curled up in a corner of the great arm-chair, half talking to herself and half asleep, the kitten had been having a grand game of romps with the ball of worsted alice had been trying to wind up, and had been rolling it up and down till it had all come undone again; and there it was, spread over the hearth-rug, all knots and tangles, with the kitten running after its own tail in the middle.
"oh, you wicked little thing!"
cried alice, catching up the kitten, and giving it a little kiss to make it understand that it was in disgrace.
"really, dinah ought to have taught you better manners!
you ought, dinah, you know you ought!"
she added, looking reproachfully at the old cat, and speaking in as cross a voice as she could manage -- and then she scrambled back into the arm-chair, taking the kitten and the worsted with her, and began winding up the ball again.
but she did n't get on very fast, as she was talking all the time, sometimes to the kitten, and sometimes to herself.
kitty sat very demurely on her knee, pretending to watch the progress of the winding, and now and then putting out one paw and gently touching the ball, as if it would be glad to help, if it might.
"do you know what to-morrow is, kitty?"
alice began.
"you'd have guessed if you'd been up in the window with me -- only dinah was making you tidy, so you could n't.
i was watching the boys getting in sticks for the bonfire -- and it wants plenty of sticks, kitty!
only it got so cold, and it snowed so, they had to leave off.
never mind, kitty, we'll go and see the bonfire to-morrow."
here alice wound two or three turns of the worsted round the kitten's neck, just to see how it would look: this led to a scramble, in which the ball rolled down upon the floor, and yards and yards of it got unwound again.
"do you know, i was so angry, kitty," alice went on as soon as they were comfortably settled again, "when i saw all the mischief you had been doing, i was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow!
and you'd have deserved it, you little mischievous darling!
what have you got to say for yourself?
now do n't interrupt me!"
she went on, holding up one finger.
"i'm going to tell you all your faults.
number one: you squeaked twice while dinah was washing your face this morning.
now you ca n't deny it, kitty: i heard you!
what's that you say?"
-lrb- pretending that the kitten was speaking. -rrb-
"her paw went into your eye?
well, that's your fault, for keeping your eyes open -- if you'd shut them tight up, it would n't have happened.
now do n't make any more excuses, but listen!
number two: you pulled snowdrop away by the tail just as i had put down the saucer of milk before her!
what, you were thirsty, were you?
how do you know she was n't thirsty too?
now for number three: you unwound every bit of the worsted while i was n't looking!
"that's three faults, kitty, and you've not been punished for any of them yet.
you know i'm saving up all your punishments for wednesday week -- suppose they had saved up all my punishments!"
she went on, talking more to herself than the kitten.
"what would they do at the end of a year?
i should be sent to prison, i suppose, when the day came.
or -- let me see -- suppose each punishment was to be going without a dinner: then, when the miserable day came, i should have to go without fifty dinners at once!
well, i should n't mind that much!
i'd far rather go without them than eat them!
"do you hear the snow against the window-panes, kitty?
how nice and soft it sounds!
just as if some one was kissing the window all over outside.
i wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently?
and then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, "go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again."
and when they wake up in the summer, kitty, they dress themselves all in green, and dance about -- whenever the wind blows -- oh, that's very pretty!"
cried alice, dropping the ball of worsted to clap her hands.
"and i do so wish it was true!
i'm sure the woods look sleepy in the autumn, when the leaves are getting brown.
"kitty, can you play chess?
now, do n't smile, my dear, i'm asking it seriously.
because, when we were playing just now, you watched just as if you understood it: and when i said "check!"
you purred!
well, it was a nice check, kitty, and really i might have won, if it had n't been for that nasty knight, that came wiggling down among my pieces.
kitty, dear, let's pretend --" and here i wish i could tell you half the things alice used to say, beginning with her favourite phrase "let's pretend."
she had had quite a long argument with her sister only the day before -- all because alice had begun with "let's pretend we're kings and queens;" and her sister, who liked being very exact, had argued that they could n't, because there were only two of them, and alice had been reduced at last to say, "well, you can be one of them then, and i'll be all the rest."
and once she had really frightened her old nurse by shouting suddenly in her ear, "nurse!
do let's pretend that i'm a hungry hyaena, and you're a bone."
but this is taking us away from alice's speech to the kitten.
"let's pretend that you're the red queen, kitty!
do you know, i think if you sat up and folded your arms, you'd look exactly like her.
now do try, there's a dear!"
and alice got the red queen off the table, and set it up before the kitten as a model for it to imitate: however, the thing did n't succeed, principally, alice said, because the kitten would n't fold its arms properly.
so, to punish it, she held it up to the looking-glass, that it might see how sulky it was -- "and if you're not good directly," she added, "i'll put you through into looking-glass house.
how would you like that?"
"now, if you'll only attend, kitty, and not talk so much, i'll tell you all my ideas about looking-glass house.
first, there's the room you can see through the glass -- that's just the same as our drawing room, only the things go the other way.
i can see all of it when i get upon a chair -- all but the bit behind the fireplace.
oh!
i do so wish i could see that bit!
i want so much to know whether they've a fire in the winter: you never can tell, you know, unless our fire smokes, and then smoke comes up in that room too -- but that may be only pretence, just to make it look as if they had a fire.
well then, the books are something like our books, only the words go the wrong way; i know that, because i've held up one of our books to the glass, and then they hold up one in the other room.
"how would you like to live in looking-glass house, kitty?
i wonder if they'd give you milk in there?
perhaps looking-glass milk is n't good to drink -- but oh, kitty!
now we come to the passage.
you can just see a little peep of the passage in looking-glass house, if you leave the door of our drawing-room wide open: and it's very like our passage as far as you can see, only you know it may be quite different on beyond.
oh, kitty!
how nice it would be if we could only get through into looking-glass house!
i'm sure it's got, oh!
such beautiful things in it!
let's pretend there's a way of getting through into it, somehow, kitty.
let's pretend the glass has got all soft like gauze, so that we can get through.
why, it's turning into a sort of mist now, i declare!
it'll be easy enough to get through --" she was up on the chimney-piece while she said this, though she hardly knew how she had got there.
and certainly the glass was beginning to melt away, just like a bright silvery mist.
in another moment alice was through the glass, and had jumped lightly down into the looking-glass room.
the very first thing she did was to look whether there was a fire in the fireplace, and she was quite pleased to find that there was a real one, blazing away as brightly as the one she had left behind.
"so i shall be as warm here as i was in the old room," thought alice: "warmer, in fact, because there'll be no one here to scold me away from the fire.
oh, what fun it'll be, when they see me through the glass in here, and ca n't get at me!"
then she began looking about, and noticed that what could be seen from the old room was quite common and uninteresting, but that all the rest was as different as possible.
for instance, the pictures on the wall next the fire seemed to be all alive, and the very clock on the chimney-piece -lrb- you know you can only see the back of it in the looking-glass -rrb- had got the face of a little old man, and grinned at her.
"they do n't keep this room so tidy as the other," alice thought to herself, as she noticed several of the chessmen down in the hearth among the cinders: but in another moment, with a little "oh!"
of surprise, she was down on her hands and knees watching them.
the chessmen were walking about, two and two!
"here are the red king and the red queen," alice said -lrb- in a whisper, for fear of frightening them -rrb-, "and there are the white king and the white queen sitting on the edge of the shovel -- and here are two castles walking arm in arm -- i do n't think they can hear me," she went on, as she put her head closer down, "and i'm nearly sure they ca n't see me.
i feel somehow as if i were invisible --" here something began squeaking on the table behind alice, and made her turn her head just in time to see one of the white pawns roll over and begin kicking: she watched it with great curiosity to see what would happen next.
"it is the voice of my child!"
the white queen cried out as she rushed past the king, so violently that she knocked him over among the cinders.
"my precious lily!
my imperial kitten!"
and she began scrambling wildly up the side of the fender.
"imperial fiddlestick!"
said the king, rubbing his nose, which had been hurt by the fall.
he had a right to be a little annoyed with the queen, for he was covered with ashes from head to foot.
alice was very anxious to be of use, and, as the poor little lily was nearly screaming herself into a fit, she hastily picked up the queen and set her on the table by the side of her noisy little daughter.
the queen gasped, and sat down: the rapid journey through the air had quite taken away her breath and for a minute or two she could do nothing but hug the little lily in silence.
as soon as she had recovered her breath a little, she called out to the white king, who was sitting sulkily among the ashes, "mind the volcano!"
"what volcano?"
said the king, looking up anxiously into the fire, as if he thought that was the most likely place to find one.
"blew -- me -- up," panted the queen, who was still a little out of breath.
"mind you come up -- the regular way -- do n't get blown up!"
alice watched the white king as he slowly struggled up from bar to bar, till at last she said, "why, you'll be hours and hours getting to the table, at that rate.
i'd far better help you, had n't i?"
but the king took no notice of the question: it was quite clear that he could neither hear her nor see her.
so alice picked him up very gently, and lifted him across more slowly than she had lifted the queen, that she might n't take his breath away: but, before she put him on the table, she thought she might as well dust him a little, he was so covered with ashes.
she said afterwards that she had never seen in all her life such a face as the king made, when he found himself held in the air by an invisible hand, and being dusted: he was far too much astonished to cry out, but his eyes and his mouth went on getting larger and larger, and rounder and rounder, till her hand shook so with laughing that she nearly let him drop upon the floor.
"oh!
please do n't make such faces, my dear!"
she cried out, quite forgetting that the king could n't hear her.
"you make me laugh so that i can hardly hold you!
and do n't keep your mouth so wide open!
all the ashes will get into it -- there, now i think you're tidy enough!"
she added, as she smoothed his hair, and set him upon the table near the queen.
the king immediately fell flat on his back, and lay perfectly still: and alice was a little alarmed at what she had done, and went round the room to see if she could find any water to throw over him.
however, she could find nothing but a bottle of ink, and when she got back with it she found he had recovered, and he and the queen were talking together in a frightened whisper -- so low, that alice could hardly hear what they said.
the king was saying," i assure, you my dear, i turned cold to the very ends of my whiskers!"
to which the queen replied, "you have n't got any whiskers."
"the horror of that moment," the king went on," i shall never, never forget!"
"you will, though," the queen said, "if you do n't make a memorandum of it."
alice looked on with great interest as the king took an enormous memorandum-book out of his pocket, and began writing.
a sudden thought struck her, and she took hold of the end of the pencil, which came some way over his shoulder, and began writing for him.
the poor king looked puzzled and unhappy, and struggled with the pencil for some time without saying anything; but alice was too strong for him, and at last he panted out, "my dear!
i really must get a thinner pencil.
i ca n't manage this one a bit; it writes all manner of things that i do n't intend --" "what manner of things?"
said the queen, looking over the book -lrb- in which alice had put "the white knight is sliding down the poker.
he balances very badly" -rrb- "that's not a memorandum of your feelings!"
there was a book lying near alice on the table, and while she sat watching the white king -lrb- for she was still a little anxious about him, and had the ink all ready to throw over him, in case he fainted again -rrb-, she turned over the leaves, to find some part that she could read," -- for it's all in some language i do n't know," she said to herself.
it was like this.
ykcowrebbaj sevot yhtils eht dna, gillirb sawt" ebaw eht ni elbmig dna eryg did, sevogorob eht erew ysmim lla.
ebargtuo shtar emom eht dna she puzzled over this for some time, but at last a bright thought struck her.
"why, it's a looking-glass book, of course!
and if i hold it up to a glass, the words will all go the right way again."
this was the poem that alice read.
jabberwocky't was brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; all mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.
"beware the jabberwock, my son!
the jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
beware the jubjub bird, and shun the frumious bandersnatch!"
he took his vorpal sword in hand: long time the manxome foe he sought -- so rested he by the tumtum tree, and stood awhile in thought.
and as in uffish thought he stood, the jabberwock, with eyes of flame, came whiffling through the tulgey wood, and burbled as it came!
one, two!
one, two!
and through and through the vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
he left it dead, and with its head he went galumphing back.
"and hast thou slain the jabberwock?
come to my arms, my beamish boy!
o frabjous day!
callooh!
callay!"
he chortled in his joy.
't was brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; all mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.
"it seems very pretty," she said when she had finished it, "but it's rather hard to understand!"
-lrb- you see she did n't like to confess, even to herself, that she could n't make it out at all. -rrb-
"somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas -- only i do n't exactly know what they are!
however, somebody killed something: that's clear, at any rate --" "but oh!"
thought alice, suddenly jumping up, "if i do n't make haste i shall have to go back through the looking-glass, before i've seen what the rest of the house is like!
let's have a look at the garden first!"
she was out of the room in a moment, and ran down stairs -- or, at least, it was n't exactly running, but a new invention of hers for getting down stairs quickly and easily, as alice said to herself.
she just kept the tips of her fingers on the hand-rail, and floated gently down without even touching the stairs with her feet; then she floated on through the hall, and would have gone straight out at the door in the same way, if she had n't caught hold of the door-post.
she was getting a little giddy with so much floating in the air, and was rather glad to find herself walking again in the natural way.
chapter ii.
the garden of live flowers" i should see the garden far better," said alice to herself, "if i could get to the top of that hill: and here's a path that leads straight to it -- at least, no, it does n't do that --" -lrb- after going a few yards along the path, and turning several sharp corners -rrb-, "but i suppose it will at last.
but how curiously it twists!
it's more like a corkscrew than a path!
well, this turn goes to the hill, i suppose -- no, it does n't!
this goes straight back to the house!
well then, i'll try it the other way."
and so she did: wandering up and down, and trying turn after turn, but always coming back to the house, do what she would.
indeed, once, when she turned a corner rather more quickly than usual, she ran against it before she could stop herself.
"it's no use talking about it," alice said, looking up at the house and pretending it was arguing with her.
"i'm not going in again yet.
i know i should have to get through the looking-glass again -- back into the old room -- and there'd be an end of all my adventures!"
so, resolutely turning her back upon the house, she set out once more down the path, determined to keep straight on till she got to the hill.
for a few minutes all went on well, and she was just saying," i really shall do it this time --" when the path gave a sudden twist and shook itself -lrb- as she described it afterwards -rrb-, and the next moment she found herself actually walking in at the door.
"oh, it's too bad!"
she cried."
i never saw such a house for getting in the way!
never!"
however, there was the hill full in sight, so there was nothing to be done but start again.
this time she came upon a large flower-bed, with a border of daisies, and a willow-tree growing in the middle."
o tiger-lily," said alice, addressing herself to one that was waving gracefully about in the wind," i wish you could talk!"
"we can talk," said the tiger-lily: "when there's anybody worth talking to."
alice was so astonished that she could not speak for a minute: it quite seemed to take her breath away.
at length, as the tiger-lily only went on waving about, she spoke again, in a timid voice -- almost in a whisper.
"and can all the flowers talk?"
"as well as you can," said the tiger-lily.
"and a great deal louder."
"it is n't manners for us to begin, you know," said the rose, "and i really was wondering when you'd speak!
said i to myself, "her face has got some sense in it, though it's not a clever one!"
still, you're the right colour, and that goes a long way.'"
i do n't care about the colour," the tiger-lily remarked.
"if only her petals curled up a little more, she'd be all right."
alice did n't like being criticised, so she began asking questions.
"are n't you sometimes frightened at being planted out here, with nobody to take care of you?"
"there's the tree in the middle," said the rose: "what else is it good for?"
"but what could it do, if any danger came?"
alice asked.
"it says "bough-wough!""
cried a daisy: "that's why its branches are called boughs!"
"did n't you know that?"
cried another daisy, and here they all began shouting together, till the air seemed quite full of little shrill voices.
"silence, every one of you!"
cried the tiger-lily, waving itself passionately from side to side, and trembling with excitement.
"they know i ca n't get at them!"
it panted, bending its quivering head towards alice, "or they would n't dare to do it!"
"never mind!"
alice said in a soothing tone, and stooping down to the daisies, who were just beginning again, she whispered, "if you do n't hold your tongues, i'll pick you!"
there was silence in a moment, and several of the pink daisies turned white.
"that's right!"
said the tiger-lily.
"the daisies are worst of all.
when one speaks, they all begin together, and it's enough to make one wither to hear the way they go on!"
"how is it you can all talk so nicely?"
alice said, hoping to get it into a better temper by a compliment.
"i've been in many gardens before, but none of the flowers could talk."
"put your hand down, and feel the ground," said the tiger-lily.
"then you'll know why."
alice did so.
"it's very hard," she said, "but i do n't see what that has to do with it."
"in most gardens," the tiger-lily said, "they make the beds too soft -- so that the flowers are always asleep."
this sounded a very good reason, and alice was quite pleased to know it."
i never thought of that before!"
she said.
"it's my opinion that you never think at all," the rose said in a rather severe tone."
i never saw anybody that looked stupider," a violet said, so suddenly, that alice quite jumped; for it had n't spoken before.
"hold your tongue!"
cried the tiger-lily.
"as if you ever saw anybody!
you keep your head under the leaves, and snore away there, till you know no more what's going on in the world, than if you were a bud!"
"are there any more people in the garden besides me?"
alice said, not choosing to notice the rose's last remark.
"there's one other flower in the garden that can move about like you," said the rose."
i wonder how you do it --" -lrb- "you're always wondering," said the tiger-lily -rrb-, "but she's more bushy than you are."
"is she like me?"
alice asked eagerly, for the thought crossed her mind, "there's another little girl in the garden, somewhere!"
"well, she has the same awkward shape as you," the rose said, "but she's redder -- and her petals are shorter, i think."
"her petals are done up close, almost like a dahlia," the tiger-lily interrupted: "not tumbled about anyhow, like yours."
"but that's not your fault," the rose added kindly: "you're beginning to fade, you know -- and then one ca n't help one's petals getting a little untidy."
alice did n't like this idea at all: so, to change the subject, she asked "does she ever come out here?'"
i daresay you'll see her soon," said the rose.
"she's one of the thorny kind."
"where does she wear the thorns?"
alice asked with some curiosity.
"why all round her head, of course," the rose replied."
i was wondering you had n't got some too.
i thought it was the regular rule."
"she's coming!"
cried the larkspur."
i hear her footstep, thump, thump, thump, along the gravel-walk!"
alice looked round eagerly, and found that it was the red queen.
"she's grown a good deal!"
was her first remark.
she had indeed: when alice first found her in the ashes, she had been only three inches high -- and here she was, half a head taller than alice herself!
"it's the fresh air that does it," said the rose: "wonderfully fine air it is, out here.'"
i think i'll go and meet her," said alice, for, though the flowers were interesting enough, she felt that it would be far grander to have a talk with a real queen.
"you ca n't possibly do that," said the rose: "i should advise you to walk the other way."
this sounded nonsense to alice, so she said nothing, but set off at once towards the red queen.
to her surprise, she lost sight of her in a moment, and found herself walking in at the front-door again.
a little provoked, she drew back, and after looking everywhere for the queen -lrb- whom she spied out at last, a long way off -rrb-, she thought she would try the plan, this time, of walking in the opposite direction.
it succeeded beautifully.
she had not been walking a minute before she found herself face to face with the red queen, and full in sight of the hill she had been so long aiming at.
"where do you come from?"
said the red queen.
"and where are you going?
look up, speak nicely, and do n't twiddle your fingers all the time."
alice attended to all these directions, and explained, as well as she could, that she had lost her way."
i do n't know what you mean by your way," said the queen: "all the ways about here belong to me -- but why did you come out here at all?"
she added in a kinder tone.
"curtsey while you're thinking what to say, it saves time."
alice wondered a little at this, but she was too much in awe of the queen to disbelieve it.
"i'll try it when i go home," she thought to herself, "the next time i'm a little late for dinner."
"it's time for you to answer now," the queen said, looking at her watch: "open your mouth a little wider when you speak, and always say "your majesty."'"
i only wanted to see what the garden was like, your majesty --" "that's right," said the queen, patting her on the head, which alice did n't like at all, "though, when you say "garden," -- i've seen gardens, compared with which this would be a wilderness."
alice did n't dare to argue the point, but went on: "-- and i thought i'd try and find my way to the top of that hill --" "when you say "hill,"" the queen interrupted," i could show you hills, in comparison with which you'd call that a valley."
"no, i should n't," said alice, surprised into contradicting her at last: "a hill ca n't be a valley, you know.
that would be nonsense --" the red queen shook her head, "you may call it "nonsense" if you like," she said, "but i've heard nonsense, compared with which that would be as sensible as a dictionary!"
alice curtseyed again, as she was afraid from the queen's tone that she was a little offended: and they walked on in silence till they got to the top of the little hill.
for some minutes alice stood without speaking, looking out in all directions over the country -- and a most curious country it was.
there were a number of tiny little brooks running straight across it from side to side, and the ground between was divided up into squares by a number of little green hedges, that reached from brook to brook."
i declare it's marked out just like a large chessboard!"
alice said at last.
"there ought to be some men moving about somewhere -- and so there are!"
she added in a tone of delight, and her heart began to beat quick with excitement as she went on.
"it's a great huge game of chess that's being played -- all over the world -- if this is the world at all, you know.
oh, what fun it is!
how i wish i was one of them!
i would n't mind being a pawn, if only i might join -- though of course i should like to be a queen, best."
she glanced rather shyly at the real queen as she said this, but her companion only smiled pleasantly, and said, "that's easily managed.
you can be the white queen's pawn, if you like, as lily's too young to play; and you're in the second square to begin with: when you get to the eighth square you'll be a queen --" just at this moment, somehow or other, they began to run.
alice never could quite make out, in thinking it over afterwards, how it was that they began: all she remembers is, that they were running hand in hand, and the queen went so fast that it was all she could do to keep up with her: and still the queen kept crying "faster!
faster!"
but alice felt she could not go faster, though she had not breath left to say so.
the most curious part of the thing was, that the trees and the other things round them never changed their places at all: however fast they went, they never seemed to pass anything."
i wonder if all the things move along with us?"
thought poor puzzled alice.
and the queen seemed to guess her thoughts, for she cried, "faster!
do n't try to talk!"
not that alice had any idea of doing that.
she felt as if she would never be able to talk again, she was getting so much out of breath: and still the queen cried "faster!
faster!"
and dragged her along.
"are we nearly there?"
alice managed to pant out at last.
"nearly there!"
the queen repeated.
"why, we passed it ten minutes ago!
faster!"
and they ran on for a time in silence, with the wind whistling in alice's ears, and almost blowing her hair off her head, she fancied.
"now!
now!"
cried the queen.
"faster!
faster!"
and they went so fast that at last they seemed to skim through the air, hardly touching the ground with their feet, till suddenly, just as alice was getting quite exhausted, they stopped, and she found herself sitting on the ground, breathless and giddy.
the queen propped her up against a tree, and said kindly, "you may rest a little now."
alice looked round her in great surprise.
"why, i do believe we've been under this tree the whole time!
everything's just as it was!"
"of course it is," said the queen, "what would you have it?"
"well, in our country," said alice, still panting a little, "you'd generally get to somewhere else -- if you ran very fast for a long time, as we've been doing.'"
a slow sort of country!"
said the queen.
"now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place.
if you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!"
"i'd rather not try, please!"
said alice.
"i'm quite content to stay here -- only i am so hot and thirsty!'"
i know what you'd like!"
the queen said good-naturedly, taking a little box out of her pocket.
"have a biscuit?"
alice thought it would not be civil to say "no," though it was n't at all what she wanted.
so she took it, and ate it as well as she could: and it was very dry; and she thought she had never been so nearly choked in all her life.
"while you're refreshing yourself," said the queen, "i'll just take the measurements."
and she took a ribbon out of her pocket, marked in inches, and began measuring the ground, and sticking little pegs in here and there.
"at the end of two yards," she said, putting in a peg to mark the distance," i shall give you your directions -- have another biscuit?"
"no, thank you," said alice: "one's quite enough!"
"thirst quenched, i hope?"
said the queen.
alice did not know what to say to this, but luckily the queen did not wait for an answer, but went on.
"at the end of three yards i shall repeat them -- for fear of your forgetting them.
at the end of four, i shall say good-bye.
and at the end of five, i shall go!"
she had got all the pegs put in by this time, and alice looked on with great interest as she returned to the tree, and then began slowly walking down the row.
at the two-yard peg she faced round, and said," a pawn goes two squares in its first move, you know.
so you'll go very quickly through the third square -- by railway, i should think -- and you'll find yourself in the fourth square in no time.
well, that square belongs to tweedledum and tweedledee -- the fifth is mostly water -- the sixth belongs to humpty dumpty -- but you make no remark?"
"i -- i did n't know i had to make one -- just then," alice faltered out.
"you should have said, "it's extremely kind of you to tell me all this" -- however, we'll suppose it said -- the seventh square is all forest -- however, one of the knights will show you the way -- and in the eighth square we shall be queens together, and it's all feasting and fun!"
alice got up and curtseyed, and sat down again.
at the next peg the queen turned again, and this time she said, "speak in french when you ca n't think of the english for a thing -- turn out your toes as you walk -- and remember who you are!"
she did not wait for alice to curtsey this time, but walked on quickly to the next peg, where she turned for a moment to say "good-bye," and then hurried on to the last.
how it happened, alice never knew, but exactly as she came to the last peg, she was gone.
whether she vanished into the air, or whether she ran quickly into the wood -lrb- "and she can run very fast!"
thought alice -rrb-, there was no way of guessing, but she was gone, and alice began to remember that she was a pawn, and that it would soon be time for her to move.
chapter iii.
looking-glass insects of course the first thing to do was to make a grand survey of the country she was going to travel through.
"it's something very like learning geography," thought alice, as she stood on tiptoe in hopes of being able to see a little further.
"principal rivers -- there are none.
principal mountains -- i'm on the only one, but i do n't think it's got any name.
principal towns -- why, what are those creatures, making honey down there?
they ca n't be bees -- nobody ever saw bees a mile off, you know --" and for some time she stood silent, watching one of them that was bustling about among the flowers, poking its proboscis into them, "just as if it was a regular bee," thought alice.
however, this was anything but a regular bee: in fact it was an elephant -- as alice soon found out, though the idea quite took her breath away at first.
"and what enormous flowers they must be!"
was her next idea.
"something like cottages with the roofs taken off, and stalks put to them -- and what quantities of honey they must make!
i think i'll go down and -- no, i wo n't just yet," she went on, checking herself just as she was beginning to run down the hill, and trying to find some excuse for turning shy so suddenly.
"it'll never do to go down among them without a good long branch to brush them away -- and what fun it'll be when they ask me how i like my walk.
i shall say -- "oh, i like it well enough --"" -lrb- here came the favourite little toss of the head -rrb-," "only it was so dusty and hot, and the elephants did tease so!"'"
i think i'll go down the other way," she said after a pause: "and perhaps i may visit the elephants later on.
besides, i do so want to get into the third square!"
so with this excuse she ran down the hill and jumped over the first of the six little brooks.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "tickets, please!"
said the guard, putting his head in at the window.
in a moment everybody was holding out a ticket: they were about the same size as the people, and quite seemed to fill the carriage.
"now then!
show your ticket, child!"
the guard went on, looking angrily at alice.
and a great many voices all said together -lrb- "like the chorus of a song," thought alice -rrb-, "do n't keep him waiting, child!
why, his time is worth a thousand pounds a minute!"
"i'm afraid i have n't got one," alice said in a frightened tone: "there was n't a ticket-office where i came from."
and again the chorus of voices went on.
"there was n't room for one where she came from.
the land there is worth a thousand pounds an inch!"
"do n't make excuses," said the guard: "you should have bought one from the engine-driver."
and once more the chorus of voices went on with "the man that drives the engine.
why, the smoke alone is worth a thousand pounds a puff!"
alice thought to herself, "then there's no use in speaking."
the voices did n't join in this time, as she had n't spoken, but to her great surprise, they all thought in chorus -lrb- i hope you understand what thinking in chorus means -- for i must confess that i do n't -rrb-, "better say nothing at all.
language is worth a thousand pounds a word!'"
i shall dream about a thousand pounds tonight, i know i shall!"
thought alice.
all this time the guard was looking at her, first through a telescope, then through a microscope, and then through an opera-glass.
at last he said, "you're travelling the wrong way," and shut up the window and went away.
"so young a child," said the gentleman sitting opposite to her -lrb- he was dressed in white paper -rrb-, "ought to know which way she's going, even if she does n't know her own name!"
a goat, that was sitting next to the gentleman in white, shut his eyes and said in a loud voice, "she ought to know her way to the ticket-office, even if she does n't know her alphabet!"
there was a beetle sitting next to the goat -lrb- it was a very queer carriage-full of passengers altogether -rrb-, and, as the rule seemed to be that they should all speak in turn, he went on with "she'll have to go back from here as luggage!"
alice could n't see who was sitting beyond the beetle, but a hoarse voice spoke next.
"change engines --" it said, and was obliged to leave off.
"it sounds like a horse," alice thought to herself.
and an extremely small voice, close to her ear, said, "you might make a joke on that -- something about "horse" and "hoarse," you know."
then a very gentle voice in the distance said, "she must be labelled "lass, with care," you know --" and after that other voices went on -lrb- "what a number of people there are in the carriage!"
thought alice -rrb-, saying, "she must go by post, as she's got a head on her --" "she must be sent as a message by the telegraph --" "she must draw the train herself the rest of the way --" and so on.
but the gentleman dressed in white paper leaned forwards and whispered in her ear, "never mind what they all say, my dear, but take a return-ticket every time the train stops."
"indeed i sha n't!"
alice said rather impatiently."
i do n't belong to this railway journey at all -- i was in a wood just now -- and i wish i could get back there."
"you might make a joke on that," said the little voice close to her ear: "something about "you would if you could," you know."
"do n't tease so," said alice, looking about in vain to see where the voice came from; "if you're so anxious to have a joke made, why do n't you make one yourself?"
the little voice sighed deeply: it was very unhappy, evidently, and alice would have said something pitying to comfort it, "if it would only sigh like other people!"
she thought.
but this was such a wonderfully small sigh, that she would n't have heard it at all, if it had n't come quite close to her ear.
the consequence of this was that it tickled her ear very much, and quite took off her thoughts from the unhappiness of the poor little creature."
i know you are a friend," the little voice went on;" a dear friend, and an old friend.
and you wo n't hurt me, though i am an insect."
"what kind of insect?"
alice inquired a little anxiously.
what she really wanted to know was, whether it could sting or not, but she thought this would n't be quite a civil question to ask.
"what, then you do n't --" the little voice began, when it was drowned by a shrill scream from the engine, and everybody jumped up in alarm, alice among the rest.
the horse, who had put his head out of the window, quietly drew it in and said, "it's only a brook we have to jump over."
everybody seemed satisfied with this, though alice felt a little nervous at the idea of trains jumping at all.
"however, it'll take us into the fourth square, that's some comfort!"
she said to herself.
in another moment she felt the carriage rise straight up into the air, and in her fright she caught at the thing nearest to her hand, which happened to be the goat's beard.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * but the beard seemed to melt away as she touched it, and she found herself sitting quietly under a tree -- while the gnat -lrb- for that was the insect she had been talking to -rrb- was balancing itself on a twig just over her head, and fanning her with its wings.
it certainly was a very large gnat: "about the size of a chicken," alice thought.
still, she could n't feel nervous with it, after they had been talking together so long."
-- then you do n't like all insects?"
the gnat went on, as quietly as if nothing had happened."
i like them when they can talk," alice said.
"none of them ever talk, where i come from."
"what sort of insects do you rejoice in, where you come from?"
the gnat inquired."
i do n't rejoice in insects at all," alice explained, "because i'm rather afraid of them -- at least the large kinds.
but i can tell you the names of some of them."
"of course they answer to their names?"
the gnat remarked carelessly."
i never knew them to do it."
"what's the use of their having names," the gnat said, "if they wo n't answer to them?"
"no use to them," said alice; "but it's useful to the people who name them, i suppose.
if not, why do things have names at all?'"
i ca n't say," the gnat replied.
"further on, in the wood down there, they've got no names -- however, go on with your list of insects: you're wasting time."
"well, there's the horse-fly," alice began, counting off the names on her fingers.
"all right," said the gnat: "half way up that bush, you'll see a rocking-horse-fly, if you look.
it's made entirely of wood, and gets about by swinging itself from branch to branch."
"what does it live on?"
alice asked, with great curiosity.
"sap and sawdust," said the gnat.
"go on with the list."
alice looked up at the rocking-horse-fly with great interest, and made up her mind that it must have been just repainted, it looked so bright and sticky; and then she went on.
"and there's the dragon-fly."
"look on the branch above your head," said the gnat, "and there you'll find a snap-dragon-fly.
its body is made of plum-pudding, its wings of holly-leaves, and its head is a raisin burning in brandy."
"and what does it live on?"
"frumenty and mince pie," the gnat replied; "and it makes its nest in a christmas box."
"and then there's the butterfly," alice went on, after she had taken a good look at the insect with its head on fire, and had thought to herself," i wonder if that's the reason insects are so fond of flying into candles -- because they want to turn into snap-dragon-flies!"
"crawling at your feet," said the gnat -lrb- alice drew her feet back in some alarm -rrb-, "you may observe a bread-and-butterfly.
its wings are thin slices of bread-and-butter, its body is a crust, and its head is a lump of sugar."
"and what does it live on?"
"weak tea with cream in it."
a new difficulty came into alice's head.
"supposing it could n't find any?"
she suggested.
"then it would die, of course."
"but that must happen very often," alice remarked thoughtfully.
"it always happens," said the gnat.
after this, alice was silent for a minute or two, pondering.
the gnat amused itself meanwhile by humming round and round her head: at last it settled again and remarked," i suppose you do n't want to lose your name?"
"no, indeed," alice said, a little anxiously.
"and yet i do n't know," the gnat went on in a careless tone: "only think how convenient it would be if you could manage to go home without it!
for instance, if the governess wanted to call you to your lessons, she would call out "come here --," and there she would have to leave off, because there would n't be any name for her to call, and of course you would n't have to go, you know."
"that would never do, i'm sure," said alice: "the governess would never think of excusing me lessons for that.
if she could n't remember my name, she'd call me "miss!"
as the servants do."
"well, if she said "miss," and did n't say anything more," the gnat remarked, "of course you'd miss your lessons.
that's a joke.
i wish you had made it."
"why do you wish i had made it?"
alice asked.
"it's a very bad one."
but the gnat only sighed deeply, while two large tears came rolling down its cheeks.
"you should n't make jokes," alice said, "if it makes you so unhappy."
then came another of those melancholy little sighs, and this time the poor gnat really seemed to have sighed itself away, for, when alice looked up, there was nothing whatever to be seen on the twig, and, as she was getting quite chilly with sitting still so long, she got up and walked on.
she very soon came to an open field, with a wood on the other side of it: it looked much darker than the last wood, and alice felt a little timid about going into it.
however, on second thoughts, she made up her mind to go on: "for i certainly wo n't go back," she thought to herself, and this was the only way to the eighth square.
"this must be the wood," she said thoughtfully to herself, "where things have no names.
i wonder what'll become of my name when i go in?
i should n't like to lose it at all -- because they'd have to give me another, and it would be almost certain to be an ugly one.
but then the fun would be trying to find the creature that had got my old name!
that's just like the advertisements, you know, when people lose dogs -- "answers to the name of "dash: "had on a brass collar" -- just fancy calling everything you met "alice," till one of them answered!
only they would n't answer at all, if they were wise."
she was rambling on in this way when she reached the wood: it looked very cool and shady.
"well, at any rate it's a great comfort," she said as she stepped under the trees, "after being so hot, to get into the -- into what?"
she went on, rather surprised at not being able to think of the word."
i mean to get under the -- under the -- under this, you know!"
putting her hand on the trunk of the tree.
"what does it call itself, i wonder?
i do believe it's got no name -- why, to be sure it has n't!"
she stood silent for a minute, thinking: then she suddenly began again.
"then it really has happened, after all!
and now, who am i?
i will remember, if i can!
i'm determined to do it!"
but being determined did n't help much, and all she could say, after a great deal of puzzling, was, "l, i know it begins with l!"
just then a fawn came wandering by: it looked at alice with its large gentle eyes, but did n't seem at all frightened.
"here then!
here then!"
alice said, as she held out her hand and tried to stroke it; but it only started back a little, and then stood looking at her again.
"what do you call yourself?"
the fawn said at last.
such a soft sweet voice it had!"
i wish i knew!"
thought poor alice.
she answered, rather sadly, "nothing, just now."
"think again," it said: "that wo n't do."
alice thought, but nothing came of it.
"please, would you tell me what you call yourself?"
she said timidly."
i think that might help a little."
"i'll tell you, if you'll move a little further on," the fawn said."
i ca n't remember here."
so they walked on together though the wood, alice with her arms clasped lovingly round the soft neck of the fawn, till they came out into another open field, and here the fawn gave a sudden bound into the air, and shook itself free from alice's arms.
"i'm a fawn!"
it cried out in a voice of delight, "and, dear me!
you're a human child!"
a sudden look of alarm came into its beautiful brown eyes, and in another moment it had darted away at full speed.
alice stood looking after it, almost ready to cry with vexation at having lost her dear little fellow-traveller so suddenly.
"however, i know my name now."
she said, "that's some comfort.
alice -- alice -- i wo n't forget it again.
and now, which of these finger-posts ought i to follow, i wonder?"
it was not a very difficult question to answer, as there was only one road through the wood, and the two finger-posts both pointed along it.
"i'll settle it," alice said to herself, "when the road divides and they point different ways."
but this did not seem likely to happen.
she went on and on, a long way, but wherever the road divided there were sure to be two finger-posts pointing the same way, one marked "to tweedledum's house" and the other "to the house of tweedledee.'"
i do believe," said alice at last, "that they live in the same house!
i wonder i never thought of that before -- but i ca n't stay there long.
i'll just call and say "how d'you do?"
and ask them the way out of the wood.
if i could only get to the eighth square before it gets dark!"
so she wandered on, talking to herself as she went, till, on turning a sharp corner, she came upon two fat little men, so suddenly that she could not help starting back, but in another moment she recovered herself, feeling sure that they must be.
chapter iv.
tweedledum and tweedledee they were standing under a tree, each with an arm round the other's neck, and alice knew which was which in a moment, because one of them had "dum" embroidered on his collar, and the other "dee.'"
i suppose they've each got "tweedle" round at the back of the collar," she said to herself.
they stood so still that she quite forgot they were alive, and she was just looking round to see if the word "tweedle" was written at the back of each collar, when she was startled by a voice coming from the one marked "dum."
"if you think we're wax-works," he said, "you ought to pay, you know.
wax-works were n't made to be looked at for nothing, nohow!"
"contrariwise," added the one marked "dee," "if you think we're alive, you ought to speak."
"i'm sure i'm very sorry," was all alice could say; for the words of the old song kept ringing through her head like the ticking of a clock, and she could hardly help saying them out loud: -- "tweedledum and tweedledee agreed to have a battle; for tweedledum said tweedledee had spoiled his nice new rattle.
just then flew down a monstrous crow, as black as a tar-barrel; which frightened both the heroes so, they quite forgot their quarrel.'"
i know what you're thinking about," said tweedledum: "but it is n't so, nohow."
"contrariwise," continued tweedledee, "if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it is n't, it ai n't.
that's logic.'"
i was thinking," alice said very politely, "which is the best way out of this wood: it's getting so dark.
would you tell me, please?"
but the little men only looked at each other and grinned.
they looked so exactly like a couple of great schoolboys, that alice could n't help pointing her finger at tweedledum, and saying "first boy!"
"nohow!"
tweedledum cried out briskly, and shut his mouth up again with a snap.
"next boy!"
said alice, passing on to tweedledee, though she felt quite certain he would only shout out "contrariwise!"
and so he did.
"you've been wrong!"
cried tweedledum.
"the first thing in a visit is to say "how d'ye do?"
and shake hands!"
and here the two brothers gave each other a hug, and then they held out the two hands that were free, to shake hands with her.
alice did not like shaking hands with either of them first, for fear of hurting the other one's feelings; so, as the best way out of the difficulty, she took hold of both hands at once: the next moment they were dancing round in a ring.
this seemed quite natural -lrb- she remembered afterwards -rrb-, and she was not even surprised to hear music playing: it seemed to come from the tree under which they were dancing, and it was done -lrb- as well as she could make it out -rrb- by the branches rubbing one across the other, like fiddles and fiddle-sticks.
"but it certainly was funny," -lrb- alice said afterwards, when she was telling her sister the history of all this, -rrb- "to find myself singing "here we go round the mulberry bush."
i do n't know when i began it, but somehow i felt as if i'd been singing it a long long time!"
the other two dancers were fat, and very soon out of breath.
"four times round is enough for one dance," tweedledum panted out, and they left off dancing as suddenly as they had begun: the music stopped at the same moment.
then they let go of alice's hands, and stood looking at her for a minute: there was a rather awkward pause, as alice did n't know how to begin a conversation with people she had just been dancing with.
"it would never do to say "how d'ye do?"
now," she said to herself: "we seem to have got beyond that, somehow!'"
i hope you're not much tired?"
she said at last.
"nohow.
and thank you very much for asking," said tweedledum.
"so much obliged!"
added tweedledee.
"you like poetry?"
"ye-es, pretty well -- some poetry," alice said doubtfully.
"would you tell me which road leads out of the wood?"
"what shall i repeat to her?"
said tweedledee, looking round at tweedledum with great solemn eyes, and not noticing alice's question."
""the walrus and the carpenter" is the longest," tweedledum replied, giving his brother an affectionate hug.
tweedledee began instantly: "the sun was shining --" here alice ventured to interrupt him.
"if it's very long," she said, as politely as she could, "would you please tell me first which road --" tweedledee smiled gently, and began again: "the sun was shining on the sea, shining with all his might: he did his very best to make the billows smooth and bright -- and this was odd, because it was the middle of the night.
the moon was shining sulkily, because she thought the sun had got no business to be there after the day was done -- "it's very rude of him," she said, "to come and spoil the fun!"
the sea was wet as wet could be, the sands were dry as dry.
you could not see a cloud, because no cloud was in the sky: no birds were flying over head -- there were no birds to fly.
the walrus and the carpenter were walking close at hand; they wept like anything to see such quantities of sand: "if this were only cleared away," they said, "it would be grand!"
""if seven maids with seven mops swept it for half a year, do you suppose," the walrus said, "that they could get it clear?"
""i doubt it," said the carpenter, and shed a bitter tear.
""o oysters, come and walk with us!"
the walrus did beseech.
""a pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, along the briny beach: we can not do with more than four, to give a hand to each."
the eldest oyster looked at him.
but never a word he said: the eldest oyster winked his eye, and shook his heavy head -- meaning to say he did not choose to leave the oyster-bed.
but four young oysters hurried up, all eager for the treat: their coats were brushed, their faces washed, their shoes were clean and neat -- and this was odd, because, you know, they had n't any feet.
four other oysters followed them, and yet another four; and thick and fast they came at last, and more, and more, and more -- all hopping through the frothy waves, and scrambling to the shore.
the walrus and the carpenter walked on a mile or so, and then they rested on a rock conveniently low: and all the little oysters stood and waited in a row.
""the time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing-wax -- of cabbages -- and kings -- and why the sea is boiling hot -- and whether pigs have wings."
""but wait a bit," the oysters cried, "before we have our chat; for some of us are out of breath, and all of us are fat!"
""no hurry!"
said the carpenter.
they thanked him much for that.
""a loaf of bread," the walrus said, "is what we chiefly need: pepper and vinegar besides are very good indeed -- now if you're ready oysters dear, we can begin to feed."
""but not on us!"
the oysters cried, turning a little blue, "after such kindness, that would be a dismal thing to do!"
""the night is fine," the walrus said "do you admire the view?
""it was so kind of you to come!
and you are very nice!"
the carpenter said nothing but "cut us another slice: i wish you were not quite so deaf -- i've had to ask you twice!"
""it seems a shame," the walrus said, "to play them such a trick, after we've brought them out so far, and made them trot so quick!"
the carpenter said nothing but "the butter's spread too thick!"
""i weep for you," the walrus said.
""i deeply sympathize."
with sobs and tears he sorted out those of the largest size.
holding his pocket handkerchief before his streaming eyes.
""o oysters," said the carpenter.
""you've had a pleasant run!
shall we be trotting home again?"
but answer came there none -- and that was scarcely odd, because they'd eaten every one.'"
i like the walrus best," said alice: "because you see he was a little sorry for the poor oysters."
"he ate more than the carpenter, though," said tweedledee.
"you see he held his handkerchief in front, so that the carpenter could n't count how many he took: contrariwise."
"that was mean!"
alice said indignantly.
"then i like the carpenter best -- if he did n't eat so many as the walrus."
"but he ate as many as he could get," said tweedledum.
this was a puzzler.
after a pause, alice began, "well!
they were both very unpleasant characters --" here she checked herself in some alarm, at hearing something that sounded to her like the puffing of a large steam-engine in the wood near them, though she feared it was more likely to be a wild beast.
"are there any lions or tigers about here?"
she asked timidly.
"it's only the red king snoring," said tweedledee.
"come and look at him!"
the brothers cried, and they each took one of alice's hands, and led her up to where the king was sleeping.
"is n't he a lovely sight?"
said tweedledum.
alice could n't say honestly that he was.
he had a tall red night-cap on, with a tassel, and he was lying crumpled up into a sort of untidy heap, and snoring loud -- "fit to snore his head off!"
as tweedledum remarked.
"i'm afraid he'll catch cold with lying on the damp grass," said alice, who was a very thoughtful little girl.
"he's dreaming now," said tweedledee: "and what do you think he's dreaming about?"
alice said "nobody can guess that."
"why, about you!"
tweedledee exclaimed, clapping his hands triumphantly.
"and if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?"
"where i am now, of course," said alice.
"not you!"
tweedledee retorted contemptuously.
"you'd be nowhere.
why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream!"
"if that there king was to wake," added tweedledum, "you'd go out -- bang!
-- just like a candle!'"
i should n't!"
alice exclaimed indignantly.
"besides, if i'm only a sort of thing in his dream, what are you, i should like to know?"
"ditto" said tweedledum.
"ditto, ditto" cried tweedledee.
he shouted this so loud that alice could n't help saying, "hush!
you'll be waking him, i'm afraid, if you make so much noise."
"well, it no use your talking about waking him," said tweedledum, "when you're only one of the things in his dream.
you know very well you're not real.'"
i am real!"
said alice and began to cry.
"you wo n't make yourself a bit realler by crying," tweedledee remarked: "there's nothing to cry about."
"if i was n't real," alice said -- half-laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous --" i should n't be able to cry.'"
i hope you do n't suppose those are real tears?"
tweedledum interrupted in a tone of great contempt."
i know they're talking nonsense," alice thought to herself: "and it's foolish to cry about it."
so she brushed away her tears, and went on as cheerfully as she could.
"at any rate i'd better be getting out of the wood, for really it's coming on very dark.
do you think it's going to rain?"
tweedledum spread a large umbrella over himself and his brother, and looked up into it.
"no, i do n't think it is," he said: "at least -- not under here.
nohow."
"but it may rain outside?"
"it may -- if it chooses," said tweedledee: "we've no objection.
contrariwise."
"selfish things!"
thought alice, and she was just going to say "good-night" and leave them, when tweedledum sprang out from under the umbrella and seized her by the wrist.
"do you see that?"
he said, in a voice choking with passion, and his eyes grew large and yellow all in a moment, as he pointed with a trembling finger at a small white thing lying under the tree.
"it's only a rattle," alice said, after a careful examination of the little white thing.
"not a rattlesnake, you know," she added hastily, thinking that he was frightened: "only an old rattle -- quite old and broken.'"
i knew it was!"
cried tweedledum, beginning to stamp about wildly and tear his hair.
"it's spoilt, of course!"
here he looked at tweedledee, who immediately sat down on the ground, and tried to hide himself under the umbrella.
alice laid her hand upon his arm, and said in a soothing tone, "you need n't be so angry about an old rattle."
"but it is n't old!"
tweedledum cried, in a greater fury than ever.
"it's new, i tell you -- i bought it yesterday -- my nice new rattle!"
and his voice rose to a perfect scream.
all this time tweedledee was trying his best to fold up the umbrella, with himself in it: which was such an extraordinary thing to do, that it quite took off alice's attention from the angry brother.
but he could n't quite succeed, and it ended in his rolling over, bundled up in the umbrella, with only his head out: and there he lay, opening and shutting his mouth and his large eyes -- "looking more like a fish than anything else," alice thought.
"of course you agree to have a battle?"
tweedledum said in a calmer tone."
i suppose so," the other sulkily replied, as he crawled out of the umbrella: "only she must help us to dress up, you know."
so the two brothers went off hand-in-hand into the wood, and returned in a minute with their arms full of things -- such as bolsters, blankets, hearth-rugs, table-cloths, dish-covers and coal-scuttles."
i hope you're a good hand at pinning and tying strings?"
tweedledum remarked.
"every one of these things has got to go on, somehow or other."
alice said afterwards she had never seen such a fuss made about anything in all her life -- the way those two bustled about -- and the quantity of things they put on -- and the trouble they gave her in tying strings and fastening buttons -- "really they'll be more like bundles of old clothes than anything else, by the time they're ready!"
she said to herself, as she arranged a bolster round the neck of tweedledee, "to keep his head from being cut off," as he said.
"you know," he added very gravely, "it's one of the most serious things that can possibly happen to one in a battle -- to get one's head cut off."
alice laughed aloud: but she managed to turn it into a cough, for fear of hurting his feelings.
"do i look very pale?"
said tweedledum, coming up to have his helmet tied on.
-lrb- he called it a helmet, though it certainly looked much more like a saucepan. -rrb-
"well -- yes -- a little," alice replied gently.
"i'm very brave generally," he went on in a low voice: "only to-day i happen to have a headache."
"and i've got a toothache!"
said tweedledee, who had overheard the remark.
"i'm far worse off than you!"
"then you'd better not fight to-day," said alice, thinking it a good opportunity to make peace.
"we must have a bit of a fight, but i do n't care about going on long," said tweedledum.
"what's the time now?"
tweedledee looked at his watch, and said "half-past four."
"let's fight till six, and then have dinner," said tweedledum.
"very well," the other said, rather sadly: "and she can watch us -- only you'd better not come very close," he added: "i generally hit everything i can see -- when i get really excited."
"and i hit everything within reach," cried tweedledum, "whether i can see it or not!"
alice laughed.
"you must hit the trees pretty often, i should think," she said.
tweedledum looked round him with a satisfied smile."
i do n't suppose," he said, "there'll be a tree left standing, for ever so far round, by the time we've finished!"
"and all about a rattle!"
said alice, still hoping to make them a little ashamed of fighting for such a trifle."
i should n't have minded it so much," said tweedledum, "if it had n't been a new one.'"
i wish the monstrous crow would come!"
thought alice.
"there's only one sword, you know," tweedledum said to his brother: "but you can have the umbrella -- it's quite as sharp.
only we must begin quick.
it's getting as dark as it can."
"and darker," said tweedledee.
it was getting dark so suddenly that alice thought there must be a thunderstorm coming on.
"what a thick black cloud that is!"
she said.
"and how fast it comes!
why, i do believe it's got wings!"
"it's the crow!"
tweedledum cried out in a shrill voice of alarm: and the two brothers took to their heels and were out of sight in a moment.
alice ran a little way into the wood, and stopped under a large tree.
"it can never get at me here," she thought: "it's far too large to squeeze itself in among the trees.
but i wish it would n't flap its wings so -- it makes quite a hurricane in the wood -- here's somebody's shawl being blown away!"
chapter v. wool and water she caught the shawl as she spoke, and looked about for the owner: in another moment the white queen came running wildly through the wood, with both arms stretched out wide, as if she were flying, and alice very civilly went to meet her with the shawl.
"i'm very glad i happened to be in the way," alice said, as she helped her to put on her shawl again.
the white queen only looked at her in a helpless frightened sort of way, and kept repeating something in a whisper to herself that sounded like "bread-and-butter, bread-and-butter," and alice felt that if there was to be any conversation at all, she must manage it herself.
so she began rather timidly: "am i addressing the white queen?"
"well, yes, if you call that a-dressing," the queen said.
"it is n't my notion of the thing, at all."
alice thought it would never do to have an argument at the very beginning of their conversation, so she smiled and said, "if your majesty will only tell me the right way to begin, i'll do it as well as i can."
"but i do n't want it done at all!"
groaned the poor queen.
"i've been a-dressing myself for the last two hours."
it would have been all the better, as it seemed to alice, if she had got some one else to dress her, she was so dreadfully untidy.
"every single thing's crooked," alice thought to herself, "and she's all over pins!
-- may i put your shawl straight for you?"
she added aloud."
i do n't know what's the matter with it!"
the queen said, in a melancholy voice.
"it's out of temper, i think.
i've pinned it here, and i've pinned it there, but there's no pleasing it!"
"it ca n't go straight, you know, if you pin it all on one side," alice said, as she gently put it right for her; "and, dear me, what a state your hair is in!"
"the brush has got entangled in it!"
the queen said with a sigh.
"and i lost the comb yesterday."
alice carefully released the brush, and did her best to get the hair into order.
"come, you look rather better now!"
she said, after altering most of the pins.
"but really you should have a lady's maid!"
"i'm sure i'll take you with pleasure!"
the queen said.
"twopence a week, and jam every other day."
alice could n't help laughing, as she said," i do n't want you to hire me -- and i do n't care for jam."
"it's very good jam," said the queen.
"well, i do n't want any to-day, at any rate."
"you could n't have it if you did want it," the queen said.
"the rule is, jam to-morrow and jam yesterday -- but never jam to-day."
"it must come sometimes to "jam to-day,"" alice objected.
"no, it ca n't," said the queen.
"it's jam every other day: to-day is n't any other day, you know.'"
i do n't understand you," said alice.
"it's dreadfully confusing!"
"that's the effect of living backwards," the queen said kindly: "it always makes one a little giddy at first --" "living backwards!"
alice repeated in great astonishment."
i never heard of such a thing!'"
-- but there's one great advantage in it, that one's memory works both ways."
"i'm sure mine only works one way," alice remarked."
i ca n't remember things before they happen."
"it's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards," the queen remarked.
"what sort of things do you remember best?"
alice ventured to ask.
"oh, things that happened the week after next," the queen replied in a careless tone.
"for instance, now," she went on, sticking a large piece of plaster -lsb- band-aid -rsb- on her finger as she spoke, "there's the king's messenger.
he's in prison now, being punished: and the trial does n't even begin till next wednesday: and of course the crime comes last of all."
"suppose he never commits the crime?"
said alice.
"that would be all the better, would n't it?"
the queen said, as she bound the plaster round her finger with a bit of ribbon.
alice felt there was no denying that.
"of course it would be all the better," she said: "but it would n't be all the better his being punished."
"you're wrong there, at any rate," said the queen: "were you ever punished?"
"only for faults," said alice.
"and you were all the better for it, i know!"
the queen said triumphantly.
"yes, but then i had done the things i was punished for," said alice: "that makes all the difference."
"but if you had n't done them," the queen said, "that would have been better still; better, and better, and better!"
her voice went higher with each "better," till it got quite to a squeak at last.
alice was just beginning to say "there's a mistake somewhere --," when the queen began screaming so loud that she had to leave the sentence unfinished.
"oh, oh, oh!"
shouted the queen, shaking her hand about as if she wanted to shake it off.
"my finger's bleeding!
oh, oh, oh, oh!"
her screams were so exactly like the whistle of a steam-engine, that alice had to hold both her hands over her ears.
"what is the matter?"
she said, as soon as there was a chance of making herself heard.
"have you pricked your finger?'"
i have n't pricked it yet," the queen said, "but i soon shall -- oh, oh, oh!"
"when do you expect to do it?"
alice asked, feeling very much inclined to laugh.
"when i fasten my shawl again," the poor queen groaned out: "the brooch will come undone directly.
oh, oh!"
as she said the words the brooch flew open, and the queen clutched wildly at it, and tried to clasp it again.
"take care!"
cried alice.
"you're holding it all crooked!"
and she caught at the brooch; but it was too late: the pin had slipped, and the queen had pricked her finger.
"that accounts for the bleeding, you see," she said to alice with a smile.
"now you understand the way things happen here."
"but why do n't you scream now?"
alice asked, holding her hands ready to put over her ears again.
"why, i've done all the screaming already," said the queen.
"what would be the good of having it all over again?"
by this time it was getting light.
"the crow must have flown away, i think," said alice: "i'm so glad it's gone.
i thought it was the night coming on.'"
i wish i could manage to be glad!"
the queen said.
"only i never can remember the rule.
you must be very happy, living in this wood, and being glad whenever you like!"
"only it is so very lonely here!"
alice said in a melancholy voice; and at the thought of her loneliness two large tears came rolling down her cheeks.
"oh, do n't go on like that!"
cried the poor queen, wringing her hands in despair.
"consider what a great girl you are.
consider what a long way you've come to-day.
consider what o'clock it is.
consider anything, only do n't cry!"
alice could not help laughing at this, even in the midst of her tears.
"can you keep from crying by considering things?"
she asked.
"that's the way it's done," the queen said with great decision: "nobody can do two things at once, you know.
let's consider your age to begin with -- how old are you?"
"i'm seven and a half exactly."
"you need n't say "exactually,"" the queen remarked: "i can believe it without that.
now i'll give you something to believe.
i'm just one hundred and one, five months and a day.'"
i ca n't believe that!"
said alice.
"ca n't you?"
the queen said in a pitying tone.
"try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes."
alice laughed.
"there's no use trying," she said: "one ca n't believe impossible things.'"
i daresay you have n't had much practice," said the queen.
"when i was your age, i always did it for half-an-hour a day.
why, sometimes i've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.
there goes the shawl again!"
the brooch had come undone as she spoke, and a sudden gust of wind blew the queen's shawl across a little brook.
the queen spread out her arms again, and went flying after it, and this time she succeeded in catching it for herself.
"i've got it!"
she cried in a triumphant tone.
"now you shall see me pin it on again, all by myself!"
"then i hope your finger is better now?"
alice said very politely, as she crossed the little brook after the queen.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "oh, much better!"
cried the queen, her voice rising to a squeak as she went on.
"much be-etter!
be-etter!
be-e-e-etter!
be-e-ehh!"
the last word ended in a long bleat, so like a sheep that alice quite started.
she looked at the queen, who seemed to have suddenly wrapped herself up in wool.
alice rubbed her eyes, and looked again.
she could n't make out what had happened at all.
was she in a shop?
and was that really -- was it really a sheep that was sitting on the other side of the counter?
rub as she could, she could make nothing more of it: she was in a little dark shop, leaning with her elbows on the counter, and opposite to her was an old sheep, sitting in an arm-chair knitting, and every now and then leaving off to look at her through a great pair of spectacles.
"what is it you want to buy?"
the sheep said at last, looking up for a moment from her knitting."
i do n't quite know yet," alice said, very gently."
i should like to look all round me first, if i might."
"you may look in front of you, and on both sides, if you like," said the sheep: "but you ca n't look all round you -- unless you've got eyes at the back of your head."
but these, as it happened, alice had not got: so she contented herself with turning round, looking at the shelves as she came to them.
the shop seemed to be full of all manner of curious things -- but the oddest part of it all was, that whenever she looked hard at any shelf, to make out exactly what it had on it, that particular shelf was always quite empty: though the others round it were crowded as full as they could hold.
"things flow about so here!"
she said at last in a plaintive tone, after she had spent a minute or so in vainly pursuing a large bright thing, that looked sometimes like a doll and sometimes like a work-box, and was always in the shelf next above the one she was looking at.
"and this one is the most provoking of all -- but i'll tell you what --" she added, as a sudden thought struck her, "i'll follow it up to the very top shelf of all.
it'll puzzle it to go through the ceiling, i expect!"
but even this plan failed: the "thing" went through the ceiling as quietly as possible, as if it were quite used to it.
"are you a child or a teetotum?"
the sheep said, as she took up another pair of needles.
"you'll make me giddy soon, if you go on turning round like that."
she was now working with fourteen pairs at once, and alice could n't help looking at her in great astonishment.
"how can she knit with so many?"
the puzzled child thought to herself.
"she gets more and more like a porcupine every minute!"
"can you row?"
the sheep asked, handing her a pair of knitting-needles as she spoke.
"yes, a little -- but not on land -- and not with needles --" alice was beginning to say, when suddenly the needles turned into oars in her hands, and she found they were in a little boat, gliding along between banks: so there was nothing for it but to do her best.
"feather!"
cried the sheep, as she took up another pair of needles.
this did n't sound like a remark that needed any answer, so alice said nothing, but pulled away.
there was something very queer about the water, she thought, as every now and then the oars got fast in it, and would hardly come out again.
"feather!
feather!"
the sheep cried again, taking more needles.
"you'll be catching a crab directly.'"
a dear little crab!"
thought alice."
i should like that."
"did n't you hear me say "feather"?"
the sheep cried angrily, taking up quite a bunch of needles.
"indeed i did," said alice: "you've said it very often -- and very loud.
please, where are the crabs?"
"in the water, of course!"
said the sheep, sticking some of the needles into her hair, as her hands were full.
"feather, i say!"
"why do you say "feather" so often?"
alice asked at last, rather vexed.
"i'm not a bird!"
"you are," said the sheep: "you're a little goose."
this offended alice a little, so there was no more conversation for a minute or two, while the boat glided gently on, sometimes among beds of weeds -lrb- which made the oars stick fast in the water, worse then ever -rrb-, and sometimes under trees, but always with the same tall river-banks frowning over their heads.
"oh, please!
there are some scented rushes!"
alice cried in a sudden transport of delight.
"there really are -- and such beauties!"
"you need n't say "please" to me about'em," the sheep said, without looking up from her knitting: "i did n't put'em there, and i'm not going to take'em away."
"no, but i meant -- please, may we wait and pick some?"
alice pleaded.
"if you do n't mind stopping the boat for a minute."
"how am i to stop it?"
said the sheep.
"if you leave off rowing, it'll stop of itself."
so the boat was left to drift down the stream as it would, till it glided gently in among the waving rushes.
and then the little sleeves were carefully rolled up, and the little arms were plunged in elbow-deep to get the rushes a good long way down before breaking them off -- and for a while alice forgot all about the sheep and the knitting, as she bent over the side of the boat, with just the ends of her tangled hair dipping into the water -- while with bright eager eyes she caught at one bunch after another of the darling scented rushes."
i only hope the boat wo n't tipple over!"
she said to herself.
"oh, what a lovely one!
only i could n't quite reach it."
"and it certainly did seem a little provoking -lrb- "almost as if it happened on purpose," she thought -rrb- that, though she managed to pick plenty of beautiful rushes as the boat glided by, there was always a more lovely one that she could n't reach.
"the prettiest are always further!"
she said at last, with a sigh at the obstinacy of the rushes in growing so far off, as, with flushed cheeks and dripping hair and hands, she scrambled back into her place, and began to arrange her new-found treasures.
what mattered it to her just then that the rushes had begun to fade, and to lose all their scent and beauty, from the very moment that she picked them?
even real scented rushes, you know, last only a very little while -- and these, being dream-rushes, melted away almost like snow, as they lay in heaps at her feet -- but alice hardly noticed this, there were so many other curious things to think about.
they had n't gone much farther before the blade of one of the oars got fast in the water and would n't come out again -lrb- so alice explained it afterwards -rrb-, and the consequence was that the handle of it caught her under the chin, and, in spite of a series of little shrieks of "oh, oh, oh!"
from poor alice, it swept her straight off the seat, and down among the heap of rushes.
however, she was n't hurt, and was soon up again: the sheep went on with her knitting all the while, just as if nothing had happened.
"that was a nice crab you caught!"
she remarked, as alice got back into her place, very much relieved to find herself still in the boat.
"was it?
i did n't see it," said alice, peeping cautiously over the side of the boat into the dark water."
i wish it had n't let go -- i should so like to see a little crab to take home with me!"
but the sheep only laughed scornfully, and went on with her knitting.
"are there many crabs here?"
said alice.
"crabs, and all sorts of things," said the sheep: "plenty of choice, only make up your mind.
now, what do you want to buy?"
"to buy!"
alice echoed in a tone that was half astonished and half frightened -- for the oars, and the boat, and the river, had vanished all in a moment, and she was back again in the little dark shop."
i should like to buy an egg, please," she said timidly.
"how do you sell them?"
"fivepence farthing for one -- twopence for two," the sheep replied.
"then two are cheaper than one?"
alice said in a surprised tone, taking out her purse.
"only you must eat them both, if you buy two," said the sheep.
"then i'll have one, please," said alice, as she put the money down on the counter.
for she thought to herself, "they might n't be at all nice, you know."
the sheep took the money, and put it away in a box: then she said" i never put things into people's hands -- that would never do -- you must get it for yourself."
and so saying, she went off to the other end of the shop, and set the egg upright on a shelf."
i wonder why it would n't do?"
thought alice, as she groped her way among the tables and chairs, for the shop was very dark towards the end.
"the egg seems to get further away the more i walk towards it.
let me see, is this a chair?
why, it's got branches, i declare!
how very odd to find trees growing here!
and actually here's a little brook!
well, this is the very queerest shop i ever saw!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * so she went on, wondering more and more at every step, as everything turned into a tree the moment she came up to it, and she quite expected the egg to do the same.
chapter vi.
humpty dumpty however, the egg only got larger and larger, and more and more human: when she had come within a few yards of it, she saw that it had eyes and a nose and mouth; and when she had come close to it, she saw clearly that it was humpty dumpty himself.
"it ca n't be anybody else!"
she said to herself.
"i'm as certain of it, as if his name were written all over his face."
it might have been written a hundred times, easily, on that enormous face.
humpty dumpty was sitting with his legs crossed, like a turk, on the top of a high wall -- such a narrow one that alice quite wondered how he could keep his balance -- and, as his eyes were steadily fixed in the opposite direction, and he did n't take the least notice of her, she thought he must be a stuffed figure after all.
"and how exactly like an egg he is!"
she said aloud, standing with her hands ready to catch him, for she was every moment expecting him to fall.
"it's very provoking," humpty dumpty said after a long silence, looking away from alice as he spoke, "to be called an egg -- very!'"
i said you looked like an egg, sir," alice gently explained.
"and some eggs are very pretty, you know" she added, hoping to turn her remark into a sort of a compliment.
"some people," said humpty dumpty, looking away from her as usual, "have no more sense than a baby!"
alice did n't know what to say to this: it was n't at all like conversation, she thought, as he never said anything to her; in fact, his last remark was evidently addressed to a tree -- so she stood and softly repeated to herself: -- "humpty dumpty sat on a wall: humpty dumpty had a great fall.
all the king's horses and all the king's men could n't put humpty dumpty in his place again."
"that last line is much too long for the poetry," she added, almost out loud, forgetting that humpty dumpty would hear her.
"do n't stand there chattering to yourself like that," humpty dumpty said, looking at her for the first time, "but tell me your name and your business."
"my name is alice, but --" "it's a stupid enough name!"
humpty dumpty interrupted impatiently.
"what does it mean?"
"must a name mean something?"
alice asked doubtfully.
"of course it must," humpty dumpty said with a short laugh: "my name means the shape i am -- and a good handsome shape it is, too.
with a name like yours, you might be any shape, almost."
"why do you sit out here all alone?"
said alice, not wishing to begin an argument.
"why, because there's nobody with me!"
cried humpty dumpty.
"did you think i did n't know the answer to that?
ask another."
"do n't you think you'd be safer down on the ground?"
alice went on, not with any idea of making another riddle, but simply in her good-natured anxiety for the queer creature.
"that wall is so very narrow!"
"what tremendously easy riddles you ask!"
humpty dumpty growled out.
"of course i do n't think so!
why, if ever i did fall off -- which there's no chance of -- but if i did --" here he pursed up his lips and looked so solemn and grand that alice could hardly help laughing.
"if i did fall," he went on, "the king has promised me -- ah, you may turn pale, if you like!
you did n't think i was going to say that, did you?
the king has promised me -- with his very own mouth -- to -- to --" "to send all his horses and all his men," alice interrupted, rather unwisely.
"now i declare that's too bad!"
humpty dumpty cried, breaking into a sudden passion.
"you've been listening at doors -- and behind trees -- and down chimneys -- or you could n't have known it!'"
i have n't, indeed!"
alice said very gently.
"it's in a book."
"ah, well!
they may write such things in a book," humpty dumpty said in a calmer tone.
"that's what you call a history of england, that is.
now, take a good look at me!
i'm one that has spoken to a king, i am: mayhap you'll never see such another: and to show you i'm not proud, you may shake hands with me!"
and he grinned almost from ear to ear, as he leant forwards -lrb- and as nearly as possible fell off the wall in doing so -rrb- and offered alice his hand.
she watched him a little anxiously as she took it.
"if he smiled much more, the ends of his mouth might meet behind," she thought: "and then i do n't know what would happen to his head!
i'm afraid it would come off!"
"yes, all his horses and all his men," humpty dumpty went on.
"they'd pick me up again in a minute, they would!
however, this conversation is going on a little too fast: let's go back to the last remark but one."
"i'm afraid i ca n't quite remember it," alice said very politely.
"in that case we start fresh," said humpty dumpty, "and it's my turn to choose a subject --" -lrb- "he talks about it just as if it was a game!"
thought alice. -rrb-
"so here's a question for you.
how old did you say you were?"
alice made a short calculation, and said "seven years and six months."
"wrong!"
humpty dumpty exclaimed triumphantly.
"you never said a word like it!'"
i though you meant "how old are you?""
alice explained.
"if i'd meant that, i'd have said it," said humpty dumpty.
alice did n't want to begin another argument, so she said nothing.
"seven years and six months!"
humpty dumpty repeated thoughtfully.
"an uncomfortable sort of age.
now if you'd asked my advice, i'd have said "leave off at seven" -- but it's too late now.'"
i never ask advice about growing," alice said indignantly.
"too proud?"
the other inquired.
alice felt even more indignant at this suggestion."
i mean," she said, "that one ca n't help growing older."
"one ca n't, perhaps," said humpty dumpty, "but two can.
with proper assistance, you might have left off at seven."
"what a beautiful belt you've got on!"
alice suddenly remarked.
-lrb- they had had quite enough of the subject of age, she thought: and if they really were to take turns in choosing subjects, it was her turn now. -rrb-
"at least," she corrected herself on second thoughts," a beautiful cravat, i should have said -- no, a belt, i mean -- i beg your pardon!"
she added in dismay, for humpty dumpty looked thoroughly offended, and she began to wish she had n't chosen that subject.
"if i only knew," she thought to herself, "which was neck and which was waist!"
evidently humpty dumpty was very angry, though he said nothing for a minute or two.
when he did speak again, it was in a deep growl.
"it is a -- most -- provoking -- thing," he said at last, "when a person does n't know a cravat from a belt!'"
i know it's very ignorant of me," alice said, in so humble a tone that humpty dumpty relented.
"it's a cravat, child, and a beautiful one, as you say.
it's a present from the white king and queen.
there now!"
"is it really?"
said alice, quite pleased to find that she had chosen a good subject, after all.
"they gave it me," humpty dumpty continued thoughtfully, as he crossed one knee over the other and clasped his hands round it, "they gave it me -- for an un-birthday present.'"
i beg your pardon?"
alice said with a puzzled air.
"i'm not offended," said humpty dumpty."
i mean, what is an un-birthday present?'"
a present given when it is n't your birthday, of course."
alice considered a little."
i like birthday presents best," she said at last.
"you do n't know what you're talking about!"
cried humpty dumpty.
"how many days are there in a year?"
"three hundred and sixty-five," said alice.
"and how many birthdays have you?"
"one."
"and if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five, what remains?"
"three hundred and sixty-four, of course."
humpty dumpty looked doubtful.
"i'd rather see that done on paper," he said.
alice could n't help smiling as she took out her memorandum-book, and worked the sum for him: 365 1 ____ 364 ___ humpty dumpty took the book, and looked at it carefully.
"that seems to be done right --" he began.
"you're holding it upside down!"
alice interrupted.
"to be sure i was!"
humpty dumpty said gaily, as she turned it round for him."
i thought it looked a little queer.
as i was saying, that seems to be done right -- though i have n't time to look it over thoroughly just now -- and that shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents --" "certainly," said alice.
"and only one for birthday presents, you know.
there's glory for you!'"
i do n't know what you mean by "glory,"" alice said.
humpty dumpty smiled contemptuously.
"of course you do n't -- till i tell you.
i meant "there's a nice knock-down argument for you!""
"but "glory" does n't mean "a nice knock-down argument,"" alice objected.
"when i use a word," humpty dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, "it means just what i choose it to mean -- neither more nor less."
"the question is," said alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."
"the question is," said humpty dumpty, "which is to be master -- that's all."
alice was too much puzzled to say anything, so after a minute humpty dumpty began again.
"they've a temper, some of them -- particularly verbs, they're the proudest -- adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs -- however, i can manage the whole lot of them!
impenetrability!
that's what i say!"
"would you tell me, please," said alice "what that means?"
"now you talk like a reasonable child," said humpty dumpty, looking very much pleased."
i meant by "impenetrability" that we've had enough of that subject, and it would be just as well if you'd mention what you mean to do next, as i suppose you do n't mean to stop here all the rest of your life."
"that's a great deal to make one word mean," alice said in a thoughtful tone.
"when i make a word do a lot of work like that," said humpty dumpty," i always pay it extra."
"oh!"
said alice.
she was too much puzzled to make any other remark.
"ah, you should see'em come round me of a saturday night," humpty dumpty went on, wagging his head gravely from side to side: "for to get their wages, you know."
-lrb- alice did n't venture to ask what he paid them with; and so you see i ca n't tell you. -rrb-
"you seem very clever at explaining words, sir," said alice.
"would you kindly tell me the meaning of the poem called "jabberwocky"?"
"let's hear it," said humpty dumpty."
i can explain all the poems that were ever invented -- and a good many that have n't been invented just yet."
this sounded very hopeful, so alice repeated the first verse:'t was brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; all mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.
"that's enough to begin with," humpty dumpty interrupted: "there are plenty of hard words there.
""brillig" means four o'clock in the afternoon -- the time when you begin broiling things for dinner."
"that'll do very well," said alice: "and "slithy"?"
"well, "slithy" means "lithe and slimy."
""lithe" is the same as "active."
you see it's like a portmanteau -- there are two meanings packed up into one word.'"
i see it now," alice remarked thoughtfully: "and what are "toves"?"
"well, "toves" are something like badgers -- they're something like lizards -- and they're something like corkscrews."
"they must be very curious looking creatures."
"they are that," said humpty dumpty: "also they make their nests under sun-dials -- also they live on cheese."
"and what's the "gyre" and to "gimble"?"
"to "gyre" is to go round and round like a gyroscope.
to "gimble" is to make holes like a gimlet."
"and "the wabe" is the grass-plot round a sun-dial, i suppose?"
said alice, surprised at her own ingenuity.
"of course it is.
it's called "wabe," you know, because it goes a long way before it, and a long way behind it --" "and a long way beyond it on each side," alice added.
"exactly so.
well, then, "mimsy" is "flimsy and miserable" -lrb- there's another portmanteau for you -rrb-.
and a "borogove" is a thin shabby-looking bird with its feathers sticking out all round -- something like a live mop."
"and then "mome raths"?"
said alice.
"i'm afraid i'm giving you a great deal of trouble."
"well, a "rath" is a sort of green pig: but "mome" i'm not certain about.
i think it's short for "from home" -- meaning that they'd lost their way, you know."
"and what does "outgrabe" mean?"
"well, "outgrabing" is something between bellowing and whistling, with a kind of sneeze in the middle: however, you'll hear it done, maybe -- down in the wood yonder -- and when you've once heard it you'll be quite content.
who's been repeating all that hard stuff to you?'"
i read it in a book," said alice.
"but i had some poetry repeated to me, much easier than that, by -- tweedledee, i think it was."
"as to poetry, you know," said humpty dumpty, stretching out one of his great hands," i can repeat poetry as well as other folk, if it comes to that --" "oh, it need n't come to that!"
alice hastily said, hoping to keep him from beginning.
"the piece i'm going to repeat," he went on without noticing her remark, "was written entirely for your amusement."
alice felt that in that case she really ought to listen to it, so she sat down, and said "thank you" rather sadly.
"in winter, when the fields are white, i sing this song for your delight -- only i do n't sing it," he added, as an explanation."
i see you do n't," said alice.
"if you can see whether i'm singing or not, you've sharper eyes than most."
humpty dumpty remarked severely.
alice was silent.
"in spring, when woods are getting green, i'll try and tell you what i mean."
"thank you very much," said alice.
"in summer, when the days are long, perhaps you'll understand the song: in autumn, when the leaves are brown, take pen and ink, and write it down.'"
i will, if i can remember it so long," said alice.
"you need n't go on making remarks like that," humpty dumpty said: "they're not sensible, and they put me out.'"
i sent a message to the fish: i told them "this is what i wish."
the little fishes of the sea, they sent an answer back to me.
the little fishes" answer was "we can not do it, sir, because --"" "i'm afraid i do n't quite understand," said alice.
"it gets easier further on," humpty dumpty replied."
i sent to them again to say "it will be better to obey."
the fishes answered with a grin, "why, what a temper you are in!"
i told them once, i told them twice: they would not listen to advice.
i took a kettle large and new, fit for the deed i had to do.
my heart went hop, my heart went thump; i filled the kettle at the pump.
then some one came to me and said, "the little fishes are in bed."
i said to him, i said it plain, "then you must wake them up again."
i said it very loud and clear; i went and shouted in his ear."
humpty dumpty raised his voice almost to a scream as he repeated this verse, and alice thought with a shudder," i would n't have been the messenger for anything!"
"but he was very stiff and proud; he said "you need n't shout so loud!"
and he was very proud and stiff; he said "i'd go and wake them, if --" i took a corkscrew from the shelf: i went to wake them up myself.
and when i found the door was locked, i pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked.
and when i found the door was shut, i tried to turn the handle, but --" there was a long pause.
"is that all?"
alice timidly asked.
"that's all," said humpty dumpty.
"good-bye."
this was rather sudden, alice thought: but, after such a very strong hint that she ought to be going, she felt that it would hardly be civil to stay.
so she got up, and held out her hand.
"good-bye, till we meet again!"
she said as cheerfully as she could."
i should n't know you again if we did meet," humpty dumpty replied in a discontented tone, giving her one of his fingers to shake; "you're so exactly like other people."
"the face is what one goes by, generally," alice remarked in a thoughtful tone.
"that's just what i complain of," said humpty dumpty.
"your face is the same as everybody has -- the two eyes, so --" -lrb- marking their places in the air with this thumb -rrb- "nose in the middle, mouth under.
it's always the same.
now if you had the two eyes on the same side of the nose, for instance -- or the mouth at the top -- that would be some help."
"it would n't look nice," alice objected.
but humpty dumpty only shut his eyes and said "wait till you've tried."
alice waited a minute to see if he would speak again, but as he never opened his eyes or took any further notice of her, she said "good-bye!"
once more, and, getting no answer to this, she quietly walked away: but she could n't help saying to herself as she went, "of all the unsatisfactory --" -lrb- she repeated this aloud, as it was a great comfort to have such a long word to say -rrb- "of all the unsatisfactory people i ever met --" she never finished the sentence, for at this moment a heavy crash shook the forest from end to end.
chapter vii.
the lion and the unicorn the next moment soldiers came running through the wood, at first in twos and threes, then ten or twenty together, and at last in such crowds that they seemed to fill the whole forest.
alice got behind a tree, for fear of being run over, and watched them go by.
she thought that in all her life she had never seen soldiers so uncertain on their feet: they were always tripping over something or other, and whenever one went down, several more always fell over him, so that the ground was soon covered with little heaps of men.
then came the horses.
having four feet, these managed rather better than the foot-soldiers: but even they stumbled now and then; and it seemed to be a regular rule that, whenever a horse stumbled the rider fell off instantly.
the confusion got worse every moment, and alice was very glad to get out of the wood into an open place, where she found the white king seated on the ground, busily writing in his memorandum-book.
"i've sent them all!"
the king cried in a tone of delight, on seeing alice.
"did you happen to meet any soldiers, my dear, as you came through the wood?"
"yes, i did," said alice: "several thousand, i should think."
"four thousand two hundred and seven, that's the exact number," the king said, referring to his book."
i could n't send all the horses, you know, because two of them are wanted in the game.
and i have n't sent the two messengers, either.
they're both gone to the town.
just look along the road, and tell me if you can see either of them.'"
i see nobody on the road," said alice."
i only wish i had such eyes," the king remarked in a fretful tone.
"to be able to see nobody!
and at that distance, too!
why, it's as much as i can do to see real people, by this light!"
all this was lost on alice, who was still looking intently along the road, shading her eyes with one hand."
i see somebody now!"
she exclaimed at last.
"but he's coming very slowly -- and what curious attitudes he goes into!"
-lrb- for the messenger kept skipping up and down, and wriggling like an eel, as he came along, with his great hands spread out like fans on each side. -rrb-
"not at all," said the king.
"he's an anglo-saxon messenger -- and those are anglo-saxon attitudes.
he only does them when he's happy.
his name is haigha."
-lrb- he pronounced it so as to rhyme with "mayor." -rrb-"
i love my love with an h," alice could n't help beginning, "because he is happy.
i hate him with an h, because he is hideous.
i fed him with -- with -- with ham-sandwiches and hay.
his name is haigha, and he lives --" "he lives on the hill," the king remarked simply, without the least idea that he was joining in the game, while alice was still hesitating for the name of a town beginning with h. "the other messenger's called hatta.
i must have two, you know -- to come and go.
one to come, and one to go.'"
i beg your pardon?"
said alice.
"it is n't respectable to beg," said the king."
i only meant that i did n't understand," said alice.
"why one to come and one to go?"
"did n't i tell you?"
the king repeated impatiently."
i must have two -- to fetch and carry.
one to fetch, and one to carry."
at this moment the messenger arrived: he was far too much out of breath to say a word, and could only wave his hands about, and make the most fearful faces at the poor king.
"this young lady loves you with an h," the king said, introducing alice in the hope of turning off the messenger's attention from himself -- but it was no use -- the anglo-saxon attitudes only got more extraordinary every moment, while the great eyes rolled wildly from side to side.
"you alarm me!"
said the king."
i feel faint -- give me a ham sandwich!"
on which the messenger, to alice's great amusement, opened a bag that hung round his neck, and handed a sandwich to the king, who devoured it greedily.
"another sandwich!"
said the king.
"there's nothing but hay left now," the messenger said, peeping into the bag.
"hay, then," the king murmured in a faint whisper.
alice was glad to see that it revived him a good deal.
"there's nothing like eating hay when you're faint," he remarked to her, as he munched away."
i should think throwing cold water over you would be better," alice suggested: "or some sal-volatile.'"
i did n't say there was nothing better," the king replied."
i said there was nothing like it."
which alice did not venture to deny.
"who did you pass on the road?"
the king went on, holding out his hand to the messenger for some more hay.
"nobody," said the messenger.
"quite right," said the king: "this young lady saw him too.
so of course nobody walks slower than you.'"
i do my best," the messenger said in a sulky tone.
"i'm sure nobody walks much faster than i do!"
"he ca n't do that," said the king, "or else he'd have been here first.
however, now you've got your breath, you may tell us what's happened in the town."
"i'll whisper it," said the messenger, putting his hands to his mouth in the shape of a trumpet, and stooping so as to get close to the king's ear.
alice was sorry for this, as she wanted to hear the news too.
however, instead of whispering, he simply shouted at the top of his voice "they're at it again!"
"do you call that a whisper?"
cried the poor king, jumping up and shaking himself.
"if you do such a thing again, i'll have you buttered!
it went through and through my head like an earthquake!"
"it would have to be a very tiny earthquake!"
thought alice.
"who are at it again?"
she ventured to ask.
"why the lion and the unicorn, of course," said the king.
"fighting for the crown?"
"yes, to be sure," said the king: "and the best of the joke is, that it's my crown all the while!
let's run and see them."
and they trotted off, alice repeating to herself, as she ran, the words of the old song: -- "the lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown: the lion beat the unicorn all round the town.
some gave them white bread, some gave them brown; some gave them plum-cake and drummed them out of town."
"does -- the one -- that wins -- get the crown?"
she asked, as well as she could, for the run was putting her quite out of breath.
"dear me, no!"
said the king.
"what an idea!"
"would you -- be good enough," alice panted out, after running a little further, "to stop a minute -- just to get -- one's breath again?"
"i'm good enough," the king said, "only i'm not strong enough.
you see, a minute goes by so fearfully quick.
you might as well try to stop a bandersnatch!"
alice had no more breath for talking, so they trotted on in silence, till they came in sight of a great crowd, in the middle of which the lion and unicorn were fighting.
they were in such a cloud of dust, that at first alice could not make out which was which: but she soon managed to distinguish the unicorn by his horn.
they placed themselves close to where hatta, the other messenger, was standing watching the fight, with a cup of tea in one hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other.
"he's only just out of prison, and he had n't finished his tea when he was sent in," haigha whispered to alice: "and they only give them oyster-shells in there -- so you see he's very hungry and thirsty.
how are you, dear child?"
he went on, putting his arm affectionately round hatta's neck.
hatta looked round and nodded, and went on with his bread and butter.
"were you happy in prison, dear child?"
said haigha.
hatta looked round once more, and this time a tear or two trickled down his cheek: but not a word would he say.
"speak, ca n't you!"
haigha cried impatiently.
but hatta only munched away, and drank some more tea.
"speak, wo n't you!"
cried the king.
"how are they getting on with the fight?"
hatta made a desperate effort, and swallowed a large piece of bread-and-butter.
"they're getting on very well," he said in a choking voice: "each of them has been down about eighty-seven times."
"then i suppose they'll soon bring the white bread and the brown?"
alice ventured to remark.
"it's waiting for'em now," said hatta: "this is a bit of it as i'm eating."
there was a pause in the fight just then, and the lion and the unicorn sat down, panting, while the king called out "ten minutes allowed for refreshments!"
haigha and hatta set to work at once, carrying rough trays of white and brown bread.
alice took a piece to taste, but it was very dry."
i do n't think they'll fight any more to-day," the king said to hatta: "go and order the drums to begin."
and hatta went bounding away like a grasshopper.
for a minute or two alice stood silent, watching him.
suddenly she brightened up.
"look, look!"
she cried, pointing eagerly.
"there's the white queen running across the country!
she came flying out of the wood over yonder -- how fast those queens can run!"
"there's some enemy after her, no doubt," the king said, without even looking round.
"that wood's full of them."
"but are n't you going to run and help her?"
alice asked, very much surprised at his taking it so quietly.
"no use, no use!"
said the king.
"she runs so fearfully quick.
you might as well try to catch a bandersnatch!
but i'll make a memorandum about her, if you like -- she's a dear good creature," he repeated softly to himself, as he opened his memorandum-book.
"do you spell "creature" with a double "e"?"
at this moment the unicorn sauntered by them, with his hands in his pockets."
i had the best of it this time?"
he said to the king, just glancing at him as he passed."
a little -- a little," the king replied, rather nervously.
"you should n't have run him through with your horn, you know."
"it did n't hurt him," the unicorn said carelessly, and he was going on, when his eye happened to fall upon alice: he turned round rather instantly, and stood for some time looking at her with an air of the deepest disgust.
"what -- is -- this?"
he said at last.
"this is a child!"
haigha replied eagerly, coming in front of alice to introduce her, and spreading out both his hands towards her in an anglo-saxon attitude.
"we only found it to-day.
it's as large as life, and twice as natural!'"
i always thought they were fabulous monsters!"
said the unicorn.
"is it alive?"
"it can talk," said haigha, solemnly.
the unicorn looked dreamily at alice, and said "talk, child."
alice could not help her lips curling up into a smile as she began: "do you know, i always thought unicorns were fabulous monsters, too!
i never saw one alive before!"
"well, now that we have seen each other," said the unicorn, "if you'll believe in me, i'll believe in you.
is that a bargain?"
"yes, if you like," said alice.
"come, fetch out the plum-cake, old man!"
the unicorn went on, turning from her to the king.
"none of your brown bread for me!"
"certainly -- certainly!"
the king muttered, and beckoned to haigha.
"open the bag!"
he whispered.
"quick!
not that one -- that's full of hay!"
haigha took a large cake out of the bag, and gave it to alice to hold, while he got out a dish and carving-knife.
how they all came out of it alice could n't guess.
it was just like a conjuring-trick, she thought.
the lion had joined them while this was going on: he looked very tired and sleepy, and his eyes were half shut.
"what's this!"
he said, blinking lazily at alice, and speaking in a deep hollow tone that sounded like the tolling of a great bell.
"ah, what is it, now?"
the unicorn cried eagerly.
"you'll never guess!
i could n't."
the lion looked at alice wearily.
"are you animal -- vegetable -- or mineral?"
he said, yawning at every other word.
"it's a fabulous monster!"
the unicorn cried out, before alice could reply.
"then hand round the plum-cake, monster," the lion said, lying down and putting his chin on this paws.
"and sit down, both of you," -lrb- to the king and the unicorn -rrb-: "fair play with the cake, you know!"
the king was evidently very uncomfortable at having to sit down between the two great creatures; but there was no other place for him.
"what a fight we might have for the crown, now!"
the unicorn said, looking slyly up at the crown, which the poor king was nearly shaking off his head, he trembled so much."
i should win easy," said the lion.
"i'm not so sure of that," said the unicorn.
"why, i beat you all round the town, you chicken!"
the lion replied angrily, half getting up as he spoke.
here the king interrupted, to prevent the quarrel going on: he was very nervous, and his voice quite quivered.
"all round the town?"
he said.
"that's a good long way.
did you go by the old bridge, or the market-place?
you get the best view by the old bridge."
"i'm sure i do n't know," the lion growled out as he lay down again.
"there was too much dust to see anything.
what a time the monster is, cutting up that cake!"
alice had seated herself on the bank of a little brook, with the great dish on her knees, and was sawing away diligently with the knife.
"it's very provoking!"
she said, in reply to the lion -lrb- she was getting quite used to being called "the monster" -rrb-.
"i've cut several slices already, but they always join on again!"
"you do n't know how to manage looking-glass cakes," the unicorn remarked.
"hand it round first, and cut it afterwards."
this sounded nonsense, but alice very obediently got up, and carried the dish round, and the cake divided itself into three pieces as she did so.
"now cut it up," said the lion, as she returned to her place with the empty dish."
i say, this is n't fair!"
cried the unicorn, as alice sat with the knife in her hand, very much puzzled how to begin.
"the monster has given the lion twice as much as me!"
"she's kept none for herself, anyhow," said the lion.
"do you like plum-cake, monster?"
but before alice could answer him, the drums began.
where the noise came from, she could n't make out: the air seemed full of it, and it rang through and through her head till she felt quite deafened.
she started to her feet and sprang across the little brook in her terror, * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * and had just time to see the lion and the unicorn rise to their feet, with angry looks at being interrupted in their feast, before she dropped to her knees, and put her hands over her ears, vainly trying to shut out the dreadful uproar.
"if that does n't "drum them out of town,"" she thought to herself, "nothing ever will!"
chapter viii.
"it's my own invention" after a while the noise seemed gradually to die away, till all was dead silence, and alice lifted up her head in some alarm.
there was no one to be seen, and her first thought was that she must have been dreaming about the lion and the unicorn and those queer anglo-saxon messengers.
however, there was the great dish still lying at her feet, on which she had tried to cut the plum-cake, "so i was n't dreaming, after all," she said to herself, "unless -- unless we're all part of the same dream.
only i do hope it's my dream, and not the red king's!
i do n't like belonging to another person's dream," she went on in a rather complaining tone: "i've a great mind to go and wake him, and see what happens!"
at this moment her thoughts were interrupted by a loud shouting of "ahoy!
ahoy!
check!"
and a knight dressed in crimson armour came galloping down upon her, brandishing a great club.
just as he reached her, the horse stopped suddenly: "you're my prisoner!"
the knight cried, as he tumbled off his horse.
startled as she was, alice was more frightened for him than for herself at the moment, and watched him with some anxiety as he mounted again.
as soon as he was comfortably in the saddle, he began once more "you're my --" but here another voice broke in "ahoy!
ahoy!
check!"
and alice looked round in some surprise for the new enemy.
this time it was a white knight.
he drew up at alice's side, and tumbled off his horse just as the red knight had done: then he got on again, and the two knights sat and looked at each other for some time without speaking.
alice looked from one to the other in some bewilderment.
"she's my prisoner, you know!"
the red knight said at last.
"yes, but then i came and rescued her!"
the white knight replied.
"well, we must fight for her, then," said the red knight, as he took up his helmet -lrb- which hung from the saddle, and was something the shape of a horse's head -rrb-, and put it on.
"you will observe the rules of battle, of course?"
the white knight remarked, putting on his helmet too."
i always do," said the red knight, and they began banging away at each other with such fury that alice got behind a tree to be out of the way of the blows."
i wonder, now, what the rules of battle are," she said to herself, as she watched the fight, timidly peeping out from her hiding-place: "one rule seems to be, that if one knight hits the other, he knocks him off his horse, and if he misses, he tumbles off himself -- and another rule seems to be that they hold their clubs with their arms, as if they were punch and judy -- what a noise they make when they tumble!
just like a whole set of fire-irons falling into the fender!
and how quiet the horses are!
they let them get on and off them just as if they were tables!"
another rule of battle, that alice had not noticed, seemed to be that they always fell on their heads, and the battle ended with their both falling off in this way, side by side: when they got up again, they shook hands, and then the red knight mounted and galloped off.
"it was a glorious victory, was n't it?"
said the white knight, as he came up panting."
i do n't know," alice said doubtfully."
i do n't want to be anybody's prisoner.
i want to be a queen."
"so you will, when you've crossed the next brook," said the white knight.
"i'll see you safe to the end of the wood -- and then i must go back, you know.
that's the end of my move."
"thank you very much," said alice.
"may i help you off with your helmet?"
it was evidently more than he could manage by himself; however, she managed to shake him out of it at last.
"now one can breathe more easily," said the knight, putting back his shaggy hair with both hands, and turning his gentle face and large mild eyes to alice.
she thought she had never seen such a strange-looking soldier in all her life.
he was dressed in tin armour, which seemed to fit him very badly, and he had a queer-shaped little deal box fastened across his shoulder, upside-down, and with the lid hanging open.
alice looked at it with great curiosity."
i see you're admiring my little box."
the knight said in a friendly tone.
"it's my own invention -- to keep clothes and sandwiches in.
you see i carry it upside-down, so that the rain ca n't get in."
"but the things can get out," alice gently remarked.
"do you know the lid's open?'"
i did n't know it," the knight said, a shade of vexation passing over his face.
"then all the things must have fallen out!
and the box is no use without them."
he unfastened it as he spoke, and was just going to throw it into the bushes, when a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and he hung it carefully on a tree.
"can you guess why i did that?"
he said to alice.
alice shook her head.
"in hopes some bees may make a nest in it -- then i should get the honey."
"but you've got a bee-hive -- or something like one -- fastened to the saddle," said alice.
"yes, it's a very good bee-hive," the knight said in a discontented tone, "one of the best kind.
but not a single bee has come near it yet.
and the other thing is a mouse-trap.
i suppose the mice keep the bees out -- or the bees keep the mice out, i do n't know which.'"
i was wondering what the mouse-trap was for," said alice.
"it is n't very likely there would be any mice on the horse's back."
"not very likely, perhaps," said the knight: "but if they do come, i do n't choose to have them running all about."
"you see," he went on after a pause, "it's as well to be provided for everything.
that's the reason the horse has all those anklets round his feet."
"but what are they for?"
alice asked in a tone of great curiosity.
"to guard against the bites of sharks," the knight replied.
"it's an invention of my own.
and now help me on.
i'll go with you to the end of the wood -- what's the dish for?"
"it's meant for plum-cake," said alice.
"we'd better take it with us," the knight said.
"it'll come in handy if we find any plum-cake.
help me to get it into this bag."
this took a very long time to manage, though alice held the bag open very carefully, because the knight was so very awkward in putting in the dish: the first two or three times that he tried he fell in himself instead.
"it's rather a tight fit, you see," he said, as they got it in a last; "there are so many candlesticks in the bag."
and he hung it to the saddle, which was already loaded with bunches of carrots, and fire-irons, and many other things."
i hope you've got your hair well fastened on?"
he continued, as they set off.
"only in the usual way," alice said, smiling.
"that's hardly enough," he said, anxiously.
"you see the wind is so very strong here.
it's as strong as soup."
"have you invented a plan for keeping the hair from being blown off?"
alice enquired.
"not yet," said the knight.
"but i've got a plan for keeping it from falling off.'"
i should like to hear it, very much."
"first you take an upright stick," said the knight.
"then you make your hair creep up it, like a fruit-tree.
now the reason hair falls off is because it hangs down -- things never fall upwards, you know.
it's a plan of my own invention.
you may try it if you like."
it did n't sound a comfortable plan, alice thought, and for a few minutes she walked on in silence, puzzling over the idea, and every now and then stopping to help the poor knight, who certainly was not a good rider.
whenever the horse stopped -lrb- which it did very often -rrb-, he fell off in front; and whenever it went on again -lrb- which it generally did rather suddenly -rrb-, he fell off behind.
otherwise he kept on pretty well, except that he had a habit of now and then falling off sideways; and as he generally did this on the side on which alice was walking, she soon found that it was the best plan not to walk quite close to the horse.
"i'm afraid you've not had much practice in riding," she ventured to say, as she was helping him up from his fifth tumble.
the knight looked very much surprised, and a little offended at the remark.
"what makes you say that?"
he asked, as he scrambled back into the saddle, keeping hold of alice's hair with one hand, to save himself from falling over on the other side.
"because people do n't fall off quite so often, when they've had much practice."
"i've had plenty of practice," the knight said very gravely: "plenty of practice!"
alice could think of nothing better to say than "indeed?"
but she said it as heartily as she could.
they went on a little way in silence after this, the knight with his eyes shut, muttering to himself, and alice watching anxiously for the next tumble.
"the great art of riding," the knight suddenly began in a loud voice, waving his right arm as he spoke, "is to keep --" here the sentence ended as suddenly as it had begun, as the knight fell heavily on the top of his head exactly in the path where alice was walking.
she was quite frightened this time, and said in an anxious tone, as she picked him up," i hope no bones are broken?"
"none to speak of," the knight said, as if he did n't mind breaking two or three of them.
"the great art of riding, as i was saying, is -- to keep your balance properly.
like this, you know --" he let go the bridle, and stretched out both his arms to show alice what he meant, and this time he fell flat on his back, right under the horse's feet.
"plenty of practice!"
he went on repeating, all the time that alice was getting him on his feet again.
"plenty of practice!"
"it's too ridiculous!"
cried alice, losing all her patience this time.
"you ought to have a wooden horse on wheels, that you ought!"
"does that kind go smoothly?"
the knight asked in a tone of great interest, clasping his arms round the horse's neck as he spoke, just in time to save himself from tumbling off again.
"much more smoothly than a live horse," alice said, with a little scream of laughter, in spite of all she could do to prevent it.
"i'll get one," the knight said thoughtfully to himself.
"one or two -- several."
there was a short silence after this, and then the knight went on again.
"i'm a great hand at inventing things.
now, i daresay you noticed, that last time you picked me up, that i was looking rather thoughtful?"
"you were a little grave," said alice.
"well, just then i was inventing a new way of getting over a gate -- would you like to hear it?"
"very much indeed," alice said politely.
"i'll tell you how i came to think of it," said the knight.
"you see, i said to myself, "the only difficulty is with the feet: the head is high enough already."
now, first i put my head on the top of the gate -- then i stand on my head -- then the feet are high enough, you see -- then i'm over, you see."
"yes, i suppose you'd be over when that was done," alice said thoughtfully: "but do n't you think it would be rather hard?'"
i have n't tried it yet," the knight said, gravely: "so i ca n't tell for certain -- but i'm afraid it would be a little hard."
he looked so vexed at the idea, that alice changed the subject hastily.
"what a curious helmet you've got!"
she said cheerfully.
"is that your invention too?"
the knight looked down proudly at his helmet, which hung from the saddle.
"yes," he said, "but i've invented a better one than that -- like a sugar loaf.
when i used to wear it, if i fell off the horse, it always touched the ground directly.
so i had a very little way to fall, you see -- but there was the danger of falling into it, to be sure.
that happened to me once -- and the worst of it was, before i could get out again, the other white knight came and put it on.
he thought it was his own helmet."
the knight looked so solemn about it that alice did not dare to laugh.
"i'm afraid you must have hurt him," she said in a trembling voice, "being on the top of his head.'"
i had to kick him, of course," the knight said, very seriously.
"and then he took the helmet off again -- but it took hours and hours to get me out.
i was as fast as -- as lightning, you know."
"but that's a different kind of fastness," alice objected.
the knight shook his head.
"it was all kinds of fastness with me, i can assure you!"
he said.
he raised his hands in some excitement as he said this, and instantly rolled out of the saddle, and fell headlong into a deep ditch.
alice ran to the side of the ditch to look for him.
she was rather startled by the fall, as for some time he had kept on very well, and she was afraid that he really was hurt this time.
however, though she could see nothing but the soles of his feet, she was much relieved to hear that he was talking on in his usual tone.
"all kinds of fastness," he repeated: "but it was careless of him to put another man's helmet on -- with the man in it, too."
"how can you go on talking so quietly, head downwards?"
alice asked, as she dragged him out by the feet, and laid him in a heap on the bank.
the knight looked surprised at the question.
"what does it matter where my body happens to be?"
he said.
"my mind goes on working all the same.
in fact, the more head downwards i am, the more i keep inventing new things."
"now the cleverest thing of the sort that i ever did," he went on after a pause, "was inventing a new pudding during the meat-course."
"in time to have it cooked for the next course?"
said alice.
"well, not the next course," the knight said in a slow thoughtful tone: "no, certainly not the next course."
"then it would have to be the next day.
i suppose you would n't have two pudding-courses in one dinner?"
"well, not the next day," the knight repeated as before: "not the next day.
in fact," he went on, holding his head down, and his voice getting lower and lower," i do n't believe that pudding ever was cooked!
in fact, i do n't believe that pudding ever will be cooked!
and yet it was a very clever pudding to invent."
"what did you mean it to be made of?"
alice asked, hoping to cheer him up, for the poor knight seemed quite low-spirited about it.
"it began with blotting paper," the knight answered with a groan.
"that would n't be very nice, i'm afraid --" "not very nice alone," he interrupted, quite eagerly: "but you've no idea what a difference it makes mixing it with other things -- such as gunpowder and sealing-wax.
and here i must leave you."
they had just come to the end of the wood.
alice could only look puzzled: she was thinking of the pudding.
"you are sad," the knight said in an anxious tone: "let me sing you a song to comfort you."
"is it very long?"
alice asked, for she had heard a good deal of poetry that day.
"it's long," said the knight, "but very, very beautiful.
everybody that hears me sing it -- either it brings the tears into their eyes, or else --" "or else what?"
said alice, for the knight had made a sudden pause.
"or else it does n't, you know.
the name of the song is called "haddocks" eyes.""
"oh, that's the name of the song, is it?"
alice said, trying to feel interested.
"no, you do n't understand," the knight said, looking a little vexed.
"that's what the name is called.
the name really is "the aged aged man.""
"then i ought to have said "that's what the song is called"?"
alice corrected herself.
"no, you ought n't: that's quite another thing!
the song is called "ways and means": but that's only what it's called, you know!"
"well, what is the song, then?"
said alice, who was by this time completely bewildered."
i was coming to that," the knight said.
"the song really is "a-sitting on a gate": and the tune's my own invention."
so saying, he stopped his horse and let the reins fall on its neck: then, slowly beating time with one hand, and with a faint smile lighting up his gentle foolish face, as if he enjoyed the music of his song, he began.
of all the strange things that alice saw in her journey through the looking-glass, this was the one that she always remembered most clearly.
years afterwards she could bring the whole scene back again, as if it had been only yesterday -- the mild blue eyes and kindly smile of the knight -- the setting sun gleaming through his hair, and shining on his armour in a blaze of light that quite dazzled her -- the horse quietly moving about, with the reins hanging loose on his neck, cropping the grass at her feet -- and the black shadows of the forest behind -- all this she took in like a picture, as, with one hand shading her eyes, she leant against a tree, watching the strange pair, and listening, in a half dream, to the melancholy music of the song.
"but the tune is n't his own invention," she said to herself: "it's "i give thee all, i can no more.""
she stood and listened very attentively, but no tears came into her eyes.
"i'll tell thee everything i can; there's little to relate.
i saw an aged aged man, a-sitting on a gate.
""who are you, aged man?"
i said, "and how is it you live?"
and his answer trickled through my head like water through a sieve.
he said "i look for butterflies that sleep among the wheat: i make them into mutton-pies, and sell them in the street.
i sell them unto men," he said, "who sail on stormy seas; and that's the way i get my bread -- a trifle, if you please."
but i was thinking of a plan to dye one's whiskers green, and always use so large a fan that they could not be seen.
so, having no reply to give to what the old man said, i cried, "come, tell me how you live!"
and thumped him on the head.
his accents mild took up the tale: he said "i go my ways, and when i find a mountain-rill, i set it in a blaze; and thence they make a stuff they call rolands" macassar oil -- yet twopence-halfpenny is all they give me for my toil."
but i was thinking of a way to feed oneself on batter, and so go on from day to day getting a little fatter.
i shook him well from side to side, until his face was blue: "come, tell me how you live," i cried, "and what it is you do!"
he said "i hunt for haddocks" eyes among the heather bright, and work them into waistcoat-buttons in the silent night.
and these i do not sell for gold or coin of silvery shine but for a copper halfpenny, and that will purchase nine.
""i sometimes dig for buttered rolls, or set limed twigs for crabs; i sometimes search the grassy knolls for wheels of hansom-cabs.
and that's the way" -lrb- he gave a wink -rrb- "by which i get my wealth -- and very gladly will i drink your honour's noble health."
i heard him then, for i had just completed my design to keep the menai bridge from rust by boiling it in wine.
i thanked him much for telling me the way he got his wealth, but chiefly for his wish that he might drink my noble health.
and now, if e'er by chance i put my fingers into glue or madly squeeze a right-hand foot into a left-hand shoe, or if i drop upon my toe a very heavy weight, i weep, for it reminds me so, of that old man i used to know -- whose look was mild, whose speech was slow, whose hair was whiter than the snow, whose face was very like a crow, with eyes, like cinders, all aglow, who seemed distracted with his woe, who rocked his body to and fro, and muttered mumblingly and low, as if his mouth were full of dough, who snorted like a buffalo -- that summer evening, long ago, a-sitting on a gate."
as the knight sang the last words of the ballad, he gathered up the reins, and turned his horse's head along the road by which they had come.
"you've only a few yards to go," he said, "down the hill and over that little brook, and then you'll be a queen -- but you'll stay and see me off first?"
he added as alice turned with an eager look in the direction to which he pointed."
i sha n't be long.
you'll wait and wave your handkerchief when i get to that turn in the road?
i think it'll encourage me, you see."
"of course i'll wait," said alice: "and thank you very much for coming so far -- and for the song -- i liked it very much.'"
i hope so," the knight said doubtfully: "but you did n't cry so much as i thought you would."
so they shook hands, and then the knight rode slowly away into the forest.
"it wo n't take long to see him off, i expect," alice said to herself, as she stood watching him.
"there he goes!
right on his head as usual!
however, he gets on again pretty easily -- that comes of having so many things hung round the horse --" so she went on talking to herself, as she watched the horse walking leisurely along the road, and the knight tumbling off, first on one side and then on the other.
after the fourth or fifth tumble he reached the turn, and then she waved her handkerchief to him, and waited till he was out of sight."
i hope it encouraged him," she said, as she turned to run down the hill: "and now for the last brook, and to be a queen!
how grand it sounds!"
a very few steps brought her to the edge of the brook.
"the eighth square at last!"
she cried as she bounded across, * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * and threw herself down to rest on a lawn as soft as moss, with little flower-beds dotted about it here and there.
"oh, how glad i am to get here!
and what is this on my head?"
she exclaimed in a tone of dismay, as she put her hands up to something very heavy, and fitted tight all round her head.
"but how can it have got there without my knowing it?"
she said to herself, as she lifted it off, and set it on her lap to make out what it could possibly be.
it was a golden crown.
chapter ix.
queen alice "well, this is grand!"
said alice."
i never expected i should be a queen so soon -- and i'll tell you what it is, your majesty," she went on in a severe tone -lrb- she was always rather fond of scolding herself -rrb-, "it'll never do for you to be lolling about on the grass like that!
queens have to be dignified, you know!"
so she got up and walked about -- rather stiffly just at first, as she was afraid that the crown might come off: but she comforted herself with the thought that there was nobody to see her, "and if i really am a queen," she said as she sat down again," i shall be able to manage it quite well in time."
everything was happening so oddly that she did n't feel a bit surprised at finding the red queen and the white queen sitting close to her, one on each side: she would have liked very much to ask them how they came there, but she feared it would not be quite civil.
however, there would be no harm, she thought, in asking if the game was over.
"please, would you tell me --" she began, looking timidly at the red queen.
"speak when you're spoken to!"
the queen sharply interrupted her.
"but if everybody obeyed that rule," said alice, who was always ready for a little argument, "and if you only spoke when you were spoken to, and the other person always waited for you to begin, you see nobody would ever say anything, so that --" "ridiculous!"
cried the queen.
"why, do n't you see, child --" here she broke off with a frown, and, after thinking for a minute, suddenly changed the subject of the conversation.
"what do you mean by "if you really are a queen"?
what right have you to call yourself so?
you ca n't be a queen, you know, till you've passed the proper examination.
and the sooner we begin it, the better.'"
i only said "if"!"
poor alice pleaded in a piteous tone.
the two queens looked at each other, and the red queen remarked, with a little shudder, "she says she only said "if" --" "but she said a great deal more than that!"
the white queen moaned, wringing her hands.
"oh, ever so much more than that!"
"so you did, you know," the red queen said to alice.
"always speak the truth -- think before you speak -- and write it down afterwards."
"i'm sure i did n't mean --" alice was beginning, but the red queen interrupted her impatiently.
"that's just what i complain of!
you should have meant!
what do you suppose is the use of child without any meaning?
even a joke should have some meaning -- and a child's more important than a joke, i hope.
you could n't deny that, even if you tried with both hands.'"
i do n't deny things with my hands," alice objected.
"nobody said you did," said the red queen."
i said you could n't if you tried."
"she's in that state of mind," said the white queen, "that she wants to deny something -- only she does n't know what to deny!'"
a nasty, vicious temper," the red queen remarked; and then there was an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.
the red queen broke the silence by saying to the white queen," i invite you to alice's dinner-party this afternoon."
the white queen smiled feebly, and said "and i invite you.'"
i did n't know i was to have a party at all," said alice; "but if there is to be one, i think i ought to invite the guests."
"we gave you the opportunity of doing it," the red queen remarked: "but i daresay you've not had many lessons in manners yet?"
"manners are not taught in lessons," said alice.
"lessons teach you to do sums, and things of that sort."
"and you do addition?"
the white queen asked.
"what's one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one?'"
i do n't know," said alice."
i lost count."
"she ca n't do addition," the red queen interrupted.
"can you do subtraction?
take nine from eight."
"nine from eight i ca n't, you know," alice replied very readily: "but --" "she ca n't do subtraction," said the white queen.
"can you do division?
divide a loaf by a knife -- what's the answer to that?'"
i suppose --" alice was beginning, but the red queen answered for her.
"bread-and-butter, of course.
try another subtraction sum.
take a bone from a dog: what remains?"
alice considered.
"the bone would n't remain, of course, if i took it -- and the dog would n't remain; it would come to bite me -- and i'm sure i should n't remain!"
"then you think nothing would remain?"
said the red queen."
i think that's the answer."
"wrong, as usual," said the red queen: "the dog's temper would remain."
"but i do n't see how --" "why, look here!"
the red queen cried.
"the dog would lose its temper, would n't it?"
"perhaps it would," alice replied cautiously.
"then if the dog went away, its temper would remain!"
the queen exclaimed triumphantly.
alice said, as gravely as she could, "they might go different ways."
but she could n't help thinking to herself, "what dreadful nonsense we are talking!"
"she ca n't do sums a bit!"
the queens said together, with great emphasis.
"can you do sums?"
alice said, turning suddenly on the white queen, for she did n't like being found fault with so much.
the queen gasped and shut her eyes."
i can do addition, if you give me time -- but i ca n't do subtraction, under any circumstances!"
"of course you know your a b c?"
said the red queen.
"to be sure i do."
said alice.
"so do i," the white queen whispered: "we'll often say it over together, dear.
and i'll tell you a secret -- i can read words of one letter!
is n't that grand!
however, do n't be discouraged.
you'll come to it in time."
here the red queen began again.
"can you answer useful questions?"
she said.
"how is bread made?'"
i know that!"
alice cried eagerly.
"you take some flour --" "where do you pick the flower?"
the white queen asked.
"in a garden, or in the hedges?"
"well, it is n't picked at all," alice explained: "it's ground --" "how many acres of ground?"
said the white queen.
"you must n't leave out so many things."
"fan her head!"
the red queen anxiously interrupted.
"she'll be feverish after so much thinking."
so they set to work and fanned her with bunches of leaves, till she had to beg them to leave off, it blew her hair about so.
"she's all right again now," said the red queen.
"do you know languages?
what's the french for fiddle-de-dee?"
"fiddle-de-dee's not english," alice replied gravely.
"who ever said it was?"
said the red queen.
alice thought she saw a way out of the difficulty this time.
"if you'll tell me what language "fiddle-de-dee" is, i'll tell you the french for it!"
she exclaimed triumphantly.
but the red queen drew herself up rather stiffly, and said "queens never make bargains.'"
i wish queens never asked questions," alice thought to herself.
"do n't let us quarrel," the white queen said in an anxious tone.
"what is the cause of lightning?"
"the cause of lightning," alice said very decidedly, for she felt quite certain about this, "is the thunder -- no, no!"
she hastily corrected herself."
i meant the other way."
"it's too late to correct it," said the red queen: "when you've once said a thing, that fixes it, and you must take the consequences."
"which reminds me --" the white queen said, looking down and nervously clasping and unclasping her hands, "we had such a thunderstorm last tuesday -- i mean one of the last set of tuesdays, you know."
alice was puzzled.
"in our country," she remarked, "there's only one day at a time."
the red queen said, "that's a poor thin way of doing things.
now here, we mostly have days and nights two or three at a time, and sometimes in the winter we take as many as five nights together -- for warmth, you know."
"are five nights warmer than one night, then?"
alice ventured to ask.
"five times as warm, of course."
"but they should be five times as cold, by the same rule --" "just so!"
cried the red queen.
"five times as warm, and five times as cold -- just as i'm five times as rich as you are, and five times as clever!"
alice sighed and gave it up.
"it's exactly like a riddle with no answer!"
she thought.
"humpty dumpty saw it too," the white queen went on in a low voice, more as if she were talking to herself.
"he came to the door with a corkscrew in his hand --" "what did he want?"
said the red queen.
"he said he would come in," the white queen went on, "because he was looking for a hippopotamus.
now, as it happened, there was n't such a thing in the house, that morning."
"is there generally?"
alice asked in an astonished tone.
"well, only on thursdays," said the queen."
i know what he came for," said alice: "he wanted to punish the fish, because --" here the white queen began again.
"it was such a thunderstorm, you ca n't think!"
-lrb- "she never could, you know," said the red queen. -rrb-
"and part of the roof came off, and ever so much thunder got in -- and it went rolling round the room in great lumps -- and knocking over the tables and things -- till i was so frightened, i could n't remember my own name!"
alice thought to herself," i never should try to remember my name in the middle of an accident!
where would be the use of it?"
but she did not say this aloud, for fear of hurting the poor queen's feeling.
"your majesty must excuse her," the red queen said to alice, taking one of the white queen's hands in her own, and gently stroking it: "she means well, but she ca n't help saying foolish things, as a general rule."
the white queen looked timidly at alice, who felt she ought to say something kind, but really could n't think of anything at the moment.
"she never was really well brought up," the red queen went on: "but it's amazing how good-tempered she is!
pat her on the head, and see how pleased she'll be!"
but this was more than alice had courage to do."
a little kindness -- and putting her hair in papers -- would do wonders with her --" the white queen gave a deep sigh, and laid her head on alice's shoulder."
i am so sleepy?"
she moaned.
"she's tired, poor thing!"
said the red queen.
"smooth her hair -- lend her your nightcap -- and sing her a soothing lullaby.'"
i have n't got a nightcap with me," said alice, as she tried to obey the first direction: "and i do n't know any soothing lullabies.'"
i must do it myself, then," said the red queen, and she began: "hush-a-by lady, in alice's lap!
till the feast's ready, we've time for a nap: when the feast's over, we'll go to the ball -- red queen, and white queen, and alice, and all!
"and now you know the words," she added, as she put her head down on alice's other shoulder, "just sing it through to me.
i'm getting sleepy, too."
in another moment both queens were fast asleep, and snoring loud.
"what am i to do?"
exclaimed alice, looking about in great perplexity, as first one round head, and then the other, rolled down from her shoulder, and lay like a heavy lump in her lap."
i do n't think it ever happened before, that any one had to take care of two queens asleep at once!
no, not in all the history of england -- it could n't, you know, because there never was more than one queen at a time.
do wake up, you heavy things!"
she went on in an impatient tone; but there was no answer but a gentle snoring.
the snoring got more distinct every minute, and sounded more like a tune: at last she could even make out the words, and she listened so eagerly that, when the two great heads vanished from her lap, she hardly missed them.
she was standing before an arched doorway over which were the words queen alice in large letters, and on each side of the arch there was a bell-handle; one was marked "visitors" bell," and the other "servants" bell."
"i'll wait till the song's over," thought alice, "and then i'll ring -- the -- which bell must i ring?"
she went on, very much puzzled by the names.
"i'm not a visitor, and i'm not a servant.
there ought to be one marked "queen," you know --" just then the door opened a little way, and a creature with a long beak put its head out for a moment and said "no admittance till the week after next!"
and shut the door again with a bang.
alice knocked and rang in vain for a long time, but at last, a very old frog, who was sitting under a tree, got up and hobbled slowly towards her: he was dressed in bright yellow, and had enormous boots on.
"what is it, now?"
the frog said in a deep hoarse whisper.
alice turned round, ready to find fault with anybody.
"where's the servant whose business it is to answer the door?"
she began angrily.
"which door?"
said the frog.
alice almost stamped with irritation at the slow drawl in which he spoke.
"this door, of course!"
the frog looked at the door with his large dull eyes for a minute: then he went nearer and rubbed it with his thumb, as if he were trying whether the paint would come off; then he looked at alice.
"to answer the door?"
he said.
"what's it been asking of?"
he was so hoarse that alice could scarcely hear him."
i do n't know what you mean," she said."
i talks english, does n't i?"
the frog went on.
"or are you deaf?
what did it ask you?"
"nothing!"
alice said impatiently.
"i've been knocking at it!"
"should n't do that -- should n't do that --" the frog muttered.
"vexes it, you know."
then he went up and gave the door a kick with one of his great feet.
"you let it alone," he panted out, as he hobbled back to his tree, "and it'll let you alone, you know."
at this moment the door was flung open, and a shrill voice was heard singing: "to the looking-glass world it was alice that said, "i've a sceptre in hand, i've a crown on my head; let the looking-glass creatures, whatever they be, come and dine with the red queen, the white queen, and me.""
and hundreds of voices joined in the chorus: "then fill up the glasses as quick as you can, and sprinkle the table with buttons and bran: put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea -- and welcome queen alice with thirty-times-three!"
then followed a confused noise of cheering, and alice thought to herself, "thirty times three makes ninety.
i wonder if any one's counting?"
in a minute there was silence again, and the same shrill voice sang another verse;" "o looking-glass creatures," quoth alice, "draw near!
't is an honour to see me, a favour to hear:'t is a privilege high to have dinner and tea along with the red queen, the white queen, and me!""
then came the chorus again: -- "then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink, or anything else that is pleasant to drink: mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine -- and welcome queen alice with ninety-times-nine!"
"ninety times nine!"
alice repeated in despair, "oh, that'll never be done!
i'd better go in at once --" and there was a dead silence the moment she appeared.
alice glanced nervously along the table, as she walked up the large hall, and noticed that there were about fifty guests, of all kinds: some were animals, some birds, and there were even a few flowers among them.
"i'm glad they've come without waiting to be asked," she thought: "i should never have known who were the right people to invite!"
there were three chairs at the head of the table; the red and white queens had already taken two of them, but the middle one was empty.
alice sat down in it, rather uncomfortable in the silence, and longing for some one to speak.
at last the red queen began.
"you've missed the soup and fish," she said.
"put on the joint!"
and the waiters set a leg of mutton before alice, who looked at it rather anxiously, as she had never had to carve a joint before.
"you look a little shy; let me introduce you to that leg of mutton," said the red queen.
"alice -- mutton; mutton -- alice."
the leg of mutton got up in the dish and made a little bow to alice; and alice returned the bow, not knowing whether to be frightened or amused.
"may i give you a slice?"
she said, taking up the knife and fork, and looking from one queen to the other.
"certainly not," the red queen said, very decidedly: "it is n't etiquette to cut any one you've been introduced to.
remove the joint!"
and the waiters carried it off, and brought a large plum-pudding in its place."
i wo n't be introduced to the pudding, please," alice said rather hastily, "or we shall get no dinner at all.
may i give you some?"
but the red queen looked sulky, and growled "pudding -- alice; alice -- pudding.
remove the pudding!"
and the waiters took it away so quickly that alice could n't return its bow.
however, she did n't see why the red queen should be the only one to give orders, so, as an experiment, she called out "waiter!
bring back the pudding!"
and there it was again in a moment like a conjuring-trick.
it was so large that she could n't help feeling a little shy with it, as she had been with the mutton; however, she conquered her shyness by a great effort and cut a slice and handed it to the red queen.
"what impertinence!"
said the pudding."
i wonder how you'd like it, if i were to cut a slice out of you, you creature!"
it spoke in a thick, suety sort of voice, and alice had n't a word to say in reply: she could only sit and look at it and gasp.
"make a remark," said the red queen: "it's ridiculous to leave all the conversation to the pudding!"
"do you know, i've had such a quantity of poetry repeated to me to-day," alice began, a little frightened at finding that, the moment she opened her lips, there was dead silence, and all eyes were fixed upon her; "and it's a very curious thing, i think -- every poem was about fishes in some way.
do you know why they're so fond of fishes, all about here?"
she spoke to the red queen, whose answer was a little wide of the mark.
"as to fishes," she said, very slowly and solemnly, putting her mouth close to alice's ear, "her white majesty knows a lovely riddle -- all in poetry -- all about fishes.
shall she repeat it?"
"her red majesty's very kind to mention it," the white queen murmured into alice's other ear, in a voice like the cooing of a pigeon.
"it would be such a treat!
may i?"
"please do," alice said very politely.
the white queen laughed with delight, and stroked alice's cheek.
then she began: """first, the fish must be caught."
that is easy: a baby, i think, could have caught it.
""next, the fish must be bought."
that is easy: a penny, i think, would have bought it.
""now cook me the fish!"
that is easy, and will not take more than a minute.
""let it lie in a dish!"
that is easy, because it already is in it.
""bring it here!
let me sup!"
it is easy to set such a dish on the table.
""take the dish-cover up!"
ah, that is so hard that i fear i'm unable!
for it holds it like glue -- holds the lid to the dish, while it lies in the middle: which is easiest to do, un-dish-cover the fish, or dishcover the riddle?"
"take a minute to think about it, and then guess," said the red queen.
"meanwhile, we'll drink your health -- queen alice's health!"
she screamed at the top of her voice, and all the guests began drinking it directly, and very queerly they managed it: some of them put their glasses upon their heads like extinguishers, and drank all that trickled down their faces -- others upset the decanters, and drank the wine as it ran off the edges of the table -- and three of them -lrb- who looked like kangaroos -rrb- scrambled into the dish of roast mutton, and began eagerly lapping up the gravy, "just like pigs in a trough!"
thought alice.
"you ought to return thanks in a neat speech," the red queen said, frowning at alice as she spoke.
"we must support you, you know," the white queen whispered, as alice got up to do it, very obediently, but a little frightened.
"thank you very much," she whispered in reply, "but i can do quite well without."
"that would n't be at all the thing," the red queen said very decidedly: so alice tried to submit to it with a good grace.
-lrb- "and they did push so!"
she said afterwards, when she was telling her sister the history of the feast.
"you would have thought they wanted to squeeze me flat!" -rrb-
in fact it was rather difficult for her to keep in her place while she made her speech: the two queens pushed her so, one on each side, that they nearly lifted her up into the air: "i rise to return thanks --" alice began: and she really did rise as she spoke, several inches; but she got hold of the edge of the table, and managed to pull herself down again.
"take care of yourself!"
screamed the white queen, seizing alice's hair with both her hands.
"something's going to happen!"
and then -lrb- as alice afterwards described it -rrb- all sorts of things happened in a moment.
the candles all grew up to the ceiling, looking something like a bed of rushes with fireworks at the top.
as to the bottles, they each took a pair of plates, which they hastily fitted on as wings, and so, with forks for legs, went fluttering about in all directions: "and very like birds they look," alice thought to herself, as well as she could in the dreadful confusion that was beginning.
at this moment she heard a hoarse laugh at her side, and turned to see what was the matter with the white queen; but, instead of the queen, there was the leg of mutton sitting in the chair.
"here i am!"
cried a voice from the soup tureen, and alice turned again, just in time to see the queen's broad good-natured face grinning at her for a moment over the edge of the tureen, before she disappeared into the soup.
there was not a moment to be lost.
already several of the guests were lying down in the dishes, and the soup ladle was walking up the table towards alice's chair, and beckoning to her impatiently to get out of its way."
i ca n't stand this any longer!"
she cried as she jumped up and seized the table-cloth with both hands: one good pull, and plates, dishes, guests, and candles came crashing down together in a heap on the floor.
"and as for you," she went on, turning fiercely upon the red queen, whom she considered as the cause of all the mischief -- but the queen was no longer at her side -- she had suddenly dwindled down to the size of a little doll, and was now on the table, merrily running round and round after her own shawl, which was trailing behind her.
at any other time, alice would have felt surprised at this, but she was far too much excited to be surprised at anything now.
"as for you," she repeated, catching hold of the little creature in the very act of jumping over a bottle which had just lighted upon the table, "i'll shake you into a kitten, that i will!"
chapter x. shaking she took her off the table as she spoke, and shook her backwards and forwards with all her might.
the red queen made no resistance whatever; only her face grew very small, and her eyes got large and green: and still, as alice went on shaking her, she kept on growing shorter -- and fatter -- and softer -- and rounder -- and -- chapter xi.
waking -- and it really was a kitten, after all.
chapter xii.
which dreamed it?
"your majesty should n't purr so loud," alice said, rubbing her eyes, and addressing the kitten, respectfully, yet with some severity.
"you woke me out of oh!
such a nice dream!
and you've been along with me, kitty -- all through the looking-glass world.
did you know it, dear?"
it is a very inconvenient habit of kittens -lrb- alice had once made the remark -rrb- that, whatever you say to them, they always purr.
"if they would only purr for "yes" and mew for "no," or any rule of that sort," she had said, "so that one could keep up a conversation!
but how can you talk with a person if they always say the same thing?"
on this occasion the kitten only purred: and it was impossible to guess whether it meant "yes" or "no."
so alice hunted among the chessmen on the table till she had found the red queen: then she went down on her knees on the hearth-rug, and put the kitten and the queen to look at each other.
"now, kitty!"
she cried, clapping her hands triumphantly.
"confess that was what you turned into!"
-lrb- "but it would n't look at it," she said, when she was explaining the thing afterwards to her sister: "it turned away its head, and pretended not to see it: but it looked a little ashamed of itself, so i think it must have been the red queen." -rrb-
"sit up a little more stiffly, dear!"
alice cried with a merry laugh.
"and curtsey while you're thinking what to -- what to purr.
it saves time, remember!"
and she caught it up and gave it one little kiss, "just in honour of having been a red queen."
"snowdrop, my pet!"
she went on, looking over her shoulder at the white kitten, which was still patiently undergoing its toilet, "when will dinah have finished with your white majesty, i wonder?
that must be the reason you were so untidy in my dream -- dinah!
do you know that you're scrubbing a white queen?
really, it's most disrespectful of you!
"and what did dinah turn to, i wonder?"
she prattled on, as she settled comfortably down, with one elbow in the rug, and her chin in her hand, to watch the kittens.
"tell me, dinah, did you turn to humpty dumpty?
i think you did -- however, you'd better not mention it to your friends just yet, for i'm not sure.
"by the way, kitty, if only you'd been really with me in my dream, there was one thing you would have enjoyed -- i had such a quantity of poetry said to me, all about fishes!
to-morrow morning you shall have a real treat.
all the time you're eating your breakfast, i'll repeat "the walrus and the carpenter" to you; and then you can make believe it's oysters, dear!
"now, kitty, let's consider who it was that dreamed it all.
this is a serious question, my dear, and you should not go on licking your paw like that -- as if dinah had n't washed you this morning!
you see, kitty, it must have been either me or the red king.
he was part of my dream, of course -- but then i was part of his dream, too!
was it the red king, kitty?
you were his wife, my dear, so you ought to know -- oh, kitty, do help to settle it!
i'm sure your paw can wait!"
but the provoking kitten only began on the other paw, and pretended it had n't heard the question.
which do you think it was?
-- a boat beneath a sunny sky, lingering onward dreamily in an evening of july -- children three that nestle near, eager eye and willing ear, pleased a simple tale to hear -- long has paled that sunny sky: echoes fade and memories die.
autumn frosts have slain july.
still she haunts me, phantomwise, alice moving under skies never seen by waking eyes.
children yet, the tale to hear, eager eye and willing ear, lovingly shall nestle near.
in a wonderland they lie, dreaming as the days go by, dreaming as the summers die: ever drifting down the stream -- lingering in the golden gleam -- life, what is it but a dream?
_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___aunt_jo's_scrap-bag,_volume_5.txt.out
i. jimmy's cruise in the pinafore.
how he shipped.
a boy sat on a door-step in a despondent attitude, with his eyes fixed on a pair of very shabby shoes, and his elbows resting on his knees, as if to hide the big patches there.
but it was not the fact that his toes were nearly out and his clothes dilapidated which brought the wrinkles to his forehead and the tears to his eyes, for he was used to that state of things, and bore it without complaint.
the prospect was a dull one for a lively lad full of the spring longings which sunny april weather always brings.
but it was not the narrow back-street where noisy children played and two or three dusty trees tried to bud without sunshine, that made him look so dismal.
nor was it the knowledge that a pile of vests was nearly ready for him to trudge away with before he could really rest after doing many errands to save mother's weary feet.
no, it was a burden that lay very heavily on his heart, and made it impossible to even whistle as he waited.
above the sounds that filled the street he heard a patient moan from the room within; and no matter what object his eyes rested on, he saw with sorrowful distinctness a small white face turned wistfully toward the window, as if weary of the pillow where it had laid so long.
merry little kitty, who used to sing and dance from morning till night, was now so feeble and wasted that he could carry her about like a baby.
all day she lay moaning softly, and her one comfort was when "brother" could come and sing to her.
that night he could not sing; his heart was so full, because the doctor had said that the poor child must have country air as soon as possible, else she never would recover from the fever which left her such a sad little ghost of her former self.
but, alas, there was no money for the trip, and mother was sewing day and night to earn enough for a week at least of blessed country air and quiet.
jimmy did his best to help, but could find very little to do, and the pennies came in so slowly he was almost in despair.
there was no father to lend a strong hand, and mrs. nelson was one of the "silent poor," who can not ask for charity, no matter how much they may need it.
the twelve-year-old boy considered himself the man of the family, and manfully carried as many burdens as his young shoulders would bear; but this was a very heavy one, so it is no wonder that he looked sober.
holding his curly head in his hands, as if to keep it from flying asunder with the various plans working inside, he sat staring at the dusty bricks in a desperate frame of mind.
warm days were coming, and every hour was precious, for poor kitty pined in the close room, and all he could do was to bring her dandelions and bits of green grass from the common when she begged to go in the fields and pick "pretties" for herself.
he loved the little sister dearly, and, as he remembered her longing, his eyes filled, and he doubled up both fists with an air of determination, muttering to himself, -- "she shall go!
i do n't see any other way, and i'll do it!"
the plan which had been uppermost lately was this.
his father had been a sailor, and jimmy proposed to run away to sea as cabin boy.
his wages were to be paid before he went, so mother and kitty could be in the country while he was gone, and in a few months he would come sailing gayly home to find the child her rosy self again.
a very boyish and impossible plan, but he meant it, and was in just the mood to carry it out, -- for every other attempt to make money had failed.
""i'll do it as sure as my name is jim nelson.
i'll take a look at the ships this very night, and go in the first one that will have me," he said, with a resolute nod of the head, though his heart sank within him at the thought.
""i wonder which kind of captains pay boys best?
i guess i'll try a steamer; they make short trips.
i heard the cannon to-day, so one is in, and i'll try for a place before i go to bed."
little did desperate jimmy guess what ship he would really sail in, nor what a prosperous voyage he was about to make; for help was coming that very minute, as it generally does, sooner or later, to generous people who are very much in earnest.
first a shrill whistle was heard, at the sound of which he looked up quickly; then a rosy-faced girl of about his own age came skipping down the street, swinging her hat by one string; and, as jimmy watched her approach, a smile began to soften the grim look he wore, for willy bryant was his best friend and neighbor, being full of courage, fun, and kindness.
he nodded, and made room for her on the step, -- the place she usually occupied at spare moments when they got lessons and recounted their scrapes to each other.
but to-night willy seemed possessed of some unusually good piece of news which she chose to tell in her own lively fashion, for, instead of sitting down, she began to dance a sailor's hornpipe, singing gayly, "i'm little buttercup, sweet little buttercup," till her breath gave out.
""what makes you so jolly, will?"
asked jimmy, as she dropped down beside him and fanned herself with the ill-used hat.
""such fun -- you'll never guess -- just what we wanted -- if your mother only will!
you'll dance, too, when you know," panted the girl, smiling like a substantial sort of fairy come to bring good luck.
""fire away, then.
it will have to be extra nice to set me off.
i do n't feel a bit like jigs now," answered jimmy, as the gloom obscured his face again, like a cloud over the sun.
""you know "pinafore"?"
began will, and getting a quick nod for an answer, she poured forth the following tale with great rapidity: "well, some folks are going to get it up with children to do it, and they want any boys and girls that can sing to go and be looked at to-morrow, and the good ones will be picked out, and dressed up, and taught how to act, and have the nicest time that ever was.
some of our girls are going, and so am i, and you sing and must come, too, and have some fun.
wo n't it be jolly?"
""i guess it would; but i ca n't.
mother needs me every minute out of school," began jimmy, with a shake of the head, having made up his mind some time ago that he must learn to do without fun.
""but we shall be paid for it," cried will, clapping her hands with the double delight of telling the best part of her story, and seeing jimmy's sober face clear suddenly as if the sun had burst forth with great brilliancy.
""really?
how much?
can i sing well enough?"
and he clutched her arm excitedly, for this unexpected ray of hope dazzled him.
""some of them will have ten dollars a week, and some more, -- the real nice ones, like lee, the singing boy, who is a wonder," answered will, in the tone of one well informed on such points.
""ten dollars!"
gasped jimmy, for the immensity of the sum took his breath away.
""could i get that?
how long?
where do we go?
do they really want us fellows?
are you sure it's all true?"
""it was all in the paper, and miss pym, the teacher who boards at our house, told ma about it.
the folks advertised for school-children, sixty of'em, and will really pay; and ma said i could go and try, and all the money i get i'm going to put in a bank and have for my own.
do n't you believe me now?"
miss pym and the newspapers settled the matter in jimmy's mind, and made him more anxious than before about the other point.
""do you think i would have any chance?"
he asked, still holding will, who seemed inclined for another dance.
""i know you would.
do n't you do splendidly at school?
and did n't they want you for a choir boy, only your mother could n't spare you?"
answered will, decidedly; for jimmy did love music, and had a sweet little pipe of his own, as she well knew.
""mother will have to spare me now, if they pay like that.
i can work all day and do without sleep to earn money this way.
oh, will, i'm so glad you came, for i was just ready to run away to sea.
there did n't seem anything else to do," whispered jimmy in a choky sort of tone, as hopes and fears struggled together in his boyish mind.
""run as fast as you like, and i'll go too.
we'll sail in the "pinafore," and come home with our pockets full of money."
"sing, hey, the merry maiden and the tar!""
burst out will, who was so full of spirits she could not keep still another minute.
jimmy joined in, and the fresh voices echoed through the street so pleasantly that mrs. peters stopped scolding her six squabbling children, while kitty's moaning changed to a feeble little sound of satisfaction, for "brother's" lullabies were her chief comfort and delight.
""we shall lose school, you know, for we act in the afternoon, not the evening.
i do n't care; but you will, you like to study so well.
miss pym did n't like it at first, but ma said it would help the poor folks, and a little fun would n't hurt the children.
i thought of you right away, and if you do n't get as much money as i do, you shall have some of mine, so kitty can go away soon."
will's merry face grew very sweet and kind as she said that, and jimmy was glad his mother called him just then, because he did not know how to thank this friend in need.
when he came out with the parcel of vests he looked like a different boy, for mrs. nelson had told him to go and find out all about it, and had seemed as much dazzled by the prospect as he did, sewing was such weary work.
their interview with miss pym was a most encouraging one, and it was soon settled that jimmy should go with will to try for a place on the morrow.
""and i'll get it, too!"
he said to himself, as he kissed kitty's thin cheek, full of the sweet hope that he might be the means of bringing back life and color to the little face he loved so well.
he was so excited he could not sleep, and beguiled the long hours by humming under his breath all the airs he knew belonging to the already popular opera.
next morning he flew about his work as if for a wager, and when will came for him there was not a happier heart in all the city than the hopeful one that thumped under jimmy's threadbare best jacket.
such a crowd of girls and boys as they found at the hall where they were told to apply for inspection; such a chirping and piping went on there, it sounded like a big cage full of larks and linnets; and by and by, when the trial was over, such a smiling troop of children as was left to be drilled by the energetic gentlemen who had the matter in hand.
among this happy band stood our jimmy, chosen for his good voice, and will, because of her bright face and lively, self-possessed manners.
they could hardly wait to be dismissed, and it was a race home to see who should be first to tell the good news.
jimmy tried to be quiet on kitty's account, but failed entirely; and it was a pleasant sight to see the boy run into his mother's arms, crying joyfully, -- "i'm in!
i'm in!
ten dollars a week!
hurrah!"
""i can hardly believe it!"
and weary mrs. nelson dropped her needle to indulge in a few moments of delightful repose.
""if it goes well they may want us for a month or six weeks," the man said.
""just think, maybe i'll get fifty or sixty dollars!
and baby will get well right off," cried jimmy, in an arithmetical sort of rapture, as he leaned above kitty, who tried to clap her little hands without quite knowing what the joy was all about.
how he sailed.
after that day jimmy led a very happy life, for he loved music and enjoyed the daily drill with his mates, though it was long before he saw the inside of the theatre.
will knew a good deal about it, for an actor's family had boarded with her mother, and the little girl had been behind the scenes.
but to jimmy, who had only seen one fairy play, all was very strange when at last he went upon the stage; for the glittering world he expected was gone, and all was dusty, dark, and queer, with trap-doors underfoot, machinery overhead, and a wilderness of scenery jumbled together in the drollest way.
he was all eyes and ears, and enjoyed himself immensely as he came and went, sung and acted, with the troop of lads who made up the sailor chorus.
it was a real ship to him, in spite of painted cannon, shaky masts, and cabin doors that led nowhere.
he longed to run up the rigging; but as that was forbidden, for fear of danger, he contented himself by obeying orders with nautical obedience, singing with all his might, and taking great satisfaction in his blue suit with the magical letters "h. m. s. pinafore" round his cap.
day by day all grew more and more interesting.
his mother was never tired of hearing his adventures, he sung kitty to sleep with the new songs, and the neighbors took such a friendly interest in his success that they called him lord nelson, and predicted that he would be as famous as his great namesake.
when the grand day came at last, and the crew of jolly young tars stood ready to burst forth with the opening chorus, "we sail the ocean blue, our saucy ship's a beauty; we're gallant men and true, and bound to do our duty!"
jimmy hardly knew whether he stood on his head or his heels at first, for, in spite of many rehearsals, everything seemed changed.
instead of daylight, gas shone everywhere, the empty seats were full, the orchestra playing splendidly, and when the curtain rose, a sea of friendly faces welcomed them, and the pleasant sound of applause made the hearts under the blue jackets dance gayly.
how those boys did sing!
how their eyes shone, and their feet kept time to the familiar strains!
with what a relish they hitched up their trousers and lurched about, or saluted and cheered as the play demanded.
with what interest they watched the microscopic midshipmite, listened to rafe as his sweet voice melodiously told the story of his hapless love, and smiled on pretty josephine, who was a regular bluebird without the scream.
""ai n't this fun?"
whispered jimmy's next neighbor, taking advantage of a general burst of laughter, as the inimitable little bumboat woman advertised her wares with captivating drollery.
""right down jolly!"
answered jimmy, feeling that a series of somersaults across the stage would be an immense relief to the pent-up emotions of his boyish soul.
for under all the natural excitement of the hour deep down lay the sweet certainty that he was earning health for kitty, and it made his heart sing for joy more blithely than any jovial chorus to which he lent his happy voice.
but his bliss was not complete till the stately sir joseph, k. c. b., had come aboard, followed by "his sisters and his cousins and his aunts;" for among that flock of devoted relatives in white muslin and gay ribbons was will.
standing in the front row, her bright face was good to see, for her black eyes sparkled, every hair on her head curled its best, her cherry bows streamed in the breeze, and her feet pranced irresistibly at the lively parts of the music.
she longed to dance the hornpipe which the little quaker aunt did so capitally, but, being denied that honor, distinguished herself by the comic vigor with which she "polished up the handle of the big front door," and did the other "business" recorded by the gallant "ruler of the queen's navee."
she and jimmy nodded to each other behind the admiral's august back, and while captain corcoran was singing to the moon, and buttercup suffering the pangs of "wemorse," the young people had a gay time behind the scenes.
jimmy and will sat upon a green baize bank to compare notes, while the relatives flew about like butterflies, and the sailors talked base-ball, jack-knives, and other congenial topics, when not envying sir joseph his cocked hat, and the captain his epaulettes.
it was a very successful launch, and the merry little crew set sail with a fair wind and every prospect of a prosperous voyage.
when the first performance was over, our two children left their fine feathers behind them, like cinderella when the magic hour struck, and went gayly home, feeling much elated, for they knew they should go back to fresh triumphs, and were earning money by their voices like jenny lind and mario.
how they pitied other boys and girls who could not go in at that mysterious little door; how important they felt as parts of the spectacle about which every one was talking, and what millionnaires they considered themselves as they discussed their earnings and planned what to do with the prospective fortunes.
that was the beginning of many busy, happy weeks for both the children, -- weeks which they long remembered with great pleasure, as did older and wiser people; for that merry, innocent little opera proved that theatres can be made the scenes of harmless amusement, and opened to a certain class of young people a new and profitable field for their talents.
so popular did this small company become that the piece went on through the summer vacation, and was played in the morning as well as afternoon to satisfy the crowds who wished to see and hear it.
never had the dear old boston museum, which so many of us have loved and haunted for years, seen such a pretty sight as one of those morning performances.
it was the perfection of harmless merry-making, and the audience was as pleasant a spectacle as that upon the stage.
fathers and mothers stole an hour from their busy lives to come and be children with their children, irresistibly attracted and charmed by the innocent fun, the gay music that bewitched the ear one could hardly tell why, and the artless acting of those who are always playing parts, whether the nursery or the theatre is their stage.
the windows stood open, and sunshine and fresh air came in to join the revel.
babies crowed and prattled, mammas chatted together, old people found they had not forgotten how to laugh, and boys and girls rejoiced over the discovery of a new delight for holidays.
it was good to be there, and in spite of all the discussion in papers and parlors, no harm came to the young mariners, but much careful training of various sorts, and well-earned wages that went into pockets which sorely needed a silver lining.
how the voyage ended.
so the good ship "pinafore" sailed and sailed for many prosperous weeks, and when at last she came into port and dropped anchor for the season she was received with a salute of general approbation for the successful engagement out of which she came with her flags flying and not one of her gallant crew killed or wounded.
well pleased with their share of the glory, officers and men went ashore to spend their prize money with true sailor generosity, all eager to ship again for another cruise in the autumn.
but long before that time able seaman james nelson had sent his family into the country, mother begging will to take good care of her dear boy till he could join them, and kitty throwing kisses as she smiled good-by, with cheeks already the rosier for the comforts "brother" had earned for her.
jimmy would not desert his ship while she floated, but managed to spend his sundays out of town, often taking will with him as first mate; and, thanks to her lively tongue, friends were soon made for the new-comers.
mrs. nelson found plenty of sewing, kitty grew strong and well in the fine air, and the farmer with whom they lived, seeing what a handy lad the boy was, offered him work and wages for the autumn, so all could be independent and together.
with this comfortable prospect before him, jimmy sang away like a contented blackbird, never tiring of his duty, for he was a general favorite, and kitty literally strewed his way with flowers gathered by her own grateful little hands.
when the last day came, he was in such spirits that he was found doing double-shuffles in corners, hugging the midshipmite, who was a little girl of about kitty's age, and treating his messmates to peanuts with a lavish hand.
will had her hornpipe, also, when the curtain was down, kissed every one of the other "sisters, cousins, and aunts," and joined lustily in the rousing farewell cheers given by the crew.
a few hours later, a cheerful-looking boy might have been seen trudging toward one of the railway-stations.
a new hat, brave in blue streamers, was on his head; a red balloon struggled to escape from one hand; a shabby carpet-bag, stuffed full, was in the other; and a pair of shiny shoes creaked briskly, as if the feet inside were going on a very pleasant errand.
about this young traveller, who walked with a sailor-like roll and lurch, revolved a little girl chattering like a magpie, and occasionally breaking into song, as if she could n't help it.
""be sure you come next saturday; it wo n't be half such fun if you do n't go halves," said the boy, beaming at her as he hauled down the impatient balloon, which seemed inclined to break from its moorings" "yes, i know that is so!""
hummed the girl with a skip to starboard, that she might bear a hand with the bag.
""keep some cherries for me, and do n't forget to give kit the doll i dressed for her."
""i should n't have been going myself if it had n't been for you, will.
i never shall forget that," said jimmy, whom intense satisfaction rendered rather more sedate than his friend.
""running away to sea is great fun, "with a tar that ploughs the water!""
sung will in spite of herself."
"and a gallant captain's daughter,"" echoed jimmy, smiling across the carpet-bag.
then both joined in an irrepressible chorus of "dash it!
dash it!"
as a big man nearly upset them and a dog barked madly at the balloon.
being safely landed in the train, jimmy hung out of the window till the last minute, discussing his new prospects with will, who stood on tiptoe outside, bubbling over with fun.
""i'll teach you to make butter and cheese, and you shall be my dairy-woman, for i mean to be a farmer," he said, just as the bell rang.
""all right, i'd like that ever so much."
and then the irrepressible madcap burst out, to the great amusement of the passengers, --" "for you might have been a roosian, a frenchman, turk or proosian, or an ital-i-an.""
and jimmy could not resist shouting back, as the train began to move, --" "but in spite of all temptations to belong to other nations, i'm an amer-i-can.""
then he subsided, to think over the happy holiday before him and the rich cargo of comfort, independence, and pleasure he had brought home from his successful cruise in the "pinafore."
ii.
two little travellers.
the first of these true histories is about annie percival, -- a very dear and lovely child, whose journey interested many other children, and is still remembered with gratitude by those whom she visited on a far-off island.
annie was six when she sailed away to fayal with her mother, grandmamma, and "little aunt ruth," as she called the young aunty who was still a school-girl.
very cunning was annie's outfit, and her little trunk was a pretty as well as a curious sight, for everything was so small and complete it looked as if a doll was setting off for europe.
such a wee dressing-case, with bits of combs and brushes for the curly head; such a cosey scarlet wrapper for the small woman to wear in her berth, with slippers to match when she trotted from state-room to state-room; such piles of tiny garments laid nicely in, and the owner's initials on the outside of the trunk; not to mention the key on a ribbon in her pocket, as grown up as you please.
i think the sight of that earnest, sunshiny face must have been very pleasant to all on board, no matter how seasick they might be, and the sound of the cheery little voice, as sweet as the chirp of a bird, especially when she sung the funny song about the "owl and the pussy-cat in the pea-green boat," for she had charming ways, and was always making quaint, wise, or loving remarks.
well, "they sailed and they sailed," and came at last to fayal, where everything was so new and strange that annie's big brown eyes could hardly spare time to sleep, so busy were they looking about.
the donkeys amused her very much, so did the queer language and ways of the portuguese people round her, especially the very droll names given to the hens of a young friend.
the biddies seemed to speak the same dialect as at home, but evidently they understood spanish also, and knew their own names, so it was fun to go and call rio, pico, cappy, clarissa, whorfie, and poor simonena, whose breast-bone grew out so that she could not eat and had to be killed.
but the thing which made the deepest impression on annie was a visit to a charity-school at the old convent of san antonio.
it was kept by some kind ladies, and twenty-five girls were taught and cared for in the big, bare place, that looked rather gloomy and forlorn to people from happy boston, where charitable institutions are on a noble scale, as everybody knows.
annie watched all that went on with intelligent interest, and when they were shown into the play-room she was much amazed and afflicted to find that the children had nothing to play with but a heap of rags, out of which they made queer dolls, with ravelled twine for hair, faces rudely drawn on the cloth, and funny boots on the shapeless legs.
no other toys appeared, but the girls sat on the floor of the great stone room, -- for there was no furniture, -- playing contentedly with their poor dolls, and smiling and nodding at "the little americana," who gravely regarded this sad spectacle, wondering how they could get on without china and waxen babies, tea-sets, and pretty chairs and tables to keep house with.
the girls thought that she envied them their dolls, and presently one came shyly up to offer two of their best, leaving the teacher to explain in english their wish to be polite to their distinguished guest.
like the little gentlewoman she was, annie graciously accepted the ugly bits of rag with answering nods and smiles, and carried them away with her as carefully as if they were of great beauty and value.
but when she was at home she expressed much concern and distress at the destitute condition of the children.
nothing but rags to play with seemed a peculiarly touching state of poverty to her childish mind, and being a generous creature she yearned to give of her abundance to "all the poor orphans who did n't have any nice dollies."
she had several pets of her own, but not enough to go round even if she sacrificed them, so kind grandmamma, who had been doing things of this sort all her life, relieved the child's perplexity by promising to send twenty-five fine dolls to fayal as soon as the party returned to boston, where these necessaries of child-life are cheap and plenty.
thus comforted, annie felt that she could enjoy her dear horta and chica pico fatiera, particular darlings rechristened since her arrival.
a bundle of gay bits of silk, cloth, and flannel, and a present of money for books, were sent out to the convent by the ladies.
a treat of little cheeses for the girls to eat with their dry bread was added, much to annie's satisfaction, and helped to keep alive her interest in the school of san antonio.
after many pleasant adventures during the six months spent in the city, our party came sailing home again all the better for the trip, and annie so full of tales to tell that it was a never-failing source of amusement to hear her hold forth to her younger brother in her pretty way, "splaining and "scribing all about it."
grandmamma's promise was faithfully kept, and annie brooded blissfully over the twenty-five dolls till they were dressed, packed, and sent away to fayal.
a letter of thanks soon came back from the teacher, telling how surprised and delighted the girls were, and how they talked of annie as if she were a sort of fairy princess who in return for two poor rag-babies sent a miraculous shower of splendid china ladies with gay gowns and smiling faces.
this childish charity was made memorable to all who knew of it by the fact that three months after she came home from that happy voyage annie took the one from which there is no return.
for this journey there was needed no preparation but a little white gown, a coverlet of flowers, and the casket where the treasure of many hearts was tenderly laid away.
all alone, but not afraid, little annie crossed the unknown sea that rolls between our world and the islands of the blest, to be welcomed there, i am sure, by spirits as innocent as her own, leaving behind her a very precious memory of her budding virtues and the relics of a short, sweet life.
every one mourned for her, and all her small treasures were so carefully kept that they still exist.
poor horta, in the pincushion arm-chair, seems waiting patiently for the little mamma to come again; the two rag-dolls lie side by side in grandma's scrap-book, since there is now no happy voice to wake them into life; and far away in the convent of san antonio the orphans carefully keep their pretty gifts in memory of the sweet giver.
to them she is a saint now, not a fairy princess; for when they heard of her death they asked if they might pray for the soul of the dear little americana, and the teacher said, "pray rather for the poor mother who has lost so much."
so the grateful orphans prayed and the mother was comforted, for now another little daughter lies in her arms and kisses away the lonely pain at her heart.
* * * * * the second small traveller i want to tell about lived in the same city as the first, and her name was maggie woods.
her father was an englishman who came to america to try his fortune, but did not find it; for, when maggie was three months old, the great chicago fire destroyed their home; soon after, the mother died; then the father was drowned, and maggie was left all alone in a strange country.
she had a good aunt in england, however, who took great pains to discover the child after the death of the parents, and sent for her to come home and be cared for.
it was no easy matter to get a five-years" child across the atlantic, for the aunt could not come to fetch her, and no one whom she knew was going over.
but maggie had found friends in chicago; the american consul at manchester was interested in the case, and every one was glad to help the forlorn baby, who was too young to understand the pathos of her story.
after letters had gone to and fro, it was decided to send the child to england in charge of the captain of a steamer, trusting to the kindness of all fellow-travellers to help her on her way.
the friends in chicago bestirred themselves to get her ready, and then it was that annie's mother found that she could do something which would have delighted her darling, had she been here to know of it.
laid tenderly away were many small garments belonging to the other little pilgrim, whose journeying was so soon ended; and from among all these precious things mrs. percival carefully chose a comfortable outfit for that cold march voyage.
the little gray gown went, and the red hood, the warm socks, and the cosey wraps no longer needed by the quiet sleeper under the snow.
perhaps something of her loving nature lingered about the clothes, and helped to keep the orphan warm and safe, for annie's great delight was to pet and help all who needed comfort and protection.
when all was ready, maggie's small effects were packed in a light basket, so that she could carry it herself if need be.
a card briefly telling the story was fastened on the corner, and a similar paper recommending her to the protection of all kind people, was sewed to the bosom of her frock.
then, not in the least realizing what lay before her, the child was consigned to the conductor of the train to be forwarded to persons in new york who would see her safely on board the steamer.
i should dearly like to have seen the little maid and the big basket as they set out on that long trip as tranquilly as if for a day's visit; and it is a comfort to know that before the train started, the persons who took her there had interested a motherly lady in the young traveller, who promised to watch over her while their ways were the same.
all went well, and maggie was safely delivered to the new york friends, who forwarded her to the steamer, well supplied with toys and comforts for the voyage, and placed in charge of captain and stewardess.
she sailed on the 3d of march, and on the 12th landed at liverpool, after a pleasant trip, during which she was the pet of all on board.
the aunt welcomed her joyfully, and the same day the child reached her new home, the commercial inn, compstall, after a journey of over four thousand miles.
the consul and owners of the steamer wanted to see the adventurous young lady who had come so far alone, and neighbors and strangers made quite a lion of her, for all kindly hearts were interested, and the protective charity which had guided and guarded her in two hemispheres and across the wide sea, made all men fathers, all women mothers, to the little one till she was safe.
her picture lies before me as i write, -- a pretty child standing in a chair, with a basket of toys on the table before her; curly hair pushed back from the face, pensive eyes, and a pair of stout little feet crossed one over the other as if glad to rest.
i wish i could put the photograph into the story, because the small heroine is an interesting one, and still lives with the good aunt, who is very fond and proud of her, and writes pleasant accounts of her progress to the friends in america.
so ends the journey of my second small traveller, and when i think of her safe and happy in a good home, i always fancy that -lrb- if such things may be -rrb- in the land which is lovelier than even beautiful old england, maggie's mother watches over little annie.
iii.
a jolly fourth.
door-step parties were the fashion that year, and it was while a dozen young folks sat chatting on annie hadwin's steps in the twilight that they laid the plan which turned out such a grand success in the end.
""for my part, i am glad we are to be put on a short allowance of gunpowder, and that crackers are forbidden, they are such a nuisance, burning holes in clothes, frightening horses, and setting houses afire," said sober fred from the gate, where he and several other fellows were roosting socially together.
""it wo n't seem a bit like a regular fourth without the salutes three times during the day.
they are afraid the old cannon will kick, and blow off some other fellow's arm, as it did last year," added elly dickens, the beau of the party, as he pulled down his neat wristbands, hoping maud admired the new cuff-buttons in them.
""what shall we do in the evening, since the ball is given up?
just because the old folks are too tired to enjoy dancing, we ca n't have any, and i think it is too bad," said pretty belle, impatiently, for she danced like a fairy and was never tired.
""the authorities did n't dare to stop our races in the morning.
there would have been an insurrection if they had," called out long herbert from the grass, where he lay at the feet of black-eyed julia.
""we must do something to finish off with.
come, somebody suggest a new, nice, safe, and jolly plan for the evening," cried grace, who liked fun, and had just slipped a little toad into jack spratt's pocket as a pleasant surprise when he felt for his handkerchief.
""let us offer a prize for the brightest idea.
five minutes for meditation, then all suggest a plan, and the best one shall be adopted," proposed annie, glad to give a lively turn to her party.
all agreed, and sudden silence followed the chatter, broken now and then by an exclamation of "i've got it!
no, i have n't," which produced a laugh at the impetuous party.
""time's up," announced fred, looking at "the turnip," as his big old-fashioned watch was called.
every one had a proposal more or less original, and much discussion followed; but it was finally decided that herbert's idea of floating about in boats to enjoy the fireworks on the hill would be romantic, reposeful, and on the whole satisfactory.
""each boat might have a colored lantern; that would look pretty, and then there would be no danger of running into our neighbors in the dark," said annie, who was a little timid on the water in a wherry.
""why not have lots, and make a regular "feast of lanterns," as they do in china?
i was reading about it the other day, and can show you how to do it.
wo n't it be gay?"
and fred the bookworm nearly tumbled off his perch, as an excited gesture emptied his pockets of the library books which served as ballast.
""yes!
yes!"
cried the other lads, with various demonstrations of delight as the new fancy grew upon their lively minds.
""fred and annie must have the prize, for their idea is the most brilliant one.
nan can give the flag to the winner of the race, and "deacon" can lead the boats, for i think it would be fine to have a procession on the river.
fireworks are an old story, so let us surprise the town by something regularly splendid," proposed elly, fired in his turn with a bright idea.
""we will!
we will!"
cried the rest, and at once plunged into the affair with all the ardor of their years.
""let us dress up," said julia, who liked theatricals.
""in different characters," added maud, thinking how well her long yellow hair would look as a mermaid.
""and all sing as we go under the bridges," put in annie, who adored music.
""what a pity the boats ca n't dance, it would be so lovely to see them waltzing round like fireflies!"
said belle, still longing for the ball.
""a lot of fellows are coming up to spend the day with us, and we ought to have some sort of a picnic; city folks think so much of such things," said herbert the hospitable, for his house and barn were the favorite resorts of all his mates, and three gentle little sisters always came into his plans if possible.
""i've got two girl cousins coming, and they would like it, i guess.
i should any way, for jack will go tagging after grace and leave me to take care of them.
let's have a picnic, by all means," said lazy fred, who thought all girls but one great plagues.
""i should n't wonder if all our people liked that plan, and we might have a town picnic as we did once before.
let every one ask his or her mother, and see if we ca n't do it," suggested annie, eager for a whole day of merry-making.
the door-step party was late in breaking up that night; and if half the plans proposed had been carried out, that town would have been considered a large lunatic asylum.
wiser heads remodelled the wild plans, however, and more skilful hands lent their aid, so that only the possible was attempted, though the older folks had bright ideas as well as the boys and girls, and gave the finishing touches to the affair.
the fourth was a fine day, with a fresh air, cloudless sky, and no dust.
the town was early astir, though neither sunrise cannon nor the antiques and horribles disturbed the dawn with their clamor.
the bells rang merrily, and at eight all flocked to the town hall to hear the declaration of independence read by the good and great man of the town, whose own wise and noble words go echoing round the world, teaching the same lesson of justice, truth, and courage as that immortal protest.
an ode by the master of the revels was sung, then every one shouted america with hearty good-will, and before the echoes had fairly died away, the crowd streamed forth to the river-side; for these energetic people were bound to make a day of it.
at nine the races began, and both green banks of the stream were lined with gay groups eagerly watching "our boys" as they swept by in wherries, paddled in canoes, or splashed and tumbled in and out of their tubs amid shouts of laughter from the spectators.
the older fellows did the scientific, and their prizes were duly awarded by the judges.
but our young party had their share of fun, and fred and herbert, who were chums in everything, won the race for the little flag yearly given to the lads for any success on the river.
then the weary heroes loaded the big dory with a cargo of girls, and with the banner blowing gayly in the wind, rowed away to the wide meadow, where seven oaks cast shade enough to shelter a large picnic.
and a large one they had, for the mammas took kindly to the children's suggestion, agreeing to club together in a social lunch, each contributing her stores, her family, and her guests, all being happy together in the free and easy way so pleasant and possible in summer weather.
a merry company they were, and it was a comfortable sight to see the tired fathers lying in the shade, while the housewives forgot their cares for a day, the young folks made table-setting and dishwashing a joke by doing it together, and the children frolicked to their hearts" content.
even the babies were trundled to the party by proud mammas and took naps in their carriages, or held receptions for admiring friends and neighbors with infantile dignity.
a social, sensible time, and when sunset came all turned homeward to make ready for the evening festivities.
it was vaguely rumored that the pretty rustic bridge was to be illuminated, for the older people had taken up the idea and had their surprises ready as well as the young folks.
a band was stationed by the river-side, a pretty villa on the hill blazed out with lines of light, and elms and apple-trees bore red and golden lanterns, like glorified fruit.
the clerk of the weather was evidently interested in this novel entertainment, for the evening was windless, dark, and cool, so the arch of light that spanned the shadowy river shone splendidly.
fireworks soared up from the hill-top beyond, fireflies lent their dancing sparks to illuminate the meadows, and the three bridges were laden with the crowds, who greeted each new surprise with cries of admiration.
higher up the stream, where two branches met about a rocky island, elves seemed gathering for a summer revel.
from all the landings that lined either shore brilliant boats glided to the rendezvous; some hung with luminous globes of blue and silver, some with lanterns fiery-red, flower-shaped, golden, green, or variegated, as if a rainbow were festooned about the viewless masts.
up and down they flashed, stealing out from dusky nooks and floating in their own radiance, as they went to join the procession that wound about the island like a splendid sea-serpent uncoiling itself from sleep and darkness.
""is n't it beautiful?"
cried even the soberest of the townsfolk, as all turned their backs on the shining bridge and bursting rockets to admire the new spectacle, which was finer than its most enthusiastic advocate expected.
all felt proud of their success as they looked, and even the children forgot to shout while watching the pretty pageant that presently came floating by, with music, light, and half-seen figures so charming, grotesque, or romantic that the illusion was complete.
first, a boat so covered with green boughs and twinkling yellow sparks that it looked like a floating island by starlight or a cage of singing-birds, for music came from within and fresh voices, led by annie, sang sweetly as it sailed along.
then a gondola of lovely venetian ladies, rowed by the handsome artist, who was the pride of the town.
next a canoe holding three dusky indians, complete in war-paint, wampum, and tomahawks, paddled before the brilliant barge in which cleopatra sat among red cushions, fanned by two pretty maids.
julia's black eyes sparkled as she glanced about her, feeling very queen-like with a golden crown on her head, all the jewelry she could muster on her neck and arms, and grandmother's yellow brocade shining in the light.
belle and grace waved their peacock fans like two comely little egyptian damsels, and the many-colored lanterns made a pretty picture of the whole.
a boatful of jolly little tars followed, with tom brown, jr., as skipper.
then a party of fairies in white, with silver wings and wands, and lanterns like moon and stars.
lou pope, as lady of the lake, rowed her own boat, with jack for a droll little harper, twanging his zitter for want of a better instrument.
a black craft hung with lurid red lanterns and manned by a crew of ferocious pirates in scarlet shirts, dark beards, and an imposing display of pistols and cutlasses in their belts, not to mention the well-known skull and cross-bones on the flag flying at the masthead, produced a tremendous effect as the crew clashed their arms and roared the blood-thirstiest song they could find.
all the boys cheered that, and all the horses pranced as the pirates fired off their pistols, causing timid ladies to shriek, and prudent drivers to retire from the bridges with their carriage-loads of company.
a chinese junk -lrb- or what was intended to look like one, but really resembled a mud-scow -rrb-, with a party of mandarins, rich in fans, umbrellas, and pigtails, taking tea on board in a blaze of fantastic lanterns, delighted the children.
then a long low boat came sliding by softly, lighted with pale blue lamps, and on a white couch lay "elaine," the letter in her hand, the golden hair streaming to her knees, and at her feet the dwarf sorrowfully rowing her down to camelot.
every one recognized that, for the master of the revels got it up as no one else could; and maud laughed to herself as the floating tableau went under the bridge, and she heard people rushing to the other side, waiting eagerly to see the "lily maid" appear and glide away, followed by applause, as one of the prettiest sights seen that night.
there were eighty boats in all, and as the glittering train wound along the curves of the river smooth and dark as a mirror, the effect was truly beautiful, especially when they all congregated below the illuminated bridge, making an island of many-colored light.
an enchanted island it seemed to lookers-on, for music and laughter came from it, and a strange mixture of picturesque faces and figures flitted to and fro.
elaine sat up and ate bonbons with the faithful dwarf; ellen douglas ducked the harper; the chinamen invited cleopatra to tea; the mermaids pelted the pirates with water-lilies; the gallant gondolier talked art with the venetian ladies; and the jolly little tars danced hornpipes, regardless of danger; while the three indians, fred, herbert, and elly, whooped and tomahawked right and left as if on the war-path.
a regular midsummer night's dream frolic, which every one enjoyed heartily, while the band played patriotic airs, the pretty villa shone like a fairy palace, and the sky was full of dazzling meteors, falling stars, and long-tailed comets, as the rockets whizzed and blazed from the hill-tops.
just as the fun was at its height the hurried clang of a bell startled the merry-makers, and a cry of "fire!"
came from the town, causing a general stampede.
""post-office all afire!
men wanted!"
shouted a breathless boy, racing through the crowd toward the river.
then great was the scampering, for shops stood thickly all about the post-office, and distracted merchants hastily collected their goods, while the firemen smashed windows, ran up and down ladders, broke in doors, and poured streams of water with generous impartiality over everybody and everything in the neighborhood, and the boys flew about, as if this unexpected display of fireworks suited them exactly.
such noble exertions could not fail of success, and the fire was happily extinguished before the river was pumped dry.
then every one went home, and, feeling the need of refreshment after their labors, had supper all over again, to the great delight of the young folks, who considered this a most appropriate finish to an exciting day.
but the merriest party of all was the one gathered on fred's piazza to eat cake and talk over the fun.
such a droll group as they were.
the indians were sadly dilapidated as to feathers and paint, beside being muddy to the knees, having landed in hot haste.
poor cleopatra had been drenched by the hose, but though very damp still sparkled with unextinguishable gayety.
elaine had tied herself up in a big shawl, having lost her hat overboard.
jack and grace wore one waterproof, and annie was hoarse with leading her choir of birds on the floating island.
also several of the pirates wore their beards twisted round behind for the sake of convenience in eating.
all were wet, warm, and weary, but all rejoiced over the success of the day's delights, and it was unanimously agreed that this had been the jolliest fourth they had ever known.
iv.
seven black cats.
they all came uninvited, they all led eventful lives, and all died tragical deaths; so out of the long list of cats whom i have loved and lost, these seven are the most interesting and memorable.
i have no prejudice against color, but it so happened that our pussies were usually gray or maltese.
one white one, who would live in the coal-bin, was a failure, and we never repeated the experiment.
black cats had not been offered us, so we had no experience of them till number one came to us in this wise.
sitting at my window, i saw a very handsome puss come walking down the street in the most composed and dignified manner.
i watched him with interest, wondering where he was going.
pausing now and then, he examined the houses as he passed, as if looking for a particular number, till, coming to our gate, he pushed it open, and walked in.
straight up to the door he came, and finding it shut sat down to wait till some one opened it for him.
much amused, i went at once, and he came directly in, after a long stare at me, and a few wavings of his plumy tail.
it was evidently the right place, and, following me into the parlor, he perched himself on the rug, blinked at the fire, looked round the room, washed his face, and then, lying down in a comfortable sprawl, he burst into a cheerful purr, as if to say, -- "it's all right; the place suits me, and i'm going to stay."
his coolness amused me very much, and his beauty made me glad to keep him.
he was not a common cat, but, as we afterward discovered, a russian puss.
his fur was very long, black, and glossy as satin; his tail like a graceful plume, and his eyes as round and yellow as two little moons.
his paws were very dainty, and white socks and gloves, with a neat collar and shirt-bosom, gave him the appearance of an elegant young beau, in full evening dress.
his face was white, with black hair parted in the middle; and whiskers, fiercely curled up at the end, gave him a martial look.
every one admired him, and a vainer puss never caught a mouse.
if he saw us looking at him, he instantly took an attitude; gazed pensively at the fire, as if unconscious of our praises; crouched like a tiger about to spring, and glared, and beat the floor with his tail; or lay luxuriously outstretched, rolling up his yellow eyes with a sentimental expression that was very funny.
we named him the czar, and no tyrannical emperor of russia ever carried greater desolation and terror to the souls of his serfs, than this royal cat did to the hearts and homes of the rats and mice over whom he ruled.
the dear little mice who used to come out to play so confidingly in my room, live in my best bonnet-box, and bring up their interesting young families in the storeroom, now fell an easy prey to the czar, who made nothing of catching half a dozen a day.
brazen-faced old rats, gray in sin, who used to walk boldly in and out of the front door, ravage our closets, and racket about the walls by night, now paused in their revels, and felt that their day was over.
czar did not know what fear was, and flew at the biggest, fiercest rat that dared to show his long tail on the premises.
he fought many a gallant fight, and slew his thousands, always bringing his dead foe to display him to us, and receive our thanks.
it was sometimes rather startling to find a large rat reposing in the middle of your parlor; not always agreeable to have an excited cat bounce into your lap, lugging a half-dead rat in his mouth; or to have visitors received by the czar, tossing a mouse on the door-steps, like a playful child with its cup and ball.
he was not fond of petting, but allowed one or two honored beings to cuddle him.
my work-basket was his favorite bed, for a certain fat cushion suited him for a pillow, and, having coolly pulled out all the pins, the rascal would lay his handsome head on the red mound, and wink at me with an irresistibly saucy expression that made it impossible to scold.
all summer we enjoyed his pranks and admired his manly virtues; but in the winter we lost him, for, alas!
he found his victor in the end, and fell a victim to his own rash daring.
one morning after a heavy snow-fall, czar went out to take a turn up and down the path.
as he sat with his back to the gate, meditatively watching some doves on the shed-roof, a big bull-dog entered the yard, and basely attacked him in the rear.
taken by surprise, the dear fellow did his best, and hit out bravely, till he was dragged into the deep snow where he could not fight, and there so cruelly maltreated that he would have been murdered outright, if i had not gone to the rescue.
catching up a broom, i belabored the dog so energetically that he was forced to turn from the poor czar to me.
what would have become of me i do n't know, for the dog was in a rage, and evidently meditating a grab at my ankles, when his master appeared and ordered him off.
never was a boy better scolded than that one, for i poured forth vials of wrath upon his head as i took up my bleeding pet, and pointed to his wounds as indignantly as antony did to cæsar's.
the boy fled affrighted, and i bore my poor czar in to die.
all day he lay on his cushion, patient and quiet, with his torn neck tied up in a soft bandage, a saucer of cream close by, and an afflicted mistress to tend and stroke him with tender lamentations.
we had company in the evening, and my interesting patient was put into another room.
once, in the midst of conversation, i thought i heard a plaintive mew, but could not go to see, and soon forgot all about it; but when the guests left, my heart was rent by finding czar stretched out before the door quite dead.
feeling death approach, he had crept to say good-by, and with a farewell mew had died before the closed door, a brave and faithful cat to the end.
he was buried with great pomp, and before his grave was green, little blot came to take his place, though she never filled it.
blot's career was a sad and brief one.
misfortune marked her for its own, and life was one too many for her.
i saw some boys pelting a wretched object with mud.
i delivered a lecture on cruelty to animals, confiscated the victim, and, wrapping her in a newspaper, bore the muddy little beast away in triumph.
being washed and dried, she turned out a thin black kit, with dirty blue bows tied in her ears.
as i do n't approve of ear-rings, i took hers out, and tried to fatten her up, for she was a forlorn creature at first.
but blot would not grow plump.
her early wrongs preyed upon her, and she remained a thin, timid, melancholy little cat all her days.
i could not win her confidence.
she had lost her faith in mankind, and i do n't blame her.
she always hid in corners, quaked when i touched her, took her food by stealth, and sat in a forlorn bunch in cold nooks, down cellar or behind the gate, mewing despondently to herself, as if her woes must find a vent.
she would not be easy and comfortable.
no cushion could allure, no soft beguilements win her to purr, no dainty fare fill out her rusty coat, no warmth or kindness banish the scared look from her sad green eyes, no ball or spool lure her to play, or cause her to wag her mortified thin tail with joy.
poor, dear little blot!
she was a pathetic spectacle, and her end was quite in keeping with the rest of her hard fate.
trying one day to make her come and be cuddled, she retreated to the hearth, and when i pursued her, meaning to catch and pet her, she took a distracted skip right into a bed of hot coals.
one wild howl, and another still more distracted skip brought her out again, to writhe in agony with four burnt paws and a singed skin.
""we must put the little sufferer out of her pain," said a strong-minded friend; and quenched little blot's life and suffering together in a pail of water.
i laid her out sweetly in a nice box, with a doll's blanket folded round her, and, bidding the poor dear a long farewell, confided her to old maccarty for burial.
he was my sexton, and i could trust him to inter my darlings decently, and not toss them disrespectfully into a dirt-cart or over a bridge.
my dear mother bunch was an entire contrast to blot.
such a fat, cosey old mamma you never saw, and her first appearance was so funny, i never think of her without laughing.
in our back kitchen was an old sideboard, with two little doors in the lower part.
some bits of carpet were kept there, but we never expected to let that small mansion till, opening the door one day, i found mrs. bunch and her young family comfortably settled.
i had never seen this mild black cat before, and i fancy no one had ever seen her three roly-poly, jet-black kits.
such a confiding puss i never met, for when i started back, surprised, mrs. bunch merely looked at me with an insinuating purr, and began to pick at my carpet, as if to say, -- "the house suited me; i'll take it, and pay rent by allowing you to admire and pet my lovely babies."
i never thought of turning her out, and there she remained for some months, with her children growing up around her, all as fat and funny, black and amiable, as herself.
three jollier kits were never born, and a more devoted mother never lived.
i put her name on the door of her house, and they lived on most comfortably together, even after they grew too big for their accommodations, and tails and legs hung out after the family had retired.
i really did hope they would escape the doom that seemed to pursue my cats, but they did not, for all came to grief in different ways.
cuddle bunch had a fit, and fell out of the window, killing herself instantly.
othello, her brother, was shot by a bad boy, who fired pistols at all the cats in the neighborhood, as good practice for future gunning expeditions.
little purr was caught in a trap, set for a woodchuck, and so hurt she had to be gently chloroformed out of life.
mother bunch still remained, and often used to go and sit sadly under the tree where her infants were buried, -- an afflicted, yet resigned parent.
her health declined, but we never had the heart to send her away, and it would n't have done any good if we had tried.
we did it once, and it was a dead failure.
at one time the four cats were so wearing that my honored father, who did not appreciate the dears, resolved to clear the house of the whole family; so he packed them in a basket, and carried them "over the hills and far away," like the "babes in the wood."
coming to a lonely spot, he let them out, and returned home, much relieved in mind.
judge of his amazement when the first thing he saw was mrs. bunch and her children, sitting on the steps resting after their run home.
we all laughed at the old gentleman so that he left them in peace, and even when the mamma alone remained, feeble and useless, her bereavement made her sacred.
when we shut up the house, and went to the city for the winter, we gave mother bunch to the care of a kind neighbor, who promised to guard her faithfully.
returning in the spring, one of my first questions was, -- "how is old pussy?"
great was my anguish when my neighbor told me that she was no more.
it seems the dear thing pined for her old home, and kept returning to it in spite of age or bad weather.
several times she was taken back when she ran away, but at last they were tired of fussing over her, and let her go.
a storm came on, and when they went to see what had become of her, they found her frozen, in the old sideboard, where i first discovered her with her kits about her.
as a delicate attention to me, mrs. bunch's skin was preserved, and presented when the tale was told.
i kept it some time, but the next christmas i made it into muffs for several dolls, who were sent me to dress; and very nice little muffs the pretty black fur made, lined with cherry silk, and finished off with tiny tassels.
i loved the dear old puss, but i knew the moths would get her skin if i kept it, and preferred to rejoice the hearts of several small friends with dolls in full winter costume.
i am sure mrs. bunch would have agreed with me, and not felt that i treated her remains with disrespect.
the last of my cats was the blackest of all, and such a wild thing we called him the imp.
he tumbled into the garret one day through a broken scuttle, and took possession of the house from that time forth, acting as if bewitched.
he got into the furnace pipes, but could not get out, and kept me up one whole night, giving him air and light, food and comfort, through a little hole in the floor, while waiting for a carpenter to come and saw him out.
he got a sad pinch in his tail, which made it crooked forever after.
he fell into the soft-soap barrel, and was fished out a deplorable spectacle.
he was half strangled by a fine collar we put on him, and was found hanging by it on a peg.
people sat down on him, for he would lie in chairs.
no one loved him much, for he was not amiable in temper, but bit and scratched if touched, worried the bows off our slippers in his play, and if we did not attend to him at once, he complained in the most tremendous bass growl i ever heard.
he was not beautiful, but very impressive; being big, without a white hair on him.
one eye was blue and one green, and the green one was always half shut, as if he was winking at you, which gave him a rowdy air comical to see.
then he swaggered in his walk, never turned out for any one, and if offended fell into rages fit to daunt the bravest soul.
yes, the imp was truly an awful animal; and when a mischievous cousin of ours told us he wanted a black cat, without a single white hair on it, to win a wager with, we at once offered ours.
it seems that sailors are so superstitious they will not sail in a ship with a black cat; and this rogue of a cousin was going to send puss off on a voyage, unknown to any one but the friend who took him, and when the trip was safely over, he was to be produced as a triumphant proof of the folly of the nautical superstition.
so the imp was delivered to his new master, and sailed away packed up in an old fishing-basket, with his head poked out of a hole in the cover.
we waited anxiously to hear how the joke ended; but unfortunately the passage was very rough, his guardian too ill to keep him safe and quiet, so the irrepressible fellow escaped from prison, and betrayed himself by growling dismally, as he went lurching across the deck to the great dismay of the sailors.
they chased, caught, and tossed the poor imp overboard without loss of time.
and when the joke came out, they had the best of it, for the weather happened to improve, and the rest of the voyage was prosperous.
so, of course, they laid it all to the loss of the cat, and were more fixed in their belief than ever.
we were sorry that poor old imp met so sad a fate, but did not mourn him long, for he had not won our hearts as some of our other pets had.
he was the last of the seven black cats, and we never had another; for i really did feel as if there was something uncanny about them after my tragical experiences with czar, blot, mother bunch's family, and the martyred imp.
v. rosa's tale.
""now, i believe every one has had a christmas present and a good time.
nobody has been forgotten, not even the cat," said mrs. ward to her daughter, as she looked at pobbylinda, purring on the rug, with a new ribbon round her neck and the remains of a chicken bone between her paws.
it was very late, for the christmas-tree was stripped, the little folks abed, the baskets and bundles left at poor neighbors" doors, and everything ready for the happy day which would begin as the clock struck twelve.
they were resting after their labors, while the yule log burned down; but the mother's words reminded belinda of one good friend who had received no gift that night.
""we've forgotten rosa!
her mistress is away, but she shall have a present nevertheless.
late as it is, she will like some apples and cake and a merry christmas from the family."
belinda jumped up as she spoke, and, having collected such remnants of the feast as a horse would relish, she put on her hood, lighted a lantern, and trotted off to the barn.
as she opened the door of the loose box in which rosa was kept, she saw her eyes shining in the dark as she lifted her head with a startled air.
then, recognizing a friend, she rose and came rustling through the straw to greet her late visitor.
she was evidently much pleased with the attention, and rubbed her nose against miss belinda gratefully, but seemed rather dainty, and poked over the contents of the basket, as if a little suspicious, though apples were her favorite treat.
knowing that she would enjoy the little feast more if she had company while she ate it, for rosa was a very social beast, miss belinda hung up the lantern, and, sitting down on an inverted bucket, watched her as she munched contentedly.
""now really," said miss belinda, when telling her story afterwards, "i am not sure whether i took a nap and dreamed what follows, or whether it actually happened, for strange things do occur at christmas time, as every one knows.
""as i sat there the town clock struck twelve, and the sound reminded me of the legend which affirms that all dumb animals are endowed with speech for one hour after midnight on christmas eve, in memory of the animals about the manger when the blessed child was born.""
i wish the pretty fancy was a fact, and our rosa could speak, if only for an hour, because i am sure she has an interesting history, and i long to know it."
""i said this aloud, and to my utter amazement the bay mare stopped eating, fixed her intelligent eyes upon my face, and answered in a language i understood perfectly well, --" "you shall know it, for whether the legend is true or not i feel as if i could confide in you and tell you all i feel.
i was lying awake listening to the fun in the house, thinking of my dear mistress over the sea and feeling very sad, for i heard you say i was to be sold.
that nearly broke my heart, for no one has ever been so kind to me as miss merry, and nowhere shall i be taken care of, nursed, and loved as i have been since she bought me.
i know i am getting old, and stiff in the knees, and my forefoot is lame, and sometimes i'm cross when my shoulder aches; but i do try to be a patient, grateful beast.
i've got fat with good living, my work is not hard, i dearly love to carry those who have done so much for me, and i'll tug for them till i die in harness, if they will only keep me."
""i was so astonished at this address that i tumbled off the pail, and sat among the straw staring up at rosa, as dumb as if i had lost the power she had gained.
she seemed to enjoy my surprise, and added to it by letting me hear a genuine horse laugh, hearty, shrill, and clear, as she shook her pretty head, and went on talking rapidly in the language which i now perceived to be a mixture of english and the peculiar dialect of the horse-country gulliver visited."
"thank you for remembering me to-night, and in return for the goodies you bring i'll tell my story as fast as i can, for i have often longed to recount the trials and triumphs of my life.
miss merry came last christmas eve to bring me sugar, and i wanted to speak, but it was too early and i could not say a word, though my heart was full."
""rosa paused an instant, and her fine eyes dimmed as if with tender tears at the recollection of the happy year which had followed the day she was bought from the drudgery of a livery-stable to be a lady's pet.
i stroked her neck as she stooped to sniff affectionately at my hood, and said eagerly, --" "tell away, dear, i'm full of interest, and understand every word you say."
""thus encouraged, rosa threw up her head, and began with an air of pride which plainly proved, what we had always suspected, that she belonged to a good family."
"my father was a famous racer, and i am very like him; the same color, spirit, and grace, and but for the cruelty of man i might have been as renowned as he.
i was a very happy colt, petted by my master, tamed by love, and never struck a blow while he lived.
i gained one race for him, and promised so well that when he died i brought a great price.
i mourned for him, but was glad to be sent to my new owner's racing-stable and made much of, for people predicted that i should be another goldsmith maid or flora temple.
ah, how ambitious and proud i was in those days!
vain of my good blood, my speed, and my beauty; for indeed i was handsome then, though you may find it hard to believe now."
and rosa sighed regretfully as she stole a look at me, and took the attitude which showed to advantage the fine lines about her head and neck.""
i do not find it hard, for we have always said you had splendid points about you.
miss merry saw them, though you were a skeleton, when she bought you; so did the skilful cornish blacksmith when he shod you.
and it is easy to see that you belong to a good family by the way you hold your head without a check-rein and carry your tail like a plume," i said, with a look of admiration which comforted her as much as if she had been a passée belle.""
i must hurry over this part of my story, because, though brilliant, it was very brief, and ended in a way which made it the bitterest portion of my life," continued rosa."
i won several races, and great fame was predicted for me.
you may guess how high my reputation was when i tell you that before my last fatal trial thousands were bet on me, and my rival trembled in his shoes.
i was full of spirit, eager to show my speed and sure of success.
alas, how little i knew of the wickedness of human nature then, how dearly i bought the knowledge, and how it has changed my whole life!
you do not know much about such matters, of course, and i wo n't digress to tell you all the tricks of the trade; only beware of jockeys and never bet.""
i was kept carefully out of every one's way for weeks, and only taken out for exercise by my trainer.
poor bill!
i was fond of him, and he was so good to me that i never have forgotten him, though he broke his neck years ago.
a few nights before the great race, as i was getting a good sleep, carefully tucked away in my roomy stall, some one stole in and gave me a warm mash.
it was dark, i was half awake, and i ate it like a fool, though i knew by instinct that it was not bill who fed it to me.
i was a confiding creature then, and as all sorts of queer things had been done to prepare me i thought it was all right.
but it was not, and that deceit has caused me to be suspicious about my food ever since, for the mash was dosed in some way; it made me very ill, and my enemies nearly triumphed, thanks to this cowardly trick."
"bill worked over me day and night, that i might be fit to run.
i did my best to seem well and gay, but there was not time for me to regain my lost strength and spirit, and pride alone kept me up.
""i'll win for my master if i die in doing it," i said to myself, and when the hour came pranced to my place trying to look as well as ever, though my heart was very heavy and i trembled with excitement.
""courage, my lass, and we'll beat in spite of their black tricks," whispered bill, as he sprung to his place.""
i lost the first heat, but won the second, and the sound of the cheering gave me strength to walk away without staggering, though my legs shook under me.
what a splendid minute that was when, encouraged and refreshed by my faithful bill, i came on the track again!
i knew my enemies began to fear, for i had borne myself so bravely they fancied i was quite well, and now, excited by that first success, i was mad with impatience to be off and cover myself with glory."
""rosa looked as if the "splendid minute" had come again, for she arched her neck, opened wide her red nostrils, and pawed the straw with one little foot, while her eyes shone with sudden fire, and her ears were pricked up as if to catch again the shouts she heard that day.""
i wish i had been there to see you!"
i exclaimed, quite carried away by her ardor.""
i wish you had, for i won, i won!
the big black horse did his best, but i had vowed to win or die, and i kept my word, for i beat him by a head, and then dropped as if dead.
i might as well have died then, people thought, for the poison, the exertion, and the fall ruined me for a racer.
my master cared no more for me, and would have had me shot if bill had not saved my life.
i was pronounced good for nothing, and he bought me cheap.
i was lame and useless for a long time, but his patient care did wonders, and just as i was able to be of use to him he was killed.""
a gentleman in want of a saddle-horse purchased me because my easy gait and quiet temper suited him; for i was meek enough now, and my size fitted me to carry his delicate daughter."
"for more than a year i served little miss alice, rejoicing to see how rosy her pale cheeks became, how upright her feeble figure grew, thanks to the hours spent with me; for my canter rocked her as gently as if she were in a cradle, and fresh air was the medicine she needed.
she often said she owed her life to me, and i liked to think so, for she made my life a very easy one."
"but somehow my good times never lasted long, and when miss alice went west i was sold.
i had been so well treated that i looked as handsome and gay as ever, though my shoulder never was strong again, and i often had despondent moods, longing for the excitement of the race-course with the instinct of my kind; so i was glad when, attracted by my spirit and beauty, a young army officer bought me and i went to the war.
ah!
you never guessed that, did you?
yes, i did my part gallantly and saved my master's life more than once.
you have observed how martial music delights me, but you do n't know that it is because it reminds me of the proudest hour of my life.
i've told you about the saddest; let me relate this also, and give me a pat for the brave action which won my master his promotion, though i got no praise for my part of the achievement."
"in one of the hottest battles my captain was ordered to lead his men to a most perilous exploit.
they hesitated, so did he; for it must cost many lives, and, brave as they were, they paused an instant.
but i settled the point, for i was wild with the sound of drums, the smell of powder, the excitement of the hour, and, finding myself sharply reined in, i rebelled, took the bit between my teeth, and dashed straight away into the midst of the fight, spite of all my rider could do.
the men thought their captain led them on, and with a cheer they followed, carrying all before them."
"what happened just after that i never could remember, except that i got a wound here in my neck and a cut on my flank; the scar is there still, and i'm proud of it, though buyers always consider it a blemish.
but when the battle was won my master was promoted on the field, and i carried him up to the general as he sat among his officers under the torn flags."
"both of us were weary and wounded, both were full of pride at what we had done; but he got all the praise and the honor, i only a careless word and a better supper than usual.""
i thought no one knew what i had done, and resented the ingratitude of your race; for it was the horse, not the man, who led that forlorn hope, and i did think i should have a rosette at least, when others got stars and bars for far less dangerous deeds.
never mind, my master knew the truth, and thanked me for my help by keeping me always with him till the sad day when he was shot in a skirmish, and lay for hours with none to watch and mourn over him but his faithful horse."
"then i knew how much he loved and thanked me, for his hand stroked me while it had the strength, his eye turned to me till it grew too dim for seeing, and when help came, among the last words he whispered to a comrade were these, "be kind to rosa and send her safely home; she has earned her rest."""
i had earned it, but i did not get it, for when i was sent home the old mother's heart was broken at the loss of her son, and she did not live long to cherish me.
then my hard times began, for my next owner was a fast young man, who ill used me in many ways, till the spirit of my father rose within me, and i gave my brutal master a grand runaway and smash-up."
"to tame me down, i was sold for a car horse; and that almost killed me, for it was dreadful drudgery to tug, day after day, over the hard pavement with heavy loads behind me, uncongenial companions beside me, and no affection to cheer my life.""
i have often longed to ask why mr. bergh does not try to prevent such crowds from piling into those cars; and now i beg you to do what you can to stop such an unmerciful abuse."
"in snow-storms it was awful, and more than one of my mates dropped dead with overwork and discouragement.
i used to wish i could do the same, for my poor feet, badly shod, became so lame i could hardly walk at times, and the constant strain on the up grades brought back the old trouble in my shoulder worse than ever."
"why they did not kill me i do n't know, for i was a miserable creature then; but there must be something attractive about me, i fancy, for people always seem to think me worth saving.
what can it be, ma'am?""
"now, rosa, do n't be affected; you know you are a very engaging little animal, and if you live to be forty will still have certain pretty ways about you, that win the hearts of women, if not of men.
they see your weak points, and take a money view of the case; but we sympathize with your afflictions, are amused with your coquettish airs, and like your affectionate nature.
now hurry up and finish, for i find it a trifle cold out here."
""i laughed as i spoke, for rosa eyed me with a sidelong glance and gently waved the docked tail, which was her delight; for the sly thing liked to be flattered and was as fond of compliments as a girl."
"many thanks.
i will come now to the most interesting portion of my narrative.
as i was saying, instead of knocking me on the head i was packed off to new hampshire, and had a fine rest among the green hills, with a dozen or so of weary friends.
it was during this holiday that i acquired the love of nature which miss merry detected and liked in me, when she found me ready to study sunsets with her, to admire new landscapes, and enjoy bright summer weather."
"in the autumn a livery-stable keeper bought me, and through the winter fed me up till i was quite presentable in the spring.
it was a small town, but through the summer many city people visited there, so i was kept on the trot while the season lasted, because ladies could drive me.
you, miss belinda, were one of the ladies, and i never shall forget, though i have long ago forgiven it, how you laughed at my queer gait the day you hired me."
"my tender feet and stiff knees made me tread very gingerly, and amble along with short mincing steps, which contrasted oddly, i know, with my proudly waving tail and high-carried head.
you liked me nevertheless, because i did n't rattle you down the steep hills, was not afraid of locomotives, and stood patiently while you gathered flowers and enjoyed the lovely prospects.""
i have always felt a regard for you since you did not whip me, and admired my eyes, which, i may say without vanity, have always been considered unusually fine.
but no one ever won my whole heart like miss merry, and i never shall forget the happy day when she came to the stable to order a saddle-horse.
her cheery voice made me prick up my ears, and when she said, after looking at several showy beasts, "no, they do n't suit me.
this one now has the right air; can i ride her?"
my heart danced within me and i looked round with a whinny of delight.
she understood my welcome, and came right up to me, patted me, peered into my face, rubbed my nose, and looked at my feet with an air of interest and sympathy, that made me feel as if i'd like to carry her round the world."
"ah, what rides we had after that!
what happy hours trotting gayly through the green woods, galloping over the breezy hills, or pacing slowly along quiet lanes, where i often lunched luxuriously on clover-tops, while miss merry took a sketch of some picturesque bit with me in the foreground.""
i liked that, and we had long chats at such times, for she seemed to understand me perfectly.
she was never frightened when i danced for pleasure on the soft turf, never chid me when i snatched a bite from the young trees as we passed through sylvan ways, never thought it a trouble to let me wet my tired feet in babbling brooks, or to dismount and take out the stones that plagued me."
"then how well she rode!
so firm yet light a seat, so steady a hand, so agile a foot to spring on and off, and such infectious spirits, that no matter how despondent or cross i might be, in five minutes i felt gay and young again when dear miss merry was on my back."
""here rosa gave a frisk that sent the straw flying, and made me shrink into a corner, while she pranced about the box with a neigh which waked the big brown colt next door, and set poor buttercup to lowing for her calf, the loss of which she had forgotten for a little while in sleep."
"ah, miss merry never ran away from me!
she knew my heels were to be trusted, and she let me caper as i would, glad to see me lively.
never mind, miss belinda, come out and i'll be sober, as befits my years," laughed rosa, composing herself, and adding, so like a woman that i could not help smiling in the dark, --" "when i say "years" i beg you to understand that i am not as old as that base man declared, but just in the prime of life for a horse.
hard usage has made me seem old before my time, and i am good for years of service yet.""
"few people have been through as much as you have, rosa, and you certainly have earned the right to rest," i said consolingly, for her little whims and vanities amused me much."
"you know what happened next," she continued; "but i must seize this opportunity to express my thanks for all the kindness i've received since miss merry bought me, in spite of the ridicule and dissuasion of all her friends.""
i know i did n't look like a good bargain, for i was very thin and lame and shabby; but she saw and loved the willing spirit in me, pitied my hard lot, and felt that it would be a good deed to buy me even if she never got much work out of me.""
i shall always remember that, and whatever happens to me hereafter, i never shall be as proud again as i was the day she put my new saddle and bridle on, and i was led out, sleek, plump, and handsome, with blue rosettes at my ears, my tail cut in the english style, and on my back miss merry in her london hat and habit, all ready to head a cavalcade of eighteen horsemen and horsewomen.
we were the most perfect pair of all, and when the troop caracoled down the wide street six abreast, my head was the highest, my rider the straightest, and our two hearts the friendliest in all the goodly company."
"nor is it pride and love alone that binds me to her, it is gratitude as well, for did not she often bathe my feet herself, rub me down, water me, blanket me, and daily come to see me when i was here alone for weeks in the winter time?
did n't she study horses" feet and shoes, that i might be cured if possible?
did n't she write to the famous friend of my race for advice, and drive me seven miles to get a good smith to shoe me well?
have not my poor contracted feet grown much better, thanks to the weeks of rest without shoes which she gave me?
am i not fat and handsome, and, barring the stiff knees, a very presentable horse?
if i am, it is all owing to her; and for that reason i want to live and die in her service.""
she does n't want to sell me, and only bade you do it because you did n't want the care of me while she is gone.
dear miss belinda, please keep me!
i'll eat as little as i can.
i wo n't ask for a new blanket, though your old army one is very thin and shabby.
i'll trot for you all winter, and try not to show it if i am lame.
i'll do anything a horse can, no matter how humble, to earn my living, only do n't, pray do n't send me away among strangers who have neither interest nor pity for me!"
""rosa had spoken rapidly, feeling that her plea must be made now or never, for before another christmas she might be far away and speech of no use to win her wish.
i was much touched, though she was only a horse; for she was looking earnestly at me as she spoke, and made the last words very eloquent by preparing to bend her stiff knees and lie down at my feet.
i stopped her, and answered, with an arm about her neck and her soft nose in my hand, --" "you shall not be sold, rosa!
you shall go and board at mr. town's great stable, where you will have pleasant society among the eighty horses who usually pass the winter there.
your shoes shall be taken off, and you shall rest till march at least.
the best care will be taken of you, dear, and i will come and see you; and in the spring you shall return to us, even if miss merry is not here to welcome you.""
"thanks, many, many thanks!
but i wish i could do something to earn my board.
i hate to be idle, though rest is delicious.
is there nothing i can do to repay you, miss belinda?
please answer quickly, for i know the hour is almost over," cried rosa, stamping with anxiety; for, like all her sex, she wanted the last word."
"yes, you can," i cried, as a sudden idea popped into my head.
"i'll write down what you have told me, and send the little story to a certain paper i know of, and the money i get for it will pay your board.
so rest in peace, my dear; you will have earned your living, and may feel that your debt is paid."
""before she could reply the clock struck one, and a long sigh of satisfaction was all the response in her power.
but we understood each other now, and, cutting a lock from her mane for miss merry, i gave rosa a farewell caress and went away, wondering if i had made it all up, or if she had really broken a year's silence and freed her mind.
""however that may be, here is the tale, and the sequel to it is, that the bay mare has really gone to board at a first-class stable," concluded miss belinda.
""i call occasionally and leave my card in the shape of an apple, finding madam rosa living like an independent lady, with her large box and private yard on the sunny side of the barn, a kind ostler to wait upon her, and much genteel society from the city when she is inclined for company.
""what more could any reasonable horse desire?"
vi.
lunch.
""sister jerusha, it really does wear upon me to see those dear boys eat such bad pies and stuff day after day when they ought to have good wholesome things for lunch.
i actually ache to go and give each one of'em a nice piece of bread-and-butter or one of our big cookies," said kind miss mehitable plummer, taking up her knitting after a long look at the swarm of boys pouring out of the grammar school opposite, to lark about the yard, sit on the posts, or dive into a dingy little shop close by, where piles of greasy tarts and cakes lay in the window.
they would not have allured any but hungry school-boys, and ought to have been labelled dyspepsia and headache, so unwholesome were they.
miss jerusha looked up from her seventeenth patchwork quilt, and answered, with a sympathetic glance over the way, -- "if we had enough to go round i'd do it myself, and save these poor deluded dears from the bilious turns that will surely take them down before vacation comes.
that fat boy is as yellow as a lemon now, and no wonder, for i've seen him eat half a dozen dreadful turnovers for one lunch."
both old ladies shook their heads and sighed, for they led a very quiet life in the narrow house that stood end to the street, squeezed in between two stores, looking as out of place as the good spinsters would have done among the merry lads opposite.
sitting at the front windows day after day, the old ladies had learned to enjoy watching the boys, who came and went, like bees to a hive, month by month.
they had their favorites, and beguiled many a long hour speculating on the looks, manners, and probable station of the lads.
one lame boy was miss jerusha's pet, though she never spoke to him, and a tall bright-faced fellow, who rather lorded it over the rest, quite won miss hetty's old heart by helping her across the street on a slippery day.
they longed to mend some of the shabby clothes, to cheer up the dull discouraged ones, advise the sickly, reprove the rude, and, most of all, feed those who persisted in buying lunch at the dirty bake-shop over the way.
the good souls were famous cooks, and had many books full of all manner of nice receipts, which they seldom used, as they lived simply and saw little company.
a certain kind of molasses cookie made by their honored mother, -- a renowned housewife in her time, -- and eaten by the sisters as children, had a peculiar charm for them.
a tin box was always kept full, though they only now and then nibbled one, and preferred to give them away to poor children, as they trotted to market each day.
many a time had miss hetty felt sorely tempted to treat the boys, but was a little timid, for they were rough fellows, and she regarded them much as a benevolent tabby would a party of frisky puppies.
to-day the box was full of fresh cookies, crisp, brown, and sweet; their spicy odor pervaded the room, and the china-closet door stood suggestively open.
miss hetty's spectacles turned that way, then went back to the busy scene in the street, as if trying to get courage for the deed.
something happened just then which decided her, and sealed the doom of the bilious tarts and their maker.
several of the younger lads were playing marbles on the sidewalk, for hop scotch, leap frog, and friendly scuffles were going on in the yard, and no quiet spot could be found.
the fat boy sat on a post near by, and, having eaten his last turnover, fell to teasing the small fellows peacefully playing at his feet.
one was the shabby lame boy, who hopped to and fro with his crutch, munching a dry cracker, with now and then a trip to the pump to wash it down.
he seldom brought any lunch, and seemed to enjoy this poor treat so much that the big bright-faced chap tossed him a red apple as he came out of the yard to get his hat, thrown there by the mate he had been playfully thrashing.
the lame child eyed the pretty apple lovingly, and was preparing to take the first delicious bite, when the fat youth with a dexterous kick sent it flying into the middle of the street, where a passing wheel crushed it down into the mud.
""it's a shame!
he shall have something good!
the scamp!"
and with this somewhat confused exclamation miss hetty threw down her work, ran to the closet, then darted to the front door, embracing the tin box, as if the house was on fire and that contained her dearest treasures.
""sakes alive, what is the matter with sister?"
ejaculated miss jerusha, going to the window just in time to see the fat boy tumble off the post as the tall lad came to the rescue, while the cripple went hopping across the street in answer to a kindly quavering voice that called out to him, -- "come here, boy, and get a cookie, -- a dozen if you want'em."
""sister's done it at last!"
and, inspired by this heroic example, miss jerusha threw up the window, saying, as she beckoned to the avenger, -- "you too, because you stood by that poor little boy.
come right over and help yourself."
charley howe laughed at the indignant old ladies, but, being a gentleman, took off his hat and ran across to thank them for their interest in the fray.
several other lads followed as irresistibly as flies to a honey-pot, for the tin box was suggestive of cake, and they waited for no invitation.
miss hetty was truly a noble yet a droll sight, as she stood there, a trim little old lady, with her cap-strings flying in the wind, her rosy old face shining with good-will, as she dealt out cookies with a lavish hand, and a kind word to all.
""here's a nice big one for you, my dear.
i do n't know your name, but i do your face, and i like to see a big boy stand up for the little ones," she said, beaming at charley as he came up.
""thank you, ma'am.
that's a splendid one.
we do n't get anything so nice over there."
and charley gratefully bolted the cake in three mouthfuls, having given away his own lunch.
""no, indeed!
one of these is worth a dozen of those nasty pies.
i hate to see you eating them, and i do n't believe your mothers know how bad they are," said miss hetty, diving for another handful into the depths of the box, which was half empty already.
""wish you'd teach old peck how you make'em.
we'd be glad enough to buy these and let the cockroach pies alone," said charley, accepting another and enjoying the fun, for half the fellows were watching the scene from over the way.
""cockroach pies!
you do n't mean to say?"
cried miss hetty, nearly dropping her load in her horror at the idea, for she had heard of fricasseed frogs and roasted locusts, and thought a new delicacy had been found.
""we find'em in the apple-sauce sometimes, and nails and bits of barrel in the cake, so some of us do n't patronize peck," replied charley; and little briggs the cripple added eagerly, -- "i never do; my mother wo n't let me."
""he never has any money, that's why," bawled dickson, the fat boy, dodging behind the fence as he spoke.
""never you mind, sonny, you come here every day, and i'll see that you have a good lunch.
apples too, red ones, if you like them, with your cake," answered miss hetty, patting his head and sending an indignant glance across the street.
""cry-baby!
molly-coddle!
grandma's darling!"
jeered dickson, and then fled, for charley fired a ball at him with such good aim it narrowly escaped his nose.
""that boy will have the jaundice as sure as fate, and he deserves it," said miss hetty, sternly, as she dropped the lid on the now empty box; for while she was talking the free-and-easy young gentlemen had been helping themselves.
""thank you very much, ma'am, for my cookie.
i wo n't forget to call to-morrow."
and little briggs shook hands with as innocent a face as if his jacket pocket was not bulging in a most suspicious manner.
""you'll get your death a cold, hetty," called miss jerusha, and, taking the hint, charley promptly ended the visit.
""sheer off, fellows.
we are no end obliged, ma'am, and i'll see that briggs is n't put upon by sneaks."
then the boys ran off, and the old lady retired to her parlor to sink into her easy-chair, as much excited by this little feat as if she had led a forlorn hope to storm a battery.
""i'll fill both those big tins to-morrow, and treat every one of the small boys, if i'm spared," she panted, with a decided nod, as she settled her cap and composed her neat black skirts, with which the wind had taken liberties, as she stood on the steps.
""i'm not sure it is n't our duty to make and sell good, wholesome lunches to those boys.
we can afford to do it cheap, and it would n't be much trouble.
just put the long table across the front entry for half an hour every day, and let them come and get a bun, a cookie, or a buttered biscuit.
it could be done, sister," said miss jerusha, longing to distinguish herself in some way also.
""it shall be done, sister!"
and miss hetty made up her mind at that moment to devote some of her time and skill to rescuing those blessed boys from the unprincipled peck and his cockroach pies.
it was pleasant, as well as droll, to see how heartily the good souls threw themselves into the new enterprise, how bravely they kept each other up when courage showed signs of failing, and how rapidly they became convinced that it was a duty to provide better food for the future defenders and rulers of their native land.
""you ca n't expect the dears to study with clear heads if they are not fed properly, and half the women in the world never think that what goes into children's stomachs affects their brains," declared miss hetty, as she rolled out vast sheets of dough next day, emphasizing her remarks with vigorous flourishes of the rolling-pin.
""our blessed mother understood how to feed a family.
fourteen stout boys and girls, all alive and well, and you and i as smart at seventy one and two, as most folks at forty.
good, plain victuals and plenty of'em is the secret of firm health," responded miss jerusha, rattling a pan of buns briskly into the oven.
""we'd better make some brighton rock.
it is gone out of fashion, but our brothers used to be dreadful fond of it, and boys are about alike all the world over.
ma's resate never fails, and it will be a new treat for the little dears."
""s'pose we have an extra can of milk left and give'em a good mugful?
some of those poor things look as if they never got a drop.
peck sells beer, and milk is a deal better.
shall we, sister?"
""we'll try it, jerushy.
in for a penny, in for a pound."
and upon that principle the old ladies did the thing handsomely, deferring the great event till monday, that all might be in apple-pie order.
they said nothing of it when the lads came on friday morning, and all saturday, which was a holiday at school, was a very busy one with them.
""hullo!
miss hetty has done it now, has n't she?
look at that, old peck, and tremble!"
exclaimed charley to his mates, as he came down the street on monday morning, and espied a neat little sign on the sisters" door, setting forth the agreeable fact that certain delectable articles of food and drink could be had within at reasonable prices during recess.
no caps were at the windows, but behind the drawn curtains two beaming old faces were peeping out to see how the boys took the great announcement.
whoever remembers hawthorne's half-comic, half-pathetic description of poor hepsibah pyncheon's hopes and fears, when arranging her gingerbread wares in the little shop, can understand something of the excitement of the sisters that day, as the time drew near when the first attempt was to be made.
""who will set the door open?"
said miss hetty when the fateful moment came, and boys began to pour out into the yard.
""i will!"
and, nerving herself to the task, miss jerusha marched boldly round the table, set wide the door, and then, as the first joyful whoop from the boys told that the feast was in view, she whisked back into the parlor panic-stricken.
""there they come, -- hundreds of them, i should think by the sound!"
she whispered, as the tramp of feet came nearer, and the clamor of voices exclaiming, -- "what bully buns!"
""ai n't those cookies rousers?"
""new stuff too, looks first-rate."
""i told you it was n't a joke."
""wonder how peck likes it?"
""dickson sha'n' t come in."
""you go first, charley."
""here's a cent for you, briggs; come on and trade like the rest of us."
""i'm so flurried i could n't make change to save my life," gasped miss jerusha from behind the sofa, whither she had fled.
""it is my turn now.
be calm, and we shall soon get used to it."
bracing herself to meet the merry chaff of the boys, as new and trying to the old lady as real danger would have been, miss hetty stepped forth into the hall to be greeted by a cheer, and then a chorus of demands for everything so temptingly set forth upon her table.
intrenched behind a barricade of buns, she dealt out her wares with rapidly increasing speed and skill, for as fast as one relay of lads were satisfied another came up, till the table was bare, the milk-can ran dry, and nothing was left to tell the tale but an empty water-pail and a pile of five-cent pieces.
""i hope i did n't cheat any one, but i was flurried, sister, they were so very noisy and so hungry.
bless their dear hearts; they are full now, i trust."
and miss hetty looked over her glasses at the crumby countenances opposite, meeting many nods and smiles in return, as her late customers enthusiastically recommended her establishment to the patronage of those who had preferred peck's questionable dainties.
""the brighton rock was a success; we must have a good store for to-morrow, and more milk.
briggs drank it like a baby, and your nice boy proposed my health like a little gentleman, as he is," replied miss jerusha, who had ventured out before it was too late, and done the honors of the can with great dignity, in spite of some inward trepidation at the astonishing feats performed with the mug.
""peck's nose is out of joint, if i may use so vulgar an expression, and our lunch a triumphant success.
boys know what is good, and we need not fear to lose their custom as long as we can supply them.
i shall order a barrel of flour at once, and heat up the big oven.
we have put our hand to the work and must not turn back, for our honor is pledged now."
with which lofty remark miss hetty closed the door, trying to look utterly unconscious of the anxious peck, who was flattening his nose against his dingy window-pane to survey his rivals over piles of unsold pastry.
the little venture was a success, and all that winter the old ladies did their part faithfully, finding the task more to their taste than everlasting patchwork and knitting, and receiving a fair profit on their outlay, being shrewd managers, and rich in old-fashioned thrift, energy, and industry.
the boys revelled in wholesome fare, and soon learned to love "the aunties," as they were called, while such of the parents as took an interest in the matter showed their approval in many ways most gratifying to the old ladies.
the final triumph, however, was the closing of peck's shop for want of custom, for few besides the boys patronized him.
none mourned for him, and dickson proved the truth of miss hetty's prophecy by actually having a bilious fever in the spring.
but a new surprise awaited the boys; for when they came flocking back after the summer vacation, there stood the little shop, brave in new paint and fittings, full of all the old goodies, and over the door a smart sign, "plummer & co." "by jove, the aunties are bound to cover themselves with glory.
let's go in and hear all about it.
behave now, you fellows, or i'll see about it afterward," commanded charley, as he paused to peer in through the clean windows at the tempting display.
in they trooped, and, tapping on the counter, stood ready to greet the old ladies as usual, but to their great surprise a pretty young woman appeared, and smilingly asked what they would have.
""we want the aunties, if you please.
is n't this their shop?"
said little briggs, bitterly disappointed at not finding his good friends.
""you will find them over there at home as usual.
yes, this is their shop, and i'm their niece.
my husband is the co., and we run the shop for the aunts.
i hope you'll patronize us, gentlemen."
""we will!
we will!
three cheers for plummer & co.!"
cried charley, leading off three rousers, that made the little shop ring again, and brought two caps to the opposite windows, as two cheery old faces smiled and nodded, full of satisfaction at the revolution so successfully planned and carried out.
vii.
a bright idea.
""no answer to my advertisement, mamma, and i must sit with idle hands for another day," said clara with a despondent sigh, as the postman passed the door.
""you need n't do that, child, when i'm suffering for a new cap, and no one can suit me so well as you, if you have the spirits to do it," answered her mother from the sofa, where she spent most of her time bewailing her hard lot.
""plenty of spirits, mamma, and what is still more necessary, plenty of materials; so i'll toss you up" a love of a cap" before you know it."
and putting her own disappointment out of sight, pretty clara fell to work with such good-will that even poor, fretful mrs. barlow cheered up in spite of herself.
""what a mercy it is that when everything else is swept away in this dreadful failure i still have you, dear, and no dishonest banker can rob me of my best treasure," she said fondly, as she watched her daughter with tearful eyes.
""no one shall part us, mamma; and if i can only get something to do we can be independent and happy in spite of our losses; for now the first shock and worry is over, i find a curious sort of excitement in being poor and having to work for my living.
i was so tired of pleasure and idleness i really quite long to work at something, if i could only find it."
but though clara spoke cheerfully, she had a heavy heart; for during the month which had followed the discovery that they were nearly penniless, she had been through a great deal for a tenderly nurtured girl of three-and-twenty.
leaving a luxurious home for two plainly furnished rooms, and trying to sustain her mother with hopeful plans, had kept her busy for a time; but now she had nothing to do but wait for replies to her modest advertisements as governess, copyist, or reader.
""i do wish i'd been taught a trade, mamma, or some useful art by which i could earn our bread now.
rich people ought to remember that money takes to itself wings, and so prepare their children to face poverty bravely.
if half the sums spent on my music and dress had been used in giving me a single handicraft, what a blessing it would be to us now!"
she said, thoughtfully, as she sewed with rapid fingers, unconsciously displaying the delicate skill of one to whom dress was an art and a pleasure.
""if you were not so proud we might accept cousin john's offer and be quite comfortable," returned her mother, in a reproachful tone.
""no; we should soon feel that we were a burden, and that would be worse than living on bread and water.
let us try to help ourselves first, and then, if we fail, we can not be accused of indolence.
i know papa would wish it, so please let me try."
""as you like; i shall not be a burden to any one long."
and mrs. barlow looked about for her handkerchief.
but clara prevented the impending shower by skilfully turning the poor lady's thoughts to the new cap which was ready to try on.
""is n't it pretty?
just the soft effect that is so becoming to your dear, pale face.
take a good look at it, and tell me whether you'll have pale pink bows or lavender."
""it is very nice, child; you always suit me, you've such charming taste.
i'll have lavender, for though it's not so becoming as pink, it is more appropriate to our fallen fortunes," answered her mother, smiling in spite of herself, as she studied effects in the mirror.
""no, let us have it pink, for i want my pretty mother to look her best, though no one sees her but me, and i'm so glad to know that i can make caps well if i ca n't do anything else," said clara, rummaging in a box for the desired shade.
""no one ever suited me so well, and if you were not a lady, you might make a fortune as a milliner, for you have the taste of a frenchwoman," said mrs. barlow, adding, as she took her cap off, "do n't you remember how offended madame pigat was when she found out that you altered all her caps before i wore them, and how she took some of your hints and got all the credit of them?"
""yes, mamma," was all clara answered, and then sat working so silently that it was evident her thoughts were as busy as her hands.
presently she said, "i must go down to our big box for the ribbon, there is none here that i like," and, taking a bunch of keys, she went slowly away.
in the large parlor below stood several trunks and cases belonging to mrs. barlow, and left there for her convenience, as the room was unlet.
clara opened several of these, and rapidly turned over their contents, as if looking for something beside pale pink ribbon.
whatever it was she appeared to find it, for, dropping the last lid with a decided bang, she stood a moment looking about the large drawing-room with such brightening eyes it was evident that they saw some invisible beauty there; then a smile broke over her face, and she ran up stairs to waken her mother from a brief doze, by crying joyfully, as she waved a curl of gay ribbon over her head, -- "i've got it, mamma, i've got it!"
""bless the child!
what have you got, -- a letter?"
cried mrs. barlow, starting up.
""no; but something better still, -- a new way to get a living.
i'll be a milliner, and you shall have as many caps as you like.
now do n't laugh, but listen; for it is a splendid idea, and you shall have all the credit of it, because you suggested it."
""i've materials enough," she continued, "to begin with; for when all else went, they left us our finery, you know, and now we can live on it instead of wearing it.
yes, i'll make caps and sell them, and that will be both easier and pleasanter than to go out teaching and leave you here alone."
""but how can you sell them?"
asked her mother, half bewildered by the eagerness with which the new plan was unfolded.
""that's the best of all, and i only thought of it when i was among the boxes.
why not take the room below and lay out all our fine things temptingly, instead of selling them one by one as if we were ashamed of it?
""as i stood there just now, i saw it all.
mrs. smith would be glad to let the room, and i could take it for a month, just to try how my plan works; and if it does go well, why can i not make a living as well as madame?"
""but, child, what will people say?"
""that i'm an honest girl, and lend me a hand, if they are friends worth having."
mrs. barlow was not convinced, and declared she would hide herself if any one came; but after much discussion consented to let the trial be made, though predicting utter failure, as she retired to her sofa to bewail the sad necessity for such a step.
clara worked busily for several days to carry into execution her plan; then she sent some notes to a dozen friends, modestly informing them that her "opening" would take place on a certain day.
""curiosity will bring them, if nothing else," she said, trying to seem quite cool and gay, though her heart fluttered with anxiety as she arranged her little stock in the front parlor.
in the bay-window was her flower-stand, where the white azaleas, red geraniums, and gay nasturtiums seemed to have bloomed their loveliest to help the gentle mistress who had tended them so faithfully, even when misfortune's frost had nipped her own bright roses.
overhead swung a pair of canaries in their garlanded cage, singing with all their might, as if, like the london "prentice-boys in old times, they cried, "what do you lack?
come buy, come buy!"
on a long table in the middle of the room, a dozen delicate caps and head-dresses were set forth.
on another lay garlands of french flowers bought for pretty clara's own adornment.
several dainty ball-dresses, imported for the gay winter she had expected to pass, hung over chairs and couch, also a velvet mantle mrs. barlow wished to sell, while some old lace, well-chosen ribbons, and various elegant trifles gave color and grace to the room.
clara's first customer was mrs. tower, -- a stout florid lady, full of the good-will and the real kindliness which is so sweet in times of trouble.
""my dear girl, how are you, and how is mamma?
now this is charming.
such a capital idea, and just what is needed; a quiet place, where one can come and be made pretty without all the world's knowing how we do it."
and greeting clara even more cordially than of old, the good lady trotted about, admiring everything, just as she used to do when she visited the girl in her former home to see and exclaim over any fresh arrival of paris finery.
""i'll take this mantle off your hands with pleasure, for i intended to import one, and this saves me so much trouble.
put it up for me, dear, at the price mamma paid for it, not a cent less, because it has never been worn, and i've no duties to pay on it, so it is a good bargain for me."
then, before clara could thank her, she turned to the head-gear, and fell into raptures over a delicate affair, all blonde and forget-me-nots.
""such a sweet thing!
i must have it before any one else snaps it up.
try it on, love, and give it a touch if it does n't fit."
clara knew it would be vain to remonstrate, for mrs. tower had not a particle of taste, and insisted on wearing blue, with the complexion of a lobster.
on it went, and even the wearer could not fail to see that something was amiss.
""it's not the fault of the cap, dear.
i always was a fright, and my dreadful color spoils whatever i put on, so i have things handsome, and give up any attempt at beauty," she said, shaking her head at herself in the glass.
""you need not do that, and i'll show you what i mean, if you will give me leave; for, with your fine figure and eyes, you ca n't help being an elegant woman.
see, now, how i'll make even this cap becoming."
and clara laid the delicate flowers among the blonde behind, where the effect was unmarred by the over-red cheeks, and nothing but a soft ruche lay over the dark hair in front.
""there, is n't that better?"
she asked, with her own blooming face so full of interest it was a pleasure to see her.
""infinitely better; really becoming, and just what i want with my new silver-gray satin.
dear me, what a thing taste is!"
and mrs. tower regarded herself with feminine satisfaction in her really fine eyes.
here a new arrival interrupted them, and clara went to meet several girls belonging to what had lately been her own set.
the young ladies did not quite know how to behave; for, though it seemed perfectly natural to be talking over matters of dress with clara, there was an air of proud humility about her that made them feel ill at ease, till nellie, a lively, warm-hearted creature, broke the ice by saying, with a little quiver in her gay voice, -- "it's no use, girls; we've either got to laugh or cry, and i think, on the whole, it would be best for all parties to laugh, and then go on just as we used to do;" which she did so infectiously that the rest joined, and then began to chatter as freely as of old.
""i speak for the opal silk, clara, for papa has promised me a worth dress, and i was green with envy when this came," cried nellie, secretly wishing she wore caps, that she might buy up the whole dozen.
""you would be green with disgust if i let you have it, for no brunette could wear that most trying of colors, and i was rash to order it.
you are very good, dear nell, but i wo n't let you sacrifice yourself to friendship in that heroic style," answered clara, with a grateful kiss.
""but the others are blue and lilac, both more trying than anything with a shade of pink in it.
if you wo n't let me have this, you must invent me the most becoming thing ever seen; for the most effective dress i had last winter was the gold-colored one with the wreath of laburnums, which you chose for me," persisted nellie, bound to help in some way.
""i bespeak something sweet for new year's day.
you know my style," said another young lady, privately resolving to buy the opal dress, when the rest had gone.
""consider yourself engaged to get up my bridesmaids" costumes, for i never shall forget what a lovely effect those pale green dresses produced at alice's wedding.
she looked like a lily among its leaves, some one said, and you suggested them, i remember," added a third damsel, with the dignity of a bride-elect.
so it went on, each doing what she could to help, not with condolence, but approbation, and the substantial aid that is so easy to accept when gilded by kind words and cheery sympathy.
a hard winter, but a successful one; and when spring came, and all her patrons were fitted out for mountains, seaside, or springs, clara folded her weary hands content.
but mrs. barlow saw with anxiety how pale the girl's cheeks had grown, how wistfully she eyed the green grass in the park, and how soon the smile died on the lips that tried to say cheerfully, -- "no, mamma, dear, i dare not spend in a summer trip the little sum i have laid by for the hard times that may come.
i shall do very well, but i ca n't help remembering the happy voyage we meant to make this year, and how much good it would do you."
watching the unselfish life of her daughter had taught mrs. barlow to forget her own regrets, inspired her with a desire to do her part, and made her ashamed of her past indolence.
happening to mention her maternal anxieties to mrs. tower, that good lady suggested a plan by which the seemingly impossible became a fact, and mrs. barlow had the pleasure of surprising clara with a "bright idea," as the girl had once surprised her.
""come, dear, bestir yourself, for we must sail in ten days to pass our summer in or near paris.
i've got commissions enough to pay our way, and we can unite business and pleasure in the most charming manner."
clara could only clasp her hands and listen, as her mother unfolded her plan, telling how she was to get maud's trousseau, all mrs. tower's winter costumes, and a long list of smaller commissions from friends and patrons who had learned to trust and value the taste and judgment of the young modiste.
so clara had her summer trip, and came home bright and blooming in the early autumn, ready to take up her pretty trade again, quite unconscious that, while trying to make others beautiful, she was making her own life a very lovely one.
viii.
how they camped out.
""it looks so much like snow i think it would be wiser to put off your sleighing party, gwen," said mrs. arnold, looking anxiously out at the heavy sky and streets still drifted by the last winter storm.
""not before night, mamma; we do n't mind its being cloudy, we like it, because the sun makes the snow so dazzling when we get out of town.
""we ca n't give it up now, for here comes patrick with the boys."
and gwen ran down to welcome the big sleigh, which just then drove up with four jolly lads skirmishing about inside.
""come on!"
called mark, her brother, knocking his friends right and left, to make room for the four girls who were to complete the party.
""what do you think of the weather, patrick?"
asked mrs. arnold from the window, still undecided about the wisdom of letting her flock go off alone, papa having been called away after the plan was made.
""faith, ma'm, it's an illigant day barring the wind, that's a thrifle could to the nose.
i'll have me eye on the childer, ma'm, and there'll be no throuble at all, at all," replied the old coachman, lifting a round red face out of his muffler, and patting little gus on the shoulder, as he sat proudly on the high seat holding the whip.
""be careful, dears, and come home early."
with which parting caution mamma shut the window, and watched the young folks drive gayly away, little dreaming what would happen before they got back.
the wind was more than a "thrifle could," for when they got out of the city it blew across the open country in bitter blasts, and made the eight little noses almost as red as old pat's, who had been up all night at a wake, and was still heavy-headed with too much whiskey, though no one suspected it.
the lads enjoyed themselves immensely snowballing one another; for the drifts were still fresh enough to furnish soft snow, and mark, bob, and tony had many a friendly tussle in it as they went up hills, or paused to breathe the horses after a swift trot along a level bit of road.
little gus helped drive till his hands were benumbed in spite of the new red mittens, and he had to descend among the girls, who were cuddled cosily under the warm robes, telling secrets, eating candy, and laughing at the older boys" pranks.
sixteen-year-old gwendoline was matron of the party, and kept excellent order among the girls; for ruth and alice were nearly her own age, and rita a most obedient younger sister.
""i say, gwen, we are going to stop at the old house on the way home and get some nuts for this evening.
papa said we might, and some of the big baldwins too.
i've got baskets, and while we fellows fill them you girls can look round the house," said mark, when the exhausted young gentlemen returned to their seats.
""that will be nice.
i want to get some books, and rita has been very anxious about one of her dolls, which she is sure was left in the nursery closet.
if we are going to stop we ought to be turning back, pat, for it is beginning to snow and will be dark early," answered gwen, suddenly realizing that great flakes were fast whitening the roads and the wind had risen to a gale.
""shure and i will, miss dear, as soon as iver i can; but it's round a good bit we must go, for i could n't be turning here widout upsettin" the whole of yez, it's that drifted.
rest aisy, and i'll fetch up at the ould place in half an hour, plaze the powers," said pat, who had lost his way and would n't own it, being stupid with a sup or two he had privately taken on the way, to keep the chill out of his bones he said.
on they went again, with the wind at their backs, caring little for the snow that now fell fast, or the gathering twilight, since they were going toward home they thought.
it was a very long half-hour before pat brought them to the country-house, which was shut up for the winter.
with difficulty they ploughed their way up to the steps, and scrambled on to the piazza, where they danced about to warm their feet till mark unlocked the door and let them in, leaving pat to enjoy a doze on his seat.
""make haste, boys; it is cold and dark here, and we must get home.
mamma will be so anxious, and it really is going to be a bad storm," said gwen, whose spirits were damped by the gloom of the old house, and who felt her responsibility, having promised to be home early.
off went the boys to attic and cellar, being obliged to light the lantern left here for the use of whoever came now and then to inspect the premises.
the girls, having found books and doll, sat upon the rolled-up carpets, or peeped about at the once gay and hospitable rooms, now looking very empty and desolate with piled-up furniture, shuttered windows, and fireless hearths.
""if we were going to stay long i'd have a fire in the library.
papa often does when he comes out, to keep the books from moulding," began gwen, but was interrupted by a shout from without, and, running to the door, saw pat picking himself out of a drift while the horses were galloping down the avenue at full speed.
""be jabbers, them villains give a jump when that fallin" branch struck'em, and out i wint, bein" tuk unknownst, just thinkin" of me poor cousin mike.
may his bed above be aisy the day!
whist now, miss dear!
i'll fetch'em back in a jiffy.
stop still till i come, and kape them b "ys quite."
with a blow to settle his hat, patrick trotted gallantly away into the storm, and the girls went in to tell the exciting news to the lads, who came whooping back from their search, with baskets of nuts and apples.
""here's a go!"
cried mark.
""old pat will run half-way to town before he catches the horses, and we are in for an hour or two at least."
""then do make a fire, for we shall die of cold if we have to wait long," begged gwen, rubbing rita's cold hands, and looking anxiously at little gus, who was about making up his mind to roar.
""so we will, and be jolly till the blunderbuss gets back.
camp down, girls, and you fellows, come and hold the lantern while i get wood and stuff.
it is so confoundedly dark, i shall break my neck down the shed steps."
and mark led the way to the library, where the carpet still remained, and comfortable chairs and sofas invited the chilly visitors to rest.
""how can you light your fire when you get the wood?"
asked ruth, a practical damsel, who looked well after her own creature comforts and was longing for a warm supper.
""papa hides the matches in a tin box, so the rats wo n't get at them.
here they are, and two or three bits of candle for the sticks on the chimney-piece, if he forgets to have the lantern trimmed.
now we will light up, and look cosey when the boys come back."
and producing the box from under a sofa-cushion, gwen cheered the hearts of all by lighting two candles, rolling up the chairs, and making ready to be comfortable.
thoughtful alice went to see if pat was returning, and found a buffalo-robe lying on the steps.
returning with this, she reported that there was no sign of the runaways, and advised making ready for a long stay.
""how mamma will worry!"
thought gwen, but made light of the affair, because she saw rita looked timid, and gus shivered till his teeth chattered.
""we will have a nice time, and play we are shipwrecked people or arctic explorers.
here comes dr. kane and the sailors with supplies of wood, so we can thaw our pemmican and warm our feet.
gus shall be the little esquimaux boy, all dressed in fur, as he is in the picture we have at home," she said, wrapping the child in the robe, and putting her own sealskin cap on his head to divert his mind.
""here we are!
now for a jolly blaze, boys; and if pat does n't come back we can have our fun here instead of at home," cried mark, well pleased with the adventure, as were his mates.
so they fell to work, and soon a bright fire was lighting up the room with its cheerful shine, and the children gathered about it, quite careless of the storm raging without, and sure that pat would come in time.
""i'm hungry," complained gus as soon as he was warm.
""so am i," added rita from the rug, where the two little ones sat toasting themselves.
""eat an apple," said mark.
""they are so hard and cold i do n't like them," began gus.
""roast some!"
cried ruth.
""and crack nuts," suggested alice.
""pity we ca n't cook something in real camp style; it would be such fun," said tony, who had spent weeks on monadnock, living upon the supplies he and his party tugged up the mountain on their backs.
""we shall not have time for anything but what we have.
put down your apples and crack away, or we shall be obliged to leave them," advised gwen, coming back from an observation at the front door with an anxious line on her forehead; for the storm was rapidly increasing, and there was no sign of pat or the horses.
the rest were in high glee, and an hour or two slipped quickly away as they enjoyed the impromptu feast and played games.
gus recalled them to the discomforts of their situation by saying with a yawn and a whimper, -- "i'm so sleepy!
i want my own bed and mamma."
""so do i!"
echoed rita, who had been nodding for some time, and longed to lie down and sleep comfortably anywhere.
""almost eight o'clock!
by jove, that old pat is taking his time, i think.
wonder if he has got into trouble?
we ca n't do anything, and may as well keep quiet here," said mark, looking at his watch and beginning to understand that the joke was rather a serious one.
""better make a night of it and all go to sleep.
pat can wake us up when he comes.
the cold makes a fellow so drowsy."
and bob gave a stretch that nearly rent him asunder.
""i will let the children nap on the sofa.
they are so tired of waiting, and may as well amuse themselves in that way as in fretting.
come, gus and rita, each take a pillow, and i'll cover you up with my shawl."
gwen made the little ones comfortable, and they were off in five minutes.
the others kept up bravely till nine o'clock, then the bits of candles were burnt out, the stories all told, nuts and apples had lost their charm, and weariness and hunger caused spirits to fail perceptibly.
""i've eaten five baldwins, and yet i want more.
something filling and good.
ca n't we catch a rat and roast him?"
proposed bob, who was a hearty lad and was ravenous by this time.
""is n't there anything in the house?"
asked ruth, who dared not eat nuts for fear of indigestion.
""not a thing that i know of except a few pickles in the storeroom; we had so many, mamma left some here," answered gwen, resolving to provision the house before she left it another autumn.
""pickles alone are rather sour feed.
if we only had a biscuit now, they would n't be bad for a relish," said tony, with the air of a man who had known what it was to live on burnt bean-soup and rye flapjacks for a week.
""i saw a keg of soft-soap in the shed.
how would that go with the pickles?"
suggested bob, who felt equal to the biggest and acidest cucumber ever grown.
""mamma knew an old lady who actually did eat soft-soap and cream for her complexion," put in alice, whose own fresh face looked as if she had tried the same distasteful remedy with success.
the boys laughed, and mark, who felt that hospitality required him to do something for his guests, said briskly, -- "let us go on a foraging expedition while the lamp holds out to burn, for the old lantern is almost gone and then we are done for.
come on, bob; your sharp nose will smell out food if there is any."
""do n't set the house afire, and bring more wood when you come, for we must have light of some kind in this poky place," called gwen, with a sigh, wishing every one of them were safely at home and abed.
a great tramping of boots, slamming of doors, and shouting of voices followed the departure of the boys, as well as a crash, a howl, and then a roar of laughter, as bob fell down the cellar stairs, having opened the door in search of food and poked his nose in too far.
presently they came back, very dusty, cobwebby, and cold, but triumphantly bearing a droll collection of trophies.
mark had a piece of board and the lantern, tony a big wooden box and a tin pail, bob fondly embraced a pickle jar and a tumbler of jelly which had been forgotten on a high shelf in the storeroom.
""meal, pickles, jam, and boards.
what a mess, and what are we to do with it all?"
cried the girls, much amused at the result of the expedition.
""can any of you make a hoe cake?"
demanded mark.
""no, indeed!
i can make caramels and cocoanut-cakes," said ruth, proudly.
""i can make good toast and tea," added alice.
""i ca n't cook anything," confessed gwen, who was unusually accomplished in french, german, and music.
""girls are n't worth much in the hour of need.
take hold, tony, you are the chap for me."
and mark disrespectfully turned his back on the young ladies, who could only sit and watch the lads work.
""he ca n't do it without water," whispered ruth.
""or salt," answered alice.
""or a pan to bake it in," added gwen; and then all smiled at the dilemma they foresaw.
but tony was equal to the occasion, and calmly went on with his task, while mark arranged the fire and bob opened the pickles.
first the new cook filled the pail with snow till enough was melted to wet the meal; this mixture was stirred with a pine stick till thick enough, then spread on the board and set up before the bed of coals to brown.
""it never will bake in the world."
""he ca n't turn it, so it wo n't be done on both sides."
""wo n't be fit to eat any way!"
and with these dark hints the girls consoled themselves for their want of skill.
but the cake did bake a nice brown, tony did turn it neatly with his jack-knife and the stick, and when it was done cut it into bits, added jelly, and passed it round on an old atlas; and every one said, -- "it really does taste good!"
two more were baked, and eaten with pickles for a change, then all were satisfied, and after a vote of thanks to tony they began to think of sleep.
""pat has gone home and told them we are all right, and mamma knows we can manage here well enough for one night, so do n't worry, gwen, but take a nap, and i'll lie on the rug and see to the fire."
mark's happy-go-lucky way of taking things did not convince his sister; but as she could do nothing, she submitted and made her friends as comfortable as she could.
all had plenty of wraps, so the girls nestled into the three large chairs, bob and tony rolled themselves up in the robe, with their feet to the fire, and were soon snoring like weary hunters.
mark pillowed his head on a log, and was sound asleep in ten minutes in spite of his promise to be sentinel.
gwen's chair was the least easy of the three, and she could not forget herself like the rest, but sat wide awake, watching the blaze, counting the hours, and wondering why no one came to them.
the wind blew fiercely, the snow beat against the blinds, rats scuttled about the walls, and now and then a branch fell upon the roof with a crash.
weary, yet excited, the poor girl imagined all sorts of mishaps to pat and the horses, recalled various ghost stories she had heard, and wondered if it was on such a night as this that a neighbor's house had been robbed.
so nervous did she get at last that she covered up her face and resolutely began to count a thousand, feeling that anything was better than having to wake mark and own she was frightened.
before she knew it she fell into a drowse and dreamed that they were all cast away on an iceberg and a polar bear was coming up to devour gus, who innocently called to the big white dog and waited to caress him.
""a bear!
a bear!
oh, boys, save him!"
murmured gwen in her sleep, and the sound of her own distressed voice waked her.
the fire was nearly out, for she had slept longer than she knew, the room was full of shadows, and the storm seemed to have died away.
in the silence which now reigned, unbroken even by a snore, gwen heard a sound that made her start and tremble.
some one was coming softly up the back stairs.
all the outer doors were locked, she was sure; all the boys lay in their places, for she could see and count the three long figures and little gus in a bunch on the sofa.
the girls had not stirred, and this was no rat's scamper, but a slow and careful tread, stealing nearer and nearer to the study door, left ajar when the last load of wood was brought in.
""pat would knock or ring, and papa would speak, so that we might not be scared.
i want to scream, but i wo n't till i see that it really is some one," thought gwen, while her heart beat fast and her eyes were fixed on the door, straining to see through the gloom.
the steps drew nearer, paused on the threshold, and then a head appeared as the door noiselessly swung wider open.
a man's head in a fur cap, but it was neither papa nor pat nor uncle ed.
poor gwen would have called out then, but her voice was gone, and she could only lie back, looking, mute and motionless.
a tiny spire of flame sprung up and flickered for a moment on the tall dark figure in the doorway, a big man with a beard, and in his hand something that glittered.
was it a pistol or a dagger or a dark lantern?
thought the girl, as the glimmer died away, and the shadows returned to terrify her.
the man seemed to look about him keenly for a moment, then vanished, and the steps went down the hall to the front door, which was opened from within and some one admitted quietly.
whispers were heard, and then feet approached again, accompanied by a gleam of light.
""now i must scream!"
thought gwen; and scream she did with all her might, as two men entered, one carrying a lantern, the other a bright tin can.
""boys!
robbers!
fire!
tramps!
oh, do wake up!"
cried gwen, frantically pulling mark by the hair, and bob and tony by the legs, as the quickest way of rousing them.
then there was a scene!
the boys sprung up and rubbed their eyes, the girls hid theirs and began to shriek, while the burglars laughed aloud, and poor gwen, quite worn out, fainted away on the rug.
it was all over in a minute, however; for mark had his wits about him, and his first glance at the man with the lantern allayed his fears.
""hullo, uncle ed!
we are all right.
got tired of waiting for you, so we went to sleep."
""stop screaming, girls, and quiet those children!
poor little gwen is badly frightened.
get some snow, tom, while i pick her up," commanded the uncle, and order was soon established.
the boys were all right at once, and ruth and alice devoted themselves to the children, who were very cross and sleepy in spite of their fright.
gwen was herself in a moment, and so ashamed of her scare that she was glad there was no more light to betray her pale cheeks.
""i should have known you, uncle, at once, but to see a strange man startled me, and he did n't speak, and i thought that can was a pistol," stammered gwen, when she had collected her wits a little.
""why, that's my old friend and captain, tom may.
do n't you remember him, child?
he thought you were all asleep, so crept out to tell me and let me in."
""how did he get in himself?"
asked gwen, glad to turn the conversation.
""found the shed door open, and surprised the camp by a flank movement.
you would n't do for picket duty, boys," laughed captain tom, enjoying the dismay of the lads.
""oh, thunder!
i forgot to bolt it when we first went for the wood.
had to open it, the place was so plaguy dark," muttered bob, much disgusted.
""where's pat?"
asked tony, with great presence of mind, feeling anxious to shift all blame to his broad shoulders.
uncle ed shook the snow from his hair and clothes, and, poking up the fire, leisurely sat down and took gus on his knee before he replied, -- "serve out the grog, tom, while i spin my yarn."
round went the can of hot coffee, and a few sips brightened up the young folks immensely, so that they listened with great interest to the tale of pat's mishaps.
""the scamp was half-seas over when he started, and deserves all he got.
in the first place he lost his way, then tumbled overboard, and let the horses go.
he floundered after them a mile or two, then lost his bearings in the storm, pitched into a ditch, broke his head, and lay there till found.
the fellows carried him to a house off the road, and there he is in a nice state; for, being his countrymen, they dosed him with whiskey till he was "quite and aisy," and went to sleep, forgetting all about you, the horses, and his distracted mistress at home.
the animals were stopped at the cross-roads, and there we found them after a lively cruise round the country.
then we hunted up pat; but what with the blow and too many drops of "the crayther," his head was in a muddle, and we could get nothing out of him.
so we went home again, and then your mother remembered that you had mentioned stopping here, and we fitted out a new craft and set sail, prepared for a long voyage.
your father was away, so tom volunteered, and here we are."
""a jolly lark!
now let us go home and go to bed," proposed mark, with a gape.
""is n't it most morning?"
asked tony, who had been sleeping like a dormouse.
""just eleven.
now pack up and let us be off.
the storm is over, the moon coming out, and we shall find a good supper waiting for the loved and lost.
bear a hand, tom, and ship this little duffer, for he's off again."
uncle ed put gus into the captain's arms, and, taking rita himself, led the way to the sleigh which stood at the door.
in they all bundled, and after making the house safe, off they went, feeling that they had had a pretty good time on the whole.
""i will learn cooking and courage, before i try camping out again," resolved gwen, as she went jingling homeward; and she kept her word.
ix.
my little school-girl.
the first time that i saw her was one autumn morning as i rode to town in a horse-car.
it was early, and my only fellow-passenger was a crusty old gentleman, who sat in a corner, reading his paper; so when the car stopped, i glanced out to see who came next, hoping it would be a pleasanter person.
no one appeared for a minute, and the car stood still, while both driver and conductor looked in the same direction without a sign of impatience.
i looked also, but all i could see was a little girl running across the park, as girls of twelve or thirteen seldom run nowadays, if any one can see them.
""are you waiting for her?"
i asked of the pleasant-faced conductor, who stood with his hand on the bell, and a good-natured smile in his eyes.
""yes, ma'am, we always stop for little missy," he answered; and just then up she came, all rosy and breathless with her run.
""thank you very much.
i'm late to-day, and was afraid i should miss my car," she said, as he helped her in with a fatherly air that was pleasant to see.
taking a corner seat, she smoothed the curly locks, disturbed by the wind, put on her gloves, and settled her books in her lap, then modestly glanced from the old gentleman in the opposite corner to the lady near by.
such a bright little face as i saw under the brown hat-rim, happy blue eyes, dimples in the ruddy cheeks, and the innocent expression which makes a young girl so sweet an object to old eyes.
the crusty gentleman evidently agreed with me, for he peeped over the top of the paper at his pleasant little neighbor as she sat studying a lesson, and cheering herself with occasional sniffs at a posy of mignonette in her button-hole.
when the old gentleman caught my eye, he dived out of sight with a loud "hem!"
but he was peeping again directly, for there was something irresistibly attractive about the unconscious lassie opposite; and one could no more help looking at her than at a lovely flower or a playful kitten.
presently she shut her book with a decided pat, and an air of relief that amused me.
she saw the half-smile i could not repress, seemed to understand my sympathy, and said with a laugh, -- "it was a hard lesson, but i've got it!"
so we began to talk about school and lessons, and i soon discovered that the girl was a clever scholar, whose only drawback was, as she confided to me, a "love of fun."
we were just getting quite friendly, when several young men got in, one of whom stared at the pretty child till even she observed it, and showed that she did by the color that came and went in her cheeks.
it annoyed me as much as if she had been my own little daughter, for i like modesty, and have often been troubled by the forward manners of schoolgirls, who seem to enjoy being looked at.
so i helped this one out of her little trouble by making room between the old gentleman and myself, and motioning her to come and sit there.
she understood at once, thanked me with a look, and nestled into the safe place so gratefully, that the old gentleman glared over his spectacles at the rude person who had disturbed the serenity of the child.
then we rumbled along again, the car getting fuller and fuller as we got down town.
presently an irishwoman, with a baby, got in, and before i could offer my seat, my little school-girl was out of hers, with a polite -- "please take it, ma'am; i can stand perfectly well."
it was prettily done, and i valued the small courtesy all the more, because it evidently cost the bashful creature an effort to stand up alone in a car full of strangers; especially as she could not reach the strap to steady herself, and found it difficult to stand comfortably.
then it was that the crusty man showed how he appreciated my girl's good manners, for he hooked his cane in the strap, and gave it to her, saying, with a smile that lighted up his rough face like sunshine, -- "hold on to that, my dear."
""ah," thought i, "how little we can judge from appearances!
this grim old soul is a gentleman, after all."
turning her face towards us, the girl held on to the stout cane, and swayed easily to and fro as we bumped over the rails.
the irishwoman's baby, a sickly little thing, was attracted by the flowers, and put out a small hand to touch them, with a wistful look at the bright face above.
""will baby have some?"
said my girl, and made the little creature happy with some gay red leaves.
""bless your heart, honey, it's fond he is of the like o" them, and seldom he gets any," said the mother, gratefully, as she settled baby's dirty hood, and wrapped the old shawl round his feet.
baby stared hard at the giver of posies, but his honest blue eyes gave no offence, and soon the two were so friendly that baby boldly clutched at the bright buttons on her sack, and crowed with delight when he got one, while we all smiled at the pretty play, and were sorry when the little lady, with a bow and a smile to us, got out at the church corner.
""now, i shall probably never see that child again, yet what a pleasant picture she leaves in my memory!"
i thought to myself, as i caught a last glimpse of the brown hat going round the corner.
but i did see her again many times that winter; for not long after, as i passed down a certain street near my winter quarters, i came upon a flock of girls, eating their luncheon as they walked to and fro on the sunny side, -- pretty, merry creatures, all laughing and chattering at once, as they tossed apples from hand to hand, munched candy, or compared cookies.
i went slowly, to enjoy the sight, as i do when i meet a party of sparrows on the common, and was wondering what would become of so many budding women, when, all of a sudden, i saw my little school-girl.
yes, i knew her in a minute, for she wore the same brown hat, and the rosy face was sparkling with fun, as she told secrets with a chosen friend, while eating a wholesome slice of bread-and-butter as only a hungry school-girl could.
she did not recognize me, but i took a good look at her as i went by, longing to know what the particular secret was that ended in such a gale of laughter.
after that, i often saw my girl as i took my walks abroad, and one day could not resist speaking to her when i met her alone; for usually her mates clustered round her like bees about their queen, which pleased me, since it showed how much they loved the sunshiny child.
i had a paper of grapes in my hand, and when i saw her coming, whisked out a handsome bunch, all ready to offer, for i had made up my mind to speak this time.
she was reading a paper, but looked up to give me the inside of the walk.
before her eyes could fall again, i held out the grapes and said, just as i had heard her say more than once to a schoolmate at lunch-time, "let's go halves."
she understood at once, laughed, and took the bunch, saying with twinkling eyes, -- "oh, thank you!
they are beauties!"
then, as we went on to the corner together, i told her why i did it, and recalled the car-ride.
""i'd forgotten all about that, but my conductor is very kind, and always waits for me," she said, evidently surprised that a stranger should take an interest in her small self.
i did not have half time enough with her, for a bell rang, and away she skipped, looking back to nod and smile at the queer lady who had taken a fancy to her.
a few days afterward a fine nosegay of flowers was left at the door for me, and when i asked the servant who sent them he answered, -- "a little girl asked if a lame lady did n't live here, and when i said yes, she told me to give you these, and say the grapes were very nice."
i knew at once who it was, and enjoyed the funny message immensely; for when one leads a quiet life, little things interest and amuse.
christmas was close by, and i planned a return for the flowers, of a sort, that i fancied my young friend would appreciate.
i knew that christmas week would be a holiday, so, the day before it began, i went to the school just before recess, and left a frosted plum cake, directed to "miss goldilocks, from she knows who."
at first i did not know how to address my nice white parcel, for i never had heard the child's name.
but after thinking over the matter, i remembered that she was the only girl there with yellow curls hanging down her back, so i decided to risk the cake with the above direction.
the maid who took it in -lrb- for my girl went to a private school -rrb- smiled, and said at once she knew who i meant.
i left my cake, and strolled round the corner to the house of a friend, there to wait and watch for the success of my joke, for the girls always went that way at recess.
presently the little hats began to go bobbing by, the silent street to echo with laughter, and the sidewalk to bloom with gay gowns, for the girls were all out in winter colors now.
from behind a curtain i peeped at them, and saw, with great satisfaction, that nearly all had bits of my cake in their hands, and were talking it over with the most flattering interest.
my particular little girl, with a friend on each arm, passed so near me that i could see the happy look in her eyes, and hear her say, with a toss of the bright hair, -- "mother will plan it for me, and i can get it done by new year.
wo n't it be fun to hang it on the door some day, and then run?"
i fancied that she meant to make something for me, and waited with patience, wondering how this odd frolic with my little school-girl would end.
new year's day came and passed, but no gift hung on my door; so i made up my mind it was all a mistake, and, being pretty busy about that time, thought no more of the matter till some weeks later, as i came into town one day after a visit in the country.
i am fond of observing faces, and seldom forget one if anything has particularly attracted my attention to it.
so this morning, as i rode along, i looked at the conductor, as there was no one else to observe, and he had a pleasant sort of face.
somehow, it looked familiar, and after thinking idly about it for a minute, i remembered where i had seen it before.
he was the man who waited for "little missy," and i at once began to hope that she would come again, for i wanted to ask about the holidays, remembering how "fond of fun" she was.
when we came to the south end square, where i met her first, i looked out, expecting to see the little figure running down the wide path again, and quite willing to wait for it a long time if necessary.
but no one was to be seen but two boys and a dog.
the car did not stop, and though the conductor looked out that way, his hand was not on the strap, and no smile on his face.
""do n't you wait for the little girl now?"
i asked, feeling disappointed at not seeing my pretty friend again.
""i wish i could, ma'am," answered the man, understanding at once, though of course he did not remember me.
""new rules, perhaps?"
i added, as he did not explain, but stood fingering his punch, and never minding an old lady, wildly waving her bag at him from the sidewalk.
""no, ma'am; but it's no use waiting for little missy any more, because" -- here he leaned in and said, very low, -- "she is dead;" then turned sharply round, rung the bell, put the old lady in and shut the door.
how grieved i was to have that pleasant friendship end so sadly, for i had planned many small surprises for my girl, and now i could do no more, could never know all about her, never see the sunny face again, or win another word from lips that seemed made for smiling.
only a little school-girl, yet how many friends she seemed to have, making them unconsciously by her gentle manners, generous actions, and innocent light-heartedness.
i could not bear to think what home must be without her, for i am sure i was right in believing her a good, sweet child, because real character shows itself in little things, and the heart that always keeps in tune makes its music heard everywhere.
the busy man of the horse-car found time to miss her, the schoolmates evidently mourned their queen, for when i met them they walked quietly, talked low, and several wore black bows upon the sleeve; while i, although i never knew her name, or learned a single fact about her, felt the sweetness of her happy nature, and have not yet forgotten my little school-girl.
x.
what a shovel did.
as my friend stood by the window, watching the "soft falling snow," i saw him smile, -- a thoughtful yet a very happy smile, and, anxious to know what brought it, i asked, -- "what do you see out there?"
""myself," was the answer that made me stare in surprise, as i joined him and looked curiously into the street.
all i saw was a man shovelling snow; and, thoroughly puzzled, i turned to richard, demanding an explanation.
he laughed, and answered readily, -- "while we wait for kate and the children, i'll tell you a little adventure of mine.
it may be useful to you some day.
""fifteen years ago, on a sunday morning like this, i stood at the window of a fireless, shabby little room, without one cent in my pocket, and no prospect of getting one.
""i had gone supperless to bed, and spent the long night asking, "what shall i do?"
and, receiving no reply but that which is so hard for eager youth to accept, "wait and trust."
""i was alone in the world, with no fortune but my own talent, and even that i was beginning to doubt, because it brought no money.
for a year i had worked and hoped, with a brave spirit; had written my life into poems and tales; tried a play; turned critic and reviewed books; offered my pen and time to any one who would employ them, and now was ready for the hardest literary work, and the poorest pay, for starvation stared me in the face.
""all my ventures failed, and my paper boats freighted with so many high hopes, went down one after another, leaving me to despair.
the last wreck lay on my table then, -- a novel, worn with much journeying to and fro, on which i had staked my last chance, and lost it.
""as i stood there at my window, cold and hungry, solitary and despairing, i said to myself, in a desperate mood, --" "it is all a mistake; i have no talent, and there is no room in the world for me, so the quicker i get out of it the better."
""just then a little chap came from a gate opposite, with a shovel on his shoulder, and trudged away, whistling shrilly, to look for a job.
i watched him out of sight, thinking bitterly, --" "now look at the injustice of it!
here am i, a young man full of brains, starving because no one will give me a chance; and there is that ignorant little fellow making a living with an old shovel!""
a voice seemed to answer me, saying, --" "why do n't you do the same?
if brains do n't pay, try muscles, and thank god that you have health."
""of course it was only my own pluck and common sense; but i declare to you i was as much struck by the new idea as if a strange voice had actually spoken; and i answered, heartily, --" "as i live i will try it!
and not give up while there is any honest work for these hands to do."
""with sudden energy i put on my shabbiest clothes, -- and they were very shabby, of course, added an old cap and rough comforter, as disguise, and stole down to the shed where i had seen a shovel.
it was early, and the house was very quiet, for the other lodgers were hard workers all the week, and took their rest sunday morning.
""unseen by the sleepy girl making her fires, i got the shovel and stole away by the back gate, feeling like a boy out on a frolic.
it was bitter cold, and a heavy snow-storm had raged all night.
the streets were full of drifts, and the city looked as if dead, for no one was stirring yet but milkmen, and other poor fellows like me, seeking for an early job.
""i made my way to the west end, and was trying to decide at which of the tall houses to apply first, when the door of one opened, and a pretty housemaid appeared, broom in hand.
""at sight of the snowy wilderness she looked dismayed, and with a few unavailing strokes of her broom at the drift on the steps, was about to go in, when her eye fell on me.
""my shovel explained my mission, and she beckoned with an imperious wave of her duster to the shabby man opposite.
i ploughed across, and received in silence the order to --" "clear them steps and sidewalk, and sweep'em nice, for our folks always go to church, rain or shine."
""then leaving her broom outside, the maid slammed the door with a shiver, and i fell to work manfully.
it was a heavy job, and my hands, unused to any heavier tool than a pen, were soon blistered; but i tugged away, and presently found myself much stimulated by the critical and approving glances bestowed upon me by the pretty girl, taking breakfast in the basement with a buxom cook and a friend, who had evidently dropped in on her way home from early mass..
""i was a young fellow, and in spite of my late despair, the fun of the thing tickled me immensely, and i laughed behind my old tippet, as i shovelled and swept with a vigor that caused the stout cook to smile upon me.
""when the job was done, and i went to the lower door for my well-earned pay, the maid said, with condescension, as she glanced coquettishly at my ruddy face and eyes that twinkled under the old cap, i suspect, --" "you can wait here while i run up, and get the money, if master is awake.""
"ye have n't the heart of a woman, mary, to kape the poor crater out there when it's kilt wid the could he is," said the buxom cook; adding, in a motherly tone, "come in wid yez, my man, and set till the fire, for it's bitter weather the day.""
"faix an" it is, ma'm, thankin" ye kindly," i answered, with a fine brogue, for as a lad i had played the irishman with success.
""the good soul warmed to me at once, and, filling a mug with coffee, gave it to me with a hearty --"" a hot sup will do you no harrum, me b "y, and sure in the blessid christmas time that's just fore-ninst us, the master wo n't begrudge ye a breakfast; so take a biscuit and a sassage, for it's like ye have n't had a mouthful betwixt your lips the day.""
"that i will," said i; "and it's good luck and a long life to ye i'm drinkin" in this illegint coffee.""
"bless the b "y!
but it's a grateful heart he has, and a blue eye as like my pat as two pays," cried the cook, regarding me with increasing favor, as i bolted the breakfast which i should have been too proud to accept from any hand less humble.
""here the guest asked a question concerning pat, and instantly the mother gushed into praises of her boy, telling in a few picturesque words, as only an irishwoman could do it, how pat had come to "ameriky" first when things went hard with them in the "ould country," and how good he was in sending home his wages till she could join him.
""how she came, but could not find her "b "y, because of the loss of the letter with his address, and how for a year she waited and watched, sure that he would find her at last.
how the saints had an eye on him, and one happy day answered her prayers in a way that she considered "aquil to any merrycle ever seen."
for, looking up from her work, who should she see, in a fine livery, sitting on the box of a fine carriage at the master's door, but "her own b "y, like a king in his glory.""
"arrah, ye should have seen me go up thim steps, katy, and my pat come off that box like an angel flyin", and the way he tuk me in his arms, never mindin" his illigint coat, and me all dirt a-blackin" me range.
ah "r, but i was a happy crayter that day!"
""here the good soul stopped to wipe away the tears that were shining on her fat cheeks, and mary appeared with a dollar, "for master said it was a tough job and well done.""
"may his bed be aisy above, darlin", and many thanks, and the compliments of the sayson to ye, ladies."
""with which grateful farewell i trudged away, well pleased at the success of my first attempt.
refreshed and cheered by the kindness of my humble hostess, i took heart, and worked away at my next job with redoubled energy, and by the time the first bells rang for church, i had three dollars in my pocket.
my blood danced in my veins, and all my despair seemed shovelled away with the snow i had cleared from other people's paths.
""my back ached, and my palms were sore, but heart and soul were in tune again, and hurrying home, i dressed and went to church, feeling that a special thanksgiving was due for the lesson i had learned.
""christmas garlands hung upon the walls, christmas music rolled through the church, and christmas sermon, prayer, and psalm cheered the hearts of all.
but the shabby young man in the back seat found such beauty and comfort in the service of that day that he never forgot it, for it was the turning-point of his life."
my friend fell silent for a minute, and i sat, contrasting that past of his, with the happy present, for he was a prosperous man now, with an honored name, a comfortable fortune, and best of all, a noble wife, and some brave lads to follow in his footsteps.
presently i could not resist asking, -- "did you go on shovelling, dick?"
""not long, for there was no need of it, thanks to pat's mother," he answered smiling.
""come, i must have all the story, for i know it has a sequel!"
""a very happy one.
yes, i owe to that kind soul and her little story, the turn that fortune gave her wheel.
nay, rather say, the touch of nature that makes the whole world kin.
for when i went home that day, i sat down and made a simple tale from the hint she gave, and something of her own humor and pathos must have got into it, for it was accepted, and more stories solicited, to my great surprise.
""i wrote it to please myself, for i was in a happy mood; and though my room was cold, the sun shone; though my closet was bare, honest money was in my pocket, and i felt as rich as a king.
""i remember i laughed at myself as i posted the manuscript on monday morning, called it infatuation, and thought no more of it for days, being busy with my new friend, the shovel.
""snow was gone, but coal remained, and i put in tons of it with a will, for this active labor was the tonic my overwrought nerves needed, and my spirits rose wonderfully, as muscles earned the daily bread that brains had failed to win.
""ah!
but they brought me something better than bread, dearer than fame; and to that old shovel i owe the happiness of my life!
the very day i got the letter accepting the little story, i was gaily putting in my last ton of coal, for i felt that now i might take up the pen again, since in a kitchen i had discovered the magic that wins listeners.
""bless my heart!
how i worked and how i whistled, i was so happy, and felt so lifted above all doubt and fear by the knowledge that my talent was not a failure, and the fact that my own strong arms could keep the wolf from the door!
""i was so busy that i had not observed a lady watching me from the window.
she had opened it to feed the hungry sparrows, and my whistle caught her ear, for it was an air she knew, and had heard a certain young man sing before he dropped out of her circle, and left her wondering sadly what had befallen him.
""all this i learned afterward; then i unconsciously piped away till my job was done, wiped my hot face, and went in to get my money.
to my surprise i was told to "go into the dining room, and missis would attend to it."
""i went and found myself face to face, not with "missis," but the woman i had loved hopelessly but faithfully all that hard year, since i had gone away to fight my battle alone.
""for a moment i believed she did not know me, in my shabby suit and besmirched face.
but she did, and with a world of feeling in her own sweet face, she offered me, not money, but her hand, saying in a voice that made my heart leap up, --" "richard, i was afraid you had gone down as so many disappointed young men go when their ambitious hopes fail; but i am so glad, so proud to see in your face that you still work and wait, like a brave and honest man.
i must speak to you!"
""what could i do after that but hold the white hand fast in both my grimy ones, while i told my little story, and the hope that had come at last.
heaven knows i told it very badly, for those tender eyes were upon me all the time, so full of unspoken love and pity, admiration and respect, that i felt like one in a glorified dream, and forgot i was a coal-heaver.
""that was the last of it, though, and the next time i came to see my kate it was with clean hands, that carried her, as a first love-token, the little tale which was the foundation-stone of this happy home."
he stopped there, and his face brightened beautifully, for the sound of little feet approached, and childish voices cried eagerly, -- "papa!
papa!
the snow has come!
may we go and shovel off the steps?"
""yes, my lads, and mind you do it well; for some day you may have to earn your breakfast," answered dick, as three fine boys came prancing in, full of delight at the first snow-fall.
""these fellows have a passion for shovelling which they inherit from their father," he added, with a twinkle of the eye that told mrs. kate what we had been talking about.
it was sweet to see with what tender pride she took the hand he stretched out to her, and holding it in both her own, said, with her eyes upon her boys, -- "i hope they will inherit not only their father's respect for honest work, but the genius that can see and paint truth and beauty in the humble things of this world."
xi.
clams.
a ghost story.
""i have n't a room in the house, ma'am, but if you do n't mind going down to the cottage, and coming up here to your meals, i can accommodate you, and would be glad to," said mrs. grant, in answer to my demand for board.
""where is the cottage?"
and i looked about me, feeling ready to accept anything in the way of shelter, after the long, hot journey from broiling boston, to breezy york harbor.
""right down there, just a step, you see.
it's all in order, and next week it will be full, for many folks prefer it because of the quiet."
at the end of a precipitous path, which offered every facility for accidents of all sorts, from a sprained ankle to a broken neck, stood the cottage, a little white building with a pretty woodbine over the porch, gay flowers in the garden, and the blue atlantic rolling up at the foot of the cliff.
""a regular "cottage by the sea."
it will suit me exactly if i can have that front upper room.
i do n't mind being alone, so have my trunk taken down, please, and i'll get ready for tea," said i, congratulating myself on my good luck.
alas, how little i knew what a night of terror i was to pass in that picturesque abode!
an hour later, refreshed by my tea and invigorated by the delicious coolness, i plunged recklessly into the gayeties of the season, and accepted two invitations for the evening, -- one to a stroll on sunset hill, the other to a clam-bake on the beach.
the stroll came first, and while my friend paused at one of the fishily-fragrant houses by the way, to interview her washerwoman, i went on to the hill-top, where a nautical old gentleman with a spy-glass, welcomed me with the amiable remark, -- "pretty likely place for a prospeck."
entering into a conversation with this ancient mariner, i asked if he knew any legend or stories concerning the old houses all about us.
""sights of'em; but it aint allers the old places as has the most stories concernin"'em.
why, that cottage down yonder aint more'n fifty year old, and they say there's been a lot of ghosts seen there, owin" to a man's killin" of himself in the back bedroom."
""what, that house at the end of the lane?"
i asked, with sudden interest.
""jes" so; nice place, but lonesome and dampish.
ghosts and toadstools is apt to locate in houses of that sort," placidly responded the venerable tar.
the dampness scared me more than the goblins, for i never saw a ghost yet, but i had been haunted by rheumatism, and found it a hard fiend to exorcise.
""i've taken a room there, so i'm rather interested in knowing what company i'm to have."
""took a room, hev you?
wal, i dare say you wo n't be troubled.
some folks have a knack of seeing sperrits, and then agin some has n't.
my wife is uncommon powerful that way, but i aint; my sight's dreadful poor for that sort of critter."
there was such a sly twinkle in the starboard eye of the old fellow as he spoke, that i laughed outright, and asked, sociably, -- "has she ever seen the ghosts of the cottage?
i think i have rather a knack that way, and i'd like to know what to expect."
""no, her sort is the rappin" kind.
down yonder the only ghost i take much stock in is old bezee tucker's.
he killed himself in the back bedroom, and some folks say they've heard him groanin" there nights, and a drippin" sound; he bled to death, you know.
it was kep" quiet at the time, and is forgotten now by all but a few old chaps like me.
bezee was allers civil to the ladies, so i guess he wo n't bother you, ma'am;" and the old fellow laughed.
""if he does, i'll let you know;" and with that i departed, for my friend called to me that the beach party was clamoring for our company.
in the delights of that festive hour, i forgot the croaking of the ancient mariner, for i was about to taste a clam for the first time in my life, and it was a most absorbing moment.
perched about on the rocks like hungry penguins, we watched the jovial cooks with breathless interest, as they struggled with refractory frying-pans, fish that stubbornly refused to brown, steaming seaweed and hot stones.
a certain captivating little margie waited upon me so prettily that i should have been tempted to try a sea porcupine unskinned if she had offered it, so irresistible was her chirping way of saying, "oh, here's a perfectly lovely one!
do take him by his little black head and eat him quick."
so beguiled, i indulged recklessly in clams, served hot between two shells, little dreaming what a price i was to pay for that marine banquet.
we kept up till late, and then i was left at my own door by my friend, who informed me that york was a very primitive, safe place, where people slept with unlocked doors, and nothing ever went amiss o'nights.
i said nothing of the ghosts, being ashamed to own that i quaked a little at the idea of the "back bedroom," as i shut out the friendly faces and bolted myself in.
a lamp and matches stood in the hall, and lighting the lamp, i whisked up stairs with suspicious rapidity, locked my door and retired to bed, firmly refusing to own even to myself that i had ever heard the name of bezee tucker.
being very tired, i soon fell asleep; but fried potatoes and a dozen or two of hot clams are not viands best fitted to insure quiet repose, so a fit of nightmare brought me to a realizing sense of my indiscretion.
from a chaos of wild dreams was finally evolved a gigantic clam, whose mission it was to devour me as i had devoured its relatives.
the sharp shells gaped before me, a solemn voice said, "take her by her little head and eat her quick."
retribution was at hand, and, with a despairing effort to escape by diving, i bumped my head smartly against the wall, and woke up feeling as if there was an earthquake under the bed.
collecting my scattered wits, i tried to compose myself to slumber again; but alas!
that fatal feast had murdered sleep, and i vainly tried to lull my wakeful senses with the rustle of woodbine leaves about the window, and the breaking waves upon the beach.
in one of the pauses between the ebb and flow of the waves, i heard a curious sound in the house, -- a muffled sort of moan, coming at regular intervals.
and, as i sat up to make out where it was, another sound caught my attentive ear.
drip, drip, drip, went something out in the hall, and in an instant the tale told me on sunset hill came back with unpleasant vividness.
""nonsense!
it is raining, and the roof leaks," i said to myself, while a disagreeable thrill went through me, and fancy, aided by indigestion, began to people the house with uncanny inmates.
no rain had fallen for weeks, and peeping through my curtain i saw the big, bright stars shining in a cloudless sky; so that explanation failed, and still the drip, drip, drip went on.
likewise the moaning, so distinctly now that it was evident the little back bedroom was next the chamber in which i was quaking at that identical moment.
""some one is sleeping there," i said, and then recollected that all the rooms were locked, and all the keys but mine in mrs. grant's pocket up at the house.
""well, let the goblins enjoy themselves; i wo n't disturb them if they let me alone.
some of the ladies thought me brave to dare to sleep here, and it will never do to own i was scared by a foolish story and an odd sound."
so down i lay, and said the multiplication table industriously for several minutes, trying to turn a deaf ear to the outer world, and curb my unruly thoughts.
but it was a failure, and, when i found myself saying over and over "four times twelve is twenty-four," i gave up affecting courage, and went in for a good honest scare.
as a cheerful subject for midnight meditation i kept thinking of b. tucker, in spite of every effort to abstain.
in vain i recalled the fact that the departed gentleman was "allers civil to the ladies."
i still was in mortal fear lest he might think it necessary to come and apologize in person for "bothering" me.
presently a clock struck three, and i involuntarily gave a groan that beat the ghost's all hollow, so full of anguish was i at the thought of several hours of weary waiting in such awesome suspense.
i was not sure at what time the daylight would appear, and bitterly regretted not gathering useful information about sunrise, tides, and such things, instead of listening to the foolish gossip of uncle peter on the hill-top.
minute after minute dragged slowly on, and i was just thinking that i should be obliged to shout "fire!"
as the only means of relief in my power, when a stealthy step under the window gave me a new sensation.
this was a start, not a scare, for the new visitor was a human foe, and i had little fear of such, being possessed of good lungs, strong arms, and a roman dagger nearly as big as a carving-knife.
that step broke the spell, and, creeping noiselessly to the window, i peeped out to see a dark figure coming up the stem of the tall tree close by, hand over hand, like a sailor or a monkey.
""two can play at that game, my friend; you scare me, and i'll scare you;" and with an actual sense of relief in breaking the oppressive silence, i suddenly flung up the curtain, and, leaning out, brandished my dagger with what i intended to be an awe-inspiring screech, but, owing to the flutter of my breath, the effort ended in a curious mixture of howl and bray.
a most effective sound nevertheless; for the rascal dropped as if shot, and, with one upward glance at the white figure dimly seen in the starlight, fled as if a legion of goblins were at his heels.
""what next?"
thought i, wondering whether tragedy or comedy would close this eventful night.
i sat and waited, chilly, but valiant, while the weird sounds went on within, and silence reigned without, till the cheerful crow of the punctual "cockadoo," as margie called him, announced the dawn and laid the ghosts.
a red glow in the east banished my last fear, and, wrapping the drapery of my couch about me, i soon lay down to quiet slumber, quite worn out.
the sun shining in my face waked me; a bell ringing spasmodically warned me to hurry, and a childish voice calling out, "bet-fast is most weady, miss wee," assured me that sweet little spirits haunted the cottage as well as ghostly ones.
as i left my room to join margie, who was waiting in the porch, and looking like a rosy morning-glory half-way up the woodbine trellis, i saw two things which caused me to feel that the horrors of the night were not all imaginary.
just outside the back bedroom door was a damp place, as if that part of the floor had been newly washed; and when, goaded by curiosity, i peeped through the keyhole of the haunted chamber, my eye distinctly saw an open razor lying on a dusty table.
my vision was limited to that one object, but it was quite enough, and i went up the hill brooding darkly over the secret hidden in my breast.
i longed to tell some one, but was ashamed, and, when asked why so pale and absent-minded, i answered, with a gloomy smile, -- "it is the clams."
all day i hid my sufferings pretty well, but as night approached, and i thought of another lonely vigil in the haunted cottage, my heart began to fail, and, when we sat telling stories in the dusk, a brilliant idea came into my head.
i would relate my ghost story, and rouse the curiosity of the listeners to such a pitch that some of them would offer to share my quarters, in hopes of seeing the spirit of the restless tucker.
cheered by this delusive fancy, when my turn came i made a thrilling tale of the night's adventures, and, having worked my audience up to a flattering state of excitement, paused for applause.
it came in a most unexpected form, however, for mrs. grant burst out laughing, and the two boys, johnny and joe, rolled off the piazza in convulsions of merriment.
much disgusted at this unseemly demonstration, i demanded the cause of it, and involuntarily joined in the general shout when mrs. grant demolished my ghost by informing me that bezee tucker lived, died in, and haunted the tumble-down house at the other end of the lane.
""then who or what made those mysterious noises?"
i asked, relieved but rather nettled at the downfall of my romance.
""my brother seth," replied mrs. grant, still laughing.
""i thought you might be afraid to be there all alone, so he slipped into the bedroom, and i forgot to tell you.
he's a powerful snorer, and that's one of the awful sounds.
the other was the dripping of salt water; for you wanted some, and the girl got it in a leaky pail.
seth wiped up the slops when he came out early in the morning."
i said nothing about the keyhole view of the harmless razor, but, feeling that i did deserve some credit for my heroic reception of the burglar, i mildly asked if it was the custom in york for men as well as turkeys to roost in trees.
an explosion from the boys extinguished my last hope of glory, for as soon as he could speak joe answered, unable to resist the joke, though telling it betrayed his own transgressions.
""johnny planned to be up awful early, and pick the last cherries off that tree.
i wanted to get ahead of him, so i sneaked down before light to humbug him, for i was going a-fishing, and we have to be off by four."
""did you get your cherries?"
i asked, bound to have some of the laugh on my side.
""guess i did n't," grumbled joe, rubbing his knees, while johnny added, with an exulting chuckle, -- "he got a horrid scare and a right good scraping, for he did n't know any one was down there.
could n't go fishing either, he was so lame, and i had the cherries after all.
served him right, did n't it?"
no answer was necessary, for the two lads indulged in a friendly scuffle among the hay-cocks, while mrs. grant went off to repeat the tale in the kitchen, whence the sound of a muffled roar soon assured me that seth was enjoying the joke as well as the rest of us.
xii.
kitty's cattle show.
little kitty was an orphan, and she lived in the poor-house, where she ran errands, tended babies, and was everybody's servant.
a droll, happy-hearted child, who did her best to be good, and was never tired of hoping that something pleasant would happen.
she had often heard of cattle shows, but had never been to one, though she lived in a town where there was one every year.
as october came, and people began to get ready for the show, kitty was seized with a strong desire to go, and asked endless questions about it of old sam, who lived in the house.
""did you say anybody could go in for nothing if they took something to show?"
she asked.
""yes; and them that has the best fruit, or cows, or butter, or whatever it is, they gets a premium," said sam, chopping away.
""what's a primmynum?"
asked kitty, forgetting to pick up chips, in her interest.
""it's money; some gets a lot, and some only a dollar, or so."
""i wish i had something nice to show, but i do n't own anything but puss," and the little girl stroked the plump, white kitten that was frisking all over her.
""better send her; she's pretty enough to fetch a prize anywheres," said sam, who was fond of both kittys.
""do they have cats there?"
asked the child, soberly.
""ought to, if they do n't, for, if cats aint cattle, i do n't see what they be," and old sam laughed, as if he had made a joke.
""i mean to take her and see the show, any way, for that will be splendid, even if she do n't get any money!
o, puss, will you go, and behave well, and get a primmynum for me, so i can buy a book of stories?"
cried kitty, upsetting her basket in her sudden skip at the fine plan.
puss turned a somersault, raced after a chicken, and then rushed up her mistress" back, and, perching demurely on her shoulder, peeped into her face, as if asking if pranks like these would n't win a prize anywhere.
""you are going to take mr. green's hens for him; ca n't i go with you?
i wo n't be any trouble, and i do so want to see the fun," added kitty, after thinking over her plan a few minutes.
now, sam meant to take her, but had not told her so yet, and now, being a waggish old fellow, he thought he would let her take her cat, for the joke of it, so he said soberly, -- "yes, i'll tuck you in somewheres, and you'd better put puss into the blackbird's old cage, else she will get scared, and run away.
you stand it among the chicken-coops, and folks will admire her, i aint a doubt."
innocent little kitty was in raptures at the prospect, though the people in the house laughed at her.
but she firmly believed it was all right, and made her preparations with solemn care.
the old cage was scrubbed till the wires shone, then she trimmed it up with evergreen, and put a bed of scarlet leaves for snowy puss to lie on.
puss was washed, and combed, and decked with a blue bow on the grand day, and, when she had been persuaded to enter her pretty prison, the effect was charming.
a happier little lass was seldom seen than kitty when, dressed in her clean, blue check frock, and the old hat, with a faded ribbon, she rode away with sam; and behind, among the hen-coops, was miss puss, much excited by the clucking and fluttering of her fellow-travellers.
when the show grounds were reached, kitty thought the bustle and the noise quite as interesting as the cattle; and when, after putting his poultry in its place, sam led her up into the great hall where the fruit and flowers were, she began to imagine that the fairy tales were coming true.
while she stood staring at some very astonishing worsted-work pictures, a lady, who was arranging fruit near by, upset a basket of fine peaches, and they rolled away under tables and chairs.
""i'll pick'em up, ma'am," cried kitty, who loved to be useful; and down she went on her hands and knees, and carefully picked up every runaway.
""what is your name, my obliging little girl?"
asked the lady, as she brushed up the last yellow peach.
""kitty; and i live at the poor-house; and i never saw a cattle show before,'cause i did n't have any thing to bring," said the child, feeling as important with her cat as a whole agricultural society.
""what did you bring, -- patchwork?"
""o, no, ma'am, a lovely cat, and she is down stairs with the hens, -- all white, with blue eyes and a blue bow," cried kitty.
""i want to see her," said a little girl, popping her head up from behind the table, where she had bashfully hidden from the stranger.
the lady consented, and the children went away together.
while they were gone, sam came to find his little friend, and the kind lady, amused at the cat story, asked about the child.
""she aint no friends but me and the kitten, so i thought i'd give the poor little soul a bit of pleasure.
the quarter i'll get for fetching green's hens will get kitty some dinner, and a book maybe, or something to remember cattle show by.
should n't wonder if i earned a trifle more doing chores round to-day; if so, i shall give it to her for a premium,'cause i fetched the cat for fun, and would n't like to disappoint the child."
as sam laughed, and rubbed his rough hands over the joke of surprising kitty, the lady looked at his kind old face, and resolved to give him a pleasure, too, and of the sort he liked.
she was rich and generous, and, when her little girl came back, begging her to buy the lovely kitten, she said she would, and put five dollars into sam's hands, telling him that was kitty's premium, to be used in buying clothes and comforts for the motherless child.
kitty was quite willing to sell puss, for five dollars seemed a splendid fortune to her.
such a happy day as that was, for she saw everything, had a good dinner, bought "babes in the wood" of a peddler, and, best of all, made friends.
miss puss was brought up by her new mistress, and put on a table among the flowers, where the pretty cage and the plump, tricksy kitten attracted much attention, for the story was told, and the little girl's droll contribution much laughed over.
but the poor-house people did n't laugh, for they were so surprised and delighted at this unexpected success that they were never tired of talking about kitty's cattle show.
xiii.
what becomes of the pins.
miss ellen was making a new pincushion, and a very pretty one it promised to be, for she had much taste, and spent half her time embroidering chair-covers, crocheting tidies, and all sorts of dainty trifles.
her room was full of them; and she often declared that she did wish some one would invent a new sort of fancy-work, since she had tried all the old kinds till she was tired of them.
painting china, carving wood, button-holing butterflies and daisies onto turkish towelling, and making peacock-feather trimming, amused her for a time; but as she was not very successful she soon gave up trying these branches, and wondered if she would not take a little plain sewing for a change.
the old cushion stood on her table beside the new one; which was ready for its trimming of lace and ribbon.
a row of delicate new pins also lay waiting to adorn the red satin mound, and in the old blue one still remained several pins that had evidently seen hard service.
miss ellen was putting a dozen needles into her book, having just picked them out of the old cushion, and, as she quilted them through the flannel leaves, she said half aloud, -- "it is very evident where the needles go, but i really do wish i knew what becomes of the pins."
""i can tell you," answered a small, sharp voice, as a long brass pin tried to straighten itself up in the middle of a faded blue cornflower, evidently prepared to address the meeting.
miss ellen stared much surprised, for she had used this big pin a good deal lately, but never heard it speak before.
as she looked at it she saw for the first time that its head had a tiny face, with silvery hair, two merry eyes, and a wee mouth out of which came the metallic little voice that pierced her ear, small as it was.
""dear me!"
she said; then added politely, "if you can tell i should be very happy to hear, for it has long been a great mystery, and no one could explain it."
the old pin tried to sit erect, and the merry eye twinkled as it went on like a garrulous creature, glad to talk after long silence: -- "men make many wonderful discoveries, my dear, but they have never found that out, and never will, because we belong to women, and only a feminine ear can hear us, a feminine mind understand our mission, or sympathize with our trials, experiences, and triumphs.
for we have all these as well as human beings, and there really is not much difference between us when we come to look into the matter."
this was such a curious statement that miss ellen forgot her work to listen intently, and all the needles fixed their eyes on the audacious pin.
not a whit abashed it thus continued: -- "i am called "granny" among my friends, because i have had a long and eventful life.
i am hearty and well, however, in spite of this crick in my back, and hope to serve you a good while yet, for you seem to appreciate me, stout and ordinary as i look.
""yes, my dear, pins and people are alike, and that rusty darning-needle need not stare so rudely, for i shall prove what i say.
we are divided into classes by birth and constitution, and each can do much in its own sphere.
i am a shawl pin, and it would be foolish in me to aspire to the duties of those dainty lace pins made to fasten a collar.
i am contented with my lot, however, and, being of a strong make and enterprising spirit, have had many adventures, some perils, and great satisfactions since i left the factory long ago.
i well remember how eagerly i looked about me when the paper in which i lived, with some hundreds of relations, was hung up in a shop window, to display our glittering ranks and tempt people to buy.
at last a purchaser came, a dashing young lady who bought us with several other fancy articles, and carried us away in a smart little bag, humming and talking to herself, in what i thought a very curious way.
""when we were taken out i was all in a flutter to see where i was and what would happen next.
there were so many of us, i could hardly hope to go first, for i was in the third row, and most people take us in order.
but cora was a hasty, careless soul, and pulled us out at random, so i soon found myself stuck up in a big untidy cushion, with every sort of pin you can imagine.
such a gay and giddy set i never saw, and really, my dear, their ways and conversation were quite startling to an ignorant young thing like me.
pearl, coral, diamond, jet, gold, and silver heads, were all around me as well as vulgar brass knobs, jaunty black pins, good for nothing as they snap at the least strain, and my own relations, looking eminently neat and respectable among this theatrical rabble.
for i will not disguise from you, miss ellen, that my first mistress was an actress, and my life a very gay one at the beginning.
merry, kind, and careless was the pretty cora, and i am bound to confess i enjoyed myself immensely, for i was taken by chance with half a dozen friends to pin up the folds of her velvet train and mantle, in a fairy spectacle where she played the queen.
it was very splendid, and, snugly settled among the soft folds, i saw it all, and probably felt that i too had my part; humble as it was, it was faithfully performed, and i never once deserted my post for six weeks.
""among the elves who went flitting about with silvery wings and spangled robes was one dear child who was the good genius of the queen, and was always fluttering near her, so i could not help seeing and loving the dear creature.
she danced and sung, came out of flowers, swung down from trees, popped up from the lower regions, and finally, when all the queen's troubles are over, flew away on a golden cloud, smiling through a blaze of red light, and dropping roses as she vanished.
""when the play ended, i used to see her in an old dress, a thin shawl, and shabby hat, go limping home with a tired-looking woman who dressed the girls.
""i thought a good deal about "little viola," as they called her, -- though her real name was sally, i believe, -- and one dreadful night i played a heroic part, and thrill now when i remember it."
""go on, please, i long to know," said miss ellen, dropping the needle-book into her lap, and leaning forward to listen better.
""one evening the theatre took fire," continued the old pin impressively.
""i do n't know how, but all of a sudden there was a great uproar, smoke, flames, water pouring, people running frantically about, and such a wild panic i lost my small wits for a time.
when i recovered them, i found cora was leaning from a high window, with something wrapped closely in the velvet mantle that i pinned upon the left shoulder just under a paste buckle that only sparkled while i did all the work.
""a little golden head lay close by me, and a white face looked up from the crimson folds, but the sweet eyes were shut, the lips were drawn with pain, a horrible odor of burnt clothes came up to me, and the small hand that clutched cora's neck was all blistered with the cruel fire which would have devoured the child if my brave mistress had not rescued her at the risk of her own life.
she could have escaped at first, but she heard sally cry to her through the blinding smoke, and went to find and rescue her.
i dimly recalled that, and pressed closer to the white shoulder, full of pride and affection for the kind soul whom i had often thought too gay and giddy to care for anything but pleasure.
""now she was calling to the people in the street to put up a ladder, and, as she leaned and called, i could see the crowds far down, the smoke and flame bursting out below, and hear the hiss of water as it fell upon the blazing walls.
it was a most exciting moment, as we hung there, watching the gallant men fix the long ladder, and one come climbing up till we could see his brave face, and hear him shout cheerily, --" "swing from the window-sill, i'll catch you."
""but cora answered, as she showed the little yellow head that shone in the red glare, --" "no, save the child first!""
"drop her then, and be quick: it's hot work here," and the man held up his arms with a laugh, as the flames licked out below as if to eat away the frail support he stood on.
""all in one breathless moment, cora had torn off the mantle, wrapped the child in it, bound her girdle about it, and finding the gaudy band would not tie, caught out the first pin that came to hand, and fastened it.
i was that pin; and i felt that the child's life almost depended upon me, for as the precious bundle dropped into the man's hands he caught it by the cloak, and, putting it on his shoulder, went swiftly down.
the belt strained, the velvet tore, i felt myself bending with the weight, and expected every minute to see the child slip, and fall on the stones below.
but i held fast, i drove my point deeply in, i twisted myself round so that even the bend should be a help, and i called to the man, "hold tight, i'm trying my best, but what can one pin do!"
""of course he did not hear me, but i really believe my desperate efforts were of some use; for, we got safely down, and were hurried away to the hospital where other poor souls had already gone.
""the good nurse who undid that scorched, drenched, and pitiful bundle, stuck me in her shawl, and resting there, i saw the poor child laid in a little bed, her burns skilfully cared for, and her scattered senses restored by tender words and motherly kisses.
how glad i was to hear that she would live, and still more rejoiced to learn next day that cora was near by, badly burned but not in danger, and anxious to see the child she had saved.
""nurse benson took the little thing in her arms to visit my poor mistress, and i went too.
but alas!
i never should have known the gay and blooming girl of the day before.
her face and hands were terribly burnt, and she would never again be able to play the lovely queen on any stage, for her fresh beauty was forever lost.
""hard days for all of us; i took my share of trouble with the rest, though i only suffered from the strain to my back.
nurse benson straightened me out and kept me in use, so i saw much of pain and patience in that great house, because the little gray shawl which i fastened covered a tender heart, and on that motherly bosom many aching heads found rest, many weary creatures breathed their last, and more than one unhappy soul learned to submit.
""among these last was poor cora, for it was very hard to give up beauty, health, and the life she loved, so soon.
yet i do not think she ever regretted the sacrifice when she saw the grateful child well and safe, for little sally was her best comforter, and through the long weeks she lay there half blind and suffering, the daily visit of the little one cheered her more than anything else.
the poor mother was lost in the great fire, and cora adopted the orphan as her own, and surely she had a right to what she had so dearly bought.
""they went away together at last, one quite well and strong again, the other a sad wreck, but a better woman for the trial, i think, and she carried comfort with her.
poor little sally led her, a faithful guide, a tender nurse, a devoted daughter to her all her life."
here the pin paused, out of breath, and miss ellen shook a bright drop off the lace that lay in her lap, as she said in a tone of real interest, -- "what happened next?
how long did you stay in the hospital?"
""i stayed a year, for nurse used me one day to pin up a print at the foot of a poor man's bed, and he took such comfort in it they let it hang till he died.
a lovely picture of a person who held out his arms to all the suffering and oppressed, and they gathered about him to be comforted and saved.
the forlorn soul had led a wicked life, and now lay dying a long and painful death, but something in that divine face taught him to hope for pardon, and when no eye but mine saw him in the lonely nights he wept, and prayed, and struggled to repent.
i think he was forgiven, for when at last he lay dead a smile was on his lips that never had been there before.
then the print was taken down, and i was used to pin up a bundle of red flannel by one of the women, and for months i lay in a dark chest, meditating on the lessons i had already learned.
""suddenly i was taken out, and when a queer round pin-ball of the flannel had been made by a nice old lady, i was stuck in it with a party of fat needles, and a few of my own race, all with stout bodies and big heads."
"the dear boy is clumsy with his fingers, and needs strong things to use," said the old lady, as she held the tomato cushion in both hands and kissed it before she put it into a soldier's "comfort bag.""
"now i shall have a lively time!"
i thought, and looked gaily about me, for i liked adventures, and felt that i was sure of them now.
""i can not begin to tell you all i went through with that boy, for he was brave as a lion and got many hard knocks.
we marched, and camped, and fought, and suffered, but we never ran away, and when at last a minie ball came smashing through the red cushion -lrb- which dick often carried in his pocket as a sort of charm to keep him safe, for men seldom use pins -rrb-, i nearly lost my head, for the stuffing flew out, and we were all knocked about in a dreadful way.
the cushion and the old wallet together saved dick's life, however, for the ball did not reach his brave heart, and the last i saw of him as i fell out of the hasty hand that felt for a wound was a soft look in the brave bright eyes, as he said to himself with a smile, --" "dear old mother has n't lost her boy yet, thank god!"
""a colored lad picked me up, as i lay shining on the grass, and pins being scarce in those parts, gave me to his mammy, who kept me to fasten her turban.
quite a new scene i found, for in the old cabin were a dozen children and their mothers making ready to go north.
the men were all away fighting or serving the army, so mammy led the little troop, and they marched off one day following the gay turban like a banner, for she had a valiant soul, and was bound to find safety and freedom for her children at all risks.
""in my many wanderings to and fro, i never made so strange a journey as that one, but i enjoyed it, full of danger, weariness and privation as it was; and every morning when mammy put on the red and yellow handkerchief i was proud to sit aloft on that good gray head, and lead the forlorn little army toward a land of liberty.
""we got there at last, and she fell to work over a washtub to earn the bread for the hungry mouths.
i had stood by her through all those weary weeks, and did not want to leave her now, but went off pinning a paper round some clean clothes on a saturday morning."
"now i wonder what will come next!"
i thought, as thomas jefferson, or "jeff," as they called him, went whistling away with the parcel through the streets.
""crossing the park, he spied a lovely butterfly which had strayed in from the country; caught and pinned it on his hat to please little dinah when he got home.
the pretty creature soon writhed its delicate life away, but its beauty attracted the eye of a pale girl hurrying along with a roll of work under her arm."
"will you sell me that?"
she asked, and jeff gladly consented, wondering what she would do with it.
so did i, but when we got to her room i soon saw, for she pinned the impaled butterfly against a bit of blue paper, and painted it so well that its golden wings seemed to quiver as they did in life.
a very poor place it was, but full of lovely things, and i grew artistic with just looking about me at the pictures on the walls, the flowers blooming on plates and panels, birds and insects kept for copies, and gay bits of stuff used as back-grounds.
""but more beautiful than anything she made was the girl's quiet, busy life alone in the big city; for, she was hoping to be an artist, and worked day and night to compass her desire.
so poor, but so happy, i used to wonder why no one helped her and kept her from such hard, yet patient, waiting.
but no one did, and i could watch her toiling away as i held the butterfly against the wall, feeling as if it was a symbol of herself, beating her delicate wings in that close place till her heart was broken, by the cruel fate that held her there when she should have been out in the free sunshine.
but she found a good customer for her pretty work, in a rich lady who had nothing to do but amuse herself, and spent much time and money in fancy-work.
""i know all about it; for, one day an order came from the great store where her designs were often bought, and she was very happy painting some purple pansies upon velvet, and she copied her yellow butterfly to float above them.
""the poor insect was very dry, and crumbled at a touch, so my task there was done, and as my mistress rolled up the packet, she took me to fasten it securely, singing as she did so, for every penny was precious.
""we all went together to the rich lady, and she embroidered the flowers on a screen very like that one yonder.
i thought she would throw me away, i was so battered now, but she took a fancy to use me in various ways about her canvas work, and i lived with her all winter.
a kind lady, my dear, but i often wished i could suggest to her better ways of spending her life than everlasting fancy-work.
she never seemed to see the wants of those about her, never lent an ear to the poor, or found delight in giving of her abundance to those who had little, to brighten their lives; but sighed because she had nothing to do when the world was full of work, and she blessed with so many good gifts to use and to enjoy.
i hope she will see her mistake some day, and not waste all her life on trifles, else she will regret it sadly by and by."
here the pin paused with a keen glance at miss ellen, who had suddenly begun to sew with a bright color in her cheeks, for the purple pansies were on the screen that stood before her fire-place, and she recognized the portrait of herself in that last description.
but she did not fancy being lectured by a pin, so she asked with a smile as she plaited up her lace, -- "that is all very interesting, but you have not yet told me what becomes of the pins, granny."
""pins, like people, shape their own lives, in a great measure, my dear, and go to their reward when they are used up.
the good ones sink into the earth and turn to silver, to come forth again in a new and precious form.
the bad ones crumble away to nothing in cracks and dust heaps, with no hope of salvation, unless some human hand lifts them up and gives them a chance to try again.
some are lazy, and slip out of sight to escape service, some are too sharp, and prick and scratch wherever they are.
others are poor, weak things, who bend up and lose their heads as soon as they are used.
some obtrude themselves on all occasions, and some are never to be found in times of need.
all have the choice to wear out or to rust out.
i chose the former, and have had a useful, happy life so far.
i'm not as straight as i once was, but i'm bright still, my point is sharp, my head firm, and age has not weakened me much, i hope, but made me wiser, better, and more contented to do my duty wherever i am, than when i left my native paper long ago."
before miss ellen could express her respect for the worthy old pin, a dismal groan was heard from the blue cushion, and a small voice croaked aloud, -- "alas, alas, i chose to rust out, and here i am, a miserable, worthless thing, whom no one can use or care for.
lift the ruffle, and behold a sad contrast to the faithful, honest, happy granny, who has told us such a varied tale."
""bless me, what possesses everything to-day!"
exclaimed miss ellen, looking under the frill of the old cushion to see who was speaking now.
there to be sure she found a pin hidden away, and so rusty that she could hardly pull it out.
but it came creaking forth at the third tug, and when it was set up beside granny, she cried out in her cheery way, -- "try dr. emery, he can cure most cases of rust, and it is never too late to mend, neighbor."
""too late for me!"
sighed the new comer.
""the rust of idleness has eaten into my vitals while i lay in my silken bed, and my chance is gone forever.
i was bright, and strong, and sharp once, but i feared work and worry, and i hid, growing duller, dimmer, and more useless every day.
i am good for nothing, throw me away, and let the black pins mourn for a wasted life."
""no," said miss ellen, "you are not useless, for you two shall sit together in my new cushion, a warning to me, as well as to the other pins, to choose the right way in time, and wear out with doing our duty, rather than rust out as so many do.
thank you, granny, for your little lecture.
i will not forget it, but go at once and find that poor girl, and help her all i can.
rest here, you good old soul, and teach these little things to follow your example."
as she spoke, miss ellen set the two pins in the middle of the red satin cushion, stuck the smaller pins round them, and hastened to put on her shawl lest something should prevent her from going.
""take me with you; i'm not tired, i love to work!
use me, dear mistress, and let me help in the good work!"
cried granny, with a lively skip that sent her out upon the bureau.
so miss ellen pinned her shawl with the old pin instead of the fine brooch she had in her hand, and they went gaily away together, leaving the rusty one to bemoan itself, and all the little ones to privately resolve that they would not hide away from care and labor, but take their share bravely and have a good record to show when they went, at last where the good pins go.
the end.
* * * * * louisa m. alcott's famous books.
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* * * * * susan coolidge's popular books.
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so in they marched, katy and cecy heading the procession, and dorry, with his great trailing bunch of boughs, bringing up the rear. -rsb-
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_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___aunt_jo's_scrap-bag.txt.out
my boys.
feeling that i have been unusually fortunate in my knowledge of a choice and pleasing variety of this least appreciated portion of the human race, i have a fancy to record some of my experiences, hoping that it may awaken an interest in other minds, and cause other people to cultivate the delightful, but too often neglected boys, who now run to waste, so to speak.
i have often wondered what they thought of the peculiar treatment they receive, even at the hands of their nearest friends.
while they are rosy, roly-poly little fellows they are petted and praised, adorned and adored, till it is a miracle that they are not utterly ruined.
but the moment they outgrow their babyhood their trials begin, and they are regarded as nuisances till they are twenty-one, when they are again received into favor.
yet that very time of neglect is the period when they most need all manner of helps, and ought to have them.
i like boys and oysters raw; so, though good manners are always pleasing, i do n't mind the rough outside burr which repels most people, and perhaps that is the reason why the burrs open and let me see the soft lining and taste the sweet nut hidden inside.
my first well-beloved boy was a certain frank, to whom i clung at the age of seven with a devotion which i fear he did not appreciate.
there were six girls in the house, but i would have nothing to say to them, preferring to tag after frank, and perfectly happy when he allowed me to play with him.
i regret to say that the small youth was something of a tyrant, and one of his favorite amusements was trying to make me cry by slapping my hands with books, hoop-sticks, shoes, anything that came along capable of giving a good stinging blow.
i believe i endured these marks of friendship with the fortitude of a young indian, and felt fully repaid for a blistered palm by hearing frank tell the other boys, "she's a brave little thing, and you ca n't make her cry."
my chief joy was in romping with him in the long galleries of a piano manufactory behind our house.
what bliss it was to mount one of the cars on which the workmen rolled heavy loads from room to room, and to go thundering down the inclined plains, regardless of the crash that usually awaited us at the bottom!
if i could have played foot-ball on the common with my frank and billy babcock, life could have offered me no greater joy at that period.
as the prejudices of society forbid this sport, i revenged myself by driving hoop all around the mall without stopping, which the boys could not do.
i can remember certain happy evenings, when we snuggled in sofa corners and planned tricks and ate stolen goodies, and sometimes frank would put his curly head in my lap and let me stroke it when he was tired.
what the girls did i do n't recollect; their domestic plays were not to my taste, and the only figure that stands out from the dimness of the past is that jolly boy with a twinkling eye.
this memory would be quite radiant but for one sad thing -- a deed that cut me to the soul then, and which i have never quite forgiven in all these years.
on one occasion i did something very naughty, and when called up for judgment fled to the dining-room, locked the door, and from my stronghold defied the whole world.
i could have made my own terms, for it was near dinner time and the family must eat; but, alas for the treachery of the human heart!
frank betrayed me.
he climbed in at the window, unlocked the door, and delivered me up to the foe.
nay, he even defended the base act, and helped bear the struggling culprit to imprisonment.
that nearly broke my heart, for i believed he would stand by me as staunchly as i always stood by him.
it was a sad blow, and i could n't love or trust him any more.
peanuts and candy, ginger-snaps and car-rides were unavailing; even foot-ball could not reunite the broken friendship, and to this day i recollect the pang that entered my little heart when i lost my faith in the loyalty of my first boy.
the second attachment was of quite a different sort, and had a happier ending.
at the mature age of ten, i left home for my first visit to a family of gay and kindly people in -- well why not say right out?
-- providence.
there were no children, and at first i did not mind this, as every one petted me, especially one of the young men named christopher.
so kind and patient, yet so merry was this good christy that i took him for my private and particular boy, and loved him dearly; for he got me out of innumerable scrapes, and never was tired of amusing the restless little girl who kept the family in a fever of anxiety by her pranks.
he never laughed at her mishaps and mistakes, never played tricks upon her like a certain william, who composed the most trying nicknames, and wickedly goaded the wild visitor into all manner of naughtiness.
christy stood up for her through everything; let her ride the cows, feed the pigs, bang on the piano, and race all over the spice mill, feasting on cinnamon and cloves; brought her down from housetops and fished her out of brooks; never scolded, and never seemed tired of the troublesome friendship of little torment.
in a week i had exhausted every amusement and was desperately homesick.
it has always been my opinion that i should have been speedily restored to the bosom of my family but for christy, and but for him i should assuredly have run away before the second week was out.
he kept me, and in the hour of my disgrace stood by me like a man and a brother.
one afternoon, inspired by a spirit of benevolence, enthusiastic but short-sighted, i collected several poor children in the barn, and regaled them on cake and figs, helping myself freely to the treasures of the pantry without asking leave, meaning to explain afterward.
being discovered before the supplies were entirely exhausted, the patience of the long-suffering matron gave out, and i was ordered up to the garret to reflect upon my sins, and the pleasing prospect of being sent home with the character of the worst child ever known.
my sufferings were deep as i sat upon a fuzzy little trunk all alone in the dull garret, thinking how hard it was to do right, and wondering why i was scolded for feeding the poor when we were expressly bidden to do so.
i felt myself an outcast, and bewailed the disgrace i had brought upon my family.
nobody could possibly love such a bad child; and if the mice were to come and eat me then and there -- à la bishop hatto -- it would only be a relief to my friends.
at this dark moment i heard christy say below, "she meant it kindly, so i would n't mind, fanny;" and then up came my boy full of sympathy and comfort.
seeing the tragic expression of my face, he said not a word, but, sitting down in an old chair, took me on his knee and held me close and quietly, letting the action speak for itself.
it did most eloquently; for the kind arm seemed to take me back from that dreadful exile, and the friendly face to assure me without words that i had not sinned beyond forgiveness.
i had not shed a tear before, but now i cried tempestuously, and clung to him like a shipwrecked little mariner in a storm.
neither spoke, but he held me fast and let me cry myself to sleep; for, when the shower was over, a pensive peace fell upon me, and the dim old garret seemed not a prison, but a haven of refuge, since my boy came to share it with me.
how long i slept i do n't know, but it must have been an hour, at least; yet my good christy never stirred, only waited patiently till i woke up in the twilight, and was not afraid because he was there.
he took me down as meek as a mouse, and kept me by him all that trying evening, screening me from jokes, rebukes, and sober looks; and when i went to bed he came up to kiss me, and to assure me that this awful circumstance should not be reported at home.
this took a load off my heart, and i remember fervently thanking him, and telling him i never would forget it.
i never have, though he died long ago, and others have probably forgotten all about the naughty prank.
i often longed to ask him how he knew the surest way to win a child's heart by the patience, sympathy, and tender little acts that have kept his memory green for nearly thirty years.
cy was a comrade after my own heart, and for a summer or two we kept the neighbourhood in a ferment by our adventures and hair-breadth escapes.
i think i never knew a boy so full of mischief, and my opportunities of judging have been manifold.
he did not get into scrapes himself, but possessed a splendid talent for deluding others into them, and then morally remarking, "there, i told you so!"
his way of saying "you dars "nt do this or that" was like fire to powder; and why i still live in the possession of all my limbs and senses is a miracle to those who know my youthful friendship with cy.
it was he who incited me to jump off of the highest beam in the barn, to be borne home on a board with a pair of sprained ankles.
it was he who dared me to rub my eyes with red peppers, and then sympathisingly led me home blind and roaring with pain.
it was he who solemnly assured me that all the little pigs would die in agony if their tails were not cut off, and won me to hold thirteen little squealers while the operation was performed.
those thirteen innocent pink tails haunt me yet, and the memory of that deed has given me a truly jewish aversion to pork.
i did not know him long, but he was a kindred soul, and must have a place in my list of boys.
he is a big, brown man now, and, having done his part in the war, is at work on his farm.
we meet sometimes, and though we try to be dignified and proper, it is quite impossible; there is a sly twinkle in cy's eye that upsets my gravity, and we always burst out laughing at the memory of our early frolics.
my augustus!
oh, my augustus!
my first little lover, and the most romantic of my boys.
at fifteen i met this charming youth, and thought i had found my fate.
it was at a spelling school in a little country town where i, as a stranger and visitor from the city, was an object of interest.
painfully conscious of this fact, i sat in a corner trying to look easy and elegant, with a large red bow under my chin, and a carnelian ring in full view.
among the boys and girls who frolicked about me, i saw one lad of seventeen with "large blue eyes, a noble brow, and a beautiful straight nose," as i described him in a letter to my sister.
this attractive youth had a certain air of refinement and ease of manner that the others lacked; and when i found he was the minister's son, i felt that i might admire him without loss of dignity.
"imagine my sensations," as miss burney's evelina says, when this boy came and talked to me, a little bashfully at first, but soon quite freely, and invited me to a huckleberry party next day.
i had observed that he was one of the best spellers.
i also observed that his language was quite elegant; he even quoted byron, and rolled his eyes in a most engaging manner, not to mention that he asked who gave me my ring, and said he depended on escorting me to the berry pasture.
"dear me, how interesting it was!
and when i found myself, next day, sitting under a tree in the sunny field -lrb- full of boys and girls, all more or less lovering -rrb-, with the amiable augustus at my feet, gallantly supplying me with bushes to strip while we talked about books and poetry, i really felt as if i had got into a novel, and enjoyed it immensely.
i believe a dim idea that gus was sentimental hovered in my mind, but i would not encourage it, though i laughed in my sleeve when he was spouting latin for my benefit, and was uncertain whether to box his ears or simper later in the day, when he languished over the gate, and said he thought chestnut hair the loveliest in the world.
poor, dear boy!
how innocent and soft-hearted and full of splendid dreams he was, and what deliciously romantic times we had floating on the pond, while the frogs sung to his accordion, as he tried to say unutterable things with his honest blue eyes.
it makes me shiver now to think of the mosquitoes and the damp; but it was pauline and claude melnotte then, and when i went home we promised to be true to one another, and write every week during the year he was away at school.
we parted -- not in tears by any means; that sort of nonsense comes later, when the romance is less childish -- but quite jolly and comfortable, and i hastened to pour forth the thrilling tale to my faithful sister, who approved of the match, being a perfect "mush of sentiment" herself.
i fear it was not a very ardent flame, however, for gus did not write every week, and i did not care a bit; nevertheless, i kept his picture and gave it a sentimental sigh when i happened to think of it, while he sent messages now and then, and devoted himself to his studies like an ambitious boy as he was.
i hardly expected to see him again, but soon after the year was out, to my great surprise, he called.
i was so fluttered by the appearance of his card that i rather lost my head, and did such a silly thing that it makes me laugh even now.
he liked chestnut hair, and, pulling out my combs, i rushed down, theatrically dishevelled, hoping to impress my lover with my ardour and my charms.
i expected to find little gus; but, to my great confusion, a tall being with a beaver in his hand rose to meet me, looking so big and handsome and generally imposing that i could not recover myself for several minutes, and mentally wailed for my combs, feeling like an untidy simpleton.
i do n't know whether he thought me a little cracked or not, but he was very friendly and pleasant, and told me his plans, and hoped i would make another visit, and smoothed his beaver, and let me see his tail-coat, and behaved himself like a dear, conceited, clever boy.
he did not allude to our love-passages, being shy, and i blessed him for it; for really, i do n't know what rash thing i might have done under the exciting circumstances.
just as he was going, however, he forgot his cherished hat for a minute, put out both hands, and said heartily, with his old boyish laugh, -- "now you will come, and we'll go boating and berrying, and all the rest of it again, wo n't we?"
the blue eyes were full of fun and feeling, too, i fancied, as i blushingly retired behind my locks and gave the promise.
but i never went, and never saw my little lover any more, for in a few weeks he was dead of a fever, brought on by too much study, -- and so ended the sad history of my fourth boy.
after this, for many years, i was a boyless being; but was so busy i did not feel my destitute condition till i went to the hospital during the war, and found my little sergeant.
his story has been told elsewhere, but the sequel to it is a pleasant one, for baby b. still writes to me now and then, asks advice about his future, and gladdens me with good news of his success as a business man in kansas.
as if to atone for the former dearth, a sudden shower of most superior boys fell upon me, after i recovered from my campaign.
some of the very best sort it was my fortune to know and like -- real gentlemen, yet boys still -- and jolly times they had, stirring up the quiet old town with their energetic society.
there was w., a stout, amiable youth, who would stand in the middle of a strawberry patch with his hands in his pockets and let us feed him luxuriously.
b., a delightful scapegrace, who came once a week to confess his sins, beat his breast in despair, vow awful vows of repentance, and then cheerfully depart to break every one of them in the next twenty-four hours.
s., the gentle-hearted giant; j., the dandy; sober, sensible b.; and e., the young knight without reproach or fear.
but my especial boy of the batch was a. -- proud and cold and shy to other people, sad and serious sometimes when his good heart and tender conscience showed him his short-comings, but so grateful for sympathy and a kind word.
i could not get at him as easily as i could the other lads, but, thanks to dickens, i found him out at last.
we played dolphus and sophy tetterby in the "haunted man," at one of the school festivals; and during the rehearsals i discovered that my dolphus was -- permit the expression, oh, well-bred readers!
-- a trump.
what fun we had to be sure, acting the droll and pathetic scenes together, with a swarm of little tetterbys skirmishing about us!
from that time he has been my dolphus and i his sophy, and my yellow-haired laddie do n't forget me, though he has a younger sophy now, and some small tetterbys of his own.
he writes just the same affectionate letters as he used to do, though i, less faithful, am too busy to answer them.
but the best and dearest of all my flock was my polish boy, ladislas wisniewski -- two hiccoughs and a sneeze will give you the name perfectly.
six years ago, as i went down to my early breakfast at our pension in vevey, i saw that a stranger had arrived.
he was a tall youth, of eighteen or twenty, with a thin, intelligent face, and the charmingly polite manners of a foreigner.
as the other boarders came in, one by one, they left the door open, and a draught of cold autumn air blew in from the stone corridor, making the new-comer cough, shiver, and cast wistful glances towards the warm corner by the stove.
my place was there, and the heat often oppressed me, so i was glad of an opportunity to move.
a word to madame vodoz effected the change; and at dinner i was rewarded by a grateful smile from the poor fellow, as he nestled into his warm seat, after a pause of surprise and a flush of pleasure at the small kindness from a stranger.
we were too far apart to talk much, but, as he filled his glass, the pole bowed to me, and said low in french --" i drink the good health to mademoiselle."
i returned the wish, but he shook his head with a sudden shadow on his face, as if the words meant more than mere compliment to him.
"that boy is sick and needs care.
i must see to him," said i to myself, as i met him in the afternoon, and observed the military look of his blue and white suit, as he touched his cap and smiled pleasantly.
i have a weakness for brave boys in blue, and having discovered that he had been in the late polish revolution, my heart warmed to him at once.
that evening he came to me in the salon, and expressed his thanks in the prettiest broken english i ever heard.
so simple, frank, and grateful was he that a few words of interest won his little story from him, and in half an hour we were friends.
with his fellow-students he had fought through the last outbreak, and suffered imprisonment and hardship rather than submit, had lost many friends, his fortune and his health, and at twenty, lonely, poor, and ill, was trying bravely to cure the malady which seemed fatal.
"if i recover myself of this affair in the chest, i teach the music to acquire my bread in this so hospitable country.
at paris, my friends, all two, find a refuge, and i go to them in spring if i die not here.
yes, it is solitary, and my memories are not gay, but i have my work, and the good god remains always to me, so i content myself with much hope, and i wait."
such genuine piety and courage increased my respect and regard immensely, and a few minutes later he added to both by one of the little acts that show character better than words.
he told me about the massacre, when five hundred poles were shot down by cossacks in the market-place, merely because they sung their national hymn.
"play me that forbidden air," i said, wishing to judge of his skill, for i had heard him practising softly in the afternoon.
he rose willingly, then glanced about the room and gave a little shrug which made me ask what he wanted."
i look to see if the baron is here.
he is russian, and to him my national air will not be pleasing."
"then play it.
he dare not forbid it here, and i should rather enjoy that little insult to your bitter enemy," said i, feeling very indignant with everything russian just then.
"ah, mademoiselle, it is true we are enemies, but we are also gentlemen," returned the boy, proving that he at least was one.
i thanked him for his lesson in politeness, and as the baron was not there he played the beautiful hymn, singing it enthusiastically in spite of the danger to his weak lungs.
a true musician evidently, for, as he sung his pale face glowed, his eyes shone, and his lost vigor seemed restored to him.
from that evening we were fast friends; for the memory of certain dear lads at home made my heart open to this lonely boy, who gave me in return the most grateful affection and service.
he begged me to call him "varjo," as his mother did.
he constituted himself my escort, errand-boy, french teacher, and private musician, making those weeks indefinitely pleasant by his winning ways, his charming little confidences, and faithful friendship.
we had much fun over our lessons, for i helped him about his english.
with a great interest in free america, and an intense longing to hear about our war, the barrier of an unknown tongue did not long stand between us.
beginning with my bad french and his broken english, we got on capitally; but he outdid me entirely, making astonishing progress, though he often slapped his forehead with the despairing exclamation, --" i am imbecile!
i never can will shall to have learn this beast of english!"
but he did, and in a month had added a new language to the five he already possessed.
his music was the delight of the house; and he often gave us little concerts with the help of madame teiblin, a german st. cecilia, with a cropped head and a gentlemanly sack, cravat, and collar.
both were enthusiasts, and the longer they played the more inspired they got.
the piano vibrated, the stools creaked, the candles danced in their sockets, and every one sat mute while the four white hands chased one another up and down the keys, and the two fine faces beamed with such ecstasy that we almost expected to see instrument and performers disappear in a musical whirlwind.
lake leman will never seem so lovely again as when laddie and i roamed about its shores, floated on its bosom, or laid splendid plans for the future in the sunny garden of the old chateau.
i tried it again last year, but the charm was gone, for i missed my boy with his fun, his music, and the frank, fresh affection he gave his "little mamma," as he insisted on calling the lofty spinster who loved him like half-a-dozen grandmothers rolled into one.
december roses blossomed in the gardens then, and laddie never failed to have a posy ready for me at dinner.
few evenings passed without "confidences" in my corner of the salon, and i still have a pile of merry little notes which i used to find tucked under my door.
he called them chapters of a great history we were to write together, and being a" polisson" he illustrated it with droll pictures, and a funny mixture of french and english romance.
it was very pleasant, but like all pleasant things in this world of change it soon came to an end.
when i left for italy we jokingly agreed to meet in paris the next may, but neither really felt that we should ever meet again, for laddie hardly expected to outlive the winter, and i felt sure i should soon be forgotten.
as he kissed my hand there were tears in my boy's eyes, and a choke in the voice that tried to say cheerfully --" bon voyage, dear and good little mamma.
i do not say adieu, but au revoir."
then the carriage rolled away, the wistful face vanished, and nothing remained to me but the memory of laddie, and a little stain on my glove where a drop had fallen.
as i drew near paris six months later, and found myself wishing that i might meet varjo in the great, gay city, and wondering if there was any chance of my doing it, i never dreamed of seeing him so soon; but, as i made my way among the crowd of passengers that poured through the station, feeling tired, bewildered, and homesick, i suddenly saw a blue and white cap wave wildly in the air, then laddie's beaming face appeared, and laddie's eager hands grasped mine so cordially that i began to laugh at once, and felt that paris was almost as good as home.
"ah, ha!
behold the little mamma, who did not think to see again her bad son!
yes, i am greatly glad that i make the fine surprise for you as you come all weary to this place of noise.
give to me the billets, for i am still mademoiselle's servant and go to find the coffers."
he got my trunks, put me into a carriage, and as we rolled merrily away i asked how he chanced to meet me so unexpectedly.
knowing where i intended to stay, he had called occasionally till i notified madame d. of the day and hour of my arrival, and then he had come to "make the fine surprise."
he enjoyed the joke like a true boy, and i was glad to see how well he looked, and how gay he seemed.
"you are better?"
i said."
i truly hope so.
the winter was good to me and i cough less.
it is a small hope, but i do not enlarge my fear by a sad face.
i yet work and save a little purse, so that i may not be a heaviness to those who have the charity to finish me if i fall back and yet die."
i would not hear of that, and told him he looked as well and happy as if he had found a fortune.
he laughed, and answered with his fine bow," i have.
behold, you come to make the fête for me.
i find also here my friends joseph and napoleon.
poor as mouses of the church, as you say, but brave boys, and we work together with much gaiety."
when i asked if he had leisure to be my guide about paris, for my time was short and i wanted to see everything; he pranced, and told me he had promised himself a holiday, and had planned many excursions the most wonderful, charming, and gay.
then, having settled me at madame's, he went blithely away to what i afterwards discovered were very poor lodgings, across the river.
next day began the pleasantest fortnight in all my year of travel.
laddie appeared early, elegant to behold, in a new hat and buff gloves, and was immensely amused because the servant informed me that my big son had arrived.
i believe the first thing a woman does in paris is to buy a new bonnet.
i did, or rather stood by and let "my son" do it in the best of french, only whispering when he proposed gorgeous chapeaus full of flowers and feathers, that i could not afford it.
"ah!
we must make our economies, must we?
see, then, this modest, pearl-colored one, with the crape rose.
yes, we will have that, and be most elegant for the sunday promenade."
i fear i should have bought a pea-green hat with a yellow plume if he had urged it, so wheedlesome and droll were his ways and words.
his good taste saved me, however, and the modest one was sent home for the morrow, when we were to meet joseph and napoleon and go to the concert in the tuileries garden.
then we set off on our day of sight-seeing, and laddie proved himself an excellent guide.
we had a charming trip about the enchanted city, a gay lunch at a café, and a first brief glimpse of the louvre.
at dinner-time i found a posy at my place; and afterward laddie came and spent the evening in my little salon, playing to me, and having what he called "babblings and pleasantries."
i found that he was translating "vanity fair" into polish, and intended to sell it at home.
he convulsed me with his struggles to put cockney english and slang into good polish, for he had saved up a list of words for me to explain to him.
hay-stack and bean-pot were among them, i remember; and when he had mastered the meanings he fell upon the sofa exhausted.
other days like this followed, and we led a happy life together: for my twelve years" seniority made our adventures quite proper, and i fearlessly went anywhere on the arm of my big son.
not to theatres or balls, however, for heated rooms were bad for laddie, but pleasant trips out of the city in the bright spring weather, quiet strolls in the gardens, moonlight concerts in the champs elysées; or, best of all, long talks with music in the little red salon, with the gas turned low, and the ever-changing scenes of the rue de rivoli under the balcony.
never were pleasures more cheaply purchased or more thoroughly enjoyed, for our hearts were as light as our purses, and our "little economies" gave zest to our amusements.
joseph and napoleon sometimes joined us, and i felt in my element with the three invalid soldier boys, for napoleon still limped with a wound received in the war, joseph had never recovered from his two years" imprisonment in an austrian dungeon, and laddie's loyalty might yet cost him his life.
thanks to them, i discovered a joke played upon me by my" polisson".
he told me to call him "ma drogha," saying it meant "my friend," in polish.
i innocently did so, and he seemed to find great pleasure in it, for his eyes always laughed when i said it.
using it one day before the other lads, i saw a queer twinkle in their eyes, and suspecting mischief, demanded the real meaning of the words.
laddie tried to silence them, but the joke was too good to keep, and i found to my dismay that i had been calling him "my darling" in the tenderest manner.
how the three rascals shouted, and what a vain struggle it was to try and preserve my dignity when laddie clasped his hands and begged pardon, explaining that jokes were necessary to his health, and he never meant me to know the full baseness of this "pleasantrie!"
i revenged myself by giving him some bad english for his translation, and telling him of it just as i left paris.
it was not all fun with my boy, however; he had his troubles, and in spite of his cheerfulness he knew what heartache was.
walking in the quaint garden of the luxembourg one day, he confided to me the little romance of his life.
a very touching little romance as he told it, with eloquent eyes and voice and frequent pauses for breath.
i can not give his words, but the simple facts were these: -- he had grown up with a pretty cousin, and at eighteen was desperately in love with her.
she returned his affection, but they could not be happy, for her father wished her to marry a richer man.
in poland, to marry without the consent of parents is to incur lasting disgrace; so leonore obeyed, and the young pair parted.
this had been a heavy sorrow to laddie, and he rushed into the war, hoping to end his trouble.
"do you ever hear from your cousin?"
i asked, as he walked beside me, looking sadly down the green aisles where kings and queens had loved and parted years ago."
i only know that she suffers still, for she remembers.
her husband submits to the russians, and i despise him as i have no english to tell;" and he clenched his hands with the flash of the eye and sudden kindling of the whole face that made him handsome.
he showed me a faded little picture, and when i tried to comfort him, he laid his head down on the pedestal of one of the marble queens who guard the walk, as if he never cared to lift it up again.
but he was all right in a minute, and bravely put away his sorrow with the little picture.
he never spoke of it again, and i saw no more shadows on his face till we came to say good-bye.
"you have been so kind to me, i wish i had something beautiful to give you, laddie," i said, feeling that it would be hard to get on without my boy.
"this time it is for always; so, as a parting souvenir, give to me the sweet english good-bye."
as he said this, with a despairing sort of look, as if he could not spare even so humble a friend as myself, my heart was quite rent within me, and, regardless of several prim english ladies, i drew down his tall head and kissed him tenderly, feeling that in this world there were no more meetings for us.
then i ran away and buried myself in an empty railway carriage, hugging the little cologne bottle he had given me.
he promised to write, and for five years he has kept his word, sending me from paris and poland cheery, bright letters in english, at my desire, so that he might not forget.
here is one as a specimen.
"my dear and good friend, -- what do you think of me that i do not write so long time?
excuse me, my good mamma, for i was so busy in these days i could not do this pleasant thing.
i write english without the fear that you laugh at it, because i know it is more agreeable to read the own language, and i think you are not excepted of this rule.
it is good of me, for the expressions of love and regard, made with faults, take the funny appearance; they are ridicule, and instead to go to the heart, they make the laugh.
never mind, i do it.
"you can not imagine yourself how stupide is paris when you are gone.
i fly to my work, and make no more fêtes, -- it is too sad alone.
i tie myself to my table and my vanity -lrb- not of mine, for i am not vain, am i? -rrb-
.
i wish some chapters to finish themselfs vite, that i send them to pologne and know the end.
i have a little question to ask you -lrb- of vanity as always -rrb-.
i can not translate this, no one of dictionnaires makes me the words, and i think it is jargon de prison, this little period.
behold: -- mopy, is that your snum?
nubble your dad and gully the dog, & c. "so funny things i can not explain myself, so i send to you, and you reply sooner than without it, for you have so kind interest in my work you do not stay to wait.
so this is a little hook for you to make you write some words to your son who likes it so much and is fond of you.
"my doctor tells me my lungs are soon to be re-established; so you may imagine yourself how glad i am, and of more courage in my future.
you may one day see your varjo in amerique, if i study commerce as i wish.
so then the last time of seeing ourselves is not the last.
is that to please you?
i suppose the grand histoire is finished, n'est ce pas?
you will then send it to me care of m. gryhomski austriche, and he will give to me in clandestine way at varsovie, otherwise it will be confiscated at the frontier by the stupide russians.
"now we are dispersed in two sides of world far apart, for soon i go home to pologne and am no more" juif errant."
it is now time i work at my life in some useful way, and i do it.
"as i am your grand fils, it is proper that i make you my compliment of happy christmas and new year, is it not?
i wish for you so many as they may fulfil long human life.
may this year bring you more and more good hearts to love you -lrb- the only real happiness in the hard life -rrb-, and may i be as now, yours for always, "varjo."
a year ago he sent me his photograph and a few lines.
i acknowledged the receipt of it, but since then not a word has come, and i begin to fear that my boy is dead.
others have appeared to take his place, but they do n't suit, and i keep his corner always ready for him if he lives.
if he is dead, i am glad to have known so sweet and brave a character, for it does one good to see even as short-lived and obscure a hero as my polish boy, whose dead december rose embalms for me the memory of varjo, the last and dearest of my boys.
it is hardly necessary to add, for the satisfaction of inquisitive little women, that laddie was the original of laurie, as far as a pale pen-and-ink sketch could embody a living, loving boy.
tessa's surprises.
i. little tessa sat alone by the fire, waiting for her father to come home from work.
the children were fast asleep, all four in the big bed behind the curtain; the wind blew hard outside, and the snow beat on the window-panes; the room was large, and the fire so small and feeble that it did n't half warm the little bare toes peeping out of the old shoes on the hearth.
tessa's father was an italian plaster-worker, very poor, but kind and honest.
the mother had died not long ago, and left twelve-year old tessa to take care of the little children.
she tried to be very wise and motherly, and worked for them like any little woman; but it was so hard to keep the small bodies warm and fed, and the small souls good and happy, that poor tessa was often at her wits" end.
she always waited for her father, no matter how tired she was, so that he might find his supper warm, a bit of fire, and a loving little face to welcome him.
tessa thought over her troubles at these quiet times, and made her plans; for her father left things to her a good deal, and she had no friends but tommo, the harp-boy upstairs, and the lively cricket who lived in the chimney.
to-night her face was very sober, and her pretty brown eyes very thoughtful as she stared at the fire and knit her brows, as if perplexed.
she was not thinking of her old shoes, nor the empty closet, nor the boys" ragged clothes just then.
no; she had a fine plan in her good little head, and was trying to discover how she could carry it out.
you see, christmas was coming in a week; and she had set her heart on putting something in the children's stockings, as the mother used to do, for while she lived things were comfortable.
now tessa had not a penny in the world, and did n't know how to get one, for all the father's earnings had to go for food, fire, and rent.
"if there were only fairies, ah!
how heavenly that would be; for then i should tell them all i wish, and, pop!
behold the fine things in my lap!"
said tessa to herself."
i must earn the money; there is no one to give it to me, and i can not beg.
but what can i do, so small and stupid and shy as i am?
i must find some way to give the little ones a nice christmas.
i must!
i must!"
and tessa pulled her long hair, as if that would help her think.
but it did n't, and her heart got heavier and heavier; for it did seem hard that in a great city full of fine things, there should be none for poor nono, sep, and little speranza.
just as tessa's tears began to tumble off her eyelashes on to her brown cheeks, the cricket began to chirp.
of course, he did n't say a word; but it really did seem as if he had answered her question almost as well as a fairy; for, before he had piped a dozen shrill notes, an idea popped into tessa's head -- such a truly splendid idea that she clapped her hands and burst out laughing.
"i'll do it!
i'll do it!
if father will let me," she said to herself, smiling and nodding at the fire.
"tommo will like to have me go with him and sing, while he plays his harp in the streets.
i know many songs, and may get money if i am not frightened; for people throw pennies to other little girls who only play the tambourine.
yes, i will try; and then, if i do well, the little ones shall have a merry christmas."
so full of her plan was tessa that she ran upstairs at once, and asked tommo if he would take her with him on the morrow.
her friend was delighted, for he thought tessa's songs very sweet, and was sure she would get money if she tried.
"but see, then, it is cold in the streets; the wind bites, and the snow freezes one's fingers.
the day is very long, people are cross, and at night one is ready to die with weariness.
thou art so small, tessa, i am afraid it will go badly with thee," said tommo, who was a merry, black-eyed boy of fourteen, with the kindest heart in the world under his old jacket."
i do not mind cold and wet, and cross people, if i can get the pennies," answered tessa, feeling very brave with such a friend to help her.
she thanked tommo, and ran away to get ready, for she felt sure her father would not refuse her anything.
she sewed up the holes in her shoes as well as she could, for she had much of that sort of cobbling to do; she mended her only gown, and laid ready the old hood and shawl which had been her mother's.
then she washed out little ranza's frock and put it to dry, because she would not be able to do it the next day.
she set the table and got things ready for breakfast, for tommo went out early, and must not be kept waiting for her.
she longed to make the beds and dress the children over night, she was in such a hurry to have all in order; but, as that could not be, she sat down again, and tried over all the songs she knew.
six pretty ones were chosen; and she sang away with all her heart in a fresh little voice so sweetly that the children smiled in their sleep, and her father's tired face brightened as he entered, for tessa was his cheery cricket on the hearth.
when she had told her plan, peter benari shook his head, and thought it would never do; but tessa begged so hard, he consented at last that she should try it for one week, and sent her to bed the happiest little girl in new york.
next morning the sun shone, but the cold wind blew, and the snow lay thick in the streets.
as soon as her father was gone, tessa flew about and put everything in nice order, telling the children she was going out for the day, and they were to mind tommo's mother, who would see about the fire and the dinner; for the good woman loved tessa, and entered into her little plans with all her heart.
nono and giuseppe, or sep, as they called him, wondered what she was going away for, and little ranza cried at being left; but tessa told them they would know all about it in a week, and have a fine time if they were good; so they kissed her all round and let her go.
poor tessa's heart beat fast as she trudged away with tommo, who slung his harp over his shoulder, and gave her his hand.
it was rather a dirty hand, but so kind that tessa clung to it, and kept looking up at the friendly brown face for encouragement.
"we go first to the café, where many french and italians eat the breakfast.
they like my music, and often give me sips of hot coffee, which i like much.
you too shall have the sips, and perhaps the pennies, for these people are greatly kind," said tommo, leading her into a large smoky place where many people sat at little tables, eating and drinking.
"see, now, have no fear; give them "bella monica;" that is merry and will make the laugh," whispered tommo, tuning his harp.
for a moment tessa felt so frightened that she wanted to run away; but she remembered the empty stockings at home, and the fine plan, and she resolved not to give it up.
one fat old frenchman nodded to her, and it seemed to help her very much; for she began to sing before she thought, and that was the hardest part of it.
her voice trembled, and her cheeks grew redder and redder as she went on; but she kept her eyes fixed on her old shoes, and so got through without breaking down, which was very nice.
the people laughed, for the song was merry; and the fat man smiled and nodded again.
this gave her courage to try another, and she sung better and better each time; for tommo played his best, and kept whispering to her, "yes; we go well; this is fine.
they will give the money and the blessed coffee."
so they did; for, when the little concert was over, several men put pennies in the cap tessa offered, and the fat man took her on his knee, and ordered a mug of coffee, and some bread and butter for them both.
this quite won her heart; and when they left the café, she kissed her hand to the old frenchman, and said to her friend, "how kind they are!
i like this very much; and now it is not hard."
but tommo shook his curly head, and answered, soberly, "yes, i took you there first, for they love music, and are of our country; but up among the great houses we shall not always do well.
the people there are busy or hard or idle, and care nothing for harps and songs.
do not skip and laugh too soon; for the day is long, and we have but twelve pennies yet."
tessa walked more quietly, and rubbed her cold hands, feeling that the world was a very big place, and wondering how the children got on at home without the little mother.
till noon they did not earn much, for every one seemed in a hurry, and the noise of many sleigh-bells drowned the music.
slowly they made their way up to the great squares where the big houses were, with fine ladies and pretty children at the windows.
here tessa sung all her best songs, and tommo played as fast as his fingers could fly; but it was too cold to have the windows open, so the pretty children could not listen long, and the ladies tossed out a little money, and soon went back to their own affairs.
all the afternoon the two friends wandered about, singing and playing, and gathering up their small harvest.
at dusk they went home, tessa so hoarse she could hardly speak, and so tired she fell asleep over her supper.
but she had made half a dollar, for tommo divided the money fairly, and she felt rich with her share.
the other days were very much like this; sometimes they made more, sometimes less, but tommo always "went halves;" and tessa kept on, in spite of cold and weariness, for her plans grew as her earnings increased, and now she hoped to get useful things, instead of candy and toys alone.
on the day before christmas she made herself as tidy as she could, for she hoped to earn a good deal.
she tied a bright scarlet handkerchief over the old hood, and the brilliant color set off her brown cheeks and bright eyes, as well as the pretty black braids of her hair.
tommo's mother lent her a pair of boots so big that they turned up at the toes, but there were no holes in them, and tessa felt quite elegant in whole boots.
her hands were covered with chilblains, for she had no mittens; but she put them under her shawl, and scuffled merrily away in her big boots, feeling so glad that the week was over, and nearly three dollars safe in her pocket.
how gay the streets were that day!
how brisk every one was, and how bright the faces looked, as people trotted about with big baskets, holly-wreaths, and young evergreens going to blossom into splendid christmas trees!
"if i could have a tree for the children, i'd never want anything again.
but i ca n't; so i'll fill the socks all full, and be happy," said tessa, as she looked wistfully into the gay stores, and saw the heavy baskets go by.
"who knows what may happen if we do well?"
returned tommo, nodding wisely, for he had a plan as well as tessa, and kept chuckling over it as he trudged through the mud.
they did not do well somehow, for every one seemed so full of their own affairs they could not stop to listen, even to "bella monica," but bustled away to spend their money in turkeys, toys, and trees.
in the afternoon it began to rain, and poor tessa's heart to fail her; for the big boots tired her feet, the cold wind made her hands ache, and the rain spoilt the fine red handkerchief.
even tommo looked sober, and did n't whistle as he walked, for he also was disappointed, and his plan looked rather doubtful, the pennies came in so slowly.
"we'll try one more street, and then go home, thou art so tired, little one.
come; let me wipe thy face, and give me thy hand here in my jacket pocket; there it will be as warm as any kitten;" and kind tommo brushed away the drops which were not all rain from tessa's cheeks, tucked the poor hand into his ragged pocket, and led her carefully along the slippery streets, for the boots nearly tripped her up.
ii.
at the first house, a cross old gentleman flapped his newspaper at them; at the second, a young gentleman and lady were so busy talking that they never turned their heads, and at the third, a servant came out and told them to go away, because some one was sick.
at the fourth, some people let them sing all their songs and gave nothing.
the next three houses were empty; and the last of all showed not a single face as they looked up anxiously.
it was so cold, so dark and discouraging, that tessa could n't help one sob; and, as he glanced down at the little red nose and wet figure beside him, tommo gave his harp an angry thump, and said something very fierce in italian.
they were just going to turn away; but they did n't, for that angry thump happened to be the best thing they could have done.
all of a sudden a little head appeared at the window, as if the sound had brought it; then another and another, till there were five, of all heights and colors, and five eager faces peeped out, smiling and nodding to the two below.
"sing, tessa; sing!
quick!
quick!"
cried tommo, twanging away with all his might, and showing his white teeth, as he smiled back at the little gentle-folk.
bless us!
how tessa did tune up at that!
she chirped away like a real bird, forgetting all about the tears on her cheeks, the ache in her hands, and the heaviness at her heart.
the children laughed, and clapped their hands, and cried "more!
more!
sing another, little girl!
please do!"
and away they went again, piping and playing, till tessa's breath was gone, and tommo's stout fingers tingled well.
"mamma says, come to the door; it's too muddy to throw the money into the street!"
cried out a kindly child's voice as tessa held up the old cap, with beseeching eyes.
up the wide stone steps went the street musicians, and the whole flock came running down to give a handful of silver, and ask all sorts of questions.
tessa felt so grateful that, without waiting for tommo, she sang her sweetest little song all alone.
it was about a lost lamb, and her heart was in the song; therefore she sang it well, so well that a pretty young lady came down to listen, and stood watching the bright-eyed girl, who looked about her as she sang, evidently enjoying the light and warmth of the fine hall, and the sight of the lovely children with their gay dresses, shining hair, and dainty little shoes.
"you have a charming voice, child.
who taught you to sing?"
asked the young lady kindly.
"my mother.
she is dead now; but i do not forget," answered tessa, in her pretty broken english."
i wish she could sing at our tree, since bella is ill," cried one of the children peeping through the banisters.
"she is not fair enough for the angel, and too large to go up in the tree.
but she sings sweetly, and looks as if she would like to see a tree," said the young lady.
"oh, so much!"
exclaimed tessa; adding eagerly, "my sister ranza is small and pretty as a baby-angel.
she could sit up in the fine tree, and i could sing for her from under the table."
"sit down and warm yourself, and tell me about ranza," said the kind elder sister, who liked the confiding little girl, in spite of her shabby clothes.
so tessa sat down and dried the big boots over the furnace, and told her story, while tommo stood modestly in the background, and the children listened with faces full of interest."
o rose!
let us see the little girl; and if she will do, let us have her, and tessa can learn our song, and it will be splendid!"
cried the biggest boy, who sat astride of a chair, and stared at the harp with round eyes.
"i'll ask mamma," said rose; and away she went into the dining-room close by.
as the door opened, tessa saw what looked to her like a fairy feast, -- all silver mugs and flowery plates and oranges and nuts and rosy wine in tall glass pitchers, and smoking dishes that smelt so deliciously she could not restrain a little sniff of satisfaction.
"are you hungry?"
asked the boy, in a grand tone.
"yes, sir," meekly answered tessa."
i say, mamma; she wants something to eat.
can i give her an orange?"
called the boy, prancing away into the splendid room, quite like a fairy prince, tessa thought.
a plump motherly lady came out and looked at tessa, asked a few questions, and then told her to come to-morrow with ranza, and they would see what could be done.
tessa clapped her hands for joy, -- she did n't mind the chilblains now, -- and tommo played a lively march, he was so pleased.
"will you come, too, and bring your harp?
you shall be paid, and shall have something from the tree, likewise," said the motherly lady, who liked what tessa gratefully told about his kindness to her.
"ah, yes; i shall come with much gladness, and play as never in my life before," cried tommo, with a flourish of the old cap that made the children laugh.
"give these to your brothers," said the fairy prince, stuffing nuts and oranges into tessa's hands.
"and these to the little girl," added one of the young princesses, flying out of the dining-room with cakes and rosy apples for ranza.
tessa did n't know what to say; but her eyes were full, and she just took the mother's white hand in both her little grimy ones, and kissed it many times in her pretty italian fashion.
the lady understood her, and stroked her cheek softly, saying to her elder daughter, "we must take care of this good little creature.
freddy, bring me your mittens; these poor hands must be covered.
alice, get your play-hood; this handkerchief is all wet; and, maud, bring the old chinchilla tippet."
the children ran, and in a minute there were lovely blue mittens on the red hands, a warm hood over the black braids, and a soft "pussy" round the sore throat.
"ah!
so kind, so very kind!
i have no way to say "thank you;" but ranza shall be for you a heavenly angel, and i will sing my heart out for your tree!"
cried tessa, folding the mittens as if she would say a prayer of thankfulness if she knew how.
then they went away, and the pretty children called after them, "come again, tessa!
come again, tommo!"
now the rain did n't seem dismal, the wind cold, nor the way long, as they bought their gifts and hurried home, for kind words and the sweet magic of charity had changed all the world to them.
i think the good spirits who fly about on christmas eve, to help the loving fillers of little stockings, smiled very kindly on tessa as she brooded joyfully over the small store of presents that seemed so magnificent to her.
all the goodies were divided evenly into three parts and stowed away in father's three big socks, which hung against the curtain.
with her three dollars, she had got a pair of shoes for nono, a knit cap for sep, and a pair of white stockings for ranza; to her she also gave the new hood; to nono the mittens; and to sep the tippet.
"now the dear boys can go out, and my ranza will be ready for the lady to see, in her nice new things," said tessa, quite sighing with pleasure to see how well the gifts looked pinned up beside the bulging socks, which would n't hold them all.
the little mother kept nothing for herself but the pleasure of giving everything away; yet, i think, she was both richer and happier than if she had kept them all.
her father laughed as he had not done since the mother died, when he saw how comically the old curtain had broken out into boots and hoods, stockings and tippets."
i wish i had a gold gown and a silver hat for thee, my tessa, thou art so good.
may the saints bless and keep thee always!"
said peter benari tenderly, as he held his little daughter close, and gave her the good-night kiss.
tessa felt very rich as she crept under the faded counterpane, feeling as if she had received a lovely gift, and fell happily asleep with chubby ranza in her arms, and the two rough black heads peeping out at the foot of the bed.
she dreamed wonderful dreams that night, and woke in the morning to find real wonders before her eyes.
she got up early, to see if the socks were all right, and there she found the most astonishing sight.
four socks, instead of three; and by the fourth, pinned out quite elegantly was a little dress, evidently meant for her -- a warm, woollen dress, all made, and actually with bright buttons on it.
it nearly took her breath away; so did the new boots on the floor, and the funny long stocking like a grey sausage, with a wooden doll staring out at the top, as if she said, politely," a merry christmas, ma'am!"
tessa screamed and danced in her delight, and up tumbled all the children to scream and dance with her, making a regular carnival on a small scale.
everybody hugged and kissed everybody else, offered sucks of orange, bites of cake, and exchanges of candy; every one tried on the new things, and pranced about in them like a flock of peacocks.
ranza skipped to and fro airily, dressed in her white socks and the red hood; the boys promenaded in their little shirts, one with his creaking new shoes and mittens, the other in his gay cap and fine tippet; and tessa put her dress straight on, feeling that her father's "gold gown" was not all a joke.
in her long stocking she found all sorts of treasures; for tommo had stuffed it full of queer things, and his mother had made gingerbread into every imaginable shape, from fat pigs to full omnibuses.
dear me!
what happy little souls they were that morning; and when they were quiet again, how like a fairy tale did tessa's story sound to them.
ranza was quite ready to be an angel; and the boys promised to be marvellously good, if they were only allowed to see the tree at the "palace," as they called the great house.
little ranza was accepted with delight by the kind lady and her children, and tessa learned the song quite easily.
the boys were asked; and, after a happy day, the young italians all returned, to play their parts at the fine christmas party.
mamma and miss rose drilled them all; and when the folding-doors flew open, one rapturous "oh!"
arose from the crowd of children gathered to the festival.
i assure you, it was splendid; the great tree glittering with lights and gifts; and, on her invisible perch, up among the green boughs, sat the little golden-haired angel, all in white, with downy wings, a shining crown on her head, and the most serene satisfaction in her blue eyes, as she stretched her chubby arms to those below, and smiled her baby smile at them.
before any one could speak, a voice, as fresh and sweet as a lark's, sang the christmas carol so blithely that every one stood still to hear, and then clapped till the little angel shook on her perch, and cried out, "be'till, or me'll fall!"
how they laughed at that; and what fun they had talking to ranza, while miss rose stripped the tree, for the angel could not resist temptation, and amused herself by eating all the bonbons she could reach, till she was taken down, to dance about like a fairy in a white frock and red shoes.
tessa and her friends had many presents; the boys were perfect lambs, tommo played for the little folks to dance, and every one said something friendly to the strangers, so that they did not feel shy, in spite of shabby clothes.
it was a happy night: and all their lives they remembered it as something too beautiful and bright to be quite true.
before they went home, the kind mamma told tessa she should be her friend, and gave her a motherly kiss, which warmed the child's heart and seemed to set a seal upon that promise.
it was faithfully kept, for the rich lady had been touched by tessa's patient struggles and sacrifices; and for many years, thanks to her benevolence, there was no end to tessa's surprises.
buzz.
i live high up in a city house all alone.
my room is a cosy little place, though there is nothing very splendid in it, -- only my pictures and books, my flowers and my little friend.
when i began to live there, i was very busy and therefore very happy; but by-and-by, when my hurry was over and i had more time to myself, i often felt lonely.
when i ate my meals i used to wish for a pleasant companion to eat with me; and when i sat by the fire of evenings, i thought how much more social it would be if some one sat opposite.
i had many friends and callers through the day, but the evenings were often rather dull; for i could n't read much, and did n't care to go out in the stormy weather.
i was wishing for a cheerful friend one night, when all of a sudden i found one; for, sitting on my hand, i saw a plump, jolly-looking fly.
he sat quietly staring at me, with a mild little hum, as if to say, -- "how are you?
you wanted a friend, and here i am.
will you have me?"
of course i would, for i liked him directly, he was so cheery and confiding, and seemed as glad to see me as i was to see him.
all his mates were dead and gone, and he was alone, like myself.
so i waggled one finger, by way of welcome, fearing to shake my hand, lest he should tumble off and feel hurt at my reception.
he seemed to understand me, and buzzed again, evidently saying, -- "thank you, ma'am.
i should like to stay in your warm room, and amuse you for my board.
i wo n't disturb you, but do my best to be a good little friend."
so the bargain was struck, and he stopped to tea.
i found that his manners had been neglected; for he was inclined to walk over the butter, drink out of the cream-pot, and put his fingers in the jelly.
a few taps with my spoon taught him to behave with more propriety, and he sipped a drop of milk from the waiter with a crumb of sugar, as a well-bred fly should do.
on account of his fine voice, i named him buzz, and we soon got on excellently together.
he seemed to like his new quarters, and, after exploring every corner of the room, he chose his favourite haunts and began to enjoy himself.
i always knew where he was, for he kept up a constant song, humming and buzzing, like a little kettle getting ready to boil.
on sunny days, he amused himself by bumping his head against the window, and watching what went on outside.
it would have given me a headache, but he seemed to enjoy it immensely.
up in my hanging basket of ivy he made his bower, and sat there on the moss basking in the sunshine, as luxuriously as any gentleman in his conservatory.
he was interested in the plants, and examined them daily with great care, walking over the ivy leaves, grubbing under the moss, and poking his head into the unfolding hyacinth buds to see how they got on.
the pictures, also, seemed to attract his attention, for he spent much time skating over the glasses and studying the designs.
sometimes i would find him staring at my madonna, as if he said, "what in the world are all those topsy-turvy children about?"
then he'd sit in the middle of a brook, in a water-color sketch by vautin, as if bathing his feet, or seem to be eating the cherry which one little duck politely offers another little duck, in oscar pletch's summer party.
he frequently kissed my mother's portrait, and sat on my father's bald head, as if trying to get out some of the wisdom stored up there, like honey in an ill-thatched bee-hive.
my bronze mercury rather puzzled him, for he could not understand why the young gentleman did n't fly off when he had four wings and seemed in such a hurry.
i'm afraid he was a trifle vain, for he sat before the glass a great deal, and i often saw him cleaning his proboscis, and twiddling his feelers, and i know he was "prinking," as we say.
the books pleased him, too, and he used to run them over, as if trying to choose which he would read, and never seemed able to decide.
he would have nothing to say to the fat french dictionary, or my english plays, but liked goethe and schiller, emerson and browning, as well as i did.
carlyle did n't suit him, and richter evidently made his head ache.
but jean ingelow's poems delighted him, and so did her "stories told to a child."
"fairy bells" he often listened to, and was very fond of the pictures in a photograph book of foreign places and great people.
he frequently promenaded on the piazza of a little swiss chalet, standing on the mantel-piece, and thought it a charming residence for a single gentleman like himself.
the closet delighted him extremely, and he buzzed in the most joyful manner when he got among the provisions, -- for we kept house together.
such revels as he had in the sugar-bowl; such feasts of gingerbread and grapes; such long sips of milk, and sly peeps into every uncovered box and dish!
once i'm afraid he took too much cider, for i found him lying on his back, kicking and humming like a crazy top, and he was very queer all the rest of that day; so i kept the bottle corked after that.
but his favorite nook was among the ferns in the vase which a parian dancing-girl carried.
she stood just over the stove on one little toe, rattling some castanets, which made no sound, and never getting a step farther for all her prancing.
this was a warm and pretty retreat for buzz, and there he spent much of his time, swinging on the ferns, sleeping snugly in the vase, or warming his feet in the hot air that blew up, like a south wind, from the stove.
i do n't believe there was a happier fly in boston than my friend buzz, and i grew fonder and fonder of him every day; for he never got into mischief, but sung his cheery song, no matter what the weather was, and made himself agreeable.
then he was so interested in all i did, it was delightful to have him round.
when i wrote he came and walked about over my paper to see that it was right, peeped into my ink-stand, and ran after my pen.
he never made silly or sharp criticisms on my stories, but appeared to admire them very much; so i am sure he was a good judge.
when i sewed, he sat in my basket, or played hide-and-seek in the folds of my work, talking away all the while in the most sociable manner.
he often flew up all of a sudden, and danced about in the air, as if he was in such a jolly mood he could n't keep still, and wanted me to come and play with him.
but, alas!
i had no wings, and could only sit stupidly still, and laugh at his pranks.
that was his exercise, for he never went out, and only took a sniff of air now and then when i opened the windows.
well, little buzz and i lived together many weeks, and never got tired of one another, which is saying a good deal.
at christmas i went home for a week and left my room to take care of itself.
i put the hyacinths into the closet to be warm, and dropped the curtain, so the frost should not nip my ivy; but i forgot buzz.
i really would have taken him with me, or carried him down to a neighbour's room to be taken care of while i was away, but i never thought of him in the hurry of getting my presents and myself ready.
off i went without even saying "good-bye," and never thought of my little friend till freddy, my small nephew, said to me one evening at dusk, -- "aunt jo, tell me a story."
so i began to tell him about buzz, and all of a sudden i cried out, -- "mercy on me!
i'm afraid he'll die of cold while i'm gone."
it troubled me a good deal, and i wanted to know how the poor little fellow was so much that i would have gone to see if i had not been so far away.
but it would be rather silly to hurry away twenty miles to look after one fly: so i finished my visit, and then went back to my room, hoping to find buzz alive and well in spite of the cold.
alas, no!
my little friend was gone.
there he lay on his back on the mantel-piece, his legs meekly folded, and his wings stiff and still.
he had evidently gone to the warm place, and been surprised when the heat died out and left him to freeze.
my poor little buzz had sung his last song, danced his last dance, and gone where the good flies go.
i was very sorry and buried him among the ivy roots, where the moss lay green above him, the sun shone warmly on him, and the bitter cold could never come.
i miss him very much; when i sit writing, i miss his cheerful voice and busy wings; at meals there is no tiny little body to drink up spilt drops and eat the crumbs: in the evenings, when i sit alone, i want him more than ever, and every day, as i water my plants, i say, softly, -- "grow green, ivy, lie lightly, moss, shine warmly, sun, and make his last bed pleasant to my little friend."
the children's joke.
' "you ca n't do this" and "you must n't do that," from morning to night.
try it yourself and see how you'd like it," muttered harry, as he flung down his hat in sulky obedience to his father's command to give up a swim in the river and keep himself cool with a book that warm summer evening.
"of course i should like to mind my parents.
good children always do," began mr. fairbairn, entirely forgetting the pranks of his boyhood, as people are apt to.
"glad i did n't know you then.
must have been a regular prig," growled harry under his breath.
"silence, sir!
go to your room, and do n't let me see you till tea-time.
you must be taught respect as well as obedience," and mr. fairbairn gave the table a rap that caused his son to retire precipitately.
on the stairs he met his sister kitty looking as cross as himself.
"what's the matter with you?"
he asked, pausing a minute, for misery loves company.
"mamma will make me dress up in a stiff clean frock, and have my hair curled over again just because some one may come.
i want to play in the garden, and i ca n't all fussed up this way.
i do hate company and clothes and manners, do n't you?"
answered kitty, with a spiteful pull at her sash."
i hate being ordered round everlastingly, and badgered from morning till night.
i'd just like to be let alone," and harry went on his way to captivity with a grim shake of the head and a very strong desire to run away from home altogether.
"so would i, mamma is so fussy.
i never have any peace of my life," sighed kitty, feeling that her lot was a hard one.
the martyr in brown linen went up, and the other martyr in white cambric went down, both looking as they felt, rebellious and unhappy.
yet a stranger seeing them and their home would have thought they had everything heart could desire.
all the comforts that money could buy, and all the beauty that taste could give seemed gathered round them.
papa and mamma loved the two little people dearly, and no real care or sorrow came to trouble the lives that would have been all sunshine but for one thing.
with the best intentions in the world, mr. and mrs. fairbairn were spoiling their children by constant fault-finding, too many rules and too little sympathy with the active young souls and bodies under their care.
as harry said, they were ordered about, corrected and fussed over from morning till night, and were getting so tired of it that the most desperate ideas began to enter their heads.
now, in the house was a quiet old maiden aunt, who saw the mischief brewing, and tried to cure it by suggesting more liberty and less "nagging," as the boys call it.
but mr. and mrs. f. always silenced her by saying, -- "my dear betsey, you never had a family, so how can you know anything about the proper management of children?"
they quite forgot that sister betsey had brought up a flock of motherless brothers and sisters, and done it wisely and well, though she never got any thanks or praise for it, and never expected any for doing her duty faithfully.
if it had not been for aunty, harry and kitty would have long ago carried out their favorite plan, and have run away together, like roland and maybird.
she kept them from this foolish prank by all sorts of unsuspected means, and was their refuge in troublous times.
for all her quiet ways, aunty was full of fun as well as sympathy and patience, and she smoothed the thorny road to virtue with the innocent and kindly little arts that make some people as useful and beloved as good fairy godmothers were once upon a time.
as they sat at tea that evening papa and mamma were most affable and lively; but the children's spirits were depressed by a long day of restraint, and they sat like well-bred mutes, languidly eating their supper.
"it's the warm weather.
they need something bracing.
i'll give them a dose of iron mixture to-morrow," said mamma.
"i've taken enough now to make a cooking-stove," groaned kitty, who hated being dosed.
"if you'd let me go swimming every night i'd be all right," added harry.
"not another word on that point.
i will not let you do it, for you will get drowned as sure as you try," said mamma, who was so timid she had panics the minute her boy was out of sight.
"aunt betsey let her boys go, and they never came to grief," began harry.
"aunt betsey's ideas and mine differ.
children are not brought up now as they were in her day," answered mamma with a superior air."
i just wish they were.
jolly good times her boys had."
"yes, and girls too, playing anything they liked, and not rigged up and plagued with company," cried kitty, with sudden interest.
"what do you mean by that?"
asked papa good-naturedly; for somehow his youth returned to him for a minute, and seemed very pleasant.
the children could not explain very well, but harry said slowly, -- "if you were to be in our places for a day you'd see what we mean."
"would n't it be worth your while to try the experiment?"
said aunt betsey, with a smile.
papa and mamma laughed at the idea, but looked sober when aunty added, -- "why not put yourselves in their places for a day and see how you like it?
i think you would understand the case better than any one could describe it, and perhaps do both yourselves and the children a lasting service."
"upon my word, that's a droll idea!
what do you say to it, mamma?"
and papa looked much amused."
i am willing to try it if you are, just for the fun of the thing, but i do n't think it will do any good;" and mamma shook her head as if aunt betsey's plan was a wild one.
the children sat quiet, speechless with surprise at this singular proposal, but as its full richness dawned upon them, they skipped in their chairs and clapped their hands delightedly.
"how do you propose to carry out this new educational frolic?"
asked papa, beginning to feel some curiosity as to the part he was to play.
"merely let the children do as they like for one day and have full power over you.
let them plan your duties and pleasures, order your food, fix your hours, and punish or reward you as they think proper.
you must promise entire obedience, and keep the agreement till night."
"good!
good!
oh, wo n't it be fun!"
cried harry and kitty, applauding enthusiastically; while papa and mamma looked rather sober as the plan was developed before them.
"to-morrow is a holiday for us all, and we might celebrate it by this funny experiment.
it will amuse us and do no harm, at any rate," added aunty, quite in love with her new scheme.
"very well, we will.
come, mamma, let us promise, and see what these rogues will do for us.
playing father and mother is no joke, mind you; but you will have an easier time of it than we do, for we shall behave ourselves," said papa, with a virtuous expression.
mamma agreed, and the supper ended merrily, for every one was full of curiosity as to the success of the new play.
harry and kitty went to bed early, that they might be ready for the exciting labors of the next day.
aunt betsey paid each a short visit before they slept, and it is supposed that she laid out the order of performances, and told each what to do; for the little people would never have thought of so many sly things if left to themselves.
at seven the next morning, as mamma was in her dressing-room, just putting on her cool, easy wrapper, in came kitty with a solemn face, though her eyes danced with fun, as she said, -- "careless, untidy girl!
put on a clean dress, do up your hair properly, and go and practise half an hour before breakfast."
at first mamma looked as if inclined to refuse, but kitty was firm; and, with a sigh, mamma rustled into a stiff, scratchy, french print, took her hair out of the comfortable net, and braided it carefully up; then, instead of reading in her arm-chair, she was led to the parlor and set to learning a hard piece of music.
"ca n't i have my early cup of tea and my roll?"
she asked.
"eating between meals is a very bad habit, and i ca n't allow it," said kitty, in the tone her mother often used to her."
i shall have a mug of new milk and a roll, because grown people need more nourishment than children;" and sitting down, she ate her early lunch with a relish, while poor mamma played away, feeling quite out of tune herself.
harry found papa enjoying the last delightful doze that makes bed so fascinating of a morning.
as if half afraid to try the experiment, the boy slowly approached and gave the sleeper a sudden, hard shake, saying briskly, -- "come, come, come, lazy-bones!
get up, get up!"
papa started as if an earthquake had roused him, and stared at harry, astonished for a minute, then he remembered, and upset harry's gravity by whining out, -- "come, you let me alone.
it is n't time yet, and i am so tired."
harry took the joke, and assuming the stern air of his father on such occasions, said impressively, -- "you have been called, and now if you are not down in fifteen minutes you wo n't have any breakfast.
not a morsel, sir, not a morsel;" and, coolly pocketing his father's watch, he retired, to giggle all the way downstairs.
when the breakfast bell rang, mamma hurried into the dining-room, longing for her tea.
but kitty sat behind the urn, and said gravely, -- "go back, and enter the room properly.
will you never learn to behave like a lady?"
mamma looked impatient at the delay, and having re-entered in her most elegant manner, sat down, and passed her plate for fresh trout and muffins.
"no fish or hot bread for you, my dear.
eat your good oatmeal porridge and milk; that is the proper food for children."
"ca n't i have some tea?"
cried mamma, in despair, for without it she felt quite lost.
"certainly not.
i never was allowed tea when a little girl, and could n't think of giving it to you," said kitty, filling a large cup for herself, and sipping the forbidden draught with a relish.
poor mamma quite groaned at this hard fate, but meekly obeyed, and ate the detested porridge, understanding kitty's dislike to it at last.
harry, sitting in his father's chair, read the paper, and ate everything he could lay his hands on, with a funny assumption of his father's morning manner.
aunt betsey looked on much amused, and now and then nodded to the children as if she thought things were going nicely.
breakfast was half over when papa came in, and was about to take harry's place when his son said, trying vainly to look grave as he showed the watch, -- "what did i tell you, sir?
you are late again, sir.
no breakfast, sir.
i'm sorry, but this habit must be broken up.
not a word; it's your own fault, and you must bear the penalty."
"come, now, that's hard on a fellow!
i'm awful hungry.
ca n't i have just a bite of something?"
asked papa, quite taken aback at this stern decree."
i said not a morsel, and i shall keep my word.
go to your morning duties and let this be a lesson to you."
papa cast a look at aunt betsey, that was both comic and pathetic, and departed without a word; but he felt a sudden sympathy with his son, who had often been sent fasting from the table for some small offence.
now it was that he appreciated aunty's kind heart, and felt quite fond of her, for in a few minutes she came to him, as he raked the gravel walk -lrb- harry's duty every day -rrb-, and slipping a nice, warm, well-buttered muffin into his hand, said, in her motherly way, -- "my dear, do try and please your father.
he is right about late rising, but i ca n't bear to see you starve."
"betsey, you are an angel!"
and turning his back to the house, papa bolted the muffin with grateful rapidity, inquiring with a laugh, "do you think those rogues will keep it up in this vigorous style all day?'"
i trust so; it is n't a bit overdone.
hope you like it!"
and aunt betsey walked away, looking as if she enjoyed it extremely.
"now put on your hat and draw baby up and down the avenue for half an hour.
do n't go on the grass, or you will wet your feet; and do n't play with baby, i want her to go to sleep; and do n't talk to papa, or he will neglect his work," said kitty, as they rose from table.
now, it was a warm morning and baby was heavy and the avenue was dull, and mamma much preferred to stay in the house and sew the trimming on to a new and pretty dress.
"must i really?
kitty you are a hard-hearted mamma to make me do it," and mrs. fairbairn hoped her play-parent would relent.
but she did not, and only answered with a meaning look."
i have to do it every day, and you do n't let me off."
mamma said no more, but put on her hat and trundled away with fretful baby, thinking to find her fellow-sufferer and have a laugh over the joke.
she was disappointed, however, for harry called papa away to weed the lettuce-bed, and then shut him up in the study to get his lessons, while he mounted the pony and trotted away to town to buy a new fishing-rod and otherwise enjoy himself.
when mamma came in, hot and tired, she was met by kitty with a bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other.
"here is your iron mixture, dear.
now take it like a good girl.'"
i wo n't!"
and mamma looked quite stubborn.
"then aunty will hold your hands and i shall make you."
"but i do n't like it; i do n't need it," cried mamma.
"neither do i, but you give it to me all the same.
i'm sure you need strengthening more than i do, you have so many "trials,"" and kitty looked very sly as she quoted one of the words often on her mother's lips.
"you'd better mind, carrie; it ca n't hurt you, and you know you promised entire obedience.
set a good example," said aunty.
"but i never thought these little chits would do so well.
ugh, how disagreeable it is!"
and mamma took her dose with a wry face, feeling that aunt betsey was siding with the wrong party.
"now sit down and hem these towels till dinner-time.
i have so much to do i do n't know which way to turn," continued kitty, much elated with her success.
rest of any sort was welcome, so mamma sewed busily till callers came.
they happened to be some little friends of kitty's, and she went to them in the parlor, telling mamma to go up to nurse and have her hair brushed and her dress changed, and then come and see the guests.
while she was away kitty told the girls the joke they were having, and begged them to help her carry it out.
they agreed, being ready for fun and not at all afraid of mrs. fairbairn.
so when she came in they all began to kiss and cuddle and praise and pass her round as if she was a doll, to her great discomfort and the great amusement of the little girls.
while this was going on in the drawing-room, harry was tutoring his father in the study, and putting that poor gentleman through a course of questions that nearly drove him distracted; for harry got out the hardest books he could find, and selected the most puzzling subjects.
a dusty old history was rummaged out also, and classical researches followed, in which papa's memory played him false more than once, calling forth rebukes from his severe young tutor.
but he came to open disgrace over his mathematics, for he had no head for figures, and, not being a business man, had not troubled himself about the matter; so harry, who was in fine practice, utterly routed him in mental arithmetic by giving him regular puzzlers, and when he got stuck offered no help, but shook his head and called him a stupid fellow.
the dinner-bell released the exhausted student, and he gladly took his son's place, looking as if he had been hard at work.
he was faint with hunger, but was helped last, being "only a boy," and then checked every five minutes for eating too fast.
mamma was very meek, and only looked wistfully at the pie when told in her own words that pastry was bad for children.
any attempts at conversation were promptly quenched by the worn-out old saying, "children should be seen, not heard," while harry and kitty chattered all dinner-time, and enjoyed it to their hearts" content, especially the frequent pecks at their great children, who, to be even with them, imitated all their tricks as well as they could.
"do n't whistle at table, papa;" "keep your hands still mamma;" "wait till you are helped, sir;" "tuck your napkin well in, and do n't spill your soup, caroline."
aunt betsey laughed till her eyes were full, and they had a jolly time, though the little people had the best of it, for the others obeyed them in spite of their dislike to the new rules.
"now you may play for two hours," was the gracious order issued as they rose from table.
mamma fell upon a sofa exhausted, and papa hurried to read his paper in the shady garden.
usually these hours of apparent freedom were spoilt by constant calls, -- not to run, not to play this or that, or frequent calls to do errands.
the children had mercy, however, and left them in peace; which was a wise move on the whole, for the poor souls found rest so agreeable they privately resolved to let the children alone in their play-hours.
"can i go over and see mr. hammond?"
asked papa, wishing to use up the last half-hour of his time by a neighbourly call.
"no; i do n't like tommy hammond, so i do n't wish you to play with his father," said harry, with a sly twinkle of the eye, as he turned the tables on his papa.
mr. fairbairn gave a low whistle and retired to the barn, where harry followed him, and ordered the man to harness up old bill.
"going to drive, sir?"
asked papa, respectfully.
"do n't ask questions," was all the answer he got.
old bill was put into the best buggy and driven to the hall door.
papa followed, and mamma sprang up from her nap, ready for her afternoon drive.
"ca n't i go?"
she asked, as kitty came down in her new hat and gloves.
"no; there is n't room."
"why not have the carryall, and let us go, too, we like it so much," said papa, in the pleading tone harry often used.
kitty was about to consent, for she loved mamma, and found it hard to cross her so.
but harry was made of sterner stuff; his wrongs still burned within him, and he said impatiently -- "we ca n't be troubled with you.
the buggy is nicest and lightest, and we want to talk over our affairs.
you, my son, can help john turn the hay on the lawn, and caroline can amuse baby, or help jane with the preserves.
little girls should be domestic."
"oh, thunder!"
growled papa.
"aunt betsey taught you that speech, you saucy boy," cried mamma, as the children drove off in high glee, leaving their parents to the distasteful tasks set them.
mrs. fairbairn wanted to read, but baby was fretful, and there was no kitty to turn him over to, so she spent her afternoon amusing the small tyrant, while papa made hay in the sun and did n't like it.
just at tea-time the children came home, full of the charms of their drive, but did not take the trouble to tell much about it to the stay-at-home people.
bread and milk was all they allowed their victims, while they revelled in marmalade and cake, fruit and tea."
i expect company this evening, but i do n't wish you to sit up, caroline; you are too young, and late hours are bad for your eyes.
go to bed, and do n't forget to brush your hair and teeth well, five minutes for each; cold cream your hands, fold your ribbons, hang up your clothes, put out your boots to be cleaned, and put in the mosquito bars; i will come and take away the light when i am dressed."
kitty delivered this dread command with effect, for she had heard and cried over it too often not to have it quite by heart.
"but i ca n't go to bed at half-past seven o'clock of a summer night!
i'm not sleepy, and this is just the pleasantest time of the whole day," said mamma, thinking her bargain a hard one.
"go up directly, my daughter, and do n't discuss the matter; i know what is best for you," and kitty sent social, wide-awake mamma to bed, there to lie thinking soberly till mrs. kit came for the lamp.
"have you had a happy day, love?"
she asked, bending over the pillow, as her mother used to do.
"no, ma'am."
"then it was your own fault, my child.
obey your parents in all things, and you will be both good and happy."
"that depends" -- began mamma, but stopped short, remembering that to-morrow she would be on the other side, and anything she might say now would be quoted against her.
but kitty understood, and her heart melted as she hugged her mother and said in her own caressing way -- "poor little mamma!
did she have a hard time?
and did n't she like being a good girl and minding her parents?"
mamma laughed also, and held kitty close, but all she said was -- "good-night, dear; do n't be troubled: it will be all right to-morrow.'"
i hope so," and with a hearty kiss, kitty went thoughtfully downstairs to meet several little friends whom she had asked to spend the evening with her.
as the ladies left the room, papa leaned back and prepared to smoke a cigar, feeling that he needed the comfort of it after this trying day.
but harry was down upon him at once."
a very bad habit -- ca n't allow it.
throw that dirty thing away, and go and get your latin lesson for to-morrow.
the study is quiet, and we want this room."
"but i am tired.
i ca n't study at night.
let me off till to-morrow, please, sir!"
begged papa, who had not looked at latin since he left school.
"not a word, sir!
i shall listen to no excuses, and shall not let you neglect your education on any account," and harry slapped the table à la papa in the most impressive manner.
mr. fairbairn went away into the dull study and made believe do his lesson, but he really smoked and meditated.
the young folks had a grand revel, and kept it up till ten o'clock, while mamma lay awake, longing to go down and see what they were about, and papa shortly fell asleep, quite exhausted by the society of a latin grammar.
"idle boy, is this the way you study?"
said harry, audaciously tweaking him by the ear.
"no, it's the way you do;" and feeling that his day of bondage was over, papa cast off his allegiance, tucked a child under each arm, and marched upstairs with them, kicking and screaming.
setting them down at the nursery door, he said, shaking his finger at them in an awful manner, -- "wait a bit, you rascals, and see what you will get to-morrow."
with this dark threat he vanished into his own room, and a minute after a great burst of laughter set their fears at rest.
"it was a fair bargain, so i'm not afraid," said harry stoutly.
"he kissed us good-night though he did glower at us, so i guess it was only fun," added kitty.
"has n't it been a funny day?"
asked harry.
"do n't think i quite like it, everything is so turned round," said kitty.
"guess they did n't like it very well.
hear'em talking in there;" and harry held up his finger, for a steady murmur of conversation had followed the laughter in papa and mamma's room."
i wonder if our joke will do any good?"
said kitty thoughtfully.
"wait and see," answered aunt betsey, popping her night-capped head out of her room with a nod and a smile that sent them to bed full of hope for the future.
dandelion.
down by the sea lived ben the fisherman, with his wife, and little son, who was called dandelion, because he wore yellow pinafores, and had curly, yellow hair, that covered his head with a golden fuzz.
a very happy family, for ben was kind and industrious, hetty, his wife, a cheerful, busy creature, and dandelion the jolliest three-year-old baby who ever made sand-pies and paddled on the beach.
but one day a great trouble came to them.
ben and his fellow-fishermen sailed blithely away as usual, and hetty watched the fleet of white-winged boats out of the bay, thinking how pretty they looked with the sunshine on them; while dandelion stood clapping his chubby hands, and saying, as he always did, "daddy tummin" soon."
but daddy did not come soon that time; for a great storm arose, and when some of the boats came scudding home at nightfall, ben's was not among them.
all night the gale raged, and in the morning, ben's boat lay empty and broken on the shore.
his mates shook their heads when they saw the wreck, and drew their rough hands over their eyes; for ben was a good seaman, and they knew he never would desert his boat alive.
they looked for him far and wide, but could hear nothing of him, and felt sure that he had perished in the storm.
they tried to comfort poor hetty, but she would not be comforted.
her heart seemed broken; and if it had not been for her baby, her neighbours feared that she would have gone to join ben in his grave under the sea.
dandelion did n't understand why every one was so sad, and why his father stayed away so long; but he never lost his cheerfulness, never gave up hoping, or stopped saying, with a contented smile, "daddy tummin" soon."
the sunshiny little face was hetty's only comfort.
the sight of the fuzzy yellow head, bobbing round the house, alone made it endurable; and the touch of the loving baby hands kept her from the despair which made her long to end her sorrow in the sea.
people do n't believe in fairies now-a-days; nevertheless, good spirits still exist, and help us in our times of trouble, better even than the little people we used to read about.
one of these household spirits is called love, and it took the shape of dandelion to comfort poor hetty.
another is called labor: a beautiful, happy spirit this is, and it did its part so well that there was little time for bitter thoughts or vain regrets; for hetty's spinning-wheel must go, in order to earn bread for dandelion, whose mouth was always ready for food, like a hungry bird's.
busily hummed the wheel: and, as it flew, it seemed to catch an echo of the baby's cheerful song, saying, over and over, "daddy tummin" soon," till hetty stopped crying as she worked, and listened to the cheerful whirr.
"yes, i shall see my good ben again, if i wait patiently.
baby takes comfort in saying that, and i will, too; though the poor dear will get tired of it soon," she said.
but dandelion did n't get tired.
he firmly believed what he said, and nothing could change his mind.
he had been much troubled at seeing the boat laid up on the beach all broken and dismantled, but his little mind could n't take in the idea of shipwreck and death; so, after thinking it over, he decided that daddy was waiting somewhere for a new boat to be sent to bring him home.
this idea was so strong that the child gathered together his store of toy-boats, -- for he had many, as they were his favourite plaything, -- and launched them, one after another, telling them to find his father, and bring him home.
as dandelion was not allowed to play on the beach, except at low tide, the little boats sailed safely away on the receding waves, and the child was sure that some of them would get safely into the distant port where daddy was waiting.
all the boats were launched at last, all sailed bravely away; but none came back, and little dandy was much disappointed.
he babbled about it to himself; told the peeps and the horse-shoes, the snails and the lobsters, of his trouble; begged the gulls to fly away and find daddy; and every windy night when the sea dashed on the shore and the shutters rattled, he would want the lamp put in the window, as it used to be when they expected ben, and tried to make home look cheerful, even before he got there.
hetty used to humour the child, though it made her heart ache to know that the light shone in vain.
at such times dandy would prance about the room in his little shirt, and talk about daddy as happily as if long months had not passed without bringing him back.
when fairly in his big, old-fashioned cradle, the boy would lie, looking more like a dandelion than ever, in his yellow flannel night-gown, playing with his toes, or rocking himself to and fro, calling the cradle his boat, and blithely telling his mother that he was sailing "far way to find daddy."
when tired of play, he lay still and asked her to sing to him.
she had no heart for the gay old sea-songs she used to sing for lullabies; so she sung hymns in her soft, motherly voice, till the blue eyes closed and the golden head lay still, looking so pretty, with the circle of bright hair above the rosy face.
"my little saint," hetty called him; and though she often wept sadly as she watched him, the bitterness of her grief passed away, and a patient hope came to her; for the child's firm faith impressed her deeply, the pious music of the sweet old hymns comforted her sore heart, and daily labor kept her cheerful in spite of herself.
the neighbours wondered at the change that came over her, but she could not explain it; and no one knew that the three good spirits called love, labor, and hope, were working their pleasant miracles.
six long months went by, and no one ever thought of seeing ben again, -- no one but his little son, who still watched for him here, and his wife, who waited to meet him hereafter.
one bright spring day something happened.
the house was as tidy as ever; the wheel hummed briskly as hetty sung softly to herself with a cheerful face, though there were white hairs among the brown, and her eyes had a thoughtful, absent look at times.
dandelion, more chubby and cheery than ever, sat at her feet, with the sunshine making a golden glory of his yellow hair, as he tried his new boat in the tub of water his mother kept for her little sailor, or tugged away with his fat fingers at a big needle which he was trying to pull through a bit of cloth intended for a sail.
the faithful little soul had not forgotten his father, but had come to the conclusion that the reason his boats never prospered was because they had n't large enough sails; so he was intent on rigging a new boat lately given him, with a sail that could not fail to waft ben safely home.
with his mouth puckered up, his downy eyebrows knit, and both hands pulling at the big needle, he was so wrapped in his work that he did not mind the stopping of the wheel when hetty fell into a reverie, thinking of the happy time when she and ben should meet again.
sitting so, neither heard a step come softly over the sand; neither saw an eager, brown face peer in at the door; and neither knew for a minute, that ben was watching them, with a love and longing in his heart that made him tremble like a woman.
dandelion saw him first; for, as he pulled the thread through with a triumphant jerk, the small sailmaker lost his balance, tumbled over, and lay staring up at the tall man with his blue eyes so wide open, they looked as if they would never shut again.
all of a sudden, he shouted, with a joyful shout, "daddy's tummin"!"
and the next instant, vanished, ship and all, in the arms of the man who wore the rough jacket.
over went the spinning-wheel, as hetty vanished likewise; and for a time there was nothing but sobbing and kissing, clinging, and thanking heaven for its kindness to them.
when they grew quieter, and ben got into his old chair, with his wife on one knee and his boy on the other, he told them how he was wrecked in the gale, picked up by an outward-bound ship, and only able to get back after months of sickness and delay.
"my boaty fetched him," said dandelion, feeling that every thing had turned out just as he expected.
"so it did, my precious; leastways, your faith helped, i have n't a doubt," cried hetty, hugging the curly headed prophet close, as she told ben all that had happened.
ben did n't say much, but a few great tears rolled down the rough blue jacket, as he looked from the queer sail with its two big stitches to the little son, whose love, he firmly believed, had kept him safe through many dangers and brought him home at last.
when the fine new boat was built, no one thought it strange that ben named it "dandelion;" no one laughed at the little sail which always hung over the fire-place in the small house: and long years after, when ben was an old man, and sat by the door with his grand-children on his knee, the story which always pleased them best was that which ended with the funny words, "daddy tummin" soon."
madam cluck and her family.
there never was a prouder mamma than madam cluck when she led forth her family of eight downy little chicks.
chanticleer, strut, snowball, speckle, peep, peck, downy, and blot were their names; and no sooner were they out of the shell than they began to chirp and scratch as gaily as if the big world in which they suddenly found themselves was made for their especial benefit.
it was a fine brood; but poor madam cluck had bad luck with her chicks, for they were her first, and she did n't know how to manage them.
old aunt cockletop told her that she did n't, and predicted that "those poor dears would come to bad ends."
aunt cockletop was right, as you will see, when i have told the sad history of this unfortunate family.
the tragedy began with chanty, who was the boldest little cockadoodle who ever tried to crow.
before he had a feather to his bit of a tail, chanty began to fight, and soon was known as the most quarrelsome chick in the farm-yard.
having pecked his brothers and sisters, he tried to do the same to his playmates, the ducklings, goslings, and young turkeys, and was so disagreeable that all the fowls hated him.
one day, a pair of bantams arrived, -- pretty little white birds, with red crests and nice yellow feet.
chanty thought he could beat mr. bantam easily, he was so small, and invited him to fight.
mr. b. declined.
then chanty called him a coward, and gave mrs. b. a peck, which so enraged her spouse that he flew at chanty like a gamecock, and a dreadful fight followed, which ended in chanty's utter defeat, for he died from his wounds.
downy and snowball soon followed; for the two sweet little things would swing on the burdock-leaves that grew over the brook.
sitting side by side, the plump sisters were placidly swaying up and down over the clear brown water rippling below, when -- ah!
sad to relate -- the stem broke, and down went leaf, chickens and all, to a watery death.
"i'm the most unlucky hen ever hatched!"
groaned poor madam cluck; and it did seem so, for the very next week, speckle, the best and prettiest of the brood, went to walk with aunt cockletop, "grasshoppering" they called it, in the great field across the road.
what a nice time speckle did have, to be sure; for the grasshoppers were lively and fat, and aunt was in an unusually amiable mood.
"never run away from anything, but face danger and conquer it, like a brave chick," said the old biddy, as she went clucking through the grass, with her gray turban wagging in the wind.
speckle had hopped away from a toad with a startled chirp, which caused aunt to utter that remark.
the words had hardly left her beak, when a shadow above made her look up, give one loud croak of alarm, and then scuttle away, as fast as legs and wings could carry her.
little speckle, remembering the advice, and unconscious of the danger, stood her ground as a great hawk came circling nearer and nearer, till, with a sudden dart he pounced on the poor chicken, and bore it away chirping dismally, "aunty told me not to run.
oh, dear!
oh, dear!
what shall i do?"
it was a dreadful blow to mrs. cluck; and aunt cockletop did n't show herself for a whole day after that story was known, for every fowl in the yard twitted her with the difference between her preaching and her practice.
strut, the other son, was the vainest chick ever seen; and the great aim of his life was to crow louder than any other cock in the neighbourhood.
he was at it from morning till night, and everyone was tired to death of hearing his shrill, small voice making funny attempts to produce hoarse little crows, as he sat on the wall and stretched his yellow neck, till his throat quite ached with the effort.
"ah!
if i could only fly to the highest beam in the barn, and give a splendid crow that everyone could hear, i should be perfectly happy," said this silly little fowl, as he stared up at the loft where the old cock often sat.
so he tried every day to fly and crow, and at last managed to get up; then how he did strut and rustle his feathers, while his playmates sat below and watched him.
"you'll fall and get hurt," said his sister blot.
"hold your tongue, you ugly little thing, and do n't talk to me.
i'm going to crow, and ca n't be interrupted by any silly bit of a hen.
be quiet, down there, and hear if i ca n't do it as well as daddy."
the chicks stopped scratching and peeping, and sat in a row to hear strut crow.
perching himself on the beam, he tried his best, but only a droll "cock-a-doodle-doo" came of it, and all the chicks laughed.
that made strut mad, and he resolved to crow, even if he killed himself doing it.
he gave an angry cluck, flapped his wings, and tried again.
alas, alas, for poor strut!
he leaned so far forward in his frantic effort to get a big crow out, that he toppled over and fell bump on the hard barn-floor, killing himself instantly.
for some time after this, mrs. cluck kept her three remaining little ones close to her side, watching over them with maternal care, till they were heartily tired of her anxious cluckings.
peep and peck were always together, being very fond of one another.
peep was a most inquisitive chicken, poking her head into every nook and corner, and never satisfied till she had seen all there was to see.
peck was a glutton, eating everything she could find, and often making herself ill by gobbling too fast, and forgetting to eat a little gravel to help digest her food.
"do n't go out of the barn, children.
i'm going to lay an egg, and ca n't look after you just now," said their mother one day.
"yes, ma'am," chirped the chickens; and then as she went rustling into the hay-mow, they began to run about and enjoy themselves with all their might.
peep found a little hole into the meal-room, and slipped in, full of joy at the sight of the bags, boxes, and bins.
"i'll eat all i want, and then i'll call peck," she said; and having taken a taste of every thing, she was about to leave, when she heard the stableman coming, and in her fright could n't find the hole, so flew into the meal-bin and hid herself.
sam never saw her, but shut down the cover of the bin as he passed, and left poor peep to die.
no one knew what had become of her till some days later, when she was found dead in the meal, with her poor little claws sticking straight up as if imploring help.
peck meanwhile got into mischief also; for, in her hunt for something good to eat, she strayed into the sheep-shed, and finding some salt, ate as much as she liked, not knowing that salt is bad for hens.
having taken all she wanted, she ran back to the barn, and was innocently catching gnats when her mamma came out of the hay-mow with a loud.
"cut-cut-cut-ca-dar-cut!"
"where is peep?"
asked mrs. cluck.
"do n't know, ma.
she" -- there peck stopped suddenly, rolled up her eyes, and began to stagger about as if she was tipsy.
"mercy on us!
what's the matter with the chick?"
cried mrs. cluck, in great alarm.
"fits, ma'am," answered doctor drake, who just then waddled by.
"oh!
what can i do?"
screamed the distracted hen.
"nothing, ma'am; it's fatal."
and the doctor waddled on to visit dame partlet's son, who was ill of the pip.
"my child, my child!
do n't flap and stagger so!
let me hold you!
taste this mint-leaf!
have a drop of water!
what shall i do?"
as poor mrs. cluck sighed and sobbed, her unhappy child went scuffling about on her back, gasping and rolling up her eyes in great anguish, for she had eaten too much of the fatal salt, and there was no help for her.
when all was over they buried the dead chicken under a currant bush, covered the little grave with chickweed, and the bereaved parent wore a black string round her leg for a month.
blot, "the last of that bright band," needed no mourning for she was as black as a crow.
this was the reason why her mother never had loved her as much as she did the others, who were all white, gray, or yellow.
poor little blot had been much neglected by every one; but now her lonely mamma discovered how good and affectionate a chicken she was, for blot was a great comfort to her, never running away or disobeying in any way, but always close to her side, ready to creep under her wing, or bring her a plump bug when the poor biddy's appetite failed her.
they were very happy together till thanksgiving drew near, when a dreadful pestilence seemed to sweep through the farm-yard; for turkeys, hens, ducks, and geese fell a prey to it, and were seen by their surviving relatives featherless, pale, and stiff, borne away to some unknown place whence no fowl returned.
blot was waked one night by a great cackling and fluttering in the hen-house, and peeping down from her perch saw a great hand glide along the roost, clutch her beloved mother by the leg, and pull her off, screaming dolefully, "good-by, good-by, my darling child!"
aunt cockletop pecked and croaked fiercely; but, tough as she was, the old biddy did not escape, and many another amiable hen and gallant cockadoodle fell a victim to that mysterious hand.
in the morning few remained, and blot felt that she was a forlorn orphan, a thought which caused her to sit with her head under her wing for several hours, brooding over her sad lot, and longing to join her family in some safe and happy land, where fowls live in peace.
she had her wish very soon, for one day, when the first snowflakes began to flutter out of the cold gray sky, blot saw a little kitten mewing pitifully as it sat under the fence.
"what is the matter, dear?"
asked kind blot.
"i'm lost, and i ca n't find my way home," answered the kitten, shivering with cold."
i live at the red farm-house over the hill, only i do n't know which road to take."
"i'll show you.
come at once, for night is coming on, and the snow will soon be too deep for us," said blot.
so away they went, as fast as their small legs could carry them; but it was a long way, and dusk came on before the red farm-house appeared.
"now i'm safe; thank you very much.
wo n't you come in, and stay all night?
my mother will be glad to see you," said the kit rubbing her soft white face against blot's little black breast.
"it's against the rule to stay out all night, and i promised to be in early; so, good-by, dear."
and off trotted blot along the snowy road, hoping to get home before the hen-house door was shut.
faster and faster fell the snow darker and darker grew the night, and colder and colder became poor blot's little feet as she waded through the drifts.
the firelight was shining out into the gloom, as the half-frozen chicken came into the yard, to find all doors shut, and no shelter left for her but the bough of a leafless tree.
too stiff and weak to fly up, she crept as close as possible to the bright glow which shone across the door-step, and with a shiver put her little head under her wing, trying to forget hunger, weariness, and the bitter cold, and wait patiently for morning.
but when morning came, little blot lay frozen stiff under a coverlet of snow: and the tender-hearted children sighed as they dug a grave for the last of the unfortunate family of the clucks.
a curious call.
i have often wondered what the various statues standing about the city think of all day, and what criticisms they would make upon us and our doings, if they could speak.
i frequently stop and stare at them, wondering if they do n't feel lonely; if they would n't be glad of a nod as we go by; and i always long to offer my umbrella to shield their uncovered heads on a rainy day, especially to good ben franklin, when the snow lies white on his benevolent forehead.
i was always fond of this old gentleman; and one of my favourite stories when a little girl, was that of his early life, and the time when he was so poor he walked about philadelphia with a roll of bread under each arm, eating a third as he went.
i never pass without giving him a respectful look, and wishing he could know how grateful i am for all he had done in the printing line; for, without types and presses, where would the books be?
well, i never imagined that he understood why the tall woman in the big bonnet stared at him; but he did, and he liked it, and managed to let me know it in a very curious manner, as you shall hear.
as i look out, the first thing i see is the great gilt eagle on the city-hall dome.
there he sits, with open wings, all day long, looking down on the people, who must appear like ants scampering busily to and fro about an ant-hill.
the sun shines on him splendidly in the morning; the gay flag waves and rustles in the wind above him sometimes; and the moonlight turns him to silver when she comes glittering up the sky.
when it rains he never shakes his feathers; snow beats on him without disturbing his stately repose; and he never puts his head under his wing at night, but keeps guard in darkness as in day, like a faithful sentinel.
i like the big, lonely bird, call him my particular fowl, and often wish he'd turn his head and speak to me.
one night he did actually do it, or seemed to; for i've never been able to decide whether i dreamed what i'm going to tell you, or whether it really happened.
it was a stormy night!
and, as i drew down my curtain, i said to myself, after peering through the driving snow to catch a glimpse of my neighbour, "poor goldy!
he'll have a rough time of it.
i hope this northeaster wo n't blow him off his perch."
then i sat down by my fire, took my knitting, and began to meditate.
i'm sure i did n't fall asleep; but i ca n't prove it, so we'll say no more about it.
all at once there came a tap at my door, as i thought; and i said "come in," just as mr. poe did when that unpleasant raven paid him a call.
no one came, so i went to see who it was.
not a sign of a human soul in the long hall, only little jessie, the poodle, asleep on her mat.
down i sat; but in a minute the tap came again; this time so loud that i knew it was at the window, and went to open it, thinking that one of my doves wanted to come in perhaps.
up went the sash, and in bounced something so big and so bright that it dazzled and scared me.
"do n't be frightened, ma'am; it's only me," said a hoarse voice.
so i collected my wits, rubbed my eyes, and looked at my visitor.
it was the gold eagle off the city hall!
i do n't expect to be believed; but i wish you'd been here to see, for i give you my word, it was a sight to behold.
how he ever got in at such a small window i ca n't tell; but there he was, strutting majestically up and down the room, his golden plumage rustling, and his keen eyes flashing as he walked.
i really did n't know what to do.
i could n't imagine what he came for; i had my doubts about the propriety of offering him a chair; and he was so much bigger than i expected that i was afraid he might fly away with me, as the roc did with sindbad: so i did nothing but sidle to the door, ready to whisk out, if my strange guest appeared to be peckishly inclined.
my respectful silence seemed to suit him; for, after a turn or two, he paused, nodded gravely, and said affably, "good-evening, ma'am.
i stepped over to bring you old ben's respects, and to see how you were getting on."
"i'm very much obliged, sir.
may i inquire who mr. old-ben is?
i'm afraid i have n't the honour of his acquaintance."
"yes, you have; it's ben franklin, of city-hall yard.
you know him; and he wished me to thank you for your interest in him."
"dear me!
how very odd!
will you sit down, sir?"
"never sit!
i'll perch here;" and the great fowl took his accustomed attitude just in front of the fire, looking so very splendid that i could n't keep my eyes off of him.
"ah!
you often do that.
never mind; i rather like it," said the eagle, graciously, as he turned his brilliant eye upon me.
i was rather abashed; but being very curious, i ventured to ask a few questions, as he seemed in a friendly mood.
"being a woman, sir, i'm naturally of an inquiring turn; and i must confess that i have a strong desire to know how it happens that you take your walks abroad, when you are supposed to be permanently engaged at home?"
he shrugged his shoulders, and actually winked at me, as he replied, "that's all people know of what goes on under, or rather over, their noses.
bless you, ma'am!
i leave my roost every night, and enjoy myself in all sorts of larks.
excuse the expression; but, being ornithological, it is more proper for me than for some people who use it."
"what a gay old bird!"
thought i, feeling quite at home after that.
"please tell me what you do, when the shades of evening prevail, and you go out for a frolic?'"
i am a gentleman; therefore i behave myself," returned the eagle; with a stately air."
i must confess, i smoke a great deal: but that's not my fault, it's the fault of the chimneys.
they keep it up all day, and i have to take it; just as you poor ladies have to take cigar smoke, whether you like it or not.
my amusements are of a wholesome kind.
i usually begin by taking a long flight down the harbour, for a look at the lighthouses, the islands, the shipping, and the sea.
my friends, the gulls, bring their reports to me; for they are the harbour-police, and i take notes of their doings.
the school-ship is an object of interest to me, and i often perch on the mast-head, to see how the lads are getting on.
then i take a turn over the city, gossip with the weathercocks, pay my compliments to the bells, inspect the fire-alarm, and pick up information by listening at the telegraph wires.
people often talk about "a little bird" who spreads news; but they do n't know how that figure of speech originated.
it is the sparrows sitting on the wires, who receive the electric shock, and, being hollow-boned, the news go straight to their heads; they then fly about, chirping it on the housetops, and the air carries it everywhere.
that's the way rumours rise and news spread."
"if you'll allow, i'll make a note of that interesting fact," said i, wondering if i might believe him.
he appeared to fall into a reverie while i jotted down the sparrow story, and it occurred to me that perhaps i ought to offer my distinguished guest some refreshment; but, when i modestly alluded to it, he said, with an aldermanic air, "no, thank you; i've just dined at the parker house."
now, i really could not swallow that; and so plainly betrayed my incredulity, that the eagle explained.
"the savoury smells which rise to my nostrils from that excellent hotel, with an occasional sniff from the tremont, are quite sufficient to satisfy my appetite; for, having no stomach, i do n't need much food, and i drink nothing but water.'"
i wish others would follow your example in that latter habit," said i, respectfully, for i was beginning to see that there was something in my bird, though he was hollow.
"will you allow me to ask if the other statues in the city fly by night?"
"they promenade in the parks; and occasionally have social gatherings, when they discuss politics, education, medicine, or any of the subjects in which they are interested.
ah!
we have grand times when you are all asleep.
it quite repays me for being obliged to make an owl of myself."
"do the statues come from the shops to these parties?"
i asked, resolving to take a late walk the next moonlight night.
"sometimes; but they get lazy and delicate, living in close, warm places.
we laugh at cold and bad weather, and are so strong and hearty that i should n't be surprised if i saw webster and everett flying round the common on the new-fashioned velocipedes, for they believed in exercise.
goethe and schiller often step over from de vries's window, to flirt with the goddesses, who come down from their niches on horticultural hall.
nice, robust young women are pomona and flora.
if your niminy-piminy girls could see them run, they would stop tilting through the streets, and learn that the true grecian bend is the line of beauty always found in straight shoulders, well-opened chest, and an upright figure, firmly planted on active feet."
"in your rambles do n't you find a great deal of misery?"
said i, to change the subject, for he was evidently old-fashioned in his notions.
"many sad sights!"
and he shook his head with a sigh; then added, briskly, "but there is a deal of charity in our city, and it does its work beautifully.
by the by, i heard of a very sweet charity the other day, -- a church whose sunday school is open to all the poor children who will come; and there, in pleasant rooms, with books, pictures, kindly teachers, and a fatherly minister to welcome them, the poor little creatures find refreshment for their hungry souls.
i like that; it's a lovely illustration of the text, "suffer little children to come unto me;" and i call it practical christianity."
he did like it, my benevolent old bird; for he rustled his great wings, as if he wanted to clap them, if there had only been room; and every feather shone as if a clearer light than that of my little fire had fallen on it as he spoke.
"you are a literary woman, hey?"
he said suddenly, as if he'd got a new idea, and was going to pounce upon me with it.
"ahem!
i do a little in that line," i answered, with a modest cough.
"then tell people about that place; write some stories for the children; go and help teach them; do something, and make others do what they can to increase the sabbath sunshine that brightens one day in the week for the poor babies who live in shady places.'"
i should be glad to do my best; and, if i'd known before" -- i began.
"you might have known, if you'd looked about you.
people are so wrapt up in their own affairs they do n't do half they might.
now, then, hand me a bit of paper, and i'll give you the address, so you wo n't have any excuse for forgetting what i tell you."
"mercy on us; what will he do next?"
thought i, as he tweaked a feather out of his breast, gave the nib a peck, and then coolly wrote these words on the card i handed him: "church of the disciples.
knock and it shall be opened!
' there it was, in letters of gold; and, while i looked at it, feeling reproached that i had n't known it sooner, my friend, -- he did n't seem a stranger any more, -- said in a business-like tone, as he put back his pen, "now i must be off.
old ben reads an article on the "abuses of the press at the present day," and i must be there to report."
"it must be very interesting.
i suppose you do n't allow mortals at your meetings?"
said i, burning to go, in spite of the storm.
"no, ma'am.
we meet on the common; and, in the present state of the weather, i do n't think flesh and blood would stand it.
bronze, marble, and wood are sterner stuff, and can defy the elements."
"good evening; pray, call again," i said, hospitably."
i will; your eyrie suits me: but do n't expect me to call in the daytime.
i'm on duty then, and ca n't take my eye off my charge.
the city needs a deal of watching, my dear.
bless me!
it's striking eight.
your watch is seven minutes slow by the old south.
good-night, good-night!"
and as i opened the window, the great bird soared away like a flash of light through the storm, leaving me so astonished at the whole performance that i have n't got over it yet.
tilly's christmas.
"i'm so glad to-morrow is christmas, because i'm going to have lots of presents."
"so am i glad, though i do n't expect any presents but a pair of mittens."
"and so am i; but i sha n't have any presents at all."
as the three little girls trudged home from school they said these things, and as tilly spoke, both the others looked at her with pity and some surprise, for she spoke cheerfully, and they wondered how she could be happy when she was so poor she could have no presents on christmas.
"do n't you wish you could find a purse full of money right here in the path?"
said kate, the child who was going to have "lots of presents."
"oh, do n't i, if i could keep it honestly!"
and tilly's eyes shone at the very thought.
"what would you buy?"
asked bessy, rubbing her cold hands, and longing for her mittens.
"i'd buy a pair of large, warm blankets, a load of wood, a shawl for mother, and a pair of shoes for me; and if there was enough left, i'd give bessy a new hat, and then she need n't wear ben's old felt one," answered tilly.
the girls laughed at that; but bessy pulled the funny hat over her ears, and said she was much obliged but she'd rather have candy.
"let's look, and maybe we can find a purse.
people are always going about with money at christmas time, and some one may lose it here," said kate.
so, as they went along the snowy road, they looked about them, half in earnest, half in fun.
suddenly tilly sprang forward, exclaiming, --" i see it!
i've found it!"
the others followed, but all stopped disappointed; for it was n't a purse, it was only a little bird.
it lay upon the snow with its wings spread and feebly fluttering, as if too weak to fly.
its little feet were benumbed with cold; its once bright eyes were dull with pain, and instead of a blithe song, it could only utter a faint chirp, now and then, as if crying for help.
"nothing but a stupid old robin; how provoking!"
cried kate, sitting down to rest."
i sha n't touch it.
i found one once, and took care of it, and the ungrateful thing flew away the minute it was well," said bessy, creeping under kate's shawl, and putting her hands under her chin to warm them.
"poor little birdie!
how pitiful he looks, and how glad he must be to see some one coming to help him!
i'll take him up gently, and carry him home to mother.
do n't be frightened, dear, i'm your friend;" and tilly knelt down in the snow, stretching her hand to the bird, with the tenderest pity in her face.
kate and bessy laughed.
"do n't stop for that thing; it's getting late and cold: let's go on and look for the purse," they said moving away.
"you would n't leave it to die!"
cried tilly.
"i'd rather have the bird than the money, so i sha n't look any more.
the purse would n't be mine, and i should only be tempted to keep it; but this poor thing will thank and love me, and i'm so glad i came in time."
gently lifting the bird, tilly felt its tiny cold claws cling to her hand, and saw its dim eyes brighten as it nestled down with a grateful chirp.
"now i've got a christmas present after all," she said, smiling, as they walked on."
i always wanted a bird, and this one will be such a pretty pet for me."
"he'll fly away the first chance he gets, and die anyhow; so you'd better not waste your time over him," said bessy.
"he ca n't pay you for taking care of him, and my mother says it is n't worth while to help folks that ca n't help us," added kate.
"my mother says, "do as you'd be done by;" and i'm sure i'd like any one to help me if i was dying of cold and hunger.
""love your neighbour as yourself," is another of her sayings.
this bird is my little neighbour, and i'll love him and care for him, as i often wish our rich neighbour would love and care for us," answered tilly, breathing her warm breath over the benumbed bird, who looked up at her with confiding eyes, quick to feel and know a friend.
"what a funny girl you are," said kate; "caring for that silly bird, and talking about loving your neighbour in that sober way.
mr. king do n't care a bit for you, and never will, though he knows how poor you are; so i do n't think your plan amounts to much.'"
i believe it, though; and shall do my part, any way.
good-night.
i hope you'll have a merry christmas, and lots of pretty things," answered tilly, as they parted.
her eyes were full, and she felt so poor as she went on alone toward the little old house where she lived.
it would have been so pleasant to know that she was going to have some of the pretty things all children love to find in their full stockings on christmas morning.
and pleasanter still to have been able to give her mother something nice.
so many comforts were needed, and there was no hope of getting them; for they could barely get food and fire.
"never mind, birdie, we'll make the best of what we have, and be merry in spite of every thing.
you shall have a happy christmas, any way; and i know god wo n't forget us if every one else does."
she stopped a minute to wipe her eyes, and lean her cheek against the bird's soft breast, finding great comfort in the little creature, though it could only love her, nothing more.
"see, mother, what a nice present i've found," she cried, going in with a cheery face that was like sunshine in the dark room.
"i'm glad of that, dearie; for i have n't been able to get my little girl anything but a rosy apple.
poor bird!
give it some of your warm bread and milk."
"why, mother, what a big bowlful!
i'm afraid you gave me all the milk," said tilly, smiling over the nice, steaming supper that stood ready for her.
"i've had plenty, dear.
sit down and dry your wet feet, and put the bird in my basket on this warm flannel."
tilly peeped into the closet and saw nothing there but dry bread.
"mother's given me all the milk, and is going without her tea,'cause she knows i'm hungry.
now i'll surprise her, and she shall have a good supper too.
she is going to split wood, and i'll fix it while she's gone."
so tilly put down the old tea-pot, carefully poured out a part of the milk, and from her pocket produced a great, plummy bun, that one of the school-children had given her, and she had saved for her mother.
a slice of the dry bread was nicely toasted, and the bit of butter set by for her put on it.
when her mother came in there was the table drawn up in a warm place, a hot cup of tea ready, and tilly and birdie waiting for her.
such a poor little supper, and yet such a happy one; for love, charity, and contentment were guests there, and that christmas eve was a blither one than that up at the great house, where lights shone, fires blazed, a great tree glittered, and music sounded, as the children danced and played.
"we must go to bed early, for we've only wood enough to last over to-morrow.
i shall be paid for my work the day after, and then we can get some," said tilly's mother, as they sat by the fire.
"if my bird was only a fairy bird, and would give us three wishes, how nice it would be!
poor dear, he ca n't give me any thing; but it's no matter," answered tilly, looking at the robin, who lay in the basket with his head under his wing, a mere little feathery bunch.
"he can give you one thing, tilly, -- the pleasure of doing good.
that is one of the sweetest things in life; and the poor can enjoy it as well as the rich."
as her mother spoke, with her tired hand softly stroking her little daughter's hair, tilly suddenly started and pointed to the window, saying, in a frightened whisper, --" i saw a face, -- a man's face, looking in!
it's gone now; but i truly saw it."
"some traveller attracted by the light perhaps.
i'll go and see."
and tilly's mother went to the door.
no one was there.
the wind blew cold, the stars shone, the snow lay white on field and wood, and the christmas moon was glittering in the sky.
"what sort of a face was it?"
asked tilly's mother, coming back."
a pleasant sort of face, i think; but i was so startled i do n't quite know what it was like.
i wish we had a curtain there," said tilly."
i like to have our light shine out in the evening, for the road is dark and lonely just here, and the twinkle of our lamp is pleasant to people's eyes as they go by.
we can do so little for our neighbours, i am glad to cheer the way for them.
now put these poor old shoes to dry, and go to bed, dearie; i'll come soon."
tilly went, taking her bird with her to sleep in his basket near by, lest he should be lonely in the night.
soon the little house was dark and still, and no one saw the christmas spirits at their work that night.
when tilly opened the door next morning, she gave a loud cry, clapped her hands, and then stood still; quite speechless with wonder and delight.
there, before the door, lay a great pile of wood, all ready to burn, a big bundle and a basket, with a lovely nosegay of winter roses, holly, and evergreen tied to the handle.
"oh, mother!
did the fairies do it?"
cried tilly, pale with her happiness, as she seized the basket, while her mother took in the bundle.
"yes, dear, the best and dearest fairy in the world, called "charity."
she walks abroad at christmas time, does beautiful deeds like this, and does not stay to be thanked," answered her mother with full eyes, as she undid the parcel.
there they were, -- the warm, thick blankets, the comfortable shawls, the new shoes, and, best of all, a pretty winter hat for bessy.
the basket was full of good things to eat, and on the flowers lay a paper, saying, -- "for the little girl who loves her neighbour as herself."
"mother, i really think my bird is a fairy bird, and all these splendid things come from him," said tilly, laughing and crying with joy.
it really did seem so, for as she spoke, the robin flew to the table, hopped to the nosegay, and perching among the roses, began to chirp with all his little might.
the sun streamed in on flowers, bird, and happy child, and no one saw a shadow glide away from the window; no one ever knew that mr. king had seen and heard the little girls the night before, or dreamed that the rich neighbour had learned a lesson from the poor neighbour.
and tilly's bird was a fairy bird; for by her love and tenderness to the helpless thing, she brought good gifts to herself, happiness to the unknown giver of them, and a faithful little friend who did not fly away, but stayed with her till the snow was gone, making summer for her in the winter-time.
my little gentleman.
no one would have thought of calling him so, this ragged, barefooted, freckle-faced jack, who spent his days carrying market-baskets for the butcher, or clean clothes for mrs. quinn, selling chips, or grubbing in the ash-heaps for cinders.
but he was honestly earning his living, doing his duty as well as he knew how, and serving those poorer and more helpless than himself, and that is being a gentleman in the best sense of that fine old word.
he had no home but mrs. quinn's garret; and for this he paid by carrying the bundles and getting the cinders for her fire.
food and clothes he picked up as he could; and his only friend was little nanny.
her mother had been kind to him when the death of his father left him all alone in the world; and when she, too, passed away, the boy tried to show his gratitude by comforting the little girl, who thought there was no one in the world like her jack.
old mrs. quinn took care of her, waiting till she was strong enough to work for herself; but nanny had been sick, and still sat about, a pale, little shadow of her former self, with a white film slowly coming over her pretty blue eyes.
this was jack's great trouble, and he could n't whistle it away as he did his own worries; for he was a cheery lad, and when the baskets were heavy, the way long, the weather bitter cold, his poor clothes in rags, or his stomach empty, he just whistled, and somehow things seemed to get right.
but the day he carried nanny the first dandelions, and she felt of them, instead of looking at them, as she said, with such pathetic patience in her little face," i do n't see'em; but i know they're pretty, and i like'em lots," jack felt as if the blithe spring sunshine was all spoiled; and when he tried to cheer himself up with a good whistle, his lips trembled so they would n't pucker.
"the poor dear's eyes could be cured, i ai n't a doubt; but it would take a sight of money, and who's agoing to pay it?"
said mrs. quinn, scrubbing away at her tub.
"how much money?"
asked jack."
a hundred dollars, i dare say.
dr. wilkinson's cook told me once that he done something to a lady's eyes, and asked a thousand dollars for it."
jack sighed a long, hopeless sigh, and went away to fill the water-pails; but he remembered the doctor's name, and began to wonder how many years it would take to earn a hundred dollars.
nanny was very patient; but, by and by, mrs. quinn began to talk about sending her to some almshouse, for she was too poor to be burdened with a helpless child.
the fear of this nearly broke jack's heart; and he went about with such an anxious face that it was a mercy nanny did not see it.
jack was only twelve, but he had a hard load to carry just then; for the thought of his little friend, doomed to lifelong darkness for want of a little money, tempted him to steal more than once, and gave him the first fierce, bitter feeling against those better off than he.
when he carried nice dinners to the great houses and saw the plenty that prevailed there, he could n't help feeling that it was n't fair for some to have so much, and others so little.
when he saw pretty children playing in the park, or driving with their mothers, so gay, so well cared for, so tenderly loved, the poor boy's eyes would fill to think of poor little nanny, with no friend in the world but himself, and he so powerless to help her.
when he one day mustered courage to ring at the great doctor's bell, begging to see him a minute, and the servant answered, gruffly, as he shut the door, "go along!
he ca n't be bothered with the like of you!"
jack clenched his hands hard as he went down the steps, and said to himself, with a most unboyish tone, "i'll get the money somehow, and make him let me in!"
he did get it, and in a most unexpected way; but he never forgot the desperate feeling that came to him that day, and all his life long he was very tender to people who were tempted in their times of trouble, and yielded, as he was saved from doing, by what seemed an accident.
some days after his attempt at the doctor's, as he was grubbing in a newly-deposited ash-heap, with the bitter feeling very bad, and the trouble very heavy, he found a dirty old pocket-book, and put it in his bosom without stopping to examine it; for many boys and girls were scratching, like a brood of chickens, all round him, and the pickings were unusually good, so no time must be lost.
"findings is havings" was one of the laws of the ash-heap haunters; and no one thought of disputing another's right to the spoons and knives that occasionally found their way into the ash-barrels; while bottles, old shoes, rags, and paper, were regular articles of traffic among them.
jack got a good basketful that day; and when the hurry was over sat down to rest and clear the dirt off his face with an old silk duster which he had picked out of the rubbish, thinking mrs. quinn might wash it up for a handkerchief.
but he did n't wipe his dirty face that day; for, with the rag, out tumbled a pocket-book; and on opening it he saw -- money.
yes; a roll of bills with two figures on all of them, -- three tens and one twenty.
it took his breath away for a minute; then he hugged the old book tight in both his grimy hands, and rocked to and fro all in a heap among the oyster-shells and rusty tin kettles, saying to himself, with tears running down his cheeks," o nanny!
o nanny!
now i can do it!"
i do n't think a basket of cinders ever travelled at such a rate before as mrs. quinn's did that day; for jack tore home at a great pace, and burst into the room, waving the old duster, and shouting, "hooray!
i've got it!
i've got it!"
it is no wonder mrs. quinn thought he had lost his wits; for he looked like a wild boy, with his face all streaked with tears and red ashes, as he danced a double-shuffle till he was breathless, then showered the money into nanny's lap, and hugged her with another "hooray!"
which ended in a choke.
when they got him quiet and heard the story, mrs. quinn rather damped his joy, by telling him the money was n't his, and he ought to advertise it.
"but i want it for nanny!"
cried jack; "and how can i ever find who owns it, when there was ever so many barrels emptied in that heap, and no one knows where they came from?"
"it's very like you wo n't find the owner, and you can do as you please; but it's honest to try, i'm thinking, for some poor girl may have lost her earnin's this way, and we would n't like that ourselves," said mrs. quinn, turning over the shabby pocket-book, and carefully searching for some clue to its owner.
nanny looked very sober, and jack grabbed up the money as if it were too precious to lose.
but he was n't comfortable about it; and after a hard fight with himself he consented to let mrs. quinn ask their policeman what they should do.
he was a kindly man; and when he heard the story, said he'd do what was right, and if he could n't find an owner, jack should have the fifty dollars back.
how hard it was to wait!
how jack thought and dreamed of his money, day and night!
how nanny ran to the door to listen when a heavy step came up the stairs!
and how wistfully the poor darkened eyes turned to the light which they longed to see again.
honest john floyd did his duty, but he did n't find the owner; so the old purse came back at last, and now jack could keep it with a clear conscience.
nanny was asleep when it happened; and as they sat counting the dingy bills, mrs. quinn said to the boy, "jack, you'd better keep this for yourself.
i doubt if it's enough to do the child any good; and you need clothes and shoes, and a heap of things, let alone the books you hanker after so much.
it ai n't likely you'll ever find another wallet.
it's all luck about nanny's eyes; and maybe you are only throwing away a chance you'll never have again."
jack leaned his head on his arms and stared at the money, all spread out there, and looking so magnificent to him that it seemed as if it could buy half the world.
he did need clothes; his hearty boy's appetite did long for better food; and, oh!
how splendid it would be to go and buy the books he had wanted so long, -- the books that would give him a taste of the knowledge which was more enticing to his wide-awake young mind than clothes and food to his poor little body.
it was n't an easy thing to do; but he was so used to making small sacrifices that the great one was less hard; and when he had brooded over the money a few minutes in thoughtful silence, his eye went from the precious bits of paper to the dear little face in the trundle-bed, and he said, with a decided nod, "i'll give nanny the chance, and work for my things, or go without'em."
mrs. quinn was a matter-of-fact body; but her hard old face softened when he said that, and she kissed him good-night almost as gently as if she'd been his mother.
next day, jack presented himself at dr. wilkinson's door, with the money in one hand and nanny in the other, saying boldly to the gruff servant," i want to see the doctor.
i can pay; so you'd better let me in."
i'm afraid cross thomas would have shut the door in the boy's face again, if it had not been for the little blind girl, who looked up at him so imploringly that he could n't resist the mute appeal.
"the doctor's going out; but maybe he'll see you a minute;" and with that he led them into a room where stood a tall man putting on his gloves.
jack was a modest boy; but he was so afraid that nanny would lose her chance, that he forgot himself, and told the little story as fast as he could -- told it well, too, i fancy; for the doctor listened attentively, his eye going from the boy's eager, flushed face, to the pale patient one beside him, as if the two little figures, shabby though they were, illustrated the story better than the finest artist could have done.
when jack ended, the doctor sat nanny on his knee, gently lifted up the half-shut eyelids, and after examining the film a minute, stroked her pretty hair, and said so kindly that she nestled her little hand confidingly into his," i think i can help you, my dear.
tell me where you live, and i'll attend to it at once, for it's high time something was done."
jack told him, adding, with a manly air, as he showed the money," i can pay you, sir, if fifty dollars is enough."
"quite enough," said the doctor, with a droll smile.
"if it is n't, i'll work for the rest, if you'll trust me.
please save nanny's eyes, and i'll do any thing to pay you!"
cried jack, getting red and choky in his earnestness.
the doctor stopped smiling, and held out his hand in a grave, respectful way, as he said, "i'll trust you, my boy.
we'll cure nanny first; and you and i will settle the bill afterward."
jack liked that; it was a gentlemanly way of doing things, and he showed his satisfaction by smiling all over his face, and giving the big, white hand a hearty shake with both his rough ones.
the doctor was a busy man; but he kept them some time, for there were no children in the fine house, and it seemed pleasant to have a little girl sit on his knee and a bright boy stand beside his chair; and when, at last, they went away, they looked as if he had given them some magic medicine, which made them forget every trouble they had ever known.
next day the kind man came to give nanny her chance.
she had no doubt, and very little fear, but looked up at him so confidingly when all was ready, that he stooped down and kissed her softly before he touched her eyes.
"let jack hold my hands; then i'll be still, and not mind if it hurts me," she said.
so jack, pale with anxiety, knelt down before her, and kept the little hands steadily in his all through the minutes that seemed so long to him.
"what do you see, my child?"
asked the doctor, when he had done something to both eyes with a quick, skilful hand.
nanny leaned forward, with the film all gone, and answered, with a little cry of joy, that went to the hearts of those who heard it, "jack's face!
i see it!
oh, i see it!"
only a freckled, round face, with wet eyes and tightly-set lips; but to nanny it was as beautiful as the face of an angel; and when she was laid away with bandaged eyes to rest, it haunted all her dreams, for it was the face of the little friend who loved her best.
nanny's chance was not a failure; and when she saw the next dandelions he brought her, all the sunshine came back into the world brighter than ever for jack.
well might it seem so; for his fifty dollars bought him many things that money seldom buys.
the doctor would n't take it at first; but when jack said, in the manful tone the doctor liked although it made him smile, "it was a bargain, sir.
i wish to pay my debts; and i sha n't feel happy if nanny do n't have it all for her eyes.
please do!
i'd rather," -- then he took it; and nanny did have it, not only for her eyes, but in clothes and food and care, many times over; for it was invested in a bank that pays good interest on every mite so given.
jack discovered that fifty dollars was far less than most people would have had to pay, and begged earnestly to be allowed to work for the rest.
the doctor agreed to this, and jack became his errand-boy, serving with a willingness that made a pleasure of duty; soon finding that many comforts quietly got into his life; that much help was given without words; and that the days of hunger and rags, heavy burdens and dusty ash-heaps, were gone by for ever.
the happiest hours of jack's day were spent in the doctor's chaise, when he made his round of visits; for while he waited, the boy studied or read, and while they drove hither and thither, the doctor talked with him, finding an eager mind as well as a tender heart and a brave spirit under the rough jacket of his little serving-man.
but he never called him that; for remembering the cheerfulness, self-denial, honesty, and loyalty to those he loved, shown by the boy, the good doctor proved his respect for the virtues all men should covet, wherever they are found, and always spoke of jack with a smile, as "my little gentleman."
back windows.
as i sit working at my back window, i look out on a long row of other people's back windows; and it is quite impossible for me to help seeing and being interested in my neighbours.
there are a good many children in those houses; and though i do n't know one of their names, i know them a great deal better than they think i do.
i never spoke a word to any of them, and never expect to do so; yet i have my likes and dislikes among them, and could tell them things that they have said and done, which would astonish them very much, i assure you.
first, the babies, -- for there are three: the aristocratic baby, the happy-go-lucky baby, and the forlorn baby.
the aristocratic baby lives in a fine, well-furnished room, has a pretty little mamma, who wears white gowns, and pink ribbons in her cap; likewise, a fond young papa, who evidently thinks this the most wonderful baby in boston.
there is a stout, motherly lady, who is the grandma, i fancy, for she is always hovering about "the dear" with cups, blankets, or a gorgeous red worsted bird to amuse it.
baby is a plump, rosy, sweet-faced little creature, always smiling and kissing its hand to the world in general.
in its pretty white frocks, with its own little pink or blue ribbons, and its young mamma proudly holding it up to see and be seen, my aristocratic neighbour has an easy life of it, and is evidently one of the little lilies who do nothing but blossom in the sunshine.
the happy-go-lucky baby is just able to toddle; and i seldom pull up my curtain in the morning without seeing him at his window in his yellow flannel night-gown, taking a look at the weather.
no matter whether it rains or shines, there he is, smiling and nodding, and looking so merry, that it is evident he has plenty of sunshine bottled up in his own little heart for private use.
i depend on seeing him, and feel as if the world was not right until this golden little sun rises to shine upon me.
he do n't seem to have any one to take care of him, but trots about all day, and takes care of himself.
sometimes he is up in the chambers with the girl, while she makes beds, and he helps; then he takes a stroll into the parlour, and spins the gay curtain-tassels to his heart's content; next, he dives into the kitchen -lrb- i hope he does not tumble downstairs, but i dare say he would n't mind if he did -rrb-, and he gets pushed about by all the busy women, as they "fly round."
i rather think it gets too hot for him there about dinner-time; for he often comes out into the yard for a walk at noon, and seems to find endless wonders and delights in the ash barrel, the water-but, two old flower-pots, and a little grass plat, in which he plants a choice variety of articles, in the firm faith they will come up in full bloom.
i hope the big spoon and his own red shoe will sprout and appear before any trouble is made about their mysterious disappearance.
at night i see a little shadow bobbing about on the curtain, and watch it, till with a parting glimpse at a sleepy face at the window, my small sun sets, and i leave him to his dreams.
the forlorn baby roars all day, and i do n't blame him; for he is trotted, shaken, spanked, and scolded by a very cross nurse, who treats him like a meal bag.
i pity that little neighbour, and do n't believe he will stand it long; for i see him double up his tiny fists, and spar away at nothing, as if getting ready for a good tussle with the world by and by, if he lives to try it.
then the boys, -- bless their buttons!
-- how amusing they are.
one young man, aged about ten, keeps hens; and the trials of that boy are really pathetic.
the biddies get out every day or two, and fly away all over the neighbourhood, like feathers when you shake a pillow.
they cackle and crow, and get up on sheds and fences, and trot down the streets, all at once, and that poor fellow spins round after them like a distracted top.
one by one he gets them and comes lugging them back, upside down, in the most undignified attitude, and shuts them up, and hammers away, and thinks they are all safe, and sits down to rest, when a triumphant crow from some neighbouring shed tells him that that rascally black rooster is out again for another promenade.
i'm not blood-thirsty; but i really do long for thanksgiving that my neighbour henry may find rest for the sole of his foot; for, not till his poultry are safely eaten will he ever know where they are.
another boy has a circus about once a week, and tries to break his neck jumping through hoops, hanging to a rope by his heels, turning somersaults in the air, and frightening his mother out of her wits by his pranks.
i suspect that he has been to see leotard, and i admire his energy, for he is never discouraged; and, after tumbling flat, half-a-dozen times, he merely rubs his elbows and knees, and then up and takes another.
there is a good, domestic boy, who brushes and curls his three little sisters" hair every morning, and must do it very gently, for they seem to like it; and i often see them watch at the back gate for him, and clap their hands, and run to meet him, sure of being welcomed as little sisters like to be met by the big brothers whom they love.
i respect that virtuous boy.
the naughty boy is very funny; and the running fight he keeps up with the cross cook is as good as a farce.
he is a torment, but i think she could tame him, if she took the right way.
the other day she would n't let him in because she had washed up her kitchen and his boots were muddy.
he wiped them on the grass, but that would n't do; and, after going at her with his head down, like a battering ram, he gave it up, or seemed to; for, the minute she locked the door behind her and came out to take in her clothes, that sly dog whipped up one of the low windows, scrambled in, and danced a hornpipe all over the kitchen, while the fat cook scolded and fumbled for her key, for she could n't follow through the window.
of course he was off upstairs by the time she got in; but i'm afraid he had a shaking, for i saw him glowering fiercely as he came out later with a basket, going some "confounded errand."
occasionally his father brings him out and whips him for some extra bad offence, during which performance he howls dismally; but when he is left sitting despondently and miraculously on an old chair without any seat, he soon cheers up, boos at a strange cat, whistles to his dog, -- who is just like him, -- or falls back on that standing cure for all the ills that boys are heir to, and whittles vigorously.
i know i ought to frown upon this reprehensible young person, and morally close my eyes to his pranks; but i really ca n't do it, and am afraid i find this little black sheep the most interesting of the flock.
the girls have tea-parties, make calls, and play mother, of course; and the sisters of the good boy have capital times up in a big nursery, with such large dollies that i can hardly tell which are the babies and which the mammas.
one little girl plays about at home with a dirty face, tumbled hair, and an old pinafore on.
she wo n't be made tidy, and i see her kick and cry when they try to make her neat.
now and then there is a great dressing and curling; and then i see her prancing away in her light boots, smart hat, and pretty dress, looking as fresh as a daisy.
but i do n't admire her; for i've been behind the scenes, you see, and i know that she likes to be fine rather than neat.
so is the girl who torments her kitty, slaps her sister, and runs away when her mother tells her not to go out of the yard.
but the house-wifely little girl who tends the baby, washes the cups, and goes to school early with a sunshiny face and kiss all round, she, now, is a neighbour worth having, and i'd put a good mark against her name if i knew it.
i do n't know as it would be proper for me to mention the grown-up people over the way.
they go on very much as the children do; for there is the lazy, dandified man, who gets up late, and drinks; the cross man, who swears at the shed-door when it wo n't shut; the fatherly man, who sits among his children every evening, and the cheery old man up in the attic, who has a flower in his window, and looks out at the world with very much the same serene smile as my orange-coloured baby.
the women, too, keep house, make calls, and play mother; and some do n't do it well either.
the forlorn baby's mamma never seems to cuddle and comfort him; and some day, when the little fist lies cold and quiet, i'm afraid she'll wish she had.
then the naughty boy's mother.
i'm very sure, if she put her arms round him sometimes, and smoothed that rough head of his, and spoke to him as only mothers can speak, that it would tame him far better than the scoldings and thrashings: for i know there is a true boy's heart, warm and tender, somewhere under the jacket that gets dusted so often.
as for the fine lady who lets her children do as they can, while she trims her bonnet, or makes panniers, i would n't be introduced to her on any account.
but as some might think it was unjustifiable curiosity on my part to see these things, and an actionable offence to speak of them, i wo n't mention them.
i sometimes wonder if the kind spirits who feel an interest in mortals ever take a look at us on the shady side which we do n't show the world, seeing the trouble, vanities, and sins which we think no one knows.
if they love, pity, or condemn us?
what records they keep, and what rewards they prepare for those who are so busy with their work and play that they forget who may be watching their back windows with clearer eyes and truer charity than any inquisitive old lady with a pen in her hand?
little marie of lehon.
"here comes our pretty little girl," i said to kate, as we sat resting on the seat beside the footpath that leads from dinan on the hill to lehon in the valley.
yes, there she was, trotting toward us in her round cap, blue woollen gown, white apron, and wooden shoes.
on her head was a loaf of buckwheat bread as big as a small wheel, in one hand a basket full of green stuff, while the other led an old goat, who seemed in no hurry to get home.
we had often seen this rosy, bright-eyed child, had nodded to her, but never spoken, for she looked rather shy, and always seemed in haste.
now the sight of the goat reminded us of an excuse for addressing her, and as she was about to pass with the respectful little curtsey of the country, my friend said in french: -- "stay please.
i want to speak to you."
she stopped at once and stood looking at us under her long eyelashes in a timid yet confiding way, very pretty to see.
"we want to drink goat's milk every morning: can you let us have it, little one?"
"oh, yes, mademoiselle!
nannette gives fine milk, and no one has yet engaged her," answered the child, her whole face brightening at the prospect.
"what name have you?"
"marie rosier, mademoiselle."
"and you live at lehon?"
"yes, mademoiselle."
"have you parents?"
"truly, yes, of the best.
my father has a loom, my mother works in the field and mill with brother yvon, and i go to school and care for nannette and nurse little bebe."
"what school?"
"at the convent, mademoiselle.
the good sisters teach us the catechism, also to write and read and sew.
i like it much," and marie glanced at the little prayer in her apron pocket, as if proud to show she could read it.
"what age have you?"
"ten years, mademoiselle."
"you are young to do so much, for we often see you in the market buying and selling, and sometimes digging in your garden there below, and bringing water from the river.
do you love work as well as school?"
"ah, no; but mademoiselle knows it is necessary to work: every one does, and i'm glad to do my part.
yvon works much harder than i, and the father sits all day at his loom, yet he is sick and suffers much.
yes, i am truly glad to help," and little marie settled the big loaf as if quite ready to bear her share of the burdens.
"shall we go and see your father about the goat?
and if he agrees will you bring the milk fresh and warm every morning?"
i asked, thinking that a sight of that blooming face would brighten our days for us.
"oh, yes!
i always do it for the ladies, and you will find the milk quite fresh and warm, hey, nannette?"
and marie laughed as she pulled the goat from the hedge where she was nibbling the young leaves.
we followed the child as she went clattering down the stony path, and soon came into the narrow street bounded on one side by the row of low, stone houses, and on the other by the green wet meadow full of willows, and the rapid mill-stream.
all along this side of the road sat women and children, stripping the bark from willow twigs to be used in basket-making.
a busy sight and a cheerful one; for the women gossiped in their high, clear voices, the children sang and laughed, and the babies crept about as freely as young lambs.
we found marie's home a very poor one.
only two rooms in the little hut, the lower one with its earthen floor, beds in the wall, smoky fire, and single window where the loom stood.
at it sat a pale, dark man who stopped work as we entered, and seemed glad to rest while we talked to him, or rather while kate did, for i could not understand his odd french, and preferred to watch marie during the making of the bargain.
yvon, a stout lad of twelve, was cutting up brush with an old sickle, and little bebe, looking like a dutch doll in her tiny round cap, tight blue gown, and bits of sabots, clung to marie as she got the supper.
i wondered what the children at home would have said to such a supper.
a few cabbage leaves made the soup, and this, with the dry black bread and a sip of sour wine, was all they had.
there were no plates or bowls, but little hollow places in the heavy wooden table near the edge, and into these fixed cups marie ladled the soup, giving each a wooden spoon from a queer rack in the middle; the kettle stood at one end, the big loaf lay at the other, and all stood round eating out of their little troughs, with nannette and a rough dog close by to receive any crusts that might be left.
presently the mother came in, a true breton woman; rosy and robust, neat and cheery, though her poor clothes were patched all over, her hands more rough and worn with hard work than any i ever saw, and the fine hair under her picturesque cap gray at thirty with much care.
i saw then where marie got the brightness that seemed to shine in every feature of her little face, for the mother's coming was like a ray of sunshine in that dark place, and she had a friendly word and look for every one.
our little arrangement was soon made, and we left them all smiling and nodding as if the few francs we were to pay would be a fortune to them.
early next morning we were wakened by françoise, the maid, who came up to announce that the goat's milk had arrived.
then we heard a queer, quick, tapping sound on the stairs, and to our great amusement, nannette walked into the room, straight up to my bedside, and stood there looking at me with her mild yellow eyes as if she was quite used to seeing night-caps.
marie followed with a pretty little bowl in her hand, and said, laughing at our surprise, "see, dear mademoiselle; in this way i make sure that the milk is quite fresh and warm;" and kneeling down, she milked the bowl full in a twinkling, while nannette quietly chewed her cud and sniffed at a plate of rolls on the table.
the warm draught was delicious, and we drank each our portion with much merriment.
"it is our custom," said françoise; who stood by with her arms folded, and looked on in a lofty manner.
"what had you for your own breakfast?"
i asked, as i caught marie's eye hungrily fixed on the rolls and some tempting little cakes of chocolate left from our lunch the day before.
"my good bread, as usual, mademoiselle, also sorrel salad and -- and water," answered marie, as if trying to make the most of her scanty meal.
"will you eat the rolls and put the chocolate in your pocket to nibble at school?
you must be tired with this long walk so early."
she hesitated, but could not resist; and said in a low tone, as she held the bread in her hand without eating it, -- "would mademoiselle be angry if i took it to bebe?
she has never tasted the beautiful white bread, and it would please her much."
i emptied the plate into her basket, tucked in the chocolate, and added a gay picture for baby, which unexpected treasures caused marie to clasp her hands and turn quite red with delight.
after that she came daily, and we had merry times with old nannette and her little mistress, whom we soon learned to love, so busy, blithe, and grateful was she.
we soon found a new way to employ her, for the boy who drove our donkey did not suit us, and we got the donkey-woman to let us have marie in the afternoon when her lessons were done.
she liked that, and so did we; for she seemed to understand the nature of donkeys, and could manage them without so much beating and shouting as the boy thought necessary.
such pleasant drives as we had, we two big women in the droll wagon, drawn by the little gray donkey that looked as if made of an old trunk, so rusty and rough was he as he went trotting along, his long ears wagging, and his small hoofs clattering over the fine hard road, while marie sat on the shaft with a long whip, talking and laughing, and giving andrè a poke now and then, crying "e! e! houp la!"
to make him go.
we found her a capital little guide and story-teller, for her grandmother had told her all the tales and legends of the neighbourhood, and it was very pleasant to hear her repeat them in pretty peasant french, as we sat among the ruins, while kate sketched, i took notes, and marie held the big parasol over us.
some of these stones were charming; at least as she told them, with her little face changing from gay to sad as she gesticulated most dramatically.
the romance of "gilles de bretagne" was one of her favourites.
how he carried off his child-wife when she was only twelve, how he was imprisoned and poisoned, and at last left to starve in a dungeon, and would stand at his window crying, "bread, bread; for the love of god!"
yet no one dared to give him any, till a poor peasant woman went in the night and gave him half her black loaf.
not once, but every night for six months, though she robbed her children to do it.
and when he was dying, it was she who took a priest to him, that he might confess through the bars of his cell.
"so good, ah, so good, this poor woman!
it is beautiful to hear of that, mademoiselle!"
little marie would say, with her black eyes full and her lips trembling.
but the story she liked best of all was about the peasant girl and her grandmother.
"see then, dear ladies, it was in this way.
in the time of the great war many poor people were shot because it was feared they would burn the chateaus.
in one of these so sad parties being driven to st. malo to be shot, was this young girl.
only fifteen, dear ladies, behold how young is this!
and see the brave thing she did!
with her went the old grandmother whom she loved next the good god.
they went slowly, she was so old, and one of the officers who guarded them had pity on the pretty girl, and said to her as they were a little apart from the rest, "come, you are young, and can run.
i will save you; it is a pity so fine a little girl should be shot."
"then she was glad and thanked him much, saying, "and the grandmother also?
you will save her with me?"
""it is impossible," says the officer.
""she is too old to run.
i can save but one, and her life is nearly over; let her go, and do you fly into the next wood.
i will not betray you, and when we come up with the gang it will be too late to find you."
"then the great temptation of satan came to this girl.
she had no wish to suffer, but she could not leave the good old grandmere to die alone.
she wept, she prayed, and the saints gave her courage."
""no, i will not go," she said; and in the morning at st. malo she was shot with the old mother in her arms."
"could you do that for your grandmere?"
i once asked, as she stopped for breath, because this tale always excited her.
she crossed herself devoutly, and answered with fire in her eyes, and a resolute gesture of her little brown hands, --" i should try, mademoiselle."
i think she would, and succeed, too, for she was a brave and tender-hearted child, as she soon after proved.
a long drought parched the whole country that summer, and the gardens suffered much, especially the little plats in lehon, for most of them were on the steep hillside behind the huts; and unless it rained, water had to be carried up from the stream below.
the cabbages and onions on which these poor people depend, when fresh salads are gone, were dying in the baked earth, and a hard winter was before them if this little store failed.
the priests prayed for rain in the churches, and long processions streamed out of the gates to visit the old stone cross called the "croix de saint esprit," and, kneeling there in crowds, the people implored the blessing of rain to save their harvest.
we felt great pity for them, but liked little marie's way of praying best.
she did not come one morning, but sent her brother, who only laughed, and said marie had hurt her foot, when we inquired for her.
anxious to know if she was really ill, we went to see her in the afternoon, and heard a pretty little story of practical christianity.
marie lay asleep on her mother's bed in the wall, and her father, sitting by her, told the tale in a low voice, pausing now and then to look at her, as if his little daughter had done something to be proud of.
it seems that in the village there was an old woman frightfully disfigured by fire, and not quite sane as the people thought.
she was harmless, but never showed herself by day, and only came out at night to work in her garden or take the air.
many of the ignorant peasants feared her, however; for the country abounds in fairy legends, and strange tales of ghosts and goblins.
but the more charitable left bread at her door, and took in return the hose she knit or the thread she spun.
during the drought it was observed that her garden, though the steepest and stoniest, was never dry; her cabbages flourished when her neighbours" withered, and her onions stood up green and tall as if some special rain-spirit watched over them.
people wondered and shook their heads, but could not explain it, for mother lobineau was too infirm to carry much water up the steep path, and who would help her unless some of her own goblin friends did it?
this idea was suggested by the story of a peasant returning late at night, who had seen something white flitting to and fro in the garden-patch, and when he called to it saw it vanish most mysteriously.
this made quite a stir in the town; others watched also, saw the white phantom in the starlight, and could not tell where it went when it vanished behind the chestnut trees on the hill, till one man, braver than the rest, hid himself behind these trees and discovered the mystery.
the sprite was marie, in her little shift, who stepped out of the window of the loft where she slept on to a bough of the tree, and thence to the hill, for the house was built so close against the bank that it was "but a step from garret to garden," as they say in morlaix.
in trying to escape from this inquisitive neighbour, marie hurt her foot, but was caught, and confessed that it was she who went at night to water poor mother lobineau's cabbages; because if they failed the old woman might starve, and no one else remembered her destitute and helpless state.
the good-hearted people were much touched by this silent sermon on loving one's neighbour as one's self, and marie was called the "little saint," and tended carefully by all the good women.
just as the story ended, she woke up, and at first seemed inclined to hide under the bedclothes.
but we had her out in a minute, and presently she was laughing over her good deed, with a true child's enjoyment of a bit of roguery, saying in her simple way, -- "yes; it was so droll to go running about en chemise, like the girl in the tale of the "midsummer eve," where she pulls the saint johns-wort flower, and has her wish to hear all the creatures talk.
i liked it much, and yvon slept so like the dormouse that he never heard me creep in and out.
it was hard to bring much water, but the poor cabbages were so glad, and mother lobineau felt that all had not forgotten her.
we took care that little saint marie was not forgotten, but quite well, and all ready for her confirmation when the day came.
this is a pretty sight, and for her sake we went to the old church of st. sauveur to see it.
it was a bright spring day, and the gardens were full of early flowers, the quaint streets gay with proud fathers and mothers in holiday dress, and flocks of strangers pausing to see the long procession of little girls with white caps and veils, gloves and gowns, prayer-books and rosaries, winding through the sunny square into the shadowy church with chanting and candles, garlands and crosses.
the old priest was too ill to perform the service, but the young one who took his place announced, after it was over, that if they would pass the house the good old man would bless them from his balcony.
that was the best of all, and a sweet sight, as the feeble fatherly old priest leaned from his easy-chair to stretch his trembling hands over the little flock so like a bed of snowdrops, while the bright eyes and rosy faces looked reverently up at him, and the fresh voices chanted the responses as the curly heads under the long veils bowed and passed by.
we learned afterwards that our marie had been called in and praised for her secret charity -- a great honour, because the good priest was much beloved by all his flock, and took a most paternal interest in the little ones.
that was almost the last we saw of our little friend, for we left dinan soon after, bidding the lehon family good-bye, and leaving certain warm souvenirs for winter-time.
marie cried and clung to us at parting, then smiled like an april day, and waved her hand as we went away, never expecting to see her any more.
but the next morning, just as we were stepping on board the steamer to go down the rance to st. malo, we saw a little white cap come bobbing through the market-place, down the steep street, and presently marie appeared with two great bunches of pale yellow primroses and wild blue hyacinths in one hand, while the other held her sabots, that she might run the faster.
rosy and smiling and breathless with haste she came racing up to us, crying, -- "behold my souvenir for the dear ladies.
i do not cry now.
no; i am glad the day is so fine.
bon voyage!
bon voyage!
' we thanked and kissed and left her on the shore, bravely trying not to cry, as she waved her wooden shoes and kissed her hand till we were out of sight, and had nothing but the soft colours and sweet breath of our nosegays to remind us of little marie of lehon.
my may-day among curious birds and beasts.
being alone in london, yet wishing to celebrate the day, i decided to pay my respects to the lions at the zoological gardens.
a lovely place it was, and i enjoyed myself immensely; for may-day in england is just what it should be, mild, sunny, flowery, and spring-like.
as i walked along the well-kept paths, between white and rosy hawthorn hedges, i kept coming upon new and curious sights; for the birds and beasts are so skilfully arranged that it is more like travelling through a strange and pleasant country than visiting a menagerie.
the first thing i saw was a great american bison; and i was so glad to meet with any one from home, that i'd have patted him with pleasure if he had shown any cordiality toward me.
he did n't, however, but stared savagely with his fiery eyes, and put down his immense head with a sullen snort, as if he'd have tossed me with great satisfaction.
i did not blame him, for the poor fellow was homesick, doubtless, for his own wide prairies and the free life he had lost.
so i threw him some fresh clover, and went on to the pelicans.
i never knew before what handsome birds they were; not graceful, but with such snowy plumage, tinged with pale pink and faint yellow.
they had just had their bath, and stood arranging their feathers with their great bills, uttering a queer cry now and then, and nodding to one another sociably.
when fed, they gobbled up the fish, never stopping to swallow it till the pouches under their bills were full; then they leisurely emptied them, and seemed to enjoy their lunch with the grave deliberation of regular englishmen.
being in a hurry to see the lions, i went on to the long row of cages, and there found a splendid sight.
six lions and lionesses, in three or four different cages, sitting or standing in dignified attitudes, and eyeing the spectators with a mild expression in their fine eyes.
one lioness was ill, and lay on her bed, looking very pensive, while her mate moved restlessly about her, evidently anxious to do something for her, and much afflicted by her suffering.
i liked this lion very much, for, though the biggest, he was very gentle, and had a noble face.
the tigers were rushing about, as tigers usually are; some creeping noiselessly to and fro, some leaping up and down, and some washing their faces with their velvet paws.
all looked and acted so like cats that i was n't at all surprised to hear one of them purr when the keeper scratched her head.
it was a very loud and large purr, but no fireside pussy could have done it better, and every one laughed at the sound.
there were pretty spotted leopards, panthers, and smaller varieties of the same species.
i sat watching them a long time, longing to let some of the wild things out for a good run, they seemed so unhappy barred in those small dens.
suddenly the lions began to roar, the tigers to snarl, and all to get very much excited about something, sniffing at the openings, thrusting their paws through the bars, and lashing their tails impatiently.
i could n't imagine what the trouble was, till, far down the line, i saw a man with a barrowful of lumps of raw meat.
this was their dinner, and as they were fed but once a day they were ravenous.
such roars and howls and cries as arose while the man went slowly down the line, gave one a good idea of the sounds to be heard in indian forests and jungles.
the lions behaved best, for they only paced up and down, with an occasional cry; but the tigers were quite frantic; for they tumbled one over the other, shook the cages, and tried to reach the bystanders, just out of reach behind the bar that kept us at a safe distance.
one lady had a fright, for the wind blew the end of her shawl within reach of a tiger's great claw, and he clutched it, trying to drag her nearer.
the shawl came off, and the poor lady ran away screaming, as if a whole family of wild beasts were after her.
when the lumps of meat were thrown in, it was curious to see how differently the animals behaved.
the tigers snarled and fought and tore and got so savage i was very grateful that they were safely shut up.
in a few minutes, nothing but white bones remained, and then they howled for more.
one little leopard was better bred than the others, for he went up on a shelf in the cage, and ate his dinner in a quiet, proper manner, which was an example to the rest.
the lions ate in dignified silence, all but my favourite, who carried his share to his sick mate, and by every gentle means in his power tried to make her eat.
she was too ill, however, and turned away with a plaintive moan which seemed to grieve him sadly.
he would n't touch his dinner, but lay down near her, with the lump between his paws, as if guarding it for her; and there i left him patiently waiting, in spite of his hunger, till his mate could share it with him.
as i took a last look at his fine old face, i named him douglas, and walked away, humming to myself the lines of the ballad, -- douglas, douglas, tender and true.
as a contrast to the wild beasts, i went to see the monkeys, who lived in a fine large house all to themselves.
here was every variety, from the great ugly chimpanzee to the funny little fellows who played like boys, and cut up all sorts of capers.
a mamma sat tending her baby, and looking so like a little old woman that i laughed till the gray monkey with the blue nose scolded at me.
he was a cross old party, and sat huddled up in the straw, scowling at every one, like an ill-tempered old bachelor.
half-a-dozen little ones teased him capitally by dropping bits of bread, nut-shells, and straws down on him from above, as they climbed about the perches, or swung by their tails.
one poor little chap had lost the curly end of his tail, -- i'm afraid the gray one bit it off, -- and kept trying to swing like the others, forgetting that the strong, curly end was what he held on with.
he would run up the bare boughs, and give a jump, expecting to catch and swing, but the lame tail would n't hold him, and down he'd go, bounce on to the straw.
at first he'd sit and stare about him, as if much amazed to find himself there; then he'd scratch his little round head and begin to scold violently, which seemed to delight the other monkeys; and, finally, he'd examine his poor little tail, and appear to understand the misfortune which had befallen him.
the funny expression of his face was irresistible, and i enjoyed seeing him very much, and gave him a bun to comfort him when i went away.
the snake-house came next, and i went in, on my way to visit the rhinoceros family.
i rather like snakes, since i had a tame green one, who lived under the door-step, and would come out and play with me on sunny days.
these snakes i found very interesting, only they got under their blankets and would n't come out, and i was n't allowed to poke them; so i missed seeing several of the most curious.
an ugly cobra laid and blinked at me through the glass, looking quite as dangerous as he was.
there were big and little snakes, -- black, brown, and speckled, lively and lazy, pretty and plain ones, -- but i liked the great boa best.
when i came to his cage, i did n't see anything but the branch of a tree, such as i had seen in other cages, for the snakes to wind up and down.
"where is he, i wonder?
i hope he has n't got out," i said to myself, thinking of a story i read once of a person in a menagerie, who turned suddenly and saw a great boa gliding towards him.
as i stood wondering if the big worm could be under the little flat blanket before me, the branch began to move all at once, and with a start, i saw a limb swing down to stare at me with the boa's glittering eyes.
he was so exactly the colour of the bare bough, and lay so still, i had not seen him till he came to take a look at me.
a very villainous-looking reptile he was, and i felt grateful that i did n't live in a country where such unpleasant neighbours might pop in upon you unexpectedly.
he was kind enough to take a promenade and show me his size, which seemed immense, as he stretched himself, and then knotted his rough grayish body into a great loop, with the fiery-eyed head in the middle.
he was not one of the largest kind, but i was quite satisfied, and left him to his dinner of rabbits, which i had n't the heart to stay and see him devour alive.
i was walking toward the camel's pagoda, when, all of a sudden, a long, dark, curling thing came over my shoulder, and i felt warm breath in my face.
"it's the boa;" i thought, and gave a skip which carried me into the hedge, where i stuck, much to the amusement of some children riding on the elephant whose trunk had frightened me.
he had politely tried to tell me to clear the way, which i certainly had done with all speed.
picking myself out of the hedge i walked beside him, examining his clumsy feet and peering up at his small, intelligent eye.
i'm very sure he winked at me, as if enjoying the joke, and kept poking his trunk into my pocket, hoping to find something eatable.
i felt as if i had got into a foreign country as i looked about me and saw elephants and camels walking among the trees; flocks of snow-white cranes stalking over the grass, on their long scarlet legs; striped zebras racing in their paddock; queer kangaroos hopping about, with little ones in their pouches; pretty antelopes chasing one another; and, in an immense wire-covered aviary, all sorts of brilliant birds were flying about as gaily as if at home.
one of the curiosities was a sea-cow, who lived in a tank of salt water, and came at the keeper's call to kiss him, and flounder on its flippers along the margin of the tank after a fish.
it was very like a seal, only much larger, and had four fins instead of two.
its eyes were lovely, so dark and soft and liquid; but its mouth was not pretty, and i declined one of the damp kisses which it was ready to dispense at word of command.
the great polar bear lived next door, and spent his time splashing in and out of a pool of water, or sitting on a block of ice, panting, as if the mild spring day was blazing midsummer.
he looked very unhappy, and i thought it a pity that they did n't invent a big refrigerator for him.
these are not half of the wonderful creatures i saw, but i have not room to tell more; only i advise all who can to pay a visit to the zoological gardens when they go to london, for it is one of the most interesting sights in that fine old city.
our little newsboy.
hurrying to catch a certain car at a certain corner late one stormy night, i was suddenly arrested by the sight of a queer-looking bundle lying in a door-way.
"bless my heart, it's a child!
o john!
i'm afraid he's frozen!"
i exclaimed to my brother, as we both bent over the bundle.
such a little fellow as he was, in the big, ragged coat; such a tired, baby face, under the fuzzy cap; such a purple, little hand, still holding fast a few papers; such a pathetic sight altogether was the boy, lying on the stone step, with the snow drifting over him, that it was impossible to go by.
"he is asleep; but he'll freeze, if left so long.
here!
wake up, my boy, and go home, as fast as you can," cried john, with a gentle shake, and a very gentle voice; for the memory of a dear little lad, safely tucked up at home, made him fatherly kind to the small vagabond.
the moment he was touched, the boy tumbled up, and, before he was half awake, began his usual cry, with an eye to business.
"paper, sir?
""herald!"
""transkip!"
last" -- a great gape swallowed up the "last edition," and he stood blinking at us like a very chilly young owl.
"i'll buy'em all if you'll go home, my little chap; it's high time you were abed," said john, whisking the damp papers into one pocket, and his purse out of another, as he spoke.
"all of'em?
-- why there's six!"
croaked the boy, for he was as hoarse as a raven.
"never mind, i can kindle the fire with'em.
put that in your pocket; and trot home, my man, as fast as possible."
"where do you live?"
i asked, picking up the fifty cents that fell from the little fingers, too benumbed to hold it.
"mills court, out of hanover.
cold, ai n't it?"
said the boy, blowing on his purple hands, and hopping feebly from one leg to the other, to take the stiffness out.
"he ca n't go all that way in this storm -- such a mite, and so used up with cold and sleep, john."
"of course he ca n't; we'll put him in a car," began john; when the boy wheezed out, -- "no; i've got ter wait for sam.
he'll be along as soon's the theatre's done.
he said he would; and so i'm waitin"."
"who is sam?"
i asked.
"he's the feller i lives with.
i ai n't got any folks, and he takes care o" me."
"nice care, indeed; leaving a baby like you to wait for him here such a night as this," i said crossly.
"oh, he's good to me sam is, though he does knock me round sometimes, when i ai n't spry.
the big feller shoves me back, you see; and i gets cold, and ca n't sing out loud; so i do n't sell my papers, and has to work'em off late."
"hear the child talk!
one would think he was sixteen, instead of six," i said, half laughing.
"i'm most ten.
hi!
ai n't that a oner?"
cried the boy, as a gust of sleet slapped him in the face, when he peeped to see if sam was coming.
"hullo!
the lights is out!
why, the play's done, and the folks gone, and sam's forgot me."
it was very evident that sam had forgotten his little protégé; and a strong desire to shake sam possessed me.
"no use waitin" any longer; and now my papers is sold, i ai n't afraid to go home," said the boy, stepping down like a little old man with the rheumatism, and preparing to trudge away through the storm.
"stop a bit, my little casabianca; a car will be along in fifteen minutes; and while waiting you can warm yourself over there," said john, with the purple hand in his.
"my name's jack hill, not cassy banks, please, sir," said the little party, with dignity.
"have you had your supper, mr. hill?"
asked john, laughing."
i had some peanuts, and two sucks of joe's orange; but it war n't very fillin"," he said, gravely."
i should think not.
here!
one stew; and be quick, please," cried john, as we sat down in a warm corner of the confectioner's opposite.
while little jack shovelled in the hot oysters, with his eyes shutting up now and then in spite of himself, we looked at him and thought again of little rosy-face at home safe in his warm nest, with mother-love watching over him.
nodding towards the ragged, grimy, forlorn, little creature, dropping asleep over his supper like a tired baby, i said, -- "can you imagine our freddy out alone at this hour, trying to "work off" his papers, because afraid to go home till he has?"
"i'd rather not try," answered brother john, winking hard, as he stroked the little head beside him, which, by the bye, looked very like a ragged, yellow door-mat.
i think brother john winked hard, but i ca n't be sure, for i know i did; and for a minute there seemed to be a dozen little newsboys dancing before my eyes.
"there goes our car; and it's the last," said john, looking at me.
"let it go, but do n't leave the boy;" and i frowned at john for hinting at such a thing.
"here is his car.
now, my lad, bolt your last oyster, and come on."
"good-night, ma'am!
thankee, sir!"
croaked the grateful little voice, as the child was caught up in john's strong hands and set down on the car-step.
with a word to the conductor, and a small business transaction, we left jack coiled up in a corner to finish his nap as tranquilly as if it was n't midnight, and a "knocking-round" might not await him at his journey's end.
we did n't mind the storm much as we plodded home; and when i told the story to rosy-face, next day, his interest quite reconciled me to the sniffs and sneezes of a bad cold.
"if i saw that poor little boy, aunt jo, i'd love him lots!"
said freddy, with a world of pity in his beautiful child's eyes.
and, believing that others also would be kind to little jack, and such as he, i tell the story.
when busy fathers hurry home at night, i hope they'll buy their papers of the small boys, who get "shoved back;" the feeble ones, who grow hoarse, and ca n't "sing out;" the shabby ones, who evidently have only forgetful sams to care for them; and the hungry-looking ones, who do n't get what is "fillin"."
for love of the little sons and daughters safe at home, say a kind word, buy a paper, even if you do n't want it; and never pass by, leaving them to sleep forgotten in the streets at midnight, with no pillow but a stone, no coverlet but the pitiless snow, and not even a tender-hearted robin to drop leaves over them.
patty's patchwork.
' i perfectly hate it!
and something dreadful ought to be done to the woman who invented it," said patty, in a pet, sending a shower of gay pieces flying over the carpet as if a small whirlwind and a rainbow had got into a quarrel.
puss did not agree with patty, for, after a surprised hop when the flurry came, she calmly laid herself down on a red square, purring comfortably and winking her yellow eyes, as if she thanked the little girl for the bright bed that set off her white fur so prettily.
this cool performance made patty laugh, and say more pleasantly -- "well, it is tiresome, is n't it, aunt pen?"
"sometimes; but we all have to make patchwork, my dear, and do the best we can with the pieces given us."
"do we?"
and patty opened her eyes in great astonishment at this new idea.
"our lives are patchwork, and it depends on us a good deal how the bright and dark bits get put together so that the whole is neat, pretty, and useful when it is done," said aunt pen soberly.
"deary me, now she is going to preach," thought patty; but she rather liked aunt pen's preachments, for a good deal of fun got mixed up with the moralising; and she was so good herself that children could never say in their naughty little minds, "you are just as bad as we, so you need n't talk to us, ma'am.'"
i gave you that patchwork to see what you would make of it, and it is as good as a diary to me, for i can tell by the different squares how you felt when you made them," continued aunt pen, with a twinkle in her eye as she glanced at the many-coloured bits on the carpet.
"can you truly?
just try and see," and patty looked interested at once.
pointing with the yard-measure, aunt pen said, tapping a certain dingy, puckered, brown and purple square -- "that is a bad day; do n't it look so?"
"well, it was, i do declare!
for that was the monday piece, when everything went wrong and i did n't care how my work looked," cried patty, surprised at aunt pen's skill in reading the calico diary.
"this pretty pink and white one so neatly sewed is a good day; this funny mixture of red, blue, and yellow with the big stitches is a merry day; that one with spots on it is one that got cried over; this with the gay flowers is a day full of good little plans and resolutions; and that one made of dainty bits, all stars and dots and tiny leaves, is the one you made when you were thinking about the dear new baby there at home."
"why, aunt pen, you are a fairy!
how did you know?
they truly are just as you say, as near as i can remember.
i rather like that sort of patchwork," and patty sat down upon the floor to collect, examine, and arrange her discarded work with a new interest in it."
i see what is going on, and i have queer plays in my mind just as you little folks do.
suppose you make this a moral bed-quilt, as some people make album quilts.
see how much patience, perseverance, good nature, and industry you can put into it.
every bit will have a lesson or a story, and when you lie under it you will find it a real comforter," said aunt pen, who wanted to amuse the child and teach her something better even than the good old-fashioned accomplishment of needlework."
i do n't see how i can put that sort of thing into it," answered patty, as she gently lifted puss into her lap, instead of twitching the red bit roughly from under her.
"there goes a nice little piece of kindness this very minute," laughed aunt pen, pointing to the cat and the red square.
patty laughed also, and looked pleased as she stroked mother bunch, while she said thoughtfully --" i see what you mean now.
i am making two kinds of patchwork at the same time; and this that i see is to remind me of the other kind that i do n't see."
"every task, no matter how small or homely, that gets well and cheerfully done, is a fine thing; and the sooner we learn to use up the dark and bright bits -lrb- the pleasures and pains, the cares and duties -rrb- into a cheerful, useful life, the sooner we become real comforters, and every one likes to cuddle about us.
do n't you see, deary?"
"that's what you are, aunt pen;" and patty put up her hand to hold fast by that other strong, kind, helpful hand that did so much, yet never was tired, cold, or empty.
aunt pen took the chubby little one in both her own, and said, smiling, yet with meaning in her eyes, as she tapped the small fore-finger, rough with impatient and unskilful sewing -- "shall we try and see what a nice little comforter we can make this month, while you wait to be called home to see mamma and the dear new baby?"
"yes, i'd like to try;" and patty gave aunt pen's hand a hearty shake, for she wanted to be good, and rather thought the new fancy would lend a charm to the task which we all find rather tiresome and hard.
so the bargain was made, and the patch patty sewed that day was beautiful to behold; for she was in a delightfully moral state of mind, and felt quite sure that she was going to become a model for all children to follow, if they could.
the next day her ardour had cooled a little, and being in a hurry to go out to play, she slighted her work, thinking no one would know.
but the third day she got so angry with her patch that she tore it in two, and declared it was all nonsense to fuss about being good and thorough and all the rest of it.
aunt pen did not say much, but made her mend and finish her patch and add it to the pile.
after she went to bed that night patty thought of it, and wished she could do it over, it looked so badly.
but as it could not be, she had a penitent fit, and resolved to keep her temper while she sewed, at any rate, for mamma was to see the little quilt when it was done, and would want to know all about it.
of course she did not devote herself to being good all the time, but spent her days in lessons, play, mischief, and fun, like any other lively, ten-year-older.
but somehow, whenever the sewing-hour came, she remembered that talk; and as she worked she fell into the way of wondering whether aunt pen could guess from the patches what sort of days she had passed.
she wanted to try and see, but aunt pen refused to read any more calico till the quilt was done: then, she said in a queer, solemn way, she should make the good and bad days appear in a remarkable manner.
this puzzled patty very much, and she quite ached to know what the joke would be; meantime the pile grew steadily, and every day, good or bad, added to that other work called patty's life.
she did not think much about that part of it, but unconsciously the quiet sewing-time had its influence on her, and that little "conscience hour," as she sometimes called it, helped her very much.
one day she said to herself as she took up her work, "now i'll puzzle aunt pen.
she thinks my naughty tricks get into the patches; but i'll make this very nicely and have it gay, and then i do n't see how she will ever guess what i did this morning."
now you must know that tweedle-dee, the canary, was let out every day to fly about the room and enjoy himself.
mother bunch never tried to catch him, though he often hopped temptingly near her.
he was a droll little bird, and patty liked to watch his promenades, for he did funny things.
that day he made her laugh by trying to fly away with a shawl, picking up the fringe with which to line the nest he was always trying to build.
it was so heavy he tumbled on his back and lay kicking and pulling, but had to give it up and content himself with a bit of thread.
patty was forbidden to chase or touch him at these times, but always felt a strong desire to have just one grab at him and see how he felt.
that day, being alone in the dining-room, she found it impossible to resist; and when tweedle-dee came tripping pertly over the table-cloth, cocking his head on one side with shrill chirps and little prancings, she caught him, and for a minute held him fast in spite of his wrathful pecking.
she put her thimble on his head, laughing to see how funny he looked, and just then he slipped out of her hand.
she clutched at him, missed him, but alas, alas!
he left his little tail behind him.
every feather in his blessed little tail, i do assure you; and there sat patty with the yellow plumes in her hand and dismay in her face.
poor tweedle-dee retired to his cage much afflicted, and sung no more that day, but patty hid the lost tail and never said a word about it.
"aunt pen is so near-sighted she wo n't mind, and maybe he will have another tail pretty soon, or she will think he is moulting.
if she asks of course i shall tell her."
patty settled it in that way, forgetting that the slide was open and aunt pen in the kitchen.
so she made a neat blue and buff patch, and put it away, meaning to puzzle aunty when the reading-time came.
but patty got the worst of it, as you will see by-and-bye.
another day she strolled into the store-room and saw a large tray of fresh buns standing there.
now, it was against the rule to eat between meals, and new hot bread or cake was especially forbidden.
patty remembered both these things, but could not resist temptation.
one plump, brown bun, with a lovely plum right in the middle, was so fascinating it was impossible to let it alone; so patty whipped it into her pocket, ran to the garden, and hiding behind the big lilac-bush, ate it in a great hurry.
it was just out of the oven, and so hot it burned her throat, and lay like a live coal in her little stomach after it was down, making her very uncomfortable for several hours.
"why do you keep sighing?"
asked aunt pen, as patty sat down to her work."
i do n't feel very well."
"you have eaten something that disagrees with you.
did you eat hot biscuits for breakfast?"
"no, ma'am, i never do," and patty gave another little gasp, for the bun lay very heavily on both stomach and conscience just then."
a drop or two of ammonia will set you right," and aunt pen gave her some.
it did set the stomach right, but the conscience still worried her, for she could not make up her mind to "fess" the sly, greedy thing she had done.
"put a white patch in the middle of those green ones," said aunt pen, as patty sat soberly sewing her daily square.
"why?"
asked the little girl, for aunty seldom interfered in her arrangement of the quilt.
"it will look pretty, and match the other three squares that are going at the corners of that middle piece."
"well, i will," and patty sewed away, wondering at this sudden interest in her work, and why aunt pen laughed to herself as she put away the ammonia bottle.
these are two of the naughty little things that got worked into the quilt; but there were good ones also, and aunt pen's sharp eyes saw them all.
at the window of a house opposite, patty often saw a little girl who sat there playing with an old doll or a torn book.
she never seemed to run about or go out, and patty often wondered if she was sick, she looked so thin and sober, and was so quiet.
patty began by making faces at her for fun, but the little girl only smiled back, and nodded so good-naturedly that patty was ashamed of herself.
"is that girl over there poor?"
she asked suddenly as she watched her one day.
"very poor: her mother takes in sewing, and the child is lame," answered aunt pen, without looking up from the letter she was writing.
"her doll is nothing but an old shawl tied round with a string, and she do n't seem to have but one book.
wonder if she'd like to have me come and play with her," said patty to herself, as she stood her own big doll in the window, and nodded back at the girl, who bobbed up and down in her chair with delight at this agreeable prospect.
"you can go and see her some day if you like," said aunt pen, scribbling away.
patty said no more then, but later in the afternoon she remembered this permission, and resolved to try if aunty would find out her good doings as well as her bad ones.
so, tucking blanch augusta arabella maud under one arm, her best picture-book under the other, and gathering a little nosegay of her own flowers, she slipped across the road, knocked, and marched boldly upstairs.
mrs. brown, the sewing-woman, was out, and no one there but lizzie in her chair at the window, looking lonely and forlorn.
"how do you do?
my name is patty, and i live over there, and i've come to play with you," said one child in a friendly tone.
"how do you do?
my name is lizzie, and i'm very glad to see you.
what a lovely doll!"
returned the other child gratefully; and then the ceremony of introduction was over, and they began to play as if they had known each other for ever so long.
to poor lizzie it seemed as if a little fairy had suddenly appeared to brighten the dismal room with flowers and smiles and pretty things; while patty felt her pity and good-will increase as she saw lizzie's crippled feet, and watched her thin face brighten and glow with interest and delight over book and doll and posy.
"it felt good," as patty said afterwards; "sort of warm and comfortable in my heart, and i liked it ever so much."
she stayed an hour, making sunshine in a shady place, and then ran home, wondering if aunt pen would find that out.
she found her sitting with her hands before her, and such a sad look in her face that patty ran to her, saying anxiously -- "what's the matter, aunty?
are you sick?"
"no dear; but i have sorrowful news for you.
come, sit in my lap and let me tell you as gently as i can."
"mamma is dead!"
cried patty with a look of terror in her rosy face.
"no, thank god!
but the dear, new baby only stayed a week, and we shall never see her in this world."
with a cry of sorrow patty threw herself into the arms outstretched to her, and on aunt pen's loving bosom sobbed away the first bitterness of her grief and disappointment.
"oh, i wanted a little sister so much, and i was going to be so fond of her, and was so glad she came, and now i ca n't see or have her even for a day!
i'm so disappointed i do n't think i can bear it," sobbed patty.
"think of poor mamma, and bear it bravely for her sake," whispered aunt pen, wiping away her own and patty's tears.
"oh, dear me!
there's the pretty quilt i was going to make for baby, and now it is n't any use, and i ca n't bear to finish it;" and patty broke out afresh at the thought of so much love's labour lost.
"mamma will love to see it, so i would n't give it up.
work is the best cure for sorrow; and i think you never will be sorry you tried it.
let us put a bright bit of submission with this dark trouble, and work both into your little life as patiently as we can, deary."
patty put up her trembling lips, and kissed aunt pen, grateful for the tender sympathy and the helpful words.
"i'll try," was all she said; and then they sat talking quietly together about the dear, dead baby, who only stayed long enough to make a place in every one's heart, and leave them aching when she went.
patty did try to bear her first trouble bravely, and got on very well after the first day or two, except when the sewing-hour came.
then the sight of the pretty patchwork recalled the memory of the cradle it was meant to cover, and reminded her that it was empty now.
many quiet tears dropped on patty's work; and sometimes she had to put it down and sob, for she had longed so for a little sister, it was very hard to give her up, and put away all the loving plans she had made for the happy time when baby came.
a great many tender little thoughts and feelings got sewed into the gay squares; and if a small stain showed here and there, i think they only added to its beauty in the eyes of those who knew what made them.
aunt pen never suggested picking out certain puckered bits and grimy stitches, for she knew that just there the little fingers trembled, and the blue eyes got dim as they touched and saw the delicate, flowery bits left from baby's gowns.
lizzie was full of sympathy, and came hopping over on her crutches with her only treasure, a black rabbit, to console her friend.
but of all the comfort given, mother bunch's share was the greatest and best; for that very first sad day, as patty wandered about the house disconsolately, puss came hurrying to meet her, and in her dumb way begged her mistress to follow and see the fine surprise prepared for her -- four plump kits as white as snow, with four gray tails all wagging in a row, as they laid on their proud mamma's downy breast, while she purred over them, with her yellow eyes full of supreme content.
it was in the barn, and patty lay for an hour with her head close to mother bunch, and her hands softly touching the charming little bunches, who squeaked and tumbled and sprawled about with their dim eyes blinking, their tiny pink paws fumbling, and their dear gray tails waggling in the sweetest way.
such a comfort as they were to patty no words could tell, and nothing will ever convince me that mrs. bunch did not know all about baby, and so lay herself out to cheer up her little mistress like a motherly loving old puss, as she was.
as patty lay on the rug that evening while aunt pen sung softly in the twilight, a small, white figure came pattering over the straw carpet, and dropped a soft, warm ball down by patty's cheek, saying, as plainly as a loud, confiding purr could say it -- "there, my dear, this is a lonely time for you, i know, so i've brought my best and prettiest darling to comfort you;" and with that mother bunch sat down and washed her face, while patty cuddled little snowdrop, and forgot to cry about baby.
soon after this came a great happiness to patty in the shape of a letter from mamma, saying she must have her little girl back a week earlier than they had planned.
"i'm sorry to leave you, aunty, but it is so nice to be wanted, and i'm all mamma has now, you know, so i must hurry and finish my work to surprise her with.
how shall we finish it off?
there ought to be something regularly splendid to go all round," said patty, in a great bustle, as she laid out her pieces, and found that only a few more were needed to complete the "moral bed-quilt.'"
i must try and find something.
we will put this white star, with the blue round it, in the middle, for it is the neatest and prettiest piece, in spite of the stains.
i will sew in this part, and you may finish putting the long strips together," said aunt pen, rummaging her bags and bundles for something fine to end off with."
i know!
i've got something!"
and away hurried lizzie, who was there, and much interested in the work.
she came hopping back again, presently, with a roll in her hand, which she proudly spread out, saying -- "there!
mother gave me that ever so long ago, but i never had any quilt to use it for, and now it's just what you want.
you ca n't buy such chintz now-a-days, and i'm so glad i had it for you."
"it's regularly splendid!"
cried patty, in a rapture; and so it was, for the pink and white was all covered with animals, and the blue was full of birds and butterflies and bees flying about as naturally as possible.
really lovely were the little figures and the clear, soft colours, and aunt pen clapped her hands, while patty hugged her friend, and declared that the quilt was perfect now.
mrs. brown begged to be allowed to quilt it when the patches were all nicely put together, and patty was glad to have her, for that part of the work was beyond her skill.
it did not come home till the morning patty left, and aunt pen packed it up without ever unrolling it.
"we will look at it together when we show it to mamma," she said: and patty was in such a hurry to be off that she made no objection.
a pleasant journey, a great deal of hugging and kissing, some tears and tender laments for baby, and then it was time to show the quilt, which mamma said was just what she wanted to throw over her feet as she lay on the sofa.
if there were any fairies, patty would have been sure they had done something to her bed-cover, for when she proudly unrolled it, what do you think she saw?
right in the middle of the white star, which was the centre-piece, delicately drawn with indelible ink, was a smiling little cherub, all head and wings, and under it these lines -- "while sister dear lies asleep, baby careful watch will keep."
then in each of the four gay squares that were at the corners of the strip that framed the star, was a white bit bearing other pictures and couplets that both pleased and abashed patty as she saw and read them.
in one was seen a remarkably fine bun, with the lines -- "who stole the hot bun and got burnt well?
go ask the lilac bush, guess it can tell."
in the next was a plump, tailless bird, who seemed to be saying mournfully -- "my little tail, my little tail!
this bitter loss i still bewail; but rather ne'er have tail again than patty should deceive aunt pen."
the third was less embarrassing, for it was a pretty bunch of flowers so daintily drawn one could almost think they smelt them, and these lines were underneath -- "every flower to others given, blossoms fair and sweet in heaven."
the fourth was a picture of a curly-haired child sewing, with some very large tears rolling down her cheeks and tumbling off her lap like marbles, while some tiny sprites were catching and flying away with them as if they were very precious -- "every tender drop that fell, loving spirits caught and kept; and patty's sorrows lighter grew, for the gentle tears she wept."
"oh, aunty!
what does it all mean?"
cried patty, who had looked both pleased and ashamed as she glanced from one picture to the other.
"it means, dear, that the goods and bads got into the bed-quilt in spite of you, and there they are to tell their own story.
the bun and the lost tail, the posy you took to poor lizzie, and the trouble you bore so sweetly.
it is just so with our lives, though we do n't see it quite as clearly as this.
invisible hands paint our faults and virtues, and by-and-bye we have to see them, so we must be careful that they are good and lovely, and we are not ashamed to let the eyes that love us best read there the history of our lives."
as aunt pen spoke, and patty listened with a thoughtful face, mamma softly drew the pictured coverlet over her, and whispered, as she held her little daughter close -- "my patty will remember this; and if all her years tell as good a story as this month, i shall not fear to read the record, and she will be in truth my little comforter."
-lrb- for second series, see "shawl-straps." -rrb-
_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___aunt_jo's_scrap-bag_vi.txt.out
i.
an old-fashioned thanksgiving.
sixty years ago, up among the new hampshire hills, lived farmer bassett, with a house full of sturdy sons and daughters growing up about him.
they were poor in money, but rich in land and love, for the wide acres of wood, corn, and pasture land fed, warmed, and clothed the flock, while mutual patience, affection, and courage made the old farm-house a very happy home.
november had come; the crops were in, and barn, buttery, and bin were overflowing with the harvest that rewarded the summer's hard work.
the big kitchen was a jolly place just now, for in the great fireplace roared a cheerful fire; on the walls hung garlands of dried apples, onions, and corn; up aloft from the beams shone crook-necked squashes, juicy hams, and dried venison -- for in those days deer still haunted the deep forests, and hunters flourished.
savory smells were in the air; on the crane hung steaming kettles, and down among the red embers copper sauce-pans simmered, all suggestive of some approaching feast.
a white-headed baby lay in the old blue cradle that had rocked seven other babies, now and then lifting his head to look out, like a round, full moon, then subsided to kick and crow contentedly, and suck the rosy apple he had no teeth to bite.
two small boys sat on the wooden settle shelling corn for popping, and picking out the biggest nuts from the goodly store their own hands had gathered in october.
four young girls stood at the long dresser, busily chopping meat, pounding spice, and slicing apples; and the tongues of tilly, prue, roxy, and rhody went as fast as their hands.
farmer bassett, and eph, the oldest boy, were "chorin" "round" outside, for thanksgiving was at hand, and all must be in order for that time-honored day.
to and fro, from table to hearth, bustled buxom mrs. bassett, flushed and floury, but busy and blithe as the queen bee of this busy little hive should be.
""i do like to begin seasonable and have things to my mind.
thanksgivin" dinners ca n't be drove, and it does take a sight of victuals to fill all these hungry stomicks," said the good woman, as she gave a vigorous stir to the great kettle of cider apple-sauce, and cast a glance of housewifely pride at the fine array of pies set forth on the buttery shelves.
""only one more day and then it will be time to eat.
i did n't take but one bowl of hasty pudding this morning, so i shall have plenty of room when the nice things come," confided seth to sol, as he cracked a large hazel-nut as easily as a squirrel.
""no need of my starvin" beforehand.
i always have room enough, and i'd like to have thanksgiving every day," answered solomon, gloating like a young ogre over the little pig that lay near by, ready for roasting.
""sakes alive, i do n't, boys!
it's a marcy it do n't come but once a year.
i should be worn to a thread-paper with all this extra work atop of my winter weavin" and spinnin"," laughed their mother, as she plunged her plump arms into the long bread-trough and began to knead the dough as if a famine was at hand.
tilly, the oldest girl, a red-cheeked, black-eyed lass of fourteen, was grinding briskly at the mortar, for spices were costly, and not a grain must be wasted.
prue kept time with the chopper, and the twins sliced away at the apples till their little brown arms ached, for all knew how to work, and did so now with a will.
""i think it's real fun to have thanksgiving at home.
i'm sorry gran "ma is sick, so we ca n't go there as usual, but i like to mess "round here, do n't you, girls?"
asked tilly, pausing to take a sniff at the spicy pestle.
""it will be kind of lonesome with only our own folks."
""i like to see all the cousins and aunts, and have games, and sing," cried the twins, who were regular little romps, and could run, swim, coast and shout as well as their brothers.
""i do n't care a mite for all that.
it will be so nice to eat dinner together, warm and comfortable at home," said quiet prue, who loved her own cozy nooks like a cat.
""come, girls, fly "round and get your chores done, so we can clear away for dinner jest as soon as i clap my bread into the oven," called mrs. bassett presently, as she rounded off the last loaf of brown bread which was to feed the hungry mouths that seldom tasted any other.
""here's a man comin" up the hill, lively!"
""guess it's gad hopkins.
pa told him to bring a dezzen oranges, if they war n't too high!"
shouted sol and seth, running to the door, while the girls smacked their lips at the thought of this rare treat, and baby threw his apple overboard, as if getting ready for a new cargo.
but all were doomed to disappointment, for it was not gad, with the much-desired fruit.
it was a stranger, who threw himself off his horse and hurried up to mr. bassett in the yard, with some brief message that made the farmer drop his ax and look so sober that his wife guessed at once some bad news had come; and crying, "mother's wuss!
i know she is!"
out ran the good woman, forgetful of the flour on her arms and the oven waiting for its most important batch.
the man said old mr. chadwick, down to keene, stopped him as he passed, and told him to tell mrs. bassett her mother was failin" fast, and she'd better come to-day.
he knew no more, and having delivered his errand he rode away, saying it looked like snow and he must be jogging, or he would n't get home till night.
""we must go right off, eldad.
hitch up, and i'll be ready in less'n no time," said mrs. bassett, wasting not a minute in tears and lamentations, but pulling off her apron as she went in, with her mind in a sad jumble of bread, anxiety, turkey, sorrow, haste, and cider apple-sauce.
a few words told the story, and the children left their work to help her get ready, mingling their grief for "gran "ma" with regrets for the lost dinner.
""i'm dreadful sorry, dears, but it ca n't be helped.
i could n't cook nor eat no way, now, and if that blessed woman gets better sudden, as she has before, we'll have cause for thanksgivin", and i'll give you a dinner you wo n't forget in a hurry," said mrs. bassett, as she tied on her brown silk pumpkin-hood, with a sob for the good old mother who had made it for her.
not a child complained after that, but ran about helpfully, bringing moccasins, heating the footstone, and getting ready for a long drive, because gran "ma lived twenty miles away, and there were no railroads in those parts to whisk people to and fro like magic.
by the time the old yellow sleigh was at the door, the bread was in the oven, and mrs. bassett was waiting, with her camlet cloak on, and the baby done up like a small bale of blankets.
""now, eph, you must look after the cattle like a man, and keep up the fires, for there's a storm brewin", and neither the children nor dumb critters must suffer," said mr. bassett, as he turned up the collar of his rough coat and put on his blue mittens, while the old mare shook her bells as if she preferred a trip to keene to hauling wood all day.
""tilly, put extry comfortables on the beds to-night, the wind is so searchin" up chamber.
have the baked beans and injun-puddin" for dinner, and whatever you do, do n't let the boys git at the mince-pies, or you'll have them down sick.
i shall come back the minute i can leave mother.
pa will come to-morrer, anyway, so keep snug and be good.
i depend on you, my darter; use your jedgment, and do n't let nothin" happen while mother's away."
""yes'm, yes'm -- good-bye, good-bye!"
called the children, as mrs. bassett was packed into the sleigh and driven away, leaving a stream of directions behind her.
eph, the sixteen-year-old boy, immediately put on his biggest boots, assumed a sober, responsible manner, and surveyed his little responsibilities with a paternal air, drolly like his father's.
tilly tied on her mother's bunch of keys, rolled up the sleeves of her homespun gown, and began to order about the younger girls.
they soon forgot poor granny, and found it great fun to keep house all alone, for mother seldom left home, but ruled her family in the good old-fashioned way.
there were no servants, for the little daughters were mrs. bassett's only maids, and the stout boys helped their father, all working happily together with no wages but love; learning in the best manner the use of the heads and hands with which they were to make their own way in the world.
the few flakes that caused the farmer to predict bad weather soon increased to a regular snow-storm, with gusts of wind, for up among the hills winter came early and lingered long.
but the children were busy, gay, and warm in-doors, and never minded the rising gale nor the whirling white storm outside.
tilly got them a good dinner, and when it was over the two elder girls went to their spinning, for in the kitchen stood the big and little wheels, and baskets of wool-rolls, ready to be twisted into yarn for the winter's knitting, and each day brought its stint of work to the daughters, who hoped to be as thrifty as their mother.
eph kept up a glorious fire, and superintended the small boys, who popped corn and whittled boats on the hearth; while roxy and rhody dressed corn-cob dolls in the settle corner, and bose, the brindled mastiff, lay on the braided mat, luxuriously warming his old legs.
thus employed, they made a pretty picture, these rosy boys and girls, in their homespun suits, with the rustic toys or tasks which most children nowadays would find very poor or tiresome.
tilly and prue sang, as they stepped to and fro, drawing out the smoothly twisted threads to the musical hum of the great spinning-wheels.
the little girls chattered like magpies over their dolls and the new bed-spread they were planning to make, all white dimity stars on a blue calico ground, as a christmas present to ma.
the boys roared at eph's jokes, and had rough and tumble games over bose, who did n't mind them in the least; and so the afternoon wore pleasantly away.
at sunset the boys went out to feed the cattle, bring in heaps of wood, and lock up for the night, as the lonely farm-house seldom had visitors after dark.
the girls got the simple supper of brown bread and milk, baked apples, and a doughnut all "round as a treat.
then they sat before the fire, the sisters knitting, the brothers with books or games, for eph loved reading, and sol and seth never failed to play a few games of morris with barley corns, on the little board they had made themselves at one corner of the dresser.
""read out a piece," said tilly, from mother's chair, where she sat in state, finishing off the sixth woolen sock she had knit that month.
""it's the old history book, but here's a bit you may like, since it's about our folks," answered eph, turning the yellow page to look at a picture of two quaintly dressed children in some ancient castle.
""yes, read that.
i always like to hear about the lady matildy i was named for, and lord bassett, pa's great-great-great-grandpa.
he's only a farmer now, but it's nice to know that we were somebody two or three hundred years ago," said tilly, bridling and tossing her curly head as she fancied the lady matilda might have done.
""do n't read the queer words,'cause we do n't understand'em.
tell it," commanded roxy, from the cradle, where she was drowsily cuddled with rhody.
""well, a long time ago, when charles the first was in prison, lord bassett was a true friend to him," began eph, plunging into his story without delay.
""the lord had some papers that would have hung a lot of people if the king's enemies got hold of'em, so when he heard one day, all of a sudden, that soldiers were at the castle-gate to carry him off, he had just time to call his girl to him, and say: "i may be going to my death, but i wo n't betray my master.
there is no time to burn the papers, and i can not take them with me; they are hidden in the old leathern chair where i sit.
no one knows this but you, and you must guard them till i come or send you a safe messenger to take them away.
promise me to be brave and silent, and i can go without fear."
you see, he was n't afraid to die, but he was to seem a traitor.
lady matildy promised solemnly, and the words were hardly out of her mouth when the men came in, and her father was carried away a prisoner and sent off to the tower.
""but she did n't cry; she just called her brother, and sat down in that chair, with her head leaning back on those papers, like a queen, and waited while the soldiers hunted the house over for'em: was n't that a smart girl?"
cried tilly, beaming with pride, for she was named for this ancestress, and knew the story by heart.
""i reckon she was scared, though, when the men came swearin" in and asked her if she knew anything about it.
the boy did his part then, for he did n't know, and fired up and stood before his sister; and he says, says he, as bold as a lion: "if my lord had told us where the papers be, we would die before we would betray him.
but we are children and know nothing, and it is cowardly of you to try to fright us with oaths and drawn swords!""
as eph quoted from the book, seth planted himself before tilly, with the long poker in his hand, saying, as he flourished it valiantly: "why did n't the boy take his father's sword and lay about him?
i would, if any one was ha "sh to tilly."
""you bantam!
he was only a bit of a boy, and could n't do anything.
sit down and hear the rest of it," commanded tilly, with a pat on the yellow head, and a private resolve that seth should have the largest piece of pie at dinner next day, as reward for his chivalry.
""well, the men went off after turning the castle out of window, but they said they should come again; so faithful matildy was full of trouble, and hardly dared to leave the room where the chair stood.
all day she sat there, and at night her sleep was so full of fear about it, that she often got up and went to see that all was safe.
the servants thought the fright had hurt her wits, and let her be, but rupert, the boy, stood by her and never was afraid of her queer ways.
she was" a pious maid," the book says, and often spent the long evenings reading the bible, with her brother by her, all alone in the great room, with no one to help her bear her secret, and no good news of her father.
at last, word came that the king was dead and his friends banished out of england.
then the poor children were in a sad plight, for they had no mother, and the servants all ran away, leaving only one faithful old man to help them."
""but the father did come?"
cried roxy, eagerly.
""you'll see," continued eph, half telling, half reading.
""matilda was sure he would, so she sat on in the big chair, guarding the papers, and no one could get her away, till one day a man came with her father's ring and told her to give up the secret.
she knew the ring, but would not tell until she had asked many questions, so as to be very sure, and while the man answered all about her father and the king, she looked at him sharply.
then she stood up and said, in a tremble, for there was something strange about the man: "sir, i doubt you in spite of the ring, and i will not answer till you pull off the false beard you wear, that i may see your face and know if you are my father's friend or foe."
off came the disguise, and matilda found it was my lord himself, come to take them with him out of england.
he was very proud of that faithful girl, i guess, for the old chair still stands in the castle, and the name keeps in the family, pa says, even over here, where some of the bassetts came along with the pilgrims."
""our tilly would have been as brave, i know, and she looks like the old picter down to grandma's, do n't she, eph?"
cried prue, who admired her bold, bright sister very much.
""well, i think you'd do the settin" part best, prue, you are so patient.
till would fight like a wild cat, but she ca n't hold her tongue worth a cent," answered eph; whereat tilly pulled his hair, and the story ended with a general frolic.
when the moon-faced clock behind the door struck nine, tilly tucked up the children under the "extry comfortables," and having kissed them all around, as mother did, crept into her own nest, never minding the little drifts of snow that sifted in upon her coverlet between the shingles of the roof, nor the storm that raged without.
as if he felt the need of unusual vigilance, old bose lay down on the mat before the door, and pussy had the warm hearth all to herself.
if any late wanderer had looked in at midnight, he would have seen the fire blazing up again, and in the cheerful glow the old cat blinking her yellow eyes, as she sat bolt upright beside the spinning-wheel, like some sort of household goblin, guarding the children while they slept.
when they woke, like early birds, it still snowed, but up the little bassetts jumped, broke the ice in their pitchers, and went down with cheeks glowing like winter apples, after a brisk scrub and scramble into their clothes.
eph was off to the barn, and tilly soon had a great kettle of mush ready, which, with milk warm from the cows, made a wholesome breakfast for the seven hearty children.
""now about dinner," said the young housekeeper, as the pewter spoons stopped clattering, and the earthen bowls stood empty.
""ma said, have what we liked, but she did n't expect us to have a real thanksgiving dinner, because she wo n't be here to cook it, and we do n't know how," began prue, doubtfully.
""i can roast a turkey and make a pudding as well as anybody, i guess.
the pies are all ready, and if we ca n't boil vegetables and so on, we do n't deserve any dinner," cried tilly, burning to distinguish herself, and bound to enjoy to the utmost her brief authority.
""yes, yes!"
cried all the boys, "let's have a dinner anyway; ma wo n't care, and the good victuals will spoil if they ai n't eaten right up."
""pa is coming to-night, so we wo n't have dinner till late; that will be real genteel and give us plenty of time," added tilly, suddenly realizing the novelty of the task she had undertaken.
""did you ever roast a turkey?"
asked roxy, with an air of deep interest.
""should you darst to try?"
said rhody, in an awe-stricken tone.
""you will see what i can do.
ma said i was to use my jedgment about things, and i'm going to.
all you children have got to do is to keep out of the way, and let prue and me work.
eph, i wish you'd put a fire in the best room, so the little ones can play in there.
we shall want the settin" - room for the table, and i wo n't have'em pickin" "round when we get things fixed," commanded tilly, bound to make her short reign a brilliant one.
""i do n't know about that.
ma did n't tell us to," began cautious eph, who felt that this invasion of the sacred best parlor was a daring step.
""do n't we always do it sundays and thanksgivings?
would n't ma wish the children kept safe and warm anyhow?
can i get up a nice dinner with four rascals under my feet all the time?
come, now, if you want roast turkey and onions, plum-puddin" and mince-pie, you'll have to do as i tell you, and be lively about it."
tilly spoke with such spirit, and her last suggestion was so irresistible, that eph gave in, and, laughing good-naturedly, tramped away to heat up the best room, devoutly hoping that nothing serious would happen to punish such audacity.
the young folks delightedly trooped in to destroy the order of that prim apartment with housekeeping under the black horse-hair sofa, "horseback riders" on the arms of the best rocking-chair, and an indian war-dance all over the well-waxed furniture.
eph, finding the society of the peaceful sheep and cows more to his mind than that of two excited sisters, lingered over his chores in the barn as long as possible, and left the girls in peace.
now tilly and prue were in their glory, and as soon as the breakfast things were out of the way, they prepared for a grand cooking-time.
they were handy girls, though they had never heard of a cooking-school, never touched a piano, and knew nothing of embroidery beyond the samplers which hung framed in the parlor; one ornamented with a pink mourner under a blue weeping-willow, the other with this pleasing verse, each word being done in a different color, which gave the effect of a distracted rainbow: "this sampler neat was worked by me, in my twelfth year, prudence b." both rolled up their sleeves, put on their largest aprons, and got out all the spoons, dishes, pots, and pans they could find, "so as to have everything handy," as prue said.
""now, sister, we'll have dinner at five; pa will be here by that time if he is coming to-night, and be so surprised to find us all ready, for he wo n't have had any very nice victuals if gran "ma is so sick," said tilly importantly.
""i shall give the children a piece at noon" -lrb- tilly meant luncheon -rrb-; "doughnuts and cheese, with apple-pie and cider will please'em.
there's beans for eph; he likes cold pork, so we wo n't stop to warm it up, for there's lots to do, and i do n't mind saying to you i'm dreadful dubersome about the turkey."
""it's all ready but the stuffing, and roasting is as easy as can be.
i can baste first rate.
ma always likes to have me, i'm so patient and stiddy, she says," answered prue, for the responsibility of this great undertaking did not rest upon her, so she took a cheerful view of things.
""i know, but it's the stuffin" that troubles me," said tilly, rubbing her round elbows as she eyed the immense fowl laid out on a platter before her.
""i do n't know how much i want, nor what sort of yarbs to put in, and he's so awful big, i'm kind of afraid of him."
""i ai n't!
i fed him all summer, and he never gobbled at me.
i feel real mean to be thinking of gobbling him, poor old chap," laughed prue, patting her departed pet with an air of mingled affection and appetite.
""well, i'll get the puddin" off my mind fust, for it ought to bile all day.
put the big kettle on, and see that the spit is clean, while i get ready."
prue obediently tugged away at the crane, with its black hooks, from which hung the iron tea-kettle and three-legged pot; then she settled the long spit in the grooves made for it in the tall andirons, and put the dripping-pan underneath, for in those days meat was roasted as it should be, not baked in ovens.
meantime tilly attacked the plum-pudding.
she felt pretty sure of coming out right, here, for she had seen her mother do it so many times, it looked very easy.
so in went suet and fruit; all sorts of spice, to be sure she got the right ones, and brandy instead of wine.
but she forgot both sugar and salt, and tied it in the cloth so tightly that it had no room to swell, so it would come out as heavy as lead and as hard as a cannon-ball, if the bag did not burst and spoil it all.
happily unconscious of these mistakes, tilly popped it into the pot, and proudly watched it bobbing about before she put the cover on and left it to its fate.
""i ca n't remember what flavorin" ma puts in," she said, when she had got her bread well soaked for the stuffing.
""sage and onions and apple-sauce go with goose, but i ca n't feel sure of anything but pepper and salt for a turkey."
""ma puts in some kind of mint, i know, but i forget whether it is spearmint, peppermint, or penny-royal," answered prue, in a tone of doubt, but trying to show her knowledge of "yarbs," or, at least, of their names.
""seems to me it's sweet marjoram or summer savory.
i guess we'll put both in, and then we are sure to be right.
the best is up garret; you run and get some, while i mash the bread," commanded tilly, diving into the mess.
away trotted prue, but in her haste she got catnip and wormwood, for the garret was darkish, and prue's little nose was so full of the smell of the onions she had been peeling, that everything smelt of them.
eager to be of use, she pounded up the herbs and scattered the mixture with a liberal hand into the bowl.
""it does n't smell just right, but i suppose it will when it is cooked," said tilly, as she filled the empty stomach, that seemed aching for food, and sewed it up with the blue yarn, which happened to be handy.
she forgot to tie down his legs and wings, but she set him by till his hour came, well satisfied with her work.
""shall we roast the little pig, too?
i think he'd look nice with a necklace of sausages, as ma fixed one last christmas," asked prue, elated with their success.
""i could n't do it.
i loved that little pig, and cried when he was killed.
i should feel as if i was roasting the baby," answered tilly, glancing toward the buttery where piggy hung, looking so pink and pretty it certainly did seem cruel to eat him.
it took a long time to get all the vegetables ready, for, as the cellar was full, the girls thought they would have every sort.
eph helped, and by noon all was ready for cooking, and the cranberry-sauce, a good deal scorched, was cooling in the lean-to.
luncheon was a lively meal, and doughnuts and cheese vanished in such quantities that tilly feared no one would have an appetite for her sumptuous dinner.
the boys assured her they would be starving by five o'clock, and sol mourned bitterly over the little pig that was not to be served up.
""now you all go and coast, while prue and i set the table and get out the best chiny," said tilly, bent on having her dinner look well, no matter what its other failings might be.
out came the rough sleds, on went the round hoods, old hats, red cloaks, and moccasins, and away trudged the four younger bassetts, to disport themselves in the snow, and try the ice down by the old mill, where the great wheel turned and splashed so merrily in the summer-time.
eph took his fiddle and scraped away to his heart's content in the parlor, while the girls, after a short rest, set the table and made all ready to dish up the dinner when that exciting moment came.
it was not at all the sort of table we see now, but would look very plain and countrified to us, with its green-handled knives and two-pronged steel forks; its red-and-white china, and pewter platters, scoured till they shone, with mugs and spoons to match, and a brown jug for the cider.
the cloth was coarse, but white as snow, and the little maids had seen the blue-eyed flax grow, out of which their mother wove the linen they had watched and watered while it bleached in the green meadow.
they had no napkins and little silver; but the best tankard and ma's few wedding spoons were set forth in state.
nuts and apples at the corners gave an air, and the place of honor was left in the middle for the oranges yet to come.
""do n't it look beautiful?"
said prue, when they paused to admire the general effect.
""pretty nice, i think.
i wish ma could see how well we can do it," began tilly, when a loud howling startled both girls, and sent them flying to the window.
the short afternoon had passed so quickly that twilight had come before they knew it, and now, as they looked out through the gathering dusk, they saw four small black figures tearing up the road, to come bursting in, all screaming at once: "the bear, the bear!
eph, get the gun!
he's coming, he's coming!"
eph had dropped his fiddle, and got down his gun before the girls could calm the children enough to tell their story, which they did in a somewhat incoherent manner.
""down in the holler, coastin", we heard a growl," began sol, with his eyes as big as saucers.
""i see him fust lookin" over the wall," roared seth, eager to get his share of honor.
""awful big and shaggy," quavered roxy, clinging to tilly, while rhody hid in prue's skirts, and piped out: "his great paws kept clawing at us, and i was so scared my legs would hardly go."
""we ran away as fast as we could go, and he come growling after us.
he's awful hungry, and he'll eat every one of us if he gets in," continued sol, looking about him for a safe retreat.
""oh, eph, do n't let him eat us," cried both little girls, flying up stairs to hide under their mother's bed, as their surest shelter.
""no danger of that, you little geese.
i'll shoot him as soon as he comes.
get out of the way, boys," and eph raised the window to get good aim.
""there he is!
fire away, and do n't miss!"
cried seth, hastily following sol, who had climbed to the top of the dresser as a good perch from which to view the approaching fray.
prue retired to the hearth as if bent on dying at her post rather than desert the turkey, now "browning beautiful," as she expressed it.
but tilly boldly stood at the open window, ready to lend a hand if the enemy proved too much for eph.
all had seen bears, but none had ever come so near before, and even brave eph felt that the big brown beast slowly trotting up the door-yard was an unusually formidable specimen.
he was growling horribly, and stopped now and then as if to rest and shake himself.
""get the ax, tilly, and if i should miss, stand ready to keep him off while i load again," said eph, anxious to kill his first bear in style and alone; a girl's help did n't count.
tilly flew for the ax, and was at her brother's side by the time the bear was near enough to be dangerous.
he stood on his hind legs, and seemed to sniff with relish the savory odors that poured out of the window.
""fire, eph!"
cried tilly, firmly.
""wait till he rears again.
i'll get a better shot, then," answered the boy, while prue covered her ears to shut out the bang, and the small boys cheered from their dusty refuge up among the pumpkins.
but a very singular thing happened next, and all who saw it stood amazed, for suddenly tilly threw down the ax, flung open the door, and ran straight into the arms of the bear, who stood erect to receive her, while his growlings changed to a loud "haw, haw!"
that startled the children more than the report of a gun.
""it's gad hopkins, tryin" to fool us!"
cried eph, much disgusted at the loss of his prey, for these hardy boys loved to hunt, and prided themselves on the number of wild animals and birds they could shoot in a year.
""oh, gad, how could you scare us so?"
laughed tilly, still held fast in one shaggy arm of the bear, while the other drew a dozen oranges from some deep pocket in the buffalo-skin coat, and fired them into the kitchen with such good aim that eph ducked, prue screamed, and sol and seth came down much quicker than they went up.
""wal, you see i got upsot over yonder, and the old horse went home while i was floundering in a drift, so i tied on the buffalers to tote'em easy, and come along till i see the children playin" in the holler.
i jest meant to give'em a little scare, but they run like partridges, and i kep" up the joke to see how eph would like this sort of company," and gad haw-hawed again.
""you'd have had a warm welcome if we had n't found you out.
i'd have put a bullet through you in a jiffy, old chap," said eph, coming out to shake hands with the young giant, who was only a year or two older than himself.
""come in and set up to dinner with us.
prue and i have done it all ourselves, and pa will be along soon, i reckon," cried tilly, trying to escape.
""could n't, no ways.
my folks will think i'm dead ef i do n't get along home, sence the horse and sleigh have gone ahead empty.
i've done my arrant and had my joke; now i want my pay, tilly," and gad took a hearty kiss from the rosy cheeks of his "little sweetheart," as he called her.
his own cheeks tingled with the smart slap she gave him as she ran away, calling out that she hated bears and would bring her ax next time.
""i ai n't afeared; your sharp eyes found me out; and ef you run into a bear's arms you must expect a hug," answered gad, as he pushed back the robe and settled his fur cap more becomingly.
""i should have known you in a minute if i had n't been asleep when the girls squalled.
you did it well, though, and i advise you not to try it again in a hurry, or you'll get shot," said eph, as they parted, he rather crestfallen and gad in high glee.
""my sakes alive -- the turkey is burnt one side, and the kettles have biled over so the pies i put to warm are all ashes!"
scolded tilly, as the flurry subsided and she remembered her dinner.
""well, i ca n't help it.
i could n't think of victuals when i expected to be eaten alive myself, could i?"
pleaded poor prue, who had tumbled into the cradle when the rain of oranges began.
tilly laughed, and all the rest joined in, so good humor was restored, and the spirits of the younger ones were revived by sucks from the one orange which passed from hand to hand with great rapidity, while the older girls dished up the dinner.
they were just struggling to get the pudding out of the cloth when roxy called out, "here's pa!"
""there's folks with him," added rhody.
""lots of'em!
i see two big sleighs chock full," shouted seth, peering through the dusk.
""it looks like a semintary.
guess gramma's dead and come up to be buried here," said sol in a solemn tone.
this startling suggestion made tilly, prue, and eph hasten to look out, full of dismay at such an ending of their festival.
""if that is a funeral, the mourners are uncommon jolly," said eph, drily, as merry voices and loud laughter broke the white silence without.
""i see aunt cinthy, and cousin hetty -- and there's mose and amos.
i do declare, pa's bringin"'em all home to have some fun here," cried prue, as she recognized one familiar face after another.
""oh, my patience!
ai n't i glad i got dinner, and do n't i hope it will turn out good!"
exclaimed tilly, while the twins pranced with delight, and the small boys roared: "hooray for pa!
hooray for thanksgivin"!"
the cheer was answered heartily, and in came father, mother, baby, aunts and cousins, all in great spirits, and all much surprised to find such a festive welcome awaiting them.
""ai n't gran "ma dead at all?"
asked sol, in the midst of the kissing and hand-shaking.
""bless your heart, no!
it was all a mistake of old mr. chadwick's.
he's as deaf as an adder, and when mrs. brooks told him mother was mendin" fast, and she wanted me to come down to-day, certain sure, he got the message all wrong, and give it to the fust person passin" in such a way as to scare me "most to death, and send us down in a hurry.
mother was sittin" up as chirk as you please, and dreadful sorry you did n't all come."
""so, to keep the house quiet for her, and give you a taste of the fun, your pa fetched us all up to spend the evenin", and we are goin" to have a jolly time o n't, to jedge by the looks of things," said aunt cinthy, briskly finishing the tale when mrs. bassett paused for want of breath.
""what in the world put it into your head we was comin", and set you to gettin" up such a supper?"
asked mr. bassett, looking about him, well pleased and much surprised at the plentiful table.
tilly modestly began to tell, but the others broke in and sang her praises in a sort of chorus, in which bears, pigs, pies, and oranges were oddly mixed.
great satisfaction was expressed by all, and tilly and prue were so elated by the commendation of ma and the aunts, that they set forth their dinner, sure everything was perfect.
but when the eating began, which it did the moment wraps were off, then their pride got a fall; for the first person who tasted the stuffing -lrb- it was big cousin mose, and that made it harder to bear -rrb- nearly choked over the bitter morsel.
""tilly bassett, whatever made you put wormwood and catnip in your stuffin"?"
demanded ma, trying not to be severe, for all the rest were laughing, and tilly looked ready to cry.
""i did it," said prue, nobly taking all the blame, which caused pa to kiss her on the spot, and declare that it did n't do a might of harm, for the turkey was all right.
""i never see onions cooked better.
all the vegetables is well done, and the dinner a credit to you, my dears," declared aunt cinthy, with her mouth full of the fragrant vegetable she praised.
the pudding was an utter failure, in spite of the blazing brandy in which it lay -- as hard and heavy as one of the stone balls on squire dunkin's great gate.
it was speedily whisked out of sight, and all fell upon the pies, which were perfect.
but tilly and prue were much depressed, and did n't recover their spirits till the dinner was over and the evening fun well under way.
""blind-man's buff," "hunt the slipper," "come, philander," and other lively games soon set every one bubbling over with jollity, and when eph struck up "money musk" on his fiddle, old and young fell into their places for a dance.
all down the long kitchen they stood, mr. and mrs. bassett at the top, the twins at the bottom, and then away they went, heeling and toeing, cutting pigeon-wings, and taking their steps in a way that would convulse modern children with their new-fangled romps called dancing.
mose and tilly covered themselves with glory by the vigor with which they kept it up, till fat aunt cinthy fell into a chair, breathlessly declaring that a very little of such exercise was enough for a woman of her "heft."
apples and cider, chat and singing, finished the evening, and after a grand kissing all round, the guests drove away in the clear moonlight which came just in time to cheer their long drive.
when the jingle of the last bell had died away, mr. bassett said soberly, as they stood together on the hearth: "children, we have special cause to be thankful that the sorrow we expected was changed into joy, so we'll read a chapter "fore we go to bed, and give thanks where thanks is due."
then tilly set out the light-stand with the big bible on it, and a candle on each side, and all sat quietly in the fire-light, smiling as they listened with happy hearts to the sweet old words that fit all times and seasons so beautifully.
when the good-nights were over, and the children in bed, prue put her arm around tilly and whispered tenderly, for she felt her shake, and was sure she was crying: "do n't mind about the old stuffin" and puddin", deary -- nobody cared, and ma said we really did do surprisin" well for such young girls."
the laughter tilly was trying to smother broke out then, and was so infectious, prue could not help joining her, even before she knew the cause of the merriment.
""i was mad about the mistakes, but do n't care enough to cry.
i'm laughing to think how gad fooled eph and i found him out.
i thought mose and amos would have died over it when i told them, it was so funny," explained tilly, when she got her breath.
""i was so scared that when the first orange hit me, i thought it was a bullet, and scrabbled into the cradle as fast as i could.
it was real mean to frighten the little ones so," laughed prue, as tilly gave a growl.
here a smart rap on the wall of the next room caused a sudden lull in the fun, and mrs. bassett's voice was heard, saying warningly, "girls, go to sleep immediate, or you'll wake the baby."
""yes'm," answered two meek voices, and after a few irrepressible giggles, silence reigned, broken only by an occasional snore from the boys, or the soft scurry of mice in the buttery, taking their part in this old-fashioned thanksgiving.
ii.
how it all happened.
it was a small room, with nothing in it but a bed, two chairs, and a big chest.
a few little gowns hung on the wall, and the only picture was the wintry sky, sparkling with stars, framed by the uncurtained window.
but the moon, pausing to peep, saw something pretty and heard something pleasant.
two heads in little round nightcaps lay on one pillow, two pairs of wide-awake blue eyes stared up at the light, and two tongues were going like mill clappers.
""i'm so glad we got our shirts done in time!
it seemed as if we never should, and i do n't think six cents is half enough for a great red flannel thing with four button-holes -- do you?"
said one little voice, rather wearily.
""no; but then we each made four, and fifty cents is a good deal of money.
are you sorry we did n't keep our quarters for ourselves?"
asked the other voice, with an under-tone of regret in it.
""yes, i am, till i think how pleased the children will be with our tree, for they do n't expect anything, and will be so surprised.
i wish we had more toys to put on it, for it looks so small and mean with only three or four things."
""it wo n't hold any more, so i would n't worry about it.
the toys are very red and yellow, and i guess the babies wo n't know how cheap they are, but like them as much as if they cost heaps of money."
this was a cheery voice, and as it spoke the four blue eyes turned toward the chest under the window, and the kind moon did her best to light up the tiny tree standing there.
a very pitiful little tree it was -- only a branch of hemlock in an old flower-pot, propped up with bits of coal, and hung with a few penny toys earned by the patient fingers of the elder sisters, that the little ones should not be disappointed.
but in spite of the magical moonlight the broken branch, with its scanty supply of fruit, looked pathetically poor, and one pair of eyes filled slowly with tears, while the other pair lost their happy look, as if a cloud had come over the sunshine.
""are you crying, dolly?"
""not much, polly."
""what makes you, dear?"
""i did n't know how poor we were till i saw the tree, and then i could n't help it," sobbed the elder sister, for at twelve she already knew something of the cares of poverty, and missed the happiness that seemed to vanish out of all their lives when father died.
""it's dreadful!
i never thought we'd have to earn our tree, and only be able to get a broken branch, after all, with nothing on it but three sticks of candy, two squeaking dogs, a red cow, and an ugly bird with one feather in its tail;" and overcome by a sudden sense of destitution, polly sobbed even more despairingly than dolly.
""hush, dear; we must cry softly, or mother will hear, and come up, and then we shall have to tell.
you know we said we would n't seem to mind not having any christmas, she felt so sorry about it."
""i must cry, but i'll be quiet."
so the two heads went under the pillow for a few minutes, and not a sound betrayed them as the little sisters cried softly in one another's arms, lest mother should discover that they were no longer careless children, but brave young creatures trying to bear their share of the burden cheerfully.
when the shower was over, the faces came out shining like roses after rain, and the voices went on again as before.
""do n't you wish there really was a santa claus, who knew what we wanted, and would come and put two silver half-dollars in our stockings, so we could go and see puss in boots at the museum to-morrow afternoon?"
""yes, indeed; but we did n't hang up any stockings, you know, because mother had nothing to put in them.
it does seem as if rich people might think of poor people now and then.
such little bits of things would make us happy, and it could n't be much trouble to take two small girls to the play, and give them candy now and then.""
i shall when i'm rich, like mr. chrome and miss kent.
i shall go round every christmas with a big basket of goodies, and give all the poor children some."
""p "r "aps if we sew ever so many flannel shirts we may be rich by-and-by.
i should give mother a new bonnet first of all, for i heard miss kent say no lady would wear such a shabby one.
mrs. smith said fine bonnets did n't make real ladies.
i like her best, but i do want a locket like miss kent's."
""i should give mother some new rubbers, and then i should buy a white apron, with frills like miss kent's, and bring home nice bunches of grapes and good things to eat, as mr. chrome does.
i often smell them, but he never gives me any; he only says, "hullo, chick!"
and i'd rather have oranges any time."
""it will take us a long while to get rich, i'm afraid.
it makes me tired to think of it.
i guess we'd better go to sleep now, dear."
""good-night, dolly."
""good-night, polly."
two soft kisses were heard, a nestling sound followed, and presently the little sisters lay fast asleep cheek against cheek, on the pillow wet with their tears, never dreaming what was going to happen to them to-morrow.
now miss kent's room was next to theirs, and as she sat sewing she could hear the children's talk, for they soon forgot to whisper.
at first she smiled, then she looked sober, and when the prattle ceased she said to herself, as she glanced about her pleasant chamber: "poor little things!
they think i'm rich, and envy me, when i'm only a milliner earning my living.
i ought to have taken more notice of them, for their mother has a hard time, i fancy, but never complains.
i'm sorry they heard what i said, and if i knew how to do it without offending her, i'd trim a nice bonnet for a christmas gift, for she is a lady, in spite of her old clothes.
i can give the children some of the things they want anyhow, and i will.
the idea of those mites making a fortune out of shirts at six cents apiece!"
miss kent laughed at the innocent delusion, but sympathized with her little neighbors, for she knew all about hard times.
she had good wages now, but spent them on herself, and liked to be fine rather than neat.
still, she was a good-hearted girl, and what she had overheard set her to thinking soberly, then to acting kindly, as we shall see.
""if i had n't spent all my money on my dress for the party to-morrow night, i'd give each of them a half-dollar.
as i can not, i'll hunt up the other things they wanted, for it's a shame they should n't have a bit of christmas, when they tried so hard to please the little ones."
as she spoke she stirred about her room, and soon had a white apron, an old carnelian heart on a fresh blue ribbon, and two papers of bonbons ready.
as no stockings were hung up, she laid a clean towel on the floor before the door, and spread forth the small gifts to look their best.
miss kent was so busy that she did not hear a step come quietly up stairs, and mr. chrome, the artist, peeped at her through the balusters, wondering what she was about.
he soon saw, and watched her with pleasure, thinking that she never looked prettier than now.
presently she caught him at it, and hastened to explain, telling what she had heard, and how she was trying to atone for her past neglect of these young neighbors.
then she said good-night, and both went into their rooms, she to sleep happily, and he to smoke as usual.
but his eye kept turning to some of the "nice little bundles" that lay on his table, as if the story he had heard suggested how he might follow miss kent's example.
i rather think he would not have disturbed himself if he had not heard the story told in such a soft voice, with a pair of bright eyes full of pity looking into his, for little girls were not particularly interesting to him, and he was usually too tired to notice the industrious creatures toiling up and down stairs on various errands, or sewing at the long red seams.
now that he knew something of their small troubles, he felt as if it would please miss kent, and be a good joke, to do his share of the pretty work she had begun.
so presently he jumped up, and, opening his parcels, took out two oranges and two bunches of grapes, then he looked up two silver half-dollars, and stealing into the hall, laid the fruit upon the towel, and the money atop of the oranges.
this addition improved the display very much, and mr. chrome was stealing back, well pleased, when his eye fell on miss kent's door, and he said to himself, "she too shall have a little surprise, for she is a dear, kind-hearted soul."
in his room was a prettily painted plate, and this he filled with green and purple grapes, tucked a sentimental note underneath, and leaving it on her threshold, crept away as stealthily as a burglar.
the house was very quiet when mrs. smith, the landlady, came up to turn off the gas.
""well, upon my word, here's fine doings, to be sure!"
she said, when she saw the state of the upper hall.
""now i would n't have thought it of miss kent, she is such a giddy girl, nor of mr. chrome, he is so busy with his own affairs.
i meant to give those children each a cake to-morrow, they are such good little things.
i'll run down and get them now, as my contribution to this fine set out."
away trotted mrs. smith to her pantry, and picked out a couple of tempting cakes, shaped like hearts and full of plums.
there was a goodly array of pies on the shelves, and she took two of them, saying, as she climbed the stairs again, "they remembered the children, so i'll remember them, and have my share of the fun."
so up went the pies, for mrs. smith had not much to give, and her spirit was generous, though her pastry was not of the best.
it looked very droll to see pies sitting about on the thresholds of closed doors, but the cakes were quite elegant, and filled up the corners of the towel handsomely, for the apron lay in the middle, with the oranges right and left, like two sentinels in yellow uniforms.
it was very late when the flicker of a candle came up stairs, and a pale lady, with a sweet sad face, appeared, bringing a pair of red and a pair of blue mittens for her dolly and polly.
poor mrs. blake did have a hard time, for she stood all day in a great store that she might earn bread for the poor children who staid at home and took care of one another.
her heart was very heavy that night, because it was the first christmas she had ever known without gifts and festivity of some sort.
but petkin, the youngest child, had been ill, times were very hard, the little mouths gaped for food like the bills of hungry birds, and there was no tender mate to help fill them.
if any elves had been hovering about the dingy hall just then, they would have seen the mother's tired face brighten beautifully when she discovered the gifts, and found that her little girls had been so kindly remembered.
something more brilliant than the mock diamonds in miss kent's best earrings fell and glittered on the dusty floor as mrs. blake added the mittens to the other things, and went to her lonely room again, smiling as she thought how she could thank them all in a sweet and simple way.
her windows were full of flowers, for the delicate tastes of the poor lady found great comfort in their beauty.
""i have nothing else to give, and these will show how grateful i am," she said, as she rejoiced that the scarlet geraniums were so full of gay clusters, the white chrysanthemum stars were all out, and the pink roses at their loveliest.
they slept now, dreaming of a sunny morrow as they sat safely sheltered from the bitter cold.
but that night was their last, for a gentle hand cut them all, and soon three pretty nosegays stood in a glass, waiting for dawn, to be laid at three doors, with a few grateful words which would surprise and delight the receivers, for flowers were rare in those hard-working lives, and kind deeds often come back to the givers in fairer shapes than they go.
now one would think that there had been gifts enough, and no more could possibly arrive, since all had added his or her mite except betsey, the maid, who was off on a holiday, and the babies fast asleep in their trundle-bed, with nothing to give but love and kisses.
nobody dreamed that the old cat would take it into her head that her kittens were in danger, because mrs. smith had said she thought they were nearly old enough to be given away.
but she must have understood, for when all was dark and still, the anxious mother went patting up stairs to the children's door, meaning to hide her babies under their bed, sure they would save them from destruction.
mrs. blake had shut the door, however, so poor puss was disappointed; but finding a soft, clean spot among a variety of curious articles, she laid her kits there, and kept them warm all night, with her head pillowed on the blue mittens.
in the cold morning dolly and polly got up and scrambled into their clothes, not with joyful haste to see what their stockings held, for they had none, but because they had the little ones to dress while mother got the breakfast.
dolly opened the door, and started back with a cry of astonishment at the lovely spectacle before her.
the other people had taken in their gifts, so nothing destroyed the magnificent effect of the treasures so curiously collected in the night.
puss had left her kits asleep, and gone down to get her own breakfast, and there, in the middle of the ruffled apron, as if in a dainty cradle, lay the two maltese darlings, with white bibs and boots on, and white tips to the tiny tails curled round their little noses in the sweetest way.
polly and dolly could only clasp their hands and look in rapturous silence for a minute; then they went down on their knees and revelled in the unexpected richness before them.
""i do believe there is a santa claus, and that he heard us, for here is everything we wanted," said dolly, holding the carnelian heart in one hand and the plummy one in the other.
""it must have been some kind of a fairy, for we did n't mention kittens, but we wanted one, and here are two darlings," cried polly, almost purring with delight as the downy bunches unrolled and gaped till their bits of pink tongues were visible.
""mrs. smith was one fairy, i guess, and miss kent was another, for that is her apron.
i should n't wonder if mr. chrome gave us the oranges and the money: men always have lots, and his name is on this bit of paper," said dolly.
""oh, i'm so glad!
now we shall have a christmas like other people, and i'll never say again that rich folks do n't remember poor folks.
come and show all our treasures to mother and the babies; they must have some," answered polly, feeling that the world was all right, and life not half as hard as she thought it last night.
shrieks of delight greeted the sisters, and all that morning there was joy and feasting in mrs. blake's room, and in the afternoon dolly and polly went to the museum, and actually saw puss in boots; for their mother insisted on their going, having discovered how the hard-earned quarters had been spent.
this was such unhoped-for bliss that they could hardly believe it, and kept smiling at one another so brightly that people wondered who the happy little girls in shabby cloaks could be who clapped their new mittens so heartily, and laughed till it was better than music to hear them.
this was a very remarkable christmas-day, and they long remembered it; for while they were absorbed in the fortunes of the marquis of carabas and the funny cat, who tucked his tail in his belt, washed his face so awkwardly, and did n't know how to purr, strange things were happening at home, and more surprises were in store for our little friends.
you see, when people once begin to do kindnesses, it is so easy and pleasant they find it hard to leave off; and sometimes it beautifies them so that they find they love one another very much -- as mr. chrome and miss kent did, though we have nothing to do with that except to tell how they made the poor little tree grow and blossom.
they were very jolly at dinner, and talked a good deal about the blakes, who ate in their own rooms.
miss kent told what the children said, and it touched the soft spot in all their hearts to hear about the red shirts, though they laughed at polly's lament over the bird with only one feather in its tail.
""i'd give them a better tree if i had any place to put it, and knew how to trim it up," said mr. chrome, with a sudden burst of generosity, which so pleased miss kent that her eyes shone like christmas candles.
""put it in the back parlor.
all the browns are away for a week, and we'll help you trim it -- wo n't we, my dear?"
cried mrs. smith, warmly; for she saw that he was in a sociable mood, and thought it a pity that the blakes should not profit by it.
""yes, indeed; i should like it of all things, and it need n't cost much, for i have some skill in trimmings, as you know."
and miss kent looked so gay and pretty as she spoke that mr. chrome made up his mind that millinery must be a delightful occupation.
""come on then, ladies, and we'll have a little frolic.
i'm a lonely old bachelor, with nowhere to go to-day, and i'd like some fun."
they had it, i assure you; for they all fell to work as busy as bees, flying and buzzing about with much laughter as they worked their pleasant miracle.
mr. chrome acted more like the father of a large family than a crusty bachelor, miss kent's skillful fingers flew as they never did before, and mrs. smith trotted up and down as briskly as if she were sixteen instead of being a stout old woman of sixty.
the children were so full of the play, and telling all about it, that they forgot their tree till after supper; but when they went to look for it they found it gone, and in its place a great paper hand with one finger pointing down stairs, and on it these mysterious words in red ink: "look in the browns" back parlor!"
at the door of that interesting apartment they found their mother with will and petkin, for another hand had suddenly appeared to them pointing up.
the door flew open quite as if it were a fairy play, and they went in to find a pretty tree planted in a red box on the centre table, lighted with candles, hung with gilded nuts, red apples, gay bonbons, and a gift for each.
mr. chrome was hidden behind one folding-door, and fat mrs. smith squeezed behind the other, and they both thought it a great improvement upon the old-fashioned santa claus to have miss kent, in the white dress she made for the party, with mrs. blake's roses in her hair, step forward as the children gazed in silent rapture, and with a few sweet words welcome them to the little surprise their friends had made.
there were many christmas trees in the city that night, but none which gave such hearty pleasure as the one which so magically took the place of the broken branch and its few poor toys.
they were all there, however, and dolly and polly were immensely pleased to see that of all her gifts petkin chose the forlorn bird to carry to bed with her, the one yellow feather being just to her taste.
mrs. blake put on her neat bonnet, and was so gratified that miss kent thought it the most successful one she ever trimmed.
she was well paid for it by the thanks of one neighbor and the admiration of another; for when she went to her party mr. chrome went with her, and said something on the way which made her heart dance more lightly than her feet that night.
good mrs. smith felt that her house had covered itself with glory by this event, and dolly and polly declared that it was the most perfect and delightful surprise party ever seen.
it was all over by nine o'clock, and with good-night kisses for every one the little girls climbed up to bed laden with treasures and too happy for many words.
but as they tied their round caps dolly said, thoughtfully: "on the whole, i think it's rather nice to be poor when people are kind to you."
""well, i'd rather be rich; but if i ca n't be, it is very good fun to have christmas trees like this one," answered truthful polly, never guessing that they had planted the seed from which the little pine-tree grew so quickly and beautifully.
when the moon came to look in at the window on her nightly round, two smiling faces lay on the pillow, which was no longer wet with tears, but rather knobby with the mine of riches hidden underneath, -- first fruits of the neighborly friendship which flourished in that house until another and a merrier christmas came.
iii.
the dolls" journey from minnesota to maine.
mr. plum lived in st. paul, minnesota, u.s.a..
there were six little plums, all girls, varying in ages from fourteen to seven, and named kate, lucy, susy, lizzy, marjory and maggie.
there was no mamma, but mrs. gibbs, the housekeeper, was a kind old soul, and papa did everything he could to make the small daughters good and happy.
one stormy saturday afternoon the children were all together in the school-room, and papa busy at his desk in the library, with the door open because he liked to hear the pleasant voices and catch glimpses of the droll plays that went on there.
kate lay on the sofa reading "the daisy chain" for the fourth time.
susy, lucy and lizzie were having a select tea party in their own recess, the entrance to which was barricaded with chairs to keep out the "babies," as they called the little ones, who were much offended at being excluded and sat up in the cushioned window-seat pensively watching the rain.
""if it had only waited till to-morrow we should have had time for our journey; now we ca n't go till next saturday.
flora is so disappointed she would cry if i had not taught her to behave," said maggie with a sigh, as she surveyed the doll on her knee in its new summer suit.
""so is dora.
just see how sweet she looks with her hat and cape on and her travelling-bag all ready.
could n't we play travel in the house?
it is such a pity to wait when the children are in such a hurry to go," answered marjory, settling the tiny bag that held dora's nightcap and gown as well as the morsels of cake that were to serve for her lunch.
""no," said maggie decidedly, "we ca n't do it, because there is no room for carriages, and boats, and railroads, and hotels, and accidents.
it is a long journey from minnesota to maine, and we could n't get it all into one room i'm sure."
""i do n't think papa would mind our coming into the library, if we did n't ring the car bells very loud or scream much when the accidents happen," said marjory, who hated to give up the plan they had been cherishing all the week.
""what is it, little ones?
come and tell me what is the matter," called mr. plum, hearing his name and the magic word "railroad," for he was the president of one and had his hands full just then.
down jumped the little girls and ran to perch on either arm of his chair, pouring out their small tribulations as freely as if he had been the most sympathizing of mothers.
""we planned to take a long, long journey round the garden with our dolls to-day, and play go to maine and see aunt maria.
you know she asked us, and we looked out the way on the map and got all ready, and now it rains and we are dreadfully disappointed," said maggie, while marjory sighed as she looked at the red d. worked on the inch square travelling-bag.
""as you ca n't go, why not send the dolls to make aunty a visit, and she will send them back when they get homesick," proposed mr. plum, smiling, as if a sudden idea had popped into his head.
""really?"
cried maggie.
""how could we?"
asked marjory.
""they could go and come by mail, and tell you all about their adventures when they got back," said papa.
both children were speechless for a moment, then as the full splendor of this proposition dawned upon them they clapped their hands, crying eagerly: "we will!
we will!
let's do it at once."
""what?
where?
who?"
asked susy, lucy and lizzie, forgetting their tea party to run and see what was going on.
they were told, and in their turn exclaimed so loudly that kate came to join in the fun.
after a great deal of talking and laughing, the dolls were prepared for the long journey.
they were common wooden-headed dollies, a hand long, with stuffed bodies and stout legs ornamented with very small feet in red and blue boots.
dora was a blonde and flora a brunette, otherwise they were just alike and nearly new.
usually when people go travelling they put on their hats and cloaks, but these pilgrims, by papa's advice, left all encumbrances behind them, for they were to travel in a peculiar way, and blue gingham dresses were chosen for the expedition.
""it is possible that they may never come back.
accidents will happen you know.
are you prepared for that?"
asked mr. plum, pausing with the brown paper spread out before him.
""i am," answered maggie firmly, as she laid flora on the table, her black eyes staring as if rather alarmed at this sudden start.
marjory hesitated a moment, clasping dora to her bosom with a face full of maternal anxiety.
but susy, lucy and lizzie cried: "let her go, do let her go, and if she is lost papa will give you a new doll."
""good-by, my darling dear.
have a splendid time, and be sure you come back to me," whispered marjory, with a tender farewell kiss as she gave up her child.
all stood watching silently while papa tied the dolls back to back with the ribbon kate pulled from her neck, then folded them carefully in strong brown paper, leaving their heads out that they might see the world as they went along.
being carefully fastened up with several turns of cord, mr. plum directed the precious parcel to "miss maria plum, portland, maine.
with care."
then it was weighed, stamped, and pronounced ready for the post.
""i shall write and tell aunty they are coming, because she will want to be prepared for such distinguished visitors," said papa, taking up his pen with a glance at the six excited little faces round him.
silence reigned while the letter was written, and as he sealed it up mr. plum said solemnly, with his hand on the parcel: "for the last time, shall they go?"
""yes!"
answered the spartan mothers with one voice, while the other sisters danced round them, and kate patted the curly heads approvingly.
""going, going, gone!"
answered papa as he whisked on his coat and hat, and slammed the door behind him.
the children clustered at the window to see him set out on this momentous errand, and he often looked back waving his umbrella at them, till he vanished round the corner, with a reassuring pat on the pocket out of which dear do and flo popped their heads for a last look at their sweet home.
""now let us take out poor old lucinda and rose augusta to play with.
i know their feelings were hurt at our leaving them for the new dolls," said maggie, rummaging in the baby-house, whither margery soon followed her to reinstate the old darlings in the place of the departed new ones.
""safely off," reported mr. plum, when he came into tea, "and we may expect to hear from them in a week or two.
parcels go more slowly than letters, and this is aunty's busy season, so wait patiently and see what will happen."
""we will," said the little girls; and they did, but week after week went by and nothing was heard of the wanderers.
we, however, can follow them and learn much that their anxious mothers never knew.
as soon as flora and dora recovered from the bewilderment occasioned by the confusion of the post office, they found themselves in one of the many leathern mail bags rumbling eastward.
as it was perfectly dark they could not see their companions, so listened to the whispering and rustling that went on about them.
the newspapers all talked politics, and some of them used such bad language that the dolls would have covered their ears, if their hands had not been tied down.
the letters were better behaved and more interesting, for they told one another the news they carried, because nothing is private in america, and even gummed envelopes can not keep gossip from leaking out.
""it is very interesting, but i should enjoy it more if i was not grinding my nose against the rough side of this leather bag," whispered dora, who lay undermost just then.
""so should i, if a heavy book was not pinching my toes.
i've tried to kick it away, but it wo n't stir, and keeps droning on about reports and tariffs and such dull things," answered flora, with a groan.
""do you like travelling?"
asked dora, presently, when the letters and papers fell asleep, lulled by the motion of the cars.
""not yet, but i shall when i can look about me.
this bundle near by says the mails are often sorted in the cars, and in that way we shall see something of the world, i hope," answered flora, cheering up, for, like her mamma, she was of an enquiring turn.
the dolls took a nap of some hours, and were roused by a general tumbling out on a long shelf, where many other parcels lay, and lively men sent letters and papers flying here and there as if a whirlwind was blowing.
a long box lay beside the dolls who stood nearly erect leaning against a pile of papers.
several holes were cut in the lid, and out of one of them was thrust a little black nose, as if trying to get air.
""dear me!
what can be in it?"
said flora, who was nearest.
""i'm a poor little alligator, going to a boy in chicago, if you please, and i want my mother," sobbed a voice from the box, and there was a rap on the lid as of an agitated tail.
""mercy on us!
i hope we shall not have to travel with the monster," whispered dora, trying to see over her shoulder.
""i'm not afraid.
he ca n't be very dreadful, for the box is not any longer than we are.
natural history is very useful; i've heard mamma say so, and i shall talk with him while we rest here," answered flo, nodding toward the eye which now took the place of the nose.
so the little alligator told her something of his home on the banks of a great river, where he was just learning to play happily with his brothers and sisters, when he was caught and sent away to pine in captivity.
the dolls comforted him as well as they could, and a pair of baby's shoes travelling in an envelope sympathized with him, while a shabby bundle directed to "michael dolan, at mrs. judy quin's, next door to mr. pat murphy, boston, north street," told them to "whisht and slape quite till they came forninst the place."
""such low people!"
whispered do to flo, and both stood primly silent till they were tumbled into another mail bag, and went rattling on again with a new set of companions.
""i hope that poor baby will go safely and the boy be good to him," said flora, for the little alligator went with the live stock in some other way.
""thank goodness he did n't go with us!
i shall dream about that black nose and winking eye, i'm sure.
the dangers of travelling are great, but we are safe and comfortable now, i think," and dora settled down in a cozy corner of the bag, wondering when they should reach chicago.
""i like adventures and hope we shall have some," answered flora, briskly, little dreaming how soon her wish was to be granted.
a few hours later there come a bump, a crash, a cry, and then all the mail bags rolled one over the other with the car down an embankment into a river.
""now we are dead!"
shrieked the poor dolls, clinging together as they heard the splash of water, the shouting of men, the splintering of wood, and the hiss of steam.
""do n't be frightened, ladies, mail bags are always looked after," said a large envelope with an official seal and the name of a senator on it.
""any bones broken, dear madam?"
asked a jaunty pink letter, with a scent of musk about it, evidently a love-letter.
""i think one foot is hurt, and my clothes are dripping," sighed dora, faintly.
""water wo n't hurt calico," called out a magazine full of fashion plates, adding dolefully, as its gay colors began to run, "i shall be in a nice mess if i ever get out of this.
people will wear odd fashions if they follow me this time."
""hope they will telegraph news of this accident in time for the evening papers," said a dingy sheet called the "barahoo thunderbolt," as it lay atop of the heap in its yellow wrapper.
""be calm, my friends, and wait with fortitude for death or deliverance, as i do."
with which philosophic remark "the st. louis cosmos" folded the pages which for the first time since the paper was started, were not dry.
here the water rose over the topmost letter and a moist silence prevailed till a sudden jerk fished up the bag, and before the dolls could recover their wits they were spread out on the floor of a mail car to dry, while several busy men sorted and saved such papers and letters as still held together.
""now we shall see something," said flora, feeling the warm air blow over her as they spun along, for a slight accident like this did not delay the energetic westerners a moment longer than absolutely necessary.
""i ca n't see you, dear, but i hope you look better than i do, for the yellow of my hair has washed into my eyes and the red of my cheeks is quite gone, i'm sure," answered dora, as her wet dress flopped in the breeze and the broken foot sticking up showed her that her blue boots were ruined.
""i do n't care a bit how i look.
it's great fun now we are safe.
pop up your head and see the wide prairie flying past.
i do hope that poor baby got away and swam home to his mother.
the upset into the river was quite to his taste, i fancy," said flora, who was much excited by her adventure and eager for more.
presently one of the men set the dolls up in the corner of a window to dry, and there they stood viewing the fine landscape with one eye while the other watched the scene of devastation within.
everything was in great confusion after the accident, so it is not strange that the dolls were not missed when they slowly slid lower and lower till a sudden lurch of the car sent them out of the window to roll into a green field where cows were feeding and children picking strawberries.
""this is the end of us!
here we shall lie and mould forgotten by everybody," said dora, who always took a tragical view of things.
""not a bit of it!
i see cows eating toward us and they may give us a lift.
i've heard of their tossing people up, though i do n't know just how it's done.
if they do n't, we are in the path and some of those children are sure to find us," answered flora cheerfully, though she stood on her head with a bunch of burrs pricking her nose.
she was right.
a bright-eyed little german girl presently came trotting along the path with a great basket full of berries on her head arranged in pretty pottles ready for the market.
seeing the red cow sniffing at a brown paper parcel she drove her away, picked it up and peeped in at the open end.
the sight of two dolls in such a place made her feel as if fairies had dropped them there for her.
she could not read the direction and hurried home to show her treasure to her brothers and sisters of whom there were eight.
""what will become of us now!"
exclaimed dora, as eager hands slipped them out of the wrapper and smoothed their damp skirts in a room that seemed swarming with boys and girls of all sizes.
""do n't worry, we shall get on nicely, i'm sure, and learn german of these young persons.
it is a great relief to be able to stretch one's limbs and stand up, is n't it?"
answered flora, undismayed by anything that had happened as yet.
""yes, dear, i love you but i am tired of being tied to you all day.
i hope we shall live through this noise and get a little rest, but i give up the idea of ever seeing portland," answered dora, staring with all her blue eyes at the display of musical instruments about the room, and longing to stop her ears, for several of the children were playing on the violin, flute, horn or harp.
they were street musicians, and even the baby seemed to be getting ready to take part in the concert, for he sat on the floor beside an immense bass horn taller than himself, with his rosy lips at the mouth piece and his cheeks puffed out in vain attempts to make a "boom!
boom!"
as brother fritz did.
flora was delighted, and gave skips on her red boots in time to the lively tooting of the boys, while the girls gazed at the lovely dolls and jabbered away with their yellow braids quivering with excitement.
the wrapper was laid aside till a neighbor who read english came in to translate it.
meantime they enjoyed the new toys immensely, and even despondent dora was cheered up by the admiration she received; while they in their turn were deeply interested in the pretty dolls" furniture some of the children made.
beds, tables and chairs covered the long bench, and round it sat the neat-handed little maidens gluing, tacking and trimming, while they sang and chatted at their work as busy and happy as a hive of bees.
all day the boys went about the streets playing, and in the evening trooped off to the beer gardens to play again, for they lived in chicago, and the dolls had got so far on their way to aunt maria, as they soon discovered.
for nearly two months they lived happily with minna, gretchen and nanerl, then they set out on their travels again, and this was the way it happened.
a little girl came to order a set of furniture for her new baby-house, and seeing two shabby dolls reposing in a fine bed she asked about them.
her mamma spoke german so minna told how they were found, and showed the old wrapper, saying that they always meant to send the dolls on their way but grew so fond of them they kept putting it off.
""i am going as far as new york very soon and will take them along if you like, for i think little miss maria plum must have been expecting her dolls all this time.
shall i?"
asked the mamma, as she read the address and saw the dash under "with care," as if the dollies were of great importance to some one.
""ja, ja," answered minna, glad to oblige a lady who bought two whole sets of their best furniture and paid for it at once.
so again the dolls were put in their brown paper cover and sent away with farewell kisses.
""this now is genteel and just suits me," said dora, as they drove along with little clara to the handsome house where she was staying.
""i have a feeling that she is a spoilt child, and we shall not be as happy with her as with the dear poppleheimers.
we shall see," answered flora, wisely, for clara had soon tossed the dolls into a corner and was fretting because mamma would not buy her the big horn to blow on.
the party started for new york in a day or two, and to the delight of flo and do they were left out of the trunks for clara to play with on the way, her own waxen blanche marie annabel being too delicate to be used.
""oh my patience, this is worse than tumbling about in a mail-bag," groaned dora, after hours of great suffering, for clara treated the poor dolls as if they had no feeling.
she amused herself with knocking their heads together, shutting them in the window with their poor legs hanging out, swinging them by one arm, and drawing lines with a pencil all over their faces till they looked as if tattooed by savages.
even brave flora was worn out and longed for rest, finding her only comfort in saying, "i told you so," when clara banged them about, or dropped them on the dusty floor to be trampled on by passing feet.
there they were left, and would have been swept away if a little dog had not found them as the passengers were leaving the car and carried them after his master, trotting soberly along with the bundle in his mouth, for fortunately clara had put them into the paper before she left them, so they were still together in the trials of the journey.
""hullo, jip, what have you got?"
asked the young man as the little dog jumped up on the carriage seat and laid his load on his master's knee, panting and wagging his tail as if he had done something to be praised for.
""dolls, i declare!
what can a bachelor do with the poor things?
wonder who maria plum is?
midge will like a look at them before we send them along;" and into the young man's pocket they went, trembling with fear of the dog, but very grateful for being rescued from destruction.
jip kept his eye on them, and gave an occasional poke with his cold nose to be sure they were there as they drove through the bustling streets of new york to a great house with an inscription over the door.
""i do hope midge will be a nicer girl than clara.
children ought to be taught to be kind to dumb dolls as well as dumb animals," said dora, as the young man ran up the steps and hurried along a wide hall.
""i almost wish we were at home with our own kind little mothers," began flo, for even her spirits were depressed by bad treatment, but just then a door opened and she cried out in amazement, "bless my heart, this man has more children than even mr. poppleheimer!"
she might well think so, for all down both sides of the long room stood little white beds with a small pale face on every pillow.
all the eyes that were open brightened when jip and his master came in, and several thin hands were outstretched to meet them.
""i've been good, doctor, let me pat him first," cried one childish voice.
""did you bring me a flower, please?"
asked another feeble one.
""i know he's got something nice for us, i see a bundle in his pocket," and a little fellow who sat up among his pillows gave a joyful cough as he could not shout.
""two dollies for midge to play with.
jip found them, but i think the little girl they are going to will lend them for a few days.
we shall not need them longer i'm afraid," added the young man to a rosy faced nurse who came along with a bottle in her hand.
""dear no, the poor child is very low to-day.
but she will love to look at the babies if she is n't strong enough to hold'em," said the woman, leading the way to a corner where the palest of all the pale faces lay smiling on the pillow, and the thinnest of the thin hands were feebly put up to greet the doctor.
""so nice!"
she whispered when the dolls were laid beside her, while jip proudly beat his tail on the floor to let her know that she owed the welcome gift to him.
for an hour flo and do lay on the arm of poor midge who never moved except to touch them now and then with a tender little finger, or to kiss them softly, saying, "dear babies, it is very nice not to be all alone.
are you comfy, darlings?"
till she fell asleep still smiling.
""sister, do you think this can be the heaven we hear people talk about?
it is so still and white, and may be these children are angels," whispered dora, looking at the sweet face turned toward her with the long lashes lying on the colorless cheek, and the arms outstretched like wings.
""no, dear, it is a hospital, i heard that man say so, and those are sick children come to be cured.
it is a sweet place, i think, and this child much nicer than that horrid clara," answered flo, who was quicker to hear, see and understand what went on than dora.
""i love to lie here safe and warm, but there does n't seem to be much breath to rock me," said do, who lay nearest the little bosom that very slowly rose and fell with the feeble flutter of the heart below.
""hush, we may disturb her," and lively flo controlled her curiosity, contenting herself with looking at the other children and listening to their quiet voices, for pain seemed to have hushed them all.
for a week the dolls lay in midge's bed, and though their breasts were full of saw-dust and their heads were only wood, the sweet patience of the little creature seemed to waken something like a heart in them, and set them thinking, for dolls do n't live in vain, i am firmly persuaded.
all day she tended them till the small hands could no longer hold them, and through the weary nights she tried to murmur bits of lullabies lest the dollies would not be able to sleep because of the crying or the moans some of the poor babies could not repress.
she often sent one or the other to cheer up some little neighbor, and in this way do and flo became small sisters of charity, welcomed eagerly, reluctantly returned, and loved by all, although they never uttered a word and their dingy faces could not express the emotion that stirred their saw-dust bosoms.
when saturday night came they were laid in their usual place on midge's arm.
she was too weak to kiss them now, and nurse laid their battered cheeks against the lips that whispered faintly, "be sure you send'em to the little girl, and tell her -- tell her -- all about it."
then she turned her cheek to the pillow with a little sigh and lay so still the dolls thought she had gone to sleep.
she had, but the sweet eyes did not open in the morning, and there was no breath in the little breast to rock the dolls any more.
""i knew she was an angel, and now she has flown away," said dora softly, as they watched the white image carried out in the weeping nurse's arms, with the early sunshine turning all the pretty hair to gold.
""i think that is what they call dying, sister.
it is a much lovelier way to end than as we do in the dust bin or rag-bag.
i wonder if there is a little heaven anywhere for good dolls?"
answered flora, with what looked like a tear on her cheek; but it was only a drop from the violets sent by the kind doctor last night.
""i hope so, for i think the souls of little children might miss us if they loved us as dear midge did," whispered dora, trying to kiss the blue flower in her hand, for the child had shared her last gift with these friends.
""why did n't you let her take them along, poor motherless baby?"
asked the doctor when he saw the dolls lying as she had left them.
""i promised her they should go to the girl they were sent to, and please, i'd like to keep my word to the little darling," answered nurse with a sob.
""you shall," said the doctor, and put them in his breast pocket with the faded violets, for everybody loved the pauper child sent to die in a hospital, because christian charity makes every man and woman father and mother to these little ones.
all day the dolls went about in the busy doctor's pocket, and i think the violets did them good, for the soft perfume clung to them long afterward like the memory of a lovely life, as short and sweet as that of the flowers.
in the evening they were folded up in a fresh paper and re-directed carefully.
the doctor wrote a little note telling why he had kept them, and was just about to put on some stamps when a friend came in who was going to boston in the morning.
""anything to take along, fred?"
asked the newcomer.
""this parcel, if you will.
i have a feeling that i'd rather not have it knock about in a mail-bag," and the doctor told him why.
it was pleasant to see how carefully the traveller put away the parcel after that, and to hear him say that he was going through boston to the mountains for his holiday, and would deliver it in portland to miss plum herself.
""now there is some chance of our getting there," said flora, as they set off next day in a new russia leather bag.
on the way they overheard a long chat between some new york and boston ladies which impressed them very much.
flora liked to hear the fashionable gossip about clothes and people and art and theatres, but dora preferred the learned conversation of the young boston ladies, who seemed to know a little of everything, or think they did.
""i hope mamma will give me an entirely new wardrobe when i get home; and we will have dolls" weddings and balls, and a play, and be as fine and fashionable as those ladies down there," said flora, after listening a while.
""you have got your head full of dressy ideas and high life, sister.
i do n't care for such things, but mean to cultivate my mind as fast as i can.
that girl says she is in college, and named over more studies than i can count.
i do wish we were to stop and see a little of the refined society of boston," answered dora, primly.
""pooh!"
said flo, "do n't you try to be intellectual, for you are only a wooden-headed doll.
i mean to be a real westerner, and just enjoy myself as i please, without caring what other folks do or think.
boston is no better than the rest of the world, i guess."
groans from every article in the bag greeted this disrespectful speech, and an avalanche of boston papers fell upon the audacious doll.
but flo was undaunted, and shouted from underneath the pile: "i do n't care!
minnesota forever!"
till her breath gave out.
dora was so mortified that she never said a word till they were let out in a room at the parker house.
here she admired everything, and read all the evening in a volume of emerson's poems from the bag, for mr. mt. vernon beacon was a boston man, and never went anywhere without a wise book or two in his pocket.
flo turned up her nose at all she saw, and devoted herself to a long chat with the smart bag which came from new york and was full of gossip.
the next afternoon they really got to portland, and as soon as mr. beacon had made his toilet he set out to find little miss plum.
when the parlor door opened to admit her he was much embarrassed, for, advancing with a paternal smile and the dolls extended to the expected child, he found himself face to face with a pretty young lady, who looked as if she thought him a little mad.
a few words explained the errand, however, and when she read the note aunt maria's bright eyes were full of tears as she said, hugging the dilapidated dolls: "i'll write the story of their travels, and send the dear old things back to the children as soon as possible."
and so she did with mr. beacon's help, for he decided to try the air of portland, and spent his vacation there.
the dolls were re-painted and re-dressed till they were more beautiful than ever, and their clothes fine enough to suit even flo.
they were a good while doing this, and when all was ready, aunt maria took it into her head to run out to st. paul and surprise the children.
by a singular coincidence mr. beacon had railroad business in that direction, so they set off together, with two splendid dolls done up in a gay box.
all that was ever known about that journey was that these travellers stopped at the hospital in new york, and went on better friends than before after hearing from the good doctor all the pathetic story of little midge.
the young plums had long ago given up the hope of ever seeing do and flo again, for they started in june and it was early in september when aunt maria appeared before them without the least warning, accompanied by a pleasant gentleman from boston.
six kisses had hardly resounded from aunty's blooming cheeks when a most attractive box was produced from the russia leather bag, and the wandering dolls restored to the arms of their enraptured mammas.
a small volume neatly written and adorned with a few pictures of the most exciting incidents of the trip also appeared.
""every one writes or prints a book in boston, you know, so we did both," said aunt maria, laughing, as she handed over the remarkable history which she had composed and mr. beacon illustrated.
it was read with intense interest, and was as true as most stories are nowadays.
""nothing more delightful can happen now!"
exclaimed the children, as they laid by the precious work and enthroned the travelled dolls in the place of honor on the roof of the baby-house.
but something much more delightful did happen; for at thanksgiving time there was a wedding at the plums".
not a doll's wedding, as flo had planned, but a real one, for the gentleman from boston actually married aunt maria.
there were six bridesmaids, all in blue, and flora and dora, in the loveliest of new pink gowns, were set aloft among the roses on the wedding-cake, their proper place as everyone said, for there never would have been any marriage at all but for this doll's journey from minnesota to maine.
vi.
morning-glories.
""what's that?"
-- and daisy sat up in her little bed to listen; for she had never heard a sound like it before.
it was very early, and the house was still.
the sun was just rising, and the morning-glories at the window were turning their blue and purple cups to catch the welcome light.
the sky was full of rosy clouds; dew shone like diamonds on the waving grass, and the birds were singing as they only sing at dawn.
but softer, sweeter than any bird-voice was the delicate music which daisy heard.
so airy and gay was the sound, it seemed impossible to lie still with that fairy dancing-tune echoing through the room.
out of bed scrambled daisy, her sleepy eyes opening wider and wider with surprise and pleasure as she listened and wondered.
""where is it?"
she said, popping her head out of the window.
the morning-glories only danced lightly on their stems, the robins chirped shrilly in the garden below, and the wind gave daisy a kiss; but none of them answered her, and still the lovely music sounded close beside her.
""it's a new kind of bird, perhaps; or maybe it's a fairy hidden somewhere.
oh, if it is how splendid it will be!"
cried daisy; and she began to look carefully in all the colored cups, under the leaves of the woodbine, and in the wren's nest close by.
there was neither fairy nor bird to be seen; and daisy stood wondering, when a voice cried out from below: "why, little nightcap, what brings you out of your bed so early?"
""o aunt wee!
do you hear it -- that pretty music playing somewhere near!
i ca n't find it; but i think it's a fairy, do n't you?"
said daisy, looking down at the young lady standing in the garden with her hands full of roses.
aunt wee listened, smiled, and shook her head.
""do n't you remember you said last night that you thought the world a very stupid, grown-up place, because there were no giants and fairies in it now?
well, perhaps there are fairies, and they are going to show themselves to you, if you watch well."
daisy clapped her hands, and danced about on her little bare feet; for, of all things in the world, she most wanted to see a fairy.
""what must i do to find them, aunt wee?"
she cried, popping out her head again with her cap half off, and her curly hair blowing in the wind.
""why, you see, they frolic all night, and go to sleep at dawn; so we must get up very early, if we want to catch the elves awake.
they are such delicate, fly-away little things, and we are so big and clumsy, we shall have to look carefully, and perhaps hunt a long time before we find even one," replied aunt wee, very gravely.
""mamma says i'm quick at finding things; and you know all about fairies, so i guess we'll catch one.
ca n't we begin now?
it's very early, and this music has waked me up; so i do n't want to sleep any more.
will you begin to hunt now?"
""but you do n't like to get up early, or to walk in the fields; and, if we mean to catch a fairy, we must be up and out by sunrise every fair morning till we get one.
can you do this, lazy daisy?"
and aunt wee smiled to herself as if something pleased her very much.
""oh!
i will, truly, get up, and not fret a bit, if you'll only help me look.
please come now to dress me, and see if you can find what makes the music."
daisy was very much in earnest, and in such a hurry to be off that she could hardly stand still to have her hair brushed, and thought there were a great many unnecessary buttons and strings on her clothes that day.
usually she lay late, got up slowly and fretted at every thing as little girls are apt to do when they have had too much sleep.
she was n't a rosy, stout daisy; but had been ill, and had fallen into a way of thinking she could n't do anything but lie about, reading fairy-tales, and being petted by every one.
mamma and papa had tried all sorts of things to amuse and do her good; for she was their only little daughter, and they loved her very dearly.
but nothing pleased her long; and she lounged about, pale and fretful, till aunt laura came.
daisy called her "wee" when she was a baby, and could n't talk plainly; and she still used the name because it suited the cheery little aunt so well.
""i do n't see anything, and the music has stopped.
i think some elf just came to wake you up, and then flew away; so we wo n't waste any more time in looking here," said wee, as she finished dressing daisy, who flew about like a will-o" - the-wisp all the while.
""do you think it will come again to-morrow?"
asked daisy anxiously.
""i dare say you'll hear it, if you wake in time.
now get your hat, and we will see what we can find down by the brook.
i saw a great many fireflies there last night, and fancy there was a ball; so we may find some drowsy elf among the buttercups and clover."
away rushed daisy for her hat, and soon was walking gayly down the green lane, looking about her as if she had never been there before; for every thing seemed wonderfully fresh and lovely.
""how pink the clouds are, and how the dew twinkles in the grass!
i never saw it so before," she said.
""because by the time you are up the pretty pink clouds are gone, and the thirsty grass has drank the dew, or the sun has drawn it up to fall again at night for the flowers" evening bath," replied wee, watching the soft color that began to touch daisy's pale cheeks.
""i think we'd better look under that cobweb spread like a tent over the white clovers.
a fairy would be very likely to creep in there and sleep."
daisy knelt down and peeped carefully; but all she saw was a little brown spider, who looked very much surprised to see visitors so early.
""i do n't like spiders," said daisy, much disappointed.
""there are things about spiders as interesting to hear as fairy tales," said wee.
""this is mrs. epeira diadema; and she is a respectable, industrious little neighbor.
she spreads her tent, but sits under a leaf near by, waiting for her breakfast.
she wraps her eggs in a soft silken bag, and hides them in some safe chink, where they lie till spring.
the eggs are prettily carved and ornamented, and so hard that the baby spiders have to force their way out by biting the shell open and poking their little heads through.
the mother dies as soon as her eggs are safely placed, and the spiderlings have to take care of themselves."
""how do you know about it, aunt wee?
you talk as if mrs. eppyra -- or whatever her name is -- had told you herself.
did she?"
asked daisy, feeling more interested in the brown spider.
""no; i read it in a book, and saw pictures of the eggs, web, and family.
i had a live one in a bottle; and she spun silken ladders all up and down, and a little room to sleep in.
she ate worms and bugs, and was very amiable and interesting till she fell ill and died."
""i should like to see the book; and have a spider-bottle, so i could take care of the poor little orphans when they are born.
good-by, ma'am.
i shall call again; for you are "most as good as a fairy there in your pretty tent, with a white clover for your bed."
daisy walked on a few steps, and then stopped to say: "what does that bird mean by calling "hurry up, hurry up?"
he keeps flying before us, and looking back as if he wanted to show me something."
""let me hear what he says.
i may be able to understand him, or the bob-o-link that swings on the alder by the brook."
wee listened a moment, while the birds twittered and chirped with all their hearts.
presently wee sang in a tone very like the bob-o-link's: "daisy and wee, come here, and see what a dainty feast is spread: down in the grass where fairies pass, here are berries ripe and red.
""all wet with dew, they wait for you: come hither, and eat your fill, while i gayly sing, in my airy swing, and the sun climbs up the hill."
""did he really say that?"
cried daisy, watching the bob-o-link, who sat swaying up and down on the green bough, and nodding his white-capped head at her in the most friendly manner.
""perhaps i did n't translate it rightly; for it is very hard to put bird-notes into our language, because we have n't words soft and sweet enough.
but i really think there are berries over there, and we will see if what he says is true," said wee.
over the wall they went, and there, on a sunny bank, found a bed of the reddest, ripest berries ever seen.
""thank you, thank you, for telling me to hurry up, and showing me such a splendid feast," said daisy, with her mouth full, as she nodded back at the birds.
""these are so much sweeter than those we buy.
i'd carry some home to mamma, if i only had a basket."
""you can pick this great leaf full, while i make you a basket," said wee.
daisy soon filled the leaf, and then sat watching her aunt plait a pretty basket of rushes.
while she waited she looked about, and kept finding something curious or pleasant to interest and amuse her.
first she saw a tiny rainbow in a dewdrop that hung on a blade of grass; then she watched a frisky calf come down to drink on the other side of the brook, and laughed to see him scamper away with his tail in the air.
close by grew a pitcher-plant; and a yellow butterfly sat on the edge, bathing its feet, daisy said.
presently she discovered a little ground bird sitting on her nest, and peeping anxiously, as if undecided whether to fly away or trust her.
""i wo n't hurt you, little mother.
do n't be afraid," whispered the child; and, as if it understood, the bird settled down on her nest with a comfortable chirp, while its mate hopped up to give her a nice plump worm for breakfast.
""i love birds.
tell me something about them, aunt wee.
you must know many things; for they like you, and come when you call."
""once upon a time," began wee, while her fingers flew and the pretty basket grew, "there was a great snow-storm, and all the country was covered with a thick white quilt.
it froze a little, so one could walk over it, and i went out for a run.
oh, so cold it was, with a sharp wind, and no sun or any thing green to make it pleasant!
i went far away over the fields, and sat down to rest.
while i sat there, a little bird came by, and stopped to rest also."
"how do you do?"
said i." "chick-a-dee-dee," said he.""
a cold day," said i." "chick-a-dee-dee," said he."
"are n't you afraid of starving, now the ground is covered and the trees are bare?""
"chick-a-dee-dee, ma'am, chick-a-dee-dee!""
answered the bird in the same cheerful tone.
and it sounded as if he said," i shall be cared for.
i'm not afraid.""
"what will you eat?
there's nothing here or for miles round.
i really think you'll starve, birdie," said i. "then he laughed, and gave me a merry look as he lit on a tall, dry weed near by.
he shook it hard with his little bill; when down fell a shower of seeds, and there was dinner all ready on a snow-white cloth.
all the while he ate he kept looking up at me with his quick, bright eyes; and, when he had done, he said, as plainly as a bird could say it:" "cold winds may blow, and snows may fall, but well we know god cares for all.""
""i like that little story, and shall always think of it when i hear the chick-a-dee-dee."
daisy sat a moment with a thoughtful look in her eyes; then she said slowly, as if sorry for the words: "it is n't a stupid, grown-up world.
it's a very pleasant, young world; and i like it a great deal better this morning than i did last night."
""i'm glad of that; and, even if we do n't find our fairy to-day, you will have found some sunshine, daisy, and that is almost as good.
now put in the berries, and we'll go on."
how they hunted!
they climbed trees to peep into squirrel-holes and birds" - nests; they chased bees and butterflies to ask for news of the elves; they waded in the brook, hoping to catch a water-sprite; they ran after thistle-down, fancying a fairy might be astride; they searched the flowers and ferns, questioned sun and wind, listened to robin and thrush; but no one could tell them any thing of the little people, though all had gay and charming bits of news about themselves.
and daisy thought the world got younger and happier every minute.
when they came in to breakfast, papa and mamma looked at daisy, and then nodded with a smile at aunt wee; for, though daisy's frock was soiled, her boots wet, and her hair tumbled, her cheeks were rosy, eyes bright, and voice so cheerful that they thought it better music than any in the summer world without.
""hunting fairies is a pleasant play, is n't it, daisy?"
said papa, as he tasted the berries, and admired the green basket.
""oh, yes!
and we are going again to-morrow.
aunt wee says we must try seven days at least.
i like it, and mean to keep on till i really find my fairy."
""i think you will find something better than "little vanishers," dear," said mamma, filling up the bowl of bread and milk which daisy was fast emptying; for she certainly had found an appetite.
""there it is again!"
cried daisy, flying out of bed the next morning still earlier than the day before.
yes, there it was, the fairy music, as blithe and sweet as ever; and the morning-glories rung their delicate bells as if keeping time.
daisy felt rather sleepy, but remembered her promise to aunt wee, and splashed into her tub, singing the bob-o-link's song as she bathed.
""where shall we go to-day?"
she asked, as they went out into the garden.
""i think we'd better try a new place; so we'll go to the farmyard; and, while we feed the hens, i'll listen to their chat, and perhaps can learn something from it," replied wee soberly.
""do hens know about fairies?
i thought they were very dull things, and did n't care for any thing but eating corn and laying eggs," said daisy, surprised.
""oh, dear, no!
they are very sensible creatures, and see a deal of the world in their daily walks.
hunting for insects gives them an excellent chance to see fairies, if there are any.
here is some corn for the biddies; and, after we have fed them, we will look for eggs, and so may find a brownie or two."
such a clatter as there was when they came to the barnyard; for every thing was just awake, and in the best spirits.
ducks were paddling off to the pond; geese to the meadow; and meek gray guinea-hens tripping away to hunt bugs in the garden.
a splendid cock stood on the wall, and crowed so loud and clear that all the neighboring chanticleers replied.
the motherly hens clucked and scratched with their busy broods about them, or sat and scolded in the coops because the chicks would gad abroad.
doves cooed on the sunny roof, and smoothed their gleaming feathers.
daisy's donkey nibbled a thistle by the wall, and a stately peacock marched before the door with all his plumage spread.
it made daisy laugh to see the airs the fowls put on as she scattered corn, and threw meal and water to the chicks.
some pushed and gobbled; some stood meekly outside the crowd, and got what they could; others seized a mouthful, and ran away to eat it in a corner.
the chicks got into the pan entirely, and tumbled one over the other in their hurry to eat; but the mammas saw that none went hungry.
and the polite cock waited upon them in the most gentlemanly manner, making queer little clucks and gurgles as if he said: "allow me, madam, to offer you this kernel;" or, "here, my dear, try that bit."
and sometimes he pecked a little, with a loud quaver, evidently saying, "come, come, children, behave yourselves, and do n't eat like pigs."
""what is she saying?"
asked daisy, pointing to an old gray hen in a black turban, who was walking about alone, muttering to herself, as hens often do in their promenades.
""she says a cat has made a nest, and hatched three kits up on the loft, near her own nest; and she does n't like it, because their mewing annoys her," said wee, after listening a minute.
""how nice!
let's go and find them.
but do you learn anything about the fairies from the hen's chat?"
""no: they have been so busy setting, they have had no time for picnics yet.
but they will let us know, if they discover any."
in the barn, the cows were being milked; and daisy had a mugful of it, warm and sweet, out of the foaming pail.
""we'll take some to mrs. purr; for, i dare say, she does n't like to leave the kits long, and will enjoy a sip of something comfortable," said wee, as daisy climbed the ladder, and went rustling over the hay to a corner, whence came a joyful "mew!"
what a charming sight it was, to be sure!
a snow-white cat lying in a cosy nest, and, by her, three snow-white kits, wagging three very small gray tails.
""there never was any thing so lovely!"
cried daisy, as she sat with the three downy balls in her lap, while the mamma gratefully lapped the new milk from aunt wee's cup.
""are they better than fairies?"
""almost: for i know about pussies, and can cuddle them; but i could n't a fairy, you know, and they might be afraid of me.
these dears are not afraid, and i shall have such fun with them as they grow up.
what shall we name them, auntie?"
""snowball, patpaw, and wagtail would do, i think," said wee, stroking the cat, who rubbed against her, purring very loud.
""yes: i like those names for my pets.
but what is mrs. purr saying, with her mouth up to your ear?"
asked daisy, who firmly believed that aunt wee knew every thing.
""she tells me that when she went on a grasshopper hunt the other day, as she ran through the meadow, she saw some lovely creatures all in blue, with gauze wings, flying about over the river, and sitting in the water-lilies.
she thinks they may be fairies, and advises us to go and look."
""so we will to-morrow," said daisy.
""ask her, please, if i may take the kits into the house, if i'll be very careful and give them a nice big bed to sleep in."
""she says you may; but she must go too, else the kits will cry," said wee, after listening to pussy's purr a minute.
much pleased with her new pets, daisy took them in her apron, and, followed by their confiding mamma, marched to the house, and established them in the old cradle which used to be hers.
pussy got in also; and, when they were settled on a soft cushion, daisy rocked them gently to and fro.
at first mrs. purr opened her yellow eyes, and looked rather anxious: but, as nothing uncomfortable happened, she composed herself, and soon quite liked the motion; for she fell asleep, and made a pretty picture as she lay with her downy white babies on her downy white breast.
when the sun rose next morning, he saw daisy and wee floating down the river in their boat.
""bless me!
here's company," said the sun, and began at once to make them welcome in his most charming manner.
he set the waves to sparkling with a sudden shimmer; he shot long rays of light through the dark hemlocks, till they looked like fairy trees; he touched daisy's hair and it turned to gold; he chased away the shadows that lurked among the hills; he drew up the misty curtain that hovered over the river; and, with the warmth of his kisses, waked the sleeping lilies.
""look, look, aunt wee!
how they open, one by one, as the light shines on them!
we sha n't have to wait any longer; for they get up with the sun, as you do."
as she spoke, daisy caught a half-open lily, and drew it up, fragrant and dripping, fresh from its sleep.
""they look like a fleet of fairy ships, anchored in this quiet harbor, with sails half furled, and crews asleep.
see the little sailors, in their yellow jackets, lifting up their heads as the wind blows its whistle, like a boatswain, to "pipe all hands.""
daisy laughed at aunt wee's fancy, and stirred up the crew of the water-sprite, as she called her flower, till the white sails were all set, and it was ready for a summer voyage.
""it is time we saw the fairies in blue, unless old madam purr deceived us.
i hope we shall find one; for, though i enjoy every thing we see, i do want my elf too."
""what is that?"
cried wee; and daisy flew up so quickly that the boat rocked like a cradle.
a slender creature, in a blue dress, with gauzy wings, darted by, and vanished among the rushes that nodded by the bank.
""go nearer, -- softly!
softly!
-- and maybe it will fly out again.
i really think it was a fairy; for i never saw any thing like it before," whispered daisy, much excited.
wee rowed in among the green rushes and purple water-weeds, and out flew half-a-dozen of the blue-bodied creatures.
they did n't seem afraid, but skimmed about the boat, as if curious to see what it was; and daisy sat, and stared with all her might.
presently one of the lovely things lit on the lily in her hand, and she held her breath to watch it.
a little shadow of disappointment passed over her face as she looked; but it was gone at once, and her voice was full of delight as she said softly: "it's not a fairy, aunt wee; but it is very beautiful, with its slender blue body, its lacy wings, and bright eyes.
what name does it have?"
""we call it a dragon-fly; and it could tell you a pretty little story about itself, could you understand it.
in may the tiny eggs are dropped on the water, and sink to the bottom, where little creatures are born, -- ugly, brown things, with six legs and no wings.
they feed on water-insects, and for a long time swim about in this state.
when ready, they climb up the stem of some plant, and sit in the sun till the ugly brown shells drop away, and the lovely winged creatures appear.
they grow in an hour to be perfect dragon-flies, and float away to lead happy lives in the sunshine by the river."
as if only waiting till the story was done, the dragon-fly flew off with a whirr, and darted to and fro, hunting for its breakfast, glittering splendidly as it flashed among the leaves or darted close above the water.
daisy forgot her disappointment in a minute, and went fishing for lilies; while the turtles came up to sun themselves on the rocks, the merry little tadpoles wiggled in the shallow places, and a wild duck paddled by with a brood of ducklings following in her wake.
""oh, dear!
it rains; and we ca n't go fairy-hunting at all," said daisy next morning, as the patter on the window-pane woke her up, and aunt wee came in to dress her.
""yes, we can, dear; jump up, and see what a funny place i'll take you to."
daisy thought the rain would be a capital excuse for lying in bed; for she still liked to cuddle and drowse in her cosey, warm nest.
but she was curious to know where the curious place was; so she got up and followed.
""why, aunt wee, this is the garret; and there is n't any thing nice or funny here," she said, as they climbed the stairs, and came into the big attic, filled with all manner of old things.
""is n't there?
we'll soon see."
and so they did: for aunt wee began to play; and presently daisy was shouting with fun as she sat on an old saddle, with a hair-covered trunk for a horse, a big old-fashioned bonnet on her head, and a red silk petticoat for a habit.
then they went to sea in a great chest, and got wrecked on a desert island, where they built a fort with boxes and bags, hunted bears with rusty guns, and had to eat dried berries, herbs and nuts; for no other food could be found.
aunt wee got an old fiddle, and had a dancing-school, where daisy capered till she was tired.
so they rummaged out some dusty books, and looked at pictures so quietly that a little mouse came out of a drawer and peeped about, thinking no one was there.
""let's find the nest, since we do n't find any fairy," said wee; and, opening the drawer, she turned over the things till she came to a pair of old velvet shoes; and there in the toe of one, nicely cuddled under a bit of flannel, lay four pink mites, which woke up, and stretched their tiny legs, and squeaked such small squeaks one could hardly hear them.
""how cunning they are!
i wish they would let me put them with the kits, and have a nursery full of babies.
would n't it be nice to see them all grow up?"
said daisy.
""i'm afraid they would n't grow up, if mrs. purr lived with them," began wee, but got no further; for just then the cat bounced into the drawer, and ate up the mouselings in four mouthfuls.
daisy screamed; the mother-mouse gave a doleful squeak, and ran into a hole; and aunt wee tried to save the little ones.
but it was too late: purr had got her breakfast, and sat washing her face after it, as if she had enjoyed it.
""never mind, daisy: she would have caught them by and by, and it's as well to have them taken care of before they do any harm.
there is the bell: do n't cry, but come and tell papa what a fine romp we've had."
""it does n't rain, but it's dreadfully wet; so we'll go to the dairy, and see if any sprites are hiding there," said wee next day; and to the dairy they went.
a pleasant place it was, -- so clean and cool, and as full of sweet odors as if the ghosts of buttercups and clover still haunted the milk which they had helped to make.
dolly was churning, and polly was making up butter in nice little pats.
both were very kind, and let daisy peep everywhere.
all round on white shelves stood the shining pans, full of milk; the stone floor was wet; and a stream of water ran along a narrow bed through the room, and in it stood jars of butter, pots of cream, and cans of milk.
the window was open, and hop-vines shook their green bells before it.
the birds sang outside, and maids sang inside, as the churn and the wooden spatters kept time: "brindle and bess, white-star and jess -- come, butter, come!
eat cowslips fine, red columbine -- come, butter, come!
grasses green and tall, clover, best of all, -- come, butter, come!
and give every night milk sweet and white -- come, butter, come!
make the churn go, see the lumps grow!
-- come, butter, come!"
daisy sang also, and turned the handle till she was tired; then she helped polly with the butter, and made four little pats, -- one stamped with a star for papa, one with a rose for mamma, a strawberry for aunt wee, and a cow for herself.
she skimmed a pitcher of cream with a shallow shell, and liked the work so much she asked to have a little pan of milk put by for her to take care of every day.
dolly promised, and gave her a small shell and a low shelf all to herself.
when she went in, she carried her pretty pats in one hand, the cream-pot in the other, and entered the breakfast room looking as brisk and rosy as a little milkmaid.
it was a lovely morning when daisy was next roused by the fairy music, and the ponies were standing at the door.
""are we going far?"
she asked, as wee put on her riding-skirt, and tied back her hair.
""up to the mountain-top: it's only a mile; and we shall have time, if we ride fast," answered wee.
away they went, through the green lane, over the bridge, and up the steep hillside where the sheep fed and colts frisked as they passed by.
higher and higher climbed dandy and prance, the ponies; and gayer and gayer grew daisy and wee, as the fresh air blew over them, and the morning-red glowed on their faces.
when they reached the top, they sat on a tall stone, and looked down into the valley on either side.
""this seems like a place to find giants, not fairies, it is so high and big and splendid up here," said daisy, as her eye roamed over river, forest, town, and hill.
""there are giants here; and i brought you up to see them," answered wee.
""mercy, me!
where are they?"
cried daisy, looking very curious and rather frightened.
""there is one of them."
and wee pointed to the waterfall that went dashing and foaming down into the valley.
""that giant turns the wheels of all the mills you see.
some of them grind grain for our bread, some help to spin cloth for our clothes, some make paper, and others saw trees into boards.
that is a beautiful and busy giant, daisy."
""so it is, and some day we'll go and see it work.
show me the others: i like your giants "most as well as those in the fairy-books."
""on this side you'll see another, called steam.
he is a very strong fellow; for, with the help of gunpowder, he will break the granite mountain in pieces, and carry it away.
he works in the other mills, and takes heavy loads of stone, cloth, paper, and wood all over the country.
then, on the right of us is a third giant, called electricity.
he runs along those wires, and carries messages from one end of the world to the other.
he goes under the sea and through the air; he brings news to every one; runs day and night, yet never tires; and often helps sick people with his lively magic."
""i like him best, i think; for he is more like a real, wonderful giant.
is there any on that side of us?"
asked daisy, turning round to look behind her.
""yes: the best and most powerful of all lives in that big house with the bell on the roof," said wee, smiling.
""why, that's only the schoolhouse."
""education is a long word, dear; but you know what it means, and, as you grow older, you will see what wonders it can work.
it is a noble giant; for in this country rich and poor are helped by it, and no one need suffer for it unless they choose.
it works more wonders than any other: it changes little children into wise, good men and women, who rule the world, and make happy homes everywhere; it helps write books, sing songs, paint pictures, do good deeds, and beautify the world.
love and respect it, my little daisy, and be glad that you live now when such giants lend a hand to dwarfs like us."
daisy sat still a long time, looking all about her on the mountain-top; and, when she rode away, she carried a new thought in her mind, which she never forgot.
""this is the last day of the seven, and no fairies have been found.
do you think i ever shall see one?"
said daisy, on the sunday morning that ended her week's hunt.
""not the kind you think of, for there are none such, daisy; but you have found two better and more beautiful ones than any fanciful sprites," said wee.
""have i?
where are they?
what are their names?"
aunt wee drew her to the glass, and said, as she pointed to daisy's face: "here they are, and their names are health and happiness.
there are many ways of losing them, and they are hard to catch when once lost.
i wanted you to keep both, and tried to show you how.
a happy, healthful hour in the morning sweetens and brightens the whole day; and there is no fairy-book half so wonderful as the lovely world all about us, if we only know how to read it."
""then all these mornings we were hunting after health and happiness, instead of fairies, were we?"
""yes: have n't you enjoyed it, and do n't you think you have caught my fairies?"
daisy looked from a little picture of herself, which wee had drawn some time ago, to her image in the glass.
one was dull and sad, pale and cross; the other, rosy, gay, and smiling, -- the likeness of a happy, hearty little girl, wide-awake and in good tune.
she understood the kind joke; and, turning, kissed aunt wee, as she said, gratefully: "i think i have caught your elves, and i'll try to keep them all my life.
but tell me one thing: was the music that woke me all a joke too?"
""no, dear: here it is, and now it is your own; for you have learned to wake and listen to it."
daisy looked, and saw aunt wee lean from the window, and take out of a hollow nook, in the old tree close by, a little box.
she set it on the table, touched a spring, and the airy music sounded more beautiful than ever.
""is it mine, all mine?"
cried daisy.
""yes: i hid it while i tried my little plan, and now you shall have it for your own.
see, here is the best elf i can give you, and she will dance whenever you call her."
wee pushed a golden pin, and up sprang a tiny figure, all crimson and gold, with shining wings, and a garland on its dainty head.
softly played the hidden music, and airily danced the little sylph till the silvery chime died away; then, folding her delicate arms, she sank from sight, leaving daisy breathless with delight.
v. shadow-children.
ned, polly, and will sat on the steps one sun-shiny morning, doing nothing, except wish they had something pleasant to do.
""something new, something never heard of before, -- would n't that be jolly?"
said ned, with a great yawn.
""it must be an amusing play, and one that we do n't get tired of very soon," added polly gravely.
""and something that did n't be wrong, else mamma would n't like it," said little will, who was very good for a small boy.
as no one could suggest any thing to suit, they all sat silent a few minutes.
suddenly ned said, rather crossly, "i wish my shadow would n't mock me.
every time i stretch or gape it does the same, and i do n't like it."
""poor thing, it ca n't help that: it has to do just what you do, and be your slave all day.
i'm glad i ai n't a shadow," said polly.
""i try to run away from mine sometimes, but i ca n't ever.
it will come after me; and in the night it scares me, if it gets big and black," said will, looking behind him.
""would n't it be fun to see shadows going about alone, and doing things like people?"
asked polly.
""i just wish they would.
i'd like to see ours cut capers; that would be a jolly new game, would n't it?"
said ned.
no one had time to speak; for suddenly the three little shadows on the sunny wall behind them stood up straight, and began to bow.
""mercy, me!"
cried polly, staring at them.
""by jove, that's odd!"
said ned, looking queer.
""are they alive?"
asked will, a little frightened.
""do n't be alarmed: they wo n't hurt you," said a soft voice.
""to-day is midsummer-day, and whoever wishes a wish can have it till midnight.
you want to see your shadows by themselves; and you can, if you promise to follow them as they have followed you so long.
they will not get you into harm; so you may safely try it, if you like.
do you agree for the day to do as they do, and so have your wish?"
""yes, we promise," answered the children.
""tell no one till night, and be faithful shadows to the shadows."
the voice was silent, but with more funny little bows the shadows began to move off in different directions.
the children knew their own: for ned's was the tallest, and had its hands in its pockets; polly's had a frock on, and two bows where its hair was tied up; while will's was a plump little shadow in a blouse, with a curly head and a pug nose.
each child went after its shadow, laughing, and enjoying the fun.
ned's master went straight to the shed, took down a basket, and marched away to the garden, where it began to move its hands as if busily picking peas.
ned stopped laughing when he saw that, and looked rather ashamed; for he remembered that his mother had asked him to do that little job for her, and he had answered, -- "oh, bother the old peas!
i'm busy, and i ca n't."
""who told you about this?"
he asked, beginning to work.
the shadow shook its head, and pointed first to ned's new jacket, then to a set of nice garden tools near by, and then seemed to blow a kiss from its shadowy fingers towards mamma, who was just passing the open gate.
""oh!
you mean that she does lots for me; so i ought to do what i can for her, and love her dearly," said ned, getting a pleasanter face every minute.
the shadow nodded, and worked away as busily as the bees, tumbling heels over head in the great yellow squash blossoms, and getting as dusty as little millers.
somehow ned rather liked the work, with such an odd comrade near by; for, though the shadow did n't really help a bit, it seemed to try, and set an excellent example.
when the basket was full, the shadow took one handle, and ned the other; and they carried it in.
""thank you, dear.
i was afraid we should have to give up our peas to-day: i'm so busy, i ca n't stop," said mamma, looking surprised and pleased.
ned could n't stop to talk; for the shadow ran away to the woodpile, and began to chop with all its might.
""well, i suppose i must; but i never saw such a fellow for work as this shadow is.
he is n't a bit like me, though he's been with me so long," said ned, swinging the real hatchet in time with the shadowy one.
polly's new mistress went to the dining-room, and fell to washing up the breakfast cups.
polly hated that work, and sulkily began to rattle the spoons and knock the things about.
but the shadow would n't allow that; and polly had to do just what it did, though she grumbled all the while.
""she does n't splash a bit, or make any clatter; so i guess she's a tidy creature," said polly.
""how long she does rub each spoon and glass.
we never shall get done.
what a fuss she makes with the napkins, laying them all even in the drawer.
and now she's at the salt-cellars, doing them just as mamma likes.
i wish she'd live here, and do my work for me.
why, what's that?"
and polly stopped fretting to listen; for she seemed to hear the sound of singing, -- so sweet, and yet so very faint she could catch no words, and only make out a cheerful little tune.
""do you hear any one singing, mamma?"
she asked.
""no: i wish i did."
and mamma sighed; for baby was poorly, piles of sewing lay waiting for her, biddy was turning things topsy-turvy in the kitchen for want of a word from the mistress, and polly was looking sullen.
the little girl did n't say any more, but worked quietly and watched the shadow, feeling sure the faint song came from it.
presently she began to hum the tune she caught by snatches; and, before she knew it, she was singing away like a blackbird.
baby stopped crying, and mamma said, smiling: "now i hear somebody singing, and it's the music i like best in the world."
that pleased polly; but, a minute after, she stopped smiling, for the shadow went and took baby, or seemed to, and polly really did.
now, baby was heavy, and cross with its teeth; and polly did n't feel like tending it one bit.
mamma hurried away to the kitchen; and polly walked up and down the room with poor baby hanging over her arm, crying dismally, with a pin in its back, a wet bib under its chin, and nothing cold and hard to bite with its hot, aching gums, where the little teeth were trying to come through.
""do stop, you naughty, fretty baby.
i'm tired of your screaming, and it's high time you went to sleep.
bless me!
what's miss shadow doing with her baby?"
said polly.
miss shadow took out the big pin and laid it away, put on a dry bib, and gave her baby a nice ivory ring to bite; then began to dance up and down the room, till the shadowy baby clapped its hands and kicked delightedly.
polly laughed, and did the same, feeling sorry she had been so pettish.
presently both babies grew quiet, went to sleep, and were laid in the cradle.
""now, i hope we shall rest a little," said polly, stretching her arms.
but, no: down sat the shadow, and began to sew, making her needle fly like a real little seamstress.
""oh, dear!"
groaned polly.
""i promised to hem those handkerchiefs for ned, and so i must; but i do think handkerchiefs are the most pokey things in the world to sew.
i dare say you think you can sew faster than i can.
just wait a bit, and see what i can do, miss," she said to the shadow.
it took some time to find her thimble and needles and spools, for polly was n't a very neat little girl; but she got settled at last, and stitched away as if bent on beating her dumb friend.
little will's shadow went up to the nursery, and stopped before a basin of water.
""oh!
ah!
ai n't this drefful?"
cried will, with a shiver; for he knew he'd got to have his face washed, because he would n't have it done properly when he got up, but ran away.
now, will was a good child; but this one thing was his great trouble, and sometimes he could n't bear it.
jane was so rough.
she let soap get in his eyes, and water run down his neck, and she pinched his nose when she wiped him, and brushed his hair so hard that really it was dreadful; and even a bigger boy would have found it hard to bear.
he shivered and sighed: but jane came in; and, when he saw that the shadow stood still and took the scrubbing like a little hero, he tried to do the same, and succeeded so well that jane actually patted his head and called him "a deary;" which was something new, for old nurse jane was always very busy and rather cross.
feeling that nothing worse could possibly happen to him, will ran after his shadow, as it flitted away into the barn, and began to feed the chickens.
""there, now!
i forgetted all about my chickeys, and the shadow "membered'em; and i'm glad of it," said will, scattering dabs of meal and water to the chirping, downy little creatures who pecked and fluttered at his feet.
little shadow hunted for eggs, drove the turkeys out of the garden, and picked a basket of chips: then it went to play with sammy, a neighbor's child; for, being a small shadow, it had n't many jobs to do, and plenty of active play was good for it.
sammy was a rough little boy and rather selfish: so, when they played ball, he wanted to throw all the time; and, when will objected, he grew angry and struck him.
the blow did n't hurt will's cheek much, but it did his little feelings; and he lifted his hand to strike back, when he saw his shadow go and kiss sammy's shadow.
all his anger was gone in a minute, and he just put his arm round sammy's neck and kissed him.
this kiss for a blow made him so ashamed that he began to cry, and could n't be comforted till he had given will his best marble and a ride on his pony.
about an hour before dinner, the three shadows and the children met in the garden, and had a grand game of play, after they had told each other what they had been doing since they parted.
now, the shadows did n't forget baby even then, but got out the wagon, and miss baby, all fresh from her nap, sat among her pillows like a queen, while ned was horse, polly footman, and will driver; and in this way she travelled all round the garden and barn, up the lane and down to the brook, where she was much delighted with the water sparkling along and the fine splash of the stones they threw in.
when the dinner-bell rang, mamma saw four clean, rosy faces and four smooth heads at the table; for the shadow-children made themselves neat, without being told.
every one was merry and hungry and good-natured.
even poor baby forgot her teeth, and played a regular rub-a-dub with her spoon on her mug, and tried to tell about the fine things she saw on her drive.
the children said nothing about the new play, and no one observed the queer actions of their shadows but themselves.
they saw that there was no gobbling, or stretching over, or spilling of things, among the shadows; but that they waited to be helped, served others first, and ate tidily, which was a great improvement upon the usual state of things.
it was saturday afternoon: the day was fine, and mamma told them they could go for a holiday frolic in the woods.
""do n't go to the pond, and be home early," she said.
""yes, mamma; we'll remember," they answered, as they scampered away to get ready.
""we shall go through the village, and mary king will be looking out; so i shall wear my best hat.
mamma wo n't see me, if i slip down the back way; and i do so want mary to know that my hat is prettier than hers," said polly, up in her little room.
now polly was rather vain, and liked to prink; so she got out the new hat, and spent some time in smoothing her braids and putting on her blue ribbons.
but when all was ready, and the boys getting impatient, she found her shadow, with a sun-bonnet on, standing by the door, as if to prevent her going out.
""you tiresome thing!
do you mean that i must n't wear my hat, but that old bonnet?"
asked polly.
the shadow nodded and beckoned, and patted its head, as if it was all right.
""i wish i had n't promised to do as you do; then i could do as i like, and not make a fright of myself," said polly, rather sulkily, as she put away the hat, and tied on the old bonnet with a jerk.
once out in the lovely sunshine, she soon forgot the little disappointment; and, as they did n't go through the village, but by a green lane, where she found some big blackberries, she was quite contented.
polly had a basket to hold fruit or flowers, ned his jackknife, and will a long stick on which he rode, fancying that this sort of horse would help his short legs along; so they picked, whittled, and trotted their way to the wood, finding all manner of interesting things on the road.
the wood was full of pleasant sights and sounds; for wild roses bloomed all along the path, ferns and scarlet berries filled the little dells, squirrels chattered, birds sang, and pines whispered musically overhead.
""i'm going to stop here and rest, and make a wreath of these pretty wild roses for baby: it's her birthday, and it will please mamma," said polly, sitting down on a mound of moss, with a lapful of flowers.
""i'm going to cut a fishing-pole, and will be back in a minute."
and ned went crashing into the thickest part of the wood.
""i shall see where that rabbit went to, and maybe i'll find some berries," said will, trotting down the path the wild rabbit had gone.
the sound of the boys" steps died away, and polly was wondering how it would seem to live all alone in the wood, when a little girl came trudging by, with a great pail of berries on her arm.
she was a poor child: her feet were bare, her gown was ragged, she wore an old shawl over her head, and walked as if lame.
polly sat behind the ferns, and the child did not see her till polly called out.
the sudden sound startled her; and she dropped her pail, spilling the berries all over the path.
the little girl began to cry, and polly to laugh, saying, in a scornful tone: "how silly to cry for a few berries!"
""i've been all day picking'em," said the girl; "and i'm so tired and hungry;'cause i did n't dare to go home till my pail was full, -- mother scolds if i do, -- and now they're all spoilt.
oh, dear!
dear me!"
and she cried so hard that great tears fell on the moss.
polly was sorry now, and sat looking at her till she saw her shadow down on its knees, picking up the berries; then it seemed to fold its little handkerchief round the girl's bruised foot, and give her something from its pocket.
polly jumped up and imitated the kind shadow, even to giving the great piece of gingerbread she had brought for fear she should be hungry.
""take this," she said gently.
""i'm sorry i frightened you.
here are the berries all picked up, and none the worse for falling in the grass.
if you'll take them to the white house on the hill, my mamma will buy them, and then your mother wo n't scold you."
""oh, thank you, miss!
it's ever so good.
i'll take the berries to your mother, and bring her more whenever she likes," said the child gratefully, as she walked away munching the gingerbread, and smiling till there were little rainbows in her tears.
meanwhile ned had poked about in the bushes, looking for a good pole.
presently he saw a willow down by the pond, and thought that would give him a nice, smooth pole.
he forgot his promise, and down he went to the pond; where he cut his stick, and was whittling the end, when he saw a boat by the shore.
it was untied, and oars lay in it, as if waiting for some one to come and row out.
""i'll just take a little pull across, and get those cardinal-flowers for polly," he said; and went to the boat.
he got in, and was about to push off, when he saw his shadow standing on the shore.
""do n't be a fool; get in, and come along," he said to it, remembering his promise now, but deciding to break it, and ask pardon afterwards.
but the shadow shook its head; pointed to the swift stream that ran between the banks, the rocks and mud on the opposite side, and the leaky boat itself.
""i ai n't afraid: mamma wo n't mind, if i tell her i'm sorry; and it will be such fun to row alone.
be a good fellow, and let me go," said ned, beckoning.
but the shadow would not stir, and ned was obliged to mind.
he did so very reluctantly, and scolded the shadow well as he went back to polly; though all the time he felt he was doing right, and knew he should be glad afterwards.
will trotted after the rabbit, but did n't find it; he found a bird's - nest instead with four little birds in it.
he had an empty cage at home, and longed for something to put in it; for kittens did n't like it, and caterpillars and beetlebugs got away.
he chose the biggest bird, and, holding him carefully, walked away to find polly.
the poor mother-bird chirped and fluttered in great distress; but will kept on till his little shadow came before him, and tried to make him turn back.
""no, no, i want him," said will.
""i wo n't hurt him, and his mother has three left: she wo n't mind if i take one."
here the mother-bird chirped so loud it was impossible to help seeing that she did care very much; and the shadow stamped its foot and waved its hand, as if ordering the young robber to carry back the baby-bird.
will stood still, and thought a minute; but his little heart was a very kind one, and he soon turned about, saying pleasantly: "yes, it is naughty, and i wo n't do it.
i'll ask mamma to get me a canary, and will let this birdie stay with his brothers."
the shadow patted him on the shoulder, and seemed to be delighted as will put the bird in the nest and walked on, feeling much happier than if he had kept it.
a bush of purple berries grew by the path, and will stopped to pick some.
he did n't know what they were, and mamma had often told him never to eat strange things.
but they smelt so good, and looked so nice, he could n't resist, and lifted one to his mouth, when little shadow motioned for him to stop.
""oh, dear!
you do n't let me do any thing i want to," sighed will.
""i shall ask polly if i tar n't eat these; and, if she says i may, i shall, so now."
he ran off to ask polly; but she said they were poisonous, and begged him to throw them away.
""good little shadow, to keep me safe!"
cried will.
""i like you; and i'll mind better next time,'cause you are always right."
the shadow seemed to like this, and bobbed about so comically it made will laugh till his eyes were full of tears.
ned came back, and they went on, having grand times in the wood.
they found plenty of berries to fill the basket; they swung down on slender birches, and got rolls of white bark for canoes; they saw all sorts of wild-wood insects and birds; and frolicked till they were tired.
as they crossed a field, a cow suddenly put down her head and ran at them, as if she was afraid they meant to hurt her calf.
all turned, and ran as fast as they could toward the wall; but poor will in his fright tumbled down, and lay screaming.
ned and polly had reached the wall, and, looking back, saw that their shadows had not followed.
ned's stood before will, brandishing his pole; and polly's was flapping a shadowy sun-bonnet with all its might.
as soon as they saw that, back they went, -- ned to threaten till he broke his pole, and polly to flap till the strings came off.
as if anxious to do its part, the bonnet flew up in the air, and coming down lit on the cross cow's head; which so astonished her that she ran away as hard as she could pelt.
""was n't that funny?"
said will, when they had tumbled over the wall, and lay laughing in the grass on the safe side.
""i'm glad i wore the old bonnet; for i suppose my best hat would have gone just the same," said polly thankfully.
""the calf does n't know its own mother with that thing on," laughed ned.
""how brave and kind you were to come back and save me!
i'd have been deaded if you had n't," said will, looking at his brother and sister with his little face full of grateful admiration.
they turned towards home after this flurry, feeling quite like heroes.
when they came to the corner where two roads met, ned proposed they should take the river-road; for, though the longest, it was much the pleasantest.
""we sha n't be home at supper-time," said polly.
""you wo n't be able to do your jobs, ned, nor i mine, and will's chickens will have to go to bed hungry."
""never mind: it's a holiday, so let's enjoy it, and not bother," answered ned.
""we promised mamma we'd come home early," said will.
they stood looking at the two roads, -- one sandy, hot, and hilly; the other green and cool and level, along the river-side.
they all chose the pleasant path, and walked on till ned cried out, "why, where are our shadows?"
they looked behind, before, and on either side; but nowhere could they see them.
""they were with us at the corner," said will.
""let's run back, and try to find them," said polly.
""no, let'em go: i'm tired of minding mine, and do n't care if i never see it again," said ned.
""do n't say so; for i remember hearing about a man who sold his shadow, and then got into lots of trouble because he had none.
we promised to follow them, and we must," said polly.
""i wish," began ned in a pet; but polly clapped her hand over his mouth, saying: "pray, do n't wish now; for it may come to pass as the man's wish in the fairy tale did, and the black pudding flew up and stuck tight to his wife's nose."
this made ned laugh, and they all turned back to the corner.
looking up the hilly road, they saw the three shadows trudging along, as if bent on getting home in good time.
without saying a word, the children followed; and, when they got to the garden gate, they all said at once: "are n't you glad you came?"
under the elm-tree stood a pretty tea-table, covered with bread and butter, custards, and berries, and in the middle a fine cake with sugar-roses on the top; and mamma and baby, all nicely dressed, were waiting to welcome them to the birthday feast.
polly crowned the little queen, ned gave her a willow whistle he had made, and will some pretty, bright pebbles he had found; and miss baby was as happy as a bird, with her treasures.
a pleasant supper-time; then the small duties for each one; and then the go-to-bed frolic.
the nursery was a big room, and in the evening a bright wood fire always burned there for baby.
mamma sat before it, softly rubbing baby's little rosy limbs before she went to bed, singing and telling stories meanwhile to the three children who pranced about in their long nightgowns.
this evening they had a gay time; for the shadows amused them by all sorts of antics, and kept them laughing till they were tired.
as they sat resting on the big sofa, they heard a soft, sweet voice singing.
it was n't mamma; for she was only talking to baby, and this voice sang a real song.
presently they saw mamma's shadow on the wall, and found it was the shadow-mother singing to the shadow-children.
they listened intently, and this is what they heard: "little shadows, little shadows, dancing on the chamber wall, while i sit beside the hearthstone where the red flames rise and fall.
caps and nightgowns, caps and nightgowns, my three antic shadows wear; and no sound they make in playing, for the six small feet are bare.
""dancing gayly, dancing gayly, to and fro all together, like a family of daisies blown about in windy weather; nimble fairies, nimble fairies, playing pranks in the warm glow, while i sing the nursery ditties childish phantoms love and know.
""now what happens, now what happens?
one small shadow's tumbled down: i can see it on the carpet, softly rubbing its hurt crown.
no one whimpers, no one whimpers; a brave-hearted sprite is this: see!
the others offer comfort in a silent, shadowy kiss.
""hush!
they're creeping; hush!
they're creeping, up about my rocking-chair: i can feel their loving fingers clasp my neck and touch my hair.
little shadows, little shadows, take me captive, hold me tight, as they climb and cling and whisper, "mother dear, good night!
good night!""
as the song ended, the real children, as well as the shadows, lovingly kissed mamma, and said "good-night;" then went away into their rooms, said their prayers, and nestled down into their beds.
ned slept alone in the room next that which polly and will had; and, after lying quiet a little while, he called out softly: "i say, polly, are you asleep?"
""no: i'm thinking what a queer day we've had," answered polly.
""it's been a good day, and i'm glad we tried our wish; for the shadows showed us, as well as they could, what we ought to do and be.
i sha n't forget it, shall you?"
said ned.
""no: i'm much obliged for the lesson."
""so is i," called out will, in a very earnest, but rather a sleepy, little voice.
""i wonder what mamma will say, when we tell her about it," said ned.
""and i wonder if our shadows will come back to us at midnight, and follow us as they used to do," added polly.
""i shall be very careful where i lead my shadow;'cause he's a good little one, and set me a righter zarmple than ever i did him," said will, and then dropped asleep.
the others agreed with him, and resolved that their shadows should not be ashamed of them.
all were fast asleep; and no one but the moon saw the shadows come stealing back at midnight, and, having danced about the little beds, vanish as the clock struck twelve.
vi.
poppy's pranks.
she was n't a wilfully naughty child, this harum-scarum poppy, but very thoughtless and very curious.
she wanted to see every thing, do every thing, and go every where: she feared nothing, and so was continually getting into scrapes.
her pranks began early; for, when she was about four, her mamma one day gave her a pair of green shoes with bright buttons.
poppy thought there never was any thing so splendid, and immediately wanted to go to walk.
but mamma was busy, and poppy could n't go alone any farther than the garden.
she showed her shoes to the servants, the cat, the doves, and the flowers; and then opened the gate that the people in the street might see the trim little feet she was so proud of.
now poppy had been forbidden to go out; but, when she saw kitty allen, her neighbor, playing ball down the street, she forgot every thing but the desire to show her new shoes; and away she went marching primly along as vain as a little peacock, as she watched the bright buttons twinkle, and heard the charming creak.
kitty saw her coming; and, being an ill-natured little girl, took no notice, but called out to her brother jack: "ai n't some folks grand?
if i could n't have red shoes for my best, i would n't have any, would you?"
they both laughed, and this hurt poppy's feelings dreadfully.
she tossed her head, and tried to turn up her nose; but, it was so very small, it could n't be very scornful.
she said nothing, but walked gravely by, as if she was going on an errand, and had n't heard a word.
round the corner she went, thinking she would wait till kitty was gone; as she did n't like to pass again, fearing jack might say something equally trying.
an organ-man with a monkey was playing near by; and poppy was soon so busy listening to the music, and watching the sad-looking monkey, that she forgot home, shoes, and kitty altogether.
she followed the man a long way; and, when she turned to go back, she took the wrong street, and found herself by the park.
being fond of dandelions, poppy went in, and gathered her hands full, enjoying herself immensely; for betsy, the maid, never let her play in the pond, or roll down the hill, or make dirt-pies, and now she did all these things, besides playing with strange children and talking with any one she pleased.
if she had not had her luncheon just before she started, she would have been very hungry; for dinner-time came, without her knowing it.
by three o'clock, she began to think it was time to go home, and boldly started off to find it.
but poor little poppy did n't know the way, and went all wrong.
she was very tired now, and hot and hungry, and wanted to see mamma, and wondered why she did n't come to the brown house with the white garden-gate.
on and on she went, up streets and down, amusing herself with looking in the shop-windows, and sitting to rest on doorsteps.
once she asked a pleasant-faced little girl to show her the way home; but, as she did n't know in what street it was, and said her father's name was "papa," the girl could n't help her: so she gave her a bun and went away.
poppy ate her bun, and began to wonder what would become of her; for night was coming on, and there did n't seem to be any prospect of finding mamma or home or bed.
her courage was all gone now; and, coming to a quiet place, she sat down on some high steps, and cried till her little "hankchif," as she called it, was all wet.
nobody minded her: and she felt very forlorn till a big black dog came by, and seemed to understand the matter entirely; for he smelt of her face, licked her hands, and then lay down by her with such a friendly look in his brown eyes that poppy was quite comforted.
she told him her story, patted his big head; and then, being fairly tired out, laid her wet cheek on his soft back, and fell fast asleep.
it was quite dark when she woke; but a lamp was lighted near by, and standing under it was a man ringing a great bell.
poppy sat up, and wondered if anybody's supper was ready.
the man had a paper; and, when people stopped at the sound of the bell, he read in a loud voice: "lost!
a little girl, four years old; curly brown hair, blue eyes; had on a white frock and green shoes; calls herself poppy."
he got no farther; for a little voice cried out of the dark, in a tone of surprise: "why, dats me!"
the people all turned to look; and the big man put his bell in his pocket, took her up very kindly, and said he'd carry her home.
""is it far away?"
asked poppy, with a little sob.
""yes, my dear; but i am going to give you some supper fust, along of my little girl.
i live close by; and, when we've had a bite, we'll go find your ma."
poppy was so tired and hungry, she was glad to find herself taken care of, and let the man do as he liked.
he took her to a funny little house, and his wife gave her bread and molasses on a new tin plate with letters all round the edge.
poppy thought it very fine, and enjoyed her supper, though the man's little girl stared at her all the time with eyes as blue as her mug.
while she ate, the man sent word to her father that she was found; and, when both papa and mamma came hurrying in all out of breath with joy, there sat miss poppy talking merrily, with her face well daubed with molasses, her gown torn, her hands very dirty, and her shoes -- ah, the pretty new shoes!
-- all spoiled with mud and dust, scratched, and half worn out, the buttons dull, and the color quite gone.
no one cared for it that night; for little runaway was kissed and petted, and taken home to her own cosey bed as tenderly as if she had done nothing naughty, and never frightened her parents out of their wits in her life.
but the next day, -- dear me!
what a sad time it was, to be sure!
when poppy woke up, there hung the spoilt shoes over the mantle-piece; and, as soon as she was dressed, papa came in with a long cord, one end of which he tied round poppy's waist, and the other to the arm of the sofa.
""i'm very sorry to have to tie you up, like a little dog; but i must, or you will forget, and run away again, and make mamma ill."
then he went away without his morning kiss, and poppy was so very unhappy she could hardly eat her breakfast.
she felt better by and by, and tried to play; but the cord kept pulling her back.
she could n't get to the window; and, when she heard mamma passing the door, she tried to run and meet her, but had to stop halfway, for the cord jerked her over.
cousin fanny came up, but poppy was so ashamed to be tied that she crept under the sofa and hid.
all day she was a prisoner, and was a very miserable little girl; but at night she was untied, and, when mamma took her in her lap for the first time that day, poppy held her fast, and sobbed very penitently -- "o mamma!
i drefful sorry i runned away.
fordive me one time more, and i never will adain;" and she never did.
two or three years after this, poppy went to live in the country, and tried some new pranks.
one day she went with her sister nelly to see a man plough, for that sort of thing was new to her.
while the man worked, she saw him take out a piece of something brown, and bite off a bit.
""what's that?"
asked poppy.
""tobaccer," said the man.
""is it nice?"
asked poppy.
""prime," said the man.
""could you let me taste it?"
asked curious poppy.
""it will make you sick," said the man, laughing.
""it does n't make you sick.
i'd like to try," said poppy, nothing daunted.
he gave her a piece; and poppy ate it, though it did n't taste good at all.
she did it because cy, her favorite playfellow, told her she'd die if she did, and tried to frighten her.
""you dars n't eat any more," he said.
""yes, i dare.
see if i do n't."
and poppy took another piece, just to show how brave she was.
silly little poppy!
""i ai n't sick, and i sha n't die, so now."
and poppy pranced about as briskly as ever.
but the man shook his head, nelly watched her anxiously, and cy kept saying: "ai n't you sick yet, say?"
for a little while poppy felt all right; but presently she grew rather pale, and began to look rather pensive.
she stopped running, and walked slower and slower, while her eyes got dizzy, and her hands and feet very cold.
""ai n't you sick now, say?"
repeated cy; and poppy tried to answer, "oh, dear!
no;" but a dreadful feeling came over her, and she could only shake her head, and hold on to nelly.
""better lay down a spell," said the man, looking a little troubled.
""i do n't wish to dirty my clean frock," said poppy faintly, as she glanced over the wide-ploughed field, and longed for a bit of grass to drop on.
she kept on bravely for another turn; but suddenly stopped, and, quite regardless of the clean pink gown, dropped down in a furrow, looking so white and queer that nelly began to cry.
poppy lay a minute, then turned to cy, and said very solemnly: "cy, run home, and tell my mother i'm dying."
away rushed cy in a great fright, and burst upon poppy's mamma, exclaiming breathlessly: "o ma'am!
poppy's been and ate a lot of tobacco; and she's sick, layin" in the field; and she says "come quick,'cause she's dyin.""
""mercy on us!
what will happen to that child next?"
cried poor mamma, who was used to poppy's mishaps.
papa was away, and there was no carriage to bring poppy home in; so mamma took the little wheelbarrow, and trundled away to get the suffering poppy.
she could n't speak when they got to her; and, only stopping to give the man a lecture, mamma picked up her silly little girl, and the procession moved off.
first came cy, as grave as a sexton; then the wheelbarrow with poppy, white and limp and speechless, all in a bunch; then mamma, looking amused, anxious and angry; then nelly, weeping as if her tender heart was entirely broken; while the man watched them, with a grin, saying to himself: "twar n't my fault.
the child was a reg "lar fool to swaller it."
poppy was dreadfully sick all night, but next day was ready for more adventures and experiments.
she swung on the garret stairs, and tumbled down, nearly breaking her neck.
she rubbed her eyes with red peppers, to see if it really would make them smart, as cy said; and was led home quite blind and roaring with pain.
she got into the pigsty to catch a young piggy, and was taken out in a sad state of dirt.
she slipped into the brook, and was half drowned; broke a window and her own head, swinging a little flat-iron on a string; dropped baby in the coal-hod; buried her doll, and spoilt her; cut off a bit of her finger, chopping wood; and broke a tooth, trying to turn heels over head on a haycock.
these are only a few of her pranks, but one was nearly her last.
she wanted to go bare-footed, as the little country boys and girls did; but mamma was n't willing, and poppy was much afflicted.
""it does n't hurt cy, and it wo n't hurt me, just for a little while," she said.
""say no more, poppy.
i never wish to see you barefooted," replied mamma.
""well, you need n't: i'll go and do it in the barn," muttered poppy, as she walked away.
into the barn she went, and played country girl to her heart's content, in spite of nelly's warnings.
nelly never got into scrapes, being a highly virtuous young lady; but she enjoyed poppy's pranks, and wept over her misfortunes with sisterly fidelity.
""now i'll be a bear, and jump at you as you go by," said poppy, when they were tired of playing steam-engine with the old winnowing machine.
so she got up on a beam; and nelly, with a peck measure on her head for a hat, and a stick for a gun, went bear-hunting, and banged away at the swallows, the barrels, and the hencoops, till the bear was ready to eat her.
presently, with a loud roar, the bear leaped; but nelly was n't eaten that time, for poppy cried out with pain: "oh!
i jumped on a pitchfork, and it's in my foot!
take it out!
take it out!"
poor little foot!
there was a deep purple hole in the sole, and the blood came, and poppy fainted away, and nelly screamed, and mamma ran, and the neighbors rushed in, and there was such a flurry.
poppy was soon herself again, and lay on the sofa, with nelly and cy to amuse her.
""what did the doctor say to mamma in the other room about me?"
whispered poppy, feeling very important at having such a bustle made on her account.
nelly sniffed, but said nothing; cy, however, spoke up briskly: "he says you might have lockjaw."
""is that bad?"
asked poppy gravely.
""oh, ai n't it, though!
your mouth shuts up, and you ca n't open it; and you have fits and die."
""always?"
said poppy, looking scared, and feeling of her mouth."
"most always, i guess.
that's why your ma cried, and nelly keeps kissin" you."
cy felt sorry, but rather enjoyed the excitement, and was sure, that, if any one ever could escape dying, it would be poppy, for she always "came alive" again after her worst mishaps.
she looked very solemn for a few minutes, and kept opening and shutting her mouth to see if it was n't stiff.
presently she said, in a serious tone and with a pensive air: "nelly, i'll give you my bead-ring: i sha n't want it any more.
and cy may have the little horse: he lost his tail; but i put on the lamb's tail, and he is as good as ever.
i wish to give away my things "fore i die; and, nelly, wo n't you bring me the scissors?"
""what for?"
said nelly, sniffing more than ever.
""to cut off my hair for mamma.
she'll want it, and i like to cut things."
nelly got the scissors; and poppy cut away all she could reach, giving directions about her property while she snipped.
""i wish papa to have my pictures and my piece of poetry i made.
give baby my dolly and the quacking duck.
tell billy, if he wants my collection of bright buttons, he can have'em; and give hattie the yellow plaster dog, with my love."
here mamma came in with a poultice, and could n't help laughing, though tears stood in her eyes, as she saw poppy's cropped head and heard her last wishes.
""i do n't think i shall lose my little girl yet, so we wo n't talk of it.
but poppy must keep quiet, and let nelly wait on her for a few days."
""are fits bad, mamma?
and does it hurt much to die?"
asked poppy thoughtfully.
""if people are good while they live, it is not hard to die, dear," said mamma, with a kiss; and poppy hugged her, saying softly: "then i'll be very good; so i wo n't mind, if the jawlock does come."
and poppy was good, -- oh, dreadfully good!
for a week.
quite an angel was poppy; so meek and gentle, so generous and obedient, you really would n't have known her.
she loved everybody, forgave her playmates all their sins against her, let nelly take such of her precious treasures as she liked, and pensively hoped baby would remember her when she was gone.
she hopped about with a crutch, and felt as if she was an object of public interest; for all the old ladies sent to know how she was, the children looked at her with respectful awe as one set apart and doomed to fits, and cy continually begged to know if her mouth was stiff.
poppy did n't die, though she got all ready for it; and felt rather disappointed when the foot healed, the jaws remained as active as ever, and the fits did n't come.
i think it did her good; for she never forgot that week, and, though she was near dying several times after, she never was so fit to go as she was then.
""burney's making jelly: let's go and get our scrapings," said poppy to nellie once, when mamma was away.
but burney was busy and cross, and cooks are not as patient as mothers; so when the children appeared, each armed with a spoon, and demanded their usual feast, she would n't hear of it, and ordered them off.
""but we only want the scrapings of the pan, burney: mamma always lets us have them, when we help her make jelly; do n't she, nelly?"
said poppy, trying to explain the case.
""yes; and makes us our little potful too," added nelly, persuasively.
""i do n't want your help; so be off.
your ma can fuss with your pot, if she chooses.
i've no time.""
i think burney's the crossest woman in the world.
it's mean to eat all the scrapings herself; is n't it nelly?"
said poppy, very loud, as the cook shut the door in their faces.
""never mind: i know how to pay her," she added, in a whisper, as they sat on the stairs bewailing their wrongs.
""she'll put her old jelly in the big closet, and lock the door; but we can climb the plum tree, and get in at the window, when she takes her nap."
""should we dare to eat any?"
asked nelly, timid, but longing for the forbidden fruit."
i should; just as much as ever i like.
it's mamma's jelly, and she wo n't mind.
i do n't care for old cross burney," said poppy, sliding down the banisters by way of soothing her ruffled spirit.
so when burney went to her room after dinner, the two rogues climbed in at the window; and, each taking a jar, sat on the shelf, dipping in their fingers and revelling rapturously.
but burney was n't asleep, and, hearing a noise below, crept down to see what mischief was going on.
pausing in the entry to listen, she heard whispering, clattering of glasses, and smacking of lips in the big closet; and in a moment knew that her jelly was lost.
she tried the door with her key; but sly poppy had bolted it on the inside, and, feeling quite safe, defied burney from among the jelly-pots, entirely reckless of consequences.
short-sighted poppy!
she forgot cy; but burney did n't, and sent him to climb in at the window, and undo the door.
feeling hurt that the young ladies had n't asked him to the feast, cy hardened his heart against them, and delivered them up to the enemy, regardless of poppy's threats and nelly's prayers.
""poppy proposed it, she broke the jar, and i did n't eat much.
o burney!
do n't hurt her, please, but let me "splain it to mamma when she comes," sobbed nelly, as burney seized poppy, and gave her a good shaking.
""you go wash your face, miss nelly, and leave this naughty, naughty child to me," said burney; and took poppy, kicking and screaming, into the little library, where she -- oh, dreadful to relate!
-- gave her a good spanking, and locked her up.
mamma never whipped, and poppy was in a great rage at such an indignity.
the minute she was left alone, she looked about to see how she could be revenged.
a solar lamp stood on the table; and poppy coolly tipped it over, with a fine smash, calling out to burney that she'd have to pay for it, that mamma would be very angry, and that she, poppy, was going to spoil every thing in the room.
but burney was gone, and no one came near her.
she kicked the paint off the door, rattled the latch, called burney a "pig," and cy "a badder boy than the man who smothered the little princes in the tower."
poppy was very fond of that story, and often played it with nelly and the dolls.
having relieved her feelings in this way, poppy rested, and then set about amusing herself.
observing that the spilt oil made the table shine, she took her handkerchief and polished up the furniture, as she had seen the maids do.
""now, that looks nice; and i know mamma will be pleased'cause i'm so tidy," she said, surveying her work with pride, when she had thoroughly greased every table, chair, picture-frame, book-back, and ornament in the room.
plenty of oil still remained; and poppy finished off by oiling her hair, till it shone finely, and smelt -- dear me, how it did smell!
if she had been a young whale, it could n't have been worse.
poppy was n't particular about smells; but she got some in her mouth, and did n't like the taste.
there was no water to wash in; and her hands, face, and pinafore were in a high state of grease.
she was rather lonely too; for, though mamma had got home, she did n't come to let poppy out: so the young rebel thought it was about time to surrender.
she could write pretty well, and was fond of sending penitent notes to mamma, after being naughty: for mamma always answered them so kindly, and was so forgiving, that poppy's naughtiest mood was conquered by them sooner than by any punishment; and poppy kept the notes carefully in a little cover, even after she was grown up.
there was pen, ink, and paper in the room; so, after various trials, poppy wrote her note: -- "dear mamma.
""i am sorry i took bernys gelli.
i have braked the lamp.
the oyl maks a bad smel.
i think i wil bee sik if i stay here anny more.
i love you -- your trying to bee good popy."
when she had finished, she lowered her note by a string, and bobbed it up and down before the parlor window till nelly saw and took it in.
every one laughed over it; for, besides the bad spelling and the funny periods, it was covered with oil-spots, blots, and tear marks; for poppy got tender-hearted toward the end, and cried a few very repentant tears when she said, "i love you; your trying-to-be-good poppy."
mamma went up at once, and ordered no further punishment, but a thorough scrubbing; which poppy underwent very meekly, though betsey put soap in her eyes, pulled her hair, and scolded all the time.
they were not allowed any jelly for a long while; and cy teased poppy about her hair-oil till the joke was quite worn out, and even cross burney was satisfied with the atonement.
when poppy was eight, she got so very wild that no one could manage her but mamma, and she was ill; so poppy was sent away to grandpa's for a visit.
now, grandpa was a very stately old gentleman, and every one treated him with great respect; but poppy was n't at all afraid, and asked all manner of impolite questions.
""grandpa, why do n't you have any hair on the top of your head?"
-- "o grandpa!
you do snore so loud when you take naps!"
-- "what makes you turn out your feet so, when you walk?"
and such things.
if grandpa had n't been the best-natured old gentleman in the world, he would n't have liked this: but he only laughed at poppy, especially when she spoke of his legs; for he was rather proud of them, and always wore long black silk stockings, and told every one that the legs were so handsome an artist put them in a picture of general washington; which was quite true, as any one may see when they look at the famous picture in boston.
well, poppy behaved herself respectably for a day or two; but the house was rather dull, she missed nelly, wanted to run in the street, and longed to see mamma.
she amused herself as well as she could with picture-books, patchwork, and the old cat; but, not being a quiet, proper, little rosamond sort of a child, she got tired of hemming neat pocket-handkerchiefs, and putting her needle carefully away when she had done.
she wanted to romp and shout, and slide down the banisters, and riot about; so, when she could n't be quiet another minute, she went up into a great empty room at the top of the house, and cut up all sorts of capers.
her great delight was to lean out of the window as far as she could, and look at the people in the street, with her head upside down.
it was very dangerous, for a fall would have killed her; but the danger was the fun, and poppy hung out till her hands touched the ledge below, and her face was as red as any real poppy's.
she was enjoying herself in this way one day, when an old gentleman, who lived near, came home to dinner, and saw her.
""what in the world is that hanging out of the colonel's upper window?"
said he, putting on his spectacles.
""bless my soul!
that child will kill herself.
hallo, there!
little girl; get in this minute!"
he called to poppy, flourishing his hat to make her see him.
""what for?"
answered poppy, staring at him without moving an inch.
""you'll fall, and break your neck!"
screamed the old gentleman.
""oh, no, i sha n't!"
returned poppy, much flattered by his interest, and hanging out still further.
""stop that, instantly, or i'll go in and inform the colonel!"
roared the old gentleman, getting angry.
""i do n't care," shouted poppy; and she did n't, for she knew grandpa was n't at home.
""little gipsy!
i'll settle her," muttered the old man, bustling up to the steps, and ringing the bell, as if the house was on fire.
no one was in but the servants; and, when he'd told old emily what the matter was, she went up to "settle" poppy.
but poppy was already settled, demurely playing with her doll, and looking quite innocent.
emily scolded; and poppy promised never to do it again, if she might stay and play in the big room.
being busy about dinner, emily was glad to be rid of her, and left her, to go and tell the old gentleman it was all right.
""ai n't they crosspatches?"
said poppy to her doll.
""never mind, dear: you shall hang out, if i ca n't.
i guess the old man wo n't order you in, any way."
full of this idea, poppy took her long-suffering dolly, and, tying a string to her neck, danced her out of the window.
now this dolly had been through a great deal.
her head had been cut off -lrb- and put on again -rrb-; she had been washed, buried, burnt, torn, soiled, and banged about till she was a mournful object.
poppy loved her very much; for she was two feet tall, and had once been very handsome: so her trials only endeared her to her little mamma.
away she went, skipping and prancing like mad, -- a funny sight, for poppy had taken off her clothes, and she had n't a hair on her head.
poppy went to another window of the room for this performance, because in the opposite house lived five or six children, and she thought they would enjoy the fun.
so they did, and so did the other people; for it was a boarding-house, and all the people were at home for dinner.
they came to the windows, and looked and laughed at dolly's capers, and poppy was in high feather at the success of her entertainment.
all of a sudden she saw grandpa coming down the street, hands behind his back, feet turned out, gold-headed cane under his arm, and the handsome legs in the black silk stockings marching along in the most stately manner.
poppy whisked dolly in before grandpa saw her, and dodged down as he went by.
this made the people laugh again, and grandpa wondered what the joke was.
the minute he went in out flew dolly, dancing more frantically than ever; and the children shouted so loud that grandpa went to see what the matter was.
the street was empty; yet there stood the people, staring out and laughing.
yes; they were actually looking and laughing at his house; and he did n't see what there was to laugh at in that highly respectable mansion.
he did n't like it; and, clapping on his hat, he went out to learn what the matter was.
he looked over at the house, up at the sky, down at the ground, and through the street; but nothing funny appeared, for poppy and dolly were hidden again, and the old gentleman was puzzled.
he went in and sat down to watch, feeling rather disturbed.
presently the fun began again: the children clapped their hands, the people laughed, and every one looked over at the house, in what he thought a very impertinent way.
this made him angry; and out he rushed a second time, saying, as he marched across the street: "if those saucy young fellows are making game of me, i'll soon stop it."
up to the door he went, gave a great pull at the bell, and, when the servant came, he demanded why every one was laughing at his house.
one of the young men came and told him, and asked him to come in and see the fun.
poppy did n't see grandpa go in, for she hid, and when she looked out he was gone: so she boldly began the dancing; but, in the midst of a lively caper, dolly went bounce into the garden below, for the string fell from poppy's hand when she suddenly saw grandpa at the window opposite, laughing as heartily as any one at her prank.
she stared at him in a great fright, and looked so amazed that every one enjoyed that joke better than the other; and poor poppy did n't hear the last of it for a long time.
her next performance was to fall into the pond on the common.
she was driving hoop down the hill, and went so fast she could n't stop herself; so splashed into the water, hoop and all.
how dreadful it was to feel the cold waves go over her head, shutting out the sun and air!
the ground was gone, and she could find no place for her feet, and could only struggle and choke, and go down, down, with a loud roaring sound in her ears.
that would have been the end of poppy, if a little black boy had n't jumped in and pulled her out.
she was sick and dizzy, and looked like a drowned kitten; but a kind lady took her home in a carriage.
after that mishap grandpa thought he would n't keep her any longer, for fear she should come to some worse harm.
so miss poppy was sent home, much to her delight and much to mamma's also; for no matter where she went, or how naughty she was, mamma was always glad to see the little wanderer back, and to forgive and forget all poppy's pranks.
vii.
what the swallows did.
a man lay on a pile of new-made hay, in a great barn, looking up at the swallows who darted and twittered above him.
he envied the cheerful little creatures; for he was n't a happy man, though he had many friends, much money, and the beautiful gift of writing songs that everybody loved to sing.
he had lost his wife and little child, and would not be comforted; but lived alone, and went about with such a gloomy face that no one liked to speak to him.
he took no notice of friends and neighbors; neither used his money for himself nor others; found no beauty in the world, no happiness anywhere; and wrote such sad songs it made one's heart ache to sing them.
as he lay alone on the sweet-smelling hay, with the afternoon sunshine streaming in, and the busy birds chirping overhead, he said sadly to himself: "happy swallows, i wish i were one of you; for you have no pains nor sorrows, and your cares are very light.
all summer you live gayly together; and, when winter comes, you fly away to the lovely south, unseparated still."
""neighbors, do you hear what that lazy creature down there is saying?"
cried a swallow, peeping over the edge of her nest, and addressing several others who sat on a beam near by.
""we hear, mrs. skim; and quite agree with you that he knows very little about us and our affairs," answered one of the swallows with a shrill chirp, like a scornful laugh.
""we work harder than he does any day.
did he build his own house, i should like to know?
does he get his daily bread for himself?
how many of his neighbors does he help?
how much of the world does he see, and who is the happier for his being alive?"
""cares indeed!"
cried another; "i wish he'd undertake to feed and teach my brood.
much he knows about the anxieties of a parent."
and the little mother bustled away to get supper for the young ones, whose bills were always gaping wide.
""sorrows we have, too," softly said the fourth swallow.
""he would not envy me, if he knew how my nest fell, and all my children were killed; how my dear husband was shot, and my old mother died of fatigue on our spring journey from the south."
""dear neighbor dart, he would envy you, if he knew how patiently you bear your troubles; how tenderly you help us with our little ones; how cheerfully you serve your friends; how faithfully you love your lost mate; and how trustfully you wait to meet him again in a lovelier country than the south."
as skim spoke, she leaned down from her nest to kiss her neighbor; and, as the little beaks met, the other birds gave a grateful and approving murmur, for neighbor dart was much beloved by all the inhabitants of twittertown.
""i, for my part, do n't envy him," said gossip wing, who was fond of speaking her mind.
""men and women call themselves superior beings; but, upon my word, i think they are vastly inferior to us.
now, look at that man, and see how he wastes his life.
there never was any one with a better chance for doing good, and being happy; and yet he mopes and dawdles his time away most shamefully."
""ah!
he has had a great sorrow, and it is hard to be gay with a heavy heart, an empty home; so do n't be too severe, sister wing."
and the white tie of the little widow's cap was stirred by a long sigh as mrs. dart glanced up at the nook where her nest once stood.
""no, my dear, i wo n't; but really i do get out of patience when i see so much real misery which that man might help, if he'd only forget himself a little.
it's my opinion he'd be much happier than he now is, wandering about with a dismal face and a sour temper."
""i quite agree with you; and i dare say he'd thank any one for telling him how he may find comfort.
poor soul!
i wish he could understand me; for i sympathize with him, and would gladly help him if i could."
and, as she spoke, kind-hearted widow dart skimmed by him with a friendly chirp, which did comfort him; for, being a poet, he could understand them, and lay listening, well pleased while the little gossips chattered on together.
""i am so tied at home just now, that i know nothing of what is going on, except the bits of news skim brings me; so i enjoy your chat immensely.
i'm interested in your views on this subject, and beg you'll tell me what you'd have that man do to better himself," said mrs. skim, settling herself on her eggs with an attentive air.
""well, my dear, i'll tell you; for i've seen a deal of the world, and any one is welcome to my experience," replied mrs. wing, in an important manner; for she was proud of her "views," and very fond of talking.
""in my daily flights about the place, i see a great deal of poverty and trouble, and often wish i could lend a hand.
now, this man has plenty of money and time; and he might do more good than i can tell, if he'd only set about it.
because he is what they call a poet is no reason he should go moaning up and down, as if he had nothing to do but make songs.
we sing, but we work also; and are wise enough to see the necessity of both, thank goodness!"
""yes, indeed, we do," cried all the birds in a chorus; for several more had stopped to hear what was going on.
""now, what i say is this," continued mrs. wing impressively.
""if i were that man, i'd make myself useful at once.
there is poor little will getting more and more lame every day, because his mother ca n't send him where he can be cured.
a trifle of that man's money would do it, and he ought to give it.
old father winter is half starved, alone there in his miserable hovel; and no one thinks of the good old man.
why do n't that lazy creature take him home, and care for him, the little while he has to live?
pretty nell is working day and night, to support her father, and is too proud to ask help, though her health and courage are going fast.
the man might make hers the gayest heart alive, by a little help.
there in a lonely garret lives a young man studying his life away, longing for books and a teacher.
the man has a library full, and might keep the poor boy from despair by a little help and a friendly word.
he mourns for his own lost baby: i advise him to adopt the orphan whom nobody will own, and who lies wailing all day untended on the poor-house floor.
yes: if he wants to forget sorrow and find peace, let him fill his empty heart and home with such as these, and life wo n't seem dark to him any more."
""dear me!
how well you express yourself, mrs. wing; it's quite a pleasure to hear you; and i heartily wish some persons could hear you, it would do'em a deal of good," said mrs. skim; while her husband gave an approving nod as he dived off the beam, and vanished through the open doors.
""i know it would comfort that man to do these things; for i have tried the same cure in my small way, and found great satisfaction in it," began little madame dart, in her soft voice; but mrs. wing broke in, saying with a pious expression of countenance: "i flew into church one day, and sat on the organ enjoying the music; for every one was singing, and i joined in, though i did n't know the air.
opposite me were two great tablets with golden letters on them.
i can read a little, thanks to my friend, the learned raven; and so i spelt out some of the words.
one was, "love thy neighbor;" and as i sat there, looking down on the people, i wondered how they could see those words week after week, and yet pay so little heed to them.
goodness knows, i do n't consider myself a perfect bird; far from it; for i know i am a poor, erring fowl; but i believe i may say i do love my neighbor, though i am "an inferior creature.""
and mrs. wing bridled up, as if she resented the phrase immensely.
""indeed you do, gossip," cried dart and skim; for wing was an excellent bird, in spite of the good opinion she had of herself.
""thank you: well, then, such being the known fact, i may give advice on the subject as one having authority; and, if it were possible, i'd give that man a bit of my mind."
""you have, madam, you have; and i shall not forget it.
thank you, neighbors, and good night," said the man, as he left the barn, with the first smile on his face which it had worn for many days.
""mercy on us!
i do believe the creature heard every thing we said," cried mrs. wing, nearly tumbling off the beam, in her surprise.
""he certainly did; so i'm glad i was guarded in my remarks," replied mrs. skim, laughing at her neighbor's dismay.
""dear me!
dear me!
what did i say?"
cried mrs. wing, in a great twitter.
""you spoke with more than your usual bluntness, and some of your expressions were rather strong, i must confess; but i do n't think any harm will come of it.
we are of too little consequence for our criticisms or opinions to annoy him," said mrs. dart consolingly.
""i do n't know that, ma'am," returned mrs. wing, sharply: for she was much ruffled and out of temper.
""a cat may look at a king; and a bird may teach a man, if the bird is the wisest.
he may destroy my nest, and take my life; but i feel that i have done my duty, and shall meet affliction with a firmness which will be an example to that indolent, ungrateful man."
in spite of her boasted firmness, mrs. wing dropped her voice, and peeped over the beam, to be sure the man was gone before she called him names; and then flew away, to discover what he meant to do about it.
for several days, there was much excitement in twittertown; for news of what had happened flew from nest to nest, and every bird was anxious to know what revenge the man would take for the impertinent remarks which had been made about him.
mrs. wing was in a dreadful state of mind, expecting an assault, and the destruction of her entire family.
every one blamed her.
her husband lectured; the young birds chirped, "chatterbox, chatterbox," as she passed; and her best friends were a little cool.
all this made her very meek for a time; and she scarcely opened her bill, except to eat.
a guard was set day and night, to see if any danger approached; and a row of swallows might be seen on the ridgepole at all hours.
if any one entered the barn, dozens of little black heads peeped cautiously over the edges of the nests, and there was much flying to and fro with reports and rumors; for all the birds in the town soon knew that something had happened.
the day after the imprudent conversation, a chimney-swallow came to call on mrs. wing; and, the moment she was seated on the beam, she began: "my dear creature, i feel for you in your trying position, -- indeed i do, and came over at once to warn you of your danger."
""mercy on us!
what is coming?"
cried mrs. wing, covering her brood with trembling wings, and looking quite wild with alarm.
""be calm, my friend, and bear with firmness the consequences of your folly," replied mrs. sooty-back, who did n't like mrs. wing, because she prided herself on her family, and rather looked down on chimney-swallows.
""you know, ma'am, i live at the great house, and am in the way of seeing and hearing all that goes on there.
no fire is lighted in the study now; but my landlord still sits on the hearth, and i can overhear every word he says.
last evening, after my darlings were asleep, and my husband gone out, i went down and sat on the andiron, as i often do; for the fireplace is full of oak boughs, and i can peep out unseen.
my landlord sat there, looking a trifle more cheerful than usual, and i heard him say, in a very decided tone:" "i'll catch them, one and all, and keep them here; that is better than pulling the place down, as i planned at first.
those swallows little know what they have done; but i'll show them i do n't forget.""
on hearing this a general wail arose, and mrs. wing fainted entirely away.
madam sooty-back was quite satisfied with the effect she had produced, and departed, saying loftily: "i'm sorry for you, mrs. wing, and forgive your rude speech about my being related to chimney-sweeps.
one ca n't expect good manners from persons brought up in mud houses, and entirely shut out from good society.
if i hear any thing more, i'll let you know."
away she flew; and poor mrs. wing would have had another fit, if they had n't tickled her with a feather, and fanned her so violently that she was nearly blown off her nest by the breeze they raised.
""what shall we do?"
she cried.
""nothing, but wait.
i dare say, mrs. sooty-back is mistaken; at any rate, we ca n't get away without leaving our children, for they ca n't fly yet.
let us wait, and see what happens.
if the worst comes, we shall have done our duty, and will all die together."
as no one could suggest any thing better, mrs. dart's advice was taken, and they waited.
on the afternoon of the same day, dr. banks, a sand-swallow, who lived in a subterranean village over by the great sand-bank, looked in to see mrs. wing, and cheered her by the following bit of news: "the man was down at the poor-house to-day, and took away little nan, the orphan baby.
i saw him carry her to will's mother, and heard him ask her to take care of it for a time.
he paid her well, and she seemed glad to do it; for will needs help, and now he can have it.
an excellent arrangement, i think.
bless me, ma'am!
what's the matter?
your pulse is altogether too fast, and you look feverish."
no wonder the doctor looked surprised; for mrs. wing suddenly gave a skip, and flapped her wings, with a shrill chirp, exclaiming, as she looked about her triumphantly: "now, who was right?
who has done good, not harm, by what you call "gossip"?
who has been a martyr, and patiently borne all kinds of blame, injustice, and disrespect?
yes, indeed!
the man saw the sense of my words; he took my advice; he will show his gratitude by some good turn yet; and, if half a dozen poor souls are helped, it will be my doing, and mine alone."
here she had to stop for breath; and her neighbors all looked at one another, feeling undecided whether to own they were wrong, or to put mrs. wing down.
every one twittered and chirped, and made a great noise; but no one would give up, and all went to roost in a great state of uncertainty.
but, the next day, it became evident that mrs. wing was right; for major bumble-bee came buzzing in to tell them that old daddy winter's hut was empty, and his white head had been seen in the sunny porch of the great house.
after this the swallows gave in; and, as no harm came to them, they had a jubilee in honor of the occasion.
mrs. wing was president, and received a vote of thanks for the good she had done, and the credit she had bestowed upon the town by her wisdom and courage.
she was much elated by all this; but her fright had been of service, and she bore her honors more meekly than one would have supposed.
to be sure, she cut mrs. sooty-back when they met; assumed an injured air, when some of her neighbors passed her; and said, "i told you so," a dozen times a day to her husband, who got so many curtain lectures that he took to sleeping on the highest rafter, pretending that the children's noise disturbed him.
all sorts of charming things happened after that, and such a fine summer never was known before; for not only did the birds rejoice, but people also.
a good spirit seemed to haunt the town, leaving help and happiness wherever it passed.
some unseen hand scattered crumbs over the barn floor, and left food at many doors.
no dog or boy or gun marred the tranquillity of the birds, insects, and flowers who lived on the great estate.
no want, care, or suffering, that love or money could prevent, befell the poor folk whose cottages stood near the old house.
sunshine and peace seemed to reign there; for its gloomy master was a changed man now, and the happiness he earned for himself, by giving it to others, flowed out in beautiful, blithe songs, and went singing away into the world, making him friends, and bringing him honor in high places as well as low.
he did not forget the wife and little child whom he had loved so well; but he mourned no longer, for cheerful daisies grew above their graves, and he knew that he should meet them in the lovely land where death can never come.
so, while he waited for that happy time to come, he made his life a cheery song, -- as every one may do, if they will; and went about dropping kind words and deeds as silently and sweetly as the sky drops sunshine and dew.
every one was his friend, but his favorites were the swallows.
every day he went to see them, carrying grain and crumbs, hearing their chat, sharing their joys and sorrows, and never tiring of their small friendship; for to them, he thought, he owed all the content now his.
when autumn leaves were red, and autumn winds blew cold, the inhabitants of twittertown prepared for their journey to the south.
they lingered longer than usual this year, feeling sorry to leave their friend.
but the fields were bare, the frosts began to pinch, and the young ones longed to see the world; so they must go.
the day they started, the whole flock flew to the great house, to say good-by.
some dived and darted round and round it, some hopped to and fro on the sere lawn, some perched on the chimney-tops, and some clung to the window ledges; all twittering a loving farewell.
chirp, dart, and wing peeped everywhere, and everywhere found something to rejoice over.
in a cosey room, by a bright fire, sat daddy winter and nell's old father, telling stories of their youth, and basking in the comfortable warmth.
in the study, surrounded by the books he loved, was the poor young man, happy as a king now, and learning many things which no book could teach him; for he had found a friend.
then, down below was will's mother, working like a bee; for she was housekeeper, and enjoyed her tasks as much as any mother-bird enjoys filling the little mouths of her brood.
close by was pretty nell, prettier than ever now; for her heavy care was gone, and she sung as she sewed, thinking of the old father, whom nothing could trouble any more.
but the pleasantest sight the three gossips saw was the man with baby nan on his arm and will at his side, playing in the once dreary nursery.
how they laughed and danced!
for will was up from his bed at last, and hopped nimbly on his crutches, knowing that soon even they would be unneeded.
little nan was as plump and rosy as a baby should be, and babbled like a brook, as the man went to and fro, cradling her in his strong arms, feeling as if his own little daughter had come back when he heard the baby voice call him father.
""ah, how sweet it is!"
cried mrs. dart, glad to see that he had found comfort for his grief.
""yes; indeed: it does one's heart good to see such a happy family," added mrs. skim, who was a very motherly bird.
""i do n't wish to boast; but i will say that i am satisfied with my summer's work, and go south feeling that i leave an enviable reputation behind me."
and mrs. wing plumed herself with an air of immense importance, as she nodded and bridled from her perch on the window-sill.
the man saw the three, and hastened to feed them for the last time, knowing that they were about to go.
gratefully they ate, and chirped their thanks; and then, as they flew away, the little gossips heard their friend singing his good-by: "swallow, swallow, neighbor swallow, starting on your autumn flight, pause a moment at my window, twitter softly your good-night; for the summer days are over, all your duties are well done, and the happy homes you builded have grown empty, one by one.
""swallow, swallow, neighbor swallow, are you ready for your flight?
are all the feather cloaks completed?
are the little caps all right?
are the young wings strong and steady for the journey through the sky?
come again in early spring-time; and till then, good-by, good-by!"
viii.
little gulliver.
up in the light-house tower lived davy, with old dan the keeper.
most little boys would have found it very lonely; but davy had three friends, and was as happy as the day was long.
one of davy's friends was the great lamp, which was lighted at sunset, and burnt all night, to guide the ships into the harbor.
to dan it was only a lamp; but to the boy it seemed a living thing, and he loved and tended it faithfully.
every day he helped dan clear the big wick, polish the brass work, and wash the glass lantern which protected the flame.
every evening he went up to see it lighted, and always fell asleep, thinking, "no matter how dark or wild the night, my good shine will save the ships that pass, and burn till morning."
davy's second friend was nep, the newfoundland, who was washed ashore from a wreck, and had never left the island since.
nep was rough and big, but had such a loyal and loving heart that no one could look in his soft brown eyes and not trust him.
he followed davy's steps all day, slept at his feet all night, and more than once had saved his life when davy fell among the rocks, or got caught by the rising tide.
but the dearest friend of all was a sea-gull.
davy found him, with a broken wing, and nursed him carefully till he was well; then let him go, though he was very fond of "little gulliver," as he called him in fun.
but the bird never forgot the boy, and came daily to talk with him, telling all manner of wild stories about his wanderings by land and sea, and whiling away many an hour that otherwise would have been very lonely.
old dan was davy's uncle, -- a grim, gray man, who said little, did his work faithfully, and was both father and mother to davy, who had no parents, and no friends beyond the island.
that was his world; and he led a quiet life among his playfellows, -- the winds and waves.
he seldom went to the main land, three miles away; for he was happier at home.
he watched the sea-anemones open below the water, looking like fairy-plants, brilliant and strange.
he found curious and pretty shells, and sometimes more valuable treasures, washed up from some wreck.
he saw little yellow crabs, ugly lobsters, and queer horse-shoes with their stiff tails.
sometimes a whale or a shark swam by, and often sleek black seals came up to bask on the warm rocks.
he gathered lovely sea-weeds of all kinds, from tiny red cobwebs to great scalloped leaves of kelp, longer than himself.
he heard the waves dash and roar unceasingly; the winds howl or sigh over the island; and the gulls scream shrilly as they dipped and dived, or sailed away to follow the ships that came and went from all parts of the world.
with nep and gulliver he roamed about his small kingdom, never tired of its wonders; or, if storms raged, he sat up in the tower, safe and dry, watching the tumult of sea and sky.
often in long winter nights he lay awake, listening to the wind and rain, that made the tower rock with their violence; but he never was afraid, for nep nestled at his feet, dan sat close by, and overhead the great lamp shone far out into the night, to cheer and guide all wanderers on the sea.
close by the tower hung the fog-bell, which, being wound up, would ring all night, warningly.
one day dan found that something among the chains was broken; and, having vainly tried to mend it, he decided to go to the town, and get what was needed.
he went once a week, usually, and left davy behind; for in the daytime there was nothing to do, and the boy was not afraid to stay.
""a heavy fog is blowing up: we shall want the bell to-night, and i must be off at once.
i shall be back before dark, of course; so take care of yourself, boy," said dan.
away went the little boat; and the fog shut down over it, as if a misty wall had parted davy from his uncle.
as it was dull weather, he sat and read for an hour or two; then fell asleep, and forgot everything till nep's cold nose on his hand waked him up.
it was nearly dark; and, hoping to find dan had come, he ran down to the landing-place.
but no boat was there, and the fog was thicker than ever.
dan never had been gone so long before, and davy was afraid something had happened to him.
for a few minutes he was in great trouble; then he cheered up, and took courage.
""it is sunset by the clock; so i'll light the lamp, and, if dan is lost in the fog, it will guide him home," said davy.
up he went, and soon the great star shone out above the black-topped light-house, glimmering through the fog, as if eager to be seen.
davy had his supper, but no dan came.
he waited hour after hour, and waited all in vain.
the fog thickened, till the lamp was hardly seen; and no bell rung to warn the ships of the dangerous rocks.
poor davy could not sleep, but all night long wandered from the tower to the door, watching, calling, and wondering; but dan did not come.
at sunrise he put out the light, and, having trimmed it for the next night, ate a little breakfast, and roved about the island hoping to see some sign of dan.
the sun drew up the fog at last; and he could see the blue bay, the distant town, and a few fishing-boats going out to sea.
but nowhere was the island-boat with gray old dan in it; and davy's heart grew heavier and heavier, as the day passed, and still no one came.
in the afternoon gulliver appeared: to him davy told his trouble, and the three friends took counsel together.
""there is no other boat; and i could n't row so far, if there was: so i ca n't go to find dan," said david sorrowfully.
""i'd gladly swim to town, if i could; but it's impossible to do it, with wind and tide against me.
i've howled all day, hoping some one would hear me; but no one does, and i'm discouraged," said nep, with an anxious expression.
""i can do something for you; and i will, with all my heart.
i'll fly to town, if i do n't see him in the bay, and try to learn what has become of dan.
then i'll come and tell you, and we will see what is to be done next.
cheer up, davy dear: i'll bring you tidings, if any can be had."
with these cheerful words, away sailed gulliver, leaving nep and his master to watch and wait again.
the wind blew hard, and the broken wing was not quite well yet, else gulliver would have been able to steer clear of a boat that came swiftly by.
a sudden gust drove the gull so violently against the sail that he dropped breathless into the boat; and a little girl caught him, before he could recover himself.
""oh, what a lovely bird!
see his black cap, his white breast, dove-colored wings, red legs and bill, and soft, bright eyes.
i wanted a gull; and i'll keep this one, for i do n't think he is much hurt."
poor gulliver struggled, pecked and screamed; but little dora held him fast, and shut him in a basket till they reached the shore.
then she put him in a lobster pot, -- a large wooden thing, something like a cage, -- and left him on the lawn, where he could catch glimpses of the sea, and watch the light-house tower, as he sat alone in this dreadful prison.
if dora had known the truth, she would have let him go, and done her best to help him; but she could not understand his speech, as davy did, for very few people have the power of talking with birds, beasts, insects, and plants.
to her, his prayers and cries were only harsh screams; and, when he sat silent, with drooping head and ruffled feathers, she thought he was sleepy: but he was mourning for davy, and wondering what his little friend would do.
for three long days and nights he was a prisoner, and suffered much.
the house was full of happy people, but no one took pity upon him.
ladies and gentlemen talked learnedly about him; boys poked and pulled him; little girls admired him, and begged his wings for their hats, if he died.
cats prowled about his cage; dogs barked at him; hens cackled over him; and a shrill canary jeered at him from the pretty pagoda in which it hung, high above danger.
in the evening there was music; and the poor bird's heart ached as the sweet sounds came to him, reminding him of the airier melodies he loved.
through the stillness of the night, he heard the waves break on the shore; the wind came singing up from the sea; the moon shone kindly on him, and he saw the water-fairies dancing on the sand.
but for three days no one spoke a friendly word to him, and he pined away with a broken heart.
on the fourth night, when all was quiet, little gulliver saw a black shadow steal across the lawn, and heard a soft voice say to him: "poor bird, you'll die, if yer stays here; so i "se gwine to let yer go.
specs little missy'll scold dreffle; but moppet'll take de scoldin for yer.
hi, dere!
you is peart nuff now, kase you's in a hurry to go; but jes wait till i gits de knots out of de string dat ties de door, and den away you flies."
""but, dear, kind moppet, wo n't you be hurt for doing this?
why do you care so much for me?
i can only thank you, and fly away."
as gulliver spoke, he looked up at the little black face bent over him, and saw tears in the child's sad eyes; but she smiled at him, and shook her fuzzy head, as she whispered kindly: "i do n't want no tanks, birdie: i loves to let you go, kase you's a slave, like i was once; and it's a dreffle hard ting, i knows.
i got away, and i means you shall.
i "se watched you, deary, all dese days; and i tried to come "fore, but dey did n't give me no chance."
""do you live here?
i never see you playing with the other children," said the gull, as moppet's nimble fingers picked away at the knots.
""yes: i lives here, and helps de cook.
you did n't see me, kase i never plays; de chilen do n't like me."
""why not?"
asked gulliver, wondering.
""i "se black," said moppet, with a sob.
""but that's silly in them," cried the bird, who had never heard of such a thing.
""color makes no difference; the peeps are gray, the seals black, and the crabs yellow; but we do n't care, and are all friends.
it is very unkind to treat you so.
have n't you any friends to love you, dear?"
""nobody in de world keres fer me.
dey sold me way from my mammy when i was a baby, and i "se knocked roun eber since.
de oder chilen has folks to lub an kere fer em, but moppet's got no friends;" and here the black eyes grew so dim with tears that the poor child could n't see that the last knot was out.
gulliver saw it, and, pushing up the door, flew from his prison with a glad cry; and, hopping into moppet's hand, looked into the little dark face with such grateful confidence that it cleared at once, and the brightest smile it had worn for months broke over it as the bird nestled its soft head against her cheek, saying gently: "i'm your friend, dear; i love you, and i never shall forget what you have done for me to-night.
how can i thank you before i go?"
for a minute, moppet could only hug the bird, and cry; for these were the first kind words she had heard for a long time, and they went straight to her lonely little heart.
""o my deary!
i "se paid by dem words, and i do n't want no tanks.
jes lub me, and come sometimes to see me ef you can, it's so hard livin" in dis yere place.
i do n't tink i'll bar it long.
i wish i was a bird to fly away, or a oyster safe in de mud, and free to do as i's a mind."
""i wish you could go and live with davy on the island; he is so kind, so happy, and as free as the wind.
ca n't you get away, moppet?"
whispered gulliver, longing to help this poor, friendless little soul.
he told her all his story; and they agreed that he should fly at once to the island, and see if dan was there; if not, he was to come back, and moppet would try to get some one to help find him.
when this was done, davy and dan were to take moppet, if they could, and make her happy on the island.
full of hope and joy, gulliver said good-by, and spread his wings; but, alas for the poor bird!
he was too weak to fly.
for three days he had hardly eaten any thing, had found no salt water to bathe in, and had sat moping in the cage till his strength was all gone.
""what shall i do?
what shall i do?"
he cried, fluttering his feeble wings, and running to and fro in despair.
""hush, birdie, i'll take kere ob you till you's fit to fly.
i knows a nice, quiet little cove down yonder, where no one goes; and dare you kin stay till you's better.
i'll come and feed you, and you kin paddle, and rest, and try your wings, safe and free, honey."
as moppet spoke, she took gulliver in her arms, and stole away in the dim light, over the hill, down to the lonely spot where nothing went but the winds and waves, the gulls, and little moppet, when hard words and blows made heart and body ache.
here she left the bird, and, with a loving "good-night," crept home to her bed in the garret, feeling as rich as a queen, and much happier; for she had done a kind thing, and made a friend.
next day, a great storm came: the wind blew a hurricane, the rain poured, and the sea thundered on the coast.
if he had been well, gulliver would n't have minded at all; but, being sick and sad, he spent an anxious day, sitting in a cranny of the rock, thinking of davy and moppet.
it was so rough, even in the cove, that he could neither swim nor fly, so feeble was he; and could find no food but such trifles as he could pick up among the rocks.
at nightfall the storm raged fiercer than ever, and he gave up seeing moppet; for he was sure she would n't come through the pelting rain just to feed him.
so he put his head under his wing, and tried to sleep; but he was so wet and weak, so hungry and anxious, no sleep came.
""what has happened to davy alone on the island all this while?
he will fall ill with loneliness and trouble; the lamp wo n't be lighted, the ships will be wrecked, and many people will suffer.
o dan, dan, if we could only find you, how happy we should be!"
as gulliver spoke, a voice cried through the darkness: "is you dere, honey?"
and moppet came climbing over the rocks, with a basket full of such bits as she could get.
""poor birdie, is you starvin"?
here, jes go at dis, and joy yourself.
dere's fish and tings i tink you'd like.
how is you now, dear?"
""better, moppet; but, it's so stormy, i ca n't get to davy; and i worry about him," began gulliver, pecking away at his supper: but he stopped suddenly, for a faint sound came up from below, as if some one called, "help, help!"
""hi!
what's dat?"
said moppet, listening.
""davy, davy!"
called the voice.
""it's dan.
hurrah, we've found him!"
and gulliver dived off the rock so reckless that he went splash into the water.
but that did n't matter to him; and he paddled away, like a little steamer with all the engines in full blast.
down by the sea-side, between two stones, lay dan, so bruised and hurt he could n't move, and so faint with hunger and pain he could hardly speak.
as soon as gulliver called, moppet scrambled down, and fed the poor man with her scraps, brought him rain-water from a crevice near by, and bound up his wounded head with her little apron.
then dan told them how his boat had been run down by a ship in the fog; how he was hurt, and cast ashore in the lonely cove; how he had lain there half dead, for no one heard his shouts, and he could n't move; how the storm brought him back to life, when he was almost gone, and the sound of moppet's voice told him help was near.
how glad they all were then!
moppet danced for joy; gulliver screamed and flapped his wings; and dan smiled, in spite of pain, to think he should see davy again.
he could n't understand gulliver; but moppet told him all the story, and, when he heard it, he was more troubled for the boy than for himself.
""what will he do?
he may get killed or scared, or try to come ashore.
is the lamp alight?"
he cried, trying to move, and falling back with a moan of pain.
gulliver flew up to the highest rock, and looked out across the dark sea.
yes, there it was, -- the steady star shining through the storm, and saying plainly, "all is well."
""thank heaven!
if the lamp is burning, davy is alive.
now, how shall i get to him?"
said dan.
""never you fret, massa: moppet'll see to dat.
you jes lay still till i comes.
dere's folks in de house as'll tend to you, ef i tells em who and where you is."
off she ran, and soon came back with help.
dan was taken to the house, and carefully tended; moppet was n't scolded for being out so late; and, in the flurry, no one thought of the gull.
next morning, the cage was found blown over, and every one fancied the bird had flown away.
dora was already tired of him; so he was soon forgotten by all but moppet.
in the morning it was clear; and gulliver flew gladly to the tower where davy still watched and waited, with a pale face and heavy heart, for the three days had been very hard to bear, and, but for nep and shine, he would have lost his courage entirely.
gulliver flew straight into his bosom, and, sitting there, told his adventures; while davy laughed and cried, and nep stood by, wagging his tail for joy, while his eyes were full of sympathy.
the three had a very happy hour together, and then came a boat to carry davy ashore, while another keeper took charge of the light till dan was well.
nobody ever knew the best part of the story but moppet, davy, and gulliver.
other people did n't dream that the boy's pet gull had any thing to do with the finding of the man, or the good fortune that came to moppet.
while dan lay sick, she tended him, like a loving little daughter; and, when he was well, he took her for his own.
he did not mind the black skin: he only saw the loneliness of the child, the tender heart, the innocent, white soul; and he was as glad to be a friend to her as if she had been as blithe and pretty as dora.
it was a happy day when dan and davy, moppet, gulliver, and nep sailed away to the island; for that was still to be their home, with stout young ben to help.
the sun was setting; and they floated through waves as rosy as the rosy sky.
a fresh wind filled the sail, and ruffled gulliver's white breast as he sat on the mast-head crooning a cheery song to himself.
dan held the tiller, and davy lay at his feet, with nep bolt upright beside him; but the happiest face of all was moppet's.
kneeling at the bow, she leaned forward, with her lips apart, her fuzzy hair blown back, and her eyes fixed on the island which was to be her home.
like a little black figure-head of hope, she leaned and looked, as the boat flew on, bearing her away from the old life into the new.
as the sun sunk, out shone the lamp with sudden brightness, as if the island bade them welcome.
dan furled the sail; and, drifting with the tide, they floated in, till the waves broke softly on the shore, and left them safe at home.
ix.
the whale's story.
freddy sat thinking on the seat under the trees.
it was a wide, white seat, about four feet long, sloping from the sides to the middle, something like a swing; and was not only comfortable but curious, for it was made of a whale's bone.
freddy often sat there, and thought about it for he was very much interested in it, and nobody could tell him any thing of it, except that it had been there a long time.
""poor old whale, i wonder how you got here, where you came from, and if you were a good and happy creature while you lived," said freddy, patting the old bone with his little hand.
it gave a great creak; and a sudden gust of air stirred the trees, as if some monster groaned and sighed.
then freddy heard a strange voice, very loud, yet cracked and queer, as if some one tried to talk with a broken jaw.
""freddy ahoy!"
called the big voice.
""i'll tell you all about it; for you are the only person who ever pitied me, or cared to know any thing about me."
""why, can you talk?"
asked freddy, very much astonished and a little frightened.
""of course i can, for this is a part of my jaw-bone.
i should talk better if my whole mouth was here; but i'm afraid my voice would then be so loud you would n't be able to hear it.
i do n't think any one but you would understand me, any way.
it is n't every one that can, you know; but you are a thoughtful little chap, with a lively fancy as well as a kind heart, so you shall hear my story."
""thank you, i should like it very much, if you would please to speak a little lower, and not sigh; for your voice almost stuns me, and your breath nearly blows me away," said freddy.
""i'll try: but it's hard to suit my tone to such a mite, or to help groaning when i think of my sad fate; though i deserve it, perhaps," said the bone, more gently.
""were you a naughty whale?"
asked freddy.
""i was proud, very proud, and foolish; and so i suffered for it.
i dare say you know a good deal about us.
i see you reading often, and you seem a sensible child."
""no: i have n't read about you yet, and i only know that you are the biggest fish there is," replied freddy.
the bone creaked and shook, as if it was laughing, and said in a tone that showed it had n't got over its pride yet: "you're wrong there, my dear; we are not fishes at all, though stupid mortals have called us so for a long time.
we ca n't live without air; we have warm, red blood; and we do n't lay eggs, -- so we are not fishes.
we certainly are the biggest creatures in the sea and out of it.
why, bless you!
some of us are nearly a hundred feet long; our tails alone are fifteen or twenty feet wide; the biggest of us weigh five hundred thousand pounds, and have in them the fat, bone, and muscle of a thousand cattle.
the lower jaw of one of my family made an arch large enough for a man on horseback to ride under easily, and my cousins of the sperm-family usually yield eighty barrels of oil."
""gracious me, what monsters you are!"
cried freddy, taking a long breath, while his eyes got bigger and bigger as he listened.
""ah!
you may well say so; we are a very wonderful and interesting family.
all our branches are famous in one way or another.
fin-backs, sperms, and rights are the largest; then come the norwhals, the dolphins, and porpoises, -- which last, i dare say, you've seen."
""yes: but tell me about the big ones, please.
which were you?"
cried freddy.
""i was a right whale, from greenland.
the sperms live in warm places; but to us the torrid zone is like a sea of fire, and we do n't pass it.
our cousins do; and go to the east indies by way of the north pole, which is more than your famous parrys and franklins could do."
""i do n't know about that; but i'd like to hear what you eat, and how you live, and why you came here," said freddy, who thought the whale rather inclined to boast.
""well, we have n't got any teeth, -- our branch of the family; and we live on creatures so small, that you could only see them with a microscope.
yes, you may stare; but it's true, my dear.
the roofs of our mouths are made of whalebone, in broad pieces from six to eight feet long, arranged one against the other; so they make an immense sieve.
the tongue, which makes about five barrels of oil, lies below, like a cushion of white satin.
when we want to feed, we rush through the water, which is full of the little things we eat, and catch them in our sieve, spurting the water through two holes in our heads.
then we collect the food with our tongue, and swallow it; for, though we are so big, our throats are small.
we roam about in the ocean, leaping and floating, feeding and spouting, flying from our enemies, or fighting bravely to defend our young ones."
""have you got any enemies?
i should n't think you could have, you are so large," said freddy.
""but we have, and many too, -- three who attack us in the water, and several more that men use against us.
the killer, the sword-fish, and the thrasher trouble us at home.
the killer fastens to us, and wo n't be shaken off till he has worried us to death; the sword-fish stabs us with his sword; and the thrasher whips us to death with his own slender, but strong and heavy body.
then, men harpoon us, shoot or entrap us; and make us into oil and candles and seats, and stiffening for gowns and umbrellas," said the bone, in a tone of scorn.
freddy laughed at the idea, and asked, "how about candles?
i know about oil and seats and umbrellas; but i thought candles were made of wax."
""i ca n't say much on that point: i only know that, when a sperm whale is killed, they make oil out of the fat part as they do of ours; but the sperms have a sort of cistern in their heads, full of stuff like cream, and rose-colored.
they cut a hole in the skull, and dip it out; and sometimes get sixteen or twenty barrels.
this is made into what you call spermaceti candles.
we do n't have any such nonsense about us; but the sperms always were a light-headed set."
here the bone laughed, in a cracked sort of roar, which sent freddy flying off the seat on to the grass, where he stayed, laughing also, though he did n't see any joke.
""i beg your pardon, child.
it is n't often that i laugh; for i've a heavy heart somewhere, and have known trouble enough to make me as sad as the sea is sometimes."
""tell me about your troubles; i pity you very much, and like to hear you talk," said freddy, kindly.
""unfortunately we are very easily killed, in spite of our size; and have various afflictions besides death.
we grow blind; our jaws are deformed sometimes; our tails, with which we swim, get hurt; and we have dyspepsia."
freddy shouted at that; for he knew what dyspepsia was, because at the sea-side there were many sickly people who were always groaning about that disease.
""it's no laughing matter, i assure you," said the whale's bone.
""we suffer a great deal, and get thin and weak and miserable.
i've sometimes thought that's the reason we are blue."
""perhaps, as you have no teeth, you do n't chew your food enough, and so have dyspepsia, like an old gentleman i know," said freddy.
""that's not the reason; my cousins, the sperms, have teeth, and dyspepsia also."
""are they blue?"
""no, black and white.
but i was going to tell you my troubles.
my father was harpooned when i was very young, and i remember how bravely he died.
the rights usually run away when they see a whaler coming; not from cowardice, -- oh, dear, no!
-- but discretion.
the sperms stay and fight, and are killed off very fast; for they are a very headstrong family.
we fight when we ca n't help it; and my father died like a hero.
they chased him five hours before they stuck him; he tried to get away, and dragged three or four boats and sixteen hundred fathoms of line from eight in the morning till four at night.
then they got out another line, and he towed the ship itself for more than an hour.
there were fifteen harpoons in him: he chewed up a boat, pitched several men overboard, and damaged the vessel, before they killed him.
ah!
he was a father to be proud of."
freddy sat respectfully silent for a few minutes, as the old bone seemed to feel a great deal on the subject.
presently he went on again: "the sperms live in herds; but the rights go in pairs, and are very fond of one another.
my wife was a charming creature, and we were very happy, till one sad day, when she was playing with our child, -- a sweet little whaleling only twelve feet long, and weighing but a ton, -- my son was harpooned.
his mamma, instead of flying, wrapped her fins round him, and dived as far as the line allowed.
then she came up, and dashed at the boats in great rage and anguish, entirely regardless of the danger she was in.
the men struck my son, in order to get her, and they soon succeeded; but even then, in spite of her suffering, she did not try to escape, but clung to little spouter till both were killed.
alas!
alas!"
here the poor bone creaked so dismally, freddy feared it would tumble to pieces, and bring the story to an end too soon.
""do n't think of those sorrowful things," he said; "tell me how you came to be here.
were you harpooned?"
""not i; for i've been very careful all my life to keep out of the way of danger: i'm not like one of my relations, who attacked a ship, gave it such a dreadful blow that he made a great hole, the water rushed in, and the vessel was wrecked.
but he paid dearly for that prank; for a few months afterward another ship harpooned him very easily, finding two spears still in him, and a wound in his head.
i forgot to mention, that the sperms have fine ivory teeth, and make ambergris, -- a sort of stuff that smells very nice, and costs a great deal.
i give you these little facts about my family, as you seem interested, and it's always well to improve the minds of young people."
""you are very kind; but will you be good enough to tell about yourself?"
said freddy again; for the bone seemed to avoid that part of the story, as if he did n't want to tell it.
""well, if i must, i must; but i'm sorry to confess what a fool i've been.
you know what coral is, do n't you?"
""no," said freddy, wondering why it asked.
""then i must tell you, i suppose.
there is a bit in the house there, -- that rough, white, stony stuff on the table in the parlor.
it's full of little holes, you know.
well, those holes are the front doors of hundreds of little polypes, or coral worms, who build the great branches of coral, and live there.
they are of various shapes and colors, -- some like stars; some fine as a thread, and blue or yellow; others like snails and tiny lobsters.
some people say the real coral-makers are shaped like little oblong bags of jelly, closed at one end, the other open, with six or eight little feelers, like a star, all around it.
the other creatures are boarders or visitors: these are the real workers, and, when they sit in their cells and put out their feelers, they make all manner of lovely colors under the water, -- crimson, green, orange, and violet.
but if they are taken up or touched, the coral people go in doors, and the beautiful hues disappear.
they say there are many coral reefs and islands built by these industrious people, in the south seas; but i ca n't go there to see, and i am contented with those i find in the northern latitudes.
i knew such a community of coral builders, and used to watch them long ago, when they began to work.
it was a charming spot, down under the sea; for all manner of lovely plants grew there; splendid fishes sailed to and fro; wonderful shells lay about; crimson and yellow prawns, long, gliding green worms, and purple sea-urchins, were there.
when i asked the polypes what they were doing, and they answered, "building an island," i laughed at them; for the idea that these tiny, soft atoms could make any thing was ridiculous.
"you may roar; but you'll see that we are right, if you live long enough," said they.
"our family have built thousands of islands and long reefs, that the sea ca n't get over, strong as it is."
that amused me immensely; but i would n't believe it, and laughed more than ever."
""it does seem very strange," said freddy, looking at the branch of coral which he had brought out to examine.
""does n't it?
and is n't it hard to believe?
i used to go, now and then, to see how the little fellows got on, and always found them hard at it.
for a long while there was only a little plant without leaves, growing slowly taller and taller; for they always build upward toward the light.
by and by, the small shrub was a tree: flying-fish roosted in its branches; sea-cows lay under its shadow; and thousands of jolly little polypes lived and worked in its white chambers.
i was glad to see them getting on so well; but still i did n't believe in the island story, and used to joke them about their ambition.
they were very good-natured, and only answered me, "wait a little longer, friend right."
i had my own affairs to attend to; so, for years at a time, i forgot the coral-workers, and spent most of my life up greenland way, for warm climates do n't agree with my constitution.
when i came back, after a long absence, i was astonished to see the tree grown into a large umbrella-shaped thing, rising above the water.
sea-weed had washed up and clung there; sea-birds had made nests there; land-birds and the winds had carried seeds there, which had sprung up; trunks of trees had been cast there by the sea; lizards, insects, and little animals came with the trees, and were the first inhabitants; and, behold!
it was an island."
""what did you say then?"
asked freddy.
""i was angry, and did n't want to own that i was wrong; so i insisted that it was n't a real island, without people on it.
"wait a little longer," answered the polypes; and went on, building broader and broader foundations.
i flounced away in a rage, and did n't go back for a great while.
i hoped something would happen to the coral builders and their island; but i was so curious that i could n't keep away, and, on going back there, i found a settlement of fishermen, and the beginning of a thriving town.
now i should have been in a towering passion at this, if in my travels i had n't discovered a race of little creatures as much smaller than polypes as a mouse is smaller than an elephant.
i heard two learned men talking about diatoms, as they sailed to labrador; and i listened.
they said these people lived in both salt and fresh water, and were found in all parts of the world.
they were a glassy shell, holding a soft, golden-yellow substance, and that they were so countless that banks were made of them, and that a town here in these united states was founded on them.
they were the food of many little sea-animals, who, in turn, fed us big creatures, and were very interesting and wonderful.
i saved up this story; and, when the polypes asked if they had n't done what they intended, i told them i did n't think it so very remarkable, for the tiny diatoms made cities, and were far more astonishing animals than they.
i thought that would silence them; but they just turned round, and informed me that my diatoms were plants, not animals, -- so my story was all humbug.
then i was mad; and could n't get over the fact that these little rascals had done what we, the kings of the sea, could n't do.
i was n't content with being the biggest creature there: i wanted to be the most skilful also.
i did n't remember that every thing has its own place and use, and should be happy in doing the work for which it was made.
i fretted over the matter a long while, and at last decided to make an island myself."
""how could you?"
asked freddy.
""i had my plans; and thought them very wise ones.
i was so bent on outdoing the polypes that i did n't much care what happened; and so i went to work in my clumsy way.
i could n't pile up stones, or build millions of cells; so i just made an island of myself.
i swam up into the harbor yonder one night; covered my back with sea-weed; and lay still on the top of the water.
in the morning the gulls came to see what it was, and pecked away at the weeds, telling me very soon that they knew what i was after, and that i could n't gull them.
all the people on shore turned out to see the wonder also; for a fisherman had carried the tidings, and every one was wild to behold the new island.
after staring and chattering a long while, boats came off to examine the mystery.
loads of scientific gentlemen worked away at me with microscopes, hammers, acids, and all sorts of tests, to decide what i was; and kept up such a fire of long words that i was "most dead.
they could n't make up their minds; and meanwhile news of the strange thing spread, and every sort of person came to see me.
the gulls kept telling them the joke; but they did n't understand, and i got on capitally.
every night i dined and fed and frolicked till dawn; then put on my sea-weeds, and lay still to be stared at.
i wanted some one to come and live on me; then i should be equal to the island of the polypes.
but no one came, and i was beginning to be tired of fooling people, when i was fooled myself.
an old sailor came to visit me: he had been a whaler, and he soon guessed the secret.
but he said nothing till he was safely out of danger; then he got all ready, and one day, as i lay placidly in the sun, a horrible harpoon came flying through the air, and sunk deep into my back.
i forgot every thing but the pain, and dived for my life.
alas!
the tide was low; the harbor-bar could n't be passed; and i found hundreds of boats chasing me, till i was driven ashore down there on the flats.
big and strong as we are, once out of water, and we are perfectly helpless.
i was soon despatched; and my bones left to whiten on the sand.
this was long ago; and, one by one, all my relics have been carried off or washed away.
my jaw-bone has been used as a seat here, till it's worn out; but i could n't crumble away till i'd told some one my story.
remember, child, pride goeth before a fall."
then, with a great creak, the bone tumbled to pieces; and found a peaceful grave in the long green grass.
x.
a strange island.
one day i lay rocking in my boat, reading a very famous book, which all children know and love; and the name of which i'll tell you by and by.
so busily was i reading, that i never minded the tide; and presently discovered that i was floating out to sea, with neither sail nor oar.
at first i was very much frightened; for there was no one in sight on land or sea, and i did n't know where i might drift to.
but the water was calm, the sky clear, and the wind blew balmily; so i waited for what should happen.
presently i saw a speck on the sea, and eagerly watched it; for it drew rapidly near, and seemed to be going my way.
when it came closer, i was much amazed; for, of all the queer boats i ever saw, this was the queerest.
it was a great wooden bowl, very cracked and old; and in it sat three gray-headed little gentlemen with spectacles, all reading busily, and letting the boat go where it pleased.
now, right in their way was a rock; and i called out, "sir, sir, take care."
but my call came too late: crash went the bowl, out came the bottom, and down plumped all the little gentlemen into the sea.
i tried not to laugh, as the books, wigs, and spectacles flew about; and, urging my boat nearer, i managed to fish them up, dripping and sneezing, and looking like drowned kittens.
when the flurry was over, and they had got their breath, i asked who they were, and where they were going.
""we are from gotham, ma'am," said the fattest one, wiping a very wet face on a very wet handkerchief.
""we were going to that island yonder.
we have often tried, but never got there: it's always so, and i begin to think the thing ca n't be done."
i looked where he pointed; and, sure enough, there was an island where i had never seen one before.
i rubbed my eyes, and looked again.
yes: there it was, -- a little island, with trees and people on it; for i saw smoke coming out of the chimney of a queerly-shaped house on the shore.
""what is the name of it?"
i asked.
the little old gentleman put his finger on his lips, and said, with a mysterious nod: "i could n't tell you, ma'am.
it's a secret; but, if you manage to land there, you will soon know."
the other old men nodded at the same time; and then all went to reading again, with the water still dropping off the ends of their noses.
this made me very curious; and, as the tide drifted us nearer and nearer, i looked well about me, and saw several things that filled me with a strong desire to land on the island.
the odd house, i found, was built like a high-heeled shoe; and at every window i saw children's heads.
some were eating broth; some were crying; and some had nightcaps on.
i caught sight of a distracted old lady flying about, with a ladle in one hand, and a rod in the other; but the house was so full of children -lrb- even up to the skylight, -- out of which they popped their heads, and nodded at me -rrb- that i could n't see much of the mamma of this large family: one seldom can, you know.
i had hardly got over my surprise at this queer sight, when i saw a cow fly up through the air, over the new moon that hung there, and come down and disappear in the woods.
i really did n't know what to make of this, but had no time to ask the old men what it meant; for a cat, playing a fiddle, was seen on the shore.
a little dog stood by, listening and laughing; while a dish and a spoon ran away over the beach with all their might.
if the boat had not floated up to the land, i think i should have swam there, -- i was so anxious to see what was going on; for there was a great racket on the island, and such a remarkable collection of creatures, it was impossible to help staring.
as soon as we landed, three other gentlemen came to welcome the ones i had saved, and seemed very glad to see them.
they appeared to have just landed from a tub in which was a drum, rub-a-dub-dubbing all by itself.
one of the new men had a white frock on, and carried a large knife; the second had dough on his hands, flour on his coat, and a hot-looking face; the third was very greasy, had a bundle of candles under his arm, and a ball of wicking half out of his pocket.
the six shook hands, and walked away together, talking about a fair; and left me to take care of myself.
i walked on through a pleasant meadow, where a pretty little girl was looking sadly up at a row of sheep's tails hung on a tree.
i also saw a little boy in blue, asleep by a haycock; and another boy taking aim at a cock-sparrow, who clapped his wings and flew away.
presently i saw two more little girls: one sat by a fire warming her toes; and, when i asked what her name was, she said pleasantly: "polly flinders, ma'am."
the other one sat on a tuft of grass, eating something that looked very nice; but, all of a sudden, she dropped her bowl, and ran away, looking very much frightened.
""what's the matter with her?"
i asked of a gay young frog who came tripping along with his hat under his arm.
""miss muffit is a fashionable lady, and afraid of spiders, madam; also of frogs."
and he puffed himself angrily up, till his eyes quite goggled in his head.
""and, pray, who are you, sir?"
i asked, staring at his white vest, green coat, and fine cravat.
""excuse me, if i do n't give my name, ma'am.
my false friend, the rat, got me into a sad scrape once; and rowley insists upon it that a duck destroyed me, which is all gammon, ma'am, -- all gammon."
with that, the frog skipped away; and i turned into a narrow lane, which seemed to lead toward some music.
i had not gone far, when i heard the rumbling of a wheelbarrow, and saw a little man wheeling a little woman along.
the little man looked very hot and tired; but the little woman looked very nice, in a smart bonnet and shawl, and kept looking at a new gold ring on her finger, as she rode along under her little umbrella.
i was wondering who they were, when down went the wheelbarrow; and the little lady screamed so dismally that i ran away, lest i should get into trouble, -- being a stranger.
turning a corner, i came upon a very charming scene, and slipped into a quiet nook to see what was going on.
it was evidently a wedding; and i was just in time to see it, for the procession was passing at that moment.
first came a splendid cock-a-doodle, all in black and gold, like a herald, blowing his trumpet, and marching with a very dignified step.
then came a rook, in black, like a minister, with spectacles and white cravat.
a lark and bullfinch followed, -- friends, i suppose; and then the bride and bridegroom.
miss wren was evidently a quakeress; for she wore a sober dress, and a little white veil, through which her bright eyes shone.
the bridegroom was a military man, in his scarlet uniform, -- a plump, bold-looking bird, very happy and proud just then.
a goldfinch gave away the bride, and a linnet was bridesmaid.
the ceremony was very fine; and, as soon as it was over, the blackbird, thrush and nightingale burst out in a lovely song.
a splendid dinner followed, at which was nearly every bird that flies; so you may imagine the music there was.
they had currant-pie in abundance; and cherry-wine, which excited a cuckoo so much, that he became quite rude, and so far forgot himself as to pull the bride about.
this made the groom so angry that he begged his friend, the sparrow, to bring his bow and arrow, and punish the ruffian.
but, alas!
sparrow had also taken a drop too much: he aimed wrong, and, with a dreadful cry, mr. robin sank dying into the arms of his wife, little jane.
it was too much for me; and, taking advantage of the confusion that followed, i left the tragical scene as fast as possible.
a little farther on, i was shocked to see a goose dragging an old man down some steps that led to a little house.
""dear me!
what's the matter here?"
i cried.
""he wo n't say his prayers," screamed the goose.
""but perhaps he was never taught," said i. "it's never too late to learn: he's had his chance; he wo n't be pious and good, so away with him.
do n't interfere, whatever you do: hold your tongue, and go about your business," scolded the goose, who certainly had a dreadful temper.
i dared say no more; and, when the poor old man had been driven away by this foul proceeding, i went up the steps and peeped in; for i heard some one crying, and thought the cross bird, perhaps, had hurt some one else.
a little old woman stood there, wringing her hands in great distress; while a small dog was barking at her with all his might.
""bless me!
the fashions have got even here," thought i; for the old woman was dressed in the latest style, -- or, rather, she had overdone it sadly; for her gown was nearly up to her knees, and she was nearly as ridiculous an object as some of the young ladies i had seen at home.
she had a respectable bonnet on, however, instead of a straw saucer; and her hair was neatly put under a cap, -- not made into a knob on the top of her head.
""my dear soul, what's the trouble?"
said i, quite touched by her tears.
""lud a mercy, ma'am!
i've been to market with my butter and eggs, -- for the price of both is so high, one can soon get rich nowadays, -- and, being tired, i stopped to rest a bit, but fell asleep by the road.
somebody -- i think it's a rogue of a peddler who sold me wooden nutmegs, and a clock that would n't go, and some pans that came to bits the first time i used them -- somebody cut my new gown and petticoat off all round, in the shameful way you see.
i thought i never should get home; for i was such a fright, i actually did n't know myself.
but, thinks i, my doggy will know me; and then i shall be sure i'm i, and not some boldfaced creature in short skirts.
but, oh, ma'am!
doggy do n't know me; and i ai n't myself, and i do n't know what to do."
""he's a foolish little beast; so do n't mind him, but have a cup of tea, and go to bed.
you can make your gown decent to-morrow; and, if i see the tricksy peddler, i'll give him a scolding."
this seemed to comfort the old woman; though doggy still barked.
""my next neighbor has a dog who never behaves in this way," she said, as she put her teapot on the coals.
""he's a remarkable beast; and you'd better stop to see him as you pass, ma'am.
he's always up to some funny prank or other."
i said i would; and, as i went by the next house, i took a look in at the window.
the closet was empty, i observed; but the dog sat smoking a pipe, looking as grave as a judge.
""where is your mistress?"
asked i. "gone for some tripe," answered the dog, politely taking the pipe out of his mouth, and adding, "i hope the smoke does n't annoy you."
""i do n't approve of smoking," said i. "sorry to hear it," said the dog, coolly.
i was going to lecture him on this bad habit; but i saw his mistress coming with a dish in her hand, and, fearing she might think me rude to peep in at her windows, i walked on, wondering what we were coming to when even four-legged puppies smoked.
at the door of the next little house, i saw a market-wagon loaded with vegetables, and a smart young pig just driving it away.
i had heard of this interesting family, and took a look as i passed by.
a second tidy pig sat blowing the fire; and a third was eating roast-beef, as if he had just come in from his work.
the fourth, i was grieved to see, looked very sulky; for it was evident he had been naughty, and so lost his dinner.
the little pig was at the door, crying to get in; and it was sweet to see how kindly the others let him in, wiped his tears, tied on his bib, and brought him his bread and milk.
i was very glad to see these young orphans doing so well, and i knew my friends at home would enjoy hearing from them.
a loud scream made me jump; and the sudden splash of water made me run along, without stopping to pick up a boy and girl who came tumbling down the hill, with an empty pail, bumping their heads as they rolled.
smelling something nice, and feeling hungry, i stepped into a large room near by, -- a sort of eating-house, i fancy; for various parties seemed to be enjoying themselves in their different ways.
a small boy sat near the door, eating a large pie; and he gave me a fine plum which he had just pulled out.
at one table was a fat gentleman cutting another pie, which had a dark crust, through which appeared the heads of a flock of birds, all singing gayly.
""there's no end to the improvements in cooking, and no accounting for tastes," i added, looking at a handsomely-dressed lady, who sat near, eating bread and honey.
as i passed this party, i saw behind the lady's chair a maid, with a clothes-pin in her hand, and no nose.
she sobbingly told me a bird had nipped it off; and i gave her a bit of court-plaster, which i fortunately had in my pocket.
another couple were dividing their meat in a queer way; for one took all the fat, and the other all the lean.
the next people were odder still; for the man looked rather guilty, and seemed to be hiding a three-peck measure under his chair, while he waited for his wife to bring on some cold barley-pudding, which, to my surprise, she was frying herself.
i also saw a queer moonstruck-looking man inquiring the way to norridge; and another man making wry faces over some plum-pudding, with which he had burnt his mouth, because his friend came down too soon.
i ordered pease-porridge hot, and they brought it cold; but i did n't wait for any thing else, being in a hurry to see all there was to be seen on this strange island.
feeling refreshed, i strolled on, passing a jolly old gentleman smoking and drinking, while three fiddlers played before him.
as i turned into a road that led toward a hill, a little boy, riding a dapple-gray pony, and an old lady on a white horse, with bells ringing somewhere, trotted by me, followed by a little girl, who wished to know where she could buy a penny bun.
i told her the best were at newmarch's, in bedford street, and she ran on, much pleased; but i'm afraid she never found that best of bake-shops.
i was going quietly along, when the sound of another horse coming made me look round; and there i saw a dreadful sight, -- a wild horse, tearing over the ground, with fiery eyes and streaming tail.
on his back sat a crazy man, beating him with a broom; a crazy woman was behind him, with her bonnet on wrong side before, holding one crazy child in her lap, while another stood on the horse; a third was hanging on by one foot, and all were howling at the top of their voices as they rushed by.
i scrambled over the wall to get out of the way, and there i saw more curious sights.
two blind men were sitting on the grass, trying to see two lame men who were hobbling along as hard as they could; and, near by, a bull was fighting a bee in the most violent manner.
this rather alarmed me; and i scrambled back into the road again, just as a very fine lady jumped over a barberry-bush near by, and a gentleman went flying after, with a ring in one hand and a stick in the other.
""what very odd people they have here!"
i thought.
close by was a tidy little house under the hill, and in it a tidy little woman who sold things to eat.
being rather hungry, in spite of my porridge, i bought a baked apple and a cranberry-pie; for she said they were good, and i found she told the truth.
as i sat eating my pie, some dogs began to bark; and by came a troop of beggars, some in rags, and some in old velvet gowns.
a drunken grenadier was with them, who wanted a pot of beer; but as he had no money, the old woman sent him about his business.
on my way up the hill, i saw a little boy crying over a dead pig, and his sister, who seemed to be dead also.
i asked his name, and he sobbed out, "johnny pringle, ma'am;" and went on crying so hard i could do nothing to comfort him.
while i stood talking to him, a sudden gust of wind blew up the road, and down came the bough of a tree; and, to my surprise, a cradle with a baby in it also.
the baby screamed dreadfully, and i did n't know how to quiet it; so i ran back to the old woman, and left it with her, asking if that was the way babies were taken care of there.
""bless you, my dear!
its ma is making patty-cakes; and put it up there to be out of the way of tom tinker's dog.
i'll soon hush it up," said the old woman; and, trotting it on her knee, she began to sing: "hey!
my kitten, my kitten, hey!
my kitten, my deary."
feeling that the child was in good hands, i hurried away, for i saw something was going on upon the hill-top.
when i got to the hill-top, i was shocked to find some people tossing an old woman in a blanket.
i begged them to stop; but one of the men, who, i found, was a welchman, by the name of taffy, told me the old lady liked it.
""but why does she like it?"
i asked in great surprise.
""tom, the piper's son, will tell you: it's my turn to toss now," said the man.
""why, you see, ma'am," said tom, "she is one of those dreadfully nice old women, who are always fussing and scrubbing, and worrying people to death, with everlastingly cleaning house.
now and then we get so tired out with her that we propose to her to clean the sky itself.
she likes that; and, as this is the only way we can get her up, we toss till she sticks somewhere, and then leave her to sweep cobwebs till she is ready to come back and behave herself."
""well, that is the oddest thing i ever heard.
i know just such an old lady, and when i go home i'll try your plan.
it seems to me that you have a great many queer old ladies on this island," i said to another man, whom they called peter, and who stood eating pumpkin all the time.
""well, we do have rather a nice collection; but you have n't seen the best of all.
we expect her every minute; and margery daw is to let us know the minute she lights on the island," replied peter, with his mouth full.
""lights?"
said i, "you speak as if she flew."
""she rides on a bird.
hurrah!
the old sweeper has lit.
now the cobwebs will fly.
do n't hurry back," shouted the man; and a faint, far-off voice answered, "i shall be back again by and by."
the people folded up the blanket, looking much relieved; and i was examining a very odd house which was built by an ancient king called boggen, when margery daw, a dirty little girl, came up the hill, screaming, at the top of her voice: "she's come!
she's come!"
every one looked up; and i saw a large white bird slowly flying over the island.
on its back sat the nicest old woman that ever was seen: all the others were nothing compared to her.
she had a pointed hat on over her cap, a red cloak, high-heeled shoes, and a crutch in her hand.
she smiled and nodded as the bird approached; and every one ran and nodded, and screamed, "welcome!
welcome, mother!"
as soon as she touched the ground, she was so surrounded that i could only see the top of her hat; for hundreds and hundreds of little children suddenly appeared, like a great flock of birds, -- rosy, happy, pretty children; but all looked unreal, and among them i saw some who looked like little people i had known long ago.
""who are they?"
i asked of a bonny lass, who was sitting on a cushion, eating strawberries and cream.
""they are the phantoms of all the little people who ever read and loved our mother's songs," said the maid.
""what did she write?"
i asked, feeling very queer, and as if i was going to remember something.
""songs that are immortal; and you have them in your hand," replied the bonny maid, smiling at my stupidity.
i looked; and there, on the cover of the book i had been reading so busily when the tide carried me away, i saw the words "mother goose's melodies."
i was so delighted that i had seen her i gave a shout, and tried to get near enough to hug and kiss the dear old soul, as the swarm of children were doing; but my cry woke me, and i was so sorry to find it all a dream!
xi.
fancy's friend.
it was a wagon, shaped like a great square basket, on low wheels, and drawn by a stout donkey.
there was one seat, on which miss fairbairn the governess sat; and all round her, leaning over the edge of the basket, were children, with little wooden shovels and baskets in their hands, going down to play on the beach.
away they went, over the common, through the stony lane, out upon the wide, smooth sands.
all the children but one immediately fell to digging holes, and making ponds, castles, or forts.
they did this every day, and were never tired of it; but little fancy made new games for herself, and seldom dug in the sand.
she had a garden of sea-weed, which the waves watered every day: she had a palace of pretty shells, where she kept all sorts of little water-creatures as fairy tenants; she had friends and playmates among the gulls and peeps, and learned curious things by watching crabs, horse-shoes, and jelly-fishes; and every day she looked for a mermaid.
it was of no use to tell her that there were no mermaids: fancy firmly believed in them, and was sure she would see one some day.
the other children called the seals mermaids; and were contented with the queer, shiny creatures who played in the water, lay on the rocks, and peeped at them with soft, bright eyes as they sailed by.
fancy was not satisfied with seals, -- they were not pretty and graceful enough for her, -- and she waited and watched for a real mermaid.
on this day she took a breezy run with the beach-birds along the shore; she planted a pretty red weed in her garden; and let out the water-beetles and snails who had passed the night in her palace.
then she went to a rock that stood near the quiet nook where she played alone, and sat there looking for a mermaid as the tide came in; for it brought her many curious things, and it might perhaps bring a mermaid.
as she looked across the waves that came tumbling one over the other, she saw something that was neither boat nor buoy nor seal.
it was a queer-looking thing, with a wild head, a long waving tail, and something like arms that seemed to paddle it along.
the waves tumbled it about, so fancy could not see very well: but, the longer she looked, the surer she was that this curious thing was a mermaid; and she waited eagerly for it to reach the shore.
nearer and nearer it came, till a great wave threw it upon the sand; and fancy saw that it was only a long piece of kelp, torn up by the roots.
she was very much disappointed; but, all of a sudden, her face cleared up, she clapped her hands, and began to dance round the kelp, saying: "i'll make a mermaid myself, since none will come to me."
away she ran, higher up the beach, and, after thinking a minute, began her work.
choosing a smooth, hard place, she drew with a stick the outline of her mermaid; then she made the hair of the brown marsh-grass growing near by, arranging it in long locks on either side the face, which was made of her prettiest pink and white shells, -- for she pulled down her palace to get them.
the eyes were two gray pebbles; the neck and arms of larger, white shells; and the dress of sea-weed, -- red, green, purple, and yellow; very splendid, for fancy emptied her garden to dress her mermaid.
""people say that mermaids always have tails; and i might make one out of this great leaf of kelp.
but it is n't pretty, and i do n't like it; for i want mine to be beautiful: so i wo n't have any tail," said fancy, and put two slender white shells for feet, at the lower edge of the fringed skirt.
she laid a wreath of little star-fish across the brown hair, a belt of small orange-crabs round the waist, buttoned the dress with violet snail-shells, and hung a tiny white pebble, like a pearl, in either ear.
""now she must have a glass and a comb in her hand, as the song says, and then she will be done," said fancy, looking about her, well pleased.
presently she found the skeleton of a little fish, and his backbone made an excellent comb; while a transparent jelly-fish served for a glass, with a frame of cockle-shells round it.
placing these in the hands of her mermaid, and some red coral bracelets on her wrists, fancy pronounced her done; and danced about her, singing: "my pretty little mermaid, oh!
come, and play with me: i'll love you, i'll welcome you; and happy we shall be."
now, while she had been working, the tide had crept higher and higher; and, as she sung, one wave ran up and wet her feet.
""oh, what a pity i did n't put her farther up!"
cried fancy; "the tide will wash her all away; and i meant to keep her fresh, and show her to aunt fiction.
my poor mermaid!
-- i shall lose her; but perhaps she will be happier in the sea: so i will let her go."
mounting her rock, fancy waited to see her work destroyed.
but the sea seemed to pity her; and wave after wave came up, without doing any harm.
at last one broke quite over the mermaid, and fancy thought that would be the end of her.
but, no: instead of scattering shells, stones, and weeds, the waves lifted the whole figure, without displacing any thing, and gently bore it back into the sea.
""good by!
good by!"
cried fancy, as the little figure floated away; then, as it disappeared, she put her hands before her face, -- for she loved her mermaid, and had given all her treasures to adorn her; and now to lose her so soon seemed hard, -- and fancy's eyes were full of tears.
another great wave came rolling in; but she did not look up to see it break, and, a minute after, she heard steps tripping toward her over the sand.
still she did not stir; for, just then, none of her playmates could take the place of her new friend, and she did n't want to see them.
""fancy!
fancy!"
called a breezy voice, sweeter than any she had ever heard.
but she did not raise her head, nor care to know who called.
the steps came quite close; and the touch of a cold, wet hand fell on her own.
then she looked up, and saw a strange little girl standing by her, who smiled, showing teeth like little pearls, and said, in the breezy voice: "you wanted me to play with you, so i came."
""who are you?"
asked fancy, wondering where she had seen the child before.
""i'm your mermaid," said the child.
""but the water carried her away," cried fancy.
""the waves only carried me out for the sea to give me life, and then brought me back to you," answered the new comer.
""but are you really a mermaid?"
asked fancy, beginning to smile and believe.
""i am really the one you made: look, and see if i'm not;" and the little creature turned slowly round, that fancy might be sure it was her own work.
she certainly was very like the figure that once lay on the sand, -- only she was not now made of stones and shells.
there was the long brown hair blowing about her face, with a wreath of starry shells in it.
her eyes were gray, her cheeks and lips rosy, her neck and arms white; and from under her striped dress peeped little bare feet.
she had pearls in her ears, coral bracelets, a golden belt, and a glass and comb in her hands.
""yes," said fancy, drawing near, "you are my little mermaid; but how does it happen that you come to me at last?"
""dear friend," answered the water-child, "you believed in me, watched and waited long for me, shaped the image of the thing you wanted out of your dearest treasures, and promised to love and welcome me.
i could not help coming; and the sea, that is as fond of you as you are of it, helped me to grant your wish."
""oh, i'm glad, i'm glad!
dear little mermaid, what is your name?"
cried fancy, kissing the cool cheek of her new friend, and putting her arms about her neck.
""call me by my german cousin's pretty name, -- lorelei," answered the mermaid, kissing back as warmly as she could.
""will you come home and live with me, dear lorelei?"
asked fancy, still holding her fast.
""if you will promise to tell no one who and what i am, i will stay with you as long as you love and believe in me.
as soon as you betray me, or lose your faith and fondness, i shall vanish, never to come back again," answered lorelei.
""i promise: but wo n't people wonder who you are?
and, if they ask me, what shall i say?"
said fancy.
""tell them you found me on the shore; and leave the rest to me.
but you must not expect other people to like and believe in me as you do.
they will say hard things of me; will blame you for loving me; and try to part us.
can you bear this, and keep your promise faithfully?"
""i think i can.
but why wo n't they like you?"
said fancy, looking troubled.
""because they are not like you, dear," answered the mermaid, with salt tears in her soft eyes.
""they have not your power of seeing beauty in all things, of enjoying invisible delights, and living in a world of your own.
your aunt fiction will like me; but your uncle fact wo n't.
he will want to know all about me; will think i'm a little vagabond; and want me to be sent away somewhere, to be made like other children.
i shall keep out of his way as much as i can; for i'm afraid of him."
""i'll take care of you, lorelei dear; and no one shall trouble you.
i hear miss fairbairn calling; so i must go.
give me your hand, and do n't be afraid."
hand in hand the two went toward the other children, who stopped digging, and stared at the new child.
miss fairbairn, who was very wise and good, but rather prim, stared too, and said, with surprise: "why, my dear, where did you find that queer child?"
""down on the beach.
is n't she pretty?"
answered fancy, feeling very proud of her new friend.
""she has n't got any shoes on; so she's a beggar, and we must n't play with her," said one boy, who had been taught that to be poor was a very dreadful thing.
""what pretty earrings and bracelets she's got!"
said a little girl, who thought a great deal of her dress.
""she does n't look as if she knew much," said another child, who was kept studying so hard that she never had time to dig and run, and make dirt-pies, till she fell ill, and had to be sent to the sea-side.
""what's your name?
and who are your parents?"
asked miss fairbairn.
""i've got no parents; and my name is lorelei," answered the mermaiden.
""you mean luly; mind your pronunciation, child," said miss fairbairn, who corrected every one she met in something or other.
""where do you live?"
""i have n't got any home now," said lorelei, smiling at the lady's tone.
""yes, you have: my home is yours; and you are going to stay with me always," cried fancy, heartily.
""she is my little sister, miss fairbairn: i found her; and i'm going to keep her, and make her happy."
""your uncle wo n't like it, my dear."
and miss fairbairn shook her head gravely.
""aunt will; and uncle wo n't mind, if i learn my lessons well, and remember the multiplication table all right.
he was going to give me some money, so i might learn to keep accounts; but i'll tell him to keep the money, and let me have lorelei instead."
""oh, how silly!"
cried the boy who did n't like bare feet.
""no, she is n't; for, if she's kind to the girl, maybe she'll get some of her pretty things," said the vain little girl.
""keeping accounts is a very useful and important thing.
i keep mine; and mamma says i have great arth-met-i-cal talent," added the pale child, who studied too much.
""come, children; it's time for dinner.
fancy, you can take the girl to the house; and your uncle will do what he thinks best about letting you keep her," said miss fairbairn, piling them into the basket-wagon.
fancy kept lorelei close beside her; and as soon as they reached the great hotel, where they all were staying with mothers and fathers, uncles or aunts, she took her to kind aunt fiction, who was interested at once in the friendless child so mysteriously found.
she was satisfied with the little she could discover, and promised to keep her, -- for a time, at least.
""we can imagine all kinds of romantic things about her; and, by and by, some interesting story may be found out concerning her.
i can make her useful in many ways; and she shall stay."
as aunt fiction laid her hand on the mermaid's head, as if claiming her for her own, uncle fact came stalking in, with his note-book in his hand, and his spectacles on his nose.
now, though they were married, these two persons were very unlike.
aunt fiction was a graceful, picturesque woman; who told stories charmingly, wrote poetry and novels, was very much beloved by young folks, and was the friend of some of the most famous people in the world.
uncle fact was a grim, grave, decided man; whom it was impossible to bend or change.
he was very useful to every one; knew an immense deal; and was always taking notes of things he saw and heard, to be put in a great encyclopædia he was making.
he did n't like romance, loved the truth, and wanted to get to the bottom of every thing.
he was always trying to make little fancy more sober, well-behaved, and learned; for she was a freakish, dreamy, yet very lovable and charming child.
aunt fiction petted her to her heart's content, and might have done her harm, if uncle fact had not had a hand in her education; for the lessons of both were necessary to her, as to all of us.
""well, well, well!
who is this?"
he said briskly, as he turned his keen eyes and powerful glasses on the new comer.
aunt fiction told him all the children had said; but he answered impatiently: "tut, tut!
my dear: i want the facts of the case.
you are apt to exaggerate; and fancy is not to be relied on.
if the child is n't a fool, she must know more about herself than she pretends.
now, answer truly, luly, where did you come from?"
but the little mermaid only shook her head, and answered as before, "fancy found me on the beach, and wants me to stay with her.
i'll do her no harm: please, let me stay."
""she has evidently been washed ashore from some wreck, and has forgotten all about herself.
her wonderful beauty, her accent, and these ornaments show that she is some foreign child," said aunt fiction, pointing to the earrings.
""nonsense!
my dear: those are white pebbles, not pearls; and, if you examine them, you will find that those bracelets are the ones you gave fancy as a reward for so well remembering the facts i told her about coral," said the uncle, who had turned lorelei round and round, pinched her cheek, felt her hair, and examined her frock through the glasses which nothing escaped.
""she may stay, and be my little playmate, may n't she?
i'll take care of her; and we shall be very happy together," cried fancy eagerly.
""one ca n't be sure of that till one has tried.
you say you will take care of her: have you got any money to pay her board, and buy her clothes?"
asked her uncle.
""no; but i thought you'd help me," answered fancy wistfully.
""never say you'll do a thing till you are sure you can," said uncle fact, as he took notes of the affair, thinking they might be useful by and by.
""i've no objection to your keeping the girl, if, after making inquiries about her, she proves to be a clever child.
she can stay awhile; and, when we go back to town, i'll put her in one of our charity schools, where she can be taught to earn her living.
can you read, luly?"
""no," said the mermaid, opening her eyes.
""can you write and cipher?"
""what is that?"
asked lorelei innocently.
""dear me!
what ignorance!"
cried uncle fact.
""can you sew, or tend babies?"
asked aunt fiction gently.
""i can do nothing but play and sing, and comb my hair."
""i see!
i see!
-- some hand-organ man's girl.
well, i'm glad you keep your hair smooth, -- that's more than fancy does," said uncle fact.
""let us hear you sing," whispered his little niece; and, in a voice as musical as the sound of ripples breaking on the shore, lorelei sung a little song that made fancy dance with delight, charmed aunt fiction, and softened uncle fact's hard face in spite of himself.
""very well, very well, indeed: you have a good voice.
i'll see that you have proper teaching; and, by and by, you can get your living by giving singing-lessons," he said, turning over the leaves of his book, to look for the name of a skilful teacher; for he had lists of every useful person, place, and thing under the sun.
lorelei laughed at the idea; and fancy thought singing for gold, not love, a hard way to get one's living.
inquiries were made; but nothing more was discovered, and neither of the children would speak: so the strange child lived with fancy, and made her very happy.
the other children did n't care much about her; for with them she was shy and cold, because she knew, if the truth was told, they would not believe in her.
fancy had always played a good deal by herself, because she never found a mate to suit her; now she had one, and they enjoyed each other very much.
lorelei taught her many things besides new games; and aunt fiction was charmed with the pretty stories fancy repeated to her, while uncle fact was astonished at the knowledge of marine plants and animals which she gained without any books.
lorelei taught her to swim, like a fish; and the two played such wonderful pranks in the water that people used to come down to the beach when they bathed.
in return, fancy tried to teach her friend to read and write and sew; but lorelei could n't learn much, though she loved her little teacher dearly, and every evening sung her to sleep with beautiful lullabies.
there was a great deal of talk about the curious stranger; for her ways were odd, and no one knew what to make of her.
she would eat nothing but fruit and shell-fish, and drink nothing but salt water.
she did n't like tight clothes; but would have run about in a loose, green robe, with bare feet and flying hair, if uncle fact would have allowed it.
morning, noon, and night, she plunged into the sea, -- no matter what the weather might be; and she would sleep on no bed but one stuffed with dried sea-weed.
she made lovely chains of shells; found splendid bits of coral; and dived where no one else dared, to bring up wonderful plants and mosses.
people offered money for these things; but she gave them all to fancy and aunt fiction, of whom she was very fond.
it was curious to see the sort of people who liked both fancy and her friend, -- poets, artists; delicate, thoughtful children; and a few old people, who had kept their hearts young in spite of care and time and trouble.
dashing young gentlemen, fine young ladies, worldly-minded and money-loving men and women, and artificial, unchildlike children, the two friends avoided carefully; and these persons either made fun of them, neglected them entirely, or seemed to be unconscious that they were alive.
the others they knew at a glance; for their faces warmed and brightened when the children came, they listened to their songs and stories, joined in their plays, and found rest and refreshment in their sweet society.
""this will do for a time; as fancy is getting strong, and not entirely wasting her days, thanks to me!
but our holiday is nearly over; and, as soon as i get back to town, i'll take that child to the ragged refuge, and see what they can make of her," said uncle fact, who was never quite satisfied about lorelei; because he could find out so little concerning her.
he was walking over the beach as he said this, after a hard day's work on his encyclopædia.
he sat down on a rock in a quiet place; and, instead of enjoying the lovely sunset, he fell to studying the course of the clouds, the state of the tide, and the temperature of the air, till the sound of voices made him peep over the rock.
fancy and her friend were playing there, and the old gentleman waited to see what they were about.
both were sitting with their little bare feet in the water; lorelei was stringing pearls, and fancy plaiting a crown of pretty green rushes.
""i wish i could go home, and get you a string of finer pearls than these," said lorelei; "but it is too far away, and i can not swim now as i used to do."
""i must look into this.
the girl evidently knows all about herself, and can tell, if she chooses," muttered uncle fact, getting rather excited over this discovery.
""never mind the pearls: i'd rather have you, dear," said fancy lovingly.
""tell me a story while we work, or sing me a song; and i'll give you my crown."
""i'll sing you a little song that has got what your uncle calls a moral to it," said lorelei, laughing mischievously.
then, in her breezy little voice, she sang the story of -- the rock and the bubble.
oh!
a bare, brown rock stood up in the sea, the waves at its feet dancing merrily.
a little bubble came sailing by, and thus to the rock did it gayly cry, -- "ho!
clumsy brown stone, quick, make way for me: i'm the fairest thing that floats on the sea.
""see my rainbow-robe, see my crown of light, my glittering form, so airy and bright.
""o'er the waters blue, i'm floating away, to dance by the shore with the foam and spray.
""now, make way, make way; for the waves are strong, and their rippling feet bear me fast along."
but the great rock stood straight up in the sea: it looked gravely down, and said pleasantly, -- "little friend, you must go some other way; for i have not stirred this many a long day.
""great billows have dashed, and angry winds blown; but my sturdy form is not overthrown.
""nothing can stir me in the air or sea; then, how can i move, little friend, for thee?"
then the waves all laughed, in their voices sweet; and the sea-birds looked, from their rocky seat, at the bubble gay, who angrily cried, while its round cheek glowed with a foolish pride, -- "you shall move for me; and you shall not mock at the words i say, you ugly, rough rock!
""be silent, wild birds!
why stare you so?
stop laughing, rude waves, and help me to go!
""for i am the queen of the ocean here, and this cruel stone can not make me fear."
dashing fiercely up, with a scornful word, foolish bubble broke; but rock never stirred.
then said the sea-birds, sitting in their nests, to the little ones leaning on their breasts, -- "be not like bubble, headstrong, rude, and vain, seeking by violence your object to gain; "but be like the rock, steadfast, true, and strong, yet cheerful and kind, and firm against wrong.
""heed, little birdlings, and wiser you'll be for the lesson learned to-day by the sea."
""well, to be sure the song has got a moral, if that silly fancy only sees it," said uncle fact, popping up his bald head again as the song ended.
""i thank you: that's a good little song for me.
but, lorelei, are you sorry you came to be my friend?"
cried fancy; for, as she bent to lay the crown on the other's head, she saw that she was looking wistfully down into the water that kissed her feet.
""not yet: while you love me, i am happy, and never regret that i ceased to be a mermaid for your sake," answered lorelei, laying her soft cheek against her friend's.
""how happy i was the day my play-mermaid changed to a real one!"
said fancy.
""i often want to tell people all about that wonderful thing, and let them know who you really are: then they'd love you as i do, instead of calling you a little vagabond."
""few would believe our story; and those that did would wonder at me, -- not love me as you do.
they would put me in a cage, and make a show of me; and i should be so miserable i should die.
so do n't tell who i am, will you?"
said lorelei earnestly.
""never," cried fancy, clinging to her.
""but, my deary, what will you do when uncle sends you away from me, as he means to do as soon as we go home?
i can see you sometimes; but we can not be always together, and there is no ocean for you to enjoy in the city."
""i shall bear it, if i can, for your sake; if i can not, i shall come back here, and wait till you come again next year."
""no, no!
i will not be parted from you; and, if uncle takes you away, i'll come here, and be a mermaid with you," cried fancy.
the little friends threw their arms about each other, and were so full of their own feelings that they never saw uncle fact's tall shadow flit across them, as he stole away over the soft sand.
poor old gentleman!
he was in a sad state of mind, and did n't know what to do; for in all his long life he had never been so puzzled before.
""a mermaid indeed!"
he muttered.
""i always thought that child was a fool, and now i'm sure of it.
she thinks she is a mermaid, and has made fancy believe it.
i've told my wife a dozen times that she let fancy read too many fairy tales and wonder-books.
her head is full of nonsense, and she is just ready to believe any ridiculous story that is told her.
now, what on earth shall i do?
if i put luly in an asylum, fancy will break her heart, and very likely they will both run away.
if i leave them together, luly will soon make fancy as crazy as she is herself, and i shall be mortified by having a niece who insists that her playmate is a mermaid.
bless my soul!
how absurd it all is!"
aunt fiction had gone to town to see her publishers about a novel she had written, and he did n't like to tell the queer story to any one else; so uncle fact thought it over, and decided to settle the matter at once.
when the children came in, he sent fancy to wait for him in the library, while he talked alone with lorelei.
he did his best; but he could do nothing with her, -- she danced and laughed, and told the same tale as before, till the old gentleman confessed that he had heard their talk on the rocks: then she grew very sad, and owned that she was a mermaid.
this made him angry, and he would n't believe it for an instant; but told her it was impossible, and she must say something else.
lorelei could say nothing else, and wept bitterly when he would not listen; so he locked her up and went to fancy, who felt as if something dreadful was going to happen when she saw his face.
he told her all he knew, and insisted that lorelei was foolish or naughty to persist in such a ridiculous story.
""but, uncle, i really did make a mermaid; and she really did come alive, for i saw the figure float away, and then lorelei appeared," said fancy, very earnestly.
""it's very likely you made a figure, and called it a mermaid: it would be just the sort of thing you'd do," said her uncle.
""but it is impossible that any coming alive took place, and i wo n't hear any such nonsense.
you did n't see this girl come out of the water; for she says you never looked up, till she touched you.
she was a real child, who came over the beach from somewhere; and you fancied she looked like your figure, and believed the silly tale she told you.
it is my belief that she is a sly, bad child; and the sooner she is sent away the better for you."
uncle fact was so angry and talked so loud, that fancy felt frightened and bewildered; and began to think he might be right about the mermaid part, though she hated to give up the little romance.
""if i agree that she is a real child, wo n't you let her stay, uncle?"
she said, forgetting that, if she lost her faith, her friend was lost also.
""ah!
then you have begun to come to your senses, have you?
and are ready to own that you do n't believe in mermaids and such rubbish?"
cried uncle fact, stopping in his tramp up and down the room.
""why, if you say there never were and never can be any, i suppose i must give up my fancy; but i'm sorry," sighed the child.
""that's my sensible girl!
now, think a minute, my dear, and you will also own that it is best to give up the child as well as the mermaid," said her uncle briskly.
""oh!
no: we love one another; and she is good, and i ca n't give her up," cried fancy.
""answer me a few questions; and i'll prove that she is n't good, that you do n't love her, and that you can give her up," said uncle fact, and numbered off the questions on his fingers as he spoke.
""did n't luly want you to deceive us, and every one else, about who she was?"
""yes, sir."
""do n't you like to be with her better than with your aunt or myself?"
""yes, sir."
""had n't you rather hear her songs and stories than learn your lessons?"
""yes, sir."
""is n't it wrong to deceive people, to love strangers more than those who are a father and mother to you, and to like silly tales better than useful lessons?"
""yes, sir."
""very well.
then, do n't you see, that, if luly makes you do these wrong and ungrateful things, she is not a good child, nor a fit playmate for you?"
fancy did n't answer; for she could n't feel that it was so, though he made it seem so.
when uncle fact talked in that way, she always got confused and gave up; for she did n't know how to argue.
he was right in a certain way; but she felt as if she was right also in another way, though she could not prove it: so she hung her head, and let her tears drop on the carpet one by one.
uncle fact did n't mean to be unkind, but he did mean to have his own way; and, when he saw the little girl's sad face, he took her on his knee, and said, more mildly: "do you remember the story about the german lorelei, who sung so sweetly, and lured people to death in the rhine?"
""yes, uncle; and i like it," answered fancy, looking up.
""well, my dear, your lorelei will lead you into trouble, if you follow her.
suppose she is what you think her, -- a mermaid: it is her delight to draw people into the water, where, of course, they drown.
if she is what i think her, -- a sly, bad child, who sees that you are very simple, and who means to get taken care of without doing any thing useful, -- she will spoil you in a worse way than if you followed her into the sea.
i've got no little daughter of my own, and i want to keep you as safe and happy as if you were mine.
i do n't like this girl, and i want you to give her up for my sake.
will you, fancy?"
while her uncle said these things, all the beauty seemed to fall away from her friend, all the sweetness from their love, and all her faith in the little dream which had made her so happy.
mermaids became treacherous, unlovely, unreal creatures; and lorelei seemed like a naughty, selfish child, who deceived her, and made her do wrong things.
her uncle had been very kind to her all her life; and she loved him, was grateful, and wanted to show that she was, by pleasing him.
but her heart clung to the friend she had made, trusted, and loved; and it seemed impossible to give up the shadow, even though the substance was gone.
she put her hands before her face for a moment; then laid her arms about the old man's neck, and whispered, with a little sob: "i'll give her up; but you'll be kind to her, because i was fond of her once."
as the last word left fancy's lips, a long, sad cry sounded through the room; lorelei sprung in, gave her one kiss, and was seen to run swiftly toward the beach, wringing her hands.
fancy flew after; but, when she reached the shore, there was nothing to be seen but the scattered pebbles, shells, and weeds that made the mock mermaid, floating away on a receding wave.
""do you believe now?"
cried fancy, weeping bitterly, as she pointed to the wreck of her friend, and turned reproachfully toward uncle fact, who had followed in great astonishment.
the old gentleman looked well about him; then shook his head, and answered decidedly: "no, my dear, i do n't.
it's an odd affair; but, i've no doubt, it will be cleared up in a natural way sometime or other."
but there he was mistaken; for this mystery never was cleared up.
other people soon forgot it, and fancy never spoke of it; yet she made very few friends, and, though she learned to love and value uncle fact as well as aunt fiction, she could not forget her dearest playmate.
year after year she came back to the sea-side; and the first thing she always did was to visit the place where she used to play, and stretch her arms toward the sea, crying tenderly: "o my little friend!
come back to me!"
but lorelei never came again.
the end.
* * * * * louisa m. alcott's famous books -lsb- illustration: "sing, tessa; sing!"
cried tommo, twanging away with all his might.
-- page 47. -rsb-
aunt jo's scrap-bag: containing "my boys," "shawl-straps," "cupid and chow-chow," "my girls," "jimmy's cruise in the pinafore," "an old-fashioned thanksgiving."
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* * * * * louise chandler moulton's stories.
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1881.
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the children are in a somewhat wild and undisciplined condition, but they are as interesting children as can be imagined, and some of them winning to an extraordinary degree.
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_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___eight_cousins.txt.out
chapter 1 -- two girls rose sat all alone in the big best parlor, with her little handkerchief laid ready to catch the first tear, for she was thinking of her troubles, and a shower was expected.
she had retired to this room as a good place in which to be miserable; for it was dark and still, full of ancient furniture, sombre curtains, and hung all around with portraits of solemn old gentlemen in wigs, severe-nosed ladies in top-heavy caps, and staring children in little bob-tailed coats or short-waisted frocks.
it was an excellent place for woe; and the fitful spring rain that pattered on the window-pane seemed to sob, "cry away: i'm with you."
rose really did have some cause to be sad; for she had no mother, and had lately lost her father also, which left her no home but this with her great-aunts.
she had been with them only a week, and, though the dear old ladies had tried their best to make her happy, they had not succeeded very well, for she was unlike any child they had ever seen, and they felt very much as if they had the care of a low-spirited butterfly.
they had given her the freedom of the house, and for a day or two she had amused herself roaming all over it, for it was a capital old mansion, and was full of all manner of odd nooks, charming rooms, and mysterious passages.
windows broke out in unexpected places, little balconies overhung the garden most romantically, and there was a long upper hall full of curiosities from all parts of the world; for the campbells had been sea-captains for generations.
aunt plenty had even allowed rose to rummage in her great china closet a spicy retreat, rich in all the "goodies" that children love; but rose seemed to care little for these toothsome temptations; and when that hope failed, aunt plenty gave up in despair.
gentle aunt peace had tried all sorts of pretty needle-work, and planned a doll's wardrobe that would have won the heart of even an older child.
but rose took little interest in pink satin hats and tiny hose, though she sewed dutifully till her aunt caught her wiping tears away with the train of a wedding-dress, and that discovery put an end to the sewing society.
then both old ladies put their heads together and picked out the model child of the neighbourhood to come and play with their niece.
but ariadne blish was the worst failure of all, for rose could not bear the sight of her, and said she was so like a wax doll she longed to give her a pinch and see if she would squeak.
so prim little ariadne was sent home, and the exhausted aunties left rose to her own devices for a day or two.
bad weather and a cold kept her in-doors, and she spent most of her time in the library where her father's books were stored.
here she read a great deal, cried a little, and dreamed many of the innocent bright dreams in which imaginative children find such comfort and delight.
this suited her better than anything else, but it was not good for her, and she grew pale, heavy-eyed and listless, though aunt plenty gave her iron enough to make a cooking-stove, and aunt peace petted her like a poodle.
seeing this, the poor aunties racked their brains for a new amusement and determined to venture a bold stroke, though not very hopeful of its success.
they said nothing to rose about their plan for this saturday afternoon, but let her alone till the time came for the grand surprise, little dreaming that the odd child would find pleasure for herself in a most unexpected quarter.
before she had time to squeeze out a single tear a sound broke the stillness, making her prick up her ears.
it was only the soft twitter of a bird, but it seemed to be a peculiarly gifted bird, for while she listened the soft twitter changed to a lively whistle, then a trill, a coo, a chirp, and ended in a musical mixture of all the notes, as if the bird burst out laughing.
rose laughed also, and, forgetting her woes, jumped up, saying eagerly, "it is a mocking-bird.
where is it?"
running down the long hall, she peeped out at both doors, but saw nothing feathered except a draggle-tailed chicken under a burdock leaf.
she listened again, and the sound seemed to be in the house.
away she went, much excited by the chase, and following the changeful song, it led her to the china-closet door.
""in there?
how funny!"
she said.
but when she entered, not a bird appeared except the everlastingly kissing swallows on the canton china that lined the shelves.
all of a sudden rose's face brightened, and, softly opening the slide, she peered into the kitchen.
but the music had stopped, and all she saw was a girl in a blue apron scrubbing the hearth.
rose stared about her for a minute, and then asked abruptly, "did you hear that mocking-bird?"
""i should call it a phebe-bird," answered the girl, looking up with a twinkle in her black eyes.
""where did it go?"
""it is here still."
""where?"
""in my throat.
do you want to hear it?"
""oh, yes!
i'll come in."
and rose crept through the slide to the wide shelf on the other side, being too hurried and puzzled to go round by the door.
the girl wiped her hands, crossed her feet on the little island of carpet where she was stranded in a sea of soap-suds, and then, sure enough, out of her slender throat came the swallow's twitter, the robin's whistle, the blue-jay's call, the thrush's song, the wood-dove's coo, and many another familiar note, all ending as before with the musical ecstacy of a bobolink singing and swinging among the meadow grass on a bright june day.
rose was so astonished that she nearly fell off her perch, and when the little concert was over clapped her hands delightedly.
""oh, it was lovely!
who taught you?"
""the birds," answered the girl, with a smile, as she fell to work again.
""it is very wonderful!
i can sing, but nothing half so fine as that.
what is your name, please?"
""phebe moore."
""i've heard of phebe-birds; but i do n't believe the real ones could do that," laughed rose, adding, as she watched with interest the scattering of dabs of soft soap over the bricks, "may i stay and see you work?
it is very lonely in the parlor."
""yes, indeed, if you want to," answered phebe, wringing out her cloth in a capable sort of way that impressed rose very much.
""it must be fun to swash the water round and dig out the soap.
i'd love to do it, only aunt would n't like it, i suppose," said rose, quite taken with the new employment.
""you'd soon get tired, so you'd better keep tidy and look on."
""i suppose you help your mother a good deal?"
""i have n't got any folks."
""why, where do you live, then?"
""i'm going to live here, i hope.
debby wants some one to help round, and i've come to try for a week."
""i hope you will stay, for it is very dull," said rose, who had taken a sudden fancy to this girl, who sung like a bird and worked like a woman.
""hope i shall; for i'm fifteen now, and old enough to earn my own living.
you have come to stay a spell, have n't you?"
asked phebe, looking up at her guest and wondering how life could be dull to a girl who wore a silk frock, a daintily frilled apron, a pretty locket, and had her hair tied up with a velvet snood.
""yes, i shall stay till my uncle comes.
he is my guardian now, and i do n't know what he will do with me.
have you a guardian?"
""my sakes, no!
i was left on the poor-house steps a little mite of a baby, and miss rogers took a liking to me, so i've been there ever since.
but she is dead now, and i take care of myself."
""how interesting!
it is like arabella montgomery in the "gypsy's child."
did you ever read that sweet story?"
asked rose, who was fond of tales of found-lings, and had read many.
""i do n't have any books to read, and all the spare time i get i run off into the woods; that rests me better than stories," answered phebe, as she finished one job and began on another.
rose watched her as she got out a great pan of beans to look over, and wondered how it would seem to have life all work and no play.
presently phebe seemed to think it was her turn to ask questions, and said, wistfully, "you've had lots of schooling, i suppose?"
""oh, dear me, yes!
i've been at boarding school nearly a year, and i'm almost dead with lessons.
the more i got, the more miss power gave me, and i was so miserable that i "most cried my eyes out.
papa never gave me hard things to do, and he always taught me so pleasantly i loved to study.
oh, we were so happy and so fond of one another!
but now he is gone, and i am left all alone."
the tear that would not come when rose sat waiting for it came now of its own accord two of them in fact and rolled down her cheeks, telling the tale of love and sorrow better than any words could do it.
for a minute there was no sound in the kitchen but the little daughter's sobbing and the sympathetic patter of the rain.
phebe stopped rattling her beans from one pan to another, and her eyes were full of pity as they rested on the curly head bent down on rose's knee, for she saw that the heart under the pretty locket ached with its loss, and the dainty apron was used to dry sadder tears than any she had ever shed.
somehow, she felt more contented with her brown calico gown and blue-checked pinafore; envy changed to compassion; and if she had dared she would have gone and hugged her afflicted guest.
fearing that might not be considered proper, she said, in her cheery voice, "i'm sure you ai n't all alone with such a lot of folks belonging to you, and all so rich and clever.
you'll be petted to pieces, debby says, because you are the only girl in the family."
phebe's last words made rose smile in spite of her tears, and she looked out from behind her apron with an april face, saying in a tone of comic distress, "that's one of my troubles!
i've got six aunts, and they all want me, and i do n't know any of them very well.
papa named this place the aunt-hill, and now i see why."
phebe laughed with her as she said encouragingly, "everyone calls it so, and it's a real good name, for all the mrs. campbells live handy by, and keep coming up to see the old ladies."
""i could stand the aunts, but there are dozens of cousins, dreadful boys all of them, and i detest boys!
some of them came to see me last wednesday, but i was lying down, and when auntie came to call me i went under the quilt and pretended to be asleep.
i shall have to see them some time, but i do dread it so."
and rose gave a shudder, for, having lived alone with her invalid father, she knew nothing of boys, and considered them a species of wild animal.
""oh!
i guess you'll like'em.
i've seen'em flying round when they come over from the point, sometimes in their boats and sometimes on horseback.
if you like boats and horses, you'll enjoy yourself first-rate."
""but i do n't!
i'm afraid of horses, and boats make me ill, and i hate boys!"
and poor rose wrung her hands at the awful prospect before her.
one of these horrors alone she could have borne, but all together were too much for her, and she began to think of a speedy return to the detested school.
phebe laughed at her woe till the beans danced in the pan, but tried to comfort her by suggesting a means of relief.
""perhaps your uncle will take you away where there ai n't any boys.
debby says he is a real kind man, and always bring heaps of nice things when he comes."
""yes, but you see that is another trouble, for i do n't know uncle alec at all.
he hardly ever came to see us, though he sent me pretty things very often.
now i belong to him, and shall have to mind him, till i am eighteen.
i may not like him a bit, and i fret about it all the time."
""well, i would n't borrow trouble, but have a real good time.
i'm sure i should think i was in clover if i had folks and money, and nothing to do but enjoy myself," began phebe, but got no further, for a sudden rush and tumble outside made them both jump.
""it's thunder," said phebe.
""it's a circus!"
cried rose, who from her elevated perch had caught glimpses of a gay cart of some sort and several ponies with flying manes and tails.
the sound died away, and the girls were about to continue their confidences when old debby appeared, looking rather cross and sleepy after her nap.
""you are wanted in the parlor, miss rose."
""has anybody come?"
""little girls should n't ask questions, but do as they are bid," was all debby would answer.
""i do hope it is n't aunt myra; she always scares me out of my wits asking how my cough is, and groaning over me as if i was going to die," said rose, preparing to retire the way she came, for the slide, being cut for the admission of bouncing christmas turkeys and puddings, was plenty large enough for a slender girl.
""guess you'll wish it was aunt myra when you see who has come.
do n't never let me catch you coming into my kitchen that way again, or i'll shut you up in the big b "iler," growled debby, who thought it her duty to snub children on all occasions.
chapter 2 -- the clan rose scrambled into the china-closet as rapidly as possible, and there refreshed herself by making faces at debby, while she settled her plumage and screwed up her courage.
then she crept softly down the hall and peeped into the parlor.
no one appeared, and all was so still she felt sure the company was upstairs.
so she skipped boldly through the half-open folding-doors, to behold on the other side a sight that nearly took her breath away.
seven boys stood in a row all ages, all sizes, all yellow-haired and blue-eyed, all in full scotch costume, and all smiling, nodding, and saying as with one voice, "how are you, cousin?"
rose gave a little gasp, and looked wildly about her as if ready to fly, for fear magnified the seven and the room seemed full of boys.
before she could run, however, the tallest lad stepped out of the line, saying pleasantly, "do n't be frightened.
this is the clan come to welcome you; and i'm the chief, archie, at your service."
he held out his hand as he spoke, and rose timidly put her own into a brown paw, which closed over the white morsel and held it as the chief continued his introductions.
""we came in full rig, for we always turn out in style on grand occasions.
hope you like it.
now i'll tell you who these chaps are, and then we shall be all right.
this big one is prince charlie, aunt clara's boy.
she has but one, so he is an extra good one.
this old fellow is mac, the bookworm, called worm for short.
this sweet creature is steve the dandy.
look at his gloves and top-knot, if you please.
they are aunt jane's lads, and a precious pair you'd better believe.
these are the brats, my brothers, geordie and will, and jamie the baby.
now, my men, step out and show your manners."
at this command, to rose's great dismay, six more hands were offered, and it was evident that she was expected to shake them all.
it was a trying moment to the bashful child; but, remembering that they were her kinsmen come to welcome her, she tried her best to return the greeting cordially.
this impressive ceremony being over, the clan broke ranks, and both rooms instantly appeared to be pervaded with boys.
rose hastily retired to the shelter of a big chair and sat there watching the invaders and wondering when her aunt would come and rescue her.
as if bound to do their duty manfully, yet rather oppressed by it, each lad paused beside her chair in his wanderings, made a brief remark, received a still briefer answer, and then sheered off with a relieved expression.
archie came first, and, leaning over the chair-back, observed in a paternal tone, "i'm glad you've come, cousin, and i hope you'll find the aunt-hill pretty jolly."
""i think i shall."
mac shook his hair out of his eyes, stumbled over a stool, and asked abruptly, "did you bring any books with you?"
""four boxes full.
they are in the library."
mac vanished from the room, and steve, striking an attitude which displayed his costume effectively, said with an affable smile, "we were sorry not to see you last wednesday.
i hope your cold is better."
""yes, thank you."
and a smile began to dimple about rose's mouth, as she remembered her retreat under the bed-cover.
feeling that he had been received with distinguished marks of attention, steve strolled away with his topknot higher than ever, and prince charlie pranced across the room, saying in a free and easy tone, "mamma sent her love and hopes you will be well enough to come over for a day next week.
it must be desperately dull here for a little thing like you."
""i'm thirteen and a half, though i do look small," cried rose, forgetting her shyness in indignation at this insult to her newly acquired teens.
""beg pardon, ma'am; never should have guessed it."
and charlie went off with a laugh, glad to have struck a spark out of his meek cousin.
geordie and will came together, two sturdy eleven and twelve year olders, and, fixing their round blue eyes on rose, fired off a question apiece, as if it was a shooting match and she the target.
""did you bring your monkey?"
""no; he is dead."
""are you going to have a boat?"
""i hope not."
here the two, with a right-about-face movement, abruptly marched away, and little jamie demanded with childish frankness, "did you bring me anything nice?"
""yes, lots of candy," answered rose, whereupon jamie ascended into her lap with a sounding kiss and the announcement that he liked her very much.
this proceeding rather startled rose, for the other lads looked and laughed, and in her confusion she said hastily to the young usurper, "did you see the circus go by?"
""when?
where?"
cried all the boys in great excitement at once.
""just before you came.
at least i thought it was a circus, for i saw a red and black sort of cart and ever so many little ponies, and --" she got no farther, for a general shout made her pause suddenly, as archie explained the joke by saying in the middle of his laugh, "it was our new dog-cart and the shetland ponies.
you'll never hear the last of your circus, cousin."
""but there were so many, and they went so fast, and the cart was so very red," began rose, trying to explain her mistake.
""come and see them all!"
cried the prince.
and before she knew what was happening, she was borne away to the barn and tumultuously introduced to three shaggy ponies and the gay new dog-cart.
she had never visited these regions before, and had her doubts as to the propriety of her being there now, but when she suggested that "auntie might not like it," there was a general cry of, "she told us to amuse you, and we can do it ever so much better out here than poking round in the house."
""i'm afraid i shall get cold without my sacque," began rose, who wanted to stay, but felt rather out of her element.
""no, you wo n't!
we'll fix you," cried the lads, as one clapped his cap on her head, another tied a rough jacket round her neck by the sleeves, a third neatly smothered her in a carriage blanket, and a fourth threw open the door of the old barouche that stood there, saying with a flourish, "step in, ma'am, and make yourself comfortable while we show you some fun."
so rose sat in state enjoying herself very much, for the lads proceeded to dance a highland fling with a spirit and skill that made her clap her hands and laugh as she had not done for weeks.
""how is that, my lassie?"
asked the prince, coming up all flushed and breathless when the ballet was over.
""it was splendid!
i never went to the theatre but once, and the dancing was not half so pretty as this.
what clever boys you must be!"
said rose, smiling upon her kinsmen like a little queen upon her subjects.
""ah, we're a fine lot, and that is only the beginning of our larks.
we have n't got the pipes here or we'd, "sing for you, play for you a dulcy melody,"" answered charlie, looking much elated at her praise.
""i did not know we were scotch; papa never said anything about it, or seemed to care about scotland, except to have me sing the old ballads," said rose, beginning to feel as if she had left america behind her somewhere.
""neither did we till lately.
we've been reading scott's novels, and all of a sudden we remembered that our grandfather was a scotchman.
so we hunted up the old stories, got a bagpipe, put on our plaids, and went in, heart and soul, for the glory of the clan.
we've been at it some time now, and it's great fun.
our people like it, and i think we are a pretty canny set."
archie said this from the other coach-step, where he had perched, while the rest climbed up before and behind to join in the chat as they rested.
""i'm fitzjames and he's roderick dhu, and we'll give you the broadsword combat some day.
it's a great thing, you'd better believe," added the prince.
""yes, and you should hear steve play the pipes.
he makes'em skirl like a good one," cried will from the box, eager to air the accomplishments of his race.
""mac's the fellow to hunt up the old stories and tell us how to dress right, and pick out rousing bits for us to speak and sing," put in geordie, saying a good word for the absent worm.
""and what do you and will do?"
asked rose of jamie, who sat beside her as if bound to keep her in sight till the promised gift had been handed over.
""oh, i'm the little foot-page, and do errands, and will and geordie are the troops when we march, and the stags when we hunt, and the traitors when we want to cut any heads off."
""they are very obliging, i'm sure," said rose, whereat the "utility men" beamed with modest pride and resolved to enact wallace and montrose as soon as possible for their cousin's special benefit.
""let's have a game of tag," cried the prince, swinging himself up to a beam with a sounding slap on stevie's shoulder.
regardless of his gloves, dandy tore after him, and the rest swarmed in every direction as if bent on breaking their necks and dislocating their joints as rapidly as possible.
it was a new and astonishing spectacle to rose, fresh from a prim boarding-school, and she watched the active lads with breathless interest, thinking their antics far superior to those of mops, the dear departed monkey.
will had just covered himself with glory by pitching off a high loft head first and coming up all right, when phebe appeared with a cloak, hood, and rubbers, also a message from aunt plenty that "miss rose was to come in directly."
""all right; we'll bring her!"
answered archie, issuing some mysterious order, which was so promptly obeyed that, before rose could get out of the carriage, the boys had caught hold of the pole and rattled her out of the barn, round the oval and up to the front door with a cheer that brought two caps to an upper window, and caused debby to cry aloud from the back porch, "them harum-scarum boys will certainly be the death of that delicate little creter!"
but the "delicate little creter" seemed all the better for her trip, and ran up the steps looking rosy, gay, and dishevelled, to be received with lamentation by aunt plenty, who begged her to go and lie down at once.
""oh, please do n't!
we have come to tea with our cousin, and we'll be as good as gold if you'll let us stay, auntie," clamoured the boys, who not only approved of "our cousin" but had no mind to lose their tea, for aunt plenty's name but feebly expressed her bountiful nature.
""well, dears, you can; only be quiet, and let rose go and take her iron and be made tidy, and then we will see what we can find for supper," said the old lady as she trotted away, followed by a volley of directions for the approaching feast.
""marmalade for me, auntie."
""plenty of plum-cake, please."
""tell debby to trot out the baked pears."
""i'm your man for lemon-pie, ma'am."
""do have fritters; rose will like'em."
""she'd rather have tarts, i know."
when rose came down, fifteen minutes later, with every curl smoothed and her most beruffled apron on, she found the boys loafing about the long hall, and paused on the half-way landing to take an observation, for till now she had not really examined her new-found cousins.
there was a strong family resemblance among them, though some of the yellow heads were darker than others, some of the cheeks brown instead of rosy, and the ages varied all the way from sixteen-year-old archie to jamie, who was ten years younger.
none of them were especially comely but the prince, yet all were hearty, happy-looking lads, and rose decided that boys were not as dreadful as she had expected to find them.
they were all so characteristically employed that she could not help smiling as she looked.
archie and charlie, evidently great cronies, were pacing up and down, shoulder to shoulder, whistling "bonnie dundee"; mac was reading in a corner, with his book close to his near-sighted eyes; dandy was arranging his hair before the oval glass in the hat-stand; geordie and will investigating the internal economy of the moon-faced clock; and jamie lay kicking up his heels on the mat at the foot of the stairs, bent on demanding his sweeties the instant rose appeared.
she guessed his intention, and forestalled his demand by dropping a handful of sugar-plums down upon him.
at his cry of rapture the other lads looked up and smiled involuntarily, for the little kinswoman standing there above was a winsome sight with her shy, soft eyes, bright hair, and laughing face.
the black frock reminded them of her loss, and filled the boyish hearts with a kindly desire to be good to "our cousin," who had no longer any home but this.
""there she is, as fine as you please," cried steve, kissing his hand to her.
""come on, missy; tea is ready," added the prince encouragingly.
""i shall take her in."
and archie offered his arm with great dignity, an honour that made rose turn as red as a cherry and long to run upstairs again.
it was a merry supper, and the two elder boys added much to the fun by tormenting the rest with dark hints of some interesting event which was about to occur.
something uncommonly fine, they declared it was, but enveloped in the deepest mystery for the present.
""did i ever see it?"
asked jamie.
""not to remember it; but mac and steve have, and liked it immensely," answered archie, thereby causing the two mentioned to neglect debby's delectable fritters for several minutes, while they cudgelled their brains.
""who will have it first?"
asked will, with his mouth full of marmalade.
""aunt plenty, i guess."
""when will she have it?"
demanded geordie, bouncing in his seat with impatience.
""sometime on monday."
""heart alive!
what is the boy talking about?"
cried the old lady from behind the tall urn, which left little to be seen but the topmost bow of her cap.
""does n't auntie know?"
asked a chorus of voices.
""no; and that's the best of the joke, for she is desperately fond of it."
""what colour is it?"
asked rose, joining in the fun.
""blue and brown."
""is it good to eat?"
asked jamie.
""some people think so, but i should n't like to try it," answered charlie, laughing so he split his tea.
""who does it belong to?"
put in steve.
archie and the prince stared at one another rather blankly for a minute, then archie answered with a twinkle of the eye that made charlie explode again, "to grandfather campbell."
this was a poser, and they gave up the puzzle, though jamie confided to rose that he did not think he could live till monday without knowing what this remarkable thing was.
soon after tea the clan departed, singing "all the blue bonnets are over the border," at the tops of their voices.
""well, dear, how do you like your cousins?"
asked aunt plenty, as the last pony frisked round the corner and the din died away.
""pretty well, ma'am; but i like phebe better."
an answer which caused aunt plenty to hold up her hands in despair and trot away to tell sister peace that she never should understand that child, and it was a mercy alec was coming soon to take the responsibility off their hands.
fatigued by the unusual exertions of the afternoon, rose curled herself up in the sofa corner to rest and think about the great mystery, little guessing that she was to know it first of all.
right in the middle of her meditations she fell asleep and dreamed she was at home again in her own little bed.
she seemed to wake and see her father bending over her; to hear him say, "my little rose"; to answer, "yes, papa"; and then to feel him take her in his arms and kiss her tenderly.
so sweet, so real was the dream, that she started up with a cry of joy to find herself in the arms of a brown, bearded man, who held her close, and whispered in a voice so like her father's that she clung to him involuntarily, "this is my little girl, and i am uncle alec."
chapter 3 -- uncles when rose woke next morning, she was not sure whether she had dreamed what occurred the night before, or it had actually happened.
so she hopped up and dressed, although it was an hour earlier than she usually rose, for she could not sleep any more, being possessed with a strong desire to slip down and see if the big portmanteau and packing cases were really in the hall.
she seemed to remember tumbling over them when she went to bed, for the aunts had sent her off very punctually, because they wanted their pet nephew all to themselves.
the sun was shining, and rose opened her window to let in the soft may air fresh from the sea.
as she leaned over her little balcony, watching an early bird get the worm, and wondering how she should like uncle alec, she saw a man leap the garden wall and come whistling up the path.
at first she thought it was some trespasser, but a second look showed her that it was her uncle returning from an early dip into the sea.
she had hardly dared to look at him the night before, because whenever she tried to do so she always found a pair of keen blue eyes looking at her.
now she could take a good stare at him as he lingered along, looking about him as if glad to see the old place again.
a brown, breezy man, in a blue jacket, with no hat on the curly head, which he shook now and then like a water dog; broad-shouldered, alert in his motions, and with a general air of strength and stability about him which pleased rose, though she could not explain the feeling of comfort it gave her.
she had just said to herself, with a sense of relief, "i guess i shall like him, though he looks as if he made people mind," when he lifted his eyes to examine the budding horse-chestnut overhead, and saw the eager face peering down at him.
he waved his hand to her, nodded, and called out in a bluff, cheery voice, "you are on deck early, little niece."
""i got up to see if you had really come, uncle."
""did you?
well, come down here and make sure of it."
""i'm not allowed to go out before breakfast, sir."
""oh, indeed!"
with a shrug.
""then i'll come aboard and salute," he added; and, to rose's great amazement, uncle alec went up one of the pillars of the back piazza hand over hand, stepped across the roof, and swung himself into her balcony, saying, as he landed on the wide balustrade: "have you any doubts about me now, ma'am?"
rose was so taken aback, she could only answer with a smile as she went to meet him.
""how does my girl do this morning?"
he asked, taking the little cold hand she gave him in both his big warm ones.
""pretty well, thank you, sir."
""ah, but it should be very well.
why is n't it?"
""i always wake up with a headache, and feel tired."
""do n't you sleep well?"
""i lie awake a long time, and then i dream, and my sleep does not seem to rest me much."
""what do you do all day?"
""oh, i read, and sew a little, and take naps, and sit with auntie."
""no running about out of doors, or house-work, or riding, hey?"
""aunt plenty says i'm not strong enough for much exercise.
i drive out with her sometimes, but i do n't care for it."
""i'm not surprised at that," said uncle alec, half to himself, adding, in his quick way: "who have you had to play with?"
""no one but ariadne blish, and she was such a goose i could n't bear her.
the boys came yesterday, and seemed rather nice; but, of course, i could n't play with them."
""why not?"
""i'm too old to play with boys."
""not a bit of it; that's just what you need, for you've been molly-coddled too much.
they are good lads, and you'll be mixed up with them more or less for years to come, so you may as well be friends and playmates at once.
i will look you up some girls also, if i can find a sensible one who is not spoilt by her nonsensical education."
""phebe is sensible, i'm sure, and i like her, though i only saw her yesterday," cried rose, waking up suddenly.
""and who is phebe, if you please?"
rose eagerly told all she knew, and uncle alec listened, with an odd smile lurking about his mouth, though his eyes were quite sober as he watched the face before him.
""i'm glad to see that you are not aristocratic in your tastes, but i do n't quite make out why you like this young lady from the poor-house."
""you may laugh at me, but i do.
i ca n't tell why, only she seems so happy and busy, and sings so beautifully, and is strong enough to scrub and sweep, and has n't any troubles to plague her," said rose, making a funny jumble of reasons in her efforts to explain.
""how do you know that?"
""oh, i was telling her about mine, and asked if she had any, and she said, "no, only i'd like to go to school, and i mean to some day."
""so she does n't call desertion, poverty, and hard work, troubles?
she's a brave little girl, and i shall be proud to know her."
and uncle alec gave an approving nod, that made rose wish she had been the one to earn it.
""but what are these troubles of yours, child?"
he asked, after a minute of silence.
""please do n't ask me, uncle."
""ca n't you tell them to me as well as to phebe?"
something in his tone made rose feel that it would be better to speak out and be done with it, so she answered, with sudden colour and averted eyes, "the greatest one was losing dear papa."
as she said that, uncle alec's arm came gently round her, and he drew her to him, saying, in the voice so like papa's, "that is a trouble which i can not cure, my child; but i shall try to make you feel it less.
what else, dear?"
""i am so tired and poorly all the time, i ca n't do anything i want to, and it makes me cross," sighed rose, rubbing the aching head like a fretful child.
""that we can cure and we will," said her uncle, with a decided nod that made the curls bob on his head, to that rose saw the gray ones underneath the brown.
""aunt myra says i have no constitution, and never shall be strong," observed rose, in a pensive tone, as if it was rather a nice thing to be an invalid.
""aunt myra is a ahem!
an excellent woman, but it is her hobby to believe that everyone is tottering on the brink of the grave; and, upon my life, i believe she is offended if people do n't fall into it!
we will show her how to make constitutions and turn pale-faced little ghosts into rosy, hearty girls.
that's my business, you know," he added, more quietly, for his sudden outburst had rather startled rose.
""i had forgotten you were a doctor.
i'm glad of it, for i do want to be well, only i hope you wo n't give me much medicine, for i've taken quarts already, and it does me no good."
as she spoke, rose pointed to a little table just inside the window, on which appeared a regiment of bottles.
""ah, ha!
now we'll see what mischief these blessed women have been at."
and, making a long arm, dr. alec set the bottles on the wide railing before him, examined each carefully, smiled over some, frowned over others, and said, as he put down the last: "now i'll show you the best way to take these messes."
and, as quick as a flash, he sent one after another smashing down into the posy-beds below.
""but aunt plenty wo n't like it; and aunt myra will be angry, for she sent most of them!"
cried rose, half frightened and half pleased at such energetic measures.
""you are my patient now, and i'll take the responsibility.
my way of giving physic is evidently the best, for you look better already," he said, laughing so infectiously that rose followed suit, saying saucily, "if i do n't like your medicines any better than those, i shall throw them into the garden, and then what will you do?"
""when i prescribe such rubbish, i'll give you leave to pitch it overboard as soon as you like.
now what is the next trouble?"
""i hoped you would forget to ask."
""but how can i help you if i do n't know them?
come, let us have no. 3."
""it is very wrong, i suppose, but i do sometimes wish i had not quite so many aunts.
they are all very good to me, and i want to please them; but they are so different, i feel sort of pulled to pieces among them," said rose, trying to express the emotions of a stray chicken with six hens all clucking over it at once.
uncle alec threw back his head and laughed like a boy, for he could entirely understand how the good ladies had each put in her oar and tried to paddle her own way, to the great disturbance of the waters and the entire bewilderment of poor rose.
""i intend to try a course of uncles now, and see how that suits your constitution.
i'm going to have you all to myself, and no one is to give a word of advice unless i ask it.
there is no other way to keep order aboard, and i am captain of this little craft, for a time at least.
what comes next?"
but rose stuck there, and grew so red, her uncle guessed what that trouble was.
""i do n't think i can tell this one.
it would n't be polite, and i feel pretty sure that it is n't going to be a trouble any more."
as she blushed and stammered over these words, dr. alec turned his eyes away to the distant sea, and said so seriously, so tenderly, that she felt every word and long remembered them, "my child, i do n't expect you to love and trust me all at once, but i do want you to believe that i shall give my whole heart to this new duty; and if i make mistakes, as i probably shall, no one will grieve over them more bitterly than i.
it is my fault that i am a stranger to you, when i want to be your best friend.
that is one of my mistakes, and i never repented it more deeply than i do now.
your father and i had a trouble once, and i thought i could never forgive him; so i kept away for years.
thank god, we made it all up the last time i saw him, and he told me then, that if he was forced to leave her he should bequeath his little girl to me as a token of his love.
i ca n't fill his place, but i shall try to be a father to her; and if she learns to love me half as well as she did the good one she has lost, i shall be a proud and happy man.
will she believe this and try?"
something in uncle alec's face touched rose to the heart, and when he held out his hand with that anxious troubled look in his eyes, she was moved to put up her innocent lips and seal the contract with a confiding kiss.
the strong arm held her close a minute, and she felt the broad chest heave once as if with a great sigh of relief; but not a word was spoken till a tap at the door made both start.
rose popped her head through the window to say "come in," while dr. alec hastily rubbed the sleeve of his jacket across his eyes and began to whistle again.
phebe appeared with a cup of coffee.
""debby told me to bring this and help you get up," she said, opening her black eyes wide, as if she wondered how on earth "the sailor man" got there.
""i'm all dressed, so i do n't need any help.
i hope that is good and strong," added rose, eyeing the steaming cup with an eager look.
but she did not get it, for a brown hand took possession of it as her uncle said quickly, "hold hard, my lass, and let me overhaul that dose before you take it.
do you drink all this strong coffee every morning, rose?"
""yes, sir, and i like it.
auntie says it "tones" me up, and i always feel better after it."
""this accounts for the sleepless nights, the flutter your heart gets into at the least start, and this is why that cheek of yours is pale yellow instead of rosy red.
no more coffee for you, my dear, and by and by you'll see that i am right.
any new milk downstairs, phebe?"
""yes, sir, plenty right in from the barn."
""that's the drink for my patient.
go bring me a pitcherful, and another cup; i want a draught myself.
this wo n't hurt the honeysuckles, for they have no nerves to speak of."
and, to rose's great discomfort, the coffee went after the medicine.
dr. alec saw the injured look she put on, but took no notice, and presently banished it by saying pleasantly, "i've got a capital little cup among my traps, and i'll give it to you to drink your milk in, as it is made of wood that is supposed to improve whatever is put into it something like a quassia cup.
that reminds me; one of the boxes phebe wanted to lug upstairs last night is for you.
knowing that i was coming home to find a ready-made daughter, i picked up all sorts of odd and pretty trifles along the way, hoping she would be able to find something she liked among them all.
early to-morrow we'll have a grand rummage.
here's our milk!
i propose the health of miss rose campbell and drink it with all my heart."
it was impossible for rose to pout with the prospect of a delightful boxful of gifts dancing before her eyes; so, in spite of herself, she smiled as she drank her own health, and found that fresh milk was not a hard dose to take.
""now i must be off, before i am caught again with my wig in a toss," said dr. alec, preparing to descend the way he came.
""do you always go in and out like a cat, uncle?"
asked rose, much amused at his odd ways.
""i used to sneak out of my window when i was a boy, so i need not disturb the aunts, and now i rather like it, for it's the shortest road, and it keeps me limber when i have no rigging to climb.
good-bye till breakfast."
and away he went down the water-spout, over the roof, and vanished among the budding honey-suckles below.
""ai n't he a funny guardeen?"
exclaimed phebe, as she went off with the cups.
""he is a very kind one, i think," answered rose, following, to prowl round the big boxes and try to guess which was hers.
when her uncle appeared at sound of the bell, he found her surveying with an anxious face a new dish that smoked upon the table.
""got a fresh trouble, rosy?"
he asked, stroking her smooth head.
""uncle, are you going to make me eat oatmeal?"
asked rose, in a tragic tone.
""do n't you like it?"
""i de-test it!"
answered rose, with all the emphasis which a turned-up nose, a shudder, and a groan could give to the three words.
""you are not a true scotchwoman, if you do n't like the "parritch."
it's a pity, for i made it myself, and thought we'd have such a good time with all that cream to float it in.
well, never mind."
and he sat down with a disappointed air.
rose had made up her mind to be obstinate about it, because she did heartily "detest" the dish; but as uncle alec did not attempt to make her obey, she suddenly changed her mind and thought she would.
""i'll try to eat it to please you, uncle; but people are always saying how wholesome it is, and that makes me hate it," she said, half-ashamed at her silly excuse.
""i do want you to like it, because i wish my girl to be as well and strong as jessie's boys, who are brought up on this in the good old fashion.
no hot bread and fried stuff for them, and they are the biggest and bonniest lads of the lot.
bless you, auntie, and good morning!"
dr. alec turned to greet the old lady, and, with a firm resolve to eat or die in the attempt, rose sat down.
in five minutes she forgot what she was eating, so interested was she in the chat that went on.
it amused her very much to hear aunt plenty call her forty-year-old nephew "my dear boy"; and uncle alec was so full of lively gossip about all creation in general, and the aunt-hill in particular, that the detested porridge vanished without a murmur.
""you will go to church with us, i hope, alec, if you are not too tired," said the old lady, when breakfast was over.
""i came all the way from calcutta for that express purpose, ma'am.
only i must send the sisters word of my arrival, for they do n't expect me till to-morrow, you know, and there will be a row in church if those boys see me without warning."
""i'll send ben up the hill, and you can step over to myra's yourself; it will please her, and you will have plenty of time."
dr. alec was off at once, and they saw no more of him till the old barouche was at the door, and aunt plenty just rustling downstairs in her sunday best, with rose like a little black shadow behind her.
away they drove in state, and all the way uncle alec's hat was more off his head than on, for everyone they met smiled and bowed, and gave him as blithe a greeting as the day permitted.
it was evident that the warning had been a wise one, for, in spite of time and place, the lads were in such a ferment that their elders sat in momentary dread of an unseemly outbreak somewhere.
it was simply impossible to keep those fourteen eyes off uncle alec, and the dreadful things that were done during sermon-time will hardly be believed.
rose dared not look up after a while, for these bad boys vented their emotions upon her till she was ready to laugh and cry with mingled amusement and vexation.
charlie winked rapturously at her behind his mother's fan; mac openly pointed to the tall figure beside her; jamie stared fixedly over the back of his pew, till rose thought his round eyes would drop out of his head; george fell over a stool and dropped three books in his excitement; will drew sailors and chinamen on his clean cuffs, and displayed them, to rose's great tribulation; steve nearly upset the whole party by burning his nose with salts, as he pretended to be overcome by his joy; even dignified archie disgraced himself by writing in his hymn book, "is n't he blue and brown?"
and passing it politely to rose.
her only salvation was trying to fix her attention upon uncle mac a portly, placid gentleman, who seemed entirely unconscious of the iniquities of the clan, and dozed peacefully in his pew corner.
this was the only uncle rose had met for years, for uncle jem and uncle steve, the husbands of aunt jessie and aunt clara, were at sea, and aunt myra was a widow.
uncle mac was a merchant, very rich and busy, and as quiet as a mouse at home, for he was in such a minority among the women folk he dared not open his lips, and let his wife rule undisturbed.
rose liked the big, kindly, silent man who came to her when papa died, was always sending her splendid boxes of goodies at school, and often invited her into his great warehouse, full of teas and spices, wines and all sorts of foreign fruits, there to eat and carry away whatever she liked.
she had secretly regretted that he was not to be her guardian; but since she had seen uncle alec she felt better about it, for she did not particularly admire aunt jane.
when church was over, dr. alec got into the porch as quickly as possible, and there the young bears had a hug all round, while the sisters shook hands and welcomed him with bright faces and glad hearts.
rose was nearly crushed flat behind a door in that dangerous passage from pew to porch; but uncle mac rescued her, and put her into the carriage for safe keeping.
""now, girls, i want you to come and dine with alec; mac also, of course.
but i can not ask the boys, for we did not expect this dear fellow till tomorrow, you know, so i made no preparations.
send the lads home, and let them wait till monday, for really i was shocked at their behaviour in church," said aunt plenty, as she followed rose.
in any other place the defrauded boys would have set up a howl; as it was, they growled and protested till dr. alec settled the matter by saying, "never mind, old chaps, i'll make it up to you to-morrow, if you sheer off quietly; if you do n't, not a blessed thing shall you have out of my big boxes."
chapter 4 -- aunts all dinner-time rose felt that she was going to be talked about, and afterward she was sure of it, for aunt plenty whispered to her as they went into the parlour, "run up and sit awhile with sister peace, my dear.
she likes to have you read while she rests, and we are going to be busy."
rose obeyed, and the quiet rooms above were so like a church that she soon composed her ruffled feelings, and was unconsciously a little minister of happiness to the sweet old lady, who for years had sat there patiently waiting to be set free from pain.
rose knew the sad romance of her life, and it gave a certain tender charm to this great-aunt of hers, whom she already loved.
when peace was twenty, she was about to be married; all was done, the wedding dress lay ready, the flowers were waiting to be put on, the happy hour at hand, when word came that the lover was dead.
they thought that gentle peace would die, too; but she bore it bravely, put away her bridal gear, took up her life afresh, and lived on a beautiful, meek woman, with hair as white as snow and cheeks that never bloomed again.
she wore no black, but soft, pale colours, as if always ready for the marriage that had never come.
for thirty years she had lived on, fading slowly, but cheerful, busy, and full of interest in all that went on in the family; especially the joys and sorrows of the young girls growing up about her, and to them she was adviser, confidante, and friend in all their tender trials and delights.
a truly beautiful old maiden, with her silvery hair, tranquil face, and an atmosphere of repose about her that soothed whoever came to her!
aunt plenty was utterly dissimilar, being a stout, brisk old lady, with a sharp eye, a lively tongue, and a face like a winter-apple.
always trotting, chatting, and bustling, she was a regular martha, cumbered with the cares of this world and quite happy in them.
rose was right; and while she softly read psalms to aunt peace, the other ladies were talking about her little self in the frankest manner.
""well, alec, how do you like your ward?"
began aunt jane, as they all settled down, and uncle mac deposited himself in a corner to finish his doze.
""i should like her better if i could have begun at the beginning, and so got a fair start.
poor george led such a solitary life that the child has suffered in many ways, and since he died she has been going on worse than ever, judging from the state i find her in."
""my dear boy, we did what we thought best while waiting for you to wind up your affairs and get home.
i always told george he was wrong to bring her up as he did; but he never took my advice, and now here we are with this poor dear child upon our hands.
i, for one, freely confess that i do n't know what to do with her any more than if she was one of those strange, outlandish birds you used to bring home from foreign parts."
and aunt plenty gave a perplexed shake of the head which caused great commotion among the stiff loops of purple ribbon that bristled all over the cap like crocus buds.
""if my advice had been taken, she would have remained at the excellent school where i placed her.
but our aunt thought best to remove her because she complained, and she has been dawdling about ever since she came.
a most ruinous state of things for a morbid, spoilt girl like rose," said mrs. jane, severely.
she had never forgiven the old ladies for yielding to rose's pathetic petition that she might wait her guardian's arrival before beginning another term at the school, which was a regular blimber hot-bed, and turned out many a feminine toots.
""i never thought it the proper school for a child in good circumstances an heiress, in fact, as rose is.
it is all very well for girls who are to get their own living by teaching, and that sort of thing; but all she needs is a year or two at a fashionable finishing school, so that at eighteen she can come out with eclat," put in aunt clara, who had been a beauty and a belle, and was still a handsome woman.
""dear, dear!
how short-sighted you all are to be discussing education and plans for the future, when this unhappy child is so plainly marked for the tomb," sighed aunt myra, with a lugubrious sniff and a solemn wag of the funereal bonnet, which she refused to remove, being afflicted with a chronic catarrh.
""now, it is my opinion that the dear thing only wants freedom, rest, and care.
there is look in her eyes that goes to my heart, for it shows that she feels the need of what none of us can give her a mother," said aunt jessie, with tears in her own bright eyes at the thought of her boys being left, as rose was, to the care of others.
uncle alec, who had listened silently as each spoke, turned quickly towards the last sister, and said, with a decided nod of approval, "you've got it, jessie; and, with you to help me, i hope to make the child feel that she is not quite fatherless and motherless."
""i'll do my best, alec; and i think you will need me, for, wise as you are, you can not understand a tender, timid little creature like rose as a woman can," said mrs. jessie, smiling back at him with a heart full of motherly goodwill.
""i can not help feeling that i, who have had a daughter of my own, can best bring up a girl; and i am very much surprised that george did not entrust her to me," observed aunt myra, with an air of melancholy importance, for she was the only one who had given a daughter to the family, and she felt that she had distinguished herself, though ill-natured people said that she had dosed her darling to death.
""i never blamed him in the least, when i remember the perilous experiments you tried with poor carrie," began mrs. jane, in her hard voice.
""jane campbell, i will not hear a word!
my sainted caroline is a sacred object," cried aunt myra, rising as if to leave the room.
dr. alec detained her, feeling that he must define his position at once, and maintain it manfully if he hoped to have any success in his new undertaking.
""now, my dear souls, do n't let us quarrel and make rose a bone of contention though, upon my word, she is almost a bone, poor little lass!
you have had her among you for a year, and done what you liked.
i can not say that your success is great, but that is owing to too many fingers in the pie.
now, i intend to try my way for a year, and if at the end of it she is not in better trim than now, i'll give up the case, and hand her over to someone else.
that's fair, i think."
""she will not be here a year hence, poor darling, so no one need dread future responsibility," said aunt myra, folding her black gloves as if all ready for the funeral.
""by jupiter!
myra, you are enough to damp the ardour of a saint!"
cried dr. alec, with a sudden spark in his eyes.
""your croaking will worry that child out of her wits, for she is an imaginative puss, and will fret and fancy untold horrors.
you have put it into her head that she has no constitution, and she rather likes the idea.
if she had not had a pretty good one, she would have been "marked for the tomb" by this time, at the rate you have been going on with her.
i will not have any interference please understand that; so just wash your hands of her, and let me manage till i want help, then i'll ask for it."
""hear, hear!"
came from the corner where uncle mac was apparently wrapt in slumber.
""you were appointed guardian, so we can do nothing.
but i predict that the girl will be spoilt, utterly spoilt," answered mrs. jane, grimly.
""thank you, sister.
i have an idea that if a woman can bring up two boys as perfectly as you do yours, a man, if he devotes his whole mind to it, may at least attempt as much with one girl," replied dr. alec, with a humorous look that tickled the others immensely, for it was a well-known fact in the family that jane's boys were more indulged than all the other lads put together.
""i am quite easy, for i really do think that alec will improve the child's health; and by the time his year is out, it will be quite soon enough for her to go to madame roccabella's and be finished off," said aunt clara, settling her rings, and thinking, with languid satisfaction, of the time when she could bring out a pretty and accomplished niece.
""i suppose you will stay here in the old place, unless you think of marrying, and it's high time you did," put in mrs. jane, much nettled at her brother's last hit.
""no, thank you.
come and have a cigar, mac," said dr. alec, abruptly.
""do n't marry; women enough in the family already," muttered uncle mac; and then the gentlemen hastily fled.
""aunt peace would like to see you all, she says," was the message rose brought before the ladies could begin again.
""hectic, hectic!
dear me, dear me!"
murmured aunt myra, as the shadow of her gloomy bonnet fell upon rose, and the stiff tips of a black glove touched the cheek where the colour deepened under so many eyes.
""i am glad these pretty curls are natural; they will be invaluable by and by," said aunt clara, taking an observation with her head on one side.
""now that your uncle has come, i no longer expect you to review the studies of the past year.
i trust your time will not be entirely wasted in frivolous sports, however," added aunt jane, sailing out of the room with the air of a martyr.
aunt jessie said not a word, but kissed her little niece, with a look of tender sympathy that made rose cling to her a minute, and follow her with grateful eyes as the door closed behind her.
after everybody had gone home, dr. alec paced up and down the lower hall in the twilight for an hour, thinking so intently that sometimes he frowned, sometimes he smiled, and more than once he stood still in a brown study.
all of a sudden he said, half aloud, as if he had made up his mind, "i might as well begin at once, and give the child something new to think about, for myra's dismals and jane's lectures have made her as blue as a little indigo bag."
diving into one of the trunks that stood in a corner, he brought up, after a brisk rummage, a silken cushion, prettily embroidered, and a quaint cup of dark carved wood.
""this will do for a start," he said, as he plumped up the cushion and dusted the cup.
""it wo n't do to begin too energetically, or rose will be frightened.
i must beguile her gently and pleasantly along till i've won her confidence, and then she will be ready for anything."
just then phebe came out of the dining-room with a plate of brown bread, for rose had been allowed no hot biscuit for tea.
""i'll relieve you of some of that," said dr. alec, and, helping himself to a generous slice, he retired to the study, leaving phebe to wonder at his appetite.
she would have wondered still more if she had seen him making that brown bread into neat little pills, which he packed into an attractive ivory box, out of which he emptied his own bits of lovage.
""there!
if they insist on medicine, i'll order these, and no harm will be done.
i will have my own way, but i'll keep the peace, if possible, and confess the joke when my experiment has succeeded," he said to himself, looking very much like a mischievous boy, as he went on with his innocent prescriptions.
rose was playing softly on the small organ that stood in the upper hall, so that aunt peace could enjoy it; and all the while he talked with the old ladies, uncle alec was listening to the fitful music of the child, and thinking of another rose who used to play for him.
as the clock struck eight, he called out, "time for my girl to be abed, else she wo n't be up early, and i'm full of jolly plans for to-morrow.
come and see what i've found for you to begin upon."
rose ran in and listened with bright attentive face, while dr. alec said impressively, "in my wanderings over the face of the earth, i have picked up some excellent remedies, and, as they are rather agreeable ones, i think you and i will try them.
this is a herb-pillow, given to me by a wise old woman when i was ill in india.
it is filled with saffron, poppies, and other soothing plants; so lay your little head on it to-night, sleep sweetly without a dream, and wake to-morrow without a pain."
""shall i really?
how nice it smells."
and rose willingly received the pretty pillow, and stood enjoying its faint, sweet odour, as she listened to the doctor's next remedy.
""this is the cup i told you of.
its virtue depends, they say, on the drinker filling it himself; so you must learn to milk.
i'll teach you."
""i'm afraid i never can," said rose; but she surveyed the cup with favour, for a funny little imp danced on the handle, as if all ready to take a header into the white sea below.
""do n't you think she ought to have something more strengthening than milk, alec?
i really shall feel anxious if she does not have a tonic of some sort," said aunt plenty, eyeing the new remedies suspiciously, for she had more faith in her old-fashioned doses than all the magic cups and poppy pillows of the east.
""well, ma'am, i'm willing to give her a pill, if you think best.
it is a very simple one, and very large quantities may be taken without harm.
you know hasheesh is the extract of hemp?
well, this is a preparation of corn and rye, much used in old times, and i hope it will be again."
""dear me, how singular!"
said aunt plenty, bringing her spectacles to bear upon the pills, with a face so full of respectful interest that it was almost too much for dr. alec's gravity.
""take one in the morning, and a good-night to you, my dear," he said, dismissing his patient with a hearty kiss.
then, as she vanished, he put both hands into his hair, exclaiming, with a comical mixture of anxiety and amusement, "when i think what i have undertaken, i declare to you, aunt, i feel like running away and not coming back till rose is eighteen!"
chapter 5 -- a belt and a box when rose came out of her chamber, cup in hand, next morning, the first person she saw was uncle alec standing on the threshold of the room opposite, which he appeared to be examining with care.
when he heard her step, he turned about and began to sing, "where are you going, my pretty maid?"
""i'm going a-milking, sir, she said," answered rose, waving the cup; and then they finished the verse together in fine style.
before either spoke, a head, in a nightcap so large and beruffled that it looked like a cabbage, popped out of a room farther down the hall, and an astonished voice exclaimed, "what in the world are you doing about so early?"
""clearing our pipes for the day, ma'am.
look here, auntie, can i have this room?"
said dr. alec, making her a sailor's bow.
""any room you like, except sister's."
""thanks.
and may i go rummaging round in the garrets and glory-holes to furnish it as i like?"
""my dear boy, you may turn the house upside down if you will only stay in it."
""that's a handsome offer, i'm sure.
i'll stay, ma'am; here's my little anchor, so you will get more than you want of me this time."
""that's impossible!
put on your jacket, rose.
do n't tire her out with antics, alec.
yes, sister, i'm coming!"
and the cabbage vanished suddenly.
the first milking lesson was a droll one; but after several scares and many vain attempts, rose at last managed to fill her cup, while ben held clover's tail so that it could not flap, and dr. alec kept her from turning to stare at the new milkmaid, who objected to both these proceedings very much.
""you look chilly in spite of all this laughing.
take a smart run round the garden and get up a glow," said the doctor, as they left the barn.
""i'm too old for running, uncle; miss power said it was not lady-like for girls in their teens," answered rose, primly.
""i take the liberty of differing from madame prunes and prisms, and, as your physician, i order you to run.
off with you!"
said uncle alec, with a look and a gesture that made rose scurry away as fast as she could go.
anxious to please him, she raced round the beds till she came back to the porch where he stood, and, dropping down upon the steps, she sat panting, with cheeks as rosy as the rigolette on her shoulders.
""very well done, child; i see you have not lost the use of your limbs though you are in your teens.
that belt is too tight; unfasten it, then you can take a long breath without panting so."
""it is n't tight, sir; i can breathe perfectly well," began rose, trying to compose herself.
her uncle's only answer was to lift her up and unhook the new belt of which she was so proud.
the moment the clasp was open the belt flew apart several inches, for it was impossible to restrain the involuntary sigh of relief that flatly contradicted her words.
""why, i did n't know it was tight!
it did n't feel so a bit.
of course it would open if i puff like this, but i never do, because i hardly ever run," explained rose, rather discomfited by this discovery.
""i see you do n't half fill your lungs, and so you can wear this absurd thing without feeling it.
the idea of cramping a tender little waist in a stiff band of leather and steel just when it ought to be growing," said dr. alec, surveying the belt with great disfavour as he put the clasp forward several holes, to rose's secret dismay, for she was proud of her slender figure, and daily rejoiced that she was n't as stout as luly miller, a former schoolmate, who vainly tried to repress her plumpness.
""it will fall off if it is so loose," she said anxiously, as she stood watching him pull her precious belt about.
""not if you keep taking long breaths to hold it on.
that is what i want you to do, and when you have filled this out we will go on enlarging it till your waist is more like that of hebe, goddess of health, and less like that of a fashion-plate the ugliest thing imaginable."
""how it does look!"
and rose gave a glance of scorn at the loose belt hanging round her trim little waist.
""it will be lost, and then i shall feel badly, for it cost ever so much, and is real steel and russia leather.
just smell how nice."
""if it is lost i'll give you a better one.
a soft silken sash is much fitter for a pretty child like you than a plated harness like this; and i've got no end of italian scarfs and turkish sashes among my traps.
ah!
that makes you feel better, does n't it?"
and he pinched the cheek that had suddenly dimpled with a smile.
""it is very silly of me, but i ca n't help liking to know that" here she stopped and blushed and held down her head, ashamed to add, "you think i am pretty."
dr. alec's eyed twinkled, but he said very soberly, "rose, are you vain?"
""i'm afraid i am," answered a very meek voice from behind the veil of hair that hid the red face.
""that is a sad fault."
and he sighed as if grieved at the confession.
""i know it is, and i try not to be; but people praise me, and i ca n't help liking it, for i really do n't think i am repulsive."
the last word and the funny tone in which it was uttered were too much for dr. alec, and he laughed in spite of himself, to rose's great relief.
""i quite agree with you; and in order that you may be still less repulsive, i want you to grow as fine a girl as phebe."
""phebe!"
and rose looked so amazed that her uncle nearly went off again.
""yes, phebe; for she has what you need health.
if you dear little girls would only learn what real beauty is, and not pinch and starve and bleach yourselves out so, you'd save an immense deal of time and money and pain.
a happy soul in a healthy body makes the best sort of beauty for man or woman.
do you understand that, my dear?"
""yes, sir," answered rose, much taken down by this comparison with the girl from the poor-house.
it nettled her sadly, and she showed that it did by saying quickly, "i suppose you would like to have me sweep and scrub, and wear an old brown dress, and go round with my sleeves rolled up, as phebe does?"
""i should very much, if you could work as well as she does, and show as strong a pair of arms as she can.
i have n't seen a prettier picture for some time than she made of herself this morning, up to the elbows in suds, singing like a blackbird whilst she scrubbed on the back stoop."
""well, i do think you are the queerest man that ever lived!"
was all rose could find to say after this display of bad taste.
""i have n't begun to show you my oddities yet, so you must make up your mind to worse shocks than this," he said, with such a whimsical look that she was glad the sound of a bell prevented her showing more plainly what a blow her little vanities had already received.
""you will find your box all open up in auntie's parlor, and there you can amuse her and yourself by rummaging to your heart's content; i've got to be cruising round all the morning getting my room to rights," said dr. alec, as they rose from breakfast.
""ca n't i help you, uncle?"
asked rose, quite burning to be useful.
""no, thank you, i'm going to borrow phebe for a while, if aunt plenty can spare her."
""anybody anything, alec.
you will want me, i know, so i'll give orders about dinner and be all ready to lend a hand"; and the old lady bustled away full of interest and good-will.
""uncle will find that i can do some things that phebe ca n't, so now!"
thought rose, with a toss of the head as she flew to aunt peace and the long-desired box.
every little girl can easily imagine what an extra good time she had diving into a sea of treasures and fishing up one pretty thing after another, till the air was full of the mingled odours of musk and sandalwood, the room gay with bright colours, and rose in a rapture of delight.
she began to forgive dr. alec for the oatmeal diet when she saw a lovely ivory workbox; became resigned to the state of her belt when she found a pile of rainbow-coloured sashes; and when she came to some distractingly pretty bottles of attar of rose, she felt that they almost atoned for the great sin of thinking phebe the finer girl of the two.
dr. alec meanwhile had apparently taken aunt plenty at her word, and was turning the house upside down.
a general revolution was evidently going on in the green-room, for the dark damask curtains were seen bundling away in phebe's arms; the air-tight stove retiring to the cellar on ben's shoulder; and the great bedstead going up garret in a fragmentary state, escorted by three bearers.
aunt plenty was constantly on the trot among her store-rooms, camphor-chests, and linen-closets, looking as if the new order of things both amazed and amused her.
half the peculiar performances of dr. alec can not be revealed; but as rose glanced up from her box now and then she caught glimpses of him striding by, bearing a bamboo chair, a pair of ancient andirons, a queer japanese screen, a rug or two, and finally a large bathing-pan upon his head.
""what a curious room it will be," she said, as she sat resting and refreshing herself with "lumps of delight," all the way from cairo.
""i fancy you will like it, deary," answered aunt peace, looking up with a smile from some pretty trifle she was making with blue silk and white muslin.
rose did not see the smile, for just at that moment her uncle paused at the door, and she sprang up to dance before him, saying, with a face full of childish happiness, "look at me!
look at me!
i'm splendid i do n't know myself.
i have n't put these things on right, i dare say, but i do like them so much!"
""you look as gay as a parrot in your fez and cabaja, and it does my heart good to see the little black shadow turned into a rainbow," said uncle alec, surveying the bright figure before him with great approbation.
he did not say it, but he thought she made a much prettier picture than phebe at the wash-tub, for she had stuck a purple fez on her blonde head, tied several brilliant scarfs about her waist, and put on a truly gorgeous scarlet jacket with a golden sun embroidered on the back, a silver moon on the front, and stars of all sizes on the sleeves.
a pair of turkish slippers adorned her feet, and necklaces of amber, coral, and filigree hung about her neck, while one hand held a smelling-bottle, and the other the spicy box of oriental sweetmeats.
""i feel like a girl in the "arabian nights," and expect to find a magic carpet or a wonderful talisman somewhere.
only i do n't see how i ever can thank you for all these lovely things," she said, stopping her dance, as if suddenly oppressed with gratitude.
""i'll tell you how by leaving off the black clothes, that never should have been kept so long on such a child, and wearing the gay ones i've brought.
it will do your spirits good, and cheer up this sober old house.
wo n't it, auntie?"
""i think you are right, alec, and it is fortunate that we have not begun on her spring clothes yet, for myra thought she ought not to wear anything brighter than violet, and she is too pale for that."
""you just let me direct miss hemming how to make some of these things.
you will be surprised to see how much i know about piping hems and gathering arm-holes and shirring biases," began dr. alec, patting a pile of muslin, cloth and silk with a knowing air.
aunt peace and rose laughed so that he could not display his knowledge any farther, till they stopped, when he said good-naturedly, "that will go a great way toward filling out the belt, so laugh away, morgiana, and i'll go back to my work, or i never shall be done."
""i could n't help it, "shirred biases" were so very funny!"
rose said, as she turned to her box after the splendid laugh.
""but really, auntie," she added soberly, "i feel as if i ought not to have so many nice things.
i suppose it would n't do to give phebe some of them?
uncle might not like it."
""he would not mind; but they are not suitable for phebe.
some of the dresses you are done with would be more useful, if they can be made over to fit her," answered aunt peace in the prudent, moderate tone which is so trying to our feelings when we indulge in little fits of charitable enthusiasm.
""i'd rather give her new ones, for i think she is a little bit proud and might not like old things.
if she was my sister it would do, because sisters do n't mind, but she is n't, and that makes it bad, you see.
i know how i can manage beautifully; i'll adopt her!"
and rose looked quite radiant with this new idea.
""i'm afraid you could not do it legally till you are older, but you might see if she likes the plan, and at any rate you can be very kind to her, for in one sense we are all sisters, and should help one another."
the sweet old face looked at her so kindly that rose was fired with a desire to settle the matter at once, and rushed away to the kitchen, just as she was.
phebe was there, polishing up the antique andirons so busily that she started when a voice cried out: "smell that, taste this, and look at me!"
phebe sniffed attar of rose, crunched the "lump of delight" tucked into her mouth, and stared with all her eyes at little morgiana prancing about the room like a brilliant paroquet.
""my stars, ai n't you splendid!"
was all she could say, holding up two dusty hands.
""i've got heaps of lovely things upstairs, and i'll show them all to you, and i'd go halves, only auntie thinks they would n't be useful, so i shall give you something else; and you wo n't mind, will you?
because i want to adopt you as arabella was in the story.
wo n't that be nice?"
""why, miss rose, have you lost your wits?"
no wonder phebe asked, for rose talked very fast, and looked so odd in her new costume, and was so eager she could not stop to explain.
seeing phebe's bewilderment, she quieted down and said, with a pretty air of earnestness, "it is n't fair that i should have so much and you so little, and i want to be as good to you as if you were my sister, for aunt peace says we are all sisters really.
i thought if i adopted you as much as i can now, it would be nicer.
will you let me, please?"
to rose's great surprise, phebe sat down on the floor and hid her face in her apron for a minute without answering a word.
""oh, dear, now she's offended, and i do n't know what to do," thought rose, much discouraged by this reception of her offer.
""please, forgive me; i did n't mean to hurt your feelings, and hope you wo n't think --" she faltered presently, feeling that she must undo the mischief, if possible.
but phebe gave her another surprise, by dropping the apron and showing a face all smiles, in spite of tears in the eyes, as she put both arms round rose and said, with a laugh and sob, "i think you are the dearest girl in the world, and i'll let you do anything you like with me."
""then you do like the plan?
you did n't cry because i seemed to be kind of patronising?
i truly did n't mean to be," cried rose, delighted.
""i guess i do like it!
and cried because no one was ever so good to me before, and i could n't help it.
as for patronising, you may walk on me if you want to, and i wo n't mind," said phebe, in a burst of gratitude, for the words, "we are sisters" went straight to her lonely heart and nestled there.
""well, now, we can play i'm a good sprite out of the box, or, what is better, a fairy godmother come down the chimney, and you are cinderella, and must say what you want," said rose, trying to put the question delicately.
phebe understood that, for she had a good deal of natural refinement, though she did come from the poor-house.
""i do n't feel as if i wanted anything now, miss rose, but to find some way of thanking you for all you've done," she said, rubbing off a tear that went rolling down the bridge of her nose in the most unromantic way.
""why, i have n't done anything but given you a bit of candy!
here, have some more, and eat'em while you work, and think what i can do.
i must go and clear up, so good-bye, and do n't forget i've adopted you."
""you've given me sweeter things than candy, and i'm not likely to forget it."
and carefully wiping off the brick-dust, phebe pressed the little hand rose offered warmly in both her hard ones, while the black eyes followed the departing visitor with a grateful look that made them very soft and bright.
chapter 6 -- uncle alec's room soon after dinner, and before she had got acquainted with half her new possessions, dr. alec proposed a drive, to carry round the first instalment of gifts to the aunts and cousins.
rose was quite ready to go, being anxious to try a certain soft burnous from the box, which not only possessed a most engaging little hood, but had funny tassels bobbing in all directions.
the big carriage was full of parcels, and even ben's seat was loaded with indian war clubs, a chinese kite of immense size, and a pair of polished ox-horns from africa.
uncle alec, very blue as to his clothes, and very brown as to his face, sat bolt upright, surveying well known places with interest, while rose, feeling unusually elegant and comfortable, leaned back folded in her soft mantle, and played she was an eastern princess making a royal progress among her subjects.
at three of the places their calls were brief, for aunt myra's catarrh was unusually bad; aunt clara had a room full of company; and aunt jane showed such a tendency to discuss the population, productions, and politics of europe, asia and africa, that even dr. alec was dismayed, and got away as soon as possible.
""now we will have a good time!
i do hope the boys will be at home," said rose, with a sigh of relief, as they wound yet higher up the hill to aunt jessie's.
""i left this for the last call, so that we might find the lads just in from school.
yes, there is jamie on the gate watching for us; now you'll see the clan gather; they are always swarming about together."
the instant jamie saw the approaching guests he gave a shrill whistle, which was answered by echoes from meadow, house and barn, as the cousins came running from all directions, shouting, "hooray for uncle alec!"
they went at the carriage like highwaymen, robbed it of every parcel, took the occupants prisoners, and marched them into the house with great exultation.
""little mum!
little mum!
here they are with lots of goodies!
come down and see the fun right away!
quick!"
bawled will and geordie amidst a general ripping off of papers and a reckless cutting of strings that soon turned the tidy room into a chaos.
down came aunt jessie with her pretty cap half on, but such a beaming face below it that one rather thought the fly-away head-gear an improvement than otherwise.
she had hardly time to greet rose and the doctor before the boys were about her, each clamouring for her to see his gift and rejoice over it with him, for "little mum" went halves in everything.
the great horns skirmished about her as if to toss her to the ceiling; the war clubs hurtled over her head as if to annihilate her; an amazing medley from the four quarters of the globe filled her lap, and seven excited boys all talked to her at once.
but she liked it; oh dear, yes!
and sat smiling, admiring, and explaining, quite untroubled by the din, which made rose cover up her ears and dr. alec threaten instant flight if the riot was not quelled.
that threat produced a lull, and while the uncle received thanks in one corner, the aunt had some little confidences made to her in the other.
""well, dear, and how are things going with you now?
better, i hope, than they were a week ago."
""aunt jessie, i think i'm going to be very happy, now uncle has come.
he does the queerest things, but he is so good to me i ca n't help loving him"; and, nestling closer to little mum, rose told all that had happened, ending with a rapturous account of the splendid box.
""i am very glad, dear.
but, rose, i must warn you of one thing; do n't let uncle spoil you."
""but i like to be spoilt, auntie."
""i do n't doubt it; but if you turn out badly when the year is over he will be blamed, and his experiment prove a failure.
that would be a pity, would n't it?
when he wants to do so much for you, and can do it if his kind heart does not get in the way of his good judgment."
""i never thought of that, and i'll try not to be spoilt.
but how can i help it?"
asked rose anxiously.
""by not complaining of the wholesome things he wants you to do; by giving him cheerful obedience as well as love; and even making some small sacrifices for his sake."
""i will, i truly will!
and when i get in a worry about things may i come to you?
uncle told me to, and i feel as if i should n't be afraid."
""you may, darling; this is the place where little troubles are best cured, and this is what mothers are for, i fancy"; and aunt jessie drew the curly head to her shoulder with a tender look that proved how well she knew what medicine the child most needed.
it was so sweet and comfortable that rose sat still enjoying it till a little voice said, "mamma, do n't you think pokey would like some of my shells?
rose gave phebe some of her nice things, and it was very good of her.
can i?"
""who is pokey?"
asked rose, popping up her head, attracted by the odd name.
""my dolly; do you want to see her?"
asked jamie, who had been much impressed by the tale of adoption he had overheard.
""yes; i'm fond of dollies, only do n't tell the boys, or they will laugh at me."
""they do n't laugh at me, and they play with my dolly a great deal; but she likes me best"; and jamie ran away to produce his pet.
""i brought my old doll, but i keep her hidden because i am too big to play with her, and yet i ca n't bear to throw her away, i'm so fond of her," said rose, continuing her confidences in a whisper.
""you can come and play with jamie's whenever you like, for we believe in dollies up here," began aunt jessie, smiling to herself as if something amused her.
just then jamie came back, and rose understood the smile, for his dolly proved to be a pretty four-year-old little girl, who trotted in as fast as her fat legs would carry her, and making straight for the shells, scrambled up an armful, saying, with a laugh that showed her little white teeth, "all for dimmy and me, for dimmy and me!"
""that's my dolly; is n't she a nice one?"
asked jamie, proudly surveying his pet with his hands behind him and his short legs rather far apart a manly attitude copied from his brothers.
""she is a dear dolly.
but why call her pokey?"
asked rose, charmed with the new plaything.
""she is such an inquisitive little body she is always poking that mite of a nose into everything; and as paul pry did not suit, the boys fell to calling her pokey.
not a pretty name, but very expressive."
it certainly was, for, having examined the shells, the busy tot laid hold of everything she could find, and continued her researches till archie caught her sucking his carved ivory chessmen to see if they were not barley sugar.
rice paper pictures were also discovered crumpled up in her tiny pocket, and she nearly smashed will's ostrich egg by trying to sit upon it.
""here, jim, take her away; she's worse than the puppies, and we ca n't have her round," commanded the elder brother, picking her up and handing her over to the little fellow, who received her with open arms and the warning remark, "you'd better mind what you do, for i'm going to "dopt pokey like rose did phebe, and then you'll have to be very good to her, you big fellows.""
"dopt away, baby, and i'll give you a cage to keep her in, or you wo n't have her long, for she is getting worse than a monkey"; and archie went back to his mates, while aunt jessie, foreseeing a crisis, proposed that jamie should take his dolly home, as she was borrowed, and it was time her visit ended.
""my dolly is better than yours, is n't she?
'cause she can walk and talk and sing and dance, and yours ca n't do anything, can she?"
asked jamie with pride, as he regarded his pokey, who just then had been moved to execute a funny little jig and warble the well-known couplet," "puss-tat, puss-tat, where you been?'"
i been lunnin, to saw a tween.""
after which superb display she retired, escorted by jamie, both making a fearful din blowing on conch shells.
""we must tear ourselves away, rose, because i want to get you home before sunset.
will you come for a drive, jessie?"
said dr. alec, as the music died away in the distance.
""no, thank you; but i see the boys want a scamper, so, if you do n't mind, they may escort you home, but not go in.
that is only allowed on holidays."
the words were hardly out of aunt jessie's mouth when archie said, in a tone of command, "pass the word, lads.
boot and saddle, and be quick about it."
""all right!"
and in a moment not a vestige of boy remained but the litter on the floor.
the cavalcade went down the hill at a pace that made rose cling to her uncle's arm, for the fat old horses got excited by the antics of the ponies careering all about them, and went as fast as they could pelt, with the gay dog-cart rattling in front, for archie and charlie scorned shelties since this magnificent equipage had been set up.
ben enjoyed the fun, and the lads cut up capers till rose declared that "circus" was the proper name for them after all.
when they reached the house they dismounted, and stood, three on each side the steps, in martial attitudes, while her ladyship was handed out with great elegance by uncle alec.
then the clan saluted, mounted at word of command, and with a wild whoop tore down the avenue in what they considered the true arab style.
""that was splendid, now it is safely ended," said rose, skipping up the steps with her head over her shoulder to watch the dear tassels bob about.
""i shall get you a pony as soon as you are a little stronger," said dr. alec, watching her with a smile.
""oh, i could n't ride one of those horrid, frisky little beasts!
they roll their eyes and bounce about so, i should die of fright," cried rose, clasping her hands tragically.
""are you a coward?"
""about horses i am."
""never mind, then; come and see my new room"; and he led the way upstairs without another word.
as rose followed she remembered her promise to aunt jessie, and was sorry she had objected so decidedly.
she was a great deal more sorry five minutes later, and well she might be.
""now, take a good look, and tell me what you think of it," said dr. alec, opening the door and letting her enter before him, while phebe was seen whisking down the backstairs with a dust-pan.
rose walked to the middle of the room, stood still, and gazed about her with eyes that brightened as they looked, for all was changed.
this chamber had been built out over the library to suit some fancy, and had been unused for years, except at christmas times, when the old house overflowed.
it had three windows one to the east, that overlooked the bay; one to the south, where the horse-chestnuts waved their green fans; and one to the west, towards the hill and the evening sky.
a ruddy sunset burned there now, filling the room with an enchanted glow; the soft murmur of the sea was heard, and a robin chirped "good-night!"
among the budding trees.
rose saw and heard these things first, and felt their beauty with a child's quick instinct; then her eye took in the altered aspect of the room, once so shrouded, still and solitary, now so full of light and warmth and simple luxury.
india matting covered the floor, with a gay rug here and there; the antique andirons shone on the wide hearth, where a cheery blaze dispelled the dampness of the long-closed room.
bamboo lounges and chairs stood about, and quaint little tables in cosy corners; one bearing a pretty basket, one a desk, and on a third lay several familiar-looking books.
in a recess stood a narrow white bed, with a lovely madonna hanging over it.
the japanese screen half-folded back showed a delicate toilet service of blue and white set forth on a marble slab, and near by was the great bath-pan, with turkish towels and a sponge as big as rose's head.
""uncle must love cold water like a duck," she thought, with a shiver.
then her eye went on to the tall cabinet, where a half-open door revealed a tempting array of the drawers, shelves and "cubby holes," which so delight the hearts of children.
""what a grand place for my new things," she thought, wondering what her uncle kept in that cedar retreat.
""oh me, what a sweet toilet table!"
was her next mental exclamation, as she approached this inviting spot.
a round old-fashioned mirror hung over it, with a gilt eagle a-top, holding in his beak the knot of blue ribbon that tied up a curtain of muslin falling on either side of the table, where appeared little ivory-handled brushes, two slender silver candle-sticks, a porcelain match-box, several pretty trays for small matters, and, most imposing of all, a plump blue silk cushion, coquettishly trimmed with lace, and pink rose-buds at the corners.
that cushion rather astonished rose; in fact, the whole table did, and she was just thinking, with a sly smile, "uncle is a dandy, but i never should have guessed it," when he opened the door of a large closet, saying, with a careless wave of the hand, "men like plenty of room for their rattle-traps; do n't you think that ought to satisfy me?"
rose peeped in and gave a start, though all she saw was what one usually finds in closets clothes and boots, boxes and bags.
ah!
but you see these clothes were small black and white frocks; the row of little boots that stood below had never been on dr. alec's feet; the green bandbox had a gray veil straying out of it, and yes!
the bag hanging on the door was certainly her own piece-bag, with a hole in one corner.
she gave a quick look round the room and understood now why it had seemed too dainty for a man, why her testament and prayer book were on the table by the bed, and what those rose-buds meant on the blue cushion.
it came upon her in one delicious burst that this little paradise was all for her, and, not knowing how else to express her gratitude, she caught dr. alec round the neck, saying impetuously, "o uncle, you are too good to me!
i'll do anything you ask me; ride wild horses and take freezing baths and eat bad-tasting messes, and let my clothes hang on me, to show how much i thank you for this dear, sweet, lovely room!"
""you like it, then?
but why do you think it is yours, my lass?"
asked dr. alec, as he sat down looking well pleased, and drew his excited little niece to his knee.
""i do n't think, i know it is for me; i see it in your face, and i feel as if i did n't half deserve it.
aunt jessie said you would spoil me, and i must not let you.
i'm afraid this looks like it, and perhaps oh me!
perhaps i ought not to have this beautiful room after all!"
and rose tried to look as if she could be heroic enough to give it up if it was best.
""i owe mrs. jessie one for that," said dr. alec, trying to frown, though in his secret soul he felt that she was quite right.
then he smiled that cordial smile, which was like sunshine on his brown face, as he said, "this is part of the cure, rose, and i put you here that you might take my three great remedies in the best and easiest way.
plenty of sun, fresh air, and cold water; also cheerful surroundings, and some work; for phebe is to show you how to take care of this room, and be your little maid as well as friend and teacher.
does that sound hard and disagreeable to you, dear?"
""no, sir; very, very pleasant, and i'll do my best to be a good patient.
but i really do n't think anyone could be sick in this delightful room," she said, with a long sigh of happiness as her eye went from one pleasant object to another.
""then you like my sort of medicine better than aunt myra's, and do n't want to throw it out of the window, hey?"
chapter 7 -- a trip to china "come, little girl, i've got another dose for you.
i fancy you wo n't take it as well as you did the last, but you will like it better after a while," said dr. alec, about a week after the grand surprise.
rose was sitting in her pretty room, where she would gladly have spent all her time if it had been allowed; but she looked up with a smile, for she had ceased to fear her uncle's remedies, and was always ready to try a new one.
the last had been a set of light gardening tools, with which she had helped him put the flower-beds in order, learning all sorts of new and pleasant things about the plants as she worked, for, though she had studied botany at school, it seemed very dry stuff compared with uncle alec's lively lesson.
""what is it now?"
she asked, shutting her work-box without a murmur.
""salt-water."
""how must i take it?"
""put on the new suit miss hemming sent home yesterday, and come down to the beach; then i'll show you."
""yes, sir," answered rose obediently, adding to herself, with a shiver, as he went off: "it is too early for bathing, so i know it is something to do with a dreadful boat."
putting on the new suit of blue flannel, prettily trimmed with white, and the little sailor-hat with long streamers, diverted her mind from the approaching trial, till a shrill whistle reminded her that her uncle was waiting.
away she ran through the garden, down the sandy path, out upon the strip of beach that belonged to the house, and here she found dr. alec busy with a slender red and white boat that lay rocking on the rising tide.
""that is a dear little boat; and "bonnie belle" is a pretty name," she said, trying not to show how nervous she felt.
""it is for you; so sit in the stern and learn to steer, till you are ready to learn to row."
""do all boats wiggle about in that way?"
she asked, lingering as if to tie her hat more firmly.
""oh, yes, pitch about like nutshells when the sea is a bit rough," answered her sailor uncle, never guessing her secret woe.
""is it rough to-day?"
""not very; it looks a trifle squally to the eastward, but we are all right till the wind changes.
come."
""can you swim, uncle?"
asked rose, clutching at his arm as he took her hand.
""like a fish.
now then."
""oh, please hold me very tight till i get there!
why do you have the stern so far away?"
and, stifling several squeaks of alarm in her passage, rose crept to the distant seat, and sat there holding on with both hands and looking as if she expected every wave to bring a sudden shipwreck.
uncle alec took no notice of her fear, but patiently instructed her in the art of steering, till she was so absorbed in remembering which was starboard and which larboard, that she forgot to say "ow!"
every time a big wave slapped against the boat.
""now where shall we go?"
she asked, as the wind blew freshly in her face, and a few, long swift strokes sent them half across the little bay.
""suppose we go to china?"
""is n't that rather a long voyage?"
""not as i go.
steer round the point into the harbour, and i'll give you a glimpse of china in twenty minutes or so."
""i should like that!"
and rose sat wondering what he meant, while she enjoyed the new sights all about her.
behind them the green aunt-hill sloped gently upward to the grove at the top, and all along the seaward side stood familiar houses, stately, cosy, or picturesque.
as they rounded the point, the great bay opened before them full of shipping, and the city lay beyond, its spires rising above the tall masts with their gay streamers.
""are we going there?"
she asked, for she had never seen this aspect of the rich and busy old city before.
""yes.
uncle mac has a ship just in from hong kong, and i thought you would like to go and see it."
""oh, i should.
i love dearly to go poking about in the warehouses with uncle mac; everything is so curious and new to me; and i'm specially interested in china because you have been there."
""i'll show you two genuine chinamen who have just arrived.
you will like to welcome whang lo and fun see, i'm sure."
""do n't ask me to speak to them, uncle; i shall be sure to laugh at the odd names and the pig-tails and the slanting eyes.
please let me just trot round after you; i like that best."
""very well; now steer toward the wharf where the big ship with the queer flag is.
that's the "rajah," and we will go aboard if we can."
in among the ships they went, by the wharves where the water was green and still, and queer barnacles grew on the slippery piles.
odd smells saluted her nose, and odd sights met her eyes, but rose liked it all, and played she was really landing in hong kong when they glided up to the steps in the shadow of the tall "rajah."
boxes and bales were rising out of the hold and being carried into the warehouse by stout porters, who tugged and bawled and clattered about with small trucks, or worked cranes with iron claws that came down and clutched heavy weights, whisking them aloft to where wide doors like mouths swallowed them up.
dr. alec took her aboard the ship, and she had the satisfaction of poking her inquisitive little nose into every available corner, at the risk of being crushed, lost, or drowned.
""well, child, how would you like to take a voyage round the world with me in a jolly old craft like this?"
asked her uncle, as they rested a minute in the captain's cabin.
""i should like to see the world, but not in such a small, untidy, smelly place as this.
we would go in a yacht all clean and comfortable; charlie says that is the proper way," answered rose, surveying the close quarters with little favour.
""you are not a true campbell if you do n't like the smell of tar and salt-water, nor charlie either, with his luxurious yacht.
now come ashore and chin-chin with the celestials."
after a delightful progress through the great warehouse, peeping and picking as they went, they found uncle mac and the yellow gentlemen in his private room, where samples, gifts, curiosities, and newly arrived treasures of all sorts were piled up in pleasing pro-fusion and con-fusion.
as soon as possible rose retired to a corner, with a porcelain god on one side, a green dragon on the other, and, what was still more embarrassing, fun see sat on a tea-chest in front, and stared at her with his beady black eyes till she did not know where to look.
mr. whang lo was an elderly gentleman in american costume, with his pig-tail neatly wound round his head.
he spoke english, and was talking busily with uncle mac in the most commonplace way so rose considered him a failure.
but fun see was delightfully chinese from his junk-like shoes to the button on his pagoda hat; for he had got himself up in style, and was a mass of silk jackets and slouchy trousers.
he was short and fat, and waddled comically; his eyes were very "slanting," as rose said; his queue was long, so were his nails; his yellow face was plump and shiny, and he was altogether a highly satisfactory chinaman.
uncle alec told her that fun see had come out to be educated and could only speak a little pigeon english; so she must be kind to the poor fellow, for he was only a lad, though he looked nearly as old as mr. whang lo.
rose said she would be kind; but had not the least idea how to entertain the queer guest, who looked as if he had walked out of one of the rice-paper landscapes on the wall, and sat nodding at her so like a toy mandarin that she could hardly keep sober.
in the midst of her polite perplexity, uncle mac saw the two young people gazing wistfully at one another, and seemed to enjoy the joke of this making acquaintance under difficulties.
taking a box from his table, he gave it to fun see, with an order that seemed to please him very much.
descending from his perch, he fell to unpacking it with great neatness and despatch, while rose watched him, wondering what was going to happen.
presently, out from the wrappings came a teapot, which caused her to clasp her hands with delight, for it was made in the likeness of a plump little chinaman.
his hat was the cover, his queue the handle, and his pipe the nose.
it stood upon feet in shoes turned up at the toes, and the smile on the fat, sleepy face was so like that on fun's when he displayed the teapot, that rose could n't help laughing, which pleased him much.
two pretty cups with covers, and a fine scarlet tray completed the set, and made one long to have a "dish of tea," even in chinese style, without cream or sugar.
when he had arranged them on a little table before her, fun signified in pantomime that they were hers, from her uncle.
she returned her thanks in the same way, whereupon he returned to his tea-chest, and, having no other means of communication, they sat smiling and nodding at one another in an absurd sort of way till a new idea seemed to strike fun.
tumbling off his seat, he waddled away as fast as his petticoats permitted, leaving rose hoping that he had not gone to get a roasted rat, a stewed puppy, or any other foreign mess which civility would oblige her to eat.
while she waited for her funny new friend, she improved her mind in a way that would have charmed aunt jane.
the gentlemen were talking over all sorts of things, and she listened attentively, storing up much of what she heard, for she had an excellent memory, and longed to distinguish herself by being able to produce some useful information when reproached with her ignorance.
she was just trying to impress upon her mind that amoy was two hundred and eighty miles from hong kong, when fun came scuffling back, bearing what she thought was a small sword, till he unfurled an immense fan, and presented it with a string of chinese compliments, the meaning of which would have amused her even more than the sound, if she could have understood it.
she had never seen such an astonishing fan, and at once became absorbed in examining it.
of course, there was no perspective whatever, which only gave it a peculiar charm to rose, for in one place a lovely lady, with blue knitting-needles in her hair, sat directly upon the spire of a stately pagoda.
in another charming view a brook appeared to flow in at the front door of a stout gentleman's house, and out at his chimney.
in a third a zig-zag wall went up into the sky like a flash of lightning, and a bird with two tails was apparently brooding over a fisherman whose boat was just going aground upon the moon.
it was altogether a fascinating thing, and she would have sat wafting it to and fro all the afternoon, to fun's great satisfaction, if dr. alec's attention had not suddenly been called to her by a breeze from the big fan that blew his hair into his eyes, and reminded him that they must go.
so the pretty china was repacked, rose furled her fan, and with several parcels of choice teas for the old ladies stowed away in dr. alec's pockets, they took their leave, after fun had saluted them with "the three bendings and the nine knockings," as they salute the emperor, or "son of heaven," at home.
""i feel as if i had really been to china, and i'm sure i look so," said rose, as they glided out of the shadow of the "rajah."
she certainly did, for mr. whang lo had given her a chinese umbrella; uncle alec had got some lanterns to light up her balcony; the great fan lay in her lap, and the tea-set reposed at her feet.
""this is not a bad way to study geography, is it?"
asked her uncle, who had observed her attention to the talk.
""it is a very pleasant way, and i really think i have learned more about china to-day than in all the lessons i had at school, though i used to rattle off the answers as fast as i could go.
no one explained anything to us, so all i remember is that tea and silk come from there, and the women have little bits of feet.
i saw fun looking at mine, and he must have thought them perfectly immense," answered rose, surveying her stout boots with sudden contempt.
""we will have out the maps and the globe, and i'll show you some of my journeys, telling stories as we go.
that will be next best to doing it actually."
""you are so fond of travelling, i should think it would be very dull for you here, uncle.
do you know, aunt plenty says she is sure you will be off in a year or two."
""very likely."
""oh, me!
what shall i do then?"
sighed rose, in a tone of despair that made uncle alec's face brighten with a look of genuine pleasure as he said significantly, "next time i go i shall take my little anchor with me.
how will that suit?"
""really, uncle?"
""really, niece."
rose gave a little bounce of rapture which caused the boat to "wiggle" in a way that speedily quieted her down.
but she sat beaming joyfully and trying to think which of some hundred questions she would ask first, when dr. alec said, pointing to a boat that was coming up behind them in great style, "how well those fellows row!
look at them, and take notes for your own use by and by."
the "stormy petrel" was manned by half a dozen jaunty looking sailors, who made a fine display of blue shirts and shiny hats, with stars and anchors in every direction.
""how beautifully they go, and they are only boys.
why, i do believe they are our boys!
yes, i see charlie laughing over his shoulder.
row, uncle, row!
oh, please do, and not let them catch up with us!"
cried rose, in such a state of excitement that the new umbrella nearly went overboard.
""all right, here we go!"
and away they did go with a long steady sweep of the oars that carried the "bonnie belle" through the water with a rush.
the lads pulled their prettiest, but dr. alec would have reached the point first, if rose, in her flurry, had not retarded him by jerking the rudder ropes in a most unseamanlike way, and just as she got right again her hat blew off.
that put an end to the race, and while they were still fishing for the hat the other boat came alongside, with all the oars in the air, and the jolly young tars ready for a frolic.
""did you catch a crab, uncle?"
""no, a blue-fish," he answered, as the dripping hat was landed on a seat to dry.
""what have you been doing?"
""seeing fun."
""good for you, rose!
i know what you mean.
we are going to have him up to show us how to fly the big kite, for we ca n't get the hang of it.
is n't he great fun, though?"
""no, little fun."
""come, stop joking, and show us what you've got."
""you'd better hoist that fan for a sail."
""lend dandy your umbrella; he hates to burn his pretty nose."
""i say, uncle, are you going to have a feast of lanterns?"
""no, i'm going to have a feast of bread and butter, for it's tea-time.
if that black cloud does n't lie, we shall have a gust before long, so you had better get home as soon as you can, or your mother will be anxious, archie."
""ay, ay, skipper.
good-night, rose; come out often, and we'll teach you all there is to know about rowing," was charlie's modest invitation.
then the boats parted company, and across the water from the "petrel's" crew came a verse from one of the nonsense songs in which the boys delighted.
""oh, timballoo!
how happy we are, we live in a sieve and a crockery jar!
and all night long, in the starlight pale, we sail away, with a pea-green sail, and whistle and warble a moony song to the echoing sound of a coppery gong.
far and few, far and few are the lands where the jumblies live; their heads are green, and their hands are blue, and they went to sea in a sieve."
chapter 8 -- and what came of it "uncle, could you lend me a ninepence?
i'll return it as soon as i get my pocket-money," said rose, coming into the library in a great hurry that evening.
""i think i could, and i wo n't charge any interest for it, so you need not be in any hurry to repay me.
come back here and help me settle these books if you have nothing pleasanter to do," answered dr. alec, handing out the money with that readiness which is so delightful when we ask small loans.
""i'll come in a minute; i've been longing to fix my books, but did n't dare to touch them, because you always shake your head when i read."
""i shall shake my head when you write, if you do n't do it better than you did in making out this catalogue."
""i know it's bad, but i was in a hurry when i did it, and i am in one now."
and away went rose, glad to escape a lecture.
but she got it when she came back, for uncle alec was still knitting his brows over the list of books, and sternly demanded, pointing to a tipsy-looking title staggering down the page, "is that meant for "pulverized bones," ma'am?"
""no, sir; it's "paradise lost.""
""well, i'm glad to know it, for i began to think you were planning to study surgery or farming.
and what is this, if you please?
"babies" aprons" is all i can make of it."
rose looked hard at the scrawl, and presently announced, with an air of superior wisdom, "oh, that's "bacon's essays.""
""miss power did not teach anything so old-fashioned as writing, i see.
now look at this memorandum aunt plenty gave me, and see what a handsome plain hand that is.
she went to a dame-school and learnt a few useful things well; that is better than a smattering of half a dozen so-called higher branches, i take the liberty of thinking."
""well, i'm sure i was considered a bright girl at school, and learned everything i was taught.
luly and me were the first in all our classes, and "specially praised for our french and music and those sort of things," said rose, rather offended at uncle alec's criticism.
""i dare say; but if your french grammar was no better than your english, i think the praise was not deserved, my dear."
""why, uncle, we did study english grammar, and i could parse beautifully.
miss power used to have us up to show off when people came.
i do n't see but i talk as right as most girls."
""i dare say you do, but we are all too careless about our english.
now, think a minute, and tell me if these expressions are correct "luly and me," "those sort of things," and "as right as most girls.""
rose pulled her pet curl and put up her lip, but had to own that she was wrong, and said meekly, after a pause which threatened to be sulky, "i suppose i should have said "luly and i," in that case, and "that sort of things" and "rightly," though "correctly" would have been a better word, i guess."
""thank you; and if you will kindly drop" i guess," i shall like my little yankee all the better.
now, see here, rosy, i do n't pretend to set myself up for a model in anything, and you may come down on my grammar, manners or morals as often as you think i'm wrong, and i'll thank you.
i've been knocking about the world for years, and have got careless, but i want my girl to be what i call well-educated, even if she studies nothing but the three "rs" for a year to come.
let us be thorough, no matter how slowly we go."
he spoke so earnestly and looked so sorry to have ruffled her that rose went and sat on the arm of his chair, saying, with a pretty air of penitence, "i'm sorry i was cross, uncle, when i ought to thank you for taking so much interest in me.
i guess no, i think you are right about being thorough, for i used to understand a great deal better when papa taught me a few lessons than when miss power hurried me through so many.
i declare my head used to be such a jumble of french and german, history and arithmetic, grammar and music, i used to feel sometimes as if it would split.
i'm sure i do n't wonder it ached."
and she held on to it as if the mere memory of the "jumble" made it swim.
""yet that is considered an excellent school, i find, and i dare say it would be if the benighted lady did not think it necessary to cram her pupils like thanks-giving turkeys, instead of feeding them in a natural and wholesome way.
it is the fault with most american schools, and the poor little heads will go on aching till we learn better."
this was one of dr. alec's hobbies, and rose was afraid he was off for a gallop, but he reined himself in and gave her thoughts a new turn by saying suddenly, as he pulled out a fat pocket-book, "uncle mac has put all your affairs into my hands now, and here is your month's pocket money.
you keep your own little accounts, i suppose?"
""thank you.
yes, uncle mac gave me an account book when i went to school, and i used to put down my expenses, but i could n't make them go very well, for figures are the one thing i am not at all clever about," said rose, rummaging in her desk for a dilapidated little book, which she was ashamed to show when she found it.
""well, as figures are rather important things to most of us, and you may have a good many accounts to keep some day, would n't it be wise to begin at once and learn to manage your pennies before the pounds come to perplex you?"
""i thought you would do all that fussy part and take care of the pounds, as you call them.
need i worry about it?
i do hate sums, so!"
""i shall take care of things till you are of age, but i mean that you shall know how your property is managed, and do as much of it as you can by and by; then you wo n't be dependent on the honesty of other people."
""gracious me!
as if i would n't trust you with millions of billions if i had them," cried rose, scandalised at the mere suggestion.
""ah, but i might be tempted; guardians are sometimes; so you'd better keep your eye on me, and in order to do that you must learn all about these affairs," answered dr. alec, as he made an entry in his own very neat account-book.
rose peeped over his shoulder at it, and then turned to the arithmetical puzzle in her hand with a sigh of despair.
""uncle, when you add up your expenses do you ever find you have got more money than you had in the beginning?"
""no; i usually find that i have a good deal less than i had in the beginning.
are you troubled in the peculiar way you mention?"
""yes; it is very curious, but i never can make things come out square."
""perhaps i can help you," began uncle alec, in the most respectful tone.
""i think you had better, for if i have got to keep accounts i may as well begin in the right way.
but please do n't laugh!
i know i'm very stupid, and my book is a disgrace, but i never could get it straight."
and with great trepidation, rose gave up her funny little accounts.
it really was good in dr. alec not to laugh, and rose felt deeply grateful when he said in a mildly suggestive tone, "the dollars and cents seem to be rather mixed, perhaps if i just straightened them out a bit we should find things all right."
""please do, and then show me on a fresh leaf how to make mine look nice and ship-shape as yours do."
as rose stood by him watching the ease with which he quickly brought order out of chaos, she privately resolved to hunt up her old arithmetic and perfect herself in the four first rules, with a good tug at fractions, before she read any more fairy tales.
""am i a rich girl, uncle?"
she asked suddenly, as he was copying a column of figures.
""rather a poor one, i should say, since you had to borrow a ninepence."
""that was your fault, because you forgot my pocket-money.
but, really, shall i be rich by and by?"
""i am afraid you will."
""why afraid, uncle?"
""too much money is a bad thing."
""but i can give it away, you know; that is always the pleasantest part of having it i think."
""i'm glad you feel so, for you can do much good with your fortune if you know how to use it well."
""you shall teach me, and when i am a woman we will set up a school where nothing but the three r's shall be taught, and all the children live on oatmeal, and the girls have waists a yard round," said rose, with a sudden saucy smile dimpling her cheeks.
""you are an impertinent little baggage, to turn on me in that way right in the midst of my first attempt at teaching.
never mind, i'll have an extra bitter dose for you next time, miss."
""i knew you wanted to laugh, so i gave you a chance.
now, i will be good, master, and do my lesson nicely."
so dr. alec had his laugh, and then rose sat down and took a lesson in accounts which she never forgot.
""now come and read aloud to me; my eyes are tired, and it is pleasant to sit here by the fire while the rain pours outside and aunt jane lectures upstairs," said uncle alec, when last month's accounts had been put in good order and a fresh page neatly begun.
rose liked to read aloud, and gladly gave him the chapter in "nicholas nickleby" where the miss kenwigses take their french lesson.
she did her very best, feeling that she was being criticised, and hoping that she might not be found wanting in this as in other things.
""shall i go on, sir?"
she asked very meekly, when the chapter ended.
""if you are not tired, dear.
it is a pleasure to hear you, for you read remarkably well," was the answer that filled her heart with pride and pleasure.
""do you really think so, uncle?
i'm so glad!
papa taught me, and i read for hours to him, but i thought perhaps, he liked it because he was fond of me."
""so am i; but you really do read unusually well, and i'm very glad of it, for it is a rare accomplishment, and one i value highly.
come here in this cosy, low chair; the light is better, and i can pull these curls if you go too fast.
i see you are going to be a great comfort as well as a great credit to your old uncle, rosy."
and dr. alec drew her close beside him with such a fatherly look and tone that she felt it would be very easy to love and obey him, since he knew how to mix praise and blame so pleasantly together.
another chapter was just finished, when the sound of a carriage warned them that aunt jane was about to depart.
before they could go to meet her, however, she appeared in the doorway looking like an unusually tall mummy in her waterproof, with her glasses shining like cat's eyes from the depths of the hood.
""just as i thought!
petting that child to death and letting her sit up late reading trash.
i do hope you feel the weight of the responsibility you have taken upon yourself, alec," she said, with a certain grim sort of satisfaction at seeing things go wrong.
""i think i have a very realising sense of it, sister jane," answered dr. alec, with a comical shrug of the shoulders and a glance at rose's bright face.
""it is sad to see a great girl wasting these precious hours so.
now, my boys have studied all day, and mac is still at his books, i've no doubt, while you have not had a lesson since you came, i suspect."
""i've had five to-day, ma'am," was rose's very unexpected answer.
""i'm glad to hear it; and what were they, pray?"
rose looked very demure as she replied, "navigation, geography, grammar, arithmetic, and keeping my temper."
""queer lessons, i fancy; and what have you learned from this remarkable mixture, i should like to know?"
a naughty sparkle came into rose's eyes as she answered, with a droll look at her uncle, "i ca n't tell you all, ma'am, but i have collected some useful information about china, which you may like, especially the teas.
the best are lapsing souchong, assam pekoe, rare ankoe, flowery pekoe, howqua's mixture, scented caper, padral tea, black congou, and green twankey.
shanghai is on the woosung river.
hong kong means "island of sweet waters."
singapore is "lion's town."
"chops" are the boats they live in; and they drink tea out of little saucers.
principal productions are porcelain, tea, cinnamon, shawls, tin, tamarinds and opium.
they have beautiful temples and queer gods; and in canton is the dwelling of the holy pigs, fourteen of them, very big, and all blind."
the effect of this remarkable burst was immense, especially the fact last mentioned.
it entirely took the wind out of aunt jane's sails; it was so sudden, so varied and unexpected, that she had not a word to say.
the glasses remained fixed full upon rose for a moment, and then, with a hasty "oh, indeed!"
the excellent lady bundled into her carriage and drove away, somewhat bewildered and very much disturbed.
she would have been more so if she had seen her reprehensible brother-in-law dancing a triumphal polka down the hall with rose in honour of having silenced the enemy's battery for once.
chapter 9 -- phebe's secret "why do you keep smiling to yourself, phebe?"
asked rose, as they were working together one morning, for dr. alec considered house-work the best sort of gymnastics for girls; so rose took lessons of phebe in sweeping, dusting and bed-making.
""i was thinking about a nice little secret i know, and could n't help smiling."
""shall i know it, sometime?"
""guess you will."
""shall i like it?"
""oh, wo n't you, though!"
""will it happen soon?"
""sometime this week."
""i know what it is!
the boys are going to have fireworks on the fourth, and have got some surprise for me.
have n't they?"
""that's telling."
""well, i can wait; only tell me one thing is uncle in it?"
""of course he is; there's never any fun without him."
""then it's all right, and sure to be nice."
rose went out on the balcony to shake the rugs, and, having given them a vigorous beating, hung them on the balustrade to air, while she took a look at her plants.
several tall vases and jars stood there, and a month of june sun and rain had worked wonders with the seeds and slips she had planted.
morning-glories and nasturtiums ran all over the bars, making haste to bloom.
scarlet beans and honeysuckles were climbing up from below to meet their pretty neighbours, and the woodbine was hanging its green festoons wherever it could cling.
the waters of the bay were dancing in the sunshine, a fresh wind stirred the chestnut-trees with a pleasant sound, and the garden below was full of roses, butterflies and bees.
a great chirping and twittering went on among the birds, busy with their summer house-keeping, and, far away, the white-winged gulls were dipping and diving in the sea, where ships, like larger birds, went sailing to and fro.
""oh, phebe, it's such a lovely day, i do wish your fine secret was going to happen right away!
i feel just like having a good time; do n't you?"
said rose, waving her arms as if she was going to fly.
""i often feel that way, but i have to wait for my good times, and do n't stop working to wish for'em.
there, now you can finish as soon as the dust settles; i must go do my stairs," and phebe trudged away with the broom, singing as she went.
rose leaned where she was, and fell to thinking how many good times she had had lately, for the gardening had prospered finely, and she was learning to swim and row, and there were drives and walks, and quiet hours of reading and talk with uncle alec, and, best of all, the old pain and ennui seldom troubled her now.
she could work and play all day, sleep sweetly all night, and enjoy life with the zest of a healthy, happy child.
she was far from being as strong and hearty as phebe, but she was getting on; the once pale cheeks had colour in them now, the hands were growing plump and brown, and the belt was not much too loose.
no one talked to her about her health, and she forgot that she had "no constitution."
she took no medicine but dr. alec's three great remedies, and they seemed to suit her excellently.
aunt plenty said it was the pills; but, as no second batch had ever followed the first, i think the old lady was mistaken.
rose looked worthy of her name as she stood smiling to herself over a happier secret than any phebe had a secret which she did not know herself till she found out, some years later, the magic of good health."
"look only," said the brownie, "at the pretty gown of blue, at the kerchief pinned about her head, and at her little shoe,"" said a voice from below, as a great cabbage-rose came flying against her cheek.
""what is the princess dreaming about up there in her hanging-garden?"
added dr. alec as she flung back a morning-glory.
""i was wishing i could do something pleasant this fine day; something very new and interesting, for the wind makes me feel frisky and gay."
""suppose we take a pull over to the island?
i intended to go this afternoon; but if you feel more like it now, we can be off at once."
""i do!
i do!
i'll come in fifteen minutes, uncle.
i must just scrabble my room to rights, for phebe has got a great deal to do."
rose caught up the rugs and vanished as she spoke, while dr. alec went in, saying to himself, with an indulgent smile, "it may upset things a trifle, but half a child's pleasure consists in having their fun when they want it."
never did duster flap more briskly than the one rose used that day, and never was a room "scrabbled" to rights in such haste as hers.
tables and chairs flew into their places as if alive; curtains shook as if a gale was blowing; china rattled and small articles tumbled about as if a young earthquake was playing with them.
the boating suit went on in a twinkling, and rose was off with a hop and a skip, little dreaming how many hours it would be before she saw her pretty room again.
uncle alec was putting a large basket into the boat when she arrived, and before they were off phebe came running down with a queer, knobby bundle done up in a water-proof.
""we ca n't eat half that luncheon, and i know we shall not need so many wraps.
i would n't lumber the boat up so," said rose, who still had secret scares when on the water.
""could n't you make a smaller parcel, phebe?"
asked dr. alec, eyeing the bundle suspiciously.
""no, sir, not in such a hurry," and phebe laughed as she gave a particularly large knob a good poke.
""well, it will do for ballast.
do n't forget the note to mrs. jessie, i beg of you."
""no, sir.
i'll send it right off," and phebe ran up the bank as if she had wings to her feet.
""we'll take a look at the lighthouse first, for you have not been there yet, and it is worth seeing.
by the time we have done that it will be pretty warm, and we will have lunch under the trees on the island."
rose was ready for anything, and enjoyed her visit to the lighthouse on the point very much, especially climbing up the narrow stairs and going inside the great lantern.
they made a long stay, for dr. alec seemed in no hurry to go, and kept looking through his spy-glass as if he expected to discover something remarkable on sea or land.
it was past twelve before they reached the island, and rose was ready for her lunch long before she got it.
""now this is lovely!
i do wish the boys were here.
wo n't it be nice to have them with us all their vacation?
why, it begins to-day, does n't it?
oh, i wish i'd remembered it sooner, and perhaps they would have come with us," she said, as they lay luxuriously eating sandwiches under the old apple-tree.
""so we might.
next time we wo n't be in such a hurry.
i expect the lads will take our heads off when they find us out," answered dr. alec, placidly drinking cold tea.
""uncle, i smell a frying sort of a smell," rose said, pausing suddenly as she was putting away the remains of the lunch half an hour later.
""so do i; it is fish, i think."
for a moment they both sat with their noses in the air, sniffing like hounds; then dr. alec sprang up, saying with great decision, "now, this wo n't do!
no one is permitted on this island without asking leave.
i must see who dares to fry fish on my private property."
taking the basket on one arm and the bundle on the other, he strode away towards the traitorous smell, looking as fierce as a lion, while rose marched behind under her umbrella.
""we are robinson crusoe and his man friday going to see if the savages have come," she said presently, for her fancy was full of the dear old stories that all children love so well.
""and there they are!
two tents and two boats, as i live!
these rascals mean to enjoy themselves, that's evident."
""there ought to be more boats and no tents.
i wonder where the prisoners are?"
""there are traces of them," and dr. alec pointed to the heads and tails of fishes strewn on the grass.
""and there are more," said rose, laughing, as she pointed to a scarlet heap of what looked like lobsters.
""the savages are probably eating their victims now; do n't you hear the knives rattle in that tent?"
""we ought to creep up and peep; crusoe was cautious, you know, and friday scared out of his wits," added rose, still keeping up the joke.
""but this crusoe is going to pounce upon them, regardless of consequences.
if i am killed and eaten, you seize the basket and run for the boat; there are provisions enough for your voyage home."
with that uncle alec slipped round to the front of the tent and, casting in the big bundle like a bomb-shell, roared out, in a voice of thunder, "pirates, surrender!"
a crash, a shout, a laugh, and out came the savages, brandishing knives and forks, chicken bones, and tin mugs, and all fell upon the intruder, pommelling him unmercifully as they cried, "you came too soon!
we are not half ready!
you've spoilt it all!
where is rose?"
""here i am," answered a half-stifled voice, and rose was discovered sitting on the pile of red flannel bathing clothes, which she had mistaken for lobsters, and where she had fallen in a fit of merriment when she discovered that the cannibals were her merry cousins.
""you good-for-nothing boys!
you are always bursting out upon me in some ridiculous way, and i always get taken in because i'm not used to such pranks.
uncle is as bad as the rest, and it's great fun," she said, as the lads came round her, half scolding, half welcoming, and wholly enjoying the double surprise.
""you were not to come till afternoon, and mamma was to be here to receive you.
everything is in a mess now, except your tent; we got that in order the first thing, and you can sit there and see us work," said archie, doing the honours as usual.
""rose felt it in her bones, as dolly says, that something was in the wind, and wanted to be off at once.
so i let her come, and should have kept her away an hour longer if your fish had not betrayed you," explained uncle alec, subsiding from a ferocious crusoe into his good-natured self again.
""as this seat is rather damp, i think i'll rise," said rose, as the excitement lessened a little.
several fishy hands helped her up, and charlie said, as he scattered the scarlet garments over the grass with an oar, "we had a jolly good swim before dinner, and i told the brats to spread these to dry.
hope you brought your things, rose, for you belong to the lobsters, you know, and we can have no end of fun teaching you to dive and float and tread water."
""i did n't bring anything --" began rose, but was interrupted by the brats -lrb- otherwise will and geordie -rrb-, who appeared bearing the big bundle, so much demoralised by its fall that a red flannel tunic trailed out at one end and a little blue dressing-gown at the other, while the knobs proved to be a toilet-case, rubbers, and a silver mug.
""oh, that sly phebe!
this was the secret, and she bundled up those things after i went down to the boat," cried rose, with sparkling eyes.
""guess something is smashed inside, for a bit of glass fell out," observed will, as they deposited the bundle at her feet.
""catch a girl going anywhere without a looking-glass.
we have n't got one among the whole lot of us," added mac, with masculine scorn.
""dandy has; i caught him touching up his wig behind the trees after our swim," cut in geordie, wagging a derisive finger at steve, who promptly silenced him by a smart rap on the head with the drum-stick he had just polished off.
""come, come, you lazy lubbers, fall to work, or we shall not be ready for mamma.
take rose's things to her tent, and tell her all about it, prince.
mac and steve, you cut away and bring up the rest of the straw; and you small chaps, clear off the table, if you have stuffed all you can.
please, uncle, i'd like your advice about the boundary lines and the best place for the kitchen."
everyone obeyed the chief, and rose was escorted to her tent by charlie, who devoted himself to her service.
she was charmed with her quarters, and still more so with the programme which he unfolded before her as they worked.
""we always camp out somewhere in vacation, and this year we thought we'd try the island.
it is handy, and our fireworks will show off well from here."
""shall we stay over the fourth?
three whole days!
oh, me!
what a frolic it will be!"
""bless your heart, we often camp for a week, we big fellows; but this year the small chaps wanted to come, so we let them.
we have great larks, as you'll see; for we have a cave and play captain kidd, and have shipwrecks, and races, and all sorts of games.
arch and i are rather past that kind of thing now, but we do it to please the children," added charlie, with a sudden recollection of his sixteen years.
""i had no idea boys had such good times.
their plays never seemed a bit interesting before.
but i suppose that was because i never knew any boys very well, or perhaps you are unusually nice ones," observed rose, with an artless air of appreciation that was very flattering.
""we are a pretty clever set, i fancy; but we have a good many advantages, you see.
there are a tribe of us, to begin with; then our family has been here for ages, and we have plenty of "spondulics," so we can rather lord it over the other fellows, and do as we like.
there, ma'am, you can hang your smashed glass on that nail and do up your back hair as fine as you please.
you can have a blue blanket or a red one, and a straw pillow or an air cushion for your head, whichever you like.
you can trim up to any extent, and be as free and easy as squaws in a wigwam, for this corner is set apart for you ladies and we never cross the line uncle is drawing until we ask leave.
anything more i can do for you, cousin?"
""no, thank you.
i think i'll leave the rest till auntie comes, and go and help you somewhere else, if i may."
""yes, indeed, come on and see to the kitchen.
can you cook?"
asked charlie, as he led the way to the rocky nook where archie was putting up a sail-cloth awning.
""i can make tea and toast bread."
""well, we'll shew you how to fry fish, and make chowder.
now you just set these pots and pans round tastefully, and sort of tidy up a bit, for aunt jessie insists on doing some of the work, and i want it to be decent here."
by four o'clock the camp was in order, and the weary workers settled down on lookout rock to watch for mrs. jessie and jamie, who was never far from mamma's apron string.
they looked like a flock of blue-birds, all being in sailor rig, with blue ribbon enough flying from the seven hats to have set up a milliner.
very tuneful blue-birds they were, too, for all the lads sang, and the echo of their happy voices reached mrs. jessie long before she saw them.
the moment the boat hove in sight up went the island flag, and the blue-jackets cheered lustily, as they did on every possible occasion, like true young americans.
this welcome was answered by the flapping of a handkerchief and the shrill "rah!
rah!
rah!"
of the one small tar who stood in the stern waving his hat manfully, while a maternal hand clutched him firmly in the rear.
cleopatra landing from her golden galley never received a heartier greeting than "little mum" as she was borne to her tent by the young folk, for love of whom she smilingly resigned herself to three days of discomfort; while jamie immediately attached himself to rose, assuring her of his protection from the manifold perils which might assail them.
taught by long experience that boys are always hungry, aunt jessie soon proposed supper, and proceeded to get it, enveloped in an immense apron, with an old hat of archie's stuck atop of her cap.
rose helped, and tried to be as handy as phebe, though the peculiar style of table she had to set made it no easy task.
it was accomplished at last, and a very happy party lay about under the trees, eating and drinking out of anyone's plate and cup, and quite untroubled by the frequent appearance of ants and spiders in places which these interesting insects are not expected to adorn.
""i never thought i should like to wash dishes, but i do," said rose, as she sat in a boat after supper lazily rinsing plates in the sea, and rocking luxuriously as she wiped them.
""mum is mighty particular; we just give'em a scrub with sand, and dust'em off with a bit of paper.
it's much the best way, i think," replied geordie, who reposed in another boat alongside.
""how phebe would like this!
i wonder uncle did not have her come."
""i believe he tried to, but dolly was as cross as two sticks, and said she could n't spare her.
i'm sorry, for we all like the phebe bird, and she'd chirp like a good one out here, would n't she?"
""she ought to have a holiday like the rest of us.
it's too bad to leave her out."
this thought came back to rose several times that evening, for phebe would have added much to the little concert they had in the moonlight, would have enjoyed the stories told, been quick at guessing the conundrums, and laughed with all her heart at the fun.
the merry going to bed would have been the best of all, for rose wanted someone to cuddle under the blue blanket with her, there to whisper and giggle and tell secrets, as girls delight to do.
long after the rest were asleep, rose lay wide awake, excited by the novelty of all about her, and a thought that had come into her mind.
far away she heard a city clock strike twelve; a large star like a mild eye peeped in at the opening of the tent, and the soft plash of the waves seemed calling her to come out.
aunt jessie lay fast asleep, with jamie rolled up like a kitten at her feet, and neither stirred as rose in her wrapper crept out to see how the world looked at midnight.
she found it very lovely, and sat down on a cracker keg to enjoy it with a heart full of the innocent sentiment of her years.
fortunately, dr. alec saw her before she had time to catch cold, for coming out to tie back the door-flap of his tent for more air, he beheld the small figure perched in the moonlight.
having no fear of ghosts, he quietly approached, and, seeing that she was wide awake, said, with a hand on her shining hair, "what is my girl doing here?"
""having a good time," answered rose, not at all startled.
""i wonder what she was thinking about with such a sober look."
""the story you told of the brave sailor who gave up his place on the raft to the woman, and the last drop of water to the poor baby.
people who make sacrifices are very much loved and admired, are n't they?"
she asked, earnestly.
""if the sacrifice is a true one.
but many of the bravest never are known, and get no praise.
that does not lessen their beauty, though perhaps it makes them harder, for we all like sympathy," and dr. alec sighed a patient sort of sigh.
""i suppose you have made a great many?
would you mind telling me one of them?"
asked rose, arrested by the sigh.
""my last was to give up smoking," was the very unromantic answer to her pensive question.
""why did you?"
""bad example for the boys."
""that was very good of you, uncle!
was it hard?"
""i'm ashamed to say it was.
but as a wise old fellow once said, "it is necessary to do right; it is not necessary to be happy.""
rose pondered over the saying as if it pleased her, and then said, with a clear, bright look, "a real sacrifice is giving up something you want or enjoy very much, is n't it?"
""yes."
""doing it one's own self because one loves another person very much and wants her to be happy?"
""yes."
""and doing it pleasantly, and being glad about it, and not minding the praise if it does n't come?"
""yes, dear, that is the true spirit of self-sacrifice; you seem to understand it, and i dare say you will have many chances in your life to try the real thing.
i hope they wo n't be very hard ones."
""i think they will," began rose, and there stopped short.
""well, make one now, and go to sleep, or my girl will be ill to-morrow, and then the aunts will say camping out was bad for her."
""i'll go good night!"
and throwing him a kiss, the little ghost vanished, leaving uncle alec to pace the shore and think about some of the unsuspected sacrifices that had made him what he was.
chapter 10 -- rose's sacrifice there certainly were "larks" on campbell's island next day, as charlie had foretold, and rose took her part in them like one intent on enjoying every minute to the utmost.
there was a merry breakfast, a successful fishing expedition, and then the lobsters came out in full force, for even aunt jessie appeared in red flannel.
there was nothing uncle alec could not do in the water, and the boys tried their best to equal him in strength and skill, so there was a great diving and ducking, for every one was bent on distinguishing himself.
rose swam out far beyond her depth, with uncle to float her back; aunt jessie splashed placidly in the shallow pools, with jamie paddling near by like a little whale beside its mother; while the lads careered about, looking like a flock of distracted flamingoes, and acting like the famous dancing party in "alice's adventures in wonderland."
nothing but chowder would have lured them from their gambols in the briny deep; that time-honoured dish demanded the concentrated action of several mighty minds; so the "water babies" came ashore and fell to cooking.
it is unnecessary to say that, when done, it was the most remarkable chowder ever cooked, and the quantity eaten would have amazed the world if the secret had been divulged.
after this exertion a siesta was considered the thing, and people lay about in tents or out as they pleased, the boys looking like warriors slumbering where they fell.
the elders had just settled to a comfortable nap when the youngsters rose, refreshed and ready for further exploits.
a hint sent them all off to the cave, and there were discovered bows and arrows, battle clubs, old swords, and various relics of an interesting nature.
perched upon a commanding rock, with jamie to "splain" things to her, rose beheld a series of stirring scenes enacted with great vigour and historical accuracy by her gifted relatives.
captain cook was murdered by the natives of owhyhee in the most thrilling manner.
captain kidd buried untold wealth in the chowder kettle at the dead of night, and shot both the trusting villains who shared the secret of the hiding place.
sinbad came ashore there and had manifold adventures, and numberless wrecks bestrewed the sands.
rose considered them by far the most exciting dramas she had ever witnessed; and when the performance closed with a grand ballet of feejee islanders, whose barbaric yells alarmed the gulls, she had no words in which to express her gratification.
another swim at sunset, another merry evening on the rocks watching the lighted steamers pass seaward and the pleasure-boats come into port, ended the second day of the camping out, and sent everyone to bed early that they might be ready for the festivities of the morrow.
""archie, did n't i hear uncle ask you to row home in the morning for fresh milk and things?"
""yes, why?"
""please, may i go too?
i have something of great importance to arrange; you know i was carried off in a hurry," rose said in a confidential whisper as she was bidding her cousins good night.
""i'm willing, and i guess charlie wo n't mind."
""thank you; be sure you stand by me when i ask leave in the morning, and do n't say anything till then, except to charlie.
promise," urged rose, so eagerly, that archie struck an attitude and cried dramatically, "by yonder moon i swear!"
""hush!
it's all right, go along"; and rose departed as if satisfied.
""she's a queer little thing, is n't she, prince?"
""rather a nice little thing, i think.
i'm quite fond of her."
rose's quick ears caught both remarks, and she retired to her tent, saying to herself with sleepy dignity, "little thing, indeed!
those boys talk as if i was a baby.
they will treat me with more respect after to-morrow, i guess."
archie did stand by her in the morning, and her request was readily granted, as the lads were coming directly back.
off they went, and rose waved her hand to the islanders with a somewhat pensive air, for an heroic purpose glowed within her, and the spirit of self-sacrifice was about to be illustrated in a new and touching manner.
while the boys got the milk rose ran to phebe, ordered her to leave her dishes, to put on her hat, and take a note back to uncle alec, which would explain this somewhat mysterious performance.
phebe obeyed, and when she went to the boat rose accompanied her, telling the boys she was not ready to go yet, but they could, some of them, come for her when she hung a white signal on her balcony.
""but why not come now?
what are you about, miss?
uncle wo n't like it," protested charlie, in great amazement.
""just do as i tell you, little boy; uncle will understand and explain.
obey, as phebe does, and ask no questions.
i can have secrets as well as other people"; and rose walked off with an air of lofty independence that impressed her friends immensely.
""it's some plot between uncle and herself, so we wo n't meddle.
all right, phebe?
pull away, prince"; and off they went to be received with much surprise by the islanders.
this was the note phebe bore: "dear uncle, i am going to take phebe's place to-day, and let her have all the fun she can.
please do n't mind what she says, but keep her, and tell the boys to be very good to her for my sake.
do n't think it is easy to do this; it is very hard to give up the best day of all, but i feel so selfish to have all the pleasure and phebe none, that i wish to make this sacrifice.
do let me, and do n't laugh at it; i truly do not wish to be praised, and i truly want to do it.
love to all from, "rose."
""bless the little dear, what a generous heart she has!
shall we go after her, jessie, or let her have her way?"
said dr. alec, after the first mingled amusement and astonishment had subsided.
""let her alone, and do n't spoil her little sacrifice.
she means it, i know, and the best way in which we can show our respect for her effort is to give phebe a pleasant day.
i'm sure she has earned it"; and mrs. jessie made a sign to the boys to suppress their disappointment and exert themselves to please rose's guest.
phebe was with difficulty kept from going straight home, and declared that she should not enjoy herself one bit without miss rose.
""she wo n't hold out all day, and we shall see her paddling back before noon, i'll wager anything," said charlie; and the rest so strongly inclined to his opinion that they resigned themselves to the loss of the little queen of the revels, sure that it would be only a temporary one.
but hour after hour passed, and no signal appeared on the balcony, though phebe watched it hopefully.
no passing boat brought the truant back, though more than one pair of eyes looked out for the bright hair under the round hat; and sunset came, bringing no rose but the lovely colour in the western sky.
""i really did not think the child had it in her.
i fancied it was a bit of sentiment, but i see she was in earnest, and means that her sacrifice shall be a true one.
dear little soul!
i'll make it up to her a thousand times over, and beg her pardon for thinking it might be done for effect," dr. alec said remorsefully, as he strained his eyes through the dusk, fancying he saw a small figure sitting in the garden as it had sat on the keg the night before, laying the generous little plot that had cost more than he could guess.
""well, she ca n't help seeing the fireworks, any way, unless she is goose enough to think she must hide in a dark closet and not look," said archie, who was rather disgusted at rose's seeming ingratitude.
""she will see ours capitally, but miss the big ones on the hill, unless papa has forgotten all about them," added steve, cutting short the harangue mac had begun upon the festivals of the ancients.
""i'm sure the sight of her will be better than the finest fireworks that ever went off," said phebe, meditating an elopement with one of the boats if she could get a chance.
""let things work; if she resists a brilliant invitation we give her she will be a heroine," added uncle alec, secretly hoping that she would not.
meanwhile rose had spent a quiet, busy day helping dolly, waiting on aunt peace, and steadily resisting aunt plenty's attempts to send her back to the happy island.
it had been hard in the morning to come in from the bright world outside, with flags flying, cannon booming, crackers popping, and everyone making ready for a holiday, and go to washing cups, while dolly grumbled and the aunts lamented.
it was very hard to see the day go by, knowing how gay each hour must have been across the water, and how a word from her would take her where she longed to be with all her heart.
but it was hardest of all when evening came and aunt peace was asleep, aunt plenty seeing a gossip in the parlor, dolly established in the porch to enjoy the show, and nothing left for the little maid to do but sit alone in her balcony and watch the gay rockets whizz up from island, hill, and city, while bands played and boats laden with happy people went to and fro in the fitful light.
then it must be confessed that a tear or two dimmed the blue eyes, and once, when a very brilliant display illuminated the island for a moment, and she fancied she saw the tents, the curly head went down on the railing, and a wide-awake nasturtium heard a little whisper, "i hope someone wishes i was there!"
the tears were all gone, however, and she was watching the hill and island answer each other with what jamie called "whizzers, whirligigs and busters," and smiling as she thought how hard the boys must be working to keep up such a steady fire, when uncle mac came walking in upon her, saying hurriedly, "come, child, put on your tippet, pelisse, or whatever you call it, and run off with me.
i came to get phebe, but aunt says she is gone, so i want you.
i've got fun down in the boat, and i want you to go with us and see my fireworks.
got them up for you, and you must n't miss them, or i shall be disappointed."
""but, uncle," began rose, feeling as if she ought to refuse even a glimpse of bliss, "perhaps --" "i know, my dear, i know; aunt told me; but no one needs you now so much as i do, and i insist on your coming," said uncle mac, who seemed in a great hurry to be off, yet was unusually kind.
so rose went and found the little chinaman with a funny lantern waiting to help her in and convulse her with laughter trying to express his emotions in pigeon english.
the city clocks were striking nine as they got out into the bay, and the island fireworks seemed to be over, for no rocket answered the last roman candle that shone on the aunt-hill.
""ours are done, i see, but they are going up all round the city, and how pretty they are," said rose, folding her mantle about her, and surveying the scene with pensive interest.
""hope my fellows have not got into trouble up there," muttered uncle mac, adding with a satisfied chuckle, as a spark shone out, "no; there it goes!
look, rosy, and see how you like this one; it was ordered especially in honour of your coming."
rose looked with all her eyes, and saw the spark grow into the likeness of a golden vase, then green leaves came out, and then a crimson flower glowing on the darkness with a splendid lustre.
""is it a rose, uncle?"
she asked, clasping her hands with delight as she recognised the handsome flower.
""of course it is!
look again, and guess what those are," answered uncle mac, chuckling and enjoying it all like a boy.
a wreath of what looked at first like purple brooms appeared below the vase, but rose guessed what they were meant for, and stood straight up, holding by his shoulder, and crying excitedly, "thistles, uncle, scotch thistles!
there are seven of them one for each boy!
oh, what a joke!"
and she laughed so that she plumped into the bottom of the boat and stayed there till the brilliant spectacle was quite gone.
""that was rather a neat thing, i flatter myself," said uncle mac, in high glee at the success of his illumination.
""now, shall i leave you on the island or take you home again, my good little girl?"
he added, lifting her up with such a tone of approbation in his voice that rose kissed him on the spot.
""home, please uncle; and i thank you very very much for the beautiful firework you got up for me.
i'm so glad i saw it; and i know i shall dream about it," answered rose steadily, though a wistful glance went toward the island, now so near that she could smell powder and see shadowy figures flitting about.
home they went; and rose fell asleep saying to herself, "it was harder than i thought, but i'm glad i did it, and i truly do n't want any reward but phebe's pleasure."
chapter 11 -- poor mac rose's sacrifice was a failure in one respect, for, though the elders loved her the better for it, and showed that they did, the boys were not inspired with the sudden respect which she had hoped for.
in fact, her feelings were much hurt by overhearing archie say that he could n't see any sense in it; and the prince added another blow by pronouncing her "the queerest chicken ever seen."
it is apt to be so, and it is hard to bear; for, though we do not want trumpets blown, we do like to have our little virtues appreciated, and can not help feeling disappointed if they are not.
a time soon came, however, when rose, quite unconsciously, won not only the respect of her cousins, but their gratitude and affection likewise.
soon after the island episode, mac had a sunstroke, and was very ill for some time.
it was so sudden that everyone was startled, and for some days the boy's life was in danger.
he pulled through, however; and then, just as the family were rejoicing, a new trouble appeared which cast a gloom over them all.
poor mac's eyes gave out; and well they might, for he had abused them, and never being very strong, they suffered doubly now.
no one dared to tell him the dark predictions of the great oculist who came to look at them, and the boy tried to be patient, thinking that a few weeks of rest would repair the overwork of several years.
he was forbidden to look at a book, and as that was the one thing he most delighted in, it was a terrible affliction to the worm.
everyone was very ready to read to him, and at first the lads contended for this honour.
but as week after week went by, and mac was still condemned to idleness and a darkened room, their zeal abated, and one after the other fell off.
it was hard for the active fellows, right in the midst of their vacation; and nobody blamed them when they contented themselves with brief calls, running of errands, and warm expressions of sympathy.
the elders did their best, but uncle mac was a busy man, aunt jane's reading was of a funereal sort, impossible to listen to long, and the other aunties were all absorbed in their own cares, though they supplied the boy with every delicacy they could invent.
uncle alec was a host in himself, but he could not give all his time to the invalid; and if it had not been for rose, the afflicted worm would have fared ill.
her pleasant voice suited him, her patience was unfailing, her time of no apparent value, and her eager good-will was very comforting.
the womanly power of self-devotion was strong in the child, and she remained faithfully at her post when all the rest dropped away.
hour after hour she sat in the dusky room, with one ray of light on her book, reading to the boy, who lay with shaded eyes silently enjoying the only pleasure that lightened the weary days.
sometimes he was peevish and hard to please, sometimes he growled because his reader could not manage the dry books he wished to hear, and sometimes he was so despondent that her heart ached to see him.
through all these trials rose persevered, using all her little arts to please him.
when he fretted, she was patient; when he growled, she ploughed bravely through the hard pages not dry to her in one sense, for quiet tears dropped on them now and then; and when mac fell into a despairing mood, she comforted him with every hopeful word she dared to offer.
he said little, but she knew he was grateful, for she suited him better than anyone else.
if she was late, he was impatient; when she had to go, he seemed forlorn; and when the tired head ached worst, she could always soothe him to sleep, crooning the old songs her father used to love.
""i do n't know what i should do without that child," aunt jane often said.
""she's worth all those racketing fellows put together," mac would add, fumbling about to discover if the little chair was ready for her coming.
that was the sort of reward rose liked, the thanks that cheered her; and whenever she grew very tired, one look at the green shade, the curly head so restless on the pillow, and the poor groping hands, touched her tender heart and put new spirit into the weary voice.
she did not know how much she was learning, both from the books she read and the daily sacrifices she made.
stories and poetry were her delight, but mac did not care for them; and since his favourite greeks and romans were forbidden, he satisfied himself with travels, biographies, and the history of great inventions or discoveries.
rose despised this taste at first, but soon got interested in livingstone's adventures, hobson's stirring life in india, and the brave trials and triumphs of watt and arkwright, fulton, and "palissy, the potter."
the true, strong books helped the dreamy girl; her faithful service and sweet patience touched and won the boy; and long afterward both learned to see how useful those seemingly hard and weary hours had been to them.
one bright morning, as rose sat down to begin a fat volume entitled "history of the french revolution," expecting to come to great grief over the long names, mac, who was lumbering about the room like a blind bear, stopped her by asking abruptly, "what day of the month is it?"
""the seventh of august, i believe."
""more than half my vacation gone, and i've only had a week of it!
i call that hard," and he groaned dismally.
""so it is; but there is more to come, and you may be able to enjoy that."
""may be able!
i will be able!
does that old noodle think i'm going to stay stived up here much longer?"
""i guess he does, unless your eyes get on faster than they have yet."
""has he said anything more lately?"
""i have n't seen him, you know.
shall i begin?
this looks rather nice."
""read away; it's all one to me."
and mac cast himself down upon the old lounge, where his heavy head felt easiest.
rose began with great spirit, and kept on gallantly for a couple of chapters, getting over the unpronounceable names with unexpected success, she thought, for her listener did not correct her once, and lay so still she fancied he was deeply interested.
all of a sudden she was arrested in the middle of a fine paragraph by mac, who sat bolt upright, brought both feet down with a thump, and said, in a rough, excited tone, "stop!
i do n't hear a word, and you may as well save your breath to answer my question."
""what is it?"
asked rose, looking uneasy, for she had something on her mind, and feared that he suspected what it was.
his next words proved that she was right.
""now, look here, i want to know something, and you've got to tell me."
""please, do n't --" began rose, beseechingly.
""you must, or i'll pull off this shade and stare at the sun as hard as ever i can stare.
come now!"
and he half rose, as if ready to execute the threat.
""i will!
oh, i will tell, if i know!
but do n't be reckless and do anything so crazy as that," cried rose, in great distress.
""very well; then listen, and do n't dodge, as everyone else does.
did n't the doctor think my eyes worse the last time he came?
mother wo n't say, but you shall."
""i believe he did," faltered rose.
""i thought so!
did he say i should be able to go to school when it begins?"
""no, mac," very low.
""ah!"
that was all, but rose saw her cousin set his lips together and take a long breath, as if she had hit him hard.
he bore the disappointment bravely, however, and asked quite steadily in a minute, "how soon does he think i can study again?"
it was so hard to answer that!
yet rose knew she must, for aunt jane had declared she could not do it, and uncle mac had begged her to break the truth to the poor lad.
""not for a good many months."
""how many?"
he asked with a pathetic sort of gruffness.
""a year, perhaps."
""a whole year!
why, i expected to be ready for college by that time."
and, pushing up the shade, mac stared at her with startled eyes, that soon blinked and fell before the one ray of light.
""plenty of time for that; you must be patient now, and get them thoroughly well, or they will trouble you again when it will be harder to spare them," she said, with tears in her own eyes.
""i wo n't do it!
i will study and get through somehow.
it's all humbug about taking care so long.
these doctors like to keep hold of a fellow if they can.
but i wo n't stand it i vow i wo n't!"
and he banged his fist down on the unoffending pillow as if he were pommelling the hard-hearted doctor.
""now, mac, listen to me," rose said very earnestly, though her voice shook a little and her heart ached.
""you know you have hurt your eyes reading by fire-light and in the dusk, and sitting up late, and now you'll have to pay for it; the doctor said so.
you must be careful, and do as he tells you, or you will be blind."
""no!"
""yes, it is true, and he wanted us to tell you that nothing but entire rest would cure you.
i know it's dreadfully hard, but we'll all help you; i'll read all day long, and lead you, and wait upon you, and try to make it easier."
she stopped there, for it was evident that he did not hear a sound; the word "blind" seemed to have knocked him down, for he had buried his face in the pillow, and lay so still that rose was frightened.
she sat motionless for many minutes, longing to comfort him, but not knowing how, and wishing uncle alec would come, for he had promised to tell mac.
presently, a sort of choking sound came out of the pillow, and went straight to her heart the most pathetic sob she ever heard, for, though it was the most natural means of relief, the poor fellow must not indulge in it because of the afflicted eyes.
the "french revolution" tumbled out of her lap, and, running to the sofa, she knelt down by it, saying, with the motherly sort of tenderness girls feel for any sorrowing creature, "oh, my dear, you must n't cry!
it is so bad for your poor eyes.
take your head out of that hot pillow, and let me cool it.
i do n't wonder you feel so, but please do n't cry.
i'll cry for you; it wo n't hurt me."
as she spoke she pulled away the cushion with gentle force, and saw the green shade all crushed and stained with the few hot tears that told how bitter the disappointment had been.
mac felt her sympathy, but, being a boy, did not thank her for it; only sat up with a jerk, saying, as he tried to rub away the tell-tale drops with the sleeve of his jacket, "do n't bother; weak eyes always water.
i'm all right."
but rose cried out, and caught his arm, "do n't touch them with that rough woollen stuff!
lie down and let me bathe them, there's a dear boy; then there will be no harm done."
""they do smart confoundedly.
i say, do n't you tell the other fellows that i made a baby of myself, will you?"
he added, yielding with a sigh to the orders of his nurse, who had flown for the eye-wash and linen cambric handkerchief.
""of course i wo n't; but anyone would be upset at the idea of being well troubled in this way.
i'm sure you bear it splendidly, and you know it is n't half so bad when you get used to it.
besides, it is only for a time, and you can do lots of pleasant things if you ca n't study.
you'll have to wear blue goggles, perhaps; wo n't that be funny?"
and while she was pouring out all the comfortable words she could think of, rose was softly bathing the eyes and dabbing the hot forehead with lavender-water, as her patient lay quiet with a look on his face that grieved her sadly.
""homer was blind, and so was milton, and they did something to be remembered by, in spite of it," he said, as if to himself, in a solemn tone, for even the blue goggles did not bring a smile.
""papa had a picture of milton and his daughters writing for him.
it was a very sweet picture, i thought," observed rose in a serious voice, trying to meet the sufferer on his own ground.
""perhaps i could study if someone read and did the eye part.
do you suppose i could, by and by?"
he asked, with a sudden ray of hope.
""i dare say, if your head is strong enough.
this sunstroke, you know, is what upset you, and your brain needs rest, the doctor says."
""i'll have a talk with the old fellow next time he comes, and find out just what i may do; then i shall know where i am.
what a fool i was that day to be stewing my brains and letting the sun glare on my book till the letters danced before me!
i see'em now when i shut my eyes; black balls bobbing round, and stars and all sorts of queer things.
wonder if all blind people do?"
""do n't think about them; i'll go on reading, shall i?
we shall come to the exciting part soon, and then you'll forget all this," suggested rose.
""no, i never shall forget.
hang the old "revolution"!
i do n't want to hear another word of it.
my head aches, and i'm hot.
oh, would n't i like to go for a pull in the "stormy petrel!""
and poor mac tossed about as if he did not know what to do with himself.
""let me sing, and perhaps you'll drop off; then the day will seem shorter," said rose, taking up a fan and sitting down beside him.
""perhaps i shall; i did n't sleep much last night, and when i did i dreamed like fun.
see here, you tell the people that i know, and it's all right, and i do n't want them to talk about it or howl over me.
that's all; now drone away, and i'll try to sleep.
wish i could for a year, and wake up cured."
""oh, i wish, i wish you could!"
rose said it so fervently that mac was moved to grope for her apron and hold on to a corner of it, as if it was comfortable to feel her near him.
but all he said was, "you are a good little soul, rosy.
give us "the birks"; that is a drowsy one that always sends me off."
quite contented with this small return for all her sympathy, rose waved her fan and sang, in a dreamy tone, the pretty scotch air, the burden of which is, "bonny lassie, will ye gang, will ye gang to the birks of aberfeldie?"
whether the lassie went or not i can not say, but the laddie was off to the land of nod, in about ten minutes, quite worn out with hearing the bad tidings and the effort to bear them manfully.
chapter 12 -- "the other fellows" rose did tell "the people" what had passed, and no one "howled" over mac, or said a word to trouble him.
he had his talk with the doctor, and got very little comfort out of it, for he found that "just what he might do" was nothing at all; though the prospect of some study by and by, if all went well, gave him courage to bear the woes of the present.
having made up his mind to this, he behaved so well that everyone was astonished, never having suspected so much manliness in the quiet worm.
the boys were much impressed, both by the greatness of the affliction which hung over him and by his way of bearing it.
they were very good to him, but not always particularly wise in their attempts to cheer and amuse; and rose often found him much downcast after a visit of condolence from the clan.
she still kept her place as head-nurse and chief-reader, though the boys did their best in an irregular sort of way.
they were rather taken aback sometimes at finding rose's services preferred to their's, and privately confided to one another that "old mac was getting fond of being molly-coddled."
but they could not help seeing how useful she was, and owning that she alone had remained faithful a fact which caused some of them much secret compunction now and then.
rose felt that she ruled in that room, if nowhere else, for aunt jane left a great deal to her, finding that her experience with her invalid father fitted her for a nurse, and in a case like this, her youth was an advantage rather than a drawback.
mac soon came to think that no one could take care of him so well as rose, and rose soon grew fond of her patient, though at first she had considered this cousin the least attractive of the seven.
he was not polite and sensible like archie, nor gay and handsome like prince charlie, nor neat and obliging like steve, nor amusing like the "brats," nor confiding and affectionate like little jamie.
he was rough, absent-minded, careless, and awkward, rather priggish, and not at all agreeable to a dainty, beauty-loving girl like rose.
but when his trouble came upon him, she discovered many good things in this cousin of hers, and learned not only to pity but to respect and love the poor worm, who tried to be patient, brave, and cheerful, and found it a harder task than anyone guessed, except the little nurse, who saw him in his gloomiest moods.
she soon came to think that his friends did not appreciate him, and upon one occasion was moved to free her mind in a way that made a deep impression on the boys.
vacation was almost over, and the time drawing near when mac would be left outside the happy school-world which he so much enjoyed.
this made him rather low in his mind, and his cousins exerted themselves to cheer him up, especially one afternoon when a spasm of devotion seemed to seize them all.
jamie trudged down the hill with a basket of blackberries which he had "picked all his ownself," as his scratched fingers and stained lips plainly testified.
will and geordie brought their puppies to beguile the weary hours, and the three elder lads called to discuss baseball, cricket, and kindred subjects, eminently fitted to remind the invalid of his privations.
rose had gone to drive with uncle alec, who declared she was getting as pale as a potato sprout, living so much in a dark room.
but her thoughts were with her boy all the while, and she ran up to him the moment she returned, to find things in a fine state of confusion.
with the best intentions in life, the lads had done more harm than good, and the spectacle that met nurse rose's eye was a trying one.
the puppies were yelping, the small boys romping, and the big boys all talking at once; the curtains were up, the room close, berries scattered freely about, mac's shade half off, his cheeks flushed, his temper ruffled, and his voice loudest of all as he disputed hotly with steve about lending certain treasured books which he could no longer use.
now rose considered this her special kingdom, and came down upon the invaders with an energy which amazed them and quelled the riot at once.
they had never seen her roused before, and the effect was tremendous; also comical, for she drove the whole flock of boys out of the room like an indignant little hen defending her brood.
they all went as meekly as sheep; the small lads fled from the house precipitately, but the three elder ones only retired to the next room, and remained there hoping for a chance to explain and apologise, and so appease the irate young lady, who had suddenly turned the tables and clattered them about their ears.
as they waited, they observed her proceedings through the half-open door, and commented upon them briefly but expressively, feeling quite bowed down with remorse at the harm they had innocently done.
""she's put the room to rights in a jiffey.
what jacks we were to let those dogs in and kick up such a row," observed steve, after a prolonged peep.
""the poor old worm turns as if she was treading on him instead of cuddling him like a pussy cat.
is n't he cross, though?"
added charlie, as mac was heard growling about his "confounded head."
""she will manage him; but it's mean in us to rumple him up and then leave her to smooth him down.
i'd go and help, but i do n't know how," said archie, looking much depressed, for he was a conscientious fellow, and blamed himself for his want of thought.
""no, more do i. odd, is n't it, what a knack women have for taking care of sick folks?"
and charlie fell a-musing over this undeniable fact.
""she has been ever so good to mac," began steve, in a self-reproachful tone.
""better than his own brother, hey?"
cut in archie, finding relief for his own regret in the delinquencies of another.
""well, you need n't preach; you did n't any of you do any more, and you might have, for mac likes you better than he does me.
i always fret him, he says, and it is n't my fault if i am a quiddle," protested steve, in self-defence.
""we have all been selfish and neglected him, so we wo n't fight about it, but try and do better," said archie, generously taking more than his share of blame, for he had been less inattentive than either of the others.
""rose has stood by him like a good one, and it's no wonder he likes to have her round best.
i should myself if i was down on my luck as he is," put in charlie, feeling that he really had not done "the little thing" justice.
""i'll tell you what it is, boys we have n't been half good enough to rose, and we've got to make it up to her somehow," said archie, who had a very manly sense of honour about paying his debts, even to a girl.
""i'm awfully sorry i made fun of her doll when jamie lugged it out; and i called her "baby bunting" when she cried over the dead kitten.
girls are such geese sometimes, i ca n't help it," said steve, confessing his transgressions handsomely, and feeling quite ready to atone for them if he only knew how.
""i'll go down on my knees and beg her pardon for treating her as if she was a child.
do n't it make her mad, though?
come to think of it, she's only two years or so younger than i am.
but she is so small and pretty, she always seems like a dolly to me," and the prince looked down from his lofty height of five feet five as if rose was indeed a pygmy beside him.
""that dolly has got a real good little heart, and a bright mind of her own, you'd better believe.
mac says she understands some things quicker than he can, and mother thinks she is an uncommonly nice girl, though she do n't know all creation.
you need n't put on airs, charlie, though you are a tall one, for rose likes archie better than you; she said she did because he treated her respectfully."
""steve looks as fierce as a game-cock; but do n't you get excited, my son, for it wo n't do a bit of good.
of course, everybody likes the chief best; they ought to, and i'll punch their heads if they do n't.
so calm yourself, dandy, and mend your own manners before you come down on other people's."
thus the prince with great dignity and perfect good nature, while archie looked modestly gratified with the flattering opinions of his kinsfolk, and steve subsided, feeling he had done his duty as a cousin and a brother.
a pause ensued, during which aunt jane appeared in the other room, accompanied by a tea-tray sumptuously spread, and prepared to feed her big nestling, as that was a task she allowed no one to share with her.
""if you have a minute to spare before you go, child, i wish you'd just make mac a fresh shade; this has got a berry stain on it, and he must be tidy, for he is to go out to-morrow if it is a cloudy day," said mrs. jane, spreading toast in a stately manner, while mac slopped his tea about without receiving a word of reproof.
""yes, aunt," answered rose, so meekly that the boys could hardly believe it could be the same voice which had issued the stern command, "out of this room, every one of you!"
not very long ago.
they had not time to retire, without unseemly haste, before she walked into the parlour and sat down at the work-table without a word.
it was funny to see the look the three tall lads cast at the little person sedately threading a needle with green silk.
they all wanted to say something expressive of repentance, but no one knew how to begin, and it was evident, from the prim expression of rose's face, that she intended to stand upon her dignity till they had properly abased themselves.
the pause was becoming very awkward, when charlie, who possessed all the persuasive arts of a born scapegrace, went slowly down upon his knees before her, beat his breast, and said, in a heart-broken tone, "please forgive me this time, and i'll never do so any more."
it was very hard to keep sober, but rose managed it and answered gravely, "it is mac's pardon you should ask, not mine, for you have n't hurt me, and i should n't wonder if you had him a great deal, with all that light and racket, and talk about things that only worry him."
""do you really think we've hurt him, cousin?"
asked archie, with a troubled look, while charlie settled down in a remorseful heap among the table legs.
""yes, i do, for he has got a raging headache, and his eyes are as red as as this emery bag," answered rose, solemnly plunging her needle into a fat flannel strawberry.
steve tore his hair, metaphorically speaking, for he clutched his cherished top-knot, and wildly dishevelled it, as if that was the heaviest penance he could inflict upon himself at such short notice.
charlie laid himself out flat, melodramatically begging someone to take him away and hang him; but archie, who felt worst of all, said nothing except to vow within himself that he would read to mac till his own eyes were as red as a dozen emery bags combined.
seeing the wholesome effects of her treatment upon these culprits, rose felt that she might relent and allow them a gleam of hope.
she found it impossible to help trampling upon the prostrate prince a little, in words at least, for he had hurt her feelings oftener than he knew; so she gave him a thimble-pie on the top of his head, and said, with an air of an infinitely superior being, "do n't be silly, but get up, and i'll tell you something much better to do than sprawling on the floor and getting all over lint."
charlie obediently sat himself upon a hassock at her feet; the other sinners drew near to catch the words of wisdom about to fall from her lips, and rose, softened by this gratifying humility, addressed them in her most maternal tone.
""now, boys, if you really want to be good to mac, you can do it in this way.
do n't keep talking about things he ca n't do, or go and tell what fun you have had batting your ridiculous balls about.
get some nice book and read quietly; cheer him up about school, and offer to help him study by and by; you can do that better than i, because i'm only a girl, and do n't learn greek and latin and all sorts of headachy stuff."
""yes, but you can do heaps of things better than we can; you've proved that," said archie, with an approving look that delighted rose, though she could not resist giving charlie one more rebuke, by saying, with a little bridling of the head, and a curl of the lip that wanted to smile instead, "i'm glad you think so, though i am a "queer chicken.""
this scathing remark caused the prince to hide his face for shame, and steve to erect his head in the proud consciousness that this shot was not meant for him.
archie laughed, and rose, seeing a merry blue eye winking at her from behind two brown hands, gave charlie's ear a friendly tweak, and extended the olive-branch of peace.
""now we'll all be good, and plan nice things for poor mac," she said, smiling so graciously that the boys felt as if the sun had suddenly burst out from behind a heavy cloud and was shining with great brilliancy.
the storm had cleared the air, and quite a heavenly calm succeeded, during which plans of a most varied and surprising sort were laid, for everyone burned to make noble sacrifices upon the shrine of "poor mac," and rose was the guiding star to whom the others looked with most gratifying submission.
of course, this elevated state of things could not endure long, but it was very nice while it lasted, and left an excellent effect upon the minds of all when the first ardour had subsided.
""there, that's ready for to-morrow, and i do hope it will be cloudy," said rose, as she finished off the new shade, the progress of which the boys had watched with interest.
""i'd bespoken an extra sunny day, but i'll tell the clerk of the weather to change it.
he's an obliging fellow, and he'll attend to it, so make yourself easy," said charlie, who had become quite perky again.
""it is very easy for you to joke, but how would you like to wear a blinder like that for weeks and weeks, sir?"
and rose quenched his rising spirits by slipping the shade over his eyes, as he still sat on the cushion at her feet.
""it's horrid!
take it off, take it off!
i do n't wonder the poor old boy has the blues with a thing like that on"; and charlie sat looking at what seemed to him an instrument of torture, with such a sober face that rose took it gently away, and went in to bid mac good-night.
""i shall go home with her, for it is getting darkish, and she is rather timid," said archie, forgetting that he had often laughed at this very timidity.
""i think i might, for she's taking care of my brother," put in steve, asserting his rights.
""let's all go, that will please her"; proposed charlie, with a burst of gallantry which electrified his mates.
""we will!"
they said with one voice, and they did, to rose's great surprise and secret contentment; though archie had all the care of her, for the other two were leaping fences, running races, and having wrestling matches all the way down.
they composed themselves on reaching the door, however; shook hands cordially all round, made their best bows, and retired with great elegance and dignity, leaving rose to say to herself, with girlish satisfaction, as she went in, "now, that is the way i like to be treated."
chapter 13 -- cosey corner vacation was over, the boys went back to school, and poor mac was left lamenting.
he was out of the darkened room now, and promoted to blue goggles, through which he took a gloomy view of life, as might have been expected; for there was nothing he could do but wander about, and try to amuse himself without using his eyes.
anyone who has ever been condemned to that sort of idleness knows how irksome it is, and can understand the state of mind which caused mac to say to rose in a desperate tone one day, "look here, if you do n't invent some new employment or amusement for me, i shall knock myself on the head as sure as you live."
rose flew to uncle alec for advice, and he ordered both patient and nurse to the mountains for a month, with aunt jessie and jamie as escort.
pokey and her mother joined the party, and one bright september morning six very happy-looking people were aboard the express train for portland two smiling mammas, laden with luncheon baskets and wraps; a pretty young girl with a bag of books on her arm; a tall thin lad with his hat over his eyes; and two small children, who sat with their short legs straight out before them, and their chubby faces beaming with the first speechless delight of "truly travelling."
an especially splendid sunset seemed to have been prepared to welcome them when, after a long day's journey, they drove into a wide, green door-yard, where a white colt, a red cow, two cats, four kittens, many hens, and a dozen people, old and young, were gaily disporting themselves.
everyone nodded and smiled in the friendliest manner, and a lively old lady kissed the new-comers all round, as she said heartily, "well, now, i'm proper glad to see you!
come right in and rest, and we'll have tea in less than no time, for you must be tired.
lizzie, you show the folks upstairs; kitty, you fly round and help father in with the trunks; and jenny and i will have the table all ready by the time you come down.
bless the dears, they want to go see the pussies, and so they shall!"
the three pretty daughters did "fly round," and everyone felt at home at once, all were so hospitable and kind.
aunt jessie had raptures over the home-made carpets, quilts and quaint furniture; rose could not keep away from the windows, for each framed a lovely picture; and the little folks made friends at once with the other children, who filled their arms with chickens and kittens, and did the honours handsomely.
the toot of a horn called all to supper, and a goodly party, including six children besides the camp-bells, assembled in the long dining-room, armed with mountain appetites and the gayest spirits.
it was impossible for anyone to be shy or sober, for such gales of merriment arose they blew the starch out of the stiffest, and made the saddest jolly.
mother atkinson, as all called their hostess, was the merriest there, and the busiest; for she kept flying up to wait on the children, to bring out some new dish, or to banish the live stock, who were of such a social turn that the colt came into the entry and demanded sugar; the cats sat about in people's laps, winking suggestively at the food; and speckled hens cleared the kitchen floor of crumbs, as they joined in the chat with a cheerful clucking.
everybody turned out after tea to watch the sunset till all the lovely red was gone, and mosquitoes wound their shrill horns to sound the retreat.
the music of an organ surprised the new-comers, and in the parlor they found father atkinson playing sweetly on the little instrument made by himself.
all the children gathered about him, and, led by the tuneful sisters, sang prettily till pokey fell asleep behind the door, and jamie gaped audibly right in the middle of his favourite, "coo," said the little doves: "coo," said she, "all in the top of the old pine-tree."
the older travellers, being tired, went to "bye low" at the same time, and slept like tops in home-spun sheets, on husk mattresses made by mother atkinson, who seemed to have put some soothing powder among them, so deep and sweet was the slumber that came.
next day began the wholesome out-of-door life, which works such wonders with tired minds and feeble bodies.
the weather was perfect, and the mountain air made the children as frisky as young lambs; while the elders went about smiling at one another, and saying, "is n't it splendid?"
even mac, the "slow coach," was seen to leap over a fence as if he really could not help it; and when rose ran after him with his broad-brimmed hat, he made the spirited proposal to go into the woods and hunt for a catamount.
jamie and pokey were at once enrolled in the cosey corner light infantry a truly superb company, composed entirely of officers, all wearing cocked hats, carrying flags, waving swords, or beating drums.
it was a spectacle to stir the dullest soul when this gallant band marched out of the yard in full regimentals, with captain dove a solemn, big-headed boy of eleven issuing his orders with the gravity of a general, and his falstaffian regiment obeying them with more docility than skill.
the little snow children did very well, and lieutenant jack dove was fine to see; so was drummer frank, the errand-boy of the house, as he rub-a-dub-dubbed with all his heart and drumsticks.
jamie had "trained" before, and was made a colonel at once; but pokey was the best of all, and called forth a spontaneous burst of applause from the spectators as she brought up the rear, her cocked hat all over one eye, her flag trailing over her shoulder, and her wooden sword straight up in the air; her face beaming and every curl bobbing with delight as her fat legs tottered in the vain attempt to keep step manfully.
mac and rose were picking blackberries in the bushes beside the road when the soldiers passed without seeing them, and they witnessed a sight that was both pretty and comical.
a little farther on was one of the family burial spots so common in those parts, and just this side of it captain fred dove ordered his company to halt, explaining his reason for so doing in the following words, "that's a graveyard, and it's proper to muffle the drums and lower the flags as we go by, and we'd better take off our hats, too; it's more respectable, i think."
""is n't that cunning of the dears?"
whispered rose, as the little troop marched slowly by to the muffled roll of the drums, every flag and sword held low, all the little heads uncovered, and the childish faces very sober as the leafy shadows flickered over them.
""let's follow and see what they are after," proposed mac, who found sitting on the wall and being fed with blackberries luxurious but tiresome.
so they followed and heard the music grow lively, saw the banners wave in the breeze again when the graveyard was passed, and watched the company file into the dilapidated old church that stood at the corner of three woodland roads.
presently the sound of singing made the outsiders quicken their steps, and, stealing up, they peeped in at one of the broken windows.
captain dove was up in the old wooden pulpit, gazing solemnly down upon his company, who, having stacked their arms in the porch, now sat in the bare pews singing a sunday-school hymn with great vigour and relish.
""let us pray," said captain dove, with as much reverence as an army chaplain; and, folding his hands, he repeated a prayer which he thought all would know an excellent little prayer, but not exactly appropriate to the morning, for it was, "now i lay me down to sleep."
everyone joined in saying it, and it was a pretty sight to see the little creatures bowing their curly heads and lisping out the words they knew so well.
tears came into rose's eyes as she looked; mac took his hat off involuntarily, and then clapped it on again as if ashamed of showing any feeling.
""now i shall preach you a short sermon, and my text is, "little children, love one another."
i asked mamma to give me one, and she thought that would be good; so you all sit still and i'll preach it.
you must n't whisper, marion, but hear me.
it means that we should be good to each other, and play fair, and not quarrel as we did this very day about the wagon.
jack ca n't always drive, and need n't be mad because i like to go with frank.
annette ought to be horse sometimes and not always driver; and willie may as well make up his mind to let marion build her house by his, for she will do it, and he need n't fuss about it.
jamie seems to be a good boy, but i shall preach to him if he is n't.
no, pokey, people do n't kiss in church or put their hats on.
now you must all remember what i tell you, because i am the captain, and you should mind me."
here lieutenant jack spoke right out in meeting with the rebellious remark, "do n't care if you are; you'd better mind yourself, and tell how you took away my strap, and kept the biggest doughnut, and did n't draw fair when we had the truck."
""yes, and you slapped frank; i saw you!"
bawled willie snow, bobbing up in his pew.
""and you took my book away and hid it'cause i would n't go and swing when you wanted me to," added annette, the oldest of the snow trio.
""i sha n't build my house by willie's if he do n't want me to, so now!"
put in little marion, joining the mutiny.
""i will tiss dimmy!
and i tored up my hat "tause a pin picked me," shouted pokey, regardless of jamie's efforts to restrain her.
captain dove looked rather taken aback at this outbreak in the ranks; but, being a dignified and calm personage, he quelled the rising rebellion with great tact and skill, by saying, briefly, "we'll sing the last hymn; "sweet, sweet good-by" you all know that, so do it nicely, and then we will go and have luncheon."
peace was instantly restored, and a burst of melody drowned the suppressed giggles of rose and mac, who found it impossible to keep sober during the latter part of this somewhat remarkable service.
fifteen minutes of repose rendered it a physical impossibility for the company to march out as quietly as they had marched in.
i grieve to state that the entire troop raced home as hard as they could pelt, and were soon skirmishing briskly over their lunch, utterly oblivious of what jamie -lrb- who had been much impressed by the sermon -rrb- called "the captain's beautiful teck."
it was astonishing how much they all found to do at cosey corner; and mac, instead of lying in a hammock and being read to, as he had expected, was busiest of all.
he was invited to survey and lay out skeeterville, a town which the children were getting up in a huckleberry pasture; and he found much amusement in planning little roads, staking off house-lots, attending to the water-works, and consulting with the "selectmen" about the best sites for public buildings; for mac was a boy still, in spite of his fifteen years and his love of books.
then he went fishing with a certain jovial gentleman from the west; and though they seldom caught anything but colds, they had great fun and exercise chasing the phantom trout they were bound to have.
mac also developed a geological mania, and went tapping about at rocks and stones, discoursing wisely of "strata, periods, and fossil remains"; while rose picked up leaves and lichens, and gave him lessons in botany in return for his lectures on geology.
they led a very merry life; for the atkinson girls kept up a sort of perpetual picnic; and did it so capitally, that one was never tired of it.
so their visitors throve finely, and long before the month was out it was evident that dr. alec had prescribed the right medicine for his patients.
chapter 14 -- a happy birthday the twelfth of october was rose's birthday, but no one seemed to remember that interesting fact, and she felt delicate about mentioning it, so fell asleep the night before wondering if she would have any presents.
that question was settled early the next morning, for she was awakened by a soft tap on her face, and opening her eyes she beheld a little black and white figure sitting on her pillow, staring at her with a pair of round eyes very like blueberries, while one downy paw patted her nose to attract her notice.
it was kitty comet, the prettiest of all the pussies, and comet evidently had a mission to perform, for a pink bow adorned her neck, and a bit of paper was pinned to it bearing the words, "for miss rose, from frank."
that pleased her extremely, and that was only the beginning of the fun, for surprises and presents kept popping out in the most delightful manner all through the day, the atkinson girls being famous jokers and rose a favourite.
but the best gift of all came on the way to mount windy-top, where it was decided to picnic in honour of the great occasion.
three jolly loads set off soon after breakfast, for everybody went, and everybody seemed bound to have an extra good time, especially mother atkinson, who wore a hat as broad-brimmed as an umbrella, and took the dinner-horn to keep her flock from straying away.
""i'm going to drive auntie and a lot of the babies, so you must ride the pony.
and please stay behind us a good bit when we go to the station, for a parcel is coming, and you are not to see it till dinner-time.
you wo n't mind, will you?"
said mac, in a confidential aside during the wild flurry of the start.
""not a bit," answered rose.
""it hurts my feelings very much to be told to keep out of the way at any other time, but birthdays and christmas it is part of the fun to be blind and stupid, and poked into corners.
i'll be ready as soon as you are, giglamps."
""stop under the big maple till i call then you ca n't possibly see anything," added mac, as he mounted her on the pony his father had sent up for his use.
""barkis" was so gentle and so "willin"," however, that rose was ashamed to be afraid to ride him; so she had learned, that she might surprise dr. alec when she got home; meantime she had many a fine canter "over the hills and far away" with mac, who preferred mr. atkinson's old sorrel.
away they went, and, coming to the red maple, rose obediently paused; but could not help stealing a glance in the forbidden direction before the call came.
yes, there was a hamper going under the seat, and then she caught sight of a tall man whom mac seemed to be hustling into the carriage in a great hurry.
one look was enough, and with a cry of delight, rose was off down the road as fast as barkis could go.
""now i'll astonish uncle," she thought.
""i'll dash up in grand style, and show him that i am not a coward, after all."
fired by this ambition, she startled barkis by a sharp cut, and still more bewildered him by leaving him to his own guidance down the steep, stony road.
the approach would have been a fine success if, just as rose was about to pull up and salute, two or three distracted hens had not scuttled across the road with a great squawking, which caused barkis to shy and stop so suddenly that his careless rider landed in an ignominious heap just under old sorrel's astonished nose.
rose was up again before dr. alec was out of the carryall, and threw two dusty arms about his neck crying with a breathless voice, "o uncle, i'm so glad to see you!
it is better than a cart-load of goodies, and so dear of you to come!"
""but are n't you hurt, child!
that was a rough tumble, and i'm afraid you must be damaged somewhere," answered the doctor, full of fond anxiety, as he surveyed his girl with pride.
""my feelings are hurt, but my bones are all safe.
it's too bad!
i was going to do it so nicely, and those stupid hens spoilt it all," said rose, quite crestfallen, as well as much shaken.
""i could n't believe my eyes when i asked "where is rose?"
and mac pointed to the little amazon pelting down the hill at such a rate.
you could n't have done anything that would please me more, and i'm delighted to see how well you ride.
now, will you mount again, or shall we turn mac out and take you in?"
asked dr. alec, as aunt jessie proposed a start, for the others were beckoning them to follow.
""pride goeth before a fall better not try to show off again, ma'am," said mac, who would have been more than mortal if he had refrained from teasing when so good a chance offered.
""pride does go before a fall, but i wonder if a sprained ankle always comes after it?"
thought rose, bravely concealing her pain, as she answered, with great dignity, "i prefer to ride.
come on, and see who will catch up first."
she was up and away as she spoke, doing her best to efface the memory of her downfall by sitting very erect, elbows down, head well up, and taking the motion of the pony as barkis cantered along as easily as a rocking-chair.
""you ought to see her go over a fence and race when we ride together.
she can scud, too, like a deer when we play "follow the leader," and skip stones and bat balls almost as well as i can," said mac, in reply to his uncle's praise of his pupil.
""i'm afraid you will think her a sad tomboy, alec; but really she seems so well and happy, i have not the heart to check her.
she has broken out in the most unexpected way, and frisks like a colt; for she says she feels so full of spirits she must run and shout whether it is proper or not," added mrs. jessie, who had been a pretty hoyden years ago herself.
""good good!
that's the best news you could tell me," and dr. alec rubbed his hands heartily.
""let the girl run and shout as much as she will it is a sure sign of health, and as natural to a happy child as frisking is to any young animal full of life.
tomboys make strong women usually, and i had far rather find rose playing football with mac than puttering over bead-work like that affected midget, ariadne blish."
""but she can not go on playing football very long, and we must not forget that she has a woman's work to do by and by," began mrs. jessie.
""neither will mac play football much longer, but he will be all the better fitted for business, because of the health it gives him.
polish is easily added, if the foundations are strong; but no amount of gilding will be of use if your timber is not sound.
i'm sure i'm right, jessie; and if i can do as well by my girl during the next six months as i have the last, my experiment will succeed."
""it certainly will; for when i contrast that bright, blooming face with the pale, listless one that made my heart ache a while ago, i can believe in almost any miracle," said mrs. jessie, as rose looked round to point out a lovely view, with cheeks like the ruddy apples in the orchard near by, eyes clear as the autumn sky overhead, and vigour in every line of her girlish figure.
a general scramble among the rocks was followed by a regular gypsy lunch, which the young folks had the rapture of helping to prepare.
mother atkinson put on her apron, turned up her sleeves, and fell to work as gaily as if in her own kitchen, boiling the kettle slung on three sticks, over a fire of cones and fir boughs; while the girls spread the mossy table with a feast of country goodies, and the children tumbled about in everyone's way till the toot of the horn made them settle down like a flock of hungry birds.
as soon as the merry meal and a brief interval of repose were over, it was unanimously voted to have some charades.
a smooth, green spot between two stately pines was chosen for the stage; shawls hung up, properties collected, audience and actors separated, and a word quickly chosen.
the first scene discovered mac in a despondent attitude and shabby dress, evidently much troubled in mind.
to him entered a remarkable creature with a brown paper bag over its head.
a little pink nose peeped through one hole in the middle, white teeth through another, and above two eyes glared fiercely.
spires of grass stuck in each side of the mouth seemed meant to represent whiskers; the upper corners of the bag were twisted like ears, and no one could doubt for a moment that the black scarf pinned on behind was a tail.
this singular animal seemed in pantomime to be comforting his master and offering advice, which was finally acted upon, for mac pulled off his boots, helped the little beast into them, and gave him a bag; then, kissing his paw, with a hopeful gesture, the creature retired, purring so successfully that there was a general cry of "cat, puss, boots!"
""cat is the word," replied a voice, and the curtain fell.
the next scene was a puzzler, for in came another animal, on all-fours this time, with a new sort of tail and long ears.
a gray shawl concealed its face, but an inquisitive sunbeam betrayed the glitter as of goggles under the fringe.
on its back rode a small gentleman in eastern costume, who appeared to find some difficulty in keeping his seat as his steed jogged along.
suddenly a spirit appeared, all in white, with long newspaper wings upon its back and golden locks about its face.
singularly enough, the beast beheld this apparition and backed instantly, but the rider evidently saw nothing and whipped up unmercifully, also unsuccessfully, for the spirit stood directly in the path, and the amiable beast would not budge a foot.
a lively skirmish followed, which ended in the eastern gentleman being upset into a sweet-fern bush, while the better bred animal abased itself before the shining one.
the children were all in the dark till mother atkinson said, in an inquiring tone, "if that is n't balaam and the ass, i'd like to know what it is.
rose makes a sweet angel, does n't she?"
""ass" was evidently the word, and the angel retired, smiling with mundane satisfaction over the compliment that reached her ears.
the next was a pretty little scene from the immortal story of "babes in the wood."
jamie and pokey came trotting in, hand in hand, and, having been through the parts many times before, acted with great ease and much fluency, audibly directing each other from time to time as they went along.
the berries were picked, the way lost, tears shed, baby consolation administered, and then the little pair lay down among the brakes and died with their eyes wide open and the toes of their four little boots turned up to the daisies in the most pathetic manner.
""now the wobins tum.
you be twite dead, dimmy, and i'll peep in and see'em," one defunct innocent was heard to say.
""i hope they'll be quick, for i'm lying on a stone, and ants are walking up my leg like fury," murmured the other.
here the robins came flapping in with red scarves over their breasts and leaves in their mouths, which they carefully laid upon the babes wherever they would show best.
a prickly blackberry leaf placed directly over pokey's nose caused her to sneeze so violently that her little legs flew into the air; jamie gave a startled "ow!"
and the pitying fowls fled giggling.
after some discussion it was decided that the syllable must be "strew or strow" and then they waited to see if it was a good guess.
this scene discovered annette snow in bed, evidently very ill; miss jenny was her anxious mamma, and her merry conversation amused the audience till mac came in as a physician, and made great fun with his big watch, pompous manner, and absurd questions.
he prescribed one pellet with an unpronounceable name, and left after demanding twenty dollars for his brief visit.
the pellet was administered, and such awful agonies immediately set in that the distracted mamma bade a sympathetic neighbour run for mother know-all.
the neighbour ran, and in came a brisk little old lady in cap and specs, with a bundle of herbs under her arm, which she at once applied in all sorts of funny ways, explaining their virtues as she clapped a plantain poultice here, put a pounded catnip plaster there, or tied a couple of mullein leaves round the sufferer's throat.
instant relief ensued, the dying child sat up and demanded baked beans.
the grateful parent offered fifty dollars; but mother know-all indignantly refused it and went smiling away, declaring that a neighbourly turn needed no reward, and a doctor's fee was all a humbug.
the audience were in fits of laughter over this scene, for rose imitated mrs. atkinson capitally, and the herb cure was a good hit at the excellent lady's belief that "yarbs" would save mankind if properly applied.
no one enjoyed it more than herself, and the saucy children prepared for the grand finale in high feather.
this closing scene was brief but striking, for two trains of cars whizzed in from opposite sides, met with a terrible collision in the middle of the stage, and a general smash-up completed the word catastrophe.
""now let us act a proverb.
i've got one all ready," said rose, who was dying to distinguish herself in some way before uncle alec.
so everyone but mac, the gay westerner, and rose, took their places on the rocky seats and discussed the late beautiful and varied charade, in which pokey frankly pronounced her own scene the "bestest of all."
in five minutes the curtain was lifted; nothing appeared but a very large sheet of brown paper pinned to a tree, and on it was drawn a clock-face, the hands pointing to four.
a small note below informed the public that 4 a.m. was the time.
hardly had the audience grasped this important fact when a long waterproof serpent was seen uncoiling itself from behind a stump.
an inch-worm, perhaps, would be a better description, for it travelled in the same humpy way as that pleasing reptile.
suddenly a very wide-awake and active fowl advanced, pecking, chirping, and scratching vigorously.
a tuft of green leaves waved upon his crest, a larger tuft of brakes made an umbrageous tail, and a shawl of many colours formed his flapping wings.
a truly noble bird, whose legs had the genuine strut, whose eyes shone watchfully, and whose voice had a ring that evidently struck terror into the catterpillar's soul, if it was a catterpillar.
he squirmed, he wriggled, he humped as fast as he could, trying to escape; but all in vain.
the tufted bird espied him, gave one warbling sort of crow, pounced upon him, and flapped triumphantly away.
""that early bird got such a big worm he could hardly carry him off," laughed aunt jessie, as the children shouted over the joke suggested by mac's nickname.
""that is one of uncle's favourite proverbs, so i got it up for his especial benefit," said rose, coming up with the two-legged worm beside her.
""very clever; what next?"
asked dr. alec as she sat down beside him.
""the dove boys are going to give us an "incident in the life of napoleon," as they call it; the children think it very splendid, and the little fellows do it rather nicely," answered mac with condescension.
a tent appeared, and pacing to and fro before it was a little sentinel, who, in a brief soliloquy, informed the observers that the elements were in a great state of confusion, that he had marched some hundred miles or so that day, and that he was dying for want of sleep.
then he paused, leaned upon his gun, and seemed to doze; dropped slowly down, overpowered with slumber, and finally lay flat, with his gun beside him, a faithless little sentinel.
enter napoleon, cocked hat, gray coat, high boots, folded arms, grim mouth, and a melodramatic stride.
freddy dove always covered himself with glory in this part, and "took the stage" with a napoleonic attitude that brought down the house; for the big-headed boy, with solemn, dark eyes and square brow, was "the very moral of that rascal, boneyparty," mother atkinson said.
some great scheme was evidently brewing in his mighty mind a trip across the alps, a bonfire at moscow, or a little skirmish at waterloo perhaps, for he marched in silent majesty till suddenly a gentle snore disturbed the imperial reverie.
he saw the sleeping soldier and glared upon him, saying in an awful tone, "ha!
asleep at his post!
death is the penalty he must die!"
picking up the musket, he is about to execute summary justice, as emperors are in the habit of doing, when something in the face of the weary sentinel appears to touch him.
and well it might, for a most engaging little warrior was jack as he lay with his shako half off, his childish face trying to keep sober, and a great black moustache over his rosy mouth.
it would have softened the heart of any napoleon, and the little corporal proved himself a man by relenting, and saying, with a lofty gesture of forgiveness, "brave fellow, he is worn out; i will let him sleep, and mount guard in his place."
then, shouldering the gun, this noble being strode to and fro with a dignity which thrilled the younger spectators.
the sentinel awakes, sees what has happened, and gives himself up for lost.
but the emperor restores his weapon, and, with that smile which won all hearts, says, pointing to a high rock whereon a crow happens to be sitting, "be brave, be vigilant, and remember that from yonder pyramid generations are beholding you," and with these memorable words he vanishes, leaving the grateful soldier bolt upright, with his hand at his temple and deathless devotion stamped upon his youthful countenance.
the applause which followed this superb piece had hardly subsided, when a sudden splash and a shrill cry caused a general rush toward the waterfall that went gambolling down the rocks, singing sweetly as it ran.
pokey had tried to gambol also, and had tumbled into a shallow pool, whither jamie had gallantly followed, in a vain attempt to fish her out, and both were paddling about half frightened, half pleased with the unexpected bath.
this mishap made it necessary to get the dripping infants home as soon as possible; so the wagons were loaded up, and away they went, as merry as if the mountain air had really been "oxygenated sweets not bitters," as dr. alec suggested when mac said he felt as jolly as if he had been drinking champagne instead of the current wine that came with a great frosted cake wreathed with sugar roses in aunt plenty's hamper of goodies.
rose took part in all the fun, and never betrayed by look or word the twinges of pain she suffered in her ankle.
she excused herself from the games in the evening, however, and sat talking to uncle alec in a lively way, that both amazed and delighted him; for she confided to him that she played horse with the children, drilled with the light infantry, climbed trees, and did other dreadful things that would have caused the aunts to cry aloud if they knew of them.
""i do n't care a pin what they say if you do n't mind, uncle," she answered, when he pictured the dismay of the good ladies.
""ah, it's all very well to defy them, but you are getting so rampant, i'm afraid you will defy me next, and then where are we?"
""no, i wo n't!
i should n't dare; because you are my guardian, and can put me in a strait-jacket if you like;" and rose laughed in his face, even while she nestled closer with a confiding gesture pleasant to see.
""upon my word, rosy, i begin to feel like the man who bought an elephant, and then did n't know what to do with him.
i thought i had got a pet and plaything for years to come; but here you are growing up like a bean-stalk, and i shall find i've got a strong-minded little woman on my hands before i can turn round.
there's predicament for a man and an uncle!"
dr. alec's comic distress was mercifully relieved for the time being by a dance of goblins on the lawn, where the children, with pumpkin lanterns on their heads, frisked about like will-o" - the-wisps, as a parting surprise.
when rose went to bed, she found that uncle alec had not forgotten her; for on the table stood a delicate little easel, holding two miniatures set in velvet.
she knew them both, and stood looking at them till her eyes brimmed over with tears that were both sweet and sad; for they were the faces of her father and mother, beautifully copied from portraits fast fading away.
presently, she knelt down, and, putting her arms round the little shrine, kissed one after the other, saying with an earnest voice, "i'll truly try to make them glad to see me by and by."
and that was rose's little prayer on the night of her fourteenth birthday.
two days later the campbells went home, a larger party than when they came; for dr. alec was escort and kitty comet was borne in state in a basket, with a bottle of milk, some tiny sandwiches, and a doll's dish to drink out of, as well as a bit of carpet to lie on in her palace car, out of which she kept popping her head in the most fascinating manner.
there was a great kissing and cuddling, waving of handkerchiefs, and last good-byes, as they went; and when they had started, mother atkinson came running after them, to tuck in some little pies, hot from the oven, "for the dears, who might get tired of bread and butter during that long day's travel."
another start, and another halt; for the snow children came shrieking up to demand the three kittens that pokey was cooly carrying off in a travelling bag.
the unhappy kits were rescued, half smothered, and restored to their lawful owners, amid dire lamentation from the little kidnapper, who declared that she only "tooked um'cause they'd want to go wid their sister tomit."
start number three and stoppage number three, as frank hailed them with the luncheon basket, which had been forgotten, after everyone had protested that it was safely in.
all went well after that, and the long journey was pleasantly beguiled by pokey and pussy, who played together so prettily that they were considered public benefactors.
""rose does n't want to go home, for she knows the aunts wo n't let her rampage as she did up at cosey corner," said mac, as they approached the old house.
""i ca n't rampage if i want to for a time, at least; and i'll tell you why.
i sprained my ankle when i tumbled off of barkis, and it gets worse and worse; though i've done all i know to cure it and hide it, so it should n't trouble anyone," whispered rose, knitting her brows with pain, as she prepared to descend, wishing her uncle would take her instead of her bundles.
how he did it, she never knew; but mac had her up the steps and on the parlour sofa before she could put her foot to the ground.
""there you are right side up with care; and mind, now, if your ankle bothers you, and you are laid up with it, i am to be your footman.
it's only fair, you know; for i do n't forget how good you have been to me."
and mac went to call phebe, so full of gratitude and good-will that his very goggles shone.
chapter 15 -- ear-rings rose's sprain proved to be a serious one, owing to neglect, and dr. alec ordered her to lie on the sofa for a fortnight at least; whereat she groaned dismally, but dared not openly complain, lest the boys turn upon her with some of the wise little sermons on patience which she had delivered for their benefit.
it was mac's turn now, and honourably did he repay his debt; for, as school was still forbidden, he had plenty of leisure, and devoted most of it to rose.
he took many steps for her, and even allowed her to teach him to knit, after assuring himself that many a brave scotchman knew how to "click the pricks."
she was obliged to take a solemn vow of secrecy, however, before he would consent; for, though he did not mind being called "giglamps," "granny" was more than his boyish soul could bear, and at the approach of any of the clan his knitting vanished as if by magic, which frequent "chucking" out of sight did not improve the stripe he was doing for rose's new afghan.
she was busy with this pretty work one bright october afternoon, all nicely established on her sofa in the upper hall, while jamie and pokey -lrb- lent for her amusement -rrb- were keeping house in a corner, with comet and rose's old doll for their "childerns."
presently, phebe appeared with a card.
rose read it, made a grimace, then laughed and said, "i'll see miss blish," and immediately put on her company face, pulled out her locket, and settled her curls.
""you dear thing, how do you do?
i've been trying to call every day since you got back, but i have so many engagements, i really could n't manage it till to-day.
so glad you are alone, for mamma said i could sit awhile, and i brought my lace-work to show you, for it's perfectly lovely."
cried miss blish, greeting rose with a kiss, which was not very warmly returned, though rose politely thanked her for coming, and bid phebe roll up the easy chair.
""how nice to have a maid!"
said ariadne, as she settled herself with much commotion.
""still, dear, you must be very lonely, and feel the need of a bosom friend."
""i have my cousins," began rose, with dignity, for her visitor's patronising manner ruffled her temper.
""gracious, child!
you do n't make friends of those great boys, do you?
mamma says she really does n't think it's proper for you to be with them so much."
""they are like brothers, and my aunts do think it's proper," replied rose, rather sharply, for it struck her that this was none of miss blish's business.
""i was merely going to say i should be glad to have you for my bosom friend, for hatty mason and i have had an awful quarrel, and do n't speak.
she is too mean to live, so i gave her up.
just think, she never paid back one of the caramels i've given her, and never invited me to her party.
i could have forgiven the caramels, but to be left out in that rude way was more than i could bear, and i told her never to look at me again as long as she lived."
""you are very kind, but i do n't think i want a bosom friend, thank you," said rose, as ariadne stopped to bridle and shake her flaxen head over the delinquent hatty mason.
now, in her heart miss blish thought rose "a stuck-up puss," but the other girls wanted to know her and could n't, the old house was a charming place to visit, the lads were considered fine fellows, and the campbells "are one of our first families," mamma said.
so ariadne concealed her vexation at rose's coolness, and changed the subject as fast as possible.
""studying french, i see; who is your teacher?"
she asked, flitting over the leaves of "paul and virginia," that lay on the table.
""i do n't study it, for i read french as well as english, and uncle and i often speak it for hours.
he talks like a native, and says i have a remarkably good accent."
rose really could not help this small display of superiority, for french was one of her strong points, and she was vain of it, though she usually managed to hide this weakness.
she felt that ariadne would be the better for a little crushing, and could not resist the temptation to patronise in her turn.
""oh, indeed!"
said miss blish, rather blankly, for french was not her strong point by any means.
""i am to go abroad with uncle in a year or two, and he knows how important it is to understand the languages.
half the girls who leave school ca n't speak decent french, and when they go abroad they are so mortified.
i shall be very glad to help you, if you like, for, of course, you have no one to talk with at home."
now ariadne, though she looked like a wax doll, had feelings within her instead of sawdust, and these feelings were hurt by rose's lofty tone.
she thought her more "stuck up" than ever, but did not know how to bring her down, yet longed to do it, for she felt as if she had received a box on the ear, and involuntarily put her hand up to it.
the touch of an ear-ring consoled her, and suggested a way of returning tit for tat in a telling manner.
""thank you, dear; i do n't need any help, for our teacher is from paris, and of course he speaks better french than your uncle."
then she added, with a gesture of her head that set the little bells on her ears to tingling: "how do you like my new ear-rings?
papa gave them to me last week, and everyone says they are lovely."
rose came down from her high horse with a rapidity that was comical, for ariadne had the upper hand now.
rose adored pretty things, longed to wear them, and the desire of her girlish soul was to have her ears bored, only dr. alec thought it foolish, so she never had done it.
she would gladly have given all the french she could jabber for a pair of golden bells with pearl-tipped tongues, like those ariadne wore; and, clasping her hands, she answered, in a tone that went to the hearer's heart, "they are too sweet for anything!
if uncle would only let me wear some, i should be perfectly happy."
""i would n't mind what he says.
papa laughed at me at first, but he likes them now, and says i shall have diamond solitaires when i am eighteen," said ariadne, quite satisfied with her shot.
""i've got a pair now that were mamma's, and a beautiful little pair of pearl and turquoise ones, that i am dying to wear," sighed rose.
""then do it.
i'll pierce your ears, and you must wear a bit of silk in them till they are well; your curls will hide them nicely; then, some day, slip in your smallest ear-rings, and see if your uncle do n't like them."
""i asked him if it would n't do my eyes good once when they were red, and he only laughed.
people do cure weak eyes that way, do n't they?"
""yes, indeed, and yours are sort of red.
let me see.
yes, i really think you ought to do it before they get worse," said ariadne, peering into the large clear eye offered for inspection.
""does it hurt much?"
asked rose, wavering.
""oh dear, no; just a prick and a pull, and it's all over.
i've done lots of ears, and know just how.
come, push up your hair and get a big needle."
""i do n't quite like to do it without asking uncle's leave," faltered rose, when all was ready for the operation.
""did he ever forbid it?"
demanded ariadne, hovering over her prey like a vampire.
""no, never!"
""then do it, unless you are afraid," cried miss blish, bent on accomplishing the deed.
that last word settled the matter, and, closing her eyes, rose said "punch!"
in the tone of one giving the fatal order "fire!"
ariadne punched, and the victim bore it in heroic silence, though she turned pale and her eyes were full of tears of anguish.
""there!
now pull the bits of silk often, and cold-cream your ears every night, and you'll soon be ready for the rings," said ariadne, well pleased with her job, for the girl who spoke french with "a fine accent" lay flat upon the sofa, looking as exhausted as if she had had both ears cut off.
""it does hurt dreadfully, and i know uncle wo n't like it," sighed rose, as remorse began to gnaw.
""promise not to tell, or i shall be teased to death," she added, anxiously, entirely forgetting the two little pitchers gifted with eyes as well as ears, who had been watching the whole performance from afar.
""never.
mercy me, what's that?"
and ariadne started as a sudden sound of steps and voices came up from below.
""it's the boys!
hide the needle.
do my ears show?
do n't breathe a word!"
whispered rose, scrambling about to conceal all traces of their iniquity from the sharp eyes of the clan.
up they came, all in good order, laden with the proceeds of a nutting expedition, for they always reported to rose and paid tribute to their queen in the handsomest manner.
""how many, and how big!
we'll have a grand roasting frolic after tea, wo n't we?"
said rose, plunging both hands into a bag of glossy brown nuts, while the clan "stood at ease" and nodded to ariadne.
""that lot was picked especially for you, rosy.
i got every one myself, and they are extra whackers," said mac, presenting a bushel or so.
""you should have seen giglamps when he was after them.
he pitched out of the tree, and would have broken his blessed old neck if arch had not caught him," observed steve, as he lounged gracefully in the window seat.
""you need n't talk, dandy, when you did n't know a chestnut from a beech, and kept on thrashing till i told you of it," retorted mac, festooning himself over the back of the sofa, being a privileged boy.
""i do n't make mistakes when i thrash you, old worm, so you'd better mind what you are about," answered steve, without a ray of proper respect for his elder brother.
""it is getting dark, and i must go, or mamma will be alarmed," said ariadne, rising in sudden haste, though she hoped to be asked to remain to the nut-party.
no one invited her; and all the while she was putting on her things and chatting to rose the boys were telegraphing to one another the sad fact that someone ought to escort the young lady home.
not a boy felt heroic enough to cast himself into the breach, however; even polite archie shirked the duty, saying to charlie, as they quietly slipped into an adjoining room, "i'm not going to do all the gallivanting.
let steve take that chit home and show his manners."
""i'll be hanged if i do!"
answered prince, who disliked miss blish because she tried to be coquettish with him.
""then i will," and, to the dismay of both recreant lads, dr. alec walked out of the room to offer his services to the "chit."
he was too late, however, for mac, obeying a look from rose, had already made a victim of himself, and trudged meekly away, wishing the gentle ariadne at the bottom of the red sea.
""then i will take this lady down to tea, as the other one has found a gentleman to go home with her.
i see the lamps are lighted below, and i smell a smell which tells me that auntie has something extra nice for us to-night."
as he spoke, dr. alec was preparing to carry rose downstairs as usual; but archie and prince rushed forward, begging with penitent eagerness for the honour of carrying her in an arm-chair.
rose consented, fearing that her uncle's keen eye would discover the fatal bits of silk; so the boys crossed hands, and, taking a good grip of each curly pate, she was borne down in state, while the others followed by way of the banisters.
tea was ordered earlier than usual, so that jamie and his dolly could have a taste, at least, of the holiday fun, for they were to stay till seven, and be allowed twelve roasted chestnuts apiece, which they were under bonds not to eat till next day.
tea was despatched rapidly, therefore, and the party gathered round the wide hearth in the dining-room, where the nuts were soon dancing gaily on hot shovels or bouncing out among the company, thereby causing delightful panics among the little ones.
""come, rosy, tell us a story while we work, for you ca n't help much, and must amuse us as your share," proposed mac, who sat in the shade pricking nuts, and who knew by experience what a capital little scheherazade his cousin was.
""yes, we poor monkeys ca n't burn our paws for nothing, so tell away, pussy," added charlie, as he threw several hot nuts into her lap and shook his fingers afterwards.
""well, i happen to have a little story with a moral to it in my mind, and i will tell it, though it is intended for younger children than you," answered rose, who was rather fond of telling instructive tales.
""fire away," said geordie, and she obeyed, little thinking what a disastrous story it would prove to herself.
""well, once upon a time, a little girl went to see a young lady who was very fond of her.
now, the young lady happened to be lame, and had to have her foot bandaged up every day; so she kept a basketful of bandages, all nicely rolled and ready.
the little girl liked to play with this basket, and one day, when she thought no one saw her, she took one of the rolls without asking leave, and put it in her pocket."
here pokey, who had been peering lovingly down at the five warm nuts that lay at the bottom of her tiny pocket, suddenly looked up and said, "oh!"
in a startled tone, as if the moral tale had become intensely interesting all at once.
rose heard and saw the innocent betrayal of the small sinner, and went on in a most impressive manner, while the boys nudged one another and winked as they caught the joke.
""but an eye did see this naughty little girl, and whose eye do you think it was?"
""eye of dod," murmured conscience-stricken pokey, spreading two chubby little hands before the round face, which they were not half big enough to hide.
rose was rather taken aback by this reply, but, feeling that she was producing a good effect, she added seriously, "yes, god saw her, and so did the young lady, but she did not say anything; she waited to see what the little girl would do about it.
she had been very happy before she took the bandage, but when it was in her pocket she seemed troubled, and pretty soon stopped playing, and sat down in a corner looking very sober.
she thought a few minutes, and then went and put back the roll very softly, and her face cleared up, and she was a happy child again.
the young lady was glad to see that, and wondered what made the little girl put it back."
""tonscience p "icked her," murmured a contrite voice from behind the small hands pressed tightly over pokey's red face.
""and why did she take it, do you suppose?"
asked rose, in a school-marmish tone, feeling that all the listeners were interested in her tale and its unexpected application.
""it was so nice and wound, and she wanted it deffly," answered the little voice.
""well, i'm glad she had such a good conscience.
the moral is that people who steal do n't enjoy what they take, and are not happy till they put it back.
what makes that little girl hide her face?"
asked rose, as she concluded.
""me's so "shamed of pokey," sobbed the small culprit, quite overcome by remorse and confusion at this awful disclosure.
""come, rose, it's too bad to tell her little tricks before everyone, and preach at her in that way; you would n't like it yourself," began dr. alec, taking the weeper on his knee and administering consolation in the shape of kisses and nuts.
before rose could express her regret, jamie, who had been reddening and ruffling like a little turkey-cock for several minutes, burst out indignantly, bent on avenging the wound given to his beloved dolly.
""i know something bad that you did, and i'm going to tell right out.
you thought we did n't see you, but we did, and you said uncle would n't like it, and the boys would tease, and you made ariadne promise not to tell, and she punched holes in your ears to put ear-rings in.
so now!
and that's much badder than to take an old piece of rag; and i hate you for making my pokey cry."
jamie's somewhat incoherent explosion produced such an effect that pokey's small sin was instantly forgotten, and rose felt that her hour had come.
""what!
what!
what!"
cried the boys in a chorus, dropping their shovels and knives to gather round rose, for a guilty clutching at her ears betrayed her, and with a feeble cry of "ariadne made me!"
she hid her head among the pillows like an absurd little ostrich.
""now she'll go prancing round with bird cages and baskets and carts and pigs, for all i know, in her ears, as the other girls do, and wo n't she look like a goose?"
asked one tormentor, tweaking a curl that strayed out from the cushions.
""i did n't think she'd be so silly," said mac, in a tone of disappointment that told rose she had sunk in the esteem of her wise cousin.
""that blish girl is a nuisance, and ought not to be allowed to come here with her nonsensical notions," said the prince, feeling a strong desire to shake that young person as an angry dog might shake a mischievous kitten.
""how do you like it, uncle?"
asked archie, who, being the head of a family himself, believed in preserving discipline at all costs.
""i am very much surprised; but i see she is a girl, after all, and must have her vanities like all the rest of them," answered dr. alec, with a sigh, as if he had expected to find rose a sort of angel, above all earthly temptations.
""what shall you do about it, sir?"
inquired geordie, wondering what punishment would be inflicted on a feminine culprit.
""as she is fond of ornaments, perhaps we had better give her a nose-ring also.
i have one somewhere that a fiji belle once wore; i'll look it up," and, leaving pokey to jamie's care, dr. alec rose as if to carry out his suggestion in earnest.
""good!
good!
we'll do it right away!
here's a gimlet, so you hold her, boys, while i get her dear little nose all ready," cried charlie, whisking away the pillow as the other boys danced about the sofa in true fiji style.
it was a dreadful moment, for rose could not run away she could only grasp her precious nose with one hand and extend the other, crying distractedly, "o uncle, save me, save me!"
of course he saved her; and when she was securely barricaded by his strong arm, she confessed her folly in such humiliation of spirit, that the lads, after a good laugh at her, decided to forgive her and lay all the blame on the tempter, ariadne.
even dr. alec relented so far as to propose two gold rings for the ears instead of one copper one for the nose; a proceeding which proved that if rose had all the weakness of her sex for jewellery, he had all the inconsistency of his in giving a pretty penitent exactly what she wanted, spite of his better judgment.
chapter 16 -- bread and button-holes "what in the world is my girl thinking about all alone here, with such a solemn face?"
asked dr. alec, coming into the study, one november day, to find rose sitting there with folded hands and a very thoughtful aspect.
""uncle, i want to have some serious conversation with you, if you have time," she said, coming out of a brown study, as if she had not heard his question.
""i'm entirely at your service, and most happy to listen," he answered, in his politest manner, for when rose put on her womanly little airs he always treated her with a playful sort of respect that pleased her very much.
now, as he sat down beside her, she said, very soberly, "i've been trying to decide what trade i would learn, and i want you to advise me."
""trade, my dear?"
and dr. alec looked so astonished that she hastened to explain.
""i forgot that you did n't hear the talk about it up at cosey corner.
you see we used to sit under the pines and sew, and talk a great deal all the ladies, i mean and i liked it very much.
mother atkinson thought that everyone should have a trade, or something to make a living out of, for rich people may grow poor, you know, and poor people have to work.
her girls were very clever, and could do ever so many things, and aunt jessie thought the old lady was right; so when i saw how happy and independent those young ladies were, i wanted to have a trade, and then it would n't matter about money, though i like to have it well enough."
dr. alec listened to this explanation with a curious mixture of surprise, pleasure, and amusement in his face, and looked at his little niece as if she had suddenly changed into a young woman.
she had grown a good deal in the last six months, and an amount of thinking had gone on in that young head which would have astonished him greatly could he have known it all, for rose was one of the children who observe and meditate much, and now and then nonplus their friends by a wise or curious remark.
""i quite agree with the ladies, and shall be glad to help you decide on something if i can," said the doctor seriously.
""what do you incline to?
a natural taste or talent is a great help in choosing, you know."
""i have n't any talent, or any especial taste that i can see, and that is why i ca n't decide, uncle.
so, i think it would be a good plan to pick out some very useful business and learn it, because i do n't do it for pleasure, you see, but as a part of my education, and to be ready in case i'm ever poor," answered rose, looking as if she rather longed for a little poverty so that her useful gift might be exercised.
""well, now, there is one very excellent, necessary, and womanly accomplishment that no girl should be without, for it is a help to rich and poor, and the comfort of families depends upon it.
this fine talent is neglected nowadays, and considered old-fashioned, which is a sad mistake, and one that i do n't mean to make in bringing up my girl.
it should be a part of every girl's education, and i know of a most accomplished lady who will teach you in the best and pleasantest manner."
""oh, what is it?"
cried rose eagerly, charmed to be met in this helpful and cordial way.
""housekeeping!"
answered dr. alec.
""is that an accomplishment?"
asked rose, while her face fell, for she had indulged in all sorts of vague, delightful dreams.
""yes; it is one of the most beautiful as well as useful of all the arts a woman can learn.
not so romantic, perhaps, as singing, painting, writing, or teaching, even; but one that makes many happy and comfortable, and home the sweetest place in the world.
yes, you may open your big eyes; but it is a fact that i had rather see you a good housekeeper than the greatest belle in the city.
it need not interfere with any talent you may possess, but it is a necessary part of your training, and i hope that you will set about it at once, now that you are well and strong."
""who is the lady?"
asked rose, rather impressed by her uncle's earnest speech.
""aunt plenty."
""is she accomplished?"
began rose in a wondering tone, for this great-aunt of hers had seemed the least cultivated of them all.
""in the good old-fashioned way she is very accomplished, and has made this house a happy home to us all, ever since we can remember.
she is not elegant, but genuinely good, and so beloved and respected that there will be universal mourning for her when her place is empty.
no one can fill it, for the solid, homely virtues of the dear soul have gone out of fashion, as i say, and nothing new can be half so satisfactory, to me at least."
""i should like to have people feel so about me.
can she teach me to do what she does, and to grow as good?"
asked rose, with a little prick of remorse for even thinking that aunt plenty was a commonplace old lady.
""yes, if you do n't despise such simple lessons as she can give.
i know it would fill her dear old heart with pride and pleasure to feel that anyone cared to learn of her, for she fancies her day gone by.
let her teach you how to be what she has been a skilful, frugal, cheerful housewife; the maker and the keeper of a happy home, and by and by you will see what a valuable lesson it is."
""i will, uncle.
but how shall i begin?"
""i'll speak to her about it, and she will make it all right with dolly, for cooking is one of the main things, you know."
""so it is!
i do n't mind that a bit, for i like to mess, and used to try at home; but i had no one to tell me, so i never did much but spoil my aprons.
pies are great fun, only dolly is so cross, i do n't believe she will ever let me do a thing in the kitchen."
""then we'll cook in the parlour.
i fancy aunt plenty will manage her, so do n't be troubled.
only mind this, i'd rather you learned how to make good bread than the best pies ever baked.
when you bring me a handsome, wholesome loaf, entirely made by yourself, i shall be more pleased than if you offered me a pair of slippers embroidered in the very latest style.
i do n't wish to bribe you, but i'll give you my heartiest kiss, and promise to eat every crumb of the loaf myself."
""it's a bargain!
it's a bargain!
come and tell aunty all about it, for i'm in a hurry to begin," cried rose, dancing before him toward the parlor, where miss plenty sat alone knitting contentedly, yet ready to run at the first call for help of any sort, from any quarter.
no need to tell how surprised and gratified she was at the invitation she received to teach the child the domestic arts which were her only accomplishments, nor to relate how energetically she set about her pleasant task.
dolly dared not grumble, for miss plenty was the one person whom she obeyed, and phebe openly rejoiced, for these new lessons brought rose nearer to her, and glorified the kitchen in the good girl's eyes.
to tell the truth, the elder aunts had sometimes felt that they did not have quite their share of the little niece who had won their hearts long ago, and was the sunshine of the house.
they talked it over together sometimes, but always ended by saying that as alec had all the responsibility, he should have the larger share of the dear girl's love and time, and they would be contented with such crumbs of comfort as they could get.
dr. alec had found out this little secret, and, after reproaching himself for being blind and selfish, was trying to devise some way of mending matters without troubling anyone, when rose's new whim suggested an excellent method of weaning her a little from himself.
he did not know how fond he was of her till he gave her up to the new teacher, and often could not resist peeping in at the door to see how she got on, or stealing sly looks through the slide when she was deep in dough, or listening intently to some impressive lecture from aunt plenty.
they caught him at it now and then, and ordered him off the premises at the point of the rolling-pin; or, if unusually successful, and, therefore, in a milder mood, they lured him away with bribes of ginger-bread, a stray pickle, or a tart that was not quite symmetrical enough to suit their critical eyes.
of course he made a point of partaking copiously of all the delectable messes that now appeared at table, for both the cooks were on their mettle, and he fared sumptuously every day.
but an especial relish was given to any dish when, in reply to his honest praise of it, rose coloured up with innocent pride, and said modestly, "i made that, uncle, and i'm glad you like it."
it was some time before the perfect loaf appeared, for bread-making is an art not easily learned, and aunt plenty was very thorough in her teaching; so rose studied yeast first, and through various stages of cake and biscuit came at last to the crowning glory of the "handsome, wholesome loaf."
it appeared at tea-time, on a silver salver, proudly borne in by phebe, who could not refrain from whispering, with a beaming face, as she set it down before dr. alec, "ai n't it just lovely, sir?"
""it is a regularly splendid loaf!
did my girl make it all herself?"
he asked, surveying the shapely, sweet-smelling object with real interest and pleasure.
""every particle herself, and never asked a bit of help or advice from anyone," answered aunt plenty, folding her hands with an air of unmitigated satisfaction, for her pupil certainly did her great credit.
""i've had so many failures and troubles that i really thought i never should be able to do it alone.
dolly let one splendid batch burn up because i forgot it.
she was there and smelt it, but never did a thing, for she said, when i undertook to bake bread i must give my whole mind to it.
was n't it hard?
she might have called me at least," said rose, recollecting, with a sigh, the anguish of that moment.
""she meant you should learn by experience, as rosamond did in that little affair of the purple jar, you remember."
""i always thought it very unfair in her mother not to warn the poor thing a little bit; and she was regularly mean when rosamond asked for a bowl to put the purple stuff in, and she said, in such a provoking way," i did not agree to lend you a bowl, but i will, my dear."
ugh!
i always want to shake that hateful woman, though she was a moral mamma."
""never mind her now, but tell me all about my loaf," said dr. alec, much amused at rose's burst of indignation.
""there's nothing to tell, uncle, except that i did my best, gave my mind to it, and sat watching over it all the while it was in the oven till i was quite baked myself.
everything went right this time, and it came out a nice, round, crusty loaf, as you see.
now taste it, and tell me if it is good as well as handsome."
""must i cut it?
ca n't i put it under a glass cover and keep it in the parlor as they do wax flowers and fine works of that sort?"
""what an idea, uncle!
it would mould and be spoilt.
besides, people would laugh at us, and make fun of my old-fashioned accomplishment.
you promised to eat it, and you must; not all at once, but as soon as you can, so i can make you some more."
dr. alec solemnly cut off his favourite crusty slice, and solemnly ate it; then wiped his lips, and brushing back rose's hair, solemnly kissed her on the forehead, saying, heartily, "my dear, it is perfect bread, and you are an honour to your teacher.
when we have our model school i shall offer a prize for the best bread, and you will get it."
""i've got it already, and i'm quite satisfied," said rose, slipping into her seat, and trying to hide her right hand which had a burn on it.
but dr. alec saw it, guessed how it came there, and after tea insisted on easing the pain which she would hardly confess.
""aunt clara says i am spoiling my hands, but i do n't care, for i've had such good times with aunt plenty, and i think she has enjoyed it as much as i have.
only one thing troubles me, uncle, and i want to ask you about it," said rose, as they paced up and down the hall in the twilight, the bandaged hand very carefully laid on dr. alec's arm.
""more little confidences?
i like them immensely, so tell away, my dear."
""well, you see i feel as if aunt peace would like to do something for me, and i've found out what it can be.
you know she ca n't go about like aunty plen, and we are so busy nowadays that she is rather lonely, i'm afraid.
so i want to take lessons in sewing of her.
she works so beautifully, and it is a useful thing, you know, and i ought to be a good needlewoman as well as housekeeper, ought n't i?"
""bless your kind little heart, that is what i was thinking of the other day when aunt peace said she saw you very seldom now, you were so busy i wanted to speak of it, but fancied you had as much on your hands as you could manage.
it would delight the dear woman to teach you all her delicate handicraft, especially button-holes, for i believe that is where young ladies fail; at least, i've heard them say so.
so, do you devote your mind to button-holes; make'em all over my clothes if you want something to practice on.
i'll wear any quantity."
rose laughed at this reckless offer, but promised to attend to that important branch, though she confessed that darning was her weak point.
whereupon uncle alec engaged to supply her with socks in all stages of dilapidation, and to have a new set at once, so that she could run the heels for him as a pleasant beginning.
then they went up to make their request in due form, to the great delight of gentle aunt peace, who got quite excited with the fun that went on while they would yarn, looked up darning needles, and fitted out a nice little mending basket for her pupil.
very busy and very happy were rose's days now, for in the morning she went about the house with aunt plenty attending to linen-closets and store-rooms, pickling and preserving, exploring garret and cellar to see that all was right, and learning, in the good old-fashioned manner, to look well after the ways of the household.
in the afternoon, after her walk or drive, she sat with aunt peace plying her needle, while aunt plenty, whose eyes were failing, knitted and chatted briskly, telling many a pleasant story of old times, till the three were moved to laugh and cry together, for the busy needles were embroidering all sorts of bright patterns on the lives of the workers, though they seemed to be only stitching cotton and darning hose.
it was a pretty sight to see the rosy-faced little maid sitting between the two old ladies, listening dutifully to their instructions, and cheering the lessons with her lively chatter and blithe laugh.
if the kitchen had proved attractive to dr. alec when rose was there at work, the sewing-room was quite irresistible, and he made himself so agreeable that no one had the heart to drive him away, especially when he read aloud or spun yarns.
""there!
i've made you a new set of warm night-gowns with four button-holes in each.
see if they are not neatly done," said rose, one day, some weeks after the new lessons began.
""even to a thread, and nice little bars across the end so i ca n't tear them when i twitch the buttons out.
most superior work, ma'am, and i'm deeply grateful; so much so, that i'll sew on these buttons myself, and save those tired fingers from another prick."
""you sew them on?"
cried rose, with her eyes wide open in amazement.
""wait a bit till i get my sewing tackle, and then you shall see what i can do."
""can he, really?"
asked rose of aunt peace, as uncle alec marched off with a comical air of importance.
""oh, yes, i taught him years ago, before he went to sea; and i suppose he has had to do things for himself, more or less, ever since; so he has kept his hand in."
he evidently had, for he was soon back with a funny little work-bag, out of which he produced a thimble without a top; and, having threaded his needle, he proceeded to sew on the buttons so handily that rose was much impressed and amused.
""i wonder if there is anything in the world that you can not do," she said, in a tone of respectful admiration.
""there are one or two things that i am not up to yet," he answered, with a laugh in the corner of his eye, as he waxed his thread with a flourish.
""i should like to know what?"
""bread and button-holes, ma'am."
chapter 17 -- good bargains it was a rainy sunday afternoon, and four boys were trying to spend it quietly in the "liberry," as jamie called the room devoted to books and boys, at aunt jessie's.
will and geordie were sprawling on the sofa, deep in the adventures of the scapegraces and ragamuffins whose histories are now the fashion.
archie lounged in the easy chair, surrounded by newspapers; charlie stood upon the rug, in an englishman's favourite attitude, and, i regret to say, both were smoking cigars.
""it is my opinion that this day will never come to an end," said prince, with a yawn that nearly rent him asunder.
""read and improve your mind, my son," answered archie, peering solemnly over the paper behind which he had been dozing.
""do n't you preach, parson, but put on your boots and come out for a tramp, instead of mulling over the fire like a granny."
""no, thank you, tramps in an easterly storm do n't strike me as amusing."
there archie stopped and held up his hand, for a pleasant voice was heard saying outside, "are the boys in the library, auntie?"
""yes, dear, and longing for sunshine; so run in and make it for them," answered mrs. jessie.
""it's rose," and archie threw his cigar into the fire.
""what's that for?"
asked charlie.
""gentlemen do n't smoke before ladies."
""true; but i'm not going to waste my weed," and prince poked his into the empty inkstand that served them for an ash tray.
a gentle tap at the door was answered by a chorus of "come in," and rose appeared, looking blooming and breezy with the chilly air.
""if i disturb you, say so, and i'll go away," she began, pausing on the threshold with modest hesitation, for something in the elder boys" faces excited her curiosity.
""you never disturb us, cousin," said the smokers, while the readers tore themselves from the heroes of the bar-room and gutter long enough to nod affably to their guest.
as rose bent to warm her hands, one end of archie's cigar stuck out of the ashes, smoking furiously and smelling strongly.
""oh, you bad boys, how could you do it, to-day of all days?"
she said reproachfully.
""where's the harm?"
asked archie.
""you know as well as i do; your mother does n't like it, and it's a bad habit, for it wastes money and does you no good."
""fiddlesticks!
every man smokes, even uncle alec, whom you think so perfect," began charlie, in his teasing way.
""no, he does n't!
he has given it up, and i know why," cried rose eagerly.
""now i think of it, i have n't seen the old meerschaum since he came home.
did he stop it on our account?"
asked archie.
""yes," and rose told the little scene on the seashore in the camping-out time.
archie seemed much impressed, and said manfully, "he wo n't have done that in vain so far as i'm concerned.
i do n't care a pin about smoking, so can give it up as easy as not, and i promise you i will.
i only do it now and then for fun."
""you too?"
and rose looked up at the bonny prince, who never looked less bonny than at that moment, for he had resumed his cigar just to torment her.
now charlie cared as little as archie about smoking, but it would not do to yield too soon: so he shook his head, gave a great puff, and said loftily, "you women are always asking us to give up harmless little things just because you do n't approve of them.
how would you like it if we did the same by you, miss?"
""if i did harmful or silly things, i'd thank you for telling me of them, and i'd try to mend my ways," answered rose heartily.
""well, now, we'll see if you mean what you say.
i'll give up smoking to please you, if you will give up something to please me," said prince, seeing a good chance to lord it over the weaker vessel at small cost to himself.
""i'll agree if it is as foolish as cigars."
""oh, it's ever so much sillier."
""then i promise; what is it?"
and rose quite trembled with anxiety to know which of her pet habits or possessions she must lose.
""give up your ear-rings," and charlie laughed wickedly, sure that she would never hold to that bargain.
rose uttered a cry and clapped both hands to her ears where the gold rings hung.
""oh, charlie, would n't anything else do as well?
i've been through so much teasing and trouble, i do want to enjoy my pretty ear-rings, for i can wear them now."
""wear as many as you like, and i'll smoke in peace," returned this bad boy.
""will nothing else satisfy you?"
imploringly.
""nothing," sternly.
rose stood silent for a minute, thinking of something aunt jessie once said "you have more influence over the boys than you know; use it for their good, and i shall thank you all my life."
here was a chance to do some good by sacrificing a little vanity of her own.
she felt it was right to do it, yet found it very hard, and asked wistfully, "do you mean never wear them, charlie?"
""never, unless you want me to smoke."
""i never do."
""then clinch the bargain."
he had no idea she would do it, and was much surprised when she took the dear rings from her ears, with a quick gesture, and held them out to him, saying, in a tone that made the colour come up to his brown cheek, it was so full of sweet good will, "i care more for my cousins than for my ear-rings, so i promise, and i'll keep my word."
""for shame, prince!
let her wear her little danglers if she likes, and do n't bargain about doing what you know is right," cried archie, coming out of his grove of newspapers with an indignant bounce.
but rose was bent on showing her aunt that she could use her influence for the boys" good, and said steadily, "it is fair, and i want it to be so, then you will believe i'm in earnest.
here, each of you wear one of these on your watch-guard to remind you.
i shall not forget, because very soon i can not wear ear-rings if i want to."
as she spoke, rose offered a little ring to each cousin, and the boys, seeing how sincere she was, obeyed her.
when the pledges were safe, rose stretched a hand to each, and the lads gave hers a hearty grip, half pleased and half ashamed of their part in the compact.
just at that moment dr. alec and mrs. jessie came in.
""what's this?
dancing ladies" triumph on sunday?"
exclaimed uncle alec, surveying the trio with surprise.
""no, sir, it is the anti-tobacco league.
will you join?"
said charlie, while rose slipped away to her aunt, and archie buried both cigars behind the back log.
when the mystery was explained, the elders were well pleased, and rose received a vote of thanks, which made her feel as if she had done a service to her country, as she had, for every boy who grows up free from bad habits bids fair to make a good citizen.
""i wish rose would drive a bargain with will and geordie also, for i think these books are as bad for the small boys as cigars for the large ones," said mrs. jessie, sitting down on the sofa between the readers, who politely curled up their legs to make room for her.
""i thought they were all the fashion," answered dr. alec, settling in the big chair with rose.
""so is smoking, but it is harmful.
the writers of these popular stories intend to do good, i have no doubt, but it seems to me they fail because their motto is, "be smart, and you will be rich," instead of "be honest, and you will be happy."
i do not judge hastily, alec, for i have read a dozen, at least, of these stories, and, with much that is attractive to boys, i find a great deal to condemn in them, and other parents say the same when i ask them."
""now, mum, that's too bad!
i like'em tip-top.
this one is a regular screamer," cried will.
""they're bully books, and i'd like to know where's the harm," added geordie.
""you have just shown us one of the chief evils, and that is slang," answered their mother quickly.
""must have it, ma'am.
if these chaps talked all right, there'd be no fun in'em," protested will.
""a boot-black must n't use good grammar, and a newsboy must swear a little, or he would n't be natural," explained geordie, both boys ready to fight gallantly for their favourites.
""but my sons are neither boot-blacks nor newsboys, and i object to hearing them use such words as "screamer," "bully," and "buster."
in fact, i fail to see the advantage of writing books about such people unless it is done in a very different way.
i can not think they will help to refine the ragamuffins if they read them, and i'm sure they can do no good to the better class of boys, who through these books are introduced to police courts, counterfeiters" dens, gambling houses, drinking saloons, and all sorts of low life."
""some of them are about first-rate boys, mother; and they go to sea and study, and sail round the world, having great larks all the way."
""i have read about them, geordie, and though they are better than the others, i am not satisfied with these optical delusions, as i call them.
now, i put it to you, boys, is it natural for lads from fifteen to eighteen to command ships, defeat pirates, outwit smugglers, and so cover themselves with glory, that admiral farragut invites them to dinner, saying, "noble boy, you are an honour to your country!"
or, if the hero is in the army, he has hair-breadth escapes and adventures enough in one small volume to turn his hair white, and in the end he goes to washington at the express desire of the president or commander-in-chief to be promoted to no end of stars and bars.
even if the hero is merely an honest boy trying to get his living, he is not permitted to do so in a natural way, by hard work and years of patient effort, but is suddenly adopted by a millionaire whose pocket-book he has returned; or a rich uncle appears from sea just in the nick of time; or the remarkable boy earns a few dollars, speculates in pea-nuts or neckties, and grows rich so rapidly that sinbad in the diamond valley is a pauper compared to him.
is n't it so, boys?"
""well, the fellows in these books are mighty lucky, and very smart, i must say," answered will, surveying an illustration on the open page before him, where a small but virtuous youth is upsetting a tipsy giant in a bar-room, and under it the elegant inscription, "dick dauntless punches the head of sam soaker."
""it gives boys such wrong ideas of life and business; shows them so much evil and vulgarity that they need not know about, and makes the one success worth having a fortune, a lord's daughter, or some worldly honour, often not worth the time it takes to win.
it does seem to me that some one might write stories that should be lively, natural and helpful tales in which the english should be good, the morals pure, and the characters such as we can love in spite of the faults that all may have.
i ca n't bear to see such crowds of eager little fellows at the libraries reading such trash; weak, when it is not wicked, and totally unfit to feed the hungry minds that feast on it for want of something better.
there!
my lecture is done; now i should like to hear what you gentlemen have to say," and aunt jessie subsided with a pretty flush on the face that was full of motherly anxiety for her boys.
""tom brown just suits mother, and me too, so i wish mr. hughes would write another story as good," said archie.
""you do n't find things of this sort in tom brown; yet these books are all in the sunday-school libraries" and mrs. jessie read the following paragraph from the book she had taken from will's hand," "in this place we saw a tooth of john the baptist.
ben said he could see locust and wild honey sticking to it.
i could n't.
perhaps john used a piece of the true cross for a tooth-pick.""
""a larky sort of a boy says that, mum, and we skip the parts where they describe what they saw in the different countries," cried will.
""and those descriptions, taken mostly from guidebooks, i fancy, are the only parts of any real worth.
the scrapes of the bad boys make up the rest of the story, and it is for those you read these books, i think," answered his mother, stroking back the hair off the honest little face that looked rather abashed at this true statement of the case.
""anyway, mother, the ship part is useful, for we learn how to sail her, and by and by that will all come handy when we go to sea," put in geordie.
""indeed, then you can explain this manoeuvre to me, of course," and mrs. jessie read from another page the following nautical paragraph, "the wind is south-south-west, and we can have her up four points closer to the wind, and still be six points off the wind.
as she luffs up we shall man the fore and main sheets, slack on the weather, and haul on the lee braces."
""i guess i could, if i was n't afraid of uncle.
he knows so much more than i do, he'd laugh," began geordie, evidently puzzled by the question.
""ho, you know you ca n't, so why make believe?
we do n't understand half of the sea lingo, mum, and i dare say it's all wrong," cried will, suddenly going over to the enemy, to geordie's great disgust.
""i do wish the boys would n't talk to me as if i was a ship," said rose, bringing forward a private grievance.
""coming home from church this morning, the wind blew me about, and will called out, right in the street, "brail up the foresail, and take in the flying-jib, that will ease her.""
the boys shouted at the plaintive tone in which rose repeated the words that offended her, and will vainly endeavoured to explain that he only meant to tell her to wrap her cloak closer, and tie a veil over the tempest-tossed feathers in her hat.
""to tell the truth, if the boys must have slang, i can bear the "sea lingo," as will calls it, better than the other.
it afflicts me less to hear my sons talk about "brailing up the foresail" than doing as they "darn please," and "cut your cable" is decidedly preferable to "let her rip."
i once made a rule that i would have no slang in the house.
i give it up now, for i can not keep it; but i will not have rubbishy books; so, archie, please send these two after your cigars."
mrs. jessie held both the small boys fast with an arm round each neck, and when she took this base advantage of them they could only squirm with dismay.
""yes, right behind the back log," she continued, energetically.
""there, my hearties -lrb- you like sea slang, so i'll give you a bit -rrb- now, i want you to promise not to read any more stuff for a month, and i'll agree to supply you with wholesome fare."
""oh, mother, not a single one?"
cried will.
""could n't we just finish those?"
pleaded geordie.
""the boys threw away half-smoked cigars; and your books must go after them.
surely you would not be outdone by the "old fellows," as you call them, or be less obedient to little mum than they were to rose."
""course not!
come on, geordie," and will took the vow like a hero.
his brother sighed and obeyed, but privately resolved to finish his story the minute the month was over.
""you have laid out a hard task for yourself, jessie, in trying to provide good reading for boys who have been living on sensation stories.
it will be like going from raspberry tarts to plain bread and butter; but you will probably save them from a bilious fever," said dr. alec, much amused at the proceedings.
""i remember hearing grandpa say that a love for good books was one of the best safeguards a man could have," began archie, staring thoughtfully at the fine library before him.
""yes, but there's no time to read nowadays; a fellow has to keep scratching round to make money or he's nobody," cut in charlie, trying to look worldly-wise.
""this love of money is the curse of america, and for the sake of it men will sell honour and honesty, till we do n't know whom to trust, and it is only a genius like agassiz who dares to say," i can not waste my time in getting rich,"" said mrs. jessie sadly.
""do you want us to be poor, mother?"
asked archie, wondering.
""no, dear, and you never need be, while you can use your hands; but i am afraid of this thirst for wealth, and the temptations it brings.
o, my boys!
i tremble for the time when i must let you go, because i think it would break my heart to have you fail as so many fail.
it would be far easier to see you dead if it could be said of you as of sumner "no man dared offer him a bribe.""
mrs. jessie was so earnest in her motherly anxiety that her voice faltered over the last words, and she hugged the yellow heads closer in her arms, as if she feared to let them leave that safe harbour for the great sea where so many little boats go down.
the younger lads nestled closer to her, and archie said, in his quiet, resolute way, "i can not promise to be an agassiz or a sumner, mother; but i do promise to be an honest man, please god."
""then i'm satisfied!"
and holding fast the hand he gave her, she sealed his promise with a kiss that had all a mother's hope and faith in it.
""i do n't see how they ever can be bad, she is so fond and proud of them," whispered rose, quite touched by the little scene.
""you must help her make them what they should be.
you have begun already, and when i see those rings where they are, my girl is prettier in my sight than if the biggest diamonds that ever twinkled shone in her ears," answered dr. alec, looking at her with approving eyes.
""i'm so glad you think i can do anything, for i perfectly ache to be useful; everyone is so good to me, especially aunt jessie."
""i think you are in a fair way to pay your debts, rosy, for when girls give up their little vanities, and boys their small vices, and try to strengthen each other in well-doing, matters are going as they ought.
work away, my dear, and help their mother keep these sons fit friends for an innocent creature like yourself; they will be the manlier men for it, i can assure you."
chapter 18 -- fashion and physiology "please, sir, i guess you'd better step up right away, or it will be too late, for i heard miss rose say she knew you would n't like it, and she'd never dare to let you see her."
phebe said this as she popped her head into the study, where dr. alec sat reading a new book.
""they are at it, are they?"
he said, looking up quickly, and giving himself a shake, as if ready for a battle of some sort.
""yes, sir, as hard as they can talk, and miss rose do n't seem to know what to do, for the things are ever so stylish, and she looks elegant in'em; though i like her best in the old ones," answered phebe.
""you are a girl of sense.
i'll settle matters for rosy, and you'll lend a hand.
is everything ready in her room, and are you sure you understand how they go?"
""oh, yes, sir; but they are so funny!
i know miss rose will think it's a joke," and phebe laughed as if something tickled her immensely.
""never mind what she thinks so long as she obeys.
tell her to do it for my sake, and she will find it the best joke she ever saw.
i expect to have a tough time of it, but we'll win yet," said the doctor, as he marched upstairs with the book in his hand, and an odd smile on his face.
there was such a clatter of tongues in the sewing-room that no one heard his tap at the door, so he pushed it open and took an observation.
aunt plenty, aunt clara, and aunt jessie were all absorbed in gazing at rose, who slowly revolved between them and the great mirror, in a full winter costume of the latest fashion.
""bless my heart!
worse even than i expected," thought the doctor, with an inward groan, for, to his benighted eyes, the girl looked like a trussed fowl, and the fine new dress had neither grace, beauty, nor fitness to recommend it.
the suit was of two peculiar shades of blue, so arranged that patches of light and dark distracted the eye.
the upper skirt was tied so lightly back that it was impossible to take a long step, and the under one was so loaded with plaited frills that it "wobbled" no other word will express it ungracefully, both fore and aft.
a bunch of folds was gathered up just below the waist behind, and a great bow rode a-top.
a small jacket of the same material was adorned with a high ruff at the back, and laid well open over the breast, to display some lace and a locket.
heavy fringes, bows, puffs, ruffles, and revers finished off the dress, making one's head ache to think of the amount of work wasted, for not a single graceful line struck the eye, and the beauty of the material was quite lost in the profusion of ornament.
a high velvet hat, audaciously turned up in front, with a bunch of pink roses and a sweeping plume, was cocked over one ear, and, with her curls braided into a club at the back of her neck, rose's head looked more like that of a dashing young cavalier than a modest little girl's.
high-heeled boots tilted her well forward, a tiny muff pinioned her arms, and a spotted veil, tied so closely over her face that her eyelashes were rumpled by it, gave the last touch of absurdity to her appearance.
""now she looks like other girls, and as i like to see her," mrs. clara was saying, with an air of great satisfaction.
""she does look like a fashionable young lady, but somehow i miss my little rose, for children dressed like children in my day," answered aunt plenty, peering through her glasses with a troubled look, for she could not imagine the creature before her ever sitting in her lap, running to wait upon her, or making the house gay with a child's blithe presence.
""things have changed since your day, aunt, and it takes time to get used to new ways.
but you, jessie, surely like this costume better than the dowdy things rose has been wearing all summer.
now, be honest, and own you do," said mrs. clara, bent on being praised for her work.
""well, dear to be quite honest, then, i think it is frightful," answered mrs. jessie, with a candour that caused revolving rose to stop in dismay.
""hear, hear," cried a deep voice, and with a general start the ladies became aware that the enemy was among them.
rose blushed up to her hat brim, and stood, looking, as she felt, like a fool, while mrs. clara hastened to explain.
""of course, i do n't expect you to like it, alec, but i do n't consider you a judge of what is proper and becoming for a young lady.
therefore, i have taken the liberty of providing a pretty street suit for rose.
she need not wear it if you object, for i know we promised to let you do what you liked with the poor dear for a year."
""it is a street costume, is it?"
asked the doctor, mildly.
""do you know, i never should have guessed that it was meant for winter weather and brisk locomotion.
take a turn, rosy, and let me see all its beauties and advantages."
rose tried to walk off with her usual free tread, but the under-skirt got in her way, the over-skirt was so tight she could not take a long step, and her boots made it impossible to carry herself perfectly erect.
""i have n't got used to it yet," she said, petulantly, kicking at her train, as she turned to toddle back again.
""suppose a mad dog or a runaway horse was after you, could you get out of the way without upsetting, colonel," asked the doctor, with a twinkle in the eyes that were fixed on the rakish hat.
""do n't think i could, but i'll try," and rose made a rush across the room.
her boot-heels caught on a rug, several strings broke, her hat tipped over her eyes, and she plunged promiscuously into a chair, where she sat laughing so infectiously that all but mrs. clara joined in her mirth.
""i should say that a walking suit in which one could not walk, and a winter suit which exposes the throat, head, and feet to cold and damp, was rather a failure, clara, especially as it has no beauty to reconcile one to its utter unfitness," said dr. alec, as he helped rose undo her veil, adding, in a low tone, "nice thing for the eyes; you'll soon see spots when it's off as well as when it's on, and, by and by, be a case for an oculist."
""no beauty!"
cried mrs. clara, warmly, "now, that is just a man's blindness.
this is the best of silk and camel's hair, real ostrich feathers, and an expensive ermine muff.
what could be in better taste, or more proper for a young girl?"
""i'll shew you, if rose will go to her room and oblige me by putting on what she finds there," answered the doctor, with unexpected readiness.
""alec, if it is a bloomer, i shall protest.
i've been expecting it, but i know i can not bear to see that pretty child sacrificed to your wild ideas of health.
tell me it is n't a bloomer!"
and mrs. clara clasped her hands imploringly.
""it is not."
""thank heaven!"
and she resigned herself with a sigh of relief, adding plaintively, "i did hope you'd accept my suit, for poor rose has been afflicted with frightful clothes long enough to spoil the taste of any girl."
""you talk of my afflicting the child, and then make a helpless guy like that of her!"
answered the doctor, pointing to the little fashion plate that was scuttling out of sight as fast as it could go.
he closed the door with a shrug, but before anyone could speak, his quick eye fell upon an object which caused him to frown, and demand in an indignant tone, "after all i have said, were you really going to tempt my girl with those abominable things?"
""i thought we put them away when she would n't wear them," murmured mrs. clara, whisking a little pair of corsets out of sight with guilty haste.
""i only brought them to try, for rose is growing stout, and will have no figure if it is not attended to soon," she added, with an air of calm conviction that roused the doctor still more, for this was one of his especial abominations.
""growing stout!
yes, thank heaven, she is, and shall continue to do it, for nature knows how to mould a woman better than any corset-maker, and i wo n't have her interfered with.
my dear clara, have you lost your senses that you can for a moment dream of putting a growing girl into an instrument of torture like this?"
and with a sudden gesture he plucked forth the offending corsets from under the sofa cushion, and held them out with the expression one would wear on beholding the thumbscrews or the rack of ancient times.
""do n't be absurd, alec.
there is no torture about it, for tight lacing is out of fashion, and we have nice, sensible things nowadays.
everyone wears them; even babies have stiffened waists to support their weak little backs," began mrs. clara, rushing to the defence of the pet delusion of most women.
""i know it, and so the poor little souls have weak backs all their days, as their mothers had before them.
it is vain to argue the matter, and i wo n't try, but i wish to state, once for all, that if i ever see a pair of corsets near rose, i'll put them in the fire, and you may send the bill to me."
as he spoke the corsets were on their way to destruction, but mrs. jessie caught his arm, exclaiming merrily, "do n't burn them, for mercy sake, alec; they are full of whalebones, and will make a dreadful odour.
give them to me.
i'll see that they do no harm."
""whalebones, indeed!
a regular fence of them, and metal gate-posts in front.
as if our own bones were not enough, if we'd give them a chance to do their duty," growled the doctor, yielding up the bone of contention with a last shake of contempt.
then his face cleared suddenly, and he held up his finger, saying, with a smile, "hear those girls laugh; cramped lungs could not make hearty music like that."
peals of laughter issued from rose's room, and smiles involuntarily touched the lips of those who listened to the happy sound.
""some new prank of yours, alec?"
asked aunt plenty, indulgently, for she had come to believe in most of her nephew's odd notions, because they seemed to work so well.
""yes, ma'am, my last, and i hope you will like it.
i discovered what clara was at, and got my rival suit ready for to-day.
i'm not going to "afflict" rose, but let her choose, and if i'm not entirely mistaken, she will like my rig best.
while we wait i'll explain, and then you will appreciate the general effect better.
i got hold of this little book, and was struck with its good sense and good taste, for it suggests a way to clothe women both healthfully and handsomely, and that is a great point.
it begins at the foundations, as you will see if you will look at these pictures, and i should think women would rejoice at this lightening of their burdens."
as he spoke, the doctor laid the book before aunt plenty, who obediently brought her spectacles to bear upon the illustrations, and after a long look exclaimed, with a scandalised face, "mercy on us, these things are like the night-drawers jamie wears!
you do n't mean to say you want rose to come out in this costume?
it's not proper, and i wo n't consent to it!"
""i do mean it, and i'm sure my sensible aunt will consent when she understands that these well i'll call them by an indian name, and say pajamas are for underwear, and rose can have as pretty frocks as she likes outside.
these two suits of flannel, each in one piece from head to foot, with a skirt or so hung on this easily-fitting waist, will keep the child warm without burdening her with belts, and gathers, and buckles, and bunches round the waist, and leave free the muscles that need plenty of room to work in.
she shall never have the back-ache if i can help it, nor the long list of ills you dear women think you can not escape."
""i do n't consider it modest, and i'm sure rose will be shocked at it," began mrs. clara, but stopped suddenly, as rose appeared in the doorway, not looking shocked a bit.
""come on, my hygienic model, and let us see you," said her uncle, with an approving glance, as she walked in, looking so mischievously merry, that it was evident she enjoyed the joke.
""well, i do n't see anything remarkable.
that is a neat, plain suit; the materials are good, and it's not unbecoming, if you want her to look like a little school-girl; but it has not a particle of style, and no one would ever give it a second glance," said mrs. clara, feeling that her last remark condemned the whole thing.
""exactly what i want," answered the provoking doctor, rubbing his hands with a satisfied air.
""rosy looks now like what she is, a modest little girl, who does not want to be stared at.
i think she would get a glance of approval, though, from people who like sense and simplicity rather than fuss and feathers.
revolve, my hebe, and let me refresh my eyes by the sight of you."
there was very little to see, however, only a pretty gabrielle dress, of a soft warm shade of brown, coming to the tops of a trim pair of boots with low heels.
a seal-skin sack, cap, and mittens, with a glimpse of scarlet at the throat, and the pretty curls tied up with a bright velvet of the same colour, completed the external adornment, making her look like a robin redbreast wintry, yet warm.
""how do you like it, rosy?"
asked the doctor, feeling that her opinion was more important to the success of his new idea than that of all the aunts on the hill.
""i feel very odd and light, but i'm warm as a toast, and nothing seems to be in my way," answered rose, with a skip which displayed shapely gaiters on legs that now might be as free and active as a boy's under the modest skirts of the girl.
""you can run away from the mad dogs, and walk off at a smart pace without tumbling on your nose, now, i fancy?"
""yes, uncle!
suppose the dog coming, i just hop over a wall so and when i walk of a cold day, i go like this."
entering fully into the spirit of the thing, rose swung herself over the high back of the sofa as easily as one of her cousins, and then went down the long hall as if her stout boots were related to the famous seven-leaguers.
""there!
you see how it will be; dress her in that boyish way and she will act like a boy.
i do hate all these inventions of strong-minded women!"
exclaimed mrs. clara, as rose came back at a run.
""ah, but you see some of these sensible inventions come from the brain of a fashionable modiste, who will make you more lovely, or what you value more "stylish" outside and comfortable within.
mrs. van tassel has been to madame stone, and is wearing a full suit of this sort.
van himself told me, when i asked how she was, that she had given up lying on the sofa, and was going about in a most astonishing way, considering her feeble health."
""you do n't say so!
let me see that book a moment," and aunt clara examined the new patterns with a more respectful air, for if the elegant mrs. van tassel wore these "dreadful things" it would never do to be left behind, in spite of her prejudices.
dr. alec looked at mrs. jessie, and both smiled, for "little mum" had been in the secret, and enjoyed it mightily.
""i thought that would settle it," he said with a nod.
""i did n't wait for mrs. van to lead the way, and for once in my life i have adopted a new fashion before clara.
my freedom suit is ordered, and you may see me playing tag with rose and the boys before long," answered mrs. jessie, nodding back at him.
meantime aunt plenty was examining rose's costume, for the hat and sack were off, and the girl was eagerly explaining the new under-garments.
""see, auntie, all nice scarlet flannel, and a gay little petticoat, and long stockings, oh, so warm!
phebe and i nearly died laughing when i put this rig on, but i like it ever so much.
the dress is so comfortable, and does n't need any belt or sash, and i can sit without rumpling any trimming, that's such a comfort!
i like to be tidy, and so, when i wear fussed-up things, i'm thinking of my clothes all the time, and that's tiresome.
do say you like it.
i resolved i would, just to please uncle, for he does know more about health than anyone else, i'm sure, and i'd wear a bag if he asked me to do it."
""i do n't ask that, rose, but i wish you'd weigh and compare the two suits, and then choose which seems best.
i leave it to your own commonsense," answered dr. alec, feeling pretty sure he had won.
""why, i take this one, of course, uncle.
the other is fashionable, and yes i must say i think it's pretty but it's very heavy, and i should have to go round like a walking doll if i wore it.
i'm much obliged to auntie, but i'll keep this, please."
rose spoke gently but decidedly, though there was a look of regret when her eye fell on the other suit which phebe had brought in; and it was very natural to like to look as other girls did.
aunt clara sighed; uncle alec smiled, and said heartily, "thank you, dear; now read this book and you will understand why i ask it of you.
then, if you like, i'll give you a new lesson; you asked for one yesterday, and this is more necessary than french or housekeeping."
""oh, what?"
and rose caught up the book which mrs. clara had thrown down with a disgusted look.
though dr. alec was forty, the boyish love of teasing was not yet dead in him, and, being much elated at his victory, he could not resist the temptation of shocking mrs. clara by suggesting dreadful possibilities, so he answered, half in earnest, half in jest, "physiology, rose.
would n't you like to be a little medical student, with uncle doctor for teacher, and be ready to take up his practice when he has to stop?
if you agree, i'll hunt up my old skeleton to-morrow."
that was too much for aunt clara, and she hastily departed, with her mind in a sad state of perturbation about mrs. van tassel's new costume and rose's new study.
chapter 19 -- brother bones rose accepted her uncle's offer, as aunt myra discovered two or three days later.
coming in for an early call, and hearing voices in the study, she opened the door, gave a cry and shut it quickly, looking a good deal startled.
the doctor appeared in a moment, and begged to know what the matter was.
""how can you ask when that long box looks so like a coffin i thought it was one, and that dreadful thing stared me in the face as i opened the door," answered mrs. myra, pointing to the skeleton that hung from the chandelier cheerfully grinning at all beholders.
""this is a medical college where women are freely admitted, so walk in, madam, and join the class if you'll do me the honour," said the doctor, waving her forward with his politest bow.
""do, auntie, it's perfectly splendid," cried rose's voice, and rose's blooming face was seen behind the ribs of the skeleton, smiling and nodding in the gayest possible manner.
""what are you doing, child?"
demanded aunt myra, dropping into a chair and staring about her.
""oh, i'm learning bones to-day, and i like it so much.
there are twelve ribs, you know, and the two lower ones are called floating ribs, because they are not fastened to the breastbone.
that's why they go in so easily if you lace tight and squeeze the lungs and heart in the let me see, what was that big word oh, i know thoracic cavity," and rose beamed with pride as she aired her little bit of knowledge.
""do you think that is a good sort of thing for her to be poking over?
she is a nervous child, and i'm afraid it will be bad for her," said aunt myra, watching rose as she counted vertebrae, and waggled a hip-joint in its socket with an inquiring expression.
""an excellent study, for she enjoys it, and i mean to teach her how to manage her nerves so that they wo n't be a curse to her, as many a woman's become through ignorance or want of thought.
to make a mystery or terror of these things is a mistake, and i mean rose shall understand and respect her body so well that she wo n't dare to trifle with it as most women do."
""and she really likes it?"
""very much, auntie!
it's all so wonderful, and so nicely planned, you can hardly believe what you see.
just think, there are 600,000,000 air cells in one pair of lungs, and 2,000 pores to a square inch of surface; so you see what quantities of air we must have, and what care we should take of our skin so all the little doors will open and shut right.
and brains, auntie, you've no idea how curious they are; i have n't got to them yet, but i long to, and uncle is going to show me a manikin that you can take to pieces.
just think how nice it will be to see all the organs in their places; i only wish they could be made to work as ours do."
it was funny to see aunt myra's face as rose stood before her talking rapidly with one hand laid in the friendliest manner on the skeleton's shoulder.
every word both the doctor and rose uttered hit the good lady in her weakest spot, and as she looked and listened a long array of bottles and pill-boxes rose up before her, reproaching her with the "ignorance and want of thought" that made her what she was, a nervous, dyspeptic, unhappy old woman.
""well, i do n't know but you may be right, alec, only i would n't carry it too far.
women do n't need much of this sort of knowledge, and are not fit for it.
i could n't bear to touch that ugly thing, and it gives me the creeps to hear about "organs,"" said aunt myra, with a sigh and her hand on her side.
""would n't it be a comfort to know that your liver was on the right side, auntie, and not on the left!"
asked rose with a naughty laugh in her eyes, for she had lately learnt that aunt myra's liver complaint was not in the proper place.
""it's a dying world, child, and it do n't much matter where the pain is, for sooner or later we all drop off and are seen no more," was aunt myra's cheerful reply.
""well, i intend to know what kills me if i can, and meantime, i'm going to enjoy myself in spite of a dying world.
i wish you'd do so too, and come and study with uncle, it would do you good, i'm sure," and rose went back to counting vertebrae with such a happy face, that aunt myra had not the heart to say a word to dampen her ardour.
""perhaps it's as well to let her do what she likes the little while she is with us.
but pray be careful of her, alec, and not allow her to overwork," she whispered as she went out.
""that's exactly what i'm trying to do, ma'am, and rather a hard job i find it," he added, as he shut the door, for the dear aunts were dreadfully in his way sometimes.
half an hour later came another interruption in the shape of mac, who announced his arrival by the brief but elegant remark, "hullo!
what new game is this?"
rose explained, mac gave a long whistle of surprise, and then took a promenade round the skeleton, observing gravely, "brother bones looks very jolly, but i ca n't say much for his beauty."
""you must n't make fun of him, for he's a good old fellow, and you'd be just as ugly if your flesh was off," said rose, defending her new friend with warmth.
""i dare say, so i'll keep my flesh on, thank you.
you are so busy you ca n't read to a fellow, i suppose?"
asked mac, whose eyes were better, but still too weak for books.
""do n't you want to come and join my class?
uncle explains it all to us, and you can take a look at the plates as they come along.
we'll give up bones today and have eyes instead; that will be more interesting to you," added rose, seeing no ardent thirst for physiological information in his face.
""rose, we must not fly about from one thing to another in this way," began dr. alec, but she whispered quickly, with a nod towards mac, whose goggles were turned wistfully in the direction of the forbidden books, "he's blue to-day, and we must amuse him; give a little lecture on eyes, and it will do him good.
no matter about me, uncle."
""very well; the class will please be seated," and the doctor gave a sounding rap on the table.
""come, sit by me, dear, then we can both see the pictures; and if your head gets tired you can lie down," said rose, generously opening her little college to a brother, and kindly providing for the weaknesses that all humanity is subject to.
side by side they sat and listened to a very simple explanation of the mechanism of the eye, finding it as wonderful as a fairy tale, for fine plates illustrated it, and a very willing teacher did his best to make the lesson pleasant.
""jove!
if i'd known what mischief i was doing to that mighty delicate machine of mine, you would n't have caught me reading by firelight, or studying with a glare of sunshine on my book," said mac, peering solemnly at a magnified eye-ball; then, pushing it away, he added indignantly, "why is n't a fellow taught all about his works, and how to manage'em, and not left to go blundering into all sorts of worries?
telling him after he's down is n't much use, for then he's found it out himself and wo n't thank you."
""ah, mac, that's just what i keep lecturing about, and people wo n't listen.
you lads need that sort of knowledge so much, and fathers and mothers ought to be able to give it to you.
few of them are able, and so we all go blundering, as you say.
less greek and latin and more knowledge of the laws of health for my boys, if i had them.
mathematics are all very well, but morals are better, and i wish, how i wish that i could help teachers and parents to feel it as they ought."
""some do; aunt jessie and her boys have capital talks, and i wish we could; but mother's so busy with her housekeeping, and father with his business, there never seems to be any time for that sort of thing; even if there was, it do n't seem as if it would be easy to talk to them, because we've never got into the way of it, you know."
poor mac was right there, and expressed a want that many a boy and girl feels.
fathers and mothers are too absorbed in business and housekeeping to study their children, and cherish that sweet and natural confidence which is a child's surest safeguard, and a parent's subtlest power.
so the young hearts hide trouble or temptation till the harm is done, and mutual regret comes too late.
happy the boys and girls who tell all things freely to father or mother, sure of pity, help, and pardon; and thrice happy the parents who, out of their own experience, and by their own virtues, can teach and uplift the souls for which they are responsible.
this longing stirred in the hearts of rose and mac, and by a natural impulse both turned to dr. alec, for in this queer world of ours, fatherly and motherly hearts often beat warm and wise in the breasts of bachelor uncles and maiden aunts; and it is my private opinion that these worthy creatures are a beautiful provision of nature for the cherishing of other people's children.
they certainly get great comfort out of it, and receive much innocent affection that otherwise would be lost.
dr. alec was one of these, and his big heart had room for every one of the eight cousins, especially orphaned rose and afflicted mac; so, when the boy uttered that unconscious reproach to his parents, and rose added with a sigh, "it must be beautiful to have a mother!"
the good doctor yearned over them, and, shutting his book with a decided slam, said in that cordial voice of his, "now, look here, children, you just come and tell me all your worries, and with god's help, i'll settle them for you.
that is what i'm here for, i believe, and it will be a great happiness to me if you can trust me."
""we can, uncle, and we will!"
both answered, with a heartiness that gratified him much.
""good!
now school is dismissed, and i advise you to go and refresh your 600,000,000 air cells by a brisk run in the garden.
come again whenever you like, mac, and we'll teach you all we can about your "works," as you call them, so you can keep them running smoothly."
""we'll come, sir, much obliged," and the class in physiology went out to walk.
mac did come again, glad to find something he could study in spite of his weak eyes, and learned much that was of more value than anything his school had ever taught him.
of course, the other lads made great fun of the whole thing, and plagued dr. alec's students half out of their lives.
but they kept on persistently, and one day something happened which made the other fellows behave themselves for ever after.
it was a holiday, and rose up in her room thought she heard the voices of her cousins, so she ran down to welcome them, but found no one there.
""never mind, they will be here soon, and then we'll have a frolic," she said to herself, and thinking she had been mistaken she went into the study to wait.
she was lounging over the table looking at a map when an odd noise caught her ear.
a gentle tapping somewhere, and following the sound it seemed to come from the inside of the long case in which the skeleton lived when not professionally engaged.
this case stood upright in a niche between two book-cases at the back of the room, a darkish corner, where brother bones, as the boys would call him, was out of the way.
as rose stood looking in that direction, and wondering if a rat had got shut in, the door of the case swung slowly open, and with a great start she saw a bony arm lifted, and a bony finger beckon to her.
for a minute she was frightened, and ran to the study door with a fluttering heart, but just as she touched the handle a queer, stifled sort of giggle made her stop short and turn red with anger.
she paused an instant to collect herself, and then went softly toward the bony beckoner.
a nearer look revealed black threads tied to the arm and fingers, the ends of threads disappearing through holes bored in the back of the case.
peeping into the dark recess, she also caught sight of the tip of an elbow covered with a rough gray cloth which she knew very well.
quick as a flash she understood the joke, her fear vanished, and with a wicked smile, she whipped out her scissors, cut the threads, and the bony arm dropped with a rattle.
before she could say, "come out, charlie, and let my skeleton alone," a sudden irruption of boys, all in a high state of tickle, proclaimed to the hidden rogue that his joke was a failure.
""i told him not to do it, because it might give you a start," explained archie, emerging from the closet.
""i had a smelling bottle all ready if she fainted away," added steve, popping up from behind the great chair.
""it's too bad of you not to squawk and run; we depended on it, it's such fun to howl after you," said will and geordie, rolling out from under the sofa in a promiscuous heap.
""you are getting altogether too strong-minded, rose; most girls would have been in a jolly twitter to see this old fellow waggling his finger at them," complained charlie, squeezing out from his tight quarters, dusty and disgusted.
""i'm used to your pranks now, so i'm always on the watch and prepared.
but i wo n't have brother bones made fun of.
i know uncle would n't like it, so please do n't," began rose just as dr. alec came in, and, seeing the state of the case at a glance, he said quietly, "hear how i got that skeleton, and then i'm sure you will treat it with respect."
the boys settled down at once on any article of furniture that was nearest and listened dutifully.
""years ago, when i was in the hospital, a poor fellow was brought there with a rare and very painful disease.
there was no hope for him, but we did our best, and he was so grateful that when he died he left us his body that we might discover the mysteries of his complaint, and so be able to help others afflicted in the same way.
it did do good, and his brave patience made us remember him long after he was gone.
he thought i had been kind to him, and said to a fellow-student of mine, "tell the doctor i lave him me bones, for i've nothing else in the wide world, and i'll nos be wanting'em at all, at all, when the great pain hat kilt me entirely."
so that is how they came to be mine, and why i've kept them carefully, for, though only a poor, ignorant fellow, mike nolan did what he could to help others, and prove his gratitude to those who tried to help him."
as dr. alec paused, archie closed the door of the case as respectfully as if the mummy of an egyptian king was inside; will and geordie looked solemnly at one another, evidently much impressed, and charlie pensively remarked from the coal-hod where he sat, "i've often heard of a skeleton in the house, but i think few people have one as useful and as interesting as ours."
chapter 20 -- under the mistletoe rose made phebe promise that she would bring her stocking into the "bower," as she called her pretty room, on christmas morning, because that first delicious rummage loses half its charm if two little night-caps at least do not meet over the treasures, and two happy voices oh and ah together.
so when rose opened her eyes that day they fell upon faithful phebe, rolled up in a shawl, sitting on the rug before a blazing fire, with her untouched stocking laid beside her.
""merry christmas!"
cried the little mistress smiling gaily.
""merry christmas!"
answered the little maid, so heartily that it did one good to hear her.
""bring the stockings right away, phebe, and let's see what we've got," said rose, sitting up among the pillows, and looking as eager as a child.
a pair of long knobby hose were laid out upon the coverlet, and their contents examined with delight, though each knew every blessed thing that had been put into the other's stocking.
never mind what they were; it is evident that they were quite satisfactory, for as rose leaned back, she said, with a luxurious sigh of satisfaction, "now, i believe i've got everything in the world that i want," and phebe answered, smiling over a lapful of treasures, "this is the most splendid christmas i ever had since i was born."
then she added with an important air, "do wish for something else, because i happen to know of two more presents outside the door this minute."
""oh, me, what richness!"
cried rose, much excited.
""i used to wish for a pair of glass slippers like cinderella's, but as i ca n't have them, i really do n't know what to ask for."
phebe clapped her hands as she skipped off the bed and ran to the door, saying merrily, "one of them is for your feet, anyway.
i do n't know what you'll say to the other, but i think it's elegant."
so did rose, when a shining pair of skates and a fine sled appeared.
""uncle sent those; i know he did; and, now i see them, i remember that i did want to skate and coast.
is n't it a beauty?
see!
they fit nicely," and, sitting on the new sled, rose tried a skate on her little bare foot, while phebe stood by admiring the pretty tableau.
""now we must hurry and get dressed, for there is a deal to do to-day, and i want to get through in time to try my sled before dinner."
""gracious me, and i ought to be dusting my parlors this blessed minute!"
and mistress and maid separated with such happy faces that anyone would have known what day it was without being told.
""birnam wood has come to dunsinane, rosy," said dr. alec, as he left the breakfast table to open the door for a procession of holly, hemlock, and cedar boughs that came marching up the steps.
snowballs and "merry christmases!"
flew about pretty briskly for several minutes; then all fell to work trimming the old house, for the family always dined together there on that day.
""i rode miles and mileses, as ben says, to get this fine bit, and i'm going to hang it there as the last touch to the rig-a-madooning," said charlie, as he fastened a dull green branch to the chandelier in the front parlor.
""it is n't very pretty," said rose, who was trimming the chimney-piece with glossy holly sprays.
""never mind that, it's mistletoe, and anyone who stands under it will get kissed whether they like it or not.
now's your time, ladies," answered the saucy prince, keeping his place and looking sentimentally at the girls, who retired precipitately from the dangerous spot.
""you wo n't catch me," said rose, with great dignity.
""see if i do n't!"
""i've got my eye on phebe," observed will, in a patronising tone that made them all laugh.
""bless the dear; i sha n't mind it a bit," answered phebe, with such a maternal air that will's budding gallantry was chilled to death.
""oh, the mistletoe bough," sang rose.
""oh, the mistletoe bough!"
echoed all the boys, and the teasing ended in the plaintive ballad they all liked so well.
there was plenty of time to try the new skates before dinner, and then rose took her first lesson on the little bay, which seemed to have frozen over for that express purpose.
she found tumbling down and getting up again warm work for a time, but with six boys to teach her, she managed at last to stand alone; and, satisfied with that success, she refreshed herself with a dozen grand coasts on the amazon, as her sled was called.
""ah, that fatal colour!
it breaks my heart to see it," croaked aunt myra, as rose came down a little late, with cheeks almost as ruddy as the holly berries on the wall, and every curl as smooth as phebe's careful hands could make it.
""i'm glad to see that alec allows the poor child to make herself pretty in spite of his absurd notions," added aunt clara, taking infinite satisfaction in the fact that rose's blue silk dress had three frills on it.
""she's a very intelligent child, and has a nice little manner of her own," observed aunt jane, with unusual affability; for rose had just handed mac a screen to guard his eyes from the brilliant fire.
""if i had a daughter like that to show my jem when he gets home, i should be a very proud and happy woman," thought aunt jessie, and then reproached herself for not being perfectly satisfied with her four brave lads.
aunt plenty was too absorbed in the dinner to have an eye for anything else; if she had not been, she would have seen what an effect her new cap produced upon the boys.
the good lady owned that she did "love a dressy cap," and on this occasion her head gear was magnificent; for the towering structure of lace was adorned with buff ribbons to such an extent that it looked as if a flock of yellow butterflies had settled on her dear old head.
when she trotted about the rooms the ruches quivered, the little bows all stood erect, and the streamers waved in the breeze so comically that it was absolutely necessary for archie to smother the brats in the curtains till they had had their first laugh out.
uncle mac had brought fun see to dinner, and it was a mercy he did, for the elder lads found a vent for their merriment in joking the young chinaman on his improved appearance.
he was in american costume now, with a cropped head, and spoke remarkably good english after six months at school; but, for all that, his yellow face and beady eyes made a curious contrast to the blonde campbells all about him.
will called him the "typhoon," meaning tycoon, and the name stuck to him to his great disgust.
aunt peace was brought down and set in the chair of state at table, for she never failed to join the family on this day, and sat smiling at them all, "like an embodiment of peace on earth," uncle alec said, as he took his place beside her, while uncle mac supported aunt plenty at the other end.
""i ate hardly any breakfast, and i've done everything i know to make myself extra hungry, but i really do n't think i can eat straight through, unless i burst my buttons off," whispered geordie to will, as he surveyed the bounteous stores before him with a hopeless sigh.
""a fellow never knows what he can do till he tries," answered will, attacking his heaped-up plate with an evident intention of doing his duty like a man.
everybody knows what a christmas dinner is, so we need waste no words in describing this one, but hasten at once to tell what happened at the end of it.
the end, by the way, was so long in coming that the gas was lighted before dessert was over, for a snow flurry had come on and the wintry daylight faded fast.
but that only made it all the jollier in the warm, bright rooms, full of happy souls.
everyone was very merry, but archie seemed particularly uplifted so much so, that charlie confided to rose that he was afraid the chief had been at the decanters.
rose indignantly denied the insinuation, for when healths were drunk in the good old-fashioned way to suit the elders, she had observed that aunt jessie's boys filled their glasses with water, and had done the same herself in spite of the prince's jokes about "the rosy."
but archie certainly was unusually excited, and when someone remembered that it was the anniversary of uncle jem's wedding, and wished he was there to make a speech, his son electrified the family by trying to do it for him.
it was rather incoherent and flowery, as maiden speeches are apt to be, but the end was considered superb; for, turning to his mother with a queer little choke in his voice, he said that she "deserved to be blessed with peace and plenty, to be crowned with roses and lads" - love, and to receive the cargo of happiness sailing home to her in spite of wind or tide to add another jem to the family jewels."
that allusion to the captain, now on his return trip, made mrs. jessie sob in her napkin, and set the boys cheering.
then, as if that was not sensation enough, archie suddenly dashed out of the room, as if he had lost his wits.
""too bashful to stay and be praised," began charlie, excusing the peculiarities of his chief as in duty bound.
""phebe beckoned to him; i saw her," cried rose, staring hard at the door.
""is it more presents coming?"
asked jamie, just as his brother re-appeared, looking more excited than ever.
""yes; a present for mother, and here it is!"
roared archie, flinging wide the door to let in a tall man, who cried out, "where's my little woman?
the first kiss for her, then the rest may come on as fast as they like."
before the words were out of his mouth, mrs. jessie was half-hidden under his rough great-coat, and four boys were prancing about him clamouring for their turn.
of course, there was a joyful tumult for a time, during which rose slipped into the window recess and watched what went on, as if it were a chapter in a christmas story.
it was good to see bluff uncle jem look proudly at his tall son, and fondly hug the little ones.
it was better still to see him shake his brothers" hands as if he would never leave off, and kiss all the sisters in a way that made even solemn aunt myra brighten up for a minute.
but it was best of all to see him finally established in grandfather's chair, with his "little woman" beside him, his three youngest boys in his lap, and archie hovering over him like a large-sized cherub.
that really was, as charlie said, "a landscape to do one's heart good."
""all hearty and all here, thank god!"
said captain jem in the first pause that came, as he looked about him with a grateful face.
""all but rose," answered loyal little jamie, remembering the absent.
""faith, i forgot the child!
where is george's little girl?"
asked the captain, who had not seen her since she was a baby.
""you'd better say alec's great girl," said uncle mac, who professed to be madly jealous of his brother.
""here i am, sir," and rose appeared from behind the curtains, looking as if she had rather have stayed there.
""saint george germain, how the mite has grown!"
cried captain jem, as he tumbled the boys out of his lap, and rose to greet the tall girl, like a gentleman as he was.
but, somehow, when he shook her hand it looked so small in his big one, and her face reminded him so strongly of his dead brother, that he was not satisfied with so cold a welcome, and with a sudden softening of the keen eyes he took her up in his arms, whispering, with a rough cheek against her smooth one, "god bless you, child!
forgive me if i forgot you for a minute, and be sure that not one of your kinsfolk is happier to see you here than uncle jem."
that made it all right; and when he set her down, rose's face was so bright it was evident that some spell had been used to banish the feeling of neglect that had kept her moping behind the curtain so long.
that everyone sat round and heard all about the voyage home how the captain had set his heart on getting there in time to keep christmas; how everything had conspired to thwart his plan; and how, at the very last minute, he had managed to do it, and had sent a telegram to archie, bidding him keep the secret, and be ready for his father at any moment, for the ship got into another port, and he might be late.
then archie told how that telegram had burnt in his pocket all dinner-time; how he had to take phebe into his confidence, and how clever she was to keep the captain back till the speech was over and he could come in with effect.
the elders would have sat and talked all the evening, but the young folks were bent on having their usual christmas frolic; so, after an hour of pleasant chat, they began to get restless, and having consulted together in dumb show, they devised a way to very effectually break up the family council.
steve vanished, and, sooner than the boys imagined dandy could get himself up, the skirl of the bag-pipe was heard in the hall, and the bonny piper came to lead clan campbell to the revel.
""draw it mild, stevie, my man; ye play unco weel, but ye mak a most infernal din," cried uncle jem, with his hands over his ears, for this accomplishment was new to him, and "took him all aback," as he expressed it.
so steve droned out a highland reel as softly as he could, and the boys danced it to a circle of admiring relations.
captain jem was a true sailor, however, and could not stand idle while anything lively was going on; so, when the piper's breath gave out, he cut a splendid pigeon-wing into the middle of the hall, saying, "who can dance a fore and after?"
and, waiting for no reply, began to whistle the air so invitingly that mrs jessie "set" to him laughing like a girl; rose and charlie took their places behind, and away went the four with a spirit and skill that inspired all the rest to "cut in" as fast as they could.
that was a grand beginning, and they had many another dance before anyone would own they were tired.
even fun see distinguished himself with aunt plenty, whom he greatly admired as the stoutest lady in the company; plumpness being considered a beauty in his country.
the merry old soul professed herself immensely flattered by his admiration, and the boys declared she "set her cap at him," else he would never have dared to catch her under the mistletoe, and, rising on the tips of his own toes, gallantly salute her fat cheek.
how they all laughed at her astonishment, and how fun's little black eyes twinkled over this exploit!
charlie put him up to it, and charlie was so bent on catching rose, that he laid all sorts of pitfalls for her, and bribed the other lads to help him.
but rose was wide-awake, and escaped all his snares, professing great contempt for such foolish customs.
poor phebe did not fare so well, and archie was the only one who took a base advantage of her as she stood innocently offering tea to aunt myra, whom she happened to meet just under the fatal bough.
if his father's arrival had not rather upset him, i doubt if the dignified chief would have done it, for he apologized at once in the handsomest manner, and caught the tray that nearly dropped from phebe's hands.
jamie boldly invited all the ladies to come and salute him; and as for uncle jem, he behaved as if the entire room was a grove of mistletoe.
uncle alec slyly laid a bit of it on aunt peace's cap, and then softly kissed her; which little joke seemed to please her very much, for she liked to have part in all the home pastimes, and alec was her favourite nephew.
charlie alone failed to catch his shy bird, and the oftener she escaped the more determined he was to ensnare her.
when every other wile had been tried in vain, he got archie to propose a game with forfeits.
""i understand that dodge," thought rose, and was on her guard so carefully that not one among the pile soon collected belonged to her.
""now let us redeem them and play something else," said will, quite unconscious of the deeply-laid plots all about him.
""one more round and then we will," answered the prince, who had now baited his trap anew.
just as the question came to rose, jamie's voice was heard in the hall, crying distressfully, "oh, come quick, quick!"
rose started up, missed the question, and was greeted with a general cry of "forfeit!
forfeit!"
in which the little traitor came to join.
""now i've got her," thought the young rascal, exulting in his fun-loving soul.
""now i'm lost," thought rose, as she gave up her pin-cushion with a sternly defiant look that would have daunted anyone but the reckless prince.
in fact, it made even him think twice, and resolve to "let rose off easy," she had been so clever.
""here's a very pretty pawn, and what shall be done to redeem it?"
asked steve, holding the pin-cushion over charlie's head, for he had insisted on being judge, and kept that for the last.
""fine or superfine?"
""super."
""hum, well, she shall take old mac under the mistletoe, and kiss him prettily.
wo n't he be mad, though?"
and this bad boy chuckled over the discomfort he had caused two harmless beings.
there was an impressive pause among the young folks in their corner, for they all knew that mac would "be mad," since he hated nonsense of this sort, and had gone to talk with the elders when the game began.
at this moment he was standing before the fire, listening to a discussion between his uncles and his father, looking as wise as a young owl, and blissfully unconscious of the plots against him.
charlie expected that rose would say, "i wo n't!"
therefore he was rather astonished, not to say gratified, when, after a look at the victim, she laughed suddenly, and, going up to the group of gentlemen, drew her uncle mac under the mistletoe and surprised him with a hearty kiss.
""thank you, my dear," said the innocent gentleman, looking much pleased at the unexpected honour.
""oh, come; that's not fair," began charlie.
but rose cut him short by saying, as she made him a fine courtesy, "you said "old mac," and though it was very disrespectful, i did it.
that was your last chance, sir, and you've lost it."
he certainly had, for, as he spoke, rose pulled down the mistletoe and threw it into the fire, while the boys jeered at the crestfallen prince, and exalted quick-witted rose to the skies.
""what's the joke?"
asked young mac, waked out of a brown study by the laughter, in which the elders joined.
but there was a regular shout when, the matter having been explained to him, mac took a meditative stare at rose through his goggles, and said in a philosophical tone, "well, i do n't think i should have minded much if she had done it."
that tickled the lads immensely, and nothing but the appearance of a slight refection would have induced them to stop chaffing the poor worm, who could not see anything funny in the beautiful resignation he had shown on this trying occasion.
soon after this, the discovery of jamie curled up in the sofa corner, as sound asleep as a dormouse, suggested the propriety of going home, and a general move was made.
they were all standing about the hall lingering over the good-nights, when the sound of a voice softly singing "sweet home," made them pause and listen.
it was phebe, poor little phebe, who never had a home, never knew the love of father or mother, brother or sister; who stood all alone in the wide world, yet was not sad nor afraid, but took her bits of happiness gratefully, and sung over her work without a thought of discontent.
i fancy the happy family standing there together remembered this and felt the beauty of it, for when the solitary voice came to the burden of its song, other voices took it up and finished it so sweetly, that the old house seemed to echo the word "home" in the ears of both the orphan girls, who had just spent their first christmas under its hospitable roof.
chapter 21 -- a scare "brother alec, you surely do n't mean to allow that child to go out such a bitter cold day as this," said mrs. myra, looking into the study, where the doctor sat reading his paper, one february morning.
""why not?
if a delicate invalid like yourself can bear it, surely my hearty girl can, especially as she is dressed for cold weather," answered dr. alec with provoking confidence.
""but you have no idea how sharp the wind is.
i am chilled to the very marrow of my bones," answered aunt myra, chafing the end of her purple nose with her sombre glove.
""i do n't doubt it, ma'am, if you will wear crape and silk instead of fur and flannel.
rosy goes out in all weathers, and will be none the worse for an hour's brisk skating."
""well, i warn you that you are trifling with the child's health, and depending too much on the seeming improvement she has made this year.
she is a delicate creature for all that, and will drop away suddenly at the first serious attack, as her poor mother did," croaked aunt myra, with a despondent wag of the big bonnet.
""i'll risk it," answered dr. alec, knitting his brows, as he always did when any allusion was made to that other rose.
""mark my words, you will repent it," and with that awful prophecy, aunt myra departed like a black shadow.
now it must be confessed that among the doctor's failings and he had his share was a very masculine dislike of advice which was thrust upon him unasked.
he always listened with respect to the great-aunts, and often consulted mrs. jessie; but the other three ladies tried his patience sorely, by constant warnings, complaints and counsels.
aunt myra was an especial trial, and he always turned contrary the moment she began to talk.
he could not help it, and often laughed about it with comic frankness.
here now was a sample of it, for he had just been thinking that rose had better defer her run till the wind went down and the sun was warmer.
but aunt myra spoke, and he could not resist the temptation to make light of her advice, and let rose brave the cold.
he had no fear of its harming her, for she went out every day, and it was a great satisfaction to him to see her run down the avenue a minute afterward, with her skates on her arm, looking like a rosy-faced esquimaux in her seal-skin suit, as she smiled at aunt myra stalking along as solemnly as a crow.
""i hope the child wo n't stay out long, for this wind is enough to chill the marrow in younger bones than myra's," thought dr. alec, half an hour later, as he drove toward the city to see the few patients he had consented to take for old acquaintance" sake.
the thought returned several times that morning, for it was truly a bitter day, and, in spite of his bear-skin coat, the doctor shivered.
but he had great faith in rose's good sense, and it never occurred to him that she was making a little casabianca of herself, with the difference of freezing instead of burning at her post.
you see, mac had made an appointment to meet her at a certain spot, and have a grand skating bout as soon as the few lessons he was allowed were over.
she had promised to wait for him, and did so with a faithfulness that cost her dear, because mac forgot his appointment when the lessons were done, and became absorbed in a chemical experiment, till a general combustion of gases drove him out of his laboratory.
then he suddenly remembered rose, and would gladly have hurried away to her, but his mother forbade his going out, for the sharp wind would hurt his eyes.
""she will wait and wait, mother, for she always keeps her word, and i told her to hold on till i came," explained mac, with visions of a shivering little figure watching on the windy hill-top.
""of course, your uncle wo n't let her go out such a day as this.
if he does, she will have the sense to come here for you, or to go home again when you do n't appear," said aunt jane, returning to her "watts on the mind."
""i wish steve would just cut up and see if she's there, since i ca n't go," began mac, anxiously.
""steve wo n't stir a peg, thank you.
he's got his own toes to thaw out, and wants his dinner," answered dandy, just in from school, and wrestling impatiently with his boots.
so mac resigned himself, and rose waited dutifully till dinner-time assured her that her waiting was in vain.
she had done her best to keep warm, had skated till she was tired and hot, then stood watching others till she was chilled; tried to get up a glow again by trotting up and down the road, but failed to do so, and finally cuddled disconsolately under a pine-tree to wait and watch.
when she at length started for home, she was benumbed with cold, and could hardly make her way against the wind that buffeted the frost-bitten rose most unmercifully.
dr. alec was basking in the warmth of the study fire, after his drive, when the sound of a stifled sob made him hurry to the door and look anxiously into the hall.
rose lay in a shivering bunch near the register, with her things half off, wringing her hands, and trying not to cry with the pain returning warmth brought to her half-frozen fingers.
""my darling, what is it?"
and uncle alec had her in his arms in a minute.
""mac did n't come i ca n't get warm the fire makes me ache!"
and with a long shiver rose burst out crying, while her teeth chattered, and her poor little nose was so blue, it made one's heart ache to see it.
in less time than it takes to tell it, dr. alec had her on the sofa rolled up in the bear-skin coat, with phebe rubbing her cold feet while he rubbed the aching hands, and aunt plenty made a comfortable hot drink, and aunt peace sent down her own foot-warmer and embroidered blanket "for the dear."
full of remorseful tenderness, uncle alec worked over his new patient till she declared she was all right again.
he would not let her get up to dinner, but fed her himself, and then forgot his own while he sat watching her fall into a drowse, for aunt plenty's cordial made her sleepy.
she lay so several hours for the drowse deepened into a heavy sleep, and uncle alec, still at his post, saw with growing anxiety that a feverish colour began to burn in her cheeks, that her breathing was quick and uneven, and now and then she gave a little moan, as if in pain.
suddenly she woke up with a start, and seeing aunt plenty bending over her, put out her arms like a sick child, saying wearily, "please, could i go to bed?"
""the best place for you, deary.
take her right up, alec; i've got the hot water ready, and after a nice bath, she shall have a cup of my sage tea, and be rolled up in blankets to sleep off her cold," answered the old lady, cheerily, as she bustled away to give orders.
""are you in pain, darling?"
asked uncle alec, as he carried her up.
""my side aches when i breathe, and i feel stiff and queer; but it is n't bad, so do n't be troubled, uncle," whispered rose, with a little hot hand against his cheek.
but the poor doctor did look troubled, and had cause to do so, for just then rose tried to laugh at dolly charging into the room with a warming-pan, but could not, for the sharp pain took her breath away and made her cry out.
""pleurisy," sighed aunt plenty, from the depths of the bath-tub.
""pewmonia!"
groaned dolly, burrowing among the bedclothes with the long-handled pan, as if bent on fishing up that treacherous disease.
""oh, is it bad?"
asked phebe, nearly dropping a pail of hot water in her dismay, for she knew nothing of sickness, and dolly's suggestion had a peculiarly dreadful sound to her.
""hush!"
ordered the doctor, in a tone that silenced all further predictions, and made everyone work with a will.
""make her as comfortable as you can, and when she is in her little bed i'll come and say good-night," he added, when the bath was ready and the blankets browning nicely before the fire.
then he went away to talk quite cheerfully to aunt peace about its being "only a chill"; after which he tramped up and down the hall, pulling his beard and knitting his brows, sure signs of great inward perturbation.
""i thought it would be too good luck to get through the year without a downfall.
confound my perversity!
why could n't i take myra's advice and keep rose at home.
it's not fair that the poor child should suffer for my sinful over-confidence.
she shall not suffer for it!
pneumonia, indeed!
i defy it," and he shook his fist in the ugly face of an indian idol that happened to be before him, as if that particularly hideous god had some spite against his own little goddess.
in spite of his defiance his heart sunk when he saw rose again, for the pain was worse, and the bath and blankets, the warming-pan and piping-hot sage tea, were all in vain.
for several hours there was no rest for the poor child, and all manner of gloomy forebodings haunted the minds of those who hovered about her with faces full of the tenderest anxiety.
in the midst of the worst paroxysm charlie came to leave a message from his mother, and was met by phebe coming despondently downstairs with a mustard plaster that had brought no relief.
""what the dickens is the matter?
you look as dismal as a tombstone," he said, as she held up her hand to stop his lively whistling.
""miss rose is dreadful sick."
""the deuce she is!"
""do n't swear, mr. charlie; she really is, and it's mr. mac's fault," and phebe told the sad tale in a few sharp words, for she felt at war with the entire race of boys at that moment.
""i'll give it to him, make your mind easy about that," said charlie, with an ominous doubling up of his fist.
""but rose is n't dangerously ill, is she?"
he added anxiously, as aunt plenty was seen to trot across the upper hall, shaking a bottle violently as she went.
""oh, but she is though.
the doctor do n't say much, but he do n't call it a "chill" any more.
it's "pleurisy" now, and i'm so afraid it will be pewmonia to-morrow," answered phebe, with a despairing glance at the plaster.
charlie exploded into a stifled laugh at the new pronunciation of pneumonia, to phebe's great indignation.
""how can you have the heart to do it, and she in such horrid pain?
hark to that, and then laugh if you darst," she said with a tragic gesture, and her black eyes full of fire.
charlie listened and heard little moans that went to his heart and made his face as sober as phebe's.
""o uncle, please stop the pain, and let me rest a minute!
do n't tell the boys i was n't brave.
i try to bear it, but it's so sharp i ca n't help crying."
neither could charlie, when he heard the broken voice say that; but, boy-like, he would n't own it, and said pettishly, as he rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, "do n't hold that confounded thing right under my nose; the mustard makes my eyes smart."
""do n't see how it can, when it has n't any more strength in it than meal.
the doctor said so, and i'm going to get some better," began phebe, not a bit ashamed of the great tears that were bedewing the condemned plaster.
""i'll go!"
and charlie was off like a shot, glad of an excuse to get out of sight for a few minutes.
when he came back all inconvenient emotion had been disposed of, and, having delivered a box of the hottest mustard procurable for money, he departed to "blow up" mac, that being his next duty in his opinion.
he did it so energetically and thoroughly that the poor worm was cast into the depths of remorseful despair, and went to bed that evening feeling that he was an outcast from among men, and bore the mark of cain upon his brow.
thanks to the skill of the doctor, and the devotion of his helpers, rose grew easier about midnight, and all hoped that the worst was over.
phebe was making tea by the study fire, for the doctor had forgotten to eat and drink since rose was ill, and aunt plenty insisted on his having a "good cordial dish of tea" after his exertions.
a tap on the window startled phebe, and, looking up, she saw a face peering in.
she was not afraid, for a second look showed her that it was neither ghost nor burglar, but mac, looking pale and wild in the wintry moonlight.
""come and let a fellow in," he said in a low tone, and when he stood in the hall he clutched phebe's arm, whispering gruffly, "how is rose?"
""thanks be to goodness, she's better," answered phebe, with a smile that was like broad sunshine to the poor lad's anxious heart.
""and she will be all right again to-morrow?"
""oh, dear no!
dolly says she's sure to have rheumatic fever, if she do n't have noo-monia!"
answered phebe, careful to pronounce the word rightly this time.
down went mac's face, and remorse began to gnaw at him again as he gave a great sigh and said doubtfully, "i suppose i could n't see her?"
""of course not at this time of night, when we want her to go to sleep!"
mac opened his mouth to say something more, when a sneeze came upon him unawares, and a loud "ah rash hoo!"
awoke the echoes of the quiet house.
""why did n't you stop it?"
said phebe reproachfully.
""i dare say you've waked her up."
""did n't know it was coming.
just my luck!"
groaned mac, turning to go before his unfortunate presence did more harm.
but a voice from the stair-head called softly, "mac, come up; rose wants to see you."
up he went, and found his uncle waiting for him.
""what brings you here at this hour, my boy?"
asked the doctor in a whisper.
""charlie said it was all my fault, and if she died i'd killed her.
i could n't sleep, so i came to see how she was, and no one knows it but steve," he said with such a troubled face and voice that the doctor had not the heart to blame him.
before he could say anything more a feeble voice called "mac!"
and with a hasty "stay a minute just to please her, and then slip away, for i want her to sleep," the doctor led him into the room.
the face on the pillow looked very pale and childish, and the smile that welcomed mac was very faint, for rose was spent with pain, yet could not rest till she had said a word of comfort to her cousin.
""i knew your funny sneeze, and i guessed that you came to see how i did, though it is very late.
do n't be worried, i'm better now, and it is my fault i was ill, not yours; for i need n't have been so silly as to wait in the cold just because i said i would."
mac hastened to explain, to load himself with reproaches, and to beg her not to die on any account, for charlie's lecture had made a deep impression on the poor boy's mind.
""i did n't know there was any danger of my dying," and rose looked up at him with a solemn expression in her great eyes.
""oh, i hope not; but people do sometimes go suddenly, you know, and i could n't rest till i'd asked you to forgive me," faltered mac, thinking that rose looked very like an angel already, with the golden hair loose on the pillow, and the meekness of suffering on her little white face.
""i do n't think i shall die; uncle wo n't let me; but if i do, remember i forgave you."
she looked at him with a tender light in her eyes, and, seeing how pathetic his dumb grief was, she added softly, drawing his head down, "i would n't kiss you under the mistletoe, but i will now, for i want you to be sure i do forgive and love you just the same."
that quite upset poor mac; he could only murmur his thanks and get out of the room as fast as possible, to grope his way to the couch at the far end of the hall, and lie there till he fell asleep, worn out with trying not to "make a baby" of himself.
chapter 22 -- something to do whatever danger there might have been from the effects of that sudden chill, it was soon over, though, of course, aunt myra refused to believe it, and dr. alec cherished his girl with redoubled vigilance and tenderness for months afterward.
rose quite enjoyed being sick, because as soon as the pain ended the fun began, and for a week or two she led the life of a little princess secluded in the bower, while every one served, amused, and watched over her in the most delightful manner.
but the doctor was called away to see an old friend, who was dangerously ill, and then rose felt like a young bird deprived of its mother's sheltering wing; especially on one afternoon when the aunts were taking their naps, and the house was very still within while snow fell softly without.
""i'll go and hunt up phebe, she is always nice and busy, and likes to have me help her.
if dolly is out of the way we can make caramels and surprise the boys when they come," rose said to herself, as she threw down her book and felt ready for society of some sort.
she took the precaution to peep through the slide before she entered the kitchen, for dolly allowed no messing when she was round.
but the coast was clear, and no one but phebe appeared, sitting at the table with her head on her arms apparently asleep.
rose was just about to wake her with a "boo!"
when she lifted her head, dried her wet eyes with her blue apron, and fell to work with a resolute face on something she was evidently much interested in.
rose could not make out what it was, and her curiosity was greatly excited, for phebe was writing with a sputtering pen on some bits of brown paper, apparently copying something from a little book.
""i must know what the dear thing is about, and why she cried, and then set her lips tight and went to work with all her might," thought rose, forgetting all about the caramels, and, going round to the door, she entered the kitchen, saying pleasantly, "phebe, i want something to do.
ca n't you let me help you about anything, or shall i be in the way?"
""oh, dear no, miss; i always love to have you round when things are tidy.
what would you like to do?"
answered phebe, opening a drawer as if about to sweep her own affairs out of sight; but rose stopped her, exclaiming, like a curious child, "let me see!
what is it?
i wo n't tell if you'd rather not have dolly know."
""i'm only trying to study a bit; but i'm so stupid i do n't get on much," answered the girl reluctantly, permitting her little mistress to examine the poor contrivances she was trying to work with.
a broken slate that had blown off the roof, an inch or two of pencil, an old almanac for a reader, several bits of brown or yellow paper ironed smoothly and sewn together for a copy-book, and the copies sundry receipts written in aunt plenty's neat hand.
these, with a small bottle of ink and a rusty pen, made up phebe's outfit, and it was little wonder that she did not "get on" in spite of the patient persistence that dried the desponding tears and drove along the sputtering pen with a will.
""you may laugh if you want to, miss rose, i know my things are queer, and that's why i hide'em; but i do n't mind since you've found me out, and i ai n't a bit ashamed except of being so backward at my age," said phebe humbly, though her cheeks grew redder as she washed out some crooked capitals with a tear or two not yet dried upon the slate.
""laugh at you!
i feel more like crying to think what a selfish girl i am, to have loads of books and things and never remember to give you some.
why did n't you come and ask me, and not go struggling along alone in this way?
it was very wrong of you, phebe, and i'll never forgive you if you do so again," answered rose, with one hand on phebe's shoulder, while the other gently turned the leaves of the poor little copy-book.
""i did n't like to ask for anything more when you are so good to me all the time, miss, dear," began phebe, looking up with grateful eyes.
""o you proud thing!
just as if it was n't fun to give away, and i had the best of it.
now, see here, i've got a plan and you must n't say no, or i shall scold.
i want something to do, and i'm going to teach you all i know; it wo n't take long," and rose laughed as she put her arm around phebe's neck, and patted the smooth dark head with the kind little hand that so loved to give.
""it would be just heavenly!"
and phebe's face shone at the mere idea; but fell again as she added wistfully, "only i'm afraid i ought not to let you do it, miss rose.
it will take time, and maybe the doctor would n't like it."
""he did n't want me to study much, but he never said a word about teaching, and i do n't believe he will mind a bit.
anyway, we can try it till he comes, so pack up your things and go right to my room and we'll begin this very day; i'd truly like to do it, and we'll have nice times, see if we do n't!"
cried rose eagerly.
it was a pretty sight to see phebe bundle her humble outfit into her apron, and spring up as if the desire of her heart had suddenly been made a happy fact to her; it was a still prettier sight to see rose run gaily on before, smiling like a good fairy as she beckoned to the other, singing as she went, "the way into my parlour is up a winding stair, and many are the curious things i'll show you when you're there.
will you, will you walk in, phebe dear?"
""oh, wo n't i!"
answered phebe fervently, adding, as they entered the bower, "you are the dearest spider that ever was, and i'm the happiest fly."
""i'm going to be very strict, so sit down in that chair and do n't say a word till school is ready to open," ordered rose, delighted with the prospect of such a useful and pleasant "something to do."
so phebe sat demurely in her place while her new teacher laid forth books and slates, a pretty inkstand and a little globe; hastily tore a bit off her big sponge, sharpened pencils with more energy than skill, and when all was ready gave a prance of satisfaction that set the pupil laughing.
""now the school is open, and i shall hear you read, so that i may know in which class to put you, miss moore," began rose with great dignity, as she laid a book before her scholar, and sat down in the easy chair with a long rule in her hand.
phebe did pretty well, only tripping now and then over a hard word, and pronouncing identical "identickle," in a sober way that tickled rose, though never a smile betrayed her.
the spelling lesson which followed was rather discouraging; phebe's ideas of geography were very vague, and grammar was nowhere, though the pupil protested that she tried so hard to "talk nice like educated folks" that dolly called her "a stuck-up piece who did n't know her place."
""dolly's an old goose, so do n't you mind her, for she will say "nater," "vittles," and "doos" as long as she lives, and insist that they are right.
you do talk very nicely, phebe, i've observed it, and grammar will help you, and show you some things are right and others ai n't are not, i mean," added rose, correcting herself, and feeling that she must mind her own parts of speech if she was to serve as an example for phebe.
when the arithmetic came, the little teacher was surprised to find her scholar quicker in some things than herself, for phebe had worked away at the columns in the butcher's and baker's books till she could add so quickly and correctly that rose was amazed, and felt that in this branch the pupil would soon excel the teacher if she kept on at the same pace.
her praise cheered phebe immensely, and they went bravely on, both getting so interested that time flew unheeded till aunt plenty appeared, exclaiming, as she stared at the two heads bent over one slate, "bless my heart, what is going on now?"
""school, aunty.
i'm teaching phebe, and it's great fun!"
cried rose, looking up with a bright face.
but phebe's was brighter, though she added with a wistful look, "maybe i ought to have asked leave first; only when miss rose proposed this, i was so happy i forgot to.
shall i stop, ma'am?"
""of course not, child; i'm glad to see you fond of your book, and to find rose helping you along.
my blessed mother used to sit at work with her maids about her, teaching them many a useful thing in the good old fashion that's gone by now.
only do n't neglect your work, dear, or let the books interfere with the duties."
as aunt plenty spoke, with her kind old face beaming approvingly upon the girls, phebe glanced at the clock, saw that it pointed to five, knew that dolly would soon be down, expecting to find preparations for supper under way, and, hastily dropping her pencil, she jumped up, saying, "please, can i go?
i'll clear up after i've done my chores."
""school is dismissed," answered rose, and with a grateful "thank you, heaps and heaps!"
phebe ran away singing the multiplication table as she set the tea ditto.
that was the way it began, and for a week the class of one went on with great pleasure and profit to all concerned; for the pupil proved a bright one, and came to her lessons as to a feast, while the young teacher did her best to be worthy the high opinion held of her, for phebe firmly believed that miss rose knew everything in the way of learning.
of course the lads found out what was going on, and chaffed the girls about the "seminary," as they called the new enterprise; but they thought it a good thing on the whole, kindly offered to give lessons in greek and latin gratis, and decided among themselves that "rose was a little trump to give the phebe-bird such a capital boost."
rose herself had some doubts as to how it would strike her uncle, and concocted a wheedlesome speech which should at once convince him that it was the most useful, wholesome, and delightful plan ever devised.
but she got no chance to deliver her address, for dr. alec came upon her so unexpectedly that it went out of her head entirely.
she was sitting on the floor in the library, poring over a big book laid open in her lap, and knew nothing of the long-desired arrival till two large, warm hands met under her chin and gently turned her head back, so that someone could kiss her heartily on either cheek, while a fatherly voice said, half reproachfully, "why is my girl brooding over a dusty encyclopedia when she ought to be running to meet the old gentleman who could n't get on another minute without her?"
""o uncle!
i'm so glad!
and so sorry!
why did n't you let us know what time you'd be here, or call out the minute you came?
have n't i been home-sick for you?
and now i'm so happy to have you back i could hug your dear old curly head off," cried rose, as the encyclopedia went down with a bang, and she up with a spring that carried her into dr. alec's arms, to be kept there in the sort of embrace a man gives to the dearest creature the world holds for him.
presently he was in his easy chair with rose upon his knee smiling up in his face and talking as fast as her tongue could go, while he watched her with an expression of supreme content, as he stroked the smooth round cheek, or held the little hand in his, rejoicing to see how rosy was the one, how plump and strong the other.
""have you had a good time?
did you save the poor lady?
are n't you glad to be home again with your girl to torment you?"
""yes, to all those questions.
now tell me what you've been at, little sinner?
aunty plen says you want to consult me about some new and remarkable project which you have dared to start in my absence."
""she did n't tell you, i hope?"
""not a word more expect that you were rather doubtful how i'd take it, and so wanted to "fess" yourself and get round me as you always try to do, though you do n't often succeed.
now, then, own up and take the consequences."
so rose told about her school in her pretty, earnest way, dwelling on phebe's hunger for knowledge, and the delight it was to help her, adding, with a wise nod, "and it helps me too, uncle, for she is so quick and eager i have to do my best or she will get ahead of me in some things.
to-day, now, she had the word "cotton" in a lesson and asked all about it, and i was ashamed to find i really knew so little that i could only say that it was a plant that grew down south in a kind of a pod, and was made into cloth.
that's what i was reading up when you came, and to-morrow i shall tell her all about it, and indigo too.
so you see it teaches me also, and is as good as a general review of what i've learned, in a pleasanter way than going over it alone."
""you artful little baggage!
that's the way you expect to get round me, is it?
that's not studying, i suppose?"
""no, sir, it's teaching; and please, i like it much better than having a good time by myself.
besides, you know, i adopted phebe and promised to be a sister to her, so i am bound to keep my word, am i not?"
answered rose, looking both anxious and resolute as she waited for her sentence.
dr. alec was evidently already won, for rose had described the old slate and brown paper copy-book with pathetic effect, and the excellent man had not only decided to send phebe to school long before the story was done, but reproached himself for forgetting his duty to one little girl in his love for another.
so when rose tried to look meek and failed utterly, he laughed and pinched her cheek, and answered in that genial way which adds such warmth and grace to any favour, "i have n't the slightest objection in the world.
in fact, i was beginning to think i might let you go at your books again, moderately, since you are so well; and this is an excellent way to try your powers.
phebe is a brave, bright lass, and shall have a fair chance in the world, if we can give it to her, so that if she ever finds her friends they need not be ashamed of her."
""i think she has found some already," began rose eagerly.
""hey?
what?
has anyone turned up since i've been gone?"
asked dr. alec quickly, for it was a firm belief in the family that phebe would prove to be "somebody" sooner or later.
""no, her best friend turned up when you came home, uncle," answered rose with an approving pat, adding gratefully, "i ca n't half thank you for being so good to my girl, but she will, because i know she is going to make a woman to be proud of, she's so strong and true, and loving."
""bless your dear heart, i have n't begun to do anything yet, more shame to me!
but i'm going at it now, and as soon as she gets on a bit, she shall go to school as long as she likes.
how will that do for a beginning?"
""it will be "just heavenly," as phebe says, for it is the wish of her life to "get lots of schooling," and she will be too happy when i tell her.
may i, please?
it will be so lovely to see the dear thing open her big eyes and clap her hands at the splendid news."
""no one shall have a finger in this nice little pie; you shall do it all yourself, only do n't go too fast, or make too many castles in the air, my dear; for time and patience must go into this pie of ours if it is to turn out well."
""yes, uncle, only when it is opened wo n't "the birds begin to sing?""
laughed rose, taking a turn about the room as a vent for the joyful emotions that made her eyes shine.
all of a sudden she stopped and asked soberly, "if phebe goes to school who will do her work?
i'm willing, if i can."
""come here and i'll tell you a secret.
dolly's "bones" are getting so troublesome, and her dear old temper so bad, that the aunts have decided to pension her off and let her go and live with her daughter, who has married very well.
i saw her this week, and she'd like to have her mother come, so in the spring we shall have a grand change, and get a new cook and chamber-girl if any can be found to suit our honoured relatives."
""oh, me!
how can i ever get on without phebe?
could n't she stay, just so i could see her?
i'd pay her board rather than have her go, i'm so fond of her."
how dr. alec laughed at that proposal, and how satisfied rose was when he explained that phebe was still to be her maid, with no duties except such as she could easily perform between school-hours.
""she is a proud creature, for all her humble ways, and even from us would not take a favour if she did not earn it somewhere.
so this arrangement makes it all square and comfortable, you see, and she will pay for the schooling by curling these goldilocks a dozen times a day if you let her."
""your plans are always so wise and kind!
that's why they work so well, i suppose, and why people let you do what you like with them.
i really do n't see how other girls get along without an uncle alec!"
answered rose, with a sigh of pity for those who had missed so great a blessing.
when phebe was told the splendid news, she did not "stand on her head with rapture," as charlie prophesied she would, but took it quietly, because it was such a happy thing she had no words "big and beautiful enough to thank them in," she said; but every hour of her day was brightened by this granted wish, and dedicated to the service of those who gave it.
her heart was so full of content that if overflowed in music, and the sweet voice singing all about the house gave thanks so blithely that no other words were needed.
her willing feet were never tired of taking steps for those who had smoothed her way; her skilful hands were always busy in some labour of love for them, and on the face fast growing in comeliness there was an almost womanly expression of devotion, which proved how well phebe had already learned one of life's great lessons gratitude.
chapter 23 -- peace-making "steve, i want you to tell me something," said rose to dandy, who was making faces at himself in the glass, while he waited for an answer to the note he brought from his mother to aunt plenty.
""p'raps i will, and p "raps i wo n't.
what is it?"
""have n't arch and charlie quarrelled?"
""dare say; we fellows are always having little rows, you know.
i do believe a sty is coming on my star-board eye," and steve affected to be absorbed in a survey of his yellow lashes.
""no, that wo n't do; i want to know all about it; for i'm sure something more serious than a "little row" is the matter.
come, please tell me, stenie, there's a dear."
""botheration!
you do n't want me to turn telltale, do you?"
growled steve, pulling his top-knot, as he always did when perplexed.
""yes, i do," was rose's decided answer for she saw from his manner that she was right, and determined to have the secret out of him if coaxing would do it.
""i do n't wish you to tell things to everyone, of course, but to me you may, and you must, because i have a right to know.
you boys need somebody to look after you, and i'm going to do it, for girls are nice peacemakers, and know how to manage people.
uncle said so, and he is never wrong."
steve was about to indulge in a derisive hoot at the idea of her looking after them, but a sudden thought restrained him, and suggested a way in which he could satisfy rose, and better himself at the same time.
""what will you give me if i'll tell you every bit about it?"
he asked, with a sudden red in his cheeks and an uneasy look in his eyes, for he was half ashamed of the proposition.
""what do you want?"
and rose looked up rather surprised at his question.
""i'd like to borrow some money.
i should n't think of asking you, only mac never has a cent.
since he's set up his old chemical shop, where he'll blow himself to bits some day, and you and uncle will have the fun of putting him together again," and steve tried to look as if the idea amused him.
""i'll lend it to you with pleasure, so tell away," said rose, bound to get at the secret.
evidently much relieved by the promise, steve set his top-knot cheerfully erect again, and briefly stated the case.
""as you say, it's all right to tell you, but do n't let the boys know i blabbed, or prince will take my head off.
you see, archie do n't like some of the fellows charlie goes with, and cuts'em.
that makes prince mad, and he holds on just to plague arch, so they do n't speak to one another, if they can help it, and that's the row."
""are those boys bad?"
asked rose, anxiously.
""guess not, only rather wild.
they are older than our fellows, but they like prince, he's such a jolly boy; sings so well, dances jigs and breakdowns, you know, and plays any game that's going.
he beat morse at billiards, and that's something to brag of, for morse thinks he knows everything.
i saw the match, and it was great fun!"
steve got quite excited over the prowess of charlie, whom he admired immensely, and tried to imitate.
rose did not know half the danger of such gifts and tastes as charlie's, but felt instinctively that something must be wrong if archie disapproved.
""if prince likes any billiard-playing boy better than archie, i do n't think much of his sense," she said severely.
""of course he does n't; but, you see, charlie and arch are both as proud as they can be, and wo n't give in.
i suppose arch is right, but i do n't blame charlie a bit for liking to be with the others sometimes, they are such a jolly set," and steve shook his head morally, even while his eye twinkled over the memory of some of the exploits of the "jolly set."
""oh, dear me!"
sighed rose, "i do n't see what i can do about it, but i wish the boys would make up, for prince ca n't come to any harm with archie, he's so good and sensible."
""that's the trouble; arch preaches, and prince wo n't stand it.
he told arch he was a prig and a parson, and arch told him he was n't a gentleman.
my boots!
were n't they both mad, though!
i thought for a minute they'd pitch into one another and have it out.
wish they had, and not gone stalking round stiff and glum ever since.
mac and i settle our rows with a bat or so over the head, and then we are all right."
rose could n't help laughing as steve sparred away at a fat sofa-pillow, to illustrate his meaning; and, having given it several scientific whacks, he pulled down his cuffs and smiled upon her with benign pity for her feminine ignorance of this summary way of settling a quarrel.
""what droll things boys are!"
she said, with a mixture of admiration and perplexity in her face, which steve accepted as a compliment to his sex.
""we're a pretty clever invention, miss, and you ca n't get on without us," he answered, with his nose in the air.
then, taking a sudden plunge into business, he added, "how about that bit of money you were going to lend me?
i've told, now you pay up."
""of course i will!
how much do you want?"
and rose pulled out her purse.
""could you spare five dollars?
i want to pay a little debt of honour that is rather pressing," and steve put on a mannish air that was comical to see.
""are n't all debts honourable?"
asked innocent rose.
""yes, of course; but this is a bet i made, and it ought to be settled up at once," began steve, finding it awkward to explain.
""oh, do n't bet, it's not right, and i know your father would n't like it.
promise you wo n't do so again; please promise!"
and rose held fast the hand into which she had just put the money.
""well, i wo n't.
it's worried me a good deal, but i was joked into it.
much obliged, cousin, i'm all right now," and steve departed hastily.
having decided to be a peace-maker, rose waited for an opportunity, and very soon it came.
she was spending the day with aunt clara, who had been entertaining some young guests, and invited rose to meet them, for she thought it high time her niece conquered her bashfulness and saw a little of society.
dinner was over, and everyone had gone.
aunt clara was resting before going out to an evening party, and rose was waiting for charlie to come and take her home.
she sat alone in the elegant drawing-room, feeling particularly nice and pretty, for she had her best frock on, a pair of gold bands her aunt had just given her, and a tea-rose bud in her sash, like the beautiful miss van tassel, whom everyone admired.
she had spread out her little skirts to the best advantage, and, leaning back in a luxurious chair, sat admiring her own feet in new slippers with rosettes almost as big as dahlias.
presently charlie came lounging in, looking rather sleepy and queer, rose thought.
on seeing her, however, he roused up and said with a smile that ended in a gape, "i thought you were with mother, so i took forty winks after i got those girls off.
now, i'm at your service, rosamunda, whenever you like."
""you look as if your head ached.
if it does, do n't mind me.
i'm not afraid to run home alone, it's so early," answered rose, observing the flushed cheeks and heavy eyes of her cousin.
""i think i see myself letting you do it.
champagne always makes my headache, but the air will set me up."
""why do you drink it, then?"
asked rose, anxiously.
""ca n't help it, when i'm host.
now, do n't you begin to lecture; i've had enough of archie's old-fashioned notions, and i do n't want any more."
charlie's tone was decidedly cross, and his whole manner so unlike his usual merry good-nature, that rose felt crushed, and answered meekly, "i was n't going to lecture, only when people like other people, they ca n't bear to see them suffer pain."
that brought charlie round at once, for rose's lips trembled a little, though she tried to hide it by smelling the flower she pulled from her sash.
""i'm a regular bear, and i beg your pardon for being so cross, rosy," he said in the old frank way that was so winning.
""i wish you'd beg archie's too, and be good friends again.
you never were cross when he was your chum," rose said, looking up at him as he bent toward her from the low chimney-piece, where he had been leaning his elbows.
in an instant he stood as stiff and straight as a ramrod, and the heavy eyes kindled with an angry spark as he said, in his high and mighty manner, "you'd better not meddle with what you do n't understand, cousin."
""but i do understand, and it troubles me very much to see you so cold and stiff to one another.
you always used to be together, and now you hardly speak.
you are so ready to beg my pardon i do n't see why you ca n't beg archie's, if you are in the wrong."
""i'm not!"
this was so short and sharp that rose started, and charlie added in a calmer but still very haughty tone: "a gentleman always begs pardon when he has been rude to a lady, but one man does n't apologize to another man who has insulted him."
""oh, my heart, what a pepperpot!"
thought rose, and, hoping to make him laugh, she added slyly: "i was not talking about men, but boys, and one of them a prince, who ought to set a good example to his subjects."
but charlie would not relent, and tried to turn the subject by saying gravely, as he unfastened the little gold ring from his watch-guard, "i've broken my word, so i want to give this back and free you from the bargain.
i'm sorry, but i think it a foolish promise, and do n't intend to keep it.
choose a pair of ear-rings to suit yourself, as my forfeit.
you have a right to wear them now."
""no, i can only wear one, and that is no use, for archie will keep his word i'm sure!"
rose was so mortified and grieved at this downfall of her hopes that she spoke sharply, and would not take the ring the deserter offered her.
he shrugged his shoulders, and threw it into her lap, trying to look cool and careless, but failing entirely, for he was ashamed of himself, and out of sorts generally.
rose wanted to cry, but pride would not let her, and, being very angry, she relieved herself by talk instead of tears.
looking pale and excited, she rose out of her chair, cast away the ring, and said in a voice that she vainly tried to keep steady, "you are not at all the boy i thought you were, and i do n't respect you one bit.
i've tried to help you be good, but you wo n't let me, and i shall not try any more.
you talk a great deal about being a gentleman, but you are not, for you've broken your word, and i can never trust you again.
i do n't wish you to go home with me.
i'd rather have mary.
good-night."
and with that last dreadful blow, rose walked out of the room, leaving charlie as much astonished as if one of his pet pigeons had flown in his face and pecked at him.
she was so seldom angry, that when her temper did get the better of her it made a deep impression on the lads, for it was generally a righteous sort of indignation at some injustice or wrong-doing, not childish passion.
her little thunderstorm cleared off in a sob or two as she put on her things in the entry-closet, and when she emerged she looked the brighter for the shower.
a hasty good-night to aunt clara now under the hands of the hairdresser and then she crept down to find mary the maid.
but mary was out, so was the man, and rose slipped away by the back-door, flattering herself that she had escaped the awkwardness of having charlie for escort.
there she was mistaken, however, for the gate had hardly closed behind her when a well-known tramp was heard, and the prince was beside her, saying in a tone of penitent politeness that banished rose's wrath like magic, "you need n't speak to me if you do n't choose, but i must see you safely home, cousin."
she turned at once, put out her hand, and answered heartily, "i was the cross one.
please forgive me, and let's be friends again."
now that was better than a dozen sermons on the beauty of forgiveness, and did charlie more good, for it showed him how sweet humility was, and proved that rose practised as she preached.
he shook the hand warmly, then drew it through his arm and said, as if anxious to recover the good opinion with the loss of which he had been threatened, "look here, rosy, i've put the ring back, and i'm going to try again.
but you do n't know how hard it is to stand being laughed at."
""yes, i do!
ariadne plagues me every time i see her, because i do n't wear ear-rings after all the trouble i had getting ready for them."
""ah, but her twaddle is n't half as bad as the chaffing i get.
it takes a deal of pluck to hold out when you are told you are tied to an apron string, and all that sort of thing," sighed charlie.
""i thought you had a "deal of pluck," as you call it.
the boys all say you are the bravest of the seven," said rose.
""so i am about some things, but i can not bear to be laughed at."
""it is hard, but if one is right wo n't that make it easier?"
""not to me; it might to a pious parson like arch."
""please do n't call him names!
i guess he has what is called moral courage, and you physical courage.
uncle explained the difference to me, and moral is the best, though often it does n't look so," said rose thoughtfully.
charlie did n't like that, and answered quickly, "i do n't believe he'd stand it any better than i do, if he had those fellows at him."
""perhaps that's why he keeps out of their way, and wants you to."
rose had him there, and charlie felt it, but would not give in just yet, though he was going fast, for somehow, in the dark he seemed to see things clearer than in the light, and found it very easy to be confidential when it was "only rose."
""if he was my brother, now, he'd have some right to interfere," began charlie, in an injured tone.
""i wish he was!"
cried rose.
""so do i," answered charlie, and then they both laughed at his inconsistency.
the laugh did them good, and when prince spoke again, it was in a different tone pensive, not proud nor perverse.
""you see, it's hard upon me that i have no brothers and sisters.
the others are better off and need n't go abroad for chums if they do n't like.
i am all alone, and i'd be thankful even for a little sister."
rose thought that very pathetic, and, overlooking the uncomplimentary word "even" in that last sentence, she said, with a timid sort of earnestness that conquered her cousin at once, "play i was a little sister.
i know i'm silly, but perhaps i'm better than nothing, and i'd dearly love to do it."
""so should i!
and we will, for you are not silly, my dear, but a very sensible girl, we all think, and i'm proud to have you for a sister.
there, now!"
and charlie looked down at the curly head bobbing along beside him with real affection in his face.
rose gave a skip of pleasure, and laid one seal-skin mitten over the other on his arm, as she said happily, "that's so nice of you!
now, you need n't be lonely any more, and i'll try to fill archie's place till he comes back, for i know he will, as soon as you let him."
""well, i do n't mind telling you that while he was my mate i never missed brothers and sisters, or wanted anyone else; but since he cast me off, i'll be hanged if i do n't feel as forlorn as old crusoe before friday turned up."
this burst of confidence confirmed rose in her purpose of winning charlie's mentor back to him, but she said no more, contented to have done so well.
they parted excellent friends, and prince went home, wondering why "a fellow did n't mind saying things to a girl or woman which they would die before they'd own to another fellow."
rose also had some sage reflections upon the subject, and fell asleep thinking that there were a great many curious things in this world, and feeling that she was beginning to find out some of them.
next day she trudged up the hill to see archie, and having told him as much as she thought best about her talk with charlie, begged him to forget and forgive.
""i've been thinking that perhaps i ought to, though i am in the right.
i'm no end fond of charlie, and he's the best-hearted lad alive; but he ca n't say no, and that will play the mischief with him, if he does not take care," said archie in his grave, kind way.
""while father was home, i was very busy with him, so prince got into a set i do n't like.
they try to be fast, and think it's manly, and they flatter him, and lead him on to do all sorts of things play for money, and bet, and loaf about.
i hate to have him do so, and tried to stop it, but went to work the wrong way, so we got into a mess."
""he is all ready to make up if you do n't say much, for he owned to me he was wrong; but i do n't think he will own it to you, in words," began rose.
""i do n't care for that; if he'll just drop those row-dies and come back, i'll hold my tongue and not preach.
i wonder if he owes those fellows money, and so does n't like to break off till he can pay it.
i hope not, but do n't dare to ask; though, perhaps, steve knows, he's always after prince, more's the pity," and archie looked anxious.
""i think steve does know, for he talked about debts of honour the day i gave him --" there rose stopped short and turned scarlet.
but archie ordered her to "fess," and had the whole story in five minutes, for none dared disobey the chief.
he completed her affliction by putting a five-dollar bill into her pocket by main force, looking both indignant and resolute as he said, "never do so again; but send steve to me, if he is afraid to go to his father.
charlie had nothing to do with that; he would n't borrow a penny of a girl, do n't think it.
but that's the harm he does steve, who adores him, and tries to be like him in all things.
do n't say a word; i'll make it all right, and no one shall blame you."
""oh me!
i always make trouble by trying to help, and then letting out the wrong thing," sighed rose, much depressed by her slip of the tongue.
archie comforted her with the novel remark that it was always best to tell the truth, and made her quite cheerful by promising to heal the breach with charlie as soon as possible.
he kept his word so well that the very next afternoon, as rose looked out of the window, she beheld the joyful spectacle of archie and prince coming up the avenue, arm-in-arm, as of old, talking away as if to make up for the unhappy silence of the past weeks.
rose dropped her work, hurried to the door, and, opening it wide, stood there smiling down upon them so happily, that the faces of the lads brightened as they ran up the steps eager to show that all was well with them.
""here's our little peace-maker!"
said archie, shaking hands with vigour.
but charlie added, with a look that made rose very proud and happy, "and my little sister."
chapter 24 -- which?
""uncle, i have discovered what girls are made for," said rose, the day after the reconciliation of archie and the prince.
""well, my dear, what is it?"
asked dr. alec, who was "planking the deck," as he called his daily promenade up and down the hall.
""to take care of boys," answered rose, quite beaming with satisfaction as she spoke.
""phebe laughed when i told her, and said she thought girls had better learn to take care of themselves first.
but that's because she has n't got seven boy-cousins as i have."
""she is right, nevertheless, rosy, and so are you, for the two things go together, and in helping seven lads you are unconsciously doing much to improve one lass," said dr. alec, stopping to nod and smile at the bright-faced figure resting on the old bamboo chair, after a lively game of battledore and shuttlecock, in place of a run which a storm prevented.
""am i?
i'm glad of that; but really, uncle, i do feel as if i must take care of the boys, for they come to me in all sorts of troubles, and ask advice, and i like it so much.
only i do n't always know what to do, and i'm going to consult you privately and then surprise them with my wisdom."
""all right, my dear; what's the first worry?
i see you have something on your little mind, so come and tell uncle."
rose put her arm in his, and, pacing to and fro, told him all about charlie, asking what she could do to keep him straight, and be a real sister to him.
""could you make up your mind to go and stay with aunt clara a month?"
asked the doctor, when she ended.
""yes, sir; but i should n't like it.
do you really want me to go?"
""the best cure for charlie is a daily dose of rose water, or rose and water, or rose and water; will you go and see that he takes it?"
laughed dr. alec.
""you mean that if i'm there and try to make it pleasant, he will stay at home and keep out of mischief?"
""exactly."
""but could i make it pleasant?
he would want the boys."
""no danger but he'd have the boys, for they swarm after you like bees after their queen.
have n't you found that out?"
""aunt plen often says they never used to be here half so much before i came, but i never thought i made the difference, it seemed so natural to have them round."
""little modesty does n't know what a magnet she is; but she will find it out some day," and the doctor softly stroked the cheek that had grown rosy with pleasure at the thought of being so much loved.
""now, you see, if i move the magnet to aunt clara's, the lads will go there as sure as iron to steel, and charlie will be so happy at home he wo n't care for these mischievous mates of his i hope," added the doctor, well knowing how hard it was to wean a seventeen-year-old boy from his first taste of what is called "seeing life," which, alas!
often ends in seeing death.
""i'll go, uncle, right away!
aunt clara is always asking me, and will be glad to get me.
i shall have to dress and dine late, and see lots of company, and be very fashionable, but i'll try not to let it hurt me; and if i get in a puzzle or worried about anything i can run to you," answered rose, good-will conquering timidity.
so it was decided, and without saying much about the real reason for this visit, rose was transplanted to aunt clara's, feeling that she had a work to do, and very eager to do it well.
dr. alec was right about the bees, for the boys did follow their queen, and astonished mrs. clara by their sudden assiduity in making calls, dropping in to dinner, and getting up evening frolics.
charlie was a devoted host, and tried to show his gratitude by being very kind to his "little sister," for he guessed why she came, and his heart was touched by her artless endeavours to "help him be good."
rose often longed to be back in the old house with the simpler pleasures and more useful duties of the life there; but, having made up her mind, in spite of phebe, that "girls were made to take care of boys," here motherly little soul found much to enjoy in the new task she had undertaken.
it was a pretty sight to see the one earnest, sweet-faced girl among the flock of tall lads, trying to understand, to help and please them with a patient affection that worked many a small miracle unperceived.
slang, rough manners, and careless habits were banished or bettered by the presence of a little gentlewoman; and all the manly virtues cropping up were encouraged by the hearty admiration bestowed upon them by one whose good opinion all valued more than they confessed; while rose tried to imitate the good qualities she praised in them, to put away her girlish vanities and fears, to be strong and just, and frank and brave, as well as modest, kind, and beautiful.
this trial worked so well that when the month was over, mac and steve demanded a visit in their turn, and rose went, feeling that she would like to hear grim aunt jane say, as aunt clara did at parting, "i wish i could keep you all my life, dear."
after mac and steve had had their turn, archie and company bore her away for some weeks; and with them she was so happy, she felt as if she would like to stay for ever, if she could have uncle alec also.
of course, aunt myra could not be neglected, and, with secret despair, rose went to the "mausoleum," as the boys called her gloomy abode.
fortunately, she was very near home, and dr. alec dropped in so often that her visit was far less dismal than she expected.
between them, they actually made aunt myra laugh heartily more than once; and rose did her so much good by letting in the sunshine, singing about the silent house, cooking wholesome messes, and amusing the old lady with funny little lectures on physiology, that she forgot to take her pills and gave up "mum's elixir," because she slept so well, after the long walks and drives she was beguiled into taking, that she needed no narcotic.
so the winter flew rapidly away, and it was may before rose was fairly settled again at home.
they called her the "monthly rose," because she had spent a month with each of the aunts, and left such pleasant memories of bloom and fragrance behind her, that all wanted the family flower back again.
dr. alec rejoiced greatly over his recovered treasure; but as the time drew near when his year of experiment ended, he had many a secret fear that rose might like to make her home for the next twelve month with aunt jessie, or even aunt clara, for charlie's sake.
he said nothing, but waited with much anxiety for the day when the matter should be decided; and while he waited he did his best to finish as far as possible the task he had begun so well.
rose was very happy now, being out nearly all day enjoying the beautiful awakening of the world, for spring came bright and early, as if anxious to do its part.
the old horse-chestnuts budded round her windows, green things sprung up like magic in the garden under her hands, hardy flowers bloomed as fast as they could, the birds sang blithely overhead, and every day a chorus of pleasant voices cried, "good morning, cousin, is n't it jolly weather?"
no one remembered the date of the eventful conversation which resulted in the doctor's experiment -lrb- no one but himself at least -rrb-; so when the aunts were invited to tea one saturday they came quite unsuspiciously, and were all sitting together having a social chat, when brother alec entered with two photographs in his hand.
""do you remember that?"
he said, showing one to aunt clara, who happened to be nearest.
""yes, indeed; it is very like her when she came.
quite her sad, unchildlike expression, and thin little face, with the big dark eyes."
the picture was passed round, and all agreed that "it was very like rose a year ago."
this point being settled, the doctor showed the second picture, which was received with great approbation, and pronounced a "charming likeness."
it certainly was, and a striking contrast to the first one, for it was a blooming, smiling face, full of girlish spirit and health, with no sign of melancholy, though the soft eyes were thoughtful, and the lines about the lips betrayed a sensitive nature.
dr. alec set both photographs on the chimneypiece, and, falling back a step or two, surveyed them with infinite satisfaction for several minutes, then wheeled round, saying briefly, as he pointed to the two faces, "time is up; how do you think my experiment has succeeded, ladies?"
""bless me, so it is!"
cried aunt plenty, dropping a stitch in her surprise.
""beautifully, dear," answered aunt peace, smiling entire approval.
""she certainly has improved, but appearances are deceitful, and she had no constitution to build upon," croaked aunt myra.
""i am willing to allow that, as far as mere health goes, the experiment is a success," graciously observed aunt jane, unable to forget rose's kindness to her mac.
""so am i; and i'll go farther, for i really do believe alec has done wonders for the child; she will be a beauty in two or three years," added aunt clara, feeling that she could say nothing better than that.
""i always knew he would succeed, and i'm so glad you all allow it, for he deserves more credit than you know, and more praise than he will ever get," cried aunt jessie, clapping her hands with an enthusiasm that caused jamie's little red stocking to wave like a triumphal banner in the air.
dr. alec made them a splendid bow, looking much gratified, and then said soberly, "thank you; now the question is, shall i go on?
for this is only the beginning.
none of you know the hindrances i've had, the mistakes i've made, the study i've given the case, and the anxiety i've often felt.
sister myra is right is one thing rose is a delicate creature, quick to flourish in the sunshine, and as quick to droop without it.
she has no special weakness, but inherits her mother's sensitive nature, and needs the wisest, tenderest care, to keep a very ardent little soul from wearing out a finely organised little body.
i think i have found the right treatment, and; with you to help me, i believe we may build up a lovely and a noble woman, who will be a pride and comfort to us all."
there dr. alec stopped to get his breath, for he had spoken very earnestly, and his voice got a little husky over the last words.
a gentle murmur from the aunts seemed to encourage him, and he went on with an engaging smile, for the good man was slyly trying to win all the ladies to vote for him when the time came.
""now, i do n't wish to be selfish or arbitrary, because i am her guardian, and i shall leave rose free to choose for herself.
we all want her, and if she likes to make her home with any of you rather than with me, she shall do so.
in fact, i encouraged her visits last winter, that she might see what we can all offer her, and judge where she will be happiest.
is not that the fairest way?
will you agree to abide by her choice, as i do?"
""yes, we will," said all the aunts, in quite a flutter of excitement at the prospect of having rose for a whole year.
""good!
she will be here directly, and then we will settle the question for another year.
a most important year, mind you, for she has got a good start, and will blossom rapidly now if all goes well with her.
so i beg of you do n't undo my work, but deal very wisely and gently with my little girl, for if any harm come to her, i think it would break my heart."
as he spoke, dr. alec turned his back abruptly and affected to be examining the pictures again; but the aunts understood how dear the child was to the solitary man who had loved her mother years ago, and who now found his happiness in cherishing the little rose who was so like her.
the good ladies nodded and sighed, and telegraphed to one another that none of them would complain if not chosen, or ever try to rob brother alec of his "heart's delight," as the boys called rose.
just then a pleasant sound of happy voices came up from the garden, and smiles broke out on all serious faces.
dr. alec turned at once, saying, as he threw back his head, "there she is; now for it!"
the cousins had been a-maying, and soon came flocking in laden with the spoils.
""here is our bonny scotch rose with all her thorns about her," said dr. alec, surveying her with unusual pride and tenderness, as she went to show aunt peace her basket full of early flowers, fresh leaves, and curious lichens.
""leave your clutter in the hall, boys, and sit quietly down if you choose to stop here, for we are busy," said aunt plenty, shaking her finger at the turbulent clan, who were bubbling over with the jollity born of spring sunshine and healthy exercise.
""of course, we choose to stay!
would n't miss our saturday high tea for anything," said the chief, as he restored order among his men with a nod, a word, and an occasional shake.
""what is up?
a court-martial?"
asked charlie, looking at the assembled ladies with affected awe and real curiosity, for these faces betrayed that some interesting business was afloat.
dr. alec explained in a few words, which he made as brief and calm as he could; but the effect was exciting, nevertheless, for each of the lads began at once to bribe, entice, and wheedle "our cousin" to choose his home.
""you really ought to come to us for mother's sake, as a relish, you know, for she must be perfectly satiated with boys," began archie, using the strongest argument he could think of at the moment.
""oh, do!
we'll never slam, or bounce at you or call you "fraid cat," if you only will," besought geordie and will, distorting their countenances in the attempt to smile with overpowering sweetness.
""and i'll always wash my hands "fore i touch you, and you shall be my dolly,'cause pokey's gone away, and i'll love you hard," cried jamie, clinging to her with his chubby face full of affection.
""brothers and sister ought to live together; especially when the brother needs some one to make home pleasant for him," added charlie, with the wheedlesome tone and look that rose always found so difficult to resist.
""you had her longest, and it's our turn now; mac needs her more than you do, prince, for she's "the light of his eyes," he says.
come, rose, choose us, and i'll never use the musky pomade you hate again as long as i live," said steve, with his most killing air, as he offered this noble sacrifice.
mac peered wistfully over his goggles, saying in an unusually wide-awake and earnest way, -- "do, cousin, then we can study chemistry together.
my experiments do n't blow up very often now, and the gases are n't at all bad when you get used to them."
rose meantime had stood quite still, with the flowers dropping from her hands as her eyes went from one eager face to another, while smiles rippled over her own at the various enticements offered her.
during the laugh that followed mac's handsome proposition, she looked at her uncle, whose eyes were fixed on her with an expression of love and longing that went to her heart.
""ah!
yes," she thought, "he wants me most!
i've often longed to give him something that he wished for very much, and now i can."
so, when, at a sudden gesture from aunt peace, silence fell, rose said slowly, with a pretty colour in her cheeks, and a beseeching look about the room, as if asking pardon of the boys, "it's very hard to choose when everybody is so fond of me; therefore i think i'd better go to the one who seems to need me most."
""no, dear, the one you love the best and will be happiest with," said dr. alec quickly, as a doleful sniff from aunt myra, and a murmur of "my sainted caroline," made rose pause and look that way.
""take time, cousin; do n't be in a hurry to make up your mind, and remember, "codlin's your friend,"" added charlie, hopeful still.
""i do n't want any time!
i know who i love best, who i'm happiest with, and i choose uncle.
will he have me?"
cried rose, in a tone that produced a sympathetic thrill among the hearers, it was so full of tender confidence and love.
if she really had any doubt, the look in dr. alec's face banished it without a word, as he opened wide his arms, and she ran into them, feeling that home was there.
no one spoke for a minute, but there were signs of emotion among the aunts, which warned the boys to bestir themselves before the water-works began to play.
so they took hands and began to prance about uncle and niece, singing, with sudden inspiration, the nursery rhyme, "ring around a rosy!"
of course that put an end to all sentiment, and rose emerged laughing from dr. alec's bosom, with the mark of a waistcoat button nicely imprinted on her left cheek.
he saw it, and said with a merry kiss that half effaced it, "this is my ewe lamb, and i have set my mark on her, so no one can steal her away."
that tickled the boys, and they set up a shout of, "uncle had a little lamb!"
_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___flower_fables.txt.out
the frost-king: or, the power of love.
three little fairies sat in the fields eating their breakfast; each among the leaves of her favorite flower, daisy, primrose, and violet, were happy as elves need be.
the morning wind gently rocked them to and fro, and the sun shone warmly down upon the dewy grass, where butterflies spread their gay wings, and bees with their deep voices sung among the flowers; while the little birds hopped merrily about to peep at them.
on a silvery mushroom was spread the breakfast; little cakes of flower-dust lay on a broad green leaf, beside a crimson strawberry, which, with sugar from the violet, and cream from the yellow milkweed, made a fairy meal, and their drink was the dew from the flowers" bright leaves.
""ah me," sighed primrose, throwing herself languidly back, "how warm the sun grows!
give me another piece of strawberry, and then i must hasten away to the shadow of the ferns.
but while i eat, tell me, dear violet, why are you all so sad?
i have scarce seen a happy face since my return from rose land; dear friend, what means it?"
""i will tell you," replied little violet, the tears gathering in her soft eyes.
""our good queen is ever striving to keep the dear flowers from the power of the cruel frost-king; many ways she tried, but all have failed.
she has sent messengers to his court with costly gifts; but all have returned sick for want of sunlight, weary and sad; we have watched over them, heedless of sun or shower, but still his dark spirits do their work, and we are left to weep over our blighted blossoms.
thus have we striven, and in vain; and this night our queen holds council for the last time.
therefore are we sad, dear primrose, for she has toiled and cared for us, and we can do nothing to help or advise her now."
""it is indeed a cruel thing," replied her friend; "but as we can not help it, we must suffer patiently, and not let the sorrows of others disturb our happiness.
but, dear sisters, see you not how high the sun is getting?
i have my locks to curl, and my robe to prepare for the evening; therefore i must be gone, or i shall be brown as a withered leaf in this warm light."
so, gathering a tiny mushroom for a parasol, she flew away; daisy soon followed, and violet was left alone.
then she spread the table afresh, and to it came fearlessly the busy ant and bee, gay butterfly and bird; even the poor blind mole and humble worm were not forgotten; and with gentle words she gave to all, while each learned something of their kind little teacher; and the love that made her own heart bright shone alike on all.
the ant and bee learned generosity, the butterfly and bird contentment, the mole and worm confidence in the love of others; and each went to their home better for the little time they had been with violet.
evening came, and with it troops of elves to counsel their good queen, who, seated on her mossy throne, looked anxiously upon the throng below, whose glittering wings and rustling robes gleamed like many-colored flowers.
at length she rose, and amid the deep silence spoke thus: -- "dear children, let us not tire of a good work, hard though it be and wearisome; think of the many little hearts that in their sorrow look to us for help.
what would the green earth be without its lovely flowers, and what a lonely home for us!
their beauty fills our hearts with brightness, and their love with tender thoughts.
ought we then to leave them to die uncared for and alone?
they give to us their all; ought we not to toil unceasingly, that they may bloom in peace within their quiet homes?
we have tried to gain the love of the stern frost-king, but in vain; his heart is hard as his own icy land; no love can melt, no kindness bring it back to sunlight and to joy.
how then may we keep our frail blossoms from his cruel spirits?
who will give us counsel?
who will be our messenger for the last time?
speak, my subjects."
then a great murmuring arose, and many spoke, some for costlier gifts, some for war; and the fearful counselled patience and submission.
long and eagerly they spoke, and their soft voices rose high.
then sweet music sounded on the air, and the loud tones were hushed, as in wondering silence the fairies waited what should come.
through the crowd there came a little form, a wreath of pure white violets lay among the bright locks that fell so softly round the gentle face, where a deep blush glowed, as, kneeling at the throne, little violet said: -- "dear queen, we have bent to the frost-king's power, we have borne gifts unto his pride, but have we gone trustingly to him and spoken fearlessly of his evil deeds?
have we shed the soft light of unwearied love around his cold heart, and with patient tenderness shown him how bright and beautiful love can make even the darkest lot?
""our messengers have gone fearfully, and with cold looks and courtly words offered him rich gifts, things he cared not for, and with equal pride has he sent them back.
""then let me, the weakest of your band, go to him, trusting in the love i know lies hidden in the coldest heart.
""i will bear only a garland of our fairest flowers; these will i wind about him, and their bright faces, looking lovingly in his, will bring sweet thoughts to his dark mind, and their soft breath steal in like gentle words.
then, when he sees them fading on his breast, will he not sigh that there is no warmth there to keep them fresh and lovely?
this will i do, dear queen, and never leave his dreary home, till the sunlight falls on flowers fair as those that bloom in our own dear land."
silently the queen had listened, but now, rising and placing her hand on little violet's head, she said, turning to the throng below: -- "we in our pride and power have erred, while this, the weakest and lowliest of our subjects, has from the innocence of her own pure heart counselled us more wisely than the noblest of our train.
all who will aid our brave little messenger, lift your wands, that we may know who will place their trust in the power of love."
every fairy wand glistened in the air, as with silvery voices they cried, "love and little violet."
then down from the throne, hand in hand, came the queen and violet, and till the moon sank did the fairies toil, to weave a wreath of the fairest flowers.
tenderly they gathered them, with the night-dew fresh upon their leaves, and as they wove chanted sweet spells, and whispered fairy blessings on the bright messengers whom they sent forth to die in a dreary land, that their gentle kindred might bloom unharmed.
at length it was done; and the fair flowers lay glowing in the soft starlight, while beside them stood the fairies, singing to the music of the wind-harps: -- "we are sending you, dear flowers, forth alone to die, where your gentle sisters may not weep o'er the cold graves where you lie; but you go to bring them fadeless life in the bright homes where they dwell, and you softly smile that" t is so, as we sadly sing farewell.
o plead with gentle words for us, and whisper tenderly of generous love to that cold heart, and it will answer ye; and though you fade in a dreary home, yet loving hearts will tell of the joy and peace that you have given: flowers, dear flowers, farewell!"
the morning sun looked softly down upon the broad green earth, which like a mighty altar was sending up clouds of perfume from its breast, while flowers danced gayly in the summer wind, and birds sang their morning hymn among the cool green leaves.
then high above, on shining wings, soared a little form.
the sunlight rested softly on the silken hair, and the winds fanned lovingly the bright face, and brought the sweetest odors to cheer her on.
thus went violet through the clear air, and the earth looked smiling up to her, as, with the bright wreath folded in her arms, she flew among the soft, white clouds.
on and on she went, over hill and valley, broad rivers and rustling woods, till the warm sunlight passed away, the winds grew cold, and the air thick with falling snow.
then far below she saw the frost-king's home.
pillars of hard, gray ice supported the high, arched roof, hung with crystal icicles.
dreary gardens lay around, filled with withered flowers and bare, drooping trees; while heavy clouds hung low in the dark sky, and a cold wind murmured sadly through the wintry air.
with a beating heart violet folded her fading wreath more closely to her breast, and with weary wings flew onward to the dreary palace.
here, before the closed doors, stood many forms with dark faces and harsh, discordant voices, who sternly asked the shivering little fairy why she came to them.
gently she answered, telling them her errand, beseeching them to let her pass ere the cold wind blighted her frail blossoms.
then they flung wide the doors, and she passed in.
walls of ice, carved with strange figures, were around her; glittering icicles hung from the high roof, and soft, white snow covered the hard floors.
on a throne hung with clouds sat the frost-king; a crown of crystals bound his white locks, and a dark mantle wrought with delicate frost-work was folded over his cold breast.
his stern face could not stay little violet, and on through the long hall she went, heedless of the snow that gathered on her feet, and the bleak wind that blew around her; while the king with wondering eyes looked on the golden light that played upon the dark walls as she passed.
the flowers, as if they knew their part, unfolded their bright leaves, and poured forth their sweetest perfume, as, kneeling at the throne, the brave little fairy said, -- "o king of blight and sorrow, send me not away till i have brought back the light and joy that will make your dark home bright and beautiful again.
let me call back to the desolate gardens the fair forms that are gone, and their soft voices blessing you will bring to your breast a never failing joy.
cast by your icy crown and sceptre, and let the sunlight of love fall softly on your heart.
""then will the earth bloom again in all its beauty, and your dim eyes will rest only on fair forms, while music shall sound through these dreary halls, and the love of grateful hearts be yours.
have pity on the gentle flower-spirits, and do not doom them to an early death, when they might bloom in fadeless beauty, making us wiser by their gentle teachings, and the earth brighter by their lovely forms.
these fair flowers, with the prayers of all fairy land, i lay before you; o send me not away till they are answered."
and with tears falling thick and fast upon their tender leaves, violet laid the wreath at his feet, while the golden light grew ever brighter as it fell upon the little form so humbly kneeling there.
the king's stern face grew milder as he gazed on the gentle fairy, and the flowers seemed to look beseechingly upon him; while their fragrant voices sounded softly in his ear, telling of their dying sisters, and of the joy it gives to bring happiness to the weak and sorrowing.
but he drew the dark mantle closer over his breast and answered coldly, -- "i can not grant your prayer, little fairy; it is my will the flowers should die.
go back to your queen, and tell her that i can not yield my power to please these foolish flowers."
then violet hung the wreath above the throne, and with weary foot went forth again, out into the cold, dark gardens, and still the golden shadows followed her, and wherever they fell, flowers bloomed and green leaves rustled.
then came the frost-spirits, and beneath their cold wings the flowers died, while the spirits bore violet to a low, dark cell, saying as they left her, that their king was angry that she had dared to stay when he had bid her go.
so all alone she sat, and sad thoughts of her happy home came back to her, and she wept bitterly.
but soon came visions of the gentle flowers dying in their forest homes, and their voices ringing in her ear, imploring her to save them.
then she wept no longer, but patiently awaited what might come.
soon the golden light gleamed faintly through the cell, and she heard little voices calling for help, and high up among the heavy cobwebs hung poor little flies struggling to free themselves, while their cruel enemies sat in their nets, watching their pain.
with her wand the fairy broke the bands that held them, tenderly bound up their broken wings, and healed their wounds; while they lay in the warm light, and feebly hummed their thanks to their kind deliverer.
then she went to the ugly brown spiders, and in gentle words told them, how in fairy land their kindred spun all the elfin cloth, and in return the fairies gave them food, and then how happily they lived among the green leaves, spinning garments for their neighbors.
""and you too," said she, "shall spin for me, and i will give you better food than helpless insects.
you shall live in peace, and spin your delicate threads into a mantle for the stern king; and i will weave golden threads amid the gray, that when folded over his cold heart gentle thoughts may enter in and make it their home."
and while she gayly sung, the little weavers spun their silken threads, the flies on glittering wings flew lovingly above her head, and over all the golden light shone softly down.
when the frost-spirits told their king, he greatly wondered and often stole to look at the sunny little room where friends and enemies worked peacefully together.
still the light grew brighter, and floated out into the cold air, where it hung like bright clouds above the dreary gardens, whence all the spirits" power could not drive it; and green leaves budded on the naked trees, and flowers bloomed; but the spirits heaped snow upon them, and they bowed their heads and died.
at length the mantle was finished, and amid the gray threads shone golden ones, making it bright; and she sent it to the king, entreating him to wear it, for it would bring peace and love to dwell within his breast.
but he scornfully threw it aside, and bade his spirits take her to a colder cell, deep in the earth; and there with harsh words they left her.
still she sang gayly on, and the falling drops kept time so musically, that the king in his cold ice-halls wondered at the low, sweet sounds that came stealing up to him.
thus violet dwelt, and each day the golden light grew stronger; and from among the crevices of the rocky walls came troops of little velvet-coated moles, praying that they might listen to the sweet music, and lie in the warm light.
""we lead," said they, "a dreary life in the cold earth; the flower-roots are dead, and no soft dews descend for us to drink, no little seed or leaf can we find.
ah, good fairy, let us be your servants: give us but a few crumbs of your daily bread, and we will do all in our power to serve you."
and violet said, yes; so day after day they labored to make a pathway through the frozen earth, that she might reach the roots of the withered flowers; and soon, wherever through the dark galleries she went, the soft light fell upon the roots of flowers, and they with new life spread forth in the warm ground, and forced fresh sap to the blossoms above.
brightly they bloomed and danced in the soft light, and the frost-spirits tried in vain to harm them, for when they came beneath the bright clouds their power to do evil left them.
from his dark castle the king looked out on the happy flowers, who nodded gayly to him, and in sweet colors strove to tell him of the good little spirit, who toiled so faithfully below, that they might live.
and when he turned from the brightness without, to his stately palace, it seemed so cold and dreary, that he folded violet's mantle round him, and sat beneath the faded wreath upon his ice-carved throne, wondering at the strange warmth that came from it; till at length he bade his spirits bring the little fairy from her dismal prison.
soon they came hastening back, and prayed him to come and see how lovely the dark cell had grown.
the rough floor was spread with deep green moss, and over wall and roof grew flowery vines, filling the air with their sweet breath; while above played the clear, soft light, casting rosy shadows on the glittering drops that lay among the fragrant leaves; and beneath the vines stood violet, casting crumbs to the downy little moles who ran fearlessly about and listened as she sang to them.
when the old king saw how much fairer she had made the dreary cell than his palace rooms, gentle thoughts within whispered him to grant her prayer, and let the little fairy go back to her friends and home; but the frost-spirits breathed upon the flowers and bid him see how frail they were, and useless to a king.
then the stern, cold thoughts came back again, and he harshly bid her follow him.
with a sad farewell to her little friends she followed him, and before the throne awaited his command.
when the king saw how pale and sad the gentle face had grown, how thin her robe, and weak her wings, and yet how lovingly the golden shadows fell around her and brightened as they lay upon the wand, which, guided by patient love, had made his once desolate home so bright, he could not be cruel to the one who had done so much for him, and in kindly tone he said, -- "little fairy, i offer you two things, and you may choose between them.
if i will vow never more to harm the flowers you may love, will you go back to your own people and leave me and my spirits to work our will on all the other flowers that bloom?
the earth is broad, and we can find them in any land, then why should you care what happens to their kindred if your own are safe?
will you do this?"
""ah!"
answered violet sadly, "do you not know that beneath the flowers" bright leaves there beats a little heart that loves and sorrows like our own?
and can i, heedless of their beauty, doom them to pain and grief, that i might save my own dear blossoms from the cruel foes to which i leave them?
ah no!
sooner would i dwell for ever in your darkest cell, than lose the love of those warm, trusting hearts."
""then listen," said the king, "to the task i give you.
you shall raise up for me a palace fairer than this, and if you can work that miracle i will grant your prayer or lose my kingly crown.
and now go forth, and begin your task; my spirits shall not harm you, and i will wait till it is done before i blight another flower."
then out into the gardens went violet with a heavy heart; for she had toiled so long, her strength was nearly gone.
but the flowers whispered their gratitude, and folded their leaves as if they blessed her; and when she saw the garden filled with loving friends, who strove to cheer and thank her for her care, courage and strength returned; and raising up thick clouds of mist, that hid her from the wondering flowers, alone and trustingly she began her work.
as time went by, the frost-king feared the task had been too hard for the fairy; sounds were heard behind the walls of mist, bright shadows seen to pass within, but the little voice was never heard.
meanwhile the golden light had faded from the garden, the flowers bowed their heads, and all was dark and cold as when the gentle fairy came.
and to the stern king his home seemed more desolate and sad; for he missed the warm light, the happy flowers, and, more than all, the gay voice and bright face of little violet.
so he wandered through his dreary palace, wondering how he had been content to live before without sunlight and love.
and little violet was mourned as dead in fairy-land, and many tears were shed, for the gentle fairy was beloved by all, from the queen down to the humblest flower.
sadly they watched over every bird and blossom which she had loved, and strove to be like her in kindly words and deeds.
they wore cypress wreaths, and spoke of her as one whom they should never see again.
thus they dwelt in deepest sorrow, till one day there came to them an unknown messenger, wrapped in a dark mantle, who looked with wondering eyes on the bright palace, and flower-crowned elves, who kindly welcomed him, and brought fresh dew and rosy fruit to refresh the weary stranger.
then he told them that he came from the frost-king, who begged the queen and all her subjects to come and see the palace little violet had built; for the veil of mist would soon be withdrawn, and as she could not make a fairer home than the ice-castle, the king wished her kindred near to comfort and to bear her home.
and while the elves wept, he told them how patiently she had toiled, how her fadeless love had made the dark cell bright and beautiful.
these and many other things he told them; for little violet had won the love of many of the frost-spirits, and even when they killed the flowers she had toiled so hard to bring to life and beauty, she spoke gentle words to them, and sought to teach them how beautiful is love.
long stayed the messenger, and deeper grew his wonder that the fairy could have left so fair a home, to toil in the dreary palace of his cruel master, and suffer cold and weariness, to give life and joy to the weak and sorrowing.
when the elves had promised they would come, he bade farewell to happy fairy-land, and flew sadly home.
at last the time arrived, and out in his barren garden, under a canopy of dark clouds, sat the frost-king before the misty wall, behind which were heard low, sweet sounds, as of rustling trees and warbling birds.
soon through the air came many-colored troops of elves.
first the queen, known by the silver lilies on her snowy robe and the bright crown in her hair, beside whom flew a band of elves in crimson and gold, making sweet music on their flower-trumpets, while all around, with smiling faces and bright eyes, fluttered her loving subjects.
on they came, like a flock of brilliant butterflies, their shining wings and many-colored garments sparkling in the dim air; and soon the leafless trees were gay with living flowers, and their sweet voices filled the gardens with music.
like his subjects, the king looked on the lovely elves, and no longer wondered that little violet wept and longed for her home.
darker and more desolate seemed his stately home, and when the fairies asked for flowers, he felt ashamed that he had none to give them.
at length a warm wind swept through the gardens, and the mist-clouds passed away, while in silent wonder looked the frost-king and the elves upon the scene before them.
far as eye could reach were tall green trees whose drooping boughs made graceful arches, through which the golden light shone softly, making bright shadows on the deep green moss below, where the fairest flowers waved in the cool wind, and sang, in their low, sweet voices, how beautiful is love.
flowering vines folded their soft leaves around the trees, making green pillars of their rough trunks.
fountains threw their bright waters to the roof, and flocks of silver-winged birds flew singing among the flowers, or brooded lovingly above their nests.
doves with gentle eyes cooed among the green leaves, snow-white clouds floated in the sunny shy, and the golden light, brighter than before, shone softly down.
soon through the long aisles came violet, flowers and green leaves rustling as she passed.
on she went to the frost-king's throne, bearing two crowns, one of sparkling icicles, the other of pure white lilies, and kneeling before him, said, -- "my task is done, and, thanks to the spirits of earth and air, i have made as fair a home as elfin hands can form.
you must now decide.
will you be king of flower-land, and own my gentle kindred for your loving friends?
will you possess unfading peace and joy, and the grateful love of all the green earth's fragrant children?
then take this crown of flowers.
but if you can find no pleasure here, go back to your own cold home, and dwell in solitude and darkness, where no ray of sunlight or of joy can enter.
""send forth your spirits to carry sorrow and desolation over the happy earth, and win for yourself the fear and hatred of those who would so gladly love and reverence you.
then take this glittering crown, hard and cold as your own heart will be, if you will shut out all that is bright and beautiful.
both are before you.
choose."
the old king looked at the little fairy, and saw how lovingly the bright shadows gathered round her, as if to shield her from every harm; the timid birds nestled in her bosom, and the flowers grew fairer as she looked upon them; while her gentle friends, with tears in their bright eyes, folded their hands beseechingly, and smiled on her.
kind thought came thronging to his mind, and he turned to look at the two palaces.
violet's, so fair and beautiful, with its rustling trees, calm, sunny skies, and happy birds and flowers, all created by her patient love and care.
his own, so cold and dark and dreary, his empty gardens where no flowers could bloom, no green trees dwell, or gay birds sing, all desolate and dim; -- and while he gazed, his own spirits, casting off their dark mantles, knelt before him and besought him not to send them forth to blight the things the gentle fairies loved so much.
""we have served you long and faithfully," said they, "give us now our freedom, that we may learn to be beloved by the sweet flowers we have harmed so long.
grant the little fairy's prayer; and let her go back to her own dear home.
she has taught us that love is mightier than fear.
choose the flower crown, and we will be the truest subjects you have ever had."
then, amid a burst of wild, sweet music, the frost-king placed the flower crown on his head, and knelt to little violet; while far and near, over the broad green earth, sounded the voices of flowers, singing their thanks to the gentle fairy, and the summer wind was laden with perfumes, which they sent as tokens of their gratitude; and wherever she went, old trees bent down to fold their slender branches round her, flowers laid their soft faces against her own, and whispered blessings; even the humble moss bent over the little feet, and kissed them as they passed.
the old king, surrounded by the happy fairies, sat in violet's lovely home, and watched his icy castle melt away beneath the bright sunlight; while his spirits, cold and gloomy no longer, danced with the elves, and waited on their king with loving eagerness.
brighter grew the golden light, gayer sang the birds, and the harmonious voices of grateful flowers, sounding over the earth, carried new joy to all their gentle kindred.
brighter shone the golden shadows; on the cool wind softly came the low, sweet tones of happy flowers, singing little violet's name.
"mong the green trees was it whispered, and the bright waves bore it on to the lonely forest flowers, where the glad news had not gone.
thus the frost-king lost his kingdom, and his power to harm and blight.
violet conquered, and his cold heart warmed with music, love, and light; and his fair home, once so dreary, gay with lovely elves and flowers, brought a joy that never faded through the long bright summer hours.
thus, by violet's magic power, all dark shadows passed away, and o'er the home of happy flowers the golden light for ever lay.
thus the fairy mission ended, and all flower-land was taught the "power of love," by gentle deeds that little violet wrought.
as sunny lock ceased, another little elf came forward; and this was the tale "silver wing" told.
eva's visit to fairy-land.
down among the grass and fragrant clover lay little eva by the brook-side, watching the bright waves, as they went singing by under the drooping flowers that grew on its banks.
as she was wondering where the waters went, she heard a faint, low sound, as of far-off music.
she thought it was the wind, but not a leaf was stirring, and soon through the rippling water came a strange little boat.
it was a lily of the valley, whose tall stem formed the mast, while the broad leaves that rose from the roots, and drooped again till they reached the water, were filled with gay little elves, who danced to the music of the silver lily-bells above, that rang a merry peal, and filled the air with their fragrant breath.
on came the fairy boat, till it reached a moss-grown rock; and here it stopped, while the fairies rested beneath the violet-leaves, and sang with the dancing waves.
eva looked with wonder on their gay faces and bright garments, and in the joy of her heart sang too, and threw crimson fruit for the little folks to feast upon.
they looked kindly on the child, and, after whispering long among themselves, two little bright-eyed elves flew over the shining water, and, lighting on the clover-blossoms, said gently, "little maiden, many thanks for your kindness; and our queen bids us ask if you will go with us to fairy-land, and learn what we can teach you."
""gladly would i go with you, dear fairies," said eva, "but i can not sail in your little boat.
see!
i can hold you in my hand, and could not live among you without harming your tiny kingdom, i am so large."
then the elves laughed gayly, as they folded their arms about her, saying, "you are a good child, dear eva, to fear doing harm to those weaker than yourself.
you can not hurt us now.
look in the water and see what we have done."
eva looked into the brook, and saw a tiny child standing between the elves.
""now i can go with you," said she, "but see, i can no longer step from the bank to yonder stone, for the brook seems now like a great river, and you have not given me wings like yours."
but the fairies took each a hand, and flew lightly over the stream.
the queen and her subjects came to meet her, and all seemed glad to say some kindly word of welcome to the little stranger.
they placed a flower-crown upon her head, laid their soft faces against her own, and soon it seemed as if the gentle elves had always been her friends.
""now must we go home," said the queen, "and you shall go with us, little one."
then there was a great bustle, as they flew about on shining wings, some laying cushions of violet leaves in the boat, others folding the queen's veil and mantle more closely round her, lest the falling dews should chill her.
the cool waves" gentle plashing against the boat, and the sweet chime of the lily-bells, lulled little eva to sleep, and when she woke it was in fairy-land.
a faint, rosy light, as of the setting sun, shone on the white pillars of the queen's palace as they passed in, and the sleeping flowers leaned gracefully on their stems, dreaming beneath their soft green curtains.
all was cool and still, and the elves glided silently about, lest they should break their slumbers.
they led eva to a bed of pure white leaves, above which drooped the fragrant petals of a crimson rose.
""you can look at the bright colors till the light fades, and then the rose will sing you to sleep," said the elves, as they folded the soft leaves about her, gently kissed her, and stole away.
long she lay watching the bright shadows, and listening to the song of the rose, while through the long night dreams of lovely things floated like bright clouds through her mind; while the rose bent lovingly above her, and sang in the clear moonlight.
with the sun rose the fairies, and, with eva, hastened away to the fountain, whose cool waters were soon filled with little forms, and the air ringing with happy voices, as the elves floated in the blue waves among the fair white lilies, or sat on the green moss, smoothing their bright locks, and wearing fresh garlands of dewy flowers.
at length the queen came forth, and her subjects gathered round her, and while the flowers bowed their heads, and the trees hushed their rustling, the fairies sang their morning hymn to the father of birds and blossoms, who had made the earth so fair a home for them.
then they flew away to the gardens, and soon, high up among the tree-tops, or under the broad leaves, sat the elves in little groups, taking their breakfast of fruit and pure fresh dew; while the bright-winged birds came fearlessly among them, pecking the same ripe berries, and dipping their little beaks in the same flower-cups, and the fairies folded their arms lovingly about them, smoothed their soft bosoms, and gayly sang to them.
""now, little eva," said they, "you will see that fairies are not idle, wilful spirits, as mortals believe.
come, we will show you what we do."
they led her to a lovely room, through whose walls of deep green leaves the light stole softly in.
here lay many wounded insects, and harmless little creatures, whom cruel hands had hurt; and pale, drooping flowers grew beside urns of healing herbs, from whose fresh leaves came a faint, sweet perfume.
eva wondered, but silently followed her guide, little rose-leaf, who with tender words passed among the delicate blossoms, pouring dew on their feeble roots, cheering them with her loving words and happy smile.
then she went to the insects; first to a little fly who lay in a flower-leaf cradle.
""do you suffer much, dear gauzy-wing?"
asked the fairy.
""i will bind up your poor little leg, and zephyr shall rock you to sleep."
so she folded the cool leaves tenderly about the poor fly, bathed his wings, and brought him refreshing drink, while he hummed his thanks, and forgot his pain, as zephyr softly sung and fanned him with her waving wings.
they passed on, and eva saw beside each bed a fairy, who with gentle hands and loving words soothed the suffering insects.
at length they stopped beside a bee, who lay among sweet honeysuckle flowers, in a cool, still place, where the summer wind blew in, and the green leaves rustled pleasantly.
yet he seemed to find no rest, and murmured of the pain he was doomed to bear.
""why must i lie here, while my kindred are out in the pleasant fields, enjoying the sunlight and the fresh air, and cruel hands have doomed me to this dark place and bitter pain when i have done no wrong?
uncared for and forgotten, i must stay here among these poor things who think only of themselves.
come here, rose-leaf, and bind up my wounds, for i am far more useful than idle bird or fly."
then said the fairy, while she bathed the broken wing, -- "love-blossom, you should not murmur.
we may find happiness in seeking to be patient even while we suffer.
you are not forgotten or uncared for, but others need our care more than you, and to those who take cheerfully the pain and sorrow sent, do we most gladly give our help.
you need not be idle, even though lying here in darkness and sorrow; you can be taking from your heart all sad and discontented feelings, and if love and patience blossom there, you will be better for the lonely hours spent here.
look on the bed beside you; this little dove has suffered far greater pain than you, and all our care can never ease it; yet through the long days he hath lain here, not an unkind word or a repining sigh hath he uttered.
ah, love-blossom, the gentle bird can teach a lesson you will be wiser and better for."
then a faint voice whispered, "little rose-leaf, come quickly, or i can not thank you as i ought for all your loving care of me."
so they passed to the bed beside the discontented bee, and here upon the softest down lay the dove, whose gentle eyes looked gratefully upon the fairy, as she knelt beside the little couch, smoothed the soft white bosom, folded her arms about it and wept sorrowing tears, while the bird still whispered its gratitude and love.
""dear fairy, the fairest flowers have cheered me with their sweet breath, fresh dew and fragrant leaves have been ever ready for me, gentle hands to tend, kindly hearts to love; and for this i can only thank you and say farewell."
then the quivering wings were still, and the patient little dove was dead; but the bee murmured no longer, and the dew from the flowers fell like tears around the quiet bed.
sadly rose-leaf led eva away, saying, "lily-bosom shall have a grave tonight beneath our fairest blossoms, and you shall see that gentleness and love are prized far above gold or beauty, here in fairy-land.
come now to the flower palace, and see the fairy court."
beneath green arches, bright with birds and flowers, beside singing waves, went eva into a lofty hall.
the roof of pure white lilies rested on pillars of green clustering vines, while many-colored blossoms threw their bright shadows on the walls, as they danced below in the deep green moss, and their low, sweet voices sounded softly through the sunlit palace, while the rustling leaves kept time.
beside the throne stood eva, and watched the lovely forms around her, as they stood, each little band in its own color, with glistening wings, and flower wands.
suddenly the music grew louder and sweeter, and the fairies knelt, and bowed their heads, as on through the crowd of loving subjects came the queen, while the air was filled with gay voices singing to welcome her.
she placed the child beside her, saying, "little eva, you shall see now how the flowers on your great earth bloom so brightly.
a band of loving little gardeners go daily forth from fairy-land, to tend and watch them, that no harm may befall the gentle spirits that dwell beneath their leaves.
this is never known, for like all good it is unseen by mortal eyes, and unto only pure hearts like yours do we make known our secret.
the humblest flower that grows is visited by our messengers, and often blooms in fragrant beauty unknown, unloved by all save fairy friends, who seek to fill the spirits with all sweet and gentle virtues, that they may not be useless on the earth; for the noblest mortals stoop to learn of flowers.
now, eglantine, what have you to tell us of your rosy namesakes on the earth?"
from a group of elves, whose rose-wreathed wands showed the flower they loved, came one bearing a tiny urn, and, answering the queen, she said, -- "over hill and valley they are blooming fresh and fair as summer sun and dew can make them.
no drooping stem or withered leaf tells of any evil thought within their fragrant bosoms, and thus from the fairest of their race have they gathered this sweet dew, as a token of their gratitude to one whose tenderness and care have kept them pure and happy; and this, the loveliest of their sisters, have i brought to place among the fairy flowers that never pass away."
eglantine laid the urn before the queen, and placed the fragrant rose on the dewy moss beside the throne, while a murmur of approval went through the hall, as each elfin wand waved to the little fairy who had toiled so well and faithfully, and could bring so fair a gift to their good queen.
then came forth an elf bearing a withered leaf, while her many-colored robe and the purple tulips in her hair told her name and charge.
""dear queen," she sadly said, "i would gladly bring as pleasant tidings as my sister, but, alas!
my flowers are proud and wilful, and when i went to gather my little gift of colored leaves for royal garments, they bade me bring this withered blossom, and tell you they would serve no longer one who will not make them queen over all the other flowers.
they would yield neither dew nor honey, but proudly closed their leaves and bid me go."
""your task has been too hard for you," said the queen kindly, as she placed the drooping flower in the urn eglantine had given, "you will see how this dew from a sweet, pure heart will give new life and loveliness even to this poor faded one.
so can you, dear rainbow, by loving words and gentle teachings, bring back lost purity and peace to those whom pride and selfishness have blighted.
go once again to the proud flowers, and tell them when they are queen of their own hearts they will ask no fairer kingdom.
watch more tenderly than ever over them, see that they lack neither dew nor air, speak lovingly to them, and let no unkind word or deed of theirs anger you.
let them see by your patient love and care how much fairer they might be, and when next you come, you will be laden with gifts from humble, loving flowers."
thus they told what they had done, and received from their queen some gentle chiding or loving word of praise.
""you will be weary of this," said little rose-leaf to eva; "come now and see where we are taught to read the tales written on flower-leaves, and the sweet language of the birds, and all that can make a fairy heart wiser and better."
then into a cheerful place they went, where were many groups of flowers, among whose leaves sat the child elves, and learned from their flower-books all that fairy hands had written there.
some studied how to watch the tender buds, when to spread them to the sunlight, and when to shelter them from rain; how to guard the ripening seeds, and when to lay them in the warm earth or send them on the summer wind to far off hills and valleys, where other fairy hands would tend and cherish them, till a sisterhood of happy flowers sprang up to beautify and gladden the lonely spot where they had fallen.
others learned to heal the wounded insects, whose frail limbs a breeze could shatter, and who, were it not for fairy hands, would die ere half their happy summer life had gone.
some learned how by pleasant dreams to cheer and comfort mortal hearts, by whispered words of love to save from evil deeds those who had gone astray, to fill young hearts with gentle thoughts and pure affections, that no sin might mar the beauty of the human flower; while others, like mortal children, learned the fairy alphabet.
thus the elves made loving friends by care and love, and no evil thing could harm them, for those they helped to cherish and protect ever watched to shield and save them.
eva nodded to the gay little ones, as they peeped from among the leaves at the stranger, and then she listened to the fairy lessons.
several tiny elves stood on a broad leaf while the teacher sat among the petals of a flower that bent beside them, and asked questions that none but fairies would care to know.
""twinkle, if there lay nine seeds within a flower-cup and the wind bore five away, how many would the blossom have?"
""four," replied the little one.
""rosebud, if a cowslip opens three leaves in one day and four the next, how many rosy leaves will there be when the whole flower has bloomed?"
""seven," sang the gay little elf.
""harebell, if a silkworm spin one yard of fairy cloth in an hour, how many will it spin in a day?"
""twelve," said the fairy child.
""primrose, where lies violet island?"
""in the lake of ripples."
""lilla, you may bound rose land."
""on the north by ferndale, south by sunny wave river, east by the hill of morning clouds, and west by the evening star."
""now, little ones," said the teacher, "you may go to your painting, that our visitor may see how we repair the flowers that earthly hands have injured."
then eva saw how, on large, white leaves, the fairies learned to imitate the lovely colors, and with tiny brushes to brighten the blush on the anemone's cheek, to deepen the blue of the violet's eye, and add new light to the golden cowslip.
""you have stayed long enough," said the elves at length, "we have many things to show you.
come now and see what is our dearest work."
so eva said farewell to the child elves, and hastened with little rose-leaf to the gates.
here she saw many bands of fairies, folded in dark mantles that mortals might not know them, who, with the child among them, flew away over hill and valley.
some went to the cottages amid the hills, some to the sea-side to watch above the humble fisher folks; but little rose-leaf and many others went into the noisy city.
eva wondered within herself what good the tiny elves could do in this great place; but she soon learned, for the fairy band went among the poor and friendless, bringing pleasant dreams to the sick and old, sweet, tender thoughts of love and gentleness to the young, strength to the weak, and patient cheerfulness to the poor and lonely.
then the child wondered no longer, but deeper grew her love for the tender-hearted elves, who left their own happy home to cheer and comfort those who never knew what hands had clothed and fed them, what hearts had given of their own joy, and brought such happiness to theirs.
long they stayed, and many a lesson little eva learned: but when she begged them to go back, they still led her on, saying, "our work is not yet done; shall we leave so many sad hearts when we may cheer them, so many dark homes that we may brighten?
we must stay yet longer, little eva, and you may learn yet more."
then they went into a dark and lonely room, and here they found a pale, sad-eyed child, who wept bitter tears over a faded flower.
""ah," sighed the little one, "it was my only friend, and i cherished it with all my lone heart's love;" t was all that made my sad life happy; and it is gone."
tenderly the child fastened the drooping stem, and placed it where the one faint ray of sunlight stole into the dreary room.
""do you see," said the elves, "through this simple flower will we keep the child pure and stainless amid the sin and sorrow around her.
the love of this shall lead her on through temptation and through grief, and she shall be a spirit of joy and consolation to the sinful and the sorrowing."
and with busy love toiled the elves amid the withered leaves, and new strength was given to the flower; while, as day by day the friendless child watered the growing buds, deeper grew her love for the unseen friends who had given her one thing to cherish in her lonely home; sweet, gentle thoughts filled her heart as she bent above it, and the blossom's fragrant breath was to her a whispered voice of all fair and lovely things; and as the flower taught her, so she taught others.
the loving elves brought her sweet dreams by night, and happy thoughts by day, and as she grew in childlike beauty, pure and patient amid poverty and sorrow, the sinful were rebuked, sorrowing hearts grew light, and the weak and selfish forgot their idle fears, when they saw her trustingly live on with none to aid or comfort her.
the love she bore the tender flower kept her own heart innocent and bright, and the pure human flower was a lesson to those who looked upon it; and soon the gloomy house was bright with happy hearts, that learned of the gentle child to bear poverty and grief as she had done, to forgive those who brought care and wrong to them, and to seek for happiness in humble deeds of charity and love.
""our work is done," whispered the elves, and with blessings on the two fair flowers, they flew away to other homes; -- to a blind old man who dwelt alone with none to love him, till through long years of darkness and of silent sorrow the heart within had grown dim and cold.
no sunlight could enter at the darkened eyes, and none were near to whisper gentle words, to cheer and comfort.
thus he dwelt forgotten and alone, seeking to give no joy to others, possessing none himself.
life was dark and sad till the untiring elves came to his dreary home, bringing sunlight and love.
they whispered sweet words of comfort, -- how, if the darkened eyes could find no light without, within there might be never-failing happiness; gentle feelings and sweet, loving thoughts could make the heart fair, if the gloomy, selfish sorrow were but cast away, and all would be bright and beautiful.
they brought light-hearted children, who gathered round him, making the desolate home fair with their young faces, and his sad heart gay with their sweet, childish voices.
the love they bore he could not cast away, sunlight stole in, the dark thoughts passed away, and the earth was a pleasant home to him.
thus their little hands led him back to peace and happiness, flowers bloomed beside his door, and their fragrant breath brought happy thoughts of pleasant valleys and green hills; birds sang to him, and their sweet voices woke the music in his own soul, that never failed to calm and comfort.
happy sounds were heard in his once lonely home, and bright faces gathered round his knee, and listened tenderly while he strove to tell them all the good that gentleness and love had done for him.
still the elves watched near, and brighter grew the heart as kindly thoughts and tender feelings entered in, and made it their home; and when the old man fell asleep, above his grave little feet trod lightly, and loving hands laid fragrant flowers.
then went the elves into the dreary prison-houses, where sad hearts pined in lonely sorrow for the joy and freedom they had lost.
to these came the loving band with tender words, telling of the peace they yet might win by patient striving and repentant tears, thus waking in their bosoms all the holy feelings and sweet affections that had slept so long.
they told pleasant tales, and sang their sweetest songs to cheer and gladden, while the dim cells grew bright with the sunlight, and fragrant with the flowers the loving elves had brought, and by their gentle teachings those sad, despairing hearts were filled with patient hope and earnest longing to win back their lost innocence and joy.
thus to all who needed help or comfort went the faithful fairies; and when at length they turned towards fairy-land, many were the grateful, happy hearts they left behind.
then through the summer sky, above the blossoming earth, they journeyed home, happier for the joy they had given, wiser for the good they had done.
all fairy-land was dressed in flowers, and the soft wind went singing by, laden with their fragrant breath.
sweet music sounded through the air, and troops of elves in their gayest robes hastened to the palace where the feast was spread.
soon the bright hall was filled with smiling faces and fair forms, and little eva, as she stood beside the queen, thought she had never seen a sight so lovely.
the many-colored shadows of the fairest flowers played on the pure white walls, and fountains sparkled in the sunlight, making music as the cool waves rose and fell, while to and fro, with waving wings and joyous voices, went the smiling elves, bearing fruit and honey, or fragrant garlands for each other's hair.
long they feasted, gayly they sang, and eva, dancing merrily among them, longed to be an elf that she might dwell forever in so fair a home.
at length the music ceased, and the queen said, as she laid her hand on little eva's shining hair: -- "dear child, tomorrow we must bear you home, for, much as we long to keep you, it were wrong to bring such sorrow to your loving earthly friends; therefore we will guide you to the brook-side, and there say farewell till you come again to visit us.
nay, do not weep, dear rose-leaf; you shall watch over little eva's flowers, and when she looks at them she will think of you.
come now and lead her to the fairy garden, and show her what we think our fairest sight.
weep no more, but strive to make her last hours with us happy as you can."
with gentle caresses and most tender words the loving elves gathered about the child, and, with rose-leaf by her side, they led her through the palace, and along green, winding paths, till eva saw what seemed a wall of flowers rising before her, while the air was filled with the most fragrant odors, and the low, sweet music as of singing blossoms.
""where have you brought me, and what mean these lovely sounds?"
asked eva.
""look here, and you shall see," said rose-leaf, as she bent aside the vines, "but listen silently or you can not hear."
then eva, looking through the drooping vines, beheld a garden filled with the loveliest flowers; fair as were all the blossoms she had seen in fairy-land, none were so beautiful as these.
the rose glowed with a deeper crimson, the lily's soft leaves were more purely white, the crocus and humble cowslip shone like sunlight, and the violet was blue as the sky that smiled above it.
""how beautiful they are," whispered eva, "but, dear rose-leaf, why do you keep them here, and why call you this your fairest sight?"
""look again, and i will tell you," answered the fairy.
eva looked, and saw from every flower a tiny form come forth to welcome the elves, who all, save rose-leaf, had flown above the wall, and were now scattering dew upon the flowers" bright leaves and talking gayly with the spirits, who gathered around them, and seemed full of joy that they had come.
the child saw that each one wore the colors of the flower that was its home.
delicate and graceful were the little forms, bright the silken hair that fell about each lovely face; and eva heard the low, sweet murmur of their silvery voices and the rustle of their wings.
she gazed in silent wonder, forgetting she knew not who they were, till the fairy said, -- "these are the spirits of the flowers, and this the fairy home where those whose hearts were pure and loving on the earth come to bloom in fadeless beauty here, when their earthly life is past.
the humblest flower that blooms has a home with us, for outward beauty is a worthless thing if all be not fair and sweet within.
do you see yonder lovely spirit singing with my sister moonlight?
a clover blossom was her home, and she dwelt unknown, unloved; yet patient and content, bearing cheerfully the sorrows sent her.
we watched and saw how fair and sweet the humble flower grew, and then gladly bore her here, to blossom with the lily and the rose.
the flowers" lives are often short, for cruel hands destroy them; therefore is it our greatest joy to bring them hither, where no careless foot or wintry wind can harm them, where they bloom in quiet beauty, repaying our care by their love and sweetest perfumes."
""i will never break another flower," cried eva; "but let me go to them, dear fairy; i would gladly know the lovely spirits, and ask forgiveness for the sorrow i have caused.
may i not go in?"
""nay, dear eva, you are a mortal child, and can not enter here; but i will tell them of the kind little maiden who has learned to love them, and they will remember you when you are gone.
come now, for you have seen enough, and we must be away."
on a rosy morning cloud, surrounded by the loving elves, went eva through the sunny sky.
the fresh wind bore them gently on, and soon they stood again beside the brook, whose waves danced brightly as if to welcome them.
""now, ere we say farewell," said the queen, as they gathered nearer to the child, "tell me, dear eva, what among all our fairy gifts will make you happiest, and it shall be yours."
""you good little fairies," said eva, folding them in her arms, for she was no longer the tiny child she had been in fairy-land, "you dear good little elves, what can i ask of you, who have done so much to make me happy, and taught me so many good and gentle lessons, the memory of which will never pass away?
i can only ask of you the power to be as pure and gentle as yourselves, as tender and loving to the weak and sorrowing, as untiring in kindly deeds to all.
grant me this gift, and you shall see that little eva has not forgotten what you have taught her."
""the power shall be yours," said the elves, and laid their soft hands on her head; "we will watch over you in dreams, and when you would have tidings of us, ask the flowers in your garden, and they will tell you all you would know.
farewell.
remember fairy-land and all your loving friends."
they clung about her tenderly, and little rose-leaf placed a flower crown on her head, whispering softly, "when you would come to us again, stand by the brook-side and wave this in the air, and we will gladly take you to our home again.
farewell, dear eva.
think of your little rose-leaf when among the flowers."
long eva watched their shining wings, and listened to the music of their voices as they flew singing home, and when at length the last little form had vanished among the clouds, she saw that all around her where the elves had been, the fairest flowers had sprung up, and the lonely brook-side was a blooming garden.
thus she stood among the waving blossoms, with the fairy garland in her hair, and happy feelings in her heart, better and wiser for her visit to fairy-land.
""now, star-twinkle, what have you to teach?"
asked the queen.
""nothing but a little song i heard the hare-bells singing," replied the fairy, and, taking her harp, sang, in a low, sweet voice: -- the flower's lesson.
there grew a fragrant rose-tree where the brook flows, with two little tender buds, and one full rose; when the sun went down to his bed in the west, the little buds leaned on the rose-mother's breast, while the bright eyed stars their long watch kept, and the flowers of the valley in their green cradles slept; then silently in odors they communed with each other, the two little buds on the bosom of their mother.
""o sister," said the little one, as she gazed at the sky, "i wish that the dew elves, as they wander lightly by, would bring me a star; for they never grow dim, and the father does not need them to burn round him.
the shining drops of dew the elves bring each day and place in my bosom, so soon pass away; but a star would glitter brightly through the long summer hours, and i should be fairer than all my sister flowers.
that were better far than the dew-drops that fall on the high and the low, and come alike to all.
i would be fair and stately, with a bright star to shine and give a queenly air to this crimson robe of mine."
and proudly she cried, "these fire-flies shall be my jewels, since the stars can never come to me."
just then a tiny dew-drop that hung o'er the dell on the breast of the bud like a soft star fell; but impatiently she flung it away from her leaf, and it fell on her mother like a tear of grief, while she folded to her breast, with wilful pride, a glittering fire-fly that hung by her side.
""heed," said the mother rose, "daughter mine, why shouldst thou seek for beauty not thine?
the father hath made thee what thou now art; and what he most loveth is a sweet, pure heart.
then why dost thou take with such discontent the loving gift which he to thee hath sent?
for the cool fresh dew will render thee far more lovely and sweet than the brightest star; they were made for heaven, and can never come to shine like the fire-fly thou hast in that foolish breast of thine.
o my foolish little bud, do listen to thy mother; care only for true beauty, and seek for no other.
there will be grief and trouble in that wilful little heart; unfold thy leaves, my daughter, and let the fly depart."
but the proud little bud would have her own will, and folded the fire-fly more closely still; till the struggling insect tore open the vest of purple and green, that covered her breast.
when the sun came up, she saw with grief the blooming of her sister bud leaf by leaf.
while she, once as fair and bright as the rest, hung her weary head down on her wounded breast.
bright grew the sunshine, and the soft summer air was filled with the music of flowers singing there; but faint grew the little bud with thirst and pain, and longed for the cool dew; but now" t was in vain.
then bitterly she wept for her folly and pride, as drooping she stood by her fair sister's side.
then the rose mother leaned the weary little head on her bosom to rest, and tenderly she said: "thou hast learned, my little bud, that, whatever may betide, thou canst win thyself no joy by passion or by pride.
the loving father sends the sunshine and the shower, that thou mayst become a perfect little flower; -- the sweet dews to feed thee, the soft wind to cheer, and the earth as a pleasant home, while thou art dwelling here.
then shouldst thou not be grateful for all this kindly care, and strive to keep thyself most innocent and fair?
then seek, my little blossom, to win humility; be fair without, be pure within, and thou wilt happy be.
so when the quiet autumn of thy fragrant life shall come, thou mayst pass away, to bloom in the flower spirits" home."
then from the mother's breast, where it still lay hid, into the fading bud the dew-drop gently slid; stronger grew the little form, and happy tears fell, as the dew did its silent work, and the bud grew well, while the gentle rose leaned, with motherly pride, o'er the fair little ones that bloomed at her side.
night came again, and the fire-flies flew; but the bud let them pass, and drank of the dew; while the soft stars shone, from the still summer heaven, on the happy little flower that had learned the lesson given.
the music-loving elves clapped their hands, as star-twinkle ceased; and the queen placed a flower crown, with a gentle smile, upon the fairy's head, saying, -- "the little bud's lesson shall teach us how sad a thing is pride, and that humility alone can bring true happiness to flower and fairy.
you shall come next, zephyr."
and the little fairy, who lay rocking to and fro upon a fluttering vine-leaf, thus began her story: -- "as i lay resting in the bosom of a cowslip that bent above the brook, a little wind, tired of play, told me this tale of lily-bell and thistledown.
once upon a time, two little fairies went out into the world, to seek their fortune.
thistledown was as gay and gallant a little elf as ever spread a wing.
his purple mantle, and doublet of green, were embroidered with the brightest threads, and the plume in his cap came always from the wing of the gayest butterfly.
but he was not loved in fairy-land, for, like the flower whose name and colors he wore, though fair to look upon, many were the little thorns of cruelty and selfishness that lay concealed by his gay mantle.
many a gentle flower and harmless bird died by his hand, for he cared for himself alone, and whatever gave him pleasure must be his, though happy hearts were rendered sad, and peaceful homes destroyed.
such was thistledown; but far different was his little friend, lily-bell.
kind, compassionate, and loving, wherever her gentle face was seen, joy and gratitude were found; no suffering flower or insect, that did not love and bless the kindly fairy; and thus all elf-land looked upon her as a friend.
nor did this make her vain and heedless of others; she humbly dwelt among them, seeking to do all the good she might; and many a houseless bird and hungry insect that thistledown had harmed did she feed and shelter, and in return no evil could befall her, for so many friends were all about her, seeking to repay her tenderness and love by their watchful care.
she would not now have left fairy-land, but to help and counsel her wild companion, thistledown, who, discontented with his quiet home, would seek his fortune in the great world, and she feared he would suffer from his own faults for others would not always be as gentle and forgiving as his kindred.
so the kind little fairy left her home and friends to go with him; and thus, side by side, they flew beneath the bright summer sky.
on and on, over hill and valley, they went, chasing the gay butterflies, or listening to the bees, as they flew from flower to flower like busy little housewives, singing as they worked; till at last they reached a pleasant garden, filled with flowers and green, old trees.
""see," cried thistledown, "what a lovely home is here; let us rest among the cool leaves, and hear the flowers sing, for i am sadly tired and hungry."
so into the quiet garden they went, and the winds gayly welcomed them, while the flowers nodded on their stems, offering their bright leaves for the elves to rest upon, and fresh, sweet honey to refresh them.
""now, dear thistle, do not harm these friendly blossoms," said lily-bell; "see how kindly they spread their leaves, and offer us their dew.
it would be very wrong in you to repay their care with cruelty and pain.
you will be tender for my sake, dear thistle."
then she went among the flowers, and they bent lovingly before her, and laid their soft leaves against her little face, that she might see how glad they were to welcome one so good and gentle, and kindly offered their dew and honey to the weary little fairy, who sat among their fragrant petals and looked smilingly on the happy blossoms, who, with their soft, low voices, sang her to sleep.
while lily-bell lay dreaming among the rose-leaves, thistledown went wandering through the garden.
first he robbed the bees of their honey, and rudely shook the little flowers, that he might get the dew they had gathered to bathe their buds in.
then he chased the bright winged flies, and wounded them with the sharp thorn he carried for a sword; he broke the spider's shining webs, lamed the birds, and soon wherever he passed lay wounded insects and drooping flowers; while the winds carried the tidings over the garden, and bird and blossom looked upon him as an evil spirit, and fled away or closed their leaves, lest he should harm them.
thus he went, leaving sorrow and pain behind him, till he came to the roses where lily-bell lay sleeping.
there, weary of his cruel sport, he stayed to rest beneath a graceful rose-tree, where grew one blooming flower and a tiny bud.
""why are you so slow in blooming, little one?
you are too old to be rocked in your green cradle longer, and should be out among your sister flowers," said thistle, as he lay idly in the shadow of the tree.
""my little bud is not yet strong enough to venture forth," replied the rose, as she bent fondly over it; "the sunlight and the rain would blight her tender form, were she to blossom now, but soon she will be fit to bear them; till then she is content to rest beside her mother, and to wait."
""you silly flower," said thistledown, "see how quickly i will make you bloom!
your waiting is all useless."
and speaking thus, he pulled rudely apart the folded leaves, and laid them open to the sun and air; while the rose mother implored the cruel fairy to leave her little bud untouched.
""it is my first, my only one," said she, "and i have watched over it with such care, hoping it would soon bloom beside me; and now you have destroyed it.
how could you harm the little helpless one, that never did aught to injure you?"
and while her tears fell like summer rain, she drooped in grief above the little bud, and sadly watched it fading in the sunlight; but thistledown, heedless of the sorrow he had given, spread his wings and flew away.
soon the sky grew dark, and heavy drops began to fall.
then thistle hastened to the lily, for her cup was deep, and the white leaves fell like curtains over the fragrant bed; he was a dainty little elf, and could not sleep among the clovers and bright buttercups.
but when he asked the flower to unfold her leaves and take him in, she turned her pale, soft face away, and answered sadly, "i must shield my little drooping sisters whom you have harmed, and can not let you in."
then thistledown was very angry, and turned to find shelter among the stately roses; but they showed their sharp thorns, and, while their rosy faces glowed with anger, told him to begone, or they would repay him for the wrong he had done their gentle kindred.
he would have stayed to harm them, but the rain fell fast, and he hurried away, saying, "the tulips will take me in, for i have praised their beauty, and they are vain and foolish flowers."
but when he came, all wet and cold, praying for shelter among their thick leaves, they only laughed and said scornfully, "we know you, and will not let you in, for you are false and cruel, and will only bring us sorrow.
you need not come to us for another mantle, when the rain has spoilt your fine one; and do not stay here, or we will do you harm."
then they waved their broad leaves stormily, and scattered the heavy drops on his dripping garments.
""now must i go to the humble daisies and blue violets," said thistle, "they will be glad to let in so fine a fairy, and i shall die in this cold wind and rain."
so away he flew, as fast as his heavy wings would bear him, to the daisies; but they nodded their heads wisely, and closed their leaves yet closer, saying sharply, -- "go away with yourself, and do not imagine we will open our leaves to you, and spoil our seeds by letting in the rain.
it serves you rightly; to gain our love and confidence, and repay it by such cruelty!
you will find no shelter here for one whose careless hand wounded our little friend violet, and broke the truest heart that ever beat in a flower's breast.
we are very angry with you, wicked fairy; go away and hide yourself."
""ah," cried the shivering elf, "where can i find shelter?
i will go to the violets: they will forgive and take me in."
but the daisies had spoken truly; the gentle little flower was dead, and her blue-eyed sisters were weeping bitterly over her faded leaves.
""now i have no friends," sighed poor thistledown, "and must die of cold.
ah, if i had but minded lily-bell, i might now be dreaming beneath some flower's leaves."
""others can forgive and love, beside lily-bell and violet," said a faint, sweet voice; "i have no little bud to shelter now, and you can enter here."
it was the rose mother that spoke, and thistle saw how pale the bright leaves had grown, and how the slender stem was bowed.
grieved, ashamed, and wondering at the flower's forgiving words, he laid his weary head on the bosom he had filled with sorrow, and the fragrant leaves were folded carefully about him.
but he could find no rest.
the rose strove to comfort him; but when she fancied he was sleeping, thoughts of her lost bud stole in, and the little heart beat so sadly where he lay, that no sleep came; while the bitter tears he had caused to flow fell more coldly on him than the rain without.
then he heard the other flowers whispering among themselves of his cruelty, and the sorrow he had brought to their happy home; and many wondered how the rose, who had suffered most, could yet forgive and shelter him.
""never could i forgive one who had robbed me of my children.
i could bow my head and die, but could give no happiness to one who had taken all my own," said hyacinth, bending fondly over the little ones that blossomed by her side.
""dear violet is not the only one who will leave us," sobbed little mignonette; "the rose mother will fade like her little bud, and we shall lose our gentlest teacher.
her last lesson is forgiveness; let us show our love for her, and the gentle stranger lily-bell, by allowing no unkind word or thought of him who has brought us all this grief."
the angry words were hushed, and through the long night nothing was heard but the dropping of the rain, and the low sighs of the rose.
soon the sunlight came again, and with it lily-bell seeking for thistledown; but he was ashamed, and stole away.
when the flowers told their sorrow to kind-hearted lily-bell, she wept bitterly at the pain her friend had given, and with loving words strove to comfort those whom he had grieved; with gentle care she healed the wounded birds, and watched above the flowers he had harmed, bringing each day dew and sunlight to refresh and strengthen, till all were well again; and though sorrowing for their dead friends, still they forgave thistle for the sake of her who had done so much for them.
thus, erelong, buds fairer than that she had lost lay on the rose mother's breast, and for all she had suffered she was well repaid by the love of lily-bell and her sister flowers.
and when bird, bee, and blossom were strong and fair again, the gentle fairy said farewell, and flew away to seek her friend, leaving behind many grateful hearts, who owed their joy and life to her.
meanwhile, over hill and dale went thistledown, and for a time was kind and gentle to every living thing.
he missed sadly the little friend who had left her happy home to watch over him, but he was too proud to own his fault, and so went on, hoping she would find him.
one day he fell asleep, and when he woke the sun had set, and the dew began to fall; the flower-cups were closed, and he had nowhere to go, till a friendly little bee, belated by his heavy load of honey, bid the weary fairy come with him.
""help me to bear my honey home, and you can stay with us tonight," he kindly said.
so thistle gladly went with him, and soon they came to a pleasant garden, where among the fairest flowers stood the hive, covered with vines and overhung with blossoming trees.
glow-worms stood at the door to light them home, and as they passed in, the fairy thought how charming it must be to dwell in such a lovely place.
the floor of wax was pure and white as marble, while the walls were formed of golden honey-comb, and the air was fragrant with the breath of flowers.
""you can not see our queen to-night," said the little bee, "but i will show you to a bed where you can rest."
and he led the tired fairy to a little cell, where on a bed of flower-leaves he folded his wings and fell asleep.
as the first ray of sunlight stole in, he was awakened by sweet music.
it was the morning song of the bees.
""awake!
awake!
for the earliest gleam of golden sunlight shines on the rippling waves, that brightly flow beneath the flowering vines.
awake!
awake!
for the low, sweet chant of the wild-birds" morning hymn comes floating by on the fragrant air, through the forest cool and dim; then spread each wing, and work, and sing, through the long, bright sunny hours; o'er the pleasant earth we journey forth, for a day among the flowers.
""awake!
awake!
for the summer wind hath bidden the blossoms unclose, hath opened the violet's soft blue eye, and wakened the sleeping rose.
and lightly they wave on their slender stems fragrant, and fresh, and fair, waiting for us, as we singing come to gather our honey-dew there.
then spread each wing, and work, and sing, through the long, bright sunny hours; o'er the pleasant earth we journey forth, for a day among the flowers!"
soon his friend came to bid him rise, as the queen desired to speak with him.
so, with his purple mantle thrown gracefully over his shoulder, and his little cap held respectfully in his hand, he followed nimble-wing to the great hall, where the queen was being served by her little pages.
some bore her fresh dew and honey, some fanned her with fragrant flower-leaves, while others scattered the sweetest perfumes on the air.
""little fairy," said the queen, "you are welcome to my palace; and we will gladly have you stay with us, if you will obey our laws.
we do not spend the pleasant summer days in idleness and pleasure, but each one labors for the happiness and good of all.
if our home is beautiful, we have made it so by industry; and here, as one large, loving family, we dwell; no sorrow, care, or discord can enter in, while all obey the voice of her who seeks to be a wise and gentle queen to them.
if you will stay with us, we will teach you many things.
order, patience, industry, who can teach so well as they who are the emblems of these virtues?
""our laws are few and simple.
you must each day gather your share of honey, see that your cell is sweet and fresh, as you yourself must be; rise with the sun, and with him to sleep.
you must harm no flower in doing your work, nor take more than your just share of honey; for they so kindly give us food, it were most cruel to treat them with aught save gentleness and gratitude.
now will you stay with us, and learn what even mortals seek to know, that labor brings true happiness?"
and thistle said he would stay and dwell with them; for he was tired of wandering alone, and thought he might live here till lily-bell should come, or till he was weary of the kind-hearted bees.
then they took away his gay garments, and dressed him like themselves, in the black velvet cloak with golden bands across his breast.
""now come with us," they said.
so forth into the green fields they went, and made their breakfast among the dewy flowers; and then till the sun set they flew from bud to blossom, singing as they went; and thistle for a while was happier than when breaking flowers and harming gentle birds.
but he soon grew tired of working all day in the sun, and longed to be free again.
he could find no pleasure with the industrious bees, and sighed to be away with his idle friends, the butterflies; so while the others worked he slept or played, and then, in haste to get his share, he tore the flowers, and took all they had saved for their own food.
nor was this all; he told such pleasant tales of the life he led before he came to live with them, that many grew unhappy and discontented, and they who had before wished no greater joy than the love and praise of their kind queen, now disobeyed and blamed her for all she had done for them.
long she bore with their unkind words and deeds; and when at length she found it was the ungrateful fairy who had wrought this trouble in her quiet kingdom, she strove, with sweet, forgiving words, to show him all the wrong he had done; but he would not listen, and still went on destroying the happiness of those who had done so much for him.
then, when she saw that no kindness could touch his heart, she said: -- "thistledown, we took you in, a friendless stranger, fed and clothed you, and made our home as pleasant to you as we could; and in return for all our care, you have brought discontent and trouble to my subjects, grief and care to me.
i can not let my peaceful kingdom be disturbed by you; therefore go and seek another home.
you may find other friends, but none will love you more than we, had you been worthy of it; so farewell."
and the doors of the once happy home he had disturbed were closed behind him.
then he was very angry, and determined to bring some great sorrow on the good queen.
so he sought out the idle, wilful bees, whom he had first made discontented, bidding them follow him, and win the honey the queen had stored up for the winter.
""let us feast and make merry in the pleasant summer-time," said thistle; "winter is far off, why should we waste these lovely days, toiling to lay up the food we might enjoy now.
come, we will take what we have made, and think no more of what the queen has said."
so while the industrious bees were out among the flowers, he led the drones to the hive, and took possession of the honey, destroying and laying waste the home of the kind bees; then, fearing that in their grief and anger they might harm him, thistle flew away to seek new friends.
after many wanderings, he came at length to a great forest, and here beside a still lake he stayed to rest.
delicate wood-flowers grew near him in the deep green moss, with drooping heads, as if they listened to the soft wind singing among the pines.
bright-eyed birds peeped at him from their nests, and many-colored insects danced above the cool, still lake.
""this is a pleasant place," said thistle; "it shall be my home for a while.
come hither, blue dragon-fly, i would gladly make a friend of you, for i am all alone."
the dragon-fly folded his shining wings beside the elf, listened to the tale he told, promised to befriend the lonely one, and strove to make the forest a happy home to him.
so here dwelt thistle, and many kind friends gathered round him, for he spoke gently to them, and they knew nothing of the cruel deeds he had done; and for a while he was happy and content.
but at length he grew weary of the gentle birds, and wild-flowers, and sought new pleasure in destroying the beauty he was tired of; and soon the friends who had so kindly welcomed him looked upon him as an evil spirit, and shrunk away as he approached.
at length his friend the dragon-fly besought him to leave the quiet home he had disturbed.
then thistle was very angry, and while the dragon-fly was sleeping among the flowers that hung over the lake, he led an ugly spider to the spot, and bade him weave his nets about the sleeping insect, and bind him fast.
the cruel spider gladly obeyed the ungrateful fairy; and soon the poor fly could move neither leg nor wing.
then thistle flew away through the wood, leaving sorrow and trouble behind him.
he had not journeyed far before he grew weary, and lay down to rest.
long he slept, and when he awoke, and tried to rise, his hands and wings were bound; while beside him stood two strange little figures, with dark faces and garments, that rustled like withered leaves; who cried to him, as he struggled to get free, -- "lie still, you naughty fairy, you are in the brownies" power, and shall be well punished for your cruelty ere we let you go."
so poor thistle lay sorrowfully, wondering what would come of it, and wishing lily-bell would come to help and comfort him; but he had left her, and she could not help him now.
soon a troop of brownies came rustling through the air, and gathered round him, while one who wore an acorn-cup on his head, and was their king, said, as he stood beside the trembling fairy, -- "you have done many cruel things, and caused much sorrow to happy hearts; now you are in my power, and i shall keep you prisoner till you have repented.
you can not dwell on the earth without harming the fair things given you to enjoy, so you shall live alone in solitude and darkness, till you have learned to find happiness in gentle deeds, and forget yourself in giving joy to others.
when you have learned this, i will set you free."
then the brownies bore him to a high, dark rock, and, entering a little door, led him to a small cell, dimly lighted by a crevice through which came a single gleam of sunlight; and there, through long, long days, poor thistle sat alone, and gazed with wistful eyes at the little opening, longing to be out on the green earth.
no one came to him, but the silent brownies who brought his daily food; and with bitter tears he wept for lily-bell, mourning his cruelty and selfishness, seeking to do some kindly deed that might atone for his wrong-doing.
a little vine that grew outside his prison rock came creeping up, and looked in through the crevice, as if to cheer the lonely fairy, who welcomed it most gladly, and daily sprinkled its soft leaves with his small share of water, that the little vine might live, even if it darkened more and more his dim cell.
the watchful brownies saw this kind deed, and brought him fresh flowers, and many things, which thistle gratefully received, though he never knew it was his kindness to the vine that gained for him these pleasures.
thus did poor thistle strive to be more gentle and unselfish, and grew daily happier and better.
now while thistledown was a captive in the lonely cell, lily-bell was seeking him far and wide, and sadly traced him by the sorrowing hearts he had left behind.
she healed the drooping flowers, cheered the queen bee's grief, brought back her discontented subjects, restored the home to peace and order, and left them blessing her.
thus she journeyed on, till she reached the forest where thistledown had lost his freedom.
she unbound the starving dragon-fly, and tended the wounded birds; but though all learned to love her, none could tell where the brownies had borne her friend, till a little wind came whispering by, and told her that a sweet voice had been heard, singing fairy songs, deep in a moss-grown rock.
then lily-bell went seeking through the forest, listening for the voice.
long she looked and listened in vain; when one day, as she was wandering through a lonely dell, she heard a faint, low sound of music, and soon a distant voice mournfully singing, -- "bright shines the summer sun, soft is the summer air; gayly the wood-birds sing, flowers are blooming fair.
""but, deep in the dark, cold rock, sadly i dwell, longing for thee, dear friend, lily-bell!
lily-bell!"
""thistle, dear thistle, where are you?"
joyfully cried lily-bell, as she flew from rock to rock.
but the voice was still, and she would have looked in vain, had she not seen a little vine, whose green leaves fluttering to and fro seemed beckoning her to come; and as she stood among its flowers she sang, -- "through sunlight and summer air i have sought for thee long, guided by birds and flowers, and now by thy song.
""thistledown!
thistledown!
o'er hill and dell hither to comfort thee comes lily-bell."
then from the vine-leaves two little arms were stretched out to her, and thistledown was found.
so lily-bell made her home in the shadow of the vine, and brought such joy to thistle, that his lonely cell seemed pleasanter to him than all the world beside; and he grew daily more like his gentle friend.
but it did not last long, for one day she did not come.
he watched and waited long, for the little face that used to peep smiling in through the vine-leaves.
he called and beckoned through the narrow opening, but no lily-bell answered; and he wept sadly as he thought of all she had done for him, and that now he could not go to seek and help her, for he had lost his freedom by his own cruel and wicked deeds.
at last he besought the silent brownie earnestly to tell him whither she had gone.
""o let me go to her," prayed thistle; "if she is in sorrow, i will comfort her, and show my gratitude for all she has done for me: dear brownie, set me free, and when she is found i will come and be your prisoner again.
i will bear and suffer any danger for her sake."
""lily-bell is safe," replied the brownie; "come, you shall learn the trial that awaits you."
then he led the wondering fairy from his prison, to a group of tall, drooping ferns, beneath whose shade a large white lily had been placed, forming a little tent, within which, on a couch of thick green moss, lay lily-bell in a deep sleep; the sunlight stole softly in, and all was cool and still.
""you can not wake her," said the brownie, as thistle folded his arms tenderly about her.
""it is a magic slumber, and she will not wake till you shall bring hither gifts from the earth, air, and water spirits."
t is a long and weary task, for you have made no friends to help you, and will have to seek for them alone.
this is the trial we shall give you; and if your love for lily-bell be strong enough to keep you from all cruelty and selfishness, and make you kind and loving as you should be, she will awake to welcome you, and love you still more fondly than before."
then thistle, with a last look on the little friend he loved so well, set forth alone to his long task.
the home of the earth spirits was the first to find, and no one would tell him where to look.
so far and wide he wandered, through gloomy forests and among lonely hills, with none to cheer him when sad and weary, none to guide him on his way.
on he went, thinking of lily-bell, and for her sake bearing all; for in his quiet prison many gentle feelings and kindly thoughts had sprung up in his heart, and he now strove to be friends with all, and win for himself the love and confidence of those whom once he sought to harm and cruelly destroy.
but few believed him; for they remembered his false promises and evil deeds, and would not trust him now; so poor thistle found few to love or care for him.
long he wandered, and carefully he sought; but could not find the earth spirits" home.
and when at length he reached the pleasant garden where he and lily-bell first parted, he said within himself, -- "here i will stay awhile, and try to win by kindly deeds the flowers" forgiveness for the pain and sorrow i brought them long ago; and they may learn to love and trust me.
so, even if i never find the spirits, i shall be worthier of lily-bell's affection if i strive to atone for the wrong i have done."
then he went among the flowers, but they closed their leaves, and shrank away, trembling with fear; while the birds fled to hide among the leaves as he passed.
this grieved poor thistle, and he longed to tell them how changed he had become; but they would not listen.
so he tried to show, by quiet deeds of kindness, that he meant no harm to them; and soon the kind-hearted birds pitied the lonely fairy, and when he came near sang cheering songs, and dropped ripe berries in his path, for he no longer broke their eggs, or hurt their little ones.
and when the flowers saw this, and found the once cruel elf now watering and tending little buds, feeding hungry insects, and helping the busy ants to bear their heavy loads, they shared the pity of the birds, and longed to trust him; but they dared not yet.
he came one day, while wandering through the garden, to the little rose he had once harmed so sadly.
many buds now bloomed beside her, and her soft face glowed with motherly pride, as she bent fondly over them.
but when thistle came, he saw with sorrow how she bade them close their green curtains, and conceal themselves beneath the leaves, for there was danger near; and, drooping still more closely over them, she seemed to wait with trembling fear the cruel fairy's coming.
but no rude hand tore her little ones away, no unkind words were spoken; but a soft shower of dew fell lightly on them, and thistle, bending tenderly above them, said, -- "dear flower, forgive the sorrow i once brought you, and trust me now for lily-bell's sake.
her gentleness has changed my cruelty to kindness, and i would gladly repay all for the harm i have done; but none will love and trust me now."
then the little rose looked up, and while the dew-drops shone like happy tears upon her leaves, she said, -- "i will love and trust you, thistle, for you are indeed much changed.
make your home among us, and my sister flowers will soon learn to love you as you deserve.
not for sweet lily-bell's sake, but for your own, will i become your friend; for you are kind and gentle now, and worthy of our love.
look up, my little ones, there is no danger near; look up, and welcome thistle to our home."
then the little buds raised their rosy faces, danced again upon their stems, and nodded kindly at thistle, who smiled on them through happy tears, and kissed the sweet, forgiving rose, who loved and trusted him when most forlorn and friendless.
but the other flowers wondered among themselves, and hyacinth said, -- "if rose-leaf is his friend, surely we may be; yet still i fear he may soon grow weary of this gentleness, and be again the wicked fairy he once was, and we shall suffer for our kindness to him now."
""ah, do not doubt him!"
cried warm-hearted little mignonette; "surely some good spirit has changed the wicked thistle into this good little elf.
see how tenderly he lifts aside the leaves that overshadow pale harebell, and listen now how softly he sings as he rocks little eglantine to sleep.
he has done many friendly things, though none save rose-leaf has been kind to him, and he is very sad.
last night when i awoke to draw my curtains closer, he sat weeping in the moonlight, so bitterly, i longed to speak a kindly word to him.
dear sisters, let us trust him."
and they all said little mignonette was right; and, spreading wide their leaves, they bade him come, and drink their dew, and lie among the fragrant petals, striving to cheer his sorrow.
thistle told them all, and, after much whispering together, they said, -- "yes, we will help you to find the earth spirits, for you are striving to be good, and for love of lily-bell we will do much for you."
so they called a little bright-eyed mole, and said, "downy-back, we have given you a pleasant home among our roots, and you are a grateful little friend; so will you guide dear thistle to the earth spirits" home?"
downy-back said, "yes," and thistle, thanking the kindly flowers, followed his little guide, through long, dark galleries, deeper and deeper into the ground; while a glow-worm flew before to light the way.
on they went, and after a while, reached a path lit up by bright jewels hung upon the walls.
here downy-back, and glimmer, the glow-worm, left him, saying, -- "we can lead you no farther; you must now go on alone, and the music of the spirits will guide you to their home."
then they went quickly up the winding path, and thistle, guided by the sweet music, went on alone.
he soon reached a lovely spot, whose golden halls were bright with jewels, which sparkled brightly, and threw many-colored shadows on the shining garments of the little spirits, who danced below to the melody of soft, silvery bells.
long thistle stood watching the brilliant forms that flashed and sparkled round him; but he missed the flowers and the sunlight, and rejoiced that he was not an earth spirit.
at last they spied him out, and, gladly welcoming him, bade him join in their dance.
but thistledown was too sad for that, and when he told them all his story they no longer urged, but sought to comfort him; and one whom they called little sparkle -lrb- for her crown and robe shone with the brightest diamonds -rrb-, said: "you will have to work for us, ere you can win a gift to show the brownies; do you see those golden bells that make such music, as we wave them to and fro?
we worked long and hard ere they were won, and you can win one of those, if you will do the task we give you."
and thistle said, "no task will be too hard for me to do for dear lily-bell's sake."
then they led him to a strange, dark place, lit up with torches; where troops of spirits flew busily to and fro, among damp rocks, and through dark galleries that led far down into the earth.
""what do they here?"
asked thistle.
""i will tell," replied little sparkle, "for i once worked here myself.
some of them watch above the flower-roots, and keep them fresh and strong; others gather the clear drops that trickle from the damp rocks, and form a little spring, which, growing ever larger, rises to the light above, and gushes forth in some green field or lonely forest; where the wild-birds come to drink, and wood-flowers spread their thirsty leaves above the clear, cool waves, as they go dancing away, carrying joy and freshness wherever they go.
others shape the bright jewels into lovely forms, and make the good-luck pennies which we give to mortals whom we love.
and here you must toil till the golden flower is won."
then thistle went among the spirits, and joined in their tasks; he tended the flower-roots, gathered the water-drops, and formed the good-luck pennies.
long and hard he worked, and was often sad and weary, often tempted by unkind and selfish thoughts; but he thought of lily-bell, and strove to be kind and loving as she had been; and soon the spirits learned to love the patient fairy, who had left his home to toil among them for the sake of his gentle friend.
at length came little sparkle to him, saying, "you have done enough; come now, and dance and feast with us, for the golden flower is won."
but thistle could not stay, for half his task was not yet done; and he longed for sunlight and lily-bell.
so, taking a kind farewell, he hastened through the torch-lit path up to the light again; and, spreading his wings, flew over hill and dale till he reached the forest where lily-bell lay sleeping.
it was early morning, and the rosy light shone brightly through the lily-leaves upon her, as thistle entered, and laid his first gift at the brownie king's feet.
""you have done well," said he, "we hear good tidings of you from bird and flower, and you are truly seeking to repair the evil you have done.
take now one look at your little friend, and then go forth to seek from the air spirits your second gift."
then thistle said farewell again to lily-bell, and flew far and wide among the clouds, seeking the air spirits; but though he wandered till his weary wings could bear him no longer, it was in vain.
so, faint and sad, he lay down to rest on a broad vine-leaf, that fluttered gently in the wind; and as he lay, he saw beneath him the home of the kind bees whom he had so disturbed, and lily-bell had helped and comforted.
""i will seek to win their pardon, and show them that i am no longer the cruel fairy who so harmed them," thought thistle, "and when they become again my friends, i will ask their help to find the air spirits; and if i deserve it, they will gladly aid me on my way."
so he flew down into the field below, and hastened busily from flower to flower, till he had filled a tiny blue-bell with sweet, fresh honey.
then he stole softly to the hive, and, placing it near the door, concealed himself to watch.
soon his friend nimble-wing came flying home, and when he spied the little cup, he hummed with joy, and called his companions around him.
""surely, some good elf has placed it here for us," said they; "let us bear it to our queen; it is so fresh and fragrant it will be a fit gift for her"; and they joyfully took it in, little dreaming who had placed it there.
so each day thistle filled a flower-cup, and laid it at the door; and each day the bees wondered more and more, for many strange things happened.
the field-flowers told of the good spirit who watched above them, and the birds sang of the same kind little elf bringing soft moss for their nests, and food for their hungry young ones; while all around the hive had grown fairer since the fairy came.
but the bees never saw him, for he feared he had not yet done enough to win their forgiveness and friendship; so he lived alone among the vines, daily bringing them honey, and doing some kindly action.
at length, as he lay sleeping in a flower-bell, a little bee came wandering by, and knew him for the wicked thistle; so he called his friends, and, as they flew murmuring around him, he awoke.
""what shall we do to you, naughty elf?"
said they.
""you are in our power, and we will sting you if you are not still."
""let us close the flower-leaves around him and leave him here to starve," cried one, who had not yet forgotten all the sorrow thistle had caused them long ago.
""no, no, that were very cruel, dear buzz," said little hum; "let us take him to our queen, and she will tell us how to show our anger for the wicked deeds he did.
see how bitterly he weeps; be kind to him, he will not harm us more."
""you good little hum!"
cried a kind-hearted robin who had hopped near to listen to the bees.
""dear friends, do you not know that this is the good fairy who has dwelt so quietly among us, watching over bird and blossom, giving joy to all he helps?
it is he who brings the honey-cup each day to you, and then goes silently away, that you may never know who works so faithfully for you.
be kind to him, for if he has done wrong, he has repented of it, as you may see."
""can this be naughty thistle?"
said nimble-wing.
""yes, it is i," said thistle, "but no longer cruel and unkind.
i have tried to win your love by patient industry.
ah, trust me now, and you shall see i am not naughty thistle any more."
then the wondering bees led him to their queen, and when he had told his tale, and begged their forgiveness, it was gladly given; and all strove to show him that he was loved and trusted.
then he asked if they could tell him where the air spirits dwelt, for he must not forget dear lily-bell; and to his great joy the queen said, "yes," and bade little hum guide thistle to cloud-land.
little hum joyfully obeyed; and thistle followed him, as he flew higher and higher among the soft clouds, till in the distance they saw a radiant light.
""there is their home, and i must leave you now, dear thistle," said the little bee; and, bidding him farewell, he flew singing back; while thistle, following the light, soon found himself in the air spirits" home.
the sky was gold and purple like an autumn sunset, and long walls of brilliant clouds lay round him.
a rosy light shone through the silver mist, on gleaming columns and the rainbow roof; soft, fragrant winds went whispering by, and airy little forms were flitting to and fro.
long thistle wondered at the beauty round him; and then he went among the shining spirits, told his tale, and asked a gift.
but they answered like the earth spirits.
""you must serve us first, and then we will gladly give you a robe of sunlight like our own."
and then they told him how they wafted flower-seeds over the earth, to beautify and brighten lonely spots; how they watched above the blossoms by day, and scattered dews at night, brought sunlight into darkened places, and soft winds to refresh and cheer.
""these are the things we do," said they, "and you must aid us for a time."
and thistle gladly went with the lovely spirits; by day he joined the sunlight and the breeze in their silent work; by night, with star-light and her sister spirits, he flew over the moon-lit earth, dropping cool dew upon the folded flowers, and bringing happy dreams to sleeping mortals.
many a kind deed was done, many a gentle word was spoken; and each day lighter grew his heart, and stronger his power of giving joy to others.
at length star-light bade him work no more, and gladly gave him the gift he had won.
then his second task was done, and he flew gayly back to the green earth and slumbering lily-bell.
the silvery moonlight shone upon her, as he came to give his second gift; and the brownie spoke more kindly than before.
""one more trial, thistle, and she will awake.
go bravely forth and win your last and hardest gift."
then with a light heart thistle journeyed away to the brooks and rivers, seeking the water spirits.
but he looked in vain; till, wandering through the forest where the brownies took him captive, he stopped beside the quiet lake.
as he stood here he heard a sound of pain, and, looking in the tall grass at his side, he saw the dragon-fly whose kindness he once repayed by pain and sorrow, and who now lay suffering and alone.
thistle bent tenderly beside him, saying, "dear flutter, do not fear me.
i will gladly ease your pain, if you will let me; i am your friend, and long to show you how i grieve for all the wrong i did you, when you were so kind to me.
forgive, and let me help and comfort you."
then he bound up the broken wing, and spoke so tenderly that flutter doubted him no longer, and was his friend again.
day by day did thistle watch beside him, making little beds of cool, fresh moss for him to rest upon, fanning him when he slept, and singing sweet songs to cheer him when awake.
and often when poor flutter longed to be dancing once again over the blue waves, the fairy bore him in his arms to the lake, and on a broad leaf, with a green flag for a sail, they floated on the still water; while the dragon-fly's companions flew about them, playing merry games.
at length the broken wing was well, and thistle said he must again seek the water spirits.
""i can tell you where to find them," said flutter; "you must follow yonder little brook, and it will lead you to the sea, where the spirits dwell.
i would gladly do more for you, dear thistle, but i can not, for they live deep beneath the waves.
you will find some kind friend to aid you on your way; and so farewell."
thistle followed the little brook, as it flowed through field and valley, growing ever larger, till it reached the sea.
here the wind blew freshly, and the great waves rolled and broke at thistle's feet, as he stood upon the shore, watching the billows dancing and sparkling in the sun.
""how shall i find the spirits in this great sea, with none to help or guide me?
yet it is my last task, and for lily-bell's sake i must not fear or falter now," said thistle.
so he flew hither and thither over the sea, looking through the waves.
soon he saw, far below, the branches of the coral tree.
""they must be here," thought he, and, folding his wings, he plunged into the deep, cold sea.
but he saw only fearful monsters and dark shapes that gathered round him; and, trembling with fear, he struggled up again.
the great waves tossed him to and fro, and cast him bruised and faint upon the shore.
here he lay weeping bitterly, till a voice beside him said, "poor little elf, what has befallen you?
these rough waves are not fit playmates for so delicate a thing as you.
tell me your sorrow, and i will comfort you."
and thistle, looking up, saw a white sea-bird at his side, who tried with friendly words to cheer him.
so he told all his wanderings, and how he sought the sea spirits.
""surely, if bee and blossom do their part to help you, birds should aid you too," said the sea-bird.
""i will call my friend, the nautilus, and he will bear you safely to the coral palace where the spirits dwell."
so, spreading his great wings, he flew away, and soon thistle saw a little boat come dancing over the waves, and wait beside the shore for him.
in he sprang.
nautilus raised his little sail to the wind, and the light boat glided swiftly over the blue sea.
at last thistle cried, "i see lovely arches far below; let me go, it is the spirits" home."
""nay, close your eyes, and trust to me.
i will bear you safely down," said nautilus.
so thistle closed his eyes, and listened to the murmur of the sea, as they sank slowly through the waves.
the soft sound lulled him to sleep, and when he awoke the boat was gone, and he stood among the water spirits, in their strange and lovely home.
lofty arches of snow-white coral bent above him, and the walls of brightly tinted shells were wreathed with lovely sea-flowers, and the sunlight shining on the waves cast silvery shadows on the ground, where sparkling stones glowed in the sand.
a cool, fresh wind swept through the waving garlands of bright sea-moss, and the distant murmur of dashing waves came softly on the air.
soon troops of graceful spirits flitted by, and when they found the wondering elf, they gathered round him, bringing pearl-shells heaped with precious stones, and all the rare, strange gifts that lie beneath the sea.
but thistle wished for none of these, and when his tale was told, the kindly spirits pitied him; and little pearl sighed, as she told him of the long and weary task he must perform, ere he could win a crown of snow-white pearls like those they wore.
but thistle had gained strength and courage in his wanderings, and did not falter now, when they led him to a place among the coral-workers, and told him he must labor here, till the spreading branches reached the light and air, through the waves that danced above.
with a patient hope that he might yet be worthy of lily-bell, the fairy left the lovely spirits and their pleasant home, to toil among the coral-builders, where all was strange and dim.
long, long, he worked; but still the waves rolled far above them, and his task was not yet done; and many bitter tears poor thistle shed, and sadly he pined for air and sunlight, the voice of birds, and breath of flowers.
often, folded in the magic garments which the spirits gave him, that he might pass unharmed among the fearful creatures dwelling there, he rose to the surface of the sea, and, gliding through the waves, gazed longingly upon the hills, now looking blue and dim so far away, or watched the flocks of summer birds, journeying to a warmer land; and they brought sad memories of green old forests, and sunny fields, to the lonely little fairy floating on the great, wild sea.
day after day went by, and slowly thistle's task drew towards an end.
busily toiled the coral-workers, but more busily toiled he; insect and spirit daily wondered more and more, at the industry and patience of the silent little elf, who had a friendly word for all, though he never joined them in their sport.
higher and higher grew the coral-boughs, and lighter grew the fairy's heart, while thoughts of dear lily-bell cheered him on, as day by day he steadily toiled; and when at length the sun shone on his work, and it was done, he stayed but to take the garland he had won, and to thank the good spirits for their love and care.
then up through the cold, blue waves he swiftly glided, and, shaking the bright drops from his wings, soared singing up to the sunny sky.
on through the fragrant air went thistle, looking with glad face upon the fair, fresh earth below, where flowers looked smiling up, and green trees bowed their graceful heads as if to welcome him.
soon the forest where lily-bell lay sleeping rose before him, and as he passed along the cool, dim wood-paths, never had they seemed so fair.
but when he came where his little friend had slept, it was no longer the dark, silent spot where he last saw her.
garlands hung from every tree, and the fairest flowers filled the air with their sweet breath.
bird's gay voices echoed far and wide, and the little brook went singing by, beneath the arching ferns that bent above it; green leaves rustled in the summer wind, and the air was full of music.
but the fairest sight was lily-bell, as she lay on the couch of velvet moss that fairy hands had spread.
the golden flower lay beside her, and the glittering robe was folded round her little form.
the warmest sunlight fell upon her, and the softest breezes lifted her shining hair.
happy tears fell fast, as thistle folded his arms around her, crying, "o lily-bell, dear lily-bell, awake!
i have been true to you, and now my task is done."
then, with a smile, lily-bell awoke, and looked with wondering eyes upon the beauty that had risen round her.
""dear thistle, what mean these fair things, and why are we in this lovely place?"
""listen, lily-bell," said the brownie king, as he appeared beside her.
and then he told all that thistle had done to show his love for her; how he had wandered far and wide to seek the fairy gifts, and toiled long and hard to win them; how he had been loving, true, and tender, when most lonely and forsaken.
""bird, bee, and blossom have forgiven him, and none is more loved and trusted now by all, than the once cruel thistle," said the king, as he bent down to the happy elf, who bowed low before him.
""you have learned the beauty of a gentle, kindly heart, dear thistle; and you are now worthy to become the friend of her for whom you have done so much.
place the crown upon her head, for she is queen of all the forest fairies now."
and as the crown shone on the head that lily-bell bent down on thistle's breast, the forest seemed alive with little forms, who sprang from flower and leaf, and gathered round her, bringing gifts for their new queen.
""if i am queen, then you are king, dear thistle," said the fairy.
""take the crown, and i will have a wreath of flowers.
you have toiled and suffered for my sake, and you alone should rule over these little elves whose love you have won."
""keep your crown, lily-bell, for yonder come the spirits with their gifts to thistle," said the brownie.
and, as he pointed with his wand, out from among the mossy roots of an old tree came trooping the earth spirits, their flower-bells ringing softly as they came, and their jewelled garments glittering in the sun.
on to where thistledown stood beneath the shadow of the flowers, with lily-bell beside him, went the spirits; and then forth sprang little sparkle, waving a golden flower, whose silvery music filled the air.
""dear thistle," said the shining spirit, "what you toiled so faithfully to win for another, let us offer now as a token of our love for you."
as she ceased, down through the air came floating bands of lovely air spirits, bringing a shining robe, and they too told their love for the gentle fairy who had dwelt with them.
then softly on the breeze came distant music, growing ever nearer, till over the rippling waves came the singing water spirits, in their boats of many-colored shells; and as they placed their glittering crown on thistle's head, loud rang the flowers, and joyously sang the birds, while all the forest fairies cried, with silvery voices, "lily-bell and thistledown!
long live our king and queen!"
""have you a tale for us too, dear violet-eye?"
said the queen, as zephyr ceased.
the little elf thus named looked from among the flower-leaves where she sat, and with a smile replied, "as i was weaving garlands in the field, i heard a primrose tell this tale to her friend golden-rod."
little bud.
in a great forest, high up among the green boughs, lived bird brown-breast, and his bright-eyed little mate.
they were now very happy; their home was done, the four blue eggs lay in the soft nest, and the little wife sat still and patient on them, while the husband sang, and told her charming tales, and brought her sweet berries and little worms.
things went smoothly on, till one day she found in the nest a little white egg, with a golden band about it.
""my friend," cried she, "come and see!
where can this fine egg have come from?
my four are here, and this also; what think you of it?"
the husband shook his head gravely, and said, "be not alarmed, my love; it is doubtless some good fairy who has given us this, and we shall find some gift within; do not let us touch it, but do you sit carefully upon it, and we shall see in time what has been sent us."
so they said nothing about it, and soon their home had four little chirping children; and then the white egg opened, and, behold, a little maiden lay singing within.
then how amazed were they, and how they welcomed her, as she lay warm beneath the mother's wing, and how the young birds did love her.
great joy was in the forest, and proud were the parents of their family, and still more of the little one who had come to them; while all the neighbors flocked in, to see dame brown-breast's little child.
and the tiny maiden talked to them, and sang so merrily, that they could have listened for ever.
soon she was the joy of the whole forest, dancing from tree to tree, making every nest her home, and none were ever so welcome as little bud; and so they lived right merrily in the green old forest.
the father now had much to do to supply his family with food, and choice morsels did he bring little bud.
the wild fruits were her food, the fresh dew in the flower-cups her drink, while the green leaves served her for little robes; and thus she found garments in the flowers of the field, and a happy home with mother brown-breast; and all in the wood, from the stately trees to the little mosses in the turf, were friends to the merry child.
and each day she taught the young birds sweet songs, and as their gay music rang through the old forest, the stern, dark pines ceased their solemn waving, that they might hear the soft sounds stealing through the dim wood-paths, and mortal children came to listen, saying softly, "hear the flowers sing, and touch them not, for the fairies are here."
then came a band of sad little elves to bud, praying that they might hear the sweet music; and when she took them by the hand, and spoke gently to them, they wept and said sadly, when she asked them whence they came, -- "we dwelt once in fairy-land, and o how happy were we then!
but alas!
we were not worthy of so fair a home, and were sent forth into the cold world.
look at our robes, they are like the withered leaves; our wings are dim, our crowns are gone, and we lead sad, lonely lives in this dark forest.
let us stay with you; your gay music sounds like fairy songs, and you have such a friendly way with you, and speak so gently to us.
it is good to be near one so lovely and so kind; and you can tell us how we may again become fair and innocent.
say we may stay with you, kind little maiden."
and bud said, "yes," and they stayed; but her kind little heart was grieved that they wept so sadly, and all she could say could not make them happy; till at last she said, -- "do not weep, and i will go to queen dew-drop, and beseech her to let you come back.
i will tell her that you are repentant, and will do anything to gain her love again; that you are sad, and long to be forgiven.
this will i say, and more, and trust she will grant my prayer."
""she will not say no to you, dear bud," said the poor little fairies; "she will love you as we do, and if we can but come again to our lost home, we can not give you thanks enough.
go, bud, and if there be power in fairy gifts, you shall be as happy as our hearts" best love can make you."
the tidings of bud's departure flew through the forest, and all her friends came to say farewell, as with the morning sun she would go; and each brought some little gift, for the land of fairies was far away, and she must journey long.
""nay, you shall not go on your feet, my child," said mother brown-breast; "your friend golden-wing shall carry you.
call him hither, that i may seat you rightly, for if you should fall off my heart would break."
then up came golden-wing, and bud was safely seated on the cushion of violet-leaves; and it was really charming to see her merry little face, peeping from under the broad brim of her cow-slip hat, as her butterfly steed stood waving his bright wings in the sunlight.
then came the bee with his yellow honey-bags, which he begged she would take, and the little brown spider that lived under the great leaves brought a veil for her hat, and besought her to wear it, lest the sun should shine too brightly; while the ant came bringing a tiny strawberry, lest she should miss her favorite fruit.
the mother gave her good advice, and the papa stood with his head on one side, and his round eyes twinkling with delight, to think that his little bud was going to fairy-land.
then they all sang gayly together, till she passed out of sight over the hills, and they saw her no more.
and now bud left the old forest far behind her.
golden-wing bore her swiftly along, and she looked down on the green mountains, and the peasant's cottages, that stood among overshadowing trees; and the earth looked bright, with its broad, blue rivers winding through soft meadows, the singing birds, and flowers, who kept their bright eyes ever on the sky.
and she sang gayly as they floated in the clear air, while her friend kept time with his waving wings, and ever as they went along all grew fairer; and thus they came to fairy-land.
as bud passed through the gates, she no longer wondered that the exiled fairies wept and sorrowed for the lovely home they had lost.
bright clouds floated in the sunny sky, casting a rainbow light on the fairy palaces below, where the elves were dancing; while the low, sweet voices of the singing flowers sounded softly through the fragrant air, and mingled with the music of the rippling waves, as they flowed on beneath the blossoming vines that drooped above them.
all was bright and beautiful; but kind little bud would not linger, for the forms of the weeping fairies were before her; and though the blossoms nodded gayly on their stems to welcome her, and the soft winds kissed her cheek, she would not stay, but on to the flower palace she went, into a pleasant hall whose walls were formed of crimson roses, amid whose leaves sat little elves, making sweet music on their harps.
when they saw bud, they gathered round her, and led her through the flower-wreathed arches to a group of the most beautiful fairies, who were gathered about a stately lily, in whose fragrant cup sat one whose purple robe and glittering crown told she was their queen.
bud knelt before her, and, while tears streamed down her little face, she told her errand, and pleaded earnestly that the exiled fairies might be forgiven, and not be left to pine far from their friends and kindred.
and as she prayed, many wept with her; and when she ceased, and waited for her answer, many knelt beside her, praying forgiveness for the unhappy elves.
with tearful eyes, queen dew-drop replied, -- "little maiden, your prayer has softened my heart.
they shall not be left sorrowing and alone, nor shall you go back without a kindly word to cheer and comfort them.
we will pardon their fault, and when they can bring hither a perfect fairy crown, robe, and wand, they shall be again received as children of their loving queen.
the task is hard, for none but the best and purest can form the fairy garments; yet with patience they may yet restore their robes to their former brightness.
farewell, good little maiden; come with them, for but for you they would have dwelt for ever without the walls of fairy-land."
""good speed to you, and farewell," cried they all, as, with loving messages to their poor friends, they bore her to the gates.
day after day toiled little bud, cheering the fairies, who, angry and disappointed, would not listen to her gentle words, but turned away and sat alone weeping.
they grieved her kind heart with many cruel words; but patiently she bore with them, and when they told her they could never perform so hard a task, and must dwell for ever in the dark forest, she answered gently, that the snow-white lily must be planted, and watered with repentant tears, before the robe of innocence could be won; that the sun of love must shine in their hearts, before the light could return to their dim crowns, and deeds of kindness must be performed, ere the power would come again to their now useless wands.
then they planted the lilies; but they soon drooped and died, and no light came to their crowns.
they did no gentle deeds, but cared only for themselves; and when they found their labor was in vain, they tried no longer, but sat weeping.
bud, with ceaseless toil and patient care, tended the lilies, which bloomed brightly, the crowns grew bright, and in her hands the wands had power over birds and blossoms, for she was striving to give happiness to others, forgetful of herself.
and the idle fairies, with thankful words, took the garments from her, and then with bud went forth to fairy-land, and stood with beating hearts before the gates; where crowds of fairy friends came forth to welcome them.
but when queen dew-drop touched them with her wand, as they passed in, the light faded from their crowns, their robes became like withered leaves, and their wands were powerless.
amid the tears of all the fairies, the queen led them to the gates, and said, -- "farewell!
it is not in my power to aid you; innocence and love are not within your hearts, and were it not for this untiring little maiden, who has toiled while you have wept, you never would have entered your lost home.
go and strive again, for till all is once more fair and pure, i can not call you mine."
""farewell!"
sang the weeping fairies, as the gates closed on their outcast friends; who, humbled and broken-hearted, gathered around bud; and she, with cheering words, guided them back to the forest.
time passed on, and the fairies had done nothing to gain their lovely home again.
they wept no longer, but watched little bud, as she daily tended the flowers, restoring their strength and beauty, or with gentle words flew from nest to nest, teaching the little birds to live happily together; and wherever she went blessings fell, and loving hearts were filled with gratitude.
then, one by one, the elves secretly did some little work of kindness, and found a quiet joy come back to repay them.
flowers looked lovingly up as they passed, birds sang to cheer them when sad thoughts made them weep.
and soon little bud found out their gentle deeds, and her friendly words gave them new strength.
so day after day they followed her, and like a band of guardian spirits they flew far and wide, carrying with them joy and peace.
and not only birds and flowers blessed them, but human beings also; for with tender hands they guided little children from danger, and kept their young hearts free from evil thoughts; they whispered soothing words to the sick, and brought sweet odors and fair flowers to their lonely rooms.
they sent lovely visions to the old and blind, to make their hearts young and bright with happy thoughts.
but most tenderly did they watch over the poor and sorrowing, and many a poor mother blessed the unseen hands that laid food before her hungry little ones, and folded warm garments round their naked limbs.
many a poor man wondered at the fair flowers that sprang up in his little garden-plot, cheering him with their bright forms, and making his dreary home fair with their loveliness, and looked at his once barren field, where now waved the golden corn, turning its broad leaves to the warm sun, and promising a store of golden ears to give him food; while the care-worn face grew bright, and the troubled heart filled with gratitude towards the invisible spirits who had brought him such joy.
thus time passed on, and though the exiled fairies longed often for their home, still, knowing they did not deserve it, they toiled on, hoping one day to see the friends they had lost; while the joy of their own hearts made their life full of happiness.
one day came little bud to them, saying, -- "listen, dear friends.
i have a hard task to offer you.
it is a great sacrifice for you light loving fairies to dwell through the long winter in the dark, cold earth, watching over the flower roots, to keep them free from the little grubs and worms that seek to harm them.
but in the sunny spring when they bloom again, their love and gratitude will give you happy homes among their bright leaves.
""it is a wearisome task, and i can give you no reward for all your tender care, but the blessings of the gentle flowers you will have saved from death.
gladly would i aid you; but my winged friends are preparing for their journey to warmer lands, and i must help them teach their little ones to fly, and see them safely on their way.
then, through the winter, must i seek the dwellings of the poor and suffering, comfort the sick and lonely, and give hope and courage to those who in their poverty are led astray.
these things must i do; but when the flowers bloom again i will be with you, to welcome back our friends from over the sea."
then, with tears, the fairies answered, "ah, good little bud, you have taken the hardest task yourself, and who will repay you for all your deeds of tenderness and mercy in the great world?
should evil befall you, our hearts would break.
we will labor trustingly in the earth, and thoughts of you shall cheer us on; for without you we had been worthless beings, and never known the joy that kindly actions bring.
yes, dear bud, we will gladly toil among the roots, that the fair flowers may wear their gayest robes to welcome you."
then deep in the earth the fairies dwelt, and no frost or snow could harm the blossoms they tended.
every little seed was laid in the soft earth, watered, and watched.
tender roots were folded in withered leaves, that no chilling drops might reach them; and safely dreamed the flowers, till summer winds should call them forth; while lighter grew each fairy heart, as every gentle deed was tenderly performed.
at length the snow was gone, and they heard little voices calling them to come up; but patiently they worked, till seed and root were green and strong.
then, with eager feet, they hastened to the earth above, where, over hill and valley, bright flowers and budding trees smiled in the warm sunlight, blossoms bent lovingly before them, and rang their colored bells, till the fragrant air was full of music; while the stately trees waved their great arms above them, and scattered soft leaves at their feet.
then came the merry birds, making the wood alive with their gay voices, calling to one another, as they flew among the vines, building their little homes.
long waited the elves, and at last she came with father brown-breast.
happy days passed; and summer flowers were in their fullest beauty, when bud bade the fairies come with her.
mounted on bright-winged butterflies, they flew over forest and meadow, till with joyful eyes they saw the flower-crowned walls of fairy-land.
before the gates they stood, and soon troops of loving elves came forth to meet them.
and on through the sunny gardens they went, into the lily hall, where, among the golden stamens of a graceful flower, sat the queen; while on the broad, green leaves around it stood the brighteyed little maids of honor.
then, amid the deep silence, little bud, leading the fairies to the throne, said, -- "dear queen, i here bring back your subjects, wiser for their sorrow, better for their hard trial; and now might any queen be proud of them, and bow to learn from them that giving joy and peace to others brings it fourfold to us, bearing a double happiness in the blessings to those we help.
through the dreary months, when they might have dwelt among fair southern flowers, beneath a smiling sky, they toiled in the dark and silent earth, filling the hearts of the gentle flower spirits with grateful love, seeking no reward but the knowledge of their own good deeds, and the joy they always bring.
this they have done unmurmuringly and alone; and now, far and wide, flower blessings fall upon them, and the summer winds bear the glad tidings unto those who droop in sorrow, and new joy and strength it brings, as they look longingly for the friends whose gentle care hath brought such happiness to their fair kindred.
""are they not worthy of your love, dear queen?
have they not won their lovely home?
say they are pardoned, and you have gained the love of hearts pure as the snow-white robes now folded over them."
as bud ceased, she touched the wondering fairies with her wand, and the dark faded garments fell away; and beneath, the robes of lily-leaves glittered pure and spotless in the sun-light.
then, while happy tears fell, queen dew-drop placed the bright crowns on the bowed heads of the kneeling fairies, and laid before them the wands their own good deeds had rendered powerful.
they turned to thank little bud for all her patient love, but she was gone; and high above, in the clear air, they saw the little form journeying back to the quiet forest.
she needed no reward but the joy she had given.
the fairy hearts were pure again, and her work was done; yet all fairy-land had learned a lesson from gentle little bud.
""now, little sunbeam, what have you to tell us?"
said the queen, looking down on a bright-eyed elf, who sat half hidden in the deep moss at her feet.
""i too, like star-twinkle, have nothing but a song to offer," replied the fairy; and then, while the nightingale's sweet voice mingled with her own, she sang, -- clover-blossom.
in a quiet, pleasant meadow, beneath a summer sky, where green old trees their branches waved, and winds went singing by; where a little brook went rippling so musically low, and passing clouds cast shadows on the waving grass below; where low, sweet notes of brooding birds stole out on the fragrant air, and golden sunlight shone undimmed on all most fresh and fair; -- there bloomed a lovely sisterhood of happy little flowers, together in this pleasant home, through quiet summer hours.
no rude hand came to gather them, no chilling winds to blight; warm sunbeams smiled on them by day, and soft dews fell at night.
so here, along the brook-side, beneath the green old trees, the flowers dwelt among their friends, the sunbeams and the breeze.
one morning, as the flowers awoke, fragrant, and fresh, and fair, a little worm came creeping by, and begged a shelter there.
""ah!
pity and love me," sighed the worm, "i am lonely, poor, and weak; a little spot for a resting-place, dear flowers, is all i seek.
i am not fair, and have dwelt unloved by butterfly, bird, and bee.
they little knew that in this dark form lay the beauty they yet may see.
then let me lie in the deep green moss, and weave my little tomb, and sleep my long, unbroken sleep till spring's first flowers come.
then will i come in a fairer dress, and your gentle care repay by the grateful love of the humble worm; kind flowers, o let me stay!"
but the wild rose showed her little thorns, while her soft face glowed with pride; the violet hid beneath the drooping ferns, and the daisy turned aside.
little houstonia scornfully laughed, as she danced on her slender stem; while the cowslip bent to the rippling waves, and whispered the tale to them.
a blue-eyed grass looked down on the worm, as it silently turned away, and cried, "thou wilt harm our delicate leaves, and therefore thou canst not stay."
then a sweet, soft voice, called out from far, "come hither, poor worm, to me; the sun lies warm in this quiet spot, and i'll share my home with thee."
the wondering flowers looked up to see who had offered the worm a home: "t was a clover-blossom, whose fluttering leaves seemed beckoning him to come; it dwelt in a sunny little nook, where cool winds rustled by, and murmuring bees and butterflies came, on the flower's breast to lie.
down through the leaves the sunlight stole, and seemed to linger there, as if it loved to brighten the home of one so sweet and fair.
its rosy face smiled kindly down, as the friendless worm drew near; and its low voice, softly whispering, said "poor thing, thou art welcome here; close at my side, in the soft green moss, thou wilt find a quiet bed, where thou canst softly sleep till spring, with my leaves above thee spread.
i pity and love thee, friendless worm, though thou art not graceful or fair; for many a dark, unlovely form, hath a kind heart dwelling there; no more o'er the green and pleasant earth, lonely and poor, shalt thou roam, for a loving friend hast thou found in me, and rest in my little home."
then, deep in its quiet mossy bed, sheltered from sun and shower, the grateful worm spun its winter tomb, in the shadow of the flower.
and clover guarded well its rest, till autumn's leaves were sere, till all her sister flowers were gone, and her winter sleep drew near.
then her withered leaves were softly spread o'er the sleeping worm below, ere the faithful little flower lay beneath the winter snow.
spring came again, and the flowers rose from their quiet winter graves, and gayly danced on their slender stems, and sang with the rippling waves.
softly the warm winds kissed their cheeks; brightly the sunbeams fell, as, one by one, they came again in their summer homes to dwell.
and little clover bloomed once more, rosy, and sweet, and fair, and patiently watched by the mossy bed, for the worm still slumbered there.
then her sister flowers scornfully cried, as they waved in the summer air, "the ugly worm was friendless and poor; little clover, why shouldst thou care?
then watch no more, nor dwell alone, away from thy sister flowers; come, dance and feast, and spend with us these pleasant summer hours.
we pity thee, foolish little flower, to trust what the false worm said; he will not come in a fairer dress, for he lies in the green moss dead."
but little clover still watched on, alone in her sunny home; she did not doubt the poor worm's truth, and trusted he would come.
at last the small cell opened wide, and a glittering butterfly, from out the moss, on golden wings, soared up to the sunny sky.
then the wondering flowers cried aloud, "clover, thy watch was vain; he only sought a shelter here, and never will come again."
and the unkind flowers danced for joy, when they saw him thus depart; for the love of a beautiful butterfly is dear to a flower's heart.
they feared he would stay in clover's home, and her tender care repay; so they danced for joy, when at last he rose and silently flew away.
then little clover bowed her head, while her soft tears fell like dew; for her gentle heart was grieved, to find that her sisters" words were true, and the insect she had watched so long when helpless, poor, and lone, thankless for all her faithful care, on his golden wings had flown.
but as she drooped, in silent grief, she heard little daisy cry, "o sisters, look!
i see him now, afar in the sunny sky; he is floating back from cloud-land now, borne by the fragrant air.
spread wide your leaves, that he may choose the flower he deems most fair."
then the wild rose glowed with a deeper blush, as she proudly waved on her stem; the cowslip bent to the clear blue waves, and made her mirror of them.
little houstonia merrily danced, and spread her white leaves wide; while daisy whispered her joy and hope, as she stood by her gay friends" side.
violet peeped from the tall green ferns, and lifted her soft blue eye to watch the glittering form, that shone afar in the summer sky.
they thought no more of the ugly worm, who once had wakened their scorn; but looked and longed for the butterfly now, as the soft wind bore him on.
nearer and nearer the bright form came, and fairer the blossoms grew; each welcomed him, in her sweetest tones; each offered her honey and dew.
but in vain did they beckon, and smile, and call, and wider their leaves unclose; the glittering form still floated on, by violet, daisy, and rose.
lightly it flew to the pleasant home of the flower most truly fair, on clover's breast he softly lit, and folded his bright wings there.
""dear flower," the butterfly whispered low, "long hast thou waited for me; now i am come, and my grateful love shall brighten thy home for thee; thou hast loved and cared for me, when alone, hast watched o'er me long and well; and now will i strive to show the thanks the poor worm could not tell.
sunbeam and breeze shall come to thee, and the coolest dews that fall; whate'er a flower can wish is thine, for thou art worthy all.
and the home thou shared with the friendless worm the butterfly's home shall be; and thou shalt find, dear, faithful flower, a loving friend in me."
then, through the long, bright summer hours through sunshine and through shower, together in their happy home dwelt butterfly and flower.
""ah, that is very lovely," cried the elves, gathering round little sunbeam as she ceased, to place a garland in her hair and praise her song.
""now," said the queen, "call hither moon-light and summer-wind, for they have seen many pleasant things in their long wanderings, and will gladly tell us them."
""most joyfully will we do our best, dear queen," said the elves, as they folded their wings beside her.
""now, summer-wind," said moonlight, "till your turn comes, do you sit here and fan me while i tell this tale of little annie's dream; or, the fairy flower.
in a large and pleasant garden sat little annie all alone, and she seemed very sad, for drops that were not dew fell fast upon the flowers beside her, who looked wonderingly up, and bent still nearer, as if they longed to cheer and comfort her.
the warm wind lifted up her shining hair and softly kissed her cheek, while the sunbeams, looking most kindly in her face, made little rainbows in her tears, and lingered lovingly about her.
but annie paid no heed to sun, or wind, or flower; still the bright tears fell, and she forgot all but her sorrow.
""little annie, tell me why you weep," said a low voice in her ear; and, looking up, the child beheld a little figure standing on a vine-leaf at her side; a lovely face smiled on her, from amid bright locks of hair, and shining wings were folded on a white and glittering robe, that fluttered in the wind.
""who are you, lovely little thing?"
cried annie, smiling through her tears.
""i am a fairy, little child, and am come to help and comfort you; now tell me why you weep, and let me be your friend," replied the spirit, as she smiled more kindly still on annie's wondering face.
""and are you really, then, a little elf, such as i read of in my fairy books?
do you ride on butterflies, sleep in flower-cups, and live among the clouds?"
""yes, all these things i do, and many stranger still, that all your fairy books can never tell; but now, dear annie," said the fairy, bending nearer, "tell me why i found no sunshine on your face; why are these great drops shining on the flowers, and why do you sit alone when bird and bee are calling you to play?"
""ah, you will not love me any more if i should tell you all," said annie, while the tears began to fall again; "i am not happy, for i am not good; how shall i learn to be a patient, gentle child?
good little fairy, will you teach me how?"
""gladly will i aid you, annie, and if you truly wish to be a happy child, you first must learn to conquer many passions that you cherish now, and make your heart a home for gentle feelings and happy thoughts; the task is hard, but i will give this fairy flower to help and counsel you.
bend hither, that i may place it in your breast; no hand can take it hence, till i unsay the spell that holds it there."
as thus she spoke, the elf took from her bosom a graceful flower, whose snow-white leaves shone with a strange, soft light.
""this is a fairy flower," said the elf, "invisible to every eye save yours; now listen while i tell its power, annie.
when your heart is filled with loving thoughts, when some kindly deed has been done, some duty well performed, then from the flower there will arise the sweetest, softest fragrance, to reward and gladden you.
but when an unkind word is on your lips, when a selfish, angry feeling rises in your heart, or an unkind, cruel deed is to be done, then will you hear the soft, low chime of the flower-bell; listen to its warning, let the word remain unspoken, the deed undone, and in the quiet joy of your own heart, and the magic perfume of your bosom flower, you will find a sweet reward."
""o kind and generous fairy, how can i ever thank you for this lovely gift!"
cried annie.
""i will be true, and listen to my little bell whenever it may ring.
but shall i never see you more?
ah!
if you would only stay with me, i should indeed be good."
""i can not stay now, little annie," said the elf, "but when another spring comes round, i shall be here again, to see how well the fairy gift has done its work.
and now farewell, dear child; be faithful to yourself, and the magic flower will never fade."
then the gentle fairy folded her little arms around annie's neck, laid a soft kiss on her cheek, and, spreading wide her shining wings, flew singing up among the white clouds floating in the sky.
and little annie sat among her flowers, and watched with wondering joy the fairy blossom shining on her breast.
the pleasant days of spring and summer passed away, and in little annie's garden autumn flowers were blooming everywhere, with each day's sun and dew growing still more beautiful and bright; but the fairy flower, that should have been the loveliest of all, hung pale and drooping on little annie's bosom; its fragrance seemed quite gone, and the clear, low music of its warning chime rang often in her ear.
when first the fairy placed it there, she had been pleased with her new gift, and for a while obeyed the fairy bell, and often tried to win some fragrance from the flower, by kind and pleasant words and actions; then, as the fairy said, she found a sweet reward in the strange, soft perfume of the magic blossom, as it shone upon her breast; but selfish thoughts would come to tempt her, she would yield, and unkind words fell from her lips; and then the flower drooped pale and scentless, the fairy bell rang mournfully, annie would forget her better resolutions, and be again a selfish, wilful little child.
at last she tried no longer, but grew angry with the faithful flower, and would have torn it from her breast; but the fairy spell still held it fast, and all her angry words but made it ring a louder, sadder peal.
then she paid no heed to the silvery music sounding in her ear, and each day grew still more unhappy, discontented, and unkind; so, when the autumn days came round, she was no better for the gentle fairy's gift, and longed for spring, that it might be returned; for now the constant echo of the mournful music made her very sad.
one sunny morning, when the fresh, cool winds were blowing, and not a cloud was in the sky, little annie walked among her flowers, looking carefully into each, hoping thus to find the fairy, who alone could take the magic blossom from her breast.
but she lifted up their drooping leaves, peeped into their dewy cups in vain; no little elf lay hidden there, and she turned sadly from them all, saying, "i will go out into the fields and woods, and seek her there.
i will not listen to this tiresome music more, nor wear this withered flower longer."
so out into the fields she went, where the long grass rustled as she passed, and timid birds looked at her from their nests; where lovely wild-flowers nodded in the wind, and opened wide their fragrant leaves, to welcome in the murmuring bees, while butterflies, like winged flowers, danced and glittered in the sun.
little annie looked, searched, and asked them all if any one could tell her of the fairy whom she sought; but the birds looked wonderingly at her with their soft, bright eyes, and still sang on; the flowers nodded wisely on their stems, but did not speak, while butterfly and bee buzzed and fluttered away, one far too busy, the other too idle, to stay and tell her what she asked.
then she went through broad fields of yellow grain, that waved around her like a golden forest; here crickets chirped, grasshoppers leaped, and busy ants worked, but they could not tell her what she longed to know.
""now will i go among the hills," said annie, "she may be there."
so up and down the green hill-sides went her little feet; long she searched and vainly she called; but still no fairy came.
then by the river-side she went, and asked the gay dragon-flies, and the cool white lilies, if the fairy had been there; but the blue waves rippled on the white sand at her feet, and no voice answered her.
then into the forest little annie went; and as she passed along the dim, cool paths, the wood-flowers smiled up in her face, gay squirrels peeped at her, as they swung amid the vines, and doves cooed softly as she wandered by; but none could answer her.
so, weary with her long and useless search, she sat amid the ferns, and feasted on the rosy strawberries that grew beside her, watching meanwhile the crimson evening clouds that glowed around the setting sun.
the night-wind rustled through the boughs, rocking the flowers to sleep; the wild birds sang their evening hymns, and all within the wood grew calm and still; paler and paler grew the purple light, lower and lower drooped little annie's head, the tall ferns bent to shield her from the dew, the whispering pines sang a soft lullaby; and when the autumn moon rose up, her silver light shone on the child, where, pillowed on green moss, she lay asleep amid the wood-flowers in the dim old forest.
and all night long beside her stood the fairy she had sought, and by elfin spell and charm sent to the sleeping child this dream.
little annie dreamed she sat in her own garden, as she had often sat before, with angry feelings in her heart, and unkind words upon her lips.
the magic flower was ringing its soft warning, but she paid no heed to anything, save her own troubled thoughts; thus she sat, when suddenly a low voice whispered in her ear, -- "little annie, look and see the evil things that you are cherishing; i will clothe in fitting shapes the thoughts and feelings that now dwell within your heart, and you shall see how great their power becomes, unless you banish them for ever."
then annie saw, with fear and wonder, that the angry words she uttered changed to dark, unlovely forms, each showing plainly from what fault or passion it had sprung.
some of the shapes had scowling faces and bright, fiery eyes; these were the spirits of anger.
others, with sullen, anxious looks, seemed gathering up all they could reach, and annie saw that the more they gained, the less they seemed to have; and these she knew were shapes of selfishness.
spirits of pride were there, who folded their shadowy garments round them, and turned scornfully away from all the rest.
these and many others little annie saw, which had come from her own heart, and taken form before her eyes.
when first she saw them, they were small and weak; but as she looked they seemed to grow and gather strength, and each gained a strange power over her.
she could not drive them from her sight, and they grew ever stronger, darker, and more unlovely to her eyes.
they seemed to cast black shadows over all around, to dim the sunshine, blight the flowers, and drive away all bright and lovely things; while rising slowly round her annie saw a high, dark wall, that seemed to shut out everything she loved; she dared not move, or speak, but, with a strange fear at her heart, sat watching the dim shapes that hovered round her.
higher and higher rose the shadowy wall, slowly the flowers near her died, lingeringly the sunlight faded; but at last they both were gone, and left her all alone behind the gloomy wall.
then the spirits gathered round her, whispering strange things in her ear, bidding her obey, for by her own will she had yielded up her heart to be their home, and she was now their slave.
then she could hear no more, but, sinking down among the withered flowers, wept sad and bitter tears, for her lost liberty and joy; then through the gloom there shone a faint, soft light, and on her breast she saw her fairy flower, upon whose snow-white leaves her tears lay shining.
clearer and brighter grew the radiant light, till the evil spirits turned away to the dark shadow of the wall, and left the child alone.
the light and perfume of the flower seemed to bring new strength to annie, and she rose up, saying, as she bent to kiss the blossom on her breast, "dear flower, help and guide me now, and i will listen to your voice, and cheerfully obey my faithful fairy bell."
then in her dream she felt how hard the spirits tried to tempt and trouble her, and how, but for her flower, they would have led her back, and made all dark and dreary as before.
long and hard she struggled, and tears often fell; but after each new trial, brighter shone her magic flower, and sweeter grew its breath, while the spirits lost still more their power to tempt her.
meanwhile, green, flowering vines crept up the high, dark wall, and hid its roughness from her sight; and over these she watched most tenderly, for soon, wherever green leaves and flowers bloomed, the wall beneath grew weak, and fell apart.
thus little annie worked and hoped, till one by one the evil spirits fled away, and in their place came shining forms, with gentle eyes and smiling lips, who gathered round her with such loving words, and brought such strength and joy to annie's heart, that nothing evil dared to enter in; while slowly sank the gloomy wall, and, over wreaths of fragrant flowers, she passed out into the pleasant world again, the fairy gift no longer pale and drooping, but now shining like a star upon her breast.
then the low voice spoke again in annie's sleeping ear, saying, "the dark, unlovely passions you have looked upon are in your heart; watch well while they are few and weak, lest they should darken your whole life, and shut out love and happiness for ever.
remember well the lesson of the dream, dear child, and let the shining spirits make your heart their home."
and with that voice sounding in her ear, little annie woke to find it was a dream; but like other dreams it did not pass away; and as she sat alone, bathed in the rosy morning light, and watched the forest waken into life, she thought of the strange forms she had seen, and, looking down upon the flower on her breast, she silently resolved to strive, as she had striven in her dream, to bring back light and beauty to its faded leaves, by being what the fairy hoped to render her, a patient, gentle little child.
and as the thought came to her mind, the flower raised its drooping head, and, looking up into the earnest little face bent over it, seemed by its fragrant breath to answer annie's silent thought, and strengthen her for what might come.
meanwhile the forest was astir, birds sang their gay good-morrows from tree to tree, while leaf and flower turned to greet the sun, who rose up smiling on the world; and so beneath the forest boughs and through the dewy fields went little annie home, better and wiser for her dream.
autumn flowers were dead and gone, yellow leaves lay rustling on the ground, bleak winds went whistling through the naked trees, and cold, white winter snow fell softly down; yet now, when all without looked dark and dreary, on little annie's breast the fairy flower bloomed more beautiful than ever.
the memory of her forest dream had never passed away, and through trial and temptation she had been true, and kept her resolution still unbroken; seldom now did the warning bell sound in her ear, and seldom did the flower's fragrance cease to float about her, or the fairy light to brighten all whereon it fell.
so, through the long, cold winter, little annie dwelt like a sunbeam in her home, each day growing richer in the love of others, and happier in herself; often was she tempted, but, remembering her dream, she listened only to the music of the fairy bell, and the unkind thought or feeling fled away, the smiling spirits of gentleness and love nestled in her heart, and all was bright again.
so better and happier grew the child, fairer and sweeter grew the flower, till spring came smiling over the earth, and woke the flowers, set free the streams, and welcomed back the birds; then daily did the happy child sit among her flowers, longing for the gentle elf to come again, that she might tell her gratitude for all the magic gift had done.
at length, one day, as she sat singing in the sunny nook where all her fairest flowers bloomed, weary with gazing at the far-off sky for the little form she hoped would come, she bent to look with joyful love upon her bosom flower; and as she looked, its folded leaves spread wide apart, and, rising slowly from the deep white cup, appeared the smiling face of the lovely elf whose coming she had waited for so long.
""dear annie, look for me no longer; i am here on your own breast, for you have learned to love my gift, and it has done its work most faithfully and well," the fairy said, as she looked into the happy child's bright face, and laid her little arms most tenderly about her neck.
""and now have i brought another gift from fairy-land, as a fit reward for you, dear child," she said, when annie had told all her gratitude and love; then, touching the child with her shining wand, the fairy bid her look and listen silently.
and suddenly the world seemed changed to annie; for the air was filled with strange, sweet sounds, and all around her floated lovely forms.
in every flower sat little smiling elves, singing gayly as they rocked amid the leaves.
on every breeze, bright, airy spirits came floating by; some fanned her cheek with their cool breath, and waved her long hair to and fro, while others rang the flower-bells, and made a pleasant rustling among the leaves.
in the fountain, where the water danced and sparkled in the sun, astride of every drop she saw merry little spirits, who plashed and floated in the clear, cool waves, and sang as gayly as the flowers, on whom they scattered glittering dew.
the tall trees, as their branches rustled in the wind, sang a low, dreamy song, while the waving grass was filled with little voices she had never heard before.
butterflies whispered lovely tales in her ear, and birds sang cheerful songs in a sweet language she had never understood before.
earth and air seemed filled with beauty and with music she had never dreamed of until now.
""o tell me what it means, dear fairy!
is it another and a lovelier dream, or is the earth in truth so beautiful as this?"
she cried, looking with wondering joy upon the elf, who lay upon the flower in her breast.
""yes, it is true, dear child," replied the fairy, "and few are the mortals to whom we give this lovely gift; what to you is now so full of music and of light, to others is but a pleasant summer world; they never know the language of butterfly or bird or flower, and they are blind to all that i have given you the power to see.
these fair things are your friends and playmates now, and they will teach you many pleasant lessons, and give you many happy hours; while the garden where you once sat, weeping sad and bitter tears, is now brightened by your own happiness, filled with loving friends by your own kindly thoughts and feelings; and thus rendered a pleasant summer home for the gentle, happy child, whose bosom flower will never fade.
and now, dear annie, i must go; but every springtime, with the earliest flowers, will i come again to visit you, and bring some fairy gift.
guard well the magic flower, that i may find all fair and bright when next i come."
then, with a kind farewell, the gentle fairy floated upward through the sunny air, smiling down upon the child, until she vanished in the soft, white clouds, and little annie stood alone in her enchanted garden, where all was brightened with the radiant light, and fragrant with the perfume of her fairy flower.
when moonlight ceased, summer-wind laid down her rose-leaf fan, and, leaning back in her acorn cup, told this tale of ripple, the water-spirit.
down in the deep blue sea lived ripple, a happy little water-spirit; all day long she danced beneath the coral arches, made garlands of bright ocean flowers, or floated on the great waves that sparkled in the sunlight; but the pastime that she loved best was lying in the many-colored shells upon the shore, listening to the low, murmuring music the waves had taught them long ago; and here for hours the little spirit lay watching the sea and sky, while singing gayly to herself.
but when tempests rose, she hastened down below the stormy billows, to where all was calm and still, and with her sister spirits waited till it should be fair again, listening sadly, meanwhile, to the cries of those whom the wild waves wrecked and cast into the angry sea, and who soon came floating down, pale and cold, to the spirits" pleasant home; then they wept pitying tears above the lifeless forms, and laid them in quiet graves, where flowers bloomed, and jewels sparkled in the sand.
this was ripple's only grief, and she often thought of those who sorrowed for the friends they loved, who now slept far down in the dim and silent coral caves, and gladly would she have saved the lives of those who lay around her; but the great ocean was far mightier than all the tender-hearted spirits dwelling in its bosom.
thus she could only weep for them, and lay them down to sleep where no cruel waves could harm them more.
one day, when a fearful storm raged far and wide, and the spirits saw great billows rolling like heavy clouds above their heads, and heard the wild winds sounding far away, down through the foaming waves a little child came floating to their home; its eyes were closed as if in sleep, the long hair fell like sea-weed round its pale, cold face, and the little hands still clasped the shells they had been gathering on the beach, when the great waves swept it into the troubled sea.
with tender tears the spirits laid the little form to rest upon its bed of flowers, and, singing mournful songs, as if to make its sleep more calm and deep, watched long and lovingly above it, till the storm had died away, and all was still again.
while ripple sang above the little child, through the distant roar of winds and waves she heard a wild, sorrowing voice, that seemed to call for help.
long she listened, thinking it was but the echo of their own plaintive song, but high above the music still sounded the sad, wailing cry.
then, stealing silently away, she glided up through foam and spray, till, through the parting clouds, the sunlight shone upon her from the tranquil sky; and, guided by the mournful sound, she floated on, till, close before her on the beach, she saw a woman stretching forth her arms, and with a sad, imploring voice praying the restless sea to give her back the little child it had so cruelly borne away.
but the waves dashed foaming up among the bare rocks at her feet, mingling their cold spray with her tears, and gave no answer to her prayer.
when ripple saw the mother's grief, she longed to comfort her; so, bending tenderly beside her, where she knelt upon the shore, the little spirit told her how her child lay softly sleeping, far down in a lovely place, where sorrowing tears were shed, and gentle hands laid garlands over him.
but all in vain she whispered kindly words; the weeping mother only cried, -- "dear spirit, can you use no charm or spell to make the waves bring back my child, as full of life and strength as when they swept him from my side?
o give me back my little child, or let me lie beside him in the bosom of the cruel sea."
""most gladly will i help you if i can, though i have little power to use; then grieve no more, for i will search both earth and sea, to find some friend who can bring back all you have lost.
watch daily on the shore, and if i do not come again, then you will know my search has been in vain.
farewell, poor mother, you shall see your little child again, if fairy power can win him back."
and with these cheering words ripple sprang into the sea; while, smiling through her tears, the woman watched the gentle spirit, till her bright crown vanished in the waves.
when ripple reached her home, she hastened to the palace of the queen, and told her of the little child, the sorrowing mother, and the promise she had made.
""good little ripple," said the queen, when she had told her all, "your promise never can be kept; there is no power below the sea to work this charm, and you can never reach the fire-spirits" home, to win from them a flame to warm the little body into life.
i pity the poor mother, and would most gladly help her; but alas!
i am a spirit like yourself, and can not serve you as i long to do."
""ah, dear queen!
if you had seen her sorrow, you too would seek to keep the promise i have made.
i can not let her watch for me in vain, till i have done my best: then tell me where the fire-spirits dwell, and i will ask of them the flame that shall give life to the little child and such great happiness to the sad, lonely mother: tell me the path, and let me go."
""it is far, far away, high up above the sun, where no spirit ever dared to venture yet," replied the queen.
""i can not show the path, for it is through the air.
dear ripple, do not go, for you can never reach that distant place: some harm most surely will befall; and then how shall we live, without our dearest, gentlest spirit?
stay here with us in your own pleasant home, and think more of this, for i can never let you go."
but ripple would not break the promise she had made, and besought so earnestly, and with such pleading words, that the queen at last with sorrow gave consent, and ripple joyfully prepared to go.
she, with her sister spirits, built up a tomb of delicate, bright-colored shells, wherein the child might lie, till she should come to wake him into life; then, praying them to watch most faithfully above it, she said farewell, and floated bravely forth, on her long, unknown journey, far away.
""i will search the broad earth till i find a path up to the sun, or some kind friend who will carry me; for, alas!
i have no wings, and can not glide through the blue air as through the sea," said ripple to herself, as she went dancing over the waves, which bore her swiftly onward towards a distant shore.
long she journeyed through the pathless ocean, with no friends to cheer her, save the white sea-birds who went sweeping by, and only stayed to dip their wide wings at her side, and then flew silently away.
sometimes great ships sailed by, and then with longing eyes did the little spirit gaze up at the faces that looked down upon the sea; for often they were kind and pleasant ones, and she gladly would have called to them and asked them to be friends.
but they would never understand the strange, sweet language that she spoke, or even see the lovely face that smiled at them above the waves; her blue, transparent garments were but water to their eyes, and the pearl chains in her hair but foam and sparkling spray; so, hoping that the sea would be most gentle with them, silently she floated on her way, and left them far behind.
at length green hills were seen, and the waves gladly bore the little spirit on, till, rippling gently over soft white sand, they left her on the pleasant shore.
""ah, what a lovely place it is!"
said ripple, as she passed through sunny valleys, where flowers began to bloom, and young leaves rustled on the trees.
""why are you all so gay, dear birds?"
she asked, as their cheerful voices sounded far and near; "is there a festival over the earth, that all is so beautiful and bright?"
""do you not know that spring is coming?
the warm winds whispered it days ago, and we are learning the sweetest songs, to welcome her when she shall come," sang the lark, soaring away as the music gushed from his little throat.
""and shall i see her, violet, as she journeys over the earth?"
asked ripple again.
""yes, you will meet her soon, for the sunlight told me she was near; tell her we long to see her again, and are waiting to welcome her back," said the blue flower, dancing for joy on her stem, as she nodded and smiled on the spirit.
""i will ask spring where the fire-spirits dwell; she travels over the earth each year, and surely can show me the way," thought ripple, as she went journeying on.
soon she saw spring come smiling over the earth; sunbeams and breezes floated before, and then, with her white garments covered with flowers, with wreaths in her hair, and dew-drops and seeds falling fast from her hands the beautiful season came singing by.
""dear spring, will you listen, and help a poor little spirit, who seeks far and wide for the fire-spirits" home?"
cried ripple; and then told why she was there, and begged her to tell what she sought.
""the fire-spirits" home is far, far away, and i can not guide you there; but summer is coming behind me," said spring, "and she may know better than i.
but i will give you a breeze to help you on your way; it will never tire nor fail, but bear you easily over land and sea.
farewell, little spirit!
i would gladly do more, but voices are calling me far and wide, and i can not stay."
""many thanks, kind spring!"
cried ripple, as she floated away on the breeze; "give a kindly word to the mother who waits on the shore, and tell her i have not forgotten my vow, but hope soon to see her again."
then spring flew on with her sunshine and flowers, and ripple went swiftly over hill and vale, till she came to the land where summer was dwelling.
here the sun shone warmly down on the early fruit, the winds blew freshly over fields of fragrant hay, and rustled with a pleasant sound among the green leaves in the forests; heavy dews fell softly down at night, and long, bright days brought strength and beauty to the blossoming earth.
""now i must seek for summer," said ripple, as she sailed slowly through the sunny sky.
""i am here, what would you with me, little spirit?"
said a musical voice in her ear; and, floating by her side, she saw a graceful form, with green robes fluttering in the air, whose pleasant face looked kindly on her, from beneath a crown of golden sunbeams that cast a warm, bright glow on all beneath.
then ripple told her tale, and asked where she should go; but summer answered, -- "i can tell no more than my young sister spring where you may find the spirits that you seek; but i too, like her, will give a gift to aid you.
take this sunbeam from my crown; it will cheer and brighten the most gloomy path through which you pass.
farewell!
i shall carry tidings of you to the watcher by the sea, if in my journey round the world i find her there."
and summer, giving her the sunbeam, passed away over the distant hills, leaving all green and bright behind her.
so ripple journeyed on again, till the earth below her shone with yellow harvests waving in the sun, and the air was filled with cheerful voices, as the reapers sang among the fields or in the pleasant vineyards, where purple fruit hung gleaming through the leaves; while the sky above was cloudless, and the changing forest-trees shone like a many-colored garland, over hill and plain; and here, along the ripening corn-fields, with bright wreaths of crimson leaves and golden wheat-ears in her hair and on her purple mantle, stately autumn passed, with a happy smile on her calm face, as she went scattering generous gifts from her full arms.
but when the wandering spirit came to her, and asked for what she sought, this season, like the others, could not tell her where to go; so, giving her a yellow leaf, autumn said, as she passed on, -- "ask winter, little ripple, when you come to his cold home; he knows the fire-spirits well, for when he comes they fly to the earth, to warm and comfort those dwelling there; and perhaps he can tell you where they are.
so take this gift of mine, and when you meet his chilly winds, fold it about you, and sit warm beneath its shelter, till you come to sunlight again.
i will carry comfort to the patient woman, as my sisters have already done, and tell her you are faithful still."
then on went the never-tiring breeze, over forest, hill, and field, till the sky grew dark, and bleak winds whistled by.
then ripple, folded in the soft, warm leaf, looked sadly down on the earth, that seemed to lie so desolate and still beneath its shroud of snow, and thought how bitter cold the leaves and flowers must be; for the little water-spirit did not know that winter spread a soft white covering above their beds, that they might safely sleep below till spring should waken them again.
so she went sorrowfully on, till winter, riding on the strong north-wind, came rushing by, with a sparkling ice-crown in his streaming hair, while from beneath his crimson cloak, where glittering frost-work shone like silver threads, he scattered snow-flakes far and wide.
""what do you seek with me, fair little spirit, that you come so bravely here amid my ice and snow?
do not fear me; i am warm at heart, though rude and cold without," said winter, looking kindly on her, while a bright smile shone like sunlight on his pleasant face, as it glowed and glistened in the frosty air.
when ripple told him why she had come, he pointed upward, where the sunlight dimly shone through the heavy clouds, saying, -- "far off there, beside the sun, is the fire-spirits" home; and the only path is up, through cloud and mist.
it is a long, strange path, for a lonely little spirit to be going; the fairies are wild, wilful things, and in their play may harm and trouble you.
come back with me, and do not go this dangerous journey to the sky.
i'll gladly bear you home again, if you will come."
but ripple said, "i can not turn back now, when i am nearly there.
the spirits surely will not harm me, when i tell them why i am come; and if i win the flame, i shall be the happiest spirit in the sea, for my promise will be kept, and the poor mother happy once again.
so farewell, winter!
speak to her gently, and tell her to hope still, for i shall surely come."
""adieu, little ripple!
may good angels watch above you!
journey bravely on, and take this snow-flake that will never melt, as my gift," winter cried, as the north-wind bore him on, leaving a cloud of falling snow behind.
""now, dear breeze," said ripple, "fly straight upward through the air, until we reach the place we have so long been seeking; sunbeam shall go before to light the way, yellow-leaf shall shelter me from heat and rain, while snow-flake shall lie here beside me till it comes of use.
so farewell to the pleasant earth, until we come again.
and now away, up to the sun!"
when ripple first began her airy journey, all was dark and dreary; heavy clouds lay piled like hills around her, and a cold mist filled the air but the sunbeam, like a star, lit up the way, the leaf lay warmly round her, and the tireless wind went swiftly on.
higher and higher they floated up, still darker and darker grew the air, closer the damp mist gathered, while the black clouds rolled and tossed, like great waves, to and fro.
""ah!"
sighed the weary little spirit, "shall i never see the light again, or feel the warm winds on my cheek?
it is a dreary way indeed, and but for the seasons" gifts i should have perished long ago; but the heavy clouds must pass away at last, and all be fair again.
so hasten on, good breeze, and bring me quickly to my journey's end."
soon the cold vapors vanished from her path, and sunshine shone upon her pleasantly; so she went gayly on, till she came up among the stars, where many new, strange sights were to be seen.
with wondering eyes she looked upon the bright worlds that once seemed dim and distant, when she gazed upon them from the sea; but now they moved around her, some shining with a softly radiant light, some circled with bright, many-colored rings, while others burned with a red, angry glare.
ripple would have gladly stayed to watch them longer, for she fancied low, sweet voices called her, and lovely faces seemed to look upon her as she passed; but higher up still, nearer to the sun, she saw a far-off light, that glittered like a brilliant crimson star, and seemed to cast a rosy glow along the sky.
""the fire-spirits surely must be there, and i must stay no longer here," said ripple.
so steadily she floated on, till straight before her lay a broad, bright path, that led up to a golden arch, beyond which she could see shapes flitting to and fro.
as she drew near, brighter glowed the sky, hotter and hotter grew the air, till ripple's leaf-cloak shrivelled up, and could no longer shield her from the heat; then she unfolded the white snow-flake, and, gladly wrapping the soft, cool mantle round her, entered through the shining arch.
through the red mist that floated all around her, she could see high walls of changing light, where orange, blue, and violet flames went flickering to and fro, making graceful figures as they danced and glowed; and underneath these rainbow arches, little spirits glided, far and near, wearing crowns of fire, beneath which flashed their wild, bright eyes; and as they spoke, sparks dropped quickly from their lips, and ripple saw with wonder, through their garments of transparent light, that in each fairy's breast there burned a steady flame, that never wavered or went out.
as thus she stood, the spirits gathered round her, and their hot breath would have scorched her, but she drew the snow-cloak closer round her, saying, -- "take me to your queen, that i may tell her why i am here, and ask for what i seek."
so, through long halls of many-colored fire, they led her to a spirit fairer than the rest, whose crown of flames waved to and fro like golden plumes, while, underneath her violet robe, the light within her breast glowed bright and strong.
""this is our queen," the spirits said, bending low before her, as she turned her gleaming eyes upon the stranger they had brought.
then ripple told how she had wandered round the world in search of them, how the seasons had most kindly helped her on, by giving sun-beam, breeze, leaf, and flake; and how, through many dangers, she had come at last to ask of them the magic flame that could give life to the little child again.
when she had told her tale, the spirits whispered earnestly among themselves, while sparks fell thick and fast with every word; at length the fire-queen said aloud, -- "we can not give the flame you ask, for each of us must take a part of it from our own breasts; and this we will not do, for the brighter our bosom-fire burns, the lovelier we are.
so do not ask us for this thing; but any other gift we will most gladly give, for we feel kindly towards you, and will serve you if we may."
but ripple asked no other boon, and, weeping sadly, begged them not to send her back without the gift she had come so far to gain.
""o dear, warm-hearted spirits!
give me each a little light from your own breasts, and surely they will glow the brighter for this kindly deed; and i will thankfully repay it if i can."
as thus she spoke, the queen, who had spied out a chain of jewels ripple wore upon her neck, replied, -- "if you will give me those bright, sparkling stones, i will bestow on you a part of my own flame; for we have no such lovely things to wear about our necks, and i desire much to have them.
will you give it me for what i offer, little spirit?"
joyfully ripple gave her the chain; but, as soon as it touched her hand, the jewels melted like snow, and fell in bright drops to the ground; at this the queen's eyes flashed, and the spirits gathered angrily about poor ripple, who looked sadly at the broken chain, and thought in vain what she could give, to win the thing she longed so earnestly for.
""i have many fairer gems than these, in my home below the sea; and i will bring all i can gather far and wide, if you will grant my prayer, and give me what i seek," she said, turning gently to the fiery spirits, who were hovering fiercely round her.
""you must bring us each a jewel that will never vanish from our hands as these have done," they said, "and we will each give of our fire; and when the child is brought to life, you must bring hither all the jewels you can gather from the depths of the sea, that we may try them here among the flames; but if they melt away like these, then we shall keep you prisoner, till you give us back the light we lend.
if you consent to this, then take our gift, and journey home again; but fail not to return, or we shall seek you out."
and ripple said she would consent, though she knew not if the jewels could be found; still, thinking of the promise she had made, she forgot all else, and told the spirits what they asked most surely should be done.
so each one gave a little of the fire from their breasts, and placed the flame in a crystal vase, through which it shone and glittered like a star.
then, bidding her remember all she had promised them, they led her to the golden arch, and said farewell.
so, down along the shining path, through mist and cloud, she travelled back; till, far below, she saw the broad blue sea she left so long ago.
gladly she plunged into the clear, cool waves, and floated back to her pleasant home; where the spirits gathered joyfully about her, listening with tears and smiles, as she told all her many wanderings, and showed the crystal vase that she had brought.
""now come," said they, "and finish the good work you have so bravely carried on."
so to the quiet tomb they went, where, like a marble image, cold and still, the little child was lying.
then ripple placed the flame upon his breast, and watched it gleam and sparkle there, while light came slowly back into the once dim eyes, a rosy glow shone over the pale face, and breath stole through the parted lips; still brighter and warmer burned the magic fire, until the child awoke from his long sleep, and looked in smiling wonder at the faces bending over him.
then ripple sang for joy, and, with her sister spirits, robed the child in graceful garments, woven of bright sea-weed, while in his shining hair they wreathed long garlands of their fairest flowers, and on his little arms hung chains of brilliant shells.
""now come with us, dear child," said ripple; "we will bear you safely up into the sunlight and the pleasant air; for this is not your home, and yonder, on the shore, there waits a loving friend for you."
so up they went, through foam and spray, till on the beach, where the fresh winds played among her falling hair, and the waves broke sparkling at her feet, the lonely mother still stood, gazing wistfully across the sea.
suddenly, upon a great blue billow that came rolling in, she saw the water-spirits smiling on her; and high aloft, in their white gleaming arms, her child stretched forth his hands to welcome her; while the little voice she so longed to hear again cried gayly, -- "see, dear mother, i am come; and look what lovely things the gentle spirits gave, that i might seem more beautiful to you."
then gently the great wave broke, and rolled back to the sea, leaving ripple on the shore, and the child clasped in his mother's arms.
""o faithful little spirit!
i would gladly give some precious gift to show my gratitude for this kind deed; but i have nothing save this chain of little pearls: they are the tears i shed, and the sea has changed them thus, that i might offer them to you," the happy mother said, when her first joy was passed, and ripple turned to go.
""yes, i will gladly wear your gift, and look upon it as my fairest ornament," the water-spirit said; and with the pearls upon her breast, she left the shore, where the child was playing gayly to and fro, and the mother's glad smile shone upon her, till she sank beneath the waves.
and now another task was to be done; her promise to the fire-spirits must be kept.
so far and wide she searched among the caverns of the sea, and gathered all the brightest jewels shining there; and then upon her faithful breeze once more went journeying through the sky.
the spirits gladly welcomed her, and led her to the queen, before whom she poured out the sparkling gems she had gathered with such toil and care; but when the spirits tried to form them into crowns, they trickled from their hands like colored drops of dew, and ripple saw with fear and sorrow how they melted one by one away, till none of all the many she had brought remained.
then the fire-spirits looked upon her angrily, and when she begged them to be merciful, and let her try once more, saying, -- "do not keep me prisoner here.
i can not breathe the flames that give you life, and but for this snow-mantle i too should melt away, and vanish like the jewels in your hands.
o dear spirits, give me some other task, but let me go from this warm place, where all is strange and fearful to a spirit of the sea."
they would not listen; and drew nearer, saying, while bright sparks showered from their lips, "we will not let you go, for you have promised to be ours if the gems you brought proved worthless; so fling away this cold white cloak, and bathe with us in the fire fountains, and help us bring back to our bosom flames the light we gave you for the child."
then ripple sank down on the burning floor, and felt that her life was nearly done; for she well knew the hot air of the fire-palace would be death to her.
the spirits gathered round, and began to lift her mantle off; but underneath they saw the pearl chain, shining with a clear, soft light, that only glowed more brightly when they laid their hands upon it.
""o give us this!"
cried they; "it is far lovelier than all the rest, and does not melt away like them; and see how brilliantly it glitters in our hands.
if we may but have this, all will be well, and you are once more free."
and ripple, safe again beneath her snow flake, gladly gave the chain to them; and told them how the pearls they now placed proudly on their breasts were formed of tears, which but for them might still be flowing.
then the spirits smiled most kindly on her, and would have put their arms about her, and have kissed her cheek, but she drew back, telling them that every touch of theirs was like a wound to her.
""then, if we may not tell our pleasure so, we will show it in a different way, and give you a pleasant journey home.
come out with us," the spirits said, "and see the bright path we have made for you."
so they led her to the lofty gate, and here, from sky to earth, a lovely rainbow arched its radiant colors in the sun.
""this is indeed a pleasant road," said ripple.
""thank you, friendly spirits, for your care; and now farewell.
i would gladly stay yet longer, but we can not dwell together, and i am longing sadly for my own cool home.
now sunbeam, breeze, leaf, and flake, fly back to the seasons whence you came, and tell them that, thanks to their kind gifts, ripple's work at last is done."
then down along the shining pathway spread before her, the happy little spirit glided to the sea.
""thanks, dear summer-wind," said the queen; "we will remember the lessons you have each taught us, and when next we meet in fern dale, you shall tell us more.
and now, dear trip, call them from the lake, for the moon is sinking fast, and we must hasten home."
the elves gathered about their queen, and while the rustling leaves were still, and the flowers" sweet voices mingled with their own, they sang this fairy song.
the moonlight fades from flower and tree, and the stars dim one by one; the tale is told, the song is sung, and the fairy feast is done.
the night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers, and sings to them, soft and low.
the early birds erelong will wake: "t is time for the elves to go.
o'er the sleeping earth we silently pass, unseen by mortal eye, and send sweet dreams, as we lightly float through the quiet moonlit sky; -- for the stars" soft eyes alone may see, and the flowers alone may know, the feasts we hold, the tales we tell: so" t is time for the elves to go.
from bird, and blossom, and bee, we learn the lessons they teach; and seek, by kindly deeds, to win a loving friend in each.
and though unseen on earth we dwell, sweet voices whisper low, and gentle hearts most joyously greet the elves where'er they go.
when next we meet in the fairy dell, may the silver moon's soft light shine then on faces gay as now, and elfin hearts as light.
now spread each wing, for the eastern sky with sunlight soon will glow.
the morning star shall light us home: farewell!
for the elves must go.
_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___jack_and_jill.txt.out
chapter i.
the catastrophe "clear the lulla!"
was the general cry on a bright december afternoon, when all the boys and girls of harmony village were out enjoying the first good snow of the season.
up and down three long coasts they went as fast as legs and sleds could carry them.
one smooth path led into the meadow, and here the little folk congregated; one swept across the pond, where skaters were darting about like water-bugs; and the third, from the very top of the steep hill, ended abruptly at a rail fence on the high bank above the road.
there was a group of lads and lasses sitting or leaning on this fence to rest after an exciting race, and, as they reposed, they amused themselves with criticising their mates, still absorbed in this most delightful of out-door sports.
""here comes frank minot, looking as solemn as a judge," cried one, as a tall fellow of sixteen spun by, with a set look about the mouth and a keen sparkle of the eyes, fixed on the distant goal with a do-or-die expression.
""here's molly loo and little boo!"
sang out another; and down came a girl with flying hair, carrying a small boy behind her, so fat that his short legs stuck out from the sides, and his round face looked over her shoulder like a full moon.
""there's gus burton; does n't he go it?"
and such a very long boy whizzed by, that it looked almost as if his heels were at the top of the hill when his head was at the bottom!
""hurrah for ed devlin!"
and a general shout greeted a sweet-faced lad, with a laugh on his lips, a fine color on his brown cheek, and a gay word for every girl he passed.
""laura and lotty keep to the safe coast into the meadow, and molly loo is the only girl that dares to try this long one to the pond.
i would n't for the world; the ice ca n't be strong yet, though it is cold enough to freeze one's nose off," said a timid damsel, who sat hugging a post and screaming whenever a mischievous lad shook the fence.
""no, she is n't; here's jack and jill going like fury."
""clear the track for jolly jack!"
sang the boys, who had rhymes and nicknames for nearly every one.
down came a gay red sled, bearing a boy who seemed all smile and sunshine, so white were his teeth, so golden was his hair, so bright and happy his whole air.
behind him clung a little gypsy of a girl, with black eyes and hair, cheeks as red as her hood, and a face full of fun and sparkle, as she waved jack's blue tippet like a banner with one hand, and held on with the other.
""jill goes wherever jack does, and he lets her.
he's such a good-natured chap, he ca n't say "no.""
""to a girl," slyly added one of the boys, who had wished to borrow the red sled, and had been politely refused because jill wanted it.
""he's the nicest boy in the world, for he never gets mad," said the timid young lady, recalling the many times jack had shielded her from the terrors which beset her path to school, in the shape of cows, dogs, and boys who made faces and called her" "fraid-cat."
""he does n't dare to get mad with jill, for she'd take his head off in two minutes if he did," growled joe flint, still smarting from the rebuke jill had given him for robbing the little ones of their safe coast because he fancied it.
""she would n't!
she's a dear!
you need n't sniff at her because she is poor.
she's ever so much brighter than you are, or she would n't always be at the head of your class, old joe," cried the girls, standing by their friend with a unanimity which proved what a favorite she was.
joe subsided with as scornful a curl to his nose as its chilly state permitted, and merry grant introduced a subject of general interest by asking abruptly, -- "who is going to the candy-scrape to-night?"
""all of us.
frank invited the whole set, and we shall have a tip-top time.
we always do at the minots"," cried sue, the timid trembler.
""jack said there was a barrel of molasses in the house, so there would be enough for all to eat and some to carry away.
they know how to do things handsomely;" and the speaker licked his lips, as if already tasting the feast in store for him.
""mrs. minot is a mother worth having," said molly loo, coming up with boo on the sled; and she knew what it was to need a mother, for she had none, and tried to care for the little brother with maternal love and patience.
""she is just as sweet as she can be!"
declared merry, enthusiastically.
""especially when she has a candy-scrape," said joe, trying to be amiable, lest he should be left out of the party.
whereat they all laughed, and went gayly away for a farewell frolic, as the sun was setting and the keen wind nipped fingers and toes as well as noses.
down they went, one after another, on the various coasts, -- solemn frank, long gus, gallant ed, fly-away molly loo, pretty laura and lotty, grumpy joe, sweet-faced merry with sue shrieking wildly behind her, gay jack and gypsy jill, always together, -- one and all bubbling over with the innocent jollity born of healthful exercise.
people passing in the road below looked up and smiled involuntarily at the red-cheeked lads and lasses, filling the frosty air with peals of laughter and cries of triumph as they flew by in every conceivable attitude; for the fun was at its height now, and the oldest and gravest observers felt a glow of pleasure as they looked, remembering their own young days.
""jack, take me down that coast.
joe said i would n't dare to do it, so i must," commanded jill, as they paused for breath after the long trudge up hill.
jill, of course, was not her real name, but had been given because of her friendship with jack, who so admired janey pecq's spirit and fun.
""i guess i would n't.
it is very bumpy and ends in a big drift; not half so nice as this one.
hop on and we'll have a good spin across the pond;" and jack brought "thunderbolt" round with a skilful swing and an engaging air that would have won obedience from anybody but wilful jill.
""it is very nice, but i wo n't be told i do n't "dare" by any boy in the world.
if you are afraid, i'll go alone."
and, before he could speak, she had snatched the rope from his hand, thrown herself upon the sled, and was off, helter-skelter, down the most dangerous coast on the hill-side.
she did not get far, however; for, starting in a hurry, she did not guide her steed with care, and the red charger landed her in the snow half-way down, where she lay laughing till jack came to pick her up.
""if you will go, i'll take you down all right.
i'm not afraid, for i've done it a dozen times with the other fellows; but we gave it up because it is short and bad," he said, still good-natured, though a little hurt at the charge of cowardice; for jack was as brave as a little lion, and with the best sort of bravery, -- the courage to do right.
""so it is; but i must do it a few times, or joe will plague me and spoil my fun to-night," answered jill, shaking her skirts and rubbing her blue hands, wet and cold with the snow.
""here, put these on; i never use them.
keep them if they fit; i only carry them to please mother."
and jack pulled out a pair of red mittens with the air of a boy used to giving away.
""they are lovely warm, and they do fit.
must be too small for your paws, so i'll knit you a new pair for christmas, and make you wear them, too," said jill, putting on the mittens with a nod of thanks, and ending her speech with a stamp of her rubber boots to enforce her threat.
jack laughed, and up they trudged to the spot whence the three coasts diverged.
""now, which will you have?"
he asked, with a warning look in the honest blue eyes which often unconsciously controlled naughty jill against her will.
""that one!"
and the red mitten pointed firmly to the perilous path just tried.
""you will do it?"
""i will!"
""come on, then, and hold tight."
jack's smile was gone now, and he waited without a word while jill tucked herself up, then took his place in front, and off they went on the brief, breathless trip straight into the drift by the fence below.
""i do n't see anything very awful in that.
come up and have another.
joe is watching us, and i'd like to show him that we are n't afraid of anything," said jill, with a defiant glance at a distant boy, who had paused to watch the descent.
""it is a regular "go-bang," if that is what you like," answered jack, as they plowed their way up again.
""it is.
you boys think girls like little mean coasts without any fun or danger in them, as if we could n't be brave and strong as well as you.
give me three go-bangs and then we'll stop.
my tumble does n't count, so give me two more and then i'll be good."
jill took her seat as she spoke, and looked up with such a rosy, pleading face that jack gave in at once, and down they went again, raising a cloud of glittering snow-dust as they reined up in fine style with their feet on the fence.
""it's just splendid!
now, one more!"
cried jill, excited by the cheers of a sleighing party passing below.
proud of his skill, jack marched back, resolved to make the third "go" the crowning achievement of the afternoon, while jill pranced after him as lightly as if the big boots were the famous seven-leagued ones, and chattering about the candy-scrape and whether there would be nuts or not.
so full were they of this important question, that they piled on hap-hazard, and started off still talking so busily that jill forgot to hold tight and jack to steer carefully.
alas, for the candy-scrape that never was to be!
alas, for poor "thunderbolt" blindly setting forth on the last trip he ever made!
and oh, alas, for jack and jill, who wilfully chose the wrong road and ended their fun for the winter!
no one knew how it happened, but instead of landing in the drift, or at the fence, there was a great crash against the bars, a dreadful plunge off the steep bank, a sudden scattering of girl, boy, sled, fence, earth, and snow, all about the road, two cries, and then silence.
""i knew they'd do it!"
and, standing on the post where he had perched, joe waved his arms and shouted: "smash-up!
smash-up!
run!
run!"
like a raven croaking over a battlefield when the fight was done.
down rushed boys and girls ready to laugh or cry, as the case might be, for accidents will happen on the best-regulated coasting-grounds.
they found jack sitting up looking about him with a queer, dazed expression, while an ugly cut on the forehead was bleeding in a way which sobered the boys and frightened the girls half out of their wits.
""he's killed!
he's killed!"
wailed sue, hiding her face and beginning to cry.
""no, i'm not.
i'll be all right when i get my breath.
where's jill?"
asked jack, stoutly, though still too giddy to see straight.
the group about him opened, and his comrade in misfortune was discovered lying quietly in the snow with all the pretty color shocked out of her face by the fall, and winking rapidly, as if half stunned.
but no wounds appeared, and when asked if she was dead, she answered in a vague sort of way, -- "i guess not.
is jack hurt?"
""broken his head," croaked joe, stepping aside, that she might behold the fallen hero vainly trying to look calm and cheerful with red drops running down his cheek and a lump on his forehead.
jill shut her eyes and waved the girls away, saying, faintly, -- "never mind me.
go and see to him."
""do n't!
i'm all right," and jack tried to get up in order to prove that headers off a bank were mere trifles to him; but at the first movement of the left leg he uttered a sharp cry of pain, and would have fallen if gus had not caught and gently laid him down.
""what is it, old chap?"
asked frank, kneeling beside him, really alarmed now, the hurts seeming worse than mere bumps, which were common affairs among baseball players, and not worth much notice.
""i lit on my head, but i guess i've broken my leg.
do n't frighten mother," and jack held fast to frank's arm as he looked into the anxious face bent over him; for, though the elder tyrannized over the younger, the brothers loved one another dearly.
""lift his head, frank, while i tie my handkerchief round to stop the bleeding," said a quiet voice, as ed devlin laid a handful of soft snow on the wound; and jack's face brightened as he turned to thank the one big boy who never was rough with the small ones.
""better get him right home," advised gus, who stood by looking on, with his little sisters laura and lotty clinging to him.
""take jill, too, for it's my opinion she has broken her back.
she ca n't stir one bit," announced molly loo, with a droll air of triumph, as if rather pleased than otherwise to have her patient hurt the worse; for jack's wound was very effective, and molly had a taste for the tragic.
this cheerful statement was greeted with a wail from susan and howls from boo, who had earned that name from the ease with which, on all occasions, he could burst into a dismal roar without shedding a tear, and stop as suddenly as he began.
""oh, i am so sorry!
it was my fault; i should n't have let her do it," said jack, distressfully.
""it was all my fault; i made him.
if i'd broken every bone i've got, it would serve me right.
do n't help me, anybody; i'm a wicked thing, and i deserve to lie here and freeze and starve and die!"
cried jill, piling up punishments in her remorseful anguish of mind and body.
""but we want to help you, and we can settle about blame by and by," whispered merry with a kiss; for she adored dashing jill, and never would own that she did wrong.
""here come the wood-sleds just in time.
i'll cut away and tell one of them to hurry up."
and, freeing himself from his sisters, gus went off at a great pace, proving that the long legs carried a sensible head as well as a kind heart.
as the first sled approached, an air of relief pervaded the agitated party, for it was driven by mr. grant, a big, benevolent-looking farmer, who surveyed the scene with the sympathetic interest of a man and a father.
""had a little accident, have you?
well, that's a pretty likely place for a spill.
tried it once myself and broke the bridge of my nose," he said, tapping that massive feature with a laugh which showed that fifty years of farming had not taken all the boy out of him.
""now then, let's see about this little chore, and lively, too, for it's late, and these parties ought to be housed," he added, throwing down his whip, pushing back his cap, and nodding at the wounded with a reassuring smile.
""jill first, please, sir," said ed, the gentle squire of dames, spreading his overcoat on the sled as eagerly as ever raleigh laid down his velvet cloak for a queen to walk upon.
""all right.
just lay easy, my dear, and i wo n't hurt you a mite if i can help it."
careful as mr. grant was, jill could have screamed with pain as he lifted her; but she set her lips and bore it with the courage of a little indian; for all the lads were looking on, and jill was proud to show that a girl could bear as much as a boy.
she hid her face in the coat as soon as she was settled, to hide the tears that would come, and by the time jack was placed beside her, she had quite a little cistern of salt water stored up in ed's coat-pocket.
then the mournful procession set forth, mr. grant driving the oxen, the girls clustering about the interesting invalids on the sled, while the boys came behind like a guard of honor, leaving the hill deserted by all but joe, who had returned to hover about the fatal fence, and poor "thunderbolt," split asunder, lying on the bank to mark the spot where the great catastrophe occurred.
chapter ii.
two penitents jack and jill never cared to say much about the night which followed the first coasting party of the season, for it was the saddest and the hardest their short lives had ever known.
jack suffered most in body; for the setting of the broken leg was such a painful job, that it wrung several sharp cries from him, and made frank, who helped, quite weak and white with sympathy, when it was over.
the wounded head ached dreadfully, and the poor boy felt as if bruised all over, for he had the worst of the fall.
dr. whiting spoke cheerfully of the case, and made so light of broken legs, that jack innocently asked if he should not be up in a week or so.
""well, no; it usually takes twenty-one days for bones to knit, and young ones make quick work of it," answered the doctor, with a last scientific tuck to the various bandages, which made jack feel like a hapless chicken trussed for the spit.
""twenty-one days!
three whole weeks in bed!
i should n't call that quick work," groaned the dismayed patient, whose experience of illness had been limited.
""it is a forty days" job, young man, and you must make up your mind to bear it like a hero.
we will do our best; but next time, look before you leap, and save your bones.
good-night; you'll feel better in the morning.
no jigs, remember;" and off went the busy doctor for another look at jill, who had been ordered to bed and left to rest till the other case was attended to.
any one would have thought jack's plight much the worse, but the doctor looked more sober over jill's hurt back than the boy's compound fractures; and the poor little girl had a very bad quarter of an hour while he was trying to discover the extent of the injury.
""keep her quiet, and time will show how much damage is done," was all he said in her hearing; but if she had known that he told mrs. pecq he feared serious consequences, she would not have wondered why her mother cried as she rubbed the numb limbs and placed the pillows so tenderly.
jill suffered most in her mind; for only a sharp stab of pain now and then reminded her of her body; but her remorseful little soul gave her no peace for thinking of jack, whose bruises and breakages her lively fancy painted in the darkest colors.
""oh, do n't be good to me, mammy; i made him go, and now he's hurt dreadfully, and may die; and it is all my fault, and everybody ought to hate me," sobbed poor jill, as a neighbor left the room after reporting in a minute manner how jack screamed when his leg was set, and how frank was found white as a sheet, with his head under the pump, while gus restored the tone of his friend's nerves, by pumping as if the house was on fire.
""whist, my lass, and go to sleep.
take a sup of the good wine mrs. minot sent, for you are as cold as a clod, and it breaks my heart to see my janey so."
""i ca n't go to sleep; i do n't see how jack's mother could send me anything when i've half killed him.
i want to be cold and ache and have horrid things done to me.
oh, if i ever get out of this bed i'll be the best girl in the world, to pay for this.
see if i ai n't!"
and jill gave such a decided nod that her tears flew all about the pillow like a shower.
""you'd better begin at once, for you wo n't get out of that bed for a long while, i'm afraid, my lamb," sighed her mother, unable to conceal the anxiety that lay so heavy on her heart.
""am i hurt badly, mammy?"
""i fear it, lass."
""i'm glad of it; i ought to be worse than jack, and i hope i am.
i'll bear it well, and be good right away.
sing, mammy, and i'll try to go to sleep to please you."
jill shut her eyes with sudden and unusual meekness, and before her mother had crooned half a dozen verses of an old ballad, the little black head lay still upon the pillow, and repentant jill was fast asleep with a red mitten in her hand.
mrs. pecq was an englishwoman who had left montreal at the death of her husband, a french canadian, and had come to live in the tiny cottage which stood near mrs. minot's big house, separated only by an arbor-vitae hedge.
a sad, silent person, who had seen better days, but said nothing about them, and earned her bread by sewing, nursing, work in the factory, or anything that came in her way, being anxious to educate her little girl.
now, as she sat beside the bed in the small, poor room, that hope almost died within her, for here was the child laid up for months, probably, and the one ambition and pleasure of the solitary woman's life was to see janey pecq's name over all the high marks in the school-reports she proudly brought home.
""she'll win through, please heaven, and i'll see my lass a gentlewoman yet, thanks to the good friend in yonder, who will never let her want for care," thought the poor soul, looking out into the gloom where a long ray of light streamed from the great house warm and comfortable upon the cottage, like the spirit of kindness which made the inmates friends and neighbors.
meantime, that other mother sat by her boy's bed as anxious but with better hope, for mrs. minot made trouble sweet and helpful by the way in which she bore it; and her boys were learning of her how to find silver linings to the clouds that must come into the bluest skies.
jack lay wide awake, with hot cheeks, and throbbing head, and all sorts of queer sensations in the broken leg.
the soothing potion he had taken did not affect him yet, and he tried to beguile the weary time by wondering who came and went below.
gentle rings at the front door, and mysterious tappings at the back, had been going on all the evening; for the report of the accident had grown astonishingly in its travels, and at eight o'clock the general belief was that jack had broken both legs, fractured his skull, and lay at the point of death, while jill had dislocated one shoulder, and was bruised black and blue from top to toe.
such being the case, it is no wonder that anxious playmates and neighbors haunted the doorsteps of the two houses, and that offers of help poured in.
frank, having tied up the bell and put a notice in the lighted side-window, saying, "go to the back door," sat in the parlor, supported by his chum, gus, while ed played softly on the piano, hoping to lull jack to sleep.
it did soothe him, for a very sweet friendship existed between the tall youth and the lad of thirteen.
ed went with the big fellows, but always had a kind word for the smaller boys; and affectionate jack, never ashamed to show his love, was often seen with his arm round ed's shoulder, as they sat together in the pleasant red parlors, where all the young people were welcome and frank was king.
""is the pain any easier, my darling?"
asked mrs. minot, leaning over the pillow, where the golden head lay quiet for a moment.
""not much.
i forget it listening to the music.
dear old ed is playing all my favorite tunes, and it is very nice.
i guess he feels pretty sorry about me."
""they all do.
frank could not talk of it.
gus would n't go home to tea, he was so anxious to do something for us.
joe brought back the bits of your poor sled, because he did n't like to leave them lying round for any one to carry off, he said, and you might like them to remember your fall by."
jack tried to laugh, but it was rather a failure, though he managed to say, cheerfully, -- "that was good of old joe.
i would n't lend him "thunderbolt" for fear he'd hurt it.
could n't have smashed it up better than i did, could he?
do n't think i want any pieces to remind me of that fall.
i just wish you'd seen us, mother!
it must have been a splendid spill to look at, any way."
""no, thank you; i'd rather not even try to imagine my precious boy going heels over head down that dreadful hill.
no more pranks of that sort for some time, jacky;" and mrs. minot looked rather pleased on the whole to have her venturesome bird safe under her maternal wing.
""no coasting till some time in january.
what a fool i was to do it!
go-bangs always are dangerous, and that's the fun of the thing.
oh dear!"
jack threw his arms about and frowned darkly, but never said a word of the wilful little baggage who had led him into mischief; he was too much of a gentleman to tell on a girl, though it cost him an effort to hold his tongue, because mamma's good opinion was very precious to him, and he longed to explain.
she knew all about it, however, for jill had been carried into the house reviling herself for the mishap, and even in the midst of her own anxiety for her boy, mrs. minot understood the state of the case without more words.
so she now set his mind at rest by saying, quietly.
""foolish fun, as you see, dear.
another time, stand firm and help jill to control her headstrong will.
when you learn to yield less and she more, there will be no scrapes like this to try us all."
""i'll remember, mother.
i hate not to be obliging, but i guess it would have saved us lots of trouble if i'd said no in the beginning.
i tried to, but she would go.
poor jill!
i'll take better care of her next time.
is she very ill, mamma?"
""i can tell you better to-morrow.
she does not suffer much, and we hope there is no great harm done."
""i wish she had a nice place like this to be sick in.
it must be very poky in those little rooms," said jack, as his eye roved round the large chamber where he lay so cosey, warm, and pleasant, with the gay chintz curtains draping doors and windows, the rosy carpet, comfortable chairs, and a fire glowing in the grate.
""i shall see that she suffers for nothing, so do n't trouble your kind heart about her to-night, but try to sleep; that's what you need," answered his mother, wetting the bandage on his forehead, and putting a cool hand on the flushed cheeks.
jack obediently closed his eyes and listened while the boys sang "the sweet by and by," softening their rough young voices for his sake till the music was as soft as a lullaby.
he lay so still his mother thought he was off, but presently a tear slipped out and rolled down the red cheek, wetting her hand as it passed.
""my blessed boy, what is it?"
she whispered, with a touch and a tone that only mothers have.
the blue eyes opened wide, and jack's own sunshiny smile broke through the tears that filled them as he said with a sniff, -- "everybody is so good to me i ca n't help making a noodle of myself.
""you are not a noodle!"
cried mamma, resenting the epithet.
""one of the sweet things about pain and sorrow is that they show us how well we are loved, how much kindness there is in the world, and how easily we can make others happy in the same way when they need help and sympathy.
do n't forget that, little son."
""do n't see how i can, with you to show me how nice it is.
kiss me good-night, and then "i'll be good," as jill says."
nestling his head upon his mother's arm, jack lay quiet till, lulled by the music of his mates, he drowsed away into the dreamless sleep which is nurse nature's healthiest soothing sirup for weary souls and bodies.
chapter iii.
ward no. 1 for some days, nothing was seen and little was heard of the "dear sufferers," as the old ladies called them.
but they were not forgotten; the first words uttered when any of the young people met were: "how is jack?"
""seen jill yet?"
and all waited with impatience for the moment when they could be admitted to their favorite mates, more than ever objects of interest now.
meantime, the captives spent the first few days in sleep, pain, and trying to accept the hard fact that school and play were done with for months perhaps.
but young spirits are wonderfully elastic and soon cheer up, and healthy young bodies heal fast, or easily adapt themselves to new conditions.
so our invalids began to mend on the fourth day, and to drive their nurses distracted with efforts to amuse them, before the first week was over.
the most successful attempt originated in ward no. 1, as mrs. minot called jack's apartment, and we will give our sympathizing readers some idea of this place, which became the stage whereon were enacted many varied and remarkable scenes.
each of the minot boys had his own room, and there collected his own treasures and trophies, arranged to suit his convenience and taste.
frank's was full of books, maps, machinery, chemical messes, and geometrical drawings, which adorned the walls like intricate cobwebs.
a big chair, where he read and studied with his heels higher than his head, a basket of apples for refreshment at all hours of the day or night, and an immense inkstand, in which several pens were always apparently bathing their feet, were the principal ornaments of his scholastic retreat.
jack's hobby was athletic sports, for he was bent on having a strong and active body for his happy little soul to live and enjoy itself in.
so a severe simplicity reigned in his apartment; in summer, especially, for then his floor was bare, his windows were uncurtained, and the chairs uncushioned, the bed being as narrow and hard as napoleon's.
the only ornaments were dumbbells, whips, bats, rods, skates, boxing-gloves, a big bath-pan and a small library, consisting chiefly of books on games, horses, health, hunting, and travels.
in winter his mother made things more comfortable by introducing rugs, curtains, and a fire.
jack, also, relented slightly in the severity of his training, occasionally indulging in the national buckwheat cake, instead of the prescribed oatmeal porridge, for breakfast, omitting his cold bath when the thermometer was below zero, and dancing at night, instead of running a given distance by day.
now, however, he was a helpless captive, given over to all sorts of coddling, laziness, and luxury, and there was a droll mixture of mirth and melancholy in his face, as he lay trussed up in bed, watching the comforts which had suddenly robbed his room of its spartan simplicity.
a delicious couch was there, with frank reposing in its depths, half hidden under several folios which he was consulting for a history of the steam-engine, the subject of his next composition.
a white-covered table stood near, with all manner of dainties set forth in a way to tempt the sternest principles.
vases of flowers bloomed on the chimney-piece, -- gifts from anxious young ladies, left with their love.
frivolous story-books and picture-papers strewed the bed, now shrouded in effeminate chintz curtains, beneath which jack lay like a wounded warrior in his tent.
but the saddest sight for our crippled athlete was a glimpse, through a half-opened door, at the beloved dumb-bells, bats, balls, boxing-gloves, and snow-shoes, all piled ignominiously away in the bath-pan, mournfully recalling the fact that their day was over, now, at least for some time.
he was about to groan dismally, when his eye fell on a sight which made him swallow the groan, and cough instead, as if it choked him a little.
the sight was his mother's face, as she sat in a low chair rolling bandages, with a basket beside her in which were piles of old linen, lint, plaster, and other matters, needed for the dressing of wounds.
as he looked, jack remembered how steadily and tenderly she had stood by him all through the hard times just past, and how carefully she had bathed and dressed his wound each day in spite of the effort it cost her to give him pain or even see him suffer.
""that's a better sort of strength than swinging twenty-pound dumb-bells or running races; i guess i'll try for that kind, too, and not howl or let her see me squirm when the doctor hurts," thought the boy, as he saw that gentle face so pale and tired with much watching and anxiety, yet so patient, serene, and cheerful, that it was like sunshine.
""lie down and take a good nap, mother dear, i feel first-rate, and frank can see to me if i want anything.
do, now," he added, with a persuasive nod toward the couch, and a boyish relish in stirring up his lazy brother.
after some urging, mamma consented to go to her room for forty winks, leaving jack in the care of frank, begging him to be as quiet as possible if the dear boy wished to sleep, and to amuse him if he did not.
being worn out, mrs. minot lengthened her forty winks into a three hours" nap, and as the "dear boy" scorned repose, mr. frank had his hands full while on guard.
""i'll read to you.
here's watt, arkwright, fulton, and a lot of capital fellows, with pictures that will do your heart good.
have a bit, will you?"
asked the new nurse, flapping the leaves invitingly.
-- for frank had a passion for such things, and drew steam-engines all over his slate, as tommy traddles drew hosts of skeletons when low in his spirits.
""i do n't want any of your old boilers and stokers and whirligigs.
i'm tired of reading, and want something regularly jolly," answered jack, who had been chasing white buffaloes with "the hunters of the west," till he was a trifle tired and fractious.
""play cribbage, euchre, anything you like;" and frank obligingly disinterred himself from under the folios, feeling that it was hard for a fellow to lie flat a whole week.
""no fun; just two of us.
wish school was over, so the boys would come in; doctor said i might see them now."
""they'll be along by and by, and i'll hail them.
till then, what shall we do?
i'm your man for anything, only put a name to it."
""just wish i had a telegraph or a telephone, so i could talk to jill.
would n't it be fun to pipe across and get an answer!"
""i'll make either you say;" and frank looked as if trifles of that sort were to be had for the asking.
""could you, really?"
""we'll start the telegraph first, then you can send things over if you like," said frank, prudently proposing the surest experiment.
""go ahead, then.
i'd like that, and so would jill, for i know she wants to hear from me."
""there's one trouble, though; i shall have to leave you alone for a few minutes while i rig up the ropes;" and frank looked sober, for he was a faithful boy, and did not want to desert his post.
""oh, never mind; i wo n't want anything.
if i do, i can pound for ann."
""and wake mother.
i'll fix you a better way than that;" and, full of inventive genius, our young edison spliced the poker to part of a fishing-rod in a jiffy, making a long-handled hook which reached across the room.
""there's an arm for you; now hook away, and let's see how it works," he said, handing over the instrument to jack, who proceeded to show its unexpected capabilities by hooking the cloth off the table in attempting to get his handkerchief, catching frank by the hair when fishing for a book, and breaking a pane of glass in trying to draw down the curtain.
""it's so everlasting long, i ca n't manage it," laughed jack, as it finally caught in his bed-hangings, and nearly pulled them, ring and all, down upon his head.
""let it alone, unless you need something very much, and do n't bother about the glass.
it's just what we want for the telegraph wire or rope to go through.
keep still, and i'll have the thing running in ten minutes;" and, delighted with the job, frank hurried away, leaving jack to compose a message to send as soon as it was possible.
""what in the world is that flying across the minots" yard, -- a brown hen or a boy's kite?"
exclaimed old miss hopkins, peering out of her window at the singular performances going on in her opposite neighbor's garden.
first, frank appeared with a hatchet and chopped a clear space in the hedge between his own house and the cottage; next, a clothes line was passed through this aperture and fastened somewhere on the other side; lastly, a small covered basket, slung on this rope, was seen hitching along, drawn either way by a set of strings; then, as if satisfied with his job, frank retired, whistling "hail columbia."
""it's those children at their pranks again.
i thought broken bones would n't keep them out of mischief long," said the old lady, watching with great interest the mysterious basket travelling up and down the rope from the big house to the cottage.
if she had seen what came and went over the wires of the "great international telegraph," she would have laughed till her spectacles flew off her roman nose.
a letter from jack, with a large orange, went first, explaining the new enterprise: -- "dear jill, -- it's too bad you ca n't come over to see me.
i am pretty well, but awful tired of keeping still.
i want to see you ever so much.
frank has fixed us a telegraph, so we can write and send things.
wo n't it be jolly!
i ca n't look out to see him do it; but, when you pull your string, my little bell rings, and i know a message is coming.
i send you an orange.
do you like gorver jelly?
people send in lots of goodies, and we will go halves.
good-by.
""jack" away went the basket, and in fifteen minutes it came back from the cottage with nothing in it but the orange.
""hullo!
is she mad?"
asked jack, as frank brought the despatch for him to examine.
but, at the first touch, the hollow peel opened, and out fell a letter, two gum-drops, and an owl made of a peanut, with round eyes drawn at the end where the stem formed a funny beak.
two bits of straw were the legs, and the face looked so like dr. whiting that both boys laughed at the sight.
""that's so like jill; she'd make fun if she was half dead.
let's see what she says;" and jack read the little note, which showed a sad neglect of the spelling-book: -- "dear jacky, -- i ca n't stir and it's horrid.
the telly graf is very nice and we will have fun with it.
i never ate any gorver jelly.
the orange was first rate.
send me a book to read.
all about bears and ships and crockydiles.
the doctor was coming to see you, so i sent him the quickest way.
molly loo says it is dreadful lonesome at school without us.
yours truly, "jill" jack immediately despatched the book and a sample of guava jelly, which unfortunately upset on the way, to the great detriment of "the wild beasts of asia and africa."
jill promptly responded with the loan of a tiny black kitten, who emerged spitting and scratching, to jack's great delight; and he was cudgelling his brains as to how a fat white rabbit could be transported, when a shrill whistle from without saved jill from that inconvenient offering.
""it's the fellows; do you want to see them?"
asked frank, gazing down with calm superiority upon the three eager faces which looked up at him.
""guess i do!"
and jack promptly threw the kitten overboard, scorning to be seen by any manly eye amusing himself with such girlish toys.
bang!
went the front door; tramp, tramp, tramp, came six booted feet up the stairs; and, as frank threw wide the door, three large beings paused on the threshold to deliver the courteous "hullo!"
which is the established greeting among boys on all social occasions.
""come along, old fellows; i'm ever so glad to see you!"
cried the invalid, with such energetic demonstrations of the arms that he looked as if about to fly or crow, like an excited young cockerel.
""how are you, major?"
""does the leg ache much, jack?"
""mr. phipps says you'll have to pay for the new rails."
with these characteristic greetings, the gentlemen cast away their hats and sat down, all grinning cheerfully, and all with eyes irresistibly fixed upon the dainties, which proved too much for the politeness of ever-hungry boys.
""help yourselves," said jack, with a hospitable wave.
""all the dear old ladies in town have been sending in nice things, and i ca n't begin to eat them up.
lend a hand and clear away this lot, or we shall have to throw them out of the window.
bring on the doughnuts and the tarts and the shaky stuff in the entry closet, frank, and let's have a lark."
no sooner said than done.
gus took the tarts, joe the doughnuts, ed the jelly, and frank suggested "spoons all round" for the italian cream.
a few trifles in the way of custard, fruit, and wafer biscuits were not worth mentioning; but every dish was soon emptied, and jack said, as he surveyed the scene of devastation with great satisfaction, -- "call again to-morrow, gentlemen, and we will have another bout.
free lunches at 5 p.m. till further notice.
now tell me all the news."
for half an hour, five tongues went like mill clappers, and there is no knowing when they would have stopped if the little bell had not suddenly rung with a violence that made them jump.
""that's jill; see what she wants, frank;" and while his brother sent off the basket, jack told about the new invention, and invited his mates to examine and admire.
they did so, and shouted with merriment when the next despatch from jill arrived.
a pasteboard jumping-jack, with one leg done up in cotton-wool to preserve the likeness, and a great lump of molasses candy in a brown paper, with accompanying note: -- "dear sir, -- i saw the boys go in, and know you are having a nice time, so i send over the candy molly loo and merry brought me.
mammy says i ca n't eat it, and it will all melt away if i keep it.
also a picture of jack minot, who will dance on one leg and waggle the other, and make you laugh.
i wish i could come, too.
do n't you hate grewel?
i do.
-- in haste, "j.p." "let's all send her a letter," proposed jack, and out came pens, ink, paper, and the lamp, and every one fell to scribbling.
a droll collection was the result, for frank drew a picture of the fatal fall with broken rails flying in every direction, jack with his head swollen to the size of a balloon, and jill in two pieces, while the various boys and girls were hit off with a sly skill that gave gus legs like a stork, molly loo hair several yards long, and boo a series of visible howls coming out of an immense mouth in the shape of o's.
the oxen were particularly good, for their horns branched like those of the moose, and mr. grant had a patriarchal beard which waved in the breeze as he bore the wounded girl to a sled very like a funeral pyre, the stakes being crowned with big mittens like torches.
""you ought to be an artist.
i never saw such a dabster as you are.
that's the very moral of joe, all in a bunch on the fence, with a blot to show how purple his nose was," said gus, holding up the sketch for general criticism and admiration.
""i'd rather have a red nose than legs like a grasshopper; so you need n't twit, daddy," growled joe, quite unconscious that a blot actually did adorn his nose, as he labored over a brief despatch.
the boys enjoyed the joke, and one after the other read out his message to the captive lady: -- "dear jill, -- sorry you ai n't here.
great fun.
jack pretty lively.
laura and lot would send love if they knew of the chance.
fly round and get well.
""gus" "dear gilliflower, -- hope you are pretty comfortable in your "dungeon cell."
would you like a serenade when the moon comes?
hope you will soon be up again, for we miss you very much.
shall be very happy to help in any way i can.
love to your mother.
your true friend, "e.d." "miss pecq."
dear madam, -- i am happy to tell you that we are all well, and hope you are the same.
i gave jem cox a licking because he went to your desk.
you had better send for your books.
you wo n't have to pay for the sled or the fence.
jack says he will see to it.
we have been having a spread over here.
first-rate things.
i would n't mind breaking a leg, if i had such good grub and no chores to do.
no more now, from yours, with esteem, "joseph p. flint" joe thought that an elegant epistle, having copied portions of it from the "letter writer," and proudly read it off to the boys, who assured him that jill would be much impressed.
""now, jack, hurry up and let us send the lot off, for we must go," said gus, as frank put the letters in the basket, and the clatter of tea-things was heard below.
""i'm not going to show mine.
it's private and you must n't look," answered jack, patting down an envelope with such care that no one had a chance to peep.
but joe had seen the little note copied, and while the others were at the window working the telegraph he caught up the original, carelessly thrust by jack under the pillow, and read it aloud before any one knew what he was about.
""my dear, -- i wish i could send you some of my good times.
as i ca n't, i send you much love, and i hope you will try and be patient as i am going to, for it was our fault, and we must not make a fuss now.
ai n't mothers sweet?
mine is coming over to-morrow to see you and tell me how you are.
this round thing is a kiss for good-night.
""your jack" "is n't that spoony?
you'd better hide your face, i think.
he's getting to be a regular mollycoddle, is n't he?"
jeered joe, as the boys laughed, and then grew sober, seeing jack's head buried in the bedclothes, after sending a pillow at his tormentor.
it nearly hit mrs. minot, coming in with her patient's tea on a tray, and at sight of her the guests hurriedly took leave, joe nearly tumbling downstairs to escape from frank, who would have followed, if his mother had not said quickly, "stay, and tell me what is the matter."
""only teasing jack a bit.
do n't be mad, old boy, joe did n't mean any harm, and it was rather soft, now was n't it?"
asked frank, trying to appease the wounded feelings of his brother.
""i charged you not to worry him.
those boys were too much for the poor dear, and i ought not to have left him," said mamma, as she vainly endeavored to find and caress the yellow head burrowed so far out of sight that nothing but one red ear was visible.
""he liked it, and we got on capitally till joe roughed him about jill.
ah, joe's getting it now!
i thought gus and ed would do that little job for me," added frank, running to the window as the sound of stifled cries and laughter reached him.
the red ear heard also, and jack popped up his head to ask, with interest, -- "what are they doing to him?"
""rolling him in the snow, and he's howling like fun."
""serves him right," muttered jack, with a frown.
then, as a wail arose suggestive of an unpleasant mixture of snow in the mouth and thumps on the back, he burst out laughing, and said, good-naturedly, "go and stop them, frank; i wo n't mind, only tell him it was a mean trick.
hurry!
gus is so strong he does n't know how his pounding hurts."
off ran frank, and jack told his wrongs to his mother.
she sympathized heartily, and saw no harm in the affectionate little note, which would please jill, and help her to bear her trials patiently.
""it is n't silly to be fond of her, is it?
she is so nice and funny, and tries to be good, and likes me, and i wo n't be ashamed of my friends, if folks do laugh," protested jack, with a rap of his teaspoon.
""no, dear, it is quite kind and proper, and i'd rather have you play with a merry little girl than with rough boys till you are big enough to hold your own," answered mamma, putting the cup to his lips that the reclining lad might take his broma without spilling.
""pooh!
i do n't mean that; i'm strong enough now to take care of myself," cried jack, stoutly.
""i can thrash joe any day, if i like.
just look at my arm; there's muscle for you!"
and up went a sleeve, to the great danger of overturning the tray, as the boy proudly displayed his biceps and expanded his chest, both of which were very fine for a lad of his years.
""if i'd been on my legs, he would n't have dared to insult me, and it was cowardly to hit a fellow when he was down."
mrs. minot wanted to laugh at jack's indignation, but the bell rang, and she had to go and pull in the basket, much amused at the new game.
burning to distinguish herself in the eyes of the big boys, jill had sent over a tall, red flannel night-cap, which she had been making for some proposed christmas plays, and added the following verse, for she was considered a gifted rhymester at the game parties: -- "when it comes night, we put out the light.
some blow with a puff, some turn down and snuff; but neat folks prefer a nice extinguis_her.
so here i send you back one to put on mr. jack."
""now, i call that regularly smart; not one of us could do it, and i just wish joe was here to see it.
i want to send once more, something good for tea; she hates gruel so;" and the last despatch which the great international telegraph carried that day was a baked apple and a warm muffin, with "j. m.'s best regards."
chapter iv.
ward no. 2.
things were not so gay in ward no. 2, for mrs. pecq was very busy, and jill had nothing to amuse her but flying visits from the girls, and such little plays as she could invent for herself in bed.
fortunately, she had a lively fancy, and so got on pretty well, till keeping still grew unbearable, and the active child ached in every limb to be up and out.
that, however, was impossible, for the least attempt to sit or stand brought on the pain that took her breath away and made her glad to lie flat again.
the doctor spoke cheerfully, but looked sober, and mrs. pecq began to fear that janey was to be a cripple for life.
she said nothing, but jill's quick eyes saw an added trouble in the always anxious face, and it depressed her spirits, though she never guessed half the mischief the fall had done.
the telegraph was a great comfort, and the two invalids kept up a lively correspondence, not to say traffic in light articles, for the great international was the only aerial express in existence.
but even this amusement flagged after a time; neither had much to tell, and when the daily health bulletins had been exchanged, messages gave out, and the basket's travels grew more and more infrequent.
neither could read all the time, games were soon used up, their mates were at school most of the day, and after a week or two the poor children began to get pale and fractious with the confinement, always so irksome to young people.
""i do believe the child will fret herself into a fever, mem, and i'm clean distraught to know what to do for her.
she never used to mind trifles, but now she frets about the oddest things, and i ca n't change them.
this wall-paper is well enough, but she has taken a fancy that the spots on it look like spiders, and it makes her nervous.
i've no other warm place to put her, and no money for a new paper.
poor lass!
there are hard times before her, i'm fearing."
mrs. pecq said this in a low voice to mrs. minot, who came in as often as she could, to see what her neighbor needed; for both mothers were anxious, and sympathy drew them to one another.
while one woman talked, the other looked about the little room, not wondering in the least that jill found it hard to be contented there.
it was very neat, but so plain that there was not even a picture on the walls, nor an ornament upon the mantel, except the necessary clock, lamp, and match-box.
the paper was ugly, being a deep buff with a brown figure that did look very like spiders sprawling over it, and might well make one nervous to look at day after day.
jill was asleep in the folding chair dr. whiting had sent, with a mattress to make it soft.
the back could be raised or lowered at will; but only a few inches had been gained as yet, and the thin hair pillow was all she could bear.
she looked very pretty as she lay, with dark lashes against the feverish cheeks, lips apart, and a cloud of curly black locks all about the face pillowed on one arm.
she seemed like a brilliant little flower in that dull place, -- for the french blood in her veins gave her a color, warmth, and grace which were very charming.
her natural love of beauty showed itself in many ways: a red ribbon had tied up her hair, a gay but faded shawl was thrown over the bed, and the gifts sent her were arranged with care upon the table by her side among her own few toys and treasures.
there was something pathetic in this childish attempt to beautify the poor place, and mrs. minot's eyes were full as she looked at the tired woman, whose one joy and comfort lay there in such sad plight.
""my dear soul, cheer up, and we will help one another through the hard times," she said, with a soft hand on the rough one, and a look that promised much.
""please god, we will, mem!
with such good friends, i never should complain.
i try not to do it, but it breaks my heart to see my little lass spoiled for life, most like;" and mrs. pecq pressed the kind hand with a despondent sigh.
""we wo n't say, or even think, that, yet.
everything is possible to youth and health like janey's.
we must keep her happy, and time will do the rest, i'm sure.
let us begin at once, and have a surprise for her when she wakes."
as she spoke, mrs. minot moved quietly about the room, pinning the pages of several illustrated papers against the wall at the foot of the bed, and placing to the best advantage the other comforts she had brought.
""keep up your heart, neighbor.
i have an idea in my head which i think will help us all, if i can carry it out," she said, cheerily, as she went, leaving mrs. pecq to sew on jack's new night-gowns, with swift fingers, and the grateful wish that she might work for these good friends forever.
as if the whispering and rustling had disturbed her, jill soon began to stir, and slowly opened the eyes which had closed so wearily on the dull december afternoon.
the bare wall with its brown spiders no longer confronted her, but the colored print of a little girl dancing to the tune her father was playing on a guitar, while a stately lady, with satin dress, ruff, and powder, stood looking on, well pleased.
the quaint figure, in its belaced frock, quilted petticoat, and red-heeled shoes, seemed to come tripping toward her in such a life-like way, that she almost saw the curls blow back, heard the rustle of the rich brocade, and caught the sparkle of the little maid's bright eyes.
""oh, how pretty!
who sent them?"
asked jill, eagerly, as her eye glanced along the wall, seeing other new and interesting things beyond: an elephant-hunt, a ship in full sail, a horse-race, and a ball-room.
""the good fairy who never comes empty-handed.
look round a bit and you will see more pretties all for you, my dearie;" and her mother pointed to a bunch of purple grapes in a green leaf plate, a knot of bright flowers pinned on the white curtain, and a gay little double gown across the foot of the bed.
jill clapped her hands, and was enjoying her new pleasures, when in came merry and molly loo, with boo, of course, trotting after her like a fat and amiable puppy.
then the good times began; the gown was put on, the fruit tasted, and the pictures were studied like famous works of art.
""it's a splendid plan to cover up that hateful wall.
i'd stick pictures all round and have a gallery.
that reminds me!
up in the garret at our house is a box full of old fashion-books my aunt left.
i often look at them on rainy days, and they are very funny.
i'll go this minute and get every one.
we can pin them up, or make paper dolls;" and away rushed molly loo, with the small brother waddling behind, for, when he lost sight of her, he was desolate indeed.
the girls had fits of laughter over the queer costumes of years gone by, and put up a splendid procession of ladies in full skirts, towering hats, pointed slippers, powdered hair, simpering faces, and impossible waists.
""i do think this bride is perfectly splendid, the long train and veil are so sweet," said jill, revelling in fine clothes as she turned from one plate to another.
""i like the elephants best, and i'd give anything to go on a hunt like that!"
cried molly loo, who rode cows, drove any horse she could get, had nine cats, and was not afraid of the biggest dog that ever barked.
""i fancy "the dancing lesson;" it is so sort of splendid, with the great windows, gold chairs, and fine folks.
oh, i would like to live in a castle with a father and mother like that," said merry, who was romantic, and found the old farmhouse on the hill a sad trial to her high-flown ideas of elegance.
""now, that ship, setting out for some far-away place, is more to my mind.
i weary for home now and then, and mean to see it again some day;" and mrs. pecq looked longingly at the english ship, though it was evidently outward bound.
then, as if reproaching herself for discontent, she added: "it looks like those i used to see going off to india with a load of missionaries.
i came near going myself once, with a lady bound for siam; but i went to canada with her sister, and here i am."
""i'd like to be a missionary and go where folks throw their babies to the crocodiles.
i'd watch and fish them out, and have a school, and bring them up, and convert all the people till they knew better," said warm-hearted molly loo, who befriended every abused animal and forlorn child she met.
""we need n't go to africa to be missionaries; they have'em nearer home and need'em, too.
in all the big cities there are a many, and they have their hands full with the poor, the wicked, and the helpless.
one can find that sort of work anywhere, if one has a mind," said mrs. pecq.
""i wish we had some to do here.
i'd so like to go round with baskets of tea and rice, and give out tracts and talk to people.
would n't you, girls?"
asked molly, much taken with the new idea.
""it would be rather nice to have a society all to ourselves, and have meetings and resolutions and things," answered merry, who was fond of little ceremonies, and always went to the sewing circle with her mother.
""we would n't let the boys come in.
we'd have it a secret society, as they do their temperance lodge, and we'd have badges and pass-words and grips.
it would be fun if we can only get some heathen to work at!"
cried jill, ready for fresh enterprises of every sort.
""i can tell you someone to begin on right away," said her mother, nodding at her.
""as wild a little savage as i'd wish to see.
take her in hand, and make a pretty-mannered lady of her.
begin at home, my lass, and you'll find missionary work enough for a while."
""now, mammy, you mean me!
well, i will begin; and i'll be so good, folks wo n't know me.
being sick makes naughty children behave in story-books, i'll see if live ones ca n't;" and jill put on such a sanctified face that the girls laughed and asked for their missions also, thinking they would be the same.
""you, merry, might do a deal at home helping mother, and setting the big brothers a good example.
one little girl in a house can do pretty much as she will, especially if she has a mind to make plain things nice and comfortable, and not long for castles before she knows how to do her own tasks well," was the first unexpected reply.
merry colored, but took the reproof sweetly, resolving to do what she could, and surprised to find how many ways seemed open to her after a few minutes" thought.
""where shall i begin?
i'm not afraid of a dozen crocodiles after miss bat;" and molly loo looked about her with a fierce air, having had practice in battles with the old lady who kept her father's house.
""well, dear, you have n't far to look for as nice a little heathen as you'd wish;" and mrs. pecq glanced at boo, who sat on the floor staring hard at them, attracted by the dread word "crocodile."
he had a cold and no handkerchief, his little hands were red with chilblains, his clothes shabby, he had untidy darns in the knees of his stockings, and a head of tight curls that evidently had not been combed for some time.
""yes, i know he is, and i try to keep him decent, but i forget, and he hates to be fixed, and miss bat does n't care, and father laughs when i talk about it."
poor molly loo looked much ashamed as she made excuses, trying at the same time to mend matters by seizing boo and dusting him all over with her handkerchief, giving a pull at his hair as if ringing bells, and then dumping him down again with the despairing exclamation: "yes, we're a pair of heathens, and there's no one to save us if i do n't."
that was true enough; for molly's father was a busy man, careless of everything but his mills, miss bat was old and lazy, and felt as if she might take life easy after serving the motherless children for many years as well as she knew how.
molly was beginning to see how much amiss things were at home, and old enough to feel mortified, though, as yet, she had done nothing to mend the matter except be kind to the little boy.
""you will, my dear," answered mrs. pecq, encouragingly, for she knew all about it.
""now you've each got a mission, let us see how well you will get on.
keep it secret, if you like, and report once a week.
i'll be a member, and we'll do great things yet."
""we wo n't begin till after christmas; there is so much to do, we never shall have time for any more.
do n't tell, and we'll start fair at new year's, if not before," said jill, taking the lead as usual.
then they went on with the gay ladies, who certainly were heathen enough in dress to be in sad need of conversion, -- to common-sense at least.
""i feel as if i was at a party," said jill, after a pause occupied in surveying her gallery with great satisfaction, for dress was her delight, and here she had every conceivable style and color.
""talking of parties, is n't it too bad that we must give up our christmas fun?
ca n't get on without you and jack, so we are not going to do a thing, but just have our presents," said merry, sadly, as they began to fit different heads and bodies together, to try droll effects.
""i shall be all well in a fortnight, i know; but jack wo n't, for it will take more than a month to mend his poor leg.
may be they will have a dance in the boys" big room, and he can look on," suggested jill, with a glance at the dancing damsel on the wall, for she dearly loved it, and never guessed how long it would be before her light feet would keep time to music again.
""you'd better give jack a hint about the party.
send over some smart ladies, and say they have come to his christmas ball," proposed audacious molly loo, always ready for fun.
so they put a preposterous green bonnet, top-heavy with plumes, on a little lady in yellow, who sat in a carriage; the lady beside her, in winter costume of velvet pelisse and ermine boa, was fitted to a bride's head with its orange flowers and veil, and these works of art were sent over to jack, labelled "miss laura and lotty burton going to the minots" christmas ball," -- a piece of naughtiness on jill's part, for she knew jack liked the pretty sisters, whose gentle manners made her own wild ways seem all the more blamable.
no answer came for a long time, and the girls had almost forgotten their joke in a game of letters, when "tingle, tangle!"
went the bell, and the basket came in heavily laden.
a roll of colored papers was tied outside, and within was a box that rattled, a green and silver horn, a roll of narrow ribbons, a spool of strong thread, some large needles, and a note from mrs. minot: -- "dear jill, -- i think of having a christmas tree so that our invalids can enjoy it, and all your elegant friends are cordially invited.
knowing that you would like to help, i send some paper for sugar-plum horns and some beads for necklaces.
they will brighten the tree and please the girls for themselves or their dolls.
jack sends you a horn for a pattern, and will you make a ladder-necklace to show him how?
let me know if you need anything.
""yours in haste, "anna minot" "she knew what the child would like, bless her kind heart," said mrs. pecq to herself, and something brighter than the most silvery bead shone on jack's shirt-sleeve, as she saw the rapture of jill over the new work and the promised pleasure.
joyful cries greeted the opening of the box, for bunches of splendid large bugles appeared in all colors, and a lively discussion went on as to the best contrasts.
jill could not refuse to let her friends share the pretty work, and soon three necklaces glittered on three necks, as each admired her own choice.
""i'd be willing to hurt my back dreadfully, if i could lie and do such lovely things all day," said merry, as she reluctantly put down her needle at last, for home duties waited to be done, and looked more than ever distasteful after this new pleasure.
""so would i!
oh, do you think mrs. minot will let you fill the horns when they are done?
i'd love to help you then.
be sure you send for me!"
cried molly loo, arching her neck like a proud pigeon to watch the glitter of her purple and gold necklace on her brown gown.
""i'm afraid you could n't be trusted, you love sweeties so, and i'm sure boo could n't.
but i'll see about it," replied jill, with a responsible air.
the mention of the boy recalled him to their minds, and looking round they found him peacefully absorbed in polishing up the floor with molly's pocket-handkerchief and oil from the little machine-can.
being torn from this congenial labor, he was carried off shining with grease and roaring lustily.
but jill did not mind her loneliness now, and sang like a happy canary while she threaded her sparkling beads, or hung the gay horns to dry, ready for their cargoes of sweets.
so mrs. minot's recipe for sunshine proved successful, and mother-wit made the wintry day a bright and happy one for both the little prisoners.
chapter v. secrets there were a great many clubs in harmony village, but as we intend to interest ourselves with the affairs of the young folks only, we need not dwell upon the intellectual amusements of the elders.
in summer, the boys devoted themselves to baseball, the girls to boating, and all got rosy, stout, and strong, in these healthful exercises.
in winter, the lads had their debating club, the lasses a dramatic ditto.
at the former, astonishing bursts of oratory were heard; at the latter, everything was boldly attempted, from romeo and juliet to mother goose's immortal melodies.
the two clubs frequently met and mingled their attractions in a really entertaining manner, for the speakers made good actors, and the young actresses were most appreciative listeners to the eloquence of each budding demosthenes.
great plans had been afoot for christmas or new year, but when the grand catastrophe put an end to the career of one of the best "spouters," and caused the retirement of the favorite "singing chambermaid," the affair was postponed till february, when washington's birthday was always celebrated by the patriotic town, where the father of his country once put on his nightcap, or took off his boots, as that ubiquitous hero appears to have done in every part of the united states.
meantime the boys were studying revolutionary characters, and the girls rehearsing such dramatic scenes as they thought most appropriate and effective for the 22d.
in both of these attempts they were much helped by the sense and spirit of ralph evans, a youth of nineteen, who was a great favorite with the young folks, not only because he was a good, industrious fellow, who supported his grandmother, but also full of talent, fun, and ingenuity.
it was no wonder every one who really knew him liked him, for he could turn his hand to anything, and loved to do it.
if the girls were in despair about a fire-place when acting "the cricket on the hearth," he painted one, and put a gas-log in it that made the kettle really boil, to their great delight.
if the boys found the interest of their club flagging, ralph would convulse them by imitations of the "member from cranberry centre," or fire them with speeches of famous statesmen.
charity fairs could not get on without him, and in the store where he worked he did many an ingenious job, which made him valued for his mechanical skill, as well as for his energy and integrity.
mrs. minot liked to have him with her sons, because they also were to paddle their own canoes by and by, and she believed that, rich or poor, boys make better men for learning to use the talents they possess, not merely as ornaments, but tools with which to carve their own fortunes; and the best help toward this end is an example of faithful work, high aims, and honest living.
so ralph came often, and in times of trouble was a real rainy-day friend.
jack grew very fond of him during his imprisonment, for the good youth ran in every evening to get commissions, amuse the boy with droll accounts of the day's adventures, or invent lifts, bed-tables, and foot-rests for the impatient invalid.
frank found him a sure guide through the mechanical mysteries which he loved, and spent many a useful half-hour discussing cylinders, pistons, valves, and balance-wheels.
jill also came in for her share of care and comfort; the poor little back lay all the easier for the air-cushion ralph got her, and the weary headaches found relief from the spray atomizer, which softly distilled its scented dew on the hot forehead till she fell asleep.
round the beds of jack and jill met and mingled the schoolmates of whom our story treats.
never, probably, did invalids have gayer times than our two, after a week of solitary confinement; for school gossip crept in, games could not be prevented, and christmas secrets were concocted in those rooms till they were regular conspirators" dens, when they were not little bedlams.
after the horn and bead labors were over, the stringing of pop-corn on red, and cranberries on white, threads, came next, and jack and jill often looked like a new kind of spider in the pretty webs hung about them, till reeled off to bide their time in the christmas closet.
paper flowers followed, and gay garlands and bouquets blossomed, regardless of the snow and frost without.
then there was a great scribbling of names, verses, and notes to accompany the steadily increasing store of odd parcels which were collected at the minots", for gifts from every one were to ornament the tree, and contributions poured in as the day drew near.
but the secret which most excited the young people was the deep mystery of certain proceedings at the minot house.
no one but frank, ralph, and mamma knew what it was, and the two boys nearly drove the others distracted by the tantalizing way in which they hinted at joys to come, talked strangely about birds, went measuring round with foot-rules, and shut themselves up in the boys" den, as a certain large room was called.
this seemed to be the centre of operations, but beyond the fact of the promised tree no ray of light was permitted to pass the jealously guarded doors.
strange men with paste-pots and ladders went in, furniture was dragged about, and all sorts of boyish lumber was sent up garret and down cellar.
mrs. minot was seen pondering over heaps of green stuff, hammering was heard, singular bundles were smuggled upstairs, flowering plants betrayed their presence by whiffs of fragrance when the door was opened, and mrs. pecq was caught smiling all by herself in a back bedroom, which usually was shut up in winter.
""they are going to have a play, after all, and that green stuff was the curtain," said molly loo, as the girls talked it over one day, when they sat with their backs turned to one another, putting last stitches in certain bits of work which had to be concealed from all eyes, though it was found convenient to ask one another's taste as to the color, materials, and sizes of these mysterious articles.
""i think it is going to be a dance.
i heard the boys doing their steps when i went in last evening to find out whether jack liked blue or yellow best, so i could put the bow on his pen-wiper," declared merry, knitting briskly away at the last of the pair of pretty white bed-socks she was making for jill right under her inquisitive little nose.
""they would n't have a party of that kind without jack and me.
it is only an extra nice tree, you see if it is n't," answered jill from behind the pillows which made a temporary screen to hide the toilet mats she was preparing for all her friends.
""every one of you is wrong, and you'd better rest easy, for you wo n't find out the best part of it, try as you may."
and mrs. pecq actually chuckled as she, too, worked away at some bits of muslin, with her back turned to the very unsocial-looking group.
""well, i do n't care, we've got a secret all our own, and wo n't ever tell, will we?"
cried jill, falling back on the home missionary society, though it was not yet begun.
""never!"
answered the girls, and all took great comfort in the idea that one mystery would not be cleared up, even at christmas.
jack gave up guessing, in despair, after he had suggested a new dining-room where he could eat with the family, a private school in which his lessons might go on with a tutor, or a theatre for the production of the farces in which he delighted.
""it is going to be used to keep something in that you are very fond of," said mamma, taking pity on him at last.
""ducks?"
asked jack, with a half pleased, half puzzled air, not quite seeing where the water was to come from.
frank exploded at the idea, and added to the mystification by saying, -- "there will be one little duck and one great donkey in it."
then, fearing he had told the secret, he ran off, quacking and braying derisively.
""it is to be used for creatures that i, too, am fond of, and you know neither donkeys nor ducks are favorites of mine," said mamma, with a demure expression, as she sat turning over old clothes for the bundles that always went to poor neighbors, with a little store of goodies, at this time of the year.
""i know!
i know!
it is to be a new ward for more sick folks, is n't it, now?"
cried jack, with what he thought a great proof of shrewdness.
""i do n't see how i could attend to many more patients till this one is off my hands," answered mamma, with a queer smile, adding quickly, as if she too was afraid of letting the cat out of the bag: "that reminds me of a christmas i once spent among the hospitals and poor-houses of a great city with a good lady who, for thirty years, had made it her mission to see that these poor little souls had one merry day.
we gave away two hundred dolls, several great boxes of candy and toys, besides gay pictures, and new clothes to orphan children, sick babies, and half-grown innocents.
ah, my boy, that was a day to remember all my life, to make me doubly grateful for my blessings, and very glad to serve the helpless and afflicted, as that dear woman did."
the look and tone with which the last words were uttered effectually turned jack's thoughts from the great secret, and started another small one, for he fell to planning what he would buy with his pocket-money to surprise the little pats and biddies who were to have no christmas tree.
chapter vi.
surprises "is it pleasant?"
was the question jill asked before she was fairly awake on christmas morning.
""yes, dear; as bright as heart could wish.
now eat a bit, and then i'll make you nice for the day's pleasure.
i only hope it wo n't be too much for you," answered mrs. pecq, bustling about, happy, yet anxious, for jill was to be carried over to mrs. minot's, and it was her first attempt at going out since the accident.
it seemed as if nine o'clock would never come, and jill, with wraps all ready, lay waiting in a fever of impatience for the doctor's visit, as he wished to superintend the moving.
at last he came, found all promising, and having bundled up his small patient, carried her, with frank's help, in her chair-bed to the ox-sled, which was drawn to the next door, and miss jill landed in the boys" den before she had time to get either cold or tired.
mrs. minot took her things off with a cordial welcome, but jill never said a word, for, after one exclamation, she lay staring about her, dumb with surprise and delight at what she saw.
the great room was entirely changed; for now it looked like a garden, or one of the fairy scenes children love, where in-doors and out-of-doors are pleasantly combined.
the ceiling was pale blue, like the sky; the walls were covered with a paper like a rustic trellis, up which climbed morning-glories so naturally that the many-colored bells seemed dancing in the wind.
birds and butterflies flew among them, and here and there, through arches in the trellis, one seemed to look into a sunny summer world, contrasting curiously with the wintry landscape lying beyond the real windows, festooned with evergreen garlands, and curtained only by stands of living flowers.
a green drugget covered the floor like grass, rustic chairs from the garden stood about, and in the middle of the room a handsome hemlock waited for its pretty burden.
a yule-log blazed on the wide hearth, and over the chimney-piece, framed in holly, shone the words that set all hearts to dancing, "merry christmas!"
""do you like it, dear?
this is our surprise for you and jack, and here we mean to have good times together," said mrs. minot, who had stood quietly enjoying the effect of her work.
""oh, it is so lovely i do n't know what to say!"
and jill put up both arms, as words failed her, and grateful kisses were all she had to offer.
""can you suggest anything more to add to the pleasantness?"
asked the gentle lady, holding the small hands in her own, and feeling well repaid by the child's delight.
""only jack;" and jill's laugh was good to hear, as she glanced up with merry, yet wistful eyes.
""you are right.
we'll have him in at once, or he will come hopping on one leg;" and away hurried his mother, laughing, too, for whistles, shouts, thumps, and violent demonstrations of all kinds had been heard from the room where jack was raging with impatience, while he waited for his share of the surprise.
jill could hardly lie still when she heard the roll of another chair-bed coming down the hall, its passage enlivened with cries of "starboard!
port!
easy now!
pull away!"
from ralph and frank, as they steered the recumbent columbus on his first voyage of discovery.
""well, i call that handsome!"
was jack's exclamation, when the full beauty of the scene burst upon his view.
then he forgot all about it and gave a whoop of pleasure, for there beside the fire was an eager face, two hands beckoning, and jill's voice crying, joyfully, -- "i'm here!
i'm here!
oh, do come, quick!"
down the long room rattled the chair, jack cheering all the way, and brought up beside the other one, as the long-parted friends exclaimed, with one accord, -- "is n't this jolly!"
it certainly did look so, for ralph and frank danced a wild sort of fandango round the tree, dr. whiting stood and laughed, while the two mothers beamed from the door-way, and the children, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry, compromised the matter by clapping their hands and shouting, "merry christmas to everybody!"
like a pair of little maniacs.
then they all sobered down, and the busy ones went off to the various duties of the day, leaving the young invalids to repose and enjoy themselves together.
""how nice you look," said jill, when they had duly admired the pretty room.
""so do you," gallantly returned jack, as he surveyed her with unusual interest.
they did look very nice, though happiness was the principal beautifier.
jill wore a red wrapper, with the most brilliant of all the necklaces sparkling at her throat, over a nicely crimped frill her mother had made in honor of the day.
all the curly black hair was gathered into a red net, and a pair of smart little moccasins covered the feet that had not stepped for many a weary day.
jack was not so gay, but had made himself as fine as circumstances would permit.
a gray dressing-gown, with blue cuffs and collar, was very becoming to the blonde youth; an immaculate shirt, best studs, sleeve-buttons, blue tie, and handkerchief wet with cologne sticking out of the breast-pocket, gave an air of elegance in spite of the afghan spread over the lower portions of his manly form.
the yellow hair was brushed till it shone, and being parted in the middle, to hide the black patch, made two engaging little "quirls" on his forehead.
the summer tan had faded from his cheeks, but his eyes were as blue as the wintry sky, and nearly every white tooth was visible as he smiled on his partner in misfortune, saying cheerily, -- "i'm ever so glad to see you again; guess we are over the worst of it now, and can have good times.
wo n't it be fun to stay here all the while, and amuse one another?"
""yes, indeed; but one day is so short!
it will be stupider than ever when i go home to-night," answered jill, looking about her with longing eyes.
""but you are not going home to-night; you are to stay ever so long.
did n't mamma tell you?"
""no.
oh, how splendid!
am i really?
where will i sleep?
what will mammy do without me?"
and jill almost sat up, she was so delighted with the new surprise.
""that room in there is all fixed for you.
i made frank tell me so much.
mamma said i might tell you, but i did n't think she would be able to hold in if she saw you first.
your mother is coming, too, and we are all going to have larks together till we are well."
the splendor of this arrangement took jill's breath away, and before she got it again, in came frank and ralph with two clothes-baskets of treasures to be hung upon the tree.
while they wired on the candles the children asked questions, and found out all they wanted to know about the new plans and pleasures.
""who fixed all this?"
""mamma thought of it, and ralph and i did it.
he's the man for this sort of thing, you know.
he proposed cutting out the arches and sticking on birds and butterflies just where they looked best.
i put those canaries over there, they looked so well against the blue;" and frank proudly pointed out some queer orange-colored fowls, looking as if they were having fits in the air, but very effective, nevertheless.
""your mother said you might call this the bird room.
we caught a scarlet-tanager for you to begin with, did n't we, jack?"
and ralph threw a bon-bon at jill, who looked very like a bright little bird in a warm nest.
""good for you!
yes, and we are going to keep her in this pretty cage till we can both fly off together.
i say, jill, where shall we be in our classes when we do get back?"
and jack's merry face fell at the thought.
""at the foot, if we do n't study and keep up.
doctor said i might study sometimes, if i'd lie still as long as he thought best, and molly brought home my books, and merry says she will come in every day and tell me where the lessons are.
i do n't mean to fall behind, if my backbone is cracked," said jill, with a decided nod that made several black rings fly out of the net to dance on her forehead.
""frank said he'd pull me along in my latin, but i've been lazy and have n't done a thing.
let's go at it and start fair for new year," proposed jack, who did not love study as the bright girl did, but was ashamed to fall behind her in anything.
""all right.
they've been reviewing, so we can keep up when they begin, if we work next week, while the rest have a holiday.
oh, dear, i do miss school dreadfully;" and jill sighed for the old desk, every blot and notch of which was dear to her.
""there come our things, and pretty nice they look, too," said jack; and his mother began to dress the tree, hanging up the gay horns, the gilded nuts, red and yellow apples and oranges, and festooning long strings of pop-corn and scarlet cranberries from bough to bough, with the glittering necklaces hung where the light would show their colors best.
""i never saw such a splendid tree before.
i'm glad we could help, though we were ill.
is it all done now?"
asked jill, when the last parcel was tied on and everybody stood back to admire the pretty sight.
""one thing more.
hand me that box, frank, and be very careful that you fasten this up firmly, ralph," answered mrs. minot, as she took from its wrappings the waxen figure of a little child.
the rosy limbs were very life-like, so was the smiling face under the locks of shining hair.
both plump arms were outspread as if to scatter blessings over all, and downy wings seemed to flutter from the dimpled shoulders, making an angel of the baby.
""is it st. nicholas?"
asked jill, who had never seen that famous personage, and knew but little of christmas festivities.
""it is the christ-child, whose birthday we are celebrating.
i got the best i could find, for i like the idea better than old santa claus; though we may have him, too," said mamma, holding the little image so that both could see it well.
""it looks like a real baby;" and jack touched the rosy foot with the tip of his finger, as if expecting a crow from the half-open lips.
""it reminds me of the saints in the chapel of the sacred heart in montreal.
one little st. john looked like this, only he had a lamb instead of wings," said jill, stroking the flaxen hair, and wishing she dared ask for it to play with.
""he is the children's saint to pray to, love, and imitate, for he never forgot them, but blessed and healed and taught them all his life.
this is only a poor image of the holiest baby ever born, but i hope it will keep his memory in your minds all day, because this is the day for good resolutions, happy thoughts, and humble prayers, as well as play and gifts and feasting."
while she spoke, mrs. minot, touching the little figure as tenderly as if it were alive, had tied a broad white ribbon round it, and, handing it to ralph, bade him fasten it to the hook above the tree-top, where it seemed to float as if the downy wings supported it.
jack and jill lay silently watching, with a sweet sort of soberness in their young faces, and for a moment the room was very still as all eyes looked up at the blessed child.
the sunshine seemed to grow more golden as it flickered on the little head, the flames glanced about the glittering tree as if trying to climb and kiss the baby feet, and, without, a chime of bells rang sweetly, calling people to hear again the lovely story of the life begun on christmas day.
only a minute, but it did them good, and presently, when the pleasant work was over, and the workers gone, the boys to church, and mamma to see about lunch for the invalids, jack said, gravely, to jill, -- "i think we ought to be extra good, every one is so kind to us, and we are getting well, and going to have such capital times.
do n't see how we can do anything else to show we are grateful."
""it is n't easy to be good when one is sick," said jill, thoughtfully.
""i fret dreadfully, i get so tired of being still.
i want to scream sometimes, but i do n't, because it would scare mammy, so i cry.
do you cry, jack?"
""men never do.
i want to tramp round when things bother me; but i ca n't, so i kick and say, "hang it!"
and when i get very bad i pitch into frank, and he lets me.
i tell you, jill, he's a good brother!"
and jack privately resolved then and there to invite frank to take it out of him in any form he pleased as soon as health would permit.
""i rather think we shall grow good in this pretty place, for i do n't see how we can be bad if we want to, it is all so nice and sort of pious here," said jill, with her eyes on the angel over the tree.
""a fellow can be awfully hungry, i know that.
i did n't half eat breakfast, i was in such a hurry to see you, and know all about the secrets.
frank kept saying i could n't guess, that you had come, and i never would be ready, till finally i got mad and fired an egg at him, and made no end of a mess."
jack and jill went off into a gale of laughter at the idea of dignified frank dodging the egg that smashed on the wall, leaving an indelible mark of jack's besetting sin, impatience.
just then mrs. minot came in, well pleased to hear such pleasant sounds, and to see two merry faces, where usually one listless one met her anxious eyes.
""the new medicine works well, neighbor," she said to mrs. pecq, who followed with the lunch tray.
""indeed it does, mem.
i feel as if i'd taken a sup myself, i'm that easy in my mind."
and she looked so, too, for she seemed to have left all her cares in the little house when she locked the door behind her, and now stood smiling with a clean apron on, so fresh and cheerful, that jill hardly knew her own mother.
""things taste better when you have someone to eat with you," observed jack, as they devoured sandwiches, and drank milk out of little mugs with rosebuds on them.
""do n't eat too much, or you wo n't be ready for the next surprise," said his mother, when the plates were empty, and the last drop gone down throats dry with much chatter.
""more surprises!
oh, what fun!"
cried jill.
and all the rest of the morning, in the intervals of talk and play, they tried to guess what it could be.
at two o'clock they found out, for dinner was served in the bird room, and the children revelled in the simple feast prepared for them.
the two mothers kept the little bed-tables well supplied, and fed their nurslings like maternal birds, while frank presided over the feast with great dignity, and ate a dinner which would have astonished mamma, if she had not been too busy to observe how fast the mince pie vanished.
""the girls said christmas was spoiled because of us; but i do n't think so, and they wo n't either, when they see this splendid place and know all about our nice plans," said jill, luxuriously eating the nut-meats jack picked out for her, as they lay in eastern style at the festive board.
""i call this broken bones made easy.
i never had a better christmas.
have a raisin?
here's a good fat one."
and jack made a long arm to jill's mouth, which began to sing "little jack horner" as an appropriate return.
""it would have been a lonesome one to all of us, i'm thinking, but for your mother, boys.
my duty and hearty thanks to you, mem," put in grateful mrs. pecq, bowing over her coffee-cup as she had seen ladies bow over their wine-glasses at dinner parties in old england.
""i rise to propose a health, our mothers."
and frank stood up with a goblet of water, for not even at christmas time was wine seen on that table.
""hip, hip, hurrah!"
called jack, baptizing himself with a good sprinkle, as he waved his glass and drank the toast with a look that made his mother's eyes fill with happy tears.
jill threw her mother a kiss, feeling very grown up and elegant to be dining out in such style.
then they drank every one's health with much merriment, till frank declared that jack would float off on the deluge of water he splashed about in his enthusiasm, and mamma proposed a rest after the merry-making.
""now the best fun is coming, and we have not long to wait," said the boy, when naps and rides about the room had whiled away the brief interval between dinner and dusk, for the evening entertainment was to be an early one, to suit the invalids" bedtime.
""i hope the girls will like their things.
i helped to choose them, and each has a nice present.
i do n't know mine, though, and i'm in a twitter to see it," said jill, as they lay waiting for the fun to begin.
""i do; i chose it, so i know you will like one of them, any way."
""have i got more than one?"
""i guess you'll think so when they are handed down.
the bell was going all day yesterday, and the girls kept bringing in bundles for you; i see seven now," and jack rolled his eyes from one mysterious parcel to another hanging on the laden boughs.
""i know something, too.
that square bundle is what you want ever so much.
i told frank, and he got it for his present.
it is all red and gold outside, and every sort of color inside; you'll hurrah when you see it.
that roundish one is yours too; i made them," cried jill, pointing to a flat package tied to the stem of the tree, and a neat little roll in which were the blue mittens that she had knit for him.
""i can wait;" but the boy's eyes shone with eagerness, and he could not resist firing two or three pop-corns at it to see whether it was hard or soft.
""that barking dog is for boo, and the little yellow sled, so molly can drag him to school, he always tumbles down so when it is slippery," continued jill, proud of her superior knowledge, as she showed a small spotted animal hanging by its tail, with a red tongue displayed as if about to taste the sweeties in the horn below.
""do n't talk about sleds, for mercy's sake!
i never want to see another, and you would n't, either, if you had to lie with a flat-iron tied to your ankle, as i do," said jack, with a kick of the well leg and an ireful glance at the weight attached to the other that it might not contract while healing.
""well, i think plasters, and liniment, and rubbing, as bad as flat-irons any day.
i do n't believe you have ached half so much as i have, though it sounds worse to break legs than to sprain your back," protested jill, eager to prove herself the greater sufferer, as invalids are apt to be.
""i guess you would n't think so if you'd been pulled round as i was when they set my leg.
caesar, how it did hurt!"
and jack squirmed at the recollection of it.
""you did n't faint away as i did when the doctor was finding out if my vertebrums were hurt, so now!"
cried jill, bound to carry her point, though not at all clear what vertebrae were.
""pooh!
girls always faint.
men are braver, and i did n't faint a bit in spite of all that horrid agony."
""you howled; frank told me so.
doctor said i was a brave girl, so you need n't brag, for you'll have to go on a crutch for a while.
i know that."
""you may have to use two of them for years, may be.
i heard the doctor tell my mother so.
i shall be up and about long before you will.
now then!"
both children were getting excited, for the various pleasures of the day had been rather too much for them, and there is no knowing but they would have added the sad surprise of a quarrel to the pleasant ones of the day, if a cheerful whistle had not been heard, as ralph came in to light the candles and give the last artistic touches to the room.
""well, young folks, how goes it?
had a merry time so far?"
he asked, as he fixed the steps and ran up with a lighted match in his hand.
""very nice, thank you," answered a prim little voice from the dusk below, for only the glow of the fire filled the room just then.
jack said nothing, and two red sulky faces were hidden in the dark, watching candle after candle sputter, brighten, and twinkle, till the trembling shadows began to flit away like imps afraid of the light.
""now he will see my face, and i know it is cross," thought jill, as ralph went round the last circle, leaving another line of sparks among the hemlock boughs.
jack thought the same, and had just got the frown smoothed out of his forehead, when frank brought a fresh log, and a glorious blaze sprung up, filling every corner of the room, and dancing over the figures in the long chairs till they had to brighten whether they liked it or not.
presently the bell began to ring and gay voices to sound below: then jill smiled in spite of herself as molly loo's usual cry of "oh, dear, where is that child?"
reached her, and jack could not help keeping time to the march ed played, while frank and gus marshalled the procession.
""ready!"
cried mrs. minot, at last, and up came the troop of eager lads and lasses, brave in holiday suits, with faces to match.
a unanimous "o, o, o!"
burst from twenty tongues, as the full splendor of the tree, the room, and its inmates, dawned upon them; for not only did the pretty christ-child hover above, but santa claus himself stood below, fur-clad, white-bearded, and powdered with snow from the dredging-box.
ralph was a good actor, and, when the first raptures were over he distributed the presents with such droll speeches, jokes, and gambols, that the room rang with merriment, and passers-by paused to listen, sure that here, at least, christmas was merry.
it would be impossible to tell about all the gifts or the joy of the receivers, but every one was satisfied, and the king and queen of the revels so overwhelmed with little tokens of good-will, that their beds looked like booths at a fair.
jack beamed over the handsome postage-stamp book which had long been the desire of his heart, and jill felt like a millionaire, with a silver fruit-knife, a pretty work-basket, and oh!
-- coals of fire on her head!
-- a ring from jack.
a simple little thing enough, with one tiny turquoise forget-me-not, but something like a dew-drop fell on it when no one was looking, and she longed to say, "i'm sorry i was cross; forgive me, jack."
but it could not be done then, so she turned to admire merry's bed-shoes, the pots of pansies, hyacinths, and geranium which gus and his sisters sent for her window garden, molly's queer christmas pie, and the zither ed promised to teach her how to play upon.
the tree was soon stripped, and pop-corns strewed the floor as the children stood about picking them off the red threads when candy gave out, with an occasional cranberry by way of relish.
boo insisted on trying the new sled at once, and enlivened the trip by the squeaking of the spotted dog, the toot of a tin trumpet, and shouts of joy at the splendor of the turn-out.
the girls all put on their necklaces, and danced about like fine ladies at a ball.
the boys fell to comparing skates, balls, and cuff-buttons on the spot, while the little ones devoted all their energies to eating everything eatable they could lay their hands on.
games were played till nine o'clock, and then the party broke up, after they had taken hands round the tree and sung a song written by one whom you all know, -- so faithfully and beautifully does she love and labor for children the world over.
the blessed day "what shall little children bring on christmas day, on christmas day?
what shall little children bring on christmas day in the morning?
this shall little children bring on christmas day, on christmas day; love and joy to christ their king, on christmas day in the morning!
""what shall little children sing on christmas day, on christmas day?
what shall little children sing on christmas day in the morning?
the grand old carols shall they sing on christmas day, on christmas day; with all their hearts, their offerings bring on christmas day in the morning."
jack was carried off to bed in such haste that he had only time to call out, "good-night!"
before he was rolled away, gaping as he went.
jill soon found herself tucked up in the great white bed she was to share with her mother, and lay looking about the pleasant chamber, while mrs. pecq ran home for a minute to see that all was safe there for the night.
after the merry din the house seemed very still, with only a light step now and then, the murmur of voices not far away, or the jingle of sleigh-bells from without, and the little girl rested easily among the pillows, thinking over the pleasures of the day, too wide-awake for sleep.
there was no lamp in the chamber, but she could look into the pretty bird room, where the fire-light still shone on flowery walls, deserted tree, and christ-child floating above the green.
jill's eyes wandered there and lingered till they were full of regretful tears, because the sight of the little angel recalled the words spoken when it was hung up, the good resolution she had taken then, and how soon it was broken.
""i said i could n't be bad in that lovely place, and i was a cross, ungrateful girl after all they've done for mammy and me.
poor jack was hurt the worst, and he was brave, though he did scream.
i wish i could go and tell him so, and hear him say, "all right."
oh, me, i've spoiled the day!"
a great sob choked more words, and jill was about to have a comfortable cry, when someone entered the other room, and she saw frank doing something with a long cord and a thing that looked like a tiny drum.
quiet as a bright-eyed mouse, jill peeped out wondering what it was, and suspecting mischief, for the boy was laughing to himself as he stretched the cord, and now and then bent over the little object in his hand, touching it with great care.
""may be it's a torpedo to blow up and scare me; jack likes to play tricks.
well, i'll scream loud when it goes off, so he will be satisfied that i'm dreadfully frightened," thought jill, little dreaming what the last surprise of the day was to be.
presently a voice whispered, -- "i say!
are you awake?"
""yes."
""any one there but you?"
""no."
""catch this, then.
hold it to your ear and see what you'll get."
the little drum came flying in, and, catching it, jill, with some hesitation, obeyed frank's order.
judge of her amazement when she caught in broken whispers these touching words: -- "sorry i was cross.
forgive and forget.
start fair to-morrow.
all right.
jack."
jill was so delighted with this handsome apology, that she could not reply for a moment, then steadied her voice, and answered back in her sweetest tone, -- "i'm sorry, too.
never, never, will again.
feel much better now.
good-night, you dear old thing."
satisfied with the success of his telephone, frank twitched back the drum and vanished, leaving jill to lay her cheek upon the hand that wore the little ring and fall asleep, saying to herself, with a farewell glance at the children's saint, dimly seen in the soft gloom, "i will not forget.
i will be good!"
chapter vii.
jill's mission the good times began immediately, and very little studying was done that week in spite of the virtuous resolutions made by certain young persons on christmas day.
but, dear me, how was it possible to settle down to lessons in the delightful bird room, with not only its own charms to distract one, but all the new gifts to enjoy, and a dozen calls a day to occupy one's time?
""i guess we'd better wait till the others are at school, and just go in for fun this week," said jack, who was in great spirits at the prospect of getting up, for the splints were off, and he hoped to be promoted to crutches very soon."
i shall keep my speller by me and take a look at it every day, for that is what i'm most backward in.
but i intend to devote myself to you, jack, and be real kind and useful.
i've made a plan to do it, and i mean to carry it out, any way," answered jill, who had begun to be a missionary, and felt that this was a field of labor where she could distinguish herself.
""here's a home mission all ready for you, and you can be paying your debts beside doing yourself good," mrs. pecq said to her in private, having found plenty to do herself.
now jill made one great mistake at the outset -- she forgot that she was the one to be converted to good manners and gentleness, and devoted her efforts to looking after jack, finding it much easier to cure other people's faults than her own.
jack was a most engaging heathen, and needed very little instruction; therefore jill thought her task would be an easy one.
but three or four weeks of petting and play had rather demoralized both children, so jill's speller, though tucked under the sofa pillow every day, was seldom looked at, and jack shirked his latin shamefully.
both read all the story-books they could get, held daily levees in the bird room, and all their spare minutes were spent in teaching snowdrop, the great angora cat, to bring the ball when they dropped it in their game.
so saturday came, and both were rather the worse for so much idleness, since daily duties and studies are the wholesome bread which feeds the mind better than the dyspeptic plum-cake of sensational reading, or the unsubstantial bon-bons of frivolous amusement.
it was a stormy day, so they had few callers, and devoted themselves to arranging the album; for these books were all the rage just then, and boys met to compare, discuss, buy, sell, and "swap" stamps with as much interest as men on "change gamble in stocks.
jack had a nice little collection, and had been saving up pocket-money to buy a book in which to preserve his treasures.
now, thanks to jill's timely suggestion, frank had given him a fine one, and several friends had contributed a number of rare stamps to grace the large, inviting pages.
jill wielded the gum-brush and fitted on the little flaps, as her fingers were skilful at this nice work, and jack put each stamp in its proper place with great rustling of leaves and comparing of marks.
returning, after a brief absence, mrs. minot beheld the countenances of the workers adorned with gay stamps, giving them a very curious appearance.
""my dears!
what new play have you got now?
are you wild indians?
or letters that have gone round the world before finding the right address?"
she asked, laughing at the ridiculous sight, for both were as sober as judges and deeply absorbed in some doubtful specimen.
""oh, we just stuck them there to keep them safe; they get lost if we leave them lying round.
it's very handy, for i can see in a minute what i want on jill's face and she on mine, and put our fingers on the right chap at once," answered jack, adding, with an anxious gaze at his friend's variegated countenance, "where the dickens is my new granada?
it's rare, and i would n't lose it for a dollar."
""why, there it is on your own nose.
do n't you remember you put it there because you said mine was not big enough to hold it?"
laughed jill, tweaking a large orange square off the round nose of her neighbor, causing it to wrinkle up in a droll way, as the gum made the operation slightly painful.
""so i did, and gave you little bolivar on yours.
now i'll have alsace and lorraine, 1870.
there are seven of them, so hold still and see how you like it," returned jack, picking the large, pale stamps one by one from jill's forehead, which they crossed like a band.
she bore it without flinching, saying to herself with a secret smile, as she glanced at the hot fire, which scorched her if she kept near enough to jack to help him, "this really is being like a missionary, with a tattooed savage to look after.
i have to suffer a little, as the good folks did who got speared and roasted sometimes; but i wo n't complain a bit, though my forehead smarts, my arms are tired, and one cheek is as red as fire."
""the roman states make a handsome page, do n't they?"
asked jack, little dreaming of the part he was playing in jill's mind.
""oh, i say, is n't corea a beauty?
i'm ever so proud of that;" and he gazed fondly on a big blue stamp, the sole ornament of one page.
""i do n't see why the cape of good hope has pyramids.
they ought to go in egypt.
the sandwich islands are all right, with heads of the black kings and queens on them," said jill, feeling that they were very appropriate to her private play.
""turkey has crescents, australia swans, and spain women's heads, with black bars across them.
frank says it is because they keep women shut up so; but that was only his fun.
i'd rather have a good, honest green united states, with washington on it, or a blue one-center with old franklin, than all their eagles and lions and kings and queens put together," added the democratic boy, with a disrespectful slap on a crowned head as he settled heligoland in its place.
""why does austria have mercury on the stamp, i wonder?
do they wear helmets like that?"
asked jill, with the brush-handle in her mouth as she cut a fresh batch of flaps.
""may be he was postman to the gods, so he is put on stamps now.
the prussians wear helmets, but they have spikes like the old roman fellows.
i like prussians ever so much; they fight splendidly, and always beat.
austrians have a handsome uniform, though."
""talking of romans reminds me that i have not heard your latin for two days.
come, lazybones, brace up, and let us have it now.
i've done my compo, and shall have just time before i go out for a tramp with gus," said frank, putting by a neat page to dry, for he studied every day like a conscientious lad as he was.
""do n't know it.
not going to try till next week.
grind away over your old greek as much as you like, but do n't bother me," answered jack, frowning at the mere thought of the detested lesson.
but frank adored his xenophon, and would not see his old friend, caesar, neglected without an effort to defend him; so he confiscated the gum-pot, and effectually stopped the stamp business by whisking away at one fell swoop all that lay on jill's table.
""now then, young man, you will quit this sort of nonsense and do your lesson, or you wo n't see these fellows again in a hurry.
you asked me to hear you, and i'm going to do it; here's the book."
frank's tone was the dictatorial one, which jack hated and always found hard to obey, especially when he knew he ought to do it.
usually, when his patience was tried, he strode about the room, or ran off for a race round the garden, coming back breathless, but good-tempered.
now both these vents for irritation were denied him, and he had fallen into the way of throwing things about in a pet.
he longed to send caesar to perpetual banishment in the fire blazing close by, but resisted the temptation, and answered honestly, though gruffly: "i know i did, but i do n't see any use in pouncing on a fellow when he is n't ready.
i have n't got my lesson, and do n't mean to worry about it; so you may just give me back my things and go about your business."
""i'll give you back a stamp for every perfect lesson you get, and you wo n't see them on any other terms;" and, thrusting the treasures into his pocket, frank caught up his rubber boots, and went off swinging them like a pair of clubs, feeling that he would give a trifle to be able to use them on his lazy brother.
at this high-handed proceeding, and the threat which accompanied it, jack's patience gave out, and catching up caesar, as he thought, sent him flying after the retreating tyrant with the defiant declaration, -- "keep them, then, and your old book, too!
i wo n't look at it till you give all my stamps back and say you are sorry.
so now!"
it was all over before mamma could interfere, or jill do more than clutch and cling to the gum-brush.
frank vanished unharmed, but the poor book dashed against the wall to fall half open on the floor, its gay cover loosened, and its smooth leaves crushed by the blow.
""it's the album!
o jack, how could you?"
cried jill, dismayed at sight of the precious book so maltreated by the owner.
""thought it was the other.
guess it is n't hurt much.
did n't mean to hit him, any way.
he does provoke me so," muttered jack, very red and shamefaced as his mother picked up the book and laid it silently on the table before him.
he did not know what to do with himself, and was thankful for the stamps still left him, finding great relief in making faces as he plucked them one by one from his mortified countenance.
jill looked on, half glad, half sorry that her savage showed such signs of unconverted ferocity, and mrs. minot went on writing letters, wearing the grave look her sons found harder to bear than another person's scolding.
no one spoke for a moment, and the silence was becoming awkward when gus appeared in a rubber suit, bringing a book to jack from laura and a note to jill from lotty.
""look here, you just trundle me into my den, please, i'm going to have a nap, it's so dull to-day i do n't feel like doing much," said jack, when gus had done his errands, trying to look as if he knew nothing about the fracas.
jack folded his arms and departed like a warrior borne from the battle-field, to be chaffed unmercifully for a "pepper-pot," while gus made him comfortable in his own room.
""i heard once of a boy who threw a fork at his brother and put his eye out.
but he did n't mean to, and the brother forgave him, and he never did so any more," observed jill, in a pensive tone, wishing to show that she felt all the dangers of impatience, but was sorry for the culprit.
""did the boy ever forgive himself?"
asked mrs. minot.
""no,'m; i suppose not.
but jack did n't hit frank, and feels real sorry, i know."
""he might have, and hurt him very much.
our actions are in our own hands, but the consequences of them are not.
remember that, my dear, and think twice before you do anything."
""yes,'m, i will;" and jill composed herself to consider what missionaries usually did when the natives hurled tomahawks and boomerangs at one another, and defied the rulers of the land.
mrs. minot wrote one page of a new letter, then stopped, pushed her papers about, thought a little, and finally got up, saying, as if she found it impossible to resist the yearning of her heart for the naughty boy, -- "i am going to see if jack is covered up, he is so helpless, and liable to take cold.
do n't stir till i come back."
""no,'m, i wo n't."
away went the tender parent to find her son studying caesar for dear life, and all the more amiable for the little gust which had blown away the temporary irritability.
the brothers were often called "thunder and lightning," because frank lowered and growled and was a good while clearing up, while jack's temper came and went like a flash, and the air was all the clearer for the escape of dangerous electricity.
of course mamma had to stop and deliver a little lecture, illustrated by sad tales of petulant boys, and punctuated with kisses which took off the edge of these afflicting narratives.
jill meantime meditated morally on the superiority of her own good temper over the hasty one of her dear playmate, and just when she was feeling unusually uplifted and secure, alas!
like so many of us, she fell, in the most deplorable manner.
glancing about the room for something to do, she saw a sheet of paper lying exactly out of reach, where it had fluttered from the table unperceived.
at first her eye rested on it as carelessly as it did on the stray stamp frank had dropped; then, as if one thing suggested the other, she took it into her head that the paper was frank's composition, or, better still, a note to annette, for the two corresponded when absence or weather prevented the daily meeting at school.
""would n't it be fun to keep it till he gives back jack's stamps?
it would plague him so if it was a note, and i do believe it is, for compo's do n't begin with two words on one side.
i'll get it, and jack and i will plan some way to pay him off, cross thing!"
forgetting her promise not to stir, also how dishonorable it was to read other people's letters, jill caught up the long-handled hook, often in use now, and tried to pull the paper nearer.
it would not come at once, for a seam in the carpet held it, and jill feared to tear or crumple it if she was not very careful.
the hook was rather heavy and long for her to manage, and jack usually did the fishing, so she was not very skilful; and just as she was giving a particularly quick jerk, she lost her balance, fell off the sofa, and dropped the pole with a bang.
""oh, my back!"
was all she could think or say as she felt the jar all through her little body, and a corresponding fear in her guilty little mind that someone would come and find out the double mischief she had been at.
for a moment she lay quite still to recover from the shock, then as the pain passed she began to wonder how she should get back, and looked about her to see if she could do it alone.
she thought she could, as the sofa was near and she had improved so much that she could sit up a little if the doctor would have let her.
she was gathering herself together for the effort, when, within arm's reach now, she saw the tempting paper, and seized it with glee, for in spite of her predicament she did want to tease frank.
a glance showed that it was not the composition nor a note, but the beginning of a letter from mrs. minot to her sister, and jill was about to lay it down when her own name caught her eye, and she could not resist reading it.
hard words to write of one so young, doubly hard to read, and impossible to forget.
""dear lizzie, -- jack continues to do very well, and will soon be up again.
but we begin to fear that the little girl is permanently injured in the back.
she is here, and we do our best for her; but i never look at her without thinking of lucinda snow, who, you remember, was bedridden for twenty years, owing to a fall at fifteen.
poor little janey does not know yet, and i hope" -- there it ended, and "poor little janey's" punishment for disobedience began that instant.
she thought she was getting well because she did not suffer all the time, and every one spoke cheerfully about "by and by."
now she knew the truth, and shut her eyes with a shiver as she said, low, to herself, -- "twenty years!
i could n't bear it; oh, i could n't bear it!"
a very miserable jill lay on the floor, and for a while did not care who came and found her; then the last words of the letter -- "i hope" -- seemed to shine across the blackness of the dreadful "twenty years" and cheer her up a bit, for despair never lives long in young hearts, and jill was a brave child.
""that is why mammy sighs so when she dresses me, and every one is so good to me.
perhaps mrs. minot does n't really know, after all.
she was dreadfully scared about jack, and he is getting well.
i'd like to ask doctor, but he might find out about the letter.
oh, dear, why did n't i keep still and let the horrid thing alone!"
as she thought that, jill pushed the paper away, pulled herself up, and with much painful effort managed to get back to her sofa, where she laid herself down with a groan, feeling as if the twenty years had already passed over her since she tumbled off.
""i've told a lie, for i said i would n't stir.
i've hurt my back, i've done a mean thing, and i've got paid for it.
a nice missionary i am; i'd better begin at home, as mammy told me to;" and jill groaned again, remembering her mother's words.
""now i've got another secret to keep all alone, for i'd be ashamed to tell the girls.
i guess i'll turn round and study my spelling; then no one will see my face."
jill looked the picture of a good, industrious child as she lay with her back to the large table, her book held so that nothing was to be seen but one cheek and a pair of lips moving busily.
fortunately, it is difficult for little sinners to act a part, and, even if the face is hidden, something in the body seems to betray the internal remorse and shame.
usually, jill lay flat and still; now her back was bent in a peculiar way as she leaned over her book, and one foot wagged nervously, while on the visible cheek was a spanish stamp with a woman's face looking through the black bars, very suggestively, if she had known it.
how long the minutes seemed till some one came, and what a queer little jump her heart gave when mrs. minot's voice said, cheerfully, "jack is all right, and, i declare, so is jill.
i really believe there is a telegraph still working somewhere between you two, and each knows what the other is about without words."
""i did n't have any other book handy, so i thought i'd study awhile," answered jill, feeling that she deserved no praise for her seeming industry.
she cast a sidelong glance as she spoke, and seeing that mrs. minot was looking for the letter, hid her face and lay so still she could hear the rustle of the paper as it was taken from the floor.
it was well she did not also see the quick look the lady gave her as she turned the letter and found a red stamp sticking to the under side, for this unlucky little witness told the story.
mrs. minot remembered having seen the stamp lying close to the sofa when she left the room, for she had had half a mind to take it to jack, but did not, thinking frank's plan had some advantages.
she also recollected that a paper flew off the table, but being in haste she had not stopped to see what it was.
now, the stamp and the letter could hardly have come together without hands, for they lay a yard apart, and here, also, on the unwritten portion of the page, was the mark of a small green thumb.
jill had been winding wool for a stripe in her new afghan, and the green ball lay on her sofa.
these signs suggested and confirmed what mrs. minot did not want to believe; so did the voice, attitude, and air of jill, all very unlike her usual open, alert ways.
the kind lady could easily forgive the reading of her letter since the girl had found such sad news there, but the dangers of disobedience were serious in her case, and a glance showed that she was suffering either in mind or body -- perhaps both.
""i will wait for her to tell me.
she is an honest child, and the truth will soon come out," thought mrs. minot, as she took a clean sheet, and jill tried to study.
""shall i hear your lesson, dear?
jack means to recite his like a good boy, so suppose you follow his example," she said, presently.
""i do n't know as i can say it, but i'll try."
jill did try, and got on bravely till she came to the word "permanent;" there she hesitated, remembering where she saw it last.
""do you know what that means?"
asked her teacher, thinking to help her on by defining the word.
""always -- for a great while -- or something like that; does n't it?"
faltered jill, with a tight feeling in her throat, and the color coming up, as she tried to speak easily, yet felt so shame-stricken she could not.
""are you in pain, my child?
never mind the lesson; tell me, and i'll do something for you."
the kind words, the soft hand on her hot cheek, and the pity in the eyes that looked at her, were too much for jill.
a sob came first, and then the truth, told with hidden face and tears that washed the blush away, and set free the honest little soul that could not hide its fault from such a friend.
""i knew it all before, and was sure you would tell me, else you would not be the child i love and like to help so well."
then, while she soothed jill's trouble, mrs. minot told her story and showed the letter, wishing to lessen, if possible, some part of the pain it had given.
""sly old stamp!
to go and tell on me when i meant to own up, and get some credit if i could, after being so mean and bad," said jill, smiling through her tears when she saw the tell-tale witnesses against her.
""you had better stick it in your book to remind you of the bad consequences of disobedience, then perhaps this lesson will leave a "permanent" impression on your mind and memory," answered mrs. minot, glad to see her natural gayety coming back, and hoping that she had forgotten the contents of the unfortunate letter.
but she had not; and presently, when the sad affair had been talked over and forgiven, jill asked, slowly, as she tried to put on a brave look, -- "please tell me about lucinda snow.
if i am to be like her, i might as well know how she managed to bear it so long."
""i'm sorry you ever heard of her, and yet perhaps it may help you to bear your trial, dear, which i hope will never be as heavy a one as hers.
this lucinda i knew for years, and though at first i thought her fate the saddest that could be, i came at last to see how happy she was in spite of her affliction, how good and useful and beloved."
""why, how could she be?
what did she do?"
cried jill, forgetting her own troubles to look up with an open, eager face again.
""she was so patient, other people were ashamed to complain of their small worries; so cheerful, that her own great one grew lighter; so industrious, that she made both money and friends by pretty things she worked and sold to her many visitors.
and, best of all, so wise and sweet that she seemed to get good out of everything, and make her poor room a sort of chapel where people went for comfort, counsel, and an example of a pious life.
so, you see, lucinda was not so very miserable after all."
""well, if i could not be as i was, i'd like to be a woman like that.
only, i hope i shall not!"
answered jill, thoughtfully at first, then coming out so decidedly with the last words that it was evident the life of a bedridden saint was not at all to her mind.
""so do i; and i mean to believe that you will not.
meantime, we can try to make the waiting as useful and pleasant as possible.
this painful little back will be a sort of conscience to remind you of what you ought to do and leave undone, and so you can be learning obedience.
then, when the body is strong, it will have formed a good habit to make duty easier; and my lucinda can be a sweet example, even while lying here, if she chooses."
""can i?"
and jill's eyes were full of softer tears as the comfortable, cheering words sank into her heart, to blossom slowly by and by into her life, for this was to be a long lesson, hard to learn, but very useful in the years to come.
when the boys returned, after the latin was recited and peace restored, jack showed her a recovered stamp promptly paid by frank, who was as just as he was severe, and jill asked for the old red one, though she did not tell why she wanted it, nor show it put away in the spelling-book, a little seal upon a promise made to be kept.
chapter viii.
merry and molly now let us see how the other missionaries got on with their tasks.
farmer grant was a thrifty, well-to-do man, anxious to give his children greater advantages than he had enjoyed, and to improve the fine place of which he was justly proud.
mrs. grant was a notable housewife, as ambitious and industrious as her husband, but too busy to spend any time on the elegancies of life, though always ready to help the poor and sick like a good neighbor and christian woman.
the three sons -- tom, dick, and harry -- were big fellows of seventeen, nineteen, and twenty-one; the first two on the farm, and the elder in a store just setting up for himself.
kind-hearted but rough-mannered youths, who loved merry very much, but teased her sadly about her "fine lady airs," as they called her dainty ways and love of beauty.
merry was a thoughtful girl, full of innocent fancies, refined tastes, and romantic dreams, in which no one sympathized at home, though she was the pet of the family.
it did seem, to an outsider, as if the delicate little creature had got there by mistake, for she looked very like a tea-rose in a field of clover and dandelions, whose highest aim in life was to feed cows and help make root beer.
when the girls talked over the new society, it pleased merry very much, and she decided not only to try and love work better, but to convert her family to a liking for pretty things, as she called her own more cultivated tastes.
""i will begin at once, and show them that i do n't mean to shirk my duty, though i do want to be nice," thought she, as she sat at supper one night and looked about her, planning her first move.
not a very cheering prospect for a lover of the beautiful, certainly, for the big kitchen, though as neat as wax, had nothing lovely in it, except a red geranium blooming at the window.
nor were the people all that could be desired, in some respects, as they sat about the table shovelling in pork and beans with their knives, drinking tea from their saucers, and laughing out with a hearty "haw, haw," when anything amused them.
yet the boys were handsome, strong specimens, the farmer a hale, benevolent-looking man, the housewife a pleasant, sharp-eyed matron, who seemed to find comfort in looking often at the bright face at her elbow, with the broad forehead, clear eyes, sweet mouth, and quiet voice that came like music in among the loud masculine ones, or the quick, nervous tones of a woman always in a hurry.
merry's face was so thoughtful that evening that her father observed it, for, when at home, he watched her as one watches a kitten, glad to see anything so pretty, young, and happy, at its play.
""little daughter has got something on her mind, i mistrust.
come and tell father all about it," he said, with a sounding slap on his broad knee as he turned his chair from the table to the ugly stove, where three pairs of wet boots steamed underneath, and a great kettle of cider apple-sauce simmered above.
""when i've helped clear up, i'll come and talk.
now, mother, you sit down and rest; roxy and i can do everything," answered merry, patting the old rocking-chair so invitingly that the tired woman could not resist, especially as watching the kettle gave her an excuse for obeying.
""well, i do n't care if i do, for i've been on my feet since five o'clock.
be sure you cover things up, and shut the buttery door, and put the cat down cellar, and sift your meal.
i'll see to the buckwheats last thing before i go to bed."
mrs. grant subsided with her knitting, for her hands were never idle; tom tilted his chair back against the wall and picked his teeth with his pen-knife; dick got out a little pot of grease, to make the boots water-tight; and harry sat down at the small table to look over his accounts, with an important air, -- for every one occupied this room, and the work was done in the out-kitchen behind.
merry hated clearing up, but dutifully did every distasteful task, and kept her eye on careless roxy till all was in order; then she gladly went to perch on her father's knee, seeing in all the faces about her the silent welcome they always wore for the "little one."
""yes, i do want something, but i know you will say it is silly," she began, as her father pinched her blooming cheek, with the wish that his peaches would ever look half as well.
""should n't wonder if it was a doll now;" and mr. grant stroked her head with an indulgent smile, as if she was about six instead of fifteen.
""why, father, you know i do n't!
i have n't played with dollies for years and years.
no; i want to fix up my room pretty, like jill's.
i'll do it all myself, and only want a few things, for i do n't expect it to look as nice as hers."
indignation gave merry courage to state her wishes boldly, though she knew the boys would laugh.
they did, and her mother said in a tone of surprise, -- "why, child, what more can you want?
i'm sure your room is always as neat as a new pin, thanks to your bringing up, and i told you to have a fire there whenever you wanted to."
""let me have some old things out of the garret, and i'll show you what i want.
it is neat, but so bare and ugly i hate to be there.
i do so love something pretty to look at!"
and merry gave a little shiver of disgust as she turned her eyes away from the large greasy boot dick was holding up to be sure it was well lubricated all round.
""so do i, and that's a fact.
i could n't get on without my pretty girl here, any way.
why, she touches up the old place better than a dozen flower-pots in full blow," said the farmer, as his eye went from the scarlet geranium to the bright young face so near his own.
""i wish i had a dozen in the sitting-room window.
mother says they are not tidy, but i'd keep them neat, and i know you'd like it," broke in merry, glad of the chance to get one of the long-desired wishes of her heart fulfilled.
""i'll fetch you some next time i go over to ballad's.
tell me what you want, and we'll have a posy bed somewhere round, see if we do n't," said her father, dimly understanding what she wanted.
""now, if mother says i may fix my room, i shall be satisfied, and i'll do my chores without a bit of fuss, to show how grateful i am," said the girl, thanking her father with a kiss, and smiling at her mother so wistfully that the good woman could not refuse.
""you may have anything you like out of the blue chest.
there's a lot of things there that the moths got at after grandma died, and i could n't bear to throw or give'em away.
trim up your room as you like, and mind you do n't forget your part of the bargain," answered mrs. grant, seeing profit in the plan.
""i wo n't; i'll work all the morning to-morrow, and in the afternoon i'll get ready to show you what i call a nice, pretty room," answered merry, looking so pleased it seemed as if another flower had blossomed in the large bare kitchen.
she kept her word, and the very stormy afternoon when jill got into trouble, merry was working busily at her little bower.
in the blue chest she found a variety of treasures, and ignoring the moth holes, used them to the best advantage, trying to imitate the simple comfort with a touch of elegance which prevailed in mrs. minot's back bedroom.
three faded red-moreen curtains went up at the windows over the chilly paper shades, giving a pleasant glow to the bare walls.
a red quilt with white stars, rather the worse for many washings, covered the bed, and a gay cloth the table, where a judicious arrangement of books and baskets concealed the spots.
the little air-tight stove was banished, and a pair of ancient andirons shone in the fire-light.
grandma's last and largest braided rug lay on the hearth, and her brass candlesticks adorned the bureau, over the mirror of which was festooned a white muslin skirt, tied up with merry's red sash.
this piece of elegance gave the last touch to her room, she thought, and she was very proud of it, setting forth all her small store of trinkets in a large shell, with an empty scent bottle, and a clean tidy over the pincushion.
on the walls she hung three old-fashioned pictures, which she ventured to borrow from the garret till better could be found.
one a mourning piece, with a very tall lady weeping on an urn in a grove of willows, and two small boys in knee breeches and funny little square tails to their coats, looking like cherubs in large frills.
the other was as good as a bonfire, being an eruption of vesuvius, and very lurid indeed, for the bay of naples was boiling like a pot, the red sky raining rocks, and a few distracted people lying flat upon the shore.
the third was a really pretty scene of children dancing round a may-pole, for though nearly a hundred years old, the little maids smiled and the boys pranced as gayly as if the flowers they carried were still alive and sweet.
""now i'll call them all to see, and say that it is pretty.
then i'll enjoy it, and come here when things look dismal and bare everywhere else," said merry, when at last it was done.
she had worked all the afternoon, and only finished at supper time, so the candles had to be lighted that the toilette might look its best, and impress the beholders with an idea of true elegance.
unfortunately, the fire smoked a little, and a window was set ajar to clear the room; an evil-disposed gust blew in, wafting the thin drapery within reach of the light, and when merry threw open the door proudly thinking to display her success, she was horrified to find the room in a blaze, and half her labor all in vain.
the conflagration was over in a minute, however, for the boys tore down the muslin and stamped out the fire with much laughter, while mrs. grant bewailed the damage to her carpet, and poor merry took refuge in her father's arms, refusing to be comforted in spite of his kind commendation of "grandma's fixins."
the third little missionary had the hardest time of all, and her first efforts were not much more satisfactory nor successful than the others.
her father was away from morning till night, and then had his paper to read, books to keep, or "a man to see down town," so that, after a hasty word at tea, he saw no more of the children till another evening, as they were seldom up at his early breakfast.
he thought they were well taken care of, for miss bathsheba dawes was an energetic, middle-aged spinster when she came into the family, and had been there fifteen years, so he did not observe, what a woman would have seen at once, that miss bat was getting old and careless, and everything about the house was at sixes and sevens.
she took good care of him, and thought she had done her duty if she got three comfortable meals, nursed the children when they were ill, and saw that the house did not burn up.
so maria louisa and napoleon bonaparte got on as they could, without the tender cares of a mother.
molly had been a happy-go-lucky child, contented with her pets, her freedom, and little boo to love; but now she was just beginning to see that they were not like other children, and to feel ashamed of it.
""papa is busy, but miss bat ought to see to us; she is paid for it, and goodness knows she has an easy time now, for if i ask her to do anything, she groans over her bones, and tells me young folks should wait on themselves.
i take all the care of boo off her hands, but i ca n't wash my own things, and he has n't a decent trouser to his blessed little legs.
i'd tell papa, but it would n't do any good; he'd only say, "yes, child, yes, i'll attend to it," and never do a thing."
this used to be molly's lament, when some especially trying event occurred, and if the girls were not there to condole with her, she would retire to the shed-chamber, call her nine cats about her, and, sitting in the old bushel basket, pull her hair about her ears, and scold all alone.
the cats learned to understand this habit, and nobly did their best to dispel the gloom which now and then obscured the sunshine of their little mistress.
some of them would creep into her lap and purr till the comfortable sound soothed her irritation; the sedate elders sat at her feet blinking with such wise and sympathetic faces, that she felt as if half a dozen solomons were giving her the sagest advice; while the kittens frisked about, cutting up their drollest capers till she laughed in spite of herself.
when the laugh came, the worst of the fit was over, and she soon cheered up, dismissing the consolers with a pat all round, a feast of good things from miss bat's larder, and the usual speech: -- "well, dears, it's of no use to worry.
i guess we shall get along somehow, if we do n't fret."
with which wise resolution, molly would leave her retreat and freshen up her spirits by a row on the river or a romp with boo, which always finished the case.
now, however, she was bound to try the new plan and do something toward reforming not only the boy's condition, but the disorder and discomfort of home.
""i'll play it is siam, and this the house of a native, and i'm come to show the folks how to live nicely.
miss bat wo n't know what to make of it, and i ca n't tell her, so i shall get some fun out of it, any way," thought molly, as she surveyed the dining-room the day her mission began.
the prospect was not cheering; and, if the natives of siam live in such confusion, it is high time they were attended to.
the breakfast-table still stood as it was left, with slops of coffee on the cloth; bits of bread, egg-shells, and potato-skins lay about, and one lonely sausage was cast away in the middle of a large platter.
the furniture was dusty, stove untidy, and the carpet looked as if crumbs had been scattered to chickens who declined their breakfast.
boo was sitting on the sofa, with his arm through a hole in the cover, hunting for some lost treasure put away there for safe keeping, like a little magpie as he was.
molly fancied she washed and dressed him well enough; but to-day she seemed to see more clearly, and sighed as she thought of the hard job in store for her if she gave him the thorough washing he needed, and combed out that curly mop of hair.
""i'll clear up first and do that by and by.
i ought to have a nice little tub and good towels, like mrs. minot, and i will, too, if i buy them myself," she said, piling up cups with an energy that threatened destruction to handles.
miss bat, who was trailing about the kitchen, with her head pinned up in a little plaid shawl, was so surprised by the demand for a pan of hot water and four clean towels, that she nearly dropped her snuff-box, chief comfort of her lazy soul.
""what new whimsey now?
generally, the dishes stand round till i have time to pick'em up, and you are off coasting or careering somewhere.
well, this tidy fit wo n't last long, so i may as well make the most of it," said miss bat, as she handed out the required articles, and then pushed her spectacles from the tip of her sharp nose to her sharper black eyes for a good look at the girl who stood primly before her, with a clean apron on and her hair braided up instead of flying wildly about her shoulders.
""umph!"
was all the comment that miss bat made on this unusual neatness, and she went on scraping her saucepans, while molly returned to her work, very well pleased with the effect of her first step, for she felt that the bewilderment of miss bat would be a constant inspiration to fresh efforts.
an hour of hard work produced an agreeable change in the abode of the native, for the table was cleared, room swept and dusted, fire brightened, and the holes in the sofa-covering were pinned up till time could be found to mend them.
to be sure, rolls of lint lay in corners, smears of ashes were on the stove hearth, and dust still lurked on chair rounds and table legs.
but too much must not be expected of a new convert, so the young missionary sat down to rest, well pleased and ready for another attempt as soon as she could decide in what direction it should be made.
she quailed before boo as she looked at the unconscious innocent peacefully playing with the spotted dog, now bereft of his tail, and the lone sausage with which he was attempting to feed the hungry animal, whose red mouth always gaped for more.
""it will be an awful job, and he is so happy i wo n't plague him yet.
guess i'll go and put my room to rights first, and pick up some clean clothes to put on him, if he is alive after i get through with him," thought molly, foreseeing a stormy passage for the boy, who hated a bath as much as some people hate a trip across the atlantic.
up she went, and finding the fire out felt discouraged, thought she would rest a little more, so retired under the blankets to read one of the christmas books.
the dinner-bell rang while she was still wandering happily in "nelly's silver mine," and she ran down to find that boo had laid out a railroad all across her neat room, using bits of coal for sleepers and books for rails, over which he was dragging the yellow sled laden with a dismayed kitten, the tailless dog, and the remains of the sausage, evidently on its way to the tomb, for boo took bites at it now and then, no other lunch being offered him.
""oh dear!
why ca n't boys play without making such a mess," sighed molly, picking up the feathers from the duster with which boo had been trying to make a "cocky-doo" of the hapless dog.
""i'll wash him right after dinner, and that will keep him out of mischief for a while," she thought, as the young engineer unsuspiciously proceeded to ornament his already crocky countenance with squash, cranberry sauce, and gravy, till he looked more like a fiji chief in full war-paint than a christian boy.
""i want two pails of hot water, please, miss bat, and the big tub," said molly, as the ancient handmaid emptied her fourth cup of tea, for she dined with the family, and enjoyed her own good cooking in its prime.
""what are you going to wash now?"
""boo -- i'm sure he needs it enough;" and molly could not help laughing as the victim added to his brilliant appearance by smearing the colors all together with a rub of two grimy hands, making a fine "turner" of himself.
""now, maria louisa bemis, you ai n't going to cut up no capers with that child!
the idea of a hot bath in the middle of the day, and him full of dinner, and croupy into the bargain!
wet a corner of a towel at the kettle-spout and polish him off if you like, but you wo n't risk his life in no bath-tubs this cold day."
miss bat's word was law in some things, so molly had to submit, and took boo away, saying, loftily, as she left the room, -- "i shall ask father, and do it to-night, for i will not have my brother look like a pig."
""my patience!
how the siamese do leave their things round," she exclaimed, as she surveyed her room after making up the fire and polishing off boo.
""i'll put things in order, and then mend up my rags, if i can find my thimble.
now, let me see;" and she went to exploring her closet, bureau, and table, finding such disorder everywhere that her courage nearly gave out.
she had clothes enough, but all needed care; even her best dress had two buttons off, and her sunday hat but one string.
shoes, skirts, books, and toys lay about, and her drawers were a perfect chaos of soiled ruffles, odd gloves, old ribbons, boot lacings, and bits of paper.
""oh, my heart, what a muddle!
mrs. minot would n't think much of me if she could see that," said molly, recalling how that lady once said she could judge a good deal of a little girl's character and habits by a peep at her top drawer, and went on, with great success, to guess how each of the school-mates kept her drawer.
""come, missionary, clear up, and do n't let me find such a glory-hole again, or i'll report you to the society," said molly, tipping the whole drawer-full out upon the bed, and beguiling the tiresome job by keeping up the new play.
twilight came before it was done, and a great pile of things loomed up on her table, with no visible means of repair, -- for molly's work-basket was full of nuts, and her thimble down a hole in the shed-floor, where the cats had dropped it in their play.
""i'll ask bat for hooks and tape, and papa for some money to buy scissors and things, for i do n't know where mine are.
glad i ca n't do any more now!
being neat is such hard work!"
and molly threw herself down on the rug beside the old wooden cradle in which boo was blissfully rocking, with a cargo of toys aboard.
she watched her time, and as soon as her father had done supper, she hastened to say, before he got to his desk, -- "please, papa, i want a dollar to get some brass buttons and things to fix boo's clothes with.
he wore a hole in his new trousers coasting down the kembles" steps.
and ca n't i wash him?
he needs it, and miss bat wo n't let me have a tub."
""certainly, child, certainly; do what you like, only do n't keep me.
i must be off, or i shall miss jackson, and he's the man i want;" and, throwing down two dollars instead of one, mr. bemis hurried away, with a vague impression that boo had swallowed a dozen brass buttons, and miss bat had been coasting somewhere in a bath-pan; but catching jackson was important, so he did not stop to investigate.
armed with the paternal permission, molly carried her point, and oh, what a dreadful evening poor boo spent!
first, he was decoyed upstairs an hour too soon, then put in a tub by main force and sternly scrubbed, in spite of shrieks that brought miss bat to the locked door to condole with the sufferer, scold the scrubber, and depart, darkly prophesying croup before morning.
""he always howls when he is washed; but i shall do it, since you wo n't, and he must get used to it.
i will not have people tell me he's neglected, if i can help it," cried molly, working away with tears in her eyes -- for it was as hard for her as for boo; but she meant to be thorough for once in her life, no matter what happened.
when the worst was over, she coaxed him with candy and stories till the long task of combing out the curls was safely done; then, in the clean night-gown with a blue button newly sewed on, she laid him in bed, worn out, but sweet as a rose.
""now, say your prayers, darling, and go to sleep with the nice red blanket all tucked round so you wo n't get cold," said molly, rather doubtful of the effect of the wet head.
""no, i wo n't!
going to sleep now!
" and boo shut his eyes wearily, feeling that his late trials had not left him in a prayerful mood.
""then you'll be a real little heathen, as mrs. pecq called you, and i do n't know what i shall do with you," said molly, longing to cuddle rather than scold the little fellow, whose soul needed looking after as well as his body.
""no, no; i wo n't be a heevin!
i do n't want to be frowed to the trockindiles.
i will say my prayers!
oh, i will!"
and, rising in his bed, boo did so, with the devotion of an infant samuel, for he remembered the talk when the society was formed.
molly thought her labors were over for that night, and soon went to bed, tired with her first attempts.
but toward morning she was wakened by the hoarse breathing of the boy, and was forced to patter away to miss bat's room, humbly asking for the squills, and confessing that the prophecy had come to pass.
""i knew it!
bring the child to me, and do n't fret.
i'll see to him, and next time you do as i say," was the consoling welcome she received as the old lady popped up a sleepy but anxious face in a large flannel cap, and shook the bottle with the air of a general who had routed the foe before and meant to do it again.
leaving her little responsibility in miss bat's arms, molly retired to wet her pillow with a few remorseful tears, and to fall asleep, wondering if real missionaries ever killed their pupils in the process of conversion.
so the girls all failed in the beginning; but they did not give up, and succeeded better next time, as we shall see.
chapter ix.
the debating club "look here, old man, we ought to have a meeting.
holidays are over, and we must brace up and attend to business," said frank to gus, as they strolled out of the schoolyard one afternoon in january, apparently absorbed in conversation, but in reality waiting for a blue cloud and a scarlet feather to appear on the steps.
""all right.
when, where, and what?"
asked gus, who was a man of few words.
""to-night, our house, subject, "shall girls go to college with us?"
mother said we had better be making up our minds, because every one is talking about it, and we shall have to be on one side or the other, so we may as well settle it now," answered frank, for there was an impression among the members that all vexed questions would be much helped by the united eloquence and wisdom of the club.
""very good; i'll pass the word and be there.
hullo, neddy!
the d.c. meets to-night, at minot's, seven sharp.
co-ed, & c.," added gus, losing no time, as a third boy came briskly round the corner, with a little bag in his hand.
""i'll come.
got home an hour earlier to-night, and thought i'd look you up as i went by," responded ed devlin, as he took possession of the third post, with a glance toward the schoolhouse to see if a seal-skin cap, with a long, yellow braid depending therefrom, was anywhere in sight.
""very good of you, i'm sure," said gus, ironically, not a bit deceived by this polite attention.
""the longest way round is sometimes the shortest way home, hey, ed?"
and frank gave him a playful poke that nearly sent him off his perch.
then they all laughed at some joke of their own, and gus added, "no girls coming to hear us to-night.
do n't think it, my son.
""more's the pity," and ed shook his head regretfully over the downfall of his hopes.
""ca n't help it; the other fellows say they spoil the fun, so we have to give in, sometimes, for the sake of peace and quietness.
do n't mind having them a bit myself," said frank, in such a tone of cheerful resignation that they laughed again, for the "triangle," as the three chums were called, always made merry music.
""we must have a game party next week.
the girls like that, and so do i," candidly observed gus, whose pleasant parlors were the scene of many such frolics.
""and so do your sisters and your cousins and your aunts," hummed ed, for gus was often called admiral because he really did possess three sisters, two cousins, and four aunts, besides mother and grandmother, all living in the big house together.
the boys promptly joined in the popular chorus, and other voices all about the yard took it up, for the "pinafore" epidemic raged fearfully in harmony village that winter.
""how's business?"
asked gus, when the song ended, for ed had not returned to school in the autumn, but had gone into a store in the city.
""dull; things will look up toward spring, they say.
i get on well enough, but i miss you fellows dreadfully;" and ed put a hand on the broad shoulder of each friend, as if he longed to be a school-boy again.
""better give it up and go to college with me next year," said frank, who was preparing for boston university, while gus fitted for harvard.
""no; i've chosen business, and i mean to stick to it, so do n't you unsettle my mind.
have you practised that march?"
asked ed, turning to a gayer subject, for he had his little troubles, but always looked on the bright side of things.
""skating is so good, i do n't get much time.
come early, and we'll have a turn at it."
""i will.
must run home now."
""pretty cold loafing here."
""mail is in by this time."
and with these artless excuses the three boys leaped off the posts, as if one spring moved them, as a group of girls came chattering down the path.
the blue cloud floated away beside frank, the scarlet feather marched off with the admiral, while the fur cap nodded to the gray hat as two happy faces smiled at each other.
the same thing often happened, for twice a-day the streets were full of young couples walking to and from school together, smiled at by the elders, and laughed at by the less susceptible boys and girls, who went alone or trooped along in noisy groups.
the prudent mothers had tried to stop this guileless custom, but found it very difficult, as the fathers usually sympathized with their sons, and dismissed the matter with the comfortable phrase, "never mind; boys will be boys."
""not forever," returned the anxious mammas, seeing the tall lads daily grow more manly, and the pretty daughters fast learning to look demure when certain names were mentioned.
it could not be stopped without great parental sternness and the danger of deceit, for co-education will go on outside of school if not inside, and the safest way is to let sentiment and study go hand in hand, with teachers and parents to direct and explain the great lesson all are the better for learning soon or late.
so the elders had to give in, acknowledging that this sudden readiness to go to school was a comfort, that the new sort of gentle emulation worked wonders in lazy girls and boys, and that watching these "primrose friendships" bud, blossom, and die painless deaths, gave a little touch of romance to their own work-a-day lives.
""on the whole i'd rather have my sons walking, playing, and studying with bright, well-mannered girls, than always knocking about with rough boys," said mrs. minot at one of the mothers" meetings, where the good ladies met to talk over their children, and help one another to do their duty by them.
""i find that gus is more gentle with his sisters since juliet took him in hand, for he wants to stand well with her, and they report him if he troubles them.
i really see no harm in the little friendship, though i never had any such when i was a girl," said mrs. burton, who adored her one boy and was his confidante.
""my merry seems to be contented with her brothers so far, but i should n't wonder if i had my hands full by and by," added mrs. grant, who already foresaw that her sweet little daughter would be sought after as soon as she should lengthen her skirts and turn up her bonny brown hair.
molly loo had no mother to say a word for her, but she settled matters for herself by holding fast to merry, and declaring that she would have no escort but faithful boo.
it is necessary to dwell a moment upon this new amusement, because it was not peculiar to harmony village, but appears everywhere as naturally as the game parties and croquet which have taken the place of the husking frolics and apple-bees of olden times, and it is impossible to dodge the subject if one attempts to write of boys and girls as they really are nowadays.
""here, my hero, see how you like this.
if it suits, you will be ready to march as soon as the doctor gives the word," said ralph, coming into the bird room that evening with a neat little crutch under his arm.
""ha, ha, that looks fine!
i'd like to try it right off, but i wo n't till i get leave.
did you make it yourself, ral?"
asked jack, handling it with delight, as he sat bolt upright, with his leg on a rest, for he was getting on capitally now.
""mostly.
rather a neat job, i flatter myself."
""i should say so.
what a clever fellow you are!
any new inventions lately?"
asked frank, coming up to examine and admire.
""only an anti-snoring machine and an elbow-pad," answered ralph, with a twinkle in his eye, as if reminded of something funny.
""go on, and tell about them.
i never heard of an anti-snorer.
jack better have one," said frank, interested at once.
""well, a rich old lady kept her family awake with that lively music, so she sent to shirtman and codleff for something to stop it.
they thought it was a good joke, and told me to see what i could do.
i thought it over, and got up the nicest little affair you ever saw.
it went over the mouth, and had a tube to fit the ear, so when the lady snored she woke herself up and stopped it.
it suited exactly.
i think of taking out a patent," concluded ralph, joining in the boys" laugh at the droll idea.
""what was the pad?"
asked frank, returning to the small model of an engine he was making.
""oh, that was a mere trifle for a man who had a tender elbow-joint and wanted something to protect it.
i made a little pad to fit on, and his crazy-bone was safe."
""i planned to have you make me a new leg if this one was spoilt," said jack, sure that his friend could invent anything under the sun.
""i'd do my best for you.
i made a hand for a fellow once, and that got me my place, you know," answered ralph, who thought little of such mechanical trifles, and longed to be painting portraits or modelling busts, being an artist as well as an inventor.
here gus, ed, and several other boys came in, and the conversation became general.
grif, chick, and brickbat were three young gentlemen whose own respectable names were usually ignored, and they cheerfully answered to these nicknames.
as the clock struck seven, frank, who ruled the club with a rod of iron when chairman, took his place behind the study table.
seats stood about it, and a large, shabby book lay before gus, who was secretary, and kept the records with a lavish expenditure of ink, to judge by the blots.
the members took their seats, and nearly all tilted back their chairs and put their hands in their pockets, to keep them out of mischief; for, as every one knows, it is impossible for two lads to be near each other and refrain from tickling or pinching.
frank gave three raps with an old croquet-mallet set on a short handle, and with much dignity opened the meeting.
""gentlemen, the business of the club will be attended to, and then we will discuss the question, "shall girls go to our colleges?"
the secretary will now read the report of the last meeting."
clearing his throat, gus read the following brief and elegant report: -- "club met, december 18th, at the house of g. burton, esq..
subject: "is summer or winter best fun?"
a lively pow-wow.
about evenly divided.
j. flint fined five cents for disrespect to the chair.
a collection of forty cents taken up to pay for breaking a pane of glass during a free fight of the members on the door-step.
e. devlin was chosen secretary for the coming year, and a new book contributed by the chairman."
""that's all."
""is there any other business before the meeting?"
asked frank, as the reader closed the old book with a slam and shoved the new one across the table.
ed rose, and glancing about him with an appealing look, said, as if sure his proposition would not be well received, "i wish to propose the name of a new member.
bob walker wants to join, and i think we ought to let him.
he is trying to behave well, and i am sure we could help him.
ca n't we?"
all the boys looked sober, and joe, otherwise brickbat, said, bluntly, "i wo n't.
he's a bad lot, and we do n't want any such here.
let him go with chaps of his own sort."
""that is just what i want to keep him from!
he's a good-hearted boy enough, only no one looks after him; so he gets into scrapes, as we should, if we were in his place, i dare say.
he wants to come here, and would be so proud if he was let in, i know he'd behave.
come now, let's give him a chance," and ed looked at gus and frank, sure that if they stood by him he should carry his point.
but gus shook his head, as if doubtful of the wisdom of the plan, and frank said gravely: "you know we made the rule that the number should never be over eight, and we can not break it."
""you need n't.
i ca n't be here half the time, so i will resign and let bob have my place," began ed, but he was silenced by shouts of "no, no, you sha n't!"
""we wo n't let you off!"
""club would go to smash, if you back out!"
""let him have my place; i'm the youngest, and you wo n't miss me," cried jack, bound to stand by ed at all costs.
""we might do that," said frank, who did object to small boys, though willing to admit this particular one.
""better make a new rule to have ten members, and admit both bob and tom grant," said ralph, whereat grif grinned and joe scowled, for one lad liked merry's big brother and the other did not.
""that's a good idea!
put it to vote," said gus, too kind-hearted to shut the door on any one.
""first i want to ask if all you fellows are ready to stand by bob, out of the club as well as in, for it wo n't do much good to be kind to him here and cut him at school and in the street," said ed, heartily in earnest about the matter.
""i will!"
cried jack, ready to follow where his beloved friend led, and the others nodded, unwilling to be outdone by the youngest member.
""good!
with all of us to lend a hand, we can do a great deal; and i tell you, boys, it is time, if we want to keep poor bob straight.
we all turn our backs on him, so he loafs round the tavern, and goes with fellows we do n't care to know.
but he is n't bad yet, and we can keep him up, i'm sure, if we just try.
i hope to get him into the lodge, and that will be half the battle, wo n't it, frank?"
added ed, sure that this suggestion would have weight with the honorable chairman.
""bring him along; i'm with you!"
answered frank, making up his mind at once, for he had joined the temperance lodge four years ago, and already six boys had followed his example.
""he is learning to smoke, but we'll make him drop it before it leads to worse.
you can help him there, admiral, if you only will," added ed, giving a grateful look at one friend, and turning to the other.
""i'm your man;" and gus looked as if he knew what he promised, for he had given up smoking to oblige his father, and kept his word like a hero.
""you other fellows can do a good deal by just being kind and not twitting him with old scrapes, and i'll do anything i can for you all to pay for this;" and ed sat down with a beaming smile, feeling that his cause was won.
the vote was taken, and all hands went up, for even surly joe gave in; so bob and tom were duly elected, and proved their gratitude for the honor done them by becoming worthy members of the club.
it was only boys" play now, but the kind heart and pure instincts of one lad showed the others how to lend a helping hand to a comrade in danger, and win him away from temptation to the safer pastimes of their more guarded lives.
well pleased with themselves -- for every genuine act or word, no matter how trifling it seems, leaves a sweet and strengthening influence behind -- the members settled down to the debate, which was never very long, and often only an excuse for fun of all sorts.
""ralph, gus, and ed are for, and brickbat, grif, and chick against, i suppose?"
said frank, surveying his company like a general preparing for battle.
""no, sir!
i believe in co-everything!"
cried chick, a mild youth, who loyally escorted a chosen damsel home from school every day.
a laugh greeted this bold declaration, and chick sat down, red but firm.
""i'll speak for two since the chairman ca n't, and jack wo n't go against those who pet him most to death," said joe, who, not being a favorite with the girls, considered them a nuisance and lost no opportunity of telling them so.
""fire away, then, since you are up;" commanded frank.
""well," began joe, feeling too late how much he had undertaken, "i do n't know a great deal about it, and i do n't care, but i do not believe in having girls at college.
they do n't belong there, nobody wants'em, and they'd better be at home darning their stockings."
""yours, too," put in ralph, who had heard that argument so often he was tired of it.
""of course; that's what girls are for.
i do n't mind'em at school, but i'd just as soon they had a room to themselves.
we should get on better.""
you would if mabel was n't in your class and always ahead of you," observed ed, whose friend was a fine scholar, and he very proud of the fact.
""look here, if you fellows keep interrupting, i wo n't sit down for half an hour," said joe, well knowing that eloquence was not his gift, but bound to have his say out.
deep silence reigned, for that threat quelled the most impatient member, and joe prosed on, using all the arguments he had ever heard, and paying off several old scores by sly hits of a personal nature, as older orators often do.
""it is clear to my mind that boys would get on better without any girls fooling round.
as for their being as smart as we are, it is all nonsense, for some of'em cry over their lessons every day, or go home with headaches, or get mad and scold all recess, because something "is n't fair."
no, sir; girls ai n't meant to know much, and they ca n't.
wise folks say so and i believe'em.
have n't got any sisters myself, and i do n't want any, for they do n't seem to amount to much, according to those who do have'em."
groans from gus and ed greeted the closing remarks of the ungallant joe, who sat down, feeling that he had made somebody squirm.
up jumped grif, the delight of whose life was practical jokes, which amiable weakness made him the terror of the girls, though they had no other fault to find with the merry lad.
""mr. chairman, the ground i take is this: girls have not the strength to go to college with us.
they could n't row a race, go on a lark, or take care of themselves, as we do.
they are all well enough at home, and i like them at parties, but for real fun and go i would n't give a cent for them," began grif, whose views of a collegiate life were confined to the enjoyments rather than the studies of that festive period.
""i have tried them, and they ca n't stand anything.
they scream if you tell them there is a mouse in the room, and run if they see a big dog.
i just put a cockroach in molly's desk one day, and when she opened it she jumped as if she was shot."
so did the gentlemen of the club, for at that moment half-a-dozen fire-crackers exploded under the chair grif had left, and flew wildly about the room.
order was with difficulty restored, the mischievous party summarily chastised and commanded to hold his tongue, under penalty of ejectment from the room if he spoke again.
firmly grasping that red and unruly member, grif composed himself to listen, with his nose in the air and his eyes shining like black beads.
ed was always the peace-maker, and now, when he rose with his engaging smile, his voice fell like oil upon the troubled waters, and his bright face was full of the becoming bashfulness which afflicts youths of seventeen when touching upon such subjects of newly acquired interest as girls and their pleasant but perplexing ways.
""it seems to me we have hardly considered the matter enough to be able to say much.
but i think that school would be awfully dry and dismal without -- ahem!
-- any young ladies to make it nice.
i would n't give a pin to go if there was only a crowd of fellows, though i like a good game as well as any man.
i pity any boy who has no sisters," continued ed, warming up as he thought of his own, who loved him dearly, as well they might, for a better brother never lived.
""home would n't be worth having without them to look after a fellow, to keep him out of scrapes, help him with his lessons, and make things jolly for his friends.
i tell you we ca n't do without girls, and i'm not ashamed to say that i think the more we see of them, and try to be like them in many ways, the better men we shall be by and by."
""hear!
hear!"
cried frank, in his deepest tone, for he heartily agreed to that, having talked the matter over with his mother, and received much light upon things which should always be set right in young heads and hearts.
and who can do this so wisely and well as mothers, if they only will?
feeling that his sentiments had been approved, and he need not be ashamed of the honest color in his cheeks, ed sat down amid the applause of his side, especially of jack, who pounded so vigorously with his crutch that mrs. pecq popped in her head to see if anything was wanted.
""no, thank you, ma'am, we were only cheering ed," said gus, now upon his legs, and rather at a loss what to say till mrs. pecq's appearance suggested an idea, and he seized upon it.
""my honored friend has spoken so well that i have little to add.
i agree with him, and if you want an example of what girls can do, why, look at jill.
she's young, i know, but a first-rate scholar for her age.
as for pluck, she is as brave as a boy, and almost as smart at running, rowing, and so on.
of course, she ca n't play ball -- no girl can; their arms are not made right to throw -- but she can catch remarkably well.
i'll say that for her.
now, if she and mabel -- and -- and -- some others i could name, are so clever and strong at the beginning, i do n't see why they should n't keep up and go along with us all through.
i'm willing, and will do what i can to help other fellows" sisters as i'd like to have them help mine.
and i'll punch their heads if they do n't;" and gus subsided, assured, by a burst of applause, that his manly way of stating the case met with general approval.
""we shall be happy to hear from our senior member if he will honor us with a few remarks," said frank, with a bow to ralph.
no one ever knew whom he would choose to personate, for he never spoke in his own character.
now he rose slowly, put one hand in his bosom, and fixing his eye sternly on grif, who was doing something suspicious with a pin, gave them a touch of sergeant buzfuz, from the pickwick trial, thinking that the debate was not likely to throw much light on the subject under discussion.
in the midst of this appeal to "me lud and gentlemen of the jury," he suddenly paused, smoothed his hair down upon his forehead, rolled up his eyes, and folding his hands, droned out mr. chadband's sermon on peace, delivered over poor jo, and ending with the famous lines: -- "oh, running stream of sparkling joy, to be a glorious human boy!"
then, setting his hair erect with one comprehensive sweep, he caught up his coat-skirts over his arm, and, assuming a parliamentary attitude, burst into a comical medley, composed of extracts from jefferson brick's and lafayette kettle's speeches, and elijah pogram's defiance, from "martin chuzzlewit."
gazing at gus, who was convulsed with suppressed merriment, he thundered forth: -- "in the name of our common country, sir, in the name of that righteous cause in which we are jined, and in the name of the star-spangled banner, i thank you for your eloquent and categorical remarks.
you, sir, are a model of a man fresh from natur's mould.
a true-born child of this free hemisphere; verdant as the mountains of our land; bright and flowin" as our mineral licks; unspiled by fashion as air our boundless perearers.
rough you may be; so air our barrs.
wild you may be; so air our buffalers.
but, sir, you air a child of freedom, and your proud answer to the tyrant is, that your bright home is in the settin" sun.
and, sir, if any man denies this fact, though it be the british lion himself, i defy him.
let me have him here!"
-- smiting the table, and causing the inkstand to skip -- "here, upon this sacred altar!
here, upon the ancestral ashes cemented with the glorious blood poured out like water on the plains of chickabiddy lick.
alone i dare that lion, and tell him that freedom's hand once twisted in his mane, he rolls a corse before me, and the eagles of the great republic scream, ha, ha!"
by this time the boys were rolling about in fits of laughter; even sober frank was red and breathless, and jack lay back, feebly squealing, as he could laugh no more.
in a moment ralph was as meek as a quaker, and sat looking about him with a mildly astonished air, as if inquiring the cause of such unseemly mirth.
a knock at the door produced a lull, and in came a maid with apples.
""time's up; fall to and make yourselves comfortable," was the summary way in which the club was released from its sterner duties and permitted to unbend its mighty mind for a social half-hour, chiefly devoted to whist, with an indian war-dance as a closing ceremony.
chapter x.
the dramatic club while jack was hopping gayly about on his crutches, poor jill was feeling the effects of her second fall, and instead of sitting up, as she hoped to do after six weeks of rest, she was ordered to lie on a board for two hours each day.
not an easy penance, by any means, for the board was very hard, and she could do nothing while she lay there, as it did not slope enough to permit her to read without great fatigue of both eyes and hands.
so the little martyr spent her first hour of trial in sobbing, the second in singing, for just as her mother and mrs. minot were deciding in despair that neither she nor they could bear it, jill suddenly broke out into a merry chorus she used to hear her father sing: -- "faut jouer le mirliton, faut jouer le mirlitir, faut jouer le mirliter, mir -- li -- ton."
the sound of the brave little voice was very comforting to the two mothers hovering about her, and jack said, with a look of mingled pity and admiration, as he brandished his crutch over the imaginary foes, -- "that's right!
sing away, and we'll play you are an indian captive being tormented by your enemies, and too proud to complain.
i'll watch the clock, and the minute time is up i'll rush in and rescue you."
jill laughed, but the fancy pleased her, and she straightened herself out under the gay afghan, while she sang, in a plaintive voice, another little french song her father taught her: -- "j'avais une colombe blanche, j'avais un blanc petit pigeon, tous deux volaient, de branche en branche, jusqu'au faîte de mon dongeon: mais comme un coup de vent d'automne, s'est abattu là, l'épervier, et ma colombe si mignonne ne revient plus au colombier."
""my poor jean had a fine voice, and always hoped the child would take after him.
it would break his heart to see her lying there trying to cheer her pain with the songs he used to sing her to sleep with," said mrs. pecq, sadly.
""she really has a great deal of talent, and when she is able she shall have some lessons, for music is a comfort and a pleasure, sick or well," answered mrs. minot, who had often admired the fresh voice, with its pretty accent.
here jill began the canadian boat-song, with great vigor, as if bound to play her part of indian victim with spirit, and not disgrace herself by any more crying.
all knew the air, and joined in, especially jack, who came out strong on the "row, brothers, row," but ended in a squeak on a high note, so drolly, that the rest broke down.
so the hour that began with tears ended with music and laughter, and a new pleasure to think of for the future.
after that day jill exerted all her fortitude, for she liked to have the boys call her brave and admire the cheerful way in which she endured two hours of discomfort.
she found she could use her zither as it lay upon her breast, and every day the pretty music began at a certain hour, and all in the house soon learned to love and listen for it.
even the old cook set open her kitchen door, saying pitifully, "poor darlint, hear how purty she's singin", wid the pain, on that crewel boord.
it's a little saint, she is.
may her bed above be aisy!"
frank would lift her gently on and off, with a kind word that comforted her immensely, and gentle ed would come and teach her new bits of music, while the other fellows were frolicking below.
ralph added his share to her amusement, for he asked leave to model her head in clay, and set up his work in a corner, coming to pat, scrape, and mould whenever he had a spare minute, amusing her by his lively chat, and showing her how to shape birds, rabbits, and queer faces in the soft clay, when the songs were all sung and her fingers tired of the zither.
the girls sympathized very heartily with her new trial, and brought all manner of gifts to cheer her captivity.
merry and molly made a gay screen by pasting pictures on the black cambric which covered the folding frame that stood before her to keep the draughts from her as she lay on her board.
bright birds and flowers, figures and animals, covered one side, and on the other they put mottoes, bits of poetry, anecdotes, and short stories, so that jill could lie and look or read without the trouble of holding a book.
it was not all done at once, but grew slowly, and was a source of instruction as well as amusement to them all, as they read carefully, that they might make good selections.
but the thing that pleased jill most was something jack did, for he gave up going to school, and stayed at home nearly a fortnight after he might have gone, all for her sake.
the day the doctor said he might try it if he would be very careful, he was in great spirits, and limped about, looking up his books, and planning how he would astonish his mates by the rapidity of his recovery.
when he sat down to rest he remembered jill, who had been lying quietly behind the screen, while he talked with his mother, busy putting fresh covers on the books.
""she is so still, i guess she is asleep," thought jack, peeping round the corner.
no, not asleep, but lying with her eyes fixed on the sunny window, beyond which the bright winter world sparkled after a fresh snow-fall.
the jingle of sleigh-bells could be heard, the laughter of boys and girls on their way to school, all the pleasant stir of a new day of happy work and play for the rest of the world, more lonely, quiet, and wearisome than ever to her since her friend and fellow-prisoner was set free and going to leave her.
jack understood that patient, wistful look, and, without a word, went back to his seat, staring at the fire so soberly, that his mother presently asked: "what are you thinking of so busily, with that pucker in your forehead?"
""i've about made up my mind that i wo n't go to school just yet," answered jack, slowly lifting his head, for it cost him something to give up the long-expected pleasure.
""why not?"
and mrs. minot looked much surprised, till jack pointed to the screen, and, making a sad face to express jill's anguish, answered in a cheerful tone, "well, i'm not sure that it is best.
doctor did not want me to go, but said i might because i teased.
i shall be sure to come to grief, and then every one will say," i told you so," and that is so provoking.
i'd rather keep still a week longer.
had n't i better?"
his mother smiled and nodded as she said, sewing away at much-abused old caesar, as if she loved him, "do as you think best, dear.
i always want you at home, but i do n't wonder you are rather tired of it after this long confinement."
""i say, jill, should i be in your way if i did n't go to school till the first of february?"
called jack, laughing to himself at the absurdity of the question.
""not much!"
answered a glad voice from behind the screen, and he knew the sorrowful eyes were shining with delight, though he could not see them.
""well, i guess i may as well, and get quite firm on my legs before i start.
another week or so will bring me up if i study hard, so i shall not lose my time.
i'll tackle my latin as soon as it's ready, mother."
jack got a hearty kiss with the neatly covered book, and mamma loved him for the little sacrifice more than if he had won a prize at school.
he did get a reward, for, in five minutes from the time he decided, jill was singing like a bobolink, and such a medley of merry music came from behind the screen, that it was a regular morning concert.
she did not know then that he stayed for her sake, but she found it out soon after, and when the time came did as much for him, as we shall see.
it proved a wise decision, for the last part of january was so stormy jack could not have gone half the time.
so, while the snow drifted, and bitter winds raged, he sat snugly at home amusing jill, and getting on bravely with his lessons, for frank took great pains with him to show his approbation of the little kindness, and, somehow, the memory of it seemed to make even the detested latin easier.
with february fair weather set in, and jack marched happily away to school, with jill's new mittens on his hands, mamma nodding from the door-step, and frank ready to give him a lift on the new sled, if the way proved too long or too rough.
""i shall not have time to miss him now, for we are to be very busy getting ready for the twenty-second.
the dramatic club meets to-night, and would like to come here, if they may, so i can help?"
said jill, as mrs. minot came up, expecting to find her rather low in her mind.
""certainly; and i have a basket of old finery i looked up for the club when i was rummaging out bits of silk for your blue quilt," answered the good lady, who had set up a new employment to beguile the hours of jack's absence.
when the girls arrived, that evening, they found mrs. chairwoman surrounded by a strew of theatrical properties, enjoying herself very much.
all brought such contributions as they could muster, and all were eager about a certain tableau which was to be the gem of the whole, they thought.
jill, of course, was not expected to take any part, but her taste was good, so all consulted her as they showed their old silks, laces, and flowers, asking who should be this, and who that.
all wanted to be the "sleeping beauty," for that was the chosen scene, with the slumbering court about the princess, and the prince in the act of awakening her.
jack was to be the hero, brave in his mother's velvet cape, red boots, and a real sword, while the other boys were to have parts of more or less splendor.
""mabel should be the beauty, because her hair is so lovely," said juliet, who was quite satisfied with her own part of the queen.
""no, merry ought to have it, as she is the prettiest, and has that splendid veil to wear," answered molly, who was to be the maid of honor, cuffing the little page, boo.
""i do n't care a bit, but my feather would be fine for the princess, and i do n't know as emma would like to have me lend it to any one else," said annette, waving a long white plume over her head, with girlish delight in its grace.
""i should think the white silk dress, the veil, and the feather ought to go together, with the scarlet crape shawl and these pearls.
that would be sweet, and just what princesses really wear," advised jill, who was stringing a quantity of old roman pearls.
""we all want to wear the nice things, so let us draw lots.
would n't that be the fairest way?"
asked merry, looking like a rosy little bride, under a great piece of illusion, which had done duty in many plays.
""the prince is light, so the princess must be darkish.
we ought to choose the girl who will look best, as it is a picture.
i heard miss delano say so, when the ladies got up the tableaux, last winter, and every one wanted to be cleopatra," said jill decidedly.
""you choose, and then if we ca n't agree we will draw lots," proposed susy, who, being plain, knew there was little hope of her getting a chance in any other way.
so all stood in a row, and jill, from her sofa, surveyed them critically, feeling that the one jack would really prefer was not among the number.
""i choose that one, for juliet wants to be queen, molly would make faces, and the others are too big or too light," pronounced jill, pointing to merry, who looked pleased, while mabel's face darkened, and susy gave a disdainful sniff.
""you'd better draw lots, and then there will be no fuss.
ju and i are out of the fight, but you three can try, and let this settle the matter," said molly, handing jill a long strip of paper.
all agreed to let it be so, and when the bits were ready drew in turn.
this time fate was evidently on merry's side, and no one grumbled when she showed the longest paper.
""go and dress, then come back, and we'll plan how we are to be placed before we call up the boys," commanded jill, who was manager, since she could be nothing else.
the girls retired to the bedroom and began to "rig up," as they called it; but discontent still lurked among them, and showed itself in sharp words, envious looks, and disobliging acts.
""am i to have the white silk and the feather?"
asked merry, delighted with the silvery shimmer of the one and the graceful droop of the other, though both were rather shabby.
""you can use your own dress.
i do n't see why you should have everything," answered susy, who was at the mirror, putting a wreath of scarlet flowers on her red head, bound to be gay since she could not be pretty.
""i think i'd better keep the plume, as i have n't anything else that is nice, and i'm afraid emma would n't like me to lend it," added annette, who was disappointed that mabel was not to be the beauty."
i do n't intend to act at all!"
declared mabel, beginning to braid up her hair with a jerk, out of humor with the whole affair."
i think you are a set of cross, selfish girls to back out and keep your nice things just because you ca n't all have the best part.
i'm ashamed of you!"
scolded molly, standing by merry, who was sadly surveying her mother's old purple silk, which looked like brown in the evening.
""i'm going to have miss delano's red brocade for the queen, and i shall ask her for the yellow-satin dress for merry when i go to get mine, and tell her how mean you are," said juliet, frowning under her gilt-paper crown as she swept about in a red table-cloth for train till the brocade arrived.
""perhaps you'd like to have mabel cut her hair off, so merry can have that, too?"
cried susy, with whom hair was a tender point.
""light hair is n't wanted, so ju will have to give hers, or you'd better borrow miss bat's frisette," added mabel, with a scornful laugh.
""i just wish miss bat was here to give you girls a good shaking.
do let someone else have a chance at the glass, you peacock!"
exclaimed molly loo, pushing susy aside to arrange her own blue turban, out of which she plucked the pink pompon to give merry.
""do n't quarrel about me.
i shall do well enough, and the scarlet shawl will hide my ugly dress," said merry, from the corner, where she sat waiting for her turn at the mirror.
as she spoke of the shawl her eye went in search of it, and something that she saw in the other room put her own disappointment out of her head.
jill lay there all alone, rather tired with the lively chatter, and the effort it cost her not to repine at being shut out from the great delight of dressing up and acting.
her eyes were closed, her net was off, and all the pretty black curls lay about her shoulders as one hand idly pulled them out, while the other rested on the red shawl, as if she loved its glowing color and soft texture.
she was humming to herself the little song of the dove and the donjon, and something in the plaintive voice, the solitary figure, went straight to merry's gentle heart.
""poor jilly ca n't have any of the fun," was the first thought; then came a second, that made merry start and smile, and in a minute whisper so that all but jill could hear her, "girls, i'm not going to be the princess.
but i've thought of a splendid one!"
""who?"
asked the rest, staring at one another, much surprised by this sudden announcement.
""hush!
speak low, or you will spoil it all.
look in the bird room, and tell me if that is n't a prettier princess than i could make?"
they all looked, but no one spoke, and merry added, with sweet eagerness, "it is the only thing poor jill can be, and it would make her so happy; jack would like it, and it would please every one, i know.
perhaps she will never walk again, so we ought to be very good to her, poor dear."
the last words, whispered with a little quiver in the voice, settled the matter better than hours of talking, for girls are tender-hearted creatures, and not one of these but would have gladly given all the pretty things she owned to see jill dancing about well and strong again.
like a ray of sunshine the kind thought touched and brightened every face; envy, impatience, vanity, and discontent flew away like imps at the coming of the good fairy, and with one accord they all cried, -- "it will be lovely; let us go and tell her!"
forgetting their own adornment, out they trooped after merry, who ran to the sofa, saying, with a smile which was reflected in all the other faces, "jill, dear, we have chosen another princess, and i know you'll like her."
""who is it?"
asked jill, languidly, opening her eyes without the least suspicion of the truth.
""i'll show you;" and taking the cherished veil from her own head, merry dropped it like a soft cloud over jill; annette added the long plume, susy laid the white silk dress about her, while juliet and mabel lifted the scarlet shawl to spread it over the foot of the sofa, and molly tore the last ornament from her turban, a silver star, to shine on jill's breast.
then they all took hands and danced round the couch, singing, as they laughed at her astonishment, "there she is!
there she is!
princess jill as fine as you please!
""do you really mean it?
but can i?
is it fair?
how sweet of you!
come here and let me hug you all!"
cried jill, in a rapture at the surprise, and the pretty way in which it was done.
the grand scene on the twenty-second was very fine, indeed; but the little tableau of that minute was infinitely better, though no one saw it, as jill tried to gather them all in her arms, for that nosegay of girlish faces was the sweeter, because each one had sacrificed her own little vanity to please a friend, and her joy was reflected in the eyes that sparkled round the happy princess.
""oh, you dear, kind things, to think of me and give me all your best clothes!
i never shall forget it, and i'll do anything for you.
yes!
i'll write and ask mrs. piper to lend us her ermine cloak for the king.
see if i do n't!"
shrieks of delight hailed this noble offer, for no one had dared to borrow the much-coveted mantle, but all agreed that the old lady would not refuse jill.
it was astonishing how smoothly everything went after this, for each was eager to help, admire, and suggest, in the friendliest way; and when all were dressed, the boys found a party of very gay ladies waiting for them round the couch, where lay the brightest little princess ever seen.
""oh, jack, i'm to act!
was n't it dear of the girls to choose me?
do n't they look lovely?
are n't you glad?"
cried jill, as the lads stared and the lasses blushed and smiled, well pleased at the frank admiration the boyish faces showed.
""i guess i am!
you are a set of trumps, and we'll give you a first-class spread after the play to pay for it.
wo n't we, fellows?"
answered jack, much gratified, and feeling that now he could act his own part capitally.
""we will.
it was a handsome thing to do, and we think well of you for it.
hey, gus?"
and frank nodded approvingly at all, though he looked only at annette.
""as king of this crowd, i call it to order," said gus, retiring to the throne, where juliet sat laughing in her red table-cloth.
""we'll have "the fair one with golden locks" next time; i promise you that," whispered ed to mabel, whose shining hair streamed over her blue dress like a mantle of gold-colored silk.
""girls are pretty nice things, are n't they?
kind of'em to take jill in.
do n't molly look fine, though?"
and grif's black eyes twinkled as he planned to pin her skirts to merry's at the first opportunity.
""susy looks as gay as a feather-duster.
i like her.
she never snubs a fellow," said joe, much impressed with the splendor of the court ladies.
the boys" costumes were not yet ready, but they posed well, and all had a merry time, ending with a game of blind-man's - buff, in which every one caught the right person in the most singular way, and all agreed as they went home in the moonlight that it had been an unusually jolly meeting.
so the fairy play woke the sleeping beauty that lies in all of us, and makes us lovely when we rouse it with a kiss of unselfish good-will, for, though the girls did not know it then, they had adorned themselves with pearls more precious than the waxen ones they decked their princess in.
chapter xi.
""down brakes" the greatest people have their weak points, and the best-behaved boys now and then yield to temptation and get into trouble, as everybody knows.
frank was considered a remarkably well-bred and proper lad, and rather prided himself on his good reputation, for he never got into scrapes like the other fellows.
well, hardly ever, for we must confess that at rare intervals his besetting sin overcame his prudence, and he proved himself an erring, human boy.
steam-engines had been his idols for years, and they alone could lure him from the path of virtue.
once, in trying to investigate the mechanism of a toy specimen, which had its little boiler and ran about whistling and puffing in the most delightful way, he nearly set the house afire by the sparks that dropped on the straw carpet.
another time, in trying experiments with the kitchen tea-kettle, he blew himself up, and the scars of that explosion he still carried on his hands.
he was long past such childish amusements now, but his favorite haunt was the engine-house of the new railroad, where he observed the habits of his pets with never-failing interest, and cultivated the good-will of stokers and brakemen till they allowed him many liberties, and were rather flattered by the admiration expressed for their iron horses by a young gentleman who liked them better even than his greek and latin.
there was not much business doing on this road as yet, and the two cars of the passenger-trains were often nearly empty, though full freight-trains rolled from the factory to the main road, of which this was only a branch.
so things went on in a leisurely manner, which gave frank many opportunities of pursuing his favorite pastime.
he soon knew all about no. 11, his pet engine, and had several rides on it with bill, the engineer, so that he felt at home there, and privately resolved that when he was a rich man he would have a road of his own, and run trains as often as he liked.
gus took less interest than his friend in the study of steam, but usually accompanied him when he went over after school to disport himself in the engine-house, interview the stoker, or see if there was anything new in the way of brakes.
one afternoon they found no. 11 on the side-track, puffing away as if enjoying a quiet smoke before starting.
no cars were attached, and no driver was to be seen, for bill was off with the other men behind the station-house, helping the expressman, whose horse had backed down a bank and upset the wagon.
""good chance for a look at the old lady," said frank, speaking of the engine as bill did, and jumping aboard with great satisfaction, followed by gus.
""i'd give ten dollars if i could run her up to the bend and back," he added, fondly touching the bright brass knobs and glancing at the fire with a critical eye.
""you could n't do it alone," answered gus, sitting down on the grimy little perch, willing to indulge his mate's amiable weakness.
""give me leave to try?
steam is up, and i could do it as easy as not;" and frank put his hand on the throttle-valve, as if daring gus to give the word.
""fire up and make her hum!"
laughed gus, quoting bill's frequent order to his mate, but with no idea of being obeyed.
""all right; i'll just roll her up to the switch and back again.
i've often done it with bill;" and frank cautiously opened the throttle-valve, threw back the lever, and the great thing moved with a throb and a puff.
""steady, old fellow, or you'll come to grief.
here, do n't open that!"
shouted gus, for just at that moment joe appeared at the switch, looking ready for mischief.
""wish he would; no train for twenty minutes, and we could run up to the bend as well as not," said frank, getting excited with the sense of power, as the monster obeyed his hand so entirely that it was impossible to resist prolonging the delight.
""by george, he has!
stop her!
back her!
hold on, frank!"
cried gus, as joe, only catching the words "open that!"
obeyed, without the least idea that they would dare to leave the siding.
but they did, for frank rather lost his head for a minute, and out upon the main track rolled no. 11 as quietly as a well-trained horse taking a familiar road.
""now you've done it!
i'll give you a good thrashing when i get back!"
roared gus, shaking his fist at joe, who stood staring, half-pleased, half-scared, at what he had done.
""are you really going to try it?"
asked gus, as they glided on with increasing speed, and he, too, felt the charm of such a novel adventure, though the consequences bid fair to be serious.
""yes, i am," answered frank, with the grim look he always wore when his strong will got the upper hand.
""bill will give it to us, any way, so we may as well have our fun out.
if you are afraid, i'll slow down and you can jump off," and his brown eyes sparkled with the double delight of getting his heart's desire and astonishing his friend at the same time by his skill and coolness.
""go ahead.
i'll jump when you do;" and gus calmly sat down again, bound in honor to stand by his mate till the smash came, though rather dismayed at the audacity of the prank.
""do n't you call this just splendid?"
exclaimed frank, as they rolled along over the crossing, past the bridge, toward the curve, a mile from the station.
""not bad.
they are yelling like mad after us.
better go back, if you can," said gus, who was anxiously peering out, and, in spite of his efforts to seem at ease, not enjoying the trip a particle.
""let them yell.
i started to go to the curve, and i'll do it if it costs me a hundred dollars.
no danger; there's no train under twenty minutes, i tell you," and frank pulled out his watch.
but the sun was in his eyes, and he did not see clearly, or he would have discovered that it was later than he thought.
on they went, and were just rounding the bend when a shrill whistle in front startled both boys, and drove the color out of their cheeks.
""it's the factory train!"
cried gus, in a husky tone, as he sprang to his feet.
""no; it's the five-forty on the other road," answered frank, with a queer thrill all through him at the thought of what might happen if it was not.
both looked straight ahead as the last tree glided by, and the long track lay before them, with the freight train slowly coming down.
for an instant, the boys stood as if paralyzed.
""jump!"
said gus, looking at the steep bank on one side and the river on the other, undecided which to try.
""sit still!"
commanded frank, collecting his wits, as he gave a warning whistle to retard the on-coming train, while he reversed the engine and went back faster than he came.
a crowd of angry men was waiting for them, and bill stood at the open switch in a towering passion as no. 11 returned to her place unharmed, but bearing two pale and frightened boys, who stepped slowly and silently down, without a word to say for themselves, while the freight train rumbled by on the main track.
frank and gus never had a very clear idea as to what occurred during the next few minutes, but vaguely remembered being well shaken, sworn at, questioned, threatened with direful penalties, and finally ordered off the premises forever by the wrathful depot-master.
joe was nowhere to be seen, and as the two culprits walked away, trying to go steadily, while their heads spun round, and all the strength seemed to have departed from their legs, frank said, in an exhausted tone, -- "come down to the boat-house and rest a minute."
both were glad to get out of sight, and dropped upon the steps red, rumpled, and breathless, after the late exciting scene.
gus generously forebore to speak, though he felt that he was the least to blame; and frank, after eating a bit of snow to moisten his dry lips, said, handsomely, -- "now, do n't you worry, old man.
i'll pay the damages, for it was my fault.
joe will dodge, but i wo n't, so make your mind easy.
""we sha'n' t hear the last of this in a hurry," responded gus, relieved, yet anxious, as he thought of the reprimand his father would give him.
""i hope mother wo n't hear of it till i tell her quietly myself.
she will be so frightened, and think i'm surely smashed up, if she is told in a hurry;" and frank gave a shiver, as all the danger he had run came over him suddenly.
""i thought we were done for when we saw that train.
guess we should have been if you had not had your wits about you.
i always said you were a cool one;" and gus patted frank's back with a look of great admiration, for, now that it was all over, he considered it a very remarkable performance.
""which do you suppose it will be, fine or imprisonment?"
asked frank, after sitting in a despondent attitude for a moment.
""should n't wonder if it was both.
running off with an engine is no joke, you know."
""what did possess me to be such a fool?"
groaned frank, repenting, all too late, of yielding to the temptation which assailed him.
""bear up, old fellow, i'll stand by you; and if the worst comes, i'll call as often as the rules of the prison allow," said gus, consolingly, as he gave his afflicted friend an arm, and they walked away, both feeling that they were marked men from that day forth.
meantime, joe, as soon as he recovered from the shock of seeing the boys actually go off, ran away, as fast as his legs could carry him, to prepare mrs. minot for the loss of her son; for the idea of their coming safely back never occurred to him, his knowledge of engines being limited.
a loud ring at the bell brought mrs. pecq, who was guarding the house, while mrs. minot entertained a parlor full of company.
""frank's run off with no. 11, and he'll be killed sure.
thought i'd come up and tell you," stammered joe, all out of breath and looking wild.
he got no further, for mrs. pecq clapped one hand over his mouth, caught him by the collar with the other, and hustled him into the ante-room before any one else could hear the bad news.
""tell me all about it, and do n't shout.
what's come to the boy?"
she demanded, in a tone that reduced joe to a whisper at once.
""go right back and see what has happened to him, then come and tell me quietly.
i'll wait for you here.
i would n't have his mother startled for the world," said the good soul, when she knew all.
""oh, i dar "s n't!
i opened the switch as they told me to, and bill will half kill me when he knows it!"
cried joe, in a panic, as the awful consequences of his deed rose before him, showing both boys mortally injured and several trains wrecked.
""then take yourself off home and hold your tongue.
i'll watch the door, for i wo n't have any more ridiculous boys tearing in to disturb my lady."
mrs. pecq often called this good neighbor "my lady" when speaking of her, for mrs. minot was a true gentlewoman, and much pleasanter to live with than the titled mistress had been.
joe scudded away as if the constable was after him, and presently frank was seen slowly approaching with an unusually sober face and a pair of very dirty hands.
""thank heaven, he's safe!"
and, softly opening the door, mrs. pecq actually hustled the young master into the ante-room as unceremoniously as she had hustled joe.
""i beg pardon, but the parlor is full of company, and that fool of a joe came roaring in with a cock-and-bull story that gave me quite a turn.
what is it, mr. frank?"
she asked eagerly, seeing that something was amiss.
he told her in a few words, and she was much relieved to find that no harm had been done.
""ah, the danger is to come," said frank, darkly, as he went away to wash his hands and prepare to relate his misdeeds.
it was a very bad quarter of an hour for the poor fellow, who so seldom had any grave faults to confess; but he did it manfully, and his mother was so grateful for the safety of her boy that she found it difficult to be severe enough, and contented herself with forbidding any more visits to the too charming no. 11.
""what do you suppose will be done to me?"
asked frank, on whom the idea of imprisonment had made a deep impression.
""i do n't know, dear, but i shall go over to see mr. burton right after tea.
he will tell us what to do and what to expect.
gus must not suffer for your fault."
""he'll come off clear enough, but joe must take his share, for if he had n't opened that confounded switch, no harm would have been done.
but when i saw the way clear, i actually could n't resist going ahead," said frank, getting excited again at the memory of that blissful moment when he started the engine.
here jack came hurrying in, having heard the news, and refused to believe it from any lips but frank's.
when he could no longer doubt, he was so much impressed with the daring of the deed that he had nothing but admiration for his brother, till a sudden thought made him clap his hands and exclaim exultingly, -- "his runaway beats mine all hollow, and now he ca n't crow over me!
wo n't that be a comfort?
the good boy has got into a scrape.
hooray!"
this was such a droll way of taking it, that they had to laugh; and frank took his humiliation so meekly that jack soon fell to comforting him, instead of crowing over him.
jill thought it a most interesting event; and, when frank and his mother went over to consult mr. burton, she and jack planned out for the dear culprit a dramatic trial which would have convulsed the soberest of judges.
his sentence was ten years" imprisonment, and such heavy fines that the family would have been reduced to beggary but for the sums made by jill's fancy work and jack's success as a champion pedestrian.
they found such comfort and amusement in this sensational programme that they were rather disappointed when frank returned, reporting that a fine would probably be all the penalty exacted, as no harm had been done, and he and gus were such respectable boys.
what would happen to joe, he could not tell, but he thought a good whipping ought to be added to his share.
of course, the affair made a stir in the little world of children; and when frank went to school, feeling that his character for good behavior was forever damaged, he found himself a lion, and was in danger of being spoiled by the admiration of his comrades, who pointed him out with pride as "the fellow who ran off with a steam-engine."
but an interview with judge kemble, a fine of twenty-five dollars, and lectures from all the grown people of his acquaintance, prevented him from regarding his escapade as a feat to boast of.
he discovered, also, how fickle a thing is public favor, for very soon those who had praised began to tease, and it took all his courage, patience, and pride to carry him through the next week or two.
the lads were never tired of alluding to no. 11, giving shrill whistles in his ear, asking if his watch was right, and drawing locomotives on the blackboard whenever they got a chance.
the girls, too, had sly nods and smiles, hints and jokes of a milder sort, which made him color and fume, and once lose his dignity entirely.
molly loo, who dearly loved to torment the big boys, and dared attack even solemn frank, left one of boo's old tin trains on the door-step, directed to "conductor minot," who, i regret to say, could not refrain from kicking it into the street, and slamming the door with a bang that shook the house.
shrieks of laughter from wicked molly and her coadjutor, grif, greeted this explosion of wrath, which did no good, however, for half an hour later the same cars, all in a heap, were on the steps again, with two headless dolls tumbling out of the cab, and the dilapidated engine labelled, "no. 11 after the collision."
no one ever saw that ruin again, and for days frank was utterly unconscious of molly's existence, as propriety forbade his having it out with her as he had with grif.
then annette made peace between them, and the approach of the twenty-second gave the wags something else to think of.
but it was long before frank forgot that costly prank; for he was a thoughtful boy, who honestly wanted to be good; so he remembered this episode humbly, and whenever he felt the approach of temptation he made the strong will master it, saying to himself "down brakes!"
thus saving the precious freight he carried from many of the accidents which befall us when we try to run our trains without orders, and so often wreck ourselves as well as others.
chapter xii.
the twenty-second of february of course, the young ladies and gentlemen had a ball on the evening of that day, but the boys and girls were full of excitement about their "scenes from the life of washington and other brilliant tableaux," as the programme announced.
the bird room was the theatre, being very large, with four doors conveniently placed.
ralph was in his element, putting up a little stage, drilling boys, arranging groups, and uniting in himself carpenter, scene-painter, manager, and gas man.
mrs. minot permitted the house to be turned topsy-turvy, and mrs. pecq flew about, lending a hand everywhere.
jill was costumer, with help from miss delano, who did not care for balls, and kindly took charge of the girls.
jack printed tickets, programmes, and placards of the most imposing sort, and the work went gayly on till all was ready.
when the evening came, the bird room presented a fine appearance.
one end was curtained off with red drapery; and real footlights, with tin shades, gave a truly theatrical air to the little stage.
rows of chairs, filled with mammas and little people, occupied the rest of the space.
the hall and frank's room were full of amused papas, uncles, and old gentlemen whose patriotism brought them out in spite of rheumatism.
there was a great rustling of skirts, fluttering of fans, and much lively chat, till a bell rang and the orchestra struck up.
yes, there really was an orchestra, for ed declared that the national airs must be played, or the whole thing would be a failure.
so he had exerted himself to collect all the musical talent he could find, a horn, a fiddle, and a flute, with drum and fife for the martial scenes.
ed looked more beaming than ever, as he waved his baton and led off with yankee doodle as a safe beginning, for every one knew that.
it was fun to see little johnny cooper bang away on a big drum, and old mr. munson, who had been a fifer all his days, blow till he was as red as a lobster, while every one kept time to the music which put them all in good spirits for the opening scene.
up went the curtain and several trees in tubs appeared, then a stately gentleman in small clothes, cocked hat, gray wig, and an imposing cane, came slowly walking in.
it was gus, who had been unanimously chosen not only for washington but for the father of the hero also, that the family traits of long legs and a somewhat massive nose might be preserved.
""ahem!
my trees are doing finely," observed mr. w., senior, strolling along with his hands behind him, casting satisfied glances at the dwarf orange, oleander, abutilon, and little pine that represented his orchard.
suddenly he starts, pauses, frowns, and, after examining the latter shrub, which displayed several hacks in its stem and a broken limb with six red-velvet cherries hanging on it, he gave a thump with his cane that made the little ones jump, and cried out, -- "can it have been my son?"
he evidently thought it was, for he called, in tones of thunder, -- "george!
george washington, come hither this moment!"
great suspense on the part of the audience, then a general burst of laughter as boo trotted in, a perfect miniature of his honored parent, knee breeches, cocked hat, shoe buckles and all.
he was so fat that the little tails of his coat stuck out in the drollest way, his chubby legs could hardly carry the big buckles, and the rosy face displayed, when he took his hat off with a dutiful bow, was so solemn, the real george could not have looked more anxious when he gave the immortal answer.
""sirrah, did you cut that tree?"
demanded the papa, with another rap of the cane, and such a frown that poor boo looked dismayed, till molly whispered, "put your hand up, dear."
then he remembered his part, and, putting one finger in his mouth, looked down at his square-toed shoes, the image of a shame-stricken boy.
""my son, do not deceive me.
if you have done this deed i shall chastise you, for it is my duty not to spare the rod, lest i spoil the child.
but if you lie about it you disgrace the name of washington forever."
this appeal seemed to convulse george with inward agony, for he squirmed most effectively as he drew from his pocket a toy hatchet, which would not have cut a straw, then looking straight up into the awe-inspiring countenance of his parent, he bravely lisped, -- "papa, i tannot tell a lie.
i did tut it with my little hanchet."
""noble boy -- come to my arms!
i had rather you spoilt all my cherry trees than tell one lie!"
cried the delighted gentleman, catching his son in an embrace so close that the fat legs kicked convulsively, and the little coat-tails waved in the breeze, while cane and hatchet fell with a dramatic bang.
the curtain descended on this affecting tableau; but the audience called out both washingtons, and they came, hand in hand, bowing with the cocked hats pressed to their breasts, the elder smiling blandly, while the younger, still flushed by his exertions, nodded to his friends, asking, with engaging frankness, "was n't it nice?"
the next was a marine piece, for a boat was seen, surrounded by tumultuous waves of blue cambric, and rowed by a party of stalwart men in regimentals, who with difficulty kept their seats, for the boat was only a painted board, and they sat on boxes or stools behind it.
but few marked the rowers, for in their midst, tall, straight, and steadfast as a mast, stood one figure in a cloak, with folded arms, high boots, and, under the turned-up hat, a noble countenance, stern with indomitable courage.
a sword glittered at his side, and a banner waved over him, but his eye was fixed on the distant shore, and he was evidently unconscious of the roaring billows, the blocks of ice, the discouragement of his men, or the danger and death that might await him.
napoleon crossing the alps was not half so sublime, and with one voice the audience cried, "washington crossing the delaware!"
while the band burst forth with, "see, the conquering hero comes!"
all out of tune, but bound to play it or die in the attempt.
it would have been very successful if, all of a sudden, one of the rowers had not "caught a crab" with disastrous consequences.
the oars were not moving, but a veteran, who looked very much like joe, dropped the one he held, and in trying to turn and pummel the black-eyed warrior behind him, he tumbled off his seat, upsetting two other men, and pulling the painted boat upon them as they lay kicking in the cambric deep.
shouts of laughter greeted this mishap, but george washington never stirred.
grasping the banner, he stood firm when all else went down in the general wreck, and the icy waves engulfed his gallant crew, leaving him erect amid a chaos of wildly tossing boots, entangled oars, and red-faced victims.
such god-like dignity could not fail to impress the frivolous crowd of laughers, and the curtain fell amid a round of applause for him alone.
""quite exciting, was n't it?
did n't know gus had so much presence of mind," said mr. burton, well pleased with his boy.
""if we did not know that washington died in his bed, december 14, 1799, i should fear that we'd seen the last of him in that shipwreck," laughed an old gentleman, proud of his memory for dates.
much confusion reigned behind the scenes; ralph was heard scolding, and joe set every one off again by explaining, audibly, that grif tickled him, and he could n't stand it.
a pretty, old-fashioned picture of the "daughters of liberty" followed, for the girls were determined to do honor to the brave and patient women who so nobly bore their part in the struggle, yet are usually forgotten when those days are celebrated.
the damsels were charming in the big caps, flowered gowns, and high-heeled shoes of their great-grandmothers, as they sat about a spider-legged table talking over the tax, and pledging themselves to drink no more tea till it was taken off.
molly was on her feet proposing, "liberty forever, and down with all tyrants," to judge from her flashing eyes as she held her egg-shell cup aloft, while the others lifted theirs to drink the toast, and merry, as hostess, sat with her hand on an antique teapot, labelled "sage," ready to fill again when the patriotic ladies were ready for a second "dish."
this was much applauded, and the curtain went up again, for the proud parents enjoyed seeing their pretty girls in the faded finery of a hundred years ago.
the band played "auld lang syne," as a gentle hint that our fore-mothers should be remembered as well as the fore-fathers.
it was evident that something very martial was to follow, for a great tramping, clashing, and flying about took place behind the scenes while the tea-party was going on.
after some delay, "the surrender of cornwallis" was presented in the most superb manner, as you can believe when i tell you that the stage was actually lined with a glittering array of washington and his generals, lafayette, kosciusko, rochambeau and the rest, all in astonishing uniforms, with swords which were evidently the pride of their lives.
fife and drum struck up a march, and in came cornwallis, much cast down but full of manly resignation, as he surrendered his sword, and stood aside with averted eyes while his army marched past, piling their arms at the hero's feet.
this scene was the delight of the boys, for the rifles of company f had been secured, and at least a dozen soldiers kept filing in and out in british uniform till washington's august legs were hidden by the heaps of arms rattled down before him.
the martial music, the steady tramp, and the patriotic memories awakened, caused this scene to be enthusiastically encored, and the boys would have gone on marching till midnight if ralph had not peremptorily ordered down the curtain and cleared the stage for the next tableau.
this had been artfully slipped in between two brilliant ones, to show that the father of his country had to pay a high price for his glory.
the darkened stage represented what seemed to be a camp in a snow-storm, and a very forlorn camp, too; for on "the cold, cold ground" -lrb- a reckless display of cotton batting -rrb- lay ragged soldiers, sleeping without blankets, their worn-out boots turned up pathetically, and no sign of food or fire to be seen.
a very shabby sentinel, with feet bound in bloody cloths, and his face as pale as chalk could make it, gnawed a dry crust as he kept his watch in the wintry night.
a tent at the back of the stage showed a solitary figure sitting on a log of wood, poring over the map spread upon his knee, by the light of one candle stuck in a bottle.
there could be no doubt who this was, for the buff-and-blue coat, the legs, the nose, the attitude, all betrayed the great george laboring to save his country, in spite of privations, discouragements, and dangers which would have daunted any other man.
""valley forge," said someone, and the room was very still as old and young looked silently at this little picture of a great and noble struggle in one of its dark hours.
the crust, the wounded feet, the rags, the snow, the loneliness, the indomitable courage and endurance of these men touched the hearts of all, for the mimic scene grew real for a moment; and, when a child's voice broke the silence, asking pitifully, "oh, mamma, was it truly as dreadful as that?"
a general outburst answered, as if every one wanted to cheer up the brave fellows and bid them fight on, for victory was surely coming.
in the next scene it did come, and "washington at trenton" was prettily done.
an arch of flowers crossed the stage, with the motto, "the defender of the mothers will be the preserver of the daughters;" and, as the hero with his generals advanced on one side, a troop of girls, in old-fashioned muslin frocks, came to scatter flowers before him, singing the song of long ago: -- "welcome, mighty chief, once more welcome to this grateful shore; now no mercenary foe aims again the fatal blow, -- aims at thee the fatal blow.
""virgins fair and matrons grave, those thy conquering arm did save, build for thee triumphal bowers; strew, ye fair, his way with flowers, -- strew your hero's way with flowers."
and they did, singing with all their hearts as they flung artificial roses and lilies at the feet of the great men, who bowed with benign grace.
jack, who did lafayette with a limp, covered himself with glory by picking up one of the bouquets and pressing it to his heart with all the gallantry of a frenchman; and when washington lifted the smallest of the maids and kissed her, the audience cheered.
could n't help it, you know, it was so pretty and inspiring.
the washington family, after the famous picture, came next, with annette as the serene and sensible martha, in a very becoming cap.
the general was in uniform, there being no time to change, but his attitude was quite correct, and the custis boy and girl displayed the wide sash and ruffled collar with historic fidelity.
the band played "home," and every one agreed that it was "sweet!"
""now i do n't see what more they can have except the death-bed, and that would be rather out of place in this gay company," said the old gentleman to mr. burton, as he mopped his heated face after pounding so heartily he nearly knocked the ferule off his cane.
""no; they gave that up, for my boy would n't wear a night-gown in public.
i ca n't tell secrets, but i think they have got a very clever little finale for the first part -- a pretty compliment to one person and a pleasant surprise to all," answered mr. burton, who was in great spirits, being fond of theatricals and very justly proud of his children, for the little girls had been among the trenton maids, and the mimic general had kissed his own small sister, nelly, very tenderly.
a great deal of interest was felt as to what this surprise was to be, and a general "oh!"
greeted the "minute man," standing motionless upon his pedestal.
it was frank, and ralph had done his best to have the figure as perfect as possible, for the maker of the original had been a good friend to him; and, while the young sculptor was dancing gayly at the ball, this copy of his work was doing him honor among the children.
frank looked it very well, for his firm-set mouth was full of resolution, his eyes shone keen and courageous under the three-cornered hat, and the muscles stood out upon the bare arm that clutched the old gun.
even the buttons on the gaiters seemed to flash defiance, as the sturdy legs took the first step from the furrow toward the bridge where the young farmer became a hero when he "fired the shot heard "round the world."
""that is splendid!"
""as like to the original as flesh can be to bronze."
""how still he stands!"
""he'll fight when the time comes, and die hard, wo n't he?"
""hush!
you make the statue blush!"
these very audible remarks certainly did, for the color rose visibly as the modest lad heard himself praised, though he saw but one face in all the crowd, his mother's, far back, but full of love and pride, as she looked up at her young minute man waiting for the battle which often calls us when we least expect it, and for which she had done her best to make him ready.
if there had been any danger of frank being puffed up by the success of his statue, it was counteracted by irrepressible grif, who, just at the most interesting moment, when all were gazing silently, gave a whistle, followed by a "choo, choo, choo!"
and "all aboard!"
so naturally that no one could mistake the joke, especially as another laughing voice added, "now, then, no. 11!"
which brought down the house and the curtain too.
frank was so angry, it was very difficult to keep him on his perch for the last scene of all.
he submitted, however, rather than spoil the grand finale, hoping that its beauty would efface that ill-timed pleasantry from the public mind.
so, when the agreeable clamor of hands and voices called for a repetition, the minute man reappeared, grimmer than before.
but not alone, for grouped all about his pedestal were washington and his generals, the matrons and maids, with a background of troops shouldering arms, grif and joe doing such rash things with their muskets, that more than one hero received a poke in his august back.
before the full richness of this picture had been taken in, ed gave a rap, and all burst out with "hail columbia," in such an inspiring style that it was impossible for the audience to refrain from joining, which they did, all standing and all singing with a heartiness that made the walls ring.
the fife shrilled, the horn blew sweet and clear, the fiddle was nearly drowned by the energetic boom of the drum, and out into the starry night, through open windows, rolled the song that stirs the coldest heart with patriotic warmth and tunes every voice to music."
"america!"
we must have "america!"
pipe up, ed, this is too good to end without one song more," cried mr. burton, who had been singing like a trumpet; and, hardly waiting to get their breath, off they all went again with the national hymn, singing as they never had sung it before, for somehow the little scenes they had just acted or beheld seemed to show how much this dear america of ours had cost in more than one revolution, how full of courage, energy, and virtue it was in spite of all its faults, and what a privilege, as well as duty, it was for each to do his part toward its safety and its honor in the present, as did those brave men and women in the past.
so the "scenes from the life of washington" were a great success, and, when the songs were over, people were glad of a brief recess while they had raptures, and refreshed themselves with lemonade.
the girls had kept the secret of who the "princess" was to be, and, when the curtain rose, a hum of surprise and pleasure greeted the pretty group.
jill lay asleep in all her splendor, the bonny "prince" just lifting the veil to wake her with a kiss, and all about them the court in its nap of a hundred years.
the "king" and "queen" dozing comfortably on the throne; the maids of honor, like a garland of nodding flowers, about the couch; the little page, unconscious of the blow about to fall, and the fool dreaming, with his mouth wide open.
it was so pretty, people did not tire of looking, till jack's lame leg began to tremble, and he whispered: "drop her or i shall pitch."
down went the curtain; but it rose in a moment, and there was the court after the awakening: the "king" and "queen" looking about them with sleepy dignity, the maids in various attitudes of surprise, the fool grinning from ear to ear, and the "princess" holding out her hand to the "prince," as if glad to welcome the right lover when he came at last.
molly got the laugh this time, for she could not resist giving poor boo the cuff which had been hanging over him so long.
she gave it with unconscious energy, and boo cried "ow!"
so naturally that all the children were delighted and wanted it repeated.
but boo declined, and the scenes which followed were found quite as much to their taste, having been expressly prepared for the little people.
mother goose's reception was really very funny, for ralph was the old lady, and had hired a representation of the immortal bird from a real theatre for this occasion.
there they stood, the dame in her pointed hat, red petticoat, cap, and cane, with the noble fowl, a good deal larger than life, beside her, and grif inside, enjoying himself immensely as he flapped the wings, moved the yellow legs, and waved the long neck about, while unearthly quacks issued from the bill.
that was a great surprise for the children, and they got up in their seats to gaze their fill, many of them firmly believing that they actually beheld the blessed old woman who wrote the nursery songs they loved so well.
then in came, one after another, the best of the characters she has made famous, while a voice behind the scenes sang the proper rhyme as each made their manners to the interesting pair.
""mistress mary," and her "pretty maids all in a row," passed by to their places in the background; "king cole" and his "fiddlers three" made a goodly show; so did the royal couple, who followed the great pie borne before them, with the "four-and-twenty blackbirds" popping their heads out in the most delightful way.
little "bo-peep" led a woolly lamb and wept over its lost tail, for not a sign of one appeared on the poor thing.
""simple simon" followed the pie-man, gloating over his wares with the drollest antics.
the little wife came trundling by in a wheelbarrow and was not upset; neither was the lady with "rings on her fingers and bells on her toes," as she cantered along on a rocking-horse.
""bobby shafto's" yellow hair shone finely as he led in the maid whom he came back from sea to marry.
""miss muffet," bowl in hand, ran away from an immense black spider, which waggled its long legs in a way so life-like that some of the children shook in their little shoes.
the beggars who came to town were out in full force, "rags, tags, and velvet gowns," quite true to life.
""boy blue" rubbed his eyes, with hay sticking in his hair, and tooted on a tin horn as if bound to get the cows out of the corn.
molly, with a long-handled frying-pan, made a capital "queen," in a tucked-up gown, checked apron, and high crown, to good "king arthur," who, very properly, did not appear after stealing the barley-meal, which might be seen in the pan tied up in a pudding, like a cannon-ball, ready to fry.
but tobias, molly's black cat, covered himself with glory by the spirit with which he acted his part in, "sing, sing, what shall i sing?
the cat's run away with the pudding-bag string."
first he was led across the stage on his hind legs, looking very fierce and indignant, with a long tape trailing behind him; and, being set free at the proper moment, he gave one bound over the four-and-twenty blackbirds who happened to be in the way, and dashed off as if an enraged cook had actually been after him, straight downstairs to the coal-bin, where he sat glaring in the dark, till the fun was over.
when all the characters had filed in and stood in two long rows, music struck up and they danced, "all the way to boston," a simple but lively affair, which gave each a chance to show his or her costume as they pranced down the middle and up outside.
such a funny medley as it was, for there went fat "king cole" with the most ragged of the beggar-maids.
""mistress mary," in her pretty blue dress, tripped along with "simple simon" staring about him like a blockhead.
the fine lady left her horse to dance with "bobby shafto" till every bell on her slippers tinkled its tongue out.
""bo-peep" and a jolly fiddler skipped gayly up and down.
""miss muffet" took the big spider for her partner, and made his many legs fly about in the wildest way.
the little wife got out of the wheelbarrow to help "boy blue" along, and molly, with the frying-pan over her shoulder, led off splendidly when it was "grand right and left."
but the old lady and her goose were the best of all, for the dame's shoe-buckles cut the most astonishing pigeon-wings, and to see that mammoth bird waddle down the middle with its wings half open, its long neck bridling, and its yellow legs in the first position as it curtsied to its partner, was a sight to remember, it was so intensely funny.
the merry old gentleman laughed till he cried; mr. burton split his gloves, he applauded so enthusiastically; while the children beat the dust out of the carpet hopping up and down, as they cried: "do it again!"
""we want it all over!"
when the curtain went down at last on the flushed and panting party, mother g -- bowing, with her hat all awry, and the goose doing a double shuffle as if it did not know how to leave off.
but they could not "do it all over again," for it was growing late, and the people felt that they certainly had received their money's worth that evening.
so it all ended merrily, and when the guests departed the boys cleared the room like magic, and the promised supper to the actors was served in handsome style.
jack and jill were at one end, mrs. goose and her bird at the other, and all between was a comical collection of military heroes, fairy characters, and nursery celebrities.
all felt the need of refreshment after their labors, and swept over the table like a flight of locusts, leaving devastation behind.
but they had earned their fun: and much innocent jollity prevailed, while a few lingering papas and mammas watched the revel from afar, and had not the heart to order these noble beings home till even the father of his country declared "that he'd had a perfectly splendid time, but could n't keep his eyes open another minute," and very wisely retired to replace the immortal cocked hat with a night-cap.
chapter xiii.
jack has a mystery "what is the matter?
does your head ache?"
asked jill, one evening in march, observing that jack sat with his head in his hands, an attitude which, with him, meant either pain or perplexity.
""no; but i'm bothered.
i want some money, and i do n't see how i can earn it," he answered, tumbling his hair about, and frowning darkly at the fire.
""how much?"
and jill's ready hand went to the pocket where her little purse lay, for she felt rich with several presents lately made her.
""two seventy-five.
no, thank you, i wo n't borrow."
""what is it for?"
""ca n't tell."
""why, i thought you told me everything."
""sorry, but i ca n't this time.
do n't you worry; i shall think of something."
""could n't your mother help?"
""do n't wish to ask her."
""why!
ca n't she know?"
""nobody can."
""how queer!
is it a scrape, jack?"
asked jill, looking as curious as a magpie.
""it is likely to be, if i ca n't get out of it this week, somehow."
""well, i do n't see how i can help if i'm not to know anything;" and jill seemed rather hurt.
""you can just stop asking questions, and tell me how a fellow can earn some money.
that would help.
i've got one dollar, but i must have some more;" and jack looked worried as he fingered the little gold dollar on his watch-guard.
""oh, do you mean to use that?"
""yes, i do; a man must pay his debts if he sells all he has to do it," said jack sternly.
""dear me; it must be something very serious."
and jill lay quite still for five minutes, thinking over all the ways in which jack ever did earn money, for mrs. minot liked to have her boys work, and paid them in some way for all they did.
""is there any wood to saw?"
she asked presently, being very anxious to help.
""all done."
""paths to shovel?"
""no snow."
""lawn to rake, then?"
""not time for that yet."
""catalogue of books?"
""frank got that job."
""copy those letters for your mother?"
""take me too long.
must have my money friday, if possible."
""i do n't see what we can do, then.
it is too early or too late for everything, and you wo n't borrow."
""not of you.
no, nor of any one else, if i can possibly help it.
i've promised to do this myself, and i will;" and jack wagged his head resolutely.
""could n't you do something with the printing-press?
do me some cards, and then, perhaps, the other girls will want some," said jill, as a forlorn hope.
""just the thing!
what a goose i was not to think of it.
i'll rig the old machine up at once."
and, starting from his seat, jack dived into the big closet, dragged out the little press, and fell to oiling, dusting, and putting it in order, like one relieved of a great anxiety.
""give me the types; i'll sort them and set up my name, so you can begin as soon as you are ready.
you know what a help i was when we did the programmes.
i'm almost sure the girls will want cards, and i know your mother would like some more tags," said jill, briskly rattling the letters into the different compartments, while jack inked the rollers and hunted up his big apron, whistling the while with recovered spirits.
a dozen neat cards were soon printed, and jill insisted on paying six cents for them, as earning was not borrowing.
a few odd tags were found and done for mamma, who immediately ordered four dozen at six cents a dozen, though she was not told why there was such a pressing call for money.
jack's monthly half-dollar had been spent the first week, -- twenty-five cents for a concert, ten paid a fine for keeping a book too long from the library, ten more to have his knife ground, and five in candy, for he dearly loved sweeties, and was under bonds to mamma not to spend more than five cents a month on these unwholesome temptations.
she never asked the boys what they did with their money, but expected them to keep account in the little books she gave them; and, now and then, they showed the neat pages with pardonable pride, though she often laughed at the queer items.
all that evening jack & co. worked busily, for when frank came in he good-naturedly ordered some pale-pink cards for annette, and ran to the store to choose the right shade, and buy some packages for the young printer also.
""what do you suppose he is in such a pucker for?"
whispered jill, as she set up the new name, to frank, who sat close by, with one eye on his book and one on her.
""oh, some notion.
he's a queer chap; but i guess it is n't much of a scrape, or i should know it.
he's so good-natured he's always promising to do things for people, and has too much pluck to give up when he finds he ca n't.
let him alone, and it will all come out soon enough," answered frank, who laughed at his brother, but loved him none the less for the tender heart that often got the better of his young head.
but for once frank was mistaken; the mystery did not come out, and jack worked like a beaver all that week, as orders poured in when jill and annette showed their elegant cards; for, as everybody knows, if one girl has a new thing all the rest must, whether it is a bow on the top of her head, a peculiar sort of pencil, or the latest kind of chewing-gum.
little play did the poor fellow get, for every spare minute was spent at the press, and no invitation could tempt him away, so much in earnest was our honest little franklin about paying his debt.
jill helped all she could, and cheered his labors with her encouragement, remembering how he stayed at home for her.
""it is real good of you to lend a hand, and i'm ever so much obliged," said jack, as the last order was struck off, and the drawer of the type-box held a pile of shining five and ten cent pieces, with two or three quarters.
""i love to; only it would be nicer if i knew what we were working for," she said demurely, as she scattered type for the last time; and seeing that jack was both tired and grateful, hoped to get a hint of the secret.
""i want to tell you, dreadfully; but i ca n't, because i've promised."
""what, never?"
""never!"
and jack looked as firm as a rock.
""then i shall find out, for i have n't promised."
""you ca n't."
""see if i do n't!"
""you are sharp, but you wo n't guess this.
it's a tremendous secret, and nobody will tell it."
""you'll tell it yourself.
you always do."
""i wo n't tell this.
it would be mean."
""wait and see; i can get anything out of you if i try;" and jill laughed, knowing her power well, for jack found it very hard to keep a secret from her.
""do n't try; please do n't!
it would n't be right, and you do n't want to make me do a dishonorable thing for your sake, i know."
jack looked so distressed that jill promised not to make him tell, though she held herself free to find out in other ways, if she could.
thus relieved, jack trudged off to school on friday with the two dollars and seventy-five cents jingling in his pocket, though the dear gold coin had to be sacrificed to make up the sum.
he did his lessons badly that day, was late at recess in the afternoon, and, as soon as school was over, departed in his rubber boots "to take a walk," he said, though the roads were in a bad state with a spring thaw.
nothing was seen of him till after tea-time, when he came limping in, very dirty and tired, but with a reposeful expression, which betrayed that a load was off his mind.
frank was busy about his own affairs and paid little attention to him, but jill was on tenter-hooks to know where he had been, yet dared not ask the question.
""merry's brother wants some cards.
he liked hers so much he wishes to make his lady-love a present.
here's the name;" and jill held up the order from harry grant, who was to be married in the autumn.
""must wait till next week.
i'm too tired to do a thing to-night, and i hate the sight of that old press," answered jack, laying himself down upon the rug as if every joint ached.
""what made you take such a long walk?
you look as tired as if you'd been ten miles," said jill, hoping to discover the length of the trip.
""had to.
four or five miles is n't much, only my leg bothered me;" and jack gave the ailing member a slap, as if he had found it much in his way that day; for, though he had given up the crutches long ago, he rather missed their support sometimes.
then, with a great yawn, he stretched himself out to bask in the blaze, pillowing his head on his arms.
""dear old thing, he looks all used up; i wo n't plague him with talking;" and jill began to sing, as she often did in the twilight.
by the time the first song ended a gentle snore was heard, and jack lay fast asleep, worn out with the busy week and the walk, which had been longer and harder than any one guessed.
jill took up her knitting and worked quietly by firelight, still wondering and guessing what the secret could be; for she had not much to amuse her, and little things were very interesting if connected with her friends.
presently jack rolled over and began to mutter in his sleep, as he often did when too weary for sound slumber.
jill paid no attention till he uttered a name which made her prick up her ears and listen to the broken sentences which followed.
only a few words, but she dropped her work, saying to herself, -- "i do believe he is talking about the secret.
now i shall find out, and he will tell me himself, as i said he would."
much pleased, she leaned and listened, but could make no sense of the confused babble about "heavy boots;" "all right, old fellow;" "jerry's off;" and "the ink is too thick."
the slam of the front door woke jack, and he pulled himself up, declaring that he believed he had been having a nap.
""i wish you'd have another," said jill, greatly disappointed at the loss of the intelligence she seemed to be so near getting.
""floor is too hard for tired bones.
guess i'll go to bed and get rested up for monday.
i've worked like fury this week, so next i'm going in for fun;" and, little dreaming what hard times were in store for him, jack went off to enjoy his warm bath and welcome bed, where he was soon sleeping with the serene look of one whose dreams were happy, whose conscience was at rest.
* * * * * "i have a few words to say to you before you go," said mr. acton, pausing with his hand on the bell, monday afternoon, when the hour came for dismissing school.
the bustle of putting away books and preparing for as rapid a departure as propriety allowed, subsided suddenly, and the boys and girls sat as still as mice, while the hearts of such as had been guilty of any small sins began to beat fast.
""you remember that we had some trouble last winter about keeping the boys away from the saloon, and that a rule was made forbidding any pupil to go to town during recess?"
began mr. acton, who, being a conscientious man as well as an excellent teacher, felt that he was responsible for the children in school hours, and did his best to aid parents in guarding them from the few temptations which beset them in a country town.
a certain attractive little shop, where confectionery, baseballs, stationery, and picture papers were sold, was a favorite loafing place for some of the boys till the rule forbidding it was made, because in the rear of the shop was a beer and billiard saloon.
a wise rule, for the picture papers were not always of the best sort; cigars were to be had; idle fellows hung about there, and some of the lads, who wanted to be thought manly, ventured to pass the green baize door "just to look on."
a murmur answered the teacher's question, and he continued, "you all know that the rule was broken several times, and i told you the next offender would be publicly reprimanded, as private punishments had no effect.
i am sorry to say that the time has come, and the offender is a boy whom i trusted entirely.
it grieves me to do this, but i must keep my promise, and hope the example will have a good effect."
mr. acton paused, as if he found it hard to go on, and the boys looked at one another with inquiring eyes, for their teacher seldom punished, and when he did, it was a very solemn thing.
several of these anxious glances fell upon joe, who was very red and sat whittling a pencil as if he dared not lift his eyes.
""he's the chap.
wo n't he catch it?"
whispered gus to frank, for both owed him a grudge.
""the boy who broke the rule last friday, at afternoon recess, will come to the desk," said mr. acton in his most impressive manner.
if a thunderbolt had fallen through the roof it would hardly have caused a greater surprise than the sight of jack minot walking slowly down the aisle, with a wrathful flash in the eyes he turned on joe as he passed him.
""now, minot, let us have this over as soon as possible, for i do not like it any better than you do, and i am sure there is some mistake.
i'm told you went to the shop on friday.
is it true?"
asked mr. acton very gently, for he liked jack and seldom had to correct him in any way.
""yes, sir;" and jack looked up as if proud to show that he was not afraid to tell the truth as far as he could.
""to buy something?"
""no, sir."
""to meet someone?"
""yes, sir."
""was it jerry shannon?"
no answer, but jack's fists doubled up of themselves as he shot another fiery glance at joe, whose face burned as if it scorched him.
""i am told it was; also that you were seen to go into the saloon with him.
did you?"
and mr. acton looked so sure that it was a mistake that it cost jack a great effort to say, slowly, -- "yes, sir."
quite a thrill pervaded the school at this confession, for jerry was one of the wild fellows the boys all shunned, and to have any dealings with him was considered a very disgraceful thing.
""did you play?"
""no, sir.
i ca n't."
""drink beer?"
""i belong to the lodge;" and jack stood as erect as any little soldier who ever marched under a temperance banner, and fought for the cause none are too young nor too old to help along.
""i was sure of that.
then what took you there, my boy?"
the question was so kindly put that jack forgot himself an instant, and blurted out, -- "i only went to pay him some money, sir."
""ah, how much?"
""two seventy-five," muttered jack, as red as a cherry at not being able to keep a secret better.
""too much for a lad like you to owe such a fellow as jerry.
how came it?"
and mr. acton looked disturbed.
jack opened his lips to speak, but shut them again, and stood looking down with a little quiver about the mouth that showed how much it cost him to be silent.
""does any one beside jerry know of this?"
""one other fellow," after a pause.
""yes, i understand;" and mr. acton's eye glanced at joe with a look that seemed to say, "i wish he'd held his tongue."
a queer smile flitted over jack's face, for joe was not the "other fellow," and knew very little about it, excepting what he had seen when he was sent on an errand by mr. acton on friday.
""i wish you would explain the matter, john, for i am sure it is better than it seems, and it would be very hard to punish you when you do n't deserve it."
""but i do deserve it; i've broken the rule, and i ought to be punished," said jack, as if a good whipping would be easier to bear than this public cross-examination.
""and you ca n't explain, or even say you are sorry or ashamed?"
asked mr. acton, hoping to surprise another fact out of the boy.
""no, sir; i ca n't; i'm not ashamed; i'm not sorry, and i'd do it again to-morrow if i had to," cried jack, losing patience, and looking as if he would not bear much more.
a groan from the boys greeted this bare-faced declaration, and susy quite shivered at the idea of having taken two bites out of the apple of such a hardened desperado.
""think it over till to-morrow, and perhaps you will change your mind.
remember that this is the last week of the month, and reports are given out next friday," said mr. acton, knowing how much the boy prided himself on always having good ones to show his mother.
poor jack turned scarlet and bit his lips to keep them still, for he had forgotten this when he plunged into the affair which was likely to cost him dear.
then the color faded away, the boyish face grew steady, and the honest eyes looked up at his teacher as he said very low, but all heard him, the room was so still, -- "it is n't as bad as it looks, sir, but i ca n't say any more.
no one is to blame but me; and i could n't help breaking the rule, for jerry was going away, i had only that time, and i'd promised to pay up, so i did."
mr. acton believed every word he said, and regretted that they had not been able to have it out privately, but he, too, must keep his promise and punish the offender, whoever he was.
""very well, you will lose your recess for a week, and this month's report will be the first one in which behavior does not get the highest mark.
you may go; and i wish it understood that master minot is not to be troubled with questions till he chooses to set this matter right."
then the bell rang, the children trooped out, mr. acton went off without another word, and jack was left alone to put up his books and hide a few tears that would come because frank turned his eyes away from the imploring look cast upon him as the culprit came down from the platform, a disgraced boy.
elder brothers are apt to be a little hard on younger ones, so it is not surprising that frank, who was an eminently proper boy, was much cut up when jack publicly confessed to dealings with jerry, leaving it to be supposed that the worst half of the story remained untold.
he felt it his duty, therefore, to collar poor jack when he came out, and talk to him all the way home, like a judge bent on getting at the truth by main force.
a kind word would have been very comforting, but the scolding was too much for jack's temper, so he turned dogged and would not say a word, though frank threatened not to speak to him for a week.
at tea-time both boys were very silent, one looking grim, the other excited.
frank stared sternly at his brother across the table, and no amount of marmalade sweetened or softened that reproachful look.
jack defiantly crunched his toast, with occasional slashes at the butter, as if he must vent the pent-up emotions which half distracted him.
of course, their mother saw that something was amiss, but did not allude to it, hoping that the cloud would blow over as so many did if left alone.
but this one did not, and when both refused cake, this sure sign of unusual perturbation made her anxious to know the cause.
as soon as tea was over, jack retired with gloomy dignity to his own room, and frank, casting away the paper he had been pretending to read, burst out with the whole story.
mrs. minot was as much surprised as he, but not angry, because, like most mothers, she was sure that her sons could not do anything very bad.
""i will speak to him; my boy wo n't refuse to give me some explanation," she said, when frank had freed his mind with as much warmth as if jack had broken all the ten commandments.
""he will.
you often call me obstinate, but he is as pig-headed as a mule; joe only knows what he saw, old tell-tale!
and jerry has left town, or i'd have it out of him.
make jack own up, whether he can or not.
little donkey!"
stormed frank, who hated rowdies and could not forgive his brother for being seen with one.
""my dear, all boys do foolish things sometimes, even the wisest and best behaved, so do n't be hard on the poor child.
he has got into trouble, i've no doubt, but it can not be very bad, and he earned the money to pay for his prank, whatever it was."
mrs. minot left the room as she spoke, and frank cooled down as if her words had been a shower-bath, for he remembered his own costly escapade, and how kindly both his mother and jack had stood by him on that trying occasion.
so, feeling rather remorseful, he went off to talk it over with gus, leaving jill in a fever of curiosity, for merry and molly had dropped in on their way home to break the blow to her, and frank declined to discuss it with her, after mildly stating that jack was "a ninny," in his opinion.
""well, i know one thing," said jill confidentially to snow-ball, when they were left alone together, "if every one else is scolding him i wo n't say a word.
it's so mean to crow over people when they are down, and i'm sure he has n't done anything to be ashamed of, though he wo n't tell."
snow-ball seemed to agree to this, for he went and sat down by jack's slippers waiting for him on the hearth, and jill thought that a very touching proof of affectionate fidelity to the little master who ruled them both.
when he came, it was evident that he had found it harder to refuse his mother than all the rest.
but she trusted him in spite of appearances, and that was such a comfort!
for poor jack's heart was very full, and he longed to tell the whole story, but he would not break his promise, and so kept silence bravely.
jill asked no questions, affecting to be anxious for the games they always played together in the evening, but while they played, though the lips were sealed, the bright eyes said as plainly as words, "i trust you," and jack was very grateful.
it was well he had something to cheer him up at home, for he got little peace at school.
he bore the grave looks of mr. acton meekly, took the boys" jokes good-naturedly, and withstood the artful teasing of the girls with patient silence.
but it was very hard for the social, affectionate fellow to bear the general distrust, for he had been such a favorite he felt the change keenly.
but the thing that tried him most was the knowledge that his report would not be what it usually was.
it was always a happy moment when he showed it to his mother, and saw her eye brighten as it fell on the 99 or 100, for she cared more for good behavior than for perfect lessons.
mr. acton once said that frank minot's moral influence in the school was unusual, and jack never forgot her pride and delight as she told them what frank himself had not known till then.
it was jack's ambition to have the same said of him, for he was not much of a scholar, and he had tried hard since he went back to school to get good records in that respect at least.
now here was a dreadful downfall, tardy marks, bad company, broken rules, and something too wrong to tell, apparently.
""well, i deserve a good report, and that's a comfort, though nobody believes it," he said to himself, trying to keep up his spirits, as the slow week went by, and no word from him had cleared up the mystery.
chapter xiv.
and jill finds it out jill worried about it more than he did, for she was a faithful little friend, and it was a great trial to have jack even suspected of doing anything wrong.
school is a child's world while he is there, and its small affairs are very important to him, so jill felt that the one thing to be done was to clear away the cloud about her dear boy, and restore him to public favor.
""ed will be here saturday night and may be he will find out, for jack tells him everything.
i do hate to have him hectored so, for i know he is, though he's too proud to complain," she said, on thursday evening, when frank told her some joke played upon his brother that day.
""i let him alone, but i see that he is n't badgered too much.
that's all i can do.
if ed had only come home last saturday it might have done some good, but now it will be too late; for the reports are given out to-morrow, you know," answered frank, feeling a little jealous of ed's influence over jack, though his own would have been as great if he had been as gentle.
""has jerry come back?"
asked jill, who kept all her questions for frank, because she seldom alluded to the tender subject when with jack.
""no, he's off for the summer.
got a place somewhere.
hope he'll stay there and let bob alone."
""where is bob now?
i do n't hear much about him lately," said jill, who was constantly on the lookout for "the other fellow," since it was not joe.
""oh, he went to captain skinner's the first of march, chores round, and goes to school up there.
captain is strict, and wo n't let bob come to town, except sundays; but he do n't mind it much, for he likes horses, has nice grub, and the hill fellows are good chaps for him to be with.
so he's all right, if he only behaves."
""how far is it to captain skinner's?"
asked jill suddenly, having listened, with her sharp eyes on frank, as he tinkered away at his model, since he was forbidden all other indulgence in his beloved pastime.
""it's four miles to hill district, but the captain lives this side of the school-house.
about three from here, i should say."
""how long would it take a boy to walk up there?"
went on the questioner, with a new idea in her head.
""depends on how much of a walkist he is."
""suppose he was lame and it was sloshy, and he made a call and came back.
how long would that take?"
asked jill impatiently.
""well, in that case, i should say two or three hours.
but it's impossible to tell exactly, unless you know how lame the fellow was, and how long a call he made," said frank, who liked to be accurate.
""jack could n't do it in less, could he?"
""he used to run up that hilly road for a breather, and think nothing of it.
it would be a long job for him now, poor little chap, for his leg often troubles him, though he hates to own it."
jill lay back and laughed, a happy little laugh, as if she was pleased about something, and frank looked over his shoulder to ask questions in his turn.
""what are you laughing at?"
""ca n't tell."
""why do you want to know about hill district?
are you going there?"
""wish i could!
i'd soon have it out of him."
""who?"
""never mind.
please push up my table.
i must write a letter, and i want you to post it for me to-night, and never say a word till i give you leave."
""oh, now you are going to have secrets and be mysterious, and get into a mess, are you?"
and frank looked down at her with a suspicious air, though he was intensely curious to know what she was about.
""go away till i'm done.
you will have to see the outside, but you ca n't know the inside till the answer comes;" and propping herself up, jill wrote the following note, with some hesitation at the beginning and end, for she did not know the gentleman she was addressing, except by sight, and it was rather awkward: -- "robert walker.
""dear sir, i want to ask if jack minot came to see you last friday afternoon.
he got into trouble being seen with jerry shannon.
he paid him some money.
jack wo n't tell, and mr. acton talked to him about it before all the school.
we feel bad, because we think jack did not do wrong.
i do n't know as you have anything to do with it, but i thought i'd ask.
please answer quick.
respectfully yours, "jane pecq" to make sure that her despatch was not tampered with, jill put a great splash of red sealing-wax on it, which gave it a very official look, and much impressed bob when he received it.
""there!
go and post it, and do n't let any one see or know about it," she said, handing it over to frank, who left his work with unusual alacrity to do her errand.
when his eye fell on the address, he laughed, and said in a teasing way, -- "are you and bob such good friends that you correspond?
what will jack say?"
""do n't know, and do n't care!
be good, now, and let's have a little secret as well as other folks.
i'll tell you all about it when he answers," said jill in her most coaxing tone.
""suppose he does n't?"
""then i shall send you up to see him.
i must know something, and i want to do it myself, if i can."
""look here; what are you after?
i do believe you think --" frank got no farther, for jill gave a little scream, and stopped him by crying eagerly, "do n't say it out loud!
i really do believe it may be, and i'm going to find out."
""what made you think of him?"
and frank looked thoughtfully at the letter, as if turning carefully over in his mind the idea that jill's quick wits had jumped at.
""come here and i'll tell you."
holding him by one button, she whispered something in his ear that made him exclaim, with a look at the rug, -- "no!
did he?
i declare i should n't wonder!
it would be just like the dear old blunder-head."
""i never thought of it till you told me where bob was, and then it all sort of burst upon me in one minute!"
cried jill, waving her arms about to express the intellectual explosion which had thrown light upon the mystery, like sky-rockets in a dark night.
""you are as bright as a button.
no time to lose; i'm off;" and off he was, splashing through the mud to post the letter, on the back of which he added, to make the thing sure, "hurry up.
f.m." both felt rather guilty next day, but enjoyed themselves very much nevertheless, and kept chuckling over the mine they were making under jack's unconscious feet.
they hardly expected an answer at noon, as the hill people were not very eager for their mail, but at night jill was sure of a letter, and to her great delight it came.
jack brought it himself, which added to the fun, and while she eagerly read it he sat calmly poring over the latest number of his own private and particular "youth's companion."
bob was not a "complete letter-writer" by any means, and with great labor and much ink had produced the following brief but highly satisfactory epistle.
not knowing how to address his fair correspondent he let it alone, and went at once to the point in the frankest possible way: -- "jack did come up friday.
sorry he got into a mess.
it was real kind of him, and i shall pay him back soon.
jack paid jerry for me and i made him promise not to tell.
jerry said he'd come here and make a row if i did n't cash up.
i was afraid i'd lose the place if he did, for the capt. is awful strict.
if jack do n't tell now, i will.
i ai n't mean.
glad you wrote.
""r.o.w." "hurrah!"
cried jill, waving the letter over her head in great triumph.
""call everybody and read it out," she added, as frank snatched it, and ran for his mother, seeing at a glance that the news was good.
jill was so afraid she should tell before the others came that she burst out singing "pretty bobby shafto" at the top of her voice, to jack's great disgust, for he considered the song very personal, as he was rather fond of "combing down his yellow hair," and jill often plagued him by singing it when he came in with the golden quirls very smooth and nice to hide the scar on his forehead.
in about five minutes the door flew open and in came mamma, making straight for bewildered jack, who thought the family had gone crazy when his parent caught him in her arms, saying tenderly, -- "my good, generous boy!
i knew he was right all the time!"
while frank worked his hand up and down like a pump-handle, exclaiming heartily, -- "you're a trump, sir, and i'm proud of you!"
jill meantime calling out, in wild delight, -- "i told you so!
i told you so!
i did find out; ha, ha, i did!"
""come, i say!
what's the matter?
i'm all right.
do n't squeeze the breath out of me, please," expostulated jack, looking so startled and innocent, as he struggled feebly, that they all laughed, and this plaintive protest caused him to be released.
but the next proceeding did not enlighten him much, for frank kept waving a very inky paper before him and ordering him to read it, while mamma made a charge at jill, as if it was absolutely necessary to hug somebody.
""hullo!"
said jack, when he got the letter into his own hand and read it.
""now who put bob up to this?
nobody had any business to interfere -- but it's mighty good of him, anyway," he added, as the anxious lines in his round face smoothed themselves away, while a smile of relief told how hard it had been for him to keep his word.
""i did!"
cried jill, clapping her hands, and looking so happy that he could not have scolded her if he had wanted to.
""who told you he was in the scrape?"
demanded jack, in a hurry to know all about it now the seal was taken off his own lips.
""you did;" and jill's face twinkled with naughty satisfaction, for this was the best fun of all.
""i did n't!
when?
where?
it's a joke!"
""you did," cried jill, pointing to the rug.
""you went to sleep there after the long walk, and talked in your sleep about "bob" and "all right, old boy," and ever so much gibberish.
i did n't think about it then, but when i heard that bob was up there i thought may be he knew something about it, and last night i wrote and asked him, and that's the answer, and now it is all right, and you are the best boy that ever was, and i'm so glad!"
here jill paused, all out of breath, and frank said, with an approving pat on the head, -- "it wo n't do to have such a sharp young person round if we are going to have secrets.
you'd make a good detective, miss."
""catch me taking naps before people again;" and jack looked rather crestfallen that his own words had set "fine ear" on the track.
""never mind, i did n't mean to tell, though i just ached to do it all the time, so i have n't broken my word.
i'm glad you all know, but you need n't let it get out, for bob is a good fellow, and it might make trouble for him," added jack, anxious lest his gain should be the other's loss.
""i shall tell mr. acton myself, and the captain, also, for i'm not going to have my son suspected of wrong-doing when he has only tried to help a friend, and borne enough for his sake," said mamma, much excited by this discovery of generous fidelity in her boy; though when one came to look at it calmly, one saw that it might have been done in a wiser way.
""now, please, do n't make a fuss about it; that would be most as bad as having every one down on me.
i can stand your praising me, but i wo n't be patted on the head by anybody else;" and jack assumed a manly air, though his face was full of genuine boyish pleasure at being set right in the eyes of those he loved.
""i'll be discreet, dear, but you owe it to yourself, as well as bob, to have the truth known.
both have behaved well, and no harm will come to him, i am sure.
i'll see to that myself," said mrs. minot, in a tone that set jack's mind at rest on that point.
""now do tell all about it," cried jill, who was pining to know the whole story, and felt as if she had earned the right to hear it.
""oh, it was n't much.
we promised ed to stand by bob, so i did as well as i knew how;" and jack seemed to think that was about all there was to say.
""i never saw such a fellow for keeping a promise!
you stick to it through thick and thin, no matter how silly or hard it is.
you remember, mother, last summer, how you told him not to go in a boat and he promised, the day we went on the picnic.
we rode up, but the horse ran off home, so we had to come back by way of the river, all but jack, and he walked every step of five miles because he would n't go near a boat, though mr. burton was there to take care of him.
i call that rather overdoing the matter;" and frank looked as if he thought moderation even in virtue a good thing.
""and i call it a fine sample of entire obedience.
he obeyed orders, and that is what we all must do, without always seeing why, or daring to use our own judgment.
it is a great safeguard to jack, and a very great comfort to me; for i know that if he promises he will keep his word, no matter what it costs him," said mamma warmly, as she tumbled up the quirls with an irrepressible caress, remembering how the boy came wearily in after all the others, without seeming for a moment to think that he could have done anything else.
""like casabianca!"
cried jill, much impressed, for obedience was her hardest trial.
""i think he was a fool to burn up," said frank, bound not to give in.
""i do n't.
it's a splendid piece, and every one likes to speak it, and it was true, and it would n't be in all the books if he was a fool.
grown people know what is good," declared jill, who liked heroic actions, and was always hoping for a chance to distinguish herself in that way.
""you admire "the charge of the light brigade," and glow all over as you thunder it out.
yet they went gallantly to their death rather than disobey orders.
a mistake, perhaps, but it makes us thrill to hear of it; and the same spirit keeps my jack true as steel when once his word is passed, or he thinks it is his duty.
do n't be laughed out of it, my son, for faithfulness in little things fits one for heroism when the great trials come.
one's conscience can hardly be too tender when honor and honesty are concerned."
""you are right, mother, and i am wrong.
i beg your pardon, jack, and you sha'n' t get ahead of me next time."
frank made his mother a little bow, gave his brother a shake of the hand, and nodded to jill, as if anxious to show that he was not too proud to own up when he made a mistake.
""please tell on, jack.
this is very nice, but i do want to know all about the other," said jill, after a short pause.
""let me see.
oh, i saw bob at church, and he looked rather blue; so, after sunday school, i asked what the matter was.
he said jerry bothered him for some money he lent him at different times when they were loafing round together, before we took him up.
he would n't get any wages for some time.
the captain keeps him short on purpose, i guess, and wo n't let him come down town except on sundays.
he did n't want any one to know about it, for fear he'd lose his place.
so i promised i would n't tell.
then i was afraid jerry would go and make a fuss, and bob would run off, or do something desperate, being worried, and i said i'd pay it for him, if i could.
so he went home pretty jolly, and i scratched "round for the money.
got it, too, and was n't i glad?"
jack paused to rub his hands, and frank said, with more than usual respect, "could n't you get hold of jerry in any other place, and out of school time?
that did the mischief, thanks to joe.
i thrashed him, jill -- did i mention it?"
""i could n't get all my money till friday morning, and i knew jerry was off at night.
i looked for him before school, and at noon, but could n't find him, so afternoon recess was my last chance.
i was bound to do it and i did n't mean to break the rule, but jerry was just going into the shop, so i pelted after him, and as it was private business we went to the billiard-room.
i declare i never was so relieved as when i handed over that money, and made him say it was all right, and he would n't go near bob.
he's off, so my mind is easy, and bob will be so grateful i can keep him steady, perhaps.
that will be worth two seventy-five, i think," said jack heartily.
""you should have come to me," began frank.
""and got laughed at -- no, thank you," interrupted jack, recollecting several philanthropic little enterprises which were nipped in the bud for want of co-operation.
""to me, then," said his mother.
""it would have saved so much trouble."
""i thought of it, but bob did n't want the big fellows to know for fear they'd be down on him, so i thought he might not like me to tell grown people.
i do n't mind the fuss now, and bob is as kind as he can be.
wanted to give me his big knife, but i would n't take it.
i'd rather have this," and jack put the letter in his pocket with a slap outside, as if it warmed the cockles of his heart to have it there.
""well, it seems rather like a tempest in a teapot, now it is all over, but i do admire your pluck, little boy, in holding out so well when every one was scolding at you, and you in the right all the time," said frank, glad to praise, now that he honestly could, after his wholesale condemnation.
""that is what pulled me through, i suppose.
i used to think if i had done anything wrong, that i could n't stand the snubbing a day.
i should have told right off, and had it over.
now, i guess i'll have a good report if you do tell mr. acton," said jack, looking at his mother so wistfully, that she resolved to slip away that very evening, and make sure that the thing was done.
""that will make you happier than anything else, wo n't it?"
asked jill, eager to have him rewarded after his trials.
""there's one thing i like better, though i'd be very sorry to lose my report.
it's the fun of telling ed i tried to do as he wanted us to, and seeing how pleased he'll be," added jack, rather bashfully, for the boys laughed at him sometimes for his love of this friend.
""i know he wo n't be any happier about it than someone else, who stood by you all through, and set her bright wits to work till the trouble was all cleared away," said mrs. minot, looking at jill's contented face, as she lay smiling on them all.
jack understood, and, hopping across the room, gave both the thin hands a hearty shake; then, not finding any words quite cordial enough in which to thank this faithful little sister, he stooped down and kissed her gratefully.
chapter xv.
saint lucy saturday was a busy and a happy time to jack, for in the morning mr. acton came to see him, having heard the story overnight, and promised to keep bob's secret while giving jack an acquittal as public as the reprimand had been.
then he asked for the report which jack had bravely received the day before and put away without showing to anybody.
""there is one mistake here which we must rectify," said mr. acton, as he crossed out the low figures under the word "behavior," and put the much-desired 100 there.
""but i did break the rule, sir," said jack, though his face glowed with pleasure, for mamma was looking on.
""i overlook that as i should your breaking into my house if you saw it was on fire.
you ran to save a friend, and i wish i could tell those fellows why you were there.
it would do them good.
i am not going to praise you, john, but i did believe you in spite of appearances, and i am glad to have for a pupil a boy who loves his neighbor better than himself."
then, having shaken hands heartily, mr. acton went away, and jack flew off to have rejoicings with jill, who sat up on her sofa, without knowing it, so eager was she to hear all about the call.
in the afternoon jack drove his mother to the captain's, confiding to her on the way what a hard time he had when he went before, and how nothing but the thought of cheering bob kept him up when he slipped and hurt his knee, and his boot sprung a leak, and the wind came up very cold, and the hill seemed an endless mountain of mud and snow.
mrs. minot had such a gentle way of putting things that she would have won over a much harder man than the strict old captain, who heard the story with interest, and was much pleased with the boys" efforts to keep bob straight.
that young person dodged away into the barn with jack, and only appeared at the last minute to shove a bag of chestnuts into the chaise.
but he got a few kind words that did him good, from mrs. minot and the captain, and from that day felt himself under bonds to behave well if he would keep their confidence.
""i shall give jill the nuts; and i wish i had something she wanted very, very much, for i do think she ought to be rewarded for getting me out of the mess," said jack, as they drove happily home again.
""i hope to have something in a day or two that will delight her very much.
i will say no more now, but keep my little secret and let it be a surprise to all by and by," answered his mother, looking as if she had not much doubt about the matter.
""that will be jolly.
you are welcome to your secret, mamma.
i've had enough of them for one while;" and jack shrugged his broad shoulders as if a burden had been taken off.
in the evening ed came, and jack was quite satisfied when he saw how pleased his friend was at what he had done.
""i never meant you should take so much trouble, only be kind to bob," said ed, who did not know how strong his influence was, nor what a sweet example of quiet well-doing his own life was to all his mates.
""i wished to be really useful; not just to talk about it and do nothing.
that is n't your way, and i want to be like you," answered jack, with such affectionate sincerity that ed could not help believing him, though he modestly declined the compliment by saying, as he began to play softly, "better than i am, i hope.
i do n't amount to much."
""yes, you do!
and if any one says you do n't i'll shake him.
i ca n't tell what it is, only you always look so happy and contented -- sort of sweet and shiny," said jack, as he stroked the smooth brown head, rather at a loss to describe the unusually fresh and sunny expression of ed's face, which was always cheerful, yet had a certain thoughtfulness that made it very attractive to both young and old.
""soap makes him shiny; i never saw such a fellow to wash and brush," put in frank, as he came up with one of the pieces of music he and ed were fond of practising together.
""i do n't mean that!"
said jack indignantly.
""i wash and brush till you call me a dandy, but i do n't have the same look -- it seems to come from the inside, somehow, as if he was always jolly and clean and good in his mind, you know."
""born so," said frank, rumbling away in the bass with a pair of hands that would have been the better for some of the above-mentioned soap, for he did not love to do much in the washing and brushing line.
""i suppose that's it.
well, i like it, and i shall keep on trying, for being loved by every one is about the nicest thing in the world.
is n't it, ed?"
asked jack, with a gentle tweak of the ear as he put a question which he knew would get no answer, for ed was so modest he could not see wherein he differed from other boys, nor believe that the sunshine he saw in other faces was only the reflection from his own.
sunday evening mrs. minot sat by the fire, planning how she should tell some good news she had been saving up all day.
mrs. pecq knew it, and seemed so delighted that she went about smiling as if she did not know what trouble meant, and could not do enough for the family.
she was downstairs now, seeing that the clothes were properly prepared for the wash, so there was no one in the bird room but mamma and the children.
frank was reading up all he could find about some biblical hero mentioned in the day's sermon; jill lay where she had lain for nearly four long months, and though her face was pale and thin with the confinement, there was an expression on it now sweeter even than health.
jack sat on the rug beside her, looking at a white carnation through the magnifying glass, while she was enjoying the perfume of a red one as she talked to him.
""if you look at the white petals you'll see that they sparkle like marble, and go winding a long way down to the middle of the flower where it grows sort of rosy; and in among the small, curly leaves, like fringed curtains, you can see the little green fairy sitting all alone.
your mother showed me that, and i think it is very pretty.
i call it a "fairy," but it is really where the seeds are hidden and the sweet smell comes from."
jill spoke softly lest she should disturb the others, and, as she turned to push up her pillow, she saw mrs. minot looking at her with a smile she did not understand.
""did you speak,'m?"
she asked, smiling back again, without in the least knowing why.
""no, dear.
i was listening and thinking what a pretty little story one could make out of your fairy living alone down there, and only known by her perfume."
""tell it, mamma.
it is time for our story, and that would be a nice one, i guess," said jack, who was as fond of stories as when he sat in his mother's lap and chuckled over the hero of the beanstalk.
""we do n't have fairy tales on sunday, you know," began jill regretfully.
""call it a parable, and have a moral to it, then it will be all right," put in frank, as he shut his big book, having found what he wanted.
""i like stories about saints, and the good and wonderful things they did," said jill, who enjoyed the wise and interesting bits mrs. minot often found for her in grown-up books, for jill had thoughtful times, and asked questions which showed that she was growing fast in mind if not in body.
""this is a true story; but i will disguise it a little, and call it "the miracle of saint lucy,"" began mrs. minot, seeing a way to tell her good news and amuse the children likewise.
frank retired to the easy-chair, that he might sleep if the tale should prove too childish for him.
jill settled herself among her cushions, and jack lay flat upon the rug, with his feet up, so that he could admire his red slippers and rest his knee, which ached.
""once upon a time there was a queen who had two princes."
""was n't there a princess?"
asked jack, interested at once.
""no; and it was a great sorrow to the queen that she had no little daughter, for the sons were growing up, and she was often very lonely.
""like snowdrop's mother," whispered jill.
""now, do n't keep interrupting, children, or we never shall get on," said frank, more anxious to hear about the boys that were than the girl that was not.
""one day, when the princes were out -- ahem!
we'll say hunting -- they found a little damsel lying on the snow, half dead with cold, they thought.
she was the child of a poor woman who lived in the forest -- a wild little thing, always dancing and singing about; as hard to catch as a squirrel, and so fearless she would climb the highest trees, leap broad brooks, or jump off the steep rocks to show her courage.
the boys carried her home to the palace, and the queen was glad to have her.
she had fallen and hurt herself, so she lay in bed week after week, with her mother to take care of her --" "that's you," whispered jack, throwing the white carnation at jill, and she threw back the red one, with her finger on her lips, for the tale was very interesting now.
""she did not suffer much after a time, but she scolded and cried, and could not be resigned, because she was a prisoner.
the queen tried to help her, but she could not do much; the princes were kind, but they had their books and plays, and were away a good deal.
some friends she had came often to see her, but still she beat her wings against the bars, like a wild bird in a cage, and soon her spirits were all gone, and it was sad to see her."
""where was your saint lucy?
i thought it was about her," asked jack, who did not like to have jill's past troubles dwelt upon, since his were not.
""she is coming.
saints are not born -- they are made after many trials and tribulations," answered his mother, looking at the fire as if it helped her to spin her little story.
""well, the poor child used to sing sometimes to while away the long hours -- sad songs mostly, and one among them which the queen taught her was "sweet patience, come."
""this she used to sing a great deal after a while, never dreaming that patience was an angel who could hear and obey.
but it was so; and one night, when the girl had lulled herself to sleep with that song, the angel came.
nobody saw the lovely spirit with tender eyes, and a voice that was like balm.
no one heard the rustle of wings as she hovered over the little bed and touched the lips, the eyes, the hands of the sleeper, and then flew away, leaving three gifts behind.
the girl did not know why, but after that night the songs grew gayer, there seemed to be more sunshine everywhere her eyes looked, and her hands were never tired of helping others in various pretty, useful, or pleasant ways.
slowly the wild bird ceased to beat against the bars, but sat in its cage and made music for all in the palace, till the queen could not do without it, the poor mother cheered up, and the princes called the girl their nightingale."
""was that the miracle?"
asked jack, forgetting all about his slippers, as he watched jill's eyes brighten and the color come up in her white cheeks.
""that was the miracle, and patience can work far greater ones if you will let her."
""and the girl's name was lucy?"
""yes; they did not call her a saint then, but she was trying to be as cheerful as a certain good woman she had heard of, and so the queen had that name for her, though she did not let her know it for a long time."
""that's not bad for a sunday story, but there might have been more about the princes, seems to me," was frank's criticism, as jill lay very still, trying to hide her face behind the carnation, for she had no words to tell how touched and pleased she was to find that her little efforts to be good had been seen, remembered, and now rewarded in this way.
""there is more."
""then the story is n't done?"
cried jack.
""oh dear, no; the most interesting things are to come, if you can wait for them."
""yes, i see, this is the moral part.
now keep still, and let us have the rest," commanded frank, while the others composed themselves for the sequel, suspecting that it was rather nice, because mamma's sober face changed, and her eyes laughed as they looked at the fire.
""the elder prince was very fond of driving dragons, for the people of that country used these fiery monsters as horses."
""and got run away with, did n't he?"
laughed jack, adding, with great interest, "what did the other fellow do?"
""he went about fighting other people's battles, helping the poor, and trying to do good.
but he lacked judgment, so he often got into trouble, and was in such a hurry that he did not always stop to find out the wisest way.
as when he gave away his best coat to a beggar boy, instead of the old one which he intended to give."
""i say, that is n't fair, mother!
neither of them was new, and the boy needed the best more than i did, and i wore the old one all winter, did n't i?"
asked jack, who had rather exulted over frank, and was now taken down himself.
""yes, you did, my dear; and it was not an easy thing for my dandiprat to do.
now listen, and i'll tell you how they both learned to be wiser.
the elder prince soon found that the big dragons were too much for him, and set about training his own little one, who now and then ran away with him.
its name was will, a good servant, but a bad master; so he learned to control it, and in time this gave him great power over himself, and fitted him to be a king over others."
""thank you, mother; i'll remember my part of the moral.
now give jack his," said frank, who liked the dragon episode, as he had been wrestling with his own of late, and found it hard to manage.
""he had a fine example before him in a friend, and he followed it more reasonably till he grew able to use wisely one of the best and noblest gifts of god -- benevolence."
""now tell about the girl.
was there more to that part of the story?"
asked jack, well pleased with his moral, as it took ed in likewise.
""that is the best of all, but it seems as if i never should get to it.
after patience made lucy sweet and cheerful, she began to have a curious power over those about her, and to work little miracles herself, though she did not know it.
the queen learned to love her so dearly she could not let her go; she cheered up all her friends when they came with their small troubles; the princes found bright eyes, willing hands, and a kind heart always at their service, and felt, without quite knowing why, that it was good for them to have a gentle little creature to care for; so they softened their rough manners, loud voices, and careless ways, for her sake, and when it was proposed to take her away to her own home they could not give her up, but said she must stay longer, did n't they?"
""i'd like to see them saying anything else," said frank, while jack sat up to demand fiercely, -- "who talks about taking jill away?"
""lucy's mother thought she ought to go, and said so, but the queen told her how much good it did them all to have her there, and begged the dear woman to let her little cottage and come and be housekeeper in the palace, for the queen was getting lazy, and liked to sit and read, and talk and sew with lucy, better than to look after things."
""and she said she would?"
cried jill, clasping her hands in her anxiety, for she had learned to love her cage now.
""yes."
mrs. minot had no time to say more, for one of the red slippers flew up in the air, and jack had to clap both hands over his mouth to suppress the "hurrah!"
that nearly escaped.
frank said, "that's good!"
and nodded with his most cordial smile at jill who pulled herself up with cheeks now as rosy as the red carnation, and a little catch in her breath as she said to herself, -- "it's too lovely to be true."
""that's a first-rate end to a very good story," began jack, with grave decision, as he put on his slipper and sat up to pat jill's hand, wishing it was not quite so like a little claw.
""that's not the end;" and mamma's eyes laughed more than ever as three astonished faces turned to her, and three voices cried out, -- "still more?"
""the very best of all.
you must know that, while lucy was busy for others, she was not forgotten, and when she was expecting to lie on her bed through the summer, plans were being made for all sorts of pleasant changes.
first of all, she was to have a nice little brace to support the back which was growing better every day; then, as the warm weather came on, she was to go out, or lie on the piazza; and by and by, when school was done, she was to go with the queen and the princes for a month or two down to the sea-side, where fresh air and salt water were to build her up in the most delightful way.
there, now!
is n't that the best ending of all?"
and mamma paused to read her answer in the bright faces of two of the listeners, for jill hid hers in the pillow, and lay quite still, as if it was too much for her.
""that will be regularly splendid!
i'll row you all about -- boating is so much easier than riding, and i like it on salt water," said frank, going to sit on the arm of the sofa, quite excited by the charms of the new plan.
""and i'll teach you to swim, and roll you over the beach, and get sea-weed and shells, and no end of nice things, and we'll all come home as strong as lions," added jack, scrambling up as if about to set off at once.
""the doctor says you have been doing finely of late, and the brace will come to-morrow, and the first really mild day you are to have a breath of fresh air.
wo n't that be good?"
asked mrs. minot, hoping her story had not been too interesting.
""is she crying?"
said jack, much concerned as he patted the pillow in his most soothing way, while frank lifted one curl after another to see what was hidden underneath.
not tears, for two eyes sparkled behind the fingers, then the hands came down like clouds from before the sun, and jill's face shone out so bright and happy it did one's heart good to see it.
""i'm not crying," she said with a laugh which was fuller of blithe music than any song she sung.
""but it was so splendid, it sort of took my breath away for a minute.
i thought i was n't any better, and never should be, and i made up my mind i would n't ask, it would be so hard for any one to tell me so.
now i see why the doctor made me stand up, and told me to get my baskets ready to go a-maying.
i thought he was in fun; did he really mean i could go?"
asked jill, expecting too much, for a word of encouragement made her as hopeful as she had been despondent before.
""no, dear, not so soon as that.
it will be months, probably, before you can walk and run, as you used to; but they will soon pass.
you need n't mind about may-day; it is always too cold for flowers, and you will find more here among your own plants, than on the hills, to fill your baskets," answered mrs. minot, hastening to suggest something pleasant to beguile the time of probation.
""i can wait.
months are not years, and if i'm truly getting well, everything will seem beautiful and easy to me," said jill, laying herself down again, with the patient look she had learned to wear, and gathering up the scattered carnations to enjoy their spicy breath, as if the fairies hidden there had taught her some of their sweet secrets.
""dear little girl, it has been a long, hard trial for you, but it is coming to an end, and i think you will find that it has not been time wasted, i do n't want you to be a saint quite yet, but i am sure a gentler jill will rise up from that sofa than the one who lay down there in december."
""how could i help growing better, when you were so good to me?"
cried jill, putting up both arms, as mrs. minot went to take frank's place, and he retired to the fire, there to stand surveying the scene with calm approval.
""you have done quite as much for us; so we are even.
i proved that to your mother, and she is going to let the little house and take care of the big one for me, while i borrow you to keep me happy and make the boys gentle and kind.
that is the bargain, and we get the best of it," said mrs. minot, looking well pleased, while jack added, "that's so!"
and frank observed with an air of conviction, "we could n't get on without jill, possibly."
""can i do all that?
i did n't know i was of any use.
i only tried to be good and grateful, for there did n't seem to be anything else i could do," said jill, wondering why they were all so fond of her.
""no real trying is ever in vain.
it is like the spring rain, and flowers are sure to follow in good time.
the three gifts patience gave saint lucy were courage, cheerfulness, and love, and with these one can work the sweetest miracles in the world, as you see," and mrs. minot pointed to the pretty room and its happy inmates.
""am i really the least bit like that good lucinda?
i tried to be, but i did n't think i was," asked jill softly.
""you are very like her in all ways but one.
she did not get well, and you will."
a short answer, but it satisfied jill to her heart's core, and that night, when she lay in bed, she thought to herself: "how curious it is that i've been a sort of missionary without knowing it!
they all love and thank me, and wo n't let me go, so i suppose i must have done something, but i do n't know what, except trying to be good and pleasant."
that was the secret, and jill found it out just when it was most grateful as a reward for past efforts, most helpful as an encouragement toward the constant well-doing which can make even a little girl a joy and comfort to all who know and love her.
chapter xvi.
up at merry's "now fly round, child, and get your sweeping done up smart and early."
""yes, mother."
""i shall want you to help me about the baking, by and by."
""yes, mother."
""roxy is cleaning the cellar-closets, so you'll have to get the vegetables ready for dinner.
father wants a boiled dish, and i shall be so busy i ca n't see to it."
""yes, mother."
a cheerful voice gave the three answers, but it cost merry an effort to keep it so, for she had certain little plans of her own which made the work before her unusually distasteful.
saturday always was a trying day, for, though she liked to see rooms in order, she hated to sweep, as no speck escaped mrs. grant's eye, and only the good old-fashioned broom, wielded by a pair of strong arms, was allowed.
baking was another trial: she loved good bread and delicate pastry, but did not enjoy burning her face over a hot stove, daubing her hands with dough, or spending hours rolling out cookies for the boys; while a "boiled dinner" was her especial horror, as it was not elegant, and the washing of vegetables was a job she always shirked when she could.
however, having made up her mind to do her work without complaint, she ran upstairs to put on her dust-cap, trying to look as if sweeping was the joy of her life.
""it is such a lovely day, i did want to rake my garden, and have a walk with molly, and finish my book so i can get another," she said with a sigh, as she leaned out of the open window for a breath of the unusually mild air.
down in the ten-acre lot the boys were carting and spreading loam; out in the barn her father was getting his plows ready; over the hill rose the smoke of the distant factory, and the river that turned the wheels was gliding through the meadows, where soon the blackbirds would be singing.
old bess pawed the ground, eager to be off; the gray hens were scratching busily all about the yard; even the green things in the garden were pushing through the brown earth, softened by april rains, and there was a shimmer of sunshine over the wide landscape that made every familiar object beautiful with hints of spring, and the activity it brings.
something made the old nursery hymn come into merry's head, and humming to herself, "in works of labor or of skill i would be busy too," she tied on her cap, shouldered her broom, and fell to work so energetically that she soon swept her way through the chambers, down the front stairs to the parlor door, leaving freshness and order behind her as she went.
she always groaned when she entered that apartment, and got out of it again as soon as possible, for it was, like most country parlors, a prim and chilly place, with little beauty and no comfort.
black horse-hair furniture, very slippery and hard, stood against the wall; the table had its gift books, albums, worsted mat and ugly lamp; the mantel-piece its china vases, pink shells, and clock that never went; the gay carpet was kept distressingly bright by closed shutters six days out of the seven, and a general air of go-to-meeting solemnity pervaded the room.
merry longed to make it pretty and pleasant, but her mother would allow of no change there, so the girl gave up her dreams of rugs and hangings, fine pictures and tasteful ornaments, and dutifully aired, dusted, and shut up this awful apartment once a week, privately resolving that, if she ever had a parlor of her own, it should not be as dismal as a tomb.
the dining-room was a very different place, for here merry had been allowed to do as she liked, yet so gradual had been the change, that she would have found it difficult to tell how it came about.
it seemed to begin with the flowers, for her father kept his word about the "posy pots," and got enough to make quite a little conservatory in the bay-window, which was sufficiently large for three rows all round, and hanging-baskets overhead.
being discouraged by her first failure, merry gave up trying to have things nice everywhere, and contented herself with making that one nook so pretty that the boys called it her "bower."
even busy mrs. grant owned that plants were not so messy as she expected, and the farmer was never tired of watching "little daughter" as she sat at work there, with her low chair and table full of books.
the lamp helped, also, for merry set up her own, and kept it so well trimmed that it burned clear and bright, shining on the green arch of ivy overhead, and on the nasturtium vines framing the old glass, and peeping at their gay little faces, and at the pretty young girl, so pleasantly that first her father came to read his paper by it, then her mother slipped in to rest on the lounge in the corner, and finally the boys hovered about the door as if the "settin" - room" had grown more attractive than the kitchen.
but the open fire did more than anything else to win and hold them all, as it seldom fails to do when the black demon of an airtight stove is banished from the hearth.
after the room was cleaned till it shone, merry begged to have the brass andirons put in, and offered to keep them as bright as gold if her mother would consent.
so the great logs were kindled, and the flames went dancing up the chimney as if glad to be set free from their prison.
it changed the whole room like magic, and no one could resist the desire to enjoy its cheery comfort.
the farmer's three-cornered leathern chair soon stood on one side, and mother's rocker on the other, as they toasted their feet and dozed or chatted in the pleasant warmth.
the boys" slippers were always ready on the hearth; and when the big boots were once off, they naturally settled down about the table, where the tall lamp, with its pretty shade of pressed autumn leaves, burned brightly, and the books and papers lay ready to their hands instead of being tucked out of sight in the closet.
they were beginning to see that "merry's notions" had some sense in them, since they were made comfortable, and good-naturedly took some pains to please her in various ways.
tom brushed his hair and washed his hands nicely before he came to table.
dick tried to lower his boisterous laughter, and harry never smoked in the sitting-room.
even roxy expressed her pleasure in seeing "things kind of spruced up," and merry's gentle treatment of the hard-working drudge won her heart entirely.
the girl was thinking of these changes as she watered her flowers, dusted the furniture, and laid the fire ready for kindling; and, when all was done, she stood a minute to enjoy the pleasant room, full of spring sunshine, fresh air, and exquisite order.
it seemed to give her heart for more distasteful labors, and she fell to work at the pies as cheerfully as if she liked it.
mrs. grant was flying about the kitchen, getting the loaves of brown and white bread ready for the big oven.
roxy's voice came up from the cellar singing "bounding billows," with a swashing and scrubbing accompaniment which suggested that she was actually enjoying a "life on the ocean wave."
merry, in her neat cap and apron, stood smiling over her work as she deftly rolled and clipped, filled and covered, finding a certain sort of pleasure in doing it well, and adding interest to it by crimping the crust, making pretty devices with strips of paste and star-shaped prickings of the fork.
""good-will giveth skill," says the proverb, and even particular mrs. grant was satisfied when she paused to examine the pastry with her experienced eye.
""you are a handy child and a credit to your bringing up, though i do say it.
those are as pretty pies as i'd wish to eat, if they bake well, and there's no reason why they should n't."
""may i make some tarts or rabbits of these bits?
the boys like them, and i enjoy modelling this sort of thing," said merry, who was trying to mould a bird, as she had seen ralph do with clay to amuse jill while the bust was going on.
""no, dear; there's no time for knick-knacks to-day.
the beets ought to be on this minute.
run and get'em, and be sure you scrape the carrots well."
poor merry put away the delicate task she was just beginning to like, and taking a pan went down cellar, wishing vegetables could be grown without earth, for she hated to put her hands in dirty water.
a word of praise to roxy made that grateful scrubber leave her work to poke about in the root-cellar, choosing "sech as was pretty much of a muchness, else they would n't bile even;" so merry was spared that part of the job, and went up to scrape and wash without complaint, since it was for father.
she was repaid at noon by the relish with which he enjoyed his dinner, for merry tried to make even a boiled dish pretty by arranging the beets, carrots, turnips, and potatoes in contrasting colors, with the beef hidden under the cabbage leaves.
""now, i'll rest and read for an hour, then i'll rake my garden, or run down town to see molly and get some seeds," she thought to herself, as she put away the spoons and glasses, which she liked to wash, that they might always be clear and bright.
""if you've done all your own mending, there's a heap of socks to be looked over.
then i'll show you about darning the tablecloths.
i do hate to have a stitch of work left over till monday," said mrs. grant, who never took naps, and prided herself on sitting down to her needle at 3 p.m. every day.
""yes, mother;" and merry went slowly upstairs, feeling that a part of saturday ought to be a holiday after books and work all the week.
as she braided up her hair, her eye fell upon the reflection of her own face in the glass.
not a happy nor a pretty one just then, and merry was so unaccustomed to seeing any other, that involuntarily the frown smoothed itself out, the eyes lost their weary look, the drooping lips curved into a smile, and, leaning her elbows on the bureau, she shook her head at herself, saying, half aloud, as she glanced at ivanhoe lying near, -- "you need n't look so cross and ugly just because you ca n't have what you want.
sweeping, baking, and darning are not so bad as being plagued with lovers and carried off and burnt at the stake, so i wo n't envy poor rebecca her jewels and curls and romantic times, but make the best of my own."
then she laughed, and the bright face came back into the mirror, looking like an old friend, and merry went on dressing with care, for she took pleasure in her own little charms, and felt a sense of comfort in knowing that she could always have one pretty thing to look at if she kept her own face serene and sweet.
it certainly looked so as it bent over the pile of big socks half an hour later, and brightened with each that was laid aside.
her mother saw it, and, guessing why such wistful glances went from clock to window, kindly shortened the task of table-cloth darning by doing a good bit herself, before putting it into merry's hands.
she was a good and loving mother in spite of her strict ways, and knew that it was better for her romantic daughter to be learning all the housewifery lessons she could teach her, than to be reading novels, writing verses, or philandering about with her head full of girlish fancies, quite innocent in themselves, but not the stuff to live on.
so she wisely taught the hands that preferred to pick flowers, trim up rooms and mould birds, to work well with needle, broom, and rolling-pin; put a receipt-book before the eyes that loved to laugh and weep over tender tales, and kept the young head and heart safe and happy with wholesome duties, useful studies, and such harmless pleasures as girls should love, instead of letting them waste their freshness in vague longings, idle dreams, and frivolous pastimes.
but it was often hard to thwart the docile child, and lately she had seemed to be growing up so fast that her mother began to feel a new sort of tenderness for this sweet daughter, who was almost ready to take upon herself the cares, as well as triumphs and delights, of maidenhood.
something in the droop of the brown head, and the quick motion of the busy hand with a little burn on it, made it difficult for mrs. grant to keep merry at work that day, and her eye watched the clock almost as impatiently as the girl's, for she liked to see the young face brighten when the hour of release came.
""what next?"
asked merry, as the last stitch was set, and she stifled a sigh on hearing the clock strike four, for the sun was getting low, and the lovely afternoon going fast.
""one more job, if you are not too tired for it.
i want the receipt for diet drink miss dawes promised me; would you like to run down and get it for me, dear?"
""yes, mother!"
and that answer was as blithe as a robin's chirp, for that was just where merry wanted to go.
away went thimble and scissors, and in five minutes away went merry, skipping down the hill without a care in the world, for a happy heart sat singing within, and everything seemed full of beauty.
she had a capital time with molly, called on jill, did her shopping in the village, and had just turned to walk up the hill, when ralph evans came tramping along behind her, looking so pleased and proud about something that she could not help asking what it was, for they were great friends, and merry thought that to be an artist was the most glorious career a man could choose.
""i know you've got some good news," she said, looking up at him as he touched his hat and fell into step with her, seeming more contented than before.
""i have, and was just coming up to tell you, for i was sure you would be glad.
it is only a hope, a chance, but it is so splendid i feel as if i must shout and dance, or fly over a fence or two, to let off steam."
""do tell me, quick; have you got an order?"
asked merry, full of interest at once, for artistic vicissitudes were very romantic, and she liked to hear about them.
""i may go abroad in the autumn."
""oh, how lovely!"
""is n't it?
david german is going to spend a year in rome, to finish a statue, and wants me to go along.
grandma is willing, as cousin maria wants her for a long visit, so everything looks promising and i really think i may go."
""wo n't it cost a great deal?"
asked merry, who, in spite of her little elegancies, had a good deal of her thrifty mother's common sense.
""yes; and i've got to earn it.
but i can -- i know i can, for i've saved some, and i shall work like ten beavers all summer.
i wo n't borrow if i can help it, but i know someone who would lend me five hundred if i wanted it;" and ralph looked as eager and secure as if the earning of twice that sum was a mere trifle when all the longing of his life was put into his daily tasks.
""i wish i had it to give you.
it must be so splendid to feel that you can do great things if you only have the chance.
and to travel, and see all the lovely pictures and statues, and people and places in italy.
how happy you must be!"
and merry's eyes had the wistful look they always wore when she dreamed dreams of the world she loved to live in.
""i am -- so happy that i'm afraid it never will happen.
if i do go, i'll write and tell you all about the fine sights, and how i get on.
would you like me to?"
asked ralph, beginning enthusiastically and ending rather bashfully, for he admired merry very much, and was not quite sure how this proposal would be received.
""indeed i should!
i'd feel so grand to have letters from paris and rome, and you'd have so much to tell it would be almost as good as going myself," she said, looking off into the daffodil sky, as they paused a minute on the hill-top to get breath, for both had walked as fast as they talked.
""and will you answer the letters?"
asked ralph, watching the innocent face, which looked unusually kind and beautiful to him in that soft light.
""why, yes; i'd love to, only i shall not have anything interesting to say.
what can i write about?"
and merry smiled as she thought how dull her letters would sound after the exciting details his would doubtless give.
""write about yourself, and all the rest of the people i know.
grandma will be gone, and i shall want to hear how you get on."
ralph looked very anxious indeed to hear, and merry promised she would tell all about the other people, adding, as she turned from the evening peace and loveliness to the house, whence came the clatter of milk-pans and the smell of cooking, -- "i never should have anything very nice to tell about myself, for i do n't do interesting things as you do, and you would n't care to hear about school, and sewing, and messing round at home."
merry gave a disdainful little sniff at the savory perfume of ham which saluted them, and paused with her hand on the gate, as if she found it pleasanter out there than in the house.
ralph seemed to agree with her, for, leaning on the gate, he lingered to say, with real sympathy in his tone and something else in his face, "yes, i should; so you write and tell me all about it.
i did n't know you had any worries, for you always seemed like one of the happiest people in the world, with so many to pet and care for you, and plenty of money, and nothing very hard or hateful to do.
you'd think you were well off if you knew as much about poverty and work and never getting what you want, as i do."
""you bear your worries so well that nobody knows you have them.
i ought not to complain, and i wo n't, for i do have all i need.
i'm so glad you are going to get what you want at last;" and merry held out her hand to say good-night, with so much pleasure in her face that ralph could not make up his mind to go just yet.
""i shall have to scratch round in a lively way before i do get it, for david says a fellow ca n't live on less than four or five hundred a year, even living as poor artists have to, in garrets and on crusts.
i do n't mind as long as grandma is all right.
she is away to-night, or i should not be here," he added, as if some excuse was necessary.
merry needed no hint, for her tender heart was touched by the vision of her friend in a garret, and she suddenly rejoiced that there was ham and eggs for supper, so that he might be well fed once, at least, before he went away to feed on artistic crusts.
""being here, come in and spend the evening.
the boys will like to hear the news, and so will father.
do, now."
it was impossible to refuse the invitation he had been longing for, and in they went to the great delight of roxy, who instantly retired to the pantry, smiling significantly, and brought out the most elaborate pie in honor of the occasion.
merry touched up the table, and put a little vase of flowers in the middle to redeem the vulgarity of doughnuts.
of course the boys upset it, but as there was company nothing was said, and ralph devoured his supper with the appetite of a hungry boy, while watching merry eat bread and cream out of an old-fashioned silver porringer, and thinking it the sweetest sight he ever beheld.
then the young people gathered about the table, full of the new plans, and the elders listened as they rested after the week's work.
a pleasant evening, for they all liked ralph, but as the parents watched merry sitting among the great lads like a little queen among her subjects, half unconscious as yet of the power in her hands, they nodded to one another, and then shook their heads as if they said, -- "i'm afraid the time is coming, mother."
""no danger as long as she do n't know it, father."
at nine the boys went off to the barn, the farmer to wind up the eight-day clock, and the housewife to see how the baked beans and indian pudding for to-morrow were getting on in the oven.
ralph took up his hat to go, saying as he looked at the shade on the tall student lamp, -- "what a good light that gives!
i can see it as i go home every night, and it burns up here like a beacon.
i always look for it, and it hardly ever fails to be burning.
sort of cheers up the way, you know, when i'm tired or low in my mind."
""then i'm very glad i got it.
i liked the shape, but the boys laughed at it as they did at my bulrushes in a ginger-jar over there.
i'd been reading about "household art," and i thought i'd try a little," answered merry, laughing at her own whims.
""you've got a better sort of household art, i think, for you make people happy and places pretty, without fussing over it.
this room is ever so much improved every time i come, though i hardly see what it is except the flowers," said ralph, looking from the girl to the tall calla that bent its white cup above her as if to pour its dew upon her head.
""is n't that lovely?
i tried to draw it -- the shape was so graceful i wanted to keep it.
but i could n't.
is n't it a pity such beautiful things wo n't last forever?"
and merry looked regretfully at the half-faded one that grew beside the fresh blossom.
""i can keep it for you.
it would look well in plaster.
may i?"
asked ralph.
""thank you, i should like that very much.
take the real one as a model -- please do; there are more coming, and this will brighten up your room for a day or two."
as she spoke, merry cut the stem, and, adding two or three of the great green leaves, put the handsome flower in his hand with so much good-will that he felt as if he had received a very precious gift.
then he said good-night so gratefully that merry's hand quite tingled with the grasp of his, and went away, often looking backward through the darkness to where the light burned brightly on the hill-top -- the beacon kindled by an unconscious hero for a young leander swimming gallantly against wind and tide toward the goal of his ambition.
chapter xvii.
down at molly's "now, my dears, i've something very curious to tell you, so listen quietly and then i'll give you your dinners," said molly, addressing the nine cats who came trooping after her as she went into the shed-chamber with a bowl of milk and a plate of scraps in her hands.
she had taught them to behave well at meals, so, though their eyes glared and their tails quivered with impatience, they obeyed; and when she put the food on a high shelf and retired to the big basket, the four old cats sat demurely down before her, while the five kits scrambled after her and tumbled into her lap, as if hoping to hasten the desired feast by their innocent gambols.
granny, tobias, mortification, and molasses were the elders.
granny, a gray old puss, was the mother and grandmother of all the rest.
tobias was her eldest son, and mortification his brother, so named because he had lost his tail, which affliction depressed his spirits and cast a blight over his young life.
molasses was a yellow cat, the mamma of four of the kits, the fifth being granny's latest darling.
toddlekins, the little aunt, was the image of her mother, and very sedate even at that early age; miss muffet, so called from her dread of spiders, was a timid black and white kit; beauty, a pretty maltese, with a serene little face and pink nose; ragbag, a funny thing, every color that a cat could be; and scamp, who well deserved his name, for he was the plague of miss bat's life, and molly's especial pet.
he was now perched on her shoulder, and, as she talked, kept peeping into her face or biting her ear in the most impertinent way, while the others sprawled in her lap or promenaded round the basket rim.
""my friends, something very remarkable has happened: miss bat is cleaning house!"
and, having made this announcement, molly leaned back to see how the cats received it, for she insisted that they understood all she said to them.
tobias stared, mortification lay down as if it was too much for him, molasses beat her tail on the floor as if whipping a dusty carpet, and granny began to purr approvingly.
the giddy kits paid no attention, as they did not know what house-cleaning meant, happy little dears!
""i thought you'd like it, granny, for you are a decent cat, and know what is proper," continued molly, leaning down to stroke the old puss, who blinked affectionately at her.
""i ca n't imagine what put it into miss bat's head.
i never said a word, and gave up groaning over the clutter, as i could n't mend it.
i just took care of boo and myself, and left her to be as untidy as she pleased, and she is a regular old --" here scamp put his paw on her lips because he saw them moving, but it seemed as if it was to check the disrespectful word just coming out.
""well, i wo n't call names; but what shall i do when i see everything in confusion, and she wo n't let me clear up?"
asked molly, looking round at scamp, who promptly put the little paw on her eyelid, as if the roll of the blue ball underneath amused him.
""shut my eyes to it, you mean?
i do all i can, but it is hard, when i wish to be nice, and do try; do n't i?"
asked molly.
but scamp was ready for her, and began to comb her hair with both paws as he stood on his hind legs to work so busily that molly laughed and pulled him down, saying, as she cuddled the sly kit.
""you sharp little thing!
i know my hair is not neat now, for i've been chasing boo round the garden to wash him for school.
then miss bat threw the parlor carpet out of the window, and i was so surprised i had to run and tell you.
now, what had we better do about it?"
the cats all winked at her, but no one had any advice to offer, except tobias, who walked to the shelf, and, looking up, uttered a deep, suggestive yowl, which said as plainly as words, "dinner first and discussion afterward."
""very well, do n't scramble," said molly, getting up to feed her pets.
first the kits, who rushed at the bowl and thrust their heads in, lapping as if for a wager; then the cats, who each went to one of the four piles of scraps laid round at intervals and placidly ate their meat; while molly retired to the basket, to ponder over the phenomena taking place in the house.
she could not imagine what had started the old lady.
it was not the example of her neighbors, who had beaten carpets and scrubbed paint every spring for years without exciting her to any greater exertion than cleaning a few windows and having a man to clear away the rubbish displayed when the snow melted.
molly never guessed that her own efforts were at the bottom of the change, or knew that a few words not meant for her ear had shamed miss bat into action.
coming home from prayer-meeting one dark night, she trotted along behind two old ladies who were gossiping in loud voices, as one was rather deaf, and miss bat was both pleased and troubled to hear herself unduly praised.
""i always said sister dawes meant well; but she's getting into years, and the care of two children is a good deal for her, with her cooking and her rheumatiz.
i do n't deny she did neglect'em for a spell, but she does well by'em now, and i would n't wish to see better-appearing children."
""you've no idee how improved molly is.
she came in to see my girls, and brought her sewing-work, shirts for the boy, and done it as neat and capable as you'd wish to see.
she always was a smart child, but dreadful careless," said the other old lady, evidently much impressed by the change in harum-scarum molly loo.
""being over to mis minot's so much has been good for her, and up to mis grant's.
girls catch neat ways as quick as they do untidy ones, and them wild little tykes often turn out smart women."
""sister dawes has done well by them children, and i hope mr. bemis sees it.
he ought to give her something comfortable to live on when she ca n't do for him any longer.
he can well afford it."
""i have n't a doubt he will.
he's a lavish man when he starts to do a thing, but dreadful unobserving, else he'd have seen to matters long ago.
them children was town-talk last fall, and i used to feel as if it was my bounden duty to speak to miss dawes.
but i never did, fearing i might speak too plain, and hurt her feelings."
""you've spoken plain enough now, and i'm beholden to you, though you'll never know it," said miss bat to herself, as she slipped into her own gate, while the gossips trudged on quite unconscious of the listener behind them.
miss bat was a worthy old soul in the main, only, like so many of us, she needed rousing up to her duty.
she had got the rousing now, and it did her good, for she could not bear to be praised when she had not deserved it.
she had watched molly's efforts with lazy interest, and when the girl gave up meddling with her affairs, as she called the housekeeping, miss bat ceased to oppose her, and let her scrub boo, mend clothes, and brush her hair as much as she liked.
so molly had worked along without any help from her, running in to mrs. pecq for advice, to merry for comfort, or mrs. minot for the higher kind of help one often needs so much.
now miss bat found that she was getting the credit and the praise belonging to other people, and it stirred her up to try and deserve a part at least.
""molly do n't want any help about her work or the boy: it's too late for that; but if this house do n't get a spring cleaning that will make it shine, my name ai n't bathsheba dawes," said the old lady, as she put away her bonnet that night, and laid energetic plans for a grand revolution, inspired thereto not only by shame, but by the hint that "mr. bemis was a lavish man," as no one knew better than she.
molly's amazement next day at seeing carpets fly out of window, ancient cobwebs come down, and long-undisturbed closets routed out to the great dismay of moths and mice, has been already confided to the cats, and as she sat there watching them lap and gnaw, she said to herself, -- "i do n't understand it, but as she never says much to me about my affairs, i wo n't take any notice till she gets through, then i'll admire everything all i can.
it is so pleasant to be praised after you've been trying hard."
she might well say that, for she got very little herself, and her trials had been many, her efforts not always successful, and her reward seemed a long way off.
poor boo could have sympathized with her, for he had suffered much persecution from his small schoolmates when he appeared with large gray patches on the little brown trousers, where he had worn them out coasting down those too fascinating steps.
as he could not see the patches himself, he fancied them invisible, and came home much afflicted by the jeers of his friends.
then molly tried to make him a new pair out of a sack of her own; but she cut both sides for the same leg, so one was wrong side out.
fondly hoping no one would observe it, she sewed bright buttons wherever they could be put, and sent confiding boo away in a pair of blue trousers, which were absurdly hunchy behind and buttony before.
he came home heart-broken and muddy, having been accidentally tipped into a mud-puddle by two bad boys who felt that such tailoring was an insult to mankind.
that roused molly's spirit, and she begged her father to take the boy and have him properly fitted out, as he was old enough now to be well-dressed, and she would n't have him tormented.
his attention being called to the trousers, mr. bemis had a good laugh over them, and then got boo a suit which caused him to be the admired of all observers, and to feel as proud as a little peacock.
cheered by this success, molly undertook a set of small shirts, and stitched away bravely, though her own summer clothes were in a sad state, and for the first time in her life she cared about what she should wear.
""i must ask merry, and may be father will let me go with her and her mother when they do their shopping, instead of leaving it to miss bat, who dresses me like an old woman.
merry knows what is pretty and becoming: i do n't," thought molly, meditating in the bushel basket, with her eyes on her snuff-colored gown and the dark purple bow at the end of the long braid muffet had been playing with.
molly was beginning to see that even so small a matter as the choice of colors made a difference in one's appearance, and to wonder why merry always took such pains to have a blue tie for the gray dress, a rosy one for the brown, and gloves that matched her bonnet ribbons.
merry never wore a locket outside her sack, a gay bow in her hair and soiled cuffs, a smart hat and the braid worn off her skirts.
she was exquisitely neat and simple, yet always looked well-dressed and pretty; for her love of beauty taught her what all girls should learn as soon as they begin to care for appearances -- that neatness and simplicity are their best ornaments, that good habits are better than fine clothes, and the most elegant manners are the kindest.
all these thoughts were dancing through molly's head, and when she left her cats, after a general romp in which even decorous granny allowed her family to play leap-frog over her respectable back, she had made up her mind not to have yellow ribbons on her summer hat if she got a pink muslin as she had planned, but to finish off boo's last shirt before she went shopping with merry.
it rained that evening, and mr. bemis had a headache, so he threw himself down upon the lounge after tea for a nap, with his silk handkerchief spread over his face.
he did get a nap, and when he waked he lay for a time drowsily listening to the patter of the rain, and another sound which was even more soothing.
putting back a corner of the handkerchief to learn what it was, he saw molly sitting by the fire with boo in her lap, rocking and humming as she warmed his little bare feet, having learned to guard against croup by attending to the damp shoes and socks before going to bed.
boo lay with his round face turned up to hers, stroking her cheek while the sleepy blue eyes blinked lovingly at her as she sang her lullaby with a motherly patience sweet to see.
they made a pretty little picture, and mr. bemis looked at it with pleasure, having a leisure moment in which to discover, as all parents do sooner or later, that his children were growing up.
""molly is getting to be quite a woman, and very like her mother," thought papa, wiping the eye that peeped, for he had been fond of the pretty wife who died when boo was born.
""sad loss to them, poor things!
but miss bat seems to have done well by them.
molly is much improved, and the boy looks finely.
she's a good soul, after all;" and mr. bemis began to think he had been hasty when he half made up his mind to get a new housekeeper, feeling that burnt steak, weak coffee, and ragged wristbands were sure signs that miss bat's days of usefulness were over.
molly was singing the lullaby her mother used to sing to her, and her father listened to it silently till boo was carried away too sleepy for anything but bed.
when she came back she sat down to her work, fancying her father still asleep.
she had a crimson bow at her throat and one on the newly braided hair, her cuffs were clean, and a white apron hid the shabbiness of the old dress.
she looked like a thrifty little housewife as she sat with her basket beside her full of neat white rolls, her spools set forth, and a new pair of scissors shining on the table.
there was a sort of charm in watching the busy needle flash to and fro, the anxious pucker of the forehead as she looked to see if the stitches were even, and the expression of intense relief upon her face as she surveyed the finished button-hole with girlish satisfaction.
her father was wide awake and looking at her, thinking, as he did so, -- "really the old lady has worked well to change my tomboy into that nice little girl: i wonder how she did it."
then he gave a yawn, pulled off the handkerchief, and said aloud, "what are you making, molly?"
for it struck him that sewing was a new amusement.
""shirts for boo, sir.
four, and this is the last," she answered, with pardonable pride, as she held it up and nodded toward the pile in her basket.
""is n't that a new notion?
i thought miss bat did the sewing," said mr. bemis, as he smiled at the funny little garment, it looked so like boo himself.
""no, sir; only yours.
i do mine and boo's.
at least, i'm learning how, and mrs. pecq says i get on nicely," answered molly, threading her needle and making a knot in her most capable way.
""i suppose it is time you did learn, for you are getting to be a great girl, and all women should know how to make and mend.
you must take a stitch for me now and then: miss bat's eyes are not what they were, i find;" and mr. bemis looked at his frayed wristband, as if he particularly felt the need of a stitch just then.
""i'd love to, and i guess i could.
i can mend gloves; merry taught me, so i'd better begin on them, if you have any," said molly, much pleased at being able to do anything for her father, and still more so at being asked.
""there's something to start with;" and he threw her a pair, with nearly every finger ripped.
molly shook her head over them, but got out her gray silk and fell to work, glad to show how well she could sew.
""what are you smiling about?"
asked her father, after a little pause, for his head felt better, and it amused him to question molly.
""i was thinking about my summer clothes.
i must get them before long, and i'd like to go with mrs. grant and learn how to shop, if you are willing."
""i thought miss bat did that for you."
""she always has, but she gets ugly, cheap things that i do n't like.
i think i am old enough to choose myself, if there is someone to tell me about prices and the goodness of the stuff.
merry does; and she is only a few months older than i am."
""how old are you, child?"
asked her father, feeling as if he had lost his reckoning.
""fifteen in august;" and molly looked very proud of the fact.
""so you are!
bless my heart, how the time goes!
well, get what you please; if i'm to have a young lady here, i'd like to have her prettily dressed.
it wo n't offend miss bat, will it?"
molly's eyes sparkled, but she gave a little shrug as she answered, "she wo n't care.
she never troubles herself about me if i let her alone.
""hey?
what?
not trouble herself?
if she does n't, who does?"
and mr. bemis sat up as if this discovery was more surprising than the other.
""i take care of myself and boo, and she looks after you.
the house goes any way."
""i should think so!
i nearly broke my neck over the parlor sofa in the hall to-night.
what is it there for?"
molly laughed.
""that's the joke, sir, miss bat is cleaning house, and i'm sure it needs cleaning, for it is years since it was properly done.
i thought you might have told her to."
""i've said nothing.
do n't like house-cleaning well enough to suggest it.
i did think the hall was rather dirty when i dropped my coat and took it up covered with lint.
is she going to upset the whole place?"
asked mr. bemis, looking alarmed at the prospect.
""i hope so, for i really am ashamed when people come, to have them see the dust and cobwebs, and old carpets and dirty windows," said molly, with a sigh, though she never had cared a bit till lately.
""why do n't you dust round a little, then?
no time to spare from the books and play?"
""i tried, father, but miss bat did n't like it, and it was too hard for me alone.
if things were once in nice order, i think i could keep them so; for i do want to be neat, and i'm learning as fast as i can."
""it is high time someone took hold, if matters are left as you say.
i've just been thinking what a clever woman miss bat was, to make such a tidy little girl out of what i used to hear called the greatest tomboy in town, and wondering what i could give the old lady.
now i find you are the one to be thanked, and it is a very pleasant surprise to me."
""give her the present, please; i'm satisfied, if you like what i've done.
it is n't much, and i did n't know as you would ever observe any difference.
but i did try, and now i guess i'm really getting on," said molly, sewing away with a bright color in her cheeks, for she, too, found it a pleasant surprise to be praised after many failures and few successes.
""you certainly are, my dear.
i'll wait till the house-cleaning is over, and then, if we are all alive, i'll see about miss bat's reward.
meantime, you go with mrs. grant and get whatever you and the boy need, and send the bills to me;" and mr. bemis lighted a cigar, as if that matter was settled.
""oh, thank you, sir!
that will be splendid.
merry always has pretty things, and i know you will like me when i get fixed," said molly, smoothing down her apron, with a little air.
""seems to me you look very well as you are.
is n't that a pretty enough frock?"
asked mr. bemis, quite unconscious that his own unusual interest in his daughter's affairs made her look so bright and winsome.
""this?
why, father, i've worn it all winter, and it's frightfully ugly, and almost in rags.
i asked you for a new one a month ago, and you said you'd "see about it"; but you did n't, so i patched this up as well as i could;" and molly showed her elbows, feeling that such masculine blindness as this deserved a mild reproof.
""too bad!
well, go and get half a dozen pretty muslin and gingham things, and be as gay as a butterfly, to make up for it," laughed her father, really touched by the patches and molly's resignation to the unreliable "i'll see about it," which he recognized as a household word.
molly clapped her hands, old gloves and all, exclaiming, with girlish delight, "how nice it will seem to have a plenty of new, neat dresses all at once, and be like other girls!
miss bat always talks about economy, and has no more taste than a -- caterpillar."
molly meant to say "cat," but remembering her pets, spared them the insult.
""i think i can afford to dress my girl as well as grant does his.
get a new hat and coat, child, and any little notions you fancy.
miss bat's economy is n't the sort i like;" and mr. bemis looked at his wristbands again, as if he could sympathize with molly's elbows.
""at this rate, i shall have more clothes than i know what to do with, after being a rag-bag," thought the girl, in great glee, as she bravely stitched away at the worst glove, while her father smoked silently for a while, feeling that several little matters had escaped his eye which he really ought to "see about."
presently he went to his desk, but not to bury himself in business papers, as usual, for, after rummaging in several drawers, he took out a small bunch of keys, and sat looking at them with an expression only seen on his face when he looked up at the portrait of a dark-eyed woman hanging in his room.
he was a very busy man, but he had a tender place in his heart for his children; and when a look, a few words, a moment's reflection, called his attention to the fact that his little girl was growing up, he found both pride and pleasure in the thought that this young daughter was trying to fill her mother's place, and be a comfort to him, if he would let her.
""molly, my dear, here is something for you," he said; and when she stood beside him, added, as he put the keys into her hand, keeping both in his own for a minute, -- "those are the keys to your mother's things.
i always meant you to have them, when you were old enough to use or care for them.
i think you'll fancy this better than any other present, for you are a good child, and very like her."
something seemed to get into his throat there, and molly put her arm round his neck, saying, with a little choke in her own voice, "thank you, father, i'd rather have this than anything else in the world, and i'll try to be more like her every day, for your sake."
he kissed her, then said, as he began to stir his papers about, "i must write some letters.
run off to bed, child.
good-night, my dear, good-night."
seeing that he wanted to be alone, molly slipped away, feeling that she had received a very precious gift; for she remembered the dear, dead mother, and had often longed to possess the relics laid away in the one room where order reigned and miss bat had no power to meddle.
as she slowly undressed, she was not thinking of the pretty new gowns in which she was to be "as gay as a butterfly," but of the half-worn garments waiting for her hands to unfold with a tender touch; and when she fell asleep, with the keys under her pillow and her arms round boo, a few happy tears on her cheeks seemed to show that, in trying to do the duty which lay nearest her, she had earned a very sweet reward.
so the little missionaries succeeded better in their second attempt than in their first; for, though still very far from being perfect girls, each was slowly learning, in her own way, one of the three lessons all are the better for knowing -- that cheerfulness can change misfortune into love and friends; that in ordering one's self aright one helps others to do the same; and that the power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely.
chapter xviii.
may baskets spring was late that year, but to jill it seemed the loveliest she had ever known, for hope was growing green and strong in her own little heart, and all the world looked beautiful.
with the help of the brace she could sit up for a short time every day, and when the air was mild enough she was warmly wrapped and allowed to look out at the open window into the garden, where the gold and purple crocuses were coming bravely up, and the snowdrops nodded their delicate heads as if calling to her, -- "good day, little sister, come out and play with us, for winter is over and spring is here."
""i wish i could!"
thought jill, as the soft wind kissed a tinge of color into her pale cheeks.
""never mind, they have been shut up in a darker place than i for months, and had no fun at all; i wo n't fret, but think about july and the seashore while i work."
the job now in hand was may baskets, for it was the custom of the children to hang them on the doors of their friends the night before may-day; and the girls had agreed to supply baskets if the boys would hunt for flowers, much the harder task of the two.
jill had more leisure as well as taste and skill than the other girls, so she amused herself with making a goodly store of pretty baskets of all shapes, sizes, and colors, quite confident that they would be filled, though not a flower had shown its head except a few hardy dandelions, and here and there a small cluster of saxifrage.
the violets would not open their blue eyes till the sunshine was warmer, the columbines refused to dance with the boisterous east wind, the ferns kept themselves rolled up in their brown flannel jackets, and little hepatica, with many another spring beauty, hid away in the woods, afraid to venture out, in spite of the eager welcome awaiting them.
but the birds had come, punctual as ever, and the bluejays were screaming in the orchard, robins were perking up their heads and tails as they went house-hunting, purple finches in their little red hoods were feasting on the spruce buds, and the faithful chip birds chirped gayly on the grapevine trellis where they had lived all winter, warming their little gray breasts against the southern side of the house when the sun shone, and hiding under the evergreen boughs when the snow fell.
""that tree is a sort of bird's hotel," said jill, looking out at the tall spruce before her window, every spray now tipped with a soft green.
""they all go there to sleep and eat, and it has room for every one.
it is green when other trees die, the wind ca n't break it, and the snow only makes it look prettier.
it sings to me, and nods as if it knew i loved it."
""we might call it "the holly tree inn," as some of the cheap eating-houses for poor people are called in the city, as my holly bush grows at its foot for a sign.
you can be the landlady, and feed your feathery customers every day, till the hard times are over," said mrs. minot, glad to see the child's enjoyment of the outer world from which she had been shut so long.
jill liked the fancy, and gladly strewed crumbs on the window ledge for the chippies, who came confidingly to eat almost from her hand.
she threw out grain for the handsome jays, the jaunty robins, and the neighbors" doves, who came with soft flight to trip about on their pink feet, arching their shining necks as they cooed and pecked.
carrots and cabbage-leaves also flew out of the window for the marauding gray rabbit, last of all jack's half-dozen, who led him a weary life of it because they would not stay in the bunny-house, but undermined the garden with their burrows, ate the neighbors" plants, and refused to be caught till all but one ran away, to jack's great relief.
this old fellow camped out for the winter, and seemed to get on very well among the cats and the hens, who shared their stores with him, and he might be seen at all hours of the day and night scampering about the place, or kicking up his heels by moonlight, for he was a desperate poacher.
jill took great delight in her pretty pensioners, who soon learned to love "the holly tree inn," and to feel that the bird room held a caged comrade; for, when it was too cold or wet to open the windows, the doves came and tapped at the pane, the chippies sat on the ledge in plump little bunches as if she were their sunshine, the jays called her in their shrill voices to ring the dinner-bell, and the robins tilted on the spruce boughs where lunch was always to be had.
the first of may came on sunday, so all the celebrating must be done on saturday, which happily proved fair, though too chilly for muslin gowns, paper garlands, and picnics on damp grass.
being a holiday, the boys decided to devote the morning to ball and the afternoon to the flower hunt, while the girls finished the baskets; and in the evening our particular seven were to meet at the minots to fill them, ready for the closing frolic of hanging on door-handles, ringing bells, and running away.
""now i must do my maying, for there will be no more sunshine, and i want to pick my flowers before it is dark.
come, mammy, you go too," said jill, as the last sunbeams shone in at the western window where her hyacinths stood that no fostering ray might be lost.
it was rather pathetic to see the once merry girl who used to be the life of the wood-parties now carefully lifting herself from the couch, and, leaning on her mother's strong arm, slowly take the half-dozen steps that made up her little expedition.
but she was happy, and stood smiling out at old bun skipping down the walk, the gold-edged clouds that drew apart so that a sunbeam might give her a good-night kiss as she gathered her long-cherished daisies, primroses, and hyacinths to fill the pretty basket in her hand.
""who is it for, my dearie?"
asked her mother, standing behind her as a prop, while the thin fingers did their work so willingly that not a flower was left.
""for my lady, of course.
who else would i give my posies to, when i love them so well?"
answered jill, who thought no name too fine for their best friend.
""i fancied it would be for master jack," said her mother, wishing the excursion to be a cheerful one.
""i've another for him, but she must have the prettiest.
he is going to hang it for me, and ring and run away, and she wo n't know who it's from till she sees this.
she will remember it, for i've been turning and tending it ever so long, to make it bloom to-day.
is n't it a beauty?"
and jill held up her finest hyacinth, which seemed to ring its pale pink bells as if glad to carry its sweet message from a grateful little heart.
""indeed it is; and you are right to give your best to her.
come away now, you must not stand any longer.
come and rest while i fetch a dish to put the flowers in till you want them;" and mrs. pecq turned her round with her small maying safely done.
""i did n't think i'd ever be able to do even so much, and here i am walking and sitting up, and going to drive some day.
is n't it nice that i'm not to be a poor lucinda after all?"
and jill drew a long sigh of relief that six months instead of twenty years would probably be the end of her captivity.
""yes, thank heaven!
i do n't think i could have borne that;" and the mother took jill in her arms as if she were a baby, holding her close for a minute, and laying her down with a tender kiss that made the arms cling about her neck as her little girl returned it heartily, for all sorts of new, sweet feelings seemed to be budding in both, born of great joy and thankfulness.
then mrs. pecq hurried away to see about tea for the hungry boys, and jill watched the pleasant twilight deepen as she lay singing to herself one of the songs her friend taught her because it fitted her so well.
""a little bird i am, shut from the fields of air, and in my cage i sit and sing to him who placed me there: well pleased a prisoner to be, because, my god, it pleases thee!
""naught have i else to do; i sing the whole day long; and he whom most i love to please doth listen to my song, he caught and bound my wandering wing, but still he bends to hear me sing."
""now we are ready for you, so bring on your flowers," said molly to the boys, as she and merry added their store of baskets to the gay show jill had set forth on the long table ready for the evening's work.
""they would n't let me see one, but i guess they have had good luck, they look so jolly," answered jill, looking at gus, frank, and jack, who stood laughing, each with a large basket in his hands.
""fair to middling.
just look in and see;" with which cheerful remark gus tipped up his basket and displayed a few bits of green at the bottom.
""i did better.
now, do n't all scream at once over these beauties;" and frank shook out some evergreen sprigs, half a dozen saxifrages, and two or three forlorn violets with hardly any stems.
""i do n't brag, but here's the best of all the three," chuckled jack, producing a bunch of feathery carrot-tops, with a few half-shut dandelions trying to look brave and gay.
""oh, boys, is that all?"
""what shall we do?"
""we've only a few house-flowers, and all those baskets to fill," cried the girls, in despair; for merry's contribution had been small, and molly had only a handful of artificial flowers "to fill up," she said.
""it is n't our fault: it is the late spring.
we ca n't make flowers, can we?"
asked frank, in a tone of calm resignation.
""could n't you buy some, then?"
said molly, smoothing her crumpled morning-glories, with a sigh.
""who ever heard of a fellow having any money left the last day of the month?"
demanded gus, severely.
""or girls either.
i spent all mine in ribbon and paper for my baskets, and now they are of no use.
it's a shame!"
lamented jill, while merry began to thin out her full baskets to fill the empty ones.
""hold on!"
cried frank, relenting.
""now, jack, make their minds easy before they begin to weep and wail."
""left the box outside.
you tell while i go for it;" and jack bolted, as if afraid the young ladies might be too demonstrative when the tale was told.
""tell away," said frank, modestly passing the story along to gus, who made short work of it.
""we rampaged all over the country, and got only that small mess of greens.
knew you'd be disgusted, and sat down to see what we could do.
then jack piped up, and said he'd show us a place where we could get a plenty.
"come on," said we, and after leading us a nice tramp, he brought us out at morse's greenhouse.
so we got a few on tick, as we had but four cents among us, and there you are.
pretty clever of the little chap, was n't it?"
a chorus of delight greeted jack as he popped his head in, was promptly seized by his elders and walked up to the table, where the box was opened, displaying gay posies enough to fill most of the baskets if distributed with great economy and much green.
""you are the dearest boy that ever was!"
began jill, with her nose luxuriously buried in the box, though the flowers were more remarkable for color than perfume.
""no, i'm not; there's a much dearer one coming upstairs now, and he's got something that will make you howl for joy," said jack, ignoring his own prowess as ed came in with a bigger box, looking as if he had done nothing but go a maying all his days.
""do n't believe it!"
cried jill, hugging her own treasure jealously.
""it's only another joke.
i wo n't look," said molly, still struggling to make her cambric roses bloom again.
""i know what it is!
oh, how sweet!"
added merry, sniffing, as ed set the box before her, saying pleasantly, -- "you shall see first, because you had faith."
up went the cover, and a whiff of the freshest fragrance regaled the seven eager noses bent to inhale it, as a general murmur of pleasure greeted the nest of great, rosy mayflowers that lay before them.
""the dear things, how lovely they are!"
and merry looked as if greeting her cousins, so blooming and sweet was her own face.
molly pushed her dingy garlands away, ashamed of such poor attempts beside these perfect works of nature, and jill stretched out her hand involuntarily, as she said, forgetting her exotics, "give me just one to smell of, it is so woodsy and delicious."
""here you are, plenty for all.
real pilgrim fathers, right from plymouth.
one of our fellows lives there, and i told him to bring me a good lot; so he did, and you can do what you like with them," explained ed, passing round bunches and shaking the rest in a mossy pile upon the table.
""ed always gets ahead of us in doing the right thing at the right time.
hope you've got some first-class baskets ready for him," said gus, refreshing the washingtonian nose with a pink blossom or two.
""not much danger of his being forgotten," answered molly; and every one laughed, for ed was much beloved by all the girls, and his door-steps always bloomed like a flower-bed on may eve.
""now we must fly round and fill up.
come, boys, sort out the green and hand us the flowers as we want them.
then we must direct them, and, by the time that is done, you can go and leave them," said jill, setting all to work.
""ed must choose his baskets first.
these are ours; but any of those you can have;" and molly pointed to a detachment of gay baskets, set apart from those already partly filled.
ed chose a blue one, and merry filled it with the rosiest may-flowers, knowing that it was to hang on mabel's door-handle.
the others did the same, and the pretty work went on, with much fun, till all were filled, and ready for the names or notes.
""let us have poetry, as we ca n't get wild flowers.
that will be rather fine," proposed jill, who liked jingles.
all had had some practice at the game parties, and pencils went briskly for a few minutes, while silence reigned, as the poets racked their brains for rhymes, and stared at the blooming array before them for inspiration.
""oh, dear!
i ca n't find a word to rhyme to "geranium,"" sighed molly, pulling her braid, as if to pump the well of her fancy dry.
""cranium," said frank, who was getting on bravely with "annette" and "violet."
""that is elegant!"
and molly scribbled away in great glee, for her poems were always funny ones.
""how do you spell anemoly -- the wild flower, i mean?"
asked jill, who was trying to compose a very appropriate piece for her best basket, and found it easier to feel love and gratitude than to put them into verse.
""anemone; do spell it properly, or you'll get laughed at," answered gus, wildly struggling to make his lines express great ardor, without being "too spoony," as he expressed it.
""no, i should n't.
this person never laughs at other persons" mistakes, as some persons do," replied jill, with dignity.
jack was desperately chewing his pencil, for he could not get on at all; but ed had evidently prepared his poem, for his paper was half full already, and merry was smiling as she wrote a friendly line or two for ralph's basket, as she feared he would be forgotten, and knew he loved kindness even more than he did beauty.
""now let's read them," proposed molly, who loved to laugh even at herself.
the boys politely declined, and scrambled their notes into the chosen baskets in great haste; but the girls were less bashful.
jill was invited to begin, and gave her little piece, with the pink hyacinth basket before her, to illustrate her poem.
""to my lady "there are no flowers in the fields, no green leaves on the tree, no columbines, no violets, no sweet anemone.
so i have gathered from my pots all that i have to fill the basket that i hang to-night, with heaps of love from jill."
""that's perfectly sweet!
mine is n't; but i meant it to be funny," said molly, as if there could be any doubt about the following ditty: -- "dear grif, here is a whiff of beautiful spring flowers; the big red rose is for your nose, as toward the sky it towers.
""oh, do not frown upon this crown of green pinks and blue geranium but think of me when this you see, and put it on your cranium."
""o molly, you will never hear the last of that if grif gets it," said jill, as the applause subsided, for the boys pronounced it "tip-top."
""do n't care, he gets the worst of it any way, for there is a pin in that rose, and if he goes to smell the mayflowers underneath he will find a thorn to pay for the tack he put in my rubber boot.
i know he will play me some joke to-night, and i mean to be first if i can," answered molly, settling the artificial wreath round the orange-colored canoe which held her effusion.
""now, merry, read yours: you always have sweet poems;" and jill folded her hands to listen with pleasure to something sentimental.
""i ca n't read the poems in some of mine, because they are for you; but this little verse you can hear, if you like: i'm going to give that basket to ralph.
he said he should hang one for his grandmother, and i thought that was so nice of him, i'd love to surprise him with one all to himself.
he's always so good to us;" and merry looked so innocently earnest that no one smiled at her kind thought or the unconscious paraphrase she had made of a famous stanza in her own "little verse."
""to one who teaches me the sweetness and the beauty of doing faithfully and cheerfully my duty."
""he will like that, and know who sent it, for none of us have pretty pink paper but you, or write such an elegant hand," said molly, admiring the delicate white basket shaped like a lily, with the flowers inside and the note hidden among them, all daintily tied up with the palest blush-colored ribbon.
""well, that's no harm.
he likes pretty things as much as i do, and i made my basket like a flower because i gave him one of my callas, he admired the shape so much;" and merry smiled as she remembered how pleased ralph looked as he went away carrying the lovely thing.
""i think it would be a good plan to hang some baskets on the doors of other people who do n't expect or often have any.
i'll do it if you can spare some of these, we have so many.
give me only one, and let the others go to old mrs. tucker, and the little irish girl who has been sick so long, and lame neddy, and daddy munson.
it would please and surprise them so.
will we?"
asked ed, in that persuasive voice of his.
all agreed at once, and several people were made very happy by a bit of spring left at their doors by the may elves who haunted the town that night playing all sorts of pranks.
such a twanging of bells and rapping of knockers; such a scampering of feet in the dark; such droll collisions as boys came racing round corners, or girls ran into one another's arms as they crept up and down steps on the sly; such laughing, whistling, flying about of flowers and friendly feeling -- it was almost a pity that may-day did not come oftener.
molly got home late, and found that grif had been before her, after all; for she stumbled over a market-basket at her door, and on taking it in found a mammoth nosegay of purple and white cabbages, her favorite vegetable.
even miss bat laughed at the funny sight, and molly resolved to get ralph to carve her a bouquet out of carrots, beets, and turnips for next time, as grif would never think of that.
merry ran up the garden-walk alone, for frank left her at the gate, and was fumbling for the latch when she felt something hanging there.
opening the door carefully, she found it gay with offerings from her mates; and among them was one long quiver-shaped basket of birch bark, with something heavy under the green leaves that lay at the top.
lifting these, a slender bas-relief of a calla lily in plaster appeared, with this couplet slipped into the blue cord by which it was to hang: -- "that mercy you to others show that mercy grant to me."
""how lovely!
and this one will never fade, but always be a pleasure hanging there.
now, i really have something beautiful all my own," said merry to herself as she ran up to hang the pretty thing on the dark wainscot of her room, where the graceful curve of its pointed leaves and the depth of its white cup would be a joy to her eyes as long as they lasted.
""i wonder what that means," and merry read over the lines again, while a soft color came into her cheeks and a little smile of girlish pleasure began to dimple round her lips; for she was so romantic, this touch of sentiment showed her that her friendship was more valued than she dreamed.
but she only said, "how glad i am i remembered him, and how surprised he will be to see mayflowers in return for the lily."
he was, and worked away more happily and bravely for the thought of the little friend whose eyes would daily fall on the white flower which always reminded him of her.
chapter xix.
good templars "hi there!
bell's rung!
get up, lazy-bones!"
called frank from his room as the clock struck six one bright morning, and a great creaking and stamping proclaimed that he was astir.
""all right, i'm coming," responded a drowsy voice, and jack turned over as if to obey; but there the effort ended, and he was off again, for growing lads are hard to rouse, as many a mother knows to her sorrow.
frank made a beginning on his own toilet, and then took a look at his brother, for the stillness was suspicious.
""i thought so!
he told me to wake him, and i guess this will do it;" and, filling his great sponge with water, frank stalked into the next room and stood over the unconscious victim like a stern executioner, glad to unite business with pleasure in this agreeable manner.
a woman would have relented and tried some milder means, for when his broad shoulders and stout limbs were hidden, jack looked very young and innocent in his sleep.
even frank paused a moment to look at the round, rosy face, the curly eyelashes, half-open mouth, and the peaceful expression of a dreaming baby.
""i must do it, or he wo n't be ready for breakfast," said the spartan brother, and down came the sponge, cold, wet, and choky, as it was briskly rubbed to and fro regardless of every obstacle.
""come, i say!
that's not fair!
leave me alone!"
sputtered jack, hitting out so vigorously that the sponge flew across the room, and frank fell back to laugh at the indignant sufferer.
""i promised to wake you, and you believe in keeping promises, so i'm doing my best to get you up."
""well, you need n't pour a quart of water down a fellow's neck, and rub his nose off, need you?
i'm awake, so take your old sponge and go along," growled jack, with one eye open and a mighty gape.
""see that you keep so, then, or i'll come and give you another sort of a rouser," said frank, retiring well-pleased with his success.
""i shall have one good stretch, if i like.
it is strengthening to the muscles, and i'm as stiff as a board with all that football yesterday," murmured jack, lying down for one delicious moment.
he shut the open eye to enjoy it thoroughly, and forgot the stretch altogether, for the bed was warm, the pillow soft, and a half-finished dream still hung about his drowsy brain.
who does not know the fatal charm of that stolen moment -- for once yield to it, and one is lost.
jack was miles away "in the twinkling of a bedpost," and the pleasing dream seemed about to return, when a ruthless hand tore off the clothes, swept him out of bed, and he really did awake to find himself standing in the middle of his bath-pan with both windows open, and frank about to pour a pail of water over him.
""hold on!
yah, how cold the water is!
why, i thought i was up;" and, hopping out, jack rubbed his eyes and looked about with such a genuine surprise that frank put down the pail, feeling that the deluge would not be needed this time.
""you are now, and i'll see that you keep so," he said, as he stripped the bed and carried off the pillows.
""i do n't care.
what a jolly day!"
and jack took a little promenade to finish the rousing process.
""you'd better hurry up, or you wo n't get your chores done before breakfast.
no time for a "go as you please" now," said frank; and both boys laughed, for it was an old joke of theirs, and rather funny.
going up to bed one night expecting to find jack asleep, frank discovered him tramping round and round the room airily attired in a towel, and so dizzy with his brisk revolutions that as his brother looked he tumbled over and lay panting like a fallen gladiator.
""what on earth are you about?"
""playing rowell.
walking for the belt, and i've got it too," laughed jack, pointing to an old gilt chandelier chain hanging on the bedpost.
""you little noodle, you'd better revolve into bed before you lose your head entirely.
i never saw such a fellow for taking himself off his legs."
""well, if i did n't exercise, do you suppose i should be able to do that -- or that?"
cried jack, turning a somersault and striking a fine attitude as he came up, flattering himself that he was the model of a youthful athlete.
""you look more like a clothes-pin than a hercules," was the crushing reply of this unsympathetic brother, and jack meekly retired with a bad headache.
""i do n't do such silly things now: i'm as broad across the shoulders as you are, and twice as strong on my pins, thanks to my gymnastics.
bet you a cent i'll be dressed first, though you have got the start," said jack, knowing that frank always had a protracted wrestle with his collar-buttons, which gave his adversary a great advantage over him.
""done!"
answered frank, and at it they went.
a wild scramble was heard in jack's room, and a steady tramp in the other as frank worked away at the stiff collar and the unaccommodating button till every finger ached.
a clashing of boots followed, while jack whistled "polly hopkins," and frank declaimed in his deepest voice, "arma virumque cano, trojae qui primus ab oris italiam, fato profugus, laviniaque venit litora."
hair-brushes came next, and here frank got ahead, for jack's thick crop would stand straight up on the crown, and only a good wetting and a steady brush would make it lie down.
""play away, no. 2," called out frank as he put on his vest, while jack was still at it with a pair of the stiffest brushes procurable for money.
""hold hard, no. 11, and do n't forget your teeth," answered jack, who had done his.
frank took a hasty rub and whisked on his coat, while jack was picking up the various treasures which had flown out of his pockets as he caught up his roundabout.
""ready!
i'll trouble you for a cent, sonny;" and frank held out his hand as he appeared equipped for the day.
""you have n't hung up your night-gown, nor aired the bed, nor opened the windows.
that's part of the dressing; mother said so.
i've got you there, for you did all that for me, except this," and jack threw his gown over a chair with a triumphant flourish as frank turned back to leave his room in the order which they had been taught was one of the signs of a good bringing-up in boys as well as girls.
""ready!
i'll trouble you for a cent, old man;" and jack held out his hand, with a chuckle.
he got the money and a good clap beside; then they retired to the shed to black their boots, after which frank filled the woodboxes and jack split kindlings, till the daily allowance was ready.
both went at their lessons for half an hour, jack scowling over his algebra in the sofa corner, while frank, with his elbows on and his legs round the little stand which held his books, seemed to be having a wrestling-match with herodotus.
when the bell rang they were glad to drop the lessons and fall upon their breakfast with the appetite of wolves, especially jack, who sequestered oatmeal and milk with such rapidity that one would have thought he had a leathern bag hidden somewhere to slip it into, like his famous namesake when he breakfasted with the giant.
""i declare i do n't see what he does with it!
he really ought not to "gobble" so, mother," said frank, who was eating with great deliberation and propriety.
""never you mind, old quiddle.
i'm so hungry i could tuck away a bushel," answered jack, emptying a glass of milk and holding out his plate for more mush, regardless of his white moustache.
""temperance in all things is wise, in speech as well as eating and drinking -- remember that, boys," said mamma from behind the urn.
""that reminds me!
we promised to do the "observer" this week, and here it is tuesday and i have n't done a thing: have you?"
asked frank.
""never thought of it.
we must look up some bits at noon instead of playing.
dare say jill has got some: she always saves all she finds for me."
""i have one or two good items, and can do any copying there may be.
but i think if you undertake the paper you should give some time and labor to make it good," said mamma, who was used to this state of affairs, and often edited the little sheet read every week at the lodge.
the boys seldom missed going, but the busy lady was often unable to be there, so helped with the paper as her share of the labor.
""yes, we ought, but somehow we do n't seem to get up much steam about it lately.
if more people belonged, and we could have a grand time now and then, it would be jolly;" and jack sighed at the lack of interest felt by outsiders in the loyal little lodge which went on year after year kept up by the faithful few.
""i remember when in this very town we used to have a cold water army, and in the summer turn out with processions, banners, and bands of music to march about, and end with a picnic, songs, and speeches in some grove or hall.
nearly all the children belonged to it, and the parents also, and we had fine times here twenty-five or thirty years ago."
""it did n't do much good, seems to me, for people still drink, and we have n't a decent hotel in the place," said frank, as his mother sat looking out of the window as if she saw again the pleasant sight of old and young working together against the great enemy of home peace and safety.
""oh yes, it did, my dear; for to this day many of those children are true to their pledge.
one little girl was, i am sure, and now has two big boys to fight for the reform she has upheld all her life.
the town is better than it was in those days, and if we each do our part faithfully, it will improve yet more.
every boy and girl who joins is one gained, perhaps, and your example is the best temperance lecture you can give.
hold fast, and do n't mind if it is n't "jolly": it is right, and that should be enough for us."
mamma spoke warmly, for she heartily believed in young people's guarding against this dangerous vice before it became a temptation, and hoped her boys would never break the pledge they had taken; for, young as they were, they were old enough to see its worth, feel its wisdom, and pride themselves on the promise which was fast growing into a principle.
jack's face brightened as he listened, and frank said, with the steady look which made his face manly, -- "it shall be.
now i'll tell you what i was going to keep as a surprise till to-night, for i wanted to have my secret as well as other folks.
ed and i went up to see bob, sunday, and he said he'd join the lodge, if they'd have him.
i'm going to propose him to-night."
""good!
good!"
cried jack, joyfully, and mrs. minot clapped her hands, for every new member was rejoiced over by the good people, who were not discouraged by ridicule, indifference, or opposition.
""we've got him now, for no one will object, and it is just the thing for him.
he wants to belong somewhere, he says, and he'll enjoy the fun, and the good things will help him, and we will look after him.
the captain was so pleased, and you ought to have seen ed's face when bob said, "i'm ready, if you'll have me.""
frank's own face was beaming, and jack forgot to "gobble," he was so interested in the new convert, while mamma said, as she threw down her napkin and took up the newspaper, -- "we must not forget our "observer," but have a good one tonight in honor of the occasion.
there may be something here.
come home early at noon, and i'll help you get your paper ready."
""i'll be here, but if you want frank, you'd better tell him not to dawdle over annette's gate half an hour," began jack, who could not resist teasing his dignified brother about one of the few foolish things he was fond of doing.
""do you want your nose pulled?"
demanded frank, who never would stand joking on that tender point from his brother.
""no, i do n't; and if i did, you could n't do it;" with which taunt he was off and frank after him, having made a futile dive at the impertinent little nose which was turned up at him and his sweetheart.
""boys, boys, not through the parlor!"
implored mamma, resigned to skirmishes, but trembling for her piano legs as the four stout boots pranced about the table and then went thundering down the hall, through the kitchen where the fat cook cheered them on, and mary, the maid, tried to head off frank as jack rushed out into the garden.
but the pursuer ducked under her arm and gave chase with all speed.
then there was a glorious race all over the place; for both were good runners, and, being as full of spring vigor as frisky calves, they did astonishing things in the way of leaping fences, dodging round corners, and making good time down the wide walks.
but jack's leg was not quite strong yet, and he felt that his round nose was in danger of a vengeful tweak as his breath began to give out and frank's long arms drew nearer and nearer to the threatened feature.
just when he was about to give up and meet his fate like a man, old bunny, who had been much excited by the race, came scampering across the path with such a droll skip into the air and shake of the hind legs that frank had to dodge to avoid stepping on him, and to laugh in spite of himself.
this momentary check gave jack a chance to bolt up the back stairs and take refuge in the bird room, from the window of which jill had been watching the race with great interest.
no romping was allowed there, so a truce was made by locking little fingers, and both sat down to get their breath.
""i am to go on the piazza, for an hour, by and by, doctor said.
would you mind carrying me down before you go to school, you do it so nicely, i'm not a bit afraid," said jill, as eager for the little change as if it had been a long and varied journey.
""yes, indeed!
come on, princess," answered jack, glad to see her so well and happy.
the boys made an arm-chair, and away she went, for a pleasant day downstairs.
she thanked frank with a posy for his buttonhole, well knowing that it would soon pass into other hands, and he departed to join annette.
having told jill about bob, and set her to work on the "observer," jack kissed his mother, and went whistling down the street, a gay little bachelor, with a nod and smile for all he met, and no turned-up hat or jaunty turban bobbing along beside him to delay his steps or trouble his peace of mind.
at noon they worked on their paper, which was a collection of items, cut from other papers, concerning temperance, a few anecdotes, a bit of poetry, a story, and, if possible, an original article by the editor.
many hands make light work, and nothing remained but a little copying, which jill promised to do before night.
so the boys had time for a game of football after school in the afternoon, which they much enjoyed.
as they sat resting on the posts, gus said, -- "uncle fred says he will give us a hay-cart ride to-night, as it is moony, and after it you are all to come to our house and have games.
""ca n't do it," answered frank, sadly.
""lodge," groaned jack, for both considered a drive in the cart, where they all sat in a merry bunch among the hay, one of the joys of life, and much regretted that a prior engagement would prevent their sharing in it.
""that's a pity!
i forgot it was tuesday, and ca n't put it off, as i've asked all the rest.
give up your old lodge and come along," said gus, who had not joined yet.
""we might for once, perhaps, but i do n't like to" -- began jack, hesitating."
i wo n't.
who's to propose bob if we do n't?
i want to go awfully; but i would n't disappoint bob for a good deal, now he is willing to come."
and frank sprang off his post as if anxious to flee temptation, for it was very pleasant to go singing, up hill and down dale, in the spring moonlight, with -- well, the fellows of his set.
""nor ed, i forgot that.
no, we ca n't go.
we want to be good templars, and we must n't shirk," added jack, following his brother.
""better come.
ca n't put it off.
lots of fun," called gus, disappointed at losing two of his favorite mates.
but the boys did not turn back, and as they went steadily away they felt that they were doing their little part in the good work, and making their small sacrifices, like faithful members.
they got their reward, however, for at home they found mr. chauncey, a good and great man, from england, who had known their grandfather, and was an honored friend of the family.
the boys loved to hear him talk, and all tea-time listened with interest to the conversation, for mr. chauncey was a reformer as well as a famous clergyman, and it was like inspiring music to hear him tell about the world's work, and the brave men and women who were carrying it on.
eager to show that they had, at least, begun, the boys told him about their lodge, and were immensely pleased when their guest took from his pocket-book a worn paper, proving that he too was a good templar, and belonged to the same army as they did.
nor was that all, for when they reluctantly excused themselves, mr. chauncey gave each a hearty "grip," and said, holding their hands in his, as he smiled at the young faces looking up at him with so much love and honor in them, -- "tell the brothers and sisters that if i can serve them in any way while here, to command me.
i will give them a lecture at their lodge or in public, whichever they like; and i wish you god-speed, dear boys."
two prouder lads never walked the streets than frank and jack as they hurried away, nearly forgetting the poor little paper in their haste to tell the good news; for it was seldom that such an offer was made the lodge, and they felt the honor done them as bearers of it.
as the secrets of the association can not be divulged to the uninitiated, we can only say that there was great rejoicing over the new member, for bob was unanimously welcomed, and much gratitude both felt and expressed for mr. chauncey's interest in this small division of the grand army; for these good folk met with little sympathy from the great people of the town, and it was very cheering to have a well-known and much-beloved man say a word for them.
all agreed that the lecture should be public, that others might share the pleasure with them, and perhaps be converted by a higher eloquence than any they possessed.
so the services that night were unusually full of spirit and good cheer; for all felt the influence of a friendly word, the beauty of a fine example.
the paper was much applauded, the songs were very hearty, and when frank, whose turn it was to be chaplain, read the closing prayer, every one felt that they had much to give thanks for, since one more had joined them, and the work was slowly getting on with unexpected helpers sent to lend a hand.
the lights shone out from the little hall across the street, the music reached the ears of passers-by, and the busy hum of voices up there told how faithfully some, at least, of the villagers tried to make the town a safer place for their boys to grow up in, though the tavern still had its private bar and the saloon-door stood open to invite them in.
there are many such quiet lodges, and in them many young people learning as these lads were learning something of the duty they owed their neighbors as well as themselves, and being fitted to become good men and sober citizens by practising and preaching the law and gospel of temperance.
the next night mr. chauncey lectured, and the town turned out to hear the distinguished man, who not only told them of the crime and misery produced by this terrible vice which afflicted both england and america, but of the great crusade against it going on everywhere, and the need of courage, patience, hard work, and much faith, that in time it might be overcome.
strong and cheerful words that all liked to hear and many heartily believed, especially the young templars, whose boyish fancies were won by the idea of fighting as knights of old did in the famous crusades they read about in their splendid new young folks" edition of froissart.
""we ca n't pitch into people as the red cross fellows did, but we can smash rum-jugs when we get the chance, and stand by our flag as our men did in the war," said frank, with sparkling eyes, as they went home in the moonlight arm in arm, keeping step behind mr. chauncey, who led the way with their mother on his arm, a martial figure though a minister, and a good captain to follow, as the boys felt after hearing his stirring words.
""let's try and get up a company of boys like those mother told us about, and show people that we mean what we say.
i'll be color-bearer, and you may drill us as much as you like.
a real cold water army, with flags flying, and drums, and all sorts of larks," said jack, much excited, and taking a dramatic view of the matter.
""we'll see about it.
something ought to be done, and perhaps we shall be the men to do it when the time comes," answered frank, feeling ready to shoulder a musket or be a minute-man in good earnest.
boyish talk and enthusiasm, but it was of the right sort; and when time and training had fitted them to bear arms, these young knights would be worthy to put on the red cross and ride away to help right the wrongs and slay the dragons that afflict the world.
chapter xx.
a sweet memory now the lovely june days had come, everything began to look really summer-like; school would soon be over, and the young people were joyfully preparing for the long vacation.
""we are all going up to bethlehem.
we take the seashore one year and the mountains the next.
better come along," said gus, as the boys lay on the grass after beating the lincolns at one of the first matches of the season.
""ca n't; we are off to pebbly beach the second week in july.
our invalids need sea air.
that one looks delicate, does n't he?"
asked frank, giving jack a slight rap with his bat as that young gentleman lay in his usual attitude admiring the blue hose and russet shoes which adorned his sturdy limbs.
""stop that, captain!
you need n't talk about invalids, when you know mother says you are not to look at a book for a month because you have studied yourself thin and headachy.
i'm all right;" and jack gave himself a sounding slap on the chest, where shone the white star of the h.b.b.c. "hear the little cockerel crow!
you just wait till you get into the college class, and see if you do n't have to study like fun," said gus, with unruffled composure, for he was going to harvard next year, and felt himself already a senior.
""never shall; i do n't want any of your old colleges.
i'm going into business as soon as i can.
ed says i may be his book-keeper, if i am ready when he starts for himself.
that is much jollier than grinding away for four years, and then having to grind ever so many more at a profession," said jack, examining with interest the various knocks and bruises with which much ball-playing had adorned his hands.
""much you know about it.
just as well you do n't mean to try, for it would take a mighty long pull and strong pull to get you in.
business would suit you better, and you and ed would make a capital partnership.
devlin, minot, & co. sounds well, hey, gus?"
""very, but they are such good-natured chaps, they'd never get rich.
by the way, ed came home at noon to-day sick.
i met him, and he looked regularly knocked up," answered gus, in a sober tone.
""i told him he'd better not go down monday, for he was n't well saturday, and could n't come to sing sunday evening, you remember.
i must go right round and see what the matter is;" and jack jumped up, with an anxious face.
""let him alone till to-morrow.
he wo n't want any one fussing over him now.
we are going for a pull; come along and steer," said frank, for the sunset promised to be fine, and the boys liked a brisk row in their newly painted boat, the "rhodora."
""go ahead and get ready, i'll just cut round and ask at the door.
it will seem kind, and i must know how ed is.
wo n't be long;" and jack was off at his best pace.
the others were waiting impatiently when he came back with slower steps and a more anxious face.
""how is the old fellow?"
called frank from the boat, while gus stood leaning on an oar in a nautical attitude.
""pretty sick.
had the doctor.
may have a fever.
i did n't go in, but ed sent his love, and wanted to know who beat," answered jack, stepping to his place, glad to rest and cool himself.
""guess he'll be all right in a day or two;" and gus pushed off, leaving all care behind.
""hope he wo n't have typhoid -- that's no joke, i tell you," said frank, who knew all about it, and did not care to repeat the experience.
""he's worked too hard.
he's so faithful he does more than his share, and gets tired out.
mother asked him to come down and see us when he has his vacation; we are going to have high old times fishing and boating.
up or down?"
asked jack, as they glided out into the river.
gus looked both ways, and seeing another boat with a glimpse of red in it just going round the bend, answered, with decision, "up, of course.
do n't we always pull to the bridge?"
""not when the girls are going down," laughed jack, who had recognized juliet's scarlet boating-suit as he glanced over his shoulder.
""mind what you are about, and do n't gabble," commanded captain frank, as the crew bent to their oars and the slender boat cut through the water leaving a long furrow trembling behind.
""oh, ah!
i see!
there is a blue jacket as well as a red one, so it's all right.
""lady queen anne, she sits in the sun, as white as a lily, as brown as a bun," sung jack, recovering his spirits, and wishing jill was there too.
""do you want a ducking?"
sternly demanded gus, anxious to preserve discipline.
""should n't mind, its so warm."
but jack said no more, and soon the "rhodora" was alongside the "water witch," exchanging greetings in the most amiable manner.
""pity this boat wo n't hold four.
we'd put jack in yours, and take you girls a nice spin up to the hemlocks," said frank, whose idea of bliss was floating down the river with annette as coxswain.
""you'd better come in here, this will hold four, and we are tired of rowing," returned the "water witch," so invitingly that gus could not resist.
""i do n't think it is safe to put four in there.
you'd better change places with annette, gus, and then we shall be ship-shape," said frank, answering a telegram from the eyes that matched the blue jacket.
""would n't it be more ship-shape still if you put me ashore at grif's landing?
i can take his boat, or wait till you come back.
do n't care what i do," said jack, feeling himself sadly in the way.
the good-natured offer being accepted with thanks, the changes were made, and, leaving him behind, the two boats went gayly up the river.
he really did not care what he did, so sat in grif's boat awhile watching the red sky, the shining stream, and the low green meadows, where the blackbirds were singing as if they too had met their little sweethearts and were happy.
jack remembered that quiet half-hour long afterward, because what followed seemed to impress it on his memory.
as he sat enjoying the scene, he very naturally thought about ed; for the face of the sister whom he saw was very anxious, and the word "fever" recalled the hard times when frank was ill, particularly the night it was thought the boy would not live till dawn, and jack cried himself to sleep, wondering how he ever could get on without his brother.
ed was almost as dear to him, and the thought that he was suffering destroyed jack's pleasure for a little while.
but, fortunately, young people do not know how to be anxious very long, so our boy soon cheered up, thinking about the late match between the stars and the lincolns, and after a good rest went whistling home, with a handful of mint for mrs. pecq, and played games with jill as merrily as if there was no such thing as care in the world.
next day ed was worse, and for a week the answer was the same, when jack crept to the back door with his eager question.
others came also, for the dear boy lying upstairs had friends everywhere, and older neighbors thought of him even more anxiously and tenderly than his mates.
it was not fever, but some swifter trouble, for when saturday night came, ed had gone home to a longer and more peaceful sabbath than any he had ever known in this world.
jack had been there in the afternoon, and a kind message had come down to him that his friend was not suffering so much, and he had gone away, hoping, in his boyish ignorance, that all danger was over.
an hour later he was reading in the parlor, having no heart for play, when frank came in with a look upon his face which would have prepared jack for the news if he had seen it.
but he did not look up, and frank found it so hard to speak, that he lingered a moment at the piano, as he often did when he came home.
it stood open, and on the rack was the "jolly brothers" galop," which he had been learning to play with ed.
big boy as he was, the sudden thought that never again would they sit shoulder to shoulder, thundering the marches or singing the songs both liked so well, made his eyes fill as he laid away the music, and shut the instrument, feeling as if he never wanted to touch it again.
then he went and sat down beside jack with an arm round his neck, trying to steady his voice by a natural question before he told the heavy news.
""what are you reading, jacky?"
the unusual caress, the very gentle tone, made jack look up, and the minute he saw frank's face he knew the truth.
""is ed --?"
he could not say the hard word, and frank could only answer by a nod as he winked fast, for the tears would come.
jack said no more, but as the book dropped from his knee he hid his face in the sofa-pillow and lay quite still, not crying, but trying to make it seem true that his dear ed had gone away for ever.
he could not do it, and presently turned his head a little to say, in a despairing tone, -- "i do n't see what i shall do without him!"
""i know it's hard for you.
it is for all of us."
""you've got gus, but now i have n't anybody.
ed was always so good to me!"
and with the name so many tender recollections came, that poor jack broke down in spite of his manful attempts to smother the sobs in the red pillow.
there was an unconscious reproach in the words, frank thought; for he was not as gentle as ed, and he did not wonder that jack loved and mourned for the lost friend like a brother.
""you've got me.
i'll be good to you; cry if you want to, i do n't mind."
there was such a sympathetic choke in frank's voice that jack felt comforted at once, and when he had had his cry out, which was very soon, he let frank pull him up with a bear-like but affectionate hug, and sat leaning on him as they talked about their loss, both feeling that there might have been a greater one, and resolving to love one another very much hereafter.
mrs. minot often called frank the "father-boy," because he was now the head of the house, and a sober, reliable fellow for his years.
usually he did not show much affection except to her, for, as he once said, "i shall never be too old to kiss my mother," and she often wished that he had a little sister, to bring out the softer side of his character.
he domineered over jack and laughed at his affectionate little ways, but now when trouble came, he was as kind and patient as a girl; and when mamma came in, having heard the news, she found her "father-boy" comforting his brother so well that she slipped away without a word, leaving them to learn one of the sweet lessons sorrow teaches -- to lean on one another, and let each trial bring them closer together.
it is often said that there should be no death or grief in children's stories.
it is not wise to dwell on the dark and sad side of these things; but they have also a bright and lovely side, and since even the youngest, dearest, and most guarded child can not escape some knowledge of the great mystery, is it not well to teach them in simple, cheerful ways that affection sweetens sorrow, and a lovely life can make death beautiful?
i think so, therefore try to tell the last scene in the history of a boy who really lived and really left behind him a memory so precious that it will not be soon forgotten by those who knew and loved him.
for the influence of this short life was felt by many, and even this brief record of it may do for other children what the reality did for those who still lay flowers on his grave, and try to be "as good as eddy."
few would have thought that the death of a quiet lad of seventeen would have been so widely felt, so sincerely mourned; but virtue, like sunshine, works its own sweet miracles, and when it was known that never again would the bright face be seen in the village streets, the cheery voice heard, the loving heart felt in any of the little acts which so endeared ed devlin to those about him, it seemed as if young and old grieved alike for so much promise cut off in its spring-time.
this was proved at the funeral, for, though it took place at the busy hour of a busy day, men left their affairs, women their households, young people their studies and their play, and gave an hour to show their affection, respect, and sympathy for those who had lost so much.
the girls had trimmed the church with all the sweetest flowers they could find, and garlands of lilies of the valley robbed the casket of its mournful look.
the boys had brought fresh boughs to make the grave a green bed for their comrade's last sleep.
now they were all gathered together, and it was a touching sight to see the rows of young faces sobered and saddened by their first look at sorrow.
the girls sobbed, and the boys set their lips tightly as their glances fell upon the lilies under which the familiar face lay full of solemn peace.
tears dimmed older eyes when the hymn the dead boy loved was sung, and the pastor told with how much pride and pleasure he had watched the gracious growth of this young parishioner since he first met the lad of twelve and was attracted by the shining face, the pleasant manners.
dutiful and loving; ready to help; patient to bear and forbear; eager to excel; faithful to the smallest task, yet full of high ambitions; and, better still, possessing the childlike piety that can trust and believe, wait and hope.
good and happy -- the two things we all long for and so few of us truly are.
this he was, and this single fact was the best eulogy his pastor could pronounce over the beloved youth gone to a nobler manhood whose promise left so sweet a memory behind.
as the young people looked, listened, and took in the scene, they felt as if some mysterious power had changed their playmate from a creature like themselves into a sort of saint or hero for them to look up to, and imitate if they could.
""what has he done, to be so loved, praised, and mourned?"
they thought, with a tender sort of wonder; and the answer seemed to come to them as never before, for never had they been brought so near the solemn truth of life and death.
""it was not what he did but what he was that made him so beloved.
all that was sweet and noble in him still lives; for goodness is the only thing we can take with us when we die, the only thing that can comfort those we leave behind, and help us to meet again hereafter."
this feeling was in many hearts when they went away to lay him, with prayer and music, under the budding oak that leaned over his grave, a fit emblem of the young life just beginning its new spring.
as the children did their part, the beauty of the summer day soothed their sorrow, and something of the soft brightness of the june sunshine seemed to gild their thoughts, as it gilded the flower-strewn mound they left behind.
the true and touching words spoken cheered as well as impressed them, and made them feel that their friend was not lost but gone on into a higher class of the great school whose master is eternal love and wisdom.
so the tears soon dried, and the young faces looked up like flowers after rain.
but the heaven-sent shower sank into the earth, and they were the stronger, sweeter for it, more eager to make life brave and beautiful, because death had gently shown them what it should be.
when the boys came home they found their mother already returned, and jill upon the parlor sofa listening to her account of the funeral with the same quiet, hopeful look which their own faces wore; for somehow the sadness seemed to have gone, and a sort of sunday peace remained.
""i'm glad it was all so sweet and pleasant.
come and rest, you look so tired;" and jill held out her hands to greet them -- a crumpled handkerchief in one and a little bunch of fading lilies in the other.
jack sat down in the low chair beside her and leaned his head against the arm of the sofa, for he was tired.
but frank walked slowly up and down the long rooms with a serious yet serene look on his face, for he felt as if he had learned something that day, and would always be the better for it.
presently he said, stopping before his mother, who leaned in the easy-chair looking up at the picture of her boys" father, -- "i should like to have just such things said about me when i die."
""so should i, if i deserved them as ed did!"
cried jack, earnestly.
""you may if you try.
i should be proud to hear them, and if they were true, they would comfort me more than anything else.
i am glad you see the lovely side of sorrow, and are learning the lesson such losses teach us," answered their mother, who believed in teaching young people to face trouble bravely, and find the silver lining in the clouds that come to all of us.
""i never thought much about it before, but now dying does n't seem dreadful at all -- only solemn and beautiful.
somehow everybody seems to love everybody else more for it, and try to be kind and good and pious.
i ca n't say what i mean, but you know, mother;" and frank went pacing on again with the bright look his eyes always wore when he listened to music or read of some noble action.
""that's what merry said when she and molly came in on their way home.
but molly felt dreadfully, and so did mabel.
she brought me these flowers to press, for we are all going to keep some to remember dear ed by," said jill, carefully smoothing out the little bells as she laid the lilies in her hymn-book, for she too had had a thoughtful hour while she lay alone, imagining all that went on in the church, and shedding a few tender tears over the friend who was always so kind to her.
""i do n't want anything to remember him by.
i was so fond of him, i could n't forget if i tried.
i know i ought not to say it, but i do n't see why god let him die," said jack, with a quiver in his voice, for his loving heart could not help aching still.
""no, dear, we can not see or know many things that grieve us very much, but we can trust that it is right, and try to believe that all is meant for our good.
that is what faith means, and without it we are miserable.
when you were little, you were afraid of the dark, but if i spoke or touched you, then you were sure all was well, and fell asleep holding my hand.
god is wiser and stronger than any father or mother, so hold fast to him, and you will have no doubt or fear, however dark it seems."
""as you do," said jack, going to sit on the arm of mamma's chair, with his cheek to hers, willing to trust as she bade him, but glad to hold fast the living hand that had led and comforted him all his life.
""ed used to say to me when i fretted about getting well, and thought nobody cared for me, which was very naughty, "do n't be troubled, god wo n't forget you; and if you must be lame, he will make you able to bear it,"" said jill, softly, her quick little mind all alive with new thoughts and feelings.
""he believed it, and that's why he liked that hymn so much.
i'm glad they sung it to-day," said frank, bringing his heavy dictionary to lay on the book where the flowers were pressing.
""oh, thank you!
could you play that tune for me?
i did n't hear it, and i'd love to, if you are willing," asked jill.
""i did n't think i ever should want to play again, but i do.
will you sing it for her, mother?
i'm afraid i shall break down if i try alone."
""we will all sing, music is good for us now," said mamma; and in rather broken voices they did sing ed's favorite words: -- "not a sparrow falleth but its god doth know, just as when his mandate lays a monarch low; not a leaflet moveth, but its god doth see, think not, then, o mortal, god forgetteth thee.
far more precious surely than the birds that fly is a father's image to a father's eye.
e'en thy hairs are numbered; trust him full and free, cast thy cares before him, he will comfort thee; for the god that planted in thy breast a soul, on his sacred tables doth thy name enroll.
cheer thine heart, then, mortal, never faithless be, he that marks the sparrows will remember thee."
chapter xxi.
pebbly beach "now, mr. jack, it is a moral impossibility to get all those things into one trunk, and you must n't ask it of me," said mrs. pecq, in a tone of despair, as she surveyed the heap of treasures she was expected to pack for the boys.
""never mind the clothes, we only want a boating-suit apiece.
mamma can put a few collars in her trunk for us; but these necessary things must go," answered jack, adding his target and air-pistol to the pile of bats, fishing-tackle, games, and a choice collection of shabby balls.
""those are the necessaries and clothes the luxuries, are they?
why do n't you add a velocipede, wheelbarrow, and printing-press, my dear?"
asked mrs. pecq, while jill turned up her nose at "boys" rubbish."
""wish i could.
dare say we shall want them.
women do n't know what fellows need, and always must put in a lot of stiff shirts and clean handkerchiefs and clothes-brushes and pots of cold cream.
we are going to rough it, and do n't want any fuss and feathers," said jack, beginning to pack the precious balls in his rubber boots, and strap them up with the umbrellas, rods, and bats, seeing that there was no hope of a place in the trunk.
here frank came in with two big books, saying calmly, "just slip these in somewhere, we shall need them."
""but you are not to study at all, so you wo n't want those great dictionaries," cried jill, busily packing her new travelling-basket with all sorts of little rolls, bags, and boxes.
""they are not dics, but my encyclopedia.
we shall want to know heaps of things, and this tells about everything.
with those books, and a microscope and a telescope, you could travel round the world, and learn all you wanted to.
ca n't possibly get on without them," said frank, fondly patting his favorite work.
""my patience!
what queer cattle boys are!"
exclaimed mrs. pecq, while they all laughed.
""it ca n't be done, mr. frank; all the boxes are brim full, and you'll have to leave those fat books behind, for there's no place anywhere."
""then i'll carry them myself;" and frank tucked one under each arm, with a determined air, which settled the matter.
""i suppose you'll study cockleology instead of boating, and read up on polywogs while we play tennis, or go poking round with your old spy-glass instead of having a jolly good time," said jack, hauling away on the strap till all was taut and ship-shape with the bundle.
""tadpoles do n't live in salt water, my son, and if you mean conchology, you'd better say so.
i shall play as much as i wish, and when i want to know about any new or curious thing, i shall consult my cyclo, instead of bothering other people with questions, or giving it up like a dunce;" with which crushing reply frank departed, leaving jill to pack and unpack her treasures a dozen times, and jack to dance jigs on the lids of the trunks till they would shut.
a very happy party set off the next day, leaving mrs. pecq waving her apron on the steps.
mrs. minot carried the lunch, jack his precious bundle with trifles dropping out by the way, and jill felt very elegant bearing her new basket with red worsted cherries bobbing on the outside.
frank actually did take the encyclopedia, done up in the roll of shawls, and whenever the others wondered about anything -- tides, lighthouses, towns, or natural productions -- he brought forth one of the books and triumphantly read therefrom, to the great merriment, if not edification, of his party.
a very short trip by rail and the rest of the journey by boat, to jill's great contentment, for she hated to be shut up; and while the lads roved here and there she sat under the awning, too happy to talk.
but mrs. minot watched with real satisfaction how the fresh wind blew the color back into the pale cheeks, how the eyes shone and the heart filled with delight at seeing the lovely world again, and being able to take a share in its active pleasures.
the willows was a long, low house close to the beach, and as full as a beehive of pleasant people, all intent on having a good time.
a great many children were swarming about, and jill found it impossible to sleep after her journey, there was such a lively clatter of tongues on the piazzas, and so many feet going to and fro in the halls.
she lay down obediently while mrs. minot settled matters in the two airy rooms and gave her some dinner, but she kept popping up her head to look out of the window to see what she could see.
just opposite stood an artist's cottage and studio, with all manner of charming galleries, towers, steps, and even a sort of drawbridge to pull up when the painter wished to be left in peace.
he was absent now, and the visitors took possession of this fine play-place.
children were racing up and down the galleries, ladies sitting in the tower, boys disporting themselves on the roof, and young gentlemen preparing for theatricals in the large studio.
""what fun i'll have over there," thought jill, watching the merry scene with intense interest, and wondering if the little girls she saw were as nice as molly and merry.
then there were glimpses of the sea beyond the green bank where a path wound along to the beach, whence came the cool dash of waves, and now and then the glimmer of a passing sail.
""oh, when can i go out?
it looks so lovely, i ca n't wait long," she said, looking as eager as a little gull shut up in a cage and pining for its home on the wide ocean.
""as soon as it is a little cooler, dear, i'm getting ready for our trip, but we must be careful and not do too much at once.
"slow and sure" is our motto," answered mrs. minot, busily collecting the camp-stools, the shawls, the air-cushions, and the big parasols.
""i'll be good, only do let me have my sailor-hat to wear, and my new suit.
i'm not a bit tired, and i do want to be like other folks right off," said jill, who had been improving rapidly of late, and felt much elated at being able to drive out nearly every day, to walk a little, and sit up some hours without any pain or fatigue.
to gratify her, the blue flannel suit with its white trimming was put on, and mamma was just buttoning the stout boots when jack thundered at the door, and burst in with all sorts of glorious news.
""do come out, mother, it's perfectly splendid on the beach!
i've found a nice place for jill to sit, and it's only a step.
lots of capital fellows here; one has a bicycle, and is going to teach us to ride.
no end of fun up at the hotel, and every one seems glad to see us.
two ladies asked about jill, and one of the girls has got some shells all ready for her, gerty somebody, and her mother is so pretty and jolly, i like her ever so much.
they sit at our table, and wally is the boy, younger than i am, but very pleasant.
bacon is the fellow in knickerbockers; just wish you could see what stout legs he's got!
cox is the chap for me, though: we are going fishing to-morrow.
he's got a sweet-looking mother, and a sister for you, jill.
now, then, do come on, i'll take the traps."
off they went, and jill thought that very short walk to the shore the most delightful she ever took; for people smiled at the little invalid as she went slowly by leaning on mrs. minot's arm, while jack pranced in front, doing the honors, as if he owned the whole atlantic.
a new world opened to her eyes as they came out upon the pebbly beach full of people enjoying their afternoon promenade.
jill save one rapturous "oh!"
and then sat on her stool, forgetting everything but the beautiful blue ocean rolling away to meet the sky, with nothing to break the wide expanse but a sail here and there, a point of rocks on one hand, the little pier on the other, and white gulls skimming by on their wide wings.
while she sat enjoying herself, jack showed his mother the place he had found, and a very nice one it was.
just under the green bank lay an old boat propped up with some big stones.
a willow drooped over it, the tide rippled up within a few yards of it, and a fine view of the waves could be seen as they dashed over the rocks at the point.
""is n't it a good cubby-house?
ben cox and i fixed it for jill, and she can have it for hers.
put her cushions and things there on the sand the children have thrown in -- that will make it soft; then these seats will do for tables; and up in the bow i'm going to have that old rusty tin boiler full of salt-water, so she can put seaweed and crabs and all sorts of chaps in it for an aquarium, you know," explained jack, greatly interested in establishing his family comfortably before he left them.
""there could n't be a nicer place, and it is very kind of you to get it ready.
spread the shawls and settle jill, then you need n't think of us any more, but go and scramble with frank.
i see him over there with his spy-glass and some pleasant-looking boys," said mamma, bustling about in great spirits.
so the red cushions were placed, the plaids laid, and the little work-basket set upon the seat, all ready for jill, who was charmed with her nest, and cuddled down under the big parasol, declaring she would keep house there every day.
even the old boiler pleased her, and jack raced over the beach to begin his search for inhabitants for the new aquarium, leaving jill to make friends with some pretty babies digging in the sand, while mamma sat on the camp-stool and talked with a friend from harmony village.
it seemed as if there could not be anything more delightful than to lie there lulled by the sound of the sea, watching the sunset and listening to the pleasant babble of little voices close by.
but when they went to tea in the great hall, with six tables full of merry people, and half a dozen maids flying about, jill thought that was even better, because it was so new to her.
gerty and wally nodded to her, and their pretty mamma was so kind and so gay, that jill could not feel bashful after the first few minutes, and soon looked about her, sure of seeing friendly faces everywhere.
frank and jack ate as if the salt air had already improved their appetites, and talked about bacon and cox as if they had been bosom friends for years.
mamma was as happy as they, for her friend, mrs. hammond, sat close by; and this rosy lady, who had been a physician, cheered her up by predicting that jill would soon be running about as well as ever.
but the best of all was in the evening, when the elder people gathered in the parlors and played twenty questions, while the children looked on for an hour before going to bed, much amused at the sight of grown people laughing, squabbling, dodging, and joking as if they had all become young again; for, as every one knows, it is impossible to help lively skirmishes when that game is played.
jill lay in the sofa corner enjoying it all immensely; for she never saw anything so droll, and found it capital fun to help guess the thing, or try to puzzle the opposite side.
her quick wits and bright face attracted people, and in the pauses of the sport she held quite a levee, for everybody was interested in the little invalid.
the girls shyly made friends in their own way, the mammas told thrilling tales of the accidents their darlings had survived, several gentlemen kindly offered their boats, and the boys, with the best intentions in life, suggested strolls of two or three miles to rafe's chasm and norman's woe, or invited her to tennis and archery, as if violent exercise was the cure for all human ills.
she was very grateful, and reluctantly went away to bed, declaring, when she got upstairs, that these new friends were the dearest people she ever met, and the willows the most delightful place in the whole world.
next day a new life began for the young folks -- a very healthy, happy life; and all threw themselves into it so heartily, that it was impossible to help getting great good from it, for these summer weeks, if well spent, work miracles in tired bodies and souls.
frank took a fancy to the bicycle boy, and, being able to hire one of the breakneck articles, soon learned to ride it; and the two might be seen wildly working their long legs on certain smooth stretches of road, or getting up their muscle rowing about the bay till they were almost as brown and nautical in appearance and language as the fishermen who lived in nooks and corners along the shore.
jack struck up a great friendship with the sturdy bacon and the agreeable cox: the latter, being about his own age, was his especial favorite; and they soon were called box and cox by the other fellows, which did not annoy them a bit, as both had played parts in that immortal farce.
they had capital times fishing, scrambling over the rocks, playing ball and tennis, and rainy days they took possession of the studio opposite, drew up the portcullis, and gallantly defended the castle, which some of the others besieged with old umbrellas for shields, bats for battering-rams, and bunches of burrs for cannon-balls.
great larks went on over there, while the girls applauded from the piazza or chamber-windows, and made a gay flag for the victors to display from the tower when the fight was over.
but jill had the best time of all, for each day brought increasing strength and spirits, and she improved so fast it was hard to believe that she was the same girl who lay so long almost helpless in the bird room at home.
such lively letters as she sent her mother, all about her new friends, her fine sails, drives, and little walks; the good times she had in the evening, the lovely things people gave her, and she was learning to make with shells and sea-weed, and what splendid fun it was to keep house in a boat.
this last amusement soon grew quite absorbing, and her "cubby," as she called it, rapidly became a pretty grotto, where she lived like a little mermaid, daily loving more and more the beauty of the wonderful sea.
finding the boat too sunny at times, the boys cut long willow boughs and arched them over the seats, laying hemlock branches across till a green roof made it cool and shady inside.
there jill sat or lay among her cushions reading, trying to sketch, sorting shells, drying gay sea-weeds, or watching her crabs, jelly-fish, and anemones in the old boiler, now buried in sand and edged about with moss from the woods.
nobody disturbed her treasures, but kindly added to them, and often when she went to her nest she found fruit or flowers, books or bon-bons, laid ready for her.
every one pitied and liked the bright little girl who could not run and frisk with the rest, who was so patient and cheerful after her long confinement, ready to help others, and so grateful for any small favor.
she found now that the weary months had not been wasted, and was very happy to discover in herself a new sort of strength and sweetness that was not only a comfort to her, but made those about her love and trust her.
the songs she had learned attracted the babies, who would leave their play to peep at her and listen when she sung over her work.
passers-by paused to hear the blithe voice of the bird in the green cage, and other invalids, strolling on the beach, would take heart when they saw the child so happy in spite of her great trial.
the boys kept all their marine curiosities for her, and were always ready to take her a row or a sail, as the bay was safe and that sort of travelling suited her better than driving.
but the girls had capital times together, and it did jill good to see another sort from those she knew at home.
she had been so much petted of late, that she was getting rather vain of her small accomplishments, and being with strangers richer, better bred and educated than herself, made her more humble in some things, while it showed her the worth of such virtues as she could honestly claim.
mamie cox took her to drive in the fine carriage of her mamma, and jill was much impressed by the fact that mamie was not a bit proud about it, and did not put on any airs, though she had a maid to take care of her.
gerty wore pretty costumes, and came down with pink and blue ribbons in her hair that jill envied very much; yet gerty liked her curls, and longed to have some, while her mother, "the lady from philadelphia," as they called her, was so kind and gay that jill quite adored her, and always felt as if sunshine had come into the room when she entered.
two little sisters were very interesting to her, and made her long for one of her own when she saw them going about together and heard them talk of their pleasant home, where the great silk factories were.
but they invited her to come and see the wonderful cocoons, and taught her to knot pretty gray fringe on a cushion, which delighted her, being so new and easy.
there were several other nice little lasses, and they all gathered about jill with the sweet sympathy children are so quick to show toward those in pain or misfortune.
she thought they would not care for a poor little girl like herself, yet here she was the queen of the troupe, and this discovery touched and pleased her very much.
in the morning they camped round the boat on the stones with books, gay work, and merry chatter, till bathing-time.
then the beach was full of life and fun, for every one looked so droll in the flannel suits, it was hard to believe that the neat ladies and respectable gentlemen who went into the little houses could be the same persons as the queer, short-skirted women with old hats tied down, and bareheaded, barefooted men in old suits, who came skipping over the sand to disport themselves in the sea in the most undignified ways.
the boys raced about, looking like circus-tumblers, and the babies were regular little cupids, running away from the waves that tried to kiss their flying feet.
some of the young ladies and girls were famous swimmers, and looked very pretty in their bright red and blue costumes, with loose hair and gay stockings, as they danced into the water and floated away as fearlessly as real mermaidens.
jill had her quiet dip and good rubbing each fine day, and then lay upon the warm sand watching the pranks of the others, and longing to run and dive and shout and tumble with the rest.
now that she was among the well and active, it seemed harder to be patient than when shut up and unable to stir.
she felt so much better, and had so little pain to remind her of past troubles, it was almost impossible to help forgetting the poor back and letting her recovered spirits run away with her.
if mrs. minot had not kept good watch, she would have been off more than once, so eager was she to be "like other girls" again, so difficult was it to keep the restless feet quietly folded among the red cushions.
one day she did yield to temptation, and took a little voyage which might have been her last, owing to the carelessness of those whom she trusted.
it was a good lesson, and made her as meek as a lamb during the rest of her stay.
mrs. minot drove to gloucester one afternoon, leaving jill safely established after her nap in the boat, with gerty and mamie making lace beside her.
""do n't try to walk or run about, my dear.
sit on the piazza if you get tired of this, and amuse yourself quietly till i come back.
i'll not forget the worsted and the canvas," said mamma, peeping over the bank for a last word as she waited for the omnibus to come along.
""oh, do n't forget the gibraltars!"
cried jill, popping her head out of the green roof.
""nor the bananas, please!"
added gerty, looking round one end.
""nor the pink and blue ribbon to tie our shell-baskets," called mamie, nearly tumbling into the aquarium at the other end.
mrs. minot laughed, and promised, and rumbled away, leaving jill to an experience which she never forgot.
for half an hour the little girls worked busily, then the boys came for gerty and mamie to go to the chasm with a party of friends who were to leave next day.
off they went, and jill felt very lonely as the gay voices died away.
every one had gone somewhere, and only little harry hammond and his maid were on the beach.
two or three sand-pipers ran about among the pebbles, and jill envied them their nimble legs so much, that she could not resist getting up to take a few steps.
she longed to run straight away over the firm, smooth sand, and feel again the delight of swift motion; but she dared not try it, and stood leaning on her tall parasol with her book in her hand, when frank, jack, and the bicycle boy came rowing lazily along and hailed her.
""come for a sail, jill?
take you anywhere you like," called jack, touched by the lonely figure on the beach.
""i'd love to go, if you will row.
mamma made me promise not to go sailing without a man to take care of me.
would it spoil your fun to have me?"
answered jill, eagerly.
""not a bit; come out on the big stones and we'll take you aboard," said frank, as they steered to the place where she could embark the easiest.
""all the rest are gone to the chasm.
i wanted to go, because i've never seen it; but, of course, i had to give it up, as i do most of the fun;" and jill sat down with an impatient sigh.
""we'll row you round there.
ca n't land, but you can see the place and shout to the others, if that will be any comfort to you," proposed frank, as they pulled away round the pier.
""oh, yes, that would be lovely!"
and jill smiled at jack, who was steering, for she found it impossible to be dismal now with the fresh wind blowing in her face, the blue waves slapping against the boat, and three good-natured lads ready to gratify her wishes.
away they went, laughing and talking gayly till they came to goodwin's rocks, where an unusual number of people were to be seen though the tide was going out, and no white spray was dashing high into the air to make a sight worth seeing.
""what do you suppose they are about?
never saw such a lot of folks at this time.
should n't wonder if something had happened.
i say, put me ashore, and i'll cut up and see," said the bicycle boy, who was of an inquiring turn.
""i'll go with you," said frank; "it wo n't take but a minute, and i'd like to discover what it is.
may be something we ought to know about."
so the boys pulled round into a quiet nook, and the two elder ones scrambled up the rocks, to disappear in the crowd.
five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and they did not return.
jack grew impatient, so did jill, and bade him run up and bring them back.
glad to know what kept them, jack departed, to be swallowed up in his turn, for not a sign of a boy did she see after that; and, having vainly strained her eyes to discover the attraction which held them, she gave it up, lay down on their jackets, and began to read.
then the treacherous tide, as it ebbed lower and lower down the beach, began to lure the boat away; for it was not fastened, and when lightened of its load was an easy prize to the hungry sea, always ready to steal all it can.
jill knew nothing of this, for her story was dull, the gentle motion proved soothing, and before she knew it she was asleep.
little by little the runaway boat slid farther from the shore, and presently was floating out to sea with its drowsy freight, while the careless boys, unconscious of the time they were wasting, lingered to see group after group photographed by the enterprising man who had trundled his camera to the rocks.
in the midst of a dream about home, jill was roused by a loud shout, and, starting up so suddenly that the sun-umbrella went overboard, she found herself sailing off alone, while the distracted lads roared and beckoned vainly from the cove.
the oars lay at their feet, where they left them; and the poor child was quite helpless, for she could not manage the sail, and even the parasol, with which she might have paddled a little, had gone down with all sail set.
for a minute, jill was so frightened that she could only look about her with a scared face, and wonder if drowning was a very disagreeable thing.
then the sight of the bicycle boy struggling with jack, who seemed inclined to swim after her, and frank shouting wildly, "hold on!
come back!"
made her laugh in spite of her fear, it was so comical, and their distress so much greater than hers, since it was their own carelessness which caused the trouble.
""i ca n't come back!
there's nothing to hold on to!
you did n't fasten me, and now i do n't know where i'm going!"
cried jill, looking from the shore to the treacherous sea that was gently carrying her away.
""keep cool!
we'll get a boat and come after you," roared frank, before he followed jack, who had collected his wits and was tearing up the rocks like a chamois hunter.
the bicycle boy calmly sat down to keep his eye on the runaway, calling out from time to time such cheering remarks as "all aboard for liverpool!
give my love to victoria!
luff and bear away when you come to halifax!
if you are hard up for provisions, you'll find an apple and some bait in my coat-pocket," and other directions for a comfortable voyage, till his voice was lost in the distance as a stronger current bore her swiftly away and the big waves began to tumble and splash.
at first jill had laughed at his efforts to keep up her spirits, but when the boat floated round a point of rock that shut in the cove, she felt all alone, and sat quite still, wondering what would become of her.
she turned her back to the sea and looked at the dear, safe land, which never had seemed so green and beautiful before.
up on the hill rustled the wood through which the happy party were wandering to the chasm.
on the rocks she still saw the crowd all busy with their own affairs, unconscious of her danger.
here and there artists were sketching in picturesque spots, and in one place an old gentleman sat fishing peacefully.
jill called and waved her handkerchief, but he never looked up, and an ugly little dog barked at her in what seemed to her a most cruel way.
""nobody sees or hears or cares, and those horrid boys will never catch up!"
she cried in despair, as the boat began to rock more and more, and the loud swash of water dashing in and out of the chasm drew nearer and nearer.
holding on now with both hands she turned and looked straight before her, pale and shivering, while her eyes tried to see some sign of hope among the steep cliffs that rose up on the left.
no one was there, though usually at this hour they were full of visitors, and it was time for the walkers to have arrived.
""i wonder if gerty and mamie will be sorry if i'm drowned," thought jill, remembering the poor girl who had been lost in the chasm not long ago.
her lively fancy pictured the grief of her friends at her loss; but that did not help or comfort her now, and as her anxious gaze wandered along the shore, she said aloud, in a pensive tone, -- "perhaps i shall be wrecked on norman's woe, and somebody will make poetry about me.
it would be pretty to read, but i do n't want to die that way.
oh, why did i come!
why did n't i stay safe and comfortable in my own boat?"
at the thought a sob rose, and poor jill laid her head down on her lap to cry with all her heart, feeling very helpless, small, and forsaken alone there on the great sea.
in the midst of her tears came the thought, "when people are in danger, they ask god to save them;" and, slipping down upon her knees, she said her prayer as she had never said it before, for when human help seems gone we turn to him as naturally as lost children cry to their father, and feel sure that he will hear and answer them.
after that she felt better, and wiped away the drops that blinded her, to look out again like a shipwrecked mariner watching for a sail.
and there it was!
close by, coming swiftly on with a man behind it, a sturdy brown fisher, busy with his lobster-pots, and quite unconscious how like an angel he looked to the helpless little girl in the rudderless boat.
""hi!
hi!
oh, please do stop and get me!
i'm lost, no oars, nobody to fix the sail!
oh, oh!
please come!"
screamed jill, waving her hat frantically as the other boat skimmed by and the man stared at her as if she really was a mermaid with a fishy tail.
""keep still!
i'll come about and fetch you!"
he called out; and jill obeyed, sitting like a little image of faith, till with a good deal of shifting and flapping of the sail, the other boat came alongside and took her in tow.
a few words told the story, and in five minutes she was sitting snugly tucked up watching an unpleasant mass of lobsters flap about dangerously near her toes, while the boat bounded over the waves with a delightful motion, and every instant brought her nearer home.
she did not say much, but felt a good deal; and when they met two boats coming to meet her, manned by very anxious crews of men and boys, she was so pale and quiet that jack was quite bowed down with remorse, and frank nearly pitched the bicycle boy overboard because he gayly asked jill how she left her friends in england.
there was great rejoicing over her, for the people on the rocks had heard of her loss, and ran about like ants when their hill is disturbed.
of course half a dozen amiable souls posted off to the willows to tell the family that the little girl was drowned, so that when the rescuers appeared quite a crowd was assembled on the beach to welcome her.
but jill felt so used up with her own share of the excitement that she was glad to be carried to the house by frank and jack, and laid upon her bed, where mrs. hammond soon restored her with sugar-coated pills, and words even sweeter and more soothing.
other people, busied with their own pleasures, forgot all about it by the next day; but jill remembered that hour long afterward, both awake and asleep, for her dreams were troubled, and she often started up imploring someone to save her.
then she would recall the moment when, feeling most helpless, she had asked for help, and it had come as quickly as if that tearful little cry had been heard and answered, though her voice had been drowned by the dash of the waves that seemed ready to devour her.
this made a deep impression on her, and a sense of childlike faith in the father of all began to grow up within her; for in that lonely voyage, short as it was, she had found a very precious treasure to keep for ever, to lean on, and to love during the longer voyage which all must take before we reach our home.
chapter xxii.
a happy day "oh dear!
only a week more, and then we must go back.
do n't you hate the thoughts of it?"
said jack, as he was giving jill her early walk on the beach one august morning.
""yes, it will be dreadful to leave gerty and mamie and all the nice people.
but i'm so much better i wo n't have to be shut up again, even if i do n't go to school.
how i long to see merry and molly.
dear things, if it was n't for them i should hate going home more than you do," answered jill, stepping along quite briskly, and finding it very hard to resist breaking into a skip or a run, she felt so well and gay.
""wish they could be here to-day to see the fun," said jack, for it was the anniversary of the founding of the place, and the people celebrated it by all sorts of festivity.
""i did want to ask molly, but your mother is so good to me i could n't find courage to do it.
mammy told me not to ask for a thing, and i'm sure i do n't get a chance.
i feel just as if i was your truly born sister, jack."
""that's all right, i'm glad you do," answered jack, comfortably, though his mind seemed a little absent and his eyes twinkled when she spoke of molly.
""now, you sit in the cubby-house, and keep quiet till the boat comes in.
then the fun will begin, and you must be fresh and ready to enjoy it.
do n't run off, now, i shall want to know where to find you by and by."
""no more running off, thank you.
i'll stay here till you come, and finish this box for molly; she has a birthday this week, and i've written to ask what day, so i can send it right up and surprise her."
jack's eyes twinkled more than ever as he helped jill settle herself in the boat, and then with a whoop he tore over the beach, as if practising for the race which was to come off in the afternoon.
jill was so busy with her work that time went quickly, and the early boat came in just as the last pink shell was stuck in its place.
putting the box in the sun to dry, she leaned out of her nook to watch the gay parties land, and go streaming up the pier along the road that went behind the bank that sheltered her.
flocks of children were running about on the sand, and presently strangers appeared, eager to see and enjoy all the delights of this gala-day.
""there's a fat little boy who looks ever so much like boo," said jill to herself, watching the people and hoping they would not come and find her, since she had promised to stay till jack returned.
the fat little boy was staring about him in a blissful sort of maze, holding a wooden shovel in one hand and the skirts of a young girl with the other.
her back was turned to jill, but something in the long brown braid with a fly-away blue bow hanging down her back looked very familiar to jill.
so did the gray suit and the japanese umbrella; but the hat was strange, and while she was thinking how natural the boots looked, the girl turned round.
""why, how much she looks like molly!
it ca n't be -- yes, it might, i do believe it is!"
cried jill, starting up and hardly daring to trust her own eyes.
as she came out of her nest and showed herself, there could be no doubt about the other girl, for she gave one shout and came racing over the beach with both arms out, while her hat blew off unheeded, and the gay umbrella flew away, to the great delight of all the little people except boo, who was upset by his sister's impetuous rush, and lay upon his back howling.
molly did not do all the running, though, and jill got her wish, for, never stopping to think of herself, she was off at once, and met her friend half-way with an answering cry.
it was a pretty sight to see them run into one another's arms and hug and kiss and talk and skip in such a state of girlish joy they never cared who saw or laughed at their innocent raptures.
""you darling dear!
where did you come from?"
cried jill, holding molly by both shoulders, and shaking her a little to be sure she was real.
""mrs. minot sent for us to spend a week.
you look so well, i ca n't believe my eyes!"
answered molly, patting jill's cheeks and kissing them over and over, as if to make sure the bright color would not come off.
""a week?
how splendid!
oh, i've such heaps to tell and show you; come right over to my cubby and see how lovely it is," said jill, forgetting everybody else in her delight at getting molly.
""i must get poor boo, and my hat and umbrella, i left them all behind me when i saw you," laughed molly, looking back.
but mrs. minot and jack had consoled boo and collected the scattered property, so the girls went on arm in arm, and had a fine time before any one had the heart to disturb them.
molly was charmed with the boat, and jill very glad the box was done in season.
both had so much to tell and hear and plan, that they would have sat there for ever if bathing-time had not come, and the beach suddenly looked like a bed of red and yellow tulips, for every one took a dip, and the strangers added much to the fun.
molly could swim like a duck, and quite covered herself with glory by diving off the pier.
jack undertook to teach boo, who was a promising pupil, being so plump that he could not sink if he tried.
jill was soon through, and lay on the sand enjoying the antics of the bathers till she was so faint with laughter she was glad to hear the dinner-horn and do the honors of the willows to molly, whose room was next hers.
boat-races came first in the afternoon, and the girls watched them, sitting luxuriously in the nest, with the ladies and children close by.
the sailing-matches were very pretty to see; but molly and jill were more interested in the rowing, for frank and the bicycle boy pulled one boat, and the friends felt that this one must win.
it did, though the race was not very exciting nor the prize of great worth; but the boys and girls were satisfied, and jack was much exalted, for he always told frank he could do great things if he would only drop books and "go in on his muscle."
foot-races followed, and, burning to distinguish himself also, jack insisted on trying, though his mother warned him that the weak leg might be harmed, and he had his own doubts about it, as he was all out of practice.
however, he took his place with a handkerchief tied round his head, red shirt and stockings, and his sleeves rolled up as if he meant business.
jill and molly could not sit still during this race, and stood on the bank quite trembling with excitement as the half-dozen runners stood in a line at the starting-post waiting for the word "go!"
off they went at last over the smooth beach to the pole with the flag at the further end, and every one watched them with mingled interest and merriment, for they were a droll set, and the running not at all scientific with most of them.
one young fisherman with big boots over his trousers started off at a great pace, pounding along in the most dogged way, while a little chap in a tight bathing-suit with very thin legs skimmed by him, looking so like a sand-piper it was impossible to help laughing at both.
jack's former training stood him in good stead now; for he went to work in professional style, and kept a steady trot till the flagpole had been passed, then he put on his speed and shot ahead of all the rest, several of whom broke down and gave up.
but cox and bacon held on gallantly; and soon it was evident that the sturdy legs in the knickerbockers were gaining fast, for jack gave his ankle an ugly wrench on a round pebble, and the weak knee began to fail.
he did his best, however, and quite a breeze of enthusiasm stirred the spectators as the three boys came down the course like mettlesome horses, panting, pale, or purple, but each bound to win at any cost.
""now, bacon!"
""go it, minot!"
""hit him up, cox!"
""jack's ahead!"
""no, he is n't!"
""here they come!"
""bacon's done it!"
shouted the other boys, and they were right; bacon had won, for the gray legs came in just half a yard ahead of the red ones, and minot tumbled into his brother's arms with hardly breath enough left to gasp out, good-humoredly, "all right, i'm glad he beat!"
then the victor was congratulated and borne off by his friends to refresh himself, while the lookers-on scattered to see a game of tennis and the shooting of the archery club up at the hotel.
jack was soon rested, and, making light of his defeat, insisted on taking the girls to see the fun.
so they drove up in the old omnibus, and enjoyed the pretty sight very much; for the young ladies were in uniform, and the broad green ribbons over the white dresses, the gay quivers, long bows, and big targets, made a lively scene.
the shooting was good; a handsome damsel got the prize of a dozen arrows, and every one clapped in the most enthusiastic manner.
molly and jill did not care about tennis, so they went home to rest and dress for the evening, because to their minds the dancing, the illumination, and the fireworks were the best fun of all.
jill's white bunting with cherry ribbons was very becoming, and the lively feet in the new slippers patted the floor impatiently as the sound of dance music came down to the willows after tea, and the other girls waltzed on the wide piazza because they could not keep still.
""no dancing for me, but molly must have a good time.
you'll see that she does, wo n't you, boys?"
said jill, who knew that her share of the fun would be lying on a settee and watching the rest enjoy her favorite pastime.
frank and jack promised, and kept their word handsomely; for there was plenty of room in the great dancing-hall at the hotel, and the band in the pavilion played such inspiring music that, as the bicycle boy said, "every one who had a leg could n't help shaking it."
molly was twirled about to her heart's content, and flew hither and thither like a blue butterfly; for all the lads liked her, and she kept running up to tell jill the funny things they said and did.
as night darkened from all the houses in the valley, on the cliffs and along the shore lights shone and sparkled; for every one decorated with gay lanterns, and several yachts in the bay strung colored lamps about the little vessels, making a pretty picture on the quiet sea.
jill thought she had never seen anything so like fairy-land, and felt very like one in a dream as she drove slowly up and down with mamie, gerty, molly, and mrs. cox in the carriage, so that she might see it all without too much fatigue.
it was very lovely; and when rockets began to whizz, filling the air with golden rain, a shower of colored stars, fiery dragons, or glittering wheels, the girls could only shriek with delight, and beg to stay a little longer each time the prudent lady proposed going home.
it had to be at last; but molly and jill comforted themselves by a long talk in bed, for it was impossible to sleep with glares of light coming every few minutes, flocks of people talking and tramping by in the road, and bursts of music floating down to them as the older but not wiser revellers kept up the merriment till a late hour.
they dropped off at last; but jill had the nightmare, and molly was waked up by a violent jerking of her braid as jill tried to tow her along, dreaming she was a boat.
they were too sleepy to laugh much then, but next morning they made merry over it, and went to breakfast with such happy faces that all the young folks pronounced jill's friend a most delightful girl.
what a good time molly did have that week!
other people were going to leave also, and therefore much picnicking, boating, and driving was crowded into the last days.
clambakes on the shore, charades in the studio, sewing-parties at the boat, evening frolics in the big dining-room, farewell calls, gifts, and invitations, all sorts of plans for next summer, and vows of eternal friendship exchanged between people who would soon forget each other.
it was very pleasant, till poor boo innocently added to the excitement by poisoning a few of his neighbors with a bad lobster.
the ambitious little soul pined to catch one of these mysterious but lovely red creatures, and spent days fishing on the beach, investigating holes and corners, and tagging after the old man who supplied the house.
one day after a high wind he found several "lobs" washed up on the beach, and, though disappointed at their color, he picked out a big one, and set off to show his prize to molly.
half-way home he met the old man on his way with a basket of fish, and being tired of lugging his contribution laid it with the others, meaning to explain later.
no one saw him do it, as the old man was busy with his pipe; and boo ran back to get more dear lobs, leaving his treasure to go into the kettle and appear at supper, by which time he had forgotten all about it.
fortunately none of the children ate any, but several older people were made ill, and quite a panic prevailed that night as one after the other called up the doctor, who was boarding close by; and good mrs. grey, the hostess, ran about with hot flannels, bottles of medicine, and distracted messages from room to room.
all were comfortable by morning, but the friends of the sufferers lay in wait for the old fisherman, and gave him a good scolding for his carelessness.
the poor man was protesting his innocence when boo, who was passing by, looked into the basket, and asked what had become of his lob.
a few questions brought the truth to light, and a general laugh put every one in good humor, when poor boo mildly said, by way of explanation, -- "i fought i was helpin" mrs. dray, and i did want to see the dreen lob come out all red when she boiled him.
but i fordot, and i do n't fink i'll ever find such a nice big one any more."
""for our sakes, i hope you wo n't, my dear," said mrs. hammond, who had been nursing one of the sufferers.
""it's lucky we are going home to-morrow, or that child would be the death of himself and everybody else.
he is perfectly crazy about fish, and i've pulled him out of that old lobster-pot on the beach a dozen times," groaned molly, much afflicted by the mishaps of her young charge.
there was a great breaking up next day, and the old omnibus went off to the station with bacon hanging on behind, the bicycle boy and his iron whirligig atop, and heads popping out of all the windows for last good-byes.
our party and the hammonds were going by boat, and were all ready to start for the pier when boo and little harry were missing.
molly, the maid, and both boys ran different ways to find them; and all sorts of dreadful suggestions were being made when shouts of laughter were heard from the beach, and the truants appeared, proudly dragging in harry's little wagon a dead devil-fish, as the natives call that ugly thing which looks like a magnified tadpole -- all head and no body.
""we've dot him!"
called the innocents, tugging up their prize with such solemn satisfaction it was impossible to help laughing.
""i always wanted to tatch a whale, and this is a baby one, i fink.
a boy said, when they wanted to die they comed on the sand and did it, and we saw this one go dead just now.
ai n't he pretty?"
asked boo, displaying the immense mouth with fond pride, while his friend flapped the tail.
""what are you going to do with him?"
said mrs. hammond, regarding her infant as if she often asked herself the same question about her boy.
""wap him up in a paper and tate him home to pay wid," answered harry, with such confidence in his big blue eyes that it was very hard to disappoint his hopes and tell him the treasure must be left behind.
wails of despair burst from both children as the hard-hearted boys tipped out the little whale, and hustled the indignant fishermen on board the boat, which had been whistling for them impatiently.
boo recovered his spirits first, and gulping down a sob that nearly shook his hat off, consoled his companion in affliction and convulsed his friends by taking from his pocket several little crabs, the remains of a jelly-fish, and such a collection of pebbles that frank understood why he found the fat boy such a burden when he shouldered him, kicking and howling, in the late run to the boat.
these delicate toys healed the wounds of boo and harry, and they were soon happily walking the little "trabs" about inside a stone wall of their own building, while the others rested after their exertions, and laid plans for coming to the willows another year, as people usually did who had once tasted the wholesome delights and cordial hospitality of this charming place.
chapter xxiii.
cattle show the children were not the only ones who had learned something at pebbly beach.
mrs. minot had talked a good deal with some very superior persons, and received light upon various subjects which had much interested or perplexed her.
while the ladies worked or walked together, they naturally spoke oftenest and most earnestly about their children, and each contributed her experience.
mrs. hammond, who had been a physician for many years, was wise in the care of healthy little bodies, and the cure of sick ones.
mrs. channing, who had read, travelled, and observed much in the cause of education, had many useful hints about the training of young minds and hearts.
several teachers reported their trials, and all the mothers were eager to know how to bring up their boys and girls to be healthy, happy, useful men and women.
as young people do not care for such discussions, we will not describe them, but as the impression they made upon one of the mammas affected our hero and heroine, we must mention the changes which took place in their life when they all got home again.
""school begins to-morrow.
oh, dear!"
sighed jack, as he looked up his books in the bird room, a day or two after their return.
""do n't you want to go?
i long to, but do n't believe i shall.
i saw our mothers talking to the doctor last night, but i have n't dared to ask what they decided," said jill, affectionately eying the long-unused books in her little library.
""i've had such a jolly good time, that i hate to be shut up all day worse than ever.
do n't you, frank?"
asked jack, with a vengeful slap at the arithmetic which was the torment of his life.
""well, i confess i do n't hanker for school as much as i expected.
i'd rather take a spin on the old bicycle.
our roads are so good, it is a great temptation to hire a machine, and astonish the natives.
that's what comes of idleness.
so brace up, my boy, and go to work, for vacation is over," answered frank, gravely regarding the tall pile of books before him, as if trying to welcome his old friends, or tyrants, rather, for they ruled him with a rod of iron when he once gave himself up to them.
""ah, but vacation is not over, my dears," said mrs. minot, hearing the last words as she came in prepared to surprise her family.
""glad of it.
how much longer is it to be?"
asked jack, hoping for a week at least.
""two or three years for some of you."
""what?"
cried all three, in utter astonishment, as they stared at mamma, who could not help smiling, though she was very much in earnest.
""for the next two or three years i intend to cultivate my boys" bodies, and let their minds rest a good deal, from books at least.
there is plenty to learn outside of school-houses, and i do n't mean to shut you up just when you most need all the air and exercise you can get.
good health, good principles, and a good education are the three blessings i ask for you, and i am going to make sure of the first, as a firm foundation for the other two."
""but, mother, what becomes of college?"
asked frank, rather disturbed at this change of base.
""put it off for a year, and see if you are not better fitted for it then than now."
""but i am already fitted: i've worked like a tiger all this year, and i'm sure i shall pass."
""ready in one way, but not in another.
that hard work is no preparation for four years of still harder study.
it has cost you these round shoulders, many a headache, and consumed hours when you had far better have been on the river or in the fields.
i can not have you break down, as so many boys do, or pull through at the cost of ill-health afterward.
eighteen is young enough to begin the steady grind, if you have a strong constitution to keep pace with the eager mind.
sixteen is too young to send even my good boy out into the world, just when he most needs his mother's care to help him be the man she hopes to see him."
mrs. minot laid her hand on his shoulder as she spoke, looking so fond and proud that it was impossible to rebel, though some of his most cherished plans were spoilt.
""other fellows go at my age, and i was rather pleased to be ready at sixteen," he began.
but she added, quickly, -- "they go, but how do they come out?
many lose health of body, and many what is more precious still, moral strength, because too young and ignorant to withstand temptations of all sorts.
the best part of education does not come from books, and the good principles i value more than either of the other things are to be carefully watched over till firmly fixed; then you may face the world, and come to no real harm.
trust me, dear, i do it for your sake; so bear the disappointment bravely, and in the end i think you will say i'm right."
""i'll do my best; but i do n't see what is to become of us if we do n't go to school.
you will get tired of it first," said frank, trying to set a good example to the others, who were looking much impressed and interested.
""no danger of that, for i never sent my children to school to get rid of them, and now that they are old enough to be companions, i want them at home more than ever.
there are to be some lessons, however, for busy minds must be fed, but not crammed; so you boys will go and recite at certain hours such things as seem most important.
but there is to be no studying at night, no shutting up all the best hours of the day, no hurry and fret of getting on fast, or skimming over the surface of many studies without learning any thoroughly."
""so i say!"
cried jack, pleased with the new idea, for he never did love books.
""i do hate to be driven so i do n't half understand, because there is no time to have things explained.
school is good fun as far as play goes; but i do n't see the sense of making a fellow learn eighty questions in geography one day, and forget them the next.
""what is to become of me, please?"
asked jill, meekly.
""you and molly are to have lessons here.
i was a teacher when i was young, you know, and liked it, so i shall be school-ma "am, and leave my house-keeping in better hands than mine.
i always thought that mothers should teach their girls during these years, and vary their studies to suit the growing creatures as only mothers can.
""that will be splendid!
will molly's father let her come?"
cried jill, feeling quite reconciled to staying at home, if her friend was to be with her.
""he likes the plan very much, for molly is growing fast, and needs a sort of care that miss dawes can not give her.
i am not a hard mistress, and i hope you will find my school a pleasant one."
""i know i shall; and i'm not disappointed, because i was pretty sure i could n't go to the old school again, when i heard the doctor say i must be very careful for a long time.
i thought he meant months; but if it must be years, i can bear it, for i've been happy this last one though i was sick," said jill, glad to show that it had not been wasted time by being cheerful and patient now.
""that's my good girl!"
and mrs. minot stroked the curly black head as if it was her own little daughter's.
""you have done so well, i want you to go on improving, for care now will save you pain and disappointment by and by.
you all have got a capital start during these six weeks, so it is a good time to begin my experiment.
if it does not work well, we will go back to school and college next spring."
""hurrah for mamma and the long vacation!"
cried jack, catching up two big books and whirling them round like clubs, as if to get his muscles in order at once.
""now i shall have time to go to the gymnasium and straighten out my back," said frank, who was growing so tall he needed more breadth to make his height symmetrical.
""and to ride horseback.
i am going to hire old jane and get out the little phaeton, so we can all enjoy the fine weather while it lasts.
molly and i can drive jill, and you can take turns in the saddle when you are tired of ball and boating.
exercise of all sorts is one of the lessons we are to learn," said mrs. minot, suggesting all the pleasant things she could to sweeten the pill for her pupils, two of whom did love their books, not being old enough to know that even an excellent thing may be overdone.
""wo n't that be gay?
i'll get down the saddle to-day, so we can begin right off.
lem rides, and we can go together.
hope old jane will like it as well as i shall," said jack, who had found a new friend in a pleasant lad lately come to town.
""you must see that she does, for you boys are to take care of her.
we will put the barn in order, and you can decide which shall be hostler and which gardener, for i do n't intend to hire labor on the place any more.
our estate is not a large one, and it will be excellent work for you, my men."
""all right!
i'll see to jane.
i love horses," said jack, well pleased with the prospect.
""my horse wo n't need much care.
i prefer a bicycle to a beast, so i'll get in the squashes, pick the apples, and cover the strawberry bed when it is time," added frank, who had enjoyed the free life at pebbly beach so much that he was willing to prolong it.
""you may put me in a hen-coop, and keep me there a year, if you like.
i wo n't fret, for i'm sure you know what is best for me," said jill, gayly, as she looked up at the good friend who had done so much for her.
""i'm not sure that i wo n't put you in a pretty cage and send you to cattle show, as a sample of what we can do in the way of taming a wild bird till it is nearly as meek as a dove," answered mrs. minot, much gratified at the amiability of her flock.
""i do n't see why there should not be an exhibition of children, and prizes for the good and pretty ones, as well as for fat pigs, fine horses, or handsome fruit and flowers -- i do n't mean a baby show, but boys and girls, so people can see what the prospect is of a good crop for the next generation," said frank, glancing toward the tower of the building where the yearly agricultural fair was soon to be held.
""years ago, there was a pretty custom here of collecting all the schools together in the spring, and having a festival at the town hall.
each school showed its best pupils, and the parents looked on at the blooming flower show.
it was a pity it was ever given up, for the schools have never been so good as then, nor the interest in them so great;" and mrs. minot wondered, as many people do, why farmers seem to care more for their cattle and crops than for their children, willingly spending large sums on big barns and costly experiments, while the school-houses are shabby and inconvenient, and the cheapest teachers preferred.
""ralph is going to send my bust.
he asked if he might, and mother said yes.
mr. german thinks it very good, and i hope other people will," said jill, nodding toward the little plaster head that smiled down from its bracket with her own merry look.
""i could send my model; it is nearly done.
ralph told me it was a clever piece of work, and he knows," added frank, quite taken with the idea of exhibiting his skill in mechanics.
""and i could send my star bedquilt!
they always have things of that kind at cattle show;" and jill began to rummage in the closet for the pride of her heart, burning to display it to an admiring world.
""i have n't got anything.
ca n't sew rags together; or make baby engines, and i have no live-stock -- yes, i have too!
there's old bun.
i'll send him, for the fun of it; he really is a curiosity, for he is the biggest one i ever saw, and hopping into the lime has made his fur such a queer color, he looks like a new sort of rabbit.
i'll catch and shut him up before he gets wild again;" and off rushed jack to lure unsuspecting old bun, who had grown tame during their absence, into the cage which he detested.
they all laughed at his ardor, but the fancy pleased them; and as mamma saw no reason why their little works of art should not be sent, frank fell to work on his model, and jill resolved to finish her quilt at once, while mrs. minot went off to see mr. acton about the hours and studies for the boys.
in a week or two, the young people were almost resigned to the loss of school, for they found themselves delightfully fresh for the few lessons they did have, and not weary of play, since it took many useful forms.
old jane not only carried them all to ride, but gave jack plenty of work keeping her premises in nice order.
frank mourned privately over the delay of college, but found a solace in his whirligig and the gymnasium, where he set himself to developing a chest to match the big head above, which head no longer ached with eight or ten hours of study.
harvesting beans and raking up leaves seemed to have a soothing effect upon his nerves, for now he fell asleep at once instead of thumping his pillow with vexation because his brain would go on working at difficult problems and passages when he wanted it to stop.
jill and molly drove away in the little phaeton every fair morning over the sunny hills and through the changing woods, filling their hands with asters and golden-rod, their lungs with the pure, invigorating air, and their heads with all manner of sweet and happy fancies and feelings born of the wholesome influences about them.
people shook their heads, and said it was wasting time; but the rosy-faced girls were content to trust those wiser than themselves, and found their new school very pleasant.
they read aloud a good deal, rapidly acquiring one of the rarest and most beautiful accomplishments; for they could stop and ask questions as they went along, so that they understood what they read, which is half the secret.
a thousand things came up as they sewed together in the afternoon, and the eager minds received much general information in an easy and well-ordered way.
physiology was one of the favorite studies, and mrs. hammond often came in to give them a little lecture, teaching them to understand the wonders of their own systems, and how to keep them in order -- a lesson of far more importance just then than greek or latin, for girls are the future mothers, nurses, teachers, of the race, and should feel how much depends on them.
merry could not resist the attractions of the friendly circle, and soon persuaded her mother to let her do as they did; so she got more exercise and less study, which was just what the delicate girl needed.
the first of the new ideas seemed to prosper, and the second, though suggested in joke, was carried out in earnest, for the other young people were seized with a strong desire to send something to the fair.
in fact, all sorts of queer articles were proposed, and much fun prevailed, especially among the boys, who ransacked their gardens for mammoth vegetables, sighed for five-legged calves, blue roses, or any other natural curiosity by means of which they might distinguish themselves.
ralph was the only one who had anything really worth sending; for though frank's model seemed quite perfect, it obstinately refused to go, and at the last moment blew up with a report like a pop-gun.
so it was laid away for repairs, and its disappointed maker devoted his energies to helping jack keep bun in order; for that indomitable animal got out of every prison they put him in, and led jack a dreadful life during that last week.
at all hours of the day and night that distracted boy would start up, crying, "there he is again!"
and dart out to give chase and capture the villain now grown too fat to run as he once did.
the very night before the fair, frank was wakened by a chilly draught, and, getting up to see where it came from, found jack's door open and bed empty, while the vision of a white ghost flitting about the garden suggested a midnight rush after old bun.
frank watched laughingly, till poor jack came toward the house with the gentleman in gray kicking lustily in his arms, and then whispered in a sepulchral tone, -- "put him in the old refrigerator, he ca n't get out of that."
blessing him for the suggestion, the exhausted hunter shut up his victim in the new cell, and found it a safe one, for bun could not burrow through a sheet of zinc, or climb up the smooth walls.
jill's quilt was a very elaborate piece of work, being bright blue with little white stars all over it; this she finished nicely, and felt sure no patient old lady could outdo it.
merry decided to send butter, for she had been helping her mother in the dairy that summer, and rather liked the light part of the labor.
she knew it would please her very much if she chose that instead of wild flowers, so she practised moulding the yellow pats into pretty shapes, that it might please both eye and taste.
molly declared she would have a little pen, and put boo in it, as the prize fat boy -- a threat which so alarmed the innocent that he ran away, and was found two or three miles from home, asleep under the wall, with two seed-cakes and a pair of socks done up in a bundle.
being with difficulty convinced that it was a joke, he consented to return to his family, but was evidently suspicious, till molly decided to send her cats, and set about preparing them for exhibition.
the minots" deserted bunny-house was rather large; but as cats can not be packed as closely as much-enduring sheep, molly borrowed this desirable family mansion, and put her darlings into it, where they soon settled down, and appeared to enjoy their new residence.
it had been scrubbed up and painted red, cushions and plates put in, and two american flags adorned the roof.
being barred all round, a fine view of the happy family could be had, now twelve in number, as molasses had lately added three white kits to the varied collection.
the girls thought this would be the most interesting spectacle of all, and grif proposed to give some of the cats extra tails, to increase their charms, especially poor mortification, who would appreciate the honor of two, after having none for so long.
but molly declined, and grif looked about him for some attractive animal to exhibit, so that he too might go in free and come to honor, perhaps.
a young lady in the town owned a donkey, a small, gray beast, who insisted on tripping along the sidewalks and bumping her rider against the walls as she paused to browse at her own sweet will, regardless of blows or cries, till ready to move on.
expressing great admiration for this rare animal, grif obtained leave to display the charms of graciosa at the fair.
little did she guess the dark designs entertained against her dignity, and happily she was not as sensitive to ridicule as a less humble-minded animal, so she went willingly with her new friend, and enjoyed the combing and trimming up which she received at his hands, while he prepared for the great occasion.
when the morning of september 28th arrived, the town was all astir, and the fair ground a lively scene.
the air was full of the lowing of cattle, the tramp of horses, squealing of indignant pigs, and clatter of tongues, as people and animals streamed in at the great gate and found their proper places.
our young folks were in a high state of excitement, as they rumbled away with their treasures in a hay-cart.
the bunny-house might have been a cage of tigers, so rampant were the cats at this new move.
old bun, in a small box, brooded over the insult of the refrigerator, and looked as fierce as a rabbit could.
gus had a coop of rare fowls, who clucked wildly all the way, while ralph, with the bust in his arms, stood up in front, and jill and molly bore the precious bedquilt, as they sat behind.
these objects of interest were soon arranged, and the girls went to admire merry's golden butter cups among the green leaves, under which lay the ice that kept the pretty flowers fresh.
the boys were down below, where the cackling was very loud, but not loud enough to drown the sonorous bray which suddenly startled them as much as it did the horses outside.
a shout of laughter followed, and away went the lads, to see what the fun was, while the girls ran out on the balcony, as someone said, "it's that rogue of a grif with some new joke."
it certainly was, and, to judge from the peals of merriment, the joke was a good one.
in at the gate came a two-headed donkey, ridden by grif, in great spirits at his success, for the gate-keeper laughed so he never thought to ask for toll.
a train of boys followed him across the ground, lost in admiration of the animal and the cleverness of her rider.
among the stage properties of the dramatic club was the old ass's head once used in some tableaux from "midsummer night's dream."
this grif had mended up, and fastened by means of straps and a collar to poor graciosa's neck, hiding his work with a red cloth over her back.
one eye was gone, but the other still opened and shut, and the long ears wagged by means of strings, which he slyly managed with the bridle, so the artificial head looked almost as natural as the real one.
the funniest thing of all was the innocent air of graciosa, and the mildly inquiring expression with which she now and then turned to look at or to smell of the new ornament as if she recognized a friend's face, yet was perplexed by its want of animation.
she vented her feelings in a bray, which grif imitated, convulsing all hearers by the sound as well as by the wink the one eye gave, and the droll waggle of one erect ear, while the other pointed straight forward.
the girls laughed so at the ridiculous sight that they nearly fell over the railing, and the boys were in ecstasies, especially when grif, emboldened by his success, trotted briskly round the race-course, followed by the cheers of the crowd.
excited by the noise, graciosa did her best, till the false head, loosened by the rapid motion, slipped round under her nose, causing her to stop so suddenly that grif flew off, alighting on his own head with a violence which would have killed any other boy.
sobered by his downfall, he declined to mount again, but led his steed to repose in a shed, while he rejoined his friends, who were waiting impatiently to congratulate him on his latest and best prank.
the committee went their rounds soon after, and, when the doors were again opened, every one hurried to see if their articles had received a premium.
a card lay on the butter cups, and mrs. grant was full of pride because her butter always took a prize, and this proved that merry was walking in her mother's steps, in this direction at least.
another card swung from the blue quilt, for the kindly judges knew who made it, and were glad to please the little girl, though several others as curious but not so pretty hung near by.
the cats were admired, but, as they were not among the animals usually exhibited, there was no prize awarded.
gus hoped his hens would get one; but somebody else outdid him, to the great indignation of laura and lotty, who had fed the white biddies faithfully for months.
jack was sure his rabbit was the biggest there, and went eagerly to look for his premium.
but neither card nor bun were to be seen, for the old rascal had escaped for the last time, and was never seen again; which was a great comfort to jack, who was heartily tired of him.
ralph's bust was the best of all, for not only did it get a prize, and was much admired, but a lady, who found jill and merry rejoicing over it, was so pleased with the truth and grace of the little head, that she asked about the artist, and whether he would do one of her own child, who was so delicate she feared he might not live long.
merry gladly told the story of her ambitious friend, and went to find him, that he might secure the order.
while she was gone, jill took up the tale, gratefully telling how kind he had been to her, how patiently he worked and waited, and how much he longed to go abroad.
fortunately the lady was rich and generous, as well as fond of art, and being pleased with the bust, and interested in the young sculptor, gave him the order when he came, and filled his soul with joy by adding, that, if it suited her when done, it should be put into marble.
she lived in the city, and ralph soon arranged his work so that he could give up his noon hour, and go to model the child; for every penny he could earn or save now was very precious, as he still hoped to go abroad.
the girls were so delighted with this good fortune, that they did not stay for the races, but went home to tell the happy news, leaving the boys to care for the cats, and enjoy the various matches to come off that day.
""i'm so glad i tried to look pleasant when i was lying on the board while ralph did my head, for the pleasantness got into the clay face, and that made the lady like it," said jill, as she lay resting on the sofa.
""i always thought it was a dear, bright little face, but now i love and admire it more than ever," cried merry, kissing it gratefully, as she remembered the help and pleasure it had given ralph.
chapter xxiv.
down the river a fortnight later, the boys were picking apples one golden october afternoon, and the girls were hurrying to finish their work, that they might go and help the harvesters.
it was six weeks now since the new school began, and they had learned to like it very much, though they found that it was not all play, by any means.
but lessons, exercise, and various sorts of housework made an agreeable change, and they felt that they were learning things which would be useful to them all their lives.
they had been making underclothes for themselves, and each had several neatly finished garments cut, fitted, and sewed by herself, and trimmed with the pretty tatting jill made in such quantities while she lay on her sofa.
now they were completing new dressing sacks, and had enjoyed this job very much, as each chose her own material, and suited her own taste in the making.
jill's was white, with tiny scarlet leaves all over it, trimmed with red braid and buttons so like checkerberries she was tempted to eat them.
molly's was gay, with bouquets of every sort of flower, scalloped all round, and adorned with six buttons, each of a different color, which she thought the last touch of elegance.
merry's, though the simplest, was the daintiest of the three, being pale blue, trimmed with delicate edging, and beautifully made.
mrs. minot had been reading from miss strickland's "queens of england" while the girls worked, and an illustrated shakspeare lay open on the table, as well as several fine photographs of historical places for them to look at as they went along.
the hour was over now, the teacher gone, and the pupils setting the last stitches as they talked over the lesson, which had interested them exceedingly.
""i really believe i have got henry's six wives into my head right at last.
two annes, three katherines, and one jane.
now i've seen where they lived and heard their stories, i quite feel as if i knew them," said merry, shaking the threads off her work before she folded it up to carry home."
"king henry the eighth to six spouses was wedded, one died, one survived, two divorced, two beheaded," was all i knew about them before.
poor things, what a bad time they did have," added jill, patting down the red braid, which would pucker a bit at the corners.
""katherine parr had the best of it, because she outlived the old tyrant and so kept her head on," said molly, winding the thread round her last button, as if bound to fasten it on so firmly that nothing should decapitate that.
""i used to think i'd like to be a queen or a great lady, and wear velvet and jewels, and live in a palace, but now i do n't care much for that sort of splendor.
i like to make things pretty at home, and know that they all depend on me, and love me very much.
queens are not happy, and i am," said merry, pausing to look at anne hathaway's cottage as she put up the picture, and to wonder if it was very pleasant to have a famous man for one's husband.
""i guess your missionarying has done you good; mine has, and i'm getting to have things my own way more and more every day.
miss bat is so amiable, i hardly know her, and father tells her to ask miss molly when she goes to him for orders.
is n't that fun?"
laughed molly, in high glee, at the agreeable change.
""i like it ever so much, but i do n't want to stay so all my days.
i mean to travel, and just as soon as i can i shall take boo and go all round the world, and see everything," she added, waving her gay sack, as if it were the flag she was about to nail to the masthead of her ship.
""well, i should like to be famous in some way, and have people admire me very much.
i'd like to act, or dance, or sing, or be what i heard the ladies at pebbly beach call a "queen of society."
but i do n't expect to be anything, and i'm not going to worry i shall not be a lucinda, so i ought to be contented and happy all my life," said jill, who was very ambitious in spite of the newly acquired meekness, which was all the more becoming because her natural liveliness often broke out like sunshine through a veil of light clouds.
if the three girls could have looked forward ten years they would have been surprised to see how different a fate was theirs from the one each had chosen, and how happy each was in the place she was called to fill.
merry was not making the old farmhouse pretty, but living in italy, with a young sculptor for her husband, and beauty such as she never dreamed of all about her.
molly was not travelling round the world, but contentedly keeping house for her father and still watching over boo, who was becoming her pride and joy as well as care.
neither was jill a famous woman, but a very happy and useful one, with the two mothers leaning on her as they grew old, the young men better for her influence over them, many friends to love and honor her, and a charming home, where she was queen by right of her cheery spirit, grateful heart, and unfailing devotion to those who had made her what she was.
if any curious reader, not content with this peep into futurity, asks, "did molly and jill ever marry?"
we must reply, for the sake of peace -- molly remained a merry spinster all her days, one of the independent, brave, and busy creatures of whom there is such need in the world to help take care of other peoples" wives and children, and do the many useful jobs that the married folk have no time for.
jill certainly did wear a white veil on the day she was twenty-five and called her husband jack.
further than that we can not go, except to say that this leap did not end in a catastrophe, like the first one they took together.
that day, however, they never dreamed of what was in store for them, but chattered away as they cleared up the room, and then ran off ready for play, feeling that they had earned it by work well done.
they found the lads just finishing, with boo to help by picking up the windfalls for the cider-heap, after he had amused himself by putting about a bushel down the various holes old bun had left behind him.
jack was risking his neck climbing in the most dangerous places, while frank, with a long-handled apple-picker, nipped off the finest fruit with care, both enjoying the pleasant task and feeling proud of the handsome red and yellow piles all about the little orchard.
merry and molly caught up baskets and fell to work with all their might, leaving jill to sit upon a stool and sort the early apples ready to use at once, looking up now and then to nod and smile at her mother who watched her from the window, rejoicing to see her lass so well and happy.
it was such a lovely day, they all felt its cheerful influence; for the sun shone bright and warm, the air was full of an invigorating freshness which soon made the girls" faces look like rosy apples, and their spirits as gay as if they had been stealing sips of new cider through a straw.
jack whistled like a blackbird as he swung and bumped about, frank orated and joked, merry and molly ran races to see who would fill and empty fastest, and jill sung to boo, who reposed in a barrel, exhausted with his labors.
""these are the last of the pleasant days, and we ought to make the most of them.
let's have one more picnic before the frost spoils the leaves," said merry, resting a minute at the gate to look down the street, which was a glorified sort of avenue, with brilliant maples lining the way and carpeting the ground with crimson and gold.
""oh, yes!
go down the river once more and have supper on the island.
i could n't go to some of your picnics, and i do long for a last good time before winter shuts me up again," cried jill, eager to harvest all the sunshine she could, for she was not yet quite her old self again.
""i'm your man, if the other fellows agree.
we ca n't barrel these up for a while, so to-morrow will be a holiday for us.
better make sure of the day while you can, this weather ca n't last long;" and frank shook his head like one on intimate terms with old prob.
""do n't worry about those high ones, jack.
give a shake and come down and plan about the party," called molly, throwing up a big baldwin with what seemed a remarkably good aim, for a shower of apples followed, and a boy came tumbling earthward to catch on the lowest bough and swing down like a caterpillar, exclaiming, as he landed, -- "i'm glad that job is done!
i've rasped every knuckle i've got and worn out the knees of my pants.
nice little crop though, is n't it?"
""it will be nicer if this young man does not bite every apple he touches.
hi there!
stop it, boo," commanded frank, as he caught his young assistant putting his small teeth into the best ones, to see if they were sweet or sour.
molly set the barrel up on end, and that took the boy out of the reach of mischief, so he retired from view and peeped through a crack as he ate his fifth pearmain, regardless of consequences.
""gus will be at home to-morrow.
he always comes up early on saturday, you know.
we ca n't get on without him," said frank, who missed his mate very much, for gus had entered college, and so far did not like it as much as he had expected.
""or ralph; he is very busy every spare minute on the little boy's bust, which is getting on nicely, he says; but he will be able to come home in time for supper, i think," added merry, remembering the absent, as usual.
""i'll ask the girls on my way home, and all meet at two o'clock for a good row while it's warm.
what shall i bring?"
asked molly, wondering if miss bat's amiability would extend to making goodies in the midst of her usual saturday's baking.
""you bring coffee and the big pot and some buttered crackers.
i'll see to the pie and cake, and the other girls can have anything else they like," answered merry, glad and proud that she could provide the party with her own inviting handiwork.
""i'll take my zither, so we can have music as we sail, and grif will bring his violin, and ralph can imitate a banjo so that you'd be sure he had one.
i do hope it will be fine, it is so splendid to go round like other folks and enjoy myself," cried jill, with a little bounce of satisfaction at the prospect of a row and ramble.
""come along, then, and make sure of the girls," said merry, catching up her roll of work, for the harvesting was done.
molly put her sack on as the easiest way of carrying it, and, extricating boo, they went off, accompanied by the boys, "to make sure of the fellows" also, leaving jill to sit among the apples, singing and sorting like a thrifty little housewife.
next day eleven young people met at the appointed place, basket in hand.
ralph could not come till later, for he was working now as he never worked before.
they were a merry flock, for the mellow autumn day was even brighter and clearer than yesterday, and the river looked its loveliest, winding away under the sombre hemlocks, or through the fairyland the gay woods made on either side.
two large boats and two small ones held them all, and away they went, first up through the three bridges and round the bend, then, turning, they floated down to the green island, where a grove of oaks rustled their sere leaves and the squirrels were still gathering acorns.
here they often met to keep their summer revels, and here they now spread their feast on the flat rock which needed no cloth beside its own gray lichens.
the girls trimmed each dish with bright leaves, and made the supper look like a banquet for the elves, while the boys built a fire in the nook where ashes and blackened stones told of many a rustic meal.
the big tin coffee-pot was not so romantic, but more successful than a kettle slung on three sticks, gypsy fashion; so they did not risk a downfall, but set the water boiling, and soon filled the air with the agreeable perfume associated in their minds with picnics, as most of them never tasted the fascinating stuff at any other time, being the worst children can drink.
frank was cook, gus helped cut bread and cake, jack and grif brought wood, while bob walker took joe's place and made himself generally useful, as the other gentleman never did, and so was quite out of favor lately.
all was ready at last, and they were just deciding to sit down without ralph, when a shout told them he was coming, and down the river skimmed a wherry at such a rate the boys wondered whom he had been racing with.
""something has happened, and he is coming to tell us," said jill, who sat where she could see his eager face.
""nothing bad, or he would n't smile so.
he is glad of a good row and a little fun after working so hard all the week;" and merry shook a red napkin as a welcoming signal.
something certainly had happened, and a very happy something it must be, they all thought, as ralph came on with flashing oars, and leaping out as the boat touched the shore, ran up the slope, waving his hat, and calling in a glad voice, sure of sympathy in his delight, -- "good news!
good news!
hurrah for rome, next month!"
the young folks forgot their supper for a moment, to congratulate him on his happy prospect, and hear all about it, while the leaves rustled as if echoing the kind words, and the squirrels sat up aloft, wondering what all the pleasant clamor was about.
""yes, i'm really going in november.
german asked me to go with him to-day, and if there is any little hitch in my getting off, he'll lend a hand, and i -- i'll black his boots, wet his clay, and run his errands the rest of my life to pay for this!"
cried ralph, in a burst of gratitude; for, independent as he was, the kindness of this successful friend to a deserving comrade touched and won his heart.
""i call that a handsome thing to do!"
said frank, warmly, for noble actions always pleased him.
""i heard my mother say that making good or useful men was the best sort of sculpture, so i think david german may be proud of this piece of work, whether the big statue succeeds or not."
""i'm very glad, old fellow.
when i run over for my trip four years from now, i'll look you up, and see how you are getting on," said gus, with a hearty shake of the hand; and the younger lads grinned cheerfully, even while they wondered where the fun was in shaping clay and chipping marble.
""shall you stay four years?"
asked merry's soft voice, while a wistful look came into her happy eyes.
""ten, if i can," answered ralph, decidedly, feeling as if a long lifetime would be all too short for the immortal work he meant to do.
""i've got so much to learn, that i shall do whatever david thinks best for me at first, and when i can go alone, i shall just shut myself up and forget that there is any world outside my den."
""do write and tell us how you get on now and then; i like to hear about other people's good times while i'm waiting for my own," said molly, too much interested to observe that grif was sticking burrs up and down her braids.
""of course i shall write to some of you, but you must n't expect any great things for years yet.
people do n't grow famous in a hurry, and it takes a deal of hard work even to earn your bread and butter, as you'll find if you ever try it," answered ralph, sobering down a little as he remembered the long and steady effort it had taken to get even so far.
""speaking of bread and butter reminds me that we'd better eat ours before the coffee gets quite cold," said annette, for merry seemed to have forgotten that she had been chosen to play matron, as she was the oldest.
the boys seconded the motion, and for a few minutes supper was the all-absorbing topic, as the cups went round and the goodies vanished rapidly, accompanied by the usual mishaps which make picnic meals such fun.
ralph's health was drunk with all sorts of good wishes; and such splendid prophecies were made, that he would have far surpassed michael angelo, if they could have come true.
grif gave him an order on the spot for a full-length statue of himself, and stood up to show the imposing attitude in which he wished to be taken, but unfortunately slipped and fell forward with one hand in the custard pie, the other clutching wildly at the coffee-pot, which inhospitably burnt his fingers.
""i think i grasp the idea, and will be sure to remember not to make your hair blow one way and the tails of your coat another, as a certain sculptor made those of a famous man," laughed ralph, as the fallen hero scrambled up, amidst general merriment.
""will the little bust be done before you go?"
asked jill, anxiously, feeling a personal interest in the success of that order.
""yes: i've been hard at it every spare minute i could get, and have a fortnight more.
it suits mrs. lennox, and she will pay well for it, so i shall have something to start with, though i have n't been able to save much.
i'm to thank you for that, and i shall send you the first pretty thing i get hold of," answered ralph, looking gratefully at the bright face, which grew still brighter as jill exclaimed, -- "i do feel so proud to know a real artist, and have my bust done by him.
i only wish i could pay for it as mrs. lennox does; but i have n't any money, and you do n't need the sort of things i can make," she added, shaking her head, as she thought over knit slippers, wall-pockets, and crochet in all its forms, as offerings to her departing friend.
""you can write often, and tell me all about everybody, for i shall want to know, and people will soon forget me when i'm gone," said ralph, looking at merry, who was making a garland of yellow leaves for juliet's black hair.
jill promised, and kept her word; but the longest letters went from the farm-house on the hill, though no one knew the fact till long afterward.
merry said nothing now, but she smiled, with a pretty color in her cheeks, and was very much absorbed in her work, while the talk went on.
""i wish i was twenty, and going to seek my fortune, as you are," said jack; and the other boys agreed with him, for something in ralph's new plans and purposes roused the manly spirit in all of them, reminding them that playtime would soon be over, and the great world before them, where to choose.
""it is easy enough to say what you'd like; but the trouble is, you have to take what you can get, and make the best of it," said gus, whose own views were rather vague as yet.
""no you do n't, always; you can make things go as you want them, if you only try hard enough, and walk right over whatever stands in the way.
i do n't mean to give up my plans for any man; but, if i live, i'll carry them out -- you see if i do n't;" and frank gave the rock where he lay a blow with his fist, that sent the acorns flying all about.
one of them hit jack, and he said, sorrowfully, as he held it in his hand so carefully it was evident he had some association with it, -- "ed used to say that, and he had some splendid plans, but they did n't come to anything."
""perhaps they did; who can tell?
do your best while you live, and i do n't believe anything good is lost, whether we have it a long or a short time," said ralph, who knew what a help and comfort high hopes were, and how they led to better things, if worthily cherished.
""a great many acorns are wasted, i suppose; but some of them sprout and grow, and make splendid trees," added merry, feeling more than she knew how to express, as she looked up at the oaks overhead.
only seven of the party were sitting on the knoll now, for the rest had gone to wash the dishes and pack the baskets down by the boats.
jack and jill, with the three elder boys, were in a little group, and as merry spoke, gus said to frank, -- "did you plant yours?"
""yes, on the lawn, and i mean it shall come up if i can make it," answered frank, gravely.
""i put mine where i can see it from the window, and not forget to water and take care of it," added jack, still turning the pretty brown acorn to and fro as if he loved it.
""what do they mean?"
whispered merry to jill, who was leaning against her knee to rest.
""the boys were walking in the cemetery last sunday, as they often do, and when they came to ed's grave, the place was all covered with little acorns from the tree that grows on the bank.
they each took up some as they stood talking, and jack said he should plant his, for he loved ed very much, you know.
the others said they would, too; and i hope the trees will grow, though we do n't need anything to remember him by," answered jill, in a low tone, thinking of the pressed flowers the girls kept for his sake.
the boys heard her, but no one spoke for a moment as they sat looking across the river toward the hill where the pines whispered their lullabies and pointed heavenward, steadfast and green, all the year round.
none of them could express the thought that was in their minds as jill told the little story; but the act and the feeling that prompted it were perhaps as beautiful an assurance as could have been given that the dear dead boy's example had not been wasted, for the planting of the acorns was a symbol of the desire budding in those young hearts to be what he might have been, and to make their lives nobler for the knowledge and the love of him.
""it seems as if a great deal had happened this year," said merry, in a pensive tone, for this quiet talk just suited her mood.
""so i say, for there's been a declaration of independence and a revolution in our house, and i'm commander-in-chief now; and do n't i like it!"
cried molly, complacently surveying the neat new uniform she wore of her own choosing.
""i feel as if i never learned so much in my life as i have since last december, and yet i never did so little," added jill, wondering why the months of weariness and pain did not seem more dreadful to her.
""well, pitching on my head seems to have given me a good shaking up, somehow, and i mean to do great things next year in better ways than breaking my bones coasting," said jack, with a manly air.
""i feel like a siamese twin without his mate now you are gone, but i'm under orders for a while, and mean to do my best.
guess it wo n't be lost time;" and frank nodded at gus, who nodded back with the slightly superior expression all freshmen wear.
""hope you wo n't find it so.
my work is all cut out for me, and i intend to go in and win, though it is more of a grind than you fellows know."
""i'm sure i have everything to be grateful for.
it wo n't be plain sailing -- i do n't expect it; but, if i live, i'll do something to be proud of," said ralph, squaring his shoulders as if to meet and conquer all obstacles as he looked into the glowing west, which was not fairer than his ambitious dreams.
here we will say good-by to these girls and boys of ours as they sit together in the sunshine talking over a year that was to be for ever memorable to them, not because of any very remarkable events, but because they were just beginning to look about them as they stepped out of childhood into youth, and some of the experiences of the past months had set them to thinking, taught them to see the use and beauty of the small duties, joys, and sorrows which make up our lives, and inspired them to resolve that the coming year should be braver and brighter than the last.
there are many such boys and girls, full of high hopes, lovely possibilities, and earnest plans, pausing a moment before they push their little boats from the safe shore.
_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___jo's_boys.txt.out
chapter 1.
ten years later "if anyone had told me what wonderful changes were to take place here in ten years, i would n't have believed it," said mrs jo to mrs meg, as they sat on the piazza at plumfield one summer day, looking about them with faces full of pride and pleasure.
"this is the sort of magic that money and kind hearts can work.
i am sure mr laurence could have no nobler monument than the college he so generously endowed; and a home like this will keep aunt march's memory green as long as it lasts," answered mrs meg, always glad to praise the absent.
"we used to believe in fairies, you remember, and plan what we'd ask for if we could have three wishes.
does n't it seem as if mine had been really granted at last?
money, fame, and plenty of the work i love," said mrs jo, carelessly rumpling up her hair as she clasped her hands over her head just as she used to do when a girl."
i have had mine, and amy is enjoying hers to her heart's content.
if dear marmee, john, and beth were here, it would be quite perfect," added meg, with a tender quiver in her voice; for marmee's place was empty now.
jo put her hand on her sister's, and both sat silent for a little while, surveying the pleasant scene before them with mingled sad and happy thoughts.
it certainly did look as if magic had been at work, for quiet plumfield was transformed into a busy little world.
the house seemed more hospitable than ever, refreshed now with new paint, added wings, well-kept lawn and garden, and a prosperous air it had not worn when riotous boys swarmed everywhere and it was rather difficult for the bhaers to make both ends meet.
on the hill, where kites used to be flown, stood the fine college which mr laurence's munificent legacy had built.
busy students were going to and fro along the paths once trodden by childish feet, and many young men and women were enjoying all the advantages that wealth, wisdom, and benevolence could give them.
just inside the gates of plumfield a pretty brown cottage, very like the dovecote, nestled among the trees, and on the green slope westward laurie's white-pillared mansion glittered in the sunshine; for when the rapid growth of the city shut in the old house, spoilt meg's nest, and dared to put a soap-factory under mr laurence's indignant nose, our friends emigrated to plumfield, and the great changes began.
these were the pleasant ones; and the loss of the dear old people was sweetened by the blessings they left behind; so all prospered now in the little community, and mr bhaer as president, and mr march as chaplain of the college, saw their long-cherished dream beautifully realized.
the sisters divided the care of the young people among them, each taking the part that suited her best.
meg was the motherly friend of the young women, jo the confidante and defender of all the youths, and amy the lady bountiful who delicately smoothed the way for needy students, and entertained them all so cordially that it was no wonder they named her lovely home mount parnassus, so full was it of music, beauty, and the culture hungry young hearts and fancies long for.
the original twelve boys had of course scattered far and wide during these years, but all that lived still remembered old plumfield, and came wandering back from the four quarters of the earth to tell their various experiences, laugh over the pleasures of the past, and face the duties of the present with fresh courage; for such home-comings keep hearts tender and hands helpful with the memories of young and happy days.
a few words will tell the history of each, and then we can go on with the new chapter of their lives.
franz was with a merchant kinsman in hamburg, a man of twenty-six now, and doing well.
emil was the jolliest tar that ever "sailed the ocean blue".
his uncle sent him on a long voyage to disgust him with this adventurous life; but he came home so delighted with it that it was plain this was his profession, and the german kinsman gave him a good chance in his ships; so the lad was happy.
dan was a wanderer still; for after the geological researches in south america he tried sheep-farming in australia, and was now in california looking up mines.
nat was busy with music at the conservatory, preparing for a year or two in germany to finish him off.
tom was studying medicine and trying to like it.
jack was in business with his father, bent on getting rich.
dolly was in college with stuffy and ned reading law.
poor little dick was dead, so was billy; and no one could mourn for them, since life would never be happy, afflicted as they were in mind and body.
rob and teddy were called the "lion and the lamb"; for the latter was as rampant as the king of beasts, and the former as gentle as any sheep that ever baaed.
mrs jo called him "my daughter", and found him the most dutiful of children, with plenty of manliness underlying the quiet manners and tender nature.
but in ted she seemed to see all the faults, whims, aspirations, and fun of her own youth in a new shape.
with his tawny locks always in wild confusion, his long legs and arms, loud voice, and continual activity, ted was a prominent figure at plumfield.
he had his moods of gloom, and fell into the slough of despond about once a week, to be hoisted out by patient rob or his mother, who understood when to let him alone and when to shake him up.
he was her pride and joy as well as torment, being a very bright lad for his age, and so full of all sorts of budding talent, that her maternal mind was much exercised as to what this remarkable boy would become.
demi had gone through college with honour, and mrs meg had set her heart on his being a minister -- picturing in her fond fancy the first sermon her dignified young parson would preach, as well as the long, useful, and honoured life he was to lead.
but john, as she called him now, firmly declined the divinity school, saying he had had enough of books, and needed to know more of men and the world, and caused the dear woman much disappointment by deciding to try a journalist's career.
it was a blow; but she knew that young minds can not be driven, and that experience is the best teacher; so she let him follow his own inclinations, still hoping to see him in the pulpit.
aunt jo raged when she found that there was to be a reporter in the family, and called him "jenkins" on the spot.
she liked his literary tendencies, but had reason to detest official paul prys, as we shall see later.
demi knew his own mind, however, and tranquilly carried out his plans, unmoved by the tongues of the anxious mammas or the jokes of his mates.
uncle teddy encouraged him, and painted a splendid career, mentioning dickens and other celebrities who began as reporters and ended as famous novelists or newspaper men.
the girls were all flourishing.
daisy, as sweet and domestic as ever, was her mother's comfort and companion.
josie at fourteen was a most original young person, full of pranks and peculiarities, the latest of which was a passion for the stage, which caused her quiet mother and sister much anxiety as well as amusement.
bess had grown into a tall, beautiful girl looking several years older than she was, with the same graceful ways and dainty tastes which the little princess had, and a rich inheritance of both the father's and mother's gifts, fostered by every aid love and money could give.
but the pride of the community was naughty nan; for, like so many restless, wilful children, she was growing into a woman full of the energy and promise that suddenly blossoms when the ambitious seeker finds the work she is fitted to do well.
nan began to study medicine at sixteen, and at twenty was getting on bravely; for now, thanks to other intelligent women, colleges and hospitals were open to her.
she had never wavered in her purpose from the childish days when she shocked daisy in the old willow by saying: "i do n't want any family to fuss over.
i shall have an office, with bottles and pestle things in it, and drive round and cure folks."
the future foretold by the little girl the young woman was rapidly bringing to pass, and finding so much happiness in it that nothing could win her from the chosen work.
several worthy young gentlemen had tried to make her change her mind and choose, as daisy did," a nice little house and family to take care of".
but nan only laughed, and routed the lovers by proposing to look at the tongue which spoke of adoration, or professionally felt the pulse in the manly hand offered for her acceptance.
so all departed but one persistent youth, who was such a devoted traddles it was impossible to quench him.
this was tom, who was as faithful to his child sweetheart as she to her "pestle things", and gave a proof of fidelity that touched her very much.
he studied medicine for her sake alone, having no taste for it, and a decided fancy for a mercantile life.
but nan was firm, and tom stoutly kept on, devoutly hoping he might not kill many of his fellow-beings when he came to practise.
they were excellent friends, however, and caused much amusement to their comrades, by the vicissitudes of this merry love-chase.
both were approaching plumfield on the afternoon when mrs meg and mrs jo were talking on the piazza.
not together; for nan was walking briskly along the pleasant road alone, thinking over a case that interested her, and tom was pegging on behind to overtake her, as if by accident, when the suburbs of the city were past -- a little way of his, which was part of the joke.
nan was a handsome girl, with a fresh colour, clear eye, quick smile, and the self-poised look young women with a purpose always have.
she was simply and sensibly dressed, walked easily, and seemed full of vigour, with her broad shoulders well back, arms swinging freely, and the elasticity of youth and health in every motion.
the few people she met turned to look at her, as if it was a pleasant sight to see a hearty, happy girl walking countryward that lovely day; and the red-faced young man steaming along behind, hat off and every tight curl wagging with impatience, evidently agreed with them.
presently a mild "hallo!"
was borne upon the breeze, and pausing, with an effort to look surprised that was an utter failure, nan said affably: "oh, is that you, tom?"
"looks like it.
thought you might be walking out today"; and tom's jovial face beamed with pleasure.
"you knew it.
how is your throat?"
asked nan in her professional tone, which was always a quencher to undue raptures.
"throat?
oh, ah!
yes, i remember.
it is well.
the effect of that prescription was wonderful.
i'll never call homoeopathy a humbug again."
"you were the humbug this time, and so were the unmedicated pellets i gave you.
if sugar or milk can cure diphtheria in this remarkable manner, i'll make a note of it.
o tom, tom, will you never be done playing tricks?'"
o nan, nan, will you never be done getting the better of me?"
and the merry pair laughed at one another just as they did in the old times, which always came back freshly when they went to plumfield.
"well, i knew i should n't see you for a week if i did n't scare up some excuse for a call at the office.
you are so desperately busy all the time i never get a word," explained tom.
"you ought to be busy too, and above such nonsense.
really, tom, if you do n't give your mind to your lectures, you'll never get on," said nan soberly."
i have quite enough of them as it is," answered tom with an air of disgust."
a fellow must lark a bit after dissecting corpuses all day.
i ca n't stand it long at a time, though some people seem to enjoy it immensely."
"then why not leave it, and do what suits you better?
i always thought it a foolish thing, you know," said nan, with a trace of anxiety in the keen eyes that searched for signs of illness in a face as ruddy as a baldwin apple.
"you know why i chose it, and why i shall stick to it if it kills me.
i may not look delicate, but i've a deep-seated heart complaint, and it will carry me off sooner or later; for only one doctor in the world can cure it, and she wo n't."
there was an air of pensive resignation about tom that was both comic and pathetic; for he was in earnest, and kept on giving hints of this sort, without the least encouragement.
nan frowned; but she was used to it, and knew how to treat him.
"she is curing it in the best and only way; but a more refractory patient never lived.
did you go to that ball, as i directed?'"
i did."
"and devote yourself to pretty miss west?"
"danced with her the whole evening."
"no impression made on that susceptible organ of yours?"
"not the slightest.
i gaped in her face once, forgot to feed her, and gave a sigh of relief when i handed her over to her mamma."
"repeat the dose as often as possible, and note the symptoms.
i predict that you'll "cry for it" by and by."
"never!
i'm sure it does n't suit my constitution."
"we shall see.
obey orders!"
sternly.
"yes, doctor," meekly.
silence reigned for a moment; then, as if the bone of contention was forgotten in the pleasant recollections called up by familiar objects, nan said suddenly: "what fun we used to have in that wood!
do you remember how you tumbled out of the big nut-tree and nearly broke your collar-bones?"
"do n't i!
and how you steeped me in wormwood till i was a fine mahogany colour, and aunt jo wailed over my spoilt jacket," laughed tom, a boy again in a minute.
"and how you set the house afire?"
"and you ran off for your band-box?"
"do you ever say "thunder-turtles" now?"
"do people ever call you "giddy-gaddy"?"
"daisy does.
dear thing, i have n't seen her for a week.'"
i saw demi this morning, and he said she was keeping house for mother bhaer."
"she always does when aunt jo gets into a vortex.
daisy is a model housekeeper; and you could n't do better than make your bow to her, if you ca n't go to work and wait till you are grown up before you begin lovering."
"nat would break his fiddle over my head if i suggested such a thing.
no, thank you.
another name is engraved upon my heart as indelibly as the blue anchor on my arm.
""hope" is my motto, and "no surrender", yours; see who will hold out longest."
"you silly boys think we must pair off as we did when children; but we shall do nothing of the kind.
how well parnassus looks from here!"
said nan, abruptly changing the conversation again.
"it is a fine house; but i love old plum best.
would n't aunt march stare if she could see the changes here?"
answered tom, as they both paused at the great gate to look at the pleasant landscape before them.
a sudden whoop startled them, as a long boy with a wild yellow head came leaping over a hedge like a kangaroo, followed by a slender girl, who stuck in the hawthorn, and sat there laughing like a witch.
a pretty little lass she was, with curly dark hair, bright eyes, and a very expressive face.
her hat was at her back, and her skirts a good deal the worse for the brooks she had crossed, the trees she had climbed, and the last leap, which added several fine rents.
"take me down, nan, please.
tom, hold ted; he's got my book, and i will have it," called josie from her perch, not at all daunted by the appearance of her friends.
tom promptly collared the thief, while nan picked josie from among the thorns and set her on her feet without a word of reproof; for having been a romp in her own girlhood, she was very indulgent to like tastes in others.
"what's the matter, dear?"
she asked, pinning up the longest rip, while josie examined the scratches on her hands."
i was studying my part in the willow, and ted came slyly up and poked the book out of my hands with his rod.
it fell in the brook, and before i could scrabble down he was off.
you wretch, give it back this moment or i'll box your ears," cried josie, laughing and scolding in the same breath.
escaping from tom, ted struck a sentimental attitude, and with tender glances at the wet, torn young person before him, delivered claude melnotte's famous speech in a lackadaisical way that was irresistibly funny, ending with "dost like the picture, love?"
as he made an object of himself by tying his long legs in a knot and distorting his face horribly.
the sound of applause from the piazza put a stop to these antics, and the young folks went up the avenue together very much in the old style when tom drove four in hand and nan was the best horse in the team.
rosy, breathless, and merry, they greeted the ladies and sat down on the steps to rest, aunt meg sewing up her daughter's rags while mrs jo smoothed the lion's mane, and rescued the book.
daisy appeared in a moment to greet her friend, and all began to talk.
"muffins for tea; better stay and eat'em; daisy's never fail," said ted hospitably.
"he's a judge; he ate nine last time.
that's why he's so fat," added josie, with a withering glance at her cousin, who was as thin as a lath."
i must go and see lucy dove.
she has a whitlow, and it's time to lance it.
i'll tea at college," answered nan, feeling in her pocket to be sure she had not forgotten her case of instruments.
"thanks, i'm going there also.
tom merryweather has granulated lids, and i promised to touch them up for him.
save a doctor's fee and be good practice for me.
i'm clumsy with my thumbs," said tom, bound to be near his idol while he could.
"hush!
daisy does n't like to hear you saw-bones talk of your work.
muffins suit us better"; and ted grinned sweetly, with a view to future favours in the eating line.
"any news of the commodore?"
asked tom.
"he is on his way home, and dan hopes to come soon.
i long to see my boys together, and have begged the wanderers to come to thanksgiving, if not before," answered mrs jo, beaming at the thought.
"they'll come, every man of them, if they can.
even jack will risk losing a dollar for the sake of one of our jolly old dinners," laughed tom.
"there's the turkey fattening for the feast.
i never chase him now, but feed him well; and he's "swellin" wisibly", bless his drumsticks!"
said ted, pointing out the doomed fowl proudly parading in a neighbouring field.
"if nat goes the last of the month we shall want a farewell frolic for him.
i suppose the dear old chirper will come home a second ole bull," said nan to her friend.
a pretty colour came into daisy's cheek, and the folds of muslin on her breast rose and fell with a quick breath; but she answered placidly: "uncle laurie says he has real talent, and after the training he will get abroad he can command a good living here, though he may never be famous."
"young people seldom turn out as one predicts, so it is of little use to expect anything," said mrs meg with a sigh.
"if our children are good and useful men and women, we should be satisfied; yet it's very natural to wish them to be brilliant and successful."
"they are like my chickens, mighty uncertain.
now, that fine-looking cockerel of mine is the stupidest one of the lot, and the ugly, long-legged chap is the king of the yard, he's so smart; crows loud enough to wake the seven sleepers; but the handsome one croaks, and is no end of a coward.
i get snubbed; but you wait till i grow up, and then see"; and ted looked so like his own long-legged pet that everyone laughed at his modest prediction."
i want to see dan settled somewhere.
""a rolling stone gathers no moss", and at twenty-five he is still roaming about the world without a tie to hold him, except this"; and mrs meg nodded towards her sister.
"dan will find his place at last, and experience is his best teacher.
he is rough still, but each time he comes home i see a change for the better, and never lose my faith in him.
he may never do anything great, or get rich; but if the wild boy makes an honest man, i'm satisfied," said mrs jo, who always defended the black sheep of her flock.
"that's right, mother, stand by dan!
he's worth a dozen jacks and neds bragging about money and trying to be swells.
you see if he does n't do something to be proud of and take the wind out of their sails," added ted, whose love for his "danny" was now strengthened by a boy's admiration for the bold, adventurous man.
"hope so, i'm sure.
he's just the fellow to do rash things and come to glory -- climbing the matterhorn, taking a "header" into niagara, or finding a big nugget.
that's his way of sowing wild oats, and perhaps it's better than ours," said tom thoughtfully; for he had gained a good deal of experience in that sort of agriculture since he became a medical student.
"much better!"
said mrs jo emphatically.
"i'd rather send my boys off to see the world in that way than leave them alone in a city full of temptations, with nothing to do but waste time, money, and health, as so many are left.
dan has to work his way, and that teaches him courage, patience, and self-reliance.
i do n't worry about him as much as i do about george and dolly at college, no more fit than two babies to take care of themselves."
"how about john?
he's knocking round town as a newspaper man, reporting all sorts of things, from sermons to prize-fights," asked tom, who thought that sort of life would be much more to his own taste than medical lectures and hospital wards.
"demi has three safeguards -- good principles, refined tastes, and a wise mother.
he wo n't come to harm, and these experiences will be useful to him when he begins to write, as i'm sure he will in time," began mrs jo in her prophetic tone; for she was anxious to have some of her geese turn out swans.
"speak of jenkins, and you'll hear the rustling of his paper," cried tom, as a fresh-faced, brown-eyed young man came up the avenue, waving a newspaper over his head.
"here's your evening tattler!
latest edition!
awful murder!
bank clerk absconded!
powder-mill explosion, and great strike of the latin school boys!"
roared ted, going to meet his cousin with the graceful gait of a young giraffe.
"the commodore is in, and will cut his cable and run before the wind as soon as he can get off," called demi, with" a nice derangement of nautical epitaphs", as he came up smiling over his good news.
everyone talked together for a moment, and the paper passed from hand to hand that each eye might rest on the pleasant fact that the brenda, from hamburg, was safe in port.
"he'll come lurching out by tomorrow with his usual collection of marine monsters and lively yarns.
i saw him, jolly and tarry and brown as a coffee-berry.
had a good run, and hopes to be second mate, as the other chap is laid up with a broken leg," added demi.
"wish i had the setting of it," said nan to herself, with a professional twist of her hand.
"how's franz?"
asked mrs jo.
"he's going to be married!
there's news for you.
the first of the flock, aunty, so say good-bye to him.
her name is ludmilla heldegard blumenthal; good family, well-off, pretty, and of course an angel.
the dear old boy wants uncle's consent, and then he will settle down to be a happy and an honest burgher.
long life to him!"
"i'm glad to hear it.
i do so like to settle my boys with a good wife and a nice little home.
now, if all is right, i shall feel as if franz was off my mind," said mrs jo, folding her hands contentedly; for she often felt like a distracted hen with a large brood of mixed chickens and ducks upon her hands.
"so do i," sighed tom, with a sly glance at nan.
"that's what a fellow needs to keep him steady; and it's the duty of nice girls to marry as soon as possible, is n't it, demi?"
"if there are enough nice fellows to go round.
the female population exceeds the male, you know, especially in new england; which accounts for the high state of culture we are in, perhaps," answered john, who was leaning over his mother's chair, telling his day's experiences in a whisper.
"it is a merciful provision, my dears; for it takes three or four women to get each man into, through, and out of the world.
you are costly creatures, boys; and it is well that mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters love their duty and do it so well, or you would perish off the face of the earth," said mrs jo solemnly, as she took up a basket filled with dilapidated hose; for the good professor was still hard on his socks, and his sons resembled him in that respect.
"such being the case, there is plenty for the "superfluous women" to do, in taking care of these helpless men and their families.
i see that more clearly every day, and am very glad and grateful that my profession will make me a useful, happy, and independent spinster."
nan's emphasis on the last word caused tom to groan, and the rest to laugh."
i take great pride and solid satisfaction in you, nan, and hope to see you very successful; for we do need just such helpful women in the world.
i sometimes feel as if i've missed my vocation and ought to have remained single; but my duty seemed to point this way, and i do n't regret it," said mrs jo, folding a large and very ragged blue sock to her bosom.
"neither do i.
what should i ever have done without my dearest mum?"
added ted, with a filial hug which caused both to disappear behind the newspaper in which he had been mercifully absorbed for a few minutes.
"my darling boy, if you would wash your hands semi-occasionally, fond caresses would be less disastrous to my collar.
never mind, my precious touslehead, better grass stains and dirt than no cuddlings at all"; and mrs jo emerged from that brief eclipse looking much refreshed, though her back hair was caught in ted's buttons and her collar under one ear.
here josie, who had been studying her part at the other end of the piazza, suddenly burst forth with a smothered shriek, and gave juliet's speech in the tomb so effectively that the boys applauded, daisy shivered, and nan murmured: "too much cerebral excitement for one of her age."
"i'm afraid you'll have to make up your mind to it, meg.
that child is a born actress.
we never did anything so well, not even the witch's curse," said mrs jo, casting a bouquet of many-coloured socks at the feet of her flushed and panting niece, when she fell gracefully upon the door-mat.
"it is a sort of judgement upon me for my passion for the stage when a girl.
now i know how dear marmee felt when i begged to be an actress.
i never can consent, and yet i may be obliged to give up my wishes, hopes, and plans again."
there was an accent of reproach in his mother's voice, which made demi pick up his sister with a gentle shake, and the stern command to "drop that nonsense in public".
"drop me, minion, or i'll give you the maniac bride, with my best ha-ha!"
cried josie, glaring at him like an offended kitten.
being set on her feet, she made a splendid courtesy, and dramatically proclaiming, "mrs woffington's carriage waits," swept down the steps and round the corner, trailing daisy's scarlet shawl majestically behind her.
"is n't she great fun?
i could n't stop in this dull place if i had n't that child to make it lively for me.
if ever she turns prim, i'm off; so mind how you nip her in the bud," said teddy, frowning at demi, who was now writing out shorthand notes on the steps.
"you two are a team, and it takes a strong hand to drive you, but i rather like it.
josie ought to have been my child, and rob yours, meg.
then your house would have been all peace and mine all bedlam.
now i must go and tell laurie the news.
come with me, meg, a little stroll will do us good"; and sticking ted's straw hat on her head, mrs jo walked off with her sister, leaving daisy to attend to the muffins, ted to appease josie, and tom and nan to give their respective patients a very bad quarter of an hour.
chapter 2.
parnassus it was well named; and the muses seemed to be at home that day, for as the newcomers went up the slope appropriate sights and sounds greeted them.
passing an open window, they looked in upon a library presided over by clio, calliope, and urania; melpomene and thalia were disporting themselves in the hall, where some young people were dancing and rehearsing a play; erato was walking in the garden with her lover, and in the music-room phoebus himself was drilling a tuneful choir.
a mature apollo was our old friend laurie, but comely and genial as ever; for time had ripened the freakish boy into a noble man.
care and sorrow, as well as ease and happiness, had done much for him; and the responsibility of carrying out his grandfather's wishes had been a duty most faithfully performed.
prosperity suits some people, and they blossom best in a glow of sunshine; others need the shade, and are the sweeter for a touch of frost.
laurie was one of the former sort, and amy was another; so life had been a kind of poem to them since they married -- not only harmonious and happy, but earnest, useful, and rich in the beautiful benevolence which can do so much when wealth and wisdom go hand in hand with charity.
their house was full of unostentatious beauty and comfort, and here the art-loving host and hostess attracted and entertained artists of all kinds.
laurie had music enough now, and was a generous patron to the class he most liked to help.
amy had her proteges among ambitious young painters and sculptors, and found her own art double dear as her daughter grew old enough to share its labours and delights with her; for she was one of those who prove that women can be faithful wives and mothers without sacrificing the special gift bestowed upon them for their own development and the good of others.
her sisters knew where to find her, and jo went at once to the studio, where mother and daughter worked together.
bess was busy with the bust of a little child, while her mother added the last touches to a fine head of her husband.
time seemed to have stood still with amy, for happiness had kept her young and prosperity given her the culture she needed.
a stately, graceful woman, who showed how elegant simplicity could be made by the taste with which she chose her dress and the grace with which she wore it.
as someone said: "i never know what mrs laurence has on, but i always receive the impression that she is the best-dressed lady in the room."
it was evident that she adored her daughter, and well she might; for the beauty she had longed for seemed, to her fond eyes at least, to be impersonated in this younger self.
bess inherited her mother's diana-like figure, blue eyes, fair skin, and golden hair, tied up in the same classic knot of curls.
also -- ah!
never-ending source of joy to amy -- she had her father's handsome nose and mouth, cast in a feminine mould.
the severe simplicity of a long linen pinafore suited her; and she worked away with the entire absorption of the true artist, unconscious of the loving eyes upon her, till aunt jo came in exclaiming eagerly: "my dear girls, stop your mud-pies and hear the news!"
both artists dropped their tools and greeted the irrepressible woman cordially, though genius had been burning splendidly and her coming spoilt a precious hour.
they were in the full tide of gossip when laurie, who had been summoned by meg, arrived, and sitting down between the sisters, with no barricade anywhere, listened with interest to the news of franz and emil.
"the epidemic has broke out, and now it will rage and ravage your flock.
be prepared for every sort of romance and rashness for the next ten years, jo.
your boys are growing up and will plunge headlong into a sea of worse scrapes than any you have had yet," said laurie, enjoying her look of mingled delight and despair."
i know it, and i hope i shall be able to pull them through and land them safely; but it's an awful responsibility, for they will come to me and insist that i can make their poor little loves run smoothly.
i like it, though, and meg is such a mush of sentiment she revels in the prospect," answered jo, feeling pretty easy about her own boys, whose youth made them safe for the present.
"i'm afraid she wo n't revel when our nat begins to buzz too near her daisy.
of course you see what all that means?
as musical director i am also his confidante, and would like to know what advice to give," said laurie soberly.
"hush!
you forget that child," began jo, nodding towards bess, who was at work again.
"bless you!
she's in athens, and does n't hear a word.
she ought to leave off, though, and go out.
my darling, put the baby to sleep, and go for a run.
aunt meg is in the parlour; go and show her the new pictures till we come," added laurie, looking at his tall girl as pygmalion might have looked at galatea; for he considered her the finest statue in the house.
"yes, papa; but please tell me if it is good"; and bess obediently put down her tools, with a lingering glance at the bust.
"my cherished daughter, truth compels me to confess that one cheek is plumper than the other; and the curls upon its infant brow are rather too much like horns for perfect grace; otherwise it rivals raphael's chanting cherubs, and i'm proud of it."
laurie was laughing as he spoke; for these first attempts were so like amy's early ones, it was impossible to regard them as soberly as the enthusiastic mamma did.
"you ca n't see beauty in anything but music," answered bess, shaking the golden head that made the one bright spot in the cool north lights of the great studio.
"well, i see beauty in you, dear.
and if you are not art, what is?
i wish to put a little more nature into you, and get you away from this cold clay and marble into the sunshine, to dance and laugh as the others do.
i want a flesh-and-blood girl, not a sweet statue in a grey pinafore, who forgets everything but her work."
as he spoke, two dusty hands came round his neck, and bess said earnestly, punctuating her words with soft touches of her lips: "i never forget you, papa; but i do want to do something beautiful that you may be proud of me by and by.
mamma often tells me to stop; but when we get in here we forget there is any world outside, we are so busy and so happy.
now i'll go and run and sing, and be a girl to please you."
and throwing away the apron, bess vanished from the room, seeming to take all the light with her.
"i'm glad you said that.
the dear child is too much absorbed in her artistic dreams for one so young.
it is my fault; but i sympathize so deeply in it all, i forget to be wise," sighed amy, carefully covering the baby with a wet towel."
i think this power of living in our children is one of the sweetest things in the world; but i try to remember what marmee once said to meg -- that fathers should have their share in the education of both girls and boys; so i leave ted to his father all i can, and fritz lends me rob, whose quiet ways are as restful and good for me as ted's tempests are for his father.
now i advise you, amy, to let bess drop the mud-pies for a time, and take up music with laurie; then she wo n't be one-sided, and he wo n't be jealous."
"hear, hear!
a daniel -- a very daniel!"
cried laurie, well pleased."
i thought you'd lend a hand, jo, and say a word for me.
i am a little jealous of amy, and want more of a share in my girl.
come, my lady, let me have her this summer, and next year, when we go to rome, i'll give her up to you and high art.
is n't that a fair bargain?'"
i agree; but in trying your hobby, nature, with music thrown in, do n't forget that, though only fifteen, our bess is older than most girls of that age, and can not be treated like a child.
she is so very precious to me, i feel as if i wanted to keep her always as pure and beautiful as the marble she loves so well."
amy spoke regretfully as she looked about the lovely room where she had spent so many happy hours with this dear child of hers."
""turn and turn about is fair play", as we used to say when we all wanted to ride on ellen tree or wear the russet boots," said jo briskly; "so you must share your girl between you, and see who will do the most for her."
"we will," answered the fond parents, laughing at the recollections jo's proverb brought up to them.
"how i did use to enjoy bouncing on the limbs of that old apple-tree!
no real horse ever gave me half the pleasure or the exercise," said amy, looking out of the high window as if she saw the dear old orchard again and the little girls at play there.
"and what fun i had with those blessed boots!"
laughed jo.
"i've got the relics now.
the boys reduced them to rags; but i love them still, and would enjoy a good theatrical stalk in them if it were possible."
"my fondest memories twine about the warming-pan and the sausage.
what larks we had!
and how long ago it seems!"
said laurie, staring at the two women before him as if he found it hard to realize that they ever had been little amy and riotous jo.
"do n't suggest that we are growing old, my lord.
we have only bloomed; and a very nice bouquet we make with our buds about us," answered mrs amy, shaking out the folds of her rosy muslin with much the air of dainty satisfaction the girl used to show in a new dress.
"not to mention our thorns and dead leaves," added jo, with a sigh; for life had never been very easy to her, and even now she had her troubles both within and without.
"come and have a dish of tea, old dear, and see what the young folks are about.
you are tired, and want to be "stayed with flagons and comforted with apples"," said laurie, offering an arm to each sister, and leading them away to afternoon tea, which flowed as freely on parnassus as the nectar of old.
they found meg in the summer-parlour, an airy and delightful room, full now of afternoon sunshine and the rustle of trees; for the three long windows opened on the garden.
the great music-room was at one end, and at the other, in a deep alcove hung with purple curtains, a little household shrine had been made.
three portraits hung there, two marble busts stood in the corners, and a couch, an oval table, with its urn of flowers, were the only articles of furniture the nook contained.
the busts were john brooke and beth -- amy's work -- both excellent likenesses, and both full of the placid beauty which always recalls the saying, that "clay represents life; plaster, death; marble, immortality".
on the right, as became the founder of the house, hung the portrait of mr laurence, with its expression of mingled pride and benevolence, as fresh and attractive as when he caught the girl jo admiring it.
opposite was aunt march -- a legacy to amy -- in an imposing turban, immense sleeves, and long mittens decorously crossed on the front of her plum-coloured satin gown.
time had mellowed the severity of her aspect; and the fixed regard of the handsome old gentleman opposite seemed to account for the amiable simper on lips that had not uttered a sharp word for years.
in the place of honour, with the sunshine warm upon it, and a green garland always round it, was marmee's beloved face, painted with grateful skill by a great artist whom she had befriended when poor and unknown.
so beautifully lifelike was it that it seemed to smile down upon her daughters, saying cheerfully: "be happy; i am with you still."
the three sisters stood a moment looking up at the beloved picture with eyes full of tender reverence and the longing that never left them; for this noble mother had been so much to them that no one could ever fill her place.
only two years since she had gone away to live and love anew, leaving such a sweet memory behind her that it was both an inspiration and a comforter to all the household.
they felt this as they drew closer to one another, and laurie put it into words as he said earnestly: "i can ask nothing better for my child than that she may be a woman like our mother.
please god, she shall be, if i can do it; for i owe the best i have to this dear saint."
just then a fresh voice began to sing "ave maria" in the music-room, and bess unconsciously echoed her father's prayer for her as she dutifully obeyed his wishes.
the soft sound of the air marmee used to sing led the listeners back into the world again from that momentary reaching after the loved and lost, and they sat down together near the open windows enjoying the music, while laurie brought them tea, making the little service pleasant by the tender care he gave to it.
nat came in with demi, soon followed by ted and josie, the professor and his faithful rob, all anxious to hear more about "the boys".
the rattle of cups and tongues grew brisk, and the setting sun saw a cheerful company resting in the bright room after the varied labours of the day.
professor bhaer was grey now, but robust and genial as ever; for he had the work he loved, and did it so heartily that the whole college felt his beautiful influence.
rob was as much like him as it was possible for a boy to be, and was already called the "young professor", he so adored study and closely imitated his honoured father in all ways.
"well, heart's dearest, we go to have our boys again, all two, and may rejoice greatly," said mr bhaer, seating himself beside jo with a beaming face and a handshake of congratulation.
"oh, fritz, i'm so delighted about emil, and if you approve about franz also.
did you know ludmilla?
is it a wise match?"
asked mrs jo, handing him her cup of tea and drawing closer, as if she welcomed her refuge in joy as well as sorrow.
"it all goes well.
i saw the madchen when i went over to place franz.
a child then, but most sweet and charming.
blumenthal is satisfied, i think, and the boy will be happy.
he is too german to be content away from vaterland, so we shall have him as a link between the new and the old, and that pleases me much."
"and emil, he is to be second mate next voyage; is n't that fine?
i'm so happy that both your boys have done well; you gave up so much for them and their mother.
you make light of it, dear, but i never forget it," said jo, with her hand in his as sentimentally as if she was a girl again and her fritz had come a-wooing.
he laughed his cheery laugh, and whispered behind her fan: "if i had not come to america for the poor lads, i never should have found my jo.
the hard times are very sweet now, and i bless gott for all i seemed to lose, because i gained the blessing of my life."
"spooning!
spooning!
here's an awful flirtation on the sly," cried teddy, peering over the fan just at that interesting moment, much to his mother's confusion and his father's amusement; for the professor never was ashamed of the fact that he still considered his wife the dearest woman in the world.
rob promptly ejected his brother from one window, to see him skip in at the other, while mrs jo shut her fan and held it ready to rap her unruly boy's knuckles if he came near her again.
nat approached in answer to mr bhaer's beckoning teaspoon, and stood before them with a face full of the respectful affection he felt for the excellent man who had done so much for him."
i have the letters ready for thee, my son.
they are two old friends of mine in leipzig, who will befriend thee in that new life.
it is well to have them, for thou wilt be heartbroken with heimweh at the first, nat, and need comforting," said the professor, giving him several letters.
"thanks, sir.
yes, i expect to be pretty lonely till i get started, then my music and the hope of getting on will cheer me up," answered nat, who both longed and dreaded to leave all these friends behind him and make new ones.
he was a man now; but the blue eyes were as honest as ever, the mouth still a little weak, in spite of the carefully cherished moustache over it, and the broad forehead more plainly than ever betrayed the music-loving nature of the youth.
modest, affectionate, and dutiful, nat was considered a pleasant though not a brilliant success by mrs jo.
she loved and trusted him, and was sure he would do his best, but did not expect that he would be great in any way, unless the stimulus of foreign training and self-dependence made him a better artist and a stronger man than now seemed likely.
"i've marked all your things -- or rather, daisy did -- and as soon as your books are collected, we can see about the packing," said mrs jo, who was so used to fitting boys off for all quarters of the globe that a trip to the north pole would not have been too much for her.
nat grew red at mention of that name -- or was it the last glow of sunset on his rather pale cheek?
-- and his heart beat happily at the thought of the dear girl working ns and bs on his humble socks and handkerchiefs; for nat adored daisy, and the cherished dream of his life was to earn a place for himself as a musician and win this angel for his wife.
this hope did more for him than the professor's counsels, mrs jo's care, or mr laurie's generous help.
for her sake he worked, waited, and hoped, finding courage and patience in the dream of that happy future when daisy should make a little home for him and he fiddle a fortune into her lap.
mrs jo knew this; and though he was not exactly the man she would have chosen for her niece, she felt that nat would always need just the wise and loving care daisy could give him, and that without it there was danger of his being one of the amiable and aimless men who fail for want of the right pilot to steer them safely through the world.
mrs meg decidedly frowned upon the poor boy's love, and would not hear of giving her dear girl to any but the best man to be found on the face of the earth.
she was very kind, but as firm as such gentle souls can be; and nat fled for comfort to mrs jo, who always espoused the interests of her boys heartily.
a new set of anxieties was beginning now that the aforesaid boys were growing up, and she foresaw no end of worry as well as amusement in the love-affairs already budding in her flock.
mrs meg was usually her best ally and adviser, for she loved romances as well now as when a blooming girl herself.
but in this case she hardened her heart, and would not hear a word of entreaty.
"nat was not man enough, never would be, no one knew his family, a musician's life was a hard one; daisy was too young, five or six years hence when time had proved both perhaps.
let us see what absence will do for him."
and that was the end of it, for when the maternal pelican was roused she could be very firm, though for her precious children she would have plucked her last feather and given the last drop of her blood.
mrs jo was thinking of this as she looked at nat while he talked with her husband about leipzig, and she resolved to have a clear understanding with him before he went; for she was used to confidences, and talked freely with her boys about the trials and temptations that beset all lives in the beginning, and so often mar them, for want of the right word at the right moment.
this is the first duty of parents, and no false delicacy should keep them from the watchful care, the gentle warning, which makes self-knowledge and self-control the compass and pilot of the young as they leave the safe harbour of home.
"plato and his disciples approach," announced irreverent teddy, as mr march came in with several young men and women about him; for the wise old man was universally beloved, and ministered so beautifully to his flock that many of them thanked him all their lives for the help given to both hearts and souls.
bess went to him at once; for since marmee died, grandpapa was her special care, and it was sweet to see the golden head bend over the silver one as she rolled out his easy-chair and waited on him with tender alacrity.
"aesthetic tea always on tap here, sir; will you have a flowing bowl or a bit of ambrosia?"
asked laurie, who was wandering about with a sugar-basin in one hand and a plate of cake in the other; for sweetening cups and feeding the hungry was work he loved.
"neither, thanks; this child has taken care of me"; and mr march turned to bess, who sat on one arm of his chair, holding a glass of fresh milk.
"long may she live to do it, sir, and i be here to see this pretty contradiction of the song that "youth and age can not live together"!"
answered laurie, smiling at the pair."
""crabbed age", papa; that makes all the difference in the world," said bess quickly; for she loved poetry, and read the best.
"wouldst thou see fresh roses grow in a reverend bed of snow?"
quoted mr march, as josie came and perched on the other arm, looking like a very thorny little rose; for she had been having a hot discussion with ted, and had got the worst of it.
"grandpa, must women always obey men and say they are the wisest, just because they are the strongest?"
she cried, looking fiercely at her cousin, who came stalking up with a provoking smile on the boyish face that was always very comical atop of that tall figure.
"well, my dear, that is the old-fashioned belief, and it will take some time to change it.
but i think the woman's hour has struck; and it looks to me as if the boys must do their best, for the girls are abreast now, and may reach the goal first," answered mr march, surveying with paternal satisfaction the bright faces of the young women, who were among the best students in the college.
"the poor little atalantas are sadly distracted and delayed by the obstacles thrown in their way -- not golden apples, by any means -- but i think they will stand a fair chance when they have learned to run better," laughed uncle laurie, stroking josie's breezy hair, which stood up like the fur of an angry kitten.
"whole barrels of apples wo n't stop me when i start, and a dozen teds wo n't trip me up, though they may try.
i'll show him that a woman can act as well, if not better, than a man.
it has been done, and will be again; and i'll never own that my brain is n't as good as his, though it may be smaller," cried the excited young person.
"if you shake your head in that violent way you'll addle what brains you have got; and i'd take care of'em, if i were you," began teasing ted.
"what started this civil war?"
asked grandpapa, with a gentle emphasis on the adjective, which caused the combatants to calm their ardour a little.
"why, we were pegging away at the iliad and came to where zeus tells juno not to inquire into his plans or he'll whip her, and jo was disgusted because juno meekly hushed up.
i said it was all right, and agreed with the old fellow that women did n't know much and ought to obey men," explained ted, to the great amusement of his hearers.
"goddesses may do as they like, but those greek and trojan women were poor-spirited things if they minded men who could n't fight their own battles and had to be hustled off by pallas, and venus, and juno, when they were going to get beaten.
the idea of two armies stopping and sitting down while a pair of heroes flung stones at one another!
i do n't think much of your old homer.
give me napoleon or grant for my hero."
josie's scorn was as funny as if a humming-bird scolded at an ostrich, and everyone laughed as she sniffed at the immortal poet and criticized the gods.
"napoleon's juno had a nice time; did n't she?
that's just the way girls argue -- first one way and then the other," jeered ted.
"like johnson's young lady, who was "not categorical, but all wiggle-waggle"," added uncle laurie, enjoying the battle immensely."
i was only speaking of them as soldiers.
but if you come to the woman side of it, was n't grant a kind husband and mrs grant a happy woman?
he did n't threaten to whip her if she asked a natural question; and if napoleon did do wrong about josephine, he could fight, and did n't want any minerva to come fussing over him.
they were a stupid set, from dandified paris to achilles sulking in his ships, and i wo n't change my opinion for all the hectors and agamemnons in greece," said josie, still unconquered.
"you can fight like a trojan, that's evident; and we will be the two obedient armies looking on while you and ted have it out," began uncle laurie, assuming the attitude of a warrior leaning on his spear."
i fear we must give it up, for pallas is about to descend and carry off our hector," said mr march, smiling, as jo came to remind her son that suppertime was near.
"we will fight it out later when there are no goddesses to interfere," said teddy, as he turned away with unusual alacrity, remembering the treat in store.
"conquered by a muffin, by jove!"
called josie after him, exulting in an opportunity to use the classical exclamation forbidden to her sex.
but ted shot a parthian arrow as he retired in good order by replying, with a highly virtuous expression: "obedience is a soldier's first duty."
bent on her woman's privilege of having the last word, josie ran after him, but never uttered the scathing speech upon her lips, for a very brown young man in a blue suit came leaping up the steps with a cheery "ahoy!
ahoy!
where is everybody?"
'em il!
emil!"
cried josie, and in a moment ted was upon him, and the late enemies ended their fray in a joyful welcome to the newcomer.
muffins were forgotten, and towing their cousin like two fussy little tugs with a fine merchantman, the children returned to the parlour, where emil kissed all the women and shook hands with all the men except his uncle; him he embraced in the good old german style, to the great delight of the observers.
"did n't think i could get off today, but found i could, and steered straight for old plum.
not a soul there, so i luffed and bore away for parnassus, and here is every man jack of you.
bless your hearts, how glad i am to see you all!"
exclaimed the sailor boy, beaming at them, as he stood with his legs apart as if he still felt the rocking deck under his feet.
"you ought to "shiver your timbers", not "bless our hearts", emil; it's not nautical at all.
oh, how nice and shippy and tarry you do smell!"
said josie, sniffing at him with great enjoyment of the fresh sea odours he brought with him.
this was her favourite cousin, and she was his pet; so she knew that the bulging pockets of the blue jacket contained treasures for her at least.
"avast, my hearty, and let me take soundings before you dive," laughed emil, understanding her affectionate caresses, and holding her off with one hand while with the other he rummaged out sundry foreign little boxes and parcels marked with different names, and handed them round with appropriate remarks, which caused much laughter; for emil was a wag.
"there's a hawser that will hold our little cock-boat still about five minutes," he said, throwing a necklace of pretty pink coral over josie's head; "and here's something the mermaids sent to undine," he added, handing bess a string of pearly shells on a silver chain.
i thought daisy would like a fiddle, and nat can find her a beau," continued the sailor, with a laugh, as he undid a dainty filigree brooch in the shape of a violin."
i know she will, and i'll take it to her," answered nat, as he vanished, glad of an errand, and sure that he could find daisy though emil had missed her.
emil chuckled, and handed out a quaintly carved bear whose head opened, showing a capacious ink-stand.
this he presented, with a scrape, to aunt jo.
"knowing your fondness for these fine animals, i brought this one to your pen."
"very good, commodore!
try again," said mrs jo, much pleased with her gift, which caused the professor to prophesy "works of shakespeare" from its depths, so great would be the inspiration of the beloved bruin.
"as aunt meg will wear caps, in spite of her youth, i got ludmilla to get me some bits of lace.
hope you'll like'em"; and out of a soft paper came some filmy things, one of which soon lay like a net of snowflakes on mrs meg's pretty hair."
i could n't find anything swell enough for aunt amy, because she has everything she wants, so i brought a little picture that always makes me think of her when bess was a baby"; and he handed her an oval ivory locket, on which was painted a goldenhaired madonna, with a rosy child folded in her blue mantle.
"how lovely!"
cried everyone; and aunt amy at once hung it about her neck on the blue ribbon from bess's hair, charmed with her gift; for it recalled the happiest year of her life.
"now, i flatter myself i've got just the thing for nan, neat but not gaudy, a sort of sign you see, and very appropriate for a doctor," said emil, proudly displaying a pair of lava earrings shaped like little skulls.
"horrid!"
and bess, who hated ugly things, turned her eyes to her own pretty shells.
"she wo n't wear earrings," said josie.
"well, she'll enjoy punching your ears then.
she's never so happy as when she's overhauling her fellow creatures and going for'em with a knife," answered emil, undisturbed.
"i've got a lot of plunder for you fellows in my chest, but i knew i should have no peace till my cargo for the girls was unloaded.
now tell me all the news."
and, seated on amy's best marbletopped table, the sailor swung his legs and talked at the rate of ten knots an hour, till aunt jo carried them all off to a grand family tea in honour of the commodore.
chapter 3.
jo's last scrape the march family had enjoyed a great many surprises in the course of their varied career, but the greatest of all was when the ugly duckling turned out to be, not a swan, but a golden goose, whose literary eggs found such an unexpected market that in ten years jo's wildest and most cherished dream actually came true.
how or why it happened she never clearly understood, but all of a sudden she found herself famous in a small way, and, better still, with a snug little fortune in her pocket to clear away the obstacles of the present and assure the future of her boys.
it began during a bad year when everything went wrong at plumfield; times were hard, the school dwindled, jo overworked herself and had a long illness; laurie and amy were abroad, and the bhaers too proud to ask help even of those as near and dear as this generous pair.
confined to her room, jo got desperate over the state of affairs, till she fell back upon the long-disused pen as the only thing she could do to help fill up the gaps in the income.
a book for girls being wanted by a certain publisher, she hastily scribbled a little story describing a few scenes and adventures in the lives of herself and sisters, though boys were more in her line, and with very slight hopes of success sent it out to seek its fortune.
things always went by contraries with jo.
her first book, laboured over for years, and launched full of the high hopes and ambitious dreams of youth, foundered on its voyage, though the wreck continued to float long afterward, to the profit of the publisher at least.
the hastily written story, sent away with no thought beyond the few dollars it might bring, sailed with a fair wind and a wise pilot at the helm into public favour, and came home heavily laden with an unexpected cargo of gold and glory.
a more astonished woman probably never existed than josephine bhaer when her little ship came into port with flags flying, cannon that had been silent before now booming gaily, and, better than all, many kind faces rejoicing with her, many friendly hands grasping hers with cordial congratulations.
after that it was plain sailing, and she merely had to load her ships and send them off on prosperous trips, to bring home stores of comfort for all she loved and laboured for.
the fame she never did quite accept; for it takes very little fire to make a great deal of smoke nowadays, and notoriety is not real glory.
the fortune she could not doubt, and gratefully received; though it was not half so large a one as a generous world reported it to be.
the tide having turned continued to rise, and floated the family comfortably into a snug harbour where the older members could rest secure from storms, and whence the younger ones could launch their boats for the voyage of life.
all manner of happiness, peace, and plenty came in those years to bless the patient waiters, hopeful workers, and devout believers in the wisdom and justice of him who sends disappointment, poverty, and sorrow to try the love of human hearts and make success the sweeter when it comes.
the world saw the prosperity, and kind souls rejoiced over the improved fortunes of the family; but the success jo valued most, the happiness that nothing could change or take away, few knew much about.
it was the power of making her mother's last years happy and serene; to see the burden of care laid down for ever, the weary hands at rest, the dear face untroubled by any anxiety, and the tender heart free to pour itself out in the wise charity which was its delight.
as a girl, jo's favourite plan had been a room where marmee could sit in peace and enjoy herself after her hard, heroic life.
now the dream had become a happy fact, and marmee sat in her pleasant chamber with every comfort and luxury about her, loving daughters to wait on her as infirmities increased, a faithful mate to lean upon, and grand-children to brighten the twilight of life with their dutiful affection.
a very precious time to all, for she rejoiced as only mothers can in the good fortunes of their children.
she had lived to reap the harvest she sowed; had seen prayers answered, hopes blossom, good gifts bear fruit, peace and prosperity bless the home she had made; and then, like some brave, patient angel, whose work was done, turned her face heavenward, glad to rest.
this was the sweet and sacred side of the change; but it had its droll and thorny one, as all things have in this curious world of ours.
after the first surprise, incredulity, and joy, which came to jo, with the ingratitude of human nature, she soon tired of renown, and began to resent her loss of liberty.
for suddenly the admiring public took possession of her and all her affairs, past, present, and to come.
strangers demanded to look at her, question, advise, warn, congratulate, and drive her out of her wits by well-meant but very wearisome attentions.
if she declined to open her heart to them, they reproached her; if she refused to endow her pet charities, relieve private wants, or sympathize with every ill and trial known to humanity, she was called hard-hearted, selfish, and haughty; if she found it impossible to answer the piles of letters sent her, she was neglectful of her duty to the admiring public; and if she preferred the privacy of home to the pedestal upon which she was requested to pose, "the airs of literary people" were freely criticized.
she did her best for the children, they being the public for whom she wrote, and laboured stoutly to supply the demand always in the mouths of voracious youth -- "more stories; more right away!"
her family objected to this devotion at their expense, and her health suffered; but for a time she gratefully offered herself up on the altar of juvenile literature, feeling that she owed a good deal to the little friends in whose sight she had found favour after twenty years of effort.
but a time came when her patience gave out; and wearying of being a lion, she became a bear in nature as in name, and returning to her den, growled awfully when ordered out.
her family enjoyed the fun, and had small sympathy with her trials, but jo came to consider it the worse scrape of her life; for liberty had always been her dearest possession, and it seemed to be fast going from her.
living in a lantern soon loses its charm, and she was too old, too tired, and too busy to like it.
she felt that she had done all that could reasonably be required of her when autographs, photographs, and autobiographical sketches had been sown broadcast over the land; when artists had taken her home in all its aspects, and reporters had taken her in the grim one she always assumed on these trying occasions; when a series of enthusiastic boarding-schools had ravaged her grounds for trophies, and a steady stream of amiable pilgrims had worn her doorsteps with their respectful feet; when servants left after a week's trial of the bell that rang all day; when her husband was forced to guard her at meals, and the boys to cover her retreat out of back windows on certain occasions when enterprising guests walked in unannounced at unfortunate moments.
a sketch of one day may perhaps explain the state of things, offer some excuse for the unhappy woman, and give a hint to the autograph-fiend now rampant in the land; for it is a true tale.
"there ought to be a law to protect unfortunate authors," said mrs jo one morning soon after emil's arrival, when the mail brought her an unusually large and varied assortment of letters.
"to me it is a more vital subject than international copyright; for time is money, peace is health, and i lose both with no return but less respect for my fellow creatures and a wild desire to fly into the wilderness, since i can not shut my doors even in free america."
"lion-hunters are awful when in search of their prey.
if they could change places for a while it would do them good; and they'd see what bores they were when they "do themselves the honour of calling to express their admiration of our charming work"," quoted ted, with a bow to his parent, now frowning over twelve requests for autographs."
i have made up my mind on one point," said mrs jo with great firmness."
i will not answer this kind of letter.
i've sent at least six to this boy, and he probably sells them.
this girl writes from a seminary, and if i send her one all the other girls will at once write for more.
all begin by saying they know they intrude, and that i am of course annoyed by these requests; but they venture to ask because i like boys, or they like the books, or it is only one.
emerson and whittier put these things in the wastepaper-basket; and though only a literary nursery-maid who provides moral pap for the young, i will follow their illustrious example; for i shall have no time to eat or sleep if i try to satisfy these dear unreasonable children"; and mrs jo swept away the entire batch with a sigh of relief.
"i'll open the others and let you eat your breakfast in peace, liebe mutter," said rob, who often acted as her secretary.
"here's one from the south"; and breaking an imposing seal, he read: "madam, as it has pleased heaven to bless your efforts with a large fortune, i feel no hesitation in asking you to supply funds to purchase a new communion-service for our church.
to whatever denomination you belong, you will of course respond with liberality to such a request, "respectfully yours, "mrs x.y. zavier" "send a civil refusal, dear.
all i have to give must go to feed and clothe the poor at my gates.
that is my thank-offering for success.
go on," answered his mother, with a grateful glance about her happy home."
a literary youth of eighteen proposes that you put your name to a novel he has written; and after the first edition your name is to be taken off and his put on.
there's a cool proposal for you.
i guess you wo n't agree to that, in spite of your soft-heartedness towards most of the young scribblers."
"could n't be done.
tell him so kindly, and do n't let him send the manuscript.
i have seven on hand now, and barely time to read my own," said mrs jo, pensively fishing a small letter out of the slop-bowl and opening it with care, because the down-hill address suggested that a child wrote it."
i will answer this myself.
a little sick girl wants a book, and she shall have it, but i ca n't write sequels to all the rest to please her.
i should never come to an end if i tried to suit these voracious little oliver twists, clamouring for more.
what next, robin?"
"this is short and sweet.
"dear mrs bhaer, i am now going to give you my opinion of your works.
i have read them all many times, and call them first-rate.
please go ahead.
"your admirer, "billy babcock" "now that is what i like.
billy is a man of sense and a critic worth having, since he had read my works many times before expressing his opinion.
he asks for no answer, so send my thanks and regards."
"here's a lady in england with seven girls, and she wishes to know your views upon education.
also what careers they shall follow the oldest being twelve.
do n't wonder she's worried," laughed rob.
"i'll try to answer it.
but as i have no girls, my opinion is n't worth much and will probably shock her, as i shall tell her to let them run and play and build up good, stout bodies before she talks about careers.
they will soon show what they want, if they are let alone, and not all run in the same mould."
"here's a fellow who wants to know what sort of a girl he shall marry, and if you know of any like those in your stories."
"give him nan's address, and see what he'll get," proposed ted, privately resolving to do it himself if possible.
"this is from a lady who wants you to adopt her child and lend her money to study art abroad for a few years.
better take it, and try your hand at a girl, mother."
"no, thank you, i will keep to my own line of business.
what is that blotted one?
it looks rather awful, to judge by the ink," asked mrs jo, who beguiled her daily task by trying to guess from the outside what was inside her many letters.
this proved to be a poem from an insane admirer, to judge by its incoherent style.
"to j.m.b. "oh, were i a heliotrope, i would play poet, and blow a breeze of fragrance to you; and none should know it.
"your form like the stately elm when phoebus gilds the morning ray; your cheeks like the ocean bed that blooms a rose in may.
"your words are wise and bright, i bequeath them to you a legacy given; and when your spirit takes its flight, may it bloom aflower in heaven.
"my tongue in flattering language spoke, and sweeter silence never broke in busiest street or loneliest glen.
i take you with the flashes of my pen.
"consider the lilies, how they grow; they toil not, yet are fair, gems and flowers and solomon's seal.
the geranium of the world is j. m. bhaer.
"james" while the boys shouted over this effusion -- which is a true one -- their mother read several liberal offers from budding magazines for her to edit them gratis; one long letter from a young girl inconsolable because her favourite hero died, and "would dear mrs bhaer rewrite the tale, and make it end good?"
another from an irate boy denied an autograph, who darkly foretold financial ruin and loss of favour if she did not send him and all other fellows who asked autographs, photographs, and auto-biographical sketches; a minister wished to know her religion; and an undecided maiden asked which of her two lovers she should marry.
these samples will suffice to show a few of the claims made on a busy woman's time, and make my readers pardon mrs jo if she did not carefully reply to all.
"that job is done.
now i will dust a bit, and then go to my work.
i'm all behind-hand, and serials ca n't wait; so deny me to everybody, mary.
i wo n't see queen victoria if she comes today."
and mrs bhaer threw down her napkin as if defying all creation."
i hope the day will go well with thee, my dearest," answered her husband, who had been busy with his own voluminous correspondence."
i will dine at college with professor plock, who is to visit us today.
the junglings can lunch on parnassus; so thou shalt have a quiet time."
and smoothing the worried lines out of her forehead with his good-bye kiss, the excellent man marched away, both pockets full of books, an old umbrella in one hand, and a bag of stones for the geology class in the other.
"if all literary women had such thoughtful angels for husbands, they would live longer and write more.
perhaps that would n't be a blessing to the world though, as most of us write too much now," said mrs jo, waving her feather duster to her spouse, who responded with flourishes of the umbrella as he went down the avenue.
rob started for school at the same time, looking so much like him with his books and bag and square shoulders and steady air that his mother laughed as she turned away, saying heartily: "bless both my dear professors, for better creatures never lived!"
emil was already gone to his ship in the city; but ted lingered to steal the address he wanted, ravage the sugar-bowl, and talk with "mum"; for the two had great larks together.
mrs jo always arranged her own parlour, refilled her vases, and gave the little touches that left it cool and neat for the day.
going to draw down the curtain, she beheld an artist sketching on the lawn, and groaned as she hastily retired to the back window to shake her duster.
at that moment the bell rang and the sound of wheels was heard in the road.
"i'll go; mary lets'em in"; and ted smoothed his hair as he made for the hall.
"ca n't see anyone.
give me a chance to fly upstairs," whispered mrs jo, preparing to escape.
but before she could do so, a man appeared at the door with a card in his hand.
ted met him with a stern air, and his mother dodged behind the window-curtains to bide her time for escape."
i am doing a series of articles for the saturday tattler, and i called to see mrs bhaer the first of all," began the newcomer in the insinuating tone of his tribe, while his quick eyes were taking in all they could, experience having taught him to make the most of his time, as his visits were usually short ones.
"mrs bhaer never sees reporters, sir."
"but a few moments will be all i ask," said the man, edging his way farther in.
"you ca n't see her, for she is out," replied teddy, as a backward glance showed him that his unhappy parent had vanished -- through the window, he supposed, as she sometimes did when hard bestead.
"very sorry.
i'll call again.
is this her study?
charming room!"
and the intruder fell back on the parlour, bound to see something and bag a fact if he died in the attempt.
"it is not," said teddy, gently but firmly backing him down the hall, devoutly hoping that his mother had escaped round the corner of the house.
"if you could tell me mrs bhaer's age and birthplace, date of marriage, and number of children, i should be much obliged," continued the unabashed visitor as he tripped over the door-mat.
"she is about sixty, born in nova zembla, married just forty years ago today, and has eleven daughters.
anything else, sir?"
and ted's sober face was such a funny contrast to his ridiculous reply that the reporter owned himself routed, and retired laughing just as a lady followed by three beaming girls came up the steps.
"we are all the way from oshkosh, and could n't go home without seein" dear aunt jo.
my girls just admire her works, and lot on gettin" a sight of her.
i know it's early; but we are goin" to see holmes and longfeller, and the rest of the celebrities, so we ran out here fust thing.
mrs erastus kingsbury parmalee, of oshkosh, tell her.
we do n't mind waitin"; we can look round a spell if she ai n't ready to see folks yet."
all this was uttered with such rapidity that ted could only stand gazing at the buxom damsels, who fixed their six blue eyes upon him so beseechingly that his native gallantry made it impossible to deny them a civil reply at least.
"mrs bhaer is not visible today -- out just now, i believe; but you can see the house and grounds if you like," he murmured, falling back as the four pressed in gazing rapturously about them.
"oh, thank you!
sweet, pretty place i'm sure!
that's where she writes, ai n't it?
do tell me if that's her picture!
looks just as i imagined her!"
with these remarks the ladies paused before a fine engraving of the hon. mrs norton, with a pen in her hand and a rapt expression of countenance, likewise a diadem and pearl necklace.
keeping his gravity with an effort, teddy pointed to a very bad portrait of mrs jo, which hung behind the door, and afforded her much amusement, it was so dismal, in spite of a curious effect of light upon the end of the nose and cheeks as red as the chair she sat in.
"this was taken for my mother; but it is not very good," he said, enjoying the struggles of the girls not to look dismayed at the sad difference between the real and the ideal.
the youngest, aged twelve, could not conceal her disappointment, and turned away, feeling as so many of us have felt when we discover that our idols are very ordinary men and women."
i thought she'd be about sixteen and have her hair braided in two tails down her back.
i do n't care about seeing her now," said the honest child, walking off to the hall door, leaving her mother to apologize, and her sisters to declare that the bad portrait was "perfectly lovely, so speaking and poetic, you know, "specially about the brow".
"come girls, we must be goin", if we want to get through today.
you can leave your albums and have them sent when mrs bhaer has written a sentiment in'em.
we are a thousand times obliged.
give our best love to your ma, and tell her we are so sorry not to see her."
just as mrs. erastus kingsbury parmalee uttered the words her eye fell upon a middle-aged woman in a large checked apron, with a handkerchief tied over her head, busily dusting an end room which looked like a study.
"one peep at her sanctum since she is out," cried the enthusiastic lady, and swept across the hall with her flock before teddy could warn his mother, whose retreat had been cut off by the artist in front, the reporter at the back of the house -- for he had n't gone and the ladies in the hall.
"they've got her!"
thought teddy, in comical dismay.
"no use for her to play housemaid since they've seen the portrait."
mrs jo did her best, and being a good actress, would have escaped if the fatal picture had not betrayed her.
mrs parmalee paused at the desk, and regardless of the meerschaum that lay there, the man's slippers close by, and a pile of letters directed to "prof. f. bhaer", she clasped her hands, exclaiming impressively: "girls, this is the spot where she wrote those sweet, those moral tales which have thrilled us to the soul!
could i -- ah, could i take one morsel of paper, an old pen, a postage stamp even, as a memento of this gifted woman?"
"yes'm, help yourselves," replied the maid, moving away with a glance at the boy, whose eyes were now full of merriment he could not suppress.
the oldest girl saw it, guessed the truth, and a quick look at the woman in the apron confirmed her suspicion.
touching her mother, she whispered: "ma, it's mrs bhaer herself.
i know it is."
"no?
yes?
it is!
well, i do declare, how nice that is!"
and hastily pursuing the unhappy woman, who was making for the door, mrs parmalee cried eagerly: "do n't mind us!
i know you're busy, but just let me take your hand and then we'll go."
giving herself up for lost, mrs jo turned and presented her hand like a tea-tray, submitting to have it heartily shaken, as the matron said, with somewhat alarming hospitality: "if ever you come to oshkosh, your feet wo n't be allowed to touch the pavement; for you'll be borne in the arms of the populace, we shall be so dreadful glad to see you."
mentally resolving never to visit that effusive town, jo responded as cordially as she could; and having written her name in the albums, provided each visitor with a memento, and kissed them all round, they at last departed, to call on "longfeller, holmes, and the rest" -- who were all out, it is devoutly to be hoped.
"you villain, why did n't you give me a chance to whip away?
oh, my dear, what fibs you told that man!
i hope we shall be forgiven our sins in this line, but i do n't know what is to become of us if we do n't dodge.
so many against one is n't fair play."
and mrs jo hung up her apron in the hall closet, with a groan at the trials of her lot.
"more people coming up the avenue!
better dodge while the coast is clear!
i'll head them off!"
cried teddy, looking back from the steps, as he was departing to school.
mrs jo flew upstairs, and having locked her door, calmly viewed a young ladies" seminary camp on the lawn, and being denied the house, proceed to enjoy themselves by picking the flowers, doing up their hair, eating lunch, and freely expressing their opinion of the place and its possessors before they went.
a few hours of quiet followed, and she was just settling down to a long afternoon of hard work, when rob came home to tell her that the young men's christian union would visit the college, and two or three of the fellows whom she knew wanted to pay their respects to her on the way.
"it is going to rain, so they wo n't come, i dare say; but father thought you'd like to be ready, in case they do call.
you always see the boys, you know, though you harden your heart to the poor girls," said rob, who had heard from his brother about the morning visitations.
"boys do n't gush, so i can stand it.
the last time i let in a party of girls one fell into my arms and said, "darling, love me!"
i wanted to shake her," answered mrs jo, wiping her pen with energy.
"you may be sure the fellows wo n't do it, but they will want autographs, so you'd better be prepared with a few dozen," said rob, laying out a quire of notepaper, being a hospitable youth and sympathizing with those who admired his mother.
"they ca n't outdo the girls.
at x college i really believe i wrote three hundred during the day i was there, and i left a pile of cards and albums on my table when i came away.
it is one of the most absurd and tiresome manias that ever afflicted the world."
nevertheless mrs jo wrote her name a dozen times, put on her black silk, and resigned herself to the impending call, praying for rain, however, as she returned to her work.
the shower came, and feeling quite secure, she rumpled up her hair, took off her cuffs, and hurried to finish her chapter; for thirty pages a day was her task, and she liked to have it well done before evening.
josie had brought some flowers for the vases, and was just putting the last touches when she saw several umbrellas bobbing down the hill.
"they are coming, aunty!
i see uncle hurrying across the field to receive them," she called at the stair-foot.
"keep an eye on them, and let me know when they enter the avenue.
it will take but a minute to tidy up and run down," answered mrs jo, scribbling away for dear life, because serials wait for no man, not even the whole christian union en masse.
"there are more than two or three.
i see half a dozen at least," called sister ann from the hall door.
"no!
a dozen, i do believe; aunty, look out; they are all coming!
what shall we do?"
and josie quailed at the idea of facing the black throng rapidly approaching.
"mercy on us, there are hundreds!
run and put a tub in the back entry for their umbrellas to drip into.
tell them to go down the hall and leave them, and pile their hats on the table; the tree wo n't hold them all.
no use to get mats; my poor carpets!"
and down went mrs jo to prepare for the invasion, while josie and the maids flew about dismayed at the prospect of so many muddy boots.
on they came, a long line of umbrellas, with splashed legs and flushed faces underneath; for the gentlemen had been having a good time all over the town, undisturbed by the rain.
professor bhaer met them at the gate, and was making a little speech of welcome, when mrs jo, touched by their bedraggled state, appeared at the door, beckoning them in.
leaving their host to orate bareheaded in the wet, the young men hastened up the steps, merry, warm, and eager, clutching off their hats as they came, and struggling with their umbrellas, as the order was passed to march in and stack arms.
tramp, tramp, tramp, down the hall went seventy-five pairs of boots; soon seventy-five umbrellas dripped sociably in the hospitable tub, while their owners swarmed all over the lower part of the house; and seventy-five hearty hands were shaken by the hostess without a murmur, though some were wet, some very warm, and nearly all bore trophies of the day's ramble.
one impetuous party flourished a small turtle as he made his compliments; another had a load of sticks cut from noted spots; and all begged for some memento of plumfield.
a pile of cards mysteriously appeared on the table, with a written request for autographs; and despite her morning vow, mrs jo wrote everyone, while her husband and boys did the honours of the house.
josie fled to the back parlour, but was discovered by exploring youths, and mortally insulted by one of them, who innocently inquired if she was mrs bhaer.
the reception did not last long, and the end was better than the beginning; for the rain ceased, and a rainbow shone beautifully over them as the good fellows stood upon the lawn singing sweetly for a farewell.
a happy omen, that bow of promise arched over the young heads, as if heaven smiled upon their union, and showed them that above the muddy earth and rainy skies the blessed sun still shone for all.
three cheers, and then away they went, leaving a pleasant recollection of their visit to amuse the family as they scraped the mud off the carpets with shovels and emptied the tub half-full of water.
"nice, honest, hard-working fellows, and i do n't begrudge my half-hour at all; but i must finish, so do n't let anyone disturb me till tea-time," said mrs jo, leaving mary to shut up the house; for papa and the boys had gone off with the guests, and josie had run home to tell her mother about the fun at aunt jo's.
peace reigned for an hour, then the bell rang and mary came giggling up to say: "a queer kind of a lady wants to know if she can catch a grasshopper in the garden.'"
a what?"
cried mrs jo, dropping her pen with a blot; for of all the odd requests ever made, this was the oddest."
a grasshopper, ma'am.
i said you was busy, and asked what she wanted, and says she: "i've got grasshoppers from the grounds of several famous folks, and i want one from plumfield to add to my collection."
did you ever?"
and mary giggled again at the idea.
"tell her to take all there are and welcome.
i shall be glad to get rid of them; always bouncing in my face and getting in my dress," laughed mrs jo.
mary retired, to return in a moment nearly speechless with merriment.
"she's much obliged, ma'am, and she'd like an old gown or a pair of stockings of yours to put in a rug she's making.
got a vest of emerson's, she says, and a pair of mr. holmes's trousers, and a dress of mrs stowe's.
she must be crazy!"
"give her that old red shawl, then i shall make a gay show among the great ones in that astonishing rug.
yes, they are all lunatics, these lion-hunters; but this seems to be a harmless maniac, for she does n't take my time, and gives me a good laugh," said mrs jo, returning to her work after a glance from the window, which showed her a tall, thin lady in rusty black, skipping wildly to and fro on the lawn in pursuit of the lively insect she wanted.
no more interruptions till the light began to fade, then mary popped her head in to say a gentleman wished to see mrs bhaer, and would n't take no for an answer.
"he must.
i shall not go down.
this has been an awful day, and i wo n't be disturbed again," replied the harassed authoress, pausing in the midst of the grand finale of her chapter."
i told him so, ma'am; but he walked right in as bold as brass.
i guess he's another crazy one, and i declare i'm "most afraid of him, he's so big and black, and cool as cucumbers, though i will say he's good-looking," added mary, with a simper; for the stranger had evidently found favour in her sight despite his boldness.
"my day has been ruined, and i will have this last half-hour to finish.
tell him to go away; i wo n't go down," cried mrs jo, fiercely.
mary went; and listening, in spite of herself, her mistress heard first a murmur of voices, then a cry from mary, and remembering the ways of reporters, also that her maid was both pretty and timid, mrs bhaer flung down her pen and went to the rescue.
descending with her most majestic air she demanded in an awe-inspiring voice, as she paused to survey the somewhat brigandish intruder, who seemed to be storming the staircase which mary was gallantly defending: "who is this person who insists on remaining when i have declined to see him?"
"i'm sure i do n't know, ma'am.
he wo n't give no name, and says you'll be sorry if you do n't see him," answered mary, retiring flushed and indignant from her post.
"wo n't you be sorry?"
asked the stranger, looking up with a pair of black eyes full of laughter, the flash of white teeth through a long beard, and both hands out as he boldly approached the irate lady.
mrs jo gave one keen look, for the voice was familiar; then completed mary's bewilderment by throwing both arms round the brigand's neck, exclaiming joyfully: "my dearest boy, where did you come from?"
"california, on purpose to see you, mother bhaer.
now wo n't you be sorry if i go away?"
answered dan, with a hearty kiss.
"to think of my ordering you out of the house when i've been longing to see you for a year," laughed mrs jo, and she went down to have a good talk with her returned wanderer, who enjoyed the joke immensely.
chapter 4.
dan mrs jo often thought that dan had indian blood in him, not only because of his love of a wild, wandering life, but his appearance; for as he grew up, this became more striking.
at twenty-five he was very tall, with sinewy limbs, a keen, dark face, and the alert look of one whose senses were all alive; rough in manner, full of energy, quick with word and blow, eyes full of the old fire, always watchful as if used to keep guard, and a general air of vigour and freshness very charming to those who knew the dangers and delights of his adventurous life.
he was looking his best as he sat talking with "mother bhaer", one strong brown hand in hers, and a world of affection in his voice as he said: "forget old friends!
how could i forget the only home i ever knew?
why, i was in such a hurry to come and tell my good luck that i did n't stop to fix up, you see; though i knew you'd think i looked more like a wild buffalo than ever," with a shake of his shaggy black head, a tug at his beard, and a laugh that made the room ring."
i like it; i always had a fancy for banditti -- and you look just like one.
mary, being a newcomer, was frightened at your looks and manners.
josie wo n't know you, but ted will recognize his danny in spite of the big beard and flowing mane.
they will all be here soon to welcome you; so before they come tell me more about yourself.
why, dan, dear!
it's nearly two years since you were here!
has it gone well with you?"
asked mrs jo, who had been listening with maternal interest to his account of life in california, and the unexpected success of a small investment he had made.
"first-rate!
i do n't care for the money, you know.
i only want a trifle to pay my way -- rather earn as i go, and not be bothered with the care of a lot.
it's the fun of the thing coming to me, and my being able to give away, that i like.
no use to lay up; i sha n't live to be old and need it, -- my sort never do," said dan, looking as if his little fortune rather oppressed him.
"but if you marry and settle somewhere, as i hope you will, you must have something to begin with, my son.
so be prudent and invest your money; do n't give it away, for rainy days come to all of us, and dependence would be very hard for you to bear," answered mrs jo with a sage air, though she liked to see that the money-making fever had not seized her lucky boy yet.
dan shook his head, and glanced about the room as if he already found it rather confined and longed for all out-of-doors again.
"who would marry a jack-o" - lantern like me?
women like a steady-going man; i shall never be that."
"my dear boy, when i was a girl i liked just such adventurous fellows as you are.
anything fresh and daring, free and romantic, is always attractive to us womenfolk.
do n't be discouraged; you'll find an anchor some day, and be content to take shorter voyages and bring home a good cargo."
"what should you say if i brought you an indian squaw some day?"
asked dan, with a glimmer of mischief in the eyes that rested on a marble bust of galatea gleaming white and lovely in the corner.
"welcome her heartily, if she was a good one.
is there a prospect of it?"
and mrs jo peered at him with the interest which even literary ladies take in love affairs.
"not at present, thank you.
i'm too busy "to gallivant", as ted calls it.
how is the boy?"
asked dan, skilfully turning the conversation, as if he had had enough of sentiment.
mrs jo was off at once, and expatiated upon the talents and virtues of her sons till they came bursting in and fell upon dan like two affectionate young bears, finding a vent for their joyful emotions in a sort of friendly wrestling-match; in which both got worsted, of course, for the hunter soon settled them.
the professor followed, and tongues went like mill-clappers while mary lighted up and cook devoted herself to an unusually good supper, instinctively divining that this guest was a welcome one.
after tea dan was walking up and down the long rooms as he talked, with occasional trips into the hall for a fresher breath of air, his lungs seeming to need more than those of civilized people.
in one of these trips he saw a white figure framed in the dark doorway, and paused to look at it.
bess paused also, not recognizing her old friend, and quite unconscious of the pretty picture she made standing, tall and slender, against the soft gloom of the summer night, with her golden hair like a halo round her head, and the ends of a white shawl blown out like wings by the cool wind sweeping through the hail.
"is it dan?"
she asked, coming in with a gracious smile and outstretched hand.
"looks like it; but i did n't know you, princess.
i thought it was a spirit," answered dan, looking down at her with a curious softness and wonder in his face.
"i've grown very much, but two years have changed you entirely"; and bess looked up with girlish pleasure at the picturesque figure before her -- for it was a decided contrast to the well-dressed people about her.
before they could say more, josie rushed in, and, forgetfull of the newly acquired dignity of her teens, let dan catch her up and kiss her like a child.
not till he set her down did he discover she also was changed, and exclaimed in comic dismay: "hallo!
why, you are growing up too!
what am i going to do, with no young one to play with?
here's ted going it like a beanstalk, and bess a young lady, and even you, my mustard-seed, letting down your frocks and putting on airs."
the girls laughed, and josie blushed as she stared at the tall man, conscious that she had leaped before she looked.
they made a pretty contrast, these two young cousins -- one as fair as a lily, the other a little wild rose.
and dan gave a nod of satisfaction as he surveyed them; for he had seen many bonny girls in his travels, and was glad that these old friends were blooming so beautifully.
"here!
we ca n't allow any monopoly of dan!"
called mrs jo.
"bring him back and keep an eye on him, or he will be slipping off for another little run of a year or two before we have half seen him."
led by these agreeable captors, dan returned to the parlour to receive a scolding from josie for getting ahead of all the other boys and looking like a man first.
'em il is older; but he's only a boy, and dances jigs and sings sailor songs just as he used to.
you look about thirty, and as big and black as a villain in a play.
oh, i've got a splendid idea!
you are just the thing for arbaces in the last days of pompeii.
we want to act it; have the lion and the gladiators and the eruption.
tom and ted are going to shower bushels of ashes down and roll barrels of stones about.
we wanted a dark man for the egyptian; and you will be gorgeous in red and white shawls.
wo n't he, aunt jo?"
this deluge of words made dan clap his hands over his ears; and before mrs bhaer could answer her impetuous niece the laurences, with meg and her family, arrived, soon followed by tom and nan, and all sat down to listen to dan's adventures -- told in brief yet effective manner, as the varying expressions of interest, wonder, merriment, and suspense painted on the circle of faces round him plainly showed.
the boys all wanted to start at once for california and make fortunes; the girls could hardly wait for the curious and pretty things he had picked up for them in his travels; while the elders rejoiced heartily over the energy and good prospects of their wild boy.
"of course you will want to go back for another stroke of luck; and i hope you will have it.
but speculation is a dangerous game, and you may lose all you've won," said mr laurie, who had enjoyed the stirring tale as much as any of the boys, and would have liked to rough it with dan as well as they.
"i've had enough of it, for a while at least; too much like gambling.
the excitement is all i care for, and it is n't good for me.
i have a notion to try farming out west.
it's grand on a large scale; and i feel as if steady work would be rather jolly after loafing round so long.
i can make a beginning, and you can send me your black sheep to stock my place with.
i tried sheep-farming in australia, and know something about black ones, any way."
a laugh chased away the sober look in dan's face as he ended; and those who knew him best guessed that he had learned a lesson there in san francisco, and dared not try again.
"that is a capital idea, dan!"
cried mrs jo, seeing great hope in this desire to fix himself somewhere and help others.
"we shall know where you are, and can go and see you, and not have half the world between us.
i'll send my ted for a visit.
he's such a restless spirit, it would do him good.
with you he would be safe while he worked off his surplus energies and learned a wholesome business."
"i'll use the "shubble and de hoe" like a good one, if i get a chance out there; but the speranza mines sound rather jollier," said ted, examining the samples of ore dan had brought for the professor.
"you go and start a new town, and when we are ready to swarm we will come out and settle there.
you will want a newspaper very soon, and i like the idea of running one myself much better than grinding away as i do now," observed demi, panting to distinguish himself in the journalistic line.
"we could easily plant a new college there.
these sturdy westerners are hungry for learning, and very quick to see and choose the best," added ever-young mr march, beholding with his prophetic eye many duplicates of their own flourishing establishment springing up in the wide west.
"go on, dan.
it is a fine plan, and we will back you up.
i should n't mind investing in a few prairies and cowboys myself," said mr laurie, always ready to help the lads to help themselves, both by his cheery words and ever-open purse."
a little money sort of ballasts a fellow, and investing it in land anchors him -- for a while, at least.
i'd like to see what i can do, but i thought i'd consult you before i decided.
have my doubts about it suiting me for many years; but i can cut loose when i'm tired," answered dan, both touched and pleased at the eager interest of these friends in his plans."
i know you wo n't like it.
after having the whole world to roam over, one farm will seem dreadfully small and stupid," said josie, who much preferred the romance of the wandering life which brought her thrilling tales and pretty things at each return.
"is there any art out there?"
asked bess, thinking what a good study in black and white dan would make as he stood talking, half turned from the light.
"plenty of nature, dear; and that is better.
you will find splendid animals to model, and scenery such as you never saw in europe to paint.
even prosaic pumpkins are grand out there.
you can play cinderella in one of them, josie, when you open your theatre in dansville," said mr laurie, anxious that no cold water should be thrown on the new plan.
stage-struck josie was caught at once, and being promised all the tragic parts on the yet unbuilt stage, she felt a deep interest in the project and begged dan to lose no time in beginning his experiment.
bess also confessed that studies from nature would be good for her, and wild scenery improve her taste, which might grow over-nice if only the delicate and beautiful were set before her."
i speak for the practice of the new town," said nan, always eager for fresh enterprises."
i shall be ready by the time you get well started -- towns grow so fast out there."
"dan is n't going to allow any woman under forty in his place.
he does n't like them, "specially young and pretty ones," put in tom, who was raging with jealousy, because he read admiration for nan in dan's eyes.
"that wo n't affect me, because doctors are exceptions to all rules.
there wo n't be much sickness in dansville, everyone will lead such active, wholesome lives, and only energetic young people will go there.
but accidents will be frequent, owing to wild cattle, fast riding, indian scrimmages, and the recklessness of western life.
that will just suit me.
i long for broken bones, surgery is so interesting and i get so little here," answered nan, yearning to put out her shingle and begin.
"i'll have you, doctor, and be glad of such a good sample of what we can do in the east.
peg away, and i'll send for you as soon as i have a roof to cover you.
i'll scalp a few red fellows or smash up a dozen or so of cowboys for your special benefit," laughed dan, well pleased with the energy and fine physique which made nan a conspicuous figure among other girls.
"thanks.
i'll come.
would you just let me feel your arm?
splendid biceps!
now, boys, see here: this is what i call muscle."
and nan delivered a short lecture with dan's sinewy arm to illustrate it.
tom retired to the alcove and glowered at the stars, while he swung his own right arm with a vigour suggestive of knocking someone down.
"make tom sexton; he'll enjoy burying the patients nan kills.
he's trying to get up the glum expression proper to the business.
do n't forget him, dan," said ted, directing attention to the blighted being in the corner.
but tom never sulked long, and came out from his brief eclipse with the cheerful proposition: "look here, we'll get the city to ship out to dansville all the cases of yellow fever, smallpox, and cholera that arrive; then nan will be happy and her mistakes wo n't matter much with emigrants and convicts.'"
i should advise settling near jacksonville, or some such city, that you might enjoy the society of cultivated persons.
the plato club is there, and a most ardent thirst for philosophy.
everything from the east is welcomed hospitably, and new enterprises would flourish in such kindly soil," observed mr march, mildly offering a suggestion, as he sat among the elders enjoying the lively scene.
the idea of dan studying plato was very funny; but no one except naughty ted smiled, and dan made haste to unfold another plan seething in that active brain of his.
"i'm not sure the farming will succeed, and have a strong leaning towards my old friends the montana indians.
they are a peaceful tribe, and need help awfully; hundreds have died of starvation because they do n't get their share.
the sioux are fighters, thirty thousand strong, so government fears'em, and gives'em all they want.
i call that a damned shame!"
dan stopped short as the oath slipped out, but his eyes flashed, and he went on quickly: "it is just that, and i wo n't beg pardon.
if i'd had any money when i was there i'd have given every cent to those poor devils, cheated out of everything, and waiting patiently, after being driven from their own land to places where nothing will grow.
now, honest agents could do much, and i've a feeling that i ought to go and lend a hand.
i know their lingo, and i like'em.
i've got a few thousands, and i ai n't sure i have any right to spend it on myself and settle down to enjoy it.
hey?"
dan looked very manly and earnest as he faced his friends, flushed and excited by the energy of his words; and all felt that little thrill of sympathy which links hearts together by the tie of pity for the wronged.
"do it, do it!"
cried mrs jo, fired at once; for misfortune was much more interesting to her than good luck.
"do it, do it!"
echoed ted, applauding as if at a play, "and take me along to help.
i'm just raging to get among those fine fellows and hunt."
"let us hear more and see if it is wise," said mr laurie, privately resolving to people his as yet unbought prairies with montana indians, and increase his donations to the society that sent missionaries to this much wronged people.
dan plunged at once into the history of what he saw among the dakotas, and other tribes in the northwest, telling of their wrongs, patience, and courage as if they were his brothers.
"they called me dan fire cloud, because my rifle was the best they ever saw.
and black hawk was as good a friend as a fellow would want; saved my life more than once, and taught me just what will be useful if i go back.
they are down on their luck, now, and i'd like to pay my debts."
by this time everyone was interested, and dansville began to lose its charm.
but prudent mr bhaer suggested that one honest agent among many could not do much, and noble as the effort would be, it was wiser to think over the matter carefully, get influence and authority from the right quarters, and meantime look at lands before deciding.
"well, i will.
i'm going to take a run to kansas and see how that promises.
met a fellow in "frisco who'd been there, and he spoke well of it.
the fact is, there's so much to be done every where that i do n't know where to catch on, and half wish i had n't any money," answered dan, knitting his brows in the perplexity all kind souls feel when anxious to help at the great task of the world's charity.
"i'll keep it for you till you decide.
you are such an impetuous lad you'll give it to the first beggar that gets hold of you.
i'll turn it over while you are prospecting, and hand it back when you are ready to invest, shall i?"
asked mr laurie, who had learned wisdom since the days of his own extravagant youth.
"thanky, sir, i'd be glad to get rid of it.
you just hold on till i say the word; and if anything happens to me this time, keep it to help some other scamp as you helped me.
this is my will, and you all witness it.
now i feel better."
and dan squared his shoulders as if relieved of a burden, after handing over the belt in which he carried his little fortune.
no one dreamed how much was to happen before dan came to take his money back, nor how nearly that act was his last will and testament; and while mr laurie was explaining how he would invest it, a cheery voice was heard singing: "oh, peggy was a jolly lass, ye heave ho, boys, ye heave ho!
she never grudged her jack a glass, ye heave ho, boys, ye heave ho!
and when he sailed the raging main, she faithful was unto her swain, ye heave ho, boys, ye heave ho!"
emil always announced his arrival in that fashion, and in a moment he came hurrying in with nat, who had been giving lessons in town all day.
it was good to see the latter beam at his friend as he nearly shook his hand off; better still to see how dan gratefully remembered all he owed nat, and tried to pay the debt in his rough way; and best of all to hear the two travellers compare notes and reel off yarns to dazzle the land-lubbers and home-keepers.
after this addition the house would not contain the gay youngsters, so they migrated to the piazza and settled on the steps, like a flock of night-loving birds.
mr march and the professor retired to the study, meg and amy went to look after the little refection of fruit and cake which was to come, and mrs jo and mr laurie sat in the long window listening to the chat that went on outside.
"there they are, the flower of our flock!"
she said, pointing to the group before them.
"the others are dead or scattered, but these seven boys and four girls are my especial comfort and pride.
counting alice heath, my dozen is made up, and my hands are full trying to guide these young lives as far as human skill can do it."
"when we remember how different they are, from what some of them came, and the home influences about others, i think we may feel pretty well satisfied so far," answered mr laurie soberly, as his eyes rested on one bright head among the black and brown ones, for the young moon shone alike on all."
i do n't worry about the girls; meg sees to them, and is so wise and patient and tender they ca n't help doing well; but my boys are more care every year, and seem to drift farther away from me each time they go," sighed mrs jo.
"they will grow up, and i can only hold them by one little thread, which may snap at any time, as it has with jack and ned.
dolly and george still like to come back, and i can say my word to them; and dear old franz is too true ever to forget his own.
but the three who are soon going out into the world again i ca n't help worrying about.
emil's good heart will keep him straight, i hope, and" "a sweet little cherub sits up aloft, to look out for the life of poor jack.""
nat is to make his first flight, and he's weak in spite of your strengthening influence; and dan is still untamed.
i fear it will take some hard lesson to do that."
"he's a fine fellow, jo, and i almost regret this farming project.
a little polish would make a gentleman of him, and who knows what he might become here among us," answered mr laurie, leaning over mrs bhaer's chair, just as he used to do years ago when they had mischievous secrets together.
"it would n't be safe, teddy.
work and the free life he loves will make a good man of him, and that is better than any amount of polish, with the dangers an easy life in a city would bring him.
we ca n't change his nature -- only help it to develop in the right direction.
the old impulses are there, and must be controlled, or he will go wrong.
i see that; but his love for us is a safeguard, and we must keep a hold on him till he is older or has a stronger tie to help him."
mrs jo spoke earnestly, for, knowing dan better than anyone else, she saw that her colt was not thoroughly broken yet, and feared while she hoped, knowing that life would always be hard for one like him.
she was sure that before he went away again, in some quiet moment he would give her a glimpse of his inner self, and then she could say the word of warning or encouragement that he needed.
so she bided her time, studying him meanwhile, glad to see all that was promising, and quick to detect the harm the world was doing him.
she was very anxious to make a success of her "firebrand" because others predicted failure; but having learned that people can not be moulded like clay, she contented herself with the hope that this neglected boy might become a good man, and asked no more.
even that was much to expect, so full was he of wayward impulses, strong passions, and the lawless nature born in him.
nothing held him but the one affection of his life -- the memory of plumfield, the fear of disappointing these faithful friends, the pride, stronger than principle, that made him want to keep the regard of the mates who always had admired and loved him in spite of all his faults.
"do n't fret, old dear; emil is one of the happy-go-lucky sort who always fall on their legs.
i'll see to nat, and dan is in a good way now.
let him take a look at kansas, and if the farm plan loses its charm, he can fall back on poor lo, and really do good out there.
he's unusually fitted for that peculiar task and i hope he'll decide to do it.
fighting oppressors, and befriending the oppressed will keep those dangerous energies of his busy, and the life will suit him better than sheep-folds and wheat-fields.'"
i hope so.
what is that?"
and mrs jo leaned forward to listen, as exclamations from ted and josie caught her ear."
a mustang!
a real, live one; and we can ride it.
dan, you are a first-class trump!"
cried the boy."
a whole indian dress for me!
now i can play namioka, if the boys act metamora," added josie, clapping her hands."
a buffalo's head for bess!
good gracious, dan, why did you bring such a horrid thing as that to her?"
asked nan.
"thought it would do her good to model something strong and natural.
she'll never amount to anything if she keeps on making namby-pamby gods and pet kittens," answered irreverent dan, remembering that when he was last here bess was vibrating distractedly between a head of apollo and her persian cat as models.
"thank you; i'll try it, and if i fail we can put the buffalo up in the hall to remind us of you," said bess, indignant at the insult offered the gods of her idolatry, but too well bred to show it except in her voice, which was as sweet and as cold as ice-cream."
i suppose you wo n't come out to see our new settlement when the rest do?
too rough for you?"
asked dan, trying to assume the deferential air all the boys used when addressing their princess."
i am going to rome to study for years.
all the beauty and art of the world is there, and a lifetime is n't long enough to enjoy it," answered bess.
"rome is a mouldy old tomb compared to the "garden of the gods" and my magnificent rockies.
i do n't care a hang for art; nature is as much as i can stand, and i guess i could show you things that would knock your old masters higher than kites.
better come, and while josie rides the horses you can model'em.
if a drove of a hundred or so of wild ones ca n't show you beauty, i'll give up," cried dan, waxing enthusiastic over the wild grace and vigour which he could enjoy but had no power to describe.
"i'll come some day with papa, and see if they are better than the horses of st mark and those on capitol hill.
please do n't abuse my gods, and i will try to like yours," said bess, beginning to think the west might be worth seeing, though no raphael or angelo had yet appeared there.
"that's a bargain!
i do think people ought to see their own country before they go scooting off to foreign parts, as if the new world was n't worth discovering," began dan, ready to bury the hatchet.
"it has some advantages, but not all.
the women of england can vote, and we ca n't.
i'm ashamed of america that she is n't ahead in all good things," cried nan, who held advanced views on all reforms, and was anxious about her rights, having had to fight for some of them.
"oh, please do n't begin on that.
people always quarrel over that question, and call names, and never agree.
do let us be quiet and happy tonight," pleaded daisy, who hated discussion as much as nan loved it.
"you shall vote as much as you like in our new town, nan; be mayor and aldermen, and run the whole concern.
it's going to be as free as air, or i ca n't live in it," said dan, adding, with a laugh," i see mrs giddygaddy and mrs shakespeare smith do n't agree any better than they used to."
"if everyone agreed, we should never get on.
daisy is a dear, but inclined to be an old fogy; so i stir her up; and next fall she will go and vote with me.
demi will escort us to do the one thing we are allowed to do as yet."
"will you take'em, deacon?"
asked dan, using the old name as if he liked it.
"it works capitally in wyoming.'"
i shall be proud to do it.
mother and the aunts go every year, and daisy will come with me.
she is my better half still; and i do n't mean to leave her behind in anything," said demi, with an arm round his sister of whom he was fonder than ever.
dan looked at them wistfully, thinking how sweet it must be to have such a tie; and his lonely youth seemed sadder than ever as he recalled its struggles.
a gusty sigh from tom made sentiment impossible, as he said pensively: "i always wanted to be a twin.
it's so sociable and so cosy to have someone glad to lean on a fellow and comfort him, if other girls are cruel."
as tom's unrequited passion was the standing joke of the family, this allusion produced a laugh, which nan increased by whipping out a bottle of nux, saying, with her professional air: "i knew you ate too much lobster for tea.
take four pellets, and your dyspepsia will be all right.
tom always sighs and is silly when he's overeaten."
"i'll take'em.
these are the only sweet things you ever give me."
and tom gloomily crunched his dose."
""who can minister to a mind diseased, or pluck out a rooted sorrow?"
quoted josie tragically from her perch on the railing.
"come with me, tommy, and i'll make a man of you.
drop your pills and powders, and cavort round the world a spell, and you'll soon forget you've got a heart, or a stomach either," said dan, offering his one panacea for all ills.
"ship with me, tom.
a good fit of seasickness will set you up, and a stiff north-easter blow your blue-devils away.
come along as surgeon -- easy berth, and no end of larks.'"
""and if your nancy frowns, my lad, and scorns a jacket blue, just hoist your sails for other ports, and find a maid more true.""
added emil, who had a fragment of song to cheer every care and sorrow, and freely offered them to his friends.
"perhaps i'll think of it when i've got my diploma.
i'm not going to grind three mortal years and have nothing to show for it.
till then, --" "i'll never desert mrs micawber," interrupted teddy, with a gurgling sob.
tom immediately rolled him off the step into the wet grass below; and by the time this slight skirmish was over, the jingle of teaspoons suggested refreshments of a more agreeable sort.
in former times the little girls waited on the boys, to save confusion; now the young men flew to serve the ladies, young and old; and that slight fact showed plainly how the tables were turned by time.
and what a pleasant arrangement it was!
even josie sat still, and let emil bring her berries; enjoying her young lady-hood, till ted stole her cake, when she forgot manners, and chastised him with a rap on the knuckles.
as guest of honour, dan was only allowed to wait on bess, who still held the highest place in this small world.
tom carefully selected the best of everything for nan, to be crushed by the remark: "i never eat at this hour; and you will have a nightmare if you do."
so, dutifully curbing the pangs of hunger, he gave the plate to daisy, and chewed rose-leaves for his supper.
when a surprising quantity of wholesome nourishment had been consumed, someone said, "let's sing!"
and a tuneful hour followed.
nat fiddled, demi piped, dan strummed the old banjo, and emil warbled a doleful ballad about the wreck of the bounding betsey; then everybody joined in the old songs till there was very decidedly "music in the air"; and passers-by said, as they listened smiling: "old plum is gay tonight!"
when all had gone dan lingered on the piazza, enjoying the balmy wind that blew up from the hayfields, and brought the breath of flowers from parnassus; and as he leaned there romantically in the moonlight, mrs jo came to shut the door.
"dreaming dreams, dan?"
she asked, thinking the tender moment might have come.
imagine the shock when, instead of some interesting confidence or affectionate word, dan swung round, saying bluntly: "i was wishing i could smoke."
mrs jo laughed at the downfall of her hopes, and answered kindly: "you may, in your room; but do n't set the house afire."
perhaps dan saw a little disappointment in her face, or the memory of the sequel of that boyish frolic touched his heart; for he stooped and kissed her, saying in a whisper: "good night, mother."
and mrs jo was half satisfied.
chapter 5.
vacation everyone was glad of a holiday next morning, and all lingered over the breakfast-table, till mrs jo suddenly exclaimed: "why, there's a dog!"
and on the threshold of the door appeared a great deer-hound, standing motionless, with his eyes fixed on dan.
"hallo, old boy!
could n't you wait till i came for you?
have you cut away on the sly?
own up now, and take your whipping like a man," said dan, rising to meet the dog, who reared on his hind legs to look his master in the face and bark as if uttering an indignant denial of any disobedience.
"all right; don never lies."
and dan gave the tall beast a hug, adding as he glanced out of the window, where a man and horse were seen approaching: "i left my plunder at the hotel over night, not knowing how i should find you.
come out and see octoo, my mustang; she's a beauty."
and dan was off, with the family streaming after him, to welcome the newcomer.
they found her preparing to go up the steps in her eagerness to reach her master, to the great dismay of the man, who was holding her back.
"let her come," called dan; "she climbs like a cat and jumps like a deer.
well, my girl, do you want a gallop?"
he asked, as the pretty creature clattered up to him and whinnied with pleasure as he rubbed her nose and slapped her glossy flank.
"that's what i call a horse worth having," said ted, full of admiration and delight; for he was to have the care of her during dan's absence.
"what intelligent eyes!
she looks as if she would speak," said mrs jo.
"she talks like a human in her way.
very little that she do n't know.
hey, old lass?"
and dan laid his cheek to hers as if the little black mare was very dear to him.
"what does "octoo" mean?"
asked rob.
"lightning; she deserves it, as you'll see.
black hawk gave her to me for my rifle, and we've had high times together out yonder.
she's saved my life more than once.
do you see that scar?"
dan pointed to a small one, half hidden by the long mane; and standing with his arm about octoo's neck, he told the story of it.
"black hawk and i were after buffalo one time, but did n't find'em as soon as we expected; so our food gave out, and there we were a hundred miles from red deer river, where our camp was.
i thought we were done for, but my brave pal says: "now i'll show you how we can live till we find the herds."
we were unsaddling for the night by a little pond; there was n't a living creature in sight anywhere, not even a bird, and we could see for miles over the prairies.
what do you think we did?"
and dan looked into the faces round him.
"ate worms like the australian fellows," said rob.
"boiled grass or leaves," added mrs jo.
"perhaps filled the stomach with clay, as we read of savages doing?"
suggested mr bhaer.
"killed one of the horses," cried ted, eager for bloodshed of some sort.
"no; but we bled one of them.
see, just here; filled a tin cup, put some wild sage leaves in it, with water, and heated it over a fire of sticks.
it was good, and we slept well.'"
i guess octoo did n't."
and josie patted the animal, with a face full of sympathy.
"never minded it a bit.
black hawk said we could live on the horses several days and still travel before they felt it.
but by another morning we found the buffalo, and i shot the one whose head is in my box, ready to hang up and scare brats into fits.
he's a fierce old fellow, you bet."
"what is this strap for?"
asked ted, who was busily examining the indian saddle, the single rein and snaffle, with lariat, and round the neck the leather band he spoke of.
"we hold on to that when we lie along the horse's flank farthest from the enemy, and fire under the neck as we gallop round and round.
i'll show you."
and springing into the saddle, dan was off down the steps, tearing over the lawn at a great pace, sometimes on octoo's back, sometimes half hidden as he hung by stirrup and strap, and sometimes off altogether, running beside her as she loped along, enjoying the fun immensely; while don raced after, in a canine rapture at being free again and with his mates.
it was a fine sight -- the three wild things at play, so full of vigour, grace, and freedom, that for the moment the smooth lawn seemed a prairie; and the spectators felt as if this glimpse of another life made their own seem rather tame and colourless.
"this is better than a circus!"
cried mrs jo, wishing she were a girl again, that she might take a gallop on this chained lightning of a horse."
i foresee that nan will have her hands full setting bones, for ted will break every one of his trying to rival dan.'"
a few falls will not harm, and this new care and pleasure will be good for him in all ways.
but i fear dan will never follow a plough after riding a pegasus like that," answered mr bhaer, as the black mare leaped the gate and came flying up the avenue, to stop at a word and stand quivering with excitement, while dan swung himself off and looked up for applause.
he received plenty of it, and seemed more pleased for his pet's sake than for his own.
ted clamoured for a lesson at once, and was soon at ease in the queer saddle, finding octoo gentle as a lamb, as he trotted away to show off at college.
bess came hastening down the hill, having seen the race from afar; and all collected on the piazza while dan "yanked" the cover off the big box the express had "dumped" before the door -- to borrow his own words.
dan usually travelled in light marching order, and hated to have more luggage than he could carry in his well-worn valise.
but now that he had a little money of his own, he had cumbered himself with a collection of trophies won by his bow and spear, and brought them home to bestow upon his friends.
"we shall be devoured with moths," thought mrs jo, as the shaggy head appeared, followed by a wolf-skin rug for her feet, a bear-skin ditto for the professor's study, and indian garments bedecked with foxes" tails for the boys.
all nice and warm for a july day, but received with delight nevertheless.
ted and josie immediately "dressed up", learned the war-whoop, and proceeded to astonish their friends by a series of skirmishes about the house and grounds, with tomahawks and bows and arrows, till weariness produced a lull.
gay birds" wings, plumy pampas grass, strings of wampum, and pretty work in beads, bark, and feathers, pleased the girls.
minerals, arrow-heads, and crude sketches interested the professor; and when the box was empty, dan gave mr laurie, as his gift, several plaintive indian songs written on birch-bark.
"we only want a tent over us to be quite perfect.
i feel as if i ought to give you parched corn and dried meat for dinner, my braves.
nobody will want lamb and green peas after this splendid pow-wow," said mrs jo, surveying the picturesque confusion of the long hall, where people lay about on the rugs, all more or less bedecked with feathers, moccasins, or beads.
"moose noses, buffalo tongues, bear steaks, and roasted marrow-bones would be the thing, but i do n't mind a change; so bring on your baa-baa and green meat," answered dan from the box, where he sat in state like a chief among his tribe, with the great hound at his feet.
the girls began to clear up, but made little headway; for everything they touched had a story, and all were thrilling, comical, or wild; so they found it hard to settle to their work, till dan was carried off by mr laurie.
this was the beginning of the summer holiday, and it was curious to see what a pleasant little stir dan's and emil's coming made in the quiet life of the studious community; for they seemed to bring a fresh breeze with them that enlivened everyone.
many of the collegians remained during vacation; and plumfield and parnassus did their best to make these days pleasant for them, since most came from distant states, were poor, and had few opportunities but this for culture or amusement.
emil was hail-fellow-well-met with men and maids, and went rollicking about in true sailor fashion; but dan stood rather in awe of the "fair girl-graduates", and was silent when among them, eyeing them as an eagle might a flock of doves.
he got on better with the young men, and was their hero at once.
their admiration for his manly accomplishments did him good; because he felt his educational defects keenly, and often wondered if he could find anything in books to satisfy him as thoroughly as did the lessons he was learning from nature's splendidly illustrated volume.
in spite of his silence, the girls found out his good qualities, and regarded "the spaniard", as they named him, with great favour; for his black eyes were more eloquent than his tongue, and the kind creatures tried to show their friendly interests in many charming ways.
he saw this, and endeavoured to be worthy of it -- curbing his free speech, toning down his rough manners, and watching the effect of all he said and did, anxious to make a good impression.
the social atmosphere warmed his lonely heart, the culture excited him to do his best, and the changes which had taken place during his absence, both in himself and others, made the old home seem like a new world.
after the life in california, it was sweet and restful to be here, with these familiar faces round him, helping him to forget much that he regretted, and to resolve to deserve more entirely the confidence of these good fellows, the respect of these innocent girls.
so there was riding, rowing, and picnicking by day, music, dancing, and plays by night; and everyone said there had not been so gay a vacation for years.
bess kept her promise, and let the dust gather on her beloved clay while she went pleasuring with her mates or studied music with her father, who rejoiced over the fresh roses in her cheeks and the laughter which chased away the dreamy look she used to wear.
josie quarrelled less with ted; for dan had a way of looking at her which quelled her instantly, and had almost as good an effect upon her rebellious cousin.
but octoo did even more for the lively youth, who found that her charms entirely eclipsed those of the bicycle which had been his heart's delight before.
early and late he rode this untiring beast, and began to gain flesh -- to the great joy of his mother, who feared that her beanstalk was growing too fast for health.
demi, finding business dull, solaced his leisure by photographing everybody he could induce to sit or stand to him, producing some excellent pictures among many failures; for he had a pretty taste in grouping, and endless patience.
he might be said to view the world through the lens of his camera, and seemed to enjoy himself very much squinting at his fellow beings from under a bit of black cambric.
dan was a treasure to him; for he took well, and willingly posed in his mexican costume, with horse and hound, and all wanted copies of these effective photographs.
bess, also, was a favourite sitter; and demi received a prize at the amateur photographic exhibition for one of his cousin with all her hair about her face, which rose from the cloud of white lace draping the shoulders.
these were freely handed round by the proud artist; and one copy had a tender little history yet to be told.
nat was snatching every minute he could get with daisy before the long parting; and mrs meg relented somewhat, feeling sure that absence would quite cure this unfortunate fancy.
daisy said little; but her gentle face was sad when she was alone, and a few quiet tears dropped on the handkerchiefs she marked so daintily with her own hair.
she was sure nat would not forget her; and life looked rather forlorn without the dear fellow who had been her friend since the days of patty-pans and confidences in the willow-tree.
she was an old-fashioned daughter, dutiful and docile, with such love and reverence for her mother that her will was law; and if love was forbidden, friendship must suffice.
so she kept her little sorrow to herself, smiled cheerfully at nat, and made his last days of home-life very happy with every comfort and pleasure she could give, from sensible advice and sweet words to a well-filled work-bag for his bachelor establishment and a box of goodies for the voyage.
tom and nan took all the time they could spare from their studies to enjoy high jinks at plumfield with their old friends; for emil's next voyage was to be a long one, nat's absence was uncertain, and no one ever knew when dan would turn up again.
they all seemed to feel that life was beginning to grow serious; and even while they enjoyed those lovely summer days together they were conscious that they were children no longer, and often in the pauses of their fun talked soberly of their plans and hopes, as if anxious to know and help one another before they drifted farther apart on their different ways.
a few weeks were all they had; then the brenda was ready, nat was to sail from new york, and dan went along to see him off; for his own plans fermented in his head, and he was eager to be up and doing.
a farewell dance was given on parnassus in honour of the travellers, and all turned out in their best array and gayest spirits.
george and dolly came with the latest harvard airs and graces, radiant to behold, in dress-suits and "crushed hats", as josie called the especial pride and joy of their boyish souls.
jack and ned sent regrets and best wishes, and no one mourned their absence; for they were among what mrs jo called her failures.
poor tom got into trouble, as usual, by deluging his head with some highly scented preparation in the vain hope of making his tight curls lie flat and smooth, as was the style.
unhappily, his rebellious crop only kinked the closer, and the odour of many barbers" shops clung to him in spite of his frantic efforts to banish it.
nan would n't allow him near her, and flapped her fan vigorously whenever he was in sight; which cut him to the heart, and made him feel like the peri shut out from paradise.
of course his mates jeered at him, and nothing but the unquenchable jollity of his nature kept him from despair.
emil was resplendent in his new uniform, and danced with an abandon which only sailors know.
his pumps seemed to be everywhere, and his partners soon lost breath trying to keep up with him; but the girls all declared he steered like an angel, and in spite of his pace no collisions took place; so he was happy, and found no lack of damsels to ship with him.
having no dress-suit, dan had been coaxed to wear his mexican costume, and feeling at ease in the many-buttoned trousers, loose jacket, and gay sash, flung his serape over his shoulder with a flourish and looked his best, doing great execution with his long spurs, as he taught josie strange steps or rolled his black eyes admiringly after certain blonde damsels whom he dared not address.
the mammas sat in the alcove, supplying pins, smiles, and kindly words to all, especially the awkward youths new to such scenes, and the bashful girls conscious of faded muslins and cleaned gloves.
it was pleasant to see stately mrs amy promenade on the arm of a tall country boy, with thick boots and a big forehead, or mrs jo dance like a girl with a shy fellow whose arms went like pump-handles, and whose face was scarlet with confusion and pride at the honour of treading on the toes of the president's wife.
mrs meg always had room on her sofa for two or three girls, and mr laurie devoted himself to these plain, poorly dressed damsels with a kindly grace that won their hearts and made them happy.
the good professor circulated like refreshments, and his cheerful face shone on all alike, while mr march discussed greek comedy in the study with such serious gentlemen as never unbent their mighty minds to frivolous joys.
the long music-room, parlour, hall, and piazza were full of white-gowned maidens with attendant shadows; the air was full of lively voices, and hearts and feet went lightly together as the home band played vigorously, and the friendly moon did her best to add enchantment to the scene.
"pin me up, meg; that dear dunbar boy has nearly rent me "in sunder", as mr peggotty would say.
but did n't he enjoy himself, bumping against his fellow men and swinging me round like a mop.
on these occasions i find that i'm not as young as i was, nor as light of foot.
in ten years more we shall be meal-bags, sister; so be resigned."
and mrs jo subsided into a corner, much dishevelled by her benevolent exertions."
i know i shall be stout; but you wo n't keep still long enough to get much flesh on your bones, dear; and amy will always keep her lovely figure.
she looks about eighteen tonight, in her white gown and roses," answered meg, busily pinning up one sister's torn frills, while her eyes fondly followed the other's graceful movements; for meg still adored amy in the old fashion.
it was one of the family jokes that jo was getting fat, and she kept it up, though as yet she had only acquired a matronly outline, which was very becoming.
they were laughing over the impending double chins, when mr laurie came off duty for a moment.
"repairing damages as usual, jo?
you never could take a little gentle exercise without returning in rags.
come and have a quiet stroll with me and cool off before supper.
i've a series of pretty tableaux to show you while meg listens to the raptures of lisping miss carr, whom i made happy by giving her demi for a partner."
as he spoke, laurie led jo to the music-room, nearly empty now after a dance which sent the young people into garden and hall.
pausing before the first of the four long windows that opened on a very wide piazza, he pointed to a group outside, saying: "the name of this is "jack ashore"."
a pair of long, blue legs, ending in very neat pumps, hung from the veranda roof among the vines; and roses, gathered by unseen hands, evidently appertaining to aforesaid legs, were being dropped into the laps of several girls perched like a flock of white birds on the railing below; while a manly voice "fell like a falling star", as it sung this pensive ditty to a most appreciative audience: mary's dream the moon had climbed the eastern hill which rises o'er the sands of dee, and from its highest summit shed a silver light on tower and tree, when mary laid her down to sleep -lrb- her thoughts on sandy far at sea -rrb-; when soft and low a voice was heard, saying, "mary, weep no more for me."
she from her pillow gently raised her head, to see who there might be, and saw young sandy, shivering stand with visage pale and hollow e "e. "oh mary dear, cold is my clay; it lies beneath the stormy sea; far, far from thee, i sleep in death.
dear mary, weep no more for me.
"three stormy nights and stormy days we tossed upon the raging main.
and long we strove our bark to save; but all our striving was in vain.
e'en then, when terror chilled my blood, my heart was filled with love of thee.
the storm is past, and i'm at rest; so, mary, weep no more for me.
"oh maiden dear, yourself prepare; we soon shall meet upon that shore where love is free from doubt and care, and you and i shall part no more."
loud crew the cock, the shadow fled; no more her sandy did she see; but soft the passing spirit said, "sweet mary, weep no more for me."
"the constant jollity of that boy is worth a fortune to him.
he'll never sink with such a buoyant spirit to keep him afloat through life," said mrs jo, as the roses were tossed back with much applause when the song ended.
"not he; and it's a blessing to be grateful for, is n't it?
we moody people know its worth.
glad you like my first tableau.
come and see number two.
hope it is n't spoilt; it was very pretty just now.
this is "othello telling his adventures to desdemona"."
the second window framed a very picturesque group of three.
mr march in an arm-chair, with bess on a cushion at his feet, was listening to dan, who, leaning against a pillar, was talking with unusual animation.
the old man was in shadow, but little desdemona was looking up with the moonlight full upon her into young othello's face, quite absorbed in the story he was telling so well.
the gay drapery over dan's shoulder, his dark colouring, and the gesture of his arm made the picture very striking, and both spectators enjoyed it with silent pleasure, till mrs jo said in a quick whisper: "i'm glad he's going away.
he's too picturesque to have here among so many romantic girls.
afraid his "grand, gloomy, and peculiar" style will be too much for our simple maids."
"no danger; dan is in the rough as yet, and always will be, i fancy; though he is improving in many ways.
how well queenie looks in that soft light!"
"dear little goldilocks looks well everywhere."
and with a backward glance full of pride and fondness, mrs jo went on.
but that scene returned to her long afterward and her own prophetic words also.
number three was a tragical tableau at first sight; and mr laurie stifled a laugh as he whispered "the wounded knight", pointing to tom with his head enveloped in a large handkerchief, as he knelt before nan, who was extracting a thorn or splinter from the palm of his hand with great skill, to judge from the patient's blissful expression of countenance.
"do i hurt you?"
she asked, turning the hand to the moonlight for a better view.
"not a bit; dig away; i like it," answered tom, regardless of his aching knees and the damage done to his best trousers."
i wo n't keep you long."
"hours, if you please.
never so happy as here."
quite unmoved by this tender remark, nan put on a pair of large, round-eyed glasses, saying in a matter-of-fact tone: "now i see it.
only a splinter, and there it is.
"my hand is bleeding; wo n't you bind it up?"
asked tom, wishing to prolong the situation.
"nonsense; suck it.
only take care of it tomorrow if you dissect.
do n't want any more blood-poisoning."
"that was the only time you were kind to me.
wish i'd lost my arm.'"
i wish you'd lost your head; it smells more like turpentine and kerosene than ever.
do take a run in the garden and air it."
fearing to betray themselves by laughter, the watchers went on, leaving the knight to rush away in despair, and the lady to bury her nose in the cup of a tall lily for refreshment.
"poor tom, his fate is a hard one, and he's wasting his time!
do advise him to quit philandering and go to work, jo.'"
i have, teddy, often; but it will take some great shock to make that boy wise.
i wait with interest to see what it will be.
bless me!
what is all this?"
she might well ask; for on a rustic stool stood ted trying to pose on one foot, with the other extended, and both hands waving in the air.
josie, with several young mates, was watching his contortions with deep interest as they talked about "little wings", "gilded wire twisted", and a "cunning skull-cap".
"this might be called "mercury trying to fly"," said mr laurie, as they peeped through the lace curtains.
"bless the long legs of that boy!
how does he expect to manage them?
they are planning for the owlsdark marbles, and a nice muddle they will make of my gods and goddesses with no one to show them how," answered mrs jo, enjoying this scene immensely.
"now, he's got it!"
"that's perfectly splendid!"
"see how long you can keep so!"
cried the girls, as ted managed to maintain his equilibrium a moment by resting one toe on the trellis.
unfortunately this brought all his weight on the other foot; the straw seat of the stool gave way, and the flying mercury came down with a crash, amid shrieks of laughter from the girls.
being accustomed to ground and lofty tumbling, he quickly recovered himself, and hopped gaily about, with one leg through the stool as he improvised a classic jig.
"thanks for four nice little pictures.
you have given me an idea, and i think some time we will get up regular tableaux of this sort and march our company round a set of dissolving views.
new and striking; i'll propose it to our manager and give you all the glory," said mrs jo, as they strolled towards the room whence came the clash of glass and china, and glimpses of agitated black coats.
let us follow the example of our old friends and stroll about among the young people, eavesdropping, so gathering up various little threads to help in the weaving of the story.
george and dolly were at supper, and having served the ladies in their care stood in a corner absorbing nourishment of all kinds with a vain attempt to conceal hearty appetites under an air of elegant indifference.
"good spread, this; laurence does things in style.
first-rate coffee, but no wine, and that's a mistake," said stuffy, who still deserved his name, and was a stout youth with a heavy eye and bilious complexion.
"bad for boys, he says.
jove!
wish he could see us at some of our wines.
do n't we just "splice the main brace" as emil says," answered dolly, the dandy, carefully spreading a napkin over the glossy expanse of shirt-front whereon a diamond stud shone like a lone star.
his stutter was nearly outgrown; but he, as well as george, spoke in the tone of condescension, which, with the blase airs they assumed, made a very funny contrast to their youthful faces and foolish remarks.
good-hearted little fellows both, but top-heavy with the pride of being sophs and the freedom that college life gave them.
"little jo is getting to be a deuced pretty girl, is n't she?"
said george, with a long sigh of satisfaction as his first mouthful of ice went slowly down his throat.
"h'm -- well, fairish.
the princess is rather more to my taste.
i like'em blonde and queenly and elegant, do n't you know."
"yes, jo is too lively; might as well dance with a grasshopper.
i've tried her, and she's one too many for me.
miss perry is a nice, easy-going girl.
got her for the german."
"you'll never be a dancing man.
too lazy.
now i'll undertake to steer any girl and dance down any fellow you please.
dancing's my forte."
and dolly glanced from his trim feet to his flashing gem with the defiant air of a young turkey-cock on parade.
"miss grey is looking for you.
wants more grub.
just see if miss nelson's plate is empty, there's a good fellow.
ca n't eat ice in a hurry."
and george remained in his safe corner, while dolly struggled through the crowd to do his duty, coming back in a fume, with a splash of salad dressing on his coat-cuff.
"confound these country chaps!
they go blundering round like so many dor-bugs, and make a deuce of a mess.
better stick to books and not try to be society men.
ca n't do it.
beastly stain.
give it a rub, and let me bolt a mouthful, i'm starved.
never saw girls eat such a lot.
it proves that they ought not to study so much.
never liked co-ed," growled dolly, much ruffled in spirit.
"so they do.
't is n't ladylike.
ought to be satisfied with an ice and a bit of cake, and eat it prettily.
do n't like to see a girl feed.
we hard-working men need it, and, by jove, i mean to get some more of that meringue if it's not all gone.
here, waiter!
bring along that dish over there, and be lively," commanded stuffy, poking a young man in a rather shabby dress-suit, who was passing with a tray of glasses.
his order was obeyed promptly; but george's appetite was taken away the next moment by dolly's exclaiming, as he looked up from his damaged coat, with a scandalized face: "you've put your foot in it now, old boy!
that's morton, mr bhaer's crack man.
knows everything, no end of a "dig", and bound to carry off all the honours.
you wo n't hear the last of it in a hurry."
and dolly laughed so heartily that a spoonful of ice flew upon the head of a lady sitting below him, and got him into a scrape also.
leaving them to their despair, let us listen to the whispered chat of two girls comfortably seated in a recess waiting till their escorts were fed."
i do think the laurences give lovely parties.
do n't you enjoy them?"
asked the younger, looking about her with the eager air of one unused to this sort of pleasure.
"very much, only i never feel as if i was dressed right.
my things seemed elegant at home, and i thought i'd be over over-dressed if anything; but i look countrified and dowdy here.
no time or money to change now, even if i knew how to do it," answered the other, glancing anxiously at her bright pink silk grown, trimmed with cheap lace.
"you must get mrs brooke to tell you how to fix your things.
she was very kind to me.
i had a green silk, and it looked so cheap and horrid by the side of the nice dresses here i felt regularly unhappy about it, and asked her how much a dress like one mrs laurence had would cost.
that looked so simple and elegant i thought it would n't be costly; but it was india mull and valenciennes lace, so, of course, i could n't have it.
then mrs brooke said: "get some muslin to cover the green silk, and wear hops or some white flowers, instead of pink, in your hair, and you will have a pretty suit."
is n't it lovely and becoming?"
and miss burton surveyed herself with girlish satisfaction; for a little taste had softened the harsh green, and hop-bells became her red hair better than roses.
"it's sweet: i've been admiring it.
i'll do mine so and ask about my purple one.
mrs brooke has helped me to get rid of my headaches, and mary clay's dyspepsia is all gone since she gave up coffee and hot bread."
"mrs laurence advised me to walk and run and use the gymnasium to cure my round shoulders and open my chest, and i'm a much better figure than i was."
"did you know that mr laurence pays all amelia merrill's bills?
her father failed, and she was heartbroken at having to leave college; but that splendid man just stepped in and made it all right."
"yes, and professor bhaer has several of the boys down at his house evenings to help them along so they can keep up with the rest; and mrs bhaer took care of charles mackey herself when he had a fever last year.
i do think they are the best and kindest people in the world."
"so do i, and my time here will be the happiest and most useful years of my life."
and both girls forgot their gowns and their suppers for a moment to look with grateful, affectionate eyes at the friends who tried to care for bodies and for souls as well as minds.
now come to a lively party supping on the stairs, girls like foam at the top, and a substratum of youths below, where the heaviest particles always settle.
emil, who never sat if he could climb or perch, adorned the newel-post; tom, nat, demi, and dan were camped on the steps, eating busily, as their ladies were well served and they had earned a moment's rest, which they enjoyed with their eyes fixed on the pleasing prospect above them.
"i'm so sorry the boys are going.
it will be dreadfully dull without them.
now they have stopped teasing and are polite, i really enjoy them," said nan, who felt unusually gracious tonight as tom's mishap kept him from annoying her.
"so do i; and bess was mourning about it today, though as a general thing she does n't like boys unless they are models of elegance.
she has been doing dan's head, and it is not quite finished.
i never saw her so interested in any work, and it's very well done.
he is so striking and big he always makes me think of the dying gladiator or some of those antique creatures.
there's bess now.
dear child, how sweet she looks tonight!"
answered daisy, waving her hand as the princess went by with grandpa on her arm."
i never thought he would turn out so well.
do n't you remember how we used to call him "the bad boy" and be sure he would become a pirate or something awful because he glared at us and swore sometimes?
now he is the handsomest of all the boys, and very entertaining with his stories and plans.
i like him very much; he's so big and strong and independent.
i'm tired of mollycoddles and book-worms," said nan in her decided way.
"not handsomer that nat!"
cried loyal daisy, contrasting two faces below, one unusually gay, the other sentimentally sober even in the act of munching cake."
i like dan, and am glad he is doing well; but he tires me, and i'm still a little afraid of him.
quiet people suit me best."
"life is a fight, and i like a good soldier.
boys take things too easily, do n't see how serious it all is and go to work in earnest.
look at that absurd tom, wasting his time and making an object of himself just because he ca n't have what he wants, like a baby crying for the moon.
i've no patience with such nonsense," scolded nan, looking down at the jovial thomas, who was playfully putting macaroons in emil's shoes, and trying to beguile his exile as best he could.
"most girls would be touched by such fidelity.
i think it's beautiful," said daisy behind her fan; for other girls sat just below.
"you are a sentimental goose and not a judge.
nat will be twice the man when he comes back after his trip.
i wish tom was going with him.
my idea is that if we girls have any influence we should use it for the good of these boys, and not pamper them up, making slaves of ourselves and tyrants of them.
let them prove what they can do and be before they ask anything of us, and give us a chance to do the same.
then we know where we are, and shall not make mistakes to mourn over all our lives."
"hear, hear!"
cried alice heath, who was a girl after nan's own heart, and had chosen a career, like a brave and sensible young woman.
"only give us a chance, and have patience till we can do our best.
now we are expected to be as wise as men who have had generations of all the help there is, and we scarcely anything.
let us have equal opportunities, and in a few generations we will see what the judgement is.
i like justice, and we get very little of it."
"still shouting the battle-cry of freedom?"
asked demi, peering through the banisters at this moment.
"up with your flag!
i'll stand by and lend a hand if you want it.
with you and nan to lead the van, i think you wo n't need much help."
"you are a great comfort, demi, and i'll call on you in all emergencies; for you are an honest boy, and do n't forget that you owe much to your mother and your sisters and your aunts," continued nan."
i do like men who come out frankly and own that they are not gods.
how can we think them so when such awful mistakes are being made all the time by these great creatures?
see them sick, as i do, then you know them."
"do n't hit us when we are down; be merciful, and set us up to bless and believe in you evermore," pleaded demi from behind the bars.
"we'll be kind to you if you will be just to us.
i do n't say generous, only just.
i went to a suffrage debate in the legislature last winter; and of all the feeble, vulgar twaddle i ever heard, that was the worst; and those men were our representatives.
i blushed for them, and the wives and mothers.
i want an intelligent man to represent me, if i ca n't do it myself, not a fool."
"nan is on the stump.
now we shall catch it," cried tom, putting up an umbrella to shield his unhappy head; for nan's earnest voice was audible, and her indignant eye happened to rest on him as she spoke.
"go on, go on!
i'll take notes, and put in "great applause" liberally," added demi, producing his ball-book and pencil, with his jenkins air.
daisy pinched his nose through the bars, and the meeting was rather tumultuous for a moment, for emil called: "avast, avast, here's a squall to wind "ard"; tom applauded wildly; dan looked up as if the prospect of a fight, even with words, pleased him, and nat went to support demi, as his position seemed to be a good one.
at this crisis, when everyone laughed and talked at once, bess came floating through the upper hall and looked down like an angel of peace upon the noisy group below, as she asked, with wondering eyes and smiling lips: "what is it?"
"an indignation meeting.
nan and alice are on the rampage, and we are at the bar to be tried for our lives.
will your highness preside and judge between us?"
answered demi, as a lull at once took place; for no one rioted in the presence of the princess.
"i'm not wise enough.
i'll sit here and listen.
please go on."
and bess took her place above them all as cool and calm as a little statue of justice, with fan and nosegay in place of sword and scales.
"now, ladies, free your minds, only spare us till morning; for we've got a german to dance as soon as everyone is fed, and parnassus expects every man to do his duty.
mrs president giddy-gaddy has the floor," said demi, who liked this sort of fun better than the very mild sort of flirtation which was allowed at plumfield, for the simple reason that it could not be entirely banished, and is a part of all education, co - or otherwise."
i have only one thing to say, and it is this," began nan soberly, though her eyes sparkled with a mixture of fun and earnestness."
i want to ask every boy of you what you really think on this subject.
dan and emil have seen the world and ought to know their own minds.
tom and nat have had five examples before them for years.
demi is ours and we are proud of him.
so is rob.
ted is a weathercock, and dolly and george, of course, are fogies in spite of the annex, and girls at girton going ahead of the men.
commodore, are you ready for the question?"
"ay, ay, skipper."
"do you believe in woman's suffrage?"
"bless your pretty figger head!
i do, and i'll ship a crew of girls any time you say so.
are n't they worse than a press-gang to carry a fellow out of his moorings?
do n't we all need one as pilot to steer us safe to port?
and why should n't they share our mess afloat and ashore since we are sure to be wrecked without'em?"
"good for you, emil!
nan will take you for first mate after that handsome speech," said demi, as the girls applauded, and tom glowered.
"now, dan, you love liberty so well yourself, are you willing we should have it?"
"all you can get, and i'll fight any man who's mean enough to say you do n't deserve it."
this brief and forcible reply delighted the energetic president, and she beamed upon the member from california, as she said briskly: "nat would n't dare to say he was on the other side even if he were, but i hope he has made up his mind to pipe for us, at least when we take the field, and not be one of those who wait till the battle is won, and then beat the drums and share the glory."
mrs giddy-gaddy's doubts were most effectually removed, and her sharp speech regretted, as nat looked up blushing, but with a new sort of manliness in face and manner, saying, in a tone that touched them all: "i should be the most ungrateful fellow alive if i did not love, honour, and serve women with all my heart and might, for to them i owe everything i am or ever shall be."
daisy clapped her hands, and bess threw her bouquet into nat's lap, while the other girls waved their fans, well pleased; for real feeling made his little speech eloquent.
"thomas b. bangs, come into court, and tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, if you can," commanded nan, with a rap to call the meeting to order.
tom shut the umbrella, and standing up raised his hand, saying solemnly: "i believe in suffrage of all kinds.
i adore all women, and will die for them at any moment if it will help the cause."
"living and working for it is harder, and therefore more honourable.
men are always ready to die for us, but not to make our lives worth having.
cheap sentiment and bad logic.
you will pass, tom, only do n't twaddle.
now, having taken the sense of the meeting we will adjourn, as the hour for festive gymnastics has arrived.
i am glad to see that old plum has given six true men to the world, and hope they will continue to be staunch to her and the principles she has taught them, wherever they may go.
now, girls, do n't sit in draughts, and, boys, beware of ice-water when you are warm."
with this characteristic close nan retired from office, and the girls went to enjoy one of the few rights allowed them.
chapter 6.
last words the next day was sunday, and a goodly troop of young and old set forth to church.
-- some driving, some walking, all enjoying the lovely weather and the happy quietude which comes to refresh us when the work and worry of the week are over.
daisy had a headache; and aunt jo remained at home to keep her company, knowing very well that the worst ache was in the tender heart struggling dutifully against the love that grew stronger as the parting drew nearer.
"daisy knows my wishes, and i trust her.
you must keep an eye on nat, and let him clearly understand that there is to be no "lovering", or i shall forbid the letter-writing.
i hate to seem cruel, but it is too soon for my dear girl to bind herself in any way," said mrs meg, as she rustled about in her best grey silk, while waiting for demi, who always escorted his pious mother to church as a peace-offering for crossing her wishes in other things."
i will, dear; i'm lying in wait for all three boys today, like an old spider; and i will have a good talk with each.
they know i understand them, and they always open their hearts sooner or later.
you look like a nice, plump little quakeress, meg; and no one will believe that big boy is your son," added mrs jo, as demi came in shining with sunday neatness, from his well-blacked boots to his smooth brown head.
"you flatter me, to soften my heart toward your boy.
i know your ways, jo, and i do n't give in.
be firm, and spare me a scene by and by.
as for john, as long as he is satisfied with his old mother, i do n't care what people think," answered mrs meg, accepting with a smile the little posy of sweet peas and mignonette demi brought her.
then, having buttoned her dove-coloured gloves with care, she took her son's arm and went proudly away to the carriage, where amy and bess waited, while jo called after them, just as marmee used to do: "girls, have you got nice pocket-handkerchiefs?"
they all smiled at the familiar words, and three white banners waved as they drove away, leaving the spider to watch for her first fly.
she did not wait long.
daisy was lying down with a wet cheek on the little hymnbook out of which she and nat used to sing together; so mrs jo strolled about the lawn, looking very like a wandering mushroom with her large buff umbrella.
dan had gone for a ten-mile stroll; and nat was supposed to have accompanied him, but presently came sneaking back, unable to tear himself away from the dovecote or lose a moment of nearness to his idol that last day.
mrs jo saw him at once, and beckoned him to a rustic seat under the old elm, where they could have their confidences undisturbed, and both keep an eye on a certain white-curtained window, half hidden in vines.
"nice and cool here.
i'm not up to one of dan's tramps today -- it's so warm, and he goes so like a steam-engine.
he headed for the swamp where his pet snakes used to live, and i begged to be excused," said nat, fanning himself with his straw hat, though the day was not oppressive.
"i'm glad you did.
sit and rest with me, and have one of our good old talks.
we've both been so busy lately, i feel as if i did n't half know your plans; and i want to," answered mrs jo, feeling sure that though they might start with leipzig they would bring up at plumfield.
"you are very kind, and there's nothing i'd like better.
i do n't realize i'm going so far -- suppose i sha n't till i get afloat.
it's a splendid start, and i do n't know how i can ever thank mr laurie for all he's done, or you either," added nat, with a break in his voice; for he was a tender-hearted fellow, and never forgot a kindness.
"you can thank us beautifully by being and doing all we hope and expect of you, my dear.
in the new life you are going to there will be a thousand trials and temptations, and only your own wit and wisdom to rely on.
that will be the time to test the principles we have tried to give you, and see how firm they are.
of course, you will make mistakes -- we all do; but do n't let go of your conscience and drift along blindly.
watch and pray, dear nat; and while your hand gains skill, let your head grow wiser, and keep your heart as innocent and warm as it is now."
"i'll try, mother bhaer, my very best to be a credit to you.
i know i shall improve in my music -- ca n't help it there; but i never shall be very wise, i'm afraid.
as for my heart, you know, i leave it behind me in good keeping."
as he spoke, nat's eyes were fixed on the window with a look of love and longing that made his quiet face both manly and sad -- plainly showing how strong a hold this boyish affection had upon him."
i want to speak of that; and i know you will forgive what seems hard, because i do most heartily sympathize with you," said mrs jo, glad to have her say.
"yes, do talk about daisy!
i think of nothing but leaving and losing her.
i have no hope -- i suppose it is too much to ask; only i ca n't help loving her, wherever i am!"
cried nat, with a mixture of defiance and despair in his face that rather startled mrs jo.
"listen to me and i'll try to give you both comfort and good advice.
we all know that daisy is fond of you, but her mother objects, and being a good girl she tries to obey.
young people think they never can change, but they do in the most wonderful manner, and very few die of broken hearts."
mrs jo smiled as she remembered another boy whom she had once tried to comfort, and then went soberly on while nat listened as if his fate hung upon her lips.
"one of two things will happen.
you will find someone else to love, or, better still, be so busy and happy in your music that you will be willing to wait for time to settle the matter for you both.
daisy will perhaps forget when you are gone, and be glad you are only friends.
at any rate it is much wiser to have no promises made; then both are free, and in a year or two may meet to laugh over the little romance nipped in the bud."
"do you honestly think that?"
asked nat, looking at her so keenly that the truth had to come; for all his heart was in those frank blue eyes of his.
"no, i do n't!"
answered mrs jo.
"then if you were in my place, what would you do?"
he added, with a tone of command never heard in his gentle voice before.
"bless me!
the boy is in dead earnest, and i shall forget prudence in sympathy i'm afraid," thought mrs jo, surprised and pleased by the unexpected manliness nat showed.
"i'll tell you what i should do.
i'd say to myself: "i'll prove that my love is strong and faithful, and make daisy's mother proud to give her to me by being not only a good musician but an excellent man, and so command respect and confidence.
this i will try for; and if i fail, i shall be the better for the effort, and find comfort in the thought that i did my best for her sake.""
"that is what i meant to do.
but i wanted a word of hope to give me courage," cried nat, firing up as if the smouldering spark was set ablaze by a breath of encouragement.
"other fellows, poorer and stupider than i, have done great things and come to honour.
why may not i, though i'm nothing now?
i know mrs brooke remembers what i came from, but my father was honest though everything went wrong; and i have nothing to be ashamed of though i was a charity boy.
i never will be ashamed of my people or myself, and i'll make other folks respect me if i can."
"good!
that's the right spirit, nat.
hold to it and make yourself a man.
no one will be quicker to see and admire the brave work than my sister meg.
she does not despise your poverty or your past; but mothers are very tender over their daughters, and we marches, though we have been poor, are, i confess, a little proud of our good family.
we do n't care for money; but a long line of virtuous ancestors is something to desire and to be proud of."
"well, the blakes are a good lot.
i looked'em up, and not one was ever in prison, hanged, or disgraced in any way.
we used to be rich and honoured years ago, but we've died out and got poor, and father was a street musician rather than beg; and i'll be one again before i'll do the mean things some men do and pass muster."
nat was so excited that mrs jo indulged in a laugh to calm him, and both went on more quietly."
i told my sister all that and it pleased her.
i am sure if you do well these next few years that she will relent and all be happily settled, unless that wonderful change, which you do n't believe possible, should occur.
now, cheer up; do n't be lackadaisical and blue.
say good-bye cheerfully and bravely, show a manly front, and leave a pleasant memory behind you.
we all wish you well and hope much for you.
write to me every week and i'll send a good, gossipy answer.
be careful what you write to daisy; do n't gush or wail, for sister meg will see the letters; and you can help your cause very much by sending sensible, cheery accounts of your life to us all.'"
i will; i will; it looks brighter and better already, and i wo n't lose my one comfort by any fault of my own.
thank you so much, mother bhaer, for taking my side.
i felt so ungrateful and mean and crushed when i thought you all considered me a sneak who had no business to love such a precious girl as daisy.
no one said anything, but i knew how you felt, and that mr laurie sent me off partly to get me out of the way.
oh dear, life is pretty tough sometimes, is n't it?"
and nat took his head in both hands as if it ached with the confusion of hopes and fears, passions and plans that proved boyhood was past and manhood had begun.
"very tough, but it is that very struggle with obstacles which does us good.
things have been made easy for you in many ways, but no one can do everything.
you must paddle your own canoe now, and learn to avoid the rapids and steer straight to the port you want to reach.
i do n't know just what your temptations will be for you have no bad habits and seem to love music so well, nothing can lure you from it.
i only hope you wo n't work too hard.'"
i feel as if i could work like a horse, i'm so eager to get on; but i'll take care.
ca n't waste time being sick, and you've given me doses enough to keep me all right, i guess."
nat laughed as he remembered the book of directions mrs jo had written for him to consult on all occasions.
she immediately added some verbal ones on the subject of foreign messes, and having mounted one of her pet hobbies, was in full gallop when emil was seen strolling about on the roof of the old house, that being his favourite promenade; for there he could fancy himself walking the deck, with only blue sky and fresh air about him."
i want a word with the commodore, and up there we shall be nice and quiet.
go and play to daisy: it will put her to sleep and do you both good.
sit in the porch, so i can keep an eye on you as i promised"; and with a motherly pat on the shoulder mrs jo left nat to his delightful task and briskly ascended to the house-top, not up the trellis as of old but by means of the stairs inside.
emerging on the platform she found emil cutting his initials afresh in the wood-work and singing "pull for the shore", like the tuneful mariner he was.
"come aboard and make yourself at home, aunty," he said, with a playful salute.
"i'm just leaving a p.p.c. in the old place, so when you fly up here for refuge you'll remember me."
"ah, my dear, i'm not likely to forget you.
it does n't need e. b. h. cut on all the trees and railings to remind me of my sailor boy"; and mrs jo took the seat nearest the blue figure astride the balustrade, not quite sure how to begin the little sermon she wanted to preach.
"well, you do n't pipe your eye and look squally when i sheer off as you used to, and that's a comfort.
i like to leave port in fair weather and have a jolly send-off all round.
specially this time, for it will be a year or more before we drop anchor here again," answered emil, pushing his cap back, and glancing about him as if he loved old plum and would be sorry never to see it any more.
"you have salt water enough without my adding to it.
i'm going to be quite a spartan mother, and send my sons to battle with no wailing, only the command: "with your shield or on it"," said mrs jo cheerfully, adding after a pause: "i often wish i could go too, and some day i will, when you are captain and have a ship of your own -- as i've no doubt you will before long, with uncle herman to push you on."
"when i do i'll christen her the jolly jo and take you as first mate.
it would be regular larks to have you aboard, and i'd be a proud man to carry you round the world you've wanted to see so long and never could," answered emil, caught at once by this splendid vision.
"i'll make my first voyage with you and enjoy myself immensely in spite of seasickness and all the stormy winds that blow.
i've always thought i'd like to see a wreck, a nice safe one with all saved after great danger and heroic deeds, while we clung like mr pillicoddy to main-top jibs and lee scuppers."
"no wrecks yet, ma'am, but we'll try to accommodate customers.
captain says i'm a lucky dog and bring fair weather, so we'll save the dirty weather for you if you want it," laughed emil, digging at the ship in full sail which he was adding to his design.
"thanks, i hope you will.
this long voyage will give you new experiences, and being an officer, you will have new duties and responsibilities.
are you ready for them?
you take everything so gaily, i've been wondering if you realized that now you will have not only to obey but to command also, and power is a dangerous thing.
be careful that you do n't abuse it or let it make a tyrant of you."
"right you are, ma'am.
i've seen plenty of that, and have got my bearings pretty well, i guess.
i sha n't have very wide swing with peters over me, but i'll see that the boys do n't get abused when he's bowsed up his jib.
no right to speak before, but now i wo n't stand it."
"that sounds mysteriously awful; could i ask what nautical torture "bowsing jibs" is?"
asked mrs jo, in a tone of deep interest.
"getting drunk.
peters can hold more grog than any man i ever saw; he keeps right side up, but is as savage as a norther, and makes things lively all round.
i've seen him knock a fellow down with a belaying pin, and could n't lend a hand.
better luck now, i hope."
and emil frowned as if he already trod the quarter-deck, lord of all he surveyed.
"do n't get into trouble, for even uncle herman's favour wo n't cover insubordination, you know.
you have proved yourself a good sailor; now be a good officer, which is a harder thing, i fancy.
it takes a fine character to rule justly and kindly; you will have to put by your boyish ways and remember your dignity.
that will be excellent training for you, emil, and sober you down a bit.
no more skylarking except here, so mind your ways, and do honour to your buttons," said mrs jo, tapping one of the very bright brass ones that ornamented the new suit emil was so proud of.
"i'll do my best.
i know my time for skirmshander -lrb- chaff -rrb- is over, and i must steer a straighter course; but do n't you fear, jack ashore is a very different craft from what he is with blue water under his keel.
i had a long talk with uncle last night and got my orders; i wo n't forget'em nor all i owe him.
as for you, i'll name my first ship as i say, and have your bust for the figurehead, see if i do n't," and emil gave his aunt a hearty kiss to seal the vow, which proceeding much amused nat, playing softly in the porch of the dovecote.
"you do me proud, captain.
but, dear, i want to say one thing and then i'm done; for you do n't need much advice of mine after my good man has spoken.
i read somewhere that every inch of rope used in the british navy has a strand of red in it, so that wherever a bit of it is found it is known.
that is the text of my little sermon to you.
virtue, which means honour, honesty, courage, and all that makes character, is the red thread that marks a good man wherever he is.
keep that always and everywhere, so that even if wrecked by misfortune, that sign shall still be found and recognized.
yours is a rough life, and your mates not all we could wish, but you can be a gentleman in the true sense of the word; and no matter what happens to your body, keep your soul clean, your heart true to those who love you, and do your duty to the end."
as she spoke emil had risen and stood listening with his cap off and a grave, bright look as if taking orders from a superior officer; when she ended, he answered briefly, but heartily: "please god, i will!"
"that's all; i have little fear for you, but one never knows when or how the weak moment may come, and sometimes a chance word helps us, as so many my dear mother spoke come back to me now for my own comfort and the guidance of my boys," said mrs jo, rising; for the words had been said and no more were needed.
"i've stored'em up and know where to find'em when wanted.
often and often in my watch i've seen old plum, and heard you and uncle talking so plainly, i'd have sworn i was here.
it is a rough life, aunty, but a wholesome one if a fellow loves it as i do, and has an anchor to windward as i have.
do n't worry about me, and i'll come home next year with a chest of tea that will cheer your heart and give you ideas enough for a dozen novels.
going below?
all right, steady in the gangway!
i'll be along by the time you've got out the cake-box.
last chance for a good old lunch ashore."
mrs jo descended laughing, and emil finished his ship whistling cheerfully, neither dreaming when and where this little chat on the house-top would return to the memory of one of them.
dan was harder to catch, and not until evening did a quiet moment come in that busy family; when, while the rest were roaming about, mrs jo sat down to read in the study, and presently dan looked in at the window.
"come and rest after your long tramp; you must be tired," she called, with an inviting nod towards the big sofa where so many boys had reposed -- as much as that active animal ever does.
"afraid i shall disturb you"; but dan looked as if he wanted to stay his restless feet somewhere.
"not a bit; i'm always ready to talk, should n't be a woman if i were not," laughed mrs jo, as dan swung himself in and sat down with an air of contentment very pleasant to see.
"last day is over, yet somehow i do n't seem to hanker to be off.
generally, i'm rather anxious to cut loose after a short stop.
odd, ai n't it?"
asked dan, gravely picking grass and leaves out of his hair and beard; for he had been lying on the grass, thinking many thoughts in the quiet summer night.
"not at all; you are beginning to get civilized.
it's a good sign, and i'm glad to see it," answered mrs jo promptly.
"you've had your swing, and want a change.
hope the farming will give it to you, though helping the indians pleases me more: it is so much better to work for others than for one's self alone."
"so't is," assented dan heartily."
i seem to want to root somewhere and have folks of my own to take care of.
tired of my own company, i suppose, now i've seen so much better.
i'm a rough, ignorant lot, and i've been thinking maybe i've missed it loafing round creation, instead of going in for education as the other chaps did.
hey?"
he looked anxiously at mrs jo; and she tried to hide the surprise this new outburst caused her; for till now dan had scorned books and gloried in his freedom.
"no; i do n't think so in your case.
so far i'm sure the free life was best.
now that you are a man you can control that lawless nature better; but as a boy only great activity and much adventure could keep you out of mischief.
time is taming my colt, you see, and i shall yet be proud of him, whether he makes a pack-horse of himself to carry help to the starving or goes to ploughing as pegasus did."
dan liked the comparison, and smiled as he lounged in the sofa-corner, with the new thoughtfulness in his eyes.
"glad you think so.
the fact is it's going to take a heap of taming to make me go well in harness anywhere.
i want to, and i try now and then, but always kick over the traces and run away.
no lives lost yet; but i should n't wonder if there was some time, and a general smash-up."
"why, dan, did you have any dangerous adventures during this last absence?
i fancied so, but did n't ask before, knowing you'd tell me if i could help in any way.
can i?"
and mrs jo looked anxiously at him; for a sudden lowering expression had come into his face, and he leaned forward as if to hide it.
"nothing very bad; but "frisco is n't just a heaven on earth, you know, and it's harder to be a saint there than here," he answered slowly; then, as if he had made up his mind to" fess", as the children used to say, he sat up, and added rapidly, in a half-defiant, half-shamefaced way," i tried gambling, and it was n't good for me."
"was that how you made your money?"
"not a penny of it!
that's all honest, if speculation is n't a bigger sort of gambling.
i won a lot; but i lost or gave it away, and cut the whole concern before it got the better of me."
"thank heaven for that!
do n't try it again; it may have the terrible fascination for you it has for so many.
keep to your mountains and prairies, and shun cities, if these things tempt you, dan.
better lose your life than your soul, and one such passion leads to worse sins, as you know better than i." dan nodded, and seeing how troubled she was, said, in a lighter tone, though still the shadow of that past experience remained: "do n't be scared; i'm all right now; and a burnt dog dreads the fire.
i do n't drink, or do the things you dread; do n't care for'em; but i get excited, and then this devilish temper of mine is more than i can manage.
fighting a moose or a buffalo is all right; but when you pitch into a man, no matter how great a scamp he is, you've got to look out.
i shall kill someone some day; that's all i'm afraid of.
i do hate a sneak!"
and dan brought his fist down on the table with a blow that made the lamp totter and the books skip.
"that always was your trial, dan, and i can sympathize with you; for i've been trying to govern my own temper all my life, and have n't learnt yet," said mrs jo, with a sigh.
"for heaven's sake, guard your demon well, and do n't let a moment's fury ruin all your life.
as i said to nat, watch and pray, my dear boy.
there is no other help or hope for human weakness but god's love and patience."
tears were in mrs jo's eyes as she spoke; for she felt this deeply, and knew how hard a task it is to rule these bosom sins of ours.
dan looked touched, also uncomfortable, as he always did when religion of any sort was mentioned, though he had a simple creed of his own, and tried to live up to it in his blind way."
i do n't do much praying; do n't seem to come handy to me; but i can watch like a redskin, only it's easier to mount guard over a lurking grizzly than my own cursed temper.
it's that i'm afraid of, if i settle down.
i can get on with wild beasts first-rate; but men rile me awfully, and i ca n't take it out in a free fight, as i can with a bear or a wolf.
guess i'd better head for the rockies, and stay there a spell longer -- till i'm tame enough for decent folks, if i ever am."
and dan leaned his rough head on his hands in a despondent attitude.
"try my sort of help, and do n't give up.
read more, study a little, and try to meet a better class of people, who wo n't "rile", but soothe and strengthen you.
we do n't make you savage, i'm sure; for you have been as meek as a lamb, and made us very happy."
"glad of it; but i've felt like a hawk in a hen-house all the same, and wanted to pounce and tear more than once.
not so much as i used, though," added dan, after a short laugh at mrs jo's surprised face.
"i'll try your plan, and keep good company this bout if i can; but a man ca n't pick and choose, knocking about as i do."
"yes, you can this time; for you are going on a peaceful errand and can keep clear of temptation if you try.
take some books and read; that's an immense help; and books are always good company if you have the right sort.
let me pick out some for you."
and mrs jo made a bee-line to the well-laden shelves, which were the joy of her heart and the comfort of her life.
"give me travels and stories, please; do n't want any pious works, ca n't seem to relish'em, and wo n't pretend i do," said dan, following to look over her head with small favour at the long lines of well-worn volumes.
mrs jo turned short round, and putting a hand on either broad shoulder, looked him in the eye, saying soberly: "now, dan, see here; never sneer at good things or pretend to be worse than you are.
do n't let false shame make you neglect the religion without which no man can live.
you need n't talk about it if you do n't like, but do n't shut your heart to it in whatever shape it comes.
nature is your god now; she has done much for you; let her do more, and lead you to know and love a wiser and more tender teacher, friend, and comforter than she can ever be.
that is your only hope; do n't throw it away, and waste time; for sooner or later you will feel the need of him, and he will come to you and hold you up when all other help fails."
dan stood motionless, and let her read in his softened eyes the dumb desire that lived in his heart, though he had no words to tell it, and only permitted her to catch a glimpse of the divine spark which smoulders or burns clearly in every human soul.
he did not speak; and glad to be spared some answer which should belie his real feelings, mrs jo hastened to say, with her most motherly smile: "i saw in your room the little bible i gave you long ago; it was well worn outside, but fresh within, as if not much read.
will you promise me to read a little once a week, dear, for my sake?
sunday is a quiet day everywhere, and this book is never old nor out of place.
begin with the stories you used to love when i told them to you boys.
david was your favourite, you remember?
read him again; he'll suit you even better now, and you'll find his sins and repentance useful reading till you come to the life and work of a diviner example than he.
you will do it, for love of mother bhaer, who always loved her "firebrand" and hoped to save him?'"
i will," answered dan, with a sudden brightening of face that was like a sunburst through a cloud, full of promise though so short-lived and rare.
mrs jo turned at once to the books and began to talk of them, knowing well that dan would not hear any more just then.
he seemed relieved; for it was always hard for him to show his inner self, and he took pride in hiding it as an indian does in concealing pain or fear.
"hallo, here's old sintram!
i remember him; used to like him and his tantrums, and read about'em to ted.
there he is riding ahead with death and the devil alongside."
as dan looked at the little picture of the young man with horse and hound going bravely up the rocky defile, accompanied by the companions who ride beside most men through this world, a curious impulse made mrs jo say quickly: "that's you, dan, just you at this time!
danger and sin are near you in the life you lead; moods and passions torment you; the bad father left you to fight alone, and the wild spirit drives you to wander up and down the world looking for peace and self-control.
even the horse and hound are there, your octoo and don, faithful friends, unscared by the strange mates that go with you.
you have not got the armour yet, but i'm trying to show you where to find it.
remember the mother sintram loved and longed to find, and did find when his battle was bravely fought, his reward well earned?
you can recollect your mother; and i have always felt that all the good qualities you possess come from her.
act out the beautiful old story in this as in the other parts, and try to give her back a son to be proud of."
quite carried away by the likeness of the quaint tale to dan's life and needs, mrs jo went on pointing to the various pictures which illustrated it, and when she looked up was surprised to see how struck and interested he seemed to be.
like all people of his temperament he was very impressionable, and his life among hunters and indians had made him superstitious; he believed in dreams, liked weird tales, and whatever appealed to the eye or mind, vividly impressed him more than the wisest words.
the story of poor, tormented sintram came back clearly as he looked and listened, symbolizing his secret trials even more truly than mrs jo knew; and just at that moment this had an effect upon him that never was forgotten.
but all he said was: "small chance of that.
i do n't take much stock in the idea of meeting folks in heaven.
guess mother wo n't remember the poor little brat she left so long ago; why should she?"
"because true mothers never forget their children; and i know she was one, from the fact that she ran away from the cruel husband, to save her little son from bad influences.
had she lived, life would have been happier for you, with this tender friend to help and comfort you.
never forget that she risked everything for your sake, and do n't let it be in vain."
mrs jo spoke very earnestly, knowing that this was the one sweet memory of dan's early life, and glad to have recalled it at this moment; for suddenly a great tear splashed down on the page where sintram kneels at his mother's feet, wounded, but victorious over sin and death.
she looked up, well pleased to have touched dan to the heart's core, as that drop proved; but a sweep of the arm brushed away the tell-tale, and his beard hid the mate to it, as he shut the book, saying with a suppressed quiver in his strong voice: "i'll keep this, if nobody wants it.
i'll read it over, and maybe it will do me good.
i'd like to meet her anywhere, but do n't believe i ever shall."
"keep it and welcome.
my mother gave it to me; and when you read it try to believe that neither of your mothers will ever forget you."
mrs jo gave the book with a caress; and simply saying: "thanks; good night," dan thrust it into his pocket, and walked straight away to the river to recover from this unwonted mood of tenderness and confidence.
next day the travellers were off.
all were in good spirits, and a cloud of handkerchiefs whitened the air as they drove away in the old bus, waving their hats to everyone and kissing their hands, especially to mother bhaer, who said in her prophetic tone as she wiped her eyes, when the familiar rumble died away: "i have a feeling that something is going to happen to some of them, and they will never come back to me, or come back changed.
well, i can only say, god be with my boys!"
and he was.
chapter 7.
the lion and the lamb when the boys were gone a lull fell upon plumfield, and the family scattered to various places for brief outings, as august had come and all felt the need of change.
the professor took mrs jo to the mountains.
the laurences were at the seashore, and there meg's family and the bhaer boys took turns to visit, as someone must always be at home to keep things in order.
mrs meg, with daisy, was in office when the events occurred which we are about to relate.
rob and ted were just up from rocky nook, and nan was passing a week with her friend as the only relaxation she allowed herself.
demi was off on a run with tom, so rob was man of the house, with old silas as general overseer.
the sea air seemed to have gone to ted's head, for he was unusually freakish, and led his gentle aunt and poor rob a life of it with his pranks.
octoo was worn out with the wild rides he took, and don openly rebelled when ordered to leap and show off his accomplishments; while the girls at college were both amused and worried by the ghosts who haunted the grounds at night, the unearthly melodies that disturbed their studious hours, and the hairbreadth escapes of this restless boy by flood and field and fire.
something happened at length which effectually sobered ted and made a lasting impression on both the boys; for sudden danger and a haunting fear turned the lion into a lamb and the lamb into a lion, as far as courage went.
on the first of september -- the boys never forgot the date -- after a pleasant tramp and good luck with their fishing, the brothers were lounging in the barn; for daisy had company, and the lads kept out of the way."
i tell you what it is, bobby, that dog is sick.
he wo n't play, nor eat, nor drink, and acts queerly.
dan will kill us if anything happens to him," said ted, looking at don, who lay near his kennel resting a moment after one of the restless wanderings which kept him vibrating between the door of dan's room and the shady corner of the yard, where his master had settled him with an old cap to guard till he came back.
"it's the hot weather, perhaps.
but i sometimes think he's pining for dan.
dogs do, you know, and the poor fellow has been low in his mind ever since the boys went.
maybe something has happened to dan.
don howled last night and ca n't rest.
i've heard of such things," answered rob thoughtfully.
"pooh!
he ca n't know.
he's cross.
i'll stir him up and take him for a run.
always makes me feel better.
hi, boy!
wake up and be jolly"; and ted snapped his fingers at the dog, who only looked at him with grim indifference.
"better let him alone.
if he is n't right tomorrow, we'll take him to dr watkins and see what he says."
and rob went on watching the swallows as he lay in the hay polishing up some latin verses he had made.
the spirit of perversity entered into ted, and merely because he was told not to tease don he went on doing it, pretending that it was for the dog's good.
don took no heed of his pats, commands, reproaches, or insults, till ted's patience gave out; and seeing a convenient switch near by he could not resist the temptation to conquer the great hound by force, since gentleness failed to win obedience.
he had the wisdom to chain don up first; for a blow from any hand but his master's made him savage, and ted had more than once tried the experiment, as the dog remembered.
this indignity roused don and he sat up with a growl.
rob heard it, and seeing ted raise the switch, ran to interfere, exclaiming: "do n't touch him!
dan forbade it!
leave the poor thing in peace; i wo n't allow it."
rob seldom commanded, but when he did master ted had to give in.
his temper was up, and rob's masterful tone made it impossible to resist one cut at the rebellious dog before he submitted.
only a single blow, but it was a costly one; for as it fell, the dog sprang at ted with a snarl, and rob, rushing between the two, felt the sharp teeth pierce his leg.
a word made don let go and drop remorsefully at rob's feet, for he loved him and was evidently sorry to have hurt his friend by mistake.
with a forgiving pat rob left him, to limp to the barn followed by ted, whose wrath was changed to shame and sorrow when he saw the red drops on rob's sock and the little wounds in his leg.
"i'm awfully sorry.
why did you get in the way?
here, wash it up, and i'll get a rag to tie on it," he said quickly filling a sponge with water and pulling out a very demoralized handkerchief.
rob usually made light of his own mishaps and was over ready to forgive if others were to blame; but now he sat quite still, looking at the purple marks with such a strange expression on his white face that ted was troubled, though he added with a laugh: "why, you're not afraid of a little dig like that, are you, bobby?'"
i am afraid of hydrophobia.
but if don is mad i'd rather be the one to have it," answered rob, with a smile and a shiver.
at that dreadful word ted turned whiter than his brother, and, dropping sponge and handkerchief, stared at him with a frightened face, whispering in a tone of despair: "oh, rob, do n't say it!
what shall we do, what shall we do?"
"call nan; she will know.
do n't scare aunty, or tell a soul but nan; she's on the back piazza; get her out here as quick as you can.
i'll wash it till she comes.
maybe it's nothing; do n't look so staggered, ted.
i only thought it might be, as don is queer."
rob tried to speak bravely; but ted's long legs felt strangely weak as he hurried away, and it was lucky he met no one, for his face would have betrayed him.
nan was swinging luxuriously in a hammock, amusing herself with a lively treatise on croup, when an agitated boy suddenly clutched her, whispering, as he nearly pulled her overboard: "come to rob in the barn!
don's mad and he's bitten him, and we do n't know what to do; it's all my fault; no one must know.
oh, do be quick!"
nan was on her feet at once, startled, but with her wits about her, and both were off without more words as they dodged round the house where unconscious daisy chatted with her friends in the parlour and aunt meg peacefully took her afternoon nap upstairs.
rob was braced up, and was as calm and steady as ever when they found him in the harness-room, whither he had wisely retired, to escape observation.
the story was soon told, and after a look at don, now in his kennel, sad and surly, nan said slowly, with her eye on the full water-pan: "rob, there is one thing to do for the sake of safety, and it must be done at once.
we ca n't wait to see if don is -- sick -- or to go for a doctor.
i can do it, and i will; but it is very painful, and i hate to hurt you, dear."
a most unprofessional quiver got into nan's voice as she spoke, and her keen eyes dimmed as she looked at the two anxious young faces turned so confidingly to her for help."
i know, burn it; well, do it, please; i can bear it.
but ted better go away," said rob, with a firm setting of his lips, and a nod at his afflicted brother."
i wo n't stir; i can stand it if he can, only it ought to be me!"
cried ted, with a desperate effort not to cry, so full of grief and fear and shame was he that it seemed as if he could n't bear it like a man.
"he'd better stay and help; do him good," answered nan sternly, because, her heart was faint within her, knowing as she did all that might be in store for both poor boys.
"keep quiet; i'll be back in a minute," she added, going towards the house, while her quick mind hastily planned what was best to be done.
it was ironing day, and a hot fire still burned in the empty kitchen, for the maids were upstairs resting.
nan put a slender poker to heat, and as she sat waiting for it, covered her face with her hands, asking help in this sudden need for strength, courage, and wisdom; for there was no one else to call upon, and young as she was, she knew what was to be done if she only had the nerve to do it.
any other patient would have been calmly interesting, but dear, good robin, his father's pride, his mother's comfort, everyone's favourite and friend, that he should be in danger was very terrible; and a few hot tears dropped on the well-scoured table as nan tried to calm her trouble by remembering how very likely it was to be all a mistake, a natural but vain alarm."
i must make light of it, or the boys will break down, and then there will be a panic.
why afflict and frighten everyone when all is in doubt?
i wo n't.
i'll take rob to dr morrison at once, and have the dog man see don.
then, having done all we can, we will either laugh at our scare -- if it is one -- or be ready for whatever comes.
now for my poor boy."
armed with the red-hot poker, a pitcher of ice-water, and several handkerchiefs from the clotheshorse, nan went back to the barn ready to do her best in this her most serious'em ergency case".
the boys sat like statues, one of despair, the other of resignation; and it took all nan's boasted nerve to do her work quickly and well.
"now, rob, only a minute, then we are safe.
stand by, ted; he may be a bit faintish."
rob shut his eyes, clinched his hands, and sat like a hero.
ted knelt beside him, white as a sheet, and as weak as a girl; for the pangs of remorse were rending him, and his heart failed at the thought of all this pain because of his wilfulness.
it was all over in a moment, with only one little groan; but when nan looked to her assistant to hand the water, poor ted needed it the most, for he had fainted away, and lay on the floor in a pathetic heap of arms and legs.
rob laughed, and, cheered by that unexpected sound, nan bound up the wound with hands that never trembled, though great drops stood on her forehead; and she shared the water with patient number one before she turned to patient number two.
ted was much ashamed, and quite broken in spirit, when he found how he had failed at the critical moment, and begged them not to tell, as he really could not help it; then by way of finishing his utter humiliation, a burst of hysterical tears disgraced his manly soul, and did him a world of good.
"never mind, never mind, we are all right now, and no one need be the wiser," said nan briskly, as poor ted hiccoughed on rob's shoulder, laughing and crying in the most tempestuous manner, while his brother soothed him, and the young doctor fanned both with silas's old straw hat.
"now, boys, listen to me and remember what i say.
we wo n't alarm anyone yet, for i've made up my mind our scare is all nonsense.
don was out lapping the water as i came by, and i do n't believe he's mad any more than i am.
still, to ease our minds and compose our spirits, and get our guilty faces out of sight for a while, i think we had better drive into town to my old friend dr morrison, and let him just take a look at my work, and give us some quieting little dose; for we are all rather shaken by this flurry.
sit still, rob; and ted, you harness up while i run and get my hat and tell aunty to excuse me to daisy.
i do n't know those penniman girls, and she will be glad of our room at tea, and we'll have a cosy bite at my house, and come home as gay as larks."
nan talked on as a vent for the hidden emotions which professional pride would not allow her to show, and the boys approved her plan at once; for action is always easier than quiet waiting.
ted went staggering away to wash his face at the pump, and rub some colour into his cheeks before he harnessed the horse.
rob lay tranquilly on the hay, looking up at the swallows again as he lived through some very memorable moments.
boy as he was, the thought of death coming suddenly to him, and in this way, might well make him sober; for it is a very solemn thing to be arrested in the midst of busy life by the possibility of the great change.
there were no sins to be repented of, few faults, and many happy, dutiful years to remember with infinite comfort.
so rob had no fears to daunt him, no regrets to sadden, and best of all, a very strong and simple piety to sustain and cheer him.
"mein vater," was his first thought; for rob was very near the professor's heart, and the loss of his eldest would have been a bitter blow.
these words, whispered with a tremble of the lips that had been so firm when the hot iron burned, recalled that other father who is always near, always tender and helpful; and, folding his hands, rob said the heartiest little prayer he ever prayed, there on the hay, to the soft twitter of the brooding birds.
it did him good; and wisely laying all his fear and doubt and trouble in god's hand, the boy felt ready for whatever was to come, and from that hour kept steadily before him the one duty that was plain -- to be brave and cheerful, keep silent, and hope for the best.
nan stole her hat, and left a note on daisy's pincushion, saying she had taken the boys to drive, and all would be out of the way till after tea.
then she hurried back and found her patients much better, the one for work, the other for rest.
in they got, and, putting rob on the back seat with his leg up drove away, looking as gay and care-free as if nothing had happened.
dr morrison made light of the affair, but told nan she had done right; and as the much-relieved lads went downstairs, he added in a whisper: "send the dog off for a while, and keep your eye on the boy.
do n't let him know it, and report to me if anything seems wrong.
one never knows in these cases.
no harm to be careful."
nan nodded, and feeling much relieved now that the responsibility was off her shoulders, took the lads to dr watkins, who promised to come out later and examine don.
a merry tea at nan's house, which was kept open for her all summer, did them good, and by the time they got home in the cool of the evening no sign of the panic remained but ted's heavy eyes, and a slight limp when rob walked.
as the guests were still chattering on the front piazza they retired to the back, and ted soothed his remorseful soul by swinging rob in the hammock, while nan told stories till the dog man arrived.
he said don was a little under the weather, but no more mad than the grey kitten that purred round his legs while the examination went on.
"he wants his master, and feels the heat.
fed too well, perhaps.
i'll keep him a few weeks and send him home all right," said dr watkins, as don laid his great head in his hand, and kept his intelligent eyes on his face, evidently feeling that this man understood his trials, and knew what to do for him.
so don departed without a murmur, and our three conspirators took counsel together how to spare the family all anxiety, and give rob the rest his leg demanded.
fortunately, he always spent many hours in his little study, so he could lie on the sofa with a book in his hand as long as he liked, without exciting any remark.
being of a quiet temperament, he did not worry himself or nan with useless fears, but believed what was told him, and dismissing all dark possibilities, went cheerfully on his way, soon recovering from the shock of what he called "our scare".
but excitable ted was harder to manage, and it took all nan's wit and wisdom to keep him from betraying the secret; for it was best to say nothing and spare all discussion of the subject for rob's sake.
ted's remorse preyed upon him, and having no "mum" to confide in, he was very miserable.
by day he devoted himself to rob, waiting on him, talking to him, gazing anxiously at him, and worrying the good fellow very much; though he would n't own it, since ted found comfort in it.
but at night, when all was quiet, ted's lively imagination and heavy heart got the better of him, and kept him awake, or set him walking in his sleep.
nan had her eye on him, and more than once administered a little dose to give him a rest, read to him, scolded him, and when she caught him haunting the house in the watches of the night, threatened to lock him up if he did not stay in his bed.
this wore off after a while; but a change came over the freakish boy, and everyone observed it, even before his mother returned to ask what they had done to quench the lion's spirits.
he was gay, but not so heedless; and often when the old wilfulness beset him, he would check it sharply, look at rob, and give up, or stalk away to have his sulk out alone.
he no longer made fun of his brother's old-fashioned ways and bookish tastes, but treated him with a new and very marked respect, which touched and pleased modest rob, and much amazed all observers.
it seemed as if he felt that he owed him reparation for the foolish act that might have cost him his life; and love being stronger than will, ted forgot his pride, and paid his debt like an honest boy."
i do n't understand it," said mrs jo, after a week of home life, much impressed by the good behaviour of her younger son.
"ted is such a saint, i'm afraid we are going to lose him.
is it meg's sweet influence, or daisy's fine cooking, or the pellets i catch nan giving him on the sly?
some witchcraft has been at work during my absence, and this will-o" - the-wisp is so amiable, quiet, and obedient, i do n't know him."
"he is growing up, heart's - dearest, and being a precocious plant, he begins to bloom early.
i also see a change in my robchen.
he is more manly and serious than ever, and is seldom far from me, as if his love for the old papa was growing with his growth.
our boys will often surprise us in this way, jo, and we can only rejoice over them and leave them to become what gott pleases."
as the professor spoke, his eyes rested proudly on the brothers, who came walking up the steps together, ted's arm over rob's shoulder as he listened attentively to some geological remarks rob was making on a stone he held.
usually, ted made fun of such tastes, and loved to lay boulders in the student's path, put brickbats under his pillow, gravel in his shoes, or send parcels of dirt by express to "prof. r. m. bhaer".
lately, he had treated rob's hobbies respectfully, and had begun to appreciate the good qualities of this quiet brother whom he had always loved but rather undervalued, till his courage under fire won ted's admiration, and made it impossible to forget a fault, the consequences of which might have been so terrible.
the leg was still lame, though doing well, and ted was always offering an arm as support, gazing anxiously at his brother, and trying to guess his wants; for regret was still keen in ted's soul, and rob's forgiveness only made it deeper.
a fortunate slip on the stairs gave rob an excuse for limping, and no one but nan and ted saw the wound; so the secret was safe up to this time.
"we are talking about you, my lads.
come in and tell us what good fairy has been at work while we were gone.
or is it because absence sharpens our eyes, that we find such pleasant changes when we come back?"
said mrs jo, patting the sofa on either side, while the professor forgot his piles of letters to admire the pleasing prospect of his wife in a bower of arms, as the boys sat down beside her, smiling affectionately, but feeling a little guilty; for till now "mum" and "vater" knew every event in their boyish lives.
"oh, it's only because bobby and i have been alone so much; we are sort of twins.
i stir him up a bit, and he steadies me a great deal.
you and father do the same, you know.
nice plan.
i like it"; and ted felt that he had settled the matter capitally.
"mother wo n't thank you for comparing yourself to her, ted.
i'm flattered at being like father in any way.
i try to be," answered rob, as they laughed at ted's compliment."
i do thank him, for it's true; and if you, robin, do half as much for your brother as papa has for me, your life wo n't be a failure," said mrs jo heartily.
"i'm very glad to see you helping one another.
it's the right way, and we ca n't begin too soon to try to understand the needs, virtues, and failings of those nearest us.
love should not make us blind to faults, nor familiarity make us too ready to blame the shortcomings we see.
so work away, my sonnies, and give us more surprises of this sort as often as you like."
"the liebe mutter has said all.
i too am well pleased at the friendly brother-warmth i find.
it is good for everyone; long may it last!"
and professor bhaer nodded at the boys, who looked gratified, but rather at a loss how to respond to these flattering remarks.
rob wisely kept silent, fearing to say too much; but ted burst out, finding it impossible to help telling something: "the fact is i've been finding out what a brave good chap bobby is, and i'm trying to make up for all the bother i've been to him.
i knew he was awfully wise, but i thought him rather soft, because he liked books better than larks, and was always fussing about his conscience.
but i begin to see that it is n't the fellows who talk the loudest and show off best that are the manliest.
no, sir!
quiet old bob is a hero and a trump, and i'm proud of him; so would you be if you knew all about it."
here a look from rob brought ted up with a round turn; he stopped short, grew red, and clapped his hand on his mouth in dismay.
"well, are we not to "know all about it"?"
asked mrs jo quickly; for her sharp eye saw signs of danger and her maternal heart felt that something had come between her and her sons.
"boys," she went on solemnly," i suspect that the change we talk about is not altogether the effect of growing up, as we say.
it strikes me that ted has been in mischief and rob has got him out of some scrape; hence the lovely mood of my bad boy and the sober one of my conscientious son, who never hides anything from his mother."
rob was as red as ted now, but after a moment's hesitation he looked up and answered with an air of relief: "yes, mother, that's it; but it's all over and no harm done, and i think we'd better let it be, for a while at least.
i did feel guilty to keep anything from you, but now you know so much i shall not worry and you need n't either.
ted's sorry, i do n't mind, and it has done us both good."
mrs jo looked at ted, who winked hard but bore the look like a man; then she turned to rob, who smiled at her so cheerfully that she felt reassured; but something in his face struck her, and she saw what it was that made him seem older, graver, yet more lovable than ever.
it was the look pain of mind, as well as body, brings, and the patience of a sweet submission to some inevitable trial.
like a flash she guessed that some danger had been near her boy, and the glances she had caught between the two lads and nan confirmed her fears.
"rob, dear, you have been ill, hurt, or seriously troubled by ted?
tell me at once; i will not have any secrets now.
boys sometimes suffer all their lives from neglected accidents or carelessness.
fritz, make them speak out!"
mr bhaer put down his papers and came to stand before them, saying in a tone that quieted mrs jo, and gave the boys courage: "my sons, give us the truth.
we can bear it; do not hold it back to spare us.
ted knows we forgive much because we love him, so be frank, all two."
ted instantly dived among the sofa pillows and kept there, with only a pair of scarlet ears visible, while rob in a few words told the little story, truthfully, but as gently as he could, hastening to add the comfortable assurance that don was not mad, the wound nearly well, and no danger would ever come of it.
but mrs jo grew so pale he had to put his arms about her, and his father turned and walked away, exclaiming: "ach himmel!"
in a tone of such mingled pain, relief, and gratitude, that ted pulled an extra pillow over his head to smother the sound.
they were all right in a minute; but such news is always a shock, even if the peril is past, and mrs jo hugged her boy close till his father came and took him away, saying with a strong shake of both hands and a quiver in his voice: "to be in danger of one's life tries a man's mettle, and you bear it well; but i can not spare my good boy yet; thank gott, we keep him safe!"
a smothered sound, between a choke and a groan, came from under the pillows, and the writhing of ted's long legs so plainly expressed despair that his mother relented towards him, and burrowing till she found a tousled yellow head, pulled it out and smoothed it, exclaiming with an irrepressible laugh, though her cheeks were wet with tears: "come and be forgiven, poor sinner!
i know you have suffered enough, and i wo n't say a word; only if harm had come to rob you would have made me more miserable than yourself.
oh, teddy, teddy, do try to cure that wilful spirit of yours before it is too late!"
"oh, mum, i do try!
i never can forget this -- i hope it's cured me; if it has n't, i am afraid i ai n't worth saving," answered ted, pulling his own hair as the only way of expressing his deep remorse.
"yes, you are, my dear; i felt just so at fifteen when amy was nearly drowned, and marmee helped me as i'll help you.
come to me, teddy, when the evil one gets hold of you, and together we'll rout him.
ah, me!
i've had many a tussle with that old apollyon, and often got worsted, but not always.
come under my shield, and we'll fight till we win."
no one spoke for a minute as ted and his mother laughed and cried in one handkerchief, and rob stood with his father's arm round him so happy that all was told and forgiven, though never to be forgotten; for such experiences do one good, and knit hearts that love more closely together.
presently ted rose straight up and going to his father, said bravely and humbly: "i ought to be punished.
please do it; but first say you forgive me, as rob does."
"always that, mein sohn, seventy time seven, if needs be, else i am not worthy the name you give me.
the punishment has come; i can give no greater.
let it not be in vain.
it will not with the help of the mother and the all father.
room here for both, always!"
the good professor opened his arms and embraced his boys like a true german, not ashamed to express by gesture or by word the fatherly emotions an american would have compressed into a slap on the shoulder and a brief "all right".
mrs jo sat and enjoyed the prospect like a romantic soul as she was, and then they had a quiet talk together, saying freely all that was in their hearts, and finding much comfort in the confidence which comes when love casts out fear.
it was agreed that nothing be said except to nan, who was to be thanked and rewarded for her courage, discretion, and fidelity."
i always knew that girl had the making of a fine woman in her, and this proves it.
no panics and shrieks and faintings and fuss, but calm sense and energetic skill.
dear child, what can i give or do to show my gratitude?"
said mrs jo enthusiastically.
"make tom clear out and leave her in peace," suggested ted, almost himself again, though a pensive haze still partially obscured his native gaiety.
"yes, do!
he frets her like a mosquito.
she forbade him to come out here while she stayed, and packed him off with demi.
i like old tom, but he is a regular noodle about nan," added rob, as he went away to help his father with the accumulated letters.
"i'll do it!"
said mrs jo decidedly.
"that girl's career shall not be hampered by a foolish boy's fancy.
in a moment of weariness she may give in, and then it's all over.
wiser women have done so and regretted it all their lives.
nan shall earn her place first, and prove that she can fill it; then she may marry if she likes, and can find a man worthy of her."
but mrs jo's help was not needed; for love and gratitude can work miracles, and when youth, beauty, accident, and photography are added, success is sure; as was proved in the case of the unsuspecting but too susceptible thomas.
chapter 8.
josie plays mermaid while the young bhaers were having serious experiences at home, josie was enjoying herself immensely at rocky nook; for the laurences knew how to make summer idleness both charming and wholesome.
bess was very fond of her little cousin; mrs amy felt that whether her niece was an actress or not she must be a gentlewoman, and gave her the social training which marks the well-bred woman everywhere; while uncle laurie was never happier than when rowing, riding, playing, or lounging with two gay girls beside him.
josie bloomed like a wild flower in this free life, bess grew rosy, brisk, and merry, and both were great favourites with the neighbours, whose villas were by the shore or perched on the cliffs along the pretty bay.
one crumpled rose-leaf disturbed josie's peace, one baffled wish filled her with a longing which became a mania, and kept her as restless and watchful as a detective with a case to "work up".
miss cameron, the great actress, had hired one of the villas and retired thither to rest and "create" a new part for next season.
she saw no one but a friend or two, had a private beach, and was invisible except during her daily drive, or when the opera-glasses of curious gazers were fixed on a blue figure disporting itself in the sea.
the laurences knew her, but respected her privacy, and after a call left her in peace till she expressed a wish for society -- a courtesy which she remembered and repaid later, as we shall see.
but josie was like a thirsty fly buzzing about a sealed honey-pot, for this nearness to her idol was both delightful and maddening.
she pined to see, hear, talk with, and study this great and happy woman who could thrill thousands by her art, and win friends by her virtue, benevolence, and beauty.
this was the sort of actress the girl meant to be, and few could object if the gift was really hers; for the stage needs just such women to purify and elevate the profession which should teach as well as amuse.
if kindly miss cameron had known what passionate love and longing burned in the bosom of the little girl whom she idly observed skipping over the rocks, splashing about the beach, or galloping past her gate on a shetland pony, she would have made her happy by a look or a word.
but being tired with her winter's work and busy with her new part, the lady took no more notice of this young neighbour than of the sea-gulls in the bay or the daisies dancing in the fields.
nosegays left on her doorstep, serenades under her garden-wall, and the fixed stare of admiring eyes were such familiar things that she scarcely minded them; and josie grew desperate when all her little attempts failed."
i might climb that pine-tree and tumble off on her piazza roof, or get sheltie to throw me just at her gate and be taken in fainting.
it's no use to try to drown myself when she is bathing.
i ca n't sink, and she'd only send a man to pull me out.
what can i do?
i will see her and tell her my hopes and make her say i can act some day.
mamma would believe her; and if -- oh, if she only would let me study with her, what perfect joy that would be!"
josie made these remarks one afternoon as she and bess prepared for a swim, a fishing party having prevented their morning bathe.
"you must bide your time, dear, and not be so impatient.
papa promised to give you a chance before the season is over, and he always manages things nicely.
that will be better than any queer prank of yours," answered bess, tying her pretty hair in a white net to match her suit, while josie made a little lobster of herself in scarlet."
i hate to wait; but i suppose i must.
hope she will bathe this afternoon, though it is low tide.
she told uncle she should have to go in then because in the morning people stared so and went on her beach.
come and have a good dive from the big rock.
no one round but nurses and babies, so we can romp and splash as much as we like."
away they went to have a fine time; for the little bay was free from other bathers, and the babies greatly admired their aquatic gymnastics, both being expert swimmers.
as they sat dripping on the big rock josie suddenly gave a clutch that nearly sent bess overboard, as she cried excitedly: "there she is!
look!
coming to bathe.
how splendid!
oh, if she only would drown a little and let me save her!
or even get her toe nipped by a crab; anything so i could go and speak!"
"do n't seem to look; she comes to be quiet and enjoy herself.
pretend we do n't see her, that's only civil," answered bess, affecting to be absorbed in a white-winged yacht going by.
"let's carelessly float that way as if going for seaweed on the rocks.
she ca n't mind if we are flat on our backs, with only our noses out.
then when we ca n't help seeing her, we'll swim back as if anxious to retire.
that will impress her, and she may call to thank the very polite young ladies who respect her wishes," proposed josie, whose lively fancy was always planning dramatic situations.
just as they were going to slip from their rock, as if fate relented at last, miss cameron was seen to beckon wildly as she stood waist-deep in the water, looking down.
she called to her maid, who seemed searching along the beach for something, and not finding what she sought, waved a towel towards the girls as if summoning them to help her.
"run, fly!
she wants us, she wants us!"
cried josie, tumbling into the water like a very energetic turtle, and swimming away in her best style towards this long desired haven of joy.
bess followed more slowly, and both came panting and smiling up to miss cameron, who never lifted her eyes, but said in that wonderful voice of hers: "i've dropped a bracelet.
i see it, but ca n't get it.
will the little boy find me a long stick?
i'll keep my eye on it, so the water shall not wash it away."
"i'll dive for it with pleasure; but i'm not a boy," answered josie, laughing as she shook the curly head which at a distance had deceived the lady."
i beg your pardon.
dive away, child; the sand is covering it fast.
i value it very much.
never forgot to take it off before."
"i'll get it!"
and down went josie, to come up with a handful of pebbles, but no bracelet.
"it's gone; never mind -- my fault," said miss cameron, disappointed, but amused at the girl's dismay as she shook the water out of her eyes and gasped bravely: "no, it is n't.
i'll have it, if i stay down all night!"
and with one long breath josie dived again, leaving nothing but a pair of agitated feet to be seen.
"i'm afraid she will hurt herself," said miss cameron, looking at bess, whom she recognized by her likeness to her mother.
"oh, no; josie is a little fish.
she likes it"; and bess smiled happily at this wonderful granting of her cousin's desire.
"you are mr laurence's daughter, i think?
how d'ye do, dear?
tell papa i'm coming to see him soon.
too tired before.
quite savage.
better now.
ah!
here's our pearl of divers.
what luck?"
she asked, as the heels went down and a dripping head came up.
josie could only choke and splutter at first, being half strangled; but though her hands had failed again, her courage had not; and with a resolute shake of her wet hair, a bright look at the tall lady, and a series of puffs to fill her lungs, she said calmly: """never give up" is my motto.
i'm going to get it, if i go to liverpool for it!
now, then!"
and down went the mermaid quite out of sight this time, groping like a real lobster at the bottom of the sea.
"plucky little girl!
i like that.
who is she?"
asked the lady, sitting down on a half-covered stone to watch her diver, since the bracelet was lost sight of.
bess told her, adding, with the persuasive smile of her father: "josie longs to be an actress, and has waited for a month to see you.
this is a great happiness for her."
"bless the child!
why did n't she come and call?
i'd have let her in; though usually i avoid stage-struck girls as i do reporters," laughed miss cameron.
there was no time for more; a brown hand, grasping the bracelet, rose out of the sea, followed by a purple face as josie came up so blind and dizzy she could only cling to bess, half drowned but triumphant.
miss cameron drew her to the rock where she sat, and pushing the hair out of her eyes, revived her with a hearty "bravo!
bravo!"
which assured the girl that her first act was a hit.
josie had often imagined her meeting with the great actress -- the dignity and grace with which she would enter and tell her ambitious hopes, the effective dress she would wear, the witty things she would say, the deep impression her budding genius would make.
but never in her wildest moments had she imagined an interview like this; scarlet, sandy, streaming, and speechless she leaned against the illustrious shoulder, looking like a beautiful seal as she blinked and wheezed till she could smile joyfully and exclaim proudly: "i did get it!
i'm so glad!"
"now get your breath, my dear; then i shall be glad also.
it was very nice of you to take all that trouble for me.
how shall i thank you?"
asked the lady, looking at her with the beautiful eyes that could say so many things without words.
josie clasped her hands with a wet spat which rather destroyed the effect of the gesture, and answered in a beseeching tone that would have softened a far harder heart than miss cameron's: "let me come and see you once -- only once!
i want you to tell me if i can act; you will know.
i'll abide by what you say; and if you think i can -- by and by, when i've studied very hard -- i shall be the happiest girl in the world.
may i?"
"yes; come tomorrow at eleven.
we'll have a good talk; you shall show me what you can do, and i'll give you my opinion.
but you wo n't like it.'"
i will, no matter if you tell me i'm a fool.
i want it settled; so does mamma.
i'll take it bravely if you say no; and if you say yes, i'll never give up till i've done my best -- as you did."
"ah, my child, it's a weary road, and there are plenty of thorns among the roses when you've won them.
i think you have the courage, and this proves that you have perseverance.
perhaps you'll do.
come, and we'll see."
miss cameron touched the bracelet as she spoke, and smiled so kindly that impetuous josie wanted to kiss her; but wisely refrained, though her eyes were wet with softer water than any in the sea as she thanked her.
"we are keeping miss cameron from her bath, and the tide is going out.
come, josie," said thoughtful bess, fearing to outstay their welcome.
"run over the beach and get warm.
thank you very much, little mermaid.
tell papa to bring his daughter to see me any time.
good-bye"; and with a wave of her hand the tragedy queen dismissed her court, but remained on her weedy throne watching the two lithe figures race over the sand with twinkling feet till they were out of sight.
then, as she calmly bobbed up and down in the water, she said to herself: "the child has a good stage face, vivid, mobile; fine eyes, abandon, pluck, will.
perhaps she'll do.
good stock -- talent in the family.
we shall see."
of course josie never slept a wink, and was in a fever of joyful excitement next day.
uncle laurie enjoyed the episode very much, and aunt amy looked out her most becoming white dress for the grand occasion; bess lent her most artistic hat, and josie ranged the wood and marsh for a bouquet of wild roses, sweet white azalea, ferns, and graceful grasses, as the offering of a very grateful heart.
at ten she solemnly arrayed herself, and then sat looking at her neat gloves and buckled shoes till it was time to go, growing pale and sober with the thought that her fate was soon to be decided; for, like all young people she was sure that her whole life could be settled by one human creature, quite forgetting how wonderfully providence trains us by disappointment, surprises us with unexpected success, and turns our seeming trials into blessings."
i will go alone: we shall be freer so.
oh, bess, pray that she may tell me rightly!
so much depends on that!
do n't laugh, uncle!
it is a very serious moment for me.
miss cameron knows that, and will tell you so.
kiss me, aunt amy, since mamma is n't here.
if you say i look nice, i'm quite satisfied.
good-bye."
and with a wave of the hand as much like her model's as she could make it, josie departed, looking very pretty and feeling very tragical.
sure now of admittance, she boldly rang at the door which excluded so many, and being ushered into a shady parlour, feasted her eyes upon several fine portraits of great actors while she waited.
she had read about most of them, and knew their trials and triumphs so well that she soon forgot herself, and tried to imitate mrs siddons as lady macbeth, looking up at the engraving as she held her nosegay like the candle in the sleep-walking scene, and knit her youthful brows distressfully while murmuring the speech of the haunted queen.
so busy was she that miss cameron watched her for several minutes unseen, then startled her by suddenly sweeping in with the words upon her lips, the look upon her face, which made that one of her greatest scenes."
i never can do it like that; but i'll keep trying, if you say i may," cried josie, forgetting her manners in the intense interest of the moment.
"show me what you can do," answered the actress, wisely plunging into the middle of things at once, well knowing that no common chat would satisfy this very earnest little person.
"first let me give you these.
i thought you'd like wild things better than hot-house flowers; and i loved to bring them, as i'd no other way to thank you for your great kindness to me," said josie, offering her nosegay with a simple warmth that was very sweet."
i do love them best, and keep my room full of the posies some good fairy hangs on my gate.
upon my word, i think i've found the fairy out -- these are so like," she added quickly, as her eye went from the flowers in her hand to others that stood near by, arranged with the same taste.
josie's blush and smile betrayed her before she said, with a look full of girlish adoration and humility: "i could n't help it; i admire you so much.
i know it was a liberty; but as i could n't get in myself, i loved to think my posies pleased you."
something about the child and her little offering touched the woman, and, drawing josie to her, she said, with no trace of actress in face or voice: "they did please me, dear, and so do you.
i'm tired of praise; and love is very sweet, when it is simple and sincere like this."
josie remembered to have heard, among many other stories, that miss cameron lost her lover years ago, and since had lived only for art.
now she felt that this might have been true; and pity for the splendid, lonely life made her face very eloquent, as well as grateful.
then, as if anxious to forget the past, her new friend said, in the commanding way that seemed natural to her: "let me see what you can do.
juliet, of course.
all begin with that.
poor soul, how she is murdered!"
now, josie had intended to begin with romeo's much-enduring sweetheart, and follow her up with bianca, pauline, and several of the favourite idols of stage-struck girls; but being a shrewd little person, she suddenly saw the wisdom of uncle laurie's advice, and resolved to follow it.
so instead of the rant miss cameron expected, josie gave poor ophelia's mad scene, and gave it very well, having been trained by the college professor of elocution and done it many times.
she was too young, of course, but the white gown, the loose hair, the real flowers she scattered over the imaginary grave, added to the illusion; and she sung the songs sweetly, dropped her pathetic curtsies, and vanished behind the curtain that divided the rooms with a backward look that surprised her critical auditor into a quick gesture of applause.
cheered by that welcome sound, josie ran back as a little hoyden in one of the farces she had often acted, telling a story full of fun and naughtiness at first, but ending with a sob of repentance and an earnest prayer for pardon.
"very good!
try again.
better than i expected," called the voice of the oracle.
josie tried portia's speech, and recited very well, giving due emphasis to each fine sentence.
then, unable to refrain from what she considered her greatest effort, she burst into juliet's balcony scene, ending with the poison and the tomb.
she felt sure that she surpassed herself, and waited for applause.
a ringing laugh made her tingle with indignation and disappointment, as she went to stand before miss cameron, saying in a tone of polite surprise: "i have been told that i did it very well.
i'm sorry you do n't think so."
"my dear, it's very bad.
how can it help being so?
what can a child like you know of love and fear and death?
do n't try it yet.
leave tragedy alone till you are ready for it."
"but you clapped ophelia."
"yes, that was very pretty.
any clever girl can do it effectively.
but the real meaning of shakespeare is far above you yet, child.
the comedy bit was best.
there you showed real talent.
it was both comic and pathetic.
that's art.
do n't lose it.
the portia was good declamation.
go on with that sort of thing; it trains the voice -- teaches shades of expression.
you've a good voice and natural grace -- great helps both, hard to acquire."
"well, i'm glad i've got something," sighed josie, sitting meekly on a stool, much crestfallen, but not daunted yet, and bound to have her say out.
"my dear little girl, i told you that you would not like what i should say to you; yet i must be honest if i would really help you.
i've had to do it for many like you; and most of them have never forgiven me, though my words have proved true, and they are what i advised them to be -- good wives and happy mothers in quiet homes.
a few have kept on, and done fairly well.
one you will hear of soon, i think; for she has talent, indomitable patience, and mind as well as beauty.
you are too young to show to which class you belong.
geniuses are very rare, and even at fifteen seldom give much promise of future power."
"oh, i do n't think i'm a genius!"
cried josie, growing calm and sober as she listened to the melodious voice and looked into the expressive face that filled her with confidence, so strong, sincere, and kindly was it."
i only want to find out if i have talent enough to go on, and after years of study to be able to act well in any of the good plays people never tire of seeing.
i do n't expect to be a mrs siddons or a miss cameron, much as i long to be; but it does seem as if i had something in me which ca n't come out in any way but this.
when i act i'm perfectly happy.
i seem to live, to be in my own world, and each new part is a new friend.
i love shakespeare, and am never tired of his splendid people.
of course, i do n't understand it all; but it's like being alone at night with the mountains and the stars, solemn and grand, and i try to imagine how it will look when the sun comes up, and all is glorious and clear to me.
i ca n't see, but i feel the beauty, and long to express it."
as she spoke with the most perfect self-forgetfulness josie was pale with excitement, her eyes shone, her lips trembled, and all her little soul seemed trying to put into words the emotions that filled it to overflowing.
miss cameron understood, felt that this was something more than a girlish whim; and when she answered there was a new tone of sympathy in her voice, a new interest in her face, though she wisely refrained from saying all she thought, well knowing what splendid dreams young people build upon a word, and how bitter is the pain when the bright bubbles burst.
"if you feel this, i can give you no better advice than to go on loving and studying our great master," she said slowly; but josie caught the changed tone, and felt, with a thrill of joy, that her new friend was speaking to her now as to a comrade.
"it is an education in itself, and a lifetime is not long enough to teach you all his secret.
but there is much to do before you can hope to echo his words.
have you the patience, courage, strength, to begin at the beginning, and slowly, painfully, lay the foundation for future work?
fame is a pearl many dive for and only a few bring up.
even when they do, it is not perfect, and they sigh for more, and lose better things in struggling for them."
the last words seemed spoken more to herself than to her hearer, but josie answered quickly, with a smile and an expressive gesture: "i got the bracelet in spite of all the bitter water in my eyes."
"you did!
i do n't forget it.
a good omen.
we will accept it."
miss cameron answered the smile with one that was like sunshine to the girl, and stretched her white hands as if taking some invisible gift.
then added in a different tone, watching the effect of her words on the expressive face before her: "now you will be disappointed, for instead of telling you to come and study with me, or go and act in some second-rate theatre at once, i advise you to go back to school and finish your education.
that is the first step, for all accomplishments are needed, and a single talent makes a very imperfect character.
cultivate mind and body, heart and soul, and make yourself an intelligent, graceful, beautiful, and healthy girl.
then, at eighteen or twenty, go into training and try your powers.
better start for the battle with your arms in order, and save the hard lesson which comes when we rush on too soon.
now and then genius carries all before it, but not often.
we have to climb slowly, with many slips and falls.
can you wait as well as work?'"
i will!"
"we shall see.
it would be pleasant to me to know that when i quit the stage i leave behind me a well-trained, faithful, gifted comrade to more than fill my place, and carry on what i have much at heart -- the purification of the stage.
perhaps you are she; but remember, mere beauty and rich costumes do not make an actress, nor are the efforts of a clever little girl to play great characters real art.
it is all dazzle and sham, and a disgrace and disappointment now.
why will the public be satisfied with opera bouffe, or the trash called society plays when a world of truth and beauty, poetry and pathos lies waiting to be interpreted and enjoyed?"
miss cameron had forgotten to whom she spoke, and walked to and fro, full of the noble regret all cultivated people feel at the low state of the stage nowadays.
"that's what uncle laurie says; and he and aunt jo try to plan plays about true and lovely things -- simple domestic scenes that touch people's hearts, and make them laugh and cry and feel better.
uncle says that sort is my style, and i must not think of tragedy.
but it's so much nicer to sweep about in crowns and velvet trains than to wear everyday clothes, and just be myself, though it is so easy."
"yet that is high art, child, and what we need for a time till we are ready for the masters.
cultivate that talent of yours.
it is a special gift, this power to bring tears and smiles, and a sweeter task to touch the heart than to freeze the blood or fire the imagination.
tell your uncle he is right, and ask your aunt to try a play for you.
i'll come and see it when you are ready."
"will you?
oh!
will you?
we are going to have some at christmas, with a nice part for me.
a simple little thing, but i can do it, and should be so proud, so happy to have you there."
josie rose as she spoke, for a glance at the clock showed her that her call was a long one; and hard as it was to end this momentous interview, she felt that she must go.
catching up her hat she went to miss cameron, who stood looking at her so keenly that she felt as transparent as a pane of glass, and coloured prettily as she looked up, saying, with a grateful little tremor in her voice: "i can never thank you for this hour and all you have told me.
i shall do just what you advise, and mamma will be very glad to see me settled at my books again.
i can study now with all my heart, because it is to help me on; and i wo n't hope too much, but work and wait, and try to please you, as the only way to pay my debt."
"that reminds me that i have not paid mine.
little friend, wear this for my sake.
it is fit for a mermaid, and will remind you of your first dive.
may the next bring up a better jewel, and leave no bitter water on your lips!"
as she spoke, miss cameron took from the lace at her throat a pretty pin of aquamarine, and fastened it like an order on josie's proud bosom; then lifting the happy little face, she kissed it very tenderly, and watched it go smiling away with eyes that seemed to see into a future full of the trials and the triumphs which she knew so well.
bess expected to see josie come flying in, all raptures and excitement, or drowned in tears of disappointment, but was surprised at the expression of calm content and resolution which she wore.
pride and satisfaction, and a new feeling of responsibility both sobered and sustained her, and she felt that any amount of dry study and long waiting would be bearable, if in the glorious future she could be an honour to her profession and a comrade to the new friend whom she already adored with girlish ardour.
she told her little story to a deeply interested audience, and all felt that miss cameron's advice was good.
mrs amy was relieved at the prospect of delay; for she did not want her niece to be an actress and hoped the fancy would die out.
uncle laurie was full of charming plans and prophecies and wrote one of his most delightful notes to thank their neighbour for her kindness; while bess, who loved art of all kinds, fully sympathized with her cousin's ambitious hopes, only wondering why she preferred to act out her visions rather than embody them in marble.
that first interview was not the last; for miss cameron was really interested, and had several memorable conversations with the laurences, while the girls sat by, drinking in every word with the delight all artists feel in their own beautiful world, and learning to see how sacred good gifts are, how powerful, and how faithfully they should be used for high ends, each in its own place helping to educate, refine, and refresh.
josie wrote reams to her mother; and when the visit ended rejoiced her heart by bringing her a somewhat changed little daughter, who fell to work at the once-detested books with a patient energy which surprised and pleased everyone.
the right string had been touched, and even french exercises and piano practice became endurable, since accomplishments would be useful by and by; dress, manners, and habits were all interesting now, because "mind and body, heart and soul, must be cultivated", and while training to become an "intelligent, graceful, healthy girl", little josie was unconsciously fitting herself to play her part well on whatever stage the great manager might prepare for her.
chapter 9.
the worm turns two very superior bicycles went twinkling up the road to plumfield one september afternoon, bearing two brown and dusty riders evidently returning from a successful run, for though their legs might be a trifle weary, their faces beamed as they surveyed the world from their lofty perches with the air of calm content all wheelmen wear after they have learned to ride; before that happy period anguish of mind and body is the chief expression of the manly countenance.
"go ahead and report, tom; i'm due here.
see you later," said demi, swinging himself down at the door of the dovecote.
"do n't peach, there's a good fellow.
let me have it out with mother bhaer first," returned tom, wheeling in at the gate with a heavy sigh.
demi laughed, and his comrade went slowly up the avenue, devoutly hoping that the coast was clear; for he was the bearer of tidings which would, he thought, convulse the entire family with astonishment and dismay.
to his great joy mrs jo was discovered alone in a grove of proof-sheets, which she dropped, to greet the returning wanderer cordially.
but after the first glance she saw that something was the matter, recent events having made her unusually sharp-eyed and suspicious.
"what is it now, tom?"
she asked, as he subsided into an easy-chair with a curious expression of mingled fear, shame, amusement, and distress in his brick-red countenance.
"i'm in an awful scrape, ma'am."
"of course; i'm always prepared for scrapes when you appear.
what is it?
run over some old lady who is going to law about it?"
asked mrs jo cheerfully.
"worse than that," groaned tom.
"not poisoned some trusting soul who asked you to prescribe, i hope?"
"worse than that."
"you have n't let demi catch any horrid thing and left him behind, have you?"
"worse even than that.'"
i give it up.
tell me quick; i hate to wait for bad news."
having got his listener sufficiently excited, tom launched his thunderbolt in one brief sentence, and fell back to watch the effect.
"i'm engaged!"
mrs jo's proof-sheets flew wildly about as she clasped her hands, exclaiming in dismay: "if nan has yielded, i'll never forgive her!"
"she has n't; it's another girl."
tom's face was so funny as he said the words, that it was impossible to help laughing; for he looked both sheepish and pleased, besides very much perplexed and worried.
"i'm glad, very glad indeed!
do n't care who it is; and i hope you'll be married soon.
now tell me all about it," commanded mrs jo, so much relieved that she felt ready for anything.
"what will nan say?"
demanded tom, rather taken aback at this view of his predicament.
"she will be rejoiced to get rid of the mosquito who has plagued her so long.
do n't worry about nan.
who is this "other girl"?"
"demi has n't written about her?"
"only something about your upsetting a miss west down at quitno; i thought that was scrape enough."
"that was only the beginning of a series of scrapes.
just my luck!
of course after sousing the poor girl i had to be attentive to her, had n't i?
everyone seemed to think so, and i could n't get away, and so i was lost before i knew it.
it's all demi's fault, he would stay there and fuss with his old photos, because the views were good and all the girls wanted to be taken.
look at these, will you, ma'am?
that's the way we spent our time when we were n't playing tennis"; and tom pulled a handful of pictures from his pocket, displaying several in which he was conspicuous, either holding a sun-umbrella over a very pretty young lady on the rocks, reposing at her feet in the grass, or perched on a piazza railing with other couples in seaside costumes and effective attitudes.
"this is she of course?"
asked mrs jo, pointing to the much-ruffled damsel with the jaunty hat, coquettish shoes, and racquet in her hand.
"that's dora.
is n't she lovely?"
cried tom, forgetting his tribulations for a moment and speaking with lover-like ardour.
"very nice little person to look at.
hope she is not a dickens dora?
that curly crop looks like it."
"not a bit; she's very smart; can keep house, and sew, and do lots of things, i assure you, ma'am.
all the girls like her, and she's sweet-tempered and jolly, and sings like a bird, and dances beautifully, and loves books.
thinks yours are splendid, and made me talk about you no end."
"that last sentence is to flatter me and win my help to get you out of the scrape.
tell me first how you got in"; and mrs jo settled herself to listen with interest, never tired of boys" affairs.
tom gave his head a rousing rub all over to clear his wits, and plunged into his story with a will.
"well, we've met her before, but i did n't know she was there.
demi wanted to see a fellow, so we went, and finding it nice and cool rested over sunday.
found some pleasant people and went out rowing; i had dora, and came to grief on a confounded rock.
she could swim, no harm done, only the scare and the spoilt gown.
she took it well, and we got friendly at once -- could n't help it, scrambling into that beast of a boat while the rest laughed at us.
of course we had to stay another day to see that dora was all right.
demi wanted to.
alice heath is down there and two other girls from our college, so we sort of lingered along, and demi kept taking pictures, and we danced, and got into a tennis tournament; and that was as good exercise as wheeling, we thought.
fact is, tennis is a dangerous game, ma'am.
a great deal of courting goes on in those courts, and we fellows find that sort of "serving" mighty agreeable, do n't you know?"
"not much tennis in my day, but i understand perfectly," said mrs jo, enjoying it all as much as tom did.
"upon my word, i had n't the least idea of being serious," he continued slowly, as if this part of his tale was hard to tell; "but everyone else spooned, so i did.
dora seemed to like it and expect it, and of course i was glad to be agreeable.
she thought i amounted to something, though nan does not, and it was pleasant to be appreciated after years of snubbing.
yes, it was right down jolly to have a sweet girl smile at you all day, and blush prettily when you said a neat thing to her, and look glad when you came, sorry when you left, and admire all you did, and make you feel like a man and act your best.
that's the sort of treatment a fellow enjoys and ought to get if he behaves himself; not frowns and cold shoulders year in and year out, and made to look like a fool when he means well, and is faithful, and has loved a girl ever since he was a boy.
no, by jove, it's not fair, and i wo n't stand it!"
tom waxed warm and eloquent as he thought over his wrongs, and bounced up to march about the room, wagging his head and trying to feel aggrieved as usual, but surprised to find that his heart did not ache a bit."
i would n't.
drop the old fancy, for it was nothing more, and take up the new one, if it is genuine.
but how came you to propose, tom, as you must have done to be engaged?"
asked mrs jo, impatient for the crisis of the tale.
"oh, that was an accident.
i did n't mean it at all; the donkey did it, and i could n't get out of the scrape without hurting dora's feelings, you see," began tom, seeing that the fatal moment had come.
"so there were two donkeys in it, were there?"
said mrs jo, foreseeing fun of some sort.
"do n't laugh!
it sounds funny, i know; but it might have been awful," answered tom darkly, though a twinkle of the eye showed that his love trials did not quite blind him to the comic side of the adventure.
"the girls admired our new wheels, and of course we liked to show off.
took'em to ride, and had larks generally.
well, one day, dora was on behind, and we were going nicely along a good bit of road, when a ridiculous old donkey got right across the way.
i thought he'd move, but he did n't, so i gave him a kick; he kicked back, and over we went in a heap, donkey and all.
such a mess!
i thought only of dora, and she had hysterics; at least, she laughed till she cried, and that beast brayed, and i lost my head.
any fellow would, with a poor girl gasping in the road, and he wiping her tears and begging pardon, not knowing whether her bones were broken or not.
i called her my darling, and went on like a fool in my flurry, till she grew calmer, and said, with such a look: "i forgive you, tom.
pick me up, and let us go on again."
"was n't that sweet now, after i'd upset her for the second time?
it touched me to the heart; and i said i'd like to go on for ever with such an angel to steer for, and -- well i do n't know what i did say; but you might have knocked me down with a feather when she put her arm round my neck and whispered: "tom, dear, with you i'm not afraid of any lions in the path."
she might have said donkeys; but she was in earnest, and she spared my feelings.
very nice of the dear girl; but there i am with two sweethearts on my hands, and in a deuce of a scrape."
finding it impossible to contain herself another moment, mrs jo laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks at this characteristic episode; and after one reproachful look, which only added to her merriment, tom burst into a jolly roar that made the room ring.
"tommy bangs!
tommy bangs!
who but you could ever get into such a catastrophe?"
said mrs jo, when she recovered her breath.
"is n't it a muddle all round, and wo n't everyone chaff me to death about it?
i shall have to quit old plum for a while," answered tom, as he mopped his face, trying to realize the full danger of his position.
"no, indeed; i'll stand by you, for i think it the best joke of the season.
but tell me how things ended.
is it really serious, or only a summer flirtation?
i do n't approve of them, but boys and girls will play with edged tools and cut their fingers."
"well, dora considers herself engaged, and wrote to her people at once.
i could n't say a word when she took it all in solemn earnest and seemed so happy.
she's only seventeen, never liked anyone before, and is sure all will be all right; as her father knows mine, and we are both well off.
i was so staggered that i said: """why, you ca n't love me really when we know so little of one another?"
but she answered right out of her tender little heart: "yes, i do, dearly, tom; you are so gay and kind and honest, i could n't help it."
now, after that what could i do but go ahead and make her happy while i stayed, and trust to luck to straighten the snarl out afterwards?'"
a truly tomian way of taking things easy.
i hope you told your father at once."
"oh yes, i wrote off and broke it to him in three lines.
i said: "dear father, i'm engaged to dora west, and i hope she will suit the family.
she suits me tip-top.
yours ever, tom."
he was all right, never liked nan, you know; but dora will suit him down to the ground."
and tom looked entirely satisfied with his own tact and taste.
"what did demi say to this rapid and funny lovemaking?
was n't he scandalized?"
asked mrs jo, trying not to laugh again as she thought of the unromantic spectacle of donkey, bicycle, boy, and girl all in the dust together.
"not a bit.
he was immensely interested and very kind; talked to me like a father; said it was a good thing to steady a fellow, only i must be honest with her and myself and not trifle a moment.
demi is a regular solomon, especially when he is in the same boat," answered tom, looking wise.
"you do n't mean --?"
gasped mrs jo, in sudden alarm at the bare idea of more love-affairs just yet.
"yes, i do, please, ma'am; it's a regular sell all the way through, and i owe demi one for taking me into temptation blindfold.
he said he went to quitno to see fred wallace, but he never saw the fellow.
how could he, when wallace was off in his yacht all the time we were there?
alice was the real attraction, and i was left to my fate, while they were maundering round with that old camera.
there were three donkeys in this affair, and i'm not the worst one, though i shall have to bear the laugh.
demi will look innocent and sober, and no one will say a word to him."
"the midsummer madness has broken out, and no one knows who will be stricken next.
well, leave demi to his mother, and let us see what you are going to do, tom.'"
i do n't know exactly; it's awkward to be in love with two girls at once.
what do you advise?'"
a common-sense view of the case, by all means.
dora loves you and thinks you love her.
nan does not care for you, and you only care for her as a friend, though you have tried to do more.
it is my opinion, tom, that you love dora, or are on the way to it; for in all these years i've never seen you look or speak about nan as you do about dora.
opposition has made you obstinately cling to her till accident has shown you a more attractive girl.
now, i think you had better take the old love for a friend, the new one for a sweetheart, and in due time, if the sentiment is genuine, marry her."
if mrs jo had any doubts about the matter, tom's face would have proved the truth of her opinion; for his eyes shone, his lips smiled, and in spite of dust and sunburn a new expression of happiness quite glorified him as he stood silent for a moment, trying to understand the beautiful miracle which real love works when it comes to a young man's heart.
"the fact is i meant to make nan jealous, for she knows dora, and i was sure would hear of our doings.
i was tired of being walked on, and i thought i'd try to break away and not be a bore and a laughing-stock any more," he said slowly, as if it relieved him to pour out his doubts and woes and hopes and joys to his old friend."
i was regularly astonished to find it so easy and so pleasant.
i did n't mean to do any harm, but drifted along beautifully, and told demi to mention things in his letters to daisy, so nan might know.
then i forgot nan altogether, and saw, heard, felt, cared for no one but dora, till the donkey -- bless his old heart!
-- pitched her into my arms and i found she loved me.
upon my soul, i do n't see why she should!
i'm not half good enough."
"every honest man feels that when an innocent girl puts her hand in his.
make yourself worthy of her, for she is n't an angel, but a woman with faults of her own for you to bear, and forgive, and you must help one another," said mrs jo, trying to realize that this sober youth was her scapegrace tommy.
"what troubles me is that i did n't mean it when i began, and was going to use the dear girl as an instrument of torture for nan.
it was n't right, and i do n't deserve to be so happy.
if all my scrapes ended as well as this, what a state of bliss i should be in!"
and tom beamed again at the rapturous prospect.
"my dear boy, it is not a scrape, but a very sweet experience suddenly dawning upon you," answered mrs jo, speaking very soberly; for she saw he was in earnest.
"enjoy it wisely and be worthy of it, for it is a serious thing to accept a girl's love and trust, and let her look up to you for tenderness and truth in return.
do n't let little dora look in vain, but be a man in all things for her sake, and make this affection a blessing to you both."
"i'll try.
yes, i do love her, only i ca n't believe it just yet.
wish you knew her.
dear little soul, i long to see her already!
she cried when we parted last night and i hated to go."
tom's hand went to his cheek as if he still felt the rosy little seal dora had set upon his promise not to forget her, and for the first time in his happy-go-lucky life tommy bangs understood the difference between sentiment and sentimentality.
the feeling recalled nan, for he had never known that tender thrill when thinking of her, and the old friendship seemed rather a prosaic affair beside this delightful mingling of romance, surprise, love, and fun."
i declare, i feel as if a weight was off me, but what the dickens will nan say when she knows it!"
he exclaimed with a chuckle.
"knows what?"
asked a clear voice that made both start and turn, for there was nan calmly surveying them from the doorway.
anxious to put tom out of suspense and see how nan would take the news, mrs jo answered quickly: "tom's engagement to dora west."
"really?"
and nan looked so surprised that mrs jo was afraid she might be fonder of her old playmate than she knew; but her next words set the fear at rest, and made everything comfortable and merry at once."
i knew my prescription would work wonders if he only took it long enough.
dear old tom, i'm so glad.
bless you!
bless you!"
and she shook both his hands with hearty affection.
"it was an accident, nan.
i did n't mean to, but i'm always getting into messes, and i could n't seem to get out of this any other way.
mother bhaer will tell you all about it.
i must go and make myself tidy.
going to tea with demi.
see you later."
stammering, blushing, and looking both sheepish and gratified, tom suddenly bolted, leaving the elder lady to enlighten the younger at length, and have another laugh over this new sort of courtship, which might well be called accidental.
nan was deeply interested, for she knew dora, thought her a nice little thing, and predicted that in time she would make tom an excellent wife, since she admired and "appreciated" him so much."
i shall miss him of course, but it will be a relief to me and better for him; dangling is so bad for a boy.
now he will go into business with his father and do well, and everyone be happy.
i shall give dora an elegant family medicine-chest for a wedding-present, and teach her how to use it.
tom ca n't be trusted, and is no more fit for the profession than silas."
the latter part of this speech relieved mrs jo's mind, for nan had looked about her as if she had lost something valuable when she began; but the medicine-chest seemed to cheer her, and the thought of tom in a safe profession was evidently a great comfort.
"the worm has turned at last, nan, and your bond-man is free.
let him go, and give your whole mind to your work; for you are fitted for the profession, and will be an honour to it by and by," she said approvingly."
i hope so.
that reminds me -- measles are in the village, and you had better tell the girls not to call where there are children.
it would be bad to have a run of them just as term begins.
now i'm off to daisy.
wonder what she will say to tom.
is n't he great fun?"
and nan departed, laughing over the joke with such genuine satisfaction that it was evident no sentimental regrets disturbed her "maiden meditation, fancy-free"."
i shall have my eye on demi, but wo n't say a word.
meg likes to manage her children in her own way, and a very good way it is.
but the dear pelican will be somewhat ruffled if her boy has caught the epidemic which seems to have broken out among us this summer."
mrs jo did not mean the measles, but that more serious malady called love, which is apt to ravage communities, spring and autumn, when winter gaiety and summer idleness produce whole bouquets of engagements, and set young people to pairing off like the birds.
franz began it, nat was a chronic and tom a sudden case; demi seemed to have the symptoms; and worst of all, her own ted had only the day before calmly said to her: "mum, i think i should be happier if i had a sweetheart, like the other boys."
if her cherished son had asked her for dynamite to play with, she would hardly have been more startled, or have more decidedly refused the absurd request.
"well, barry morgan said i ought to have one and offered to pick me out a nice one among our set.
i asked josie first, and she hooted at the idea, so i thought i'd let barry look round.
you say it steadies a fellow, and i want to be steady," explained ted in a serious tone, which would have convulsed his parent at any other time.
"good lack!
what are we coming to in this fast age when babes and boys make such demands and want to play with one of the most sacred things in life?"
exclaimed mrs jo, and having in a few words set the matter in its true light, sent her son away to wholesome baseball and octoo for a safe sweetheart.
now, here was tom's bomb-shell to explode in their midst, carrying widespread destruction, perhaps; for though one swallow does not make a summer, one engagement is apt to make several, and her boys were, most of them, at the inflammable age when a spark ignites the flame, which soon flickers and dies out, or burns warm and clear for life.
nothing could be done about it but to help them make wise choices, and be worthy of good mates.
but of all the lessons mrs jo had tried to teach her boys, this great one was the hardest; for love is apt to make lunatics of even saints and sages, so young people can not be expected to escape the delusions, disappointments, and mistakes, as well as the delights, of this sweet madness."
i suppose it is inevitable, since we live in america, so i wo n't borrow trouble, but hope that some of the new ideas of education will produce a few hearty, happy, capable, and intelligent girls for my lads.
lucky for me that i have n't the whole twelve on my hands, i should lose my wits if i had, for i foresee complications and troubles ahead worse than tom's boats, bicycles, donkeys, and doras," meditated mrs jo, as she went back to her neglected proof-sheets.
tom was quite satisfied with the tremendous effect his engagement produced in the little community at plumfield.
"it was paralysing," as demi said; and astonishment left most of tom's mates little breath for chaff.
that he, the faithful one, should turn from the idol to strange goddesses, was a shock to the romantic and a warning to the susceptible.
it was comical to see the airs our thomas put on; for the most ludicrous parts of the affair were kindly buried in oblivion by the few who knew them, and tom burst forth as a full-blown hero who had rescued the maiden from a watery grave, and won her gratitude and love by his daring deed.
dora kept the secret, and enjoyed the fun when she came to see mother bhaer and pay her respects to the family generally.
everyone liked her at once, for she was a gay and winning little soul; fresh, frank, and so happy, it was beautiful to see her innocent pride in tom, who was a new boy, or man rather; for with this change in his life a great change took place in him.
jolly he would always be, and impulsive, but he tried to become all that dora believed him, and his best side came uppermost for everyday wear.
it was surprising to see how many good traits tom had; and his efforts to preserve the manly dignity belonging to his proud position as an engaged man was very comical.
so was the entire change from his former abasement and devotion to nan to a somewhat lordly air with his little betrothed; for dora made an idol of him, and resented the idea of a fault or a flaw in her tom.
this new state of things suited both, and the once blighted being bloomed finely in the warm atmosphere of appreciation, love, and confidence.
he was very fond of the dear girl, but meant to be a slave no longer, and enjoyed his freedom immensely, quite unconscious that the great tyrant of the world had got hold of him for life.
to his father's satisfaction he gave up his medical studies, and prepared to go into business with the old gentleman, who was a flourishing merchant, ready now to make the way smooth and smile upon his marriage with mr west's well-endowed daughter.
the only thorn in tom's bed of roses was nan's placid interest in his affairs, and evident relief at his disloyalty.
he did not want her to suffer, but a decent amount of regret at the loss of such a lover would have gratified him; a slight melancholy, a word of reproach, a glance of envy as he passed with adoring dora on his arm, seemed but the fitting tribute to such years of faithful service and sincere affection.
but nan regarded him with a maternal sort of air that nettled him very much, and patted dora's curly head with a worldlywise air worthy of the withered spinster, julia mills, in david copperfield.
it took some time to get the old and the new emotions comfortably adjusted, but mrs jo helped him, and mr laurie gave him some wise advice upon the astonishing gymnastic feats the human heart can perform, and be all the better for it if it only held fast to the balancing-pole of truth and common sense.
at last our tommy got his bearings, and as autumn came on plumfield saw but little of him; for his new lode star was in the city, and business kept him hard at work.
he was evidently in his right place now, and soon throve finely, to his father's great contentment; for his jovial presence pervaded the once quiet office like a gale of fresh wind, and his lively wits found managing men and affairs much more congenial employment than studying disease, or playing unseemly pranks with skeletons.
here we will leave him for a time and turn to the more serious adventures of his mates, though this engagement, so merrily made, was the anchor which kept our mercurial tom happy, and made a man of him.
chapter 10.
demi settles "mother, can i have a little serious conversation with you?"
asked demi one evening, as they sat together enjoying the first fire of the season, while daisy wrote letters upstairs and josie was studying in the little library close by.
"certainly, dear.
no bad news, i hope?"
and mrs meg looked up from her sewing with a mixture of pleasure and anxiety on her motherly face; for she dearly loved a good talk with her son, and knew that he always had something worth telling.
"it will be good news for you, i think," answered demi, smiling as he threw away his paper and went to sit beside her on the little sofa which just held two.
"let me hear it, then, at once.'"
i know you do n't like the reporting, and will be glad to hear that i have given it up.'"
i am very glad!
it is too uncertain a business, and there is no prospect of getting on for a long time.
i want you settled in some good place where you can stay, and in time make money.
i wish you liked a profession; but as you do n't, any clean, well-established business will do."
"what do you say to a railroad office?'"
i do n't like it.
a noisy, hurried kind of place, i know, with all sorts of rough men about.
i hope it is n't that, dear?'"
i could have it; but does book-keeping in a wholesale leather business please you better?"
"no; you'll get round-shouldered writing at a tall desk; and they say, once a book-keeper always a book-keeper."
"how does a travelling agent suit your views?"
"not at all; with all those dreadful accidents, and the exposure and bad food as you go from place to place, you are sure to get killed or lose your health.'"
i could be private secretary to a literary man; but the salary is small, and may end any time."
"that would be better, and more what i want.
it is n't that i object to honest work of any kind; but i do n't want my son to spend his best years grubbing for a little money in a dark office, or be knocked about in a rough-and-tumble scramble to get on.
i want to see you in some business where your tastes and talents can be developed and made useful; where you can go on rising, and in time put in your little fortune and be a partner; so that your years of apprenticeship will not be wasted, but fit you to take your place among the honourable men who make their lives and work useful and respected.
i talked it all over with your dear father when you were a child; and if he had lived he would have shown you what i mean, and helped you to be what he was."
mrs meg wiped away a quiet tear as she spoke; for the memory of her husband was a very tender one, and the education of his children had been a sacred task to which she gave all her heart and life, and so far she had done wonderfully well -- as her good son and loving daughters tried to prove.
demi's arm was round her now, as he said, in a voice so like his father's that it was the sweetest music to her ear: "mother dear, i think i have got just what you want for me; and it shall not be my fault if i do n't become the man you hope to see me.
let me tell you all about it.
i did n't say anything till it was sure because it would only worry you; but aunt jo and i have been on the look-out for it some time, and now it has come.
you know her publisher, mr tiber, is one of the most successful men in the business; also generous, kind, and the soul of honour -- as his treatment of aunty proves.
well, i've rather hankered for that place; for i love books, and as i ca n't make them i'd like to publish them.
that needs some literary taste and judgement, it brings you in contact with fine people, and is an education in itself.
whenever i go into that large, handsome room to see mr tiber for aunt jo, i always want to stay; for it's lined with books and pictures, famous men and women come and go, and mr tiber sits at his desk like a sort of king, receiving his subjects; for the greatest authors are humble to him, and wait his yes or no with anxiety.
of course i've nothing to do with all that, and may never have; but i like to see it, and the atmosphere is so different from the dark offices and hurly-burly of many other trades, where nothing but money is talked about, that it seems another world, and i feel at home in it.
yes, i'd rather beat the door-mats and make fires there than be head clerk in the great hide and leather store at a big salary."
here demi paused for breath; and mrs meg, whose face had been growing brighter and brighter, exclaimed eagerly: "just what i should like!
have you got it?
oh, my dear boy!
your fortune is made if you go to that well-established and flourishing place, with those good men to help you along!'"
i think i have, but we must n't be too sure of anything yet.
i may not suit; i'm only on trial, and must begin at the beginning and work my way up faithfully.
mr tiber was very kind, and will push me on as fast as is fair to the other fellows, and as i prove myself fit to go up.
i'm to begin the first of next month in the book-room, filling orders; and i go round and get orders, and do various other things of the sort.
i like it.
i am ready to do anything about books, if it's only to dust them," laughed demi, well pleased with his prospects, for, after trying various things, he seemed at last to have found the sort of work he liked, and a prospect that was very inviting to him.
"you inherit that love of books from grandpa; he ca n't live without them.
i'm glad of it.
tastes of that kind show a refined nature, and are both a comfort and a help all one's life.
i am truly glad and grateful, john, that at last you want to settle, and have got such an entirely satisfactory place.
most boys begin much earlier; but i do n't believe in sending them out to face the world so young, just when body and soul need home care and watchfulness.
now you are a man, and must begin your life for yourself.
do your best, and be as honest, useful, and happy as your father, and i wo n't care about making a fortune."
"i'll try, mother.
could n't have a better chance; for tiber & co. treat their people like gentlemen, and pay generously for faithful work.
things are done in a businesslike way there, and that suits me.
i hate promises that are not kept, and shiftless or tyrannical ways anywhere.
mr tiber said: "this is only to teach you the ropes, brooke; i shall have other work for you by and by."
aunty told him i had done book notices, and had rather a fancy for literature; so though i ca n't produce any "works of shakespeare", as she says, i may get up some little things later.
if i do n't, i think it a very honourable and noble profession to select and give good books to the world; and i'm satisfied to be a humble helper in the work."
"i'm glad you feel so.
it adds so much to one's happiness to love the task one does.
i used to hate teaching; but housekeeping for my own family was always sweet, though much harder in many ways.
is n't aunt jo pleased about all this?"
asked mrs meg, already seeing in her mind's eye a splendid sign with "tiber, brooke & co." over the door of a famous publishing house.
"so pleased that i could hardly keep her from letting the cat out of the bag too soon.
i've had so many plans, and disappointed you so often, i wanted to be very sure this time.
i had to bribe rob and ted to keep her at home tonight till i'd told my news, she was eager to rush down and tell you herself.
the castles that dear woman has built for me would fill all spain, and have kept us jolly while we waited to know our fate.
mr tiber does n't do things in a hurry; but when he makes up his mind, you are all right; and i feel that i am fairly launched."
"bless you, dear, i hope so!
it is a happy day for me, because i've been so anxious lest, with all my care, i have been too easy and indulgent, and my boy, with his many good gifts, might fritter his time away in harmless but unsatisfactory things.
now i am at ease about you.
if only daisy can be happy, and josie give up her dream, i shall be quite contented."
demi let his mother enjoy herself for a few minutes, while he smiled over a certain little dream of his own, not ready yet for the telling; then he said, in the paternal tone which he unconsciously used when speaking of his sisters: "i'll see to the girls; but i begin to think grandpa is right in saying we must each be what god and nature makes us.
we ca n't change it much -- only help to develop the good and control the bad elements in us.
i have fumbled my way into my right place at last, i hope.
let daisy be happy in her way, since it is a good and womanly one.
if nat comes home all right, i'd say: "bless you, my children," and give them a nest of their own.
then you and i will help little jo to find out if it is to be "all the world's a stage" or "home, sweet home", for her.'"
i suppose we must, john; but i ca n't help making plans, and hoping they will come to pass.
i see that daisy is bound up in nat; and if he is worthy of her i shall let them be happy in their own way, as my parents let me.
but josie will be a trial, i foresee; and much as i love the stage, and always did, i do n't see how i can ever let my little girl be an actress, though she certainly has great talent for it."
"whose fault is that?"
asked demi, smiling, as he remembered his mother's early triumphs and unquenchable interest in the dramatic efforts of the young people round her.
"mine, i know.
how could it be otherwise when i acted babes in the wood with you and daisy before you could speak, and taught josie to declaim mother goose in her cradle.
ah, me!
the tastes of the mother come out in her children, and she must atone for them by letting them have their own way, i suppose."
and mrs meg laughed, even while she shook her head over the undeniable fact that the marches were a theatrical family.
"why not have a great actress of our name, as well as an authoress, a minister, and an eminent publisher?
we do n't choose our talents, but we need n't hide them in a napkin because they are not just what we want.
i say, let jo have her way, and do what she can.
here am i to take care of her; and you ca n't deny you'd enjoy fixing her furbelows, and seeing her shine before the footlights, where you used to long to be.
come, mother, better face the music and march gaily, since your wilful children will "gang their ain gait".'"
i do n't see but i must, and "leave the consequences to the lord", as marmee used to say when she had to decide, and only saw a step of the road.
i should enjoy it immensely, if i could only feel that the life would not hurt my girl, and leave her unsatisfied when it was too late to change; for nothing is harder to give up than the excitements of that profession.
i know something of it; and if your blessed father had not come along, i'm afraid i should have been an actress in spite of aunt march and all our honoured ancestors."
"let josie add new honour to the name, and work out the family talent in its proper place.
i'll play dragon to her, and you play nurse, and no harm can come to our little juliet, no matter how many romeos spoon under her balcony.
really, ma'am, opposition comes badly from an old lady who is going to wring the hearts of our audience in the heroine's part in aunty's play next christmas.
it's the most pathetic thing i ever saw, mother; and i'm sorry you did n't become an actress, though we should be nowhere if you had."
demi was on his legs now, with his back to the fire, in the lordly attitude men like to assume when things go well with them, or they want to lay down the law on any subject.
mrs meg actually blushed at her son's hearty praise, and could not deny that the sound of applause was as sweet now as when she played the witch's curse and the moorish maiden's vow long years ago.
"it's perfectly absurd for me to do it, but i could n't resist when jo and laurie made the part for me, and you children were to act in it.
the minute i get on the old mother's dress i forget myself and feel the same thrill at the sound of the bell that i used to feel when we got up plays in the garret.
if daisy would only take the daughter's part it would be so complete; for with you and josie i am hardly acting, it is all so real."
"especially the hospital scene, where you find the wounded son.
why, mother, do you know when we did that at last rehearsal my face was wet with real tears as you cried over me.
it will bring down the house; but do n't forget to wipe'em off, or i shall sneeze," said demi, laughing at the recollection of his mother's hit."
i wo n't; but it almost broke my heart to see you so pale and dreadful.
i hope there will never be another war in my time, for i should have to let you go; and i never want to live through the same experience we had with father."
"do n't you think alice does the part better than daisy would?
daisy has n't a bit of the actress in her, and alice puts life into the dullest words she speaks.
i think the marquise is just perfect in our piece," said demi, strolling about the room as if the warmth of the fire sent a sudden colour to his face.
"so do i.
she is a dear girl, and i'm proud and fond of her.
where is she tonight?"
"pegging away at her greek, i suppose.
she usually is in the evening.
more's the pity," added demi, in a low tone, as he stared intently at the book-case, though he could n't read a title.
"now, there is a girl after my own heart.
pretty, well-bred, well-educated, and yet domestic, a real companion as well as help-meet for some good and intelligent man.
i hope she will find one."
"so do i," muttered demi.
mrs meg had taken up her work again, and was surveying a half-finished buttonhole with so much interest that her son's face escaped her eye.
he shed a beaming smile upon the rows of poets, as if even in their glass prison they could sympathize and rejoice with him at the first rosy dawn of the great passion which they knew so well.
but demi was a wise youth, and never leaped before looking carefully.
he hardly knew his own heart yet, and was contented to wait till the sentiment, the fluttering of those folded wings he began to feel, should escape from the chrysalis and be ready to soar away in the sunshine to seek and claim its lovely mate.
he had said nothing; but the brown eyes were eloquent, and there was an unconscious underplot to all the little plays he and alice heath acted so well together.
she was busy with her books, bound to graduate with high honours, and he was trying to do the same in that larger college open to all, and where each man has his own prize to win or lose.
demi had nothing but himself to offer and, being a modest youth, considered that a poor gift till he had proved his power to earn his living, and the right to take a woman's happiness into his keeping.
no one guessed that he had caught the fever except sharp-eyed josie, and she, having a wholesome fear of her brother -- who could be rather awful when she went too far -- wisely contented herself with watching him like a little cat, ready to pounce on the first visible sign of weakness.
demi had taken to playing pensively upon his flute after he was in his room for the night, making this melodious friend his confidante, and breathing into it all the tender hopes and fears that filled his heart.
mrs meg, absorbed in domestic affairs, and daisy, who cared for no music but nat's violin, paid no heed to these chamber concerts, but josie always murmured to herself, with a naughty chuckle, "dick swiveller is thinking of his sophy wackles," and bided her time to revenge certain wrongs inflicted upon her by demi, who always took daisy's side when she tried to curb the spirits of her unruly little sister.
this evening she got her chance, and made the most of it.
mrs meg was just rounding off her buttonhole, and demi still strolling restlessly about the room, when a book was heard to slam in the study, followed by an audible yawn and the appearance of the student looking as if sleep and a desire for mischief were struggling which should be master."
i heard my name; have you been saying anything bad about me?"
she demanded, perching on the arm of an easychair.
her mother told the good news, over which josie duly rejoiced, and demi received her congratulations with a benignant air which made her feel that too much satisfaction was not good for him, and incited her to put a thorn into his bed of roses at once."
i caught something about the play just now, and i want to tell you that i'm going to introduce a song into my part to liven it up a bit.
how would this do?"
and seating herself at the piano she began to sing to these words the air of "kathleen mavourneen": "sweetest of maidens, oh, how can i tell the love that transfigures the whole earth to me?
the longing that causes my bosom to swell, when i dream of a life all devoted to thee?"
she got no further, for demi, red with wrath, made a rush at her, and the next moment a very agile young person was seen dodging round tables and chairs with the future partner of tiber & co. in hot pursuit.
"you monkey, how dare you meddle with my papers?"
cried the irate poet, making futile grabs at the saucy girl, who skipped to and fro, waving a bit of paper tantalizingly before him.
"did n't; found it in the big "dic".
serves you right if you leave your rubbish about.
do n't you like my song?
it's very pretty."
"i'll teach you one that you wo n't like if you do n't give me my property."
"come and get it if you can"; and josie vanished into the study to have out her squabble in peace, for mrs meg was already saying: "children, children!
do n't quarrel."
the paper was in the fire by the time demi arrived and he at once calmed down, seeing that the bone of contention was out of the way.
"i'm glad it's burnt; i do n't care for it, only some verse i was trying to set to music for one of the girls.
but i'll trouble you to let my papers alone, or i shall take back the advice i gave mother tonight about allowing you to act as much as you like."
josie was sobered at once by this dire threat, and in her most wheedling tone begged to know what he had said.
by way of heaping coals of fire on her head he told her, and this diplomatic performance secured him an ally on the spot.
"you dear old boy!
i'll never tease you again though you moon and spoon both day and night.
if you stand by me, i'll stand by you and never say a word.
see here!
i've got a note for you from alice.
wo n't that be a peace-offering and soothe your little feelings?"
demi's eyes sparkled as josie held up a paper cocked hat, but as he knew what was probably in it, he took the wind out of josie's sails, and filled her with blank astonishment by saying carelessly: "that's nothing; it's only to say whether she will go to the concert with us tomorrow night.
you can read it if you like."
with the natural perversity of her sex josie ceased to be curious the moment she was told to read it, and meekly handed it over; but she watched demi as he calmly read the two lines it contained and then threw it into the fire.
"why, jack, i thought you'd treasure every scrap the "sweetest maid" touched.
do n't you care for her?"
"very much; we all do; but "mooning and spooning", as you elegantly express it, is not in my line.
my dear little girl, your plays make you romantic, and because alice and i act lovers sometimes you take it into your silly head that we are really so.
do n't waste time hunting mares nests, but attend to your own affairs and leave me to mine.
i forgive you, but do n't do it again; it's bad taste, and tragedy queens do n't romp."
the last cut finished josie; she humbly begged pardon and went off to bed, while demi soon followed, feeling that he had not only settled himself but his too inquisitive little sister also.
but if he had seen her face as she listened to the soft wailing of his flute he would not have been so sure, for she looked as cunning as a magpie as she said, with a scornful sniff: "pooh, you ca n't deceive me; i know dick is serenading sophy wackles."
chapter 11.
emil's thanksgiving the brenda was scudding along with all sail set to catch the rising wind, and everyone on board was rejoicing, for the long voyage was drawing towards an end.
"four weeks more, mrs hardy, and we'll give you a cup of tea such as you never had before," said second mate hoffmann, as he paused beside two ladies sitting in a sheltered corner of the deck."
i shall be glad to get it, and still gladder to put my feet on solid ground," answered the elder lady, smiling; for our friend emil was a favourite, as well he might be, since he devoted himself to the captain's wife and daughter, who were the only passengers on board.
"so shall i, even if i have to wear a pair of shoes like chinese junks.
i've tramped up and down the deck so much, i shall be barefooted if we do n't arrive soon," laughed mary, the daughter, showing two shabby little boots as she glanced up at the companion of these tramps, remembering gratefully how pleasant he had made them.
"do n't think there are any small enough in china," answered emil, with a sailor's ready gallantry, privately resolving to hunt up the handsomest shoes he could find the moment he landed."
i do n't know what you would have done for exercise, dear, if mr hoffmann had not made you walk every day.
this lazy life is bad for young people, though it suits an old body like me well enough in calm weather.
is this likely to be a gale, think ye?"
added mrs hardy, with an anxious glance at the west, where the sun was setting redly.
"only a capful of wind, ma'am, just enough to send us along lively," answered emil, with a comprehensive glance aloft and alow.
"please sing, mr hoffmann, it's so pleasant to have music at this time.
we shall miss it very much when we get ashore," said mary, in a persuasive tone which would have won melody from a shark, if such a thing were possible.
emil had often blessed his one accomplishment during these months, for it cheered the long days, and made the twilight hour his happiest time, wind and weather permitting.
so now he gladly tuned his pipe, and leaning on the taffrail near the girl, watched the brown locks blowing in the wind as he sang her favourite song: "give me freshening breeze, my boys, a white and swelling sail, a ship that cuts the dashing waves, and weathers every gale.
what life is like a sailor's life, so free, so bold, so brave?
his home the ocean's wide expanse, a coral bed his grave."
just as the last notes of the clear, strong voice died away, mrs hardy suddenly exclaimed: "what's that?"
emil's quick eye saw at once the little puff of smoke coming up a hatchway where no smoke should be, and his heart seemed to stand still for an instant as the dread word "fire!"
flashed through his mind.
then he was quite steady, and strolled away saying quietly: "smoking not allowed there, i'll go and stop it."
but the instant he was out of sight his face changed, and he leaped down the hatchway, thinking, with a queer smile on his lips: "if we are afire, should n't wonder if i did make a coral bed my grave!"
he was gone a few minutes, and when he came up, half stifled with smoke, he was as white as a very brown man could be, but calm and cool as he went to report to the captain.
"fire in the hold, sir."
"do n't frighten the women," was captain hardy's first order; then both be stirred themselves to discover how strong the treacherous enemy was, and to rout it if possible.
the brenda's cargo was a very combustible one, and in spite of the streams of water poured into the hold it was soon evident that the ship was doomed.
smoke began to ooze up between the planks everywhere, and the rising gale soon fanned the smouldering fire to flames that began to break out here and there, telling the dreadful truth too plainly for anyone to hide.
mrs hardy and mary bore the shock bravely when told to be ready to quit the ship at a minute's notice; the boats were hastily prepared, and the men worked with a will to batten down every loophole whence the fire might escape.
soon the poor brenda was a floating furnace, and the order to "take to the boats!"
came for all.
the women first, of course, and it was fortunate that, being a merchantman, there were no more passengers on board, so there was no panic, and one after the other the boats pushed off.
that in which the women were lingered near, for the brave captain would be the last to leave his ship.
emil stayed by him till ordered away, and reluctantly obeyed; but it was well for him he went, for just as he had regained the boat, rocking far below, half hidden by a cloud of smoke, a mast, undermined by the fire now raging in the bowels of the ship, fell with a crash, knocking captain hardy overboard.
the boat soon reached him as he floated out from the wreck, and emil sprung into the sea to rescue him, for he was wounded and senseless.
this accident made it necessary for the young man to take command, and he at once ordered the men to pull for their lives, as an explosion might occur at any moment.
the other boats were out of danger and all lingered to watch the splendid yet awesome spectacle of the burning ship alone on the wide sea, reddening the night and casting a lurid glare upon the water, where floated the frail boats filled with pale faces, all turned for a last look at the fated brenda, slowly settling to her watery grave.
no one saw the end, however, for the gale soon swept the watchers far away and separated them, some never to meet again till the sea gives up its dead.
the boat whose fortunes we must follow was alone when dawn came up, showing these survivors all the dangers of their situation.
food and water had been put in, and such provision for comfort and safety as time allowed; but it was evident that with a badly wounded man, two women, and seven sailors, their supply would not last long, and help was sorely needed.
their only hope was in meeting a ship, although the gale, which had raged all night, had blown them out of their course.
to this hope all clung, and wiled away the weary hours, watching the horizon and cheering one another with prophecies of speedy rescue.
second mate hoffmann was very brave and helpful, though his unexpected responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders; for the captain's state seemed desperate, the poor wife's grief wrung his heart, and the blind confidence of the young girl in his power to save them made him feel that no sign of doubt or fear must lessen it.
the men did their part readily now, but emil knew that if starvation and despair made brutes of them, his task might be a terrible one.
so he clutched his courage with both hands, kept up a manly front, and spoke so cheerily of their good chances, that all instinctively turned to him for guidance and support.
the first day and night passed in comparative comfort, but when the third came, things looked dark and hope began to fail.
the wounded man was delirious, the wife worn out with anxiety and suspense, the girl weak for want of food, having put away half her biscuit for her mother, and given her share of water to wet her father's feverish lips.
the sailors ceased rowing and sat grimly waiting, openly reproaching their leader for not following their advice, others demanding more food, all waxing dangerous as privation and pain brought out the animal instincts lurking in them.
emil did his best, but mortal man was helpless there, and he could only turn his haggard face from the pitiless sky, that dropped no rain for their thirst, to the boundless sea where no sail appeared to gladden their longing eyes.
all day he tried to cheer and comfort them, while hunger gnawed, thirst parched, and growing fear lay heavy at his heart.
he told stories to the men, implored them to bear up for the helpless women's sake, and promised rewards if they would pull while they had strength to regain the lost route, as nearly as he could make it out, and increase their chance of rescue.
he rigged an awning of sailcloth over the suffering man and tended him like a son, comforted the wife, and tried to make the pale girl forget herself, by singing every song he knew or recounting his adventures by land and sea, till she smiled and took heart; for all ended well.
the fourth day came and the supply of food and water was nearly gone.
emil proposed to keep it for the sick man and the women, but two of the men rebelled, demanding their share.
emil gave up his as an example, and several of the good fellows followed it, with the quiet heroism which so often crops up in rough but manly natures.
this shamed the others, and for another day an ominous peace reigned in that little world of suffering and suspense.
but during the night, while emil, worn out with fatigue, left the watch to the most trustworthy sailor, that he might snatch an hour's rest, these two men got at the stores and stole the last of the bread and water, and the one bottle of brandy, which was carefully hoarded to keep up their strength and make the brackish water drinkable.
half mad with thirst, they drank greedily and by morning one was in a stupor, from which he never woke; the other so crazed by the strong stimulant, that when emil tried to control him, he leaped overboard and was lost.
horror-stricken by this terrible scene, the other men were submissive henceforth, and the boat floated on and on with its sad freight of suffering souls and bodies.
another trial came to them that left all more despairing than before.
a sail appeared, and for a time a frenzy of joy prevailed, to be turned to bitterest disappointment when it passed by, too far away to see the signals waved to them or hear the frantic cries for help that rang across the sea.
emil's heart sank then, for the captain seemed dying, and the women could not hold out much longer.
he kept up till night came; then in the darkness, broken only by the feeble murmuring of the sick man, the whispered prayers of the poor wife, the ceaseless swash of waves, emil hid his face, and had an hour of silent agony that aged him more than years of happy life could have done.
it was not the physical hardship that daunted him, though want and weakness tortured him; it was his dreadful powerlessness to conquer the cruel fate that seemed hanging over them.
the men he cared little for, since these perils were but a part of the life they chose; but the master he loved, the good woman who had been so kind to him, the sweet girl whose winsome presence had made the long voyage so pleasant for them all -- if he could only save these dear and innocent creatures from a cruel death, he felt that he could willingly give his life for them.
as he sat there with his head in his hands, bowed down by the first great trial of his young life, the starless sky overhead, the restless sea beneath, and all around him suffering, for which he had no help, a soft sound broke the silence, and he listened like one in a dream.
it was mary singing to her mother, who lay sobbing in her arms, spent with this long anguish.
a very faint and broken voice it was, for the poor girl's lips were parched with thirst; but the loving heart turned instinctively to the great helper in this hour of despair, and he heard her feeble cry.
it was a sweet old hymn often sung at plumfield; and as he listened, all the happy past came back so clearly that emil forgot the bitter present, and was at home again.
his talk on the housetop with aunt jo seemed but yesterday, and, with a pang of self-reproach, he thought: "the scarlet strand!
i must remember it, and do my duty to the end.
steer straight, old boy; and if you ca n't come into port, go down with all sail set."
then, as the soft voice crooned on to lull the weary woman to a fitful sleep, emil for a little while forgot his burden in a dream of plumfield.
he saw them all, heard the familiar voices, felt the grip of welcoming hands, and seemed to say to himself: "well, they shall not be ashamed of me if i never see them any more."
a sudden shout startled him from that brief rest, and a drop on his forehead told him that the blessed rain had come at last, bringing salvation with it; for thirst is harder to bear than hunger, heat, or cold.
welcomed by cries of joy, all lifted up their parched lips, held out their hands, and spread their garments to catch the great drops that soon came pouring down to cool the sick man's fever, quench the agony of thirst, and bring refreshment to every weary body in the boat.
all night it fell, all night the castaways revelled in the saving shower, and took heart again, like dying plants revived by heaven's dew.
the clouds broke away at dawn, and emil sprung up, wonderfully braced and cheered by those hours of silent gratitude for this answer to their cry for help.
but this was not all; as his eye swept the horizon, clear against the rosy sky shone the white sails of a ship, so near that they could see the pennon at her mast-head and black figures moving on the deck.
one cry broke from all those eager throats, and rang across the sea, as every man waved hat or handkerchief and the women stretched imploring hands towards this great white angel of deliverance coming down upon them as if the fresh wind filled every sail to help her on.
no disappointment now; answering signals assured them of help; and in the rapture of that moment the happy women fell on emil's neck, giving him his reward in tears and blessings as their grateful hearts overflowed.
he always said that was the proudest moment of his life, as he stood there holding mary in his arms; for the brave girl, who had kept up so long, broke down then, and clung to him half fainting; while her mother busied herself about the invalid, who seemed to feel the joyful stir, and gave an order, as if again on the deck of his lost ship.
it was soon over; and then all were safely aboard the good urania, homeward bound.
emil saw his friends in tender hands, his men among their mates, and told the story of the wreck before he thought of himself.
the savoury odour of the soup, carried by to the cabin for the ladies, reminded him that he was starving, and a sudden stagger betrayed his weakness.
he was instantly borne away, to be half killed by kindness, and being fed, clothed, and comforted, was left to rest.
just as the surgeon left the state-room, he asked in his broken voice: "what day is this?
my head is so confused, i've lost my reckoning."
"thanksgiving day, man!
and we'll give you a regular new england dinner, if you'll eat it," answered the surgeon heartily.
but emil was too spent to do anything, except lie still and give thanks, more fervently and gratefully than ever before, for the blessed gift of life, which was the sweeter for a sense of duty faithfully performed.
chapter 12.
dan's christmas where was dan?
in prison.
alas for mrs jo!
how her heart would have ached if she had known that while old plum shone with christmas cheer her boy sat alone in his cell, trying to read the little book she gave him, with eyes dimmed now and then by the hot tears no physical suffering had ever wrung from him, and longing with a homesick heart for all that he had lost.
yes, dan was in prison; but no cry for help from him as he faced the terrible strait he was in with the dumb despair of an indian at the stake; for his own bosom sin had brought him there, and this was to be the bitter lesson that tamed the lawless spirit and taught him self-control.
the story of his downfall is soon told; for it came, as so often happens, just when he felt unusually full of high hopes, good resolutions, and dreams of a better life.
on his journey he met a pleasant young fellow, and naturally felt an interest in him, as blair was on his way to join his elder brothers on a ranch in kansas.
card-playing was going on in the smoking-car, and the lad -- for he was barely twenty -- tired with the long journey, beguiled the way with such partners as appeared, being full of spirits, and a little intoxicated with the freedom of the west.
dan, true to his promise, would not join, but watched with intense interest the games that went on, and soon made up his mind that two of the men were sharpers anxious to fleece the boy, who had imprudently displayed a well-filled pocket-book.
dan always had a soft spot in his heart for any younger, weaker creature whom he met, and something about the lad reminded him of teddy; so he kept an eye on blair, and warned him against his new friends.
vainly, of course; for when all stopped overnight in one of the great cities, dan missed the boy from the hotel whither he had taken him for safe-keeping; and learning who had come for him, went to find him, calling himself a fool for his pains, yet unable to leave the confiding boy to the dangers that surrounded him.
he found him gambling in a low place with the men, who were bound to have his money; and by the look of relief on blair's anxious face when he saw him dan knew without words that things were going badly with him, and he saw the peril too late."
i ca n't come yet -- i've lost; it's not my money; i must get it back, or i dare not face my brothers," whispered the poor lad, when dan begged him to get away without further loss.
shame and fear made him desperate; and he played on, sure that he could recover the money confided to his care.
seeing dan's resolute face, keen eye, and travelled air, the sharpers were wary, played fair, and let the boy win a little; but they had no mind to give up their prey, and finding that dan stood sentinel at the boy's back, an ominous glance was exchanged between them, which meant: "we must get this fellow out of the way."
dan saw it, and was on his guard; for he and blair were strangers, evil deeds are easily done in such places, and no tales told.
but he would not desert the boy, and still kept watch of every card till he plainly detected false play, and boldly said so.
high words passed, dan's indignation overcame his prudence; and when the cheat refused to restore his plunder with insulting words and drawn pistol, dan's hot temper flashed out, and he knocked the man down with a blow that sent him crashing head first against a stove, to roll senseless and bleeding to the floor.
a wild scene followed, but in the midst of it dan whispered to the boy: "get away, and hold your tongue.
do n't mind me."
frightened and bewildered, blair quitted the city at once, leaving dan to pass the night in the lock-up, and a few days later to stand in court charged with manslaughter; for the man was dead.
dan had no friends, and having once briefly told the story, held his peace, anxious to keep all knowledge of this sad affair from those at home.
he even concealed his name -- giving that of david kent, as he had done several times before in emergencies.
it was all over very soon; but as there were extenuating circumstances his sentence was a year in prison, with hard labour.
dazed by the rapidity with which this horrible change in his life came upon him, dan did not fully realize it till the iron door clanged behind him and he sat alone in a cell as narrow, cold, and silent as a tomb.
he knew that a word would bring mr laurie to help and comfort him; but he could not bear to tell of this disgrace, or see the sorrow and the shame it would cause the friends who hoped so much for him.
"no," he said, clenching his fist, "i'll let them think me dead first.
i shall be if i am kept here long"; and he sprang up to pace the stone floor like a caged lion, with a turmoil of wrath and grief, rebellion and remorse, seething in heart and brain, till he felt as if he should go mad and beat upon the walls that shut him away from the liberty which was his life.
for days he suffered terribly, then worn out, sank into a black melancholy sadder to see than his excitement.
the warden of this prison was a rough man who had won the ill will of all by unnecessary harshness, but the chaplain was full of sympathy, and did his hard duty faithfully and tenderly.
he laboured with poor dan, but seemed to make no impression, and was forced to wait till work had soothed the excited nerves and captivity tamed the proud spirit that would suffer but not complain.
dan was put in the brush-shop, and feeling that activity was his only salvation, worked with a feverish energy that soon won the approval of the master and the envy of less skilful mates.
day after day he sat in his place, watched by an armed overseer, forbidden any but necessary words, no intercourse with the men beside him, no change but from cell to shop, no exercise but the dreary marches to and fro, each man's hand on the other's shoulder keeping step with the dreary tramp so different from the ringing tread of soldiers.
silent, gaunt, and grim, dan did his daily task, ate his bitter bread, and obeyed commands with a rebellious flash of the eye, that made the warden say: "that's a dangerous man.
watch him.
he'll break out some day."
there were others more dangerous than he, because older in crime and ready for any desperate outbreak to change the monotony of long sentences.
these men soon divined dan's mood, and in the mysterious way convicts invent, managed to convey to him before a month was over that plans were being made for a mutiny at the first opportunity.
thanksgiving day was one of the few chances for them to speak together as they enjoyed an hour of freedom in the prison yard.
then all would be settled and the rash attempt made if possible, probably to end in bloodshed and defeat for most, but liberty for a few.
dan had already planned his own escape and bided his time, growing more and more moody, fierce, and rebellious, as loss of liberty wore upon soul and body; for this sudden change from his free, healthy life to such a narrow, gloomy, and miserable one, could not but have a terrible effect upon one of dan's temperament and age.
he brooded over his ruined life, gave up all his happy hopes and plans, felt that he could never face dear old plumfield again, or touch those friendly hands, with the stain of blood upon his own.
he did not care for the wretched man whom he had killed, for such a life was better ended, he thought; but the disgrace of prison would never be wiped out of his memory, though the cropped hair would grow again, the grey suit easily be replaced, and the bolts and bars left far behind.
"it's all over with me; i've spoilt my life, now let it go.
i'll give up the fight and get what pleasure i can anywhere, anyhow.
they shall think me dead and so still care for me, but never know what i am.
poor mother bhaer!
she tried to help me, but it's no use; the firebrand ca n't be saved."
and dropping his head in his hands as he sat on his low bed, dan would mourn over all he had lost in tearless misery, till merciful sleep would comfort him with dreams of the happy days when the boys played together, or those still later and happier ones when all smiled on him, and plumfield seemed to have gained a new and curious charm.
there was one poor fellow in dan's shop whose fate was harder than his, for his sentence expired in the spring, but there was little hope of his living till that time; and the coldest-hearted man pitied poor mason as he sat coughing his life away in that close place and counting the weary days yet to pass before he could see his wife and little child again.
there was some hope that he might be pardoned out, but he had no friends to bestir themselves in the matter, and it was evident that the great judge's pardon would soon end his patient pain for ever.
dan pitied him more than he dared to show, and this one tender emotion in that dark time was like the little flower that sprung up between the stones of the prison yard and saved the captive from despair, in the beautiful old story.
dan helped mason with his work when he was too feeble to finish his task, and the grateful look that thanked him was a ray of sunshine to cheer his cell when he was alone.
mason envied the splendid health of his neighbour, and mourned to see it wasting there.
he was a peaceful soul and tried, as far as a whispered word or warning glance could do it, to deter dan from joining the "bad lot", as the rebels were called.
but having turned his face from the light, dan found the downward way easy, and took a grim satisfaction in the prospect of a general outbreak during which he might revenge himself upon the tyrannical warden, and strike a blow for his own liberty, feeling that an hour of insurrection would be a welcome vent for the pent-up passions that tormented him.
he had tamed many a wild animal, but his own lawless spirit was too much for him, till he found the curb that made him master of himself.
the sunday before thanksgiving, as he sat in chapel, dan observed several guests in the seats reserved for them, and looked anxiously to see if any familiar face was there; for he had a mortal fear that someone from home would suddenly confront him.
no, all were strangers, and he soon forgot them in listening to the chaplain's cheerful words, and the sad singing of many heavy hearts.
people often spoke to the convicts, so it caused no surprise when, on being invited to address them, one of the ladies rose and said she would tell them a little story; which announcement caused the younger listeners to pack up their ears, and even the older ones to look interested; for any change in their monotonous life was welcome.
the speaker was a middle-aged woman in black, with a sympathetic face, eyes full of compassion, and a voice that seemed to warm the heart, because of certain motherly tones in it.
she reminded dan of mrs jo, and he listened intently to every word, feeling that each was meant for him, because by chance, they came at the moment when he needed a softening memory to break up the ice of despair which was blighting all the good impulses of his nature.
it was a very simple little story, but it caught the men's attention at once, being about two soldiers in a hospital during the late war, both badly wounded in the right arm, and both anxious to save these breadwinners and go home unmaimed.
one was patient, docile, and cheerfully obeyed orders, even when told that the arm must go.
he submitted and after much suffering recovered, grateful for life, though he could fight no more.
the other rebelled, would listen to no advice, and having delayed too long, died a lingering death, bitterly regretting his folly when it was too late.
"now, as all stories should have a little moral, let me tell you mine," added the lady, with a smile, as she looked at the row of young men before her, sadly wondering what brought them there.
"this is a hospital for soldiers wounded in life's battle; here are sick souls, weak wills, insane passions, blind consciences, all the ills that come from broken laws, bringing their inevitable pain and punishment with them, there is hope and help for every one, for god's mercy is infinite and man's charity is great; but penitence and submission must come before the cure is possible.
pay the forfeit manfully, for it is just; but from the suffering and shame wring new strength for a nobler life.
the scar will remain, but it is better for a man to lose both arms than his soul; and these hard years, instead of being lost, may be made the most precious of your lives, if they teach you to rule yourselves.
o friends, try to outlive the bitter past, to wash the sin away, and begin anew.
if not for your own sakes, for that of the dear mothers, wives, and children, who wait and hope so patiently for you.
remember them, and do not let them love and long in vain.
and if there be any here so forlorn that they have no friend to care for them, never forget the father whose arms are always open to receive, forgive, and comfort his prodigal sons, even at the eleventh hour."
there the little sermon ended; but the preacher of it felt that her few hearty words had not been uttered in vain, for one boy's head was down, and several faces wore the softened look which told that a tender memory was touched.
dan was forced to set his lips to keep them steady, and drop his eyes to hide the sudden dew that dimmed them when waiting, hoping friends were spoken of.
he was glad to be alone in his cell again, and sat thinking deeply, instead of trying to forget himself in sleep.
it seemed as if those words were just what he needed to show him where he stood and how fateful the next few days might be to him.
should he join the "bad lot", and perhaps add another crime to the one already committed, lengthen the sentence already so terrible to bear, deliberately turn his back on all that was good, and mar the future that might yet be redeemed?
or should he, like the wiser man in the story, submit, bear the just punishment, try to be better for it; and though the scar would remain, it might serve as a reminder of a battle not wholly lost, since he had saved his soul though innocence was gone?
then he would dare go home, perhaps, confess, and find fresh strength in the pity and consolation of those who never gave him up.
good and evil fought for dan that night as did the angel and the devil for sintram, and it was hard to tell whether lawless nature or loving heart would conquer.
remorse and resentment, shame and sorrow, pride and passion, made a battle-field of that narrow cell, and the poor fellow felt as if he had fiercer enemies to fight now than any he had met in all his wanderings.
a little thing turned the scale, as it so often does in these mysterious hearts of ours, and a touch of sympathy helped dan decide the course which would bless or ban his life.
in the dark hour before the dawn, as he lay wakeful on his bed, a ray of light shone through the bars, the bolts turned softly, and a man came in.
it was the good chaplain, led by the same instinct that brings a mother to her sick child's pillow; for long experience as nurse of souls had taught him to see the signs of hope in the hard faces about him, and to know when the moment came for a helpful word and the cordial of sincere prayer that brings such comfort and healing to tried and troubled hearts.
he had been to dan before at unexpected hours, but always found him sullen, indifferent, or rebellious, and had gone away to patiently bide his time.
now it had come; a look of relief was in the prisoner's face as the light shone on it, and the sound of a human voice was strangely comfortable after listening to the whispers of the passions, doubts, and fears which had haunted the cell for hours, dismaying dan by their power, and showing him how much he needed help to fight the good fight, since he had no armour of his own.
"kent, poor mason has gone.
he left a message for you, and i felt impelled to come and give it now, because i think you were touched by what we heard today, and in need of the help mason tried to give you," said the chaplain, taking the one seat and fixing his kind eyes on the grim figure in the bed.
"thank you, sir, i'd like to hear it," was all dan's answer; but he forgot himself in pity for the poor fellow dead in prison, with no last look at wife or child.
he went suddenly, but remembered you, and begged me to say these words: "tell him not to do it, but to hold on, do his best, and when his time is out go right to mary, and she'll make him welcome for my sake.
he's got no friends in these parts and will feel lonesome, but a woman's always safe and comfortable when a fellow's down on his luck.
give him my love and good-bye for he was kind to me, and god will bless him for it."
then he died quietly, and tomorrow will go home with god's pardon, since man's came too late."
dan said nothing, but laid his arm across his face and lay quite still.
seeing that the pathetic little message had done its work even better than he hoped, the chaplain went on, unconscious how soothing his paternal voice was to the poor prisoner who longed to "go home", but felt he had forfeited the right."
i hope you wo n't disappoint this humble friend whose last thought was for you.
i know that there is trouble brewing, and fear that you may be tempted to lend a hand on the wrong side.
do n't do it, for the plot will not succeed -- it never does -- and it would be a pity to spoil your record which is fair so far.
keep up your courage, my son, and go out at the year's end better, not worse, for this hard experience.
remember a grateful woman waits to welcome and thank you if you have no friends of your own; if you have, do your best for their sake, and let us ask god to help you as he only can."
then waiting for no answer the good man prayed heartily, and dan listened as he never had before; for the lonely hour, the dying message, the sudden uprising of his better self, made it seem as if some kind angel had come to save and comfort him.
after that night there was a change in dan, though no one knew it but the chaplain; for to all the rest he was the same silent, stern, unsocial fellow as before, and turning his back on the bad and the good alike, found his only pleasure in the books his friend brought him.
slowly, as the steadfast drop wears away the rock, the patient kindness of this man won dan's confidence, and led by him he began to climb out of the valley of humiliation towards the mountains, whence, through the clouds, one can catch glimpses of the celestial city whither all true pilgrims sooner or later turn their wistful eyes and stumbling feet.
there were many back-slidings, many struggles with giant despair and fiery apollyon, many heavy hours when life did not seem worth living and mason's escape the only hope.
but through all, the grasp of a friendly hand, the sound of a brother's voice, the unquenchable desire to atone for the past by a better future, and win the right to see home again, kept poor dan to his great task as the old year drew to its end, and the new waited to turn another leaf in the book whose hardest lesson he was learning now.
at christmas he yearned so for plumfield that he devised a way to send a word of greeting to cheer their anxious hearts, and comfort his own.
he wrote to mary mason, who lived in another state, asking her to mail the letter he enclosed.
in it he merely said he was well and busy, had given up the farm, and had other plans which he would tell later; would not be home before autumn probably, nor write often, but was all right, and sent love and merry christmas to everyone.
then he took up his solitary life again, and tried to pay his forfeit manfully.
chapter 13.
nat's new year" i do n't expect to hear from emil yet, and nat writes regularly, but where is dan?
only two or three postals since he went.
such an energetic fellow as he is could buy up all the farms in kansas by this time," said mrs jo one morning when the mail came in and no card or envelope bore dan's dashing hand.
"he never writes often, you know, but does his work and then comes home.
months and years seem to mean little to him, and he is probably prospecting in the wilderness, forgetful of time," answered mr bhaer, deep in one of nat's long letters from leipzig.
"but he promised he would let me know how he got on, and dan keeps his word if he can.
i'm afraid something has happened to him"; and mrs jo comforted herself by patting don's head, as he came at the sound of his master's name to look at her with eyes almost human in their wistful intelligence.
"do n't worry, mum dear, nothing ever happens to the old fellow.
he'll turn up all right, and come stalking in some day with a gold-mine in one pocket and a prairie in the other, as jolly as a grig," said ted, who was in no haste to deliver octoo to her rightful owner.
"perhaps he has gone to montana and given up the farm plan.
he seemed to like indians best, i thought"; and rob went to help his mother with her pile of letters and his cheerful suggestions."
i hope so, it would suit him best.
but i am sure he would have told us his change of plan and sent for some money to work with.
no, i feel in my prophetic bones that something is wrong," said mrs jo, looking as solemn as fate in a breakfast-cap.
"then we shall hear; ill news always travels fast.
do n't borrow trouble, jo, but hear how well nat is getting on.
i'd no idea the boy would care for anything but music.
my good friend baumgarten has launched him well, and it will do him good if he lose not his head.
a good lad, but new to the world, and leipzig is full of snares for the unwary.
gott be with him!"
the professor read nat's enthusiastic account of certain literary and musical parties he had been to, the splendours of the opera, the kindness of his new friends, the delight of studying under such a master as bergmann, his hopes of rapid gain, and his great gratitude to those who had opened this enchanted world to him.
"that, now, is satisfactory and comfortable.
i felt that nat had unsuspected power in him before he went away; he was so manly and full of excellent plans," said mrs jo, in a satisfied tone.
"we shall see.
he will doubtless get his lesson and be the better for it.
that comes to us all in our young days.
i hope it will not be too hard for our good jungling," answered the professor, with a wise smile, remembering his own student life in germany.
he was right; and nat was already getting his lesson in life with a rapidity which would have astonished his friends at home.
the manliness over which mrs jo rejoiced was developing in unexpected ways, and quiet nat had plunged into the more harmless dissipations of the gay city with all the ardour of an inexperienced youth taking his first sip of pleasure.
the entire freedom and sense of independence was delicious, for many benefits began to burden him, and he longed to stand on his own legs and make his own way.
no one knew his past here; and with a well-stocked wardrobe, a handsome sum at his banker's, and the best teacher in leipzig, he made his debut as a musical young gentleman, presented by the much-respected professor bhaer and the wealthy mr laurence, who had many friends glad to throw open their houses to his protege.
thanks to these introductions, his fluent german, modest manners, and undeniable talent, the stranger was cordially welcomed, and launched at once into a circle which many an ambitious young man strove in vain to enter.
all this rather turned nat's head; and as he sat in the brilliant opera-house, chatted among the ladies at some select coffee-party, or whisked an eminent professor's amiable daughter down the room, trying to imagine she was daisy, he often asked himself if this gay fellow could be the poor homeless little street musician who once stood waiting in the rain at the gates of plumfield.
his heart was true, his impulses good, and his ambitions high; but the weak side of his nature came uppermost here; vanity led him astray, pleasure intoxicated him, and for a time he forgot everything but the delights of this new and charming life.
without meaning to deceive, he allowed people to imagine him a youth of good family and prospects; he boasted a little of mr laurie's wealth and influence, of professor bhaer's eminence, and the flourishing college at which he himself had been educated.
mrs jo was introduced to the sentimental frauleins who read her books, and the charms and virtues of his own dear madchen confided to sympathetic mammas.
all these boyish boastings and innocent vanities were duly circulated among the gossips, and his importance much increased thereby, to his surprise and gratification, as well as some shame.
but they bore fruit that was bitter in the end; for, finding that he was considered one of the upper class, it very soon became impossible for him to live in the humble quarters he had chosen, or to lead the studious, quiet life planned for him.
he met other students, young officers, and gay fellows of all sorts, and was flattered at being welcomed among them; though it was a costly pleasure, and often left a thorn of regret to vex his honest conscience.
he was tempted to take better rooms in a more fashionable street, leaving good frau tetzel to lament his loss, and his artist neighbour, fraulein vogelstein, to shake her grey ringlets and predict his return, a sadder and a wiser man.
the sum placed at his disposal for expenses and such simple pleasures as his busy life could command seemed a fortune to nat, though it was smaller than generous mr laurie first proposed.
professor bhaer wisely counselled prudence, as nat was unused to the care of money, and the good man knew the temptations that a well-filled purse makes possible at this pleasure-loving age.
so nat enjoyed his handsome little apartment immensely, and insensibly let many unaccustomed luxuries creep in.
he loved his music and never missed a lesson; but the hours he should have spent in patient practice were too often wasted at theatre, ball, beer-garden, or club -- doing no harm beyond that waste of precious time, and money not his own; for he had no vices, and took his recreation like a gentleman, so far.
but slowly a change for the worse was beginning to show itself, and he felt it.
these first steps along the flowery road were downward, not upward; and the constant sense of disloyalty which soon began to haunt him made nat feel, in the few quiet hours he gave himself, that all was not well with him, spite of the happy whirl in which he lived.
"another month, and then i will be steady," he said more than once, trying to excuse the delay by the fact that all was new to him, that his friends at home wished him to be happy, and that society was giving him the polish he needed.
but as each month slipped away it grew harder to escape; he was inevitably drawn on, and it was so easy to drift with the tide that he deferred the evil day as long as possible.
winter festivities followed the more wholesome summer pleasures, and nat found them more costly; for the hospitable ladies expected some return from the stranger; and carriages, bouquets, theatre tickets, and all the little expenses a young man can not escape at such times, told heavily on the purse which seemed bottomless at first.
taking mr laurie for his model, nat became quite a gallant, and was universally liked; for through all the newly acquired airs and graces the genuine honesty and simplicity of his character plainly shone, winning confidence and affection from all who knew him.
among these was a certain amiable old lady with a musical daughter -- well-born but poor, and very anxious to marry the aforesaid daughter to some wealthy man.
nat's little fictions concerning his prospects and friends charmed the gnadige frau as much as his music and devoted manners did the sentimental minna.
their quiet parlour seemed homelike and restful to nat, when tired of gayer scenes; and the motherly interest of the elder lady was sweet and comfortable to him; while the tender blue eyes of the pretty girl were always so full of welcome when he came, of regret when he left, and of admiration when he played to her, that he found it impossible to keep away from this attractive spot.
he meant no harm, and feared no danger, having confided to the frau mamma that he was betrothed; so he continued to call, little dreaming what ambitious hopes the old lady cherished, nor the peril there was in receiving the adoration of a romantic german girl, till it was too late to spare her pain and himself great regret.
of course some inkling of these new and agreeable experiences got into the voluminous letters he never was too gay, too busy, or too tired to write each week; and while daisy rejoiced over his happiness and success, and the boys laughed at the idea of "old chirper coming out as a society man", the elders looked sober, and said among themselves: "he is going too fast; he must have a word of warning, or trouble may come."
but mr laurie said: "oh, let him have his fling; he's been dependent and repressed long enough.
he ca n't go far with the money he has, and i've no fear of his getting into debt.
he's too timid and too honest to be reckless.
it is his first taste of freedom; let him enjoy it, and he'll work the better by and by; i know -- and i'm sure i'm right."
so the warnings were very gentle, and the good people waited anxiously to hear more of hard study, and less of "splendid times".
daisy sometimes wondered, with a pang of her faithful heart, if one of the charming minnas, hildegardes, and lottchens mentioned were not stealing her nat away from her; but she never asked, always wrote calmly and cheerfully, and looked in vain for any hint of change in the letters that were worn out with much reading.
month after month slipped away, till the holidays came with gifts, good wishes, and brilliant festivities.
nat expected to enjoy himself very much, and did at first; for a german christmas is a spectacle worth seeing.
but he paid dearly for the abandon with which he threw himself into the gaieties of that memorable week; and on new year's day the reckoning came.
it seemed as if some malicious fairy had prepared the surprises that arrived, so unwelcome were they, so magical the change they wrought, turning his happy world into a scene of desolation and despair as suddenly as a transformation at the pantomime.
the first came in the morning when, duly armed with costly bouquets and bon-bons, he went to thank minna and her mother for the braces embroidered with forget-me-nots and the silk socks knit by the old lady's nimble fingers, which he had found upon his table that day.
the frau mamma received him graciously; but when he asked for the daughter the good lady frankly demanded what his intentions were, adding that certain gossip which had reached her ear made it necessary for him to declare himself or come no more, as minna's peace must not be compromised.
a more panic-stricken youth was seldom seen than nat as he received this unexpected demand.
he saw too late that his american style of gallantry had deceived the artless girl, and might be used with terrible effect by the artful mother, if she chose to do it.
nothing but the truth could save him, and he had the honour and honesty to tell it faithfully.
a sad scene followed; for nat was obliged to strip off his fictitious splendour, confess himself only a poor student, and humbly ask pardon for the thoughtless freedom with which he had enjoyed their too confiding hospitality.
if he had any doubts of frau schomburg's motives and desires, they were speedily set at rest by the frankness with which she showed her disappointment, the vigour with which she scolded him, and the scorn with which she cast him off when her splendid castles in the air collapsed.
the sincerity of nat's penitence softened her a little and she consented to a farewell word with minna, who had listened at the keyhole, and was produced drenched in tears, to fall on nat's bosom, crying: "ah, thou dear one, never can i forget thee, though my heart is broken!"
this was worse than the scolding; for the stout lady also wept, and it was only after much german gush and twaddle that he escaped, feeling like another werther; while the deserted lotte consoled herself with the bonbons, her mother with the more valuable gifts.
the second surprise arrived as he dined with professor baumgarten.
his appetite had been effectually taken away by the scene of the morning, and his spirits received another damper when a fellow student cheerfully informed him that he was about to go to america, and should make it his agreeable duty to call on the "lieber herr professor bhaer", to tell him how gaily his protege was disporting himself at leipzig.
nat's heart died within him as he imagined the effect these glowing tales would have at plumfield -- not that he had wilfully deceived them, but in his letters many things were left untold; and when carlsen added, with a friendly wink, that he would merely hint at the coming betrothal of the fair minna and his "heart's friend", nat found himself devoutly hoping that this other inconvenient heart's friend might go to the bottom of the sea before he reached plumfield to blast all his hopes by these tales of a mis-spent winter.
collecting his wits, he cautioned carlsen with what he flattered himself was mephistophelian art, and gave him such confused directions that it would be a miracle if he ever found professor bhaer.
but the dinner was spoilt for nat, and he got away as soon as possible, to wander disconsolately about the streets, with no heart for the theatre or the supper he was to share with some gay comrades afterwards.
he comforted himself a little by giving alms to sundry beggars, making two children happy with gilded gingerbread, and drinking a lonely glass of beer, in which he toasted his daisy and wished himself a better year than the last had been.
going home at length, he found a third surprise awaiting him in the shower of bills which had descended upon him like a snowstorm, burying him in an avalanche of remorse, despair, and self-disgust.
these bills were so many and so large that he was startled and dismayed; for, as mr bhaer wisely predicted, he knew little about the value of money.
it would take every dollar at the bankers to pay them all at once, and leave him penniless for the next six months, unless he wrote home for more.
he would rather starve than do that; and his first impulse was to seek help at the gaming-table, whither his new friends had often tempted him.
but he had promised mr bhaer to resist what then had seemed an impossible temptation; and now he would not add another fault to the list already so long.
borrow he would not, nor beg.
what could he do?
for these appalling bills must be paid, and the lessons go on; or his journey was an ignominious failure.
but he must live meantime.
and how?
bowed down with remorse for the folly of these months, he saw too late whither he was drifting, and for hours paced up and down his pretty rooms, floundering in a slough of despond, with no helping hand to pull him out -- at least he thought so till letters were brought in, and among fresh bills lay one well-worn envelope with an american stamp in the corner.
ah, how welcome it was!
how eagerly he read the long pages full of affectionate wishes from all at home!
for everyone had sent a line, and as each familiar name appeared, his eyes grew dimmer and dimmer till, as he read the last -- "god bless my boy!
mother bhaer" -- he broke down; and laying his head on his arms, blistered the paper with a rain of tears that eased his heart and washed away the boyish sins that now lay so heavy on his conscience.
"dear people, how they love and trust me!
and how bitterly they would be disappointed if they knew what a fool i've been!
i'll fiddle in the streets again before i'll ask for help from them!"
cried nat, brushing away the tears of which he was ashamed, although he felt the good they had done.
now he seemed to see more clearly what to do; for the helping hand had been stretched across the sea, and love, the dear evangelist, had lifted him out of the slough and shown him the narrow gate, beyond which deliverance lay.
when the letter had been reread, and one corner where a daisy was painted, passionately kissed, nat felt strong enough to face the worst and conquer it.
every bill should be paid, every salable thing of his own sold, these costly rooms given up; and once back with thrifty frau tetzel, he would find work of some sort by which to support himself, as many another student did.
he must give up the new friends, turn his back on the gay life, cease to be a butterfly, and take his place among the grubs.
it was the only honest thing to do, but very hard for the poor fellow to crush his little vanities, renounce the delights so dear to the young, own his folly, and step down from his pedestal to be pitied, laughed at, and forgotten.
it took all nat's pride and courage to do this, for his was a sensitive nature; esteem was very precious to him, failure very bitter, and nothing but the inborn contempt for meanness and deceit kept him from asking help or trying to hide his need by some dishonest device.
as he sat alone that night, mr bhaer's words came back to him with curious clearness, and he saw himself a boy again at plumfield, punishing his teacher as a lesson to himself, when timidity had made him lie.
"he shall not suffer for me again, and i wo n't be a sneak if i am a fool.
i'll go and tell professor baumgarten all about it and ask his advice.
i'd rather face a loaded cannon; but it must be done.
then i'll sell out, pay my debts, and go back where i belong.
better be an honest pauper than a jackdaw among peacocks"; and nat smiled in the midst of his trouble, as he looked about him at the little elegancies of his room, remembering what he came from.
he kept his word manfully, and was much comforted to find that his experience was an old story to the professor, who approved his plan, thinking wisely that the discipline would be good for him, and was very kind in offering help and promising to keep the secret of his folly from his friend bhaer till nat had redeemed himself.
the first week of the new year was spent by our prodigal in carrying out his plan with penitent dispatch, and his birthday found him alone in the little room high up at frau tetzel's, with nothing of his former splendour, but sundry unsalable keepsakes from the buxom maidens, who mourned his absence deeply.
his male friends had ridiculed, pitied, and soon left him alone, with one or two exceptions, who offered their purses generously and promised to stand by him.
he was lonely and heavy-hearted, and sat brooding over his small fire as he remembered the last new year's day at plumfield, when at this hour he was dancing with his daisy.
a tap at the door roused him, and with a careless "herein", he waited to see who had climbed so far for his sake.
it was the good frau proudly bearing a tray, on which stood a bottle of wine and an astonishing cake bedecked with sugar-plums of every hue, and crowned with candles.
fraulein vogelstein followed, embracing a blooming rose-tree, above which her grey curls waved and her friendly face beamed joyfully as she cried: "dear herr blak, we bring you greetings and a little gift or two in honour of this ever-to-be-remembered day.
best wishes!
and may the new year bloom for you as beautifully as we your heart-warm friends desire."
"yes, yes, in truth we do, dear herr," added frau tetzel.
"eat of this with-joy-made kuchen, and drink to the health of the far-away beloved ones in the good wine."
amused, yet touched by the kindness of the good souls, nat thanked them both, and made them stay to enjoy the humble feast with him.
this they gladly did, being motherly women full of pity for the dear youth, whose straits they knew, and having substantial help to offer, as well as kind words and creature comforts.
frau tetzel, with some hesitation, mentioned a friend of hers who, forced by illness to leave his place in the orchestra of a second-rate theatre, would gladly offer it to nat, if he could accept so humble a position.
blushing and toying with the roses like a shy girl, good old vogelstein asked if in his leisure moments he could give english lessons in the young ladies" school where she taught painting, adding that a small but certain salary would be paid him.
gratefully nat accepted both offers, finding it less humiliating to be helped by women than by friends of his own sex.
this work would support him in a frugal way, and certain musical drudgery promised by his master assured his own teaching.
delighted with the success of their little plot, these friendly neighbours left him with cheery words, warm hand-grasps, and faces beaming with feminine satisfaction at the hearty kiss nat put on each faded cheek, as the only return he could make for all their helpful kindness.
it was strange how much brighter the world looked after that; for hope was a better cordial than the wine, and good resolutions bloomed as freshly as the little rose-tree that filled the room with fragrance, as nat woke the echoes with the dear old airs, finding now as always his best comforter in music, to whom henceforth he swore to be a more loyal subject.
chapter 14.
plays at plumfield as it is as impossible for the humble historian of the march family to write a story without theatricals in it as for our dear miss yonge to get on with less than twelve or fourteen children in her interesting tales, we will accept the fact, and at once cheer ourselves after the last afflicting events, by proceeding to the christmas plays at plumfield; for they influence the fate of several of our characters, and can not well be skipped.
when the college was built mr laurie added a charming little theatre which not only served for plays, but declamations, lectures, and concerts.
the drop-curtain displayed apollo with the muses grouped about him; and as a compliment to the donor of the hall the artist had given the god a decided resemblance to our friend, which was considered a superb joke by everyone else.
home talent furnished stars, stock company, orchestra, and scene painter; and astonishing performances were given on this pretty little stage.
mrs jo had been trying for some time to produce a play which should be an improvement upon the adaptations from the french then in vogue, curious mixtures of fine toilettes, false sentiment, and feeble wit, with no touch of nature to redeem them.
it was easy to plan plays full of noble speeches and thrilling situations, but very hard to write them; so she contented herself with a few scenes of humble life in which the comic and pathetic were mingled; and as she fitted her characters to her actors, she hoped the little venture would prove that truth and simplicity had not entirely lost their power to charm.
mr laurie helped her, and they called themselves beaumont and fletcher, enjoying their joint labour very much; for beaumont's knowledge of dramatic art was of great use in curbing fletcher's too-aspiring pen, and they flattered themselves that they had produced a neat and effective bit of work as an experiment.
all was ready now; and christmas day was much enlivened by last rehearsals, the panics of timid actors, the scramble for forgotten properties, and the decoration of the theatre.
evergreen and holly from the woods, blooming plants from the hothouse on parnassus, and flags of all nations made it very gay that night in honour of the guests who were coming, chief among them, miss cameron, who kept her promise faithfully.
the orchestra tuned their instruments with unusual care, the scene-shifters set their stage with lavish elegance, the prompter heroically took his seat in the stifling nook provided for him, and the actors dressed with trembling hands that dropped the pins, and perspiring brows whereon the powder would n't stick.
beaumont and fletcher were everywhere, feeling that their literary reputation was at stake; for sundry friendly critics were invited, and reporters, like mosquitoes, can not be excluded from any earthly scene, be it a great man's death-bed or a dime museum.
"has she come?"
was the question asked by every tongue behind the curtain; and when tom, who played an old man, endangered his respectable legs among the footlights to peep, announced that he saw miss cameron's handsome head in the place of honour, a thrill pervaded the entire company, and josie declared with an excited gasp that she was going to have stage fright for the first time in her life.
"i'll shake you if you do," said mrs jo, who was in such a wild state of dishevelment with her varied labours that she might have gone on as madge wildlife, without an additional rag or crazy elf-lock.
"you'll have time to get your wits together while we do our piece.
we are old stagers and calm as clocks," answered demi, with a nod towards alice, ready in her pretty dress and all her properties at hand.
but both clocks were going rather faster than usual, as heightened colour, brilliant eyes, and a certain flutter under the laces and velvet coat betrayed.
they were to open the entertainment with a gay little piece which they had played before and did remarkably well.
alice was a tall girl, with dark hair and eyes, and a face which intelligence, health, and a happy heart made beautiful.
she was looking her best now, for the brocades, plumes, and powder of the marquise became her stately figure; and demi in his court suit, with sword, three-cornered hat, and white wig, made as gallant a baron as one would wish to see.
josie was the maid, and looked her part to the life, being as pretty, pert, and inquisitive as any french soubrette.
these three were all the characters; and the success of the piece depended on the spirit and skill with which the quickly changing moods of the quarrelsome lovers were given, their witty speeches made to tell, and by-play suited to the courtly period in which the scene was laid.
few would have recognized sober john and studious alice in the dashing gentleman and coquettish lady, who kept the audience laughing at their caprices; while they enjoyed the brilliant costumes, and admired the ease and grace of the young actors.
josie was a prominent figure in the plot, as she listened at keyholes, peeped into notes, and popped in and out at all the most inopportune moments, with her nose in the air, her hands in her apron-pockets, and curiosity pervading her little figure from the topmost bow of her jaunty cap to the red heels of her slippers.
all went smoothly; and the capricious marquise, after tormenting the devoted baron to her heart's content, owned herself conquered in the war of wits, and was just offering the hand he had fairly won, when a crash startled them, and a heavily decorated side-scene swayed forward, ready to fall upon alice.
demi saw it and sprung before her to catch and hold it up, standing like a modern samson with the wall of a house on his back.
the danger was over in a moment, and he was about to utter his last speech, when the excited young scene-shifter, who had flown up a ladder to repair the damage, leaned over to whisper "all right", and release demi from his spread-eagle attitude: as he did so, a hammer slipped out of his pocket, to fall upon the upturned face below, inflicting a smart blow and literally knocking the baron's part out of his head."
a quick curtain," robbed the audience of a pretty little scene not down on the bill; for the marquise flew to staunch the blood with a cry of alarm: "oh!
john, you are hurt!
lean on me" -- which john gladly did for a moment, being a trifle dazed yet quite able to enjoy the tender touch of the hands busied about him and the anxiety of the face so near his own; for both told him something which he would have considered cheaply won by a rain of hammers and the fall of the whole college on his head.
nan was on the spot in a moment with the case that never left her pocket; and the wound was neatly plastered up by the time mrs jo arrived, demanding tragically: "is he too much hurt to go on again?
if he is, my play is lost!"
"i'm all the fitter for it, aunty; for here's a real instead of a painted wound.
i'll be ready; do n't worry about me."
and catching up his wig, demi was off, with only a very eloquent look of thanks to the marquise, who had spoilt her gloves for his sake, but did not seem to mind it at all, though they reached above her elbows, and were most expensive.
"how are your nerves, fletcher?"
asked mr laurie as they stood together during the breathless minute before the last bell rings.
"about as calm as yours, beaumont," answered mrs jo, gesticulating wildly to mrs meg to set her cap straight.
"bear up, partner!
i'll stand by you whatever comes!'"
i feel that it ought to go; for, though it's a mere trifle, a good deal of honest work and truth have gone into it.
does n't meg look the picture of a dear old country woman?"
she certainly did, as she sat in the farmhouse kitchen by a cheery fire, rocking a cradle and darning stockings, as if she had done nothing else all her life.
grey hair, skilfully drawn lines on the forehead, and a plain gown, with cap, little shawl, and check apron, changed her into a comfortable, motherly creature who found favour the moment the curtain went up and discovered her rocking, darning, and crooning an old song.
in a short soliloquy about sam, her boy, who wanted to enlist; dolly, her discontented little daughter, who longed for city ease and pleasures; and poor "elizy", who had married badly, and came home to die, bequeathing her baby to her mother, lest its bad father should claim it, the little story was very simply opened, and made effective by the real boiling of the kettle on the crane, the ticking of a tall clock, and the appearance of a pair of blue worsted shoes which waved fitfully in the air to the soft babble of a baby's voice.
those shapeless little shoes won the first applause; and mr laurie, forgetting elegance in satisfaction, whispered to his coadjutor: "i thought the baby would fetch them!"
"if the dear thing wo n't squall in the wrong place, we are saved.
but it is risky.
be ready to catch it if all meg's cuddlings prove in vain," answered mrs jo, adding, with a clutch at mr laurie's arm as a haggard face appeared at the window: "here's demi!
i hope no one will recognize him when he comes on as the son.
i'll never forgive you for not doing the villain yourself."
"ca n't run the thing and act too.
he's capitally made up, and likes a bit of melodrama."
"this scene ought to have come later; but i wanted to show that the mother was the heroine as soon as possible.
i'm tired of love-sick girls and runaway wives.
we'll prove that there's romance in old women also.
now he's coming!"
and in slouched a degraded-looking man, shabby, unshaven, and evil-eyed, trying to assume a masterful air as he dismayed the tranquil old woman by demanding his child.
a powerful scene followed; and mrs meg surprised even those who knew her best by the homely dignity with which she at first met the man she dreaded; then, as he brutally pressed his claim, she pleaded with trembling voice and hands to keep the little creature she had promised the dying mother to protect; and when he turned to take it by force, quite a thrill went through the house as the old woman sprung to snatch it from the cradle, and holding it close, defied him in god's name to tear it from that sacred refuge.
it was really well done; and the round of applause that greeted the fine tableau of the indignant old woman, the rosy, blinking baby clinging to her neck, and the daunted man who dared not execute his evil purpose with such a defender for helpless innocence, told the excited authors that their first scene was a hit.
the second was quieter, and introduced josie as a bonny country lass setting the supper-table in a bad humour.
the pettish way in which she slapped down the plates, hustled the cups, and cut the big brown loaf, as she related her girlish trials and ambitions, was capital.
mrs jo kept her eye on miss cameron, and saw her nod approval several times at some natural tone or gesture, some good bit of by-play or a quick change of expression in the young face, which was as variable as an april day.
her struggle with the toasting-fork made much merriment; so did her contempt for the brown sugar, and the relish with which she sweetened her irksome duties by eating it; and when she sat, like cinderella, on the hearth, tearfully watching the flames dance on the homely room, a girlish voice was heard to exclaim impulsively: "poor little thing!
she ought to have some fun!"
the old woman enters; and mother and daughter have a pretty scene, in which the latter coaxes and threatens, kisses and cries, till she wins the reluctant consent of the former to visit a rich relation in the city; and from being a little thunder-cloud dolly becomes bewitchingly gay and good, as soon as her wilful wish is granted.
the poor old soul has hardly recovered from this trial when the son enters, in army blue, tells he has enlisted and must go.
that is a hard blow; but the patriotic mother bears it well, and not till the thoughtless young folks have hastened away to tell their good news elsewhere does she break down.
then the country kitchen becomes pathetic as the old mother sits alone mourning over her children, till the grey head is hidden in the hands as she kneels down by the cradle to weep and pray, with only baby to comfort her fond and faithful heart.
sniffs were audible all through the latter part of this scene; and when the curtain fell, people were so busy wiping their eyes that for a moment they forgot to applaud.
that silent moment was more flattering than noise; and as mrs jo wiped the real tears off her sister's face, she said as solemnly as an unconscious dab of rouge on her nose permitted: "meg, you have saved my play!
oh, why are n't you a real actress, and i a real playwright?"
"do n't gush now, dear, but help me dress josie; she's in such a quiver of excitement, i ca n't manage her, and this is her best scene, you know."
so it was; for her aunt had written it especially for her, and little jo was happy in a gorgeous dress, with a train long enough to satisfy her wildest dreams.
the rich relation's parlour was in festival array, and the country cousin sails in, looking back at her sweeping flounces with such artless rapture that no one had the heart to laugh at the pretty jay in borrowed plumes.
she has confidences with herself in the mirror, from which it is made evident that she had discovered all is not gold that glitters, and has found greater temptations than those a girlish love of pleasure, luxury, and flattery bring her.
she is sought by a rich lover; but her honest heart resists the allurements he offers, and in its innocent perplexity wishes "mother" was there to comfort and counsel.
a gay little dance, in which dora, nan, bess, and several of the boys took part, made a good background for the humble figure of the old woman in her widow's bonnet, rusty shawl, big umbrella, and basket.
her naive astonishment, as she surveys the spectacle, feels the curtains, and smooths her old gloves during the moment she remains unseen, was very good; but josie's unaffected start when she sees her, and the cry: "why, there's mother!"
was such a hearty little bit of nature, it hardly needed the impatient tripping over her train as she ran into the arms that seemed now to be her nearest refuge.
the lover plays his part; and ripples of merriment greeted the old woman's searching questions and blunt answers during the interview which shows the girl how shallow his love is, and how near she had been to ruining her life as bitterly as poor "elizy" did.
she gives her answer frankly, and when they are alone, looks from her own bedizened self to the shabby dress, work-worn hands, and tender face, crying with a repentant sob and kiss: "take me home, mother, and keep me safe.
i've had enough of this!"
"that will do you good, maria; do n't forget it," said one lady to her daughter as the curtain went down; and the girl answered: "well, i'm sure i do n't see why it's touching; but it is," as she spread her lace handkerchief to dry.
tom and nan came out strong in the next scene; for it was a ward in an army hospital, and surgeon and nurse went from bed to bed, feeling pulses, administering doses, and hearing complaints with an energy and gravity which convulsed the audience.
the tragic element, never far from the comic at such times and places, came in when, while they bandaged an arm, the doctor told the nurse about an old woman who was searching through the hospital for her son, after days and nights on battlefields, through ambulances, and among scenes which would have killed most women.
"she will be here directly, and i dread her coming, for i'm afraid the poor lad who has just gone is her boy.
i'd rather face a cannon than these brave women, with their hope and courage and great sorrow," says the surgeon.
"ah, these poor mothers break my heart!"
adds the nurse, wiping her eyes on her big apron; and with the words mrs meg came in.
there was the same dress, the basket and umbrella, the rustic speech, the simple manners; but all were made pathetic by the terrible experience which had changed the tranquil old woman to that haggard figure with wild eyes, dusty feet, trembling hands, and an expression of mingled anguish, resolution, and despair which gave the homely figure a tragic dignity and power that touched all hearts.
a few broken words told the story of her vain search, and then the sad quest began again.
people held their breath as, led by the nurse, she went from bed to bed, showing in her face the alternations of hope, dread, and bitter disappointment as each was passed.
on a narrow cot was a long figure covered with a sheet, and here she paused to lay one hand on her heart and one on her eyes, as if to gather courage to look at the nameless dead.
then she drew down the sheet, gave a long shivering sigh of relief, saying softly: "not my son, thank god!
but some mother's boy."
and stooping down, she kissed the cold forehead tenderly.
somebody sobbed there, and miss cameron shook two tears out of her eyes, anxious to lose no look or gesture as the poor soul, nearly spent with the long strain, struggled on down the long line.
but her search was happily ended for, as if her voice had roused him from his feverish sleep, a gaunt, wild-eyed man sat up in his bed, and stretching his arms to her, cried in a voice that echoed through the room: "mother, mother!
i knew you'd come to me!"
she did go to him, with a cry of love and joy that thrilled every listener, as she gathered him in her arms with the tears and prayers and blessing such as only a fond and faithful old mother could give.
the last scene was a cheerful contrast to this; for the country kitchen was bright with christmas cheer, the wounded hero, with black patch and crutches well displayed, sat by the fire in the old chair whose familiar creak was soothing to his ear; pretty dolly was stirring about, gaily trimming dresser, settle, high chimney-piece, and old-fashioned cradle with mistletoe and holly; while the mother rested beside her son, with that blessed baby on her knee.
refreshed by a nap and nourishment, this young actor now covered himself with glory by his ecstatic prancings, incoherent remarks to the audience, and vain attempts to get to the footlights, as he blinked approvingly at these brilliant toys.
it was good to see mrs meg pat him on the back, cuddle the fat legs out of sight, and appease his vain longings with a lump of sugar, till baby embraced her with a grateful ardour that brought him a round of applause all for his little self.
a sound of singing outside disturbs the happy family, and, after a carol in the snowy moonlight, a flock of neighbours troop in with christmas gifts and greetings.
much by-play made this a lively picture; for sam's sweetheart hovered round him with a tenderness the marquise did not show the baron; and dolly had a pretty bit under the mistletoe with her rustic adorer, who looked so like ham peggotty in his cowhide boots, rough jacket, and dark beard and wig, that no one would have recognized ted but for the long legs, which no extent of leather could disguise.
it ended with a homely feast, brought by the guests; and as they sat round the table covered with doughnuts and cheese, pumpkin-pie, and other delicacies, sam rises on his crutches to propose the first toast, and holding up his mug of cider, says, with a salute, and a choke in his voice: "mother, god bless her!"
all drink it standing, dolly with her arm round the old woman's neck, as she hides her happy tears on her daughter's breast; while the irrepressible baby beat rapturously on the table with a spoon, and crowed audibly as the curtain went down.
they had it up again in a jiffy to get a last look at the group about that central figure, which was showered with bouquets, to the great delight of the infant roscius; till a fat rosebud hit him on the nose, and produced the much-dreaded squall, which, fortunately, only added to the fun at that moment.
"well, that will do for a beginning," said beaumont, with a sigh of relief, as the curtain descended for the last time, and the actors scattered to dress for the closing piece.
"as an experiment, it is a success.
now we can venture to begin our great american drama," answered mrs jo, full of satisfaction and grand ideas for the famous play -- which, we may add, she did not write that year, owing to various dramatic events in her own family.
the owlsdark marbles closed the entertainment, and, being something new, proved amusing to this very indulgent audience.
the gods and goddesses on parnassus were displayed in full conclave; and, thanks to mrs amy's skill in draping and posing, the white wigs and cotton-flannel robes were classically correct and graceful, though sundry modern additions somewhat marred the effect, while adding point to the showman's learned remarks.
mr laurie was professor owlsdark in cap and gown; and, after a high-flown introduction, he proceeded to exhibit and explain his marbles.
the first figure was a stately minerva; but a second glance produced a laugh, for the words "women's rights" adorned her shield, a scroll bearing the motto "vote early and often" hung from the beak of the owl perched on her lance, and a tiny pestle and mortar ornamented her helmet.
attention was drawn to the firm mouth, the piercing eye, the awe-inspiring brow, of the strong-minded woman of antiquity, and some scathing remarks made upon the degeneracy of her modern sisters who failed to do their duty.
mercury came next, and was very fine in his airy attitude, though the winged legs quivered as if it was difficult to keep the lively god in his place.
his restless nature was dilated upon, his mischievous freaks alluded to, and a very bad character given to the immortal messenger-boy; which delighted his friends and caused the marble nose of the victim to curl visibly with scorn when derisive applause greeted a particularly hard hit.
a charming little hebe stood next, pouring nectar from a silver teapot into a blue china tea-cup.
she also pointed a moral; for the professor explained that the nectar of old was the beverage which cheers but does not inebriate, and regretted that the excessive devotion of american women to this classic brew proved so harmful, owing to the great development of brain their culture produced.
a touch at modern servants, in contrast to this accomplished table-girl, made the statue's cheeks glow under the chalk, and brought her a hearty round as the audience recognized dolly and the smart soubrette.
jove in all his majesty followed, as he and his wife occupied the central pedestals in the half-circle of immortals.
a splendid jupiter, with hair well set up off the fine brow, ambrosial beard, silver thunderbolts in one hand, and a well-worn ferule in the other.
a large stuffed eagle from the museum stood at his feet; and the benign expression of his august countenance showed that he was in a good humour -- as well he might be, for he was paid some handsome compliments upon his wise rule, the peaceful state of his kingdom, and the brood of all-accomplished pallases that yearly issued from his mighty brain.
cheers greeted this and other pleasant words, and caused the thunderer to bow his thanks; for "jove nods", as everyone knows, and flattery wins the heart of gods and men.
mrs juno, with her peacocks, darning-needle, pen, and cooking-spoon, did not get off so easily; for the professor was down on her with all manner of mirth-provoking accusations, criticisms, and insults even.
he alluded to her domestic infelicity, her meddlesome disposition, sharp tongue, bad temper, and jealousy, closing, however, with a tribute to her skill in caring for the wounds and settling the quarrels of belligerent heroes, as well as her love for youths in olympus and on earth.
gales of laughter greeted these hits, varied by hisses from some indignant boys, who would not bear, even in joke, any disrespect to dear mother bhaer, who, however, enjoyed it all immensely, as the twinkle in her eye and the irrepressible pucker of her lips betrayed.
a jolly bacchus astride of his cask took vulcan's place, and appeared to be very comfortable with a beer-mug in one hand, a champagne bottle in the other, and a garland of grapes on his curly head.
he was the text of a short temperance lecture, aimed directly at a row of smart young gentlemen who lined the walls of the auditorium.
george cole was seen to dodge behind a pillar at one point, dolly nudged his neighbour at another, and there was laughter all along the line as the professor glared at them through his big glasses, and dragged their bacchanalian orgies to the light and held them up to scorn.
seeing the execution he had done, the learned man turned to the lovely diana, who stood as white and still as the plaster stag beside her, with sandals, bow, and crescent; quite perfect, and altogether the best piece of statuary in the show.
she was very tenderly treated by the paternal critic who, merely alluding to her confirmed spinsterhood, fondness for athletic sports, and oracular powers, gave a graceful little exposition of true art and passed on to the last figure.
this was apollo in full fig, his curls skilfully arranged to hide a well-whitened patch over the eye, his handsome legs correctly poised, and his gifted fingers about to draw divine music from the silvered gridiron which was his lyre.
his divine attributes were described, as well as his little follies and failings, among which were his weakness for photography and flute-playing, his attempts to run a newspaper, and his fondness for the society of the muses; which latter slap produced giggles and blushes among the girl-graduates, and much mirth among the stricken youths; for misery loves company, and after this they began to rally.
then, with a ridiculous conclusion, the professor bowed his thanks; and after several recalls the curtain fell, but not quickly enough to conceal mercury, wildly waving his liberated legs, hebe dropping her teapot, bacchus taking a lovely roll on his barrel, and mrs juno rapping the impertinent owlsdark on the head with jove's ruler.
while the audience filed out to supper in the hall, the stage was a scene of dire confusion as gods and goddesses, farmers and barons, maids and carpenters, congratulated one another on the success of their labours.
assuming various costumes, actors and actresses soon joined their guests, to sip bounteous draughts of praise with their coffee, and cool their modest blushes with ice-cream.
mrs meg was a proud and happy woman when miss cameron came to her as she sat by josie, with demi serving both, and said, so cordially that it was impossible to doubt the sincerity of her welcome words: "mrs brooke, i no longer wonder where your children get their talent.
i make my compliments to the baron and next summer you must let me have little "dolly" as a pupil when we are at the beach."
one can easily imagine how this offer was received, as well as the friendly commendation bestowed by the same kind critic on the work of beaumont and fletcher, who hastened to explain that this trifle was only an attempt to make nature and art go hand in hand, with little help from fine writing or imposing scenery.
everybody was in the happiest mood, especially "little dolly", who danced like a will-o" - the-wisp with light-footed mercury and apollo as he promenaded with the marquise on his arm, who seemed to have left her coquetry in the green room with her rouge.
when all was over, mrs juno said to jove, to whose arm she clung as they trudged home along the snowy paths: "fritz dear, christmas is a good time for new resolutions, and i've made one never to be impatient or fretful with my beloved husband again.
i know i am, though you wo n't own it; but laurie's fun had some truth in it, and i felt hit in a tender spot.
henceforth i am a model wife, else i do n't deserve the dearest, best man ever born"; and being in a dramatic mood, mrs juno tenderly embraced her excellent jove in the moonlight, to the great amusement of sundry lingerers behind them.
so all three plays might be considered successes, and that merry christmas night a memorable one in the march family; for demi got an unspoken question answered, josie's fondest wish was granted, and, thanks to professor owlsdark's jest, mrs jo made professor bhaer's busy life quite a bed of roses by the keeping of her resolution.
a few days later she had her reward for this burst of virtue in dan's letter, which set her fears at rest and made her very happy, though she was unable to tell him so, because he sent her no address.
chapter 15.
waiting "my wife, i have bad news for thee," said professor bhaer, coming in one day early in january.
"please tell it at once.
i ca n't bear to wait, fritz," cried mrs jo, dropping her work and standing up as if to take the shot bravely.
"but we must wait and hope, heart's - dearest.
come and let us bear it together.
emil's ship is lost, and as yet no news of him."
it was well mr bhaer had taken his wife into his strong arms, for she looked ready to drop, but bore up after a moment, and sitting by her good man, heard all that there was to tell.
tidings had been sent to the shipowners at hamburg by some of the survivors, and telegraphed at once by franz to his uncle.
as one boat-load was safe, there was hope that others might also escape, though the gale had sent two to the bottom.
a swift-sailing steamer had brought these scanty news, and happier ones might come at any hour; but kind franz had not added that the sailors reported the captain's boat as undoubtedly wrecked by the falling mast, since the smoke hid its escape, and the gale soon drove all far asunder.
but this sad rumour reached plumfield in time; and deep was the mourning for the happyhearted commodore, never to come singing home again.
mrs jo refused to believe it, stoutly insisting that emil would outlive any storm and yet turn up safe and gay.
it was well she clung to this hopeful view, for poor mr bhaer was much afflicted by the loss of his boy, because his sister's sons had been his so long he scarcely knew a different love for his very own.
now was a chance for mrs juno to keep her word; and she did, speaking cheerily of emil, even when hope waxed faint and her heart was heavy.
if anything could comfort the bhaers for the loss of one boy, it would have been the affection and sorrow shown by all the rest.
franz kept the cable busy with his varying messages, nat sent loving letters from leipzig, and tom harassed the shipping agents for news.
even busy jack wrote them with unusual warmth; dolly and george came often, bearing the loveliest flowers and the daintiest bon-bons to cheer mrs bhaer and sweeten josie's grief; while good-hearted ned travelled all the way from chicago to press their hands and say, with a tear in his eye: "i was so anxious to hear all about the dear old boy, i could n't keep away."
"that's right comfortable, and shows me that if i did n't teach my boys anything else, i did give them the brotherly love that will make them stand by one another all their lives," said mrs jo, when he had gone.
rob answered reams of sympathizing letters, which showed how many friends they had; and the kindly praises of the lost man would have made emil a hero and a saint, had they all been true.
the elders bore it quietly, having learned submission in life's hard school; but the younger people rebelled; some hoped against hope and kept up, others despaired at once, and little josie, emil's pet cousin and playmate, was so broken-hearted nothing could comfort her.
nan dosed in vain, daisy's cheerful words went by like the wind, and bess's devices to amuse her all failed utterly.
to cry in mother's arms and talk about the wreck, which haunted her even in her sleep, was all she cared to do; and mrs meg was getting anxious when miss cameron sent josie a kind note bidding her learn bravely her first lesson in real tragedy, and be like the self-sacrificing heroines she loved to act.
that did the little girl good, and she made an effort in which teddy and octoo helped her much; for the boy was deeply impressed by this sudden eclipse of the firefly whose light and life all missed when they were gone, and lured her out every day for long drives behind the black mare, who shook her silvery bells till they made such merry music josie could not help listening to it, and whisked her over the snowy roads at a pace which set the blood dancing in her veins and sent her home strengthened and comforted by sunshine, fresh air, and congenial society -- three aids young sufferers seldom can resist.
as emil was helping nurse captain hardy, safe and well, aboard the ship, all this sorrow would seem wasted; but it was not, for it drew many hearts more closely together by a common grief, taught some patience, some sympathy, some regret for faults that lie heavy on the conscience when the one sinned against is gone, and all of them the solemn lesson to be ready when the summons comes.
a hush lay over plumfield for weeks, and the studious faces on the hill reflected the sadness of those in the valley.
sacred music sounded from parnassus to comfort all who heard; the brown cottage was beseiged with gifts for the little mourner, and emil's flag hung at half-mast on the roof where he last sat with mrs jo.
so the weeks went heavily by till suddenly, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, came the news, "all safe, letters on the way."
then up went the flag, out rang the college bells, bang went teddy's long-unused cannon, and a chorus of happy voices cried "thank god", as people went about, laughing, crying, and embracing one another in a rapture of delight.
by and by the longed-for letters came, and all the story of the wreck was told; briefly by emil, eloquently by mrs hardy, gratefully by the captain, while mary added a few tender words that went straight to their hearts and seemed the sweetest of all.
never were letters so read, passed round, admired, and cried over as these; for mrs jo carried them in her pocket when mr bhaer did not have them in his, and both took a look at them when they said their prayers at night.
now the professor was heard humming like a big bee again as he went to his classes, and the lines smoothed out of mother bhaer's forehead, while she wrote this real story to anxious friends and let her romances wait.
now messages of congratulation flowed in, and beaming faces showed everywhere.
rob amazed his parents by producing a poem which was remarkably good for one of his years, and demi set it to music that it might be sung when the sailor boy returned.
teddy stood on his head literally, and tore about the neighbourhood on octoo, like a second paul revere -- only his tidings were good.
but best of all, little josie lifted up her head as the snowdrops did, and began to bloom again, growing tall and quiet, with the shadow of past sorrow to tone down her former vivacity and show that she had learned a lesson in trying to act well her part on the real stage, where all have to take their share in the great drama of life.
now another sort of waiting began; for the travellers were on their way to hamburg, and would stay there awhile before coming home, as uncle hermann owned the brenda, and the captain must report to him.
emil must remain to franz's wedding, deferred till now because of the season of mourning, so happily ended.
these plans were doubly welcome and pleasant after the troublous times which went before, and no spring ever seemed so beautiful as this one; for, as teddy put it: "now is the winter of our discontent made glorious by these sons of bhaer!"
franz and emil being regarded in the light of elder brothers by the real "sons of bhaer".
there was great scrubbing and dusting among the matrons as they set their houses in order not only for class day, but to receive the bride and groom, who were to come to them for the honeymoon trip.
great plans were made, gifts prepared, and much joy felt at the prospect of seeing franz again; though emil, who was to accompany them, would be the greater hero.
little did the dear souls dream what a surprise was in store for them, as they innocently laid their plans and wished all the boys could be there to welcome home their eldest and their casablanca.
while they wait and work so happily, let us see how our other absent boys are faring as they too wait and work and hope for better days.
nat was toiling steadily along the path he had wisely chosen, though it was by no means strewn with flowers -- quite thorny was it, in fact, and hard to travel, after the taste of ease and pleasure he had got when nibbling at forbidden fruit.
but his crop of wild oats was a light one, and he resolutely reaped what he had sowed, finding some good wheat among the tares.
he taught by day; he fiddled night after night in the dingy little theatre, and he studied so diligently that his master was well pleased, and kept him in mind as one to whom preferment was due, if any chance occurred.
gay friends forgot him; but the old ones stood fast, and cheered him up when heimweh and weariness made him sad.
as spring came on things mended -- expenses grew less, work pleasanter, and life more bearable than when wintry storms beat on his thinly clad back, and frost pinched the toes that patiently trudged in old boots.
no debts burdened him; the year of absence was nearly over; and if he chose to stay, herr bergmann had hopes for him that would bring independence for a time at least.
so he walked under the lindens with a lighter heart, and in the may evenings went about the city with a band of strolling students, making music before houses where he used to sit as guest.
no one recognized him in the darkness, though old friends often listened to the band; and once minna threw him money, which he humbly received as part of his penance, being morbid on the subject of his sins.
his reward came sooner than he expected, and was greater than he deserved, he thought, though his heart leaped with joy when his master one day informed him that he was chosen, with several other of his most promising pupils, to join the musical society which was to take part in the great festival in london the next july.
here was not only honour for the violinist but happiness for the man, as it brought him nearer home, and would open a chance of further promotion and profit in his chosen profession.
"make thyself useful to bachmeister there in london with thy english, and if all goes well with him, he will be glad to take thee to america, whither he goes in the early autumn for winter concerts.
thou hast done well these last months, and i have hopes of thee."
as the great bergmann seldom praised his pupils, these words filled nat's soul with pride and joy, and he worked yet more diligently than before to fulfil his master's prophecy.
he thought the trip to england happiness enough, but found room for more when, early in june, franz and emil paid him a flying visit, bringing all sorts of good news, kind wishes, and comfortable gifts for the lonely fellow, who could have fallen on their necks and cried like a girl at seeing his old mates again.
how glad he was to be found in his little room busy at his proper work, not living like an idle gentleman on borrowed money!
how proud he was to tell his plans, assure them that he had no debts, and receive their praises for his improvement in music, their respect for his economy and steadfastness in well-doing!
how relieved when, having honestly confessed his shortcomings, they only laughed, and owned that they also had known like experiences, and were the wiser for them.
he was to go to the wedding late in june, and join his comrades in london.
as best man, he could not refuse the new suit franz insisted on ordering for him; and a cheque from home about that time made him feel like a millionaire -- and a happy one; for this was accompanied by such kind letters full of delight in his success, he felt that he had earned it, and waited for his joyful holiday with the impatience of a boy.
dan meantime was also counting the weeks till august, when he would be free.
but neither marriage-bells nor festival music awaited him; no friends would greet him as he left the prison; no hopeful prospect lay before him; no happy home-going was to be his.
yet his success was far greater than nat's, though only god and one good man saw it.
it was a hard-won battle; but he would never have to fight so terrible a one again; for though enemies would still assail from within and from without, he had found the little guide-book that christian carried in his bosom, and love, penitence, and prayer, the three sweet sisters, had given him the armour which would keep him safe.
he had not learned to wear it yet, and chafed against it, though he felt its value, thanks to the faithful friend who had stood by him all that bitter year.
soon he was to be free again, worn and scarred in the fray, but out among men in the blessed sun and air.
when he thought of it dan felt as if he could not wait, but must burst that narrow cell and fly away, as the caddis-worms he used to watch by the brookside shed their stony coffins, to climb the ferns and soar into the sky.
night after night he lulled himself to sleep with planning how, when he had seen mary mason according to his promise, he would steer straight for his old friends, the indians, and in the wilderness hide his disgrace and heal his wounds.
working to save the many would atone for the sin of killing one, he thought; and the old free life would keep him safe from the temptations that beset him in cities.
"by and by, when i'm all right again, and have something to tell that i'm not ashamed of, i'll go home," he said, with a quicker beat of the impetuous heart that longed to be there so intensely, he found it as hard to curb as one of his unbroken horses on the plains.
"not yet.
i must get over this first.
they'd see and smell and feel the prison taint on me, if i went now, and i could n't look them in the face and hide the truth.
i ca n't lose ted's love, mother bhaer's confidence, and the respect of the girls, for they did respect my strength, anyway; but now they would n't touch me."
and poor dan looked with a shudder at the brown fist he clenched involuntarily as he remembered what it had done since a certain little white hand had laid in it confidingly.
"i'll make'em proud of me yet; and no one shall ever know of this awful year.
i can wipe it out, and i will, so help me god!"
and the clenched hand was held up as if to take a solemn oath that this lost year should yet be made good, if resolution and repentance could work the miracle.
chapter 16.
in the tennis-court athletic sports were in high favour at plumfield; and the river where the old punt used to wabble about with a cargo of small boys, or echo to the shrill screams of little girls trying to get lilies, now was alive with boats of all kinds, from the slender wherry to the trim pleasure-craft, gay with cushions, awnings, and fluttering pennons.
everyone rowed, and the girls as well as the youths had their races, and developed their muscles in the most scientific manner.
the large, level meadow near the old willow was now the college playground, and here baseball battles raged with fury, varied by football, leaping, and kindred sports fitted to split the fingers, break the ribs, and strain the backs of the too ambitious participants.
the gentler pastimes of the damsels were at a safe distance from this champ de mars; croquet mallets clicked under the elms that fringed the field, rackets rose and fell energetically in several tennis-courts, and gates of different heights were handy to practise the graceful bound by which every girl expected to save her life some day when the mad bull, which was always coming but never seemed to arrive, should be bellowing at her heels.
one of these tennis grounds was called "jo's court", and here the little lady ruled like a queen; for she was fond of the game, and being bent on developing her small self to the highest degree of perfection, she was to be found at every leisure moment with some victim hard at it.
on a certain pleasant saturday afternoon she had been playing with bess and beating her; for, though more graceful, the princess was less active than her cousin, and cultivated her roses by quieter methods.
"oh dear!
you are tired, and every blessed boy is at that stupid baseball match.
"what shall i do?"
sighed josie, pushing back the great red hat she wore, and gazing sadly round her for more worlds to conquer.
"i'll play presently, when i'm a little cooler.
but it is dull work for me, as i never win," answered bess, fanning herself with a large leaf.
josie was about to sit down beside her on the rustic seat and wait, when her quick eye saw afar off two manly forms arrayed in white flannel; their blue legs seemed bearing them towards the battle going on in the distance; but they never reached the fray; for with a cry of joy, jo raced away to meet them, bent on securing this heaven-sent reinforcement.
both paused as she came flying up, and both raised their hats; but oh, the difference there was in the salutes!
the stout youth pulled his off lazily and put it on again at once, as if glad to get the duty over; the slender being, with the crimson tie, lifted his with a graceful bend, and held it aloft while he accosted the rosy, breathless maid, thus permitting her to see his raven locks smoothly parted, with one little curl upon the brow.
dolly prided himself upon that bow, and practised it before his glass, but did not bestow it upon all alike, regarding it as a work of art, fit only for the fairest and most favoured of his female admirers; for he was a pretty youth, and fancied himself an adonis.
eager josie evidently did not appreciate the honour he did her, for with a nod she begged them both to "come along and play tennis, not go and get all hot and dirty with the boys".
these two adjectives won the day; for stuffy was already warmer than he liked to be, and dolly had on a new suit which he desired to keep immaculate as long as possible, conscious that it was very becoming.
"charmed to oblige," answered the polite one, with another bend.
"you play, i'll rest," added the fat boy, yearning for repose and gentle converse with the princess in the cooling shade.
"well, you can comfort bess, for i've beaten her all to bits and she needs amusing.
i know you've got something nice in your pocket, george; give her some, and "dolphus can have her racket.
now then, fly round"; and driving her prey before her, josie returned in triumph to the court.
casting himself ponderously upon the bench, which creaked under his weight, stuffy -- as we will continue to call him, though no one else dared to use the old name now -- promptly produced the box of confectionery, without which he never travelled far, and regaled bess with candied violets and other dainties, while dolly worked hard to hold his own against a most accomplished antagonist.
he would have beaten her if an unlucky stumble, which produced an unsightly stain upon the knee of those new shorts, had not distracted his mind and made him careless.
much elated at her victory, josie permitted him to rest, and offered ironical consolation for the mishap which evidently weighed upon his mind.
"do n't be an old betty; it can be cleaned.
you must have been a cat in some former state, you are so troubled about dirt; or a tailor, and lived for clothes."
"come now, do n't hit a fellow when he is down," responded dolly from the grass where he and stuffy now lay to make room for both girls on the seat.
one handkerchief was spread under him, and his elbow leaned upon another, while his eyes were sadly fixed upon the green and brown spot which afflicted him."
i like to be neat; do n't think it civil to cut about in old shoes and grey flannel shirts before ladies.
our fellows are gentlemen, and dress as such," he added, rather nettled at the word "tailor"; for he owed one of those too attractive persons an uncomfortably big bill.
"so are ours; but good clothes alone do n't make a gentleman here.
we require a good deal more," flashed josie, in arms at once to defend her college.
"you will hear of some of the men in "old boots and grey flannel" when you and your fine gentlemen are twiddling your ties and scenting your hair in obscurity.
i like old boots and wear them, and i hate dandies; do n't you, bess?"
"not when they are kind to me, and belong to our old set," answered bess, with a nod of thanks to dolly, who was carefully removing an inquisitive caterpillar from one of her little russet shoes."
i like a lady who is always polite, and does n't snap a man's head off if he has a mind of his own; do n't you, george?"
asked dolly, with his best smile for bess and a harvard stare of disapprobation for josie.
a tranquil snore was stuffy's sole reply, and a general laugh restored peace for the moment.
but josie loved to harass the lords of creation who asserted themselves too much, and bided her time for another attack till she had secured more tennis.
she got another game; for dolly was a sworn knight of dames, so he obeyed her call, leaving bess to sketch george as he lay upon his back, his stout legs crossed, and his round red face partially eclipsed by his hat.
josie got beaten this time and came back rather cross, so she woke the peaceful sleeper by tickling his nose with a straw till he sneezed himself into a sitting posture, and looked wrathfully about for "that confounded fly".
"come, sit up and let us have a little elegant conversation; you "howling swells" ought to improve our minds and manners, for we are only poor "country girls in dowdy gowns and hats"," began the gad-fly, opening the battle with a sly quotation from one of dolly's unfortunate speeches about certain studious damsels who cared more for books than finery."
i did n't mean you!
your gowns are all right, and those hats the latest thing out," began poor "dolphus, convicting himself by the incautious exclamation.
"caught you that time; i thought you fellows were all gentlemen, civil as well as nice.
but you are always sneering at girls who do n't dress well and that is a very unmanly thing to do; my mother said so"; and josie felt that she had dealt a shrewd blow at the elegant youth who bowed at many shrines if they were well-decorated ones.
"got you there, old boy, and she's right.
you never hear me talk about clothes and such twaddle," said stuffy, suppressing a yawn, and feeling for another bon-bon wherewith to refresh himself.
"you talk about eating, and that is even worse for a man.
you will marry a cook and keep a restaurant some day," laughed josie, down on him at once.
this fearful prediction kept him silent for several moments; but dolly rallied, and wisely changing the subject, carried war into the enemy's camp.
"as you wanted us to improve your manners, allow me to say that young ladies in good society do n't make personal remarks or deliver lectures.
little girls who are not out do it, and think it witty; but i assure you it's not good form."
josie paused a moment to recover from the shock of being called" a little girl", when all the honours of her fourteenth birthday were fresh upon her; and bess said, in the lofty tone which was infinitely more crushing than jo's impertinence: "that is true; but we have lived all our lives with superior people, so we have no society talk like your young ladies.
we are so accustomed to sensible conversation, and helping one another by telling our faults, that we have no gossip to offer you."
when the princess reproved, the boys seldom resented it; so dolly held his peace, and josie burst out, following her cousin's lead, which she thought a happy one: "our boys like to have us talk with them, and take kindly any hints we give.
they do n't think they know everything and are quite perfect at eighteen, as i've observed the harvard men do, especially the very young ones."
josie took immense satisfaction in that return shot; and dolly showed that he was hit, by the nettled tone in which he answered, with a supercilious glance at the hot, dusty, and noisy crowd on the baseball ground: "the class of fellows you have here need all the polish and culture you can give them; and i'm glad they get it.
our men are largely from the best families all over the country, so we do n't need girls to teach us anything."
"it's a pity you do n't have more of such "fellows" as ours.
they value and use well what college gives them, and are n't satisfied to slip through, getting all the fun they can and shirking the work.
oh, i've heard you "men" talk, and heard your fathers say they wish they had n't wasted time and money just that you might say you'd been through college.
as for the girls, you'll be much better off in all ways when they do get in, and keep you lazy things up to the mark, as we do here."
"if you have such a poor opinion of us, why do you wear our colour?"
asked dolly, painfully conscious that he was not improving the advantages his alma mater offered him, but bound to defend her."
i do n't; my hat is scarlet, not crimson.
much you know about a colour," scoffed josie."
i know that a cross cow would soon set you scampering, if you flaunted that red tile under her nose," retorted dolly.
"i'm ready for her.
can your fine young ladies do this?
or you either?"
and burning to display her latest accomplishment, josie ran to the nearest gate, put one hand on the top rail, and vaulted over as lightly as a bird.
bess shook her head, and stuffy languidly applauded; but dolly scorning to be braved by a girl, took a flying leap and landed on his feet beside josie, saying calmly: "can you do that?"
"not yet; but i will by and by."
as his foe looked a little crestfallen, dolly relented, and affably added sundry feats of a like nature, quite unconscious that he had fallen into a dreadful snare; for the dull red paint on the gate, not being used to such vigorous handling, came off in streaks upon his shoulders when he turned a backward swing and came up smiling, to be rewarded with the aggravating remark: "if you want to know what crimson is, look at your back; it's nicely stamped on and wo n't wash out, i think."
"the deuce it wo n't!"
cried dolly, trying to get an impossible view, and giving it up in great disgust."
i guess we'd better be going, dolf," said peaceable stuffy, feeling that it would be wise to retreat before another skirmish took place, as his side seemed to be getting the worst of it.
"do n't hurry, i beg; stay and rest; you must need it after the tremendous amount of brain work you've done this week.
it is time for our greek.
come, bess.
good afternoon, gentlemen."
and, with a sweeping courtesy, josie led the way, with her hat belligerently cocked up, and her racket borne like a triumphal banner over one shoulder; for having had the last word, she felt that she could retire with the honours of war.
dolly gave bess his best bow, with the chill on; and stuffy subsided luxuriously, with his legs in the air, murmuring in a dreamy tone: "little jo is as cross as two sticks today.
i'm going in for another nap: too hot to play anything."
"so it is.
wonder if spitfire was right about these beastly spots?"
and dolly sat down to try dry cleansing with one of his handkerchiefs.
"asleep?"
he asked, after a few moments of this cheerful occupation, fearing that his chum might be too comfortable when he was in a fume himself.
"no.
i was thinking that jo was n't far wrong about shirking.
't is a shame to get so little done, when we ought to be grinding like morton and torry and that lot.
i never wanted to go to college; but my governor made me.
much good it will do either of us!"
answered stuffy, with a groan; for he hated work, and saw two more long years of it before him.
"gives a man prestige, you know.
no need to dig.
i mean to have a gay old time, and be a "howling swell", if i choose.
between you and me though, it would be no end jolly to have the girls along.
study be hanged!
but if we've got to turn the grindstone, it would be mighty nice to have some of the little dears to lend a hand.
would n't it now?"
"i'd like three this minute -- one to fan me, one to kiss me, and one to give me some iced lemonade!"
sighed stuffy, with a yearning glance towards the house, whence no succour appeared.
"how would root-beer do?"
asked a voice behind them, which made dolly spring to his feet and stuffy roll over like a startled porpoise.
sitting on the stile that crossed the wall near by was mrs jo, with two jugs slung over her shoulder by a strap, several tin mugs in her hand, and an old-fashioned sun-bonnet on her head."
i knew the boys would be killing themselves with ice-water; so i strolled down with some of my good, wholesome beer.
they drank like fishes.
but silas was with me; so my cruse still holds out.
have some?"
"yes, thanks, very much.
let us pour it."
and dolly held the cup while stuffy joyfully filled it; both very grateful, but rather afraid she had heard what went before the wish she fulfilled.
she proved that she had by saying, as they stood drinking her health, while she sat between them, looking like a middle-aged vivandiere, with her jugs and mugs: "i was glad to hear you say you would like to have girls at your college; but i hope you will learn to speak more respectfully of them before they come; for that will be the first lesson they will teach you."
"really, ma'am, i was only joking," began stuffy, gulping down his beer in a hurry.
"so was i. i'm sure i -- i'm devoted to'em," stuttered dolly, panic-stricken; for he saw that he was in for a lecture of some sort.
"not in the right way.
frivolous girls may like to be called "little dears" and things of that sort; but the girls who love study wish to be treated like reasonable beings, not dolls to flirt with.
yes, i'm going to preach; that's my business; so stand up and take it like men."
mrs jo laughed; but she was in earnest; for by various hints and signs during the past winter she knew that the boys were beginning to "see life" in the way she especially disapproved.
both were far from home, had money enough to waste, and were as inexperienced, curious, and credulous as most lads of their age.
not fond of books, therefore without the safeguard which keeps many studious fellows out of harm; one self-indulgent, indolent, and so used to luxury that pampering of the senses was an easy thing; the other vain, as all comely boys are, full of conceit, and so eager to find favour in the eyes of his comrades that he was ready for anything which would secure it.
these traits and foibles made both peculiarly liable to the temptations which assail pleasure-loving and weak-willed boys.
mrs jo knew them well, and had dropped many a warning word since they went to college; but till lately they seemed not to understand some of her friendly hints; now she was sure they would, and meant to speak out: for long experience with boys made her both bold and skilful in handling some of the dangers usually left to silence, till it is too late for anything but pity and reproach.
"i'm going to talk to you like a mother, because yours are far away; and there are things that mothers can manage best, if they do their duty," she solemnly began from the depths of the sunbonnet.
"great scott!
we're in for it now!"
thought dolly, in secret dismay; while stuffy got the first blow by trying to sustain himself with another mug of beer.
"that wo n't hurt you; but i must warn you about drinking other things, george.
overeating is an old story; and a few more fits of illness will teach you to be wise.
but drinking is a more serious thing, and leads to worse harm than any that can afflict your body alone.
i hear you talk about wines as if you knew them and cared more for them than a boy should; and several times i've heard jokes that meant mischief.
for heaven's sake, do n't begin to play with this dangerous taste "for fun", as you say, or because it's the fashion, and the other fellows do.
stop at once, and learn that temperance in all things is the only safe rule."
"upon my honour, i only take wine and iron.
i need a tonic, mother says, to repair the waste of brain-tissue while i'm studying," protested stuffy, putting down the mug as if it burnt his fingers.
"good beef and oatmeal will repair your tissues much better than any tonic of that sort.
work and plain fare are what you want; and i wish i had you here for a few months out of harm's way.
i'd banting you, and fit you to run without puffing, and get on without four or five meals a day.
what an absurd hand that is for a man!
you ought to be ashamed of it!"
and mrs jo caught up the plump fist, with deep dimples at each knuckle, which was fumbling distressfully at the buckle of the belt girt about a waist far too large for a youth of his age."
i ca n't help it -- we all grow fat; it's in the family," said stuffy in self-defence.
"all the more reason you should live carefully.
do you want to die early, or be an invalid all your life?"
"no, ma'am!"
stuffy looked so scared that mrs jo could not be hard upon his budding sins, for they lay at his overindulgent mother's door line in a great measure; so she softened the tone of her voice, and added, with a little slap on the fat hand, as she used to do when it was small enough to pilfer lumps of sugar from her bowl: "then be careful; for a man writes his character in his face; and you do n't want gluttony and intemperance in yours, i know."
"i'm sure i do n't!
please make out a wholesome bill of fare, and i'll stick to it, if i can.
i am getting stout, and i do n't like it; and my liver's torpid, and i have palpitations and headache.
overwork, mother says; but it may be overeating."
and stuffy gave a sigh of mingled regret for the good things he renounced, and relief as he finished loosening his belt as soon as his hand was free."
i will; follow it, and in a year you'll be a man and not a meal-bag.
now, dolly"; and mrs jo turned to the other culprit, who shook in his shoes and wished he had n't come.
"are you studying french as industriously as you were last winter?"
"no ma'am; i do n't care for it -- that is, i, i'm busy with g-greek just now," answered dolly, beginning bravely, quite in the dark as to what that odd question meant till a sudden memory made him stutter and look at his shoes with deep interest.
"oh, he does n't study it; only reads french novels and goes to the theatre when the opera bouffe is here," said stuffy, innocently confirming mrs jo's suspicions.
"so i understood; and that is what i want to speak about.
ted had a sudden desire to learn french in that way, from something you said, dolly; so i went myself, and was quite satisfied that it was no place for a decent boy.
your men were out in full force; and i was glad to see that some of the younger ones looked as ashamed as i felt.
the older fellows enjoyed it, and when we came out were waiting to take those painted girls to supper.
did you ever go with them?"
"once."
"did you like it?"
"no'm; i -- i came away early," stammered dolly, with a face as red as his splendid tie.
"i'm glad you have not lost the grace of blushing yet; but you will soon, if you keep up this sort of study and forget to be ashamed.
the society of such women will unfit you for that of good ones, and lead you into trouble and sin and shame.
oh, why do n't the city fathers stop that evil thing, when they know the harm it does?
it made my heart ache to see those boys, who ought to be at home and in their beds, going off for a night of riot which would help to ruin some of them for ever."
the youths looked scared at mrs jo's energetic protest against one of the fashionable pleasures of the day, and waited in conscience-stricken silence -- stuffy glad that he never went to those gay suppers, and dolly deeply grateful that he "came away early".
with a hand on either shoulder, and all the terrors smoothed from her brow, mrs jo went on in her most motherly tone, anxious to do for them what no other woman would, and do it kindly: "my dear boys, if i did n't love you, i would not say these things.
i know they are not pleasant; but my conscience wo n't let me hold my peace when a word may keep you from two of the great sins that curse the world and send so many young men to destruction.
you are just beginning to feel the allurement of them, and soon it will be hard to turn away.
stop now, i beg of you, and not only save yourselves but help others by a brave example.
come to me if things worry you; do n't be afraid or ashamed; i have heard many sadder confessions than any you are ever likely to bring me, and been able to comfort many poor fellows, gone wrong for want of a word in time.
do this, and you will be able to kiss your mothers with clean lips, and by and by have the right to ask innocent girls to love you."
"yes'm, thank you.
i suppose you're right; but it's pretty hard work to toe the mark when ladies give you wine and gentlemen take their daughters to see aimee," said dolly, foreseeing tribulations ahead though he knew it was time to "pull up".
"so it is; but all the more honour to those who are brave and wise enough to resist public opinion, and the easy-going morals of bad or careless men and women.
think of the persons whom you respect most, and in imitating them you will secure the respect of those who look up to you.
i'd rather my boys should be laughed at and cold-shouldered by a hundred foolish fellows than lose what, once gone, no power can give them back -- innocence and self-respect.
i do n't wonder you find it "hard to toe the mark", when books, pictures, ball-rooms, theatres, and streets offer temptations; yet you can resist, if you try.
last winter mrs brooke used to worry about john's being out so late reporting; but when she spoke to him about the things he must see and hear on his way to and fro from the office at midnight, he said in his sober way, "i know what you mean, mother; but no fellow need to go wrong unless he wants to."
"that's like the deacon!"
exclaimed stuffy, with an approving smile on his fat face.
"i'm glad you told me that.
he's right; and it's because he does n't want to go wrong we all respect him so," added dolly, looking up now with an expression which assured his mentor that the right string had been touched, and a spirit of emulation roused, more helpful, perhaps, than any words of hers.
seeing this, she was satisfied, and said, as she prepared to leave the bar before which her culprits had been tried and found guilty, but recommended to mercy: "then be to others what john is to you -- a good example.
forgive me for troubling you, my dear lads, and remember my little preachment.
i think it will do you good, though i may never know it.
chance words spoken in kindness often help amazingly; and that's what old people are here for -- else their experience is of little use.
now, come and find the young folk.
i hope i shall never have to shut the gates of plumfield upon you, as i have on some of your "gentlemen".
i mean to keep my boys and girls safe if i can, and this a wholesome place where the good old-fashioned virtues are lived and taught."
much impressed by that dire threat, dolly helped her from her perch with deep respect; and stuffy relieved her of her empty jugs, solemnly vowing to abstain from all fermented beverages except root-beer, as long as feeble flesh could hold out.
of course they made light of "mother bhaer's lecture" when they were alone -- that was to be expected of "men of our class" but in their secret souls they thanked her for giving their boyish consciences a jog, and more than once afterward had cause to remember gratefully that half-hour in the tennis court.
chapter 17.
among the maids although this story is about jo's boys, her girls can not be neglected, because they held a high place in this little republic, and especial care was taken to fit them to play their parts worthily in the great republic which offered them wider opportunities and more serious duties.
to many the social influence was the better part of the training they received; for education is not confined to books, and the finest characters often graduate from no college, but make experience their master, and life their book.
others cared only for the mental culture, and were in danger of over-studying, under the delusion which pervades new england that learning must be had at all costs, forgetting that health and real wisdom are better.
a third class of ambitious girls hardly knew what they wanted, but were hungry for whatever could fit them to face the world and earn a living, being driven by necessity, the urgency of some half-conscious talent, or the restlessness of strong young natures to break away from the narrow life which no longer satisfied.
at plumfield all found something to help them; for the growing institution had not yet made its rules as fixed as the laws of the medes and persians, and believed so heartily in the right of all sexes, colours, creeds, and ranks to education, that there was room for everyone who knocked, and a welcome to the shabby youths from up country, the eager girls from the west, the awkward freedman or woman from the south, or the well-born student whose poverty made this college a possibility when other doors were barred.
there still was prejudice, ridicule, neglect in high places, and prophecies of failure to contend against; but the faculty was composed of cheerful, hopeful men and women who had seen greater reforms spring from smaller roots, and after stormy seasons blossom beautifully, to add prosperity and honour to the nation.
so they worked on steadily and bided their time, full of increasing faith in their attempt as year after year their numbers grew, their plans succeeded, and the sense of usefulness in this most vital of all professions blessed them with its sweet rewards.
among the various customs which had very naturally sprung up was one especially useful and interesting to "the girls", as the young women liked to be called.
it all grew out of the old sewing hour still kept up by the three sisters long after the little work-boxes had expanded into big baskets full of household mending.
they were busy women, yet on saturdays they tried to meet in one of the three sewing-rooms; for even classic parnassus had its nook where mrs amy often sat among her servants, teaching them to make and mend, thereby giving them a respect for economy, since the rich lady did not scorn to darn her hose, and sew on buttons.
in these household retreats, with books and work, and their daughters by them, they read and sewed and talked in the sweet privacy that domestic women love, and can make so helpful by a wise mixture of cooks and chemistry, table linen and theology, prosaic duties and good poetry.
mrs meg was the first to propose enlarging this little circle; for as she went her motherly rounds among the young women she found a sad lack of order, skill, and industry in this branch of education.
latin, greek, the higher mathematics, and science of all sorts prospered finely; but the dust gathered on the work-baskets, frayed elbows went unheeded, and some of the blue stockings sadly needed mending.
anxious lest the usual sneer at learned women should apply to "our girls", she gently lured two or three of the most untidy to her house, and made the hour so pleasant, the lesson so kindly, that they took the hint, were grateful for the favour, and asked to come again.
others soon begged to make the detested weekly duty lighter by joining the party, and soon it was a privilege so much desired that the old museum was refitted with sewing-machines, tables, rocking-chair, and a cheerful fireplace, so that, rain or shine, the needles might go on undisturbed.
here mrs meg was in her glory, and stood wielding her big shears like a queen as she cut out white work, fitted dresses, and directed daisy, her special aide, about the trimming of hats, and completing the lace and ribbon trifles which add grace to the simplest costume and save poor or busy girls so much money and time.
mrs amy contributed taste, and decided the great question of colours and complexions; for few women, even the most learned, are without that desire to look well which makes many a plain face comely, as well as many a pretty one ugly for want of skill and knowledge of the fitness of things.
she also took her turn to provide books for the readings, and as art was her forte she gave them selections from ruskin, hamerton, and mrs jameson, who is never old.
bess read these aloud as her contribution, and josie took her turn at the romances, poetry, and plays her uncles recommended.
mrs jo gave little lectures on health, religion, politics, and the various questions in which all should be interested, with copious extracts from miss cobbe's duties of women, miss brackett's education of american girls, mrs duffy's no sex in education, mrs woolson's dress reform, and many of the other excellent books wise women write for their sisters, now that they are waking up and asking: "what shall we do?"
it was curious to see the prejudices melt away as ignorance was enlightened, indifference change to interest, and intelligent minds set thinking, while quick wits and lively tongues added spice to the discussions which inevitably followed.
so the feet that wore the neatly mended hose carried wiser heads than before, the pretty gowns covered hearts warmed with higher purposes, and the hands that dropped the thimbles for pens, lexicons, and celestial globes, were better fitted for life's work, whether to rock cradles, tend the sick, or help on the great work of the world.
one day a brisk discussion arose concerning careers for women.
mrs jo had read something on the subject and asked each of the dozen girls sitting about the room, what she intended to do on leaving college.
the answers were as usual: "i shall teach, help mother, study medicine, art," etc.; but nearly all ended with:'till i marry."
"but if you do n't marry, what then?"
asked mrs jo, feeling like a girl again as she listened to the answers, and watched the thoughtful, gay, or eager faces.
"be old maids, i suppose.
horrid, but inevitable, since there are so many superfluous women," answered a lively lass, too pretty to fear single blessedness unless she chose it.
"it is well to consider that fact, and fit yourselves to be useful, not superfluous women.
that class, by the way, is largely made up of widows, i find; so do n't consider it a slur on maidenhood."
"that's a comfort!
old maids are n't sneered at half as much as they used to be, since some of them have grown famous and proved that woman is n't a half but a whole human being, and can stand alone."
"do n't like it all the same.
we ca n't all be like miss nightingale, miss phelps, and the rest."
so what can we do but sit in a corner and look on?"
asked a plain girl with a dissatisfied expression.
"cultivate cheerfulness and content, if nothing else.
but there are so many little odd jobs waiting to be done that nobody need "sit idle and look on", unless she chooses," said mrs meg, with a smile, laying on the girl's head the new hat she had just trimmed.
"thank you very much.
yes, mrs brooke, i see; it's a little job, but it makes me neat and happy -- and grateful," she added, looking up with brighter eyes as she accepted the labour of love and the lesson as sweetly as they were given.
"one of the best and most beloved women i know has been doing odd jobs for the lord for years, and will keep at it till her dear hands are folded in her coffin.
all sorts of things she does -- picks up neglected children and puts them in safe homes, saves lost girls, nurses poor women in trouble, sews, knits, trots, begs, works for the poor day after day with no reward but the thanks of the needy, the love and honour of the rich who make saint matilda their almoner.
that's a life worth living; and i think that quiet little woman will get a higher seat in heaven than many of those of whom the world has heard.'"
i know it's lovely, mrs bhaer; but it's dull for young folks.
we do want a little fun before we buckle to," said a western girl with a wide-awake face.
"have your fun, my dear; but if you must earn your bread, try to make it sweet with cheerfulness, not bitter with the daily regret that it is n't cake.
i used to think mine was a very hard fate because i had to amuse a somewhat fretful old lady; but the books i read in that lonely library have been of immense use to me since, and the dear old soul bequeathed me plumfield for my "cheerful service and affectionate care".
i did n't deserve it, but i did use to try to be jolly and kind, and get as much honey out of duty as i could, thanks to my dear mother's help and advice."
"gracious!
if i could earn a place like this, i'd sing all day and be an angel; but you have to take your chance, and get nothing for your pains, perhaps.
i never do," said the westerner, who had a hard time with small means and large aspirations.
"do n't do it for the reward; but be sure it will come, though not in the shape you expect.
i worked hard for fame and money one winter; but i got neither, and was much disappointed.
a year afterwards i found i had earned two prizes: skill with my pen, and professor bhaer."
mrs jo's laugh was echoed blithely by the girls, who liked to have these conversations enlivened by illustrations from life.
"you are a very lucky woman," began the discontented damsel, whose soul soared above new hats, welcome as they were, but did not quite know where to steer.
"yet her name used to be "luckless jo", and she never had what she wanted till she had given up hoping for it," said mrs meg.
"i'll give up hoping, then, right away, and see if my wishes will come.
i only want to help my folks, and get a good school."
"take this proverb for your guide: "get the distaff ready, and the lord will send the flax"," answered mrs jo.
"we'd better all do that, if we are to be spinsters," said the pretty one, adding gaily," i think i should like it, on the whole -- they are so independent.
my aunt jenny can do just what she likes, and ask no one's leave; but ma has to consult pa about everything.
yes, i'll give you my chance, sally, and be a "superfluum", as mr plock says."
"you'll be one of the first to go into bondage, see if you are n't.
much obliged, all the same."
"well, i'll get my distaff ready, and take whatever flax the fates send -- single, or double-twisted, as the powers please."
"that is the right spirit, nelly.
keep it up, and see how happy life will be with a brave heart, a willing hand, and plenty to do."
"no one objects to plenty of domestic work or fashionable pleasure, i find; but the minute we begin to study, people tell us we ca n't bear it, and warn us to be very careful.
i've tried the other things, and got so tired i came to college; though my people predict nervous exhaustion and an early death.
do you think there is any danger?"
asked a stately girl, with an anxious glance at the blooming face reflected in the mirror opposite.
"are you stronger or weaker than when you came two years ago, miss winthrop?"
"stronger in body, and much happier in mind.
i think i was dying of ennui; but the doctors called it inherited delicacy of constitution.
that is why mamma is so anxious, and i wish not to go too fast."
"do n't worry, my dear; that active brain of yours was starving for good food; it has plenty now, and plain living suits you better than luxury and dissipation.
it is all nonsense about girls not being able to study as well as boys.
neither can bear cramming; but with proper care both are better for it; so enjoy the life your instinct led you to, and we will prove that wise headwork is a better cure for that sort of delicacy than tonics, and novels on the sofa, where far too many of our girls go to wreck nowadays.
they burn the candle at both ends; and when they break down they blame the books, not the balls."
"dr nan was telling me about a patient of hers who thought she had heart-complaint, till nan made her take off her corsets, stopped her coffee and dancing all night, and made her eat, sleep, walk, and live regularly for a time; and now she's a brilliant cure.
common sense versus custom, nan said."
"i've had no headaches since i came here, and can do twice as much studying as i did at home.
it's the air, i think, and the fun of going ahead of the boys," said another girl, tapping her big forehead with her thimble, as if the lively brain inside was in good working order and enjoyed the daily gymnastics she gave it.
"quality, not quantity, wins the day, you know.
our brains may be smaller, but i do n't see that they fall short of what is required of them; and if i'm not mistaken, the largest-headed man in our class is the dullest," said nelly, with a solemn air which produced a gale of merriment; for all knew that the young goliath she mentioned had been metaphorically slain by this quick-witted david on many a battle-field, to the great disgust of himself and his mates.
"mrs brooke, do i gauge on the right or the wrong side?"
asked the best greek scholar of her class, eyeing a black silk apron with a lost expression.
"the right, miss pierson; and leave a space between the tucks; it looks prettier so."
"i'll never make another; but it will save my dresses from ink-stains, so i'm glad i've got it"; and the erudite miss pierson laboured on, finding it a harder task than any greek root she ever dug up.
"we paper-stainers must learn how to make shields, or we are lost.
i'll give you a pattern of the pinafore i used to wear in my "blood-and-thunder days", as we call them," said mrs jo, trying to remember what became of the old tin-kitchen which used to hold her works.
"speaking of writers reminds me that my ambition is to be a george eliot, and thrill the world!
it must be so splendid to know that one has such power, and to hear people own that one possesses a "masculine intellect"!
i do n't care for most women's novels, but hers are immense; do n't you think so, mrs bhaer?"
asked the girl with the big forehead, and torn braid on her skirt.
"yes; but they do n't thrill me as little charlotte bronte's books do.
the brain is there, but the heart seems left out.
i admire, but i do n't love, george eliot; and her life is far sadder to me than miss bronte's, because, in spite of the genius, love, and fame, she missed the light without which no soul is truly great, good, or happy."
"yes'm, i know; but still it's so romantic and sort of new and mysterious, and she was great in one sense.
her nerves and dyspepsia do rather destroy the illusion; but i adore famous people and mean to go and see all i can scare up in london some day."
"you will find some of the best of them busy about just the work i recommend to you; and if you want to see a great lady, i'll tell you that mrs laurence means to bring one here today.
lady abercrombie is lunching with her, and after seeing the college is to call on us.
she especially wanted to see our sewing-school, as she is interested in things of this sort, and gets them up at home."
"bless me!
i always imagined lords and ladies did nothing but ride round in a coach and six, go to balls, and be presented to the queen in cocked hats, and trains and feathers," exclaimed an artless young person from the wilds of maine, whither an illustrated paper occasionally wandered.
"not at all; lord abercrombie is over here studying up our american prison system, and my lady is busy with the schools -- both very high-born, but the simplest and most sensible people i've met this long time.
they are neither of them young nor handsome, and dress plainly; so do n't expect anything splendid.
mr laurence was telling me last night about a friend of his who met my lord in the hall, and owing to a rough greatcoat and a red face, mistook him for a coachman, and said: "now, my man, what do you want here?"
lord abercrombie mildly mentioned who he was, and that he had come to dinner.
and the poor host was much afflicted, saying afterward: "why did n't he wear his stars and garters?
then a fellow would know he was a lord.""
the girls laughed again, and a general rustle betrayed that each was prinking a bit before the titled guest arrived.
even mrs jo settled her collar, and mrs meg felt if her cap was right, while bess shook out her curls and josie boldly consulted the glass; for they were women, in spite of philosophy and philanthropy.
"shall we all rise?"
asked one girl, deeply impressed by the impending honour.
"it would be courteous."
"shall we shake hands?"
"no, i'll present you en masse, and your pleasant faces will be introduction enough.'"
i wish i'd worn my best dress.
ought to have told us," whispered sally.
"wo n't my folks be surprised when i tell them we have had a real lady to call on us?"
said another.
"do n't look as if you'd never seen a gentlewoman before, milly.
we are not all fresh from the wilderness," added the stately damsel who, having mayflower ancestors, felt that she was the equal of all the crowned heads of europe.
"hush, she's coming!
oh, my heart, what a bonnet!"
cried the gay girl in a stage whisper; and every eye was demurely fixed upon the busy hands as the door opened to admit mrs laurence and her guest.
it was rather a shock to find, after the general introduction was over, that this daughter of a hundred earls was a stout lady in a plain gown, and a rather weather-beaten bonnet, with a bag of papers in one hand and a note-book in the other.
but the face was full of benevolence, the sonorous voice very kind, the genial manners very winning, and about the whole person an indescribable air of high breeding which made beauty of no consequence, costume soon forgotten, and the moment memorable to the keen-eyed girls whom nothing escaped.
a little chat about the rise, growth, and success of this particular class, and then mrs jo led the conversation to the english lady's work, anxious to show her pupils how rank dignifies labour, and charity blesses wealth.
it was good for these girls to hear of the evening-schools supported and taught by women whom they knew and honoured; of miss cobbe's eloquent protest winning the protection of the law for abused wives; mrs butler saving the lost; mrs taylor, who devoted one room in her historic house to a library for the servants; lord shaftesbury, busy with his new tenement-houses in the slums of london; of prison reforms; and all the brave work being done in god's name by the rich and great for the humble and the poor.
it impressed them more than many quiet home lectures would have done, and roused an ambition to help when their time should come, well knowing that even in glorious america there is still plenty to be done before she is what she should be -- truly just, and free, and great.
they were also quick to see that lady abercrombie treated all there as her equals, from stately mrs laurence, to little josie, taking notes of everything and privately resolving to have some thick-soled english boots as soon as possible.
no one would have guessed that she had a big house in london, a castle in wales, and a grand country seat in scotland, as she spoke of parnassus with admiration, plumfield as a "dear old home", and the college as an honour to all concerned in it.
at that, of course, every head went up a little, and when my lady left, every hand was ready for the hearty shake the noble englishwoman gave them, with words they long remembered: "i am very pleased to see this much-neglected branch of a woman's education so well conducted here, and i have to thank my friend mrs laurence for one of the most charming pictures i've seen in america -- penelope among her maids."
a group of smiling faces watched the stout boots trudge away, respectful glances followed the shabby bonnet till it was out of sight, and the girls felt a truer respect for their titled guest than if she had come in the coach and six, with all her diamonds on."
i feel better about the "odd jobs" now.
i only wish i could do them as well as lady abercrombie does," said one."
i thanked my stars my buttonholes were nice, for she looked at them and said: "quite workmanlike, upon my word," added another, feeling that her gingham gown had come to honour.
"her manners were as sweet and kind as mrs brooke's.
not a bit stiff or condescending, as i expected.
i see now what you meant, mrs bhaer, when you said once that well-bred people were the same all the world over."
mrs meg bowed her thanks for the compliment, and mrs bhaer said: "i know them when i see them, but never shall be a model of deportment myself.
i'm glad you enjoyed the little visit.
now, if you young people do n't want england to get ahead of us in many ways, you must bestir yourselves and keep abreast; for our sisters are in earnest, you see, and do n't waste time worrying about their sphere, but make it wherever duty calls them."
"we will do our best, ma'am," answered the girls heartily, and trooped away with their work-baskets, feeling that though they might never be harriet martineaus, elizabeth brownings, or george eliots, they might become noble, useful, and independent women, and earn for themselves some sweet title from the grateful lips of the poor, better than any a queen could bestow.
chapter 18.
class day the clerk of the weather evidently has a regard for young people, and sends sunshine for class days as often as he can.
an especially lovely one shone over plumfield as this interesting anniversary came round, bringing the usual accompaniments of roses, strawberries, white-gowned girls, beaming youths, proud friends, and stately dignitaries full of well-earned satisfaction with the yearly harvest.
as laurence college was a mixed one, the presence of young women as students gave to the occasion a grace and animation entirely wanting where the picturesque half of creation appear merely as spectators.
the hands that turned the pages of wise books also possessed the skill to decorate the hall with flowers; eyes tired with study shone with hospitable warmth on the assembling guests; and under the white muslins beat hearts as full of ambition, hope, and courage as those agitating the broadcloth of the ruling sex.
college hill, parnassus, and old plum swarmed with cheery faces, as guests, students, and professors hurried to and fro in the pleasant excitement of arriving and receiving.
everyone was welcomed cordially, whether he rolled up in a fine carriage, or trudged afoot to see the good son or daughter come to honour on the happy day that rewarded many a mutual sacrifice.
mr laurie and his wife were on the reception committee, and their lovely house was overflowing.
mrs meg, with daisy and jo as aides, was in demand among the girls, helping on belated toilettes, giving an eye to spreads, and directing the decorations.
mrs jo had her hands full as president's lady, and the mother of ted; for it took all the power and skill of that energetic woman to get her son into his sunday best.
not that he objected to be well arrayed; far from it; he adored good clothes, and owing to his great height already revelled in a dress-suit, bequeathed him by a dandy friend.
the effect was very funny; but he would wear it in spite of the jeers of his mates, and sighed vainly for a beaver, because his stern parent drew the line there.
he pleaded that english lads of ten wore them and were "no end nobby"; but his mother only answered, with a consoling pat of the yellow mane: "my child, you are absurd enough now; if i let you add a tall hat, plumfield would n't hold either of us, such would be the scorn and derision of all beholders.
content yourself with looking like the ghost of a waiter, and do n't ask for the most ridiculous head-gear in the known world."
denied this noble badge of manhood, ted soothed his wounded soul by appearing in collars of an amazing height and stiffness, and ties which were the wonder of all female eyes.
this freak was a sort of vengeance on his hard-hearted mother; for the collars drove the laundress to despair, never being just right, and the ties required such art in the tying that three women sometimes laboured long before -- like beau brummel -- he turned from a heap of "failures" with the welcome words: "that will do."
rob was devoted on these trying occasions, his own toilet being distinguished only by its speed, simplicity, and neatness.
ted was usually in a frenzy before he was suited, and roars, whistles, commands, and groans were heard from the den wherein the lion raged and the lamb patiently toiled.
mrs jo bore it till boots were hurled and a rain of hair-brushes set in, then, fearing for the safety of her eldest, she would go to the rescue, and by a wise mixture of fun and authority finally succeed in persuading ted that he was" a thing of beauty", if not" a joy for ever".
at last he would stalk majestically forth, imprisoned in collars compared to which those worn by dickens's afflicted biler were trifles not worth mentioning.
the dresscoat was a little loose in the shoulders, but allowed a noble expanse of glossy bosom to be seen, and with a delicate handkerchief negligently drooping at the proper angle, had a truly fine effect.
boots that shone, and likewise pinched, appeared at one end of the "long, black clothes-pin" -- as josie called him -- and a youthful but solemn face at the other, carried at an angle which, if long continued, would have resulted in spinal curvature.
light gloves, a cane, and -- oh, bitter drop in the cup of joy!
-- an ignominious straw hat, not to mention a choice floweret in the buttonhole, and a festoon of watchguard below, finished off this impressive boy.
"how's that for style?"
he asked, appearing to his mother and cousins whom he was to escort to the hall on this particular occasion.
a shout of laughter greeted him, followed by exclamations of horror; for he had artfully added the little blond moustache he often wore when acting.
it was very becoming, and seemed the only balm to heal the wound made by the loss of the beloved hat.
"take it off this moment, you audacious boy!
what would your father say to such a prank on this day when we must all behave our best?"
said mrs jo, trying to frown, but privately thinking that among the many youths about her none were so beautiful and original as her long son.
"let him wear it, aunty; it's so becoming.
no one will ever guess he is n't eighteen at least," cried josie, to whom disguise of any sort was always charming.
"father wo n't observe it; he'll be absorbed in his big-wigs and the girls.
no matter if he does, he'll enjoy the joke and introduce me as his oldest son.
rob is nowhere when i'm in full fig"; and ted took the stage with a tragic stalk, like hamlet in a tail-coat and choker.
"my son, obey me!"
and when mrs jo spoke in that tone her word was law.
later, however, the moustache appeared, and many strangers firmly believed that there were three young bhaers.
so ted found one ray of joy to light his gloom.
mr bhaer was a proud and happy man when, at the appointed hour, he looked down upon the parterre of youthful faces before him, thinking of the "little gardens" in which he had hopefully and faithfully sowed good seed years ago, and from which this beautiful harvest seemed to have sprung.
mr march's fine old face shone with the serenest satisfaction, for this was the dream of his life fulfilled after patient waiting; and the love and reverence in the countenances of the eager young men and women looking up at him plainly showed that the reward he coveted was his in fullest measure.
laurie always effaced himself on these occasions as much as courtesy would permit; for everyone spoke gratefully in ode, poem, and oration of the founder of the college and noble dispenser of his beneficence.
the three sisters beamed with pride as they sat among the ladies, enjoying, as only women can, the honour done the men they loved; while "the original plums", as the younger ones called themselves, regarded the whole affair as their work, receiving the curious, admiring, or envious glances of strangers with a mixture of dignity and delight rather comical to behold.
the music was excellent, and well it might be when apollo waved the baton.
the poems were -- as usual on such occasions -- of varied excellence, as the youthful speakers tried to put old truths into new words, and made them forceful by the enthusiasm of their earnest faces and fresh voices.
it was beautiful to see the eager interest with which the girls listened to some brilliant brother-student, and applauded him with a rustle as of wind over a bed of flowers.
it was still more significant and pleasant to watch the young men's faces when a slender white figure stood out against the background of black-coated dignitaries, and with cheeks that flushed and paled, and lips that trembled till earnest purpose conquered maiden fear, spoke to them straight out of a woman's heart and brain concerning the hopes and doubts, the aspirations and rewards all must know, desire, and labour for.
this clear, sweet voice seemed to reach and rouse all that was noblest in the souls of these youths, and to set a seal upon the years of comradeship which made them sacred and memorable for ever.
alice heath's oration was unanimously pronounced the success of the day; for without being flowery or sentimental, as is too apt to be the case with these first efforts of youthful orators, it was earnest, sensible, and so inspiring that she left the stage in a storm of applause, the good fellows being as much fired by her stirring appeal to "march shoulder to shoulder", as if she had chanted the "marseillaise" then and there.
one young man was so excited that he nearly rushed out of his seat to receive her as she hastened to hide herself among her mates, who welcomed her with faces full of tender pride and tearful eye.
a prudent sister detained him, however, and in a moment he was able to listen with composure to the president's remarks.
they were worth listening to, for mr bhaer spoke like a father to the children whom he was dismissing to the battle of life; and his tender, wise, and helpful words lingered in their hearts long after the praise was forgotten.
then came other exercises peculiar to plumfield, and the end.
why the roof did not fly off when the sturdy lungs of the excited young men pealed out the closing hymn will for ever be a mystery; but it remained firm, and only the fading garlands vibrated as the waves of music rolled up and died away, leaving sweet echoes to haunt the place for another year.
dinners and spreads consumed the afternoon, and at sunset came a slight lull as everyone sought some brief repose before the festivities of the evening began.
the president's reception was one of the enjoyable things in store, also dancing on parnassus, and as much strolling, singing, and flirting, as could be compressed into a few hours by youths and maidens just out of school.
carriages were rolling about, and gay groups on piazzas, lawns, and window-seats idly speculated as to who the distinguished guests might be.
the appearance of a very dusty vehicle loaded with trunks at mr bhaer's hospitably open door caused much curious comment among the loungers, especially as two rather foreign-looking gentlemen sprang out, followed by two young ladies, all four being greeted with cries of joy and much embracing by the bhaers.
then they all disappeared into the house, the luggage followed, and the watchers were left to wonder who the mysterious strangers were, till a fair collegian declared that they must be the professor's nephews, one of whom was expected on his wedding journey.
she was right; franz proudly presented his blonde and buxom bride, and she was hardly kissed and blessed when emil led up his bonny english mary, with the rapturous announcement: "uncle, aunt jo, here's another daughter!
have you room for my wife, too?"
there could be no doubt of that; and mary was with difficulty rescued from the glad embraces of her new relatives, who, remembering all the young pair had suffered together, felt that this was the natural and happy ending of the long voyage so perilously begun.
"but why not tell us, and let us be ready for two brides instead of one?"
asked mrs jo, looking as usual rather demoralizing in a wrapper and crimping-pins, having rushed down from her chamber, where she was preparing for the labours of the evening.
"well, i remembered what a good joke you all considered uncle laurie's marriage, and i thought i'd give you another nice little surprise," laughed emil.
"i'm off duty, and it seemed best to take advantage of wind and tide, and come along as convoy to the old boy here.
we hoped to get in last night, but could n't fetch it, so here we are in time for the end of the jollification, anyway."
"ah, my sons, it is too feeling-full to see you both so happy and again in the old home.
i haf no words to outpour my gratitude, and can only ask of the dear gott in himmel to bless and keep you all," cried professor bhaer, trying to gather all four into his arms at once, while tears rolled down his cheeks, and his english failed him.
an april shower cleared the air and relieved the full hearts of the happy family; then of course everyone began to talk -- franz and ludmilla in german with uncle, emil and mary with the aunts; and round this group gathered the young folk, clamouring to hear all about the wreck, and the rescue, and the homeward voyage.
it was a very different story from the written one; and as they listened to emil's graphic words, with mary's soft voice breaking in now and then to add some fact that brought out the courage, patience, and self-sacrifice he so lightly touched upon, it became a solemn and pathetic thing to see and hear these happy creatures tell of that great danger and deliverance."
i never hear the patter of rain now that i do n't want to say my prayers; and as for women, i'd like to take my hat off to every one of'em, for they are braver than any man i ever saw," said emil, with the new gravity that was as becoming to him as the new gentleness with which he treated everyone.
"if women are brave, some men are as tender and self-sacrificing as women.
i know one who in the night slipped his share of food into a girl's pocket, though starving himself, and sat for hours rocking a sick man in his arms that he might get a little sleep.
no, love, i will tell, and you must let me!"
cried mary, holding in both her own the hand he laid on her lips to silence her.
"only did my duty.
if that torment had lasted much longer i might have been as bad as poor barry and the boatswain.
was n't that an awful night?"
and emil shuddered as he recalled it.
"do n't think of it, dear.
tell about the happy days on the urania, when papa grew better and we were all safe and homeward bound," said mary, with the trusting look and comforting touch which seemed to banish the dark and recall the bright side of that terrible experience.
emil cheered up at once, and sitting with his arm about his "dear lass", in true sailor fashion told the happy ending of the tale.
"such a jolly old time as we had at hamburg!
uncle hermann could n't do enough for the captain, and while mamma took care of him, mary looked after me.
i had to go into dock for repairs; fire hurt my eyes, and watching for a sail and want of sleep made'em as hazy as a london fog.
she was pilot and brought me in all right, you see, only i could n't part company, so she came aboard as first mate, and i'm bound straight for glory now."
"hush!
that's silly, dear," whispered mary, trying in her turn to stop him, with english shyness about tender topics.
but he took the soft hand in his, and proudly surveying the one ring it wore, went on with the air of an admiral aboard his flagship.
"the captain proposed waiting a spell; but i told him we were n't like to see any rougher weather than we'd pulled through together, and if we did n't know one another after such a year as this, we never should.
i was sure i should n't be worth my pay without this hand on the wheel; so i had my way, and my brave little woman has shipped for the long voyage.
god bless her!"
"shall you really sail with him?"
asked daisy, admiring her courage, but shrinking with cat-like horror from the water.
"i'm not afraid," answered mary, with a loyal smile.
"i've proved my captain in fair weather and in foul, and if he is ever wrecked again, i'd rather be with him than waiting and watching ashore.'"
a true woman, and a born sailor's wife!
you are a happy man, emil, and i'm sure this trip will be a prosperous one," cried mrs jo, delighted with the briny flavour of this courtship.
"oh, my dear boy, i always felt you'd come back, and when everyone else despaired i never gave up, but insisted that you were clinging to the main-top jib somewhere on that dreadful sea"; and mrs jo illustrated her faith by grasping emil with a truly pillycoddian gesture.
"of course i was!"
answered emil heartily; "and my "main-top jib" in this case was the thought of what you and uncle said to me.
that kept me up; and among the million thoughts that came to me during those long nights none was clearer than the idea of the red strand, you remember -- english navy, and all that.
i liked the notion, and resolved that if a bit of my cable was left afloat, the red stripe should be there."
"and it was, my dear, it was!
captain hardy testifies to that, and here is your reward"; and mrs jo kissed mary with a maternal tenderness which betrayed that she liked the english rose better than the blue-eyed german kornblumen, sweet and modest though it was.
emil surveyed the little ceremony with complacency, saying, as he looked about the room which he never thought to see again: "odd, is n't it, how clearly trifles come back to one in times of danger?
as we floated there, half-starved, and in despair, i used to think i heard the bells ringing here, and ted tramping downstairs, and you calling, "boys, boys, it's time to get up!"
i actually smelt the coffee we used to have, and one night i nearly cried when i woke from a dream of asia's ginger cookies.
i declare, it was one of the bitterest disappointments of my life to face hunger with that spicy smell in my nostrils.
if you've got any, do give me one!"
a pitiful murmur broke from all the aunts and cousins, and emil was at once borne away to feast on the desired cookies, a supply always being on hand.
mrs jo and her sister joined the other group, glad to hear what franz was saying about nat.
"the minute i saw how thin and shabby he was, i knew that something was wrong; but he made light of it, and was so happy over our visit and news that i let him off with a brief confession, and went to professor baumgarten and bergmann.
from them i learned the whole story of his spending more money than he ought and trying to atone for it by unnecessary work and sacrifice.
baumgarten thought it would do him good, so kept his secret till i came.
it did him good, and he's paid his debts and earned his bread by the sweat of his brow, like an honest fellow.'"
i like that much in nat.
it is, as i said, a lesson, and he learns it well.
he proves himself a man, and has deserved the place bergmann offers him," said mr bhaer, looking well pleased as franz added some facts already recorded."
i told you, meg, that he had good stuff in him, and love for daisy would keep him straight.
dear lad, i wish i had him here this moment!"
cried mrs jo, forgetting in delight the doubts and anxieties which had troubled her for months past."
i am very glad, and suppose i shall give in as i always do, especially now that the epidemic rages so among us.
you and emil have set all their heads in a ferment, and josie will be demanding a lover before i can turn round," answered mrs meg, in a tone of despair.
but her sister saw that she was touched by nat's trials, and hastened to add the triumphs, that the victory might be complete, for success is always charming.
"this offer of herr bergmann is a good one, is n't it?"
she asked, though mr laurie had already satisfied her on that point when nat's letter brought the news.
"very fine in every way.
nat will get capital drill in bachmeister's orchestra, see london in a delightful way, and if he suits come home with them, well started among the violins.
no great honour, but a sure thing and a step up.
i congratulated him, and he was very jolly over it, saying, like the true lover he is: "tell daisy; be sure and tell her all about it."
i'll leave that to you, aunt meg, and you can also break it gently to her that the old boy had a fine blond beard.
very becoming; hides his weak mouth, and gives a noble air to his big eyes and "mendelssohnian brow", as a gushing girl called it.
ludmilla has a photo of it for you."
this amused them; and they listened to many other interesting bits of news which kind franz, even in his own happiness, had not forgotten to remember for his friend's sake.
he talked so well, and painted nat's patient and pathetic shifts so vividly, that mrs meg was half won; though if she had learned of the minna episode and the fiddling in beer-gardens and streets, she might not have relented so soon.
she stored up all she heard, however, and, womanlike, promised herself a delicious talk with daisy, in which she would allow herself to melt by degrees, and perhaps change the doubtful "we shall see" to a cordial "he has done well; be happy, dear".
in the midst of this agreeable chat the sudden striking of a clock recalled mrs jo from romance to reality, and she exclaimed, with a clutch at her crimping-pins: "my blessed people, you must eat and rest; and i must dress, or receive in this disgraceful rig.
meg, will you take ludmilla and mary upstairs and see to them?
franz knows the way to the dining-room.
fritz, come with me and be made tidy, for what with heat and emotion, we are both perfect wrecks."
chapter 19.
white roses while the travellers refreshed, and mrs president struggled into her best gown, josie ran into the garden to gather flowers for the brides.
the sudden arrival of these interesting beings had quite enchanted the romantic girl, and her head was full of heroic rescues, tender admiration, dramatic situations, and feminine wonder as to whether the lovely creatures would wear their veils or not.
she was standing before a great bush of white roses, culling the most perfect for the bouquets which she meant to tie with the ribbon festooned over her arm, and lay on the toilette tables of the new cousins, as a delicate attention.
a step startled her, and looking up she saw her brother coming down the path with folded arms, bent head, and the absent air of one absorbed in deep thought.
"sophy wackles," said the sharp child, with a superior smile, as she sucked her thumb just pricked by a too eager pull at the thorny branches.
"what are you at here, mischief?"
asked demi, with an irvingesque start, as he felt rather than saw a disturbing influence in his day-dream.
"getting flowers for "our brides".
do n't you wish you had one?"
answered josie, to whom the word "mischief" suggested her favourite amusement."
a bride or a flower?"
asked demi calmly, though he eyed the blooming bush as if it had a sudden and unusual interest for him.
"both; you get the one, and i'll give you the other."
"wish i could!"
and demi picked a little bud, with a sigh that went to josie's warm heart.
"why do n't you, then?
it's lovely to see people so happy.
now's a good time to do it if you ever mean to.
she will be going away for ever soon."
"who?"
and demi pulled a half-opened bud, with a sudden colour in his own face; which sign of confusion delighted little jo.
"do n't be a hypocrite.
you know i mean alice.
now, jack, i'm fond of you, and want to help; it's so interesting -- all these lovers and weddings and things, and we ought to have our share.
so you take my advice and speak up like a man, and make sure of alice before she goes."
demi laughed at the seriousness of the small girl's advice; but he liked it, and showed that it suited him by saying blandly, instead of snubbing her as usual: "you are very kind, child.
since you are so wise, could you give me a hint how i'd better "speak up", as you elegantly express it?"
"oh, well, there are various ways, you know.
in plays the lovers go down on their knees; but that's awkward when they have long legs.
ted never does it well, though i drill him for hours.
you could say, "be mine, be mine!"
like the old man who threw cucumbers over the wall to mrs nickleby, if you want to be gay and easy; or you could write a poetical pop.
you've tried it, i dare say."
"but seriously, jo, i do love alice, and i think she knows it.
i want to tell her so; but i lose my head when i try, and do n't care to make a fool of myself.
thought you might suggest some pretty way; you read so much poetry and are so romantic."
demi tried to express himself clearly, but forgot his dignity and his usual reserve in the sweet perplexity of his love, and asked his little sister to teach him how to put the question which a single word can answer.
the arrival of his happy cousins had scattered all his wise plans and brave resolutions to wait still longer.
the christmas play had given him courage to hope, and the oration today had filled him with tender pride; but the sight of those blooming brides and beaming grooms was too much for him, and he panted to secure his alice without an hour's delay.
daisy was his confidante in all things but this; a brotherly feeling of sympathy had kept him from telling her his hopes, because her own were forbidden.
his mother was rather jealous of any girl he admired; but knowing that she liked alice, he loved on and enjoyed his secret alone, meaning soon to tell her all about it.
now suddenly josie and the rose-bush seemed to suggest a speedy end to his tender perplexities; and he was moved to accept her aid as the netted lion did that of the mouse."
i think i'll write," he was slowly beginning, after a pause during which both were trying to strike out a new and brilliant idea.
"i've got it!
perfectly lovely!
just suit her, and you too, being a poet!"
cried josie, with a skip.
"what is it?
do n't be ridiculous, please," begged the bashful lover, eager, but afraid of this sharp-tongued bit of womanhood."
i read in one of miss edgeworth's stories about a man who offers three roses to his lady -- a bud, a half-blown, and a full-blown rose.
i do n't remember which she took; but it's a pretty way; and alice knows about it because she was there when we read it.
here are all kinds; you've got the two buds, pick the sweetest rose you can find, and i'll tie them up and put them in her room.
she is coming to dress with daisy, so i can do it nicely."
demi mused a moment with his eyes on the bridal bush, and a smile came over his face so unlike any it had ever worn before, that josie was touched, and looked away as if she had no right to see the dawn of the great passion which, while it lasts, makes a young man as happy as a god.
"do it," was all he said, and gathered a full-blown rose to finish his floral love-message.
charmed to have a finger in this romantic pie, josie tied a graceful bow of ribbon about the stems, and finished her last nosegay with much content, while demi wrote upon a card: dear alice, you know what the flowers mean.
will you wear one, or all tonight, and make me still prouder, fonder, and happier than i am?
yours entirely, john offering this to his sister, he said in a tone that made her feel the deep importance of her mission: "i trust you, jo.
this means everything to me.
no jokes, dear, if you love me."
josie's answer was a kiss that promised all things; and then she ran away to do her "gentle spiriting", like ariel, leaving demi to dream among the roses like ferdinand.
mary and ludmilla were charmed with their bouquets; and the giver had the delight of putting some of the flowers into the dark hair and the light as she played maid at the toilettes of "our brides", which consoled her for a disappointment in the matter of veils.
no one helped alice dress; for daisy was in the next room with her mother; and not even their loving eyes saw the welcome which the little posy received, nor the tears and smiles and blushes that came and went as she read the note and pondered what answer she should give.
there was no doubt about the one she wished to give; but duty held her back; for at home there was an invalid mother and an old father.
she was needed there, with all the help she could now bring by the acquirements four years of faithful study had given her.
love looked very sweet, and a home of her own with john a little heaven on earth; but not yet.
and she slowly laid away the full-blown rose as she sat before the mirror, thinking over the great question of her life.
was it wise and kind to ask him to wait, to bind him by any promise, or even to put into words the love and honour she felt for him?
no; it would be more generous to make the sacrifice alone, and spare him the pain of hope deferred.
he was young; he would forget; and she would do her duty better, perhaps, if no impatient lover waited for her.
with eyes that saw but dimly, and a hand that lingered on the stem he had stripped of thorns, she laid the half-blown flower by the rose, and asked herself if even the little bud might be worn.
it looked very poor and pale beside the others; yet being in the self-sacrificing mood which real love brings, she felt that even a small hope was too much to give, if she could not follow it up with more.
as she sat looking sadly down on the symbols of an affection that grew dearer every moment, she listened half unconsciously to the murmur of voices in the adjoining room.
open windows, thin partitions, and the stillness of summer twilight made it impossible to help hearing, and in a few moments more she could not refrain; for they were talking of john.
"so nice of ludmilla to bring us all bottles of real german cologne!
just what we need after this tiring day!
be sure john has his!
he likes it so!"
"yes, mother.
did you see him jump up when alice ended her oration?
he'd have gone to her if i had n't held him back.
i do n't wonder he was pleased and proud.
i spoilt my gloves clapping, and quite forgot my dislike of seeing women on platforms, she was so earnest and unconscious and sweet after the first moment."
"has he said anything to you, dear?"
"no; and i guess why.
the kind boy thinks it would make me unhappy.
it would n't.
but i know his ways; so i wait, and hope all will go well with him."
"it must.
no girl in her senses would refuse our john, though he is n't rich, and never will be.
daisy, i've been longing to tell you what he did with his money.
he told me last night, and i've had no time since to tell you.
he sent poor young barton to the hospital, and kept him there till his eyes were saved -- a costly thing to do.
but the man can work now and care for his old parents.
he was in despair, sick and poor, and too proud to beg; and our dear boy found it out, and took every penny he had, and never told even his mother till she made him."
alice did not hear what daisy answered, for she was busy with her own emotions -- happy ones now, to judge from the smile that shone in her eyes and the decided gesture with which she put the little bud in her bosom, as if she said: "he deserves some reward for that good deed, and he shall have it."
mrs meg was speaking, and still of john, when she could hear again: "some people would call it unwise and reckless, when john has so little; but i think his first investment a safe and good one, for "he who giveth to the poor lendeth to the lord"; and i was so pleased and proud, i would n't spoil it by offering him a penny."
"it is his having nothing to offer that keeps him silent, i think.
he is so honest, he wo n't ask till he has much to give.
but he forgets that love is everything.
i know he's rich in that; i see and feel it; and any woman should be glad to get it."
"right, dear.
i felt just so, and was willing to work and wait with and for my john."
"so she will be, and i hope they will find it out.
but she is so dutiful and good, i'm afraid she wo n't let herself be happy.
you would like it, mother?"
"heartily; for a better, nobler girl does n't live.
she is all i want for my son; and i do n't mean to lose the dear, brave creature if i can help it.
her heart is big enough for both love and duty; and they can wait more happily if they do it together -- for wait they must, of course."
"i'm so glad his choice suits you, mother, and he is spared the saddest sort of disappointment."
daisy's voice broke there; and a sudden rustle, followed by a soft murmur, seemed to tell that she was in her mother's arms, seeking and finding comfort there.
alice heard no more, and shut her window with a guilty feeling but a shining face; for the proverb about listeners failed here, and she had learned more than she dared to hope.
things seemed to change suddenly; she felt that her heart was large enough for both love and duty; she knew now that she would be welcomed by mother and sister; and the memory of daisy's less happy fate, nat's weary probation, the long delay, and possible separation for ever -- all came before her so vividly that prudence seemed cruelty; self-sacrifice, sentimental folly; and anything but the whole truth, disloyalty to her lover.
as she thought thus, the half-blown rose went to join the bud; and then, after a pause, she slowly kissed the perfect rose, and added it to the tell-tale group, saying to herself with a sort of sweet solemnity, as if the words were a vow: "i'll love and work and wait with and for my john."
it was well for her that demi was absent when she stole down to join the guests who soon began to flow through the house in a steady stream.
the new brightness which touched her usually thoughtful face was easily explained by the congratulations she received as orator, and the slight agitation observable, when a fresh batch of gentlemen approached soon passed, as none of them noticed the flowers she wore over a very happy heart.
demi meantime was escorting certain venerable personages about the college, and helping his grandfather entertain them with discussion of the socratic method of instruction, pythagoras, pestalozzi, froebel, and the rest, whom he devoutly wished at the bottom of the red sea, and no wonder, for his head and his heart were full of love and roses, hopes and fears.
he piloted the "potent, grave, and reverend seigniors" safely down to plumfield at last, and landed them before his uncle and aunt bhaer, who were receiving in state, the one full of genuine delight in all men and things, the other suffering martyrdom with a smile, as she stood shaking hand after hand, and affecting utter unconsciousness of the sad fact that ponderous professor plock had camped upon the train of her state and festival velvet gown.
with a long sigh of relief demi glanced about him for the beloved girl.
most persons would have looked some time before any particular angel could be discovered among the white-robed throng in parlours, hall, and study; but his eye went -- like the needle to the pole -- to the corner where a smooth dark head, with its braided crown, rose like a queen's, he thought, above the crowd which surrounded her.
yes, she has a flower at her throat; one, two, oh, blessed sight!
he saw it all across the room, and gave a rapturous sigh which caused miss perry's frizzled crop to wave with a sudden gust.
he did not see the rose, for it was hidden by a fold of lace; and it was well, perhaps, that bliss came by instalments, or he might have electrified the assembled multitude by flying to his idol, there being no daisy to clutch him by the coat-tail.
a stout lady, thirsting for information, seized him at that thrilling moment, and he was forced to point out celebrities with a saintly patience which deserved a better reward than it received; for a certain absence of mind and incoherence of speech at times caused the ungrateful dowager to whisper to the first friend she met after he had escaped: "i saw no wine at any of the spreads; but it is plain that young brooke has had too much.
quite gentlemanly, but evidently a trifle intoxicated, my dear."
ah, so he was!
but with a diviner wine than any that ever sparkled at a class-day lunch, though many collegians know the taste of it; and when the old lady was disposed of, he gladly turned to find the young one, bent on having a single word.
he saw her standing by the piano now, idly turning over music as she talked with several gentlemen.
hiding his impatience under an air of scholastic repose, demi hovered near, ready to advance when the happy moment came, wondering meantime why elderly persons persisted in absorbing young ones instead of sensibly sitting in corners with their contemporaries.
the elderly persons in question retired at length, but only to be replaced by two impetuous youths who begged miss heath to accompany them to parnassus and join the dance.
demi thirsted for their blood, but was appeased by hearing george and dolly say, as they lingered a moment after her refusal: "really, you know, i'm quite converted to co-education and almost wish i'd remained here.
it gives a grace to study, a sort of relish even to greek to see charming girls at it," said stuffy, who found the feast of learning so dry, any sauce was welcome; and he felt as if he had discovered a new one.
"yes, by jove!
we fellows will have to look out or you'll carry off all the honours.
you were superb today, and held us all like magic, though it was so hot there, i really think i could n't have stood it for anyone else," added dolly, labouring to be gallant and really offering a touching proof of devotion; for the heat melted his collar, took the curl out of his hair, and ruined his gloves.
"there is room for all; and if you will leave us the books, we will cheerfully yield the baseball, boating, dancing, and flirting, which seem to be the branches you prefer," answered alice sweetly.
"ah, now you are too hard upon us!
we ca n't grind all the time and you ladies do n't seem to mind taking a turn at the two latter "branches" you mention," returned dolly, with a glance at george which plainly said," i had her there."
"some of us do in our first years.
later we give up childish things, you see.
do n't let me keep you from parnassus"; and a smiling nod dismissed them, smarting under the bitter consciousness of youth.
"you got it there, doll.
better not try to fence with these superior girls.
sure to be routed, horse, foot, and dragoons," said stuffy, lumbering away, somewhat cross with too many spreads.
"so deuced sarcastic!
do n't believe she's much older than we are.
girls grow up quicker, so she need n't put on airs and talk like a grandmother," muttered dolly, feeling that he had sacrificed his kids upon the altar of an ungrateful pallas.
"come along and let's find something to eat.
i'm faint with so much talking.
old plock cornered me and made my head spin with kant and hegel and that lot.'"
i promised dora west i'd give her a turn.
must look her up; she's a jolly little thing, and does n't bother about anything but keeping in step."
and arm in arm the boys strolled away, leaving alice to read music as diligently as if society had indeed no charms for her.
as she bent to turn a page, the eager young man behind the piano saw the rose and was struck speechless with delight.
a moment he gazed, then hastened to seize the coveted place before a new detachment of bores arrived.
"alice, i ca n't believe it -- did you understand -- how shall i ever thank you?"
murmured demi, bending as if he, too, read the song, not a note or word of which did he see, however.
"hush!
not now.
i understood -- i do n't deserve it -- we are too young, we must wait, but -- i'm very proud and happy, john!"
what would have happened after that tender whisper i tremble to think, if tom bangs had not come bustling up, with the cheerful remark: "music?
just the thing.
people are thinning out, and we all want a little refreshment.
my brain fairly reels with the "ologies and "isms i've heard discussed tonight.
yes, give us this; sweet thing!
scotch songs are always charming."
demi glowered; but the obtuse boy never saw it, and alice, feeling that this would be a safe vent for sundry unruly emotions, sat down at once, and sang the song which gave her answer better than she could have done: bide a wee "the puir auld folk at home, ye mind, are frail and failing sair; and weel i ken they'd miss me, lad, gin i come hame nae mair.
the grist is out, the times are hard, the kine are only three; i canna leave the auld folk now.
we'd better bide a wee."
i fear me sair they're failing baith; for when i sit apart, they talk o" heaven so earnestly, it well nigh breaks my heart.
so, laddie, dinna urge me now, it surely winna be; i canna leave the auld folk yet.
we'd better bide a wee."
the room was very still before the first verse ended; and alice skipped the next, fearing she could not get through; for john's eyes were on her, showing that he knew she sang for him and let the plaintive little ballad tell what her reply must be.
he took it as she meant it, and smiled at her so happily that her heart got the better of her voice, and she rose abruptly, saying something about the heat.
"yes, you are tired; come out and rest, my dearest"; and with a masterful air demi took her into the starlight, leaving tom to stare after them winking as if a sky-rocket had suddenly gone off under his nose.
"bless my soul!
the deacon really meant business last summer and never told me.
wo n't dora laugh?"
and tom departed in hot haste to impart and exult over his discovery.
what was said in the garden was never exactly known; but the brooke family sat up very late that night, and any curious eye at the window would have seen demi receiving the homage of his womankind as he told his little romance.
josie took great credit to herself in the matter, insisting that she had made the match; daisy was full of the sweetest sympathy and joy, and mrs meg so happy that when jo had gone to dream of bridal veils, and demi sat in his room blissfully playing the air of "bide a wee", she had her talk about nat, ending with her arms round her dutiful daughter and these welcome words as her reward: "wait till nat comes home, and then my good girl shall wear white roses too."
chapter 20.
life for life the summer days that followed were full of rest and pleasure for young and old, as they did the honours of plumfield to their happy guests.
while franz and emil were busy with the affairs of uncle hermann and captain hardy, mary and ludmilla made friends everywhere; for, though very unlike, both were excellent and charming girls.
mrs meg and daisy found the german bride a hausfrau after their own hearts, and had delightful times learning new dishes, hearing about the semi-yearly washes and the splendid linen-room at hamburg, or discussing domestic life in all its branches.
ludmilla not only taught, but learned, many things, and went home with many new and useful ideas in her blonde head.
mary had seen so much of the world that she was unusually lively for an english girl; while her various accomplishments made her a most agreeable companion.
much good sense gave her ballast; and the late experiences of danger and happiness added a sweet gravity at times, which contrasted well with her natural gaiety.
mrs jo was quite satisfied with emil's choice, and felt sure this true and tender pilot would bring him safe to port through fair or stormy weather.
she had feared that franz would settle down into a comfortable, moneymaking burgher, and be content with that; but she soon saw that his love of music and his placid ludmilla put much poetry into his busy life, and kept it from being too prosaic.
so she felt at rest about these boys, and enjoyed their visit with real, maternal satisfaction; parting with them in september most regretfully, yet hopefully, as they sailed away to the new life that lay before them.
demi's engagement was confided to the immediate family only, as both were pronounced too young to do anything but love and wait.
they were so happy that time seemed to stand still for them, and after a blissful week they parted bravely -- alice to home duties, with a hope that sustained and cheered her through many trials; and john to his business, full of a new ardour which made all things possible when such a reward was offered.
daisy rejoiced over them, and was never tired of hearing her brother's plans for the future.
her own hope soon made her what she used to be -- a cheery, busy creature, with a smile, kind word, and helping hand for all; and as she went singing about the house again, her mother felt that the right remedy for past sadness had been found.
the dear pelican still had doubts and fears, but kept them wisely to herself, preparing sundry searching tests to be applied when nat came home, and keeping a sharp eye on the letters from london; for some mysterious hint had flown across the sea, and daisy's content seemed reflected in nat's present cheerful state of mind.
having passed through the werther period, and tried a little faust -- of which experience he spoke to his marguerite as if it had included an acquaintance with mephistopheles, blocksburg, and auerbach's wine-cellar -- he now felt that he was a wilhelm meister, serving his apprenticeship to the great masters of life.
as she knew the truth of his small sins and honest repentance, daisy only smiled at the mixture of love and philosophy he sent her, knowing that it was impossible for a young man to live in germany without catching the german spirit.
"his heart is all right; and his head will soon grow clear when he gets out of the fog of tobacco, beer, and metaphysics he's been living in.
england will wake up his common sense, and good salt air blow his little follies all away," said mrs jo, much pleased with the good prospects of her violinist -- whose return was delayed till spring, to his private regret, but professional advancement.
josie had a month with miss cameron at the seaside, and threw herself so heartily into the lesson given her that her energy, promise, and patience laid the foundation of a friendship which was of infinite value to her in the busy, brilliant years to come; for little jo's instincts were right; and the dramatic talent of the marches was to blossom by and by into an actress, virtuous, and beloved.
tom and his dora were peacefully ambling altar-ward; for bangs senior was so afraid his son would change his mind again and try a third profession, that he gladly consented to an early marriage, as a sort of anchor to hold the mercurial thomas fast.
aforesaid thomas could not complain of cold shoulders now; for dora was a most devoted and adoring little mate, and made life so pleasant to him that his gift for getting into scrapes seemed lost, and he bade fair to become a thriving man, with undeniable talent for the business he had chosen.
"we shall be married in the autumn, and live with my father for a while.
the governor is getting on, you know, and my wife and i must look after him.
later we shall have an establishment of our own," was a favourite speech of his about this time, and usually received with smiles; for the idea of tommy bangs at the head of an "establishment" was irresistibly funny to all who knew him.
things were in this flourishing condition, and mrs jo was beginning to think her trials were over for that year, when a new excitement came.
several postal cards had arrived at long intervals from dan, who gave them "care of m. mason, etc.", as his address.
by this means he was able to gratify his longing for home news, and to send brief messages to quiet their surprise at his delay in settling.
the last one, which came in september, was dated "montana", and simply said: here at last, trying mining again; but not going to stay long.
all sorts of luck.
gave up the farm idea.
tell plans soon.
well, busy, and very happy.
d. k.
if they had known what the heavy dash under "happy" meant, that postal would have been a very eloquent bit of pasteboard; for dan was free, and had gone straight away to the liberty he panted for.
meeting an old friend by accident, he obliged him at a pinch by acting as overseer for a time, finding the society even of rough miners very sweet, and something in the muscular work wonderfully pleasant, after being cooped up in the brush-shop so long.
he loved to take a pick and wrestle with rock and earth till he was weary -- which was very soon; for that year of captivity had told upon his splendid physique.
he longed to go home, but waited week after week to get the prison taint off him and the haggard look out of his face.
meanwhile he made friends of masters and men; and as no one knew his story, he took his place again in the world gratefully and gladly -- with little pride now, and no plans but to do some good somewhere, and efface the past.
mrs jo was having a grand clearing-out of her desk one october day, while the rain poured outside, and peace reigned in her mansion.
coming across the postals, she pondered over them, and then put them carefully away in the drawer labelled "boys" letters", saying to herself, as she bundled eleven requests for autographs into the waste-paper basket: "it is quite time for another card, unless he is coming to tell his plans.
i'm really curious to know what he has been about all this year, and how he's getting on now."
that last wish was granted within an hour; for ted came rushing in, with a newspaper in one hand, a collapsed umbrella in the other, and a face full of excitement, announcing, all in one breathless jumble: "mine caved in -- twenty men shut up -- no way out -- wives crying -- water rising -- dan knew the old shaft -- risked his life -- got'em out -- most killed -- papers full of it -- i knew he'd be a hero -- hurray for old dan!"
"what?
where?
when?
who?
stop roaring, and let me read!"
commanded his mother, entirely bewildered.
relinquishing the paper, ted allowed her to read for herself, with frequent interruptions from him -- and rob, who soon followed, eager for the tale.
it was nothing new; but courage and devotion always stir generous hearts, and win admiration; so the account was both graphic and enthusiastic; and the name of daniel kean, the brave man who saved the lives of others at the risk of his own, was on many lips that day.
very proud were the faces of these friends as they read how their dan was the only one who, in the first panic of the accident, remembered the old shaft that led into the mine -- walled up, but the only hope of escape, if the men could be got out before the rising water drowned them; how he was lowered down alone, telling the others to keep back till he saw if it was safe; how he heard the poor fellows picking desperately for their lives on the other side, and by knocks and calls guided them to the right spot; then headed the rescue party, and working like a hero, got the men out in time.
on being drawn up last of all, the worn rope broke, and he had a terrible fall, being much hurt, but was still alive.
how the grateful women kissed his blackened face and bloody hands, as the men bore him away in triumph, and the owners of the mine promised a handsome reward, if he lived to receive it!
"he must live; he shall, and come home to be nursed as soon as he can stir, if i go and bring him myself!
i always knew he'd do something fine and brave, if he did n't get shot or hung for some wild prank instead," cried mrs jo, much excited.
"do go, and take me with you, mum.
i ought to be the one, dan's so fond of me and i of him," began ted, feeling that this would be an expedition after his own heart.
before his mother could reply, mr laurie came in, with almost as much noise and flurry as teddy the second, exclaiming as he waved the evening paper: "seen the news, jo?
what do you think?
shall i go off at once, and see after that brave boy?'"
i wish you would.
but the thing may not be all true -- rumour lies so.
perhaps a few hours will bring an entirely new version of the story."
"i've telephoned to demi for all he can find out; and if it's true, i'll go at once.
should like the trip.
if he's able, i'll bring him home; if not, i'll stay and see to him.
he'll pull through.
dan will never die of a fall on his head.
he's got nine lives, and not lost half of them yet."
"if you go, uncle, may n't i go with you?
i'm just spoiling for a journey; and it would be such larks to go out there with you, and see the mines and dan, and hear all about it, and help.
i can nurse.
ca n't i, rob?"
cried teddy, in his most wheedlesome tones.
"pretty well.
but if mother ca n't spare you, i'm ready if uncle needs anyone," answered rob, in his quiet way, looking much fitter for the trip than excitable ted."
i ca n't spare either of you.
my boys get into trouble, unless i keep them close at home.
i've no right to hold the others; but i wo n't let you out of my sight, or something will happen.
never saw such a year, with wrecks and weddings and floods and engagements, and every sort of catastrophe!"
exclaimed mrs jo.
"if you deal in girls and boys, you must expect this sort of thing, ma'am.
the worst is over, i hope, till these lads begin to go off.
then i'll stand by you; for you'll need every kind of support and comfort, specially if ted bolts early," laughed mr laurie, enjoying her lamentations."
i do n't think anything can surprise me now; but i am anxious about dan, and feel that someone had better go to him.
it's a rough place out there, and he may need careful nursing.
poor lad, he seems to get a good many hard knocks!
but perhaps he needs them as "a mellerin" process", as hannah used to say."
"we shall hear from demi before long, and then i'll be off."
with which cheerful promise mr laurie departed; and ted, finding his mother firm, soon followed, to coax his uncle to take him.
further inquiry confirmed and added interest to the news.
mr laurie was off at once; and ted went into town with him, still vainly imploring to be taken to his dan.
he was absent all day; but his mother said, calmly: "only a fit of the sulks because he is thwarted.
he's safe with tom or demi, and will come home hungry and meek at night.
i know him."
but she soon found that she could still be surprised; for evening brought no ted, and no one had seen him.
mr bhaer was just setting off to find his lost son, when a telegram arrived, dated at one of the way-stations on mr laurie's route: found ted in the cars.
take him along.
write tomorrow.
t. laurence "ted bolted sooner than you expected, mother.
never mind -- uncle will take good care of him, and dan be very glad to see him," said rob, as mrs jo sat, trying to realize that her youngest was actually on his way to the wild west.
"disobedient boy!
he shall be severely punished, if i ever get him again.
laurie winked at this prank; i know he did.
just like him.
wo n't the two rascals have a splendid time?
wish i was with them!
do n't believe that crazy boy took even a night-gown with him, or an overcoat.
well, there will be two patients for us to nurse when they get back, if they ever do.
those reckless express trains always go down precipices, and burn up, or telescope.
oh!
my ted, my precious boy, how can i let him go so far away from me?"
and mother-like, mrs jo forgot the threatened chastisement in tender lamentations over the happy scapegrace, now whizzing across the continent in high feather at the success of his first revolt.
mr laurie was much amused at his insisting that those words, "when ted bolts", put the idea into his head; and therefore the responsibility rested upon his shoulders.
he assumed it kindly from the moment he came upon the runaway asleep in a car, with no visible luggage but a bottle of wine for dan and a blacking-brush for himself; and as mrs jo suspected, the "two rascals" did have a splendid time.
penitent letters arrived in due season, and the irate parents soon forgot to chide in their anxiety about dan, who was very ill, and did not know his friends for several days.
then he began to mend; and everyone forgave the bad boy when he proudly reported that the first conscious words dan said were: "hallo, ted!"
with a smile of pleasure at seeing a familiar face bent over him.
"glad he went, and i wo n't scold any more.
now, what shall we put in the box for dan?"
and mrs jo worked off her impatience to get hold of the invalid by sending comforts enough for a hospital.
cheering accounts soon began to come, and at length dan was pronounced able to travel, but seemed in no haste to go home, though never tired of hearing his nurses talk of it.
"dan is strangely altered," wrote laurie to jo; "not by this illness alone, but by something which has evidently gone before.
i do n't know what, and leave you to ask; but from his ravings when delirious i fear he has been in some serious trouble the past year.
he seems ten years older, but improved, quieter, and so grateful to us.
it is pathetic to see the hunger in his eyes as they rest on ted, as if he could n't see enough of him.
he says kansas was a failure, but ca n't talk much; so i bide my time.
the people here love him very much, and he cares for that sort of thing now; used to scorn any show of emotion, you know; now he wants everyone to think well of him, and ca n't do enough to win affection and respect.
i may be all wrong.
you will soon find out.
ted is in clover, and the trip has done him a world of good.
let me take him to europe when we go?
apron-strings do n't agree with him any better than they did with me when i proposed to run away to washington with you some century ago.
are n't you sorry you did n't?"
this private letter set mrs jo's lively fancy in a ferment, and she imagined every known crime, affliction, and complication which could possibly have befallen dan.
he was too feeble to be worried with questions now, but she promised herself most interesting revelations when she got him safe at home; for the "firebrand" was her most interesting boy.
she begged him to come, and spent more time in composing a letter that should bring him, than she did over the most thrilling episodes in her "works".
no one but dan saw the letter; but it did bring him, and one november day mr laurie helped a feeble man out of a carriage at the door of plumfield, and mother bhaer received the wanderer like a recovered son; while ted, in a disreputable-looking hat and an astonishing pair of boots, performed a sort of war-dance round the interesting group.
"right upstairs and rest; i'm nurse now, and this ghost must eat before he talks to anyone," commanded mrs jo, trying not to show how shocked she was at this shorn and shaven, gaunt and pallid shadow of the stalwart man she parted with.
he was quite content to obey, and lay on the long lounge in the room prepared for him, looking about as tranquilly as a sick child restored to its own nursery and mother's arms, while his new nurse fed and refreshed him, bravely controlling the questions that burned upon her tongue.
being weak and weary, he soon fell asleep; and then she stole away to enjoy the society of the "rascals", whom she scolded and petted, pumped and praised, to her heart's content.
"jo, i think dan has committed some crime and suffered for it," said mr laurie, when ted had departed to show his boots and tell glowing tales of the dangers and delights of the miners" life to his mates.
"some terrible experience has come to the lad, and broken his spirit.
he was quite out of his head when we arrived, and i took the watching, so i heard more of those sad wanderings than anyone else.
he talked of the "warden", some trail, a dead man, and blair and mason, and would keep offering me his hand, asking me if i would take it and forgive him.
once, when he was very wild, i held his arms, and he quieted in a moment, imploring me not to "put the handcuffs on".
i declare, it was quite awful sometimes to hear him in the night talk of old plum and you, and beg to be let out and go home to die."
"he is n't going to die, but live to repent of anything he may have done; so do n't harrow me up with these dark hints, teddy.
i do n't care if he's broken the ten commandments, i'll stand by him, and so will you, and we'll set him on his feet and make a good man of him yet.
i know he's not spoilt, by the look in his poor face.
do n't say a word to anyone, and i'll have the truth before long," answered mrs jo, still loyal to her bad boy, though much afflicted by what she had heard.
for some days dan rested, and saw few people; then good care, cheerful surroundings, and the comfort of being at home began to tell, and he seemed more like himself, though still very silent as to his late experiences, pleading the doctor's orders not to talk much.
everyone wanted to see him; but he shrank from any but old friends, and "would n't lionize worth a cent", ted said, much disappointed that he could not show off his brave dan.
"was n't a man there who would n't have done the same, so why make a row over me?"
asked the hero, feeling more ashamed than proud of the broken arm, which looked so interesting in a sling.
"but is n't it pleasant to think that you saved twenty lives, dan, and gave husbands, sons, and fathers back to the women who loved them?"
asked mrs jo one evening as they were alone together after several callers had been sent away.
"pleasant!
it's all that kept me alive, i do believe; yes, i'd rather have done it than be made president or any other big bug in the world.
no one knows what a comfort it is to think i've saved twenty men to more than pay for --" there dan stopped short, having evidently spoken out of some strong emotion to which his hearer had no key."
i thought you'd feel so.
it is a splendid thing to save life at the risk of one's own, as you did, and nearly lose it," began mrs jo, wishing he had gone on with that impulsive speech which was so like his old manner."
""he that loseth his life shall gain it"," muttered dan, staring at the cheerful fire which lighted the room, and shone on his thin face with a ruddy glow.
mrs jo was so startled at hearing such words from his lips that she exclaimed joyfully: "then you did read the little book i gave you, and kept your promise?'"
i read it a good deal after a while.
i do n't know much yet, but i'm ready to learn; and that's something."
"it's everything.
oh, my dear, tell me about it!
i know something lies heavy on your heart; let me help you bear it, and so make the burden lighter.'"
i know it would; i want to tell; but some things even you could n't forgive; and if you let go of me, i'm afraid i ca n't keep afloat."
"mothers can forgive anything!
tell me all, and be sure that i will never let you go, though the whole world should turn from you."
mrs jo took one of the big wasted hands in both of hers and held it fast, waiting silently till that sustaining touch warmed poor dan's heart, and gave him courage to speak.
sitting in his old attitude, with his head in his hands, he slowly told it all, never once looking up till the last words left his lips.
"now you know; can you forgive a murderer, and keep a jail-bird in your house?"
her only answer was to put her arms about him, and lay the shorn head on her breast, with eyes so full of tears they could but dimly see the hope and fear that made his own so tragical.
that was better than any words; and poor dan clung to her in speechless gratitude, feeling the blessedness of mother love -- that divine gift which comforts, purifies, and strengthens all who seek it.
two or three great, bitter drops were hidden in the little woollen shawl where dan's cheek rested, and no one ever knew how soft and comfortable it felt to him after the hard pillows he had known so long.
suffering of both mind and body had broken will and pride, and the lifted burden brought such a sense of relief that he paused a moment to enjoy it in dumb delight.
"my poor boy, how you have suffered all this year, when we thought you free as air!
why did n't you tell us, dan, and let us help you?
did you doubt your friends?"
asked mrs jo, forgetting all other emotions in sympathy, as she lifted up the hidden face, and looked reproachfully into the great hollow eyes that met her own frankly now."
i was ashamed.
i tried to bear it alone rather than shock and disappoint you, as i know i have, though you try not to show it.
do n't mind; i must get used to it"; and dan's eyes dropped again as if they could not bear to see the trouble and dismay his confession painted on his best friend's face."
i am shocked and disappointed by the sin, but i am also very glad and proud and grateful that my sinner has repented, atoned, and is ready to profit by the bitter lesson.
no one but fritz and laurie need ever know the truth; we owe it to them, and they will feel as i do," answered mrs jo, wisely thinking that entire frankness would be a better tonic than too much sympathy.
"no, they wo n't; men never forgive like women.
but it's right.
please tell'em for me, and get it over.
mr laurence knows it, i guess.
i blabbed when my wits were gone; but he was very kind all the same.
i can bear their knowing; but oh, not ted and the girls!"
dan clutched her arm with such an imploring face that she hastened to assure him no one should know except the two old friends, and he calmed down as if ashamed of his sudden panic.
"it was n't murder, mind you, it was in self-defence; he drew first, and i had to hit him.
did n't mean to kill him; but it does n't worry me as much as it ought, i'm afraid.
i've more than paid for it, and such a rascal is better out of the world than in it, showing boys the way to hell.
yes, i know you think that's awful in me; but i ca n't help it.
i hate a scamp as i do a skulking coyote, and always want to get a shot at'em.
perhaps it would have been better if he had killed me; my life is spoilt."
all the old prison gloom seemed to settle like a black cloud on dan's face as he spoke, and mrs jo was frightened at the glimpse it gave her of the fire through which he had passed to come out alive, but scarred for life.
hoping to turn his mind to happier things, she said cheerfully: "no, it is n't; you have learned to value it more and use it better for this trial.
it is not a lost year, but one that may prove the most helpful of any you ever know.
try to think so, and begin again; we will help, and have all the more confidence in you for this failure.
we all do the same and struggle on.'"
i never can be what i was.
i feel about sixty, and do n't care for anything now i've got here.
let me stay till i'm on my legs, then i'll clear out and never trouble you any more," said dan despondently.
"you are weak and low in your mind; that will pass, and by and by you will go to your missionary work among the indians with all the old energy and the new patience, self-control, and knowledge you have gained.
tell me more about that good chaplain and mary mason and the lady whose chance word helped you so much.
i want to know all about the trials of my poor boy."
won by her tender interest, dan brightened up and talked on till he had poured out all the story of that bitter year, and felt better for the load he lifted off.
if he had known how it weighed upon his hearer's heart, he would have held his peace; but she hid her sorrow till she had sent him to bed, comforted and calm; then she cried her heart out, to the great dismay of fritz and laurie, till they heard the tale and could mourn with her; after which they all cheered up and took counsel together how best to help this worst of all the "catastrophes" the year had brought them.
chapter 21.
aslauga's knight it was curious to see the change which came over dan after that talk.
a weight seemed off his mind; and though the old impetuous spirit flashed out at times, he seemed intent on trying to show his gratitude and love and honour to these true friends by a new humility and confidence very sweet to them, very helpful to him.
after hearing the story from mrs jo, the professor and mr laurie made no allusion to it beyond the hearty hand-grasp, the look of compassion, the brief word of good cheer in which men convey sympathy, and a redoubled kindness which left no doubt of pardon.
mr laurie began at once to interest influential persons in dan's mission, and set in motion the machinery which needs so much oiling before anything can be done where government is concerned.
mr bhaer, with the skill of a true teacher, gave dan's hungry mind something to do, and helped him understand himself by carrying on the good chaplain's task so paternally that the poor fellow often said he felt as if he had found a father.
the boys took him to drive, and amused him with their pranks and plans; while the women, old and young, nursed and petted him till he felt like a sultan with a crowd of devoted slaves, obedient to his lightest wish.
a very little of this was enough for dan, who had a masculine horror of "molly-coddling", and so brief an acquaintance with illness that he rebelled against the doctor's orders to keep quiet; and it took all mrs jo's authority and the girls" ingenuity to keep him from leaving his sofa long before strained back and wounded head were well.
daisy cooked for him; nan attended to his medicines; josie read aloud to while away the long hours of inaction that hung so heavily on his hands; while bess brought all her pictures and casts to amuse him, and, at his special desire, set up a modelling-stand in his parlour and began to mould the buffalo head he gave her.
those afternoons seemed the pleasantest part of his day; and mrs jo, busy in her study close by, could see the friendly trio and enjoy the pretty pictures they made.
the girls were much flattered by the success of their efforts, and exerted themselves to be very entertaining, consulting dan's moods with the feminine tact most women creatures learn before they are out of pinafores.
when he was gay, the room rang with laughter; when gloomy, they read or worked in respectful silence till their sweet patience cheered him up again; and when in pain they hovered over him like" a couple of angels", as he said.
he often called josie "little mother", but bess was always "princess"; and his manner to the two cousins was quite different.
josie sometimes fretted him with her fussy ways, the long plays she liked to read, and the maternal scoldings she administered when he broke the rules; for having a lord of creation in her power was so delightful to her that she would have ruled him with a rod of iron if he had submitted.
to bess, in her gentler ministrations, he never showed either impatience or weariness, but obeyed her least word, exerted himself to seem well in her presence, and took such interest in her work that he lay looking at her with unwearied eyes; while josie read to him in her best style unheeded.
mrs jo observed this, and called them "una and the lion", which suited them very well, though the lion's mane was shorn, and una never tried to bridle him.
the elder ladies did their part in providing delicacies and supplying all his wants; but mrs meg was busy at home, mrs amy preparing for the trip to europe in the spring, and mrs jo hovering on the brink of a "vortex" -- for the forthcoming book had been sadly delayed by the late domestic events.
as she sat at her desk, settling papers or meditatively nibbling her pen while waiting for the divine afflatus to descend upon her, she often forgot her fictitious heroes and heroines in studying the live models before her, and thus by chance looks, words, and gestures discovered a little romance unsuspected by anyone else.
the portiere between the rooms was usually drawn aside, giving a view of the group in the large bay-window -- bess at one side, in her grey blouse, busy with her tools; josie at the other side with her book; and between, on the long couch, propped with many cushions, lay dan in a many-hued eastern dressing-gown presented by mr laurie and worn to please the girls, though the invalid much preferred an old jacket "with no confounded tail to bother over".
he faced mrs jo's room, but never seemed to see her, for his eyes were on the slender figure before him, with the pale winter sunshine touching her golden head, and the delicate hands that shaped the clay so deftly.
josie was just visible, rocking violently in a little chair at the head of the couch, and the steady murmur of her girlish voice was usually the only sound that broke the quiet of the room, unless a sudden discussion arose about the book or the buffalo.
something in the big eyes, bigger and blacker than ever in the thin white face, fixed, so steadily on one object, had a sort of fascination for mrs jo after a time, and she watched the changes in them curiously; for dan's mind was evidently not on the story, and he often forgot to laugh or exclaim at the comic or exciting crises.
sometimes they were soft and wistful, and the watcher was very glad that neither damsel caught that dangerous look for when they spoke it vanished; sometimes it was full of eager fire, and the colour came and went rebelliously, in spite of his attempt to hide it with an impatient gesture of hand or head; but oftenest it was dark, and sad, and stern, as if those gloomy eyes looked out of captivity at some forbidden light or joy.
this expression came so often that it worried mrs jo, and she longed to go and ask him what bitter memory overshadowed those quiet hours.
she knew that his crime and its punishment must lie heavy on his mind; but youth, and time, and new hopes would bring comfort, and help to wear away the first sharpness of the prison brand.
it lifted at other times, and seemed almost forgotten when he joked with the boys, talked with old friends, or enjoyed the first snows as he drove out every fair day.
why should the shadow always fall so darkly on him in the society of these innocent and friendly girls?
they never seemed to see it, and if either looked or spoke, a quick smile came like a sunburst through the clouds to answer them.
so mrs jo went on watching, wondering, and discovering, till accident confirmed her fears.
josie was called away one day, and bess, tired of working, offered to take her place if he cared for more reading."
i do; your reading suits me better than jo's.
she goes so fast my stupid head gets in a muddle and soon begins to ache.
do n't tell her; she's a dear little soul, and so good to sit here with a bear like me."
the smile was ready as bess went to the table for a new book, the last story being finished.
"you are not a bear, but very good and patient, we think.
it is always hard for a man to be shut up, mamma says, and must be terrible for you, who have always been so free."
if bess had not been reading titles she would have seen dan shrink as if her last words hurt him.
he made no answer; but other eyes saw and understood why he looked as if he would have liked to spring up and rush away for one of his long races up the hill, as he used to do when the longing for liberty grew uncontrollable.
moved by a sudden impulse, mrs jo caught up her work-basket and went to join her neighbours, feeling that a non-conductor might be needed; for dan looked like a thundercloud full of electricity.
"what shall we read, aunty?
dan does n't seem to care.
you know his taste; tell me something quiet and pleasant and short.
josie will be back soon," said bess, still turning over the books piled on the centre-table.
before mrs jo could answer, dan pulled a shabby little volume from under his pillow, and handing it to her said: "please read the third one; it's short and pretty -- i'm fond of it."
the book opened at the right place, as if the third story had been often read, and bess smiled as she saw the name.
"why, dan, i should n't think you'd care for this romantic german tale.
there is fighting in it; but it is very sentimental, if i remember rightly.'"
i know it; but i've read so few stories, i like the simple ones best.
had nothing else to read sometimes; i guess i know it all by heart, and never seem to be tired of those fighting fellows, and the fiends and angels and lovely ladies.
you read "aslauga's knight", and see if you do n't like it.
edwald was rather too soft for my fancy; but froda was first-rate and the spirit with the golden hair always reminded me of you."
as dan spoke mrs jo settled herself where she could watch him in the glass, and bess took a large chair facing him, saying, as she put up her hands to retie the ribbon that held the cluster of thick, soft curls at the back of her head: "i hope aslauga's hair was n't as troublesome as mine, for it's always tumbling down.
i'll be ready in a minute."
"do n't tie it up; please let it hang.
i love to see it shine that way.
it will rest your head, and be just right for the story, goldilocks," pleaded dan, using the childish name and looking more like his boyish self than he had done for many a day.
bess laughed, shook down her pretty hair, and began to read, glad to hide her face a little; for compliments made her shy, no matter who paid them.
dan listened intently on; and mrs jo, with eyes that went often from her needle to the glass, could see, without turning, how he enjoyed every word as if it had more meaning for him than for the other listeners.
his face brightened wonderfully, and soon wore the look that came when anything brave or beautiful inspired and touched his better self.
it was fouque's charming story of the knight froda, and the fair daughter of sigurd, who was a sort of spirit, appearing to her lover in hours of danger and trial, as well as triumph and joy, till she became his guide and guard, inspiring him with courage, nobleness, and truth, leading him to great deeds in the field, sacrifices for those he loved, and victories over himself by the gleaming of her golden hair, which shone on him in battle, dreams, and perils by day and night, till after death he finds the lovely spirit waiting to receive and to reward him.
of all the stories in the book this was the last one would have supposed dan would like best, and even mrs jo was surprised at his perceiving the moral of the tale through the delicate imagery and romantic language by which it was illustrated.
but as she looked and listened she remembered the streak of sentiment and refinement which lay concealed in dan like the gold vein in a rock, making him quick to feel and to enjoy fine colour in a flower, grace in an animal, sweetness in women, heroism in men, and all the tender ties that bind heart to heart; though he was slow to show it, having no words to express the tastes and instincts which he inherited from his mother.
suffering of soul and body had tamed his stronger passions, and the atmosphere of love and pity now surrounding him purified and warmed his heart till it began to hunger for the food neglected or denied so long.
this was plainly written in his too expressive face, as, fancying it unseen, he let it tell the longing after beauty, peace, and happiness embodied for him in the innocent fair girl before him.
the conviction of this sad yet natural fact came to mrs jo with a pang, for she felt how utterly hopeless such a longing was; since light and darkness were not farther apart than snow-white bess and sin-stained dan.
no dream of such a thing disturbed the young girl, as her entire unconsciousness plainly showed.
but how long would it be before the eloquent eyes betrayed the truth?
and then what disappointment for dan, what dismay for bess, who was as cool and high and pure as her own marbles, and shunned all thought of love with maidenly reserve.
"how hard everything is made for my poor boy!
how can i spoil his little dream, and take away the spirit of good he is beginning to love and long for?
when my own dear lads are safely settled i'll never try another, for these things are heart-breaking, and i ca n't manage any more," thought mrs jo, as she put the lining into teddy's coat-sleeve upside down, so perplexed and grieved was she at this new catastrophe.
the story was soon done, and as bess shook back her hair, dan asked as eagerly as a boy: "do n't you like it?"
"yes, it's very pretty, and i see the meaning of it; but undine was always my favourite."
"of course, that's like you -- lilies and pearls and souls and pure water.
sintram used to be mine; but i took a fancy to this when i was -- ahem -- rather down on my luck one time, and it did me good, it was so cheerful and sort of spiritual in its meaning, you know."
bess opened her blue eyes in wonder at this fancy of dan's for anything "spiritual"; but she only nodded, saying: "some of the little songs are sweet and might be set to music."
dan laughed;" i used to sing the last one to a tune of my own sometimes at sunset: """listening to celestial lays, bending thy unclouded gaze on the pure and living light, thou art blest, aslauga's knight!"
"and i was," he added, under his breath, as he glanced towards the sunshine dancing on the wall.
"this one suits you better now"; and glad to please him by her interest, bess read in her soft voice: """healfast, healfast, ye hero wounds; o knight, be quickly strong!
beloved strife for fame and life, oh, tarry not too long!""
"i'm no hero, never can be, and "fame and life" ca n't do much for me.
never mind, read me that paper, please.
this knock on the head has made a regular fool of me."
dan's voice was gentle; but the light was gone out of his face now, and he moved restlessly as if the silken pillows were full of thorns.
seeing that his mood had changed, bess quietly put down the book, took up the paper, and glanced along the columns for something to suit him.
"you do n't care for the money market, i know, nor musical news.
here's a murder; you used to like those; shall i read it?
one man kills another --," "no!"
only a word, but it gave mrs jo a thrill, and for a moment she dared not glance at the tell-tale mirror.
when she did dan lay motionless with one hand over his eyes, and bess was happily reading the art news to ears that never heard a word.
feeling like a thief who has stolen something very precious, mrs jo slipped away to her study, and before long bess followed to report that dan was fast asleep.
sending her home, with the firm resolve to keep her there as much as possible, mother bhaer had an hour of serious thought all alone in the red sunset; and when a sound in the next room led her there, she found that the feigned sleep had become real repose; for dan lay breathing heavily, with a scarlet spot on either cheek, and one hand clinched on his broad breast.
yearning over him with a deeper pity than ever before, she sat in the little chair beside him, trying to see her way out of this tangle, till his hand slipped down, and in doing so snapped a cord he wore about his neck and let a small case drop to the floor.
mrs jo picked it up, and as he did not wake, sat looking at it, idly wondering what charm it held; for the case was of indian workmanship and the broken cord, of closely woven grass, sweet scented and pale yellow."
i wo n't pry into any more of the poor fellow's secrets.
i'll mend and put it back, and never let him know i've seen his talisman."
as she spoke she turned the little wallet to examine the fracture, and a card fell into her lap.
it was a photograph, cut to fit its covering, and two words were written underneath the face, "my aslauga".
for an instant mrs jo fancied that it might be one of herself, for all the boys had them; but as the thin paper fell away, she saw the picture demi took of bess that happy summer day.
there was no doubt now, and with a sigh she put it back, and was about to slip it into dan's bosom so that not even a stitch should betray her knowledge, when as she leaned towards him, she saw that he was looking straight at her with an expression that surprised her more than any of the strange ones she had ever seen in that changeful face before.
"your hand slipped down; it fell; i was putting it back," explained mrs jo, feeling like a naughty child caught in mischief.
"you saw the picture?"
"yes."
"and know what a fool i am?"
"yes, dan, and am so grieved --" "do n't worry about me.
i'm all right -- glad you know, though i never meant to tell you.
of course it is only a crazy fancy of mine, and nothing can ever come of it.
never thought there would.
good lord!
what could that little angel ever be to me but what she is -- a sort of dream of all that's sweet and good?"
more afflicted by the quiet resignation of his look and tone than by the most passionate ardour, mrs jo could only say, with a face full of sympathy: "it is very hard, dear, but there is no other way to look at it.
you are wise and brave enough to see that, and to let the secret be ours alone.'"
i swear i will!
not a word nor a look if i can help it.
no one guesses, and if it troubles no one, is there any harm in my keeping this, and taking comfort in the pretty fancy that kept me sane in that cursed place?"
dan's face was eager now, and he hid away the little worn case as if defying any hand to take it from him.
anxious to know everything before giving counsel or comfort, mrs jo said quietly: "keep it, and tell me all about the "fancy".
since i have stumbled on your secret, let me know how it came, and how i can help to make it lighter to bear."
"you'll laugh; but i do n't mind.
you always did find out our secrets and give us a lift.
well, i never cared much for books, you know; but down yonder when the devil tormented me i had to do something or go stark mad, so i read both the books you gave me.
one was beyond me, till that good old man showed me how to read it; but the other, this one, was a comfort, i tell you.
it amused me, and was as pretty as poetry.
i liked'em all, and most wore out sintram.
see how used up he is!
then i came to this, and it sort of fitted that other happy part of my life, last summer -- here."
dan stopped a moment as the words lingered on his lips; then, with a long breath, went on, as if it was hard to lay bare the foolish little romance he had woven about a girl, a picture, and a child's story there in the darkness of the place which was as terrible to him as dante's inferno, till he found his beatrice."
i could n't sleep, and had to think about something, so i used to fancy i was folko, and see the shining of aslauga's hair in the sunset on the wall, the gum of the watchman's lamp, and the light that came in at dawn.
my cell was high.
i could see a bit of sky; sometimes there was a star in it, and that was most as good as a face.
i set great store by that patch of blue, and when a white cloud went by, i thought it was the prettiest thing in all this world.
i guess i was pretty near a fool; but those thoughts and things helped me through, so they are all solemn true to me, and i ca n't let them go.
the dear shiny head, the white gown, the eyes like stars, and sweet, calm ways that set her as high above me as the moon in heaven.
do n't take it away!
it's only a fancy, but a man must love something, and i'd better love a spirit like her than any of the poor common girls who would care for me."
the quiet despair in dan's voice pierced mrs jo to the heart; but there was no hope and she gave none.
yet she felt that he was right, and that his hapless affection might do more to uplift and purify him than any other he might know.
few women would care to marry dan now, except such as would hinder, not help, him in the struggle which life would always be to him; and it was better to go solitary to his grave than become what she suspected his father had been -- a handsome, unprincipled, and dangerous man, with more than one broken heart to answer for.
"yes, dan, it is wise to keep this innocent fancy, if it helps and comforts you, till something more real and possible comes to make you happier.
i wish i could give you any hope; but we both know that the dear child is the apple of her father's eye, the pride of her mother's heart, and that the most perfect lover they can find will hardly seem to them worthy of their precious daughter.
let her remain for you the high, bright star that leads you up and makes you believe in heaven."
mrs jo broke down there; it seemed so cruel to destroy the faint hope dan's eyes betrayed, that she could not moralize when she thought of his hard life and lonely future.
perhaps it was the wisest thing she could have done, for in her hearty sympathy he found comfort for his own loss, and very soon was able to speak again in the manly tone of resignation to the inevitable that showed how honest was his effort to give up everything but the pale shadow of what, for another, might have been a happy possibility.
they talked long and earnestly in the twilight; and this second secret bound them closer than the first; for in it there was neither sin nor shame -- only the tender pain and patience which has made saints and heroes of far worse men than our poor dan.
when at length they rose at the summons of a bell, all the sunset glory had departed, and in the wintry sky there hung one star, large, soft, and clear, above a snowy world.
pausing at the window before she dropped the curtains, mrs jo said cheerfully: "come and see how beautiful the evening star is, since you love it so."
and as he stood behind her, tall and pale, like the ghost of his former self, she added softly: "and remember, dear, if the sweet girl is denied you, the old friend is always here -- to love and trust and pray for you."
this time she was not disappointed; and had she asked any reward for many anxieties and cares, she received it when dan's strong arm came round her, as he said, in a voice which showed her that she had not laboured in vain to pluck her firebrand from the burning: "i never can forget that; for she's helped to save my soul, and make me dare to look up there and say: "god bless her!""
chapter 22.
positively last appearance "upon my word, i feel as if i lived in a powder-magazine, and do n't know which barrel will explode next, and send me flying," said mrs jo to herself next day, as she trudged up to parnassus to suggest to her sister that perhaps the most charming of the young nurses had better return to her marble gods before she unconsciously added another wound to those already won by the human hero.
she told no secrets; but a hint was sufficient; for mrs amy guarded her daughter as a pearl of great price, and at once devised a very simple means of escape from danger.
mr laurie was going to washington on dan's behalf, and was delighted to take his family with him when the idea was carelessly suggested.
so the conspiracy succeeded finely; and mrs jo went home, feeling more like a traitor than ever.
she expected an explosion; but dan took the news so quietly, it was plain that he cherished no hope; and mrs amy was sure her romantic sister had been mistaken.
if she had seen dan's face when bess went to say good-bye, her maternal eye would have discovered far more than the unconscious girl did.
mrs jo trembled lest he should betray himself; but he had learned self-control in a stern school, and would have got through the hard moment bravely, only, when he took both hands, saying heartily: "good-bye, princess.
if we do n't meet again, remember your old friend dan sometimes," she, touched by his late danger and the wistful look he wore, answered with unusual warmth: "how can i help it, when you make us all so proud of you?
god bless your mission, and bring you safely home to us again!"
as she looked up at him with a face full of frank affection and sweet regret, all that he was losing rose so vividly before him that dan could not resist the impulse to take the "dear goldy head" between his hands and kiss it, with a broken "good-bye"; then hurried back to his room, feeling as if it were the prison-cell again, with no glimpse of heaven's blue to comfort him.
this abrupt caress and departure rather startled bess; for she felt with a girl's quick instinct that there was something in that kiss unknown before, and looked after him with sudden colour in her cheeks and new trouble in her eyes.
mrs jo saw it, and fearing a very natural question answered it before it was put.
"forgive him, bess.
he has had a great trouble, and it makes him tender at parting with old friends; for you know he may never come back from the wild world he is going to."
"you mean the fall and danger of death?"
asked bess, innocently.
"no, dear; a greater trouble than that.
but i can not tell you any more -- except that he has come through it bravely; so you may trust and respect him, as i do."
"he has lost someone he loved.
poor dan!
we must be very kind to him."
bess did not ask the question, but seemed content with her solution of the mystery -- which was so true that mrs jo confirmed it by a nod, and let her go away believing that some tender loss and sorrow wrought the great change all saw in dan, and made him so slow to speak concerning the past year.
but ted was less easily satisfied, and this unusual reticence goaded him to desperation.
his mother had warned him not to trouble dan with questions till he was quite well; but this prospect of approaching departure made him resolve to have a full, clear, and satisfactory account of the adventures which he felt sure must have been thrilling, from stray words dan let fall in his fever.
so one day when the coast was clear, master ted volunteered to amuse the invalid, and did so in the following manner: "look here, old boy, if you do n't want me to read, you've got to talk, and tell me all about kansas, and the farms, and that part.
the montana business i know, but you seem to forget what went before.
brace up, and let's have it," he began, with an abruptness which roused dan from a brown study most effectually.
"no, i do n't forget; it is n't interesting to anyone but myself.
i did n't see any farms -- gave it up," he said slowly.
"why?"
"other things to do."
"what?"
"well, brush-making for one thing."
"do n't chaff a fellow.
tell true.'"
i truly did."
"what for?"
"to keep out of mischief, as much as anything."
"well, of all the queer things -- and you've done a lot -- that's the queerest," cried ted, taken aback at this disappointing discovery.
but he did n't mean to give up yet, and began again.
"what mischief, dan?"
"never you mind.
boys should n't bother."
"but i do want to know, awfully, because i'm your pal, and care for you no end.
always did.
come, now, tell me a good yarn.
i love scrapes.
i'll be mum as an oyster if you do n't want it known."
"will you?"
and dan looked at him, wondering how the boyish face would change if the truth were suddenly told him.
"i'll swear it on locked fists, if you like.
i know it was jolly, and i'm aching to hear."
"you are as curious as a girl.
more than some -- josie and -- and bess never asked a question."
"they do n't care about rows and things; they liked the mine business, heroes, and that sort.
so do i, and i'm as proud as punch over it; but i see by your eyes that there was something else before that, and i'm bound to find out who blair and mason are, and who was hit and who ran away, and all the rest of it."
"what!"
cried dan, in a tone that made ted jump.
"well, you used to mutter about'em in your sleep, and uncle laurie wondered.
so did i; but do n't mind, if you ca n't remember, or would rather not."
"what else did i say?
queer, what stuff a man will talk when his wits are gone."
"that's all i heard; but it seemed interesting, and i just mentioned it, thinking it might refresh your memory a bit," said teddy, very politely; for dan's frown was heavy at that moment.
it cleared off at this reply, and after a look at the boy squirming with suppressed impatience in his chair, dan made up his mind to amuse him with a game of cross-purposes and half-truths, hoping to quench his curiosity, and so get peace.
"let me see; blair was a lad i met in the cars, and mason a poor fellow who was in a -- well, a sort of hospital where i happened to be.
blair ran off to his brothers, and i suppose i might say mason was hit, because he died there.
does that suit you?"
"no, it does n't.
why did blair run?
and who hit the other fellow?
i'm sure there was a fight somewhere, was n't there?"
"yes!"
i guess i know what it was about."
"the devil, you do!
let's hear you guess.
must be amusing," said dan, affecting an ease he did not feel.
charmed to be allowed to free his mind, ted at once unfolded the boyish solution of the mystery which he had been cherishing, for he felt that there was one somewhere.
"you need n't say yes, if i guess right and you are under oath to keep silent.
i shall know by your face, and never tell.
now see if i'm not right.
out there they have wild doings, and it's my belief you were in some of'em.
i do n't mean robbing mails, and klukluxing, and that sort of thing; but defending the settlers, or hanging some scamp, or even shooting a few, as a fellow must sometimes, in self-defence.
ah, ha!
i've hit it, i see.
need n't speak; i know the flash of your old eye, and the clench of your big fist."
and ted pranced with satisfaction.
"drive on, smart boy, and do n't lose the trail," said dan, finding a curious sense of comfort in some of these random words, and longing, but not daring, to confirm the true ones.
he might have confessed the crime, but not the punishment that followed, the sense of its disgrace was still so strong upon him."
i knew i should get it; ca n't deceive me long," began ted, with such an air of pride dan could not help a short laugh.
"it's a relief, is n't it, to have it off your mind?
now, just confide in me and it's all safe, unless you've sworn not to tell.'"
i have."
"oh, well, then do n't"; and ted's face fell, but he was himself again in a moment and said, with the air of a man of the world: "it's all right -- i understand -- honour binds -- silence to death, etc..
glad you stood by your mate in the hospital.
how many did you kill?"
"only one."
"bad lot, of course?'"
a damned rascal."
"well, do n't look so fierce; i've no objection.
would n't mind popping at some of those bloodthirsty blackguards myself.
had to dodge and keep quiet after it, i suppose."
"pretty quiet for a long spell."
"got off all right in the end, and headed for your mines and did that jolly brave thing.
now, i call that decidedly interesting and capital.
i'm glad to know it; but i wo n't blab."
"mind you do n't.
look here.
ted, if you'd killed a man, would it trouble you -- a bad one, i mean?"
the lad opened his mouth to say, "not a bit," but checked that answer as if something in dan's face made him change his mind.
"well, if it was my duty in war or self-defence, i suppose i should n't; but if i'd pitched into him in a rage, i guess i should be very sorry.
should n't wonder if he sort of haunted me, and remorse gnawed me as it did aram and those fellows.
you do n't mind, do you?
it was a fair fight, was n't it?"
"yes, i was in the right; but i wish i'd been out of it.
women do n't see it that way, and look horrified at such things.
makes it hard; but it do n't matter."
"do n't tell'em; then they ca n't worry," said ted, with the nod of one versed in the management of the sex.
"do n't intend to.
mind you keep your notions to yourself, for some of'em are wide of the mark.
now you may read if you like"; and there the talk ended; but ted took great comfort in it, and looked as wise as an owl afterwards.
a few quiet weeks followed, during which dan chafed at the delay; and when at length word came that his credentials were ready, he was eager to be off, to forget a vain love in hard work, and live for others, since he might not for himself.
so one wild march morning our sintram rode away, with horse and hound, to face again the enemies who would have conquered him, but for heaven's help and human pity.
"ah, me!
it does seem as if life was made of partings, and they get harder as we go on," sighed mrs jo, a week later, as she sat in the long parlour at parnassus one evening, whither the family had gone to welcome the travellers back.
"and meetings too, dear; for here we are, and nat is on his way at last.
look for the silver lining, as marmee used to say, and be comforted," answered mrs amy, glad to be at home and find no wolves prowling near her sheepfold.
"i've been so worried lately, i ca n't help croaking.
i wonder what dan thought at not seeing you again?
it was wise; but he would have enjoyed another look at home faces before he went into the wilderness," said mrs jo regretfully.
"much better so.
we left notes and all we could think of that he might need, and slipped away before he came.
bess really seemed relieved; i'm sure i was"; and mrs amy smoothed an anxious line out of her white forehead, as she smiled at her daughter, laughing happily among her cousins.
mrs jo shook her head as if the silver lining of that cloud was hard to find; but she had no time to croak again, for just then mr laurie came in looking well pleased at something."
a new picture has arrived; face towards the music-room, good people, and tell me how you like it.
i call it "only a fiddler", after andersen's story.
what name will you give it?"
as he spoke he threw open the wide doors, and just beyond they saw a young man standing, with a beaming face, and a violin in his hand.
there was no doubt about the name to this picture, and with the cry "nat!
nat!"
there was a general uprising.
but daisy reached him first, and seemed to have lost her usual composure somewhere on the way, for she clung to him, sobbing with the shock of a surprise and joy too great for her to bear quietly.
everything was settled by that tearful and tender embrace, for, though mrs meg speedily detached her daughter, it was only to take her place; while demi shook nat's hand with brotherly warmth, and josie danced round them like macbeth's three witches in one, chanting in her most tragic tones: "chirper thou wast; second violin thou art; first thou shalt be.
hail, all hail!"
this caused a laugh, and made things gay and comfortable at once.
then the usual fire of questions and answers began, to be kept up briskly while the boys admired nat's blond beard and foreign clothes, the girls his improved appearance -- for he was ruddy with good english beef and beer, and fresh with the sea-breezes which had blown him swiftly home -- and the older folk rejoiced over his prospects.
of course all wanted to hear him play; and when tongues tired, he gladly did his best for them, surprising the most critical by his progress in music even more than by the energy and self-possession which made a new man of bashful nat.
by and by when the violin -- that most human of all instruments -- had sung to them the loveliest songs without words, he said, looking about him at these old friends with what mr bhaer called a "feeling-full" expression of happiness and content: "now let me play something that you will all remember though you wo n't love it as i do"; and standing in the attitude which ole bull has immortalized, he played the street melody he gave them the first night he came to plumfield.
they remembered it, and joined in the plaintive chorus, which fitly expressed his own emotions: "oh my heart is sad and weary everywhere i roam, longing for the old plantation and for the old folks at home."
"now i feel better," said mrs jo, as they all trooped down the hill soon after.
"some of our boys are failures, but i think this one is going to be a success, and patient daisy a happy girl at last.
nat is your work, fritz, and i congratulate you heartily."
"ach, we can but sow the seed and trust that it falls on good ground.
i planted, perhaps, but you watched that the fowls of the air did not devour it, and brother laurie watered generously; so we will share the harvest among us, and be glad even for a small one, heart's - dearest.'"
i thought the seed had fallen on very stony ground with my poor dan; but i shall not be surprised if he surpasses all the rest in the real success of life, since there is more rejoicing over one repentant sinner than many saints," answered mrs jo, still clinging fast to her black sheep although a whole flock of white ones trotted happily before her.
it is a strong temptation to the weary historian to close the present tale with an earthquake which should engulf plumfield and its environs so deeply in the bowels of the earth that no youthful schliemann could ever find a vestige of it.
but as that somewhat melodramatic conclusion might shock my gentle readers, i will refrain, and forestall the usual question, "how did they end?"
by briefly stating that all the marriages turned out well.
the boys prospered in their various callings; so did the girls, for bess and josie won honours in their artistic careers, and in the course of time found worthy mates.
nan remained a busy, cheerful, independent spinster, and dedicated her life to her suffering sisters and their children, in which true woman's work she found abiding happiness.
dan never married, but lived, bravely and usefully, among his chosen people till he was shot defending them, and at last lay quietly asleep in the green wilderness he loved so well, with a lock of golden hair upon his breast, and a smile on his face which seemed to say that aslauga's knight had fought his last fight and was at peace.
stuffy became an alderman, and died suddenly of apoplexy after a public dinner.
dolly was a society man of mark till he lost his money, when he found congenial employment in a fashionable tailoring establishment.
demi became a partner, and lived to see his name above the door, and rob was a professor at laurence college; but teddy eclipsed them all by becoming an eloquent and famous clergyman, to the great delight of his astonished mother.
_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___kitty's_class_day_and_other_stories.txt.out
kitty's class day "a stitch in time saves nine."
""o pris, pris, i'm really going!
here's the invitation -- rough paper -- chapel -- spreads -- lyceum hall -- everything splendid; and jack to take care of me!"
as kitty burst into the room and performed a rapturous pas seul, waving the cards over her head, sister priscilla looked up from her work with a smile of satisfaction on her quiet face.
""who invites you, dear?"
""why, jack, of course, -- dear old cousin jack.
nobody else ever thinks of me, or cares whether i have a bit of pleasure now and then.
is n't he kind?
may n't i go?
and, o pris, what shall i wear?"
kitty paused suddenly, as if the last all-important question had a solemnizing effect upon both mind and body.
""why, your white muslin, silk sacque, and new hat, of course," began pris with an air of surprise.
but kitty broke in impetuously, -- "i'll never wear that old muslin again; it's full of darns, up to my knees, and all out of fashion.
so is my sacque; and as for my hat, though it does well enough here, it would be absurd for class day."
""you do n't expect an entirely new suit for this occasion, -- do you?"
asked pris, anxiously.
""yes, i do, and i'll tell you how i mean to get it.
i've planned everything; for, though i hardly dreamed of going, i amused myself by thinking how i could manage if i did get invited."
""let us hear."
and pris took up her work with an air of resignation.
""first, my dress," began kitty, perching herself on the arm of the sofa, and entering into the subject with enthusiasm.
""i've got the ten dollars grandpa sent me, and with eight of it i'm going to buy lizzie king's organdie muslin.
she got it in paris; but her aunt providentially -- no, unfortunately -- died; so she ca n't wear it, and wants to get rid of it.
she is bigger than i am, you know; so there is enough for a little mantle or sacque, for it is n't made up.
the skirt is cut off and gored, with a splendid train --" "my dear, you do n't mean you are going to wear one of those absurd, new-fashioned dresses?"
exclaimed pris, lifting hands and eyes.
""i do!
nothing would induce me to go to class day without a train.
it's been the desire of my heart to have one, and now i will, if i never have another gown to my back!"
returned kitty, with immense decision.
pris shook her head, and said, "go on!"
as if prepared for any extravagance after that.
""we can make it ourselves," continued kitty, "and trim it with the same.
it's white with blue stripes and daisies in the stripes; the loveliest thing you ever saw, and ca n't be got here.
so simple, yet distingué, i know you'll like it.
next, my bonnet," -- here the solemnity of kitty's face and manner was charming to behold.
""i shall make it out of one of my new illusion undersleeves.
i've never worn them; and the puffed part will be a plenty for a little fly-away bonnet of the latest style.
i've got blue ribbons to tie it with, and have only to look up some daisies for the inside.
with my extra two dollars i shall buy my gloves, and pay my fares, -- and there i am, all complete."
she looked so happy, so pretty, and full of girlish satisfaction, that sister pris could n't bear to disturb the little plan, much as she disapproved of it.
they were poor, and every penny had to be counted.
there were plenty of neighbors to gossip and criticise, and plenty of friends to make disagreeable remarks on any unusual extravagance.
pris saw things with the prudent eyes of thirty, but kitty with the romantic eyes of seventeen; and the elder sister, in the kindness of her heart, had no wish to sadden life to those bright young eyes, or deny the child a harmless pleasure.
she sewed thoughtfully for a minute, then looked up, saying, with the smile that always assured kitty the day was won, -- "get your things together, and we will see what can be done.
but remember, dear, that it is both bad taste and bad economy for poor people to try to ape the rich."
""you're a perfect angel, pris; so do n't moralize.
i'll run and get the dress, and we'll begin at once, for there is much to do, and only two days to do it in."
and kitty skipped away, singing "lauriger horatius," at the top of her voice.
priscilla soon found that the girl's head was completely turned by the advice and example of certain fashionable young neighbors.
it was in vain for pris to remonstrate and warn.
""just this once let me do as others do, and thoroughly enjoy myself."
pleaded kitty; and pris yielded, saying to herself, "she shall have her wish, and if she learns a lesson, neither time nor money will be lost."
so they snipped and sewed, and planned and pieced, going through all the alternations of despair and triumph, worry and satisfaction, which women undergo when a new suit is under way.
company kept coming, for news of kitty's expedition had flown abroad, and her young friends must just run in to hear about it, and ask what she was going to wear; while kitty was so glad and proud to tell, and show, and enjoy her little triumph that many half hours were wasted, and the second day found much still to do.
the lovely muslin did n't hold out, and kitty sacrificed the waist to the train, for a train she must have or the whole thing would be an utter failure.
a little sacque was eked out, however, and when the frills were on, it was "ravishing," as kitty said, with a sigh of mingled delight and fatigue.
the gored skirt was a fearful job, as any one who has ever plunged into the mysteries will testify; and before the facing, even experienced pris quailed.
the bonnet also was a trial, for when the lace was on, it was discovered that the ribbons did n't match the dress.
here was a catastrophe!
kitty frantically rummaged the house, the shops, the stores of her friends, and rummaged in vain.
there was no time to send to the city, and despair was about to fall on kitty, when pris rescued her by quietly making one of the small sacrifices which were easy to her because her life was spent for others.
some one suggested a strip of blue illusion, -- and that could be got; but, alas!
kitty had no money, for the gloves were already bought.
pris heard the lamentations, and giving up fresh ribbons for herself, pulled her sister out of a slough of despond with two yards of "heavenly tulle."
""now the daisies; and oh, dear me, not one can i find in this poverty-stricken town," sighed kitty, prinking at the glass, and fervently hoping that nothing would happen to her complexion over night.
""i see plenty just like those on your dress," answered pris, nodding toward the meadow full of young whiteweed.
""pris, you're a treasure!
i'll wear real ones; they keep well, i know, and are so common i can refresh my bonnet anywhere.
it's a splendid idea."
away rushed kitty to return with an apron full of american daisies.
a pretty cluster was soon fastened just over the left-hand frizzle of bright hair, and the little bonnet was complete.
""now, pris, tell me how i look," cried kitty, as she swept into the room late that afternoon in full gala costume.
it would have been impossible for the primmest, the sourest, or the most sensible creature in the world to say that it was n't a pretty sight.
the long train, the big chignon, the apology for a bonnet, were all ridiculous, -- no one could deny that, -- but youth, beauty, and a happy heart made even those absurdities charming.
the erect young figure gave an air to the crisp folds of the delicate dress; the bright eyes and fresh cheeks under the lace rosette made one forget its size; and the rippling brown hair won admiration in spite of the ugly bunch which disfigured the girl's head.
the little jacket set "divinely," the new gloves were as immaculate as white kids could be, and to crown all, lizzie king, in a burst of generosity, lent kitty the blue and white paris sunshade which she could n't use herself.
""now i could die content; i'm perfect in all respects, and i know jack wo n't be ashamed of me.
i really owe it to him to look my best, you know, and that's why i'm so particular," said kitty, in an apologetic tone, as she began to lay away her finery.
""i hope you will enjoy every minute of the time, deary.
do n't forget to finish running up the facing; i've basted it carefully, and would do it if my head did n't ache so, i really ca n't hold it up any longer," answered pris, who had worked like a disinterested bee, while kitty had flown about like a distracted butterfly.
""go and lie down, you dear, kind soul, and do n't think of my nonsense again," said kitty, feeling remorseful, till pris was comfortably asleep, when she went to her room and revelled in her finery till bedtime.
so absorbed was she in learning to manage her train gracefully, that she forgot the facing till very late.
then, being worn out with work and worry, she did, what girls are too apt to do, stuck a pin here and there, and, trusting to priscilla's careful bastings, left it as it was, retiring to dream of a certain horace fletcher, whose aristocratic elegance had made a deep impression upon her during the few evenings she had seen him.
nothing could have been lovelier than the morning, and few hearts happier than kitty's, as she arrayed herself with the utmost care, and waited in solemn state for the carriage; for muslin trains and dewy roads were incompatible, and one luxury brought another.
""my goodness, where did she get that stylish suit?"
whispered miss smith to miss jones, as kitty floated into the station with all sail set, finding it impossible to resist the temptation to astonish certain young ladies who had snubbed her in times past, which snubs had rankled, and were now avenged.
""i looked everywhere for a muslin for to-day and could n't find any i liked, so i was forced to wear my mauve silk," observed miss smith, complacently settling the silvery folds of her dress.
""it's very pretty, but one ruins a silk at class day, you know.
i thought this organdie would be more comfortable and appropriate this warm day.
a friend brought it from paris, and it's like one the princess of wales wore at the great flower-show this year," returned kitty, with the air of a young lady who had all her dresses from paris, and was intimately acquainted with the royal family.
""those girls" were entirely extinguished by this stroke, and had n't a word to say for themselves, while kitty casually mentioned horace fletcher, lyceum hall, and cousin jack, for they had only a little freshman brother to boast of, and were not going to lyceum hall.
as she stepped out of the cars at cambridge, jack opened his honest blue eyes and indulged in a low whistle of astonishment: for if there was anything he especially hated, it was the trains, chignons and tiny bonnets then in fashion.
he was very fond of kitty, and prided himself on being able to show his friends a girl who was charming, and yet not over-dressed.
""she has made a regular guy of herself; i wo n't tell her so, and the dear little soul shall have a jolly time in spite of her fuss and feathers.
but i do wish she had let her hair alone and worn that pretty hat of hers."
as this thought passed through jack's mind he smiled and bowed and made his way among the crowd, whispering as he drew his cousin's arm through his own, -- "why, kitty, you're got up regardless of expense, are n't you?
i'm so glad you came, we'll have a rousing good time, and you shall see all the fun."
""oh, thank you, jack!
do i look nice, really?
i tried to be a credit to you and pris, and i did have such a job of it.
i'll make you laugh over it some time.
a carriage for me?
bless us, how fine we are!"
and kitty stepped in, feeling that only one thing more was needed to make her cup overflow.
that one thing was speedily vouchsafed, for before her skirts were smoothly settled, jack called out, in his hearty way, -- "how are you, fletcher?
if you are bound for chapel i'll take you up."
""thanks; good-morning, miss heath."
it was all done in an instant, and the next thing kitty knew she was rolling away with the elegant horace sitting opposite.
how little it takes to make a young girl happy!
a pretty dress, sunshine, and somebody opposite, and they are blest.
kitty's face glowed and dimpled with pleasure as she glanced about her, especially when she, sitting in state with two gentlemen all to herself, passed "those girls" walking in the dust with a beardless boy; she felt that she could forgive past slights, and did so with a magnanimous smile and bow.
both jack and fletcher had graduated the year before, but still took an interest in their old haunts, and patronized the fellows who were not yet through the mill, at least the seniors and juniors; of sophs and freshs they were sublimely unconscious.
greeted by frequent slaps on the shoulder, and hearty "how are you, old fellows," they piloted kitty to a seat in the chapel.
an excellent place, but the girl's satisfaction was marred by fletcher's desertion, and she could not see anything attractive about the dashing young lady in the pink bonnet to whom he devoted himself, "because she was a stranger," kitty said.
everybody knows what goes on in the chapel, after the fight and scramble are over.
the rustle and buzz, the music, the oratory and the poem, during which the men cheer and the girls simper; the professors yawn, and the poet's friends pronounce him a second longfellow.
then the closing flourishes, the grand crush, and general scattering.
then the fun really begins, as far as the young folks are concerned.
they do n't mind swarming up and down stairs in a solid phalanx; they can enjoy half a dozen courses of salad, ice and strawberries, with stout gentlemen crushing their feet, anxious mammas sticking sharp elbows into their sides, and absent-minded tutors walking over them.
they can flirt vigorously in a torrid atmosphere of dinner, dust, and din; can smile with hot coffee running down their backs, small avalanches of ice-cream descending upon their best bonnets, and sandwiches, butter-side down, reposing on their delicate silks.
they know that it is a costly rapture, but they carefully refrain from thinking of the morrow, and energetically illustrate the yankee maxim which bids us enjoy ourselves in our early bloom.
kitty did have "a rousing good time;" for jack was devoted, taking her everywhere, showing her everything, feeding and fanning her, and festooning her train with untiring patience.
how many forcible expressions he mentally indulged in as he walked on that unlucky train we will not record; he smiled and skipped and talked of treading on flowers in a way that would have charmed kitty, if some one else had not been hovering about "the daisy," as fletcher called her.
after he returned, she neglected jack, who took it coolly, and was never in the way unless she wanted him.
for the first time in her life, kitty deliberately flirted.
the little coquetries, which are as natural to a gay young girl as her laughter, were all in full play, and had she gone no further no harm would have been done.
but, excited by the example of those about her, kitty tried to enact the fashionable young lady, and, like most novices, she overdid the part.
quite forgetting her cousin, she tossed her head, twirled her fan, gave affected little shrieks at college jokes, and talked college slang in a way that convulsed fletcher, who enjoyed the fun immensely.
jack saw it all, shook his head and said nothing; but his face grew rather sober as he watched kitty, flushed, dishevelled, and breathless, whirling round lyceum hall, on the arm of fletcher, who danced divinely, as all the girls agreed.
jack had proposed going, but kitty had frowned, so he fell back, leaving her to listen and laugh, blush and shrink a little at her partner's flowery compliments and admiring glances.
""if she stands that long she's not the girl i took her for," thought jack, beginning to lose patience.
""she does n't look like my little kitty, and somehow i do n't feel half so fond and proud of her as usual.
i know one thing, my daughters shall never be seen knocking about in that style."
as if the thought suggested the act, jack suddenly assumed an air of paternal authority, and, arresting his cousin as she was about to begin again, he said, in a tone she had never heard before, -- "i promised pris to take care of you, so i shall carry you off to rest, and put yourself to rights after this game of romps.
i advise you to do the same, fletcher, or give your friend in the pink bonnet a turn."
kitty took jack's arm pettishly, but glanced over her shoulder with such an inviting smile that fletcher followed, feeling very much like a top, in danger of tumbling down the instant he stopped spinning.
as she came out kitty's face cleared, and, assuming her sprightliest air, she spread her plumage and prepared to descend with effect, for a party of uninvited peris stood at the gate of this paradise casting longing glances at the forbidden splendors within.
slowly, that all might see her, kitty sailed down, with horace, the debonair, in her wake, and was just thinking to herself, "those girls wo n't get over this very soon, i fancy," when all in one moment she heard fletcher exclaim, wrathfully, "hang the flounces!"
she saw a very glossy black hat come skipping down the steps, felt a violent twitch backward, and, to save herself from a fall, sat down on the lower step with most undignified haste.
it was impossible for the bystanders to help laughing, for there was fletcher hopping wildly about, with one foot nicely caught in a muslin loop, and there sat kitty longing to run away and hide herself, yet perfectly helpless, while every one tittered.
miss jones and miss smith laughed shrilly, and the despised little freshman completed her mortification, by a feeble joke about kitty heath's new man-trap.
it was only an instant, but it seemed an hour before fletcher freed her, and snatching up the dusty beaver, left her with a flushed countenance and an abrupt bow.
if it had n't been for jack, kitty would have burst into tears then and there, so terrible was the sense of humiliation which oppressed her.
for his sake she controlled herself, and, bundling up her torn train, set her teeth, stared straight before her, and let him lead her in dead silence to a friend's room near by.
there he locked the door, and began to comfort her by making light of the little mishap.
but kitty cried so tragically, that he was at his wit's end, till the ludicrous side of the affair struck her, and she began to laugh hysterically.
with a vague idea that vigorous treatment was best for that feminine ailment, jack was about to empty the contents of an ice-pitcher over her, when she arrested him, by exclaiming, incoherently, -- "oh, do n't!
-- it was so funny!
-- how can you laugh, you cruel boy?
-- i'm disgraced, forever -- take me home to pris, oh, take me home to pris!"
""i will, my dear, i will; but first let me right you up a bit; you look as if you had been hazed, upon my life you do;" and jack laughed in spite of himself at the wretched little object before him, for dust, dancing, and the downfall produced a ruinous spectacle.
that broke kitty's heart; and, spreading her hands before her face, she was about to cry again, when the sad sight which met her eyes dispelled the gathering tears.
the new gloves were both split up the middle and very dirty with clutching at the steps as she went down.
""never mind, you can wash them," said jack, soothingly.
""i paid a dollar and a half for them, and they ca n't be washed," groaned kitty.
""oh, hang the gloves!
i meant your hands," cried jack, trying to keep sober.
""no matter for my hands, i mourn my gloves.
but i wo n't cry any more, for my head aches now so i can hardly see."
and kitty threw off her bonnet, as if even that airy trifle hurt her.
seeing how pale she looked, jack tenderly suggested a rest on the old sofa, and a wet handkerchief on her hot forehead, while he got the good landlady to send her up a cup of tea.
as kitty rose to comply she glanced at her dress, and, clasping her hands, exclaimed, tragically, -- "the facing, the fatal facing!
that made all the mischief, for if i'd sewed it last night it would n't have ripped to-day; if it had n't ripped fletcher would n't have got his foot in it, i should n't have made an object of myself, he would n't have gone off in a rage, and -- who knows what might have happened?"
""bless the what's - its-name if it has settled him," cried jack.
""he is a contemptible fellow not to stay and help you out of the scrape he got you into.
follow his lead and do n't trouble yourself about him."
""well, he was rather absurd to-day, i allow; but he has got handsome eyes and hands, and he does dance like an angel," sighed kitty, as she pinned up the treacherous loop which had brought destruction to her little castle in the air.
""handsome eyes, white hands, and angelic feet do n't make a man.
wait till you can do better, kit."
with an odd, grave look, that rather startled kitty, jack vanished, to return presently with a comfortable cup of tea and a motherly old lady to help repair damages and soothe her by the foolish little purrings and pattings so grateful to female nerves after a flurry.
""i'll come back and take you out to see the dance round the tree when you've had a bit of a rest," said jack, vibrating between door and sofa as if it was n't easy to get away.
""oh, i could n't," cried kitty, with a shudder at the bare idea of meeting any one.
""i ca n't be seen again to-night; let me stay here till my train goes."
""i thought it had gone, already," said jack, with an irrepressible twinkle of the eye that glanced at the draggled dress sweeping the floor.
""how can you joke about it!"
and the girl's reproachful eyes filled with tears of shame.
""i know i've been very silly, jack, but i've had my punishment, and i do n't need any more.
to feel that you despise me is worse than all the rest."
she ended with a little sob, and turned her face away to hide the trembling of her lips.
at that, jack flushed up, his eyes shone, and he stooped suddenly as if to make some impetuous reply.
but, remembering the old lady -lrb- who, by the by, was discreetly looking out of the window -rrb-, he put his hands in his pockets and strolled out of the room.
""i've lost them both by this day's folly," thought kitty, as mrs. brown departed with the teacup.
""i do n't care for fletcher, for i dare say he did n't mean half he said, and i was only flattered because he is rich and handsome and the girls glorify him.
but i shall miss jack, for i've known and loved him all my life.
how good he's been to me to-day!
so patient, careful, and kind, though he must have been ashamed of me.
i know he did n't like my dress; but he never said a word and stood by me through everything.
oh, i wish i'd minded pris!
then he would have respected me, at least; i wonder if he ever will, again?"
following a sudden impulse, kitty sprang up, locked the door, and then proceeded to destroy all her little vanities as far as possible.
she smoothed out her crimps with a wet and ruthless hand; fastened up her pretty hair in the simple way jack liked; gave her once cherished bonnet a spiteful shake, as she put it on, and utterly extinguished it with a big blue veil.
she looped up her dress, leaving no vestige of the now hateful train, and did herself up uncompromisingly in the quakerish gray shawl pris had insisted on her taking for the evening.
then she surveyed herself with pensive satisfaction, saying, in the tone of one bent on resolutely mortifying the flesh, -- "neat but not gaudy; i'm a fright, but i deserve it, and it's better than being a peacock."
kitty had time to feel a little friendless and forlorn, sitting there alone as twilight fell, and amused herself by wondering if fletcher would come to inquire about her, or show any further interest in her; yet when the sound of a manly tramp approached, she trembled lest it should be the victim of the fatal facing.
the door opened, and with a sigh of relief she saw jack come in, bearing a pair of new gloves in one hand and a great bouquet of june roses in the other.
""how good of you to bring me these!
they are more refreshing than oceans of tea.
you know what i like, jack; thank you very much" cried kitty, sniffing at her roses with grateful rapture.
""and you know what i like," returned jack, with an approving glance at the altered figure before him.
""i'll never do so any more," murmured kitty, wondering why she felt bashful all of a sudden, when it was only cousin jack.
""now put on your gloves, dear, and come out and hear the music: your train does n't go for two hours yet, and you must n't mope here all that time," said jack, offering his second gift.
""how did you know my size?"
asked kitty, putting on the gloves in a hurry; for though jack had called her "dear" for years, the little word had a new sound to-night.
""i guessed, -- no, i did n't, i had the old ones with me; they are no good now, are they?"
and too honest to lie, jack tried to speak carelessly, though he turned red in the dusk, well knowing that the dirty little gloves were folded away in his left breast-pocket at that identical moment.
""oh, dear, no!
these fit nicely.
i'm ready, if you do n't mind going with such a fright," said kitty, forgetting her dread of seeing people in her desire to get away from that room, because for the first time in her life she was n't at ease with jack.
""i think i like the little gray moth better than the fine butterfly," returned jack, who, in spite of his invitation, seemed to find "moping" rather pleasant.
""you are a rainy-day friend, and he is n't," said kitty, softly, as she drew him away.
jack's only answer was to lay his hand on the little white glove resting so confidingly on his arm, and, keeping it there, they roamed away into the summer twilight.
something had happened to the evening and the place, for both seemed suddenly endowed with uncommon beauty and interest.
the dingy old houses might have been fairy palaces, for anything they saw to the contrary; the dusty walks, the trampled grass, were regular elysian fields to them, and the music was the music of the spheres, though they found themselves "right in the middle of the boom, jing, jing."
for both had made a little discovery, -- no, not a little one, the greatest and sweetest man and woman can make.
in the sharp twinge of jealousy which the sight of kitty's flirtation with fletcher gave him, and the delight he found in her after conduct, jack discovered how much he loved her.
in the shame, gratitude, and half sweet, half bitter emotion that filled her heart, kitty felt that to her jack would never be "only cousin jack" any more.
all the vanity, coquetry, selfishness, and ill-temper of the day seemed magnified to heinous sins, for now her only thought was, "seeing these faults, he ca n't care for me.
oh, i wish i was a better girl!"
she did not say "for his sake," but in the new humility, the ardent wish to be all that a woman should be, little kitty proved how true her love was, and might have said with portia, -- "for myself alone, i would not be ambitious in my wish; but, for you, i would be trebled twenty times myself; a thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich."
all about them other pairs were wandering under the patriarchal elms, enjoying music, starlight, balmy winds, and all the luxuries of the season.
if the band had played "oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream --" it is my private opinion that it would have suited the audience to a t. being principally composed of elderly gentlemen with large families, they had not that fine sense of the fitness of things so charming to see, and tooted and banged away with waltzes and marches, quite regardless of the flocks of romeos and juliets philandering all about them.
under cover of a popular medley, kitty overheard fletcher quizzing her for the amusement of miss pinkbonnet, who was evidently making up for lost time.
it was feeble wit, but it put the finishing stroke to kitty's vanity, and she dropped a tear in her blue tissue retreat, and clung to jack, feeling that she had never valued him half enough.
she hoped he did n't hear the gossip going on at the other side of the tree near which they stood; but he did, for his hand involuntarily doubled itself up into a very dangerous-looking fist, and he darted such fiery glances at the speaker, that, if the thing had been possible.
fletcher's ambrosial curls would have been scorched off his head.
""never mind, and do n't get angry, jack.
they are right about one thing, -- the daisies in my bonnet were real, and i could n't afford any others.
i do n't care much, only pris worked so hard to get me ready i hate to have my things made fun of."
""he is n't worth a thrashing, so we'll let it pass this time," said jack, irefully, yet privately resolving to have it out with fletcher by and by.
""why, kitty, i thought the real daisies the prettiest things about your dress.
do n't throw them away.
i'll wear them just to show that noodle that i prefer nature to art;" and jack gallantly stuck the faded posy in his button-hole, while kitty treasured up the hint so kindly given for future use.
if a clock with great want of tact had n't insisted on telling them that it was getting late, kitty never would have got home, for both the young people felt inclined to loiter about arm in arm through the sweet summer night forever.
jack had meant to say something before she went, and was immensely surprised to find the chance lost for the present.
he wanted to go home with her and free his mind; but a neighborly old gentleman having been engaged as escort, there would have been very little satisfaction in a travelling trio; so he gave it up.
he was very silent as they walked to the station with dr. dodd trudging behind them.
kitty thought he was tired, perhaps glad to be rid of her, and meekly accepted her fate.
but as the train approached, she gave his hand an impulsive squeeze, and said very gratefully, -- "jack, i ca n't thank you enough for your kindness to your silly little cousin; but i never shall forget it, and if i ever can return it in any way, i will with all my heart."
jack looked down at the young face almost pathetic now with weariness, humility, and pain, yet very sweet, with that new shyness in the loving eyes, and, stooping suddenly, he kissed it, whispering in a tone that made the girl's heart flutter, -- "i'll tell you how you may return it "with all your heart," by and by.
good-night, my kitty."
""have you had a good time, dear?"
asked pris, as her sister appeared an hour later.
""do n't i look as if i had?"
and, throwing off her wraps, kitty revolved slowly before her that she might behold every portion of the wreck.
""my gown is all dust, crumple, and rags, my bonnet perfectly limp and flat, and my gloves are ruined; i've broken lizzie's parasol, made a spectacle of myself, and wasted money, time, and temper; yet my class day is n't a failure, for jack is the dearest boy in the world, and i'm very, very happy!"
pris looked at her a minute, then opened her arms without a word, and kitty forgot all her little troubles in one great joy.
when miss smith and miss jones called a few days after to tell her that mr. fletcher was going abroad, the amiable creatures were entirely routed by finding jack there in a most unmistakable situation.
he blandly wished horace "bon voyage," and regretted that he would n't be there to the wedding in october.
kitty devoted herself to blushing beautifully, and darning many rents in a short daisy muslin skirt, "which i intend to wear a great deal, because jack likes it, and so do i," she said, with a demure look at her lover, who laughed as if that was the best joke of the season.
aunt kipp "children and fools speak the truth."
i "what's that sigh for, polly dear?"
""i'm tired, mother, tired of working and waiting.
if i'm ever going to have any fun, i want it now while i can enjoy it."
""you should n't wait another hour if i could have my way; but you know how helpless i am;" and poor mrs. snow sighed dolefully, as she glanced about the dingy room and pretty mary turning her faded gown for the second time.
""if aunt kipp would give us the money she is always talking about, instead of waiting till she dies, we should be so comfortable.
she is a dreadful bore, for she lives in such terror of dropping dead with her heart-complaint that she does n't take any pleasure in life herself or let any one else; so the sooner she goes the better for all of us," said polly, in a desperate tone; for things looked very black to her just then.
""my dear, do n't say that," began her mother, mildly shocked; but a bluff little voice broke in with the forcible remark, -- "she's everlastingly telling me never to put off till to-morrow what can be done to-day; next time she comes i'll remind her of that, and ask her, if she is going to die, why she does n't do it?"
""toady!
you're a wicked, disrespectful boy; never let me hear you say such a thing again about your dear aunt kipp."
""she is n't dear!
you know we all hate her, and you are more afraid of her than you are of spiders, -- so now."
the young personage whose proper name had been corrupted into toady, was a small boy of ten or eleven, apple-cheeked, round-eyed, and curly-headed; arrayed in well-worn, gray knickerbockers, profusely adorned with paint, glue, and shreds of cotton.
perched on a high stool, at an isolated table in a state of chaos, he was absorbed in making a boat, entirely oblivious of the racking tooth-ache which had been his excuse for staying from school.
as cool, saucy, hard-handed, and soft-hearted a little specimen of young america was toady as you would care to see; a tyrant at home, a rebel at school, a sworn foe to law, order, and aunt kipp.
this young person was regarded as a reprobate by all but his mother, sister, and sister's sweetheart, van bahr lamb.
having been, through much anguish of flesh and spirit, taught that lying was a deadly sin, toady rushed to the other extreme, and bolted out the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, at all times and places, with a startling abruptness that brought wrath and dismay upon his friends and relatives.
""it's wicked to fib; you've whipped that into me and you ca n't rub it out," he was wont to say, with vivid recollection of the past tingling in the chubby portions of his frame.
""mind your chips, toady, and take care what you say to aunt kipp, or you'll be as poor as a little rat all the days of your life," said polly, warningly.
""i do n't want her old money, and i'll tell her so if she bothers me about it.
i shall go into business with van and take care of the whole lot; so do n't you preach, polly," returned toady, with as much dignity as was compatible with a great dab of glue on the end of his snub nose.
""mother, did aunt say anything about coming this week?"
asked polly, after a pause of intense thought over a breadth with three darns, two spots, and a burn.
""yes; she wrote that she was too feeble to come at present, as she had such dreadful palpitations she did n't dare stir from her room.
so we are quite safe for the next week at least, and -- bless my soul, there she is now!"
mrs. snow clasped her hands with a gesture of dismay, and sat as if transfixed by the spectacle of a ponderous lady, in an awe-inspiring bonnet, who came walking slowly down the street.
polly gave a groan, and pulled a bright ribbon from her hair.
toady muttered, "oh, bother!"
and vainly attempted to polish up his countenance with a fragmentary pocket-handkerchief.
""nothing but salt fish for dinner," wailed mrs. snow, as the shadow of the coming event fell upon her.
""van will make a fool of himself, and ruin everything," sighed polly, glancing at the ring on her finger.
""i know she'll kiss me; she never will let a fellow alone," growled toady, scowling darkly.
the garden gate clashed, dust flew from the door-mat, a heavy step echoed in the hall, an imperious voice called "sophy!"
and aunt kipp entered with a flourish of trumpets, for toady blew a blast through his fingers which made the bows totter on her bonnet.
""my dear aunt, i'm very glad to see you," murmured mrs. snow, advancing with a smile of welcome; for though as weak as water gruel, she was as kind-hearted a little woman as ever lived.
""what a fib that was!"
said toady, sotto voce.
""we were just saying we were afraid you would n't" -- began mary, when a warning, "mind now, polly," caused her to stop short and busy herself with the newcomer's bag and umbrella.
""i changed my mind.
theodore, come and kiss me," answered aunt kipp, briefly.
""yes'm," was the plaintive reply, and, closing his eyes, toady awaited his fate with fortitude.
but the dreaded salute did not come, for aunt kipp exclaimed in alarm, -- "mercy on us!
has the boy got the plague?"
""no'm, it's paint, and dirt, and glue, and it wo n't come off," said toady, stroking his variegated countenance with grateful admiration for the stains that saved him.
""go and wash this moment, sir.
thank heaven, i've got no boys," cried aunt kipp.
as if boys were some virulent disease which she had narrowly escaped.
with a hasty peck at the lips of her two elder relatives, the old lady seated herself, and slowly removed the awful bonnet, which in shape and hue much resembled a hearse hung with black crape.
""i'm glad you are better," said mary, reverently receiving the funereal head-gear.
""i'm not better," cut in aunt kipp.
""i'm worse, much worse; my days are numbered; i stand on the brink of the tomb, and may drop at any moment."
toady's face was a study, as he glanced up at the old lady's florid countenance, down at the floor, as if in search of the above-mentioned "brink," and looked unaffectedly anxious to see her drop.
""why do n't you, then?"
was on his lips; but a frown from polly restrained him, and he sat himself down on the rug to contemplate the corpulent victim.
""have a cup of tea, aunt?"
said mrs. snow.
""i will."
""lie down and rest a little," suggested polly.
""i wo n't."
""can we do anything for you?"
said both.
""take my things away, and have dinner early."
both departed to perform these behests, and, leaning back in her chair, aunt kipp reposed.
""i say, what's a bore?"
asked toady from the rug, where he sat rocking meditatively to and fro, holding on by his shoe-strings.
""it's a kind of a pig, very fierce, and folks are afraid of'em," said aunt kipp, whose knowledge of natural history was limited.
""good for polly!
so you are!"
sung out the boy, with the hearty child's laugh so pleasant to most ears.
""what do you mean, sir?"
demanded the old lady, irefully poking at him with her umbrella.
""why, polly said you were a bore," explained toady, with artless frankness.
""you are fat, you know, and fierce sometimes, and folks are afraid of you.
good, was n't it?"
""very!
mary is a nice, grateful, respectful, loving niece, and i sha n't forget her, she may depend on that," and aunt kipp laughed grimly.
""may she?
well, that's jolly now.
she was afraid you would n't give her the money; so i'll tell her it's all right;" and innocent toady nodded approvingly.
""oh, she expects some of my money, does she?"
""course she does; ai n't you always saying you'll remember us in your will, because father was your favorite nephew, and all that?
i'll tell you a secret, if you wo n't let polly know i spoke first.
you'll find it out to-night, for you'd see van and she were sweethearts in a minute."
""sweethearts?"
cried aunt kipp, turning red in the face.
""yes'm.
van settled it last week, and polly's been so happy ever since.
mother likes it, and i like it, for i'm fond of van, though i do call him baa-baa, because he looks like a sheep.
we all like it, and we'd all say so, if we were not afraid of you.
mother and polly, i mean; of course we men do n't mind, but we do n't want a fuss.
you wo n't make one, will you, now?"
anything more expressive of brotherly good-will, persuasive frankness, and a placid consciousness of having "fixed it," than toady's dirty little face, it would be hard to find.
aunt kipp eyed him so fiercely that even before she spoke a dim suspicion that something was wrong began to dawn on his too-confiding soul."
i do n't like it, and i'll put a stop to it.
i wo n't have any ridiculous baa-baas in my family.
if mary counts on my money to begin housekeeping with, she'll find herself mistaken; for not one penny shall she have, married or single, and you may tell her so."
toady was so taken aback by this explosion that he let go his shoe-strings, fell over with a crash, and lay flat, with shovel and tongs spread upon him like a pall.
in rushed mrs. snow and polly, to find the boy's spirits quite quenched, for once, and aunt kipp in a towering passion.
it all came out in one overwhelming flood of words, and toady fled from the storm to wander round the house, a prey to the deepest remorse.
the meekness of that boy at dinner-time was so angelic that mrs. snow would have feared speedy translation for him, if she had not been very angry.
polly's red eyes, and aunt kipp's griffinesque expression of countenance, weighed upon his soul so heavily, that even roly-poly pudding failed to assuage his trouble, and, taking his mother into the china-closet, he anxiously inquired "if it was all up with polly?"
""i'm afraid so, for aunt vows she will make a new will to-morrow, and leave every penny to the charitable rag-bag society," sighed mrs. snow.
""i did n't mean to do it, i truly did n't!
i thought i'd just "give her a hint," as you say.
she looked all right, and laughed when i told her about being a bore, and i thought she liked it.
if she was a man, i'd thrash her for making polly cry;" and toady shook his fist at aunt kipp's umbrella, which was an immense relief to his perturbed spirit.
""bless the boy!
i do believe he would!"
cried mrs. snow, watching the little turkey-cock with maternal pride.
""you ca n't do that: so just be careful and not make any more mischief, dear."
""i'll try, mother; but i'm always getting into scrapes with aunt kipp.
she's worse than measles, any day, -- such an old aggrawater!
van's coming this afternoon, wo n't he make her pleasant again?"
""oh, dear, no!
he will probably make things ten times worse, he's so bashful and queer.
i'm afraid our last chance is gone, deary, and we must rub along as we have done."
one sniff of emotion burst from toady, and for a moment he laid his head in the knife-tray, overcome with disappointment and regret.
but scorning to yield to unmanly tears, he was soon himself again.
thrusting his beloved jackknife, with three blades and a file, into polly's hand, he whispered, brokenly, -- "keep it forever'n' ever; i'm awful sorry!"
then, feeling that the magnitude of this sacrifice atoned for everything, he went to watch for van, -- the forlorn hope to which he now clung.
ii "sophy, i'm surprised at your want of judgment.
do you really mean to let your girl marry this lamb?
why, the man's a fool!"
began aunt kipp, after dinner, by way of opening a pleasant conversation with her relatives.
""dear me, aunt!
how can you know that, when you never saw him?"
mildly returned mrs. snow.
""i've heard of him, and that's enough for me.
i've a deal of penetration in judging character, and i tell you van bahr lamb is a fool."
the amiable old lady thought this would rouse polly, against whom her anger still burned hotly.
but polly also possessed penetration; and, well knowing that contradiction would delight aunt kipp, she completely took the wind out of her sails, by coolly remarking, -- "i like fools."
""bless my heart!
what does the girl mean?"
ejaculated aunt kipp.
""just what i say.
if van is a fool, i prefer simpletons to wiseacres.
i know he is shy and awkward, and does absurd things now and then.
but i also know that he has the kindest heart that ever was; is unselfish, faithful and loving; that he took good care of his old parents till they died, and never thought of himself while they needed him.
he loves me dearly; will wait for me a dozen years, if i say so, and work all his days to make me happy.
he's a help and comfort to mother, a good friend to toady, and i love and respect and am proud of him, though you do say he is a fool," cried polly heartily.
""and you insist on marrying him?"
demanded aunt kipp.
""yes, i do."
""then i wish a carriage immediately," was the somewhat irrelevant reply.
""why, aunt, you do n't mean to go so soon?"
cried mrs. snow, with a reproachful glance at the rebellious polly.
""far from it.
i wish to see judge banks about altering my will," was the awful answer.
polly's face fell; her mother gave a despairing sigh; toady, who had hovered about the door, uttered a suppressed whistle of dismay; and mrs. kipp looked about her with vengeful satisfaction.
""get the big carryall and old bob, so the boy can drive, and all of you come; the trip will do you good."
it was like aunt kipp to invite her poor relations to go and "nip their own noses off," as she elegantly expressed it.
it was a party of pleasure that just suited her, for all the fun was on her side.
she grew affable at once, was quite pressing in her invitation, regretted that sophy was too busy to go, praised polly's hat; and professed herself quite satisfied with "that dear boy" for a driver.
the "dear boy" distorted his young countenance frightfully behind her back, but found a balm for every wound in the delight of being commander of the expedition.
the big carryall appeared, and, with much creaking and swaying mrs. kipp was got into the back seat, where the big bonnet gloomed like a thunder-cloud.
polly, in a high state of indignation, which only made her look ten times prettier, sat in front with toady, who was a sight to see as he drove off with his short legs planted against the boot, his elbows squared, and the big whip scientifically cracking now and then.
away they went, leaving poor mrs. snow to bewail herself dismally after she had smiled and nodded them out of sight.
""do n't go over any bridges or railroad crossings or by any saw-mills," said the old lady, as if the town could be suddenly remodelled to suit her taste.
""yes'm," returned toady, with a crack which would have done honor to a french postilion.
it was a fine day, and the young people would have enjoyed the ride in spite of the breakers ahead, if aunt kipp had n't entertained the girl with a glowing account of the splendors of her own wedding, and aggravated the boy by frequent pokes and directions in the art of driving, of which she was of course, profoundly ignorant.
polly could n't restrain a tear or two, in thinking of her own poor little prospects, and toady was goaded to desperation.
""i'll give her a regular shaking up; it'll make her hold her tongue and do her good," he said to himself, as a stony hill sloped temptingly before him.
a sly chuck, and some mysterious manoeuvre with the reins, and bob started off at a brisk trot, as if he objected to the old lady as much as her mischievous little nephew.
""hold him in!
keep a taut rein!
lord" a mercy, he's running away!"
shrieked aunt kipp, or tried to shriek, for the bouncing and bumping jerked the words out of her mouth with ludicrous incoherency.
""i am holding him, but he will go," said toady, with a wicked triumph in his eye as he glanced back at polly.
the next minute the words were quite true; for, as he spoke, two or three distracted hens flew squalling over the wall and scattered about, under, over, and before the horse, as only distracted hens could do.
it was too much for bob's nerves; and, taking matters into his own hands, or feet, rather, he broke into a run, and rattled the old lady over the stones with a velocity which left her speechless.
polly laughed, and toady chuckled, as they caught glimpses of the awful bonnet vibrating wildly in the background, and felt the frantic clutchings of the old lady's hands.
but both grew sober as a shrill car-whistle sounded not far off; and bob, as if possessed by an evil spirit, turned suddenly into the road that led to the railroad crossing.
""that will do, toady; now pull up, for we ca n't get over in time," said polly, glancing anxiously toward the rapidly approaching puffs of white smoke.
""i ca n't, polly, -- i really ca n't," cried the boy, tugging with all his might, and beginning to look scared.
polly lent her aid; but bob scarcely seemed to feel it, for he had been a racer once, and when his blood was up he was hard to handle.
his own good sense might have checked him, if aunt kipp had n't unfortunately recovered her voice at this crisis, and uttered a succession of the shrillest screams that ever saluted mortal ears.
with a snort and a bound bob dashed straight on toward the crossing, as the train appeared round the bend.
""let me out!
let me out!
jump!
jump!"
shrieked aunt kipp, thrusting her head out of the window, while she fumbled madly for the door-handle.
""o toady, save us!
save us!"
gasped polly, losing her presence of mind, and dropping the reins to cling to her brother, with a woman's instinctive faith in the stronger sex.
but toady held on manfully, though his arms were nearly pulled off, for "never say die," was his motto, and the plucky little lad would n't show fear before the women.
""do n't howl; we'll do it!
hi, bob!"
and with a savage slash of the whip, an exciting cry, a terrible reeling and rattling, they did do it; for bob cleared the track at a breakneck pace, just in time for the train to sweep swiftly by behind them.
aunt kipp dropped in a heap, polly looked up at her brother, with a look which he never forgot; and toady tried to say, stoutly, "it's all right!"
with lips that were white and dry in spite of himself.
""we shall smash up at the bridge," he muttered, as they tore through the town, where every one obligingly shouted, waved their hats, and danced about on the sidewalks, doing nothing but add to bob's fright and the party's danger.
but toady was wrong, -- they did not smash up at the bridge; for, before they reached the perilous spot, one man had the sense to fly straight at the horse's head and hold on till the momentary check enabled others to lend a hand.
the instant they were safe, polly, like a regular heroine, threw herself into the arms of her dishevelled preserver, who of course was van, and would have refreshed herself with hysterics if the sight of toady had n't steadied her.
the boy sat as stiff and rigid as a wooden figure till they took the reins from him; then all the strength seemed to go out of him, and he leaned against his sister, as white and trembling as she, whispering with an irrepressible sob, -- "o polly, was n't it horrid?
tell mother i stood by you like a man.
do tell her that!"
if any one had had time or heart to laugh, they certainly would have done it when, after much groping, heaving, and hoisting.
mrs. kipp was extricated and restored to consciousness; for a more ludicrously deplorable spectacle was seldom seen.
quite unhurt, though much shaken, the old lady insisted on believing herself to be dying, and kept the town in a ferment till three doctors had pronounced her perfectly well able to go home.
then the perversity of her nature induced her to comply, that she might have the satisfaction of dying on the way, and proving herself in the right.
unfortunately she did not expire, but, having safely arrived, went to bed in high dudgeon, and led polly and her mother a sad life of it for two weary days.
having heard of toady's gallant behavior, she solemnly ordered him up to receive her blessing.
but the sight of aunt kipp's rubicund visage, surrounded by the stiff frills of an immense nightcap, caused the irreverent boy to explode with laughter in his handkerchief, and to be hustled away by his mother before aunt kipp discovered the true cause of his convulsed appearance.
""ah!
poor dear, his feelings are too much for him.
he sees my doom in my face, and is overcome by what you refuse to believe.
i sha n't forget that boy's devotion.
now leave me to the meditations befitting these solemn hours."
mrs. snow retired, and aunt kipp tried to sleep; but the murmur of voices, and the sound of stifled laughter in the next room disturbed her repose.
""they are rejoicing over my approaching end, knowing that i have n't changed my will.
mercenary creatures, do n't exult too soon!
there's time yet," she muttered; and presently, unable to control her curiosity, she crept out of bed to listen and peep through the keyhole.
van bahr lamb did look rather like a sheep.
he had a blond curly head, a long face, pale, mild eyes, a plaintive voice, and a general expression of innocent timidity strongly suggestive of animated mutton.
but baa-baa was a "trump," as toady emphatically declared, and though every one laughed at him, every one liked him, and that is more than can be said of many saints and sages.
he adored polly, was dutifully kind to her mother, and had stood by t. snow, jr., in many an hour of tribulation with fraternal fidelity.
though he had long blushed, sighed, and cast sheep's eyes at the idol of his affections, only till lately had he dared to bleat forth his passion.
polly loved him because she could n't help it; but she was proud, and would n't marry till aunt kipp's money was hers, or at least a sure prospect of it; and now even the prospect of a prospect was destroyed by that irrepressible toady.
they were talking of this as the old lady suspected, and of course the following conversation afforded her intense satisfaction.
""it's a shame to torment us as she does, knowing how poor we are and how happy a little of her money would make us.
i'm tired of being a slave to a cruel old woman just because she's rich.
if it was not for mother, i declare i'd wash my hands of her entirely, and do the best i could for myself."
""hooray for polly!
i always said let her money go and be jolly without it," cried toady, who, in his character of wounded hero, reposed with a lordly air on the sofa, enjoying the fragrance of the opodeldoc with which his strained wrists were bandaged.
""it's on your account, children, that i bear with aunt's temper as i do.
i do n't want anything for myself, but i really think she owes it to your dear father, who was devoted to her while he lived, to provide for his children when he could n't;" after which remarkably spirited speech for her, mrs. snow dropped a tear, and stitched away on a small trouser-leg which was suffering from a complicated compound fracture.
""do n't you worry about me, mother; i'll take care of myself and you too," remarked toady, with the cheery belief in impossibilities which makes youth so charming.
""now, van, tell us what to do, for things have come to such a pass that we must either break away altogether or be galley-slaves as long as aunt kipp lives," said polly, who was a good deal excited about the matter.
""well, really, my dear, i do n't know," hesitated van, who did know what he wanted, but thought it might be selfish to urge it.
""have you tried to soften your aunt's heart?"
he asked, after a moment's meditation.
""good gracious, van, she has n't got any," cried polly, who firmly believed it.
""it's hossified," thoughtfully remarked toady, quite unconscious of any approach to a joke till every one giggled.
""you've had hossification enough for one while, my lad," laughed van.
""well, polly, if the old lady has no heart you'd better let her go, for people without hearts are not worth much."
""that's a beautiful remark, van, and a wise one.
i just wish she could hear you make it, for she called you a fool," said polly, irefully.
""did she?
well, i do n't mind, i'm used to it," returned van, placidly; and so he was, for polly called him a goose every day of her life, and he enjoyed it immensely.
""then you think, dear, if we stopped worrying about aunt and her money, and worked instead of waiting, that we should n't be any poorer and might be a great deal happier than we are now?"
asked polly, making a pretty little tableau as she put her hand through van's arm and looked up at him with as much love, respect, and reliance as if he had been six feet tall, with the face of an apollo and the manners of a chesterfield.
""yes, my dear, i do, for it has troubled me a good deal to see you so badgered by that very uncomfortable old lady.
independence is a very nice thing, and poverty is n't half as bad as this sort of slavery.
but you are not going to be poor, nor worry about anything.
we'll just be married and take mother and toady home and be as jolly as grigs, and never think of mrs. k. again, -- unless she loses her fortune, or gets sick, or comes to grief in any way.
we'd lend her a hand then, would n't we, polly?"
and van's mild face was pleasant to behold as he made the kindly proposition.
""well, we'd think of it," said polly, trying not to relent, but feeling that she was going very fast.
""let's do it!"
cried toady, fired with the thought of privy conspiracy and rebellion.
""mother would be so comfortable with polly, and i'd help van in the store, when i've learned that confounded multiplication table," he added with a groan; "and if aunt kipp comes a visiting, we'll just say "not at home," and let her trot off again."
""it sounds very nice, but aunt will be dreadfully offended and i do n't wish to be ungrateful," said mrs. snow, brightening visibly.
""there's no ingratitude about it," cried van.
""she might have done everything to make you love, and respect, and admire her, and been a happy, useful, motherly, old soul; but she did n't choose to, and now she must take the consequences.
no one cares for her, because she cares for nobody; her money's the plague of her life, and not a single heart will ache when she dies."
""poor aunt kipp!"
said polly, softly.
mrs. snow echoed the words, and for a moment all thought pitifully of the woman whose life had given so little happiness, whose age had won so little reverence, and whose death would cause so little regret.
even toady had a kind thought for her, as he broke the silence, saying soberly, -- "you'd better put tails on my jackets, mother; then the next time we get run away with, aunt kipp will have something to hold on by."
it was impossible to help laughing at the recollection of the old lady clutching at the boy till he had hardly a button left, and at the paternal air with which he now proposed a much-desired change of costume, as if intent on aunt kipp's future accommodation.
under cover of the laugh, the old lady stole back to bed, wide awake, and with subjects enough to meditate upon now.
the shaking up had certainly done her good, for somehow the few virtues she possessed came to the surface, and the mental shower-bath just received had produced a salutary change.
polly would n't have doubted her aunt's possession of a heart, if she could have known the pain and loneliness that made it ache, as the old woman crept away; and toady would n't have laughed if he had seen the tears on the face, between the big frills, as aunt kipp laid it on the pillow, muttering, drearily, -- "i might have been a happy, useful woman, but i did n't choose to, and now it's too late."
it was too late to be all she might have been, for the work of seventy selfish years could n't be undone in a minute.
but with regret, rose the sincere wish to earn a little love before the end came, and the old perversity gave a relish to the reformation, for even while she resolved to do the just and generous thing, she said to herself, -- "they say i've got no heart; i'll show'em that i have: they do n't want my money; i'll make'em take it: they turn their backs on me; i'll just render myself so useful and agreeable that they ca n't do without me."
iii aunt kipp sat bolt upright in the parlor, hemming a small handkerchief, adorned with a red ship, surrounded by a border of green monkeys.
toady suspected that this elegant article of dress was intended for him, and yearned to possess it; so, taking advantage of his mother's and polly's absence, he strolled into the room, and, seating himself on a high, hard chair, folded his hands, crossed his legs, and asked for a story with the thirsting-for-knowledge air which little boys wear in the moral story-books.
now aunt kipp had one soft place in her heart, though it was partially ossified, as she very truly declared, and toady was enshrined therein.
she thought there never was such a child, and loved him as she had done his father before him, though the rack would n't have forced her to confess it.
she scolded, snubbed, and predicted he'd come to a bad end in public; but she forgave his naughtiest pranks, always brought him something when she came, and privately intended to make his future comfortable with half of her fortune.
there was a dash and daring, a generosity and integrity, about the little fellow, that charmed her.
sophy was weak and low-spirited, polly pretty and headstrong, and aunt kipp did n't think much of either of them; but toady defied, distracted, and delighted her, and to toady she clung, as the one sunshiny thing in her sour, selfish old age.
when he made his demure request, she looked at him, and her eyes began to twinkle, for the child's purpose was plainly seen in the loving glances cast upon the pictorial pocket-handkerchief.
""a story?
yes, i'll tell you one about a little boy who had a kind old -- ahem!
-- grandma.
she was rich, and had n't made up her mind who she'd leave her money to.
she was fond of the boy, -- a deal fonder than he deserved, -- for he was as mischievous a monkey as any that ever lived in a tree, with a curly tail.
he put pepper in her snuff-box," -- here toady turned scarlett, -- "he cut up her bestt frisette to make a mane for his rocking-horse," -- toady opened his mouth impulsively, but shut it again without betraying himself -- "he repeated rude things to her, and called her "an old aggrewater,"" -- here toady wriggled in his chair, and gave a little gasp.
""if you are tired i wo n't go on," observed aunt kipp, mildly.
""i'm not tired,'m; it's a very interesting story," replied toady, with a gravity that nearly upset the old lady.
""well, in spite of all this, that kind, good, forgiving grandma left that bad boy twenty thousand dollars when she died.
what do you think of that?"
asked aunt kipp, pausing suddenly with her sharp eye on him.
""i -- i think she was a regular dear," cried toady, holding on to the chair with both hands, as if that climax rather took him off his legs.
""and what did the boy do about it?"
continued aunt kipp, curiously.
""he bought a velocipede, and gave his sister half, and paid his mother's rent, and put a splendid marble cherakin over the old lady, and had a jolly good time, and --" "what in the world is a cherakin?"
laughed aunt kipp, as toady paused for breath.
""why, do n't you know?
it's a angel crying, or pointing up, or flapping his wings.
they have them over graves; and i'll give you the biggest one i can find when you die.
but i'm not in a very great hurry to have you."
""thankee, dear; i'm in no hurry, myself.
but, toady, the boy did wrong in giving his sister half; she did n't deserve any; and the grandma left word she was n't to have a penny of it."
""really?"
cried the boy, with a troubled face.
""yes, really.
if he gave her any he lost it all; the old lady said so.
now what do you think?"
asked aunt kipp, who found it impossible to pardon polly, -- perhaps because she was young, and pretty, and much beloved.
toady's eyes kindled, and his red cheeks grew redder still, as he cried out defiantly, -- "i think she was a selfish pig, -- do n't you?"
""no, i do n't, sir; and i'm sure that little boy was n't such a fool as to lose the money.
he minded his grandma's wishes, and kept it all."
""no, he did n't," roared toady, tumbling off his chair in great excitement.
""he just threw it out a winder, and smashed the old cherakin all to bits."
aunt kipp dropped her work with a shrill squeak, for she thought the boy was dangerous, as he stood before her, sparring away at nothing as the only vent for his indignation.
""it is n't an interesting story," he cried; "and i wo n't hear any more; and i wo n't have your money if i may n't go halves with polly; and i'll work to earn more than that, and we'll all be jolly together, and you may give your twenty thousand to the old rag-bags, and so i tell you, aunt kipp."
""why, toady, my boy, what's the matter?"
cried a mild voice at the door, as young lamb came trotting up to the rescue.
""never you mind, baa-baa; i sha n't do it; and it's a mean shame polly ca n't have half; then she could marry you and be so happy," blubbered toady, running to try to hide his tears of disappointment in the coat-skirts of his friend.
""mr. lamb, i suppose you are that misguided young man?"
said aunt kipp, as if it was a personal insult to herself.
""van bahr lamb, ma'am, if you please.
yes, thank you," murmured baa-baa, bowing, blushing, and rumpling his curly fleece in bashful trepidation.
""do n't thank me," cried the old lady.
""i'm not going to give you anything, -- far from it.
i object to you altogether.
what business have you to come courting my niece?"
""because i love her, ma'am," returned van, with unexpected spirit.
""no, you do n't; you want her money, or rather my money.
she depends on it; but you'll both be disappointed, for she wo n't have a penny of it," cried aunt kipp, who, in spite of her good resolutions, found it impossible to be amiable all at once.
""i'm glad of it!"
burst out van, indignant at her accusation.
""i did n't want polly for the money; i always doubted if she got it; and i never wished her to make herself a slave to anybody.
i've got enough for all, if we're careful; and when my share of the van bahr property comes, we shall live in clover."
""what's that?
what property are you talking of?"
demanded aunt kipp, pricking up her ears.
""the great van bahr estate, ma'am.
there has been a long lawsuit about it, but it's nearly settled, and there is n't much doubt that we shall get it.
i am the last of our branch, and my share will be a large one."
""oh, indeed!
i wish you joy," said aunt kipp, with sudden affability; for she adored wealth, like a few other persons in the world.
""but suppose you do n't get it, how then?"
""then i shall try to be contented with my salary of two thousand, and make polly as happy as i can.
money does n't always make people happy or agreeable, i find."
and van looked at aunt kipp in a way that would have made her hair stand erect if she had possessed any.
she stared at him a moment, then, obeying one of the odd whims that made an irascible weathercock of her, she said, abruptly, -- "if you had capital should you go into business for yourself, mr. lambkin?"
""yes, ma'am, at once," replied van, promptly.
""suppose you lost the van bahr money, and some one offered you a tidy little sum to start with, would you take it?"
""it would depend upon who made the offer, ma'am," said van, looking more like a sheep than ever, as he stood staring in blank surprise.
""suppose it was me, would n't you take it?"
asked aunt kipp, blandly, for the new fancy pleased her.
""no, thank you, ma'am," said van, decidedly.
""and why not, pray?"
cried the old lady, with a shrillness that made him jump, and toady back to the door precipitately.
""because, if you'll excuse my speaking plainly, i think you owe anything you may have to spare to your niece, mrs. snow;" and, having freed his mind, van joined toady, ready to fly if necessary.
""you're an idiot, sir," began aunt kipp, in a rage again.
""thank you, ma'am."
and van actually laughed and bowed in return for the compliment.
""hold your tongue, sir," snapped the old lady.
""you're a fool and sophy is another.
she's no strength of mind, no sense about anything; and would make ducks and drakes of my money in less than no time if i gave it to her, as i've thought of doing."
""mrs. kipp, you forget who you are speaking to.
mrs. snow's sons love and respect her if you do n't, and they wo n't hear anything untrue or unkind said of a good woman, a devoted mother, and an almost friendless widow."
van was n't a dignified man at all, but as he said that with a sudden flash of his mild eyes, there was something in his face and manner that daunted aunt kipp more than the small fist belligerently shaken at her from behind the sofa.
the poor old soul was cross, and worried, and ashamed of herself, and being as feeble-minded as sophy in many respects, she suddenly burst into tears, and, covering her face with the gay handkerchief, cried as if bent on floating the red ship in a sea of salt water without delay.
""i'm a poor, lonely, abused old woman," she moaned, with a green monkey at each eye.
""no one loves me, or minds me, or thanks me when i want to help'em.
my money's only a worryment and a burden, and i do n't know what to do with it, for people i do n't want to leave it to ought to have it, and people i do like wo n't take it.
oh, deary me, what shall i do!
what shall i do!"
""shall i tell you, ma'am?"
asked van, gently, for, though she was a very provoking old lady, he pitied and wished to help her.
a nod and a gurgle seemed to give consent, and, boldly advancing, van said, with blush and a stammer, but a very hearty voice, -- "i think, ma'am, if you'd do the right thing with your money you'd be at ease and find it saved a deal of worry all round.
give it to mrs. snow; she deserves it, poor lady, for she's had a hard time, and done her duty faithfully.
do n't wait till you are -- that is, till you -- well, till you in point of fact die, ma'am.
give it now, and enjoy the happiness it will make.
give it kindly, let them see you're glad to do it, and i am sure you'll find them grateful; i'm sure you wo n't be lonely any more, or feel that you are not loved and thanked.
try it, ma'am, just try it," cried van, getting excited by the picture he drew.
""and i give you my word i'll do my best to respect and love you like a son, ma'am."
he knew that he was promising a great deal, but for polly's sake he felt that he could make even that herculean effort.
aunt kipp was surprised and touched; but the contrary old lady could n't make up her mind to yield so soon, and would n't have done it if toady had n't taken her by storm.
having a truly masculine horror of tears, a very tender heart under his tailless jacket, and being much "tumbled up and down in his own mind" by the events of the week, the poor little lad felt nerved to attempt any novel enterprise, even that of voluntarily embracing aunt kipp.
first a grimy little hand came on her shoulder, as she sat sniffing behind the handkerchief; then, peeping out, she saw an apple-cheeked face very near her own, with eyes full of pity, penitence, and affection; and then she heard a choky little voice say earnestly, -- "do n't cry, aunty; i'm sorry i was rude.
please be good to mother and polly, and i'll love and take care of you, and stand by you all my life.
yes, i'll -- i'll kiss you, i will, by george!"
and with one promiscuous plunge the spartan boy cast himself into her arms.
that finished aunt kipp; she hugged him dose, and cried out with a salute that went off like a pistol-shot, -- "oh, my dear, my dear!
this is better than a dozen cherakins!"
when toady emerged, somewhat flushed and tumbled, mrs. snow, polly, and van were looking on with faces full of wonder, doubt, and satisfaction.
to be an object of interest was agreeable to aunt kipp; and, as her old heart was really softened, she met them with a gracious smile, and extended the olive-branch generally.
""sophy, i shall give my money to you at once and entirely, only asking that you'll let me stay with you when polly's gone.
i'll do my best to be agreeable, and you'll bear with me because i'm a cranky, solitary old woman, and i loved your husband."
mrs. snow hugged her on the spot, and gushed, of course, murmuring thanks, welcomes, and promises in one grateful burst.
""polly, i forgive you; i consent to your marriage, and will provide your wedding finery.
mr. lamb, you are not a fool, but a very excellent young man.
i thank you for saving my life, and i wish you well with all my heart.
you need n't say anything.
i'm far from strong, and all this agitation is shortening my life."
polly and van shook her hand heartily, and beamed upon each other like a pair of infatuated turtle-doves with good prospects.
""toady, you are as near an angel as a boy can be.
put a name to whatever you most wish for in the world, and it's yours," said aunt kipp, dramatically waving the rest away.
with his short legs wide apart, his hands behind him, and his rosy face as round and radiant as a rising sun, toady stood before the fire surveying the scene with the air of a man who has successfully carried through a difficult and dangerous undertaking, and was n't proud.
his face brightened, then fell, as he heaved a sigh, and answered, with a shake of his curly head, -- "you ca n't give me what i want most.
there are three things, and i've got to wait for them all."
""gracious me, what are they?"
cried the old lady, good-naturedly, for she felt better already.
""a mustache, a beaver, and a sweetheart," answered toady, with his eyes fixed wistfully on baa-baa, who possessed all these blessings, and was particularly enjoying the latter at that moment.
how aunt kipp did laugh at this early budding of romance in her pet!
and all the rest joined her, for toady's sentimental air was irresistible.
""you precocious chick!
i dare say you will have them all before we know where we are.
never mind, deary; you shall have my little watch, and the silver-headed cane with a boar's head on it," answered the old lady, in high good-humor.
""you need n't blush, dear; i do n't bear malice; so let's forget and forgive.
i shall settle things to-morrow, and have a free mind.
you are welcome to my money, and i hope i shall live to see you all enjoy it."
so she did; for she lived to see sophy plump, cheery, and care-free; polly surrounded by a flock of lambkins; van in possession of a generous slice of the van bahr fortune; toady revelling in the objects of his desire; and, best of all, she lived to find that it is never too late to make oneself useful, happy, and beloved.
psyche's art "handsome is that handsome does."
i once upon a time there raged in a certain city one of those fashionable epidemics which occasionally attack our youthful population.
it was n't the music mania, nor gymnastic convulsions, nor that wide-spread malady, croquet.
neither was it one of the new dances which, like a tarantula-bite, set every one a twirling, nor stage madness, nor yet that american lecturing influenza which yearly sweeps over the land.
no, it was a new disease called the art fever, and it attacked the young women of the community with great violence.
nothing but time could cure it, and it ran its course to the dismay, amusement, or edification of the beholders, for its victims did all manner of queer things in their delirium.
they begged potteries for clay, drove italian plaster-corkers out of their wits with unexecutable orders got neuralgia and rheumatism sketching perched on fences and trees like artistic hens, and caused a rise in the price of bread, paper, and charcoal, by their ardor in crayoning.
they covered canvas with the expedition of scene-painters, had classes, lectures, receptions, and exhibitions, made models of each other, and rendered their walls hideous with bad likenesses of all their friends.
their conversation ceased to be intelligible to the uninitiated, and they prattled prettily of "chiaro oscuro, french sauce, refraction of the angle of the eye, seventh spinus process, depth and juiciness of color, tender touch, and a good tone."
even in dress the artistic disorder was visible; some cast aside crinoline altogether, and stalked about with a severe simplicity of outline worthy of flaxman.
others flushed themselves with scarlet, that no landscape which they adorned should be without some touch of turner's favorite tint.
some were blue in every sense of the word, and the heads of all were adorned with classic braids, curls tied hebe-wise, or hair dressed a la hurricane.
it was found impossible to keep them safe at home, and, as the fever grew, these harmless maniacs invaded the sacred retreats where artists of the other sex did congregate, startling those anchorites with visions of large-eyed damsels bearing portfolios in hands delicately begrimed with crayon, chalk, and clay, gliding through the corridors hitherto haunted only by shabby paletots, shadowy hats, and cigar smoke.
this irruption was borne with manly fortitude, not to say cheerfulness, for studio doors stood hospitably open as the fair invaders passed, and studies from life were generously offered them in glimpses of picturesque gentlemen posed before easels, brooding over master-pieces in "a divine despair," or attitudinizing upon couches as if exhausted by the soarings of genius.
an atmosphere of romance began to pervade the old buildings when the girls came, and nature and art took turns.
there were peepings and whisperings, much stifled laughter and whisking in and out; not to mention the accidental rencontres, small services, and eye telegrams, which somewhat lightened the severe studies of all parties.
half a dozen young victims of this malady met daily in one of the cells of a great art beehive called "raphael's rooms," and devoted their shining hours to modelling fancy heads, gossiping the while; for the poor things found the road to fame rather dull and dusty without such verbal sprinklings.
""psyche dean, you've had an adventure!
i see it in your face; so tell it at once, for we are stupid as owls here to-day," cried one of the sisterhood, as a bright-eyed girl entered with some precipitation.
""i dropped my portfolio, and a man picked it up, that's all."
replied psyche, hurrying on her gray linen pinafore.
""that wo n't do; i know something interesting happened, for you've been blushing, and you look brisker than usual this morning," said the first speaker, polishing off the massive nose of her homer.
""it was n't anything," began psyche a little reluctantly.
""i was coming up in a hurry when i ran against a man coming down in a hurry.
my portfolio slipped, and my papers went flying all about the landing.
of course we both laughed and begged pardon, and i began to pick them up, but he would n't let me; so i held the book while he collected the sketches.
i saw him glance at them as he did so, and that made me blush, for they are wretched things, you know."
""not a bit of it; they are capital, and you are a regular genius, as we all agree," cut in the homeric miss cutter.
""never tell people they are geniuses unless you wish to spoil them," returned psyche severely.
""well, when the portfolio was put to rights i was going on, but he fell to picking up a little bunch of violets i had dropped; you know i always wear a posy into town to give me inspiration.
i did n't care for the dusty flowers, and told him so, and hurried away before any one came.
at the top of the stairs i peeped over the railing, and there he was, gathering up every one of those half-dead violets as carefully as if they had been tea-roses."
""psyche dean, you have met your fate this day!"
exclaimed a third damsel, with straw-colored tresses, and a good deal of weedy shrubbery in her hat, which gave an ophelia-like expression to her sentimental countenance.
psyche frowned and shook her head, as if half sorry she had told her little story.
""was he handsome?"
asked miss larkins, the believer in fate.
""i did n't particularly observe."
""it was the red-headed man, whom we call titian: he's always on the stairs."
""no, it was n't; his hair was brown and curly," cried psyche, innocently falling into the trap.
""like peerybingle's baby when its cap was taken off," quoted miss dickenson, who pined to drop the last two letters of her name.
""was it murillo, the black-eyed one?"
asked the fair cutter, for the girls had a name for all the attitudinizers and promenaders whom they oftenest met.
""no, he had gray eyes, and very fine ones they were too," answered psyche, adding, as if to herself, "he looked as i imagine michael angelo might have looked when young."
""had he a broken nose, like the great mike?"
asked an irreverent damsel.
""if he had, no one would mind it, for his head is splendid; he took his hat off, so i had a fine view.
he is n't handsome, but he'll do something," said psyche, prophetically, as she recalled the strong, ambitious face which she had often observed, but never mentioned before.
""well, dear, considering that you did n't "particularly look" at the man, you've given us a very good idea of his appearance.
we'll call him michael angelo, and he shall be your idol.
i prefer stout old rembrandt myself, and larkie adores that dandified raphael," said the lively cutter, slapping away at homer's bald pate energetically, as she spoke.
""raphael is a dear, but rubens is more to my taste now," returned miss larkins.
""he was in the hall yesterday talking with sir joshua, who had his inevitable umbrella, like a true englishman.
just as i came up, the umbrella fell right before me.
i started back; sir joshua laughed, but rubens said, "deuce take it!"
and caught up the umbrella, giving me a never-to-be-forgotten look.
it was perfectly thrilling."
""which, -- the umbrella, the speech, or the look?"
asked psyche, who was not sentimental.
""ah, you have no soul for art in nature, and nature in art," sighed the amber-tressed larkins.
""i have, for i feed upon a glance, a tint, a curve, with exquisite delight.
rubens is adorable -lrb- as a study -rrb-; that lustrous eye, that night of hair, that sumptuous cheek, are perfect.
he only needs a cloak, lace collar, and slouching hat to be the genuine thing."
""this is n't the genuine thing by any means.
what does it need?"
said psyche, looking with a despondent air at the head on her stand.
many would have pronounced it a clever thing; the nose was strictly greek, the chin curved upward gracefully, the mouth was sweetly haughty, the brow classically smooth and low, and the breezy hair well done.
but something was wanting; psyche felt that, and could have taken her venus by the dimpled shoulders, and given her a hearty shake, if that would have put strength and spirit into the lifeless face.
""now i am perfectly satisfied with my apollo, though you all insist that it is the image of theodore smythe.
he says so himself, and assures me it will make a sensation when we exhibit," remarked miss larkins, complacently caressing the ambrosial locks of her smythified phebus.
""what shall you do if it does not?"
asked miss cutter, with elegance.
""i shall feel that i have mistaken my sphere, shall drop my tools, veil my bust, and cast myself into the arms of nature, since art rejects me;" replied miss larkins, with a tragic gesture and an expression which strongly suggested that in her eyes nature meant theodore.
""she must have capacious arms if she is to receive all art's rejected admirers.
shall i be one of them?"
psyche put the question to herself as she turned to work, but somehow ambitious aspirations were not in a flourishing condition that morning; her heart was not in tune, and head and hands sympathized.
nothing went well, for certain neglected home-duties had dogged her into town, and now worried her more than dust, or heat, or the ceaseless clatter of tongues.
tom, dick, and harry's unmended hose persisted in dancing a spectral jig before her mental eye, mother's querulous complaints spoilt the song she hummed to cheer herself, and little may's wistful face put the goddess of beauty entirely out of countenance.
""it's no use; i ca n't work till the clay is wet again.
where is giovanni?"
she asked, throwing down her tools with a petulant gesture and a dejected air.
""he is probably playing truant in the empty upper rooms, as usual.
i ca n't wait for him any longer, so i'm doing his work myself," answered miss dickenson, who was tenderly winding a wet bandage round her juno's face, one side of which was so much plumper than the other that it looked as if the queen of olympus was being hydropathically treated for a severe fit of ague.
""i'll go and find the little scamp; a run will do me good; so will a breath of air and a view of the park from the upper windows."
doffing her apron, psyche strolled away up an unfrequented staircase to the empty apartments, which seemed to be too high even for the lovers of high art.
on the western side they were shady and cool, and, leaning from one of the windows, psyche watched the feathery tree-tops ruffled by the balmy wind, that brought spring odors from the hills, lying green and sunny far away.
silence and solitude were such pleasant companions that the girl forgot herself, till a shrill whistle disturbed her day-dreams, and reminded her what she came for.
following the sound she found the little italian errand-boy busily uncovering a clay model which stood in the middle of a scantily furnished room near by.
""he is not here; come and look; it is greatly beautiful," cried giovanni, beckoning with an air of importance.
psyche did look and speedily forgot both her errand and herself.
it was the figure of a man, standing erect, and looking straight before him with a wonderfully lifelike expression.
it was neither a mythological nor a historical character, psyche thought, and was glad of it, being tired to death of gods and heroes.
she soon ceased to wonder what it was, feeling only the indescribable charm of something higher than beauty.
small as her knowledge was, she could see and enjoy the power visible in every part of it; the accurate anatomy of the vigorous limbs, the grace of the pose, the strength and spirit in the countenance, clay though it was.
a majestic figure, but the spell lay in the face, which, while it suggested the divine, was full of human truth and tenderness, for pain and passion seemed to have passed over it, and a humility half pathetic, a courage half heroic seemed to have been born from some great loss or woe.
how long she stood there psyche did not know.
giovanni went away unseen, to fill his water-pail, and in the silence she just stood and looked.
her eyes kindled, her color rose, despondency and discontent vanished, and her soul was in her face, for she loved beauty passionately, and all that was best and truest in her did honor to the genius of the unknown worker.
""if i could do a thing like that, i'd die happy!"
she exclaimed impetuously, as a feeling of despair came over her at the thought of her own poor attempts.
""who did it, giovanni?"
she asked, still looking up at the grand face with unsatisfied eyes.
""paul gage."
it was not the boy's voice, and, with a start, psyche turned to see her michael angelo, standing in the doorway, attentively observing her.
being too full of artless admiration to think of herself just yet, she neither blushed nor apologized, but looked straight at him, saying heartily, -- "you have done a wonderful piece of work, and i envy you more than i can tell!"
the enthusiasm in her face, the frankness of her manner, seemed to please him, for there was no affectation about either.
he gave her a keen, kind glance out of the "fine gray eyes," a little bow, and a grateful smile, saying quietly, -- "then my adam is not a failure in spite of his fall?"
psyche turned from the sculptor to his model with increased admiration in her face, and earnestness in her voice, as she exclaimed delighted, -- "adam!
i might have known it was he.
o sir, you have indeed succeeded, for you have given that figure the power and pathos of the first man who sinned and suffered, and began again."
""then i am satisfied."
that was all he said, but the look he gave his work was a very eloquent one, for it betrayed that he had paid the price of success in patience and privation, labor and hope.
""what can one do to learn your secret?"
asked the girl wistfully, for there was nothing in the man's manner to disturb her self-forgetful mood, but much to foster it, because to the solitary worker this confiding guest was as welcome as the doves who often hopped in at his window.
""work and wait, and meantime feed heart, soul, and imagination with the best food one can get," he answered slowly, finding it impossible to give a receipt for genius.
""i can work and wait a long time to gain my end; but i do n't know where to find the food you speak of?"
she answered, looking at him like a hungry child.
""i wish i could tell you, but each needs different fare, and each must look for it in different places."
the kindly tone and the sympathizing look, as well as the lines in his forehead, and a few gray hairs among the brown, gave psyche courage to say more.
""i love beauty so much that i not only want to possess it myself, but to gain the power of seeing it in all things, and the art of reproducing it with truth.
i have tried very hard to do it, but something is wanting; and in spite of my intense desire i never get on."
as she spoke the girl's eyes filled and fell in spite of herself, and turning a little with sudden shamefacedness she saw, lying on the table beside her among other scraps in manuscript and print, the well-known lines, -- "i slept, and dreamed that life was beauty; i woke, and found that life was duty.
was thy dream then a shadowy lie?
toil on, sad heart, courageously, and thou shall find thy dream to be a noonday light and truth to thee."
she knew them at a glance, had read them many times, but now they came home to her with sudden force, and, seeing that his eye had followed hers, she said in her impulsive fashion.
-- "is doing one's duty a good way to feed heart, soul, and imagination?"
as if he had caught a glimpse of what was going on in her mind, paul answered emphatically, -- "excellent; for if one is good, one is happy, and if happy, one can work well.
moulding character is the highest sort of sculpture, and all of us should learn that art before we touch clay or marble."
he spoke with the energy of a man who believed what he said, and did his best to be worthy of the rich gift bestowed upon him.
the sight of her violets in a glass of water, and giovanni staring at her with round eyes, suddenly recalled psyche to a sense of the proprieties which she had been innocently outraging for the last ten minutes.
a sort of panic seized her; she blushed deeply, retreated precipitately to the door, and vanished, murmuring thanks and apologies as she went.
""did you find him?
i thought you had forgotten," said miss dickenson, now hard at work.
""yes, i found him.
no, i shall not forget," returned psyche, thinking of gage, not giovanni.
she stood before her work eying it intently for several minutes; then, with an expression of great contempt for the whole thing, she suddenly tilted her cherished venus on to the floor, gave the classical face a finishing crunch, and put on her hat in a decisive manner, saying briefly to the dismayed damsels, -- "good-by, girls; i sha n't come any more, for i'm going to work at home hereafter."
ii the prospect of pursuing artistic studies at home was not brilliant, as one may imagine when i mention that psyche's father was a painfully prosaic man, wrapt in flannel, so to speak; for his woollen mills left him no time for anything but sleep, food, and newspapers.
mrs. dean was one of those exasperating women who pervade their mansions like a domestic steam-engine one week and take to their sofas the next, absorbed by fidgets and foot-stoves, shawls and lamentations.
there were three riotous and robust young brothers, whom it is unnecessary to describe except by stating that they were boys in the broadest sense of that delightful word.
there was a feeble little sister, whose patient, suffering face demanded constant love and care to mitigate the weariness of a life of pain.
and last, but not least by any means, there were two irish ladies, who, with the best intentions imaginable, produced a universal state of topsy-turviness when left to themselves for a moment.
but being very much in earnest about doing her duty, not because it was her duty, but as a means toward an end, psyche fell to work with a will, hoping to serve both masters at once.
so she might have done, perhaps, if flesh and blood had been as plastic as clay, but the live models were so exacting in their demands upon her time and strength, that the poor statues went to the wall.
sculpture and sewing, calls and crayons, ruskin and receipt-books, did n't work well together, and poor psyche found duties and desires desperately antagonistic.
take a day as a sample.
""the washing and ironing are well over, thank goodness, mother quiet, the boys out of the way, and may comfortable, so i'll indulge myself in a blissful day after my own heart," psyche said, as she shut herself into her little studio, and prepared to enjoy a few hours of hard study and happy day-dreams.
with a book on her lap, and her own round white arm going through all manner of queer evolutions, she was placidly repeating, "deltoides, biceps, triceps, pronator, supinator, palmanis, flexor carpi ulnaris --" "here's flexis what-you-call-ums for you," interrupted a voice, which began in a shrill falsetto and ended in a gruff bass, as a flushed, dusty, long-legged boy burst in, with a bleeding hand obligingly extended for inspection.
""mercy on us, harry!
what have you done to yourself now?
split your fingers with a cricket-ball again?"
cried psyche, as her arms went up and her book went down.
""i just thrashed one of the fellows because he got mad and said father was going to fail."
""o harry, is he?"
""of course he is n't!
it's hard times for every one, but father will pull through all right.
no use to try and explain it all; girls ca n't understand business; so you just tie me up, and do n't worry," was the characteristic reply of the young man, who, being three years her junior, of course treated the weaker vessel with lordly condescension.
""what a dreadful wound!
i hope nothing is broken, for i have n't studied the hand much yet, and may do mischief doing it up," said psyche, examining the great grimy paw with tender solicitude.
""much good your biceps, and deltoids, and things do you, if you ca n't right up a little cut like that," squeaked the ungrateful hero.
""i'm not going to be a surgeon, thank heaven; i intend to make perfect hands and arms, not mend damaged ones," retorted psyche, in a dignified tone, somewhat marred by a great piece of court-plaster on her tongue.
""i should say a surgeon could improve that perfect thing, if he did n't die a-laughing before he began," growled harry, pointing with a scornful grin at a clay arm humpy with muscles, all carefully developed in the wrong places.
""do n't sneer, hal, for you do n't know anything about it.
wait a few years and see if you're not proud of me."
""sculp away and do something, then i'll hurrah for your mud-pies like a good one;" with which cheering promise the youth left, having effectually disturbed his sister's peaceful mood.
anxious thoughts of her father rendered "biceps, deltoids, and things" uninteresting, and hoping to compose her mind, she took up the old painters and went on with the story of claude lorraine.
she had just reached the tender scene where, -- "calista gazed with enthusiasm, while she looked like a being of heaven rather than earth.
"my friend," she cried," i read in thy picture thy immortality!"
as she spoke, her head sunk upon his bosom, and it was several moments before claude perceived that he supported a lifeless form."
""how sweet!"
said psyche, with a romantic sigh.
""faith, and swate it is, thin!"
echoed katy, whose red head had just appeared round the half opened door.
""it's gingy-bread i'm making the day, miss, and will i be puttin" purlash or sallyrathis into it, if ye plase?"
""purlash, by all means," returned the girl, keeping her countenance, fearing to enrage katy by a laugh; for the angry passions of the red-haired one rose more quickly than her bread.
as she departed with alacrity to add a spoonful of starch and a pinch of whiting to her cake, psyche, feeling better for her story and her smile, put on her bib and paper cap and fell to work on the deformed arm.
an hour of bliss, then came a ring at the door-bell, followed by biddy to announce callers, and add that as "the mistress was in her bed, miss must go and take care of'em."
whereat "miss" cast down her tools in despair, threw her cap one way, her bib another, and went in to her guests with anything but a rapturous welcome.
dinner being accomplished after much rushing up and down stairs with trays and messages for mrs. dean, psyche fled again to her studio, ordering no one to approach under pain of a scolding.
all went well till, going in search of something, she found her little sister sitting on the floor with her cheek against the studio door.
""i did n't mean to be naughty, sy, but mother is asleep, and the boys all gone, so i just came to be near you; it's so lonely everywhere," she said, apologetically, as she lifted up the heavy head that always ached.
""the boys are very thoughtless.
come in and stay with me; you are such a mouse you wo n't disturb me.
would n't you like to play be a model and let me draw your arm, and tell you all about the nice little bones and muscles?"
asked psyche, who had the fever very strong upon her just then.
may did n't look as if the proposed amusement overwhelmed her with delight, but meekly consented to be perched upon a high stool with one arm propped up by a dropsical plaster cherub, while psyche drew busily, feeling that duty and pleasure were being delightfully combined.
""ca n't you hold your arm still, child?
it shakes so i ca n't get it right," she said, rather impatiently.
""no, it will tremble'cause it's weak.
i try hard, sy, but there does n't seem to be much strongness in me lately."
""that's better; keep it so a few minutes and i'll be done," cried the artist, forgetting that a few minutes may seem ages.
""my arm is so thin you can see the bunches nicely, -- ca n't you?"
""yes, dear."
psyche glanced up at the wasted limb, and when she drew again there was a blur before her eyes for a minute.
""i wish i was as fat as this white boy; but i get thinner every day somehow, and pretty soon there wo n't be any of me left but my little bones," said the child, looking at the winged cherub with sorrowful envy.
""do n't, my darling; do n't say that," cried psyche, dropping her work with a sudden pang at her heart.
""i'm a sinful, selfish girl to keep you here!
you're weak for want of air; come out and see the chickens, and pick dandelions, and have a good romp with the boys."
the weak arms were strong enough to clasp psyche's neck, and the tired face brightened beautifully as the child exclaimed, with grateful delight, -- "oh, i'd like it very much!
i wanted to go dreadfully; but everybody is so busy all the time.
i do n't want to play, sy; but just to lie on the grass with my head in your lap while you tell stories and draw me pretty things as you used to."
the studio was deserted all that afternoon, for psyche sat in the orchard drawing squirrels on the wall, pert robins hopping by, buttercups and mosses, elves and angels; while may lay contentedly enjoying sun and air, sisterly care, and the "pretty things" she loved so well.
psyche did not find the task a hard one; for this time her heart was in it, and if she needed any reward she surely found it; for the little face on her knee lost its weary look, and the peace and beauty of nature soothed her own troubled spirit, cheered her heart, and did her more good than hours of solitary study.
finding, much to her own surprise, that her fancy was teeming with lovely conceits, she did hope for a quiet evening.
but mother wanted a bit of gossip, father must have his papers read to him, the boys had lessons and rips and grievances to be attended to, may's lullaby could not be forgotten, and the maids had to be looked after, lest burly "cousins" should be hidden in the boiler, or lucifer matches among the shavings.
so psyche's day ended, leaving her very tired, rather discouraged, and almost heart-sick with the shadow of a coming sorrow.
all summer she did her best, but accomplished very little, as she thought; yet this was the teaching she most needed, and in time she came to see it.
in the autumn may died, whispering, with her arms about her sister's neck, -- "you make me so happy, sy, i would n't mind the pain if i could stay a little longer.
but if i ca n't, good-by, dear, good-by."
her last look and word and kiss were all for psyche, who felt then with grateful tears that her summer had not been wasted; for the smile upon the little dead face was more to her than any marble perfection her hands could have carved.
in the solemn pause which death makes in every family, psyche said, with the sweet self-forgetfulness of a strong yet tender nature, -- "i must not think of myself, but try to comfort them;" and with this resolution she gave herself heart and soul to duty, never thinking of reward.
a busy, anxious, humdrum winter, for, as harry said, "it was hard times for every one."
mr. dean grew gray with the weight of business cares about which he never spoke; mrs. dean, laboring under the delusion that an invalid was a necessary appendage to the family, installed herself in the place the child's death left vacant, and the boys needed much comforting, for the poor lads never knew how much they loved "the baby" till the little chair stood empty.
all turned to sy for help and consolation, and her strength seemed to increase with the demand upon it.
patience and cheerfulness, courage and skill came at her call like good fairies who had bided their time.
housekeeping ceased to be hateful, and peace reigned in parlor and kitchen while mrs. dean, shrouded in shawls, read hahnemann's lesser writings on her sofa.
mr. dean sometimes forgot his mills when a bright face came to meet him, a gentle hand smoothed the wrinkles out of his anxious forehead, and a daughterly heart sympathized with all his cares.
the boys found home very pleasant with sy always there ready to "lend a hand," whether it was to make fancy ties, help conjugate "a confounded verb," pull candy, or sing sweetly in the twilight when all thought of little may and grew quiet.
the studio door remained locked till her brothers begged psyche to open it and make a bust of the child.
a flush of joy swept over her face at the request, and her patient eyes grew bright and eager, as a thirsty traveller's might at the sight or sound of water.
then it faded as she shook her head, saying with a regretful sigh, "i'm afraid i've lost the little skill i ever had."
but she tried, and with great wonder and delight discovered that she could work as she had never done before.
she thought the newly found power lay in her longing to see the little face again; for it grew like magic under her loving hands, while every tender memory, sweet thought, and devout hope she had ever cherished, seemed to lend their aid.
but when it was done and welcomed with tears and smiles, and praise more precious than any the world could give, then psyche said within herself, like one who saw light at last, -- "he was right; doing one's duty is the way to feed heart, soul, and imagination; for if one is good, one is happy, and if happy, one can work well."
iii "she broke her head and went home to come no more," was giovanni's somewhat startling answer when paul asked about psyche, finding that he no longer met her on the stairs or in the halls.
he understood what the boy meant, and with an approving nod turned to his work again, saying, "i like that!
if there is any power in her, she has taken the right way to find it out, i suspect."
how she prospered he never asked; for, though he met her more than once that year, the interviews were brief ones in street, concert-room, or picture-gallery, and she carefully avoided speaking of herself.
but, possessing the gifted eyes which can look below the surface of things, he detected in the girl's face something better than beauty, though each time he saw it, it looked older and more thoughtful, often anxious and sad.
""she is getting on," he said to himself with a cordial satisfaction which gave his manner a friendliness as grateful to psyche as his wise reticence.
adam was finished at last, proved a genuine success, and paul heartily enjoyed the well-earned reward for years of honest work.
one blithe may morning, he slipped early into the art-gallery, where the statue now stood, to look at his creation with paternal pride.
he was quite alone with the stately figure that shone white against the purple draperies and seemed to offer him a voiceless welcome from its marble lips.
he gave it one loving look, and then forgot it, for at the feet of his adam lay a handful of wild violets, with the dew still on them.
a sudden smile broke over his face as he took them up, with the thought, "she has been here and found my work good."
for several moments he stood thoughtfully turning the flowers to and fro in his hands; then, as if deciding some question within himself, he said, still smiling, -- "it is just a year since she went home; she must have accomplished something in that time; i'll take the violets as a sign that i may go and ask her what."
he knew she lived just out of the city, between the river and the mills, and as he left the streets behind him, he found more violets blooming all along the way like flowery guides to lead him right.
greener grew the road, balmier blew the wind, and blither sang the birds, as he went on, enjoying his holiday with the zest of a boy, until he reached a most attractive little path winding away across the fields.
the gate swung invitingly open, and all the ground before it was blue with violets.
still following their guidance he took the narrow path, till, coming to a mossy stone beside a brook, he sat down to listen to the blackbirds singing deliciously in the willows over head.
close by the stone, half hidden in the grass lay a little book, and, taking it up he found it was a pocket-diary.
no name appeared on the fly-leaf, and, turning the pages to find some clue to its owner, he read here and there enough to give him glimpses into an innocent and earnest heart which seemed to be learning some hard lesson patiently.
only near the end did he find the clue in words of his own, spoken long ago, and a name.
then, though longing intensely to know more, he shut the little book and went on, showing by his altered face that the simple record of a girl's life had touched him deeply.
soon an old house appeared nestling to the hillside with the river shining in the low green meadows just before it.
""she lives there," he said, with as much certainty as if the pansies by the door-stone spelt her name, and, knocking, he asked for psyche.
""she's gone to town, but i expect her home every minute.
ask the gentleman to walk in and wait, katy," cried a voice from above, where the whisk of skirts was followed by the appearance of an inquiring eye over the banisters.
the gentleman did walk in, and while he waited looked about him.
the room, though very simply furnished, had a good deal of beauty in it, for the pictures were few and well chosen, the books such as never grow old, the music lying on the well-worn piano of the sort which is never out of fashion, and standing somewhat apart was one small statue in a recess full of flowers.
lovely in its simple grace and truth was the figure of a child looking upward as if watching the airy flight of some butterfly which had evidently escaped from the chrysalis still lying in the little hand.
paul was looking at it with approving eyes when mrs. dean appeared with his card in her hand, three shawls on her shoulders, and in her face a somewhat startled expression, as if she expected some novel demonstration from the man whose genius her daughter so much admired.
""i hope miss psyche is well," began paul, with great discrimination if not originality.
the delightfully commonplace remark tranquillized mrs. dean at once, and, taking off the upper shawl with a fussy gesture, she settled herself for a chat.
""yes, thank heaven, sy is well.
i do n't know what would become of us if she was n't.
it has been a hard and sorrowful year for us with mr. dean's business embarrassments, my feeble health, and may's death.
i do n't know that you were aware of our loss, sir;" and unaffected maternal grief gave sudden dignity to the faded, fretful face of the speaker.
paul murmured his regrets, understanding better now the pathetic words on a certain tear-stained page of the little book still in his pocket.
""poor dear, she suffered everything, and it came very hard upon sy, for the child was n't happy with any one else, and almost lived in her arms," continued mrs. dean, dropping the second shawl to get her handkerchief.
""miss psyche has not had much time for art-studies this year, i suppose?"
said paul, hoping to arrest the shower, natural as it was.
""how could she with two invalids, the housekeeping, her father and the boys to attend to?
no, she gave that up last spring, and though it was a great disappointment to her at the time, she has got over it now, i hope," added her mother, remembering as she spoke that psyche even now went about the house sometimes pale and silent, with a hungry look in her eyes.
""i am glad to hear it," though a little shadow passed over his face as paul spoke, for he was too true an artist to believe that any work could be as happy as that which he loved and lived for.
""i thought there was much promise in miss psyche, and i sincerely believe that time will prove me a true prophet," he said, with mingled regret and hope in his voice, as he glanced about the room, which betrayed the tastes still cherished by the girl.
""i'm afraid ambition is n't good for women; i mean the sort that makes them known by coming before the public in any way.
but sy deserves some reward, i'm sure, and i know she'll have it, for a better daughter never lived."
here the third shawl was cast off, as if the thought of psyche, or the presence of a genial guest had touched mrs. dean's chilly nature with a comfortable warmth.
further conversation was interrupted by the avalanche of boys which came tumbling down the front stairs, as tom, dick, and harry shouted in a sort of chorus, -- "sy, my balloon has got away; lend us a hand at catching him!"
""sy, i want a lot of paste made, right off."
""sy, i've split my jacket down the back; come sew me up, there's a dear!"
on beholding a stranger the young gentlemen suddenly lost their voices, found their manners, and with nods and grins took themselves away as quietly as could be expected of six clumping boots and an unlimited quantity of animal spirits in a high state of effervescence.
as they trooped off, an unmistakable odor of burnt milk pervaded the air, and the crash of china, followed by an irish wail, caused mrs. dean to clap on her three shawls again and excuse herself in visible trepidation.
paul laughed quietly to himself, then turned sober and said, "poor psyche!"
with a sympathetic sigh.
he roamed about the room impatiently till the sound of voices drew him to the window to behold the girl coming up the walk with her tired old father leaning on one arm, the other loaded with baskets and bundles, and her hands occupied by a remarkably ugly turtle.
""here we are!"
cried a cheery voice, as they entered without observing the new-comer.
""i've done all my errands and had a lovely time.
there is tom's gunpowder, dick's fishhooks, and one of professor gazzy's famous turtles for harry.
here are your bundles, mother dear, and, best of all, here's father home in time for a good rest before dinner.
i went to the mill and got him."
psyche spoke as if she had brought a treasure; and so she had, for though mr. dean's face usually was about as expressive as the turtle's, it woke and warmed with the affection which his daughter had fostered till no amount of flannel could extinguish it.
his big hand patted her cheek very gently as he said, in a tone of fatherly love and pride, -- "my little sy never forgets old father, does she?"
""good gracious me, my dear, there's such a mess in the kitchen!
katy's burnt up the pudding, put castor-oil instead of olive in the salad, smashed the best meat-dish, and here's mr. gage come to dinner," cried mrs. dean in accents of despair as she tied up her head in a fourth shawl.
""oh, i'm so glad; i'll go in and see him a few minutes, and then i'll come and attend to everything; so do n't worry, mother."
""how did you find me out?"
asked psyche as she shook hands with her guest and stood looking up at him with all the old confiding frankness in her face and manner.
""the violets showed me the way."
she glanced at the posy in his button-hole and smiled.
""yes, i gave them to adam, but i did n't think you would guess.
i enjoyed your work for an hour to-day, and i have no words strong enough to express my admiration."
""there is no need of any.
tell me about yourself: what have you been doing all this year?"
he asked, watching with genuine satisfaction the serene and sunny face before him, for discontent, anxiety, and sadness were no longer visible there.
""i've been working and waiting," she began.
""and succeeding, if i may believe what i see and hear and read," he said, with an expressive little wave of the book as he laid it down before her.
""my diary!
i did n't know i had lost it.
where did you find it?"
""by the brook where i stopped to rest.
the moment i saw your name i shut it up.
forgive me, but i ca n't ask pardon for reading a few pages of that little gospel of patience, love, and self-denial."
she gave him a reproachful look, and hurried the telltale book out of sight as she said, with a momentary shadow on her face, -- "it has been a hard task; but i think i have learned it, and am just beginning to find that my dream is" a noonday light and truth," to me."
""then you do not relinquish your hopes, and lay down your tools?"
he asked, with some eagerness.
""never!
i thought at first that i could not serve two masters, but in trying to be faithful to one i find i am nearer and dearer to the other.
my cares and duties are growing lighter every day -lrb- or i have learned to bear them better -rrb-, and when my leisure does come i shall know how to use it, for my head is full of ambitious plans, and i feel that i can do something now."
all the old enthusiasm shone in her eyes, and a sense of power betrayed itself in voice and gesture as she spoke.
""i believe it," he said heartily.
""you have learned the secret, as that proves."
psyche looked at the childish image as he pointed to it, and into her face there came a motherly expression that made it very sweet.
""that little sister was so dear to me i could not fail to make her lovely, for i put my heart into my work.
the year has gone, but i do n't regret it, though this is all i have done."
""you forget your three wishes; i think the year has granted them."
""what were they?"
""to possess beauty in yourself, the power of seeing it in all things, and the art of reproducing it with truth."
she colored deeply under the glance which accompanied the threefold compliment, and answered with grateful humility, -- "you are very kind to say so; i wish i could believe it."
then, as if anxious to forget herself, she added rather abruptly, -- "i hear you think of giving your adam a mate, -- have you begun yet?"
""yes, my design is finished, all but the face."
""i should think you could image eve's beauty, since you have succeeded so well with adam's."
""the features perhaps, but not the expression.
that is the charm of feminine faces, a charm so subtile that few can catch and keep it.
i want a truly womanly face, one that shall be sweet and strong without being either weak or hard.
a hopeful, loving, earnest face with a tender touch of motherliness in it, and perhaps the shadow of a grief that has softened but not saddened it."
""it will be hard to find a face like that."
""i do n't expect to find it in perfection; but one sometimes sees faces which suggest all this, and in rare moments give glimpses of a lovely possibility."
""i sincerely hope you will find one then," said psyche, thinking of the dinner.
""thank you; i think i have."
now, in order that every one may be suited, we will stop here, and leave our readers to finish the story as they like.
those who prefer the good old fashion may believe that the hero and heroine fell in love, were married, and lived happily ever afterward.
but those who can conceive of a world outside of a wedding-ring may believe that the friends remained faithful friends all their lives, while paul won fame and fortune, and psyche grew beautiful with the beauty of a serene and sunny nature, happy in duties which became pleasures, rich in the art which made life lovely to herself and others, and brought rewards in time.
a country christmas "a handful of good life is worth a bushel of learning."
""dear emily, -- i have a brilliant idea, and at once hasten to share it with you.
three weeks ago i came up here to the wilds of vermont to visit my old aunt, also to get a little quiet and distance in which to survey certain new prospects which have opened before me, and to decide whether i will marry a millionnaire and become a queen of society, or remain "the charming miss vaughan" and wait till the conquering hero comes.
""aunt plumy begs me to stay over christmas, and i have consented, as i always dread the formal dinner with which my guardian celebrates the day.
""my brilliant idea is this.
i'm going to make it a real old-fashioned frolic, and wo n't you come and help me?
you will enjoy it immensely i am sure, for aunt is a character.
cousin saul worth seeing, and ruth a far prettier girl than any of the city rose-buds coming out this season.
bring leonard randal along with you to take notes for his new books; then it will be fresher and truer than the last, clever as it was.
""the air is delicious up here, society amusing, this old farmhouse full of treasures, and your bosom friend pining to embrace you.
just telegraph yes or no, and we will expect you on tuesday.
""ever yours, "sophie vaughan."
""they will both come, for they are as tired of city life and as fond of change as i am," said the writer of the above, as she folded her letter and went to get it posted without delay.
aunt plumy was in the great kitchen making pies; a jolly old soul, with a face as ruddy as a winter apple, a cheery voice, and the kindest heart that ever beat under a gingham gown.
pretty ruth was chopping the mince, and singing so gaily as she worked that the four-and-twenty immortal blackbirds could not have put more music into a pie than she did.
saul was piling wood into the big oven, and sophie paused a moment on the threshold to look at him, for she always enjoyed the sight of this stalwart cousin, whom she likened to a norse viking, with his fair hair and beard, keen blue eyes, and six feet of manly height, with shoulders that looked broad and strong enough to bear any burden.
his back was toward her, but he saw her first, and turned his flushed face to meet her, with the sudden lighting up it always showed when she approached.
""i've done it, aunt; and now i want saul to post the letter, so we can get a speedy answer."
""just as soon as i can hitch up, cousin;" and saul pitched in his last log, looking ready to put a girdle round the earth in less than forty minutes.
""well, dear, i ai n't the least mite of objection, as long as it pleases you.
i guess we can stan" it ef your city folks can.
i presume to say things will look kind of sing "lar to'em, but i s "pose that's what they come for.
idle folks do dreadful queer things to amuse'em;" and aunt plumy leaned on the rolling-pin to smile and nod with a shrewd twinkle of her eye, as if she enjoyed the prospect as much as sophie did.
""i shall be afraid of'em, but i'll try not to make you ashamed of me," said ruth, who loved her charming cousin even more than she admired her.
""no fear of that, dear.
they will be the awkward ones, and you must set them at ease by just being your simple selves, and treating them as if they were every-day people.
nell is very nice and jolly when she drops her city ways, as she must here.
she will enter into the spirit of the fun at once, and i know you'll all like her.
mr. randal is rather the worse for too much praise and petting, as successful people are apt to be, so a little plain talk and rough work will do him good.
he is a true gentleman in spite of his airs and elegance, and he will take it all in good part, if you treat him like a man and not a lion."
""i'll see to him," said saul, who had listened with great interest to the latter part of sophie's speech, evidently suspecting a lover, and enjoying the idea of supplying him with a liberal amount of "plain talk and rough work."
""i'll keep'em busy if that's what they need, for there will be a sight to do, and we ca n't get help easy up here.
our darters do n't hire out much.
work to home till they marry, and do n't go gaddin" "round gettin" their heads full of foolish notions, and forgettin" all the useful things their mothers taught'em."
aunt plumy glanced at ruth as she spoke, and a sudden color in the girl's cheeks proved that the words hit certain ambitious fancies of this pretty daughter of the house of basset.
""they shall do their parts and not be a trouble; i'll see to that, for you certainly are the dearest aunt in the world to let me take possession of you and yours in this way," cried sophie, embracing the old lady with warmth.
saul wished the embrace could be returned by proxy, as his mother's hands were too floury to do more than hover affectionately round the delicate face that looked so fresh and young beside her wrinkled one.
as it could not be done, he fled temptation and "hitched up" without delay.
the three women laid their heads together in his absence, and sophie's plan grew apace, for ruth longed to see a real novelist and a fine lady, and aunt plumy, having plans of her own to further, said "yes, dear," to every suggestion.
great was the arranging and adorning that went on that day in the old farmhouse, for sophie wanted her friends to enjoy this taste of country pleasures, and knew just what additions would be indispensable to their comfort; what simple ornaments would be in keeping with the rustic stage on which she meant to play the part of prima donna.
next day a telegram arrived accepting the invitation, for both the lady and the lion.
they would arrive that afternoon, as little preparation was needed for this impromptu journey, the novelty of which was its chief charm to these blasé people.
saul wanted to get out the double sleigh and span, for he prided himself on his horses, and a fall of snow came most opportunely to beautify the landscape and add a new pleasure to christmas festivities.
but sophie declared that the old yellow sleigh, with punch, the farm-horse, must be used, as she wished everything to be in keeping; and saul obeyed, thinking he had never seen anything prettier than his cousin when she appeared in his mother's old-fashioned camlet cloak and blue silk pumpkin hood.
he looked remarkably well himself in his fur coat, with hair and beard brushed till they shone like spun gold, a fresh color in his cheek, and the sparkle of amusement in his eyes, while excitement gave his usually grave face the animation it needed to be handsome.
away they jogged in the creaking old sleigh, leaving ruth to make herself pretty, with a fluttering heart, and aunt plumy to dish up a late dinner fit to tempt the most fastidious appetite.
""she has not come for us, and there is not even a stage to take us up.
there must be some mistake," said emily herrick, as she looked about the shabby little station where they were set down.
""that is the never-to-be-forgotten face of our fair friend, but the bonnet of her grandmother, if my eyes do not deceive me," answered randal, turning to survey the couple approaching in the rear.
""sophie vaughan, what do you mean by making such a guy of yourself?"
exclaimed emily, as she kissed the smiling face in the hood and stared at the quaint cloak.
""i'm dressed for my part, and i intend to keep it up.
this is our host, my cousin, saul basset.
come to the sleigh at once, he will see to your luggage," said sophie, painfully conscious of the antiquity of her array as her eyes rested on emily's pretty hat and mantle, and the masculine elegance of randal's wraps.
they were hardly tucked in when saul appeared with a valise in one hand and a large trunk on his shoulder, swinging both on to a wood-sled that stood near by as easily as if they had been hand-bags.
""that is your hero, is it?
well, he looks it, calm and comely, taciturn and tall," said emily, in a tone of approbation.
""he should have been named samson or goliath; though i believe it was the small man who slung things about and turned out the hero in the end," added randal, surveying the performance with interest and a touch of envy, for much pen work had made his own hands as delicate as a woman's.
""saul does n't live in a glass house, so stones wo n't hurt him.
remember sarcasm is forbidden and sincerity the order of the day.
you are country folks now, and it will do you good to try their simple, honest ways for a few days."
sophie had no time to say more, for saul came up and drove off with the brief remark that the baggage would "be along right away."
being hungry, cold and tired, the guests were rather silent during the short drive, but aunt plumy's hospitable welcome, and the savory fumes of the dinner awaiting them, thawed the ice and won their hearts at once.
""is n't it nice?
are n't you glad you came?"
asked sophie, as she led her friends into the parlor, which she had redeemed from its primness by putting bright chintz curtains to the windows, hemlock boughs over the old portraits, a china bowl of flowers on the table, and a splendid fire on the wide hearth.
""it is perfectly jolly, and this is the way i begin to enjoy myself," answered emily, sitting down upon the home-made rug, whose red flannel roses bloomed in a blue list basket.
""if i may add a little smoke to your glorious fire, it will be quite perfect.
wo n't samson join me?"
asked randal, waiting for permission, cigar-case in hand.
""he has no small vices, but you may indulge yours," answered sophie, from the depths of a grandmotherly chair.
emily glanced up at her friend as if she caught a new tone in her voice, then turned to the fire again with a wise little nod, as if confiding some secret to the reflection of herself in the bright brass andiron.
""his delilah does not take this form.
i wait with interest to discover if he has one.
what a daisy the sister is.
does she ever speak?"
asked randal, trying to lounge on the haircloth sofa, where he was slipping uncomfortably about.
""oh yes, and sings like a bird.
you shall hear her when she gets over her shyness.
but no trifling, mind you, for it is a jealously guarded daisy and not to be picked by any idle hand," said sophie warningly, as she recalled ruth's blushes and randal's compliments at dinner.
""i should expect to be annihilated by the big brother if i attempted any but the "sincerest" admiration and respect.
have no fears on that score, but tell us what is to follow this superb dinner.
an apple bee, spinning match, husking party, or primitive pastime of some sort, i have no doubt."
""as you are new to our ways i am going to let you rest this evening.
we will sit about the fire and tell stories.
aunt is a master hand at that, and saul has reminiscences of the war that are well worth hearing if we can only get him to tell them."
""ah, he was there, was he?"
""yes, all through it, and is major basset, though he likes his plain name best.
he fought splendidly and had several wounds, though only a mere boy when he earned his scars and bars.
i'm very proud of him for that," and sophie looked so as she glanced at the photograph of a stripling in uniform set in the place of honor on the high mantel-piece.
""we must stir him up and hear these martial memories.
i want some new incidents, and shall book all i can get, if i may."
here randal was interrupted by saul himself, who came in with an armful of wood for the fire.
""anything more i can do for you, cousin?"
he asked, surveying the scene with a rather wistful look.
""only come and sit with us and talk over war times with mr. randal."
""when i've foddered the cattle and done my chores i'd be pleased to.
what regiment were you in?"
asked saul, looking down from his lofty height upon the slender gentleman, who answered briefly, -- "in none.
i was abroad at the time."
""sick?"
""no, busy with a novel."
""took four years to write it?"
""i was obliged to travel and study before i could finish it.
these things take more time to work up than outsiders would believe."
""seems to me our war was a finer story than any you could find in europe, and the best way to study it would be to fight it out.
if you want heroes and heroines you'd have found plenty of'em there."
""i have no doubt of it, and shall be glad to atone for my seeming neglect of them by hearing about your own exploits.
major."
randal hoped to turn the conversation gracefully, but saul was not to be caught, and left the room, saying, with a gleam of fun in his eye, -- "i ca n't stop now; heroes can wait, pigs ca n't."
the girls laughed at this sudden descent from the sublime to the ridiculous, and randal joined them, feeling his condescension had not been unobserved.
as if drawn by the merry sound aunt plumy appeared, and being established in the rocking-chair fell to talking as easily as if she had known her guests for years.
""laugh away, young folks, that's better for digestion than any of the messes people use.
are you troubled with dyspepsy, dear?
you did n't seem to take your vittles very hearty, so i mistrusted you was delicate," she said, looking at emily, whose pale cheeks and weary eyes told the story of late hours and a gay life.
""i have n't eaten so much for years, i assure you, mrs. basset; but it was impossible to taste all your good things.
i am not dyspeptic, thank you, but a little seedy and tired, for i've been working rather hard lately."
""be you a teacher?
or have you a "perfessun," as they call a trade nowadays?"
asked the old lady in a tone of kindly interest, which prevented a laugh at the idea of emily's being anything but a beauty and a belle.
the others kept their countenances with difficulty, and she answered demurely, -- "i have no trade as yet, but i dare say i should be happier if i had."
""not a doubt o n't, my dear."
""what would you recommend, ma'am?"
""i should say dressmakin" was rather in your line, ai n't it?
your clothes is dreadful tasty, and do you credit if you made'em yourself."
and aunt plumy surveyed with feminine interest the simple elegance of the travelling dress which was the masterpiece of a french modiste.
""no, ma'am, i do n't make my own things, i'm too lazy.
it takes so much time and trouble to select them that i have only strength left to wear them."
""housekeepin" used to be the favorite perfessun in my day.
it ai n't fashionable now, but it needs a sight of trainin" to be perfect in all that's required, and i've an idee it would be a sight healthier and usefuller than the paintin" and music and fancy work young women do nowadays."
""but every one wants some beauty in their lives, and each one has a different sphere to fill, if one can only find it.""
"pears to me there's no call for so much art when nater is full of beauty for them that can see and love it.
as for "spears" and so on, i've a notion if each of us did up our own little chores smart and thorough we need n't go wanderin" round to set the world to rights.
that's the lord's job, and i presume to say he can do it without any advice of ourn."
something in the homely but true words seemed to rebuke the three listeners for wasted lives, and for a moment there was no sound but the crackle of the fire, the brisk click of the old lady's knitting needles, and ruth's voice singing overhead as she made ready to join the party below.
""to judge by that sweet sound you have done one of your "chores" very beautifully, mrs. basset, and in spite of the follies of our day, succeeded in keeping one girl healthy, happy and unspoiled," said emily, looking up into the peaceful old face with her own lovely one full of respect and envy.
""i do hope so, for she's my ewe lamb, the last of four dear little girls; all the rest are in the burying ground "side of father.
i do n't expect to keep her long, and do n't ought to regret when i lose her, for saul is the best of sons; but daughters is more to mothers somehow, and i always yearn over girls that is left without a broodin" wing to keep'em safe and warm in this world of tribulation."
aunt plumy laid her hand on sophie's head as she spoke, with such a motherly look that both girls drew nearer, and randal resolved to put her in a book without delay.
presently saul returned with little ruth hanging on his arm and shyly nestling near him as he took the three-cornered leathern chair in the chimney nook, while she sat on a stool close by.
""now the circle is complete and the picture perfect.
do n't light the lamps yet, please, but talk away and let me make a mental study of you.
i seldom find so charming a scene to paint," said randal, beginning to enjoy himself immensely, with a true artist's taste for novelty and effect.
""tell us about your book, for we have been reading it as it comes out in the magazine, and are much exercised about how it's going to end," began saul, gallantly throwing himself into the breach, for a momentary embarrassment fell upon the women at the idea of sitting for their portraits before they were ready.
""do you really read my poor serial up here, and do me the honor to like it?"
asked the novelist, both flattered and amused, for his work was of the aesthetic sort, microscopic studies of character, and careful pictures of modern life.
""sakes alive, why should n't we?"
cried aunt plumy.
""we have some eddication, though we ai n't very genteel.
we've got a town libry, kep up by the women mostly, with fairs and tea parties and so on.
we have all the magazines reg "lar, and saul reads out the pieces while ruth sews and i knit, my eyes bein" poor.
our winter is long and evenins would be kinder lonesome if we did n't have novils and newspapers to cheer'em up."
""i am very glad i can help to beguile them for you.
now tell me what you honestly think of my work?
criticism is always valuable, and i should really like yours, mrs. basset," said randal, wondering what the good woman would make of the delicate analysis and worldly wisdom on which he prided himself.
short work, as aunt plumy soon showed him, for she rather enjoyed freeing her mind at all times, and decidedly resented the insinuation that country folk could not appreciate light literature as well as city people.
""i ai n't no great of a jedge about anything but nat "ralness of books, and it really does seem as if some of your men and women was dreadful uncomfortable creaters.
"pears to me it ai n't wise to be always pickin" ourselves to pieces and pryin" into things that ought to come gradual by way of experience and the visitations of providence.
flowers wo n't blow worth a cent ef you pull'em open.
better wait and see what they can do alone.
i do relish the smart sayins, the odd ways of furrin parts, and the sarcastic slaps at folkses weak spots.
but massy knows, we ca n't live on spice-cake and charlotte ruche, and i do feel as if books was more sustainin" ef they was full of every-day people and things, like good bread and butter.
them that goes to the heart and ai n't soon forgotten is the kind i hanker for.
mis terry's books now, and mis stowe's, and dickens's christmas pieces, -- them is real sweet and cheerin", to my mind."
as the blunt old lady paused it was evident she had produced a sensation, for saul smiled at the fire, ruth looked dismayed at this assault upon one of her idols, and the young ladies were both astonished and amused at the keenness of the new critic who dared express what they had often felt.
randal, however, was quite composed and laughed good-naturedly, though secretly feeling as if a pail of cold water had been poured over him.
""many thanks, madam; you have discovered my weak point with surprising accuracy.
but you see i can not help "picking folks to pieces," as you have expressed it; that is my gift, and it has its attractions, as the sale of my books will testify.
people like the "spice-bread," and as that is the only sort my oven will bake, i must keep on in order to make my living."
""so rumsellers say, but it ai n't a good trade to foller, and i'd chop wood "fore i'd earn my livin" harmin" my feller man.
"pears to me i'd let my oven cool a spell, and hunt up some homely, happy folks to write about; folks that do n't borrer trouble and go lookin" for holes in their neighbors" coats, but take their lives brave and cheerful; and rememberin" we are all human, have pity on the weak, and try to be as full of mercy, patience and lovin" kindness as him who made us.
that sort of a book would do a heap of good; be real warmin" and strengthening and make them that read it love the man that wrote it, and remember him when he was dead and gone."
""i wish i could!"
and randal meant what he said, for he was as tired of his own style as a watch-maker might be of the magnifying glass through which he strains his eyes all day.
he knew that the heart was left out of his work, and that both mind and soul were growing morbid with dwelling on the faulty, absurd and metaphysical phases of life and character.
he often threw down his pen and vowed he would write no more; but he loved ease and the books brought money readily; he was accustomed to the stimulant of praise and missed it as the toper misses his wine, so that which had once been a pleasure to himself and others was fast becoming a burden and a disappointment.
the brief pause which followed his involuntary betrayal of discontent was broken by ruth, who exclaimed, with a girlish enthusiasm that overpowered girlish bashfulness, --" i think all the novels are splendid!
i hope you will write hundreds more, and i shall live to read'em."
""bravo, my gentle champion!
i promise that i will write one more at least, and have a heroine in it whom your mother will both admire and love," answered randal, surprised to find how grateful he was for the girl's approval, and how rapidly his trained fancy began to paint the background on which he hoped to copy this fresh, human daisy.
abashed by her involuntary outburst, ruth tried to efface herself behind saul's broad shoulder, and he brought the conversation back to its starting-point by saying in a tone of the most sincere interest, -- "speaking of the serial, i am very anxious to know how your hero comes out.
he is a fine fellow, and i ca n't decide whether he is going to spoil his life marrying that silly woman, or do something grand and generous, and not be made a fool of."
""upon my soul, i do n't know myself.
it is very hard to find new finales.
ca n't you suggest something, major?
then i shall not be obliged to leave my story without an end, as people complain i am rather fond of doing."
""well, no, i do n't think i've anything to offer.
seems to me it is n't the sensational exploits that show the hero best, but some great sacrifice quietly made by a common sort of man who is noble without knowing it.
i saw a good many such during the war, and often wish i could write them down, for it is surprising how much courage, goodness and real piety is stowed away in common folks ready to show when the right time comes."
""tell us one of them, and i'll bless you for a hint.
no one knows the anguish of an author's spirit when he ca n't ring down the curtain on an effective tableau," said randal, with a glance at his friends to ask their aid in eliciting an anecdote or reminiscence.
""tell about the splendid fellow who held the bridge, like horatius, till help came up.
that was a thrilling story, i assure you," answered sophie, with an inviting smile.
but saul would not be his own hero, and said briefly: "any man can be brave when the battle-fever is on him, and it only takes a little physical courage to dash ahead."
he paused a moment, with his eyes on the snowy landscape without, where twilight was deepening; then, as if constrained by the memory that winter scene evoked, he slowly continued, -- "one of the bravest things i ever knew was done by a poor fellow who has been a hero to me ever since, though i only met him that night.
it was after one of the big battles of that last winter, and i was knocked over with a broken leg and two or three bullets here and there.
night was coming on, snow falling, and a sharp wind blew over the field where a lot of us lay, dead and alive, waiting for the ambulance to come and pick us up.
there was skirmishing going on not far off, and our prospects were rather poor between frost and fire.
i was calculating how i'd manage, when i found two poor chaps close by who were worse off, so i braced up and did what i could for them.
one had an arm blown away, and kept up a dreadful groaning.
the other was shot bad, and bleeding to death for want of help, but never complained.
he was nearest, and i liked his pluck, for he spoke cheerful and made me ashamed to growl.
such times make dreadful brutes of men if they have n't something to hold on to, and all three of us were most wild with pain and cold and hunger, for we'd fought all day fasting, when we heard a rumble in the road below, and saw lanterns bobbing round.
that meant life to us, and we all tried to holler; two of us were pretty faint, but i managed a good yell, and they heard it."
"room for one more.
hard luck, old boys, but we are full and must save the worst wounded first.
take a drink, and hold on till we come back," says one of them with the stretcher."
"here's the one to go," i says, pointin" out my man, for i saw by the light that he was hard hit."
"no, that one.
he's got more chances than i, or this one; he's young and got a mother; i'll wait," said the good feller, touchin" my arm, for he'd heard me mutterin" to myself about this dear old lady.
we always want mother when we are down, you know."
saul's eyes turned to the beloved face with a glance of tenderest affection, and aunt plumy answered with a dismal groan at the recollection of his need that night, and her absence.
""well, to be short, the groaning chap was taken, and my man left.
i was mad, but there was no time for talk, and the selfish one went off and left that poor feller to run his one chance.
i had my rifle, and guessed i could hobble up to use it if need be; so we settled back to wait without much hope of help, everything being in a muddle.
and wait we did till morning, for that ambulance did not come back till next day, when most of us were past needing it.
""i'll never forget that night.
i dream it all over again as plain as if it was real.
snow, cold, darkness, hunger, thirst, pain, and all round us cries and cursing growing less and less, till at last only the wind went moaning over that meadow.
it was awful!
so lonesome, helpless, and seemingly god-forsaken.
hour after hour we lay there side by side under one coat, waiting to be saved or die, for the wind grew strong and we grew weak."
saul drew a long breath, and held his hands to the fire as if he felt again the sharp suffering of that night.
""and the man?"
asked emily, softly, as if reluctant to break the silence.
""he was a man!
in times like that men talk like brothers and show what they are.
lying there, slowly freezing, joe cummings told me about his wife and babies, his old folks waiting for him, all depending on him, yet all ready to give him up when he was needed.
a plain man, but honest and true, and loving as a woman; i soon saw that as he went on talking, half to me and half to himself, for sometimes he wandered a little toward the end.
i've read books, heard sermons, and seen good folks, but nothing ever came so close or did me so much good as seeing this man die.
he had one chance and gave it cheerfully.
he longed for those he loved, and let'em go with a good-by they could n't hear.
he suffered all the pains we most shrink from without a murmur, and kept my heart warm while his own was growing cold.
it's no use trying to tell that part of it; but i heard prayers that night that meant something, and i saw how faith could hold a soul up when everything was gone but god."
saul stopped there with a sudden huskiness in his deep voice, and when he went on it was in the tone of one who speaks of a dear friend.
""joe grew still by and by, and i thought he was asleep, for i felt his breath when i tucked him up, and his hand held on to mine.
the cold sort of numbed me, and i dropped off, too weak and stupid to think or feel.
i never should have waked up if it had n't been for joe.
when i came to, it was morning, and i thought i was dead, for all i could see was that great field of white mounds, like graves, and a splendid sky above.
then i looked for joe, remembering; but he had put my coat back over me, and lay stiff and still under the snow that covered him like a shroud, all except his face.
a bit of my cape had blown over it, and when i took it off and the sun shone on his dead face, i declare to you it was so full of heavenly peace i felt as if that common man had been glorified by god's light, and rewarded by god's "well done."
that's all."
no one spoke for a moment, while the women wiped their eyes, and saul dropped his as if to hide something softer than tears.
""it was very noble, very touching.
and you?
how did you get off at last?"
asked randal, with real admiration and respect in his usually languid face.
""crawled off," answered saul, relapsing into his former brevity of speech.
""why not before, and save yourself all that misery?"
""could n't leave joe."
""ah, i see; there were two heroes that night."
""dozens, i've no doubt.
those were times that made heroes of men, and women, too."
""tell us more;" begged emily, looking up with an expression none of her admirers ever brought to her face by their softest compliments or wiliest gossip.
""i've done my part.
it's mr. randal's turn now;" and saul drew himself out of the ruddy circle of firelight, as if ashamed of the prominent part he was playing.
sophie and her friend had often heard randal talk, for he was an accomplished raconteur, but that night he exerted himself, and was unusually brilliant and entertaining, as if upon his mettle.
the bassets were charmed.
they sat late and were very merry, for aunt plumy got up a little supper for them, and her cider was as exhilarating as champagne.
when they parted for the night and sophie kissed her aunt, emily did the same, saying heartily, -- "it seems as if i'd known you all my life, and this is certainly the most enchanting old place that ever was."
""glad you like it, dear.
but it ai n't all fun, as you'll find out to-morrow when you go to work, for sophie says you must," answered mrs. basset, as her guests trooped away, rashly promising to like everything.
they found it difficult to keep their word when they were called at half past six next morning.
their rooms were warm, however, and they managed to scramble down in time for breakfast, guided by the fragrance of coffee and aunt plumy's shrill voice singing the good old hymn -- "lord, in the morning thou shalt hear my voice ascending high."
an open fire blazed on the hearth, for the cooking was done in the lean-to, and the spacious, sunny kitchen was kept in all its old-fashioned perfection, with the wooden settle in a warm nook, the tall clock behind the door, copper and pewter utensils shining on the dresser, old china in the corner closet and a little spinning wheel rescued from the garret by sophie to adorn the deep window, full of scarlet geraniums, christmas roses, and white chrysanthemums.
the young lady, in a checked apron and mob-cap, greeted her friends with a dish of buckwheats in one hand, and a pair of cheeks that proved she had been learning to fry these delectable cakes.
""you do "keep it up" in earnest, upon my word; and very becoming it is, dear.
but wo n't you ruin your complexion and roughen your hands if you do so much of this new fancy-work?"
asked emily, much amazed at this novel freak.
""i like it, and really believe i've found my proper sphere at last.
domestic life seems so pleasant to me that i feel as if i'd better keep it up for the rest of my life," answered sophie, making a pretty picture of herself as she cut great slices of brown bread, with the early sunshine touching her happy face.
""the charming miss vaughan in the role of a farmer's wife.
i find it difficult to imagine, and shrink from the thought of the wide-spread dismay such a fate will produce among her adorers," added randal, as he basked in the glow of the hospitable fire.
""she might do worse; but come to breakfast and do honor to my handiwork," said sophie, thinking of her worn-out millionnaire, and rather nettled by the satiric smile on randal's lips.
""what an appetite early rising gives one.
i feel equal to almost anything, so let me help wash cups," said emily, with unusual energy, when the hearty meal was over and sophie began to pick up the dishes as if it was her usual work.
ruth went to the window to water the flowers, and randal followed to make himself agreeable, remembering her defence of him last night.
he was used to admiration from feminine eyes, and flattery from soft lips, but found something new and charming in the innocent delight which showed itself at his approach in blushes more eloquent than words, and shy glances from eyes full of hero-worship.
""i hope you are going to spare me a posy for to-morrow night, since i can be fine in no other way to do honor to the dance miss sophie proposes for us," he said, leaning in the bay window to look down on the little girl, with the devoted air he usually wore for pretty women.
""anything you like!
i should be so glad to have you wear my flowers.
there will be enough for all, and i've nothing else to give to people who have made me as happy as cousin sophie and you," answered ruth, half drowning her great calla as she spoke with grateful warmth.
""you must make her happy by accepting the invitation to go home with her which i heard given last night.
a peep at the world would do you good, and be a pleasant change, i think."
""oh, very pleasant!
but would it do me good?"
and ruth looked up with sudden seriousness in her blue eyes, as a child questions an elder, eager, yet wistful.
""why not?"
asked randal, wondering at the hesitation.
""i might grow discontented with things here if i saw splendid houses and fine people.
i am very happy now, and it would break my heart to lose that happiness, or ever learn to be ashamed of home."
""but do n't you long for more pleasure, new scenes and other friends than these?"
asked the man, touched by the little creature's loyalty to the things she knew and loved.
""very often, but mother says when i'm ready they will come, so i wait and try not to be impatient."
but ruth's eyes looked out over the green leaves as if the longing was very strong within her to see more of the unknown world lying beyond the mountains that hemmed her in.
""it is natural for birds to hop out of the nest, so i shall expect to see you over there before long, and ask you how you enjoy your first flight," said randal, in a paternal tone that had a curious effect on ruth.
to his surprise, she laughed, then blushed like one of her own roses, and answered with a demure dignity that was very pretty to see.
""i intend to hop soon, but it wo n't be a very long flight or very far from mother.
she ca n't spare me, and nobody in the world can fill her place to me."
""bless the child, does she think i'm going to make love to her," thought randal, much amused, but quite mistaken.
wiser women had thought so when he assumed the caressing air with which he beguiled them into the little revelations of character he liked to use, as the south wind makes flowers open their hearts to give up their odor, then leaves them to carry it elsewhere, the more welcome for the stolen sweetness.
""perhaps you are right.
the maternal wing is a safe shelter for confiding little souls like you, miss ruth.
you will be as comfortable here as your flowers in this sunny window," he said, carelessly pinching geranium leaves, and ruffling the roses till the pink petals of the largest fluttered to the floor.
as if she instinctively felt and resented something in the man which his act symbolized, the girl answered quietly, as she went on with her work, "yes, if the frost does not touch me, or careless people spoil me too soon."
before randal could reply aunt plumy approached like a maternal hen who sees her chicken in danger.
""saul is goin" to haul wood after he's done his chores, mebbe you'd like to go along?
the view is good, the roads well broke, and the day uncommon fine."
""thanks; it will be delightful, i dare say," politely responded the lion, with a secret shudder at the idea of a rural promenade at 8 a.m. in the winter.
""come on, then; we'll feed the stock, and then i'll show you how to yoke oxen," said saul, with a twinkle in his eye as he led the way, when his new aide had muffled himself up as if for a polar voyage.
""now, that's too bad of saul!
he did it on purpose, just to please you, sophie," cried ruth presently, and the girls ran to the window to behold randal bravely following his host with a pail of pigs" food in each hand, and an expression of resigned disgust upon his aristocratic face.
""to what base uses may we come," quoted emily, as they all nodded and smiled upon the victim as he looked back from the barn-yard, where he was clamorously welcomed by his new charges.
""it is rather a shock at first, but it will do him good, and saul wo n't be too hard upon him, i'm sure," said sophie, going back to her work, while ruth turned her best buds to the sun that they might be ready for a peace-offering to-morrow.
there was a merry clatter in the big kitchen for an hour; then aunt plumy and her daughter shut themselves up in the pantry to perform some culinary rites, and the young ladies went to inspect certain antique costumes laid forth in sophie's room.
""you see, em, i thought it would be appropriate to the house and season to have an old-fashioned dance.
aunt has quantities of ancient finery stowed away, for great-grandfather basset was a fine old gentleman and his family lived in state.
take your choice of the crimson, blue or silver-gray damask.
ruth is to wear the worked muslin and quilted white satin skirt, with that coquettish hat."
""being dark, i'll take the red and trim it up with this fine lace.
you must wear the blue and primrose, with the distracting high-heeled shoes.
have you any suits for the men?"
asked emily, throwing herself at once into the all-absorbing matter of costume.
""a claret velvet coat and vest, silk stockings, cocked hat and snuff-box for randal.
nothing large enough for saul, so he must wear his uniform.
wo n't aunt plumy be superb in this plum-colored satin and immense cap?"
a delightful morning was spent in adapting the faded finery of the past to the blooming beauty of the present, and time and tongues flew till the toot of a horn called them down to dinner.
the girls were amazed to see randal come whistling up the road with his trousers tucked into his boots, blue mittens on his hands, and an unusual amount of energy in his whole figure, as he drove the oxen, while saul laughed at his vain attempts to guide the bewildered beasts.
""it's immense!
the view from the hill is well worth seeing, for the snow glorifies the landscape and reminds one of switzerland.
i'm going to make a sketch of it this afternoon; better come and enjoy the delicious freshness, young ladies."
randal was eating with such an appetite that he did not see the glances the girls exchanged as they promised to go.
""bring home some more winter-green, i want things to be real nice, and we have n't enough for the kitchen," said ruth, dimpling with girlish delight as she imagined herself dancing under the green garlands in her grandmother's wedding gown.
it was very lovely on the hill, for far as the eye could reach lay the wintry landscape sparkling with the brief beauty of sunshine on virgin snow.
pines sighed overhead, hardy birds flitted to and fro, and in all the trodden spots rose the little spires of evergreen ready for its christmas duty.
deeper in the wood sounded the measured ring of axes, the crash of falling trees, while the red shirts of the men added color to the scene, and a fresh wind brought the aromatic breath of newly cloven hemlock and pine.
""how beautiful it is!
i never knew before what winter woods were like.
did you, sophie?"
asked emily, sitting on a stump to enjoy the novel pleasure at her ease.
""i've found out lately; saul lets me come as often as i like, and this fine air seems to make a new creature of me," answered sophie, looking about her with sparkling eyes, as if this was a kingdom where she reigned supreme.
""something is making a new creature of you, that is very evident.
i have n't yet discovered whether it is the air or some magic herb among that green stuff you are gathering so diligently;" and emily laughed to see the color deepen beautifully in her friend's half-averted face.
""scarlet is the only wear just now, i find.
if we are lost like babes in the woods there are plenty of redbreasts to cover us with leaves," and randal joined emily's laugh, with a glance at saul, who had just pulled his coat off.
""you wanted to see this tree go down, so stand from under and i'll show you how it's done," said the farmer, taking up his axe, not unwilling to gratify his guests and display his manly accomplishments at the same time.
it was a fine sight, the stalwart man swinging his axe with magnificent strength and skill, each blow sending a thrill through the stately tree, till its heart was reached and it tottered to its fall.
never pausing for breath saul shook his yellow mane out of his eyes, and hewed away, while the drops stood on his forehead and his arm ached, as bent on distinguishing himself as if he had been a knight tilting against his rival for his lady's favor.
""i do n't know which to admire most, the man or his muscle.
one does n't often see such vigor, size and comeliness in these degenerate days," said randal, mentally booking the fine figure in the red shirt.
""i think we have discovered a rough diamond.
i only wonder if sophie is going to try and polish it," answered emily, glancing at her friend, who stood a little apart, watching the rise and fall of the axe as intently as if her fate depended on it.
down rushed the tree at last, and, leaving them to examine a crow's nest in its branches, saul went off to his men, as if he found the praises of his prowess rather too much for him.
randal fell to sketching, the girls to their garland-making, and for a little while the sunny woodland nook was full of lively chat and pleasant laughter, for the air exhilarated them all like wine.
suddenly a man came running from the wood, pale and anxious, saying, as he hastened by for help, "blasted tree fell on him!
bleed to death before the doctor comes!"
""who?
who?"
cried the startled trio.
but the man ran on, with some breathless reply, in which only a name was audible -- "basset."
""the deuce it is!"
and randal dropped his pencil, while the girls sprang up in dismay.
then, with one impulse, they hastened to the distant group, half visible behind the fallen trees and corded wood.
sophie was there first, and forcing her way through the little crowd of men, saw a red-shirted figure on the ground, crushed and bleeding, and threw herself down beside it with a cry that pierced the hearts of those who heard it.
in the act she saw it was not saul, and covered her bewildered face as if to hide its joy.
a strong arm lifted her, and the familiar voice said cheeringly, -- "i'm all right, dear.
poor bruce is hurt, but we've sent for help.
better go right home and forget all about it."
""yes, i will, if i can do nothing;" and sophie meekly returned to her friends who stood outside the circle over which saul's head towered, assuring them of his safety.
hoping they had not seen her agitation, she led emily away, leaving randal to give what aid he could and bring them news of the poor wood-chopper's state.
aunt plumy produced the "camphire" the moment she saw sophie's pale face, and made her lie down, while the brave old lady trudged briskly off with bandages and brandy to the scene of action.
on her return she brought comfortable news of the man, so the little flurry blew over and was forgotten by all but sophie, who remained pale and quiet all the evening, tying evergreen as if her life depended on it.
""a good night's sleep will set her up.
she ai n't used to such things, dear child, and needs cossetin"," said aunt plumy, purring over her until she was in her bed, with a hot stone at her feet and a bowl of herb tea to quiet her nerves.
an hour later when emily went up, she peeped in to see if sophie was sleeping nicely, and was surprised to find the invalid wrapped in a dressing-gown writing busily.
""last will and testament, or sudden inspiration, dear?
how are you?
faint or feverish, delirious or in the dumps!
saul looks so anxious, and mrs. basset hushes us all up so, i came to bed, leaving randal to entertain ruth."
as she spoke emily saw the papers disappear in a portfolio, and sophie rose with a yawn.
""i was writing letters, but i'm sleepy now.
quite over my foolish fright, thank you.
go and get your beauty sleep that you may dazzle the natives to-morrow."
""so glad, good night;" and emily went away, saying to herself, "something is going on, and i must find out what it is before i leave.
sophie ca n't blind me."
but sophie did all the next day, being delightfully gay at the dinner, and devoting herself to the young minister who was invited to meet the distinguished novelist, and evidently being afraid of him, gladly basked in the smiles of his charming neighbor.
a dashing sleigh-ride occupied the afternoon, and then great was the fun and excitement over the costumes.
aunt plumy laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks as the girls compressed her into the plum-colored gown with its short waist, leg-of-mutton sleeves, and narrow skirt.
but a worked scarf hid all deficiencies, and the towering cap struck awe into the soul of the most frivolous observer.
""keep an eye on me, girls, for i shall certainly split somewheres or lose my head-piece off when i'm trottin" round.
what would my blessed mother say if she could see me rigged out in her best things?"
and with a smile and a sigh the old lady departed to look after "the boys," and see that the supper was all right.
three prettier damsels never tripped down the wide staircase than the brilliant brunette in crimson brocade, the pensive blonde in blue, or the rosy little bride in old muslin and white satin.
a gallant court gentleman met them in the hall with a superb bow, and escorted them to the parlor, where grandma basset's ghost was discovered dancing with a modern major in full uniform.
mutual admiration and many compliments followed, till other ancient ladies and gentlemen arrived in all manner of queer costumes, and the old house seemed to wake from its humdrum quietude to sudden music and merriment, as if a past generation had returned to keep its christmas there.
the village fiddler soon struck up the good old tunes, and then the strangers saw dancing that filled them with mingled mirth and envy; it was so droll, yet so hearty.
the young men, unusually awkward in their grandfathers" knee-breeches, flapping vests, and swallow-tail coats, footed it bravely with the buxom girls who were the prettier for their quaintness, and danced with such vigor that their high combs stood awry, their furbelows waved wildly, and their cheeks were as red as their breast-knots, or hose.
it was impossible to stand still, and one after the other the city folk yielded to the spell, randal leading off with ruth, sophie swept away by saul, and emily being taken possession of by a young giant of eighteen, who spun her around with a boyish impetuosity that took her breath away.
even aunt plumy was discovered jigging it alone in the pantry, as if the music was too much for her, and the plates and glasses jingled gaily on the shelves in time to money musk and fishers" hornpipe.
a pause came at last, however, and fans fluttered, heated brows were wiped, jokes were made, lovers exchanged confidences, and every nook and corner held a man and maid carrying on the sweet game which is never out of fashion.
there was a glitter of gold lace in the back entry, and a train of blue and primrose shone in the dim light.
there was a richer crimson than that of the geraniums in the deep window, and a dainty shoe tapped the bare floor impatiently as the brilliant black eyes looked everywhere for the court gentleman, while their owner listened to the gruff prattle of an enamored boy.
but in the upper hall walked a little white ghost as if waiting for some shadowy companion, and when a dark form appeared ran to take its arm, saying, in a tone of soft satisfaction, -- "i was so afraid you would n't come!"
""why did you leave me, ruth?"
answered a manly voice in a tone of surprise, though the small hand slipping from the velvet coat-sleeve was replaced as if it was pleasant to feel it there.
a pause, and then the other voice answered demurely, -- "because i was afraid my head would be turned by the fine things you were saying."
""it is impossible to help saying what one feels to such an artless little creature as you are.
it does me good to admire anything so fresh and sweet, and wo n't harm you."
""it might if --" "if what, my daisy?"
""i believed it," and a laugh seemed to finish the broken sentence better than the words.
""you may, ruth, for i do sincerely admire the most genuine girl i have seen for a long time.
and walking here with you in your bridal white i was just asking myself if i should not be a happier man with a home of my own and a little wife hanging on my arm than drifting about the world as i do now with only myself to care for."
""i know you would!"
and ruth spoke so earnestly that randal was both touched and startled, fearing he had ventured too far in a mood of unwonted sentiment, born of the romance of the hour and the sweet frankness of his companion.
""then you do n't think it would be rash for some sweet woman to take me in hand and make me happy, since fame is a failure?"
""oh, no; it would be easy work if she loved you.
i know some one -- if i only dared to tell her name."
""upon my soul, this is cool," and randal looked down, wondering if the audacious lady on his arm could be shy ruth.
if he had seen the malicious merriment in her eyes he would have been more humiliated still, but they were modestly averted, and the face under the little hat was full of a soft agitation rather dangerous even to a man of the world.
""she is a captivating little creature, but it is too soon for anything but a mild flirtation.
i must delay further innocent revelations or i shall do something rash."
while making this excellent resolution randal had been pressing the hand upon his arm and gently pacing down the dimly lighted hall with the sound of music in his ears, ruth's sweetest roses in his button-hole, and a loving little girl beside him, as he thought.
""you shall tell me by and by when we are in town.
i am sure you will come, and meanwhile do n't forget me."
""i am going in the spring, but i shall not be with sophie," answered ruth, in a whisper.
""with whom then?
i shall long to see you."
""with my husband.
i am to be married in may."
""the deuce you are!"
escaped randal, as he stopped short to stare at his companion, sure she was not in earnest.
but she was, for as he looked the sound of steps coming up the back stairs made her whole face flush and brighten with the unmistakable glow of happy love, and she completed randal's astonishment by running into the arms of the young minister, saying with an irrepressible laugh, "oh, john, why did n't you come before?"
the court gentleman was all right in a moment, and the coolest of the three as he offered his congratulations and gracefully retired, leaving the lovers to enjoy the tryst he had delayed.
but as he went down stairs his brows were knit, and he slapped the broad railing smartly with his cocked hat as if some irritation must find vent in a more energetic way than merely saying, "confound the little baggage!"
under his breath.
such an amazing supper came from aunt plumy's big pantry that the city guests could not eat for laughing at the queer dishes circulating through the rooms, and copiously partaken of by the hearty young folks.
doughnuts and cheese, pie and pickles, cider and tea, baked beans and custards, cake and cold turkey, bread and butter, plum pudding and french bonbons, sophie's contribution.
""may i offer you the native delicacies, and share your plate?
both are very good, but the china has run short, and after such vigorous exercise as you have had you must need refreshment.
i'm sure i do!"
said randal, bowing before emily with a great blue platter laden with two doughnuts, two wedges of pumpkin pie and two spoons.
the smile with which she welcomed him, the alacrity with which she made room beside her and seemed to enjoy the supper he brought, was so soothing to his ruffled spirit that he soon began to feel that there is no friend like an old friend, that it would not be difficult to name a sweet woman who would take him in hand and would make him happy if he cared to ask her, and he began to think he would by and by, it was so pleasant to sit in that green corner with waves of crimson brocade flowing over his feet, and a fine face softening beautifully under his eyes.
the supper was not romantic, but the situation was, and emily found that pie ambrosial food eaten with the man she loved, whose eyes talked more eloquently than the tongue just then busy with a doughnut.
ruth kept away, but glanced at them as she served her company, and her own happy experience helped her to see that all was going well in that quarter.
saul and sophie emerged from the back entry with shining countenances, but carefully avoided each other for the rest of the evening.
no one observed this but aunt plumy from the recesses of her pantry, and she folded her hands as if well content, as she murmured fervently over a pan full of crullers, "bless the dears!
now i can die happy."
every one thought sophie's old-fashioned dress immensely becoming, and several of his former men said to saul with blunt admiration, "major, you look to-night as you used to after we'd gained a big battle."
""i feel as if i had," answered the splendid major, with eyes much brighter than his buttons, and a heart under them infinitely prouder than when he was promoted on the field of honor, for his waterloo was won.
there was more dancing, followed by games, in which aunt plumy shone pre-eminent, for the supper was off her mind and she could enjoy herself.
there were shouts of merriment as the blithe old lady twirled the platter, hunted the squirrel, and went to jerusalem like a girl of sixteen; her cap in a ruinous condition, and every seam of the purple dress straining like sails in a gale.
it was great fun, but at midnight it came to an end, and the young folks, still bubbling over with innocent jollity, went jingling away along the snowy hills, unanimously pronouncing mrs. basset's party the best of the season.
""never had such a good time in my life!"
exclaimed sophie, as the family stood together in the kitchen where the candles among the wreaths were going out, and the floor was strewn with wrecks of past joy.
""i'm proper glad, dear.
now you all go to bed and lay as late as you like to-morrow.
i'm so kinder worked up i could n't sleep, so saul and me will put things to rights without a mite of noise to disturb you;" and aunt plumy sent them off with a smile that was a benediction, sophie thought.
""the dear old soul speaks as if midnight was an unheard-of hour for christians to be up.
what would she say if she knew how we seldom go to bed till dawn in the ball season?
i'm so wide awake i've half a mind to pack a little.
randal must go at two, he says, and we shall want his escort," said emily, as the girls laid away their brocades in the press in sophie's room.
""i'm not going.
aunt ca n't spare me, and there is nothing to go for yet," answered sophie, beginning to take the white chrysanthemums out of her pretty hair.
""my dear child, you will die of ennui up here.
very nice for a week or so, but frightful for a winter.
we are going to be very gay, and can not get on without you," cried emily dismayed at the suggestion.
""you will have to, for i'm not coming.
i am very happy here, and so tired of the frivolous life i lead in town, that i have decided to try a better one," and sophie's mirror reflected a face full of the sweetest content.
""have you lost your mind?
experienced religion?
or any other dreadful thing?
you always were odd, but this last freak is the strangest of all.
what will your guardian say, and the world?"
added emily in the awe-stricken tone of one who stood in fear of the omnipotent mrs. grundy.
""guardy will be glad to be rid of me, and i do n't care that for the world," cried sophie, snapping her fingers with a joyful sort of recklessness which completed emily's bewilderment.
""but mr. hammond?
are you going to throw away millions, lose your chance of making the best match in the city, and driving the girls of our set out of their wits with envy?"
sophie laughed at her friend's despairing cry, and turning round said quietly, -- "i wrote to mr. hammond last night, and this evening received my reward for being an honest girl.
saul and i are to be married in the spring when ruth is."
emily fell prone upon the bed as if the announcement was too much for her, but was up again in an instant to declare with prophetic solemnity, -- "i knew something was going on, but hoped to get you away before you were lost.
sophie, you will repent.
be warned, and forget this sad delusion."
""too late for that.
the pang i suffered yesterday when i thought saul was dead showed me how well i loved him.
to-night he asked me to stay, and no power in the world can part us.
oh!
emily, it is all so sweet, so beautiful, that everything is possible, and i know i shall be happy in this dear old home, full of love and peace and honest hearts.
i only hope you may find as true and tender a man to live for as my saul."
sophie's face was more eloquent than her fervent words, and emily beautifully illustrated the inconsistency of her sex by suddenly embracing her friend, with the incoherent exclamation, "i think i have, dear!
your brave saul is worth a dozen old hammonds, and i do believe you are right."
it is unnecessary to tell how, as if drawn by the irresistible magic of sympathy, ruth and her mother crept in one by one to join the midnight conference and add their smiles and tears, tender hopes and proud delight to the joys of that memorable hour.
nor how saul, unable to sleep, mounted guard below, and meeting randal prowling down to soothe his nerves with a surreptitious cigar found it impossible to help confiding to his attentive ear the happiness that would break bounds and overflow in unusual eloquence.
peace fell upon the old house at last, and all slept as if some magic herb had touched their eyelids, bringing blissful dreams and a glad awakening.
""ca n't we persuade you to come with us, miss sophie?"
asked randal next day, as they made their adieux.
""i'm under orders now, and dare not disobey my superior officer," answered sophie, handing her major his driving gloves, with a look which plainly showed that she had joined the great army of devoted women who enlist for life and ask no pay but love.
""i shall depend on being invited to your wedding, then, and yours, too, miss ruth," added randal, shaking hands with "the little baggage," as if he had quite forgiven her mockery and forgotten his own brief lapse into sentiment.
before she could reply aunt plumy said, in a tone of calm conviction, that made them all laugh, and some of them look conscious, -- "spring is a good time for weddin's, and i should n't wonder ef there was quite a number."
""nor i;" and saul and sophie smiled at one another as they saw how carefully randal arranged emily's wraps.
then with kisses, thanks and all the good wishes that happy hearts could imagine, the guests drove away, to remember long and gratefully that pleasant country christmas.
on picket duty "better late than never."
""what air you thinkin" of, phil?"
""my wife, dick."
""so was i!
ai n't it odd how fellers fall to thinkin" of thar little women, when they get a quiet spell like this?"
""fortunate for us that we do get it, and have such memories to keep us brave and honest through the trials and temptations of a life like ours."
october moonlight shone clearly on the solitary tree, draped with gray moss, scarred by lightning and warped by wind, looking like a venerable warrior, whose long campaign was nearly done; and underneath was posted the guard of four.
behind them twinkled many camp-fires on a distant plain, before them wound a road ploughed by the passage of an army, strewn with the relics of a rout.
on the right, a sluggish river glided, like a serpent, stealthy, sinuous, and dark, into a seemingly impervious jungle; on the left, a southern swamp filled the air with malarial damps, swarms of noisome life, and discordant sounds that robbed the hour of its repose.
the men were friends as well as comrades, for though gathered from the four quarters of the union, and dissimilar in education, character, and tastes, the same spirit animated all; the routine of camp-life threw them much together, and mutual esteem soon grew into a bond of mutual good fellowship.
thorn was a massachusetts volunteer; a man who seemed too early old, too early embittered by some cross, for, though grim of countenance, rough of speech, cold of manner, a keen observer would have soon discovered traces of a deeper, warmer nature hidden behind the repellent front he turned upon the world.
a true new englander, thoughtful, acute, reticent, and opinionated; yet earnest withal, intensely patriotic, and often humorous, despite a touch of puritan austerity.
phil, the "romantic chap," as he was called, looked his character to the life.
slender, swarthy, melancholy-eyed, and darkly-bearded; with feminine features, mellow voice, and alternately languid or vivacious manners.
a child of the south in nature as in aspect, ardent and proud; fitfully aspiring and despairing; without the native energy which moulds character and ennobles life.
months of discipline and devotion had done much for him, and some deep experience was fast ripening the youth into a man.
flint, the long-limbed lumberman, from the wilds of maine, was a conscript who, when government demanded his money or his life, calculated the cost, and decided that the cash would be a dead loss and the claim might be repeated, whereas the conscript would get both pay and plunder out of government, while taking excellent care that government got very little out of him.
a shrewd, slow-spoken, self-reliant specimen, was flint; yet something of the fresh flavor of the backwoods lingered in him still, as if nature were loath to give him up, and left the mark of her motherly hand upon him, as she leaves it in a dry, pale lichen, on the bosom of the roughest stone.
dick "hailed" from illinois, and was a comely young fellow, full of dash and daring; rough and rowdy, generous and jolly, overflowing with spirits and ready for a free fight with all the world.
silence followed the last words, while the friendly moon climbed up the sky.
each man's eye followed it, and each man's heart was busy with remembrances of other eyes and hearts that might be watching and wishing as theirs watched and wished.
in the silence, each shaped for himself that vision of home that brightens so many camp-fires, haunts so many dreamers under canvas roofs, and keeps so many turbulent natures tender by memories which often are both solace and salvation.
thorn paced to and fro, his rifle on his shoulder, vigilant and soldierly, however soft his heart might be.
phil leaned against the tree, one hand in the breast of his blue jacket, on the painted presentment of the face his fancy was picturing in the golden circle of the moon.
flint lounged on the sward, whistling softly as he whittled at a fallen bough.
dick was flat on his back, heels in air, cigar in mouth, and some hilarious notion in his mind, for suddenly he broke into a laugh.
""what is it, lad?"
asked thorn, pausing in his tramp, as if willing to be drawn from the disturbing thought that made his black brows lower and his mouth look grim.
""thinkin" of my wife, and wishin" she was here, bless her heart!
set me rememberin" how i see her fust, and so i roared, as i always do when it comes into my head."
""how was it?
come, reel off a yarn, and let's hear houw yeou hitched teams," said flint, always glad to get information concerning his neighbors, if it could be cheaply done.
""tellin" how we found our wives would n't be a bad game, would it, phil?"
""i'm agreeable; but let's have your romance first."
""devilish little of that about me or any of my doin's.
i hate sentimental bosh as much as you hate slang, and should have been a bachelor to this day if i had n't seen kitty jest as i did.
you see, i'd been too busy larkin" round to get time for marryin", till a couple of years ago, when i did up the job double-quick, as i'd like to do this thunderin" slow one, hang it all!"
""halt a minute till i give a look, for this picket is n't going to be driven in or taken while i'm on guard."
down his beat went thorn, reconnoitring river, road, and swamp, as thoroughly as one pair of keen eyes could do it, and came back satisfied, but still growling like a faithful mastiff on the watch; performances which he repeated at intervals till his own turn came.
""i did n't have to go out of my own state for a wife, you'd better believe," began dick, with a boast, as usual; "for we raise as fine a crop of girls thar as any state in or out of the union, and do n't mind raisin" cain with any man who denies it.
i was out on a gunnin" tramp with joe partridge, a cousin of mine, -- poor old chap!
he fired his last shot at gettysburg, and died game in a way he did n't dream of the day we popped off the birds together.
it ai n't right to joke that way; i wo n't if i can help it; but a feller gets awfully kind of heathenish these times, do n't he?"
""settle up them scores byme-by; fightin" christians is scurse raound here.
fire away, dick."
""well, we got as hungry as hounds half a dozen mile from home, and when a farmhouse hove in sight, joe said he'd ask for a bite, and leave some of the plunder for pay.
i was visitin" joe, did n't know folks round, and backed out of the beggin" part of the job; so he went ahead alone.
we'd come out of the woods behind the house, and while joe was foragin", i took a reconnoissance.
the view was fust-rate, for the main part of it was a girl airin" beds on the roof of a stoop.
now, jest about that time, havin" a leisure spell, i'd begun to think of marryin", and took a look at all the girls i met, with an eye to business.
i s "pose every man has some sort of an idee or pattern of the wife he wants; pretty and plucky, good and gay was mine, but i'd never found it till i see kitty; and as she did n't see me, i had the advantage and took an extra long stare."
""what was her good p "ints, hey?"
""oh, well, she had a wide-awake pair of eyes, a bright, jolly sort of a face, lots of curly hair tumblin" out of her net, a trig little figger, and a pair of the neatest feet and ankles that ever stepped.
"pretty," thinks i; "so far so good."
the way she whacked the pillers, shook the blankets, and pitched into the beds was a caution; specially one blunderin" old feather-bed that would n't do nothin" but sag round in a pigheaded sort of way, that would have made most girls get mad and give up.
kitty did n't, but just wrastled with it like a good one, till she got it turned, banged, and spread to suit her; then she plumped down in the middle of it, with a sarcy little nod and chuckle to herself, that tickled me mightily.
"plucky," thinks i, "better'n' better."
jest then an old woman came flyin" out the back-door, callin", "kitty!
kitty!
squire partridge's son's here, "long with a friend; been gunnin", want luncheon, and i'm all in the suds; do come down and see to'em.""
"where are they?"
says kitty, scrambling up her hair and settlin" her gown in a jiffy, as women have a knack of doin", you know."
"mr. joe's in the front entry; the other man's somewheres round, billy says, waitin" till i send word whether they can stop.
i dars n't till i'd seen you, for i ca n't do nothin", i'm in such a mess," says the old lady."
"so am i, for i ca n't get in except by the entry window, and he'll see me," says kitty, gigglin" at the thoughts of joe."
"come down the ladder, there's a dear.
i'll pull it round and keep it stiddy," says the mother."
"oh, ma, do n't ask me!"
says kitty, with a shiver.
"i'm dreadfully scared of ladders since i broke my arm off this very one.
it's so high, it makes me dizzy jest to think of.""
"well, then, i'll do the best i can; but i wish them boys was to jericho!"
says the old lady, with a groan, for she was fat and hot, had her gown pinned up, and was in a fluster generally.
she was goin" off rather huffy, when kitty called out, --" "stop, ma!
i'll come down and help you, only ketch me if i tumble."
""she looked scared but stiddy, and i'll bet it took as much grit for her to do it as for one of us to face a battery.
it do n't seem much to tell of, but i wish i may be hit if it was n't a right down dutiful and clever thing to see done.
when the old lady took her off at the bottom, with a good motherly hug, "good," thinks i; "what more do you want?""
""a snug little property would n't a ben bad, i reckon," said flint.
""well, she had it, old skin-flint, though i did n't know or care about it then.
what a jolly row she'd make if she knew i was tellin" the ladder part of the story!
she always does when i get to it, and makes believe cry, with her head in my breast-pocket, or any such handy place, till i take it out and swear i'll never do so ag "in.
poor little kit, i wonder what she's doin" now.
thinkin" of me, i'll bet."
dick paused, pulled his cap lower over his eyes, and smoked a minute with more energy than enjoyment, for his cigar was out and he did not perceive it.
""that's not all, is it?"
asked thorn, taking a fatherly interest in the younger man's love passages.
""not quite.
"fore long, joe whistled, and as i always take short cuts everywhar, i put in at the back-door, jest as kitty come trottin" out of the pantry with a big berry-pie in her hand.
i startled her, she tripped over the sill and down she come; the dish flew one way, the pie flopped into her lap, the juice spatterin" my boots and her clean gown.
i thought she'd cry, scold, have hysterics, or some confounded thing or other; but she jest sat still a minute, then looked up at me with a great blue splash on her face, and went off into the good-naturedest gale of laughin" you ever heard in your life.
that finished me.
"gay," thinks i; "go in and win."
so i did; made love hand over hand, while i stayed with joe; pupposed a fortnight after, married her in three months, and there she is, a tiptop little woman, with a pair of stunnin" boys in her arms!"
out came a well-worn case, and dick proudly displayed the likeness of a stout, much bejewelled young woman with two staring infants on her knee.
in his sight, the poor picture was a more perfect work of art than any of sir joshua's baby-beauties, or raphael's madonnas, and the little story needed no better sequel than the young father's praises of his twins, the covert kiss he gave their mother when he turned as if to get a clearer light upon the face.
ashamed to show the tenderness that filled his honest heart, he hummed "kingdom coming," relit his cigar, and presently began to talk again.
""now, then, flint, it's your turn to keep guard, and thorn's to tell his romance.
come, do n't try to shirk; it does a man good to talk of such things, and we're all mates here."
""in some cases it do n't do any good to talk of such things; better let'em alone," muttered thorn, as he reluctantly sat down, while flint as reluctantly departed.
with a glance and gesture of real affection, phil laid his hand upon his comrade's knee, saying in his persuasive voice, "old fellow, it will do you good, because i know you often long to speak of something that weighs upon you.
you've kept us steady many a time, and done us no end of kindnesses; why be too proud to let us give our sympathy in return, if nothing more?"
thorn's big hand closed over the slender one upon his knee, and the mild expression, so rarely seen upon his face, passed over it as he replied, -- "i think i could tell you almost anything if you asked me that way, my boy.
it is n't that i am too proud, -- and you're right about my sometimes wanting to free my mind, -- but it's because a man of forty do n't just like to open out to young fellows, if there is any danger of their laughing at him, though he may deserve it.
i guess there is n't now, and i'll tell you how i found my wife."
dick sat up, and phil drew nearer, for the earnestness that was in the man dignified his plain speech, and inspired an interest in his history, even before it was begun.
looking gravely at the river and never at his hearers, as if still a little shy of confidants, yet grateful for the relief of words, thorn began abruptly: -- "i never hear the number eighty-four without clapping my hand to my left breast and missing my badge.
you know i was on the police in new york, before the war, and that's about all you do know yet.
one bitter cold night i was going my rounds for the last time, when, as i turned a corner, i saw there was a trifle of work to be done.
it was a bad part of the city, full of dirt and deviltry; one of the streets led to a ferry, and at the corner an old woman had an apple-stall.
the poor soul had dropped asleep, worn out with the cold, and there were her goods left with no one to watch'em.
somebody was watching'em.
however; a girl, with a ragged shawl over her head, stood at the mouth of an alley close by, waiting for a chance to grab something.
i'd seen her there when i went by before, and mistrusted she was up to some mischief; as i turned the corner, she put out her hand and cribbed an apple.
she saw me the minute she did it, but neither dropped it nor ran, only stood stock still with the apple in her hand till i came up."
"this wo n't do, my girl," said i. i never could be harsh with'em, poor things!
she laid it back and looked up at me with a miserable sort of a smile, that made me put my hand in my pocket to fish for a ninepence before she spoke.""
i know it wo n't," she says."
i did n't want to do it, it's so mean, but i'm awful hungry, sir.""
"better run home and get your supper, then.""
"i've got no home.""
"where do you live?""
"in the street.""
"where do you sleep?""
"anywhere; last night in the lock-up, and i thought i'd get in there again, if i did that when you saw me.
i like to go there, it's warm and safe.""
"if i do n't take you there, what will you do?""
"do n't know.
i could go over there and dance again as i used to, but being sick has made me ugly, so they wo n't have me, and no one else will take me because i have been there once."
""i looked where she pointed, and thanked the lord that they would n't take her.
it was one of those low theatres that do so much damage to the like of her; there was a gambling place one side of it, an eating saloon the other.
i was new to the work then, but though i'd heard about hunger and homelessness often enough, i'd never had this sort of thing, nor seen that look on a girl's face.
a white, pinched face hers was, with frightened, tired-looking eyes, but so innocent!
she was n't more than sixteen, had been pretty once, i saw, looked sick and starved now, and seemed just the most helpless, hopeless little thing that ever was."
"you'd better come to the station for to-night, and we'll see to you to-morrow," says i." "thank you, sir," says she, looking as grateful as if i'd asked her home.
i suppose i did speak kind of fatherly.
i ai n't ashamed to say i felt so, seeing what a child she was; nor to own that when she put her little hand in mine, it hurt me to feel how thin and cold it was.
we passed the eating-house where the red lights made her face as rosy as it ought to have been; there was meat and pies in the window, and the poor thing stopped to look.
it was too much for her; off came her shawl, and she said in that coaxing way of hers, --"" i wish you'd let me stop at the place close by and sell this; they'll give a little for it, and i'll get some supper.
i've had nothing since yesterday morning, and maybe cold is easier to bear than hunger.""
"have you nothing better than that to sell?"
i says, not quite sure that she was n't all a humbug, like so many of'em.
she seemed to see that, and looked up at me again with such innocent eyes, i could n't doubt her when she said, shivering with something beside the cold, --" "nothing but myself."
then the tears came, and she laid her head clown on my arm, sobbing, -- "keep me!
oh, do keep me safe somewhere!""
thorn choked here, steadied his voice with a resolute hem!
but could only add one sentence more, -- "that's how i found my wife."
""come, do n't stop thar.
i told the whole o" mine, you do the same.
whar did you take her?
how'd it all come round?"
""please tell us, thorn."
the gentler request was answered presently, very steadily, very quietly.
""i was always a soft-hearted fellow, though you would n't think it now, and when that little girl asked me to keep her safe, i just did it.
i took her to a good woman whom i knew, for i had n't any women folks belonging to me, nor any place but that to put her in.
she stayed there till spring working for her keep, growing brighter, prettier, every day, and fonder of me, i thought.
if i believed in witchcraft, i should n't think myself such a fool as i do now, but i do n't believe in it, and to this day i ca n't understand how i came to do it.
to be sure i was a lonely man, without kith or kin, had never had a sweetheart in my life, or been much with women since my mother died.
maybe that's why i was so bewitched with mary, for she had little ways with her that took your fancy and made you love her whether you would or no.
i found her father was an honest fellow enough, a fiddler in some theatre; that he'd taken good care of mary till he died, leaving precious little but advice for her to live on.
she'd tried to get work, failed, spent all she had, got sick, and was going to the bad, as the poor souls can hardly help doing with so many ready to give them a shove.
it's no use trying to make a bad job better; so the long and short of it was, i thought she loved me; god knows i loved her!
and i married her before the year was out."
""show us her picture; i know you've got one; all the fellows have, though half of'em wo n't own up."
""i've only got part of one.
i once saved my little girl, and her picture once saved me."
from an inner pocket thorn produced a woman's housewife, carefully untied it, though all its implements were missing but a little thimble, and from one of its compartments took a flattened bullet and the remnants of a picture.
""i gave her that the first christmas after i found her.
she was n't as tidy about her clothes as i liked to see, and i thought if i gave her a handy thing like this, she'd be willing to sew.
but she only made one shirt for me, and then got tired, so i keep it like an old fool, as i am.
yes, that's the bit of lead that would have done for me, if mary's likeness had n't been just where it was."
""you'll like to show her this when you go home, wo n't you?"
said dick, as he took up the bullet, while phil examined the marred picture, and thorn poised the little thimble on his big finger, with a sigh.
""how can i, when i do n't know where she is, and camp is all the home i've got!"
the words broke from him like a sudden groan, when some old wound is rudely touched.
both of the young men started, both laid back the relics they had taken up, and turned their eyes from thorn's face, across which swept a look of shame and sorrow, too significant to be misunderstood.
their silence assured him of their sympathy, and, as if that touch of friendliness unlocked his heavy heart, he eased it by a full confession.
when he spoke again, it was with the calmness of repressed emotion, a calmness more touching to his mates than the most passionate outbreak, the most pathetic lamentation; for the coarse camp-phrases seemed to drop from his vocabulary; more than once his softened voice grew tremulous, and to the words "my little girl," there went a tenderness that proved how dear a place she still retained in that deep heart of his.
""boys, i've gone so far; i may as well finish; and you'll see i'm not without some cause for my stern looks and ways; you'll pity me, and from you i'll take the comfort of it.
it's only the old story, -- i married her, worked for her, lived for her, and kept my little girl like a lady.
i should have known that i was too old and sober for a young thing like that, for the life she led before the pinch came just suited her.
she liked to be admired, to dress and dance and make herself pretty for all the world to see; not to keep house for a quiet man like me.
idleness was n't good for her, it bred discontent; then some of her old friends, who'd left her in her trouble, found her out when better times came round, and tried to get her back again.
i was away all day, i did n't know how things were going, and she was n't open with me, afraid she said; i was so grave, and hated theatres so.
she got courage finally to tell me that she was n't happy; that she wanted to dance again, and asked me if she might n't.
i'd rather have had her ask me to put her in a fire, for i did hate theatres, and was bred to; others think they're no harm.
i do; and knew it was a bad life for a girl like mine.
it pampers vanity, and vanity is the devil's help with such; so i said no, kindly at first, sharp and stern when she kept on teasing.
that roused her spirit."
i will go!"
she said, one day.
"not while you are my wife," i answered back; and neither said any more, but she gave me a look i did n't think she could, and i resolved to take her away from temptation before worse came of it.
""i did n't tell her my plan; but i resigned my place, spent a week or more finding and fixing a little home for her out in the wholesome country, where she'd be safe from theatres and disreputable friends, and maybe learn to love me better when she saw how much she was to me.
it was coming summer, and i made things look as home-like and as pretty as i could.
she liked flowers, and i fixed a garden for her; she was fond of pets, and i got her a bird, a kitten, and a dog to play with her; she fancied gay colors and tasty little matters, so i filled her rooms with all the handsome things i could afford, and when it was done, i was as pleased as any boy, thinking what happy times we'd have together and how pleased she'd be.
boys, when i went to tell her and to take her to her little home, she was gone."
""who with?"
""with those cursed friends of her; a party of them left the city just then; she was wild to go; she had money now, and all her good looks back again.
they teased and tempted her; i was n't there to keep her, and she went, leaving a line behind to tell me that she loved the old life more than the new; that my house was a prison, and she hoped i'd let her go in peace.
that almost killed me; but i managed to bear it, for i knew most of the fault was mine; but it was awful bitter to think i had n't saved her, after all."
""oh, thorn!
what did you do?"
""went straight after her; found her dancing in philadelphia, with paint on her cheeks, trinkets on her neck and arms, looking prettier than ever; but the innocent eyes were gone, and i could n't see my little girl in the bold, handsome woman twirling there before the footlights.
she saw me, looked scared at first, then smiled, and danced on with her eyes upon me, as if she said, --" "see!
i'm happy now; go away and let me be."
""i could n't stand that, and got out somehow.
people thought me mad, or drunk; i did n't care, i only wanted to see her once in quiet and try to get her home.
i could n't do it then nor afterwards by fair means, and i would n't try force.
i wrote to her, promised to forgive her, begged her to come back, or let me keep her honestly somewhere away from me.
but she never answered, never came, and i have never tried again."
""she was n't worthy of you, thorn; you jest forgit her."
""i wish i could!
i wish i could!"
in his voice quivered an almost passionate regret, and a great sob heaved his chest, as he turned his face away to hide the love and longing, still so tender and so strong.
""do n't say that, dick; such fidelity should make us charitable for its own sake.
there is always time for penitence, always certainty of pardon.
take heart, thorn, you may not wait in vain, and she may yet return to you."
""i know she will!
i've dreamed of it, i've prayed for it; every battle i come out of safe makes me surer that i was kept for that, and when i've borne enough to atone for my part of the fault, i'll be repaid for all my patience, all my pain, by finding her again.
she knows how well i love her still, and if there comes a time when she is sick and poor and all alone again, then she'll remember her old john, then she'll come home and let me take her in."
hope shone in thorn's melancholy eyes, and long-suffering, all-forgiving love beautified the rough, brown face, as he folded his arms and bent his gray head on his breast, as if the wanderer were already come.
the emotion which dick scorned to show on his own account was freely manifested for another, as he sniffed audibly, and, boy-like, drew his sleeve across his eyes.
but phil, with the delicate perception of a finer nature, felt that the truest kindness he could show his friend was to distract his thoughts from himself, to spare him any comments, and lessen the embarrassment which would surely follow such unwonted confidence.
""now i'll relieve flint, and he will give you a laugh.
come on, hiram, and tell us about your beulah."
the gentleman addressed had performed his duty by sitting on a fence and "righting up" his pockets, to beguile the tedium of his exile.
before his multitudinous possessions could be restored to their native sphere, thorn was himself again, and on his feet.
""stay where you are, phil; i like to tramp, it seems like old times, and i know you're tired.
just forget all this i've been saying, and go on as before.
thank you, boys!
thank you," and with a grasp of the two hands extended to him, he strode away along the path already worn by his own restless feet.
""it's done him good, and i'm glad of that; but i'd like to see the little baggage that bewitched the poor old boy, would n't you, phil?"
""hush!
here's flint."
""what's up naow?
want me tew address the meetin", hey?
i'm willin", only the laugh's ruther ag "inst me, ef i tell that story; expect you'll like it all the better fer that."
flint coiled up his long limbs, put his hands in his pockets, chewed meditatively for a moment, and then began, with his slowest drawl: -- "waal, sir, it's pretty nigh ten year ago, i was damster daown tew oldtaown, clos" t to banggore.
my folks lived tew bethel; there was only the old man, and aunt siloam, keepin" house fer him, seein" as i was the only chick he hed.
i hed n't heared from'em fer a long spell, when there come a letter sayin" the old man was breakin" up.
he'd said it every spring fer a number er years, and i did n't mind it no more'n the breakin" up er the river; not so much, jest then; fer the gret spring drive was comin" on, and my hands was tew full to quit work all tew oncet.
i sent word i'd be "long "fore a gret while, and byme-by i went.
i ought tew hev gone at fust; but they'd sung aout "wolf!"
so often i war n't scared; an" sure "nuff the wolf did come at last.
father hed been dead and berried a week when i got there, and aunt was so mad she would n't write, nor scurcely speak tew me for a consider "ble spell.
i did n't blame her a mite, and felt jest the wust kind; so i give in every way, and fetched her raound.
yeou see i bed a cousin who'd kind er took my place tew hum while i was off, an" the old man hed left him a good slice er his money, an" me the farm, hopin" to keep me there.
he'd never liked the lumberin" bizness, an" hankered arfter me a sight, i faound.
waal, seem" haow't was, i tried tew please him, late as it was; but ef there was ennything i did spleen ag "inst it was farmin", "specially arfter the smart times i'd ben hevin", up oldtaown way.
yeou do n't know nothin" abaout it; but ef yeou want tew see high dewin's, jest hitch onto a timber-drive an" go it daown along them lakes and rivers, say from kaumchenungamooth tew punnobscot bay.
guess yeou'd see a thing or tew, an" find livin" on a log come as handy as ef you was born a turtle.
""waal, i stood it one summer; but it was the longest kind of a job.
come fall i turned contry, darned the farm, and vaowed i'd go back tew loggin".
aunt hed got fond er me by that time, and felt dreadful bad abaout my leavin" on her.
cousin siah, as we called josiah, did n't cotton tew the old woman, though he did tew her cash; but we hitched along fust-rate.
she was "tached tew the place, hated tew hev it let or sold, thought i'd go to everlastin" rewin ef i took tew lumberin" ag "in, an" hevin" a tidy little sum er money all her own, she took a notion tew buy me off.
"hiram," sez she, "ef yeou'll stay to hum, merry some smart girl, an" kerry on the farm, i'll leave yeou the hull er my fortin.
ef yeou do n't, i'll leave every cent o n't tew siah, though he ai n't done as waal by me as yeou hev.
come," sez she, "i'm breakin" up like brother; i sha n't wurry any one a gret while, and "fore spring i dessay you'll hev cause tew rejice that yeou done as aunt si counselled yeou."
""now, that idee kinder took me, seem" i hed n't no overpaourin" love fer cousin; but i brewdid over it a spell "fore i "greed.
fin "lly, i said i'd dew it, as it war n't a hard nor a bad trade; and begun to look raound fer mis flint, jr..
aunt was dreadf" l pleased; but "mazin" pertickler as tew who was goin" tew stan" in her shoes, when she was fetched up ag "inst the etarnal boom.
there was a sight er likely womenfolks raound taown; but aunt she set her foot daown that mis flint must be smart, pious, an" good-natered; harnsome she did n't say nothin" abaout, bein" the humliest woman in the state er maine.
i hed my own calk "lations on that p "int, an" went sparkin" two or three er the pootiest gals, all that winter.
i war n't in no hurry, fer merryin" is an awful resky bizness; an" i wa n't goan to be took in by nobuddy.
some haouw i could n't make up my mind which i'd hev, and kept dodgin", all ready to slew raound, an" hitch on tew ary one that seemed likeliest.
"long in march, aunt, she ketched cold, took tew her bed, got wuss, an" told me tew hurry up, fer nary cent should i hev, ef i war n't safely merried "fore she stepped out.
i thought that was ruther craoudin" a feller; but i see she was goan sure, an" i'd got inter a way er considerin" the cash mine, so that it come hard to hear abaout givin" on" t up.
off i went that evenin" an" asked almiry nash ef she'd hev me.
no, she would n't; i'd shilly-shallyed so long, she'd got tired er waitin" and took tew keepin" company with a doctor daown ter banggore, where she'd ben visitin" a spell.
i did n't find that as hard a nub to swaller, as i'd a thought i would, though almiry was the richest, pootiest, and good-naterest of the lot.
aunt larfed waal, an" told me tew try ag "in; so a couple er nights arfter, i spruced up, an" went over to car "line miles's; she was as smart as old cheese, an" waal off in tew the barg "in.
i was just as sure she'd hev me, as i be that i'm gittin" the rewmatiz a settin" in this ma "sh.
but that minx, almiry, hed ben and let on abaout her own sarsy way er servin" on me, an" car "line jest up an" said she war n't goan to hev annybuddy's leavin's; so daown i come ag "in.
""things was gettin" desper" t by that time; fer aunt was failin" rapid, an" the story hed leaked aout some way, so the hull taown was gigglin" over it.
i thought i'd better quit them parts; but aunt she showed me her will all done complete, "sceptin the fust name er the legatee.
"there," sez she, "it all depends on yeou, whether that place is took by hiram or josiah.
it's easy done, an" so it's goan tew stan till the last minit."
that riled me consid "able, an" i streaked off tew may jane simlin's.
she wa n't very waal off, nor extra harnsome, but she was pious the worst kind, an" dreadf" l clever to them she fancied.
but i was daown on my luck ag "in; fer at the fust word i spoke of merryin", she showed me the door, an" give me to understan" that she could n't think er hevin" a man that war n't a church-member, that had n't experienced religion, or even ben struck with conviction, an" all the rest o n't.
ef anny one hed a wanted tew hev seen a walkin" hornet's nest, they could hev done it cheap that night, as i went hum.
i jest bounced intew the kitchen, chucked my hat intew one corner, my coat intew "nother, kicked the cat, cussed the fire, drawed up a chair, and set scaoulin" like sixty, bein" tew mad fer talkin".
the young woman that was nussin" aunt, -- bewlah blish, by name, -- was a cooking grewel on the coals, and "peared tew understan" the mess i was in; but she did n't say nothin", only blowed up the fire, fetched me a mug er cider, an" went raound so kinder quiet, and sympathizing that i found the wrinkles in my temper gettin" smoothed aout "mazin" quick; an" fore long i made a clean breast er the hull thing.
bewlah larfed, but i did n't mind her doin" o n't, for she sez, sez she, real sort o" cunnin", --" "poor hiram!
they did n't use yeou waal.
yeou ought to hev tried some er the poor an" humly girls; they'd a been glad an" grateful fer such a sweetheart as yeou be."
""i was good-natered ag "in by that time, an" i sez, larfin" along with her, "waal, i've got three mittens, but i guess i might's waal hev "nother, and that will make two pair complete.
say, bewlah, will yeou hev me?""
"yes, i will."
sez she."
"reelly?"
sez i." "solemn trew," sez she.
""ef she'd up an" slapped me in the face, i should n't hev ben more throwed aback, fer i never mistrusted she cared two chips for me.
i jest set an" gawped; fer she was "solemn trew," i see that with half an eye, an" it kinder took my breath away.
bewlah drawed the grewel off the fire, wiped her hands, an" stood lookin" at me a minnet, then she sez, slow an" quiet, but tremblin" a little, as women hev a way er doin", when they've consid "able steam aboard, --" "hiram, other folks think lumberin" has spilt yeou; i do n't; they call you rough an" rewd; i know you've got a real kind heart fer them as knows haow tew find it.
them girls give yeou up so easy,'cause they never loved yeou, an" yeou give them up'cause you only thought abaout their looks an" money.
i'm humly, an" i'm poor; but i've loved yeou ever sence we went a-nuttin" years ago, an" yeou shook daown fer me, kerried my bag, and kissed me tew the gate, when all the others shunned me,'cause my father drank an" i was shabby dressed, ugly, an" shy.
yeou asked me in sport, i answered in airnest; but i do n't expect nothin" unless yeou mean as i mean.
like me, hiram, or leave me, it wo n't make no odds in my lovin" of yeou, nor helpin" of yeou, ef i kin.""
"tai n't easy tew say haouw i felt, while she was goin" on that way, but my idees was tumblin" raound inside er me, as ef half a dozen dams was broke loose all tew oncet.
one think was ruther stiddier'n the rest, an" that was that i liked bewlah more'n i knew.
i begun tew see what kep" me loafin" tew hum so much, sence aunt was took daown; why i wa n't in no hurry tew git them other gals, an" haow i come tew pocket my mittens so easy arfter the fust rile was over.
bewlah was humly, poor in flesh, dreadful freckled, hed red hair, black eyes, an" a gret mold side of her nose.
but i'd got wonted tew her; she knowed my ways, was a fust rate housekeeper, real good-tempered, and pious without flingin" o n't in yer face.
she was a lonely creeter, -- her folks bein" all dead but one sister, who did n't use her waal, an" somehow i kinder yearned over her, as they say in scripter.
for all i set an" gawped, i was coming raound fast, though i felt as i used tew, when i was goin" to shoot the rapids, kinder breathless an" oncertin, whether i'd come aout right side up or not.
queer, war n't it?"
""love, flint; that was a sure symptom of it."
""waal, guess't was; anyway i jumped up all of a sudden, ketched bewlah raound the neck, give her a hearty kiss, and sung aout, "i'll dew it sure's my name's hi flint!"
the words was scarcely out of my maouth, "fore daown come dr. parr.
he" d ben up tew see aunt, an" said she would n't last the night threw, prob "ly.
that give me a scare er the wust kind; an" when i told doctor haow things was, he sez, kinder jokin", --" "better git merried right away, then.
parson dill is tew come an" see the old lady, an" he'll dew both jobs tew oncet.""
"will yeou, bewlah?"
sez i." "yes, hiram, to "blige yeou," sez she.
""with that, i put it fer the license; got it, an" was back in less'n half an haour, most tuckered aout with the flurry of the hull concern.
quick as i'd been, bewlah hed faound time tew whip on her best gaoun, fix up her hair, and put a couple er white chrissanthymums intew her hand "chif pin.
fer the fust time in her life, she looked harnsome, -- leastways i thought so, -- with a pretty color in her cheeks, somethin' brighter'n a larf shinin" in her eyes, and her lips smilin" an" tremblin", as she come to me an" whispered so's" t none er the rest could hear, --" "hiram, do n't yeou dew it, ef yeou'd ruther not.
i've stood it a gret while alone, an" i guess i can ag "in."
""never yeou mind what i said or done abaout that; but we was merried ten minutes arfter, "fore the kitchen fire, with dr. parr an" aour hired man, fer witnesses; an" then we all went up tew aunt.
she was goan fast, but she understood what i told her, hed strength tew fill up the hole in the will, an" to say, a-kissin" bewlah, "yeou'll be a good wife, an" naow yeou ai n't a poor one."
""i could n't help givin" a peek tew the will, and there i see not hiram flint nor josiah flint, but bewlah flint, wrote every which way, but as plain as the nose on yer face.
"it wo n't make no odds, dear," whispered my wife, peekin" over my shoulder.
"guess it wo n't!"
sez i, aout laoud; "i'm glad o n't, and it ai n't a cent more'n yeou derserve."
""that pleased aunt.
"riz me, hiram," sez she; an" when i'd got her easy, she put her old arms raound my neck, an" tried to say, "god bless you, dear --," but died a doin" of it; an" i ai n't ashamed tew say i boohooed real hearty, when i laid her daown, fer she was dreadf" l good tew me, an" i do n't forgit her in a hurry."
""how's bewlah?"
asked dick, after the little tribute of respect all paid to aunt siloam's memory, by a momentary silence.
""fust-rate!
that harum-scarum venter er mine was the best i ever made.
she's done waal by me, hes bewlah; ben a grand good housekeeper, kin kerry on the farm better'n me, any time, an" is as dutif" l an" lovin" a wife as, -- waal, as annything that is extra dutif" l and lovin"."
""got any boys to brag of?"
""we do n't think much o" boys daown aour way; they're "mazin" resky stock to fetch up, -- alluz breakin" baounds, gittin" intew the paound, and wurryin" your life aout somehaow "nother.
gals naow doos waal; i've got six o" the likeliest the is goin", every one on'em is the very moral of bewlah, -- red hair, black eyes, quiet ways, an" a mold "side the nose.
baby's ai n't growed yet; but i expect tew see it in a consid "able state o" forrardness, when i git hum, an" would n't miss it fer the world."
the droll expression of flint's face, and the satisfied twang of his last words, were irresistible.
dick and phil went off into a shout of laughter; and even thorn's grave lips relapsed into a smile at the vision of six little flints with their six little moles.
as if the act were an established ceremony, the "paternal head" produced his pocket-book, selected a worn black-and-white paper, which he spread in his broad palm, and displayed with the air of a connoisseur.
""there, thet's bewlah!
we call it a cuttin"; but the proper name's a silly-hoot, i b "leeve.
i've got a harnsome big degarrytype tew hum, but the heft o n't makes it bad tew kerry raound, so i took this.
i do n't tote it abaout inside my shirt, as some dew, -- it ai n't my way; but i keep it in my wallet long with my other valleu "bles, and guess i set as much store by it as ef it was all painted up, and done off to kill."
the "silly-hoot" was examined with interest, and carefully stowed away again in the old brown wallet, which was settled in its place with a satisfied slap; then flint said briskly, -- "naouw, phil, yeou close this interestin" and instructive meeting; and be spry, fer time's most up."
""i have n't much to tell, but must begin with a confession which i have often longed but never dared to make before, because i am a coward."
""sho!
who's goan to b "leeve that o" a man who fit like a wild-cat, wuz offered permotion on the field, and reported tew headquarters arfter his fust scrimmage.
try ag "in, phil."
""physical courage is as plentiful as brass buttons, nowadays, but moral courage is a rarer virtue; and i'm lacking in it, as i'll prove.
you think me a virginian; i'm an alabamian by birth, and was a rebel three months ago."
this confession startled his hearers, as he knew it would, for he had kept his secret well.
thorn laid his hand involuntarily upon his rifle, dick drew off a little, and flint illustrated one of his own expressions, for he "gawped."
phil laughed that musical laugh of his, and looked up at them with his dark face waking into sudden life, as he went on: -- "there's no treason in the camp, for i'm as fierce a federalist as any of you now, and you may thank a woman for it.
when lee made his raid into pennsylvania, i was a lieutenant in the -- well, never mind what regiment, it has n't signalized itself since, and i'd rather not hit my old neighbors when they are down.
in one of the skirmishes during our retreat, i got a wound and was left for dead.
a kind old quaker found and took me home; but though i was too weak to talk, i had my senses by that time, and knew what went on about me.
everything was in confusion, even in that well-ordered place: no surgeon could be got at first, and a flock of frightened women thee'd and thou'd one another over me, but had n't wit enough to see that i was bleeding to death.
among the faces that danced before my dizzy eyes was one that seemed familiar, probably because no cap surrounded it.
i was glad to have it bending over me, to hear a steady voice say, "give me a bandage, quick!"
and when none was instantly forthcoming to me, the young lady stripped up a little white apron she wore, and stanched the wound in my shoulder.
i was not as badly hurt as i supposed, but so worn-out, and faint from loss of blood, they believed me to be dying, and so did i, when the old man took off his hat and said, -- "friend, if thee has anything to say, thee had better say it, for thee probably has not long to live."
""i thought of my little sister, far away in alabama, fancied she came to me, and muttered, "amy, kiss me good-by."
the women sobbed at that; but the girl bent her sweet compassionate face to mine, and kissed me on the forehead.
that was my wife."
""so you seceded from secession right away, to pay for that lip-service, hey?"
""no, thorn, not right away, -- to my shame be it spoken.
i'll tell you how it came about.
margaret was not old bent's daughter, but a massachusetts girl on a visit, and a long one it proved, for she could n't go till things were quieter.
while she waited, she helped take care of me; for the good souls petted me like a baby when they found that a rebel could be a gentleman.
i held my tongue, and behaved my best to prove my gratitude, you know.
of course, i loved margaret very soon.
how could i help it?
she was the sweetest woman i had ever seen, tender, frank, and spirited; all i had ever dreamed of and longed for.
i did not speak of this, nor hope for a return, because i knew she was a hearty unionist, and thought she only tended me from pity.
but suddenly she decided to go home, and when i ventured to wish she would stay longer, she would not listen, and said," i must not stay; i should have gone before."
""the words were nothing, but as she uttered them the color came up beautifully over all her face, and her eyes filled as they looked away from mine.
then i knew that she loved me, and my secret broke out against my will.
margaret was forced to listen, for i would not let her go, but she seemed to harden herself against me, growing colder, stiller, statelier, as i went on, and when i said in my desperate way, --" "you should love me, for we are bid to love our enemies," she flashed an indignant look at me and said, --"" i will not love what i can not respect!
come to me a loyal man, and see what answer i shall give you."
""then she went away.
it was the wisest thing she could have done, for absence did more to change me than an ocean of tears, a year of exhortations.
lying there, i missed her every hour of the day, recalled every gentle act, kind word, and fair example she had given me.
i contrasted my own belief with hers, and found a new significance in the words honesty and honor, and, remembering her fidelity to principle, was ashamed of my own treason to god and to herself.
education, prejudice, and interest, are difficult things to overcome, and that was the hottest fight i ever passed through, for as i tell you, i was a coward.
but love and loyalty won the day, and, asking no quarter, the rebel surrendered."
""phil beaufort, you're a brick!"
cried dick, with a sounding slap on his comrade's shoulder.
""a brand snatched from the burnin".
hallelujah!"
chanted flint, seesawing with excitement.
""then you went to find your wife?
how?
where?"
asked thorn, forgetting vigilance in interest.
""friend bent hated war so heartily that he would have nothing to do with paroles, exchanges, or any martial process whatever, but bade me go when and where i liked, remembering to do by others as i had been done by.
before i was well enough to go, however, i managed, by means of copperhead influence and returned prisoners, to send a letter to my father and receive an answer.
you can imagine what both contained; and so i found myself penniless, but not poor, an outcast, but not alone.
old bent treated me like a prodigal son, and put money in my purse; his pretty daughters loved me for margaret's sake, and gave me a patriotic salute all round when i left them, the humblest, happiest man in pennsylvania.
margaret once said to me that this was the time for deeds, not words; that no man should stand idle, but serve the good cause with head, heart, and hand, no matter in what rank; for in her eyes a private fighting for liberty was nobler than a dozen generals defending slavery.
i remembered that, and, not having influential friends to get me a commission, enlisted in one of her own massachusetts regiments, knowing that no act of mine would prove my sincerity like that.
you should have seen her face when i walked in upon her, as she sat alone, busied with the army work, as i'd so often seen her sitting by my bed; it showed me all she had been suffering in silence, all i should have lost had i chosen darkness instead of light.
she hoped and feared so much she could not speak, neither could i, but dropped my cloak, and showed her that, through love of her, i had become a soldier of the union.
how i love the coarse blue uniform!
for when she saw it, she came to me without a word and kept her promise in a month."
""thunder!
what a harnsome woman!"
exclaimed flint, as phil, opening the golden case that held his talisman, showed them the beautiful, beloved face of which he spoke.
""yes!
and a right noble woman too.
i do n't deserve her, but i will.
we parted on our wedding-day, for orders to be off came suddenly, and she would not let me go until i had given her my name to keep.
we were married in the morning, and at noon i had to go.
other women wept as we marched through the city, but my brave margaret kept her tears till we were gone, smiling and waving her hand to me, -- the hand that wore the wedding-ring, -- till i was out of sight.
that image of her is before me day and night, and day and night her last words are ringing in my ears, --"" i give you freely, do your best.
better a true man's widow than a traitor's wife."
""boys, i've only stood on the right side for a month; i've only fought one battle, earned one honor; but i believe these poor achievements are an earnest of the long atonement i desire to make for five-and-twenty years of blind transgression.
you say i fight well.
have i not cause to dare much?
-- for in owning many slaves, i too became a slave; in helping to make many freemen, i liberate myself.
you wonder why i refused promotion.
have i any right to it yet?
are there not men who never sinned as i have done, and beside whose sacrifices mine look pitifully small?
you tell me i have no ambition.
i have the highest, for i desire to become god's noblest work, -- an honest man, -- living, to make margaret happy in a love that every hour grows worthier of her own, -- dying to make death proud to take me."
phil had risen while he spoke, as if the enthusiasm of his mood lifted him into the truer manhood he aspired to attain.
straight and strong he stood up in the moonlight, his voice deepened by unwonted energy, his eye clear and steadfast, his whole face ennobled by the regenerating power of this late loyalty to country, wife, and self, and bright against the dark blue of his jacket shone the pictured face, the only medal he was proud to wear.
ah, brave, brief moment, cancelling years of wrong!
ah, fair and fatal decoration, serving as a mark for a hidden foe!
the sharp crack of a rifle broke the stillness of the night, and with those hopeful words upon his lips, the young man sealed his purpose with his life.
the baron's gloves; or, amy's romance "all is fair in love and war."
i how they were found "what a long sigh!
are you tired, amy?"
""yes, and disappointed as well.
i never would have undertaken this journey if i had not thought it would be full of novelty, romance, and charming adventures."
""well, we have had several adventures."
""bah!
losing one's hat in the rhine, getting left at a dirty little inn, and having our pockets picked, are not what i call adventures.
i wish there were brigands in germany -- it needs something of that sort to enliven its stupidity."
""how can you call germany stupid when you have a scene like this before you?"
said helen, with a sigh of pleasure, as she looked from the balcony which overhangs the rhine at the hotel of the "three kings" at coblentz.
ehrenbreitstein towered opposite, the broad river glittered below, and a midsummer moon lent its enchantment to the landscape.
as she spoke, her companion half rose from the low chair where she lounged, and showed the pretty, piquant face of a young girl.
she seemed in a half melancholy, half petulant mood; and traces of recent illness were visible in the languor of her movements and the pallor of her cheeks.
""yes, it is lovely; but i want adventures and romance of some sort to make it quite perfect.
i do n't care what, if something would only happen."
""my dear, you are out of spirits and weary now, to-morrow you'll be yourself again.
do not be ungrateful to uncle or unjust to yourself.
something pleasant will happen, i've no doubt.
in fact, something has happened that you may make a little romance out of, perhaps, for lack of a more thrilling adventure."
""what do you mean?"
and amy's listless face brightened.
""speak low; there are balconies all about us, and we may be overheard," said helen, drawing nearer after an upward glance.
""what is the beginning of a romance?"
whispered amy, eagerly.
""a pair of gloves.
just now, as i stood here, and you lay with your eyes shut, these dropped from the balcony overhead.
now amuse yourself by weaving a romance out of them and their owner."
amy seized them, and stepping inside the window, examined them by the candle.
""a gentleman's gloves, scented with violets!
here's a little hole fretted by a ring on the third finger.
bless me!
here are the initials,'s.
p.," stamped on the inside, with a coat of arms below.
what a fop to get up his gloves in this style!
they are exquisite, though.
such a delicate color, so little soiled, and so prettily ornamented!
handsome hands wore these.
i'd like to see the man."
helen laughed at the girl's interest, and was satisfied if any trifle amused her ennui.
""i will send them back by the kellner, and in that way we may discover their owner," she said.
but amy arrested her on the way to the door.
""i've a better plan; these waiters are so stupid you'll get nothing out of them.
here's the hotel book sent up for our names; let us look among the day's arrivals and see who's.
p." is.
he came to-day, i'm sure, for the man said the rooms above were just taken, so we could not have them."
opening the big book, amy was soon intently poring over the long list of names, written in many hands and many languages.
""i've got it!
here he is -- oh, nell, he's a baron!
is n't that charming?
"sigismund von palsdorf, dresden."
we must see him, for i know he's handsome, if he wears such distracting gloves."
""you'd better take them up yourself, then."
""you know i ca n't do that; but i shall ask the man a few questions, just to get an idea what sort of person the baron is.
then i shall change my mind and go down to dinner; shall look well about me, and if the baron is agreeable i shall make uncle return the gloves.
he will thank us, and i can say i've known a real baron.
that will be so nice when we go home.
now, do n't be duennaish and say i'm silly, but let me do as i like, and come and dress."
helen submitted, and when the gong pealed through the house, major erskine marched into the great salle à manger, with a comely niece on each arm.
the long tables were crowded, and they had to run the gauntlet of many eyes as they made their way to the head of the upper table.
before she touched her soup, amy glanced down the line of faces opposite, and finding none that answered the slight description elicited from the waiter, she leaned a little forward to examine those on her own side of the table.
some way down sat several gentlemen, and as she bent to observe them, one did the same, and she received an admiring glance from a pair of fine black eyes.
somewhat abashed, she busied herself with her soup: but the fancy had taken possession of her, and presently she whispered to helen, -- "do you see any signs of the baron?"
""on my left; look at the hands."
amy looked and saw a white, shapely hand with an antique ring on the third finger.
its owner's face was averted, but as he conversed with animation, the hand was in full play, now emphasizing an opinion, now lifting a glass, or more frequently pulling at a blond beard which adorned the face of the unknown.
amy shook her head decidedly.
""i hate light men, and do n't think that is the baron, for the gloves are a size too small for those hands.
lean back and look some four or five seats lower down on the right.
see what sort of person the dark man with the fine eyes is."
helen obeyed, but almost instantly bent to her plate again, smiling in spite of herself.
""that is an englishman; he stares rudely, says "by jove!"
and wears no jewelry or beard."
""now, i'm disappointed.
well, keep on the watch, and tell me if you make any discoveries, for i will find the baron."
being hungry, amy devoted herself to her dinner, till dessert was on the table.
she was languidly eating grapes, while helen talked with the major, when the word "baron" caught her ear.
the speakers sat at a table behind her, so that she could not see them without turning quite round, which was impossible; but she listened eagerly to the following scrap of chat: -- "is the baron going on to-morrow?"
asked a gay voice in french.
""yes, he is bound for baden-baden.
the season is at its height, and he must make his game while the ball is rolling, or it is all up with the open-handed sigismund," answered a rough voice.
""wo n't his father pardon the last escapade?"
asked a third, with a laugh.
""no, and he is right.
the duel was a bad affair, for the man almost died, and the baron barely managed to get out of the scrape through court influence.
when is the wedding to be?"
""never, palsdorf says.
there is everything but love in the bargain, and he swears he'll not agree to it.
i like that."
""there is much nobleness in him, spite of his vagaries.
he will sow his wild oats and make a grand man in time.
by the by, if we are going to the fortress, we must be off.
give sigismund the word; he is dining at the other table with power," said the gay voice.
""take a look at the pretty english girl as you go by; it will do your eyes good, after the fat frauleins we have seen of late," added the rough one.
three gentlemen rose, and as they passed amy stole a glance at them; but seeing several pairs of eyes fixed on herself, she turned away blushing, with the not unpleasant consciousness that "the pretty english girl" was herself.
longing to see which sigismund was, she ventured to look after the young men, who paused behind the man with the blond beard, and also touched the dark-eyed gentleman on the shoulder.
all five went down the hall and stood talking near the door.
""uncle, i wish to go," said amy, whose will was law to the amiable major.
up he rose, and amy added, as she took his arm, "i'm seized with a longing to go to baden-baden and see a little gambling.
you are not a wild young man, so you can be trusted there."
""i hope so.
now you are a sensible little woman, and we'll do our best to have a gay time.
wait an instant till i get my hat."
while the major searched for the missing article the girls went on, and coming to the door, amy tried to open it.
the unwieldy foreign lock resisted her efforts, and she was just giving it an impatient little shake, when a voice said behind her, -- "permit me, mademoiselle;" at the same moment a handsome hand turned the latch, the flash of a diamond shone before her, and the door opened."
merci, monsieur," she murmured, turning as she went out; but helen was close behind her, and no one else to be seen except the massive major in the rear.
""did you see the baron?"
she whispered eagerly, as they went up-stairs.
""no; where was he?"
""he opened the door for me.
i knew him by his hand and ring.
he was close to you."
""i did not observe him, being busy gathering up my dress.
i thought the person was a waiter, and never looked at him," said helen, with provoking indifference.
""how unfortunate!
uncle, you are going to see the fortress; we do n't care for it; but i want you to take these gloves and inquire for baron sigismund palsdorf.
he will be there with a party of gentlemen.
you can easily manage it, men are so free and easy.
mind what he is like, and come home in time to tell me all about it."
away went the major, and the cousins sat on the balcony enjoying the lovely night, admiring the picturesque scene, and indulging in the flights of fancy all girls love, for helen, in spite of her three-and-twenty years, was as romantic as amy at eighteen.
it was past eleven when the major came, and the only greeting he received was the breathless question, -- "did you find him?"
""i found something much better than any baron, a courier.
i've wanted one ever since we started; for two young ladies and their baggage are more than one man can do his duty by, karl hoffman had such excellent testimonials from persons i know, that i did not hesitate to engage him, and he comes to-morrow; so henceforth i've nothing to do but devote myself to you."
""how very provoking!
did you bring the gloves back?"
asked amy, still absorbed in the baron.
the major tossed them to her, and indulged in a hearty laugh at her girlish regrets; then bade them good-night, and went away to give orders for an early start next morning.
tired of talking, the girls lay down in the two little white beds always found in german hotels, and amy was soon continuing in sleep the romance she had begun awake.
she dreamed that the baron proved to be the owner of the fine eyes; that he wooed and won her, and they were floating down the river to the chime of wedding-bells.
at this rapturous climax she woke to find the air full of music, and to see helen standing tall and white in the moonlight that streamed in at the open window.
""hush, hide behind the curtains and listen; it's a serenade," whispered helen, as amy stole to her side.
shrouded in the drapery, they leaned and listened till the song ended, then amy peeped; a dark group stood below; all were bareheaded, and now seemed whispering together.
presently a single voice rose, singing an exquisite little french canzonet, the refrain of which was a passionate repetition of the word" amie."
she thought she recognized the voice, and the sound of her own name uttered in such ardent tones made her heart beat and her color rise, for it seemed to signify that the serenade was for them.
as the last melodious murmur ceased, there came a stifled laugh from below, and something fell into the balcony.
neither dared stir till the sound of departing feet reassured them; then creeping forward amy drew in a lovely bouquet of myrtle, roses, and great german forget-me-nots, tied with a white ribbon and addressed in a dashing hand to la belle helène.
""upon my life, the romance has begun in earnest," laughed helen, as she examined the flowers.
""you are serenaded by some unknown nightingale, and i have flowers tossed up to me in the charming old style.
of course it is the baron, amy."
""i hope so; but whoever it is, they are regular troubadours, and i'm delighted.
i know the gloves will bring us fun of some kind.
do you take one and i'll take the other, and see who will find the baron first.
is n't it odd that they knew our names?"
""amy, the writing on this card is very like that in the big book.
i may be bewitched by this mid-summer moonlight, but it really is very like it.
come and see."
the two charming heads bent over the card, looking all the more charming for the dishevelled curls and braids that hung about them as the girls laughed and whispered together in the softly brilliant light that filled the room.
""you are right; it is the same.
the men who stared so at dinner are gay students perhaps, and ready for any prank.
do n't tell uncle, but let us see what will come of it.
i begin to enjoy myself heartily now -- do n't you?"
said amy, laying her glove carefully away.
""i enjoyed myself before, but i think" la belle helène" gives an added relish to life, amie," laughed nell, putting her flowers in water; and then both went back to their pillows, to dream delightfully till morning.
ii karl, the courier "three days, at least, before we reach baden.
how tiresome it is that uncle wo n't go faster!"
said amy, as she tied on her hat next morning, wondering as she did so if the baron would take the same boat.
""as adventures have begun, i feel assured that they will continue to cheer the way; so resign yourself and be ready for anything," replied helen, carefully arranging her bouquet in her travelling-basket.
a tap at the door, which stood half open, made both look up.
a tall, brown, gentlemanly man, in a gray suit, with a leathern bag slung over his shoulder, stood there, hat in hand, and meeting helen's eyes, bowed respectfully, saying in good english, but with a strong german accent, -- "ladies, the major desired me to tell you the carriage waits."
""why, who --" began amy, staring with her blue eyes full of wonder at the stranger.
he bowed again, and said, simply, -- "karl hoffman, at your service, mademoiselle."
""the courier -- oh, yes!
i forgot all about it.
please take these things."
amy began to hand him her miscellaneous collection of bags, books, shawls and cushions.
""i'd no idea couriers were such decent creatures," whispered amy, as they followed him along the hall.
""do n't you remember the raptures mrs. mortimer used to have over their italian courier, and her funny description of him?
"beautiful to behold, with a night of hair, eyes full of an infinite tenderness, and a sumptuous cheek.""
both girls laughed, and amy averred that karl's eyes danced with merriment as he glanced over his shoulder, as the silvery peal sounded behind him.
""hush!
he understands english; we must be careful," said helen, and neither spoke again till they reached the carriage.
everything was ready, and as they drove away, the major, leaning luxuriously back, exclaimed, -- "now i begin to enjoy travelling, for i'm no longer worried by the thought of luggage, time-tables, trains, and the everlasting perplexity of thalers, kreutzers, and pfenniges.
this man is a treasure; everything is done in the best manner, and his knowledge of matters is really amazing."
""he's a very gentlemanly-looking person," said amy, eying a decidedly aristocratic foot through the front window of the carriage, for karl sat up beside the driver.
""he is a gentleman, my dear.
many of these couriers are well born and educated, but, being poor, prefer this business to any other, as it gives them variety, and often pleasant society.
i've had a long talk with hoffman, and find him an excellent and accomplished fellow.
he has lost his fortune, it seems, through no fault of his own, so being fond of a roving life, turned courier for a time, and we are fortunate to have secured him."
""but one does n't know how to treat him," said helen.
""i do n't like to address him as a servant, and yet it's not pleasant to order a gentleman about."
""oh, it will be easy enough as we go on together.
just call him hoffman, and behave as if you knew nothing about his past.
he begged me not to mention it, but i thought you'd like the romance of the thing.
only do n't either of you run away with him, as ponsonby's daughter did with her courier, who was n't a gentleman, by the way."
""not handsome enough," said amy.
""i do n't like blue eyes and black hair.
his manners are nice, but he looks like a gipsy, with his brown face and black beard: does n't he, nell?"
""not at all.
gipsies have n't that style of face; they are thin, sharp, and cunning in feature as in nature.
hoffman has large, well-moulded features, and a mild, manly expression, which gives one confidence in him."
""he has a keen, wicked look in his blue eyes, as you will see, nell.
i mean mischievously, not malignantly wicked.
he likes fun, i'm sure, for he laughed about the "sumptuous cheek" till his own were red, though he dared not show it, and was as grave as an owl when we met uncle," said amy, smiling at the recollection.
""we shall go by boat to biebrich, and then by rail to heidelberg.
we shall get in late to-morrow night, but can rest a day, and then on to baden.
here we are; now make yourselves easy, as i do, and let karl take care of everything."
and putting his hands in his pockets, the major strolled about the boat, while the courier made matters comfortable for the day.
so easily and well did he do his duty, that both girls enjoyed watching him after he had established them on the shady side of the boat, with camp-stools for their feet, cushions to lean on, books and bags laid commodiously at hand.
as they sailed up the lovely rhine they grew more and more enthusiastic in their admiration and curiosity, and finding the meagre description of the guide-books very unsatisfactory, amy begged her uncle to tell her all the legends of picturesque ruin, rock and river, as they passed.
""bless me, child, i know nothing; but here's hoffman, a german born, who will tell you everything, i dare say.
karl, what's that old castle up there?
the young ladies want to know about it."
leaning on the railing, hoffman told the story so well that he was kept explaining and describing for an hour, and when he went away to order lunch, amy declared it was as pleasant as reading fairy tales to listen to his dramatic histories and legends.
at lunch the major was charmed to find his favorite wines and dishes without any need of consulting dictionary or phrase-book beforehand, or losing his temper in vain attempts to make himself understood.
on reaching biebrich, tired and hungry, at nightfall, everything was ready for them, and all went to bed praising karl, the courier, though amy, with unusual prudence, added, -- "he is a new broom now; let us wait a little before we judge."
all went well next day till nightfall, when a most untoward accident occurred, and helen's adventures began in earnest.
the three occupied a coupé, and being weary with long sitting, helen got out at one of the stations where the train paused for ten minutes.
a rosy sunset tempted her to the end of the platform, and there she found, what nearly all foreign railway stations possess, a charming little garden.
amy was very tired, rather cross, and passionately fond of flowers, so when an old woman offered to pull a nosegay for "the gracious lady," helen gladly waited for it, hoping to please the invalid.
twice the whistle warned her, and at last she ran back, but only in time to see the train move away, with her uncle gesticulating wildly to the guard, who shook his stupid german head, and refused to see the dismayed young lady imploring him to wait for her.
just as the train was vanishing from the station, a man leaped from a second-class carriage at the risk of his neck, and hurried back to find helen looking pale and bewildered, as well she might, left alone and moneyless at night in a strange town.
""mademoiselle, it is i; rest easy; we can soon go on; a train passes in two hours, and we can telegraph to heidelberg that they may not fear for you."
""oh, hoffman, how kind of you to stop for me!
what should i have done without you, for uncle takes care of all the money, and i have only my watch."
helen's usual self-possession rather failed her in the flurry of the moment, and she caught karl's arm with a feminine little gesture of confidence very pleasant to see.
leading her to the waiting-room, he ordered supper, and put her into the care of the woman of the place, while he went to make inquiries and dispatch the telegram.
in half an hour he returned, finding helen refreshed and cheerful, though a trace of anxiety was still visible in her watchful eyes.
""all goes excellently, mademoiselle.
i have sent word to several posts along the road that we are coming by the night train, so that monsieur le major will rest tranquil till we meet.
it is best that i give you some money, lest such a mishap should again occur; it is not likely so soon; nevertheless, here is both gold and silver.
with this, one can make one's way everywhere.
now, if mademoiselle will permit me to advise, she will rest for an hour, as we must travel till dawn.
i will keep guard without and watch for the train."
he left her, and having made herself comfortable on one of the sofas, she lay watching the tall shadow pass and repass door and window, as karl marched up and down the platform, with the tireless tramp of a sentinel on duty.
a pleasant sense of security stole over her, and with a smile at amy's enjoyment of the adventure when it was over, helen fell asleep.
a far-off shriek half woke her, and starting up, she turned to meet the courier coming in to wake her.
up thundered the train, every carriage apparently full of sleepy passengers, and the guard in a state of sullen wrath at some delay, the consequences of which would fall heaviest on him.
from carriage to carriage hurried karl and his charge, to be met with everywhere by the cry, "all full," in many languages, and with every aspect of inhospitality.
one carriage only showed two places; the other seats were occupied by six students, who gallantly invited the lady to enter.
but helen shrunk back, saying, -- "is there no other place?"
""none, mademoiselle; this, or remain till morning," said karl.
""where will you go if i take this place?"
""among the luggage, -- anywhere; it is nothing.
but we must decide at once."
""come with me; i'm afraid to be locked in here alone," said helen, desperately.
""mademoiselle forgets i am her courier."
""i do not forget that you are a gentleman.
pray come in; my uncle will thank you."
""i will," and with a sudden brightening of the eyes, a grateful glance, and an air of redoubled respect, hoffman followed her into the carriage.
they were off at once, and the thing was done before helen had time to feel anything but the relief which the protection of his presence afforded her.
the young gentlemen stared at the veiled lady and her grim escort, joked under their breath, and looked wistfully at the suppressed cigars, but behaved with exemplary politeness till sleep overpowered them, and one after the other dropped off asleep to dream of their respective gretchens.
helen could not sleep, and for hours sat studying the unconscious faces before her, the dim landscape flying past the windows, or forgot herself in reveries.
hoffman remained motionless and silent, except when she addressed him, wakeful also, and assiduous in making the long night as easy as possible.
it was past midnight, and helen's heavy eyelids were beginning to droop, when suddenly there came an awful crash, a pang of mortal fear, then utter oblivion.
as her senses returned she found herself lying in a painful position under what had been the roof of the car; something heavy weighed down her lower limbs, and her dizzy brain rung with a wild uproar of shrieks and groans, eager voices, the crash of wood and iron, and the shrill whistle of the engine, as it rushed away for help.
through the darkness she heard the pant as of some one struggling desperately, then a cry close by her, followed by a strong voice exclaiming, in an agony of suspense, -- "my god, will no one come!"
""hoffman, are you there?"
cried helen, groping in the gloom, with a thrill of joy at the sound of a familiar voice.
""thank heaven, you are safe.
lie still.
i will save you.
help is coming.
have no fear!"
panted the voice, with an undertone of fervent gratitude in its breathless accents.
""what has happened?
where are the rest?"
""we have been thrown down an embankment.
the lads are gone for help.
god only knows what harm is done."
karl's voice died in a stifled groan, and helen cried out in alarm, -- "where are you?
you are hurt?"
""not much.
i keep the ruins from falling in to crush us.
be quiet, they are coming."
a shout answered the faint halloo he gave as if to guide them to the spot, and a moment after, five of the students were swarming about the wreck, intent on saving the three whose lives were still in danger.
a lamp torn from some demolished carriage was held through an opening, and helen saw a sight that made her blood chill in her veins.
across her feet, crushed and bleeding, lay the youngest of the students, and kneeling close beside him was hoffman, supporting by main strength a mass of timber, which otherwise would fall and crush them all.
his face was ghastly pale, his eyes haggard with pain and suspense, and great drops stood upon his forehead.
but as she looked, he smiled with a cheery.
-- "bear up, dear lady, we shall soon be out of danger.
now, lads, work with a will; my strength is going fast."
they did work like heroes, and even in her pain and peril, helen admired the skill, energy, and courage of the young men, who, an hour ago, had seemed to have no ideas above pipes and beer.
soon hoffman was free, the poor senseless youth lifted out, and then, as tenderly as if she were a child, they raised and set her down, faint but unhurt, in a wide meadow, already strewn with sad tokens of the wreck.
karl was taken possession of as well as herself, forced to rest a moment, drink a cordial draught from some one's flask, and be praised, embraced, and enthusiastically blessed by the impetuous youths.
""where is the boy who was hurt?
bring him to me.
i am strong now.
i want to help.
i have salts in my pocket, and i can bind up his wounds," said helen, soon herself again.
karl and helen soon brought back life and sense to the boy, and never had human face looked so lovely as did helen's to the anxious comrades when she looked up in the moonlight with a joyful smile, and softly whispered, -- "he is alive."
for an hour terrible confusion reigned, then the panic subsided a little, and such of the carriages as were whole were made ready to carry away as many as possible; the rest must wait till a return train could be sent for them.
a struggle of course ensued, for every one wished to go on, and fear made many selfish.
the wounded, the women and children, were taken, as far as possible, and the laden train moved away, leaving many anxious watchers behind.
helen had refused to go, and had given her place to poor conrad, thereby overwhelming his brother and comrades with gratitude.
two went on with the wounded lad; the rest remained, and chivalrously devoted themselves to helen as a body-guard.
the moon shone clearly, the wide field was miles from any hamlet, and a desolate silence succeeded to the late uproar, as the band of waiters roamed about, longing for help and dawn.
""mademoiselle, you shiver; the dew falls, and it is damp here; we must have a fire;" and karl was away to a neighboring hedge, intent on warming his delicate charge if he felled a forest to do it.
the students rushed after him, and soon returned in triumph to build a glorious fire, which drew all forlorn wanderers to its hospitable circle.
a motley assemblage; but mutual danger and discomfort produced mutual sympathy and good will, and a general atmosphere of friendship pervaded the party.
""where is the brave hoffman?"
asked wilhelm, the blond student, who, being in the werther period of youth, was already madly in love with helen, and sat at her feet catching cold in the most romantic manner.
""behold me!
the little ones cry for hunger, so i ransack the ruins and bring away my spoils.
eat, kinder, eat and be patient."
as he spoke karl appeared with an odd collection of baskets, bags, and bottles, and with a fatherly air that won all the mothers, he gave the children whatever first appeared, making them laugh in spite of weariness and hunger by the merry speeches which accompanied his gifts.
""you too need something.
here is your own basket with the lunch i ordered you.
in a sad state of confusion, but still eatable.
see, it is not bad," and he deftly spread on a napkin before helen cold chicken, sandwiches, and fruit.
his care for the little ones as well as for herself touched her and her eyes filled, as she remembered that she owed her life to him, and recalled the sight of his face in the overturned car.
her voice trembled a little as she thanked him, and the moonlight betrayed her wet eyes.
he fancied she was worn out with excitement and fatigue, and anxious to cheer her spirits, he whispered to wilhelm and his mates, -- "sing, then, comrades, and while away this tedious night.
it is hard for all to wait so long, and the babies need a lullaby."
the young men laughed and sang as only german students can sing, making the night musical with blithe drinking songs, tender love-lays, battle-hymns, and volkslieder sweeter than any songs across the water.
every heart was cheered and warmed by the magic of the music, the babies fell asleep, strangers grew friendly, fear changed to courage, and the most forlorn felt the romance of that bivouac under the summer sky.
dawn was reddening the east when a welcome whistle broke up the camp.
every one hurried to the railway, but helen paused to gather a handful of blue forget-me-nots, saying to hoffman, who waited with her wraps on his arm, -- "it has been a happy night, in spite of the danger and discomfort.
i shall not soon forget it; and take these as a souvenir."
he smiled, standing bare-headed in the chilly wind, for his hat was lost, his coat torn, hair dishevelled, and one hand carelessly bound up in his handkerchief.
helen saw these marks of the night's labors and perils for the first time, and as soon as they were seated desired to see his hand.
""it is nothing, -- a scratch, a mere scratch, i give you my word, mademoiselle," he began, but wilhelm unceremoniously removed the handkerchief, showing a torn and bleeding hand which must have been exquisitely painful.
helen turned pale, and with a reproachful glance skilfully bound it up again, saying, as she handed a silken scarf to wilhelm, -- "make of that a sling, please, and put the poor hand in it.
care must be taken, or harm will come of it."
hoffman submitted in bashful silence, as if surprised and touched by the young lady's interest.
she saw that, and added gratefully, -- "i do not forget that you saved my life, though you seem to have done so.
my uncle will thank you better than i can."
""i already have my reward, mademoiselle," he returned, with a respectful inclination and a look she could neither understand nor forget.
iii amy's adventure the excitement and suspense of the major and amy can be imagined when news of the accident reached them.
their gratitude and relief were intense when helen appeared next morning, with the faithful hoffman still at his post, though no longer able to disguise the fact that he was suffering from his wound.
when the story had been told, karl was put under the surgeon's care, and all remained at heidelberg for several days to rest and recover.
on the afternoon of the last day the major and young ladies drove off to the castle for a farewell view.
helen began to sketch the great stone lion's head above the grand terrace, the major smoked and chatted with a party of english artists whom he had met, and amy, with a little lad for a guide, explored the old castle to her heart's content.
the sun set, and twilight began to fall when helen put up her pencils, and the major set off to find amy, who had been appearing and disappearing in every nook and cranny of the half-ruined castle.
nowhere could he find her, and no voice answered when he called.
the other visitors were gone, and the place seemed deserted, except by themselves and the old man who showed the ruins.
becoming alarmed lest the girl had fallen somewhere, or lost her way among the vaults where the famous tun lies, the major called out old hans with his lantern, and searched high and low.
amy's hat, full of flowers and ferns, was found in the lady's walk, as the little terrace is called, but no other trace appeared, and helen hurried to and fro in great distress, fearing all manner of dangers.
meanwhile amy, having explored every other part of the castle, went to take another look at the tun, the dwarf, and the vaults.
now little anderl, her guide, had a great fear of ghosts, and legions were said to haunt the ruins after nightfall, so when amy rambled on deeper and deeper into the gloom the boy's courage ebbed away with every step; yet he was ashamed to own his fear, seeing that she had none.
amy wanted to see a certain cell, where a nun was said to have pined to death because she would not listen to the margraf's love.
the legend pleased the romantic girl, and forgetful of waning daylight, gathering damps, and anderl's reluctant service, she ran on, up steps and down, delighted with little arched doors, rusty chains on the walls, glimpses of sky through shattered roofs, and all manner of mysterious nooks and corners.
coming at last to a narrow cell, with a stone table, and heavy bolts on the old door, she felt sure this was poor elfrida's prison, and called anderl to come on with his candle, for the boy had lighted one, for his own comfort rather than hers.
her call was unanswered, and glancing back, she saw the candle placed on the ground, but no anderl.
""little coward, he has run away," she said, laughing; and having satisfied her curiosity, turned to retrace her steps, -- no easy task to one ignorant of the way, for vault after vault opened on both sides, and no path was discernible.
in vain she tried to recall some landmark, the gloom had deepened and nothing was clear.
on she hurried, but found no opening, and really frightened, stopped at last, calling the boy in a voice that woke a hundred echoes.
but anderl had fled home, thinking the lady would find her way back, and preferring to lose his kreutzers to seeing a ghost.
poor amy's bewilderment and alarm increased with every moment's delay, and hoping to come out somewhere, she ran on till a misstep jostled the candle from her hand and extinguished it.
left in the dark, her courage deserted her, and she screamed desperately, like a lost child, and was fast getting into a state of frantic terror, when the sound of an approaching step reassured her.
holding her breath, she heard a quick tread drawing nearer, as if guided by her cries, and, straining her eyes, she caught the outline of a man's figure in the gloom.
a sensation of intense joy rushed over her, and she was about to spring forward, when she remembered that as she could speak no german how could she explain her plight to the stranger, if he understood neither french nor english?
fear took possession of her at the thought of meeting some rough peasant, or some rollicking student, to whom she could make no intelligible appeal or explanation.
crouching close against the wall, she stood mute till the figure was very near.
she was in the shadow of an angle, and the man paused, as if looking for the person who called for help.
""who is lost here?"
said a clear voice, in german.
amy shrunk closer to the wall, fearing to speak, for the voice was that of a young man, and a low laugh followed the words, as if the speaker found the situation amusing.
""mortal, ghost or devil, i'll find it," exclaimed the voice, and stepping forward, a hand groped for and found her.
""lottchen, is it thou?
little rogue, thou shalt pay dearly for leading me such a chase."
as he spoke he drew the girl toward him, but with a faint cry, a vain effort to escape, amy's terror reached its climax, and spent with fatigue and excitement, she lost consciousness.
""who the deuce is it, then?
lottchen never faints on a frolic.
some poor little girl lost in earnest.
i must get her out of this gloomy place at once, and find her party afterward."
lifting the slight figure in his arms, the young man hurried on, and soon came out through a shattered gateway into the shrubbery which surrounds the base of the castle.
laying her on the grass, he gently chafed her hands, eying the pale, pretty face meantime with the utmost solicitude.
at his first glimpse of it he had started, smiled and made a gesture of pleasure and surprise, then gave himself entirely to the task of recovering the poor girl whom he had frightened out of her senses.
very soon she looked up with dizzy eyes, and clasping her hands imploringly, cried, in english, like a bewildered child, -- "i am lost!
oh, take me to my uncle."
""i will, the moment you can walk.
upon my soul, i meant to help you when i followed; but as you did not answer, i fancied it was lottchen, the keeper's little girl.
pardon the fright i've caused you, and let me take you to your friends."
the true english accent of the words, and the hearty tone of sincerity in the apology, reassured amy at once, and, rising, she said, with a faint smile and a petulant tone, -- "i was very silly, but my guide ran away, my candle went out, i lost the path, and can speak no german; so i was afraid to answer you at first; and then i lost my wits altogether, for it's rather startling to be clutched in the dark, sir."
""indeed it is.
i was very thoughtless, but now let me atone for it.
where is your uncle, miss erskine?"
asked the stranger, with respectful earnestness.
""you know my name?"
cried amy in her impulsive way.
""i have that happiness," was the answer, with a smile.
""but i do n't know you, sir;" and she peered at him, trying to see his face in the darkness, for the copse was thick, and twilight had come on rapidly.
""not yet; i live in hope.
shall we go?
your uncle will be uneasy."
""where are we?"
asked amy, glad to move on, for the interview was becoming too personal even for her, and the stranger's manner fluttered her, though she enjoyed the romance of the adventure immensely.
""we are in the park which surrounds the castle.
you were near the entrance to it from the vaults when you fainted."
""i wish i had kept on a little longer, and not disgraced myself by such a panic."
""nay, that is a cruel wish, for then i should have lost the happiness of helping you."
they had been walking side by side, but were forced to pause on reaching a broken flight of steps, for amy could not see the way before her.
""let me lead you; it is steep and dark, but better than going a long way round through the dew," he said, offering his hand.
""must we return by these dreadful vaults?"
faltered amy, shrinking back.
""it is the shortest and safest route, i assure you."
""are you sure you know the way?"
""quite sure.
i have lived here by the week together.
do you fear to trust me?"
""no; but it is so dark, and everything is so strange to me.
can we get down safely?
i see nothing but a black pit."
and amy still hesitated, with an odd mixture of fear and coquetry.
""i brought you up in safety; shall i take you down again?"
asked the stranger, with a smile flickering over his face.
amy felt rather than saw it, and assuming an air of dignified displeasure, motioned him to proceed, which he did for three steps; then amy slipped, and gladly caught at the arm extended to save her.
without a word he took her hand and led her back through the labyrinth she had threaded in her bewilderment.
a dim light filled the place, but with unerring steps her guide went on till they emerged into the courtyard.
major erskine's voice was audible, giving directions to the keeper, and helen's figure visible as she groped among the shadows of the ruined chapel for her cousin.
""there are my friends.
now i am safe.
come and let them thank you," cried amy, in her frank, childlike warmth of manner.
""i want no thanks -- forgive me -- adieu," and hastily kissing the little hand that had lain so confidingly in his, the stranger was gone.
amy rushed at once to helen, and when the lost lamb had been welcomed, chidden, and exulted over, they drove home, listening to the very brief account which amy gave of her adventure.
""naughty little gad-about, how could you go and terrify me so, wandering in vaults with mysterious strangers, like the countess of rudolstadt.
you are as wet and dirty as if you had been digging a well, yet you look as if you liked it," said helen, as she led amy into their room at the hotel.
""i do," was the decided answer, as the girl pulled a handkerchief off her head, and began to examine the corners of it.
suddenly she uttered a cry and flew to the light, exclaiming, -- "nell, nell, look here!
the same letters,'s.
p.," the same coat of arms, the same perfume -- it was the baron!"
""what?
who?
are you out of your mind?"
said helen, examining the large, fine cambric handkerchief, with its delicately stamped initials under the stag's head, and three stars on a heart-shaped shield.
""where did you get it?"
she added, as she inhaled the soft odor of violets shaken from its folds.
amy blushed and answered shyly, "i did n't tell you all that happened before uncle, but now i will.
my hat was left behind, and when i recovered my wits after my fright, i found this tied over my head.
oh, nell, it was very charming there in that romantic old park, and going through the vaults with him, and having my hand kissed at parting.
no one ever did that before, and i like it."
amy glanced at her hand as she spoke, and stood staring as if struck dumb, for there on her forefinger shone a ring she had never seen before.
""look!
look!
mine is gone, and this in its place!
oh, nell, what shall i do?"
she said, looking half frightened, half pleased.
helen examined the ring and shook her head, for it was far more valuable than the little pearl one which it replaced.
two tiny hands of finest gold were linked together about a diamond of great brilliancy; and on the inside appeared again the initials, "s.p." "how did it happen?"
she asked, rather sternly.
""upon my word, i do n't know, unless he put it on while i was stupidly fainting.
rude man, to take advantage of me so.
but, nell, it is splendid, and what shall i do about it?"
""tell uncle, find out the man and send back his things.
it really is absurd, the manner in which german boys behave;" and helen frowned, though she was strongly tempted to laugh at the whole thing.
""he was neither a german nor a boy, but an english gentleman, i'm sure," began amy, rather offended.
""but's.
p." is a baron, you know, unless there are two richmonds in the field," broke in helen.
""i forgot that; never mind, it deepens the mystery; and after this performance, i'm prepared for any enormity.
it's my fate; i submit."
said amy, tragically, as she waved her hand to and fro, pleased with the flash of the ring.
""amy, i think on the whole i wo n't speak to uncle.
he is quick to take offence, especially where we are concerned.
he does n't understand foreign ways, and may get into trouble.
we will manage it quietly ourselves."
""how, nell?"
""karl is discreet; we will merely say we found these things and wish to discover the owner.
he may know this's.
p." and, having learned his address, we can send them back.
the man will understand; and as we leave to-morrow, we shall be out of the way before he can play any new prank."
""have in karl at once, for if i wear this lovely thing long i shall not be able to let it go at all.
how dared the creature take such a liberty!"
and amy pulled off the ring with an expression of great scorn.
""come into the salon and see what karl says to the matter.
let me speak, or you will say too much.
one must be prudent before --" she was going to say "servants," but checked herself, and substituted "strangers," remembering gratefully how much she owed this man.
hoffman came, looking pale, and with his hand in a sling, but was as gravely devoted as ever, and listened to helen's brief story with serious attention.
""i will inquire, mademoiselle, and let you know at once.
it is easy to find persons if one has a clue.
may i see the handkerchief?"
helen showed it.
he glanced at the initials, and laid it down with a slight smile.
""the coat-of-arms is english, mademoiselle."
""are you sure?"
""quite so; i understand heraldry."
""but the initials stand for sigismund palsdorf, and we know he is a german baron," broke in amy, forgetting prudence in eagerness.
""if mademoiselle knows the name and title of this gentleman it will not be hard to find him."
""we only fancy it is the same because of the initials.
i dare say it is a mistake, and the man is english.
inquire quietly, hoffman, if you please, as this ring is of value, and i wish to restore it to its owner," said helen, rather sharply.
""i shall do so, mademoiselle," and with his gentlemanly bow, the courier left the room.
""bless me, what's that?"
cried amy, a moment afterward, as a ringing laugh echoed through the corridor, -- a laugh so full of hearty and infectious merriment that both girls smiled involuntarily, and amy peeped out to see who the blithe personage might be.
an old gentleman was entering his room near by, and karl was just about to descend the stairs.
both looked back at the girlish face peeping at them, but both were quite grave, and the peal of laughter remained a mystery, like all the rest of it.
late in the evening hoffman returned to report that a party of young englishmen had visited the castle that afternoon, and had left by the evening train.
one of them had been named samuel peters, and he, doubtless, was the owner of the ring.
a humorous expression lurked in the couriers eye as he made his report, and heard amy exclaim, in a tone of disgust and comical despair, -- "samuel peters!
that spoils all the romance and dims the beauty of the diamond.
to think that a peters should be the hero to whom i owe my safety, and a samuel should leave me this token of regard!"
""hush, amy," whispered helen.
""thanks, hoffman; we must wait now for chance to help us."
iv a polish exile "room for one here, sir," said the guard, as the train stopped at carlsruhe next day, on its way from heidelberg to baden.
the major put down his guide-book, amy opened her eyes, and helen removed her shawl from the opposite seat, as a young man, wrapped in a cloak, with a green shade over his eyes, and a general air of feebleness, got in and sank back with a sigh of weariness or pain.
evidently an invalid, for his face was thin and pale, his dark hair cropped short, and the ungloved hand attenuated and delicate as a woman's.
a sidelong glance from under the deep shade seemed to satisfy him regarding his neighbors, and drawing his cloak about him with a slight shiver, he leaned into the corner and seemed to forget that he was not alone.
helen and amy exchanged glances of compassionate interest, for women always pity invalids, especially if young, comely and of the opposite sex.
the major took one look, shrugged his shoulders, and returned to his book.
presently a hollow cough gave helen a pretext for discovering the nationality of the newcomer.
""do the open windows inconvenience you, sir?"
she asked, in english.
no answer; the question evidently unintelligible.
she repeated it in french, lightly touching his cloak to arrest his attention.
instantly a smile broke over the handsome mouth, and in the purest french he assured her that the fresh air was most agreeable, and begged pardon for annoying them with his troublesome cough.
""not an invalid, i hope, sir?"
said the major, in his bluff yet kindly voice.
""they tell me i can have no other fate; that my malady is fatal; but i still hope and fight for my life; it is all i have to give my country now."
a stifled sigh and a sad emphasis on the last word roused the sympathy of the girls, the interest of the major.
he took another survey, and said, with a tone of satisfaction, as he marked the martial carriage of the young man, and caught a fiery glance of the half-hidden eyes, -- "you are a soldier, sir?"
""i was; i am nothing now but an exile, for poland is in chains."
the words "poland" and "exile" brought up all the pathetic stories of that unhappy country which the three listeners had ever heard, and won their interest at once.
""you were in the late revolution, perhaps?"
asked the major, giving the unhappy outbreak the most respectful name he could use.
""from beginning to end."
""oh, tell us about it; we felt much sympathy for you, and longed to have you win," cried amy, with such genuine interest and pity in her tone, it was impossible to resist.
pressing both hands upon his breast, the young man bent low, with a flush of feeling on his pale cheek, and answered eagerly, -- "ah, you are kind; it is balm to my sore heart to hear words like these.
i thank you, and tell you what you will.
it is but little that i do, yet i give my life, and die a long death, instead of a quick, brave one with my comrades."
""you are young to have borne a part in a revolution, sir," said the major, who pricked up his ears like an old war-horse at the sound of battle.
""my friends and myself left the university at varsovie, as volunteers; we did our part, and now all lie in their graves but three."
""you were wounded, it seems?"
""many times.
exposure, privation, and sorrow will finish what the russian bullets began.
but it is well.
i have no wish to see my country enslaved, and i can no longer help her."
""let us hope that a happier future waits for you both.
poland loves liberty too well, and has suffered too much for it, to be kept long in captivity."
helen spoke warmly, and the young man listened with a brightening face.
""it is a kind prophecy; i accept it, and take courage.
god knows i need it," he added, low to himself.
""are you bound for italy?"
said the major, in a most un-english fit of curiosity.
""for geneva first, italy later, unless montreaux is mild enough for me to winter in.
i go to satisfy my friends, but doubt if it avails."
""where is montreaux?"
asked amy.
""near clarens, where rousseau wrote his heloise, and vevay, where so many english go to enjoy chillon.
the climate is divine for unfortunates like myself, and life more cheap there than in italy."
here the train stopped again, and hoffman came to ask if the ladies desired anything.
at the sound of his voice the young pole started, looked up, and exclaimed, with the vivacity of a foreigner, in german, -- "by my life, it is karl!
behold me, old friend, and satisfy me that it is thyself by a handshake."
""casimer!
what wind blows thee hither, my boy, in such sad plight?"
replied hoffman, grasping the slender hand outstretched to him.
""i fly from an enemy for the first time in my life, and, like all cowards, shall be conquered in the end.
i wrote thee i was better, but the wound in the breast reopened, and nothing but a miracle will save me.
i go to switzerland; and thou?"
""where my master commands.
i serve this gentleman, now."
""hard changes for both, but with health thou art king of circumstances, while i?
-- ah well, the good god knows best.
karl, go thou and buy me two of those pretty baskets of grapes; i will please myself by giving them to these pitying angels.
speak they german?"
""one, the elder; but they understand not this rattle of ours."
karl disappeared, and helen, who had understood the rapid dialogue, tried to seem as unconscious as amy.
""say a friendly word to me at times; i am so homesick and faint-hearted, my hoffman.
thanks; they are almost worthy the lips that shall taste them."
taking the two little osier baskets, laden with yellow and purple clusters, casimer offered them, with a charming mixture of timidity and grace, to the girls, saying, like a grateful boy, -- "you give me kind words and good hopes; permit that i thank you in this poor way."
""i drink success to poland."
cried helen, lifting a great, juicy grape to her lips, like a little purple goblet, hoping to hide her confusion under a playful air.
the grapes went round, and healths were drunk with much merriment, for in travelling on the continent it is impossible for the gruffest, primmest person to long resist the frank courtesy and vivacious chat of foreigners.
the major was unusually social and inquisitive, and while the soldiers fought their battles over again the girls listened and took notes, with feminine wits on the alert to catch any personal revelations which might fall from the interesting stranger.
the wrongs and sufferings of poland were discussed so eloquently that both young ladies were moved to declare the most undying hatred of russia, prussia, and austria, the most intense sympathy for "poor pologne."
all day they travelled together, and as baden-baden approached, they naturally fell to talking of the gay place.
""uncle, i must try my fortune once.
i've set my heart upon it, and so has nell.
we want to know how gamblers feel, and to taste the fascination of the game which draws people here from all parts of europe," said amy, in her half-pleading, half-imperious way.
""you may risk one napoleon each, as i foolishly promised you should, when i little thought you would ever have an opportunity to remind me of my promise.
it's not an amusement for respectable englishwomen, or men either.
you will agree with me there, monsieur?"
and the major glanced at the pole, who replied, with his peculiar smile: -- "surely, yes.
it is great folly and waste of time and money; yet i have known one man who found some good in it, or, rather, brought good out of it.
i have a friend who has a mania for giving.
his own fortune was spent in helping needy students at the university, and poor professors.
this displeased his father, and he refused supplies, except enough for his simple personal wants.
sigismund chafed at this, and being skilful at all games, as a gentleman may be in the way of amusement, he resolved to play with those whose money was wasted on frivolities, and give his winnings to his band of paupers."
""how did it succeed, this odd fancy?"
asked helen, with an interested face, while amy pinched her arm at the word "sigismund."
""excellently.
my friend won often, and as his purpose became known it caused no unkind feeling, this unusual success, for fortune seemed to favor his kind object."
""wrong, nevertheless, to do evil that good may come of it," said the major, morally.
""it may be so: but it is not for me to censure my benefactor.
he has done much for my countrymen and myself, and is so truly noble i can see no fault in him."
""what an odd name!
sigismund is german, is it not?"
asked amy, in the most artless tone of interest.
""yes, mademoiselle, and palsdorf is a true german; much courage, strength and intellect, with the gayety and simplicity of a boy.
he hates slavery of all kinds, and will be free at all costs.
he is a good son, but his father is tyrannical, and asks too much.
sigismund will not submit to sell himself, and so is in disgrace for a time."
""palsdorf!
-- was not that the name of the count or baron we heard them talking of at coblentz?"
said helen to amy, with a well-feigned air of uncertainty.
""yes; i heard something of a duel and a broken betrothal, i think.
the people seemed to consider the baron a wild young man, so it could not have been your friend, sir," was amy's demure reply, glancing at helen with mirthful eyes, as if to say, "how our baron haunts us!"
""it is the same, doubtless.
many consider him wild, because he is original, and dares act for himself.
as it is well known, i may tell you the truth of the duel and the betrothal, if you care to hear a little romance."
casimer looked eager to defend his friend, and as the girls were longing to hear the romance, permission was given.
""in germany, you know, the young people are often betrothed in childhood by the parents, and sometimes never meet till they are grown.
usually all goes well; but not always, for love can not come at command.
sigismund was plighted, when a boy of fifteen, to his young cousin, and then sent away to the university till of age.
on returning, he was to travel a year or two, and then marry.
he gladly went away, and with increasing disquiet saw the time draw near when he must keep his troth-plight."
""hum!
loved some one else.
very unfortunate to be sure," said the major with a sigh.
""not so; he only loved his liberty, and pretty minna was less dear than a life of perfect freedom.
he went back at the appointed time, saw his cousin, tried to do his duty and love her; found it impossible, and, discovering that minna loved another, vowed he would never make her unhappiness as well as his own.
the old baron stormed, but the young one was firm, and would not listen to a marriage without love; but pleaded for minna, wished his rival success, and set out again on his travels."
""and the duel?"
asked the major, who took less interest in love than war.
""that was as characteristic as the other act.
a son of one high in office at berlin circulated false reports of the cause of palsdorf's refusal of the alliance -- reports injurious to minna.
sigismund settled the matter in the most effectual manner, by challenging and wounding the man.
but for court influence it would have gone hardly with my friend.
the storm, however, has blown over; minna will be happy with her lover, and sigismund with his liberty, till he tires of it."
""is he handsome, this hero of yours?"
said amy, feeling the ring under her glove, for in spite of helen's advice, she insisted on wearing it, that it might be at hand to return at any moment, should chance again bring the baron in their way.
""a true german of the old type; blond and blue-eyed, tall and strong.
my hero in good truth -- brave and loyal, tender and true," was the enthusiastic answer.
""i hate fair men," pouted amy, under her breath, as the major asked some question about hotels.
""take a new hero, then; nothing can be more romantic than that," whispered helen, glancing at the pale, dark-haired figure wrapped in the military cloak opposite.
""i will, and leave the baron to you;" said amy, with a stifled laugh.
""hush!
here are baden and karl," replied helen, thankful for the interruption.
all was bustle in a moment, and taking leave of them with an air of reluctance, the pole walked away, leaving amy looking after him wistfully, quite unconscious that she stood in everybody's way, and that her uncle was beckoning impatiently from the carriage door.
""poor boy!
i wish he had some one to take care of him."
she sighed, half aloud.
""mademoiselle, the major waits;" and karl came up, hat in hand, just in time to hear her and glance after casimer, with an odd expression.
v ludmilla "i wonder what that young man's name was.
did he mention it, helen?"
said the major, pausing in his march up and down the room, as if the question was suggested by the sight of the little baskets, which the girls had kept.
""no, uncle; but you can easily ask hoffman," replied helen.
""by the way, karl, who was the polish gentleman who came on with us?"
asked the major a moment afterward, as the courier came in with newspapers.
""casimer teblinski, sir."
""a baron?"
asked amy, who was decidedly a young lady of one idea just then.
""no, mademoiselle, but of a noble family, as the "ski" denotes, for that is to polish and russian names what "von" is to german and "de" to french."
""i was rather interested in him.
where did you pick him up, hoffman?"
said the major.
""in paris, where he was with fellow-exiles."
""he is what he seems, is he?
-- no impostor, or anything of that sort?
one is often deceived, you know."
""on my honor, sir, he is a gentleman, and as brave as he is accomplished and excellent."
""will he die?"
asked amy, pathetically.
""with care he would recover, i think; but there is no one to nurse him, so the poor lad must take his chance and trust in heaven for help."
""how sad!
i wish we were going his way, so that we might do something for him -- at least give him the society of his friend."
helen glanced at hoffman, feeling that if he were not already engaged by them, he would devote himself to the invalid without any thought of payment.
""perhaps we are.
you want to see the lake of geneva, chillon, and that neighborhood.
why not go now, instead of later?"
""will you, uncle?
that's capital!
we need say nothing, but go on and help the poor boy, if we can."
helen spoke like a matron of forty, and looked as full of maternal kindness as if the pole were not out of his teens.
the courier bowed, the major laughed behind his paper, and amy gave a sentimental sigh to the memory of the baron, in whom her interest was failing.
they only caught a glimpse of the pole that evening at the kursaal, but next morning they met, and he was invited to join their party for a little expedition.
the major was in fine spirits, and helen assumed her maternal air toward both invalids, for the sound of that hollow cough always brought a shadow over her face, recalling the brother she had lost.
amy was particularly merry and charming, and kept the whole party laughing at her comical efforts to learn polish and teach english as they drove up the mountainside to the old schloss.
""i'm not equal to mounting all those steps for a view i've seen a dozen times; but pray take care of the child, nell, or she'll get lost again, as at heidelberg," said the major, when they had roamed about the lower part of the place; for a cool seat in the courtyard and a glass of beer were more tempting than turrets and prospects to the stout gentleman.
""she shall not be lost; i am her body-guard.
it is steep -- permit that i lead you, mademoiselle;" casimer offered his hand to amy, and they began their winding way.
as she took the hand, the girl blushed and half smiled, remembering the vaults and the baron.
""i like this better," she said to herself, as they climbed step by step, often pausing to rest in the embrasures of the loopholes, where the sun glanced in, the balmy wind blew, and vines peeped from without, making a pretty picture of the girl, as she sat with rosy color on her usually pale cheeks, brown curls fluttering about her forehead, laughing lips, and bright eyes full of pleasant changes.
leaning opposite in the narrow stairway, casimer had time to study the little tableau in many lights, and in spite of the dark glasses, to convey warm glances of admiration, of which, however, the young coquette seemed utterly unconscious.
helen came leisurely after, and hoffman followed with a telescope, wishing, as he went, that his countrywomen possessed such dainty feet as those going on before him, for which masculine iniquity he will be pardoned by all who have seen the foot of a german fraulein.
it was worth the long ascent, that wide-spread landscape basking in the august glow.
sitting on a fallen block of stone, while casimer held a sun-umbrella over her, amy had raptures at her ease; while helen sketched and asked questions of hoffman, who stood beside her, watching her progress with interest.
once when, after repeated efforts to catch a curious effect of light and shade, she uttered an impatient little exclamation, karl made a gesture as if to take the pencil and show her, but seemed to recollect himself and drew back with a hasty "pardon, mademoiselle."
helen glanced up and saw the expression of his face, which plainly betrayed that for a moment the gentleman had forgotten he was a courier.
she was glad of it, for it was a daily trial to her to order this man about; and following the womanly impulse, she smiled and offered the pencil, saying simply, -- "i felt sure you understood it; please show me."
he did so, and a few masterly strokes gave the sketch what it needed.
as he bent near her to do this helen stole a glance at the grave, dark face, and suddenly a disturbed look dawned in the eyes fixed on the glossy black locks pushed off the courier's forehead, for he had removed his hat when she spoke to him.
he seemed to feel that something was amiss, shot a quick glance at her, returned the pencil and rose erect, with an almost defiant air, yet something of shame in his eye, as his lips moved as if to speak impetuously.
but not a word did he utter, for helen touched her forehead significantly, and said in a low tone, -- "i am an artist; let me recommend vandyke brown, which is not affected by heat."
hoffman looked over his shoulder at the other pair, but amy was making an ivy wreath for her hat, and the pole pulling sprays for the absorbing work.
speaking rapidly, karl said, with a peculiar blending of merriment, humility, and anxiety in his tone, -- "mademoiselle, you are quick to discover my disguise; will you also be kind in concealing?
i have enemies as well as friends, whom i desire to escape: i would earn my bread unknown; monsieur le major keeps my foolish secret; may i hope for equal goodness from yourself?"
""you may, i do not forget that i owe my life to you, nor that you are a gentleman.
trust me, i never will betray you."
""thanks, thanks!
there will come a time when i may confess the truth and be myself, but not yet," and his regretful tone was emphasized by an impatient gesture, as if concealment was irksome.
""nell, come down to lunch; uncle is signalling as if he'd gone mad.
no, monsieur, it is quite impossible; you can not reach the harebells without risking too much; come away and forget that i wanted them."
amy led the way, and all went down more quietly than they came up, especially helen and hoffman.
an excellent lunch waited on one of the tables in front of the old gateway, and having done justice to it, the major made himself comfortable with a cigar, bidding the girls keep near, for they must be off in half an hour.
hoffman went to see to the horses, casimer strolled away with him, and the young ladies went to gather wild flowers at the foot of the tower.
""not a harebell here; is n't it provoking, when they grow in tufts up there, where one ca n't reach them.
mercy, what's that?
run, nell, the old wall is coming down!"
both had been grubbing in a damp nook, where ferns and mosses grew luxuriantly; the fall of a bit of stone and a rending sound above made them fly back to the path and look up.
amy covered her eyes, and helen grew pale, for part way down the crumbling tower, clinging like a bird to the thick ivy stems, hung casimer, coolly gathering harebells from the clefts of the wall.
""hush; do n't cry out or speak; it may startle him.
crazy boy!
let us see what he will do," whispered helen.
""he ca n't go back, the vines are so torn and weak; and how will he get down the lower wall?
for you see the ivy grows up from that ledge, and there is nothing below.
how could he do it?
i was only joking when i lamented that there were no knights now, ready to leap into a lion's den for a lady's glove," returned amy, half angry.
in breathless silence they watched the climber till his cap was full of flowers, and taking it between his teeth, he rapidly swung down to the wide ledge, from which there appeared to be no way of escape but a reckless leap of many feet on to the turf below.
the girls stood in the shadow of an old gateway, unperceived, and waited anxiously what should follow.
lightly folding and fastening the cap together, he dropped it down, and, leaning forward, tried to catch the top of a young birch rustling close by the wall.
twice he missed it; the first time he frowned, but the second he uttered an emphatic, "deuce take it!"
helen and amy looked at each other with a mutual smile and exclamation, -- "he knows some english, then!"
there was time for no more -- a violent rustle, a boyish laugh, and down swung the slender tree, with the young man clinging to the top.
as he landed safely, helen cried, "bravo!"
and amy rushed out, exclaiming reproachfully, yet admiringly, -- "how could you do it and frighten us so?
i shall never express a wish before you again, for if i wanted the moon you'd rashly try to get it, i know.""
certainement, mademoiselle," was the smiling reply.
casimer presented the flowers, as if the exploit was a mere trifle.
""now i shall go and press them at once in uncle's guide-book.
come and help me, else you will be in mischief again."
and amy led the way to the major with her flowers and their giver.
helen roamed into one of the ruined courts for a last look at a fountain which pleased her eye.
a sort of cloister ran round the court, open on both sides, and standing in one of these arched nooks, she saw hoffman and a young girl talking animatedly.
the girl was pretty, well dressed, and seemed refusing something for which the other pleaded eagerly.
his arm was about her, and she leaned affectionately upon him, with a white hand now and then caressing his face, which was full of sparkle and vivacity now.
they seemed about to part as helen looked, for the maiden standing on tiptoe, laughingly offered her blooming cheek, and as karl kissed it warmly, he said in german, so audibly helen heard every word, -- "farewell, my ludmilla.
keep silent and i shall soon be with you.
embrace the little one, and do not let him forget me."
both left the place as they spoke, each going a different way, and helen slowly returned to her party, saying to herself in a troubled tone, --" "ludmilla" and "the little one" are his wife and child, doubtless.
i wonder if uncle knows that."
when hoffman next appeared she could not resist looking at him; but the accustomed gravity was resumed, and nothing remained of the glow and brightness he had worn when with ludmilla in the cloister.
vi chateau de la tour helen looked serious and amy indignant when their uncle joined them, ready to set out by the afternoon train, all having dined and rested after the morning's excursion.
""well, little girls, what's the matter now?"
he asked, paternally, for the excellent man adored his nieces.
""helen says it's not best to go on with the pole, and is perfectly nonsensical, uncle," began amy, petulantly, and not very coherently.
""better be silly now than sorry by and by.
i only suggested that, being interesting, and amy romantic, she might find this young man too charming, if we see too much of him," said helen.
""bless my soul, what an idea!"
cried the major.
""why, nell, he's an invalid, a catholic, and a foreigner, any one of which objections are enough to settle that matter.
little amy is n't so foolish as to be in danger of losing her heart to a person so entirely out of the question as this poor lad, is she?"
""of course not.
you do me justice, uncle.
nell thinks she may pity and pet any one she likes because she is five years older than i, and entirely forgets that she is a great deal more attractive than a feeble thing like me.
i should as soon think of losing my heart to hoffman as to the pole, even if he was n't what he is.
one may surely be kind to a dying man, without being accused of coquetry;" and amy sobbed in the most heart-rending manner.
helen comforted her by withdrawing all objections, and promising to leave the matter in the major's hands.
but she shook her head privately when she saw the ill-disguised eagerness with which her cousin glanced up and down the platform after they were in the train, and she whispered to her uncle, unobserved, -- "leave future meetings to chance, and do n't ask the pole in, if you can help it."
""nonsense, my dear.
you are as particular as your aunt.
the lad amuses me, and you ca n't deny you like to nurse sick heroes," was all the answer she got, as the major, with true masculine perversity, put his head out of the window and hailed casimer as he was passing with a bow.
""here, teblinski, my good fellow, do n't desert us.
we've always a spare seat for you, if you have n't pleasanter quarters."
with a flush of pleasure the young man came up, but hesitated to accept the invitation till helen seconded it with a smile of welcome.
amy was in an injured mood, and, shrouded in a great blue veil, pensively reclined in her corner as if indifferent to everything about her.
but soon the cloud passed, and she emerged in a radiant state of good humor, which lasted unbroken until the journey ended.
for two days they went on together, a very happy party, for the major called in hoffman to see his friend and describe the places through which they passed.
an arrangement very agreeable to all, as karl was a favorite, and every one missed him when away.
at lausanne they waited while he crossed the lake to secure rooms at vevay.
on his return he reported that all the hotels and pensions were full, but that at la tour he had secured rooms for a few weeks in a quaint old chateau on the banks of the lake.
""count severin is absent in egypt, and the housekeeper has permission to let the apartments to transient visitors.
the suite of rooms i speak of were engaged to a party who are detained by sickness -- they are cheap, pleasant, and comfortable.
a salon and four bed-rooms.
i engaged them all, thinking that teblinski might like a room there till he finds lodgings at montreaux.
we can enter at once, and i am sure the ladies will approve of the picturesque place."
""well done, hoffman; off we go without delay, for i really long to rest my old bones in something like a home, after this long trip," said the major, who always kept his little troop in light marching order.
the sail across that loveliest of lakes prepared the new-comers to be charmed with all they saw; and when, entering by the old stone gate, they were led into a large saloon, quaintly furnished and opening into a terrace-garden overhanging the water, with chillon and the alps in sight, amy declared nothing could be more perfect, and helen's face proved her satisfaction.
an english widow and two quiet old german professors on a vacation were the only inmates besides themselves and the buxom swiss housekeeper and her maids.
it was late when our party arrived, and there was only time for a hasty survey of their rooms and a stroll in the garden before dinner.
the great chamber, with its shadowy bed, dark mirrors, ghostly wainscot-doors and narrow windows, had not been brightened for a long time by such a charming little apparition as amy when she shook out her airy muslins, smoothed her curls, and assumed all manner of distracting devices for the captivation of mankind.
even helen, though not much given to personal vanity, found herself putting flowers in her hair, and studying the effect of bracelets on her handsome arms, as if there was some especial need of looking her best on this occasion.
both were certainly great ornaments to the drawing-room that evening, as the old professors agreed while they sat blinking at them, like a pair of benign owls.
casimer surprised them by his skill in music, for, though forbidden to sing on account of his weak lungs, he played as if inspired.
amy hovered about him like a moth; the major cultivated the acquaintance of the plump widow; and helen stood at the window, enjoying the lovely night and music, till something happened which destroyed her pleasure in both.
the window was open, and, leaning from it, she was watching the lake, when the sound of a heavy sigh caught her ear.
there was no moon, but through the starlight she saw a man's figure among the shrubs below, sitting with bent head and hidden face in the forlorn attitude of one shut out from the music, light, and gayety that reigned within.
""it is karl," she thought, and was about to speak, when, as if startled by some sound she did not hear, he rose and vanished in the gloom of the garden.
""poor man!
he thought of his wife and child, perhaps, sitting here alone while all the rest make merry, with no care for him.
uncle must see to this;" and helen fell into a reverie till amy came to propose retiring.
""i meant to have seen where all these doors led, but was so busy dressing i had no time, so must leave it for my amusement to-morrow.
uncle says it's a very radcliffian place.
how like an angel that man did play!"
chattered amy, and lulled herself to sleep by humming the last air casimer had given them.
helen could not sleep, for the lonely figure in the garden haunted her, and she wearied herself with conjectures about hoffman and his mystery.
hour after hour rung from the cuckoo-clock in the hall, but still she lay awake, watching the curious shadows in the room, and exciting herself with recalling the tales of german goblins with which the courier had amused them the day before.
""it is close and musty here, with all this old tapestry and stuff about; i'll open the other window," she thought; and, noiselessly slipping from amy's side, she threw on wrapper and slippers, lighted her candle and tried to unbolt the tall, diamond-paned lattice.
it was rusty and would not yield, and, giving it up, she glanced about to see whence air could be admitted.
there were four doors in the room, all low and arched, with clumsy locks and heavy handles.
one opened into a closet, one into the passage; the third was locked, but the fourth opened easily, and, lifting her light, she peeped into a small octagon room, full of all manner of curiosities.
what they were she had no time to see, for her startled eyes were riveted on an object that turned her faint and cold with terror.
a heavy table stood in the middle of the room, and seated at it, with some kind of weapon before him, was a man who looked over his shoulder, with a ghastly face half hidden by hair and beard, and fierce black eyes as full of malignant menace as was the clinched hand holding the pistol.
one instant helen looked, the next flung to the door, bolted it and dropped into a chair, trembling in every limb.
the noise did not wake amy, and a moment's thought showed helen the wisdom of keeping her in ignorance of this affair.
she knew the major was close by, and possessing much courage, she resolved to wait a little before rousing the house.
hardly had she collected herself, when steps were heard moving softly in the octagon room.
her light had gone out as she closed the door, and sitting close by in the dark, she heard the sound of some one breathing as he listened at the key-hole.
then a careful hand tried the door, so noiselessly that no sleeper would have been awakened; and as if to guard against a second surprise, the unknown person drew two bolts across the door and stole away.
""safe for a time; but i'll not pass another night under this roof, unless this is satisfactorily cleared up," thought helen, now feeling more angry than frightened.
the last hour that struck was three, and soon the summer dawn reddened the sky.
dressing herself, helen sat by amy, a sleepless guard, till she woke, smiling and rosy as a child.
saying nothing of her last night's alarm, helen went down to breakfast a little paler than usual, but otherwise unchanged.
the major never liked to be disturbed till he had broken his fast, and the moment they rose from the table he exclaimed, -- "now, girls, come and see the mysteries of udolpho."
""i'll say nothing, yet," thought helen, feeling braver by daylight, yet troubled by her secret, for hoffman might be a traitor, and this charming chateau a den of thieves.
such things had been, and she was in a mood to believe anything.
the upper story was a perfect museum of antique relics, very entertaining to examine.
having finished these, hoffman, who acted as guide, led them into a little gloomy room containing a straw pallet, a stone table with a loaf and pitcher on it, and, kneeling before a crucifix, where the light from a single slit in the wall fell on him, was the figure of a monk.
the waxen mask was life-like, the attitude effective, and the cell excellently arranged.
amy cried out when she first saw it, but a second glance reassured her, and she patted the bald head approvingly, as karl explained.
-- "count severin is an antiquarian, and amuses himself with things of this sort.
in old times there really was a hermit here, and this is his effigy.
come down these narrow stairs, if you please, and see the rest of the mummery."
down they went, and the instant helen looked about her, she burst into a hysterical laugh, for there sat her ruffian, exactly as she saw him, glaring over his shoulder with threatening eyes, and one hand on the pistol.
they all looked at her, for she was pale, and her merriment unnatural; so, feeling she had excited curiosity, she gratified it by narrating her night's adventure.
hoffman looked much concerned.
""pardon, mademoiselle, the door should have been bolted on this side.
it usually is, but that room being unused, it was forgotten.
i remembered it, and having risen early, crept up to make sure that you did not come upon this ugly thing unexpectedly.
but i was too late, it seems; you have suffered, to my sorrow."
""dear nell, and that was why i found you so pale and cold and quiet, sitting by me when i woke, guarding me faithfully as you promised you would.
how brave and kind you were!"
""villain!
i should much like to fire your own pistols at you for this prank of yours."
and casimer laughingly filliped the image on its absurdly aquiline nose.
""what in the name of common sense is this goblin here for?"
demanded the major, testily.
""there is a legend that once the owner of the chateau amused himself by decoying travellers here, putting them to sleep in that room, and by various devices alluring them thither.
here, one step beyond the threshold of the door, was a trap, down which the unfortunates were precipitated to the dungeon at the bottom of the tower, there to die and be cast into the lake through a water-gate, still to be seen.
severin keeps this flattering likeness of the rascal, as he does the monk above, to amuse visitors by daylight, not at night, mademoiselle."
and hoffman looked wrathfully at the image, as if he would much enjoy sending it down the trap.
""how ridiculous!
i shall not go about this place alone, for fear of lighting upon some horror of this sort.
i've had enough; come away into the garden; it's full of roses, and we may have as many as we like."
as she spoke amy involuntarily put out her hand for casimer to lead her down the steep stone steps, and he pressed the little hand with a tender look which caused it to be hastily withdrawn.
""here are your roses.
pretty flower; i know its meaning in english, for it is the same with us.
to give a bud to a lady is to confess the beginning of love, a half open one tells of its growth, and a full-blown one is to declare one's passion.
do you have that custom in your land, mademoiselle?"
he had gathered the three as he spoke, and held the bud separately while looking at his companion wistfully.
""no, we are not poetical, like your people, but it is a pretty fancy," and amy settled her bouquet with an absorbed expression, though inwardly wondering what he would do with his flowers.
he stood silent a moment, with a sudden flush sweeping across his face, then flung all three into the lake with a gesture that made the girl start, and muttered between his teeth: "no, no; for me it is too late."
she affected not to hear, but making up a second bouquet, she gave it to him, with no touch of coquetry in compassionate eyes or gentle voice.
""make your room bright with these.
when one is ill nothing is so cheering as the sight of flowers."
meantime the others had descended and gone their separate ways.
as karl crossed the courtyard a little child ran to meet him with outstretched arms and a shout of satisfaction.
he caught it up and carried it away on his shoulder, like one used to caress and be caressed by children.
helen, waiting at the door of the tower while the major dusted his coat, saw this, and said, suddenly, directing his attention to man and child, -- "he seems fond of little people.
i wonder if he has any of his own."
""hoffman?
no, my dear; he's not married; i asked him that when i engaged him."
""and he said he was not?"
""yes; he's not more than five or six-and-twenty, and fond of a wandering life, so what should he want of a wife and a flock of bantlings?"
""he seems sad and sober sometimes, and i fancied he might have some domestic trouble to harass him.
do n't you think there is something peculiar about him?"
asked helen, remembering hoffman's hint that her uncle knew his wish to travel incognito, and wondering if he would throw any light upon the matter.
but the major's face was impenetrable and his answer unsatisfactory.
""well, i do n't know.
every one has some worry or other, and as for being peculiar, all foreigners seem more or less so to us, they are so unreserved and demonstrative.
i like hoffman more and more every day, and shall be sorry when i part with him."
""ludmilla is his sister, then, or he did n't tell uncle the truth.
it is no concern of mine; but i wish i knew," thought helen anxiously, and then wondered why she should care.
a feeling of distrust had taken possession of her and she determined to be on the watch, for the unsuspicious major would be easily duped, and helen trusted more to her own quick and keen eye than to his experience.
she tried to show nothing of the change in her manner: but hoffman perceived it, and bore it with a proud patience which often touched her heart, but never altered her purpose.
vii at fault four weeks went by so rapidly that every one refused to believe it when the major stated the fact at the breakfast-table, for all had enjoyed themselves so heartily that they had been unconscious of the lapse of time.
""you are not going away, uncle?"
cried amy, with a panic-stricken look.
""next week, my dear; we must be off, for we've much to do yet, and i promised mamma to bring you back by the end of october."
""never mind paris and the rest of it; this is pleasanter.
i'd rather stay here --" there amy checked herself and tried to hide her face behind her coffee-cup, for casimer looked up in a way that made her heart flutter and her cheeks burn.
""sorry for it, amy; but go we must, so enjoy your last week with all your might, and come again next year."
""it will never be again what it is now," sighed amy; and casimer echoed the words "next year," as if sadly wondering if the present year would not be his last.
helen rose silently and went into the garden, for of late she had fallen into the way of reading and working in the little pavilion which stood in an angle of the wall, overlooking lake and mountains.
a seat at the opposite end of the walk was amy's haunt, for she liked the sun, and within a week or two something like constraint had existed between the cousins.
each seemed happier apart, and each was intent on her own affairs.
helen watched over amy's health, but no longer offered advice or asked confidence.
she often looked anxious, and once or twice urged the major to go, as if conscious of some danger.
but the worthy man seemed to have been bewitched as well as the young folks, and was quite happy sitting by the plump, placid widow, or leisurely walking with her to the chapel on the hillside.
all seemed waiting for something to break up the party, and no one had the courage to do it.
the major's decision took every one by surprise, and amy and casimer looked as if they had fallen from the clouds.
the persistency with which the english lessons had gone on was amazing, for amy usually tired of everything in a day or two.
now, however, she was a devoted teacher, and her pupil did her great credit by the rapidity with which he caught the language.
it looked like pleasant play, sitting among the roses day after day, amy affecting to embroider while she taught, casimer marching to and fro on the wide, low wall, below which lay the lake, while he learned his lesson; then standing before her to recite, or lounging on the turf in frequent fits of idleness, both talking and laughing a great deal, and generally forgetting everything but the pleasure of being together.
they wrote little notes as exercises -- amy in french, casimer in english, and each corrected the other's.
all very well for a time; but as the notes increased the corrections decreased, and at last nothing was said of ungrammatical french or comical english and the little notes were exchanged in silence.
as amy took her place that day she looked forlorn, and when her pupil came her only welcome was a reproachful -- "you are very late, sir."
""it is fifteen of minutes yet to ten clocks," was casimer's reply, in his best english.
""ten o'clock, and leave out "of" before minutes.
how many times must i tell you that?"
said amy, severely, to cover her first mistake.
""ah, not many times; soon all goes to finish, and i have none person to make this charming english go in my so stupide head."
""what will you do then?"
""i jeter myself into the lake."
""do n't be foolish; i'm dull to-day, and want to be cheered up; suicide is n't a pleasant subject."
""good!
see here, then -- a little plaisanterie -- what you call joke.
can you will to see it?"
and he laid a little pink cocked-hat note on her lap, looking like a mischievous boy as he did so."
"mon casimer teblinski;" i see no joke;" and amy was about to tear it up, when he caught it from destruction, and holding it out of reach, said, laughing wickedly, -- "the "mon" is one abbreviation of "monsieur," but you put no little -- how do you say?
-- period at the end of him; it goes now in english -- my casimer teblinski," and that is of the most charming address."
amy colored, but had her return shot ready.
""do n't exult; that was only an oversight, not a deliberate deception like that you put upon me.
it was very wrong and rude, and i shall not forgive it.""
mon dieu!
where have i gone in sinning!
i am a polisson, as i say each day, but not a villain, i swear to you.
say to me that which i have made of wrong, and i will do penance."
""you told me" ma drogha" was the polish for "my pupil," and let me call you so a long time; i am wiser now," replied amy, with great dignity.
""who has said stupidities to you, that you doubt me?"
and casimer assumed an injured look, though his eyes danced with merriment.
""i heard hoffman singing a polish song to little roserl, the burden of which was," ma drogha, ma drogha," and when i asked him to translate it, those two words meant, "my darling."
how dare you, ungrateful creature that you are!"
as amy spoke, half-confusedly, half-angrily, casimer went down upon his knees, with folded hands and penitent face, exclaiming, in good english, -- "be merciful to me a sinner.
i was tempted, and i could not resist."
""get up this instant, and stop laughing.
say your lesson, for this will be your last," was the stern reply, though amy's face dimpled all over with suppressed merriment.
he rose meekly, but made such sad work with the verb "to love," that his teacher was glad to put an end to it, by proposing to read her french to him.
it was "thaddeus of warsaw," a musty little translation which she had found in the house, and begun for her own amusement.
casimer read a little, seemed interested, and suggested that they read it together, so that he might correct her accent.
amy agreed, and they were in the heart of the sentimental romance, finding it more interesting than most modern readers, for the girl had an improved thaddeus before her, and the pole a fairer, kinder mary beaufort.
dangerous times for both, but therein lay the charm; for, though amy said to herself each night, "sick, catholic, and a foreigner, -- it can never be," yet each morning she felt, with increasing force, how blank her day would be without him.
and casimer, honorably restraining every word of love, yet looked volumes, and in spite of the glasses, the girl felt the eloquence of the fine eyes they could not entirely conceal.
to-day, as she read, he listened with his head leaning on his hand, and though she never had read worse, he made no correction, but sat so motionless, she fancied at last that he had actually fallen asleep.
thinking to rouse him, she said, in french, -- "poor thaddeus!
do n't you pity him?
-- alone, poor, sick, and afraid to own his love."
""no, i hate him, the absurd imbecile, with his fine boots and plumes, and tragedy airs.
he was not to be pitied, for he recovered health, he found a fortune, he won his marie.
his sufferings were nothing; there was no fatal blight on him, and he had time and power to conquer his misfortunes, while i --" casimer spoke with sudden passion, and pausing abruptly, turned his face away, as if to hide some emotion he was too proud to show.
amy's heart ached, and her eyes filled, but her voice was sweet and steady, as she said, putting by the book, like one weary of it, -- "are you suffering to-day?
can we do anything for you?
please let us, if we may."
""you give me all i can receive; no one can help my pain yet; but a time will come when something may be done for me; then i will speak."
and, to her great surprise, he rose and left her, without another word.
she saw him no more till evening; then he looked excited, played stormily, and would sing in defiance of danger.
the trouble in amy's face seemed reflected in helen's, though not a word had passed between them.
she kept her eye on casimer, with an intentness that worried amy, and even when he was at the instrument helen stood near him, as if fascinated, watching the slender hands chase one another up and down the keys with untiring strength and skill.
suddenly she left the room and did not return.
amy was so nervous by that time, she could restrain herself no longer, and slipping out, found her cousin in their chamber, poring over a glove.
""oh, nell, what is it?
you are so odd to-night i ca n't understand you.
the music excites me, and i'm miserable, and i want to know what has happened," she said, tearfully.
""i've found him!"
whispered helen, eagerly, holding up the glove with a gesture of triumph.
""who?"
asked amy, blinded by her tears.
""the baron."
""where?
-- when?"
cried the girl, amazed.
""here, and now."
""do n't take my breath away; tell me quick, or i shall get hysterical."
""casimer is sigismund palsdorf, and no more a pole than i am," was helen's answer.
amy dropped in a heap on the floor, not fainting, but so amazed she had neither strength nor breath left.
sitting by her, helen rapidly went on, -- "i had a feeling as if something was wrong, and began to watch.
the feeling grew, but i discovered nothing till to-day.
it will make you laugh, it was so unromantic.
as i looked over uncle's things when the laundress brought them this afternoon, i found a collar that was not his.
it was marked's.
p.," and i at once felt a great desire to know who owned it.
the woman was waiting for her money, and i asked her.
"monsieur pologne," she said, for his name is too much for her.
she took it into his room, and that was the end of it."
""but it may be another name; the initials only a coincidence," faltered amy, looking frightened.
""no, dear, it is n't; there is more to come.
little roserl came crying through the hall an hour ago, and i asked what the trouble was.
she showed me a prettily-bound prayer-book which she had taken from the pole's room to play with, and had been ordered by her mother to carry back.
i looked into it; no name, but the same coat-of-arms as the glove and the handkerchief.
to-night as he played i examined his hands; they are peculiar, and some of the peculiarities have left traces on the glove.
i am sure it is he, for on looking back many things confirm the idea.
he says he is a polisson, a rogue, fond of jokes, and clever at playing them.
the germans are famous for masquerading and practical jokes; this is one, i am sure, and uncle will be terribly angry if he discovers it."
""but why all this concealment?"
cried amy.
""why play jokes on us?
you look so worried i know you have not told me all you know or fear."
""i confess i do fear that these men are political plotters as well as exiles.
there are many such, and they make tools of rich and ignorant foreigners to further their ends.
uncle is rich, generous, and unsuspicious; and i fear that while apparently serving and enjoying us they are using him."
""heavens, it may be!
and that would account for the change we see in him.
i thought he was in love with the widow, but that may be only a cloak to hide darker designs.
karl brought us here, and i dare say it is a den of conspirators!"
cried amy, feeling as if she were getting more of an adventure than she had bargained for.
""do n't be alarmed!
i am on the watch, and mean to demand an explanation from uncle, or take you away on my own responsibility, if i can."
here a maid tapped to say that tea was served.
""we must go down, or some one will suspect trouble.
plead headache to excuse your paleness, and i'll keep people away.
we will manage the affair and be off as soon as possible," said helen, as amy followed her, too bewildered to answer.
casimer was not in the room, the major and mrs. cumberland were sipping tea side by side, and the professors roaming vaguely about.
to leave amy in peace, helen engaged them both in a lively chat, and her cousin sat by the window trying to collect her thoughts.
some one was pacing up and down the garden, hatless, in the dew.
amy forgot everything but the danger of such exposure to her reckless friend.
his cloak and hat lay on a chair; she caught them up and glided unperceived from the long window.
""you are so imprudent i fear for you, and bring your things," said a timid voice, as the little white figure approached the tall black one, striding down the path tempestuously.
""you to think of me, forgetful of yourself!
little angel of kindness, why do you take such care of me?"
cried casimer, eagerly taking not only the cloak, but the hands that held it.
""i pitied you because you were ill and lonely.
you do not deserve my pity, but i forgive that, and would not see you suffer," was the reproachful answer, as amy turned away.
but he held her fast, saying earnestly, -- "what have i done?
you are angry.
tell me my fault and i will amend."
""you have deceived me."
""how?"
""will you own the truth?"
and in her eagerness to set her fears at rest, amy forgot helen.
""i will."
she could not see his face, but his voice was steady and his manner earnest.
""tell me, then, is not your true name sigismund palsdorf?"
he started, but answered instantly, -- "it is not."
""you are not the baron?"
cried amy.
""no; i will swear it if you wish."
""who, then, are you?"
""shall i confess?"
""yes, i entreat you."
""remember, you command me to speak."
""i do.
who are you?"
""your lover."
the words were breathed into her ear as softly as ardently, but they startled her so much she could find no reply, and, throwing himself down before her, casimer poured out his passion with an impetuosity that held her breathless.
""yes, i love you, and i tell it, vain and dishonorable as it is in one like me.
i try to hide it.
i say "it can not be."
i plan to go away.
but you keep me; you are angel-good to me; you take my heart, you care for me, teach me, pity me, and i can only love and die.
i know it is folly; i ask nothing; i pray to god to bless you always, and i say, go, go, before it is too late for you, as now for me!"
""yes, i must go -- it is all wrong.
forgive me.
i have been very selfish.
oh, forget me and be happy," faltered amy, feeling that her only safety was in flight.
""go!
go!"
he cried, in a heart-broken tone, yet still kissed and clung to her hands till she tore them away and fled into the house.
helen missed her soon after she went, but could not follow for several minutes; then went to their chamber and there found amy drowned in tears, and terribly agitated.
soon the story was told with sobs and moans, and despairing lamentations fit to touch a heart of stone.
""i do love him -- oh, i do; but i did n't know it till he was so unhappy, and now i've done this dreadful harm.
he'll die, and i ca n't help him, see him, or be anything to him.
oh, i've been a wicked, wicked girl, and never can be happy any more."
angry, perplexed, and conscience-stricken, for what now seemed blind and unwise submission to the major, helen devoted herself to calming amy, and when at last the poor, broken-hearted little soul fell asleep in her arms, she pondered half the night upon the still unsolved enigma of the baron sigismund.
viii more mystery "uncle, can i speak to you a moment?"
said helen, very gravely, as they left the breakfast-room next morning.
""not now, my dear, i'm busy," was the hasty reply, as the major shawled mrs. cumberland for an early promenade.
helen knit her brows irefully, for this answer had been given her half a dozen times lately when she asked for an interview.
it was evident he wished to avoid all lectures, remonstrances, and explanations; and it was also evident that he was in love with the widow.
""lovers are worse than lunatics to manage, so it is vain to try to get any help from him," sighed helen, adding, as her uncle was gallantly leading his stout divinity away into the garden: "amy has a bad headache, and i shall stay to take care of her, so we ca n't join your party to chillon, sir.
we have been there once, so you need n't postpone it for us."
""very well, my dear," and the major walked away, looking much relieved.
as helen was about to leave the salon casimer appeared.
a single glance at her face assured him that she knew all, and instantly assuming a confiding, persuasive air that was irresistible, he said, meekly, -- "mademoiselle, i do not deserve a word from you, but it desolates me to know that i have grieved the little angel who is too dear to me.
for her sake, pardon that i spoke my heart in spite of prudence, and permit me to send her this."
helen glanced from the flowers he held to his beseeching face, and her own softened.
he looked so penitent and anxious, she had not the heart to reproach him.
""i will forgive you and carry your gift to amy on one condition," she said, gravely.
""ah, you are kind!
name, then, the condition.
i implore you, and i will agree."
""tell me, then, on your honor as a gentleman, are you not baron palsdorf?"
""on my honor as a gentleman, i swear to you i am not."
""are you, in truth, what you profess to be?"
""i am, in truth, amy's lover, your devoted servant, and a most unhappy man, with but a little while to live.
believe this and pity me, dearest mademoiselle helène."
she did pity him, her eyes betrayed that, and her voice was very kind, as she said, -- "pardon my doubts.
i trust you now, and wish with all my heart that it was possible to make you happy.
you know it is not, therefore i am sure you will be wise and generous, and spare amy further grief by avoiding her for the little time we stay.
promise me this, casimer."
""i may see her if i am dumb?
do not deny me this.
i will not speak, but i must look at my little and dear angel when she is near."
he pleaded so ardently with lips and hands, and eager eyes, that helen could not deny him, and when he had poured out his thanks she left him, feeling very tender toward the unhappy young lover, whose passion was so hopeless, yet so warm.
amy was at breakfast in her room, sobbing and sipping, moaning and munching, for, though her grief was great, her appetite was good, and she was in no mood to see anything comical in cracking eggshells while she bewailed her broken heart, or in eating honey in the act of lamenting the bitterness of her fate.
casimer would have become desperate had he seen her in the little blue wrapper, with her bright hair loose on her shoulders, and her pretty face wet with tears, as she dropped her spoon to seize his flowers, -- three dewy roses, one a bud, one half and the other fully blown, making a fragrant record and avowal of the love which she must renounce.
""oh, my dear boy!
how can i give him up, when he is so fond, and i am all he has?
helen, uncle must let me write or go to mamma.
she shall decide; i ca n't; and no one else has a right to part us," sobbed amy, over her roses.
""casimer will not marry, dear; he is too generous to ask such a sacrifice," began helen, but amy cried indignantly, -- "it is no sacrifice; i'm rich.
what do i care for his poverty?"
""his religion!"
hinted helen, anxiously.
""it need not part us; we can believe what we will.
he is good; why mind whether he is catholic or protestant?"
""but a pole, amy, so different in tastes, habits, character, and beliefs.
it is a great risk to marry a foreigner; races are so unlike."
""i do n't care if he is a tartar, a calmuck, or any of the other wild tribes; i love him, he loves me, and no one need object if i do n't."
""but, dear, the great and sad objection still remains -- his health.
he just said he had but a little while to live."
amy's angry eyes grew dim, but she answered, with soft earnestness, -- "so much the more need of me to make that little while happy.
think how much he has suffered and done for others; surely i may do something for him.
oh, nell, can i let him die alone and in exile, when i have both heart and home to give him?"
helen could say no more; she kissed and comforted the faithful little soul, feeling all the while such sympathy and tenderness that she wondered at herself, for with this interest in the love of another came a sad sense of loneliness, as if she was denied the sweet experience that every woman longs to know.
amy never could remain long under a cloud, and seeing helen's tears, began to cheer both her cousin and herself.
""hoffman said he might live with care, do n't you remember?
and hoffman knows the case better than we.
let us ask him if casimer is worse.
you do it; i ca n't without betraying myself."
""i will," and helen felt grateful for any pretext to address a friendly word to karl, who had looked sad of late, and had been less with them since the major became absorbed in mrs. cumberland.
leaving amy to compose herself, helen went away to find hoffman.
it was never difficult, for he seemed to divine her wishes and appear uncalled the moment he was wanted.
hardly had she reached her favorite nook in the garden when he approached with letters, and asked with respectful anxiety, as she glanced at and threw them by with an impatient sigh, -- "has mademoiselle any orders?
will the ladies drive, sail, or make a little expedition?
it is fine, and mademoiselle looks as if the air would refresh her.
pardon that i make the suggestion."
""no, hoffman, i do n't like the air of this place, and intend to leave as soon as possible."
and helen knit her delicate dark brows with an expression of great determination.
""switzerland is the refuge of political exiles, and i hate plots and disguises; i feel oppressed by some mystery, and mean to solve or break away from it at once."
she stopped abruptly, longing to ask his help, yet withheld by a sudden sense of shyness in approaching the subject, though she had decided to speak to karl of the pole.
""can i serve you, mademoiselle?
if so, pray command me," he said, eagerly, coming a step nearer.
""you can, and i intend to ask your advice, for there can be nothing amiss in doing so, since you are a friend of casimer's."
""i am both friend and confidant, mademoiselle," he answered, as if anxious to let her understand that he knew all, without the embarrassment of words.
she looked up quickly, relieved, yet troubled.
""he has told you, then?"
""everything, mademoiselle.
pardon me if this afflicts you; i am his only friend here, and the poor lad sorely needed comfort."
""he did.
i am not annoyed; i am glad, for i know you will sustain him.
now i may speak freely, and be equally frank.
please tell me if he is indeed fatally ill?"
""it was thought so some months ago; now i hope.
happiness cures many ills, and since he has loved, he has improved.
i always thought care would save him; he is worth it."
hoffman paused, as if fearful of venturing too far; but helen seemed to confide freely in him, and said, softly, -- "ah, if it were only wise to let him be happy.
it is so bitter to deny love."
""god knows it is!"
the exclamation broke from hoffman as if an irrepressible impulse wrung it from him.
helen started, and for a moment neither spoke.
she collected herself soonest, and without turning, said, quietly, -- "i have been troubled by a strong impression that casimer is not what he seems.
till he denied it on his honor i believed him to be baron palsdorf.
did he speak the truth when he said he was not?"
""yes, mademoiselle."
""then, casimer teblinski is his real name?"
no answer.
she turned sharply, and added, -- "for my cousin's sake, i must know the truth.
several curious coincidences make me strongly suspect that he is passing under an assumed name."
not a word said hoffman, but looked on the ground, as motionless and expressionless as a statue.
helen lost patience, and in order to show how much she had discovered, rapidly told the story of the gloves, ring, handkerchief, prayer-book and collar, omitting all hint of the girlish romance they had woven about these things.
as she ended, hoffman looked up with a curious expression, in which confusion, amusement, admiration and annoyance seemed to contend.
""mademoiselle," he said, gravely, "i am about to prove to you that i feel honored by the confidence you place in me.
i can not break my word, but i will confess to you that casimer does not bear his own name."
""i knew it!"
said helen, with a flash of triumph in her eyes.
""he is the baron, and no pole.
you germans love masquerades and jokes.
this is one, but i must spoil it before it is played out."
""pardon; mademoiselle is keen, but in this she is mistaken.
casimer is not the baron; he did fight for poland, and his name is known and honored there.
of this i solemnly assure you."
she stood up and looked him straight in the face.
he met her eye to eye, and never wavered till her own fell.
she mused a few minutes, entirely forgetful of herself in her eagerness to solve the mystery.
hoffman stood so near that her dress touched him, and the wind blew her scarf against his hand; and as she thought he watched her while his eyes kindled, his color rose, and once he opened his lips to speak, but she moved at the instant, and exclaimed, -- "i have it!"
""now for it," he muttered, as if preparing for some new surprise or attack.
""when uncle used to talk about the polish revolution, there was, i remember a gallant young pole who did something brave.
the name just flashed on me, and it clears up my doubts.
stanislas prakora --'s.
p." -- and casimer is the man."
helen spoke with an eager, bright face, as if sure of the truth now; but, to her surprise, hoffman laughed, a short, irrepressible laugh, full of hearty but brief merriment.
he sobered in a breath, and with an entire change of countenance said, in an embarrassed tone, -- "pardon my rudeness; mademoiselle's acuteness threw me off my guard.
i can say nothing till released from my promise; but mademoiselle may rest assured that casimer teblinski is as good and brave a man as stanislas prakora."
helen's eyes sparkled, for in this reluctant reply she read confirmation of her suspicion, and thought that amy would rejoice to learn that her lover was a hero.
""you are exiles, but still hope and plot, and never relinquish your hearts" desire?"
""never, mademoiselle!"
""you are in danger?"
""in daily peril of losing all we most love and long for," answered karl, with such passion that helen found patriotism a lovely and inspiring thing.
""you have enemies?"
she asked, unable to control her interest, and feeling the charm of these confidences.
""alas!
yes," was the mournful reply, as karl dropped his eyes to hide the curious expression of mirth which he could not banish from them.
""can you not conquer them, or escape the danger they place you in?"
""we hope to conquer, we can not escape."
""this accounts for your disguise and casimer's false name?"
""yes.
we beg that mademoiselle will pardon us the anxiety and perplexity we have caused her, and hope that a time will soon arrive when we may be ourselves.
i fear the romantic interest with which the ladies have honored us will be much lessened, but we shall still remain their most humble and devoted servants."
something in his tone nettled helen, and she said sharply, -- "all this may be amusing to you, but it spoils my confidence in others to know they wear masks.
is your name also false?"
""i am karl hoffman, as surely as the sun shines, mademoiselle.
do not wound me by a doubt," he said, eagerly.
""and nothing more?"
she smiled as she spoke, and glanced at his darkened skin with a shake of the head.
""i dare not answer that."
""no matter; i hate titles, and value people for their own worth, not for their rank."
helen spoke impulsively, and, as if carried away by her words and manner, hoffman caught her hand and pressed his lips to it ardently, dropped it, and was gone, as if fearing to trust himself a moment longer.
helen stood where he left her, thinking, with a shy glance from her hand to the spot where he had stood, -- "it is pleasant to have one's hand kissed, as amy said.
poor karl, his fate is almost as hard as casimer's."
some subtile power seemed to make the four young people shun one another carefully, though all longed to be together.
the major appeared to share the secret disquiet that made the rest roam listlessly about, till little roserl came to invite them to a fête in honor of the vintage.
all were glad to go, hoping in the novelty and excitement to recover their composure.
the vineyard sloped up from the chateau, and on the hillside was a small plateau of level sward, shadowed by a venerable oak now hung with garlands, while underneath danced the chateau servants with their families, to the music of a pipe played by little friedel.
as the gentlefolk approached, the revel stopped, but the major, who was in an antic mood and disposed to be gracious, bade friedel play on, and as mrs. cumberland refused his hand with a glance at her weeds, the major turned to the count's buxom housekeeper, and besought her to waltz with him.
she assented, and away they went as nimbly as the best.
amy laughed, but stopped to blush, as casimer came up with an imploring glance, and whispered, -- "is it possible that i may enjoy one divine waltz with you before i go?"
amy gave him her hand with a glad assent, and helen was left alone.
every one was dancing but herself and hoffman, who stood near by, apparently unconscious of the fact.
he glanced covertly at her, and saw that she was beating time with foot and hand, that her eyes shone, her lips smiled.
he seemed to take courage at this, for, walking straight up to her, he said, as coolly as if a crown-prince, -- "mademoiselle, may i have the honor?"
a flash of surprise passed over her face, but there was no anger, pride, or hesitation in her manner, as she leaned toward him with a quiet "thanks, monsieur."
a look of triumph was in his eyes as he swept her away to dance, as she had never danced before, for a german waltz is full of life and spirit, wonderfully captivating to english girls, and german gentlemen make it a memorable experience when they please.
as they circled round the rustic ball-room, hoffman never took his eyes off helen's, and, as if fascinated, she looked up at him, half conscious that he was reading her heart as she read his.
he said not a word, but his face grew very tender, very beautiful in her sight, as she forgot everything except that he had saved her life and she loved him.
when they paused, she was breathless and pale; he also; and seating her he went away to bring her a glass of wine.
as her dizzy eyes grew clear, she saw a little case at her feet, and taking it up, opened it.
a worn paper, containing some faded forget-me-nots and these words, fell out, -- "gathered where helen sat on the night of august 10th."
there was just time to restore its contents to the case, when hoffman returned, saw it, and looked intensely annoyed as he asked, quickly, -- "did you read the name on it?"
""i saw only the flowers;" and helen colored beautifully as she spoke.
""and read them?"
he asked, with a look she could not meet.
she was spared an answer, for just then a lad came up, saying, as he offered a note, -- "monsieur hoffman, madame, at the hotel, sends you this, and begs you to come at once."
as he impatiently opened it, the wind blew the paper into helen's lap.
she restored it, and in the act, her quick eye caught the signature, "thine ever, ludmilla."
a slight shadow passed over her face, leaving it very cold and quiet.
hoffman saw the change, and smiled, as if well pleased, but assuming suddenly his usual manner, said deferentially, -- "will mademoiselle permit me to visit my friend for an hour?
-- she is expecting me."
""go, then, we do not need you," was the brief reply, in a careless tone, as if his absence was a thing of no interest to any one.
""thanks; i shall not be long away;" and giving her a glance that made her turn scarlet with anger at its undisguised admiration, he walked away, humming gayly to himself goethe's lines, -- "maiden's heart and city's wall were made to yield, were made to fall; when we've held them each their day, soldier-like we march away."
ix "s.p." and the baron dinner was over, and the salon deserted by all but the two young ladies, who sat apart, apparently absorbed in novels, while each was privately longing for somebody to come, and with the charming inconsistency of the fair sex, planning to fly if certain somebodies did appear.
steps approached; both buried themselves in their books; both held their breath and felt their hearts flutter as they never had done before at the step of mortal man.
the door opened; neither looked up, yet each was conscious of mingled disappointment and relief when the major said, in a grave tone, "girls, i've something to tell you."
""we know what it is, sir," returned helen, coolly.
""i beg your pardon, but you do n't, my dear, as i will prove in five minutes, if you will give me your attention."
the major looked as if braced up to some momentous undertaking; and planting himself before the two young ladies, dashed bravely into the subject.
""girls, i've played a bold game, but i've won it, and will take the consequences."
""they will fall heaviest on you, uncle," said helen, thinking he was about to declare his love for the widow.
the major laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and answered, stoutly, -- "i'll bear them; but you are quite wrong, my dear, in your surmises, as you will soon see.
helen is my ward, and accountable to me alone.
amy's mother gave her into my charge, and wo n't reproach me for anything that has passed when i explain matters.
as to the lads they must take care of themselves."
suddenly both girls colored, fluttered, and became intensely interested.
the major's eyes twinkled as he assumed a perfectly impassive expression, and rapidly delivered himself of the following thunderbolt, -- "girls, you have been deceived, and the young men you love are impostors."
""i thought so," muttered helen, grimly.
""oh, uncle, do n't, do n't say that!"
cried amy, despairingly.
""it's true, my dears; and the worst of it is, i knew the truth all the time.
now, do n't have hysterics, but listen and enjoy the joke as i do.
at coblentz, when you sat in the balcony, two young men overheard amy sigh for adventures, and helen advise making a romance out of the gloves one of the lads had dropped.
they had seen you by day; both admired you, and being idle, gay young fellows, they resolved to devote their vacation to gratifying your wishes and enjoying themselves.
we met at the fortress; i knew one of them, and liked the other immensely; so when they confided their scheme to me i agreed to help them carry it out, as i had perfect confidence in both, and thought a little adventure or two would do you good."
""uncle, you were mad," said helen; and amy added, tragically, -- "you do n't know what trouble has come of it."
""perhaps i was; that remains to be proved.
i do know everything, and fail to see any trouble, so do n't cry, little girl," briskly replied the inexplicable major.
""well, we had a merry time planning our prank.
one of the lads insisted on playing courier, though i objected.
he'd done it before, liked the part, and would have his way.
the other could n't decide, being younger and more in love; so we left him to come into the comedy when he was ready.
karl did capitally, as you will allow; and i am much attached to him, for in all respects he has been true to his word.
he began at coblentz; the other, after doing the mysterious at heidelberg, appeared as an exile, and made quick work with the prejudices of my well-beloved nieces -- hey, amy?"
""go on; who are they?"
cried both girls, breathlessly.
""wait a bit; i'm not bound to expose the poor fellows to your scorn and anger.
no; if you are going to be high and haughty, to forget their love, refuse to forgive their frolic, and rend their hearts with reproaches, better let them remain unknown."
""no, no; we will forget and forgive, only speak!"
was the command of both.
""you promise to be lenient and mild, to let them confess their motives, and to award a gentle penance for their sins?"
""yes, we promise!"
""then, come in, my lads, and plead for your lives."
as he spoke the major threw open the door, and two gentlemen entered the room -- one, slight and dark, with brilliant black eyes; the other tall and large, with blond hair and beard.
angry, bewildered, and shame-stricken as they were, feminine curiosity overpowered all other feelings for the moment, and the girls sat looking at the culprits with eager eyes, full of instant recognition; for though the disguise was off, and neither had seen them in their true characters but once, they felt no doubt, and involuntarily exclaimed, -- "karl!"
""casimer."
""no, young ladies; the courier and exile are defunct, and from their ashes rise baron sigismund palsdorf, my friend, and sidney power, my nephew.
i give you one hour to settle the matter; then i shall return to bestow my blessing or to banish these scapegraces forever."
and, having fired his last shot, the major prudently retreated, without waiting to see its effect.
it was tremendous, for it carried confusion into the fair enemy's camp; and gave the besiegers a momentary advantage of which they were not slow to avail themselves.
for a moment the four remained mute and motionless: then amy, like all timid things, took refuge in flight, and sidney followed her into the garden, glad to see the allies separated.
helen, with the courage of her nature, tried to face and repulse the foe; but love was stronger than pride, maiden shame overcame anger, and, finding it vain to meet and bear down the steady, tender glance of the blue eyes fixed upon her, she dropped her head into her hands and sat before him, like one conquered but too proud to cry "quarter."
her lover watched her till she hid her face, then drew near, knelt down before her, and said, with an undertone of deep feeling below the mirthful malice of his words, -- "mademoiselle, pardon me that i am a foolish baron, and dare to offer you the title that you hate.
i have served you faithfully for a month, and, presumptuous as it is, i ask to be allowed to serve you all my life.
helen, say you forgive the deceit for love's sake."
""no; you are false and forsworn.
how can i believe that anything is true?"
and helen drew away the hand of which he had taken possession.
""heart's dearest, you trusted me in spite of my disguise; trust me still, and i will prove that i am neither false nor forsworn.
catechise me, and see if i was not true in spite of all my seeming deception."
""you said your name was karl hoffman," began helen, glad to gain a little time to calm herself before the momentous question came.
""it is; i have many, and my family choose to call me sigismund," was the laughing answer.
""i'll never call you so; you shall be karl, the courier, all your life to me," cried helen, still unable to meet the ardent eyes before her.
""good; i like that well; for it assures me that all my life i shall be something to you, my heart.
what next?"
""when i asked if you were the baron, you denied it."
""pardon!
i simply said my name was hoffman.
you did not ask me point blank if i was the baron; had you done so, i think i should have confessed all, for it was very hard to restrain myself this morning."
""no, not yet; i have more questions;" and helen warned him away, as it became evident that he no longer considered restraint necessary.
""who is ludmilla?"
she said, sharply.
""my faith, that is superb!"
exclaimed the baron, with a triumphant smile at her betrayal of jealousy.
""how if she is a former love?"
he asked, with a sly look at her changing face.
""it would cause me no surprise; i am prepared for anything."
""how if she is my dearest sister, for whom i sent, that she might welcome you and bring the greetings of my parents to their new daughter?"
""is it, indeed, so?"
and helen's eyes dimmed as the thought of parents, home and love filled her heart with tenderest gratitude, for she had long been an orphan."
leibchen, it is true; to-morrow you shall see how dear you already are to them, for i write often and they wait eagerly to receive you."
helen felt herself going very fast, and made an effort to harden her heart, lest too easy victory should reward this audacious lover.
""i may not go; i also have friends, and in england we are not won in this wild way.
i will yet prove you false; it will console me for being so duped if i can call you traitor.
you said casimer had fought in poland."
""crudest of women, he did, but under his own name, sidney power."
""then, he was not the brave stanislas?
-- and there is no charming casimer?"
""yes, there are both, -- his and my friends, in paris; true poles, and when we go there you shall see them."
""but his illness was a ruse?"
""no; he was wounded in the war and has been ill since.
not of a fatal malady, i own; his cough misled you, and he has no scruples in fabling to any extent.
i am not to bear the burden of his sins."
""then, the romances he told us about your charity, your virtues, and -- your love of liberty were false?"
said helen, with a keen glance, for these tales had done much to interest her in the unknown baron.
sudden color rose to his forehead, and for the first time his eyes fell before hers, -- not in shame, but with a modest man's annoyance at hearing himself praised.
""sidney is enthusiastic in his friendship, and speaks too well for me.
the facts are true, but he doubtless glorified the simplest by his way of telling it.
will you forgive my follies, and believe me when i promise to play and duel no more?"
""yes."
she yielded her hand now, and her eyes were full of happiness, yet she added, wistfully, -- "and the betrothed, your cousin, minna, -- is she, in truth, not dear to you?"
""very dear, but less so than another; for i could not learn of her in years what i learned in a day when i met you.
helen, this was begun in jest, -- it ends in solemn earnest, for i love my liberty, and i have lost it, utterly and forever.
yet i am glad; look in my face and tell me you believe it."
he spoke now as seriously as fervently, and with no shadow on her own, helen brushed back the blond hair and looked into her lover's face.
truth, tenderness, power, and candor were written there in characters that could not lie; and with her heart upon her lips, she answered, as he drew her close, -- "i do believe, do love you, sigismund!"
meanwhile another scene was passing in the garden.
sidney, presuming upon his cousinship, took possession of amy, bidding her "strike but hear him."
of course she listened with the usual accompaniment of tears and smiles, reproaches and exclamations, varied by cruel exultations and coquettish commands to go away and never dare approach her again."
ma drogha, listen and be appeased.
years ago you and i played together as babies, and our fond mammas vowed we should one day mate.
when i was a youth of fourteen and you a mite of seven i went away to india with my father, and at our parting promised to come back and marry you.
being in a fret because you could n't go also, you haughtily declined the honor, and when i offered a farewell kiss, struck me with this very little hand.
do you remember it?"
""not i. too young for such nonsense."
""i do, and i also remember that in my boyish way i resolved to keep my word sooner or later, and i've done it."
""we shall see, sir," cried amy, strongly tempted to repeat her part of the childish scene as well as her cousin, but her hand was not free, and he got the kiss without the blow.
""for eleven years we never met.
you forgot me, and "cousin sidney" remained an empty name.
i was in india till four years ago; since then i've been flying about germany and fighting in poland, where i nearly got my quietus."
""my dear boy, were you wounded?"
""bless you, yes; and very proud of it i am.
i'll show you my scars some day; but never mind that now.
a while ago i went to england, seized with a sudden desire to find my wife."
""i admire your patience in waiting; so flattering to me, you know," was the sharp answer.
""it looks like neglect, i confess; but i'd heard reports of your flirtations, and twice of your being engaged, so i kept away till my work was done.
was it true?"
""i never flirt, sidney, and i was only engaged a little bit once or twice.
i did n't like it, and never mean to do so any more."
""i shall see that you do n't flirt; but you are very much engaged now, so put on your ring and make no romances about any's.
p." but myself."
""i shall wait till you clear your character; i'm not going to care for a deceitful impostor.
what made you think of this prank?"
""you did."
""i?
how?"
""when in england i saw your picture, though you were many a mile away, and fell in love with it.
your mother told me much about you, and i saw she would not frown upon my suit.
i begged her not to tell you i had come, but let me find you and make myself known when i liked.
you were in switzerland, and i went after you.
at coblentz i met sigismund, and told him my case; he is full of romance, and when we overheard you in the balcony we were glad of the hint.
sigismund was with me when you came, and admired helen immensely, so he was wild to have a part in the frolic.
i let him begin, and followed you unseen to heidelberg, meaning to personate an artist.
meeting you at the castle, i made a good beginning with the vaults and the ring, and meant to follow it up by acting the baron, you were so bent on finding him, but sigismund forbade it.
turning over a trunk of things left there the year before, i came upon my old polish uniform, and decided to be a thaddeus."
""how well you did it!
was n't it hard to act all the time?"
asked amy, wonderingly.
""very hard with helen, she is so keen, but not a bit so with you, for you are such a confiding soul any one could cheat you.
i've betrayed myself a dozen times, and you never saw it.
ah, it was capital fun to play the forlorn exile, study english, and flirt with my cousin."
""it was very base.
i should think you'd be devoured with remorse.
are n't you sorry?"
""for one thing.
i cropped my head lest you should know me.
i was proud of my curls, but i sacrificed them all to you."
""peacock!
did you think that one glimpse of your black eyes and fine hair would make such an impression that i should recognize you again?"
""i did, and for that reason disfigured my head, put on a mustache, and assumed hideous spectacles.
did you never suspect my disguise, amy?"
""no.
helen used to say that she felt something was wrong, but i never did till the other night."
""did n't i do that well?
i give you my word it was all done on the spur of the minute.
i meant to speak soon, but had not decided how, when you came out so sweetly with that confounded old cloak, of which i'd no more need than an african has of a blanket.
then a scene i'd read in a novel came into my head, and i just repeated it con amore.
was i very pathetic and tragical.
amy?"
""i thought so then.
it strikes me as ridiculous now, and i ca n't help feeling sorry that i wasted so much pity on a man who --" "loves you with all his heart and soul.
did you cry and grieve over me, dear little tender thing?
and do you think now that i am a heartless fellow, bent only on amusing myself at the expense of others?
it's not so; and you shall see how true and good and steady i can be when i have any one to love and care for me.
i've been alone so long it's new and beautiful to be petted, confided in, and looked up to by an angel like you."
he was in earnest now; she felt it, and her anger melted away like dew before the sun.
""poor boy!
you will go home with us now, and let us take care of you in quiet england.
you'll play no more pranks, but go soberly to work and do something that shall make me proud to be your cousin, wo n't you?"
""if you'll change "cousin" to "wife" i'll be and do whatever you please.
amy, when i was a poor, dying, catholic foreigner you loved me and would have married me in spite of everything.
now that i'm your well, rich, protestant cousin, who adores you as that pole never could, you turn cold and cruel.
is it because the romance is gone, or because your love was only a girl's fancy, after all?"
""you deceived me and i ca n't forget it; but i'll try," was the soft answer to his reproaches.
""are you disappointed that i'm not a baron?"
""a little bit."
""shall i be a count?
they gave me a title in poland, a barren honor, but all they had to offer, poor souls, in return for a little blood.
will you be countess zytomar and get laughed at for your pains, or plain mrs. power, with a good old english name?"
""neither, thank you; it's only a girlish fancy, which will soon be forgotten.
does the baron love helen?"
asked amy, abruptly.
""desperately, and she?"
""i think he will be happy; she is not one to make confidantes, but i know by her tenderness with me, her sadness lately, and something in her way of brightening when he comes, that she thinks much of him and loves karl hoffman.
how it will be with the baron i can not say."
""no fear of him; he wins his way everywhere.
i wish i were as fortunate;" and the gay young gentleman heaved an artful sigh and coughed the cough that always brought such pity to the girl's soft eyes.
she glanced at him as he leaned pensively on the low wall, looking down into the lake, with the level rays of sunshine on his comely face and figure.
something softer than pity stole into her eye, as she said, anxiously, -- "you are not really ill, sidney?"
""i have been, and still need care, else i may have a relapse," was the reply of this treacherous youth, whose constitution was as sound as a bell.
amy clasped her hands, as if in a transport of gratitude, exclaiming, fervently, -- "what a relief it is to know that you are not doomed to --" she paused with a shiver, as if the word were too hard to utter, and sidney turned to her with a beaming face, which changed to one of mingled pain and anger, as she added, with a wicked glance, -- "wear spectacles."
""amy, you've got no heart!"
he cried, in a tone that banished her last doubt of his love and made her whisper tenderly, as she clung to his arm, -- "no, dear; i've given it all to you."
punctual to the minute, major erskine marched into the salon, with mrs. cumberland on his arm, exclaiming, as he eyed the four young people together again, -- "now, ladies, is it to be "paradise lost" or "regained" for the prisoners at the bar?"
at this point the astonished gentleman found himself taken possession of by four excited individuals, for the girls embraced and kissed him, the young men wrung his hand and thanked him, and all seemed bent on assuring him that they were intensely happy, grateful and affectionate.
from this assault he emerged flushed and breathless, but beaming with satisfaction, and saying paternally, -- "bless you, my children, bless you.
i hoped and worked for this, and to prove how well i practise what i preach, let me present to you -- my wife."
as he drew forward the plump widow with a face full of smiles and tears, a second rush was made, and congratulations, salutes, exclamations and embraces were indulged in to every one's satisfaction.
as the excitement subsided the major said, simply, -- "we were married yesterday at montreaux.
let me hope that you will prove as faithful as i have been, as happy as i am, as blest as i shall be.
i loved this lady in my youth, have waited many years, and am rewarded at last, for love never comes too late."
the falter in his cheery voice, the dimness of his eyes, the smile on his lips, and the gesture with which he returned the pressure of the hand upon his arm, told the little romance of the good major's life more eloquently than pages of fine writing, and touched the hearts of those who loved him.
""i have been faithful for eleven years.
give me my reward soon, wo n't you, dear?"
whispered sidney.
""do n't marry me to-morrow, and if mamma is willing i'll think about it by and by," answered amy.
""it is beautiful!
let us go and do likewise," said sigismund to his betrothed.
but helen, anxious to turn the thoughts of all from emotions too deep for words, drew from her pocket a small pearl-colored object, which she gave to amy with mock solemnity, as she said, turning to lay her hand again in her lover's, -- "amy, our search is over.
you may keep the gloves; i have the baron."
my red cap "he who serves well need not fear to ask his wages."
i it was under a blue cap that i first saw the honest face of joe collins.
in the third year of the late war a maine regiment was passing through boston, on its way to washington.
the common was all alive with troops and the spectators who clustered round them to say god-speed, as the brave fellows marched away to meet danger and death for our sakes.
every one was eager to do something; and, as the men stood at ease, the people mingled freely with them, offering gifts, hearty grips of the hand, and hopeful prophecies of victory in the end.
irresistibly attracted, my boy tom and i drew near, and soon, becoming excited by the scene, ravaged the fruit-stands in our neighborhood for tokens of our regard, mingling candy and congratulations, peanuts and prayers, apples and applause, in one enthusiastic jumble.
while tom was off on his third raid, my attention was attracted by a man who stood a little apart, looking as if his thoughts were far away.
all the men were fine, stalwart fellows, as maine men usually are; but this one over-topped his comrades, standing straight and tall as a norway pine, with a face full of the mingled shrewdness, sobriety, and self-possession of the typical new englander.
i liked the look of him; and, seeing that he seemed solitary, even in a crowd, i offered him my last apple with a word of interest.
the keen blue eyes met mine gratefully, and the apple began to vanish in vigorous bites as we talked; for no one thought of ceremony at such a time.
""where are you from?"
""woolidge, ma'am."
""are you glad to go?"
""wal, there's two sides to that question.
i calk "late to do my duty, and do it hearty: but it is rough on a feller leavin" his folks, for good, maybe."
there was a sudden huskiness in the man's voice that was not apple-skins, though he tried to make believe that it was.
i knew a word about home would comfort him, so i went on with my questions.
""it is very hard.
do you leave a family?"
""my old mother, a sick brother, -- and lucindy."
the last word was uttered in a tone of intense regret, and his brown cheek reddened as he added hastily, to hide some embarrassment.
-- "you see, jim went last year, and got pretty well used up; so i felt as if i'd ought to take my turn now.
mother was a regular old hero about it and i dropped everything, and come off.
lucindy did n't think it was my duty; and that made it awful hard, i tell you."
""wives are less patriotic than mothers," i began; but he would not hear lucindy blamed, and said quickly, -- "she ai n't my wife yet, but we calk "lated to be married in a month or so; and it was wus for her than for me, women lot so on not being disappointed.
i could n't shirk, and here i be.
when i git to work, i shall be all right: the first wrench is the tryin" part."
here he straightened his broad shoulders, and turned his face toward the flags fluttering far in front, as if no backward look should betray the longing of his heart for mother, home, and wife.
i liked that little glimpse of character; and when tom returned with empty hands, reporting that every stall was exhausted, i told him to find out what the man would like best, then run across the street and get it.
""i know without asking.
give us your purse, and i'll make him as happy as a king," said the boy, laughing, as he looked up admiringly at our tall friend, who looked down on him with an elder-brotherly air pleasant to see.
while tom was gone, i found out joe's name and business, promised to write and tell his mother how finely the regiment went off, and was just expressing a hope that we might meet again, for i too was going to the war as nurse, when the order to "fall in!"
came rolling down the ranks, and the talk was over.
fearing tom would miss our man in the confusion, i kept my eye on him till the boy came rushing up with a packet of tobacco in one hand and a good supply of cigars in the other.
not a romantic offering, certainly, but a very acceptable one, as joe's face proved, as we scrambled these treasures into his pockets, all laughing at the flurry, while less fortunate comrades helped us, with an eye to a share of these fragrant luxuries by and by.
there was just time for this, a hearty shake of the big hand, and a grateful "good-by, ma'am;" then the word was given, and they were off.
bent on seeing the last of them, tom and i took a short cut, and came out on the wide street down which so many troops marched that year; and, mounting some high steps, we watched for our man, as we already called him.
as the inspiring music, the grand tramp, drew near, the old thrill went through the crowd, the old cheer broke out.
but it was a different scene now than in the first enthusiastic, hopeful days.
young men and ardent boys filled the ranks then, brave by instinct, burning with loyal zeal, and blissfully unconscious of all that lay before them.
now the blue coats were worn by mature men, some gray, all grave and resolute: husbands and fathers, with the memory of wives and children tugging at their heart-strings; homes left desolate behind them, and before them the grim certainty of danger, hardship, and perhaps the lifelong helplessness worse than death.
little of the glamour of romance about the war now: they saw it as it was, a long, hard task; and here were the men to do it well.
even the lookers-on were different now.
once all was wild enthusiasm and glad uproar; now men's lips were set, and women's smileless as they cheered; fewer handkerchiefs whitened the air, for wet eyes needed them; and sudden lulls, almost solemn in their stillness, followed the acclamations of the crowd.
all watched with quickened breath and brave souls that living wave, blue below, and bright with a steely glitter above, as it flowed down the street and away to distant battle-fields already stained with precious blood.
""there he is!
the outside man, and tallest of the lot.
give him a cheer, auntie: he sees us, and remembers!"
cried tom, nearly tumbling off his perch, as he waved his hat, and pointed out joe collins.
yes, there he was, looking up, with a smile on his brave brown face, my little nosegay in his button-hole, a suspicious bulge in the pocket close by, and doubtless a comfortable quid in his mouth, to cheer the weary march.
how like an old friend he looked, though we had only met fifteen minutes ago; how glad we were to be there to smile back at him, and send him on his way feeling that, even in a strange city, there was some one to say, "god bless you, joe!"
we watched the tallest blue cap till it vanished, and then went home in a glow of patriotism, -- tom to long for his turn to come, i to sew vigorously on the gray gown the new nurse burned to wear as soon as possible, and both of us to think and speak often of poor joe collins and his lucindy.
all this happened long ago; but it is well to recall those stirring times, -- to keep fresh the memory of sacrifices made for us by men like these; to see to it that the debt we owe them is honestly, gladly paid; and, while we decorate the graves of those who died, to remember also those who still live to deserve our grateful care.
ii i never expected to see joe again; but, six months later, we did meet in a washington hospital one winter's night.
a train of ambulances had left their sad freight at our door, and we were hurrying to get the poor fellows into much needed beds, after a week of hunger, cold, and unavoidable neglect.
all forms of pain were in my ward that night, and all borne with the pathetic patience which was a daily marvel to those who saw it.
trying to bring order out of chaos, i was rushing up and down the narrow aisle between the rows of rapidly filling beds, and, after brushing several times against a pair of the largest and muddiest boots i ever saw, i paused at last to inquire why they were impeding the passageway.
i found they belonged to a very tall man who seemed to be already asleep or dead, so white and still and utterly worn out he looked as he lay there, without a coat, a great patch on his forehead, and the right arm rudely bundled up.
stooping to cover him, i saw that he was unconscious, and, whipping out my brandy-bottle and salts, soon brought him round, for it was only exhaustion.
""can you eat?"
i asked, as he said, "thanky, ma'am," after a long draught of water and a dizzy stare.
""eat!
i'm starvin"!"
he answered, with such a ravenous glance at a fat nurse who happened to be passing, that i trembled for her, and hastened to take a bowl of soup from her tray.
as i fed him, his gaunt, weather-beaten face had a familiar look; but so many such faces had passed before me that winter, i did not recall this one till the ward-master came to put up the cards with the new-comers" names above their beds.
my man seemed absorbed in his food; but i naturally glanced at the card, and there was the name "joseph collins" to give me an additional interest in my new patient.
""why, joe!
is it really you?"
i exclaimed, pouring the last spoonful of soup down his throat so hastily that i choked him.
""all that's left of me.
wal, ai n't this luck, now?"
gasped joe, as gratefully as if that hospital-cot was a bed of roses.
""what is the matter?
a wound in the head and arm?"
i asked, feeling sure that no slight affliction had brought joe there.
""right arm gone.
shot off as slick as a whistle.
i tell you, it's a sing "lar kind of a feelin" to see a piece of your own body go flyin" away, with no prospect of ever coming back again," said joe, trying to make light of one of the greatest misfortunes a man can suffer.
""that is bad, but it might have been worse.
keep up your spirits, joe; and we will soon have you fitted out with a new arm almost as good as new."
""i guess it wo n't do much lumberin", so that trade is done for.
i s "pose there's things left-handed fellers can do, and i must learn'em as soon as possible, since my fightin" days are over," and joe looked at his one arm with a sigh that was almost a groan, helplessness is such a trial to a manly man, -- and he was eminently so.
""what can i do to comfort you most, joe?
i'll send my good ben to help you to bed, and will be here myself when the surgeon goes his rounds.
is there anything else that would make you more easy?"
""if you could just drop a line to mother to let her know i'm alive, it would be a sight of comfort to both of us.
i guess i'm in for a long spell of hospital, and i'd lay easier if i knew mother and lucindy war n't frettin" about me."
he must have been suffering terribly, but he thought of the women who loved him before himself, and, busy as i was, i snatched a moment to send a few words of hope to the old mother.
then i left him "layin" easy," though the prospect of some months of wearing pain would have daunted most men.
if i had needed anything to increase my regard for joe, it would have been the courage with which he bore a very bad quarter of an hour with the surgeons; for his arm was in a dangerous state, the wound in the head feverish for want of care; and a heavy cold on the lungs suggested pneumonia as an added trial to his list of ills.
""he will have a hard time of it, but i think he will pull through, as he is a temperate fellow, with a splendid constitution," was the doctor's verdict, as he left us for the next man, who was past help, with a bullet through his lungs.
""i don "no as i hanker to live, and be a burden.
if jim was able to do for mother, i feel as if i would n't mind steppin" out now i'm so fur along.
as he ai n't, i s "pose i must brace up, and do the best i can," said joe, as i wiped the drops from his forehead, and tried to look as if his prospect was a bright one.
""you will have lucindy to help you, you know; and that will make things easier for all."
""think so?
"pears to me i could n't ask her to take care of three invalids for my sake.
she ai n't no folks of her own, nor much means, and ought to marry a man who can make things easy for her.
guess i'll have to wait a spell longer before i say anything to lucindy about marryin" now;" and a look of resolute resignation settled on joe's haggard face as he gave up his dearest hope.
""i think lucindy will have something to say, if she is like most women, and you will find the burdens much lighter, for sharing them between you.
do n't worry about that, but get well, and go home as soon as you can."
""all right, ma'am;" and joe proved himself a good soldier by obeying orders, and falling asleep like a tired child, as the first step toward recovery.
for two months i saw joe daily, and learned to like him very much, he was so honest, genuine, and kind-hearted.
so did his mates, for he made friends with them all by sharing such small luxuries as came to him, for he was a favorite; and, better still, he made sunshine in that sad place by the brave patience with which he bore his own troubles, the cheerful consolation he always gave to others.
a droll fellow was joe at times, for under his sobriety lay much humor; and i soon discovered that a visit from him was more efficacious than other cordials in cases of despondency and discontent.
roars of laughter sometimes greeted me as i went into his ward, and joe's jokes were passed round as eagerly as the water-pitcher.
yet he had much to try him, not only in the ills that vexed his flesh, but the cares that tried his spirit, and the future that lay before him, full of anxieties and responsibilities which seemed so heavy now when the strong right arm, that had cleared all obstacles away before, was gone.
the letters i wrote for him, and those he received, told the little story very plainly; for he read them to me, and found much comfort in talking over his affairs, as most men do when illness makes them dependent on a woman.
jim was evidently sick and selfish.
lucindy, to judge from the photograph cherished so tenderly under joe's pillow, was a pretty, weak sort of a girl, with little character or courage to help poor joe with his burdens.
the old mother was very like her son, and stood by him "like a hero," as he said, but was evidently failing, and begged him to come home as soon as he was able, that she might see him comfortably settled before she must leave him.
her courage sustained his, and the longing to see her hastened his departure as soon as it was safe to let him go; for lucindy's letters were always of a dismal sort, and made him anxious to put his shoulder to the wheel.
""she always set consider "ble by me, mother did, bein" the oldest; and i would n't miss makin" her last days happy, not if it cost me all the arms and legs i've got," said joe, as he awkwardly struggled into the big boots an hour after leave to go home was given him.
it was pleasant to see his comrades gather round him with such hearty adieus that his one hand must have tingled; to hear the good wishes and the thanks called after him by pale creatures in their beds; and to find tears in many eyes beside my own when he was gone, and nothing was left of him but the empty cot, the old gray wrapper, and the name upon the wall.
i kept that card among my other relics, and hoped to meet joe again somewhere in the world.
he sent me one or two letters, then i went home; the war ended soon after, time passed, and the little story of my maine lumberman was laid away with many other experiences which made that part of my life a very memorable one.
iii some years later, as i looked out of my window one dull november day, the only cheerful thing i saw was the red cap of a messenger who was examining the slate that hung on a wall opposite my hotel.
a tall man with gray hair and beard, one arm, and a blue army-coat.
i always salute, figuratively at least, when i see that familiar blue, especially if one sleeve of the coat is empty; so i watched the messenger with interest as he trudged away on some new errand, wishing he had a better day and a thicker pair of boots.
he was an unusually large, well-made man, and reminded me of a fine building going to ruin before its time; for the broad shoulders were bent, there was a stiffness about the long legs suggestive of wounds or rheumatism, and the curly hair looked as if snow had fallen on it too soon.
sitting at work in my window, i fell into the way of watching my red cap, as i called him, with more interest than i did the fat doves on the roof opposite, or the pert sparrows hopping in the mud below.
i liked the steady way in which he plodded on through fair weather or foul, as if intent on doing well the one small service he had found to do.
i liked his cheerful whistle as he stood waiting for a job under the porch of the public building where his slate hung, watching the luxurious carriages roll by, and the well-to-do gentlemen who daily passed him to their comfortable homes, with a steady, patient sort of face, as if wondering at the inequalities of fortune, yet neither melancholy nor morose over the small share of prosperity which had fallen to his lot.
i often planned to give him a job, that i might see him nearer; but i had few errands, and little bob, the hall-boy, depended on doing those: so the winter was nearly over before i found out that my red cap was an old friend.
a parcel came for me one day, and bidding the man wait for an answer, i sat down to write it, while the messenger stood just inside the door like a sentinel on duty.
when i looked up to give my note and directions, i found the man staring at me with a beaming yet bashful face, as he nodded, saying heartily, -- "i mistrusted it was you, ma'am, soon's i see the name on the bundle, and i guess i ai n't wrong.
it's a number of years sence we met, and you do n't remember joe collins as well as he does you, i reckon?"
""why, how you have changed!
i've been seeing you every day all winter, and never knew you," i said, shaking hands with my old patient, and very glad to see him.
""nigh on to twenty years makes consid "able of a change in folks, "specially if they have a pretty hard row to hoe."
""sit down and warm yourself while you tell me all about it; there is no hurry for this answer, and i'll pay for your time."
joe laughed as if that was a good joke, and sat down as if the fire was quite as welcome as the friend.
""how are they all at home?"
i asked, as he sat turning his cap round, not quite knowing where to begin.
""i have n't got any home nor any folks neither;" and the melancholy words banished the brightness from his rough face like a cloud.
""mother died soon after i got back.
suddin", but she was ready, and i was there, so she was happy.
jim lived a number of years, and was a sight of care, poor feller; but we managed to rub along, though we had to sell the farm: for i could n't do much with one arm, and doctor's bills right along stiddy take a heap of money.
he was as comfortable as he could be; and, when he was gone, it was n't no great matter, for there was only me, and i do n't mind roughin" it."
""but lucindy, where was she?"
i asked very naturally.
""oh!
she married another man long ago.
could n't expect her to take me and my misfortins.
she's doin" well, i hear, and that's a comfort anyway."
there was a look on joe's face, a tone in joe's voice as he spoke, that plainly showed how much he had needed comfort when left to bear his misfortunes all alone.
but he made no complaint, uttered no reproach, and loyally excused lucindy's desertion with a simple sort of dignity that made it impossible to express pity or condemnation.
""how came you here, joe?"
i asked, making a sudden leap from past to present.
""i had to scratch for a livin", and ca n't do much: so, after tryin" a number of things, i found this.
my old wounds pester me a good deal, and rheumatism is bad winters; but, while my legs hold out, i can git on.
a man ca n't set down and starve; so i keep waggin" as long as i can.
when i ca n't do no more, i s "pose there's almshouse and hospital ready for me."
""that is a dismal prospect, joe.
there ought to be a comfortable place for such as you to spend your last days in.
i am sure you have earned it."
""wal, it does seem ruther hard on us when we've give all we had, and give it free and hearty, to be left to knock about in our old age.
but there's so many poor folks to be took care of, we do n't get much of a chance, for we ai n't the beggin" sort," said joe, with a wistful look at the wintry world outside, as if it would be better to lie quiet under the snow, than to drag out his last painful years, friendless and forgotten, in some refuge of the poor.
""some kind people have been talking of a home for soldiers, and i hope the plan will be carried out.
it will take time; but, if it comes to pass, you shall be one of the first men to enter that home, joe, if i can get you there."
""that sounds mighty cheerin" and comfortable, thanky, ma'am.
idleness is dreadful tryin" to me, and i'd rather wear out than rust out; so i guess i can weather it a spell longer.
but it will be pleasant to look forrard to a snug harbor bymeby.
i feel a sight better just hearin" tell about it."
he certainly looked so, faint as the hope was; for the melancholy eyes brightened as if they already saw a happier refuge in the future than almshouse, hospital, or grave, and, when he trudged away upon my errand, he went as briskly as if every step took him nearer to the promised home.
after that day it was all up with bob, for i told my neighbors joe's story, and we kept him trotting busily, adding little gifts, and taking the sort of interest in him that comforted the lonely fellow, and made him feel that he had not outlived his usefulness.
i never looked out when he was at his post that he did not smile back at me; i never passed him in the street that the red cap was not touched with a military flourish; and, when any of us beckoned to him, no twinge of rheumatism was too sharp to keep him from hurrying to do our errands, as if he had mercury's winged feet.
now and then he came in for a chat, and always asked how the soldiers" home was prospering; expressing his opinion that "boston was the charitablest city under the sun, and he was sure he and his mates would be took care of somehow."
when we parted in the spring, i told him things looked hopeful, bade him be ready for a good long rest as soon as the hospitable doors were open, and left him nodding cheerfully.
iv but in the autumn i looked in vain for joe.
the slate was in its old place, and a messenger came and went on his beat; but a strange face was under the red cap, and this man had two arms and one eye.
i asked for collins, but the new-comer had only a vague idea that he was dead; and the same answer was given me at headquarters, though none of the busy people seemed to know when or where he died.
so i mourned for joe, and felt that it was very hard he could not have lived to enjoy the promised refuge; for, relying upon the charity that never fails, the home was an actual fact now, just beginning its beneficent career.
people were waking up to this duty, money was coming in, meetings were being held, and already a few poor fellows were in the refuge, feeling themselves no longer paupers, but invalid soldiers honorably supported by the state they had served.
talking it over one day with a friend, who spent her life working for the associated charities, she said, -- "by the way, there is a man boarding with one of my poor women, who ought to be got into the home, if he will go.
i do n't know much about him, except that he was in the army, has been very ill with rheumatic fever, and is friendless.
i asked mrs. flanagin how she managed to keep him, and she said she had help while he was sick, and now he is able to hobble about, he takes care of the children, so she is able to go out to work.
he wo n't go to his own town, because there is nothing for him there but the almshouse, and he dreads a hospital; so struggles along, trying to earn his bread tending babies with his one arm.
a sad case, and in your line; i wish you'd look into it."
""that sounds like my joe, one arm and all.
i'll go and see him; i've a weakness for soldiers, sick or well."
i went, and never shall forget the pathetic little tableau i saw as i opened mrs. flanagin's dingy door; for she was out, and no one heard my tap.
the room was redolent of suds, and in a grove of damp clothes hung on lines sat a man with a crying baby laid across his lap, while he fed three small children standing at his knee with bread and molasses.
how he managed with one arm to keep the baby from squirming on to the floor, the plate from upsetting, and to feed the hungry urchins who stood in a row with open mouths, like young birds, was past my comprehension.
but he did, trotting baby gently, dealing out sweet morsels patiently, and whistling to himself, as if to beguile his labors cheerfully.
the broad back, the long legs, the faded coat, the low whistle were all familiar; and, dodging a wet sheet, i faced the man to find it was indeed my joe!
a mere shadow of his former self, after months of suffering that had crippled him for life, but brave and patient still; trying to help himself, and not ask aid though brought so low.
for an instant i could not speak to him, and, encumbered with baby, dish, spoon, and children, he could only stare at me with a sudden brightening of the altered face that made it full of welcome before a word was uttered.
""they told me you were dead, and i only heard of you by accident, not knowing i should find my old friend alive, but not well, i'm afraid?"
""there ai n't much left of me but bones and pain, ma'am.
i'm powerful glad to see you all the same.
dust off a chair, patsey, and let the lady set down.
you go in the corner, and take turns lickin" the dish, while i see company," said joe, disbanding his small troop, and shouldering the baby as if presenting arms in honor of his guest.
""why did n't you let me know how sick you were?
and how came they to think you dead?"
i asked, as he festooned the wet linen out of the way, and prepared to enjoy himself as best he could.
""i did send once, when things was at the wust; but you had n't got back, and then somehow i thought i was goin" to be mustered out for good, and so would n't trouble nobody.
but my orders ai n't come yet, and i am doing the fust thing that come along.
it ai n't much, but the good soul stood by me, and i ai n't ashamed to pay my debts this way, sence i ca n't do it in no other;" and joe cradled the chubby baby in his one arm as tenderly as if it had been his own, though little biddy was not an inviting infant.
""that is very beautiful and right, joe, and i honor you for it; but you were not meant to tend babies, so sing your last lullabies, and be ready to go to the home as soon as i can get you there."
""really, ma'am?
i used to lay and kind of dream about it when i could n't stir without yellin" out; but i never thought it would ever come to happen.
i see a piece in the paper describing it, and it sounded dreadful nice.
should n't wonder if i found some of my mates there.
they were a good lot, and deservin" of all that could be done for'em," said joe, trotting the baby briskly, as if the prospect excited him, as well it might, for the change from that damp nursery to the comfortable quarters prepared for him would be like going from purgatory to paradise.
""i do n't wonder you do n't get well living in such a place, joe.
you should have gone home to woolwich, and let your friends help you," i said, feeling provoked with him for hiding himself.
""no, ma'am!"
he answered, with a look i never shall forget, it was so full of mingled patience, pride, and pain.
""i have n't a relation in the world but a couple of poor old aunts, and they could n't do anything for me.
as for asking help of folks i used to know, i could n't do it; and if you think i'd go to lucindy, though she is wal off, you do n't know joe collins.
i'd die fust!
if she was poor and i rich, i'd do for her like a brother; but i could n't ask no favors of her, not if i begged my vittles in the street, or starved.
i forgive, but i do n't forgit in a hurry; and the woman that stood by me when i was down is the woman i believe in, and can take my bread from without shame.
hooray for biddy flanagin!
god bless her!"
and, as if to find a vent for the emotion that filled his eyes with grateful tears, joe led off the cheer, which the children shrilly echoed, and i joined heartily.
""i shall come for you in a few days; so cuddle the baby and make much of the children before you part.
it wo n't take you long to pack up, will it?"
i asked, as we subsided with a general laugh.
""i reckon not as i do n't own any clothes but what i set in, except a couple of old shirts and them socks.
my hat's stoppin" up the winder, and my old coat is my bed-cover.
i'm awful shabby, ma'am, and that's one reason i do n't go out more.
i can hobble some, but i ai n't got used to bein" a scarecrow yet," and joe glanced from the hose without heels that hung on the line to the ragged suit he wore, with a resigned expression that made me long to rush out and buy up half the contents of oak hall on the spot.
curbing this wild impulse i presently departed with promises of speedy transportation for joe, and unlimited oranges to assuage the pangs of parting for the young flanagins, who escorted me to the door, while joe waved the baby like a triumphal banner till i got round the corner.
there was such a beautiful absence of red tape about the new institution that it only needed a word in the right ear to set things going; and then, with a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, joe collins was taken up and safely landed in the home he so much needed and so well deserved.
a happier man or a more grateful one it would be hard to find, and if a visitor wants an enthusiastic guide about the place, joe is the one to take, for all is comfort, sunshine, and good-will to him; and he unconsciously shows how great the need of this refuge is, as he hobbles about on his lame feet, pointing out its beauties, conveniences, and delights with his one arm, while his face shines, and his voice quavers a little as he says gratefully, -- "the state do n't forget us, you see, and this is a home wuth havin".
long life to it!"
what the bells saw and said -lsb- written in 1867. -rsb-
""bells ring others to church, but go not in themselves."
no one saw the spirits of the bells up there in the old steeple at midnight on christmas eve.
six quaint figures, each wrapped in a shadowy cloak and wearing a bell-shaped cap.
all were gray-headed, for they were among the oldest bell-spirits of the city, and "the light of other days" shone in their thoughtful eyes.
silently they sat, looking down on the snow-covered roofs glittering in the moonlight, and the quiet streets deserted by all but the watchmen on their chilly rounds, and such poor souls as wandered shelterless in the winter night.
presently one of the spirits said, in a tone, which, low as it was, filled the belfry with reverberating echoes, -- "well, brothers, are your reports ready of the year that now lies dying?"
all bowed their heads, and one of the oldest answered in a sonorous voice: -- "my report is n't all i could wish.
you know i look down on the commercial part of our city and have fine opportunities for seeing what goes on there.
it's my business to watch the business men, and upon my word i'm heartily ashamed of them sometimes.
during the war they did nobly, giving their time and money, their sons and selves to the good cause, and i was proud of them.
but now too many of them have fallen back into the old ways, and their motto seems to be, "every one for himself, and the devil take the hindmost."
cheating, lying and stealing are hard words, and i do n't mean to apply them to all who swarm about below there like ants on an ant-hill -- they have other names for these things, but i'm old-fashioned and use plain words.
there's a deal too much dishonesty in the world, and business seems to have become a game of hazard in which luck, not labor, wins the prize.
when i was young, men were years making moderate fortunes, and were satisfied with them.
they built them on sure foundations, knew how to enjoy them while they lived, and to leave a good name behind them when they died.
""now it's anything for money; health, happiness, honor, life itself, are flung down on that great gaming-table, and they forget everything else in the excitement of success or the desperation of defeat.
nobody seems satisfied either, for those who win have little time or taste to enjoy their prosperity, and those who lose have little courage or patience to support them in adversity.
they do n't even fail as they used to.
in my day when a merchant found himself embarrassed he did n't ruin others in order to save himself, but honestly confessed the truth, gave up everything, and began again.
but now-a-days after all manner of dishonorable shifts there comes a grand crash; many suffer, but by some hocus-pocus the merchant saves enough to retire upon and live comfortably here or abroad.
it's very evident that honor and honesty do n't mean now what they used to mean in the days of old may, higginson and lawrence.
""they preach below here, and very well too sometimes, for i often slide down the rope to peep and listen during service.
but, bless you!
they do n't seem to lay either sermon, psalm or prayer to heart, for while the minister is doing his best, the congregation, tired with the breathless hurry of the week, sleep peacefully, calculate their chances for the morrow, or wonder which of their neighbors will lose or win in the great game.
do n't tell me!
i've seen them do it, and if i dared i'd have startled every soul of them with a rousing peal.
ah, they do n't dream whose eye is on them, they never guess what secrets the telegraph wires tell as the messages fly by, and little know what a report i give to the winds of heaven as i ring out above them morning, noon, and night."
and the old spirit shook his head till the tassel on his cap jangled like a little bell.
""there are some, however, whom i love and honor," he said, in a benignant tone, "who honestly earn their bread, who deserve all the success that comes to them, and always keep a warm corner in their noble hearts for those less blest than they.
these are the men who serve the city in times of peace, save it in times of war, deserve the highest honors in its gift, and leave behind them a record that keeps their memories green.
for such an one we lately tolled a knell, my brothers; and as our united voices pealed over the city, in all grateful hearts, sweeter and more solemn than any chime, rung the words that made him so beloved, --" "treat our dead boys tenderly, and send them home to me.""
he ceased, and all the spirits reverently uncovered their gray heads as a strain of music floated up from the sleeping city and died among the stars.
""like yours, my report is not satisfactory in all respects," began the second spirit, who wore a very pointed cap and a finely ornamented cloak.
but, though his dress was fresh and youthful, his face was old, and he had nodded several times during his brother's speech.
""my greatest affliction during the past year has been the terrible extravagance which prevails.
my post, as you know, is at the court end of the city, and i see all the fashionable vices and follies.
it is a marvel to me how so many of these immortal creatures, with such opportunities for usefulness, self-improvement and genuine happiness can be content to go round and round in one narrow circle of unprofitable and unsatisfactory pursuits.
i do my best to warn them; sunday after sunday i chime in their ears the beautiful old hymns that sweetly chide or cheer the hearts that truly listen and believe; sunday after sunday i look down on them as they pass in, hoping to see that my words have not fallen upon deaf ears; and sunday after sunday they listen to words that should teach them much, yet seem to go by them like the wind.
they are told to love their neighbor, yet too many hate him because he possesses more of this world's goods or honors than they: they are told that a rich man can not enter the kingdom of heaven, yet they go on laying up perishable wealth, and though often warned that moth and rust will corrupt, they fail to believe it till the worm that destroys enters and mars their own chapel of ease.
being a spirit, i see below external splendor and find much poverty of heart and soul under the velvet and the ermine which should cover rich and royal natures.
our city saints walk abroad in threadbare suits, and under quiet bonnets shine the eyes that make sunshine in the shady places.
often as i watch the glittering procession passing to and fro below me.
i wonder if, with all our progress, there is to-day as much real piety as in the times when our fathers, poorly clad, with weapon in one hand and bible in the other, came weary distances to worship in the wilderness with fervent faith unquenched by danger, suffering and solitude.
""yet in spite of my fault-finding i love my children, as i call them, for all are not butterflies.
many find wealth no temptation to forgetfulness of duty or hardness of heart.
many give freely of their abundance, pity the poor, comfort the afflicted, and make our city loved and honored in other lands as in our own.
they have their cares, losses, and heartaches as well as the poor; it is n't all sunshine with them, and they learn, poor souls, that" "into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary."
""but i've hopes of them, and lately they have had a teacher so genial, so gifted, so well-beloved that all who listen to him must be better for the lessons of charity, good-will and cheerfulness which he brings home to them by the magic of tears and smiles.
we know him, we love him, we always remember him as the year comes round, and the blithest song our brazen tongues utter is a christmas carol to the father of "the chimes!""
as the spirit spoke his voice grew cheery, his old face shone, and in a burst of hearty enthusiasm he flung up his cap and cheered like a boy.
so did the others, and as the fairy shout echoed through the belfry a troop of shadowy figures, with faces lovely or grotesque, tragical or gay, sailed by on the wings of the wintry wind and waved their hands to the spirits of the bells.
as the excitement subsided and the spirits reseated themselves, looking ten years younger for that burst, another spoke.
a venerable brother in a dingy mantle, with a tuneful voice, and eyes that seemed to have grown sad with looking on much misery.
""he loves the poor, the man we've just hurrahed for, and he makes others love and remember them, bless him!"
said the spirit.
""i hope he'll touch the hearts of those who listen to him here and beguile them to open their hands to my unhappy children over yonder.
if i could set some of the forlorn souls in my parish beside the happier creatures who weep over imaginary woes as they are painted by his eloquent lips, that brilliant scene would be better than any sermon.
day and night i look down on lives as full of sin, self-sacrifice and suffering as any in those famous books.
day and night i try to comfort the poor by my cheery voice, and to make their wants known by proclaiming them with all my might.
but people seem to be so intent on business, pleasure or home duties that they have no time to hear and answer my appeal.
there's a deal of charity in this good city, and when the people do wake up they work with a will; but i ca n't help thinking that if some of the money lavished on luxuries was spent on necessaries for the poor, there would be fewer tragedies like that which ended yesterday.
it's a short story, easy to tell, though long and hard to live; listen to it.
""down yonder in the garret of one of the squalid houses at the foot of my tower, a little girl has lived for a year, fighting silently and single-handed a good fight against poverty and sin.
i saw her when she first came, a hopeful, cheerful, brave-hearted little soul, alone, yet not afraid.
she used to sit all day sewing at her window, and her lamp burnt far into the night, for she was very poor, and all she earned would barely give her food and shelter.
i watched her feed the doves, who seemed to be her only friends; she never forgot them, and daily gave them the few crumbs that fell from her meagre table.
but there was no kind hand to feed and foster the little human dove, and so she starved.
""for a while she worked bravely, but the poor three dollars a week would not clothe and feed and warm her, though the things her busy fingers made sold for enough to keep her comfortably if she had received it.
i saw the pretty color fade from her cheeks; her eyes grew hollow, her voice lost its cheery ring, her step its elasticity, and her face began to wear the haggard, anxious look that made its youth doubly pathetic.
her poor little gowns grew shabby, her shawl so thin she shivered when the pitiless wind smote her, and her feet were almost bare.
rain and snow beat on the patient little figure going to and fro, each morning with hope and courage faintly shining, each evening with the shadow of despair gathering darker round her.
it was a hard time for all, desperately hard for her, and in her poverty, sin and pleasure tempted her.
she resisted, but as another bitter winter came she feared that in her misery she might yield, for body and soul were weakened now by the long struggle.
she knew not where to turn for help; there seemed to be no place for her at any safe and happy fireside; life's hard aspect daunted her, and she turned to death, saying confidingly, "take me while i'm innocent and not afraid to go."
""i saw it all!
i saw how she sold everything that would bring money and paid her little debts to the utmost penny; how she set her poor room in order for the last time; how she tenderly bade the doves good-by, and lay down on her bed to die.
at nine o'clock last night as my bell rang over the city, i tried to tell what was going on in the garret where the light was dying out so fast.
i cried to them with all my strength.
--" "kind souls, below there!
a fellow-creature is perishing for lack of charity!
oh, help her before it is too late!
mothers, with little daughters on your knees, stretch out your hands and take her in!
happy women, in the safe shelter of home, think of her desolation!
rich men, who grind the faces of the poor, remember that this soul will one day be required of you!
dear lord, let not this little sparrow fall to the ground!
help, christian men and women, in the name of him whose birthday blessed the world!"
""ah me!
i rang, and clashed, and cried in vain.
the passers-by only said, as they hurried home, laden with christmas cheer: "the old bell is merry to-night, as it should be at this blithe season, bless it!"
""as the clocks struck ten, the poor child lay down, saying, as she drank the last bitter draught life could give her, "it's very cold, but soon i shall not feel it;" and with her quiet eyes fixed on the cross that glimmered in the moonlight above me, she lay waiting for the sleep that needs no lullaby.
""as the clock struck eleven, pain and poverty for her were over.
it was bitter cold, but she no longer felt it.
she lay serenely sleeping, with tired heart and hands, at rest forever.
as the clocks struck twelve, the dear lord remembered her, and with fatherly hand led her into the home where there is room for all.
to-day i rung her knell, and though my heart was heavy, yet my soul was glad; for in spite of all her human woe and weakness, i am sure that little girl will keep a joyful christmas up in heaven."
in the silence which the spirits for a moment kept, a breath of softer air than any from the snowy world below swept through the steeple and seemed to whisper, "yes!"
""avast there!
fond as i am of salt water, i do n't like this kind," cried the breezy voice of the fourth spirit, who had a tiny ship instead of a tassel on his cap, and who wiped his wet eyes with the sleeve of his rough blue cloak.
""it wo n't take me long to spin my yarn; for things are pretty taut and ship-shape aboard our craft.
captain taylor is an experienced sailor, and has brought many a ship safely into port in spite of wind and tide, and the devil's own whirlpools and hurricanes.
if you want to see earnestness come aboard some sunday when the captain's on the quarter-deck, and take an observation.
no danger of falling asleep there, no more than there is up aloft, "when the stormy winds do blow."
consciences get raked fore and aft, sins are blown clean out of the water, false colors are hauled down and true ones run up to the masthead, and many an immortal soul is warned to steer off in time from the pirates, rocks and quicksands of temptation.
he's a regular revolving light, is the captain, -- a beacon always burning and saying plainly, "here are life-boats, ready to put off in all weathers and bring the shipwrecked into quiet waters."
he comes but seldom now, being laid up in the home dock, tranquilly waiting till his turn comes to go out with the tide and safely ride at anchor in the great harbor of the lord.
our crew varies a good deal.
some of'em have rather rough voyages, and come into port pretty well battered; land-sharks fall foul of a good many, and do a deal of damage; but most of'em carry brave and tender hearts under the blue jackets, for their rough nurse, the sea, manages to keep something of the child alive in the grayest old tar that makes the world his picture-book.
we try to supply'em with life-preservers while at sea, and make'em feel sure of a hearty welcome when ashore, and i believe the year'67 will sail away into eternity with a satisfactory cargo.
brother north-end made me pipe my eye; so i'll make him laugh to pay for it, by telling a clerical joke i heard the other day.
bellows did n't make it, though he might have done so, as he's a connection of ours, and knows how to use his tongue as well as any of us.
speaking of the bells of a certain town, a reverend gentleman affirmed that each bell uttered an appropriate remark so plainly, that the words were audible to all.
the baptist bell cried, briskly, "come up and be dipped!
come up and be dipped!"
the episcopal bell slowly said, "apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion!
apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion!"
the orthodox bell solemnly pronounced, "eternal damnation!
eternal damnation!"
and the methodist shouted, invitingly, "room for all!
room for all!""
as the spirit imitated the various calls, as only a jovial bell-sprite could, the others gave him a chime of laughter, and vowed they would each adopt some tuneful summons, which should reach human ears and draw human feet more willingly to church.
""faith, brother, you've kept your word and got the laugh out of us," cried a stout, sleek spirit, with a kindly face, and a row of little saints round his cap and a rosary at his side.
""it's very well we are doing this year; the cathedral is full, the flock increasing, and the true faith holding its own entirely.
ye may shake your heads if you will and fear there'll be trouble, but i doubt it.
we've warm hearts of our own, and the best of us do n't forget that when we were starving, america -- the saints bless the jewel!
-- sent us bread; when we were dying for lack of work, america opened her arms and took us in, and now helps us to build churches, homes and schools by giving us a share of the riches all men work for and win.
it's a generous nation ye are, and a brave one, and we showed our gratitude by fighting for ye in the day of trouble and giving ye our phil, and many another broth of a boy.
the land is wide enough for us both, and while we work and fight and grow together, each may learn something from the other.
i'm free to confess that your religion looks a bit cold and hard to me, even here in the good city where each man may ride his own hobby to death, and hoot at his neighbors as much as he will.
you seem to keep your piety shut up all the week in your bare, white churches, and only let it out on sundays, just a trifle musty with disuse.
you set your rich, warm and soft to the fore, and leave the poor shivering at the door.
you give your people bare walls to look upon, common-place music to listen to, dull sermons to put them asleep, and then wonder why they stay away, or take no interest when they come.
""we leave our doors open day and night; our lamps are always burning, and we may come into our father's house at any hour.
we let rich and poor kneel together, all being equal there.
with us abroad you'll see prince and peasant side by side, school-boy and bishop, market-woman and noble lady, saint and sinner, praying to the holy mary, whose motherly arms are open to high and low.
we make our churches inviting with immortal music, pictures by the world's great masters, and rites that are splendid symbols of the faith we hold.
call it mummery if ye like, but let me ask you why so many of your sheep stray into our fold?
it's because they miss the warmth, the hearty, the maternal tenderness which all souls love and long for, and fail to find in your stern.
puritanical belief.
by saint peter!
i've seen many a lukewarm worshipper, who for years has nodded in your cushioned pews, wake and glow with something akin to genuine piety while kneeling on the stone pavement of one of our cathedrals, with raphael's angels before his eyes, with strains of magnificent music in his ears, and all about him, in shapes of power or beauty, the saints and martyrs who have saved the world, and whose presence inspires him to follow their divine example.
it's not complaining of ye i am, but just reminding ye that men are but children after all, and need more tempting to virtue than they do to vice, which last comes easy to'em since the fall.
do your best in your own ways to get the poor souls into bliss, and good luck to ye.
but remember, there's room in the holy mother church for all, and when your own priests send ye to the divil, come straight to us and we'll take ye in."
""a truly catholic welcome, bull and all," said the sixth spirit, who, in spite of his old-fashioned garments, had a youthful face, earnest, fearless eyes, and an energetic voice that woke the echoes with its vigorous tones.
""i've a hopeful report, brothers, for the reforms of the day are wheeling into rank and marching on.
the war is n't over nor rebeldom conquered yet, but the old guard has been "up and at'em" through the year.
there has been some hard fighting, rivers of ink have flowed, and the washington dawdlers have signalized themselves by a "masterly inactivity."
the political campaign has been an anxious one; some of the leaders have deserted; some been mustered out; some have fallen gallantly, and as yet have received no monuments.
but at the grand review the cross of the legion of honor will surely shine on many a brave breast that won no decoration but its virtue here; for the world's fanatics make heaven's heroes, poets say.
""the flock of nightingales that flew south during the "winter of our discontent" are all at home again, some here and some in heaven.
but the music of their womanly heroism still lingers in the nation's memory, and makes a tender minor-chord in the battle-hymn of freedom.
""the reform in literature is n't as vigorous as i could wish; but a sharp attack of mental and moral dyspepsia will soon teach our people that french confectionery and the bad pastry of wood, bracdon, yates & co. is not the best diet for the rising generation.
""speaking of the rising generation reminds me of the schools.
they are doing well; they always are, and we are justly proud of them.
there may be a slight tendency toward placing too much value upon book-learning; too little upon home culture.
our girls are acknowledged to be uncommonly pretty, witty and wise, but some of us wish they had more health and less excitement, more domestic accomplishments and fewer ologies and isms, and were contented with simple pleasures and the old-fashioned virtues, and not quite so fond of the fast, frivolous life that makes them old so soon.
i am fond of our girls and boys.
i love to ring for their christenings and marriages, to toll proudly for the brave lads in blue, and tenderly for the innocent creatures whose seats are empty under my old roof.
i want to see them anxious to make young america a model of virtue, strength and beauty, and i believe they will in time.
""there have been some important revivals in religion; for the world wo n't stand still, and we must keep pace or be left behind to fossilize.
a free nation must have a religion broad enough to embrace all mankind, deep enough to fathom and fill the human soul, high enough to reach the source of all love and wisdom, and pure enough to satisfy the wisest and the best.
alarm bells have been rung, anathemas pronounced, and christians, forgetful of their creed, have abused one another heartily.
but the truth always triumphs in the end, and whoever sincerely believes, works and waits for it, by whatever name he calls it, will surely find his own faith blessed to him in proportion to his charity for the faith of others.
""but look!
-- the first red streaks of dawn are in the east.
our vigil is over, and we must fly home to welcome in the holidays.
before we part, join with me, brothers, in resolving that through the coming year we will with all our hearts and tongues, --" "ring out the old, ring in the new, ring out the false, ring in the true; ring in the valiant man and free, ring in the christ that is to be.""
_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___little_men.txt.out
little men life at plumfield with jo's boys chapter i. nat "please, sir, is this plumfield?"
asked a ragged boy of the man who opened the great gate at which the omnibus left him.
""yes.
who sent you?"
""mr. laurence.
i have got a letter for the lady."
""all right; go up to the house, and give it to her; she'll see to you, little chap."
the man spoke pleasantly, and the boy went on, feeling much cheered by the words.
through the soft spring rain that fell on sprouting grass and budding trees, nat saw a large square house before him a hospitable-looking house, with an old-fashioned porch, wide steps, and lights shining in many windows.
neither curtains nor shutters hid the cheerful glimmer; and, pausing a moment before he rang, nat saw many little shadows dancing on the walls, heard the pleasant hum of young voices, and felt that it was hardly possible that the light and warmth and comfort within could be for a homeless "little chap" like him.
""i hope the lady will see to me," he thought, and gave a timid rap with the great bronze knocker, which was a jovial griffin's head.
a rosy-faced servant-maid opened the door, and smiled as she took the letter which he silently offered.
she seemed used to receiving strange boys, for she pointed to a seat in the hall, and said, with a nod: "sit there and drip on the mat a bit, while i take this in to missis."
nat found plenty to amuse him while he waited, and stared about him curiously, enjoying the view, yet glad to do so unobserved in the dusky recess by the door.
the house seemed swarming with boys, who were beguiling the rainy twilight with all sorts of amusements.
there were boys everywhere, "up-stairs and down-stairs and in the lady's chamber," apparently, for various open doors showed pleasant groups of big boys, little boys, and middle-sized boys in all stages of evening relaxation, not to say effervescence.
two large rooms on the right were evidently schoolrooms, for desks, maps, blackboards, and books were scattered about.
an open fire burned on the hearth, and several indolent lads lay on their backs before it, discussing a new cricket-ground, with such animation that their boots waved in the air.
a tall youth was practising on the flute in one corner, quite undisturbed by the racket all about him.
two or three others were jumping over the desks, pausing, now and then, to get their breath and laugh at the droll sketches of a little wag who was caricaturing the whole household on a blackboard.
in the room on the left a long supper-table was seen, set forth with great pitchers of new milk, piles of brown and white bread, and perfect stacks of the shiny gingerbread so dear to boyish souls.
a flavor of toast was in the air, also suggestions of baked apples, very tantalizing to one hungry little nose and stomach.
the hall, however, presented the most inviting prospect of all, for a brisk game of tag was going on in the upper entry.
one landing was devoted to marbles, the other to checkers, while the stairs were occupied by a boy reading, a girl singing a lullaby to her doll, two puppies, a kitten, and a constant succession of small boys sliding down the banisters, to the great detriment of their clothes and danger to their limbs.
so absorbed did nat become in this exciting race, that he ventured farther and farther out of his corner; and when one very lively boy came down so swiftly that he could not stop himself, but fell off the banisters, with a crash that would have broken any head but one rendered nearly as hard as a cannon-ball by eleven years of constant bumping, nat forgot himself, and ran up to the fallen rider, expecting to find him half-dead.
the boy, however, only winked rapidly for a second, then lay calmly looking up at the new face with a surprised, "hullo!"
""hullo!"
returned nat, not knowing what else to say, and thinking that form of reply both brief and easy.
""are you a new boy?"
asked the recumbent youth, without stirring.
""do n't know yet."
""what's your name?"
""nat blake."
""mine's tommy bangs.
come up and have a go, will you?"
and tommy got upon his legs like one suddenly remembering the duties of hospitality.
""guess i wo n't, till i see whether i'm going to stay or not," returned nat, feeling the desire to stay increase every moment.
""i say, demi, here's a new one.
come and see to him;" and the lively thomas returned to his sport with unabated relish.
at his call, the boy reading on the stairs looked up with a pair of big brown eyes, and after an instant's pause, as if a little shy, he put the book under his arm, and came soberly down to greet the new-comer, who found something very attractive in the pleasant face of this slender, mild-eyed boy.
""have you seen aunt jo?"
he asked, as if that was some sort of important ceremony.
""i have n't seen anybody yet but you boys; i'm waiting," answered nat.
""did uncle laurie send you?"
proceeded demi, politely, but gravely.
""mr. laurence did."
""he is uncle laurie; and he always sends nice boys."
nat looked gratified at the remark, and smiled, in a way that made his thin face very pleasant.
he did not know what to say next, so the two stood staring at one another in friendly silence, till the little girl came up with her doll in her arms.
she was very like demi, only not so tall, and had a rounder, rosier face, and blue eyes.
""this is my sister, daisy," announced demi, as if presenting a rare and precious creature.
the children nodded to one another; and the little girl's face dimpled with pleasure, as she said affably: "i hope you'll stay.
we have such good times here; do n't we, demi?"
""of course, we do: that's what aunt jo has plumfield for."
""it seems a very nice place indeed," observed nat, feeling that he must respond to these amiable young persons.
""it's the nicest place in the world, is n't it, demi?"
said daisy, who evidently regarded her brother as authority on all subjects.
""no, i think greenland, where the icebergs and seals are, is more interesting.
but i'm fond of plumfield, and it is a very nice place to be in," returned demi, who was interested just now in a book on greenland.
he was about to offer to show nat the pictures and explain them, when the servant returned, saying with a nod toward the parlor-door: "all right; you are to stop."
""i'm glad; now come to aunt jo."
and daisy took him by the hand with a pretty protecting air, which made nat feel at home at once.
demi returned to his beloved book, while his sister led the new-comer into a back room, where a stout gentleman was frolicking with two little boys on the sofa, and a thin lady was just finishing the letter which she seemed to have been re-reading.
""here he is, aunty!"
cried daisy.
""so this is my new boy?
i am glad to see you, my dear, and hope you'll be happy here," said the lady, drawing him to her, and stroking back the hair from his forehead with a kind hand and a motherly look, which made nat's lonely little heart yearn toward her.
she was not at all handsome, but she had a merry sort of face that never seemed to have forgotten certain childish ways and looks, any more than her voice and manner had; and these things, hard to describe but very plain to see and feel, made her a genial, comfortable kind of person, easy to get on with, and generally "jolly," as boys would say.
she saw the little tremble of nat's lips as she smoothed his hair, and her keen eyes grew softer, but she only drew the shabby figure nearer and said, laughing: "i am mother bhaer, that gentleman is father bhaer, and these are the two little bhaers.
come here, boys, and see nat."
the three wrestlers obeyed at once; and the stout man, with a chubby child on each shoulder, came up to welcome the new boy.
rob and teddy merely grinned at him, but mr. bhaer shook hands, and pointing to a low chair near the fire, said, in a cordial voice: "there is a place all ready for thee, my son; sit down and dry thy wet feet at once."
""wet?
so they are!
my dear, off with your shoes this minute, and i'll have some dry things ready for you in a jiffy," cried mrs. bhaer, bustling about so energetically that nat found himself in the cosy little chair, with dry socks and warm slippers on his feet, before he would have had time to say jack robinson, if he had wanted to try.
he said "thank you, ma'am," instead; and said it so gratefully that mrs. bhaer's eyes grew soft again, and she said something merry, because she felt so tender, which was a way she had.
""there are tommy bangs" slippers; but he never will remember to put them on in the house; so he shall not have them.
they are too big; but that's all the better; you ca n't run away from us so fast as if they fitted."
""i do n't want to run away, ma'am."
and nat spread his grimy little hands before the comfortable blaze, with a long sigh of satisfaction.
""that's good!
now i am going to toast you well, and try to get rid of that ugly cough.
how long have you had it, dear?"
asked mrs. bhaer, as she rummaged in her big basket for a strip of flannel.
""all winter.
i got cold, and it would n't get better, somehow."
""no wonder, living in that damp cellar with hardly a rag to his poor dear back!"
said mrs. bhaer, in a low tone to her husband, who was looking at the boy with a skillful pair of eyes that marked the thin temples and feverish lips, as well as the hoarse voice and frequent fits of coughing that shook the bent shoulders under the patched jacket.
""robin, my man, trot up to nursey, and tell her to give thee the cough-bottle and the liniment," said mr. bhaer, after his eyes had exchanged telegrams with his wife's.
nat looked a little anxious at the preparations, but forgot his fears in a hearty laugh, when mrs. bhaer whispered to him, with a droll look: "hear my rogue teddy try to cough.
the syrup i'm going to give you has honey in it; and he wants some."
little ted was red in the face with his exertions by the time the bottle came, and was allowed to suck the spoon after nat had manfully taken a dose and had the bit of flannel put about his throat.
these first steps toward a cure were hardly completed when a great bell rang, and a loud tramping through the hall announced supper.
bashful nat quaked at the thought of meeting many strange boys, but mrs. bhaer held out her hand to him, and rob said, patronizingly, "do n't be "fraid; i'll take care of you."
twelve boys, six on a side, stood behind their chairs, prancing with impatience to begin, while the tall flute-playing youth was trying to curb their ardor.
but no one sat down till mrs. bhaer was in her place behind the teapot, with teddy on her left, and nat on her right.
""this is our new boy, nat blake.
after supper you can say how do you do?
gently, boys, gently."
as she spoke every one stared at nat, and then whisked into their seats, trying to be orderly and failing utterly.
the bhaers did their best to have the lads behave well at meal times, and generally succeeded pretty well, for their rules were few and sensible, and the boys, knowing that they tried to make things easy and happy, did their best to obey.
but there are times when hungry boys can not be repressed without real cruelty, and saturday evening, after a half-holiday, was one of those times.
""dear little souls, do let them have one day in which they can howl and racket and frolic to their hearts" content.
a holiday is n't a holiday without plenty of freedom and fun; and they shall have full swing once a week," mrs. bhaer used to say, when prim people wondered why banister-sliding, pillow-fights, and all manner of jovial games were allowed under the once decorous roof of plumfield.
it did seem at times as if the aforesaid roof was in danger of flying off, but it never did, for a word from father bhaer could at any time produce a lull, and the lads had learned that liberty must not be abused.
so, in spite of many dark predictions, the school flourished, and manners and morals were insinuated, without the pupils exactly knowing how it was done.
nat found himself very well off behind the tall pitchers, with tommy bangs just around the corner, and mrs. bhaer close by to fill up plate and mug as fast as he could empty them.
""who is that boy next the girl down at the other end?"
whispered nat to his young neighbor under cover of a general laugh.
""that's demi brooke.
mr. bhaer is his uncle."
""what a queer name!"
""his real name is john, but they call him demi-john, because his father is john too.
that's a joke, do n't you see?"
said tommy, kindly explaining.
nat did not see, but politely smiled, and asked, with interest: "is n't he a very nice boy?"
""i bet you he is; knows lots and reads like any thing."
""who is the fat one next him?"
""oh, that's stuffy cole.
his name is george, but we call him stuffy'cause he eats so much.
the little fellow next father bhaer is his boy rob, and then there's big franz his nephew; he teaches some, and kind of sees to us."
""he plays the flute, does n't he?"
asked nat as tommy rendered himself speechless by putting a whole baked apple into his mouth at one blow.
tommy nodded, and said, sooner than one would have imagined possible under the circumstances, "oh, do n't he, though?
and we dance sometimes, and do gymnastics to music.
i like a drum myself, and mean to learn as soon as ever i can."
""i like a fiddle best; i can play one too," said nat, getting confidential on this attractive subject.
""can you?"
and tommy stared over the rim of his mug with round eyes, full of interest.
""mr. bhaer's got an old fiddle, and he'll let you play on it if you want to."
""could i?
oh, i would like it ever so much.
you see, i used to go round fiddling with my father, and another man, till he died."
""was n't that fun?"
cried tommy, much impressed.
""no, it was horrid; so cold in winter, and hot in summer.
and i got tired; and they were cross sometimes; and i did n't get enough to eat."
nat paused to take a generous bite of gingerbread, as if to assure himself that the hard times were over; and then he added regretfully: "but i did love my little fiddle, and i miss it.
nicolo took it away when father died, and would n't have me any longer,'cause i was sick."
""you'll belong to the band if you play good.
see if you do n't."
""do you have a band here?"
nat's eyes sparkled.
""guess we do; a jolly band, all boys; and they have concerts and things.
you just see what happens to-morrow night."
after this pleasantly exciting remark, tommy returned to his supper, and nat sank into a blissful reverie over his full plate.
mrs. bhaer had heard all they said, while apparently absorbed in filling mugs, and overseeing little ted, who was so sleepy that he put his spoon in his eye, nodded like a rosy poppy, and finally fell fast asleep, with his cheek pillowed on a soft bun.
mrs. bhaer had put nat next to tommy, because that roly-poly boy had a frank and social way with him, very attractive to shy persons.
nat felt this, and had made several small confidences during supper, which gave mrs. bhaer the key to the new boy's character, better than if she had talked to him herself.
in the letter which mr. laurence had sent with nat, he had said: "dear jo: here is a case after your own heart.
this poor lad is an orphan now, sick and friendless.
he has been a street-musician; and i found him in a cellar, mourning for his dead father, and his lost violin.
i think there is something in him, and have a fancy that between us we may give this little man a lift.
you cure his overtasked body, fritz help his neglected mind, and when he is ready i'll see if he is a genius or only a boy with a talent which may earn his bread for him.
give him a trial, for the sake of your own boy, "teddy."
""of course we will!"
cried mrs. bhaer, as she read the letter; and when she saw nat she felt at once that, whether he was a genius or not, here was a lonely, sick boy who needed just what she loved to give, a home and motherly care.
both she and mr. bhaer observed him quietly; and in spite of ragged clothes, awkward manners, and a dirty face, they saw much about nat that pleased them.
he was a thin, pale boy, of twelve, with blue eyes, and a good forehead under the rough, neglected hair; an anxious, scared face, at times, as if he expected hard words, or blows; and a sensitive mouth that trembled when a kind glance fell on him; while a gentle speech called up a look of gratitude, very sweet to see.
""bless the poor dear, he shall fiddle all day long if he likes," said mrs. bhaer to herself, as she saw the eager, happy expression on his face when tommy talked of the band.
so, after supper, when the lads flocked into the schoolroom for more "high jinks," mrs. jo appeared with a violin in her hand, and after a word with her husband, went to nat, who sat in a corner watching the scene with intense interest.
""now, my lad, give us a little tune.
we want a violin in our band, and i think you will do it nicely."
she expected that he would hesitate; but he seized the old fiddle at once, and handled it with such loving care, it was plain to see that music was his passion.
""i'll do the best i can, ma'am," was all he said; and then drew the bow across the strings, as if eager to hear the dear notes again.
there was a great clatter in the room, but as if deaf to any sounds but those he made, nat played softly to himself, forgetting every thing in his delight.
it was only a simple negro melody, such as street-musicians play, but it caught the ears of the boys at once, and silenced them, till they stood listening with surprise and pleasure.
gradually they got nearer and nearer, and mr. bhaer came up to watch the boy; for, as if he was in his element now, nat played away and never minded any one, while his eyes shone, his cheeks reddened, and his thin fingers flew, as he hugged the old fiddle and made it speak to all their hearts the language that he loved.
a hearty round of applause rewarded him better than a shower of pennies, when he stopped and glanced about him, as if to say: "i've done my best; please like it."
""i say, you do that first rate," cried tommy, who considered nat his protege.
""you shall be the first fiddle in my band," added franz, with an approving smile.
mrs. bhaer whispered to her husband: "teddy is right: there's something in the child."
and mr. bhaer nodded his head emphatically, as he clapped nat on the shoulder, saying, heartily: "you play well, my son.
come now and play something which we can sing."
it was the proudest, happiest minute of the poor boy's life when he was led to the place of honor by the piano, and the lads gathered round, never heeding his poor clothes, but eying him respectfully and waiting eagerly to hear him play again.
they chose a song he knew; and after one or two false starts they got going, and violin, flute, and piano led a chorus of boyish voices that made the old roof ring again.
it was too much for nat, more feeble than he knew; and as the final shout died away, his face began to work, he dropped the fiddle, and turning to the wall sobbed like a little child.
""my dear, what is it?"
asked mrs. bhaer, who had been singing with all her might, and trying to keep little rob from beating time with his boots.
""you are all so kind and it's so beautiful i ca n't help it," sobbed nat, coughing till he was breathless.
""come with me, dear; you must go to bed and rest; you are worn out, and this is too noisy a place for you," whispered mrs. bhaer; and took him away to her own parlor, where she let him cry himself quiet.
then she won him to tell her all his troubles, and listened to the little story with tears in her own eyes, though it was not a new one to her.
""my child, you have got a father and a mother now, and this is home.
do n't think of those sad times any more, but get well and happy; and be sure you shall never suffer again, if we can help it.
this place is made for all sorts of boys to have a good time in, and to learn how to help themselves and be useful men, i hope.
you shall have as much music as you want, only you must get strong first.
now come up to nursey and have a bath, and then go to bed, and to-morrow we will lay some nice little plans together."
nat held her hand fast in his, but had not a word to say, and let his grateful eyes speak for him, as mrs. bhaer led him up to a big room, where they found a stout german woman with a face so round and cheery that it looked like a sort of sun, with the wide frill of her cap for rays.
""this is nursey hummel, and she will give you a nice bath, and cut your hair, and make you all "comfy," as rob says.
that's the bath-room in there; and on saturday nights we scrub all the little lads first, and pack them away in bed before the big ones get through singing.
now then, rob, in with you."
as she talked, mrs. bhaer had whipped off rob's clothes and popped him into a long bath-tub in the little room opening into the nursery.
there were two tubs, besides foot-baths, basins, douche-pipes, and all manner of contrivances for cleanliness.
nat was soon luxuriating in the other bath; and while simmering there, he watched the performances of the two women, who scrubbed, clean night-gowned, and bundled into bed four or five small boys, who, of course, cut up all sorts of capers during the operation, and kept every one in a gale of merriment till they were extinguished in their beds.
by the time nat was washed and done up in a blanket by the fire, while nursey cut his hair, a new detachment of boys arrived and were shut into the bath-room, where they made as much splashing and noise as a school of young whales at play.
""nat had better sleep here, so that if his cough troubles him in the night you can see that he takes a good draught of flax-seed tea," said mrs. bhaer, who was flying about like a distracted hen with a large brood of lively ducklings.
nursey approved the plan, finished nat off with a flannel night-gown, a drink of something warm and sweet, and then tucked him into one of the three little beds standing in the room, where he lay looking like a contented mummy and feeling that nothing more in the way of luxury could be offered him.
cleanliness in itself was a new and delightful sensation; flannel gowns were unknown comforts in his world; sips of "good stuff" soothed his cough as pleasantly as kind words did his lonely heart; and the feeling that somebody cared for him made that plain room seem a sort of heaven to the homeless child.
it was like a cosy dream; and he often shut his eyes to see if it would not vanish when he opened them again.
it was too pleasant to let him sleep, and he could not have done so if he had tried, for in a few minutes one of the peculiar institutions of plumfield was revealed to his astonished but appreciative eyes.
a momentary lull in the aquatic exercises was followed by the sudden appearance of pillows flying in all directions, hurled by white goblins, who came rioting out of their beds.
the battle raged in several rooms, all down the upper hall, and even surged at intervals into the nursery, when some hard-pressed warrior took refuge there.
no one seemed to mind this explosion in the least; no one forbade it, or even looked surprised.
nursey went on hanging up towels, and mrs. bhaer laid out clean clothes, as calmly as if the most perfect order reigned.
nay, she even chased one daring boy out of the room, and fired after him the pillow he had slyly thrown at her.
""wo n't they hurt'em?"
asked nat, who lay laughing with all his might.
""oh dear, no!
we always allow one pillow-fight saturday night.
the cases are changed to-morrow; and it gets up a glow after the boys" baths; so i rather like it myself," said mrs. bhaer, busy again among her dozen pairs of socks.
""what a very nice school this is!"
observed nat, in a burst of admiration.
""it's an odd one," laughed mrs. bhaer, "but you see we do n't believe in making children miserable by too many rules, and too much study.
i forbade night-gown parties at first; but, bless you, it was of no use.
i could no more keep those boys in their beds than so many jacks in the box.
so i made an agreement with them: i was to allow a fifteen-minute pillow-fight every saturday night; and they promised to go properly to bed every other night.
i tried it, and it worked well.
if they do n't keep their word, no frolic; if they do, i just turn the glasses round, put the lamps in safe places, and let them rampage as much as they like."
""it's a beautiful plan," said nat, feeling that he should like to join in the fray, but not venturing to propose it the first night.
so he lay enjoying the spectacle, which certainly was a lively one.
tommy bangs led the assailing party, and demi defended his own room with a dogged courage fine to see, collecting pillows behind him as fast as they were thrown, till the besiegers were out of ammunition, when they would charge upon him in a body, and recover their arms.
a few slight accidents occurred, but nobody minded, and gave and took sounding thwacks with perfect good humor, while pillows flew like big snowflakes, till mrs. bhaer looked at her watch, and called out: "time is up, boys.
into bed, every man jack, or pay the forfeit!"
""what is the forfeit?"
asked nat, sitting up in his eagerness to know what happened to those wretches who disobeyed this most peculiar, but public-spirited school-ma "am.
""lose their fun next time," answered mrs. bhaer.
""i give them five minutes to settle down, then put out the lights, and expect order.
they are honorable lads, and they keep their word."
that was evident, for the battle ended as abruptly as it began a parting shot or two, a final cheer, as demi fired the seventh pillow at the retiring foe, a few challenges for next time, then order prevailed.
and nothing but an occasional giggle or a suppressed whisper broke the quiet which followed the saturday-night frolic, as mother bhaer kissed her new boy and left him to happy dreams of life at plumfield.
chapter ii.
the boys while nat takes a good long sleep, i will tell my little readers something about the boys, among whom he found himself when he woke up.
to begin with our old friends.
franz was a tall lad, of sixteen now, a regular german, big, blond, and bookish, also very domestic, amiable, and musical.
his uncle was fitting him for college, and his aunt for a happy home of his own hereafter, because she carefully fostered in him gentle manners, love of children, respect for women, old and young, and helpful ways about the house.
he was her right-hand man on all occasions, steady, kind, and patient; and he loved his merry aunt like a mother, for such she had tried to be to him.
emil was quite different, being quick-tempered, restless, and enterprising, bent on going to sea, for the blood of the old vikings stirred in his veins, and could not be tamed.
his uncle promised that he should go when he was sixteen, and set him to studying navigation, gave him stories of good and famous admirals and heroes to read, and let him lead the life of a frog in river, pond, and brook, when lessons were done.
his room looked like the cabin of a man-of-war, for every thing was nautical, military, and shipshape.
captain kyd was his delight, and his favorite amusement was to rig up like that piratical gentleman, and roar out sanguinary sea-songs at the top of his voice.
he would dance nothing but sailors" hornpipes, rolled in his gait, and was as nautical in conversation to his uncle would permit.
the boys called him "commodore," and took great pride in his fleet, which whitened the pond and suffered disasters that would have daunted any commander but a sea-struck boy.
demi was one of the children who show plainly the effect of intelligent love and care, for soul and body worked harmoniously together.
the natural refinement which nothing but home influence can teach, gave him sweet and simple manners: his mother had cherished an innocent and loving heart in him; his father had watched over the physical growth of his boy, and kept the little body straight and strong on wholesome food and exercise and sleep, while grandpa march cultivated the little mind with the tender wisdom of a modern pythagoras, not tasking it with long, hard lessons, parrot-learned, but helping it to unfold as naturally and beautifully as sun and dew help roses bloom.
he was not a perfect child, by any means, but his faults were of the better sort; and being early taught the secret of self-control, he was not left at the mercy of appetites and passions, as some poor little mortals are, and then punished for yielding to the temptations against which they have no armor.
a quiet, quaint boy was demi, serious, yet cheery, quite unconscious that he was unusually bright and beautiful, yet quick to see and love intelligence or beauty in other children.
very fond of books, and full of lively fancies, born of a strong imagination and a spiritual nature, these traits made his parents anxious to balance them with useful knowledge and healthful society, lest they should make him one of those pale precocious children who amaze and delight a family sometimes, and fade away like hot-house flowers, because the young soul blooms too soon, and has not a hearty body to root it firmly in the wholesome soil of this world.
so demi was transplanted to plumfield, and took so kindly to the life there, that meg and john and grandpa felt satisfied that they had done well.
mixing with other boys brought out the practical side of him, roused his spirit, and brushed away the pretty cobwebs he was so fond of spinning in that little brain of his.
to be sure, he rather shocked his mother when he came home, by banging doors, saying "by george" emphatically, and demanding tall thick boots "that clumped like papa's."
but john rejoiced over him, laughed at his explosive remarks, got the boots, and said contentedly, "he is doing well; so let him clump.
i want my son to be a manly boy, and this temporary roughness wo n't hurt him.
we can polish him up by and by; and as for learning, he will pick that up as pigeons do peas.
so do n't hurry him."
daisy was as sunshiny and charming as ever, with all sorts of womanlinesses budding in her, for she was like her gentle mother, and delighted in domestic things.
she had a family of dolls, whom she brought up in the most exemplary manner; she could not get on without her little work-basket and bits of sewing, which she did so nicely, that demi frequently pulled out his handkerchief display her neat stitches, and baby josy had a flannel petticoat beautifully made by sister daisy.
she like to quiddle about the china-closet, prepare the salt-cellars, put the spoons straight on the table; and every day went round the parlor with her brush, dusting chairs and tables.
demi called her a "betty," but was very glad to have her keep his things in order, lend him her nimble fingers in all sorts of work, and help him with his lessons, for they kept abreast there, and had no thought of rivalry.
the love between them was as strong as ever; and no one could laugh demi out of his affectionate ways with daisy.
he fought her battles valiantly, and never could understand why boys should be ashamed to say "right out," that they loved their sisters.
daisy adored her twin, thought "my brother" the most remarkable boy in the world, and every morning, in her little wrapper, trotted to tap at his door with a motherly "get up, my dear, it's "most breakfast time; and here's your clean collar."
rob was an energetic morsel of a boy, who seemed to have discovered the secret of perpetual motion, for he never was still.
fortunately, he was not mischievous, nor very brave; so he kept out of trouble pretty well, and vibrated between father and mother like an affectionate little pendulum with a lively tick, for rob was a chatterbox.
teddy was too young to play a very important part in the affairs of plumfield, yet he had his little sphere, and filled it beautifully.
every one felt the need of a pet at times, and baby was always ready to accommodate, for kissing and cuddling suited him excellently.
mrs. jo seldom stirred without him; so he had his little finger in all the domestic pies, and every one found them all the better for it, for they believed in babies at plumfield.
dick brown, and adolphus or dolly pettingill, were two eight year-olds.
dolly stuttered badly, but was gradually getting over it, for no one was allowed to mock him and mr. bhaer tried to cure it, by making him talk slowly.
dolly was a good little lad, quite uninteresting and ordinary, but he flourished here, and went through his daily duties and pleasures with placid content and propriety.
dick brown's affliction was a crooked back, yet he bore his burden so cheerfully, that demi once asked in his queer way, "do humps make people good-natured?
i'd like one if they do."
dick was always merry, and did his best to be like other boys, for a plucky spirit lived in the feeble little body.
when he first came, he was very sensitive about his misfortune, but soon learned to forget it, for no one dared remind him of it, after mr. bhaer had punished one boy for laughing at him.
""god do n't care; for my soul is straight if my back is n't," sobbed dick to his tormentor on that occasion; and, by cherishing this idea, the bhaers soon led him to believe that people also loved his soul, and did not mind his body, except to pity and help him to bear it.
playing menagerie once with the others, some one said, "what animal will you be, dick?"
""oh, i'm the dromedary; do n't you see the hump on my back?"
was the laughing answer.
""so you are, my nice little one that do n't carry loads, but marches by the elephant first in the procession," said demi, who was arranging the spectacle.
""i hope others will be as kind to the poor dear as my boys have learned to be," said mrs. jo, quite satisfied with the success of her teaching, as dick ambled past her, looking like a very happy, but a very feeble little dromedary, beside stout stuffy, who did the elephant with ponderous propriety.
jack ford was a sharp, rather a sly lad, who was sent to this school, because it was cheap.
many men would have thought him a smart boy, but mr. bhaer did not like his way of illustrating that yankee word, and thought his unboyish keenness and money-loving as much of an affliction as dolly's stutter, or dick's hump.
ned barker was like a thousand other boys of fourteen, all legs, blunder, and bluster.
indeed the family called him the "blunderbuss," and always expected to see him tumble over the chairs, bump against the tables, and knock down any small articles near him.
he bragged a good deal about what he could do, but seldom did any thing to prove it, was not brave, and a little given to tale-telling.
he was apt to bully the small boys, and flatter the big ones, and without being at all bad, was just the sort of fellow who could very easily be led astray.
george cole had been spoilt by an over-indulgent mother, who stuffed him with sweetmeats till he was sick, and then thought him too delicate to study, so that at twelve years old, he was a pale, puffy boy, dull, fretful, and lazy.
a friend persuaded her to send him to plumfield, and there he soon got waked up, for sweet things were seldom allowed, much exercise required, and study made so pleasant, that stuffy was gently lured along, till he quite amazed his anxious mamma by his improvement, and convinced her that there was really something remarkable in plumfield air.
billy ward was what the scotch tenderly call an "innocent," for though thirteen years old, he was like a child of six.
he had been an unusually intelligent boy, and his father had hurried him on too fast, giving him all sorts of hard lessons, keeping at his books six hours a day, and expecting him to absorb knowledge as a strasburg goose does the food crammed down its throat.
he thought he was doing his duty, but he nearly killed the boy, for a fever gave the poor child a sad holiday, and when he recovered, the overtasked brain gave out, and billy's mind was like a slate over which a sponge has passed, leaving it blank.
it was a terrible lesson to his ambitious father; he could not bear the sight of his promising child, changed to a feeble idiot, and he sent him away to plumfield, scarcely hoping that he could be helped, but sure that he would be kindly treated.
quite docile and harmless was billy, and it was pitiful to see how hard he tried to learn, as if groping dimly after the lost knowledge which had cost him so much.
day after day, he pored over the alphabet, proudly said a and b, and thought that he knew them, but on the morrow they were gone, and all the work was to be done over again.
mr. bhaer had infinite patience with him, and kept on in spite of the apparent hopelessness of the task, not caring for book lessons, but trying gently to clear away the mists from the darkened mind, and give it back intelligence enough to make the boy less a burden and an affliction.
mrs. bhaer strengthened his health by every aid she could invent, and the boys all pitied and were kind to him.
he did not like their active plays, but would sit for hours watching the doves, would dig holes for teddy till even that ardent grubber was satisfied, or follow silas, the man, from place to place seeing him work, for honest si was very good to him, and though he forgot his letters billy remembered friendly faces.
tommy bangs was the scapegrace of the school, and the most trying scapegrace that ever lived.
as full of mischief as a monkey, yet so good-hearted that one could not help forgiving his tricks; so scatter-brained that words went by him like the wind, yet so penitent for every misdeed, that it was impossible to keep sober when he vowed tremendous vows of reformation, or proposed all sorts of queer punishments to be inflicted upon himself.
mr. and mrs. bhaer lived in a state of preparation for any mishap, from the breaking of tommy's own neck, to the blowing up of the entire family with gunpowder; and nursey had a particular drawer in which she kept bandages, plasters, and salves for his especial use, for tommy was always being brought in half dead; but nothing ever killed him, and he arose from every downfall with redoubled vigor.
the first day he came, he chopped the top off one finger in the hay-cutter, and during the week, fell from the shed roof, was chased by an angry hen who tried to pick his out because he examined her chickens, got run away with, and had his ears boxed violent by asia, who caught him luxuriously skimming a pan of cream with half a stolen pie.
undaunted, however, by any failures or rebuffs, this indomitable youth went on amusing himself with all sorts of tricks till no one felt safe.
if he did not know his lessons, he always had some droll excuse to offer, and as he was usually clever at his books, and as bright as a button in composing answers when he did not know them, he go on pretty well at school.
but out of school, ye gods and little fishes!
how tommy did carouse!
he wound fat asia up in her own clothes line against the post, and left here there to fume and scold for half an hour one busy monday morning.
he dropped a hot cent down mary ann's back as that pretty maid was waiting at table one day when there were gentlemen to dinner, whereat the poor girl upset the soup and rushed out of the room in dismay, leaving the family to think that she had gone mad.
he fixed a pail of water up in a tree, with a bit of ribbon fastened to the handle, and when daisy, attracted by the gay streamer, tried to pull it down, she got a douche bath that spoiled her clean frock and hurt her little feelings very much.
he put rough white pebbles in the sugar-bowl when his grandmother came to tea, and the poor old lady wondered why they did n't melt in her cup, but was too polite to say anything.
he passed around snuff in church so that five of the boys sneezed with such violence they had to go out.
he dug paths in winter time, and then privately watered them so that people should tumble down.
he drove poor silas nearly wild by hanging his big boots in conspicuous places, for his feet were enormous, and he was very much ashamed of them.
he persuaded confiding little dolly to tie a thread to one of his loose teeth, and leave the string hanging from his mouth when he went to sleep, so that tommy could pull it out without his feeling the dreaded operation.
but the tooth would n't come at the first tweak, and poor dolly woke up in great anguish of spirit, and lost all faith in tommy from that day forth.
the last prank had been to give the hens bread soaked in rum, which made them tipsy and scandalized all the other fowls, for the respectable old biddies went staggering about, pecking and clucking in the most maudlin manner, while the family were convulsed with laughter at their antics, till daisy took pity on them and shut them up in the hen-house to sleep off their intoxication.
these were the boys and they lived together as happy as twelve lads could, studying and playing, working and squabbling, fighting faults and cultivating virtues in the good old-fashioned way.
boys at other schools probably learned more from books, but less of that better wisdom which makes good men.
latin, greek, and mathematics were all very well, but in professor bhaer's opinion, self knowledge, self-help, and self-control were more important, and he tried to teach them carefully.
people shook their heads sometimes at his ideas, even while they owned that the boys improved wonderfully in manners and morals.
but then, as mrs. jo said to nat, "it was an odd school."
chapter iii.
sunday the moment the bell rang next morning nat flew out of bed, and dressed himself with great satisfaction in the suit of clothes he found on the chair.
they were not new, being half-worn garments of one of the well-to-do boys; but mrs. bhaer kept all such cast-off feathers for the picked robins who strayed into her nest.
they were hardly on when tommy appeared in a high state of clean collar, and escorted nat down to breakfast.
the sun was shining into the dining-room on the well-spread table, and the flock of hungry, hearty lads who gathered round it.
nat observed that they were much more orderly than they had been the night before, and every one stood silently behind his chair while little rob, standing beside his father at the head of the table, folded his hands, reverently bent his curly head, and softly repeated a short grace in the devout german fashion, which mr. bhaer loved and taught his little son to honor.
then they all sat down to enjoy the sunday-morning breakfast of coffee, steak, and baked potatoes, instead of the bread and milk fare with which they usually satisfied their young appetites.
there was much pleasant talk while the knives and forks rattled briskly, for certain sunday lessons were to be learned, the sunday walk settled, and plans for the week discussed.
as he listened, nat thought it seemed as if this day must be a very pleasant one, for he loved quiet, and there was a cheerful sort of hush over every thing that pleased him very much; because, in spite of his rough life, the boy possessed the sensitive nerves which belong to a music-loving nature.
""now, my lads, get your morning jobs done, and let me find you ready for church when the "bus comes round," said father bhaer, and set the example by going into the school-room to get books ready for the morrow.
every one scattered to his or her task, for each had some little daily duty, and was expected to perform it faithfully.
some brought wood and water, brushed the steps, or ran errands for mrs. bhaer.
others fed the pet animals, and did chores about the barn with franz.
daisy washed the cups, and demi wiped them, for the twins liked to work together, and demi had been taught to make himself useful in the little house at home.
even baby teddy had his small job to do, and trotted to and fro, putting napkins away, and pushing chairs into their places.
for half and hour the lads buzzed about like a hive of bees, then the "bus drove round, father bhaer and franz with the eight older boys piled in, and away they went for a three-mile drive to church in town.
because of the troublesome cough nat prefered to stay at home with the four small boys, and spent a happy morning in mrs. bhaer's room, listening to the stories she read them, learning the hymns she taught them, and then quietly employing himself pasting pictures into an old ledger.
""this is my sunday closet," she said, showing him shelves filled with picture-books, paint-boxes, architectural blocks, little diaries, and materials for letter-writing.
""i want my boys to love sunday, to find it a peaceful, pleasant day, when they can rest from common study and play, yet enjoy quiet pleasures, and learn, in simple ways, lessons more important than any taught in school.
do you understand me?"
she asked, watching nat's attentive face.
""you mean to be good?"
he said, after hesitating a minute.
""yes; to be good, and to love to be good.
it is hard work sometimes, i know very well; but we all help one another, and so we get on.
this is one of the ways in which i try to help my boys," and she took down a thick book, which seemed half-full of writing, and opened at a page on which there was one word at the top.
""why, that's my name!"
cried nat, looking both surprised and interested.
""yes; i have a page for each boy.
i keep a little account of how he gets on through the week, and sunday night i show him the record.
if it is bad i am sorry and disappointed, if it is good i am glad and proud; but, whichever it is, the boys know i want to help them, and they try to do their best for love of me and father bhaer."
""i should think they would," said nat, catching a glimpse of tommy's name opposite his own, and wondering what was written under it.
mrs. bhaer saw his eye on the words, and shook her head, saying, as she turned a leaf, "no, i do n't show my records to any but the one to whom each belongs.
i call this my conscience book; and only you and i will ever know what is to be written on the page below your name.
whether you will be pleased or ashamed to read it next sunday depends on yourself.
i think it will be a good report; at any rate, i shall try to make things easy for you in this new place, and shall be quite contented if you keep our few rules, live happily with the boys, and learn something."
""i'll try ma'am;" and nat's thin face flushed up with the earnestness of his desire to make mrs. bhaer "glad and proud," not "sorry and disappointed."
""it must be a great deal of trouble to write about so many," he added, as she shut her book with an encouraging pat on the shoulder.
""not to me, for i really do n't know which i like best, writing or boys," she said, laughing to see nat stare with astonishment at the last item.
""yes, i know many people think boys are a nuisance, but that is because they do n't understand them.
i do; and i never saw the boy yet whom i could not get on capitally with after i had once found the soft spot in his heart.
bless me, i could n't get on at all without my flock of dear, noisy, naughty, harum-scarum little lads, could i, my teddy?"
and mrs. bhaer hugged the young rogue, just in time to save the big inkstand from going into his pocket.
nat, who had never heard anything like this before, really did not know whether mother bhaer was a trifle crazy, or the most delightful woman he had ever met.
he rather inclined to the latter opinion, in spite of her peculiar tastes, for she had a way of filling up a fellow's plate before he asked, of laughing at his jokes, gently tweaking him by the ear, or clapping him on the shoulder, that nat found very engaging.
""now, i think you would like to go into the school-room and practise some of the hymns we are to sing to-night," she said, rightly guessing the thing of all others that he wanted to do.
alone with the beloved violin and the music-book propped up before him in the sunny window, while spring beauty filled the world outside, and sabbath silence reigned within, nat enjoyed an hour or two of genuine happiness, learning the sweet old tunes, and forgetting the hard past in the cheerful present.
when the church-goers came back and dinner was over, every one read, wrote letters home, said their sunday lessons, or talked quietly to one another, sitting here and there about the house.
at three o'clock the entire family turned out to walk, for all the active young bodies must have exercise; and in these walks the active young minds were taught to see and love the providence of god in the beautiful miracles which nature was working before their eyes.
mr. bhaer always went with them, and in his simple, fatherly way, found for his flock, "sermons in stones, books in the running brooks, and good in everything."
mrs. bhaer with daisy and her own two boys drove into town, to pay the weekly visit to grandma, which was busy mother bhaer's one holiday and greatest pleasure.
nat was not strong enough for the long walk, and asked to stay at home with tommy, who kindly offered to do the honors of plumfield.
""you've seen the house, so come out and have a look at the garden, and the barn, and the menagerie," said tommy, when they were left alone with asia, to see that they did n't get into mischief; for, though tommy was one of the best-meaning boys who ever adorned knickerbockers, accidents of the most direful nature were always happening to him, no one could exactly tell how.
""what is your menagerie?"
asked nat, as they trotted along the drive that encircled the house.
""we all have pets, you see, and we keep'em in the corn-barn, and call it the menagerie.
here you are.
is n't my guinea-pig a beauty?"
and tommy proudly presented one of the ugliest specimens of that pleasing animal that nat ever saw.
""i know a boy with a dozen of'em, and he said he'd give me one, only i had n't any place to keep it, so i could n't have it.
it was white, with black spots, a regular rouser, and maybe i could get it for you if you'd like it," said nat, feeling it would be a delicate return for tommy's attentions.
""i'd like it ever so much, and i'll give you this one, and they can live together if they do n't fight.
those white mice are rob's, franz gave'em to him.
the rabbits are ned's, and the bantams outside are stuffy's.
that box thing is demi's turtle-tank, only he has n't begun to get'em yet.
last year he had sixty-two, whackers some of'em.
he stamped one of'em with his name and the year, and let it go; and he says maybe he will find it ever so long after and know it.
he read about a turtle being found that had a mark on it that showed it must be hundreds of years old.
demi's such a funny chap."
""what is in this box?"
asked nat, stopping before a large deep one, half-full of earth.
""oh, that's jack ford's worm-shop.
he digs heaps of'em and keeps'em here, and when we want any to go afishing with, we buy some of him.
it saves lots of trouble, only he charged too much for'em.
why, last time we traded i had to pay two cents a dozen, and then got little ones.
jack's mean sometimes, and i told him i'd dig for myself if he did n't lower his prices.
now, i own two hens, those gray ones with top knots, first-rate ones they are too, and i sell mrs. bhaer the eggs, but i never ask her more than twenty-five cents a dozen, never!
i'd be ashamed to do it," cried tommy, with a glance of scorn at the worm-shop.
""who owns the dogs?"
asked nat, much interested in these commercial transactions, and feeling that t. bangs was a man whom it would be a privilege and a pleasure to patronize.
""the big dog is emil's.
his name is christopher columbus.
mrs. bhaer named him because she likes to say christopher columbus, and no one minds it if she means the dog," answered tommy, in the tone of a show-man displaying his menagerie.
""the white pup is rob's, and the yellow one is teddy's.
a man was going to drown them in our pond, and pa bhaer would n't let him.
they do well enough for the little chaps, i do n't think much of'em myself.
their names are castor and pollux."
""i'd like toby the donkey best, if i could have anything, it's so nice to ride, and he's so little and good," said nat, remembering the weary tramps he had taken on his own tired feet.
""mr. laurie sent him out to mrs. bhaer, so she should n't carry teddy on her back when we go to walk.
we're all fond of toby, and he's a first-rate donkey, sir.
those pigeons belong to the whole lot of us, we each have our pet one, and go shares in all the little ones as they come along.
squabs are great fun; there ai n't any now, but you can go up and take a look at the old fellows, while i see if cockletop and granny have laid any eggs."
nat climbed up a ladder, put his head through a trap door and took a long look at the pretty doves billing and cooing in their spacious loft.
some on their nests, some bustling in and out, and some sitting at their doors, while many went flying from the sunny housetop to the straw-strewn farmyard, where six sleek cows were placidly ruminating.
""everybody has got something but me.
i wish i had a dove, or a hen, or even a turtle, all my own," thought nat, feeling very poor as he saw the interesting treasures of the other boys.
""how do you get these things?"
he asked, when he joined tommy in the barn.
""we find'em or buy'em, or folks give'em to us.
my father sends me mine; but as soon as i get egg money enough, i'm going to buy a pair of ducks.
there's a nice little pond for'em behind the barn, and people pay well for duck-eggs, and the little duckies are pretty, and it's fun to see'em swim," said tommy, with the air of a millionaire.
nat sighed, for he had neither father nor money, nothing in the wide world but an old empty pocketbook, and the skill that lay in his ten finger tips.
tommy seemed to understand the question and the sigh which followed his answer, for after a moment of deep thought, he suddenly broke out, "look here, i'll tell you what i'll do.
if you will hunt eggs for me, i hate it, i'll give you one egg out of every dozen.
you keep account, and when you've had twelve, mother bhaer will give you twenty-five cents for'em, and then you can buy what you like, do n't you see?"
""i'll do it!
what a kind feller you are, tommy!"
cried nat, quite dazzled by this brilliant offer.
""pooh!
that is not anything.
you begin now and rummage the barn, and i'll wait here for you.
granny is cackling, so you're sure to find one somewhere," and tommy threw himself down on the hay with a luxurious sense of having made a good bargain, and done a friendly thing.
nat joyfully began his search, and went rustling from loft to loft till he found two fine eggs, one hidden under a beam, and the other in an old peck measure, which mrs. cockletop had appropriated.
""you may have one and i'll have the other, that will just make up my last dozen, and to-morrow we'll start fresh.
here, you chalk your accounts up near mine, and then we'll be all straight," said tommy, showing a row of mysterious figures on the side of an old winnowing machine.
with a delightful sense of importance, the proud possessor of one egg opened his account with his friend, who laughingly wrote above the figures these imposing words, "t. bangs & co." poor nat found them so fascinating that he was with difficulty persuaded to go and deposit his first piece of portable property in asia's store-room.
then they went on again, and having made the acquaintance of the two horses, six cows, three pigs, and one alderney "bossy," as calves are called in new england, tommy took nat to a certain old willow-tree that overhung a noisy little brook.
from the fence it was an easy scramble into a wide niche between the three big branches, which had been cut off to send out from year to year a crowd of slender twigs, till a green canopy rustled overhead.
here little seats had been fixed, and a hollow place a closet made big enough to hold a book or two, a dismantled boat, and several half-finished whistles.
""this is demi's and my private place; we made it, and nobody can come up unless we let'em, except daisy, we do n't mind her," said tommy, as nat looked with delight from the babbling brown water below to the green arch above, where bees were making a musical murmur as they feasted on the long yellow blossoms that filled the air with sweetness.
""oh, it's just beautiful!"
cried nat.
""i do hope you'll let me up sometimes.
i never saw such a nice place in all my life.
i'd like to be a bird, and live here always."
""it is pretty nice.
you can come if demi do n't mind, and i guess he wo n't, because he said last night that he liked you."
""did he?"
and nat smiled with pleasure, for demi's regard seemed to be valued by all the boys, partly because he was father bhaer's nephew, and partly because he was such a sober, conscientious little fellow.
""yes; demi likes quiet chaps, and i guess he and you will get on if you care about reading as he does."
poor nat's flush of pleasure deepened to a painful scarlet at those last words, and he stammered out, "i ca n't read very well; i never had any time; i was always fiddling round, you know."
""i do n't love it myself, but i can do it well enough when i want to," said tommy, after a surprised look, which said as plainly as words, "a boy twelve years old and ca n't read!"
""i can read music, anyway," added nat, rather ruffled at having to confess his ignorance.
""i ca n't;" and tommy spoke in a respectful tone, which emboldened nat to say firmly, "i mean to study real hard and learn every thing i can, for i never had a chance before.
does mr. bhaer give hard lessons?"
""no; he is n't a bit cross; he sort of explains and gives you a boost over the hard places.
some folks do n't; my other master did n't.
if we missed a word, did n't we get raps on the head!"
and tommy rubbed his own pate as if it tingled yet with the liberal supply of raps, the memory of which was the only thing he brought away after a year with his "other master."
""i think i could read this," said nat, who had been examining the books.
""read a bit, then; i'll help you," resumed tommy, with a patronizing air.
so nat did his best, and floundered through a page with may friendly "boosts" from tommy, who told him he would soon "go it" as well as anybody.
then they sat and talked boy-fashion about all sorts of things, among others, gardening; for nat, looking down from his perch, asked what was planted in the many little patches lying below them on the other side of the brook.
""these are our farms," said tommy.
""we each have our own patch, and raise what we like in it, only have to choose different things, and ca n't change till the crop is in, and we must keep it in order all summer."
""what are you going to raise this year?"
""wal, i cattleated to hev beans, as they are about the easiest crop a-goin"."
nat could not help laughing, for tommy had pushed back his hat, put his hands in his pockets, and drawled out his words in unconscious imitation of silas, the man who managed the place for mr. bhaer.
""come, you need n't laugh; beans are ever so much easier than corn or potatoes.
i tried melons last year, but the bugs were a bother, and the old things would n't get ripe before the frost, so i did n't have but one good water and two little "mush mellions,"" said tommy, relapsing into a "silasism" with the last word.
""corn looks pretty growing," said nat, politely, to atone for his laugh.
""yes, but you have to hoe it over and over again.
now, six weeks" beans only have to be done once or so, and they get ripe soon.
i'm going to try'em, for i spoke first.
stuffy wanted'em, but he's got to take peas; they only have to be picked, and he ought to do it, he eats such a lot."
""i wonder if i shall have a garden?"
said nat, thinking that even corn-hoeing must be pleasant work.
""of course you will," said a voice from below, and there was mr. bhaer returned from his walk, and come to find them, for he managed to have a little talk with every one of the lads some time during the day, and found that these chats gave them a good start for the coming week.
sympathy is a sweet thing, and it worked wonders here, for each boy knew that father bhaer was interested in him, and some were readier to open their hearts to him than to a woman, especially the older ones, who liked to talk over their hopes and plans, man to man.
when sick or in trouble they instinctively turned to mrs. jo, while the little ones made her their mother-confessor on all occasions.
in descending from their nest, tommy fell into the brook; being used to it, he calmly picked himself out and retired to the house to be dried.
this left nat to mr. bhaer, which was just what he wished, and, during the stroll they took among the garden plots, he won the lad's heart by giving him a little "farm," and discussing crops with him as gravely as if the food for the family depended on the harvest.
from this pleasant topic they went to others, and nat had many new and helpful thoughts put into a mind that received them as gratefully as the thirsty earth had received the warm spring rain.
all supper time he brooded over them, often fixing his eyes on mr. bhaer with an inquiring look, that seemed to say, "i like that, do it again, sir."
i do n't know whether the man understood the child's mute language or not, but when the boys were all gathered together in mrs. bhaer's parlor for the sunday evening talk, he chose a subject which might have been suggested by the walk in the garden.
as he looked about him nat thought it seemed more like a great family than a school, for the lads were sitting in a wide half-circle round the fire, some on chairs, some on the rug, daisy and demi on the knees of uncle fritz, and rob snugly stowed away in the back of his mother's easy-chair, where he could nod unseen if the talk got beyond his depth.
every one looked quite comfortable, and listened attentively, for the long walk made rest agreeable, and as every boy there knew that he would be called upon for his views, he kept his wits awake to be ready with an answer.
""once upon a time," began mr. bhaer, in the dear old-fashioned way, "there was a great and wise gardener who had the largest garden ever seen.
a wonderful and lovely place it was, and he watched over it with the greatest skill and care, and raised all manner of excellent and useful things.
but weeds would grow even in this fine garden; often the ground was bad and the good seeds sown in it would not spring up.
he had many under gardeners to help him.
some did their duty and earned the rich wages he gave them; but others neglected their parts and let them run to waste, which displeased him very much.
but he was very patient, and for thousands and thousands of years he worked and waited for his great harvest."
""he must have been pretty old," said demi, who was looking straight into uncle fritz's face, as if to catch every word.
""hush, demi, it's a fairy story," whispered daisy.
""no, i think it's an arrygory," said demi.
""what is a arrygory?"
called out tommy, who was of an inquiring turn.
""tell him, demi, if you can, and do n't use words unless you are quite sure you know what they mean," said mr. bhaer.
""i do know, grandpa told me!
a fable is a arrygory; it's a story that means something.
my "story without an end" is one, because the child in it means a soul; do n't it, aunty?"
cried demi, eager to prove himself right.
""that's it, dear; and uncle's story is an allegory, i am quite sure; so listen and see what it means," returned mrs. jo, who always took part in whatever was going on, and enjoyed it as much as any boy among them.
demi composed himself, and mr. bhaer went on in his best english, for he had improved much in the last five years, and said the boys did it.
""this great gardener gave a dozen or so of little plots to one of his servants, and told him to do his best and see what he could raise.
now this servant was not rich, nor wise, nor very good, but he wanted to help because the gardener had been very kind to him in many ways.
so he gladly took the little plots and fell to work.
they were all sorts of shapes and sizes, and some were very good soil, some rather stony, and all of them needed much care, for in the rich soil the weeds grew fast, and in the poor soil there were many stones."
""what was growing in them besides the weeds, and stones?"
asked nat; so interested, he forgot his shyness and spoke before them all.
""flowers," said mr. bhaer, with a kind look.
""even the roughest, most neglected little bed had a bit of heart's - ease or a sprig of mignonette in it.
one had roses, sweet peas, and daisies in it," here he pinched the plump cheek of the little girl leaning on his arm.
""another had all sorts of curious plants in it, bright pebbles, a vine that went climbing up like jack's beanstalk, and many good seeds just beginning to sprout; for, you see, this bed had been taken fine care of by a wise old man, who had worked in gardens of this sort all his life."
at this part of the "arrygory," demi put his head on one side like an inquisitive bird, and fixed his bright eye on his uncle's face, as if he suspected something and was on the watch.
but mr. bhaer looked perfectly innocent, and went on glancing from one young face to another, with a grave, wistful look, that said much to his wife, who knew how earnestly he desired to do his duty in these little garden plots.
""as i tell you, some of these beds were easy to cultivate, that means to take care of daisy, and others were very hard.
there was one particularly sunshiny little bed that might have been full of fruits and vegetables as well as flowers, only it would n't take any pains, and when the man sowed, well, we'll say melons in this bed, they came to nothing, because the little bed neglected them.
the man was sorry, and kept on trying, though every time the crop failed, all the bed said, was," i forgot.""
here a general laugh broke out, and every one looked at tommy, who had pricked up his ears at the word "melons," and hung down his head at the sound of his favorite excuse.
""i knew he meant us!"
cried demi, clapping his hands.
""you are the man, and we are the little gardens; are n't we, uncle fritz?"
""you have guessed it.
now each of you tell me what crop i shall try to sow in you this spring, so that next autumn i may get a good harvest out of my twelve, no, thirteen, plots," said mr. bhaer, nodding at nat as he corrected himself.
""you ca n't sow corn and beans and peas in us.
unless you mean we are to eat a great many and get fat," said stuffy, with a sudden brightening of his round, dull face as the pleasing idea occurred to him.
""he do n't mean that kind of seeds.
he means things to make us good; and the weeds are faults," cried demi, who usually took the lead in these talks, because he was used to this sort of thing, and liked it very much.
""yes, each of you think what you need most, and tell me, and i will help you to grow it; only you must do your best, or you will turn out like tommy's melons, all leaves and no fruit.
i will begin with the oldest, and ask the mother what she will have in her plot, for we are all parts of the beautiful garden, and may have rich harvests for our master if we love him enough," said father bhaer.
""i shall devote the whole of my plot to the largest crop of patience i can get, for that is what i need most," said mrs. jo, so soberly that the lads fell to thinking in good earnest what they should say when their turns came, and some among them felt a twinge of remorse, that they had helped to use up mother bhaer's stock of patience so fast.
franz wanted perseverance, tommy steadiness, ned went in for good temper, daisy for industry, demi for "as much wiseness as grandpa," and nat timidly said he wanted so many things he would let mr. bhaer choose for him.
the others chose much the same things, and patience, good temper, and generosity seemed the favorite crops.
one boy wished to like to get up early, but did not know what name to give that sort of seed; and poor stuffy sighed out, "i wish i loved my lessons as much as i do my dinner, but i ca n't."
""we will plant self-denial, and hoe it and water it, and make it grow so well that next christmas no one will get ill by eating too much dinner.
if you exercise your mind, george, it will get hungry just as your body does, and you will love books almost as much as my philosopher here," said mr. bhaer; adding, as he stroked the hair off demi's fine forehead, "you are greedy also, my son, and you like to stuff your little mind full of fairy tales and fancies, as well as george likes to fill his little stomach with cake and candy.
both are bad, and i want you to try something better.
arithmetic is not half so pleasant as "arabian nights," i know, but it is a very useful thing, and now is the time to learn it, else you will be ashamed and sorry by and by."
""but, "harry and lucy," and "frank," are not fairy books, and they are all full of barometers, and bricks, and shoeing horses, and useful things, and i'm fond of them; ai n't i, daisy?"
said demi, anxious to defend himself.
""so they are; but i find you reading "roland and maybird," a great deal oftener than "harry and lucy," and i think you are not half so fond of "frank" as you are of "sinbad."
come, i shall make a little bargain with you both, george shall eat but three times a day, and you shall read but one story-book a week, and i will give you the new cricket-ground; only, you must promise to play in it," said uncle fritz, in his persuasive way, for stuffy hated to run about, and demi was always reading in play hours.
""but we do n't like cricket," said demi.
""perhaps not now, but you will when you know it.
besides, you do like to be generous, and the other boys want to play, and you can give them the new ground if you choose."
this was taken them both on the right side, and they agreed to the bargain, to the great satisfaction of the rest.
there was a little more talk about the gardens, and then they all sang together.
the band delighted nat, for mrs. bhaer played the piano, franz the flute, mr. bhaer a bass viol, and he himself the violin.
a very simple little concert, but all seemed to enjoy it, and old asia, sitting in the corner, joined at times with the sweetest voice of any, for in this family, master and servant, old and young, black and white, shared in the sunday song, which went up to the father of them all.
after this they each shook hands with father bhaer; mother bhaer kissed them every one from sixteen-year-old franz to little rob, how kept the tip of her nose for his own particular kisses, and then they trooped up to bed.
the light of the shaded lamp that burned in the nursery shone softly on a picture hanging at the foot of nat's bed.
there were several others on the walls, but the boy thought there must be something peculiar about this one, for it had a graceful frame of moss and cones about it, and on a little bracket underneath stood a vase of wild flowers freshly gathered from the spring woods.
it was the most beautiful picture of them all, and nat lay looking at it, dimly feeling what it meant, and wishing he knew all about it.
""that's my picture," said a little voice in the room.
nat popped up his head, and there was demi in his night-gown pausing on his way back from aunt jo's chamber, whither he had gone to get a cot for a cut finger.
""what is he doing to the children?"
asked nat.
""that is christ, the good man, and he is blessing the children.
do n't you know about him?"
said demi, wondering.
""not much, but i'd like to, he looks so kind," answered nat, whose chief knowledge of the good man consisted in hearing his name taken in vain.
""i know all about it, and i like it very much, because it is true," said demi.
""who told you?"
""my grandpa, he knows every thing, and tells the best stories in the world.
i used to play with his big books, and make bridges, and railroads, and houses, when i was a little boy," began demi.
""how old are you now?"
asked nat, respectfully."
"most ten."
""you know a lot of things, do n't you?"
""yes; you see my head is pretty big, and grandpa says it will take a good deal to fill it, so i keep putting pieces of wisdom into it as fast as i can," returned demi, in his quaint way.
nat laughed, and then said soberly, "tell on, please."
and demi gladly told on without pause or punctuation.
""i found a very pretty book one day and wanted to play with it, but grandpa said i must n't, and showed me the pictures, and told me about them, and i liked the stories very much, all about joseph and his bad brothers, and the frogs that came up out of the sea, and dear little moses in the water, and ever so many more lovely ones, but i liked about the good man best of all, and grandpa told it to me so many times that i learned it by heart, and he gave me this picture so i should n't forget, and it was put up here once when i was sick, and i left it for other sick boys to see.""
""what makes him bless the children?"
asked nat, who found something very attractive in the chief figure of the group.
""because he loved them."
""were they poor children?"
asked nat, wistfully.
""yes, i think so; you see some have n't got hardly any clothes on, and the mothers do n't look like rich ladies.
he liked poor people, and was very good to them.
he made them well, and helped them, and told rich people they must not be cross to them, and they loved him dearly, dearly," cried demi, with enthusiasm.
""was he rich?"
""oh no!
he was born in a barn, and was so poor he had n't any house to live in when he grew up, and nothing to eat sometimes, but what people gave him, and he went round preaching to everybody, and trying to make them good, till the bad men killed him."
""what for?"
and nat sat up in his bed to look and listen, so interested was he in this man who cared for the poor so much.
""i'll tell you all about it; aunt jo wo n't mind;" and demi settled himself on the opposite bed, glad to tell his favorite story to so good a listener.
nursey peeped in to see if nat was asleep, but when she saw what was going on, she slipped away again, and went to mrs. bhaer, saying with her kind face full of motherly emotion, "will the dear lady come and see a pretty sight?
it's nat listening with all his heart to demi telling the story of the christ-child, like a little white angel as he is."
mrs. bhaer had meant to go and talk with nat a moment before he slept, for she had found that a serious word spoken at this time often did much good.
but when she stole to the nursery door, and saw nat eagerly drinking in the words of his little friends, while demi told the sweet and solemn story as it had been taught him, speaking softly as he sat with his beautiful eyes fixed on the tender face above them, her own filled with tears, and she went silently away, thinking to herself, "demi is unconsciously helping the poor boy better than i can; i will not spoil it by a single word."
the murmur of the childish voice went on for a long time, as one innocent heart preached that great sermon to another, and no one hushed it.
when it ceased at last, and mrs. bhaer went to take away the lamp, demi was gone and nat fast asleep, lying with his face toward the picture, as if he had already learned to love the good man who loved little children, and was a faithful friend to the poor.
the boy's face was very placid, and as she looked at it she felt that if a single day of care and kindness had done so much, a year of patient cultivation would surely bring a grateful harvest from this neglected garden, which was already sown with the best of all seed by the little missionary in the night-gown.
chapter iv.
stepping-stones when nat went into school on monday morning, he quaked inwardly, for now he thought he should have to display his ignorance before them all.
but mr. bhaer gave him a seat in the deep window, where he could turn his back on the others, and franz heard him say his lessons there, so no one could hear his blunders or see how he blotted his copybook.
he was truly grateful for this, and toiled away so diligently that mr. bhaer said, smiling, when he saw his hot face and inky fingers: "do n't work so hard, my boy; you will tire yourself out, and there is time enough."
""but i must work hard, or i ca n't catch up with the others.
they know heaps, and i do n't know anything," said nat, who had been reduced to a state of despair by hearing the boys recite their grammar, history, and geography with what he thought amazing ease and accuracy.
""you know a good many things which they do n't," said mr. bhaer, sitting down beside him, while franz led a class of small students through the intricacies of the multiplication table.
""do i?"
and nat looked utterly incredulous.
""yes; for one thing, you can keep your temper, and jack, who is quick at numbers, can not; that is an excellent lesson, and i think you have learned it well.
then, you can play the violin, and not one of the lads can, though they want to do it very much.
but, best of all, nat, you really care to learn something, and that is half the battle.
it seems hard at first, and you will feel discouraged, but plod away, and things will get easier and easier as you go on."
nat's face had brightened more and more as he listened, for, small as the list of his learning was, it cheered him immensely to feel that he had anything to fall back upon.
""yes, i can keep my temper father's beating taught me that; and i can fiddle, though i do n't know where the bay of biscay is," he thought, with a sense of comfort impossible to express.
then he said aloud, and so earnestly that demi heard him: "i do want to learn, and i will try.
i never went to school, but i could n't help it; and if the fellows do n't laugh at me, i guess i'll get on first rate you and the lady are so good to me."
""they sha n't laugh at you; if they do, i'll i'll tell them not to," cried demi, quite forgetting where he was.
the class stopped in the middle of 7 times 9, and everyone looked up to see what was going on.
thinking that a lesson in learning to help one another was better than arithmetic just then, mr. bhaer told them about nat, making such an interesting and touching little story out of it that the good-hearted lads all promised to lend him a hand, and felt quite honored to be called upon to impart their stores of wisdom to the chap who fiddled so capitally.
this appeal established the right feeling among them, and nat had few hindrances to struggle against, for every one was glad to give him a "boost" up the ladder of learning.
till he was stronger, much study was not good for him, however, and mrs. jo found various amusements in the house for him while others were at their books.
but his garden was his best medicine, and he worked away like a beaver, preparing his little farm, sowing his beans, watching eagerly to see them grow, and rejoicing over each green leaf and slender stock that shot up and flourished in the warm spring weather.
never was a garden more faithfully hoed; mr. bhaer really feared that nothing would find time to grow, nat kept up such a stirring of the soil; so he gave him easy jobs in the flower garden or among the strawberries, where he worked and hummed as busily as the bees booming all about him.
""this is the crop i like best," mrs. bhaer used to say, as she pinched the once thin cheeks, now getting plump and ruddy, or stroked the bent shoulders that were slowly straightening up with healthful work, good food, and the absence of that heavy burden, poverty.
demi was his little friend, tommy his patron, and daisy the comforter of all his woes; for, though the children were younger than he, his timid spirit found a pleasure in their innocent society, and rather shrunk from the rough sports of the elder lads.
mr. laurence did not forget him, but sent clothes and books, music and kind messages, and now and then came out to see how his boy was getting on, or took him into town to a concert; on which occasions nat felt himself translated into the seventh heaven of bliss, for he went to mr. laurence's great house, saw his pretty wife and little fairy of a daughter, had a good dinner, and was made so comfortable, that he talked and dreamed of it for days and nights afterward.
it takes so little to make a child happy that it is a pity, in a world so full of sunshine and pleasant things, that there should be any wistful faces, empty hands, or lonely little hearts.
feeling this, the bhaers gathered up all the crumbs they could find to feed their flock of hungry sparrows, for they were not rich, except in charity.
many of mrs. jo's friends who had nurseries sent her they toys of which their children so soon tired, and in mending these nat found an employment that just suited him.
he was very neat and skillful with those slender fingers of his, and passed many a rainy afternoon with his gum-bottle, paint-box, and knife, repairing furniture, animals, and games, while daisy was dressmaker to the dilapidated dolls.
as fast as the toys were mended, they were put carefully away in a certain drawer which was to furnish forth a christmas-tree for all the poor children of the neighborhood, that being the way the plumfield boys celebrated the birthday of him who loved the poor and blessed the little ones.
demi was never tired of reading and explaining his favorite books, and many a pleasant hour did they spend in the old willow, revelling over "robinson crusoe," "arabian nights," "edgeworth's tales," and the other dear immortal stories that will delight children for centuries to come.
this opened a new world to nat, and his eagerness to see what came next in the story helped him on till he could read as well as anybody, and felt so rich and proud with his new accomplishment, that there was danger of his being as much of a bookworm as demi.
another helpful thing happened in a most unexpected and agreeable manner.
several of the boys were "in business," as they called it, for most of them were poor, and knowing that they would have their own way to make by and by, the bhaers encouraged any efforts at independence.
tommy sold his eggs; jack speculated in live stock; franz helped in the teaching, and was paid for it; ned had a taste for carpentry, and a turning-lathe was set up for him in which he turned all sorts of useful or pretty things, and sold them; while demi constructed water-mills, whirligigs, and unknown machines of an intricate and useless nature, and disposed of them to the boys.
""let him be a mechanic if he likes," said mr. bhaer.
""give a boy a trade, and he is independent.
work is wholesome, and whatever talent these lads possess, be it for poetry or ploughing, it shall be cultivated and made useful to them if possible."
so, when nat came running to him one day to ask with an excited face: "can i go and fiddle for some people who are to have a picnic in our woods?
they will pay me, and i'd like to earn some money as the other boys do, and fiddling is the only way i know how to do it."
mr. bhaer answered readily: "go, and welcome.
it is an easy and a pleasant way to work, and i am glad it is offered you."
nat went, and did so well that when he came home he had two dollars in his pocket, which he displayed with intense satisfaction, as he told how much he had enjoyed the afternoon, how kind the young people were, and how they had praised his dance music, and promised to have him again.
""it is so much nicer than fiddling in the street, for then i got none of the money, and now i have it all, and a good time besides.
i'm in business now as well as tommy and jack, and i like it ever so much," said nat, proudly patting the old pocketbook, and feeling like a millionaire already.
he was in business truly, for picnics were plenty as summer opened, and nat's skill was in great demand.
he was always at liberty to go if lessons were not neglected, and if the picnickers were respectable young people.
for mr. bhaer explained to him that a good plain education is necessary for everyone, and that no amount of money should hire him to go where he might be tempted to do wrong.
nat quite agreed to this, and it was a pleasant sight to see the innocent-hearted lad go driving away in the gay wagons that stopped at the gate for him, or to hear him come fiddling home tired but happy, with his well-earned money in one pocket, and some "goodies" from the feast for daisy or little ted, whom he never forgot.
""i'm going to save up till i get enough to buy a violin for myself, and then i can earn my own living, ca n't i?"
he used to say, as he brought his dollars to mr. bhaer to keep.
""i hope so, nat; but we must get you strong and hearty first, and put a little more knowledge into this musical head of yours.
then mr. laurie will find you a place somewhere, and in a few years we will all come to hear you play in public."
with much congenial work, encouragement, and hope, nat found life getting easier and happier every day, and made such progress in his music lessons that his teacher forgave his slowness in some other things, knowing very well that where the heart is the mind works best.
the only punishment the boy ever needed for neglect of more important lessons was to hang up the fiddle and the bow for a day.
the fear of losing his bosom friend entirely made him go at his books with a will; and having proved that he could master the lessons, what was the use of saying "i ca n't?"
daisy had a great love of music, and a great reverence for any one who could make it, and she was often found sitting on the stairs outside nat's door while he was practising.
this pleased him very much, and he played his best for that one quiet little listener; for she never would come in, but preferred to sit sewing her gay patchwork, or tending one of her many dolls, with an expression of dreamy pleasure on her face that made aunt jo say, with tears in her eyes: "so like my beth," and go softly by, lest even her familiar presence mar the child's sweet satisfaction.
nat was very fond of mrs. bhaer, but found something even more attractive in the good professor, who took fatherly care of the shy feeble boy, who had barely escaped with his life from the rough sea on which his little boat had been tossing rudderless for twelve years.
some good angel must have been watching over him, for, though his body had suffered, his soul seemed to have taken little harm, and came ashore as innocent as a shipwrecked baby.
perhaps his love of music kept it sweet in spite of the discord all about him; mr. laurie said so, and he ought to know.
however that might be, father bhaer took pleasure in fostering poor nat's virtues, and in curing his faults, finding his new pupil as docile and affectionate as a girl.
he often called nat his "daughter" when speaking of him to mrs. jo, and she used to laugh at his fancy, for madame liked manly boys, and thought nat amiable but weak, though you never would have guessed it, for she petted him as she did daisy, and he thought her a very delightful woman.
one fault of nat's gave the bhaers much anxiety, although they saw how it had been strengthened by fear and ignorance.
i regret to say that nat sometimes told lies.
not very black ones, seldom getting deeper than gray, and often the mildest of white fibs; but that did not matter, a lie is a lie, and though we all tell many polite untruths in this queer world of ours, it is not right, and everybody knows it.
""you can not be too careful; watch your tongue, and eyes, and hands, for it is easy to tell, and look, and act untruth," said mr. bhaer, in one of the talks he had with nat about his chief temptation.
""i know it, and i do n't mean to, but it's so much easier to get along if you ai n't very fussy about being exactly true.
i used to tell'em because i was afraid of father and nicolo, and now i do sometimes because the boys laugh at me.
i know it's bad, but i forget," and nat looked much depressed by his sins.
""when i was a little lad i used to tell lies!
ach!
what fibs they were, and my old grandmother cured me of it how, do you think?
my parents had talked, and cried, and punished, but still did i forget as you.
then said the dear old grandmother," i shall help you to remember, and put a check on this unruly part," with that she drew out my tongue and snipped the end with her scissors till the blood ran.
that was terrible, you may believe, but it did me much good, because it was sore for days, and every word i said came so slowly that i had time to think.
after that i was more careful, and got on better, for i feared the big scissors.
yet the dear grandmother was most kind to me in all things, and when she lay dying far away in nuremberg, she prayed that little fritz might love god and tell the truth."
""i never had any grandmothers, but if you think it will cure me, i'll let you snip my tongue," said nat, heroically, for he dreaded pain, yet did wish to stop fibbing.
mr. bhaer smiled, but shook his head.
""i have a better way than that, i tried it once before and it worked well.
see now, when you tell a lie i will not punish you, but you shall punish me."
""how?"
asked nat, startled at the idea.
""you shall ferule me in the good old-fashioned way; i seldom do it myself, but it may make you remember better to give me pain than to feel it yourself."
""strike you?
oh, i could n't!"
cried nat.
""then mind that tripping tongue of thine.
i have no wish to be hurt, but i would gladly bear much pain to cure this fault."
this suggestion made such an impression on nat, that for a long time he set a watch upon his lips, and was desperately accurate, for mr. bhaer judged rightly, that love of him would be more powerful with nat that fear for himself.
but alas!
one sad day nat was off his guard, and when peppery emil threatened to thrash him, if it was he who had run over his garden and broken down his best hills of corn, nat declared he did n't, and then was ashamed to own up that he did do it, when jack was chasing him the night before.
he thought no one would find it out, but tommy happened to see him, and when emil spoke of it a day or two later, tommy gave his evidence, and mr. bhaer heard it.
school was over, and they were all standing about in the hall, and mr. bhaer had just set down on the straw settee to enjoy his frolic with teddy; but when he heard tommy and saw nat turn scarlet, and look at him with a frightened face, he put the little boy down, saying, "go to thy mother, bubchen, i will come soon," and taking nat by the hand led him into the school and shut the door.
the boys looked at one another in silence for a minute, then tommy slipped out and peeping in at the half-closed blinds, beheld a sight that quite bewildered him.
mr. bhaer had just taken down the long rule that hung over his desk, so seldom used that it was covered with dust.
""my eye!
he's going to come down heavy on nat this time.
wish i had n't told," thought good-natured tommy, for to be feruled was the deepest disgrace at this school.
""you remember what i told you last time?"
said mr. bhaer, sorrowfully, not angrily.
""yes; but please do n't make me, i ca n't bear it," cried nat, backing up against the door with both hands behind him, and a face full of distress.
""why do n't he up and take it like a man?
i would," thought tommy, though his heart beat fast at the sight.
""i shall keep my word, and you must remember to tell the truth.
obey me, nat, take this and give me six good strokes."
tommy was so staggered by this last speech that he nearly tumbled down the bank, but saved himself, and hung onto the window ledge, staring in with eyes as round as the stuffed owl's on the chimney-piece.
nat took the rule, for when mr. bhaer spoke in that tone everyone obeyed him, and, looking as scared and guilty as if about to stab his master, he gave two feeble blows on the broad hand held out to him.
then he stopped and looked up half-blind with tears, but mr. bhaer said steadily: "go on, and strike harder."
as if seeing that it must be done, and eager to have the hard task soon over, nat drew his sleeve across his eyes and gave two more quick hard strokes that reddened the hand, yet hurt the giver more.
""is n't that enough?"
he asked in a breathless sort of tone.
""two more," was all the answer, and he gave them, hardly seeing where they fell, then threw the rule all across the room, and hugging the kind hand in both his own, laid his face down on it sobbing out in a passion of love, and shame, and penitence: "i will remember!
oh!
i will!"
then mr. bhaer put an arm about him, and said in a tone as compassionate as it had just now been firm: "i think you will.
ask the dear god to help you, and try to spare us both another scene like this."
tommy saw no more, for he crept back to the hall, looking so excited and sober that the boys crowded round him to ask what was being done to nat.
in a most impressive whisper tommy told them, and they looked as if the sky was about to fall, for this reversing the order of things almost took their breath away.
""he made me do the same thing once," said emil, as if confessing a crime of the deepest dye.
""and you hit him?
dear old father bhaer?
by thunder, i'd just like to see you do it now!"
said ned, collaring emil in a fit of righteous wrath.
""it was ever so long ago.
i'd rather have my head cut off than do it now," and emil mildly laid ned on his back instead of cuffing him, as he would have felt it his duty to do on any less solemn occasion.
""how could you?"
said demi, appalled at the idea.
""i was hopping mad at the time, and thought i should n't mind a bit, rather like it perhaps.
but when i'd hit uncle one good crack, everything he had ever done for me came into my head all at once somehow, and i could n't go on.
no sir!
if he'd laid me down and walked on me, i would n't have minded, i felt so mean," and emil gave himself a good thump in the chest to express his sense of remorse for the past.
""nat's crying like anything, and feels no end sorry, so do n't let's say a word about it; will we?"
said tender-hearted tommy.
""of course we wo n't, but it's awful to tell lies," and demi looked as if he found the awfulness much increased when the punishment fell not upon the sinner, but his best uncle fritz.
""suppose we all clear out, so nat can cut upstairs if he wants to," proposed franz, and led the way to the barn, their refuge in troublous times.
nat did not come to dinner, but mrs. jo took some up to him, and said a tender word, which did him good, though he could not look at her.
by and by the lads playing outside heard the violin, and said among themselves: "he's all right now."
he was all right, but felt shy about going down, till opening his door to slip away into the woods, he found daisy sitting on the stairs with neither work nor doll, only her little handkerchief in her hand, as if she had been mourning for her captive friend.
""i'm going to walk; want to come?"
asked nat, trying to look as if nothing was the matter, yet feeling very grateful for her silent sympathy, because he fancied everyone must look upon him as a wretch.
""oh yes!"
and daisy ran for her hat, proud to be chosen as a companion by one of the big boys.
the others saw them go, but no one followed, for boys have a great deal more delicacy than they get credit for, and the lads instinctively felt that, when in disgrace, gentle little daisy was their most congenial friend.
the walk did nat good, and he came home quieter than usual, but looking cheerful again, and hung all over with daisy-chains made by his little playmate while he lay on the grass and told her stories.
no one said a word about the scene of the morning, but its effect was all the more lasting for that reason, perhaps.
nat tried his very best, and found much help, not only from the earnest little prayers he prayed to his friend in heaven, but also in the patient care of the earthly friend whose kind hand he never touched without remembering that it had willingly borne pain for his sake.
chapter v. pattypans "what's the matter, daisy?"
""the boys wo n't let me play with them."
""why not?"
""they say girls ca n't play football."
""they can, for i've done it!"
and mrs. bhaer laughed at the remembrance of certain youthful frolics.
""i know i can play; demi and i used to, and have nice times, but he wo n't let me now because the other boys laugh at him," and daisy looked deeply grieved at her brother's hardness of heart.
""on the whole, i think he is right, deary.
it's all very well when you two are alone, but it is too rough a game for you with a dozen boys; so i'd find some nice little play for myself."
""i'm tired of playing alone!"
and daisy's tone was very mournful.
""i'll play with you by and by, but just now i must fly about and get things ready for a trip into town.
you shall go with me and see mamma, and if you like you can stay with her."
""i should like to go and see her and baby josy, but i'd rather come back, please.
demi would miss me, and i love to be here, aunty."
""you ca n't get on without your demi, can you?"
and aunt jo looked as if she quite understood the love of the little girl for her only brother."
"course i ca n't; we're twins, and so we love each other more than other people," answered daisy, with a brightening face, for she considered being a twin one of the highest honors she could ever receive.
""now, what will you do with your little self while i fly around?"
asked mrs. bhaer, who was whisking piles of linen into a wardrobe with great rapidity.
""i do n't know, i'm tired of dolls and things; i wish you'd make up a new play for me, aunty jo," said daisy, swinging listlessly on the door.
""i shall have to think of a brand new one, and it will take me some time; so suppose you go down and see what asia has got for your lunch," suggested mrs. bhaer, thinking that would be a good way in which to dispose of the little hindrance for a time.
""yes, i think i'd like that, if she is n't cross," and daisy slowly departed to the kitchen, where asia, the black cook, reigned undisturbed.
in five minutes, daisy was back again, with a wide-awake face, a bit of dough in her hand and a dab of flour on her little nose.
""oh aunty!
please could i go and make gingersnaps and things?
asia is n't cross, and she says i may, and it would be such fun, please do," cried daisy, all in one breath.
""just the thing, go and welcome, make what you like, and stay as long as you please," answered mrs. bhaer, much relieved, for sometimes the one little girl was harder to amuse than the dozen boys.
daisy ran off, and while she worked, aunt jo racked her brain for a new play.
all of a sudden she seemed to have an idea, for she smiled to herself, slammed the doors of the wardrobe, and walked briskly away, saying, "i'll do it, if it's a possible thing!"
what it was no one found out that day, but aunt jo's eyes twinkled so when she told daisy she had thought of a new play, and was going to buy it, that daisy was much excited and asked questions all the way into town, without getting answers that told her anything.
she was left at home to play with the new baby, and delight her mother's eyes, while aunt jo went off shopping.
when she came back with all sorts of queer parcels in corners of the carry-all, daisy was so full of curiosity that she wanted to go back to plumfield at once.
but her aunt would not be hurried, and made a long call in mamma's room, sitting on the floor with baby in her lap, making mrs. brooke laugh at the pranks of the boys, and all sorts of droll nonsense.
how her aunt told the secret daisy could not imagine, but her mother evidently knew it, for she said, as she tied on the little bonnet and kissed the rosy little face inside, "be a good child, my daisy, and learn the nice new play aunty has got for you.
it's a most useful and interesting one, and it is very kind of her to play it with you, because she does not like it very well herself."
this last speech made the two ladies laugh heartily, and increased daisy's bewilderment.
as they drove away something rattled in the back of the carriage.
""what's that?"
asked daisy, pricking up her ears.
""the new play," answered mrs. jo, solemnly.
""what is it made of?"
cried daisy.
""iron, tin, wood, brass, sugar, salt, coal, and a hundred other things."
""how strange!
what color is it?"
""all sorts of colors."
""is it large?"
""part of it is, and a part is n't."
""did i ever see one?"
""ever so many, but never one so nice as this."
""oh!
what can it be?
i ca n't wait.
when shall i see it?"
and daisy bounced up and down with impatience.
""to-morrow morning, after lessons."
""is it for the boys, too?"
""no, all for you and bess.
the boys will like to see it, and want to play one part of it.
but you can do as you like about letting them."
""i'll let demi, if he wants to."
""no fear that they wo n't all want to, especially stuffy," and mrs. bhaer's eyes twinkled more than ever as she patted a queer knobby bundle in her lap.
""let me feel just once," prayed daisy.
""not a feel; you'd guess in a minute and spoil the fun."
daisy groaned and then smiled all over her face, for through a little hole in the paper she caught a glimpse of something bright.
""how can i wait so long?
could n't i see it today?"
""oh dear, no!
it has got to be arranged, and ever so many parts fixed in their places.
i promised uncle teddy that you should n't see it till it was all in apple-pie order."
""if uncle knows about it then it must be splendid!"
cried daisy, clapping her hands; for this kind, rich, jolly uncle of hers was as good as a fairy godmother to the children, and was always planning merry surprises, pretty gifts, and droll amusements for them.
""yes; teddy went and bought it with me, and we had such fun in the shop choosing the different parts.
he would have everything fine and large, and my little plan got regularly splendid when he took hold.
you must give him your very best kiss when he comes, for he is the kindest uncle that ever went and bought a charming little coo bless me!
i nearly told you what it was!"
and mrs. bhaer cut that most interesting word short off in the middle, and began to look over her bills, as if afraid she would let the cat out of the bag if she talked any more.
daisy folded her hands with an air of resignation, and sat quite still trying to think what play had a "coo" in it.
when they got home she eyed every bundle that was taken out, and one large heavy one, which franz took straight upstairs and hid in the nursery, filled her with amazement and curiosity.
something very mysterious went on up there that afternoon, for franz was hammering, and asia trotting up and down, and aunt jo flying around like a will-o" - the-wisp, with all sort of things under her apron, while little ted, who was the only child admitted, because he could n't talk plain, babbled and laughed, and tried to tell what the "sumpin pitty" was.
all this made daisy half-wild, and her excitement spread among the boys, who quite overwhelmed mother bhaer with offers of assistance, which she declined by quoting their own words to daisy: "girls ca n't play with boys.
this is for daisy, and bess, and me, so we do n't want you."
whereupon the young gentlemen meekly retired, and invited daisy to a game of marbles, horse, football, anything she liked, with a sudden warmth and politeness which astonished her innocent little soul.
thanks to these attentions, she got through the afternoon, went early to bed, and next morning did her lessons with an energy which made uncle fritz wish that a new game could be invented every day.
quite a thrill pervaded the school-room when daisy was dismissed at eleven o'clock, for everyone knew that now she was going to have the new and mysterious play.
many eyes followed her as she ran away, and demi's mind was so distracted by this event that when franz asked him where the desert of sahara was, he mournfully replied, "in the nursery," and the whole school laughed at him.
""aunt jo, i've done all my lessons, and i ca n't wait one single minute more!"
cried daisy, flying into mrs. bhaer's room.
""it's all ready, come on;" and tucking ted under one arm, and her workbasket under the other, aunt jo promptly led the way upstairs.
""i do n't see anything," said daisy, staring about her as she got inside the nursery door.
""do you hear anything?"
asked aunt jo, catching ted back by his little frock as he was making straight for one side of the room.
daisy did hear an odd crackling, and then a purry little sound as of a kettle singing.
these noises came from behind a curtain drawn before a deep bay window.
daisy snatched it back, gave one joyful, "oh!"
and then stood gazing with delight at what do you think?
a wide seat ran round the three sides of the window; on one side hung and stood all sorts of little pots and pans, gridirons and skillets; on the other side a small dinner and tea set; and on the middle part a cooking-stove.
not a tin one, that was of no use, but a real iron stove, big enough to cook for a large family of very hungry dolls.
but the best of it was that a real fire burned in it, real steam came out of the nose of the little tea-kettle, and the lid of the little boiler actually danced a jig, the water inside bubbled so hard.
a pane of glass had been taken out and replaced by a sheet of tin, with a hole for the small funnel, and real smoke went sailing away outside so naturally, that it did one's heart good to see it.
the box of wood with a hod of charcoal stood near by; just above hung dust-pan, brush and broom; a little market basket was on the low table at which daisy used to play, and over the back of her little chair hung a white apron with a bib, and a droll mob cap.
the sun shone in as if he enjoyed the fun, the little stove roared beautifully, the kettle steamed, the new tins sparkled on the walls, the pretty china stood in tempting rows, and it was altogether as cheery and complete a kitchen as any child could desire.
daisy stood quite still after the first glad "oh!"
but her eyes went quickly from one charming object to another, brightening as they looked, till they came to aunt jo's merry face; there they stopped as the happy little girl hugged her, saying gratefully: "oh aunty, it's a splendid new play!
can i really cook at the dear stove, and have parties and mess, and sweep, and make fires that truly burn?
i like it so much!
what made you think of it?"
""your liking to make gingersnaps with asia made me think of it," said mrs. bhaer, holding daisy, who frisked as if she would fly.
""i knew asia would n't let you mess in her kitchen very often, and it would n't be safe at this fire up here, so i thought i'd see if i could find a little stove for you, and teach you to cook; that would be fun, and useful too.
so i travelled round among the toy shops, but everything large cost too much and i was thinking i should have to give it up, when i met uncle teddy.
as soon as he knew what i was about, he said he wanted to help, and insisted on buying the biggest toy stove we could find.
i scolded, but he only laughed, and teased me about my cooking when we were young, and said i must teach bess as well as you, and went on buying all sorts of nice little things for my "cooking class" as he called it."
""i'm so glad you met him!"
said daisy, as mrs. jo stopped to laugh at the memory of the funny time she had with uncle teddy.
""you must study hard and learn to make all kinds of things, for he says he shall come out to tea very often, and expects something uncommonly nice."
""it's the sweetest, dearest kitchen in the world, and i'd rather study with it than do anything else.
ca n't i learn pies, and cake, and macaroni, and everything?"
cried daisy, dancing round the room with a new saucepan in one hand and the tiny poker in the other.
""all in good time.
this is to be a useful play, i am to help you, and you are to be my cook, so i shall tell you what to do, and show you how.
then we shall have things fit to eat, and you will be really learning how to cook on a small scale.
i'll call you sally, and say you are a new girl just come," added mrs. jo, settling down to work, while teddy sat on the floor sucking his thumb, and staring at the stove as if it was a live thing, whose appearance deeply interested him.
""that will be so lovely!
what shall i do first?"
asked sally, with such a happy face and willing air that aunt jo wished all new cooks were half as pretty and pleasant.
""first of all, put on this clean cap and apron.
i am rather old-fashioned, and i like my cook to be very tidy."
sally tucked her curly hair into the round cap, and put on the apron without a murmur, though usually she rebelled against bibs.
""now, you can put things in order, and wash up the new china.
the old set needs washing also, for my last girl was apt to leave it in a sad state after a party."
aunt jo spoke quite soberly, but sally laughed, for she knew who the untidy girl was who had left the cups sticky.
then she turned up her cuffs, and with a sigh of satisfaction began to stir about her kitchen, having little raptures now and then over the "sweet rolling pin," the "darling dish-tub," or the "cunning pepper-pot."
""now, sally, take your basket and go to market; here is the list of things i want for dinner," said mrs. jo, giving her a bit of paper when the dishes were all in order.
""where is the market?"
asked daisy, thinking that the new play got more and more interesting every minute.
""asia is the market."
away went sally, causing another stir in the schoolroom as she passed the door in her new costume, and whispered to demi, with a face full of delight, "it's a perfectly splendid play!"
old asia enjoyed the joke as much as daisy, and laughed jollily as the little girl came flying into the room with her cap all on one side, the lids of her basket rattling like castanets and looking like a very crazy little cook.
""mrs. aunt jo wants these things, and i must have them right away," said daisy, importantly.
""let's see, honey; here's two pounds of steak, potatoes, squash, apples, bread, and butter.
the meat ai n't come yet; when it does i'll send it up.
the other things are all handy."
then asia packed one potato, one apple, a bit of squash, a little pat of butter, and a roll, into the basket, telling sally to be on the watch for the butcher's boy, because he sometimes played tricks.
""who is he?"
and daisy hoped it would be demi.
""you'll see," was all asia would say; and sally went off in great spirits, singing a verse from dear mary howitt's sweet story in rhyme: "away went little mabel, with the wheaten cake so fine, the new-made pot of butter, and the little flask of wine."
""put everything but the apple into the store-closet for the present," said mrs. jo, when the cook got home.
there was a cupboard under the middle shelf, and on opening the door fresh delights appeared.
one half was evidently the cellar, for wood, coal, and kindlings were piled there.
the other half was full of little jars, boxes, and all sorts of droll contrivances for holding small quantities of flour, meal, sugar, salt, and other household stores.
a pot of jam was there, a little tin box of gingerbread, a cologne bottle full of currant wine, and a tiny canister of tea.
but the crowning charm was two doll's pans of new milk, with cream actually rising on it, and a wee skimmer all ready to skim it with.
daisy clasped her hands at this delicious spectacle, and wanted to skim it immediately.
but aunt jo said: "not yet; you will want the cream to eat on your apple pie at dinner, and must not disturb it till then."
""am i going to have pie?"
cried daisy, hardly believing that such bliss could be in store for her.
""yes; if your oven does well we will have two pies, one apple and one strawberry," said mrs. jo, who was nearly as much interested in the new play as daisy herself.
""oh, what next?"
asked sally, all impatience to begin.
""shut the lower draught of the stove, so that the oven may heat.
then wash your hands and get out the flour, sugar, salt, butter, and cinnamon.
see if the pie-board is clean, and pare your apple ready to put in."
daisy got things together with as little noise and spilling as could be expected, from so young a cook.
""i really do n't know how to measure for such tiny pies; i must guess at it, and if these do n't succeed, we must try again," said mrs. jo, looking rather perplexed, and very much amused with the small concern before her.
""take that little pan full of flour, put in a pinch of salt, and then rub in as much butter as will go on that plate.
always remember to put your dry things together first, and then the wet.
it mixes better so."
""i know how; i saw asia do it.
do n't i butter the pie plates too?
she did, the first thing," said daisy, whisking the flour about at a great rate.
""quite right!
i do believe you have a gift for cooking, you take to it so cleverly," said aunt jo, approvingly.
""now a dash of cold water, just enough to wet it; then scatter some flour on the board, work in a little, and roll the paste out; yes, that's the way.
now put dabs of butter all over it, and roll it out again.
we wo n't have our pastry very rich, or the dolls will get dyspeptic."
daisy laughed at the idea, and scattered the dabs with a liberal hand.
then she rolled and rolled with her delightful little pin, and having got her paste ready proceeded to cover the plates with it.
next the apple was sliced in, sugar and cinnamon lavishly sprinkled over it, and then the top crust put on with breathless care.
""i always wanted to cut them round, and asia never would let me.
how nice it is to do it all my ownty donty self!"
said daisy, as the little knife went clipping round the doll's plate poised on her hand.
all cooks, even the best, meet with mishaps sometimes, and sally's first one occurred then, for the knife went so fast that the plate slipped, turned a somersault in the air, and landed the dear little pie upside down on the floor.
sally screamed, mrs. jo laughed, teddy scrambled to get it, and for a moment confusion reigned in the new kitchen.
""it did n't spill or break, because i pinched the edges together so hard; it is n't hurt a bit, so i'll prick holes in it, and then it will be ready," said sally, picking up the capsized treasure and putting it into shape with a child-like disregard of the dust it had gathered in its fall.
""my new cook has a good temper, i see, and that is such a comfort," said mrs. jo.
""now open the jar of strawberry jam, fill the uncovered pie, and put some strips of paste over the top as asia does."
""i'll make a d in the middle, and have zigzags all round, that will be so interesting when i come to eat it," said sally, loading the pie with quirls and flourishes that would have driven a real pastry cook wild.
""now i put them in!"
she exclaimed; when the last grimy knob had been carefully planted in the red field of jam, and with an air of triumph she shut them into the little oven.
""clear up your things; a good cook never lets her utensils collect.
then pare your squash and potatoes."
""there is only one potato," giggled sally.
""cut it in four pieces, so it will go into the little kettle, and put the bits into cold water till it is time to cook them."
""do i soak the squash too?"
""no, indeed!
just pare it and cut it up, and put in into the steamer over the pot.
it is drier so, though it takes longer to cook."
here a scratching at the door caused sally to run and open it, when kit appeared with a covered basket in his mouth.
""here's the butcher boy!"
cried daisy, much tickled at the idea, as she relieved him of his load, whereat he licked his lips and began to beg, evidently thinking that it was his own dinner, for he often carried it to his master in that way.
being undeceived, he departed in great wrath and barked all the way downstairs, to ease his wounded feelings.
in the basket were two bits of steak -lrb- doll's pounds -rrb-, a baked pear, a small cake, and paper with them on which asia had scrawled, "for missy's lunch, if her cookin" do n't turn out well."
""i do n't want any of her old pears and things; my cooking will turn out well, and i'll have a splendid dinner; see if i do n't!"
cried daisy, indignantly.
""we may like them if company should come.
it is always well to have something in the storeroom," said aunt jo, who had been taught this valuable fact by a series of domestic panics.
""me is hundry," announced teddy, who began to think what with so much cooking going on it was about time for somebody to eat something.
his mother gave him her workbasket to rummage, hoping to keep him quiet till dinner was ready, and returned to her housekeeping.
""put on your vegetables, set the table, and then have some coals kindling ready for the steak."
what a thing it was to see the potatoes bobbing about in the little pot; to peep at the squash getting soft so fast in the tiny steamer; to whisk open the oven door every five minutes to see how the pies got on, and at last when the coals were red and glowing, to put two real steaks on a finger-long gridiron and proudly turn them with a fork.
the potatoes were done first, and no wonder, for they had boiled frantically all the while.
the were pounded up with a little pestle, had much butter and no salt put in -lrb- cook forgot it in the excitement of the moment -rrb-, then it was made into a mound in a gay red dish, smoothed over with a knife dipped in milk, and put in the oven to brown.
so absorbed in these last performances had sally been, that she forgot her pastry till she opened the door to put in the potato, then a wail arose, for alas!
alas!
the little pies were burnt black!
""oh, my pies!
my darling pies!
they are all spoilt!"
cried poor sally, wringing her dirty little hands as she surveyed the ruin of her work.
the tart was especially pathetic, for the quirls and zigzags stuck up in all directions from the blackened jelly, like the walls and chimney of a house after a fire.
""dear, dear, i forgot to remind you to take them out; it's just my luck," said aunt jo, remorsefully.
""do n't cry, darling, it was my fault; we'll try again after dinner," she added, as a great tear dropped from sally's eyes and sizzled on the hot ruins of the tart.
more would have followed, if the steak had not blazed up just then, and so occupied the attention of cook, that she quickly forgot the lost pastry.
""put the meat-dish and your own plates down to warm, while you mash the squash with butter, salt, and a little pepper on the top," said mrs. jo, devoutly hoping that the dinner would meet with no further disasters.
the "cunning pepper-pot" soothed sally's feelings, and she dished up her squash in fine style.
the dinner was safely put upon the table; the six dolls were seated three on a side; teddy took the bottom, and sally the top.
when all were settled, it was a most imposing spectacle, for one doll was in full ball costume, another in her night-gown; jerry, the worsted boy, wore his red winter suit, while annabella, the noseless darling, was airily attired in nothing but her own kid skin.
teddy, as father of the family, behaved with great propriety, for he smilingly devoured everything offered him, and did not find a single fault.
daisy beamed upon her company like the weary, warm, but hospitable hostess so often to be seen at larger tables than this, and did the honors with an air of innocent satisfaction, which we do not often see elsewhere.
the steak was so tough that the little carving-knife would not cut it; the potato did not go round, and the squash was very lumpy; but the guests appeared politely unconscious of these trifles; and the master and mistress of the house cleared the table with appetites that anyone might envy them.
the joy of skimming a jug-full of cream mitigated the anguish felt for the loss of the pies, and asia's despised cake proved a treasure in the way of dessert.
""that is the nicest lunch i ever had; ca n't i do it every day?"
asked daisy as she scraped up and ate the leavings all round.
""you can cook things every day after lessons, but i prefer that you should eat your dishes at your regular meals, and only have a bit of gingerbread for lunch.
to-day, being the first time, i do n't mind, but we must keep our rules.
this afternoon you can make something for tea if you like," said mrs. jo, who had enjoyed the dinner-party very much, though no one had invited her to partake.
""do let me make flapjacks for demi, he loves them so, and it's such fun to turn them and put sugar in between," cried daisy, tenderly wiping a yellow stain off annabella's broken nose, for bella had refused to eat squash when it was pressed upon her as good for "lumatism," a complaint which it is no wonder she suffered from, considering the lightness of her attire.
""but if you give demi goodies, all the others will expect some also, and then you will have your hands full."
""could n't i have demi come up to tea alone just this one time?
and after that i could cook things for the others if they were good," proposed daisy, with a sudden inspiration.
""that is a capital idea, posy!
we will make your little messes rewards for the good boys, and i do n't know one among them who would not like something nice to eat more than almost anything else.
if little men are like big ones, good cooking will touch their hearts and soothe their tempers delightfully," added aunt jo, with a merry nod toward the door, where stood papa bhaer, surveying the scene with a face full of amusement.
""that last hit was for me, sharp woman.
i accept it, for it is true; but if i had married thee for thy cooking, heart's dearest, i should have fared badly all these years," answered the professor, laughing as he tossed teddy, who became quite apoplectic in his endeavors to describe the feast he had just enjoyed.
daisy proudly showed her kitchen, and rashly promised uncle fritz as many flapjacks as he could eat.
she was just telling about the new rewards when the boys, headed by demi, burst into the room snuffing the air like a pack of hungry hounds, for school was out, dinner was not ready, and the fragrance of daisy's steak led them straight to the spot.
a prouder little damsel was never seen than sally as she displayed her treasures and told the lads what was in store for them.
several rather scoffed at the idea of her cooking anything fit to eat, but stuffy's heart was won at once.
nat and demi had firm faith in her skill, and the others said they would wait and see.
all admired the kitchen, however, and examined the stove with deep interest.
demi offered to buy the boiler on the spot, to be used in a steam-engine which he was constructing; and ned declared that the best and biggest saucepan was just the thing to melt his lead in when he ran bullets, hatchets, and such trifles.
daisy looked so alarmed at these proposals, that mrs. jo then and there made and proclaimed a law that no boy should touch, use, or even approach the sacred stove without a special permit from the owner thereof.
this increased its value immensely in the eyes of the gentlemen, especially as any infringement of the law would be punished by forfeiture of all right to partake of the delicacies promised to the virtuous.
at this point the bell rang, and the entire population went down to dinner, which meal was enlivened by each of the boys giving daisy a list of things he would like to have cooked for him as fast as he earned them.
daisy, whose faith in her stove was unlimited, promised everything, if aunt jo would tell her how to make them.
this suggestion rather alarmed mrs. jo, for some of the dishes were quite beyond her skill wedding-cake, for instance, bull's - eye candy; and cabbage soup with herrings and cherries in it, which mr. bhaer proposed as his favorite, and immediately reduced his wife to despair, for german cookery was beyond her.
daisy wanted to begin again the minute dinner was done, but she was only allowed to clear up, fill the kettle ready for tea, and wash out her apron, which looked as if she had a christmas feast.
she was then sent out to play till five o'clock, for uncle fritz said that too much study, even at cooking stoves, was bad for little minds and bodies, and aunt jo knew by long experience how soon new toys lose their charm if they are not prudently used.
everyone was very kind to daisy that afternoon.
tommy promised her the first fruits of his garden, though the only visible crop just then was pigweed; nat offered to supply her with wood, free of charge; stuffy quite worshipped her; ned immediately fell to work on a little refrigerator for her kitchen; and demi, with a punctuality beautiful to see in one so young, escorted her to the nursery just as the clock struck five.
it was not time for the party to begin, but he begged so hard to come in and help that he was allowed privileges few visitors enjoy, for he kindled the fire, ran errands, and watched the progress of his supper with intense interest.
mrs. jo directed the affair as she came and went, being very busy putting up clean curtains all over the house.
""ask asia for a cup of sour cream, then your cakes will be light without much soda, which i do n't like," was the first order.
demi tore downstairs, and returned with the cream, also a puckered-up face, for he had tasted it on his way, and found it so sour that he predicted the cakes would be uneatable.
mrs. jo took this occasion to deliver a short lecture from the step-ladder on the chemical properties of soda, to which daisy did not listen, but demi did, and understood it, as he proved by the brief but comprehensive reply: "yes, i see, soda turns sour things sweet, and the fizzling up makes them light.
let's see you do it, daisy."
""fill that bowl nearly full of flour and add a little salt to it," continued mrs. jo.
""oh dear, everything has to have salt in it, seems to me," said sally, who was tired of opening the pill-box in which it was kept.
""salt is like good-humor, and nearly every thing is better for a pinch of it, posy," and uncle fritz stopped as he passed, hammer in hand, to drive up two or three nails for sally's little pans to hang on.
""you are not invited to tea, but i'll give you some cakes, and i wo n't be cross," said daisy, putting up her floury little face to thank him with a kiss.
""fritz, you must not interrupt my cooking class, or i'll come in and moralize when you are teaching latin.
how would you like that?"
said mrs. jo, throwing a great chintz curtain down on his head.
""very much, try it and see," and the amiable father bhaer went singing and tapping about the house like a mammoth woodpecker.
""put the soda into the cream, and when it "fizzles," as demi says, stir it into the flour, and beat it up as hard as ever you can.
have your griddle hot, butter it well, and then fry away till i come back," and aunt jo vanished also.
such a clatter as the little spoon made, and such a beating as the batter got, it quite foamed, i assure you; and when daisy poured some on to the griddle, it rose like magic into a puffy flapjack that made demi's mouth water.
to be sure, the first one stuck and scorched, because she forgot the butter, but after that first failure all went well, and six capital little cakes were safely landed in a dish.
""i think i like maple-syrup better than sugar," said demi, from his arm-chair where he had settled himself after setting the table in a new and peculiar manner.
""then go and ask asia for some," answered daisy, going into the bath-room to wash her hands.
while the nursery was empty something dreadful happened.
you see, kit had been feeling hurt all day because he had carried meat safely and yet got none to pay him.
he was not a bad dog, but he had his little faults like the rest of us, and could not always resist temptation.
happening to stroll into the nursery at that moment, he smelt the cakes, saw them unguarded on the low table, and never stopping to think of consequences, swallowed all six at one mouthful.
i am glad to say that they were very hot, and burned him so badly that he could not repress a surprised yelp.
daisy heard it, ran in, saw the empty dish, also the end of a yellow tail disappearing under the bed.
without a word she seized that tail, pulled out the thief, and shook him till his ears flapped wildly, then bundled him down-stairs to the shed, where he spent a lonely evening in the coal-bin.
cheered by the sympathy which demi gave her, daisy made another bowlful of batter, and fried a dozen cakes, which were even better than the others.
indeed, uncle fritz after eating two sent up word that he had never tasted any so nice, and every boy at the table below envied demi at the flapjack party above.
it was a truly delightful supper, for the little teapot lid only fell off three times and the milk jug upset but once; the cakes floated in syrup, and the toast had a delicious beef-steak flavor, owing to cook's using the gridiron to make it on.
demi forgot philosophy, and stuffed like any carnal boy, while daisy planned sumptuous banquets, and the dolls looked on smiling affably.
""well, dearies, have you had a good time?"
asked mrs. jo, coming up with teddy on her shoulder.
""a very good time.
i shall come again soon," answered demi, with emphasis.
""i'm afraid you have eaten too much, by the look of that table."
""no, i have n't; i only ate fifteen cakes, and they were very little ones," protested demi, who had kept his sister busy supplying his plate.
""they wo n't hurt him, they are so nice," said daisy, with such a funny mixture of maternal fondness and housewifely pride that aunt jo could only smile and say: "well, on the whole, the new game is a success then?"
""i like it," said demi, as if his approval was all that was necessary.
""it is the dearest play ever made!"
cried daisy, hugging her little dish-tub as she proposed to wash up the cups.
""i just wish everybody had a sweet cooking stove like mine," she added, regarding it with affection.
""this play out to have a name," said demi, gravely removing the syrup from his countenance with his tongue.
""it has."
""oh, what?"
asked both children eagerly.
""well, i think we will call it pattypans," and aunt jo retired, satisfied with the success of her last trap to catch a sunbeam.
chapter vi.
a fire brand "please, ma'am, could i speak to you?
it is something very important," said nat, popping his head in at the door of mrs. bhaer's room.
it was the fifth head which had popped in during the last half-hour; but mrs. jo was used to it, so she looked up, and said, briskly, "what is it, my lad?"
nat came in, shut the door carefully behind him, and said in an eager, anxious tone, "dan has come."
""who is dan?"
""he's a boy i used to know when i fiddled round the streets.
he sold papers, and he was kind to me, and i saw him the other day in town, and told him how nice it was here, and he's come."
""but, my dear boy, that is rather a sudden way to pay a visit."
""oh, it is n't a visit; he wants to stay if you will let him!"
said nat innocently.
""well, i do n't know about that," began mrs. bhaer, rather startled by the coolness of the proposition.
""why, i thought you liked to have poor boys come and live with you, and be kind to'em as you were to me," said nat, looking surprised and alarmed.
""so i do, but i like to know something about them first.
i have to choose them, because there are so many.
i have not room for all.
i wish i had."
""i told him to come because i thought you'd like it, but if there is n't room he can go away again," said nat, sorrowfully.
the boy's confidence in her hospitality touched mrs. bhaer, and she could not find the heart to disappoint his hope, and spoil his kind little plan, so she said, "tell me about this dan."
""i do n't know any thing, only he has n't got any folks, and he's poor, and he was good to me, so i'd like to be good to him if i could."
""excellent reasons every one; but really, nat, the house is full, and i do n't know where i could put him," said mrs. bhaer, more and more inclined to prove herself the haven of refuge he seemed to think her.
""he could have my bed, and i could sleep in the barn.
it is n't cold now, and i do n't mind, i used to sleep anywhere with father," said nat, eagerly.
something in his speech and face made mrs. jo put her hand on his shoulder, and say in her kindest tone: "bring in your friend, nat; i think we must find room for him without giving him your place."
nat joyfully ran off, and soon returned followed by a most unprepossessing boy, who slouched in and stood looking about him, with a half bold, half sullen look, which made mrs. bhaer say to herself, after one glance, "a bad specimen, i am afraid."
""this is dan," said nat, presenting him as if sure of his welcome.
""nat tells me you would like to come and stay with us," began mrs. jo, in a friendly tone.
""yes," was the gruff reply.
""have you no friends to take care of you?"
""no."
""say, "no, ma'am,"" whispered nat.
""sha n't neither," muttered dan.
""how old are you?"
""about fourteen."
""you look older.
what can you do?""
"most anything."
""if you stay here we shall want you to do as the others do, work and study as well as play.
are you willing to agree to that?"
""do n't mind trying."
""well, you can stay a few days, and we will see how we get on together.
take him out, nat, and amuse him till mr. bhaer comes home, when we will settle about the matter," said mrs. jo, finding it rather difficult to get on with this cool young person, who fixed his big black eyes on her with a hard, suspicious expression, sorrowfully unboyish.
""come on, nat," he said, and slouched out again.
""thank you, ma'am," added nat, as he followed him, feeling without quite understanding the difference in the welcome given to him and to his ungracious friend.
""the fellows are having a circus out in the barn; do n't you want to come and see it?"
he asked, as they came down the wide steps on to the lawn.
""are they big fellows?"
said dan.
""no; the big ones are gone fishing."
""fire away, then," said dan.
nat led him to the great barn and introduced him to his set, who were disporting themselves among the half-empty lofts.
a large circle was marked out with hay on the wide floor, and in the middle stood demi with a long whip, while tommy, mounted on the much-enduring toby, pranced about the circle playing being a monkey.
""you must pay a pin apiece, or you ca n't see the show," said stuffy, who stood by the wheelbarrow in which sat the band, consisting of a pocket-comb blown upon by ned, and a toy drum beaten spasmodically by rob.
""he's company, so i'll pay for both," said nat, handsomely, as he stuck two crooked pins in the dried mushroom which served as money-box.
with a nod to the company they seated themselves on a couple of boards, and the performance went on.
after the monkey act, ned gave them a fine specimen of his agility by jumping over an old chair, and running up and down ladders, sailor fashion.
then demi danced a jig with a gravity beautiful to behold.
nat was called upon to wrestle with stuffy, and speedily laid that stout youth upon the ground.
after this, tommy proudly advanced to turn a somersault, an accomplishment which he had acquired by painful perseverance, practising in private till every joint of his little frame was black and blue.
his feats were received with great applause, and he was about to retire, flushed with pride and a rush of blood to the head, when a scornful voice in the audience was heard to say, "ho!
that ai n't any thing!"
""say that again, will you?"
and tommy bristled up like an angry turkey-cock.
""do you want to fight?"
said dan, promptly descending from the barrel and doubling up his fists in a business-like manner.
""no, i do n't;" and the candid thomas retired a step, rather taken aback by the proposition.
""fighting is n't allowed!"
cried the others, much excited.
""you're a nice lot," sneered dan.
""come, if you do n't behave, you sha n't stay," said nat, firing up at that insult to his friends.
""i'd like to see him do better than i did, that's all," observed tommy, with a swagger.
""clear the way, then," and without the slightest preparation dan turned three somersaults one after the other and came up on his feet.
""you ca n't beat that, tom; you always hit your head and tumble flat," said nat, pleased at his friend's success.
before he could say any more the audience were electrified by three more somersaults backwards, and a short promenade on the hands, head down, feet up.
this brought down the house, and tommy joined in the admiring cries which greeted the accomplished gymnast as he righted himself, and looked at them with an air of calm superiority.
""do you think i could learn to do it without its hurting me very much?"
tom meekly asked, as he rubbed the elbows which still smarted after the last attempt.
""what will you give me if i'll teach you?"
said dan.
""my new jack-knife; it's got five blades, and only one is broken."
""give it here, then."
tommy handed it over with an affectionate look at its smooth handle.
dan examined it carefully, then putting it into his pocket, walked off, saying with a wink, "keep it up till you learn, that's all."
a howl of wrath from tommy was followed by a general uproar, which did not subside till dan, finding himself in a minority, proposed that they should play stick-knife, and whichever won should have the treasure.
tommy agreed, and the game was played in a circle of excited faces, which all wore an expression of satisfaction, when tommy won and secured the knife in the depth of his safest pocket.
""you come off with me, and i'll show you round," said nat, feeling that he must have a little serious conversation with his friend in private.
what passed between them no one knew, but when they appeared again, dan was more respectful to every one, though still gruff in his speech, and rough in his manner; and what else could be expected of the poor lad who had been knocking about the world all his short life with no one to teach him any better?
the boys had decided that they did not like him, and so they left him to nat, who soon felt rather oppressed by the responsibility, but too kind-hearted to desert him.
tommy, however, felt that in spite of the jack-knife transaction, there was a bond of sympathy between them, and longed to return to the interesting subject of somersaults.
he soon found an opportunity, for dan, seeing how much he admired him, grew more amiable, and by the end of the first week was quite intimate with the lively tom.
mr. bhaer, when he heard the story and saw dan, shook his head, but only said quietly, "the experiment may cost us something, but we will try it."
if dan felt any gratitude for his protection, he did not show it, and took without thanks all that was give him.
he was ignorant, but very quick to learn when he chose; had sharp eyes to watch what went on about him; a saucy tongue, rough manners, and a temper that was fierce and sullen by turns.
he played with all his might, and played well at almost all the games.
he was silent and gruff before grown people, and only now and then was thoroughly sociable among the lads.
few of them really liked him, but few could help admiring his courage and strength, for nothing daunted him, and he knocked tall franz flat on one occasion with an ease that caused all the others to keep at a respectful distance from his fists.
mr. bhaer watched him silently, and did his best to tame the "wild boy," as they called him, but in private the worthy man shook his head, and said soberly, "i hope the experiment will turn out well, but i am a little afraid it may cost too much."
mrs. bhaer lost her patience with him half a dozen times a day, yet never gave him up, and always insisted that there was something good in the lad, after all; for he was kinder to animals than to people, he liked to rove about in the woods, and, best of all, little ted was fond of him.
what the secret was no one could discover, but baby took to him at once gabbled and crowed whenever he saw him preferred his strong back to ride on to any of the others and called him "my danny" out of his own little head.
teddy was the only creature to whom dan showed an affection, and this was only manifested when he thought no one else would see it; but mothers" eyes are quick, and motherly hearts instinctively divine who love their babies.
so mrs. jo soon saw and felt that there was a soft spot in rough dan, and bided her time to touch and win him.
but an unexpected and decidedly alarming event upset all their plans, and banished dan from plumfield.
tommy, nat, and demi began by patronizing dan, because the other lads rather slighted him; but soon they each felt there was a certain fascination about the bad boy, and from looking down upon him they came to looking up, each for a different reason.
tommy admired his skill and courage; nat was grateful for past kindness; and demi regarded him as a sort of animated story book, for when he chose dan could tell his adventures in a most interesting way.
it pleased dan to have the three favorites like him, and he exerted himself to be agreeable, which was the secret of his success.
the bhaers were surprised, but hoped the lads would have a good influence over dan, and waited with some anxiety, trusting that no harm would come of it.
dan felt they did not quite trust him, and never showed them his best side, but took a wilful pleasure in trying their patience and thwarting their hopes as far as he dared.
mr. bhaer did not approve of fighting, and did not think it a proof of either manliness or courage for two lads to pommel one another for the amusement of the rest.
all sorts of hardy games and exercises were encouraged, and the boys were expected to take hard knocks and tumbles without whining; but black eyes and bloody noses given for the fun of it were forbidden as a foolish and a brutal play.
dan laughed at this rule, and told such exciting tales of his own valor, and the many frays that he had been in, that some of the lads were fired with a desire to have a regular good "mill."
""do n't tell, and i'll show you how," said dan; and, getting half a dozen of the lads together behind the barn, he gave them a lesson in boxing, which quite satisfied the ardor of most of them.
emil, however, could not submit to be beaten by a fellow younger than himself, for emil was past fourteen and a plucky fellow, so he challenged dan to a fight.
dan accepted at once, and the others looked on with intense interest.
what little bird carried the news to head-quarters no one ever knew, but, in the very hottest of the fray, when dan and emil were fighting like a pair of young bulldogs, and the others with fierce, excited faces were cheering them on, mr. bhaer walked into the ring, plucked the combatants apart with a strong hand, and said, in the voice they seldom heard, "i ca n't allow this, boys!
stop it at once; and never let me see it again.
i keep a school for boys, not for wild beasts.
look at each other and be ashamed of yourselves."
""you let me go, and i'll knock him down again," shouted dan, sparring away in spite of the grip on his collar.
""come on, come on, i ai n't thrashed yet!"
cried emil, who had been down five times, but did not know when he was beaten.
""they are playing be gladdy what-you-call -'em s, like the romans, uncle fritz," called out demi, whose eyes were bigger than ever with the excitement of this new pastime.
""they were a fine set of brutes; but we have learned something since then, i hope, and i can not have you make my barn a colosseum.
who proposed this?"
asked mr. bhaer.
""dan," answered several voices.
""do n't you know that it is forbidden?"
""yes," growled dan, sullenly.
""then why break the rule?"
""they'll all be molly-coddles, if they do n't know how to fight."
""have you found emil a molly-coddle?
he does n't look much like one," and mr. bhaer brought the two face to face.
dan had a black eye, and his jacket was torn to rags, but emil's face was covered with blood from a cut lip and a bruised nose, while a bump on his forehead was already as purple as a plum.
in spite of his wounds however, he still glared upon his foe, and evidently panted to renew the fight.
""he'd make a first-rater if he was taught," said dan, unable to withhold the praise from the boy who made it necessary for him to do his best.
""he'll be taught to fence and box by and by, and till then i think he will do very well without any lessons in mauling.
go and wash your faces; and remember, dan, if you break any more of the rules again, you will be sent away.
that was the bargain; do your part and we will do ours."
the lads went off, and after a few more words to the spectators, mr. bhaer followed to bind up the wounds of the young gladiators.
emil went to bed sick, and dan was an unpleasant spectacle for a week.
but the lawless lad had no thought of obeying, and soon transgressed again.
one saturday afternoon as a party of the boys went out to play, tommy said, "let's go down to the river, and cut a lot of new fish-poles."
""take toby to drag them back, and one of us can ride him down," proposed stuffy, who hated to walk.
""that means you, i suppose; well, hurry up, lazy-bones," said dan.
away they went, and having got the poles were about to go home, when demi unluckily said to tommy, who was on toby with a long rod in his hand, "you look like the picture of the man in the bull-fight, only you have n't got a red cloth, or pretty clothes on."
""i'd like to see one; there's old buttercup in the big meadow, ride at her, tom, and see her run," proposed dan, bent on mischief.
""no, you must n't," began demi, who was learning to distrust dan's propositions.
""why not, little fuss-button?"
demanded dan.
""i do n't think uncle fritz would like it."
""did he ever say we must not have a bull-fight?"
""no, i do n't think he ever did," admitted demi.
""then hold your tongue.
drive on, tom, and here's a red rag to flap at the old thing.
i'll help you to stir her up," and over the wall went dan, full of the new game, and the rest followed like a flock of sheep; even demi, who sat upon the bars, and watched the fun with interest.
poor buttercup was not in a very good mood, for she had been lately bereft of her calf, and mourned for the little thing most dismally.
just now she regarded all mankind as her enemies -lrb- and i do not blame her -rrb-, so when the matadore came prancing towards her with the red handkerchief flying at the end of his long lance, she threw up her head, and gave a most appropriate "moo!"
tommy rode gallantly at her, and toby recognizing an old friend, was quite willing to approach; but when the lance came down on her back with a loud whack, both cow and donkey were surprised and disgusted.
toby back with a bray of remonstrance, and buttercup lowered her horns angrily.
""at her again, tom; she's jolly cross, and will do it capitally!"
called dan, coming up behind with another rod, while jack and ned followed his example.
seeing herself thus beset, and treated with such disrespect, buttercup trotted round the field, getting more and more bewildered and excited every moment, for whichever way she turned, there was a dreadful boy, yelling and brandishing a new and very disagreeable sort of whip.
it was great fun for them, but real misery for her, till she lost patience and turned the tables in the most unexpected manner.
all at once she wheeled short round, and charged full at her old friend toby, whose conduct cut her to the heart.
poor slow toby backed so precipitately that he tripped over a stone, and down went horse, matadore, and all, in one ignominious heap, while distracted buttercup took a surprising leap over the wall, and galloped wildly out of sight down the road.
""catch her, stop her, head her off!
run, boys, run!"
shouted dan, tearing after her at his best pace, for she was mr. bhaer's pet alderney, and if anything happened to her, dan feared it would be all over with him.
such a running and racing and bawling and puffing as there was before she was caught!
the fish-poles were left behind; toby was trotted nearly off his legs in the chase; and every boy was red, breathless, and scared.
they found poor buttercup at last in a flower garden, where she had taken refuge, worn out with the long run.
borrowing a rope for a halter, dan led her home, followed by a party of very sober young gentlemen, for the cow was in a sad state, having strained her shoulder jumping, so that she limped, her eyes looked wild, and her glossy coat was wet and muddy.
""you'll catch it this time, dan," said tommy, as he led the wheezing donkey beside the maltreated cow.
""so will you, for you helped."
""we all did, but demi," added jack.
""he put it into our heads," said ned.
""i told you not to do it," cried demi, who was most broken-hearted at poor buttercup's state.
""old bhaer will send me off, i guess.
do n't care if he does," muttered dan, looking worried in spite of his words.
""we'll ask him not to, all of us," said demi, and the others assented with the exception of stuffy, who cherished the hope that all the punishment might fall on one guilty head.
dan only said, "do n't bother about me;" but he never forgot it, even though he led the lads astray again, as soon as the temptation came.
when mr. bhaer saw the animal, and heard the story, he said very little, evidently fearing that he should say too much in the first moments of impatience.
buttercup was made comfortable in her stall, and the boys sent to their rooms till supper-time.
this brief respite gave them time to think the matter over, to wonder what the penalty would be, and to try to imagine where dan would be sent.
he whistled briskly in his room, so that no one should think he cared a bit; but while he waited to know his fate, the longing to stay grew stronger and stronger, the more he recalled the comfort and kindness he had known here, the hardship and neglect he had felt elsewhere.
he knew they tried to help him, and at the bottom of his heart he was grateful, but his rough life had made him hard and careless, suspicious and wilful.
he hated restraint of any sort, and fought against it like an untamed creature, even while he knew it was kindly meant, and dimly felt that he would be the better for it.
he made up his mind to be turned adrift again, to knock about the city as he had done nearly all his life; a prospect that made him knit his black brows, and look about the cosy little room with a wistful expression that would have touched a much harder heart than mr. bhaer's if he had seen it.
it vanished instantly, however, when the good man came in, and said in his accustomed grave way, "i have heard all about it, dan, and though you have broken the rules again, i am going to give you one more trial, to please mother bhaer."
dan flushed up to his forehead at this unexpected reprieve, but he only said in his gruff way, "i did n't know there was any rule about bull-fighting."
""as i never expected to have any at plumfield, i never did make such a rule," answered mr. bhaer, smiling in spite of himself at the boy's excuse.
then he added gravely, "but one of the first and most important of our few laws is the law of kindness to every dumb creature on the place.
i want everybody and everything to be happy here, to love and trust, and serve us, as we try to love and trust and serve them faithfully and willingly.
i have often said that you were kinder to the animals than any of the other boys, and mrs. bhaer liked that trait in you very much, because she thought it showed a good heart.
but you have disappointed us in that, and we are sorry, for we hoped to make you quite one of us.
shall we try again?"
dan's eyes had been on the floor, and his hands nervously picking at the bit of wood he had been whittling as mr. bhaer came in, but when he heard the kind voice ask that question, he looked up quickly, and said in a more respectful tone than he had ever used before, "yes, please."
""very well, then, we will say no more, only you will stay at home from the walk to-morrow, as the other boys will and all of you must wait on poor buttercup till she is well again."
""i will."
""now, go down to supper, and do your best, my boy, more for your own sake than for ours."
then mr. bhaer shook hands with him, and dan went down more tamed by kindness than he would have been by the good whipping which asia had strongly recommended.
dan did try for a day or two, but not being used to it, he soon tired and relapsed into his old wilful ways.
mr. bhaer was called from home on business one day, and the boys had no lessons.
they liked this, and played hard till bedtime, when most of them turned in and slept like dormice.
dan, however, had a plan in his head, and when he and nat were alone, he unfolded it.
""look here!"
he said, taking from under his bed a bottle, a cigar, and a pack of cards, "i'm going to have some fun, and do as i used to with the fellows in town.
here's some beer, i got if of the old man at the station, and this cigar; you can pay for'em or tommy will, he's got heaps of money and i have n't a cent.
i'm going to ask him in; no, you go, they wo n't mind you."
""the folks wo n't like it," began nat.
""they wo n't know.
daddy bhaer is away, and mrs. bhaer's busy with ted; he's got croup or something, and she ca n't leave him.
we sha n't sit up late or make any noise, so where's the harm?"
""asia will know if we burn the lamp long, she always does."
""no, she wo n't, i've got a dark lantern on purpose; it do n't give much light, and we can shut it quick if we hear anyone coming," said dan.
this idea struck nat as a fine one, and lent an air of romance to the thing.
he started off to tell tommy, but put his head in again to say, "you want demi, too, do n't you?"
""no, i do n't; the deacon will rollup eyes and preach if you tell him.
he will be asleep, so just tip the wink to tom and cut back again."
nat obeyed, and returned in a minute with tommy half dressed, rather tousled about the head and very sleepy, but quite ready for fun as usual.
""now, keep quiet, and i'll show you how to play a first-rate game called "poker,"" said dan, as the three revellers gathered round the table, on which were set forth the bottle, the cigar, and the cards.
""first we'll all have a drink, then we'll take a go at the "weed," and then we'll play.
that's the way men do, and it's jolly fun."
the beer circulated in a mug, and all three smacked their lips over it, though nat and tommy did not like the bitter stuff.
the cigar was worse still, but they dared not say so, and each puffed away till he was dizzy or choked, when he passed the "weed" on to his neighbor.
dan liked it, for it seemed like old times when he now and then had a chance to imitate the low men who surrounded him.
he drank, and smoked, and swaggered as much like them as he could, and, getting into the spirit of the part he assumed, he soon began to swear under his breath for fear some one should hear him.
""you must n't; it's wicked to say "damn!""
cried tommy, who had followed his leader so far.
""oh, hang!
do n't you preach, but play away; it's part of the fun to swear."
""i'd rather say "thunder turtles,"" said tommy, who had composed this interesting exclamation and was very proud of it.
""and i'll say "the devil;" that sounds well," added nat, much impressed by dan's manly ways.
dan scoffed at their "nonsense," and swore stoutly as he tried to teach them the new game.
but tommy was very sleepy, and nat's head began to ache with the beer and the smoke, so neither of them was very quick to learn, and the game dragged.
the room was nearly dark, for the lantern burned badly; they could not laugh loud nor move about much, for silas slept next door in the shed-chamber, and altogether the party was dull.
in the middle of a deal dan stopped suddenly, and called out, "who's that?"
in a startled tone, and at the same moment drew the slide over the light.
a voice in the darkness said tremulously, "i ca n't find tommy," and then there was the quick patter of bare feet running away down the entry that led from the wing to the main house.
""it's demi!
he's gone to call some one; cut into bed, tom, and do n't tell!"
cried dan, whisking all signs of the revel out of sight, and beginning to tear off his clothes, while nat did the same.
tommy flew to his room and dived into bed, where he lay, laughing till something burned his hand, when he discovered that he was still clutching the stump of the festive cigar, which he happened to be smoking when the revel broke up.
it was nearly out, and he was about to extinguish it carefully when nursey's voice was heard, and fearing it would betray him if he hid it in the bed, he threw it underneath, after a final pinch which he thought finished it.
nursey came in with demi, who looked much amazed to see the red face of tommy reposing peacefully upon his pillow.
""he was n't there just now, because i woke up and could not find him anywhere," said demi, pouncing on him.
""what mischief are you at now, bad child?"
asked nursey, with a good-natured shake, which made the sleeper open his eyes to say meekly, "i only ran into nat's room to see him about something.
go away, and let me alone; i'm awful sleepy."
nursey tucked demi in, and went off to reconnoitre, but only found two boys slumbering peacefully in dan's room.
""some little frolic," she thought, and as there was no harm done she said nothing to mrs. bhaer, who was busy and worried over little teddy.
tommy was sleepy, and telling demi to mind his own business and not ask questions, he was snoring in ten minutes, little dreaming what was going on under his bed.
the cigar did not go out, but smouldered away on the straw carpet till it was nicely on fire, and a hungry little flame went creeping along till the dimity bedcover caught, then the sheets, and then the bed itself.
the beer made tommy sleep heavily, and the smoke stupified demi, so they slept on till the fire began to scorch them, and they were in danger of being burned to death.
franz was sitting up to study, and as he left the school-room he smelt the smoke, dashed up-stairs and saw it coming in a cloud from the left wing of the house.
without stopping to call any one, he ran into the room, dragged the boys from the blazing bed, and splashed all the water he could find at hand on to the flames.
it checked but did not quench the fire, and the children wakened on being tumbled topsy-turvy into a cold hall, began to roar at the top of their voices.
mrs. bhaer instantly appeared, and a minute after silas burst out of his room shouting, "fire!"
in a tone that raised the whole house.
a flock of white goblins with scared faces crowded into the hall, and for a minute every one was panic-stricken.
then mrs. bhaer found her wits, bade nursey see to the burnt boys, and sent franz and silas down-stairs for some tubs of wet clothes which she flung on the bed, over the carpet, and up against the curtains, now burning finely, and threatening to kindle the walls.
most of the boys stood dumbly looking on, but dan and emil worked bravely, running to and fro with water from the bath-room, and helping to pull down the dangerous curtains.
the peril was soon over, and ordering the boys all back to bed, and leaving silas to watch lest the fire broke out again, mrs. bhaer and franz went to see how the poor boys got on.
demi had escaped with one burn and a grand scare, but tommy had not only most of his hair scorched off his head, but a great burn on his arm, that made him half crazy with the pain.
demi was soon made cosy, and franz took him away to his own bed, where the kind lad soothed his fright and hummed him to sleep as cosily as a woman.
nursey watched over poor tommy all night, trying to ease his misery, and mrs. bhaer vibrated between him and little teddy with oil and cotton, paregoric and squills, saying to herself from time to time, as if she found great amusement in the thought, "i always knew tommy would set the house on fire, and now he has done it!"
when mr. bhaer got home next morning he found a nice state of things.
tommy in bed, teddy wheezing like a little grampus, mrs. jo quite used up, and the whole flock of boys so excited that they all talked at once, and almost dragged him by main force to view the ruins.
under his quiet management things soon fell into order, for every one felt that he was equal to a dozen conflagrations, and worked with a will at whatever task he gave them.
there was no school that morning, but by afternoon the damaged room was put to rights, the invalids were better, and there was time to hear and judge the little culprits quietly.
nat and tommy told their parts in the mischief, and were honestly sorry for the danger they had brought to the dear old house and all in it.
but dan put on his devil-may-care look, and would not own that there was much harm done.
now, of all things, mr. bhaer hated drinking, gambling, and swearing; smoking he had given up that the lads might not be tempted to try it, and it grieved and angered him deeply to find that the boy, with whom he had tried to be most forbearing, should take advantage of his absence to introduce these forbidden vices, and teach his innocent little lads to think it manly and pleasant to indulge in them.
he talked long and earnestly to the assembled boys, and ended by saying, with an air of mingled firmness and regret, "i think tommy is punished enough, and that scar on his arm will remind him for a long time to let these things alone.
nat's fright will do for him, for he is really sorry, and does try to obey me.
but you, dan, have been many times forgiven, and yet it does no good.
i can not have my boys hurt by your bad example, nor my time wasted in talking to deaf ears, so you can say good-bye to them all, and tell nursey to put up your things in my little black bag."
""oh!
sir, where is he going?"
cried nat.
""to a pleasant place up in the country, where i sometimes send boys when they do n't do well here.
mr. page is a kind man, and dan will be happy there if he chooses to do his best."
""will he ever come back?"
asked demi.
""that will depend on himself; i hope so."
as he spoke, mr. bhaer left the room to write his letter to mr. page, and the boys crowded round dan very much as people do about a man who is going on a long and perilous journey to unknown regions.
""i wonder if you'll like it," began jack.
""sha n't stay if i do n't," said dan coolly.
""where will you go?"
asked nat.
""i may go to sea, or out west, or take a look at california," answered dan, with a reckless air that quite took away the breath of the little boys.
""oh, do n't!
stay with mr. page awhile and then come back here; do, dan," pleaded nat, much affected at the whole affair.
""i do n't care where i go, or how long i stay, and i'll be hanged if i ever come back here," with which wrathful speech dan went away to put up his things, every one of which mr. bhaer had given him.
that was the only good-bye he gave the boys, for they were all talking the matter over in the barn when he came down, and he told nat not to call them.
the wagon stood at the door, and mrs. bhaer came out to speak to dan, looking so sad that his heart smote him, and he said in a low tone, "may i say good-bye to teddy?"
""yes, dear; go in and kiss him, he will miss his danny very much."
no one saw the look in dan's eyes as he stooped over the crib, and saw the little face light up at first sight of him, but he heard mrs. bhaer say pleadingly, "ca n't we give the poor lad one more trial, fritz?"
and mr. bhaer answer in his steady way, "my dear, it is not best, so let him go where he can do no harm to others, while they do good to him, and by and by he shall come back, i promise you."
""he's the only boy we ever failed with, and i am so grieved, for i thought there was the making of a fine man in him, spite of his faults."
dan heard mrs. bhaer sigh, and he wanted to ask for one more trial himself, but his pride would not let him, and he came out with the hard look on his face, shook hands without a word, and drove away with mr. bhaer, leaving nat and mrs. jo to look after him with tears in their eyes.
a few days afterwards they received a letter from mr. page, saying that dan was doing well, whereat they all rejoiced.
but three weeks later came another letter, saying that dan had run away, and nothing had been heard of him, whereat they all looked sober, and mr. bhaer said, "perhaps i ought to have given him another chance."
mrs. bhaer, however, nodded wisely and answered, "do n't be troubled, fritz; the boy will come back to us, i'm sure of it."
but time went on and no dan came.
chapter vii.
naughty nan "fritz, i've got a new idea," cried mrs. bhaer, as she met her husband one day after school.
""well, my dear, what is it?"
and he waited willingly to hear the new plan, for some of mrs. jo's ideas were so droll, it was impossible to help laughing at them, though usually they were quite sensible, and he was glad to carry them out.
""daisy needs a companion, and the boys would be all the better for another girl among them; you know we believe in bringing up little men and women together, and it is high time we acted up to our belief.
they pet and tyrannize over daisy by turns, and she is getting spoilt.
then they must learn gentle ways, and improve their manners, and having girls about will do it better than any thing else."
""you are right, as usual.
now, who shall we have?"
asked mr. bhaer, seeing by the look in her eye that mrs. jo had some one all ready to propose.
""little annie harding."
""what!
naughty nan, as the lads call her?"
cried mr. bhaer, looking very much amused.
""yes, she is running wild at home since her mother died, and is too bright a child to be spoilt by servants.
i have had my eye on her for some time, and when i met her father in town the other day i asked him why he did not send her to school.
he said he would gladly if he could find as good a school for girls as ours was for boys.
i know he would rejoice to have her come; so suppose we drive over this afternoon and see about it."
""have not you cares enough now, my jo, without this little gypsy to torment you?"
asked mr. bhaer, patting the hand that lay on his arm.
""oh dear, no," said mother bhaer, briskly.
""i like it, and never was happier than since i had my wilderness of boys.
you see, fritz, i feel a great sympathy for nan, because i was such a naughty child myself that i know all about it.
she is full of spirits, and only needs to be taught what to do with them to be as nice a little girl as daisy.
those quick wits of hers would enjoy lessons if they were rightly directed, and what is now a tricksy midget would soon become a busy, happy child.
i know how to manage her, for i remember how my blessed mother managed me, and --" "and if you succeed half as well as she did, you will have done a magnificent work," interrupted mr. bhaer, who labored under the delusion that mrs. b. was the best and most charming woman alive.
""now, if you make fun of my plan i'll give you bad coffee for a week, and then where are you, sir?"
cried mrs. jo, tweaking him by the ear just as if he was one of the boys.
""wo n't daisy's hair stand erect with horror at nan's wild ways?"
asked mr. bhaer, presently, when teddy had swarmed up his waistcoat, and rob up his back, for they always flew at their father the minute school was done.
""at first, perhaps, but it will do posy good.
she is getting prim and bettyish, and needs stirring up a bit.
she always has a good time when nan comes over to play, and the two will help each other without knowing it.
dear me, half the science of teaching is knowing how much children do for one another, and when to mix them."
""i only hope she wo n't turn out another firebrand."
""my poor dan!
i never can quite forgive myself for letting him go," sighed mrs. bhaer.
at the sound of the name, little teddy, who had never forgotten his friend, struggled down from his father's arms, and trotted to the door, looked out over the sunny lawn with a wistful face, and then trotted back again, saying, as he always did when disappointed of the longed-for sight, "my danny's tummin" soon."
""i really think we ought to have kept him, if only for teddy's sake, he was so fond of him, and perhaps baby's love would have done for him what we failed to do."
""i've sometimes felt that myself; but after keeping the boys in a ferment, and nearly burning up the whole family, i thought it safer to remove the firebrand, for a time at least," said mr. bhaer.
""dinner's ready, let me ring the bell," and rob began a solo upon that instrument which made it impossible to hear one's self speak.
""then i may have nan, may i?"
asked mrs. jo.
""a dozen nans if you want them, my dear," answered mr. bhaer, who had room in his fatherly heart for all the naughty neglected children in the world.
when mrs. bhaer returned from her drive that afternoon, before she could unpack the load of little boys, without whom she seldom moved, a small girl of ten skipped out at the back of the carry-all and ran into the house, shouting, "hi, daisy!
where are you?"
daisy came, and looked pleased to see her guest, but also a trifle alarmed, when nan said, still prancing, as if it was impossible to keep still, "i'm going to stay here always, papa says i may, and my box is coming tomorrow, all my things had to be washed and mended, and your aunt came and carried me off.
is n't it great fun?"
""why, yes.
did you bring your big doll?"
asked daisy, hoping she had, for on the last visit nan had ravaged the baby house, and insisted on washing blanche matilda's plaster face, which spoilt the poor dear's complexion for ever.
""yes, she's somewhere round," returned nan, with most unmaternal carelessness.
""i made you a ring coming along, and pulled the hairs out of dobbin's tail.
do n't you want it?"
and nan presented a horse-hair ring in token of friendship, as they had both vowed they would never speak to one another again when they last parted.
won by the beauty of the offering, daisy grew more cordial, and proposed retiring to the nursery, but nan said, "no, i want to see the boys, and the barn," and ran off, swinging her hat by one string till it broke, when she left it to its fate on the grass.
""hullo!
nan!"
cried the boys as she bounced in among them with the announcement, "i'm going to stay."
""hooray!"
bawled tommy from the wall on which he was perched, for nan was a kindred spirit, and he foresaw "larks" in the future.
""i can bat; let me play," said nan, who could turn her hand to any thing, and did not mind hard knocks.
""we ai n't playing now, and our side beat without you."
""i can beat you in running, any way," returned nan, falling back on her strong point.
""can she?"
asked nat of jack.
""she runs very well for a girl," answered jack, who looked down upon nan with condescending approval.
""will you try?"
said nan, longing to display her powers.
""it's too hot," and tommy languished against the wall as if quite exhausted.
""what's the matter with stuffy?"
asked nan, whose quick eyes were roving from face to face.
""ball hurt his hand; he howls at every thing," answered jack scornfully.
""i do n't, i never cry, no matter how i'm hurt; it's babyish," said nan, loftily.
""pooh!
i could make you cry in two minutes," returned stuffy, rousing up.
""see if you can."
""go and pick that bunch of nettles, then," and stuffy pointed to a sturdy specimen of that prickly plant growing by the wall.
nan instantly "grasped the nettle," pulled it up, and held it with a defiant gesture, in spite of the almost unbearable sting.
""good for you," cried the boys, quick to acknowledge courage even in one of the weaker sex.
more nettled than she was, stuffy determined to get a cry out of her somehow, and he said tauntingly, "you are used to poking your hands into every thing, so that is n't fair.
now go and bump your head real hard against the barn, and see if you do n't howl then."
""do n't do it," said nat, who hated cruelty.
but nan was off, and running straight at the barn, she gave her head a blow that knocked her flat, and sounded like a battering-ram.
dizzy, but undaunted, she staggered up, saying stoutly, though her face was drawn with pain, "that hurt, but i do n't cry."
""do it again," said stuffy angrily; and nan would have done it, but nat held her; and tommy, forgetting the heat, flew at stuffy like a little game-cock, roaring out, "stop it, or i'll throw you over the barn!"
and so shook and hustled poor stuffy that for a minute he did not know whether he was on his head or his heels.
""she told me to," was all he could say, when tommy let him alone.
""never mind if she did; it is awfully mean to hurt a little girl," said demi, reproachfully.
""ho!
i do n't mind; i ai n't a little girl, i'm older than you and daisy; so now," cried nan, ungratefully.
""do n't preach, deacon, you bully posy every day of your life," called out the commodore, who just then hove in sight.
""i do n't hurt her; do i, daisy?"
and demi turned to his sister, who was "pooring" nan's tingling hands, and recommending water for the purple lump rapidly developing itself on her forehead.
""you are the best boy in the world," promptly answered daisy; adding, as truth compelled her to do, "you hurt me sometimes, but you do n't mean to."
""put away the bats and things, and mind what you are about, my hearties.
no fighting allowed aboard this ship," said emil, who rather lorded it over the others.
""how do you do, madge wildfire?"
said mr. bhaer, as nan came in with the rest to supper.
""give the right hand, little daughter, and mind thy manners," he added, as nan offered him her left.
""the other hurts me."
""the poor little hand!
what has it been doing to get those blisters?"
he asked, drawing it from behind her back, where she had put it with a look which made him think she had been in mischief.
before nan could think of any excuse, daisy burst out with the whole story, during which stuffy tried to hide his face in a bowl of bread and milk.
when the tale was finished, mr. bhaer looked down the long table towards his wife, and said with a laugh in his eyes, "this rather belongs to your side of the house, so i wo n't meddle with it, my dear."
mrs. jo knew what he meant, but she liked her little black sheep all the better for her pluck, though she only said in her soberest way, "do you know why i asked nan to come here?"
""to plague me," muttered stuffy, with his mouth full.
""to help make little gentlemen of you, and i think you have shown that some of you need it."
here stuffy retired into his bowl again, and did not emerge till demi made them all laugh by saying, in his slow wondering way, "how can she, when she's such a tomboy?"
""that's just it, she needs help as much as you, and i expect you set her an example of good manners."
""is she going to be a little gentleman too?"
asked rob.
""she'd like it; would n't you, nan?"
added tommy.
""no, i should n't; i hate boys!"
said nan fiercely, for her hand still smarted, and she began to think that she might have shown her courage in some wiser way.
""i am sorry you hate my boys, because they can be well-mannered, and most agreeable when they choose.
kindness in looks and words and ways is true politeness, and any one can have it if they only try to treat other people as they like to be treated themselves."
mrs. bhaer had addressed herself to nan, but the boys nudged one another, and appeared to take the hint, for that time at least, and passed the butter; said "please," and "thank you," "yes, sir," and "no, ma'am," with unusual elegance and respect.
nan said nothing, but kept herself quiet and refrained from tickling demi, though strongly tempted to do so, because of the dignified airs he put on.
she also appeared to have forgotten her hatred of boys, and played "i spy" with them till dark.
stuffy was observed to offer her frequent sucks on his candy-ball during the game, which evidently sweetened her temper, for the last thing she said on going to bed was, "when my battledore and shuttle-cock comes, i'll let you all play with'em."
her first remark in the morning was "has my box come?"
and when told that it would arrive sometime during the day, she fretted and fumed, and whipped her doll, till daisy was shocked.
she managed to exist, however, till five o'clock, when she disappeared, and was not missed till supper-time, because those at home thought she had gone to the hill with tommy and demi.
""i saw her going down the avenue alone as hard as she could pelt," said mary ann, coming in with the hasty-pudding, and finding every one asking, "where is nan?"
""she has run home, little gypsy!"
cried mrs. bhaer, looking anxious.
""perhaps she has gone to the station to look after her luggage," suggested franz.
""that is impossible, she does not know the way, and if she found it, she could never carry the box a mile," said mrs. bhaer, beginning to think that her new idea might be rather a hard one to carry out.
""it would be like her," and mr. bhaer caught up his hat to go and find the child, when a shout from jack, who was at the window, made everyone hurry to the door.
there was miss nan, to be sure, tugging along a very large band-box tied up in linen bag.
very hot and dusty and tired did she look, but marched stoutly along, and came puffing up to the steps, where she dropped her load with a sigh of relief, and sat down upon it, observed as she crossed her tired arms, "i could n't wait any longer, so i went and got it."
""but you did not know the way," said tommy, while the rest stood round enjoying the joke.
""oh, i found it, i never get lost."
""it's a mile, how could you go so far?"
""well, it was pretty far, but i rested a good deal."
""was n't that thing very heavy?"
""it's so round, i could n't get hold of it good, and i thought my arms would break right off."
""i do n't see how the station-master let you have it," said tommy.
""i did n't say anything to him.
he was in the little ticket place, and did n't see me, so i just took it off the platform."
""run down and tell him it is all right, franz, or old dodd will think it is stolen," said mr. bhaer, joining in the shout of laughter at nan's coolness.
""i told you we would send for it if it did not come.
another time you must wait, for you will get into trouble if you run away.
promise me this, or i shall not dare to trust you out of my sight," said mrs. bhaer, wiping the dust off nan's little hot face.
""well, i wo n't, only papa tells me not to put off doing things, so i do n't."
""that is rather a poser; i think you had better give her some supper now, and a private lecture by and by," said mr. bhaer, too much amused to be angry at the young lady's exploit.
the boys thought it "great fun," and nan entertained them all supper-time with an account of her adventures; for a big dog had barked at her, a man had laughed at her, a woman had given her a doughnut, and her hat had fallen into the brook when she stopped to drink, exhausted with her exertion.
""i fancy you will have your hands full now, my dear; tommy and nan are quite enough for one woman," said mr. bhaer, half an hour later.
""i know it will take some time to tame the child, but she is such a generous, warm-hearted little thing, i should love her even if she were twice as naughty," answered mrs. jo, pointing to the merry group, in the middle of which stood nan, giving away her things right and left, as lavishly as if the big band-box had no bottom.
it was those good traits that soon made little "giddygaddy," as they called her, a favorite with every one.
daisy never complained of being dull again, for nan invented the most delightful plays, and her pranks rivalled tommy's, to the amusement of the whole school.
she buried her big doll and forgot it for a week, and found it well mildewed when she dragged it up.
daisy was in despair, but nan took it to the painter who as at work about the house, got him to paint it brick red, with staring black eyes, then she dressed it up with feathers, and scarlet flannel, and one of ned's leaden hatchets; and in the character of an indian chief, the late poppydilla tomahawked all the other dolls, and caused the nursery to run red with imaginary gore.
she gave away her new shoes to a beggar child, hoping to be allowed to go barefoot, but found it impossible to combine charity and comfort, and was ordered to ask leave before disposing of her clothes.
she delighted the boys by making a fire-ship out of a shingle with two large sails wet with turpentine, which she lighted, and then sent the little vessel floating down the brook at dusk.
she harnessed the old turkey-cock to a straw wagon, and made him trot round the house at a tremendous pace.
she gave her coral necklace for four unhappy kittens, which had been tormented by some heartless lads, and tended them for days as gently as a mother, dressing their wounds with cold cream, feeding them with a doll's spoon, and mourning over them when they died, till she was consoled by one of demi's best turtles.
she made silas tattoo an anchor on her arm like his, and begged hard to have a blue star on each cheek, but he dared not do it, though she coaxed and scolded till the soft-hearted fellow longed to give in.
she rode every animal on the place, from the big horse andy to the cross pig, from whom she was rescued with difficulty.
whatever the boys dared her to do she instantly attempted, no matter how dangerous it might be, and they were never tired of testing her courage.
mr. bhaer suggested that they should see who would study best, and nan found as much pleasure in using her quick wits and fine memory as her active feet and merry tongue, while the lads had to do their best to keep their places, for nan showed them that girls could do most things as well as boys, and some things better.
there were no rewards in school, but mr. bhaer's "well done!"
and mrs. bhaer's good report on the conscience book, taught them to love duty for its own sake, and try to do it faithfully, sure sooner or later the recompense would come.
little nan was quick to feel the new atmosphere, to enjoy it, to show that it was what she needed; for this little garden was full of sweet flowers, half hidden by the weeds; and when kind hands gently began to cultivate it, all sorts of green shoots sprung up, promising to blossom beautifully in the warmth of love and care, the best climate for young hearts and souls all the world over.
chapter viii.
pranks and plays as there is no particular plan to this story, except to describe a few scenes in the life at plumfield for the amusement of certain little persons, we will gently ramble along in this chapter and tell some of the pastimes of mrs. jo's boys.
i beg leave to assure my honored readers that most of the incidents are taken from real life, and that the oddest are the truest; for no person, no matter how vivid an imagination he may have, can invent anything half so droll as the freaks and fancies that originate in the lively brains of little people.
daisy and demi were full of these whims, and lived in a world of their own, peopled with lovely or grotesque creatures, to whom they gave the queerest names, and with whom they played the queerest games.
one of these nursery inventions was an invisible sprite called "the naughty kitty-mouse," whom the children had believed in, feared, and served for a long time.
they seldom spoke of it to any one else, kept their rites as private as possible; and, as they never tried to describe it even to themselves, this being had a vague mysterious charm very agreeable to demi, who delighted in elves and goblins.
a most whimsical and tyrannical imp was the naughty kitty-mouse, and daisy found a fearful pleasure in its service, blindly obeying its most absurd demands, which were usually proclaimed from the lips of demi, whose powers of invention were great.
rob and teddy sometimes joined in these ceremonies, and considered them excellent fun, although they did not understand half that went on.
one day after school demi whispered to his sister, with an ominous wag of the head, "the kitty-mouse wants us this afternoon."
""what for?"
asked daisy, anxiously.
""a sackerryfice," answered demi, solemnly.
""there must be a fire behind the big rock at two o'clock, and we must all bring the things we like best, and burn them!"
he added, with an awful emphasis on the last words.
""oh, dear!
i love the new paper dollies aunt amy painted for me best of any thing; must i burn them up?"
cried daisy, who never thought of denying the unseen tyrant any thing it demanded.
""every one.
i shall burn my boat, my best scrapbook, and all my soldiers," said demi firmly.
""well, i will; but it's too bad of kitty-mouse to want our very nicest things," sighed daisy.
""a sackerryfice means to give up what you are fond of, so we must," explained demi, to whom the new idea had been suggested by hearing uncle fritz describe the customs of the greeks to the big boys who were reading about them in school.
""is rob coming too," asked daisy.
""yes, and he is going to bring his toy village; it is all made of wood, you know, and will burn nicely.
we'll have a grand bonfire, and see them blaze up, wo n't we?"
this brilliant prospect consoled daisy, and she ate her dinner with a row of paper dolls before her, as a sort of farewell banquet.
at the appointed hour the sacrificial train set forth, each child bearing the treasures demanded by the insatiable kitty-mouse.
teddy insisted on going also, and seeing that all the others had toys, he tucked a squeaking lamb under one arm, and old annabella under the other, little dreaming what anguish the latter idol was to give him.
""where are you going, my chickens?"
asked mrs. jo, as the flock passed her door.
""to play by the big rock; ca n't we?"
""yes, only do n't do near the pond, and take good care of baby."
""i always do," said daisy, leading forth her charge with a capable air.
""now, you must all sit round, and not move till i tell you.
this flat stone is an altar, and i am going to make a fire on it."
demi then proceeded to kindle up a small blaze, as he had seen the boys do at picnics.
when the flame burned well, he ordered the company to march round it three times and then stand in a circle.
""i shall begin, and as fast as my things are burnt, you must bring yours."
with that he solemnly laid on a little paper book full of pictures, pasted in by himself; this was followed by a dilapidated boat, and then one by one the unhappy leaden soldiers marched to death.
not one faltered or hung back, from the splendid red and yellow captain to the small drummer who had lost his legs; all vanished in the flames and mingled in one common pool of melted lead.
""now, daisy!"
called the high priest of kitty-mouse, when his rich offerings had been consumed, to the great satisfaction of the children.
""my dear dollies, how can i let them go?"
moaned daisy, hugging the entire dozen with a face full of maternal woe.
""you must," commanded demi; and with a farewell kiss to each, daisy laid her blooming dolls upon the coals.
""let me keep one, the dear blue thing, she is so sweet," besought the poor little mamma, clutching her last in despair.
""more!
more!"
growled an awful voice, and demi cried, "that's the kitty-mouse!
she must have every one, quick, or she will scratch us."
in went the precious blue belle, flounces, rosy hat, and all, and nothing but a few black flakes remained of that bright band.
""stand the houses and trees round, and let them catch themselves; it will be like a real fire then," said demi, who liked variety even in his "sackerryfices."
charmed by this suggestion, the children arranged the doomed village, laid a line of coals along the main street, and then sat down to watch the conflagration.
it was somewhat slow to kindle owing to the paint, but at last one ambitious little cottage blazed up, fired a tree of the palm species, which fell on to the roof of a large family mansion, and in a few minutes the whole town was burning merrily.
the wooden population stood and stared at the destruction like blockheads, as they were, till they also caught and blazed away without a cry.
it took some time to reduce the town to ashes, and the lookers-on enjoyed the spectacle immensely, cheering as each house fell, dancing like wild indians when the steeple flamed aloft, and actually casting one wretched little churn-shaped lady, who had escaped to the suburbs, into the very heart of the fire.
the superb success of this last offering excited teddy to such a degree, that he first threw his lamb into the conflagration, and before it had time even to roast, he planted poor annabella on the funeral pyre.
of course she did not like it, and expressed her anguish and resentment in a way that terrified her infant destroyer.
being covered with kid, she did not blaze, but did what was worse, she squirmed.
first one leg curled up, then the other, in a very awful and lifelike manner; next she flung her arms over her head as if in great agony; her head itself turned on her shoulders, her glass eyes fell out, and with one final writhe of her whole body, she sank down a blackened mass on the ruins of the town.
this unexpected demonstration startled every one and frightened teddy half out of his little wits.
he looked, then screamed and fled toward the house, roaring "marmar" at the top of his voice.
mrs. bhaer heard the outcry and ran to the rescue, but teddy could only cling to her and pour out in his broken way something about "poor bella hurted," "a dreat fire," and "all the dollies dorn."
fearing some dire mishap, his mother caught him up and hurried to the scene of action, where she found the blind worshippers of kitty-mouse mourning over the charred remains of the lost darling.
""what have you been at?
tell me all about it," said mrs. jo, composing herself to listen patiently, for the culprits looked so penitent, she forgave them beforehand.
with some reluctance demi explained their play, and aunt jo laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks, the children were so solemn, and the play was so absurd.
""i thought you were too sensible to play such a silly game as this.
if i had any kitty-mouse i'd have a good one who liked you to play in safe pleasant ways, and not destroy and frighten.
just see what a ruin you have made; all daisy's pretty dolls, demi's soldiers, and rob's new village beside poor teddy's pet lamb, and dear old annabella.
i shall have to write up in the nursery the verse that used to come in the boxes of toys, "the children of holland take pleasure in making, what the children of boston take pleasure in breaking."
""only i shall put plumfield instead of boston."
""we never will again, truly, truly!"
cried the repentant little sinners, much abashed at this reproof.
""demi told us to," said rob.
""well, i heard uncle tell about the greece people, who had altars and things, and so i wanted to be like them, only i had n't any live creatures to sackerryfice, so we burnt up our toys."
""dear me, that is something like the bean story," said aunt jo, laughing again.
""tell about it," suggested daisy, to change the subject.
""once there was a poor woman who had three or four little children, and she used to lock them up in her room when she went out to work, to keep them safe.
on day when she was going away she said, "now, my dears, do n't let baby fall out of window, do n't play with the matches, and do n't put beans up your noses."
now the children had never dreamed of doing that last thing, but she put it into their heads, and the minute she was gone, they ran and stuffed their naughty little noses full of beans, just to see how it felt, and she found them all crying when she came home."
""did it hurt?"
asked rob, with such intense interest that his mother hastily added a warning sequel, lest a new edition of the bean story should appear in her own family.
""very much, as i know, for when my mother told me this story, i was so silly that i went and tried it myself.
i had no beans, so i took some little pebbles, and poked several into my nose.
i did not like it at all, and wanted to take them out again very soon, but one would not come, and i was so ashamed to tell what a goose i been that i went for hours with the stone hurting me very much.
at last the pain got so bad i had to tell, and when my mother could not get it out the doctor came.
then i was put in a chair and held tight, rob, while he used his ugly little pincers till the stone hopped out.
dear me!
how my wretched little nose did ache, and how people laughed at me!"
and mrs. jo shook her head in a dismal way, as if the memory of her sufferings was too much for her.
rob looked deeply impressed and i am glad to say took the warning to heart.
demi proposed that they should bury poor annabella, and in the interest of the funeral teddy forgot his fright.
daisy was soon consoled by another batch of dolls from aunt amy, and the naughty kitty-mouse seemed to be appeased by the last offerings, for she tormented them no more.
""brops" was the name of a new and absorbing play, invented by bangs.
as this interesting animal is not to be found in any zoological garden, unless du chaillu has recently brought one from the wilds of africa, i will mention a few of its peculiar habits and traits, for the benefit of inquiring minds.
the brop is a winged quadruped, with a human face of a youthful and merry aspect.
when it walks the earth it grunts, when it soars it gives a shrill hoot, occasionally it goes erect, and talks good english.
its body is usually covered with a substance much resembling a shawl, sometimes red, sometimes blue, often plaid, and, strange to say, they frequently change skins with one another.
on their heads they have a horn very like a stiff brown paper lamp-lighter.
wings of the same substance flap upon their shoulders when they fly; this is never very far from the ground, as they usually fall with violence if they attempt any lofty flights.
they browse over the earth, but can sit up and eat like the squirrel.
their favorite nourishment is the seed-cake; apples also are freely taken, and sometimes raw carrots are nibbled when food is scarce.
they live in dens, where they have a sort of nest, much like a clothes-basket, in which the little brops play till their wings are grown.
these singular animals quarrel at times, and it is on these occasions that they burst into human speech, call each other names, cry, scold, and sometimes tear off horns and skin, declaring fiercely that they "wo n't play."
the few privileged persons who have studied them are inclined to think them a remarkable mixture of the monkey, the sphinx, the roc, and the queer creatures seen by the famous peter wilkins.
this game was a great favorite, and the younger children beguiled many a rainy afternoon flapping or creeping about the nursery, acting like little bedlamites and being as merry as little grigs.
to be sure, it was rather hard upon clothes, particularly trouser-knees, and jacket-elbows; but mrs. bhaer only said, as she patched and darned, "we do things just as foolish, and not half so harmless.
if i could get as much happiness out of it as the little dears do, i'd be a brop myself."
nat's favorite amusements were working in his garden, and sitting in the willow-tree with his violin, for that green nest was a fairy world to him, and there he loved to perch, making music like a happy bird.
the lads called him "old chirper," because he was always humming, whistling, or fiddling, and they often stopped a minute in their work or play to listen to the soft tones of the violin, which seemed to lead a little orchestra of summer sounds.
the birds appeared to regard him as one of themselves, and fearlessly sat on the fence or lit among the boughs to watch him with their quick bright eyes.
the robins in the apple-tree near by evidently considered him a friend, for the father bird hunted insects close beside him, and the little mother brooded as confidingly over her blue eggs as if the boy was only a new sort of blackbird who cheered her patient watch with his song.
the brown brook babbled and sparkled below him, the bees haunted the clover fields on either side, friendly faces peeped at him as they passed, the old house stretched its wide wings hospitably toward him, and with a blessed sense of rest and love and happiness, nat dreamed for hours in this nook, unconscious what healthful miracles were being wrought upon him.
one listener he had who never tired, and to whom he was more than a mere schoolmate.
poor billy's chief delight was to lie beside the brook, watching leaves and bits of foam dance by, listening dreamily to the music in the willow-tree.
he seemed to think nat a sort of angel who sat aloft and sang, for a few baby memories still lingered in his mind and seemed to grow brighter at these times.
seeing the interest he took in nat, mr. bhaer begged him to help them lift the cloud from the feeble brain by this gentle spell.
glad to do any thing to show his gratitude, nat always smiled on billy when he followed him about, and let him listen undisturbed to the music which seemed to speak a language he could understand.
""help one another," was a favorite plumfield motto, and nat learned how much sweetness is added to life by trying to live up to it.
jack ford's peculiar pastime was buying and selling; and he bid fair to follow in the footsteps of his uncle, a country merchant, who sold a little of every thing and made money fast.
jack had seen the sugar sanded, the molasses watered, the butter mixed with lard, and things of that kind, and labored under the delusion that it was all a proper part of the business.
his stock in trade was of a different sort, but he made as much as he could out of every worm he sold, and always got the best of the bargain when he traded with the boys for string, knives, fish-hooks, or whatever the article might be.
the boys who all had nicknames, called him "skinflint," but jack did not care as long as the old tobacco-pouch in which he kept his money grew heavier and heavier.
he established a sort of auction-room, and now and then sold off all the odds and ends he had collected, or helped the lads exchange things with one another.
he got bats, balls, hockey-sticks, etc., cheap, from one set of mates, furbished them up, and let them for a few cents a time to another set, often extending his business beyond the gates of plumfield in spite of the rules.
mr. bhaer put a stop to some of his speculations, and tried to give him a better idea of business talent than mere sharpness in overreaching his neighbors.
now and then jack made a bad bargain, and felt worse about it than about any failure in lessons or conduct, and took his revenge on the next innocent customer who came along.
his account-book was a curiosity; and his quickness at figures quite remarkable.
mr. bhaer praised him for this, and tried to make his sense of honesty and honor as quick; and, by and by, when jack found that he could not get on without these virtues, he owned that his teacher was right.
cricket and football the boys had of course; but, after the stirring accounts of these games in the immortal "tom brown at rugby," no feeble female pen may venture to do more than respectfully allude to them.
emil spent his holidays on the river or the pond, and drilled the elder lads for a race with certain town boys, who now and then invaded their territory.
the race duly came off, but as it ended in a general shipwreck, it was not mentioned in public; and the commodore had serious thoughts of retiring to a desert island, so disgusted was he with his kind for a time.
no desert island being convenient, he was forced to remain among his friends, and found consolation in building a boat-house.
the little girls indulged in the usual plays of their age, improving upon them somewhat as their lively fancies suggested.
the chief and most absorbing play was called "mrs. shakespeare smith;" the name was provided by aunt jo, but the trials of the poor lady were quite original.
daisy was mrs. s. s., and nan by turns her daughter or a neighbor, mrs. giddygaddy.
no pen can describe the adventures of these ladies, for in one short afternoon their family was the scene of births, marriages, deaths, floods, earthquakes, tea-parties, and balloon ascensions.
millions of miles did these energetic women travel, dressed in hats and habits never seen before by mortal eye, perched on the bed, driving the posts like mettlesome steeds, and bouncing up and down till their heads spun.
fits and fires were the pet afflictions, with a general massacre now and then by way of change.
nan was never tired of inventing fresh combinations, and daisy followed her leader with blind admiration.
poor teddy was a frequent victim, and was often rescued from real danger, for the excited ladies were apt to forget that he was not of the same stuff their longsuffering dolls.
once he was shut into the closet for a dungeon, and forgotten by the girls, who ran off to some out-of-door game.
another time he was half drowned in the bath-tub, playing be a "cunning little whale."
and, worst of all, he was cut down just in time after being hung up for a robber.
but the institution most patronized by all was the club.
it had no other name, and it needed none, being the only one in the neighborhood.
the elder lads got it up, and the younger were occasionally admitted if they behaved well.
tommy and demi were honorary members, but were always obliged to retire unpleasantly early, owing to circumstances over which they had no control.
the proceedings of this club were somewhat peculiar, for it met at all sorts of places and hours, had all manner of queer ceremonies and amusements, and now and then was broken up tempestuously, only to be re-established, however, on a firmer basis.
rainy evenings the members met in the schoolroom, and passed the time in games: chess, morris, backgammon, fencing matches, recitations, debates, or dramatic performances of a darkly tragical nature.
in summer the barn was the rendezvous, and what went on there no uninitiated mortal knows.
on sultry evenings the club adjourned to the brook for aquatic exercises, and the members sat about in airy attire, frog-like and cool.
on such occasions the speeches were unusually eloquent, quite flowing, as one might say; and if any orator's remarks displeased the audience, cold water was thrown upon him till his ardor was effectually quenched.
franz was president, and maintained order admirably, considering the unruly nature of the members.
mr. bhaer never interfered with their affairs, and was rewarded for this wise forbearance by being invited now and then to behold the mysteries unveiled, which he appeared to enjoy much.
when nan came she wished to join the club, and caused great excitement and division among the gentlemen by presenting endless petitions, both written and spoken, disturbing their solemnities by insulting them through the key-hole, performing vigorous solos on the door, and writing up derisive remarks on walls and fences, for she belonged to the "irrepressibles."
finding these appeals in vain, the girls, by the advice of mrs. jo, got up an institution of their own, which they called the cosy club.
to this they magnanimously invited the gentlemen whose youth excluded them from the other one, and entertained these favored beings so well with little suppers, new games devised by nan, and other pleasing festivities, that, one by one, the elder boys confessed a desire to partake of these more elegant enjoyments, and, after much consultation, finally decided to propose an interchange of civilities.
the members of the cosy club were invited to adorn the rival establishment on certain evenings, and to the surprise of the gentlemen their presence was not found to be a restraint upon the conversation or amusement of the regular frequenters; which could not be said of all clubs, i fancy.
the ladies responded handsomely and hospitably to these overtures of peace, and both institutions flourished long and happily.
chapter ix.
daisy's ball "mrs. shakespeare smith would like to have mr. john brooke, mr. thomas bangs, and mr. nathaniel blake to come to her ball at three o'clock today.
""p.s. nat must bring his fiddle, so we can dance, and all the boys must be good, or they can not have any of the nice things we have cooked."
this elegant invitation would, i fear, have been declined, but for the hint given in the last line of the postscript.
""they have been cooking lots of goodies, i smelt'em.
let's go," said tommy.
""we need n't stay after the feast, you know," added demi.
""i never went to a ball.
what do you have to do?"
asked nat.
""oh, we just play be men, and sit round stiff and stupid like grown-up folks, and dance to please the girls.
then we eat up everything, and come away as soon as we can."
""i think i could do that," said nat, after considering tommy's description for a minute.
""i'll write and say we'll come;" and demi despatched the following gentlemanly reply, "we will all come.
please have lots to eat.
j. b. esquire."
great was the anxiety of the ladies about their first ball, because if every thing went well they intended to give a dinner-party to the chosen few.
""aunt jo likes to have the boys play with us, if they are not rough; so we must make them like our balls, then they will do them good," said daisy, with her maternal air, as she set the table and surveyed the store of refreshments with an anxious eye.
""demi and nat will be good, but tommy will do something bad, i know he will," replied nan, shaking her head over the little cake-basket which she was arranging.
""then i shall send him right home," said daisy, with decision.
""people do n't do so at parties, it is n't proper."
""i shall never ask him any more."
""that would do.
he'd be sorry not to come to the dinner-ball, would n't he?"
""i guess he would!
we'll have the splendidest things ever seen, wo n't we?
real soup with a ladle and a tureem -lsb- she meant tureen -rsb- and a little bird for turkey, and gravy, and all kinds of nice vegytubbles."
daisy never could say vegetables properly, and had given up trying.
""it is "most three, and we ought to dress," said nan, who had arranged a fine costume for the occasion, and was anxious to wear it.
""i am the mother, so i sha n't dress up much," said daisy, putting on a night-cap ornamented with a red bow, one of her aunt's long skirts, and a shawl; a pair of spectacles and large pocket handkerchief completed her toilette, making a plump, rosy little matron of her.
nan had a wreath of artificial flowers, a pair of old pink slippers, a yellow scarf, a green muslin skirt, and a fan made of feathers from the duster; also, as a last touch of elegance, a smelling-bottle without any smell in it.
""i am the daughter, so i rig up a good deal, and i must sing and dance, and talk more than you do.
the mothers only get the tea and be proper, you know."
a sudden very loud knock caused miss smith to fly into a chair, and fan herself violently, while her mamma sat bolt upright on the sofa, and tried to look quite calm and "proper."
little bess, who was on a visit, acted the part of maid, and opened the door, saying with a smile, "wart in, gemplemun; it's all weady."
in honor of the occasion, the boys wore high paper collars, tall black hats, and gloves of every color and material, for they were an afterthought, and not a boy among them had a perfect pair.
""good day, mum," said demi, in a deep voice, which was so hard to keep up that his remarks had to be extremely brief.
every one shook hands and then sat down, looking so funny, yet so sober, that the gentlemen forgot their manners, and rolled in their chairs with laughter.
""oh, do n't!"
cried mrs. smith, much distressed.
""you ca n't ever come again if you act so," added miss smith, rapping mr. bangs with her bottle because he laughed loudest.
""i ca n't help it, you look so like fury," gasped mr. bangs, with most uncourteous candor.
""so do you, but i should n't be so rude as to say so.
he sha n't come to the dinner-ball, shall he, daisy?"
cried nan, indignantly.
""i think we had better dance now.
did you bring your fiddle, sir?"
asked mrs. smith, trying to preserve her polite composure.
""it is outside the door," and nat went to get it.
""better have tea first," proposed the unabashed tommy, winking openly at demi to remind him that the sooner the refreshments were secured, the sooner they could escape.
""no, we never have supper first; and if you do n't dance well you wo n't have any supper at all, not one bit, sir," said mrs. smith, so sternly that her wild guests saw she was not to be trifled with, and grew overwhelmingly civil all at once.
""i will take mr. bangs and teach him the polka, for he does not know it fit to be seen," added the hostess, with a reproachful look that sobered tommy at once.
nat struck up, and the ball opened with two couples, who went conscientiously through a somewhat varied dance.
the ladies did well, because they liked it, but the gentlemen exerted themselves from more selfish motives, for each felt that he must earn his supper, and labored manfully toward that end.
when every one was out of breath they were allowed to rest; and, indeed, poor mrs. smith needed it, for her long dress had tripped her up many times.
the little maid passed round molasses and water in such small cups that one guest actually emptied nine.
i refrain from mentioning his name, because this mild beverage affected him so much that he put cup and all into his mouth at the ninth round, and choked himself publicly.
""you must ask nan to play and sing now," said daisy to her brother, who sat looking very much like an owl, as he gravely regarded the festive scene between his high collars.
""give us a song, mum," said the obedient guest, secretly wondering where the piano was.
miss smith sailed up to an old secretary which stood in the room, threw back the lid of the writing-desk, and sitting down before it, accompanied herself with a vigor which made the old desk rattle as she sang that new and lovely song, beginning "gaily the troubadour touched his guitar, as he was hastening home from the war."
the gentlemen applauded so enthusiastically that she gave them "bounding billows," "little bo-peep," and other gems of song, till they were obliged to hint that they had had enough.
grateful for the praises bestowed upon her daughter, mrs. smith graciously announced, "now we will have tea.
sit down carefully, and do n't grab."
it was beautiful to see the air of pride with which the good lady did the honors of her table, and the calmness with which she bore the little mishaps that occurred.
the best pie flew wildly on the floor when she tried to cut it with a very dull knife; the bread and butter vanished with a rapidity calculated to dismay a housekeeper's soul; and, worst of all, the custards were so soft that they had to be drunk up, instead of being eaten elegantly with the new tin spoons.
i grieve to state that miss smith squabbled with the maid for the best jumble, which caused bess to toss the whole dish into the air, and burst out crying amid a rain of falling cakes.
she was comforted by a seat at the table, and the sugar-bowl to empty; but during this flurry a large plate of patties was mysteriously lost, and could not be found.
they were the chief ornament of the feast, and mrs. smith was indignant at the loss, for she had made them herself, and they were beautiful to behold.
i put it to any lady if it was not hard to have one dozen delicious patties -lrb- made of flour, salt, and water, with a large raisin in the middle of each, and much sugar over the whole -rrb- swept away at one fell swoop?
""you hid them, tommy; i know you did!"
cried the outraged hostess, threatening her suspected guest with the milk-pot.
""i did n't!"
""you did!"
""it is n't proper to contradict," said nan, who was hastily eating up the jelly during the fray.
""give them back, demi," said tommy.
""that's a fib, you've got them in your own pocket," bawled demi, roused by the false accusation.
""let's take'em away from him.
it's too bad to make daisy cry," suggested nat, who found his first ball more exciting than he expected.
daisy was already weeping, bess like a devoted servant mingled her tears with those of her mistress, and nan denounced the entire race of boys as "plaguey things."
meanwhile the battle raged among the gentlemen, for, when the two defenders of innocence fell upon the foe, that hardened youth intrenched himself behind a table and pelted them with the stolen tarts, which were very effective missiles, being nearly as hard as bullets.
while his ammunition held out the besieged prospered, but the moment the last patty flew over the parapet, the villain was seized, dragged howling from the room, and cast upon the hall floor in an ignominious heap.
the conquerors then returned flushed with victory, and while demi consoled poor mrs. smith, nat and nan collected the scattered tarts, replaced each raisin in its proper bed, and rearranged the dish so that it really looked almost as well as ever.
but their glory had departed, for the sugar was gone, and no one cared to eat them after the insult offered to them.
""i guess we had better go," said demi, suddenly, as aunt jo's voice was heard on the stairs.
""p "r "aps we had," and nat hastily dropped a stray jumble that he had just picked up.
but mrs. jo was among them before the retreat was accomplished, and into her sympathetic ear the young ladies poured the story of their woes.
""no more balls for these boys till they have atoned for this bad behavior by doing something kind to you," said mrs. jo, shaking her head at the three culprits.
""we were only in fun," began demi.
""i do n't like fun that makes other people unhappy.
i am disappointed in you, demi, for i hoped you would never learn to tease daisy.
such a kind little sister as she is to you."
""boys always tease their sisters; tom says so," muttered demi.
""i do n't intend that my boys shall, and i must send daisy home if you can not play happily together," said aunt jo, soberly.
at this awful threat, demi sidled up to his sister, and daisy hastily dried her tears, for to be separated was the worst misfortune that could happen to the twins.
""nat was bad, too, and tommy was baddest of all," observed nan, fearing that two of the sinners would not get their fair share of punishment.
""i am sorry," said nat, much ashamed.
""i ai n't!"
bawled tommy through the keyhole, where he was listening with all his might.
mrs. jo wanted very much to laugh, but kept her countenance, and said impressively, as she pointed to the door, "you can go, boys, but remember, you are not to speak to or play with the little girls till i give you leave.
you do n't deserve the pleasure, so i forbid it."
the ill-mannered young gentlemen hastily retired, to be received outside with derision and scorn by the unrepentant bangs, who would not associate with them for at least fifteen minutes.
daisy was soon consoled for the failure of her ball, but lamented the edict that parted her from her brother, and mourned over his short-comings in her tender little heart.
nan rather enjoyed the trouble, and went about turning up her pug nose at the three, especially tommy, who pretended not to care, and loudly proclaimed his satisfaction at being rid of those "stupid girls."
but in his secret soul he soon repented of the rash act that caused this banishment from the society he loved, and every hour of separation taught him the value of the "stupid girls."
the others gave in very soon, and longed to be friends, for now there was no daisy to pet and cook for them; no nan to amuse and doctor them; and, worst of all, no mrs. jo to make home life pleasant and life easy for them.
to their great affliction, mrs. jo seemed to consider herself one of the offended girls, for she hardly spoke to the outcasts, looked as if she did not see them when she passed, and was always too busy now to attend to their requests.
this sudden and entire exile from favor cast a gloom over their souls, for when mother bhaer deserted them, their sun had set at noon-day, as it were, and they had no refuge left.
this unnatural state of things actually lasted for three days, then they could bear it no longer, and fearing that the eclipse might become total, went to mr. bhaer for help and counsel.
it is my private opinion that he had received instructions how to behave if the case should be laid before him.
but no one suspected it, and he gave the afflicted boys some advice, which they gratefully accepted and carried out in the following manner: secluding themselves in the garret, they devoted several play-hours to the manufacture of some mysterious machine, which took so much paste that asia grumbled, and the little girls wondered mightily.
nan nearly got her inquisitive nose pinched in the door, trying to see what was going on, and daisy sat about, openly lamenting that they could not all play nicely together, and not have any dreadful secrets.
wednesday afternoon was fine, and after a good deal of consultation about wind and weather, nat and tommy went off, bearing an immense flat parcel hidden under many newspapers.
nan nearly died with suppressed curiosity, daisy nearly cried with vexation, and both quite trembled with interest when demi marched into mrs. bhaer's room, hat in hand, and said, in the politest tone possible to a mortal boy of his years, "please, aunt jo, would you and the girls come out to a surprise party we have made for you?
do it's a very nice one."
""thank you, we will come with pleasure; only, i must take teddy with me," replied mrs. bhaer, with a smile that cheered demi like sunshine after rain.
""we'd like to have him.
the little wagon is all ready for the girls; you wo n't mind walking just up to pennyroyal hill, will you aunty?"
""i should like it exceedingly; but are you quite sure i shall not be in the way?"
""oh, no, indeed!
we want you very much; and the party will be spoilt if you do n't come," cried demi, with great earnestness.
""thank you kindly, sir;" and aunt jo made him a grand curtsey, for she liked frolics as well as any of them.
""now, young ladies, we must not keep them waiting; on with the hats, and let us be off at once.
i'm all impatience to know what the surprise is."
as mrs. bhaer spoke every one bustled about, and in five minutes the three little girls and teddy were packed into the "clothes-basket," as they called the wicker wagon which toby drew.
demi walked at the head of the procession, and mrs. jo brought up the rear, escorted by kit.
it was a most imposing party, i assure you, for toby had a red feather-duster in his head, two remarkable flags waved over the carriage, kit had a blue bow on his neck, which nearly drove him wild, demi wore a nosegay of dandelions in his buttonhole, and mrs. jo carried the queer japanese umbrella in honor of the occasion.
the girls had little flutters of excitement all the way; and teddy was so charmed with the drive that he kept dropping his hat overboard, and when it was taken from him he prepared to tumble out himself, evidently feeling that it behooved him to do something for the amusement of the party.
when they came to the hill "nothing was to be seen but the grass blowing in the wind," as the fairy books say, and the children looked disappointed.
but demi said, in his most impressive manner, "now, you all get out and stand still, and the surprise party with come in;" with which remark he retired behind a rock, over which heads had been bobbing at intervals for the last half-hour.
a short pause of intense suspense, and then nat, demi, and tommy marched forth, each bearing a new kite, which they presented to the three young ladies.
shrieks of delight arose, but were silenced by the boys, who said, with faces brimful of merriment, "that is n't all the surprise;" and, running behind the rock, again emerged bearing a fourth kite of superb size, on which was printed, in bright yellow letters, "for mother bhaer."
""we thought you'd like one, too, because you were angry with us, and took the girls" part," cried all three, shaking with laughter, for this part of the affair evidently was a surprise to mrs. jo.
she clapped her hands, and joined in the laugh, looking thoroughly tickled at the joke.
""now, boys, that is regularly splendid!
who did think of it?"
she asked, receiving the monster kite with as much pleasure as the little girls did theirs.
""uncle fritz proposed it when we planned to make the others; he said you'd like it, so we made a bouncer," answered demi, beaming with satisfaction at the success of the plot.
""uncle fritz knows what i like.
yes, these are magnificent kites, and we were wishing we had some the other day when you were flying yours, were n't we, girls?"
""that's why we made them for you," cried tommy, standing on his head as the most appropriate way of expressing his emotions.
""let us fly them," said energetic nan.
""i do n't know how," began daisy.
""we'll show you, we want to!"
cried all the boys in a burst of devotion, as demi took daisy's, tommy nan's, and nat, with difficulty, persuaded bess to let go her little blue one.
""aunty, if you will wait a minute, we'll pitch yours for you," said demi, feeling that mrs. bhaer's favor must not be lost again by any neglect of theirs.
""bless your buttons, dear, i know all about it; and here is a boy who will toss up for me," added mrs. jo, as the professor peeped over the rock with a face full of fun.
he came out at once, tossed up the big kite, and mrs. jo ran off with it in fine style, while the children stood and enjoyed the spectacle.
one by one all the kites went up, and floated far overhead like gay birds, balancing themselves on the fresh breeze that blew steadily over the hill.
such a merry time as they had!
running and shouting, sending up the kites or pulling them down, watching their antics in the air, and feeling them tug at the string like live creatures trying to escape.
nan was quite wild with the fun, daisy thought the new play nearly as interesting as dolls, and little bess was so fond of her "boo tite," that she would only let it go on very short flights, preferring to hold it in her lap and look at the remarkable pictures painted on it by tommy's dashing brush.
mrs. jo enjoyed hers immensely, and it acted as if it knew who owned it, for it came tumbling down head first when least expected, caught on trees, nearly pitched into the river, and finally darted away to such a height that it looked a mere speck among the clouds.
by and by every one got tired, and fastening the kite-strings to trees and fences, all sat down to rest, except mr. bhaer, who went off to look at the cows, with teddy on his shoulder.
""did you ever have such a good time as this before?"
asked nat, as they lay about on the grass, nibbling pennyroyal like a flock of sheep.
""not since i last flew a kite, years ago, when i was a girl," answered mrs. jo.
""i'd like to have known you when you were a girl, you must have been so jolly," said nat.
""i was a naughty little girl, i am sorry to say."
""i like naughty little girls," observed tommy, looking at nan, who made a frightful grimace at him in return for the compliment.
""why do n't i remember you then, aunty?
was i too young?"
asked demi.
""rather, dear."
""i suppose my memory had n't come then.
grandpa says that different parts of the mind unfold as we grow up, and the memory part of my mind had n't unfolded when you were little, so i ca n't remember how you looked," explained demi.
""now, little socrates, you had better keep that question for grandpa, it is beyond me," said aunt jo, putting on the extinguisher.
""well, i will, he knows about those things, and you do n't," returned demi, feeling that on the whole kites were better adapted to the comprehension of the present company.
""tell about the last time you flew a kite," said nat, for mrs. jo had laughed as she spoke of it, and he thought it might be interesting.
""oh, it was only rather funny, for i was a great girl of fifteen, and was ashamed to be seen at such a play.
so uncle teddy and i privately made our kites, and stole away to fly them.
we had a capital time, and were resting as we are now, when suddenly we heard voices, and saw a party of young ladies and gentlemen coming back from a picnic.
teddy did not mind, though he was rather a large boy to be playing with a kite, but i was in a great flurry, for i knew i should be sadly laughed at, and never hear the last of it, because my wild ways amused the neighbors as much as nan's do us."
"what shall i do?"
i whispered to teddy, as the voices drew nearer and nearer."
"i'll show you," he said, and whipping out his knife he cut the strings.
away flew the kites, and when the people came up we were picking flowers as properly as you please.
they never suspected us, and we had a grand laugh over our narrow escape."
""were the kites lost, aunty?"
asked daisy.
""quite lost, but i did not care, for i made up my mind that it would be best to wait till i was an old lady before i played with kites again; and you see i have waited," said mrs. jo, beginning to pull in the big kite, for it was getting late.
""must we go now?"
""i must, or you wo n't have any supper; and that sort of surprise party would not suit you, i think, my chickens."
""has n't our party been a nice one?"
asked tommy, complacently.
""splendid!"
answered every one.
""do you know why?
it is because your guests have behaved themselves, and tried to make everything go well.
you understand what i mean, do n't you?"
""yes'm," was all the boys said, but they stole a shamefaced look at one another, as they meekly shouldered their kites and walked home, thinking of another party where the guests had not behaved themselves, and things had gone badly on account of it.
chapter x. home again july had come, and haying begun; the little gardens were doing finely and the long summer days were full of pleasant hours.
the house stood open from morning till night, and the lads lived out of doors, except at school time.
the lessons were short, and there were many holidays, for the bhaers believed in cultivating healthy bodies by much exercise, and our short summers are best used in out-of-door work.
such a rosy, sunburnt, hearty set as the boys became; such appetites as they had; such sturdy arms and legs, as outgrew jackets and trousers; such laughing and racing all over the place; such antics in house and barn; such adventures in the tramps over hill and dale; and such satisfaction in the hearts of the worthy bhaers, as they saw their flock prospering in mind and body, i can not begin to describe.
only one thing was needed to make them quite happy, and it came when they least expected it.
one balmy night when the little lads were in bed, the elder ones bathing down at the brook, and mrs. bhaer undressing teddy in her parlor, he suddenly cried out, "oh, my danny!"
and pointed to the window, where the moon shone brightly.
""no, lovey, he is not there, it was the pretty moon," said his mother.
""no, no, danny at a window; teddy saw him," persisted baby, much excited.
""it might have been," and mrs. bhaer hurried to the window, hoping it would prove true.
but the face was gone, and nowhere appeared any signs of a mortal boy; she called his name, ran to the front door with teddy in his little shirt, and made him call too, thinking the baby voice might have more effect than her own.
no one answered, nothing appeared, and they went back much disappointed.
teddy would not be satisfied with the moon, and after he was in his crib kept popping up his head to ask if danny was not "tummin" soon."
by and by he fell asleep, the lads trooped up to bed, the house grew still, and nothing but the chirp of the crickets broke the soft silence of the summer night.
mrs. bhaer sat sewing, for the big basket was always piled with socks, full of portentous holes, and thinking of the lost boy.
she had decided that baby had been mistaken, and did not even disturb mr. bhaer by telling him of the child's fancy, for the poor man got little time to himself till the boys were abed, and he was busy writing letters.
it was past ten when she rose to shut up the house.
as she paused a minute to enjoy the lovely scene from the steps, something white caught her eye on one of the hay-cocks scattered over the lawn.
the children had been playing there all the afternoon, and, fancying that nan had left her hat as usual, mrs. bhaer went out to get it.
but as she approached, she saw that it was neither hat nor handkerchief, but a shirt sleeve with a brown hand sticking out of it.
she hurried round the hay-cock, and there lay dan, fast asleep.
ragged, dirty, thin, and worn-out he looked; one foot was bare, the other tied up in the old gingham jacket which he had taken from his own back to use as a clumsy bandage for some hurt.
he seemed to have hidden himself behind the hay-cock, but in his sleep had thrown out the arm that had betrayed him.
he sighed and muttered as if his dreams disturbed him, and once when he moved, he groaned as if in pain, but still slept on quite spent with weariness.
""he must not lie here," said mrs. bhaer, and stooping over him she gently called his name.
he opened his eyes and looked at her, as if she was a part of his dream, for he smiled and said drowsily, "mother bhaer, i've come home."
the look, the words, touched her very much, and she put her hand under his head to lift him up, saying in her cordial way, "i thought you would, and i'm so glad to see you, dan."
he seemed to wake thoroughly then, and started up looking about him as if he suddenly remembered where he was, and doubted even that kind welcome.
his face changed, and he said in his old rough way, "i was going off in the morning.
i only stopped to peek in, as i went by."
""but why not come in, dan?
did n't you hear us call you?
teddy saw, and cried for you."
""did n't suppose you'd let me in," he said, fumbling with a little bundle which he had taken up as if going immediately.
""try and see," was all mrs. bhaer answered, holding out her hand and pointing to the door, where the light shone hospitably.
with a long breath, as if a load was off his mind, dan took up a stout stick, and began to limp towards the house, but stopped suddenly, to say inquiringly, "mr. bhaer wo n't like it.
i ran away from page."
""he knows it, and was sorry, but it will make no difference.
are you lame?"
asked mrs. jo, as he limped on again.
""getting over a wall a stone fell on my foot and smashed it.
i do n't mind," and he did his best to hide the pain each step cost him.
mrs. bhaer helped him into her own room, and, once there, he dropped into a chair, and laid his head back, white and faint with weariness and suffering.
""my poor dan!
drink this, and then eat a little; you are at home now, and mother bhaer will take good care of you."
he only looked up at her with eyes full of gratitude, as he drank the wine she held to his lips, and then began slowly to eat the food she brought him.
each mouthful seemed to put heart into him, and presently he began to talk as if anxious to have her know all about him.
""where have you been, dan?"
she asked, beginning to get out some bandages.
""i ran off more'n a month ago.
page was good enough, but too strict.
i did n't like it, so i cut away down the river with a man who was going in his boat.
that's why they could n't tell where i'd gone.
when i left the man, i worked for a couple of weeks with a farmer, but i thrashed his boy, and then the old man thrashed me, and i ran off again and walked here."
""all the way?"
""yes, the man did n't pay me, and i would n't ask for it.
took it out in beating the boy," and dan laughed, yet looked ashamed, as he glanced at his ragged clothes and dirty hands.
""how did you live?
it was a long, long tramp for a boy like you."
""oh, i got on well enough, till i hurt my foot.
folks gave me things to eat, and i slept in barns and tramped by day.
i got lost trying to make a short cut, or i'd have been here sooner."
""but if you did not mean to come in and stay with us, what were you going to do?"
""i thought i'd like to see teddy again, and you; and then i was going back to my old work in the city, only i was so tired i went to sleep on the hay.
i'd have been gone in the morning, if you had n't found me."
""are you sorry i did?"
and mrs. jo looked at him with a half merry, half reproachful look, as she knelt down to look at his wounded foot.
the color came up into dan's face, and he kept his eyes fixed on his plate, as he said very low, "no, ma'am, i'm glad, i wanted to stay, but i was afraid you --" he did not finish, for mrs. bhaer interrupted him by an exclamation of pity, as she saw his foot, for it was seriously hurt.
""when did you do it?"
""three days ago."
""and you have walked on it in this state?"
""i had a stick, and i washed it at every brook i came to, and one woman gave me a rag to put on it."
""mr. bhaer must see and dress it at once," and mrs. jo hastened into the next room, leaving the door ajar behind her, so that dan heard all that passed.
""fritz, the boy has come back."
""who?
dan?"
""yes, teddy saw him at the window, and he called to him, but he went away and hid behind the hay-cocks on the lawn.
i found him there just now fast asleep, and half dead with weariness and pain.
he ran away from page a month ago, and has been making his way to us ever since.
he pretends that he did not mean to let us see him, but go on to the city, and his old work, after a look at us.
it is evident, however, that the hope of being taken in has led him here through every thing, and there he is waiting to know if you will forgive and take him back."
""did he say so?"
""his eyes did, and when i waked him, he said, like a lost child, "mother bhaer, i've come home."
i had n't the heart to scold him, and just took him in like a poor little black sheep come back to the fold.
i may keep him, fritz?"
""of course you may!
this proves to me that we have a hold on the boy's heart, and i would no more send him away now than i would my own rob."
dan heard a soft little sound, as if mrs. jo thanked her husband without words, and, in the instant's silence that followed, two great tears that had slowly gathered in the boy's eyes brimmed over and rolled down his dusty cheeks.
no one saw them, for he brushed them hastily away; but in that little pause i think dan's old distrust for these good people vanished for ever, the soft spot in his heart was touched, and he felt an impetuous desire to prove himself worthy of the love and pity that was so patient and forgiving.
he said nothing, he only wished the wish with all his might, resolved to try in his blind boyish way, and sealed his resolution with the tears which neither pain, fatigue, nor loneliness could wring from him.
""come and see his foot.
i am afraid it is badly hurt, for he has kept on three days through heat and dust, with nothing but water and an old jacket to bind it up with.
i tell you, fritz, that boy is a brave lad, and will make a fine man yet."
""i hope so, for your sake, enthusiastic woman, your faith deserves success.
now, i will go and see your little spartan.
where is he?"
""in my room; but, dear, you'll be very kind to him, no matter how gruff he seems.
i am sure that is the way to conquer him.
he wo n't bear sternness nor much restraint, but a soft word and infinite patience will lead him as it used to lead me."
""as if you ever like this little rascal!"
cried mr. bhaer, laughing, yet half angry at the idea.
""i was in spirit, though i showed it in a different way.
i seem to know by instinct how he feels, to understand what will win and touch him, and to sympathize with his temptations and faults.
i am glad i do, for it will help me to help him; and if i can make a good man of this wild boy, it will be the best work of my life."
""god bless the work, and help the worker!"
mr. bhaer spoke now as earnestly as she had done, and both came in together to find dan's head down upon his arm, as if he was quite overcome by sleep.
but he looked up quickly, and tried to rise as mr. bhaer said pleasantly, "so you like plumfield better than page's farm.
well, let us see if we can get on more comfortably this time than we did before."
""thanky, sir," said dan, trying not to be gruff, and finding it easier than he expected.
""now, the foot!
ach!
this is not well.
we must have dr. firth to-morrow.
warm water, jo, and old linen."
mr. bhaer bathed and bound up the wounded foot, while mrs. jo prepared the only empty bed in the house.
it was in the little guest-chamber leading from the parlor, and often used when the lads were poorly, for it saved mrs. jo from running up and down, and the invalids could see what was going on.
when it was ready, mr. bhaer took the boy in his arms, and carried him in, helped him undress, laid him on the little white bed, and left him with another hand-shake, and a fatherly "good-night, my son."
dan dropped asleep at once, and slept heavily for several hours; then his foot began to throb and ache, and he awoke to toss about uneasily, trying not to groan lest any one should hear him, for he was a brave lad, and did bear pain like "a little spartan," as mr. bhaer called him.
mrs. jo had a way of flitting about the house at night, to shut the windows if the wind grew chilly, to draw mosquito curtains over teddy, or look after tommy, who occasionally walked in his sleep.
the least noise waked her, and as she often heard imaginary robbers, cats, and conflagrations, the doors stood open all about, so her quick ear caught the sound of dan's little moans, and she was up in a minute.
he was just giving his hot pillow a despairing thump when a light came glimmering through the hall, and mrs. jo crept in, looking like a droll ghost, with her hair in a great knob on the top of her head, and a long gray dressing-gown trailing behind her.
""are you in pain, dan?"
""it's pretty bad; but i did n't mean to wake you."
""i'm a sort of owl, always flying about at night.
yes, your foot is like fire; the bandages must be wet again," and away flapped the maternal owl for more cooling stuff, and a great mug of ice water.
""oh, that's so nice!"
sighed dan, the wet bandages went on again, and a long draught of water cooled his thirsty throat.
""there, now, sleep your best, and do n't be frightened if you see me again, for i'll slip down by and by, and give you another sprinkle."
as she spoke, mrs. jo stooped to turn the pillow and smooth the bed-clothes, when, to her great surprise, dan put his arm around her neck, drew her face down to his, and kissed her, with a broken "thank you, ma'am," which said more than the most eloquent speech could have done; for the hasty kiss, the muttered words, meant, "i'm sorry, i will try."
she understood it, accepted the unspoken confession, and did not spoil it by any token of surprise.
she only remembered that he had no mother, kissed the brown cheek half hidden on the pillow, as if ashamed of the little touch of tenderness, and left him, saying, what he long remembered, "you are my boy now, and if you choose you can make me proud and glad to say so."
once again, just at dawn, she stole down to find him so fast asleep that he did not wake, and showed no sign of consciousness as she wet his foot, except that the lines of pain smoothed themselves away, and left his face quite peaceful.
the day was sunday, and the house so still that he never waked till near noon, and, looking round him, saw an eager little face peering in at the door.
he held out his arms, and teddy tore across the room to cast himself bodily upon the bed, shouting, "my danny's tum!"
as he hugged and wriggled with delight.
mrs. bhaer appeared next, bringing breakfast, and never seeming to see how shamefaced dan looked at the memory of the little scene last night.
teddy insisted on giving him his "betfus," and fed him like a baby, which, as he was not very hungry, dan enjoyed very much.
then came the doctor, and the poor spartan had a bad time of it, for some of the little bones in his foot were injured, and putting them to rights was such a painful job, that dan's lips were white, and great drops stood on his forehead, though he never cried out, and only held mrs. jo's hand so tight that it was red long afterwards.
""you must keep this boy quiet, for a week at least, and not let him put his foot to the ground.
by that time, i shall know whether he may hop a little with a crutch, or stick to his bed for a while longer," said dr. firth, putting up the shining instruments that dan did not like to see.
""it will get well sometime, wo n't it?"
he asked, looking alarmed at the word "crutches."
""i hope so;" and with that the doctor departed, leaving dan much depressed; for the loss of a foot is a dreadful calamity to an active boy.
""do n't be troubled, i am a famous nurse, and we will have you tramping about as well as ever in a month," said mrs. jo, taking a hopeful view of the case.
but the fear of being lame haunted dan, and even teddy's caresses did not cheer him; so mrs. jo proposed that one or two of the boys should come in and pay him a little visit, and asked whom he would like to see.
""nat and demi; i'd like my hat too, there's something in it i guess they'd like to see.
i suppose you threw away my bundle of plunder?"
said dan, looking rather anxious as he put the question.
""no, i kept it, for i thought they must be treasures of some kind, you took such care of them;" and mrs. jo brought him his old straw hat stuck full of butterflies and beetles, and a handkerchief containing a collection of odd things picked up on his way: birds" eggs, carefully done up in moss, curious shells and stones, bits of fungus, and several little crabs, in a state of great indignation at their imprisonment.
""could i have something to put these fellers in?
mr. hyde and i found'em, and they are first-rate ones, so i'd like to keep and watch'em; can i?"
asked dan, forgetting his foot, and laughing to see the crabs go sidling and backing over the bed.
""of course you can; polly's old cage will be just the thing.
do n't let them nip teddy's toes while i get it;" and away went mrs. jo, leaving dan overjoyed to find that his treasures were not considered rubbish, and thrown away.
nat, demi, and the cage arrived together, and the crabs were settled in their new house, to the great delight of the boys, who, in the excitement of the performance, forgot any awkwardness they might otherwise have felt in greeting the runaway.
to these admiring listeners dan related his adventures much more fully than he had done to the bhaers.
then he displayed his "plunder," and described each article so well, that mrs. jo, who had retired to the next room to leave them free, was surprised and interested, as well as amused, at their boyish chatter.
""how much the lad knows of these things!
how absorbed he is in them!
and what a mercy it is just now, for he cares so little for books, it would be hard to amuse him while he is laid up; but the boys can supply him with beetles and stones to any extent, and i am glad to find out this taste of his; it is a good one, and may perhaps prove the making of him.
if he should turn out a great naturalist, and nat a musician, i should have cause to be proud of this year's work;" and mrs. jo sat smiling over her book as she built castles in the air, just as she used to do when a girl, only then they were for herself, and now they were for other people, which is the reason perhaps that some of them came to pass in reality for charity is an excellent foundation to build anything upon.
nat was most interested in the adventures, but demi enjoyed the beetles and butterflies immensely, drinking in the history of their changeful little lives as if it were a new and lovely sort of fairy tale for, even in his plain way, dan told it well, and found great satisfaction in the thought that here at least the small philosopher could learn of him.
so interested were they in the account of catching a musk rat, whose skin was among the treasures, that mr. bhaer had to come himself to tell nat and demi it was time for the walk.
dan looked so wistfully after them as they ran off that father bhaer proposed carrying him to the sofa in the parlor for a little change of air and scene.
when he was established, and the house quiet, mrs. jo, who sat near by showing teddy pictures, said, in an interested tone, as she nodded towards the treasures still in dan's hands, "where did you learn so much about these things?"
""i always liked'em, but did n't know much till mr. hyde told me."
""oh, he was a man who lived round in the woods studying these things i do n't know what you call him and wrote about frogs, and fishes, and so on.
he stayed at page's, and used to want me to go and help him, and it was great fun,'cause he told me ever so much, and was uncommon jolly and wise.
hope i'll see him again sometime."
""i hope you will," said mrs. jo, for dan's face had brightened up, and he was so interested in the matter that he forgot his usual taciturnity.
""why, he could make birds come to him, and rabbits and squirrels did n't mind him any more than if he was a tree.
did you ever tickle a lizard with a straw?"
asked dan, eagerly.
""no, but i should like to try it."
""well, i've done it, and it's so funny to see'em turn over and stretch out, they like it so much.
mr. hyde used to do it; and he'd make snakes listen to him while he whistled, and he knew just when certain flowers would blow, and bees would n't sting him, and he'd tell the wonderfullest things about fish and flies, and the indians and the rocks."
""i think you were so fond of going with mr. hyde, you rather neglected mr. page," said mrs. jo, slyly.
""yes, i did; i hated to have to weed and hoe when i might be tramping round with mr. hyde.
page thought such things silly, and called mr. hyde crazy because he'd lay hours watching a trout or a bird."
""suppose you say lie instead of lay, it is better grammar," said mrs. jo, very gently; and then added, "yes, page is a thorough farmer, and would not understand that a naturalist's work was just as interesting, and perhaps just as important as his own.
now, dan, if you really love these things, as i think you do, and i am glad to see it, you shall have time to study them and books to help you; but i want you to do something besides, and to do it faithfully, else you will be sorry by and by, and find that you have got to begin again."
""yes, ma'am," said dan, meekly, and looked a little scared by the serious tone of the last remarks, for he hated books, yet had evidently made up his mind to study anything she proposed.
""do you see that cabinet with twelve drawers in it?"
was the next very unexpected question.
dan did see two tall old-fashioned ones standing on either side of the piano; he knew them well, and had often seen nice bits of string, nails, brown paper, and such useful matters come out of the various drawers.
he nodded and smiled.
mrs. jo went on, "well, do n't you think those drawers would be good places to put your eggs, and stones, and shells, and lichens?"
""oh, splendid, but you would n't like my things "clutterin" round," as mr. page used to say, would you?"
cried dan, sitting up to survey the old piece of furniture with sparkling eyes.
""i like litter of that sort; and if i did n't, i should give you the drawers, because i have a regard for children's little treasures, and i think they should be treated respectfully.
now, i am going to make a bargain with you, dan, and i hope you will keep it honorably.
here are twelve good-sized drawers, one for each month of the year, and they shall be yours as fast as you earn them, by doing the little duties that belong to you.
i believe in rewards of a certain kind, especially for young folks; they help us along, and though we may begin by being good for the sake of the reward, if it is rightly used, we shall soon learn to love goodness for itself."
""do you have'em?"
asked dan, looking as if this was new talk for him.
""yes, indeed!
i have n't learnt to get on without them yet.
my rewards are not drawers, or presents, or holidays, but they are things which i like as much as you do the others.
the good behavior and success of my boys is one of the rewards i love best, and i work for it as i want you to work for your cabinet.
do what you dislike, and do it well, and you get two rewards, one, the prize you see and hold; the other, the satisfaction of a duty cheerfully performed.
do you understand that?"
""yes, ma'am."
""we all need these little helps; so you shall try to do your lessons and your work, play kindly with all the boys, and use your holidays well; and if you bring me a good report, or if i see and know it without words for i'm quick to spy out the good little efforts of my boys you shall have a compartment in the drawer for your treasures.
see, some are already divided into four parts, and i will have the others made in the same way, a place for each week; and when the drawer is filled with curious and pretty things, i shall be as proud of it as you are; prouder, i think for in the pebbles, mosses, and gay butterflies, i shall see good resolutions carried out, conquered faults, and a promise well kept.
shall we do this, dan?"
the boys answered with one of the looks which said much, for it showed that he felt and understood her wish and words, although he did not know how to express his interest and gratitude for such care and kindness.
she understood the look, and seeing by the color that flushed up to his forehead that he was touched, as she wished him to be, she said no more about that side of the new plan, but pulled out the upper drawer, dusted it, and set it on two chairs before the sofa, saying briskly, "now, let us begin at once by putting those nice beetles in a safe place.
these compartments will hold a good deal, you see.
i'd pin the butterflies and bugs round the sides; they will be quite safe there, and leave room for the heavy things below.
i'll give you some cotton wool, and clean paper and pins, and you can get ready for the week's work."
""but i ca n't go out to find any new things," said dan, looking piteously at his foot.
""that's true; never mind, we'll let these treasures do for this week, and i dare say the boys will bring you loads of things if you ask them."
""they do n't know the right sort; besides, if i lay, no, lie here all the time, i ca n't work and study, and earn my drawers."
""there are plenty of lessons you can learn lying there, and several little jobs of work you can do for me."
""can i?"
and dan looked both surprised and pleased.
""you can learn to be patient and cheerful in spite of pain and no play.
you can amuse teddy for me, wind cotton, read to me when i sew, and do many things without hurting your foot, which will make the days pass quickly, and not be wasted ones."
here demi ran in with a great butterfly in one hand, and a very ugly little toad in the other.
""see, dan, i found them, and ran back to give them to you; are n't they beautiful ones?"
panted demi, all out of breath.
dan laughed at the toad, and said he had no place to put him, but the butterfly was a beauty, and if mrs. jo would give him a big pin, he would stick it right up in the drawer.
""i do n't like to see the poor thing struggle on a pin; if it must be killed, let us put it out of pain at once with a drop of camphor," said mrs. jo, getting out the bottle.
""i know how to do it mr. hyde always killed'em that way but i did n't have any camphor, so i use a pin," and dan gently poured a drop on the insect's head, when the pale green wings fluttered an instant, and then grew still.
this dainty little execution was hardly over when teddy shouted from the bedroom, "oh, the little trabs are out, and the big one's eaten'em all up."
demi and his aunt ran to the rescue, and found teddy dancing excitedly in a chair, while two little crabs were scuttling about the floor, having got through the wires of the cage.
a third was clinging to the top of the cage, evidently in terror of his life, for below appeared a sad yet funny sight.
the big crab had wedged himself into the little recess where polly's cup used to stand, and there he sat eating one of his relations in the coolest way.
all the claws of the poor victim were pulled off, and he was turned upside down, his upper shell held in one claw close under the mouth of the big crab like a dish, while he leisurely ate out of it with the other claw, pausing now and then to turn his queer bulging eyes from side to side, and to put out a slender tongue and lick them in a way that made the children scream with laughter.
mrs. jo carried the cage in for dan to see the sight, while demi caught and confined the wanderers under an inverted wash-bowl.
""i'll have to let these fellers go, for i ca n't keep'em in the house," said dan, with evident regret.
""i'll take care of them for you, if you will tell me how, and they can live in my turtle-tank just as well as not," said demi, who found them more interesting even that his beloved slow turtles.
so dan gave him directions about the wants and habits of the crabs, and demi bore them away to introduce them to their new home and neighbors.
""what a good boy he is!"
said dan, carefully settling the first butterfly, and remembering that demi had given up his walk to bring it to him.
""he ought to be, for a great deal has been done to make him so."
""he's had folks to tell him things, and to help him; i have n't," said dan, with a sigh, thinking of his neglected childhood, a thing he seldom did, and feeling as if he had not had fair play somehow.
""i know it, dear, and for that reason i do n't expect as much from you as from demi, though he is younger; you shall have all the help that we can give you now, and i hope to teach you how to help yourself in the best way.
have you forgotten what father bhaer told you when you were here before, about wanting to be good, and asking god to help you?"
""no, ma'am," very low.
""do you try that way still?"
""no, ma'am," lower still.
""will you do it every night to please me?"
""yes, ma'am," very soberly.
""i shall depend on it, and i think i shall know if you are faithful to your promise, for these things always show to people who believe in them, though not a word is said.
now here is a pleasant story about a boy who hurt his foot worse than you did yours; read it, and see how bravely he bore his troubles."
she put that charming little book, "the crofton boys," into his hands, and left him for an hour, passing in and out from time to time that he might not feel lonely.
dan did not love to read, but soon got so interested that he was surprised when the boys came home.
daisy brought him a nosegay of wild flowers, and nan insisted on helping bring him his supper, as he lay on the sofa with the door open into the dining-room, so that he could see the lads at table, and they could nod socially to him over their bread and butter.
mr. bhaer carried him away to his bed early, and teddy came in his night-gown to say good-night, for he went to his little nest with the birds.
""i want to say my prayers to danny; may i?"
he asked; and when his mother said, "yes," the little fellow knelt down by dan's bed, and folding his chubby hands, said softly, "pease dod bess everybody, and hep me to be dood."
then he went away smiling with sleepy sweetness over his mother's shoulder.
but after the evening talk was done, the evening song sung, and the house grew still with beautiful sunday silence, dan lay in his pleasant room wide awake, thinking new thoughts, feeling new hopes and desires stirring in his boyish heart, for two good angels had entered in: love and gratitude began the work which time and effort were to finish; and with an earnest wish to keep his first promise, dan folded his hands together in the darkness, and softly whispered teddy's little prayer, "please god bless every one, and help me to be good."
chapter xi.
uncle teddy for a week dan only moved from bed to sofa; a long week and a hard one, for the hurt foot was very painful at times, the quiet days were very wearisome to the active lad, longing to be out enjoying the summer weather, and especially difficult was it to be patient.
but dan did his best, and every one helped him in their various ways; so the time passed, and he was rewarded at last by hearing the doctor say, on saturday morning, "this foot is doing better than i expected.
give the lad the crutch this afternoon, and let him stump about the house a little."
""hooray!"
shouted nat, and raced away to tell the other boys the good news.
everybody was very glad, and after dinner the whole flock assembled to behold dan crutch himself up and down the hall a few times before he settled in the porch to hold a sort of levee.
he was much pleased at the interest and good-will shown him, and brightened up more and more every minute; for the boys came to pay their respects, the little girls fussed about him with stools and cushions, and teddy watched over him as if he was a frail creature unable to do anything for himself.
they were still sitting and standing about the steps, when a carriage stopped at the gate, a hat was waved from it, and with a shout of "uncle teddy!
uncle teddy!"
rob scampered down the avenue as fast as his short legs would carry him.
all he boys but dan ran after him to see who should be first to open the gate, and in a moment the carriage drove up with boys swarming all over it, while uncle teddy sat laughing in the midst, with his little daughter on his knee.
""stop the triumphal car and let jupiter descend," he said, and jumping out ran up the steps to meet mrs. bhaer, who stood smiling and clapping her hands like a girl.
""how goes it, teddy?"
""all right, jo."
then they shook hands, and mr. laurie put bess into her aunt's arms, saying, as the child hugged her tight, "goldilocks wanted to see you so much that i ran away with her, for i was quite pining for a sight of you myself.
we want to play with your boys for an hour or so, and to see how "the old woman who lived in a shoe, and had so many children she did not know what to do," is getting on."
""i'm so glad!
play away, and do n't get into mischief," answered mrs. jo, as the lads crowded round the pretty child, admiring her long golden hair, dainty dress, and lofty ways, for the little "princess," as they called her, allowed no one to kiss her, but sat smiling down upon them, and graciously patting their heads with her little, white hands.
they all adored her, especially rob, who considered her a sort of doll, and dared not touch her lest she should break, but worshipped her at a respectful distance, made happy by an occasional mark of favor from her little highness.
as she immediately demanded to see daisy's kitchen, she was borne off by mrs. jo, with a train of small boys following.
the others, all but nat and demi, ran away to the menagerie and gardens to have all in order; for mr. laurie always took a general survey, and looked disappointed if things were not flourishing.
standing on the steps, he turned to dan, saying like an old acquaintance, though he had only seen him once or twice before, "how is the foot?"
""better, sir."
""rather tired of the house, are n't you?"
""guess i am!"
and dan's eyes roved away to the green hills and woods where he longed to be.
""suppose we take a little turn before the others come back?
that big, easy carriage will be quite safe and comfortable, and a breath of fresh air will do you good.
get a cushion and a shawl, demi, and let's carry dan off."
the boys thought it a capital joke, and dan looked delighted, but asked, with an unexpected burst of virtue, "will mrs. bhaer like it?"
""oh, yes; we settled all that a minute ago."
""you did n't say any thing about it, so i do n't see how you could," said demi, inquisitively.
""we have a way of sending messages to one another, without any words.
it is a great improvement on the telegraph."
""i know it's eyes; i saw you lift your eyebrows, and nod toward the carriage, and mrs. bhaer laughed and nodded back again," cried nat, who was quite at his ease with kind mr. laurie by this time.
""right.
now them, come on," and in a minute dan found himself settled in the carriage, his foot on a cushion on the seat opposite, nicely covered with a shawl, which fell down from the upper regions in a most mysterious manner, just when they wanted it.
demi climbed up to the box beside peter, the black coachman.
nat sat next dan in the place of honor, while uncle teddy would sit opposite, to take care of the foot, he said, but really that he might study the faces before him both so happy, yet so different, for dan's was square, and brown, and strong, while nat's was long, and fair, and rather weak, but very amiable with its mild eyes and good forehead.
""by the way, i've got a book somewhere here that you may like to see," said the oldest boy of the party, diving under the seat and producing a book which make dan exclaim, "oh!
by george, is n't that a stunner?"
as he turned the leaves, and saw fine plates of butterflies, and birds, and every sort of interesting insect, colored like life.
he was so charmed that he forgot his thanks, but mr. laurie did not mind, and was quite satisfied to see the boy's eager delight, and to hear this exclamations over certain old friends as he came to them.
nat leaned on his shoulder to look, and demi turned his back to the horses, and let his feet dangle inside the carriage, so that he might join in the conversation.
when they got among the beetles, mr. laurie took a curious little object out of his vest-pocket, and laying it in the palm of his hand, said, "there's a beetle that is thousands of years old;" and then, while the lads examined the queer stone-bug, that looked so old and gray, he told them how it came out of the wrappings of a mummy, after lying for ages in a famous tomb.
finding them interested, he went on to tell about the egyptians, and the strange and splendid ruins they have left behind them the nile, and how he sailed up the mighty river, with the handsome dark men to work his boat; how he shot alligators, saw wonderful beasts and birds; and afterwards crossed the desert on a camel, who pitched him about like a ship in a storm.
""uncle teddy tells stories "most as well as grandpa," said demi, approvingly, when the tale was done, and the boys" eyes asked for more.
""thank you," said mr. laurie, quite soberly, for he considered demi's praise worth having, for children are good critics in such cases, and to suit them is an accomplishment that any one may be proud of.
""here's another trifle or two that i tucked into my pocket as i was turning over my traps to see if i had any thing that would amuse dan," and uncle teddy produced a fine arrow-head and a string of wampum.
""oh!
tell about the indians," cried demi, who was fond of playing wigwam.
""dan knows lots about them," added nat.
""more than i do, i dare say.
tell us something," and mr. laurie looked as interested as the other two.
""mr. hyde told me; he's been among'em, and can talk their talk, and likes'em," began dan, flattered by their attention, but rather embarrassed by having a grown-up listener.
""what is wampum for?"
asked curious demi, from his perch.
the others asked questions likewise, and, before he knew it, dan was reeling off all mr. hyde had told him, as they sailed down the river a few weeks before.
mr. laurie listened well, but found the boy more interesting than the indians, for mrs. jo had told him about dan, and he rather took a fancy to the wild lad, who ran away as he himself had often longed to do, and who was slowly getting tamed by pain and patience.
""i've been thinking that it would be a good plan for you fellows to have a museum of your own; a place in which to collect all the curious and interesting things that you find, and make, and have given you.
mrs. jo is too kind to complain, but it is rather hard for her to have the house littered up with all sorts of rattletraps, half-a-pint of dor-bugs in one of her best vases, for instance, a couple of dead bats nailed up in the back entry, wasps nests tumbling down on people's heads, and stones lying round everywhere, enough to pave the avenue.
there are not many women who would stand that sort of thing, are there, now?"
as mr. laurie spoke with a merry look in his eyes, the boys laughed and nudged one another, for it was evident that some one told tales out of school, else how could he know of the existence of these inconvenient treasures.
""where can we put them, then?"
said demi, crossing his legs and leaning down to argue the question.
""in the old carriage-house."
""but it leaks, and there is n't any window, nor any place to put things, and it's all dust and cobwebs," began nat.
""wait till gibbs and i have touched it up a bit, and then see how you like it.
he is to come over on monday to get it ready; then next saturday i shall come out, and we will fix it up, and make the beginning, at least, of a fine little museum.
every one can bring his things, and have a place for them; and dan is to be the head man, because he knows most about such matters, and it will be quiet, pleasant work for him now that he ca n't knock about much."
""wo n't that be jolly?"
cried nat, while dan smiled all over his face and had not a word to say, but hugged his book, and looked at mr. laurie as if he thought him one of the greatest public benefactors that ever blessed the world.
""shall i go round again, sir?"
asked peter, as they came to the gate, after two slow turns about the half-mile triangle.
""no, we must be prudent, else we ca n't come again.
i must go over the premises, take a look at the carriage-house, and have a little talk with mrs. jo before i go;" and, having deposited dan on his sofa to rest and enjoy his book, uncle teddy went off to have a frolic with the lads who were raging about the place in search of him.
leaving the little girls to mess up-stairs, mrs. bhaer sat down by dan, and listened to his eager account of the drive till the flock returned, dusty, warm, and much excited about the new museum, which every one considered the most brilliant idea of the age.
""i always wanted to endow some sort of an institution, and i am going to begin with this," said mr. laurie, sitting down on a stool at mrs. jo's feet.
""you have endowed one already.
what do you call this?"
and mrs. jo pointed to the happy-faced lads, who had camped upon the floor about him.
""i call it a very promising bhaer-garden, and i'm proud to be a member of it.
did you know i was the head boy in this school?"
he asked, turning to dan, and changing the subject skilfully, for he hated to be thanked for the generous things he did.
""i thought franz was!"
answered dan, wondering what the man meant.
""oh, dear no!
i'm the first boy mrs. jo ever had to take care of, and i was such a bad one that she is n't done with me yet, though she has been working at me for years and years."
""how old she must be!"
said nat, innocently.
""she began early, you see.
poor thing!
she was only fifteen when she took me, and i led her such a life, it's a wonder she is n't wrinkled and gray, and quite worn out," and mr. laurie looked up at her laughing.
""do n't teddy; i wo n't have you abuse yourself so;" and mrs. jo stroked the curly black head at her knee as affectionately as ever, for, in spite of every thing teddy was her boy still.
""if it had n't been for you, there never would have been a plumfield.
it was my success with you, sir, that gave me courage to try my pet plan.
so the boys may thank you for it, and name the new institution "the laurence museum," in honor of its founder, wo n't we, boys?"
she added, looking very like the lively jo of old times.
""we will!
we will!"
shouted the boys, throwing up their hats, for though they had taken them off on entering the house, according to rule, they had been in too much of a hurry to hang them up.
""i'm as hungry as a bear, ca n't i have a cookie?"
asked mr. laurie, when the shout subsided and he had expressed his thanks by a splendid bow.
""trot out and ask asia for the gingerbread-box, demi.
it is n't in order to eat between meals, but, on this joyful occasion, we wo n't mind, and have a cookie all round," said mrs. jo; and when the box came she dealt them out with a liberal hand, every one munching away in a social circle.
suddenly, in the midst of a bite, mr. laurie cried out, "bless my heart, i forgot grandma's bundle!"
and running out to the carriage, returned with an interesting white parcel, which, being opened, disclosed a choice collection of beasts, birds, and pretty things cut out of crisp sugary cake, and baked a lovely brown.
""there's one for each, and a letter to tell which is whose.
grandma and hannah made them, and i tremble to think what would have happened to me if i had forgotten to leave them."
then, amid much laughing and fun, the cakes were distributed.
a fish for dan, a fiddle for nat, a book for demi, a money for tommy, a flower for daisy, a hoop for nan, who had driven twice round the triangle without stopping, a star for emil, who put on airs because he studied astronomy, and, best of all, an omnibus for franz, whose great delight was to drive the family bus.
stuffy got a fat pig, and the little folks had birds, and cats, and rabbits, with black currant eyes.
""now i must go.
where is my goldilocks?
mamma will come flying out to get her if i'm not back early," said uncle teddy, when the last crumb had vanished, which it speedily did, you may be sure.
the young ladies had gone into the garden, and while they waited till franz looked them up, jo and laurie stood at the door talking together.
""how does little giddy-gaddy come on?"
he asked, for nan's pranks amused him very much, and he was never tired of teasing jo about her.
""nicely; she is getting quite mannerly, and begins to see the error of her wild ways."
""do n't the boys encourage her in them?"
""yes; but i keep talking, and lately she has improved much.
you saw how prettily she shook hands with you, and how gentle she was with bess.
daisy's example has its effect upon her, and i'm quite sure that a few months will work wonders."
here mrs. jo's remarks were cut short by the appearance of nan tearing round the corner at a break-neck pace, driving a mettlesome team of four boys, and followed by daisy trundling bess in a wheelbarrow.
hat off, hair flying, whip cracking, and barrow bumping, up they came in a cloud of dust, looking as wild a set of little hoydens as one would wish to see.
""so, these are the model children, are they?
it's lucky i did n't bring mrs. curtis out to see your school for the cultivation of morals and manners; she would never have recovered from the shock of this spectacle," said mr. laurie, laughing at mrs. jo's premature rejoicing over nan's improvement.
""laugh away; i'll succeed yet.
as you used to say at college, quoting some professor, "though the experiment has failed, the principle remains the same,"" said mrs. bhaer, joining in the merriment.
""i'm afraid nan's example is taking effect upon daisy, instead of the other way.
look at my little princess!
she has utterly forgotten her dignity, and is screaming like the rest.
young ladies, what does this mean?"
and mr. laurie rescued his small daughter from impending destruction, for the four horses were champing their bits and curvetting madly all about her, as she sat brandishing a great whip in both hands.
""we're having a race, and i beat," shouted nan.
""i could have run faster, only i was afraid of spilling bess," screamed daisy.
""hi!
go long!"
cried the princess, giving such a flourish with her whip that the horses ran away, and were seen no more.
""my precious child!
come away from this ill-mannered crew before you are quite spoilt.
good-by, jo!
next time i come, i shall expect to find the boys making patchwork."
""it would n't hurt them a bit.
i do n't give in, mind you; for my experiments always fail a few times before they succeed.
love to amy and my blessed marmee," called mrs. jo, as the carriage drove away; and the last mr. laurie saw of her, she was consoling daisy for her failure by a ride in the wheelbarrow, and looking as if she liked it.
great was the excitement all the week about the repairs in the carriage-house, which went briskly on in spite of the incessant questions, advice, and meddling of the boys.
old gibbs was nearly driven wild with it all, but managed to do his work nevertheless; and by friday night the place was all in order roof mended, shelves up, walls whitewashed, a great window cut at the back, which let in a flood of sunshine, and gave them a fine view of the brook, the meadows, and the distant hills; and over the great door, painted in red letters, was "the laurence museum."
all saturday morning the boys were planning how it should be furnished with their spoils, and when mr. laurie arrived, bringing an aquarium which mrs. amy said she was tired of, their rapture was great.
the afternoon was spent in arranging things, and when the running and lugging and hammering was over, the ladies were invited to behold the institution.
it certainly was a pleasant place, airy, clean, and bright.
a hop-vine shook its green bells round the open window, the pretty aquarium stood in the middle of the room, with some delicate water plants rising above the water, and gold-fish showing their brightness as they floated to and fro below.
on either side of the window were rows of shelves ready to receive the curiosities yet to be found.
dan's tall cabinet stood before the great door which was fastened up, while the small door was to be used.
on the cabinet stood a queer indian idol, very ugly, but very interesting; old mr. laurence sent it, as well as a fine chinese junk in full sail, which had a conspicuous place on the long table in the middle of the room.
above, swinging in a loop, and looking as if she was alive, hung polly, who died at an advanced age, had been carefully stuffed, and was no presented by mrs. jo.
the walls were decorated with all sorts of things.
a snake's skin, a big wasp's nest, a birch-bark canoe, a string of birds" eggs, wreaths of gray moss from the south, and a bunch of cotton-pods.
the dead bats had a place, also a large turtle-shell, and an ostrich-egg proudly presented by demi, who volunteered to explain these rare curiosities to guests whenever they liked.
there were so many stones that it was impossible to accept them all, so only a few of the best were arranged among the shells on the shelves, the rest were piled up in corners, to be examined by dan at his leisure.
every one was eager to give something, even silas, who sent home for a stuffed wild-cat killed in his youth.
it was rather moth-eaten and shabby, but on a high bracket and best side foremost the effect was fine, for the yellow glass eyes glared, and the mouth snarled so naturally, that teddy shook in his little shoes at sight of it, when he came bringing his most cherished treasure, one cocoon, to lay upon the shrine of science.
""is n't it beautiful?
i'd no idea we had so many curious things.
i gave that; do n't it look well?
we might make a lot by charging something for letting folks see it."
jack added that last suggestion to the general chatter that went on as the family viewed the room.
""this is a free museum and if there is any speculating on it i'll paint out the name over the door," said mr. laurie, turning so quickly that jack wished he had held his tongue.
""hear!
hear!"
cried mr. bhaer.
""speech!
speech!"
added mrs. jo.
""ca n't, i'm too bashful.
you give them a lecture yourself you are used to it," mr. laurie answered, retreating towards the window, meaning to escape.
but she held him fast, and said, laughing as she looked at the dozen pairs of dirty hands about her, "if i did lecture, it would on the chemical and cleansing properties of soap.
come now, as the founder of the institution, you really ought to give us a few moral remarks, and we will applaud tremendously."
seeing that there was no way of escaping, mr. laurie looked up at polly hanging overhead, seemed to find inspiration in the brilliant old bird, and sitting down upon the table, said, in his pleasant way, "there is one thing i'd like to suggest, boys, and that is, i want you to get some good as well as much pleasure out of this.
just putting curious or pretty things here wo n't do it; so suppose you read up about them, so that when anybody asks questions you can answer them, and understand the matter.
i used to like these things myself, and should enjoy hearing about them now, for i've forgotten all i once knew.
it was n't much, was it, jo?
here's dan now, full of stories about birds, and bugs, and so on; let him take care of the museum, and once a week the rest of you take turns to read a composition, or tell about some animal, mineral, or vegetable.
we should all like that, and i think it would put considerable useful knowledge into our heads.
what do you say, professor?"
""i like it much, and will give the lads all the help i can.
but they will need books to read up these new subjects, and we have not many, i fear," began mr. bhaer, looking much pleased, planning many fine lectures on geology, which he liked.
""we should have a library for the special purpose."
""is that a useful sort of book, dan?"
asked mr. laurie, pointing to the volume that lay open by the cabinet.
""oh, yes!
it tells all i want to know about insects.
i had it here to see how to fix the butterflies right.
i covered it, so it is not hurt;" and dan caught it up, fearing the lender might think him careless.
""give it here a minute;" and, pulling out his pencil, mr. laurie wrote dan's name in it, saying, as he set the book up on one of the corner shelves, where nothing stood but a stuffed bird without a tail, "there, that is the beginning of the museum library.
i'll hunt up some more books, and demi shall keep them in order.
where are those jolly little books we used to read, jo?
"insect architecture" or some such name, all about ants having battles, and bees having queens, and crickets eating holes in our clothes and stealing milk, and larks of that sort."
""in the garret at home.
i'll have them sent out, and we will plunge into natural history with a will," said mrs. jo, ready for any thing.
""wo n't it be hard to write about such things?"
asked nat, who hated compositions.
""at first, perhaps; but you will soon like it.
if you think that hard, how would you like to have this subject given to you, as it was to a girl of thirteen: a conversation between themistocles, aristides, and pericles on the proposed appropriation of funds of the confederacy of delos for the ornamentation of athens?"
said mrs. jo.
the boys groaned at the mere sound of the long names, and the gentlemen laughed at the absurdity of the lesson.
""did she write it?"
asked demi, in an awe-stricken tone.
""yes, but you can imagine what a piece of work she make of it, though she was rather a bright child."
""i'd like to have seen it," said mr. bhaer.
""perhaps i can find it for you; i went to school with her," and mrs. jo looked so wicked that every one knew who the little girl was.
hearing of this fearful subject for a composition quite reconciled the boys to the thought of writing about familiar things.
wednesday afternoon was appointed for the lectures, as they preferred to call them, for some chose to talk instead of write.
mr. bhaer promised a portfolio in which the written productions should be kept, and mrs. bhaer said she would attend the course with great pleasure.
then the dirty-handed society went off the wash, followed by the professor, trying to calm the anxiety of rob, who had been told by tommy that all water was full of invisible pollywogs.
""i like your plan very much, only do n't be too generous, teddy," said mrs. bhaer, when they were left alone.
""you know most of the boys have got to paddle their own canoes when they leave us, and too much sitting in the lap of luxury will unfit them for it."
""i'll be moderate, but do let me amuse myself.
i get desperately tired of business sometimes, and nothing freshens me up like a good frolic with your boys.
i like that dan very much, jo.
he is n't demonstrative; but he has the eye of a hawk, and when you have tamed him a little he will do you credit."
""i'm so glad you think so.
thank you very much for your kindness to him, especially for this museum affair; it will keep him happy while he is lame, give me a chance to soften and smooth this poor, rough lad, and make him love us.
what did inspire you with such a beautiful, helpful idea, teddy?"
asked mrs. bhaer, glancing back at the pleasant room, as she turned to leave it.
laurie took both her hands in his, and answered, with a look that made her eyes fill with happy tears, "dear jo!
i have known what it is to be a motherless boy, and i never can forget how much you and yours have done for me all these years."
chapter xii.
huckleberries there was a great clashing of tin pails, much running to and fro, and frequent demands for something to eat, one august afternoon, for the boys were going huckleberrying, and made as much stir about it as if they were setting out to find the north west passage.
""now, my lads, get off as quietly as you can, for rob is safely out of the way, and wo n't see you," said mrs. bhaer, as she tied daisy's broad-brimmed hat, and settled the great blue pinafore in which she had enveloped nan.
but the plan did not succeed, for rob had heard the bustle, decided to go, and prepared himself, without a thought of disappointment.
the troop was just getting under way when the little man came marching downstairs with his best hat on, a bright tin pail in his hand, and a face beaming with satisfaction.
""oh, dear!
now we shall have a scene," sighed mrs. bhaer, who found her eldest son very hard to manage at times.
""i'm all ready," said rob, and took his place in the ranks with such perfect unconsciousness of his mistake, that it really was very hard to undeceive him.
""it's too far for you, my love; stay and take care of me, for i shall be all alone," began his mother.
""you've got teddy.
i'm a big boy, so i can go; you said i might when i was bigger, and i am now," persisted rob, with a cloud beginning to dim the brightness of his happy face.
""we are going up to the great pasture, and it's ever so far; we do n't want you tagging on," cried jack, who did not admire the little boys.
""i wo n't tag, i'll run and keep up.
o mamma!
let me go!
i want to fill my new pail, and i'll bring'em all to you.
please, please, i will be good!"
prayed robby, looking up at his mother, so grieved and disappointed that her heart began to fail her.
""but, my deary, you'll get so tired and hot you wo n't have a good time.
wait till i go, and then we will stay all day, and pick as many berries as you want."
""you never do go, you are so busy, and i'm tired of waiting.
i'd rather go and get the berries for you all myself.
i love to pick'em, and i want to fill my new pail dreffly," sobbed rob.
the pathetic sight of great tears tinkling into the dear new pail, and threatening to fill it with salt water instead of huckleberries, touched all the ladies present.
his mother patted the weeper on his back; daisy offered to stay home with him; and nan said, in her decided way, "let him come; i'll take care of him."
""if franz was going i would n't mind, for he is very careful; but he is haying with the father, and i'm not sure about the rest of you," began mrs. bhaer.
""it's so far," put in jack.
""i'd carry him if i was going wish i was," said dan, with a sigh.
""thank you, dear, but you must take care of your foot.
i wish i could go.
stop a minute, i think i can manage it after all;" and mrs. bhaer ran out to the steps, waving her apron wildly.
silas was just driving away in the hay-cart, but turned back, and agreed at once, when mrs. jo proposed that he should take the whole party to the pasture, and go for them at five o'clock.
""it will delay your work a little, but never mind; we will pay you in huckleberry pies," said mrs. jo, knowing silas's weak point.
his rough, brown face brightened up, and he said, with a cheery "haw!
haw!"
""wal now, mis" bhaer, if you go to bribin" of me, i shall give in right away."
""now, boys, i have arranged it so that you can all go," said mrs. bhaer, running back again, much relieved, for she loved to make them happy, and always felt miserable when she had disturbed the serenity of her little sons; for she believed that the small hopes and plans and pleasures of children should be tenderly respected by grown-up people, and never rudely thwarted or ridiculed.
""can i go?"
said dan, delighted.
""i thought especially of you.
be careful, and never mind the berries, but sit about and enjoy the lovely things which you know how to find all about you," answered mrs. bhaer, who remembered his kind offer to her boy.
""me too!
me too!"
sung rob, dancing with joy, and clapping his precious pail and cover like castanets.
""yes, and daisy and nan must take good care of you.
be at the bars at five o'clock, and silas will come for you all."
robby cast himself upon his mother in a burst of gratitude, promising to bring her every berry he picked, and not eat one.
then they were all packed into the hay-cart, and went rattling away, the brightest face among the dozen being that of rob, as he sat between his two temporary little mothers, beaming upon the whole world, and waving his best hat; for his indulgent mamma had not the heart to bereave him of it, since this was a gala-day to him.
such a happy afternoon as they had, in spite of the mishaps which usually occur on such expeditions!
of course tommy came to grief, tumbled upon a hornet's nest and got stung; but being used to woe, he bore the smart manfully, till dan suggested the application of damp earth, which much assuaged the pain.
daisy saw a snake, and flying from it lost half her berries; but demi helped her to fill up again, and discussed reptiles most learnedly the while.
ned fell out of a tree, and split his jacket down the back, but suffered no other fracture.
emil and jack established rival claims to a certain thick patch, and while they were squabbling about it, stuffy quickly and quietly stripped the bushes and fled to the protection of dan, who was enjoying himself immensely.
the crutch was no longer necessary, and he was delighted to see how strong his foot felt as he roamed about the great pasture, full of interesting rocks and stumps, with familiar little creatures in the grass, and well-known insects dancing in the air.
but of all the adventures that happened on this afternoon that which befell nan and rob was the most exciting, and it long remained one of the favorite histories of the household.
having explored the country pretty generally, torn three rents in her frock, and scratched her face in a barberry-bush, nan began to pick the berries that shone like big, black beads on the low, green bushes.
her nimble fingers flew, but still her basket did not fill up as rapidly as she desired, so she kept wandering here and there to search for better places, instead of picking contentedly and steadily as daisy did.
rob followed nan, for her energy suited him better than his cousin's patience, and he too was anxious to have the biggest and best berries for marmar.
""i keep putting'em in, but it do n't fill up, and i'm so tired," said rob, pausing a moment to rest his short legs, and beginning to think huckleberrying was not all his fancy painted it; for the sun blazed, nan skipped hither and thither like a grasshopper, and the berries fell out of his pail almost as fast as he put them in, because, in his struggles with the bushes, it was often upside-down.
""last time we came they were ever so much thicker over that wall great bouncers; and there is a cave there where the boys made a fire.
let's go and fill our things quick, and then hide in the cave and let the others find us," proposed nan, thirsting for adventures.
rob consented, and away they went, scrambling over the wall and running down the sloping fields on the other side, till they were hidden among the rocks and underbrush.
the berries were thick, and at last the pails were actually full.
it was shady and cool down there, and a little spring gave the thirsty children a refreshing drink out of its mossy cup.
""now we will go and rest in the cave, and eat our lunch," said nan, well satisfied with her success so far.
""do you know the way?"
asked rob."
"course i do; i've been once, and i always remember.
did n't i go and get my box all right?"
that convinced rob, and he followed blindly as nan led him over stock and stone, and brought him, after much meandering, to a small recess in the rock, where the blackened stones showed that fires had been made.
""now, is n't it nice?"
asked nan, as she took out a bit of bread-and-butter, rather damaged by being mixed up with nails, fishhooks, stones and other foreign substances, in the young lady's pocket.
""yes; do you think they will find us soon?"
asked rob, who found the shadowy glen rather dull, and began to long for more society.
""no, i do n't; because if i hear them, i shall hide, and have fun making them find me."
""p'raps they wo n't come."
""do n't care; i can get home myself."
""is it a great way?"
asked rob, looking at his little stubby boots, scratched and wet with his long wandering.
""it's six miles, i guess."
nan's ideas of distance were vague, and her faith in her own powers great.
""i think we better go now," suggested rob, presently.
""i sha n't till i have picked over my berries;" and nan began what seemed to rob an endless task.
""oh, dear!
you said you'd take good care of me," he sighed, as the sun seemed to drop behind the hill all of a sudden.
""well i am taking good care of you as hard as i can.
do n't be cross, child; i'll go in a minute," said nan, who considered five-year-old robby a mere infant compared to herself.
so little rob sat looking anxiously about him, and waiting patiently, for, spite of some misgivings, he felt great confidence in nan.
""i guess it's going to be night pretty soon," he observed, as if to himself, as a mosquito bit him, and the frogs in a neighboring marsh began to pipe up for the evening concert.
""my goodness me!
so it is.
come right away this minute, or they will be gone," cried nan, looking up from her work, and suddenly perceiving that the sun was down.
""i heard a horn about an hour ago; may be they were blowing for us," said rob, trudging after his guide as she scrambled up the steep hill.
""where was it?"
asked nan, stopping short.
""over that way;" he pointed with a dirty little finger in an entirely wrong direction.
""let's go that way and meet them;" and nan wheeled about, and began to trot through the bushes, feeling a trifle anxious, for there were so many cow-paths all about she could not remember which way they came.
on they went over stock and stone again, pausing now and then to listen for the horn, which did not blow any more, for it was only the moo of a cow on her way home.
""i do n't remember seeing that pile of stones do you?"
asked nan, as she sat on a wall to rest a moment and take an observation.
""i do n't remember any thing, but i want to go home," and rob's voice had a little tremble in it that made nan put her arms round him and lift him gently down, saying, in her most capable way, "i'm going just as fast as i can, dear.
do n't cry, and when we come to the road, i'll carry you."
""where is the road?"
and robby wiped his eyes to look for it.
""over by that big tree.
do n't you know that's the one ned tumbled out of?"
""so it is.
may be they waited for us; i'd like to ride home would n't you?"
and robby brightened up as he plodded along toward the end of the great pasture.
""no, i'd rather walk," answered nan, feeling quite sure that she would be obliged to do so, and preparing her mind for it.
another long trudge through the fast-deepening twilight and another disappointment, for when they reached the tree, they found to their dismay that it was not the one ned climbed, and no road anywhere appeared.
""are we lost?"
quavered rob, clasping his pail in despair.
""not much.
i do n't just see which way to go, and i guess we'd better call."
so they both shouted till they were hoarse, yet nothing answered but the frogs in full chorus.
""there is another tall tree over there, perhaps that's the one," said nan, whose heart sunk within her, though she still spoke bravely.
""i do n't think i can go any more; my boots are so heavy i ca n't pull'em;" and robby sat down on a stone quite worn out.
""then we must stay here all night.
i do n't care much, if snakes do n't come."
""i'm frightened of snakes.
i ca n't stay all night.
oh, dear!
i do n't like to be lost," and rob puckered up his face to cry, when suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he said, in a tone of perfect confidence, "marmar will come and find me she always does; i ai n't afraid now."
""she wo n't know where we are."
""she did n't know i was shut up in the ice-house, but she found me.
i know she'll come," returned robby, so trustfully, that nan felt relieved, and sat down by him, saying, with a remorseful sigh, "i wish we had n't run away."
""you made me; but i do n't mind much marmar will love me just the same," answered rob, clinging to his sheet-anchor when all other hope was gone.
""i'm so hungry.
let's eat our berries," proposed nan, after a pause, during which rob began to nod.
""so am i, but i ca n't eat mine,'cause i told marmar i'd keep them all for her."
""you'll have to eat them if no one comes for us," said nan, who felt like contradicting every thing just then.
""if we stay here a great many days, we shall eat up all the berries in the field, and then we shall starve," she added grimly.
""i shall eat sassafras.
i know a big tree of it, and dan told me how squirrels dig up the roots and eat them, and i love to dig," returned rob, undaunted by the prospect of starvation.
""yes; and we can catch frogs, and cook them.
my father ate some once, and he said they were nice," put in nan, beginning to find a spice of romance even in being lost in a huckleberry pasture.
""how could we cook frogs?
we have n't got any fire."
""i do n't know; next time i'll have matches in my pocket," said nan, rather depressed by this obstacle to the experiment in frog-cookery.
""could n't we light a fire with a fire-fly?"
asked rob, hopefully, as he watched them flitting to and fro like winged sparks.
""let's try;" and several minutes were pleasantly spent in catching the flies, and trying to make them kindle a green twig or two.
""it's a lie to call them fire-flies when there is n't a fire in them," nan said, throwing one unhappy insect away with scorn, though it shone its best, and obligingly walked up and down the twigs to please the innocent little experimenters.
""marmar's a good while coming," said rob, after another pause, during which they watched the stars overhead, smelt the sweet fern crushed under foot, and listened to the crickets" serenade.
""i do n't see why god made any night; day is so much pleasanter," said nan, thoughtfully.
""it's to sleep in," answered rob, with a yawn.
""then do go to sleep," said nan, pettishly.
""i want my own bed.
oh, i wish i could see teddy!"
cried rob, painfully reminded of home by the soft chirp of birds safe in their little nests.
""i do n't believe your mother will ever find us," said nan, who was becoming desperate, for she hated patient waiting of any sort.
""it's so dark she wo n't see us."
""it was all black in the ice-house, and i was so scared i did n't call her, but she saw me; and she will see me now, no matter how dark it is," returned confiding rob, standing up to peer into the gloom for the help which never failed him.
""i see her!
i see her!"
he cried, and ran as fast as his tired legs would take him toward a dark figure slowly approaching.
suddenly he stopped, then turned about, and came stumbling back, screaming in a great panic, "no, it's a bear, a big black one!"
and hid his face in nan's skirts.
for a moment nan quailed; ever her courage gave out at the thought of a real bear, and she was about to turn and flee in great disorder, when a mild "moo!"
changed her fear to merriment, as she said, laughing, "it's a cow, robby!
the nice, black cow we saw this afternoon."
the cow seemed to feel that it was not just the thing to meet two little people in her pasture after dark, and the amiable beast paused to inquire into the case.
she let them stroke her, and stood regarding them with her soft eyes so mildly, that nan, who feared no animal but a bear, was fired with a desire to milk her.
""silas taught me how; and berries and milk would be so nice," she said, emptying the contents of her pail into her hat, and boldly beginning her new task, while rob stood by and repeated, at her command, the poem from mother goose: "cushy cow, bonny, let down your milk, let down your milk to me, and i will give you a gown of silk, a gown of silk and a silver tee."
but the immortal rhyme had little effect, for the benevolent cow had already been milked, and had only half a gill to give the thirsty children.
""shoo!
get away!
you are an old cross patch," cried nan, ungratefully, as she gave up the attempt in despair; and poor molly walked on with a gentle gurgle of surprise and reproof.
""each can have a sip, and then we must take a walk.
we shall go to sleep if we do n't; and lost people must n't sleep.
do n't you know how hannah lee in the pretty story slept under the snow and died?"
""but there is n't any snow now, and it's nice and warm," said rob, who was not blessed with as lively a fancy as nan.
""no matter, we will poke about a little, and call some more; and then, if nobody comes, we will hide under the bushes, like hop - "o-my-thumb and his brothers."
it was a very short walk, however, for rob was so sleepy he could not get on, and tumbled down so often that nan entirely lost patience, being half distracted by the responsibility she had taken upon herself.
""if you tumble down again, i'll shake you," she said, lifting the poor little man up very kindly as she spoke, for nan's bark was much worse than her bite.
""please do n't.
it's my boots they keep slipping so;" and rob manfully checked the sob just ready to break out, adding, with a plaintive patience that touched nan's heart, "if the skeeters did n't bite me so, i could go to sleep till marmar comes."
""put your head on my lap, and i'll cover you up with my apron; i'm not afraid of the night," said nan, sitting down and trying to persuade herself that she did not mind the shadow nor the mysterious rustlings all about her.
""wake me up when she comes," said rob, and was fast asleep in five minutes with his head in nan's lap under the pinafore.
the little girl sat for some fifteen minutes, staring about her with anxious eyes, and feeling as if each second was an hour.
then a pale light began to glimmer over the hill-top and she said to herself, "i guess the night is over and morning is coming.
i'd like to see the sun rise, so i'll watch, and when it comes up we can find our way right home."
but before the moon's round face peeped above the hill to destroy her hope, nan had fallen asleep, leaning back in a little bower of tall ferns, and was deep in a mid-summer night's dream of fire-flies and blue aprons, mountains of huckleberries, and robby wiping away the tears of a black cow, who sobbed, "i want to go home!
i want to go home!"
while the children were sleeping, peacefully lulled by the drowsy hum of many neighborly mosquitoes, the family at home were in a great state of agitation.
the hay-cart came at five, and all but jack, emil, nan, and rob were at the bars ready for it.
franz drove instead of silas, and when the boys told him that the others were going home through the wood, he said, looking ill-pleased, "they ought to have left rob to ride, he will be tired out by the long walk."
""it's shorter that way, and they will carry him," said stuffy, who was in a hurry for his supper.
""you are sure nan and rob went with them?"
""of course they did; i saw them getting over the wall, and sung out that it was most five, and jack called back that they were going the other way," explained tommy.
""very well, pile in then," and away rattled the hay-cart with the tired children and the full pails.
mrs. jo looked sober when she heard of the division of the party, and sent franz back with toby to find and bring the little ones home.
supper was over, and the family sitting about in the cool hall as usual, when franz came trotting back, hot, dusty, and anxious.
""have they come?"
he called out when half-way up the avenue.
""no!"
and mrs. jo flew out of her chair looking so alarmed that every one jumped up and gathered round franz.
""i ca n't find them anywhere," he began; but the words were hardly spoken when a loud "hullo!"
startled them all, and the next minute jack and emil came round the house.
""where are nan and rob?"
cried mrs. jo, clutching emil in a way that caused him to think his aunt had suddenly lost her wits.
""i do n't know.
they came home with the others, did n't they?"
he answered, quickly.
""no; george and tommy said they went with you."
""well, they did n't.
have n't seen them.
we took a swim in the pond, and came by the wood," said jack, looking alarmed, as well he might.
""call mr. bhaer, get the lanterns, and tell silas i want him."
that was all mrs. jo said, but they knew what she meant, and flew to obey her orders.
in ten minutes, mr. bhaer and silas were off to the wood, and franz tearing down the road on old andy to search the great pasture.
mrs. jo caught up some food from the table, a little bottle of brandy from the medicine-closet, took a lantern, and bidding jack and emil come with her, and the rest not stir, she trotted away on toby, never stopping for hat or shawl.
she heard some one running after her, but said not a word till, as she paused to call and listen, the light of her lantern shone on dan's face.
""you here!
i told jack to come," she said, half-inclined to send him back, much as she needed help.
""i would n't let him; he and emil had n't had any supper, and i wanted to come more than they did," he said, taking the lantern from her and smiling up in her face with the steady look in his eyes that made her feel as if, boy though he was, she had some one to depend on.
off she jumped, and ordered him on to toby, in spite of his pleading to walk; then they went on again along the dusty, solitary road, stopping every now and then to call and hearken breathlessly for little voices to reply.
when they came to the great pasture, other lights were already flitting to and fro like will-o" - the-wisps, and mr. bhaer's voice was heard shouting, "nan!
rob!
rob!
nan!"
in every part of the field.
silas whistled and roared, dan plunged here and there on toby, who seemed to understand the case, and went over the roughest places with unusual docility.
often mrs. jo hushed them all, saying, with a sob in her throat, "the noise may frighten them, let me call; robby will know my voice;" and then she would cry out the beloved little name in every tone of tenderness, till the very echoes whispered it softly, and the winds seemed to waft it willingly; but still no answer came.
the sky was overcast now, and only brief glimpses of the moon were seen, heat-lightening darted out of the dark clouds now and then, and a faint far-off rumble as of thunder told that a summer-storm was brewing.
""o my robby!
my robby!"
mourned poor mrs. jo, wandering up and down like a pale ghost, while dan kept beside her like a faithful fire-fly.
""what shall i say to nan's father if she comes to harm?
why did i ever trust my darling so far away?
fritz, do you hear any thing?"
and when a mournful, "no" came back, she wrung her hands so despairingly that dan sprung down from toby's back, tied the bridle to the bars, and said, in his decided way, "they may have gone down the spring i'm going to look."
he was over the wall and away so fast that she could hardly follow him; but when she reached the spot, he lowered the lantern and showed her with joy the marks of little feet in the soft ground about the spring.
she fell down on her knees to examine the tracks, and then sprung up, saying eagerly, "yes; that is the mark of my robby's little boots!
come this way, they must have gone on."
such a weary search!
but now some inexplicable instinct seemed to lead the anxious mother, for presently dan uttered a cry, and caught up a little shining object lying in the path.
it was the cover of the new tin pail, dropped in the first alarm of being lost.
mrs. jo hugged and kissed it as if it were a living thing; and when dan was about to utter a glad shout to bring the others to the spot, she stopped him, saying, as she hurried on, "no, let me find them; i let rob go, and i want to give him back to his father all myself."
a little farther on nan's hat appeared, and after passing the place more than once, they came at last upon the babes in the wood, both sound asleep.
dan never forgot the little picture on which the light of his lantern shone that night.
he thought mrs. jo would cry out, but she only whispered, "hush!"
as she softly lifted away the apron, and saw the little ruddy face below.
the berry-stained lips were half-open as the breath came and went, the yellow hair lay damp on the hot forehead, and both the chubby hands held fast the little pail still full.
the sight of the childish harvest, treasured through all the troubles of that night for her, seemed to touch mrs. jo to the heart, for suddenly she gathered up her boy, and began to cry over him, so tenderly, yet so heartily, that he woke up, and at first seemed bewildered.
then he remembered, and hugged her close, saying with a laugh of triumph, "i knew you'd come!
o marmar!
i did want you so!"
for a moment they kissed and clung to one another, quite forgetting all the world; for no matter how lost and soiled and worn-out wandering sons may be, mothers can forgive and forget every thing as they fold them in their fostering arms.
happy the son whose faith in his mother remains unchanged, and who, through all his wanderings, has kept some filial token to repay her brave and tender love.
dan meantime picked nan out of her bush, and, with a gentleness none but teddy ever saw in him before, he soothed her first alarm at the sudden waking, and wiped away her tears; for nan also began to cry for joy, it was so good to see a kind face and feel a strong arm round her after what seemed to her ages of loneliness and fear.
""my poor little girl, do n't cry!
you are all safe now, and no one shall say a word of blame to-night," said mrs. jo, taking nan into her capacious embrace, and cuddling both children as a hen might gather her lost chickens under her motherly wings.
""it was my fault; but i am sorry.
i tried to take care of him, and i covered him up and let him sleep, and did n't touch his berries, though i was so hungry; and i never will do it again truly, never, never," sobbed nan, quite lost in a sea of penitence and thankfulness.
""call them now, and let us get home," said mrs. jo; and dan, getting upon the wall, sent a joyful word "found!"
ringing over the field.
how the wandering lights came dancing from all sides, and gathered round the little group among the sweet fern bushes!
such a hugging, and kissing, and talking, and crying, as went on must have amazed the glowworms, and evidently delighted the mosquitoes, for they hummed frantically, while the little moths came in flocks to the party, and the frogs croaked as if they could not express their satisfaction loudly enough.
then they set out for home, a queer party, for franz rode on to tell the news; dan and toby led the way; then came nan in the strong arms of silas, who considered her "the smartest little baggage he ever saw," and teased her all the way home about her pranks.
mrs. bhaer would let no one carry rob but himself, and the little fellow, refreshed by sleep, sat up, and chattered gayly, feeling himself a hero, while his mother went beside him holding on to any pat of his precious little body that came handy, and never tired of hearing him say, "i knew marmar would come," or seeing him lean down to kiss her, and put a plump berry into her mouth,"'cause he picked'em all for her."
the moon shone out just as they reached the avenue, and all the boys came shouting to meet them, so the lost lambs were borne in triumph and safety, and landed in the dining-room, where the unromantic little things demanded supper instead of preferring kisses and caresses.
they were set down to bread and milk, while the entire household stood round to gaze upon them.
nan soon recovered her spirits, and recounted her perils with a relish now that they were all over.
rob seemed absorbed in his food, but put down his spoon all of a sudden, and set up a doleful roar.
""my precious, why do you cry?"
asked his mother, who still hung over him.
""i'm crying'cause i was lost," bawled rob, trying to squeeze out a tear, and failing entirely.
""but you are found now.
nan says you did n't cry out in the field, and i was glad you were such a brave boy."
""i was so busy being frightened i did n't have any time then.
but i want to cry now,'cause i do n't like to be lost," explained rob, struggling with sleep, emotion, and a mouthful of bread and milk.
the boys set up such a laugh at this funny way of making up for lost time, that rob stopped to look at them, and the merriment was so infectious, that after a surprised stare he burst out into a merry, "ha, ha!"
and beat his spoon upon the table as if he enjoyed the joke immensely.
""it is ten o'clock; into bed, every man of you," said mr. bhaer, looking at his watch.
""and, thank heaven!
there will be no empty ones to-night," added mrs. bhaer, watching, with full eyes, robby going up in his father's arms, and nan escorted by daisy and demi, who considered her the most interesting heroine of their collection.
""poor aunt jo is so tired she ought to be carried up herself," said gentle franz, putting his arm round her as she paused at the stair-foot, looking quite exhausted by her fright and long walk.
""let's make an arm-chair," proposed tommy.
""no, thank you, my lads; but somebody may lend me a shoulder to lean on," answered mrs. jo.
""me!
me!"
and half-a-dozen jostled one another, all eager to be chosen, for there was something in the pale motherly face that touched the warm hearts under the round jackets.
seeing that they considered it an honor, mrs. jo gave it to the one who had earned it, and nobody grumbled when she put her arm on dan's broad shoulder, saying, with a look that made him color up with pride and pleasure, "he found the children; so i think he must help me up."
dan felt richly rewarded for his evening's work, not only that he was chosen from all the rest to go proudly up bearing the lamp, but because mrs. jo said heartily, "good-night, my boy!
god bless you!"
as he left her at her door.
""i wish i was your boy," said dan, who felt as if danger and trouble had somehow brought him nearer than ever to her.
""you shall be my oldest son," and she sealed her promise with a kiss that made dan hers entirely.
little rob was all right next day, but nan had a headache, and lay on mother bhaer's sofa with cold-cream upon her scratched face.
her remorse was quite gone, and she evidently thought being lost rather a fine amusement.
mrs. jo was not pleased with this state of things, and had no desire to have her children led from the paths of virtue, or her pupils lying round loose in huckleberry fields.
so she talked soberly to nan, and tried to impress upon her mind the difference between liberty and license, telling several tales to enforce her lecture.
she had not decided how to punish nan, but one of these stories suggested a way, and as mrs. jo liked odd penalties, she tried it.
""all children run away," pleaded nan, as if it was as natural and necessary a thing as measles or hooping cough.
""not all, and some who do run away do n't get found again," answered mrs. jo.
""did n't you do it yourself?"
asked nan, whose keen little eyes saw some traces of a kindred spirit in the serious lady who was sewing so morally before her.
mrs. jo laughed, and owned that she did.
""tell about it," demanded nan, feeling that she was getting the upper hand in the discussion.
mrs. jo saw that, and sobered down at once, saying, with a remorseful shake of the head, "i did it a good many times, and led my poor mother rather a hard life with my pranks, till she cured me."
""how?"
and nan sat up with a face full of interest.
""i had a new pair of shoes once, and wanted to show them; so, though i was told not to leave the garden, i ran away and was wandering about all day.
it was in the city, and why i was n't killed i do n't know.
such a time as i had.
i frolicked in the park with dogs, sailed boats in the back bay with strange boys, dined with a little irish beggar-girl on salt fish and potatoes, and was found at last fast asleep on a door-step with my arms round a great dog.
it was late in the evening, and i was a dirty as a little pig, and the new shoes were worn out i had travelled so far."
""how nice!"
cried nan, looking all ready to go and do it herself.
""it was not nice next day;" and mrs. jo tried to keep her eyes from betraying how much she enjoyed the memory of her early capers.
""did your mother whip you?"
asked nan, curiously.
""she never whipped me but once, and then she begged my pardon, or i do n't think i ever should have forgiven her, it hurt my feelings so much."
""why did she beg your pardon?
my father do n't."
""because, when she had done it, i turned round and said, "well, you are mad yourself, and ought to be whipped as much as me."
she looked at me a minute, then her anger all died out, and she said, as if ashamed, "you are right, jo, i am angry; and why should i punish you for being in a passion when i set you such a bad example?
forgive me, dear, and let us try to help one another in a better way."
i never forgot it, and it did me more good than a dozen rods."
nan sat thoughtfully turning the little cold-cream jar for a minute, and mrs. jo said nothing, but let that idea get well into the busy little mind that was so quick to see and feel what went on about her.
""i like that," said nan, presently, and her face looked less elfish, with its sharp eyes, inquisitive nose, and mischievous mouth.
""what did your mother do to you when you ran away that time?"
""she tied me to the bed-post with a long string, so that i could not go out of the room, and there i stayed all day with the little worn-out shoes hanging up before me to remind me of my fault."
""i should think that would cure anybody," cried nan, who loved her liberty above all things.
""it did cure me, and i think it will you, so i am going to try it," said mrs. jo, suddenly taking a ball of strong twine out of a drawer in her work-table.
nan looked as if she was decidedly getting the worst of the argument now, and sat feeling much crestfallen while mrs. jo tied one end round her waist and the other to the arm of the sofa, saying, as she finished, "i do n't like to tie you up like a naughty little dog, but if you do n't remember any better than a dog, i must treat you like one."
""i'd just as lief be tied up as not i like to play dog;" and nan put on a do n't - care face, and began to growl and grovel on the floor.
mrs. jo took no notice, but leaving a book or two and a handkerchief to hem, she went away, and left miss nan to her own devices.
this was not agreeable, and after sitting a moment she tried to untie the cord.
but it was fastened in the belt of her apron behind, so she began on the knot at the other end.
it soon came loose, and, gathering it up, nan was about to get out of the window, when she heard mrs. jo say to somebody as she passed through the hall, "no, i do n't think she will run away now; she is an honorable little girl, and knows that i do it to help her."
in a minute, nan whisked back, tied herself up, and began to sew violently.
rob came in a moment after, and was so charmed with the new punishment, that he got a jump-rope and tethered himself to the other arm of the sofa in the most social manner.
""i got lost too, so i ought to be tied up as much as nan," he explained to his mother when she saw the new captive.
""i'm not sure that you do n't deserve a little punishment, for you knew it was wrong to go far away from the rest."
""nan took me," began rob, willing to enjoy the novel penalty, but not willing to take the blame.
""you need n't have gone.
you have got a conscience, though you are a little boy, and you must learn to mind it."
""well, my conscience did n't prick me a bit when she said "let's get over the wall,"" answered rob, quoting one of demi's expressions.
""did you stop to see if it did?"
""no."
""then you can not tell."
""i guess it's such a little conscience that it do n't prick hard enough for me to feel it," added rob, after thinking the matter over for a minute.
""we must sharpen it up.
it's bad to have a dull conscience; so you may stay here till dinner-time, and talk about it with nan.
i trust you both not to untie yourselves till i say the word."
""no, we wo n't," said both, feeling a certain sense of virtue in helping to punish themselves.
for an hour they were very good, then they grew tired of one room, and longed to get out.
never had the hall seemed so inviting; even the little bedroom acquired a sudden interest, and they would gladly have gone in and played tent with the curtains of the best bed.
the open windows drove them wild because they could not reach them; and the outer world seemed so beautiful, they wondered how they ever found the heart to say it was dull.
nan pined for a race round the lawn, and rob remembered with dismay that he had not fed his dog that morning, and wondered what poor pollux would do.
they watched the clock, and nan did some nice calculations in minutes and seconds, while rob learned to tell all the hours between eight and one so well that he never forgot them.
it was maddening to smell the dinner, to know that there was to be succotash and huckleberry pudding, and to feel that they would not be on the spot to secure good helps of both.
when mary ann began to set the table, they nearly cut themselves in two trying to see what meat there was to be; and nan offered to help her make the beds, if she would only see that she had "lots of sauce on her pudding."
when the boys came bursting out of school, they found the children tugging at their halters like a pair of restive little colts, and were much edified, as well as amused, by the sequel to the exciting adventures of the night.
""untie me now, marmar; my conscience will prick like a pin next time, i know it will," said rob, as the bell rang, and teddy came to look at him with sorrowful surprise.
""we shall see," answered his mother, setting him free.
he took a good run down the hall, back through the dining-room, and brought up beside nan, quite beaming with virtuous satisfaction.
""i'll bring her dinner to her, may i?"
he asked, pitying his fellow-captive.
""that's my kind little son!
yes, pull out the table, and get a chair;" and mrs. jo hurried away to quell the ardor of the others, who were always in a raging state of hunger at noon.
nan ate alone, and spent a long afternoon attached to the sofa.
mrs. bhaer lengthened her bonds so that she could look out of the window; and there she stood watching the boys play, and all the little summer creatures enjoying their liberty.
daisy had a picnic for the dolls on the lawn, so that nan might see the fun if she could not join in it.
tommy turned his best somersaults to console her; demi sat on the steps reading aloud to himself, which amused nan a good deal; and dan brought a little tree-toad to show her as the most delicate attention in his power.
but nothing atoned for the loss of freedom; and a few hours of confinement taught nan how precious it was.
a good many thoughts went through the little head that lay on the window-sill during the last quiet hour when all the children went to the brook to see emil's new ship launched.
she was to have christened it, and had depended on smashing a tiny bottle of currant-wine over the prow as it was named josephine in honor of mrs. bhaer.
now she had lost her chance, and daisy would n't do it half so well.
tears rose to her eyes as she remembered that it was all her own fault; and she said aloud, addressing a fat bee who was rolling about in the yellow heart of a rose just under the window, "if you have run away, you'd better go right home, and tell your mother you are sorry, and never do so any more."
""i am glad to hear you give him such good advice, and i think he has taken it," said mrs. jo, smiling, as the bee spread his dusty wings and flew away.
nan brushed off a bright drop or two that shone on the window-sill, and nestled against her friend as she took her on her knee, adding kindly for she had seen the little drops, and knew what they meant, "do you think my mother's cure for running away a good one?"
""yes, ma'am," answered nan, quite subdued by her quiet day.
""i hope i shall not have to try it again."
""i guess not;" and nan looked up with such an earnest little face that mrs. jo felt satisfied, and said no more, for she liked to have her penalties do their own work, and did not spoil the effect by too much moralizing.
here rob appeared, bearing with infinite care what asia called a "sarcer pie," meaning one baked in a saucer.
""it's made out of some of my berries, and i'm going to give you half at supper-time," he announced with a flourish.
""what makes you, when i'm so naughty?"
asked nan, meekly.
""because we got lost together.
you ai n't going to be naughty again, are you?"
""never," said nan, with great decision.
""oh, goody!
now let's go and get mary ann to cut this for us all ready to eat; it's "most tea time;" and rob beckoned with the delicious little pie.
nan started to follow, then stopped, and said, "i forgot, i ca n't go."
""try and see," said mrs. bhaer, who had quietly untied the cord sash while she had been talking.
nan saw that she was free, and with one tempestuous kiss to mrs. jo, she was off like a humming-bird, followed by robby, dribbling huckleberry juice as he ran.
chapter xiii.
goldilocks after the last excitement peace descended upon plumfield and reigned unbroken for several weeks, for the elder boys felt that the loss of nan and rob lay at their door, and all became so paternal in their care that they were rather wearying; while the little ones listened to nan's recital of her perils so many times, that they regarded being lost as the greatest ill humanity was heir to, and hardly dared to put their little noses outside the great gate lest night should suddenly descend upon them, and ghostly black cows come looming through the dusk.
""it is too good to last," said mrs. jo; for years of boy-culture had taught her that such lulls were usually followed by outbreaks of some sort, and when less wise women would have thought that the boys had become confirmed saints, she prepared herself for a sudden eruption of the domestic volcano.
one cause of this welcome calm was a visit from little bess, whose parents lent her for a week while they were away with grandpa laurence, who was poorly.
the boys regarded goldilocks as a mixture of child, angel, and fairy, for she was a lovely little creature, and the golden hair which she inherited from her blonde mamma enveloped her like a shining veil, behind which she smiled upon her worshippers when gracious, and hid herself when offended.
her father would not have it cut and it hung below her waist, so soft and fine and bright, that demi insisted that it was silk spun from a cocoon.
every one praised the little princess, but it did not seem to do her harm, only to teach her that her presence brought sunshine, her smiles made answering smiles on other faces, and her baby griefs filled every heart with tenderest sympathy.
unconsciously, she did her young subjects more good than many a real sovereign, for her rule was very gentle and her power was felt rather than seen.
her natural refinement made her dainty in all things, and had a good effect upon the careless lads about her.
she would let no one touch her roughly or with unclean hands, and more soap was used during her visits than at any other time, because the boys considered it the highest honor to be allowed to carry her highness, and the deepest disgrace to be repulsed with the disdainful command, "do away, dirty boy!"
lour voices displeased her and quarrelling frightened her; so gentler tones came into the boyish voices as they addressed her, and squabbles were promptly suppressed in her presence by lookers-on if the principles could not restrain themselves.
she liked to be waited on, and the biggest boys did her little errands without a murmur, while the small lads were her devoted slaves in all things.
they begged to be allowed to draw her carriage, bear her berry-basket, or pass her plate at table.
no service was too humble, and tommy and ned came to blows before they could decide which should have the honor of blacking her little boots.
nan was especially benefited by a week in the society of a well-bred lady, though such a very small one; for bess would look at her with a mixture of wonder and alarm in her great blue eyes when the hoyden screamed and romped; and she shrunk from her as if she thought her a sort of wild animal.
warm-hearted nan felt this very much.
she said at first, "pooh!
i do n't care!"
but she did care, and was so hurt when bess said, "i love my tuzzin best, tause she is twiet," that she shook poor daisy till her teeth chattered in her head, and then fled to the barn to cry dismally.
in that general refuge for perturbed spirits she found comfort and good counsel from some source or other.
perhaps the swallows from their mud-built nests overhead twittered her a little lecture on the beauty of gentleness.
however that might have been, she came out quite subdued, and carefully searched the orchard for a certain kind of early apple that bess liked because it was sweet and small and rosy.
armed with this peace-offering, she approached the little princess, and humbly presented it.
to her great joy it was graciously accepted, and when daisy gave nan a forgiving kiss, bess did likewise, as if she felt that she had been too severe, and desired to apologize.
after this they played pleasantly together, and nan enjoyed the royal favor for days.
to be sure she felt a little like a wild bird in a pretty cage at first, and occasionally had to slip out to stretch her wings in a long flight, or to sing at the top of her voice, where neither would disturb the plump turtle-dove daisy, nor the dainty golden canary bess.
but it did her good; for, seeing how every one loved the little princess for her small graces and virtues, she began to imitate her, because nan wanted much love, and tried hard to win it.
not a boy in the house but felt the pretty child's influence, and was improved by it without exactly knowing how or why, for babies can work miracles in the hearts that love them.
poor billy found infinite satisfaction in staring at her, and though she did not like it she permitted without a frown, after she had been made to understand that he was not quite like the others, and on that account must be more kindly treated.
dick and dolly overwhelmed her with willow whistles, the only thing they knew how to make, and she accepted but never used them.
rob served her like a little lover, and teddy followed her like a pet dog.
jack she did not like, because he was afflicted with warts and had a harsh voice.
stuffy displeased her because he did not eat tidily, and george tried hard not to gobble, that he might not disgust the dainty little lady opposite.
ned was banished from court in utter disgrace when he was discovered tormenting some unhappy field-mice.
goldilocks could never forget the sad spectacle, and retired behind her veil when he approached, waving him away with an imperious little hand, and crying, in a tone of mingled grief and anger, "no, i tar n't love him; he tut the poor mouses" little tails off, and they queeked!"
daisy promptly abdicated when bess came, and took the humble post of chief cook, while nan was first maid of honor; emil was chancellor of the exchequer, and spent the public monies lavishly in getting up spectacles that cost whole ninepences.
franz was prime minister, and directed her affairs of state, planned royal progresses through the kingdom, and kept foreign powers in order.
demi was her philosopher, and fared much better than such gentlemen usually do among crowned heads.
dan was her standing army, and defended her territories gallantly; tommy was court fool, and nat a tuneful rizzio to this innocent little mary.
uncle fritz and aunt jo enjoyed this peaceful episode, and looked on at the pretty play in which the young folk unconsciously imitated their elders, without adding the tragedy that is so apt to spoil the dramas acted on the larger stage.
""they teach us quite as much as we teach them," said mr. bhaer.
""bless the dears!
they never guess how many hints they give us as to the best way of managing them," answered mrs. jo.
""i think you were right about the good effect of having girls among the boys.
nan has stirred up daisy, and bess is teaching the little bears how to behave better than we can.
if this reformation goes on as it has begun, i shall soon feel like dr. blimber with his model young gentlemen," said professor, laughing, as he saw tommy not only remove his own hat, but knock off ned's also, as they entered the hall where the princess was taking a ride on the rocking-horse, attended by rob and teddy astride of chairs, and playing gallant knights to the best of their ability.
""you will never be a blimber, fritz, you could n't do it if you tried; and our boys will never submit to the forcing process of that famous hot-bed.
no fear that they will be too elegant: american boys like liberty too well.
but good manners they can not fail to have, if we give them the kindly spirit that shines through the simplest demeanor, making it courteous and cordial, like yours, my dear old boy."
""tut!
tut!
we will not compliment; for if i begin you will run away, and i have a wish to enjoy this happy half hour to the end;" yet mr. bhaer looked pleased with the compliment, for it was true, and mrs. jo felt that she had received the best her husband could give her, by saying that he found his truest rest and happiness in her society.
""to return to the children: i have just had another proof of goldilocks" good influence," said mrs. jo, drawing her chair nearer the sofa, where the professor lay resting after a long day's work in his various gardens.
""nan hates sewing, but for love of bess has been toiling half the afternoon over a remarkable bag in which to present a dozen of our love-apples to her idol when she goes.
i praised her for it, and she said, in her quick way," i like to sew for other people; it is stupid sewing for myself."
i took the hint, and shall give her some little shirts and aprons for mrs. carney's children.
she is so generous, she will sew her fingers sore for them, and i shall not have to make a task of it."
""but needlework is not a fashionable accomplishment, my dear."
""sorry for it.
my girls shall learn all i can teach them about it, even if they give up the latin, algebra, and half-a-dozen ologies it is considered necessary for girls to muddle their poor brains over now-a-days.
amy means to make bess an accomplished woman, but the dear's mite of a forefinger has little pricks on it already, and her mother has several specimens of needlework which she values more than the clay bird without a bill, that filled laurie with such pride when bess made it."
""i also have proof of the princess's power," said mrs. bhaer, after he had watched mrs. jo sew on a button with an air of scorn for the whole system of fashionable education.
""jack is so unwilling to be classed with stuffy and ned, as distasteful to bess, that he came to me a little while ago, and asked me to touch his warts with caustic.
i have often proposed it, and he never would consent; but now he bore the smart manfully, and consoles his present discomfort by hopes of future favor, when he can show her fastidious ladyship a smooth hand."
mrs. bhaer laughed at the story, and just then stuffy came in to ask if he might give goldilocks some of the bonbons his mother had sent him.
""she is not allowed to eat sweeties; but if you like to give her the pretty box with the pink sugar-rose in it, she would like it very much," said mrs. jo, unwilling to spoil this unusual piece of self-denial, for the "fat boy" seldom offered to share his sugar-plums.
""wo n't she eat it?
i should n't like to make her sick," said stuffy, eyeing the delicate sweetmeat lovingly, yet putting it into the box.
""oh, no, she wo n't touch it, if i tell her it is to look at, not to eat.
she will keep it for weeks, and never think of tasting it.
can you do as much?"
""i should hope so!
i'm ever so much older than she is," cried stuffy, indignantly.
""well, suppose we try.
here, put your bonbons in this bag, and see how long you can keep them.
let me count two hearts, four red fishes, three barley-sugar horses, nine almonds, and a dozen chocolate drops.
do you agree to that?"
asked sly mrs. jo, popping the sweeties into her little spool-bag.
""yes," said stuffy, with a sigh; and pocketing the forbidden fruit, he went away to give bess the present, that won a smile from her, and permission to escort her round the garden.
""poor stuffy's heart has really got the better of his stomach at last, and his efforts will be much encouraged by the rewards bess gives him," said mrs. jo.
""happy is the man who can put temptation in his pocket and learn self-denial from so sweet a little teacher!"
added mr. bhaer, as the children passed the window, stuffy's fat face full of placid satisfaction, and goldilocks surveying her sugar-rose with polite interest, though she would have preferred a real flower with a "pitty smell."
when her father came to take her home, a universal wail arose, and the parting gifts showered upon her increased her luggage to such an extent that mr. laurie proposed having out the big wagon to take it into town.
every one had given her something; and it was found difficult to pack white mice, cake, a parcel of shells, apples, a rabbit kicking violently in a bag, a large cabbage for his refreshment, a bottle of minnows, and a mammoth bouquet.
the farewell scene was moving, for the princess sat upon the hall-table, surrounded by her subjects.
she kissed her cousins, and held out her hand to the other boys, who shook it gently with various soft speeches, for they were taught not to be ashamed of showing their emotions.
""come again soon, little dear," whispered dan, fastening his best green-and-gold beetle in her hat.
""do n't forget me, princess, whatever you do," said the engaging tommy, taking a last stroke of the pretty hair.
""i am coming to your house next week, and then i shall see you, bess," added nat, as if he found consolation in the thought.
""do shake hands now," cried jack, offering a smooth paw.
""here are two nice new ones to remember us by," said dick and dolly, presenting fresh whistles, quite unconscious that seven old ones had been privately deposited in the kitchen-stove.
""my little precious!
i shall work you a book-mark right away, and you must keep it always," said nan, with a warm embrace.
but of all the farewells, poor billy's was the most pathetic, for the thought that she was really going became so unbearable that he cast himself down before her, hugging her little blue boots and blubbering despairingly, "do n't go away!
oh, do n't!"
goldilocks was so touched by this burst of feeling, that she leaned over and lifting the poor lad's head, said, in her soft, little voice, "do n't cry, poor billy!
i will tiss you and tum adain soon."
this promise consoled billy, and he fell back beaming with pride at the unusual honor conferred upon him.
""me too!
me too!"
clamored dick and dolly, feeling that their devotion deserved some return.
the others looked as if they would like to join in the cry; and something in the kind, merry faces about her moved the princess to stretch out her arms and say, with reckless condescension, "i will tiss evvybody!"
like a swarm of bees about a very sweet flower, the affectionate lads surrounded their pretty playmate, and kissed her till she looked like a little rose, not roughly, but so enthusiastically that nothing but the crown of her hat was visible for a moment.
then her father rescued her, and she drove away still smiling and waving her hands, while the boys sat on the fence screaming like a flock of guinea-fowls, "come back!
come back!"
till she was out of sight.
they all missed her, and each dimly felt that he was better for having known a creature so lovely, delicate, and sweet; for little bess appealed to the chivalrous instinct in them as something to love, admire, and protect with a tender sort of reverence.
many a man remembers some pretty child who has made a place in his heart and kept her memory alive by the simple magic of her innocence; these little men were just learning to feel this power, and to love it for its gentle influence, not ashamed to let the small hand lead them, nor to own their loyalty to womankind, even in the bud.
chapter xiv.
damon and pythias mrs. bhaer was right; peace was only a temporary lull, a storm was brewing, and two days after bess left, a moral earthquake shook plumfield to its centre.
tommy's hens were at the bottom of the trouble, for if they had not persisted in laying so many eggs, he could not have sold them and made such sums.
money is the root of all evil, and yet it is such a useful root that we can not get on without it any more than we can without potatoes.
tommy certainly could not, for he spent his income so recklessly, that mr. bhaer was obliged to insist on a savings-bank, and presented him with a private one an imposing tin edifice, with the name over the door, and a tall chimney, down which the pennies were to go, there to rattle temptingly till leave was given to open a sort of trap-door in the floor.
the house increased in weight so rapidly, that tommy soon became satisfied with his investment, and planned to buy unheard-of treasures with his capital.
he kept account of the sums deposited, and was promised that he might break the bank as soon as he had five dollars, on condition that he spent the money wisely.
only one dollar was needed, and the day mrs. jo paid him for four dozen eggs, he was so delighted, that he raced off to the barn to display the bright quarters to nat, who was also laying by money for the long-desired violin.
""i wish i had'em to put with my three dollars, then i'd soon get enough to buy my fiddle," he said, looking wistfully at the money.
""p'raps i'll lend you some.
i have n't decided yet what i'll do with mine," said tommy, tossing up his quarters and catching them as they fell.
""hi!
boys!
come down to the brook and see what a jolly great snake dan's got!"
called a voice from behind the barn.
""come on," said tommy; and, laying his money inside the old winnowing machine, away he ran, followed by nat.
the snake was very interesting, and then a long chase after a lame crow, and its capture, so absorbed tommy's mind and time, that he never thought of his money till he was safely in bed that night.
""never mind, no one but nat knows where it is," said the easy-going lad, and fell asleep untroubled by any anxiety about his property.
next morning, just as the boys assembled for school, tommy rushed into the room breathlessly, demanding, "i say, who has got my dollar?"
""what are you talking about?"
asked franz.
tommy explained, and nat corroborated his statement.
every one else declared they knew nothing about it, and began to look suspiciously at nat, who got more and more alarmed and confused with each denial.
""somebody must have taken it," said franz, as tommy shook his fist at the whole party, and wrathfully declared that, "by thunder turtles!
if i get hold of the thief, i'll give him what he wo n't forget in a hurry."
""keep cool, tom; we shall find him out; thieves always come to grief," said dan, as one who knew something of the matter.
""may be some tramp slept in the barn and took it," suggested ned.
""no, silas do n't allow that; besides, a tramp would n't go looking in that old machine for money," said emil, with scorn.
""was n't it silas himself?"
said jack.
""well, i like that!
old si is as honest as daylight.
you would n't catch him touching a penny of ours," said tommy, handsomely defending his chief admirer from suspicion.
""whoever it was had better tell, and not wait to be found out," said demi, looking as if an awful misfortune had befallen the family.
""i know you think it's me," broke out nat, red and excited.
""you are the only one who knew where it was," said franz.
""i ca n't help it i did n't take it.
i tell you i did n't i did n't!"
cried nat, in a desperate sort of way.
""gently, gently, my son!
what is all this noise about?"
and mr. bhaer walked in among them.
tommy repeated the story of his loss, and, as he listened, mr. bhaer's face grew graver and graver; for, with all their faults and follies, the lads till now had been honest.
""take your seats," he said; and, when all were in their places, he added slowly, as his eye went from face to face with a grieved look, that was harder to bear than a storm of words, "now, boys, i shall ask each one of you a single question, and i want an honest answer.
i am not going to try to frighten, bribe, or surprise the truth out of you, for every one of you have got a conscience, and know what it is for.
now is the time to undo the wrong done to tommy, and set yourselves right before us all.
i can forgive the yielding to sudden temptation much easier than i can deceit.
do n't add a lie to the theft, but confess frankly, and we will all try to help you make us forget and forgive."
he paused a moment, and one might have heard a pin drop, the room was so still; then slowly and impressively he put the question to each one, receiving the same answer in varying tones from all.
every face was flushed and excited, so that mr. bhaer could not take color as a witness, and some of the little boys were so frightened that they stammered over the two short words as if guilty, though it was evident that they could not be.
when he came to nat, his voice softened, for the poor lad looked so wretched, mr. bhaer felt for him.
he believed him to be the culprit, and hoped to save the boy from another lie, by winning him to tell the truth without fear.
""now, my son, give me an honest answer.
did you take the money?"
""no, sir!"
and nat looked up at him imploringly.
as the words fell from his trembling lips, somebody hissed.
""stop that!"
cried mr. bhaer, with a sharp rap on his desk, as he looked sternly toward the corner whence the sound came.
ned, jack, and emil sat there, and the first two looked ashamed of themselves, but emil called out, "it was n't me, uncle!
i'd be ashamed to hit a fellow when he is down."
""good for you!"
cried tommy, who was in a sad state of affliction at the trouble his unlucky dollar had made.
""silence!"
commanded mr. bhaer; and when it came, he said soberly, "i am very sorry, nat, but evidences are against you, and your old fault makes us more ready to doubt you than we should be if we could trust you as we do some of the boys, who never fib.
but mind, my child, i do not charge you with this theft; i shall not punish you for it till i am perfectly sure, nor ask any thing more about it.
i shall leave it for you to settle with your own conscience.
if you are guilty, come to me at any hour of the day or night and confess it, and i will forgive and help you to amend.
if you are innocent, the truth will appear sooner or later, and the instant it does, i will be the first to beg your pardon for doubting you, and will so gladly do my best to clear your character before us all."
""i did n't!
i did n't!"
sobbed nat, with his head down upon his arms, for he could not bear the look of distrust and dislike which he read in the many eyes fixed on him.
""i hope not."
mr. bhaer paused a minute, as if to give the culprit, whoever he might be, one more chance.
nobody spoke, however, and only sniffs of sympathy from some of the little fellows broke the silence.
mr. bhaer shook his head, and added, regretfully, "there is nothing more to be done, then, and i have but one thing to say: i shall not speak of this again, and i wish you all to follow my example.
i can not expect you to feel as kindly toward any one whom you suspect as before this happened, but i do expect and desire that you will not torment the suspected person in any way, he will have a hard enough time without that.
now go to your lessons."
""father bhaer let nat off too easy," muttered ned to emil, as they got out their books.
""hold your tongue," growled emil, who felt that this event was a blot upon the family honor.
many of the boys agreed with ned, but mr. bhaer was right, nevertheless; and nat would have been wiser to confess on the spot and have the trouble over, for even the hardest whipping he ever received from his father was far easier to bear than the cold looks, the avoidance, and general suspicion that met him on all sides.
if ever a boy was sent to coventry and kept there, it was poor nat; and he suffered a week of slow torture, though not a hand was raised against him, and hardly a word said.
that was the worst of it; if they would only have talked it out, or even have thrashed him all round, he could have stood it better than the silent distrust that made very face so terrible to meet.
even mrs. bhaer's showed traces of it, though her manner was nearly as kind as ever; but the sorrowful anxious look in father bhaer's eyes cut nat to the heart, for he loved his teacher dearly, and knew that he had disappointed all his hopes by this double sin.
only one person in the house entirely believed in him, and stood up for him stoutly against all the rest.
this was daisy.
she could not explain why she trusted him against all appearances, she only felt that she could not doubt him, and her warm sympathy made her strong to take his part.
she would not hear a word against him from any one, and actually slapped her beloved demi when he tried to convince her that it must have been nat, because no one else knew where the money was.
""maybe the hens ate it; they are greedy old things," she said; and when demi laughed, she lost her temper, slapped the amazed boy, and then burst out crying and ran away, still declaring, "he did n't!
he did n't!
he did n't!"
neither aunt nor uncle tried to shake the child's faith in her friend, but only hoped her innocent instinct might prove sure, and loved her all the better for it.
nat often said, after it was over, that he could n't have stood it, if it had not been for daisy.
when the others shunned him, she clung to him closer than ever, and turned her back on the rest.
she did not sit on the stairs now when he solaced himself with the old fiddle, but went in and sat beside him, listening with a face so full of confidence and affection, that nat forgot disgrace for a time, and was happy.
she asked him to help her with her lessons, she cooked him marvelous messes in her kitchen, which he ate manfully, no matter what they were, for gratitude gave a sweet flavor to the most distasteful.
she proposed impossible games of cricket and ball, when she found that he shrank from joining the other boys.
she put little nosegays from her garden on his desk, and tried in every way to show that she was not a fair-weather friend, but faithful through evil as well as good repute.
nan soon followed her example, in kindness at least; curbed her sharp tongue, and kept her scornful little nose from any demonstration of doubt or dislike, which was good of madame giddy-gaddy, for she firmly believed that nat took the money.
most of the boys let him severely alone, but dan, though he said he despised him for being a coward, watched over him with a grim sort of protection, and promptly cuffed any lad who dared to molest his mate or make him afraid.
his idea of friendship was as high as daisy's, and, in his own rough way, he lived up to it as loyally.
sitting by the brook one afternoon, absorbed in the study of the domestic habits of water-spiders, he overheard a bit of conversation on the other side of the wall.
ned, who was intensely inquisitive, had been on tenterhooks to know certainly who was the culprit; for of late one or two of the boys had begun to think that they were wrong, nat was so steadfast in his denials, and so meek in his endurance of their neglect.
this doubt had teased ned past bearing, and he had several times privately beset nat with questions, regardless of mr. bhaer's express command.
finding nat reading alone on the shady side of the wall, ned could not resist stopping for a nibble at the forbidden subject.
he had worried nat for some ten minutes before dan arrived, and the first words the spider-student heard were these, in nat's patient, pleading voice, "do n't, ned!
oh, do n't!
i ca n't tell you because i do n't know, and it's mean of you to keep nagging at me on the sly, when father bhaer told you not to plague me.
you would n't dare to if dan was round."
""i ai n't afraid of dan; he's nothing but an old bully.
do n't believe but what he took tom's money, and you know it, and wo n't tell.
come, now!"
""he did n't, but, if he did, i would stand up for him, he has always been so good to me," said nat, so earnestly that dan forgot his spiders, and rose quickly to thank him, but ned's next words arrested him.
""i know dan did it, and gave the money to you.
should n't wonder if he got his living picking pockets before he came here, for nobody knows any thing about him but you," said ned, not believing his own words, but hoping to get the truth out of nat by making him angry.
he succeeded in a part of his ungenerous wish, for nat cried out, fiercely, "if you say that again i'll go and tell mr. bhaer all about it.
i do n't want to tell tales, but, by george!
i will, if you do n't let dan alone."
""then you'll be a sneak, as well as a liar and a thief," began ned, with a jeer, for nat had borne insult to himself so meekly, the other did not believe he would dare to face the master just to stand up for dan.
what he might have added i can not tell, for the words were hardly out of his mouth when a long arm from behind took him by the collar, and, jerking him over the wall in a most promiscuous way, landed him with a splash in the middle of the brook.
""say that again and i'll duck you till you ca n't see!"
cried dan, looking like a modern colossus of rhodes as he stood, with a foot on either side of the narrow stream, glaring down at the discomfited youth in the water.
""i was only in fun," said ned.
""you are a sneak yourself to badger nat round the corner.
let me catch you at it again, and i'll souse you in the river next time.
get up, and clear out!"
thundered dan, in a rage.
ned fled, dripping, and his impromptu sitz-bath evidently did him good, for he was very respectful to both the boys after that, and seemed to have left his curiosity in the brook.
as he vanished dan jumped over the wall, and found nat lying, as if quite worn out and bowed down with his troubles.
""he wo n't pester you again, i guess.
if he does, just tell me, and i'll see to him," said dan, trying to cool down.
""i do n't mind what he says about me so much, i've got used to it," answered nat sadly; "but i hate to have him pitch into you."
""how do you know he is n't right?"
asked dan, turning his face away.
""what, about the money?"
cried nat, looking up with a startled air.
""yes."
""but i do n't believe it!
you do n't care for money; all you want is your old bugs and things," and nat laughed, incredulously.
""i want a butterfly net as much as you want a fiddle; why should n't i steal the money for it as much as you?"
said dan, still turning away, and busily punching holes in the turf with his stick.
""i do n't think you would.
you like to fight and knock folks round sometimes, but you do n't lie, and i do n't believe you'd steal," and nat shook his head decidedly.
""i've done both.
i used to fib like fury; it's too much trouble now; and i stole things to eat out of gardens when i ran away from page, so you see i am a bad lot," said dan, speaking in the rough, reckless way which he had been learning to drop lately.
""o dan!
do n't say it's you!
i'd rather have it any of the other boys," cried nat, in such a distressed tone that dan looked pleased, and showed that he did, by turning round with a queer expression in his face, though he only answered, "i wo n't say any thing about it.
but do n't you fret, and we'll pull through somehow, see if we do n't."
something in his face and manner gave nat a new idea; and he said, pressing his hands together, in the eagerness of his appeal, "i think you know who did it.
if you do, beg him to tell, dan.
it's so hard to have'em all hate me for nothing.
i do n't think i can bear it much longer.
if i had any place to go to, i'd run away, though i love plumfield dearly; but i'm not brave and big like you, so i must stay and wait till some one shows them that i have n't lied."
as he spoke, nat looked so broken and despairing, that dan could not bear it, and, muttered huskily, "you wo n't wait long," and he walked rapidly away, and was seen no more for hours.
""what is the matter with dan?"
asked the boys of one another several times during the sunday that followed a week which seemed as if it would never end.
dan was often moody, but that day he was so sober and silent that no one could get any thing out of him.
when they walked he strayed away from the rest, and came home late.
he took no part in the evening conversation, but sat in the shadow, so busy with his own thoughts that he scarcely seemed to hear what was going on.
when mrs. jo showed him an unusually good report in the conscience book, he looked at it without a smile, and said, wistfully, "you think i am getting on, do n't you?"
""excellently, dan!
and i am so pleased, because i always thought you only needed a little help to make you a boy to be proud of."
he looked up at her with a strange expression in his black eyes an expression of mingled pride and love and sorrow which she could not understand then but remembered afterward.
""i'm afraid you'll be disappointed, but i do try," he said, shutting the book with no sign of pleasure in the page that he usually liked so much to read over and talk about.
""are you sick, dear?"
asked mrs. jo, with her hand on his shoulder.
""my foot aches a little; i guess i'll go to bed.
good-night, mother," he added, and held the hand against his cheek a minute, then went away looking as if he had said good-bye to something dear.
""poor dan!
he takes nat's disgrace to heart sadly.
he is a strange boy; i wonder if i ever shall understand him thoroughly?"
said mrs. jo to herself, as she thought over dan's late improvement with real satisfaction, yet felt that there was more in the lad than she had at first suspected.
one of things which cut nat most deeply was an act of tommy's, for after his loss tommy had said to him, kindly, but firmly, "i do n't wish to hurt you, nat, but you see i ca n't afford to lose my money, so i guess we wo n't be partners any longer;" and with that tommy rubbed out the sign, "t. bangs & co." nat had been very proud of the "co.," and had hunted eggs industriously, kept his accounts all straight, and had added a good sum to his income from the sale of his share of stock in trade.
""o tom!
must you?"
he said, feeling that his good name was gone for ever in the business world if this was done.
""i must," returned tommy, firmly.
""emil says that when one man "bezzles -lrb- believe that's the word it means to take money and cut away with it -rrb- the property of a firm, the other one sues him, or pitches into him somehow, and wo n't have any thing more to do with him.
now you have "bezzled my property; i sha n't sue you, and i sha n't pitch into you, but i must dissolve the partnership, because i ca n't trust you, and i do n't wish to fail."
""i ca n't make you believe me, and you wo n't take my money, though i'd be thankful to give all my dollars if you'd only say you do n't think i took your money.
do let me hunt for you, i wo n't ask any wages, but do it for nothing.
i know all the places, and i like it," pleaded nat.
but tommy shook his head, and his jolly round face looked suspicious and hard as he said, shortly, "ca n't do it; wish you did n't know the places.
mind you do n't go hunting on the sly, and speculate in my eggs."
poor nat was so hurt that he could not get over it.
he felt that he had lost not only his partner and patron, but that he was bankrupt in honor, and an outlaw from the business community.
no one trusted his word, written or spoken, in spite of his efforts to redeem the past falsehood; the sign was down, the firm broken up, and he a ruined man.
the barn, which was the boys" wall street, knew him no more.
cockletop and her sisters cackled for him in vain, and really seemed to take his misfortune to heart, for eggs were fewer, and some of the biddies retired in disgust to new nests, which tommy could not find.
""they trust me," said nat, when he heard of it; and though the boys shouted at the idea, nat found comfort in it, for when one is down in the world, the confidence of even a speckled hen is most consoling.
tommy took no new partner, however, for distrust had entered in, and poisoned the peace of his once confiding soul.
ned offered to join him, but he declined, saying, with a sense of justice that did him honor, "it might turn out that nat did n't take my money, and then we could be partners again.
i do n't think it will happen, but i will give him a chance, and keep the place open a little longer."
billy was the only person whom bangs felt he could trust in his shop, and billy was trained to hunt eggs, and hand them over unbroken, being quite satisfied with an apple or a sugar-plum for wages.
the morning after dan's gloomy sunday, billy said to his employer, as he displayed the results of a long hunt, "only two."
""it gets worse and worse; i never saw such provoking old hens," growled tommy, thinking of the days when he often had six to rejoice over.
""well, put'em in my hat and give me a new bit of chalk; i must mark'em up, any way."
billy mounted a peck-measure, and looked into the top of the machine, where tommy kept his writing materials.
""there's lots of money in here," said billy.
""no, there is n't.
catch me leaving my cash round again," returned tommy.
""i see'em one, four, eight, two dollars," persisted billy, who had not yet mastered the figures correctly.
""what a jack you are!"
and tommy hopped up to get the chalk for himself, but nearly tumbled down again, for there actually were four bright quarters in a row, with a bit of paper on them directed to "tom bangs," that there might be no mistake.
""thunder turtles!"
cried tommy, and seizing them he dashed into the house, bawling wildly, "it's all right!
got my money!
where's nat?"
he was soon found, and his surprise and pleasure were so genuine that few doubted his word when he now denied all knowledge of the money.
""how could i put it back when i did n't take it?
do believe me now, and be good to me again," he said, so imploringly, that emil slapped him on the back, and declared he would for one.
""so will i, and i'm jolly glad it's not you.
but who the dickens is it?"
said tommy, after shaking hands heartily with nat.
""never mind, as long as it's found," said dan with his eyes fixed on nat's happy face.
""well, i like that!
i'm not going to have my things hooked, and then brought back like the juggling man's tricks," cried tommy, looking at his money as if he suspected witchcraft.
""we'll find him out somehow, though he was sly enough to print this so his writing would n't be known," said franz, examining the paper.
""demi prints tip-top," put in rob, who had not a very clear idea what the fuss was all about.
""you ca n't make me believe it's him, not if you talk till you are blue," said tommy, and the others hooted at the mere idea; for the little deacon, as they called him, was above suspicion.
nat felt the difference in the way they spoke of demi and himself, and would have given all he had or ever hoped to have to be so trusted; for he had learned how easy it is to lose the confidence of others, how very, very hard to win it back, and truth became to him a precious thing since he had suffered from neglecting it.
mr. bhaer was very glad one step had been taken in the right direction, and waited hopefully for yet further revelations.
they came sooner than he expected, and in a way that surprised and grieved him very much.
as they sat at supper that night, a square parcel was handed to mrs. bhaer from mrs. bates, a neighbor.
a note accompanied the parcel, and, while mr. bhaer read it, demi pulled off the wrapper, exclaiming, as he saw its contents, "why, it's the book uncle teddy gave dan!"
""the devil!"
broke from dan, for he had not yet quite cured himself of swearing, though he tried very hard.
mr. bhaer looked up quickly at the sound.
dan tried to meet his eyes, but could not; his own fell, and he sat biting his lips, getting redder and redder till he was the picture of shame.
""what is it?"
asked mrs. bhaer, anxiously.
""i should have preferred to talk about this in private, but demi has spoilt that plan, so i may as well have it out now," said mr. bhaer, looking a little stern, as he always did when any meanness or deceit came up for judgment.
""the note is from mrs. bates, and she says that her boy jimmy told her he bought this book of dan last saturday.
she saw that it was worth much more than a dollar, and thinking there was some mistake, has sent it to me.
did you sell it, dan?"
""yes, sir," was the slow answer.
""why?"
""wanted money."
""for what?"
""to pay somebody."
""to whom did you owe it?"
""tommy."
""never borrowed a cent of me in his life," cried tommy, looked scared, for he guessed what was coming now, and felt that on the whole he would have preferred witchcraft, for he admired dan immensely.
""perhaps he took it," cried ned, who owed dan a grudge for the ducking, and, being a mortal boy, liked to pay it off.
""o dan!"
cried nat, clasping his hands, regardless of the bread and butter in them.
""it is a hard thing to do, but i must have this settled, for i can not have you watching each other like detectives, and the whole school disturbed in this way, did you put that dollar in the barn this morning?"
asked mr. bhaer.
dan looked him straight in the face, and answered steadily, "yes, i did."
a murmur went round the table, tommy dropped his mug with a crash; daisy cried out, "i knew it was n't nat;" nan began to cry, and mrs. jo left the room, looking so disappointed, sorry, and ashamed that dan could not bear it.
he hid his face in his hands a moment, then threw up his head, squared his shoulders as if settling some load upon them, and said, with the dogged look, and half-resolute, half-reckless tone he had used when he first came, "i did it; now you may do what you like to me, but i wo n't say another word about it."
""not even that you are sorry?"
asked mr. bhaer, troubled by the change in him.
""i ai n't sorry."
""i'll forgive him without asking," said tommy, feeling that it was harder somehow to see brave dan disgraced than timid nat.
""do n't want to be forgiven," returned dan, gruffly.
""perhaps you will when you have thought about it quietly by yourself, i wo n't tell you now how surprised and disappointed i am, but by and by i will come up and talk to you in your room."
""wo n't make any difference," said dan, trying to speak defiantly, but failing as he looked at mr. bhaer's sorrowful face; and, taking his words for a dismissal, dan left the room as if he found it impossible to stay.
it would have done him good if he had stayed; for the boys talked the matter over with such sincere regret, and pity, and wonder, it might have touched and won him to ask pardon.
no one was glad to find that it was he, not even nat; for, spite of all his faults, and they were many, every one liked dan now, because under his rough exterior lay some of the manly virtues which we most admire and love.
mrs. jo had been the chief prop, as well as cultivator, of dan; and she took it sadly to heart that her last and most interesting boy had turned out so ill.
the theft was bad, but the lying about it, and allowing another to suffer so much from an unjust suspicion was worse; and most discouraging of all was the attempt to restore the money in an underhand way, for it showed not only a want of courage, but a power of deceit that boded ill for the future.
still more trying was his steady refusal to talk of the matter, to ask pardon, or express any remorse.
days passed; and he went about his lessons and his work, silent, grim, and unrepentant.
as if taking warning by their treatment of nat, he asked no sympathy of any one, rejected the advances of the boys, and spent his leisure hours roaming about the fields and woods, trying to find playmates in the birds and beasts, and succeeding better than most boys would have done, because he knew and loved them so well.
""if this goes on much longer, i'm afraid he will run away again, for he is too young to stand a life like this," said mr. bhaer, quite dejected at the failure of all his efforts.
""a little while ago i should have been quite sure that nothing would tempt him away, but now i am ready of any thing, he is so changed," answered poor mrs. jo, who mourned over her boy and could not be comforted, because he shunned her more than any one else, and only looked at her with the half-fierce, half-imploring eyes of a wild animal caught in a trap, when she tried to talk to him alone.
nat followed him about like a shadow, and dan did not repulse him as rudely as he did others, but said, in his blunt way, "you are all right; do n't worry about me.
i can stand it better than you did."
""but i do n't like to have you all alone," nat would say, sorrowfully.
""i like it;" and dan would tramp away, stifling a sigh sometimes, for he was lonely.
passing through the birch grove one day, he came up on several of the boys, who were amusing themselves by climbing up the trees and swinging down again, as they slender elastic stems bent till their tops touched the ground.
dan paused a minute to watch the fun, without offering to join in it, and as he stood there jack took his turn.
he had unfortunately chosen too large a tree; for when he swung off, it only bent a little way, and left him hanging at a dangerous height.
""go back; you ca n't do it!"
called ned from below.
jack tried, but the twigs slipped from his hands, and he could not get his legs round the trunk.
he kicked, and squirmed, and clutched in vain, then gave it up, and hung breathless, saying helplessly, "catch me!
help me!
i must drop!"
""you'll be killed if you do," cried ned, frightened out of his wits.
""hold on!"
shouted dan; and up the tree he went, crashing his way along till he nearly reached jack, whose face looked up at him, full of fear and hope.
""you'll both come down," said ned, dancing with excitement on the slope underneath, while nat held out his arms, in the wild hope of breaking the fall.
""that's what i want; stand from under," answered dan, coolly; and, as he spoke, his added weight bent the tree many feet nearer the earth.
jack dropped safely; but the birch, lightened of half its load, flew up again so suddenly, that dan, in the act of swinging round to drop feet foremost, lost his hold and fell heavily.
""i'm not hurt, all right in a minute," he said, sitting up, a little pale and dizzy, as the boys gathered round him, full of admiration and alarm.
""you're a trump, dan, and i'm ever so much obliged to you," cried jack, gratefully.
""it was n't any thing," muttered dan, rising slowly.
""i say it was, and i'll shake hands with you, though you are," ned checked the unlucky word on his tongue, and held out his hand, feeling that it was a handsome thing on his part.
""but i wo n't shake hands with a sneak;" and dan turned his back with a look of scorn, that caused ned to remember the brook, and retire with undignified haste.
""come home, old chap; i'll give you a lift;" and nat walked away with him leaving the others to talk over the feat together, to wonder when dan would "come round," and to wish one and all that tommy's "confounded money had been in jericho before it made such a fuss."
when mr. bhaer came into school next morning, he looked so happy, that the boys wondered what had happened to him, and really thought he had lost his mind when they saw him go straight to dan, and, taking him by both hands, say all in one breath, as he shook them heartily, "i know all about it, and i beg your pardon.
it was like you to do it, and i love you for it, though it's never right to tell lies, even for a friend."
""what is it?"
cried nat, for dan said not a word, only lifted up his head, as if a weight of some sort had fallen off his back.
""dan did not take tommy's money;" and mr. bhaer quite shouted it, he was so glad.
""who did?"
cried the boys in a chorus.
mr. bhaer pointed to one empty seat, and every eye followed his finger, yet no one spoke for a minute, they were so surprised.
""jack went home early this morning, but he left this behind him;" and in the silence mr. bhaer read the note which he had found tied to his door-handle when he rose.
""i took tommy's dollar.
i was peeking in through a crack and saw him put it there.
i was afraid to tell before, though i wanted to.
i did n't care so much about nat, but dan is a trump, and i ca n't stand it any longer.
i never spent the money; it's under the carpet in my room, right behind the washstand.
i'm awful sorry.
i am going home, and do n't think i shall ever come back, so dan may have my things.
""jack" it was not an elegant confession, being badly written, much blotted, and very short; but it was a precious paper to dan; and, when mr. bhaer paused, the boy went to him, saying, in a rather broken voice, but with clear eyes, and the frank, respectful manner they had tried to teach him, "i'll say i'm sorry now, and ask you to forgive me, sir."
""it was a kind lie, dan, and i ca n't help forgiving it; but you see it did no good," said mr. bhaer, with a hand on either shoulder, and a face full of relief and affection.
""it kept the boys from plaguing nat.
that's what i did it for.
it made him right down miserable.
i did n't care so much," explained dan, as if glad to speak out after his hard silence.
""how could you do it?
you are always so kind to me," faltered nat, feeling a strong desire to hug his friend and cry.
two girlish performances, which would have scandalized dan to the last degree.
""it's all right now, old fellow, so do n't be a fool," he said, swallowing the lump in his throat, and laughing out as he had not done for weeks.
""does mrs. bhaer know?"
he asked, eagerly.
""yes; and she is so happy i do n't know what she will do to you," began mr. bhaer, but got no farther, for here the boys came crowding about dan in a tumult of pleasure and curiosity; but before he had answered more than a dozen questions, a voice cried out, "three cheers for dan!"
and there was mrs. jo in the doorway waving her dish-towel, and looking as if she wanted to dance a jig for joy, as she used to do when a girl.
""now then," cried mr. bhaer, and led off a rousing hurrah, which startled asia in the kitchen, and made old mr. roberts shake his head as he drove by, saying, "schools are not what they were when i was young!"
dan stood it pretty well for a minute, but the sight of mrs. jo's delight upset him, and he suddenly bolted across the hall into the parlor, whither she instantly followed, and neither were seen for half an hour.
mr. bhaer found it very difficult to calm his excited flock; and, seeing that lessons were an impossibility for a time, he caught their attention by telling them the fine old story of the friends whose fidelity to one another has made their names immortal.
the lads listened and remembered, for just then their hearts were touched by the loyalty of a humbler pair of friends.
the lie was wrong, but the love that prompted it and the courage that bore in silence the disgrace which belonged to another, made dan a hero in their eyes.
honesty and honor had a new meaning now; a good name was more precious than gold; for once lost money could not buy it back; and faith in one another made life smooth and happy as nothing else could do.
tommy proudly restored the name of the firm; nat was devoted to dan; and all the boys tried to atone to both for former suspicion and neglect.
mrs. jo rejoiced over her flock, and mr. bhaer was never tired of telling the story of his young damon and pythias.
chapter xv.
in the willow the old tree saw and heard a good many little scenes and confidences that summer, because it became the favorite retreat of all the children, and the willow seemed to enjoy it, for a pleasant welcome always met them, and the quiet hours spent in its arms did them all good.
it had a great deal of company one saturday afternoon, and some little bird reported what went on there.
first came nan and daisy with their small tubs and bits of soap, for now and then they were seized with a tidy fit, and washed up all their dolls" clothes in the brook.
asia would not have them "slopping round" in her kitchen, and the bath-room was forbidden since nan forgot to turn off the water till it overflowed and came gently dripping down through the ceiling.
daisy went systematically to work, washing first the white and then the colored things, rinsing them nicely, and hanging them to dry on a cord fastened from one barberry-bush to another, and pinning them up with a set of tiny clothes-pins ned had turned for her.
but nan put all her little things to soak in the same tub, and then forgot them while she collected thistledown to stuff a pillow for semiramis, queen of babylon, as one doll was named.
this took some time, and when mrs. giddy-gaddy came to take out her clothes, deep green stains appeared on every thing, for she had forgotten the green silk lining of a certain cape, and its color had soaked nicely into the pink and blue gowns, the little chemises, and even the best ruffled petticoat.
""oh me!
what a mess!"
sighed nan.
""lay them on the grass to bleach," said daisy, with an air of experience.
""so i will, and we can sit up in the nest and watch that they do n't blow away."
the queen of babylon's wardrobe was spread forth upon the bank, and, turning up their tubs to dry, the little washerwomen climbed into the nest, and fell to talking, as ladies are apt to do in the pauses of domestic labor.
""i'm going to have a feather-bed to go with my new pillow," said mrs. giddy-gaddy, as she transferred the thistledown from her pocket to her handkerchief, losing about half in the process.
""i would n't; aunt jo says feather-beds are n't healthy.
i never let my children sleep on any thing but a mattress," returned mrs. shakespeare smith, decidedly.
""i do n't care; my children are so strong they often sleep on the floor, and do n't mind it," -lrb- which was quite true -rrb-.
""i ca n't afford nine mattresses, and i like to make beds myself."
""wo n't tommy charge for the feathers?"
""may be he will, but i sha n't pay him, and he wo n't care," returned mrs. g., taking a base advantage of the well-known good nature of t. bangs.
""i think the pink will fade out of that dress sooner than the green mark will," observed mrs. s., looking down from her perch, and changing the subject, for she and her gossip differed on many points, and mrs. smith was a discreet lady.
""never mind; i'm tired of dolls, and i guess i shall put them all away and attend to my farm; i like it rather better than playing house," said mrs. g., unconsciously expressing the desire of many older ladies, who can not dispose of their families so easily however.
""but you must n't leave them; they will die without their mother," cried the tender mrs. smith.
""let'em die then; i'm tired of fussing over babies, and i'm going to play with the boys; they need me to see to'em," returned the strong-minded lady.
daisy knew nothing about women's rights; she quietly took all she wanted, and no one denied her claim, because she did not undertake what she could not carry out, but unconsciously used the all-powerful right of her own influence to win from others any privilege for which she had proved her fitness.
nan attempted all sorts of things, undaunted by direful failures, and clamored fiercely to be allowed to do every thing that the boys did.
they laughed at her, hustled her out of the way, and protested against her meddling with their affairs.
but she would not be quenched and she would be heard, for her will was strong, and she had the spirit of a rampant reformer.
mrs. bhaer sympathized with her, but tired to curb her frantic desire for entire liberty, showing her that she must wait a little, learn self-control, and be ready to use her freedom before she asked for it.
nan had meek moments when she agreed to this, and the influences at work upon her were gradually taking effect.
she no longer declared that she would be engine-driver or a blacksmith, but turned her mind to farming, and found in it a vent for the energy bottled up in her active little body.
it did not quite satisfy her, however; for her sage and sweet marjoram were dumb things, and could not thank her for her care.
she wanted something human to love, work for, and protect, and was never happier than when the little boys brought their cut fingers, bumped heads, or bruised joints for her to "mend-up."
seeing this, mrs. jo proposed that she should learn how to do it nicely, and nursey had an apt pupil in bandaging, plastering, and fomenting.
the boys began to call her "dr. giddy-gaddy," and she liked it so well that mrs. jo one day said to the professor, "fritz, i see what we can do for that child.
she wants something to live for even now, and will be one of the sharp, strong, discontented women if she does not have it.
do n't let us snub her restless little nature, but do our best to give her the work she likes, and by and by persuade her father to let her study medicine.
she will make a capital doctor, for she has courage, strong nerves, a tender heart, and an intense love and pity for the weak and suffering."
mr. bhaer smiled at first, but agreed to try, and gave nan an herb-garden, teaching her the various healing properties of the plants she tended, and letting her try their virtues on the children in the little illnesses they had from time to time.
she learned fast, remembered well, and showed a sense and interest most encouraging to her professor, who did not shut his door in her face because she was a little woman.
she was thinking of this, as she sat in the willow that day, and when daisy said in her gentle way, "i love to keep house, and mean to have a nice one for demi when we grow up and live together."
nan replied with decision "well, i have n't got any brother, and i do n't want any house to fuss over.
i shall have an office, with lots of bottles and drawers and pestle things in it, and i shall drive round in a horse and chaise and cure sick people.
that will be such fun."
""ugh!
how can you bear the bad-smelling stuff and the nasty little powders and castor-oil and senna and hive syrup?"
cried daisy, with a shudder.
""i sha n't have to take any, so i do n't care.
besides, they make people well, and i like to cure folks.
did n't my sage-tea make mother bhaer's headache go away, and my hops stop ned's toothache in five hours?
so now!"
""shall you put leeches on people, and cut off legs and pull out teeth?"
asked daisy, quaking at the thought.
""yes, i shall do every thing; i do n't care if the people are all smashed up, i shall mend them.
my grandpa was a doctor, and i saw him sew a great cut in a man's cheek, and i held the sponge, and was n't frightened a bit, and grandpa said i was a brave girl."
""how could you?
i'm sorry for sick people, and i like to nurse them, but it makes my legs shake so i have to run away.
i'm not a brave girl," sighed daisy.
""well, you can be my nurse, and cuddle my patients when i have given them the physic and cut off their legs," said nan, whose practice was evidently to be of the heroic kind.
""ship ahoy!
where are you, nan?"
called a voice from below.
""here we are."
""ay, ay!"
said the voice, and emil appeared holding one hand in the other, with his face puckered up as if in pain.
""oh, what's the matter?"
cried daisy, anxiously.
""a confounded splinter in my thumb.
ca n't get it out.
take a pick at it, will you, nanny?"
""it's in very deep, and i have n't any needle," said nan, examining a tarry thumb with interest.
""take a pin," said emil, in a hurry.
""no, it's too big and has n't got a sharp point."
here daisy, who had dived into her pocket, presented a neat little housewife with four needles in it.
""you are the posy who always has what we want," said emil; and nan resolved to have a needle-book in her own pocket henceforth, for just such cases as this were always occurring in her practice.
daisy covered her eyes, but nan probed and picked with a steady hand, while emil gave directions not down in any medical work or record.
""starboard now!
steady, boys, steady!
try another tack.
heave ho!
there she is!"
""suck it," ordered the doctor, surveying the splinter with an experienced eye.
""too dirty," responded the patient, shaking his bleeding hand.
""wait; i'll tie it up if you have got a handkerchief."
""have n't; take one of those rags down there."
""gracious!
no, indeed; they are doll's clothes," cried daisy, indignantly.
""take one of mine; i'd like to have you," said nan; and swinging himself down, emil caught up the first "rag" he saw.
it happened to be the frilled skirt; but nan tore it up without a murmur; and when the royal petticoat was turned into a neat little bandage, she dismissed her patient with the command, "keep it wet, and let it alone; then it will heal right up, and not be sore."
""what do you charge?"
asked the commodore, laughing.
""nothing; i keep a "spensary; that is a place where poor people are doctored free gratis for nothing," explained nan, with an air.
""thank you, doctor giddy-gaddy.
i'll always call you in when i come to grief;" and emil departed, but looked back to say for one good turn deserves another "your duds are blowing away, doctor."
forgiving the disrespectful word, "duds," the ladies hastily descended, and, gathering up their wash, retired to the house to fire up the little stove, and go to ironing.
a passing breath of air shook the old willow, as if it laughed softly at the childish chatter which went on in the nest, and it had hardly composed itself when another pair of birds alighted for a confidential twitter.
""now, i'll tell you the secret," began tommy, who was "swellin" wisibly" with the importance of his news.
""tell away," answered nat, wishing he had brought his fiddle, it was so shady and quiet here.
""well, we fellows were talking over the late interesting case of circumstantial evidence," said tommy, quoting at random from a speech franz had made at the club, "and i proposed giving dan something to make up for our suspecting him, to show our respect, and so on, you know something handsome and useful, that he could keep always and be proud of.
what do you think we chose?"
""a butterfly-net; he wants one ever so much," said nat, looking a little disappointed, for he meant to get it himself.
""no, sir; it's to be a microscope, a real swell one, that we see what-do-you-call -'em s in water with, and stars, and ant-eggs, and all sorts of games, you know.
wo n't it be a jolly good present?"
said tommy, rather confusing microscopes and telescopes in his remarks.
""tip-top!
i'm so glad!
wo n't it cost a heap, though?"
cried nat, feeling that his friend was beginning to be appreciated.
""of course it will; but we are all going to give something.
i headed the paper with my five dollars; for if it is done at all, it must be done handsome."
""what!
all of it?
i never did see such a generous chap as you are;" and nat beamed upon him with sincere admiration.
""well, you see, i've been so bothered with my property, that i'm tired of it, and do n't mean to save up any more, but give it away as i go along, and then nobody will envy me, or want to steal it, and i sha n't be suspecting folks and worrying about my old cash," replied tommy, on whom the cares and anxieties of a millionaire weighed heavily.
""will mr. bhaer let you do it?"
""he thought it was a first-rate plan, and said that some of the best men he knew preferred to do good with their money instead of laying it up to be squabbled over when they died."
""your father is rich; does he do that way?"
""i'm not sure; he gives me all i want; i know that much.
i'm going to talk to him about it when i go home.
anyhow, i shall set him a good example;" and tommy was so serious, that nat did not dare to laugh, but said, respectfully, "you will be able to do ever so much with your money, wo n't you?"
""so mr. bhaer said, and he promised to advise me about useful ways of spending it.
i'm going to begin with dan; and next time i get a dollar or so, i shall do something for dick, he's such a good little chap, and only has a cent a week for pocket-money.
he ca n't earn much, you know; so i'm going to kind of see to him;" and good-hearted tommy quite longed to begin.
""i think that's a beautiful plan, and i'm not going to try to buy a fiddle any more; i'm going to get dan his net all myself, and if there is any money left, i'll do something to please poor billy.
he's fond of me, and though he is n't poor, he'd like some little thing from me, because i can make out what he wants better than the rest of you."
and nat fell to wondering how much happiness could be got out of his precious three dollars.
""so i would.
now come and ask mr. bhaer if you ca n't go in town with me on monday afternoon, so you can get the net, while i get the microscope.
franz and emil are going too, and we'll have a jolly time larking round among the shops."
the lads walked away arm-in-arm, discussing the new plans with droll importance, yet beginning already to feel the sweet satisfaction which comes to those who try, no matter how humbly, to be earthly providences to the poor and helpless, and gild their mite with the gold of charity before it is laid up where thieves can not break through and steal.
""come up and rest while we sort the leaves; it's so cool and pleasant here," said demi, as he and dan came sauntering home from a long walk in the woods.
""all right!"
answered dan, who was a boy of few words, and up they went.
""what makes birch leaves shake so much more than the others?"
asked inquiring demi, who was always sure of an answer from dan.
""they are hung differently.
do n't you see the stem where it joins the leaf is sort of pinched one way, and where it joins the twig, it is pinched another.
this makes it waggle with the least bit of wind, but the elm leaves hang straight, and keep stiller."
""how curious!
will this do so?"
and demi held up a sprig of acacia, which he had broken from a little tree on the lawn, because it was so pretty.
""no; that belongs to the sort that shuts up when you touch it.
draw your finger down the middle of the stem, and see if the leaves do n't curl up," said dan, who was examining a bit of mica.
demi tried it, and presently the little leaves did fold together, till the spray showed a single instead of a double line of leaves.
""i like that; tell me about the others.
what do these do?"
asked demi, taking up a new branch.
""feed silk-worms; they live on mulberry leaves, till they begin to spin themselves up.
i was in a silk-factory once, and there were rooms full of shelves all covered with leaves, and worms eating them so fast that it made a rustle.
sometimes they eat so much they die.
tell that to stuffy," and dan laughed, as he took up another bit of rock with a lichen on it.
""i know one thing about this mullein leaf: the fairies use them for blankets," said demi, who had not quite given up his faith in the existence of the little folk in green.
""if i had a microscope, i'd show you something prettier than fairies," said dan, wondering if he should ever own that coveted treasure.
""i knew an old woman who used mullein leaves for a night-cap because she had face-ache.
she sewed them together, and wore it all the time."
""how funny!
was she your grandmother?"
""never had any.
she was a queer old woman, and lived alone in a little tumble-down house with nineteen cats.
folks called her a witch, but she was n't, though she looked like an old rag-bag.
she was real kind to me when i lived in that place, and used to let me get warm at her fire when the folks at the poorhouse were hard on me."
""did you live in a poorhouse?"
""a little while.
never mind that i did n't mean to speak of it;" and dan stopped short in his unusual fit of communicativeness.
""tell about the cats, please," said demi, feeling that he had asked an unpleasant question, and sorry for it.
""nothing to tell; only she had a lot of'em, and kept'em in a barrel nights; and i used to go and tip over the barrel sometimes, and let'em out all over the house, and then she'd scold, and chase'em and put'em in again, spitting and yowling like fury."
""was she good to them?"
asked demi, with a hearty child's laugh, pleasant to hear.
""guess she was.
poor old soul!
she took in all the lost and sick cats in the town; and when anybody wanted one they went to marm webber, and she let'em pick any kind and color they wanted, and only asked ninepence, she was glad to have her pussies get a good home."
""i should like to see marm webber.
could i, if i went to that place?"
""she's dead.
all my folks are," said dan, briefly.
""i'm sorry;" and demi sat silent a minute, wondering what subject would be safe to try next.
he felt delicate about speaking of the departed lady, but was very curious about the cats, and could not resist asking softly, "did she cure the sick ones?"
""sometimes.
one had a broken leg, and she tied it up to a stick, and it got well; and another had fits, and she doctored it with yarbs till it was cured.
but some of'em died, and she buried'em; and when they could n't get well, she killed'em easy."
""how?"
asked demi, feeling that there was a peculiar charm about this old woman, and some sort of joke about the cats, because dan was smiling to himself.
""a kind lady, who was fond of cats, told her how, and gave her some stuff, and sent all her own pussies to be killed that way.
marm used to put a sponge wet with ether, in the bottom of an old boot, then poke puss in head downwards.
the ether put her to sleep in a jiffy, and she was drowned in warm water before she woke up."
""i hope the cats did n't feel it.
i shall tell daisy about that.
you have known a great many interesting things, have n't you?"
asked demi, and fell to meditating on the vast experience of a boy who had run away more than once, and taken care of himself in a big city.
""wish i had n't sometimes."
""why?
do n't remembering them feel good?"
""no."
""it's very singular how hard it is to manage your mind," said demi, clasping his hands round his knees, and looking up at the sky as if for information upon his favorite topic.
""devilish hard no, i do n't mean that;" and dan bit his lips, for the forbidden word slipped out in spite of him, and he wanted to be more careful with demi than with any of the other boys.
""i'll play i did n't hear it," said demi; "and you wo n't do it again, i'm sure."
""not if i can help it.
that's one of the things i do n't want to remember.
i keep pegging away, but it do n't seem to do much good;" and dan looked discouraged.
""yes, it does.
you do n't say half so many bad words as you used to; and aunt jo is pleased, because she said it was a hard habit to break up."
""did she?"
and dan cheered up a bit.
""you must put swearing away in your fault-drawer, and lock it up; that's the way i do with my badness."
""what do you mean?"
asked dan, looking as if he found demi almost as amusing as a new sort of cockchafer or beetle.
""well, it's one of my private plays, and i'll tell you, but i think you'll laugh at it," began demi, glad to hold forth on this congenial subject.
""i play that my mind is a round room, and my soul is a little sort of creature with wings that lives in it.
the walls are full of shelves and drawers, and in them i keep my thoughts, and my goodness and badness, and all sorts of things.
the goods i keep where i can see them, and the bads i lock up tight, but they get out, and i have to keep putting them in and squeezing them down, they are so strong.
the thoughts i play with when i am alone or in bed, and i make up and do what i like with them.
every sunday i put my room in order, and talk with the little spirit that lives there, and tell him what to do.
he is very bad sometimes, and wo n't mind me, and i have to scold him, and take him to grandpa.
he always makes him behave, and be sorry for his faults, because grandpa likes this play, and gives me nice things to put in the drawers, and tells me how to shut up the naughties.
had n't you better try that way?
it's a very good one;" and demi looked so earnest and full of faith, that dan did not laugh at his quaint fancy, but said, soberly, "i do n't think there is a lock strong enough to keep my badness shut up.
any way my room is in such a clutter i do n't know how to clear it up."
""you keep your drawers in the cabinet all spandy nice; why ca n't you do the others?"
""i ai n't used to it.
will you show me how?"
and dan looked as if inclined to try demi's childish way of keeping a soul in order.
""i'd love to, but i do n't know how, except to talk as grandpa does.
i ca n't do it good like him, but i'll try."
""do n't tell any one; only now and then we'll come here and talk things over, and i'll pay you for it by telling all i know about my sort of things.
will that do?"
and dan held out his big, rough hand.
demi gave his smooth, little hand readily, and the league was made; for in the happy, peaceful world where the younger boy lived, lions and lambs played together, and little children innocently taught their elders.
""hush!"
said dan, pointing toward the house, as demi was about to indulge in another discourse on the best way of getting badness down, and keeping it down; and peeping from their perch, they saw mrs. jo strolling slowly along, reading as she went, while teddy trotted behind her, dragging a little cart upside down.
""wait till they see us," whispered demi, and both sat still as the pair came nearer, mrs. jo so absorbed in her book that she would have walked into the brook if teddy had not stopped her by saying, "marmar, i wanter fis."
mrs. jo put down the charming book which she had been trying to read for a week, and looked about her for a fishing-pole, being used to making toys out of nothing.
before she had broken one from the hedge, a slender willow bough fell at her feet; and, looking up, she saw the boys laughing in the nest.
""up!
up!"
cried teddy, stretching his arms and flapping his skirts as if about to fly.
""i'll come down and you come up.
i must go to daisy now;" and demi departed to rehearse the tale of the nineteen cats, with the exciting boot-and-barrel episodes.
teddy was speedily whisked up; and then dan said, laughing, "come, too; there's plenty of room.
i'll lend you a hand."
mrs. jo glanced over her shoulder, but no one was in sight; and rather liking the joke of the thing, she laughed back, saying, "well, if you wo n't mention it, i think i will;" and with two nimble steps was in the willow.
""i have n't climbed a tree since i was married.
i used to be very fond of it when i was a girl," she said, looking well-pleased with her shady perch.
""now, you read if you want to, and i'll take care of teddy," proposed dan, beginning to make a fishing-rod for impatient baby.
""i do n't think i care about it now.
what were you and demi at up here?"
asked mrs. jo, thinking, from the sober look on dan's face, that he had something on his mind.
""oh!
we were talking.
i'd been telling him about leaves and things, and he was telling me some of his queer plays.
now, then, major, fish away;" and dan finished off his work by putting a big blue fly on the bent pin which hung at the end of the cord he had tied to the willow-rod.
teddy leaned down from the tree, and was soon wrapt up in watching for the fish which he felt sure would come.
dan held him by his little petticoats, lest he should take a "header" into the brook, and mrs. jo soon won him to talk by doing so herself.
""i am so glad you told demi about "leaves and things;" it is just what he needs; and i wish you would teach him, and take him to walk with you."
""i'd like to, he is so bright; but --" "but what?"
""i did n't think you'd trust me."
""why not?"
""well, demi is so kind of precious, and so good, and i'm such a bad lot, i thought you'd keep him away from me."
""but you are not a "bad lot," as you say; and i do trust you, dan, entirely, because you honestly try to improve, and do better and better every week."
""really?"
and dan looked up at her with the cloud of despondency lifting from his face.
""yes; do n't you feel it?"
""i hoped so, but i did n't know."
""i have been waiting and watching quietly, for i thought i'd give you a good trial first; and if you stood it, i would give you the best reward i had.
you have stood it well; and now i'm going to trust not only demi, but my own boy, to you, because you can teach them some things better than any of us."
""can i?"
and dan looked amazed at the idea.
""demi has lived among older people so much that he needs just what you have knowledge of common things, strength, and courage.
he thinks you are the bravest boy he ever saw, and admires your strong way of doing things.
then you know a great deal about natural objects, and can tell him more wonderful tales of birds, and bees, and leaves, and animals, than his story-books give him; and, being true, these stories will teach and do him good.
do n't you see now how much you can help him, and why i like to have him with you?"
""but i swear sometimes, and might tell him something wrong.
i would n't mean to, but it might slip out, just as "devil" did a few minutes ago," said dan, anxious to do his duty, and let her know his shortcomings.
""i know you try not to say or do any thing to harm the little fellow, and here is where i think demi will help you, because he is so innocent and wise in his small way, and has what i am trying to give you, dear, good principles.
it is never too early to try and plant them in a child, and never too late to cultivate them in the most neglected person.
you are only boys yet; you can teach one another.
demi will unconsciously strengthen your moral sense, you will strengthen his common sense, and i shall feel as if i had helped you both."
words could not express how pleased and touched dan was by this confidence and praise.
no one had ever trusted him before, no one had cared to find out and foster the good in him, and no one had suspected how much there was hidden away in the breast of the neglected boy, going fast to ruin, yet quick to feel and value sympathy and help.
no honor that he might earn hereafter would ever be half so precious as the right to teach his few virtues and small store of learning to the child whom he most respected; and no more powerful restraint could have been imposed upon him than the innocent companion confided to his care.
he found courage now to tell mrs. jo of the plan already made with demi, and she was glad that the first step had been so naturally taken.
every thing seemed to be working well for dan, and she rejoiced over him, because it had seemed a hard task, yet, working on with a firm belief in the possibility of reformation in far older and worse subjects than he, there had come this quick and hopeful change to encourage her.
he felt that he had friends now and a place in the world, something to live and work for, and, though he said little, all that was best and bravest in a character made old by a hard experience responded to the love and faith bestowed on him, and dan's salvation was assured.
their quiet talk was interrupted by a shout of delight from teddy, who, to the surprise of every one, did actually catch a trout where no trout had been seen for years.
he was so enchanted with his splendid success that he insisted on showing his prize to the family before asia cooked it for supper; so the three descended and went happily away together, all satisfied with the work of that half hour.
ned was the next visitor to the tree, but he only made a short stay, sitting there at his ease while dick and dolly caught a pailful of grasshoppers and crickets for him.
he wanted to play a joke on tommy, and intended to tuck up a few dozen of the lively creatures in his bed, so that when bangs got in he would speedily tumble out again, and pass a portion of the night in chasing "hopper-grasses" round the room.
the hunt was soon over, and having paid the hunters with a few peppermints apiece ned retired to make tommy's bed.
for an hour the old willow sighed and sung to itself, talked with the brook, and watched the lengthening shadows as the sun went down.
the first rosy color was touching its graceful branches when a boy came stealing up the avenue, across the lawn, and, spying billy by the brook-side, went to him, saying, in a mysterious tone, "go and tell mr. bhaer i want to see him down here, please.
do n't let any one hear."
billy nodded and ran off, while the boy swung himself up into the tree, and sat there looking anxious, yet evidently feeling the charm of the place and hour.
in five minutes, mr. bhaer appeared, and, stepping up on the fence, leaned into the nest, saying, kindly, "i am glad to see you, jack; but why not come in and meet us all at once?"
""i wanted to see you first, please, sir.
uncle made me come back.
i know i do n't deserve any thing, but i hope the fellows wo n't be hard upon me."
poor jack did not get on very well, but it was evident that he was sorry and ashamed, and wanted to be received as easily as possible; for his uncle had thrashed him well and scolded him soundly for following the example he himself set.
jack had begged not to be sent back, but the school was cheap, and mr. ford insisted, so the boy returned as quietly as possible, and took refuge behind mr. bhaer.
""i hope not, but i ca n't answer for them, though i will see that they are not unjust.
i think, as dan and nat have suffered so much, being innocent, you should suffer something, being guilty.
do n't you?"
asked mr. bhaer, pitying jack, yet feeling he deserved punishment for a fault which had so little excuse.
""i suppose so, but i sent tommy's money back, and i said i was sorry, is n't that enough?"
said jack, rather sullenly; for the boy who could do so mean a thing was not brave enough to bear the consequences well.
""no; i think you should ask pardon of all three boys, openly and honestly.
you can not expect them to respect and trust you for a time, but you can live down this disgrace if you try, and i will help you.
stealing and lying are detestable sins, and i hope this will be a lesson to you.
i am glad you are ashamed, it is a good sign; bear it patiently, and do your best to earn a better reputation."
""i'll have an auction, and sell off all my goods dirt cheap," said jack, showing his repentance in the most characteristic way.
""i think it would be better to give them away, and begin on a new foundation.
take "honesty is the best policy" for your motto, and live up to it in act, and word, and thought, and though you do n't make a cent of money this summer, you will be a rich boy in the autumn," said mr. bhaer, earnestly.
it was hard, but jack consented, for he really felt that cheating did n't pay, and wanted to win back the friendship of the boys.
his heart clung to his possessions, and he groaned inwardly at the thought of actually giving away certain precious things.
asking pardon publicly was easy compared to this; but then he began to discover that certain other things, invisible, but most valuable, were better property than knives, fish-hooks, or even money itself.
so he decided to buy up a little integrity, even at a high price, and secure the respect of his playmates, though it was not a salable article.
""well, i'll do it," he said, with a sudden air of resolution, which pleased mr. bhaer.
""good!
and i'll stand by you.
now come and begin at once."
and father bhaer led the bankrupt boy back into the little world, which received him coldly at first, but slowly warmed to him, when he showed that he had profited by the lesson, and was sincerely anxious to go into a better business with a new stock-in-trade.
chapter xvi.
taming the colt "what in the world is that boy doing?"
said mrs. jo to herself, as she watched dan running round the half-mile triangle as if for a wager.
he was all alone, and seemed possessed by some strange desire to run himself into a fever, or break his neck; for, after several rounds, he tried leaping walls, and turning somersaults up the avenue, and finally dropped down on the grass before the door as if exhausted.
""are you training for a race, dan?"
asked mrs. jo, from the window where she sat.
he looked up quickly, and stopped panting to answer, with a laugh, "no; i'm only working off my steam."
""ca n't you find a cooler way of doing it?
you will be ill if you tear about so in such warm weather," said mrs. jo, laughing also, as she threw him out a great palm-leaf fan.
""ca n't help it.
i must run somewhere," answered dan, with such an odd expression in his restless eyes, that mrs. jo was troubled, and asked, quickly, "is plumfield getting too narrow for you?"
""i would n't mind if it was a little bigger.
i like it though; only the fact is the devil gets into me sometimes, and then i do want to bolt."
the words seemed to come against his will, for he looked sorry the minute they were spoken, and seemed to think he deserved a reproof for his ingratitude.
but mrs. jo understood the feeling, and though sorry to see it, she could not blame the boy for confessing it.
she looked at him anxiously, seeing how tall and strong he had grown, how full of energy his face was, with its eager eyes and resolute mouth; and remembering the utter freedom he had known for years before, she felt how even the gentle restraint of this home would weigh upon him at times when the old lawless spirit stirred in him.
""yes," she said to herself, "my wild hawk needs a larger cage; and yet, if i let him go, i am afraid he will be lost.
i must try and find some lure strong enough to keep him safe."
""i know all about it," she added, aloud.
""it is not "the devil," as you call it, but the very natural desire of all young people for liberty.
i used to feel just so, and once, i really did think for a minute that i would bolt."
""why did n't you?"
said dan, coming to lean on the low window-ledge, with an evident desire to continue the subject.
""i knew it was foolish, and love for my mother kept me at home."
""i have n't got any mother," began dan.
""i thought you had now," said mrs. jo, gently stroking the rough hair off his hot forehead.
""you are no end good to me, and i ca n't ever thank you enough, but it just is n't the same, is it?"
and dan looked up at her with a wistful, hungry look that went to her heart.
""no, dear, it is not the same, and never can be.
i think an own mother would have been a great deal to you.
but as that can not be, you must try to let me fill her place.
i fear i have not done all i ought, or you would not want to leave me," she added, sorrowfully.
""yes, you have!"
cried dan, eagerly.
""i do n't want to go, and i wo n't go, if i can help it; but every now and then i feel as if i must burst out somehow.
i want to run straight ahead somewhere, to smash something, or pitch into somebody.
do n't know why, but i do, and that's all about it."
dan laughed as he spoke, but he meant what he said, for he knit his black brows, and brought down his fist on the ledge with such force, that mrs. jo's thimble flew off into the grass.
he brought it back, and as she took it she held the big, brown hand a minute, saying, with a look that showed the words cost her something, "well, dan, run if you must, but do n't run very far; and come back to me soon, for i want you very much."
he was rather taken aback by this unexpected permission to play truant, and somehow it seemed to lessen his desire to go.
he did not understand why, but mrs. jo did, and, knowing the natural perversity of the human mind, counted on it to help her now.
she felt instinctively that the more the boy was restrained the more he would fret against it; but leave him free, and the mere sense of liberty would content him, joined to the knowledge that his presence was dear to those whom he loved best.
it was a little experiment, but it succeeded, for dan stood silent a moment, unconsciously picking the fan to pieces and turning the matter over in his mind.
he felt that she appealed to his heart and his honor, and owned that he understood it by saying presently, with a mixture of regret and resolution in his face, "i wo n't go yet awhile, and i'll give you fair warning before i bolt.
that's fair, is n't it?"
""yes, we will let it stand so.
now, i want to see if i ca n't find some way for you to work off your steam better than running about the place like a mad dog, spoiling my fans, or fighting with the boys.
what can we invent?"
and while dan tried to repair the mischief he had done, mrs. jo racked her brain for some new device to keep her truant safe until he had learned to love his lessons better.
""how would you like to be my express-man?"
she said, as a sudden thought popped into her head.
""go into town, and do the errands?"
asked dan, looking interested at once.
""yes; franz is tired of it, silas can not be spared just now, and mr. bhaer has no time.
old andy is a safe horse, you are a good driver, and know your way about the city as well as a postman.
suppose you try it, and see if it wo n't do most as well to drive away two or three times a week as to run away once a month."
""i'd like it ever so much, only i must go alone and do it all myself.
i do n't want any of the other fellows bothering round," said dan, taking to the new idea so kindly that he began to put on business airs already.
""if mr. bhaer does not object you shall have it all your own way.
i suppose emil will growl, but he can not be trusted with horses, and you can.
by the way, to-morrow is market-day, and i must make out my list.
you had better see that the wagon is in order, and tell silas to have the fruit and vegetables ready for mother.
you will have to be up early and get back in time for school, can you do that?"
""i'm always an early bird, so i do n't mind," and dan slung on his jacket with despatch.
""the early bird got the worm this time, i'm sure," said mrs. jo, merrily.
""and a jolly good worm it is," answered dan, as he went laughing away to put a new lash to the whip, wash the wagon, and order silas about with all the importance of a young express-man.
""before he is tired of this i will find something else and have it ready when the next restless fit comes on," said mrs. jo to herself, as she wrote her list with a deep sense of gratitude that all her boys were not dans.
mr. bhaer did not entirely approve of the new plan, but agreed to give it a trial, which put dan on his mettle, and caused him to give up certain wild plans of his own, in which the new lash and the long hill were to have borne a part.
he was up and away very early the next morning, heroically resisting the temptation to race with the milkmen going into town.
once there, he did his errands carefully, to mr. bhaer's surprise and mrs. jo's great satisfaction.
the commodore did growl at dan's promotion, but was pacified by a superior padlock to his new boat-house, and the thought that seamen were meant for higher honors than driving market-wagons and doing family errands.
so dan filled his new office well and contentedly for weeks, and said no more about bolting.
but one day mr. bhaer found him pummelling jack, who was roaring for mercy under his knee.
""why, dan, i thought you had given up fighting," he said, as he went to the rescue.
""we ai n't fighting, we are only wrestling," answered dan, leaving off reluctantly.
""it looks very much like it, and feels like it, hey, jack?"
said mr. bhaer, as the defeated gentleman got upon his legs with difficulty.
""catch me wrestling with him again.
he's most knocked my head off," snarled jack, holding on to that portion of his frame as if it really was loose upon his shoulders.
""the fact is, we began in fun, but when i got him down i could n't help pounding him.
sorry i hurt you, old fellow," explained dan, looking rather ashamed of himself.
""i understand.
the longing to pitch into somebody was so strong you could n't resist.
you are a sort of berserker, dan, and something to tussle with is as necessary to you as music is to nat," said mr. bhaer, who knew all about the conversation between the boy and mrs. jo.
""ca n't help it.
so if you do n't want to be pounded you'd better keep out of the way," answered dan, with a warning look in his black eyes that made jack sheer off in haste.
""if you want something to wrestle with, i will give you a tougher specimen than jack," said mr. bhaer; and, leading the way to the wood-yard, he pointed out certain roots of trees that had been grubbed up in the spring, and had been lying there waiting to be split.
""there, when you feel inclined to maltreat the boys, just come and work off your energies here, and i'll thank you for it."
""so i will;" and, seizing the axe that lay near dan hauled out a tough root, and went at it so vigorously, that the chips flew far and wide, and mr. bhaer fled for his life.
to his great amusement, dan took him at his word, and was often seen wrestling with the ungainly knots, hat and jacket off, red face, and wrathful eyes; for he got into royal rages over some of his adversaries, and swore at them under his breath till he had conquered them, when he exulted, and marched off to the shed with an armful of gnarled oak-wood in triumph.
he blistered his hands, tired his back, and dulled the axe, but it did him good, and he got more comfort out of the ugly roots than any one dreamed, for with each blow he worked off some of the pent-up power that would otherwise have been expended in some less harmless way.
""when this is gone i really do n't know what i shall do," said mrs. jo to herself, for no inspiration came, and she was at the end of her resources.
but dan found a new occupation for himself, and enjoyed it some time before any one discovered the cause of his contentment.
a fine young horse of mr. laurie's was kept at plumfield that summer, running loose in a large pasture across the brook.
the boys were all interested in the handsome, spirited creature, and for a time were fond of watching him gallop and frisk with his plumey tail flying, and his handsome head in the air.
but they soon got tired of it, and left prince charlie to himself.
all but dan, he never tired of looking at the horse, and seldom failed to visit him each day with a lump of sugar, a bit of bread, or an apple to make him welcome.
charlie was grateful, accepted his friendship, and the two loved one another as if they felt some tie between them, inexplicable but strong.
in whatever part of the wide field he might be, charlie always came at full speed when dan whistled at the bars, and the boy was never happier than when the beautiful, fleet creature put its head on his shoulder, looking up at him with fine eyes full of intelligent affection.
""we understand one another without any palaver, do n't we, old fellow?"
dan would say, proud of the horse's confidence, and, so jealous of his regard, that he told no one how well the friendship prospered, and never asked anybody but teddy to accompany him on these daily visits.
mr. laurie came now and then to see how charlie got on, and spoke of having him broken to harness in the autumn.
""he wo n't need much taming, he is such a gentle, fine-tempered brute.
i shall come out and try him with a saddle myself some day," he said, on one of these visits.
""he lets me put a halter on him, but i do n't believe he will bear a saddle even if you put it on," answered dan, who never failed to be present when charlie and his master met.
""i shall coax him to bear it, and not mind a few tumbles at first.
he has never been harshly treated, so, though he will be surprised at the new performance, i think he wo n't be frightened, and his antics will do no harm."
""i wonder what he would do," said dan to himself, as mr. laurie went away with the professor, and charlie returned to the bars, from which he had retired when the gentlemen came up.
a daring fancy to try the experiment took possession of the boy as he sat on the topmost rail with the glossy back temptingly near him.
never thinking of danger, he obeyed the impulse, and while charlie unsuspectingly nibbled at the apple he held, dan quickly and quietly took his seat.
he did not keep it long, however, for with an astonished snort, charlie reared straight up, and deposited dan on the ground.
the fall did not hurt him, for the turf was soft, and he jumped up, saying, with a laugh, "i did it anyway!
come here, you rascal, and i'll try it again."
but charlie declined to approach, and dan left him resolving to succeed in the end; for a struggle like this suited him exactly.
next time he took a halter, and having got it on, he played with the horse for a while, leading him to and fro, and putting him through various antics till he was a little tired; then dan sat on the wall and gave him bread, but watched his chance, and getting a good grip of the halter, slipped on to his back.
charlie tried the old trick, but dan held on, having had practice with toby, who occasionally had an obstinate fit, and tried to shake off his rider.
charlie was both amazed and indignant; and after prancing for a minute, set off at a gallop, and away went dan heels over head.
if he had not belonged to the class of boys who go through all sorts of dangers unscathed, he would have broken his neck; as it was, he got a heavy fall, and lay still collecting his wits, while charlie tore round the field tossing his head with every sign of satisfaction at the discomfiture of his rider.
presently it seemed to occur to him that something was wrong with dan, and, being of a magnanimous nature, he went to see what the matter was.
dan let him sniff about and perplex himself for a few minutes; then he looked up at him, saying, as decidedly as if the horse could understand, "you think you have beaten, but you are mistaken, old boy; and i'll ride you yet see if i do n't."
he tried no more that day, but soon after attempted a new method of introducing charlie to a burden.
he strapped a folded blanket on his back, and then let him race, and rear, and roll, and fume as much as he liked.
after a few fits of rebellion charlie submitted, and in a few days permitted dan to mount him, often stopped short to look round, as if he said, half patiently, half reproachfully, "i do n't understand it, but i suppose you mean no harm, so i permit the liberty."
dan patted and praised him, and took a short turn every day, getting frequent falls, but persisting in spite of them, and longing to try a saddle and bridle, but not daring to confess what he had done.
he had his wish, however, for there had been a witness of his pranks who said a good word for him.
""do you know what that chap has ben doin" lately?"
asked silas of his master, one evening, as he received his orders for the next day.
""which boy?"
said mr. bhaer, with an air of resignation, expecting some sad revelation.
""dan, he's ben a breaking the colt, sir, and i wish i may die if he ai n't done it," answered silas, chuckling.
""how do you know?"
""wal, i kinder keep an eye on the little fellers, and most gen "lly know what they're up to; so when dan kep going off to the paster, and coming home black and blue, i mistrusted that suthing was goin" on.
i did n't say nothin", but i crep up into the barn chamber, and from there i see him goin" through all manner of games with charlie.
blest if he war n't throwed time and agin, and knocked round like a bag o" meal.
but the pluck of that boy did beat all, and he "peared to like it, and kep on as ef bound to beat."
""but, silas, you should have stopped it the boy might have been killed," said mr. bhaer, wondering what freak his irrepressibles would take into their heads next.
""s'pose i oughter; but there war n't no real danger, for charlie ai n't no tricks, and is as pretty a tempered horse as ever i see.
fact was, i could n't bear to spile sport, for ef there's any thing i do admire it's grit, and dan is chock full on "t.
but now i know he's hankerin" after a saddle, and yet wo n't take even the old one on the sly; so i just thought i'd up and tell, and may be you'd let him try what he can do.
mr. laurie wo n't mind, and charlie's all the better for "t." "we shall see;" and off went mr. bhaer to inquire into the matter.
dan owned up at once, and proudly proved that silas was right by showing off his power over charlie; for by dint of much coaxing, many carrots, and infinite perseverance, he really had succeeded in riding the colt with a halter and blanket.
mr. laurie was much amused, and well pleased with dan's courage and skill, and let him have a hand in all future performances; for he set about charlie's education at once, saying that he was not going to be outdone by a slip of a boy.
thanks to dan, charlie took kindly to the saddle and bridle when he had once reconciled himself to the indignity of the bit; and after mr. laurie had trained him a little, dan was permitted to ride him, to the great envy and admiration of the other boys.
""is n't he handsome?
and do n't he mind me like a lamb?"
said dan one day as he dismounted and stood with his arm round charlie's neck.
""yes, and is n't he a much more useful and agreeable animal than the wild colt who spent his days racing about the field, jumping fences, and running away now and then?"
asked mrs. bhaer from the steps where she always appeared when dan performed with charlie.
""of course he is.
see he wo n't run away now, even if i do n't hold him, and he comes to me the minute i whistle; i have tamed him well, have n't i?"
and dan looked both proud and pleased, as well he might, for, in spite of their struggles together, charlie loved him better than his master.
""i am taming a colt too, and i think i shall succeed as well as you if i am as patient and persevering," said mrs. jo, smiling so significantly at him, that dan understood and answered, laughing, yet in earnest, "we wo n't jump over the fence and run away, but stay and let them make a handsome, useful span of us, hey, charlie?"
chapter xvii.
composition day "hurry up, boys, it's three o'clock, and uncle fritz likes us to be punctual, you know," said franz one wednesday afternoon as a bell rang, and a stream of literary-looking young gentlemen with books and paper in their hands were seen going toward the museum.
tommy was in the school-room, bending over his desk, much bedaubed with ink, flushed with the ardor of inspiration, and in a great hurry as usual, for easy-going bangs never was ready till the very last minute.
as franz passed the door looking up laggards, tommy gave one last blot and flourish, and departed out the window, waving his paper to dry as he went.
nan followed, looking very important, with a large roll in her hand, and demi escorted daisy, both evidently brimful of some delightful secret.
the museum was all in order, and the sunshine among the hop-vines made pretty shadows on the floor as it peeped through the great window.
on one side sat mr. and mrs. bhaer, on the other was a little table on which the compositions were laid as soon as read, and in a large semicircle sat the children on camp-stools which occasionally shut up and let the sitter down, thus preventing any stiffness in the assembly.
as it took too much time to have all read, they took turns, and on this wednesday the younger pupils were the chief performers, while the elder ones listened with condescension and criticised freely.
""ladies first; so nan may begin," said mr. bhaer, when the settling of stools and rustling of papers had subsided.
nan took her place beside the little table, and, with a preliminary giggle, read the following interesting essay on, "the sponge "the sponge, my friends, is a most useful and interesting plant.
it grows on rocks under the water, and is a kind of sea-weed, i believe.
people go and pick it and dry it and wash it, because little fish and insects live in the holes of the sponge; i found shells in my new one, and sand.
some are very fine and soft; babies are washed with them.
the sponge has many uses.
i will relate some of them, and i hope my friends will remember what i say.
one use is to wash the face; i do n't like it myself, but i do it because i wish to be clean.
some people do n't, and they are dirty."
here the eye of the reader rested sternly upon dick and dolly, who quailed under it, and instantly resolved to scrub themselves virtuously on all occasions.
""another use is to wake people up; i allude to boys par-tic-u-lar-ly."
another pause after the long word to enjoy the smothered laugh that went round the room.
""some boys do not get up when called, and mary ann squeezes the water out of a wet sponge on their faces, and it makes them so mad they wake up."
here the laugh broke out, and emil said, as if he had been hit, "seems to me you are wandering from the subject."
""no, i ai n't; we are to write about vegetables or animals, and i'm doing both: for boys are animals, are n't they?"
cried nan; and, undaunted by the indignant "no!"
shouted at her, she calmly proceeded, "one more interesting thing is done with sponges, and this is when doctors put ether on it, and hold it to people's noses when they have teeth out.
i shall do this when i am bigger, and give ether to the sick, so they will go to sleep and not feel me cut off their legs and arms."
""i know somebody who killed cats with it," called out demi, but was promptly crushed by dan, who upset his camp-stool and put a hat over his face.
""i will not be interruckted," said nan, frowning upon the unseemly scrimmagers.
order was instantly restored, and the young lady closed her remarks as follows: "my composition has three morals, my friends."
somebody groaned, but no notice was taken of the insult.
""first, is keep your faces clean second, get up early third, when the ether sponge is put over your nose, breathe hard and do n't kick, and your teeth will come out easy.
i have no more to say."
and miss nan sat down amid tumultuous applause.
""that is a very remarkable composition; its tone is high, and there is a good deal of humor in it.
very well done, nan.
now, daisy," and mr. bhaer smiled at one young lady as he beckoned the other.
daisy colored prettily as she took her place, and said, in her modest little voice, "i'm afraid you wo n't like mine; it is n't nice and funny like nan's.
but i could n't do any better."
""we always like yours, posy," said uncle fritz, and a gentle murmur from the boys seemed to confirm the remark.
thus encouraged, daisy read her little paper, which was listened to with respectful attention.
""the cat "the cat is a sweet animal.
i love them very much.
they are clean and pretty, and catch rats and mice, and let you pet them, and are fond of you if you are kind.
they are very wise, and can find their way anywhere.
little cats are called kittens, and are dear things.
i have two, named huz and buz, and their mother is topaz, because she has yellow eyes.
uncle told me a pretty story about a man named ma-ho-met.
he had a nice cat, and when she was asleep on his sleeve, and he wanted to go away, he cut off the sleeve so as not to wake her up.
i think he was a kind man.
some cats catch fish."
""so do i!"
cried teddy, jumping up eager to tell about his trout.
""hush!"
said his mother, setting him down again as quickly as possible, for orderly daisy hated to be "interruckted," as nan expressed it.
""i read about one who used to do it very slyly.
i tried to make topaz, but she did not like the water, and scratched me.
she does like tea, and when i play in my kitchen she pats the teapot with her paw, till i give her some.
she is a fine cat, she eats apple-pudding and molasses.
most cats do not."
""that's a first-rater," called out nat, and daisy retired, pleased with the praise of her friend.
""demi looks so impatient we must have him up at once or he wo n't hold out," said uncle fritz, and demi skipped up with alacrity.
""mine is a poem!"
he announced in a tone of triumph, and read his first effort in a loud and solemn voice: "i write about the butterfly, it is a pretty thing; and flies about like the birds, but it does not sing.
""first it is a little grub, and then it is a nice yellow cocoon, and then the butterfly eats its way out soon.
""they live on dew and honey, they do not have any hive, they do not sting like wasps, and bees, and hornets, and to be as good as they are we should strive.
""i should like to be a beautiful butterfly, all yellow, and blue, and green, and red; but i should not like to have dan put camphor on my poor little head."
this unusual burst of genius brought down the house, and demi was obliged to read it again, a somewhat difficult task, as there was no punctuation whatever, and the little poet's breath gave out before he got to the end of some of the long lines.
""he will be a shakespeare yet," said aunt jo, laughing as if she would die, for this poetic gem reminded her of one of her own, written at the age of ten, and beginning gloomily, "i wish i had a quiet tomb, beside a little rill; where birds, and bees, and butterflies, would sing upon the hill."
""come on, tommy.
if there is as much ink inside your paper as there is outside, it will be a long composition," said mr. bhaer, when demi had been induced to tear himself from his poem and sit down.
""it is n't a composition, it's a letter.
you see, i forgot all about its being my turn till after school, and then i did n't know what to have, and there was n't time to read up; so i thought you would n't mind my taking a letter that i wrote to my grandma.
it's got something about birds in it, so i thought it would do."
with this long excuse, tommy plunged into a sea of ink and floundered through, pausing now and then to decipher one of his own flourishes.
""my dear grandma, i hope you are well.
uncle james sent me a pocket rifle.
it is a beautiful little instrument of killing, shaped like this -lsb- here tommy displayed a remarkable sketch of what looked like an intricate pump, or the inside of a small steam-engine -rsb- 44 are the sights; 6 is a false stock that fits in at a; 3 is the trigger, and 2 is the cock.
it loads at the breech, and fires with great force and straightness.
i am going out shooting squirrels soon.
i shot several fine birds for the museum.
they had speckled breasts, and dan liked them very much.
he stuffed them tip-top, and they sit on the tree quite natural, only one looks a little tipsy.
we had a frenchman working here the other day, and asia called his name so funnily that i will tell you about it.
his name was germain: first she called him jerry, but we laughed at her, and she changed it to jeremiah; but ridicule was the result, so it became mr. germany; but ridicule having been again resumed, it became garrymon, which it has remained ever since.
i do not write often, i am so busy; but i think of you often, and sympathize with you, and sincerely hope you get on as well as can be expected without me.
your affectionate grandson, "thomas buckminster bangs.
""p.s.?
if you come across any postage-stamps, remember me.
""n.b. love to all, and a great deal to aunt almira.
does she make any nice plum-cakes now?
""p.s.?
mrs. bhaer sends her respects.
""p.s.?
and so would mr. b, if he knew i was in act to write.
""n.b. father is going to give me a watch on my birthday.
i am glad as at present i have no means of telling time, and am often late at school.
""p.s.?
i hope to see you soon.
do n't you wish to send for me?
""t. b. b." as each postscript was received with a fresh laugh from the boys, by the time he came to the sixth and last, tommy was so exhausted that he was glad to sit down and wipe his ruddy face.
""i hope the dear old lady will live through it," said mr. bhaer, under cover of the noise.
""we wo n't take any notice of the broad hint given in that last p.s..
the letter will be quite as much as she can bear without a visit from tommy," answered mrs. jo, remembering that the old lady usually took to her bed after a visitation from her irrepressible grandson.
""now, me," said teddy, who had learned a bit of poetry, and was so eager to say it that he had been bobbing up and down during the reading, and could no longer be restrained.
""i'm afraid he will forget it if he waits; and i have had a deal of trouble teaching him," said his mother.
teddy trotted to the rostrum, dropped a curtsey and nodded his head at the same time, as if anxious to suit every one; then, in his baby voice, and putting the emphasis on the wrong words, he said his verse all in one breath: "little drops of water, little drains of sand, mate a might okum -lrb- ocean -rrb-, and a peasant land.
""little words of kindness, pokin evvy day, make a home a hebbin, and hep us on a way."
clapping his hands at the end, he made another double salutation, and then ran to hide his head in his mother's lap, quite overcome by the success of his "piece," for the applause was tremendous.
dick and dolly did not write, but were encouraged to observe the habits of animals and insects, and report what they saw.
dick liked this, and always had a great deal to say; so, when his name was called, he marched up, and, looking at the audience with his bright confiding eyes, told his little story so earnestly that no one smiled at his crooked body, because the "straight soul" shone through it beautifully.
""i've been watching dragonflies, and i read about them in dan's book, and i'll try and tell you what i remember.
there's lots of them flying round on the pond, all blue, with big eyes, and sort of lace wings, very pretty.
i caught one, and looked at him, and i think he was the handsomest insect i ever saw.
they catch littler creatures than they are to eat, and have a queer kind of hook thing that folds up when they ai n't hunting.
it likes the sunshine, and dances round all day.
let me see!
what else was there to tell about?
oh, i know!
the eggs are laid in the water, and go down to the bottom, and are hatched in the mud.
little ugly things come out of'em; i ca n't say the name, but they are brown, and keep having new skins, and getting bigger and bigger.
only think!
it takes them two years to be a dragonfly!
now this is the curiousest part of it, so you listen tight, for i do n't believe you know it.
when it is ready it knows somehow, and the ugly, grubby thing climbs up out of the water on a flag or a bulrush, and bursts open its back."
""come, i do n't believe that," said tommy, who was not an observant boy, and really thought dick was "making up."
""it does burst open its back, do n't it?"
and dick appealed to mr. bhaer, who nodded a very decided affirmative, to the little speaker's great satisfaction.
""well, out comes the dragonfly, all whole, and he sits in the sun sort of coming alive, you know; and he gets strong, and then he spreads his pretty wings, and flies away up in the air, and never is a grub any more.
that's all i know; but i shall watch and try to see him do it, for i think it's splendid to turn into a beautiful dragonfly, do n't you?"
dick had told his story well, and, when he described the flight of the new-born insect, had waved his hands, and looked up as if he saw, and wanted to follow it.
something in his face suggested to the minds of the elder listeners the thought that some day little dick would have his wish, and after years of helplessness and pain would climb up into the sun some happy day, and, leaving his poor little body behind him, find a new lovely shape in a fairer world than this.
mrs. jo drew him to her side, and said, with a kiss on his thin cheek, "that is a sweet little story, dear, and you remembered it wonderfully well.
i shall write and tell your mother all about it;" and dick sat on her knee, contentedly smiling at the praise, and resolving to watch well, and catch the dragonfly in the act of leaving its old body for the new, and see how he did it.
dolly had a few remarks to make upon the "duck," and made them in a sing-song tone, for he had learned it by heart, and thought it a great plague to do it at all.
""wild ducks are hard to kill; men hide and shoot at them, and have tame ducks to quack and make the wild ones come where the men can fire at them.
they have wooden ducks made too, and they sail round, and the wild ones come to see them; they are stupid, i think.
our ducks are very tame.
they eat a great deal, and go poking round in the mud and water.
they do n't take good care of their eggs, but them spoil, and --" "mine do n't!"
cried tommy.
""well, some people's do; silas said so.
hens take good care of little ducks, only they do n't like to have them go in the water, and make a great fuss.
but the little ones do n't care a bit.
i like to eat ducks with stuffing in them and lots of apple-sauce."
""i have something to say about owls," began nat, who had carefully prepared a paper upon this subject with some help from dan.
""owls have big heads, round eyes, hooked bills, and strong claws.
some are gray, some white, some black and yellowish.
their feathers are very soft, and stick out a great deal.
they fly very quietly, and hunt bats, mice, little birds, and such things.
they build nests in barns, hollow trees, and some take the nests of other birds.
the great horned owl has two eggs bigger than a hen's and reddish brown.
the tawny owl has five eggs, white and smooth; and this is the kind that hoots at night.
another kind sounds like a child crying.
they eat mice and bats whole, and the parts that they can not digest they make into little balls and spit out."
""my gracious!
how funny!"
nan was heard to observe.
""they can not see by day; and if they get out into the light, they go flapping round half blind, and the other birds chase and peck at them, as if they were making fun.
the horned owl is very big, "most as big as the eagle.
it eats rabbits, rats, snakes, and birds; and lives in rocks and old tumble-down houses.
they have a good many cries, and scream like a person being choked, and say, "waugh o!
waugh o!"
and it scares people at night in the woods.
the white owl lives by the sea, and in cold places, and looks something like a hawk.
there is a kind of owl that makes holes to live in like moles.
it is called the burrowing owl, and is very small.
the barn-owl is the commonest kind; and i have watched one sitting in a hole in a tree, looking like a little gray cat, with one eye shut and the other open.
he comes out at dusk, and sits round waiting for the bats.
i caught one, and here he is."
with that nat suddenly produced from inside his jacket a little downy bird, who blinked and ruffled his feathers, looking very plump and sleepy and scared.
""do n't touch him!
he is going to show off," said nat, displaying his new pet with great pride.
first he put a cocked hat on the bird's head, and the boys laughed at the funny effect; then he added a pair of paper spectacles, and that gave the owl such a wise look that they shouted with merriment.
the performance closed with making the bird angry, and seeing him cling to a handkerchief upside down, pecking and "clucking," as rob called it.
he was allowed to fly after that, and settled himself on the bunch of pine-cones over the door, where he sat staring down at the company with an air of sleepy dignity that amused them very much.
""have you anything for us, george?"
asked mr. bhaer, when the room was still again.
""well, i read and learned ever so much about moles, but i declare i've forgotten every bit of it, except that they dig holes to live in, that you catch them by pouring water down, and that they ca n't possibly live without eating very often;" and stuffy sat down, wishing he had not been too lazy to write out his valuable observations, for a general smile went round when he mentioned the last of the three facts which lingered in his memory.
""then we are done for to-day," began mr. bhaer, but tommy called out in a great hurry, "no we ai n't.
do n't you know?
we must give the thing;" and he winked violently as he made an eye-glass of his fingers.
""bless my heart, i forgot!
now is your time, tom;" and mr. bhaer dropped into his seat again, while all the boys but dan looked mightily tickled at something.
nat, tommy, and demi left the room, and speedily returned with a little red morocco box set forth in state on mrs. jo's best silver salver.
tommy bore it, and, still escorted by nat and demi, marched up to unsuspecting dan, who stared at them as if he thought they were going to make fun of him.
tommy had prepared an elegant and impressive speech for the occasion, but when the minute came, it all went out of his head, and he just said, straight from his kindly boyish heart, "here, old fellow, we all wanted to give you something to kind of pay for what happened awhile ago, and to show how much we liked you for being such a trump.
please take it, and have a jolly good time with it."
dan was so surprised he could only get as red as the little box, and mutter, "thanky, boys!"
as he fumbled to open it.
but when he saw what was inside, his face lighted up, and he seized the long desired treasure, saying so enthusiastically that every one was satisfied, though is language was anything but polished, "what a stunner!
i say, you fellows are regular bricks to give me this; it's just what i wanted.
give us your paw, tommy."
many paws were given, and heartily shaken, for the boys were charmed with dan's pleasure, and crowded round him to shake hands and expatiate on the beauties of their gift.
in the midst of this pleasant chatter, dan's eye went to mrs. jo, who stood outside the group enjoying the scene with all her heart.
""no, i had nothing to do with it.
the boys got it up all themselves," she said, answering the grateful look that seemed to thank her for that happy moment.
dan smiled, and said, in a tone that only she could understand, "it's you all the same;" and making his way through the boys, he held out his hand first to her and then to the good professor, who was beaming benevolently on his flock.
he thanked them both with the silent, hearty squeeze he gave the kind hands that had held him up, and led him into the safe refuge of a happy home.
not a word was spoken, but they felt all he would say, and little teddy expressed his pleasure for them as he leaned from his father's arm to hug the boy, and say, in his baby way, "my dood danny!
everybody loves him now."
""come here, show off your spy-glass, dan, and let us see some of your magnified pollywogs and annymalcumisms as you call'em," said jack, who felt so uncomfortable during this scene that he would have slipped away if emil had not kept him.
""so i will, take a squint at that and see what you think of it," said dan, glad to show off his precious microscope.
he held it over a beetle that happened to be lying on the table, and jack bent down to take his squint, but looked up with an amazed face, saying, "my eye!
what nippers the old thing has got!
i see now why it hurts so confoundedly when you grab a dorbug and he grabs back again."
""he winked at me," cried nan, who had poked her head under jack's elbow and got the second peep.
every one took a look, and then dan showed them the lovely plumage on a moth's wing, the four feathery corners to a hair, the veins on a leaf, hardly visible to the naked eye, but like a thick net through the wonderful little glass; the skin on their own fingers, looking like queer hills and valleys; a cobweb like a bit of coarse sewing silk, and the sting of a bee.
""it's like the fairy spectacles in my story-book, only more curious," said demi, enchanted with the wonders he saw.
""dan is a magician now, and he can show you many miracles going on all round you; for he has two things needful patience and a love of nature.
we live in a beautiful and wonderful world, demi, and the more you know about it the wiser and the better you will be.
this little glass will give you a new set of teachers, and you may learn fine lessons from them if you will," said mr. bhaer, glad to see how interested the boys were in the matter.
""could i see anybody's soul with this microscope if i looked hard?"
asked demi, who was much impressed with the power of the bit of glass.
""no, dear; it's not powerful enough for that, and never can be made so.
you must wait a long while before your eyes are clear enough to see the most invisible of god's wonders.
but looking at the lovely things you can see will help you to understand the lovelier things you can not see," answered uncle fritz, with his hand on the boy's head.
""well, daisy and i both think that if there are any angels, their wings look like that butterfly's as we see it through the glass, only more soft and gold."
""believe it if you like, and keep your own little wings as bright and beautiful, only do n't fly away for a long time yet."
""no, i wo n't," and demi kept his word.
""good-by, my boys; i must go now, but i leave you with our new professor of natural history;" and mrs. jo went away well pleased with that composition day.
chapter xviii.
crops the gardens did well that summer, and in september the little crops were gathered in with much rejoicing.
jack and ned joined their farms and raised potatoes, those being a good salable article.
they got twelve bushels, counting little ones and all, and sold them to mr. bhaer at a fair price, for potatoes went fast in that house.
emil and franz devoted themselves to corn, and had a jolly little husking in the barn, after which they took their corn to the mill, and came proudly home with meal enough to supply the family with hasty-pudding and johnny-cake for a lone time.
they would not take money for their crop; because, as franz said, "we never can pay uncle for all he has done for us if we raised corn for the rest of our days."
nat had beans in such abundance that he despaired of ever shelling them, till mrs. jo proposed a new way, which succeeded admirably.
the dry pods were spread upon the barn-floor, nat fiddled, and the boys danced quadrilles on them, till they were thrashed out with much merriment and very little labor.
tommy's six weeks" beans were a failure; for a dry spell early in the season hurt them, because he gave them no water; and after that he was so sure that they could take care of themselves, he let the poor things struggle with bugs and weeds till they were exhausted and died a lingering death.
so tommy had to dig his farm over again, and plant peas.
but they were late; the birds ate many; the bushes, not being firmly planted, blew down, and when the poor peas came at last, no one cared for them, as their day was over, and spring-lamb had grown into mutton.
tommy consoled himself with a charitable effort; for he transplanted all the thistles he could find, and tended them carefully for toby, who was fond of the prickly delicacy, and had eaten all he could find on the place.
the boys had great fun over tom's thistle bed; but he insisted that it was better to care for poor toby than for himself, and declared that he would devote his entire farm next year to thistles, worms, and snails, that demi's turtles and nat's pet owl might have the food they loved, as well as the donkey.
so like shiftless, kind-hearted, happy-go-lucky tommy!
demi had supplied his grandmother with lettuce all summer, and in the autumn sent his grandfather a basket of turnips, each one scrubbed up till it looked like a great white egg.
his grandma was fond of salad, and one of his grandpa's favorite quotations was, "lucullus, whom frugality could charm, ate roasted turnips at the sabine farm."
therefore these vegetable offerings to the dear domestic god and goddess were affectionate, appropriate, and classical.
daisy had nothing but flowers in her little plot, and it bloomed all summer long with a succession of gay or fragrant posies.
she was very fond of her garden, and delved away in it at all hours, watching over her roses, and pansies, sweet-peas, and mignonette, as faithfully and tenderly as she did over her dolls or her friends.
little nosegays were sent into town on all occasions, and certain vases about the house were her especial care.
she had all sorts of pretty fancies about her flowers, and loved to tell the children the story of the pansy, and show them how the step-mother-leaf sat up in her green chair in purple and gold; how the two own children in gay yellow had each its little seat, while the step children, in dull colors, both sat on one small stool, and the poor little father in his red nightcap, was kept out of sight in the middle of the flower; that a monk's dark face looked out of the monk's - hood larkspur; that the flowers of the canary-vine were so like dainty birds fluttering their yellow wings, that one almost expected to see them fly away, and the snapdragons that went off like little pistol-shots when you cracked them.
splendid dollies did she make out of scarlet and white poppies, with ruffled robes tied round the waist with grass blade sashes, and astonishing hats of coreopsis on their green heads.
pea-pod boats, with rose-leaf sails, received these flower-people, and floated them about a placid pool in the most charming style; for finding that there were no elves, daisy made her own, and loved the fanciful little friends who played their parts in her summer-life.
nan went in for herbs, and had a fine display of useful plants, which she tended with steadily increasing interest and care.
very busy was she in september cutting, drying, and tying up her sweet harvest, and writing down in a little book how the different herbs are to be used.
she had tried several experiments, and made several mistakes; so she wished to be particular lest she should give little huz another fit by administering wormwood instead of catnip.
dick, dolly, and rob each grubbed away on his small farm, and made more stir about it than all the rest put together.
parsnips and carrots were the crops of the two d.'s; and they longed for it to be late enough to pull up the precious vegetables.
dick did privately examine his carrots, and plant them again, feeling that silas was right in saying it was too soon for them yet.
rob's crop was four small squashes and one immense pumpkin.
it really was a "bouncer," as every one said; and i assure you that two small persons could sit on it side by side.
it seemed to have absorbed all the goodness of the little garden, and all the sunshine that shone down on it, and lay there a great round, golden ball, full of rich suggestions of pumpkin-pies for weeks to come.
robby was so proud of his mammoth vegetable that he took every one to see it, and, when frosts began to nip, covered it up each night with an old bedquilt, tucking it round as if the pumpkin was a well-beloved baby.
the day it was gathered he would let no one touch it but himself, and nearly broke his back tugging it to the barn in his little wheelbarrow, with dick and dolly harnessed in front to give a heave up the path.
his mother promised him that the thanksgiving-pies should be made from it, and hinted vaguely that she had a plan in her head which would cover the prize pumpkin and its owner with glory.
poor billy had planted cucumbers, but unfortunately hoed them up and left the pig-weed.
this mistake grieved him very much for tem minutes, then he forgot all about it, and sowed a handful of bright buttons which he had collected, evidently thinking in his feeble mind that they were money, and would come up and multiply, so that he might make many quarters, as tommy did.
no one disturbed him, and he did what he liked with his plot, which soon looked as if a series of small earthquakes had stirred it up.
when the general harvest-day came, he would have had nothing but stones and weeds to show, if kind old asia had not hung half-a-dozen oranges on the dead tree he stuck up in the middle.
billy was delighted with his crop; and no one spoiled his pleasure in the little miracle which pity wrought for him, by making withered branches bear strange fruit.
stuffy had various trials with his melons; for, being impatient to taste them, he had a solitary revel before they were ripe, and made himself so ill, that for a day or two it seemed doubtful if he would ever eat any more.
but he pulled through it, and served up his first cantaloupe without tasting a mouthful himself.
they were excellent melons, for he had a warm slope for them, and they ripened fast.
the last and best were lingering on the vines, and stuffy had announced that he should sell them to a neighbor.
this disappointed the boys, who had hoped to eat the melons themselves, and they expressed their displeasure in a new and striking manner.
going one morning to gaze upon the three fine watermelons which he had kept for the market, stuffy was horrified to find the word "pig" cut in white letters on the green rind, staring at him from every one.
he was in a great rage, and flew to mrs. jo for redress.
she listened, condoled with him, and then said, "if you want to turn the laugh, i'll tell you how, but you must give up the melons."
""well, i will; for i ca n't thrash all the boys, but i'd like to give them something to remember, the mean sneaks," growled stuff, still in a fume.
now mrs. jo was pretty sure who had done the trick, for she had seen three heads suspiciously near to one another in the sofa-corner the evening before; and when these heads had nodded with chuckles and whispers, this experienced woman knew mischief was afoot.
a moonlight night, a rustling in the old cherry-tree near emil's window, a cut on tommy's finger, all helped to confirm her suspicions; and having cooled stuffy's wrath a little, she bade him bring his maltreated melons to her room, and say not a word to any one of what had happened.
he did so, and the three wags were amazed to find their joke so quietly taken.
it spoilt the fun, and the entire disappearance of the melons made them uneasy.
so did stuffy's good-nature, for he looked more placid and plump than ever, and surveyed them with an air of calm pity that perplexed them very much.
at dinner-time they discovered why; for then stuffy's vengeance fell upon them, and the laugh was turned against them.
when the pudding was eaten, and the fruit was put on, mary ann re-appeared in a high state of giggle, bearing a large watermelon; silas followed with another; and dan brought up the rear with a third.
one was placed before each of the three guilty lads; and they read on the smooth green skins this addition to their own work, "with the compliments of the pig."
every one else read it also, and the whole table was in a roar, for the trick had been whispered about; so every one understood the sequel.
emil, ned, and tommy did not know where to look, and had not a word to say for themselves; so they wisely joined in the laugh, cut up the melons, and handed them round, saying, what all the rest agreed to, that stuffy had taken a wise and merry way to return good for evil.
dan had no garden, for he was away or lame the greater part of the summer; so he had helped silas wherever he could, chopped wood for asia, and taken care of the lawn so well, that mrs. jo always had smooth paths and nicely shaven turf before her door.
when the others got in their crops, he looked sorry that he had so little to show; but as autumn went on, he bethought himself of a woodland harvest which no one would dispute with him, and which was peculiarly his own.
every saturday he was away alone to the forests, fields, and hills, and always came back loaded with spoils; for he seemed to know the meadows where the best flag-root grew, the thicket where the sassafras was spiciest, the haunts where the squirrels went for nuts, the white oak whose bark was most valuable, and the little gold-thread vine that nursey liked to cure the canker with.
all sorts of splendid red and yellow leaves did dan bring home for mrs. jo to dress her parlor with, graceful-seeded grasses, clematis tassels, downy, soft, yellow wax-work berries, and mosses, red-brimmed, white, or emerald green.
""i need not sigh for the woods now, because dan brings the woods to me," mrs. jo used to say, as she glorified the walls with yellow maple boughs and scarlet woodbine wreaths, or filled her vases with russet ferns, hemlock sprays full of delicate cones, and hardy autumn flowers; for dan's crop suited her well.
the great garret was full of the children's little stores and for a time was one of the sights of the house.
daisy's flower seeds in neat little paper bags, all labelled, lay in a drawer of a three-legged table.
nan's herbs hung in bunches against the wall, filling the air with their aromatic breath.
tommy had a basket of thistle-down with the tiny seeds attached, for he meant to plant them next year, if they did not all fly away before that time.
emil had bunches of pop-corn hanging there to dry, and demi laid up acorns and different sorts of grain for the pets.
but dan's crop made the best show, for fully one half of the floor was covered with the nuts he brought.
all kinds were there, for he ranged the woods for miles round, climbed the tallest trees, and forced his way into the thickest hedges for his plunder.
walnuts, chestnuts, hazelnuts, and beechnuts lay in separate compartments, getting brown, and dry, and sweet, ready for winter revels.
there was one butternut-tree on the place, and rob and teddy called it theirs.
it bore well this year, and the great dingy nuts came dropping down to hide among the dead leaves, where the busy squirrels found them better than the lazy bhaers.
their father had told them -lrb- the boys, not the squirrels -rrb- they should have the nuts if they would pick them up, but no one was to help.
it was easy work, and teddy liked it, only he soon got tired, and left his little basket half full for another day.
but the other day was slow to arrive, and, meantime, the sly squirrels were hard at work, scampering up and down the old elm-trees stowing the nuts away till their holes were full, then all about the crotches of the boughs, to be removed at their leisure.
their funny little ways amused the boys, till one day silas said, "hev you sold them nuts to the squirrels?"
""no," answered rob, wondering what silas meant.
""wal, then, you'd better fly round, or them spry little fellers wo n't leave you none."
""oh, we can beat them when we begin.
there are such lots of nuts we shall have a plenty."
""there ai n't many more to come down, and they have cleared the ground pretty well, see if they hai n't."
robby ran to look, and was alarmed to find how few remained.
he called teddy, and they worked hard all one afternoon, while the squirrels sat on the fence and scolded.
""now, ted, we must keep watch, and pick up just as fast as they fall, or we sha n't have more than a bushel, and every one will laugh at us if we do n't."
""the naughty quillies tar n't have'em.
i'll pick fast and run and put'em in the barn twick," said teddy, frowning at little frisky, who chattered and whisked his tail indignantly.
that night a high wind blew down hundreds of nuts, and when mrs. jo came to wake her little sons, she said, briskly, "come, my laddies, the squirrels are hard at it, and you will have to work well to-day, or they will have every nut on the ground."
""no, they wo n't," and robby tumbled up in a great hurry, gobbled his breakfast, and rushed out to save his property.
teddy went too, and worked like a little beaver, trotting to and fro with full and empty baskets.
another bushel was soon put away in the corn-barn, and they were scrambling among the leaves for more nuts when the bell rang for school.
""o father!
let me stay out and pick.
those horrid squirrels will have my nuts if you do n't.
i'll do my lessons by and by," cried rob, running into the school-room, flushed and tousled by the fresh cold wind and his eager work.
""if you had been up early and done a little every morning there would be no hurry now.
i told you that, rob, and you never minded.
i can not have the lessons neglected as the work has been.
the squirrels will get more than their share this year, and they deserve it, for they have worked best.
you may go an hour earlier, but that is all," and mr. bhaer led rob to his place where the little man dashed at his books as if bent on making sure of the precious hour promised him.
it was almost maddening to sit still and see the wind shaking down the last nuts, and the lively thieves flying about, pausing now and then to eat one in his face, and flirt their tails, as if they said, saucily, "we'll have them in spite of you, lazy rob."
the only thing that sustained the poor child in this trying moment was the sight of teddy working away all alone.
it was really splendid the pluck and perseverance of the little lad.
he picked and picked till his back ached; he trudged to and fro till his small legs were tired; and he defied wind, weariness, and wicked "quillies," till his mother left her work and did the carrying for him, full of admiration for the kind little fellow who tried to help his brother.
when rob was dismissed, he found teddy reposing in the bushel-basket quite used up, but unwilling to quit the field; for he flapped his hat at the thieves with one grubby little hand, while he refreshed himself with the big apple held in the other.
rob fell to work and the ground was cleared before two o'clock, the nuts safely in the corn-barn loft, and the weary workers exulted in their success.
but frisky and his wife were not to be vanquished so easily; and when rob went up to look at his nuts a few days later he was amazed to see how many had vanished.
none of the boys could have stolen them, because the door had been locked; the doves could not have eaten them, and there were no rats about.
there was great lamentation among the young bhaers till dick said, "i saw frisky on the roof of the corn-barn, may be he took them."
""i know he did!
i'll have a trap, and kill him dead," cried rob, disgusted with frisky's grasping nature.
""perhaps if you watch, you can find out where he puts them, and i may be able to get them back for you," said dan, who was much amused by the fight between the boys and squirrels.
so rob watched and saw mr. and mrs. frisky drop from the drooping elm boughs on to the roof of the corn-barn, dodge in at one of the little doors, much to the disturbance of the doves, and come out with a nut in each mouth.
so laden they could not get back the way they came, but ran down the low roof, along the wall, and leaping off at a corner they vanished a minute and re-appeared without their plunder.
rob ran to the place, and in a hollow under the leaves he found a heap of the stolen property hidden away to be carried off to the holes by and by.
""oh, you little villains!
i'll cheat you now, and not leave one," said rob.
so he cleared the corner and the corn-barn, and put the contested nuts in the garret, making sure that no broken window-pane could anywhere let in the unprincipled squirrels.
they seemed to feel that the contest was over, and retired to their hole, but now and then could not resist throwing down nut-shells on rob's head, and scolding violently as if they could not forgive him nor forget that he had the best of the battle.
father and mother bhaer's crop was of a different sort, and not so easily described; but they were satisfied with it, felt that their summer work had prospered well, and by and by had a harvest that made them very happy.
chapter xix.
john brooke "wake up, demi, dear!
i want you."
""why, i've just gone to bed; it ca n't be morning yet;" and demi blinked like a little owl as he waked from his first sound sleep.
""it's only ten, but your father is ill, and we must go to him.
o my little john!
my poor little john!"
and aunt jo laid her head down on the pillow with a sob that scared sleep from demi's eyes and filled his heart with fear and wonder; for he dimly felt why aunt jo called him "john," and wept over him as if some loss had come that left him poor.
he clung to her without a word, and in a minute she was quite steady again, and said, with a tender kiss as she saw his troubled face, "we are going to say good-by to him, my darling, and there is no time to lose; so dress quickly and come to me in my room.
i must go to daisy."
""yes, i will;" and when aunt jo was gone, little demi got up quietly, dressed as if in a dream, and leaving tommy fast asleep went away through the silent house, feeling that something new and sorrowful was going to happen something that set him apart from the other boys for a time, and made the world seem as dark and still and strange as those familiar rooms did in the night.
a carriage sent by mr. laurie stood before the door.
daisy was soon ready, and the brother and sister held each other by the hand all the way into town, as they drove swiftly and silently with aunt and uncle through the shadowy roads to say good-by to father.
none of the boys but franz and emil knew what had happened, and when they came down next morning, great was their wonderment and discomfort, for the house seemed forlorn without its master and mistress.
breakfast was a dismal meal with no cheery mrs. jo behind the teapots; and when school-time came, father bhaer's place was empty.
they wandered about in a disconsolate kind of way for an hour, waiting for news and hoping it would be all right with demi's father, for good john brooke was much beloved by the boys.
ten o'clock came, and no one arrived to relieve their anxiety.
they did not feel like playing, yet the time dragged heavily, and they sat about listless and sober.
all at once, franz got up, and said, in his persuasive way, "look here, boys!
let's go into school and do our lessons just as if uncle was here.
it will make the day go faster, and will please him, i know."
""but who will hear us say them?"
asked jack.
""i will; i do n't know much more than you do, but i'm the oldest here, and i'll try to fill uncle's place till he comes, if you do n't mind."
something in the modest, serious way franz said this impressed the boys, for, though the poor lad's eyes were red with quiet crying for uncle john in that long sad night, there was a new manliness about him, as if he had already begun to feel the cares and troubles of life, and tried to take them bravely.
""i will, for one," and emil went to his seat, remembering that obedience to his superior officer is a seaman's first duty.
the others followed; franz took his uncle's seat, and for an hour order reigned.
lessons were learned and said, and franz made a patient, pleasant teacher, wisely omitting such lessons as he was not equal to, and keeping order more by the unconscious dignity that sorrow gave him than by any words of his own.
the little boys were reading when a step was heard in the hall, and every one looked up to read the news in mr. bhaer's face as he came in.
the kind face told them instantly that demi had no father now, for it was worn and pale, and full of tender grief, which left him no words with which to answer rob, as he ran to him, saying, reproachfully, "what made you go and leave me in the night, papa?"
the memory of the other father who had left his children in the night, never to return, made mr. bhaer hold his own boy close, and, for a minute, hide his face in robby's curly hair.
emil laid his head down on his arms, franz, went to put his hand on his uncle's shoulder, his boyish face pale with sympathy and sorrow, and the others sat so still that the soft rustle of the falling leaves outside was distinctly heard.
rob did not clearly understand what had happened, but he hated to see papa unhappy, so he lifted up the bent head, and said, in his chirpy little voice, "do n't cry, mein vater!
we were all so good, we did our lessons, without you, and franz was the master."
mr. bhaer looked up then, tried to smile, and said in a grateful tone that made the lads feel like saints, "i thank you very much, my boys.
it was a beautiful way to help and comfort me.
i shall not forget it, i assure you."
""franz proposed it, and was a first-rate master, too," said nat; and the others gave a murmur of assent most gratifying to the young dominie.
mr. bhaer put rob down, and, standing up, put his arm round his tall nephew's shoulder, as he said, with a look of genuine pleasure, "this makes my hard day easier, and gives me confidence in you all.
i am needed there in town, and must leave you for some hours.
i thought to give you a holiday, or send some of you home, but if you like to stay and go on as you have begun, i shall be glad and proud of my good boys."
""we'll stay;" "we'd rather;" "franz can see to us;" cried several, delighted with the confidence shown in them.
""is n't marmar coming home?"
asked rob, wistfully; for home without "marmar" was the world without the sun to him.
""we shall both come to-night; but dear aunt meg needs mother more than you do now, and i know you like to lend her for a little while."
""well, i will; but teddy's been crying for her, and he slapped nursey, and was dreadful naughty," answered rob, as if the news might bring mother home.
""where is my little man?"
asked mr. bhaer.
""dan took him out, to keep him quiet.
he's all right now," said franz, pointing to the window, through which they could see dan drawing baby in his little wagon, with the dogs frolicking about him.
""i wo n't see him, it would only upset him again; but tell dan i leave teddy in his care.
you older boys i trust to manage yourselves for a day.
franz will direct you, and silas is here to over see matters.
so good-by till to-night."
""just tell me a word about uncle john," said emil, detaining mr. bhaer, as he was about hurrying away again.
""he was only ill a few hours, and died as he has lived, so cheerfully, so peacefully, that it seems a sin to mar the beauty of it with any violent or selfish grief.
we were in time to say good-by: and daisy and demi were in his arms as he fell asleep on aunt meg's breast.
no more now, i can not bear it," and mr. bhaer went hastily away quite bowed with grief, for in john brooke he had lost both friend and brother, and there was no one left to take his place.
all that day the house was very still; the small boys played quietly in the nursery; the others, feeling as if sunday had come in the middle of the week, spent it in walking, sitting in the willow, or among their pets, all talking much of "uncle john," and feeling that something gentle, just, and strong, had gone out of their little world, leaving a sense of loss that deepened every hour.
at dusk, mr. and mrs. bhaer came home alone, for demi and daisy were their mother's best comfort now, and could not leave her.
poor mrs. jo seemed quite spent, and evidently needed the same sort of comfort, for her first words, as she came up the stairs, were, "where is my baby?"
""here i is," answered a little voice, as dan put teddy into her arms, adding, as she hugged him close, "my danny tooked tare of me all day, and i was dood."
mrs. jo turned to thank the faithful nurse, but dan was waving off the boys, who had gathered in the hall to meet her, and was saying, in a low voice, "keep back; she do n't want to be bothered with us now."
""no, do n't keep back.
i want you all.
come in and see me, my boys.
i've neglected you all day," and mrs. jo held out her hands to them as they gathered round and escorted her into her own room, saying little, but expressing much by affectionate looks and clumsy little efforts to show their sorrow and sympathy.
""i am so tired, i will lie here and cuddle teddy, and you shall bring me in some tea," she said, trying to speak cheerfully for their sakes.
a general stampede into the dining-room followed, and the supper-table would have been ravaged if mr. bhaer had not interfered.
it was agreed that one squad should carry in the mother's tea, and another bring it out.
the four nearest and dearest claimed the first honor, so franz bore the teapot, emil the bread, rob the milk, and teddy insisted on carrying the sugar basin, which was lighter by several lumps when it arrived than when it started.
some women might have found it annoying at such a time to have boys creaking in and out, upsetting cups and rattling spoons in violent efforts to be quiet and helpful; but it suited mrs. jo, because just then her heart was very tender; and remembering that many of her boys were fatherless or motherless, she yearned over them, and found comfort in their blundering affection.
it was the sort of food that did her more good than the very thick bread-and-butter that they gave her, and the rough commodore's broken whisper, "bear up, aunty, it's a hard blow; but we'll weather it somehow;" cheered her more than the sloppy cup he brought her, full of tea as bitter as if some salt tear of his own had dropped into it on the way.
when supper was over, a second deputation removed the tray; and dan said, holding out his arms for sleepy little teddy, "let me put him to bed, you're so tired, mother."
""will you go with him, lovey?"
asked mrs. jo of her small lord and master, who lay on her arm among the sofa-pillows.
""torse i will;" and he was proudly carried off by his faithful bearer.
""i wish i could do something," said nat, with a sigh, as franz leaned over the sofa, and softly stroked aunt jo's hot forehead.
""you can, dear.
go and get your violin, and play me the sweet little airs uncle teddy sent you last.
music will comfort me better than any thing else to-night."
nat flew for his fiddle, and, sitting just outside her door, played as he had never done before, for now his heart was in it, and seemed to magnetize his fingers.
the other lads sat quietly upon the steps, keeping watch that no new-comer should disturb the house; franz lingered at his post; and so, soothed, served, and guarded by her boys, poor mrs. jo slept at last, and forgot her sorrow for an hour.
two quiet days, and on the third mr. bhaer came in just after school, with a note in his hand, looking both moved and pleased.
""i want to read you something, boys," he said; and as they stood round him he read this: "dear brother fritz, i hear that you do not mean to bring your flock today, thinking that i may not like it.
please do.
the sight of his friends will help demi through the hard hour, and i want the boys to hear what father says of my john.
it will do them good, i know.
if they would sing one of the sweet old hymns you have taught them so well, i should like it better than any other music, and feel that it was beautifully suited to the occasion.
please ask them, with my love.
""meg."
""will you go?"
and mr. bhaer looked at the lads, who were greatly touched by mrs. brooke's kind words and wishes.
""yes," they answered, like one boy; and an hour later they went away with franz to bear their part in john brooke's simple funeral.
the little house looked as quiet, sunny, and home-like as when meg entered it as a bride, ten years ago, only then it was early summer, and rose blossomed everywhere; now it was early autumn, and dead leaves rustled softly down, leaving the branches bare.
the bride was a widow now; but the same beautiful serenity shone in her face, and the sweet resignation of a truly pious soul made her presence a consolation to those who came to comfort her.
""o meg!
how can you bear it so?"
whispered jo, as she met them at the door with a smile of welcome, and no change in her gentle manner, except more gentleness.
""dear jo, the love that has blest me for ten happy years supports me still.
it could not die, and john is more my own than ever," whispered meg; and in her eyes the tender trust was so beautiful and bright, that jo believed her, and thanked god for the immortality of love like hers.
they were all there father and mother, uncle teddy, and aunt amy, old mr. laurence, white-haired and feeble now, mr. and mrs. bhaer, with their flock, and many friends, come to do honor to the dead.
one would have said that modest john brooke, in his busy, quiet, humble life, had had little time to make friends; but now they seemed to start up everywhere, old and young, rich and poor, high and low; for all unconsciously his influence had made itself widely felt, his virtues were remembered, and his hidden charities rose up to bless him.
the group about his coffin was a far more eloquent eulogy than any mr. march could utter.
there were the rich men whom he had served faithfully for years; the poor old women whom he cherished with his little store, in memory of his mother; the wife to whom he had given such happiness that death could not mar it utterly; the brothers and sisters in whose hearts he had made a place for ever; the little son and daughter, who already felt the loss of his strong arm and tender voice; the young children, sobbing for their kindest playmate, and the tall lads, watching with softened faces a scene which they never could forget.
a very simple service, and very short; for the fatherly voice that had faltered in the marriage-sacrament now failed entirely as mr. march endeavored to pay his tribute of reverence and love to the son whom he most honored.
nothing but the soft coo of baby josy's voice up-stairs broke the long hush that followed the last amen, till, at a sign from mr. bhaer, the well-trained boyish voices broke out in a hymn, so full of lofty cheer, that one by one all joined in it, singing with full hearts, and finding their troubled spirits lifted into peace on the wings of that brave, sweet psalm.
as meg listened, she felt that she had done well; for not only did the moment comfort her with the assurance that john's last lullaby was sung by the young voices he loved so well, but in the faces of the boys she saw that they had caught a glimpse of the beauty of virtue in its most impressive form, and that the memory of the good man lying dead before them would live long and helpfully in their remembrance.
daisy's head lay in her lap, and demi held her hand, looking often at her, with eyes so like his father's, and a little gesture that seemed to say, "do n't be troubled, mother; i am here;" and all about her were friends to lean upon and love; so patient, pious meg put by her heavy grief, feeling that her best help would be to live for others, as her john had done.
that evening, as the plumfield boys sat on the steps, as usual, in the mild september moonlight, they naturally fell to talking of the event of the day.
emil began by breaking out, in his impetuous way, "uncle fritz is the wisest, and uncle laurie the jolliest, but uncle john was the best; and i'd rather be like him than any man i ever saw."
""so would i.
did you hear what those gentlemen said to grandpa to-day?
i would like to have that said of me when i was dead;" and franz felt with regret that he had not appreciated uncle john enough.
""what did they say?"
asked jack, who had been much impressed by the scenes of the day.
""why, one of the partners of mr. laurence, where uncle john has been ever so long, was saying that he was conscientious almost to a fault as a business man, and above reproach in all things.
another gentleman said no money could repay the fidelity and honesty with which uncle john had served him, and then grandpa told them the best of all.
uncle john once had a place in the office of a man who cheated, and when this man wanted uncle to help him do it, uncle would n't, though he was offered a big salary.
the man was angry and said, "you will never get on in business with such strict principles;" and uncle answered back," i never will try to get on without them," and left the place for a much harder and poorer one."
""good!"
cried several of the boys warmly, for they were in the mood to understand and value the little story as never before.
""he was n't rich, was he?"
asked jack.
""no."
""he never did any thing to make a stir in the world, did he?"
""no."
""he was only good?"
""that's all;" and franz found himself wishing that uncle john had done something to boast of, for it was evident that jack was disappointed by his replies.
""only good.
that is all and every thing," said mr. bhaer, who had overheard the last few words, and guessed what was going on the minds of the lads.
""let me tell you a little about john brooke, and you will see why men honor him, and why he was satisfied to be good rather than rich or famous.
he simply did his duty in all things, and did it so cheerfully, so faithfully, that it kept him patient and brave, and happy through poverty and loneliness and years of hard work.
he was a good son, and gave up his own plans to stay and live with his mother while she needed him.
he was a good friend, and taught laurie much beside his greek and latin, did it unconsciously, perhaps, by showing him an example of an upright man.
he was a faithful servant, and made himself so valuable to those who employed him that they will find it hard to fill his place.
he was a good husband and father, so tender, wise, and thoughtful, that laurie and i learned much of him, and only knew how well he loved his family, when we discovered all he had done for them, unsuspected and unassisted."
mr. bhaer stopped a minute, and the boys sat like statues in the moonlight until he went on again, in a subdued, but earnest voice: "as he lay dying, i said to him, "have no care for meg and the little ones; i will see that they never want."
then he smiled and pressed my hand, and answered, in his cheerful way, "no need of that; i have cared for them."
and so he had, for when we looked among his papers, all was in order, not a debt remained; and safely put away was enough to keep meg comfortable and independent.
then we knew why he had lived so plainly, denied himself so many pleasures, except that of charity, and worked so hard that i fear he shortened his good life.
he never asked help for himself, though often for others, but bore his own burden and worked out his own task bravely and quietly.
no one can say a word of complaint against him, so just and generous and kind was he; and now, when he is gone, all find so much to love and praise and honor, that i am proud to have been his friend, and would rather leave my children the legacy he leaves his than the largest fortune ever made.
yes!
simple, generous goodness is the best capital to found the business of this life upon.
it lasts when fame and money fail, and is the only riches we can take out of this world with us.
remember that, my boys; and if you want to earn respect and confidence and love follow in the footsteps of john brooke."
when demi returned to school, after some weeks at home, he seemed to have recovered from his loss with the blessed elasticity of childhood, and so he had in a measure; but he did not forget, for his was a nature into which things sank deeply, to be pondered over, and absorbed into the soil where the small virtues were growing fast.
he played and studied, worked and sang, just as before, and few suspected any change; but there was one and aunt jo saw it for she watched over the boy with her whole heart, trying to fill john's place in her poor way.
he seldom spoke of his loss, but aunt jo often heard a stifled sobbing in the little bed at night; and when she went to comfort him, all his cry was, "i want my father!
oh, i want my father!"
for the tie between the two had been a very tender one, and the child's heart bled when it was broken.
but time was kind to him, and slowly he came to feel that father was not lost, only invisible for a while, and sure to be found again, well and strong and fond as ever, even though his little son should see the purple asters blossom on his grave many, many times before they met.
to this belief demi held fast, and in it found both help and comfort, because it led him unconsciously through a tender longing for the father whom he had seen to a childlike trust in the father whom he had not seen.
both were in heaven, and he prayed to both, trying to be good for love of them.
the outward change corresponded to the inward, for in those few weeks demi seemed to have grown tall, and began to drop his childish plays, not as if ashamed of them, as some boys do, but as if he had outgrown them, and wanted something manlier.
he took to the hated arithmetic, and held on so steadily that his uncle was charmed, though he could not understand the whim, until demi said, "i am going to be a bookkeeper when i grow up, like papa, and i must know about figures and things, else i ca n't have nice, neat ledgers like his."
at another time he came to his aunt with a very serious face, and said "what can a small boy do to earn money?"
""why do you ask, my deary?"
""my father told me to take care of mother and the little girls, and i want to, but i do n't know how to begin."
""he did not mean now, demi, but by and by, when you are large."
""but i wish to begin now, if i can, because i think i ought to make some money to buy things for the family.
i am ten, and other boys no bigger than i earn pennies sometimes."
""well, then, suppose you rake up all the dead leaves and cover the strawberry bed.
i'll pay you a dollar for the job," said aunt jo.
""is n't that a great deal?
i could do it in one day.
you must be fair, and no pay too much, because i want to truly earn it."
""my little john, i will be fair, and not pay a penny too much.
do n't work too hard; and when that is done i will have something else for you to do," said mrs. jo, much touched by his desire to help, and his sense of justice, so like his scrupulous father.
when the leaves were done, many barrowloads of chips were wheeled from the wood to the shed, and another dollar earned.
then demi helped cover the schoolbooks, working in the evenings under franz's direction, tugging patiently away at each book, letting no one help, and receiving his wages with such satisfaction that the dingy bills became quite glorified in his sight.
""now, i have a dollar for each of them, and i should like to take my money to mother all myself, so she can see that i have minded my father."
so demi made a duteous pilgrimage to his mother, who received his little earnings as a treasure of great worth, and would have kept it untouched, if demi had not begged her to buy some useful thing for herself and the women-children, whom he felt were left to his care.
this made him very happy, and, though he often forgot his responsibilities for a time, the desire to help was still there, strengthening with his years.
he always uttered the words "my father" with an air of gentle pride, and often said, as if he claimed a title full of honor, "do n't call me demi any more.
i am john brooke now."
so, strengthened by a purpose and a hope, the little lad of ten bravely began the world, and entered into his inheritance, the memory of a wise and tender father, the legacy of an honest name.
chapter xx.
round the fire with the october frosts came the cheery fires in the great fireplaces; and demi's dry pine-chips helped dan's oak-knots to blaze royally, and go roaring up the chimney with a jolly sound.
all were glad to gather round the hearth, as the evenings grew longer, to play games, read, or lay plans for the winter.
but the favorite amusement was story-telling, and mr. and mrs. bhaer were expected to have a store of lively tales always on hand.
their supply occasionally gave out, and then the boys were thrown upon their own resources, which were not always successful.
ghost-parties were the rage at one time; for the fun of the thing consisted in putting out the lights, letting the fire die down, and then sitting in the dark, and telling the most awful tales they could invent.
as this resulted in scares of all sorts among the boys, tommy's walking in his sleep on the shed roof, and a general state of nervousness in the little ones, it was forbidden, and they fell back on more harmless amusements.
one evening, when the small boys were snugly tucked in bed, and the older lads were lounging about the school-room fire, trying to decide what they should do, demi suggested a new way of settling the question.
seizing the hearth-brush, he marched up and down the room, saying, "row, row, row;" and when the boys, laughing and pushing, had got into line, he said, "now, i'll give you two minutes to think of a play."
franz was writing, and emil reading the life of lord nelson, and neither joined the party, but the others thought hard, and when the time was up were ready to reply.
""now, tom!"
and the poker softly rapped him on the head.
""blind-man's buff."
""jack!"
""commerce; a good round game, and have cents for the pool."
""uncle forbids our playing for money.
dan, what do you want?"
""let's have a battle between the greeks and romans."
""stuffy?"
""roast apples, pop corn, and crack nuts."
""good!
good!"
cried several; and when the vote was taken, stuffy's proposal carried the day.
some went to the cellar for apples, some to the garret for nuts, and others looked up the popper and the corn.
""we had better ask the girls to come in, had n't we?"
said demi, in a sudden fit of politeness.
""daisy pricks chestnuts beautifully," put in nat, who wanted his little friend to share the fun.
""nan pops corn tip-top, we must have her," added tommy.
""bring in your sweethearts then, we do n't mind," said jack, who laughed at the innocent regard the little people had for one another.
""you sha n't call my sister a sweetheart; it is so silly!"
cried demi, in a way that made jack laugh.
""she is nat's darling, is n't she, old chirper?"
""yes, if demi do n't mind.
i ca n't help being fond of her, she is so good to me," answered nat, with bashful earnestness, for jack's rough ways disturbed him.
""nan is my sweetheart, and i shall marry her in about a year, so do n't you get in the way, any of you," said tommy, stoutly; for he and nan had settled their future, child-fashion, and were to live in the willow, lower down a basket for food, and do other charmingly impossible things.
demi was quenched by the decision of bangs, who took him by the arm and walked him off to get the ladies.
nan and daisy were sewing with aunt jo on certain small garments, for mrs. carney's newest baby.
""please, ma'am, could you lend us the girls for a little while?
we'll be very careful of them," said tommy, winking one eye to express apples, snapping his fingers to signify pop-corn, and gnashing his teeth to convey the idea of nut-cracking.
the girls understood this pantomime at once, and began to pull of their thimbles before mrs. jo could decide whether tommy was going into convulsions or was brewing some unusual piece of mischief.
demi explained with elaboration, permission was readily granted, and the boys departed with their prize.
""do n't you speak to jack," whispered tommy, as he and nan promenaded down the hall to get a fork to prick the apples.
""why not?"
""he laughs at me, so i do n't wish you to have any thing to do with him."
""shall, if i like," said nan, promptly resenting this premature assumption of authority on the part of her lord.
""then i wo n't have you for my sweetheart."
""i do n't care."
""why, nan, i thought you were fond of me!"
and tommy's voice was full of tender reproach.
""if you mind jack's laughing i do n't care for you one bit."
""then you may take back your old ring; i wo n't wear it any longer;" and tommy plucked off a horsehair pledge of affection which nan had given him in return for one made of a lobster's feeler.
""i shall give it to ned," was her cruel reply; for ned liked mrs. giddy-gaddy, and had turned her clothespins, boxes, and spools enough to set up housekeeping with.
tommy said, "thunder turtles!"
as the only vent equal to the pent-up anguish of the moment, and, dropping nan's arm, retired in high dudgeon, leaving her to follow with the fork, a neglect which naughty nan punished by proceeding to prick his heart with jealousy as if it were another sort of apple.
the hearth was swept, and the rosy baldwins put down to roast.
a shovel was heated, and the chestnuts danced merrily upon it, while the corn popped wildly in its wire prison.
dan cracked his best walnuts, and every one chattered and laughed, while the rain beat on the window-pane and the wind howled round the house.
""why is billy like this nut?"
asked emil, who was frequently inspired with bad conundrums.
""because he is cracked," answered ned.
""that's not fair; you must n't make fun of billy, because he ca n't hit back again.
it's mean," cried dan, smashing a nut wrathfully.
""to what family of insects does blake belong?"
asked peacemaker franz, seeing that emil looked ashamed and dan lowering.
""gnats," answered jack.
""why is daisy like a bee?"
cried nat, who had been wrapt in thought for several minutes.
""because she is queen of the hive," said dan.
""no."
""because she is sweet."
""bees are not sweet."
""give it up."
""because she makes sweet things, is always busy, and likes flowers," said nat, piling up his boyish compliments till daisy blushed like a rosy clover.
""why is nan like a hornet?"
demanded tommy, glowering at her, and adding, without giving any one time to answer, "because she is n't sweet, makes a great buzzing about nothing, and stings like fury."
""tommy's mad, and i'm glad," cried ned, as nan tossed her head and answered quickly, "what thing in the china-closet is tom like?"
""a pepper pot," answered ned, giving nan a nut meat with a tantalizing laugh that made tommy feel as if he would like to bounce up like a hot chestnut and hit somebody.
seeing that ill-humor was getting the better of the small supply of wit in the company, franz cast himself into the breach again.
""let's make a law that the first person who comes into the room shall tell us a story.
no matter who it is, he must do it, and it will be fun to see who comes first."
the others agreed, and did not have to wait long, for a heavy step soon came clumping through the hall, and silas appeared, bearing an armful of wood.
he was greeted by a general shout, and stood staring about him with a bewildered grin on his big red face, till franz explained the joke.
""sho!
i ca n't tell a story," he said, putting down his load and preparing to leave the room.
but the boys fell upon him, forced him into a seat, and held him there, laughing, and clamoring for their story, till the good-natured giant was overpowered.
""i do n't know but jest one story, and that's about a horse," he said, much flattered by the reception he received.
""tell it!
tell it!"
cried the boys.
""wal," began silas, tipping his chair back against the wall, and putting his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, "i jined a cavalry regiment durin" the war, and see a consid "able amount of fightin".
my horse, major, was a fust-rate animal, and i was as fond on him as ef he'd ben a human critter.
he war n't harnsome, but he was the best-tempered, stiddyest, lovenest brute i ever see.
i fust battle we went into, he gave me a lesson that i did n't forgit in a hurry, and i'll tell you how it was.
it ai n't no use tryin" to picter the noise and hurry, and general horridness of a battle to you young fellers, for i ai n't no words to do it in; but i'm free to confess that i got so sort of confused and upset at the fust on it, that i did n't know what i was about.
we was ordered to charge, and went ahead like good ones, never stoppin" to pick up them that went down in the scrimmage.
i got a shot in the arm, and was pitched out of the saddle do n't know how, but there i was left behind with two or three others, dead and wounded, for the rest went on, as i say.
wal, i picked myself up and looked round for major, feeling as ef i'd had about enough for that spell.
i did n't see him nowhere, and was kinder walking back to camp, when i heard a whinny that sounded nateral.
i looked round, and there was major stopping for me a long way off, and lookin" as ef he did n't understand why i was loiterin" behind.
i whistled, and he trotted up to me as i'd trained him to do.
i mounted as well as i could with my left arm bleedin" and was for going on to camp, for i declare i felt as sick and wimbly as a woman; folks often do in their fust battle.
but, no sir!
major was the bravest of the two, and he would n't go, not a peg; he jest rared up, and danced, and snorted, and acted as ef the smell of powder and the noise had drove him half wild.
i done my best, but he would n't give in, so i did; and what do you think that plucky brute done?
he wheeled slap round, and galloped back like a hurricane, right into the thickest of the scrimmage!"
""good for him!"
cried dan excitedly, while the other boys forgot apples and nuts in their interest.
""i wish i may die ef i war n't ashamed of myself," continued silas, warming up at the recollection of that day.
""i was mad as a hornet, and i forgot my waound, and jest pitched in, rampagin" raound like fury till there come a shell into the midst of us, and in bustin" knocked a lot of us flat.
i did n't know nothin" for a spell, and when i come-to, the fight was over just there, and i found myself layin" by a wall of poor major long-side wuss wounded than i was.
my leg was broke, and i had a ball in my shoulder, but he, poor old feller!
was all tore in the side with a piece of that blasted shell."
""o silas!
what did you do?"
cried nan, pressing close to him with a face full of eager sympathy and interest.
""i dragged myself nigher, and tried to stop the bleedin" with sech rags as i could tear off of me with one hand.
but it war n't no use, and he lay moanin" with horrid pain, and lookin" at me with them lovin" eyes of his, till i thought i could n't bear it.
i give him all the help i could, and when the sun got hotter and hotter, and he began to lap out his tongue, i tried to get to a brook that was a good piece away, but i could n't do it, being stiff and faint, so i give it up and fanned him with my hat.
now you listen to this, and when you hear folks comin" down on the rebs, you jest remember what one on'em did, and give him credit of it.
i poor feller in gray laid not fur off, shot through the lungs and dyin" fast.
i'd offered him my handkerchief to keep the sun off his face, and he'd thanked me kindly, for in sech times as that men do n't stop to think on which side they belong, but jest buckle-to and help one another.
when he see me mournin" over major and tryin" to ease his pain, he looked up with his face all damp and white with sufferin", and sez he, "there's water in my canteen; take it, for it ca n't help me," and he flung it to me.
i could n't have took it ef i had n't had a little brandy in a pocket flask, and i made him drink it.
it done him good, and i felt as much set up as if i'd drunk it myself.
it's surprisin" the good sech little things do folks sometime;" and silas paused as if he felt again the comfort of that moment when he and his enemy forgot their feud, and helped one another like brothers.
""tell about major," cried the boys, impatient for the catastrophe.
""i poured the water over his poor pantin" tongue, and ef ever a dumb critter looked grateful, he did then.
but it war n't of much use, for the dreadful waound kep on tormentin" him, till i could n't bear it any longer.
it was hard, but i done it in mercy, and i know he forgive me."
""what did you do?"
asked emil, as silas stopped abruptly with a loud "hem," and a look in his rough face that made daisy go and stand by him with her little hand on his knee.
""i shot him."
quite a thrill went through the listeners as silas said that, for major seemed a hero in their eyes, and his tragic end roused all their sympathy.
""yes, i shot him, and put him out of his misery.
i patted him fust, and said, "good-by;" then i laid his head easy on the grass, give a last look into his lovin" eyes, and sent a bullet through his head.
he hardly stirred, i aimed so true, and when i seen him quite still, with no more moanin" and pain, i was glad, and yet wal, i do n't know as i need by ashamed o n't i jest put my arms raound his neck and boo-hooed like a great baby.
sho!
i did n't know i was sech a fool;" and silas drew his sleeve across his eyes, as much touched by daisy's sob, as by the memory of faithful major.
no one spoke for a minute, because the boys were as quick to feel the pathos of the little story as tender-hearted daisy, though they did not show it by crying.
""i'd like a horse like that," said dan, half-aloud.
""did the rebel man die, too?"
asked nan, anxiously.
""not then.
we laid there all day, and at night some of our fellers came to look after the missing ones.
they nat "rally wanted to take me fust, but i knew i could wait, and the rebel had but one chance, maybe, so i made them carry him off right away.
he had jest strength enough to hold out his hand to me and say, "thanky, comrade!"
and them was the last words he spoke, for he died an hour after he got to the hospital-tent."
""how glad you must have been that you were kind to him!"
said demi, who was deeply impressed by this story.
""wal, i did take comfort thinkin" of it, as i laid there alone for a number of hours with my head on major's neck, and see the moon come up.
i'd like to have buried the poor beast decent, but it war n't possible; so i cut off a bit of his mane, and i've kep it ever sence.
want to see it, sissy?"
""oh, yes, please," answered daisy, wiping away her tears to look.
silas took out an old "wallet" as he called his pocket-book, and produced from an inner fold a bit of brown paper, in which was a rough lock of white horse-hair.
the children looked at it silently, as it lay in the broad palm, and no one found any thing to ridicule in the love silas bore his good horse major.
""that is a sweet story, and i like it, though it did make me cry.
thank you very much, si," and daisy helped him fold and put away his little relic; while nan stuffed a handful of pop-corn into his pocket, and the boys loudly expressed their flattering opinions of his story, feeling that there had been two heroes in it.
he departed, quite overcome by his honors, and the little conspirators talked the tale over, while they waited for their next victim.
it was mrs. jo, who came in to measure nan for some new pinafores she was making for her.
they let her get well in, and then pounced upon her, telling her the law, and demanding the story.
mrs. jo was very much amused at the new trap, and consented at once, for the sound of happy voices had been coming across the hall so pleasantly that she quite longed to join them, and forget her own anxious thoughts of sister meg.
""am i the first mouse you have caught, you sly pussies-in-boots?"
she asked, as she was conducted to the big chair, supplied with refreshments, and surrounded by a flock of merry-faced listeners.
they told her about silas and his contribution, and she slapped her forehead in despair, for she was quite at her wits" end, being called upon so unexpectedly for a bran new tale.
""what shall i tell about?"
she said.
""boys," was the general answer.
""have a party in it," said daisy.
""and something good to eat," added stuffy.
""that reminds me of a story, written years ago, by a dear old lady.
i used to be very fond of it, and i fancy you will like it, for it has both boys, and "something good to eat" in it."
""what is it called?"
asked demi."
"the suspected boy.""
nat looked up from the nuts he was picking, and mrs. jo smiled at him, guessing what was in his mind.
""miss crane kept a school for boys in a quiet little town, and a very good school it was, of the old-fashioned sort.
six boys lived in her house, and four or five more came in from the town.
among those who lived with her was one named lewis white.
lewis was not a bad boy, but rather timid, and now and then he told a lie.
one day a neighbor sent miss crane a basket of gooseberries.
there were not enough to go round, so kind miss crane, who liked to please her boys, went to work and made a dozen nice little gooseberry tarts."
""i'd like to try gooseberry tarts.
i wonder if she made them as i do my raspberry ones," said daisy, whose interest in cooking had lately revived.
""hush," said nat, tucking a plump pop-corn into her mouth to silence her, for he felt a particular interest in this tale, and thought it opened well.
""when the tarts were done, miss crane put them away in the best parlor closet, and said not a word about them, for she wanted to surprise the boys at tea-time.
when the minute came and all were seated at table, she went to get her tarts, but came back looking much troubled, for what do you think had happened?"
""somebody had hooked them!"
cried ned.
""no, there they were, but some one had stolen all the fruit out of them by lifting up the upper crust and then putting it down after the gooseberry had been scraped out."
""what a mean trick!"
and nan looked at tommy, as if to imply that he would do the same.
""when she told the boys her plan and showed them the poor little patties all robbed of their sweetness, the boys were much grieved and disappointed, and all declared that they knew nothing about the matter.
"perhaps the rats did it," said lewis, who was among the loudest to deny any knowledge of the tarts.
"no, rats would have nibbled crust and all, and never lifted it up and scooped out the fruit.
hands did that," said miss crane, who was more troubled about the lie that some one must have told than about her lost patties.
well, they had supper and went to bed, but in the night miss crane heard some one groaning, and going to see who it was she found lewis in great pain.
he had evidently eaten something that disagreed with him, and was so sick that miss crane was alarmed, and was going to send for the doctor, when lewis moaned out, "it's the gooseberries; i ate them, and i must tell before i die," for the thought of a doctor frightened him.
"if that is all, i'll give you an emetic and you will soon get over it," said miss crane.
so lewis had a good dose, and by morning was quite comfortable.
"oh, do n't tell the boys; they will laugh at me so," begged the invalid.
kind miss crane promised not to, but sally, the girl, told the story, and poor lewis had no peace for a long time.
his mates called him old gooseberry, and were never tired of asking him the price of tarts."
""served him right," said emil.
""badness always gets found out," added demi, morally.
""no, it do n't," muttered jack, who was tending the apples with great devotion, so that he might keep his back to the rest and account for his red face.
""is that all?"
asked dan.
""no, that is only the first part; the second part is more interesting.
some time after this a peddler came by one day and stopped to show his things to the boys, several of whom bought pocket-combs, jew's - harps, and various trifles of that sort.
among the knives was a little white-handled penknife that lewis wanted very much, but he had spent all his pocket-money, and no one had any to lend him.
he held the knife in his hand, admiring and longing for it, till the man packed up his goods to go, then he reluctantly laid it down, and the man went on his way.
the next day, however, the peddler returned to say that he could not find that very knife, and thought he must have left it at miss crane's.
it was a very nice one with a pearl handle, and he could not afford to lose it.
every one looked, and every one declared they knew nothing about it.
"this young gentleman had it last, and seemed to want it very much.
are you quite sure you put it back?"
said the man to lewis, who was much troubled at the loss, and vowed over and over again that he did return it.
his denials seemed to do no good, however, for every one was sure he had taken it, and after a stormy scene miss crane paid for it, and the man went grumbling away."
""did lewis have it?"
cried nat, much excited.
""you will see.
now poor lewis had another trial to bear, for the boys were constantly saying, "lend me your pearl-handled knife, gooseberry," and things of that sort, till lewis was so unhappy he begged to be sent home.
miss crane did her best to keep the boys quiet, but it was hard work, for they would tease, and she could not be with them all the time.
that is one of the hardest things to teach boys; they wo n't "hit a fellow when he is down," as they say, but they will torment him in little ways till he would thank them to fight it out all round."
""i know that," said dan.
""so do i," added nat, softly.
jack said nothing, but he quite agreed; for he knew that the elder boys despised him, and let him alone for that very reason.
""do go on about poor lewis, aunt jo.
i do n't believe he took the knife, but i want to be sure," said daisy, in great anxiety.
""well, week after week went on and the matter was not cleared up.
the boys avoided lewis, and he, poor fellow, was almost sick with the trouble he had brought upon himself.
he resolved never to tell another lie, and tried so hard that miss crane pitied and helped him, and really came at last to believe that he did not take the knife.
two months after the peddler's first visit, he came again, and the first thing he said was," "well, ma'am, i found that knife after all.
it had slipped behind the lining of my valise, and fell out the other day when i was putting in a new stock of goods.
i thought i'd call and let you know, as you paid for it, and maybe would like it, so here it is.""
""the boys had all gathered round, and at these words they felt much ashamed, and begged lewis" pardon so heartily that he could not refuse to give it.
miss crane presented the knife to him, and he kept it many years to remind him of the fault that had brought him so much trouble."
""i wonder why it is that things you eat on the sly hurt you, and do n't when you eat them at table," observed stuffy, thoughtfully.
""perhaps your conscience affects your stomach," said mrs. jo, smiling at his speech.
""he is thinking of the cucumbers," said ned, and a gale of merriment followed the words, for stuffy's last mishap had been a funny one.
he ate two large cucumbers in private, felt very ill, and confided his anguish to ned, imploring him to do something.
ned good-naturedly recommended a mustard plaster and a hot flat iron to the feet; only in applying these remedies he reversed the order of things, and put the plaster on the feet, the flat iron on the stomach, and poor stuffy was found in the barn with blistered soles and a scorched jacket.
""suppose you tell another story, that was such an interesting one," said nat, as the laughter subsided.
before mrs. jo could refuse these insatiable oliver twists, rob walked into the room trailing his little bed-cover after him, and wearing an expression of great sweetness as he said, steering straight to his mother as a sure haven of refuge, "i heard a great noise, and i thought sumfin dreffle might have happened, so i came to see."
""did you think i would forget you, naughty boy?"
asked his mother, trying to look stern.
""no; but i thought you'd feel better to see me right here," responded the insinuating little party.
""i had much rather see you in bed, so march straight up again, robin."
""everybody that comes in here has to tell a story, and you ca n't so you'd better cut and run," said emil.
""yes, i can!
i tell teddy lots of ones, all about bears and moons, and little flies that say things when they buzz," protested rob, bound to stay at any price.
""tell one now, then, right away," said dan, preparing to shoulder and bear him off.
""well, i will; let me fink a minute," and rob climbed into his mother's lap, where he was cuddled, with the remark "it is a family failing, this getting out of bed at wrong times.
demi used to do it; and as for me, i was hopping in and out all night long.
meg used to think the house was on fire, and send me down to see, and i used to stay and enjoy myself, as you mean to, my bad son."
""i've finked now," observed rob, quite at his ease, and eager to win the entree into this delightful circle.
every one looked and listened with faces full of suppressed merriment as rob, perched on his mother's knee and wrapped in the gay coverlet, told the following brief but tragic tale with an earnestness that made it very funny: "once a lady had a million children, and one nice little boy.
she went up-stairs and said, "you must n't go in the yard."
but he wented, and fell into the pump, and was drowned dead."
""is that all?"
asked franz, as rob paused out of breath with this startling beginning.
""no, there is another piece of it," and rob knit his downy eyebrows in the effort to evolve another inspiration.
""what did the lady do when he fell into the pump?"
asked his mother, to help him on.
""oh, she pumped him up, and wrapped him in a newspaper, and put him on a shelf to dry for seed."
a general explosion of laughter greeted this surprising conclusion, and mrs. jo patted the curly head, as she said, solemnly, "my son, you inherit your mother's gift of story-telling.
go where glory waits thee."
""now i can stay, ca n't i?
was n't it a good story?"
cried rob, in high feather at his superb success.
""you can stay till you have eaten these twelve pop-corns," said his mother, expecting to see them vanish at one mouthful.
but rob was a shrewd little man, and got the better of her by eating them one by one very slowly, and enjoying every minute with all his might.
""had n't you better tell the other story, while you wait for him?"
said demi, anxious that no time should be lost.
""i really have nothing but a little tale about a wood-box," said mrs. jo, seeing that rob had still seven corns to eat.
""is there a boy in it?"
""it is all boy."
""is it true?"
asked demi.
""every bit of it."
""goody!
tell on, please."
""james snow and his mother lived in a little house, up in new hampshire.
they were poor, and james had to work to help his mother, but he loved books so well he hated work, and just wanted to sit and study all day long."
""how could he!
i hate books, and like work," said dan, objecting to james at the very outset.
""it takes all sorts of people to make a world; workers and students both are needed, and there is room for all.
but i think the workers should study some, and the students should know how to work if necessary," answered mrs. jo, looking from dan to demi with a significant expression.
""i'm sure i do work," and demi showed three small hard spots in his little palm, with pride.
""and i'm sure i study," added dan, nodding with a groan toward the blackboard full of neat figures.
""see what james did.
he did not mean to be selfish, but his mother was proud of him, and let him do as he liked, working by herself that he might have books and time to read them.
one autumn james wanted to go to school, and went to the minister to see if he would help him, about decent clothes and books.
now the minister had heard the gossip about james's idleness, and was not inclined to do much for him, thinking that a boy who neglected his mother, and let her slave for him, was not likely to do very well even at school.
but the good man felt more interested when he found how earnest james was, and being rather an odd man, he made this proposal to the boy, to try now sincere he was.""
i will give you clothes and books on one condition, james.""
"what is that, sir?"
and the boy brightened up at once."
"you are to keep your mother's wood-box full all winter long, and do it yourself.
if you fail, school stops."
james laughed at the queer condition and readily agreed to it, thinking it a very easy one.
""he began school, and for a time got on capitally with the wood-box, for it was autumn, and chips and brushwood were plentiful.
he ran out morning and evening and got a basket full, or chopped up the cat sticks for the little cooking stove, and as his mother was careful and saving, the task was not hard.
but in november the frost came, the days were dull and cold, and wood went fast.
his mother bought a load with her own earnings, but it seemed to melt away, and was nearly gone, before james remembered that he was to get the next.
mrs. snow was feeble and lame with rheumatism, and unable to work as she had done, so james had to put down the books, and see what he could do.
""it was hard, for he was going on well, and so interested in his lessons that he hated to stop except for food and sleep.
but he knew the minister would keep his word, and much against his will james set about earning money in his spare hours, lest the wood-box should get empty.
he did all sorts of things, ran errands, took care of a neighbor's cow, helped the old sexton dust and warm the church on sundays, and in these ways got enough to buy fuel in small quantities.
but it was hard work; the days were short, the winter was bitterly cold, and precious time went fast, and the dear books were so fascinating, that it was sad to leave them, for dull duties that never seemed done.
""the minister watched him quietly, and seeing that he was in earnest helped him without his knowledge.
he met him often driving the wood sleds from the forest, where the men were chopping and as james plodded beside the slow oxen, he read or studied, anxious to use every minute.
"the boy is worth helping, this lesson will do him good, and when he has learned it, i will give him an easier one," said the minister to himself, and on christmas eve a splendid load of wood was quietly dropped at the door of the little house, with a new saw and a bit of paper, saying only," "the lord helps those who help themselves."
""poor james expected nothing, but when he woke on that cold christmas morning, he found a pair of warm mittens, knit by his mother, with her stiff painful fingers.
this gift pleased him very much, but her kiss and tender look as she called him her "good son," was better still.
in trying to keep her warm, he had warmed his own heart, you see, and in filling the wood-box he had also filled those months with duties faithfully done.
he began to see this, to feel that there was something better than books, and to try to learn the lessons god set him, as well as those his school-master gave.
""when he saw the great pile of oak and pine logs at his door, and read the little paper, he knew who sent it, and understood the minister's plan; thanked him for it, and fell to work with all his might.
other boys frolicked that day, but james sawed wood, and i think of all the lads in the town the happiest was the one in the new mittens, who whistled like a blackbird as he filled his mother's wood-box."
""that's a first rater!"
cried dan, who enjoyed a simple matter-of-face story better than the finest fairy tale; "i like that fellow after all."
""i could saw wood for you, aunt jo!"
said demi, feeling as if a new means of earning money for his mother was suggested by the story.
""tell about a bad boy.
i like them best," said nan.
""you'd better tell about a naughty cross-patch of a girl," said tommy, whose evening had been spoilt by nan's unkindness.
it made his apple taste bitter, his pop-corn was insipid, his nuts were hard to crack, and the sight of ned and nan on one bench made him feel his life a burden.
but there were no more stories from mrs. jo, for on looking down at rob he was discovered to be fast asleep with his last corn firmly clasped in his chubby hand.
bundling him up in his coverlet, his mother carried him away and tucked him up with no fear of his popping out again.
""now let's see who will come next," said emil, setting the door temptingly ajar.
mary ann passed first, and he called out to her, but silas had warned her, and she only laughed and hurried on in spite of their enticements.
presently a door opened, and a strong voice was heard humming in the hall, "ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten dass ich so traurig bin."
""it's uncle fritz; all laugh loud and he will be sure to come in," said emil.
a wild burst of laughter followed, and in came uncle fritz, asking, "what is the joke, my lads?"
""caught!
caught!
you ca n't go out till you've told a story," cried the boys, slamming the door.
""so!
that is the joke then?
well, i have no wish to go, it is so pleasant here, and i pay my forfeit at once," which he did by sitting down and beginning instantly, "a long time ago your grandfather, demi, went to lecture in a great town, hoping to get some money for a home for little orphans that some good people were getting up.
his lecture did well, and he put a considerable sum of money in his pocket, feeling very happy about it.
as he was driving in a chaise to another town, he came to a lonely bit of road, late in the afternoon, and was just thinking what a good place it was for robbers when he saw a bad-looking man come out of the woods in front of him and go slowly along as if waiting till he came up.
the thought of the money made grandfather rather anxious, and at first he had a mind to turn round and drive away.
but the horse was tired, and then he did not like to suspect the man, so he kept on, and when he got nearer and saw how poor and sick and ragged the stranger looked, his heart reproached him, and stopping, he said in a kind voice," "my friend, you look tired; let me give you a lift."
the man seemed surprised, hesitated a minute, and then got in.
he did not seem inclined to talk, but grandfather kept on in his wise, cheerful way, speaking of what a hard year it had been, how much the poor had suffered, and how difficult it was to get on sometimes.
the man slowly softened a little, and won by the kind chat, told his story.
how he had been sick, could get no work, had a family of children, and was almost in despair.
grandfather was so full of pity that he forgot his fear, and, asking the man his name, said he would try to get him work in the next town, as he had friends there.
wishing to get at pencil and paper to write down the address, grandfather took out his plump pocket-book, and the minute he did so, the man's eye was on it.
then grandfather remembered what was in it and trembled for his money, but said quietly," "yes, i have a little sum here for some poor orphans.
i wish it was my own, i would so gladly give you some of it.
i am not rich, but i know many of the trials of the poor; this five dollars is mine, and i want to give it to you for your children."
""the hard, hungry look in the man's eyes changed to a grateful one as he took the small sum, freely given, and left the orphans" money untouched.
he rode on with grandfather till they approached the town, then he asked to be set down.
grandpa shook hands with him, and was about to drive on, when the man said, as if something made him," i was desperate when we met, and i meant to rob you, but you were so kind i could n't do it.
god bless you, sir, for keeping me from it!""
""did grandpa ever see him again?"
asked daisy, eagerly.
""no; but i believe the man found work, and did not try robbery any more."
""that was a curious way to treat him; i'd have knocked him down," said dan.
""kindness is always better than force.
try it and see," answered mr. bhaer, rising.
""tell another, please," cried daisy.
""you must, aunt jo did," added demi.
""then i certainly wo n't, but keep my others for next time.
too many tales are as bad as too many bonbons.
i have paid my forfeit and i go," and mr. bhaer ran for his life, with the whole flock in full pursuit.
he had the start, however, and escaped safely into his study, leaving the boys to go rioting back again.
they were so stirred up by the race that they could not settle to their former quiet, and a lively game of blindman's buff followed, in which tommy showed that he had taken the moral of the last story to heart, for, when he caught nan, he whispered in her ear, "i'm sorry i called you a cross-patch."
nan was not to be outdone in kindness, so, when they played "button, button, who's got the button?"
and it was her turn to go round, she said, "hold fast all i give you," with such a friendly smile at tommy, that he was not surprised to find the horse-hair ring in his hand instead of the button.
he only smiled back at her then, but when they were going to bed, he offered nan the best bite of his last apple; she saw the ring on his stumpy little finger, accepted the bite, and peace was declared.
both were ashamed of the temporary coldness, neither was ashamed to say, "i was wrong, forgive me," so the childish friendship remained unbroken, and the home in the willow lasted long, a pleasant little castle in the air.
chapter xxi.
thanksgiving this yearly festival was always kept at plumfield in the good old-fashioned way, and nothing was allowed to interfere with it.
for days beforehand, the little girls helped asia and mrs. jo in store-room and kitchen, making pies and puddings, sorting fruit, dusting dishes, and being very busy and immensely important.
the boys hovered on the outskirts of the forbidden ground, sniffing the savory odors, peeping in at the mysterious performances, and occasionally being permitted to taste some delicacy in the process of preparation.
something more than usual seemed to be on foot this year, for the girls were as busy up-stairs as down, so were the boys in school-room and barn, and a general air of bustle pervaded the house.
there was a great hunting up of old ribbons and finery, much cutting and pasting of gold paper, and the most remarkable quantity of straw, gray cotton, flannel, and big black beads, used by franz and mrs. jo.
ned hammered at strange machines in the workshop, demi and tommy went about murmuring to themselves as if learning something.
a fearful racket was heard in emil's room at intervals, and peals of laughter from the nursery when rob and teddy were sent for and hidden from sight whole hours at a time.
but the thing that puzzled mr. bhaer the most was what became of rob's big pumpkin.
it had been borne in triumph to the kitchen, where a dozen golden-tinted pies soon after appeared.
it would not have taken more than a quarter of the mammoth vegetable to make them, yet where was the rest?
it disappeared, and rob never seemed to care, only chuckled when it was mentioned, and told his father, "to wait and see," for the fun of the whole thing was to surprise father bhaer at the end, and not let him know a bit about what was to happen.
he obediently shut eyes, ears, and mouth, and went about trying not to see what was in plain sight, not to hear the tell-tale sounds that filled the air, not to understand any of the perfectly transparent mysteries going on all about him.
being a german, he loved these simple domestic festivals, and encouraged them with all his heart, for they made home so pleasant that the boys did not care to go elsewhere for fun.
when at last the day came, the boys went off for a long walk, that they might have good appetites for dinner; as if they ever needed them!
the girls remained at home to help set the table, and give last touches to various affairs which filled their busy little souls with anxiety.
the school-room had been shut up since the night before, and mr. bhaer was forbidden to enter it on pain of a beating from teddy, who guarded the door like a small dragon, though he was dying to tell about it, and nothing but his father's heroic self-denial in not listening, kept him from betraying a grand secret.
""it's all done, and it's perfectly splendid," cried nan, coming out at last with an air of triumph.
""the you know goes beautifully, and silas knows just what to do now," added daisy, skipping with delight at some unspeakable success.
""i'm blest if it ai n't the "cutest thing i ever see, them critters in particular," said silas, who had been let into the secret, went off laughing like a great boy.
""they are coming; i hear emil roaring "land lubbers lying down below," so we must run and dress," cried nan, and up-stairs they scampered in a great hurry.
the boys came trooping home with appetites that would have made the big turkey tremble, if it had not been past all fear.
they also retired to dress; and for half-an-hour there was a washing, brushing, and prinking that would have done any tidy woman's heart good to see.
when the bell rang, a troop of fresh-faced lads with shiny hair, clean collars, and sunday jackets on, filed into the dining-room, where mrs. jo, in her one black silk, with a knot of her favorite white chrysanthemums in her bosom, sat at the head of the table, "looking splendid," as the boys said, whenever she got herself up.
daisy and nan were as gay as a posy bed in their new winter dresses, with bright sashes and hair ribbons.
teddy was gorgeous to behold in a crimson merino blouse, and his best button boots, which absorbed and distracted him as much as mr. toot's wristbands did on one occasion.
as mr. and mrs. bhaer glanced at each other down the long table, with those rows of happy faces on either side, they had a little thanksgiving all to themselves, and without a word, for one heart said to the other, "our work has prospered, let us be grateful and go on."
the clatter of knives and forks prevented much conversation for a few minutes, and mary ann with an amazing pink bow in her hair "flew round" briskly, handing plates and ladling out gravy.
nearly every one had contributed to the feast, so the dinner was a peculiarly interesting ones to the eaters of it, who beguiled the pauses by remarks on their own productions.
""if these are not good potatoes i never saw any," observed jack, as he received his fourth big mealy one.
""some of my herbs are in the stuffing of the turkey, that's why it's so nice," said nan, taking a mouthful with intense satisfaction.
""my ducks are prime any way; asia said she never cooked such fat ones," added tommy.
""well, our carrots are beautiful, ai n't they, and our parsnips will be ever so good when we dig them," put in dick, and dolly murmured his assent from behind the bone he was picking.
""i helped make the pies with my pumpkin," called out robby, with a laugh which he stopped by retiring into his mug.
""i picked some of the apples that the cider is made of," said demi.
""i raked the cranberries for the sauce," cried nat.
""i got the nuts," added dan, and so it went on all round the table.
""who made up thanksgiving?"
asked rob, for being lately promoted to jacket and trousers he felt a new and manly interest in the institutions of his country.
""see who can answer that question," and mr. bhaer nodded to one or two of his best history boys.
""i know," said demi, "the pilgrims made it."
""what for?"
asked rob, without waiting to learn who the pilgrims were.
""i forget," and demi subsided.
""i believe it was because they were starved once, and so when they had a good harvest, they said, "we will thank god for it," and they had a day and called it thanksgiving," said dan, who liked the story of the brave men who suffered so nobly for their faith.
""good!
i did n't think you would remember any thing but natural history," and mr. bhaer tapped gently on the table as applause for his pupil.
dan looked pleased; and mrs. jo said to her son, "now do you understand about it, robby?"
""no, i do n't.
i thought pil-grins were a sort of big bird that lived on rocks, and i saw pictures of them in demi's book."
""he means penguins.
oh, is n't he a little goosey!"
and demi laid back in his chair and laughed aloud.
""do n't laugh at him, but tell him all about it if you can," said mrs. bhaer, consoling rob with more cranberry sauce for the general smile that went round the table at his mistake.
""well, i will;" and, after a pause to collect his ideas, demi delivered the following sketch of the pilgrim fathers, which would have made even those grave gentlemen smile if they could have heard it.
""you see, rob, some of the people in england did n't like the king, or something, so they got into ships and sailed away to this country.
it was all full of indians, and bears, and wild creatures, and they lived in forts, and had a dreadful time."
""the bears?"
asked robby, with interest.
""no; the pilgrims, because the indians troubled them.
they had n't enough to eat, and they went to church with guns, and ever so many died, and they got out of the ships on a rock, and it's called plymouth rock, and aunt jo saw it and touched it.
the pilgrims killed all the indians, and got rich; and hung the witches, and were very good; and some of the greatest great-grandpas came in the ships.
one was the mayflower; and they made thanksgiving, and we have it always, and i like it.
some more turkey, please."
""i think demi will be an historian, there is such order and clearness in his account of events;" and uncle fritz's eyes laughed at aunt jo, as he helped the descendant of the pilgrims to his third bit of turkey.
""i thought you must eat as much as ever you could on thanksgiving.
but franz says you must n't even then;" and stuffy looked as if he had received bad news.
""franz is right, so mind your knife and fork, and be moderate, or else you wo n't be able to help in the surprise by and by," said mrs. jo.
""i'll be careful; but everybody does eat lots, and i like it better than being moderate," said stuffy, who leaned to the popular belief that thanksgiving must be kept by coming as near apoplexy as possible, and escaping with merely a fit of indigestion or a headache.
""now, my "pilgrims" amuse yourselves quietly till tea-time, for you will have enough excitement this evening," said mrs. jo, as they rose from the table after a protracted sitting, finished by drinking every one's health in cider.
""i think i will take the whole flock for a drive, it is so pleasant; then you can rest, my dear, or you will be worn out this evening," added mr. bhaer; and as soon as coats and hats could be put on, the great omnibus was packed full, and away they went for a long gay drive, leaving mrs. jo to rest and finish sundry small affairs in peace.
an early and light tea was followed by more brushing of hair and washing of hands; then the flock waited impatiently for the company to come.
only the family was expected; for these small revels were strictly domestic, and such being the case, sorrow was not allowed to sadden the present festival.
all came; mr. and mrs. march, with aunt meg, so sweet and lovely, in spite of her black dress and the little widow's cap that encircled her tranquil face.
uncle teddy and aunt amy, with the princess looking more fairy-like than ever, in a sky-blue gown, and a great bouquet of hot-house flowers, which she divided among the boys, sticking one in each button-hole, making them feel peculiarly elegant and festive.
one strange face appeared, and uncle teddy led the unknown gentleman up to the bhaers, saying, "this is mr. hyde; he has been inquiring about dan, and i ventured to bring him to-night, that he might see how much the boy has improved."
the bhaers received him cordially, for dan's sake, pleased that the lad had been remembered.
but, after a few minutes" chat, they were glad to know mr. hyde for his own sake, so genial, simple, and interesting was he.
it was pleasant to see the boy's face light up when he caught sight of his friend; pleasanter still to see mr. hyde's surprise and satisfaction in dan's improved manners and appearance, and pleasantest of all to watch the two sit talking in a corner, forgetting the differences of age, culture, and position, in the one subject which interested both, as man and boy compared notes, and told the story of their summer life.
""the performance must begin soon, or the actors will go to sleep," said mrs. jo, when the first greetings were over.
so every one went into the school-room, and took seats before a curtain made of two bed-covers.
the children had already vanished; but stifled laughter, and funny little exclamations from behind the curtain, betrayed their whereabouts.
the entertainment began with a spirited exhibition of gymnastics, led by franz.
the six elder lads, in blue trousers and red shirts, made a fine display of muscle with dumb-bells, clubs, and weights, keeping time to the music of the piano, played by mrs. jo behind the scenes.
dan was so energetic in this exercise, that there was some danger of his knocking down his neighbors, like so many nine-pins, or sending his bean-bags whizzing among the audience; for he was excited by mr. hyde's presence, and a burning desire to do honor to his teachers.
""a fine, strong lad.
if i go on my trip to south america, in a year or two, i shall be tempted to ask you to lend him to me, mr. bhaer," said mr. hyde, whose interest in dan was much increased by the report he had just heard of him.
""you shall have him, and welcome, though we shall miss our young hercules very much.
it would do him a world of good, and i am sure he would serve his friend faithfully."
dan heard both question and answer, and his heart leaped with joy at the thought of travelling in a new country with mr. hyde, and swelled with gratitude for the kindly commendation which rewarded his efforts to be all these friends desired to see him.
after the gymnastics, demi and tommy spoke the old school dialogue, "money makes the mare go."
demi did very well, but tommy was capital as the old farmer; for he imitated silas in a way that convulsed the audience, and caused silas himself to laugh so hard that asia had to slap him on the back, as they stood in the hall enjoying the fun immensely.
then emil, who had got his breath by this time, gave them a sea-song in costume, with a great deal about "stormy winds," "lee shores," and a rousing chorus of "luff, boys, luff," which made the room ring; after which ned performed a funny chinese dance, and hopped about like a large frog in a pagoda hat.
as this was the only public exhibition ever held at plumfield, a few exercises in lightning-arithmetic, spelling, and reading were given.
jack quite amazed the public by his rapid calculations on the blackboard.
tommy won in the spelling match, and demi read a little french fable so well that uncle teddy was charmed.
""where are the other children?"
asked every one as the curtain fell, and none of the little ones appeared.
""oh, that is the surprise.
it's so lovely, i pity you because you do n't know it," said demi, who had gone to get his mother's kiss, and stayed by her to explain the mystery when it should be revealed.
goldilocks had been carried off by aunt jo, to the great amazement of her papa, who quite outdid mr. bhaer in acting wonder, suspense, and wild impatience to know "what was going to happen."
at last, after much rustling, hammering, and very audible directions from the stage manager, the curtain rose to soft music, and bess was discovered sitting on a stool beside a brown paper fire-place.
a dearer little cinderella was never seen; for the gray gown was very ragged, the tiny shoes all worn, the face so pretty under the bright hair, and the attitude so dejected, it brought tears, as well as smiles, to the fond eyes looking at the baby actress.
she sat quite still, till a voice whispered, "now!"
then she sighed a funny little sigh, and said, "oh i wish i tood go to the ball!"
so naturally, that her father clapped frantically, and her mother called out, "little darling!"
these highly improper expressions of feeling caused cinderella to forget herself, and shake her head at them, saying, reprovingly, "you must n't "peak to me."
silence instantly prevailed, and three taps were heard on the wall.
cinderella looked alarmed, but before she could remember to say, "what is dat?"
the back of the brown paper fire-place opened like a door, and, with some difficulty, the fairy godmother got herself and her pointed hat through.
it was nan, in a red cloak, a cap, and a wand, which she waved as she said decidedly, "you shall go to the ball, my dear."
""now you must pull and show my pretty dress," returned cinderella, tugging at her brown gown.
""no, no; you must say, "how can i go in my rags?""
said the godmother in her own voice.
""oh yes, so i mus";" and the princess said it, quite undisturbed by her forgetfulness.
""i change your rags into a splendid dress, because you are good," said the godmother in her stage tones; and deliberately unbuttoning the brown pinafore, she displayed a gorgeous sight.
the little princess really was pretty enough to turn the heads of any number of small princes, for her mamma had dressed her like a tiny court lady, in a rosy silk train with satin under-skirt, and bits of bouquets here and there, quite lovely to behold.
the godmother put a crown, with pink and white feathers drooping from it, on her head, and gave her a pair of silver paper slippers, which she put on, and then stood up, lifting her skirts to show them to the audience, saying, with pride, "my dlass ones, ai n't they pitty?"
she was so charmed with them, that she was with difficulty recalled to her part, and made to say, "but i have no toach, dodmother."
""behold it!"
and nan waved her wand with such a flourish, that she nearly knocked off the crown of the princess.
then appeared the grand triumph of the piece.
first, a rope was seen to flap on the floor, to tighten with a twitch as emil's voice was heard to say, "heave, ahoy!"
and silas's gruff one to reply, "stiddy, now, stiddy!"
a shout of laughter followed, for four large gray rats appeared, rather shaky as to their legs, and queer as to their tails, but quite fine about the head, where black beads shone in the most lifelike manner.
they drew, or were intended to appear as if they did, a magnificent coach made of half the mammoth pumpkin, mounted on the wheels of teddy's wagon, painted yellow to match the gay carriage.
perched on a seat in front sat a jolly little coachman in a white cotton-wool wig, cocked hat, scarlet breeches, and laced coat, who cracked a long whip and jerked the red reins so energetically, that the gray steeds reared finely.
it was teddy, and he beamed upon the company so affably that they gave him a round all to himself; and uncle laurie said, "if i could find as sober a coachman as that one, i would engage him on the spot."
the coach stopped, the godmother lifted in the princess, and she was trundled away in state, kissing her hand to the public, with her glass shoes sticking up in front, and her pink train sweeping the ground behind, for, elegant as the coach was, i regret to say that her highness was rather a tight fit.
the next scene was the ball, and here nan and daisy appeared as gay as peacocks in all sorts of finery.
nan was especially good as the proud sister, and crushed many imaginary ladies as she swept about the palace-hall.
the prince, in solitary state upon a somewhat unsteady throne, sat gazing about him from under an imposing crown, as he played with his sword and admired the rosettes in his shoes.
when cinderella came in he jumped up, and exclaimed, with more warmth than elegance, "my gracious!
who is that?"
and immediately led the lady out to dance, while the sisters scowled and turned up their noses in the corner.
the stately jig executed by the little couple was very pretty, for the childish faces were so earnest, the costumes so gay, and the steps so peculiar, that they looked like the dainty quaint figures painted on a watteau fan.
the princess's train was very much in her way, and the sword of prince rob nearly tripped him up several times.
but they overcame these obstacles remarkably well, and finished the dance with much grace and spirit, considering that neither knew what the other was about.
""drop your shoe," whispered mrs. jo's voice as the lady was about to sit down.
""oh, i fordot!"
and, taking off one of the silvery slippers, cinderella planted it carefully in the middle of the stage, said to rob, "now you must try and tatch me," and ran away, while the prince, picking up the shoe, obediently trotted after her.
the third scene, as everybody knows, is where the herald comes to try on the shoe.
teddy, still in coachman's dress, came in blowing a tin fish-horn melodiously, and the proud sisters each tried to put on the slipper.
nan insisted on playing cut off her toe with a carving-knife, and performed that operation so well that the herald was alarmed, and begged her to be "welly keerful."
cinderella then was called, and came in with the pinafore half on, slipped her foot into the slipper, and announced, with satisfaction, "i am the pinsiss."
daisy wept, and begged pardon; but nan, who liked tragedy, improved upon the story, and fell in a fainting-fit upon the floor, where she remained comfortably enjoying the rest of the play.
it was not long, for the prince ran in, dropped upon his knees, and kissed the hand of goldilocks with great ardor, while the herald blew a blast that nearly deafened the audience.
the curtain had no chance to fall, for the princess ran off the stage to her father, crying, "did n't i do well?"
while the prince and herald had a fencing-match with the tin horn and wooden sword.
""it was beautiful!"
said every one; and, when the raptures had a little subsided, nat came out with his violin in his hand.
""hush!
hush!"
cried all the children, and silence followed, for something in the boy's bashful manner and appealing eyes make every one listen kindly.
the bhaers thought he would play some of the old airs he knew so well, but, to their surprise, they heard a new and lovely melody, so softly, sweetly played, that they could hardly believe it could be nat.
it was one of those songs without words that touch the heart, and sing of all tender home-like hopes and joys, soothing and cheering those who listen to its simple music.
aunt meg leaned her head on demi's shoulder, grandmother wiped her eyes, and mrs. jo looked up at mr. laurie, saying, in a choky whisper, "you composed that."
""i wanted your boy to do you honor, and thank you in his own way," answered laurie, leaning down to answer her.
when nat made his bow and was about to go, he was called back by many hands, and had to play again.
he did so with such a happy face, that it was good to see him, for he did his best, and gave them the gay old tunes that set the feet to dancing, and made quietude impossible.
""clear the floor!"
cried emil; and in a minute the chairs were pushed back, the older people put safely in corners and the children gathered on the stage.
""show your manners!"
called emil; and the boys pranced up to the ladies, old and young; with polite invitations to "tread the mazy," as dear dick swiveller has it.
the small lads nearly came to blows for the princess, but she chose dick, like a kind, little gentlewoman as she was, and let him lead her proudly to her place.
mrs. jo was not allowed to decline; and aunt amy filled dan with unspeakable delight by refusing franz and taking him.
of course nan and tommy, nat and daisy paired off, while uncle teddy went and got asia, who was longing to "jig it," and felt much elated by the honor done her.
silas and mary ann had a private dance in the hall; and for half-an-hour plumfield was at its merriest.
the party wound up with a grand promenade of all the young folks, headed by the pumpkin-coach with the princess and driver inside, and the rats in a wildly frisky state.
while the children enjoyed this final frolic, the elders sat in the parlor looking on as they talked together of the little people with the interest of parents and friends.
""what are you thinking of, all by yourself, with such a happy face, sister jo?"
asked laurie, sitting down beside her on the sofa.
""my summer's work, teddy, and amusing myself by imagining the future of my boys," she answered, smiling as she made room for him.
""they are all to be poets, painters, and statesmen, famous soldiers, or at least merchant princes, i suppose."
""no, i am not as aspiring as i once was, and i shall be satisfied if they are honest men.
but i will confess that i do expect a little glory and a career for some of them.
demi is not a common child, and i think he will blossom into something good and great in the best sense of the word.
the others will do well, i hope, especially my last two boys, for, after hearing nat play to-night, i really think he has genius."
""too soon to say; talent he certainly has, and there is no doubt that the boy can soon earn his bread by the work he loves.
build him up for another year or so, and then i will take him off your hands, and launch him properly."
""that is such a pleasant prospect for poor nat, who came to me six months ago so friendless and forlorn.
dan's future is already plain to me.
mr. hyde will want him soon, and i mean to give him a brave and faithful little servant.
dan is one who can serve well if the wages are love and confidence, and he has the energy to carve out his own future in his own way.
yes, i am very happy over our success with these boys one so weak, and one so wild; both so much better now, and so full of promise."
""what magic did you use, jo?"
""i only loved them, and let them see it.
fritz did the rest."
""dear soul!
you look as if "only loving" had been rather hard work sometimes," said laurie, stroking her thin cheek with a look of more tender admiration than he had ever given her as a girl.
""i'm a faded old woman, but i'm a very happy one; so do n't pity me, teddy;" and she glanced about the room with eyes full of a sincere content.
""yes, your plan seems to work better and better every year," he said, with an emphatic nod of approval toward the cheery scene before him.
""how can it fail to work well when i have so much help from you all?"
answered mrs. jo, looking gratefully at her most generous patron.
""it is the best joke of the family, this school of yours and its success.
so unlike the future we planned for you, and yet so suited to you after all.
it was a regular inspiration, jo," said laurie, dodging her thanks as usual.
""ah!
but you laughed at it in the beginning, and still make all manner of fun of me and my inspirations.
did n't you predict that having girls with the boys would be a dead failure?
now see how well it works;" and she pointed to the happy group of lads and lassies dancing, singing, and chattering together with every sign of kindly good fellowship.
""i give in, and when my goldilocks is old enough i'll send her to you.
can i say more than that?"
""i shall be so proud to have your little treasure trusted to me.
but really, teddy, the effect of these girls has been excellent.
i know you will laugh at me, but i do n't mind, i'm used to it; so i'll tell you that one of my favorite fancies is to look at my family as a small world, to watch the progress of my little men, and, lately, to see how well the influence of my little women works upon them.
daisy is the domestic element, and they all feel the charm of her quiet, womanly ways.
nan is the restless, energetic, strong-minded one; they admire her courage, and give her a fair chance to work out her will, seeing that she has sympathy as well as strength, and the power to do much in their small world.
your bess is the lady, full of natural refinement, grace, and beauty.
she polishes them unconsciously, and fills her place as any lovely woman may, using her gentle influence to lift and hold them above the coarse, rough things of life, and keep them gentlemen in the best sense of the fine old word."
""it is not always the ladies who do that best, jo.
it is sometimes the strong brave woman who stirs up the boy and makes a man of him;" and laurie bowed to her with a significant laugh.
""no; i think the graceful woman, whom the boy you allude to married, has done more for him than the wild nan of his youth; or, better still, the wise, motherly woman who watched over him, as daisy watches over demi, did more to make him what he is;" and jo turned toward her mother, who sat a little apart with meg, looking so full of the sweet dignity and beauty of old age, that laurie gave her a glance of filial respect and love as he replied, in serious earnest, "all three did much for him, and i can understand how well these little girls will help your lads."
""not more than the lads help them; it is mutual, i assure you.
nat does much for daisy with his music; dan can manage nan better than any of us; and demi teaches your goldilocks so easily and well that fritz calls them roger ascham and lady jane grey.
dear me!
if men and women would only trust, understand, and help one another as my children do, what a capital place the world would be!"
and mrs. jo's eyes grew absent, as if she was looking at a new and charming state of society in which people lived as happily and innocently as her flock at plumfield.
""you are doing your best to help on the good time, my dear.
continue to believe in it, to work for it, and to prove its possibility by the success of her small experiment," said mr. march, pausing as he passed to say an encouraging word, for the good man never lost his faith in humanity, and still hoped to see peace, good-will, and happiness reign upon the earth.
""i am not so ambitious as that, father.
i only want to give these children a home in which they can be taught a few simple things which will help to make life less hard to them when they go out to fight their battles in the world.
honesty, courage, industry, faith in god, their fellow-creatures, and themselves; that is all i try for."
""that is every thing.
give them these helps, then let them go to work out their life as men and women; and whatever their success or failure is, i think they will remember and bless your efforts, my good son and daughter."
the professor had joined them, and as mr. march spoke he gave a hand to each, and left them with a look that was a blessing.
as jo and her husband stood together for a moment talking quietly, and feeling that their summer work had been well done if father approved, mr. laurie slipped into the hall, said a word to the children, and all of a sudden the whole flock pranced into the room, joined hands and danced about father and mother bhaer, singing blithely, "summer days are over, summer work is done; harvests have been gathered gayly one by one.
now the feast is eaten, finished is the play; but one rite remains for our thanksgiving-day.
""best of all the harvest in the dear god's sight, are the happy children in the home to-night; and we come to offer thanks where thanks are due, with grateful hearts and voices, father, mother, unto you."
with the last words the circle narrowed till the good professor and his wife were taken prisoner by many arms, and half hidden by the bouquet of laughing young faces which surrounded them, proving that one plant had taken root and blossomed beautifully in all the little gardens.
_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___little_women.txt.out
chapter one playing pilgrims "christmas wo n't be christmas without any presents," grumbled jo, lying on the rug.
""it's so dreadful to be poor!"
sighed meg, looking down at her old dress.
""i do n't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added little amy, with an injured sniff.
""we've got father and mother, and each other," said beth contentedly from her corner.
the four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as jo said sadly, "we have n't got father, and shall not have him for a long time."
she did n't say "perhaps never," but each silently added it, thinking of father far away, where the fighting was.
nobody spoke for a minute; then meg said in an altered tone, "you know the reason mother proposed not having any presents this christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the army.
we ca n't do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly.
but i am afraid i do n't," and meg shook her head, as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted.
""but i do n't think the little we should spend would do any good.
we've each got a dollar, and the army would n't be much helped by our giving that.
i agree not to expect anything from mother or you, but i do want to buy undine and sintran for myself.
i've wanted it so long," said jo, who was a bookworm.
""i planned to spend mine in new music," said beth, with a little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle-holder.
""i shall get a nice box of faber's drawing pencils; i really need them," said amy decidedly.
""mother did n't say anything about our money, and she wo n't wish us to give up everything.
let's each buy what we want, and have a little fun; i'm sure we work hard enough to earn it," cried jo, examining the heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner.
""i know i do -- teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when i'm longing to enjoy myself at home," began meg, in the complaining tone again.
""you do n't have half such a hard time as i do," said jo.
""how would you like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you're ready to fly out the window or cry?"
""it's naughty to fret, but i do think washing dishes and keeping things tidy is the worst work in the world.
it makes me cross, and my hands get so stiff, i ca n't practice well at all."
and beth looked at her rough hands with a sigh that any one could hear that time.
""i do n't believe any of you suffer as i do," cried amy, "for you do n't have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if you do n't know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your father if he is n't rich, and insult you when your nose is n't nice."
""if you mean libel, i'd say so, and not talk about labels, as if papa was a pickle bottle," advised jo, laughing.
""i know what i mean, and you need n't be statirical about it.
it's proper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary," returned amy, with dignity.
""do n't peck at one another, children.
do n't you wish we had the money papa lost when we were little, jo?
dear me!
how happy and good we'd be, if we had no worries!"
said meg, who could remember better times.
""you said the other day you thought we were a deal happier than the king children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in spite of their money."
""so i did, beth.
well, i think we are.
for though we do have to work, we make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as jo would say."
""jo does use such slang words!"
observed amy, with a reproving look at the long figure stretched on the rug.
jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began to whistle.
""do n't, jo.
it's so boyish!"
""that's why i do it."
""i detest rude, unladylike girls!"
""i hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!"
""birds in their little nests agree," sang beth, the peacemaker, with such a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the "pecking" ended for that time.
""really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said meg, beginning to lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion.
""you are old enough to leave off boyish tricks, and to behave better, josephine.
it did n't matter so much when you were a little girl, but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you should remember that you are a young lady."
""i'm not!
and if turning up my hair makes me one, i'll wear it in two tails till i'm twenty," cried jo, pulling off her net, and shaking down a chestnut mane.
""i hate to think i've got to grow up, and be miss march, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a china aster!
it's bad enough to be a girl, anyway, when i like boy's games and work and manners!
i ca n't get over my disappointment in not being a boy.
and it's worse than ever now, for i'm dying to go and fight with papa.
and i can only stay home and knit, like a poky old woman!"
and jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled like castanets, and her ball bounded across the room.
""poor jo!
it's too bad, but it ca n't be helped.
so you must try to be contented with making your name boyish, and playing brother to us girls," said beth, stroking the rough head with a hand that all the dish washing and dusting in the world could not make ungentle in its touch.
""as for you, amy," continued meg, "you are altogether too particular and prim.
your airs are funny now, but you'll grow up an affected little goose, if you do n't take care.
i like your nice manners and refined ways of speaking, when you do n't try to be elegant.
but your absurd words are as bad as jo's slang."
""if jo is a tomboy and amy a goose, what am i, please?"
asked beth, ready to share the lecture.
""you're a dear, and nothing else," answered meg warmly, and no one contradicted her, for the "mouse" was the pet of the family.
as young readers like to know "how people look", we will take this moment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the december snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within.
it was a comfortable room, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain, for a good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home peace pervaded it.
margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain.
fifteen-year-old jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt, for she never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very much in her way.
she had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful.
her long, thick hair was her one beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way.
round shoulders had jo, big hands and feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman and did n't like it.
elizabeth, or beth, as everyone called her, was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression which was seldom disturbed.
her father called her "little miss tranquility", and the name suited her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of her own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved.
amy, though the youngest, was a most important person, in her own opinion at least.
a regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying herself like a young lady mindful of her manners.
what the characters of the four sisters were we will leave to be found out.
the clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, beth put a pair of slippers down to warm.
somehow the sight of the old shoes had a good effect upon the girls, for mother was coming, and everyone brightened to welcome her.
meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp, amy got out of the easy chair without being asked, and jo forgot how tired she was as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze.
""they are quite worn out.
marmee must have a new pair."
""i thought i'd get her some with my dollar," said beth.
""no, i shall!"
cried amy.
""i'm the oldest," began meg, but jo cut in with a decided, "i'm the man of the family now papa is away, and i shall provide the slippers, for he told me to take special care of mother while he was gone."
""i'll tell you what we'll do," said beth, "let's each get her something for christmas, and not get anything for ourselves."
""that's like you, dear!
what will we get?"
exclaimed jo.
everyone thought soberly for a minute, then meg announced, as if the idea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, "i shall give her a nice pair of gloves."
""army shoes, best to be had," cried jo.
""some handkerchiefs, all hemmed," said beth.
""i'll get a little bottle of cologne.
she likes it, and it wo n't cost much, so i'll have some left to buy my pencils," added amy.
""how will we give the things?"
asked meg.
""put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the bundles.
do n't you remember how we used to do on our birthdays?"
answered jo.
""i used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the chair with the crown on, and see you all come marching round to give the presents, with a kiss.
i liked the things and the kisses, but it was dreadful to have you sit looking at me while i opened the bundles," said beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea at the same time.
""let marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and then surprise her.
we must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, meg.
there is so much to do about the play for christmas night," said jo, marching up and down, with her hands behind her back, and her nose in the air.
""i do n't mean to act any more after this time.
i'm getting too old for such things," observed meg, who was as much a child as ever about "dressing-up" frolics.
""you wo n't stop, i know, as long as you can trail round in a white gown with your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry.
you are the best actress we've got, and there'll be an end of everything if you quit the boards," said jo.
""we ought to rehearse tonight.
come here, amy, and do the fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker in that."
""i ca n't help it.
i never saw anyone faint, and i do n't choose to make myself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do.
if i can go down easily, i'll drop.
if i ca n't, i shall fall into a chair and be graceful.
i do n't care if hugo does come at me with a pistol," returned amy, who was not gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because she was small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain of the piece.
""do it this way.
clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room, crying frantically, "roderigo!
save me!
save me!""
and away went jo, with a melodramatic scream which was truly thrilling.
amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her, and jerked herself along as if she went by machinery, and her "ow!"
was more suggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and anguish.
jo gave a despairing groan, and meg laughed outright, while beth let her bread burn as she watched the fun with interest.
""it's no use!
do the best you can when the time comes, and if the audience laughs, do n't blame me.
come on, meg."
then things went smoothly, for don pedro defied the world in a speech of two pages without a single break.
hagar, the witch, chanted an awful incantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect.
roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and hugo died in agonies of remorse and arsenic, with a wild, "ha!
ha!"
""it's the best we've had yet," said meg, as the dead villain sat up and rubbed his elbows.
""i do n't see how you can write and act such splendid things, jo.
you're a regular shakespeare!"
exclaimed beth, who firmly believed that her sisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all things.
""not quite," replied jo modestly.
""i do think the witches curse, an operatic tragedy is rather a nice thing, but i'd like to try macbeth, if we only had a trapdoor for banquo.
i always wanted to do the killing part.
"is that a dagger that i see before me?"
muttered jo, rolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had seen a famous tragedian do.
""no, it's the toasting fork, with mother's shoe on it instead of the bread.
beth's stage-struck!"
cried meg, and the rehearsal ended in a general burst of laughter.
""glad to find you so merry, my girls," said a cheery voice at the door, and actors and audience turned to welcome a tall, motherly lady with a "can i help you" look about her which was truly delightful.
she was not elegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the girls thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in the world.
""well, dearies, how have you got on today?
there was so much to do, getting the boxes ready to go tomorrow, that i did n't come home to dinner.
has anyone called, beth?
how is your cold, meg?
jo, you look tired to death.
come and kiss me, baby."
while making these maternal inquiries mrs. march got her wet things off, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy chair, drew amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day.
the girls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way.
meg arranged the tea table, jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, over-turning, and clattering everything she touched.
beth trotted to and fro between parlor kitchen, quiet and busy, while amy gave directions to everyone, as she sat with her hands folded.
as they gathered about the table, mrs. march said, with a particularly happy face, "i've got a treat for you after supper."
a quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine.
beth clapped her hands, regardless of the biscuit she held, and jo tossed up her napkin, crying, "a letter!
a letter!
three cheers for father!"
""yes, a nice long letter.
he is well, and thinks he shall get through the cold season better than we feared.
he sends all sorts of loving wishes for christmas, and an especial message to you girls," said mrs. march, patting her pocket as if she had got a treasure there.
""hurry and get done!
do n't stop to quirk your little finger and simper over your plate, amy," cried jo, choking on her tea and dropping her bread, butter side down, on the carpet in her haste to get at the treat.
beth ate no more, but crept away to sit in her shadowy corner and brood over the delight to come, till the others were ready.
""i think it was so splendid in father to go as chaplain when he was too old to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier," said meg warmly.
""do n't i wish i could go as a drummer, a vivan -- what's its name?
or a nurse, so i could be near him and help him," exclaimed jo, with a groan.
""it must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat all sorts of bad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug," sighed amy.
""when will he come home, marmee?"
asked beth, with a little quiver in her voice.
""not for many months, dear, unless he is sick.
he will stay and do his work faithfully as long as he can, and we wo n't ask for him back a minute sooner than he can be spared.
now come and hear the letter."
they all drew to the fire, mother in the big chair with beth at her feet, meg and amy perched on either arm of the chair, and jo leaning on the back, where no one would see any sign of emotion if the letter should happen to be touching.
very few letters were written in those hard times that were not touching, especially those which fathers sent home.
in this one little was said of the hardships endured, the dangers faced, or the homesickness conquered.
it was a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of lively descriptions of camp life, marches, and military news, and only at the end did the writer's heart over-flow with fatherly love and longing for the little girls at home.
""give them all of my dear love and a kiss.
tell them i think of them by day, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort in their affection at all times.
a year seems very long to wait before i see them, but remind them that while we wait we may all work, so that these hard days need not be wasted.
i know they will remember all i said to them, that they will be loving children to you, will do their duty faithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely, and conquer themselves so beautifully that when i come back to them i may be fonder and prouder than ever of my little women."
everybody sniffed when they came to that part.
jo was n't ashamed of the great tear that dropped off the end of her nose, and amy never minded the rumpling of her curls as she hid her face on her mother's shoulder and sobbed out, "i am a selfish girl!
but i'll truly try to be better, so he may n't be disappointed in me by-and-by."
""we all will," cried meg.
""i think too much of my looks and hate to work, but wo n't any more, if i can help it."
""i'll try and be what he loves to call me," a little woman" and not be rough and wild, but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else," said jo, thinking that keeping her temper at home was a much harder task than facing a rebel or two down south.
beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army sock and began to knit with all her might, losing no time in doing the duty that lay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all that father hoped to find her when the year brought round the happy coming home.
mrs. march broke the silence that followed jo's words, by saying in her cheery voice, "do you remember how you used to play pilgrims progress when you were little things?
nothing delighted you more than to have me tie my piece bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks and rolls of paper, and let you travel through the house from the cellar, which was the city of destruction, up, up, to the housetop, where you had all the lovely things you could collect to make a celestial city."
""what fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting apollyon, and passing through the valley where the hob-goblins were," said jo.
""i liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled downstairs," said meg.
""i do n't remember much about it, except that i was afraid of the cellar and the dark entry, and always liked the cake and milk we had up at the top.
if i was n't too old for such things, i'd rather like to play it over again," said amy, who began to talk of renouncing childish things at the mature age of twelve.
""we never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we are playing all the time in one way or another.
our burdens are here, our road is before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is the guide that leads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace which is a true celestial city.
now, my little pilgrims, suppose you begin again, not in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you can get before father comes home."
""really, mother?
where are our bundles?"
asked amy, who was a very literal young lady.
""each of you told what your burden was just now, except beth.
i rather think she has n't got any," said her mother.
""yes, i have.
mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice pianos, and being afraid of people."
beth's bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh, but nobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very much.
""let us do it," said meg thoughtfully.
""it is only another name for trying to be good, and the story may help us, for though we do want to be good, it's hard work and we forget, and do n't do our best."
""we were in the slough of despond tonight, and mother came and pulled us out as help did in the book.
we ought to have our roll of directions, like christian.
what shall we do about that?"
asked jo, delighted with the fancy which lent a little romance to the very dull task of doing her duty.
""look under your pillows christmas morning, and you will find your guidebook," replied mrs. march.
they talked over the new plan while old hannah cleared the table, then out came the four little work baskets, and the needles flew as the girls made sheets for aunt march.
it was uninteresting sewing, but tonight no one grumbled.
they adopted jo's plan of dividing the long seams into four parts, and calling the quarters europe, asia, africa, and america, and in that way got on capitally, especially when they talked about the different countries as they stitched their way through them.
at nine they stopped work, and sang, as usual, before they went to bed.
no one but beth could get much music out of the old piano, but she had a way of softly touching the yellow keys and making a pleasant accompaniment to the simple songs they sang.
meg had a voice like a flute, and she and her mother led the little choir.
amy chirped like a cricket, and jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always coming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoiled the most pensive tune.
they had always done this from the time they could lisp... crinkle, crinkle, "ittle "tar, and it had become a household custom, for the mother was a born singer.
the first sound in the morning was her voice as she went about the house singing like a lark, and the last sound at night was the same cheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for that familiar lullaby.
chapter two a merry christmas jo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of christmas morning.
no stockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much disappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down because it was crammed so full of goodies.
then she remembered her mother's promise and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little crimson-covered book.
she knew it very well, for it was that beautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and jo felt that it was a true guidebook for any pilgrim going on a long journey.
she woke meg with a "merry christmas," and bade her see what was under her pillow.
a green-covered book appeared, with the same picture inside, and a few words written by their mother, which made their one present very precious in their eyes.
presently beth and amy woke to rummage and find their little books also, one dove-colored, the other blue, and all sat looking at and talking about them, while the east grew rosy with the coming day.
in spite of her small vanities, margaret had a sweet and pious nature, which unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially jo, who loved her very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently given.
""girls," said meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside her to the two little night-capped ones in the room beyond, "mother wants us to read and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once.
we used to be faithful about it, but since father went away and all this war trouble unsettled us, we have neglected many things.
you can do as you please, but i shall keep my book on the table here and read a little every morning as soon as i wake, for i know it will do me good and help me through the day."
then she opened her new book and began to read.
jo put her arm round her and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the quiet expression so seldom seen on her restless face.
""how good meg is!
come, amy, let's do as they do.
i'll help you with the hard words, and they'll explain things if we do n't understand," whispered beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her sisters" example.
""i'm glad mine is blue," said amy.
and then the rooms were very still while the pages were softly turned, and the winter sunshine crept in to touch the bright heads and serious faces with a christmas greeting.
""where is mother?"
asked meg, as she and jo ran down to thank her for their gifts, half an hour later.
""goodness only knows.
some poor creeter came a-beggin", and your ma went straight off to see what was needed.
there never was such a woman for givin" away vittles and drink, clothes and firin"," replied hannah, who had lived with the family since meg was born, and was considered by them all more as a friend than a servant.
""she will be back soon, i think, so fry your cakes, and have everything ready," said meg, looking over the presents which were collected in a basket and kept under the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper time.
""why, where is amy's bottle of cologne?"
she added, as the little flask did not appear.
""she took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a ribbon on it, or some such notion," replied jo, dancing about the room to take the first stiffness off the new army slippers.
""how nice my handkerchiefs look, do n't they?
hannah washed and ironed them for me, and i marked them all myself," said beth, looking proudly at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labor.
""bless the child!
she's gone and put "mother" on them instead of'm.
march".
how funny!"
cried jo, taking one up.
""is n't that right?
i thought it was better to do it so, because meg's initials are m.m., and i do n't want anyone to use these but marmee," said beth, looking troubled.
""it's all right, dear, and a very pretty idea, quite sensible too, for no one can ever mistake now.
it will please her very much, i know," said meg, with a frown for jo and a smile for beth.
""there's mother.
hide the basket, quick!"
cried jo, as a door slammed and steps sounded in the hall.
amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw her sisters all waiting for her.
""where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?"
asked meg, surprised to see, by her hood and cloak, that lazy amy had been out so early.
""do n't laugh at me, jo!
i did n't mean anyone should know till the time came.
i only meant to change the little bottle for a big one, and i gave all my money to get it, and i'm truly trying not to be selfish any more."
as she spoke, amy showed the handsome flask which replaced the cheap one, and looked so earnest and humble in her little effort to forget herself that meg hugged her on the spot, and jo pronounced her" a trump", while beth ran to the window, and picked her finest rose to ornament the stately bottle.
""you see i felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking about being good this morning, so i ran round the corner and changed it the minute i was up, and i'm so glad, for mine is the handsomest now."
another bang of the street door sent the basket under the sofa, and the girls to the table, eager for breakfast.
""merry christmas, marmee!
many of them!
thank you for our books.
we read some, and mean to every day," they all cried in chorus.
""merry christmas, little daughters!
i'm glad you began at once, and hope you will keep on.
but i want to say one word before we sit down.
not far away from here lies a poor woman with a little newborn baby.
six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire.
there is nothing to eat over there, and the oldest boy came to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold.
my girls, will you give them your breakfast as a christmas present?"
they were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke, only a minute, for jo exclaimed impetuously, "i'm so glad you came before we began!"
""may i go and help carry the things to the poor little children?"
asked beth eagerly.
""i shall take the cream and the muffings," added amy, heroically giving up the article she most liked.
meg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into one big plate.
""i thought you'd do it," said mrs. march, smiling as if satisfied.
""you shall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread and milk for breakfast, and make it up at dinnertime."
they were soon ready, and the procession set out.
fortunately it was early, and they went through back streets, so few people saw them, and no one laughed at the queer party.
a poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no fire, ragged bedclothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of pale, hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm.
how the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls went in.
""ach, mein gott!
it is good angels come to us!"
said the poor woman, crying for joy.
""funny angels in hoods and mittens," said jo, and set them to laughing.
in a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work there.
hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own cloak.
mrs. march gave the mother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own.
the girls meantime spread the table, set the children round the fire, and fed them like so many hungry birds, laughing, talking, and trying to understand the funny broken english.
""das ist gut!"
""die engel-kinder!"
cried the poor things as they ate and warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze.
the girls had never been called angel children before, and thought it very agreeable, especially jo, who had been considered a "sancho" ever since she was born.
that was a very happy breakfast, though they did n't get any of it.
and when they went away, leaving comfort behind, i think there were not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry little girls who gave away their breakfasts and contented themselves with bread and milk on christmas morning.
""that's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and i like it," said meg, as they set out their presents while their mother was upstairs collecting clothes for the poor hummels.
not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up in the few little bundles, and the tall vase of red roses, white chrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave quite an elegant air to the table.
""she's coming!
strike up, beth!
open the door, amy!
three cheers for marmee!"
cried jo, prancing about while meg went to conduct mother to the seat of honor.
beth played her gayest march, amy threw open the door, and meg enacted escort with great dignity.
mrs. march was both surprised and touched, and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents and read the little notes which accompanied them.
the slippers went on at once, a new handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented with amy's cologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves were pronounced a perfect fit.
there was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining, in the simple, loving fashion which makes these home festivals so pleasant at the time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to work.
the morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest of the day was devoted to preparations for the evening festivities.
being still too young to go often to the theater, and not rich enough to afford any great outlay for private performances, the girls put their wits to work, and necessity being the mother of invention, made whatever they needed.
very clever were some of their productions, pasteboard guitars, antique lamps made of old-fashioned butter boats covered with silver paper, gorgeous robes of old cotton, glittering with tin spangles from a pickle factory, and armor covered with the same useful diamond shaped bits left in sheets when the lids of preserve pots were cut out.
the big chamber was the scene of many innocent revels.
no gentleman were admitted, so jo played male parts to her heart's content and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet leather boots given her by a friend, who knew a lady who knew an actor.
these boots, an old foil, and a slashed doublet once used by an artist for some picture, were jo's chief treasures and appeared on all occasions.
the smallness of the company made it necessary for the two principal actors to take several parts apiece, and they certainly deserved some credit for the hard work they did in learning three or four different parts, whisking in and out of various costumes, and managing the stage besides.
it was excellent drill for their memories, a harmless amusement, and employed many hours which otherwise would have been idle, lonely, or spent in less profitable society.
on christmas night, a dozen girls piled onto the bed which was the dress circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains in a most flattering state of expectancy.
there was a good deal of rustling and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp smoke, and an occasional giggle from amy, who was apt to get hysterical in the excitement of the moment.
presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew apart, and the operatic tragedy began.
""a gloomy wood," according to the one playbill, was represented by a few shrubs in pots, green baize on the floor, and a cave in the distance.
this cave was made with a clothes horse for a roof, bureaus for walls, and in it was a small furnace in full blast, with a black pot on it and an old witch bending over it.
the stage was dark and the glow of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real steam issued from the kettle when the witch took off the cover.
a moment was allowed for the first thrill to subside, then hugo, the villain, stalked in with a clanking sword at his side, a slouching hat, black beard, mysterious cloak, and the boots.
after pacing to and fro in much agitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild strain, singing of his hatred for roderigo, his love for zara, and his pleasing resolution to kill the one and win the other.
the gruff tones of hugo's voice, with an occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, were very impressive, and the audience applauded the moment he paused for breath.
bowing with the air of one accustomed to public praise, he stole to the cavern and ordered hagar to come forth with a commanding, "what ho, minion!
i need thee!"
out came meg, with gray horsehair hanging about her face, a red and black robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs upon her cloak.
hugo demanded a potion to make zara adore him, and one to destroy roderigo.
hagar, in a fine dramatic melody, promised both, and proceeded to call up the spirit who would bring the love philter.
hither, hither, from thy home, airy sprite, i bid thee come!
born of roses, fed on dew, charms and potions canst thou brew?
bring me here, with elfin speed, the fragrant philter which i need.
make it sweet and swift and strong, spirit, answer now my song!
a soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the cave appeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glittering wings, golden hair, and a garland of roses on its head.
waving a wand, it sang... hither i come, from my airy home, afar in the silver moon.
take the magic spell, and use it well, or its power will vanish soon!
and dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch's feet, the spirit vanished.
another chant from hagar produced another apparition, not a lovely one, for with a bang an ugly black imp appeared and, having croaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at hugo and disappeared with a mocking laugh.
having warbled his thanks and put the potions in his boots, hugo departed, and hagar informed the audience that as he had killed a few of her friends in times past, she had cursed him, and intends to thwart his plans, and be revenged on him.
then the curtain fell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while discussing the merits of the play.
a good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again, but when it became evident what a masterpiece of stage carpentery had been got up, no one murmured at the delay.
it was truly superb.
a tower rose to the ceiling, halfway up appeared a window with a lamp burning in it, and behind the white curtain appeared zara in a lovely blue and silver dress, waiting for roderigo.
he came in gorgeous array, with plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut lovelocks, a guitar, and the boots, of course.
kneeling at the foot of the tower, he sang a serenade in melting tones.
zara replied and, after a musical dialogue, consented to fly.
then came the grand effect of the play.
roderigo produced a rope ladder, with five steps to it, threw up one end, and invited zara to descend.
timidly she crept from her lattice, put her hand on roderigo's shoulder, and was about to leap gracefully down when "alas!
alas for zara!"
she forgot her train.
it caught in the window, the tower tottered, leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried the unhappy lovers in the ruins.
a universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from the wreck and a golden head emerged, exclaiming, "i told you so!
i told you so!"
with wonderful presence of mind, don pedro, the cruel sire, rushed in, dragged out his daughter, with a hasty aside... "do n't laugh!
act as if it was all right!"
and, ordering roderigo up, banished him from the kingdom with wrath and scorn.
though decidedly shaken by the fall from the tower upon him, roderigo defied the old gentleman and refused to stir.
this dauntless example fired zara.
she also defied her sire, and he ordered them both to the deepest dungeons of the castle.
a stout little retainer came in with chains and led them away, looking very much frightened and evidently forgetting the speech he ought to have made.
act third was the castle hall, and here hagar appeared, having come to free the lovers and finish hugo.
she hears him coming and hides, sees him put the potions into two cups of wine and bid the timid little servant, "bear them to the captives in their cells, and tell them i shall come anon."
the servant takes hugo aside to tell him something, and hagar changes the cups for two others which are harmless.
ferdinando, the "minion", carries them away, and hagar puts back the cup which holds the poison meant for roderigo.
hugo, getting thirsty after a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and after a good deal of clutching and stamping, falls flat and dies, while hagar informs him what she has done in a song of exquisite power and melody.
this was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might have thought that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long red hair rather marred the effect of the villain's death.
he was called before the curtain, and with great propriety appeared, leading hagar, whose singing was considered more wonderful than all the rest of the performance put together.
act fourth displayed the despairing roderigo on the point of stabbing himself because he has been told that zara has deserted him.
just as the dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window, informing him that zara is true but in danger, and he can save her if he will.
a key is thrown in, which unlocks the door, and in a spasm of rapture he tears off his chains and rushes away to find and rescue his lady love.
act fifth opened with a stormy scene between zara and don pedro.
he wishes her to go into a convent, but she wo n't hear of it, and after a touching appeal, is about to faint when roderigo dashes in and demands her hand.
don pedro refuses, because he is not rich.
they shout and gesticulate tremendously but can not agree, and rodrigo is about to bear away the exhausted zara, when the timid servant enters with a letter and a bag from hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared.
the latter informs the party that she bequeaths untold wealth to the young pair and an awful doom to don pedro, if he does n't make them happy.
the bag is opened, and several quarts of tin money shower down upon the stage till it is quite glorified with the glitter.
this entirely softens the stern sire.
he consents without a murmur, all join in a joyful chorus, and the curtain falls upon the lovers kneeling to receive don pedro's blessing in attitudes of the most romantic grace.
tumultuous applause followed but received an unexpected check, for the cot bed, on which the dress circle was built, suddenly shut up and extinguished the enthusiastic audience.
roderigo and don pedro flew to the rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechless with laughter.
the excitement had hardly subsided when hannah appeared, with "mrs. march's compliments, and would the ladies walk down to supper."
this was a surprise even to the actors, and when they saw the table, they looked at one another in rapturous amazement.
it was like marmee to get up a little treat for them, but anything so fine as this was unheard of since the departed days of plenty.
there was ice cream, actually two dishes of it, pink and white, and cake and fruit and distracting french bonbons and, in the middle of the table, four great bouquets of hot house flowers.
it quite took their breath away, and they stared first at the table and then at their mother, who looked as if she enjoyed it immensely.
""is it fairies?"
asked amy.
""santa claus," said beth.
""mother did it."
and meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her gray beard and white eyebrows.
""aunt march had a good fit and sent the supper," cried jo, with a sudden inspiration.
""all wrong.
old mr. laurence sent it," replied mrs. march.
""the laurence boy's grandfather!
what in the world put such a thing into his head?
we do n't know him!"
exclaimed meg.
""hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party.
he is an odd old gentleman, but that pleased him.
he knew my father years ago, and he sent me a polite note this afternoon, saying he hoped i would allow him to express his friendly feeling toward my children by sending them a few trifles in honor of the day.
i could not refuse, and so you have a little feast at night to make up for the bread-and-milk breakfast."
""that boy put it into his head, i know he did!
he's a capital fellow, and i wish we could get acquainted.
he looks as if he'd like to know us but he's bashful, and meg is so prim she wo n't let me speak to him when we pass," said jo, as the plates went round, and the ice began to melt out of sight, with ohs and ahs of satisfaction.
""you mean the people who live in the big house next door, do n't you?"
asked one of the girls.
""my mother knows old mr. laurence, but says he's very proud and does n't like to mix with his neighbors.
he keeps his grandson shut up, when he is n't riding or walking with his tutor, and makes him study very hard.
we invited him to our party, but he did n't come.
mother says he's very nice, though he never speaks to us girls."
""our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we talked over the fence, and were getting on capitally, all about cricket, and so on, when he saw meg coming, and walked off.
i mean to know him some day, for he needs fun, i'm sure he does," said jo decidedly.
""i like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman, so i've no objection to your knowing him, if a proper opportunity comes.
he brought the flowers himself, and i should have asked him in, if i had been sure what was going on upstairs.
he looked so wistful as he went away, hearing the frolic and evidently having none of his own."
""it's a mercy you did n't, mother!"
laughed jo, looking at her boots.
""but we'll have another play sometime that he can see.
perhaps he'll help act.
would n't that be jolly?"
""i never had such a fine bouquet before!
how pretty it is!"
and meg examined her flowers with great interest.
""they are lovely.
but beth's roses are sweeter to me," said mrs. march, smelling the half-dead posy in her belt.
beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, "i wish i could send my bunch to father.
i'm afraid he is n't having such a merry christmas as we are."
chapter three the laurence boy "jo!
jo!
where are you?"
cried meg at the foot of the garret stairs.
""here!"
answered a husky voice from above, and, running up, meg found her sister eating apples and crying over the heir of redclyffe, wrapped up in a comforter on an old three-legged sofa by the sunny window.
this was jo's favorite refuge, and here she loved to retire with half a dozen russets and a nice book, to enjoy the quiet and the society of a pet rat who lived near by and did n't mind her a particle.
as meg appeared, scrabble whisked into his hole.
jo shook the tears off her cheeks and waited to hear the news.
""such fun!
only see!
a regular note of invitation from mrs. gardiner for tomorrow night!"
cried meg, waving the precious paper and then proceeding to read it with girlish delight."
"mrs. gardiner would be happy to see miss march and miss josephine at a little dance on new year's eve."
marmee is willing we should go, now what shall we wear?"
""what's the use of asking that, when you know we shall wear our poplins, because we have n't got anything else?"
answered jo with her mouth full.
""if i only had a silk!"
sighed meg.
""mother says i may when i'm eighteen perhaps, but two years is an everlasting time to wait."
""i'm sure our pops look like silk, and they are nice enough for us.
yours is as good as new, but i forgot the burn and the tear in mine.
whatever shall i do?
the burn shows badly, and i ca n't take any out."
""you must sit still all you can and keep your back out of sight.
the front is all right.
i shall have a new ribbon for my hair, and marmee will lend me her little pearl pin, and my new slippers are lovely, and my gloves will do, though they are n't as nice as i'd like."
""mine are spoiled with lemonade, and i ca n't get any new ones, so i shall have to go without," said jo, who never troubled herself much about dress.
""you must have gloves, or i wo n't go," cried meg decidedly.
""gloves are more important than anything else.
you ca n't dance without them, and if you do n't i should be so mortified."
""then i'll stay still.
i do n't care much for company dancing.
it's no fun to go sailing round.
i like to fly about and cut capers."
""you ca n't ask mother for new ones, they are so expensive, and you are so careless.
she said when you spoiled the others that she should n't get you any more this winter.
ca n't you make them do?"
""i can hold them crumpled up in my hand, so no one will know how stained they are.
that's all i can do.
no!
i'll tell you how we can manage, each wear one good one and carry a bad one.
do n't you see?"
""your hands are bigger than mine, and you will stretch my glove dreadfully," began meg, whose gloves were a tender point with her.
""then i'll go without.
i do n't care what people say!"
cried jo, taking up her book.
""you may have it, you may!
only do n't stain it, and do behave nicely.
do n't put your hands behind you, or stare, or say "christopher columbus!"
will you?"
""do n't worry about me.
i'll be as prim as i can and not get into any scrapes, if i can help it.
now go and answer your note, and let me finish this splendid story."
so meg went away to "accept with thanks", look over her dress, and sing blithely as she did up her one real lace frill, while jo finished her story, her four apples, and had a game of romps with scrabble.
on new year's eve the parlor was deserted, for the two younger girls played dressing maids and the two elder were absorbed in the all-important business of "getting ready for the party".
simple as the toilets were, there was a great deal of running up and down, laughing and talking, and at one time a strong smell of burned hair pervaded the house.
meg wanted a few curls about her face, and jo undertook to pinch the papered locks with a pair of hot tongs.
""ought they to smoke like that?"
asked beth from her perch on the bed.
""it's the dampness drying," replied jo.
""what a queer smell!
it's like burned feathers," observed amy, smoothing her own pretty curls with a superior air.
""there, now i'll take off the papers and you'll see a cloud of little ringlets," said jo, putting down the tongs.
she did take off the papers, but no cloud of ringlets appeared, for the hair came with the papers, and the horrified hairdresser laid a row of little scorched bundles on the bureau before her victim.
""oh, oh, oh!
what have you done?
i'm spoiled!
i ca n't go!
my hair, oh, my hair!"
wailed meg, looking with despair at the uneven frizzle on her forehead.
""just my luck!
you should n't have asked me to do it.
i always spoil everything.
i'm so sorry, but the tongs were too hot, and so i've made a mess," groaned poor jo, regarding the little black pancakes with tears of regret.
""it is n't spoiled.
just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon so the ends come on your forehead a bit, and it will look like the last fashion.
i've seen many girls do it so," said amy consolingly.
""serves me right for trying to be fine.
i wish i'd let my hair alone," cried meg petulantly.
""so do i, it was so smooth and pretty.
but it will soon grow out again," said beth, coming to kiss and comfort the shorn sheep.
after various lesser mishaps, meg was finished at last, and by the united exertions of the entire family jo's hair was got up and her dress on.
they looked very well in their simple suits, meg's in silvery drab, with a blue velvet snood, lace frills, and the pearl pin.
jo in maroon, with a stiff, gentlemanly linen collar, and a white chrysanthemum or two for her only ornament.
each put on one nice light glove, and carried one soiled one, and all pronounced the effect "quite easy and fine".
meg's high-heeled slippers were very tight and hurt her, though she would not own it, and jo's nineteen hairpins all seemed stuck straight into her head, which was not exactly comfortable, but, dear me, let us be elegant or die.
""have a good time, dearies!"
said mrs. march, as the sisters went daintily down the walk.
""do n't eat much supper, and come away at eleven when i send hannah for you."
as the gate clashed behind them, a voice cried from a window... "girls, girls!
have you you both got nice pocket handkerchiefs?"
""yes, yes, spandy nice, and meg has cologne on hers," cried jo, adding with a laugh as they went on, "i do believe marmee would ask that if we were all running away from an earthquake."
""it is one of her aristocratic tastes, and quite proper, for a real lady is always known by neat boots, gloves, and handkerchief," replied meg, who had a good many little "aristocratic tastes" of her own.
""now do n't forget to keep the bad breadth out of sight, jo.
is my sash right?
and does my hair look very bad?"
said meg, as she turned from the glass in mrs. gardiner's dressing room after a prolonged prink.
""i know i shall forget.
if you see me doing anything wrong, just remind me by a wink, will you?"
returned jo, giving her collar a twitch and her head a hasty brush.
""no, winking is n't ladylike.
i'll lift my eyebrows if any thing is wrong, and nod if you are all right.
now hold your shoulder straight, and take short steps, and do n't shake hands if you are introduced to anyone.
it is n't the thing."
""how do you learn all the proper ways?
i never can.
is n't that music gay?"
down they went, feeling a trifle timid, for they seldom went to parties, and informal as this little gathering was, it was an event to them.
mrs. gardiner, a stately old lady, greeted them kindly and handed them over to the eldest of her six daughters.
meg knew sallie and was at her ease very soon, but jo, who did n't care much for girls or girlish gossip, stood about, with her back carefully against the wall, and felt as much out of place as a colt in a flower garden.
half a dozen jovial lads were talking about skates in another part of the room, and she longed to go and join them, for skating was one of the joys of her life.
she telegraphed her wish to meg, but the eyebrows went up so alarmingly that she dared not stir.
no one came to talk to her, and one by one the group dwindled away till she was left alone.
she could not roam about and amuse herself, for the burned breadth would show, so she stared at people rather forlornly till the dancing began.
meg was asked at once, and the tight slippers tripped about so briskly that none would have guessed the pain their wearer suffered smilingly.
jo saw a big red headed youth approaching her corner, and fearing he meant to engage her, she slipped into a curtained recess, intending to peep and enjoy herself in peace.
unfortunately, another bashful person had chosen the same refuge, for, as the curtain fell behind her, she found herself face to face with the "laurence boy".
""dear me, i did n't know anyone was here!"
stammered jo, preparing to back out as speedily as she had bounced in.
but the boy laughed and said pleasantly, though he looked a little startled, "do n't mind me, stay if you like."
""sha n't i disturb you?"
""not a bit.
i only came here because i do n't know many people and felt rather strange at first, you know."
""so did i. do n't go away, please, unless you'd rather."
the boy sat down again and looked at his pumps, till jo said, trying to be polite and easy, "i think i've had the pleasure of seeing you before.
you live near us, do n't you?"
""next door."
and he looked up and laughed outright, for jo's prim manner was rather funny when he remembered how they had chatted about cricket when he brought the cat home.
that put jo at her ease and she laughed too, as she said, in her heartiest way, "we did have such a good time over your nice christmas present."
""grandpa sent it."
""but you put it into his head, did n't you, now?"
""how is your cat, miss march?"
asked the boy, trying to look sober while his black eyes shone with fun.
""nicely, thank you, mr. laurence.
but i am not miss march, i'm only jo," returned the young lady.
""i'm not mr. laurence, i'm only laurie."
""laurie laurence, what an odd name."
""my first name is theodore, but i do n't like it, for the fellows called me dora, so i made them say laurie instead."
""i hate my name, too, so sentimental!
i wish every one would say jo instead of josephine.
how did you make the boys stop calling you dora?"
""i thrashed'em."
""i ca n't thrash aunt march, so i suppose i shall have to bear it."
and jo resigned herself with a sigh.
""do n't you like to dance, miss jo?"
asked laurie, looking as if he thought the name suited her.
""i like it well enough if there is plenty of room, and everyone is lively.
in a place like this i'm sure to upset something, tread on people's toes, or do something dreadful, so i keep out of mischief and let meg sail about.
do n't you dance?"
""sometimes.
you see i've been abroad a good many years, and have n't been into company enough yet to know how you do things here."
""abroad!"
cried jo.
""oh, tell me about it!
i love dearly to hear people describe their travels."
laurie did n't seem to know where to begin, but jo's eager questions soon set him going, and he told her how he had been at school in vevay, where the boys never wore hats and had a fleet of boats on the lake, and for holiday fun went on walking trips about switzerland with their teachers.
""do n't i wish i'd been there!"
cried jo.
""did you go to paris?"
""we spent last winter there."
""can you talk french?"
""we were not allowed to speak anything else at vevay."
""do say some!
i can read it, but ca n't pronounce."
""quel nom a cette jeune demoiselle en les pantoufles jolis?"
""how nicely you do it!
let me see... you said, "who is the young lady in the pretty slippers", did n't you?"
""oui, mademoiselle."
""it's my sister margaret, and you knew it was!
do you think she is pretty?"
""yes, she makes me think of the german girls, she looks so fresh and quiet, and dances like a lady."
jo quite glowed with pleasure at this boyish praise of her sister, and stored it up to repeat to meg.
both peeped and criticized and chatted till they felt like old acquaintances.
laurie's bashfulness soon wore off, for jo's gentlemanly demeanor amused and set him at his ease, and jo was her merry self again, because her dress was forgotten and nobody lifted their eyebrows at her.
she liked the "laurence boy" better than ever and took several good looks at him, so that she might describe him to the girls, for they had no brothers, very few male cousins, and boys were almost unknown creatures to them.
""curly black hair, brown skin, big black eyes, handsome nose, fine teeth, small hands and feet, taller than i am, very polite, for a boy, and altogether jolly.
wonder how old he is?"
it was on the tip of jo's tongue to ask, but she checked herself in time and, with unusual tact, tried to find out in a round-about way.
""i suppose you are going to college soon?
i see you pegging away at your books, no, i mean studying hard."
and jo blushed at the dreadful "pegging" which had escaped her.
laurie smiled but did n't seem shocked, and answered with a shrug.
""not for a year or two.
i wo n't go before seventeen, anyway."
""are n't you but fifteen?"
asked jo, looking at the tall lad, whom she had imagined seventeen already.
""sixteen, next month."
""how i wish i was going to college!
you do n't look as if you liked it."
""i hate it!
nothing but grinding or skylarking.
and i do n't like the way fellows do either, in this country."
""what do you like?"
""to live in italy, and to enjoy myself in my own way."
jo wanted very much to ask what his own way was, but his black brows looked rather threatening as he knit them, so she changed the subject by saying, as her foot kept time, "that's a splendid polka!
why do n't you go and try it?"
""if you will come too," he answered, with a gallant little bow.
""i ca n't, for i told meg i would n't, because..." there jo stopped, and looked undecided whether to tell or to laugh.
""because, what?"
""you wo n't tell?"
""never!"
""well, i have a bad trick of standing before the fire, and so i burn my frocks, and i scorched this one, and though it's nicely mended, it shows, and meg told me to keep still so no one would see it.
you may laugh, if you want to.
it is funny, i know."
but laurie did n't laugh.
he only looked down a minute, and the expression of his face puzzled jo when he said very gently, "never mind that.
i'll tell you how we can manage.
there's a long hall out there, and we can dance grandly, and no one will see us.
please come."
jo thanked him and gladly went, wishing she had two neat gloves when she saw the nice, pearl-colored ones her partner wore.
the hall was empty, and they had a grand polka, for laurie danced well, and taught her the german step, which delighted jo, being full of swing and spring.
when the music stopped, they sat down on the stairs to get their breath, and laurie was in the midst of an account of a students" festival at heidelberg when meg appeared in search of her sister.
she beckoned, and jo reluctantly followed her into a side room, where she found her on a sofa, holding her foot, and looking pale.
""i've sprained my ankle.
that stupid high heel turned and gave me a sad wrench.
it aches so, i can hardly stand, and i do n't know how i'm ever going to get home," she said, rocking to and fro in pain.
""i knew you'd hurt your feet with those silly shoes.
i'm sorry.
but i do n't see what you can do, except get a carriage, or stay here all night," answered jo, softly rubbing the poor ankle as she spoke.
""i ca n't have a carriage without its costing ever so much.
i dare say i ca n't get one at all, for most people come in their own, and it's a long way to the stable, and no one to send."
""i'll go."
""no, indeed!
it's past nine, and dark as egypt.
i ca n't stop here, for the house is full.
sallie has some girls staying with her.
i'll rest till hannah comes, and then do the best i can."
""i'll ask laurie.
he will go," said jo, looking relieved as the idea occurred to her.
""mercy, no!
do n't ask or tell anyone.
get me my rubbers, and put these slippers with our things.
i ca n't dance anymore, but as soon as supper is over, watch for hannah and tell me the minute she comes."
""they are going out to supper now.
i'll stay with you.
i'd rather."
""no, dear, run along, and bring me some coffee.
i'm so tired i ca n't stir."
so meg reclined, with rubbers well hidden, and jo went blundering away to the dining room, which she found after going into a china closet, and opening the door of a room where old mr. gardiner was taking a little private refreshment.
making a dart at the table, she secured the coffee, which she immediately spilled, thereby making the front of her dress as bad as the back.
""oh, dear, what a blunderbuss i am!"
exclaimed jo, finishing meg's glove by scrubbing her gown with it.
""can i help you?"
said a friendly voice.
and there was laurie, with a full cup in one hand and a plate of ice in the other.
""i was trying to get something for meg, who is very tired, and someone shook me, and here i am in a nice state," answered jo, glancing dismally from the stained skirt to the coffee-colored glove.
""too bad!
i was looking for someone to give this to.
may i take it to your sister?"
""oh, thank you!
i'll show you where she is.
i do n't offer to take it myself, for i should only get into another scrape if i did."
jo led the way, and as if used to waiting on ladies, laurie drew up a little table, brought a second installment of coffee and ice for jo, and was so obliging that even particular meg pronounced him a "nice boy".
they had a merry time over the bonbons and mottoes, and were in the midst of a quiet game of buzz, with two or three other young people who had strayed in, when hannah appeared.
meg forgot her foot and rose so quickly that she was forced to catch hold of jo, with an exclamation of pain.
""hush!
do n't say anything," she whispered, adding aloud, "it's nothing.
i turned my foot a little, that's all," and limped upstairs to put her things on.
hannah scolded, meg cried, and jo was at her wits" end, till she decided to take things into her own hands.
slipping out, she ran down and, finding a servant, asked if he could get her a carriage.
it happened to be a hired waiter who knew nothing about the neighborhood and jo was looking round for help when laurie, who had heard what she said, came up and offered his grandfather's carriage, which had just come for him, he said.
""it's so early!
you ca n't mean to go yet?"
began jo, looking relieved but hesitating to accept the offer.
""i always go early, i do, truly!
please let me take you home.
it's all on my way, you know, and it rains, they say."
that settled it, and telling him of meg's mishap, jo gratefully accepted and rushed up to bring down the rest of the party.
hannah hated rain as much as a cat does so she made no trouble, and they rolled away in the luxurious close carriage, feeling very festive and elegant.
laurie went on the box so meg could keep her foot up, and the girls talked over their party in freedom.
""i had a capital time.
did you?"
asked jo, rumpling up her hair, and making herself comfortable.
""yes, till i hurt myself.
sallie's friend, annie moffat, took a fancy to me, and asked me to come and spend a week with her when sallie does.
she is going in the spring when the opera comes, and it will be perfectly splendid, if mother only lets me go," answered meg, cheering up at the thought.
""i saw you dancing with the red headed man i ran away from.
was he nice?"
""oh, very!
his hair is auburn, not red, and he was very polite, and i had a delicious redowa with him."
""he looked like a grasshopper in a fit when he did the new step.
laurie and i could n't help laughing.
did you hear us?"
""no, but it was very rude.
what were you about all that time, hidden away there?"
jo told her adventures, and by the time she had finished they were at home.
with many thanks, they said good night and crept in, hoping to disturb no one, but the instant their door creaked, two little nightcaps bobbed up, and two sleepy but eager voices cried out... "tell about the party!
tell about the party!"
with what meg called" a great want of manners" jo had saved some bonbons for the little girls, and they soon subsided, after hearing the most thrilling events of the evening.
""i declare, it really seems like being a fine young lady, to come home from the party in a carriage and sit in my dressing gown with a maid to wait on me," said meg, as jo bound up her foot with arnica and brushed her hair.
""i do n't believe fine young ladies enjoy themselves a bit more than we do, in spite of our burned hair, old gowns, one glove apiece and tight slippers that sprain our ankles when we are silly enough to wear them."
and i think jo was quite right.
chapter four burdens "oh, dear, how hard it does seem to take up our packs and go on," sighed meg the morning after the party, for now the holidays were over, the week of merrymaking did not fit her for going on easily with the task she never liked.
""i wish it was christmas or new year's all the time.
would n't it be fun?"
answered jo, yawning dismally.
""we should n't enjoy ourselves half so much as we do now.
but it does seem so nice to have little suppers and bouquets, and go to parties, and drive home, and read and rest, and not work.
it's like other people, you know, and i always envy girls who do such things, i'm so fond of luxury," said meg, trying to decide which of two shabby gowns was the least shabby.
""well, we ca n't have it, so do n't let us grumble but shoulder our bundles and trudge along as cheerfully as marmee does.
i'm sure aunt march is a regular old man of the sea to me, but i suppose when i've learned to carry her without complaining, she will tumble off, or get so light that i sha n't mind her."
this idea tickled jo's fancy and put her in good spirits, but meg did n't brighten, for her burden, consisting of four spoiled children, seemed heavier than ever.
she had not heart enough even to make herself pretty as usual by putting on a blue neck ribbon and dressing her hair in the most becoming way.
""where's the use of looking nice, when no one sees me but those cross midgets, and no one cares whether i'm pretty or not?"
she muttered, shutting her drawer with a jerk.
""i shall have to toil and moil all my days, with only little bits of fun now and then, and get old and ugly and sour, because i'm poor and ca n't enjoy my life as other girls do.
it's a shame!"
so meg went down, wearing an injured look, and was n't at all agreeable at breakfast time.
everyone seemed rather out of sorts and inclined to croak.
beth had a headache and lay on the sofa, trying to comfort herself with the cat and three kittens.
amy was fretting because her lessons were not learned, and she could n't find her rubbers.
jo would whistle and make a great racket getting ready.
mrs. march was very busy trying to finish a letter, which must go at once, and hannah had the grumps, for being up late did n't suit her.
""there never was such a cross family!"
cried jo, losing her temper when she had upset an inkstand, broken both boot lacings, and sat down upon her hat.
""you're the crossest person in it!"
returned amy, washing out the sum that was all wrong with the tears that had fallen on her slate.
""beth, if you do n't keep these horrid cats down cellar i'll have them drowned," exclaimed meg angrily as she tried to get rid of the kitten which had scrambled up her back and stuck like a burr just out of reach.
jo laughed, meg scolded, beth implored, and amy wailed because she could n't remember how much nine times twelve was.
""girls, girls, do be quiet one minute!
i must get this off by the early mail, and you drive me distracted with your worry," cried mrs. march, crossing out the third spoiled sentence in her letter.
there was a momentary lull, broken by hannah, who stalked in, laid two hot turnovers on the table, and stalked out again.
these turnovers were an institution, and the girls called them "muffs", for they had no others and found the hot pies very comforting to their hands on cold mornings.
hannah never forgot to make them, no matter how busy or grumpy she might be, for the walk was long and bleak.
the poor things got no other lunch and were seldom home before two.
""cuddle your cats and get over your headache, bethy.
goodbye, marmee.
we are a set of rascals this morning, but we'll come home regular angels.
now then, meg!"
and jo tramped away, feeling that the pilgrims were not setting out as they ought to do.
they always looked back before turning the corner, for their mother was always at the window to nod and smile, and wave her hand to them.
somehow it seemed as if they could n't have got through the day without that, for whatever their mood might be, the last glimpse of that motherly face was sure to affect them like sunshine.
""if marmee shook her fist instead of kissing her hand to us, it would serve us right, for more ungrateful wretches than we are were never seen," cried jo, taking a remorseful satisfaction in the snowy walk and bitter wind.
""do n't use such dreadful expressions," replied meg from the depths of the veil in which she had shrouded herself like a nun sick of the world.
""i like good strong words that mean something," replied jo, catching her hat as it took a leap off her head preparatory to flying away altogether.
""call yourself any names you like, but i am neither a rascal nor a wretch and i do n't choose to be called so."
""you're a blighted being, and decidedly cross today because you ca n't sit in the lap of luxury all the time.
poor dear, just wait till i make my fortune, and you shall revel in carriages and ice cream and high-heeled slippers, and posies, and red-headed boys to dance with."
""how ridiculous you are, jo!"
but meg laughed at the nonsense and felt better in spite of herself.
""lucky for you i am, for if i put on crushed airs and tried to be dismal, as you do, we should be in a nice state.
thank goodness, i can always find something funny to keep me up.
do n't croak any more, but come home jolly, there's a dear."
jo gave her sister an encouraging pat on the shoulder as they parted for the day, each going a different way, each hugging her little warm turnover, and each trying to be cheerful in spite of wintry weather, hard work, and the unsatisfied desires of pleasure-loving youth.
when mr. march lost his property in trying to help an unfortunate friend, the two oldest girls begged to be allowed to do something toward their own support, at least.
believing that they could not begin too early to cultivate energy, industry, and independence, their parents consented, and both fell to work with the hearty good will which in spite of all obstacles is sure to succeed at last.
margaret found a place as nursery governess and felt rich with her small salary.
as she said, she was "fond of luxury", and her chief trouble was poverty.
she found it harder to bear than the others because she could remember a time when home was beautiful, life full of ease and pleasure, and want of any kind unknown.
she tried not to be envious or discontented, but it was very natural that the young girl should long for pretty things, gay friends, accomplishments, and a happy life.
at the kings" she daily saw all she wanted, for the children's older sisters were just out, and meg caught frequent glimpses of dainty ball dresses and bouquets, heard lively gossip about theaters, concerts, sleighing parties, and merrymakings of all kinds, and saw money lavished on trifles which would have been so precious to her.
poor meg seldom complained, but a sense of injustice made her feel bitter toward everyone sometimes, for she had not yet learned to know how rich she was in the blessings which alone can make life happy.
jo happened to suit aunt march, who was lame and needed an active person to wait upon her.
the childless old lady had offered to adopt one of the girls when the troubles came, and was much offended because her offer was declined.
other friends told the marches that they had lost all chance of being remembered in the rich old lady's will, but the unworldly marches only said... "we ca n't give up our girls for a dozen fortunes.
rich or poor, we will keep together and be happy in one another."
the old lady would n't speak to them for a time, but happening to meet jo at a friend's, something in her comical face and blunt manners struck the old lady's fancy, and she proposed to take her for a companion.
this did not suit jo at all, but she accepted the place since nothing better appeared and, to every one's surprise, got on remarkably well with her irascible relative.
there was an occasional tempest, and once jo marched home, declaring she could n't bear it longer, but aunt march always cleared up quickly, and sent for her to come back again with such urgency that she could not refuse, for in her heart she rather liked the peppery old lady.
i suspect that the real attraction was a large library of fine books, which was left to dust and spiders since uncle march died.
jo remembered the kind old gentleman, who used to let her build railroads and bridges with his big dictionaries, tell her stories about queer pictures in his latin books, and buy her cards of gingerbread whenever he met her in the street.
the dim, dusty room, with the busts staring down from the tall bookcases, the cozy chairs, the globes, and best of all, the wilderness of books in which she could wander where she liked, made the library a region of bliss to her.
the moment aunt march took her nap, or was busy with company, jo hurried to this quiet place, and curling herself up in the easy chair, devoured poetry, romance, history, travels, and pictures like a regular bookworm.
but, like all happiness, it did not last long, for as sure as she had just reached the heart of the story, the sweetest verse of a song, or the most perilous adventure of her traveler, a shrill voice called, "josy-phine!
josy-phine!"
and she had to leave her paradise to wind yarn, wash the poodle, or read belsham's essays by the hour together.
jo's ambition was to do something very splendid.
what it was, she had no idea as yet, but left it for time to tell her, and meanwhile, found her greatest affliction in the fact that she could n't read, run, and ride as much as she liked.
a quick temper, sharp tongue, and restless spirit were always getting her into scrapes, and her life was a series of ups and downs, which were both comic and pathetic.
but the training she received at aunt march's was just what she needed, and the thought that she was doing something to support herself made her happy in spite of the perpetual "josy-phine!"
beth was too bashful to go to school.
it had been tried, but she suffered so much that it was given up, and she did her lessons at home with her father.
even when he went away, and her mother was called to devote her skill and energy to soldiers" aid societies, beth went faithfully on by herself and did the best she could.
she was a housewifely little creature, and helped hannah keep home neat and comfortable for the workers, never thinking of any reward but to be loved.
long, quiet days she spent, not lonely nor idle, for her little world was peopled with imaginary friends, and she was by nature a busy bee.
there were six dolls to be taken up and dressed every morning, for beth was a child still and loved her pets as well as ever.
not one whole or handsome one among them, all were outcasts till beth took them in, for when her sisters outgrew these idols, they passed to her because amy would have nothing old or ugly.
beth cherished them all the more tenderly for that very reason, and set up a hospital for infirm dolls.
no pins were ever stuck into their cotton vitals, no harsh words or blows were ever given them, no neglect ever saddened the heart of the most repulsive, but all were fed and clothed, nursed and caressed with an affection which never failed.
one forlorn fragment of dollanity had belonged to jo and, having led a tempestuous life, was left a wreck in the rag bag, from which dreary poorhouse it was rescued by beth and taken to her refuge.
having no top to its head, she tied on a neat little cap, and as both arms and legs were gone, she hid these deficiencies by folding it in a blanket and devoting her best bed to this chronic invalid.
if anyone had known the care lavished on that dolly, i think it would have touched their hearts, even while they laughed.
she brought it bits of bouquets, she read to it, took it out to breathe fresh air, hidden under her coat, she sang it lullabies and never went to bed without kissing its dirty face and whispering tenderly, "i hope you'll have a good night, my poor dear."
beth had her troubles as well as the others, and not being an angel but a very human little girl, she often "wept a little weep" as jo said, because she could n't take music lessons and have a fine piano.
she loved music so dearly, tried so hard to learn, and practiced away so patiently at the jingling old instrument, that it did seem as if someone -lrb- not to hint aunt march -rrb- ought to help her.
nobody did, however, and nobody saw beth wipe the tears off the yellow keys, that would n't keep in tune, when she was all alone.
she sang like a little lark about her work, never was too tired for marmee and the girls, and day after day said hopefully to herself, "i know i'll get my music some time, if i'm good."
there are many beths in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in corners till needed, and living for others so cheerfully that no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the sweet, sunshiny presence vanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind.
if anybody had asked amy what the greatest trial of her life was, she would have answered at once, "my nose."
when she was a baby, jo had accidently dropped her into the coal hod, and amy insisted that the fall had ruined her nose forever.
it was not big nor red, like poor "petrea's", it was only rather flat, and all the pinching in the world could not give it an aristocratic point.
no one minded it but herself, and it was doing its best to grow, but amy felt deeply the want of a grecian nose, and drew whole sheets of handsome ones to console herself.
""little raphael," as her sisters called her, had a decided talent for drawing, and was never so happy as when copying flowers, designing fairies, or illustrating stories with queer specimens of art.
her teachers complained that instead of doing her sums she covered her slate with animals, the blank pages of her atlas were used to copy maps on, and caricatures of the most ludicrous description came fluttering out of all her books at unlucky moments.
she got through her lessons as well as she could, and managed to escape reprimands by being a model of deportment.
she was a great favorite with her mates, being good-tempered and possessing the happy art of pleasing without effort.
her little airs and graces were much admired, so were her accomplishments, for besides her drawing, she could play twelve tunes, crochet, and read french without mispronouncing more than two-thirds of the words.
she had a plaintive way of saying, "when papa was rich we did so-and-so," which was very touching, and her long words were considered "perfectly elegant" by the girls.
amy was in a fair way to be spoiled, for everyone petted her, and her small vanities and selfishnesses were growing nicely.
one thing, however, rather quenched the vanities.
she had to wear her cousin's clothes.
now florence's mama had n't a particle of taste, and amy suffered deeply at having to wear a red instead of a blue bonnet, unbecoming gowns, and fussy aprons that did not fit.
everything was good, well made, and little worn, but amy's artistic eyes were much afflicted, especially this winter, when her school dress was a dull purple with yellow dots and no trimming.
""my only comfort," she said to meg, with tears in her eyes, "is that mother does n't take tucks in my dresses whenever i'm naughty, as maria parks's mother does.
my dear, it's really dreadful, for sometimes she is so bad her frock is up to her knees, and she ca n't come to school.
when i think of this deggerredation, i feel that i can bear even my flat nose and purple gown with yellow sky-rockets on it."
meg was amy's confidant and monitor, and by some strange attraction of opposites jo was gentle beth's.
to jo alone did the shy child tell her thoughts, and over her big harum-scarum sister beth unconsciously exercised more influence than anyone in the family.
the two older girls were a great deal to one another, but each took one of the younger sisters into her keeping and watched over her in her own way, "playing mother" they called it, and put their sisters in the places of discarded dolls with the maternal instinct of little women.
""has anybody got anything to tell?
it's been such a dismal day i'm really dying for some amusement," said meg, as they sat sewing together that evening.
""i had a queer time with aunt today, and, as i got the best of it, i'll tell you about it," began jo, who dearly loved to tell stories.
""i was reading that everlasting belsham, and droning away as i always do, for aunt soon drops off, and then i take out some nice book, and read like fury till she wakes up.
i actually made myself sleepy, and before she began to nod, i gave such a gape that she asked me what i meant by opening my mouth wide enough to take the whole book in at once."
""i wish i could, and be done with it," said i, trying not to be saucy.
""then she gave me a long lecture on my sins, and told me to sit and think them over while she just "lost" herself for a moment.
she never finds herself very soon, so the minute her cap began to bob like a top-heavy dahlia, i whipped the vicar of wakefield out of my pocket, and read away, with one eye on him and one on aunt.
i'd just got to where they all tumbled into the water when i forgot and laughed out loud.
aunt woke up and, being more good-natured after her nap, told me to read a bit and show what frivolous work i preferred to the worthy and instructive belsham.
i did my very best, and she liked it, though she only said..."" i do n't understand what it's all about.
go back and begin it, child.""
""back i went, and made the primroses as interesting as ever i could.
once i was wicked enough to stop in a thrilling place, and say meekly, "i'm afraid it tires you, ma'am.
sha n't i stop now?""
""she caught up her knitting, which had dropped out of her hands, gave me a sharp look through her specs, and said, in her short way, "finish the chapter, and do n't be impertinent, miss"."
""did she own she liked it?"
asked meg.
""oh, bless you, no!
but she let old belsham rest, and when i ran back after my gloves this afternoon, there she was, so hard at the vicar that she did n't hear me laugh as i danced a jig in the hall because of the good time coming.
what a pleasant life she might have if only she chose!
i do n't envy her much, in spite of her money, for after all rich people have about as many worries as poor ones, i think," added jo.
""that reminds me," said meg, "that i've got something to tell.
it is n't funny, like jo's story, but i thought about it a good deal as i came home.
at the kings" today i found everybody in a flurry, and one of the children said that her oldest brother had done something dreadful, and papa had sent him away.
i heard mrs. king crying and mr. king talking very loud, and grace and ellen turned away their faces when they passed me, so i should n't see how red and swollen their eyes were.
i did n't ask any questions, of course, but i felt so sorry for them and was rather glad i had n't any wild brothers to do wicked things and disgrace the family."
""i think being disgraced in school is a great deal try_inger than anything bad boys can do," said amy, shaking her head, as if her experience of life had been a deep one.
""susie perkins came to school today with a lovely red carnelian ring.
i wanted it dreadfully, and wished i was her with all my might.
well, she drew a picture of mr. davis, with a monstrous nose and a hump, and the words, "young ladies, my eye is upon you!"
coming out of his mouth in a balloon thing.
we were laughing over it when all of a sudden his eye was on us, and he ordered susie to bring up her slate.
she was parry_lized with fright, but she went, and oh, what do you think he did?
he took her by the ear -- the ear!
just fancy how horrid!
-- and led her to the recitation platform, and made her stand there half an hour, holding the slate so everyone could see."
""did n't the girls laugh at the picture?"
asked jo, who relished the scrape.
""laugh?
not one!
they sat still as mice, and susie cried quarts, i know she did.
i did n't envy her then, for i felt that millions of carnelian rings would n't have made me happy after that.
i never, never should have got over such a agonizing mortification."
and amy went on with her work, in the proud consciousness of virtue and the successful utterance of two long words in a breath.
""i saw something i liked this morning, and i meant to tell it at dinner, but i forgot," said beth, putting jo's topsy-turvy basket in order as she talked.
""when i went to get some oysters for hannah, mr. laurence was in the fish shop, but he did n't see me, for i kept behind the fish barrel, and he was busy with mr. cutter the fish-man.
a poor woman came in with a pail and a mop, and asked mr. cutter if he would let her do some scrubbing for a bit of fish, because she had n't any dinner for her children, and had been disappointed of a day's work.
mr. cutter was in a hurry and said "no", rather crossly, so she was going away, looking hungry and sorry, when mr. laurence hooked up a big fish with the crooked end of his cane and held it out to her.
she was so glad and surprised she took it right into her arms, and thanked him over and over.
he told her to "go along and cook it", and she hurried off, so happy!
was n't it good of him?
oh, she did look so funny, hugging the big, slippery fish, and hoping mr. laurence's bed in heaven would be "aisy"."
when they had laughed at beth's story, they asked their mother for one, and after a moments thought, she said soberly, "as i sat cutting out blue flannel jackets today at the rooms, i felt very anxious about father, and thought how lonely and helpless we should be, if anything happened to him.
it was not a wise thing to do, but i kept on worrying till an old man came in with an order for some clothes.
he sat down near me, and i began to talk to him, for he looked poor and tired and anxious."
"have you sons in the army?"
i asked, for the note he brought was not to me."
""yes, ma'am.
i had four, but two were killed, one is a prisoner, and i'm going to the other, who is very sick in a washington hospital."
he answered quietly.""
"you have done a great deal for your country, sir," i said, feeling respect now, instead of pity.""
"not a mite more than i ought, ma'am.
i'd go myself, if i was any use.
as i ai n't, i give my boys, and give'em free.""
""he spoke so cheerfully, looked so sincere, and seemed so glad to give his all, that i was ashamed of myself.
i'd given one man and thought it too much, while he gave four without grudging them.
i had all my girls to comfort me at home, and his last son was waiting, miles away, to say good-by to him, perhaps!
i felt so rich, so happy thinking of my blessings, that i made him a nice bundle, gave him some money, and thanked him heartily for the lesson he had taught me."
""tell another story, mother, one with a moral to it, like this.
i like to think about them afterward, if they are real and not too preachy," said jo, after a minute's silence.
mrs. march smiled and began at once, for she had told stories to this little audience for many years, and knew how to please them.
""once upon a time, there were four girls, who had enough to eat and drink and wear, a good many comforts and pleasures, kind friends and parents who loved them dearly, and yet they were not contented."
-lrb- here the listeners stole sly looks at one another, and began to sew diligently. -rrb-
""these girls were anxious to be good and made many excellent resolutions, but they did not keep them very well, and were constantly saying, "if only we had this," or "if we could only do that," quite forgetting how much they already had, and how many things they actually could do.
so they asked an old woman what spell they could use to make them happy, and she said, "when you feel discontented, think over your blessings, and be grateful.""
-lrb- here jo looked up quickly, as if about to speak, but changed her mind, seeing that the story was not done yet. -rrb-
""being sensible girls, they decided to try her advice, and soon were surprised to see how well off they were.
one discovered that money could n't keep shame and sorrow out of rich people's houses, another that, though she was poor, she was a great deal happier, with her youth, health, and good spirits, than a certain fretful, feeble old lady who could n't enjoy her comforts, a third that, disagreeable as it was to help get dinner, it was harder still to go begging for it and the fourth, that even carnelian rings were not so valuable as good behavior.
so they agreed to stop complaining, to enjoy the blessings already possessed, and try to deserve them, lest they should be taken away entirely, instead of increased, and i believe they were never disappointed or sorry that they took the old woman's advice."
""now, marmee, that is very cunning of you to turn our own stories against us, and give us a sermon instead of a romance!"
cried meg.
""i like that kind of sermon.
it's the sort father used to tell us," said beth thoughtfully, putting the needles straight on jo's cushion.
""i do n't complain near as much as the others do, and i shall be more careful than ever now, for i've had warning from susie's downfall," said amy morally.
""we needed that lesson, and we wo n't forget it.
if we do so, you just say to us, as old chloe did in uncle tom, "tink ob yer marcies, chillen!"
"tink ob yer marcies!""
added jo, who could not, for the life of her, help getting a morsel of fun out of the little sermon, though she took it to heart as much as any of them.
chapter five being neighborly "what in the world are you going to do now, jo?"
asked meg one snowy afternoon, as her sister came tramping through the hall, in rubber boots, old sack, and hood, with a broom in one hand and a shovel in the other.
""going out for exercise," answered jo with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
""i should think two long walks this morning would have been enough!
it's cold and dull out, and i advise you to stay warm and dry by the fire, as i do," said meg with a shiver.
""never take advice!
ca n't keep still all day, and not being a pussycat, i do n't like to doze by the fire.
i like adventures, and i'm going to find some."
meg went back to toast her feet and read ivanhoe, and jo began to dig paths with great energy.
the snow was light, and with her broom she soon swept a path all round the garden, for beth to walk in when the sun came out and the invalid dolls needed air.
now, the garden separated the marches" house from that of mr. laurence.
both stood in a suburb of the city, which was still country-like, with groves and lawns, large gardens, and quiet streets.
a low hedge parted the two estates.
on one side was an old, brown house, looking rather bare and shabby, robbed of the vines that in summer covered its walls and the flowers, which then surrounded it.
on the other side was a stately stone mansion, plainly betokening every sort of comfort and luxury, from the big coach house and well-kept grounds to the conservatory and the glimpses of lovely things one caught between the rich curtains.
yet it seemed a lonely, lifeless sort of house, for no children frolicked on the lawn, no motherly face ever smiled at the windows, and few people went in and out, except the old gentleman and his grandson.
to jo's lively fancy, this fine house seemed a kind of enchanted palace, full of splendors and delights which no one enjoyed.
she had long wanted to behold these hidden glories, and to know the laurence boy, who looked as if he would like to be known, if he only knew how to begin.
since the party, she had been more eager than ever, and had planned many ways of making friends with him, but he had not been seen lately, and jo began to think he had gone away, when she one day spied a brown face at an upper window, looking wistfully down into their garden, where beth and amy were snow-balling one another.
""that boy is suffering for society and fun," she said to herself.
""his grandpa does not know what's good for him, and keeps him shut up all alone.
he needs a party of jolly boys to play with, or somebody young and lively.
i've a great mind to go over and tell the old gentleman so!"
the idea amused jo, who liked to do daring things and was always scandalizing meg by her queer performances.
the plan of "going over" was not forgotten.
and when the snowy afternoon came, jo resolved to try what could be done.
she saw mr. lawrence drive off, and then sallied out to dig her way down to the hedge, where she paused and took a survey.
all quiet, curtains down at the lower windows, servants out of sight, and nothing human visible but a curly black head leaning on a thin hand at the upper window.
""there he is," thought jo, "poor boy!
all alone and sick this dismal day.
it's a shame!
i'll toss up a snowball and make him look out, and then say a kind word to him."
up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once, showing a face which lost its listless look in a minute, as the big eyes brightened and the mouth began to smile.
jo nodded and laughed, and flourished her broom as she called out... "how do you do?
are you sick?"
laurie opened the window, and croaked out as hoarsely as a raven... "better, thank you.
i've had a bad cold, and been shut up a week."
""i'm sorry.
what do you amuse yourself with?"
""nothing.
it's dull as tombs up here."
""do n't you read?"
""not much.
they wo n't let me."
""ca n't somebody read to you?"
""grandpa does sometimes, but my books do n't interest him, and i hate to ask brooke all the time."
""have someone come and see you then."
""there is n't anyone i'd like to see.
boys make such a row, and my head is weak."
""is n't there some nice girl who'd read and amuse you?
girls are quiet and like to play nurse."
""do n't know any."
""you know us," began jo, then laughed and stopped.
""so i do!
will you come, please?"
cried laurie.
""i'm not quiet and nice, but i'll come, if mother will let me.
i'll go ask her.
shut the window, like a good boy, and wait till i come."
with that, jo shouldered her broom and marched into the house, wondering what they would all say to her.
laurie was in a flutter of excitement at the idea of having company, and flew about to get ready, for as mrs. march said, he was" a little gentleman", and did honor to the coming guest by brushing his curly pate, putting on a fresh color, and trying to tidy up the room, which in spite of half a dozen servants, was anything but neat.
presently there came a loud ring, than a decided voice, asking for "mr. laurie", and a surprised-looking servant came running up to announce a young lady.
""all right, show her up, it's miss jo," said laurie, going to the door of his little parlor to meet jo, who appeared, looking rosy and quite at her ease, with a covered dish in one hand and beth's three kittens in the other.
""here i am, bag and baggage," she said briskly.
""mother sent her love, and was glad if i could do anything for you.
meg wanted me to bring some of her blanc mange, she makes it very nicely, and beth thought her cats would be comforting.
i knew you'd laugh at them, but i could n't refuse, she was so anxious to do something."
it so happened that beth's funny loan was just the thing, for in laughing over the kits, laurie forgot his bashfulness, and grew sociable at once.
""that looks too pretty to eat," he said, smiling with pleasure, as jo uncovered the dish, and showed the blanc mange, surrounded by a garland of green leaves, and the scarlet flowers of amy's pet geranium.
""it is n't anything, only they all felt kindly and wanted to show it.
tell the girl to put it away for your tea.
it's so simple you can eat it, and being soft, it will slip down without hurting your sore throat.
what a cozy room this is!"
""it might be if it was kept nice, but the maids are lazy, and i do n't know how to make them mind.
it worries me though."
""i'll right it up in two minutes, for it only needs to have the hearth brushed, so -- and the things made straight on the mantelpiece, so -- and the books put here, and the bottles there, and your sofa turned from the light, and the pillows plumped up a bit.
now then, you're fixed."
and so he was, for, as she laughed and talked, jo had whisked things into place and given quite a different air to the room.
laurie watched her in respectful silence, and when she beckoned him to his sofa, he sat down with a sigh of satisfaction, saying gratefully... "how kind you are!
yes, that's what it wanted.
now please take the big chair and let me do something to amuse my company."
""no, i came to amuse you.
shall i read aloud?"
and jo looked affectionately toward some inviting books near by.
""thank you!
i've read all those, and if you do n't mind, i'd rather talk," answered laurie.
""not a bit.
i'll talk all day if you'll only set me going.
beth says i never know when to stop."
""is beth the rosy one, who stays at home good deal and sometimes goes out with a little basket?"
asked laurie with interest.
""yes, that's beth.
she's my girl, and a regular good one she is, too."
""the pretty one is meg, and the curly-haired one is amy, i believe?"
""how did you find that out?"
laurie colored up, but answered frankly, "why, you see i often hear you calling to one another, and when i'm alone up here, i ca n't help looking over at your house, you always seem to be having such good times.
i beg your pardon for being so rude, but sometimes you forget to put down the curtain at the window where the flowers are.
and when the lamps are lighted, it's like looking at a picture to see the fire, and you all around the table with your mother.
her face is right opposite, and it looks so sweet behind the flowers, i ca n't help watching it.
i have n't got any mother, you know."
and laurie poked the fire to hide a little twitching of the lips that he could not control.
the solitary, hungry look in his eyes went straight to jo's warm heart.
she had been so simply taught that there was no nonsense in her head, and at fifteen she was as innocent and frank as any child.
laurie was sick and lonely, and feeling how rich she was in home and happiness, she gladly tried to share it with him.
her face was very friendly and her sharp voice unusually gentle as she said... "we'll never draw that curtain any more, and i give you leave to look as much as you like.
i just wish, though, instead of peeping, you'd come over and see us.
mother is so splendid, she'd do you heaps of good, and beth would sing to you if i begged her to, and amy would dance.
meg and i would make you laugh over our funny stage properties, and we'd have jolly times.
would n't your grandpa let you?"
""i think he would, if your mother asked him.
he's very kind, though he does not look so, and he lets me do what i like, pretty much, only he's afraid i might be a bother to strangers," began laurie, brightening more and more.
""we are not strangers, we are neighbors, and you need n't think you'd be a bother.
we want to know you, and i've been trying to do it this ever so long.
we have n't been here a great while, you know, but we have got acquainted with all our neighbors but you."
""you see, grandpa lives among his books, and does n't mind much what happens outside.
mr. brooke, my tutor, does n't stay here, you know, and i have no one to go about with me, so i just stop at home and get on as i can."
""that's bad.
you ought to make an effort and go visiting everywhere you are asked, then you'll have plenty of friends, and pleasant places to go to.
never mind being bashful.
it wo n't last long if you keep going."
laurie turned red again, but was n't offended at being accused of bashfulness, for there was so much good will in jo it was impossible not to take her blunt speeches as kindly as they were meant.
""do you like your school?"
asked the boy, changing the subject, after a little pause, during which he stared at the fire and jo looked about her, well pleased.
""do n't go to school, i'm a businessman -- girl, i mean.
i go to wait on my great-aunt, and a dear, cross old soul she is, too," answered jo.
laurie opened his mouth to ask another question, but remembering just in time that it was n't manners to make too many inquiries into people's affairs, he shut it again, and looked uncomfortable.
jo liked his good breeding, and did n't mind having a laugh at aunt march, so she gave him a lively description of the fidgety old lady, her fat poodle, the parrot that talked spanish, and the library where she reveled.
laurie enjoyed that immensely, and when she told about the prim old gentleman who came once to woo aunt march, and in the middle of a fine speech, how poll had tweaked his wig off to his great dismay, the boy lay back and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and a maid popped her head in to see what was the matter.
""oh!
that does me no end of good.
tell on, please," he said, taking his face out of the sofa cushion, red and shining with merriment.
much elated with her success, jo did "tell on", all about their plays and plans, their hopes and fears for father, and the most interesting events of the little world in which the sisters lived.
then they got to talking about books, and to jo's delight, she found that laurie loved them as well as she did, and had read even more than herself.
""if you like them so much, come down and see ours.
grandfather is out, so you need n't be afraid," said laurie, getting up.
""i'm not afraid of anything," returned jo, with a toss of the head.
""i do n't believe you are!"
exclaimed the boy, looking at her with much admiration, though he privately thought she would have good reason to be a trifle afraid of the old gentleman, if she met him in some of his moods.
the atmosphere of the whole house being summerlike, laurie led the way from room to room, letting jo stop to examine whatever struck her fancy.
and so, at last they came to the library, where she clapped her hands and pranced, as she always did when especially delighted.
it was lined with books, and there were pictures and statues, and distracting little cabinets full of coins and curiosities, and sleepy hollow chairs, and queer tables, and bronzes, and best of all, a great open fireplace with quaint tiles all round it.
""what richness!"
sighed jo, sinking into the depth of a velour chair and gazing about her with an air of intense satisfaction.
""theodore laurence, you ought to be the happiest boy in the world," she added impressively.
""a fellow ca n't live on books," said laurie, shaking his head as he perched on a table opposite.
before he could more, a bell rang, and jo flew up, exclaiming with alarm, "mercy me!
it's your grandpa!"
""well, what if it is?
you are not afraid of anything, you know," returned the boy, looking wicked.
""i think i am a little bit afraid of him, but i do n't know why i should be.
marmee said i might come, and i do n't think you're any the worse for it," said jo, composing herself, though she kept her eyes on the door.
""i'm a great deal better for it, and ever so much obliged.
i'm only afraid you are very tired of talking to me.
it was so pleasant, i could n't bear to stop," said laurie gratefully.
""the doctor to see you, sir," and the maid beckoned as she spoke.
""would you mind if i left you for a minute?
i suppose i must see him," said laurie.
""do n't mind me.
i'm happy as a cricket here," answered jo.
laurie went away, and his guest amused herself in her own way.
she was standing before a fine portrait of the old gentleman when the door opened again, and without turning, she said decidedly, "i'm sure now that i should n't be afraid of him, for he's got kind eyes, though his mouth is grim, and he looks as if he had a tremendous will of his own.
he is n't as handsome as my grandfather, but i like him."
""thank you, ma'am," said a gruff voice behind her, and there, to her great dismay, stood old mr. laurence.
poor jo blushed till she could n't blush any redder, and her heart began to beat uncomfortably fast as she thought what she had said.
for a minute a wild desire to run away possessed her, but that was cowardly, and the girls would laugh at her, so she resolved to stay and get out of the scrape as she could.
a second look showed her that the living eyes, under the bushy eyebrows, were kinder even than the painted ones, and there was a sly twinkle in them, which lessened her fear a good deal.
the gruff voice was gruffer than ever, as the old gentleman said abruptly, after the dreadful pause, "so you're not afraid of me, hey?"
""not much, sir."
""and you do n't think me as handsome as your grandfather?"
""not quite, sir."
""and i've got a tremendous will, have i?"
""i only said i thought so."
""but you like me in spite of it?"
""yes, i do, sir."
that answer pleased the old gentleman.
he gave a short laugh, shook hands with her, and, putting his finger under her chin, turned up her face, examined it gravely, and let it go, saying with a nod, "you've got your grandfather's spirit, if you have n't his face.
he was a fine man, my dear, but what is better, he was a brave and an honest one, and i was proud to be his friend."
""thank you, sir," and jo was quite comfortable after that, for it suited her exactly.
""what have you been doing to this boy of mine, hey?"
was the next question, sharply put.
""only trying to be neighborly, sir."
and jo told how her visit came about.
""you think he needs cheering up a bit, do you?"
""yes, sir, he seems a little lonely, and young folks would do him good perhaps.
we are only girls, but we should be glad to help if we could, for we do n't forget the splendid christmas present you sent us," said jo eagerly.
""tut, tut, tut!
that was the boy's affair.
how is the poor woman?"
""doing nicely, sir."
and off went jo, talking very fast, as she told all about the hummels, in whom her mother had interested richer friends than they were.
""just her father's way of doing good.
i shall come and see your mother some fine day.
tell her so.
there's the tea bell, we have it early on the boy's account.
come down and go on being neighborly."
""if you'd like to have me, sir."
""should n't ask you, if i did n't."
and mr. laurence offered her his arm with old-fashioned courtesy.
""what would meg say to this?"
thought jo, as she was marched away, while her eyes danced with fun as she imagined herself telling the story at home.
""hey!
why, what the dickens has come to the fellow?"
said the old gentleman, as laurie came running downstairs and brought up with a start of surprise at the astounding sight of jo arm in arm with his redoubtable grandfather.
""i did n't know you'd come, sir," he began, as jo gave him a triumphant little glance.
""that's evident, by the way you racket downstairs.
come to your tea, sir, and behave like a gentleman."
and having pulled the boy's hair by way of a caress, mr. laurence walked on, while laurie went through a series of comic evolutions behind their backs, which nearly produced an explosion of laughter from jo.
the old gentleman did not say much as he drank his four cups of tea, but he watched the young people, who soon chatted away like old friends, and the change in his grandson did not escape him.
there was color, light, and life in the boy's face now, vivacity in his manner, and genuine merriment in his laugh.
""she's right, the lad is lonely.
i'll see what these little girls can do for him," thought mr. laurence, as he looked and listened.
he liked jo, for her odd, blunt ways suited him, and she seemed to understand the boy almost as well as if she had been one herself.
if the laurences had been what jo called "prim and poky", she would not have got on at all, for such people always made her shy and awkward.
but finding them free and easy, she was so herself, and made a good impression.
when they rose she proposed to go, but laurie said he had something more to show her, and took her away to the conservatory, which had been lighted for her benefit.
it seemed quite fairylike to jo, as she went up and down the walks, enjoying the blooming walls on either side, the soft light, the damp sweet air, and the wonderful vines and trees that hung about her, while her new friend cut the finest flowers till his hands were full.
then he tied them up, saying, with the happy look jo liked to see, "please give these to your mother, and tell her i like the medicine she sent me very much."
they found mr. laurence standing before the fire in the great drawing room, but jo's attention was entirely absorbed by a grand piano, which stood open.
""do you play?"
she asked, turning to laurie with a respectful expression.
""sometimes," he answered modestly.
""please do now.
i want to hear it, so i can tell beth."
""wo n't you first?"
""do n't know how.
too stupid to learn, but i love music dearly."
so laurie played and jo listened, with her nose luxuriously buried in heliotrope and tea roses.
her respect and regard for the "laurence" boy increased very much, for he played remarkably well and did n't put on any airs.
she wished beth could hear him, but she did not say so, only praised him till he was quite abashed, and his grandfather came to his rescue.
""that will do, that will do, young lady.
too many sugarplums are not good for him.
his music is n't bad, but i hope he will do as well in more important things.
going?
well, i'm much obliged to you, and i hope you'll come again.
my respects to your mother.
good night, doctor jo."
he shook hands kindly, but looked as if something did not please him.
when they got into the hall, jo asked laurie if she had said something amiss.
he shook his head.
""no, it was me.
he does n't like to hear me play."
""why not?"
""i'll tell you some day.
john is going home with you, as i ca n't."
""no need of that.
i am not a young lady, and it's only a step.
take care of yourself, wo n't you?"
""yes, but you will come again, i hope?"
""if you promise to come and see us after you are well."
""i will."
""good night, laurie!"
""good night, jo, good night!"
when all the afternoon's adventures had been told, the family felt inclined to go visiting in a body, for each found something very attractive in the big house on the other side of the hedge.
mrs. march wanted to talk of her father with the old man who had not forgotten him, meg longed to walk in the conservatory, beth sighed for the grand piano, and amy was eager to see the fine pictures and statues.
""mother, why did n't mr. laurence like to have laurie play?"
asked jo, who was of an inquiring disposition.
""i am not sure, but i think it was because his son, laurie's father, married an italian lady, a musician, which displeased the old man, who is very proud.
the lady was good and lovely and accomplished, but he did not like her, and never saw his son after he married.
they both died when laurie was a little child, and then his grandfather took him home.
i fancy the boy, who was born in italy, is not very strong, and the old man is afraid of losing him, which makes him so careful.
laurie comes naturally by his love of music, for he is like his mother, and i dare say his grandfather fears that he may want to be a musician.
at any rate, his skill reminds him of the woman he did not like, and so he "glowered" as jo said."
""dear me, how romantic!"
exclaimed meg.
""how silly!"
said jo.
""let him be a musician if he wants to, and not plague his life out sending him to college, when he hates to go."
""that's why he has such handsome black eyes and pretty manners, i suppose.
italians are always nice," said meg, who was a little sentimental.
""what do you know about his eyes and his manners?
you never spoke to him, hardly," cried jo, who was not sentimental.
""i saw him at the party, and what you tell shows that he knows how to behave.
that was a nice little speech about the medicine mother sent him."
""he meant the blanc mange, i suppose."
""how stupid you are, child!
he meant you, of course."
""did he?"
and jo opened her eyes as if it had never occurred to her before.
""i never saw such a girl!
you do n't know a compliment when you get it," said meg, with the air of a young lady who knew all about the matter.
""i think they are great nonsense, and i'll thank you not to be silly and spoil my fun.
laurie's a nice boy and i like him, and i wo n't have any sentimental stuff about compliments and such rubbish.
we'll all be good to him because he has n't got any mother, and he may come over and see us, may n't he, marmee?"
""yes, jo, your little friend is very welcome, and i hope meg will remember that children should be children as long as they can."
""i do n't call myself a child, and i'm not in my teens yet," observed amy.
""what do you say, beth?"
""i was thinking about our" pilgrim's progress"," answered beth, who had not heard a word.
""how we got out of the slough and through the wicket gate by resolving to be good, and up the steep hill by trying, and that maybe the house over there, full of splendid things, is going to be our palace beautiful."
""we have got to get by the lions first," said jo, as if she rather liked the prospect.
chapter six beth finds the palace beautiful the big house did prove a palace beautiful, though it took some time for all to get in, and beth found it very hard to pass the lions.
old mr. laurence was the biggest one, but after he had called, said something funny or kind to each one of the girls, and talked over old times with their mother, nobody felt much afraid of him, except timid beth.
the other lion was the fact that they were poor and laurie rich, for this made them shy of accepting favors which they could not return.
but, after a while, they found that he considered them the benefactors, and could not do enough to show how grateful he was for mrs. march's motherly welcome, their cheerful society, and the comfort he took in that humble home of theirs.
so they soon forgot their pride and interchanged kindnesses without stopping to think which was the greater.
all sorts of pleasant things happened about that time, for the new friendship flourished like grass in spring.
every one liked laurie, and he privately informed his tutor that "the marches were regularly splendid girls."
with the delightful enthusiasm of youth, they took the solitary boy into their midst and made much of him, and he found something very charming in the innocent companionship of these simple-hearted girls.
never having known mother or sisters, he was quick to feel the influences they brought about him, and their busy, lively ways made him ashamed of the indolent life he led.
he was tired of books, and found people so interesting now that mr. brooke was obliged to make very unsatisfactory reports, for laurie was always playing truant and running over to the marches".
""never mind, let him take a holiday, and make it up afterward," said the old gentleman.
""the good lady next door says he is studying too hard and needs young society, amusement, and exercise.
i suspect she is right, and that i've been coddling the fellow as if i'd been his grandmother.
let him do what he likes, as long as he is happy.
he ca n't get into mischief in that little nunnery over there, and mrs. march is doing more for him than we can."
what good times they had, to be sure.
such plays and tableaux, such sleigh rides and skating frolics, such pleasant evenings in the old parlor, and now and then such gay little parties at the great house.
meg could walk in the conservatory whenever she liked and revel in bouquets, jo browsed over the new library voraciously, and convulsed the old gentleman with her criticisms, amy copied pictures and enjoyed beauty to her heart's content, and laurie played "lord of the manor" in the most delightful style.
but beth, though yearning for the grand piano, could not pluck up courage to go to the "mansion of bliss", as meg called it.
she went once with jo, but the old gentleman, not being aware of her infirmity, stared at her so hard from under his heavy eyebrows, and said "hey!"
so loud, that he frightened her so much her "feet chattered on the floor", she never told her mother, and she ran away, declaring she would never go there any more, not even for the dear piano.
no persuasions or enticements could overcome her fear, till, the fact coming to mr. laurence's ear in some mysterious way, he set about mending matters.
during one of the brief calls he made, he artfully led the conversation to music, and talked away about great singers whom he had seen, fine organs he had heard, and told such charming anecdotes that beth found it impossible to stay in her distant corner, but crept nearer and nearer, as if fascinated.
at the back of his chair she stopped and stood listening, with her great eyes wide open and her cheeks red with excitement of this unusual performance.
taking no more notice of her than if she had been a fly, mr. laurence talked on about laurie's lessons and teachers.
and presently, as if the idea had just occurred to him, he said to mrs. march... "the boy neglects his music now, and i'm glad of it, for he was getting too fond of it.
but the piano suffers for want of use.
would n't some of your girls like to run over, and practice on it now and then, just to keep it in tune, you know, ma'am?"
beth took a step forward, and pressed her hands tightly together to keep from clapping them, for this was an irresistible temptation, and the thought of practicing on that splendid instrument quite took her breath away.
before mrs. march could reply, mr. laurence went on with an odd little nod and smile... "they need n't see or speak to anyone, but run in at any time.
for i'm shut up in my study at the other end of the house, laurie is out a great deal, and the servants are never near the drawing room after nine o'clock."
here he rose, as if going, and beth made up her mind to speak, for that last arrangement left nothing to be desired.
""please, tell the young ladies what i say, and if they do n't care to come, why, never mind."
here a little hand slipped into his, and beth looked up at him with a face full of gratitude, as she said, in her earnest yet timid way... "oh sir, they do care, very very much!"
""are you the musical girl?"
he asked, without any startling "hey!"
as he looked down at her very kindly.
""i'm beth.
i love it dearly, and i'll come, if you are quite sure nobody will hear me, and be disturbed," she added, fearing to be rude, and trembling at her own boldness as she spoke.
""not a soul, my dear.
the house is empty half the day, so come and drum away as much as you like, and i shall be obliged to you."
""how kind you are, sir!"
beth blushed like a rose under the friendly look he wore, but she was not frightened now, and gave the hand a grateful squeeze because she had no words to thank him for the precious gift he had given her.
the old gentleman softly stroked the hair off her forehead, and, stooping down, he kissed her, saying, in a tone few people ever heard... "i had a little girl once, with eyes like these.
god bless you, my dear!
good day, madam."
and away he went, in a great hurry.
beth had a rapture with her mother, and then rushed up to impart the glorious news to her family of invalids, as the girls were not home.
how blithely she sang that evening, and how they all laughed at her because she woke amy in the night by playing the piano on her face in her sleep.
next day, having seen both the old and young gentleman out of the house, beth, after two or three retreats, fairly got in at the side door, and made her way as noiselessly as any mouse to the drawing room where her idol stood.
quite by accident, of course, some pretty, easy music lay on the piano, and with trembling fingers and frequent stops to listen and look about, beth at last touched the great instrument, and straightway forgot her fear, herself, and everything else but the unspeakable delight which the music gave her, for it was like the voice of a beloved friend.
she stayed till hannah came to take her home to dinner, but she had no appetite, and could only sit and smile upon everyone in a general state of beatitude.
after that, the little brown hood slipped through the hedge nearly every day, and the great drawing room was haunted by a tuneful spirit that came and went unseen.
she never knew that mr. laurence opened his study door to hear the old-fashioned airs he liked.
she never saw laurie mount guard in the hall to warn the servants away.
she never suspected that the exercise books and new songs which she found in the rack were put there for her especial benefit, and when he talked to her about music at home, she only thought how kind he was to tell things that helped her so much.
so she enjoyed herself heartily, and found, what is n't always the case, that her granted wish was all she had hoped.
perhaps it was because she was so grateful for this blessing that a greater was given her.
at any rate she deserved both.
""mother, i'm going to work mr. laurence a pair of slippers.
he is so kind to me, i must thank him, and i do n't know any other way.
can i do it?"
asked beth, a few weeks after that eventful call of his.
""yes, dear.
it will please him very much, and be a nice way of thanking him.
the girls will help you about them, and i will pay for the making up," replied mrs. march, who took peculiar pleasure in granting beth's requests because she so seldom asked anything for herself.
after many serious discussions with meg and jo, the pattern was chosen, the materials bought, and the slippers begun.
a cluster of grave yet cheerful pansies on a deeper purple ground was pronounced very appropriate and pretty, and beth worked away early and late, with occasional lifts over hard parts.
she was a nimble little needlewoman, and they were finished before anyone got tired of them.
then she wrote a short, simple note, and with laurie's help, got them smuggled onto the study table one morning before the old gentleman was up.
when this excitement was over, beth waited to see what would happen.
all day passed and a part of the next before any acknowledgement arrived, and she was beginning to fear she had offended her crochety friend.
on the afternoon of the second day, she went out to do an errand, and give poor joanna, the invalid doll, her daily exercise.
as she came up the street, on her return, she saw three, yes, four heads popping in and out of the parlor windows, and the moment they saw her, several hands were waved, and several joyful voices screamed... "here's a letter from the old gentleman!
come quick, and read it!"
""oh, beth, he's sent you..." began amy, gesticulating with unseemly energy, but she got no further, for jo quenched her by slamming down the window.
beth hurried on in a flutter of suspense.
at the door her sisters seized and bore her to the parlor in a triumphal procession, all pointing and all saying at once, "look there!
look there!"
beth did look, and turned pale with delight and surprise, for there stood a little cabinet piano, with a letter lying on the glossy lid, directed like a sign board to "miss elizabeth march."
""for me?"
gasped beth, holding onto jo and feeling as if she should tumble down, it was such an overwhelming thing altogether.
""yes, all for you, my precious!
is n't it splendid of him?
do n't you think he's the dearest old man in the world?
here's the key in the letter.
we did n't open it, but we are dying to know what he says," cried jo, hugging her sister and offering the note.
""you read it!
i ca n't, i feel so queer!
oh, it is too lovely!"
and beth hid her face in jo's apron, quite upset by her present.
jo opened the paper and began to laugh, for the first words she saw were... "miss march: "dear madam --" "how nice it sounds!
i wish someone would write to me so!"
said amy, who thought the old-fashioned address very elegant.""
i have had many pairs of slippers in my life, but i never had any that suited me so well as yours,"" continues jo."
"heart's - ease is my favorite flower, and these will always remind me of the gentle giver.
i like to pay my debts, so i know you will allow "the old gentleman" to send you something which once belonged to the little grand daughter he lost.
with hearty thanks and best wishes, i remain" "your grateful friend and humble servant, "james laurence"."
""there, beth, that's an honor to be proud of, i'm sure!
laurie told me how fond mr. laurence used to be of the child who died, and how he kept all her little things carefully.
just think, he's given you her piano.
that comes of having big blue eyes and loving music," said jo, trying to soothe beth, who trembled and looked more excited than she had ever been before.
""see the cunning brackets to hold candles, and the nice green silk, puckered up, with a gold rose in the middle, and the pretty rack and stool, all complete," added meg, opening the instrument and displaying its beauties."
"your humble servant, james laurence".
only think of his writing that to you.
i'll tell the girls.
they'll think it's splendid," said amy, much impressed by the note.
""try it, honey.
let's hear the sound of the baby pianny," said hannah, who always took a share in the family joys and sorrows.
so beth tried it, and everyone pronounced it the most remarkable piano ever heard.
it had evidently been newly tuned and put in apple-pie order, but, perfect as it was, i think the real charm lay in the happiest of all happy faces which leaned over it, as beth lovingly touched the beautiful black and white keys and pressed the bright pedals.
""you'll have to go and thank him," said jo, by way of a joke, for the idea of the child's really going never entered her head.
""yes, i mean to.
i guess i'll go now, before i get frightened thinking about it."
and, to the utter amazement of the assembled family, beth walked deliberately down the garden, through the hedge, and in at the laurences" door.
""well, i wish i may die if it ai n't the queerest thing i ever see!
the pianny has turned her head!
she'd never have gone in her right mind," cried hannah, staring after her, while the girls were rendered quite speechless by the miracle.
they would have been still more amazed if they had seen what beth did afterward.
if you will believe me, she went and knocked at the study door before she gave herself time to think, and when a gruff voice called out, "come in!"
she did go in, right up to mr. laurence, who looked quite taken aback, and held out her hand, saying, with only a small quaver in her voice, "i came to thank you, sir, for..." but she did n't finish, for he looked so friendly that she forgot her speech and, only remembering that he had lost the little girl he loved, she put both arms round his neck and kissed him.
if the roof of the house had suddenly flown off, the old gentleman would n't have been more astonished.
but he liked it.
oh, dear, yes, he liked it amazingly!
and was so touched and pleased by that confiding little kiss that all his crustiness vanished, and he just set her on his knee, and laid his wrinkled cheek against her rosy one, feeling as if he had got his own little granddaughter back again.
beth ceased to fear him from that moment, and sat there talking to him as cozily as if she had known him all her life, for love casts out fear, and gratitude can conquer pride.
when she went home, he walked with her to her own gate, shook hands cordially, and touched his hat as he marched back again, looking very stately and erect, like a handsome, soldierly old gentleman, as he was.
when the girls saw that performance, jo began to dance a jig, by way of expressing her satisfaction, amy nearly fell out of the window in her surprise, and meg exclaimed, with up-lifted hands, "well, i do believe the world is coming to an end."
chapter seven amy's valley of humiliation "that boy is a perfect cyclops, is n't he?"
said amy one day, as laurie clattered by on horseback, with a flourish of his whip as he passed.
""how dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes?
and very handsome ones they are, too," cried jo, who resented any slighting remarks about her friend.
""i did n't say anything about his eyes, and i do n't see why you need fire up when i admire his riding."
""oh, my goodness!
that little goose means a centaur, and she called him a cyclops," exclaimed jo, with a burst of laughter.
""you need n't be so rude, it's only a "lapse of lingy", as mr. davis says," retorted amy, finishing jo with her latin.
""i just wish i had a little of the money laurie spends on that horse," she added, as if to herself, yet hoping her sisters would hear.
""why?"
asked meg kindly, for jo had gone off in another laugh at amy's second blunder.
""i need it so much.
i'm dreadfully in debt, and it wo n't be my turn to have the rag money for a month."
""in debt, amy?
what do you mean?"
and meg looked sober.
""why, i owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and i ca n't pay them, you know, till i have money, for marmee forbade my having anything charged at the shop."
""tell me all about it.
are limes the fashion now?
it used to be pricking bits of rubber to make balls."
and meg tried to keep her countenance, amy looked so grave and important.
""why, you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless you want to be thought mean, you must do it too.
it's nothing but limes now, for everyone is sucking them in their desks in schooltime, and trading them off for pencils, bead rings, paper dolls, or something else, at recess.
if one girl likes another, she gives her a lime.
if she's mad with her, she eats one before her face, and does n't offer even a suck.
they treat by turns, and i've had ever so many but have n't returned them, and i ought for they are debts of honor, you know."
""how much will pay them off and restore your credit?"
asked meg, taking out her purse.
""a quarter would more than do it, and leave a few cents over for a treat for you.
do n't you like limes?"
""not much.
you may have my share.
here's the money.
make it last as long as you can, for it is n't very plenty, you know."
""oh, thank you!
it must be so nice to have pocket money!
i'll have a grand feast, for i have n't tasted a lime this week.
i felt delicate about taking any, as i could n't return them, and i'm actually suffering for one."
next day amy was rather late at school, but could not resist the temptation of displaying, with pardonable pride, a moist brown-paper parcel, before she consigned it to the inmost recesses of her desk.
during the next few minutes the rumor that amy march had got twenty-four delicious limes -lrb- she ate one on the way -rrb- and was going to treat circulated through her "set", and the attentions of her friends became quite overwhelming.
katy brown invited her to her next party on the spot.
mary kinglsey insisted on lending her her watch till recess, and jenny snow, a satirical young lady, who had basely twitted amy upon her limeless state, promptly buried the hatchet and offered to furnish answers to certain appalling sums.
but amy had not forgotten miss snow's cutting remarks about "some persons whose noses were not too flat to smell other people's limes, and stuck-up people who were not too proud to ask for them", and she instantly crushed "that snow girl's" hopes by the withering telegram, "you need n't be so polite all of a sudden, for you wo n't get any."
a distinguished personage happened to visit the school that morning, and amy's beautifully drawn maps received praise, which honor to her foe rankled in the soul of miss snow, and caused miss march to assume the airs of a studious young peacock.
but, alas, alas!
pride goes before a fall, and the revengeful snow turned the tables with disastrous success.
no sooner had the guest paid the usual stale compliments and bowed himself out, than jenny, under pretense of asking an important question, informed mr. davis, the teacher, that amy march had pickled limes in her desk.
now mr. davis had declared limes a contraband article, and solemnly vowed to publicly ferrule the first person who was found breaking the law.
this much-enduring man had succeeded in banishing chewing gum after a long and stormy war, had made a bonfire of the confiscated novels and newspapers, had suppressed a private post office, had forbidden distortions of the face, nicknames, and caricatures, and done all that one man could do to keep half a hundred rebellious girls in order.
boys are trying enough to human patience, goodness knows, but girls are infinitely more so, especially to nervous gentlemen with tyrannical tempers and no more talent for teaching than dr. blimber.
mr. davis knew any quantity of greek, latin, algebra, and ologies of all sorts so he was called a fine teacher, and manners, morals, feelings, and examples were not considered of any particular importance.
it was a most unfortunate moment for denouncing amy, and jenny knew it.
mr. davis had evidently taken his coffee too strong that morning, there was an east wind, which always affected his neuralgia, and his pupils had not done him the credit which he felt he deserved.
therefore, to use the expressive, if not elegant, language of a schoolgirl, "he was as nervous as a witch and as cross as a bear".
the word "limes" was like fire to powder, his yellow face flushed, and he rapped on his desk with an energy which made jenny skip to her seat with unusual rapidity.
""young ladies, attention, if you please!"
at the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs of blue, black, gray, and brown eyes were obediently fixed upon his awful countenance.
""miss march, come to the desk."
amy rose to comply with outward composure, but a secret fear oppressed her, for the limes weighed upon her conscience.
""bring with you the limes you have in your desk," was the unexpected command which arrested her before she got out of her seat.
""do n't take all."
whispered her neighbor, a young lady of great presence of mind.
amy hastily shook out half a dozen and laid the rest down before mr. davis, feeling that any man possessing a human heart would relent when that delicious perfume met his nose.
unfortunately, mr. davis particularly detested the odor of the fashionable pickle, and disgust added to his wrath.
""is that all?"
""not quite," stammered amy.
""bring the rest immediately."
with a despairing glance at her set, she obeyed.
""you are sure there are no more?"
""i never lie, sir."
""so i see.
now take these disgusting things two by two, and throw them out of the window."
there was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite a little gust, as the last hope fled, and the treat was ravished from their longing lips.
scarlet with shame and anger, amy went to and fro six dreadful times, and as each doomed couple, looking oh, so plump and juicy, fell from her reluctant hands, a shout from the street completed the anguish of the girls, for it told them that their feast was being exulted over by the little irish children, who were their sworn foes.
this -- this was too much.
all flashed indignant or appealing glances at the inexorable davis, and one passionate lime lover burst into tears.
as amy returned from her last trip, mr. davis gave a portentous "hem!"
and said, in his most impressive manner... "young ladies, you remember what i said to you a week ago.
i am sorry this has happened, but i never allow my rules to be infringed, and i never break my word.
miss march, hold out your hand."
amy started, and put both hands behind her, turning on him an imploring look which pleaded for her better than the words she could not utter.
she was rather a favorite with "old davis", as, of course, he was called, and it's my private belief that he would have broken his word if the indignation of one irrepressible young lady had not found vent in a hiss.
that hiss, faint as it was, irritated the irascible gentleman, and sealed the culprit's fate.
""your hand, miss march!"
was the only answer her mute appeal received, and too proud to cry or beseech, amy set her teeth, threw back her head defiantly, and bore without flinching several tingling blows on her little palm.
they were neither many nor heavy, but that made no difference to her.
for the first time in her life she had been struck, and the disgrace, in her eyes, was as deep as if he had knocked her down.
""you will now stand on the platform till recess," said mr. davis, resolved to do the thing thoroughly, since he had begun.
that was dreadful.
it would have been bad enough to go to her seat, and see the pitying faces of her friends, or the satisfied ones of her few enemies, but to face the whole school, with that shame fresh upon her, seemed impossible, and for a second she felt as if she could only drop down where she stood, and break her heart with crying.
a bitter sense of wrong and the thought of jenny snow helped her to bear it, and, taking the ignominious place, she fixed her eyes on the stove funnel above what now seemed a sea of faces, and stood there, so motionless and white that the girls found it hard to study with that pathetic figure before them.
during the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud and sensitive little girl suffered a shame and pain which she never forgot.
to others it might seem a ludicrous or trivial affair, but to her it was a hard experience, for during the twelve years of her life she had been governed by love alone, and a blow of that sort had never touched her before.
the smart of her hand and the ache of her heart were forgotten in the sting of the thought, "i shall have to tell at home, and they will be so disappointed in me!"
the fifteen minutes seemed an hour, but they came to an end at last, and the word "recess!"
had never seemed so welcome to her before.
""you can go, miss march," said mr. davis, looking, as he felt, uncomfortable.
he did not soon forget the reproachful glance amy gave him, as she went, without a word to anyone, straight into the anteroom, snatched her things, and left the place "forever," as she passionately declared to herself.
she was in a sad state when she got home, and when the older girls arrived, some time later, an indignation meeting was held at once.
mrs. march did not say much but looked disturbed, and comforted her afflicted little daughter in her tenderest manner.
meg bathed the insulted hand with glycerine and tears, beth felt that even her beloved kittens would fail as a balm for griefs like this, jo wrathfully proposed that mr. davis be arrested without delay, and hannah shook her fist at the "villain" and pounded potatoes for dinner as if she had him under her pestle.
no notice was taken of amy's flight, except by her mates, but the sharp-eyed demoiselles discovered that mr. davis was quite benignant in the afternoon, also unusually nervous.
just before school closed, jo appeared, wearing a grim expression as she stalked up to the desk, and delivered a letter from her mother, then collected amy's property, and departed, carefully scraping the mud from her boots on the door mat, as if she shook the dust of the place off her feet.
""yes, you can have a vacation from school, but i want you to study a little every day with beth," said mrs. march that evening.
""i do n't approve of corporal punishment, especially for girls.
i dislike mr. davis's manner of teaching and do n't think the girls you associate with are doing you any good, so i shall ask your father's advice before i send you anywhere else."
""that's good!
i wish all the girls would leave, and spoil his old school.
it's perfectly maddening to think of those lovely limes," sighed amy, with the air of a martyr.
""i am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the rules, and deserved some punishment for disobedience," was the severe reply, which rather disappointed the young lady, who expected nothing but sympathy.
""do you mean you are glad i was disgraced before the whole school?"
cried amy.
""i should not have chosen that way of mending a fault," replied her mother, "but i'm not sure that it wo n't do you more good than a bolder method.
you are getting to be rather conceited, my dear, and it is quite time you set about correcting it.
you have a good many little gifts and virtues, but there is no need of parading them, for conceit spoils the finest genius.
there is not much danger that real talent or goodness will be overlooked long, even if it is, the consciousness of possessing and using it well should satisfy one, and the great charm of all power is modesty."
""so it is!"
cried laurie, who was playing chess in a corner with jo.
""i knew a girl once, who had a really remarkable talent for music, and she did n't know it, never guessed what sweet little things she composed when she was alone, and would n't have believed it if anyone had told her."
""i wish i'd known that nice girl.
maybe she would have helped me, i'm so stupid," said beth, who stood beside him, listening eagerly.
""you do know her, and she helps you better than anyone else could," answered laurie, looking at her with such mischievous meaning in his merry black eyes that beth suddenly turned very red, and hid her face in the sofa cushion, quite overcome by such an unexpected discovery.
jo let laurie win the game to pay for that praise of her beth, who could not be prevailed upon to play for them after her compliment.
so laurie did his best, and sang delightfully, being in a particularly lively humor, for to the marches he seldom showed the moody side of his character.
when he was gone, amy, who had been pensive all evening, said suddenly, as if busy over some new idea, "is laurie an accomplished boy?"
""yes, he has had an excellent education, and has much talent.
he will make a fine man, if not spoiled by petting," replied her mother.
""and he is n't conceited, is he?"
asked amy.
""not in the least.
that is why he is so charming and we all like him so much."
""i see.
it's nice to have accomplishments and be elegant, but not to show off or get perked up," said amy thoughtfully.
""these things are always seen and felt in a person's manner and conversations, if modestly used, but it is not necessary to display them," said mrs. march.
""any more than it's proper to wear all your bonnets and gowns and ribbons at once, that folks may know you've got them," added jo, and the lecture ended in a laugh.
chapter eight jo meets apollyon "girls, where are you going?"
asked amy, coming into their room one saturday afternoon, and finding them getting ready to go out with an air of secrecy which excited her curiosity.
""never mind.
little girls should n't ask questions," returned jo sharply.
now if there is anything mortifying to our feelings when we are young, it is to be told that, and to be bidden to "run away, dear" is still more trying to us.
amy bridled up at this insult, and determined to find out the secret, if she teased for an hour.
turning to meg, who never refused her anything very long, she said coaxingly, "do tell me!
i should think you might let me go, too, for beth is fussing over her piano, and i have n't got anything to do, and am so lonely."
""i ca n't, dear, because you are n't invited," began meg, but jo broke in impatiently, "now, meg, be quiet or you will spoil it all.
you ca n't go, amy, so do n't be a baby and whine about it."
""you are going somewhere with laurie, i know you are.
you were whispering and laughing together on the sofa last night, and you stopped when i came in.
are n't you going with him?"
""yes, we are.
now do be still, and stop bothering."
amy held her tongue, but used her eyes, and saw meg slip a fan into her pocket.
""i know!
i know!
you're going to the theater to see the seven castles!
" she cried, adding resolutely, "and i shall go, for mother said i might see it, and i've got my rag money, and it was mean not to tell me in time."
""just listen to me a minute, and be a good child," said meg soothingly.
""mother does n't wish you to go this week, because your eyes are not well enough yet to bear the light of this fairy piece.
next week you can go with beth and hannah, and have a nice time."
""i do n't like that half as well as going with you and laurie.
please let me.
i've been sick with this cold so long, and shut up, i'm dying for some fun.
do, meg!
i'll be ever so good," pleaded amy, looking as pathetic as she could.
""suppose we take her.
i do n't believe mother would mind, if we bundle her up well," began meg.
""if she goes i sha n't, and if i do n't, laurie wo n't like it, and it will be very rude, after he invited only us, to go and drag in amy.
i should think she'd hate to poke herself where she is n't wanted," said jo crossly, for she disliked the trouble of overseeing a fidgety child when she wanted to enjoy herself.
her tone and manner angered amy, who began to put her boots on, saying, in her most aggravating way, "i shall go.
meg says i may, and if i pay for myself, laurie has n't anything to do with it."
""you ca n't sit with us, for our seats are reserved, and you must n't sit alone, so laurie will give you his place, and that will spoil our pleasure.
or he'll get another seat for you, and that is n't proper when you were n't asked.
you sha n't stir a step, so you may just stay where you are," scolded jo, crosser than ever, having just pricked her finger in her hurry.
sitting on the floor with one boot on, amy began to cry and meg to reason with her, when laurie called from below, and the two girls hurried down, leaving their sister wailing.
for now and then she forgot her grown-up ways and acted like a spoiled child.
just as the party was setting out, amy called over the banisters in a threatening tone, "you'll be sorry for this, jo march, see if you ai n't."
""fiddlesticks!"
returned jo, slamming the door.
they had a charming time, for the seven castles of the diamond lake was as brilliant and wonderful as heart could wish.
but in spite of the comical red imps, sparkling elves, and the gorgeous princes and princesses, jo's pleasure had a drop of bitterness in it.
the fairy queen's yellow curls reminded her of amy, and between the acts she amused herself with wondering what her sister would do to make her "sorry for it".
she and amy had had many lively skirmishes in the course of their lives, for both had quick tempers and were apt to be violent when fairly roused.
amy teased jo, and jo irritated amy, and semioccasional explosions occurred, of which both were much ashamed afterward.
although the oldest, jo had the least self-control, and had hard times trying to curb the fiery spirit which was continually getting her into trouble.
her anger never lasted long, and having humbly confessed her fault, she sincerely repented and tried to do better.
her sisters used to say that they rather liked to get jo into a fury because she was such an angel afterward.
poor jo tried desperately to be good, but her bosom enemy was always ready to flame up and defeat her, and it took years of patient effort to subdue it.
when they got home, they found amy reading in the parlor.
she assumed an injured air as they came in, never lifted her eyes from her book, or asked a single question.
perhaps curiosity might have conquered resentment, if beth had not been there to inquire and receive a glowing description of the play.
on going up to put away her best hat, jo's first look was toward the bureau, for in their last quarrel amy had soothed her feelings by turning jo's top drawer upside down on the floor.
everything was in its place, however, and after a hasty glance into her various closets, bags, and boxes, jo decided that amy had forgiven and forgotten her wrongs.
there jo was mistaken, for next day she made a discovery which produced a tempest.
meg, beth, and amy were sitting together, late in the afternoon, when jo burst into the room, looking excited and demanding breathlessly, "has anyone taken my book?"
meg and beth said, "no."
at once, and looked surprised.
amy poked the fire and said nothing.
jo saw her color rise and was down upon her in a minute.
""amy, you've got it!"
""no, i have n't."
""you know where it is, then!"
""no, i do n't."
""that's a fib!"
cried jo, taking her by the shoulders, and looking fierce enough to frighten a much braver child than amy.
""it is n't.
i have n't got it, do n't know where it is now, and do n't care."
""you know something about it, and you'd better tell at once, or i'll make you."
and jo gave her a slight shake.
""scold as much as you like, you'll never see your silly old book again," cried amy, getting excited in her turn.
""why not?"
""i burned it up."
""what!
my little book i was so fond of, and worked over, and meant to finish before father got home?
have you really burned it?"
said jo, turning very pale, while her eyes kindled and her hands clutched amy nervously.
""yes, i did!
i told you i'd make you pay for being so cross yesterday, and i have, so..." amy got no farther, for jo's hot temper mastered her, and she shook amy till her teeth chattered in her head, crying in a passion of grief and anger... "you wicked, wicked girl!
i never can write it again, and i'll never forgive you as long as i live."
meg flew to rescue amy, and beth to pacify jo, but jo was quite beside herself, and with a parting box on her sister's ear, she rushed out of the room up to the old sofa in the garret, and finished her fight alone.
the storm cleared up below, for mrs. march came home, and, having heard the story, soon brought amy to a sense of the wrong she had done her sister.
jo's book was the pride of her heart, and was regarded by her family as a literary sprout of great promise.
it was only half a dozen little fairy tales, but jo had worked over them patiently, putting her whole heart into her work, hoping to make something good enough to print.
she had just copied them with great care, and had destroyed the old manuscript, so that amy's bonfire had consumed the loving work of several years.
it seemed a small loss to others, but to jo it was a dreadful calamity, and she felt that it never could be made up to her.
beth mourned as for a departed kitten, and meg refused to defend her pet.
mrs. march looked grave and grieved, and amy felt that no one would love her till she had asked pardon for the act which she now regretted more than any of them.
when the tea bell rang, jo appeared, looking so grim and unapproachable that it took all amy's courage to say meekly... "please forgive me, jo.
i'm very, very sorry."
""i never shall forgive you," was jo's stern answer, and from that moment she ignored amy entirely.
no one spoke of the great trouble, not even mrs. march, for all had learned by experience that when jo was in that mood words were wasted, and the wisest course was to wait till some little accident, or her own generous nature, softened jo's resentment and healed the breach.
it was not a happy evening, for though they sewed as usual, while their mother read aloud from bremer, scott, or edgeworth, something was wanting, and the sweet home peace was disturbed.
they felt this most when singing time came, for beth could only play, jo stood dumb as a stone, and amy broke down, so meg and mother sang alone.
but in spite of their efforts to be as cheery as larks, the flutelike voices did not seem to chord as well as usual, and all felt out of tune.
as jo received her good-night kiss, mrs. march whispered gently, "my dear, do n't let the sun go down upon your anger.
forgive each other, help each other, and begin again tomorrow."
jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and cry her grief and anger all away, but tears were an unmanly weakness, and she felt so deeply injured that she really could n't quite forgive yet.
so she winked hard, shook her head, and said gruffly because amy was listening, "it was an abominable thing, and she does n't deserve to be forgiven."
with that she marched off to bed, and there was no merry or confidential gossip that night.
amy was much offended that her overtures of peace had been repulsed, and began to wish she had not humbled herself, to feel more injured than ever, and to plume herself on her superior virtue in a way which was particularly exasperating.
jo still looked like a thunder cloud, and nothing went well all day.
it was bitter cold in the morning, she dropped her precious turnover in the gutter, aunt march had an attack of the fidgets, meg was sensitive, beth would look grieved and wistful when she got home, and amy kept making remarks about people who were always talking about being good and yet would n't even try when other people set them a virtuous example.
""everybody is so hateful, i'll ask laurie to go skating.
he is always kind and jolly, and will put me to rights, i know," said jo to herself, and off she went.
amy heard the clash of skates, and looked out with an impatient exclamation.
""there!
she promised i should go next time, for this is the last ice we shall have.
but it's no use to ask such a crosspatch to take me."
""do n't say that.
you were very naughty, and it is hard to forgive the loss of her precious little book, but i think she might do it now, and i guess she will, if you try her at the right minute," said meg.
""go after them.
do n't say anything till jo has got good-natured with laurie, than take a quiet minute and just kiss her, or do some kind thing, and i'm sure she'll be friends again with all her heart."
""i'll try," said amy, for the advice suited her, and after a flurry to get ready, she ran after the friends, who were just disappearing over the hill.
it was not far to the river, but both were ready before amy reached them.
jo saw her coming, and turned her back.
laurie did not see, for he was carefully skating along the shore, sounding the ice, for a warm spell had preceded the cold snap.
""i'll go on to the first bend, and see if it's all right before we begin to race," amy heard him say, as he shot away, looking like a young russian in his fur-trimmed coat and cap.
jo heard amy panting after her run, stamping her feet and blowing on her fingers as she tried to put her skates on, but jo never turned and went slowly zigzagging down the river, taking a bitter, unhappy sort of satisfaction in her sister's troubles.
she had cherished her anger till it grew strong and took possession of her, as evil thoughts and feelings always do unless cast out at once.
as laurie turned the bend, he shouted back... "keep near the shore.
it is n't safe in the middle."
jo heard, but amy was struggling to her feet and did not catch a word.
jo glanced over her shoulder, and the little demon she was harboring said in her ear... "no matter whether she heard or not, let her take care of herself."
laurie had vanished round the bend, jo was just at the turn, and amy, far behind, striking out toward the smoother ice in the middle of the river.
for a minute jo stood still with a strange feeling in her heart, then she resolved to go on, but something held and turned her round, just in time to see amy throw up her hands and go down, with a sudden crash of rotten ice, the splash of water, and a cry that made jo's heart stand still with fear.
she tried to call laurie, but her voice was gone.
she tried to rush forward, but her feet seemed to have no strength in them, and for a second, she could only stand motionless, staring with a terror-stricken face at the little blue hood above the black water.
something rushed swiftly by her, and laurie's voice cried out... "bring a rail.
quick, quick!"
how she did it, she never knew, but for the next few minutes she worked as if possessed, blindly obeying laurie, who was quite self-possessed, and lying flat, held amy up by his arm and hockey stick till jo dragged a rail from the fence, and together they got the child out, more frightened than hurt.
""now then, we must walk her home as fast as we can.
pile our things on her, while i get off these confounded skates," cried laurie, wrapping his coat round amy, and tugging away at the straps which never seemed so intricate before.
shivering, dripping, and crying, they got amy home, and after an exciting time of it, she fell asleep, rolled in blankets before a hot fire.
during the bustle jo had scarcely spoken but flown about, looking pale and wild, with her things half off, her dress torn, and her hands cut and bruised by ice and rails and refractory buckles.
when amy was comfortably asleep, the house quiet, and mrs. march sitting by the bed, she called jo to her and began to bind up the hurt hands.
""are you sure she is safe?"
whispered jo, looking remorsefully at the golden head, which might have been swept away from her sight forever under the treacherous ice.
""quite safe, dear.
she is not hurt, and wo n't even take cold, i think, you were so sensible in covering and getting her home quickly," replied her mother cheerfully.
""laurie did it all.
i only let her go.
mother, if she should die, it would be my fault."
and jo dropped down beside the bed in a passion of penitent tears, telling all that had happened, bitterly condemning her hardness of heart, and sobbing out her gratitude for being spared the heavy punishment which might have come upon her.
""it's my dreadful temper!
i try to cure it, i think i have, and then it breaks out worse than ever.
oh, mother, what shall i do?
what shall i do?"
cried poor jo, in despair.
""watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never think it is impossible to conquer your fault," said mrs. march, drawing the blowzy head to her shoulder and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly that jo cried even harder.
""you do n't know, you ca n't guess how bad it is!
it seems as if i could do anything when i'm in a passion.
i get so savage, i could hurt anyone and enjoy it.
i'm afraid i shall do something dreadful some day, and spoil my life, and make everybody hate me.
oh, mother, help me, do help me!"
""i will, my child, i will.
do n't cry so bitterly, but remember this day, and resolve with all your soul that you will never know another like it.
jo, dear, we all have our temptations, some far greater than yours, and it often takes us all our lives to conquer them.
you think your temper is the worst in the world, but mine used to be just like it."
""yours, mother?
why, you are never angry!"
and for the moment jo forgot remorse in surprise.
""i've been trying to cure it for forty years, and have only succeeded in controlling it.
i am angry nearly every day of my life, jo, but i have learned not to show it, and i still hope to learn not to feel it, though it may take me another forty years to do so."
the patience and the humility of the face she loved so well was a better lesson to jo than the wisest lecture, the sharpest reproof.
she felt comforted at once by the sympathy and confidence given her.
the knowledge that her mother had a fault like hers, and tried to mend it, made her own easier to bear and strengthened her resolution to cure it, though forty years seemed rather a long time to watch and pray to a girl of fifteen.
""mother, are you angry when you fold your lips tight together and go out of the room sometimes, when aunt march scolds or people worry you?"
asked jo, feeling nearer and dearer to her mother than ever before.
""yes, i've learned to check the hasty words that rise to my lips, and when i feel that they mean to break out against my will, i just go away for a minute, and give myself a little shake for being so weak and wicked," answered mrs. march with a sigh and a smile, as she smoothed and fastened up jo's disheveled hair.
""how did you learn to keep still?
that is what troubles me, for the sharp words fly out before i know what i'm about, and the more i say the worse i get, till it's a pleasure to hurt people's feelings and say dreadful things.
tell me how you do it, marmee dear."
""my good mother used to help me..." "as you do us..." interrupted jo, with a grateful kiss.
""but i lost her when i was a little older than you are, and for years had to struggle on alone, for i was too proud to confess my weakness to anyone else.
i had a hard time, jo, and shed a good many bitter tears over my failures, for in spite of my efforts i never seemed to get on.
then your father came, and i was so happy that i found it easy to be good.
but by-and-by, when i had four little daughters round me and we were poor, then the old trouble began again, for i am not patient by nature, and it tried me very much to see my children wanting anything."
""poor mother!
what helped you then?"
""your father, jo.
he never loses patience, never doubts or complains, but always hopes, and works and waits so cheerfully that one is ashamed to do otherwise before him.
he helped and comforted me, and showed me that i must try to practice all the virtues i would have my little girls possess, for i was their example.
it was easier to try for your sakes than for my own.
a startled or surprised look from one of you when i spoke sharply rebuked me more than any words could have done, and the love, respect, and confidence of my children was the sweetest reward i could receive for my efforts to be the woman i would have them copy."
""oh, mother, if i'm ever half as good as you, i shall be satisfied," cried jo, much touched.
""i hope you will be a great deal better, dear, but you must keep watch over your "bosom enemy", as father calls it, or it may sadden, if not spoil your life.
you have had a warning.
remember it, and try with heart and soul to master this quick temper, before it brings you greater sorrow and regret than you have known today."
""i will try, mother, i truly will.
but you must help me, remind me, and keep me from flying out.
i used to see father sometimes put his finger on his lips, and look at you with a very kind but sober face, and you always folded your lips tight and went away.
was he reminding you then?"
asked jo softly.
""yes.
i asked him to help me so, and he never forgot it, but saved me from many a sharp word by that little gesture and kind look."
jo saw that her mother's eyes filled and her lips trembled as she spoke, and fearing that she had said too much, she whispered anxiously, "was it wrong to watch you and to speak of it?
i did n't mean to be rude, but it's so comfortable to say all i think to you, and feel so safe and happy here."
""my jo, you may say anything to your mother, for it is my greatest happiness and pride to feel that my girls confide in me and know how much i love them."
""i thought i'd grieved you."
""no, dear, but speaking of father reminded me how much i miss him, how much i owe him, and how faithfully i should watch and work to keep his little daughters safe and good for him."
""yet you told him to go, mother, and did n't cry when he went, and never complain now, or seem as if you needed any help," said jo, wondering.
""i gave my best to the country i love, and kept my tears till he was gone.
why should i complain, when we both have merely done our duty and will surely be the happier for it in the end?
if i do n't seem to need help, it is because i have a better friend, even than father, to comfort and sustain me.
my child, the troubles and temptations of your life are beginning and may be many, but you can overcome and outlive them all if you learn to feel the strength and tenderness of your heavenly father as you do that of your earthly one.
the more you love and trust him, the nearer you will feel to him, and the less you will depend on human power and wisdom.
his love and care never tire or change, can never be taken from you, but may become the source of lifelong peace, happiness, and strength.
believe this heartily, and go to god with all your little cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as freely and confidingly as you come to your mother."
jo's only answer was to hold her mother close, and in the silence which followed the sincerest prayer she had ever prayed left her heart without words.
for in that sad yet happy hour, she had learned not only the bitterness of remorse and despair, but the sweetness of self-denial and self-control, and led by her mother's hand, she had drawn nearer to the friend who always welcomes every child with a love stronger than that of any father, tenderer than that of any mother.
amy stirred and sighed in her sleep, and as if eager to begin at once to mend her fault, jo looked up with an expression on her face which it had never worn before.
""i let the sun go down on my anger.
i would n't forgive her, and today, if it had n't been for laurie, it might have been too late!
how could i be so wicked?"
said jo, half aloud, as she leaned over her sister softly stroking the wet hair scattered on the pillow.
as if she heard, amy opened her eyes, and held out her arms, with a smile that went straight to jo's heart.
neither said a word, but they hugged one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything was forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss.
chapter nine meg goes to vanity fair "i do think it was the most fortunate thing in the world that those children should have the measles just now," said meg, one april day, as she stood packing the "go abroady" trunk in her room, surrounded by her sisters.
""and so nice of annie moffat not to forget her promise.
a whole fortnight of fun will be regularly splendid," replied jo, looking like a windmill as she folded skirts with her long arms.
""and such lovely weather, i'm so glad of that," added beth, tidily sorting neck and hair ribbons in her best box, lent for the great occasion.
""i wish i was going to have a fine time and wear all these nice things," said amy with her mouth full of pins, as she artistically replenished her sister's cushion.
""i wish you were all going, but as you ca n't, i shall keep my adventures to tell you when i come back.
i'm sure it's the least i can do when you have been so kind, lending me things and helping me get ready," said meg, glancing round the room at the very simple outfit, which seemed nearly perfect in their eyes.
""what did mother give you out of the treasure box?"
asked amy, who had not been present at the opening of a certain cedar chest in which mrs. march kept a few relics of past splendor, as gifts for her girls when the proper time came.
""a pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, and a lovely blue sash.
i wanted the violet silk, but there is n't time to make it over, so i must be contented with my old tarlaton."
""it will look nice over my new muslin skirt, and the sash will set it off beautifully.
i wish i had n't smashed my coral bracelet, for you might have had it," said jo, who loved to give and lend, but whose possessions were usually too dilapidated to be of much use.
""there is a lovely old-fashioned pearl set in the treasure chest, but mother said real flowers were the prettiest ornament for a young girl, and laurie promised to send me all i want," replied meg.
""now, let me see, there's my new gray walking suit, just curl up the feather in my hat, beth, then my poplin for sunday and the small party, it looks heavy for spring, does n't it?
the violet silk would be so nice.
oh, dear!"
""never mind, you've got the tarlaton for the big party, and you always look like an angel in white," said amy, brooding over the little store of finery in which her soul delighted.
""it is n't low-necked, and it does n't sweep enough, but it will have to do.
my blue housedress looks so well, turned and freshly trimmed, that i feel as if i'd got a new one.
my silk sacque is n't a bit the fashion, and my bonnet does n't look like sallie's.
i did n't like to say anything, but i was sadly disappointed in my umbrella.
i told mother black with a white handle, but she forgot and bought a green one with a yellowish handle.
it's strong and neat, so i ought not to complain, but i know i shall feel ashamed of it beside annie's silk one with a gold top," sighed meg, surveying the little umbrella with great disfavor.
""change it," advised jo.
""i wo n't be so silly, or hurt marmee's feelings, when she took so much pains to get my things.
it's a nonsensical notion of mine, and i'm not going to give up to it.
my silk stockings and two pairs of new gloves are my comfort.
you are a dear to lend me yours, jo.
i feel so rich and sort of elegant, with two new pairs, and the old ones cleaned up for common."
and meg took a refreshing peep at her glove box.
""annie moffat has blue and pink bows on her nightcaps.
would you put some on mine?"
she asked, as beth brought up a pile of snowy muslins, fresh from hannah's hands.
""no, i would n't, for the smart caps wo n't match the plain gowns without any trimming on them.
poor folks should n't rig," said jo decidedly.
""i wonder if i shall ever be happy enough to have real lace on my clothes and bows on my caps?"
said meg impatiently.
""you said the other day that you'd be perfectly happy if you could only go to annie moffat's," observed beth in her quiet way.
""so i did!
well, i am happy, and i wo n't fret, but it does seem as if the more one gets the more one wants, does n't it?
there now, the trays are ready, and everything in but my ball dress, which i shall leave for mother to pack," said meg, cheering up, as she glanced from the half-filled trunk to the many times pressed and mended white tarlaton, which she called her "ball dress" with an important air.
the next day was fine, and meg departed in style for a fortnight of novelty and pleasure.
mrs. march had consented to the visit rather reluctantly, fearing that margaret would come back more discontented than she went.
but she begged so hard, and sallie had promised to take good care of her, and a little pleasure seemed so delightful after a winter of irksome work that the mother yielded, and the daughter went to take her first taste of fashionable life.
the moffats were very fashionable, and simple meg was rather daunted, at first, by the splendor of the house and the elegance of its occupants.
but they were kindly people, in spite of the frivolous life they led, and soon put their guest at her ease.
perhaps meg felt, without understanding why, that they were not particularly cultivated or intelligent people, and that all their gilding could not quite conceal the ordinary material of which they were made.
it certainly was agreeable to fare sumptuously, drive in a fine carriage, wear her best frock every day, and do nothing but enjoy herself.
it suited her exactly, and soon she began to imitate the manners and conversation of those about her, to put on little airs and graces, use french phrases, crimp her hair, take in her dresses, and talk about the fashions as well as she could.
the more she saw of annie moffat's pretty things, the more she envied her and sighed to be rich.
home now looked bare and dismal as she thought of it, work grew harder than ever, and she felt that she was a very destitute and much-injured girl, in spite of the new gloves and silk stockings.
she had not much time for repining, however, for the three young girls were busily employed in "having a good time".
they shopped, walked, rode, and called all day, went to theaters and operas or frolicked at home in the evening, for annie had many friends and knew how to entertain them.
her older sisters were very fine young ladies, and one was engaged, which was extremely interesting and romantic, meg thought.
mr. moffat was a fat, jolly old gentleman, who knew her father, and mrs. moffat, a fat, jolly old lady, who took as great a fancy to meg as her daughter had done.
everyone petted her, and "daisey", as they called her, was in a fair way to have her head turned.
when the evening for the small party came, she found that the poplin would n't do at all, for the other girls were putting on thin dresses and making themselves very fine indeed.
so out came the tarlatan, looking older, limper, and shabbier than ever beside sallie's crisp new one.
meg saw the girls glance at it and then at one another, and her cheeks began to burn, for with all her gentleness she was very proud.
no one said a word about it, but sallie offered to dress her hair, and annie to tie her sash, and belle, the engaged sister, praised her white arms.
but in their kindness meg saw only pity for her poverty, and her heart felt very heavy as she stood by herself, while the others laughed, chattered, and flew about like gauzy butterflies.
the hard, bitter feeling was getting pretty bad, when the maid brought in a box of flowers.
before she could speak, annie had the cover off, and all were exclaiming at the lovely roses, heath, and fern within.
""it's for belle, of course, george always sends her some, but these are altogether ravishing," cried annie, with a great sniff.
""they are for miss march, the man said.
and here's a note," put in the maid, holding it to meg.
""what fun!
who are they from?
did n't know you had a lover," cried the girls, fluttering about meg in a high state of curiosity and surprise.
""the note is from mother, and the flowers from laurie," said meg simply, yet much gratified that he had not forgotten her.
""oh, indeed!"
said annie with a funny look, as meg slipped the note into her pocket as a sort of talisman against envy, vanity, and false pride, for the few loving words had done her good, and the flowers cheered her up by their beauty.
feeling almost happy again, she laid by a few ferns and roses for herself, and quickly made up the rest in dainty bouquets for the breasts, hair, or skirts of her friends, offering them so prettily that clara, the elder sister, told her she was "the sweetest little thing she ever saw", and they looked quite charmed with her small attention.
somehow the kind act finished her despondency, and when all the rest went to show themselves to mrs. moffat, she saw a happy, bright-eyed face in the mirror, as she laid her ferns against her rippling hair and fastened the roses in the dress that did n't strike her as so very shabby now.
she enjoyed herself very much that evening, for she danced to her heart's content.
everyone was very kind, and she had three compliments.
annie made her sing, and some one said she had a remarkably fine voice.
major lincoln asked who "the fresh little girl with the beautiful eyes" was, and mr. moffat insisted on dancing with her because she "did n't dawdle, but had some spring in her", as he gracefully expressed it.
so altogether she had a very nice time, till she overheard a bit of conversation, which disturbed her extremely.
she was sitting just inside the conservatory, waiting for her partner to bring her an ice, when she heard a voice ask on the other side of the flowery wall... "how old is he?"
""sixteen or seventeen, i should say," replied another voice.
""it would be a grand thing for one of those girls, would n't it?
sallie says they are very intimate now, and the old man quite dotes on them."
""mrs. m. has made her plans, i dare say, and will play her cards well, early as it is.
the girl evidently does n't think of it yet," said mrs. moffat.
""she told that fib about her momma, as if she did know, and colored up when the flowers came quite prettily.
poor thing!
she'd be so nice if she was only got up in style.
do you think she'd be offended if we offered to lend her a dress for thursday?"
asked another voice.
""she's proud, but i do n't believe she'd mind, for that dowdy tarlaton is all she has got.
she may tear it tonight, and that will be a good excuse for offering a decent one."
here meg's partner appeared, to find her looking much flushed and rather agitated.
she was proud, and her pride was useful just then, for it helped her hide her mortification, anger, and disgust at what she had just heard.
for, innocent and unsuspicious as she was, she could not help understanding the gossip of her friends.
she tried to forget it, but could not, and kept repeating to herself, "mrs. m. has made her plans," "that fib about her mamma," and "dowdy tarlaton," till she was ready to cry and rush home to tell her troubles and ask for advice.
as that was impossible, she did her best to seem gay, and being rather excited, she succeeded so well that no one dreamed what an effort she was making.
she was very glad when it was all over and she was quiet in her bed, where she could think and wonder and fume till her head ached and her hot cheeks were cooled by a few natural tears.
those foolish, yet well meant words, had opened a new world to meg, and much disturbed the peace of the old one in which till now she had lived as happily as a child.
her innocent friendship with laurie was spoiled by the silly speeches she had overheard.
her faith in her mother was a little shaken by the worldly plans attributed to her by mrs. moffat, who judged others by herself, and the sensible resolution to be contented with the simple wardrobe which suited a poor man's daughter was weakened by the unnecessary pity of girls who thought a shabby dress one of the greatest calamities under heaven.
poor meg had a restless night, and got up heavy-eyed, unhappy, half resentful toward her friends, and half ashamed of herself for not speaking out frankly and setting everything right.
everybody dawdled that morning, and it was noon before the girls found energy enough even to take up their worsted work.
something in the manner of her friends struck meg at once.
they treated her with more respect, she thought, took quite a tender interest in what she said, and looked at her with eyes that plainly betrayed curiosity.
all this surprised and flattered her, though she did not understand it till miss belle looked up from her writing, and said, with a sentimental air... "daisy, dear, i've sent an invitation to your friend, mr. laurence, for thursday.
we should like to know him, and it's only a proper compliment to you."
meg colored, but a mischievous fancy to tease the girls made her reply demurely, "you are very kind, but i'm afraid he wo n't come."
""why not, cherie?"
asked miss belle.
""he's too old."
""my child, what do you mean?
what is his age, i beg to know!"
cried miss clara.
""nearly seventy, i believe," answered meg, counting stitches to hide the merriment in her eyes.
""you sly creature!
of course we meant the young man," exclaimed miss belle, laughing.
""there is n't any, laurie is only a little boy."
and meg laughed also at the queer look which the sisters exchanged as she thus described her supposed lover.
""about your age," nan said.
""nearer my sister jo's; i am seventeen in august," returned meg, tossing her head.
""it's very nice of him to send you flowers, is n't it?"
said annie, looking wise about nothing.
""yes, he often does, to all of us, for their house is full, and we are so fond of them.
my mother and old mr. laurence are friends, you know, so it is quite natural that we children should play together," and meg hoped they would say no more.
""it's evident daisy is n't out yet," said miss clara to belle with a nod.
""quite a pastoral state of innocence all round," returned miss belle with a shrug.
""i'm going out to get some little matters for my girls.
can i do anything for you, young ladies?"
asked mrs. moffat, lumbering in like an elephant in silk and lace.
""no, thank you, ma'am," replied sallie.
""i've got my new pink silk for thursday and do n't want a thing."
""nor i..
."
began meg, but stopped because it occurred to her that she did want several things and could not have them.
""what shall you wear?"
asked sallie.
""my old white one again, if i can mend it fit to be seen, it got sadly torn last night," said meg, trying to speak quite easily, but feeling very uncomfortable.
""why do n't you send home for another?"
said sallie, who was not an observing young lady.
""i have n't got any other."
it cost meg an effort to say that, but sallie did not see it and exclaimed in amiable surprise, "only that?
how funny..." she did not finish her speech, for belle shook her head at her and broke in, saying kindly... "not at all.
where is the use of having a lot of dresses when she is n't out yet?
there's no need of sending home, daisy, even if you had a dozen, for i've got a sweet blue silk laid away, which i've outgrown, and you shall wear it to please me, wo n't you, dear?"
""you are very kind, but i do n't mind my old dress if you do n't, it does well enough for a little girl like me," said meg.
""now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style.
i admire to do it, and you'd be a regular little beauty with a touch here and there.
i sha n't let anyone see you till you are done, and then we'll burst upon them like cinderella and her godmother going to the ball," said belle in her persuasive tone.
meg could n't refuse the offer so kindly made, for a desire to see if she would be" a little beauty" after touching up caused her to accept and forget all her former uncomfortable feelings toward the moffats.
on the thursday evening, belle shut herself up with her maid, and between them they turned meg into a fine lady.
they crimped and curled her hair, they polished her neck and arms with some fragrant powder, touched her lips with coralline salve to make them redder, and hortense would have added" a soupcon of rouge", if meg had not rebelled.
they laced her into a sky-blue dress, which was so tight she could hardly breathe and so low in the neck that modest meg blushed at herself in the mirror.
a set of silver filagree was added, bracelets, necklace, brooch, and even earrings, for hortense tied them on with a bit of pink silk which did not show.
a cluster of tea-rose buds at the bosom, and a ruche, reconciled meg to the display of her pretty, white shoulders, and a pair of high-heeled silk boots satisfied the last wish of her heart.
a lace handkerchief, a plumy fan, and a bouquet in a shoulder holder finished her off, and miss belle surveyed her with the satisfaction of a little girl with a newly dressed doll.
""mademoiselle is charmante, tres jolie, is she not?"
cried hortense, clasping her hands in an affected rapture.
""come and show yourself," said miss belle, leading the way to the room where the others were waiting.
as meg went rustling after, with her long skirts trailing, her earrings tinkling, her curls waving, and her heart beating, she felt as if her fun had really begun at last, for the mirror had plainly told her that she was" a little beauty".
her friends repeated the pleasing phrase enthusiastically, and for several minutes she stood, like a jackdaw in the fable, enjoying her borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered like a party of magpies.
""while i dress, do you drill her, nan, in the management of her skirt and those french heels, or she will trip herself up.
take your silver butterfly, and catch up that long curl on the left side of her head, clara, and do n't any of you disturb the charming work of my hands," said belle, as she hurried away, looking well pleased with her success.
""you do n't look a bit like yourself, but you are very nice.
i'm nowhere beside you, for belle has heaps of taste, and you're quite french, i assure you.
let your flowers hang, do n't be so careful of them, and be sure you do n't trip," returned sallie, trying not to care that meg was prettier than herself.
keeping that warning carefully in mind, margaret got safely down stairs and sailed into the drawing rooms where the moffats and a few early guests were assembled.
she very soon discovered that there is a charm about fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people and secures their respect.
several young ladies, who had taken no notice of her before, were very affectionate all of a sudden.
several young gentlemen, who had only stared at her at the other party, now not only stared, but asked to be introduced, and said all manner of foolish but agreeable things to her, and several old ladies, who sat on the sofas, and criticized the rest of the party, inquired who she was with an air of interest.
she heard mrs. moffat reply to one of them... "daisy march -- father a colonel in the army -- one of our first families, but reverses of fortune, you know; intimate friends of the laurences; sweet creature, i assure you; my ned is quite wild about her."
""dear me!"
said the old lady, putting up her glass for another observation of meg, who tried to look as if she had not heard and been rather shocked at mrs. moffat's fibs.
the "queer feeling" did not pass away, but she imagined herself acting the new part of fine lady and so got on pretty well, though the tight dress gave her a side-ache, the train kept getting under her feet, and she was in constant fear lest her earrings should fly off and get lost or broken.
she was flirting her fan and laughing at the feeble jokes of a young gentleman who tried to be witty, when she suddenly stopped laughing and looked confused, for just opposite, she saw laurie.
he was staring at her with undisguised surprise, and disapproval also, she thought, for though he bowed and smiled, yet something in his honest eyes made her blush and wish she had her old dress on.
to complete her confusion, she saw belle nudge annie, and both glance from her to laurie, who, she was happy to see, looked unusually boyish and shy.
""silly creatures, to put such thoughts into my head.
i wo n't care for it, or let it change me a bit," thought meg, and rustled across the room to shake hands with her friend.
""i'm glad you came, i was afraid you would n't."
she said, with her most grown-up air.
""jo wanted me to come, and tell her how you looked, so i did," answered laurie, without turning his eyes upon her, though he half smiled at her maternal tone.
""what shall you tell her?"
asked meg, full of curiosity to know his opinion of her, yet feeling ill at ease with him for the first time.
""i shall say i did n't know you, for you look so grown-up and unlike yourself, i'm quite afraid of you," he said, fumbling at his glove button.
""how absurd of you!
the girls dressed me up for fun, and i rather like it.
would n't jo stare if she saw me?"
said meg, bent on making him say whether he thought her improved or not.
""yes, i think she would," returned laurie gravely.
""do n't you like me so?"
asked meg.
""no, i do n't," was the blunt reply.
""why not?"
in an anxious tone.
he glanced at her frizzled head, bare shoulders, and fantastically trimmed dress with an expression that abashed her more than his answer, which had not a particle of his usual politeness in it.
""i do n't like fuss and feathers."
that was altogether too much from a lad younger than herself, and meg walked away, saying petulantly, "you are the rudest boy i ever saw."
feeling very much ruffled, she went and stood at a quiet window to cool her cheeks, for the tight dress gave her an uncomfortably brilliant color.
as she stood there, major lincoln passed by, and a minute after she heard him saying to his mother... "they are making a fool of that little girl.
i wanted you to see her, but they have spoiled her entirely.
she's nothing but a doll tonight."
""oh, dear!"
sighed meg.
""i wish i'd been sensible and worn my own things, then i should not have disgusted other people, or felt so uncomfortable and ashamed of myself."
she leaned her forehead on the cool pane, and stood half hidden by the curtains, never minding that her favorite waltz had begun, till some one touched her, and turning, she saw laurie, looking penitent, as he said, with his very best bow and his hand out... "please forgive my rudeness, and come and dance with me."
""i'm afraid it will be too disagreeable to you," said meg, trying to look offended and failing entirely.
""not a bit of it, i'm dying to do it.
come, i'll be good.
i do n't like your gown, but i do think you are just splendid."
and he waved his hands, as if words failed to express his admiration.
meg smiled and relented, and whispered as they stood waiting to catch the time, "take care my skirt does n't trip you up.
it's the plague of my life and i was a goose to wear it."
""pin it round your neck, and then it will be useful," said laurie, looking down at the little blue boots, which he evidently approved of.
away they went fleetly and gracefully, for having practiced at home, they were well matched, and the blithe young couple were a pleasant sight to see, as they twirled merrily round and round, feeling more friendly than ever after their small tiff.
""laurie, i want you to do me a favor, will you?"
said meg, as he stood fanning her when her breath gave out, which it did very soon though she would not own why.
""wo n't i!"
said laurie, with alacrity.
""please do n't tell them at home about my dress tonight.
they wo n't understand the joke, and it will worry mother."
""then why did you do it?"
said laurie's eyes, so plainly that meg hastily added... "i shall tell them myself all about it, and "fess" to mother how silly i've been.
but i'd rather do it myself.
so you'll not tell, will you?"
""i give you my word i wo n't, only what shall i say when they ask me?"
""just say i looked pretty well and was having a good time."
""i'll say the first with all my heart, but how about the other?
you do n't look as if you were having a good time.
are you?"
and laurie looked at her with an expression which made her answer in a whisper... "no, not just now.
do n't think i'm horrid.
i only wanted a little fun, but this sort does n't pay, i find, and i'm getting tired of it."
""here comes ned moffat.
what does he want?"
said laurie, knitting his black brows as if he did not regard his young host in the light of a pleasant addition to the party.
""he put his name down for three dances, and i suppose he's coming for them.
what a bore!"
said meg, assuming a languid air which amused laurie immensely.
he did not speak to her again till suppertime, when he saw her drinking champagne with ned and his friend fisher, who were behaving "like a pair of fools", as laurie said to himself, for he felt a brotherly sort of right to watch over the marches and fight their battles whenever a defender was needed.
""you'll have a splitting headache tomorrow, if you drink much of that.
i would n't, meg, your mother does n't like it, you know," he whispered, leaning over her chair, as ned turned to refill her glass and fisher stooped to pick up her fan.
""i'm not meg tonight, i'm" a doll" who does all sorts of crazy things.
tomorrow i shall put away my "fuss and feathers" and be desperately good again," she answered with an affected little laugh.
""wish tomorrow was here, then," muttered laurie, walking off, ill-pleased at the change he saw in her.
meg danced and flirted, chattered and giggled, as the other girls did.
after supper she undertook the german, and blundered through it, nearly upsetting her partner with her long skirt, and romping in a way that scandalized laurie, who looked on and meditated a lecture.
but he got no chance to deliver it, for meg kept away from him till he came to say good night.
""remember!"
she said, trying to smile, for the splitting headache had already begun.
""silence a la mort," replied laurie, with a melodramatic flourish, as he went away.
this little bit of byplay excited annie's curiosity, but meg was too tired for gossip and went to bed, feeling as if she had been to a masquerade and had n't enjoyed herself as much as she expected.
she was sick all the next day, and on saturday went home, quite used up with her fortnight's fun and feeling that she had "sat in the lap of luxury" long enough.
""it does seem pleasant to be quiet, and not have company manners on all the time.
home is a nice place, though it is n't splendid," said meg, looking about her with a restful expression, as she sat with her mother and jo on the sunday evening.
""i'm glad to hear you say so, dear, for i was afraid home would seem dull and poor to you after your fine quarters," replied her mother, who had given her many anxious looks that day.
for motherly eyes are quick to see any change in children's faces.
meg had told her adventures gayly and said over and over what a charming time she had had, but something still seemed to weigh upon her spirits, and when the younger girls were gone to bed, she sat thoughtfully staring at the fire, saying little and looking worried.
as the clock struck nine and jo proposed bed, meg suddenly left her chair and, taking beth's stool, leaned her elbows on her mother's knee, saying bravely... "marmee, i want to "fess"."
""i thought so.
what is it, dear?"
""shall i go away?"
asked jo discreetly.
""of course not.
do n't i always tell you everything?
i was ashamed to speak of it before the younger children, but i want you to know all the dreadful things i did at the moffats"."
""we are prepared," said mrs. march, smiling but looking a little anxious.
""i told you they dressed me up, but i did n't tell you that they powdered and squeezed and frizzled, and made me look like a fashion-plate.
laurie thought i was n't proper.
i know he did, though he did n't say so, and one man called me" a doll".
i knew it was silly, but they flattered me and said i was a beauty, and quantities of nonsense, so i let them make a fool of me."
""is that all?"
asked jo, as mrs. march looked silently at the downcast face of her pretty daughter, and could not find it in her heart to blame her little follies.
""no, i drank champagne and romped and tried to flirt, and was altogether abominable," said meg self-reproachfully.
""there is something more, i think."
and mrs. march smoothed the soft cheek, which suddenly grew rosy as meg answered slowly... "yes.
it's very silly, but i want to tell it, because i hate to have people say and think such things about us and laurie."
then she told the various bits of gossip she had heard at the moffats", and as she spoke, jo saw her mother fold her lips tightly, as if ill pleased that such ideas should be put into meg's innocent mind.
""well, if that is n't the greatest rubbish i ever heard," cried jo indignantly.
""why did n't you pop out and tell them so on the spot?"
""i could n't, it was so embarrassing for me.
i could n't help hearing at first, and then i was so angry and ashamed, i did n't remember that i ought to go away."
""just wait till i see annie moffat, and i'll show you how to settle such ridiculous stuff.
the idea of having "plans" and being kind to laurie because he's rich and may marry us by-and-by!
wo n't he shout when i tell him what those silly things say about us poor children?"
and jo laughed, as if on second thoughts the thing struck her as a good joke.
""if you tell laurie, i'll never forgive you!
she must n't, must she, mother?"
said meg, looking distressed.
""no, never repeat that foolish gossip, and forget it as soon as you can," said mrs. march gravely.
""i was very unwise to let you go among people of whom i know so little, kind, i dare say, but worldly, ill-bred, and full of these vulgar ideas about young people.
i am more sorry than i can express for the mischief this visit may have done you, meg."
""do n't be sorry, i wo n't let it hurt me.
i'll forget all the bad and remember only the good, for i did enjoy a great deal, and thank you very much for letting me go.
i'll not be sentimental or dissatisfied, mother.
i know i'm a silly little girl, and i'll stay with you till i'm fit to take care of myself.
but it is nice to be praised and admired, and i ca n't help saying i like it," said meg, looking half ashamed of the confession.
""that is perfectly natural, and quite harmless, if the liking does not become a passion and lead one to do foolish or unmaidenly things.
learn to know and value the praise which is worth having, and to excite the admiration of excellent people by being modest as well as pretty, meg."
margaret sat thinking a moment, while jo stood with her hands behind her, looking both interested and a little perplexed, for it was a new thing to see meg blushing and talking about admiration, lovers, and things of that sort.
and jo felt as if during that fortnight her sister had grown up amazingly, and was drifting away from her into a world where she could not follow.
""mother, do you have "plans", as mrs. moffat said?"
asked meg bashfully.
""yes, my dear, i have a great many, all mothers do, but mine differ somewhat from mrs. moffat's, i suspect.
i will tell you some of them, for the time has come when a word may set this romantic little head and heart of yours right, on a very serious subject.
you are young, meg, but not too young to understand me, and mothers" lips are the fittest to speak of such things to girls like you.
jo, your turn will come in time, perhaps, so listen to my "plans" and help me carry them out, if they are good."
jo went and sat on one arm of the chair, looking as if she thought they were about to join in some very solemn affair.
holding a hand of each, and watching the two young faces wistfully, mrs. march said, in her serious yet cheery way... "i want my daughters to be beautiful, accomplished, and good.
to be admired, loved, and respected.
to have a happy youth, to be well and wisely married, and to lead useful, pleasant lives, with as little care and sorrow to try them as god sees fit to send.
to be loved and chosen by a good man is the best and sweetest thing which can happen to a woman, and i sincerely hope my girls may know this beautiful experience.
it is natural to think of it, meg, right to hope and wait for it, and wise to prepare for it, so that when the happy time comes, you may feel ready for the duties and worthy of the joy.
my dear girls, i am ambitious for you, but not to have you make a dash in the world, marry rich men merely because they are rich, or have splendid houses, which are not homes because love is wanting.
money is a needful and precious thing, and when well used, a noble thing, but i never want you to think it is the first or only prize to strive for.
i'd rather see you poor men's wives, if you were happy, beloved, contented, than queens on thrones, without self-respect and peace."
""poor girls do n't stand any chance, belle says, unless they put themselves forward," sighed meg.
""then we'll be old maids," said jo stoutly.
""right, jo.
better be happy old maids than unhappy wives, or unmaidenly girls, running about to find husbands," said mrs. march decidedly.
""do n't be troubled, meg, poverty seldom daunts a sincere lover.
some of the best and most honored women i know were poor girls, but so love-worthy that they were not allowed to be old maids.
leave these things to time.
make this home happy, so that you may be fit for homes of your own, if they are offered you, and contented here if they are not.
one thing remember, my girls.
mother is always ready to be your confidant, father to be your friend, and both of us hope and trust that our daughters, whether married or single, will be the pride and comfort of our lives."
""we will, marmee, we will!"
cried both, with all their hearts, as she bade them good night.
chapter ten the p.c. and p.o..
as spring came on, a new set of amusements became the fashion, and the lengthening days gave long afternoons for work and play of all sorts.
the garden had to be put in order, and each sister had a quarter of the little plot to do what she liked with.
hannah used to say, "i'd know which each of them gardings belonged to, ef i see'em in chiny," and so she might, for the girls" tastes differed as much as their characters.
meg's had roses and heliotrope, myrtle, and a little orange tree in it.
jo's bed was never alike two seasons, for she was always trying experiments.
this year it was to be a plantation of sun flowers, the seeds of which cheerful land aspiring plant were to feed aunt cockle-top and her family of chicks.
beth had old-fashioned fragrant flowers in her garden, sweet peas and mignonette, larkspur, pinks, pansies, and southernwood, with chickweed for the birds and catnip for the pussies.
amy had a bower in hers, rather small and earwiggy, but very pretty to look at, with honeysuckle and morning-glories hanging their colored horns and bells in graceful wreaths all over it, tall white lilies, delicate ferns, and as many brilliant, picturesque plants as would consent to blossom there.
gardening, walks, rows on the river, and flower hunts employed the fine days, and for rainy ones, they had house diversions, some old, some new, all more or less original.
one of these was the "p.c.", for as secret societies were the fashion, it was thought proper to have one, and as all of the girls admired dickens, they called themselves the pickwick club.
with a few interruptions, they had kept this up for a year, and met every saturday evening in the big garret, on which occasions the ceremonies were as follows: three chairs were arranged in a row before a table on which was a lamp, also four white badges, with a big "p.c." in different colors on each, and the weekly newspaper called, the pickwick portfolio, to which all contributed something, while jo, who reveled in pens and ink, was the editor.
at seven o'clock, the four members ascended to the clubroom, tied their badges round their heads, and took their seats with great solemnity.
meg, as the eldest, was samuel pickwick, jo, being of a literary turn, augustus snodgrass, beth, because she was round and rosy, tracy tupman, and amy, who was always trying to do what she could n't, was nathaniel winkle.
pickwick, the president, read the paper, which was filled with original tales, poetry, local news, funny advertisements, and hints, in which they good-naturedly reminded each other of their faults and short comings.
on one occasion, mr. pickwick put on a pair of spectacles without any glass, rapped upon the table, hemmed, and having stared hard at mr. snodgrass, who was tilting back in his chair, till he arranged himself properly, began to read: _________________________________________________ "the pickwick portfolio" may 20, 18 -- poet's corner anniversary ode again we meet to celebrate with badge and solemn rite, our fifty-second anniversary, in pickwick hall, tonight.
we all are here in perfect health, none gone from our small band: again we see each well-known face, and press each friendly hand.
our pickwick, always at his post, with reverence we greet, as, spectacles on nose, he reads our well-filled weekly sheet.
although he suffers from a cold, we joy to hear him speak, for words of wisdom from him fall, in spite of croak or squeak.
old six-foot snodgrass looms on high, with elephantine grace, and beams upon the company, with brown and jovial face.
poetic fire lights up his eye, he struggles "gainst his lot.
behold ambition on his brow, and on his nose, a blot.
next our peaceful tupman comes, so rosy, plump, and sweet, who chokes with laughter at the puns, and tumbles off his seat.
prim little winkle too is here, with every hair in place, a model of propriety, though he hates to wash his face.
the year is gone, we still unite to joke and laugh and read, and tread the path of literature that doth to glory lead.
long may our paper prosper well, our club unbroken be, and coming years their blessings pour on the useful, gay "p. c.".
a. snodgrass ________ the masked marriage -lrb- a tale of venice -rrb- gondola after gondola swept up to the marble steps, and left its lovely load to swell the brilliant throng that filled the stately halls of count adelon.
knights and ladies, elves and pages, monks and flower girls, all mingled gaily in the dance.
sweet voices and rich melody filled the air, and so with mirth and music the masquerade went on.
""has your highness seen the lady viola tonight?"
asked a gallant troubadour of the fairy queen who floated down the hall upon his arm.
""yes, is she not lovely, though so sad!
her dress is well chosen, too, for in a week she weds count antonio, whom she passionately hates."
""by my faith, i envy him.
yonder he comes, arrayed like a bridegroom, except the black mask.
when that is off we shall see how he regards the fair maid whose heart he can not win, though her stern father bestows her hand," returned the troubadour.
""tis whispered that she loves the young english artist who haunts her steps, and is spurned by the old count," said the lady, as they joined the dance.
the revel was at its height when a priest appeared, and withdrawing the young pair to an alcove, hung with purple velvet, he motioned them to kneel.
instant silence fell on the gay throng, and not a sound, but the dash of fountains or the rustle of orange groves sleeping in the moonlight, broke the hush, as count de adelon spoke thus: "my lords and ladies, pardon the ruse by which i have gathered you here to witness the marriage of my daughter.
father, we wait your services."
all eyes turned toward the bridal party, and a murmur of amazement went through the throng, for neither bride nor groom removed their masks.
curiosity and wonder possessed all hearts, but respect restrained all tongues till the holy rite was over.
then the eager spectators gathered round the count, demanding an explanation.
""gladly would i give it if i could, but i only know that it was the whim of my timid viola, and i yielded to it.
now, my children, let the play end.
unmask and receive my blessing."
but neither bent the knee, for the young bridegroom replied in a tone that startled all listeners as the mask fell, disclosing the noble face of ferdinand devereux, the artist lover, and leaning on the breast where now flashed the star of an english earl was the lovely viola, radiant with joy and beauty.
""my lord, you scornfully bade me claim your daughter when i could boast as high a name and vast a fortune as the count antonio.
i can do more, for even your ambitious soul can not refuse the earl of devereux and de vere, when he gives his ancient name and boundless wealth in return for the beloved hand of this fair lady, now my wife."
the count stood like one changed to stone, and turning to the bewildered crowd, ferdinand added, with a gay smile of triumph, "to you, my gallant friends, i can only wish that your wooing may prosper as mine has done, and that you may all win as fair a bride as i have by this masked marriage."
s. pickwick why is the p. c. like the tower of babel?
it is full of unruly members.
_________ the history of a squash once upon a time a farmer planted a little seed in his garden, and after a while it sprouted and became a vine and bore many squashes.
one day in october, when they were ripe, he picked one and took it to market.
a gorcerman bought and put it in his shop.
that same morning, a little girl in a brown hat and blue dress, with a round face and snub nose, went and bought it for her mother.
she lugged it home, cut it up, and boiled it in the big pot, mashed some of it with salt and butter, for dinner.
and to the rest she added a pint of milk, two eggs, four spoons of sugar, nutmeg, and some crackers, put it in a deep dish, and baked it till it was brown and nice, and next day it was eaten by a family named march.
t. tupman _________ mr. pickwick, sir: -- i address you upon the subject of sin the sinner i mean is a man named winkle who makes trouble in his club by laughing and sometimes wo n't write his piece in this fine paper i hope you will pardon his badness and let him send a french fable because he ca n't write out of his head as he has so many lessons to do and no brains in future i will try to take time by the fetlock and prepare some work which will be all commy la fo that means all right i am in haste as it is nearly school time.
yours respectably, n. winkle -lsb- the above is a manly and handsome acknowledgment of past misdemeanors.
if our young friend studied punctuation, it would be well. -rsb-
_________ a sad accident on friday last, we were startled by a violent shock in our basement, followed by cries of distress.
on rushing in a body to the cellar, we discovered our beloved president prostrate upon the floor, having tripped and fallen while getting wood for domestic purposes.
a perfect scene of ruin met our eyes, for in his fall mr. pickwick had plunged his head and shoulders into a tub of water, upset a keg of soft soap upon his manly form, and torn his garments badly.
on being removed from this perilous situation, it was discovered that he had suffered no injury but several bruises, and we are happy to add, is now doing well.
ed.
_________ the public bereavement it is our painful duty to record the sudden and mysterious disappearance of our cherished friend, mrs. snowball pat paw.
this lovely and beloved cat was the pet of a large circle of warm and admiring friends; for her beauty attracted all eyes, her graces and virtues endeared her to all hearts, and her loss is deeply felt by the whole community.
when last seen, she was sitting at the gate, watching the butcher's cart, and it is feared that some villain, tempted by her charms, basely stole her.
weeks have passed, but no trace of her has been discovered, and we relinquish all hope, tie a black ribbon to her basket, set aside her dish, and weep for her as one lost to us forever.
_________ a sympathizing friend sends the following gem: a lament -lrb- for s. b. pat paw -rrb- we mourn the loss of our little pet, and sigh o'er her hapless fate, for never more by the fire she'll sit, nor play by the old green gate.
the little grave where her infant sleeps is "neath the chestnut tree.
but o'er her grave we may not weep, we know not where it may be.
her empty bed, her idle ball, will never see her more; no gentle tap, no loving purr is heard at the parlor door.
another cat comes after her mice, a cat with a dirty face, but she does not hunt as our darling did, nor play with her airy grace.
her stealthy paws tread the very hall where snowball used to play, but she only spits at the dogs our pet so gallantly drove away.
she is useful and mild, and does her best, but she is not fair to see, and we can not give her your place dear, nor worship her as we worship thee.
a.s. _________ advertisements miss oranthy bluggage, the accomplished strong-minded lecturer, will deliver her famous lecture on "woman and her position" at pickwick hall, next saturday evening, after the usual performances.
a weekly meeting will be held at kitchen place, to teach young ladies how to cook.
hannah brown will preside, and all are invited to attend.
the dustpan society will meet on wednesday next, and parade in the upper story of the club house.
all members to appear in uniform and shoulder their brooms at nine precisely.
mrs. beth bouncer will open her new assortment of doll's millinery next week.
the latest paris fashions have arrived, and orders are respectfully solicited.
a new play will appear at the barnville theatre, in the course of a few weeks, which will surpass anything ever seen on the american stage.
""the greek slave, or constantine the avenger," is the name of this thrilling drama!!!
hints if s.p. did n't use so much soap on his hands, he would n't always be late at breakfast.
a.s. is requested not to whistle in the street.
t.t. please do n't forget amy's napkin.
n.w. must not fret because his dress has not nine tucks.
weekly report meg -- good.
jo -- bad.
beth -- very good.
amy -- middling.
_________________________________________________ as the president finished reading the paper -lrb- which i beg leave to assure my readers is a bona fide copy of one written by bona fide girls once upon a time -rrb-, a round of applause followed, and then mr. snodgrass rose to make a proposition.
""mr. president and gentlemen," he began, assuming a parliamentary attitude and tone, "i wish to propose the admission of a new member -- one who highly deserves the honor, would be deeply grateful for it, and would add immensely to the spirit of the club, the literary value of the paper, and be no end jolly and nice.
i propose mr. theodore laurence as an honorary member of the p. c. come now, do have him."
jo's sudden change of tone made the girls laugh, but all looked rather anxious, and no one said a word as snodgrass took his seat.
""we'll put it to a vote," said the president.
""all in favor of this motion please to manifest it by saying, "aye"."
a loud response from snodgrass, followed, to everybody's surprise, by a timid one from beth.
""contrary-minded say, "no"."
meg and amy were contrary-minded, and mr. winkle rose to say with great elegance, "we do n't wish any boys, they only joke and bounce about.
this is a ladies" club, and we wish to be private and proper."
""i'm afraid he'll laugh at our paper, and make fun of us afterward," observed pickwick, pulling the little curl on her forehead, as she always did when doubtful.
up rose snodgrass, very much in earnest.
""sir, i give you my word as a gentleman, laurie wo n't do anything of the sort.
he likes to write, and he'll give a tone to our contributions and keep us from being sentimental, do n't you see?
we can do so little for him, and he does so much for us, i think the least we can do is to offer him a place here, and make him welcome if he comes."
this artful allusion to benefits conferred brought tupman to his feet, looking as if he had quite made up his mind.
""yes; we ought to do it, even if we are afraid.
i say he may come, and his grandpa, too, if he likes."
this spirited burst from beth electrified the club, and jo left her seat to shake hands approvingly.
""now then, vote again.
everybody remember it's our laurie, and say, "aye!""
cried snodgrass excitedly.
""aye!
aye!
aye!"
replied three voices at once.
""good!
bless you!
now, as there's nothing like "taking time by the fetlock", as winkle characteristically observes, allow me to present the new member."
and, to the dismay of the rest of the club, jo threw open the door of the closet, and displayed laurie sitting on a rag bag, flushed and twinkling with suppressed laughter.
""you rogue!
you traitor!
jo, how could you?"
cried the three girls, as snodgrass led her friend triumphantly forth, and producing both a chair and a badge, installed him in a jiffy.
""the coolness of you two rascals is amazing," began mr. pickwick, trying to get up an awful frown and only succeeding in producing an amiable smile.
but the new member was equal to the occasion, and rising, with a grateful salutation to the chair, said in the most engaging manner, "mr. president and ladies -- i beg pardon, gentlemen -- allow me to introduce myself as sam weller, the very humble servant of the club."
""good!
good!"
cried jo, pounding with the handle of the old warming pan on which she leaned.
""my faithful friend and noble patron," continued laurie with a wave of the hand, "who has so flatteringly presented me, is not to be blamed for the base stratagem of tonight.
i planned it, and she only gave in after lots of teasing."
""come now, do n't lay it all on yourself.
you know i proposed the cupboard," broke in snodgrass, who was enjoying the joke amazingly.
""never mind what she says.
i'm the wretch that did it, sir," said the new member, with a welleresque nod to mr. pickwick.
""but on my honor, i never will do so again, and henceforth devote myself to the interest of this immortal club."
""hear!
hear!"
cried jo, clashing the lid of the warming pan like a cymbal.
""go on, go on!"
added winkle and tupman, while the president bowed benignly.
""i merely wish to say, that as a slight token of my gratitude for the honor done me, and as a means of promoting friendly relations between adjoining nations, i have set up a post office in the hedge in the lower corner of the garden, a fine, spacious building with padlocks on the doors and every convenience for the mails, also the females, if i may be allowed the expression.
it's the old martin house, but i've stopped up the door and made the roof open, so it will hold all sorts of things, and save our valuable time.
letters, manuscripts, books, and bundles can be passed in there, and as each nation has a key, it will be uncommonly nice, i fancy.
allow me to present the club key, and with many thanks for your favor, take my seat."
great applause as mr. weller deposited a little key on the table and subsided, the warming pan clashed and waved wildly, and it was some time before order could be restored.
a long discussion followed, and everyone came out surprising, for everyone did her best.
so it was an unusually lively meeting, and did not adjourn till a late hour, when it broke up with three shrill cheers for the new member.
no one ever regretted the admittance of sam weller, for a more devoted, well-behaved, and jovial member no club could have.
he certainly did add "spirit" to the meetings, and" a tone" to the paper, for his orations convulsed his hearers and his contributions were excellent, being patriotic, classical, comical, or dramatic, but never sentimental.
jo regarded them as worthy of bacon, milton, or shakespeare, and remodeled her own works with good effect, she thought.
the p. o. was a capital little institution, and flourished wonderfully, for nearly as many queer things passed through it as through the real post office.
tragedies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden seeds and long letters, music and gingerbread, rubbers, invitations, scoldings, and puppies.
the old gentleman liked the fun, and amused himself by sending odd bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams, and his gardener, who was smitten with hannah's charms, actually sent a love letter to jo's care.
how they laughed when the secret came out, never dreaming how many love letters that little post office would hold in the years to come.
chapter eleven experiments "the first of june!
the kings are off to the seashore tomorrow, and i'm free.
three months" vacation -- how i shall enjoy it!"
exclaimed meg, coming home one warm day to find jo laid upon the sofa in an unusual state of exhaustion, while beth took off her dusty boots, and amy made lemonade for the refreshment of the whole party.
""aunt march went today, for which, oh, be joyful!"
said jo.
""i was mortally afraid she'd ask me to go with her.
if she had, i should have felt as if i ought to do it, but plumfield is about as gay as a churchyard, you know, and i'd rather be excused.
we had a flurry getting the old lady off, and i had a fright every time she spoke to me, for i was in such a hurry to be through that i was uncommonly helpful and sweet, and feared she'd find it impossible to part from me.
i quaked till she was fairly in the carriage, and had a final fright, for as it drove of, she popped out her head, saying, "josyphine, wo n't you --?"
i did n't hear any more, for i basely turned and fled.
i did actually run, and whisked round the corner where i felt safe."
""poor old jo!
she came in looking as if bears were after her," said beth, as she cuddled her sister's feet with a motherly air.
""aunt march is a regular samphire, is she not?"
observed amy, tasting her mixture critically.
""she means vampire, not seaweed, but it does n't matter.
it's too warm to be particular about one's parts of speech," murmured jo.
""what shall you do all your vacation?"
asked amy, changing the subject with tact.
""i shall lie abed late, and do nothing," replied meg, from the depths of the rocking chair.
""i've been routed up early all winter and had to spend my days working for other people, so now i'm going to rest and revel to my heart's content."
""no," said jo, "that dozy way would n't suit me.
i've laid in a heap of books, and i'm going to improve my shining hours reading on my perch in the old apple tree, when i'm not having l --" "do n't say "larks!""
implored amy, as a return snub for the "samphire" correction.
""i'll say "nightingales" then, with laurie.
that's proper and appropriate, since he's a warbler."
""do n't let us do any lessons, beth, for a while, but play all the time and rest, as the girls mean to," proposed amy.
""well, i will, if mother does n't mind.
i want to learn some new songs, and my children need fitting up for the summer.
they are dreadfully out of order and really suffering for clothes."
""may we, mother?"
asked meg, turning to mrs. march, who sat sewing in what they called "marmee's corner".
""you may try your experiment for a week and see how you like it.
i think by saturday night you will find that all play and no work is as bad as all work and no play."
""oh, dear, no!
it will be delicious, i'm sure," said meg complacently.
""i now propose a toast, as my "friend and pardner, sairy gamp", says.
fun forever, and no grubbing!"
cried jo, rising, glass in hand, as the lemonade went round.
they all drank it merrily, and began the experiment by lounging for the rest of the day.
next morning, meg did not appear till ten o'clock.
her solitary breakfast did not taste good, and the room seemed lonely and untidy, for jo had not filled the vases, beth had not dusted, and amy's books lay scattered about.
nothing was neat and pleasant but "marmee's corner", which looked as usual.
and there meg sat, to "rest and read", which meant to yawn and imagine what pretty summer dresses she would get with her salary.
jo spent the morning on the river with laurie and the afternoon reading and crying over the wide, wide world, up in the apple tree.
beth began by rummaging everything out of the big closet where her family resided, but getting tired before half done, she left her establishment topsy-turvy and went to her music, rejoicing that she had no dishes to wash.
amy arranged her bower, put on her best white frock, smoothed her curls, and sat down to draw under the honeysuckle, hoping someone would see and inquire who the young artist was.
as no one appeared but an inquisitive daddy-longlegs, who examined her work with interest, she went to walk, got caught in a shower, and came home dripping.
at teatime they compared notes, and all agreed that it had been a delightful, though unusually long day.
meg, who went shopping in the afternoon and got a "sweet blue muslin", had discovered, after she had cut the breadths off, that it would n't wash, which mishap made her slightly cross.
jo had burned the skin off her nose boating, and got a raging headache by reading too long.
beth was worried by the confusion of her closet and the difficulty of learning three or four songs at once, and amy deeply regretted the damage done her frock, for katy brown's party was to be the next day and now like flora mcflimsey, she had "nothing to wear".
but these were mere trifles, and they assured their mother that the experiment was working finely.
she smiled, said nothing, and with hannah's help did their neglected work, keeping home pleasant and the domestic machinery running smoothly.
it was astonishing what a peculiar and uncomfortable state of things was produced by the "resting and reveling" process.
the days kept getting longer and longer, the weather was unusually variable and so were tempers; an unsettled feeling possessed everyone, and satan found plenty of mischief for the idle hands to do.
as the height of luxury, meg put out some of her sewing, and then found time hang so heavily, that she fell to snipping and spoiling her clothes in her attempts to furbish them up a la moffat.
jo read till her eyes gave out and she was sick of books, got so fidgety that even good-natured laurie had a quarrel with her, and so reduced in spirits that she desperately wished she had gone with aunt march.
beth got on pretty well, for she was constantly forgetting that it was to be all play and no work, and fell back into her old ways now and then.
but something in the air affected her, and more than once her tranquility was much disturbed, so much so that on one occasion she actually shook poor dear joanna and told her she was" a fright".
amy fared worst of all, for her resources were small, and when her sisters left her to amuse herself, she soon found that accomplished and important little self a great burden.
she did n't like dolls, fairy tales were childish, and one could n't draw all the time.
tea parties did n't amount to much, neither did picnics, unless very well conducted.
""if one could have a fine house, full of nice girls, or go traveling, the summer would be delightful, but to stay at home with three selfish sisters and a grown-up boy was enough to try the patience of a boaz," complained miss malaprop, after several days devoted to pleasure, fretting, and ennui.
no one would own that they were tired of the experiment, but by friday night each acknowledged to herself that she was glad the week was nearly done.
hoping to impress the lesson more deeply, mrs. march, who had a good deal of humor, resolved to finish off the trial in an appropriate manner, so she gave hannah a holiday and let the girls enjoy the full effect of the play system.
when they got up on saturday morning, there was no fire in the kitchen, no breakfast in the dining room, and no mother anywhere to be seen.
""mercy on us!
what has happened?"
cried jo, staring about her in dismay.
meg ran upstairs and soon came back again, looking relieved but rather bewildered, and a little ashamed.
""mother is n't sick, only very tired, and she says she is going to stay quietly in her room all day and let us do the best we can.
it's a very queer thing for her to do, she does n't act a bit like herself.
but she says it has been a hard week for her, so we must n't grumble but take care of ourselves."
""that's easy enough, and i like the idea, i'm aching for something to do, that is, some new amusement, you know," added jo quickly.
in fact it was an immense relief to them all to have a little work, and they took hold with a will, but soon realized the truth of hannah's saying, "housekeeping ai n't no joke."
there was plenty of food in the larder, and while beth and amy set the table, meg and jo got breakfast, wondering as they did why servants ever talked about hard work.
""i shall take some up to mother, though she said we were not to think of her, for she'd take care of herself," said meg, who presided and felt quite matronly behind the teapot.
so a tray was fitted out before anyone began, and taken up with the cook's compliments.
the boiled tea was very bitter, the omelet scorched, and the biscuits speckled with saleratus, but mrs. march received her repast with thanks and laughed heartily over it after jo was gone.
""poor little souls, they will have a hard time, i'm afraid, but they wo n't suffer, and it will do them good," she said, producing the more palatable viands with which she had provided herself, and disposing of the bad breakfast, so that their feelings might not be hurt, a motherly little deception for which they were grateful.
many were the complaints below, and great the chagrin of the head cook at her failures.
""never mind, i'll get the dinner and be servant, you be mistress, keep your hands nice, see company, and give orders," said jo, who knew still less than meg about culinary affairs.
this obliging offer was gladly accepted, and margaret retired to the parlor, which she hastily put in order by whisking the litter under the sofa and shutting the blinds to save the trouble of dusting.
jo, with perfect faith in her own powers and a friendly desire to make up the quarrel, immediately put a note in the office, inviting laurie to dinner.
""you'd better see what you have got before you think of having company," said meg, when informed of the hospitable but rash act.
""oh, there's corned beef and plenty of potatoes, and i shall get some asparagus and a lobster, "for a relish", as hannah says.
we'll have lettuce and make a salad.
i do n't know how, but the book tells.
i'll have blanc mange and strawberries for dessert, and coffee too, if you want to be elegant."
""do n't try too many messes, jo, for you ca n't make anything but gingerbread and molasses candy fit to eat.
i wash my hands of the dinner party, and since you have asked laurie on your own responsibility, you may just take care of him."
""i do n't want you to do anything but be civil to him and help to the pudding.
you'll give me your advice if i get in a muddle, wo n't you?"
asked jo, rather hurt.
""yes, but i do n't know much, except about bread and a few trifles.
you had better ask mother's leave before you order anything," returned meg prudently.
""of course i shall.
i'm not a fool."
and jo went off in a huff at the doubts expressed of her powers.
""get what you like, and do n't disturb me.
i'm going out to dinner and ca n't worry about things at home," said mrs. march, when jo spoke to her.
""i never enjoyed housekeeping, and i'm going to take a vacation today, and read, write, go visiting, and amuse myself."
the unusual spectacle of her busy mother rocking comfortably and reading early in the morning made jo feel as if some unnatural phenomenon had occurred, for an eclipse, an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption would hardly have seemed stranger.
""everything is out of sorts, somehow," she said to herself, going downstairs.
""there's beth crying, that's a sure sign that something is wrong in this family.
if amy is bothering, i'll shake her."
feeling very much out of sorts herself, jo hurried into the parlor to find beth sobbing over pip, the canary, who lay dead in the cage with his little claws pathetically extended, as if imploring the food for want of which he had died.
""it's all my fault, i forgot him, there is n't a seed or a drop left.
oh, pip!
oh, pip!
how could i be so cruel to you?"
cried beth, taking the poor thing in her hands and trying to restore him.
jo peeped into his half-open eye, felt his little heart, and finding him stiff and cold, shook her head, and offered her domino box for a coffin.
""put him in the oven, and maybe he will get warm and revive," said amy hopefully.
""he's been starved, and he sha n't be baked now he's dead.
i'll make him a shroud, and he shall be buried in the garden, and i'll never have another bird, never, my pip!
for i am too bad to own one," murmured beth, sitting on the floor with her pet folded in her hands.
""the funeral shall be this afternoon, and we will all go.
now, do n't cry, bethy.
it's a pity, but nothing goes right this week, and pip has had the worst of the experiment.
make the shroud, and lay him in my box, and after the dinner party, we'll have a nice little funeral," said jo, beginning to feel as if she had undertaken a good deal.
leaving the others to console beth, she departed to the kitchen, which was in a most discouraging state of confusion.
putting on a big apron, she fell to work and got the dishes piled up ready for washing, when she discovered that the fire was out.
""here's a sweet prospect!"
muttered jo, slamming the stove door open, and poking vigorously among the cinders.
having rekindled the fire, she thought she would go to market while the water heated.
the walk revived her spirits, and flattering herself that she had made good bargains, she trudged home again, after buying a very young lobster, some very old asparagus, and two boxes of acid strawberries.
by the time she got cleared up, the dinner arrived and the stove was red-hot.
hannah had left a pan of bread to rise, meg had worked it up early, set it on the hearth for a second rising, and forgotten it.
meg was entertaining sallie gardiner in the parlor, when the door flew open and a floury, crocky, flushed, and disheveled figure appeared, demanding tartly... "i say, is n't bread "riz" enough when it runs over the pans?"
sallie began to laugh, but meg nodded and lifted her eyebrows as high as they would go, which caused the apparition to vanish and put the sour bread into the oven without further delay.
mrs. march went out, after peeping here and there to see how matters went, also saying a word of comfort to beth, who sat making a winding sheet, while the dear departed lay in state in the domino box.
a stralanguage can not describe nge sense of helplessness fell upon the girls as the gray bonnet vanished round the corner, and despair seized them when a few minutes later miss crocker appeared, and said she'd come to dinner.
now this lady was a thin, yellow spinster, with a sharp nose and inquisitive eyes, who saw everything and gossiped about all she saw.
they disliked her, but had been taught to be kind to her, simply because she was old and poor and had few friends.
so meg gave her the easy chair and tried to entertain her, while she asked questions, criticized everything, and told stories of the people whom she knew.
language can not describe the anxieties, experiences, and exertions which jo underwent that morning, and the dinner she served up became a standing joke.
fearing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone, and discovered that something more than energy and good will is necessary to make a cook.
she boiled the asparagus for an hour and was grieved to find the heads cooked off and the stalks harder than ever.
the bread burned black; for the salad dressing so aggravated her that she could not make it fit to eat.
the lobster was a scarlet mystery to her, but she hammered and poked till it was unshelled and its meager proportions concealed in a grove of lettuce leaves.
the potatoes had to be hurried, not to keep the asparagus waiting, and were not done at the last.
the blanc mange was lumpy, and the strawberries not as ripe as they looked, having been skilfully "deaconed".
""well, they can eat beef and bread and butter, if they are hungry, only it's mortifying to have to spend your whole morning for nothing," thought jo, as she rang the bell half an hour later than usual, and stood, hot, tired, and dispirited, surveying the feast spread before laurie, accustomed to all sorts of elegance, and miss crocker, whose tattling tongue would report them far and wide.
poor jo would gladly have gone under the table, as one thing after another was tasted and left, while amy giggled, meg looked distressed, miss crocker pursed her lips, and laurie talked and laughed with all his might to give a cheerful tone to the festive scene.
jo's one strong point was the fruit, for she had sugared it well, and had a pitcher of rich cream to eat with it.
her hot cheeks cooled a trifle, and she drew a long breath as the pretty glass plates went round, and everyone looked graciously at the little rosy islands floating in a sea of cream.
miss crocker tasted first, made a wry face, and drank some water hastily.
jo, who refused, thinking there might not be enough, for they dwindled sadly after the picking over, glanced at laurie, but he was eating away manfully, though there was a slight pucker about his mouth and he kept his eye fixed on his plate.
amy, who was fond of delicate fare, took a heaping spoonful, choked, hid her face in her napkin, and left the table precipitately.
""oh, what is it?"
exclaimed jo, trembling.
""salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour," replied meg with a tragic gesture.
jo uttered a groan and fell back in her chair, remembering that she had given a last hasty powdering to the berries out of one of the two boxes on the kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in the refrigerator.
she turned scarlet and was on the verge of crying, when she met laurie's eyes, which would look merry in spite of his heroic efforts.
the comical side of the affair suddenly struck her, and she laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.
so did everyone else, even "croaker" as the girls called the old lady, and the unfortunate dinner ended gaily, with bread and butter, olives and fun.
""i have n't strength of mind enough to clear up now, so we will sober ourselves with a funeral," said jo, as they rose, and miss crocker made ready to go, being eager to tell the new story at another friend's dinner table.
they did sober themselves for beth's sake.
laurie dug a grave under the ferns in the grove, little pip was laid in, with many tears by his tender-hearted mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath of violets and chickweed was hung on the stone which bore his epitaph, composed by jo while she struggled with the dinner.
here lies pip march, who died the 7th of june; loved and lamented sore, and not forgotten soon.
at the conclusion of the ceremonies, beth retired to her room, overcome with emotion and lobster, but there was no place of repose, for the beds were not made, and she found her grief much assuaged by beating up the pillows and putting things in order.
meg helped jo clear away the remains of the feast, which took half the afternoon and left them so tired that they agreed to be contented with tea and toast for supper.
laurie took amy to drive, which was a deed of charity, for the sour cream seemed to have had a bad effect upon her temper.
mrs. march came home to find the three older girls hard at work in the middle of the afternoon, and a glance at the closet gave her an idea of the success of one part of the experiment.
before the housewives could rest, several people called, and there was a scramble to get ready to see them.
then tea must be got, errands done, and one or two necessary bits of sewing neglected until the last minute.
as twilight fell, dewy and still, one by one they gathered on the porch where the june roses were budding beautifully, and each groaned or sighed as she sat down, as if tired or troubled.
""what a dreadful day this has been!"
began jo, usually the first to speak.
""it has seemed shorter than usual, but so uncomfortable," said meg.
""not a bit like home," added amy.
""it ca n't seem so without marmee and little pip," sighed beth, glancing with full eyes at the empty cage above her head.
""here's mother, dear, and you shall have another bird tomorrow, if you want it."
as she spoke, mrs. march came and took her place among them, looking as if her holiday had not been much pleasanter than theirs.
""are you satisfied with your experiment, girls, or do you want another week of it?"
she asked, as beth nestled up to her and the rest turned toward her with brightening faces, as flowers turn toward the sun.
""i do n't!"
cried jo decidedly.
""nor i," echoed the others.
""you think then, that it is better to have a few duties and live a little for others, do you?"
""lounging and larking does n't pay," observed jo, shaking her head.
""i'm tired of it and mean to go to work at something right off."
""suppose you learn plain cooking.
that's a useful accomplishment, which no woman should be without," said mrs. march, laughing inaudibly at the recollection of jo's dinner party, for she had met miss crocker and heard her account of it.
""mother, did you go away and let everything be, just to see how we'd get on?"
cried meg, who had had suspicions all day.
""yes, i wanted you to see how the comfort of all depends on each doing her share faithfully.
while hannah and i did your work, you got on pretty well, though i do n't think you were very happy or amiable.
so i thought, as a little lesson, i would show you what happens when everyone thinks only of herself.
do n't you feel that it is pleasanter to help one another, to have daily duties which make leisure sweet when it comes, and to bear and forbear, that home may be comfortable and lovely to us all?"
""we do, mother, we do!"
cried the girls.
""then let me advise you to take up your little burdens again, for though they seem heavy sometimes, they are good for us, and lighten as we learn to carry them.
work is wholesome, and there is plenty for everyone.
it keeps us from ennui and mischief, is good for health and spirits, and gives us a sense of power and independence better than money or fashion."
""we'll work like bees, and love it too, see if we do n't," said jo.
""i'll learn plain cooking for my holiday task, and the next dinner party i have shall be a success."
""i'll make the set of shirts for father, instead of letting you do it, marmee.
i can and i will, though i'm not fond of sewing.
that will be better than fussing over my own things, which are plenty nice enough as they are."
said meg.
""i'll do my lessons every day, and not spend so much time with my music and dolls.
i am a stupid thing, and ought to be studying, not playing," was beth's resolution, while amy followed their example by heroically declaring, "i shall learn to make buttonholes, and attend to my parts of speech."
""very good!
then i am quite satisfied with the experiment, and fancy that we shall not have to repeat it, only do n't go to the other extreme and delve like slaves.
have regular hours for work and play, make each day both useful and pleasant, and prove that you understand the worth of time by employing it well.
then youth will be delightful, old age will bring few regrets, and life become a beautiful success, in spite of poverty."
""we'll remember, mother!"
and they did.
chapter twelve camp laurence beth was postmistress, for, being most at home, she could attend to it regularly, and dearly liked the daily task of unlocking the little door and distributing the mail.
one july day she came in with her hands full, and went about the house leaving letters and parcels like the penny post.
""here's your posy, mother!
laurie never forgets that," she said, putting the fresh nosegay in the vase that stood in "marmee's corner", and was kept supplied by the affectionate boy.
""miss meg march, one letter and a glove," continued beth, delivering the articles to her sister, who sat near her mother, stitching wristbands.
""why, i left a pair over there, and here is only one," said meg, looking at the gray cotton glove.
""did n't you drop the other in the garden?"
""no, i'm sure i did n't, for there was only one in the office."
""i hate to have odd gloves!
never mind, the other may be found.
my letter is only a translation of the german song i wanted.
i think mr. brooke did it, for this is n't laurie's writing."
mrs. march glanced at meg, who was looking very pretty in her gingham morning gown, with the little curls blowing about her forehead, and very womanly, as she sat sewing at her little worktable, full of tidy white rolls, so unconscious of the thought in her mother's mind as she sewed and sang, while her fingers flew and her thoughts were busied with girlish fancies as innocent and fresh as the pansies in her belt, that mrs. march smiled and was satisfied.
""two letters for doctor jo, a book, and a funny old hat, which covered the whole post office and stuck outside," said beth, laughing as she went into the study where jo sat writing.
""what a sly fellow laurie is!
i said i wished bigger hats were the fashion, because i burn my face every hot day.
he said, "why mind the fashion?
wear a big hat, and be comfortable!"
i said i would if i had one, and he has sent me this, to try me.
i'll wear it for fun, and show him i do n't care for the fashion."
and hanging the antique broad-brim on a bust of plato, jo read her letters.
one from her mother made her cheeks glow and her eyes fill, for it said to her... my dear: i write a little word to tell you with how much satisfaction i watch your efforts to control your temper.
you say nothing about your trials, failures, or successes, and think, perhaps, that no one sees them but the friend whose help you daily ask, if i may trust the well-worn cover of your guidebook.
i, too, have seen them all, and heartily believe in the sincerity of your resolution, since it begins to bear fruit.
go on, dear, patiently and bravely, and always believe that no one sympathizes more tenderly with you than your loving... mother "that does me good!
that's worth millions of money and pecks of praise.
oh, marmee, i do try!
i will keep on trying, and not get tired, since i have you to help me."
laying her head on her arms, jo wet her little romance with a few happy tears, for she had thought that no one saw and appreciated her efforts to be good, and this assurance was doubly precious, doubly encouraging, because unexpected and from the person whose commendation she most valued.
feeling stronger than ever to meet and subdue her apollyon, she pinned the note inside her frock, as a shield and a reminder, lest she be taken unaware, and proceeded to open her other letter, quite ready for either good or bad news.
in a big, dashing hand, laurie wrote... dear jo, what ho!
some english girls and boys are coming to see me tomorrow and i want to have a jolly time.
if it's fine, i'm going to pitch my tent in longmeadow, and row up the whole crew to lunch and croquet -- have a fire, make messes, gypsy fashion, and all sorts of larks.
they are nice people, and like such things.
brooke will go to keep us boys steady, and kate vaughn will play propriety for the girls.
i want you all to come, ca n't let beth off at any price, and nobody shall worry her.
do n't bother about rations, i'll see to that and everything else, only do come, there's a good fellow!
in a tearing hurry, yours ever, laurie.
""here's richness!"
cried jo, flying in to tell the news to meg.
""of course we can go, mother?
it will be such a help to laurie, for i can row, and meg see to the lunch, and the children be useful in some way."
""i hope the vaughns are not fine grown-up people.
do you know anything about them, jo?"
asked meg.
""only that there are four of them.
kate is older than you, fred and frank -lrb- twins -rrb- about my age, and a little girl -lrb- grace -rrb-, who is nine or ten.
laurie knew them abroad, and liked the boys.
i fancied, from the way he primmed up his mouth in speaking of her, that he did n't admire kate much."
""i'm so glad my french print is clean, it's just the thing and so becoming!"
observed meg complacently.
""have you anything decent, jo?"
""scarlet and gray boating suit, good enough for me.
i shall row and tramp about, so i do n't want any starch to think of.
you'll come, betty?"
""if you wo n't let any boys talk to me."
""not a boy!"
""i like to please laurie, and i'm not afraid of mr. brooke, he is so kind.
but i do n't want to play, or sing, or say anything.
i'll work hard and not trouble anyone, and you'll take care of me, jo, so i'll go."
""that's my good girl.
you do try to fight off your shyness, and i love you for it.
fighting faults is n't easy, as i know, and a cheery word kind of gives a lift.
thank you, mother," and jo gave the thin cheek a grateful kiss, more precious to mrs. march than if it had given back the rosy roundness of her youth.
""i had a box of chocolate drops, and the picture i wanted to copy," said amy, showing her mail.
""and i got a note from mr. laurence, asking me to come over and play to him tonight, before the lamps are lighted, and i shall go," added beth, whose friendship with the old gentleman prospered finely.
""now let's fly round, and do double duty today, so that we can play tomorrow with free minds," said jo, preparing to replace her pen with a broom.
when the sun peeped into the girls" room early next morning to promise them a fine day, he saw a comical sight.
each had made such preparation for the fete as seemed necessary and proper.
meg had an extra row of little curlpapers across her forehead, jo had copiously anointed her afflicted face with cold cream, beth had taken joanna to bed with her to atone for the approaching separation, and amy had capped the climax by putting a clothespin on her nose to uplift the offending feature.
it was one of the kind artists use to hold the paper on their drawing boards, therefore quite appropriate and effective for the purpose it was now being put.
this funny spectacle appeared to amuse the sun, for he burst out with such radiance that jo woke up and roused her sisters by a hearty laugh at amy's ornament.
sunshine and laughter were good omens for a pleasure party, and soon a lively bustle began in both houses.
beth, who was ready first, kept reporting what went on next door, and enlivened her sisters" toilets by frequent telegrams from the window.
""there goes the man with the tent!
i see mrs. barker doing up the lunch in a hamper and a great basket.
now mr. laurence is looking up at the sky and the weathercock.
i wish he would go too.
there's laurie, looking like a sailor, nice boy!
oh, mercy me!
here's a carriage full of people, a tall lady, a little girl, and two dreadful boys.
one is lame, poor thing, he's got a crutch.
laurie did n't tell us that.
be quick, girls!
it's getting late.
why, there is ned moffat, i do declare.
meg, is n't that the man who bowed to you one day when we were shopping?"
""so it is.
how queer that he should come.
i thought he was at the mountains.
there is sallie.
i'm glad she got back in time.
am i all right, jo?"
cried meg in a flutter.
""a regular daisy.
hold up your dress and put your hat on straight, it looks sentimental tipped that way and will fly off at the first puff.
now then, come on!"
""oh, jo, you are not going to wear that awful hat?
it's too absurd!
you shall not make a guy of yourself," remonstrated meg, as jo tied down with a red ribbon the broad-brimmed, old-fashioned leghorn laurie had sent for a joke.
""i just will, though, for it's capital, so shady, light, and big.
it will make fun, and i do n't mind being a guy if i'm comfortable."
with that jo marched straight away and the rest followed, a bright little band of sisters, all looking their best in summer suits, with happy faces under the jaunty hatbrims.
laurie ran to meet and present them to his friends in the most cordial manner.
the lawn was the reception room, and for several minutes a lively scene was enacted there.
meg was grateful to see that miss kate, though twenty, was dressed with a simplicity which american girls would do well to imitate, and who was much flattered by mr. ned's assurances that he came especially to see her.
jo understood why laurie "primmed up his mouth" when speaking of kate, for that young lady had a standoff-don "t-touch-me air, which contrasted strongly with the free and easy demeanor of the other girls.
beth took an observation of the new boys and decided that the lame one was not "dreadful", but gentle and feeble, and she would be kind to him on that account.
amy found grace a well-mannered, merry, little person, and after staring dumbly at one another for a few minutes, they suddenly became very good friends.
tents, lunch, and croquet utensils having been sent on beforehand, the party was soon embarked, and the two boats pushed off together, leaving mr. laurence waving his hat on the shore.
laurie and jo rowed one boat, mr. brooke and ned the other, while fred vaughn, the riotous twin, did his best to upset both by paddling about in a wherry like a disturbed water bug.
jo's funny hat deserved a vote of thanks, for it was of general utility.
it broke the ice in the beginning by producing a laugh, it created quite a refreshing breeze, flapping to and fro as she rowed, and would make an excellent umbrella for the whole party, if a shower came up, she said.
miss kate decided that she was "odd", but rather clever, and smiled upon her from afar.
meg, in the other boat, was delightfully situated, face to face with the rowers, who both admired the prospect and feathered their oars with uncommon "skill and dexterity".
mr. brooke was a grave, silent young man, with handsome brown eyes and a pleasant voice.
meg liked his quiet manners and considered him a walking encyclopedia of useful knowledge.
he never talked to her much, but he looked at her a good deal, and she felt sure that he did not regard her with aversion.
ned, being in college, of course put on all the airs which freshmen think it their bounden duty to assume.
he was not very wise, but very good-natured, and altogether an excellent person to carry on a picnic.
sallie gardiner was absorbed in keeping her white pique dress clean and chattering with the ubiquitous fred, who kept beth in constant terror by his pranks.
it was not far to longmeadow, but the tent was pitched and the wickets down by the time they arrived.
a pleasant green field, with three wide-spreading oaks in the middle and a smooth strip of turf for croquet.
""welcome to camp laurence!"
said the young host, as they landed with exclamations of delight.
""brooke is commander in chief, i am commissary general, the other fellows are staff officers, and you, ladies, are company.
the tent is for your especial benefit and that oak is your drawing room, this is the messroom and the third is the camp kitchen.
now, let's have a game before it gets hot, and then we'll see about dinner."
frank, beth, amy, and grace sat down to watch the game played by the other eight.
mr. brooke chose meg, kate, and fred.
laurie took sallie, jo, and ned.
the english played well, but the americans played better, and contested every inch of the ground as strongly as if the spirit of'76 inspired them.
jo and fred had several skirmishes and once narrowly escaped high words.
jo was through the last wicket and had missed the stroke, which failure ruffled her a good deal.
fred was close behind her and his turn came before hers.
he gave a stroke, his ball hit the wicket, and stopped an inch on the wrong side.
no one was very near, and running up to examine, he gave it a sly nudge with his toe, which put it just an inch on the right side.
""i'm through!
now, miss jo, i'll settle you, and get in first," cried the young gentleman, swinging his mallet for another blow.
""you pushed it.
i saw you.
it's my turn now," said jo sharply.
""upon my word, i did n't move it.
it rolled a bit, perhaps, but that is allowed.
so, stand off please, and let me have a go at the stake."
""we do n't cheat in america, but you can, if you choose," said jo angrily.
""yankees are a deal the most tricky, everybody knows.
there you go!"
returned fred, croqueting her ball far away.
jo opened her lips to say something rude, but checked herself in time, colored up to her forehead and stood a minute, hammering down a wicket with all her might, while fred hit the stake and declared himself out with much exultation.
she went off to get her ball, and was a long time finding it among the bushes, but she came back, looking cool and quiet, and waited her turn patiently.
it took several strokes to regain the place she had lost, and when she got there, the other side had nearly won, for kate's ball was the last but one and lay near the stake.
""by george, it's all up with us!
goodbye, kate.
miss jo owes me one, so you are finished," cried fred excitedly, as they all drew near to see the finish.
""yankees have a trick of being generous to their enemies," said jo, with a look that made the lad redden, "especially when they beat them," she added, as, leaving kate's ball untouched, she won the game by a clever stroke.
laurie threw up his hat, then remembered that it would n't do to exult over the defeat of his guests, and stopped in the middle of the cheer to whisper to his friend, "good for you, jo!
he did cheat, i saw him.
we ca n't tell him so, but he wo n't do it again, take my word for it."
meg drew her aside, under pretense of pinning up a loose braid, and said approvingly, "it was dreadfully provoking, but you kept your temper, and i'm so glad, jo."
""do n't praise me, meg, for i could box his ears this minute.
i should certainly have boiled over if i had n't stayed among the nettles till i got my rage under control enough to hold my tongue.
it's simmering now, so i hope he'll keep out of my way," returned jo, biting her lips as she glowered at fred from under her big hat.
""time for lunch," said mr. brooke, looking at his watch.
""commissary general, will you make the fire and get water, while miss march, miss sallie, and i spread the table?
who can make good coffee?"
""jo can," said meg, glad to recommend her sister.
so jo, feeling that her late lessons in cookery were to do her honor, went to preside over the coffeepot, while the children collected dry sticks, and the boys made a fire and got water from a spring near by.
miss kate sketched and frank talked to beth, who was making little mats of braided rushes to serve as plates.
the commander in chief and his aides soon spread the tablecloth with an inviting array of eatables and drinkables, prettily decorated with green leaves.
jo announced that the coffee was ready, and everyone settled themselves to a hearty meal, for youth is seldom dyspeptic, and exercise develops wholesome appetites.
a very merry lunch it was, for everything seemed fresh and funny, and frequent peals of laughter startled a venerable horse who fed near by.
there was a pleasing inequality in the table, which produced many mishaps to cups and plates, acorns dropped in the milk, little black ants partook of the refreshments without being invited, and fuzzy caterpillars swung down from the tree to see what was going on.
three white-headed children peeped over the fence, and an objectionable dog barked at them from the other side of the river with all his might and main.
""there's salt here," said laurie, as he handed jo a saucer of berries.
""thank you, i prefer spiders," she replied, fishing up two unwary little ones who had gone to a creamy death.
""how dare you remind me of that horrid dinner party, when yours is so nice in every way?"
added jo, as they both laughed and ate out of one plate, the china having run short.
""i had an uncommonly good time that day, and have n't got over it yet.
this is no credit to me, you know, i do n't do anything.
it's you and meg and brooke who make it all go, and i'm no end obliged to you.
what shall we do when we ca n't eat anymore?"
asked laurie, feeling that his trump card had been played when lunch was over.
""have games till it's cooler.
i brought authors, and i dare say miss kate knows something new and nice.
go and ask her.
she's company, and you ought to stay with her more."
""are n't you company too?
i thought she'd suit brooke, but he keeps talking to meg, and kate just stares at them through that ridiculous glass of hers.
i'm going, so you need n't try to preach propriety, for you ca n't do it, jo."
miss kate did know several new games, and as the girls would not, and the boys could not, eat any more, they all adjourned to the drawing room to play rig-marole.
""one person begins a story, any nonsense you like, and tells as long as he pleases, only taking care to stop short at some exciting point, when the next takes it up and does the same.
it's very funny when well done, and makes a perfect jumble of tragical comical stuff to laugh over.
please start it, mr. brooke," said kate, with a commanding air, which surprised meg, who treated the tutor with as much respect as any other gentleman.
lying on the grass at the feet of the two young ladies, mr. brooke obediently began the story, with the handsome brown eyes steadily fixed upon the sunshiny river.
""once on a time, a knight went out into the world to seek his fortune, for he had nothing but his sword and his shield.
he traveled a long while, nearly eight-and-twenty years, and had a hard time of it, till he came to the palace of a good old king, who had offered a reward to anyone who could tame and train a fine but unbroken colt, of which he was very fond.
the knight agreed to try, and got on slowly but surely, for the colt was a gallant fellow, and soon learned to love his new master, though he was freakish and wild.
every day, when he gave his lessons to this pet of the king's, the knight rode him through the city, and as he rode, he looked everywhere for a certain beautiful face, which he had seen many times in his dreams, but never found.
one day, as he went prancing down a quiet street, he saw at the window of a ruinous castle the lovely face.
he was delighted, inquired who lived in this old castle, and was told that several captive princesses were kept there by a spell, and spun all day to lay up money to buy their liberty.
the knight wished intensely that he could free them, but he was poor and could only go by each day, watching for the sweet face and longing to see it out in the sunshine.
at last he resolved to get into the castle and ask how he could help them.
he went and knocked.
the great door flew open, and he beheld..." "a ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed, with a cry of rapture, "at last!
at last!""
continued kate, who had read french novels, and admired the style."
't is she!"
cried count gustave, and fell at her feet in an ecstasy of joy.
"oh, rise!"
she said, extending a hand of marble fairness.
"never!
till you tell me how i may rescue you," swore the knight, still kneeling.
"alas, my cruel fate condemns me to remain here till my tyrant is destroyed."
"where is the villain?"
"in the mauve salon.
go, brave heart, and save me from despair.'"
i obey, and return victorious or dead!"
with these thrilling words he rushed away, and flinging open the door of the mauve salon, was about to enter, when he received..." "a stunning blow from the big greek lexicon, which an old fellow in a black gown fired at him," said ned.
""instantly, sir what's - his-name recovered himself, pitched the tyrant out of the window, and turned to join the lady, victorious, but with a bump on his brow, found the door locked, tore up the curtains, made a rope ladder, got halfway down when the ladder broke, and he went headfirst into the moat, sixty feet below.
could swim like a duck, paddled round the castle till he came to a little door guarded by two stout fellows, knocked their heads together till they cracked like a couple of nuts, then, by a trifling exertion of his prodigious strength, he smashed in the door, went up a pair of stone steps covered with dust a foot thick, toads as big as your fist, and spiders that would frighten you into hysterics, miss march.
at the top of these steps he came plump upon a sight that took his breath away and chilled his blood..." "a tall figure, all in white with a veil over its face and a lamp in its wasted hand," went on meg.
""it beckoned, gliding noiselessly before him down a corridor as dark and cold as any tomb.
shadowy effigies in armor stood on either side, a dead silence reigned, the lamp burned blue, and the ghostly figure ever and anon turned its face toward him, showing the glitter of awful eyes through its white veil.
they reached a curtained door, behind which sounded lovely music.
he sprang forward to enter, but the specter plucked him back, and waved threateningly before him a..
."
""snuffbox," said jo, in a sepulchral tone, which convulsed the audience."
"thankee," said the knight politely, as he took a pinch and sneezed seven times so violently that his head fell off.
"ha!
ha!"
laughed the ghost, and having peeped through the keyhole at the princesses spinning away for dear life, the evil spirit picked up her victim and put him in a large tin box, where there were eleven other knights packed together without their heads, like sardines, who all rose and began to..." "dance a hornpipe," cut in fred, as jo paused for breath, "and, as they danced, the rubbishy old castle turned to a man-of-war in full sail.
"up with the jib, reef the tops" l halliards, helm hard alee, and man the guns!"
roared the captain, as a portuguese pirate hove in sight, with a flag black as ink flying from her foremast.
"go in and win, my hearties!"
says the captain, and a tremendous fight began.
of course the british beat -- they always do."
""no, they do n't!"
cried jo, aside.
""having taken the pirate captain prisoner, sailed slap over the schooner, whose decks were piled high with dead and whose lee scuppers ran blood, for the order had been "cutlasses, and die hard!"
"bosun's mate, take a bight of the flying-jib sheet, and start this villain if he does n't confess his sins double quick," said the british captain.
the portuguese held his tongue like a brick, and walked the plank, while the jolly tars cheered like mad.
but the sly dog dived, came up under the man-of-war, scuttled her, and down she went, with all sail set, "to the bottom of the sea, sea, sea" where..." "oh, gracious!
what shall i say?"
cried sallie, as fred ended his rigmarole, in which he had jumbled together pell-mell nautical phrases and facts out of one of his favorite books.
""well, they went to the bottom, and a nice mermaid welcomed them, but was much grieved on finding the box of headless knights, and kindly pickled them in brine, hoping to discover the mystery about them, for being a woman, she was curious.
by-and-by a diver came down, and the mermaid said, "i'll give you a box of pearls if you can take it up," for she wanted to restore the poor things to life, and could n't raise the heavy load herself.
so the diver hoisted it up, and was much disappointed on opening it to find no pearls.
he left it in a great lonely field, where it was found by a..
."
""little goose girl, who kept a hundred fat geese in the field," said amy, when sallie's invention gave out.
""the little girl was sorry for them, and asked an old woman what she should do to help them.
"your geese will tell you, they know everything."
said the old woman.
so she asked what she should use for new heads, since the old ones were lost, and all the geese opened their hundred mouths and screamed..."" "cabbages!""
continued laurie promptly."
"just the thing," said the girl, and ran to get twelve fine ones from her garden.
she put them on, the knights revived at once, thanked her, and went on their way rejoicing, never knowing the difference, for there were so many other heads like them in the world that no one thought anything of it.
the knight in whom i'm interested went back to find the pretty face, and learned that the princesses had spun themselves free and all gone and married, but one.
he was in a great state of mind at that, and mounting the colt, who stood by him through thick and thin, rushed to the castle to see which was left.
peeping over the hedge, he saw the queen of his affections picking flowers in her garden.
"will you give me a rose?"
said he.
"you must come and get it.
i ca n't come to you, it is n't proper," said she, as sweet as honey.
he tried to climb over the hedge, but it seemed to grow higher and higher.
then he tried to push through, but it grew thicker and thicker, and he was in despair.
so he patiently broke twig after twig till he had made a little hole through which he peeped, saying imploringly, "let me in!
let me in!"
but the pretty princess did not seem to understand, for she picked her roses quietly, and left him to fight his way in.
whether he did or not, frank will tell you."
""i ca n't.
i'm not playing, i never do," said frank, dismayed at the sentimental predicament out of which he was to rescue the absurd couple.
beth had disappeared behind jo, and grace was asleep.
""so the poor knight is to be left sticking in the hedge, is he?"
asked mr. brooke, still watching the river, and playing with the wild rose in his buttonhole.
""i guess the princess gave him a posy, and opened the gate after a while," said laurie, smiling to himself, as he threw acorns at his tutor.
""what a piece of nonsense we have made!
with practice we might do something quite clever.
do you know truth?"
""i hope so," said meg soberly.
""the game, i mean?"
""what is it?"
said fred.
""why, you pile up your hands, choose a number, and draw out in turn, and the person who draws at the number has to answer truly any question put by the rest.
it's great fun."
""let's try it," said jo, who liked new experiments.
miss kate and mr. brooke, meg, and ned declined, but fred, sallie, jo, and laurie piled and drew, and the lot fell to laurie.
""who are your heroes?"
asked jo.
""grandfather and napoleon."
""which lady here do you think prettiest?"
said sallie.
""margaret."
""which do you like best?"
from fred.
""jo, of course."
""what silly questions you ask!"
and jo gave a disdainful shrug as the rest laughed at laurie's matter-of-fact tone.
""try again.
truth is n't a bad game," said fred.
""it's a very good one for you," retorted jo in a low voice.
her turn came next.
""what is your greatest fault?"
asked fred, by way of testing in her the virtue he lacked himself.
""a quick temper."
""what do you most wish for?"
said laurie.
""a pair of boot lacings," returned jo, guessing and defeating his purpose.
""not a true answer.
you must say what you really do want most."
""genius.
do n't you wish you could give it to me, laurie?"
and she slyly smiled in his disappointed face.
""what virtues do you most admire in a man?"
asked sallie.
""courage and honesty."
""now my turn," said fred, as his hand came last.
""let's give it to him," whispered laurie to jo, who nodded and asked at once... "did n't you cheat at croquet?"
""well, yes, a little bit."
""good!
did n't you take your story out of the sea lion?
" said laurie.
""rather."
""do n't you think the english nation perfect in every respect?"
asked sallie.
""i should be ashamed of myself if i did n't."
""he's a true john bull.
now, miss sallie, you shall have a chance without waiting to draw.
i'll harrrow up your feelings first by asking if you do n't think you are something of a flirt," said laurie, as jo nodded to fred as a sign that peace was declared.
""you impertinent boy!
of course i'm not," exclaimed sallie, with an air that proved the contrary.
""what do you hate most?"
asked fred.
""spiders and rice pudding."
""what do you like best?"
asked jo.
""dancing and french gloves."
""well, i think truth is a very silly play.
let's have a sensible game of authors to refresh our minds," proposed jo.
ned, frank, and the little girls joined in this, and while it went on, the three elders sat apart, talking.
miss kate took out her sketch again, and margaret watched her, while mr. brooke lay on the grass with a book, which he did not read.
""how beautifully you do it!
i wish i could draw," said meg, with mingled admiration and regret in her voice.
""why do n't you learn?
i should think you had taste and talent for it," replied miss kate graciously.
""i have n't time."
""your mamma prefers other accomplishments, i fancy.
so did mine, but i proved to her that i had talent by taking a few lessons privately, and then she was quite willing i should go on.
ca n't you do the same with your governess?"
""i have none."
""i forgot young ladies in america go to school more than with us.
very fine schools they are, too, papa says.
you go to a private one, i suppose?"
""i do n't go at all.
i am a governess myself."
""oh, indeed!"
said miss kate, but she might as well have said, "dear me, how dreadful!"
for her tone implied it, and something in her face made meg color, and wish she had not been so frank.
mr. brooke looked up and said quickly, "young ladies in america love independence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired and respected for supporting themselves."
""oh, yes, of course it's very nice and proper in them to do so.
we have many most respectable and worthy young women who do the same and are employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters of gentlemen, they are both well bred and accomplished, you know," said miss kate in a patronizing tone that hurt meg's pride, and made her work seem not only more distasteful, but degrading.
""did the german song suit, miss march?"
inquired mr. brooke, breaking an awkward pause.
""oh, yes!
it was very sweet, and i'm much obliged to whoever translated it for me."
and meg's downcast face brightened as she spoke.
""do n't you read german?"
asked miss kate with a look of surprise.
""not very well.
my father, who taught me, is away, and i do n't get on very fast alone, for i've no one to correct my pronunciation."
""try a little now.
here is schiller's mary stuart and a tutor who loves to teach."
and mr. brooke laid his book on her lap with an inviting smile.
""it's so hard i'm afraid to try," said meg, grateful, but bashful in the presence of the accomplished young lady beside her.
""i'll read a bit to encourage you."
and miss kate read one of the most beautiful passages in a perfectly correct but perfectly expressionless manner.
mr. brooke made no comment as she returned the book to meg, who said innocently, "i thought it was poetry."
""some of it is.
try this passage."
there was a queer smile about mr. brooke's mouth as he opened at poor mary's lament.
meg obediently following the long grass-blade which her new tutor used to point with, read slowly and timidly, unconsciously making poetry of the hard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice.
down the page went the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener in the beauty of the sad scene, meg read as if alone, giving a little touch of tragedy to the words of the unhappy queen.
if she had seen the brown eyes then, she would have stopped short, but she never looked up, and the lesson was not spoiled for her.
""very well indeed!"
said mr. brooke, as she paused, quite ignoring her many mistakes, and looking as if he did indeed love to teach.
miss kate put up her glass, and, having taken a survey of the little tableau before her, shut her sketch book, saying with condescension, "you've a nice accent and in time will be a clever reader.
i advise you to learn, for german is a valuable accomplishment to teachers.
i must look after grace, she is romping."
and miss kate strolled away, adding to herself with a shrug, "i did n't come to chaperone a governess, though she is young and pretty.
what odd people these yankees are.
i'm afraid laurie will be quite spoiled among them."
""i forgot that english people rather turn up their noses at governesses and do n't treat them as we do," said meg, looking after the retreating figure with an annoyed expression.
""tutors also have rather a hard time of it there, as i know to my sorrow.
there's no place like america for us workers, miss margaret."
and mr. brooke looked so contented and cheerful that meg was ashamed to lament her hard lot.
""i'm glad i live in it then.
i do n't like my work, but i get a good deal of satisfaction out of it after all, so i wo n't complain.
i only wished i liked teaching as you do."
""i think you would if you had laurie for a pupil.
i shall be very sorry to lose him next year," said mr. brooke, busily punching holes in the turf.
""going to college, i suppose?"
meg's lips asked the question, but her eyes added, "and what becomes of you?"
""yes, it's high time he went, for he is ready, and as soon as he is off, i shall turn soldier.
i am needed."
""i am glad of that!"
exclaimed meg.
""i should think every young man would want to go, though it is hard for the mothers and sisters who stay at home," she added sorrowfully.
""i have neither, and very few friends to care whether i live or die," said mr. brooke rather bitterly as he absently put the dead rose in the hole he had made and covered it up, like a little grave.
""laurie and his grandfather would care a great deal, and we should all be very sorry to have any harm happen to you," said meg heartily.
""thank you, that sounds pleasant," began mr. brooke, looking cheerful again, but before he could finish his speech, ned, mounted on the old horse, came lumbering up to display his equestrian skill before the young ladies, and there was no more quiet that day.
""do n't you love to ride?"
asked grace of amy, as they stood resting after a race round the field with the others, led by ned.
""i dote upon it.
my sister, meg, used to ride when papa was rich, but we do n't keep any horses now, except ellen tree," added amy, laughing.
""tell me about ellen tree.
is it a donkey?"
asked grace curiously.
""why, you see, jo is crazy about horses and so am i, but we've only got an old sidesaddle and no horse.
out in our garden is an apple tree that has a nice low branch, so jo put the saddle on it, fixed some reins on the part that turns up, and we bounce away on ellen tree whenever we like."
""how funny!"
laughed grace.
""i have a pony at home, and ride nearly every day in the park with fred and kate.
it's very nice, for my friends go too, and the row is full of ladies and gentlemen."
""dear, how charming!
i hope i shall go abroad some day, but i'd rather go to rome than the row," said amy, who had not the remotest idea what the row was and would n't have asked for the world.
frank, sitting just behind the little girls, heard what they were saying, and pushed his crutch away from him with an impatient gesture as he watched the active lads going through all sorts of comical gymnastics.
beth, who was collecting the scattered author cards, looked up and said, in her shy yet friendly way, "i'm afraid you are tired.
can i do anything for you?"
""talk to me, please.
it's dull, sitting by myself," answered frank, who had evidently been used to being made much of at home.
if he asked her to deliver a latin oration, it would not have seemed a more impossible task to bashful beth, but there was no place to run to, no jo to hide behind now, and the poor boy looked so wistfully at her that she bravely resolved to try.
""what do you like to talk about?"
she asked, fumbling over the cards and dropping half as she tried to tie them up.
""well, i like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting," said frank, who had not yet learned to suit his amusements to his strength.
my heart!
what shall i do?
i do n't know anything about them, thought beth, and forgetting the boy's misfortune in her flurry, she said, hoping to make him talk, "i never saw any hunting, but i suppose you know all about it."
""i did once, but i can never hunt again, for i got hurt leaping a confounded five-barred gate, so there are no more horses and hounds for me," said frank with a sigh that made beth hate herself for her innocent blunder.
""your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes," she said, turning to the prairies for help and feeling glad that she had read one of the boys" books in which jo delighted.
buffaloes proved soothing and satisfactory, and in her eagerness to amuse another, beth forgot herself, and was quite unconscious of her sisters" surprise and delight at the unusual spectacle of beth talking away to one of the dreadful boys, against whom she had begged protection.
""bless her heart!
she pities him, so she is good to him," said jo, beaming at her from the croquet ground.
""i always said she was a little saint," added meg, as if there could be no further doubt of it.
""i have n't heard frank laugh so much for ever so long," said grace to amy, as they sat discussing dolls and making tea sets out of the acorn cups.
""my sister beth is a very fastidious girl, when she likes to be," said amy, well pleased at beth's success.
she meant "facinating", but as grace did n't know the exact meaning of either word, fastidious sounded well and made a good impression.
an impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an amicable game of croquet finished the afternoon.
at sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed, wickets pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated down the river, singing at the tops of their voices.
ned, getting sentimental, warbled a serenade with the pensive refrain... alone, alone, ah!
woe, alone, and at the lines... we each are young, we each have a heart, oh, why should we stand thus coldly apart?
he looked at meg with such a lackadiasical expression that she laughed outright and spoiled his song.
""how can you be so cruel to me?"
he whispered, under cover of a lively chorus.
""you've kept close to that starched-up englishwoman all day, and now you snub me."
""i did n't mean to, but you looked so funny i really could n't help it," replied meg, passing over the first part of his reproach, for it was quite true that she had shunned him, remembering the moffat party and the talk after it.
ned was offended and turned to sallie for consolation, saying to her rather pettishly, "there is n't a bit of flirt in that girl, is there?"
""not a particle, but she's a dear," returned sallie, defending her friend even while confessing her shortcomings.
""she's not a stricken deer anyway," said ned, trying to be witty, and succeeding as well as very young gentlemen usually do.
on the lawn where it had gathered, the little party separated with cordial good nights and good-byes, for the vaughns were going to canada.
as the four sisters went home through the garden, miss kate looked after them, saying, without the patronizing tone in her voice, "in spite of their demonstrative manners, american girls are very nice when one knows them."
""i quite agree with you," said mr. brooke.
chapter thirteen castles in the air laurie lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in his hammock one warm september afternoon, wondering what his neighbors were about, but too lazy to go and find out.
he was in one of his moods, for the day had been both unprofitable and unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he could live it over again.
the hot weather made him indolent, and he had shirked his studies, tried mr. brooke's patience to the utmost, displeased his grandfather by practicing half the afternoon, frightened the maidservants half out of their wits by mischievously hinting that one of his dogs was going mad, and, after high words with the stableman about some fancied neglect of his horse, he had flung himself into his hammock to fume over the stupidity of the world in general, till the peace of the lovely day quieted him in spite of himself.
staring up into the green gloom of the horse-chestnut trees above him, he dreamed dreams of all sorts, and was just imagining himself tossing on the ocean in a voyage round the world, when the sound of voices brought him ashore in a flash.
peeping through the meshes of the hammock, he saw the marches coming out, as if bound on some expedition.
""what in the world are those girls about now?"
thought laurie, opening his sleepy eyes to take a good look, for there was something rather peculiar in the appearance of his neighbors.
each wore a large, flapping hat, a brown linen pouch slung over one shoulder, and carried a long staff.
meg had a cushion, jo a book, beth a basket, and amy a portfolio.
all walked quietly through the garden, out at the little back gate, and began to climb the hill that lay between the house and river.
""well, that's cool," said laurie to himself, "to have a picnic and never ask me!
they ca n't be going in the boat, for they have n't got the key.
perhaps they forgot it.
i'll take it to them, and see what's going on."
though possessed of half a dozen hats, it took him some time to find one, then there was a hunt for the key, which was at last discovered in his pocket, so that the girls were quite out of sight when he leaped the fence and ran after them.
taking the shortest way to the boathouse, he waited for them to appear, but no one came, and he went up the hill to take an observation.
a grove of pines covered one part of it, and from the heart of this green spot came a clearer sound than the soft sigh of the pines or the drowsy chirp of the crickets.
""here's a landscape!"
thought laurie, peeping through the bushes, and looking wide-awake and good-natured already.
it was a rather pretty little picture, for the sisters sat together in the shady nook, with sun and shadow flickering over them, the aromatic wind lifting their hair and cooling their hot cheeks, and all the little wood people going on with their affairs as if these were no strangers but old friends.
meg sat upon her cushion, sewing daintily with her white hands, and looking as fresh and sweet as a rose in her pink dress among the green.
beth was sorting the cones that lay thick under the hemlock near by, for she made pretty things with them.
amy was sketching a group of ferns, and jo was knitting as she read aloud.
a shadow passed over the boy's face as he watched them, feeling that he ought to go away because uninvited; yet lingering because home seemed very lonely and this quiet party in the woods most attractive to his restless spirit.
he stood so still that a squirrel, busy with its harvesting, ran down a pine close beside him, saw him suddenly and skipped back, scolding so shrilly that beth looked up, espied the wistful face behind the birches, and beckoned with a reassuring smile.
""may i come in, please?
or shall i be a bother?"
he asked, advancing slowly.
meg lifted her eyebrows, but jo scowled at her defiantly and said at once, "of course you may.
we should have asked you before, only we thought you would n't care for such a girl's game as this."
""i always like your games, but if meg does n't want me, i'll go away."
""i've no objection, if you do something.
it's against the rules to be idle here," replied meg gravely but graciously.
""much obliged.
i'll do anything if you'll let me stop a bit, for it's as dull as the desert of sahara down there.
shall i sew, read, cone, draw, or do all at once?
bring on your bears.
i'm ready."
and laurie sat down with a submissive expression delightful to behold.
""finish this story while i set my heel," said jo, handing him the book.
""yes'm."
was the meek answer, as he began, doing his best to prove his gratitude for the favor of admission into the "busy bee society".
the story was not a long one, and when it was finished, he ventured to ask a few questions as a reward of merit.
""please, ma'am, could i inquire if this highly instructive and charming institution is a new one?"
""would you tell him?"
asked meg of her sisters.
""he'll laugh," said amy warningly.
""who cares?"
said jo.
""i guess he'll like it," added beth.
""of course i shall!
i give you my word i wo n't laugh.
tell away, jo, and do n't be afraid."
""the idea of being afraid of you!
well, you see we used to play pilgrim's progress, and we have been going on with it in earnest, all winter and summer."
""yes, i know," said laurie, nodding wisely.
""who told you?"
demanded jo.
""spirits."
""no, i did.
i wanted to amuse him one night when you were all away, and he was rather dismal.
he did like it, so do n't scold, jo," said beth meekly.
""you ca n't keep a secret.
never mind, it saves trouble now."
""go on, please," said laurie, as jo became absorbed in her work, looking a trifle displeased.
""oh, did n't she tell you about this new plan of ours?
well, we have tried not to waste our holiday, but each has had a task and worked at it with a will.
the vacation is nearly over, the stints are all done, and we are ever so glad that we did n't dawdle."
""yes, i should think so," and laurie thought regretfully of his own idle days.
""mother likes to have us out-of-doors as much as possible, so we bring our work here and have nice times.
for the fun of it we bring our things in these bags, wear the old hats, use poles to climb the hill, and play pilgrims, as we used to do years ago.
we call this hill the delectable mountain, for we can look far away and see the country where we hope to live some time."
jo pointed, and laurie sat up to examine, for through an opening in the wood one could look cross the wide, blue river, the meadows on the other side, far over the outskirts of the great city, to the green hills that rose to meet the sky.
the sun was low, and the heavens glowed with the splendor of an autumn sunset.
gold and purple clouds lay on the hilltops, and rising high into the ruddy light were silvery white peaks that shone like the airy spires of some celestial city.
""how beautiful that is!"
said laurie softly, for he was quick to see and feel beauty of any kind.
""it's often so, and we like to watch it, for it is never the same, but always splendid," replied amy, wishing she could paint it.
""jo talks about the country where we hope to live sometime -- the real country, she means, with pigs and chickens and haymaking.
it would be nice, but i wish the beautiful country up there was real, and we could ever go to it," said beth musingly.
""there is a lovelier country even than that, where we shall go, by-and-by, when we are good enough," answered meg with her sweetest voice.
""it seems so long to wait, so hard to do.
i want to fly away at once, as those swallows fly, and go in at that splendid gate."
""you'll get there, beth, sooner or later, no fear of that," said jo.
""i'm the one that will have to fight and work, and climb and wait, and maybe never get in after all."
""you'll have me for company, if that's any comfort.
i shall have to do a deal of traveling before i come in sight of your celestial city.
if i arrive late, you'll say a good word for me, wo n't you, beth?"
something in the boy's face troubled his little friend, but she said cheerfully, with her quiet eyes on the changing clouds, "if people really want to go, and really try all their lives, i think they will get in, for i do n't believe there are any locks on that door or any guards at the gate.
i always imagine it is as it is in the picture, where the shining ones stretch out their hands to welcome poor christian as he comes up from the river."
""would n't it be fun if all the castles in the air which we make could come true, and we could live in them?"
said jo, after a little pause.
""i've made such quantities it would be hard to choose which i'd have," said laurie, lying flat and throwing cones at the squirrel who had betrayed him.
""you'd have to take your favorite one.
what is it?"
asked meg.
""if i tell mine, will you tell yours?"
""yes, if the girls will too."
""we will.
now, laurie."
""after i'd seen as much of the world as i want to, i'd like to settle in germany and have just as much music as i choose.
i'm to be a famous musician myself, and all creation is to rush to hear me.
and i'm never to be bothered about money or business, but just enjoy myself and live for what i like.
that's my favorite castle.
what's yours, meg?"
margaret seemed to find it a little hard to tell hers, and waved a brake before her face, as if to disperse imaginary gnats, while she said slowly, "i should like a lovely house, full of all sorts of luxurious things -- nice food, pretty clothes, handsome furniture, pleasant people, and heaps of money.
i am to be mistress of it, and manage it as i like, with plenty of servants, so i never need work a bit.
how i should enjoy it!
for i would n't be idle, but do good, and make everyone love me dearly."
""would n't you have a master for your castle in the air?"
asked laurie slyly.
""i said "pleasant people", you know," and meg carefully tied up her shoe as she spoke, so that no one saw her face.
""why do n't you say you'd have a splendid, wise, good husband and some angelic little children?
you know your castle would n't be perfect without," said blunt jo, who had no tender fancies yet, and rather scorned romance, except in books.
""you'd have nothing but horses, inkstands, and novels in yours," answered meg petulantly.
""would n't i though?
i'd have a stable full of arabian steeds, rooms piled high with books, and i'd write out of a magic inkstand, so that my works should be as famous as laurie's music.
i want to do something splendid before i go into my castle, something heroic or wonderful that wo n't be forgotten after i'm dead.
i do n't know what, but i'm on the watch for it, and mean to astonish you all some day.
i think i shall write books, and get rich and famous, that would suit me, so that is my favorite dream."
""mine is to stay at home safe with father and mother, and help take care of the family," said beth contentedly.
""do n't you wish for anything else?"
asked laurie.
""since i had my little piano, i am perfectly satisfied.
i only wish we may all keep well and be together, nothing else."
""i have ever so many wishes, but the pet one is to be an artist, and go to rome, and do fine pictures, and be the best artist in the whole world," was amy's modest desire.
""we're an ambitious set, are n't we?
every one of us, but beth, wants to be rich and famous, and gorgeous in every respect.
i do wonder if any of us will ever get our wishes," said laurie, chewing grass like a meditative calf.
""i've got the key to my castle in the air, but whether i can unlock the door remains to be seen," observed jo mysteriously.
""i've got the key to mine, but i'm not allowed to try it.
hang college!"
muttered laurie with an impatient sigh.
""here's mine!"
and amy waved her pencil.
""i have n't got any," said meg forlornly.
""yes, you have," said laurie at once.
""where?"
""in your face."
""nonsense, that's of no use."
""wait and see if it does n't bring you something worth having," replied the boy, laughing at the thought of a charming little secret which he fancied he knew.
meg colored behind the brake, but asked no questions and looked across the river with the same expectant expression which mr. brooke had worn when he told the story of the knight.
""if we are all alive ten years hence, let's meet, and see how many of us have got our wishes, or how much nearer we are then than now," said jo, always ready with a plan.
""bless me!
how old i shall be, twenty-seven!"
exclaimed meg, who felt grown up already, having just reached seventeen.
""you and i will be twenty-six, teddy, beth twenty-four, and amy twenty-two.
what a venerable party!"
said jo.
""i hope i shall have done something to be proud of by that time, but i'm such a lazy dog, i'm afraid i shall dawdle, jo."
""you need a motive, mother says, and when you get it, she is sure you'll work splendidly."
""is she?
by jupiter, i will, if i only get the chance!"
cried laurie, sitting up with sudden energy.
""i ought to be satisfied to please grandfather, and i do try, but it's working against the grain, you see, and comes hard.
he wants me to be an india merchant, as he was, and i'd rather be shot.
i hate tea and silk and spices, and every sort of rubbish his old ships bring, and i do n't care how soon they go to the bottom when i own them.
going to college ought to satisfy him, for if i give him four years he ought to let me off from the business.
but he's set, and i've got to do just as he did, unless i break away and please myself, as my father did.
if there was anyone left to stay with the old gentleman, i'd do it tomorrow."
laurie spoke excitedly, and looked ready to carry his threat into execution on the slightest provocation, for he was growing up very fast and, in spite of his indolent ways, had a young man's hatred of subjection, a young man's restless longing to try the world for himself.
""i advise you to sail away in one of your ships, and never come home again till you have tried your own way," said jo, whose imagination was fired by the thought of such a daring exploit, and whose sympathy was excited by what she called "teddy's wrongs".
""that's not right, jo.
you must n't talk in that way, and laurie must n't take your bad advice.
you should do just what your grandfather wishes, my dear boy," said meg in her most maternal tone.
""do your best at college, and when he sees that you try to please him, i'm sure he wo n't be hard on you or unjust to you.
as you say, there is no one else to stay with and love him, and you'd never forgive yourself if you left him without his permission.
do n't be dismal or fret, but do your duty and you'll get your reward, as good mr. brooke has, by being respected and loved."
""what do you know about him?"
asked laurie, grateful for the good advice, but objecting to the lecture, and glad to turn the conversation from himself after his unusual outbreak.
""only what your grandpa told us about him, how he took good care of his own mother till she died, and would n't go abroad as tutor to some nice person because he would n't leave her.
and how he provides now for an old woman who nursed his mother, and never tells anyone, but is just as generous and patient and good as he can be."
""so he is, dear old fellow!"
said laurie heartily, as meg paused, looking flushed and earnest with her story.
""it's like grandpa to find out all about him without letting him know, and to tell all his goodness to others, so that they might like him.
brooke could n't understand why your mother was so kind to him, asking him over with me and treating him in her beautiful friendly way.
he thought she was just perfect, and talked about it for days and days, and went on about you all in flaming style.
if ever i do get my wish, you see what i'll do for brooke."
""begin to do something now by not plaguing his life out," said meg sharply.
""how do you know i do, miss?"
""i can always tell by his face when he goes away.
if you have been good, he looks satisfied and walks briskly.
if you have plagued him, he's sober and walks slowly, as if he wanted to go back and do his work better."
""well, i like that?
so you keep an account of my good and bad marks in brooke's face, do you?
i see him bow and smile as he passes your window, but i did n't know you'd got up a telegraph."
""we have n't.
do n't be angry, and oh, do n't tell him i said anything!
it was only to show that i cared how you get on, and what is said here is said in confidence, you know," cried meg, much alarmed at the thought of what might follow from her careless speech.
""i do n't tell tales," replied laurie, with his "high and mighty" air, as jo called a certain expression which he occasionally wore.
""only if brooke is going to be a thermometer, i must mind and have fair weather for him to report."
""please do n't be offended.
i did n't mean to preach or tell tales or be silly.
i only thought jo was encouraging you in a feeling which you'd be sorry for by-and-by.
you are so kind to us, we feel as if you were our brother and say just what we think.
forgive me, i meant it kindly."
and meg offered her hand with a gesture both affectionate and timid.
ashamed of his momentary pique, laurie squeezed the kind little hand, and said frankly, "i'm the one to be forgiven.
i'm cross and have been out of sorts all day.
i like to have you tell me my faults and be sisterly, so do n't mind if i am grumpy sometimes.
i thank you all the same."
bent on showing that he was not offended, he made himself as agreeable as possible, wound cotton for meg, recited poetry to please jo, shook down cones for beth, and helped amy with her ferns, proving himself a fit person to belong to the "busy bee society".
in the midst of an animated discussion on the domestic habits of turtles -lrb- one of those amiable creatures having strolled up from the river -rrb-, the faint sound of a bell warned them that hannah had put the tea "to draw", and they would just have time to get home to supper.
""may i come again?"
asked laurie.
""yes, if you are good, and love your book, as the boys in the primer are told to do," said meg, smiling.
""i'll try."
""then you may come, and i'll teach you to knit as the scotchmen do.
there's a demand for socks just now," added jo, waving hers like a big blue worsted banner as they parted at the gate.
that night, when beth played to mr. laurence in the twilight, laurie, standing in the shadow of the curtain, listened to the little david, whose simple music always quieted his moody spirit, and watched the old man, who sat with his gray head on his hand, thinking tender thoughts of the dead child he had loved so much.
remembering the conversation of the afternoon, the boy said to himself, with the resolve to make the sacrifice cheerfully, "i'll let my castle go, and stay with the dear old gentleman while he needs me, for i am all he has."
chapter fourteen secrets jo was very busy in the garret, for the october days began to grow chilly, and the afternoons were short.
for two or three hours the sun lay warmly in the high window, showing jo seated on the old sofa, writing busily, with her papers spread out upon a trunk before her, while scrabble, the pet rat, promenaded the beams overhead, accompanied by his oldest son, a fine young fellow, who was evidently very proud of his whiskers.
quite absorbed in her work, jo scribbled away till the last page was filled, when she signed her name with a flourish and threw down her pen, exclaiming... "there, i've done my best!
if this wo n't suit i shall have to wait till i can do better."
lying back on the sofa, she read the manuscript carefully through, making dashes here and there, and putting in many exclamation points, which looked like little balloons.
then she tied it up with a smart red ribbon, and sat a minute looking at it with a sober, wistful expression, which plainly showed how earnest her work had been.
jo's desk up here was an old tin kitchen which hung against the wall.
in it she kept her papers, and a few books, safely shut away from scrabble, who, being likewise of a literary turn, was fond of making a circulating library of such books as were left in his way by eating the leaves.
from this tin receptacle jo produced another manuscript, and putting both in her pocket, crept quietly downstairs, leaving her friends to nibble on her pens and taste her ink.
she put on her hat and jacket as noiselessly as possible, and going to the back entry window, got out upon the roof of a low porch, swung herself down to the grassy bank, and took a roundabout way to the road.
once there, she composed herself, hailed a passing omnibus, and rolled away to town, looking very merry and mysterious.
if anyone had been watching her, he would have thought her movements decidedly peculiar, for on alighting, she went off at a great pace till she reached a certain number in a certain busy street.
having found the place with some difficulty, she went into the doorway, looked up the dirty stairs, and after standing stock still a minute, suddenly dived into the street and walked away as rapidly as she came.
this maneuver she repeated several times, to the great amusement of a black-eyed young gentleman lounging in the window of a building opposite.
on returning for the third time, jo gave herself a shake, pulled her hat over her eyes, and walked up the stairs, looking as if she were going to have all her teeth out.
there was a dentist's sign, among others, which adorned the entrance, and after staring a moment at the pair of artificial jaws which slowly opened and shut to draw attention to a fine set of teeth, the young gentleman put on his coat, took his hat, and went down to post himself in the opposite doorway, saying with a smile and a shiver, "it's like her to come alone, but if she has a bad time she'll need someone to help her home."
in ten minutes jo came running downstairs with a very red face and the general appearance of a person who had just passed through a trying ordeal of some sort.
when she saw the young gentleman she looked anything but pleased, and passed him with a nod.
but he followed, asking with an air of sympathy, "did you have a bad time?"
""not very."
""you got through quickly."
""yes, thank goodness!"
""why did you go alone?"
""did n't want anyone to know."
""you're the oddest fellow i ever saw.
how many did you have out?"
jo looked at her friend as if she did not understand him, then began to laugh as if mightily amused at something.
""there are two which i want to have come out, but i must wait a week."
""what are you laughing at?
you are up to some mischief, jo," said laurie, looking mystified.
""so are you.
what were you doing, sir, up in that billiard saloon?"
""begging your pardon, ma'am, it was n't a billiard saloon, but a gymnasium, and i was taking a lesson in fencing."
""i'm glad of that."
""why?"
""you can teach me, and then when we play hamlet, you can be laertes, and we'll make a fine thing of the fencing scene."
laurie burst out with a hearty boy's laugh, which made several passers-by smile in spite of themselves.
""i'll teach you whether we play hamlet or not.
it's grand fun and will straighten you up capitally.
but i do n't believe that was your only reason for saying "i'm glad" in that decided way, was it now?"
""no, i was glad that you were not in the saloon, because i hope you never go to such places.
do you?"
""not often."
""i wish you would n't."
""it's no harm, jo.
i have billiards at home, but it's no fun unless you have good players, so, as i'm fond of it, i come sometimes and have a game with ned moffat or some of the other fellows."
""oh, dear, i'm so sorry, for you'll get to liking it better and better, and will waste time and money, and grow like those dreadful boys.
i did hope you'd stay respectable and be a satisfaction to your friends," said jo, shaking her head.
""ca n't a fellow take a little innocent amusement now and then without losing his respectability?"
asked laurie, looking nettled.
""that depends upon how and where he takes it.
i do n't like ned and his set, and wish you'd keep out of it.
mother wo n't let us have him at our house, though he wants to come.
and if you grow like him she wo n't be willing to have us frolic together as we do now."
""wo n't she?"
asked laurie anxiously.
""no, she ca n't bear fashionable young men, and she'd shut us all up in bandboxes rather than have us associate with them."
""well, she need n't get out her bandboxes yet.
i'm not a fashionable party and do n't mean to be, but i do like harmless larks now and then, do n't you?"
""yes, nobody minds them, so lark away, but do n't get wild, will you?
or there will be an end of all our good times."
""i'll be a double distilled saint."
""i ca n't bear saints.
just be a simple, honest, respectable boy, and we'll never desert you.
i do n't know what i should do if you acted like mr. king's son.
he had plenty of money, but did n't know how to spend it, and got tipsy and gambled, and ran away, and forged his father's name, i believe, and was altogether horrid."
""you think i'm likely to do the same?
much obliged."
""no, i do n't -- oh, dear, no!
-- but i hear people talking about money being such a temptation, and i sometimes wish you were poor.
i should n't worry then."
""do you worry about me, jo?"
""a little, when you look moody and discontented, as you sometimes do, for you've got such a strong will, if you once get started wrong, i'm afraid it would be hard to stop you."
laurie walked in silence a few minutes, and jo watched him, wishing she had held her tongue, for his eyes looked angry, though his lips smiled as if at her warnings.
""are you going to deliver lectures all the way home?"
he asked presently.
""of course not.
why?"
""because if you are, i'll take a bus.
if you're not, i'd like to walk with you and tell you something very interesting."
""i wo n't preach any more, and i'd like to hear the news immensely."
""very well, then, come on.
it's a secret, and if i tell you, you must tell me yours."
""i have n't got any," began jo, but stopped suddenly, remembering that she had.
""you know you have -- you ca n't hide anything, so up and "fess, or i wo n't tell," cried laurie.
""is your secret a nice one?"
""oh, is n't it!
all about people you know, and such fun!
you ought to hear it, and i've been aching to tell it this long time.
come, you begin."
""you'll not say anything about it at home, will you?"
""not a word."
""and you wo n't tease me in private?"
""i never tease."
""yes, you do.
you get everything you want out of people.
i do n't know how you do it, but you are a born wheedler."
""thank you.
fire away."
""well, i've left two stories with a newspaperman, and he's to give his answer next week," whispered jo, in her confidant's ear.
""hurrah for miss march, the celebrated american authoress!"
cried laurie, throwing up his hat and catching it again, to the great delight of two ducks, four cats, five hens, and half a dozen irish children, for they were out of the city now.
""hush!
it wo n't come to anything, i dare say, but i could n't rest till i had tried, and i said nothing about it because i did n't want anyone else to be disappointed."
""it wo n't fail.
why, jo, your stories are works of shakespeare compared to half the rubbish that is published every day.
wo n't it be fun to see them in print, and sha n't we feel proud of our authoress?"
jo's eyes sparkled, for it is always pleasant to be believed in, and a friend's praise is always sweeter than a dozen newspaper puffs.
""where's your secret?
play fair, teddy, or i'll never believe you again," she said, trying to extinguish the brilliant hopes that blazed up at a word of encouragement.
""i may get into a scrape for telling, but i did n't promise not to, so i will, for i never feel easy in my mind till i've told you any plummy bit of news i get.
i know where meg's glove is."
""is that all?"
said jo, looking disappointed, as laurie nodded and twinkled with a face full of mysterious intelligence.
""it's quite enough for the present, as you'll agree when i tell you where it is."
""tell, then."
laurie bent, and whispered three words in jo's ear, which produced a comical change.
she stood and stared at him for a minute, looking both surprised and displeased, then walked on, saying sharply, "how do you know?"
""saw it."
""where?"
""pocket."
""all this time?"
""yes, is n't that romantic?"
""no, it's horrid."
""do n't you like it?"
""of course i do n't.
it's ridiculous, it wo n't be allowed.
my patience!
what would meg say?"
""you are not to tell anyone.
mind that."
""i did n't promise."
""that was understood, and i trusted you."
""well, i wo n't for the present, anyway, but i'm disgusted, and wish you had n't told me."
""i thought you'd be pleased."
""at the idea of anybody coming to take meg away?
no, thank you."
""you'll feel better about it when somebody comes to take you away."
""i'd like to see anyone try it," cried jo fiercely.
""so should i!"
and laurie chuckled at the idea.
""i do n't think secrets agree with me, i feel rumpled up in my mind since you told me that," said jo rather ungratefully.
""race down this hill with me, and you'll be all right," suggested laurie.
no one was in sight, the smooth road sloped invitingly before her, and finding the temptation irresistible, jo darted away, soon leaving hat and comb behind her and scattering hairpins as she ran.
laurie reached the goal first and was quite satisfied with the success of his treatment, for his atlanta came panting up with flying hair, bright eyes, ruddy cheeks, and no signs of dissatisfaction in her face.
""i wish i was a horse, then i could run for miles in this splendid air, and not lose my breath.
it was capital, but see what a guy it's made me.
go, pick up my things, like a cherub, as you are," said jo, dropping down under a maple tree, which was carpeting the bank with crimson leaves.
laurie leisurely departed to recover the lost property, and jo bundled up her braids, hoping no one would pass by till she was tidy again.
but someone did pass, and who should it be but meg, looking particularly ladylike in her state and festival suit, for she had been making calls.
""what in the world are you doing here?"
she asked, regarding her disheveled sister with well-bred surprise.
""getting leaves," meekly answered jo, sorting the rosy handful she had just swept up.
""and hairpins," added laurie, throwing half a dozen into jo's lap.
""they grow on this road, meg, so do combs and brown straw hats."
""you have been running, jo.
how could you?
when will you stop such romping ways?"
said meg reprovingly, as she settled her cuffs and smoothed her hair, with which the wind had taken liberties.
""never till i'm stiff and old and have to use a crutch.
do n't try to make me grow up before my time, meg.
it's hard enough to have you change all of a sudden.
let me be a little girl as long as i can."
as she spoke, jo bent over the leaves to hide the trembling of her lips, for lately she had felt that margaret was fast getting to be a woman, and laurie's secret made her dread the separation which must surely come some time and now seemed very near.
he saw the trouble in her face and drew meg's attention from it by asking quickly, "where have you been calling, all so fine?"
""at the gardiners", and sallie has been telling me all about belle moffat's wedding.
it was very splendid, and they have gone to spend the winter in paris.
just think how delightful that must be!"
""do you envy her, meg?"
said laurie.
""i'm afraid i do."
""i'm glad of it!"
muttered jo, tying on her hat with a jerk.
""why?"
asked meg, looking surprised.
""because if you care much about riches, you will never go and marry a poor man," said jo, frowning at laurie, who was mutely warning her to mind what she said.
""i shall never" go and marry" anyone," observed meg, walking on with great dignity while the others followed, laughing, whispering, skipping stones, and "behaving like children", as meg said to herself, though she might have been tempted to join them if she had not had her best dress on.
for a week or two, jo behaved so queerly that her sisters were quite bewildered.
she rushed to the door when the postman rang, was rude to mr. brooke whenever they met, would sit looking at meg with a woe-begone face, occasionally jumping up to shake and then kiss her in a very mysterious manner.
laurie and she were always making signs to one another, and talking about "spread eagles" till the girls declared they had both lost their wits.
on the second saturday after jo got out of the window, meg, as she sat sewing at her window, was scandalized by the sight of laurie chasing jo all over the garden and finally capturing her in amy's bower.
what went on there, meg could not see, but shrieks of laughter were heard, followed by the murmur of voices and a great flapping of newspapers.
""what shall we do with that girl?
she never will behave like a young lady," sighed meg, as she watched the race with a disapproving face.
""i hope she wo n't.
she is so funny and dear as she is," said beth, who had never betrayed that she was a little hurt at jo's having secrets with anyone but her.
""it's very trying, but we never can make her commy la fo," added amy, who sat making some new frills for herself, with her curls tied up in a very becoming way, two agreeable things that made her feel unusually elegant and ladylike.
in a few minutes jo bounced in, laid herself on the sofa, and affected to read.
""have you anything interesting there?"
asked meg, with condescension.
""nothing but a story, wo n't amount to much, i guess," returned jo, carefully keeping the name of the paper out of sight.
""you'd better read it aloud.
that will amuse us and keep you out of mischief," said amy in her most grown-up tone.
""what's the name?"
asked beth, wondering why jo kept her face behind the sheet.
""the rival painters."
""that sounds well.
read it," said meg.
with a loud "hem!"
and a long breath, jo began to read very fast.
the girls listened with interest, for the tale was romantic, and somewhat pathetic, as most of the characters died in the end.
""i like that about the splendid picture," was amy's approving remark, as jo paused.
""i prefer the lovering part.
viola and angelo are two of our favorite names, is n't that queer?"
said meg, wiping her eyes, for the lovering part was tragical.
""who wrote it?"
asked beth, who had caught a glimpse of jo's face.
the reader suddenly sat up, cast away the paper, displaying a flushed countenance, and with a funny mixture of solemnity and excitement replied in a loud voice, "your sister."
""you?"
cried meg, dropping her work.
""it's very good," said amy critically.
""i knew it!
i knew it!
oh, my jo, i am so proud!"
and beth ran to hug her sister and exult over this splendid success.
dear me, how delighted they all were, to be sure!
how meg would n't believe it till she saw the words.
""miss josephine march," actually printed in the paper.
how graciously amy criticized the artistic parts of the story, and offered hints for a sequel, which unfortunately could n't be carried out, as the hero and heroine were dead.
how beth got excited, and skipped and sang with joy.
how hannah came in to exclaim, "sakes alive, well i never!"
in great astonishment at "that jo's doin's".
how proud mrs. march was when she knew it.
how jo laughed, with tears in her eyes, as she declared she might as well be a peacock and done with it, and how the "spread eagle" might be said to flap his wings triumphantly over the house of march, as the paper passed from hand to hand.
""tell us about it."
""when did it come?"
""how much did you get for it?"
""what will father say?"
""wo n't laurie laugh?"
cried the family, all in one breath as they clustered about jo, for these foolish, affectionate people made a jubilee of every little household joy.
""stop jabbering, girls, and i'll tell you everything," said jo, wondering if miss burney felt any grander over her evelina than she did over her "rival painters".
having told how she disposed of her tales, jo added, "and when i went to get my answer, the man said he liked them both, but did n't pay beginners, only let them print in his paper, and noticed the stories.
it was good practice, he said, and when the beginners improved, anyone would pay.
so i let him have the two stories, and today this was sent to me, and laurie caught me with it and insisted on seeing it, so i let him.
and he said it was good, and i shall write more, and he's going to get the next paid for, and i am so happy, for in time i may be able to support myself and help the girls."
jo's breath gave out here, and wrapping her head in the paper, she bedewed her little story with a few natural tears, for to be independent and earn the praise of those she loved were the dearest wishes of her heart, and this seemed to be the first step toward that happy end.
chapter fifteen a telegram "november is the most disagreeable month in the whole year," said margaret, standing at the window one dull afternoon, looking out at the frostbitten garden.
""that's the reason i was born in it," observed jo pensively, quite unconscious of the blot on her nose.
""if something very pleasant should happen now, we should think it a delightful month," said beth, who took a hopeful view of everything, even november.
""i dare say, but nothing pleasant ever does happen in this family," said meg, who was out of sorts.
""we go grubbing along day after day, without a bit of change, and very little fun.
we might as well be in a treadmill."
""my patience, how blue we are!"
cried jo.
""i do n't much wonder, poor dear, for you see other girls having splendid times, while you grind, grind, year in and year out.
oh, do n't i wish i could manage things for you as i do for my heroines!
you're pretty enough and good enough already, so i'd have some rich relation leave you a fortune unexpectedly.
then you'd dash out as an heiress, scorn everyone who has slighted you, go abroad, and come home my lady something in a blaze of splendor and elegance."
""people do n't have fortunes left them in that style nowadays, men have to work and women marry for money.
it's a dreadfully unjust world," said meg bitterly.
""jo and i are going to make fortunes for you all.
just wait ten years, and see if we do n't," said amy, who sat in a corner making mud pies, as hannah called her little clay models of birds, fruit, and faces.
""ca n't wait, and i'm afraid i have n't much faith in ink and dirt, though i'm grateful for your good intentions."
meg sighed, and turned to the frostbitten garden again.
jo groaned and leaned both elbows on the table in a despondent attitude, but amy spatted away energetically, and beth, who sat at the other window, said, smiling, "two pleasant things are going to happen right away.
marmee is coming down the street, and laurie is tramping through the garden as if he had something nice to tell."
in they both came, mrs. march with her usual question, "any letter from father, girls?"
and laurie to say in his persuasive way, "wo n't some of you come for a drive?
i've been working away at mathematics till my head is in a muddle, and i'm going to freshen my wits by a brisk turn.
it's a dull day, but the air is n't bad, and i'm going to take brooke home, so it will be gay inside, if it is n't out.
come, jo, you and beth will go, wo n't you?"
""of course we will."
""much obliged, but i'm busy."
and meg whisked out her workbasket, for she had agreed with her mother that it was best, for her at least, not to drive too often with the young gentleman.
""we three will be ready in a minute," cried amy, running away to wash her hands.
""can i do anything for you, madam mother?"
asked laurie, leaning over mrs. march's chair with the affectionate look and tone he always gave her.
""no, thank you, except call at the office, if you'll be so kind, dear.
it's our day for a letter, and the postman has n't been.
father is as regular as the sun, but there's some delay on the way, perhaps."
a sharp ring interrupted her, and a minute after hannah came in with a letter.
""it's one of them horrid telegraph things, mum," she said, handling it as if she was afraid it would explode and do some damage.
at the word "telegraph", mrs. march snatched it, read the two lines it contained, and dropped back into her chair as white as if the little paper had sent a bullet to her heart.
laurie dashed downstairs for water, while meg and hannah supported her, and jo read aloud, in a frightened voice... mrs. march: your husband is very ill.
come at once.
s. hale blank hospital, washington.
how still the room was as they listened breathlessly, how strangely the day darkened outside, and how suddenly the whole world seemed to change, as the girls gathered about their mother, feeling as if all the happiness and support of their lives was about to be taken from them.
mrs. march was herself again directly, read the message over, and stretched out her arms to her daughters, saying, in a tone they never forgot, "i shall go at once, but it may be too late.
oh, children, children, help me to bear it!"
for several minutes there was nothing but the sound of sobbing in the room, mingled with broken words of comfort, tender assurances of help, and hopeful whispers that died away in tears.
poor hannah was the first to recover, and with unconscious wisdom she set all the rest a good example, for with her, work was panacea for most afflictions.
""the lord keep the dear man!
i wo n't waste no time a-cryin", but git your things ready right away, mum," she said heartily, as she wiped her face on her apron, gave her mistress a warm shake of the hand with her own hard one, and went away to work like three women in one.
""she's right, there's no time for tears now.
be calm, girls, and let me think."
they tried to be calm, poor things, as their mother sat up, looking pale but steady, and put away her grief to think and plan for them.
""where's laurie?"
she asked presently, when she had collected her thoughts and decided on the first duties to be done.
""here, ma'am.
oh, let me do something!"
cried the boy, hurrying from the next room whither he had withdrawn, feeling that their first sorrow was too sacred for even his friendly eyes to see.
""send a telegram saying i will come at once.
the next train goes early in the morning.
i'll take that."
""what else?
the horses are ready.
i can go anywhere, do anything," he said, looking ready to fly to the ends of the earth.
""leave a note at aunt march's.
jo, give me that pen and paper."
tearing off the blank side of one of her newly copied pages, jo drew the table before her mother, well knowing that money for the long, sad journey must be borrowed, and feeling as if she could do anything to add a little to the sum for her father.
""now go, dear, but do n't kill yourself driving at a desperate pace.
there is no need of that."
mrs. march's warning was evidently thrown away, for five minutes later laurie tore by the window on his own fleet horse, riding as if for his life.
""jo, run to the rooms, and tell mrs. king that i ca n't come.
on the way get these things.
i'll put them down, they'll be needed and i must go prepared for nursing.
hospital stores are not always good.
beth, go and ask mr. laurence for a couple of bottles of old wine.
i'm not too proud to beg for father.
he shall have the best of everything.
amy, tell hannah to get down the black trunk, and meg, come and help me find my things, for i'm half bewildered."
writing, thinking, and directing all at once might well bewilder the poor lady, and meg begged her to sit quietly in her room for a little while, and let them work.
everyone scattered like leaves before a gust of wind, and the quiet, happy household was broken up as suddenly as if the paper had been an evil spell.
mr. laurence came hurrying back with beth, bringing every comfort the kind old gentleman could think of for the invalid, and friendliest promises of protection for the girls during the mother's absence, which comforted her very much.
there was nothing he did n't offer, from his own dressing gown to himself as escort.
but the last was impossible.
mrs. march would not hear of the old gentleman's undertaking the long journey, yet an expression of relief was visible when he spoke of it, for anxiety ill fits one for traveling.
he saw the look, knit his heavy eyebrows, rubbed his hands, and marched abruptly away, saying he'd be back directly.
no one had time to think of him again till, as meg ran through the entry, with a pair of rubbers in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, she came suddenly upon mr. brooke.
""i'm very sorry to hear of this, miss march," he said, in the kind, quiet tone which sounded very pleasantly to her perturbed spirit.
""i came to offer myself as escort to your mother.
mr. laurence has commissions for me in washington, and it will give me real satisfaction to be of service to her there."
down dropped the rubbers, and the tea was very near following, as meg put out her hand, with a face so full of gratitude that mr. brooke would have felt repaid for a much greater sacrifice than the trifling one of time and comfort which he was about to take.
""how kind you all are!
mother will accept, i'm sure, and it will be such a relief to know that she has someone to take care of her.
thank you very, very much!"
meg spoke earnestly, and forgot herself entirely till something in the brown eyes looking down at her made her remember the cooling tea, and lead the way into the parlor, saying she would call her mother.
everything was arranged by the time laurie returned with a note from aunt march, enclosing the desired sum, and a few lines repeating what she had often said before, that she had always told them it was absurd for march to go into the army, always predicted that no good would come of it, and she hoped they would take her advice the next time.
mrs. march put the note in the fire, the money in her purse, and went on with her preparations, with her lips folded tightly in a way which jo would have understood if she had been there.
the short afternoon wore away.
all other errands were done, and meg and her mother busy at some necessary needlework, while beth and amy got tea, and hannah finished her ironing with what she called a "slap and a bang", but still jo did not come.
they began to get anxious, and laurie went off to find her, for no one knew what freak jo might take into her head.
he missed her, however, and she came walking in with a very queer expression of countenance, for there was a mixture of fun and fear, satisfaction and regret in it, which puzzled the family as much as did the roll of bills she laid before her mother, saying with a little choke in her voice, "that's my contribution toward making father comfortable and bringing him home!"
""my dear, where did you get it?
twenty-five dollars!
jo, i hope you have n't done anything rash?"
""no, it's mine honestly.
i did n't beg, borrow, or steal it.
i earned it, and i do n't think you'll blame me, for i only sold what was my own."
as she spoke, jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for all her abundant hair was cut short.
""your hair!
your beautiful hair!"
""oh, jo, how could you?
your one beauty."
""my dear girl, there was no need of this."
""she does n't look like my jo any more, but i love her dearly for it!"
as everyone exclaimed, and beth hugged the cropped head tenderly, jo assumed an indifferent air, which did not deceive anyone a particle, and said, rumpling up the brown bush and trying to look as if she liked it, "it does n't affect the fate of the nation, so do n't wail, beth.
it will be good for my vanity, i was getting too proud of my wig.
it will do my brains good to have that mop taken off.
my head feels deliciously light and cool, and the barber said i could soon have a curly crop, which will be boyish, becoming, and easy to keep in order.
i'm satisfied, so please take the money and let's have supper."
""tell me all about it, jo.
i am not quite satisfied, but i ca n't blame you, for i know how willingly you sacrificed your vanity, as you call it, to your love.
but, my dear, it was not necessary, and i'm afraid you will regret it one of these days," said mrs. march.
""no, i wo n't!"
returned jo stoutly, feeling much relieved that her prank was not entirely condemned.
""what made you do it?"
asked amy, who would as soon have thought of cutting off her head as her pretty hair.
""well, i was wild to do something for father," replied jo, as they gathered about the table, for healthy young people can eat even in the midst of trouble.
""i hate to borrow as much as mother does, and i knew aunt march would croak, she always does, if you ask for a ninepence.
meg gave all her quarterly salary toward the rent, and i only got some clothes with mine, so i felt wicked, and was bound to have some money, if i sold the nose off my face to get it."
""you need n't feel wicked, my child!
you had no winter things and got the simplest with your own hard earnings," said mrs. march with a look that warmed jo's heart.
""i had n't the least idea of selling my hair at first, but as i went along i kept thinking what i could do, and feeling as if i'd like to dive into some of the rich stores and help myself.
in a barber's window i saw tails of hair with the prices marked, and one black tail, not so thick as mine, was forty dollars.
it came to me all of a sudden that i had one thing to make money out of, and without stopping to think, i walked in, asked if they bought hair, and what they would give for mine."
""i do n't see how you dared to do it," said beth in a tone of awe.
""oh, he was a little man who looked as if he merely lived to oil his hair.
he rather stared at first, as if he was n't used to having girls bounce into his shop and ask him to buy their hair.
he said he did n't care about mine, it was n't the fashionable color, and he never paid much for it in the first place.
the work put into it made it dear, and so on.
it was getting late, and i was afraid if it was n't done right away that i should n't have it done at all, and you know when i start to do a thing, i hate to give it up.
so i begged him to take it, and told him why i was in such a hurry.
it was silly, i dare say, but it changed his mind, for i got rather excited, and told the story in my topsy-turvy way, and his wife heard, and said so kindly, "take it, thomas, and oblige the young lady.
i'd do as much for our jimmy any day if i had a spire of hair worth selling."
""who was jimmy?"
asked amy, who liked to have things explained as they went along.
""her son, she said, who was in the army.
how friendly such things make strangers feel, do n't they?
she talked away all the time the man clipped, and diverted my mind nicely."
""did n't you feel dreadfully when the first cut came?"
asked meg, with a shiver.
""i took a last look at my hair while the man got his things, and that was the end of it.
i never snivel over trifles like that.
i will confess, though, i felt queer when i saw the dear old hair laid out on the table, and felt only the short rough ends of my head.
it almost seemed as if i'd an arm or leg off.
the woman saw me look at it, and picked out a long lock for me to keep.
i'll give it to you, marmee, just to remember past glories by, for a crop is so comfortable i do n't think i shall ever have a mane again."
mrs. march folded the wavy chestnut lock, and laid it away with a short gray one in her desk.
she only said, "thank you, deary," but something in her face made the girls change the subject, and talk as cheerfully as they could about mr. brooke's kindness, the prospect of a fine day tomorrow, and the happy times they would have when father came home to be nursed.
no one wanted to go to bed when at ten o'clock mrs. march put by the last finished job, and said, "come girls."
beth went to the piano and played the father's favorite hymn.
all began bravely, but broke down one by one till beth was left alone, singing with all her heart, for to her music was always a sweet consoler.
""go to bed and do n't talk, for we must be up early and shall need all the sleep we can get.
good night, my darlings," said mrs. march, as the hymn ended, for no one cared to try another.
they kissed her quietly, and went to bed as silently as if the dear invalid lay in the next room.
beth and amy soon fell asleep in spite of the great trouble, but meg lay awake, thinking the most serious thoughts she had ever known in her short life.
jo lay motionless, and her sister fancied that she was asleep, till a stifled sob made her exclaim, as she touched a wet cheek... "jo, dear, what is it?
are you crying about father?"
""no, not now."
""what then?"
""my... my hair!"
burst out poor jo, trying vainly to smother her emotion in the pillow.
it did not seem at all comical to meg, who kissed and caressed the afflicted heroine in the tenderest manner.
""i'm not sorry," protested jo, with a choke.
""i'd do it again tomorrow, if i could.
it's only the vain part of me that goes and cries in this silly way.
do n't tell anyone, it's all over now.
i thought you were asleep, so i just made a little private moan for my one beauty.
how came you to be awake?"
""i ca n't sleep, i'm so anxious," said meg.
""think about something pleasant, and you'll soon drop off."
""i tried it, but felt wider awake than ever."
""what did you think of?"
""handsome faces -- eyes particularly," answered meg, smiling to herself in the dark.
""what color do you like best?"
""brown, that is, sometimes.
blue are lovely."
jo laughed, and meg sharply ordered her not to talk, then amiably promised to make her hair curl, and fell asleep to dream of living in her castle in the air.
the clocks were striking midnight and the rooms were very still as a figure glided quietly from bed to bed, smoothing a coverlet here, settling a pillow there, and pausing to look long and tenderly at each unconscious face, to kiss each with lips that mutely blessed, and to pray the fervent prayers which only mothers utter.
as she lifted the curtain to look out into the dreary night, the moon broke suddenly from behind the clouds and shone upon her like a bright, benignant face, which seemed to whisper in the silence, "be comforted, dear soul!
there is always light behind the clouds."
chapter sixteen letters in the cold gray dawn the sisters lit their lamp and read their chapter with an earnestness never felt before.
for now the shadow of a real trouble had come, the little books were full of help and comfort, and as they dressed, they agreed to say goodbye cheerfully and hopefully, and send their mother on her anxious journey unsaddened by tears or complaints from them.
everything seemed very strange when they went down, so dim and still outside, so full of light and bustle within.
breakfast at that early hour seemed odd, and even hannah's familiar face looked unnatural as she flew about her kitchen with her nightcap on.
the big trunk stood ready in the hall, mother's cloak and bonnet lay on the sofa, and mother herself sat trying to eat, but looking so pale and worn with sleeplessness and anxiety that the girls found it very hard to keep their resolution.
meg's eyes kept filling in spite of herself, jo was obliged to hide her face in the kitchen roller more than once, and the little girls wore a grave, troubled expression, as if sorrow was a new experience to them.
nobody talked much, but as the time drew very near and they sat waiting for the carriage, mrs. march said to the girls, who were all busied about her, one folding her shawl, another smoothing out the strings of her bonnet, a third putting on her overshoes, and a fourth fastening up her travelling bag... "children, i leave you to hannah's care and mr. laurence's protection.
hannah is faithfulness itself, and our good neighbor will guard you as if you were his own.
i have no fears for you, yet i am anxious that you should take this trouble rightly.
do n't grieve and fret when i am gone, or think that you can be idle and comfort yourselves by being idle and trying to forget.
go on with your work as usual, for work is a blessed solace.
hope and keep busy, and whatever happens, remember that you never can be fatherless."
""yes, mother."
""meg, dear, be prudent, watch over your sisters, consult hannah, and in any perplexity, go to mr. laurence.
be patient, jo, do n't get despondent or do rash things, write to me often, and be my brave girl, ready to help and cheer all.
beth, comfort yourself with your music, and be faithful to the little home duties, and you, amy, help all you can, be obedient, and keep happy safe at home."
""we will, mother!
we will!"
the rattle of an approaching carriage made them all start and listen.
that was the hard minute, but the girls stood it well.
no one cried, no one ran away or uttered a lamentation, though their hearts were very heavy as they sent loving messages to father, remembering, as they spoke that it might be too late to deliver them.
they kissed their mother quietly, clung about her tenderly, and tried to wave their hands cheerfully when she drove away.
laurie and his grandfather came over to see her off, and mr. brooke looked so strong and sensible and kind that the girls christened him "mr. greatheart" on the spot.
""good-by, my darlings!
god bless and keep us all!"
whispered mrs. march, as she kissed one dear little face after the other, and hurried into the carriage.
as she rolled away, the sun came out, and looking back, she saw it shining on the group at the gate like a good omen.
they saw it also, and smiled and waved their hands, and the last thing she beheld as she turned the corner was the four bright faces, and behind them like a bodyguard, old mr. laurence, faithful hannah, and devoted laurie.
""how kind everyone is to us!"
she said, turning to find fresh proof of it in the respectful sympathy of the young man's face.
""i do n't see how they can help it," returned mr. brooke, laughing so infectiously that mrs. march could not help smiling.
and so the journey began with the good omens of sunshine, smiles, and cheerful words.
""i feel as if there had been an earthquake," said jo, as their neighbors went home to breakfast, leaving them to rest and refresh themselves.
""it seems as if half the house was gone," added meg forlornly.
beth opened her lips to say something, but could only point to the pile of nicely mended hose which lay on mother's table, showing that even in her last hurried moments she had thought and worked for them.
it was a little thing, but it went straight to their hearts, and in spite of their brave resolutions, they all broke down and cried bitterly.
hannah wisely allowed them to relieve their feelings, and when the shower showed signs of clearing up, she came to the rescue, armed with a coffeepot.
""now, my dear young ladies, remember what your ma said, and do n't fret.
come and have a cup of coffee all round, and then let's fall to work and be a credit to the family."
coffee was a treat, and hannah showed great tact in making it that morning.
no one could resist her persuasive nods, or the fragrant invitation issuing from the nose of the coffee pot.
they drew up to the table, exchanged their handkerchiefs for napkins, and in ten minutes were all right again."
"hope and keep busy", that's the motto for us, so let's see who will remember it best.
i shall go to aunt march, as usual.
oh, wo n't she lecture though!"
said jo, as she sipped with returning spirit.
""i shall go to my kings, though i'd much rather stay at home and attend to things here," said meg, wishing she had n't made her eyes so red.
""no need of that.
beth and i can keep house perfectly well," put in amy, with an important air.
""hannah will tell us what to do, and we'll have everything nice when you come home," added beth, getting out her mop and dish tub without delay.
""i think anxiety is very interesting," observed amy, eating sugar pensively.
the girls could n't help laughing, and felt better for it, though meg shook her head at the young lady who could find consolation in a sugar bowl.
the sight of the turnovers made jo sober again; and when the two went out to their daily tasks, they looked sorrowfully back at the window where they were accustomed to see their mother's face.
it was gone, but beth had remembered the little household ceremony, and there she was, nodding away at them like a rosyfaced mandarin.
""that's so like my beth!"
said jo, waving her hat, with a grateful face.
""goodbye, meggy, i hope the kings wo n't strain today.
do n't fret about father, dear," she added, as they parted.
""and i hope aunt march wo n't croak.
your hair is becoming, and it looks very boyish and nice," returned meg, trying not to smile at the curly head, which looked comically small on her tall sister's shoulders.
""that's my only comfort."
and, touching her hat a la laurie, away went jo, feeling like a shorn sheep on a wintry day.
news from their father comforted the girls very much, for though dangerously ill, the presence of the best and tenderest of nurses had already done him good.
mr. brooke sent a bulletin every day, and as the head of the family, meg insisted on reading the dispatches, which grew more cheerful as the week passed.
at first, everyone was eager to write, and plump envelopes were carefully poked into the letter box by one or other of the sisters, who felt rather important with their washington correspondence.
as one of these packets contained characteristic notes from the party, we will rob an imaginary mail, and read them.
my dearest mother: it is impossible to tell you how happy your last letter made us, for the news was so good we could n't help laughing and crying over it.
how very kind mr. brooke is, and how fortunate that mr. laurence's business detains him near you so long, since he is so useful to you and father.
the girls are all as good as gold.
jo helps me with the sewing, and insists on doing all sorts of hard jobs.
i should be afraid she might overdo, if i did n't know her "moral fit" would n't last long.
beth is as regular about her tasks as a clock, and never forgets what you told her.
she grieves about father, and looks sober except when she is at her little piano.
amy minds me nicely, and i take great care of her.
she does her own hair, and i am teaching her to make buttonholes and mend her stockings.
she tries very hard, and i know you will be pleased with her improvement when you come.
mr. laurence watches over us like a motherly old hen, as jo says, and laurie is very kind and neighborly.
he and jo keep us merry, for we get pretty blue sometimes, and feel like orphans, with you so far away.
hannah is a perfect saint.
she does not scold at all, and always calls me miss margaret, which is quite proper, you know, and treats me with respect.
we are all well and busy, but we long, day and night, to have you back.
give my dearest love to father, and believe me, ever your own... meg this note, prettily written on scented paper, was a great contrast to the next, which was scribbled on a big sheet of thin foreign paper, ornamented with blots and all manner of flourishes and curly-tailed letters.
my precious marmee: three cheers for dear father!
brooke was a trump to telegraph right off, and let us know the minute he was better.
i rushed up garret when the letter came, and tried to thank god for being so good to us, but i could only cry, and say, "i'm glad!
i'm glad!"
did n't that do as well as a regular prayer?
for i felt a great many in my heart.
we have such funny times, and now i can enjoy them, for everyone is so desperately good, it's like living in a nest of turtledoves.
you'd laugh to see meg head the table and try to be motherish.
she gets prettier every day, and i'm in love with her sometimes.
the children are regular archangels, and i -- well, i'm jo, and never shall be anything else.
oh, i must tell you that i came near having a quarrel with laurie.
i freed my mind about a silly little thing, and he was offended.
i was right, but did n't speak as i ought, and he marched home, saying he would n't come again till i begged pardon.
i declared i would n't and got mad.
it lasted all day.
i felt bad and wanted you very much.
laurie and i are both so proud, it's hard to beg pardon.
but i thought he'd come to it, for i was in the right.
he did n't come, and just at night i remembered what you said when amy fell into the river.
i read my little book, felt better, resolved not to let the sun set on my anger, and ran over to tell laurie i was sorry.
i met him at the gate, coming for the same thing.
we both laughed, begged each other's pardon, and felt all good and comfortable again.
i made a "pome" yesterday, when i was helping hannah wash, and as father likes my silly little things, i put it in to amuse him.
give him my lovingest hug that ever was, and kiss yourself a dozen times for your... topsy-turvy jo a song from the suds queen of my tub, i merrily sing, while the white foam rises high, and sturdily wash and rinse and wring, and fasten the clothes to dry.
then out in the free fresh air they swing, under the sunny sky.
i wish we could wash from our hearts and souls the stains of the week away, and let water and air by their magic make ourselves as pure as they.
then on the earth there would be indeed, a glorious washing day!
along the path of a useful life, will heart's - ease ever bloom.
the busy mind has no time to think of sorrow or care or gloom.
and anxious thoughts may be swept away, as we bravely wield a broom.
i am glad a task to me is given, to labor at day by day, for it brings me health and strength and hope, and i cheerfully learn to say, "head, you may think, heart, you may feel, but, hand, you shall work alway!"
dear mother, there is only room for me to send my love, and some pressed pansies from the root i have been keeping safe in the house for father to see.
i read every morning, try to be good all day, and sing myself to sleep with father's tune.
i ca n't sing "land of the leal" now, it makes me cry.
everyone is very kind, and we are as happy as we can be without you.
amy wants the rest of the page, so i must stop.
i did n't forget to cover the holders, and i wind the clock and air the rooms every day.
kiss dear father on the cheek he calls mine.
oh, do come soon to your loving... little beth ma chere mamma, we are all well i do my lessons always and never corroberate the girls -- meg says i mean contradick so i put in both words and you can take the properest.
meg is a great comfort to me and lets me have jelly every night at tea its so good for me jo says because it keeps me sweet tempered.
laurie is not as respeckful as he ought to be now i am almost in my teens, he calls me chick and hurts my feelings by talking french to me very fast when i say merci or bon jour as hattie king does.
the sleeves of my blue dress were all worn out, and meg put in new ones, but the full front came wrong and they are more blue than the dress.
i felt bad but did not fret i bear my troubles well but i do wish hannah would put more starch in my aprons and have buckwheats every day.
ca n't she?
did n't i make that interrigation point nice?
meg says my punchtuation and spelling are disgraceful and i am mortyfied but dear me i have so many things to do, i ca n't stop.
adieu, i send heaps of love to papa.
your affectionate daughter... amy curtis march dear mis march, i jes drop a line to say we git on fust rate.
the girls is clever and fly round right smart.
miss meg is going to make a proper good housekeeper.
she hes the liking for it, and gits the hang of things surprisin quick.
jo doos beat all for goin ahead, but she do n't stop to cal "k "late fust, and you never know where she's like to bring up.
she done out a tub of clothes on monday, but she starched'em afore they was wrenched, and blued a pink calico dress till i thought i should a died a laughin.
beth is the best of little creeters, and a sight of help to me, bein so forehanded and dependable.
she tries to learn everything, and really goes to market beyond her years, likewise keeps accounts, with my help, quite wonderful.
we have got on very economical so fur.
i do n't let the girls hev coffee only once a week, accordin to your wish, and keep em on plain wholesome vittles.
amy does well without frettin, wearin her best clothes and eatin sweet stuff.
mr. laurie is as full of didoes as usual, and turns the house upside down frequent, but he heartens the girls, so i let em hev full swing.
the old gentleman sends heaps of things, and is rather wearin, but means wal, and it aint my place to say nothin.
my bread is riz, so no more at this time.
i send my duty to mr. march, and hope he's seen the last of his pewmonia.
yours respectful, hannah mullet head nurse of ward no. 2, all serene on the rappahannock, troops in fine condition, commisary department well conducted, the home guard under colonel teddy always on duty, commander in chief general laurence reviews the army daily, quartermaster mullet keeps order in camp, and major lion does picket duty at night.
a salute of twenty-four guns was fired on receipt of good news from washington, and a dress parade took place at headquarters.
commander in chief sends best wishes, in which he is heartily joined by... colonel teddy dear madam: the little girls are all well.
beth and my boy report daily.
hannah is a model servant, and guards pretty meg like a dragon.
glad the fine weather holds.
pray make brooke useful, and draw on me for funds if expenses exceed your estimate.
do n't let your husband want anything.
thank god he is mending.
your sincere friend and servant, james laurence chapter seventeen little faithful for a week the amount of virtue in the old house would have supplied the neighborhood.
it was really amazing, for everyone seemed in a heavenly frame of mind, and self-denial was all the fashion.
relieved of their first anxiety about their father, the girls insensibly relaxed their praiseworthy efforts a little, and began to fall back into old ways.
they did not forget their motto, but hoping and keeping busy seemed to grow easier, and after such tremendous exertions, they felt that endeavor deserved a holiday, and gave it a good many.
jo caught a bad cold through neglect to cover the shorn head enough, and was ordered to stay at home till she was better, for aunt march did n't like to hear people read with colds in their heads.
jo liked this, and after an energetic rummage from garret to cellar, subsided on the sofa to nurse her cold with arsenicum and books.
amy found that housework and art did not go well together, and returned to her mud pies.
meg went daily to her pupils, and sewed, or thought she did, at home, but much time was spent in writing long letters to her mother, or reading the washington dispatches over and over.
beth kept on, with only slight relapses into idleness or grieving.
all the little duties were faithfully done each day, and many of her sisters" also, for they were forgetful, and the house seemed like a clock whose pendulum was gone a-visiting.
when her heart got heavy with longings for mother or fears for father, she went away into a certain closet, hid her face in the folds of a dear old gown, and made her little moan and prayed her little prayer quietly by herself.
nobody knew what cheered her up after a sober fit, but everyone felt how sweet and helpful beth was, and fell into a way of going to her for comfort or advice in their small affairs.
all were unconscious that this experience was a test of character, and when the first excitement was over, felt that they had done well and deserved praise.
so they did, but their mistake was in ceasing to do well, and they learned this lesson through much anxiety and regret.
""meg, i wish you'd go and see the hummels.
you know mother told us not to forget them."
said beth, ten days after mrs. march's departure.
""i'm too tired to go this afternoon," replied meg, rocking comfortably as she sewed.
""ca n't you, jo?"
asked beth.
""too stormy for me with my cold."
""i thought it was almost well."
""it's well enough for me to go out with laurie, but not well enough to go to the hummels"," said jo, laughing, but looking a little ashamed of her inconsistency.
""why do n't you go yourself?"
asked meg.
""i have been every day, but the baby is sick, and i do n't know what to do for it.
mrs. hummel goes away to work, and lottchen takes care of it.
but it gets sicker and sicker, and i think you or hannah ought to go."
beth spoke earnestly, and meg promised she would go tomorrow.
""ask hannah for some nice little mess, and take it round, beth, the air will do you good," said jo, adding apologetically, "i'd go but i want to finish my writing."
""my head aches and i'm tired, so i thought maybe some of you would go," said beth.
""amy will be in presently, and she will run down for us," suggested meg.
so beth lay down on the sofa, the others returned to their work, and the hummels were forgotten.
an hour passed.
amy did not come, meg went to her room to try on a new dress, jo was absorbed in her story, and hannah was sound asleep before the kitchen fire, when beth quietly put on her hood, filled her basket with odds and ends for the poor children, and went out into the chilly air with a heavy head and a grieved look in her patient eyes.
it was late when she came back, and no one saw her creep upstairs and shut herself into her mother's room.
half an hour after, jo went to "mother's closet" for something, and there found little beth sitting on the medicine chest, looking very grave, with red eyes and a camphor bottle in her hand.
""christopher columbus!
what's the matter?"
cried jo, as beth put out her hand as if to warn her off, and asked quickly... "you've had the scarlet fever, have n't you?"
""years ago, when meg did.
why?"
""then i'll tell you.
oh, jo, the baby's dead!"
""what baby?"
""mrs. hummel's.
it died in my lap before she got home," cried beth with a sob.
""my poor dear, how dreadful for you!
i ought to have gone," said jo, taking her sister in her arms as she sat down in her mother's big chair, with a remorseful face.
""it was n't dreadful, jo, only so sad!
i saw in a minute it was sicker, but lottchen said her mother had gone for a doctor, so i took baby and let lotty rest.
it seemed asleep, but all of a sudden if gave a little cry and trembled, and then lay very still.
i tried to warm its feet, and lotty gave it some milk, but it did n't stir, and i knew it was dead."
""do n't cry, dear!
what did you do?"
""i just sat and held it softly till mrs. hummel came with the doctor.
he said it was dead, and looked at heinrich and minna, who have sore throats.
"scarlet fever, ma'am.
ought to have called me before," he said crossly.
mrs. hummel told him she was poor, and had tried to cure baby herself, but now it was too late, and she could only ask him to help the others and trust to charity for his pay.
he smiled then, and was kinder, but it was very sad, and i cried with them till he turned round all of a sudden, and told me to go home and take belladonna right away, or i'd have the fever."
""no, you wo n't!"
cried jo, hugging her close, with a frightened look.
""oh, beth, if you should be sick i never could forgive myself!
what shall we do?"
""do n't be frightened, i guess i sha n't have it badly.
i looked in mother's book, and saw that it begins with headache, sore throat, and queer feelings like mine, so i did take some belladonna, and i feel better," said beth, laying her cold hands on her hot forehead and trying to look well.
""if mother was only at home!"
exclaimed jo, seizing the book, and feeling that washington was an immense way off.
she read a page, looked at beth, felt her head, peeped into her throat, and then said gravely, "you've been over the baby every day for more than a week, and among the others who are going to have it, so i'm afraid you are going to have it, beth.
i'll call hannah, she knows all about sickness."
""do n't let amy come.
she never had it, and i should hate to give it to her.
ca n't you and meg have it over again?"
asked beth, anxiously.
""i guess not.
do n't care if i do.
serve me right, selfish pig, to let you go, and stay writing rubbish myself!"
muttered jo, as she went to consult hannah.
the good soul was wide awake in a minute, and took the lead at once, assuring that there was no need to worry; every one had scarlet fever, and if rightly treated, nobody died, all of which jo believed, and felt much relieved as they went up to call meg.
""now i'll tell you what we'll do," said hannah, when she had examined and questioned beth, "we will have dr. bangs, just to take a look at you, dear, and see that we start right.
then we'll send amy off to aunt march's for a spell, to keep her out of harm's way, and one of you girls can stay at home and amuse beth for a day or two."
""i shall stay, of course, i'm oldest," began meg, looking anxious and self-reproachful.
""i shall, because it's my fault she is sick.
i told mother i'd do the errands, and i have n't," said jo decidedly.
""which will you have, beth?
there ai n't no need of but one," aid hannah.
""jo, please."
and beth leaned her head against her sister with a contented look, which effectually settled that point.
""i'll go and tell amy," said meg, feeling a little hurt, yet rather relieved on the whole, for she did not like nursing, and jo did.
amy rebelled outright, and passionately declared that she had rather have the fever than go to aunt march.
meg reasoned, pleaded, and commanded, all in vain.
amy protested that she would not go, and meg left her in despair to ask hannah what should be done.
before she came back, laurie walked into the parlor to find amy sobbing, with her head in the sofa cushions.
she told her story, expecting to be consoled, but laurie only put his hands in his pockets and walked about the room, whistling softly, as he knit his brows in deep thought.
presently he sat down beside her, and said, in his most wheedlesome tone, "now be a sensible little woman, and do as they say.
no, do n't cry, but hear what a jolly plan i've got.
you go to aunt march's, and i'll come and take you out every day, driving or walking, and we'll have capital times.
wo n't that be better than moping here?"
""i do n't wish to be sent off as if i was in the way," began amy, in an injured voice.
""bless your heart, child, it's to keep you well.
you do n't want to be sick, do you?"
""no, i'm sure i do n't, but i dare say i shall be, for i've been with beth all the time."
""that's the very reason you ought to go away at once, so that you may escape it.
change of air and care will keep you well, i dare say, or if it does not entirely, you will have the fever more lightly.
i advise you to be off as soon as you can, for scarlet fever is no joke, miss."
""but it's dull at aunt march's, and she is so cross," said amy, looking rather frightened.
""it wo n't be dull with me popping in every day to tell you how beth is, and take you out gallivanting.
the old lady likes me, and i'll be as sweet as possible to her, so she wo n't peck at us, whatever we do."
""will you take me out in the trotting wagon with puck?"
""on my honor as a gentleman."
""and come every single day?"
""see if i do n't!"
""and bring me back the minute beth is well?"
""the identical minute."
""and go to the theater, truly?"
""a dozen theaters, if we may."
""well -- i guess i will," said amy slowly.
""good girl!
call meg, and tell her you'll give in," said laurie, with an approving pat, which annoyed amy more than the "giving in".
meg and jo came running down to behold the miracle which had been wrought, and amy, feeling very precious and self-sacrificing, promised to go, if the doctor said beth was going to be ill.
""how is the little dear?"
asked laurie, for beth was his especial pet, and he felt more anxious about her than he liked to show.
""she is lying down on mother's bed, and feels better.
the baby's death troubled her, but i dare say she has only got cold.
hannah says she thinks so, but she looks worried, and that makes me fidgety," answered meg.
""what a trying world it is!"
said jo, rumpling up her hair in a fretful way.
""no sooner do we get out of one trouble than down comes another.
there does n't seem to be anything to hold on to when mother's gone, so i'm all at sea."
""well, do n't make a porcupine of yourself, it is n't becoming.
settle your wig, jo, and tell me if i shall telegraph to your mother, or do anything?"
asked laurie, who never had been reconciled to the loss of his friend's one beauty.
""that is what troubles me," said meg.
""i think we ought to tell her if beth is really ill, but hannah says we must n't, for mother ca n't leave father, and it will only make them anxious.
beth wo n't be sick long, and hannah knows just what to do, and mother said we were to mind her, so i suppose we must, but it does n't seem quite right to me."
""hum, well, i ca n't say.
suppose you ask grandfather after the doctor has been."
""we will.
jo, go and get dr. bangs at once," commanded meg.
""we ca n't decide anything till he has been."
""stay where you are, jo.
i'm errand boy to this establishment," said laurie, taking up his cap.
""i'm afraid you are busy," began meg.
""no, i've done my lessons for the day."
""do you study in vacation time?"
asked jo.
""i follow the good example my neighbors set me," was laurie's answer, as he swung himself out of the room.
""i have great hopes for my boy," observed jo, watching him fly over the fence with an approving smile.
""he does very well, for a boy," was meg's somewhat ungracious answer, for the subject did not interest her.
dr. bangs came, said beth had symptoms of the fever, but he thought she would have it lightly, though he looked sober over the hummel story.
amy was ordered off at once, and provided with something to ward off danger, she departed in great state, with jo and laurie as escort.
aunt march received them with her usual hospitality.
""what do you want now?"
she asked, looking sharply over her spectacles, while the parrot, sitting on the back of her chair, called out... "go away.
no boys allowed here."
laurie retired to the window, and jo told her story.
""no more than i expected, if you are allowed to go poking about among poor folks.
amy can stay and make herself useful if she is n't sick, which i've no doubt she will be, looks like it now.
do n't cry, child, it worries me to hear people sniff."
amy was on the point of crying, but laurie slyly pulled the parrot's tail, which caused polly to utter an astonished croak and call out, "bless my boots!"
in such a funny way, that she laughed instead.
""what do you hear from your mother?"
asked the old lady gruffly.
""father is much better," replied jo, trying to keep sober.
""oh, is he?
well, that wo n't last long, i fancy.
march never had any stamina," was the cheerful reply.
""ha, ha!
never say die, take a pinch of snuff, goodbye, goodbye!"
squalled polly, dancing on her perch, and clawing at the old lady's cap as laurie tweaked him in the rear.
""hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird!
and, jo, you'd better go at once.
it is n't proper to be gadding about so late with a rattlepated boy like..." "hold your tongue, you disrespectful old bird!"
cried polly, tumbling off the chair with a bounce, and running to peck the "rattlepated" boy, who was shaking with laughter at the last speech.
""i do n't think i can bear it, but i'll try," thought amy, as she was left alone with aunt march.
""get along, you fright!"
screamed polly, and at that rude speech amy could not restrain a sniff.
chapter eighteen dark days beth did have the fever, and was much sicker than anyone but hannah and the doctor suspected.
the girls knew nothing about illness, and mr. laurence was not allowed to see her, so hannah had everything her own way, and busy dr. bangs did his best, but left a good deal to the excellent nurse.
meg stayed at home, lest she should infect the kings, and kept house, feeling very anxious and a little guilty when she wrote letters in which no mention was made of beth's illness.
she could not think it right to deceive her mother, but she had been bidden to mind hannah, and hannah would n't hear of "mrs. march bein" told, and worried just for sech a trifle."
jo devoted herself to beth day and night, not a hard task, for beth was very patient, and bore her pain uncomplainingly as long as she could control herself.
but there came a time when during the fever fits she began to talk in a hoarse, broken voice, to play on the coverlet as if on her beloved little piano, and try to sing with a throat so swollen that there was no music left, a time when she did not know the familiar faces around her, but addressed them by wrong names, and called imploringly for her mother.
then jo grew frightened, meg begged to be allowed to write the truth, and even hannah said she "would think of it, though there was no danger yet".
a letter from washington added to their trouble, for mr. march had had a relapse, and could not think of coming home for a long while.
how dark the days seemed now, how sad and lonely the house, and how heavy were the hearts of the sisters as they worked and waited, while the shadow of death hovered over the once happy home.
then it was that margaret, sitting alone with tears dropping often on her work, felt how rich she had been in things more precious than any luxuries money could buy -- in love, protection, peace, and health, the real blessings of life.
then it was that jo, living in the darkened room, with that suffering little sister always before her eyes and that pathetic voice sounding in her ears, learned to see the beauty and the sweetness of beth's nature, to feel how deep and tender a place she filled in all hearts, and to acknowledge the worth of beth's unselfish ambition to live for others, and make home happy by that exercise of those simple virtues which all may possess, and which all should love and value more than talent, wealth, or beauty.
and amy, in her exile, longed eagerly to be at home, that she might work for beth, feeling now that no service would be hard or irksome, and remembering, with regretful grief, how many neglected tasks those willing hands had done for her.
laurie haunted the house like a restless ghost, and mr. laurence locked the grand piano, because he could not bear to be reminded of the young neighbor who used to make the twilight pleasant for him.
everyone missed beth.
the milkman, baker, grocer, and butcher inquired how she did, poor mrs. hummel came to beg pardon for her thoughtlessness and to get a shroud for minna, the neighbors sent all sorts of comforts and good wishes, and even those who knew her best were surprised to find how many friends shy little beth had made.
meanwhile she lay on her bed with old joanna at her side, for even in her wanderings she did not forget her forlorn protege.
she longed for her cats, but would not have them brought, lest they should get sick, and in her quiet hours she was full of anxiety about jo.
she sent loving messages to amy, bade them tell her mother that she would write soon, and often begged for pencil and paper to try to say a word, that father might not think she had neglected him.
but soon even these intervals of consciousness ended, and she lay hour after hour, tossing to and fro, with incoherent words on her lips, or sank into a heavy sleep which brought her no refreshment.
dr. bangs came twice a day, hannah sat up at night, meg kept a telegram in her desk all ready to send off at any minute, and jo never stirred from beth's side.
the first of december was a wintry day indeed to them, for a bitter wind blew, snow fell fast, and the year seemed getting ready for its death.
when dr. bangs came that morning, he looked long at beth, held the hot hand in both his own for a minute, and laid it gently down, saying, in a low voice to hannah, "if mrs. march can leave her husband she'd better be sent for."
hannah nodded without speaking, for her lips twitched nervously, meg dropped down into a chair as the strength seemed to go out of her limbs at the sound of those words, and jo, standing with a pale face for a minute, ran to the parlor, snatched up the telegram, and throwing on her things, rushed out into the storm.
she was soon back, and while noiselessly taking off her cloak, laurie came in with a letter, saying that mr. march was mending again.
jo read it thankfully, but the heavy weight did not seem lifted off her heart, and her face was so full of misery that laurie asked quickly, "what is it?
is beth worse?"
""i've sent for mother," said jo, tugging at her rubber boots with a tragic expression.
""good for you, jo!
did you do it on your own responsibility?"
asked laurie, as he seated her in the hall chair and took off the rebellious boots, seeing how her hands shook.
""no.
the doctor told us to."
""oh, jo, it's not so bad as that?"
cried laurie, with a startled face.
""yes, it is.
she does n't know us, she does n't even talk about the flocks of green doves, as she calls the vine leaves on the wall.
she does n't look like my beth, and there's nobody to help us bear it.
mother and father both gone, and god seems so far away i ca n't find him."
as the tears streamed fast down poor jo's cheeks, she stretched out her hand in a helpless sort of way, as if groping in the dark, and laurie took it in his, whispering as well as he could with a lump in his throat, "i'm here.
hold on to me, jo, dear!"
she could not speak, but she did "hold on", and the warm grasp of the friendly human hand comforted her sore heart, and seemed to lead her nearer to the divine arm which alone could uphold her in her trouble.
laurie longed to say something tender and comfortable, but no fitting words came to him, so he stood silent, gently stroking her bent head as her mother used to do.
it was the best thing he could have done, far more soothing than the most eloquent words, for jo felt the unspoken sympathy, and in the silence learned the sweet solace which affection administers to sorrow.
soon she dried the tears which had relieved her, and looked up with a grateful face.
""thank you, teddy, i'm better now.
i do n't feel so forlorn, and will try to bear it if it comes."
""keep hoping for the best, that will help you, jo.
soon your mother will be here, and then everything will be all right."
""i'm so glad father is better.
now she wo n't feel so bad about leaving him.
oh, me!
it does seem as if all the troubles came in a heap, and i got the heaviest part on my shoulders," sighed jo, spreading her wet handkerchief over her knees to dry.
""does n't meg pull fair?"
asked laurie, looking indignant.
""oh, yes, she tries to, but she ca n't love bethy as i do, and she wo n't miss her as i shall.
beth is my conscience, and i ca n't give her up.
i ca n't!
i ca n't!"
down went jo's face into the wet handkerchief, and she cried despairingly, for she had kept up bravely till now and never shed a tear.
laurie drew his hand across his eyes, but could not speak till he had subdued the choky feeling in his throat and steadied his lips.
it might be unmanly, but he could n't help it, and i am glad of it.
presently, as jo's sobs quieted, he said hopefully, "i do n't think she will die.
she's so good, and we all love her so much, i do n't believe god will take her away yet."
""the good and dear people always do die," groaned jo, but she stopped crying, for her friend's words cheered her up in spite of her own doubts and fears.
""poor girl, you're worn out.
it is n't like you to be forlorn.
stop a bit.
i'll hearten you up in a jiffy."
laurie went off two stairs at a time, and jo laid her wearied head down on beth's little brown hood, which no one had thought of moving from the table where she left it.
it must have possessed some magic, for the submissive spirit of its gentle owner seemed to enter into jo, and when laurie came running down with a glass of wine, she took it with a smile, and said bravely, "i drink -- health to my beth!
you are a good doctor, teddy, and such a comfortable friend.
how can i ever pay you?"
she added, as the wine refreshed her body, as the kind words had done her troubled mind.
""i'll send my bill, by-and-by, and tonight i'll give you something that will warm the cockles of your heart better than quarts of wine," said laurie, beaming at her with a face of suppressed satisfaction at something.
""what is it?"
cried jo, forgetting her woes for a minute in her wonder.
""i telegraphed to your mother yesterday, and brooke answered she'd come at once, and she'll be here tonight, and everything will be all right.
are n't you glad i did it?"
laurie spoke very fast, and turned red and excited all in a minute, for he had kept his plot a secret, for fear of disappointing the girls or harming beth.
jo grew quite white, flew out of her chair, and the moment he stopped speaking she electrified him by throwing her arms round his neck, and crying out, with a joyful cry, "oh, laurie!
oh, mother!
i am so glad!"
she did not weep again, but laughed hysterically, and trembled and clung to her friend as if she was a little bewildered by the sudden news.
laurie, though decidedly amazed, behaved with great presence of mind.
he patted her back soothingly, and finding that she was recovering, followed it up by a bashful kiss or two, which brought jo round at once.
holding on to the banisters, she put him gently away, saying breathlessly, "oh, do n't!
i did n't mean to, it was dreadful of me, but you were such a dear to go and do it in spite of hannah that i could n't help flying at you.
tell me all about it, and do n't give me wine again, it makes me act so."
""i do n't mind," laughed laurie, as he settled his tie.
""why, you see i got fidgety, and so did grandpa.
we thought hannah was overdoing the authority business, and your mother ought to know.
she'd never forgive us if beth... well, if anything happened, you know.
so i got grandpa to say it was high time we did something, and off i pelted to the office yesterday, for the doctor looked sober, and hannah most took my head off when i proposed a telegram.
i never can bear to be "lorded over", so that settled my mind, and i did it.
your mother will come, i know, and the late train is in at two a.m. i shall go for her, and you've only got to bottle up your rapture, and keep beth quiet till that blessed lady gets here."
""laurie, you're an angel!
how shall i ever thank you?"
""fly at me again.
i rather liked it," said laurie, looking mischievous, a thing he had not done for a fortnight.
""no, thank you.
i'll do it by proxy, when your grandpa comes.
do n't tease, but go home and rest, for you'll be up half the night.
bless you, teddy, bless you!"
jo had backed into a corner, and as she finished her speech, she vanished precipitately into the kitchen, where she sat down upon a dresser and told the assembled cats that she was "happy, oh, so happy!"
while laurie departed, feeling that he had made a rather neat thing of it.
""that's the interferingest chap i ever see, but i forgive him and do hope mrs. march is coming right away," said hannah, with an air of relief, when jo told the good news.
meg had a quiet rapture, and then brooded over the letter, while jo set the sickroom in order, and hannah "knocked up a couple of pies in case of company unexpected".
a breath of fresh air seemed to blow through the house, and something better than sunshine brightened the quiet rooms.
everything appeared to feel the hopeful change.
beth's bird began to chirp again, and a half-blown rose was discovered on amy's bush in the window.
the fires seemed to burn with unusual cheeriness, and every time the girls met, their pale faces broke into smiles as they hugged one another, whispering encouragingly, "mother's coming, dear!
mother's coming!"
every one rejoiced but beth.
she lay in that heavy stupor, alike unconscious of hope and joy, doubt and danger.
it was a piteous sight, the once rosy face so changed and vacant, the once busy hands so weak and wasted, the once smiling lips quite dumb, and the once pretty, well-kept hair scattered rough and tangled on the pillow.
all day she lay so, only rousing now and then to mutter, "water!"
with lips so parched they could hardly shape the word.
all day jo and meg hovered over her, watching, waiting, hoping, and trusting in god and mother, and all day the snow fell, the bitter wind raged, and the hours dragged slowly by.
but night came at last, and every time the clock struck, the sisters, still sitting on either side of the bed, looked at each other with brightening eyes, for each hour brought help nearer.
the doctor had been in to say that some change, for better or worse, would probably take place about midnight, at which time he would return.
hannah, quite worn out, lay down on the sofa at the bed's foot and fell fast asleep, mr. laurence marched to and fro in the parlor, feeling that he would rather face a rebel battery than mrs. march's countenance as she entered.
laurie lay on the rug, pretending to rest, but staring into the fire with the thoughtful look which made his black eyes beautifully soft and clear.
the girls never forgot that night, for no sleep came to them as they kept their watch, with that dreadful sense of powerlessness which comes to us in hours like those.
""if god spares beth, i never will complain again," whispered meg earnestly.
""if god spares beth, i'll try to love and serve him all my life," answered jo, with equal fervor.
""i wish i had no heart, it aches so," sighed meg, after a pause.
""if life is often as hard as this, i do n't see how we ever shall get through it," added her sister despondently.
here the clock struck twelve, and both forgot themselves in watching beth, for they fancied a change passed over her wan face.
the house was still as death, and nothing but the wailing of the wind broke the deep hush.
weary hannah slept on, and no one but the sisters saw the pale shadow which seemed to fall upon the little bed.
an hour went by, and nothing happened except laurie's quiet departure for the station.
another hour, still no one came, and anxious fears of delay in the storm, or accidents by the way, or, worst of all, a great grief at washington, haunted the girls.
it was past two, when jo, who stood at the window thinking how dreary the world looked in its winding sheet of snow, heard a movement by the bed, and turning quickly, saw meg kneeling before their mother's easy chair with her face hidden.
a dreadful fear passed coldly over jo, as she thought, "beth is dead, and meg is afraid to tell me."
she was back at her post in an instant, and to her excited eyes a great change seemed to have taken place.
the fever flush and the look of pain were gone, and the beloved little face looked so pale and peaceful in its utter repose that jo felt no desire to weep or to lament.
leaning low over this dearest of her sisters, she kissed the damp forehead with her heart on her lips, and softly whispered, "good-by, my beth.
good-by!"
as if awaked by the stir, hannah started out of her sleep, hurried to the bed, looked at beth, felt her hands, listened at her lips, and then, throwing her apron over her head, sat down to rock to and fro, exclaiming, under her breath, "the fever's turned, she's sleepin" nat "ral, her skin's damp, and she breathes easy.
praise be given!
oh, my goodness me!"
before the girls could believe the happy truth, the doctor came to confirm it.
he was a homely man, but they thought his face quite heavenly when he smiled and said, with a fatherly look at them, "yes, my dears, i think the little girl will pull through this time.
keep the house quiet, let her sleep, and when she wakes, give her..." what they were to give, neither heard, for both crept into the dark hall, and, sitting on the stairs, held each other close, rejoicing with hearts too full for words.
when they went back to be kissed and cuddled by faithful hannah, they found beth lying, as she used to do, with her cheek pillowed on her hand, the dreadful pallor gone, and breathing quietly, as if just fallen asleep.
""if mother would only come now!"
said jo, as the winter night began to wane.
""see," said meg, coming up with a white, half-opened rose, "i thought this would hardly be ready to lay in beth's hand tomorrow if she -- went away from us.
but it has blossomed in the night, and now i mean to put it in my vase here, so that when the darling wakes, the first thing she sees will be the little rose, and mother's face."
never had the sun risen so beautifully, and never had the world seemed so lovely as it did to the heavy eyes of meg and jo, as they looked out in the early morning, when their long, sad vigil was done.
""it looks like a fairy world," said meg, smiling to herself, as she stood behind the curtain, watching the dazzling sight.
""hark!"
cried jo, starting to her feet.
yes, there was a sound of bells at the door below, a cry from hannah, and then laurie's voice saying in a joyful whisper, "girls, she's come!
she's come!"
chapter nineteen amy's will while these things were happening at home, amy was having hard times at aunt march's.
she felt her exile deeply, and for the first time in her life, realized how much she was beloved and petted at home.
aunt march never petted any one; she did not approve of it, but she meant to be kind, for the well-behaved little girl pleased her very much, and aunt march had a soft place in her old heart for her nephew's children, though she did n't think it proper to confess it.
she really did her best to make amy happy, but, dear me, what mistakes she made.
some old people keep young at heart in spite of wrinkles and gray hairs, can sympathize with children's little cares and joys, make them feel at home, and can hide wise lessons under pleasant plays, giving and receiving friendship in the sweetest way.
but aunt march had not this gift, and she worried amy very much with her rules and orders, her prim ways, and long, prosy talks.
finding the child more docile and amiable than her sister, the old lady felt it her duty to try and counteract, as far as possible, the bad effects of home freedom and indulgence.
so she took amy by the hand, and taught her as she herself had been taught sixty years ago, a process which carried dismay to amy's soul, and made her feel like a fly in the web of a very strict spider.
she had to wash the cups every morning, and polish up the old-fashioned spoons, the fat silver teapot, and the glasses till they shone.
then she must dust the room, and what a trying job that was.
not a speck escaped aunt march's eye, and all the furniture had claw legs and much carving, which was never dusted to suit.
then polly had to be fed, the lap dog combed, and a dozen trips upstairs and down to get things or deliver orders, for the old lady was very lame and seldom left her big chair.
after these tiresome labors, she must do her lessons, which was a daily trial of every virtue she possessed.
then she was allowed one hour for exercise or play, and did n't she enjoy it?
laurie came every day, and wheedled aunt march till amy was allowed to go out with him, when they walked and rode and had capital times.
after dinner, she had to read aloud, and sit still while the old lady slept, which she usually did for an hour, as she dropped off over the first page.
then patchwork or towels appeared, and amy sewed with outward meekness and inward rebellion till dusk, when she was allowed to amuse herself as she liked till teatime.
the evenings were the worst of all, for aunt march fell to telling long stories about her youth, which were so unutterably dull that amy was always ready to go to bed, intending to cry over her hard fate, but usually going to sleep before she had squeezed out more than a tear or two.
if it had not been for laurie, and old esther, the maid, she felt that she never could have got through that dreadful time.
the parrot alone was enough to drive her distracted, for he soon felt that she did not admire him, and revenged himself by being as mischievous as possible.
he pulled her hair whenever she came near him, upset his bread and milk to plague her when she had newly cleaned his cage, made mop bark by pecking at him while madam dozed, called her names before company, and behaved in all respects like an reprehensible old bird.
then she could not endure the dog, a fat, cross beast who snarled and yelped at her when she made his toilet, and who lay on his back with all his legs in the air and a most idiotic expression of countenance when he wanted something to eat, which was about a dozen times a day.
the cook was bad-tempered, the old coachman was deaf, and esther the only one who ever took any notice of the young lady.
esther was a frenchwoman, who had lived with "madame", as she called her mistress, for many years, and who rather tyrannized over the old lady, who could not get along without her.
her real name was estelle, but aunt march ordered her to change it, and she obeyed, on condition that she was never asked to change her religion.
she took a fancy to mademoiselle, and amused her very much with odd stories of her life in france, when amy sat with her while she got up madame's laces.
she also allowed her to roam about the great house, and examine the curious and pretty things stored away in the big wardrobes and the ancient chests, for aunt march hoarded like a magpie.
amy's chief delight was an indian cabinet, full of queer drawers, little pigeonholes, and secret places, in which were kept all sorts of ornaments, some precious, some merely curious, all more or less antique.
to examine and arrange these things gave amy great satisfaction, especially the jewel cases, in which on velvet cushions reposed the ornaments which had adorned a belle forty years ago.
there was the garnet set which aunt march wore when she came out, the pearls her father gave her on her wedding day, her lover's diamonds, the jet mourning rings and pins, the queer lockets, with portraits of dead friends and weeping willows made of hair inside, the baby bracelets her one little daughter had worn, uncle march's big watch, with the red seal so many childish hands had played with, and in a box all by itself lay aunt march's wedding ring, too small now for her fat finger, but put carefully away like the most precious jewel of them all.
""which would mademoiselle choose if she had her will?"
asked esther, who always sat near to watch over and lock up the valuables.
""i like the diamonds best, but there is no necklace among them, and i'm fond of necklaces, they are so becoming.
i should choose this if i might," replied amy, looking with great admiration at a string of gold and ebony beads from which hung a heavy cross of the same.
""i, too, covet that, but not as a necklace.
ah, no!
to me it is a rosary, and as such i should use it like a good catholic," said esther, eyeing the handsome thing wistfully.
""is it meant to use as you use the string of good-smelling wooden beads hanging over your glass?"
asked amy.
""truly, yes, to pray with.
it would be pleasing to the saints if one used so fine a rosary as this, instead of wearing it as a vain bijou."
""you seem to take a great deal of comfort in your prayers, esther, and always come down looking quiet and satisfied.
i wish i could."
""if mademoiselle was a catholic, she would find true comfort, but as that is not to be, it would be well if you went apart each day to meditate and pray, as did the good mistress whom i served before madame.
she had a little chapel, and in it found solacement for much trouble."
""would it be right for me to do so too?"
asked amy, who in her loneliness felt the need of help of some sort, and found that she was apt to forget her little book, now that beth was not there to remind her of it.
""it would be excellent and charming, and i shall gladly arrange the little dressing room for you if you like it.
say nothing to madame, but when she sleeps go you and sit alone a while to think good thoughts, and pray the dear god preserve your sister."
esther was truly pious, and quite sincere in her advice, for she had an affectionate heart, and felt much for the sisters in their anxiety.
amy liked the idea, and gave her leave to arrange the light closet next her room, hoping it would do her good.
""i wish i knew where all these pretty things would go when aunt march dies," she said, as she slowly replaced the shining rosary and shut the jewel cases one by one.
""to you and your sisters.
i know it, madame confides in me.
i witnessed her will, and it is to be so," whispered esther smiling.
""how nice!
but i wish she'd let us have them now.
procrastination is not agreeable," observed amy, taking a last look at the diamonds.
""it is too soon yet for the young ladies to wear these things.
the first one who is affianced will have the pearls, madame has said it, and i have a fancy that the little turquoise ring will be given to you when you go, for madame approves your good behavior and charming manners."
""do you think so?
oh, i'll be a lamb, if i can only have that lovely ring!
it's ever so much prettier than kitty bryant's.
i do like aunt march after all."
and amy tried on the blue ring with a delighted face and a firm resolve to earn it.
from that day she was a model of obedience, and the old lady complacently admired the success of her training.
esther fitted up the closet with a little table, placed a footstool before it, and over it a picture taken from one of the shut-up rooms.
she thought it was of no great value, but, being appropriate, she borrowed it, well knowing that madame would never know it, nor care if she did.
it was, however, a very valuable copy of one of the famous pictures of the world, and amy's beauty-loving eyes were never tired of looking up at the sweet face of the divine mother, while her tender thoughts of her own were busy at her heart.
on the table she laid her little testament and hymnbook, kept a vase always full of the best flowers laurie brought her, and came every day to "sit alone" thinking good thoughts, and praying the dear god to preserve her sister.
esther had given her a rosary of black beads with a silver cross, but amy hung it up and did not use it, feeling doubtful as to its fitness for protestant prayers.
the little girl was very sincere in all this, for being left alone outside the safe home nest, she felt the need of some kind hand to hold by so sorely that she instinctively turned to the strong and tender friend, whose fatherly love most closely surrounds his little children.
she missed her mother's help to understand and rule herself, but having been taught where to look, she did her best to find the way and walk in it confidingly.
but, amy was a young pilgrim, and just now her burden seemed very heavy.
she tried to forget herself, to keep cheerful, and be satisfied with doing right, though no one saw or praised her for it.
in her first effort at being very, very good, she decided to make her will, as aunt march had done, so that if she did fall ill and die, her possessions might be justly and generously divided.
it cost her a pang even to think of giving up the little treasures which in her eyes were as precious as the old lady's jewels.
during one of her play hours she wrote out the important document as well as she could, with some help from esther as to certain legal terms, and when the good-natured frenchwoman had signed her name, amy felt relieved and laid it by to show laurie, whom she wanted as a second witness.
as it was a rainy day, she went upstairs to amuse herself in one of the large chambers, and took polly with her for company.
in this room there was a wardrobe full of old-fashioned costumes with which esther allowed her to play, and it was her favorite amusement to array herself in the faded brocades, and parade up and down before the long mirror, making stately curtsies, and sweeping her train about with a rustle which delighted her ears.
so busy was she on this day that she did not hear laurie's ring nor see his face peeping in at her as she gravely promenaded to and fro, flirting her fan and tossing her head, on which she wore a great pink turban, contrasting oddly with her blue brocade dress and yellow quilted petticoat.
she was obliged to walk carefully, for she had on high-heeled shoes, and, as laurie told jo afterward, it was a comical sight to see her mince along in her gay suit, with polly sidling and bridling just behind her, imitating her as well as he could, and occasionally stopping to laugh or exclaim, "ai n't we fine?
get along, you fright!
hold your tongue!
kiss me, dear!
ha!
ha!"
having with difficulty restrained an explosion of merriment, lest it should offend her majesty, laurie tapped and was graciously received.
""sit down and rest while i put these things away, then i want to consult you about a very serious matter," said amy, when she had shown her splendor and driven polly into a corner.
""that bird is the trial of my life," she continued, removing the pink mountain from her head, while laurie seated himself astride a chair.
""yesterday, when aunt was asleep and i was trying to be as still as a mouse, polly began to squall and flap about in his cage, so i went to let him out, and found a big spider there.
i poked it out, and it ran under the bookcase.
polly marched straight after it, stooped down and peeped under the bookcase, saying, in his funny way, with a cock of his eye, "come out and take a walk, my dear."
i could n't help laughing, which made poll swear, and aunt woke up and scolded us both."
""did the spider accept the old fellow's invitation?"
asked laurie, yawning.
""yes, out it came, and away ran polly, frightened to death, and scrambled up on aunt's chair, calling out, "catch her!
catch her!
catch her!"
as i chased the spider."
""that's a lie!
oh, lor!"
cried the parrot, pecking at laurie's toes.
""i'd wring your neck if you were mine, you old torment," cried laurie, shaking his fist at the bird, who put his head on one side and gravely croaked, "allyluyer!
bless your buttons, dear!"
""now i'm ready," said amy, shutting the wardrobe and taking a piece of paper out of her pocket.
""i want you to read that, please, and tell me if it is legal and right.
i felt i ought to do it, for life is uncertain and i do n't want any ill feeling over my tomb."
laurie bit his lips, and turning a little from the pensive speaker, read the following document, with praiseworthy gravity, considering the spelling: my last will and testiment i, amy curtis march, being in my sane mind, go give and bequeethe all my earthly property -- viz.
to wit: -- namely to my father, my best pictures, sketches, maps, and works of art, including frames.
also my $ 100, to do what he likes with.
to my mother, all my clothes, except the blue apron with pockets -- also my likeness, and my medal, with much love.
to my dear sister margaret, i give my turkquoise ring -lrb- if i get it -rrb-, also my green box with the doves on it, also my piece of real lace for her neck, and my sketch of her as a memorial of her "little girl".
to jo i leave my breastpin, the one mended with sealing wax, also my bronze inkstand -- she lost the cover -- and my most precious plaster rabbit, because i am sorry i burned up her story.
to beth -lrb- if she lives after me -rrb- i give my dolls and the little bureau, my fan, my linen collars and my new slippers if she can wear them being thin when she gets well.
and i herewith also leave her my regret that i ever made fun of old joanna.
to my friend and neighbor theodore laurence i bequeethe my paper mashay portfolio, my clay model of a horse though he did say it had n't any neck.
also in return for his great kindness in the hour of affliction any one of my artistic works he likes, noter dame is the best.
to our venerable benefactor mr. laurence i leave my purple box with a looking glass in the cover which will be nice for his pens and remind him of the departed girl who thanks him for his favors to her family, especially beth.
i wish my favorite playmate kitty bryant to have the blue silk apron and my gold-bead ring with a kiss.
to hannah i give the bandbox she wanted and all the patchwork i leave hoping she "will remember me, when it you see".
and now having disposed of my most valuable property i hope all will be satisfied and not blame the dead.
i forgive everyone, and trust we may all meet when the trump shall sound.
amen.
to this will and testiment i set my hand and seal on this 20th day of nov..
anni domino 1861.
amy curtis march witnesses: estelle valnor, theodore laurence.
the last name was written in pencil, and amy explained that he was to rewrite it in ink and seal it up for her properly.
""what put it into your head?
did anyone tell you about beth's giving away her things?"
asked laurie soberly, as amy laid a bit of red tape, with sealing wax, a taper, and a standish before him.
she explained and then asked anxiously, "what about beth?"
""i'm sorry i spoke, but as i did, i'll tell you.
she felt so ill one day that she told jo she wanted to give her piano to meg, her cats to you, and the poor old doll to jo, who would love it for her sake.
she was sorry she had so little to give, and left locks of hair to the rest of us, and her best love to grandpa.
she never thought of a will."
laurie was signing and sealing as he spoke, and did not look up till a great tear dropped on the paper.
amy's face was full of trouble, but she only said, "do n't people put sort of postscripts to their wills, sometimes?"
""yes, "codicils", they call them."
""put one in mine then, that i wish all my curls cut off, and given round to my friends.
i forgot it, but i want it done though it will spoil my looks."
laurie added it, smiling at amy's last and greatest sacrifice.
then he amused her for an hour, and was much interested in all her trials.
but when he came to go, amy held him back to whisper with trembling lips, "is there really any danger about beth?"
""i'm afraid there is, but we must hope for the best, so do n't cry, dear."
and laurie put his arm about her with a brotherly gesture which was very comforting.
when he had gone, she went to her little chapel, and sitting in the twilight, prayed for beth, with streaming tears and an aching heart, feeling that a million turquoise rings would not console her for the loss of her gentle little sister.
chapter twenty confidential i do n't think i have any words in which to tell the meeting of the mother and daughters.
such hours are beautiful to live, but very hard to describe, so i will leave it to the imagination of my readers, merely saying that the house was full of genuine happiness, and that meg's tender hope was realized, for when beth woke from that long, healing sleep, the first objects on which her eyes fell were the little rose and mother's face.
too weak to wonder at anything, she only smiled and nestled close in the loving arms about her, feeling that the hungry longing was satisfied at last.
then she slept again, and the girls waited upon their mother, for she would not unclasp the thin hand which clung to hers even in sleep.
hannah had "dished up" an astonishing breakfast for the traveler, finding it impossible to vent her excitement in any other way, and meg and jo fed their mother like dutiful young storks, while they listened to her whispered account of father's state, mr. brooke's promise to stay and nurse him, the delays which the storm occasioned on the homeward journey, and the unspeakable comfort laurie's hopeful face had given her when she arrived, worn out with fatigue, anxiety, and cold.
what a strange yet pleasant day that was.
so brilliant and gay without, for all the world seemed abroad to welcome the first snow.
so quiet and reposeful within, for everyone slept, spent with watching, and a sabbath stillness reigned through the house, while nodding hannah mounted guard at the door.
with a blissful sense of burdens lifted off, meg and jo closed their weary eyes, and lay at rest, like storm-beaten boats safe at anchor in a quiet harbor.
mrs. march would not leave beth's side, but rested in the big chair, waking often to look at, touch, and brood over her child, like a miser over some recovered treasure.
laurie meanwhile posted off to comfort amy, and told his story so well that aunt march actually "sniffed" herself, and never once said "i told you so".
amy came out so strong on this occasion that i think the good thoughts in the little chapel really began to bear fruit.
she dried her tears quickly, restrained her impatience to see her mother, and never even thought of the turquoise ring, when the old lady heartily agreed in laurie's opinion, that she behaved "like a capital little woman".
even polly seemed impressed, for he called her a good girl, blessed her buttons, and begged her to "come and take a walk, dear", in his most affable tone.
she would very gladly have gone out to enjoy the bright wintry weather, but discovering that laurie was dropping with sleep in spite of manful efforts to conceal the fact, she persuaded him to rest on the sofa, while she wrote a note to her mother.
she was a long time about it, and when she returned, he was stretched out with both arms under his head, sound asleep, while aunt march had pulled down the curtains and sat doing nothing in an unusual fit of benignity.
after a while, they began to think he was not going to wake up till night, and i'm not sure that he would, had he not been effectually roused by amy's cry of joy at sight of her mother.
there probably were a good many happy little girls in and about the city that day, but it is my private opinion that amy was the happiest of all, when she sat in her mother's lap and told her trials, receiving consolation and compensation in the shape of approving smiles and fond caresses.
they were alone together in the chapel, to which her mother did not object when its purpose was explained to her.
""on the contrary, i like it very much, dear," looking from the dusty rosary to the well-worn little book, and the lovely picture with its garland of evergreen.
""it is an excellent plan to have some place where we can go to be quiet, when things vex or grieve us.
there are a good many hard times in this life of ours, but we can always bear them if we ask help in the right way.
i think my little girl is learning this."
""yes, mother, and when i go home i mean to have a corner in the big closet to put my books and the copy of that picture which i've tried to make.
the woman's face is not good, it's too beautiful for me to draw, but the baby is done better, and i love it very much.
i like to think he was a little child once, for then i do n't seem so far away, and that helps me."
as amy pointed to the smiling christ child on his mother's knee, mrs. march saw something on the lifted hand that made her smile.
she said nothing, but amy understood the look, and after a minute's pause, she added gravely, "i wanted to speak to you about this, but i forgot it.
aunt gave me the ring today.
she called me to her and kissed me, and put it on my finger, and said i was a credit to her, and she'd like to keep me always.
she gave that funny guard to keep the turquoise on, as it's too big.
i'd like to wear them mother, can i?"
""they are very pretty, but i think you're rather too young for such ornaments, amy," said mrs. march, looking at the plump little hand, with the band of sky-blue stones on the forefinger, and the quaint guard formed of two tiny golden hands clasped together.
""i'll try not to be vain," said amy.
""i do n't think i like it only because it's so pretty, but i want to wear it as the girl in the story wore her bracelet, to remind me of something."
""do you mean aunt march?"
asked her mother, laughing.
""no, to remind me not to be selfish."
amy looked so earnest and sincere about it that her mother stopped laughing, and listened respectfully to the little plan.
""i've thought a great deal lately about my "bundle of naughties", and being selfish is the largest one in it, so i'm going to try hard to cure it, if i can.
beth is n't selfish, and that's the reason everyone loves her and feels so bad at the thoughts of losing her.
people would n't feel so bad about me if i was sick, and i do n't deserve to have them, but i'd like to be loved and missed by a great many friends, so i'm going to try and be like beth all i can.
i'm apt to forget my resolutions, but if i had something always about me to remind me, i guess i should do better.
may we try this way?"
""yes, but i have more faith in the corner of the big closet.
wear your ring, dear, and do your best.
i think you will prosper, for the sincere wish to be good is half the battle.
now i must go back to beth.
keep up your heart, little daughter, and we will soon have you home again."
that evening while meg was writing to her father to report the traveler's safe arrival, jo slipped upstairs into beth's room, and finding her mother in her usual place, stood a minute twisting her fingers in her hair, with a worried gesture and an undecided look.
""what is it, deary?"
asked mrs. march, holding out her hand, with a face which invited confidence.
""i want to tell you something, mother."
""about meg?"
""how quickly you guessed!
yes, it's about her, and though it's a little thing, it fidgets me."
""beth is asleep.
speak low, and tell me all about it.
that moffat has n't been here, i hope?"
asked mrs. march rather sharply.
""no.
i should have shut the door in his face if he had," said jo, settling herself on the floor at her mother's feet.
""last summer meg left a pair of gloves over at the laurences" and only one was returned.
we forgot about it, till teddy told me that mr. brooke owned that he liked meg but did n't dare say so, she was so young and he so poor.
now, is n't it a dreadful state of things?"
""do you think meg cares for him?"
asked mrs. march, with an anxious look.
""mercy me!
i do n't know anything about love and such nonsense!"
cried jo, with a funny mixture of interest and contempt.
""in novels, the girls show it by starting and blushing, fainting away, growing thin, and acting like fools.
now meg does not do anything of the sort.
she eats and drinks and sleeps like a sensible creature, she looks straight in my face when i talk about that man, and only blushes a little bit when teddy jokes about lovers.
i forbid him to do it, but he does n't mind me as he ought."
""then you fancy that meg is not interested in john?"
""who?"
cried jo, staring.
""mr. brooke.
i call him "john" now.
we fell into the way of doing so at the hospital, and he likes it."
""oh, dear!
i know you'll take his part.
he's been good to father, and you wo n't send him away, but let meg marry him, if she wants to.
mean thing!
to go petting papa and helping you, just to wheedle you into liking him."
and jo pulled her hair again with a wrathful tweak.
""my dear, do n't get angry about it, and i will tell you how it happened.
john went with me at mr. laurence's request, and was so devoted to poor father that we could n't help getting fond of him.
he was perfectly open and honorable about meg, for he told us he loved her, but would earn a comfortable home before he asked her to marry him.
he only wanted our leave to love her and work for her, and the right to make her love him if he could.
he is a truly excellent young man, and we could not refuse to listen to him, but i will not consent to meg's engaging herself so young."
""of course not.
it would be idiotic!
i knew there was mischief brewing.
i felt it, and now it's worse than i imagined.
i just wish i could marry meg myself, and keep her safe in the family."
this odd arrangement made mrs. march smile, but she said gravely, "jo, i confide in you and do n't wish you to say anything to meg yet.
when john comes back, and i see them together, i can judge better of her feelings toward him."
""she'll see those handsome eyes that she talks about, and then it will be all up with her.
she's got such a soft heart, it will melt like butter in the sun if anyone looks sentimentlly at her.
she read the short reports he sent more than she did your letters, and pinched me when i spoke of it, and likes brown eyes, and does n't think john an ugly name, and she'll go and fall in love, and there's an end of peace and fun, and cozy times together.
i see it all!
they'll go lovering around the house, and we shall have to dodge.
meg will be absorbed and no good to me any more.
brooke will scratch up a fortune somehow, carry her off, and make a hole in the family, and i shall break my heart, and everything will be abominably uncomfortable.
oh, dear me!
why were n't we all boys, then there would n't be any bother."
jo leaned her chin on her knees in a disconsolate attitude and shook her fist at the reprehensible john.
mrs. march sighed, and jo looked up with an air of relief.
""you do n't like it, mother?
i'm glad of it.
let's send him about his business, and not tell meg a word of it, but all be happy together as we always have been."
""i did wrong to sigh, jo.
it is natural and right you should all go to homes of your own in time, but i do want to keep my girls as long as i can, and i am sorry that this happened so soon, for meg is only seventeen and it will be some years before john can make a home for her.
your father and i have agreed that she shall not bind herself in any way, nor be married, before twenty.
if she and john love one another, they can wait, and test the love by doing so.
she is conscientious, and i have no fear of her treating him unkindly.
my pretty, tender hearted girl!
i hope things will go happily with her."
""had n't you rather have her marry a rich man?"
asked jo, as her mother's voice faltered a little over the last words.
""money is a good and useful thing, jo, and i hope my girls will never feel the need of it too bitterly, nor be tempted by too much.
i should like to know that john was firmly established in some good business, which gave him an income large enough to keep free from debt and make meg comfortable.
i'm not ambitious for a splendid fortune, a fashionable position, or a great name for my girls.
if rank and money come with love and virtue, also, i should accept them gratefully, and enjoy your good fortune, but i know, by experience, how much genuine happiness can be had in a plain little house, where the daily bread is earned, and some privations give sweetness to the few pleasures.
i am content to see meg begin humbly, for if i am not mistaken, she will be rich in the possession of a good man's heart, and that is better than a fortune."
""i understand, mother, and quite agree, but i'm disappointed about meg, for i'd planned to have her marry teddy by-and-by and sit in the lap of luxury all her days.
would n't it be nice?"
asked jo, looking up with a brighter face.
""he is younger than she, you know," began mrs. march, but jo broke in... "only a little, he's old for his age, and tall, and can be quite grown-up in his manners if he likes.
then he's rich and generous and good, and loves us all, and i say it's a pity my plan is spoiled."
""i'm afraid laurie is hardly grown-up enough for meg, and altogether too much of a weathercock just now for anyone to depend on.
do n't make plans, jo, but let time and their own hearts mate your friends.
we ca n't meddle safely in such matters, and had better not get "romantic rubbish" as you call it, into our heads, lest it spoil our friendship."
""well, i wo n't, but i hate to see things going all crisscross and getting snarled up, when a pull here and a snip there would straighten it out.
i wish wearing flatirons on our heads would keep us from growing up.
but buds will be roses, and kittens cats, more's the pity!"
""what's that about flatirons and cats?"
asked meg, as she crept into the room with the finished letter in her hand.
""only one of my stupid speeches.
i'm going to bed.
come, peggy," said jo, unfolding herself like an animated puzzle.
""quite right, and beautifully written.
please add that i send my love to john," said mrs. march, as she glanced over the letter and gave it back.
""do you call him "john"?"
asked meg, smiling, with her innocent eyes looking down into her mother's.
""yes, he has been like a son to us, and we are very fond of him," replied mrs. march, returning the look with a keen one.
""i'm glad of that, he is so lonely.
good night, mother, dear.
it is so inexpressibly comfortable to have you here," was meg's answer.
the kiss her mother gave her was a very tender one, and as she went away, mrs. march said, with a mixture of satisfaction and regret, "she does not love john yet, but will soon learn to."
chapter twenty-one laurie makes mischief, and jo makes peace jo's face was a study next day, for the secret rather weighed upon her, and she found it hard not to look mysterious and important.
meg observed it, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries, for she had learned that the best way to manage jo was by the law of contraries, so she felt sure of being told everything if she did not ask.
she was rather surprised, therefore, when the silence remained unbroken, and jo assumed a patronizing air, which decidedly aggravated meg, who in turn assumed an air of dignified reserve and devoted herself to her mother.
this left jo to her own devices, for mrs. march had taken her place as nurse, and bade her rest, exercise, and amuse herself after her long confinement.
amy being gone, laurie was her only refuge, and much as she enjoyed his society, she rather dreaded him just then, for he was an incorrigible tease, and she feared he would coax the secret from her.
she was quite right, for the mischief-loving lad no sooner suspected a mystery than he set himself to find it out, and led jo a trying life of it.
he wheedled, bribed, ridiculed, threatened, and scolded; affected indifference, that he might surprise the truth from her; declared he knew, then that he did n't care; and at last, by dint of perseverance, he satisfied himself that it concerned meg and mr. brooke.
feeling indignant that he was not taken into his tutor's confidence, he set his wits to work to devise some proper retaliation for the slight.
meg meanwhile had apparently forgotten the matter and was absorbed in preparations for her father's return, but all of a sudden a change seemed to come over her, and, for a day or two, she was quite unlike herself.
she started when spoken to, blushed when looked at, was very quiet, and sat over her sewing, with a timid, troubled look on her face.
to her mother's inquiries she answered that she was quite well, and jo's she silenced by begging to be let alone.
""she feels it in the air -- love, i mean -- and she's going very fast.
she's got most of the symptoms -- is twittery and cross, does n't eat, lies awake, and mopes in corners.
i caught her singing that song he gave her, and once she said "john", as you do, and then turned as red as a poppy.
whatever shall we do?"
said jo, looking ready for any measures, however violent.
""nothing but wait.
let her alone, be kind and patient, and father's coming will settle everything," replied her mother.
""here's a note to you, meg, all sealed up.
how odd!
teddy never seals mine," said jo next day, as she distributed the contents of the little post office.
mrs. march and jo were deep in their own affairs, when a sound from meg made them look up to see her staring at her note with a frightened face.
""my child, what is it?"
cried her mother, running to her, while jo tried to take the paper which had done the mischief.
""it's all a mistake, he did n't send it.
oh, jo, how could you do it?"
and meg hid her face in her hands, crying as if her heart were quite broken.
""me!
i've done nothing!
what's she talking about?"
cried jo, bewildered.
meg's mild eyes kindled with anger as she pulled a crumpled note from her pocket and threw it at jo, saying reproachfully, "you wrote it, and that bad boy helped you.
how could you be so rude, so mean, and cruel to us both?"
jo hardly heard her, for she and her mother were reading the note, which was written in a peculiar hand.
""my dearest margaret, "i can no longer restrain my passion, and must know my fate before i return.
i dare not tell your parents yet, but i think they would consent if they knew that we adored one another.
mr. laurence will help me to some good place, and then, my sweet girl, you will make me happy.
i implore you to say nothing to your family yet, but to send one word of hope through laurie to, "your devoted john."
""oh, the little villain!
that's the way he meant to pay me for keeping my word to mother.
i'll give him a hearty scolding and bring him over to beg pardon," cried jo, burning to execute immediate justice.
but her mother held her back, saying, with a look she seldom wore... "stop, jo, you must clear yourself first.
you have played so many pranks that i am afraid you have had a hand in this."
""on my word, mother, i have n't!
i never saw that note before, and do n't know anything about it, as true as i live!"
said jo, so earnestly that they believed her.
""if i had taken part in it i'd have done it better than this, and have written a sensible note.
i should think you'd have known mr. brooke would n't write such stuff as that," she added, scornfully tossing down the paper.
""it's like his writing," faltered meg, comparing it with the note in her hand.
""oh, meg, you did n't answer it?"
cried mrs. march quickly.
""yes, i did!"
and meg hid her face again, overcome with shame.
""here's a scrape!
do let me bring that wicked boy over to explain and be lectured.
i ca n't rest till i get hold of him."
and jo made for the door again.
""hush!
let me handle this, for it is worse than i thought.
margaret, tell me the whole story," commanded mrs. march, sitting down by meg, yet keeping hold of jo, lest she should fly off.
""i received the first letter from laurie, who did n't look as if he knew anything about it," began meg, without looking up.
""i was worried at first and meant to tell you, then i remembered how you liked mr. brooke, so i thought you would n't mind if i kept my little secret for a few days.
i'm so silly that i liked to think no one knew, and while i was deciding what to say, i felt like the girls in books, who have such things to do.
forgive me, mother, i'm paid for my silliness now.
i never can look him in the face again."
""what did you say to him?"
asked mrs. march.
""i only said i was too young to do anything about it yet, that i did n't wish to have secrets from you, and he must speak to father.
i was very grateful for his kindness, and would be his friend, but nothing more, for a long while."
mrs. march smiled, as if well pleased, and jo clapped her hands, exclaiming, with a laugh, "you are almost equal to caroline percy, who was a pattern of prudence!
tell on, meg.
what did he say to that?"
""he writes in a different way entirely, telling me that he never sent any love letter at all, and is very sorry that my roguish sister, jo, should take liberties with our names.
it's very kind and respectful, but think how dreadful for me!"
meg leaned against her mother, looking the image of despair, and jo tramped about the room, calling laurie names.
all of a sudden she stopped, caught up the two notes, and after looking at them closely, said decidedly, "i do n't believe brooke ever saw either of these letters.
teddy wrote both, and keeps yours to crow over me with because i would n't tell him my secret."
""do n't have any secrets, jo.
tell it to mother and keep out of trouble, as i should have done," said meg warningly.
""bless you, child!
mother told me."
""that will do, jo.
i'll comfort meg while you go and get laurie.
i shall sift the matter to the bottom, and put a stop to such pranks at once."
away ran jo, and mrs. march gently told meg mr. brooke's real feelings.
""now, dear, what are your own?
do you love him enough to wait till he can make a home for you, or will you keep yourself quite free for the present?"
""i've been so scared and worried, i do n't want to have anything to do with lovers for a long while, perhaps never," answered meg petulantly.
""if john does n't know anything about this nonsense, do n't tell him, and make jo and laurie hold their tongues.
i wo n't be deceived and plagued and made a fool of.
it's a shame!"
seeing meg's usually gentle temper was roused and her pride hurt by this mischievous joke, mrs. march soothed her by promises of entire silence and great discretion for the future.
the instant laurie's step was heard in the hall, meg fled into the study, and mrs. march received the culprit alone.
jo had not told him why he was wanted, fearing he would n't come, but he knew the minute he saw mrs. march's face, and stood twirling his hat with a guilty air which convicted him at once.
jo was dismissed, but chose to march up and down the hall like a sentinel, having some fear that the prisoner might bolt.
the sound of voices in the parlor rose and fell for half an hour, but what happened during that interview the girls never knew.
when they were called in, laurie was standing by their mother with such a penitent face that jo forgave him on the spot, but did not think it wise to betray the fact.
meg received his humble apology, and was much comforted by the assurance that brooke knew nothing of the joke.
""i'll never tell him to my dying day, wild horses sha n't drag it out of me, so you'll forgive me, meg, and i'll do anything to show how out-and-out sorry i am," he added, looking very much ashamed of himself.
""i'll try, but it was a very ungentlemanly thing to do, i did n't think you could be so sly and malicious, laurie," replied meg, trying to hide her maidenly confusion under a gravely reproachful air.
""it was altogether abominable, and i do n't deserve to be spoken to for a month, but you will, though, wo n't you?"
and laurie folded his hands together with such and imploring gesture, as he spoke in his irresistibly persuasive tone, that it was impossible to frown upon him in spite of his scandalous behavior.
meg pardoned him, and mrs. march's grave face relaxed, in spite of her efforts to keep sober, when she heard him declare that he would atone for his sins by all sorts of penances, and abase himself like a worm before the injured damsel.
jo stood aloof, meanwhile, trying to harden her heart against him, and succeeding only in primming up her face into an expression of entire disapprobation.
laurie looked at her once or twice, but as she showed no sign of relenting, he felt injured, and turned his back on her till the others were done with him, when he made her a low bow and walked off without a word.
as soon as he had gone, she wished she had been more forgiving, and when meg and her mother went upstairs, she felt lonely and longed for teddy.
after resisting for some time, she yielded to the impulse, and armed with a book to return, went over to the big house.
""is mr. laurence in?"
asked jo, of a housemaid, who was coming downstairs.
""yes, miss, but i do n't believe he's seeable just yet."
""why not?
is he ill?"
""la, no miss, but he's had a scene with mr. laurie, who is in one of his tantrums about something, which vexes the old gentleman, so i durs n't go nigh him."
""where is laurie?"
""shut up in his room, and he wo n't answer, though i've been a-tapping.
i do n't know what's to become of the dinner, for it's ready, and there's no one to eat it."
""i'll go and see what the matter is.
i'm not afraid of either of them."
up went jo, and knocked smartly on the door of laurie's little study.
""stop that, or i'll open the door and make you!"
called out the young gentleman in a threatening tone.
jo immediately knocked again.
the door flew open, and in she bounced before laurie could recover from his surprise.
seeing that he really was out of temper, jo, who knew how to manage him, assumed a contrite expression, and going artistically down upon her knees, said meekly, "please forgive me for being so cross.
i came to make it up, and ca n't go away till i have."
""it's all right.
get up, and do n't be a goose, jo," was the cavalier reply to her petition.
""thank you, i will.
could i ask what's the matter?
you do n't look exactly easy in your mind."
""i've been shaken, and i wo n't bear it!"
growled laurie indignantly.
""who did it?"
demanded jo.
""grandfather.
if it had been anyone else i'd have..." and the injured youth finished his sentence by an energetic gesture of the right arm.
""that's nothing.
i often shake you, and you do n't mind," said jo soothingly.
""pooh!
you're a girl, and it's fun, but i'll allow no man to shake me!"
""i do n't think anyone would care to try it, if you looked as much like a thundercloud as you do now.
why were you treated so?"
""just because i would n't say what your mother wanted me for.
i'd promised not to tell, and of course i was n't going to break my word."
""could n't you satisfy your grandpa in any other way?"
""no, he would have the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
i'd have told my part of the scrape, if i could without bringing meg in.
as i could n't, i held my tongue, and bore the scolding till the old gentleman collared me.
then i bolted, for fear i should forget myself."
""it was n't nice, but he's sorry, i know, so go down and make up.
i'll help you."
""hanged if i do!
i'm not going to be lectured and pummelled by everyone, just for a bit of a frolic.
i was sorry about meg, and begged pardon like a man, but i wo n't do it again, when i was n't in the wrong."
""he did n't know that."
""he ought to trust me, and not act as if i was a baby.
it's no use, jo, he's got to learn that i'm able to take care of myself, and do n't need anyone's apron string to hold on by."
""what pepper pots you are!"
sighed jo.
""how do you mean to settle this affair?"
""well, he ought to beg pardon, and believe me when i say i ca n't tell him what the fuss's about."
""bless you!
he wo n't do that."
""i wo n't go down till he does."
""now, teddy, be sensible.
let it pass, and i'll explain what i can.
you ca n't stay here, so what's the use of being melodramatic?"
""i do n't intend to stay here long, anyway.
i'll slip off and take a journey somewhere, and when grandpa misses me he'll come round fast enough."
""i dare say, but you ought not to go and worry him."
""do n't preach.
i'll go to washington and see brooke.
it's gay there, and i'll enjoy myself after the troubles."
""what fun you'd have!
i wish i could run off too," said jo, forgetting her part of mentor in lively visions of martial life at the capital.
""come on, then!
why not?
you go and surprise your father, and i'll stir up old brooke.
it would be a glorious joke.
let's do it, jo.
we'll leave a letter saying we are all right, and trot off at once.
i've got money enough.
it will do you good, and no harm, as you go to your father."
for a moment jo looked as if she would agree, for wild as the plan was, it just suited her.
she was tired of care and confinement, longed for change, and thoughts of her father blended temptingly with the novel charms of camps and hospitals, liberty and fun.
her eyes kindled as they turned wistfully toward the window, but they fell on the old house opposite, and she shook her head with sorrowful decision.
""if i was a boy, we'd run away together, and have a capital time, but as i'm a miserable girl, i must be proper and stop at home.
do n't tempt me, teddy, it's a crazy plan."
""that's the fun of it," began laurie, who had got a willful fit on him and was possessed to break out of bounds in some way.
""hold your tongue!"
cried jo, covering her ears."
"prunes and prisms" are my doom, and i may as well make up my mind to it.
i came here to moralize, not to hear things that make me skip to think of."
""i know meg would wet-blanket such a proposal, but i thought you had more spirit," began laurie insinuatingly.
""bad boy, be quiet!
sit down and think of your own sins, do n't go making me add to mine.
if i get your grandpa to apologize for the shaking, will you give up running away?"
asked jo seriously.
""yes, but you wo n't do it," answered laurie, who wished to make up, but felt that his outraged dignity must be appeased first.
""if i can manage the young one, i can the old one," muttered jo, as she walked away, leaving laurie bent over a railroad map with his head propped up on both hands.
""come in!"
and mr. laurence's gruff voice sounded gruffer than ever, as jo tapped at his door.
""it's only me, sir, come to return a book," she said blandly, as she entered.
""want any more?"
asked the old gentleman, looking grim and vexed, but trying not to show it.
""yes, please.
i like old sam so well, i think i'll try the second volume," returned jo, hoping to propitiate him by accepting a second dose of boswell's johnson, as he had recommended that lively work.
the shaggy eyebrows unbent a little as he rolled the steps toward the shelf where the johnsonian literature was placed.
jo skipped up, and sitting on the top step, affected to be searching for her book, but was really wondering how best to introduce the dangerous object of her visit.
mr. laurence seemed to suspect that something was brewing in her mind, for after taking several brisk turns about the room, he faced round on her, speaking so abruptly that rasselas tumbled face downward on the floor.
""what has that boy been about?
do n't try to shield him.
i know he has been in mischief by the way he acted when he came home.
i ca n't get a word from him, and when i threatened to shake the truth out of him he bolted upstairs and locked himself into his room."
""he did wrong, but we forgave him, and all promised not to say a word to anyone," began jo reluctantly.
""that wo n't do.
he shall not shelter himself behind a promise from you softhearted girls.
if he's done anything amiss, he shall confess, beg pardon, and be punished.
out with it, jo.
i wo n't be kept in the dark."
mr. laurence looked so alarming and spoke so sharply that jo would have gladly run away, if she could, but she was perched aloft on the steps, and he stood at the foot, a lion in the path, so she had to stay and brave it out.
""indeed, sir, i can not tell.
mother forbade it.
laurie has confessed, asked pardon, and been punished quite enough.
we do n't keep silence to shield him, but someone else, and it will make more trouble if you interfere.
please do n't.
it was partly my fault, but it's all right now.
so let's forget it, and talk about the rambler or something pleasant."
""hang the rambler!
come down and give me your word that this harum-scarum boy of mine has n't done anything ungrateful or impertinent.
if he has, after all your kindness to him, i'll thrash him with my own hands."
the threat sounded awful, but did not alarm jo, for she knew the irascible old gentleman would never lift a finger against his grandson, whatever he might say to the contrary.
she obediently descended, and made as light of the prank as she could without betraying meg or forgetting the truth.
""hum... ha... well, if the boy held his tongue because he promised, and not from obstinacy, i'll forgive him.
he's a stubborn fellow and hard to manage," said mr. laurence, rubbing up his hair till it looked as if he had been out in a gale, and smoothing the frown from his brow with an air of relief.
""so am i, but a kind word will govern me when all the king's horses and all the king's men could n't," said jo, trying to say a kind word for her friend, who seemed to get out of one scrape only to fall into another.
""you think i'm not kind to him, hey?"
was the sharp answer.
""oh, dear no, sir.
you are rather too kind sometimes, and then just a trifle hasty when he tries your patience.
do n't you think you are?"
jo was determined to have it out now, and tried to look quite placid, though she quaked a little after her bold speech.
to her great relief and surprise, the old gentleman only threw his spectacles onto the table with a rattle and exclaimed frankly, "you're right, girl, i am!
i love the boy, but he tries my patience past bearing, and i know how it will end, if we go on so."
""i'll tell you, he'll run away."
jo was sorry for that speech the minute it was made.
she meant to warn him that laurie would not bear much restraint, and hoped he would be more forebearing with the lad.
mr. laurence's ruddy face changed suddenly, and he sat down, with a troubled glance at the picture of a handsome man, which hung over his table.
it was laurie's father, who had run away in his youth, and married against the imperious old man's will.
jo fancied he remembered and regretted the past, and she wished she had held her tongue.
""he wo n't do it unless he is very much worried, and only threatens it sometimes, when he gets tired of studying.
i often think i should like to, especially since my hair was cut, so if you ever miss us, you may advertise for two boys and look among the ships bound for india."
she laughed as she spoke, and mr. laurence looked relieved, evidently taking the whole as a joke.
""you hussy, how dare you talk in that way?
where's your respect for me, and your proper bringing up?
bless the boys and girls!
what torments they are, yet we ca n't do without them," he said, pinching her cheeks good-humoredly.
""go and bring that boy down to his dinner, tell him it's all right, and advise him not to put on tragedy airs with his grandfather.
i wo n't bear it."
""he wo n't come, sir.
he feels badly because you did n't believe him when he said he could n't tell.
i think the shaking hurt his feelings very much."
jo tried to look pathetic but must have failed, for mr. laurence began to laugh, and she knew the day was won.
""i'm sorry for that, and ought to thank him for not shaking me, i suppose.
what the dickens does the fellow expect?"
and the old gentleman looked a trifle ashamed of his own testiness.
""if i were you, i'd write him an apology, sir.
he says he wo n't come down till he has one, and talks about washington, and goes on in an absurd way.
a formal apology will make him see how foolish he is, and bring him down quite amiable.
try it.
he likes fun, and this way is better than talking.
i'll carry it up, and teach him his duty."
mr. laurence gave her a sharp look, and put on his spectacles, saying slowly, "you're a sly puss, but i do n't mind being managed by you and beth.
here, give me a bit of paper, and let us have done with this nonsense."
the note was written in the terms which one gentleman would use to another after offering some deep insult.
jo dropped a kiss on the top of mr. laurence's bald head, and ran up to slip the apology under laurie's door, advising him through the keyhole to be submissive, decorous, and a few other agreeable impossibilities.
finding the door locked again, she left the note to do its work, and was going quietly away, when the young gentleman slid down the banisters, and waited for her at the bottom, saying, with his most virtuous expression of countenance, "what a good fellow you are, jo!
did you get blown up?"
he added, laughing.
""no, he was pretty mild, on the whole."
""ah!
i got it all round.
even you cast me off over there, and i felt just ready to go to the deuce," he began apologetically.
""do n't talk that way, turn over a new leaf and begin again, teddy, my son."
""i keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as i used to spoil my copybooks, and i make so many beginnings there never will be an end," he said dolefully.
""go and eat your dinner, you'll feel better after it.
men always croak when they are hungry," and jo whisked out at the front door after that.
""that's a "label" on my "sect"," answered laurie, quoting amy, as he went to partake of humble pie dutifully with his grandfather, who was quite saintly in temper and overwhelmingly respectful in manner all the rest of the day.
everyone thought the matter ended and the little cloud blown over, but the mischief was done, for though others forgot it, meg remembered.
she never alluded to a certain person, but she thought of him a good deal, dreamed dreams more than ever, and once jo, rummaging her sister's desk for stamps, found a bit of paper scribbled over with the words, "mrs. john brooke", whereat she groaned tragically and cast it into the fire, feeling that laurie's prank had hastened the evil day for her.
chapter twenty-two pleasant meadows like sunshine after a storm were the peaceful weeks which followed.
the invalids improved rapidly, and mr. march began to talk of returning early in the new year.
beth was soon able to lie on the study sofa all day, amusing herself with the well-beloved cats at first, and in time with doll's sewing, which had fallen sadly behind-hand.
her once active limbs were so stiff and feeble that jo took her for a daily airing about the house in her strong arms.
meg cheerfully blackened and burned her white hands cooking delicate messes for "the dear", while amy, a loyal slave of the ring, celebrated her return by giving away as many of her treasures as she could prevail on her sisters to accept.
as christmas approached, the usual mysteries began to haunt the house, and jo frequently convulsed the family by proposing utterly impossible or magnificently absurd ceremonies, in honor of this unusually merry christmas.
laurie was equally impracticable, and would have had bonfires, skyrockets, and triumphal arches, if he had had his own way.
after many skirmishes and snubbings, the ambitious pair were considered effectually quenched and went about with forlorn faces, which were rather belied by explosions of laughter when the two got together.
several days of unusually mild weather fitly ushered in a splendid christmas day.
hannah "felt in her bones" that it was going to be an unusually fine day, and she proved herself a true prophetess, for everybody and everything seemed bound to produce a grand success.
to begin with, mr. march wrote that he should soon be with them, then beth felt uncommonly well that morning, and, being dressed in her mother's gift, a soft crimson merino wrapper, was borne in high triumph to the window to behold the offering of jo and laurie.
the unquenchables had done their best to be worthy of the name, for like elves they had worked by night and conjured up a comical surprise.
out in the garden stood a stately snow maiden, crowned with holly, bearing a basket of fruit and flowers in one hand, a great roll of music in the other, a perfect rainbow of an afghan round her chilly shoulders, and a christmas carol issuing from her lips on a pink paper streamer.
the jungfrau to beth god bless you, dear queen bess!
may nothing you dismay, but health and peace and happiness be yours, this christmas day.
here's fruit to feed our busy bee, and flowers for her nose.
here's music for her pianee, an afghan for her toes, a portrait of joanna, see, by raphael no. 2, who laboured with great industry to make it fair and true.
accept a ribbon red, i beg, for madam purrer's tail, and ice cream made by lovely peg, a mont blanc in a pail.
their dearest love my makers laid within my breast of snow.
accept it, and the alpine maid, from laurie and from jo.
how beth laughed when she saw it, how laurie ran up and down to bring in the gifts, and what ridiculous speeches jo made as she presented them.
""i'm so full of happiness, that if father was only here, i could n't hold one drop more," said beth, quite sighing with contentment as jo carried her off to the study to rest after the excitement, and to refresh herself with some of the delicious grapes the "jungfrau" had sent her.
""so am i," added jo, slapping the pocket wherein reposed the long-desired undine and sintram.
""i'm sure i am," echoed amy, poring over the engraved copy of the madonna and child, which her mother had given her in a pretty frame.
""of course i am!"
cried meg, smoothing the silvery folds of her first silk dress, for mr. laurence had insisted on giving it.
""how can i be otherwise?"
said mrs. march gratefully, as her eyes went from her husband's letter to beth's smiling face, and her hand carressed the brooch made of gray and golden, chestnut and dark brown hair, which the girls had just fastened on her breast.
now and then, in this workaday world, things do happen in the delightful storybook fashion, and what a comfort it is.
half an hour after everyone had said they were so happy they could only hold one drop more, the drop came.
laurie opened the parlor door and popped his head in very quietly.
he might just as well have turned a somersault and uttered an indian war whoop, for his face was so full of suppressed excitement and his voice so treacherously joyful that everyone jumped up, though he only said, in a queer, breathless voice, "here's another christmas present for the march family."
before the words were well out of his mouth, he was whisked away somehow, and in his place appeared a tall man, muffled up to the eyes, leaning on the arm of another tall man, who tried to say something and could n't.
of course there was a general stampede, and for several minutes everybody seemed to lose their wits, for the strangest things were done, and no one said a word.
mr. march became invisible in the embrace of four pairs of loving arms.
jo disgraced herself by nearly fainting away, and had to be doctored by laurie in the china closet.
mr. brooke kissed meg entirely by mistake, as he somewhat incoherently explained.
and amy, the dignified, tumbled over a stool, and never stopping to get up, hugged and cried over her father's boots in the most touching manner.
mrs. march was the first to recover herself, and held up her hand with a warning, "hush!
remember beth."
but it was too late.
the study door flew open, the little red wrapper appeared on the threshold, joy put strength into the feeble limbs, and beth ran straight into her father's arms.
never mind what happened just after that, for the full hearts overflowed, washing away the bitterness of the past and leaving only the sweetness of the present.
it was not at all romantic, but a hearty laugh set everybody straight again, for hannah was discovered behind the door, sobbing over the fat turkey, which she had forgotten to put down when she rushed up from the kitchen.
as the laugh subsided, mrs. march began to thank mr. brooke for his faithful care of her husband, at which mr. brooke suddenly remembered that mr. march needed rest, and seizing laurie, he precipitately retired.
then the two invalids were ordered to repose, which they did, by both sitting in one big chair and talking hard.
mr. march told how he had longed to surprise them, and how, when the fine weather came, he had been allowed by his doctor to take advantage of it, how devoted brooke had been, and how he was altogether a most estimable and upright young man.
why mr. march paused a minute just there, and after a glance at meg, who was violently poking the fire, looked at his wife with an inquiring lift of the eyebrows, i leave you to imagine.
also why mrs. march gently nodded her head and asked, rather abruptly, if he would n't like to have something to eat.
jo saw and understood the look, and she stalked grimly away to get wine and beef tea, muttering to herself as she slammed the door, "i hate estimable young men with brown eyes!"
there never was such a christmas dinner as they had that day.
the fat turkey was a sight to behold, when hannah sent him up, stuffed, browned, and decorated.
so was the plum pudding, which melted in one's mouth, likewise the jellies, in which amy reveled like a fly in a honeypot.
everything turned out well, which was a mercy, hannah said, "for my mind was that flustered, mum, that it's a merrycle i did n't roast the pudding, and stuff the turkey with raisins, let alone bilin" of it in a cloth."
mr. laurence and his grandson dined with them, also mr. brooke, at whom jo glowered darkly, to laurie's infinite amusement.
two easy chairs stood side by side at the head of the table, in which sat beth and her father, feasting modestly on chicken and a little fruit.
they drank healths, told stories, sang songs, "reminisced", as the old folks say, and had a thoroughly good time.
a sleigh ride had been planned, but the girls would not leave their father, so the guests departed early, and as twilight gathered, the happy family sat together round the fire.
""just a year ago we were groaning over the dismal christmas we expected to have.
do you remember?"
asked jo, breaking a short pause which had followed a long conversation about many things.
""rather a pleasant year on the whole!"
said meg, smiling at the fire, and congratulating herself on having treated mr. brooke with dignity.
""i think it's been a pretty hard one," observed amy, watching the light shine on her ring with thoughtful eyes.
""i'm glad it's over, because we've got you back," whispered beth, who sat on her father's knee.
""rather a rough road for you to travel, my little pilgrims, especially the latter part of it.
but you have got on bravely, and i think the burdens are in a fair way to tumble off very soon," said mr. march, looking with fatherly satisfaction at the four young faces gathered round him.
""how do you know?
did mother tell you?"
asked jo.
""not much.
straws show which way the wind blows, and i've made several discoveries today."
""oh, tell us what they are!"
cried meg, who sat beside him.
""here is one."
and taking up the hand which lay on the arm of his chair, he pointed to the roughened forefinger, a burn on the back, and two or three little hard spots on the palm.
""i remember a time when this hand was white and smooth, and your first care was to keep it so.
it was very pretty then, but to me it is much prettier now, for in this seeming blemishes i read a little history.
a burnt offering has been made to vanity, this hardened palm has earned something better than blisters, and i'm sure the sewing done by these pricked fingers will last a long time, so much good will went into the stitches.
meg, my dear, i value the womanly skill which keeps home happy more than white hands or fashionable accomplishments.
i'm proud to shake this good, industrious little hand, and hope i shall not soon be asked to give it away."
if meg had wanted a reward for hours of patient labor, she received it in the hearty pressure of her father's hand and the approving smile he gave her.
""what about jo?
please say something nice, for she has tried so hard and been so very, very good to me," said beth in her father's ear.
he laughed and looked across at the tall girl who sat opposite, with an unusually mild expression in her face.
""in spite of the curly crop, i do n't see the "son jo" whom i left a year ago," said mr. march.
""i see a young lady who pins her collar straight, laces her boots neatly, and neither whistles, talks slang, nor lies on the rug as she used to do.
her face is rather thin and pale just now, with watching and anxiety, but i like to look at it, for it has grown gentler, and her voice is lower.
she does n't bounce, but moves quietly, and takes care of a certain little person in a motherly way which delights me.
i rather miss my wild girl, but if i get a strong, helpful, tenderhearted woman in her place, i shall feel quite satisfied.
i do n't know whether the shearing sobered our black sheep, but i do know that in all washington i could n't find anything beautiful enough to be bought with the five-and-twenty dollars my good girl sent me."
jo's keen eyes were rather dim for a minute, and her thin face grew rosy in the firelight as she received her father's praise, feeling that she did deserve a portion of it.
""now, beth," said amy, longing for her turn, but ready to wait.
""there's so little of her, i'm afraid to say much, for fear she will slip away altogether, though she is not so shy as she used to be," began their father cheerfully.
but recollecting how nearly he had lost her, he held her close, saying tenderly, with her cheek against his own, "i've got you safe, my beth, and i'll keep you so, please god."
after a minute's silence, he looked down at amy, who sat on the cricket at his feet, and said, with a caress of the shining hair... "i observed that amy took drumsticks at dinner, ran errands for her mother all the afternoon, gave meg her place tonight, and has waited on every one with patience and good humor.
i also observe that she does not fret much nor look in the glass, and has not even mentioned a very pretty ring which she wears, so i conclude that she has learned to think of other people more and of herself less, and has decided to try and mold her character as carefully as she molds her little clay figures.
i am glad of this, for though i should be very proud of a graceful statue made by her, i shall be infinitely prouder of a lovable daughter with a talent for making life beautiful to herself and others."
""what are you thinking of, beth?"
asked jo, when amy had thanked her father and told about her ring.
""i read in pilgrim's progress today how, after many troubles, christian and hopeful came to a pleasant green meadow where lilies bloomed all year round, and there they rested happily, as we do now, before they went on to their journey's end," answered beth, adding, as she slipped out of her father's arms and went to the instrument, "it's singing time now, and i want to be in my old place.
i'll try to sing the song of the shepherd boy which the pilgrims heard.
i made the music for father, because he likes the verses."
so, sitting at the dear little piano, beth softly touched the keys, and in the sweet voice they had never thought to hear again, sang to her own accompaniment the quaint hymn, which was a singularly fitting song for her.
he that is down need fear no fall, he that is low no pride.
he that is humble ever shall have god to be his guide.
i am content with what i have, little be it, or much.
and, lord!
contentment still i crave, because thou savest such.
fulness to them a burden is, that go on pilgrimage.
here little, and hereafter bliss, is best from age to age!
chapter twenty-three aunt march settles the question like bees swarming after their queen, mother and daughters hovered about mr. march the next day, neglecting everything to look at, wait upon, and listen to the new invalid, who was in a fair way to be killed by kindness.
as he sat propped up in a big chair by beth's sofa, with the other three close by, and hannah popping in her head now and then "to peek at the dear man", nothing seemed needed to complete their happiness.
but something was needed, and the elder ones felt it, though none confessed the fact.
mr. and mrs. march looked at one another with an anxious expression, as their eyes followed meg.
jo had sudden fits of sobriety, and was seen to shake her fist at mr. brooke's umbrella, which had been left in the hall.
meg was absent-minded, shy, and silent, started when the bell rang, and colored when john's name was mentioned.
amy said, "everyone seemed waiting for something, and could n't settle down, which was queer, since father was safe at home," and beth innocently wondered why their neighbors did n't run over as usual.
laurie went by in the afternoon, and seeing meg at the window, seemed suddenly possessed with a melodramatic fit, for he fell down on one knee in the snow, beat his breast, tore his hair, and clasped his hands imploringly, as if begging some boon.
and when meg told him to behave himself and go away, he wrung imaginary tears out of his handkerchief, and staggered round the corner as if in utter despair.
""what does the goose mean?"
said meg, laughing and trying to look unconscious.
""he's showing you how your john will go on by-and-by.
touching, is n't it?"
answered jo scornfully.
""do n't say my john, it is n't proper or true," but meg's voice lingered over the words as if they sounded pleasant to her.
""please do n't plague me, jo, i've told you i do n't care much about him, and there is n't to be anything said, but we are all to be friendly, and go on as before."
""we ca n't, for something has been said, and laurie's mischief has spoiled you for me.
i see it, and so does mother.
you are not like your old self a bit, and seem ever so far away from me.
i do n't mean to plague you and will bear it like a man, but i do wish it was all settled.
i hate to wait, so if you mean ever to do it, make haste and have it over quickly," said jo pettishly.
""i ca n't say anything till he speaks, and he wo n't, because father said i was too young," began meg, bending over her work with a queer little smile, which suggested that she did not quite agree with her father on that point.
""if he did speak, you would n't know what to say, but would cry or blush, or let him have his own way, instead of giving a good, decided no."
""i'm not so silly and weak as you think.
i know just what i should say, for i've planned it all, so i need n't be taken unawares.
there's no knowing what may happen, and i wished to be prepared."
jo could n't help smiling at the important air which meg had unconsciously assumed and which was as becoming as the pretty color varying in her cheeks.
""would you mind telling me what you'd say?"
asked jo more respectfully.
""not at all.
you are sixteen now, quite old enough to be my confident, and my experience will be useful to you by-and-by, perhaps, in your own affairs of this sort."
""do n't mean to have any.
it's fun to watch other people philander, but i should feel like a fool doing it myself," said jo, looking alarmed at the thought.
""i think not, if you liked anyone very much, and he liked you."
meg spoke as if to herself, and glanced out at the lane where she had often seen lovers walking together in the summer twilight.
""i thought you were going to tell your speech to that man," said jo, rudely shortening her sister's little reverie.
""oh, i should merely say, quite calmly and decidedly, "thank you, mr. brooke, you are very kind, but i agree with father that i am too young to enter into any engagement at present, so please say no more, but let us be friends as we were.""
""hum, that's stiff and cool enough!
i do n't believe you'll ever say it, and i know he wo n't be satisfied if you do.
if he goes on like the rejected lovers in books, you'll give in, rather than hurt his feelings."
""no, i wo n't.
i shall tell him i've made up my mind, and shall walk out of the room with dignity."
meg rose as she spoke, and was just going to rehearse the dignified exit, when a step in the hall made her fly into her seat and begin to sew as fast as if her life depended on finishing that particular seam in a given time.
jo smothered a laugh at the sudden change, and when someone gave a modest tap, opened the door with a grim aspect which was anything but hospitable.
""good afternoon.
i came to get my umbrella, that is, to see how your father finds himself today," said mr. brooke, getting a trifle confused as his eyes went from one telltale face to the other.
""it's very well, he's in the rack.
i'll get him, and tell it you are here."
and having jumbled her father and the umbrella well together in her reply, jo slipped out of the room to give meg a chance to make her speech and air her dignity.
but the instant she vanished, meg began to sidle toward the door, murmuring... "mother will like to see you.
pray sit down, i'll call her."
""do n't go.
are you afraid of me, margaret?"
and mr. brooke looked so hurt that meg thought she must have done something very rude.
she blushed up to the little curls on her forehead, for he had never called her margaret before, and she was surprised to find how natural and sweet it seemed to hear him say it.
anxious to appear friendly and at her ease, she put out her hand with a confiding gesture, and said gratefully... "how can i be afraid when you have been so kind to father?
i only wish i could thank you for it."
""shall i tell you how?"
asked mr. brooke, holding the small hand fast in both his own, and looking down at meg with so much love in the brown eyes that her heart began to flutter, and she both longed to run away and to stop and listen.
""oh no, please do n't, i'd rather not," she said, trying to withdraw her hand, and looking frightened in spite of her denial.
""i wo n't trouble you.
i only want to know if you care for me a little, meg.
i love you so much, dear," added mr. brooke tenderly.
this was the moment for the calm, proper speech, but meg did n't make it.
she forgot every word of it, hung her head, and answered, "i do n't know," so softly that john had to stoop down to catch the foolish little reply.
he seemed to think it was worth the trouble, for he smiled to himself as if quite satisfied, pressed the plump hand gratefully, and said in his most persuasive tone, "will you try and find out?
i want to know so much, for i ca n't go to work with any heart until i learn whether i am to have my reward in the end or not."
""i'm too young," faltered meg, wondering why she was so fluttered, yet rather enjoying it.
""i'll wait, and in the meantime, you could be learning to like me.
would it be a very hard lesson, dear?"
""not if i chose to learn it, but..." "please choose to learn, meg.
i love to teach, and this is easier than german," broke in john, getting possession of the other hand, so that she had no way of hiding her face as he bent to look into it.
his tone was properly beseeching, but stealing a shy look at him, meg saw that his eyes were merry as well as tender, and that he wore the satisfied smile of one who had no doubt of his success.
this nettled her.
annie moffat's foolish lessons in coquetry came into her mind, and the love of power, which sleeps in the bosoms of the best of little women, woke up all of a sudden and took possession of her.
she felt excited and strange, and not knowing what else to do, followed a capricious impulse, and, withdrawing her hands, said petulantly, "i do n't choose.
please go away and let me be!"
poor mr. brooke looked as if his lovely castle in the air was tumbling about his ears, for he had never seen meg in such a mood before, and it rather bewildered him.
""do you really mean that?"
he asked anxiously, following her as she walked away.
""yes, i do.
i do n't want to be worried about such things.
father says i need n't, it's too soon and i'd rather not."
""may n't i hope you'll change your mind by-and-by?
i'll wait and say nothing till you have had more time.
do n't play with me, meg.
i did n't think that of you."
""do n't think of me at all.
i'd rather you would n't," said meg, taking a naughty satisfaction in trying her lover's patience and her own power.
he was grave and pale now, and looked decidedly more like the novel heroes whom she admired, but he neither slapped his forehead nor tramped about the room as they did.
he just stood looking at her so wistfully, so tenderly, that she found her heart relenting in spite of herself.
what would have happened next i can not say, if aunt march had not come hobbling in at this interesting minute.
the old lady could n't resist her longing to see her nephew, for she had met laurie as she took her airing, and hearing of mr. march's arrival, drove straight out to see him.
the family were all busy in the back part of the house, and she had made her way quietly in, hoping to surprise them.
she did surprise two of them so much that meg started as if she had seen a ghost, and mr. brooke vanished into the study.
""bless me, what's all this?"
cried the old lady with a rap of her cane as she glanced from the pale young gentleman to the scarlet young lady.
""it's father's friend.
i'm so surprised to see you!"
stammered meg, feeling that she was in for a lecture now.
""that's evident," returned aunt march, sitting down.
""but what is father's friend saying to make you look like a peony?
there's mischief going on, and i insist upon knowing what it is," with another rap.
""we were only talking.
mr. brooke came for his umbrella," began meg, wishing that mr. brooke and the umbrella were safely out of the house.
""brooke?
that boy's tutor?
ah!
i understand now.
i know all about it.
jo blundered into a wrong message in one of your father's letters, and i made her tell me.
you have n't gone and accepted him, child?"
cried aunt march, looking scandalized.
""hush!
he'll hear.
sha n't i call mother?"
said meg, much troubled.
""not yet.
i've something to say to you, and i must free my mind at once.
tell me, do you mean to marry this cook?
if you do, not one penny of my money ever goes to you.
remember that, and be a sensible girl," said the old lady impressively.
now aunt march possessed in perfection the art of rousing the spirit of opposition in the gentlest people, and enjoyed doing it.
the best of us have a spice of perversity in us, especially when we are young and in love.
if aunt march had begged meg to accept john brooke, she would probably have declared she could n't think of it, but as she was preemptorily ordered not to like him, she immediately made up her mind that she would.
inclination as well as perversity made the decision easy, and being already much excited, meg opposed the old lady with unusual spirit.
""i shall marry whom i please, aunt march, and you can leave your money to anyone you like," she said, nodding her head with a resolute air.
""highty-tighty!
is that the way you take my advice, miss?
you'll be sorry for it by-and-by, when you've tried love in a cottage and found it a failure."
""it ca n't be a worse one than some people find in big houses," retorted meg.
aunt march put on her glasses and took a look at the girl, for she did not know her in this new mood.
meg hardly knew herself, she felt so brave and independent, so glad to defend john and assert her right to love him, if she liked.
aunt march saw that she had begun wrong, and after a little pause, made a fresh start, saying as mildly as she could, "now, meg, my dear, be reasonable and take my advice.
i mean it kindly, and do n't want you to spoil your whole life by making a mistake at the beginning.
you ought to marry well and help your family.
it's your duty to make a rich match and it ought to be impressed upon you."
""father and mother do n't think so.
they like john though he is poor."
""your parents, my dear, have no more worldly wisdom than a pair of babies."
""i'm glad of it," cried meg stoutly.
aunt march took no notice, but went on with her lecture.
""this rook is poor and has n't got any rich relations, has he?"
""no, but he has many warm friends."
""you ca n't live on friends, try it and see how cool they'll grow.
he has n't any business, has he?"
""not yet.
mr. laurence is going to help him."
""that wo n't last long.
james laurence is a crotchety old fellow and not to be depended on.
so you intend to marry a man without money, position, or business, and go on working harder than you do now, when you might be comfortable all your days by minding me and doing better?
i thought you had more sense, meg."
""i could n't do better if i waited half my life!
john is good and wise, he's got heaps of talent, he's willing to work and sure to get on, he's so energetic and brave.
everyone likes and respects him, and i'm proud to think he cares for me, though i'm so poor and young and silly," said meg, looking prettier than ever in her earnestness.
""he knows you have got rich relations, child.
that's the secret of his liking, i suspect."
""aunt march, how dare you say such a thing?
john is above such meanness, and i wo n't listen to you a minute if you talk so," cried meg indignantly, forgetting everything but the injustice of the old lady's suspicions.
""my john would n't marry for money, any more than i would.
we are willing to work and we mean to wait.
i'm not afraid of being poor, for i've been happy so far, and i know i shall be with him because he loves me, and i..
."
meg stopped there, remembering all of a sudden that she had n't made up her mind, that she had told "her john" to go away, and that he might be overhearing her inconsistent remarks.
aunt march was very angry, for she had set her heart on having her pretty niece make a fine match, and something in the girl's happy young face made the lonely old woman feel both sad and sour.
""well, i wash my hands of the whole affair!
you are a willful child, and you've lost more than you know by this piece of folly.
no, i wo n't stop.
i'm disappointed in you, and have n't spirits to see your father now.
do n't expect anything from me when you are married.
your mr. brooke's friends must take care of you.
i'm done with you forever."
and slamming the door in meg's face, aunt march drove off in high dudgeon.
she seemed to take all the girl's courage with her, for when left alone, meg stood for a moment, undecided whether to laugh or cry.
before she could make up her mind, she was taken possession of by mr. brooke, who said all in one breath, "i could n't help hearing, meg.
thank you for defending me, and aunt march for proving that you do care for me a little bit."
""i did n't know how much till she abused you," began meg.
""and i need n't go away, but may stay and be happy, may i, dear?"
here was another fine chance to make the crushing speech and the stately exit, but meg never thought of doing either, and disgraced herself forever in jo's eyes by meekly whispering, "yes, john," and hiding her face on mr. brooke's waistcoat.
fifteen minutes after aunt march's departure, jo came softly downstairs, paused an instant at the parlor door, and hearing no sound within, nodded and smiled with a satisfied expression, saying to herself, "she has seen him away as we planned, and that affair is settled.
i'll go and hear the fun, and have a good laugh over it."
but poor jo never got her laugh, for she was transfixed upon the threshold by a spectacle which held her there, staring with her mouth nearly as wide open as her eyes.
going in to exult over a fallen enemy and to praise a strong-minded sister for the banishment of an objectionable lover, it certainly was a shock to behold the aforesaid enemy serenely sitting on the sofa, with the strongminded sister enthroned upon his knee and wearing an expression of the most abject submission.
jo gave a sort of gasp, as if a cold shower bath had suddenly fallen upon her, for such an unexpected turning of the tables actually took her breath away.
at the odd sound the lovers turned and saw her.
meg jumped up, looking both proud and shy, but "that man", as jo called him, actually laughed and said coolly, as he kissed the astonished newcomer, "sister jo, congratulate us!"
that was adding insult to injury, it was altogether too much, and making some wild demonstration with her hands, jo vanished without a word.
rushing upstairs, she startled the invalids by exclaiming tragically as she burst into the room, "oh, do somebody go down quick!
john brooke is acting dreadfully, and meg likes it!"
mr. and mrs. march left the room with speed, and casting herself upon the bed, jo cried and scolded tempestuously as she told the awful news to beth and amy.
the little girls, however, considered it a most agreeable and interesting event, and jo got little comfort from them, so she went up to her refuge in the garret, and confided her troubles to the rats.
nobody ever knew what went on in the parlor that afternoon, but a great deal of talking was done, and quiet mr. brooke astonished his friends by the eloquence and spirit with which he pleaded his suit, told his plans, and persuaded them to arrange everything just as he wanted it.
the tea bell rang before he had finished describing the paradise which he meant to earn for meg, and he proudly took her in to supper, both looking so happy that jo had n't the heart to be jealous or dismal.
amy was very much impressed by john's devotion and meg's dignity, beth beamed at them from a distance, while mr. and mrs. march surveyed the young couple with such tender satisfaction that it was perfectly evident aunt march was right in calling them as "unworldly as a pair of babies".
no one ate much, but everyone looked very happy, and the old room seemed to brighten up amazingly when the first romance of the family began there.
""you ca n't say nothing pleasant ever happens now, can you, meg?"
said amy, trying to decide how she would group the lovers in a sketch she was planning to make.
""no, i'm sure i ca n't.
how much has happened since i said that!
it seems a year ago," answered meg, who was in a blissful dream lifted far above such common things as bread and butter.
""the joys come close upon the sorrows this time, and i rather think the changes have begun," said mrs. march.
""in most families there comes, now and then, a year full of events.
this has been such a one, but it ends well, after all."
""hope the next will end better," muttered jo, who found it very hard to see meg absorbed in a stranger before her face, for jo loved a few persons very dearly and dreaded to have their affection lost or lessened in any way.
""i hope the third year from this will end better.
i mean it shall, if i live to work out my plans," said mr. brooke, smiling at meg, as if everything had become possible to him now.
""does n't it seem very long to wait?"
asked amy, who was in a hurry for the wedding.
""i've got so much to learn before i shall be ready, it seems a short time to me," answered meg, with a sweet gravity in her face never seen there before.
""you have only to wait, i am to do the work," said john beginning his labors by picking up meg's napkin, with an expression which caused jo to shake her head, and then say to herself with an air of relief as the front door banged, "here comes laurie.
now we shall have some sensible conversation."
but jo was mistaken, for laurie came prancing in, overflowing with good spirits, bearing a great bridal-looking bouquet for "mrs. john brooke", and evidently laboring under the delusion that the whole affair had been brought about by his excellent management.
""i knew brooke would have it all his own way, he always does, for when he makes up his mind to accomplish anything, it's done though the sky falls," said laurie, when he had presented his offering and his congratulations.
""much obliged for that recommendation.
i take it as a good omen for the future and invite you to my wedding on the spot," answered mr. brooke, who felt at peace with all mankind, even his mischievous pupil.
""i'll come if i'm at the ends of the earth, for the sight of jo's face alone on that occasion would be worth a long journey.
you do n't look festive, ma'am, what's the matter?"
asked laurie, following her into a corner of the parlor, whither all had adjourned to greet mr. laurence.
""i do n't approve of the match, but i've made up my mind to bear it, and shall not say a word against it," said jo solemnly.
""you ca n't know how hard it is for me to give up meg," she continued with a little quiver in her voice.
""you do n't give her up.
you only go halves," said laurie consolingly.
""it can never be the same again.
i've lost my dearest friend," sighed jo.
""you've got me, anyhow.
i'm not good for much, i know, but i'll stand by you, jo, all the days of my life.
upon my word i will!"
and laurie meant what he said.
""i know you will, and i'm ever so much obliged.
you are always a great comfort to me, teddy," returned jo, gratefully shaking hands.
""well, now, do n't be dismal, there's a good fellow.
it's all right you see.
meg is happy, brooke will fly round and get settled immediately, grandpa will attend to him, and it will be very jolly to see meg in her own little house.
we'll have capital times after she is gone, for i shall be through college before long, and then we'll go abroad on some nice trip or other.
would n't that console you?"
""i rather think it would, but there's no knowing what may happen in three years," said jo thoughtfully.
""that's true.
do n't you wish you could take a look forward and see where we shall all be then?
i do," returned laurie.
""i think not, for i might see something sad, and everyone looks so happy now, i do n't believe they could be much improved."
and jo's eyes went slowly round the room, brightening as they looked, for the prospect was a pleasant one.
father and mother sat together, quietly reliving the first chapter of the romance which for them began some twenty years ago.
amy was drawing the lovers, who sat apart in a beautiful world of their own, the light of which touched their faces with a grace the little artist could not copy.
beth lay on her sofa, talking cheerily with her old friend, who held her little hand as if he felt that it possessed the power to lead him along the peaceful way she walked.
jo lounged in her favorite low seat, with the grave quiet look which best became her, and laurie, leaning on the back of her chair, his chin on a level with her curly head, smiled with his friendliest aspect, and nodded at her in the long glass which reflected them both.
so the curtain falls upon meg, jo, beth, and amy.
whether it ever rises again, depends upon the reception given the first act of the domestic drama called little women.
little women part 2 in order that we may start afresh and go to meg's wedding... chapter twenty-four gossip in order that we may start afresh and go to meg's wedding with free minds, it will be well to begin with a little gossip about the marches.
and here let me premise that if any of the elders think there is too much "lovering" in the story, as i fear they may -lrb- i'm not afraid the young folks will make that objection -rrb-, i can only say with mrs. march, "what can you expect when i have four gay girls in the house, and a dashing young neighbor over the way?"
the three years that have passed have brought but few changes to the quiet family.
the war is over, and mr. march safely at home, busy with his books and the small parish which found in him a minister by nature as by grace, a quiet, studious man, rich in the wisdom that is better than learning, the charity which calls all mankind "brother", the piety that blossoms into character, making it august and lovely.
these attributes, in spite of poverty and the strict integrity which shut him out from the more worldly successes, attracted to him many admirable persons, as naturally as sweet herbs draw bees, and as naturally he gave them the honey into which fifty years of hard experience had distilled no bitter drop.
earnest young men found the gray-headed scholar as young at heart as they; thoughtful or troubled women instinctively brought their doubts to him, sure of finding the gentlest sympathy, the wisest counsel.
sinners told their sins to the pure-hearted old man and were both rebuked and saved.
gifted men found a companion in him.
ambitious men caught glimpses of nobler ambitions than their own, and even worldlings confessed that his beliefs were beautiful and true, although "they would n't pay".
to outsiders the five energetic women seemed to rule the house, and so they did in many things, but the quiet scholar, sitting among his books, was still the head of the family, the household conscience, anchor, and comforter, for to him the busy, anxious women always turned in troublous times, finding him, in the truest sense of those sacred words, husband and father.
the girls gave their hearts into their mother's keeping, their souls into their father's, and to both parents, who lived and labored so faithfully for them, they gave a love that grew with their growth and bound them tenderly together by the sweetest tie which blesses life and outlives death.
mrs. march is as brisk and cheery, though rather grayer, than when we saw her last, and just now so absorbed in meg's affairs that the hospitals and homes still full of wounded "boys" and soldiers" widows, decidedly miss the motherly missionary's visits.
john brooke did his duty manfully for a year, got wounded, was sent home, and not allowed to return.
he received no stars or bars, but he deserved them, for he cheerfully risked all he had, and life and love are very precious when both are in full bloom.
perfectly resigned to his discharge, he devoted himself to getting well, preparing for business, and earning a home for meg.
with the good sense and sturdy independence that characterized him, he refused mr. laurence's more generous offers, and accepted the place of bookkeeper, feeling better satisfied to begin with an honestly earned salary than by running any risks with borrowed money.
meg had spent the time in working as well as waiting, growing womanly in character, wise in housewifely arts, and prettier than ever, for love is a great beautifier.
she had her girlish ambitions and hopes, and felt some disappointment at the humble way in which the new life must begin.
ned moffat had just married sallie gardiner, and meg could n't help contrasting their fine house and carriage, many gifts, and splendid outfit with her own, and secretly wishing she could have the same.
but somehow envy and discontent soon vanished when she thought of all the patient love and labor john had put into the little home awaiting her, and when they sat together in the twilight, talking over their small plans, the future always grew so beautiful and bright that she forgot sallie's splendor and felt herself the richest, happiest girl in christendom.
jo never went back to aunt march, for the old lady took such a fancy to amy that she bribed her with the offer of drawing lessons from one of the best teachers going, and for the sake of this advantage, amy would have served a far harder mistress.
so she gave her mornings to duty, her afternoons to pleasure, and prospered finely.
jo meantime devoted herself to literature and beth, who remained delicate long after the fever was a thing of the past.
not an invalid exactly, but never again the rosy, healthy creature she had been, yet always hopeful, happy, and serene, and busy with the quiet duties she loved, everyone's friend, and an angel in the house, long before those who loved her most had learned to know it.
as long as the spread eagle paid her a dollar a column for her "rubbish", as she called it, jo felt herself a woman of means, and spun her little romances diligently.
but great plans fermented in her busy brain and ambitious mind, and the old tin kitchen in the garret held a slowly increasing pile of blotted manuscript, which was one day to place the name of march upon the roll of fame.
laurie, having dutifully gone to college to please his grandfather, was now getting through it in the easiest possible manner to please himself.
a universal favorite, thanks to money, manners, much talent, and the kindest heart that ever got its owner into scrapes by trying to get other people out of them, he stood in great danger of being spoiled, and probably would have been, like many another promising boy, if he had not possessed a talisman against evil in the memory of the kind old man who was bound up in his success, the motherly friend who watched over him as if he were her son, and last, but not least by any means, the knowledge that four innocent girls loved, admired, and believed in him with all their hearts.
being only" a glorious human boy", of course he frolicked and flirted, grew dandified, aquatic, sentimental, or gymnastic, as college fashions ordained, hazed and was hazed, talked slang, and more than once came perilously near suspension and expulsion.
but as high spirits and the love of fun were the causes of these pranks, he always managed to save himself by frank confession, honorable atonement, or the irresistible power of persuasion which he possessed in perfection.
in fact, he rather prided himself on his narrow escapes, and liked to thrill the girls with graphic accounts of his triumphs over wrathful tutors, dignified professors, and vanquished enemies.
the "men of my class", were heroes in the eyes of the girls, who never wearied of the exploits of "our fellows", and were frequently allowed to bask in the smiles of these great creatures, when laurie brought them home with him.
amy especially enjoyed this high honor, and became quite a belle among them, for her ladyship early felt and learned to use the gift of fascination with which she was endowed.
meg was too much absorbed in her private and particular john to care for any other lords of creation, and beth too shy to do more than peep at them and wonder how amy dared to order them about so, but jo felt quite in her own element, and found it very difficult to refrain from imitating the gentlemanly attitudes, phrases, and feats, which seemed more natural to her than the decorums prescribed for young ladies.
they all liked jo immensely, but never fell in love with her, though very few escaped without paying the tribute of a sentimental sigh or two at amy's shrine.
and speaking of sentiment brings us very naturally to the "dovecote".
that was the name of the little brown house mr. brooke had prepared for meg's first home.
laurie had christened it, saying it was highly appropriate to the gentle lovers who "went on together like a pair of turtledoves, with first a bill and then a coo".
it was a tiny house, with a little garden behind and a lawn about as big as a pocket handkerchief in the front.
here meg meant to have a fountain, shrubbery, and a profusion of lovely flowers, though just at present the fountain was represented by a weather-beaten urn, very like a dilapidated slopbowl, the shrubbery consisted of several young larches, undecided whether to live or die, and the profusion of flowers was merely hinted by regiments of sticks to show where seeds were planted.
but inside, it was altogether charming, and the happy bride saw no fault from garret to cellar.
to be sure, the hall was so narrow it was fortunate that they had no piano, for one never could have been got in whole, the dining room was so small that six people were a tight fit, and the kitchen stairs seemed built for the express purpose of precipitating both servants and china pell-mell into the coalbin.
but once get used to these slight blemishes and nothing could be more complete, for good sense and good taste had presided over the furnishing, and the result was highly satisfactory.
there were no marble-topped tables, long mirrors, or lace curtains in the little parlor, but simple furniture, plenty of books, a fine picture or two, a stand of flowers in the bay window, and, scattered all about, the pretty gifts which came from friendly hands and were the fairer for the loving messages they brought.
i do n't think the parian psyche laurie gave lost any of its beauty because john put up the bracket it stood upon, that any upholsterer could have draped the plain muslin curtains more gracefully than amy's artistic hand, or that any store-room was ever better provided with good wishes, merry words, and happy hopes than that in which jo and her mother put away meg's few boxes, barrels, and bundles, and i am morally certain that the spandy new kitchen never could have looked so cozy and neat if hannah had not arranged every pot and pan a dozen times over, and laid the fire all ready for lighting the minute "mis.
brooke came home".
i also doubt if any young matron ever began life with so rich a supply of dusters, holders, and piece bags, for beth made enough to last till the silver wedding came round, and invented three different kinds of dishcloths for the express service of the bridal china.
people who hire all these things done for them never know what they lose, for the homeliest tasks get beautified if loving hands do them, and meg found so many proofs of this that everything in her small nest, from the kitchen roller to the silver vase on her parlor table, was eloquent of home love and tender forethought.
what happy times they had planning together, what solemn shopping excursions, what funny mistakes they made, and what shouts of laughter arose over laurie's ridiculous bargains.
in his love of jokes, this young gentleman, though nearly through college, was a much of a boy as ever.
his last whim had been to bring with him on his weekly visits some new, useful, and ingenious article for the young housekeeper.
now a bag of remarkable clothespins, next, a wonderful nutmeg grater which fell to pieces at the first trial, a knife cleaner that spoiled all the knives, or a sweeper that picked the nap neatly off the carpet and left the dirt, labor-saving soap that took the skin off one's hands, infallible cements which stuck firmly to nothing but the fingers of the deluded buyer, and every kind of tinware, from a toy savings bank for odd pennies, to a wonderful boiler which would wash articles in its own steam with every prospect of exploding in the process.
in vain meg begged him to stop.
john laughed at him, and jo called him "mr. toodles".
he was possessed with a mania for patronizing yankee ingenuity, and seeing his friends fitly furnished forth.
so each week beheld some fresh absurdity.
everything was done at last, even to amy's arranging different colored soaps to match the different colored rooms, and beth's setting the table for the first meal.
""are you satisfied?
does it seem like home, and do you feel as if you should be happy here?"
asked mrs. march, as she and her daughter went through the new kingdom arm in arm, for just then they seemed to cling together more tenderly than ever.
""yes, mother, perfectly satisfied, thanks to you all, and so happy that i ca n't talk about it," with a look that was far better than words.
""if she only had a servant or two it would be all right," said amy, coming out of the parlor, where she had been trying to decide whether the bronze mercury looked best on the whatnot or the mantlepiece.
""mother and i have talked that over, and i have made up my mind to try her way first.
there will be so little to do that with lotty to run my errands and help me here and there, i shall only have enough work to keep me from getting lazy or homesick," answered meg tranquilly.
""sallie moffat has four," began amy.
""if meg had four, the house would n't hold them, and master and missis would have to camp in the garden," broke in jo, who, enveloped in a big blue pinafore, was giving the last polish to the door handles.
""sallie is n't a poor man's wife, and many maids are in keeping with her fine establishment.
meg and john begin humbly, but i have a feeling that there will be quite as much happiness in the little house as in the big one.
it's a great mistake for young girls like meg to leave themselves nothing to do but dress, give orders, and gossip.
when i was first married, i used to long for my new clothes to wear out or get torn, so that i might have the pleasure of mending them, for i got heartily sick of doing fancywork and tending my pocket handkerchief."
""why did n't you go into the kitchen and make messes, as sallie says she does to amuse herself, though they never turn out well and the servants laugh at her," said meg.
""i did after a while, not to "mess" but to learn of hannah how things should be done, that my servants need not laugh at me.
it was play then, but there came a time when i was truly grateful that i not only possessed the will but the power to cook wholesome food for my little girls, and help myself when i could no longer afford to hire help.
you begin at the other end, meg, dear, but the lessons you learn now will be of use to you by-and-by when john is a richer man, for the mistress of a house, however splendid, should know how work ought to be done, if she wishes to be well and honestly served."
""yes, mother, i'm sure of that," said meg, listening respectfully to the little lecture, for the best of women will hold forth upon the all absorbing subject of house keeping.
""do you know i like this room most of all in my baby house," added meg, a minute after, as they went upstairs and she looked into her well-stored linen closet.
beth was there, laying the snowy piles smoothly on the shelves and exulting over the goodly array.
all three laughed as meg spoke, for that linen closet was a joke.
you see, having said that if meg married "that brooke" she should n't have a cent of her money, aunt march was rather in a quandary when time had appeased her wrath and made her repent her vow.
she never broke her word, and was much exercised in her mind how to get round it, and at last devised a plan whereby she could satisfy herself.
mrs. carrol, florence's mamma, was ordered to buy, have made, and marked a generous supply of house and table linen, and send it as her present, all of which was faithfully done, but the secret leaked out, and was greatly enjoyed by the family, for aunt march tried to look utterly unconscious, and insisted that she could give nothing but the old-fashioned pearls long promised to the first bride.
""that's a housewifely taste which i am glad to see.
i had a young friend who set up housekeeping with six sheets, but she had finger bowls for company and that satisfied her," said mrs. march, patting the damask tablecloths, with a truly feminine appreciation of their fineness.
""i have n't a single finger bowl, but this is a setout that will last me all my days, hannah says."
and meg looked quite contented, as well she might.
a tall, broad-shouldered young fellow, with a cropped head, a felt basin of a hat, and a flyaway coat, came tramping down the road at a great pace, walked over the low fence without stopping to open the gate, straight up to mrs. march, with both hands out and a hearty... "here i am, mother!
yes, it's all right."
the last words were in answer to the look the elder lady gave him, a kindly questioning look which the handsome eyes met so frankly that the little ceremony closed, as usual, with a motherly kiss.
""for mrs. john brooke, with the maker's congratulations and compliments.
bless you, beth!
what a refreshing spectacle you are, jo.
amy, you are getting altogether too handsome for a single lady."
as laurie spoke, he delivered a brown paper parcel to meg, pulled beth's hair ribbon, stared at jo's big pinafore, and fell into an attitude of mock rapture before amy, then shook hands all round, and everyone began to talk.
""where is john?"
asked meg anxiously.
""stopped to get the license for tomorrow, ma'am."
""which side won the last match, teddy?"
inquired jo, who persisted in feeling an interest in manly sports despite her nineteen years.
""ours, of course.
wish you'd been there to see."
""how is the lovely miss randal?"
asked amy with a significant smile.
""more cruel than ever.
do n't you see how i'm pining away?"
and laurie gave his broad chest a sounding slap and heaved a melodramatic sigh.
""what's the last joke?
undo the bundle and see, meg," said beth, eying the knobby parcel with curiosity.
""it's a useful thing to have in the house in case of fire or thieves," observed laurie, as a watchman's rattle appeared, amid the laughter of the girls.
""any time when john is away and you get frightened, mrs. meg, just swing that out of the front window, and it will rouse the neighborhood in a jiffy.
nice thing, is n't it?"
and laurie gave them a sample of its powers that made them cover up their ears.
""there's gratitude for you!
and speaking of gratitude reminds me to mention that you may thank hannah for saving your wedding cake from destruction.
i saw it going into your house as i came by, and if she had n't defended it manfully i'd have had a pick at it, for it looked like a remarkably plummy one."
""i wonder if you will ever grow up, laurie," said meg in a matronly tone.
""i'm doing my best, ma'am, but ca n't get much higher, i'm afraid, as six feet is about all men can do in these degenerate days," responded the young gentleman, whose head was about level with the little chandelier.
""i suppose it would be profanation to eat anything in this spick-and-span bower, so as i'm tremendously hungry, i propose an adjournment," he added presently.
""mother and i are going to wait for john.
there are some last things to settle," said meg, bustling away.
""beth and i are going over to kitty bryant's to get more flowers for tomorrow," added amy, tying a picturesque hat over her picturesque curls, and enjoying the effect as much as anybody.
""come, jo, do n't desert a fellow.
i'm in such a state of exhaustion i ca n't get home without help.
do n't take off your apron, whatever you do, it's peculiarly becoming," said laurie, as jo bestowed his especial aversion in her capacious pocket and offered her arm to support his feeble steps.
""now, teddy, i want to talk seriously to you about tomorrow," began jo, as they strolled away together.
""you must promise to behave well, and not cut up any pranks, and spoil our plans."
""not a prank."
""and do n't say funny things when we ought to be sober."
""i never do.
you are the one for that."
""and i implore you not to look at me during the ceremony.
i shall certainly laugh if you do."
""you wo n't see me, you'll be crying so hard that the thick fog round you will obscure the prospect."
""i never cry unless for some great affliction."
""such as fellows going to college, hey?"
cut in laurie, with suggestive laugh.
""do n't be a peacock.
i only moaned a trifle to keep the girls company."
""exactly.
i say, jo, how is grandpa this week?
pretty amiable?"
""very.
why, have you got into a scrape and want to know how he'll take it?"
asked jo rather sharply.
""now, jo, do you think i'd look your mother in the face and say "all right", if it was n't?"
and laurie stopped short, with an injured air.
""no, i do n't."
""then do n't go and be suspicious.
i only want some money," said laurie, walking on again, appeased by her hearty tone.
""you spend a great deal, teddy."
""bless you, i do n't spend it, it spends itself somehow, and is gone before i know it."
""you are so generous and kind-hearted that you let people borrow, and ca n't say "no" to anyone.
we heard about henshaw and all you did for him.
if you always spent money in that way, no one would blame you," said jo warmly.
""oh, he made a mountain out of a molehill.
you would n't have me let that fine fellow work himself to death just for want of a little help, when he is worth a dozen of us lazy chaps, would you?"
""of course not, but i do n't see the use of your having seventeen waistcoats, endless neckties, and a new hat every time you come home.
i thought you'd got over the dandy period, but every now and then it breaks out in a new spot.
just now it's the fashion to be hideous, to make your head look like a scrubbing brush, wear a strait jacket, orange gloves, and clumping square-toed boots.
if it was cheap ugliness, i'd say nothing, but it costs as much as the other, and i do n't get any satisfaction out of it."
laurie threw back his head, and laughed so heartily at this attack, that the felt hat fell off, and jo walked on it, which insult only afforded him an opportunity for expatiating on the advantages of a rough-and-ready costume, as he folded up the maltreated hat, and stuffed it into his pocket.
""do n't lecture any more, there's a good soul!
i have enough all through the week, and like to enjoy myself when i come home.
i'll get myself up regardless of expense tomorrow and be a satisfaction to my friends."
""i'll leave you in peace if you'll only let your hair grow.
i'm not aristocratic, but i do object to being seen with a person who looks like a young prize fighter," observed jo severely.
""this unassuming style promotes study, that's why we adopt it," returned laurie, who certainly could not be accused of vanity, having voluntarily sacrificed a handsome curly crop to the demand for quarter-inch-long stubble.
""by the way, jo, i think that little parker is really getting desperate about amy.
he talks of her constantly, writes poetry, and moons about in a most suspicious manner.
he'd better nip his little passion in the bud, had n't he?"
added laurie, in a confidential, elder brotherly tone, after a minute's silence.
""of course he had.
we do n't want any more marrying in this family for years to come.
mercy on us, what are the children thinking of?"
and jo looked as much scandalized as if amy and little parker were not yet in their teens.
""it's a fast age, and i do n't know what we are coming to, ma'am.
you are a mere infant, but you'll go next, jo, and we'll be left lamenting," said laurie, shaking his head over the degeneracy of the times.
""do n't be alarmed.
i'm not one of the agreeable sort.
nobody will want me, and it's a mercy, for there should always be one old maid in a family."
""you wo n't give anyone a chance," said laurie, with a sidelong glance and a little more color than before in his sunburned face.
""you wo n't show the soft side of your character, and if a fellow gets a peep at it by accident and ca n't help showing that he likes it, you treat him as mrs. gummidge did her sweetheart, throw cold water over him, and get so thorny no one dares touch or look at you."
""i do n't like that sort of thing.
i'm too busy to be worried with nonsense, and i think it's dreadful to break up families so.
now do n't say any more about it.
meg's wedding has turned all our heads, and we talk of nothing but lovers and such absurdities.
i do n't wish to get cross, so let's change the subject;" and jo looked quite ready to fling cold water on the slightest provocation.
whatever his feelings might have been, laurie found a vent for them in a long low whistle and the fearful prediction as they parted at the gate, "mark my words, jo, you'll go next."
chapter twenty-five the first wedding the june roses over the porch were awake bright and early on that morning, rejoicing with all their hearts in the cloudless sunshine, like friendly little neighbors, as they were.
quite flushed with excitement were their ruddy faces, as they swung in the wind, whispering to one another what they had seen, for some peeped in at the dining room windows where the feast was spread, some climbed up to nod and smile at the sisters as they dressed the bride, others waved a welcome to those who came and went on various errands in garden, porch, and hall, and all, from the rosiest full-blown flower to the palest baby bud, offered their tribute of beauty and fragrance to the gentle mistress who had loved and tended them so long.
meg looked very like a rose herself, for all that was best and sweetest in heart and soul seemed to bloom into her face that day, making it fair and tender, with a charm more beautiful than beauty.
neither silk, lace, nor orange flowers would she have.
""i do n't want a fashionable wedding, but only those about me whom i love, and to them i wish to look and be my familiar self."
so she made her wedding gown herself, sewing into it the tender hopes and innocent romances of a girlish heart.
her sisters braided up her pretty hair, and the only ornaments she wore were the lilies of the valley, which "her john" liked best of all the flowers that grew.
""you do look just like our own dear meg, only so very sweet and lovely that i should hug you if it would n't crumple your dress," cried amy, surveying her with delight when all was done.
""then i am satisfied.
but please hug and kiss me, everyone, and do n't mind my dress.
i want a great many crumples of this sort put into it today," and meg opened her arms to her sisters, who clung about her with april faces for a minute, feeling that the new love had not changed the old.
""now i'm going to tie john's cravat for him, and then to stay a few minutes with father quietly in the study," and meg ran down to perform these little ceremonies, and then to follow her mother wherever she went, conscious that in spite of the smiles on the motherly face, there was a secret sorrow hid in the motherly heart at the flight of the first bird from the nest.
as the younger girls stand together, giving the last touches to their simple toilet, it may be a good time to tell of a few changes which three years have wrought in their appearance, for all are looking their best just now.
jo's angles are much softened, she has learned to carry herself with ease, if not grace.
the curly crop has lengthened into a thick coil, more becoming to the small head atop of the tall figure.
there is a fresh color in her brown cheeks, a soft shine in her eyes, and only gentle words fall from her sharp tongue today.
beth has grown slender, pale, and more quiet than ever.
the beautiful, kind eyes are larger, and in them lies an expression that saddens one, although it is not sad itself.
it is the shadow of pain which touches the young face with such pathetic patience, but beth seldom complains and always speaks hopefully of "being better soon".
amy is with truth considered "the flower of the family", for at sixteen she has the air and bearing of a full-grown woman, not beautiful, but possessed of that indescribable charm called grace.
one saw it in the lines of her figure, the make and motion of her hands, the flow of her dress, the droop of her hair, unconscious yet harmonious, and as attractive to many as beauty itself.
amy's nose still afflicted her, for it never would grow grecian, so did her mouth, being too wide, and having a decided chin.
these offending features gave character to her whole face, but she never could see it, and consoled herself with her wonderfully fair complexion, keen blue eyes, and curls more golden and abundant than ever.
all three wore suits of thin silver gray -lrb- their best gowns for the summer -rrb-, with blush roses in hair and bosom, and all three looked just what they were, fresh-faced, happy-hearted girls, pausing a moment in their busy lives to read with wistful eyes the sweetest chapter in the romance of womanhood.
there were to be no ceremonious performances, everything was to be as natural and homelike as possible, so when aunt march arrived, she was scandalized to see the bride come running to welcome and lead her in, to find the bridegroom fastening up a garland that had fallen down, and to catch a glimpse of the paternal minister marching upstairs with a grave countenance and a wine bottle under each arm.
""upon my word, here's a state of things!"
cried the old lady, taking the seat of honor prepared for her, and settling the folds of her lavender moire with a great rustle.
""you ought n't to be seen till the last minute, child."
""i'm not a show, aunty, and no one is coming to stare at me, to criticize my dress, or count the cost of my luncheon.
i'm too happy to care what anyone says or thinks, and i'm going to have my little wedding just as i like it.
john, dear, here's your hammer."
and away went meg to help "that man" in his highly improper employment.
mr. brooke did n't even say, "thank you," but as he stooped for the unromantic tool, he kissed his little bride behind the folding door, with a look that made aunt march whisk out her pocket handkerchief with a sudden dew in her sharp old eyes.
a crash, a cry, and a laugh from laurie, accompanied by the indecorous exclamation, "jupiter ammon!
jo's upset the cake again!"
caused a momentary flurry, which was hardly over when a flock of cousins arrived, and "the party came in", as beth used to say when a child.
""do n't let that young giant come near me, he worries me worse than mosquitoes," whispered the old lady to amy, as the rooms filled and laurie's black head towered above the rest.
""he has promised to be very good today, and he can be perfectly elegant if he likes," returned amy, and gliding away to warn hercules to beware of the dragon, which warning caused him to haunt the old lady with a devotion that nearly distracted her.
there was no bridal procession, but a sudden silence fell upon the room as mr. march and the young couple took their places under the green arch.
mother and sisters gathered close, as if loath to give meg up.
the fatherly voice broke more than once, which only seemed to make the service more beautiful and solemn.
the bridegroom's hand trembled visibly, and no one heard his replies.
but meg looked straight up in her husband's eyes, and said, "i will!"
with such tender trust in her own face and voice that her mother's heart rejoiced and aunt march sniffed audibly.
jo did not cry, though she was very near it once, and was only saved from a demonstration by the consciousness that laurie was staring fixedly at her, with a comical mixture of merriment and emotion in his wicked black eyes.
beth kept her face hidden on her mother's shoulder, but amy stood like a graceful statue, with a most becoming ray of sunshine touching her white forehead and the flower in her hair.
it was n't at all the thing, i'm afraid, but the minute she was fairly married, meg cried, "the first kiss for marmee!"
and turning, gave it with her heart on her lips.
during the next fifteen minutes she looked more like a rose than ever, for everyone availed themselves of their privileges to the fullest extent, from mr. laurence to old hannah, who, adorned with a headdress fearfully and wonderfully made, fell upon her in the hall, crying with a sob and a chuckle, "bless you, deary, a hundred times!
the cake ai n't hurt a mite, and everything looks lovely."
everybody cleared up after that, and said something brilliant, or tried to, which did just as well, for laughter is ready when hearts are light.
there was no display of gifts, for they were already in the little house, nor was there an elaborate breakfast, but a plentiful lunch of cake and fruit, dressed with flowers.
mr. laurence and aunt march shrugged and smiled at one another when water, lemonade, and coffee were found to be to only sorts of nectar which the three hebes carried round.
no one said anything, till laurie, who insisted on serving the bride, appeared before her, with a loaded salver in his hand and a puzzled expression on his face.
""has jo smashed all the bottles by accident?"
he whispered, "or am i merely laboring under a delusion that i saw some lying about loose this morning?"
""no, your grandfather kindly offered us his best, and aunt march actually sent some, but father put away a little for beth, and dispatched the rest to the soldier's home.
you know he thinks that wine should be used only in illness, and mother says that neither she nor her daughters will ever offer it to any young man under her roof."
meg spoke seriously and expected to see laurie frown or laugh, but he did neither, for after a quick look at her, he said, in his impetuous way, "i like that!
for i've seen enough harm done to wish other women would think as you do."
""you are not made wise by experience, i hope?"
and there was an anxious accent in meg's voice.
""no.
i give you my word for it.
do n't think too well of me, either, this is not one of my temptations.
being brought up where wine is as common as water and almost as harmless, i do n't care for it, but when a pretty girl offers it, one does n't like to refuse, you see."
""but you will, for the sake of others, if not for your own.
come, laurie, promise, and give me one more reason to call this the happiest day of my life."
a demand so sudden and so serious made the young man hesitate a moment, for ridicule is often harder to bear than self-denial.
meg knew that if he gave the promise he would keep it at all costs, and feeling her power, used it as a woman may for her friend's good.
she did not speak, but she looked up at him with a face made very eloquent by happiness, and a smile which said, "no one can refuse me anything today."
laurie certainly could not, and with an answering smile, he gave her his hand, saying heartily, "i promise, mrs. brooke!"
""i thank you, very, very much."
""and i drink "long life to your resolution", teddy," cried jo, baptizing him with a splash of lemonade, as she waved her glass and beamed approvingly upon him.
so the toast was drunk, the pledge made and loyally kept in spite of many temptations, for with instinctive wisdom, the girls seized a happy moment to do their friend a service, for which he thanked them all his life.
after lunch, people strolled about, by twos and threes, through the house and garden, enjoying the sunshine without and within.
meg and john happened to be standing together in the middle of the grass plot, when laurie was seized with an inspiration which put the finishing touch to this unfashionable wedding.
""all the married people take hands and dance round the new-made husband and wife, as the germans do, while we bachelors and spinsters prance in couples outside!"
cried laurie, promenading down the path with amy, with such infectious spirit and skill that everyone else followed their example without a murmur.
mr. and mrs. march, aunt and uncle carrol began it, others rapidly joined in, even sallie moffat, after a moment's hesitation, threw her train over her arm and whisked ned into the ring.
but the crowning joke was mr. laurence and aunt march, for when the stately old gentleman chasseed solemnly up to the old lady, she just tucked her cane under her arm, and hopped briskly away to join hands with the rest and dance about the bridal pair, while the young folks pervaded the garden like butterflies on a midsummer day.
want of breath brought the impromptu ball to a close, and then people began to go.
""i wish you well, my dear, i heartily wish you well, but i think you'll be sorry for it," said aunt march to meg, adding to the bridegroom, as he led her to the carriage, "you've got a treasure, young man, see that you deserve it."
""that is the prettiest wedding i've been to for an age, ned, and i do n't see why, for there was n't a bit of style about it," observed mrs. moffat to her husband, as they drove away.
""laurie, my lad, if you ever want to indulge in this sort of thing, get one of those little girls to help you, and i shall be perfectly satisfied," said mr. laurence, settling himself in his easy chair to rest after the excitement of the morning.
""i'll do my best to gratify you, sir," was laurie's unusually dutiful reply, as he carefully unpinned the posy jo had put in his buttonhole.
the little house was not far away, and the only bridal journey meg had was the quiet walk with john from the old home to the new.
when she came down, looking like a pretty quakeress in her dove-colored suit and straw bonnet tied with white, they all gathered about her to say "good-by", as tenderly as if she had been going to make the grand tour.
""do n't feel that i am separated from you, marmee dear, or that i love you any the less for loving john so much," she said, clinging to her mother, with full eyes for a moment.
""i shall come every day, father, and expect to keep my old place in all your hearts, though i am married.
beth is going to be with me a great deal, and the other girls will drop in now and then to laugh at my housekeeping struggles.
thank you all for my happy wedding day.
good-by, good-by!"
they stood watching her, with faces full of love and hope and tender pride as she walked away, leaning on her husband's arm, with her hands full of flowers and the june sunshine brightening her happy face -- and so meg's married life began.
chapter twenty-six artistic attempts it takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent and genius, especially ambitious young men and women.
amy was learning this distinction through much tribulation, for mistaking enthusiasm for inspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful audacity.
for a long time there was a lull in the "mud-pie" business, and she devoted herself to the finest pen-and-ink drawing, in which she showed such taste and skill that her graceful handiwork proved both pleasant and profitable.
but over-strained eyes caused pen and ink to be laid aside for a bold attempt at poker-sketching.
while this attack lasted, the family lived in constant fear of a conflagration, for the odor of burning wood pervaded the house at all hours, smoke issued from attic and shed with alarming frequency, red-hot pokers lay about promiscuously, and hannah never went to bed without a pail of water and the dinner bell at her door in case of fire.
raphael's face was found boldly executed on the underside of the moulding board, and bacchus on the head of a beer barrel.
a chanting cherub adorned the cover of the sugar bucket, and attempts to portray romeo and juliet supplied kindling for some time.
from fire to oil was a natural transition for burned fingers, and amy fell to painting with undiminished ardor.
an artist friend fitted her out with his castoff palettes, brushes, and colors, and she daubed away, producing pastoral and marine views such as were never seen on land or sea.
her monstrosities in the way of cattle would have taken prizes at an agricultural fair, and the perilous pitching of her vessels would have produced seasickness in the most nautical observer, if the utter disregard to all known rules of shipbuilding and rigging had not convulsed him with laughter at the first glance.
swarthy boys and dark-eyed madonnas, staring at you from one corner of the studio, suggested murillo; oily brown shadows of faces with a lurid streak in the wrong place, meant rembrandt; buxom ladies and dropiscal infants, rubens; and turner appeared in tempests of blue thunder, orange lightning, brown rain, and purple clouds, with a tomato-colored splash in the middle, which might be the sun or a bouy, a sailor's shirt or a king's robe, as the spectator pleased.
charcoal portraits came next, and the entire family hung in a row, looking as wild and crocky as if just evoked from a coalbin.
softened into crayon sketches, they did better, for the likenesses were good, and amy's hair, jo's nose, meg's mouth, and laurie's eyes were pronounced "wonderfully fine".
a return to clay and plaster followed, and ghostly casts of her acquaintances haunted corners of the house, or tumbled off closet shelves onto people's heads.
children were enticed in as models, till their incoherent accounts of her mysterious doings caused miss amy to be regarded in the light of a young ogress.
her efforts in this line, however, were brought to an abrupt close by an untoward accident, which quenched her ardor.
other models failing her for a time, she undertook to cast her own pretty foot, and the family were one day alarmed by an unearthly bumping and screaming and running to the rescue, found the young enthusiast hopping wildly about the shed with her foot held fast in a pan full of plaster, which had hardened with unexpected rapidity.
with much difficulty and some danger she was dug out, for jo was so overcome with laughter while she excavated that her knife went too far, cut the poor foot, and left a lasting memorial of one artistic attempt, at least.
after this amy subsided, till a mania for sketching from nature set her to haunting river, field, and wood, for picturesque studies, and sighing for ruins to copy.
she caught endless colds sitting on damp grass to book" a delicious bit", composed of a stone, a stump, one mushroom, and a broken mullein stalk, or" a heavenly mass of clouds", that looked like a choice display of featherbeds when done.
she sacrificed her complexion floating on the river in the midsummer sun to study light and shade, and got a wrinkle over her nose trying after "points of sight", or whatever the squint-and-string performance is called.
if "genius is eternal patience", as michelangelo affirms, amy had some claim to the divine attribute, for she persevered in spite of all obstacles, failures, and discouragements, firmly believing that in time she should do something worthy to be called "high art".
she was learning, doing, and enjoying other things, meanwhile, for she had resolved to be an attractive and accomplished woman, even if she never became a great artist.
here she succeeded better, for she was one of those happily created beings who please without effort, make friends everywhere, and take life so gracefully and easily that less fortunate souls are tempted to believe that such are born under a lucky star.
everybody liked her, for among her good gifts was tact.
she had an instinctive sense of what was pleasing and proper, always said the right thing to the right person, did just what suited the time and place, and was so self-possessed that her sisters used to say, "if amy went to court without any rehearsal beforehand, she'd know exactly what to do."
one of her weaknesses was a desire to move in "our best society", without being quite sure what the best really was.
money, position, fashionable accomplishments, and elegant manners were most desirable things in her eyes, and she liked to associate with those who possessed them, often mistaking the false for the true, and admiring what was not admirable.
never forgetting that by birth she was a gentlewoman, she cultivated her aristocratic tastes and feelings, so that when the opportunity came she might be ready to take the place from which poverty now excluded her.
""my lady," as her friends called her, sincerely desired to be a genuine lady, and was so at heart, but had yet to learn that money can not buy refinement of nature, that rank does not always confer nobility, and that true breeding makes itself felt in spite of external drawbacks.
""i want to ask a favor of you, mamma," amy said, coming in with an important air one day.
""well, little girl, what is it?"
replied her mother, in whose eyes the stately young lady still remained "the baby".
""our drawing class breaks up next week, and before the girls separate for the summer, i want to ask them out here for a day.
they are wild to see the river, sketch the broken bridge, and copy some of the things they admire in my book.
they have been very kind to me in many ways, and i am grateful, for they are all rich and i know i am poor, yet they never made any difference."
""why should they?"
and mrs. march put the question with what the girls called her "maria theresa air".
""you know as well as i that it does make a difference with nearly everyone, so do n't ruffle up like a dear, motherly hen, when your chickens get pecked by smarter birds.
the ugly duckling turned out a swan, you know."
and amy smiled without bitterness, for she possessed a happy temper and hopeful spirit.
mrs. march laughed, and smoothed down her maternal pride as she asked, "well, my swan, what is your plan?"
""i should like to ask the girls out to lunch next week, to take them for a drive to the places they want to see, a row on the river, perhaps, and make a little artistic fete for them."
""that looks feasible.
what do you want for lunch?
cake, sandwiches, fruit, and coffee will be all that is necessary, i suppose?"
""oh, dear, no!
we must have cold tongue and chicken, french chocolate and ice cream, besides.
the girls are used to such things, and i want my lunch to be proper and elegant, though i do work for my living."
""how many young ladies are there?"
asked her mother, beginning to look sober.
""twelve or fourteen in the class, but i dare say they wo n't all come."
""bless me, child, you will have to charter an omnibus to carry them about."
""why, mother, how can you think of such a thing?
not more than six or eight will probably come, so i shall hire a beach wagon and borrow mr. laurence's cherry-bounce."
-lrb- hannah's pronunciation of char-a-banc. -rrb-
""all of this will be expensive, amy."
""not very.
i've calculated the cost, and i'll pay for it myself."
""do n't you think, dear, that as these girls are used to such things, and the best we can do will be nothing new, that some simpler plan would be pleasanter to them, as a change if nothing more, and much better for us than buying or borrowing what we do n't need, and attempting a style not in keeping with our circumstances?"
""if i ca n't have it as i like, i do n't care to have it at all.
i know that i can carry it out perfectly well, if you and the girls will help a little, and i do n't see why i ca n't if i'm willing to pay for it," said amy, with the decision which opposition was apt to change into obstinacy.
mrs. march knew that experience was an excellent teacher, and when it was possible she left her children to learn alone the lessons which she would gladly have made easier, if they had not objected to taking advice as much as they did salts and senna.
""very well, amy, if your heart is set upon it, and you see your way through without too great an outlay of money, time, and temper, i'll say no more.
talk it over with the girls, and whichever way you decide, i'll do my best to help you."
""thanks, mother, you are always so kind."
and away went amy to lay her plan before her sisters.
meg agreed at once, and promised her aid, gladly offering anything she possessed, from her little house itself to her very best saltspoons.
but jo frowned upon the whole project and would have nothing to do with it at first.
""why in the world should you spend your money, worry your family, and turn the house upside down for a parcel of girls who do n't care a sixpence for you?
i thought you had too much pride and sense to truckle to any mortal woman just because she wears french boots and rides in a coupe," said jo, who, being called from the tragic climax of her novel, was not in the best mood for social enterprises.
""i do n't truckle, and i hate being patronized as much as you do!"
returned amy indignantly, for the two still jangled when such questions arose.
""the girls do care for me, and i for them, and there's a great deal of kindness and sense and talent among them, in spite of what you call fashionable nonsense.
you do n't care to make people like you, to go into good society, and cultivate your manners and tastes.
i do, and i mean to make the most of every chance that comes.
you can go through the world with your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call it independence, if you like.
that's not my way."
when amy had whetted her tongue and freed her mind she usually got the best of it, for she seldom failed to have common sense on her side, while jo carried her love of liberty and hate of conventionalities to such an unlimited extent that she naturally found herself worsted in an argument.
amy's definition of jo's idea of independence was such a good hit that both burst out laughing, and the discussion took a more amiable turn.
much against her will, jo at length consented to sacrifice a day to mrs. grundy, and help her sister through what she regarded as" a nonsensical business".
the invitations were sent, nearly all accepted, and the following monday was set apart for the grand event.
hannah was out of humor because her week's work was deranged, and prophesied that "ef the washin" and ironin" war n't done reg "lar, nothin" would go well anywheres".
this hitch in the mainspring of the domestic machinery had a bad effect upon the whole concern, but amy's motto was "nil desperandum", and having made up her mind what to do, she proceeded to do it in spite of all obstacles.
to begin with, hannah's cooking did n't turn out well.
the chicken was tough, the tongue too salty, and the chocolate would n't froth properly.
then the cake and ice cost more than amy expected, so did the wagon, and various other expenses, which seemed trifling at the outset, counted up rather alarmingly afterward.
beth got a cold and took to her bed.
meg had an unusual number of callers to keep her at home, and jo was in such a divided state of mind that her breakages, accidents, and mistakes were uncommonly numerous, serious, and trying.
if it was not fair on monday, the young ladies were to come on tuesday, an arrangement which aggravated jo and hannah to the last degree.
on monday morning the weather was in that undecided state which is more exasperating than a steady pour.
it drizzled a little, shone a little, blew a little, and did n't make up its mind till it was too late for anyone else to make up theirs.
amy was up at dawn, hustling people out of their beds and through their breakfasts, that the house might be got in order.
the parlor struck her as looking uncommonly shabby, but without stopping to sigh for what she had not, she skillfully made the best of what she had, arranging chairs over the worn places in the carpet, covering stains on the walls with homemade statuary, which gave an artistic air to the room, as did the lovely vases of flowers jo scattered about.
the lunch looked charming, and as she surveyed it, she sincerely hoped it would taste well, and that the borrowed glass, china, and silver would get safely home again.
the carriages were promised, meg and mother were all ready to do the honors, beth was able to help hannah behind the scenes, jo had engaged to be as lively and amiable as an absent mind, and aching head, and a very decided disapproval of everybody and everything would allow, and as she wearily dressed, amy cheered herself with anticipations of the happy moment when, lunch safely over, she should drive away with her friends for an afternoon of artistic delights, for the "cherry bounce" and the broken bridge were her strong points.
then came the hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from parlor to porch, while public opinion varied like the weathercock.
a smart shower at eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of the young ladies who were to arrive at twelve, for nobody came, and at two the exhausted family sat down in a blaze of sunshine to consume the perishable portions of the feast, that nothing might be lost.
""no doubt about the weather today, they will certainly come, so we must fly round and be ready for them," said amy, as the sun woke her next morning.
she spoke briskly, but in her secret soul she wished she had said nothing about tuesday, for her interest like her cake was getting a little stale.
""i ca n't get any lobsters, so you will have to do without salad today," said mr. march, coming in half an hour later, with an expression of placid despair.
""use the chicken then, the toughness wo n't matter in a salad," advised his wife.
""hannah left it on the kitchen table a minute, and the kittens got at it.
i'm very sorry, amy," added beth, who was still a patroness of cats.
""then i must have a lobster, for tongue alone wo n't do," said amy decidedly.
""shall i rush into town and demand one?"
asked jo, with the magnanimity of a martyr.
""you'd come bringing it home under your arm without any paper, just to try me.
i'll go myself," answered amy, whose temper was beginning to fail.
shrouded in a thick veil and armed with a genteel traveling basket, she departed, feeling that a cool drive would soothe her ruffled spirit and fit her for the labors of the day.
after some delay, the object of her desire was procured, likewise a bottle of dressing to prevent further loss of time at home, and off she drove again, well pleased with her own forethought.
as the omnibus contained only one other passenger, a sleepy old lady, amy pocketed her veil and beguiled the tedium of the way by trying to find out where all her money had gone to.
so busy was she with her card full of refractory figures that she did not observe a newcomer, who entered without stopping the vehicle, till a masculine voice said, "good morning, miss march," and, looking up, she beheld one of laurie's most elegant college friends.
fervently hoping that he would get out before she did, amy utterly ignored the basket at her feet, and congratulating herself that she had on her new traveling dress, returned the young man's greeting with her usual suavity and spirit.
they got on excellently, for amy's chief care was soon set at rest by learning that the gentleman would leave first, and she was chatting away in a peculiarly lofty strain, when the old lady got out.
in stumbling to the door, she upset the basket, and -- oh horror!
-- the lobster, in all its vulgar size and brilliancy, was revealed to the highborn eyes of a tudor!
""by jove, she's forgotten her dinner!"
cried the unconscious youth, poking the scarlet monster into its place with his cane, and preparing to hand out the basket after the old lady.
""please do n't -- it's -- it's mine," murmured amy, with a face nearly as red as her fish.
""oh, really, i beg pardon.
it's an uncommonly fine one, is n't it?"
said tudor, with great presence of mind, and an air of sober interest that did credit to his breeding.
amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the seat, and said, laughing, "do n't you wish you were to have some of the salad he's going to make, and to see the charming young ladies who are to eat it?"
now that was tact, for two of the ruling foibles of the masculine mind were touched.
the lobster was instantly surrounded by a halo of pleasing reminiscences, and curiosity about "the charming young ladies" diverted his mind from the comical mishap.
""i suppose he'll laugh and joke over it with laurie, but i sha n't see them, that's a comfort," thought amy, as tudor bowed and departed.
she did not mention this meeting at home -lrb- though she discovered that, thanks to the upset, her new dress was much damaged by the rivulets of dressing that meandered down the skirt -rrb-, but went through with the preparations which now seemed more irksome than before, and at twelve o'clock all was ready again.
feeling that the neighbors were interested in her movements, she wished to efface the memory of yesterday's failure by a grand success today, so she ordered the "cherry bounce", and drove away in state to meet and escort her guests to the banquet.
""there's the rumble, they're coming!
i'll go onto the porch and meet them.
it looks hospitable, and i want the poor child to have a good time after all her trouble," said mrs. march, suiting the action to the word.
but after one glance, she retired, with an indescribable expression, for looking quite lost in the big carriage, sat amy and one young lady.
""run, beth, and help hannah clear half the things off the table.
it will be too absurd to put a luncheon for twelve before a single girl," cried jo, hurrying away to the lower regions, too excited to stop even for a laugh.
in came amy, quite calm and delightfully cordial to the one guest who had kept her promise.
the rest of the family, being of a dramatic turn, played their parts equally well, and miss eliott found them a most hilarious set, for it was impossible to control entirely the merriment which possessed them.
the remodeled lunch being gaily partaken of, the studio and garden visited, and art discussed with enthusiasm, amy ordered a buggy -lrb- alas for the elegant cherry-bounce -rrb-, and drove her friend quietly about the neighborhood till sunset, when "the party went out".
as she came walking in, looking very tired but as composed as ever, she observed that every vestige of the unfortunate fete had disappeared, except a suspicious pucker about the corners of jo's mouth.
""you've had a loverly afternoon for your drive, dear," said her mother, as respectfully as if the whole twelve had come.
""miss eliott is a very sweet girl, and seemed to enjoy herself, i thought," observed beth, with unusual warmth.
""could you spare me some of your cake?
i really need some, i have so much company, and i ca n't make such delicious stuff as yours," asked meg soberly.
""take it all.
i'm the only one here who likes sweet things, and it will mold before i can dispose of it," answered amy, thinking with a sigh of the generous store she had laid in for such an end as this.
""it's a pity laurie is n't here to help us," began jo, as they sat down to ice cream and salad for the second time in two days.
a warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and the whole family ate in heroic silence, till mr. march mildly observed, "salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and evelyn..." here a general explosion of laughter cut short the "history of salads", to the great surprise of the learned gentleman.
""bundle everything into a basket and send it to the hummels.
germans like messes.
i'm sick of the sight of this, and there's no reason you should all die of a surfeit because i've been a fool," cried amy, wiping her eyes.
""i thought i should have died when i saw you two girls rattling about in the what-you-call-it, like two little kernels in a very big nutshell, and mother waiting in state to receive the throng," sighed jo, quite spent with laughter.
""i'm very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we all did our best to satisfy you," said mrs. march, in a tone full of motherly regret.
""i am satisfied.
i've done what i undertook, and it's not my fault that it failed.
i comfort myself with that," said amy with a little quiver in her voice.
""i thank you all very much for helping me, and i'll thank you still more if you wo n't allude to it for a month, at least."
no one did for several months, but the word "fete" always produced a general smile, and laurie's birthday gift to amy was a tiny coral lobster in the shape of a charm for her watch guard.
chapter twenty-seven literary lessons fortune suddenly smiled upon jo, and dropped a good luck penny in her path.
not a golden penny, exactly, but i doubt if half a million would have given more real happiness then did the little sum that came to her in this wise.
every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and "fall into a vortex", as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace.
her "scribbling suit" consisted of a black woolen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a cap of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into which she bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action.
this cap was a beacon to the inquiring eyes of her family, who during these periods kept their distance, merely popping in their heads semi-occasionally to ask, with interest, "does genius burn, jo?"
they did not always venture even to ask this question, but took an observation of the cap, and judged accordingly.
if this expressive article of dress was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign that hard work was going on, in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly askew, and when despair seized the author it was plucked wholly off, and cast upon the floor.
at such times the intruder silently withdrew, and not until the red bow was seen gaily erect upon the gifted brow, did anyone dare address jo.
she did not think herself a genius by any means, but when the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to her as any in the flesh.
sleep forsook her eyes, meals stood untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happiness which blessed her only at such times, and made these hours worth living, even if they bore no other fruit.
the devine afflatus usually lasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her "vortex", hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent.
she was just recovering from one of these attacks when she was prevailed upon to escort miss crocker to a lecture, and in return for her virtue was rewarded with a new idea.
it was a people's course, the lecture on the pyramids, and jo rather wondered at the choice of such a subject for such an audience, but took it for granted that some great social evil would be remedied or some great want supplied by unfolding the glories of the pharaohs to an audience whose thoughts were busy with the price of coal and flour, and whose lives were spent in trying to solve harder riddles than that of the sphinx.
they were early, and while miss crocker set the heel of her stocking, jo amused herself by examining the faces of the people who occupied the seat with them.
on her left were two matrons, with massive foreheads and bonnets to match, discussing women's rights and making tatting.
beyond sat a pair of humble lovers, artlessly holding each other by the hand, a somber spinster eating peppermints out of a paper bag, and an old gentleman taking his preparatory nap behind a yellow bandanna.
on her right, her only neighbor was a studious looking lad absorbed in a newspaper.
it was a pictorial sheet, and jo examined the work of art nearest her, idly wondering what fortuitous concatenation of circumstances needed the melodramatic illustration of an indian in full war costume, tumbling over a precipice with a wolf at his throat, while two infuriated young gentlemen, with unnaturally small feet and big eyes, were stabbing each other close by, and a disheveled female was flying away in the background with her mouth wide open.
pausing to turn a page, the lad saw her looking and, with boyish good nature offered half his paper, saying bluntly, "want to read it?
that's a first-rate story."
jo accepted it with a smile, for she had never outgrown her liking for lads, and soon found herself involved in the usual labyrinth of love, mystery, and murder, for the story belonged to that class of light literature in which the passions have a holiday, and when the author's invention fails, a grand catastrophe clears the stage of one half the dramatis personae, leaving the other half to exult over their downfall.
""prime, is n't it?"
asked the boy, as her eye went down the last paragraph of her portion.
""i think you and i could do as well as that if we tried," returned jo, amused at his admiration of the trash.
""i should think i was a pretty lucky chap if i could.
she makes a good living out of such stories, they say."
and he pointed to the name of mrs. s.l.a.n.g. northbury, under the title of the tale.
""do you know her?"
asked jo, with sudden interest.
""no, but i read all her pieces, and i know a fellow who works in the office where this paper is printed."
""do you say she makes a good living out of stories like this?"
and jo looked more respectfully at the agitated group and thickly sprinkled exclamation points that adorned the page.
""guess she does!
she knows just what folks like, and gets paid well for writing it."
here the lecture began, but jo heard very little of it, for while professor sands was prosing away about belzoni, cheops, scarabei, and hieroglyphics, she was covertly taking down the address of the paper, and boldly resolving to try for the hundred-dollar prize offered in its columns for a sensational story.
by the time the lecture ended and the audience awoke, she had built up a splendid fortune for herself -lrb- not the first founded on paper -rrb-, and was already deep in the concoction of her story, being unable to decide whether the duel should come before the elopement or after the murder.
she said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day, much to the disquiet of her mother, who always looked a little anxious when "genius took to burning".
jo had never tried this style before, contenting herself with very mild romances for the spread eagle.
her experience and miscellaneous reading were of service now, for they gave her some idea of dramatic effect, and supplied plot, language, and costumes.
her story was as full of desperation and despair as her limited acquaintance with those uncomfortable emotions enabled her to make it, and having located it in lisbon, she wound up with an earthquake, as a striking and appropriate denouement.
the manuscript was privately dispatched, accompanied by a note, modestly saying that if the tale did n't get the prize, which the writer hardly dared expect, she would be very glad to receive any sum it might be considered worth.
six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl to keep a secret, but jo did both, and was just beginning to give up all hope of ever seeing her manuscript again, when a letter arrived which almost took her breath away, for on opening it, a check for a hundred dollars fell into her lap.
for a minute she stared at it as if it had been a snake, then she read her letter and began to cry.
if the amiable gentleman who wrote that kindly note could have known what intense happiness he was giving a fellow creature, i think he would devote his leisure hours, if he has any, to that amusement, for jo valued the letter more than the money, because it was encouraging, and after years of effort it was so pleasant to find that she had learned to do something, though it was only to write a sensation story.
a prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, having composed herself, she electrified the family by appearing before them with the letter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that she had won the prize.
of course there was a great jubilee, and when the story came everyone read and praised it, though after her father had told her that the language was good, the romance fresh and hearty, and the tragedy quite thrilling, he shook his head, and said in his unworldly way... "you can do better than this, jo.
aim at the highest, and never mind the money."
""i think the money is the best part of it.
what will you do with such a fortune?"
asked amy, regarding the magic slip of paper with a reverential eye.
""send beth and mother to the seaside for a month or two," answered jo promptly.
to the seaside they went, after much discussion, and though beth did n't come home as plump and rosy as could be desired, she was much better, while mrs. march declared she felt ten years younger.
so jo was satisfied with the investment of her prize money, and fell to work with a cheery spirit, bent on earning more of those delightful checks.
she did earn several that year, and began to feel herself a power in the house, for by the magic of a pen, her "rubbish" turned into comforts for them all.
the duke's daughter paid the butcher's bill, a phantom hand put down a new carpet, and the curse of the coventrys proved the blessing of the marches in the way of groceries and gowns.
wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunny side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity is the genuine satisfaction which comes from hearty work of head or hand, and to the inspiration of necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings of the world.
jo enjoyed a taste of this satisfaction, and ceased to envy richer girls, taking great comfort in the knowledge that she could supply her own wants, and need ask no one for a penny.
little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market, and encouraged by this fact, she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame and fortune.
having copied her novel for the fourth time, read it to all her confidential friends, and submitted it with fear and trembling to three publishers, she at last disposed of it, on condition that she would cut it down one third, and omit all the parts which she particularly admired.
""now i must either bundle it back in to my tin kitchen to mold, pay for printing it myself, or chop it up to suit purchasers and get what i can for it.
fame is a very good thing to have in the house, but cash is more convenient, so i wish to take the sense of the meeting on this important subject," said jo, calling a family council.
""do n't spoil your book, my girl, for there is more in it than you know, and the idea is well worked out.
let it wait and ripen," was her father's advice, and he practiced what he preached, having waited patiently thirty years for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in no haste to gather it even now when it was sweet and mellow.
""it seems to me that jo will profit more by taking the trial than by waiting," said mrs. march.
""criticism is the best test of such work, for it will show her both unsuspected merits and faults, and help her to do better next time.
we are too partial, but the praise and blame of outsiders will prove useful, even if she gets but little money."
""yes," said jo, knitting her brows, "that's just it.
i've been fussing over the thing so long, i really do n't know whether it's good, bad, or indifferent.
it will be a great help to have cool, impartial persons take a look at it, and tell me what they think of it."
""i would n't leave a word out of it.
you'll spoil it if you do, for the interest of the story is more in the minds than in the actions of the people, and it will be all a muddle if you do n't explain as you go on," said meg, who firmly believed that this book was the most remarkable novel ever written.
""but mr. allen says, "leave out the explanations, make it brief and dramatic, and let the characters tell the story"," interrupted jo, turning to the publisher's note.
""do as he tells you.
he knows what will sell, and we do n't.
make a good, popular book, and get as much money as you can.
by-and-by, when you've got a name, you can afford to digress, and have philosophical and metaphysical people in your novels," said amy, who took a strictly practical view of the subject.
""well," said jo, laughing, "if my people are "philosophical and metaphysical", it is n't my fault, for i know nothing about such things, except what i hear father say, sometimes.
if i've got some of his wise ideas jumbled up with my romance, so much the better for me.
now, beth, what do you say?"
""i should so like to see it printed soon," was all beth said, and smiled in saying it.
but there was an unconscious emphasis on the last word, and a wistful look in the eyes that never lost their childlike candor, which chilled jo's heart for a minute with a forboding fear, and decided her to make her little venture "soon".
so, with spartan firmness, the young authoress laid her first-born on her table, and chopped it up as ruthlessly as any ogre.
in the hope of pleasing everyone, she took everyone's advice, and like the old man and his donkey in the fable suited nobody.
her father liked the metaphysical streak which had unconsciously got into it, so that was allowed to remain though she had her doubts about it.
her mother thought that there was a trifle too much description.
out, therefore it came, and with it many necessary links in the story.
meg admired the tragedy, so jo piled up the agony to suit her, while amy objected to the fun, and, with the best intentions in life, jo quenched the spritly scenes which relieved the somber character of the story.
then, to complicate the ruin, she cut it down one third, and confidingly sent the poor little romance, like a picked robin, out into the big, busy world to try its fate.
well, it was printed, and she got three hundred dollars for it, likewise plenty of praise and blame, both so much greater than she expected that she was thrown into a state of bewilderment from which it took her some time to recover.
""you said, mother, that criticism would help me.
but how can it, when it's so contradictory that i do n't know whether i've written a promising book or broken all the ten commandments?"
cried poor jo, turning over a heap of notices, the perusal of which filled her with pride and joy one minute, wrath and dismay the next.
""this man says, "an exquisite book, full of truth, beauty, and earnestness."
"all is sweet, pure, and healthy.""
continued the perplexed authoress.
""the next, "the theory of the book is bad, full of morbid fancies, spiritualistic ideas, and unnatural characters."
now, as i had no theory of any kind, do n't believe in spiritualism, and copied my characters from life, i do n't see how this critic can be right.
another says, "it's one of the best american novels which has appeared for years."
-lrb- i know better than that -rrb-, and the next asserts that "though it is original, and written with great force and feeling, it is a dangerous book."
't is n't!
some make fun of it, some overpraise, and nearly all insist that i had a deep theory to expound, when i only wrote it for the pleasure and the money.
i wish i'd printed the whole or not at all, for i do hate to be so misjudged."
her family and friends administered comfort and commendation liberally.
yet it was a hard time for sensitive, high-spirited jo, who meant so well and had apparently done so ill.
but it did her good, for those whose opinion had real value gave her the criticism which is an author's best education, and when the first soreness was over, she could laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself the wiser and stronger for the buffeting she had received.
""not being a genius, like keats, it wo n't kill me," she said stoutly, "and i've got the joke on my side, after all, for the parts that were taken straight out of real life are denounced as impossible and absurd, and the scenes that i made up out of my own silly head are pronounced "charmingly natural, tender, and true".
so i'll comfort myself with that, and when i'm ready, i'll up again and take another."
chapter twenty-eight domestic experiences like most other young matrons, meg began her married life with the determination to be a model housekeeper.
john should find home a paradise, he should always see a smiling face, should fare sumptuously every day, and never know the loss of a button.
she brought so much love, energy, and cheerfulness to the work that she could not but succeed, in spite of some obstacles.
her paradise was not a tranquil one, for the little woman fussed, was over-anxious to please, and bustled about like a true martha, cumbered with many cares.
she was too tired, sometimes, even to smile, john grew dyspeptic after a course of dainty dishes and ungratefully demanded plain fare.
as for buttons, she soon learned to wonder where they went, to shake her head over the carelessness of men, and to threaten to make him sew them on himself, and see if his work would stand impatient and clumsy fingers any better than hers.
they were very happy, even after they discovered that they could n't live on love alone.
john did not find meg's beauty diminished, though she beamed at him from behind the familiar coffee pot.
nor did meg miss any of the romance from the daily parting, when her husband followed up his kiss with the tender inquiry, "shall i send some veal or mutton for dinner, darling?"
the little house ceased to be a glorified bower, but it became a home, and the young couple soon felt that it was a change for the better.
at first they played keep-house, and frolicked over it like children.
then john took steadily to business, feeling the cares of the head of a family upon his shoulders, and meg laid by her cambric wrappers, put on a big apron, and fell to work, as before said, with more energy than discretion.
while the cooking mania lasted she went through mrs. cornelius's receipt book as if it were a mathematical exercise, working out the problems with patience and care.
sometimes her family were invited in to help eat up a too bounteous feast of successes, or lotty would be privately dispatched with a batch of failures, which were to be concealed from all eyes in the convenient stomachs of the little hummels.
an evening with john over the account books usually produced a temporary lull in the culinary enthusiasm, and a frugal fit would ensue, during which the poor man was put through a course of bread pudding, hash, and warmed-over coffee, which tried his soul, although he bore it with praiseworthy fortitude.
before the golden mean was found, however, meg added to her domestic possessions what young couples seldom get on long without, a family jar.
fired a with housewifely wish to see her storeroom stocked with homemade preserves, she undertook to put up her own currant jelly.
john was requested to order home a dozen or so of little pots and an extra quantity of sugar, for their own currants were ripe and were to be attended to at once.
as john firmly believed that "my wife" was equal to anything, and took a natural pride in her skill, he resolved that she should be gratified, and their only crop of fruit laid by in a most pleasing form for winter use.
home came four dozen delightful little pots, half a barrel of sugar, and a small boy to pick the currants for her.
with her pretty hair tucked into a little cap, arms bared to the elbow, and a checked apron which had a coquettish look in spite of the bib, the young housewife fell to work, feeling no doubts about her success, for had n't she seen hannah do it hundreds of times?
the array of pots rather amazed her at first, but john was so fond of jelly, and the nice little jars would look so well on the top shelf, that meg resolved to fill them all, and spent a long day picking, boiling, straining, and fussing over her jelly.
she did her best, she asked advice of mrs. cornelius, she racked her brain to remember what hannah did that she left undone, she reboiled, resugared, and restrained, but that dreadful stuff would n't "jell".
she longed to run home, bib and all, and ask mother to lend her a hand, but john and she had agreed that they would never annoy anyone with their private worries, experiments, or quarrels.
they had laughed over that last word as if the idea it suggested was a most preposterous one, but they had held to their resolve, and whenever they could get on without help they did so, and no one interfered, for mrs. march had advised the plan.
so meg wrestled alone with the refractory sweetmeats all that hot summer day, and at five o'clock sat down in her topsy-turvey kitchen, wrung her bedaubed hands, lifted up her voice and wept.
now, in the first flush of the new life, she had often said, "my husband shall always feel free to bring a friend home whenever he likes.
i shall always be prepared.
there shall be no flurry, no scolding, no discomfort, but a neat house, a cheerful wife, and a good dinner.
john, dear, never stop to ask my leave, invite whom you please, and be sure of a welcome from me."
how charming that was, to be sure!
john quite glowed with pride to hear her say it, and felt what a blessed thing it was to have a superior wife.
but, although they had had company from time to time, it never happened to be unexpected, and meg had never had an opportunity to distinguish herself till now.
it always happens so in this vale of tears, there is an inevitability about such things which we can only wonder at, deplore, and bear as we best can.
if john had not forgotten all about the jelly, it really would have been unpardonable in him to choose that day, of all the days in the year, to bring a friend home to dinner unexpectedly.
congratulating himself that a handsome repast had been ordered that morning, feeling sure that it would be ready to the minute, and indulging in pleasant anticipations of the charming effect it would produce, when his pretty wife came running out to meet him, he escorted his friend to his mansion, with the irrepressible satisfaction of a young host and husband.
it is a world of disappointments, as john discovered when he reached the dovecote.
the front door usually stood hospitably open.
now it was not only shut, but locked, and yesterday's mud still adorned the steps.
the parlor windows were closed and curtained, no picture of the pretty wife sewing on the piazza, in white, with a distracting little bow in her hair, or a bright-eyed hostess, smiling a shy welcome as she greeted her guest.
nothing of the sort, for not a soul appeared but a sanginary-looking boy asleep under the current bushes.
""i'm afraid something has happened.
step into the garden, scott, while i look up mrs. brooke," said john, alarmed at the silence and solitude.
round the house he hurried, led by a pungent smell of burned sugar, and mr. scott strolled after him, with a queer look on his face.
he paused discreetly at a distance when brooke disappeared, but he could both see and hear, and being a bachelor, enjoyed the prospect mightily.
in the kitchen reigned confusion and despair.
one edition of jelly was trickled from pot to pot, another lay upon the floor, and a third was burning gaily on the stove.
lotty, with teutonic phlegm, was calmly eating bread and currant wine, for the jelly was still in a hopelessly liquid state, while mrs. brooke, with her apron over her head, sat sobbing dismally.
""my dearest girl, what is the matter?"
cried john, rushing in, with awful visions of scalded hands, sudden news of affliction, and secret consternation at the thought of the guest in the garden.
""oh, john, i am so tired and hot and cross and worried!
i've been at it till i'm all worn out.
do come and help me or i shall die!"
and the exhausted housewife cast herself upon his breast, giving him a sweet welcome in every sense of the word, for her pinafore had been baptized at the same time as the floor.
""what worries you dear?
has anything dreadful happened?"
asked the anxious john, tenderly kissing the crown of the little cap, which was all askew.
""yes," sobbed meg despairingly.
""tell me quick, then.
do n't cry.
i can bear anything better than that.
out with it, love."
""the... the jelly wo n't jell and i do n't know what to do!"
john brooke laughed then as he never dared to laugh afterward, and the derisive scott smiled involuntarily as he heard the hearty peal, which put the finishing stroke to poor meg's woe.
""is that all?
fling it out of the window, and do n't bother any more about it.
i'll buy you quarts if you want it, but for heaven's sake do n't have hysterics, for i've brought jack scott home to dinner, and..." john got no further, for meg cast him off, and clasped her hands with a tragic gesture as she fell into a chair, exclaiming in a tone of mingled indignation, reproach, and dismay... "a man to dinner, and everything in a mess!
john brooke, how could you do such a thing?"
""hush, he's in the garden!
i forgot the confounded jelly, but it ca n't be helped now," said john, surveying the prospect with an anxious eye.
""you ought to have sent word, or told me this morning, and you ought to have remembered how busy i was," continued meg petulantly, for even turtledoves will peck when ruffled.
""i did n't know it this morning, and there was no time to send word, for i met him on the way out.
i never thought of asking leave, when you have always told me to do as i liked.
i never tried it before, and hang me if i ever do again!"
added john, with an aggrieved air.
""i should hope not!
take him away at once.
i ca n't see him, and there is n't any dinner."
""well, i like that!
where's the beef and vegetables i sent home, and the pudding you promised?"
cried john, rushing to the larder.
""i had n't time to cook anything.
i meant to dine at mother's.
i'm sorry, but i was so busy," and meg's tears began again.
john was a mild man, but he was human, and after a long day's work to come home tired, hungry, and hopeful, to find a chaotic house, an empty table, and a cross wife was not exactly conducive to repose of mind or manner.
he restrained himself however, and the little squall would have blown over, but for one unlucky word.
""it's a scrape, i acknowledge, but if you will lend a hand, we'll pull through and have a good time yet.
do n't cry, dear, but just exert yourself a bit, and fix us up something to eat.
we're both as hungry as hunters, so we sha n't mind what it is.
give us the cold meat, and bread and cheese.
we wo n't ask for jelly."
he meant it to be a good-natured joke, but that one word sealed his fate.
meg thought it was too cruel to hint about her sad failure, and the last atom of patience vanished as he spoke.
""you must get yourself out of the scrape as you can.
i'm too used up to "exert" myself for anyone.
it's like a man to propose a bone and vulgar bread and cheese for company.
i wo n't have anything of the sort in my house.
take that scott up to mother's, and tell him i'm away, sick, dead, anything.
i wo n't see him, and you two can laugh at me and my jelly as much as you like.
you wo n't have anything else here."
and having delivered her defiance all on one breath, meg cast away her pinafore and precipitately left the field to bemoan herself in her own room.
what those two creatures did in her absence, she never knew, but mr. scott was not taken "up to mother's", and when meg descended, after they had strolled away together, she found traces of a promiscuous lunch which filled her with horror.
lotty reported that they had eaten "a much, and greatly laughed, and the master bid her throw away all the sweet stuff, and hide the pots."
meg longed to go and tell mother, but a sense of shame at her own short-comings, of loyalty to john, "who might be cruel, but nobody should know it," restrained her, and after a summary cleaning up, she dressed herself prettily, and sat down to wait for john to come and be forgiven.
unfortunately, john did n't come, not seeing the matter in that light.
he had carried it off as a good joke with scott, excused his little wife as well as he could, and played the host so hospitably that his friend enjoyed the impromptu dinner, and promised to come again, but john was angry, though he did not show it, he felt that meg had deserted him in his hour of need.
""it was n't fair to tell a man to bring folks home any time, with perfect freedom, and when he took you at your word, to flame up and blame him, and leave him in the lurch, to be laughed at or pitied.
no, by george, it was n't!
and meg must know it."
he had fumed inwardly during the feast, but when the flurry was over and he strolled home after seeing scott off, a milder mood came over him.
""poor little thing!
it was hard upon her when she tried so heartily to please me.
she was wrong, of course, but then she was young.
i must be patient and teach her."
he hoped she had not gone home -- he hated gossip and interference.
for a minute he was ruffled again at the mere thought of it, and then the fear that meg would cry herself sick softened his heart, and sent him on at a quicker pace, resolving to be calm and kind, but firm, quite firm, and show her where she had failed in her duty to her spouse.
meg likewise resolved to be "calm and kind, but firm", and show him his duty.
she longed to run to meet him, and beg pardon, and be kissed and comforted, as she was sure of being, but, of course, she did nothing of the sort, and when she saw john coming, began to hum quite naturally, as she rocked and sewed, like a lady of leisure in her best parlor.
john was a little disappointed not to find a tender niobe, but feeling that his dignity demanded the first apology, he made none, only came leisurely in and laid himself upon the sofa with the singularly relevant remark, "we are going to have a new moon, my dear."
""i've no objection," was meg's equally soothing remark.
a few other topics of general interest were introduced by mr. brooke and wet-blanketed by mrs. brooke, and conversation languished.
john went to one window, unfolded his paper, and wrapped himself in it, figuratively speaking.
meg went to the other window, and sewed as if new rosettes for slippers were among the necessaries of life.
neither spoke.
both looked quite "calm and firm", and both felt desperately uncomfortable.
""oh, dear," thought meg, "married life is very trying, and does need infinite patience as well as love, as mother says."
the word "mother" suggested other maternal counsels given long ago, and received with unbelieving protests.
""john is a good man, but he has his faults, and you must learn to see and bear with them, remembering your own.
he is very decided, but never will be obstinate, if you reason kindly, not oppose impatiently.
he is very accurate, and particular about the truth -- a good trait, though you call him "fussy".
never deceive him by look or word, meg, and he will give you the confidence you deserve, the support you need.
he has a temper, not like ours -- one flash and then all over -- but the white, still anger that is seldom stirred, but once kindled is hard to quench.
be careful, be very careful, not to wake his anger against yourself, for peace and happiness depend on keeping his respect.
watch yourself, be the first to ask pardon if you both err, and guard against the little piques, misunderstandings, and hasty words that often pave the way for bitter sorrow and regret."
these words came back to meg, as she sat sewing in the sunset, especially the last.
this was the first serious disagreement, her own hasty speeches sounded both silly and unkind, as she recalled them, her own anger looked childish now, and thoughts of poor john coming home to such a scene quite melted her heart.
she glanced at him with tears in her eyes, but he did not see them.
she put down her work and got up, thinking, "i will be the first to say, "forgive me"", but he did not seem to hear her.
she went very slowly across the room, for pride was hard to swallow, and stood by him, but he did not turn his head.
for a minute she felt as if she really could n't do it, then came the thought, "this is the beginning.
i'll do my part, and have nothing to reproach myself with," and stooping down, she softly kissed her husband on the forehead.
of course that settled it.
the penitent kiss was better than a world of words, and john had her on his knee in a minute, saying tenderly... "it was too bad to laugh at the poor little jelly pots.
forgive me, dear.
i never will again!"
but he did, oh bless you, yes, hundreds of times, and so did meg, both declaring that it was the sweetest jelly they ever made, for family peace was preserved in that little family jar.
after this, meg had mr. scott to dinner by special invitation, and served him up a pleasant feast without a cooked wife for the first course, on which occasion she was so gay and gracious, and made everything go off so charmingly, that mr. scott told john he was a lucky fellow, and shook his head over the hardships of bachelorhood all the way home.
in the autumn, new trials and experiences came to meg.
sallie moffat renewed her friendship, was always running out for a dish of gossip at the little house, or inviting "that poor dear" to come in and spend the day at the big house.
it was pleasant, for in dull weather meg often felt lonely.
all were busy at home, john absent till night, and nothing to do but sew, or read, or potter about.
so it naturally fell out that meg got into the way of gadding and gossiping with her friend.
seeing sallie's pretty things made her long for such, and pity herself because she had not got them.
sallie was very kind, and often offered her the coveted trifles, but meg declined them, knowing that john would n't like it, and then this foolish little woman went and did what john disliked even worse.
she knew her husband's income, and she loved to feel that he trusted her, not only with his happiness, but what some men seem to value more -- his money.
she knew where it was, was free to take what she liked, and all he asked was that she should keep account of every penny, pay bills once a month, and remember that she was a poor man's wife.
till now she had done well, been prudent and exact, kept her little account books neatly, and showed them to him monthly without fear.
but that autumn the serpent got into meg's paradise, and tempted her like many a modern eve, not with apples, but with dress.
meg did n't like to be pitied and made to feel poor.
it irritated her, but she was ashamed to confess it, and now and then she tried to console herself by buying something pretty, so that sallie need n't think she had to economize.
she always felt wicked after it, for the pretty things were seldom necessaries, but then they cost so little, it was n't worth worrying about, so the trifles increased unconsciously, and in the shopping excursions she was no longer a passive looker-on.
but the trifles cost more than one would imagine, and when she cast up her accounts at the end of the month the sum total rather scared her.
john was busy that month and left the bills to her, the next month he was absent, but the third he had a grand quarterly settling up, and meg never forgot it.
a few days before she had done a dreadful thing, and it weighed upon her conscience.
sallie had been buying silks, and meg longed for a new one, just a handsome light one for parties, her black silk was so common, and thin things for evening wear were only proper for girls.
aunt march usually gave the sisters a present of twenty-five dollars apiece at new year's.
that was only a month to wait, and here was a lovely violet silk going at a bargain, and she had the money, if she only dared to take it.
john always said what was his was hers, but would he think it right to spend not only the prospective five-and-twenty, but another five-and-twenty out of the household fund?
that was the question.
sallie had urged her to do it, had offered to lend the money, and with the best intentions in life had tempted meg beyond her strength.
in an evil moment the shopman held up the lovely, shimmering folds, and said, "a bargain, i assure, you, ma'am."
she answered, "i'll take it," and it was cut off and paid for, and sallie had exulted, and she had laughed as if it were a thing of no consequence, and driven away, feeling as if she had stolen something, and the police were after her.
when she got home, she tried to assuage the pangs of remorse by spreading forth the lovely silk, but it looked less silvery now, did n't become her, after all, and the words "fifty dollars" seemed stamped like a pattern down each breadth.
she put it away, but it haunted her, not delightfully as a new dress should, but dreadfully like the ghost of a folly that was not easily laid.
when john got out his books that night, meg's heart sank, and for the first time in her married life, she was afraid of her husband.
the kind, brown eyes looked as if they could be stern, and though he was unusually merry, she fancied he had found her out, but did n't mean to let her know it.
the house bills were all paid, the books all in order.
john had praised her, and was undoing the old pocketbook which they called the "bank", when meg, knowing that it was quite empty, stopped his hand, saying nervously... "you have n't seen my private expense book yet."
john never asked to see it, but she always insisted on his doing so, and used to enjoy his masculine amazement at the queer things women wanted, and made him guess what piping was, demand fiercely the meaning of a hug-me-tight, or wonder how a little thing composed of three rosebuds, a bit of velvet, and a pair of strings, could possibly be a bonnet, and cost six dollars.
that night he looked as if he would like the fun of quizzing her figures and pretending to be horrified at her extravagance, as he often did, being particularly proud of his prudent wife.
the little book was brought slowly out and laid down before him.
meg got behind his chair under pretense of smoothing the wrinkles out of his tired forehead, and standing there, she said, with her panic increasing with every word... "john, dear, i'm ashamed to show you my book, for i've really been dreadfully extravagant lately.
i go about so much i must have things, you know, and sallie advised my getting it, so i did, and my new year's money will partly pay for it, but i was sorry after i had done it, for i knew you'd think it wrong in me."
john laughed, and drew her round beside him, saying goodhumoredly, "do n't go and hide.
i wo n't beat you if you have got a pair of killing boots.
i'm rather proud of my wife's feet, and do n't mind if she does pay eight or nine dollars for her boots, if they are good ones."
that had been one of her last "trifles", and john's eye had fallen on it as he spoke.
""oh, what will he say when he comes to that awful fifty dollars!"
thought meg, with a shiver.
""it's worse than boots, it's a silk dress," she said, with the calmness of desperation, for she wanted the worst over.
""well, dear, what is the "dem'd total", as mr. mantalini says?"
that did n't sound like john, and she knew he was looking up at her with the straightforward look that she had always been ready to meet and answer with one as frank till now.
she turned the page and her head at the same time, pointing to the sum which would have been bad enough without the fifty, but which was appalling to her with that added.
for a minute the room was very still, then john said slowly -- but she could feel it cost him an effort to express no displeasure --... "well, i do n't know that fifty is much for a dress, with all the furbelows and notions you have to have to finish it off these days."
""it is n't made or trimmed," sighed meg, faintly, for a sudden recollection of the cost still to be incurred quite overwhelmed her.
""twenty-five yards of silk seems a good deal to cover one small woman, but i've no doubt my wife will look as fine as ned moffat's when she gets it on," said john dryly.
""i know you are angry, john, but i ca n't help it.
i do n't mean to waste your money, and i did n't think those little things would count up so.
i ca n't resist them when i see sallie buying all she wants, and pitying me because i do n't.
i try to be contented, but it is hard, and i'm tired of being poor."
the last words were spoken so low she thought he did not hear them, but he did, and they wounded him deeply, for he had denied himself many pleasures for meg's sake.
she could have bitten her tongue out the minute she had said it, for john pushed the books away and got up, saying with a little quiver in his voice, "i was afraid of this.
i do my best, meg."
if he had scolded her, or even shaken her, it would not have broken her heart like those few words.
she ran to him and held him close, crying, with repentant tears, "oh, john, my dear, kind, hard-working boy.
i did n't mean it!
it was so wicked, so untrue and ungrateful, how could i say it!
oh, how could i say it!"
he was very kind, forgave her readily, and did not utter one reproach, but meg knew that she had done and said a thing which would not be forgotten soon, although he might never allude to it again.
she had promised to love him for better or worse, and then she, his wife, had reproached him with his poverty, after spending his earnings recklessly.
it was dreadful, and the worst of it was john went on so quietly afterward, just as if nothing had happened, except that he stayed in town later, and worked at night when she had gone to cry herself to sleep.
a week of remorse nearly made meg sick, and the discovery that john had countermanded the order for his new greatcoat reduced her to a state of despair which was pathetic to behold.
he had simply said, in answer to her surprised inquiries as to the change, "i ca n't afford it, my dear."
meg said no more, but a few minutes after he found her in the hall with her face buried in the old greatcoat, crying as if her heart would break.
they had a long talk that night, and meg learned to love her husband better for his poverty, because it seemed to have made a man of him, given him the strength and courage to fight his own way, and taught him a tender patience with which to bear and comfort the natural longings and failures of those he loved.
next day she put her pride in her pocket, went to sallie, told the truth, and asked her to buy the silk as a favor.
the good-natured mrs. moffat willingly did so, and had the delicacy not to make her a present of it immediately afterward.
then meg ordered home the greatcoat, and when john arrived, she put it on, and asked him how he liked her new silk gown.
one can imagine what answer he made, how he received his present, and what a blissful state of things ensued.
john came home early, meg gadded no more, and that greatcoat was put on in the morning by a very happy husband, and taken off at night by a most devoted little wife.
so the year rolled round, and at midsummer there came to meg a new experience, the deepest and tenderest of a woman's life.
laurie came sneaking into the kitchen of the dovecote one saturday, with an excited face, and was received with the clash of cymbals, for hannah clapped her hands with a saucepan in one and the cover in the other.
""how's the little mamma?
where is everybody?
why did n't you tell me before i came home?"
began laurie in a loud whisper.
""happy as a queen, the dear!
every soul of'em is upstairs a worshipin".
we did n't want no hurrycanes round.
now you go into the parlor, and i'll send'em down to you," with which somewhat involved reply hannah vanished, chuckling ecstatically.
presently jo appeared, proudly bearing a flannel bundle laid forth upon a large pillow.
jo's face was very sober, but her eyes twinkled, and there was an odd sound in her voice of repressed emotion of some sort.
""shut your eyes and hold out your arms," she said invitingly.
laurie backed precipitately into a corner, and put his hands behind him with an imploring gesture.
""no, thank you.
i'd rather not.
i shall drop it or smash it, as sure as fate."
""then you sha n't see your nevvy," said jo decidedly, turning as if to go.
""i will, i will!
only you must be responsible for damages."
and obeying orders, laurie heroically shut his eyes while something was put into his arms.
a peal of laughter from jo, amy, mrs. march, hannah, and john caused him to open them the next minute, to find himself invested with two babies instead of one.
no wonder they laughed, for the expression of his face was droll enough to convulse a quaker, as he stood and stared wildly from the unconscious innocents to the hilarious spectators with such dismay that jo sat down on the floor and screamed.
""twins, by jupiter!"
was all he said for a minute, then turning to the women with an appealing look that was comically piteous, he added, "take'em quick, somebody!
i'm going to laugh, and i shall drop'em."
jo rescued his babies, and marched up and down, with one on each arm, as if already initiated into the mysteries of babytending, while laurie laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks.
""it's the best joke of the season, is n't it?
i would n't have told you, for i set my heart on surprising you, and i flatter myself i've done it," said jo, when she got her breath.
""i never was more staggered in my life.
is n't it fun?
are they boys?
what are you going to name them?
let's have another look.
hold me up, jo, for upon my life it's one too many for me," returned laurie, regarding the infants with the air of a big, benevolent newfoundland looking at a pair of infantile kittens.
""boy and girl.
are n't they beauties?"
said the proud papa, beaming upon the little red squirmers as if they were unfledged angels.
""most remarkable children i ever saw.
which is which?"
and laurie bent like a well-sweep to examine the prodigies.
""amy put a blue ribbon on the boy and a pink on the girl, french fashion, so you can always tell.
besides, one has blue eyes and one brown.
kiss them, uncle teddy," said wicked jo.
""i'm afraid they might n't like it," began laurie, with unusual timidity in such matters.
""of course they will, they are used to it now.
do it this minute, sir!"
commanded jo, fearing he might propose a proxy.
laurie screwed up his face and obeyed with a gingerly peck at each little cheek that produced another laugh, and made the babies squeal.
""there, i knew they did n't like it!
that's the boy, see him kick, he hits out with his fists like a good one.
now then, young brooke, pitch into a man of your own size, will you?"
cried laurie, delighted with a poke in the face from a tiny fist, flapping aimlessly about.
""he's to be named john laurence, and the girl margaret, after mother and grandmother.
we shall call her daisey, so as not to have two megs, and i suppose the mannie will be jack, unless we find a better name," said amy, with aunt-like interest.
""name him demijohn, and call him demi for short," said laurie "daisy and demi, just the thing!
i knew teddy would do it," cried jo clapping her hands.
teddy certainly had done it that time, for the babies were "daisy" and "demi" to the end of the chapter.
chapter twenty-nine calls "come, jo, it's time."
""for what?"
""you do n't mean to say you have forgotten that you promised to make half a dozen calls with me today?"
""i've done a good many rash and foolish things in my life, but i do n't think i ever was mad enough to say i'd make six calls in one day, when a single one upsets me for a week."
""yes, you did, it was a bargain between us.
i was to finish the crayon of beth for you, and you were to go properly with me, and return our neighbors" visits."
""if it was fair, that was in the bond, and i stand to the letter of my bond, shylock.
there is a pile of clouds in the east, it's not fair, and i do n't go."
""now, that's shirking.
it's a lovely day, no prospect of rain, and you pride yourself on keeping promises, so be honorable, come and do your duty, and then be at peace for another six months."
at that minute jo was particularly absorbed in dressmaking, for she was mantua-maker general to the family, and took especial credit to herself because she could use a needle as well as a pen.
it was very provoking to be arrested in the act of a first trying-on, and ordered out to make calls in her best array on a warm july day.
she hated calls of the formal sort, and never made any till amy compelled her with a bargain, bribe, or promise.
in the present instance there was no escape, and having clashed her scissors rebelliously, while protesting that she smelled thunder, she gave in, put away her work, and taking up her hat and gloves with an air of resignation, told amy the victim was ready.
""jo march, you are perverse enough to provoke a saint!
you do n't intend to make calls in that state, i hope," cried amy, surveying her with amazement.
""why not?
i'm neat and cool and comfortable, quite proper for a dusty walk on a warm day.
if people care more for my clothes than they do for me, i do n't wish to see them.
you can dress for both, and be as elegant as you please.
it pays for you to be fine.
it does n't for me, and furbelows only worry me."
""oh, dear!"
sighed amy, "now she's in a contrary fit, and will drive me distracted before i can get her properly ready.
i'm sure it's no pleasure to me to go today, but it's a debt we owe society, and there's no one to pay it but you and me.
i'll do anything for you, jo, if you'll only dress yourself nicely, and come and help me do the civil.
you can talk so well, look so aristocratic in your best things, and behave so beautifully, if you try, that i'm proud of you.
i'm afraid to go alone, do come and take care of me."
""you're an artful little puss to flatter and wheedle your cross old sister in that way.
the idea of my being aristocratic and well-bred, and your being afraid to go anywhere alone!
i do n't know which is the most absurd.
well, i'll go if i must, and do my best.
you shall be commander of the expedition, and i'll obey blindly, will that satisfy you?"
said jo, with a sudden change from perversity to lamblike submission.
""you're a perfect cherub!
now put on all your best things, and i'll tell you how to behave at each place, so that you will make a good impression.
i want people to like you, and they would if you'd only try to be a little more agreeable.
do your hair the pretty way, and put the pink rose in your bonnet.
it's becoming, and you look too sober in your plain suit.
take your light gloves and the embroidered handkerchief.
we'll stop at meg's, and borrow her white sunshade, and then you can have my dove-colored one."
while amy dressed, she issued her orders, and jo obeyed them, not without entering her protest, however, for she sighed as she rustled into her new organdie, frowned darkly at herself as she tied her bonnet strings in an irreproachable bow, wrestled viciously with pins as she put on her collar, wrinkled up her features generally as she shook out the handkerchief, whose embroidery was as irritating to her nose as the present mission was to her feelings, and when she had squeezed her hands into tight gloves with three buttons and a tassel, as the last touch of elegance, she turned to amy with an imbecile expression of countenance, saying meekly... "i'm perfectly miserable, but if you consider me presentable, i die happy."
""you're highly satisfactory.
turn slowly round, and let me get a careful view."
jo revolved, and amy gave a touch here and there, then fell back, with her head on one side, observing graciously, "yes, you'll do.
your head is all i could ask, for that white bonnet with the rose is quite ravishing.
hold back your shoulders, and carry your hands easily, no matter if your gloves do pinch.
there's one thing you can do well, jo, that is, wear a shawl.
i ca n't, but it's very nice to see you, and i'm so glad aunt march gave you that lovely one.
it's simple, but handsome, and those folds over the arm are really artistic.
is the point of my mantle in the middle, and have i looped my dress evenly?
i like to show my boots, for my feet are pretty, though my nose is n't."
""you are a thing of beauty and a joy forever," said jo, looking through her hand with the air of a connoisseur at the blue feather against the golden hair.
""am i to drag my best dress through the dust, or loop it up, please, ma'am?"
""hold it up when you walk, but drop it in the house.
the sweeping style suits you best, and you must learn to trail your skirts gracefully.
you have n't half buttoned one cuff, do it at once.
you'll never look finished if you are not careful about the little details, for they make up the pleasing whole."
jo sighed, and proceeded to burst the buttons off her glove, in doing up her cuff, but at last both were ready, and sailed away, looking as "pretty as picters", hannah said, as she hung out of the upper window to watch them.
""now, jo dear, the chesters consider themselves very elegant people, so i want you to put on your best deportment.
do n't make any of your abrupt remarks, or do anything odd, will you?
just be calm, cool, and quiet, that's safe and ladylike, and you can easily do it for fifteen minutes," said amy, as they approached the first place, having borrowed the white parasol and been inspected by meg, with a baby on each arm.
""let me see.
"calm, cool, and quiet", yes, i think i can promise that.
i've played the part of a prim young lady on the stage, and i'll try it off.
my powers are great, as you shall see, so be easy in your mind, my child."
amy looked relieved, but naughty jo took her at her word, for during the first call she sat with every limb gracefully composed, every fold correctly draped, calm as a summer sea, cool as a snowbank, and as silent as the sphinx.
in vain mrs. chester alluded to her "charming novel", and the misses chester introduced parties, picnics, the opera, and the fashions.
each and all were answered by a smile, a bow, and a demure "yes" or "no" with the chill on.
in vain amy telegraphed the word "talk", tried to draw her out, and administered covert pokes with her foot.
jo sat as if blandly unconscious of it all, with deportment like maud's face, "icily regular, splendidly null".
""what a haughty, uninteresting creature that oldest miss march is!"
was the unfortunately audible remark of one of the ladies, as the door closed upon their guests.
jo laughed noiselessly all through the hall, but amy looked disgusted at the failure of her instructions, and very naturally laid the blame upon jo.
""how could you mistake me so?
i merely meant you to be properly dignified and composed, and you made yourself a perfect stock and stone.
try to be sociable at the lambs".
gossip as other girls do, and be interested in dress and flirtations and whatever nonsense comes up.
they move in the best society, are valuable persons for us to know, and i would n't fail to make a good impression there for anything."
""i'll be agreeable.
i'll gossip and giggle, and have horrors and raptures over any trifle you like.
i rather enjoy this, and now i'll imitate what is called" a charming girl".
i can do it, for i have may chester as a model, and i'll improve upon her.
see if the lambs do n't say, "what a lively, nice creature that jo march is!"
amy felt anxious, as well she might, for when jo turned freakish there was no knowing where she would stop.
amy's face was a study when she saw her sister skim into the next drawing room, kiss all the young ladies with effusion, beam graciously upon the young gentlemen, and join in the chat with a spirit which amazed the beholder.
amy was taken possession of by mrs. lamb, with whom she was a favorite, and forced to hear a long account of lucretia's last attack, while three delightful young gentlemen hovered near, waiting for a pause when they might rush in and rescue her.
so situated, she was powerless to check jo, who seemed possessed by a spirit of mischief, and talked away as volubly as the lady.
a knot of heads gathered about her, and amy strained her ears to hear what was going on, for broken sentences filled her with curiosity, and frequent peals of laughter made her wild to share the fun.
one may imagine her suffering on overhearing fragments of this sort of conversation.
""she rides splendidly.
who taught her?"
""no one.
she used to practice mounting, holding the reins, and sitting straight on an old saddle in a tree.
now she rides anything, for she does n't know what fear is, and the stableman lets her have horses cheap because she trains them to carry ladies so well.
she has such a passion for it, i often tell her if everything else fails, she can be a horsebreaker, and get her living so."
at this awful speech amy contained herself with difficulty, for the impression was being given that she was rather a fast young lady, which was her especial aversion.
but what could she do?
for the old lady was in the middle of her story, and long before it was done, jo was off again, making more droll revelations and committing still more fearful blunders.
""yes, amy was in despair that day, for all the good beasts were gone, and of three left, one was lame, one blind, and the other so balky that you had to put dirt in his mouth before he would start.
nice animal for a pleasure party, was n't it?"
""which did she choose?"
asked one of the laughing gentlemen, who enjoyed the subject.
""none of them.
she heard of a young horse at the farm house over the river, and though a lady had never ridden him, she resolved to try, because he was handsome and spirited.
her struggles were really pathetic.
there was no one to bring the horse to the saddle, so she took the saddle to the horse.
my dear creature, she actually rowed it over the river, put it on her head, and marched up to the barn to the utter amazement of the old man!"
""did she ride the horse?"
""of course she did, and had a capital time.
i expected to see her brought home in fragments, but she managed him perfectly, and was the life of the party."
""well, i call that plucky!"
and young mr. lamb turned an approving glance upon amy, wondering what his mother could be saying to make the girl look so red and uncomfortable.
she was still redder and more uncomfortable a moment after, when a sudden turn in the conversation introduced the subject of dress.
one of the young ladies asked jo where she got the pretty drab hat she wore to the picnic and stupid jo, instead of mentioning the place where it was bought two years ago, must needs answer with unnecessary frankness, "oh, amy painted it.
you ca n't buy those soft shades, so we paint ours any color we like.
it's a great comfort to have an artistic sister."
""is n't that an original idea?"
cried miss lamb, who found jo great fun.
""that's nothing compared to some of her brilliant performances.
there's nothing the child ca n't do.
why, she wanted a pair of blue boots for sallie's party, so she just painted her soiled white ones the loveliest shade of sky blue you ever saw, and they looked exactly like satin," added jo, with an air of pride in her sister's accomplishments that exasperated amy till she felt that it would be a relief to throw her cardcase at her.
""we read a story of yours the other day, and enjoyed it very much," observed the elder miss lamb, wishing to compliment the literary lady, who did not look the character just then, it must be confessed.
any mention of her "works" always had a bad effect upon jo, who either grew rigid and looked offended, or changed the subject with a brusque remark, as now.
""sorry you could find nothing better to read.
i write that rubbish because it sells, and ordinary people like it.
are you going to new york this winter?"
as miss lamb had "enjoyed" the story, this speech was not exactly grateful or complimentary.
the minute it was made jo saw her mistake, but fearing to make the matter worse, suddenly remembered that it was for her to make the first move toward departure, and did so with an abruptness that left three people with half-finished sentences in their mouths.
""amy, we must go.
good-by, dear, do come and see us.
we are pining for a visit.
i do n't dare to ask you, mr. lamb, but if you should come, i do n't think i shall have the heart to send you away."
jo said this with such a droll imitation of may chester's gushing style that amy got out of the room as rapidly as possible, feeling a strong desire to laugh and cry at the same time.
""did n't i do well?"
asked jo, with a satisfied air as they walked away.
""nothing could have been worse," was amy's crushing reply.
""what possessed you to tell those stories about my saddle, and the hats and boots, and all the rest of it?"
""why, it's funny, and amuses people.
they know we are poor, so it's no use pretending that we have grooms, buy three or four hats a season, and have things as easy and fine as they do."
""you need n't go and tell them all our little shifts, and expose our poverty in that perfectly unnecessary way.
you have n't a bit of proper pride, and never will learn when to hold your tongue and when to speak," said amy despairingly.
poor jo looked abashed, and silently chafed the end of her nose with the stiff handkerchief, as if performing a penance for her misdemeanors.
""how shall i behave here?"
she asked, as they approached the third mansion.
""just as you please.
i wash my hands of you," was amy's short answer.
""then i'll enjoy myself.
the boys are at home, and we'll have a comfortable time.
goodness knows i need a little change, for elegance has a bad effect upon my constitution," returned jo gruffly, being disturbed by her failure to suit.
an enthusiastic welcome from three big boys and several pretty children speedily soothed her ruffled feelings, and leaving amy to entertain the hostess and mr. tudor, who happened to be calling likewise, jo devoted herself to the young folks and found the change refreshing.
she listened to college stories with deep interest, caressed pointers and poodles without a murmur, agreed heartily that "tom brown was a brick," regardless of the improper form of praise, and when one lad proposed a visit to his turtle tank, she went with an alacrity which caused mamma to smile upon her, as that motherly lady settled the cap which was left in a ruinous condition by filial hugs, bearlike but affectionate, and dearer to her than the most faultless coiffure from the hands of an inspired frenchwoman.
leaving her sister to her own devices, amy proceeded to enjoy herself to her heart's content.
mr. tudor's uncle had married an english lady who was third cousin to a living lord, and amy regarded the whole family with great respect, for in spite of her american birth and breeding, she possessed that reverence for titles which haunts the best of us -- that unacknowledged loyalty to the early faith in kings which set the most democratic nation under the sun in ferment at the coming of a royal yellow-haired laddie, some years ago, and which still has something to do with the love the young country bears the old, like that of a big son for an imperious little mother, who held him while she could, and let him go with a farewell scolding when he rebelled.
but even the satisfaction of talking with a distant connection of the british nobility did not render amy forgetful of time, and when the proper number of minutes had passed, she reluctantly tore herself from this aristocratic society, and looked about for jo, fervently hoping that her incorrigible sister would not be found in any position which should bring disgrace upon the name of march.
it might have been worse, but amy considered it bad.
for jo sat on the grass, with an encampment of boys about her, and a dirty-footed dog reposing on the skirt of her state and festival dress, as she related one of laurie's pranks to her admiring audience.
one small child was poking turtles with amy's cherished parasol, a second was eating gingerbread over jo's best bonnet, and a third playing ball with her gloves, but all were enjoying themselves, and when jo collected her damaged property to go, her escort accompanied her, begging her to come again, "it was such fun to hear about laurie's larks."
""capital boys, are n't they?
i feel quite young and brisk again after that."
said jo, strolling along with her hands behind her, partly from habit, partly to conceal the bespattered parasol.
""why do you always avoid mr. tudor?"
asked amy, wisely refraining from any comment upon jo's dilapidated appearance.
""do n't like him, he puts on airs, snubs his sisters, worries his father, and does n't speak respectfully of his mother.
laurie says he is fast, and i do n't consider him a desirable acquaintance, so i let him alone."
""you might treat him civilly, at least.
you gave him a cool nod, and just now you bowed and smiled in the politest way to tommy chamberlain, whose father keeps a grocery store.
if you had just reversed the nod and the bow, it would have been right," said amy reprovingly.
""no, it would n't," returned jo, "i neither like, respect, nor admire tudor, though his grandfather's uncle's nephew's niece was a third cousin to a lord.
tommy is poor and bashful and good and very clever.
i think well of him, and like to show that i do, for he is a gentleman in spite of the brown paper parcels."
""it's no use trying to argue with you," began amy.
""not the least, my dear," interrupted jo, "so let us look amiable, and drop a card here, as the kings are evidently out, for which i'm deeply grateful."
the family cardcase having done its duty the girls walked on, and jo uttered another thanksgiving on reaching the fifth house, and being told that the young ladies were engaged.
""now let us go home, and never mind aunt march today.
we can run down there any time, and it's really a pity to trail through the dust in our best bibs and tuckers, when we are tired and cross."
""speak for yourself, if you please.
aunt march likes to have us pay her the compliment of coming in style, and making a formal call.
it's a little thing to do, but it gives her pleasure, and i do n't believe it will hurt your things half so much as letting dirty dogs and clumping boys spoil them.
stoop down, and let me take the crumbs off of your bonnet."
""what a good girl you are, amy!"
said jo, with a repentant glance from her own damaged costume to that of her sister, which was fresh and spotless still.
""i wish it was as easy for me to do little things to please people as it is for you.
i think of them, but it takes too much time to do them, so i wait for a chance to confer a great favor, and let the small ones slip, but they tell best in the end, i fancy."
amy smiled and was mollified at once, saying with a maternal air, "women should learn to be agreeable, particularly poor ones, for they have no other way of repaying the kindnesses they receive.
if you'd remember that, and practice it, you'd be better liked than i am, because there is more of you."
""i'm a crotchety old thing, and always shall be, but i'm willing to own that you are right, only it's easier for me to risk my life for a person than to be pleasant to him when i do n't feel like it.
it's a great misfortune to have such strong likes and dislikes, is n't it?"
""it's a greater not to be able to hide them.
i do n't mind saying that i do n't approve of tudor any more than you do, but i'm not called upon to tell him so.
neither are you, and there is no use in making yourself disagreeable because he is."
""but i think girls ought to show when they disapprove of young men, and how can they do it except by their manners?
preaching does not do any good, as i know to my sorrow, since i've had teddie to manage.
but there are many little ways in which i can influence him without a word, and i say we ought to do it to others if we can."
""teddy is a remarkable boy, and ca n't be taken as a sample of other boys," said amy, in a tone of solemn conviction, which would have convulsed the "remarkable boy" if he had heard it.
""if we were belles, or women of wealth and position, we might do something, perhaps, but for us to frown at one set of young gentlemen because we do n't approve of them, and smile upon another set because we do, would n't have a particle of effect, and we should only be considered odd and puritanical."
""so we are to countenance things and people which we detest, merely because we are not belles and millionaires, are we?
that's a nice sort of morality."
""i ca n't argue about it, i only know that it's the way of the world, and people who set themselves against it only get laughed at for their pains.
i do n't like reformers, and i hope you never try to be one."
""i do like them, and i shall be one if i can, for in spite of the laughing the world would never get on without them.
we ca n't agree about that, for you belong to the old set, and i to the new.
you will get on the best, but i shall have the liveliest time of it.
i should rather enjoy the brickbats and hooting, i think."
""well, compose yourself now, and do n't worry aunt with your new ideas."
""i'll try not to, but i'm always possessed to burst out with some particularly blunt speech or revolutionary sentiment before her.
it's my doom, and i ca n't help it."
they found aunt carrol with the old lady, both absorbed in some very interesting subject, but they dropped it as the girls came in, with a conscious look which betrayed that they had been talking about their nieces.
jo was not in a good humor, and the perverse fit returned, but amy, who had virtuously done her duty, kept her temper and pleased everybody, was in a most angelic frame of mind.
this amiable spirit was felt at once, and both aunts "my deared" her affectionately, looking what they afterward said emphatically, "that child improves every day."
""are you going to help about the fair, dear?"
asked mrs. carrol, as amy sat down beside her with the confiding air elderly people like so well in the young.
""yes, aunt.
mrs. chester asked me if i would, and i offered to tend a table, as i have nothing but my time to give."
""i'm not," put in jo decidedly.
""i hate to be patronized, and the chesters think it's a great favor to allow us to help with their highly connected fair.
i wonder you consented, amy, they only want you to work."
""i am willing to work.
it's for the freedmen as well as the chesters, and i think it very kind of them to let me share the labor and the fun.
patronage does not trouble me when it is well meant."
""quite right and proper.
i like your grateful spirit, my dear.
it's a pleasure to help people who appreciate our efforts.
some do not, and that is trying," observed aunt march, looking over her spectacles at jo, who sat apart, rocking herself, with a somewhat morose expression.
if jo had only known what a great happiness was wavering in the balance for one of them, she would have turned dove-like in a minute, but unfortunately, we do n't have windows in our breasts, and can not see what goes on in the minds of our friends.
better for us that we can not as a general thing, but now and then it would be such a comfort, such a saving of time and temper.
by her next speech, jo deprived herself of several years of pleasure, and received a timely lesson in the art of holding her tongue.
""i do n't like favors, they oppress and make me feel like a slave.
i'd rather do everything for myself, and be perfectly independent."
""ahem!"
coughed aunt carrol softly, with a look at aunt march.
""i told you so," said aunt march, with a decided nod to aunt carrol.
mercifully unconscious of what she had done, jo sat with her nose in the air, and a revolutionary aspect which was anything but inviting.
""do you speak french, dear?"
asked mrs. carrol, laying a hand on amy's.
""pretty well, thanks to aunt march, who lets esther talk to me as often as i like," replied amy, with a grateful look, which caused the old lady to smile affably.
""how are you about languages?"
asked mrs. carrol of jo.
""do n't know a word.
i'm very stupid about studying anything, ca n't bear french, it's such a slippery, silly sort of language," was the brusque reply.
another look passed between the ladies, and aunt march said to amy, "you are quite strong and well now, dear, i believe?
eyes do n't trouble you any more, do they?"
""not at all, thank you, ma'am.
i'm very well, and mean to do great things next winter, so that i may be ready for rome, whenever that joyful time arrives."
""good girl!
you deserve to go, and i'm sure you will some day," said aunt march, with an approving pat on the head, as amy picked up her ball for her.
crosspatch, draw the latch, sit by the fire and spin, squalled polly, bending down from his perch on the back of her chair to peep into jo's face, with such a comical air of impertinent inquiry that it was impossible to help laughing.
""most observing bird," said the old lady.
""come and take a walk, my dear?"
cried polly, hopping toward the china closet, with a look suggestive of a lump of sugar.
""thank you, i will.
come amy."
and jo brought the visit to an end, feeling more strongly than ever that calls did have a bad effect upon her constitution.
she shook hands in a gentlemanly manner, but amy kissed both the aunts, and the girls departed, leaving behind them the impression of shadow and sunshine, which impression caused aunt march to say, as they vanished... "you'd better do it, mary.
i'll supply the money."
and aunt carrol to reply decidedly, "i certainly will, if her father and mother consent."
chapter thirty consequences mrs. chester's fair was so very elegant and select that it was considered a great honor by the young ladies of the neighborhood to be invited to take a table, and everyone was much interested in the matter.
amy was asked, but jo was not, which was fortunate for all parties, as her elbows were decidedly akimbo at this period of her life, and it took a good many hard knocks to teach her how to get on easily.
the "haughty, uninteresting creature" was let severely alone, but amy's talent and taste were duly complimented by the offer of the art table, and she exerted herself to prepare and secure appropriate and valuable contributions to it.
everything went on smoothly till the day before the fair opened, then there occurred one of the little skirmishes which it is almost impossible to avoid, when some five-and-twenty women, old and young, with all their private piques and prejudices, try to work together.
may chester was rather jealous of amy because the latter was a greater favorite than herself, and just at this time several trifling circumstances occurred to increase the feeling.
amy's dainty pen-and-ink work entirely eclipsed may's painted vases -- that was one thorn.
then the all conquering tudor had danced four times with amy at a late party and only once with may -- that was thorn number two.
but the chief grievance that rankled in her soul, and gave an excuse for her unfriendly conduct, was a rumor which some obliging gossip had whispered to her, that the march girls had made fun of her at the lambs".
all the blame of this should have fallen upon jo, for her naughty imitation had been too lifelike to escape detection, and the frolicsome lambs had permitted the joke to escape.
no hint of this had reached the culprits, however, and amy's dismay can be imagined, when, the very evening before the fair, as she was putting the last touches to her pretty table, mrs. chester, who, of course, resented the supposed ridicule of her daughter, said, in a bland tone, but with a cold look... "i find, dear, that there is some feeling among the young ladies about my giving this table to anyone but my girls.
as this is the most prominent, and some say the most attractive table of all, and they are the chief getters-up of the fair, it is thought best for them to take this place.
i'm sorry, but i know you are too sincerely interested in the cause to mind a little personal disappointment, and you shall have another table if you like."
mrs. chester fancied beforehand that it would be easy to deliver this little speech, but when the time came, she found it rather difficult to utter it naturally, with amy's unsuspicious eyes looking straight at her full of surprise and trouble.
amy felt that there was something behind this, but could not guess what, and said quietly, feeling hurt, and showing that she did, "perhaps you had rather i took no table at all?"
""now, my dear, do n't have any ill feeling, i beg.
it's merely a matter of expediency, you see, my girls will naturally take the lead, and this table is considered their proper place.
i think it very appropriate to you, and feel very grateful for your efforts to make it so pretty, but we must give up our private wishes, of course, and i will see that you have a good place elsewhere.
would n't you like the flower table?
the little girls undertook it, but they are discouraged.
you could make a charming thing of it, and the flower table is always attractive you know."
""especially to gentlemen," added may, with a look which enlightened amy as to one cause of her sudden fall from favor.
she colored angrily, but took no other notice of that girlish sarcasm, and answered with unexpected amiability... "it shall be as you please, mrs. chester.
i'll give up my place here at once, and attend to the flowers, if you like."
""you can put your own things on your own table, if you prefer," began may, feeling a little conscience-stricken, as she looked at the pretty racks, the painted shells, and quaint illuminations amy had so carefully made and so gracefully arranged.
she meant it kindly, but amy mistook her meaning, and said quickly... "oh, certainly, if they are in your way," and sweeping her contributions into her apron, pell-mell, she walked off, feeling that herself and her works of art had been insulted past forgiveness.
""now she's mad.
oh, dear, i wish i had n't asked you to speak, mama," said may, looking disconsolately at the empty spaces on her table.
""girls" quarrels are soon over," returned her mother, feeling a trifle ashamed of her own part in this one, as well she might.
the little girls hailed amy and her treasures with delight, which cordial reception somewhat soothed her perturbed spirit, and she fell to work, determined to succeed florally, if she could not artistically.
but everything seemed against her.
it was late, and she was tired.
everyone was too busy with their own affairs to help her, and the little girls were only hindrances, for the dears fussed and chattered like so many magpies, making a great deal of confusion in their artless efforts to preserve the most perfect order.
the evergreen arch would n't stay firm after she got it up, but wiggled and threatened to tumble down on her head when the hanging baskets were filled.
her best tile got a splash of water, which left a sepia tear on the cupid's cheek.
she bruised her hands with hammering, and got cold working in a draft, which last affliction filled her with apprehensions for the morrow.
any girl reader who has suffered like afflictions will sympathize with poor amy and wish her well through her task.
there was great indignation at home when she told her story that evening.
her mother said it was a shame, but told her she had done right.
beth declared she would n't go to the fair at all, and jo demanded why she did n't take all her pretty things and leave those mean people to get on without her.
""because they are mean is no reason why i should be.
i hate such things, and though i think i've a right to be hurt, i do n't intend to show it.
they will feel that more than angry speeches or huffy actions, wo n't they, marmee?"
""that's the right spirit, my dear.
a kiss for a blow is always best, though it's not very easy to give it sometimes," said her mother, with the air of one who had learned the difference between preaching and practicing.
in spite of various very natural temptations to resent and retaliate, amy adhered to her resolution all the next day, bent on conquering her enemy by kindness.
she began well, thanks to a silent reminder that came to her unexpectedly, but most opportunely.
as she arranged her table that morning, while the little girls were in the anteroom filling the baskets, she took up her pet production, a little book, the antique cover of which her father had found among his treasures, and in which on leaves of vellum she had beautifully illuminated different texts.
as she turned the pages rich in dainty devices with very pardonable pride, her eye fell upon one verse that made her stop and think.
framed in a brilliant scrollwork of scarlet, blue and gold, with little spirits of good will helping one another up and down among the thorns and flowers, were the words, "thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself."
""i ought, but i do n't," thought amy, as her eye went from the bright page to may's discontented face behind the big vases, that could not hide the vacancies her pretty work had once filled.
amy stood a minute, turning the leaves in her hand, reading on each some sweet rebuke for all heartburnings and uncharitableness of spirit.
many wise and true sermons are preached us every day by unconscious ministers in street, school, office, or home.
even a fair table may become a pulpit, if it can offer the good and helpful words which are never out of season.
amy's conscience preached her a little sermon from that text, then and there, and she did what many of us do not always do, took the sermon to heart, and straightway put it in practice.
a group of girls were standing about may's table, admiring the pretty things, and talking over the change of saleswomen.
they dropped their voices, but amy knew they were speaking of her, hearing one side of the story and judging accordingly.
it was not pleasant, but a better spirit had come over her, and presently a chance offered for proving it.
she heard may say sorrowfully... "it's too bad, for there is no time to make other things, and i do n't want to fill up with odds and ends.
the table was just complete then.
now it's spoiled."
""i dare say she'd put them back if you asked her," suggested someone.
""how could i after all the fuss?"
began may, but she did not finish, for amy's voice came across the hall, saying pleasantly... "you may have them, and welcome, without asking, if you want them.
i was just thinking i'd offer to put them back, for they belong to your table rather than mine.
here they are, please take them, and forgive me if i was hasty in carrying them away last night."
as she spoke, amy returned her contribution, with a nod and a smile, and hurried away again, feeling that it was easier to do a friendly thing than it was to stay and be thanked for it.
""now, i call that lovely of her, do n't you?"
cried one girl.
may's answer was inaudible, but another young lady, whose temper was evidently a little soured by making lemonade, added, with a disagreeable laugh, "very lovely, for she knew she would n't sell them at her own table."
now, that was hard.
when we make little sacrifices we like to have them appreciated, at least, and for a minute amy was sorry she had done it, feeling that virtue was not always its own reward.
but it is, as she presently discovered, for her spirits began to rise, and her table to blossom under her skillful hands, the girls were very kind, and that one little act seemed to have cleared the atmosphere amazingly.
it was a very long day and a hard one for amy, as she sat behind her table, often quite alone, for the little girls deserted very soon.
few cared to buy flowers in summer, and her bouquets began to droop long before night.
the art table was the most attractive in the room.
there was a crowd about it all day long, and the tenders were constantly flying to and fro with important faces and rattling money boxes.
amy often looked wistfully across, longing to be there, where she felt at home and happy, instead of in a corner with nothing to do.
it might seem no hardship to some of us, but to a pretty, blithe young girl, it was not only tedious, but very trying, and the thought of laurie and his friends made it a real martyrdom.
she did not go home till night, and then she looked so pale and quiet that they knew the day had been a hard one, though she made no complaint, and did not even tell what she had done.
her mother gave her an extra cordial cup of tea.
beth helped her dress, and made a charming little wreath for her hair, while jo astonished her family by getting herself up with unusual care, and hinting darkly that the tables were about to be turned.
""do n't do anything rude, pray jo; i wo n't have any fuss made, so let it all pass and behave yourself," begged amy, as she departed early, hoping to find a reinforcement of flowers to refresh her poor little table.
""i merely intend to make myself entrancingly agreeable to every one i know, and to keep them in your corner as long as possible.
teddy and his boys will lend a hand, and we'll have a good time yet."
returned jo, leaning over the gate to watch for laurie.
presently the familiar tramp was heard in the dusk, and she ran out to meet him.
""is that my boy?"
""as sure as this is my girl!"
and laurie tucked her hand under his arm with the air of a man whose every wish was gratified.
""oh, teddy, such doings!"
and jo told amy's wrongs with sisterly zeal.
""a flock of our fellows are going to drive over by-and-by, and i'll be hanged if i do n't make them buy every flower she's got, and camp down before her table afterward," said laurie, espousing her cause with warmth.
""the flowers are not at all nice, amy says, and the fresh ones may not arrive in time.
i do n't wish to be unjust or suspicious, but i should n't wonder if they never came at all.
when people do one mean thing they are very likely to do another," observed jo in a disgusted tone.
""did n't hayes give you the best out of our gardens?
i told him to."
""i did n't know that, he forgot, i suppose, and, as your grandpa was poorly, i did n't like to worry him by asking, though i did want some."
""now, jo, how could you think there was any need of asking?
they are just as much yours as mine.
do n't we always go halves in everything?"
began laurie, in the tone that always made jo turn thorny.
""gracious, i hope not!
half of some of your things would n't suit me at all.
but we must n't stand philandering here.
i've got to help amy, so you go and make yourself splendid, and if you'll be so very kind as to let hayes take a few nice flowers up to the hall, i'll bless you forever."
""could n't you do it now?"
asked laurie, so suggestively that jo shut the gate in his face with inhospitable haste, and called through the bars, "go away, teddy, i'm busy."
thanks to the conspirators, the tables were turned that night, for hayes sent up a wilderness of flowers, with a loverly basket arranged in his best manner for a centerpiece.
then the march family turned out en masse, and jo exerted herself to some purpose, for people not only came, but stayed, laughing at her nonsense, admiring amy's taste, and apparently enjoying themselves very much.
laurie and his friends gallantly threw themselves into the breach, bought up the bouquets, encamped before the table, and made that corner the liveliest spot in the room.
amy was in her element now, and out of gratitude, if nothing more, was as spritely and gracious as possible, coming to the conclusion, about that time, that virtue was its own reward, after all.
jo behaved herself with exemplary propriety, and when amy was happily surrounded by her guard of honor, jo circulated about the hall, picking up various bits of gossip, which enlightened her upon the subject of the chester change of base.
she reproached herself for her share of the ill feeling and resolved to exonerate amy as soon as possible.
she also discovered what amy had done about the things in the morning, and considered her a model of magnanimity.
as she passed the art table, she glanced over it for her sister's things, but saw no sign of them.
""tucked away out of sight, i dare say," thought jo, who could forgive her own wrongs, but hotly resented any insult offered her family.
""good evening, miss jo.
how does amy get on?"
asked may with a conciliatory air, for she wanted to show that she also could be generous.
""she has sold everything she had that was worth selling, and now she is enjoying herself.
the flower table is always attractive, you know, "especially to gentlemen"."
jo could n't resist giving that little slap, but may took it so meekly she regretted it a minute after, and fell to praising the great vases, which still remained unsold.
""is amy's illumination anywhere about?
i took a fancy to buy that for father," said jo, very anxious to learn the fate of her sister's work.
""everything of amy's sold long ago.
i took care that the right people saw them, and they made a nice little sum of money for us," returned may, who had overcome sundry small temptations, as well as amy had, that day.
much gratified, jo rushed back to tell the good news, and amy looked both touched and surprised by the report of may's word and manner.
""now, gentlemen, i want you to go and do your duty by the other tables as generously as you have by mine, especially the art table," she said, ordering out "teddy's own", as the girls called the college friends."
"charge, chester, charge!"
is the motto for that table, but do your duty like men, and you'll get your money's worth of art in every sense of the word," said the irrepressible jo, as the devoted phalanx prepared to take the field.
""to hear is to obey, but march is fairer far than may," said little parker, making a frantic effort to be both witty and tender, and getting promptly quenched by laurie, who said... "very well, my son, for a small boy!"
and walked him off, with a paternal pat on the head.
""buy the vases," whispered amy to laurie, as a final heaping of coals of fire on her enemy's head.
to may's great delight, mr. laurence not only bought the vases, but pervaded the hall with one under each arm.
the other gentlemen speculated with equal rashness in all sorts of frail trifles, and wandered helplessly about afterward, burdened with wax flowers, painted fans, filigree portfolios, and other useful and appropriate purchases.
aunt carrol was there, heard the story, looked pleased, and said something to mrs. march in a corner, which made the latter lady beam with satisfaction, and watch amy with a face full of mingled pride and anxiety, though she did not betray the cause of her pleasure till several days later.
the fair was pronounced a success, and when may bade amy goodnight, she did not gush as usual, but gave her an affectionate kiss, and a look which said "forgive and forget".
that satisfied amy, and when she got home she found the vases paraded on the parlor chimney piece with a great bouquet in each.
""the reward of merit for a magnanimous march," as laurie announced with a flourish.
""you've a deal more principle and generosity and nobleness of character than i ever gave you credit for, amy.
you've behaved sweetly, and i respect you with all my heart," said jo warmly, as they brushed their hair together late that night.
""yes, we all do, and love her for being so ready to forgive.
it must have been dreadfully hard, after working so long and setting your heart on selling your own pretty things.
i do n't believe i could have done it as kindly as you did," added beth from her pillow.
""why, girls, you need n't praise me so.
i only did as i'd be done by.
you laugh at me when i say i want to be a lady, but i mean a true gentlewoman in mind and manners, and i try to do it as far as i know how.
i ca n't explain exactly, but i want to be above the little meannesses and follies and faults that spoil so many women.
i'm far from it now, but i do my best, and hope in time to be what mother is."
amy spoke earnestly, and jo said, with a cordial hug, "i understand now what you mean, and i'll never laugh at you again.
you are getting on faster than you think, and i'll take lessons of you in true politeness, for you've learned the secret, i believe.
try away, deary, you'll get your reward some day, and no one will be more delighted than i shall."
a week later amy did get her reward, and poor jo found it hard to be delighted.
a letter came from aunt carrol, and mrs. march's face was illuminated to such a degree when she read it that jo and beth, who were with her, demanded what the glad tidings were.
""aunt carrol is going abroad next month, and wants..." "me to go with her!"
burst in jo, flying out of her chair in an uncontrollable rapture.
""no, dear, not you.
it's amy."
""oh, mother!
she's too young, it's my turn first.
i've wanted it so long.
it would do me so much good, and be so altogether splendid.
i must go!"
""i'm afraid it's impossible, jo.
aunt says amy, decidedly, and it is not for us to dictate when she offers such a favor."
""it's always so.
amy has all the fun and i have all the work.
it is n't fair, oh, it is n't fair!"
cried jo passionately.
""i'm afraid it's partly your own fault, dear.
when aunt spoke to me the other day, she regretted your blunt manners and too independent spirit, and here she writes, as if quoting something you had said --" i planned at first to ask jo, but as "favors burden her", and she "hates french", i think i wo n't venture to invite her.
amy is more docile, will make a good companion for flo, and receive gratefully any help the trip may give her."
""oh, my tongue, my abominable tongue!
why ca n't i learn to keep it quiet?"
groaned jo, remembering words which had been her undoing.
when she had heard the explanation of the quoted phrases, mrs. march said sorrowfully... "i wish you could have gone, but there is no hope of it this time, so try to bear it cheerfully, and do n't sadden amy's pleasure by reproaches or regrets."
""i'll try," said jo, winking hard as she knelt down to pick up the basket she had joyfully upset.
""i'll take a leaf out of her book, and try not only to seem glad, but to be so, and not grudge her one minute of happiness.
but it wo n't be easy, for it is a dreadful disappointment," and poor jo bedewed the little fat pincushion she held with several very bitter tears.
""jo, dear, i'm very selfish, but i could n't spare you, and i'm glad you are not going quite yet," whispered beth, embracing her, basket and all, with such a clinging touch and loving face that jo felt comforted in spite of the sharp regret that made her want to box her own ears, and humbly beg aunt carrol to burden her with this favor, and see how gratefully she would bear it.
by the time amy came in, jo was able to take her part in the family jubilation, not quite as heartily as usual, perhaps, but without repinings at amy's good fortune.
the young lady herself received the news as tidings of great joy, went about in a solemn sort of rapture, and began to sort her colors and pack her pencils that evening, leaving such trifles as clothes, money, and passports to those less absorbed in visions of art than herself.
""it is n't a mere pleasure trip to me, girls," she said impressively, as she scraped her best palette.
""it will decide my career, for if i have any genius, i shall find it out in rome, and will do something to prove it."
""suppose you have n't?"
said jo, sewing away, with red eyes, at the new collars which were to be handed over to amy.
""then i shall come home and teach drawing for my living," replied the aspirant for fame, with philosophic composure.
but she made a wry face at the prospect, and scratched away at her palette as if bent on vigorous measures before she gave up her hopes.
""no, you wo n't.
you hate hard work, and you'll marry some rich man, and come home to sit in the lap of luxury all your days," said jo.
""your predictions sometimes come to pass, but i do n't believe that one will.
i'm sure i wish it would, for if i ca n't be an artist myself, i should like to be able to help those who are," said amy, smiling, as if the part of lady bountiful would suit her better than that of a poor drawing teacher.
""hum!"
said jo, with a sigh.
""if you wish it you'll have it, for your wishes are always granted -- mine never."
""would you like to go?"
asked amy, thoughtfully patting her nose with her knife.
""rather!"
""well, in a year or two i'll send for you, and we'll dig in the forum for relics, and carry out all the plans we've made so many times."
""thank you.
i'll remind you of your promise when that joyful day comes, if it ever does," returned jo, accepting the vague but magnificent offer as gratefully as she could.
there was not much time for preparation, and the house was in a ferment till amy was off.
jo bore up very well till the last flutter of blue ribbon vanished, when she retired to her refuge, the garret, and cried till she could n't cry any more.
amy likewise bore up stoutly till the steamer sailed.
then just as the gangway was about to be withdrawn, it suddenly came over her that a whole ocean was soon to roll between her and those who loved her best, and she clung to laurie, the last lingerer, saying with a sob... "oh, take care of them for me, and if anything should happen..." "i will, dear, i will, and if anything happens, i'll come and comfort you," whispered laurie, little dreaming that he would be called upon to keep his word.
so amy sailed away to find the old world, which is always new and beautiful to young eyes, while her father and friend watched her from the shore, fervently hoping that none but gentle fortunes would befall the happy-hearted girl, who waved her hand to them till they could see nothing but the summer sunshine dazzling on the sea.
chapter thirty-one our foreign correspondent london dearest people, here i really sit at a front window of the bath hotel, piccadilly.
it's not a fashionable place, but uncle stopped here years ago, and wo n't go anywhere else.
however, we do n't mean to stay long, so it's no great matter.
oh, i ca n't begin to tell you how i enjoy it all!
i never can, so i'll only give you bits out of my notebook, for i've done nothing but sketch and scribble since i started.
i sent a line from halifax, when i felt pretty miserable, but after that i got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all day, with plenty of pleasant people to amuse me.
everyone was very kind to me, especially the officers.
do n't laugh, jo, gentlemen really are very necessary aboard ship, to hold on to, or to wait upon one, and as they have nothing to do, it's a mercy to make them useful, otherwise they would smoke themselves to death, i'm afraid.
aunt and flo were poorly all the way, and liked to be let alone, so when i had done what i could for them, i went and enjoyed myself.
such walks on deck, such sunsets, such splendid air and waves!
it was almost as exciting as riding a fast horse, when we went rushing on so grandly.
i wish beth could have come, it would have done her so much good.
as for jo, she would have gone up and sat on the maintop jib, or whatever the high thing is called, made friends with the engineers, and tooted on the captain's speaking trumpet, she'd have been in such a state of rapture.
it was all heavenly, but i was glad to see the irish coast, and found it very lovely, so green and sunny, with brown cabins here and there, ruins on some of the hills, and gentlemen's countryseats in the valleys, with deer feeding in the parks.
it was early in the morning, but i did n't regret getting up to see it, for the bay was full of little boats, the shore so picturesque, and a rosy sky overhead.
i never shall forget it.
at queenstown one of my new acquaintances left us, mr. lennox, and when i said something about the lakes of killarney, he sighed, and sung, with a look at me... "oh, have you e'er heard of kate kearney?
she lives on the banks of killarney; from the glance of her eye, shun danger and fly, for fatal's the glance of kate kearney."
was n't that nonsensical?
we only stopped at liverpool a few hours.
it's a dirty, noisy place, and i was glad to leave it.
uncle rushed out and bought a pair of dogskin gloves, some ugly, thick shoes, and an umbrella, and got shaved à la mutton chop, the first thing.
then he flattered himself that he looked like a true briton, but the first time he had the mud cleaned off his shoes, the little bootblack knew that an american stood in them, and said, with a grin, "there yer har, sir.
i've given'em the latest yankee shine."
it amused uncle immensely.
oh, i must tell you what that absurd lennox did!
he got his friend ward, who came on with us, to order a bouquet for me, and the first thing i saw in my room was a lovely one, with "robert lennox's compliments," on the card.
was n't that fun, girls?
i like traveling.
i never shall get to london if i do n't hurry.
the trip was like riding through a long picture gallery, full of lovely landscapes.
the farmhouses were my delight, with thatched roofs, ivy up to the eaves, latticed windows, and stout women with rosy children at the doors.
the very cattle looked more tranquil than ours, as they stood knee-deep in clover, and the hens had a contented cluck, as if they never got nervous like yankee biddies.
such perfect color i never saw, the grass so green, sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark, i was in a rapture all the way.
so was flo, and we kept bouncing from one side to the other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along at the rate of sixty miles an hour.
aunt was tired and went to sleep, but uncle read his guidebook, and would n't be astonished at anything.
this is the way we went on.
amy, flying up -- "oh, that must be kenilworth, that gray place among the trees!"
flo, darting to my window -- "how sweet!
we must go there sometime, wo n't we papa?"
uncle, calmly admiring his boots -- "no, my dear, not unless you want beer, that's a brewery."
a pause -- then flo cried out, "bless me, there's a gallows and a man going up."
""where, where?"
shrieks amy, staring out at two tall posts with a crossbeam and some dangling chains.
""a colliery," remarks uncle, with a twinkle of the eye.
""here's a lovely flock of lambs all lying down," says amy.
""see, papa, are n't they pretty?"
added flo sentimentally.
""geese, young ladies," returns uncle, in a tone that keeps us quiet till flo settles down to enjoy the flirtations of captain cavendish, and i have the scenery all to myself.
of course it rained when we got to london, and there was nothing to be seen but fog and umbrellas.
we rested, unpacked, and shopped a little between the showers.
aunt mary got me some new things, for i came off in such a hurry i was n't half ready.
a white hat and blue feather, a muslin dress to match, and the loveliest mantle you ever saw.
shopping in regent street is perfectly splendid.
things seem so cheap, nice ribbons only sixpence a yard.
i laid in a stock, but shall get my gloves in paris.
does n't that sound sort of elegant and rich?
flo and i, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while aunt and uncle were out, and went for a drive, though we learned afterward that it was n't the thing for young ladies to ride in them alone.
it was so droll!
for when we were shut in by the wooden apron, the man drove so fast that flo was frightened, and told me to stop him, but he was up outside behind somewhere, and i could n't get at him.
he did n't hear me call, nor see me flap my parasol in front, and there we were, quite helpless, rattling away, and whirling around corners at a breakneck pace.
at last, in my despair, i saw a little door in the roof, and on poking it open, a red eye appeared, and a beery voice said... "now, then, mum?"
i gave my order as soberly as i could, and slamming down the door, with an "aye, aye, mum," the man made his horse walk, as if going to a funeral.
i poked again and said, "a little faster," then off he went, helter-skelter as before, and we resigned ourselves to our fate.
today was fair, and we went to hyde park, close by, for we are more aristocratic than we look.
the duke of devonshire lives near.
i often see his footmen lounging at the back gate, and the duke of wellington's house is not far off.
such sights as i saw, my dear!
it was as good as punch, for there were fat dowagers rolling about in their red and yellow coaches, with gorgeous jeameses in silk stockings and velvet coats, up behind, and powdered coachmen in front.
smart maids, with the rosiest children i ever saw, handsome girls, looking half asleep, dandies in queer english hats and lavender kids lounging about, and tall soldiers, in short red jackets and muffin caps stuck on one side, looking so funny i longed to sketch them.
rotten row means "route de roi", or the king's way, but now it's more like a riding school than anything else.
the horses are splendid, and the men, especially the grooms, ride well, but the women are stiff, and bounce, which is n't according to our rules.
i longed to show them a tearing american gallop, for they trotted solemnly up and down, in their scant habits and high hats, looking like the women in a toy noah's ark..
everyone rides -- old men, stout ladies, little children -- and the young folks do a deal of flirting here, i saw a pair exchange rose buds, for it's the thing to wear one in the button-hole, and i thought it rather a nice little idea.
in the p.m. to westminster abbey, but do n't expect me to describe it, that's impossible, so i'll only say it was sublime!
this evening we are going to see fechter, which will be an appropriate end to the happiest day of my life.
it's very late, but i ca n't let my letter go in the morning without telling you what happened last evening.
who do you think came in, as we were at tea?
laurie's english friends, fred and frank vaughn!
i was so surprised, for i should n't have known them but for the cards.
both are tall fellows with whiskers, fred handsome in the english style, and frank much better, for he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches.
they had heard from laurie where we were to be, and came to ask us to their house, but uncle wo n't go, so we shall return the call, and see them as we can.
they went to the theater with us, and we did have such a good time, for frank devoted himself to flo, and fred and i talked over past, present, and future fun as if we had known each other all our days.
tell beth frank asked for her, and was sorry to hear of her ill health.
fred laughed when i spoke of jo, and sent his "respectful compliments to the big hat".
neither of them had forgotten camp laurence, or the fun we had there.
what ages ago it seems, does n't it?
aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so i must stop.
i really feel like a dissipated london fine lady, writing here so late, with my room full of pretty things, and my head a jumble of parks, theaters, new gowns, and gallant creatures who say "ah!"
and twirl their blond mustaches with the true english lordliness.
i long to see you all, and in spite of my nonsense am, as ever, your loving... amy paris dear girls, in my last i told you about our london visit, how kind the vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they made for us.
i enjoyed the trips to hampton court and the kensington museum more than anything else, for at hampton i saw raphael's cartoons, and at the museum, rooms full of pictures by turner, lawrence, reynolds, hogarth, and the other great creatures.
the day in richmond park was charming, for we had a regular english picnic, and i had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than i could copy, also heard a nightingale, and saw larks go up.
we "did" london to our heart's content, thanks to fred and frank, and were sorry to go away, for though english people are slow to take you in, when they once make up their minds to do it they can not be outdone in hospitality, i think.
the vaughns hope to meet us in rome next winter, and i shall be dreadfully disappointed if they do n't, for grace and i are great friends, and the boys very nice fellows, especially fred.
well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again, saying he had come for a holiday, and was going to switzerland.
aunt looked sober at first, but he was so cool about it she could n't say a word.
and now we get on nicely, and are very glad he came, for he speaks french like a native, and i do n't know what we should do without him.
uncle does n't know ten words, and insists on talking english very loud, as if it would make people understand him.
aunt's pronunciation is old-fashioned, and flo and i, though we flattered ourselves that we knew a good deal, find we do n't, and are very grateful to have fred do the" parley vooing", as uncle calls it.
such delightful times as we are having!
sight-seeing from morning till night, stopping for nice lunches in the gay cafes, and meeting with all sorts of droll adventures.
rainy days i spend in the louvre, revelling in pictures.
jo would turn up her naughty nose at some of the finest, because she has no soul for art, but i have, and i'm cultivating eye and taste as fast as i can.
she would like the relics of great people better, for i've seen her napoleon's cocked hat and gray coat, his baby's cradle and his old toothbrush, also marie antoinette's little shoe, the ring of saint denis, charlemagne's sword, and many other interesting things.
i'll talk for hours about them when i come, but have n't time to write.
the palais royale is a heavenly place, so full of bijouterie and lovely things that i'm nearly distracted because i ca n't buy them.
fred wanted to get me some, but of course i did n't allow it.
then the bois and champs elysees are tres magnifique.
i've seen the imperial family several times, the emperor an ugly, hard-looking man, the empress pale and pretty, but dressed in bad taste, i thought -- purple dress, green hat, and yellow gloves.
little nap is a handsome boy, who sits chatting to his tutor, and kisses his hand to the people as he passes in his four-horse barouche, with postilions in red satin jackets and a mounted guard before and behind.
we often walk in the tuileries gardens, for they are lovely, though the antique luxembourg gardens suit me better.
pere la chaise is very curious, for many of the tombs are like small rooms, and looking in, one sees a table, with images or pictures of the dead, and chairs for the mourners to sit in when they come to lament.
that is so frenchy.
our rooms are on the rue de rivoli, and sitting on the balcony, we look up and down the long, brilliant street.
it is so pleasant that we spend our evenings talking there when too tired with our day's work to go out.
fred is very entertaining, and is altogether the most agreeable young man i ever knew -- except laurie, whose manners are more charming.
i wish fred was dark, for i do n't fancy light men, however, the vaughns are very rich and come of an excellent family, so i wo n't find fault with their yellow hair, as my own is yellower.
next week we are off to germany and switzerland, and as we shall travel fast, i shall only be able to give you hasty letters.
i keep my diary, and try to "remember correctly and describe clearly all that i see and admire", as father advised.
it is good practice for me, and with my sketchbook will give you a better idea of my tour than these scribbles.
adieu, i embrace you tenderly.
""votre amie."
heidelberg my dear mamma, having a quiet hour before we leave for berne, i'll try to tell you what has happened, for some of it is very important, as you will see.
the sail up the rhine was perfect, and i just sat and enjoyed it with all my might.
get father's old guidebooks and read about it.
i have n't words beautiful enough to describe it.
at coblentz we had a lovely time, for some students from bonn, with whom fred got acquainted on the boat, gave us a serenade.
it was a moonlight night, and about one o'clock flo and i were waked by the most delicious music under our windows.
we flew up, and hid behind the curtains, but sly peeps showed us fred and the students singing away down below.
it was the most romantic thing i ever saw -- the river, the bridge of boats, the great fortress opposite, moonlight everywhere, and music fit to melt a heart of stone.
when they were done we threw down some flowers, and saw them scramble for them, kiss their hands to the invisible ladies, and go laughing away, to smoke and drink beer, i suppose.
next morning fred showed me one of the crumpled flowers in his vest pocket, and looked very sentimental.
i laughed at him, and said i did n't throw it, but flo, which seemed to disgust him, for he tossed it out of the window, and turned sensible again.
i'm afraid i'm going to have trouble with that boy, it begins to look like it.
the baths at nassau were very gay, so was baden-baden, where fred lost some money, and i scolded him.
he needs someone to look after him when frank is not with him.
kate said once she hoped he'd marry soon, and i quite agree with her that it would be well for him.
frankfurt was delightful.
i saw goethe's house, schiller's statue, and dannecker's famous "ariadne."
it was very lovely, but i should have enjoyed it more if i had known the story better.
i did n't like to ask, as everyone knew it or pretended they did.
i wish jo would tell me all about it.
i ought to have read more, for i find i do n't know anything, and it mortifies me.
now comes the serious part, for it happened here, and fred has just gone.
he has been so kind and jolly that we all got quite fond of him.
i never thought of anything but a traveling friendship till the serenade night.
since then i've begun to feel that the moonlight walks, balcony talks, and daily adventures were something more to him than fun.
i have n't flirted, mother, truly, but remembered what you said to me, and have done my very best.
i ca n't help it if people like me.
i do n't try to make them, and it worries me if i do n't care for them, though jo says i have n't got any heart.
now i know mother will shake her head, and the girls say, "oh, the mercenary little wretch!"
, but i've made up my mind, and if fred asks me, i shall accept him, though i'm not madly in love.
i like him, and we get on comfortably together.
he is handsome, young, clever enough, and very rich -- ever so much richer than the laurences.
i do n't think his family would object, and i should be very happy, for they are all kind, well-bred, generous people, and they like me.
fred, as the eldest twin, will have the estate, i suppose, and such a splendid one it is!
a city house in a fashionable street, not so showy as our big houses, but twice as comfortable and full of solid luxury, such as english people believe in.
i like it, for it's genuine.
i've seen the plate, the family jewels, the old servants, and pictures of the country place, with its park, great house, lovely grounds, and fine horses.
oh, it would be all i should ask!
and i'd rather have it than any title such as girls snap up so readily, and find nothing behind.
i may be mercenary, but i hate poverty, and do n't mean to bear it a minute longer than i can help.
one of us must marry well.
meg did n't, jo wo n't, beth ca n't yet, so i shall, and make everything okay all round.
i would n't marry a man i hated or despised.
you may be sure of that, and though fred is not my model hero, he does very well, and in time i should get fond enough of him if he was very fond of me, and let me do just as i liked.
so i've been turning the matter over in my mind the last week, for it was impossible to help seeing that fred liked me.
he said nothing, but little things showed it.
he never goes with flo, always gets on my side of the carriage, table, or promenade, looks sentimental when we are alone, and frowns at anyone else who ventures to speak to me.
yesterday at dinner, when an austrian officer stared at us and then said something to his friend, a rakish-looking baron, about" ein wonderschones blondchen", fred looked as fierce as a lion, and cut his meat so savagely it nearly flew off his plate.
he is n't one of the cool, stiff englishmen, but is rather peppery, for he has scotch blood in him, as one might guess from his bonnie blue eyes.
well, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset, at least all of us but fred, who was to meet us there after going to the post restante for letters.
we had a charming time poking about the ruins, the vaults where the monster tun is, and the beautiful gardens made by the elector long ago for his english wife.
i liked the great terrace best, for the view was divine, so while the rest went to see the rooms inside, i sat there trying to sketch the gray stone lion's head on the wall, with scarlet woodbine sprays hanging round it.
i felt as if i'd got into a romance, sitting there, watching the neckar rolling through the valley, listening to the music of the austrian band below, and waiting for my lover, like a real storybook girl.
i had a feeling that something was going to happen and i was ready for it.
i did n't feel blushy or quakey, but quite cool and only a little excited.
by-and-by i heard fred's voice, and then he came hurrying through the great arch to find me.
he looked so troubled that i forgot all about myself, and asked what the matter was.
he said he'd just got a letter begging him to come home, for frank was very ill.
so he was going at once on the night train and only had time to say good-by.
i was very sorry for him, and disappointed for myself, but only for a minute because he said, as he shook hands, and said it in a way that i could not mistake, "i shall soon come back, you wo n't forget me, amy?"
i did n't promise, but i looked at him, and he seemed satisfied, and there was no time for anything but messages and good-byes, for he was off in an hour, and we all miss him very much.
i know he wanted to speak, but i think, from something he once hinted, that he had promised his father not to do anything of the sort yet a while, for he is a rash boy, and the old gentleman dreads a foreign daughter-in-law.
we shall soon meet in rome, and then, if i do n't change my mind, i'll say "yes, thank you," when he says "will you, please?"
of course this is all very private, but i wished you to know what was going on.
do n't be anxious about me, remember i am your "prudent amy", and be sure i will do nothing rashly.
send me as much advice as you like.
i'll use it if i can.
i wish i could see you for a good talk, marmee.
love and trust me.
ever your amy chapter thirty-two tender troubles "jo, i'm anxious about beth."
""why, mother, she has seemed unusually well since the babies came."
""it's not her health that troubles me now, it's her spirits.
i'm sure there is something on her mind, and i want you to discover what it is."
""what makes you think so, mother?"
""she sits alone a good deal, and does n't talk to her father as much as she used.
i found her crying over the babies the other day.
when she sings, the songs are always sad ones, and now and then i see a look in her face that i do n't understand.
this is n't like beth, and it worries me."
""have you asked her about it?"
""i have tried once or twice, but she either evaded my questions or looked so distressed that i stopped.
i never force my children's confidence, and i seldom have to wait for long."
mrs. march glanced at jo as she spoke, but the face opposite seemed quite unconscious of any secret disquietude but beth's, and after sewing thoughtfully for a minute, jo said, "i think she is growing up, and so begins to dream dreams, and have hopes and fears and fidgets, without knowing why or being able to explain them.
why, mother, beth's eighteen, but we do n't realize it, and treat her like a child, forgetting she's a woman."
""so she is.
dear heart, how fast you do grow up," returned her mother with a sigh and a smile.
""ca n't be helped, marmee, so you must resign yourself to all sorts of worries, and let your birds hop out of the nest, one by one.
i promise never to hop very far, if that is any comfort to you."
""it's a great comfort, jo.
i always feel strong when you are at home, now meg is gone.
beth is too feeble and amy too young to depend upon, but when the tug comes, you are always ready."
""why, you know i do n't mind hard jobs much, and there must always be one scrub in a family.
amy is splendid in fine works and i'm not, but i feel in my element when all the carpets are to be taken up, or half the family fall sick at once.
amy is distinguishing herself abroad, but if anything is amiss at home, i'm your man."
""i leave beth to your hands, then, for she will open her tender little heart to her jo sooner than to anyone else.
be very kind, and do n't let her think anyone watches or talks about her.
if she only would get quite strong and cheerful again, i should n't have a wish in the world."
""happy woman!
i've got heaps."
""my dear, what are they?"
""i'll settle bethy's troubles, and then i'll tell you mine.
they are not very wearing, so they'll keep."
and jo stitched away, with a wise nod which set her mother's heart at rest about her for the present at least.
while apparently absorbed in her own affairs, jo watched beth, and after many conflicting conjectures, finally settled upon one which seemed to explain the change in her.
a slight incident gave jo the clue to the mystery, she thought, and lively fancy, loving heart did the rest.
she was affecting to write busily one saturday afternoon, when she and beth were alone together.
yet as she scribbled, she kept her eye on her sister, who seemed unusually quiet.
sitting at the window, beth's work often dropped into her lap, and she leaned her head upon her hand, in a dejected attitude, while her eyes rested on the dull, autumnal landscape.
suddenly some one passed below, whistling like an operatic blackbird, and a voice called out, "all serene!
coming in tonight."
beth started, leaned forward, smiled and nodded, watched the passer-by till his quick tramp died away, then said softly as if to herself, "how strong and well and happy that dear boy looks."
""hum!"
said jo, still intent upon her sister's face, for the bright color faded as quickly as it came, the smile vanished, and presently a tear lay shining on the window ledge.
beth whisked it off, and in her half-averted face read a tender sorrow that made her own eyes fill.
fearing to betray herself, she slipped away, murmuring something about needing more paper.
""mercy on me, beth loves laurie!"
she said, sitting down in her own room, pale with the shock of the discovery which she believed she had just made.
""i never dreamed of such a thing.
what will mother say?
i wonder if her..." there jo stopped and turned scarlet with a sudden thought.
""if he should n't love back again, how dreadful it would be.
he must.
i'll make him!"
and she shook her head threateningly at the picture of the mischievous-looking boy laughing at her from the wall.
""oh dear, we are growing up with a vengeance.
here's meg married and a mamma, amy flourishing away at paris, and beth in love.
i'm the only one that has sense enough to keep out of mischief."
jo thought intently for a minute with her eyes fixed on the picture, then she smoothed out her wrinkled forehead and said, with a decided nod at the face opposite, "no thank you, sir, you're very charming, but you've no more stability than a weathercock.
so you need n't write touching notes and smile in that insinuating way, for it wo n't do a bit of good, and i wo n't have it."
then she sighed, and fell into a reverie from which she did not wake till the early twilight sent her down to take new observations, which only confirmed her suspicion.
though laurie flirted with amy and joked with jo, his manner to beth had always been peculiarly kind and gentle, but so was everybody's.
therefore, no one thought of imagining that he cared more for her than for the others.
indeed, a general impression had prevailed in the family of late that "our boy" was getting fonder than ever of jo, who, however, would n't hear a word upon the subject and scolded violently if anyone dared to suggest it.
if they had known the various tender passages which had been nipped in the bud, they would have had the immense satisfaction of saying, "i told you so."
but jo hated "philandering", and would n't allow it, always having a joke or a smile ready at the least sign of impending danger.
when laurie first went to college, he fell in love about once a month, but these small flames were as brief as ardent, did no damage, and much amused jo, who took great interest in the alternations of hope, despair, and resignation, which were confided to her in their weekly conferences.
but there came a time when laurie ceased to worship at many shrines, hinted darkly at one all-absorbing passion, and indulged occasionally in byronic fits of gloom.
then he avoided the tender subject altogether, wrote philosophical notes to jo, turned studious, and gave out that he was going to "dig", intending to graduate in a blaze of glory.
this suited the young lady better than twilight confidences, tender pressures of the hand, and eloquent glances of the eye, for with jo, brain developed earlier than heart, and she preferred imaginary heroes to real ones, because when tired of them, the former could be shut up in the tin kitchen till called for, and the latter were less manageable.
things were in this state when the grand discovery was made, and jo watched laurie that night as she had never done before.
if she had not got the new idea into her head, she would have seen nothing unusual in the fact that beth was very quiet, and laurie very kind to her.
but having given the rein to her lively fancy, it galloped away with her at a great pace, and common sense, being rather weakened by a long course of romance writing, did not come to the rescue.
as usual beth lay on the sofa and laurie sat in a low chair close by, amusing her with all sorts of gossip, for she depended on her weekly "spin", and he never disappointed her.
but that evening jo fancied that beth's eyes rested on the lively, dark face beside her with peculiar pleasure, and that she listened with intense interest to an account of some exciting cricket match, though the phrases, "caught off a tice", "stumped off his ground", and "the leg hit for three", were as intelligible to her as sanskrit.
she also fancied, having set her heart upon seeing it, that she saw a certain increase of gentleness in laurie's manner, that he dropped his voice now and then, laughed less than usual, was a little absent-minded, and settled the afghan over beth's feet with an assiduity that was really almost tender.
""who knows?
stranger things have happened," thought jo, as she fussed about the room.
""she will make quite an angel of him, and he will make life delightfully easy and pleasant for the dear, if they only love each other.
i do n't see how he can help it, and i do believe he would if the rest of us were out of the way."
as everyone was out of the way but herself, jo began to feel that she ought to dispose of herself with all speed.
but where should she go?
and burning to lay herself upon the shrine of sisterly devotion, she sat down to settle that point.
now, the old sofa was a regular patriarch of a sofa -- long, broad, well-cushioned, and low, a trifle shabby, as well it might be, for the girls had slept and sprawled on it as babies, fished over the back, rode on the arms, and had menageries under it as children, and rested tired heads, dreamed dreams, and listened to tender talk on it as young women.
they all loved it, for it was a family refuge, and one corner had always been jo's favorite lounging place.
among the many pillows that adorned the venerable couch was one, hard, round, covered with prickly horsehair, and furnished with a knobby button at each end.
this repulsive pillow was her especial property, being used as a weapon of defense, a barricade, or a stern preventive of too much slumber.
laurie knew this pillow well, and had cause to regard it with deep aversion, having been unmercifully pummeled with it in former days when romping was allowed, and now frequently debarred by it from the seat he most coveted next to jo in the sofa corner.
if "the sausage" as they called it, stood on end, it was a sign that he might approach and repose, but if it lay flat across the sofa, woe to man, woman, or child who dared disturb it!
that evening jo forgot to barricade her corner, and had not been in her seat five minutes, before a massive form appeared beside her, and with both arms spread over the sofa back, both long legs stretched out before him, laurie exclaimed, with a sigh of satisfaction... "now, this is filling at the price."
""no slang," snapped jo, slamming down the pillow.
but it was too late, there was no room for it, and coasting onto the floor, it disappeared in a most mysterious manner.
""come, jo, do n't be thorny.
after studying himself to a skeleton all the week, a fellow deserves petting and ought to get it."
""beth will pet you.
i'm busy."
""no, she's not to be bothered with me, but you like that sort of thing, unless you've suddenly lost your taste for it.
have you?
do you hate your boy, and want to fire pillows at him?"
anything more wheedlesome than that touching appeal was seldom heard, but jo quenched "her boy" by turning on him with a stern query, "how many bouquets have you sent miss randal this week?"
""not one, upon my word.
she's engaged.
now then."
""i'm glad of it, that's one of your foolish extravagances, sending flowers and things to girls for whom you do n't care two pins," continued jo reprovingly.
""sensible girls for whom i do care whole papers of pins wo n't let me send them "flowers and things", so what can i do?
my feelings need a "vent"."
""mother does n't approve of flirting even in fun, and you do flirt desperately, teddy."
""i'd give anything if i could answer, "so do you".
as i ca n't, i'll merely say that i do n't see any harm in that pleasant little game, if all parties understand that it's only play."
""well, it does look pleasant, but i ca n't learn how it's done.
i've tried, because one feels awkward in company not to do as everybody else is doing, but i do n't seem to get on", said jo, forgetting to play mentor.
""take lessons of amy, she has a regular talent for it."
""yes, she does it very prettily, and never seems to go too far.
i suppose it's natural to some people to please without trying, and others to always say and do the wrong thing in the wrong place."
""i'm glad you ca n't flirt.
it's really refreshing to see a sensible, straightforward girl, who can be jolly and kind without making a fool of herself.
between ourselves, jo, some of the girls i know really do go on at such a rate i'm ashamed of them.
they do n't mean any harm, i'm sure, but if they knew how we fellows talked about them afterward, they'd mend their ways, i fancy."
""they do the same, and as their tongues are the sharpest, you fellows get the worst of it, for you are as silly as they, every bit.
if you behaved properly, they would, but knowing you like their nonsense, they keep it up, and then you blame them."
""much you know about it, ma'am," said laurie in a superior tone.
""we do n't like romps and flirts, though we may act as if we did sometimes.
the pretty, modest girls are never talked about, except respectfully, among gentleman.
bless your innocent soul!
if you could be in my place for a month you'd see things that would astonish you a trifle.
upon my word, when i see one of those harum-scarum girls, i always want to say with our friend cock robin... "out upon you, fie upon you, bold-faced jig!"
it was impossible to help laughing at the funny conflict between laurie's chivalrous reluctance to speak ill of womankind, and his very natural dislike of the unfeminine folly of which fashionable society showed him many samples.
jo knew that "young laurence" was regarded as a most eligible parti by worldly mamas, was much smiled upon by their daughters, and flattered enough by ladies of all ages to make a coxcomb of him, so she watched him rather jealously, fearing he would be spoiled, and rejoiced more than she confessed to find that he still believed in modest girls.
returning suddenly to her admonitory tone, she said, dropping her voice, "if you must have a "vent", teddy, go and devote yourself to one of the "pretty, modest girls" whom you do respect, and not waste your time with the silly ones."
""you really advise it?"
and laurie looked at her with an odd mixture of anxiety and merriment in his face.
""yes, i do, but you'd better wait till you are through college, on the whole, and be fitting yourself for the place meantime.
you're not half good enough for -- well, whoever the modest girl may be."
and jo looked a little queer likewise, for a name had almost escaped her.
""that i'm not!"
acquiesced laurie, with an expression of humility quite new to him, as he dropped his eyes and absently wound jo's apron tassel round his finger.
""mercy on us, this will never do," thought jo, adding aloud, "go and sing to me.
i'm dying for some music, and always like yours."
""i'd rather stay here, thank you."
""well, you ca n't, there is n't room.
go and make yourself useful, since you are too big to be ornamental.
i thought you hated to be tied to a woman's apron string?"
retorted jo, quoting certain rebellious words of his own.
""ah, that depends on who wears the apron!"
and laurie gave an audacious tweak at the tassel.
""are you going?"
demanded jo, diving for the pillow.
he fled at once, and the minute it was well, "up with the bonnets of bonnie dundee," she slipped away to return no more till the young gentleman departed in high dudgeon.
jo lay long awake that night, and was just dropping off when the sound of a stifled sob made her fly to beth's bedside, with the anxious inquiry, "what is it, dear?"
""i thought you were asleep," sobbed beth.
""is it the old pain, my precious?"
""no, it's a new one, but i can bear it," and beth tried to check her tears.
""tell me all about it, and let me cure it as i often did the other."
""you ca n't, there is no cure."
there beth's voice gave way, and clinging to her sister, she cried so despairingly that jo was frightened.
""where is it?
shall i call mother?"
""no, no, do n't call her, do n't tell her.
i shall be better soon.
lie down here and "poor" my head.
i'll be quiet and go to sleep, indeed i will."
jo obeyed, but as her hand went softly to and fro across beth's hot forehead and wet eyelids, her heart was very full and she longed to speak.
but young as she was, jo had learned that hearts, like flowers, can not be rudely handled, but must open naturally, so though she believed she knew the cause of beth's new pain, she only said, in her tenderest tone, "does anything trouble you, deary?"
""yes, jo," after a long pause.
""would n't it comfort you to tell me what it is?"
""not now, not yet."
""then i wo n't ask, but remember, bethy, that mother and jo are always glad to hear and help you, if they can."
""i know it.
i'll tell you by-and-by."
""is the pain better now?"
""oh, yes, much better, you are so comfortable, jo."
""go to sleep, dear.
i'll stay with you."
so cheek to cheek they fell asleep, and on the morrow beth seemed quite herself again, for at eighteen neither heads nor hearts ache long, and a loving word can medicine most ills.
but jo had made up her mind, and after pondering over a project for some days, she confided it to her mother.
""you asked me the other day what my wishes were.
i'll tell you one of them, marmee," she began, as they sat along together.
""i want to go away somewhere this winter for a change."
""why, jo?"
and her mother looked up quickly, as if the words suggested a double meaning.
with her eyes on her work jo answered soberly, "i want something new.
i feel restless and anxious to be seeing, doing, and learning more than i am.
i brood too much over my own small affairs, and need stirring up, so as i can be spared this winter, i'd like to hop a little way and try my wings."
""where will you hop?"
""to new york.
i had a bright idea yesterday, and this is it.
you know mrs. kirke wrote to you for some respectable young person to teach her children and sew.
it's rather hard to find just the thing, but i think i should suit if i tried."
""my dear, go out to service in that great boarding house!"
and mrs. march looked surprised, but not displeased.
""it's not exactly going out to service, for mrs. kirke is your friend -- the kindest soul that ever lived -- and would make things pleasant for me, i know.
her family is separate from the rest, and no one knows me there.
do n't care if they do.
it's honest work, and i'm not ashamed of it."
""nor i.
but your writing?"
""all the better for the change.
i shall see and hear new things, get new ideas, and even if i have n't much time there, i shall bring home quantities of material for my rubbish."
""i have no doubt of it, but are these your only reasons for this sudden fancy?"
""no, mother."
""may i know the others?"
jo looked up and jo looked down, then said slowly, with sudden color in her cheeks.
""it may be vain and wrong to say it, but -- i'm afraid -- laurie is getting too fond of me."
""then you do n't care for him in the way it is evident he begins to care for you?"
and mrs. march looked anxious as she put the question.
""mercy, no!
i love the dear boy, as i always have, and am immensely proud of him, but as for anything more, it's out of the question."
""i'm glad of that, jo."
""why, please?"
""because, dear, i do n't think you suited to one another.
as friends you are very happy, and your frequent quarrels soon blow over, but i fear you would both rebel if you were mated for life.
you are too much alike and too fond of freedom, not to mention hot tempers and strong wills, to get on happily together, in a relation which needs infinite patience and forbearance, as well as love."
""that's just the feeling i had, though i could n't express it.
i'm glad you think he is only beginning to care for me.
it would trouble me sadly to make him unhappy, for i could n't fall in love with the dear old fellow merely out of gratitude, could i?"
""you are sure of his feeling for you?"
the color deepened in jo's cheeks as she answered, with the look of mingled pleasure, pride, and pain which young girls wear when speaking of first lovers, "i'm afraid it is so, mother.
he has n't said anything, but he looks a great deal.
i think i had better go away before it comes to anything."
""i agree with you, and if it can be managed you shall go."
jo looked relieved, and after a pause, said, smiling, "how mrs. moffat would wonder at your want of management, if she knew, and how she will rejoice that annie may still hope."
""ah, jo, mothers may differ in their management, but the hope is the same in all -- the desire to see their children happy.
meg is so, and i am content with her success.
you i leave to enjoy your liberty till you tire of it, for only then will you find that there is something sweeter.
amy is my chief care now, but her good sense will help her.
for beth, i indulge no hopes except that she may be well.
by the way, she seems brighter this last day or two.
have you spoken to her?"
""yes, she owned she had a trouble, and promised to tell me by-and-by.
i said no more, for i think i know it," and jo told her little story.
mrs. march shook her head, and did not take so romantic a view of the case, but looked grave, and repeated her opinion that for laurie's sake jo should go away for a time.
""let us say nothing about it to him till the plan is settled, then i'll run away before he can collect his wits and be tragic.
beth must think i'm going to please myself, as i am, for i ca n't talk about laurie to her.
but she can pet and comfort him after i'm gone, and so cure him of this romantic notion.
he's been through so many little trials of the sort, he's used to it, and will soon get over his lovelornity."
jo spoke hopefully, but could not rid herself of the foreboding fear that this "little trial" would be harder than the others, and that laurie would not get over his "lovelornity" as easily as heretofore.
the plan was talked over in a family council and agreed upon, for mrs. kirke gladly accepted jo, and promised to make a pleasant home for her.
the teaching would render her independent, and such leisure as she got might be made profitable by writing, while the new scenes and society would be both useful and agreeable.
jo liked the prospect and was eager to be gone, for the home nest was growing too narrow for her restless nature and adventurous spirit.
when all was settled, with fear and trembling she told laurie, but to her surprise he took it very quietly.
he had been graver than usual of late, but very pleasant, and when jokingly accused of turning over a new leaf, he answered soberly, "so i am, and i mean this one shall stay turned."
jo was very much relieved that one of his virtuous fits should come on just then, and made her preparations with a lightened heart, for beth seemed more cheerful, and hoped she was doing the best for all.
""one thing i leave in your especial care," she said, the night before she left.
""you mean your papers?"
asked beth.
""no, my boy.
be very good to him, wo n't you?"
""of course i will, but i ca n't fill your place, and he'll miss you sadly."
""it wo n't hurt him, so remember, i leave him in your charge, to plague, pet, and keep in order."
""i'll do my best, for your sake," promised beth, wondering why jo looked at her so queerly.
when laurie said good-by, he whispered significantly, "it wo n't do a bit of good, jo.
my eye is on you, so mind what you do, or i'll come and bring you home."
chapter thirty-three jo's journal new york, november dear marmee and beth, i'm going to write you a regular volume, for i've got heaps to tell, though i'm not a fine young lady traveling on the continent.
when i lost sight of father's dear old face, i felt a trifle blue, and might have shed a briny drop or two, if an irish lady with four small children, all crying more or less, had n't diverted my mind, for i amused myself by dropping gingerbread nuts over the seat every time they opened their mouths to roar.
soon the sun came out, and taking it as a good omen, i cleared up likewise and enjoyed my journey with all my heart.
mrs. kirke welcomed me so kindly i felt at home at once, even in that big house full of strangers.
she gave me a funny little sky parlor -- all she had, but there is a stove in it, and a nice table in a sunny window, so i can sit here and write whenever i like.
a fine view and a church tower opposite atone for the many stairs, and i took a fancy to my den on the spot.
the nursery, where i am to teach and sew, is a pleasant room next mrs. kirke's private parlor, and the two little girls are pretty children, rather spoiled, i fancy, but they took to me after telling them the seven bad pigs, and i've no doubt i shall make a model governess.
i am to have my meals with the children, if i prefer it to the great table, and for the present i do, for i am bashful, though no one will believe it.
""now, my dear, make yourself at home," said mrs. k. in her motherly way, "i'm on the drive from morning to night, as you may suppose with such a family, but a great anxiety will be off my mind if i know the children are safe with you.
my rooms are always open to you, and your own shall be as comfortable as i can make it.
there are some pleasant people in the house if you feel sociable, and your evenings are always free.
come to me if anything goes wrong, and be as happy as you can.
there's the tea bell, i must run and change my cap."
and off she bustled, leaving me to settle myself in my new nest.
as i went downstairs soon after, i saw something i liked.
the flights are very long in this tall house, and as i stood waiting at the head of the third one for a little servant girl to lumber up, i saw a gentleman come along behind her, take the heavy hod of coal out of her hand, carry it all the way up, put it down at a door near by, and walk away, saying, with a kind nod and a foreign accent, "it goes better so.
the little back is too young to haf such heaviness."
was n't it good of him?
i like such things, for as father says, trifles show character.
when i mentioned it to mrs. k., that evening, she laughed, and said, "that must have been professor bhaer, he's always doing things of that sort."
mrs. k. told me he was from berlin, very learned and good, but poor as a church mouse, and gives lessons to support himself and two little orphan nephews whom he is educating here, according to the wishes of his sister, who married an american.
not a very romantic story, but it interested me, and i was glad to hear that mrs. k. lends him her parlor for some of his scholars.
there is a glass door between it and the nursery, and i mean to peep at him, and then i'll tell you how he looks.
he's almost forty, so it's no harm, marmee.
after tea and a go-to-bed romp with the little girls, i attacked the big workbasket, and had a quiet evening chatting with my new friend.
i shall keep a journal-letter, and send it once a week, so goodnight, and more tomorrow.
tuesday eve had a lively time in my seminary this morning, for the children acted like sancho, and at one time i really thought i should shake them all round.
some good angel inspired me to try gymnastics, and i kept it up till they were glad to sit down and keep still.
after luncheon, the girl took them out for a walk, and i went to my needlework like little mabel "with a willing mind".
i was thanking my stars that i'd learned to make nice buttonholes, when the parlor door opened and shut, and someone began to hum, kennst du das land, like a big bumblebee.
it was dreadfully improper, i know, but i could n't resist the temptation, and lifting one end of the curtain before the glass door, i peeped in.
professor bhaer was there, and while he arranged his books, i took a good look at him.
a regular german -- rather stout, with brown hair tumbled all over his head, a bushy beard, good nose, the kindest eyes i ever saw, and a splendid big voice that does one's ears good, after our sharp or slipshod american gabble.
his clothes were rusty, his hands were large, and he had n't a really handsome feature in his face, except his beautiful teeth, yet i liked him, for he had a fine head, his linen was very nice, and he looked like a gentleman, though two buttons were off his coat and there was a patch on one shoe.
he looked sober in spite of his humming, till he went to the window to turn the hyacinth bulbs toward the sun, and stroke the cat, who received him like an old friend.
then he smiled, and when a tap came at the door, called out in a loud, brisk tone, "herein!"
i was just going to run, when i caught sight of a morsel of a child carrying a big book, and stopped, to see what was going on.
""me wants me bhaer," said the mite, slamming down her book and running to meet him.
""thou shalt haf thy bhaer.
come, then, and take a goot hug from him, my tina," said the professor, catching her up with a laugh, and holding her so high over his head that she had to stoop her little face to kiss him.
""now me mus tuddy my lessin," went on the funny little thing.
so he put her up at the table, opened the great dictionary she had brought, and gave her a paper and pencil, and she scribbled away, turning a leaf now and then, and passing her little fat finger down the page, as if finding a word, so soberly that i nearly betrayed myself by a laugh, while mr. bhaer stood stroking her pretty hair with a fatherly look that made me think she must be his own, though she looked more french than german.
another knock and the appearance of two young ladies sent me back to my work, and there i virtuously remained through all the noise and gabbling that went on next door.
one of the girls kept laughing affectedly, and saying, "now professor," in a coquettish tone, and the other pronounced her german with an accent that must have made it hard for him to keep sober.
both seemed to try his patience sorely, for more than once i heard him say emphatically, "no, no, it is not so, you haf not attend to what i say," and once there was a loud rap, as if he struck the table with his book, followed by the despairing exclamation, "prut!
it all goes bad this day."
poor man, i pitied him, and when the girls were gone, took just one more peep to see if he survived it.
he seemed to have thrown himself back in his chair, tired out, and sat there with his eyes shut till the clock struck two, when he jumped up, put his books in his pocket, as if ready for another lesson, and taking little tina who had fallen asleep on the sofa in his arms, he carried her quietly away.
i fancy he has a hard life of it.
mrs. kirke asked me if i would n't go down to the five o'clock dinner, and feeling a little bit homesick, i thought i would, just to see what sort of people are under the same roof with me.
so i made myself respectable and tried to slip in behind mrs. kirke, but as she is short and i'm tall, my efforts at concealment were rather a failure.
she gave me a seat by her, and after my face cooled off, i plucked up courage and looked about me.
the long table was full, and every one intent on getting their dinner, the gentlemen especially, who seemed to be eating on time, for they bolted in every sense of the word, vanishing as soon as they were done.
there was the usual assortment of young men absorbed in themselves, young couples absorbed in each other, married ladies in their babies, and old gentlemen in politics.
i do n't think i shall care to have much to do with any of them, except one sweetfaced maiden lady, who looks as if she had something in her.
cast away at the very bottom of the table was the professor, shouting answers to the questions of a very inquisitive, deaf old gentleman on one side, and talking philosophy with a frenchman on the other.
if amy had been here, she'd have turned her back on him forever because, sad to relate, he had a great appetite, and shoveled in his dinner in a manner which would have horrified "her ladyship".
i did n't mind, for i like "to see folks eat with a relish", as hannah says, and the poor man must have needed a deal of food after teaching idiots all day.
as i went upstairs after dinner, two of the young men were settling their hats before the hall mirror, and i heard one say low to the other, "who's the new party?"
""governess, or something of that sort."
""what the deuce is she at our table for?"
""friend of the old lady's."
""handsome head, but no style."
""not a bit of it.
give us a light and come on."
i felt angry at first, and then i did n't care, for a governess is as good as a clerk, and i've got sense, if i have n't style, which is more than some people have, judging from the remarks of the elegant beings who clattered away, smoking like bad chimneys.
i hate ordinary people!
thursday yesterday was a quiet day spent in teaching, sewing, and writing in my little room, which is very cozy, with a light and fire.
i picked up a few bits of news and was introduced to the professor.
it seems that tina is the child of the frenchwoman who does the fine ironing in the laundry here.
the little thing has lost her heart to mr. bhaer, and follows him about the house like a dog whenever he is at home, which delights him, as he is very fond of children, though a "bacheldore".
kitty and minnie kirke likewise regard him with affection, and tell all sorts of stories about the plays he invents, the presents he brings, and the splendid tales he tells.
the younger men quiz him, it seems, call him old fritz, lager beer, ursa major, and make all manner of jokes on his name.
but he enjoys it like a boy, mrs. kirke says, and takes it so good-naturedly that they all like him in spite of his foreign ways.
the maiden lady is a miss norton, rich, cultivated, and kind.
she spoke to me at dinner today -lrb- for i went to table again, it's such fun to watch people -rrb-, and asked me to come and see her at her room.
she has fine books and pictures, knows interesting persons, and seems friendly, so i shall make myself agreeable, for i do want to get into good society, only it is n't the same sort that amy likes.
i was in our parlor last evening when mr. bhaer came in with some newspapers for mrs. kirke.
she was n't there, but minnie, who is a little old woman, introduced me very prettily.
""this is mamma's friend, miss march."
""yes, and she's jolly and we like her lots," added kitty, who is an "enfant terrible".
we both bowed, and then we laughed, for the prim introduction and the blunt addition were rather a comical contrast.
""ah, yes, i hear these naughty ones go to vex you, mees marsch.
if so again, call at me and i come," he said, with a threatening frown that delighted the little wretches.
i promised i would, and he departed, but it seems as if i was doomed to see a good deal of him, for today as i passed his door on my way out, by accident i knocked against it with my umbrella.
it flew open, and there he stood in his dressing gown, with a big blue sock on one hand and a darning needle in the other.
he did n't seem at all ashamed of it, for when i explained and hurried on, he waved his hand, sock and all, saying in his loud, cheerful way... "you haf a fine day to make your walk.
bon voyage, mademoiselle."
i laughed all the way downstairs, but it was a little pathetic, also to think of the poor man having to mend his own clothes.
the german gentlemen embroider, i know, but darning hose is another thing and not so pretty.
saturday nothing has happened to write about, except a call on miss norton, who has a room full of pretty things, and who was very charming, for she showed me all her treasures, and asked me if i would sometimes go with her to lectures and concerts, as her escort, if i enjoyed them.
she put it as a favor, but i'm sure mrs. kirke has told her about us, and she does it out of kindness to me.
i'm as proud as lucifer, but such favors from such people do n't burden me, and i accepted gratefully.
when i got back to the nursery there was such an uproar in the parlor that i looked in, and there was mr. bhaer down on his hands and knees, with tina on his back, kitty leading him with a jump rope, and minnie feeding two small boys with seedcakes, as they roared and ramped in cages built of chairs.
""we are playing nargerie," explained kitty.
""dis is mine effalunt!"
added tina, holding on by the professor's hair.
""mamma always allows us to do what we like saturday afternoon, when franz and emil come, does n't she, mr. bhaer?"
said minnie.
the "effalunt" sat up, looking as much in earnest as any of them, and said soberly to me, "i gif you my wort it is so, if we make too large a noise you shall say hush!
to us, and we go more softly."
i promised to do so, but left the door open and enjoyed the fun as much as they did, for a more glorious frolic i never witnessed.
they played tag and soldiers, danced and sang, and when it began to grow dark they all piled onto the sofa about the professor, while he told charming fairy stories of the storks on the chimney tops, and the little "koblods", who ride the snowflakes as they fall.
i wish americans were as simple and natural as germans, do n't you?
i'm so fond of writing, i should go spinning on forever if motives of economy did n't stop me, for though i've used thin paper and written fine, i tremble to think of the stamps this long letter will need.
pray forward amy's as soon as you can spare them.
my small news will sound very flat after her splendors, but you will like them, i know.
is teddy studying so hard that he ca n't find time to write to his friends?
take good care of him for me, beth, and tell me all about the babies, and give heaps of love to everyone.
from your faithful jo.
p.s. on reading over my letter, it strikes me as rather bhaery, but i am always interested in odd people, and i really had nothing else to write about.
bless you!
december my precious betsey, as this is to be a scribble-scrabble letter, i direct it to you, for it may amuse you, and give you some idea of my goings on, for though quiet, they are rather amusing, for which, oh, be joyful!
after what amy would call herculaneum efforts, in the way of mental and moral agriculture, my young ideas begin to shoot and my little twigs to bend as i could wish.
they are not so interesting to me as tina and the boys, but i do my duty by them, and they are fond of me.
franz and emil are jolly little lads, quite after my own heart, for the mixture of german and american spirit in them produces a constant state of effervescence.
saturday afternoons are riotous times, whether spent in the house or out, for on pleasant days they all go to walk, like a seminary, with the professor and myself to keep order, and then such fun!
we are very good friends now, and i've begun to take lessons.
i really could n't help it, and it all came about in such a droll way that i must tell you.
to begin at the beginning, mrs. kirke called to me one day as i passed mr. bhaer's room where she was rummaging.
""did you ever see such a den, my dear?
just come and help me put these books to rights, for i've turned everything upside down, trying to discover what he has done with the six new handkerchiefs i gave him not long ago."
i went in, and while we worked i looked about me, for it was" a den" to be sure.
books and papers everywhere, a broken meerschaum, and an old flute over the mantlepiece as if done with, a ragged bird without any tail chirped on one window seat, and a box of white mice adorned the other.
half-finished boats and bits of string lay among the manuscripts.
dirty little boots stood drying before the fire, and traces of the dearly beloved boys, for whom he makes a slave of himself, were to be seen all over the room.
after a grand rummage three of the missing articles were found, one over the bird cage, one covered with ink, and a third burned brown, having been used as a holder.
""such a man!"
laughed good-natured mrs. k., as she put the relics in the rag bay.
""i suppose the others are torn up to rig ships, bandage cut fingers, or make kite tails.
it's dreadful, but i ca n't scold him.
he's so absent-minded and goodnatured, he lets those boys ride over him roughshod.
i agreed to do his washing and mending, but he forgets to give out his things and i forget to look them over, so he comes to a sad pass sometimes."
""let me mend them," said i. "i do n't mind it, and he need n't know.
i'd like to, he's so kind to me about bringing my letters and lending books."
so i have got his things in order, and knit heels into two pairs of the socks, for they were boggled out of shape with his queer darns.
nothing was said, and i hoped he would n't find it out, but one day last week he caught me at it.
hearing the lessons he gives to others has interested and amused me so much that i took a fancy to learn, for tina runs in and out, leaving the door open, and i can hear.
i had been sitting near this door, finishing off the last sock, and trying to understand what he said to a new scholar, who is as stupid as i am.
the girl had gone, and i thought he had also, it was so still, and i was busily gabbling over a verb, and rocking to and fro in a most absurd way, when a little crow made me look up, and there was mr. bhaer looking and laughing quietly, while he made signs to tina not to betray him.
""so!"
he said, as i stopped and stared like a goose, "you peep at me, i peep at you, and this is not bad, but see, i am not pleasanting when i say, haf you a wish for german?"
""yes, but you are too busy.
i am too stupid to learn," i blundered out, as red as a peony.
""prut!
we will make the time, and we fail not to find the sense.
at efening i shall gif a little lesson with much gladness, for look you, mees marsch, i haf this debt to pay."
and he pointed to my work "yes," they say to one another, these so kind ladies, "he is a stupid old fellow, he will see not what we do, he will never observe that his sock heels go not in holes any more, he will think his buttons grow out new when they fall, and believe that strings make theirselves."
""ah!
but i haf an eye, and i see much.
i haf a heart, and i feel thanks for this.
come, a little lesson then and now, or -- no more good fairy works for me and mine."
of course i could n't say anything after that, and as it really is a splendid opportunity, i made the bargain, and we began.
i took four lessons, and then i stuck fast in a grammatical bog.
the professor was very patient with me, but it must have been torment to him, and now and then he'd look at me with such an expression of mild despair that it was a toss-up with me whether to laugh or cry.
i tried both ways, and when it came to a sniff or utter mortification and woe, he just threw the grammar on to the floor and marched out of the room.
i felt myself disgraced and deserted forever, but did n't blame him a particle, and was scrambling my papers together, meaning to rush upstairs and shake myself hard, when in he came, as brisk and beaming as if i'd covered myself in glory.
""now we shall try a new way.
you and i will read these pleasant little marchen together, and dig no more in that dry book, that goes in the corner for making us trouble."
he spoke so kindly, and opened hans anderson's fairy tales so invitingly before me, that i was more ashamed than ever, and went at my lesson in a neck-or-nothing style that seemed to amuse him immensely.
i forgot my bashfulness, and pegged away -lrb- no other word will express it -rrb- with all my might, tumbling over long words, pronouncing according to inspiration of the minute, and doing my very best.
when i finished reading my first page, and stopped for breath, he clapped his hands and cried out in his hearty way, "das ist gut!
now we go well!
my turn.
i do him in german, gif me your ear."
and away he went, rumbling out the words with his strong voice and a relish which was good to see as well as hear.
fortunately the story was the constant tin soldier, which is droll, you know, so i could laugh, and i did, though i did n't understand half he read, for i could n't help it, he was so earnest, i so excited, and the whole thing so comical.
after that we got on better, and now i read my lessons pretty well, for this way of studying suits me, and i can see that the grammar gets tucked into the tales and poetry as one gives pills in jelly.
i like it very much, and he does n't seem tired of it yet, which is very good of him, is n't it?
i mean to give him something on christmas, for i dare not offer money.
tell me something nice, marmee.
i'm glad laurie seems so happy and busy, that he has given up smoking and lets his hair grow.
you see beth manages him better than i did.
i'm not jealous, dear, do your best, only do n't make a saint of him.
i'm afraid i could n't like him without a spice of human naughtiness.
read him bits of my letters.
i have n't time to write much, and that will do just as well.
thank heaven beth continues so comfortable.
january a happy new year to you all, my dearest family, which of course includes mr. l. and a young man by the name of teddy.
i ca n't tell you how much i enjoyed your christmas bundle, for i did n't get it till night and had given up hoping.
your letter came in the morning, but you said nothing about a parcel, meaning it for a surprise, so i was disappointed, for i'd had a "kind of feeling" that you would n't forget me.
i felt a little low in my mind as i sat up in my room after tea, and when the big, muddy, battered-looking bundle was brought to me, i just hugged it and pranced.
it was so homey and refreshing that i sat down on the floor and read and looked and ate and laughed and cried, in my usual absurd way.
the things were just what i wanted, and all the better for being made instead of bought.
beth's new "ink bib" was capital, and hannah's box of hard gingerbread will be a treasure.
i'll be sure and wear the nice flannels you sent, marmee, and read carefully the books father has marked.
thank you all, heaps and heaps!
speaking of books reminds me that i'm getting rich in that line, for on new year's day mr. bhaer gave me a fine shakespeare.
it is one he values much, and i've often admired it, set up in the place of honor with his german bible, plato, homer, and milton, so you may imagine how i felt when he brought it down, without its cover, and showed me my own name in it, "from my friend friedrich bhaer".
""you say often you wish a library.
here i gif you one, for between these lids -lrb- he meant covers -rrb- is many books in one.
read him well, and he will help you much, for the study of character in this book will help you to read it in the world and paint it with your pen."
i thanked him as well as i could, and talk now about "my library", as if i had a hundred books.
i never knew how much there was in shakespeare before, but then i never had a bhaer to explain it to me.
now do n't laugh at his horrid name.
it is n't pronounced either bear or beer, as people will say it, but something between the two, as only germans can give it.
i'm glad you both like what i tell you about him, and hope you will know him some day.
mother would admire his warm heart, father his wise head.
i admire both, and feel rich in my new "friend friedrich bhaer".
not having much money, or knowing what he'd like, i got several little things, and put them about the room, where he would find them unexpectedly.
they were useful, pretty, or funny, a new standish on his table, a little vase for his flower, he always has one, or a bit of green in a glass, to keep him fresh, he says, and a holder for his blower, so that he need n't burn up what amy calls "mouchoirs".
i made it like those beth invented, a big butterfly with a fat body, and black and yellow wings, worsted feelers, and bead eyes.
it took his fancy immensely, and he put it on his mantlepiece as an article of virtue, so it was rather a failure after all.
poor as he is, he did n't forget a servant or a child in the house, and not a soul here, from the french laundrywoman to miss norton forgot him.
i was so glad of that.
they got up a masquerade, and had a gay time new year's eve.
i did n't mean to go down, having no dress.
but at the last minute, mrs. kirke remembered some old brocades, and miss norton lent me lace and feathers.
so i dressed up as mrs. malaprop, and sailed in with a mask on.
no one knew me, for i disguised my voice, and no one dreamed of the silent, haughty miss march -lrb- for they think i am very stiff and cool, most of them, and so i am to whippersnappers -rrb- could dance and dress, and burst out into a "nice derangement of epitaphs, like an allegory on the banks of the nile".
i enjoyed it very much, and when we unmasked it was fun to see them stare at me.
i heard one of the young men tell another that he knew i'd been an actress, in fact, he thought he remembered seeing me at one of the minor theaters.
meg will relish that joke.
mr. bhaer was nick bottom, and tina was titania, a perfect little fairy in his arms.
to see them dance was "quite a landscape", to use a teddyism.
i had a very happy new year, after all, and when i thought it over in my room, i felt as if i was getting on a little in spite of my many failures, for i'm cheerful all the time now, work with a will, and take more interest in other people than i used to, which is satisfactory.
bless you all!
ever your loving... jo chapter thirty-four friend though very happy in the social atmosphere about her, and very busy with the daily work that earned her bread and made it sweeter for the effort, jo still found time for literary labors.
the purpose which now took possession of her was a natural one to a poor and ambitious girl, but the means she took to gain her end were not the best.
she saw that money conferred power, money and power, therefore, she resolved to have, not to be used for herself alone, but for those whom she loved more than life.
the dream of filling home with comforts, giving beth everything she wanted, from strawberries in winter to an organ in her bedroom, going abroad herself, and always having more than enough, so that she might indulge in the luxury of charity, had been for years jo's most cherished castle in the air.
the prize-story experience had seemed to open a way which might, after long traveling and much uphill work, lead to this delightful chateau en espagne.
but the novel disaster quenched her courage for a time, for public opinion is a giant which has frightened stouter-hearted jacks on bigger beanstalks than hers.
like that immortal hero, she reposed awhile after the first attempt, which resulted in a tumble and the least lovely of the giant's treasures, if i remember rightly.
but the "up again and take another" spirit was as strong in jo as in jack, so she scrambled up on the shady side this time and got more booty, but nearly left behind her what was far more precious than the moneybags.
she took to writing sensation stories, for in those dark ages, even all-perfect america read rubbish.
she told no one, but concocted a "thrilling tale", and boldly carried it herself to mr. dashwood, editor of the weekly volcano.
she had never read sartor resartus, but she had a womanly instinct that clothes possess an influence more powerful over many than the worth of character or the magic of manners.
so she dressed herself in her best, and trying to persuade herself that she was neither excited nor nervous, bravely climbed two pairs of dark and dirty stairs to find herself in a disorderly room, a cloud of cigar smoke, and the presence of three gentlemen, sitting with their heels rather higher than their hats, which articles of dress none of them took the trouble to remove on her appearance.
somewhat daunted by this reception, jo hesitated on the threshold, murmuring in much embarrassment... "excuse me, i was looking for the weekly volcano office.
i wished to see mr. dashwood."
down went the highest pair of heels, up rose the smokiest gentleman, and carefully cherishing his cigar between his fingers, he advanced with a nod and a countenance expressive of nothing but sleep.
feeling that she must get through the matter somehow, jo produced her manuscript and, blushing redder and redder with each sentence, blundered out fragments of the little speech carefully prepared for the occasion.
""a friend of mine desired me to offer -- a story -- just as an experiment -- would like your opinion -- be glad to write more if this suits."
while she blushed and blundered, mr. dashwood had taken the manuscript, and was turning over the leaves with a pair of rather dirty fingers, and casting critical glances up and down the neat pages.
""not a first attempt, i take it?"
observing that the pages were numbered, covered only on one side, and not tied up with a ribbon -- sure sign of a novice.
""no, sir.
she has had some experience, and got a prize for a tale in the blarneystone banner."
""oh, did she?"
and mr. dashwood gave jo a quick look, which seemed to take note of everything she had on, from the bow in her bonnet to the buttons on her boots.
""well, you can leave it, if you like.
we've more of this sort of thing on hand than we know what to do with at present, but i'll run my eye over it, and give you an answer next week."
now, jo did not like to leave it, for mr. dashwood did n't suit her at all, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing for her to do but bow and walk away, looking particularly tall and dignified, as she was apt to do when nettled or abashed.
just then she was both, for it was perfectly evident from the knowing glances exchanged among the gentlemen that her little fiction of "my friend" was considered a good joke, and a laugh, produced by some inaudible remark of the editor, as he closed the door, completed her discomfiture.
half resolving never to return, she went home, and worked off her irritation by stitching pinafores vigorously, and in an hour or two was cool enough to laugh over the scene and long for next week.
when she went again, mr. dashwood was alone, whereat she rejoiced.
mr. dashwood was much wider awake than before, which was agreeable, and mr. dashwood was not too deeply absorbed in a cigar to remember his manners, so the second interview was much more comfortable than the first.
""we'll take this -lrb- editors never say i -rrb-, if you do n't object to a few alterations.
it's too long, but omitting the passages i've marked will make it just the right length," he said, in a businesslike tone.
jo hardly knew her own ms. again, so crumpled and underscored were its pages and paragraphs, but feeling as a tender parent might on being asked to cut off her baby's legs in order that it might fit into a new cradle, she looked at the marked passages and was surprised to find that all the moral reflections -- which she had carefully put in as ballast for much romance -- had been stricken out.
""but, sir, i thought every story should have some sort of a moral, so i took care to have a few of my sinners repent."
mr. dashwoods's editorial gravity relaxed into a smile, for jo had forgotten her "friend", and spoken as only an author could.
""people want to be amused, not preached at, you know.
morals do n't sell nowadays."
which was not quite a correct statement, by the way.
""you think it would do with these alterations, then?"
""yes, it's a new plot, and pretty well worked up -- language good, and so on," was mr. dashwood's affable reply.
""what do you -- that is, what compensation --" began jo, not exactly knowing how to express herself.
""oh, yes, well, we give from twenty-five to thirty for things of this sort.
pay when it comes out," returned mr. dashwood, as if that point had escaped him.
such trifles do escape the editorial mind, it is said.
""very well, you can have it," said jo, handing back the story with a satisfied air, for after the dollar-a-column work, even twenty-five seemed good pay.
""shall i tell my friend you will take another if she has one better than this?"
asked jo, unconscious of her little slip of the tongue, and emboldened by her success.
""well, we'll look at it.
ca n't promise to take it.
tell her to make it short and spicy, and never mind the moral.
what name would your friend like to put on it?"
in a careless tone.
""none at all, if you please, she does n't wish her name to appear and has no nom de plume," said jo, blushing in spite of herself.
""just as she likes, of course.
the tale will be out next week.
will you call for the money, or shall i send it?"
asked mr. dashwood, who felt a natural desire to know who his new contributor might be.
""i'll call.
good morning, sir."
as she departed, mr. dashwood put up his feet, with the graceful remark, "poor and proud, as usual, but she'll do."
following mr. dashwood's directions, and making mrs. northbury her model, jo rashly took a plunge into the frothy sea of sensational literature, but thanks to the life preserver thrown her by a friend, she came up again not much the worse for her ducking.
like most young scribblers, she went abroad for her characters and scenery, and banditti, counts, gypsies, nuns, and duchesses appeared upon her stage, and played their parts with as much accuracy and spirit as could be expected.
her readers were not particular about such trifles as grammar, punctuation, and probability, and mr. dashwood graciously permitted her to fill his columns at the lowest prices, not thinking it necessary to tell her that the real cause of his hospitality was the fact that one of his hacks, on being offered higher wages, had basely left him in the lurch.
she soon became interested in her work, for her emaciated purse grew stout, and the little hoard she was making to take beth to the mountains next summer grew slowly but surely as the weeks passed.
one thing disturbed her satisfaction, and that was that she did not tell them at home.
she had a feeling that father and mother would not approve, and preferred to have her own way first, and beg pardon afterward.
it was easy to keep her secret, for no name appeared with her stories.
mr. dashwood had of course found it out very soon, but promised to be dumb, and for a wonder kept his word.
she thought it would do her no harm, for she sincerely meant to write nothing of which she would be ashamed, and quieted all pricks of conscience by anticipations of the happy minute when she should show her earnings and laugh over her well-kept secret.
but mr. dashwood rejected any but thrilling tales, and as thrills could not be produced except by harrowing up the souls of the readers, history and romance, land and sea, science and art, police records and lunatic asylums, had to be ransacked for the purpose.
jo soon found that her innocent experience had given her but few glimpses of the tragic world which underlies society, so regarding it in a business light, she set about supplying her deficiencies with characteristic energy.
eager to find material for stories, and bent on making them original in plot, if not masterly in execution, she searched newspapers for accidents, incidents, and crimes.
she excited the suspicions of public librarians by asking for works on poisons.
she studied faces in the street, and characters, good, bad, and indifferent, all about her.
she delved in the dust of ancient times for facts or fictions so old that they were as good as new, and introduced herself to folly, sin, and misery, as well as her limited opportunities allowed.
she thought she was prospering finely, but unconsciously she was beginning to desecrate some of the womanliest attributes of a woman's character.
she was living in bad society, and imaginary though it was, its influence affected her, for she was feeding heart and fancy on dangerous and unsubstantial food, and was fast brushing the innocent bloom from her nature by a premature acquaintance with the darker side of life, which comes soon enough to all of us.
she was beginning to feel rather than see this, for much describing of other people's passions and feelings set her to studying and speculating about her own, a morbid amusement in which healthy young minds do not voluntarily indulge.
wrongdoing always brings its own punishment, and when jo most needed hers, she got it.
i do n't know whether the study of shakespeare helped her to read character, or the natural instinct of a woman for what was honest, brave, and strong, but while endowing her imaginary heroes with every perfection under the sun, jo was discovering a live hero, who interested her in spite of many human imperfections.
mr. bhaer, in one of their conversations, had advised her to study simple, true, and lovely characters, wherever she found them, as good training for a writer.
jo took him at his word, for she coolly turned round and studied him -- a proceeding which would have much surprised him, had he known it, for the worthy professor was very humble in his own conceit.
why everybody liked him was what puzzled jo, at first.
he was neither rich nor great, young nor handsome, in no respect what is called fascinating, imposing, or brilliant, and yet he was as attractive as a genial fire, and people seemed to gather about him as naturally as about a warm hearth.
he was poor, yet always appeared to be giving something away; a stranger, yet everyone was his friend; no longer young, but as happy-hearted as a boy; plain and peculiar, yet his face looked beautiful to many, and his oddities were freely forgiven for his sake.
jo often watched him, trying to discover the charm, and at last decided that it was benevolence which worked the miracle.
if he had any sorrow, "it sat with its head under its wing", and he turned only his sunny side to the world.
there were lines upon his forehead, but time seemed to have touched him gently, remembering how kind he was to others.
the pleasant curves about his mouth were the memorials of many friendly words and cheery laughs, his eyes were never cold or hard, and his big hand had a warm, strong grasp that was more expressive than words.
his very clothes seemed to partake of the hospitable nature of the wearer.
they looked as if they were at ease, and liked to make him comfortable.
his capacious waistcoat was suggestive of a large heart underneath.
his rusty coat had a social air, and the baggy pockets plainly proved that little hands often went in empty and came out full.
his very boots were benevolent, and his collars never stiff and raspy like other people's.
""that's it!"
said jo to herself, when she at length discovered that genuine good will toward one's fellow men could beautify and dignify even a stout german teacher, who shoveled in his dinner, darned his own socks, and was burdened with the name of bhaer.
jo valued goodness highly, but she also possessed a most feminine respect for intellect, and a little discovery which she made about the professor added much to her regard for him.
he never spoke of himself, and no one ever knew that in his native city he had been a man much honored and esteemed for learning and integrity, till a countryman came to see him.
he never spoke of himself, and in a conversation with miss norton divulged the pleasing fact.
from her jo learned it, and liked it all the better because mr. bhaer had never told it.
she felt proud to know that he was an honored professor in berlin, though only a poor language-master in america, and his homely, hard-working life was much beautified by the spice of romance which this discovery gave it.
another and a better gift than intellect was shown her in a most unexpected manner.
miss norton had the entree into most society, which jo would have had no chance of seeing but for her.
the solitary woman felt an interest in the ambitious girl, and kindly conferred many favors of this sort both on jo and the professor.
she took them with her one night to a select symposium, held in honor of several celebrities.
jo went prepared to bow down and adore the mighty ones whom she had worshiped with youthful enthusiasm afar off.
but her reverence for genius received a severe shock that night, and it took her some time to recover from the discovery that the great creatures were only men and women after all.
imagine her dismay, on stealing a glance of timid admiration at the poet whose lines suggested an ethereal being fed on "spirit, fire, and dew", to behold him devouring his supper with an ardor which flushed his intellectual countenance.
turning as from a fallen idol, she made other discoveries which rapidly dispelled her romantic illusions.
the great novelist vibrated between two decanters with the regularity of a pendulum; the famous divine flirted openly with one of the madame de staels of the age, who looked daggers at another corinne, who was amiably satirizing her, after outmaneuvering her in efforts to absorb the profound philosopher, who imbibed tea johnsonianly and appeared to slumber, the loquacity of the lady rendering speech impossible.
the scientific celebrities, forgetting their mollusks and glacial periods, gossiped about art, while devoting themselves to oysters and ices with characteristic energy; the young musician, who was charming the city like a second orpheus, talked horses; and the specimen of the british nobility present happened to be the most ordinary man of the party.
before the evening was half over, jo felt so completely disillusioned, that she sat down in a corner to recover herself.
mr. bhaer soon joined her, looking rather out of his element, and presently several of the philosophers, each mounted on his hobby, came ambling up to hold an intellectual tournament in the recess.
the conversations were miles beyond jo's comprehension, but she enjoyed it, though kant and hegel were unknown gods, the subjective and objective unintelligible terms, and the only thing "evolved from her inner consciousness" was a bad headache after it was all over.
it dawned upon her gradually that the world was being picked to pieces, and put together on new and, according to the talkers, on infinitely better principles than before, that religion was in a fair way to be reasoned into nothingness, and intellect was to be the only god.
jo knew nothing about philosophy or metaphysics of any sort, but a curious excitement, half pleasurable, half painful, came over her as she listened with a sense of being turned adrift into time and space, like a young balloon out on a holiday.
she looked round to see how the professor liked it, and found him looking at her with the grimmest expression she had ever seen him wear.
he shook his head and beckoned her to come away, but she was fascinated just then by the freedom of speculative philosophy, and kept her seat, trying to find out what the wise gentlemen intended to rely upon after they had annihilated all the old beliefs.
now, mr. bhaer was a diffident man and slow to offer his own opinions, not because they were unsettled, but too sincere and earnest to be lightly spoken.
as he glanced from jo to several other young people, attracted by the brilliancy of the philosophic pyrotechnics, he knit his brows and longed to speak, fearing that some inflammable young soul would be led astray by the rockets, to find when the display was over that they had only an empty stick or a scorched hand.
he bore it as long as he could, but when he was appealed to for an opinion, he blazed up with honest indignation and defended religion with all the eloquence of truth -- an eloquence which made his broken english musical and his plain face beautiful.
he had a hard fight, for the wise men argued well, but he did n't know when he was beaten and stood to his colors like a man.
somehow, as he talked, the world got right again to jo.
the old beliefs, that had lasted so long, seemed better than the new.
god was not a blind force, and immortality was not a pretty fable, but a blessed fact.
she felt as if she had solid ground under her feet again, and when mr. bhaer paused, outtalked but not one whit convinced, jo wanted to clap her hands and thank him.
she did neither, but she remembered the scene, and gave the professor her heartiest respect, for she knew it cost him an effort to speak out then and there, because his conscience would not let him be silent.
she began to see that character is a better possession than money, rank, intellect, or beauty, and to feel that if greatness is what a wise man has defined it to be, "truth, reverence, and good will", then her friend friedrich bhaer was not only good, but great.
this belief strengthened daily.
she valued his esteem, she coveted his respect, she wanted to be worthy of his friendship, and just when the wish was sincerest, she came near to losing everything.
it all grew out of a cocked hat, for one evening the professor came in to give jo her lesson with a paper soldier cap on his head, which tina had put there and he had forgotten to take off.
""it's evident he does n't look in his glass before coming down," thought jo, with a smile, as he said "goot efening," and sat soberly down, quite unconscious of the ludicrous contrast between his subject and his headgear, for he was going to read her the death of wallenstein.
she said nothing at first, for she liked to hear him laugh out his big, hearty laugh when anything funny happened, so she left him to discover it for himself, and presently forgot all about it, for to hear a german read schiller is rather an absorbing occupation.
after the reading came the lesson, which was a lively one, for jo was in a gay mood that night, and the cocked hat kept her eyes dancing with merriment.
the professor did n't know what to make of her, and stopped at last to ask with an air of mild surprise that was irresistible... "mees marsch, for what do you laugh in your master's face?
haf you no respect for me, that you go on so bad?"
""how can i be respectful, sir, when you forget to take your hat off?"
said jo.
lifting his hand to his head, the absent-minded professor gravely felt and removed the little cocked hat, looked at it a minute, and then threw back his head and laughed like a merry bass viol.
""ah!
i see him now, it is that imp tina who makes me a fool with my cap.
well, it is nothing, but see you, if this lesson goes not well, you too shall wear him."
but the lesson did not go at all for a few minutes because mr. bhaer caught sight of a picture on the hat, and unfolding it, said with great disgust, "i wish these papers did not come in the house.
they are not for children to see, nor young people to read.
it is not well, and i haf no patience with those who make this harm."
jo glanced at the sheet and saw a pleasing illustration composed of a lunatic, a corpse, a villain, and a viper.
she did not like it, but the impulse that made her turn it over was not one of displeasure but fear, because for a minute she fancied the paper was the volcano.
it was not, however, and her panic subsided as she remembered that even if it had been and one of her own tales in it, there would have been no name to betray her.
she had betrayed herself, however, by a look and a blush, for though an absent man, the professor saw a good deal more than people fancied.
he knew that jo wrote, and had met her down among the newspaper offices more than once, but as she never spoke of it, he asked no questions in spite of a strong desire to see her work.
now it occurred to him that she was doing what she was ashamed to own, and it troubled him.
he did not say to himself, "it is none of my business.
i've no right to say anything," as many people would have done.
he only remembered that she was young and poor, a girl far away from mother's love and father's care, and he was moved to help her with an impulse as quick and natural as that which would prompt him to put out his hand to save a baby from a puddle.
all this flashed through his mind in a minute, but not a trace of it appeared in his face, and by the time the paper was turned, and jo's needle threaded, he was ready to say quite naturally, but very gravely... "yes, you are right to put it from you.
i do not think that good young girls should see such things.
they are made pleasant to some, but i would more rather give my boys gunpowder to play with than this bad trash."
""all may not be bad, only silly, you know, and if there is a demand for it, i do n't see any harm in supplying it.
many very respectable people make an honest living out of what are called sensation stories," said jo, scratching gathers so energetically that a row of little slits followed her pin.
""there is a demand for whisky, but i think you and i do not care to sell it.
if the respectable people knew what harm they did, they would not feel that the living was honest.
they haf no right to put poison in the sugarplum, and let the small ones eat it.
no, they should think a little, and sweep mud in the street before they do this thing."
mr. bhaer spoke warmly, and walked to the fire, crumpling the paper in his hands.
jo sat still, looking as if the fire had come to her, for her cheeks burned long after the cocked hat had turned to smoke and gone harmlessly up the chimney.
""i should like much to send all the rest after him," muttered the professor, coming back with a relieved air.
jo thought what a blaze her pile of papers upstairs would make, and her hard-earned money lay rather heavily on her conscience at that minute.
then she thought consolingly to herself, "mine are not like that, they are only silly, never bad, so i wo n't be worried," and taking up her book, she said, with a studious face, "shall we go on, sir?
i'll be very good and proper now."
""i shall hope so," was all he said, but he meant more than she imagined, and the grave, kind look he gave her made her feel as if the words weekly volcano were printed in large type on her forehead.
as soon as she went to her room, she got out her papers, and carefully reread every one of her stories.
being a little shortsighted, mr. bhaer sometimes used eye glasses, and jo had tried them once, smiling to see how they magnified the fine print of her book.
now she seemed to have on the professor's mental or moral spectacles also, for the faults of these poor stories glared at her dreadfully and filled her with dismay.
""they are trash, and will soon be worse trash if i go on, for each is more sensational than the last.
i've gone blindly on, hurting myself and other people, for the sake of money.
i know it's so, for i ca n't read this stuff in sober earnest without being horribly ashamed of it, and what should i do if they were seen at home or mr. bhaer got hold of them?"
jo turned hot at the bare idea, and stuffed the whole bundle into her stove, nearly setting the chimney afire with the blaze.
""yes, that's the best place for such inflammable nonsense.
i'd better burn the house down, i suppose, than let other people blow themselves up with my gunpowder," she thought as she watched the demon of the jura whisk away, a little black cinder with fiery eyes.
but when nothing remained of all her three month's work except a heap of ashes and the money in her lap, jo looked sober, as she sat on the floor, wondering what she ought to do about her wages.
""i think i have n't done much harm yet, and may keep this to pay for my time," she said, after a long meditation, adding impatiently, "i almost wish i had n't any conscience, it's so inconvenient.
if i did n't care about doing right, and did n't feel uncomfortable when doing wrong, i should get on capitally.
i ca n't help wishing sometimes, that mother and father had n't been so particular about such things."
ah, jo, instead of wishing that, thank god that "father and mother were particular", and pity from your heart those who have no such guardians to hedge them round with principles which may seem like prison walls to impatient youth, but which will prove sure foundations to build character upon in womanhood.
jo wrote no more sensational stories, deciding that the money did not pay for her share of the sensation, but going to the other extreme, as is the way with people of her stamp, she took a course of mrs. sherwood, miss edgeworth, and hannah more, and then produced a tale which might have been more properly called an essay or a sermon, so intensely moral was it.
she had her doubts about it from the beginning, for her lively fancy and girlish romance felt as ill at ease in the new style as she would have done masquerading in the stiff and cumbrous costume of the last century.
she sent this didactic gem to several markets, but it found no purchaser, and she was inclined to agree with mr. dashwood that morals did n't sell.
then she tried a child's story, which she could easily have disposed of if she had not been mercenary enough to demand filthy lucre for it.
the only person who offered enough to make it worth her while to try juvenile literature was a worthy gentleman who felt it his mission to convert all the world to his particular belief.
but much as she liked to write for children, jo could not consent to depict all her naughty boys as being eaten by bears or tossed by mad bulls because they did not go to a particular sabbath school, nor all the good infants who did go as rewarded by every kind of bliss, from gilded gingerbread to escorts of angels when they departed this life with psalms or sermons on their lisping tongues.
so nothing came of these trials, and jo corked up her inkstand, and said in a fit of very wholesome humility... "i do n't know anything.
i'll wait until i do before i try again, and meantime, "sweep mud in the street" if i ca n't do better, that's honest, at least."
which decision proved that her second tumble down the beanstalk had done her some good.
while these internal revolutions were going on, her external life had been as busy and uneventful as usual, and if she sometimes looked serious or a little sad no one observed it but professor bhaer.
he did it so quietly that jo never knew he was watching to see if she would accept and profit by his reproof, but she stood the test, and he was satisfied, for though no words passed between them, he knew that she had given up writing.
not only did he guess it by the fact that the second finger of her right hand was no longer inky, but she spent her evenings downstairs now, was met no more among newspaper offices, and studied with a dogged patience, which assured him that she was bent on occupying her mind with something useful, if not pleasant.
he helped her in many ways, proving himself a true friend, and jo was happy, for while her pen lay idle, she was learning other lessons besides german, and laying a foundation for the sensation story of her own life.
it was a pleasant winter and a long one, for she did not leave mrs. kirke till june.
everyone seemed sorry when the time came.
the children were inconsolable, and mr. bhaer's hair stuck straight up all over his head, for he always rumpled it wildly when disturbed in mind.
""going home?
ah, you are happy that you haf a home to go in," he said, when she told him, and sat silently pulling his beard in the corner, while she held a little levee on that last evening.
she was going early, so she bade them all goodbye overnight, and when his turn came, she said warmly, "now, sir, you wo n't forget to come and see us, if you ever travel our way, will you?
i'll never forgive you if you do, for i want them all to know my friend."
""do you?
shall i come?"
he asked, looking down at her with an eager expression which she did not see.
""yes, come next month.
laurie graduates then, and you'd enjoy commencement as something new."
""that is your best friend, of whom you speak?"
he said in an altered tone.
""yes, my boy teddy.
i'm very proud of him and should like you to see him."
jo looked up then, quite unconscious of anything but her own pleasure in the prospect of showing them to one another.
something in mr. bhaer's face suddenly recalled the fact that she might find laurie more than a "best friend", and simply because she particularly wished not to look as if anything was the matter, she involuntarily began to blush, and the more she tried not to, the redder she grew.
if it had not been for tina on her knee.
she did n't know what would have become of her.
fortunately the child was moved to hug her, so she managed to hide her face an instant, hoping the professor did not see it.
but he did, and his own changed again from that momentary anxiety to its usual expression, as he said cordially... "i fear i shall not make the time for that, but i wish the friend much success, and you all happiness.
gott bless you!"
and with that, he shook hands warmly, shouldered tina, and went away.
but after the boys were abed, he sat long before his fire with the tired look on his face and the "heimweh", or homesickness, lying heavy at his heart.
once, when he remembered jo as she sat with the little child in her lap and that new softness in her face, he leaned his head on his hands a minute, and then roamed about the room, as if in search of something that he could not find.
""it is not for me, i must not hope it now," he said to himself, with a sigh that was almost a groan.
then, as if reproaching himself for the longing that he could not repress, he went and kissed the two tousled heads upon the pillow, took down his seldom-used meerschaum, and opened his plato.
he did his best and did it manfully, but i do n't think he found that a pair of rampant boys, a pipe, or even the divine plato, were very satisfactory substitutes for wife and child at home.
early as it was, he was at the station next morning to see jo off, and thanks to him, she began her solitary journey with the pleasant memory of a familiar face smiling its farewell, a bunch of violets to keep her company, and best of all, the happy thought, "well, the winter's gone, and i've written no books, earned no fortune, but i've made a friend worth having and i'll try to keep him all my life."
chapter thirty-five heartache whatever his motive might have been, laurie studied to some purpose that year, for he graduated with honor, and gave the latin oration with the grace of a phillips and the eloquence of a demosthenes, so his friends said.
they were all there, his grandfather -- oh, so proud -- mr. and mrs. march, john and meg, jo and beth, and all exulted over him with the sincere admiration which boys make light of at the time, but fail to win from the world by any after-triumphs.
""i've got to stay for this confounded supper, but i shall be home early tomorrow.
you'll come and meet me as usual, girls?"
laurie said, as he put the sisters into the carriage after the joys of the day were over.
he said "girls", but he meant jo, for she was the only one who kept up the old custom.
she had not the heart to refuse her splendid, successful boy anything, and answered warmly... "i'll come, teddy, rain or shine, and march before you, playing "hail the conquering hero comes" on a jew's - harp."
laurie thanked her with a look that made her think in a sudden panic, "oh, deary me!
i know he'll say something, and then what shall i do?"
evening meditation and morning work somewhat allayed her fears, and having decided that she would n't be vain enough to think people were going to propose when she had given them every reason to know what her answer would be, she set forth at the appointed time, hoping teddy would n't do anything to make her hurt his poor feelings.
a call at meg's, and a refreshing sniff and sip at the daisy and demijohn, still further fortified her for the tete-a-tete, but when she saw a stalwart figure looming in the distance, she had a strong desire to turn about and run away.
""where's the jew's - harp, jo?"
cried laurie, as soon as he was within speaking distance.
""i forgot it."
and jo took heart again, for that salutation could not be called lover-like.
she always used to take his arm on these occasions, now she did not, and he made no complaint, which was a bad sign, but talked on rapidly about all sorts of faraway subjects, till they turned from the road into the little path that led homeward through the grove.
then he walked more slowly, suddenly lost his fine flow of language, and now and then a dreadful pause occurred.
to rescue the conversation from one of the wells of silence into which it kept falling, jo said hastily, "now you must have a good long holiday!"
""i intend to."
something in his resolute tone made jo look up quickly to find him looking down at her with an expression that assured her the dreaded moment had come, and made her put out her hand with an imploring, "no, teddy.
please do n't!"
""i will, and you must hear me.
it's no use, jo, we've got to have it out, and the sooner the better for both of us," he answered, getting flushed and excited all at once.
""say what you like then.
i'll listen," said jo, with a desperate sort of patience.
laurie was a young lover, but he was in earnest, and meant to "have it out", if he died in the attempt, so he plunged into the subject with characteristic impetuousity, saying in a voice that would get choky now and then, in spite of manful efforts to keep it steady... "i've loved you ever since i've known you, jo, could n't help it, you've been so good to me.
i've tried to show it, but you would n't let me.
now i'm going to make you hear, and give me an answer, for i ca n't go on so any longer."
""i wanted to save you this.
i thought you'd understand..." began jo, finding it a great deal harder than she expected.
""i know you did, but the girls are so queer you never know what they mean.
they say no when they mean yes, and drive a man out of his wits just for the fun of it," returned laurie, entrenching himself behind an undeniable fact.
""i do n't.
i never wanted to make you care for me so, and i went away to keep you from it if i could."
""i thought so.
it was like you, but it was no use.
i only loved you all the more, and i worked hard to please you, and i gave up billiards and everything you did n't like, and waited and never complained, for i hoped you'd love me, though i'm not half good enough..." here there was a choke that could n't be controlled, so he decapitated buttercups while he cleared his "confounded throat".
""you, you are, you're a great deal too good for me, and i'm so grateful to you, and so proud and fond of you, i do n't know why i ca n't love you as you want me to.
i've tried, but i ca n't change the feeling, and it would be a lie to say i do when i do n't."
""really, truly, jo?"
he stopped short, and caught both her hands as he put his question with a look that she did not soon forget.
""really, truly, dear."
they were in the grove now, close by the stile, and when the last words fell reluctantly from jo's lips, laurie dropped her hands and turned as if to go on, but for once in his life the fence was too much for him.
so he just laid his head down on the mossy post, and stood so still that jo was frightened.
""oh, teddy, i'm sorry, so desperately sorry, i could kill myself if it would do any good!
i wish you would n't take it so hard, i ca n't help it.
you know it's impossible for people to make themselves love other people if they do n't," cried jo inelegantly but remorsefully, as she softly patted his shoulder, remembering the time when he had comforted her so long ago.
""they do sometimes," said a muffled voice from the post.
""i do n't believe it's the right sort of love, and i'd rather not try it," was the decided answer.
there was a long pause, while a blackbird sung blithely on the willow by the river, and the tall grass rustled in the wind.
presently jo said very soberly, as she sat down on the step of the stile, "laurie, i want to tell you something."
he started as if he had been shot, threw up his head, and cried out in a fierce tone, "do n't tell me that, jo, i ca n't bear it now!"
""tell what?"
she asked, wondering at his violence.
""that you love that old man."
""what old man?"
demanded jo, thinking he must mean his grandfather.
""that devilish professor you were always writing about.
if you say you love him, i know i shall do something desperate;" and he looked as if he would keep his word, as he clenched his hands with a wrathful spark in his eyes.
jo wanted to laugh, but restrained herself and said warmly, for she too, was getting excited with all this, "do n't swear, teddy!
he is n't old, nor anything bad, but good and kind, and the best friend i've got, next to you.
pray, do n't fly into a passion.
i want to be kind, but i know i shall get angry if you abuse my professor.
i have n't the least idea of loving him or anybody else."
""but you will after a while, and then what will become of me?"
""you'll love someone else too, like a sensible boy, and forget all this trouble."
""i ca n't love anyone else, and i'll never forget you, jo, never!
never!"
with a stamp to emphasize his passionate words.
""what shall i do with him?"
sighed jo, finding that emotions were more unmanagable than she expected.
""you have n't heard what i wanted to tell you.
sit down and listen, for indeed i want to do right and make you happy," she said, hoping to soothe him with a little reason, which proved that she knew nothing about love.
seeing a ray of hope in that last speech, laurie threw himself down on the grass at her feet, leaned his arm on the lower step of the stile, and looked up at her with an expectant face.
now that arrangement was not conducive to calm speech or clear thought on jo's part, for how could she say hard things to her boy while he watched her with eyes full of love and longing, and lashes still wet with the bitter drop or two her hardness of heart had wrung from him?
she gently turned his head away, saying, as she stroked the wavy hair which had been allowed to grow for her sake -- how touching that was, to be sure!
""i agree with mother that you and i are not suited to each other, because our quick tempers and strong wills would probably make us very miserable, if we were so foolish as to..." jo paused a little over the last word, but laurie uttered it with a rapturous expression.
""marry -- no we should n't!
if you loved me, jo, i should be a perfect saint, for you could make me anything you like."
""no, i ca n't.
i've tried and failed, and i wo n't risk our happiness by such a serious experiment.
we do n't agree and we never shall, so we'll be good friends all our lives, but we wo n't go and do anything rash."
""yes, we will if we get the chance," muttered laurie rebelliously.
""now do be reasonable, and take a sensible view of the case," implored jo, almost at her wit's end.
""i wo n't be reasonable.
i do n't want to take what you call" a sensible view".
it wo n't help me, and it only makes it harder.
i do n't believe you've got any heart."
""i wish i had n't."
there was a little quiver in jo's voice, and thinking it a good omen, laurie turned round, bringing all his persuasive powers to bear as he said, in the wheedlesome tone that had never been so dangerously wheedlesome before, "do n't disappoint us, dear!
everyone expects it.
grandpa has set his heart upon it, your people like it, and i ca n't get on without you.
say you will, and let's be happy.
do, do!"
not until months afterward did jo understand how she had the strength of mind to hold fast to the resolution she had made when she decided that she did not love her boy, and never could.
it was very hard to do, but she did it, knowing that delay was both useless and cruel.
""i ca n't say "yes" truly, so i wo n't say it at all.
you'll see that i'm right, by-and-by, and thank me for it..." she began solemnly.
""i'll be hanged if i do!"
and laurie bounced up off the grass, burning with indignation at the very idea.
""yes, you will!"
persisted jo.
""you'll get over this after a while, and find some lovely accomplished girl, who will adore you, and make a fine mistress for your fine house.
i should n't.
i'm homely and awkward and odd and old, and you'd be ashamed of me, and we should quarrel -- we ca n't help it even now, you see -- and i should n't like elegant society and you would, and you'd hate my scribbling, and i could n't get on without it, and we should be unhappy, and wish we had n't done it, and everything would be horrid!"
""anything more?"
asked laurie, finding it hard to listen patiently to this prophetic burst.
""nothing more, except that i do n't believe i shall ever marry.
i'm happy as i am, and love my liberty too well to be in a hurry to give it up for any mortal man."
""i know better!"
broke in laurie.
""you think so now, but there'll come a time when you will care for somebody, and you'll love him tremendously, and live and die for him.
i know you will, it's your way, and i shall have to stand by and see it," and the despairing lover cast his hat upon the ground with a gesture that would have seemed comical, if his face had not been so tragic.
""yes, i will live and die for him, if he ever comes and makes me love him in spite of myself, and you must do the best you can!"
cried jo, losing patience with poor teddy.
""i've done my best, but you wo n't be reasonable, and it's selfish of you to keep teasing for what i ca n't give.
i shall always be fond of you, very fond indeed, as a friend, but i'll never marry you, and the sooner you believe it the better for both of us -- so now!"
that speech was like gunpowder.
laurie looked at her a minute as if he did not quite know what to do with himself, then turned sharply away, saying in a desperate sort of tone, "you'll be sorry some day, jo."
""oh, where are you going?"
she cried, for his face frightened her.
""to the devil!"
was the consoling answer.
for a minute jo's heart stood still, as he swung himself down the bank toward the river, but it takes much folly, sin or misery to send a young man to a violent death, and laurie was not one of the weak sort who are conquered by a single failure.
he had no thought of a melodramatic plunge, but some blind instinct led him to fling hat and coat into his boat, and row away with all his might, making better time up the river than he had done in any race.
jo drew a long breath and unclasped her hands as she watched the poor fellow trying to outstrip the trouble which he carried in his heart.
""that will do him good, and he'll come home in such a tender, penitent state of mind, that i sha n't dare to see him," she said, adding, as she went slowly home, feeling as if she had murdered some innocent thing, and buried it under the leaves.
""now i must go and prepare mr. laurence to be very kind to my poor boy.
i wish he'd love beth, perhaps he may in time, but i begin to think i was mistaken about her.
oh dear!
how can girls like to have lovers and refuse them?
i think it's dreadful."
being sure that no one could do it so well as herself, she went straight to mr. laurence, told the hard story bravely through, and then broke down, crying so dismally over her own insensibility that the kind old gentleman, though sorely disappointed, did not utter a reproach.
he found it difficult to understand how any girl could help loving laurie, and hoped she would change her mind, but he knew even better than jo that love can not be forced, so he shook his head sadly and resolved to carry his boy out of harm's way, for young impetuosity's parting words to jo disturbed him more than he would confess.
when laurie came home, dead tired but quite composed, his grandfather met him as if he knew nothing, and kept up the delusion very successfully for an hour or two.
but when they sat together in the twilight, the time they used to enjoy so much, it was hard work for the old man to ramble on as usual, and harder still for the young one to listen to praises of the last year's success, which to him now seemed like love's labor lost.
he bore it as long as he could, then went to his piano and began to play.
the windows were open, and jo, walking in the garden with beth, for once understood music better than her sister, for he played the" sonata pathetique", and played it as he never did before.
""that's very fine, i dare say, but it's sad enough to make one cry.
give us something gayer, lad," said mr. laurence, whose kind old heart was full of sympathy, which he longed to show but knew not how.
laurie dashed into a livelier strain, played stormily for several minutes, and would have got through bravely, if in a momentary lull mrs. march's voice had not been heard calling, "jo, dear, come in.
i want you."
just what laurie longed to say, with a different meaning!
as he listened, he lost his place, the music ended with a broken chord, and the musician sat silent in the dark.
""i ca n't stand this," muttered the old gentleman.
up he got, groped his way to the piano, laid a kind hand on either of the broad shoulders, and said, as gently as a woman, "i know, my boy, i know."
no answer for an instant, then laurie asked sharply, "who told you?"
""jo herself."
""then there's an end of it!"
and he shook off his grandfather's hands with an impatient motion, for though grateful for the sympathy, his man's pride could not bear a man's pity.
""not quite.
i want to say one thing, and then there shall be an end of it," returned mr. laurence with unusual mildness.
""you wo n't care to stay at home now, perhaps?"
""i do n't intend to run away from a girl.
jo ca n't prevent my seeing her, and i shall stay and do it as long as i like," interrupted laurie in a defiant tone.
""not if you are the gentleman i think you.
i'm disappointed, but the girl ca n't help it, and the only thing left for you to do is to go away for a time.
where will you go?"
""anywhere.
i do n't care what becomes of me," and laurie got up with a reckless laugh that grated on his grandfather's ear.
""take it like a man, and do n't do anything rash, for god's sake.
why not go abroad, as you planned, and forget it?"
""i ca n't."
""but you've been wild to go, and i promised you should when you got through college."
""ah, but i did n't mean to go alone!"
and laurie walked fast through the room with an expression which it was well his grandfather did not see.
""i do n't ask you to go alone.
there's someone ready and glad to go with you, anywhere in the world."
""who, sir?"
stopping to listen.
""myself."
laurie came back as quickly as he went, and put out his hand, saying huskily, "i'm a selfish brute, but -- you know -- grandfather --" "lord help me, yes, i do know, for i've been through it all before, once in my own young days, and then with your father.
now, my dear boy, just sit quietly down and hear my plan.
it's all settled, and can be carried out at once," said mr. laurence, keeping hold of the young man, as if fearful that he would break away as his father had done before him.
""well, sir, what is it?"
and laurie sat down, without a sign of interest in face or voice.
""there is business in london that needs looking after.
i meant you should attend to it, but i can do it better myself, and things here will get on very well with brooke to manage them.
my partners do almost everything, i'm merely holding on until you take my place, and can be off at any time."
""but you hate traveling, sir.
i ca n't ask it of you at your age," began laurie, who was grateful for the sacrifice, but much preferred to go alone, if he went at all.
the old gentleman knew that perfectly well, and particularly desired to prevent it, for the mood in which he found his grandson assured him that it would not be wise to leave him to his own devices.
so, stifling a natural regret at the thought of the home comforts he would leave behind him, he said stoutly, "bless your soul, i'm not superannuated yet.
i quite enjoy the idea.
it will do me good, and my old bones wo n't suffer, for traveling nowadays is almost as easy as sitting in a chair."
a restless movement from laurie suggested that his chair was not easy, or that he did not like the plan, and made the old man add hastily, "i do n't mean to be a marplot or a burden.
i go because i think you'd feel happier than if i was left behind.
i do n't intend to gad about with you, but leave you free to go where you like, while i amuse myself in my own way.
i've friends in london and paris, and should like to visit them.
meantime you can go to italy, germany, switzerland, where you will, and enjoy pictures, music, scenery, and adventures to your heart's content."
now, laurie felt just then that his heart was entirely broken and the world a howling wilderness, but at the sound of certain words which the old gentleman artfully introduced into his closing sentence, the broken heart gave an unexpected leap, and a green oasis or two suddenly appeared in the howling wilderness.
he sighed, and then said, in a spiritless tone, "just as you like, sir.
it does n't matter where i go or what i do."
""it does to me, remember that, my lad.
i give you entire liberty, but i trust you to make an honest use of it.
promise me that, laurie."
""anything you like, sir."
""good," thought the old gentleman.
""you do n't care now, but there'll come a time when that promise will keep you out of mischief, or i'm much mistaken."
being an energetic individual, mr. laurence struck while the iron was hot, and before the blighted being recovered spirit enough to rebel, they were off.
during the time necessary for preparation, laurie bore himself as young gentleman usually do in such cases.
he was moody, irritable, and pensive by turns, lost his appetite, neglected his dress and devoted much time to playing tempestuously on his piano, avoided jo, but consoled himself by staring at her from his window, with a tragic face that haunted her dreams by night and oppressed her with a heavy sense of guilt by day.
unlike some sufferers, he never spoke of his unrequited passion, and would allow no one, not even mrs. march, to attempt consolation or offer sympathy.
on some accounts, this was a relief to his friends, but the weeks before his departure were very uncomfortable, and everyone rejoiced that the "poor, dear fellow was going away to forget his trouble, and come home happy".
of course, he smiled darkly at their delusion, but passed it by with the sad superiority of one who knew that his fidelity like his love was unalterable.
when the parting came he affected high spirits, to conceal certain inconvenient emotions which seemed inclined to assert themselves.
this gaiety did not impose upon anybody, but they tried to look as if it did for his sake, and he got on very well till mrs. march kissed him, with a whisper full of motherly solicitude.
then feeling that he was going very fast, he hastily embraced them all round, not forgetting the afflicted hannah, and ran downstairs as if for his life.
jo followed a minute after to wave her hand to him if he looked round.
he did look round, came back, put his arms about her as she stood on the step above him, and looked up at her with a face that made his short appeal eloquent and pathetic.
""oh, jo, ca n't you?"
""teddy, dear, i wish i could!"
that was all, except a little pause.
then laurie straightened himself up, said, "it's all right, never mind," and went away without another word.
ah, but it was n't all right, and jo did mind, for while the curly head lay on her arm a minute after her hard answer, she felt as if she had stabbed her dearest friend, and when he left her without a look behind him, she knew that the boy laurie never would come again.
chapter thirty-six beth's secret when jo came home that spring, she had been struck with the change in beth.
no one spoke of it or seemed aware of it, for it had come too gradually to startle those who saw her daily, but to eyes sharpened by absence, it was very plain and a heavy weight fell on jo's heart as she saw her sister's face.
it was no paler and but littler thinner than in the autumn, yet there was a strange, transparent look about it, as if the mortal was being slowly refined away, and the immortal shining through the frail flesh with an indescribably pathetic beauty.
jo saw and felt it, but said nothing at the time, and soon the first impression lost much of its power, for beth seemed happy, no one appeared to doubt that she was better, and presently in other cares jo for a time forgot her fear.
but when laurie was gone, and peace prevailed again, the vague anxiety returned and haunted her.
she had confessed her sins and been forgiven, but when she showed her savings and proposed a mountain trip, beth had thanked her heartily, but begged not to go so far away from home.
another little visit to the seashore would suit her better, and as grandma could not be prevailed upon to leave the babies, jo took beth down to the quiet place, where she could live much in the open air, and let the fresh sea breezes blow a little color into her pale cheeks.
it was not a fashionable place, but even among the pleasant people there, the girls made few friends, preferring to live for one another.
beth was too shy to enjoy society, and jo too wrapped up in her to care for anyone else.
so they were all in all to each other, and came and went, quite unconscious of the interest they exited in those about them, who watched with sympathetic eyes the strong sister and the feeble one, always together, as if they felt instinctively that a long separation was not far away.
they did feel it, yet neither spoke of it, for often between ourselves and those nearest and dearest to us there exists a reserve which it is very hard to overcome.
jo felt as if a veil had fallen between her heart and beth's, but when she put out her hand to lift it up, there seemed something sacred in the silence, and she waited for beth to speak.
she wondered, and was thankful also, that her parents did not seem to see what she saw, and during the quiet weeks when the shadows grew so plain to her, she said nothing of it to those at home, believing that it would tell itself when beth came back no better.
she wondered still more if her sister really guessed the hard truth, and what thoughts were passing through her mind during the long hours when she lay on the warm rocks with her head in jo's lap, while the winds blew healthfully over her and the sea made music at her feet.
one day beth told her.
jo thought she was asleep, she lay so still, and putting down her book, sat looking at her with wistful eyes, trying to see signs of hope in the faint color on beth's cheeks.
but she could not find enough to satisfy her, for the cheeks were very thin, and the hands seemed too feeble to hold even the rosy little shells they had been collecting.
it came to her then more bitterly than ever that beth was slowly drifting away from her, and her arms instinctively tightened their hold upon the dearest treasure she possessed.
for a minute her eyes were too dim for seeing, and when they cleared, beth was looking up at her so tenderly that there was hardly any need for her to say, "jo, dear, i'm glad you know it.
i've tried to tell you, but i could n't."
there was no answer except her sister's cheek against her own, not even tears, for when most deeply moved, jo did not cry.
she was the weaker then, and beth tried to comfort and sustain her, with her arms about her and the soothing words she whispered in her ear.
""i've known it for a good while, dear, and now i'm used to it, it is n't hard to think of or to bear.
try to see it so and do n't be troubled about me, because it's best, indeed it is."
""is this what made you so unhappy in the autumn, beth?
you did not feel it then, and keep it to yourself so long, did you?"
asked jo, refusing to see or say that it was best, but glad to know that laurie had no part in beth's trouble.
""yes, i gave up hoping then, but i did n't like to own it.
i tried to think it was a sick fancy, and would not let it trouble anyone.
but when i saw you all so well and strong and full of happy plans, it was hard to feel that i could never be like you, and then i was miserable, jo."
""oh, beth, and you did n't tell me, did n't let me comfort and help you?
how could you shut me out, bear it all alone?"
jo's voice was full of tender reproach, and her heart ached to think of the solitary struggle that must have gone on while beth learned to say goodbye to health, love, and life, and take up her cross so cheerfully.
""perhaps it was wrong, but i tried to do right.
i was n't sure, no one said anything, and i hoped i was mistaken.
it would have been selfish to frighten you all when marmee was so anxious about meg, and amy away, and you so happy with laurie -- at least i thought so then."
""and i thought you loved him, beth, and i went away because i could n't," cried jo, glad to say all the truth.
beth looked so amazed at the idea that jo smiled in spite of her pain, and added softly, "then you did n't, dearie?
i was afraid it was so, and imagined your poor little heart full of lovelornity all that while."
""why, jo, how could i, when he was so fond of you?"
asked beth, as innocently as a child.
""i do love him dearly.
he is so good to me, how can i help it?
but he could never be anything to me but my brother.
i hope he truly will be, sometime."
""not through me," said jo decidedly.
""amy is left for him, and they would suit excellently, but i have no heart for such things, now.
i do n't care what becomes of anybody but you, beth.
you must get well."
""i want to, oh, so much!
i try, but every day i lose a little, and feel more sure that i shall never gain it back.
it's like the tide, jo, when it turns, it goes slowly, but it ca n't be stopped."
""it shall be stopped, your tide must not turn so soon, nineteen is too young, beth.
i ca n't let you go.
i'll work and pray and fight against it.
i'll keep you in spite of everything.
there must be ways, it ca n't be too late.
god wo n't be so cruel as to take you from me," cried poor jo rebelliously, for her spirit was far less piously submissive than beth's.
simple, sincere people seldom speak much of their piety.
it shows itself in acts rather than in words, and has more influence than homilies or protestations.
beth could not reason upon or explain the faith that gave her courage and patience to give up life, and cheerfully wait for death.
like a confiding child, she asked no questions, but left everything to god and nature, father and mother of us all, feeling sure that they, and they only, could teach and strengthen heart and spirit for this life and the life to come.
she did not rebuke jo with saintly speeches, only loved her better for her passionate affection, and clung more closely to the dear human love, from which our father never means us to be weaned, but through which he draws us closer to himself.
she could not say, "i'm glad to go," for life was very sweet for her.
she could only sob out, "i try to be willing," while she held fast to jo, as the first bitter wave of this great sorrow broke over them together.
by and by beth said, with recovered serenity, "you'll tell them this when we go home?"
""i think they will see it without words," sighed jo, for now it seemed to her that beth changed every day.
""perhaps not.
i've heard that the people who love best are often blindest to such things.
if they do n't see it, you will tell them for me.
i do n't want any secrets, and it's kinder to prepare them.
meg has john and the babies to comfort her, but you must stand by father and mother, wo n't you jo?"
""if i can.
but, beth, i do n't give up yet.
i'm going to believe that it is a sick fancy, and not let you think it's true."
said jo, trying to speak cheerfully.
beth lay a minute thinking, and then said in her quiet way, "i do n't know how to express myself, and should n't try to anyone but you, because i ca n't speak out except to my jo.
i only mean to say that i have a feeling that it never was intended i should live long.
i'm not like the rest of you.
i never made any plans about what i'd do when i grew up.
i never thought of being married, as you all did.
i could n't seem to imagine myself anything but stupid little beth, trotting about at home, of no use anywhere but there.
i never wanted to go away, and the hard part now is the leaving you all.
i'm not afraid, but it seems as if i should be homesick for you even in heaven."
jo could not speak, and for several minutes there was no sound but the sigh of the wind and the lapping of the tide.
a white-winged gull flew by, with the flash of sunshine on its silvery breast.
beth watched it till it vanished, and her eyes were full of sadness.
a little gray-coated sand bird came tripping over the beach "peeping" softly to itself, as if enjoying the sun and sea.
it came quite close to beth, and looked at her with a friendly eye and sat upon a warm stone, dressing its wet feathers, quite at home.
beth smiled and felt comforted, for the tiny thing seemed to offer its small friendship and remind her that a pleasant world was still to be enjoyed.
""dear little bird!
see, jo, how tame it is.
i like peeps better than the gulls.
they are not so wild and handsome, but they seem happy, confiding little things.
i used to call them my birds last summer, and mother said they reminded her of me -- busy, quaker-colored creatures, always near the shore, and always chirping that contented little song of theirs.
you are the gull, jo, strong and wild, fond of the storm and the wind, flying far out to sea, and happy all alone.
meg is the turtledove, and amy is like the lark she writes about, trying to get up among the clouds, but always dropping down into its nest again.
dear little girl!
she's so ambitious, but her heart is good and tender, and no matter how high she flies, she never will forget home.
i hope i shall see her again, but she seems so far away."
""she is coming in the spring, and i mean that you shall be all ready to see and enjoy her.
i'm going to have you well and rosy by that time," began jo, feeling that of all the changes in beth, the talking change was the greatest, for it seemed to cost no effort now, and she thought aloud in a way quite unlike bashful beth.
""jo, dear, do n't hope any more.
it wo n't do any good.
i'm sure of that.
we wo n't be miserable, but enjoy being together while we wait.
we'll have happy times, for i do n't suffer much, and i think the tide will go out easily, if you help me."
jo leaned down to kiss the tranquil face, and with that silent kiss, she dedicated herself soul and body to beth.
she was right.
there was no need of any words when they got home, for father and mother saw plainly now what they had prayed to be saved from seeing.
tired with her short journey, beth went at once to bed, saying how glad she was to be home, and when jo went down, she found that she would be spared the hard task of telling beth's secret.
her father stood leaning his head on the mantelpiece and did not turn as she came in, but her mother stretched out her arms as if for help, and jo went to comfort her without a word.
chapter thirty-seven new impressions at three o'clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable world at nice may be seen on the promenade des anglais -- a charming place, for the wide walk, bordered with palms, flowers, and tropical shrubs, is bounded on one side by the sea, on the other by the grand drive, lined with hotels and villas, while beyond lie orange orchards and the hills.
many nations are represented, many languages spoken, many costumes worn, and on a sunny day the spectacle is as gay and brilliant as a carnival.
haughty english, lively french, sober germans, handsome spaniards, ugly russians, meek jews, free-and-easy americans, all drive, sit, or saunter here, chatting over the news, and criticizing the latest celebrity who has arrived -- ristori or dickens, victor emmanuel or the queen of the sandwich islands.
the equipages are as varied as the company and attract as much attention, especially the low basket barouches in which ladies drive themselves, with a pair of dashing ponies, gay nets to keep their voluminous flounces from overflowing the diminutive vehicles, and little grooms on the perch behind.
along this walk, on christmas day, a tall young man walked slowly, with his hands behind him, and a somewhat absent expression of countenance.
he looked like an italian, was dressed like an englishman, and had the independent air of an american -- a combination which caused sundry pairs of feminine eyes to look approvingly after him, and sundry dandies in black velvet suits, with rose-colored neckties, buff gloves, and orange flowers in their buttonholes, to shrug their shoulders, and then envy him his inches.
there were plenty of pretty faces to admire, but the young man took little notice of them, except to glance now and then at some blonde girl in blue.
presently he strolled out of the promenade and stood a moment at the crossing, as if undecided whether to go and listen to the band in the jardin publique, or to wander along the beach toward castle hill.
the quick trot of ponies" feet made him look up, as one of the little carriages, containing a single young lady, came rapidly down the street.
the lady was young, blonde, and dressed in blue.
he stared a minute, then his whole face woke up, and, waving his hat like a boy, he hurried forward to meet her.
""oh, laurie, is it really you?
i thought you'd never come!"
cried amy, dropping the reins and holding out both hands, to the great scandalization of a french mamma, who hastened her daughter's steps, lest she should be demoralized by beholding the free manners of these "mad english".
""i was detained by the way, but i promised to spend christmas with you, and here i am."
""how is your grandfather?
when did you come?
where are you staying?"
""very well -- last night -- at the chauvain.
i called at your hotel, but you were out."
""i have so much to say, i do n't know where to begin!
get in and we can talk at our ease.
i was going for a drive and longing for company.
flo's saving up for tonight."
""what happens then, a ball?"
""a christmas party at our hotel.
there are many americans there, and they give it in honor of the day.
you'll go with us, of course?
aunt will be charmed."
""thank you.
where now?"
asked laurie, leaning back and folding his arms, a proceeding which suited amy, who preferred to drive, for her parasol whip and blue reins over the white ponies" backs afforded her infinite satisfaction.
""i'm going to the bankers first for letters, and then to castle hill.
the view is so lovely, and i like to feed the peacocks.
have you ever been there?"
""often, years ago, but i do n't mind having a look at it."
""now tell me all about yourself.
the last i heard of you, your grandfather wrote that he expected you from berlin."
""yes, i spent a month there and then joined him in paris, where he has settled for the winter.
he has friends there and finds plenty to amuse him, so i go and come, and we get on capitally."
""that's a sociable arrangement," said amy, missing something in laurie's manner, though she could n't tell what.
""why, you see, he hates to travel, and i hate to keep still, so we each suit ourselves, and there is no trouble.
i am often with him, and he enjoys my adventures, while i like to feel that someone is glad to see me when i get back from my wanderings.
dirty old hole, is n't it?"
he added, with a look of disgust as they drove along the boulevard to the place napoleon in the old city.
""the dirt is picturesque, so i do n't mind.
the river and the hills are delicious, and these glimpses of the narrow cross streets are my delight.
now we shall have to wait for that procession to pass.
it's going to the church of st. john."
while laurie listlessly watched the procession of priests under their canopies, white-veiled nuns bearing lighted tapers, and some brotherhood in blue chanting as they walked, amy watched him, and felt a new sort of shyness steal over her, for he was changed, and she could not find the merry-faced boy she left in the moody-looking man beside her.
he was handsomer than ever and greatly improved, she thought, but now that the flush of pleasure at meeting her was over, he looked tired and spiritless -- not sick, nor exactly unhappy, but older and graver than a year or two of prosperous life should have made him.
she could n't understand it and did not venture to ask questions, so she shook her head and touched up her ponies, as the procession wound away across the arches of the paglioni bridge and vanished in the church.
""que pensez-vous?"
she said, airing her french, which had improved in quantity, if not in quality, since she came abroad.
""that mademoiselle has made good use of her time, and the result is charming," replied laurie, bowing with his hand on his heart and an admiring look.
she blushed with pleasure, but somehow the compliment did not satisfy her like the blunt praises he used to give her at home, when he promenaded round her on festival occasions, and told her she was "altogether jolly", with a hearty smile and an approving pat on the head.
she did n't like the new tone, for though not blase, it sounded indifferent in spite of the look.
""if that's the way he's going to grow up, i wish he'd stay a boy," she thought, with a curious sense of disappointment and discomfort, trying meantime to seem quite easy and gay.
at avigdor's she found the precious home letters and, giving the reins to laurie, read them luxuriously as they wound up the shady road between green hedges, where tea roses bloomed as freshly as in june.
""beth is very poorly, mother says.
i often think i ought to go home, but they all say "stay".
so i do, for i shall never have another chance like this," said amy, looking sober over one page.
""i think you are right, there.
you could do nothing at home, and it is a great comfort to them to know that you are well and happy, and enjoying so much, my dear."
he drew a little nearer, and looked more like his old self as he said that, and the fear that sometimes weighed on amy's heart was lightened, for the look, the act, the brotherly "my dear", seemed to assure her that if any trouble did come, she would not be alone in a strange land.
presently she laughed and showed him a small sketch of jo in her scribbling suit, with the bow rampantly erect upon her cap, and issuing from her mouth the words, "genius burns!"
.
laurie smiled, took it, put it in his vest pocket "to keep it from blowing away", and listened with interest to the lively letter amy read him.
""this will be a regularly merry christmas to me, with presents in the morning, you and letters in the afternoon, and a party at night," said amy, as they alighted among the ruins of the old fort, and a flock of splendid peacocks came trooping about them, tamely waiting to be fed.
while amy stood laughing on the bank above him as she scattered crumbs to the brilliant birds, laurie looked at her as she had looked at him, with a natural curiosity to see what changes time and absence had wrought.
he found nothing to perplex or disappoint, much to admire and approve, for overlooking a few little affectations of speech and manner, she was as sprightly and graceful as ever, with the addition of that indescribable something in dress and bearing which we call elegance.
always mature for her age, she had gained a certain aplomb in both carriage and conversation, which made her seem more of a woman of the world than she was, but her old petulance now and then showed itself, her strong will still held its own, and her native frankness was unspoiled by foreign polish.
laurie did not read all this while he watched her feed the peacocks, but he saw enough to satisfy and interest him, and carried away a pretty little picture of a bright-faced girl standing in the sunshine, which brought out the soft hue of her dress, the fresh color of her cheeks, the golden gloss of her hair, and made her a prominent figure in the pleasant scene.
as they came up onto the stone plateau that crowns the hill, amy waved her hand as if welcoming him to her favorite haunt, and said, pointing here and there, "do you remember the cathedral and the corso, the fishermen dragging their nets in the bay, and the lovely road to villa franca, schubert's tower, just below, and best of all, that speck far out to sea which they say is corsica?"
""i remember.
it's not much changed," he answered without enthusiasm.
""what jo would give for a sight of that famous speck!"
said amy, feeling in good spirits and anxious to see him so also.
""yes," was all he said, but he turned and strained his eyes to see the island which a greater usurper than even napoleon now made interesting in his sight.
""take a good look at it for her sake, and then come and tell me what you have been doing with yourself all this while," said amy, seating herself, ready for a good talk.
but she did not get it, for though he joined her and answered all her questions freely, she could only learn that he had roved about the continent and been to greece.
so after idling away an hour, they drove home again, and having paid his respects to mrs. carrol, laurie left them, promising to return in the evening.
it must be recorded of amy that she deliberately prinked that night.
time and absence had done its work on both the young people.
she had seen her old friend in a new light, not as "our boy", but as a handsome and agreeable man, and she was conscious of a very natural desire to find favor in his sight.
amy knew her good points, and made the most of them with the taste and skill which is a fortune to a poor and pretty woman.
tarlatan and tulle were cheap at nice, so she enveloped herself in them on such occasions, and following the sensible english fashion of simple dress for young girls, got up charming little toilettes with fresh flowers, a few trinkets, and all manner of dainty devices, which were both inexpensive and effective.
it must be confessed that the artist sometimes got possession of the woman, and indulged in antique coiffures, statuesque attitudes, and classic draperies.
but, dear heart, we all have our little weaknesses, and find it easy to pardon such in the young, who satisfy our eyes with their comeliness, and keep our hearts merry with their artless vanities.
""i do want him to think i look well, and tell them so at home," said amy to herself, as she put on flo's old white silk ball dress, and covered it with a cloud of fresh illusion, out of which her white shoulders and golden head emerged with a most artistic effect.
her hair she had the sense to let alone, after gathering up the thick waves and curls into a hebe-like knot at the back of her head.
""it's not the fashion, but it's becoming, and i ca n't afford to make a fright of myself," she used to say, when advised to frizzle, puff, or braid, as the latest style commanded.
having no ornaments fine enough for this important occasion, amy looped her fleecy skirts with rosy clusters of azalea, and framed the white shoulders in delicate green vines.
remembering the painted boots, she surveyed her white satin slippers with girlish satisfaction, and chassed down the room, admiring her aristocratic feet all by herself.
""my new fan just matches my flowers, my gloves fit to a charm, and the real lace on aunt's mouchoir gives an air to my whole dress.
if i only had a classical nose and mouth i should be perfectly happy," she said, surveying herself with a critical eye and a candle in each hand.
in spite of this affliction, she looked unusually gay and graceful as she glided away.
she seldom ran -- it did not suit her style, she thought, for being tall, the stately and junoesque was more appropriate than the sportive or piquante.
she walked up and down the long saloon while waiting for laurie, and once arranged herself under the chandelier, which had a good effect upon her hair, then she thought better of it, and went away to the other end of the room, as if ashamed of the girlish desire to have the first view a propitious one.
it so happened that she could not have done a better thing, for laurie came in so quietly she did not hear him, and as she stood at the distant window, with her head half turned and one hand gathering up her dress, the slender, white figure against the red curtains was as effective as a well-placed statue.
""good evening, diana!"
said laurie, with the look of satisfaction she liked to see in his eyes when they rested on her.
""good evening, apollo!"
she answered, smiling back at him, for he too looked unusually debonair, and the thought of entering the ballroom on the arm of such a personable man caused amy to pity the four plain misses davis from the bottom of her heart.
""here are your flowers.
i arranged them myself, remembering that you did n't like what hannah calls a "sot-bookay"," said laurie, handing her a delicate nosegay, in a holder that she had long coveted as she daily passed it in cardiglia's window.
""how kind you are!"
she exclaimed gratefully.
""if i'd known you were coming i'd have had something ready for you today, though not as pretty as this, i'm afraid."
""thank you.
it is n't what it should be, but you have improved it," he added, as she snapped the silver bracelet on her wrist.
""please do n't."
""i thought you liked that sort of thing."
""not from you, it does n't sound natural, and i like your old bluntness better."
""i'm glad of it," he answered, with a look of relief, then buttoned her gloves for her, and asked if his tie was straight, just as he used to do when they went to parties together at home.
the company assembled in the long salle a manger, that evening, was such as one sees nowhere but on the continent.
the hospitable americans had invited every acquaintance they had in nice, and having no prejudice against titles, secured a few to add luster to their christmas ball.
a russian prince condescended to sit in a corner for an hour and talk with a massive lady, dressed like hamlet's mother in black velvet with a pearl bridle under her chin.
a polish count, aged eighteen, devoted himself to the ladies, who pronounced him," a fascinating dear", and a german serene something, having come to supper alone, roamed vaguely about, seeking what he might devour.
baron rothschild's private secretary, a large-nosed jew in tight boots, affably beamed upon the world, as if his master's name crowned him with a golden halo.
a stout frenchman, who knew the emperor, came to indulge his mania for dancing, and lady de jones, a british matron, adorned the scene with her little family of eight.
of course, there were many light-footed, shrill-voiced american girls, handsome, lifeless-looking english ditto, and a few plain but piquante french demoiselles, likewise the usual set of traveling young gentlemen who disported themselves gaily, while mammas of all nations lined the walls and smiled upon them benignly when they danced with their daughters.
any young girl can imagine amy's state of mind when she "took the stage" that night, leaning on laurie's arm.
she knew she looked well, she loved to dance, she felt that her foot was on her native heath in a ballroom, and enjoyed the delightful sense of power which comes when young girls first discover the new and lovely kingdom they are born to rule by virtue of beauty, youth, and womanhood.
she did pity the davis girls, who were awkward, plain, and destitute of escort, except a grim papa and three grimmer maiden aunts, and she bowed to them in her friendliest manner as she passed, which was good of her, as it permitted them to see her dress, and burn with curiosity to know who her distinguished-looking friend might be.
with the first burst of the band, amy's color rose, her eyes began to sparkle, and her feet to tap the floor impatiently, for she danced well and wanted laurie to know it.
therefore the shock she received can better be imagined than described, when he said in a perfectly tranquil tone, "do you care to dance?"
""one usually does at a ball."
her amazed look and quick answer caused laurie to repair his error as fast as possible.
""i meant the first dance.
may i have the honor?"
""i can give you one if i put off the count.
he dances devinely, but he will excuse me, as you are an old friend," said amy, hoping that the name would have a good effect, and show laurie that she was not to be trifled with.
""nice little boy, but rather a short pole to support... a daughter of the gods, devinely tall, and most devinely fair," was all the satisfaction she got, however.
the set in which they found themselves was composed of english, and amy was compelled to walk decorously through a cotillion, feeling all the while as if she could dance the tarantella with relish.
laurie resigned her to the "nice little boy", and went to do his duty to flo, without securing amy for the joys to come, which reprehensible want of forethought was properly punished, for she immediately engaged herself till supper, meaning to relent if he then gave any signs penitence.
she showed him her ball book with demure satisfaction when he strolled instead of rushed up to claim her for the next, a glorious polka redowa.
but his polite regrets did n't impose upon her, and when she galloped away with the count, she saw laurie sit down by her aunt with an actual expression of relief.
that was unpardonable, and amy took no more notice of him for a long while, except a word now and then when she came to her chaperon between the dances for a necessary pin or a moment's rest.
her anger had a good effect, however, for she hid it under a smiling face, and seemed unusually blithe and brilliant.
laurie's eyes followed her with pleasure, for she neither romped nor sauntered, but danced with spirit and grace, making the delightsome pastime what it should be.
he very naturally fell to studying her from this new point of view, and before the evening was half over, had decided that "little amy was going to make a very charming woman".
it was a lively scene, for soon the spirit of the social season took possession of everyone, and christmas merriment made all faces shine, hearts happy, and heels light.
the musicians fiddled, tooted, and banged as if they enjoyed it, everybody danced who could, and those who could n't admired their neighbors with uncommon warmth.
the air was dark with davises, and many joneses gamboled like a flock of young giraffes.
the golden secretary darted through the room like a meteor with a dashing french-woman who carpeted the floor with her pink satin train.
the serene teuton found the supper-table and was happy, eating steadily through the bill of fare, and dismayed the garcons by the ravages he committed.
but the emperor's friend covered himself with glory, for he danced everything, whether he knew it or not, and introduced impromptu pirouettes when the figures bewildered him.
the boyish abandon of that stout man was charming to behold, for though he "carried weight", he danced like an india-rubber ball.
he ran, he flew, he pranced, his face glowed, his bald head shown, his coattails waved wildly, his pumps actually twinkled in the air, and when the music stopped, he wiped the drops from his brow, and beamed upon his fellow men like a french pickwick without glasses.
amy and her pole distinguished themselves by equal enthusiasm but more graceful agility, and laurie found himself involuntarily keeping time to the rhythmic rise and fall of the white slippers as they flew by as indefatigably as if winged.
when little vladimir finally relinquished her, with assurances that he was "desolated to leave so early", she was ready to rest, and see how her recreant knight had borne his punishment.
it had been successful, for at three-and-twenty, blighted affections find a balm in friendly society, and young nerves will thrill, young blood dance, and healthy young spirits rise, when subjected to the enchantment of beauty, light, music, and motion.
laurie had a waked-up look as he rose to give her his seat, and when he hurried away to bring her some supper, she said to herself, with a satisfied smile, "ah, i thought that would do him good!"
""you look like balzac's" femme peinte par elle-meme"," he said, as he fanned her with one hand and held her coffee cup in the other.
""my rouge wo n't come off."
and amy rubbed her brilliant cheek, and showed him her white glove with a sober simplicity that made him laugh outright.
""what do you call this stuff?"
he asked, touching a fold of her dress that had blown over his knee.
""illusion."
""good name for it.
it's very pretty -- new thing, is n't it?"
""it's as old as the hills.
you have seen it on dozens of girls, and you never found out that it was pretty till now -- stupide!"
""i never saw it on you before, which accounts for the mistake, you see."
""none of that, it is forbidden.
i'd rather take coffee than compliments just now.
no, do n't lounge, it makes me nervous."
laurie sat bold upright, and meekly took her empty plate feeling an odd sort of pleasure in having "little amy" order him about, for she had lost her shyness now, and felt an irrestible desire to trample on him, as girls have a delightful way of doing when lords of creation show any signs of subjection.
""where did you learn all this sort of thing?"
he asked with a quizzical look.
""as "this sort of thing" is rather a vague expression, would you kindly explain?"
returned amy, knowing perfectly well what he meant, but wickedly leaving him to describe what is indescribable.
""well -- the general air, the style, the self-possession, the -- the -- illusion -- you know", laughed laurie, breaking down and helping himself out of his quandary with the new word.
amy was gratified, but of course did n't show it, and demurely answered, "foreign life polishes one in spite of one's self.
i study as well as play, and as for this" -- with a little gesture toward her dress -- "why, tulle is cheap, posies to be had for nothing, and i am used to making the most of my poor little things."
amy rather regretted that last sentence, fearing it was n't in good taste, but laurie liked her better for it, and found himself both admiring and respecting the brave patience that made the most of opportunity, and the cheerful spirit that covered poverty with flowers.
amy did not know why he looked at her so kindly, nor why he filled up her book with his own name, and devoted himself to her for the rest of the evening in the most delightful manner; but the impulse that wrought this agreeable change was the result of one of the new impressions which both of them were unconsciously giving and receiving.
chapter thirty-eight on the shelf in france the young girls have a dull time of it till they are married, when "vive la liberte!"
becomes their motto.
in america, as everyone knows, girls early sign the declaration of independence, and enjoy their freedom with republican zest, but the young matrons usually abdicate with the first heir to the throne and go into a seclusion almost as close as a french nunnery, though by no means as quiet.
whether they like it or not, they are virtually put upon the shelf as soon as the wedding excitement is over, and most of them might exclaim, as did a very pretty woman the other day, "i'm as handsome as ever, but no one takes any notice of me because i'm married."
not being a belle or even a fashionable lady, meg did not experience this affliction till her babies were a year old, for in her little world primitive customs prevailed, and she found herself more admired and beloved than ever.
as she was a womanly little woman, the maternal instinct was very strong, and she was entirely absorbed in her children, to the utter exclusion of everything and everybody else.
day and night she brooded over them with tireless devotion and anxiety, leaving john to the tender mercies of the help, for an irish lady now presided over the kitchen department.
being a domestic man, john decidedly missed the wifely attentions he had been accustomed to receive, but as he adored his babies, he cheerfully relinquished his comfort for a time, supposing with masculine ignorance that peace would soon be restored.
but three months passed, and there was no return of repose.
meg looked worn and nervous, the babies absorbed every minute of her time, the house was neglected, and kitty, the cook, who took life "aisy", kept him on short commons.
when he went out in the morning he was bewildered by small commissions for the captive mamma, if he came gaily in at night, eager to embrace his family, he was quenched by a "hush!
they are just asleep after worrying all day."
if he proposed a little amusement at home, "no, it would disturb the babies."
if he hinted at a lecture or a concert, he was answered with a reproachful look, and a decided -- "leave my children for pleasure, never!"
his sleep was broken by infant wails and visions of a phantom figure pacing noiselessly to and fro in the watches of the night.
his meals were interrupted by the frequent flight of the presiding genius, who deserted him, half-helped, if a muffled chirp sounded from the nest above.
and when he read his paper of an evening, demi's colic got into the shipping list and daisy's fall affected the price of stocks, for mrs. brooke was only interested in domestic news.
the poor man was very uncomfortable, for the children had bereft him of his wife, home was merely a nursery and the perpetual "hushing" made him feel like a brutal intruder whenever he entered the sacred precincts of babyland.
he bore it very patiently for six months, and when no signs of amendment appeared, he did what other paternal exiles do -- tried to get a little comfort elsewhere.
scott had married and gone to housekeeping not far off, and john fell into the way of running over for an hour or two of an evening, when his own parlor was empty, and his own wife singing lullabies that seemed to have no end.
mrs. scott was a lively, pretty girl, with nothing to do but be agreeable, and she performed her mission most successfully.
the parlor was always bright and attractive, the chessboard ready, the piano in tune, plenty of gay gossip, and a nice little supper set forth in tempting style.
john would have preferred his own fireside if it had not been so lonely, but as it was he gratefully took the next best thing and enjoyed his neighbor's society.
meg rather approved of the new arrangement at first, and found it a relief to know that john was having a good time instead of dozing in the parlor, or tramping about the house and waking the children.
but by-and-by, when the teething worry was over and the idols went to sleep at proper hours, leaving mamma time to rest, she began to miss john, and find her workbasket dull company, when he was not sitting opposite in his old dressing gown, comfortably scorching his slippers on the fender.
she would not ask him to stay at home, but felt injured because he did not know that she wanted him without being told, entirely forgetting the many evenings he had waited for her in vain.
she was nervous and worn out with watching and worry, and in that unreasonable frame of mind which the best of mothers occasionally experience when domestic cares oppress them.
want of exercise robs them of cheerfulness, and too much devotion to that idol of american women, the teapot, makes them feel as if they were all nerve and no muscle.
""yes," she would say, looking in the glass, "i'm getting old and ugly.
john does n't find me interesting any longer, so he leaves his faded wife and goes to see his pretty neighbor, who has no incumbrances.
well, the babies love me, they do n't care if i am thin and pale and have n't time to crimp my hair, they are my comfort, and some day john will see what i've gladly sacrificed for them, wo n't he, my precious?"
to which pathetic appeal daisy would answer with a coo, or demi with a crow, and meg would put by her lamentations for a maternal revel, which soothed her solitude for the time being.
but the pain increased as politics absorbed john, who was always running over to discuss interesting points with scott, quite unconscious that meg missed him.
not a word did she say, however, till her mother found her in tears one day, and insisted on knowing what the matter was, for meg's drooping spirits had not escaped her observation.
""i would n't tell anyone except you, mother, but i really do need advice, for if john goes on much longer i might as well be widowed," replied mrs. brooke, drying her tears on daisy's bib with an injured air.
""goes on how, my dear?"
asked her mother anxiously.
""he's away all day, and at night when i want to see him, he is continually going over to the scotts".
it is n't fair that i should have the hardest work, and never any amusement.
men are very selfish, even the best of them."
""so are women.
do n't blame john till you see where you are wrong yourself."
""but it ca n't be right for him to neglect me."
""do n't you neglect him?"
""why, mother, i thought you'd take my part!"
""so i do, as far as sympathizing goes, but i think the fault is yours, meg."
""i do n't see how."
""let me show you.
did john ever neglect you, as you call it, while you made it a point to give him your society of an evening, his only leisure time?"
""no, but i ca n't do it now, with two babies to tend."
""i think you could, dear, and i think you ought.
may i speak quite freely, and will you remember that it's mother who blames as well as mother who sympathizes?"
""indeed i will!
speak to me as if i were little meg again.
i often feel as if i needed teaching more than ever since these babies look to me for everything."
meg drew her low chair beside her mother's, and with a little interruption in either lap, the two women rocked and talked lovingly together, feeling that the tie of motherhood made them more one than ever.
""you have only made the mistake that most young wives make -- forgotten your duty to your husband in your love for your children.
a very natural and forgivable mistake, meg, but one that had better be remedied before you take to different ways, for children should draw you nearer than ever, not separate you, as if they were all yours, and john had nothing to do but support them.
i've seen it for some weeks, but have not spoken, feeling sure it would come right in time."
""i'm afraid it wo n't.
if i ask him to stay, he'll think i'm jealous, and i would n't insult him by such an idea.
he does n't see that i want him, and i do n't know how to tell him without words."
""make it so pleasant he wo n't want to go away.
my dear, he's longing for his little home, but it is n't home without you, and you are always in the nursery."
""ought n't i to be there?"
""not all the time, too much confinement makes you nervous, and then you are unfitted for everything.
besides, you owe something to john as well as to the babies.
do n't neglect husband for children, do n't shut him out of the nursery, but teach him how to help in it.
his place is there as well as yours, and the children need him.
let him feel that he has a part to do, and he will do it gladly and faithfully, and it will be better for you all."
""you really think so, mother?"
""i know it, meg, for i've tried it, and i seldom give advice unless i've proved its practicability.
when you and jo were little, i went on just as you are, feeling as if i did n't do my duty unless i devoted myself wholly to you.
poor father took to his books, after i had refused all offers of help, and left me to try my experiment alone.
i struggled along as well as i could, but jo was too much for me.
i nearly spoiled her by indulgence.
you were poorly, and i worried about you till i fell sick myself.
then father came to the rescue, quietly managed everything, and made himself so helpful that i saw my mistake, and never have been able to get on without him since.
that is the secret of our home happiness.
he does not let business wean him from the little cares and duties that affect us all, and i try not to let domestic worries destroy my interest in his pursuits.
each do our part alone in many things, but at home we work together, always."
""it is so, mother, and my great wish is to be to my husband and children what you have been to yours.
show me how, i'll do anything you say."
""you always were my docile daughter.
well, dear, if i were you, i'd let john have more to do with the management of demi, for the boy needs training, and it's none too soon to begin.
then i'd do what i have often proposed, let hannah come and help you.
she is a capital nurse, and you may trust the precious babies to her while you do more housework.
you need the exercise, hannah would enjoy the rest, and john would find his wife again.
go out more, keep cheerful as well as busy, for you are the sunshine-maker of the family, and if you get dismal there is no fair weather.
then i'd try to take an interest in whatever john likes -- talk with him, let him read to you, exchange ideas, and help each other in that way.
do n't shut yourself up in a bandbox because you are a woman, but understand what is going on, and educate yourself to take your part in the world's work, for it all affects you and yours."
""john is so sensible, i'm afraid he will think i'm stupid if i ask questions about politics and things."
""i do n't believe he would.
love covers a multitude of sins, and of whom could you ask more freely than of him?
try it, and see if he does n't find your society far more agreeable than mrs. scott's suppers."
""i will.
poor john!
i'm afraid i have neglected him sadly, but i thought i was right, and he never said anything."
""he tried not to be selfish, but he has felt rather forlorn, i fancy.
this is just the time, meg, when young married people are apt to grow apart, and the very time when they ought to be most together, for the first tenderness soon wears off, unless care is taken to preserve it.
and no time is so beautiful and precious to parents as the first years of the little lives given to them to train.
do n't let john be a stranger to the babies, for they will do more to keep him safe and happy in this world of trial and temptation than anything else, and through them you will learn to know and love one another as you should.
now, dear, good-by.
think over mother's preachment, act upon it if it seems good, and god bless you all."
meg did think it over, found it good, and acted upon it, though the first attempt was not made exactly as she planned to have it.
of course the children tyrannized over her, and ruled the house as soon as they found out that kicking and squalling brought them whatever they wanted.
mamma was an abject slave to their caprices, but papa was not so easily subjugated, and occasionally afflicted his tender spouse by an attempt at paternal discipline with his obstreperous son.
for demi inherited a trifle of his sire's firmness of character, we wo n't call it obstinacy, and when he made up his little mind to have or to do anything, all the king's horses and all the king's men could not change that pertinacious little mind.
mamma thought the dear too young to be taught to conquer his prejudices, but papa believed that it never was too soon to learn obedience.
so master demi early discovered that when he undertook to "wrastle" with "parpar", he always got the worst of it, yet like the englishman, baby respected the man who conquered him, and loved the father whose grave "no, no," was more impressive than all mamma's love pats.
a few days after the talk with her mother, meg resolved to try a social evening with john, so she ordered a nice supper, set the parlor in order, dressed herself prettily, and put the children to bed early, that nothing should interfere with her experiment.
but unfortunately demi's most unconquerable prejudice was against going to bed, and that night he decided to go on a rampage.
so poor meg sang and rocked, told stories and tried every sleep-prevoking wile she could devise, but all in vain, the big eyes would n't shut, and long after daisy had gone to byelow, like the chubby little bunch of good nature she was, naughty demi lay staring at the light, with the most discouragingly wide-awake expression of countenance.
""will demi lie still like a good boy, while mamma runs down and gives poor papa his tea?"
asked meg, as the hall door softly closed, and the well-known step went tip-toeing into the dining room.
""me has tea!"
said demi, preparing to join in the revel.
""no, but i'll save you some little cakies for breakfast, if you'll go bye-bye like daisy.
will you, lovey?"
""iss!"
and demi shut his eyes tight, as if to catch sleep and hurry the desired day.
taking advantage of the propitious moment, meg slipped away and ran down to greet her husband with a smiling face and the little blue bow in her hair which was his especial admiration.
he saw it at once and said with pleased surprise, "why, little mother, how gay we are tonight.
do you expect company?"
""only you, dear."
""is it a birthday, anniversary, or anything?"
""no, i'm tired of being dowdy, so i dressed up as a change.
you always make yourself nice for table, no matter how tired you are, so why should n't i when i have the time?"
""i do it out of respect for you, my dear," said old-fashioned john.
""ditto, ditto, mr. brooke," laughed meg, looking young and pretty again, as she nodded to him over the teapot.
""well, it's altogether delightful, and like old times.
this tastes right.
i drink your health, dear."
and john sipped his tea with an air of reposeful rapture, which was of very short duration however, for as he put down his cup, the door handle rattled mysteriously, and a little voice was heard, saying impatiently... "opy doy.
me's tummin!"
""it's that naughty boy.
i told him to go to sleep alone, and here he is, downstairs, getting his death a-cold pattering over that canvas," said meg, answering the call.
""mornin" now," announced demi in joyful tone as he entered, with his long nightgown gracefully festooned over his arm and every curl bobbing gayly as he pranced about the table, eyeing the "cakies" with loving glances.
""no, it is n't morning yet.
you must go to bed, and not trouble poor mamma.
then you can have the little cake with sugar on it."
""me loves parpar," said the artful one, preparing to climb the paternal knee and revel in forbidden joys.
but john shook his head, and said to meg... "if you told him to stay up there, and go to sleep alone, make him do it, or he will never learn to mind you."
""yes, of course.
come, demi," and meg led her son away, feeling a strong desire to spank the little marplot who hopped beside her, laboring under the delusion that the bribe was to be administered as soon as they reached the nursery.
nor was he disappointed, for that shortsighted woman actually gave him a lump of sugar, tucked him into his bed, and forbade any more promenades till morning.
""iss!"
said demi the perjured, blissfully sucking his sugar, and regarding his first attempt as eminently successful.
meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing pleasantly, when the little ghost walked again, and exposed the maternal delinquencies by boldly demanding, "more sudar, marmar."
""now this wo n't do," said john, hardening his heart against the engaging little sinner.
""we shall never know any peace till that child learns to go to bed properly.
you have made a slave of yourself long enough.
give him one lesson, and then there will be an end of it.
put him in his bed and leave him, meg."
""he wo n't stay there, he never does unless i sit by him."
""i'll manage him.
demi, go upstairs, and get into your bed, as mamma bids you."
""s'ant!"
replied the young rebel, helping himself to the coveted "cakie", and beginning to eat the same with calm audacity.
""you must never say that to papa.
i shall carry you if you do n't go yourself."
""go "way, me do n't love parpar."
and demi retired to his mother's skirts for protection.
but even that refuge proved unavailing, for he was delivered over to the enemy, with a "be gentle with him, john," which struck the culprit with dismay, for when mamma deserted him, then the judgment day was at hand.
bereft of his cake, defrauded of his frolic, and borne away by a strong hand to that detested bed, poor demi could not restrain his wrath, but openly defied papa, and kicked and screamed lustily all the way upstairs.
the minute he was put into bed on one side, he rolled out on the other, and made for the door, only to be ignominiously caught up by the tail of his little toga and put back again, which lively performance was kept up till the young man's strength gave out, when he devoted himself to roaring at the top of his voice.
this vocal exercise usually conquered meg, but john sat as unmoved as the post which is popularly believed to be deaf.
no coaxing, no sugar, no lullaby, no story, even the light was put out and only the red glow of the fire enlivened the "big dark" which demi regarded with curiosity rather than fear.
this new order of things disgusted him, and he howled dismally for "marmar", as his angry passions subsided, and recollections of his tender bondwoman returned to the captive autocrat.
the plaintive wail which succeeded the passionate roar went to meg's heart, and she ran up to say beseechingly... "let me stay with him, he'll be good now, john."
""no, my dear.
i've told him he must go to sleep, as you bid him, and he must, if i stay here all night."
""but he'll cry himself sick," pleaded meg, reproaching herself for deserting her boy.
""no, he wo n't, he's so tired he will soon drop off and then the matter is settled, for he will understand that he has got to mind.
do n't interfere, i'll manage him."
""he's my child, and i ca n't have his spirit broken by harshness."
""he's my child, and i wo n't have his temper spoiled by indulgence.
go down, my dear, and leave the boy to me."
when john spoke in that masterful tone, meg always obeyed, and never regretted her docility.
""please let me kiss him once, john?"
""certainly.
demi, say good night to mamma, and let her go and rest, for she is very tired with taking care of you all day."
meg always insisted upon it that the kiss won the victory, for after it was given, demi sobbed more quietly, and lay quite still at the bottom of the bed, whither he had wriggled in his anguish of mind.
""poor little man, he's worn out with sleep and crying.
i'll cover him up, and then go and set meg's heart at rest," thought john, creeping to the bedside, hoping to find his rebellious heir asleep.
but he was n't, for the moment his father peeped at him, demi's eyes opened, his little chin began to quiver, and he put up his arms, saying with a penitent hiccough, "me's dood, now."
sitting on the stairs outside meg wondered at the long silence which followed the uproar, and after imagining all sorts of impossible accidents, she slipped into the room to set her fears at rest.
demi lay fast asleep, not in his usual spreadeagle attitude, but in a subdued bunch, cuddled close in the circle of his father's arm and holding his father's finger, as if he felt that justice was tempered with mercy, and had gone to sleep a sadder and wiser baby.
so held, john had waited with a womanly patience till the little hand relaxed its hold, and while waiting had fallen asleep, more tired by that tussle with his son than with his whole day's work.
as meg stood watching the two faces on the pillow, she smiled to herself, and then slipped away again, saying in a satisfied tone, "i never need fear that john will be too harsh with my babies.
he does know how to manage them, and will be a great help, for demi is getting too much for me."
when john came down at last, expecting to find a pensive or reproachful wife, he was agreeably surprised to find meg placidly trimming a bonnet, and to be greeted with the request to read something about the election, if he was not too tired.
john saw in a minute that a revolution of some kind was going on, but wisely asked no questions, knowing that meg was such a transparent little person, she could n't keep a secret to save her life, and therefore the clue would soon appear.
he read a long debate with the most amiable readiness and then explained it in his most lucid manner, while meg tried to look deeply interested, to ask intelligent questions, and keep her thoughts from wandering from the state of the nation to the state of her bonnet.
in her secret soul, however, she decided that politics were as bad as mathematics, and that the mission of politicians seemed to be calling each other names, but she kept these feminine ideas to herself, and when john paused, shook her head and said with what she thought diplomatic ambiguity, "well, i really do n't see what we are coming to."
john laughed, and watched her for a minute, as she poised a pretty little preparation of lace and flowers on her hand, and regarded it with the genuine interest which his harangue had failed to waken.
""she is trying to like politics for my sake, so i'll try and like millinery for hers, that's only fair," thought john the just, adding aloud, "that's very pretty.
is it what you call a breakfast cap?"
""my dear man, it's a bonnet!
my very best go-to-concert-and-theater bonnet."
""i beg your pardon, it was so small, i naturally mistook it for one of the flyaway things you sometimes wear.
how do you keep it on?"
""these bits of lace are fastened under the chin with a rosebud, so," and meg illustrated by putting on the bonnet and regarding him with an air of calm satisfaction that was irresistible.
""it's a love of a bonnet, but i prefer the face inside, for it looks young and happy again," and john kissed the smiling face, to the great detriment of the rosebud under the chin.
""i'm glad you like it, for i want you to take me to one of the new concerts some night.
i really need some music to put me in tune.
will you, please?"
""of course i will, with all my heart, or anywhere else you like.
you have been shut up so long, it will do you no end of good, and i shall enjoy it, of all things.
what put it into your head, little mother?"
""well, i had a talk with marmee the other day, and told her how nervous and cross and out of sorts i felt, and she said i needed change and less care, so hannah is to help me with the children, and i'm to see to things about the house more, and now and then have a little fun, just to keep me from getting to be a fidgety, broken-down old woman before my time.
it's only an experiment, john, and i want to try it for your sake as much as for mine, because i've neglected you shamefully lately, and i'm going to make home what it used to be, if i can.
you do n't object, i hope?"
never mind what john said, or what a very narrow escape the little bonnet had from utter ruin.
all that we have any business to know is that john did not appear to object, judging from the changes which gradually took place in the house and its inmates.
it was not all paradise by any means, but everyone was better for the division of labor system.
the children throve under the paternal rule, for accurate, steadfast john brought order and obedience into babydom, while meg recovered her spirits and composed her nerves by plenty of wholesome exercise, a little pleasure, and much confidential conversation with her sensible husband.
home grew homelike again, and john had no wish to leave it, unless he took meg with him.
the scotts came to the brookes" now, and everyone found the little house a cheerful place, full of happiness, content, and family love.
even sallie moffatt liked to go there.
""it is always so quiet and pleasant here, it does me good, meg," she used to say, looking about her with wistful eyes, as if trying to discover the charm, that she might use it in her great house, full of splendid loneliness, for there were no riotous, sunny-faced babies there, and ned lived in a world of his own, where there was no place for her.
this household happiness did not come all at once, but john and meg had found the key to it, and each year of married life taught them how to use it, unlocking the treasuries of real home love and mutual helpfulness, which the poorest may possess, and the richest can not buy.
this is the sort of shelf on which young wives and mothers may consent to be laid, safe from the restless fret and fever of the world, finding loyal lovers in the little sons and daughters who cling to them, undaunted by sorrow, poverty, or age, walking side by side, through fair and stormy weather, with a faithful friend, who is, in the true sense of the good old saxon word, the "house-band", and learning, as meg learned, that a woman's happiest kingdom is home, her highest honor the art of ruling it not as a queen, but as a wise wife and mother.
chapter thirty-nine lazy laurence laurie went to nice intending to stay a week, and remained a month.
he was tired of wandering about alone, and amy's familiar presence seemed to give a homelike charm to the foreign scenes in which she bore a part.
he rather missed the "petting" he used to receive, and enjoyed a taste of it again, for no attentions, however flattering, from strangers, were half so pleasant as the sisterly adoration of the girls at home.
amy never would pet him like the others, but she was very glad to see him now, and quite clung to him, feeling that he was the representative of the dear family for whom she longed more than she would confess.
they naturally took comfort in each other's society and were much together, riding, walking, dancing, or dawdling, for at nice no one can be very industrious during the gay season.
but, while apparently amusing themselves in the most careless fashion, they were half-consciously making discoveries and forming opinions about each other.
amy rose daily in the estimation of her friend, but he sank in hers, and each felt the truth before a word was spoken.
amy tried to please, and succeeded, for she was grateful for the many pleasures he gave her, and repaid him with the little services to which womanly women know how to lend an indescribable charm.
laurie made no effort of any kind, but just let himself drift along as comfortably as possible, trying to forget, and feeling that all women owed him a kind word because one had been cold to him.
it cost him no effort to be generous, and he would have given amy all the trinkets in nice if she would have taken them, but at the same time he felt that he could not change the opinion she was forming of him, and he rather dreaded the keen blue eyes that seemed to watch him with such half-sorrowful, half-scornful surprise.
""all the rest have gone to monaco for the day.
i preferred to stay at home and write letters.
they are done now, and i am going to valrosa to sketch, will you come?"
said amy, as she joined laurie one lovely day when he lounged in as usual, about noon.
""well, yes, but is n't it rather warm for such a long walk?"
he answered slowly, for the shaded salon looked inviting after the glare without.
""i'm going to have the little carriage, and baptiste can drive, so you'll have nothing to do but hold your umbrella, and keep your gloves nice," returned amy, with a sarcastic glance at the immaculate kids, which were a weak point with laurie.
""then i'll go with pleasure."
and he put out his hand for her sketchbook.
but she tucked it under her arm with a sharp... "do n't trouble yourself.
it's no exertion to me, but you do n't look equal to it."
laurie lifted his eyebrows and followed at a leisurely pace as she ran downstairs, but when they got into the carriage he took the reins himself, and left little baptiste nothing to do but fold his arms and fall asleep on his perch.
the two never quarreled.
amy was too well-bred, and just now laurie was too lazy, so in a minute he peeped under her hatbrim with an inquiring air.
she answered him with a smile, and they went on together in the most amicable manner.
it was a lovely drive, along winding roads rich in the picturesque scenes that delight beauty-loving eyes.
here an ancient monastery, whence the solemn chanting of the monks came down to them.
there a bare-legged shepherd, in wooden shoes, pointed hat, and rough jacket over one shoulder, sat piping on a stone while his goats skipped among the rocks or lay at his feet.
meek, mouse-colored donkeys, laden with panniers of freshly cut grass passed by, with a pretty girl in a capaline sitting between the green piles, or an old woman spinning with a distaff as she went.
brown, soft-eyed children ran out from the quaint stone hovels to offer nosegays, or bunches of oranges still on the bough.
gnarled olive trees covered the hills with their dusky foliage, fruit hung golden in the orchard, and great scarlet anemones fringed the roadside, while beyond green slopes and craggy heights, the maritime alps rose sharp and white against the blue italian sky.
valrosa well deserved its name, for in that climate of perpetual summer roses blossomed everywhere.
they overhung the archway, thrust themselves between the bars of the great gate with a sweet welcome to passers-by, and lined the avenue, winding through lemon trees and feathery palms up to the villa on the hill.
every shadowy nook, where seats invited one to stop and rest, was a mass of bloom, every cool grotto had its marble nymph smiling from a veil of flowers and every fountain reflected crimson, white, or pale pink roses, leaning down to smile at their own beauty.
roses covered the walls of the house, draped the cornices, climbed the pillars, and ran riot over the balustrade of the wide terrace, whence one looked down on the sunny mediterranean, and the white-walled city on its shore.
""this is a regular honeymoon paradise, is n't it?
did you ever see such roses?"
asked amy, pausing on the terrace to enjoy the view, and a luxurious whiff of perfume that came wandering by.
""no, nor felt such thorns," returned laurie, with his thumb in his mouth, after a vain attempt to capture a solitary scarlet flower that grew just beyond his reach.
""try lower down, and pick those that have no thorns," said amy, gathering three of the tiny cream-colored ones that starred the wall behind her.
she put them in his buttonhole as a peace offering, and he stood a minute looking down at them with a curious expression, for in the italian part of his nature there was a touch of superstition, and he was just then in that state of half-sweet, half-bitter melancholy, when imaginative young men find significance in trifles and food for romance everywhere.
he had thought of jo in reaching after the thorny red rose, for vivid flowers became her, and she had often worn ones like that from the greenhouse at home.
the pale roses amy gave him were the sort that the italians lay in dead hands, never in bridal wreaths, and for a moment he wondered if the omen was for jo or for himself, but the next instant his american common sense got the better of sentimentality, and he laughed a heartier laugh than amy had heard since he came.
""it's good advice, you'd better take it and save your fingers," she said, thinking her speech amused him.
""thank you, i will," he answered in jest, and a few months later he did it in earnest.
""laurie, when are you going to your grandfather?"
she asked presently, as she settled herself on a rustic seat.
""very soon."
""you have said that a dozen times within the last three weeks."
""i dare say, short answers save trouble."
""he expects you, and you really ought to go."
""hospitable creature!
i know it."
""then why do n't you do it?"
""natural depravity, i suppose."
""natural indolence, you mean.
it's really dreadful!"
and amy looked severe.
""not so bad as it seems, for i should only plague him if i went, so i might as well stay and plague you a little longer, you can bear it better, in fact i think it agrees with you excellently," and laurie composed himself for a lounge on the broad ledge of the balustrade.
amy shook her head and opened her sketchbook with an air of resignation, but she had made up her mind to lecture "that boy" and in a minute she began again.
""what are you doing just now?"
""watching lizards."
""no, no.
i mean what do you intend and wish to do?"
""smoke a cigarette, if you'll allow me."
""how provoking you are!
i do n't approve of cigars and i will only allow it on condition that you let me put you into my sketch.
i need a figure."
""with all the pleasure in life.
how will you have me, full length or three-quarters, on my head or my heels?
i should respectfully suggest a recumbent posture, then put yourself in also and call it "dolce far niente"."
""stay as you are, and go to sleep if you like.
i intend to work hard," said amy in her most energetic tone.
""what delightful enthusiasm!"
and he leaned against a tall urn with an air of entire satisfaction.
""what would jo say if she saw you now?"
asked amy impatiently, hoping to stir him up by the mention of her still more energetic sister's name.
""as usual, "go away, teddy.
i'm busy!""
he laughed as he spoke, but the laugh was not natural, and a shade passed over his face, for the utterance of the familiar name touched the wound that was not healed yet.
both tone and shadow struck amy, for she had seen and heard them before, and now she looked up in time to catch a new expression on laurie's face -- a hard bitter look, full of pain, dissatisfaction, and regret.
it was gone before she could study it and the listless expression back again.
she watched him for a moment with artistic pleasure, thinking how like an italian he looked, as he lay basking in the sun with uncovered head and eyes full of southern dreaminess, for he seemed to have forgotten her and fallen into a reverie.
""you look like the effigy of a young knight asleep on his tomb," she said, carefully tracing the well-cut profile defined against the dark stone.
""wish i was!"
""that's a foolish wish, unless you have spoiled your life.
you are so changed, i sometimes think --" there amy stopped, with a half-timid, half-wistful look, more significant than her unfinished speech.
laurie saw and understood the affectionate anxiety which she hesitated to express, and looking straight into her eyes, said, just as he used to say it to her mother, "it's all right, ma'am."
that satisfied her and set at rest the doubts that had begun to worry her lately.
it also touched her, and she showed that it did, by the cordial tone in which she said... "i'm glad of that!
i did n't think you'd been a very bad boy, but i fancied you might have wasted money at that wicked baden-baden, lost your heart to some charming frenchwoman with a husband, or got into some of the scrapes that young men seem to consider a necessary part of a foreign tour.
do n't stay out there in the sun, come and lie on the grass here and "let us be friendly", as jo used to say when we got in the sofa corner and told secrets."
laurie obediently threw himself down on the turf, and began to amuse himself by sticking daisies into the ribbons of amy's hat, that lay there.
""i'm all ready for the secrets."
and he glanced up with a decided expression of interest in his eyes.
""i've none to tell.
you may begin."
""have n't one to bless myself with.
i thought perhaps you'd had some news from home.
."
""you have heard all that has come lately.
do n't you hear often?
i fancied jo would send you volumes."
""she's very busy.
i'm roving about so, it's impossible to be regular, you know.
when do you begin your great work of art, raphaella?"
he asked, changing the subject abruptly after another pause, in which he had been wondering if amy knew his secret and wanted to talk about it.
""never," she answered, with a despondent but decided air.
""rome took all the vanity out of me, for after seeing the wonders there, i felt too insignificant to live and gave up all my foolish hopes in despair."
""why should you, with so much energy and talent?"
""that's just why, because talent is n't genius, and no amount of energy can make it so.
i want to be great, or nothing.
i wo n't be a common-place dauber, so i do n't intend to try any more."
""and what are you going to do with yourself now, if i may ask?"
""polish up my other talents, and be an ornament to society, if i get the chance."
it was a characteristic speech, and sounded daring, but audacity becomes young people, and amy's ambition had a good foundation.
laurie smiled, but he liked the spirit with which she took up a new purpose when a long-cherished one died, and spent no time lamenting.
""good!
and here is where fred vaughn comes in, i fancy."
amy preserved a discreet silence, but there was a conscious look in her downcast face that made laurie sit up and say gravely, "now i'm going to play brother, and ask questions.
may i?"
""i do n't promise to answer."
""your face will, if your tongue wo n't.
you are n't woman of the world enough yet to hide your feelings, my dear.
i heard rumors about fred and you last year, and it's my private opinion that if he had not been called home so suddenly and detained so long, something would have come of it, hey?"
""that's not for me to say," was amy's grim reply, but her lips would smile, and there was a traitorous sparkle of the eye which betrayed that she knew her power and enjoyed the knowledge.
""you are not engaged, i hope?"
and laurie looked very elder-brotherly and grave all of a sudden.
""no."
""but you will be, if he comes back and goes properly down on his knees, wo n't you?"
""very likely."
""then you are fond of old fred?"
""i could be, if i tried."
""but you do n't intend to try till the proper moment?
bless my soul, what unearthly prudence!
he's a good fellow, amy, but not the man i fancied you'd like."
""he is rich, a gentleman, and has delightful manners," began amy, trying to be quite cool and dignified, but feeling a little ashamed of herself, in spite of the sincerity of her intentions.
""i understand.
queens of society ca n't get on without money, so you mean to make a good match, and start in that way?
quite right and proper, as the world goes, but it sounds odd from the lips of one of your mother's girls."
""true, nevertheless."
a short speech, but the quiet decision with which it was uttered contrasted curiously with the young speaker.
laurie felt this instinctively and laid himself down again, with a sense of disappointment which he could not explain.
his look and silence, as well as a certain inward self-disapproval, ruffled amy, and made her resolve to deliver her lecture without delay.
""i wish you'd do me the favor to rouse yourself a little," she said sharply.
""do it for me, there's a dear girl."
""i could, if i tried."
and she looked as if she would like doing it in the most summary style.
""try, then.
i give you leave," returned laurie, who enjoyed having someone to tease, after his long abstinence from his favorite pastime.
""you'd be angry in five minutes."
""i'm never angry with you.
it takes two flints to make a fire.
you are as cool and soft as snow."
""you do n't know what i can do.
snow produces a glow and a tingle, if applied rightly.
your indifference is half affectation, and a good stirring up would prove it."
""stir away, it wo n't hurt me and it may amuse you, as the big man said when his little wife beat him.
regard me in the light of a husband or a carpet, and beat till you are tired, if that sort of exercise agrees with you."
being decidedly nettled herself, and longing to see him shake off the apathy that so altered him, amy sharpened both tongue and pencil, and began.
""flo and i have got a new name for you.
it's lazy laurence.
how do you like it?"
she thought it would annoy him, but he only folded his arms under his head, with an imperturbable, "that's not bad.
thank you, ladies."
""do you want to know what i honestly think of you?"
""pining to be told."
""well, i despise you."
if she had even said" i hate you" in a petulant or coquettish tone, he would have laughed and rather liked it, but the grave, almost sad, accent in her voice made him open his eyes, and ask quickly... "why, if you please?"
""because, with every chance for being good, useful, and happy, you are faulty, lazy, and miserable."
""strong language, mademoiselle."
""if you like it, i'll go on."
""pray do, it's quite interesting."
""i thought you'd find it so.
selfish people always like to talk about themselves."
""am i selfish?"
the question slipped out involuntarily and in a tone of surprise, for the one virtue on which he prided himself was generosity.
""yes, very selfish," continued amy, in a calm, cool voice, twice as effective just then as an angry one.
""i'll show you how, for i've studied you while we were frolicking, and i'm not at all satisfied with you.
here you have been abroad nearly six months, and done nothing but waste time and money and disappoint your friends."
""is n't a fellow to have any pleasure after a four-year grind?"
""you do n't look as if you'd had much.
at any rate, you are none the better for it, as far as i can see.
i said when we first met that you had improved.
now i take it all back, for i do n't think you half so nice as when i left you at home.
you have grown abominably lazy, you like gossip, and waste time on frivolous things, you are contented to be petted and admired by silly people, instead of being loved and respected by wise ones.
with money, talent, position, health, and beauty, ah you like that old vanity!
but it's the truth, so i ca n't help saying it, with all these splendid things to use and enjoy, you can find nothing to do but dawdle, and instead of being the man you ought to be, you are only..." there she stopped, with a look that had both pain and pity in it.
""saint laurence on a gridiron," added laurie, blandly finishing the sentence.
but the lecture began to take effect, for there was a wide-awake sparkle in his eyes now and a half-angry, half-injured expression replaced the former indifference.
""i supposed you'd take it so.
you men tell us we are angels, and say we can make you what we will, but the instant we honestly try to do you good, you laugh at us and wo n't listen, which proves how much your flattery is worth."
amy spoke bitterly, and turned her back on the exasperating martyr at her feet.
in a minute a hand came down over the page, so that she could not draw, and laurie's voice said, with a droll imitation of a penitent child, "i will be good, oh, i will be good!"
but amy did not laugh, for she was in earnest, and tapping on the outspread hand with her pencil, said soberly, "are n't you ashamed of a hand like that?
it's as soft and white as a woman's, and looks as if it never did anything but wear jouvin's best gloves and pick flowers for ladies.
you are not a dandy, thank heaven, so i'm glad to see there are no diamonds or big seal rings on it, only the little old one jo gave you so long ago.
dear soul, i wish she was here to help me!"
""so do i!"
the hand vanished as suddenly as it came, and there was energy enough in the echo of her wish to suit even amy.
she glanced down at him with a new thought in her mind, but he was lying with his hat half over his face, as if for shade, and his mustache hid his mouth.
she only saw his chest rise and fall, with a long breath that might have been a sigh, and the hand that wore the ring nestled down into the grass, as if to hide something too precious or too tender to be spoken of.
all in a minute various hints and trifles assumed shape and significance in amy's mind, and told her what her sister never had confided to her.
she remembered that laurie never spoke voluntarily of jo, she recalled the shadow on his face just now, the change in his character, and the wearing of the little old ring which was no ornament to a handsome hand.
girls are quick to read such signs and feel their eloquence.
amy had fancied that perhaps a love trouble was at the bottom of the alteration, and now she was sure of it.
her keen eyes filled, and when she spoke again, it was in a voice that could be beautifully soft and kind when she chose to make it so.
""i know i have no right to talk so to you, laurie, and if you were n't the sweetest-tempered fellow in the world, you'd be very angry with me.
but we are all so fond and proud of you, i could n't bear to think they should be disappointed in you at home as i have been, though, perhaps they would understand the change better than i do."
""i think they would," came from under the hat, in a grim tone, quite as touching as a broken one.
""they ought to have told me, and not let me go blundering and scolding, when i should have been more kind and patient than ever.
i never did like that miss randal and now i hate her!"
said artful amy, wishing to be sure of her facts this time.
""hang miss randal!"
and laurie knocked the hat off his face with a look that left no doubt of his sentiments toward that young lady.
""i beg pardon, i thought..." and there she paused diplomatically.
""no, you did n't, you knew perfectly well i never cared for anyone but jo," laurie said that in his old, impetuous tone, and turned his face away as he spoke.
""i did think so, but as they never said anything about it, and you came away, i supposed i was mistaken.
and jo would n't be kind to you?
why, i was sure she loved you dearly."
""she was kind, but not in the right way, and it's lucky for her she did n't love me, if i'm the good-for-nothing fellow you think me.
it's her fault though, and you may tell her so."
the hard, bitter look came back again as he said that, and it troubled amy, for she did not know what balm to apply.
""i was wrong, i did n't know.
i'm very sorry i was so cross, but i ca n't help wishing you'd bear it better, teddy, dear."
""do n't, that's her name for me!"
and laurie put up his hand with a quick gesture to stop the words spoken in jo's half-kind, half-reproachful tone.
""wait till you've tried it yourself," he added in a low voice, as he pulled up the grass by the handful.
""i'd take it manfully, and be respected if i could n't be loved," said amy, with the decision of one who knew nothing about it.
now, laurie flattered himself that he had borne it remarkably well, making no moan, asking no sympathy, and taking his trouble away to live it down alone.
amy's lecture put the matter in a new light, and for the first time it did look weak and selfish to lose heart at the first failure, and shut himself up in moody indifference.
he felt as if suddenly shaken out of a pensive dream and found it impossible to go to sleep again.
presently he sat up and asked slowly, "do you think jo would despise me as you do?"
""yes, if she saw you now.
she hates lazy people.
why do n't you do something splendid, and make her love you?"
""i did my best, but it was no use."
""graduating well, you mean?
that was no more than you ought to have done, for your grandfather's sake.
it would have been shameful to fail after spending so much time and money, when everyone knew that you could do well."
""i did fail, say what you will, for jo would n't love me," began laurie, leaning his head on his hand in a despondent attitude.
""no, you did n't, and you'll say so in the end, for it did you good, and proved that you could do something if you tried.
if you'd only set about another task of some sort, you'd soon be your hearty, happy self again, and forget your trouble."
""that's impossible."
""try it and see.
you need n't shrug your shoulders, and think, "much she knows about such things".
i do n't pretend to be wise, but i am observing, and i see a great deal more than you'd imagine.
i'm interested in other people's experiences and inconsistencies, and though i ca n't explain, i remember and use them for my own benefit.
love jo all your days, if you choose, but do n't let it spoil you, for it's wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you ca n't have the one you want.
there, i wo n't lecture any more, for i know you'll wake up and be a man in spite of that hardhearted girl."
neither spoke for several minutes.
laurie sat turning the little ring on his finger, and amy put the last touches to the hasty sketch she had been working at while she talked.
presently she put it on his knee, merely saying, "how do you like that?"
he looked and then he smiled, as he could not well help doing, for it was capitally done, the long, lazy figure on the grass, with listless face, half-shut eyes, and one hand holding a cigar, from which came the little wreath of smoke that encircled the dreamer's head.
""how well you draw!"
he said, with a genuine surprise and pleasure at her skill, adding, with a half-laugh, "yes, that's me."
""as you are.
this is as you were."
and amy laid another sketch beside the one he held.
it was not nearly so well done, but there was a life and spirit in it which atoned for many faults, and it recalled the past so vividly that a sudden change swept over the young man's face as he looked.
only a rough sketch of laurie taming a horse.
hat and coat were off, and every line of the active figure, resolute face, and commanding attitude was full of energy and meaning.
the handsome brute, just subdued, stood arching his neck under the tightly drawn rein, with one foot impatiently pawing the ground, and ears pricked up as if listening for the voice that had mastered him.
in the ruffled mane, the rider's breezy hair and erect attitude, there was a suggestion of suddenly arrested motion, of strength, courage, and youthful buoyancy that contrasted sharply with the supine grace of the" dolce far niente" sketch.
laurie said nothing but as his eye went from one to the other, amy saw him flush up and fold his lips together as if he read and accepted the little lesson she had given him.
that satisfied her, and without waiting for him to speak, she said, in her sprightly way... "do n't you remember the day you played rarey with puck, and we all looked on?
meg and beth were frightened, but jo clapped and pranced, and i sat on the fence and drew you.
i found that sketch in my portfolio the other day, touched it up, and kept it to show you."
""much obliged.
you've improved immensely since then, and i congratulate you.
may i venture to suggest in" a honeymoon paradise" that five o'clock is the dinner hour at your hotel?"
laurie rose as he spoke, returned the pictures with a smile and a bow and looked at his watch, as if to remind her that even moral lectures should have an end.
he tried to resume his former easy, indifferent air, but it was an affectation now, for the rousing had been more effacious than he would confess.
amy felt the shade of coldness in his manner, and said to herself... "now, i've offended him.
well, if it does him good, i'm glad, if it makes him hate me, i'm sorry, but it's true, and i ca n't take back a word of it."
they laughed and chatted all the way home, and little baptiste, up behind, thought that monsieur and madamoiselle were in charming spirits.
but both felt ill at ease.
the friendly frankness was disturbed, the sunshine had a shadow over it, and despite their apparent gaiety, there was a secret discontent in the heart of each.
""shall we see you this evening, mon frere?"
asked amy, as they parted at her aunt's door.
""unfortunately i have an engagement.
au revoir, madamoiselle," and laurie bent as if to kiss her hand, in the foreign fashion, which became him better than many men.
something in his face made amy say quickly and warmly... "no, be yourself with me, laurie, and part in the good old way.
i'd rather have a hearty english handshake than all the sentimental salutations in france."
""goodbye, dear," and with these words, uttered in the tone she liked, laurie left her, after a handshake almost painful in its heartiness.
next morning, instead of the usual call, amy received a note which made her smile at the beginning and sigh at the end.
my dear mentor, please make my adieux to your aunt, and exult within yourself, for "lazy laurence" has gone to his grandpa, like the best of boys.
a pleasant winter to you, and may the gods grant you a blissful honeymoon at valrosa!
i think fred would be benefited by a rouser.
tell him so, with my congratulations.
yours gratefully, telemachus "good boy!
i'm glad he's gone," said amy, with an approving smile.
the next minute her face fell as she glanced about the empty room, adding, with an involuntary sigh, "yes, i am glad, but how i shall miss him."
chapter forty the valley of the shadow when the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable, and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping one another by the increased affection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times of trouble.
they put away their grief, and each did his or her part toward making that last year a happy one.
the pleasantest room in the house was set apart for beth, and in it was gathered everything that she most loved, flowers, pictures, her piano, the little worktable, and the beloved pussies.
father's best books found their way there, mother's easy chair, jo's desk, amy's finest sketches, and every day meg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage, to make sunshine for aunty beth.
john quietly set apart a little sum, that he might enjoy the pleasure of keeping the invalid supplied with the fruit she loved and longed for.
old hannah never wearied of concocting dainty dishes to tempt a capricious appetite, dropping tears as she worked, and from across the sea came little gifts and cheerful letters, seeming to bring breaths of warmth and fragrance from lands that know no winter.
here, cherished like a household saint in its shrine, sat beth, tranquil and busy as ever, for nothing could change the sweet, unselfish nature, and even while preparing to leave life, she tried to make it happier for those who should remain behind.
the feeble fingers were never idle, and one of her pleasures was to make little things for the school children daily passing to and fro, to drop a pair of mittens from her window for a pair of purple hands, a needlebook for some small mother of many dolls, penwipers for young penmen toiling through forests of pothooks, scrapbooks for picture-loving eyes, and all manner of pleasant devices, till the reluctant climbers of the ladder of learning found their way strewn with flowers, as it were, and came to regard the gentle giver as a sort of fairy godmother, who sat above there, and showered down gifts miraculously suited to their tastes and needs.
if beth had wanted any reward, she found it in the bright little faces always turned up to her window, with nods and smiles, and the droll little letters which came to her, full of blots and gratitude.
the first few months were very happy ones, and beth often used to look round, and say "how beautiful this is!"
as they all sat together in her sunny room, the babies kicking and crowing on the floor, mother and sisters working near, and father reading, in his pleasant voice, from the wise old books which seemed rich in good and comfortable words, as applicable now as when written centuries ago, a little chapel, where a paternal priest taught his flock the hard lessons all must learn, trying to show them that hope can comfort love, and faith make resignation possible.
simple sermons, that went straight to the souls of those who listened, for the father's heart was in the minister's religion, and the frequent falter in the voice gave a double eloquence to the words he spoke or read.
it was well for all that this peaceful time was given them as preparation for the sad hours to come, for by-and-by, beth said the needle was "so heavy", and put it down forever.
talking wearied her, faces troubled her, pain claimed her for its own, and her tranquil spirit was sorrowfully perturbed by the ills that vexed her feeble flesh.
ah me!
such heavy days, such long, long nights, such aching hearts and imploring prayers, when those who loved her best were forced to see the thin hands stretched out to them beseechingly, to hear the bitter cry, "help me, help me!"
and to feel that there was no help.
a sad eclipse of the serene soul, a sharp struggle of the young life with death, but both were mercifully brief, and then the natural rebellion over, the old peace returned more beautiful than ever.
with the wreck of her frail body, beth's soul grew strong, and though she said little, those about her felt that she was ready, saw that the first pilgrim called was likewise the fittest, and waited with her on the shore, trying to see the shining ones coming to receive her when she crossed the river.
jo never left her for an hour since beth had said "i feel stronger when you are here."
she slept on a couch in the room, waking often to renew the fire, to feed, lift, or wait upon the patient creature who seldom asked for anything, and "tried not to be a trouble".
all day she haunted the room, jealous of any other nurse, and prouder of being chosen then than of any honor her life ever brought her.
precious and helpful hours to jo, for now her heart received the teaching that it needed.
lessons in patience were so sweetly taught her that she could not fail to learn them, charity for all, the lovely spirit that can forgive and truly forget unkindness, the loyalty to duty that makes the hardest easy, and the sincere faith that fears nothing, but trusts undoubtingly.
often when she woke jo found beth reading in her well-worn little book, heard her singing softly, to beguile the sleepless night, or saw her lean her face upon her hands, while slow tears dropped through the transparent fingers, and jo would lie watching her with thoughts too deep for tears, feeling that beth, in her simple, unselfish way, was trying to wean herself from the dear old life, and fit herself for the life to come, by sacred words of comfort, quiet prayers, and the music she loved so well.
seeing this did more for jo than the wisest sermons, the saintliest hymns, the most fervent prayers that any voice could utter.
for with eyes made clear by many tears, and a heart softened by the tenderest sorrow, she recognized the beauty of her sister's life -- uneventful, unambitious, yet full of the genuine virtues which "smell sweet, and blossom in the dust", the self-forgetfulness that makes the humblest on earth remembered soonest in heaven, the true success which is possible to all.
one night when beth looked among the books upon her table, to find something to make her forget the mortal weariness that was almost as hard to bear as pain, as she turned the leaves of her old favorite, pilgrims's progress, she found a little paper, scribbled over in jo's hand.
the name caught her eye and the blurred look of the lines made her sure that tears had fallen on it.
""poor jo!
she's fast asleep, so i wo n't wake her to ask leave.
she shows me all her things, and i do n't think she'll mind if i look at this", thought beth, with a glance at her sister, who lay on the rug, with the tongs beside her, ready to wake up the minute the log fell apart.
my beth sitting patient in the shadow till the blessed light shall come, a serene and saintly presence sanctifies our troubled home.
earthly joys and hopes and sorrows break like ripples on the strand of the deep and solemn river where her willing feet now stand.
o my sister, passing from me, out of human care and strife, leave me, as a gift, those virtues which have beautified your life.
dear, bequeath me that great patience which has power to sustain a cheerful, uncomplaining spirit in its prison-house of pain.
give me, for i need it sorely, of that courage, wise and sweet, which has made the path of duty green beneath your willing feet.
give me that unselfish nature, that with charity devine can pardon wrong for love's dear sake -- meek heart, forgive me mine!
thus our parting daily loseth something of its bitter pain, and while learning this hard lesson, my great loss becomes my gain.
for the touch of grief will render my wild nature more serene, give to life new aspirations, a new trust in the unseen.
henceforth, safe across the river, i shall see forever more a beloved, household spirit waiting for me on the shore.
hope and faith, born of my sorrow, guardian angels shall become, and the sister gone before me by their hands shall lead me home.
blurred and blotted, faulty and feeble as the lines were, they brought a look of inexpressible comfort to beth's face, for her one regret had been that she had done so little, and this seemed to assure her that her life had not been useless, that her death would not bring the despair she feared.
as she sat with the paper folded between her hands, the charred log fell asunder.
jo started up, revived the blaze, and crept to the bedside, hoping beth slept.
""not asleep, but so happy, dear.
see, i found this and read it.
i knew you would n't care.
have i been all that to you, jo?"
she asked, with wistful, humble earnestness."
oh, beth, so much, so much!"
and jo's head went down upon the pillow beside her sister's.
""then i do n't feel as if i'd wasted my life.
i'm not so good as you make me, but i have tried to do right.
and now, when it's too late to begin even to do better, it's such a comfort to know that someone loves me so much, and feels as if i'd helped them."
""more than any one in the world, beth.
i used to think i could n't let you go, but i'm learning to feel that i do n't lose you, that you'll be more to me than ever, and death ca n't part us, though it seems to."
""i know it can not, and i do n't fear it any longer, for i'm sure i shall be your beth still, to love and help you more than ever.
you must take my place, jo, and be everything to father and mother when i'm gone.
they will turn to you, do n't fail them, and if it's hard to work alone, remember that i do n't forget you, and that you'll be happier in doing that than writing splendid books or seeing all the world, for love is the only thing that we can carry with us when we go, and it makes the end so easy."
""i'll try, beth."
and then and there jo renounced her old ambition, pledged herself to a new and better one, acknowledging the poverty of other desires, and feeling the blessed solace of a belief in the immortality of love.
so the spring days came and went, the sky grew clearer, the earth greener, the flowers were up fairly early, and the birds came back in time to say goodbye to beth, who, like a tired but trustful child, clung to the hands that had led her all her life, as father and mother guided her tenderly through the valley of the shadow, and gave her up to god.
seldom except in books do the dying utter memorable words, see visions, or depart with beatified countenances, and those who have sped many parting souls know that to most the end comes as naturally and simply as sleep.
as beth had hoped, the "tide went out easily", and in the dark hour before dawn, on the bosom where she had drawn her first breath, she quietly drew her last, with no farewell but one loving look, one little sigh.
with tears and prayers and tender hands, mother and sisters made her ready for the long sleep that pain would never mar again, seeing with grateful eyes the beautiful serenity that soon replaced the pathetic patience that had wrung their hearts so long, and feeling with reverent joy that to their darling death was a benignant angel, not a phantom full of dread.
when morning came, for the first time in many months the fire was out, jo's place was empty, and the room was very still.
but a bird sang blithely on a budding bough, close by, the snowdrops blossomed freshly at the window, and the spring sunshine streamed in like a benediction over the placid face upon the pillow, a face so full of painless peace that those who loved it best smiled through their tears, and thanked god that beth was well at last.
chapter forty-one learning to forget amy's lecture did laurie good, though, of course, he did not own it till long afterward.
men seldom do, for when women are the advisers, the lords of creation do n't take the advice till they have persuaded themselves that it is just what they intended to do.
then they act upon it, and, if it succeeds, they give the weaker vessel half the credit of it.
if it fails, they generously give her the whole.
laurie went back to his grandfather, and was so dutifully devoted for several weeks that the old gentleman declared the climate of nice had improved him wonderfully, and he had better try it again.
there was nothing the young gentleman would have liked better, but elephants could not have dragged him back after the scolding he had received.
pride forbid, and whenever the longing grew very strong, he fortified his resolution by repeating the words that had made the deepest impression -- "i despise you."
""go and do something splendid that will make her love you."
laurie turned the matter over in his mind so often that he soon brought himself to confess that he had been selfish and lazy, but then when a man has a great sorrow, he should be indulged in all sorts of vagaries till he has lived it down.
he felt that his blighted affections were quite dead now, and though he should never cease to be a faithful mourner, there was no occasion to wear his weeds ostentatiously.
jo would n't love him, but he might make her respect and admire him by doing something which should prove that a girl's "no" had not spoiled his life.
he had always meant to do something, and amy's advice was quite unnecessary.
he had only been waiting till the aforesaid blighted affections were decently interred.
that being done, he felt that he was ready to "hide his stricken heart, and still toil on".
as goethe, when he had a joy or a grief, put it into a song, so laurie resolved to embalm his love sorrow in music, and to compose a requiem which should harrow up jo's soul and melt the heart of every hearer.
therefore the next time the old gentleman found him getting restless and moody and ordered him off, he went to vienna, where he had musical friends, and fell to work with the firm determination to distinguish himself.
but whether the sorrow was too vast to be embodied in music, or music too ethereal to uplift a mortal woe, he soon discovered that the requiem was beyond him just at present.
it was evident that his mind was not in working order yet, and his ideas needed clarifying, for often in the middle of a plaintive strain, he would find himself humming a dancing tune that vividly recalled the christmas ball at nice, especially the stout frenchman, and put an effectual stop to tragic composition for the time being.
then he tried an opera, for nothing seemed impossible in the beginning, but here again unforeseen difficulties beset him.
he wanted jo for his heroine, and called upon his memory to supply him with tender recollections and romantic visions of his love.
but memory turned traitor, and as if possessed by the perverse spirit of the girl, would only recall jo's oddities, faults, and freaks, would only show her in the most unsentimental aspects -- beating mats with her head tied up in a bandanna, barricading herself with the sofa pillow, or throwing cold water over his passion a la gummidge -- and an irresistable laugh spoiled the pensive picture he was endeavoring to paint.
jo would n't be put into the opera at any price, and he had to give her up with a "bless that girl, what a torment she is!"
and a clutch at his hair, as became a distracted composer.
when he looked about him for another and a less intractable damsel to immortalize in melody, memory produced one with the most obliging readiness.
this phantom wore many faces, but it always had golden hair, was enveloped in a diaphanous cloud, and floated airily before his mind's eye in a pleasing chaos of roses, peacocks, white ponies, and blue ribbons.
he did not give the complacent wraith any name, but he took her for his heroine and grew quite fond of her, as well he might, for he gifted her with every gift and grace under the sun, and escorted her, unscathed, through trials which would have annihilated any mortal woman.
thanks to this inspiration, he got on swimmingly for a time, but gradually the work lost its charm, and he forgot to compose, while he sat musing, pen in hand, or roamed about the gay city to get some new ideas and refresh his mind, which seemed to be in a somewhat unsettled state that winter.
he did not do much, but he thought a great deal and was conscious of a change of some sort going on in spite of himself.
""it's genius simmering, perhaps.
i'll let it simmer, and see what comes of it," he said, with a secret suspicion all the while that it was n't genius, but something far more common.
whatever it was, it simmered to some purpose, for he grew more and more discontented with his desultory life, began to long for some real and earnest work to go at, soul and body, and finally came to the wise conclusion that everyone who loved music was not a composer.
returning from one of mozart's grand operas, splendidly performed at the royal theatre, he looked over his own, played a few of the best parts, sat staring at the busts of mendelssohn, beethoven, and bach, who stared benignly back again.
then suddenly he tore up his music sheets, one by one, and as the last fluttered out of his hand, he said soberly to himself... "she is right!
talent is n't genius, and you ca n't make it so.
that music has taken the vanity out of me as rome took it out of her, and i wo n't be a humbug any longer.
now what shall i do?"
that seemed a hard question to answer, and laurie began to wish he had to work for his daily bread.
now if ever, occurred an eligible opportunity for "going to the devil", as he once forcibly expressed it, for he had plenty of money and nothing to do, and satan is proverbially fond of providing employment for full and idle hands.
the poor fellow had temptations enough from without and from within, but he withstood them pretty well, for much as he valued liberty, he valued good faith and confidence more, so his promise to his grandfather, and his desire to be able to look honestly into the eyes of the women who loved him, and say "all's well," kept him safe and steady.
very likely some mrs. grundy will observe, "i do n't believe it, boys will be boys, young men must sow their wild oats, and women must not expect miracles."
i dare say you do n't, mrs. grundy, but it's true nevertheless.
women work a good many miracles, and i have a persuasion that they may perform even that of raising the standard of manhood by refusing to echo such sayings.
let the boys be boys, the longer the better, and let the young men sow their wild oats if they must.
but mothers, sisters, and friends may help to make the crop a small one, and keep many tares from spoiling the harvest, by believing, and showing that they believe, in the possibility of loyalty to the virtues which make men manliest in good women's eyes.
if it is a feminine delusion, leave us to enjoy it while we may, for without it half the beauty and the romance of life is lost, and sorrowful forebodings would embitter all our hopes of the brave, tenderhearted little lads, who still love their mothers better than themselves and are not ashamed to own it.
laurie thought that the task of forgetting his love for jo would absorb all his powers for years, but to his great surprise he discovered it grew easier every day.
he refused to believe it at first, got angry with himself, and could n't understand it, but these hearts of ours are curious and contrary things, and time and nature work their will in spite of us.
laurie's heart would n't ache.
the wound persisted in healing with a rapidity that astonished him, and instead of trying to forget, he found himself trying to remember.
he had not foreseen this turn of affairs, and was not prepared for it.
he was disgusted with himself, surprised at his own fickleness, and full of a queer mixture of disappointment and relief that he could recover from such a tremendous blow so soon.
he carefully stirred up the embers of his lost love, but they refused to burst into a blaze.
there was only a comfortable glow that warmed and did him good without putting him into a fever, and he was reluctantly obliged to confess that the boyish passion was slowly subsiding into a more tranquil sentiment, very tender, a little sad and resentful still, but that was sure to pass away in time, leaving a brotherly affection which would last unbroken to the end.
as the word "brotherly" passed through his mind in one of his reveries, he smiled, and glanced up at the picture of mozart that was before him... "well, he was a great man, and when he could n't have one sister he took the other, and was happy."
laurie did not utter the words, but he thought them, and the next instant kissed the little old ring, saying to himself, "no, i wo n't!
i have n't forgotten, i never can.
i'll try again, and if that fails, why then..." leaving his sentence unfinished, he seized pen and paper and wrote to jo, telling her that he could not settle to anything while there was the least hope of her changing her mind.
could n't she, would n't she -- and let him come home and be happy?
while waiting for an answer he did nothing, but he did it energetically, for he was in a fever of impatience.
it came at last, and settled his mind effectually on one point, for jo decidedly could n't and would n't.
she was wrapped up in beth, and never wished to hear the word love again.
then she begged him to be happy with somebody else, but always keep a little corner of his heart for his loving sister jo.
in a postscript she desired him not to tell amy that beth was worse, she was coming home in the spring and there was no need of saddening the remainder of her stay.
that would be time enough, please god, but laurie must write to her often, and not let her feel lonely, homesick or anxious.
""so i will, at once.
poor little girl, it will be a sad going home for her, i'm afraid," and laurie opened his desk, as if writing to amy had been the proper conclusion of the sentence left unfinished some weeks before.
but he did not write the letter that day, for as he rummaged out his best paper, he came across something which changed his purpose.
tumbling about in one part of the desk among bills, passports, and business documents of various kinds were several of jo's letters, and in another compartment were three notes from amy, carefully tied up with one of her blue ribbons and sweetly suggestive of the little dead roses put away inside.
with a half-repentant, half-amused expression, laurie gathered up all jo's letters, smoothed, folded, and put them neatly into a small drawer of the desk, stood a minute turning the ring thoughtfully on his finger, then slowly drew it off, laid it with the letters, locked the drawer, and went out to hear high mass at saint stefan's, feeling as if there had been a funeral, and though not overwhelmed with affliction, this seemed a more proper way to spend the rest of the day than in writing letters to charming young ladies.
the letter went very soon, however, and was promptly answered, for amy was homesick, and confessed it in the most delightfully confiding manner.
the correspondence flourished famously, and letters flew to and fro with unfailing regularity all through the early spring.
laurie sold his busts, made allumettes of his opera, and went back to paris, hoping somebody would arrive before long.
he wanted desperately to go to nice, but would not till he was asked, and amy would not ask him, for just then she was having little experiences of her own, which made her rather wish to avoid the quizzical eyes of "our boy".
fred vaughn had returned, and put the question to which she had once decided to answer, "yes, thank you," but now she said, "no, thank you," kindly but steadily, for when the time came, her courage failed her, and she found that something more than money and position was needed to satisfy the new longing that filled her heart so full of tender hopes and fears.
the words, "fred is a good fellow, but not at all the man i fancied you would ever like," and laurie's face when he uttered them, kept returning to her as pertinaciously as her own did when she said in look, if not in words, "i shall marry for money."
it troubled her to remember that now, she wished she could take it back, it sounded so unwomanly.
she did n't want laurie to think her a heartless, worldly creature.
she did n't care to be a queen of society now half so much as she did to be a lovable woman.
she was so glad he did n't hate her for the dreadful things she said, but took them so beautifully and was kinder than ever.
his letters were such a comfort, for the home letters were very irregular and not half so satisfactory as his when they did come.
it was not only a pleasure, but a duty to answer them, for the poor fellow was forlorn, and needed petting, since jo persisted in being stonyhearted.
she ought to have made an effort and tried to love him.
it could n't be very hard, many people would be proud and glad to have such a dear boy care for them.
but jo never would act like other girls, so there was nothing to do but be very kind and treat him like a brother.
if all brothers were treated as well as laurie was at this period, they would be a much happier race of beings than they are.
amy never lectured now.
she asked his opinion on all subjects, she was interested in everything he did, made charming little presents for him, and sent him two letters a week, full of lively gossip, sisterly confidences, and captivating sketches of the lovely scenes about her.
as few brothers are complimented by having their letters carried about in their sister's pockets, read and reread diligently, cried over when short, kissed when long, and treasured carefully, we will not hint that amy did any of these fond and foolish things.
but she certainly did grow a little pale and pensive that spring, lost much of her relish for society, and went out sketching alone a good deal.
she never had much to show when she came home, but was studying nature, i dare say, while she sat for hours, with her hands folded, on the terrace at valrosa, or absently sketched any fancy that occurred to her, a stalwart knight carved on a tomb, a young man asleep in the grass, with his hat over his eyes, or a curly haired girl in gorgeous array, promenading down a ballroom on the arm of a tall gentleman, both faces being left a blur according to the last fashion in art, which was safe but not altogether satisfactory.
her aunt thought that she regretted her answer to fred, and finding denials useless and explanations impossible, amy left her to think what she liked, taking care that laurie should know that fred had gone to egypt.
that was all, but he understood it, and looked relieved, as he said to himself, with a venerable air... "i was sure she would think better of it.
poor old fellow!
i've been through it all, and i can sympathize."
with that he heaved a great sigh, and then, as if he had discharged his duty to the past, put his feet up on the sofa and enjoyed amy's letter luxuriously.
while these changes were going on abroad, trouble had come at home.
but the letter telling that beth was failing never reached amy, and when the next found her at vevay, for the heat had driven them from nice in may, and they had travelled slowly to switzerland, by way of genoa and the italian lakes.
she bore it very well, and quietly submitted to the family decree that she should not shorten her visit, for since it was too late to say goodbye to beth, she had better stay, and let absence soften her sorrow.
but her heart was very heavy, she longed to be at home, and every day looked wistfully across the lake, waiting for laurie to come and comfort her.
he did come very soon, for the same mail brought letters to them both, but he was in germany, and it took some days to reach him.
the moment he read it, he packed his knapsack, bade adieu to his fellow pedestrians, and was off to keep his promise, with a heart full of joy and sorrow, hope and suspense.
he knew vevay well, and as soon as the boat touched the little quay, he hurried along the shore to la tour, where the carrols were living en pension.
the garcon was in despair that the whole family had gone to take a promenade on the lake, but no, the blonde mademoiselle might be in the chateau garden.
if monsieur would give himself the pain of sitting down, a flash of time should present her.
but monsieur could not wait even a "flash of time", and in the middle of the speech departed to find mademoiselle himself.
a pleasant old garden on the borders of the lovely lake, with chestnuts rustling overhead, ivy climbing everywhere, and the black shadow of the tower falling far across the sunny water.
at one corner of the wide, low wall was a seat, and here amy often came to read or work, or console herself with the beauty all about her.
she was sitting here that day, leaning her head on her hand, with a homesick heart and heavy eyes, thinking of beth and wondering why laurie did not come.
she did not hear him cross the courtyard beyond, nor see him pause in the archway that led from the subterranean path into the garden.
he stood a minute looking at her with new eyes, seeing what no one had ever seen before, the tender side of amy's character.
everything about her mutely suggested love and sorrow, the blotted letters in her lap, the black ribbon that tied up her hair, the womanly pain and patience in her face, even the little ebony cross at her throat seemed pathetic to laurie, for he had given it to her, and she wore it as her only ornament.
if he had any doubts about the reception she would give him, they were set at rest the minute she looked up and saw him, for dropping everything, she ran to him, exclaiming in a tone of unmistakable love and longing... "oh, laurie, laurie, i knew you'd come to me!"
i think everything was said and settled then, for as they stood together quite silent for a moment, with the dark head bent down protectingly over the light one, amy felt that no one could comfort and sustain her so well as laurie, and laurie decided that amy was the only woman in the world who could fill jo's place and make him happy.
he did not tell her so, but she was not disappointed, for both felt the truth, were satisfied, and gladly left the rest to silence.
in a minute amy went back to her place, and while she dried her tears, laurie gathered up the scattered papers, finding in the sight of sundry well-worn letters and suggestive sketches good omens for the future.
as he sat down beside her, amy felt shy again, and turned rosy red at the recollection of her impulsive greeting.
""i could n't help it, i felt so lonely and sad, and was so very glad to see you.
it was such a surprise to look up and find you, just as i was beginning to fear you would n't come," she said, trying in vain to speak quite naturally.
""i came the minute i heard.
i wish i could say something to comfort you for the loss of dear little beth, but i can only feel, and..." he could not get any further, for he too turned bashful all of a sudden, and did not quite know what to say.
he longed to lay amy's head down on his shoulder, and tell her to have a good cry, but he did not dare, so took her hand instead, and gave it a sympathetic squeeze that was better than words.
""you need n't say anything, this comforts me," she said softly.
""beth is well and happy, and i must n't wish her back, but i dread the going home, much as i long to see them all.
we wo n't talk about it now, for it makes me cry, and i want to enjoy you while you stay.
you need n't go right back, need you?"
""not if you want me, dear."
""i do, so much.
aunt and flo are very kind, but you seem like one of the family, and it would be so comfortable to have you for a little while."
amy spoke and looked so like a homesick child whose heart was full that laurie forgot his bashfulness all at once, and gave her just what she wanted -- the petting she was used to and the cheerful conversation she needed.
""poor little soul, you look as if you'd grieved yourself half sick!
i'm going to take care of you, so do n't cry any more, but come and walk about with me, the wind is too chilly for you to sit still," he said, in the half-caressing, half-commanding way that amy liked, as he tied on her hat, drew her arm through his, and began to pace up and down the sunny walk under the new-leaved chestnuts.
he felt more at ease upon his legs, and amy found it pleasant to have a strong arm to lean upon, a familiar face to smile at her, and a kind voice to talk delightfully for her alone.
the quaint old garden had sheltered many pairs of lovers, and seemed expressly made for them, so sunny and secluded was it, with nothing but the tower to overlook them, and the wide lake to carry away the echo of their words, as it rippled by below.
for an hour this new pair walked and talked, or rested on the wall, enjoying the sweet influences which gave such a charm to time and place, and when an unromantic dinner bell warned them away, amy felt as if she left her burden of loneliness and sorrow behind her in the chateau garden.
the moment mrs. carrol saw the girl's altered face, she was illuminated with a new idea, and exclaimed to herself, "now i understand it all -- the child has been pining for young laurence.
bless my heart, i never thought of such a thing!"
with praiseworthy discretion, the good lady said nothing, and betrayed no sign of enlightenment, but cordially urged laurie to stay and begged amy to enjoy his society, for it would do her more good than so much solitude.
amy was a model of docility, and as her aunt was a good deal occupied with flo, she was left to entertain her friend, and did it with more than her usual success.
at nice, laurie had lounged and amy had scolded.
at vevay, laurie was never idle, but always walking, riding, boating, or studying in the most energetic manner, while amy admired everything he did and followed his example as far and as fast as she could.
he said the change was owing to the climate, and she did not contradict him, being glad of a like excuse for her own recovered health and spirits.
the invigorating air did them both good, and much exercise worked wholesome changes in minds as well as bodies.
they seemed to get clearer views of life and duty up there among the everlasting hills.
the fresh winds blew away desponding doubts, delusive fancies, and moody mists.
the warm spring sunshine brought out all sorts of aspiring ideas, tender hopes, and happy thoughts.
the lake seemed to wash away the troubles of the past, and the grand old mountains to look benignly down upon them saying, "little children, love one another."
in spite of the new sorrow, it was a very happy time, so happy that laurie could not bear to disturb it by a word.
it took him a little while to recover from his surprise at the cure of his first, and as he had firmly believed, his last and only love.
he consoled himself for the seeming disloyalty by the thought that jo's sister was almost the same as jo's self, and the conviction that it would have been impossible to love any other woman but amy so soon and so well.
his first wooing had been of the tempestuous order, and he looked back upon it as if through a long vista of years with a feeling of compassion blended with regret.
he was not ashamed of it, but put it away as one of the bitter-sweet experiences of his life, for which he could be grateful when the pain was over.
his second wooing, he resolved, should be as calm and simple as possible.
there was no need of having a scene, hardly any need of telling amy that he loved her, she knew it without words and had given him his answer long ago.
it all came about so naturally that no one could complain, and he knew that everybody would be pleased, even jo.
but when our first little passion has been crushed, we are apt to be wary and slow in making a second trial, so laurie let the days pass, enjoying every hour, and leaving to chance the utterance of the word that would put an end to the first and sweetest part of his new romance.
he had rather imagined that the denoument would take place in the chateau garden by moonlight, and in the most graceful and decorous manner, but it turned out exactly the reverse, for the matter was settled on the lake at noonday in a few blunt words.
they had been floating about all the morning, from gloomy st. gingolf to sunny montreux, with the alps of savoy on one side, mont st. bernard and the dent du midi on the other, pretty vevay in the valley, and lausanne upon the hill beyond, a cloudless blue sky overhead, and the bluer lake below, dotted with the picturesque boats that look like white-winged gulls.
they had been talking of bonnivard, as they glided past chillon, and of rousseau, as they looked up at clarens, where he wrote his heloise.
neither had read it, but they knew it was a love story, and each privately wondered if it was half as interesting as their own.
amy had been dabbling her hand in the water during the little pause that fell between them, and when she looked up, laurie was leaning on his oars with an expression in his eyes that made her say hastily, merely for the sake of saying something... "you must be tired.
rest a little, and let me row.
it will do me good, for since you came i have been altogether lazy and luxurious."
""i'm not tired, but you may take an oar, if you like.
there's room enough, though i have to sit nearly in the middle, else the boat wo n't trim," returned laurie, as if he rather liked the arrangement.
feeling that she had not mended matters much, amy took the offered third of a seat, shook her hair over her face, and accepted an oar.
she rowed as well as she did many other things, and though she used both hands, and laurie but one, the oars kept time, and the boat went smoothly through the water.
""how well we pull together, do n't we?"
said amy, who objected to silence just then.
""so well that i wish we might always pull in the same boat.
will you, amy?"
very tenderly.
""yes, laurie," very low.
then they both stopped rowing, and unconsciously added a pretty little tableau of human love and happiness to the dissolving views reflected in the lake.
chapter forty-two all alone it was easy to promise self-abnegation when self was wrapped up in another, and heart and soul were purified by a sweet example.
but when the helpful voice was silent, the daily lesson over, the beloved presence gone, and nothing remained but loneliness and grief, then jo found her promise very hard to keep.
how could she "comfort father and mother" when her own heart ached with a ceaseless longing for her sister, how could she "make the house cheerful" when all its light and warmth and beauty seemed to have deserted it when beth left the old home for the new, and where in all the world could she "find some useful, happy work to do", that would take the place of the loving service which had been its own reward?
she tried in a blind, hopeless way to do her duty, secretly rebelling against it all the while, for it seemed unjust that her few joys should be lessened, her burdens made heavier, and life get harder and harder as she toiled along.
some people seemed to get all sunshine, and some all shadow.
it was not fair, for she tried more than amy to be good, but never got any reward, only disappointment, trouble and hard work.
poor jo, these were dark days to her, for something like despair came over her when she thought of spending all her life in that quiet house, devoted to humdrum cares, a few small pleasures, and the duty that never seemed to grow any easier.
""i ca n't do it.
i was n't meant for a life like this, and i know i shall break away and do something desperate if somebody does n't come and help me," she said to herself, when her first efforts failed and she fell into the moody, miserable state of mind which often comes when strong wills have to yield to the inevitable.
but someone did come and help her, though jo did not recognize her good angels at once because they wore familiar shapes and used the simple spells best fitted to poor humanity.
often she started up at night, thinking beth called her, and when the sight of the little empty bed made her cry with the bitter cry of unsubmissive sorrow, "oh, beth, come back!
come back!"
she did not stretch out her yearning arms in vain.
for, as quick to hear her sobbing as she had been to hear her sister's faintest whisper, her mother came to comfort her, not with words only, but the patient tenderness that soothes by a touch, tears that were mute reminders of a greater grief than jo's, and broken whispers, more eloquent than prayers, because hopeful resignation went hand-in-hand with natural sorrow.
sacred moments, when heart talked to heart in the silence of the night, turning affliction to a blessing, which chastened grief and strengthned love.
feeling this, jo's burden seemed easier to bear, duty grew sweeter, and life looked more endurable, seen from the safe shelter of her mother's arms.
when aching heart was a little comforted, troubled mind likewise found help, for one day she went to the study, and leaning over the good gray head lifted to welcome her with a tranquil smile, she said very humbly, "father, talk to me as you did to beth.
i need it more than she did, for i'm all wrong."
""my dear, nothing can comfort me like this," he answered, with a falter in his voice, and both arms round her, as if he too, needed help, and did not fear to ask for it.
then, sitting in beth's little chair close beside him, jo told her troubles, the resentful sorrow for her loss, the fruitless efforts that discouraged her, the want of faith that made life look so dark, and all the sad bewilderment which we call despair.
she gave him entire confidence, he gave her the help she needed, and both found consolation in the act.
for the time had come when they could talk together not only as father and daughter, but as man and woman, able and glad to serve each other with mutual sympathy as well as mutual love.
happy, thoughtful times there in the old study which jo called "the church of one member", and from which she came with fresh courage, recovered cheerfulness, and a more submissive spirit.
for the parents who had taught one child to meet death without fear, were trying now to teach another to accept life without despondency or distrust, and to use its beautiful opportunities with gratitude and power.
other helps had jo -- humble, wholesome duties and delights that would not be denied their part in serving her, and which she slowly learned to see and value.
brooms and dishcloths never could be as distasteful as they once had been, for beth had presided over both, and something of her housewifely spirit seemed to linger around the little mop and the old brush, never thrown away.
as she used them, jo found herself humming the songs beth used to hum, imitating beth's orderly ways, and giving the little touches here and there that kept everything fresh and cozy, which was the first step toward making home happy, though she did n't know it till hannah said with an approving squeeze of the hand... "you thoughtful creeter, you're determined we sha n't miss that dear lamb ef you can help it.
we do n't say much, but we see it, and the lord will bless you for "t, see ef he do n't."
as they sat sewing together, jo discovered how much improved her sister meg was, how well she could talk, how much she knew about good, womanly impulses, thoughts, and feelings, how happy she was in husband and children, and how much they were all doing for each other.
""marriage is an excellent thing, after all.
i wonder if i should blossom out half as well as you have, if i tried it?
, always "perwisin" i could," said jo, as she constructed a kite for demi in the topsy-turvy nursery.
""it's just what you need to bring out the tender womanly half of your nature, jo.
you are like a chestnut burr, prickly outside, but silky-soft within, and a sweet kernal, if one can only get at it.
love will make you show your heart one day, and then the rough burr will fall off."
""frost opens chestnut burrs, ma'am, and it takes a good shake to bring them down.
boys go nutting, and i do n't care to be bagged by them," returned jo, pasting away at the kite which no wind that blows would ever carry up, for daisy had tied herself on as a bob.
meg laughed, for she was glad to see a glimmer of jo's old spirit, but she felt it her duty to enforce her opinion by every argument in her power, and the sisterly chats were not wasted, especially as two of meg's most effective arguments were the babies, whom jo loved tenderly.
grief is the best opener of some hearts, and jo's was nearly ready for the bag.
a little more sunshine to ripen the nut, then, not a boy's impatient shake, but a man's hand reached up to pick it gently from the burr, and find the kernal sound and sweet.
if she suspected this, she would have shut up tight, and been more prickly than ever, fortunately she was n't thinking about herself, so when the time came, down she dropped.
now, if she had been the heroine of a moral storybook, she ought at this period of her life to have become quite saintly, renounced the world, and gone about doing good in a mortified bonnet, with tracts in her pocket.
but, you see, jo was n't a heroine, she was only a struggling human girl like hundreds of others, and she just acted out her nature, being sad, cross, listless, or energetic, as the mood suggested.
it's highly virtuous to say we'll be good, but we ca n't do it all at once, and it takes a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together before some of us even get our feet set in the right way.
jo had got so far, she was learning to do her duty, and to feel unhappy if she did not, but to do it cheerfully, ah, that was another thing!
she had often said she wanted to do something splendid, no matter how hard, and now she had her wish, for what could be more beautiful than to devote her life to father and mother, trying to make home as happy to them as they had to her?
and if difficulties were necessary to increase the splendor of the effort, what could be harder for a restless, ambitious girl than to give up her own hopes, plans, and desires, and cheerfully live for others?
providence had taken her at her word.
here was the task, not what she had expected, but better because self had no part in it.
now, could she do it?
she decided that she would try, and in her first attempt she found the helps i have suggested.
still another was given her, and she took it, not as a reward, but as a comfort, as christian took the refreshment afforded by the little arbor where he rested, as he climbed the hill called difficulty.
""why do n't you write?
that always used to make you happy," said her mother once, when the desponding fit over-shadowed jo.
""i've no heart to write, and if i had, nobody cares for my things."
""we do.
write something for us, and never mind the rest of the world.
try it, dear.
i'm sure it would do you good, and please us very much."
""do n't believe i can."
but jo got out her desk and began to overhaul her half-finished manuscripts.
an hour afterward her mother peeped in and there she was, scratching away, with her black pinafore on, and an absorbed expression, which caused mrs. march to smile and slip away, well pleased with the success of her suggestion.
jo never knew how it happened, but something got into that story that went straight to the hearts of those who read it, for when her family had laughed and cried over it, her father sent it, much against her will, to one of the popular magazines, and to her utter surprise, it was not only paid for, but others requested.
letters from several persons, whose praise was honor, followed the appearance of the little story, newspapers copied it, and strangers as well as friends admired it.
for a small thing it was a great success, and jo was more astonished than when her novel was commended and condemned all at once.
""i do n't understand it.
what can there be in a simple little story like that to make people praise it so?"
she said, quite bewildered.
""there is truth in it, jo, that's the secret.
humor and pathos make it alive, and you have found your style at last.
you wrote with no thoughts of fame and money, and put your heart into it, my daughter.
you have had the bitter, now comes the sweet.
do your best, and grow as happy as we are in your success."
""if there is anything good or true in what i write, it is n't mine.
i owe it all to you and mother and beth," said jo, more touched by her father's words than by any amount of praise from the world.
so taught by love and sorrow, jo wrote her little stories, and sent them away to make friends for themselves and her, finding it a very charitable world to such humble wanderers, for they were kindly welcomed, and sent home comfortable tokens to their mother, like dutiful children whom good fortune overtakes.
when amy and laurie wrote of their engagement, mrs. march feared that jo would find it difficult to rejoice over it, but her fears were soon set at rest, for though jo looked grave at first, she took it very quietly, and was full of hopes and plans for "the children" before she read the letter twice.
it was a sort of written duet, wherein each glorified the other in loverlike fashion, very pleasant to read and satisfactory to think of, for no one had any objection to make.
""you like it, mother?"
said jo, as they laid down the closely written sheets and looked at one another.
""yes, i hoped it would be so, ever since amy wrote that she had refused fred.
i felt sure then that something better than what you call the "mercenary spirit" had come over her, and a hint here and there in her letters made me suspect that love and laurie would win the day."
""how sharp you are, marmee, and how silent!
you never said a word to me."
""mothers have need of sharp eyes and discreet tongues when they have girls to manage.
i was half afraid to put the idea into your head, lest you should write and congratulate them before the thing was settled."
""i'm not the scatterbrain i was.
you may trust me.
i'm sober and sensible enough for anyone's confidante now."
""so you are, my dear, and i should have made you mine, only i fancied it might pain you to learn that your teddy loved someone else."
""now, mother, did you really think i could be so silly and selfish, after i'd refused his love, when it was freshest, if not best?"
""i knew you were sincere then, jo, but lately i have thought that if he came back, and asked again, you might perhaps, feel like giving another answer.
forgive me, dear, i ca n't help seeing that you are very lonely, and sometimes there is a hungry look in your eyes that goes to my heart.
so i fancied that your boy might fill the empty place if he tried now."
""no, mother, it is better as it is, and i'm glad amy has learned to love him.
but you are right in one thing.
i am lonely, and perhaps if teddy had tried again, i might have said "yes", not because i love him any more, but because i care more to be loved than when he went away."
""i'm glad of that, jo, for it shows that you are getting on.
there are plenty to love you, so try to be satisfied with father and mother, sisters and brothers, friends and babies, till the best lover of all comes to give you your reward."
""mothers are the best lovers in the world, but i do n't mind whispering to marmee that i'd like to try all kinds.
it's very curious, but the more i try to satisfy myself with all sorts of natural affections, the more i seem to want.
i'd no idea hearts could take in so many.
mine is so elastic, it never seems full now, and i used to be quite contented with my family.
i do n't understand it."
""i do," and mrs. march smiled her wise smile, as jo turned back the leaves to read what amy said of laurie.
""it is so beautiful to be loved as laurie loves me.
he is n't sentimental, does n't say much about it, but i see and feel it in all he says and does, and it makes me so happy and so humble that i do n't seem to be the same girl i was.
i never knew how good and generous and tender he was till now, for he lets me read his heart, and i find it full of noble impulses and hopes and purposes, and am so proud to know it's mine.
he says he feels as if he "could make a prosperous voyage now with me aboard as mate, and lots of love for ballast".
i pray he may, and try to be all he believes me, for i love my gallant captain with all my heart and soul and might, and never will desert him, while god lets us be together.
oh, mother, i never knew how much like heaven this world could be, when two people love and live for one another!"
""and that's our cool, reserved, and worldly amy!
truly, love does work miracles.
how very, very happy they must be!"
and jo laid the rustling sheets together with a careful hand, as one might shut the covers of a lovely romance, which holds the reader fast till the end comes, and he finds himself alone in the workaday world again.
by-and-by jo roamed away upstairs, for it was rainy, and she could not walk.
a restless spirit possessed her, and the old feeling came again, not bitter as it once was, but a sorrowfully patient wonder why one sister should have all she asked, the other nothing.
it was not true, she knew that and tried to put it away, but the natural craving for affection was strong, and amy's happiness woke the hungry longing for someone to "love with heart and soul, and cling to while god let them be together".
up in the garret, where jo's unquiet wanderings ended stood four little wooden chests in a row, each marked with its owners name, and each filled with relics of the childhood and girlhood ended now for all.
jo glanced into them, and when she came to her own, leaned her chin on the edge, and stared absently at the chaotic collection, till a bundle of old exercise books caught her eye.
she drew them out, turned them over, and relived that pleasant winter at kind mrs. kirke's.
she had smiled at first, then she looked thoughtful, next sad, and when she came to a little message written in the professor's hand, her lips began to tremble, the books slid out of her lap, and she sat looking at the friendly words, as they took a new meaning, and touched a tender spot in her heart.
""wait for me, my friend.
i may be a little late, but i shall surely come."
""oh, if he only would!
so kind, so good, so patient with me always, my dear old fritz.
i did n't value him half enough when i had him, but now how i should love to see him, for everyone seems going away from me, and i'm all alone."
and holding the little paper fast, as if it were a promise yet to be fulfilled, jo laid her head down on a comfortable rag bag, and cried, as if in opposition to the rain pattering on the roof.
was it all self-pity, loneliness, or low spirits?
or was it the waking up of a sentiment which had bided its time as patiently as its inspirer?
who shall say?
chapter forty-three surprises jo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at the fire, and thinking.
it was her favorite way of spending the hour of dusk.
no one disturbed her, and she used to lie there on beth's little red pillow, planning stories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tender thoughts of the sister who never seemed far away.
her face looked tired, grave, and rather sad, for tomorrow was her birthday, and she was thinking how fast the years went by, how old she was getting, and how little she seemed to have accomplished.
almost twenty-five, and nothing to show for it.
jo was mistaken in that.
there was a good deal to show, and by-and-by she saw, and was grateful for it.
""an old maid, that's what i'm to be.
a literary spinster, with a pen for a spouse, a family of stories for children, and twenty years hence a morsel of fame, perhaps, when, like poor johnson, i'm old and ca n't enjoy it, solitary, and ca n't share it, independent, and do n't need it.
well, i need n't be a sour saint nor a selfish sinner, and, i dare say, old maids are very comfortable when they get used to it, but..." and there jo sighed, as if the prospect was not inviting.
it seldom is, at first, and thirty seems the end of all things to five-and-twenty.
but it's not as bad as it looks, and one can get on quite happily if one has something in one's self to fall back upon.
at twenty-five, girls begin to talk about being old maids, but secretly resolve that they never will be.
at thirty they say nothing about it, but quietly accept the fact, and if sensible, console themselves by remembering that they have twenty more useful, happy years, in which they may be learning to grow old gracefully.
do n't laugh at the spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic romances are hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under the sober gowns, and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself, make the faded faces beautiful in god's sight.
even the sad, sour sisters should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed the sweetest part of life, if for no other reason.
and looking at them with compassion, not contempt, girls in their bloom should remember that they too may miss the blossom time.
that rosy cheeks do n't last forever, that silver threads will come in the bonnie brown hair, and that, by-and-by, kindness and respect will be as sweet as love and admiration now.
gentlemen, which means boys, be courteous to the old maids, no matter how poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry worth having is that which is the readiest to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble, and serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color.
just recollect the good aunts who have not only lectured and fussed, but nursed and petted, too often without thanks, the scrapes they have helped you out of, the tips they have given you from their small store, the stitches the patient old fingers have set for you, the steps the willing old feet have taken, and gratefully pay the dear old ladies the little attentions that women love to receive as long as they live.
the bright-eyed girls are quick to see such traits, and will like you all the better for them, and if death, almost the only power that can part mother and son, should rob you of yours, you will be sure to find a tender welcome and maternal cherishing from some aunt priscilla, who has kept the warmest corner of her lonely old heart for "the best nevvy in the world".
jo must have fallen asleep -lrb- as i dare say my reader has during this little homily -rrb-, for suddenly laurie's ghost seemed to stand before her, a substantial, lifelike ghost, leaning over her with the very look he used to wear when he felt a good deal and did n't like to show it.
but, like jenny in the ballad... "she could not think it he," and lay staring up at him in startled silence, till he stooped and kissed her.
then she knew him, and flew up, crying joyfully... "oh my teddy!
oh my teddy!"
""dear jo, you are glad to see me, then?"
""glad!
my blessed boy, words ca n't express my gladness.
where's amy?"
""your mother has got her down at meg's.
we stopped there by the way, and there was no getting my wife out of their clutches."
""your what?"
cried jo, for laurie uttered those two words with an unconscious pride and satisfaction which betrayed him.
""oh, the dickens!
now i've done it," and he looked so guilty that jo was down on him like a flash.
""you've gone and got married!"
""yes, please, but i never will again," and he went down upon his knees, with a penitent clasping of hands, and a face full of mischief, mirth, and triumph.
""actually married?"
""very much so, thank you."
""mercy on us.
what dreadful thing will you do next?"
and jo fell into her seat with a gasp.
""a characteristic, but not exactly complimentary, congratulation," returned laurie, still in an abject attitude, but beaming with satisfaction.
""what can you expect, when you take one's breath away, creeping in like a burglar, and letting cats out of bags like that?
get up, you ridiculous boy, and tell me all about it."
""not a word, unless you let me come in my old place, and promise not to barricade."
jo laughed at that as she had not done for many a long day, and patted the sofa invitingly, as she said in a cordial tone, "the old pillow is up garret, and we do n't need it now.
so, come and "fess, teddy."
""how good it sounds to hear you say "teddy"!
no one ever calls me that but you," and laurie sat down with an air of great content.
""what does amy call you?"
""my lord."
""that's like her.
well, you look it," and jo's eye plainly betrayed that she found her boy comelier than ever.
the pillow was gone, but there was a barricade, nevertheless, a natural one, raised by time, absence, and change of heart.
both felt it, and for a minute looked at one another as if that invisible barrier cast a little shadow over them.
it was gone directly however, for laurie said, with a vain attempt at dignity... "do n't i look like a married man and the head of a family?"
""not a bit, and you never will.
you've grown bigger and bonnier, but you are the same scapegrace as ever."
""now really, jo, you ought to treat me with more respect," began laurie, who enjoyed it all immensely.
""how can i, when the mere idea of you, married and settled, is so irresistibly funny that i ca n't keep sober!"
answered jo, smiling all over her face, so infectiously that they had another laugh, and then settled down for a good talk, quite in the pleasant old fashion.
""it's no use your going out in the cold to get amy, for they are all coming up presently.
i could n't wait.
i wanted to be the one to tell you the grand surprise, and have "first skim" as we used to say when we squabbled about the cream."
""of course you did, and spoiled your story by beginning at the wrong end.
now, start right, and tell me how it all happened.
i'm pining to know."
""well, i did it to please amy," began laurie, with a twinkle that made jo exclaim... "fib number one.
amy did it to please you.
go on, and tell the truth, if you can, sir."
""now she's beginning to marm it.
is n't it jolly to hear her?"
said laurie to the fire, and the fire glowed and sparkled as if it quite agreed.
""it's all the same, you know, she and i being one.
we planned to come home with the carrols, a month or more ago, but they suddenly changed their minds, and decided to pass another winter in paris.
but grandpa wanted to come home.
he went to please me, and i could n't let him go alone, neither could i leave amy, and mrs. carrol had got english notions about chaperons and such nonsense, and would n't let amy come with us.
so i just settled the difficulty by saying, "let's be married, and then we can do as we like"."
""of course you did.
you always have things to suit you."
""not always," and something in laurie's voice made jo say hastily... "how did you ever get aunt to agree?"
""it was hard work, but between us, we talked her over, for we had heaps of good reasons on our side.
there was n't time to write and ask leave, but you all liked it, had consented to it by-and-by, and it was only "taking time by the fetlock", as my wife says."
""are n't we proud of those two words, and do n't we like to say them?"
interrupted jo, addressing the fire in her turn, and watching with delight the happy light it seemed to kindle in the eyes that had been so tragically gloomy when she saw them last.
""a trifle, perhaps, she's such a captivating little woman i ca n't help being proud of her.
well, then uncle and aunt were there to play propriety.
we were so absorbed in one another we were of no mortal use apart, and that charming arrangement would make everything easy all round, so we did it."
""when, where, how?"
asked jo, in a fever of feminine interest and curiosity, for she could not realize it a particle.
""six weeks ago, at the american consul's, in paris, a very quiet wedding of course, for even in our happiness we did n't forget dear little beth."
jo put her hand in his as he said that, and laurie gently smoothed the little red pillow, which he remembered well.
""why did n't you let us know afterward?"
asked jo, in a quieter tone, when they had sat quite still a minute.
""we wanted to surprise you.
we thought we were coming directly home, at first, but the dear old gentleman, as soon as we were married, found he could n't be ready under a month, at least, and sent us off to spend our honeymoon wherever we liked.
amy had once called valrosa a regular honeymoon home, so we went there, and were as happy as people are but once in their lives.
my faith!
was n't it love among the roses!"
laurie seemed to forget jo for a minute, and jo was glad of it, for the fact that he told her these things so freely and so naturally assured her that he had quite forgiven and forgotten.
she tried to draw away her hand, but as if he guessed the thought that prompted the half-involuntary impulse, laurie held it fast, and said, with a manly gravity she had never seen in him before... "jo, dear, i want to say one thing, and then we'll put it by forever.
as i told you in my letter when i wrote that amy had been so kind to me, i never shall stop loving you, but the love is altered, and i have learned to see that it is better as it is.
amy and you changed places in my heart, that's all.
i think it was meant to be so, and would have come about naturally, if i had waited, as you tried to make me, but i never could be patient, and so i got a heartache.
i was a boy then, headstrong and violent, and it took a hard lesson to show me my mistake.
for it was one, jo, as you said, and i found it out, after making a fool of myself.
upon my word, i was so tumbled up in my mind, at one time, that i did n't know which i loved best, you or amy, and tried to love you both alike.
but i could n't, and when i saw her in switzerland, everything seemed to clear up all at once.
you both got into your right places, and i felt sure that it was well off with the old love before it was on with the new, that i could honestly share my heart between sister jo and wife amy, and love them dearly.
will you believe it, and go back to the happy old times when we first knew one another?"
""i'll believe it, with all my heart, but, teddy, we never can be boy and girl again.
the happy old times ca n't come back, and we must n't expect it.
we are man and woman now, with sober work to do, for playtime is over, and we must give up frolicking.
i'm sure you feel this.
i see the change in you, and you'll find it in me.
i shall miss my boy, but i shall love the man as much, and admire him more, because he means to be what i hoped he would.
we ca n't be little playmates any longer, but we will be brother and sister, to love and help one another all our lives, wo n't we, laurie?"
he did not say a word, but took the hand she offered him, and laid his face down on it for a minute, feeling that out of the grave of a boyish passion, there had risen a beautiful, strong friendship to bless them both.
presently jo said cheerfully, for she did n't want the coming home to be a sad one, "i ca n't make it true that you children are really married and going to set up housekeeping.
why, it seems only yesterday that i was buttoning amy's pinafore, and pulling your hair when you teased.
mercy me, how time does fly!"
""as one of the children is older than yourself, you need n't talk so like a grandma.
i flatter myself i'm a "gentleman growed" as peggotty said of david, and when you see amy, you'll find her rather a precocious infant," said laurie, looking amused at her maternal air.
""you may be a little older in years, but i'm ever so much older in feeling, teddy.
women always are, and this last year has been such a hard one that i feel forty."
""poor jo!
we left you to bear it alone, while we went pleasuring.
you are older.
here's a line, and there's another.
unless you smile, your eyes look sad, and when i touched the cushion, just now, i found a tear on it.
you've had a great deal to bear, and had to bear it all alone.
what a selfish beast i've been!"
and laurie pulled his own hair, with a remorseful look.
but jo only turned over the traitorous pillow, and answered, in a tone which she tried to make more cheerful, "no, i had father and mother to help me, and the dear babies to comfort me, and the thought that you and amy were safe and happy, to make the troubles here easier to bear.
i am lonely, sometimes, but i dare say it's good for me, and..." "you never shall be again," broke in laurie, putting his arm about her, as if to fence out every human ill.
""amy and i ca n't get on without you, so you must come and teach "the children" to keep house, and go halves in everything, just as we used to do, and let us pet you, and all be blissfully happy and friendly together."
""if i should n't be in the way, it would be very pleasant.
i begin to feel quite young already, for somehow all my troubles seemed to fly away when you came.
you always were a comfort, teddy," and jo leaned her head on his shoulder, just as she did years ago, when beth lay ill and laurie told her to hold on to him.
he looked down at her, wondering if she remembered the time, but jo was smiling to herself, as if in truth her troubles had all vanished at his coming.
""you are the same jo still, dropping tears about one minute, and laughing the next.
you look a little wicked now.
what is it, grandma?"
""i was wondering how you and amy get on together."
""like angels!"
""yes, of course, but which rules?"
""i do n't mind telling you that she does now, at least i let her think so, it pleases her, you know.
by-and-by we shall take turns, for marriage, they say, halves one's rights and doubles one's duties."
""you'll go on as you begin, and amy will rule you all the days of your life."
""well, she does it so imperceptibly that i do n't think i shall mind much.
she is the sort of woman who knows how to rule well.
in fact, i rather like it, for she winds one round her finger as softly and prettily as a skein of silk, and makes you feel as if she was doing you a favor all the while."
""that ever i should live to see you a henpecked husband and enjoying it!"
cried jo, with uplifted hands.
it was good to see laurie square his shoulders, and smile with masculine scorn at that insinuation, as he replied, with his "high and mighty" air, "amy is too well-bred for that, and i am not the sort of man to submit to it.
my wife and i respect ourselves and one another too much ever to tyrannize or quarrel."
jo liked that, and thought the new dignity very becoming, but the boy seemed changing very fast into the man, and regret mingled with her pleasure.
""i am sure of that.
amy and you never did quarrel as we used to.
she is the sun and i the wind, in the fable, and the sun managed the man best, you remember."
""she can blow him up as well as shine on him," laughed laurie.
""such a lecture as i got at nice!
i give you my word it was a deal worse than any of your scoldings, a regular rouser.
i'll tell you all about it sometime, she never will, because after telling me that she despised and was ashamed of me, she lost her heart to the despicable party and married the good-for-nothing."
""what baseness!
well, if she abuses you, come to me, and i'll defend you."
""i look as if i needed it, do n't i?"
said laurie, getting up and striking an attitude which suddenly changed from the imposing to the rapturous, as amy's voice was heard calling, "where is she?
where's my dear old jo?"
in trooped the whole family, and everyone was hugged and kissed all over again, and after several vain attempts, the three wanderers were set down to be looked at and exulted over.
mr. laurence, hale and hearty as ever, was quite as much improved as the others by his foreign tour, for the crustiness seemed to be nearly gone, and the old-fashioned courtliness had received a polish which made it kindlier than ever.
it was good to see him beam at "my children", as he called the young pair.
it was better still to see amy pay him the daughterly duty and affection which completely won his old heart, and best of all, to watch laurie revolve about the two, as if never tired of enjoying the pretty picture they made.
the minute she put her eyes upon amy, meg became conscious that her own dress had n't a parisian air, that young mrs. moffat would be entirely eclipsed by young mrs. laurence, and that "her ladyship" was altogether a most elegant and graceful woman.
jo thought, as she watched the pair, "how well they look together!
i was right, and laurie has found the beautiful, accomplished girl who will become his home better than clumsy old jo, and be a pride, not a torment to him."
mrs. march and her husband smiled and nodded at each other with happy faces, for they saw that their youngest had done well, not only in worldly things, but the better wealth of love, confidence, and happiness.
for amy's face was full of the soft brightness which betokens a peaceful heart, her voice had a new tenderness in it, and the cool, prim carriage was changed to a gentle dignity, both womanly and winning.
no little affectations marred it, and the cordial sweetness of her manner was more charming than the new beauty or the old grace, for it stamped her at once with the unmistakable sign of the true gentlewoman she had hoped to become.
""love has done much for our little girl," said her mother softly.
""she has had a good example before her all her life, my dear," mr. march whispered back, with a loving look at the worn face and gray head beside him.
daisy found it impossible to keep her eyes off her "pitty aunty", but attached herself like a lap dog to the wonderful chatelaine full of delightful charms.
demi paused to consider the new relationship before he compromised himself by the rash acceptance of a bribe, which took the tempting form of a family of wooden bears from berne.
a flank movement produced an unconditional surrender, however, for laurie knew where to have him.
""young man, when i first had the honor of making your acquaintance you hit me in the face.
now i demand the satisfaction of a gentleman," and with that the tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the small nephew in a way that damaged his philosophical dignity as much as it delighted his boyish soul.
""blest if she ai n't in silk from head to foot; ai n't it a relishin" sight to see her settin" there as fine as a fiddle, and hear folks calling little amy "mis.
laurence!""
muttered old hannah, who could not resist frequent "peeks" through the slide as she set the table in a most decidedly promiscuous manner.
mercy on us, how they did talk!
first one, then the other, then all burst out together -- trying to tell the history of three years in half an hour.
it was fortunate that tea was at hand, to produce a lull and provide refreshment -- for they would have been hoarse and faint if they had gone on much longer.
such a happy procession as filed away into the little dining room!
mr. march proudly escorted mrs. laurence.
mrs. march as proudly leaned on the arm of "my son".
the old gentleman took jo, with a whispered, "you must be my girl now," and a glance at the empty corner by the fire, that made jo whisper back, "i'll try to fill her place, sir."
the twins pranced behind, feeling that the millennium was at hand, for everyone was so busy with the newcomers that they were left to revel at their own sweet will, and you may be sure they made the most of the opportunity.
did n't they steal sips of tea, stuff gingerbread ad libitum, get a hot biscuit apiece, and as a crowning trespass, did n't they each whisk a captivating little tart into their tiny pockets, there to stick and crumble treacherously, teaching them that both human nature and a pastry are frail?
burdened with the guilty consciousness of the sequestered tarts, and fearing that dodo's sharp eyes would pierce the thin disguise of cambric and merino which hid their booty, the little sinners attached themselves to "dranpa", who had n't his spectacles on.
amy, who was handed about like refreshments, returned to the parlor on father laurence's arm.
the others paired off as before, and this arrangement left jo companionless.
she did not mind it at the minute, for she lingered to answer hannah's eager inquiry.
""will miss amy ride in her coop -lrb- coupe -rrb-, and use all them lovely silver dishes that's stored away over yander?"
""should n't wonder if she drove six white horses, ate off gold plate, and wore diamonds and point lace every day.
teddy thinks nothing too good for her," returned jo with infinite satisfaction.
""no more there is!
will you have hash or fishballs for breakfast?"
asked hannah, who wisely mingled poetry and prose.
""i do n't care," and jo shut the door, feeling that food was an uncongenial topic just then.
she stood a minute looking at the party vanishing above, and as demi's short plaid legs toiled up the last stair, a sudden sense of loneliness came over her so strongly that she looked about her with dim eyes, as if to find something to lean upon, for even teddy had deserted her.
if she had known what birthday gift was coming every minute nearer and nearer, she would not have said to herself, "i'll weep a little weep when i go to bed.
it wo n't do to be dismal now."
then she drew her hand over her eyes, for one of her boyish habits was never to know where her handkerchief was, and had just managed to call up a smile when there came a knock at the porch door.
she opened with hospitable haste, and started as if another ghost had come to surprise her, for there stood a tall bearded gentleman, beaming on her from the darkness like a midnight sun.
""oh, mr. bhaer, i am so glad to see you!"
cried jo, with a clutch, as if she feared the night would swallow him up before she could get him in.
""and i to see miss marsch, but no, you haf a party," and the professor paused as the sound of voices and the tap of dancing feet came down to them.
""no, we have n't, only the family.
my sister and friends have just come home, and we are all very happy.
come in, and make one of us."
though a very social man, i think mr. bhaer would have gone decorously away, and come again another day, but how could he, when jo shut the door behind him, and bereft him of his hat?
perhaps her face had something to do with it, for she forgot to hide her joy at seeing him, and showed it with a frankness that proved irresistible to the solitary man, whose welcome far exceeded his boldest hopes.
""if i shall not be monsieur de trop, i will so gladly see them all.
you haf been ill, my friend?"
he put the question abruptly, for, as jo hung up his coat, the light fell on her face, and he saw a change in it.
""not ill, but tired and sorrowful.
we have had trouble since i saw you last."
""ah, yes, i know.
my heart was sore for you when i heard that," and he shook hands again, with such a sympathetic face that jo felt as if no comfort could equal the look of the kind eyes, the grasp of the big, warm hand.
""father, mother, this is my friend, professor bhaer," she said, with a face and tone of such irrepressible pride and pleasure that she might as well have blown a trumpet and opened the door with a flourish.
if the stranger had any doubts about his reception, they were set at rest in a minute by the cordial welcome he received.
everyone greeted him kindly, for jo's sake at first, but very soon they liked him for his own.
they could not help it, for he carried the talisman that opens all hearts, and these simple people warmed to him at once, feeling even the more friendly because he was poor.
for poverty enriches those who live above it, and is a sure passport to truly hospitable spirits.
mr. bhaer sat looking about him with the air of a traveler who knocks at a strange door, and when it opens, finds himself at home.
the children went to him like bees to a honeypot, and establishing themselves on each knee, proceeded to captivate him by rifling his pockets, pulling his beard, and investigating his watch, with juvenile audacity.
the women telegraphed their approval to one another, and mr. march, feeling that he had got a kindred spirit, opened his choicest stores for his guest's benefit, while silent john listened and enjoyed the talk, but said not a word, and mr. laurence found it impossible to go to sleep.
if jo had not been otherwise engaged, laurie's behavior would have amused her, for a faint twinge, not of jealousy, but something like suspicion, caused that gentleman to stand aloof at first, and observe the newcomer with brotherly circumspection.
but it did not last long.
he got interested in spite of himself, and before he knew it, was drawn into the circle.
for mr. bhaer talked well in this genial atmosphere, and did himself justice.
he seldom spoke to laurie, but he looked at him often, and a shadow would pass across his face, as if regretting his own lost youth, as he watched the young man in his prime.
then his eyes would turn to jo so wistfully that she would have surely answered the mute inquiry if she had seen it.
but jo had her own eyes to take care of, and feeling that they could not be trusted, she prudently kept them on the little sock she was knitting, like a model maiden aunt.
a stealthy glance now and then refreshed her like sips of fresh water after a dusty walk, for the sidelong peeps showed her several propitious omens.
mr. bhaer's face had lost the absent-minded expression, and looked all alive with interest in the present moment, actually young and handsome, she thought, forgetting to compare him with laurie, as she usually did strange men, to their great detriment.
then he seemed quite inspired, though the burial customs of the ancients, to which the conversation had strayed, might not be considered an exhilarating topic.
jo quite glowed with triumph when teddy got quenched in an argument, and thought to herself, as she watched her father's absorbed face, "how he would enjoy having such a man as my professor to talk with every day!"
lastly, mr. bhaer was dressed in a new suit of black, which made him look more like a gentleman than ever.
his bushy hair had been cut and smoothly brushed, but did n't stay in order long, for in exciting moments, he rumpled it up in the droll way he used to do, and jo liked it rampantly erect better than flat, because she thought it gave his fine forehead a jove-like aspect.
poor jo, how she did glorify that plain man, as she sat knitting away so quietly, yet letting nothing escape her, not even the fact that mr. bhaer actually had gold sleeve-buttons in his immaculate wristbands.
""dear old fellow!
he could n't have got himself up with more care if he'd been going a-wooing," said jo to herself, and then a sudden thought born of the words made her blush so dreadfully that she had to drop her ball, and go down after it to hide her face.
the maneuver did not succeed as well as she expected, however, for though just in the act of setting fire to a funeral pyre, the professor dropped his torch, metaphorically speaking, and made a dive after the little blue ball.
of course they bumped their heads smartly together, saw stars, and both came up flushed and laughing, without the ball, to resume their seats, wishing they had not left them.
nobody knew where the evening went to, for hannah skillfully abstracted the babies at an early hour, nodding like two rosy poppies, and mr. laurence went home to rest.
the others sat round the fire, talking away, utterly regardless of the lapse of time, till meg, whose maternal mind was impressed with a firm conviction that daisy had tumbled out of bed, and demi set his nightgown afire studying the structure of matches, made a move to go.
""we must have our sing, in the good old way, for we are all together again once more," said jo, feeling that a good shout would be a safe and pleasant vent for the jubilant emotions of her soul.
they were not all there.
but no one found the words thougtless or untrue, for beth still seemed among them, a peaceful presence, invisible, but dearer than ever, since death could not break the household league that love made disoluble.
the little chair stood in its old place.
the tidy basket, with the bit of work she left unfinished when the needle grew "so heavy", was still on its accustomed shelf.
the beloved instrument, seldom touched now had not been moved, and above it beth's face, serene and smiling, as in the early days, looked down upon them, seeming to say, "be happy.
i am here."
""play something, amy.
let them hear how much you have improved," said laurie, with pardonable pride in his promising pupil.
but amy whispered, with full eyes, as she twirled the faded stool, "not tonight, dear.
i ca n't show off tonight."
but she did show something better than brilliancy or skill, for she sang beth's songs with a tender music in her voice which the best master could not have taught, and touched the listener's hearts with a sweeter power than any other inspiration could have given her.
the room was very still, when the clear voice failed suddenly at the last line of beth's favorite hymn.
it was hard to say... earth hath no sorrow that heaven can not heal; and amy leaned against her husband, who stood behind her, feeling that her welcome home was not quite perfect without beth's kiss.
""now, we must finish with mignon's song, for mr. bhaer sings that," said jo, before the pause grew painful.
and mr. bhaer cleared his throat with a gratified "hem!"
as he stepped into the corner where jo stood, saying... "you will sing with me?
we go excellently well together."
a pleasing fiction, by the way, for jo had no more idea of music than a grasshopper.
but she would have consented if he had proposed to sing a whole opera, and warbled away, blissfully regardless of time and tune.
it did n't much matter, for mr. bhaer sang like a true german, heartily and well, and jo soon subsided into a subdued hum, that she might listen to the mellow voice that seemed to sing for her alone.
know "st thou the land where the citron blooms, used to be the professor's favorite line, for "das land" meant germany to him, but now he seemed to dwell, with peculiar warmth and melody, upon the words... there, oh there, might i with thee, o, my beloved, go and one listener was so thrilled by the tender invitation that she longed to say she did know the land, and would joyfully depart thither whenever he liked.
the song was considered a great success, and the singer retired covered with laurels.
but a few minutes afterward, he forgot his manners entirely, and stared at amy putting on her bonnet, for she had been introduced simply as "my sister", and no one had called her by her new name since he came.
he forgot himself still further when laurie said, in his most gracious manner, at parting... "my wife and i are very glad to meet you, sir.
please remember that there is always a welcome waiting for you over the way."
then the professor thanked him so heartily, and looked so suddenly illuminated with satisfaction, that laurie thought him the most delightfully demonstrative old fellow he ever met.
""i too shall go, but i shall gladly come again, if you will gif me leave, dear madame, for a little business in the city will keep me here some days."
he spoke to mrs. march, but he looked at jo, and the mother's voice gave as cordial an assent as did the daughter's eyes, for mrs. march was not so blind to her children's interest as mrs. moffat supposed.
""i suspect that is a wise man," remarked mr. march, with placid satisfaction, from the hearthrug, after the last guest had gone.
""i know he is a good one," added mrs. march, with decided approval, as she wound up the clock.
""i thought you'd like him," was all jo said, as she slipped away to her bed.
she wondered what the business was that brought mr. bhaer to the city, and finally decided that he had been appointed to some great honor, somewhere, but had been too modest to mention the fact.
if she had seen his face when, safe in his own room, he looked at the picture of a severe and rigid young lady, with a good deal of hair, who appeared to be gazing darkly into futurity, it might have thrown some light upon the subject, especially when he turned off the gas, and kissed the picture in the dark.
chapter forty-four my lord and lady "please, madam mother, could you lend me my wife for half an hour?
the luggage has come, and i've been making hay of amy's paris finery, trying to find some things i want," said laurie, coming in the next day to find mrs. laurence sitting in her mother's lap, as if being made "the baby" again.
""certainly.
go, dear, i forgot that you have any home but this," and mrs. march pressed the white hand that wore the wedding ring, as if asking pardon for her maternal covetousness.
""i should n't have come over if i could have helped it, but i ca n't get on without my little woman any more than a..
."
""weathercock can without the wind," suggested jo, as he paused for a simile.
jo had grown quite her own saucy self again since teddy came home.
""exactly, for amy keeps me pointing due west most of the time, with only an occasional whiffle round to the south, and i have n't had an easterly spell since i was married.
do n't know anything about the north, but am altogether salubrious and balmy, hey, my lady?"
""lovely weather so far.
i do n't know how long it will last, but i'm not afraid of storms, for i'm learning how to sail my ship.
come home, dear, and i'll find your bootjack.
i suppose that's what you are rummaging after among my things.
men are so helpless, mother," said amy, with a matronly air, which delighted her husband.
""what are you going to do with yourselves after you get settled?"
asked jo, buttoning amy's cloak as she used to button her pinafores.
""we have our plans.
we do n't mean to say much about them yet, because we are such very new brooms, but we do n't intend to be idle.
i'm going into business with a devotion that shall delight grandfather, and prove to him that i'm not spoiled.
i need something of the sort to keep me steady.
i'm tired of dawdling, and mean to work like a man."
""and amy, what is she going to do?"
asked mrs. march, well pleased at laurie's decision and the energy with which he spoke.
""after doing the civil all round, and airing our best bonnet, we shall astonish you by the elegant hospitalities of our mansion, the brilliant society we shall draw about us, and the beneficial influence we shall exert over the world at large.
that's about it, is n't it, madame recamier?"
asked laurie with a quizzical look at amy.
""time will show.
come away, impertinence, and do n't shock my family by calling me names before their faces," answered amy, resolving that there should be a home with a good wife in it before she set up a salon as a queen of society.
""how happy those children seem together!"
observed mr. march, finding it difficult to become absorbed in his aristotle after the young couple had gone.
""yes, and i think it will last," added mrs. march, with the restful expression of a pilot who has brought a ship safely into port.
""i know it will.
happy amy!"
and jo sighed, then smiled brightly as professor bhaer opened the gate with an impatient push.
later in the evening, when his mind had been set at rest about the bootjack, laurie said suddenly to his wife, "mrs. laurence."
""my lord!"
""that man intends to marry our jo!"
""i hope so, do n't you, dear?"
""well, my love, i consider him a trump, in the fullest sense of that expressive word, but i do wish he was a little younger and a good deal richer."
""now, laurie, do n't be too fastidious and worldly-minded.
if they love one another it does n't matter a particle how old they are nor how poor.
women never should marry for money..." amy caught herself up short as the words escaped her, and looked at her husband, who replied, with malicious gravity... "certainly not, though you do hear charming girls say that they intend to do it sometimes.
if my memory serves me, you once thought it your duty to make a rich match.
that accounts, perhaps, for your marrying a good-for-nothing like me."
""oh, my dearest boy, do n't, do n't say that!
i forgot you were rich when i said "yes".
i'd have married you if you had n't a penny, and i sometimes wish you were poor that i might show how much i love you."
and amy, who was very dignified in public and very fond in private, gave convincing proofs of the truth of her words.
""you do n't really think i am such a mercenary creature as i tried to be once, do you?
it would break my heart if you did n't believe that i'd gladly pull in the same boat with you, even if you had to get your living by rowing on the lake."
""am i an idiot and a brute?
how could i think so, when you refused a richer man for me, and wo n't let me give you half i want to now, when i have the right?
girls do it every day, poor things, and are taught to think it is their only salvation, but you had better lessons, and though i trembled for you at one time, i was not disappointed, for the daughter was true to the mother's teaching.
i told mamma so yesterday, and she looked as glad and grateful as if i'd given her a check for a million, to be spent in charity.
you are not listening to my moral remarks, mrs. laurence," and laurie paused, for amy's eyes had an absent look, though fixed upon his face.
""yes, i am, and admiring the mole in your chin at the same time.
i do n't wish to make you vain, but i must confess that i'm prouder of my handsome husband than of all his money.
do n't laugh, but your nose is such a comfort to me," and amy softly caressed the well-cut feature with artistic satisfaction.
laurie had received many compliments in his life, but never one that suited him better, as he plainly showed though he did laugh at his wife's peculiar taste, while she said slowly, "may i ask you a question, dear?"
""of course, you may."
""shall you care if jo does marry mr. bhaer?"
""oh, that's the trouble is it?
i thought there was something in the dimple that did n't quite suit you.
not being a dog in the manger, but the happiest fellow alive, i assure you i can dance at jo's wedding with a heart as light as my heels.
do you doubt it, my darling?"
amy looked up at him, and was satisfied.
her little jealous fear vanished forever, and she thanked him, with a face full of love and confidence.
""i wish we could do something for that capital old professor.
could n't we invent a rich relation, who shall obligingly die out there in germany, and leave him a tidy little fortune?"
said laurie, when they began to pace up and down the long drawing room, arm in arm, as they were fond of doing, in memory of the chateau garden.
""jo would find us out, and spoil it all.
she is very proud of him, just as he is, and said yesterday that she thought poverty was a beautiful thing."
""bless her dear heart!
she wo n't think so when she has a literary husband, and a dozen little professors and professorins to support.
we wo n't interfere now, but watch our chance, and do them a good turn in spite of themselves.
i owe jo for a part of my education, and she believes in people's paying their honest debts, so i'll get round her in that way."
""how delightful it is to be able to help others, is n't it?
that was always one of my dreams, to have the power of giving freely, and thanks to you, the dream has come true."
""ah, we'll do quantities of good, wo n't we?
there's one sort of poverty that i particularly like to help.
out-and-out beggars get taken care of, but poor gentle folks fare badly, because they wo n't ask, and people do n't dare to offer charity.
yet there are a thousand ways of helping them, if one only knows how to do it so delicately that it does not offend.
i must say, i like to serve a decayed gentleman better than a blarnerying beggar.
i suppose it's wrong, but i do, though it is harder."
""because it takes a gentleman to do it," added the other member of the domestic admiration society.
""thank you, i'm afraid i do n't deserve that pretty compliment.
but i was going to say that while i was dawdling about abroad, i saw a good many talented young fellows making all sorts of sacrifices, and enduring real hardships, that they might realize their dreams.
splendid fellows, some of them, working like heros, poor and friendless, but so full of courage, patience, and ambition that i was ashamed of myself, and longed to give them a right good lift.
those are people whom it's a satisfaction to help, for if they've got genius, it's an honor to be allowed to serve them, and not let it be lost or delayed for want of fuel to keep the pot boiling.
if they have n't, it's a pleasure to comfort the poor souls, and keep them from despair when they find it out."
""yes, indeed, and there's another class who ca n't ask, and who suffer in silence.
i know something of it, for i belonged to it before you made a princess of me, as the king does the beggarmaid in the old story.
ambitious girls have a hard time, laurie, and often have to see youth, health, and precious opportunities go by, just for want of a little help at the right minute.
people have been very kind to me, and whenever i see girls struggling along, as we used to do, i want to put out my hand and help them, as i was helped."
""and so you shall, like an angel as you are!"
cried laurie, resolving, with a glow of philanthropic zeal, to found and endow an institution for the express benefit of young women with artistic tendencies.
""rich people have no right to sit down and enjoy themselves, or let their money accumulate for others to waste.
it's not half so sensible to leave legacies when one dies as it is to use the money wisely while alive, and enjoy making one's fellow creatures happy with it.
we'll have a good time ourselves, and add an extra relish to our own pleasure by giving other people a generous taste.
will you be a little dorcas, going about emptying a big basket of comforts, and filling it up with good deeds?"
""with all my heart, if you will be a brave st. martin, stopping as you ride gallantly through the world to share your cloak with the beggar."
""it's a bargain, and we shall get the best of it!"
so the young pair shook hands upon it, and then paced happily on again, feeling that their pleasant home was more homelike because they hoped to brighten other homes, believing that their own feet would walk more uprightly along the flowery path before them, if they smoothed rough ways for other feet, and feeling that their hearts were more closely knit together by a love which could tenderly remember those less blest than they.
chapter forty-five daisy and demi i can not feel that i have done my duty as humble historian of the march family, without devoting at least one chapter to the two most precious and important members of it.
daisy and demi had now arrived at years of discretion, for in this fast age babies of three or four assert their rights, and get them, too, which is more than many of their elders do.
if there ever were a pair of twins in danger of being utterly spoiled by adoration, it was these prattling brookes.
of course they were the most remarkable children ever born, as will be shown when i mention that they walked at eight months, talked fluently at twelve months, and at two years they took their places at table, and behaved with a propriety which charmed all beholders.
at three, daisy demanded a "needler", and actually made a bag with four stitches in it.
she likewise set up housekeeping in the sideboard, and managed a microscopic cooking stove with a skill that brought tears of pride to hannah's eyes, while demi learned his letters with his grandfather, who invented a new mode of teaching the alphabet by forming letters with his arms and legs, thus uniting gymnastics for head and heels.
the boy early developed a mechanical genius which delighted his father and distracted his mother, for he tried to imitate every machine he saw, and kept the nursery in a chaotic condition, with his "sewinsheen", a mysterious structure of string, chairs, clothespins, and spools, for wheels to go "wound and wound".
also a basket hung over the back of a chair, in which he vainly tried to hoist his too confiding sister, who, with feminine devotion, allowed her little head to be bumped till rescued, when the young inventor indignantly remarked, "why, marmar, dat's my lellywaiter, and me's trying to pull her up."
though utterly unlike in character, the twins got on remarkably well together, and seldom quarreled more than thrice a day.
of course, demi tyrannized over daisy, and gallantly defended her from every other aggressor, while daisy made a galley slave of herself, and adored her brother as the one perfect being in the world.
a rosy, chubby, sunshiny little soul was daisy, who found her way to everybody's heart, and nestled there.
one of the captivating children, who seem made to be kissed and cuddled, adorned and adored like little goddesses, and produced for general approval on all festive occasions.
her small virtues were so sweet that she would have been quite angelic if a few small naughtinesses had not kept her delightfully human.
it was all fair weather in her world, and every morning she scrambled up to the window in her little nightgown to look out, and say, no matter whether it rained or shone, "oh, pitty day, oh, pitty day!"
everyone was a friend, and she offered kisses to a stranger so confidingly that the most inveterate bachelor relented, and baby-lovers became faithful worshipers.
""me loves evvybody," she once said, opening her arms, with her spoon in one hand, and her mug in the other, as if eager to embrace and nourish the whole world.
as she grew, her mother began to feel that the dovecote would be blessed by the presence of an inmate as serene and loving as that which had helped to make the old house home, and to pray that she might be spared a loss like that which had lately taught them how long they had entertained an angel unawares.
her grandfather often called her "beth", and her grandmother watched over her with untiring devotion, as if trying to atone for some past mistake, which no eye but her own could see.
demi, like a true yankee, was of an inquiring turn, wanting to know everything, and often getting much disturbed because he could not get satisfactory answers to his perpetual "what for?"
he also possessed a philosophic bent, to the great delight of his grandfather, who used to hold socratic conversations with him, in which the precocious pupil occasionally posed his teacher, to the undisguised satisfaction of the womenfolk.
""what makes my legs go, dranpa?"
asked the young philosopher, surveying those active portions of his frame with a meditative air, while resting after a go-to-bed frolic one night.
""it's your little mind, demi," replied the sage, stroking the yellow head respectfully.
""what is a little mine?"
""it is something which makes your body move, as the spring made the wheels go in my watch when i showed it to you."
""open me.
i want to see it go wound."
""i ca n't do that any more than you could open the watch.
god winds you up, and you go till he stops you."
""does i?"
and demi's brown eyes grew big and bright as he took in the new thought.
""is i wounded up like the watch?"
""yes, but i ca n't show you how, for it is done when we do n't see."
demi felt his back, as if expecting to find it like that of the watch, and then gravely remarked, "i dess dod does it when i's asleep."
a careful explanation followed, to which he listened so attentively that his anxious grandmother said, "my dear, do you think it wise to talk about such things to that baby?
he's getting great bumps over his eyes, and learning to ask the most unanswerable questions."
""if he is old enough to ask the question he is old enough to receive true answers.
i am not putting the thoughts into his head, but helping him unfold those already there.
these children are wiser than we are, and i have no doubt the boy understands every word i have said to him.
now, demi, tell me where you keep your mind."
if the boy had replied like alcibiades, "by the gods, socrates, i can not tell," his grandfather would not have been surprised, but when, after standing a moment on one leg, like a meditative young stork, he answered, in a tone of calm conviction, "in my little belly," the old gentleman could only join in grandma's laugh, and dismiss the class in metaphysics.
there might have been cause for maternal anxiety, if demi had not given convincing proofs that he was a true boy, as well as a budding philosopher, for often, after a discussion which caused hannah to prophesy, with ominous nods, "that child ai n't long for this world," he would turn about and set her fears at rest by some of the pranks with which dear, dirty, naughty little rascals distract and delight their parent's souls.
meg made many moral rules, and tried to keep them, but what mother was ever proof against the winning wiles, the ingenious evasions, or the tranquil audacity of the miniature men and women who so early show themselves accomplished artful dodgers?
""no more raisins, demi.
they'll make you sick," says mamma to the young person who offers his services in the kitchen with unfailing regularity on plum-pudding day.
""me likes to be sick."
""i do n't want to have you, so run away and help daisy make patty cakes."
he reluctantly departs, but his wrongs weigh upon his spirit, and by-and-by when an opportunity comes to redress them, he outwits mamma by a shrewd bargain.
""now you have been good children, and i'll play anything you like," says meg, as she leads her assistant cooks upstairs, when the pudding is safely bouncing in the pot.
""truly, marmar?"
asks demi, with a brilliant idea in his well-powdered head.
""yes, truly.
anything you say," replies the shortsighted parent, preparing herself to sing, "the three little kittens" half a dozen times over, or to take her family to "buy a penny bun," regardless of wind or limb.
but demi corners her by the cool reply... "then we'll go and eat up all the raisins."
aunt dodo was chief playmate and confidante of both children, and the trio turned the little house topsy-turvy.
aunt amy was as yet only a name to them, aunt beth soon faded into a pleasantly vague memory, but aunt dodo was a living reality, and they made the most of her, for which compliment she was deeply grateful.
but when mr. bhaer came, jo neglected her playfellows, and dismay and desolation fell upon their little souls.
daisy, who was fond of going about peddling kisses, lost her best customer and became bankrupt.
demi, with infantile penetration, soon discovered that dodo like to play with "the bear-man" better than she did him, but though hurt, he concealed his anguish, for he had n't the heart to insult a rival who kept a mine of chocolate drops in his waistcoat pocket, and a watch that could be taken out of its case and freely shaken by ardent admirers.
some persons might have considered these pleasing liberties as bribes, but demi did n't see it in that light, and continued to patronize the "the bear-man" with pensive affability, while daisy bestowed her small affections upon him at the third call, and considered his shoulder her throne, his arm her refuge, his gifts treasures surpassing worth.
gentlemen are sometimes seized with sudden fits of admiration for the young relatives of ladies whom they honor with their regard, but this counterfeit philoprogenitiveness sits uneasily upon them, and does not deceive anybody a particle.
mr. bhaer's devotion was sincere, however likewise effective -- for honesty is the best policy in love as in law.
he was one of the men who are at home with children, and looked particularly well when little faces made a pleasant contrast with his manly one.
his business, whatever it was, detained him from day to day, but evening seldom failed to bring him out to see -- well, he always asked for mr. march, so i suppose he was the attraction.
the excellent papa labored under the delusion that he was, and reveled in long discussions with the kindred spirit, till a chance remark of his more observing grandson suddenly enlightened him.
mr. bhaer came in one evening to pause on the threshold of the study, astonished by the spectacle that met his eye.
prone upon the floor lay mr. march, with his respectable legs in the air, and beside him, likewise prone, was demi, trying to imitate the attitude with his own short, scarlet-stockinged legs, both grovelers so seriously absorbed that they were unconscious of spectators, till mr. bhaer laughed his sonorous laugh, and jo cried out, with a scandalized face... "father, father, here's the professor!"
down went the black legs and up came the gray head, as the preceptor said, with undisturbed dignity, "good evening, mr. bhaer.
excuse me for a moment.
we are just finishing our lesson.
now, demi, make the letter and tell its name."
""i knows him!"
and, after a few convulsive efforts, the red legs took the shape of a pair of compasses, and the intelligent pupil triumphantly shouted, "it's a we, dranpa, it's a we!"
""he's a born weller," laughed jo, as her parent gathered himself up, and her nephew tried to stand on his head, as the only mode of expressing his satisfaction that school was over.
""what have you been at today, bubchen?"
asked mr. bhaer, picking up the gymnast.
""me went to see little mary."
""and what did you there?"
""i kissed her," began demi, with artless frankness.
""prut!
thou beginnest early.
what did the little mary say to that?"
asked mr. bhaer, continuing to confess the young sinner, who stood upon the knee, exploring the waistcoat pocket.
""oh, she liked it, and she kissed me, and i liked it.
do n't little boys like little girls?"
asked demi, with his mouth full, and an air of bland satisfaction.
""you precocious chick!
who put that into your head?"
said jo, enjoying the innocent revelation as much as the professor."
't is n't in mine head, it's in mine mouf," answered literal demi, putting out his tongue, with a chocolate drop on it, thinking she alluded to confectionery, not ideas.
""thou shouldst save some for the little friend.
sweets to the sweet, mannling," and mr. bhaer offered jo some, with a look that made her wonder if chocolate was not the nectar drunk by the gods.
demi also saw the smile, was impressed by it, and artlessy inquired.
.
.
""do great boys like great girls, to, "fessor?"
like young washington, mr. bhaer "could n't tell a lie", so he gave the somewhat vague reply that he believed they did sometimes, in a tone that made mr. march put down his clothesbrush, glance at jo's retiring face, and then sink into his chair, looking as if the "precocious chick" had put an idea into his head that was both sweet and sour.
why dodo, when she caught him in the china closet half an hour afterward, nearly squeezed the breath out of his little body with a tender embrace, instead of shaking him for being there, and why she followed up this novel performance by the unexpected gift of a big slice of bread and jelly, remained one of the problems over which demi puzzled his small wits, and was forced to leave unsolved forever.
chapter forty-six under the umbrella while laurie and amy were taking conjugal strolls over velvet carpets, as they set their house in order, and planned a blissful future, mr. bhaer and jo were enjoying promenades of a different sort, along muddy roads and sodden fields.
""i always do take a walk toward evening, and i do n't know why i should give it up, just because i happen to meet the professor on his way out," said jo to herself, after two or three encounters, for though there were two paths to meg's whichever one she took she was sure to meet him, either going or returning.
he was always walking rapidly, and never seemed to see her until quite close, when he would look as if his short-sighted eyes had failed to recognize the approaching lady till that moment.
then, if she was going to meg's he always had something for the babies.
if her face was turned homeward, he had merely strolled down to see the river, and was just returning, unless they were tired of his frequent calls.
under the circumstances, what could jo do but greet him civilly, and invite him in?
if she was tired of his visits, she concealed her weariness with perfect skill, and took care that there should be coffee for supper, "as friedrich -- i mean mr. bhaer -- does n't like tea."
by the second week, everyone knew perfectly well what was going on, yet everyone tried to look as if they were stone-blind to the changes in jo's face.
they never asked why she sang about her work, did up her hair three times a day, and got so blooming with her evening exercise.
and no one seemed to have the slightest suspicion that professor bhaer, while talking philosophy with the father, was giving the daughter lessons in love.
jo could n't even lose her heart in a decorous manner, but sternly tried to quench her feelings, and failing to do so, led a somewhat agitated life.
she was mortally afraid of being laughed at for surrendering, after her many and vehement declarations of independence.
laurie was her especial dread, but thanks to the new manager, he behaved with praiseworthy propriety, never called mr. bhaer" a capital old fellow" in public, never alluded, in the remotest manner, to jo's improved appearance, or expressed the least surprise at seeing the professor's hat on the marches" table nearly every evening.
but he exulted in private and longed for the time to come when he could give jo a piece of plate, with a bear and a ragged staff on it as an appropriate coat of arms.
for a fortnight, the professor came and went with lover-like regularity.
then he stayed away for three whole days, and made no sign, a proceeding which caused everybody to look sober, and jo to become pensive, at first, and then -- alas for romance -- very cross.
""disgusted, i dare say, and gone home as suddenly as he came.
it's nothing to me, of course, but i should think he would have come and bid us goodbye like a gentleman," she said to herself, with a despairing look at the gate, as she put on her things for the customary walk one dull afternoon.
""you'd better take the little umbrella, dear.
it looks like rain," said her mother, observing that she had on her new bonnet, but not alluding to the fact.
""yes, marmee, do you want anything in town?
i've got to run in and get some paper," returned jo, pulling out the bow under her chin before the glass as an excuse for not looking at her mother.
""yes, i want some twilled silesia, a paper of number nine needles, and two yards of narrow lavender ribbon.
have you got your thick boots on, and something warm under your cloak?"
""i believe so," answered jo absently.
""if you happen to meet mr. bhaer, bring him home to tea.
i quite long to see the dear man," added mrs. march.
jo heard that, but made no answer, except to kiss her mother, and walk rapidly away, thinking with a glow of gratitude, in spite of her heartache, "how good she is to me!
what do girls do who have n't any mothers to help them through their troubles?"
the dry-goods stores were not down among the counting-houses, banks, and wholesale warerooms, where gentlemen most do congregate, but jo found herself in that part of the city before she did a single errand, loitering along as if waiting for someone, examining engineering instruments in one window and samples of wool in another, with most unfeminine interest, tumbling over barrels, being half-smothered by descending bales, and hustled unceremoniously by busy men who looked as if they wondered "how the deuce she got there".
a drop of rain on her cheek recalled her thoughts from baffled hopes to ruined ribbons.
for the drops continued to fall, and being a woman as well as a lover, she felt that, though it was too late to save her heart, she might her bonnet.
now she remembered the little umbrella, which she had forgotten to take in her hurry to be off, but regret was unavailing, and nothing could be done but borrow one or submit to a drenching.
she looked up at the lowering sky, down at the crimson bow already flecked with black, forward along the muddy street, then one long, lingering look behind, at a certain grimy warehouse, with "hoffmann, swartz, & co." over the door, and said to herself, with a sternly reproachful air... "it serves me right!
what business had i to put on all my best things and come philandering down here, hoping to see the professor?
jo, i'm ashamed of you!
no, you shall not go there to borrow an umbrella, or find out where he is, from his friends.
you shall trudge away, and do your errands in the rain, and if you catch your death and ruin your bonnet, it's no more than you deserve.
now then!"
with that she rushed across the street so impetuously that she narrowly escaped annihilation from a passing truck, and precipitated herself into the arms of a stately old gentleman, who said, "i beg pardon, ma'am," and looked mortally offended.
somewhat daunted, jo righted herself, spread her handkerchief over the devoted ribbons, and putting temptation behind her, hurried on, with increasing dampness about the ankles, and much clashing of umbrellas overhead.
the fact that a somewhat dilapidated blue one remained stationary above the unprotected bonnet attracted her attention, and looking up, she saw mr. bhaer looking down.
""i feel to know the strong-minded lady who goes so bravely under many horse noses, and so fast through much mud.
what do you down here, my friend?"
""i'm shopping."
mr. bhaer smiled, as he glanced from the pickle factory on one side to the wholesale hide and leather concern on the other, but he only said politely, "you haf no umbrella.
may i go also, and take for you the bundles?"
""yes, thank you."
jo's cheeks were as red as her ribbon, and she wondered what he thought of her, but she did n't care, for in a minute she found herself walking away arm in arm with her professor, feeling as if the sun had suddenly burst out with uncommon brilliancy, that the world was all right again, and that one thoroughly happy woman was paddling through the wet that day.
""we thought you had gone," said jo hastily, for she knew he was looking at her.
her bonnet was n't big enough to hide her face, and she feared he might think the joy it betrayed unmaidenly.
""did you believe that i should go with no farewell to those who haf been so heavenly kind to me?"
he asked so reproachfully that she felt as if she had insulted him by the suggestion, and answered heartily... "no, i did n't.
i knew you were busy about your own affairs, but we rather missed you, father and mother especially."
""and you?"
""i'm always glad to see you, sir."
in her anxiety to keep her voice quite calm, jo made it rather cool, and the frosty little monosyllable at the end seemed to chill the professor, for his smile vanished, as he said gravely... "i thank you, and come one more time before i go."
""you are going, then?"
""i haf no longer any business here, it is done."
""successfully, i hope?"
said jo, for the bitterness of disappointment was in that short reply of his.
""i ought to think so, for i haf a way opened to me by which i can make my bread and gif my junglings much help."
""tell me, please!
i like to know all about the -- the boys," said jo eagerly.
""that is so kind, i gladly tell you.
my friends find for me a place in a college, where i teach as at home, and earn enough to make the way smooth for franz and emil.
for this i should be grateful, should i not?"
""indeed you should.
how splendid it will be to have you doing what you like, and be able to see you often, and the boys!"
cried jo, clinging to the lads as an excuse for the satisfaction she could not help betraying.
""ah!
but we shall not meet often, i fear, this place is at the west."
""so far away!"
and jo left her skirts to their fate, as if it did n't matter now what became of her clothes or herself.
mr. bhaer could read several languages, but he had not learned to read women yet.
he flattered himself that he knew jo pretty well, and was, therefore, much amazed by the contradictions of voice, face, and manner, which she showed him in rapid succession that day, for she was in half a dozen different moods in the course of half an hour.
when she met him she looked surprised, though it was impossible to help suspecting that she had come for that express purpose.
when he offered her his arm, she took it with a look that filled him with delight, but when he asked if she missed him, she gave such a chilly, formal reply that despair fell upon him.
on learning his good fortune she almost clapped her hands.
was the joy all for the boys?
then on hearing his destination, she said, "so far away!"
in a tone of despair that lifted him on to a pinnacle of hope, but the next minute she tumbled him down again by observing, like one entirely absorbed in the matter... "here's the place for my errands.
will you come in?
it wo n't take long."
jo rather prided herself upon her shopping capabilities, and particularly wished to impress her escort with the neatness and dispatch with which she would accomplish the business.
but owing to the flutter she was in, everything went amiss.
she upset the tray of needles, forgot the silesia was to be "twilled" till it was cut off, gave the wrong change, and covered herself with confusion by asking for lavender ribbon at the calico counter.
mr. bhaer stood by, watching her blush and blunder, and as he watched, his own bewilderment seemed to subside, for he was beginning to see that on some occasions, women, like dreams, go by contraries.
when they came out, he put the parcel under his arm with a more cheerful aspect, and splashed through the puddles as if he rather enjoyed it on the whole.
""should we no do a little what you call shopping for the babies, and haf a farewell feast tonight if i go for my last call at your so pleasant home?"
he asked, stopping before a window full of fruit and flowers.
""what will we buy?"
asked jo, ignoring the latter part of his speech, and sniffing the mingled odors with an affectation of delight as they went in.
""may they haf oranges and figs?"
asked mr. bhaer, with a paternal air.
""they eat them when they can get them."
""do you care for nuts?"
""like a squirrel."
""hamburg grapes.
yes, we shall drink to the fatherland in those?"
jo frowned upon that piece of extravagance, and asked why he did n't buy a frail of dates, a cask of raisins, and a bag of almonds, and be done with it?
whereat mr. bhaer confiscated her purse, produced his own, and finished the marketing by buying several pounds of grapes, a pot of rosy daisies, and a pretty jar of honey, to be regarded in the light of a demijohn.
then distorting his pockets with knobby bundles, and giving her the flowers to hold, he put up the old umbrella, and they traveled on again.
""miss marsch, i haf a great favor to ask of you," began the professor, after a moist promenade of half a block.
""yes, sir?"
and jo's heart began to beat so hard she was afraid he would hear it.
""i am bold to say it in spite of the rain, because so short a time remains to me."
""yes, sir," and jo nearly crushed the small flowerpot with the sudden squeeze she gave it.
""i wish to get a little dress for my tina, and i am too stupid to go alone.
will you kindly gif me a word of taste and help?"
""yes, sir," and jo felt as calm and cool all of a sudden as if she had stepped into a refrigerator.
""perhaps also a shawl for tina's mother, she is so poor and sick, and the husband is such a care.
yes, yes, a thick, warm shawl would be a friendly thing to take the little mother."
""i'll do it with pleasure, mr. bhaer."
""i'm going very fast, and he's getting dearer every minute," added jo to herself, then with a mental shake she entered into the business with an energy that was pleasant to behold.
mr. bhaer left it all to her, so she chose a pretty gown for tina, and then ordered out the shawls.
the clerk, being a married man, condescended to take an interest in the couple, who appeared to be shopping for their family.
""your lady may prefer this.
it's a superior article, a most desirable color, quite chaste and genteel," he said, shaking out a comfortable gray shawl, and throwing it over jo's shoulders.
""does this suit you, mr. bhaer?"
she asked, turning her back to him, and feeling deeply grateful for the chance of hiding her face.
""excellently well, we will haf it," answered the professor, smiling to himself as he paid for it, while jo continued to rummage the counters like a confirmed bargain-hunter.
""now shall we go home?"
he asked, as if the words were very pleasant to him.
""yes, it's late, and i'm so tired."
jo's voice was more pathetic than she knew.
for now the sun seemed to have gone in as suddenly as it came out, and the world grew muddy and miserable again, and for the first time she discovered that her feet were cold, her head ached, and that her heart was colder than the former, fuller of pain than the latter.
mr. bhaer was going away, he only cared for her as a friend, it was all a mistake, and the sooner it was over the better.
with this idea in her head, she hailed an approaching omnibus with such a hasty gesture that the daisies flew out of the pot and were badly damaged.
""this is not our omniboos," said the professor, waving the loaded vehicle away, and stopping to pick up the poor little flowers.
""i beg your pardon.
i did n't see the name distinctly.
never mind, i can walk.
i'm used to plodding in the mud," returned jo, winking hard, because she would have died rather than openly wipe her eyes.
mr. bhaer saw the drops on her cheeks, though she turned her head away.
the sight seemed to touch him very much, for suddenly stooping down, he asked in a tone that meant a great deal, "heart's dearest, why do you cry?"
now, if jo had not been new to this sort of thing she would have said she was n't crying, had a cold in her head, or told any other feminine fib proper to the occasion.
instead of which, that undignified creature answered, with an irrepressible sob, "because you are going away."
""ach, mein gott, that is so good!"
cried mr. bhaer, managing to clasp his hands in spite of the umbrella and the bundles, "jo, i haf nothing but much love to gif you.
i came to see if you could care for it, and i waited to be sure that i was something more than a friend.
am i?
can you make a little place in your heart for old fritz?"
he added, all in one breath.
""oh, yes!"
said jo, and he was quite satisfied, for she folded both hands over his arm, and looked up at him with an expression that plainly showed how happy she would be to walk through life beside him, even though she had no better shelter than the old umbrella, if he carried it.
it was certainly proposing under difficulties, for even if he had desired to do so, mr. bhaer could not go down upon his knees, on account of the mud.
neither could he offer jo his hand, except figuratively, for both were full.
much less could he indulge in tender remonstrations in the open street, though he was near it.
so the only way in which he could express his rapture was to look at her, with an expression which glorified his face to such a degree that there actually seemed to be little rainbows in the drops that sparkled on his beard.
if he had not loved jo very much, i do n't think he could have done it then, for she looked far from lovely, with her skirts in a deplorable state, her rubber boots splashed to the ankle, and her bonnet a ruin.
fortunately, mr. bhaer considered her the most beautiful woman living, and she found him more "jove-like" than ever, though his hatbrim was quite limp with the little rills trickling thence upon his shoulders -lrb- for he held the umbrella all over jo -rrb-, and every finger of his gloves needed mending.
passers-by probably thought them a pair of harmless lunatics, for they entirely forgot to hail a bus, and strolled leisurely along, oblivious of deepening dusk and fog.
little they cared what anybody thought, for they were enjoying the happy hour that seldom comes but once in any life, the magical moment which bestows youth on the old, beauty on the plain, wealth on the poor, and gives human hearts a foretaste of heaven.
the professor looked as if he had conquered a kingdom, and the world had nothing more to offer him in the way of bliss.
while jo trudged beside him, feeling as if her place had always been there, and wondering how she ever could have chosen any other lot.
of course, she was the first to speak -- intelligibly, i mean, for the emotional remarks which followed her impetuous "oh, yes!"
were not of a coherent or reportable character.
""friedrich, why did n't you..." "ah, heaven, she gifs me the name that no one speaks since minna died!"
cried the professor, pausing in a puddle to regard her with grateful delight.
""i always call you so to myself -- i forgot, but i wo n't unless you like it."
""like it?
it is more sweet to me than i can tell.
say "thou", also, and i shall say your language is almost as beautiful as mine."
""is n't "thou" a little sentimental?"
asked jo, privately thinking it a lovely monosyllable.
""sentimental?
yes.
thank gott, we germans believe in sentiment, and keep ourselves young mit it.
your english "you" is so cold, say "thou", heart's dearest, it means so much to me," pleaded mr. bhaer, more like a romantic student than a grave professor.
""well, then, why did n't thou tell me all this sooner?"
asked jo bashfully.
""now i shall haf to show thee all my heart, and i so gladly will, because thou must take care of it hereafter.
see, then, my jo -- ah, the dear, funny little name -- i had a wish to tell something the day i said goodbye in new york, but i thought the handsome friend was betrothed to thee, and so i spoke not.
wouldst thou have said "yes", then, if i had spoken?"
""i do n't know.
i'm afraid not, for i did n't have any heart just then."
""prut!
that i do not believe.
it was asleep till the fairy prince came through the wood, and waked it up.
ah, well, "die erste liebe ist die beste", but that i should not expect."
""yes, the first love is the best, but be so contented, for i never had another.
teddy was only a boy, and soon got over his little fancy," said jo, anxious to correct the professor's mistake.
""good!
then i shall rest happy, and be sure that thou givest me all.
i haf waited so long, i am grown selfish, as thou wilt find, professorin."
""i like that," cried jo, delighted with her new name.
""now tell me what brought you, at last, just when i wanted you?"
""this," and mr. bhaer took a little worn paper out of his waistcoat pocket.
jo unfolded it, and looked much abashed, for it was one of her own contributions to a paper that paid for poetry, which accounted for her sending it an occasional attempt.
""how could that bring you?"
she asked, wondering what he meant.
""i found it by chance.
i knew it by the names and the initials, and in it there was one little verse that seemed to call me.
read and find him.
i will see that you go not in the wet."
in the garret four little chests all in a row, dim with dust, and worn by time, all fashioned and filled, long ago, by children now in their prime.
four little keys hung side by side, with faded ribbons, brave and gay when fastened there, with childish pride, long ago, on a rainy day.
four little names, one on each lid, carved out by a boyish hand, and underneath there lieth hid histories of the happy band once playing here, and pausing oft to hear the sweet refrain, that came and went on the roof aloft, in the falling summer rain.
""meg" on the first lid, smooth and fair.
i look in with loving eyes, for folded here, with well-known care, a goodly gathering lies, the record of a peaceful life -- gifts to gentle child and girl, a bridal gown, lines to a wife, a tiny shoe, a baby curl.
no toys in this first chest remain, for all are carried away, in their old age, to join again in another small meg's play.
ah, happy mother!
well i know you hear, like a sweet refrain, lullabies ever soft and low in the falling summer rain.
""jo" on the next lid, scratched and worn, and within a motley store of headless dolls, of schoolbooks torn, birds and beasts that speak no more, spoils brought home from the fairy ground only trod by youthful feet, dreams of a future never found, memories of a past still sweet, half-writ poems, stories wild, april letters, warm and cold, diaries of a wilful child, hints of a woman early old, a woman in a lonely home, hearing, like a sad refrain -- "be worthy, love, and love will come," in the falling summer rain.
my beth!
the dust is always swept from the lid that bears your name, as if by loving eyes that wept, by careful hands that often came.
death canonized for us one saint, ever less human than divine, and still we lay, with tender plaint, relics in this household shrine -- the silver bell, so seldom rung, the little cap which last she wore, the fair, dead catherine that hung by angels borne above her door.
the songs she sang, without lament, in her prison-house of pain, forever are they sweetly blent with the falling summer rain.
upon the last lid's polished field -- legend now both fair and true a gallant knight bears on his shield, "amy" in letters gold and blue.
within lie snoods that bound her hair, slippers that have danced their last, faded flowers laid by with care, fans whose airy toils are past, gay valentines, all ardent flames, trifles that have borne their part in girlish hopes and fears and shames, the record of a maiden heart now learning fairer, truer spells, hearing, like a blithe refrain, the silver sound of bridal bells in the falling summer rain.
four little chests all in a row, dim with dust, and worn by time, four women, taught by weal and woe to love and labor in their prime.
four sisters, parted for an hour, none lost, one only gone before, made by love's immortal power, nearest and dearest evermore.
oh, when these hidden stores of ours lie open to the father's sight, may they be rich in golden hours, deeds that show fairer for the light, lives whose brave music long shall ring, like a spirit-stirring strain, souls that shall gladly soar and sing in the long sunshine after rain.
""it's very bad poetry, but i felt it when i wrote it, one day when i was very lonely, and had a good cry on a rag bag.
i never thought it would go where it could tell tales," said jo, tearing up the verses the professor had treasured so long.
""let it go, it has done its duty, and i will haf a fresh one when i read all the brown book in which she keeps her little secrets," said mr. bhaer with a smile as he watched the fragments fly away on the wind.
""yes," he added earnestly, "i read that, and i think to myself, she has a sorrow, she is lonely, she would find comfort in true love.
i haf a heart full, full for her.
shall i not go and say, "if this is not too poor a thing to gif for what i shall hope to receive, take it in gott's name?""
""and so you came to find that it was not too poor, but the one precious thing i needed," whispered jo.
""i had no courage to think that at first, heavenly kind as was your welcome to me.
but soon i began to hope, and then i said," i will haf her if i die for it," and so i will!"
cried mr. bhaer, with a defiant nod, as if the walls of mist closing round them were barriers which he was to surmount or valiantly knock down.
jo thought that was splendid, and resolved to be worthy of her knight, though he did not come prancing on a charger in gorgeous array.
""what made you stay away so long?"
she asked presently, finding it so pleasant to ask confidential questions and get delightful answers that she could not keep silent.
""it was not easy, but i could not find the heart to take you from that so happy home until i could haf a prospect of one to gif you, after much time, perhaps, and hard work.
how could i ask you to gif up so much for a poor old fellow, who has no fortune but a little learning?"
""i'm glad you are poor.
i could n't bear a rich husband," said jo decidedly, adding in a softer tone, "do n't fear poverty.
i've known it long enough to lose my dread and be happy working for those i love, and do n't call yourself old -- forty is the prime of life.
i could n't help loving you if you were seventy!"
the professor found that so touching that he would have been glad of his handkerchief, if he could have got at it.
as he could n't, jo wiped his eyes for him, and said, laughing, as she took away a bundle or two... "i may be strong-minded, but no one can say i'm out of my sphere now, for woman's special mission is supposed to be drying tears and bearing burdens.
i'm to carry my share, friedrich, and help to earn the home.
make up your mind to that, or i'll never go," she added resolutely, as he tried to reclaim his load.
""we shall see.
haf you patience to wait a long time, jo?
i must go away and do my work alone.
i must help my boys first, because, even for you, i may not break my word to minna.
can you forgif that, and be happy while we hope and wait?"
""yes, i know i can, for we love one another, and that makes all the rest easy to bear.
i have my duty, also, and my work.
i could n't enjoy myself if i neglected them even for you, so there's no need of hurry or impatience.
you can do your part out west, i can do mine here, and both be happy hoping for the best, and leaving the future to be as god wills."
""ah!
thou gifest me such hope and courage, and i haf nothing to gif back but a full heart and these empty hands," cried the professor, quite overcome.
jo never, never would learn to be proper, for when he said that as they stood upon the steps, she just put both hands into his, whispering tenderly, "not empty now," and stooping down, kissed her friedrich under the umbrella.
it was dreadful, but she would have done it if the flock of draggle-tailed sparrows on the hedge had been human beings, for she was very far gone indeed, and quite regardless of everything but her own happiness.
though it came in such a very simple guise, that was the crowning moment of both their lives, when, turning from the night and storm and loneliness to the household light and warmth and peace waiting to receive them, with a glad "welcome home!"
jo led her lover in, and shut the door.
chapter forty-seven harvest time for a year jo and her professor worked and waited, hoped and loved, met occasionally, and wrote such voluminous letters that the rise in the price of paper was accounted for, laurie said.
the second year began rather soberly, for their prospects did not brighten, and aunt march died suddenly.
but when their first sorrow was over -- for they loved the old lady in spite of her sharp tongue -- they found they had cause for rejoicing, for she had left plumfield to jo, which made all sorts of joyful things possible.
""it's a fine old place, and will bring a handsome sum, for of course you intend to sell it," said laurie, as they were all talking the matter over some weeks later.
""no, i do n't," was jo's decided answer, as she petted the fat poodle, whom she had adopted, out of respect to his former mistress.
""you do n't mean to live there?"
""yes, i do."
""but, my dear girl, it's an immense house, and will take a power of money to keep it in order.
the garden and orchard alone need two or three men, and farming is n't in bhaer's line, i take it."
""he'll try his hand at it there, if i propose it."
""and you expect to live on the produce of the place?
well, that sounds paradisiacal, but you'll find it desperate hard work."
""the crop we are going to raise is a profitable one," and jo laughed.
""of what is this fine crop to consist, ma'am?"
""boys.
i want to open a school for little lads -- a good, happy, homelike school, with me to take care of them and fritz to teach them."
""that's a truly joian plan for you!
is n't that just like her?"
cried laurie, appealing to the family, who looked as much surprised as he.
""i like it," said mrs. march decidedly.
""so do i," added her husband, who welcomed the thought of a chance for trying the socratic method of education on modern youth.
""it will be an immense care for jo," said meg, stroking the head of her one all-absorbing son.
""jo can do it, and be happy in it.
it's a splendid idea.
tell us all about it," cried mr. laurence, who had been longing to lend the lovers a hand, but knew that they would refuse his help.
""i knew you'd stand by me, sir.
amy does too -- i see it in her eyes, though she prudently waits to turn it over in her mind before she speaks.
now, my dear people," continued jo earnestly, "just understand that this is n't a new idea of mine, but a long cherished plan.
before my fritz came, i used to think how, when i'd made my fortune, and no one needed me at home, i'd hire a big house, and pick up some poor, forlorn little lads who had n't any mothers, and take care of them, and make life jolly for them before it was too late.
i see so many going to ruin for want of help at the right minute, i love so to do anything for them, i seem to feel their wants, and sympathize with their troubles, and oh, i should so like to be a mother to them!"
mrs. march held out her hand to jo, who took it, smiling, with tears in her eyes, and went on in the old enthusiastic way, which they had not seen for a long while.
""i told my plan to fritz once, and he said it was just what he would like, and agreed to try it when we got rich.
bless his dear heart, he's been doing it all his life -- helping poor boys, i mean, not getting rich, that he'll never be.
money does n't stay in his pocket long enough to lay up any.
but now, thanks to my good old aunt, who loved me better than i ever deserved, i'm rich, at least i feel so, and we can live at plumfield perfectly well, if we have a flourishing school.
it's just the place for boys, the house is big, and the furniture strong and plain.
there's plenty of room for dozens inside, and splendid grounds outside.
they could help in the garden and orchard.
such work is healthy, is n't it, sir?
then fritz could train and teach in his own way, and father will help him.
i can feed and nurse and pet and scold them, and mother will be my stand-by.
i've always longed for lots of boys, and never had enough, now i can fill the house full and revel in the little dears to my heart's content.
think what luxury -- plumfield my own, and a wilderness of boys to enjoy it with me."
as jo waved her hands and gave a sigh of rapture, the family went off into a gale of merriment, and mr. laurence laughed till they thought he'd have an apoplectic fit.
""i do n't see anything funny," she said gravely, when she could be heard.
""nothing could be more natural and proper than for my professor to open a school, and for me to prefer to reside in my own estate."
""she is putting on airs already," said laurie, who regarded the idea in the light of a capital joke.
""but may i inquire how you intend to support the establishment?
if all the pupils are little ragamuffins, i'm afraid your crop wo n't be profitable in a worldly sense, mrs. bhaer."
""now do n't be a wet-blanket, teddy.
of course i shall have rich pupils, also -- perhaps begin with such altogether.
then, when i've got a start, i can take in a ragamuffin or two, just for a relish.
rich people's children often need care and comfort, as well as poor.
i've seen unfortunate little creatures left to servants, or backward ones pushed forward, when it's real cruelty.
some are naughty through mismanagment or neglect, and some lose their mothers.
besides, the best have to get through the hobbledehoy age, and that's the very time they need most patience and kindness.
people laugh at them, and hustle them about, try to keep them out of sight, and expect them to turn all at once from pretty children into fine young men.
they do n't complain much -- plucky little souls -- but they feel it.
i've been through something of it, and i know all about it.
i've a special interest in such young bears, and like to show them that i see the warm, honest, well-meaning boys" hearts, in spite of the clumsy arms and legs and the topsy-turvy heads.
i've had experience, too, for have n't i brought up one boy to be a pride and honor to his family?"
""i'll testify that you tried to do it," said laurie with a grateful look.
""and i've succeeded beyond my hopes, for here you are, a steady, sensible businessman, doing heaps of good with your money, and laying up the blessings of the poor, instead of dollars.
but you are not merely a businessman, you love good and beautiful things, enjoy them yourself, and let others go halves, as you always did in the old times.
i am proud of you, teddy, for you get better every year, and everyone feels it, though you wo n't let them say so.
yes, and when i have my flock, i'll just point to you, and say "there's your model, my lads"."
poor laurie did n't know where to look, for, man though he was, something of the old bashfulness came over him as this burst of praise made all faces turn approvingly upon him.
""i say, jo, that's rather too much," he began, just in his old boyish way.
""you have all done more for me than i can ever thank you for, except by doing my best not to disappoint you.
you have rather cast me off lately, jo, but i've had the best of help, nevertheless.
so, if i've got on at all, you may thank these two for it," and he laid one hand gently on his grandfather's head, and the other on amy's golden one, for the three were never far apart.
""i do think that families are the most beautiful things in all the world!"
burst out jo, who was in an unusually up-lifted frame of mind just then.
""when i have one of my own, i hope it will be as happy as the three i know and love the best.
if john and my fritz were only here, it would be quite a little heaven on earth," she added more quietly.
and that night when she went to her room after a blissful evening of family counsels, hopes, and plans, her heart was so full of happiness that she could only calm it by kneeling beside the empty bed always near her own, and thinking tender thoughts of beth.
it was a very astonishing year altogether, for things seemed to happen in an unusually rapid and delightful manner.
almost before she knew where she was, jo found herself married and settled at plumfield.
then a family of six or seven boys sprung up like mushrooms, and flourished surprisingly, poor boys as well as rich, for mr. laurence was continually finding some touching case of destitution, and begging the bhaers to take pity on the child, and he would gladly pay a trifle for its support.
in this way, the sly old gentleman got round proud jo, and furnished her with the style of boy in which she most delighted.
of course it was uphill work at first, and jo made queer mistakes, but the wise professor steered her safely into calmer waters, and the most rampant ragamuffin was conquered in the end.
how jo did enjoy her "wilderness of boys", and how poor, dear aunt march would have lamented had she been there to see the sacred precincts of prim, well-ordered plumfield overrun with toms, dicks, and harrys!
there was a sort of poetic justice about it, after all, for the old lady had been the terror of the boys for miles around, and now the exiles feasted freely on forbidden plums, kicked up the gravel with profane boots unreproved, and played cricket in the big field where the irritable "cow with a crumpled horn" used to invite rash youths to come and be tossed.
it became a sort of boys" paradise, and laurie suggested that it should be called the "bhaer-garten", as a compliment to its master and appropriate to its inhabitants.
it never was a fashionable school, and the professor did not lay up a fortune, but it was just what jo intended it to be --" a happy, homelike place for boys, who needed teaching, care, and kindness".
every room in the big house was soon full.
every little plot in the garden soon had its owner.
a regular menagerie appeared in barn and shed, for pet animals were allowed.
and three times a day, jo smiled at her fritz from the head of a long table lined on either side with rows of happy young faces, which all turned to her with affectionate eyes, confiding words, and grateful hearts, full of love for "mother bhaer".
she had boys enough now, and did not tire of them, though they were not angels, by any means, and some of them caused both professor and professorin much trouble and anxiety.
but her faith in the good spot which exists in the heart of the naughtiest, sauciest, most tantalizing little ragamuffin gave her patience, skill, and in time success, for no mortal boy could hold out long with father bhaer shining on him as benevolently as the sun, and mother bhaer forgiving him seventy times seven.
very precious to jo was the friendship of the lads, their penitent sniffs and whispers after wrongdoing, their droll or touching little confidences, their pleasant enthusiasms, hopes, and plans, even their misfortunes, for they only endeared them to her all the more.
there were slow boys and bashful boys, feeble boys and riotous boys, boys that lisped and boys that stuttered, one or two lame ones, and a merry little quadroon, who could not be taken in elsewhere, but who was welcome to the "bhaer-garten", though some people predicted that his admission would ruin the school.
yes, jo was a very happy woman there, in spite of hard work, much anxiety, and a perpetual racket.
she enjoyed it heartily and found the applause of her boys more satisfying than any praise of the world, for now she told no stories except to her flock of enthusiastic believers and admirers.
as the years went on, two little lads of her own came to increase her happiness -- rob, named for grandpa, and teddy, a happy-go-lucky baby, who seemed to have inherited his papa's sunshiny temper as well as his mother's lively spirit.
how they ever grew up alive in that whirlpool of boys was a mystery to their grandma and aunts, but they flourished like dandelions in spring, and their rough nurses loved and served them well.
there were a great many holidays at plumfield, and one of the most delightful was the yearly apple-picking.
for then the marches, laurences, brookes and bhaers turned out in full force and made a day of it.
five years after jo's wedding, one of these fruitful festivals occurred, a mellow october day, when the air was full of an exhilarating freshness which made the spirits rise and the blood dance healthily in the veins.
the old orchard wore its holiday attire.
goldenrod and asters fringed the mossy walls.
grasshoppers skipped briskly in the sere grass, and crickets chirped like fairy pipers at a feast.
squirrels were busy with their small harvesting.
birds twittered their adieux from the alders in the lane, and every tree stood ready to send down its shower of red or yellow apples at the first shake.
everybody was there.
everybody laughed and sang, climbed up and tumbled down.
everybody declared that there never had been such a perfect day or such a jolly set to enjoy it, and everyone gave themselves up to the simple pleasures of the hour as freely as if there were no such things as care or sorrow in the world.
mr. march strolled placidly about, quoting tusser, cowley, and columella to mr. laurence, while enjoying... the gentle apple's winey juice.
the professor charged up and down the green aisles like a stout teutonic knight, with a pole for a lance, leading on the boys, who made a hook and ladder company of themselves, and performed wonders in the way of ground and lofty tumbling.
laurie devoted himself to the little ones, rode his small daughter in a bushel-basket, took daisy up among the bird's nests, and kept adventurous rob from breaking his neck.
mrs. march and meg sat among the apple piles like a pair of pomonas, sorting the contributions that kept pouring in, while amy with a beautiful motherly expression in her face sketched the various groups, and watched over one pale lad, who sat adoring her with his little crutch beside him.
jo was in her element that day, and rushed about, with her gown pinned up, and her hat anywhere but on her head, and her baby tucked under her arm, ready for any lively adventure which might turn up.
little teddy bore a charmed life, for nothing ever happened to him, and jo never felt any anxiety when he was whisked up into a tree by one lad, galloped off on the back of another, or supplied with sour russets by his indulgent papa, who labored under the germanic delusion that babies could digest anything, from pickled cabbage to buttons, nails, and their own small shoes.
she knew that little ted would turn up again in time, safe and rosy, dirty and serene, and she always received him back with a hearty welcome, for jo loved her babies tenderly.
at four o'clock a lull took place, and baskets remained empty, while the apple pickers rested and compared rents and bruises.
then jo and meg, with a detachment of the bigger boys, set forth the supper on the grass, for an out-of-door tea was always the crowning joy of the day.
the land literally flowed with milk and honey on such occasions, for the lads were not required to sit at table, but allowed to partake of refreshment as they liked -- freedom being the sauce best beloved by the boyish soul.
they availed themselves of the rare privilege to the fullest extent, for some tried the pleasing experiment of drinking milk while standing on their heads, others lent a charm to leapfrog by eating pie in the pauses of the game, cookies were sown broadcast over the field, and apple turnovers roosted in the trees like a new style of bird.
the little girls had a private tea party, and ted roved among the edibles at his own sweet will.
when no one could eat any more, the professor proposed the first regular toast, which was always drunk at such times -- "aunt march, god bless her!"
a toast heartily given by the good man, who never forgot how much he owed her, and quietly drunk by the boys, who had been taught to keep her memory green.
""now, grandma's sixtieth birthday!
long life to her, with three times three!"
that was given with a will, as you may well believe, and the cheering once begun, it was hard to stop it.
everybody's health was proposed, from mr. laurence, who was considered their special patron, to the astonished guinea pig, who had strayed from its proper sphere in search of its young master.
demi, as the oldest grandchild, then presented the queen of the day with various gifts, so numerous that they were transported to the festive scene in a wheelbarrow.
funny presents, some of them, but what would have been defects to other eyes were ornaments to grandma's -- for the children's gifts were all their own.
every stitch daisy's patient little fingers had put into the handkerchiefs she hemmed was better than embroidery to mrs. march.
demi's miracle of mechanical skill, though the cover would n't shut, rob's footstool had a wiggle in its uneven legs that she declared was soothing, and no page of the costly book amy's child gave her was so fair as that on which appeared in tipsy capitals, the words -- "to dear grandma, from her little beth."
during the ceremony the boys had mysteriously disappeared, and when mrs. march had tried to thank her children, and broken down, while teddy wiped her eyes on his pinafore, the professor suddenly began to sing.
then, from above him, voice after voice took up the words, and from tree to tree echoed the music of the unseen choir, as the boys sang with all their hearts the little song that jo had written, laurie set to music, and the professor trained his lads to give with the best effect.
this was something altogether new, and it proved a grand success, for mrs. march could n't get over her surprise, and insisted on shaking hands with every one of the featherless birds, from tall franz and emil to the little quadroon, who had the sweetest voice of all.
after this, the boys dispersed for a final lark, leaving mrs. march and her daughters under the festival tree.
""i do n't think i ever ought to call myself "unlucky jo" again, when my greatest wish has been so beautifully gratified," said mrs. bhaer, taking teddy's little fist out of the milk pitcher, in which he was rapturously churning.
""and yet your life is very different from the one you pictured so long ago.
do you remember our castles in the air?"
asked amy, smiling as she watched laurie and john playing cricket with the boys.
""dear fellows!
it does my heart good to see them forget business and frolic for a day," answered jo, who now spoke in a maternal way of all mankind.
""yes, i remember, but the life i wanted then seems selfish, lonely, and cold to me now.
i have n't given up the hope that i may write a good book yet, but i can wait, and i'm sure it will be all the better for such experiences and illustrations as these," and jo pointed from the lively lads in the distance to her father, leaning on the professor's arm, as they walked to and fro in the sunshine, deep in one of the conversations which both enjoyed so much, and then to her mother, sitting enthroned among her daughters, with their children in her lap and at her feet, as if all found help and happiness in the face which never could grow old to them.
""my castle was the most nearly realized of all.
i asked for splendid things, to be sure, but in my heart i knew i should be satisfied, if i had a little home, and john, and some dear children like these.
i've got them all, thank god, and am the happiest woman in the world," and meg laid her hand on her tall boy's head, with a face full of tender and devout content.
""my castle is very different from what i planned, but i would not alter it, though, like jo, i do n't relinquish all my artistic hopes, or confine myself to helping others fulfill their dreams of beauty.
i've begun to model a figure of baby, and laurie says it is the best thing i've ever done.
i think so, myself, and mean to do it in marble, so that, whatever happens, i may at least keep the image of my little angel."
as amy spoke, a great tear dropped on the golden hair of the sleeping child in her arms, for her one well-beloved daughter was a frail little creature and the dread of losing her was the shadow over amy's sunshine.
this cross was doing much for both father and mother, for one love and sorrow bound them closely together.
amy's nature was growing sweeter, deeper, and more tender.
laurie was growing more serious, strong, and firm, and both were learning that beauty, youth, good fortune, even love itself, can not keep care and pain, loss and sorrow, from the most blessed for... into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and sad and dreary.
""she is growing better, i am sure of it, my dear.
do n't despond, but hope and keep happy," said mrs. march, as tenderhearted daisy stooped from her knee to lay her rosy cheek against her little cousin's pale one.
""i never ought to, while i have you to cheer me up, marmee, and laurie to take more than half of every burden," replied amy warmly.
""he never lets me see his anxiety, but is so sweet and patient with me, so devoted to beth, and such a stay and comfort to me always that i ca n't love him enough.
so, in spite of my one cross, i can say with meg, "thank god, i'm a happy woman.""
""there's no need for me to say it, for everyone can see that i'm far happier than i deserve," added jo, glancing from her good husband to her chubby children, tumbling on the grass beside her.
""fritz is getting gray and stout.
i'm growing as thin as a shadow, and am thirty.
we never shall be rich, and plumfield may burn up any night, for that incorrigible tommy bangs will smoke sweet-fern cigars under the bed-clothes, though he's set himself afire three times already.
but in spite of these unromantic facts, i have nothing to complain of, and never was so jolly in my life.
excuse the remark, but living among boys, i ca n't help using their expressions now and then."
""yes, jo, i think your harvest will be a good one," began mrs. march, frightening away a big black cricket that was staring teddy out of countenance.
""not half so good as yours, mother.
here it is, and we never can thank you enough for the patient sowing and reaping you have done," cried jo, with the loving impetuosity which she never would outgrow.
""i hope there will be more wheat and fewer tares every year," said amy softly.
""a large sheaf, but i know there's room in your heart for it, marmee dear," added meg's tender voice.
_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___marjorie's_three_gifts.txt.out
marjorie's three gifts marjorie sat on the door-step, shelling peas, quite unconscious what a pretty picture she made, with the roses peeping at her through the lattice work of the porch, the wind playing hide-and-seek in her curly hair, while the sunshine with its silent magic changed her faded gingham to a golden gown, and shimmered on the bright tin pan as if it were a silver shield.
old rover lay at her feet, the white kitten purred on her shoulder, and friendly robins hopped about her in the grass, chirping "a happy birthday, marjorie!"
but the little maid neither saw nor heard, for her eyes were fixed on the green pods, and her thoughts were far away.
she was recalling the fairy-tale granny told her last night, and wishing with all her heart that such things happened nowadays.
for in this story, as a poor girl like herself sat spinning before the door, a brownie came by, and gave the child a good-luck penny; then a fairy passed, and left a talisman which would keep her always happy; and last of all, the prince rolled up in his chariot, and took her away to reign with him over a lovely kingdom, as a reward for her many kindnesses to others.
when marjorie imagined this part of the story, it was impossible to help giving one little sigh, and for a minute she forgot her work, so busy was she thinking what beautiful presents she would give to all the poor children in her realm when they had birthdays.
five impatient young peas took this opportunity to escape from the half-open pod in her hand and skip down the steps, to be immediately gobbled up by an audacious robin, who gave thanks in such a shrill chirp that marjorie woke up, laughed, and fell to work again.
she was just finishing, when a voice called out from the lane, -- "hi, there!
come here a minute, child!"
and looking up, she saw a little old man in a queer little carriage drawn by a fat little pony.
running down to the gate, marjorie dropped a curtsy, saying pleasantly, -- "what did you wish, sir?"
""just undo that check-rein for me.
i am lame, and jack wants to drink at your brook," answered the old man, nodding at her till his spectacles danced on his nose.
marjorie was rather afraid of the fat pony, who tossed his head, whisked his tail, and stamped his feet as if he was of a peppery temper.
but she liked to be useful, and just then felt as if there were few things she could not do if she tried, because it was her birthday.
so she proudly let down the rein, and when jack went splashing into the brook, she stood on the bridge, waiting to check him up again after he had drunk his fill of the clear, cool water.
the old gentleman sat in his place, looking up at the little girl, who was smiling to herself as she watched the blue dragon-flies dance among the ferns, a blackbird tilt on the alderboughs, and listened to the babble of the brook.
""how old are you, child?"
asked the old man, as if he rather envied this rosy creature her youth and health.
""twelve to-day, sir;" and marjorie stood up straight and tall, as if mindful of her years.
""had any presents?"
asked the old man, peering up with an odd smile.
""one, sir, -- here it is;" and she pulled out of her pocket a tin savings-bank in the shape of a desirable family mansion, painted red, with a green door and black chimney.
proudly displaying it on the rude railing of the bridge, she added, with a happy face, -- "granny gave it to me, and all the money in it is going to be mine."
""how much have you got?"
asked the old gentleman, who appeared to like to sit there in the middle of the brook, while jack bathed his feet and leisurely gurgled and sneezed.
""not a penny yet, but i'm going to earn some," answered marjorie, patting the little bank with an air of resolution pretty to see.
""how will you do it?"
continued the inquisitive old man.
""oh, i'm going to pick berries and dig dandelions, and weed, and drive cows, and do chores.
it is vacation, and i can work all the time, and earn ever so much."
""but vacation is play-time, -- how about that?"
""why, that sort of work is play, and i get bits of fun all along.
i always have a good swing when i go for the cows, and pick flowers with the dandelions.
weeding is n't so nice, but berrying is very pleasant, and we have good times all together."
""what shall you do with your money when you get it?"
""oh, lots of things!
buy books and clothes for school, and, if i get a great deal, give some to granny.
i'd love to do that, for she takes care of me, and i'd be so proud to help her!"
""good little lass!"
said the old gentleman, as he put his hand in his pocket.
""would you now?"
he added, apparently addressing himself to a large frog who sat upon a stone, looking so wise and grandfatherly that it really did seem quite proper to consult him.
at all events, he gave his opinion in the most decided manner, for, with a loud croak, he turned an undignified somersault into the brook, splashing up the water at a great rate.
""well, perhaps it would n't be best on the whole.
industry is a good teacher, and money can not buy happiness, as i know to my sorrow."
the old gentleman still seemed to be talking to the frog, and as he spoke he took his hand out of his pocket with less in it than he had at first intended.
""what a very queer person!"
thought marjorie, for she had not heard a word, and wondered what he was thinking about down there.
jack walked out of the brook just then, and she ran to check him up; not an easy task for little hands, as he preferred to nibble the grass on the bank.
but she did it cleverly, smoothed the ruffled mane, and, dropping another curtsy, stood aside to let the little carriage pass.
""thank you, child -- thank you.
here is something for your bank, and good luck to it."
as he spoke, the old man laid a bright gold dollar in her hand, patted the rosy cheek, and vanished in a cloud of dust, leaving marjorie so astonished at the grandeur of the gift, that she stood looking at it as if it had been a fortune.
it was to her; and visions of pink calico gowns, new grammars, and fresh hat-ribbons danced through her head in delightful confusion, as her eyes rested on the shining coin in her palm.
then, with a solemn air, she invested her first money by popping it down the chimney of the scarlet mansion, and peeping in with one eye to see if it landed safely on the ground-floor.
this done, she took a long breath, and looked over the railing, to be sure it was not all a dream.
no; the wheel marks were still there, the brown water was not yet clear, and, if a witness was needed, there sat the big frog again, looking so like the old gentleman, with his bottle-green coat, speckled trousers, and twinkling eyes, that marjorie burst out laughing, and clapped her hands, saying aloud, -- "i'll play he was the brownie, and this is the good-luck penny he gave me.
oh, what fun!"
and away she skipped, rattling the dear new bank like a castanet.
when she had told granny all about it, she got knife and basket, and went out to dig dandelions; for the desire to increase her fortune was so strong, she could not rest a minute.
up and down she went, so busily peering and digging, that she never lifted up her eyes till something like a great white bird skimmed by so low she could not help seeing it.
a pleasant laugh sounded behind her as she started up, and, looking round, she nearly sat down again in sheer surprise, for there close by was a slender little lady, comfortably established under a big umbrella.
""if there were any fairies, i'd be sure that was one," thought marjorie, staring with all her might, for her mind was still full of the old story; and curious things do happen on birthdays, as every one knows.
it really did seem rather elfish to look up suddenly and see a lovely lady all in white, with shining hair and a wand in her hand, sitting under what looked very like a large yellow mushroom in the middle of a meadow, where, till now, nothing but cows and grasshoppers had been seen.
before marjorie could decide the question, the pleasant laugh came again, and the stranger said, pointing to the white thing that was still fluttering over the grass like a little cloud, -- "would you kindly catch my hat for me, before it blows quite away?"
down went basket and knife, and away ran marjorie, entirely satisfied now that there was no magic about the new-comer; for if she had been an elf, could n't she have got her hat without any help from a mortal child?
presently, however, it did begin to seem as if that hat was bewitched, for it led the nimble-footed marjorie such a chase that the cows stopped feeding to look on in placid wonder; the grasshoppers vainly tried to keep up, and every ox-eye daisy did its best to catch the runaway, but failed entirely, for the wind liked a game of romps, and had it that day.
as she ran, marjorie heard the lady singing, like the princess in the story of the goose-girl, -- "blow, breezes, blow!
let curdkin's hat go!
blow, breezes, blow!
let him after it go!
o'er hills, dales and rocks, away be it whirled, till the silvery locks are all combed and curled."
this made her laugh so that she tumbled into a clover-bed, and lay there a minute to get her breath.
just then, as if the playful wind repented of its frolic, the long veil fastened to the hat caught in a blackberry-vine near by, and held the truant fast till marjorie secured it.
""now come and see what i am doing," said the lady, when she had thanked the child.
marjorie drew near confidingly, and looked down at the wide-spread book before her.
she gave a start, and laughed out with surprise and delight; for there was a lovely picture of her own little home, and her own little self on the door-step, all so delicate, and beautiful, and true, it seemed as if done by magic.
""oh, how pretty!
there is rover, and kitty and the robins, and me!
how could you ever do it, ma'am?"
said marjorie, with a wondering glance at the long paint-brush, which had wrought what seemed a miracle to her childish eyes.
""i'll show you presently; but tell me, first, if it looks quite right and natural to you.
children sometimes spy out faults that no one else can see," answered the lady, evidently pleased with the artless praise her work received.
""it looks just like our house, only more beautiful.
perhaps that is because i know how shabby it really is.
that moss looks lovely on the shingles, but the roof leaks.
the porch is broken, only the roses hide the place; and my gown is all faded, though it once was as bright as you have made it.
i wish the house and everything would stay pretty forever, as they will in the picture."
while marjorie spoke, the lady had been adding more color to the sketch, and when she looked up, something warmer and brighter than sunshine shone in her face, as she said, so cheerily, it was like a bird's song to hear her, -- "it ca n't be summer always, dear, but we can make fair weather for ourselves if we try.
the moss, the roses, and soft shadows show the little house and the little girl at their best, and that is what we all should do; for it is amazing how lovely common things become, if one only knows how to look at them."
""i wish i did," said marjorie, half to herself, remembering how often she was discontented, and how hard it was to get on, sometimes.
""so do i," said the lady, in her happy voice.
""just believe that there is a sunny side to everything, and try to find it, and you will be surprised to see how bright the world will seem, and how cheerful you will be able to keep your little self."
""i guess granny has found that out, for she never frets.
i do, but i'm going to stop it, because i'm twelve to-day, and that is too old for such things," said marjorie, recollecting the good resolutions she had made that morning when she woke.
""i am twice twelve, and not entirely cured yet; but i try, and do n't mean to wear blue spectacles if i can help it," answered the lady, laughing so blithely that marjorie was sure she would not have to try much longer.
""birthdays were made for presents, and i should like to give you one.
would it please you to have this little picture?"
she added, lifting it out of the book.
""truly my own?
oh, yes, indeed!"
cried marjorie, coloring with pleasure, for she had never owned so beautiful a thing before.
""then you shall have it, dear.
hang it where you can see it often, and when you look, remember that it is the sunny side of home, and help to keep it so."
marjorie had nothing but a kiss to offer by way of thanks, as the lovely sketch was put into her hand; but the giver seemed quite satisfied, for it was a very grateful little kiss.
then the child took up her basket and went away, not dancing and singing now, but slowly and silently; for this gift made her thoughtful as well as glad.
as she climbed the wall, she looked back to nod good-by to the pretty lady; but the meadow was empty, and all she saw was the grass blowing in the wind.
""now, deary, run out and play, for birthdays come but once a year, and we must make them as merry as we can," said granny, as she settled herself for her afternoon nap, when the saturday cleaning was all done, and the little house as neat as wax.
so marjorie put on a white apron in honor of the occasion, and, taking kitty in her arms, went out to enjoy herself.
three swings on the gate seemed to be a good way of beginning the festivities; but she only got two, for when the gate creaked back the second time, it stayed shut, and marjorie hung over the pickets, arrested by the sound of music.
""it's soldiers," she said, as the fife and drum drew nearer, and flags were seen waving over the barberry-bushes at the corner.
""no; it's a picnic," she added in a moment; for she saw hats with wreaths about them bobbing up and down, as a gayly-trimmed hay-cart full of children came rumbling down the lane.
""what a nice time they are going to have!"
thought marjorie, sadly contrasting that merry-making with the quiet party she was having all by herself.
suddenly her face shone, and kitty was waved over her head like a banner, as she flew out of the gate, crying, rapturously, -- "it's billy!
and i know he's come for me!"
it certainly was billy, proudly driving the old horse, and beaming at his little friend from the bower of flags and chestnut-boughs, where he sat in state, with a crown of daisies on his sailor-hat and a spray of blooming sweetbrier in his hand.
waving his rustic sceptre, he led off the shout of "happy birthday, marjorie!"
which was set up as the wagon stopped at the gate, and the green boughs suddenly blossomed with familiar faces, all smiling on the little damsel, who stood in the lane quite overpowered with delight.
""it's a s "prise party!"
cried one small lad, tumbling out behind.
""we are going up the mountain to have fun!"
added a chorus of voices, as a dozen hands beckoned wildly.
""we got it up on purpose for you, so tie your hat and come away," said a pretty girl, leaning down to kiss marjorie, who had dropped kitty, and stood ready for any splendid enterprise.
a word to granny, and away went the happy child, sitting up beside billy, under the flags that waved over a happier load than any royal chariot ever bore.
it would be vain to try and tell all the plays and pleasures of happy children on a saturday afternoon, but we may briefly say that marjorie found a mossy stone all ready for her throne, and billy crowned her with a garland like his own.
that a fine banquet was spread, and eaten with a relish many a lord mayor's feast has lacked.
then how the whole court danced and played together afterward!
the lords climbed trees and turned somersaults, the ladies gathered flowers and told secrets under the sweetfern-bushes, the queen lost her shoe jumping over the waterfall, and the king paddled into the pool below and rescued it.
a happy little kingdom, full of summer sunshine, innocent delights, and loyal hearts; for love ruled, and the only war that disturbed the peaceful land was waged by the mosquitoes as night came on.
marjorie stood on her throne watching the sunset while her maids of honor packed up the remains of the banquet, and her knights prepared the chariot.
all the sky was gold and purple, all the world bathed in a soft, red light, and the little girl was very happy as she looked down at the subjects who had served her so faithfully that day.
""have you had a good time, marjy?"
asked king william; who stood below, with his royal nose on a level with her majesty's two dusty little shoes.
""oh, billy, it has been just splendid!
but i do n't see why you should all be so kind to me," answered marjorie, with such a look of innocent wonder, that billy laughed to see it.
""because you are so sweet and good, we ca n't help loving you, -- that's why," he said, as if this simple fact was reason enough.
""i'm going to be the best girl that ever was, and love everybody in the world," cried the child, stretching out her arms as if ready, in the fulness of her happy heart, to embrace all creation.
""do n't turn into an angel and fly away just yet, but come home, or granny will never lend you to us any more."
with that, billy jumped her down, and away they ran, to ride gayly back through the twilight, singing like a flock of nightingales.
as she went to bed that night, marjorie looked at the red bank, the pretty picture, and the daisy crown, saying to herself, -- "it has been a very nice birthday, and i am something like the girl in the story, after all, for the old man gave me a good-luck penny, the kind lady told me how to keep happy, and billy came for me like the prince.
the girl did n't go back to the poor house again, but i'm glad i did, for my granny is n't a cross one, and my little home is the dearest in the world."
then she tied her night-cap, said her prayers, and fell asleep; but the moon, looking in to kiss the blooming face upon the pillow, knew that three good spirits had come to help little marjorie from that day forth, and their names were industry, cheerfulness, and love.
roses and forget-me-nots i. roses it was a cold november storm, and everything looked forlorn.
even the pert sparrows were draggle-tailed and too much out of spirits to fight for crumbs with the fat pigeons who tripped through the mud with their little red boots as if in haste to get back to their cosy home in the dove-cot.
but the most forlorn creature out that day was a small errand girl, with a bonnet-box on each arm, and both hands struggling to hold a big broken umbrella.
a pair of worn-out boots let in the wet upon her tired feet; a thin cotton dress and an old shawl poorly protected her from the storm; and a faded hood covered her head.
the face that looked out from this hood was too pale and anxious for one so young; and when a sudden gust turned the old umbrella inside out with a crash, despair fell upon poor lizzie, and she was so miserable she could have sat down in the rain and cried.
but there was no time for tears; so, dragging the dilapidated umbrella along, she spread her shawl over the bonnet-boxes and hurried down the broad street, eager to hide her misfortunes from a pretty young girl who stood at a window laughing at her.
she could not find the number of the house where one of the fine hats was to be left; and after hunting all down one side of the street, she crossed over, and came at last to the very house where the pretty girl lived.
she was no longer to be seen; and, with a sigh of relief, lizzie rang the bell, and was told to wait in the hall while miss belle tried the hat on.
glad to rest, she warmed her feet, righted her umbrella, and then sat looking about her with eyes quick to see the beauty and the comfort that made the place so homelike and delightful.
a small waiting-room opened from the hall, and in it stood many blooming plants, whose fragrance attracted lizzie as irresistibly as if she had been a butterfly or bee.
slipping in, she stood enjoying the lovely colors, sweet odors, and delicate shapes of these household spirits; for lizzie loved flowers passionately; and just then they possessed a peculiar charm for her.
one particularly captivating little rose won her heart, and made her long for it with a longing that became a temptation too strong to resist.
it was so perfect; so like a rosy face smiling out from the green leaves, that lizzie could not keep her hands off it, and having smelt, touched, and kissed it, she suddenly broke the stem and hid it in her pocket.
then, frightened at what she had done, she crept back to her place in the hall, and sat there, burdened with remorse.
a servant came just then to lead her upstairs; for miss belle wished the hat altered, and must give directions.
with her heart in a flutter, and pinker roses in her cheeks than the one in her pocket, lizzie followed to a handsome room, where a pretty girl stood before a long mirror with the hat in her hand.
""tell madame tifany that i do n't like it at all, for she has n't put in the blue plume mamma ordered; and i wo n't have rose-buds, they are so common," said the young lady, in a dissatisfied tone, as she twirled the hat about.
""yes, miss," was all lizzie could say; for she considered that hat the loveliest thing a girl could possibly own.
""you had better ask your mamma about it, miss belle, before you give any orders.
she will be up in a few moments, and the girl can wait," put in a maid, who was sewing in the ante-room.
""i suppose i must; but i wo n't have roses," answered belle, crossly.
then she glanced at lizzie, and said more gently, "you look very cold; come and sit by the fire while you wait."
""i'm afraid i'll wet the pretty rug, miss; my feet are sopping," said lizzie, gratefully, but timidly.
""so they are!
why did n't you wear rubber boots?"
""i have n't got any."
""i'll give you mine, then, for i hate them; and as i never go out in wet weather, they are of no earthly use to me.
marie, bring them here; i shall be glad to get rid of them, and i'm sure they'll be useful to you."
""oh, thank you, miss!
i'd like'em ever so much, for i'm out in the rain half the time, and get bad colds because my boots are old," said lizzie, smiling brightly at the thought of the welcome gift.
""i should think your mother would get you warmer things," began belle, who found something rather interesting in the shabby girl, with shy bright eyes, and curly hair bursting out of the old hood.
""i have n't got any mother," said lizzie, with a pathetic glance at her poor clothes.
""i'm so sorry!
have you brothers and sisters?"
asked belle, hoping to find something pleasant to talk about; for she was a kind little soul.
""no, miss; i've got no folks at all."
""oh, dear; how sad!
why, who takes care of you?"
cried belle, looking quite distressed.
""no one; i take care of myself.
i work for madame, and she pays me a dollar a week.
i stay with mrs. brown, and chore round to pay for my keep.
my dollar do n't get many clothes, so i ca n't be as neat as i'd like."
and the forlorn look came back to poor lizzie's face.
belle said nothing, but sat among the sofa cushions, where she had thrown herself, looking soberly at this other girl, no older than she was, who took care of herself and was all alone in the world.
it was a new idea to belle, who was loved and petted as an only child is apt to be.
she often saw beggars and pitied them, but knew very little about their wants and lives; so it was like turning a new page in her happy life to be brought so near to poverty as this chance meeting with the milliner's girl.
""are n't you afraid and lonely and unhappy?"
she said, slowly, trying to understand and put herself in lizzie's place.
""yes; but it's no use.
i ca n't help it, and may be things will get better by and by, and i'll have my wish," answered lizzie, more hopefully, because belle's pity warmed her heart and made her troubles seem lighter.
""what is your wish?"
asked belle, hoping mamma would n't come just yet, for she was getting interested in the stranger.
""to have a nice little room, and make flowers, like a french girl i know.
it's such pretty work, and she gets lots of money, for every one likes her flowers.
she shows me how, sometimes, and i can do leaves first-rate; but --" there lizzie stopped suddenly, and the color rushed up to her forehead; for she remembered the little rose in her pocket and it weighed upon her conscience like a stone.
before belle could ask what was the matter, marie came in with a tray of cake and fruit, saying: "here's your lunch, miss belle."
""put it down, please; i'm not ready for it yet."
and belle shook her head as she glanced at lizzie, who was staring hard at the fire with such a troubled face that belle could not bear to see it.
jumping out of her nest of cushions, she heaped a plate with good things, and going to lizzie, offered it, saying, with a gentle courtesy that made the act doubly sweet: "please have some; you must be tired of waiting."
but lizzie could not take it; she could only cover her face and cry; for this kindness rent her heart and made the stolen flower a burden too heavy to be borne.
""oh, do n't cry so!
are you sick?
have i been rude?
tell me all about it; and if i ca n't do anything, mamma can," said belle, surprised and troubled.
""no; i'm not sick; i'm bad, and i ca n't bear it when you are so good to me," sobbed lizzie, quite overcome with penitence; and taking out the crumpled rose, she confessed her fault with many tears.
""do n't feel so much about such a little thing as that," began belle, warmly; then checked herself, and added, more soberly, "it was wrong to take it without leave; but it's all right now, and i'll give you as many roses as you want, for i know you are a good girl."
""thank you.
i did n't want it only because it was pretty, but i wanted to copy it.
i ca n't get any for myself, and so i ca n't do my make-believe ones well.
madame wo n't even lend me the old ones in the store, and estelle has none to spare for me, because i ca n't pay her for teaching me.
she gives me bits of muslin and wire and things, and shows me now and then.
but i know if i had a real flower i could copy it; so she'd see i did know something, for i try real hard.
i'm so tired of slopping round the streets, i'd do anything to earn my living some other way."
lizzie had poured out her trouble rapidly; and the little story was quite affecting when one saw the tears on her cheeks, the poor clothes, and the thin hands that held the stolen rose.
belle was much touched, and, in her impetuous way, set about mending matters as fast as possible.
""put on those boots and that pair of dry stockings right away.
then tuck as much cake and fruit into your pocket as it will hold.
i'm going to get you some flowers, and see if mamma is too busy to attend to me."
with a nod and a smile, belle flew about the room a minute; then vanished, leaving lizzie to her comfortable task, feeling as if fairies still haunted the world as in the good old times.
when belle came back with a handful of roses, she found lizzie absorbed in admiring contemplation of her new boots, as she ate sponge-cake in a blissful sort of waking-dream.
""mamma ca n't come; but i do n't care about the hat.
it will do very well, and is n't worth fussing about.
there, will those be of any use to you?"
and she offered the nosegay with a much happier face than the one lizzie first saw.
""oh, miss, they're just lovely!
i'll copy that pink rose as soon as ever i can, and when i've learned how to do'em tip-top, i'd like to bring you some, if you do n't mind," answered lizzie, smiling all over her face as she buried her nose luxuriously in the fragrant mass.
""i'd like it very much, for i should think you'd have to be very clever to make such pretty things.
i really quite fancy those rosebuds in my hat, now i know that you're going to learn how to make them.
put an orange in your pocket, and the flowers in water as soon as you can, so they'll be fresh when you want them.
good-by.
bring home our hats every time and tell me how you get on."
with kind words like these, belle dismissed lizzie, who ran downstairs, feeling as rich as if she had found a fortune.
away to the next place she hurried, anxious to get her errands done and the precious posy safely into fresh water.
but mrs. turretviile was not at home, and the bonnet could not be left till paid for.
so lizzie turned to go down the high steps, glad that she need not wait.
she stopped one instant to take a delicious sniff at her flowers, and that was the last happy moment that poor lizzie knew for many weary months.
the new boots were large for her, the steps slippery with sleet, and down went the little errand girl, from top to bottom, till she landed in the gutter directly upon mrs. turretville's costly bonnet.
""i've saved my posies, anyway," sighed lizzie, as she picked herself up, bruised, wet, and faint with pain; "but, oh, my heart!
wo n't madame scold when she sees that band-box smashed flat," groaned the poor child, sitting on the curbstone to get her breath and view the disaster.
the rain poured, the wind blew, the sparrows on the park railing chirped derisively, and no one came along to help lizzie out of her troubles.
slowly she gathered up her burdens; painfully she limped away in the big boots; and the last the naughty sparrows saw of her was a shabby little figure going round the corner, with a pale, tearful face held lovingly over the bright bouquet that was her one treasure and her only comfort in the moment which brought to her the great misfortune of her life.
ii.
forget-me-nots "oh, mamma, i am so relieved that the box has come at last!
if it had not, i do believe i should have died of disappointment," cried pretty belle, five years later, on the morning before her eighteenth birthday.
""it would have been a serious disappointment, darling; for i had sot my heart on your wearing my gift to-morrow night, and when the steamers kept coming in without my trunk from paris, i was very anxious.
i hope you will like it."
""dear mamma, i know i shall like it; your taste is so good and you know what suits me so well.
make haste, marie; i'm dying to see it," said belle, dancing about the great trunk, as the maid carefully unfolded tissue papers and muslin wrappers.
a young girl's first ball-dress is a grand affair, -- in her eyes, at least; and belle soon stopped dancing, to stand with clasped hands, eager eyes and parted lips before the snowy pile of illusion that was at last daintily lifted out upon the bed.
then, as marie displayed its loveliness, little cries of delight were heard, and when the whole delicate dress was arranged to the best effect she threw herself upon her mother's neck and actually cried with pleasure.
""mamma, it is too lovely i and you are very kind to do so much for me.
how shall i ever thank you?"
""by putting it right on to see if it fits; and when you wear it look your happiest, that i may be proud of my pretty daughter."
mamma got no further, for marie uttered a french shriek, wrung her hands, and then began to burrow wildly in the trunk and among the papers, crying distractedly: "great heavens, madame!
the wreath has been forgotten!
what an affliction!
mademoiselle's enchanting toilette is destroyed without the wreath, and nowhere do i find it."
in vain they searched; in vain marie wailed and belle declared it must be somewhere; no wreath appeared.
it was duly set down in the bill, and a fine sum charged for a head-dress to match the dainty forget-me-nots that looped the fleecy skirts and ornamented the bosom of the dress.
it had evidently been forgotten; and mamma despatched marie at once to try and match the flowers, for belle would not hear of any other decoration for her beautiful blonde hair.
the dress fitted to a charm, and was pronounced by all beholders the loveliest thing ever seen.
nothing was wanted but the wreath to make it quite perfect, and when marie returned, after a long search, with no forget-me-nots, belle was in despair.
""wear natural ones," suggested a sympathizing friend.
but another hunt among greenhouses was as fruitless as that among the milliners" rooms.
no forget-me-nots could be found, and marie fell exhausted into a chair, desolated at what she felt to be an awful calamity.
""let me have the carriage, and i'll ransack the city till i find some," cried belle, growing more resolute with each failure.
marnma was deep in preparations for the ball, and could not help her afflicted daughter, though she was much disappointed at the mishap.
so belle drove off, resolved to have her flowers whether there were any or not.
any one who has ever tried to match a ribbon, find a certain fabric, or get anything done in a hurry, knows what a wearisome task it sometimes is, and can imagine belle's state of mind after repeated disappointments.
she was about to give up in despair, when some one suggested that perhaps the frenchwoman, estelle valnor, might make the desired wreath, if there was time.
away drove belle, and, on entering the room, gave a sigh of satisfaction, for a whole boxful of the loveliest forget-me-nots stood upon the table.
as fast as possible, she told her tale and demanded the flowers, no matter what the price might be.
imagine her feelings when the frenchwoman, with a shrug, announced that it was impossible to give mademoiselle a single spray.
all were engaged to trim a bridesmaid's dress, and must be sent away at once.
it really was too bad!
and belle lost her temper entirely, for no persuasion or bribes would win a spray from estelle.
the provoking part of it was that the wedding would not come off for several days, and there was time enough to make more flowers for that dress, since belle only wanted a few for her hair.
neither would estelle make her any, as her hands were full, and so small an order was not worth deranging one's self for; but observing belle's sorrowful face, she said, affably: "mademoiselle may, perhaps, find the flowers she desires at miss berton's.
she has been helping me with these garlands, and may have some left.
here is her address."
belle took the card with thanks, and hurried away with a last hope faintly stirring in her girlish heart, for belle had an unusually ardent wish to look her best at this party, since somebody was to be there, and somebody considered forget-me-nots the sweetest flowers in the world.
mamma knew this, and the kiss belle gave her when the dress came had a more tender meaning than gratified vanity or daughterly love.
up many stairs she climbed, and came at last to a little room, very poor but very neat, where, at the one window, sat a young girl, with crutches by her side and her lap full of flower-leaves and petals.
she rose slowly as belle came in, and then stood looking at her, with such a wistful expression in her shy, bright eyes, that belle's anxious face cleared involuntarily, and her voice lost its impatient tone.
as she spoke, she glanced about the room, hoping to see some blue blossoms awaiting her.
but none appeared; and she was about to despond again, when the girl said, gently: "i have none by me now, but i may be able to find you some."
""thank you very much; but i have been everywhere in vain.
still, if you do get any, please send them to me as soon as possible.
here is my card."
miss berton glanced at it, then cast a quick look at the sweet, anxious face before her, and smiled so brightly that belle smiled also, and asked, wonderingly: "what is it?
what do you see?"
""i see the dear young lady who was so kind to me long ago.
you do n't remember me, and never knew my name; but i never have forgotten you all these years.
i always hoped i could do something to show how grateful i was, and now i can, for you shall have your flowers if i sit up all night to make them."
but belle still shook her head and watched the smiling face before her with wondering eyes, till the girl added, with sudden color in her cheeks: "ah, you've done so many kind things in your life, you do n't remember the little errand girl from madame tifany's who stole a rose in your hall, and how you gave her rubber boots and cake and flowers, and were so good to her she could n't forget it if she lived to be a hundred."
""but you are so changed," began belle, who did faintly recollect that little incident in her happy life.
""yes, i had a fall and hurt myself so that i shall always be lame."
and lizzie went on to tell how madame had dismissed her in a rage; how she lay ill till mrs. brown sent her to the hospital; and how for a year she had suffered much alone, in that great house of pain, before one of the kind visitors had befriended her.
while hearing the story of the five years, that had been so full of pleasure, ease and love for herself, belle forgot her errand, and, sitting beside lizzie, listened with pitying eyes to all she told of her endeavors to support herself by the delicate handiwork she loved.
""i'm very happy now," ended lizzie, looking about the little bare room with a face full of the sweetest content.
""i get nearly work enough to pay my way, and estelle sends me some when she has more than she can do.
i've learned to do it nicely, and it is so pleasant to sit here and make flowers instead of trudging about in the wet with other people's hats.
though i do sometimes wish i was able to trudge, one gets on so slowly with crutches."
a little sigh followed the words, and belle put her own plump hand on the delicate one that held the crutch, saying, in her cordial young voice: "i'll come and take you to drive sometimes, for you are too pale, and you'll get ill sitting here at work day after day.
please let me; i'd love to; for i feel so idle and wicked when i see busy people like you that i reproach myself for neglecting my duty and having more than my share of happiness."
lizzie thanked her with a look, and then said, in a tone of interest that was delightful to hear: "tell about the wreath you want; i should so love to do it for you, if i can."
belle had forgotten all about it in listening to this sad little story of a girl's life.
now she felt half ashamed to talk of so frivolous a matter till she remembered that it would help lizzie; and, resolving to pay for it as never garland was paid for before, she entered upon the subject with renewed interest.
""you shall have the flowers in time for your ball to-morrow night.
i will engage to make a wreath that will please you, only it may take longer than i think.
do n't be troubled if i do n't send it till evening; it will surely come in time.
i can work fast, and this will be the happiest job i ever did," said lizzie, beginning to lay out mysterious little tools and bend delicate wires.
""you are altogether too grateful for the little i have done.
it makes me feel ashamed to think i did not find you out before and do something better worth thanks."
""ah, it was n't the boots or the cake or the roses, dear miss belle.
it was the kind looks, the gentle words, the way it was done, that went right to my heart, and did me more good than a million of money.
i never stole a pin after that day, for the little rose would n't let me forget how you forgave me so sweetly.
i sometimes think it kept me from greater temptations, for i was a poor, forlorn child, with no one to keep me good."
pretty belle looked prettier than ever as she listened, and a bright tear stood in either eye like a drop of dew on a blue flower.
it touched her very much to learn that her little act of childish charity had been so sweet and helpful to this lonely girl, and now lived so freshly in her grateful memory.
it showed her, suddenly, how precious little deeds of love and sympathy are; how strong to bless, how easy to perform, how comfortable to recall.
her heart was very full and tender just then, and the lesson sunk deep into it never to be forgotten.
she sat a long time watching flowers bud and blossom under lizzie's skilful fingers, and then hurried home to tell all her glad news to mamma.
if the next day had not been full of most delightfully exciting events, belle might have felt some anxiety about her wreath, for hour after hour went by and nothing arrived from lizzie.
evening came, and all was ready.
belle was dressed, and looked so lovely that mamma declared she needed nothing more.
but marie insisted that the grand effect would be ruined without the garland among the sunshiny hair.
belle had time now to be anxious, and waited with growing impatience for the finishing touch to her charming toilette.
""i must be downstairs to receive, and ca n't wait another moment; so put in the blue pompon and let me go," she said at last, with a sigh of disappointment, for the desire to look beautiful that night in somebody's eyes had increased four-fold.
with a tragic gesture, marie was about to adjust the pompon when the quick tap of a crutch came down the hall, and lizzie hurried in, flushed and breathless, but smiling happily as she uncovered the box she carried with a look of proud satisfaction.
a general "ah!"
of admiration arose as belle, mamma, and marie surveyed the lovely wreath that lay before them; and when it was carefully arranged on the bright head that was to wear it, belle blushed with pleasure.
mamma said: "it is more beautiful than any paris could have sent us;" and marie clasped her hands theatrically, sighing, with her head on one side: "truly, yes; mademoiselle is now adorable!"
""i am so glad you like it.
i did my very best and worked all night, but i had to beg one spray from estelle, or, with all my haste, i could not have finished in time," said lizzie, refreshing her weary eyes with a long, affectionate gaze at the pretty figure before her.
a fold of the airy skirt was caught on one of the blue clusters, and lizzie knelt down to arrange it as she spoke.
belle leaned toward her and said softly: "money alone ca n't pay you for this kindness; so tell me how i can best serve you.
this is the happiest night of my life, and i want to make every one feel glad also."
""then do n't talk of paying me, but promise that i may make the flowers you wear on your wedding-day," whispered lizzie, kissing the kind hand held out to help her rise, for on it she saw a brilliant ring, and in the blooming, blushing face bent over her she read the tender little story that somebody had told belle that day.
""so you shall!
and i'll keep this wreath all my life for your sake, dear," answered belle, as her full heart bubbled over with pitying affection for the poor girl who would never make a bridal garland for herself.
_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___the_mysterious_key_and_what_it_opened.txt.out
chapter i the prophecy trevlyn lands and trevlyn gold, heir nor heiress e'er shall hold, undisturbed, till, spite of rust, truth is found in trevlyn dust.
""this is the third time i've found you poring over that old rhyme.
what is the charm, richard?
not its poetry i fancy."
and the young wife laid a slender hand on the yellow, time-worn page where, in old english text, appeared the lines she laughed at.
richard trevlyn looked up with a smile and threw by the book, as if annoyed at being discovered reading it.
drawing his wife's hand through his own, he led her back to her couch, folded the soft shawls about her, and, sitting in a low chair beside her, said in a cheerful tone, though his eyes betrayed some hidden care, "my love, that book is a history of our family for centuries, and that old prophecy has never yet been fulfilled, except the "heir and heiress" line.
i am the last trevlyn, and as the time draws near when my child shall be born, i naturally think of his future, and hope he will enjoy his heritage in peace."
""god grant it!"
softly echoed lady trevlyn, adding, with a look askance at the old book, "i read that history once, and fancied it must be a romance, such dreadful things are recorded in it.
is it all true, richard?"
""yes, dear.
i wish it was not.
ours has been a wild, unhappy race till the last generation or two.
the stormy nature came in with old sir ralph, the fierce norman knight, who killed his only son in a fit of wrath, by a blow with his steel gauntlet, because the boy's strong will would not yield to his."
""yes, i remember, and his daughter clotilde held the castle during a siege, and married her cousin, count hugo.
't is a warlike race, and i like it in spite of the mad deeds."
""married her cousin!
that has been the bane of our family in times past.
being too proud to mate elsewhere, we have kept to ourselves till idiots and lunatics began to appear.
my father was the first who broke the law among us, and i followed his example: choosing the freshest, sturdiest flower i could find to transplant into our exhausted soil."
""i hope it will do you honor by blossoming bravely.
i never forget that you took me from a very humble home, and have made me the happiest wife in england."
""and i never forget that you, a girl of eighteen, consented to leave your hills and come to cheer the long-deserted house of an old man like me," returned her husband fondly.
""nay, do n't call yourself old, richard; you are only forty-five, the boldest, handsomest man in warwickshire.
but lately you look worried; what is it?
tell me, and let me advise or comfort you."
""it is nothing, alice, except my natural anxiety for you -- well, kingston, what do you want?"
trevlyn's tender tones grew sharp as he addressed the entering servant, and the smile on his lips vanished, leaving them dry and white as he glanced at the card he handed him.
an instant he stood staring at it, then asked, "is the man here?"
""in the library, sir."
""i'll come."
flinging the card into the fire, he watched it turn to ashes before he spoke, with averted eyes: "only some annoying business, love; i shall soon be with you again.
lie and rest till i come."
with a hasty caress he left her, but as he passed a mirror, his wife saw an expression of intense excitement in his face.
she said nothing, and lay motionless for several minutes evidently struggling with some strong impulse.
""he is ill and anxious, but hides it from me; i have a right to know, and he'll forgive me when i prove that it does no harm."
as she spoke to herself she rose, glided noiselessly through the hall, entered a small closet built in the thickness of the wall, and, bending to the keyhole of a narrow door, listened with a half-smile on her lips at the trespass she was committing.
a murmur of voices met her ear.
her husband spoke oftenest, and suddenly some word of his dashed the smile from her face as if with a blow.
she started, shrank, and shivered, bending lower with set teeth, white cheeks, and panic-stricken heart.
paler and paler grew her lips, wilder and wilder her eyes, fainter and fainter her breath, till, with a long sigh, a vain effort to save herself, she sank prone upon the threshold of the door, as if struck down by death.
""mercy on us, my lady, are you ill?"
cried hester, the maid, as her mistress glided into the room looking like a ghost, half an hour later.
""i am faint and cold.
help me to my bed, but do not disturb sir richard."
a shiver crept over her as she spoke, and, casting a wild, woeful look about her, she laid her head upon the pillow like one who never cared to lift it up again.
hester, a sharp-eyed, middle-aged woman, watched the pale creature for a moment, then left the room muttering, "something is wrong, and sir richard must know it.
that black-bearded man came for no good, i'll warrant."
at the door of the library she paused.
no sound of voices came from within; a stifled groan was all she heard; and without waiting to knock she went in, fearing she knew not what.
sir richard sat at his writing table pen in hand, but his face was hidden on his arm, and his whole attitude betrayed the presence of some overwhelming despair.
""please, sir, my lady is ill.
shall i send for anyone?"
no answer.
hester repeated her words, but sir richard never stirred.
much alarmed, the woman raised his head, saw that he was unconscious, and rang for help.
but richard trevlyn was past help, though he lingered for some hours.
he spoke but once, murmuring faintly, "will alice come to say good-bye?"
""bring her if she can come," said the physician.
hester went, found her mistress lying as she left her, like a figure carved in stone.
when she gave the message, lady trevlyn answered sternly, "tell him i will not come," and turned her face to the wall, with an expression which daunted the woman too much for another word.
hester whispered the hard answer to the physician, fearing to utter it aloud, but sir richard heard it, and died with a despairing prayer for pardon on his lips.
when day dawned sir richard lay in his shroud and his little daughter in her cradle, the one unwept, the other unwelcomed by the wife and mother, who, twelve hours before, had called herself the happiest woman in england.
they thought her dying, and at her own command gave her the sealed letter bearing her address which her husband left behind him.
she read it, laid it in her bosom, and, waking from the trance which seemed to have so strongly chilled and changed her, besought those about her with passionate earnestness to save her life.
for two days she hovered on the brink of the grave, and nothing but the indomitable will to live saved her, the doctors said.
on the third day she rallied wonderfully, and some purpose seemed to gift her with unnatural strength.
evening came, and the house was very still, for all the sad bustle of preparation for sir richard's funeral was over, and he lay for the last night under his own roof.
hester sat in the darkened chamber of her mistress, and no sound broke the hush but the low lullaby the nurse was singing to the fatherless baby in the adjoining room.
lady trevlyn seemed to sleep, but suddenly put back the curtain, saying abruptly, "where does he lie?"
""in the state chamber, my lady," replied hester, anxiously watching the feverish glitter of her mistress's eye, the flush on her cheek, and the unnatural calmness of her manner.
""help me to go there; i must see him."
""it would be your death, my lady.
i beseech you, do n't think of it," began the woman; but lady trevlyn seemed not to hear her, and something in the stern pallor of her face awed the woman into submission.
wrapping the slight form of her mistress in a warm cloak, hester half-led, half-carried her to the state room, and left her on the threshold.
""i must go in alone; fear nothing, but wait for me here," she said, and closed the door behind her.
five minutes had not elapsed when she reappeared with no sign of grief on her rigid face.
""take me to my bed and bring my jewel box," she said, with a shuddering sigh, as the faithful servant received her with an exclamation of thankfulness.
when her orders had been obeyed, she drew from her bosom the portrait of sir richard which she always wore, and, removing the ivory oval from the gold case, she locked the former in a tiny drawer of the casket, replaced the empty locket in her breast, and bade hester give the jewels to watson, her lawyer, who would see them put in a safe place till the child was grown.
""dear heart, my lady, you'll wear them yet, for you're too young to grieve all your days, even for so good a man as my blessed master.
take comfort, and cheer up, for the dear child's sake if no more."
""i shall never wear them again" was all the answer as lady trevlyn drew the curtains, as if to shut out hope.
sir richard was buried and, the nine days" gossip over, the mystery of his death died for want of food, for the only person who could have explained it was in a state which forbade all allusion to that tragic day.
for a year lady trevlyn's reason was in danger.
a long fever left her so weak in mind and body that there was little hope of recovery, and her days were passed in a state of apathy sad to witness.
she seemed to have forgotten everything, even the shock which had so sorely stricken her.
the sight of her child failed to rouse her, and month after month slipped by, leaving no trace of their passage on her mind, and but slightly renovating her feeble body.
who the stranger was, what his aim in coming, or why he never reappeared, no one discovered.
the contents of the letter left by sir richard were unknown, for the paper had been destroyed by lady trevlyn and no clue could be got from her.
sir richard had died of heart disease, the physicians said, though he might have lived years had no sudden shock assailed him.
there were few relatives to make investigations, and friends soon forgot the sad young widow; so the years rolled on, and lillian the heiress grew from infancy to childhood in the shadow of this mystery.
chapter ii paul "come, child, the dew is falling, and it is time we went in."
""no, no, mamma is not rested yet, so i may run down to the spring if i like."
and lillian, as willful as winsome, vanished among the tall ferns where deer couched and rabbits hid.
hester leisurely followed, looking as unchanged as if a day instead of twelve years had passed since her arms received the little mistress, who now ruled her like a tyrant.
she had taken but a few steps when the child came flying back, exclaiming in an excited tone, "oh, come quick!
there's a man there, a dead man.
i saw him and i'm frightened!"
""nonsense, child, it's one of the keepers asleep, or some stroller who has no business here.
take my hand and we'll see who it is."
somewhat reassured, lillian led her nurse to one of the old oaks beside the path, and pointed to a figure lying half hidden in the fern.
a slender, swarthy boy of sixteen, with curly black hair, dark brows, and thick lashes, a singularly stern mouth, and a general expression of strength and pride, which added character to his boyish face and dignified his poverty.
his dress betrayed that, being dusty and threadbare, his shoes much worn, and his possessions contained in the little bundle on which he pillowed his head.
he was sleeping like one quite spent with weariness, and never stirred, though hester bent away the ferns and examined him closely.
""he's not dead, my deary; he's asleep, poor lad, worn out with his day's tramp, i dare say."
""i'm glad he's alive, and i wish he'd wake up.
he's a pretty boy, is n't he?
see what nice hands he's got, and his hair is more curly than mine.
make him open his eyes, hester," commanded the little lady, whose fear had given place to interest.
""hush, he's stirring.
i wonder how he got in, and what he wants," whispered hester.
""i'll ask him," and before her nurse could arrest her, lillian drew a tall fern softly over the sleeper's face, laughing aloud as she did so.
the boy woke at the sound, and without stirring lay looking up at the lovely little face bent over him, as if still in a dream."
bella cara," he said, in a musical voice.
then, as the child drew back abashed at the glance of his large, bright eyes, he seemed to wake entirely and, springing to his feet, looked at hester with a quick, searching glance.
something in his face and air caused the woman to soften her tone a little, as she said gravely, "did you wish to see any one at the hall?"
""yes.
is lady trevlyn here?"
was the boy's answer, as he stood cap in hand, with the smile fading already from his face.
""she is, but unless your business is very urgent you had better see parks, the keeper; we do n't trouble my lady with trifles."
""i've a note for her from colonel daventry; and as it is not a trifle, i'll deliver it myself, if you please."
hester hesitated an instant, but lillian cried out, "mamma is close by, come and see her," and led the way, beckoning as she ran.
the lad followed with a composed air, and hester brought up the rear, taking notes as she went with a woman's keen eye.
lady trevlyn, a beautiful, pale woman, delicate in health and melancholy in spirit, sat on a rustic seat with a book in her hand; not reading, but musing with an absent mind.
as the child approached, she held out her hand to welcome her, but neither smiled nor spoke.
""mamma, here is a -- a person to see you," cried lillian, rather at a loss how to designate the stranger, whose height and gravity now awed her.
""a note from colonel daventry, my lady," and with a bow the boy delivered the missive.
scarcely glancing at him, she opened it and read: my dear friend, the bearer of this, paul jex, has been with me some months and has served me well.
i brought him from paris, but he is english born, and, though friendless, prefers to remain here, even after we leave, as we do in a week.
when i last saw you you mentioned wanting a lad to help in the garden; paul is accustomed to that employment, though my wife used him as a sort of page in the house.
hoping you may be able to give him shelter, i venture to send him.
he is honest, capable, and trustworthy in all respects.
pray try him, and oblige, yours sincerely, j. r. daventry "the place is still vacant, and i shall be very glad to give it to you, if you incline to take it," said lady trevlyn, lifting her eyes from the note and scanning the boy's face.
""i do, madam," he answered respectfully.
""the colonel says you are english," added the lady, in a tone of surprise.
the boy smiled, showing a faultless set of teeth, as he replied, "i am, my lady, though just now i may not look it, being much tanned and very dusty.
my father was an englishman, but i've lived abroad a good deal since he died, and got foreign ways, perhaps."
as he spoke without any accent, and looked full in her face with a pair of honest blue eyes under the dark lashes, lady trevlyn's momentary doubt vanished.
""your age, paul?"
""sixteen, my lady."
""you understand gardening?"
""yes, my lady."
""and what else?"
""i can break horses, serve at table, do errands, read aloud, ride after a young lady as groom, illuminate on parchment, train flowers, and make myself useful in any way."
the tone, half modest, half eager, in which the boy spoke, as well as the odd list of his accomplishments, brought a smile to lady trevlyn's lips, and the general air of the lad prepossessed her.
""i want lillian to ride soon, and roger is rather old for an escort to such a little horsewoman.
do n't you think we might try paul?"
she said, turning to hester.
the woman gravely eyed the lad from head to foot, and shook her head, but an imploring little gesture and a glance of the handsome eyes softened her heart in spite of herself.
""yes, my lady, if he does well about the place, and parks thinks he's steady enough, we might try it by-and-by."
lillian clapped her hands and, drawing nearer, exclaimed confidingly, as she looked up at her new groom, "i know he'll do, mamma.
i like him very much, and i hope you'll let him train my pony for me.
will you, paul?"
""yes."
as he spoke very low and hastily, the boy looked away from the eager little face before him, and a sudden flush of color crossed his dark cheek.
hester saw it and said within herself, "that boy has good blood in his veins.
he's no clodhopper's son, i can tell by his hands and feet, his air and walk.
poor lad, it's hard for him, i'll warrant, but he's not too proud for honest work, and i like that."
""you may stay, paul, and we will try you for a month.
hester, take him to parks and see that he is made comfortable.
tomorrow we will see what he can do.
come, darling, i am rested now."
as she spoke, lady trevlyn dismissed the boy with a gracious gesture and led her little daughter away.
paul stood watching her, as if forgetful of his companion, till she said, rather tartly, "young man, you'd better have thanked my lady while she was here than stare after her now it's too late.
if you want to see parks, you'd best come, for i'm going."
""is that the family tomb yonder, where you found me asleep?"
was the unexpected reply to her speech, as the boy quietly followed her, not at all daunted by her manner.
""yes, and that reminds me to ask how you got in, and why you were napping there, instead of doing your errand properly?"
""i leaped the fence and stopped to rest before presenting myself, miss hester" was the cool answer, accompanied by a short laugh as he confessed his trespass.
""you look as if you'd had a long walk; where are you from?"
""london."
""bless the boy!
it's fifty miles away."
""so my shoes show; but it's a pleasant trip in summer time."
""but why did you walk, child!
had you no money?"
""plenty, but not for wasting on coaches, when my own stout legs could carry me.
i took a two days" holiday and saved my money for better things."
""i like that," said hester, with an approving nod.
""you'll get on, my lad, if that's your way, and i'll lend a hand, for laziness is my abomination, and one sees plenty nowadays."
""thank you.
that's friendly, and i'll prove that i am grateful.
please tell me, is my lady ill?"
""always delicate since sir richard died."
""how long ago was that?"
""ten years or more."
""are there no young gentlemen in the family?"
""no, miss lillian is an only child, and a sweet one, bless her!"
""a proud little lady, i should say."
""and well she may be, for there's no better blood in england than the trevlyns, and she's heiress to a noble fortune."
""is that the trevlyn coat of arms?"
asked the boy abruptly, pointing to a stone falcon with the motto me and mine carved over the gate through which they were passing.
""yes.
why do you ask?"
""mere curiosity; i know something of heraldry and often paint these things for my own pleasure.
one learns odd amusements abroad," he added, seeing an expression of surprise on the woman's face.
""you'll have little time for such matters here.
come in and report yourself to the keeper, and if you'll take my advice ask no questions of him, for you'll get no answers."
""i seldom ask questions of men, as they are not fond of gossip."
and the boy nodded with a smile of mischievous significance as he entered the keeper's lodge.
a sharp lad and a saucy, if he likes.
i'll keep my eye on him, for my lady takes no more thought of such things than a child, and lillian cares for nothing but her own will.
he has a taking way with him, though, and knows how to flatter.
it's well he does, poor lad, for life's a hard matter to a friendless soul like him.
as she thought these thoughts hester went on to the house, leaving paul to win the good graces of the keeper, which he speedily did by assuming an utterly different manner from that he had worn with the woman.
that night, when the boy was alone in his own room, he wrote a long letter in italian describing the events of the day, enclosed a sketch of the falcon and motto, directed it to "father cosmo carmela, genoa," and lay down to sleep, muttering, with a grim look and a heavy sigh, "so far so well; i'll not let my heart be softened by pity, or my purpose change till my promise is kept.
pretty child, i wish i had never seen her!"
chapter iii secret service in a week paul was a favorite with the household; even prudent hester felt the charm of his presence, and owned that lillian was happier for a young companion in her walks.
hitherto the child had led a solitary life, with no playmates of her own age, such being the will of my lady; therefore she welcomed paul as a new and delightful amusement, considering him her private property and soon transferring his duties from the garden to the house.
satisfied of his merits, my lady yielded to lillian's demands, and paul was installed as page to the young lady.
always respectful and obedient, he never forgot his place, yet seemed unconsciously to influence all who approached him, and win the goodwill of everyone.
my lady showed unusual interest in the lad, and lillian openly displayed her admiration for his accomplishments and her affection for her devoted young servitor.
hester was much flattered by the confidence he reposed in her, for to her alone did he tell his story, and of her alone asked advice and comfort in his various small straits.
it was as she suspected: paul was a gentleman's son, but misfortune had robbed him of home, friends, and parents, and thrown him upon the world to shift for himself.
this sad story touched the woman's heart, and the boy's manly spirit won respect.
she had lost a son years ago, and her empty heart yearned over the motherless lad.
ashamed to confess the tender feeling, she wore her usual severe manner to him in public, but in private softened wonderfully and enjoyed the boy's regard heartily.
""paul, come in.
i want to speak with you a moment," said my lady, from the long window of the library to the boy who was training vines outside.
dropping his tools and pulling off his hat, paul obeyed, looking a little anxious, for the month of trial expired that day.
lady trevlyn saw and answered the look with a gracious smile.
""have no fears.
you are to stay if you will, for lillian is happy and i am satisfied with you."
""thank you, my lady."
and an odd glance of mingled pride and pain shone in the boy's downcast eyes.
""that is settled, then.
now let me say what i called you in for.
you spoke of being able to illuminate on parchment.
can you restore this old book for me?"
she put into his hand the ancient volume sir richard had been reading the day he died.
it had lain neglected in a damp nook for years till my lady discovered it, and, sad as were the associations connected with it, she desired to preserve it for the sake of the weird prophecy if nothing else.
paul examined it, and as he turned it to and fro in his hands it opened at the page oftenest read by its late master.
his eye kindled as he looked, and with a quick gesture he turned as if toward the light, in truth to hide the flash of triumph that passed across his face.
carefully controlling his voice, he answered in a moment, as he looked up, quite composed, "yes, my lady, i can retouch the faded colors on these margins and darken the pale ink of the old english text.
i like the work, and will gladly do it if you like."
""do it, then, but be very careful of the book while in your hands.
provide what is needful, and name your own price for the work," said his mistress.
""nay, my lady, i am already paid --" "how so?"
she asked, surprised.
paul had spoken hastily, and for an instant looked embarrassed, but answered with a sudden flush on his dark cheeks, "you have been kind to me, and i am glad to show my, gratitude in any way, my lady."
""let that pass, my boy.
do this little service for me and we will see about the recompense afterward."
and with a smile lady trevlyn left him to begin his work.
the moment the door closed behind her a total change passed over paul.
he shook his clenched hand after her with a gesture of menace, then tossed up the old book and caught it with an exclamation of delight, as he reopened it at the worn page and reread the inexplicable verse.
""another proof, another proof!
the work goes bravely on, father cosmo; and boy as i am, i'll keep my word in spite of everything," he muttered.
""what is that you'll keep, lad?"
said a voice behind him.
""i'll keep my word to my lady, and do my best to restore this book, mrs. hester," he answered, quickly recovering himself.
""ah, that's the last book poor master read.
i hid it away, but my lady found it in spite of me," said hester, with a doleful sigh.
""did he die suddenly, then?"
asked the boy.
""dear heart, yes; i found him dying in this room with the ink scarce dry on the letter he left for my lady.
a mysterious business and a sad one."
""tell me about it.
i like sad stories, and i already feel as if i belonged to the family, a loyal retainer as in the old times.
while you dust the books and i rub the mold off this old cover, tell me the tale, please, mrs. hester."
she shook her head, but yielded to the persuasive look and tone of the boy, telling the story more fully than she intended, for she loved talking and had come to regard paul as her own, almost.
""and the letter?
what was in it?"
asked the boy, as she paused at the catastrophe.
""no one ever knew but my lady."
""she destroyed it, then?"
""i thought so, till a long time afterward, one of the lawyers came pestering me with questions, and made me ask her.
she was ill at the time, but answered with a look i shall never forget, "no, it's not burnt, but no one shall ever see it."
i dared ask no more, but i fancy she has it safe somewhere and if it's ever needed she'll bring it out.
it was only some private matters, i fancy."
""and the stranger?"
""oh, he vanished as oddly as he came, and has never been found.
a strange story, lad.
keep silent, and let it rest."
""no fear of my tattling," and the boy smiled curiously to himself as he bent over the book, polishing the brassbound cover.
""what are you doing with that pretty white wax?"
asked lillian the next day, as she came upon paul in a quiet corner of the garden and found him absorbed in some mysterious occupation.
with a quick gesture he destroyed his work, and, banishing a momentary expression of annoyance, he answered in his accustomed tone as he began to work anew, "i am molding a little deer for you, miss lillian.
see, here is a rabbit already done, and i'll soon have a stag also."
""it's very pretty!
how many nice things you can do, and how kind you are to think of my liking something new.
was this wax what you went to get this morning when you rode away so early?"
asked the child.
""yes, miss lillian.
i was ordered to exercise your pony and i made him useful as well.
would you like to try this?
it's very easy."
lillian was charmed, and for several days wax modeling was her favorite play.
then she tired of it, and paul invented a new amusement, smiling his inexplicable smile as he threw away the broken toys of wax.
""you are getting pale and thin, keeping such late hours, paul.
go to bed, boy, go to bed, and get your sleep early," said hester a week afterward, with a motherly air, as paul passed her one morning.
""and how do you know i do n't go to bed?"
he asked, wheeling about.
""my lady has been restless lately, and i sit up with her till she sleeps.
as i go to my room, i see your lamp burning, and last night i got as far as your door, meaning to speak to you, but did n't, thinking you'd take it amiss.
but really you are the worse for late hours, child."
""i shall soon finish restoring the book, and then i'll sleep.
i hope i do n't disturb you.
i have to grind my colors, and often make more noise than i mean to."
paul fixed his eyes sharply on the woman as he spoke, but she seemed unconscious of it, and turned to go on, saying indifferently, "oh, that's the odd sound, is it?
no, it does n't trouble me, so grind away, and make an end of it as soon as may be."
an anxious fold in the boy's forehead smoothed itself away as he left her, saying to himself with a sigh of relief, "a narrow escape; it's well i keep the door locked."
the boy's light burned no more after that, and hester was content till a new worry came to trouble her.
on her way to her room late one night, she saw a tall shadow flit down one of the side corridors that branched from the main one.
for a moment she was startled, but, being a woman of courage, she followed noiselessly, till the shadow seemed to vanish in the gloom of the great hall.
""if the house ever owned a ghost i'd say that's it, but it never did, so i suspect some deviltry.
i'll step to paul.
he's not asleep, i dare say.
he's a brave and a sensible lad, and with him i'll quietly search the house."
away she went, more nervous than she would own, and tapped at the boy's door.
no one answered, and, seeing that it was ajar, hester whisked in so hurriedly that her candle went out.
with an impatient exclamation at her carelessness she glided to the bed, drew the curtain, and put forth her hand to touch the sleeper.
the bed was empty.
a disagreeable thrill shot through her, as she assured herself of the fact by groping along the narrow bed.
standing in the shadow of the curtain, she stared about the dusky room, in which objects were visible by the light of a new moon.
""lord bless me, what is the boy about!
i do believe it was him i saw in the --" she got no further in her mental exclamation for the sound of light approaching footsteps neared her.
slipping around the bed she waited in the shadow, and a moment after paul appeared, looking pale and ghostly, with dark, disheveled hair, wide-open eyes, and a cloak thrown over his shoulders.
without a pause he flung it off, laid himself in bed, and seemed to sleep at once.
""paul!
paul!"
whispered hester, shaking him, after a pause of astonishment at the whole proceeding.
""hey, what is it?"
and he sat up, looking drowsily about him.
""come, come, no tricks, boy.
what are you doing, trailing about the house at this hour and in such trim?"
""why, hester, is it you?"
he exclaimed with a laugh, as he shook off her grip and looked up at her in surprise.
""yes, and well it is me.
if it had been any of those silly girls, the house would have been roused by this time.
what mischief is afoot that you leave your bed and play ghost in this wild fashion?"
""leave my bed!
why, my good soul, i have n't stirred, but have been dreaming with all my might these two hours.
what do you mean, hester?"
she told him as she relit her lamp, and stood eyeing him sharply the while.
when she finished he was silent a minute, then said, looking half vexed and half ashamed, "i see how it is, and i'm glad you alone have found me out.
i walk in my sleep sometimes, hester, that's the truth.
i thought i'd got over it, but it's come back, you see, and i'm sorry for it.
do n't be troubled.
i never do any mischief or come to any harm.
i just take a quiet promenade and march back to bed again.
did i frighten you?"
""just a trifle, but it's nothing.
poor lad, you'll have to have a bedfellow or be locked up; it's dangerous to go roaming about in this way," said hester anxiously.
""it wo n't last long, for i'll get more tired and then i shall sleep sounder.
do n't tell anyone, please, else they'll laugh at me, and that's not pleasant.
i do n't mind your knowing for you seem almost like a mother, and i thank you for it with all my heart."
he held out his hand with the look that was irresistible to hester.
remembering only that he was a motherless boy, she stroked the curly hair off his forehead, and kissed him, with the thought of her own son warm at her heart.
""good night, dear.
i'll say nothing, but give you something that will ensure quiet sleep hereafter."
with that she left him, but would have been annoyed could she have seen the convulsion of boyish merriment which took possession of him when alone, for he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks.
chapter iv vanished he's a handsome lad, and one any woman might be proud to call her son," said hester to bedford, the stately butler, as they lingered at the hall door one autumn morning to watch their young lady's departure on her daily ride.
""you are right, mrs. hester, he's a fine lad, and yet he seems above his place, though he does look the very picture of a lady's groom," replied bedford approvingly.
so he did, as he stood holding the white pony of his little mistress, for the boy gave an air to whatever he wore and looked like a gentleman even in his livery.
the dark-blue coat with silver buttons, the silver band about his hat, his white-topped boots and bright spurs, spotless gloves, and tightly drawn belt were all in perfect order, all becoming, and his handsome, dark face caused many a susceptible maid to blush and simper as they passed him.
""gentleman paul," as the servants called him, was rather lofty and reserved among his mates, but they liked him nonetheless, for hester had dropped hints of his story and quite a little romance had sprung up about him.
he stood leaning against the docile creature, sunk in thought, and quite unconscious of the watchers and whisperers close by.
but as lillian appeared he woke up, attended to his duties like a well-trained groom, and lingered over his task as if he liked it.
down the avenue he rode behind her, but as they turned into a shady lane lillian beckoned, saying, in the imperious tone habitual to her, "ride near me.
i wish to talk."
paul obeyed, and amused her with the chat she liked till they reached a hazel copse; here he drew rein, and, leaping down, gathered a handful of ripe nuts for her.
""how nice.
let us rest a minute here, and while i eat a few, please pull some of those flowers for mamma.
she likes a wild nosegay better than any i can bring her from the garden."
lillian ate her nuts till paul came to her with a hatful of late flowers and, standing by her, held the impromptu basket while she made up a bouquet to suit her taste.
""you shall have a posy, too; i like you to wear one in your buttonhole as the ladies" grooms do in the park," said the child, settling a scarlet poppy in the blue coat.
""thanks, miss lillian, i'll wear your colors with all my heart, especially today, for it is my birthday."
and paul looked up at the blooming little face with unusual softness in his keen blue eyes.
""is it?
why, then, you're seventeen; almost a man, are n't you?"
""yes, thank heaven," muttered the boy, half to himself.
""i wish i was as old.
i sha n't be in my teens till autumn.
i must give you something, paul, because i like you very much, and you are always doing kind things for me.
what shall it be?"
and the child held out her hand with a cordial look and gesture that touched the boy.
with one of the foreign fashions which sometimes appeared when he forgot himself, he kissed the small hand, saying impulsively, "my dear little mistress, i want nothing but your goodwill -- and your forgiveness," he added, under his breath.
""you have that already, paul, and i shall find something to add to it.
but what is that?"
and she laid hold of a little locket which had slipped into sight as paul bent forward in his salute.
he thrust it back, coloring so deeply that the child observed it, and exclaimed, with a mischievous laugh, "it is your sweetheart, paul.
i heard bessy, my maid, tell hester she was sure you had one because you took no notice of them.
let me see it.
is she pretty?"
""very pretty," answered the boy, without showing the picture.
""do you like her very much?"
questioned lillian, getting interested in the little romance.
""very much," and paul's black eyelashes fell.
""would you die for her, as they say in the old songs?"
asked the girl, melodramatically.
""yes, miss lillian, or live for her, which is harder."
""dear me, how very nice it must be to have anyone care for one so much," said the child innocently.
""i wonder if anybody ever will for me?""
love comes to all soon or late, and maketh gay or sad; for every bird will find its mate, and every lass a lad," sang paul, quoting one of hester's songs, and looking relieved that lillian's thoughts had strayed from him.
but he was mistaken.
""shall you marry this sweetheart of yours someday?"
asked lillian, turning to him with a curious yet wistful look.
""perhaps."
""you look as if there was no "perhaps" about it," said the child, quick to read the kindling of the eye and the change in the voice that accompanied the boy's reply.
""she is very young and i must wait, and while i wait many things may happen to part us."
""is she a lady?"
""yes, a wellborn, lovely little lady, and i'll marry her if i live."
paul spoke with a look of decision, and a proud lift of the head that contrasted curiously with the badge of servitude he wore.
lillian felt this, and asked, with a sudden shyness coming over her, "but you are a gentleman, and so no one will mind even if you are not rich."
""how do you know what i am?"
he asked quickly.
""i heard hester tell the housekeeper that you were not what you seemed, and one day she hoped you'd get your right place again.
i asked mamma about it, and she said she would not let me be with you so much if you were not a fit companion for me.
i was not to speak of it, but she means to be your friend and help you by-and-by."
""does she?"
and the boy laughed an odd, short laugh that jarred on lillian's ear and made her say reprovingly, "you are proud, i know, but you'll let us help you because we like to do it, and i have no brother to share my money with."
""would you like one, or a sister?"
asked paul, looking straight into her face with his piercing eyes.
""yes, indeed!
i long for someone to be with me and love me, as mamma ca n't."
""would you be willing to share everything with another person -- perhaps have to give them a great many things you like and now have all to yourself?"
""i think i should.
i'm selfish, i know, because everyone pets and spoils me, but if i loved a person dearly i'd give up anything to them.
indeed i would, paul, pray believe me."
she spoke earnestly, and leaned on his shoulder as if to enforce her words.
the boy's arm stole around the little figure in the saddle, and a beautiful bright smile broke over his face as he answered warmly, "i do believe it, dear, and it makes me happy to hear you say so.
do n't be afraid, i'm your equal, but i'll not forget that you are my little mistress till i can change from groom to gentleman."
he added the last sentence as he withdrew his arm, for lillian had shrunk a little and blushed with surprise, not anger, at this first breach of respect on the part of her companion.
both were silent for a moment, paul looking down and lillian busy with her nosegay.
she spoke first, assuming an air of satisfaction as she surveyed her work.
""that will please mamma, i'm sure, and make her quite forget my naughty prank of yesterday.
do you know i offended her dreadfully by peeping into the gold case she wears on her neck?
she was asleep and i was sitting by her.
in her sleep she pulled it out and said something about a letter and papa.
i wanted to see papa's face, for i never did, because the big picture of him is gone from the gallery where the others are, so i peeped into the case when she let it drop and was so disappointed to find nothing but a key."
""a key!
what sort of a key?"
cried paul in an eager tone.
""oh, a little silver one like the key of my piano, or the black cabinet.
she woke and was very angry to find me meddling."
""what did it belong to?"
asked paul.
""her treasure box, she said, but i do n't know where or what that is, and i dare not ask any more, for she forbade my speaking to her about it.
poor mamma!
i'm always troubling her in some way or other."
with a penitent sigh, lillian tied up her flowers and handed them to paul to carry.
as she did so, the change in his face struck her.
""how grim and old you look," she exclaimed.
""have i said anything that troubles you?"
""no, miss lillian.
i'm only thinking."
""then i wish you would n't think, for you get a great wrinkle in your forehead, your eyes grow almost black, and your mouth looks fierce.
you are a very odd person, paul; one minute as gay as any boy, and the next as grave and stern as a man with a deal of work to do."
""i have got a deal of work to do, so no wonder i look old and grim."
""what work, paul?"
""to make my fortune and win my lady."
when paul spoke in that tone and wore that look, lillian felt as if they had changed places, and he was the master and she the servant.
she wondered over this in her childish mind, but proud and willful as she was, she liked it, and obeyed him with unusual meekness when he suggested that it was time to return.
as he rode silently beside her, she stole covert glances at him from under her wide hat brim, and studied his unconscious face as she had never done before.
his lips moved now and then but uttered no audible sound, his black brows were knit, and once his hand went to his breast as if he thought of the little sweetheart whose picture lay there.
he's got a trouble.
i wish he'd tell me and let me help him if i can.
i'll make him show me that miniature someday, for i'm interested in that girl, thought lillian with a pensive sigh.
as he held his hand for her little foot in dismounting her at the hall door, paul seemed to have shaken off his grave mood, for he looked up and smiled at her with his blithest expression.
but lillian appeared to be the thoughtful one now and with an air of dignity, very pretty and becoming, thanked her young squire in a stately manner and swept into the house, looking tall and womanly in her flowing skirts.
paul laughed as he glanced after her and, flinging himself onto his horse, rode away to the stables at a reckless pace, as if to work off some emotion for which he could find no other vent.
""here's a letter for you, lad, all the way from some place in italy.
who do you know there?"
said bedford, as the boy came back.
with a hasty "thank you," paul caught the letter and darted away to his own room, there to tear it open and, after reading a single line, to drop into a chair as if he had received a sudden blow.
growing paler and paler he read on, and when the letter fell from his hands he exclaimed, in a tone of despair, "how could he die at such a time!"
for an hour the boy sat thinking intently, with locked door, curtained window, and several papers strewn before him.
letters, memoranda, plans, drawings, and bits of parchment, all of which he took from a small locked portfolio always worn about him.
over these he pored with a face in which hope, despondency, resolve, and regret alternated rapidly.
taking the locket out he examined a ring which lay in one side, and the childish face which smiled on him from the other.
his eyes filled as he locked and put it by, saying tenderly, "dear little heart!
i'll not forget or desert her whatever happens.
time must help me, and to time i must leave my work.
one more attempt and then i'm off."
* * * * * "i'll go to bed now, hester; but while you get my things ready i'll take a turn in the corridor.
the air will refresh me."
as she spoke, lady trevlyn drew her wrapper about her and paced softly down the long hall lighted only by fitful gleams of moonlight and the ruddy glow of the fire.
at the far end was the state chamber, never used now, and never visited except by hester, who occasionally went in to dust and air it, and my lady, who always passed the anniversary of sir richard's death alone there.
the gallery was very dark, and she seldom went farther than the last window in her restless walks, but as she now approached she was startled to see a streak of yellow light under the door.
she kept the key herself and neither she nor hester had been there that day.
a cold shiver passed over her for, as she looked, the shadow of a foot darkened the light for a moment and vanished as if someone had noiselessly passed.
obeying a sudden impulse, my lady sprang forward and tried to open the door.
it was locked, but as her hand turned the silver knob a sound as if a drawer softly closed met her ear.
she stooped to the keyhole but it was dark, a key evidently being in the lock.
she drew back and flew to her room, snatched the key from her dressing table, and, bidding hester follow, returned to the hall.
""what is it, my lady?"
cried the woman, alarmed at the agitation of her mistress.
""a light, a sound, a shadow in the state chamber.
come quick!"
cried lady trevlyn, adding, as she pointed to the door, "there, there, the light shines underneath.
do you see it?"
""no, my lady, it's dark," returned hester.
it was, but never pausing my lady thrust in the key, and to her surprise it turned, the door flew open, and the dim, still room was before them.
hester boldly entered, and while her mistress slowly followed, she searched the room, looking behind the tall screen by the hearth, up the wide chimney, in the great wardrobe, and under the ebony cabinet, where all the relics of sir richard were kept.
nothing appeared, not even a mouse, and hester turned to my lady with an air of relief.
but her mistress pointed to the bed shrouded in dark velvet hangings, and whispered breathlessly, "you forgot to look there."
hester had not forgotten, but in spite of her courage and good sense she shrank a little from looking at the spot where she had last seen her master's dead face.
she believed the light and sound to be phantoms of my lady's distempered fancy, and searched merely to satisfy her.
the mystery of sir richard's death still haunted the minds of all who remembered it, and even hester felt a superstitious dread of that room.
with a nervous laugh she looked under the bed and, drawing back the heavy curtains, said soothingly, "you see, my lady, there's nothing there."
but the words died on her lips, for, as the pale glimmer of the candle pierced the gloom of that funeral couch, both saw a face upon the pillow: a pale face framed in dark hair and beard, with closed eyes and the stony look the dead wear.
a loud, long shriek that roused the house broke from lady trevlyn as she fell senseless at the bedside, and dropping both curtain and candle hester caught up her mistress and fled from the haunted room, locking the door behind her.
in a moment a dozen servants were about them, and into their astonished ears hester poured her story while vainly trying to restore her lady.
great was the dismay and intense the unwillingness of anyone to obey when hester ordered the men to search the room again, for she was the first to regain her self-possession.
""where's paul?
he's the heart of a man, boy though he is," she said angrily as the men hung back.
""he's not here.
lord!
maybe it was him a-playing tricks, though it ai n't like him," cried bessy, lillian's little maid.
""no, it ca n't be him, for i locked him in myself.
he walks in his sleep sometimes, and i was afraid he'd startle my lady.
let him sleep; this would only excite him and set him to marching again.
follow me, bedford and james, i'm not afraid of ghosts or rogues."
with a face that belied her words hester led the way to the awful room, and flinging back the curtain resolutely looked in.
the bed was empty, but on the pillow was plainly visible the mark of a head and a single scarlet stain, as of blood.
at that sight hester turned pale and caught the butler's arm, whispering with a shudder, "do you remember the night we put him in his coffin, the drop of blood that fell from his white lips?
sir richard has been here."
""good lord, ma'am, do n't say that!
we can never rest in our beds if such things are to happen," gasped bedford, backing to the door.
""it's no use to look, we've found all we shall find so go your ways and tell no one of this," said the woman in a gloomy tone, and, having assured herself that the windows were fast, hester locked the room and ordered everyone but bedford and the housekeeper to bed.
""do you sit outside my lady's door till morning," she said to the butler, "and you, mrs. price, help me to tend my poor lady, for if i'm not mistaken this night's work will bring on the old trouble."
morning came, and with it a new alarm; for, though his door was fast locked and no foothold for even a sparrow outside the window, paul's room was empty, and the boy nowhere to be found.
chapter v a hero four years had passed, and lillian was fast blooming into a lovely woman: proud and willful as ever, but very charming, and already a belle in the little world where she still reigned a queen.
owing to her mother's ill health, she was allowed more freedom than is usually permitted to an english girl of her age; and, during the season, often went into company with a friend of lady trevlyn's who was chaperoning two young daughters of her own.
to the world lillian seemed a gay, free-hearted girl; and no one, not even her mother, knew how well she remembered and how much she missed the lost paul.
no tidings of him had ever come, and no trace of him was found after his flight.
nothing was missed, he went without his wages, and no reason could be divined for his departure except the foreign letter.
bedford remembered it, but forgot what postmark it bore, for he had only been able to decipher "italy."
my lady made many inquiries and often spoke of him; but when month after month passed and no news came, she gave him up, and on lillian's account feigned to forget him.
contrary to hester's fear, she did not seem the worse for the nocturnal fright, but evidently connected the strange visitor with paul, or, after a day or two of nervous exhaustion, returned to her usual state of health.
hester had her own misgivings, but, being forbidden to allude to the subject, she held her peace, after emphatically declaring that paul would yet appear to set her mind at rest.
""lillian, lillian, i've such news for you!
come and hear a charming little romance, and prepare to see the hero of it!"
cried maud churchill, rushing into her friend's pretty boudoir one day in the height of the season.
lillian lay on a couch, rather languid after a ball, and listlessly begged maud to tell her story, for she was dying to be amused.
""well my, dear, just listen and you'll be as enthusiastic as i am," cried maud.
and throwing her bonnet on one chair, her parasol on another, and her gloves anywhere, she settled herself on the couch and began: "you remember reading in the papers, some time ago, that fine account of the young man who took part in the italian revolution and did that heroic thing with the bombshell?"
""yes, what of him?"
asked lillian, sitting up.
""he is my hero, and we are to see him tonight."
""go on, go on!
tell all, and tell it quickly," she cried.
""you know the officers were sitting somewhere, holding a council, while the city -lrb- i forget the name -rrb- was being bombarded, and how a shell came into the midst of them, how they sat paralyzed, expecting it to burst, and how this young man caught it up and ran out with it, risking his own life to save theirs?"
""yes, yes, i remember!"
and lillian's listless face kindled at the recollection.
""well, an englishman who was there was so charmed by the act that, finding the young man was poor and an orphan, he adopted him.
mr. talbot was old, and lonely, and rich, and when he died, a year after, he left his name and fortune to this paolo."
""i'm glad, i'm glad!"
cried lillian, clapping her hands with a joyful face.
""how romantic and charming it is!"
""is n't it?
but, my dear creature, the most romantic part is to come.
young talbot served in the war, and then came to england to take possession of his property.
it's somewhere down in kent, a fine place and good income, all his; and he deserves it.
mamma heard a deal about him from mrs. langdon, who knew old talbot and has seen the young man.
of course all the girls are wild to behold him, for he is very handsome and accomplished, and a gentleman by birth.
but the dreadful part is that he is already betrothed to a lovely greek girl, who came over at the same time, and is living in london with a companion; quite elegantly, mrs. langdon says, for she called and was charmed.
this girl has been seen by some of our gentlemen friends, and they already rave about the "fair helene," for that's her name."
here maud was forced to stop for breath, and lillian had a chance to question her.
""how old is she?"
""about eighteen or nineteen, they say."
""very pretty?"
""ravishing, regularly greek and divine, fred raleigh says."
""when is she to be married?"
""do n't know; when talbot gets settled, i fancy."
""and he?
is he as charming as she?"
""quite, i'm told.
he's just of age, and is, in appearance as in everything else, a hero of romance."
""how came your mother to secure him for tonight?"
""mrs. langdon is dying to make a lion of him, and begged to bring him.
he is very indifferent on such things and seems intent on his own affairs.
is grave and old for his years, and does n't seem to care much for pleasure and admiration, as most men would after a youth like his, for he has had a hard time, i believe.
for a wonder, he consented to come when mrs. langdon asked him, and i flew off at once to tell you and secure you for tonight."
""a thousand thanks.
i meant to rest, for mamma frets about my being so gay; but she wo n't object to a quiet evening with you.
what shall we wear?"
and here the conversation branched off on the all-absorbing topic of dress.
when lillian joined her friend that evening, the hero had already arrived, and, stepping into a recess, she waited to catch a glimpse of him.
maud was called away, and she was alone when the crowd about the inner room thinned and permitted young talbot to be seen.
well for lillian that no one observed her at that moment, for she grew pale and sank into a chair, exclaiming below her breath, "it is paul -- my paul!"
she recognized him instantly, in spite of increased height, a dark moustache, and martial bearing.
it was paul, older, graver, handsomer, but still "her paul," as she called him, with a flush of pride and delight as she watched him, and felt that of all there she knew him best and loved him most.
for the childish affection still existed, and this discovery added a tinge of romance that made it doubly dangerous as well as doubly pleasant.
will he know me?
she thought, glancing at a mirror which reflected a slender figure with bright hair, white arms, and brilliant eyes; a graceful little head, proudly carried, and a sweet mouth, just then very charming, as it smiled till pearly teeth shone between the ruddy lips.
i'm glad i'm not ugly, and i hope he'll like me, she thought, as she smoothed the golden ripples on her forehead, settled her sash, and shook out the folds of her airy dress in a flutter of girlish excitement.
""i'll pretend not to know him, when we meet, and see what he will do," she said, with a wicked sense of power; for being forewarned she was forearmed, and, fearing no betrayal of surprise on her own part, was eager to enjoy any of which he might be guilty.
leaving her nook, she joined a group of young friends and held herself prepared for the meeting.
presently she saw maud and mrs. langdon approaching, evidently intent on presenting the hero to the heiress.
""mr. talbot, miss trevlyn," said the lady.
and looking up with a well-assumed air of indifference, lillian returned the gentleman's bow with her eyes fixed full upon his face.
not a feature of that face changed, and so severely unconscious of any recognition was it that the girl was bewildered.
for a moment she fancied she had been mistaken in his identity, and a pang of disappointment troubled her; but as he moved a chair for maud, she saw on the one ungloved hand a little scar which she remembered well, for he received it in saving her from a dangerous fall.
at the sight all the happy past rose before her, and if her telltale eyes had not been averted they would have betrayed her.
a sudden flush of maidenly shame dyed her cheek as she remembered that last ride, and the childish confidences then interchanged.
this helen was the little sweetheart whose picture he wore, and now, in spite of all obstacles, he had won both fortune and ladylove.
the sound of his voice recalled her thoughts, and glancing up she met the deep eyes fixed on her with the same steady look they used to wear.
he had addressed her, but what he said she knew not, beyond a vague idea that it was some slight allusion to the music going on in the next room.
with a smile which would serve for an answer to almost any remark, she hastily plunged into conversation with a composure that did her credit in the eyes of her friends, who stood in awe of the young hero, for all were but just out.
""mr. talbot hardly needs an introduction here, for his name is well-known among us, though this is perhaps his first visit to england?"
she said, flattering herself that this artful speech would entrap him into the reply she wanted.
with a slight frown, as if the allusion to his adventure rather annoyed him, and a smile that puzzled all but lillian, he answered very simply, "it is not my first visit to this hospitable island.
i was here a few years ago, for a short time, and left with regret."
""then you have old friends here?"
and lillian watched him as she spoke.
""i had.
they had doubtless forgotten me now," he said, with a sudden shadow marring the tranquillity of his face.
""why doubt them?
if they were true friends, they will not forget."
the words were uttered impulsively, almost warmly, but talbot made no response, except a polite inclination and an abrupt change in the conversation.
""that remains to be proved.
do you sing, miss trevlyn?"
""a little."
and lillian's tone was both cold and proud.
""a great deal, and very charmingly," added maud, who took pride in her friend's gifts both of voice and beauty.
""come, dear, there are so few of us you will sing, i know.
mamma desired me to ask you when edith had done."
to her surprise lillian complied, and allowed talbot to lead her to the instrument.
still hoping to win some sign of recognition from him, the girl chose an air he taught her and sang it with a spirit and skill that surprised the listeners who possessed no key to her mood.
at the last verse her voice suddenly faltered, but talbot took up the song and carried her safely through it with his well-tuned voice.
""you know the air then?"
she said in a low tone, as a hum of commendation followed the music.
""all italians sing it, though few do it like yourself," he answered quietly, restoring the fan he had held while standing beside her.
provoking boy!
why wo n't he know me?
thought lillian.
and her tone was almost petulant as she refused to sing again.
talbot offered his arm and led her to a seat, behind which stood a little statuette of a child holding a fawn by a daisy chain.
""pretty, is n't it?"
she said, as he paused to look at it instead of taking the chair before her.
""i used to enjoy modeling tiny deer and hinds in wax, as well as making daisy chains.
is sculpture among the many accomplishments which rumor tells us you possess?"
""no.
those who, like me, have their own fortunes to mold find time for little else," he answered gravely, still examining the marble group.
lillian broke her fan with an angry flirt, for she was tired of her trial, and wished she had openly greeted him at the beginning; feeling now how pleasant it would have been to sit chatting of old times, while her friends dared hardly address him at all.
she was on the point of calling him by his former name, when the remembrance of what he had been arrested the words on her lips.
he was proud; would he not dread to have it known that, in his days of adversity, he had been a servant?
for if she betrayed her knowledge of his past, she would be forced to tell where and how that knowledge was gained.
no, better wait till they met alone, she thought; he would thank her for her delicacy, and she could easily explain her motive.
he evidently wished to seem a stranger, for once she caught a gleam of the old, mirthful mischief in his eye, as she glanced up unexpectedly.
he did remember her, she was sure, yet was trying her, perhaps, as she tried him.
well, she would stand the test and enjoy the joke by-and-by.
with this fancy in her head she assumed a gracious air and chatted away in her most charming style, feeling both gay and excited, so anxious was she to please, and so glad to recover her early friend.
a naughty whim seized her as her eye fell on a portfolio of classical engravings which someone had left in disorder on a table near her.
tossing them over she asked his opinion of several, and then handed him one in which helen of troy was represented as giving her hand to the irresistible paris.
""do you think her worth so much bloodshed, and deserving so much praise?"
she asked, vainly trying to conceal the significant smile that would break loose on her lips and sparkle in her eyes.
talbot laughed the short, boyish laugh so familiar to her ears, as he glanced from the picture to the arch questioner, and answered in a tone that made her heart beat with a nameless pain and pleasure, so full of suppressed ardor was it: "yes!
"all for love or the world well lost" is a saying i heartily agree to.
la belle helene is my favorite heroine, and i regard paris as the most enviable of men."
""i should like to see her."
the wish broke from lillian involuntarily, and she was too much confused to turn it off by any general expression of interest in the classical lady.
""you may sometime," answered talbot, with an air of amusement; adding, as if to relieve her, "i have a poetical belief that all the lovely women of history or romance will meet, and know, and love each other in some charming hereafter."
""but i'm no heroine and no beauty, so i shall never enter your poetical paradise," said lillian, with a pretty affectation of regret.
""some women are beauties without knowing it, and the heroines of romances never given to the world.
i think you and helen will yet meet, miss trevlyn."
as he spoke, mrs. langdon beckoned, and he left her pondering over his last words, and conscious of a secret satisfaction in his implied promise that she should see his betrothed.
""how do you like him?"
whispered maud, slipping into the empty chair.
""very well," was the composed reply; for lillian enjoyed her little mystery too much to spoil it yet.
""what did you say to him?
i longed to hear, for you seemed to enjoy yourselves very much, but i did n't like to be a marplot."
lillian repeated a part of the conversation, and maud professed to be consumed with jealousy at the impression her friend had evidently made.
""it is folly to try to win the hero, for he is already won, you know," answered lillian, shutting the cover on the pictured helen with a sudden motion as if glad to extinguish her.
""oh dear, no; mrs. langdon just told mamma that she was mistaken about their being engaged; for she asked him and he shook his head, saying helen was his ward."
""but that is absurd, for he's only a boy himself.
it's very odd, is n't it?
never mind, i shall soon know all about it."
""how?"
cried maud, amazed at lillian's assured manner.
""wait a day or two and, i'll tell you a romance in return for yours.
your mother beckons to me, so i know hester has come.
good night.
i've had a charming time."
and with this tantalizing adieu, lillian slipped away.
hester was waiting in the carriage, but as lillian appeared, talbot put aside the footman and handed her in, saying very low, in the well-remembered tone: "good night, my little mistress."
chapter vi fair helen to no one but her mother and hester did lillian confide the discovery she had made.
none of the former servants but old bedford remained with them, and till paul chose to renew the old friendship it was best to remain silent.
great was the surprise and delight of our lady and hester at the good fortune of their protege, and many the conjectures as to how he would explain his hasty flight.
""you will go and see him, wo n't you, mamma, or at least inquire about him?"
said lillian, eager to assure the wanderer of a welcome, for those few words of his had satisfied her entirely.
""no, dear, it is for him to seek us, and till he does, i shall make no sign.
he knows where we are, and if he chooses he can renew the acquaintance so strangely broken off.
be patient, and above all things remember, lillian, that you are no longer a child," replied my lady, rather disturbed by her daughter's enthusiastic praises of paul.
""i wish i was, for then i might act as i feel, and not be afraid of shocking the proprieties."
and lillian went to bed to dream of her hero.
for three days she stayed at home, expecting paul, but he did not come, and she went out for her usual ride in the park, hoping to meet him.
an elderly groom now rode behind her, and she surveyed him with extreme disgust, as she remembered the handsome lad who had once filled that place.
nowhere did paul appear, but in the ladies" mile she passed an elegant brougham in which sat a very lovely girl and a mild old lady.
""that is talbot's fiancee," said maud churchill, who had joined her.
""is n't she beautiful?"
""not at all -- yes, very," was lillian's somewhat peculiar reply, for jealousy and truth had a conflict just then.
""he's so perfectly absorbed and devoted that i am sure that story is true, so adieu to our hopes," laughed maud.
""did you have any?
good-bye, i must go."
and lillian rode home at a pace which caused the stout groom great distress.
""mamma, i've seen paul's betrothed!"
she cried, running into her mother's boudoir.
""and i have seen paul himself," replied my lady, with a warning look, for there he stood, with half-extended hand, as if waiting to be acknowledged.
lillian forgot her embarrassment in her pleasure, and made him an elaborate curtsy, saying, with a half-merry, half-reproachful glance, "mr. talbot is welcome in whatever guise he appears."
""i choose to appear as paul, then, and offer you a seat, miss lillian," he said, assuming as much of his boyish manner as he could.
lillian took it and tried to feel at ease, but the difference between the lad she remembered and the man she now saw was too great to be forgotten.
""now tell us your adventures, and why you vanished away so mysteriously four years ago," she said, with a touch of the childish imperiousness in her voice, though her frank eyes fell before his.
""i was about to do so when you appeared with news concerning my cousin," he began.
""your cousin!"
exclaimed lillian.
""yes, helen's mother and my own were sisters.
both married englishmen, both died young, leaving us to care for each other.
we were like a brother and sister, and always together till i left her to serve colonel daventry.
the death of the old priest to whom i entrusted her recalled me to genoa, for i was then her only guardian.
i meant to have taken leave of you, my lady, properly, but the consequences of that foolish trick of mine frightened me away in the most unmannerly fashion."
""ah, it was you, then, in the state chamber; i always thought so," and lady trevlyn drew a long breath of relief.
""yes, i heard it whispered among the servants that the room was haunted, and i felt a wish to prove the truth of the story and my own courage.
hester locked me in, for fear of my sleepwalking; but i lowered myself by a rope and then climbed in at the closet window of the state chamber.
when you came, my lady, i thought it was hester, and slipped into the bed, meaning to give her a fright in return for her turning the key on me.
but when your cry showed me what i had done, i was filled with remorse, and escaped as quickly and quietly as possible.
i should have asked pardon before; i do now, most humbly, my lady, for it was sacrilege to play pranks there."
during the first part of his story paul's manner had been frank and composed, but in telling the latter part, his demeanor underwent a curious change.
he fixed his eyes on the ground and spoke as if repeating a lesson, while his color varied, and a half-proud, half-submissive expression replaced the former candid one.
lillian observed this, and it disturbed her, but my lady took it for shame at his boyish freak and received his confession kindly, granting a free pardon and expressing sincere pleasure at his amended fortunes.
as he listened, lillian saw him clench his hand hard and knit his brows, assuming the grim look she had often seen, as if trying to steel himself against some importunate emotion or rebellious thought.
""yes, half my work is done, and i have a home, thanks to my generous benefactor, and i hope to enjoy it well and wisely," he said in a grave tone, as if the fortune had not yet brought him his heart's desire.
""and when is the other half of the work to be accomplished, paul?
that depends on your cousin, perhaps."
and lady trevlyn regarded him with a gleam of womanly curiosity in her melancholy eyes.
""it does, but not in the way you fancy, my lady.
whatever helen may be, she is not my fiancee yet, miss lillian."
and the shadow lifted as he laughed, looking at the young lady, who was decidedly abashed, in spite of a sense of relief caused by his words.
""i merely accepted the world's report," she said, affecting a nonchalant air.
""the world is a liar, as you will find in time" was his abrupt reply.
""i hope to see this beautiful cousin, paul.
will she receive us as old friends of yours?"
""thanks, not yet, my lady.
she is still too much a stranger here to enjoy new faces, even kind ones.
i have promised perfect rest and freedom for a time, but you shall be the first whom she receives."
again lillian detected the secret disquiet which possessed him, and her curiosity was roused.
it piqued her that this helen felt no desire to meet her and chose to seclude herself, as if regardless of the interest and admiration she excited.
""i will see her in spite of her refusal, for i only caught a glimpse in the park.
something is wrong, and i'll discover it, for it evidently worries paul, and perhaps i can help him."
as this purpose sprang up in the warm but willful heart of the girl, she regained her spirits and was her most charming self while the young man stayed.
they talked of many things in a pleasant, confidential manner, though when lillian recalled that hour, she was surprised to find how little paul had really told them of his past life or future plans.
it was agreed among them to say nothing of their former relations, except to old bedford, who was discretion itself, but to appear to the world as new-made friends -- thus avoiding unpleasant and unnecessary explanations which would only excite gossip.
my lady asked him to dine, but he had business out of town and declined, taking his leave with a lingering look, which made lillian steal away to study her face in the mirror and wonder if she looked her best, for in paul's eyes she had read undisguised admiration.
lady trevlyn went to her room to rest, leaving the girl free to ride, drive, or amuse herself as she liked.
as if fearing her courage would fail if she delayed, lillian ordered the carriage, and, bidding hester mount guard over her, she drove away to st. john's wood.
""now, hester, do n't lecture or be prim when i tell you that we are going on a frolic," she began, after getting the old woman into an amiable mood by every winning wile she could devise.
""i think you'll like it, and if it's found out i'll take the blame.
there is some mystery about paul's cousin, and i'm going to find it out."
""bless you, child, how?"
""she lives alone here, is seldom seen, and wo n't go anywhere or receive anyone.
that's not natural in a pretty girl.
paul wo n't talk about her, and, though he's fond of her, he always looks grave and grim when i ask questions.
that's provoking, and i wo n't hear it.
maud is engaged to raleigh, you know; well, he confided to her that he and a friend had found out where helen was, had gone to the next villa, which is empty, and under pretense of looking at it got a peep at the girl in her garden.
i'm going to do the same."
""and what am i to do?"
asked hester, secretly relishing the prank, for she was dying with curiosity to behold paul's cousin.
""you are to do the talking with the old woman, and give me a chance to look.
now say you will, and i'll behave myself like an angel in return."
hester yielded, after a few discreet scruples, and when they reached laburnum lodge played her part so well that lillian soon managed to stray away into one of the upper rooms which overlooked the neighboring garden.
helen was there, and with eager eyes the girl scrutinized her.
she was very beautiful, in the classical style; as fair and finely molded as a statue, with magnificent dark hair and eyes, and possessed of that perfect grace which is as effective as beauty.
she was alone, and when first seen was bending over a flower which she caressed and seemed to examine with great interest as she stood a long time motionless before it.
then she began to pace slowly around and around the little grass plot, her hands hanging loosely clasped before her, and her eyes fixed on vacancy as if absorbed in thought.
but as the first effect of her beauty passed away, lillian found something peculiar about her.
it was not the somewhat foreign dress and ornaments she wore; it was in her face, her movements, and the tone of her voice, for as she walked she sang a low, monotonous song, as if unconsciously.
lillian watched her keenly, marking the aimless motions of the little hands, the apathy of the lovely face, and the mirthless accent of the voice; but most of all the vacant fixture of the great dark eyes.
around and around she went, with an elastic step and a mechanical regularity wearisome to witness.
what is the matter with her?
thought lillian anxiously, as this painful impression increased with every scrutiny of the unconscious girl.
so abashed was she that hester's call was unheard, and hester was unseen as she came and stood beside her.
both looked a moment, and as they looked an old lady came from the house and led helen in, still murmuring her monotonous song and moving her hands as if to catch and hold the sunshine.
""poor dear, poor dear.
no wonder paul turns sad and wo n't talk of her, and that she do n't see anyone," sighed hester pitifully.
""what is it?
i see, but do n't understand," whispered lillian.
""she's an innocent, deary, an idiot, though that's a hard word for a pretty creature like her."
""how terrible!
come away, hester, and never breathe to anyone what we have seen."
and with a shudder and sense of pain and pity lying heavy at her heart, she hurried away, feeling doubly guilty in the discovery of this affliction.
the thought of it haunted her continually; the memory of the lonely girl gave her no peace; and a consciousness of deceit burdened her unspeakably, especially in paul's presence.
this lasted for a week, then lillian resolved to confess, hoping that when he found she knew the truth he would let her share his cross and help to lighten it.
waiting her opportunity, she seized a moment when her mother was absent, and with her usual frankness spoke out impetuously.
""paul, i've done wrong, and i can have no peace till i am pardoned.
i have seen helen."
""where, when, and how?"
he asked, looking disturbed and yet relieved.
she told him rapidly, and as she ended she looked up at him with her sweet face, so full of pity, shame, and grief it would have been impossible to deny her anything.
""can you forgive me for discovering this affliction?"
""i think i could forgive you a far greater fault, lillian," he answered, in a tone that said many things.
""but deceit is so mean, so dishonorable and contemptible, how can you so easily pardon it in me?"
she asked, quite overcome by this forgiveness, granted without any reproach.
""then you would find it hard to pardon such a thing in another?"
he said, with the expression that always puzzled her.
""yes, it would be hard; but in those i loved, i could forgive much for love's sake."
with a sudden gesture he took her hand saying, impulsively, "how little changed you are!
do you remember that last ride of ours nearly five years ago?"
""yes, paul," she answered, with averted eyes.
""and what we talked of?"
""a part of that childish gossip i remember well."
""which part?"
""the pretty little romance you told me."
and lillian looked up now, longing to ask if helen's childhood had been blighted like her youth.
paul dropped her hand as if he, read her thoughts, and his own hand went involuntarily toward his breast, betraying that the locket still hung there.
""what did i say?"
he asked, smiling at her sudden shyness.
""you vowed you'd win and wed your fair little lady-love if you lived."
""and so i will," he cried, with sudden fire in his eyes.
""what, marry her?"
""aye, that i will."
""oh paul, will you tie yourself for life to a --" the word died on her lips, but a gesture of repugnance finished the speech.
""a what?"
he demanded, excitedly.
""an innocent, one bereft of reason," stammered lillian, entirely forgetting herself in her interest for him.
""of whom do you speak?"
asked paul, looking utterly bewildered, "of poor helen."
""good heavens, who told you that base lie?"
and his voice deepened with indignant pain.
""i saw her, you did not deny her affliction; hester said so, and i believed it.
have i wronged her, paul?"
""yes, cruelly.
she is blind, but no idiot, thank god."
there was such earnestness in his voice, such reproach in his words, and such ardor in his eye, that lillian's pride gave way, and with a broken entreaty for pardon, she covered up her face, weeping the bitterest tears she ever shed.
for in that moment, and the sharp pang it brought her, she felt how much she loved paul and how hard it was to lose him.
the childish affection had blossomed into a woman's passion, and in a few short weeks had passed through many phases of jealousy, hope, despair, and self-delusion.
the joy she felt on seeing him again, the pride she took in him, the disgust helen caused her, the relief she had not dared to own even to herself, when she fancied fate had put an insurmountable barrier between paul and his cousin, the despair at finding it only a fancy, and the anguish of hearing him declare his unshaken purpose to marry his first love -- all these conflicting emotions had led to this hard moment, and now self-control deserted her in her need.
in spite of her efforts the passionate tears would have their way, though paul soothed her with assurances of entire forgiveness, promises of helen's friendship, and every gentle device he could imagine.
she commanded herself at last by a strong effort, murmuring eagerly as she shrank from the hand that put back her fallen hair, and the face so full of tender sympathy bending over her: "i am so grieved and ashamed at what i have said and done.
i shall never dare to see helen.
forgive me, and forget this folly.
i'm sad and heavyhearted just now; it's the anniversary of papa's death, and mamma always suffers so much at such times that i get nervous."
""it is your birthday also.
i remembered it, and ventured to bring a little token in return for the one you gave me long ago.
this is a talisman, and tomorrow i will tell you the legend concerning it.
wear it for my sake, and god bless you, dear."
the last words were whispered hurriedly; lillian saw the glitter of an antique ring, felt the touch of bearded lips on her hand, and paul was gone.
but as he left the house he set his teeth, exclaiming low to himself, "yes, tomorrow there shall be an end of this!
we must risk everything and abide the consequences now.
i'll have no more torment for any of us."
chapter vii the secret key "is lady trevlyn at home, bedford?"
asked paul, as he presented himself at an early hour next day, wearing the keen, stern expression which made him look ten years older than he was.
""no, sir, my lady and miss lillian went down to the hall last night."
""no ill news, i hope?"
and the young man's eye kindled as if he felt a crisis at hand.
""not that i heard, sir.
miss lillian took one of her sudden whims and would have gone alone, if my lady had n't given in much against her will, this being a time when she is better away from the place."
""did they leave no message for me?"
""yes, sir.
will you step in and read the note at your ease.
we are in sad confusion, but this room is in order."
leading the way to lillian's boudoir, the man presented the note and retired.
a few hasty lines from my lady, regretting the necessity of this abrupt departure, yet giving no reason for it, hoping they might meet next season, but making no allusion to seeing him at the hall, desiring lillian's thanks and regards, but closing with no hint of helen, except compliments.
paul smiled as he threw it into the fire, saying to himself, "poor lady, she thinks she has escaped the danger by flying, and lillian tries to hide her trouble from me.
tender little heart!
i'll comfort it without delay."
he sat looking about the dainty room still full of tokens of her presence.
the piano stood open with a song he liked upon the rack; a bit of embroidery, whose progress he had often watched, lay in her basket with the little thimble near it; there was a strew of papers on the writing table, torn notes, scraps of drawing, and ball cards; a pearl-colored glove lay on the floor; and in the grate the faded flowers he had brought two days before.
as his eye roved to and fro, he seemed to enjoy some happy dream, broken too soon by the sound of servants shutting up the house.
he arose but lingered near the table, as if longing to search for some forgotten hint of himself.
""no, there has been enough lock picking and stealthy work; i'll do no more for her sake.
this theft will harm no one and tell no tales."
and snatching up the glove, paul departed.
""helen, the time has come.
are you ready?"
he asked, entering her room an hour later.
""i am ready."
and rising, she stretched her hand to him with a proud expression, contrasting painfully with her helpless gesture.
""they have gone to the hall, and we must follow.
it is useless to wait longer; we gain nothing by it, and the claim must stand on such proof as we have, or fall for want of that one link.
i am tired of disguise.
i want to be myself and enjoy what i have won, unless i lose it all."
""paul, whatever happens, remember we cling together and share good or evil fortune as we always have done.
i am a burden, but i can not live without you, for you are my world.
do not desert me."
she groped her way to him and clung to his strong arm as if it was her only stay.
paul drew her close, saying wistfully, as he caressed the beautiful sightless face leaning on his shoulder," mia cara, would it break your heart, if at the last hour i gave up all and let the word remain unspoken?
my courage fails me, and in spite of the hard past i would gladly leave them in peace."
""no, no, you shall not give it up!"
cried helen almost fiercely, while the slumbering fire of her southern nature flashed into her face.
""you have waited so long, worked so hard, suffered so much, you must not lose your reward.
you promised, and you must keep the promise."
""but it is so beautiful, so noble to forgive, and return a blessing for a curse.
let us bury the old feud, and right the old wrong in a new way.
those two are so blameless, it is cruel to visit the sins of the dead on their innocent heads.
my lady has suffered enough already, and lillian is so young, so happy, so unfit to meet a storm like this.
oh, helen, mercy is more divine than justice."
something moved paul deeply, and helen seemed about to yield, when the name of lillian wrought a subtle change in her.
the color died out of her face, her black eyes burned with a gloomy fire, and her voice was relentless as she answered, while her frail hands held him fast, "i will not let you give it up.
we are as innocent as they; we have suffered more; and we deserve our rights, for we have no sin to expiate.
go on, paul, and forget the sentimental folly that unmans you."
something in her words seemed to sting or wound him.
his face darkened, and he put her away, saying briefly, "let it be so then.
in an hour we must go."
on the evening of the same day, lady trevlyn and her daughter sat together in the octagon room at the hall.
twilight was falling and candles were not yet brought, but a cheery fire blazed in the wide chimney, filling the apartment with a ruddy glow, turning lillian's bright hair to gold and lending a tinge of color to my lady's pallid cheeks.
the girl sat on a low lounging chair before the fire, her head on her hand, her eyes on the red embers, her thoughts -- where?
my lady lay on her couch, a little in the shadow, regarding her daughter with an anxious air, for over the young face a somber change had passed which filled her with disquiet.
""you are out of spirits, love," she said at last, breaking the long silence, as lillian gave an unconscious sigh and leaned wearily into the depths of her chair.
""yes, mamma, a little."
""what is it?
are you ill?"
""no, mamma; i think london gaiety is rather too much for me.
i'm too young for it, as you often say, and i've found it out."
""then it is only weariness that makes you so pale and grave, and so bent on coming back here?"
lillian was the soul of truth, and with a moment's hesitation answered slowly, "not that alone, mamma.
i'm worried about other things.
do n't ask me what, please."
""but i must ask.
tell me, child, what things?
have you seen any one?
had letters, or been annoyed in any way about -- anything?"
my lady spoke with sudden energy and rose on her arm, eyeing the girl with unmistakable suspicion and excitement.
""no, mamma, it's only a foolish trouble of my own," answered lillian, with a glance of surprise and a shamefaced look as the words reluctantly left her lips.
""ah, a love trouble, nothing more?
thank god for that!"
and my lady sank back as if a load was off her mind.
""tell me all, my darling; there is no confidante like a mother."
""you are very kind, and perhaps you can cure my folly if i tell it, and yet i am ashamed," murmured the girl.
then yielding to an irresistible impulse to ask help and sympathy, she added, in an almost inaudible tone, "i came away to escape from paul."
""because he loves you, lillian?"
asked my lady, with a frown and a half smile.
""because he does not love me, mamma."
and the poor girl hid her burning cheeks in her hands, as if overwhelmed with maidenly shame at the implied confession of her own affection.
""my child, how is this?
i can not but be glad that he does not love you; yet it fills me with grief to see that this pains you.
he is not a mate for you, lillian.
remember this, and forget the transient regard that has sprung up from that early intimacy of yours."
""he is wellborn, and now my equal in fortune, and oh, so much my superior in all gifts of mind and heart," sighed the girl, still with hidden face, for tears were dropping through her slender fingers.
""it may be, but there is a mystery about him; and i have a vague dislike to him in spite of all that has passed.
but, darling, are you sure he does not care for you?
i fancied i read a different story in his face, and when you begged to leave town so suddenly, i believed that you had seen this also, and kindly wished to spare him any pain."
""it was to spare myself.
oh, mamma, he loves helen, and will marry her although she is blind.
he told me this, with a look i could not doubt, and so i came away to hide my sorrow," sobbed poor lillian in despair.
lady trevlyn went to her and, laying the bright head on her motherly bosom, said soothingly as she caressed it, "my little girl, it is too soon for you to know these troubles, and i am punished for yielding to your entreaties for a peep at the gay world.
it is now too late to spare you this; you have had your wish and must pay its price, dear.
but, lillian, call pride to aid you, and conquer this fruitless love.
it can not be very deep as yet, for you have known paul, the man, too short a time to be hopelessly enamored.
remember, there are others, better, braver, more worthy of you; that life is long, and full of pleasure yet untried."
""have no fears for me, mamma.
i'll not disgrace you or myself by any sentimental folly.
i do love paul, but i can conquer it, and i will.
give me a little time, and you shall see me quite myself again."
lillian lifted her head with an air of proud resolve that satisfied her mother, and with a grateful kiss stole away to ease her full heart alone.
as she disappeared lady trevlyn drew a long breath and, clasping her hands with a gesture of thanksgiving, murmured to herself in an accent of relief, "only a love sorrow!
i feared it was some new terror like the old one.
seventeen years of silence, seventeen years of secret dread and remorse for me," she said, pacing the room with tightly locked hands and eyes full of unspeakable anguish.
""oh, richard, richard!
i forgave you long ago, and surely i have expiated my innocent offense by these years of suffering!
for her sake i did it, and for her sake i still keep dumb.
god knows i ask nothing for myself but rest and oblivion by your side."
half an hour later, paul stood at the hall door.
it was ajar, for the family had returned unexpectedly, as was evident from the open doors and empty halls.
entering unseen, he ascended to the room my lady usually occupied.
the fire burned low, lillian's chair was empty, and my lady lay asleep, as if lulled by the sighing winds without and the deep silence that reigned within.
paul stood regarding her with a great pity softening his face as he marked the sunken eyes, pallid cheeks, locks too early gray, and restless lips muttering in dreams.
""i wish i could spare her this," he sighed, stooping to wake her with a word.
but he did not speak, for, suddenly clutching the chain about her neck, she seemed to struggle with some invisible foe and beat it off, muttering audibly as she clenched her thin hands on the golden case.
paul leaned and listened as if the first word had turned him to stone, till the paroxysm had passed, and with a heavy sigh my lady sank into a calmer sleep.
then, with a quick glance over his shoulder, paul skillfully opened the locket, drew out the silver key, replaced it with one from the piano close by, and stole from the house noiselessly as he had entered it.
that night, in the darkest hour before the dawn, a figure went gliding through the shadowy park to its most solitary corner.
here stood the tomb of the trevlyns, and here the figure paused.
a dull spark of light woke in its hand, there was a clank of bars, the creak of rusty hinges, then light and figure both seemed swallowed up.
standing in the tomb where the air was close and heavy, the pale glimmer of the lantern showed piles of moldering coffins in the niches, and everywhere lay tokens of decay and death.
the man drew his hat lower over his eyes, pulled the muffler closer about his mouth, and surveyed the spot with an undaunted aspect, though the beating of his heart was heard in the deep silence.
nearest the door stood a long casket covered with black velvet and richly decorated with silver ornaments, tarnished now.
the trevlyns had been a stalwart race, and the last sleeper brought there had evidently been of goodly stature, for the modern coffin was as ponderous as the great oaken beds where lay the bones of generations.
lifting the lantern, the intruder brushed the dust from the shield-shaped plate, read the name richard trevlyn and a date, and, as if satisfied, placed a key in the lock, half-raised the lid, and, averting his head that he might not see the ruin seventeen long years had made, he laid his hand on the dead breast and from the folded shroud drew a mildewed paper.
one glance sufficed, the casket was relocked, the door rebarred, the light extinguished, and the man vanished like a ghost in the darkness of the wild october night.
chapter viii which?
""a gentleman, my lady."
taking a card from the silver salver on which the servant offered it, lady trevlyn read, "paul talbot," and below the name these penciled words, "i beseech you to see me."
lillian stood beside her and saw the line.
their eyes met, and in the girl's face was such a sudden glow of hope, and love, and longing, that the mother could not doubt or disappoint her wish.
""i will see him," she said.
""oh, mamma, how kind you are!"
cried the girl with a passionate embrace, adding breathlessly, "he did not ask for me.
i can not see him yet.
i'll hide in the alcove, and can appear or run away as i like when we know why he comes."
they were in the library, for, knowing lillian's fondness for the room which held no dark memories for her, my lady conquered her dislike and often sat there.
as she spoke, the girl glided into the deep recess of a bay window and drew the heavy curtains just as paul's step sounded at the door.
hiding her agitation with a woman's skill, my lady rose with outstretched hand to welcome him.
he bowed but did not take the hand, saying, in a voice of grave respect in which was audible an undertone of strong emotion, "pardon me, lady trevlyn.
hear what i have to say; and then if you offer me your hand, i shall gratefully receive it."
she glanced at him, and saw that he was very pale, that his eye glittered with suppressed excitement, and his whole manner was that of a man who had nerved himself up to the performance of a difficult but intensely interesting task.
fancying these signs of agitation only natural in a young lover coming to woo, my lady smiled, reseated herself, and calmly answered, "i will listen patiently.
speak freely, paul, and remember i am an old friend."
""i wish i could forget it.
then my task would be easier," he murmured in a voice of mingled regret and resolution, as he leaned on a tall chair opposite and wiped his damp forehead, with a look of such deep compassion that her heart sank with a nameless fear.
""i must tell you a long story, and ask your forgiveness for the offenses i committed against you when a boy.
a mistaken sense of duty guided me, and i obeyed it blindly.
now i see my error and regret it," he said earnestly.
""go on," replied my lady, while the vague dread grew stronger, and she braced her nerves as for some approaching shock.
she forgot lillian, forgot everything but the strange aspect of the man before her, and the words to which she listened like a statue.
still standing pale and steady, paul spoke rapidly, while his eyes were full of mingled sternness, pity, and remorse.
""twenty years ago, an english gentleman met a friend in a little italian town, where he had married a beautiful wife.
the wife had a sister as lovely as herself, and the young man, during that brief stay, loved and married her -- in a very private manner, lest his father should disinherit him.
a few months passed, and the englishman was called home to take possession of his title and estates, the father being dead.
he went alone, promising to send for the wife when all was ready.
he told no one of his marriage, meaning to surprise his english friends by producing the lovely woman unexpectedly.
he had been in england but a short time when he received a letter from the old priest of the italian town, saying the cholera had swept through it, carrying off half its inhabitants, his wife and friend among others.
this blow prostrated the young man, and when he recovered he hid his grief, shut himself up in his country house, and tried to forget.
accident threw in his way another lovely woman, and he married again.
before the first year was out, the friend whom he supposed was dead appeared, and told him that his wife still lived, and had borne him a child.
in the terror and confusion of the plague, the priest had mistaken one sister for the other, as the elder did die."
""yes, yes, i know; go on!"
gasped my lady, with white lips, and eyes that never left the narrator's face.
""this friend had met with misfortune after flying from the doomed village with the surviving sister.
they had waited long for letters, had written, and, when no answer came, had been delayed by illness and poverty from reaching england.
at this time the child was born, and the friend, urged by the wife and his own interest, came here, learned that sir richard was married, and hurried to him in much distress.
we can imagine the grief and horror of the unhappy man.
in that interview the friend promised to leave all to sir richard, to preserve the secret till some means of relief could be found; and with this promise he returned, to guard and comfort the forsaken wife.
sir richard wrote the truth to lady trevlyn, meaning to kill himself, as the only way of escape from the terrible situation between two women, both so beloved, both so innocently wronged.
the pistol lay ready, but death came without its aid, and sir richard was spared the sin of suicide."
paul paused for breath, but lady trevlyn motioned him to go on, still sitting rigid and white as the marble image near her.
""the friend only lived to reach home and tell the story.
it killed the wife, and she died, imploring the old priest to see her child righted and its father's name secured to it.
he promised; but he was poor, the child was a frail baby, and he waited.
years passed, and when the child was old enough to ask for its parents and demand its due, the proofs of the marriage were lost, and nothing remained but a ring, a bit of writing, and the name.
the priest was very old, had neither friends, money, nor proofs to help him; but i was strong and hopeful, and though a mere boy i resolved to do the work.
i made my way to england, to trevlyn hall, and by various stratagems -lrb- among which, i am ashamed to say, were false keys and feigned sleepwalking -rrb- i collected many proofs, but nothing which would satisfy a court, for no one but you knew where sir richard's confession was.
i searched every nook and corner of the hall, but in vain, and began to despair, when news of the death of father cosmo recalled me to italy; for helen was left to my care then.
the old man had faithfully recorded the facts and left witnesses to prove the truth of his story; but for four years i never used it, never made any effort to secure the title or estates."
""why not?"
breathed my lady in a faint whisper, as hope suddenly revived.
""because i was grateful," and for the first time paul's voice faltered.
""i was a stranger, and you took me in.
i never could forget that, nor tie many kindnesses bestowed upon the friendless boy.
this afflicted me, even while i was acting a false part, and when i was away my heart failed me.
but helen gave me no peace; for my sake, she urged me to keep the vow made to that poor mother, and threatened to tell the story herself.
talbot's benefaction left me no excuse for delaying longer, and i came to finish the hardest task i can ever undertake.
i feared that a long dispute would follow any appeal to law, and meant to appeal first to you, but fate befriended me, and the last proof was found."
""found!
where?"
cried lady trevlyn, springing up aghast.
""in sir richard's coffin, where you hid it, not daring to destroy, yet fearing to keep it."
""who has betrayed me?"
and her eye glanced wildly about the room, as if she feared to see some spectral accuser.
""your own lips, my lady.
last night i came to speak of this.
you lay asleep, and in some troubled dream spoke of the paper, safe in its writer's keeping, and your strange treasure here, the key of which you guarded day and night.
i divined the truth.
remembering hester's stories, i took the key from your helpless hand, found the paper on sir richard's dead breast, and now demand that you confess your part in this tragedy."
""i do, i do!
i confess, i yield, i relinquish everything, and ask pity only for my child."
lady trevlyn fell upon her knees before him, with a submissive gesture, but imploring eyes, for, amid the wreck of womanly pride and worldly fortune, the mother's heart still clung to its idol.
""who should pity her, if not i?
god knows i would have spared her this blow if i could; but helen would not keep silent, and i was driven to finish what i had begun.
tell lillian this, and do not let her hate me."
as paul spoke, tenderly, eagerly, the curtain parted, and lillian appeared, trembling with the excitement of that interview, but conscious of only one emotion as she threw herself into his arms, crying in a tone of passionate delight, "brother!
brother!
now i may love you!"
paul held her close, and for a moment forgot everything but the joy of that moment.
lillian spoke first, looking up through tears of tenderness, her little hand laid caressingly against his cheek, as she whispered with sudden bloom in her own, "now i know why i loved you so well, and now i can see you marry helen without breaking my heart.
oh, paul, you are still mine, and i care for nothing else."
""but, lillian, i am not your brother."
""then, in heaven's name, who are you?"
she cried, tearing herself from his arms.
""your lover, dear!"
""who, then, is the heir?"
demanded lady trevlyn, springing up, as lillian turned to seek shelter with her mother.
""i am."
helen spoke, and helen stood on the threshold of the door, with a hard, haughty look upon her beautiful face.
""you told your story badly, paul," she said, in a bitter tone.
""you forgot me, forgot my affliction, my loneliness, my wrongs, and the natural desire of a child to clear her mother's honor and claim her father's name.
i am sir richard's eldest daughter.
i can prove my birth, and i demand my right with his own words to sustain me."
she paused, but no one spoke; and with a slight tremor in her proud voice, she added, "paul has done the work; he shall have the reward.
i only want my father's name.
title and fortune are nothing to one like me.
i coveted and claimed them that i might give them to you, paul, my one friend, always, so tender and so true."
""i'll have none of it," he answered, almost fiercely.
""i have kept my promise, and am free.
you chose to claim your own, although i offered all i had to buy your silence.
it is yours by right -- take it, and enjoy it if you can.
i'll have no reward for work like this."
he turned from her with a look that would have stricken her to the heart could she have seen it.
she felt it, and it seemed to augment some secret anguish, for she pressed her hands against her bosom with an expression of deep suffering, exclaiming passionately, "yes, i will keep it, since i am to lose all else.
i am tired of pity.
power is sweet, and i will use it.
go, paul, and be happy if you can, with a nameless wife, and the world's compassion or contempt to sting your pride."
""oh, lillian, where shall we go?
this is no longer our home, but who will receive us now?"
cried lady trevlyn, in a tone of despair, for her spirit was utterly broken by the thought of the shame and sorrow in store for this beloved and innocent child.
""i will."
and paul's face shone with a love and loyalty they could not doubt.
""my lady, you gave me a home when i was homeless; now let me pay my debt.
lillian, i have loved you from the time when, a romantic boy, i wore your little picture in my breast, and vowed to win you if i lived.
i dared not speak before, but now, when other hearts may be shut against you, mine stands wide open to welcome you.
come, both.
let me protect and cherish you, and so atone for the sorrow i have brought you."
it was impossible to resist the sincere urgency of his voice, the tender reverence of his manner, as he took the two forlorn yet innocent creatures into the shelter of his strength and love.
they clung to him instinctively, feeling that there still remained to them one staunch friend whom adversity could not estrange.
an eloquent silence fell upon the room, broken only by sobs, grateful whispers, and the voiceless vows that lovers plight with eyes, and hands, and tender lips.
helen was forgotten, till lillian, whose elastic spirit threw off sorrow as a flower sheds the rain, looked up to thank paul, with smiles as well as tears, and saw the lonely figure in the shadow.
her attitude was full of pathetic significance; she still stood on the threshold, for no one had welcomed her, and in the strange room she knew not where to go; her hands were clasped before her face, as if those sightless eyes had seen the joy she could not share, and at her feet lay the time-stained paper that gave her a barren title, but no love.
had lillian known how sharp a conflict between passion and pride, jealousy and generosity, was going on in that young heart, she could not have spoken in a tone of truer pity or sincerer goodwill than that in which she softly said, "poor girl!
we must not forget her, for, with all her wealth, she is poor compared to us.
we both had one father, and should love each other in spite of this misfortune.
helen, may i call you sister?"
""not yet.
wait till i deserve it."
as if that sweet voice had kindled an answering spark of nobleness in her own heart, helen's face changed beautifully, as she tore the paper to shreds, saying in a glad, impetuous tone, while the white flakes fluttered from her hands, "i, too, can be generous.
i, too, can forgive.
i bury the sad past.
see!
i yield my claim, i destroy my proofs, i promise eternal silence, and keep "paul's cousin" for my only title.
yes, you are happy, for you love one another!"
she cried, with a sudden passion of tears.
""oh, forgive me, pity me, and take me in, for i am all alone and in the dark!"
there could be but one reply to an appeal like that, and they gave it, as they welcomed her with words that sealed a household league of mutual secrecy and sacrifice.
_book_title_: louisa_may_alcott___under_the_lilacs.txt.out
chapter i a mysterious dog the elm-tree avenue was all overgrown, the great gate was never unlocked, and the old house had been shut up for several years.
yet voices were heard about the place, the lilacs nodded over the high wall as if they said, "we could tell fine secrets if we chose," and the mullein outside the gate made haste to reach the keyhole, that it might peep in and see what was going on.
if it had suddenly grown up like a magic bean-stalk, and looked in on a certain june day, it would have seen a droll but pleasant sight, for somebody evidently was going to have a party.
from the gate to the porch went a wide walk, paved with smooth slabs of dark stone, and bordered with the tall bushes which met overhead, making a green roof.
all sorts of neglected flowers and wild weeds grew between their stems, covering the walls of this summer parlor with the prettiest tapestry.
a board, propped on two blocks of wood, stood in the middle of the walk, covered with a little plaid shawl much the worse for wear, and on it a miniature tea-service was set forth with great elegance.
to be sure, the tea-pot had lost its spout, the cream-jug its handle, the sugar-bowl its cover, and the cups and plates were all more or less cracked or nicked; but polite persons would not take notice of these trifling deficiencies, and none but polite persons were invited to this party.
on either side of the porch was a seat, and here a somewhat remarkable sight would have been revealed to any inquisitive eye peering through the aforesaid keyhole.
upon the left-hand seat lay seven dolls, upon the right-hand seat lay six; and so varied were the expressions of their countenances, owing to fractures, dirt, age, and other afflictions, that one would very naturally have thought this a doll's hospital, and these the patients waiting for their tea.
this, however, would have been a sad mistake; for if the wind had lifted the coverings laid over them, it would have disclosed the fact that all were in full dress, and merely reposing before the feast should begin.
there was another interesting feature of the scene which would have puzzled any but those well acquainted with the manners and customs of dolls.
a fourteenth rag baby, with a china head, hung by her neck from the rusty knocker in the middle of the door.
a sprig of white and one of purple lilac nodded over her, a dress of yellow calico, richly trimmed with red-flannel scallops, shrouded her slender form, a garland of small flowers crowned her glossy curls, and a pair of blue boots touched toes in the friendliest, if not the most graceful, manner.
an emotion of grief, as well as of surprise, might well have thrilled any youthful breast at such a spectacle; for why, oh!
why, was this resplendent dolly hung up there to be stared at by thirteen of her kindred?
was she a criminal, the sight of whose execution threw them flat upon their backs in speechless horror?
or was she an idol, to be adored in that humble posture?
neither, my friends.
she was blonde belinda, set, or rather hung, aloft, in the place of honor, for this was her seventh birthday, and a superb ball was about to celebrate the great event.
all were evidently awaiting a summons to the festive board; but such was the perfect breeding of these dolls, that not a single eye out of the whole twenty-seven -lrb- dutch hans had lost one of the black beads from his worsted countenance -rrb- turned for a moment toward the table, or so much as winked, as they lay in decorous rows, gazing with mute admiration at belinda.
she, unable to repress the joy and pride which swelled her sawdust bosom till the seams gaped, gave an occasional bounce as the wind waved her yellow skirts, or made the blue boots dance a sort of jig upon the door.
hanging was evidently not a painful operation, for she smiled contentedly, and looked as if the red ribbon around her neck was not uncomfortably tight; therefore, if slow suffocation suited her, who else had any right to complain?
so a pleasing silence reigned, not even broken by a snore from dinah, the top of whose turban alone was visible above the coverlet, or a cry from baby jane, though her bare feet stuck out in a way that would have produced shrieks from a less well-trained infant.
presently voices were heard approaching, and through the arch which led to a side-path came two little girls, one carrying a small pitcher, the other proudly bearing a basket covered with a napkin.
they looked like twins, but were not, for bab was a year older than betty, though only an inch taller.
both had on brown calico frocks, much the worse for a week's wear; but clean pink pinafores, in honor of the occasion, made up for that, as well as the gray stockings and thick boots.
both had round, rosy faces rather sunburnt, pug noses somewhat freckled, merry blue eyes, and braided tails of hair hanging down their backs like those of the dear little kenwigses.
""do n't they look sweet?"
cried bab, gazing with maternal pride upon the left-hand row of dolls, who might appropriately have sung in chorus, "we are seven."
""very nice; but my belinda beats them all.
i do think she is the splendidest child that ever was!"
and betty set down the basket to run and embrace the suspended darling, just then kicking up her heels with joyful abandon.
""the cake can be cooling while we fix the children.
it does smell perfectly delicious!"
said bab, lifting the napkin to hang over the basket, fondly regarding the little round loaf that lay inside.
""leave some smell for me!"
commanded betty, running back to get her fair share of the spicy fragrance.
the pug noses sniffed it up luxuriously, and the bright eyes feasted upon the loveliness of the cake, so brown and shiny, with a tipsy-looking b in pie-crust staggering down one side, instead of sitting properly a-top.
""ma let me put it on the very last minute, and it baked so hard i could n't pick it off.
we can give belinda that piece, so it's just as well," observed betty, taking the lead, as her child was queen of the revel.
""let's set them round, so they can see too," proposed bab, going, with a hop, skip, and jump, to collect her young family.
betty agreed, and for several minutes both were absorbed in seating their dolls about the table; for some of the dear things were so limp they would n't sit up, and others so stiff they would n't sit down, and all sorts of seats had to be contrived to suit the peculiarities of their spines.
this arduous task accomplished, the fond mammas stepped back to enjoy the spectacle, which, i assure you, was an impressive one.
belinda sat with great dignity at the head, her hands genteelly holding a pink cambric pocket-handkerchief in her lap.
josephus, her cousin, took the foot, elegantly arrayed in a new suit of purple and green gingham, with his speaking countenance much obscured by a straw hat several sizes too large for him; while on either side sat guests of every size, complexion, and costume, producing a very gay and varied effect, as all were dressed with a noble disregard of fashion.
""they will like to see us get tea.
did you forget the buns?"
inquired betty, anxiously.
""no; got them in my pocket."
and bab produced from that chaotic cupboard two rather stale and crumbly ones, saved from lunch for the fete.
these were cut up and arranged in plates, forming a graceful circle around the cake, still in its basket.
""ma could n't spare much milk, so we must mix water with it.
strong tea is n't good for children, she says."
and bab contentedly surveyed the gill of skim-milk which was to satisfy the thirst of the company.
""while the tea draws and the cake cools, let's sit down and rest; i'm so tired!"
sighed betty, dropping down on the door-step and stretching out the stout little legs which had been on the go all day; for saturday had its tasks as well as its fun, and much business had preceded this unusual pleasure.
bab went and sat beside her, looking idly down the walk toward the gate, where a fine cobweb shone in the afternoon sun.
""ma says she is going over the house in a day or two, now it is warm and dry after the storm, and we may go with her.
you know she would n't take us in the fall, cause we had whooping-cough, and it was damp there.
now we shall see all the nice things; wo n't it be fun?"
observed bab, after a pause.
""yes, indeed!
ma says there's lots of books in one room, and i can look at'em while she goes round.
may be i'll have time to read some, and then i can tell you," answered betty, who dearly loved stories, and seldom got any new ones.
""i'd rather see the old spinning-wheel up garret, and the big pictures, and the queer clothes in the blue chest.
it makes me mad to have them all shut up there, when we might have such fun with them.
i'd just like to bang that old door down!"
and bab twisted round to give it a thump with her boots.
""you need n't laugh; you know you'd like it as much as me," she added, twisting back again, rather ashamed of her impatience.
""i did n't laugh."
""you did!
do n't you suppose i know what laughing is?"
""i guess i know i did n't."
""you did laugh!
how darst you tell such a fib?"
""if you say that again i'll take belinda and go right home; then what will you do?"
""i'll eat up the cake."
""no, you wo n't!
it's mine, ma said so; and you are only company, so you'd better behave or i wo n't have any party at all, so now."
this awful threat calmed bab's anger at once, and she hastened to introduce a safer subject.
""never mind; do n't let's fight before the children.
do you know, ma says she will let us play in the coach-house next time it rains, and keep the key if we want to."
""oh, goody!
that's because we told her how we found the little window under the woodbine, and did n't try to go in, though we might have just as easy as not," cried betty, appeased at once, for, after a ten years" acquaintance, she had grown used to bab's peppery temper.
""i suppose the coach will be all dust and rats and spiders, but i do n't care.
you and the dolls can be the passengers, and i shall sit up in front drive."
""you always do.
i shall like riding better than being horse all the time, with that old wooden bit in my mouth, and you jerking my arms off," said poor betty, who was tired of being horse continually.
""i guess we'd better go and get the water now," suggested bab, feeling that it was not safe to encourage her sister in such complaints.
""it is not many people who would dare to leave their children all alone with such a lovely cake, and know they would n't pick at it," said betty proudly, as they trotted away to the spring, each with a little tin pail in her hand.
alas, for the faith of these too confiding mammas!
they were gone about five minutes, and when they returned a sight met their astonished eyes which produced a simultaneous shriek of horror.
flat upon their faces lay the fourteen dolls, and the cake, the cherished cake, was gone.
for an instant the little girls could only stand motionless, gazing at the dreadful scene.
then bab cast her water-pail wildly away, and, doubling up her fist, cried out fiercely, -- "it was that sally!
she said she'd pay me for slapping her when she pinched little mary ann, and now she has.
i'll give it to her!
you run that way.
i'll run this.
quick!
quick!"
away they went, bab racing straight on, and bewildered betty turning obediently round to trot in the opposite direction as fast as she could, with the water splashing all over her as she ran, for she had forgotten to put down her pail.
round the house they went, and met with a crash at the back door, but no sign of the thief appeared.
""in the lane!"
shouted bab.
""down by the spring!"
panted betty; and off they went again, one to scramble up a pile of stones and look over the wall into the avenue, the other to scamper to the spot they had just left.
still, nothing appeared but the dandelions" innocent faces looking up at bab, and a brown bird scared from his bath in the spring by betty's hasty approach.
back they rushed, but only to meet a new scare, which made them both cry "ow!"
and fly into the porch for refuge.
a strange dog was sitting calmly among the ruins of the feast, licking his lips after basely eating up the last poor bits of bun, when he had bolted the cake, basket, and all, apparently.
""oh, the horrid thing!"
cried bab, longing to give battle, but afraid, for the dog was a peculiar as well as a dishonest animal.
""he looks like our china poodle, does n't he?"
whispered betty, making herself as small as possible behind her more valiant sister.
he certainly did; for, though much larger and dirtier than the well-washed china dog, this live one had the same tassel at the end of his tail, ruffles of hair round his ankles, and a body shaven behind and curly before.
his eyes, however, were yellow, instead of glassy black, like the other's; his red nose worked as he cocked it up, as if smelling for more cakes, in the most impudent manner; and never, during the three years he had stood on the parlor mantel-piece, had the china poodle done the surprising feats with which this mysterious dog now proceeded to astonish the little girls almost out of their wits.
first he sat up, put his forepaws together, and begged prettily; then he suddenly flung his hind-legs into the air, and walked about with great ease.
hardly had they recovered from this shock, when the hind-legs came down, the fore-legs went up, and he paraded in a soldierly manner to and fro, like a sentinel on guard.
but the crowning performance was when he took his tail in his mouth and waltzed down the walk, over the prostrate dolls, to the gate and back again, barely escaping a general upset of the ravaged table.
bab and betty could only hold each other tight and squeal with delight, for never had they seen any thing so funny; but, when the gymnastics ended, and the dizzy dog came and stood on the step before them barking loudly, with that pink nose of his sniffing at their feet, and his queer eyes fixed sharply upon them, their amusement turned to fear again, and they dared not stir.
""whish, go away!"
commanded bab.
""scat!"
meekly quavered betty.
to their great relief, the poodle gave several more inquiring barks, and then vanished as suddenly as he appeared.
with one impulse, the children ran to see what became of him, and, after a brisk scamper through the orchard, saw the tasselled tail disappear under the fence at the far end.
""where do you s "pose he came from?"
asked betty, stopping to rest on a big stone.
""i'd like to know where he's gone, too, and give him a good beating, old thief!"
scolded bab, remembering their wrongs.
""oh, dear, yes!
i hope the cake burnt him dreadfully if he did eat it," groaned betty, sadly remembering the dozen good raisins she chopped up, and the "lots of "lasses" mother put into the dear lost loaf.
""the party's all spoilt, so we may as well go home; and bab mournfully led the way back.
betty puckered up her face to cry, but burst out laughing in spite of her woe.
""it was so funny to see him spin round and walk on his head!
i wish he'd do it all over again; do n't you?"
""yes: but i hate him just the same.
i wonder what ma will say when -- why!
why!"
and bab stopped short in the arch, with her eyes as round and almost as large as the blue saucers on the tea-tray.
""what is it?
oh, what is it?"
cried betty, all ready to run away if any new terror appeared.
""look!
there!
it's come back!"
said bab in an awe-stricken whisper, pointing to the table.
betty did look, and her eyes opened even wider, -- as well they might, -- for there, just where they first put it, was the lost cake, unhurt, unchanged, except that the big b had coasted a little further down the gingerbread hill.
chapter ii where they found his master neither spoke for a minute, astonishment being too great for words; then, as by one impulse, both stole up and touched the cake with a timid finger, quite prepared to see it fly away in some mysterious and startling manner.
it remained sitting tranquilly in the basket, however, and the children drew a long breath of relief, for, though they did not believe in fairies, the late performances did seem rather like witchcraft.
""the dog did n't eat it!"
""sally did n't take it!"
""how do you know?"
""she never would have put it back."
""who did?"
""ca n't tell, but i forgive'em."
""what shall we do now?"
asked betty, feeling as if it would be very difficult to settle down to a quiet tea-party after such unusual excitement.
""eat that cake up just as fast as ever we can," and bab divided the contested delicacy with one chop of the big knife, bound to make sure of her own share at all events.
it did not take long, for they washed it down with sips of milk, and ate as fast as possible, glancing round all the while to see if the queer dog was coming again.
""there!
now i'd like to see any one take my cake away," said bab, defiantly crunching her half of the pie-crust b. "or mine either," coughed betty, choking over a raisin that would n't go down in a hurry.
""we might as well clear up, and play there had been an earthquake," suggested bab, feeling that some such convulsion of nature was needed to explain satisfactorily the demoralized condition of her family.
""that will be splendid.
my poor linda was knocked right over on her nose.
darlin" child, come to your mother and be fixed," purred betty, lifting the fallen idol from a grove of chickweed, and tenderly brushing the dirt from belinda's heroically smiling face.
""she'll have croup to-night as sure as the world.
we'd better make up some squills out of this sugar and water," said bab, who dearly loved to dose the dollies all round.
""p "r "aps she will, but you need n't begin to sneeze yet awhile.
i can sneeze for my own children, thank you, ma'am," returned betty, sharply, for her usually amiable spirit had been ruffled by the late occurrences.
""i did n't sneeze!
i've got enough to do to talk and cry and cough for my own poor dears, without bothering about yours," cried bab, even more ruffled than her sister.
""then who did?
i heard a real live sneeze just as plain as anything," and betty looked up to the green roof above her, as if the sound came from that direction.
a yellow-bird sat swinging and chirping on the tall lilac-bush, but no other living thing was in sight.
""birds do n't sneeze, do they?"
asked betty, eying little goldy suspiciously.
""you goose!
of course they do n't."
""well.
i should just like to know who is laughing and sneezing round here.
may be it is the dog," suggested betty looking relieved.
""i never heard of a dog's laughing, except mother hubbard's.
this is such a queer one, may be he can, though.
i wonder where he went to?"
and bab took a survey down both the side-paths, quite longing to see the funny poodle again.
""i know where i'm going to," said betty, piling the dolls into her apron with more haste than care.
""i'm going right straight home to tell ma all about it.
i do n't like such actions, and i'm afraid to stay."
""i ai n't; but i guess it is going to rain, so i shall have to go any way," answered bab, taking advantage of the black clouds rolling up the sky, for she scorned to own that she was afraid of any thing.
clearing the table in a summary manner by catching up the four corners of the cloth, bab put the rattling bundle into her apron, flung her children on the top and pronounced herself ready to depart.
betty lingered an instant to pick up and ends that might be spoilt by the rain, and, when she turned from taking the red halter off the knocker, two lovely pink roses lay on the stone steps.
""oh, bab, just see!
here's the very ones we wanted.
was n't it nice of the wind to blow'em down?"
she called out, picking them up and running after her sister, who had strolled moodily along, still looking about for her sworn foe, sally folsom.
the flowers soothed the feelings of the little girls, because they had longed for them, and bravely resisted the temptation to climb up the trellis and help themselves, since their mother had forbidden such feats, owing to a fall bab got trying to reach a honeysuckle from the vine which ran all over the porch.
home they went and poured out their tale, to mrs. moss's great amusement; for she saw in it only some playmate's prank, and was not much impressed by the mysterious sneeze and laugh.
""we'll have a grand rummage monday, and find out what is going on over there," was all she said.
but mrs. moss could not keep her promise, for on monday it still rained, and the little girls paddled off to school like a pair of young ducks, enjoying every puddle they came to, since india-rubber boots made wading a delicious possibility.
they took their dinner, and at noon regaled a crowd of comrades with an account of the mysterious dog, who appeared to be haunting the neighborhood, as several of the other children had seen him examining their back yards with interest.
he had begged of them, but to none had he exhibited his accomplishments except bab and betty; and they were therefore much set up, and called him "our dog" with an air.
the cake transaction remained a riddle, for sally folsom solemnly declared that she was playing tag in mamie snow's barn at that identical time.
no one had been near the old house but the two children, and no one could throw any light upon that singular affair.
it produced a great effect, however; for even "teacher" was interested, and told such amazing tales of a juggler she once saw, that doughnuts were left forgotten in dinner-baskets, and wedges of pie remained suspended in the air for several minutes at a time, instead of vanishing with miraculous rapidity as usual.
at afternoon recess, which the girls had first, bab nearly dislocated every joint of her little body trying to imitate the poodle's antics.
she had practised on her bed with great success, but the wood-shed floor was a different thing, as her knees and elbows soon testified.
""it looked just as easy as any thing; i do n't see how he did it," she said, coming down with a bump after vainly attempting to walk on her hands.
""my gracious, there he is this very minute!"
cried betty, who sat on a little wood-pile near the door.
there was a general rush, -- and sixteen small girls gazed out into the rain as eagerly as if to behold cinderella's magic coach, instead of one forlorn dog trotting by through the mud.
""oh, do call him in and make him dance!"
cried the girls, all chirping at once, till it sounded as if a flock of sparrows had taken possession of the shed.
""i will call him, he knows me," and bab scrambled up, forgetting how she had chased the poodle and called him names two days ago.
he evidently had not forgotten, however; for, though he paused and looked wistfully at them, he would not approach, but stood dripping in the rain, with his frills much bedraggled, while his tasselled tail wagged slowly, and his pink nose pointed suggestively to the pails and baskets, nearly empty now.
""he's hungry; give him something to eat, and then he'll see that we do n't want to hurt him," suggested sally, starting a contribution with her last bit of bread and butter.
bab caught up her new pail, and collected all the odds and ends; then tried to beguile the poor beast in to eat and be comforted.
but he only came as far as the door, and, sitting up, begged with such imploring eyes that bab put down the pail and stepped back, saying pitifully, -- "the poor thing is starved; let him eat all he wants, and we wo n't touch him."
the girls drew back with little clucks of interest and compassion; but i regret to say their charity was not rewarded as they expected, for, the minute the coast was clear, the dog marched boldly up, seized the handle of the pail in his mouth, and was off with it, galloping down the road at a great pace.
shrieks arose from the children, especially bab and betty, basely bereaved of their new dinner-pail; but no one could follow the thief, for the bell rang, and in they went, so much excited that the boys rushed tumultuously forth to discover the cause.
by the time school was over the sun was out, and bab and betty hastened home to tell their wrongs and be comforted by mother, who did it most effectually.
""never mind, dears, i'll get you another pail, if he does n't bring it back as he did before.
as it is too wet for you to play out, you shall go and see the old coach-house as i promised.
keep on your rubbers and come along."
this delightful prospect much assuaged their woe, and away they went, skipping gayly down the gravelled path, while mrs. moss followed, with skirts well tucked up, and a great bunch of keys in her hand; for she lived at the lodge, and had charge of the premises.
the small door of the coach-house was fastened inside, but the large one had a padlock on it; and this being quickly unfastened, one half swung open, and the little girls ran in, too eager and curious even to cry out when they found themselves at last in possession of the long-coveted old carriage.
a dusty, musty concern enough; but it had a high seat, a door, steps that let down, and many other charms which rendered it most desirable in the eyes of children.
bab made straight for the box and betty for the door; but both came tumbling down faster than they went up, when from the gloom of the interior came a shrill bark, and a low voice saying quickly, "down, sancho!
down!"
""who is there?"
demanded mrs. moss, in a stern tone, backing toward the door with both children clinging to her skirts.
the well-known curly white head was popped out of the broken window, and a mild whine seemed to say, "do n't be alarmed, ladies; we wo n't hurt you.
come out this minute, or i shall have to come and get you," called mrs. moss, growing very brave all of a sudden as she caught sight of a pair of small, dusty shoes under the coach.
""yes,'m, i'm coming, as fast as i can," answered a meek voice, as what appeared to be a bundle of rags leaped out of the dark, followed by the poodle, who immediately sat down at the bare feet of his owner with a watchful air, as if ready to assault any one who might approach too near.
""now, then, who are you, and how did you get here?"
asked mrs. moss, trying to speak sternly, though her motherly eyes were already full of pity, as they rested on the forlorn little figure before her.
chapter iii ben "please,'m, my name is ben brown, and i'm travellin"."
""where are you going?"
""anywheres to get work."
""what sort of work can you do?"
""all kinds.
i'm used to horses."
""bless me!
such a little chap as you?
""i'm twelve, ma'am, and can ride any thing on four legs;" and the small boy gave a nod that seemed to say, "bring on your cruisers.
i'm ready for'em."
""have n't you got any folks?"
asked mrs. moss, amused but still anxious, for the sunburnt face was very thin, the eyes hollow with hunger or pain, and the ragged figure leaned on the wheel as if too weak or weary to stand alone.
""no,'m, not of my own; and the people i was left with beat me so, i -- run away."
the last words seemed to bolt out against his will as if the woman's sympathy irresistibly won the child's confidence.
""then i do n't blame you.
but how did you get here?"
""i was so tired i could n't go any further, and i thought the folks up here at the big house would take me in.
but the gate was locked, and i was so discouraged, i jest laid down outside and give up."
""poor little soul, i do n't wonder," said mrs. moss, while the children looked deeply interested at mention of their gate.
the boy drew a long breath, and his eyes began to twinkle in spite of his forlorn state as he went on, while the dog pricked up his ears at mention of his name: -- "while i was restin" i heard some one come along inside, and i peeked, and saw them little girls playin".
the vittles looked so nice i could n't help wantin"'em; but i did n't take nothin", -- it was sancho, and he took the cake for me."
bab and betty gave a gasp and stared reproachfully at the poodle, who half closed his eyes with a meek, unconscious look that was very droll.
""and you made him put it back?"
cried bab.
""no; i did it myself.
got over the gate when you was racin" after sancho, and then clim" up on the porch and hid," said the boy with a grin.
""and you laughed?"
asked bab.
""yes."
""and sneezed?"
added betty.
""yes."
""and threw down the roses?"
cried both.
""yes; and you liked'em, did n't you?"
""course we did!
what made you hide?"
said bab.
""i was n't fit to be seen," muttered ben, glancing at his tatters as if he'd like to dive out of sight into the dark coach again.
""how came you here?"
demanded mrs. moss, suddenly remembering her responsibility.
""i heard'em talk about a little winder and a shed, and when they'd gone i found it and come in.
the glass was broke, and i only pulled the nail out.
i have n't done a mite of harm sleepin" here two nights.
i was so tuckered out i could n't go on nohow, though i tried a sunday."
""and came back again?
""yes,'m; it was so lonesome in the rain, and this place seemed kinder like home, and i could hear'em talkin" outside, and sanch he found vittles, and i was pretty comfortable."
""well, i never!"
ejaculated mrs. moss, whisking up a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes, for the thought of the poor little fellow alone there for two days and nights with no bed but musty straw, no food but the scraps a dog brought him, was too much for her.
""do you know what i'm going to do with you?"
she asked, trying to look calm and cool, with a great tear running down her wholesome red cheek, and a smile trying to break out at the corners of her lips.
""no, ma'am, and i dunno as i care.
only do n't be hard on sanch; he's been real good to me, and we're fond of one another; ai n't us, old chap?"
answered the boy, with his arm around the dog's neck, and an anxious look which he had not worn for himself.
""i'm going to take you right home, and wash and feed and put you in a good bed; and to-morrow, -- well, we'll see what'll happen then," said mrs. moss, not quite sure about it herself.
""you're very kind, ma'am, i'll be glad to work for you.
ai n't you got a horse i can see to?"
asked the boy, eagerly.
""nothing but hens and a cat."
bab and betty burst out laughing when their mother said that, and ben gave a faint giggle, as if he would like to join in if he only had the strength to do it.
but his legs shook under him, and he felt a queer dizziness; so he could only hold on to sancho, and blink at the light like a young owl.
""come right along, child.
run on, girls, and put the rest of the broth to warming, and fill the kettle.
i'll see to the boy," commanded mrs. moss, waving off the children, and going up to feel the pulse of her new charge, for it suddenly occurred to her that he might be sick and not safe to take home.
the hand he gave her was very thin, but clean and cool, and the black eyes were clear though hollow, for the poor lad was half-starved.
""i'm awful shabby, but i ai n't dirty.
i had a washin" in the rain last night, and i've jest about lived on water lately," he explained, wondering why she looked at him so hard.
""put out your tongue."
he did so, but took it in again to say quickly, -- "i ai n't sick, -- i'm only hungry; for i have n't had a mite but what sanch brought, for three days; and i always go halves, do n't i, sanch?"
the poodle gave a shrill bark, and vibrated excitedly between the door and his master as if he understood all that was going on, and recommended a speedy march toward the promised food and shelter.
mrs. moss took the hint, and bade the boy follow her at once and bring his "things" with him.
""i ai n't got any.
some big fellers took away my bundle, else i would n't look so bad.
there's only this.
i'm sorry sanch took it, and i'd like to give it back if i knew whose it was," said ben, bringing the new dinner-pail out from the depths of the coach where he had gone to housekeeping.
""that's soon done; it's mine, and you're welcome to the bits your queer dog ran off with.
come along, i must lock up," and mrs. moss clanked her keys suggestively.
ben limped out, leaning on a broken hoe-handle, for he was stiff after two days in such damp lodgings, as well as worn out with a fortnight's wandering through sun and rain.
sancho was in great spirits, evidently feeling that their woes were over and his foraging expeditions at an end, for he frisked about his master with yelps of pleasure, or made playful darts at the ankles of his benefactress, which caused her to cry, "whish!"
and "scat!"
and shake her skirts at him as if he were a cat or hen.
a hot fire was roaring in the stove under the broth-skillet and tea-kettle, and betty was poking in more wood, with a great smirch of black on her chubby cheek, while bab was cutting away at the loaf as if bent on slicing her own fingers off.
before ben knew what he was about, he found himself in the old rocking-chair devouring bread and butter as only a hungry boy can, with sancho close by gnawing a mutton-bone like a ravenous wolf in sheep's clothing.
while the new-comers were thus happily employed, mrs. moss beckoned the little girls out of the room, and gave them both an errand.
""bab, you run over to mrs. barton's, and ask her for any old duds billy do n't want; and betty, you go to the cutters, and tell miss clarindy i'd like a couple of the shirts we made at last sewing circle.
any shoes, or a hat, or socks, would come handy, for the poor dear has n't a whole thread on him."
away went the children full of anxiety to clothe their beggar; and so well did they plead his cause with the good neighbors, that ben hardly knew himself when he emerged from the back bedroom half an hour later, clothed in billy barton's faded flannel suit, with an unbleached cotton shirt out of the dorcas basket, and a pair of milly cutter's old shoes on his feet.
sancho also had been put in better trim, for, after his master had refreshed himself with a warm bath, he gave his dog a good scrub while mrs. moss set a stitch here and there in the new old clothes; and sancho reappeared, looking more like the china poodle than ever, being as white as snow, his curls well brushed up, and his tasselly tail waving proudly over his back.
feeling eminently respectable and comfortable, the wanderers humbly presented themselves, and were greeted with smiles of approval from the little girls and a hospitable welcome from the mother, who set them near the stove to dry, as both were decidedly damp after their ablutions.
""i declare i should n't have known you!"
exclaimed the good woman, surveying the boy with great satisfaction; for, though still very thin and tired, the lad had a tidy look that pleased her, and a lively way of moving about in his clothes, like an eel in a skin rather too big for him.
the merry black eyes seemed to see every thing, the voice had an honest sound, and the sunburnt face looked several years younger since the unnatural despondency had gone out of it.
""it's very nice, and me and sanch are lots obliged, ma'am," murmured ben, getting red and bashful under the three pairs of friendly eyes fixed upon him.
bab and betty were doing up the tea-things with unusual despatch, so that they might entertain their guest, and just as ben spoke bab dropped a cup.
to her great surprise no smash followed, for, bending quickly, the boy caught it as it fell, and presented it to her on the back of his hand with a little bow.
""gracious!
how could you do it?"
asked bab, looking as if she thought there was magic about.
""that's nothing; look here," and, taking two plates, ben sent them spinning up into the air, catching and throwing so rapidly that bab and betty stood with their mouths open, as if to swallow the plates should they fall, while mrs. moss, with her dish-cloth suspended, watched the antics of her crockery with a housewife's anxiety.
""that does beat all!"
was the only exclamation she had time to make; for, as if desirous of showing his gratitude in the only way he could, ben took clothes-pins from a basket near by, sent several saucers twirling up, caught them on the pins, balanced the pins on chin, nose, forehead, and went walking about with a new and peculiar sort of toadstool ornamenting his countenance.
the children were immensely tickled, and mrs. moss was so amused she would have lent her best soup-tureen if he had expressed a wish for it.
but ben was too tired to show all his accomplishments at once, and he soon stopped, looking as if he almost regretted having betrayed that he possessed any.
""i guess you've been in the juggling business," said mrs. moss, with a wise nod, for she saw the same look on his face as when he said his name was ben brown, -- the look of one who was not telling the whole truth.
""yes,'m.
i used to help senor pedro, the wizard of the world, and i learned some of his tricks," stammered ben, trying to seem innocent.
""now, look here, boy, you'd better tell me the whole story, and tell it true, or i shall have to send you up to judge morris.
i would n't like to do that, for he is a harsh sort of a man; so, if you have n't done any thing bad, you need n't be afraid to speak out, and i'll do what i can for you," said mrs. moss, rather sternly, as she went and sat down in her rocking-chair, as if about to open the court.
""i have n't done any thing bad, and i ai n't afraid, only i do n't want to go back; and if i tell, may be you'll let'em know where i be," said ben, much distressed between his longing to confide in his new friend and his fear of his old enemies.
""if they abused you, of course i would n't.
tell the truth, and i'll stand by you.
girls, you go for the milk."
""oh, ma, do let us stay!
we'll never tell, truly, truly!"
cried bab and betty, full of dismay being sent off when secrets were about to be divulged.
""i do n't mind'em," said ben handsomely.
""very well, only hold your tongues.
now, boy where did you come from?"
said mrs. moss, as the little girls hastily sat down together on their private and particular bench opposite their mother, brimming with curiosity and beaming with satisfaction at the prospect before them.
chapter iv his story "i ran away from a circus," began ben, but got no further, for bab and betty gave a simultaneous bounce of delight, and both cried out at once, -- "we've been to one!
it was splendid!"
""you would n't think so if you knew as much about it as i do," answered ben, with a sudden frown and wriggle, as if he still felt the smart of the blows he had received.
""we do n't call it splendid; do we, sancho?"
he added, making a queer noise, which caused the poodle to growl and bang the floor irefully with his tail, as he lay close to his master's feet, getting acquainted with the new shoes they wore.
""how came you there?"
asked mrs. moss, rather disturbed at the news.
""why, my father was the "wild hunter of the plains."
did n't you ever see or hear of him?"
said ben, as if surprised at her ignorance.
""bless your heart, child, i have n't been to a circus this ten years, and i'm sure i do n't remember what or who i saw then," answered mrs. moss, amused, yet touched by the son's evident admiration for his father.
""did n't you see him?"
demanded ben, turning to the little girls.
""we saw indians and tumbling men, and the bounding brothers of borneo, and a clown and monkeys, and a little mite of a pony with blue eyes.
was he any of them?"
answered betty, innocently.
""pooh!
he did n't belong to that lot.
he always rode two, four, six, eight horses to oncet, and i used to ride with him till i got too big.
my father was a no. 1, and did n't do any thing but break horses and ride'em," said ben, with as much pride as if his parent had been a president.
""is he dead?"
asked mrs. moss.
""i do n't know.
wish i did," -- and poor ben gave a gulp as if something rose in his throat and choked him.
""tell us all about it, dear, and may be we can find out where he is," said mrs. moss, leaning forward to pat the shiny dark head that was suddenly bent over the dog.
""yes, ma'am.
i will, thank y"," and with an effort the boy steadied his voice and plunged into the middle of his story.
""father was always good to me, and i liked bein" with him after granny died.
i lived with her till i was seven; then father took me, and i was trained for rider.
you jest oughter have seen me when i was a little feller all in white tights, and a gold belt, and pink riggin", standing" on father's shoulder, or hangin" on to old general's tail, and him gallopin" full pelt; or father ridin" three horses with me on his head wavin" flags, and every one clapping like fun."
""oh, were n't you scared to pieces?"
asked betty, quaking at the mere thought.
""not a bit.
i liked it."
""so should i!"
cried bab enthusiastically.
""then i drove the four ponies in the little chariot, when we paraded," continued ben, "and i sat on the great ball up top of the grand car drawed by hannibal and nero.
but i did n't like that,'cause it was awful high and shaky, and the sun was hot, and the trees slapped my face, and my legs ached holdin" on."
""what's hanny bells and neroes?"
demanded betty.
""big elephants.
father never let'em put me up there, and they did n't darst till he was gone; then i had to, else they'd "a" thrashed me."
""did n't any one take your part?"
asked mrs. moss.
""yes,'m, "most all the ladies did; they were very good to me, "specially "melia.
she vowed she would n't go on in the tunnymunt act if they did n't stop knockin" me round when i would n't help old buck with the bears.
so they had to stop it,'cause she led first rate, and none of the other ladies rode half as well as "melia."
""bears!
oh, do tell about them!"
exclaimed bab, in great excitement, for at the only circus she had seen the animals were her delight.
""buck had five of'em, cross old fellers, and he showed'em off.
i played with'em once, jest for fun, and he thought it would make a hit to have me show off instead of him.
but they had a way of clawin" and huggin" that was n't nice, and you could n't never tell whether they were good-natured or ready to bite your head off.
buck was all over scars where they'd scratched and bit him, and i was n't going to do it; and i did n't have to, owin" to miss st. john's standin" by me like a good one."
""who was miss st. john?"
asked mrs. moss, rather confused by the sudden introduction of new names and people.
""why she was "melia, -- mrs. smithers, the ringmaster's wife.
his name was n't montgomery any more'n hers was st. john.
they all change'em to something fine on the bills, you know.
father used to be senor jose montebello; and i was master adolphus bloomsbury, after i stopped bein" a flyin" coopid and a infant progidy."
mrs. moss leaned back in her chair to laugh at that, greatly to the surprise of the little girls, who were much impressed with the elegance of these high-sounding names.
""go on with your story, ben, and tell why you ran away and what became of your pa," she said, composing herself to listen, really interested in the child.
""well, you see, father had a quarrel with old smithers, and went off sudden last fall, just before tenting season" was over.
he told me he was goin" to a great ridin" school in new york and when he was fixed he'd send for me.
i was to stay in the museum and help pedro with the trick business.
he was a nice man and i liked him, and "melia was goin" to see to me, and i did n't mind for awhile.
but father did n't send for me, and i began to have horrid times.
if it had n't been for "melia and sancho i would have cut away long before i did."
""what did you have to do?"
""lots of things, for times was dull and i was smart.
smithers said so, any way, and i had to tumble up lively when he gave the word.
i did n't mind doin" tricks or showin" off sancho, for father trained him, and he always did well with me.
but they wanted me to drink gin to keep me small, and i would n't,'cause father did n't like that kind of thing.
i used to ride tip-top, and that just suited me till i got a fall and hurt my back; but i had to go on all the same, though i ached dreadful, and used to tumble off, i was so dizzy and weak."
""what a brute that man must have been!
why did n't "melia put a stop to it?"
asked mrs. moss, indignantly.
""she died, ma'am, and then there was no one left but sanch; so i run away."
then ben fell to patting his dog again, to hide the tears he could not keep from coming at the thought of the kind friend he had lost.
""what did you mean to do?"
""find father; but i could n't, for he was n't at the ridin" school, and they told me he had gone out west to buy mustangs for a man who wanted a lot.
so then i was in a fix, for i could n't go to father, did n't know jest where he was, and i would n't sneak back to smithers to be abused.
tried to make'em take me at the ridin" school, but they did n't want a boy, and i travelled along and tried to get work.
but i'd have starved if it had n't been for sanch.
i left him tied up when i ran off, for fear they'd say i stole him.
he's a very valuable dog, ma'am, the best trick dog i ever see, and they'd want him back more than they would me.
he belongs to father, and i hated to leave him; but i did.
i hooked it one dark night, and never thought i'd see him ag "in.
next mornin" i was eatin" breakfast in a barn miles away, and dreadful lonesome, when he came tearin" in, all mud and wet, with a great piece of rope draggin".
he'd gnawed it and come after me, and would n't go back or be lost; and i'll never leave him again, will i, dear old feller?"
sancho had listened to this portion of the tale with intense interest, and when ben spoke to him he stood straight up, put both paws on the boy's shoulders, licked his face with a world of dumb affection in his yellow eyes, and gave a little whine which said as plainly as words, -- "cheer up, little master; fathers may vanish and friends die, but i never will desert you."
ben hugged him close and smiled over his curly, white head at the little girls, who clapped their hands at the pleasing tableau, and then went to pat and fondle the good creature, assuring him that they entirely forgave the theft of the cake and the new dinner-pail.
inspired by these endearments and certain private signals given by ben, sancho suddenly burst away to perform all his best antics with unusual grace and dexterity.
bab and betty danced about the room with rapture, while mrs. moss declared she was almost afraid to have such a wonderfully intelligent animal in the house.
praises of his dog pleased ben more than praises of himself, and when the confusion had subsided he entertained his audience with a lively account of sancho's cleverness, fidelity, and the various adventures in which he had nobly borne his part.
while he talked, mrs. moss was making up her mind about him, and when he came to an end of his dog's perfections, she said, gravely, -- "if i can find something for you to do, would you like to stay here awhile?"
""oh, yes, ma'am, i'd be glad to!"
answered ben, eagerly; for the place seemed home-like already, and the good woman almost as motherly as the departed mrs. smithers.
""well, i'll step over to the squire's to-morrow to see what he says.
should n't wonder if he'd take you for a chore-boy, if you are as smart as you say.
he always has one in the summer, and i have n't seen any round yet.
can you drive cows?"
""hope so;" and ben gave a shrug, as if it was a very unnecessary question to put to a person who had driven four calico ponies in a gilded chariot.
""it may n't be as lively as riding elephants and playing with bears, but it is respectable; and i guess you'll be happier switching brindle and buttercup than being switched yourself," said mrs. moss, shaking her head at him with a smile.
""i guess i will, ma'am," answered ben, with sudden meekness, remembering the trials from which he had escaped.
very soon after this, he was sent off for a good night's sleep in the back bedroom, with sancho to watch over him.
but both found it difficult to slumber till the racket overhead subsided; for bab insisted on playing she was a bear and devouring poor betty, in spite of her wails, till their mother came up and put an end to it by threatening to send ben and his dog away in the morning, if the girls "did n't behave and be as still as mice."
this they solemnly promised; and they were soon dreaming of gilded cars and mouldy coaches, runaway boys and dinner-pails, dancing dogs and twirling teacups.
chapter v ben gets a place when ben awoke next morning, he looked about him for a moment half bewildered, because there was neither a canvas tent, a barn roof, nor the blue sky above him, but a neat white ceiling, where several flies buzzed sociably together, while from without came, not the tramping of horses, the twitter of swallows, or the chirp of early birds, but the comfortable cackle of hens and the sound of two little voices chanting the multiplication table.
sancho sat at the open window, watching the old cat wash her face, and trying to imitate her with his great ruffled paw, so awkwardly that ben laughed; and sanch, to hide his confusion at being caught, made one bound from chair to bed, and licked his master's face so energetically that the boy dived under the bedclothes to escape from the rough tongue.
a rap on the floor from below made both jump up, and in ten minutes a shiny-faced lad and a lively dog went racing downstairs, -- one to say, "good-mornin", ma'am," the other to wag his tail faster than ever tail wagged before, for ham frizzled on the stove, and sancho was fond of it.
""did you rest well?"
asked mrs. moss, nodding at him, fork in hand.
""guess i did!
never saw such a bed.
i'm used to hay and a horse-blanket, and lately nothin" but sky for a cover and grass for my feather-bed," laughed ben, grateful for present comforts and making light of past hardships.
""clean, sweet corn-husks ai n't bad for young bones, even if they have n't got more flesh on them than yours have," answered mrs. moss, giving the smooth head a motherly stroke as she went by.
""fat ai n't allowed in our profession, ma'am.
the thinner the better for tight-ropes and tumblin"; likewise bareback ridin" and spry jugglin".
muscle's the thing, and there you are."
ben stretched out a wiry little arm with a clenched fist at the end of it, as if he were a young hercules, ready to play ball with the stove if she gave him leave.
glad to see him in such good spirits, she pointed to the well outside, saying pleasantly, -- "well, then, just try your muscle by bringing in some fresh water."
ben caught up a pail and ran off, ready to be useful; but, while he waited for the bucket to fill down among the mossy stones, he looked about him, well pleased with all he saw, -- the small brown house with a pretty curl of smoke rising from its chimney, the little sisters sitting in the sunshine, green hills and newly-planted fields far and near, a brook dancing through the orchard, birds singing in the elm avenue, and all the world as fresh and lovely as early summer could make it.
""do n't you think it's pretty nice here?"
asked bab, as his eye came back to them after a long look, which seemed to take in every thing, brightening as it roved.
""just the nicest place that ever was.
only needs a horse round somewhere to be complete," answered ben, as the long well-sweep came up with a dripping bucket at one end, an old grindstone at the other.
""the judge has three, but he's so fussy about them he wo n't even let us pull a few hairs out of old major's tail to make rings of," said betty, shutting her arithmetic, with an injured expression.
""mike lets me ride the white one to water when the judge is n't round.
it's such fun to go jouncing down the lane and back.
i do love horses!"
cried bab, bobbing up and down on the blue bench to imitate the motion of white jenny.
""i guess you are a plucky sort of a girl," and ben gave her an approving look as he went by, taking care to slop a little water on mrs. puss, who stood curling her whiskers and humping up her back at sancho.
""come to breakfast!"
called mrs. moss; and for about twenty minutes little was said, as mush and milk vanished in a way that would have astonished even jack the giant-killer with his leather bag.
""now, girls, fly round and get your chores done up; ben, you go chop me some kindlings; and i'll make things tidy.
then we can all start off at once," said mrs. moss, as the last mouthful vanished, and sancho licked his lips over the savory scraps that fell to his share.
ben fell to chopping so vigorously that chips flew wildly all about the shed; bab rattled the cups into her dish-pan with dangerous haste, and betty raised a cloud of dust "sweeping-up;" while mother seemed to be everywhere at once.
even sanch, feeling that his fate was at stake, endeavored to help in his own somewhat erratic way, -- now frisking about ben at the risk of getting his tail chopped off, then trotting away to poke his inquisitive nose into every closet and room whither he followed mrs. moss in her "flying round" evolutions; next dragging off the mat so betty could brush the door-steps, or inspecting bab's dish-washing by standing on his hind-legs to survey the table with a critical air.
when they drove him out he was not the least offended, but gayly barked puss up a tree, chased all the hens over the fence, and carefully interred an old shoe in the garden, where the remains of the mutton-bone were already buried.
by the time the others were ready, he had worked off his superfluous spirits, and trotted behind the party like a well-behaved dog accustomed to go out walking with ladies.
at the cross-roads they separated, the little girls running on to school, while mrs. moss and ben went up to the squire's big house on the hill.
""do n't you be scared, child.
i'll make it all right about your running away; and if the squire gives you a job, just thank him for it, and do your best to be steady and industrious; then you'll get on, i have n't a doubt," she whispered, ringing the ben at a side-door, on which the word "morris" shone in bright letters.
""come in!"
called a gruff voice; and, feeling very much as if he were going to have a tooth out, ben meekly followed the good woman, who put on her pleasantest smile, anxious to make the best possible impression.
a white-headed old gentleman sat reading a paper, and peered over his glasses at the new-comers with a pair of sharp eyes, saying in a testy tone, which would have rather daunted any one who did not know what a kind heart he had under his capacious waistcoat, -- "good-morning, ma'am.
what's the matter now?
young tramp been stealing your chickens?"
""oh, dear no, sir!"
exclaimed mrs. moss, as if shocked at the idea.
then, in a few words, she told ben's story, unconsciously making his wrongs and destitution so pathetic by her looks and tones, that the squire could not help being interested, and even ben pitied himself as if he were somebody else.
""now, then, boy, what can you do?"
asked the old gentleman, with an approving nod to mrs. moss as she finished, and such a keen glance from under his bushy brows that ben felt as if he was perfectly transparent."
"most any thing, sir, to get my livin"."
""can you weed?"
""never did, but i can learn, sir."
""pull up all the beets and leave the pigweed, hey?
can you pick strawberries?"
""never tried any thing but eatin"'em, sir," "not likely to forget that part of the job.
can you ride a horse to plow?"
""guess i could, sir!"
-- and ben's eyes began to sparkle, for he dearly loved the noble animals who had been his dearest friends lately.
""no antics allowed.
my horse is a fine fellow, and i'm very particular about him."
the squire spoke soberly, but there was a twinkle in his eye, and mrs. moss tried not to smile; for the squire's horse was a joke all over the town, being about twenty years old, and having a peculiar gait of his own, lifting his fore-feet very high, with a great show of speed, though never going out of a jog-trot.
the boys used to say he galloped before and walked behind, and made all sorts of fun of the big, roman-nosed beast, who allowed no liberties to be taken with him.
""i'm too fond of horses to hurt'em, sir.
as for ridin", i ai n't afraid of any thing on four legs.
the king of morocco used to kick and bite like fun, but i could manage him first-rate."
""then you'd be able to drive cows to pasture, perhaps?"
""i've drove elephants and camels, ostriches and grizzly bears, and mules, and six yellow ponies all to oncet.
may be i could manage cows if i tried hard," answered ben, endeavoring to be meek and respectful when scorn filled his soul at the idea of not being able to drive a cow.
the squire liked him all the better for the droll mixture of indignation and amusement betrayed by the fire in his eyes and the sly smile round his lips; and being rather tickled by ben's list of animals, he answered gravely, -- "do n't raise elephants and camels much round here.
bears used to be plenty, but folks got tired of them.
mules are numerous, but we have the two-legged kind; and as a general thing prefer shanghae fowls to ostriches."
he got no farther, for ben laughed out so infectiously that both the others joined him; and somehow that jolly laugh seemed to settle matters than words.
as they stopped, the squire tapped on the window behind him, saying, with an attempt at the former gruffness, -- "we'll try you on cows awhile.
my man will show you where to drive them, and give you some odd jobs through the day.
i'll see what you are good for, and send you word to-night, mrs. moss.
the boy can sleep at your house, ca n't he?"
""yes, indeed, sir.
he can go on doing it, and come up to his work just as well as not.
i can see to him then, and he wo n't be a care to any one," said mrs. moss, heartily.
""i'll make inquiries concerning your father, boy; meantime mind what you are about, and have a good report to give when he comes for you," returned the squire, with a warning wag of a stern fore-finger.
""thanky", sir.
i will, sir.
father'll come just as soon as he can, if he is n't sick or lost," murmured ben, inwardly thanking his stars that he had not done any thing to make him quake before that awful finger, and resolved that he never would.
here a red-headed irishman came to the door, and stood eying the boy with small favor while the squire gave his orders.
""pat, this lad wants work.
he's to take the cows and go for them.
give him any light jobs you have, and let me know if he's good for any thing."
""yis, your honor.
come out o" this, b "y, till i show ye the bastes," responded pat; and, with a hasty good-by to mrs. moss, ben followed his new leader, sorely tempted to play some naughty trick upon him in return for his ungracious reception.
but in a moment he forgot that pat existed, for in the yard stood the duke of wellington, so named in honor of his roman nose.
if ben had known any thing about shakespeare, he would have cried, "a horse, a horse!
my kingdom for a horse!"
for the feeling was in his heart, and he ran up to the stately animal without a fear.
duke put back his ears and swished his tail as if displeased for a moment; but ben looked straight in his eyes, gave a scientific stroke to the iron-gray nose, and uttered a chirrup which made the ears prick up as if recognizing a familiar sound.
""he'll nip ye, if ye go botherin" that way.
leave him alone, and attend to the cattle as his honor told ye," commanded pat, who made a great show of respect toward duke in public, and kicked him brutally in private.
""i ai n't afraid!
you wo n't hurt me, will you, old feller?
see there now!
-- he knows i'm a friend, and takes to me right off," said ben, with an arm around duke's neck, and his own cheek confidingly laid against the animal's; for the intelligent eyes spoke to him as plainly as the little whinny which he understood and accepted as a welcome.
the squire saw it all from the open window, and suspecting from pat's face that trouble was brewing, called out, -- "let the lad harness duke, if he can.
i'm going out directly, and he may as well try that as any thing."
ben was delighted, and proved himself so brisk and handy that the roomy chaise stood at the door in a surprisingly short time, with a smiling little ostler at duke's head when the squire came out.
his affection for the horse pleased the old gentleman, and his neat way of harnessing suited as well; but ben got no praise, except a nod and a brief "all right, boy," as the equipage went creaking and jogging away.
four sleek cows filed out of the barnyard when pat opened the gate, and ben drove them down the road to a distant pasture where the early grass awaited their eager cropping.
by the school they went, and the boy looked pityingly at the black, brown, and yellow heads bobbing past the windows as a class went up to recite; for it seemed a hard thing to the liberty-loving lad to be shut up there so many hours on a morning like that.
but a little breeze that was playing truant round the steps did ben a service without knowing it, for a sudden puff blew a torn leaf to his feet, and seeing a picture he took it up.
it evidently had fallen from some ill-used history, for the picture showed some queer ships at anchor, some oddly dressed men just landing, and a crowd of indians dancing about on the shore.
ben spelt out all he could about these interesting personages, but could not discover what it meant, because ink evidently had deluged the page, to the new reader's great disappointment.
""i'll ask the girls; may be they will know," said ben to himself as, after looking vainly for more stray leaves, he trudged on, enjoying the bobolink's song, the warm sunshine, and a comfortable sense of friendliness and safety, which soon set him to whistling as gayly as any blackbird in the meadow.
chapter vi a circulating library after supper that night, bab and betty sat in the old porch playing with josephus and belinda, and discussing the events of the day; for the appearance of the strange boy and his dog had been a most exciting occurrence in their quiet lives.
they had seen nothing of him since morning, as he took his meals at the squire's, and was at work with pat in a distant field when the children passed.
sancho had stuck closely to his master, evidently rather bewildered by the new order of things, and bound to see that no harm happened to ben.
""i wish they'd come.
it's sundown, and i heard the cows mooing, so i know they have gone home," said betty, impatiently; for she regarded the new-comer in the light of an entertaining book, and wished to read on as fast as possible.
""i'm going to learn the signs he makes when he wants sancho to dance; then we can have fun with him whenever we like.
he's the dearest dog i ever saw!"
answered bab, who was fonder of animals than her sister.
""ma said -- ow, what's that?"
cried betty with a start, as something bumped against the gate outside; and in a moment ben's head peeped over the top as he swung himself up to the iron arch, in the middle of which was the empty lantern frame.
""please to locate, gentlemen; please to locate.
the performance is about to begin with the great flyin" coopid act, in which master bloomsbury has appeared before the crowned heads of europe.
pronounced by all beholders the most remarkable youthful progidy agoin".
hooray!
here we are!"
having rattled off the familiar speech in mr. smithers's elegant manner, ben begin to cut up such capers that even a party of dignified hens, going down the avenue to bed, paused to look on with clucks of astonishment, evidently fancying that salt had set him to fluttering and tumbling as it did them.
never had the old gate beheld such antics, though it had seen gay doings in its time; for of all the boys who had climbed over it, not one had ever stood on his head upon each of the big balls which ornamented the posts, hung by his heels from the arch, gone round and round like a wheel with the bar for an axis, played a tattoo with his toes while holding on by his chin, walked about the wall on his hands, or closed the entertainment by festooning himself in an airy posture over the side of the lantern frame, and kissing his hand to the audience as a well-bred cupid is supposed to do on making his bow.
the little girls clapped and stamped enthusiastically, while sancho, who had been calmly surveying the show, barked his approval as he leaped up to snap at ben's feet.
""come down and tell what you did up at the squire's.
was he cross?
did you have to work hard?
do you like it?"
asked bab, when the noise had subsided.
""it's cooler up here," answered ben, composing himself in the frame, and fanning his hot face with a green spray broken from the tall bushes rustling odorously all about him.
""i did all sorts of jobs.
the old gentleman was n't cross; he gave me a dime, and i like him first-rate.
but i just hate "carrots;" he swears at a feller, and fired a stick of wood at me.
guess i'll pay him off when i get a chance."
fumbling in his pocket to show the bright dime, he found the torn page, and remembered the thirst for information which had seized him in the morning.
""look here, tell me about this, will you?
what are these chaps up to?
the ink has spoilt all but the picture and this bit of reading.
i want to know what it means.
take it to'em, sanch."
the dog caught the leaf as it fluttered to the ground, and carrying it carefully in his mouth, deposited it at the feet of the little girls, seating himself before them with an air of deep interest.
bab and betty picked it up and read it aloud in unison, while ben leaned from his perch to listen and learn."
"when day dawned, land was visible.
a pleasant land it was.
there were gay flowers, and tall trees with leaves and fruit, such as they had never seen before.
on the shore were unclad copper-colored men, gazing with wonder at the spanish ships.
they took them for great birds, the white sails for their wings, and the spaniards for superior beings brought down from heaven on their backs."
""why, that's columbus finding san salvador.
do n't you know about him?"
demanded bab, as if she were one of the "superior beings," and intimately acquainted with the immortal christopher.
""no, i do n't.
who was he any way?
i s "pose that's him paddlin" ahead; but which of the injuns is sam salvindoor?"
asked ben, rather ashamed of his ignorance, but bent on finding out now he had begun.
""my gracious!
twelve years old and not know your quackenbos!"
laughed bab, much amused, but rather glad to find that she could teach the "whirligig boy" something, for she considered him a remarkable creature.
""i do n't care a bit for your quackin" boss, whoever he is.
tell about this fine feller with the ships; i like him," persisted ben.
so bab, with frequent interruptions and hints from betty, told the wonderful tale in a simple way, which made it easy to understand; for she liked history, and had a lively tongue of her own.
""i'd like to read some more.
would my ten cents buy a book?"
asked ben, anxious to learn a little since bab laughed at him.
""no, indeed!
i'll lend you mine when i'm not using it, and tell you all about it," promised bab; forgetting that she did not know "all about it" herself yet.
""i do n't have any time only evenings, and then may be you'll want it," begun ben, in whom the inky page had roused a strong curiosity.
""i do get my history in the evening, but you could have it mornings before school."
""i shall have to go off early, so there wo n't be any chance.
yes, there will, -- i'll tell you how to do it.
let me read while i drive up the cows.
squire likes'em to eat slow along the road, so's to keep the grass short and save mowin".
pat said so, and i could do history instead of loafin" round!"
cried ben full of this bright idea.
""how will i get my book back in time to recite?"
asked bab, prudently.
""oh, i'll leave it on the window-sill, or put it inside the door as i go back.
i'll be real careful, and just as soon as i earn enough, i'll buy you a new one and take the old one.
will you?"
""yes; but i'll tell you a nicer way to do.
do n't put the book on the window,'cause teacher will see you; or inside the door,'cause some one may steal it.
you put it in my cubby-house, right at the corner of the wall nearest the big maple.
you'll find a cunning place between the roots that stick up under the flat stone.
that's my closet, and i keep things there.
it's the best cubby of all, and we take turns to have it."
""i'll find it, and that'll be a first-rate place," said ben, much gratified.
""i could put my reading-book in sometimes, if you'd like it.
there's lots of pretty stories in it and pictures," proposed betty, rather timidly; for she wanted to share the benevolent project, but had little to offer, not being as good a scholar as bab.
""i'd like a "rithmetic better.
i read tip-top, but i ai n't much on "rithmetic; so, if you can spare yours, i might take a look at it.
now i'm goin" to earn wages, i ought to know about addin"'em up, and so on," said ben, with the air of a vanderbilt oppressed with the care of millions.
""i'll teach you that.
betty does n't know much about sums.
but she spells splendidly, and is always at the head of her class.
teacher is real proud of her,'cause she never misses, and spells hard, fussy words, like chi-rog-ra-phy and bron-chi-tis as easy as any thing."
bab quite beamed with sisterly pride, and betty smoothed down her apron with modest satisfaction, for bab seldom praised her, and she liked it very much.
""i never went to school, so that's the reason i ai n't smart.
i can write, though, better'n some of the boys up at school.
i saw lots of names on the shed door.
see here, now," -- and scrambling down, ben pulled out a cherished bit of chalk, and flourished off ten letters of the alphabet, one on each of the dark stone slabs that paved the walk.
""those are beautiful!
i ca n't make such curly ones.
who taught you to do it?"
asked bab, as she and betty walked up and down admiring them.
""horse blankets," answered ben, soberly.
""what!"
cried both girls, stopping to stare.
""our horses all had their names on their blankets, and i used to copy'em.
the wagons had signs, and i learned to read that way after father taught me my letters off the red and yellow posters.
first word i knew was lion,'cause i was always goin" to see old jubal in his cage.
father was real proud when i read it right off.
i can draw one, too."
ben proceeded to depict an animal intended to represent his lost friend; but jubal would not have recognized his portrait, since it looked much more like sancho than the king of the forest.
the children admired it immensely, however, and ben gave them a lesson in natural history which was so interesting that it kept them busy and happy till bedtime; for the boy described what he had seen in such lively language, and illustrated in such a droll way, it was no wonder they were charmed.
chapter vii new friends trot in next day ben ran off to his work with quackenbos's "elementary history of the united states" in his pocket, and the squire's cows had ample time to breakfast on way-side grass before they were put into their pasture.
even then the pleasant lesson was not ended, for ben had an errand to town; and all the way he read busily, tumbling over the hard words, and leaving bits which he did not understand to be explained at night by bab.
at "the first settlements" he had to stop, for the schoolhouse was reached, and the book must be returned.
the maple-tree closet was easily found, and a little surprise hidden under the flat stone; for ben paid two sticks of red and white candy for the privilege of taking books from the new library.
when recess came, great was the rejoicing of the children over their unexpected treat, for mrs. moss had few pennies to spare for sweets, and, somehow, this candy tasted particularly nice, bought out of grateful ben's solitary dime.
the little girls shared their goodies with their favorite mates, but said nothing about the new arrangement, fearing it would be spoilt if generally known.
they told their mother, however, and she gave them leave to lend their books and encourage ben to love learning all they could.
she also proposed that they should drop patch-work, and help her make some blue shirts for ben.
mrs. barton had given her the materials, and she thought it would be an excellent lesson in needle-work as well as a useful gift to ben, -- who, boy-like, never troubled himself as to what he should wear when his one suit of clothes gave out.
wednesday afternoon was the sewing time; so the two little b's worked busily at a pair of shirt-sleeves, sitting on their bench in the doorway, while the rusty needles creaked in and out, and the childish voices sang school-songs, with frequent stoppages for lively chatter.
for a week, ben worked away bravely, and never shirked nor complained, although pat put many a hard or disagreeable job upon him, and chores grew more and more distasteful.
his only comfort was the knowledge that mrs. moss and the squire were satisfied with him; his only pleasure the lessons he learned while driving the cows, and recited in the evening when the three children met under the lilacs to "play school."
he had no thought of studying when he began, and hardly knew that he was doing it as he pored over the different books he took from the library.
but the little girls tried him with all they possessed, and he was mortified to find how ignorant he was.
he never owned it in words, but gladly accepted all the bits of knowledge they offered from their small store; getting betty to hear him spell "just for fun;" agreeing to draw bab all the bears and tigers she wanted if she would show him how to do sums on the flags, and often beguiled his lonely labors by trying to chant the multiplication table as they did.
when tuesday night came round, the squire paid him a dollar, said he was "a likely boy," and might stay another week if he chose.
ben thanked him and thought he would; but the next morning, after he had put up the bars, he remained sitting on the top rail to consider his prospects, for he felt uncommonly reluctant to go back to the society of rough pat.
like most boys, he hated work, unless it was of a sort which just suited him; then he could toil like a beaver and never tire.
his wandering life had given him no habits of steady industry; and, while he was an unusually capable lad of his age, he dearly loved to "loaf" about and have a good deal of variety and excitement in his life.
now he saw nothing before him but days of patient and very uninteresting labor.
he was heartily sick of weeding; even riding duke before the cultivator had lost its charms, and a great pile of wood lay in the squire's yard which he knew he would be set to piling up in the shed.
strawberry-picking would soon follow the asparagus cultivation; then haying; and and so on all the long bright summer, without any fun, unless his father came for him.
on the other hand, he was not obliged to stay a minute longer unless he liked.
with a comfortable suit of clothes, a dollar in his pocket, and a row of dinner-baskets hanging in the school-house entry to supply him with provisions if he did n't mind stealing them, what was easier than to run away again?
tramping has its charms in fair weather, and ben had lived like a gypsy under canvas for years; so he feared nothing, and began to look down the leafy road with a restless, wistful expression, as the temptation grew stronger and stronger every minute.
sancho seemed to share the longing, for he kept running off a little way and stopping to frisk and bark; then rushed back to sit watching his master with those intelligent eyes of his, which seemed to say, "come on, ben, let us scamper down this pleasant road and never stop till we are tired."
swallows darted by, white clouds fled before the balmy west wind, a squirrel ran along the wall, and all things seemed to echo the boy's desire to leave toil behind and roam away as care-free as they.
one thing restrained him, the thought of his seeming ingratitude to good mrs. moss, and the disappointment of the little girls at the loss of their two new play-fellows.
while he paused to think of this, something happened which kept him from doing what he would have been sure to regret afterward.
horses had always been his best friends, and one came trotting up to help him now; though he did not know how much he owed it till long after.
just in the act of swinging himself over the bars to take a shortcut across the fields, the sound of approaching hoofs, unaccompanied by the roll of wheels, caught his ear; and, pausing, he watched eagerly to see who was coming at such a pace.
at the turn of road, however, the quick trot stopped, and in a moment a lady on a bay mare came pacing slowly into sight, -- a young and pretty lady, all in dark blue, with a bunch of dandelions like yellow stars in her button-hole, and a silver-handled whip hanging from the pommel of her saddle, evidently more for ornament than use.
the handsome mare limped a little, and shook her head as if something plagued her; while her mistress leaned down to see what was the matter, saying, as if she expected an answer of some sort, -- "now, chevalita, if you have got a stone in your foot, i shall have to get off and take it out.
why do n't you look where you step, and save me all this trouble?"
""i'll look for you, ma'am; i'd like to!"
said an eager voice so unexpectedly, that both horse and rider started as a boy came down the bank with a jump.
""i wish you would.
you need not be afraid; lita is as gentle as a lamb," answered the young lady, smiling, as if amused by the boy's earnestness.
""she's a beauty, any way," muttered ben, lifting one foot after another till he found the stone, and with some trouble got it out.
""that was nicely done, and i'm much obliged.
can you tell me if that cross-road leads to the elms?"
asked the lady, as she went slowly on with ben beside her.
""no, ma'am; i'm new in these parts, and i only know where squire morris and mrs. moss live."
""i want to see both of them, so suppose you show me the way.
i was here long ago, and thought i should remember how to find the old house with the elm avenue and the big gate, but i do n't."
""i know it; they call that place the laylocks now,'cause there's a hedge of'em all down the path and front wall.
it's a real pretty place; bab and betty play there, and so do i." ben could not restrain a chuckle at the recollection of his first appearance there, and, as if his merriment or his words interested her, the lady said pleasantly, "tell me all about it.
are bab and betty your sisters?"
quite forgetting his intended tramp, ben plunged into a copious history of himself and new-made friends, led on by a kind look, an inquiring word, and sympathetic smile, till he had told every thing.
at the school-house corner he stopped and said, spreading his arms like a sign-post, -- "that's the way to the laylocks, and this is the way to the squire's."
""as i'm in a hurry to see the old house, i'll go this way first, if you will be kind enough to give my love to mrs. morris, and tell the squire miss celia is coming to dine with him.
i wo n't say good-by, because i shall see you again."
with a nod and a smile, the young lady cantered away, and ben hurried up the hill to deliver his message, feeling as if something pleasant was going to happen; so it would be wise to defer running away, for the present at least.
at one o'clock miss celia arrived, and ben had the delight of helping pat stable pretty chevalita; then, his own dinner hastily eaten, he fell to work at the detested wood-pile with sudden energy; for as he worked he could steal peeps into the dining-room, and see the curly brown head between the two gay ones, as the three sat round the table.
he could not help hearing a word now and then, as the windows were open, and these bits of conversation filled him with curiosity for the names "thorny," "celia," and "george" were often repeated, and an occasional merry laugh from the young lady sounded like music in that usually quiet place.
when dinner was over, ben's industrious fit left him, and he leisurely trundled his barrow to and fro till the guest departed.
there was no chance for him to help now, since pat, anxious to get whatever trifle might be offered for his services, was quite devoted in his attentions to the mare and her mistress, till she was mounted and off.
but miss celia did not forget her little guide, and, spying a wistful face behind the wood-pile, paused at the gate and beckoned with that winning smile of hers.
if ten pats had stood scowling in the way, ben would have defied them all; and, vaulting over the fence, he ran up with a shining face, hoping she wanted some last favor of him.
leaning down, miss celia slipped a new quarter into his hand, saying, "lita wants me to give you this for taking the stone out of her foot."
""thank y", ma'am; i liked to do it, for i hate to see'em limp, "specially such a pretty one as she is," answered ben, stroking the glossy neck with a loving touch.
""the squire says you know a good deal about horses, so i suppose you understand the houyhnhnm language?
i'm learning it, and it is very nice," laughed miss celia, as chevalita gave a little whinny and snuffled her nose into ben's pocket.
""no, miss, i never went to school."
""that is not taught there.
i'll bring you a book all about it when i come back.
mr. gulliver went to the horse-country and heard the dear things speak their own tongue."
""my father has been on the prairies, where there's lots of wild ones, but he did n't hear'em speak.
i know what they want without talkin"," answered ben, suspecting a joke, but not exactly seeing what it was.
""i do n't doubt it, but i wo n't forget the book.
good-by, my lad, we shall soon meet again," and away went miss celia as if she were in a hurry to get back.
""if she only had a red habit and a streamin" white feather, she'd look as fine as "melia used to.
she is "most as kind and rides "most as well.
wonder where she's goin" to.
hope she will come soon," thought ben, watching till the last flutter of the blue habit vanished round the corner; and then he went back to his work with his head full of the promised book, pausing now and then to chink the two silver halves and the new quarter together in his pocket, wondering what he should buy with this vast sum.
bab and betty meantime had had a most exciting day; for when they went home at noon they found the pretty lady there, and she had talked to them like an old friend, given them a ride on the little horse, and kissed them both good-by when they went back to school.
in the afternoon the lady was gone, the old house all open, and their mother sweeping, airing, in great spirits.
so they had a splendid frolic tumbling on feather-beds, beating bits of carpet, opening closets, and racing from garret to cellar like a pair of distracted kittens.
here ben found them, and was at once overwhelmed with a burst of news which excited him as much as it did them.
miss celia owned the house, was coming to liver there, and things were to be made ready as soon as possible.
all thought the prospect a charming one: mrs. moss, because life had been dull for her during the year she had taken charge of the old house; the little girls had heard rumors of various pets who were coming; and ben, learning that a boy and a donkey were among them, resolved that nothing but the arrival of his father should tear him from this now deeply interesting spot.
""i'm in such a hurry to see the peacocks and hear them scream.
she said they did, and that we'd laugh when old jack brayed," cried bab, hopping about on one foot to work off her impatience.
""is a faytun a kind of a bird?
i heard her say she could keep it in the coach-house," asked betty, inquiringly.
""it's a little carriage," and ben rolled in the grass, much tickled at poor betty's ignorance.
""of course it is.
i looked it out in the dic., and you must n't call it a payton, though it is spelt with a p," added bab, who liked to lay down the law on all occasions, and did not mention that she had looked vainly among the vs till a school-mate set her right.
""you ca n't tell me much about carriages.
but what i want to know is where lita will stay?"
said ben.
""oh, she's to be up at the squire's till things are fixed, and you are to bring her down.
squire came and told ma all about it, and said you were a boy to be trusted, for he had tried you."
ben made no answer, but secretly thanked his stars that he had not proved himself untrustworthy by running away, and so missing all this fun.
""wo n't it be fine to have the house open all the time?
we can run over and see the pictures and books whenever we like.
i know we can, miss celia is so kind," began betty, who cared for these things more than for screaming peacocks and comical donkeys.
""not unless you are invited," answered their mother, locking the front door behind her.
""you'd better begin to pick up your duds right away, for she wo n't want them cluttering round her front yard.
if you are not too tired, ben, you might rake round a little while i shut the blinds.
i want things to look nice and tidy."
two little groans went up from two afflicted little girls as they looked about them at the shady bower, the dear porch, and the winding walks where they loved to run "till their hair whistled in the wind," as the fairy-books say.
""whatever shall we do!
our attic is so hot and the shed so small, and the yard always full of hens or clothes.
we shall have to pack all our things away, and never play any more," said bab, tragically.
""may be ben could build us a little house in the orchard," proposed betty, who firmly believed that ben could do any thing.
""he wo n't have any time.
boys do n't care for baby-houses," returned bab, collecting her homeless goods and chattels with a dismal face.
""we sha'n' t want these much when all the new things come; see if we do," said cheerful little betty, who always found out a silver lining to every cloud.
chapter viii miss celia's man ben was not too tired, and the clearing-up began that very night.
none too soon, for in a day or two things arrived, to the great delight of the children, who considered moving a most interesting play.
first came the phaeton, which ben spent all his leisure moments in admiring; wondering with secret envy what happy boy would ride in the little seat up behind, and beguiling his tasks by planning how, when he got rich, he would pass his time driving about in just such an equipage, and inviting all the boys he met to have a ride.
then a load of furniture came creaking in at the lodge gate, and the girls had raptures over a cottage piano, several small chairs, and a little low table, which they pronounced just the thing for them to play at.
the live stock appeared next, creating a great stir in the neighborhood, for peacocks were rare birds there; the donkey's bray startled the cattle and convulsed the people with laughter; the rabbits were continually getting out to burrow in the newly made garden; and chevalita scandalized old duke by dancing about the stable which he had inhabited for years in stately solitude.
last but by no means least, miss celia, her young brother, and two maids arrived one evening so late that only mrs. moss went over to help them settle.
the children were much disappointed, but were appeased by a promise that they should all go to pay their respects in the morning.
they were up so early, and were so impatient to be off, that mrs. moss let them go with the warning that they would find only the servants astir.
she was mistaken, however, for, as the procession approached, a voice from the porch called out, "good-morning little neighbors!"
so unexpectedly, that bab nearly spilt the new milk she carried, betty gave such a start that the fresh-laid eggs quite skipped in the dish, and ben's face broke into a broad grin over the armful of clover which he brought for the bunnies, as he bobbed his head, saying briskly, -- "she's all right, miss, lita is; and i can bring her over any minute you say."
""i shall want her at four o'clock.
thorny will be too tired to drive, but i must hear from the post-office, rain or shine;" and miss celia's pretty color brightened as she spoke, either from some happy thought or because she was bashful, for the honest young faces before her plainly showed their admiration of the white-gowned lady under the honeysuckles.
the appearance of miranda, the maid, reminded the children of their errand; and having delivered their offerings, they were about to retire in some confusion, when miss celia said pleasantly, -- "i want to thank you for helping put things in such nice order.
i see signs of busy hands and feet both inside the house and all about the grounds, and i am very much obliged."
""i raked the beds," said ben, proudly eying the neat ovals and circles.
""i swept all the paths," added bab, with a reproachful glance at several green sprigs fallen from the load of clover on the smooth walk.
""i cleared up the porch," and betty's clean pinafore rose and fell with a long sigh, as she surveyed the late summer residence of her exiled family.
miss celia guessed the meaning of that sigh, and made haste to turn it into a smile by asking anxiously, -- "what has become of the playthings?
i do n't see them anywhere."
""ma said you would n't want our duds round, so we took them all home," answered betty, with a wistful face.
""but i do want them round.
i like dolls and toys almost as much as ever, and quite miss the little "duds" from porch and path.
suppose you come to tea with me to-night and bring some of them back?
i should be very sorry to rob you of your pleasant play-place."
""oh, yes,'m, we'd love to come!
and we'll bring our best things."
""ma always lets us have our shiny pitchers and the china poodle when we go visiting or have company at home," said bab and betty, both speaking at once.
""bring what you like, and i'll hunt up my toys, too.
ben is to come also, and his poodle is especially invited," added miss celia, as sancho came and begged before her, feeling that some agreeable project was under discussion.
""thank you, miss.
i told them you'd be willing they should come sometimes.
they like this place ever so much, and so do i," said ben, feeling that few spots combined so many advantages in the way of climbable trees, arched gates, half-a-dozen gables, and other charms suited to the taste of an aspiring youth who had been a flying cupid at the age of seven.
""so do i," echoed miss celia, heartily.
""ten years ago i came here a little girl, and made lilac chains under these very bushes, and picked chickweed over there for my bird, and rode thorny in his baby-wagon up and down these paths.
grandpa lived here then, and we had fine times; but now they are all gone except us two."
""we have n't got any father, either," said bab, for something in miss celia's face made her feel as if a cloud had come over the sun.
""i have a first-rate father, if i only knew where he'd gone to," said ben, looking down the path as eagerly as if one waited for him behind the locked gate.
""you are a rich boy, and you are happy little girls to have so good a mother; i've found that out already," and the sun shone again as the young lady nodded to the neat, rosy children before her.
""you may have a piece of her if you want to,'cause you have n't got any of your own," said betty with a pitiful look which made her blue eyes as sweet as two wet violets.
""so i will!
and you shall be my little sisters.
i never had any, and i'd love to try how it seems;" and celia took both the chubby hands in hers, feeling ready to love every one this first bright morning in the new home, which she hoped to make a very happy one.
bab gave a satisfied nod, and fell to examining the rings upon the white hand that held her own.
but betty put her arms about the new friend's neck, and kissed her so softly that the hungry feeling in miss celia's heart felt better directly; for this was the food it wanted, and thorny had not learned yet to return one half of the affection he received.
holding the child close, she played with the yellow braids while she told them about the little german girls in their funny black-silk caps, short-waisted gowns, and wooden shoes, whom she used to see watering long webs of linen bleaching on the grass, watching great flocks of geese, or driving pigs to market, knitting or spinning as they went.
presently "randa," as she called her stout maid, came to tell her that "master thorny could n't wait another minute;" and she went in to breakfast with a good appetite, while the children raced home to bounce in upon mrs. moss, talking all at once like little lunatics.
""the phaeton at four, -- so sweet in a beautiful white gown, -- going to tea, and sancho and all the baby things invited.
ca n't we wear our sunday frocks?
a splendid new net for lita.
and she likes dolls.
goody, goody, wo n't it be fun!"
with much difficulty their mother got a clear account of the approaching festivity out of the eager mouths, and with still more difficulty, got breakfast into them, for the children had few pleasures, and this brilliant prospect rather turned their heads.
bab and betty thought the day would never end, and cheered the long hours by expatiating on the pleasures in store for them, till their playmates were much afflicted because they were not going also.
at noon their mother kept them from running over to the old house lest they should be in the way; so they consoled themselves by going to the syringa bush at the corner and sniffing the savory odors which came from the kitchen, where katy, the cook, was evidently making nice things for tea.
ben worked as if for a wager till four; then stood over pat while he curried lita till her coat shone like satin, then drove her gently down to the coach-house, where he had the satisfaction of harnessing her "all his own self".
""shall i go round to the great gate and wait for you there, miss?"
he asked, when all was ready, looking up at the porch, where the young lady stood watching him as she put on her gloves.
""no, ben, the great gate is not to be opened till next october.
i shall go in and out by the lodge, and leave the avenue to grass and dandelions, meantime," answered miss celia, as she stepped in and took the reins, with a sudden smile.
but she did not start, even when ben had shaken out the new duster and laid it neatly over her knees.
""is n't it all right now?"
asked the boy, anxiously.
""not quite; i need one thing more.
ca n't you guess what it is?"
and miss celia watched his anxious face as his eyes wandered from the tips of lita's ears to the hind-wheel of the phaeton, trying to discover what had been omitted.
""no, miss, i do n't see --" he began, much mortified to think he had forgotten any thing.
""would n't a little groom up behind improve the appearance of my turnout?"
she said, with a look which left no doubt in his mind that he was to be the happy boy to occupy that proud perch.
he grew red with pleasure, but stammered, as he hesitated, looking down at his bare feet and blue shirt, -- "i ai n't fit, miss; and i have n't got any other clothes."
miss celia only smiled again more kindly than before, and answered, in a tone which he understood better than her words, -- "a great man said his coat-of-arms was a pair of shirt-sleeves, and a sweet poet sang about a barefooted boy; so i need not be too proud to ride with one.
up with you, ben, my man, and let us be off, or we shall be late for our party."
with one bound the new groom was in his place, sitting very erect, with his legs stiff, arms folded, and nose in the air, as he had seen real grooms sit behind their masters in fine dog-carts or carriages.
mrs. moss nodded as they drove past the lodge, and ben touched his torn hat-brim in the most dignified manner, though he could not suppress a broad grin of delight, which deepened into a chuckle when lita went off at a brisk trot along the smooth road toward town.
it takes so little to make a child happy, it is a pity grown people do not oftener remember it and scatter little bits of pleasure before the small people, as they throw crumbs to the hungry sparrows.
miss celia knew the boy was pleased, but he had no words in which to express his gratitude for the great contentment she had given him.
he could only beam at all he met, smile when the floating ends of the gray veil blew against his face, and long in his heart to give the new friend a boyish hug, as he used to do his dear "melia when she was very good to him.
school was just out as they passed; and it was a spectacle, i assure you, to see the boys and girls stare at ben up aloft in such state; also to see the superb indifference with which that young man regarded the vulgar herd who went afoot.
he could n't resist an affable nod to bab and betty, for they stood under the maple-tree, and the memory of their circulating library made him forget his dignity in his gratitude.
""we will take them next time, but now i want to talk to you," began miss celia, as lita climbed the hill.
""my brother has been ill, and i have brought him here to get well.
i want to do all sorts of things to amuse him, and i think you can help me in many ways.
would you like to work for me instead of the squire?
""i guess i would!"
ejaculated ben, so heartily that no further assurances were needed, and miss celia went on, well pleased: -- "you see, poor thorny is weak and fretful, and does not like to exert himself, though he ought to be out a great deal, and kept from thinking of his little troubles.
he can not walk much yet, so i have a wheeled chair to push him in; and the paths are so hard, it will be easy to roll him about.
that will be one thing you can do.
another is to take care of his pets till he is able to do it himself.
then you can tell him your adventures, and talk to him as only a boy can talk to a boy.
that will amuse him when i want to write or go out; but i never leave him long, and hope he will soon be running about as well as the rest of us.
how does that sort of work look to you?"
""first-rate!
i'll take real good care of the little feller, and do every thing i know to please him, and so will sanch; he's fond of children," answered ben, heartily, for the new place looked very inviting to him.
miss celia laughed, and rather damped his ardor by her next words.
""i do n't know what thorny would say to hear you call him "little."
he is fourteen, and appears to get taller and taller every day.
he seems like a child to me, because i am nearly ten years older than he is; but you need n't be afraid of his long legs and big eyes, he is too feeble to do any harm; only you must n't mind if he orders you about."
""i'm used to that.
i do n't mind it if he wo n't call me a "spalpeen," and fire things at me," said ben, thinking of his late trials with pat.
""i can promise that; and i am sure thorny will like you, for i told him your story, and he is anxious to see "the circus boy" as he called you.
squire allen says i may trust you, and i am glad to do so, for it saves me much trouble to find what i want all ready for me.
you shall be well fed and clothed, kindly treated and honestly paid, if you like to stay with me."
""i know i shall like it -- till father comes, anyway.
squire wrote to smithers right off, but has n't got any answer yet.
i know they are on the go now, so may be we wo n't hear for ever so long," answered ben, feeling less impatient to be off than before this fine proposal was made to him.
""i dare say; meantime, we will see how we get on together, and perhaps your father will be willing leave you for the summer if he is away.
now show me the baker's, the candy-shop, and the post-office," said miss celia, as they rattled down the main street of the village.
ben made himself useful; and when all the other errands were done, received his reward in the shape of a new pair of shoes and a straw hat with a streaming blue ribbon, on the ends of which shone silvery anchors.
he was also allowed to drive home, while his new mistress read her letters.
one particularly long one, with a queer stamp on the envelope, she read twice, never speaking a word till they got back.
then ben was sent off with lita and the squire's letters, promising to get his chores done in time for tea.
chapter ix a happy tea exactly five minutes before six the party arrived in great state, for bab and betty wore their best frocks and hair-ribbons, ben had a new blue shirt and his shoes on as full-dress, and sancho's curls were nicely brushed, his frills as white as if just done up.
no one was visible to receive them, but the low table stood in the middle of the walk, with four chairs and a foot-stool around it.
a pretty set of green and white china caused the girls to cast admiring looks upon the little cups and plates, while ben eyed the feast longingly, and sancho with difficulty restrained himself from repeating his former naughtiness.
no wonder the dog sniffed and the children smiled, for there was a noble display of little tarts and cakes, little biscuits and sandwiches, a pretty milk-pitcher shaped like a white calla rising out of its green leaves, and a jolly little tea-kettle singing away over the spirit-lamp as cosily as you please.
""is n't it perfectly lovely?"
whispered betty, who had never seen any thing like it before.
""i just wish sally could see us now," answered bab, who had not yet forgiven her enemy.
""wonder where the boy is," added ben, feeling as good as any one, but rather doubtful how others might regard him.
here a rumbling sound caused the guests to look toward the garden, and in a moment miss celia appeared, pushing a wheeled chair, in which sat her brother.
a gay afghan covered the long legs, a broad-brimmed hat half hid the big eyes, and a discontented expression made the thin face as unattractive as the fretful voice, which said, complainingly, -- "if they make a noise, i'll go in.
do n't see what you asked them for."
""to amuse you, dear.
i know they will, if you will only try to like them," whispered the sister, smiling, and nodding over the chair-back as she came on, adding aloud, "such a punctual party!
i am all ready, however, and we will sit down at once.
this is my brother thornton, and we are all going to be very good friends by-and-by.
here's the droll dog, thorny; is n't he nice and curly?"
now, ben had heard what the other boy said, and made up his mind that he should n't like him; and thorny had decided beforehand that he would n't play with a tramp, even if he cut capers; go both looked decidedly cool and indifferent when miss celia introduced them.
but sancho had better manners and no foolish pride; he, therefore, set them a good example by approaching the chair, with his tail waving like a flag of truce, and politely presented his ruffled paw for a hearty shake.
thorny could not resist that appeal, and patted the white head, with a friendly look into the affectionate eyes of the dog, saying to his sister as he did so, -- "what a wise old fellow he is!
it seems as if he could almost speak, does n't it?"
""he can.
say "how do you do," sanch," commanded ben, relenting at once, for he saw admiration in thorny's face.
""wow, wow, wow!"
remarked sancho, in a mild and conversational tone, sitting up and touching one paw to his head, as if he saluted by taking off his hat.
thorny laughed in spite of himself, and miss celia seeing that the ice was broken, wheeled him to his place at the foot of the table.
then, seating the little girls on one side, ben and the dog on the other, took the head herself and told her guests to begin.
bab and betty were soon chattering away to their pleasant hostess as freely as if they had known her for months; but the boys were still rather shy, and made sancho the medium through which they addressed one another.
the excellent beast behaved with wonderful propriety, sitting upon his cushion in an attitude of such dignity that it seemed almost a liberty to offer him food.
a dish of thick sandwiches had been provided for his especial refreshment; and, as ben from time to time laid one on his plate, he affected entire unconsciousness of it till the word was given, when it vanished at one gulp, and sancho again appeared absorbed in deep thought.
but, having once tasted of this pleasing delicacy, it was very hard to repress his longing for more; and, in spite of all his efforts, his nose would work, his eye kept a keen watch upon that particular dish, and his tail quivered with excitement as it lay like a train over the red cushion.
at last, a moment came when temptation proved too strong for him.
ben was listening to something miss celia said; a tart lay unguarded upon his plate; sanch looked at thorny who was watching him; thorny nodded, sanch gave one wink, bolted the tart, and then gazed pensively up at a sparrow swinging on a twig overhead.
the slyness of the rascal tickled the boy so much that he pushed back his hat, clapped his hands, and burst out laughing as he had not done before for weeks.
every one looked round surprised, and sancho regarded them with a mildly inquiring air, as if he said, "why this unseemly mirth, my friends?"
thorny forgot both sulks and shyness after that, and suddenly began to talk.
ben was flattered by his interest in the dear dog, and opened out so delightfully that he soon charmed the other by his lively tales of circus-life.
then miss celia felt relieved, and every thing went splendidly, especially the food; for the plates were emptied several times, the little tea-pot ran dry twice, and the hostess was just wondering if she ought to stop her voracious guests, when something occurred which spared her that painful task.
a small boy was suddenly discovered standing in the path behind them, regarding the company with an air of solemn interest.
a pretty, well-dressed child of six, with dark hair cut short across the brow, a rosy face, a stout pair of legs, left bare by the socks which had slipped down over the dusty little shoes.
one end of a wide sash trailed behind him, a straw hat hung at his back, his right hand firmly grasped a small turtle, and his left a choice collection of sticks.
before miss celia could speak, the stranger calmly announced his mission.
""i have come to see the peacocks."
""you shall presently --" began miss celia, but got no further, for the child added, coming a step nearer, -- "and the wabbits."
""yes, but first wo n't you --" "and the curly dog," continued the small voice, as another step brought the resolute young personage nearer.
""there he is."
a pause, a long look; then a new demand with the same solemn tone, the same advance.
""i wish to hear the donkey bray."
""certainly, if he will."
""and the peacocks scream."
""any thing more, sir?"
having reached the table by this time, the insatiable infant surveyed its ravaged surface, then pointed a fat little finger at the last cake, left for manners, and said, commandingly, -- "i will have some of that."
""help yourself; and sit upon the step to eat it, while you tell me whose boy you are," said miss celia, much amused at his proceedings.
deliberately putting down his sticks, the child took the cake, and, composing himself upon the step, answered with his rosy mouth full, -- "i am papa's boy.
he makes a paper.
i help him a great deal."
""what is his name?"
""mr. barlow.
we live in springfield," volunteered the new guest, unbending a trifle, thanks to the charms of the cake.
""have you a mamma, dear?"
""she takes naps.
i go to walk then."
""without leave, i suspect.
have you no brothers or sisters to go with you?"
asked miss celia, wondering where the little runaway belonged.
""i have two brothers, thomas merton barlow and harry sanford barlow.
i am alfred tennyson barlow.
we do n't have any girls in our house, only bridget."
""do n't you go to school?"
""the boys do.
i do n't learn any greeks and latins yet.
i dig, and read to mamma, and make poetrys for her."
""could n't you make some for me?
i'm very fond of poetrys," proposed miss celia, seeing that this prattle amused the children.
""i guess i could n't make any now; i made some coming along.
i will say it to you."
and, crossing his short legs, the inspired babe half said, half sung the following poem: -lrb- 1 -rrb- "sweet are the flowers of life, swept o'er my happy days at home; sweet are the flowers of life when i was a little child.
""sweet are the flowers of life that i spent with my father at home; sweet are the flowers of life when children played about the house.
""sweet are the flowers of life when the lamps are lighted at night; sweet are the flowers of life when the flowers of summer bloomed.
""sweet are the flowers of life dead with the snows of winter; sweet are the flowers of life when the days of spring come on.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- these lines were actually composed by a six-year old child.
""that's all of that one.
i made another one when i digged after the turtle.
i will say that.
it is a very pretty one," observed the poet with charming candor; and, taking a long breath, he tuned his little lyre afresh: sweet, sweet days are passing o'er my happy home.
passing on swift wings through the valley of life.
cold are the days when winter comes again.
when my sweet days were passing at my happy home, sweet were the days on the rivulet's green brink; sweet were the days when i read my father's books; sweet were the winter days when bright fires are blazing."
""bless the baby!
where did he get all that?"
exclaimed miss celia, amazed; while the children giggled as tennyson, jr., took a bite at the turtle instead of the half-eaten cake, and then, to prevent further mistakes, crammed the unhappy creature into a diminutive pocket in the most business-like way imaginable.
""it comes out of my head.
i make lots of them," began the imperturbable one, yielding more and more to the social influences of the hour.
""here are the peacocks coming to be fed," interrupted bab, as the handsome birds appeared with their splendid plumage glittering in the sun.
young barlow rose to admire; but his thirst for knowledge was not yet quenched, and he was about to request a song from juno and jupiter, when old jack, pining for society, put his head over the garden wall with a tremendous bray.
this unexpected sound startled the inquiring stranger half out of his wits; for a moment the stout legs staggered and the solemn countenance lost its composure, as he whispered, with an astonished air, "is that the way peacocks scream?"
the children were in fits of laughter, and miss celia could hardly make herself heard as she answered merrily, -- "no, dear; that is the donkey asking you to come and see him: will you go?
""i guess i could n't stop now.
mamma might want me."
and, without another word, the discomfited poet precipitately retired, leaving his cherished sticks behind him.
ben ran after the child to see that he came to no harm, and presently returned to report that alfred had been met by a servant, and gone away chanting a new verse of his poem, in which peacocks, donkeys, and "the flowers of life" were sweetly mingled.
""now i'll show you my toys, and we'll have a little play before it gets too late for thorny to stay with us," said miss celia, as randa carried away the tea-things and brought back a large tray full of picture-books, dissected maps, puzzles, games, and several pretty models of animals, the whole crowned with a large doll dressed as a baby.
at sight of that, betty stretched out her arms to receive it with a cry of delight.
bab seized the games, and ben was lost in admiration of the little arab chief prancing on the white horse, -- all saddled and bridled and fit for the fight.
thorny poked about to find a certain curious puzzle which he could put together without a mistake after long study.
even sancho found something to interest him; and, standing on his hind-legs, thrust his head between the boys to paw at several red and blue letters on square blocks.
""he looks as if he knew them," said thorny, amused at the dog's eager whine and scratch.
""he does.
spell your name, sanch;" and ben put all the gay letters down upon the flags with a chirrup which set the dog's tail to wagging as he waited till the alphabet was spread before him.
then, with great deliberation, he pushed the letters about till he had picked out six; these he arranged with nose and paw till the word "sancho" lay before him correctly spelt.
""is n't that clever?
can he do any more?"
cried thorny, delighted.
""lots; that's the way he gets his livin", and mine too," answered ben; and proudly put his poodle through his well-learned lessons with such success that even miss celia was surprised.
""he has been carefully trained.
do you know how it was done?"
she asked, when sancho lay down to rest and be caressed by the children.
""no,'m, father did it when i was a little chap, and never told me how.
i used to help teach him to dance, and that was easy enough, he is so smart.
father said the middle of the night was the best time to give him his lessons; it was so still then, and nothing disturbed sanch and made him forget.
i ca n't do half the tricks, but i'm goin" to learn when father comes back.
he'd rather have me show off sanch than ride, till i'm older."
""i have a charming book about animals, and in it an interesting account of some trained poodles who could do the most wonderful things.
would you like to hear it while you put your maps and puzzles together?"
asked miss celia, glad to keep her brother interested in their four-footed guest at least.
""yes,'m, yes,'m," answered the children; and, fetching the book, she read the pretty account, shortening and simplifying it here and there to suit her hearers.
""i invited the two dogs to dine and spend the evening; and they came with their master, who was a frenchman.
he had been a teacher in a deaf and dumb school, and thought he would try the same plan with dogs.
he had also been a conjurer, and now was supported by blanche and her daughter lyda.
these dogs behaved at dinner just like other dogs; but when i gave blanche a bit of cheese and asked if she knew the word for it, her master said she could spell it.
so a table was arranged with a lamp on it, and round the table were laid the letters of the alphabet painted on cards.
blanche sat in the middle, waiting till her master told her to spell cheese, which she at once did in french, f r o m a g e.
then she translated a word for us very cleverly.
some one wrote pferd, the german for horse, on a slate.
blanche looked at it and pretended to read it, putting by the slate with her paw when she had done.
"now give us the french for that word," said the man; and she instantly brought cheval.
"now, as you are at an englishman's house, give it to us in english;" and she brought me horse.
then we spelt some words wrong, and she corrected them with wonderful accuracy.
but she did not seem to like it, and whined and growled and looked so worried, that she was allowed to go and rest and eat cakes in a corner.
""then lyda took her place on the table, and did sums on the slate with a set of figures.
also mental arithmetic, which was very pretty.
"now, lyda," said her master," i want to see if you understand division.
suppose you had ten bits of sugar, and you met ten prussian dogs, how many lumps would you, a french dog, give to each of the prussians?"
lyda very decidedly replied to this with a cipher.
"but, suppose you divided your sugar with me, how many lumps would you give me?"
lyda took up the figure five and politely presented it to her master."
""was n't she smart?
sanch ca n't do that," exclaimed ben, forced to own that the french doggie beat his cherished pet.
""he is not too old to learn.
shall i go on?"
asked miss celia, seeing that the boys liked it, though betty was absorbed with the doll, and bab deep in a puzzle.
""oh, yes!
what else did they do?"
""they played a game of dominoes together, sitting in chairs opposite each other, and touched the dominoes that were wanted; but the man placed them and kept telling how the game went.
lyda was beaten, and hid under the sofa, evidently feeling very badly about it.
blanche was then surrounded with playing-cards, while her master held another pack and told us to choose a card; then he asked her what one had been chosen, and she always took up the right one in her teeth.
i was asked to go into another room, put a light on the floor with cards round it, and leave the doors nearly shut.
then the man begged some one to whisper in the dog's ear what card she was to bring, and she went at once and fetched it, thus showing that she understood their names.
lyda did many tricks with the numbers, so curious that no dog could possibly understand them; yet what the secret sign was i could not discover, but suppose it must have been in the tones of the master's voice, for he certainly made none with either head or hands.
""it took an hour a day for eighteen months to educate a dog enough to appear in public, and -lrb- as you say, ben -rrb- the night was the best time to give the lessons.
soon after this visit, the master died; and these wonderful dogs were sold because their mistress did not know how to exhibit them."
""would n't i have liked to see'em and find out how they were taught!
sanch, you'll have to study up lively, for i'm not going to have you beaten by french dogs," said ben, shaking his finger so sternly that sancho grovelled at his feet and put both paws over his eyes in the most abject manner.
""is there a picture of those smart little poodles?"
asked ben, eying the book, which miss celia left open before her.
""not of them, but of other interesting creatures; also anecdotes about horses, which will please you, i know," and she turned the pages for him, neither guessing how much good mr. hamerton's charming "chapters on animals" were to do the boy when he needed comfort for a sorrow which was very near.
chapter x a heavy trouble "thank you, ma'am, that's a tip-top book, "specially the pictures.
but i ca n't bear to see these poor fellows;" and ben brooded over the fine etching of the dead and dying horses on a battle-field, one past all further pain, the other helpless, but lifting his head from his dead master to neigh a farewell to the comrades who go galloping away in a cloud of dust.
""they ought to stop for him, some of'em," muttered ben, hastily turning back to the cheerful picture of the three happy horses in the field, standing knee-deep among the grass as they prepare to drink at the wide stream.
""ai n't that black one a beauty?
seems as if i could see his mane blow in the wind, and hear him whinny to that small feller trotting down to see if he ca n't get over and be sociable.
how i'd like to take a rousin" run round that meadow on the whole lot of'em!"
and ben swayed about in his chair as if he was already doing it in imagination.
""you may take a turn round my field on lita any day.
she would like it, and thorny's saddle will be here next week," said miss celia, pleased to see that the boy appreciated the fine pictures, and felt such hearty sympathy with the noble animals whom she dearly loved herself.
""need n't wait for that.
i'd rather ride bareback.
oh, i say, is this the book you told about, where the horses talked?"
asked ben, suddenly recollecting the speech he had puzzled over ever since he heard it.
""no; i brought the book, but in the hurry of my tea-party forgot to unpack it.
i'll hunt it up to-night.
remind me, thorny."
""there, now, i've forgotten something, too!
squire sent you a letter; and i'm having such a jolly time, i never thought of it."
ben rummaged out the note with remorseful haste, protesting that he was in no hurry for mr. gulliver, and very glad to save him for another day.
leaving the young folks busy with their games, miss celia sat in the porch to read her letters, for there were two; and as she read her face grew so sober, then so sad, that if any one had been looking he would have wondered what bad news had chased away the sunshine so suddenly.
no one did look; no one saw how pitifully her eyes rested on ben's happy face when the letters were put away, and no one minded the new gentleness in her manner as she came back, to the table.
but ben thought there never was so sweet a lady as the one who leaned over him to show him how the dissected map went together and never smiled at his mistakes.
so kind, so very kind was she to them all, that when, after an hour of merry play, she took her brother in to bed, the three who remained fell to praising her enthusiastically as they put things to rights before taking leave.
""she's like the good fairies in the books, and has all sorts of nice, pretty things in her house," said betty, enjoying a last hug of the fascinating doll whose lids would shut so that it was a pleasure to sing, "bye, sweet baby, bye," with no staring eyes to spoil the illusion.
""what heaps she knows!
more than teacher, i do believe; and she does n't mind how many questions we ask.
i like folks that will tell me things," added bab, whose inquisitive mind was always hungry.
""i like that boy first-rate, and i guess he likes me, though i did n't know where nantucket ought to go.
he wants me to teach him to ride when he's on his pins again, and miss celia says i may.
she knows how to make folks feel good, do n't she?"
and ben gratefully surveyed the arab chief, now his own, though the best of all the collection.
""wo n't we have splendid times?
she says we may come over every night and play with her and thorny."
""and she's goin", to have the seats in the porch lift up, so we can put our things in there all day and have'em handy."
""and i'm going to be her boy, and stay here all the time.
i guess the letter i brought was a recommend from the squire."
""yes, ben; and if i had not already made up my mind to keep you before, i certainly would now, my boy."
something in miss celia's voice, as she said the last two words with her hand on ben's shoulder, made him look up quickly and turn red with pleasure, wondering what the squire had written about him.
""mother must have some of the party; so you shall take her these, bab, and betty may carry baby home for the night.
she is so nicely asleep, it is a pity to wake her.
good by till to-morrow, little neighbors," continued miss celia, and dismissed the girls with a kiss.
""is ben coming, too?"
asked bab, as betty trotted off in a silent rapture with the big darling bobbing over her shoulder.
""not yet; i've several things to settle with my new man.
tell mother he will come by-and-by."
off rushed bab with the plateful of goodies; and, drawing ben down beside her on the wide step, miss celia took out the letters, with a shadow creeping over her face as softly as the twilight was stealing over the world, while the dew fell, and every thing grew still and dim.
""ben, dear, i've something to tell you," she began, slowly; and the boy waited with a happy face, for no one had called him so since "melia died.
""the squire has heard about your father, and this is the letter mr. smithers sends."
""hooray!
where is he, please?"
cried ben, wishing she would hurry up; for miss celia did not even offer him the letter, but sat looking down at sancho on the lower step, as if she wanted him to come and help her.
""he went after the mustangs, and sent some home, but could not come himself."
""went further on, i s "pose.
yes, he said he might go as far as california, and if he did he'd send for me.
i'd like to go there; it's a real splendid place, they say."
""he has gone further away than that, to a lovelier country than california, i hope."
and miss celia's eyes turned to the deep sky, where early stars were shining.
""did n't he send for me?
where's he gone?
when's he coming back?"
asked ben, quickly; for there was a quiver in her voice, the meaning of which he felt before he understood.
miss celia put her arms about him, and answered very tenderly, -- "ben, dear, if i were to tell you that he was never coming back, could you bear it?"
""i guess i could, -- but you do n't mean it?
oh, ma'am, he is n't dead?"
cried ben, with a cry that made her heart ache, and sancho leap up with a bark.
""my poor little boy, i wish i could say no."
there was no need of any more words, no need of tears or kind arms around him.
he knew he was an orphan now, and turned instinctively to the old friend who loved him best.
throwing himself down beside his dog, ben clung about the curly neck, sobbing bitterly, -- "oh, sanch, he's never coming back again; never, never any more!"
poor sancho could only whine and lick away the tears that wet the half-hidden face, questioning the new friend meantime with eyes so full of dumb love and sympathy and sorrow that they seemed almost human.
wiping away her own tears, miss celia stooped to pat the white head, and to stroke the black one lying so near it that the dog's breast was the boy's pillow.
presently the sobbing ceased, and ben whispered, without looking up, -- "tell me all about it; i'll be good."
then, as kindly as she could, miss celia read the brief letter which told the hard news bluntly; for mr. smithers was obliged to confess that he had known the truth months before, and never told the boy, lest he should be unfitted for the work they gave him.
of ben brown the elder's death there was little to tell, except that he was killed in some wild place at the west, and a stranger wrote the fact to the only person whose name was found in ben's pocket-book.
mr. smithers offered to take the boy back and "do well by him," averring that the father wished his son to remain where he left him, and follow the profession to which he was trained.
""will you go, ben?"
asked miss celia, hoping to distract his mind from his grief by speaking of other things.
""no, no; i'd rather tramp and starve.
he's awful hard to me and sanch; and he'd be worse, now father's gone.
do n't send me back!
let me stay here; folks are good to me; there's nowhere else to go."
and the head ben had lifted up with a desperate sort of look, went down again on sancho's breast as if there were no other refuge left.
""you shall stay here, and no one shall take you away against your will.
i called you "my boy" in play, now you shall be my boy in earnest; this shall be your home, and thorny your brother.
we are orphans, too; and we will stand by one another till a stronger friend comes to help us," said miss celia, with such a mixture of resolution and tenderness in her voice, that ben felt comforted at once, and thanked her by laying his cheek against the pretty slipper that rested on the step beside him, as if he had no words in which to swear loyalty to the gentle mistress whom he meant henceforth to serve with grateful fidelity.
sancho felt that he must follow suit; and gravely put his paw upon her knee, with a low whine, as if he said, "count me in, and let me help to pay my master's debt if i can."
miss celia shook the offered paw cordially, and the good creature crouched at her feet like a small lion, bound to guard her and her house for evermore.
""do n't lie on that cold stone, ben; come here and let me try to comfort you," she said, stooping to wipe away the great drops that kept rolling down the brown cheek half hidden in her dress.
but ben put his arm over his face, and sobbed out with a fresh burst of grief, -- "you ca n't, you did n't know him!
oh, daddy!
daddy!
if i'd only seen you jest once more!"
no one could grant that wish; but miss celia did comfort him, for presently the sound of music floated out from the parlor, -- music so soft, so sweet, that involuntarily the boy stopped his crying to listen; then quieter tears dropped slowly, seeming to soothe his pain as they fell, while the sense of loneliness passed away, and it grew possible to wait till it was time to go to father in that far-off country lovelier than golden california.
how long she played miss celia never minded; but, when she stole out to see if ben had gone, she found that other friends, even kinder than herself, had taken the boy into their gentle keeping.
the wind had sung a lullaby among the rustling lilacs, the moon's mild face looked through the leafy arch to kiss the heavy eyelids, and faithful sancho still kept guard beside his little master, who, with his head pillowed on his arm, lay fast asleep, dreaming, happily, that daddy had come home again.
chapter xi sunday mrs. moss woke ben with a kiss next morning, for her heart yearned over the fatherless lad as if he had been her own, and she had no other way of showing her sympathy.
ben had forgotten his troubles in sleep; but the memory of them returned as soon as he opened his eyes, heavy with the tears they had shed.
he did not cry any more, but felt strange and lonely till he called sancho and told him all about it, for he was shy even with kind mrs. moss, and glad when she went away.
sancho seemed to understand that his master was in trouble, and listened to the sad little story with gurgles of interest, whines of condolence, and intelligent barks whenever the word "daddy" was uttered.
he was only a brute, but his dumb affection comforted the boy more than any words; for sanch had known and loved "father" almost as long and well as his son, and that seemed to draw them closely together, now they were left alone.
""we must put on mourning, old feller.
it's the proper thing, and there's nobody else to do it now," said ben, as he dressed, remembering how all the company wore bits of crape somewhere about them at "melia's funeral.
it was a real sacrifice of boyish vanity to take the blue ribbon with its silver anchors off the new hat, and replace it with the dingy black band from the old one; but ben was quite sincere in doing this, though doubtless his theatrical life made him think of the effect more than other lads would have done.
he could find nothing in his limited wardrobe with which to decorate sanch except a black cambric pocket.
it was already half torn out of his trousers with the weight of nails, pebbles, and other light trifles; so he gave it a final wrench and tied it into the dog's collar, saying to himself, as he put away his treasures, with a sigh, -- "one pocket is enough; i sha'n' t want anything but a han "k "chi" f to-day."
fortunately, that article of dress was clean, for he had but one; and, with this somewhat ostentatiously drooping from the solitary pocket, the serious hat upon his head, the new shoes creaking mournfully, and sanch gravely following, much impressed with his black bow, the chief mourner descended, feeling that he had done his best to show respect to the dead.
mrs. moss's eyes filled as she saw the rusty band, and guessed why it was there; but she found it difficult to repress a smile when she beheld the cambric symbol of woe on the dog's neck.
not a word was said to disturb the boy's comfort in these poor attempts, however; and he went out to do his chores, conscious that he was an object of interest to his friends, especially so to bab and betty, who, having been told of ben's loss, now regarded him with a sort of pitying awe very grateful to his feelings.
""i want you to drive me to church by-and-by.
it is going to be pretty warm, and thorny is hardly strong enough to venture yet," said miss celia, when ben ran over after breakfast to see if she had any thing for him to do; for he considered her his mistress now, though he was not to take possession of his new quarters till the morrow.
""yes,'m, i'd like to, if i look well enough," answered ben, pleased to be asked, but impressed with the idea that people had to be very fine on such occasions.
""you will do very well when i have given you a touch.
god does n't mind our clothes, ben, and the poor are as welcome as the rich to him.
you have not been much, have you?"
asked miss celia, anxious to help the boy, and not quite sure how to begin.
""no,'m; our folks did n't hardly ever go, and father was so tired he used to rest sundays, or go off in the woods with me."
a little quaver came into ben's voice as he spoke, and a sudden motion made his hat-brim hide his eyes, for the thought of the happy times that would never come any more was almost too much for him.
""that was a pleasant way to rest.
i often do so, and we will go to the grove this afternoon and try it.
but i have to go to church in the morning; it seems to start me right for the week; and if one has a sorrow that is the place where one can always find comfort.
will you come and try it, ben, dear?"
""i'd do any thing to please you," muttered ben, without looking up; for, though he felt her kindness to the bottom of his heart, he did wish that no one would talk about father for a little while; it was so hard to keep from crying, and he hated to be a baby.
miss celia seemed to understand, for the next thing she said, in a very cheerful tone, was, "see what a pretty sight that is.
when i was a little girl i used to think spiders spun cloth for the fairies, and spread it on the grass to bleach."
ben stopped digging a hole in the ground with his toe, and looked up, to see a lovely cobweb like a wheel, circle within circle, spun across a corner of the arch over the gate.
tiny drops glittered on every thread as the light shone through the gossamer curtain, and a soft breath of air made it tremble as if about to blow it away.
""it's mighty pretty, but it will fly off, just as the others did.
i never saw such a chap as that spider is.
he keeps on spinning a new one every day, for they always get broke, and he do n't seem to be discouraged a mite," said ben, glad to change the subject, as she knew he would be.
""that is the way he gets his living, he spins his web and waits for his daily bread, -- or fly, rather; and it always comes, i fancy.
by-and-by you will see that pretty trap full of insects, and mr. spider will lay up his provisions for the day.
after that he does n't care how soon his fine web blows away."
""i know him; he's a handsome feller, all black and yellow, and lives up in that corner where the shiny sort of hole is.
he dives down the minute i touch the gate, but comes up after i've kept still a minute.
i like to watch him.
but he must hate me, for i took away a nice green fly and some little millers one day."
""did you ever hear the story of bruce and his spider?
most children know and like that," said miss celia, seeing that he seemed interested.
""no,'m; i do n't know ever so many things most children do," answered ben, soberly; for, since he had been among his new friends, he had often felt his own deficiencies.
""ah, but you also know many things which they do not.
half the boys in town would give a great deal to be able to ride and run and leap as you do; and even the oldest are not as capable of taking care of themselves as you are.
your active life has done much in some ways to make a man of you; but in other ways it was bad, as i think you begin to see.
now, suppose you try to forget the harmful part, and remember only the good, while learning to be more like our boys, who go to school and church, and fit themselves to become industrious, honest men."
ben had been looking straight up in miss celia's face as she spoke, feeling that every word was true, though he could not have expressed it if he had tried; and, when she paused, with her bright eyes inquiringly fixed on his, he answered heartily, -- "i'd like to stay here and be respectable; for, since i came, i've found out that folks do n't think much of circus riders, though they like to go and see'em.
i did n't use to care about school and such things, but i do now; and i guess he'd like it better than to have me knockin" round that way without him to look after me."
""i know he would; so we will try, benny.
i dare say it will seem dull and hard at first, after the gay sort of life you have led, and you will miss the excitement.
but it was not good for you, and we will do our best to find something safer.
do n't be discouraged; and, when things trouble you, come to me as thorny does, and i'll try to straighten them out for you.
i've got two boys now, and i want to do my duty by both."
before ben had time for more than a grateful look, a tumbled head appeared at an upper window, and a sleepy voice drawled out, -- "celia!
i ca n't find a bit of a shoe-string, and i wish you'd come and do my neck-tie."
""lazy boy, come down here, and bring one of your black ties with you.
shoe-strings are in the little brown bag on my bureau," called back miss celia; adding, with a laugh, as the tumbled head disappeared mumbling something about "bothering old bags", "thorny has been half spoiled since he was ill.
you must n't mind his fidgets and dawdling ways.
he'll get over them soon, and then i know you two will be good friends."
ben had his doubts about that, but resolved to do his best for her sake; so, when master thorny presently appeared, with a careless "how are you, ben?"
that young person answered respectfully, -- "very well, thank you," though his nod was as condescending as his new master's; because he felt that a boy who could ride bareback and turn a double somersault in the air ought not to "knuckle under" to a fellow who had not the strength of a pussy-cat.
""sailor's knot, please; keeps better so," said thorny, holding up his chin to have a blue-silk scarf tied to suit him, for he was already beginning to be something of a dandy.
""you ought to wear red till you get more color, dear;" and his sister rubbed her blooming cheek against his pale one, as if to lend him some of her own roses.
""men do n't care how they look," said thorny, squirming out of her hold, for he hated to be "cuddled" before people.
""oh, do n't they?
here's a vain boy who brushes his hair a dozen times a day, and quiddles over his collar till he is so tired he can hardly stand," laughed miss celia, with a little tweak of his ear.
""i should like to know what this is for?"
demanded thorny, in a dignified tone, presenting a black tie.
""for my other boy.
he is going to church with me," and miss celia tied a second knot for this young gentleman, with a smile that seemed to brighten up even the rusty hat-band.
""well, i like that --" began thorny, in a tone that contradicted his words.
a look from his sister reminded him of what she had told him half an hour ago, and he stopped short, understanding now why she was "extra good to the little tramp."
""so do i, for you are of no use as a driver yet, and i do n't like to fasten lita when i have my best gloves on," said miss celia, in a tone that rather nettled master thorny.
""is ben going to black my boots before he goes?
with a glance at the new shoes which caused them to creak uneasily.
""no; he is going to black mine, if he will be so kind.
you wo n't need boots for a week yet, so we wo n't waste any time over them.
you will find every thing in the shed, ben; and at ten you may go for lita."
with that, miss celia walked her brother off to the diningroom, and ben retired to vent his ire in such energetic demonstrations with the blacking-brush that the little boots shone splendidly.
he thought he had never seen any thing as pretty as his mistress when, an hour later, she came out of the house in her white shawl and bonnet, holding a book and a late lily-of-the-valley in the pearl-colored gloves, which he hardly dared to touch as he helped her into the carriage.
he had seen a good many fine ladies in his life; and those he had known had been very gay in the colors of their hats and gowns, very fond of cheap jewelry, and much given to feathers, lace, and furbelows; so it rather puzzled him to discover why miss celia looked so sweet and elegant in such a simple suit.
he did not then know that the charm was in the woman, not the clothes; or that merely living near such a person would do more to give him gentle manners, good principles, and pure thoughts, than almost any other training he could have had.
but he was conscious that it was pleasant to be there, neatly dressed, in good company, and going to church like a respectable boy.
somehow, the lonely feeling got better as he rolled along between green fields, with the june sunshine brightening every thing, a restful quiet in the air, and a friend beside him who sat silently looking out at the lovely world with what he afterward learned to call her "sunday face," -- a soft, happy look, as if all the work and weariness of the past week were forgotten, and she was ready to begin afresh when this blessed day was over.
""well, child, what is it?"
she asked, catching his eye as he stole a shy glance at her, one of many which she had not seen.
""i was only thinking, you looked as if --" "as if what?
do n't be afraid," she said, for ben paused and fumbled at the reins, feeling half ashamed to tell his fancy.
""you were saying prayers," he added, wishing she had not caught him.
""so i was.
do n't you, when you are happy?
""no,'m.
i'm glad, but i do n't say any thing."
""words are not needed; but they help, sometimes, if they are sincere and sweet.
did you never learn any prayers, ben?"
""only "now i lay me."
grandma taught me that when i was a little mite of a boy."
""i will teach you another, the best that was ever made, because it says all we need ask."
""our folks was n't very pious; they did n't have time, i s "pose."
""i wonder if you know just what it means to be pious?"
""goin" to church, and readin" the bible, and sayin" prayers and hymns, ai n't it?"
""those things are a part of it; but being kind and cheerful, doing one's duty, helping others, and loving god, is the best way to show that we are pious in the true sense of the word."
""then you are!"
and ben looked as if her acts had been a better definition than her words.
""i try to be, but i very often fail; so every sunday i make new resolutions, and work hard to keep them through the week.
that is a great help, as you will find when you begin to try it."
""do you think if i said in meetin"," i wo n't ever swear any more," that i would n't do it again?"
asked ben, soberly; for that was his besetting sin just now.
""i'm afraid we ca n't get rid of our faults quite so easily; i wish we could: but i do believe that if you keep saying that, and trying to stop, you will cure the habit sooner than you think."
""i never did swear very bad, and i did n't mind much till i came here; but bab and betty looked so scared when i said "damn," and mrs. moss scolded me so, i tried to leave off.
it's dreadful hard, though, when i get mad.
"hang it!"
do n't seem half so good if i want to let off steam."
""thorny used to "confound!"
every thing, so i proposed that he should whistle instead; and now he sometimes pipes up so suddenly and shrilly that it makes me jump.
how would that do, instead of swearing?"
proposed miss celia, not the least surprised at the habit of profanity, which the boy could hardly help learning among his former associates.
ben laughed, and promised to try it, feeling a mischievous satisfaction at the prospect of out-whistling master thorny, as he knew he should; for the objectionable words rose to his lips a dozen times a day.
the ben was ringing as they drove into town; and, by the time lita was comfortably settled in her shed, people were coming up from all quarters to cluster around the steps of the old meeting-house like bees about a hive.
accustomed to a tent, where people kept their hats on, ben forgot all about his, and was going down the aisle covered, when a gentle hand took it off, and miss celia whispered, as she gave it to him, -- "this is a holy place; remember that, and uncover at the door."
much abashed, ben followed to the pew, where the squire and his wife soon joined them.
""glad to see him here," said the old gentleman with an approving nod, as he recognized the boy and remembered his loss.
""hope he wo n't nestle round in meeting-time," whispered mrs. allen, composing herself in the corner with much rustling of black silk.
""i'll take care that he does n't disturb you," answered miss celia, pushing a stool under the short legs, and drawing a palm-leaf fan within reach.
ben gave an inward sigh at the prospect before him; for an hour's captivity to an active lad is hard to bear, and he really did want to behave well.
so he folded his arms and sat like a statue, with nothing moving but his eyes.
they rolled to and fro, up and down, from the high red pulpit to the worn hymnbooks in the rack, recognizing two little faces under blue-ribboned hats in a distant pew, and finding it impossible to restrain a momentary twinkle in return for the solemn wink billy barton bestowed upon him across the aisle.
ten minutes of this decorous demeanor made it absolutely necessary for him to stir; so he unfolded his arms and crossed his legs as cautiously as a mouse moves in the presence of a cat; for mrs. allen's eye was on him, and he knew by experience that it was a very sharp one.
the music which presently began was a great relief to him, for under cover of it he could wag his foot and no one heard the creak thereof; and when they stood up to sing, he was so sure that all the boys were looking at him, he was glad to sit down again.
the good old minister read the sixteenth chapter of samuel, and then proceeded to preach a long and somewhat dull sermon.
ben listened with all his ears, for he was interested in the young shepherd, "ruddy and of a beautiful countenance," who was chosen to be saul's armor-bearer.
he wanted to hear more about him, and how he got on, and whether the evil spirits troubled saul again after david had harped them out.
but nothing more came; and the old gentleman droned on about other things till poor ben felt that he must either go to sleep like the squire, or tip the stool over by accident, since "nestling" was forbidden, and relief of some sort he must have.
mrs. allen gave him a peppermint, and he dutifully ate it, though it was so hot it made his eyes water.
then she fanned him, to his great annoyance, for it blew his hair about; and the pride of his life was to have his head as smooth and shiny as black satin.
an irrepressible sigh of weariness attracted miss celia's attention at last; for, though she seemed to be listening devoutly, her thoughts had flown over the sea, with tender prayers for one whom she loved even more than david did his jonathan.
she guessed the trouble in a minute, and had provided for it, knowing by experience that few small boys can keep quiet through sermon-time.
finding a certain place in the little book she had brought, she put it into his hands, with the whisper, "read if you are tired."
ben clutched the book and gladly obeyed, though the title, "scripture narratives," did not look very inviting.
then his eye fell on the picture of a slender youth cutting a large man's head off, while many people stood looking on.
""jack, the giant-killer," thought ben, and turned the page to see the words "david and goliath", which was enough to set him to reading the story with great interest; for here was the shepherd boy turned into a hero.
no more fidgets now; the sermon was no longer heard, the fan flapped unfelt, and billy barton's spirited sketches in the hymnbook were vainly held up for admiration.
ben was quite absorbed in the stirring history of king david, told in a way that fitted it for children's reading, and illustrated with fine pictures which charmed the boy's eye.
sermon and story ended at the same time; and, while he listened to the prayer, ben felt as if he understood now what miss celia meant by saying that words helped when they were well chosen and sincere.
several petitions seemed as if especially intended for him; and he repeated them to himself that he might remember them, they sounded so sweet and comfortable heard for the first time just when he most needed comfort.
miss celia saw a new expression in the boy's face as she glanced down at him, and heard a little humming at her side when all stood up to sing the cheerful hymn with which they were dismissed.
""how do you like church?"
asked the young lady, as they drove away.
""first-rate!"
answered ben, heartily.
""especially the sermon?"
ben laughed, and said, with an affectionate glance at the little book in her lap, -- "i could n't understand it; but that story was just elegant.
there's more; and i'd admire to read'em, if i could."
""i'm glad you like them; and we will keep the rest for another sermon-time.
thorny used to do so, and always called this his "pew book."
i do n't expect you to understand much that you hear yet awhile; but it is good to be there, and after reading these stories you will be more interested when you hear the names of the people mentioned here."
""yes,'m.
was n't david a fine feller?
i liked all about the kid and the corn and the ten cheeses, and killin" the lion and bear, and slingin" old goliath dead first shot.
i want to know about joseph next time, for i saw a gang of robbers puttin" him in a hole, and it looked real interesting."
miss celia could not help smiling at ben's way of telling things; but she was pleased to see that he was attracted by the music and the stories, and resolved to make church-going so pleasant that he would learn to love it for its own sake.
""now, you have tried my way this morning, and we will try yours this afternoon.
come over about four and help me roll thorny down to the grove.
i am going to put one of the hammocks there, because the smell of the pines is good for him, and you can talk or read or amuse yourselves in any quiet way you like."
""can i take sanch along?
he does n't like to be left, and felt real bad because i shut him up, for fear he'd follow and come walkin" into meetin" to find me."
""yes, indeed; let the clever bow-wow have a good time and enjoy sunday as much as i want my boys to."
quite content with this arrangement, ben went home to dinner, which he made very lively by recounting billy barton's ingenious devices to beguile the tedium of sermon time.
he said nothing of his conversation with miss celia, because he had not quite made up his mind whether he liked it or not; it was so new and serious, he felt as if he had better lay it by, to think over a good deal before he could understand all about it.
but he had time to get dismal again, and long for four o'clock; because he had nothing to do except whittle.
mrs. moss went to take a nap; bab and betty sat demurely on their bench reading sunday books; no boys were allowed to come and play; even the hens retired under the currant-bushes, and the cock stood among them, clucking drowsily, as if reading them a sermon.
""dreadful slow day!"
thought ben; and, retiring to the recesses of his own room, he read over the two letters which seemed already old to him.
now that the first shock was over, he could not make it true that his father was dead, and he gave up trying; for he was an honest boy, and felt that it was foolish to pretend to be more unhappy than he really was.
so he put away his letters, took the black pocket off sanch's neck, and allowed himself to whistle softly as he packed up his possessions, ready to move next day, with few regrets and many bright anticipations for the future.
""thorny, i want you to be good to ben, and amuse him in some quiet way this afternoon.
i must stay and see the morrises, who are coming over; but you can go to the grove and have a pleasant time," said miss celia to her brother.
""not much fun in talking to that horsey fellow.
i'm sorry for him, but i ca n't do anything to amuse him," objected thorny, pulling himself up from the sofa with a great yawn.
""you can be very agreeable when you like; and ben has had enough of me for this time.
to-morrow he will have his work, and do very well; but we must try to help him through to-day, because he does n't know what to do with himself.
besides, it is just the time to make a good impression on him, while grief for his father softens him, and gives us a chance.
i like him, and i'm sure he wants to do well; so it is our duty to help him, as there seems to be no one else."
""here goes, then!
where is he?"
and thorny stood up, won by his sister's sweet earnestness, but very doubtful of his own success with the "horsey fellow."
""waiting with the chair.
randa has gone on with the hammock.
be a dear boy, and i'll do as much for you some day."
""do n't see how you can be a dear boy.
you're the best sister that ever was; so i'll love all the scallywags you ask me to."
with a laugh and a kiss, thorny shambled off to ascend his chariot, good-humoredly saluting his pusher, whom he found sitting on the high rail behind, with his feet on sanch.
""drive on, benjamin.
i do n't know the way, so i ca n't direct.
do n't spill me out, -- that's all i've got to say."
""all right, sir," -- and away ben trundled down the long walk that led through the orchard to a little grove of seven pines.
a pleasant spot; for a soft rustle filled the air, a brown carpet of pine needles, with fallen cones for a pattern, lay under foot; and over the tops of the tall brakes that fringed the knoll one had glimpses of hill and valley, farm-houses and winding river, like a silver ribbon through the low, green meadows.
""a regular summer house!"
said thorny, surveying it with approval.
""what's the matter, randa?
wo n't it do?"
he asked, as the stout maid dropped her arms with a puff, after vainly trying to throw the hammock rope over a branch.
""that end went up beautiful, but this one wo n't; the branches is so high, i ca n't reach'em; and i'm no hand at flinging ropes round."
""i'll fix it;" and ben went up the pine like a squirrel, tied a stout knot, and swung himself down again before thorny could get out of the chair.
""my patience, what a spry boy!"
exclaimed randa, admiringly.
""that's nothing; you ought to see me shin up a smooth tent-pole," said ben, rubbing the pitch off his hands, with a boastful wag of the head.
""you can go, randa.
just hand me my cushion and books, ben; then you can sit in the chair while i talk to you," commanded thorny, tumbling into the hammock.
""what's he goin" to say to me?"
wondered ben to himself, as he sat down with sanch sprawling among the wheels.
""now, ben, i think you'd better learn a hymn; i always used to when i was a little chap, and it is a good thing to do sundays," began the new teacher, with a patronizing air, which ruffled his pupil as much as the opprobrious term "little chap."
""i'll be -- whew -- if i do!"
whistled ben, stopping an oath just in time.
""it is not polite to whistle in company," said thorny, with great dignity.
""miss celia told me to.
i'll say "confound it," if you like that better," answered ben, as a sly smile twinkled in his eyes.
""oh, i see!
she's told you about it?
well, then, if you want to please her, you'll learn a hymn right off.
come, now, she wants me to be clever to you, and i'd like to do it; but if you get peppery, how can i?"
thorny spoke in a hearty, blunt way, which suited ben much better than the other, and he responded pleasantly, -- "if you wo n't be grand i wo n't be peppery.
nobody is going to boss me but miss celia; so i'll learn hymns if she wants me to.""
"in the soft season of thy youth" is a good one to begin with.
i learned it when i was six.
nice thing; better have it."
and thorny offered the book like a patriarch addressing an infant.
ben surveyed the yellow page with small favor, for the long s in the old-fashioned printing bewildered him; and when he came to the last two lines, he could not resist reading them wrong, -- "the earth affords no lovelier fight than a religious youth."
""i do n't believe i could ever get that into my head straight.
have n't you got a plain one any where round?"
he asked, turning over the leaves with some anxiety.
""look at the end, and see if there is n't a piece of poetry pasted in.
you learn that, and see how funny celia will look when you say it to her.
she wrote it when she was a girl, and somebody had it printed for other children.
i like it best, myself."
pleased by the prospect of a little fun to cheer his virtuous task, ben whisked over the leaves, and read with interest the lines miss celia had written in her girlhood: "my kingdom a little kingdom i possess, where thoughts and feelings dwell; and very hard i find the task of governing it well.
for passion tempts and troubles me, a wayward will misleads, and selfishness its shadow casts on all my words and deeds.
""how can i learn to rule myself, to be the child i should, -- honest and brave, -- nor ever tire of trying to be good?
how can i keep a sunny soul to shine along life's way?
how can i tune my little heart to sweetly sing all day?
""dear father, help me with the love that casteth out my fear!
teach me to lean on thee, and feel that thou art very near; that no temptation is unseen, no childish grief too small, since thou, with patience infinite, doth soothe and comfort all.
""i do not ask for any crown, but that which all may will nor seek to conquer any world except the one within.
be then my guide until i find, led by a tender hand, thy happy kingdom in myself, and dare to take command."
""i like that!"
said ben, emphatically, when he had read the little hymn.
""i understand it, and i'll learn it right away.
do n't see how she could make it all come out so nice and pretty."
""celia can do any thing!"
and thorny gave an all-embracing wave of the hand, which forcibly expressed his firm belief in his sister's boundless powers.
""i made some poetry once.
bab and betty thought it was first-rate, i did n't," said ben, moved to confidence by the discovery of miss celia's poetic skill.
""say it," commanded thorny, adding with tact, "i ca n't make any to save my life, -- never could but i'm fond of it."
""chevalita, pretty cretr, i do love her like a brother; just to ride is my delight, for she does not kick or bite," recited ben, with modest pride, for his first attempt had been inspired by sincere affection, and pronounced "lovely" by the admiring girls.
""very good!
you must say them to celia, too.
she likes to hear lita praised.
you and she and that little barlow boy ought to try for a prize, as the poets did in athens.
i'll tell you all about it some time.
now, you peg away at your hymn."
cheered by thorny's commendation, ben fell to work at his new task, squirming about in the chair as if the process of getting words into his memory was a very painful one.
but he had quick wits, and had often learned comic songs; so he soon was able to repeat the four verses without mistake, much to his own and thorny's satisfaction.
""now we'll talk," said the well-pleased preceptor; and talk they did, one swinging in the hammock, the other rolling about on the pine-needles, as they related their experiences boy fashion.
ben's were the most exciting; but thorny's were not without interest, for he had lived abroad for several years, and could tell all sorts of droll stories of the countries he had seen.
busied with friends, miss celia could not help wondering how the lads got on; and, when the tea-bell rang, waited a little anxiously for their return, knowing that she could tell at a glance if they had enjoyed themselves.
""all goes well so far," she thought, as she watched their approach with a smile; for sancho sat bolt upright in the chair which ben pushed, while thorny strolled beside him, leaning on a stout cane newly cut.
both boys were talking busily, and thorny laughed from time to time, as if his comrade's chat was very amusing.
""see what a jolly cane ben cut for me!
he's great fun if you do n't stroke him the wrong way," said the elder lad, flourishing his staff as they came up.
""what have you been doing down there?
you look so merry, i suspect mischief," asked miss celia, surveying them front the steps.
""we've been as good as gold.
i talked, and ben learned a hymn to please you.
come, young man, say your piece," said thorny, with an expression of virtuous content.
taking off his hat, ben soberly obeyed, much enjoying the quick color that came up in miss celia's face as she listened, and feeling as if well repaid for the labor of learning by the pleased look with which she said, as he ended with a bow, -- "i feel very proud to think you chose that, and to hear you say it as if it meant something to you.
i was only fourteen when i wrote it; but it came right out of my heart, and did me good.
i hope it may help you a little."
ben murmured that he guessed it would; but felt too shy to talk about such things before thorny, so hastily retired to put the chair away, and the others went in to tea.
but later in the evening, when miss celia was singing like a nightingale, the boy slipped away from sleepy bab and betty to stand by the syringa bush and listen, with his heart full of new thoughts and happy feelings; for never before had he spent a sunday like this.
and when he went to bed, instead of saying "now i lay me," he repeated the third verse of miss celia's hymn; for that was his favorite, because his longing for the father whom he had seen made it seem sweet and natural now to love and lean, without fear upon the father whom he had not seen.
chapter xii good times every one was very kind to ben when his loss was known.
the squire wrote to mr. smithers that the boy had found friends and would stay where he was.
mrs. moss consoled him in her motherly way, and the little girls did their very best to "be good to poor benny."
but miss celia was his truest comforter, and completely won his heart, not only by the friendly words she said and the pleasant things she did, but by the unspoken sympathy which showed itself just at the right minute, in a look, a touch, a smile, more helpful than any amount of condolence.
she called him "my man," and ben tried to be one, bearing his trouble so bravely that she respected him, although he was only a little boy, because it promised well for the future.
then she was so happy herself, it was impossible for those about her to be sad, and ben soon grew cheerful again in spite of the very tender memory of his father laid quietly away in the safest corner of his heart.
he would have been a very unboyish boy if he had not been happy, for the new place was such a pleasant one, he soon felt as if, for the first time, he really had a home.
no more grubbing now, but daily tasks which never grew tiresome, they were so varied and so light.
no more cross pats to try his temper, but the sweetest mistress that ever was, since praise was oftener on her lips than blame, and gratitude made willing service a delight.
at first, it seemed as if there was going to be trouble between the two boys; for thorny was naturally masterful, and illness had left him weak and nervous, so he was often both domineering and petulant.
ben had been taught instant obedience to those older than him self, and if thorny had been a man ben would have made no complaint; but it was hard to be "ordered round" by a boy, and an unreasonable one into the bargain.
a word from miss celia blew away the threatening cloud, however; and for her sake her brother promised to try to be patient; for her sake ben declared he never would "get mad" if mr. thorny did fidget; and both very soon forgot all about master and man and lived together like two friendly lads, taking each other's ups and downs good-naturedly, and finding mutual pleasure and profit in the new companionship.
the only point on which they never could agree was legs, and many a hearty laugh did they give miss celia by their warm and serious discussion of this vexed question.
thorny insisted that ben was bowlegged; ben resented the epithet, and declared that the legs of all good horsemen must have a slight curve, and any one who knew any thing about the matter would acknowledge both its necessity and its beauty.
then thorny would observe that it might be all very well in the saddle, but it made a man waddle like a duck when afoot; whereat ben would retort that, for his part, he would rather waddle like a duck than tumble about like a horse with the staggers.
he had his opponent there, for poor thorny did look very like a weak-kneed colt when he tried to walk; but he would never own it, and came down upon ben with crushing allusions to centaurs, or the greeks and romans, who were famous both for their horsemanship and fine limbs.
ben could not answer that, except by proudly referring to the chariot-races copied from the ancients, in which he had borne a part, which was more than some folks with long legs could say.
gentlemen never did that sort of thing, nor did they twit their best friends with their misfortunes, thorny would remark; casting a pensive glance at his thin hands, longing the while to give ben a good shaking.
this hint would remind the other of his young master's late sufferings and all he owed his dear mistress; and he usually ended the controversy by turning a few lively somersaults as a vent for his swelling wrath, and come up with his temper all right again.
or, if thorny happened to be in the wheeled chair, he would trot him round the garden at a pace which nearly took his breath away, thereby proving that if "bow-legs" were not beautiful to some benighted beings they were "good to go."
thorny liked that, and would drop the subject for the time by politely introducing some more agreeable topic; so the impending quarrel would end in a laugh over some boyish joke, and the word "legs" be avoided by mutual consent till accident brought it up again.
the spirit of rivalry is hidden in the best of us, and is a helpful and inspiring power if we know how to use it.
miss celia knew this, and tried to make the lads help one another by means of it, -- not in boastful or ungenerous comparison of each other's gifts, but by interchanging them, giving and taking freely, kindly, and being glad to love what was admirable wherever they found it.
thorny admired ben's strength, activity, and independence; ben envied thorny's learning, good manners, and comfortable surroundings; and, when a wise word had set the matter rightly before them, both enjoyed the feeling that there was a certain equality between them, since money could not buy health, and practical knowledge was as useful as any that can be found in books.
so they interchanged their small experiences, accomplishments, and pleasures, and both were the better, as well as the happier, for it; because in this way only can we truly love our neighbor as ourself, and get the real sweetness out of life.
there was no end to the new and pleasant things ben had to do, from keeping paths and flower-beds neat, feeding the pets, and running errands, to waiting on thorny and being right-hand man to miss celia.
he had a little room in the old house, newly papered with hunting scenes, which he was never tired of admiring.
in the closet hung several out-grown suits of thorny's, made over for his valet; and, what ben valued infinitely more, a pair of boots, well blacked and ready for grand occasions, when he rode abroad, with one old spur, found in the attic, brightened up and merely worn for show, since nothing would have induced him to prick beloved lita with it.
many pictures, cut from illustrated papers, of races, animals, and birds, were stuck round the room, giving it rather the air of a circus and menagerie.
this, however, made it only the more home-like to its present owner, who felt exceedingly rich and respectable as he surveyed his premises; almost like a retired showman who still fondly remembers past successes, though now happy in the more private walks of life.
in one drawer of the quaint little bureau which he used, were kept the relics of his father; very few and poor, and of no interest to any one but himself, -- only the letter telling of his death, a worn-out watch-chain, and a photograph of senor jose montebello, with his youthful son standing on his head, both airily attired, and both smiling with the calmly superior expression which gentlemen of their profession usually wear in public.
ben's other treasures had been stolen with his bundle; but these he cherished and often looked at when he went to bed, wondering what heaven was like, since it was lovelier than california, and usually fell asleep with a dreamy impression that it must be something like america when columbus found it, -- "a pleasant land, where were gay flowers and tall trees, with leaves and fruit such as they had never seen before."
and through this happy hunting-ground "father" was for ever riding on a beautiful white horse with wings, like the one of which miss celia had a picture.
nice times ben had in his little room poring over his books, for he soon had several of his own; but his favorites were hamerton's "animals" and "our dumb friends," both full of interesting pictures and anecdotes such as boys love.
still nicer times working about the house, helping get things in order; and best of all were the daily drives with miss celia and thorny, when weather permitted, or solitary rides to town through the heaviest rain, for certain letters must go and come, no matter how the elements raged.
the neighbors soon got used to the "antics of that boy," but ben knew that he was an object of interest as he careered down the main street in a way that made old ladies cry out and brought people flying to the window, sure that some one was being run away with.
lita enjoyed the fun as much as he, and apparently did her best to send him heels over head, having rapidly earned to understand the signs he gave her by the touch of hand and foot, or the tones of his voice.
these performances caused the boys to regard ben brown with intense admiration, the girls with timid awe, all but bab, who burned to imitate him, and tried her best whenever she got a chance, much to the anguish and dismay of poor jack, for that long-suffering animal was the only steed she was allowed to ride.
fortunately, neither she nor betty had much time for play just now, as school was about to close for the long vacation, and all the little people were busy finishing up, that they might go to play with free minds.
so the "lilac-parties," as they called them, were deferred till later, and the lads amused themselves in their own way, with miss celia to suggest and advise.
it took thorny a long time to arrange his possessions, for he could only direct while ben unpacked, wondering and admiring as he worked, because he had never seen so many boyish treasures before.
the little printing-press was his especial delight, and leaving every thing else in confusion, thorny taught him its and planned a newspaper on the spot, with ben for printer, himself for editor, and "sister" for chief contributor, while bab should be carrier and betty office-boy.
next came a postage-stamp book, and a rainy day was happily spent in pasting a new collection where each particular one belonged, with copious explanations from thorny as they went along.
ben did not feel any great interest in this amusement after one trial of it, but when a book containing patterns of the flags of all nations turned up, he was seized with a desire to copy them all, so that the house could be fitly decorated on gala occasions.
finding that it amused her brother, miss celia generously opened her piece-drawer and rag-bag, and as the mania grew till her resources were exhausted, she bought bits of gay cambric and many-colored papers, and startled the store-keeper by purchasing several bottles of mucilage at once.
bab and betty were invited to sew the bright strips of stars, and pricked their little fingers assiduously, finding this sort of needle-work much more attractive than piecing bed-quilts.
such a snipping and pasting, planning and stitching as went on in the big back room, which was given up to them, and such a noble array of banners and petitions as soon decorated its walls, would have caused the dullest eye to brighten with amusement, if not with admiration.
of course, the stars and stripes hung highest, with the english lion ramping on the royal standard close by; then followed a regular picture-gallery, for there was the white elephant of siam, the splendid peacock of burmah, the double-headed russian eagle, and black dragon of china, the winged lion of venice, and the prancing pair on the red, white, and blue flag of holland.
the keys and mitre of the papal states were a hard job, but up they went at last, with the yellow crescent of turkey on one side and the red full moon of japan on the other; the pretty blue and white flag of greece hung below and the cross of free switzerland above.
if materials had held out, the flags of all the united states would have followed; but paste and patience were exhausted, so the busy workers rested awhile before they "flung their banner to the breeze," as the newspapers have it.
a spell of ship-building and rigging followed the flag fit; for thorny, feeling too old now for such toys, made over his whole fleet to "the children," condescending, however, to superintend a thorough repairing of the same before he disposed of all but the big man-of-war, which continued to ornament his own room, with all sail set and a little red officer perpetually waving his sword on the quarter-deck.
these gifts led to out-of-door water-works, for the brook had to be dammed up, that a shallow ocean might be made, where ben's piratical "red rover," with the black flag, might chase and capture bab's smart frigate, "queen," while the "bounding betsey," laden with lumber, safely sailed from kennebunkport to massachusetts bay.
thorny, from his chair, was chief-engineer, and directed his gang of one how to dig the basin, throw up the embankment, and finally let in the water till the mimic ocean was full; then regulate the little water-gate, lest it should overflow and wreck the pretty squadron or ships, boats, canoes, and rafts, which soon rode at anchor there.
digging and paddling in mud and water proved such a delightful pastime that the boys kept it up, till a series of water-wheels, little mills and cataracts made the once quiet brook look as if a manufacturing town was about to spring up where hitherto minnows had played in peace and the retiring frog had chanted his serenade unmolested.
miss celia liked all this, for any thing which would keep thorny happy out-of-doors in the sweet june weather found favor in her eyes, and when the novelty had worn off from home affairs, she planned a series of exploring expeditions which filled their boyish souls with delight.
as none of them knew much about the place, it really was quite exciting to start off on a bright morning with a roll of wraps and cushions, lunch, books, and drawing materials packed into the phaeton, and drive at random about the shady roads and lanes, pausing when and where they liked.
wonderful discoveries were made, pretty places were named, plans were drawn, and all sorts of merry adventures befell the pilgrims.
each day they camped in a new spot, and while lita nibbled the fresh grass at her ease, miss celia sketched under the big umbrella, thorny read or lounged or slept on his rubber blanket, and ben made himself generally useful.
unloading, filling the artist's water-bottle, piling the invalid's cushions, setting out the lunch, running to and fro for a bower or a butterfly, climbing a tree to report the view, reading, chatting, or frolicking with sancho, -- any sort of duty was in ben's line, and he did them all well, for an out-of-door life was natural to him and he liked it.
""ben, i want an amanuensis," said thorny, dropping book and pencil one day after a brief interval of silence, broken only by the whisper of the young leaves overhead and the soft babble of the brook close by.
""a what?"
asked ben, pushing back his hat with such an air of amazement that thorny rather loftily inquired: "do n't you know what an amanuensis is?"
""well, no; not unless it's some relation to an anaconda.
should n't think you'd want one of them, anyway."
thorny rolled over with a hoot of derision, and his sister, who sat close by, sketching an old gate, looked up to see what was going on.
""well, you need n't laugh at a feller.
you did n't know what a wombat was when i asked you, and i did n't roar," said ben, giving his hat a slap, as nothing else was handy.
""the idea of wanting an anaconda tickled me so, i could n't help it.
i dare say you'd have got me one if i had asked for it, you are such an obliging chap."
""of course i would if i could.
should n't be surprised if you did some day, you want such funny things," answered ben, appeased by the compliment.
""i'll try the amanuensis first.
it's only some one to write for me; i get so tired doing it without a table.
you write well enough, and it will be good for you to know something about botany.
i intend to teach you, ben," said thorny, as if conferring a great favor.
""it looks pretty hard," muttered ben, with a doleful glance at the book laid open upon a strew of torn leaves and flowers.
""no, it is n't; it's regularly jolly; and you'd be no end of a help if you only knew a little.
now, suppose i say, "bring me a "ranunculus bulbosus,"" how would you know what i wanted?"
demanded thorny, waving his microscope with a learned air.
""should n't."
""there are quantities of them all round us; and i want to analyze one.
see if you ca n't guess."
ben stared vaguely from earth to sky, and was about to give it up, when a buttercup fell at his feet, and he caught sight of miss celia smiling at him from behind her brother, who did not see the flower.
""s'pose you mean this?
i do n't call'em rhinocerus bulburses, so i was n't sure."
and, taking the hint as quickly as it was given, ben presented the buttercup as if he knew all about it.
""you guessed that remarkably well.
now bring me a "leontodon taraxacum,"" said thorny, charmed with the quickness of his pupil, and glad to display his learning.
again ben gazed, but the field was full of early flowers; and, if a long pencil had not pointed to a dandelion close by, he would have been lost.
""here you are, sir," he answered with a chuckle and thorny took his turn at being astonished now.
""how the dickens did you know that?"
""try it again, and may be you'll find out," laughed ben.
diving hap-hazard into his book, thorny demanded a "trifolium pratense."
the clever pencil pointed, and ben brought a red clover, mightily enjoying the joke, and thinking that their kind of botany was n't bad fun.
""look here, no fooling!"
and thorny sat up to investigate the matter, so quickly that his sister had not time to sober down.
""ah, i've caught you!
not fair to tell, celia.
now, ben, you've got to learn all about this buttercup, to pay for cheating."
""werry good, sir; bring on your rhinoceriouses," answered ben, who could n't help imitating his old friend the clown when he felt particularly jolly.
""sit there and write what i tell you," ordered thorny, with all the severity of a strict schoolmaster.
perching himself on the mossy stump, ben obediently floundered through the following analysis, with constant help in the spelling, and much private wonder what would come of it: -- "phaenogamous.
exogenous.
angiosperm.
polypetalous.
stamens, more than ten.
stamens on the receptacle.
pistils, more than one and separate.
leaves without stipules.
crowfoot family.
genus ranunculus.
botanical name, ranunculus bulbosus."
""jerusalem!
what a flower!
pistols and crows" feet, and polly put the kettles on, and angy sperms and all the rest of'em!
if that's your botany, i wo n't take any more, thank you," said ben, as he paused as hot and red as if he had been running a race.
""yes, you will; you'll learn that all by heart, and then i shall give you a dandelion to do.
you'll like that, because it means dent de lion, or lion's tooth; and i'll show them to you through my glass.
you've no idea how interesting it is, and what heaps of pretty things you'll see," answered thorny, who had already discovered how charming the study was, and had found great satisfaction in it, since he had been forbidden more active pleasures.
""what's the good of it, anyway?"
asked ben, who would rather have been set to mowing the big field than to the task before him.
""it tells all about it in my book here, -- "gray's botany for young people."
but i can tell you what use it is to us," continued thorny, crossing his legs in the air and preparing to argue the matter, comfortably lying flat on his back.
""we are a scientific exploration society, and we must keep an account of all the plants, animals, minerals, and so on, as we come across them.
then, suppose we get lost, and have to hunt for food, how are we to know what is safe and what is n't?
come, now, do you know the difference between a toadstool and a mushroom?"
""no, i do n't."
""then i'll teach you some day.
there is sweet flag and poisonous flag, and all sorts of berries and things; and you'd better look out when you are in the woods, or you'll touch ivy and dogwood, and have a horrid time, if you do n't know your botany."
""thorny learned much of his by sad experience; and you will be wise to take his advice," said miss celia, recalling her brother's various mishaps before the new fancy came on.
""did n't i have a time of it, though, when i had to go round for a week with plantain leaves and cream stuck all over my face!
just picked some pretty red dogwood, ben; and then i was a regular guy, with a face like a lobster, and my eyes swelled out of sight.
come along, and learn right away, and never get into scrapes like most fellows."
impressed by this warning, and attracted by thorny's enthusiasm, ben cast himself down upon the blanket, and for an hour the two heads bobbed to and fro, from microscope to book, the teacher airing his small knowledge, the pupil more and more interested in the new and curious things he saw or heard, -- though it must be confessed that ben infinitely preferred to watch ants and bugs, queer little worms and gauzy-winged flies, rather than "putter" over plants with long names.
he did not dare to say so, however; but, when thorny asked him if it was n't capital fun, he dodged cleverly by proposing to hunt up the flowers for his master to study, offering to learn about the dangerous ones, but pleading want of time to investigate this pleasing science very deeply.
as thorny had talked himself hoarse, he was very ready to dismiss his class of one to fish the milk-bottle out of the brook; and recess was prolonged till next day.
but both boys found a new pleasure in the pretty pastime they made of it; for active ben ranged the woods and fields with a tin box slung over his shoulder, and feeble thorny had a little room fitted up for his own use, where he pressed flowers in newspaper books, dried herbs on the walls, had bottles and cups, pans and platters, for his treasures, and made as much litter as he liked.
presently, ben brought such lively accounts of the green nooks where jacks-in-the-pulpit preached their little sermons; brooks, beside which grew blue violets and lovely ferns; rocks, round which danced the columbines like rosy elves, or the trees where birds built, squirrels chattered, and woodchucks burrowed, that thorny was seized with a desire to go and see these beauties for himself.
so jack was saddled, and went plodding, scrambling, and wandering into all manner of pleasant places, always bringing home a stronger, browner rider than he carried away.
this delighted miss celia; and she gladly saw them ramble off together, leaving her time to stitch happily at certain dainty bits of sewing, write voluminous letters, or dream over others quite as long, swinging in her hammock under the lilacs.
chapter xiii somebody runs away" "school is done, now we'll have fun," sung bab and betty, slamming down their books as if they never meant to take them up again, when they came home on the last day of june.
tired teacher had dismissed them for eight whole weeks, and gone away to rest; the little school-house was shut up, lessons were over, spirits rising fast, and vacation had begun.
the quiet town seemed suddenly inundated with children, all in such a rampant state that busy mothers wondered how they ever should be able to keep their frisky darlings out of mischief; thrifty fathers planned how they could bribe the idle hands to pick berries or rake hay; and the old folks, while wishing the young folks well, secretly blessed the man who invented schools.
the girls immediately began to talk about picnics, and have them, too; for little hats sprung up in the fields like a new sort of mushroom, -- every hillside bloomed with gay gowns, looking as if the flowers had gone out for a walk; and the woods were full of featherless birds chirping away as blithely as the thrushes, robins, and wrens.
the boys took to base-ball like ducks to water, and the common was the scene of tremendous battles, waged with much tumult, but little bloodshed.
to the uninitiated, it appeared as if these young men had lost their wits; for, no matter how warm it was, there they were, tearing about in the maddest manner, jackets off, sleeves rolled up, queer caps flung on any way, all batting shabby leather balls, and catching the same, as if their lives depended on it.
every one talking in his gruffest tone, bawling at the top of his voice, squabbling over every point of the game, and seeming to enjoy himself immensely, in spite of the heat, dust, uproar, and imminent danger of getting eyes or teeth knocked out.
thorny was an excellent player, but, not being strong enough to show his prowess, he made ben his proxy; and, sitting on the fence, acted as umpire to his heart's content.
ben was a promising pupil, and made rapid progress; for eye, foot, and hand had been so well trained, that they did him good service now; and brown was considered a first-rate "catcher".
sancho distinguished himself by his skill in hunting up stray balls, and guarding jackets when not needed, with the air of one of the old guard on duty at the tomb of napoleon.
bab also longed to join in the fun, which suited her better than "stupid picnics" or "fussing over dolls;" but her heroes would not have her at any price; and she was obliged to content herself with sitting by thorny, and watching with breathless interest the varying fortunes of "our side."
a grand match was planned for the fourth of july; but when the club met, things were found to be unpropitious.
thorny had gone out of town with his sister to pass the day, two of the best players did not appear, and the others were somewhat exhausted by the festivities, which began at sunrise for them.
so they lay about on the grass in the shade of the big elm, languidly discussing their various wrongs and disappointments.
""it's the meanest fourth i ever saw.
ca n't have no crackers, because somebody's horse got scared last year," growled sam kitteridge, bitterly resenting the stern edict which forbade free-born citizens to burn as much gunpowder as they liked on that glorious day.
""last year jimmy got his arm blown off when they fired the old cannon.
did n't we have a lively time going for the doctors and getting him home?"
asked another boy, looking as if he felt defrauded of the most interesting part of the anniversary, because no accident had occurred.
""ai n't going to be fireworks either, unless somebody's barn burns up.
do n't i just wish there would," gloomily responded another youth who had so rashly indulged in pyrotechnics on a former occasion that a neighbor's cow had been roasted whole.
""i would n't give two cents for such a slow old place as this.
why, last fourth at this time, i was rumbling though boston streets on top of our big car, all in my best toggery.
hot as pepper, but good fun looking in at the upper windows and hearing the women scream when the old thing waggled round and i made believe i was going to tumble off, said ben, leaning on his bat with the air of a man who had seen the world and felt some natural regret at descending from so lofty a sphere.
""catch me cuttin" away if i had such a chance as that!"
answered sam, trying to balance his bat on his chin and getting a smart rap across the nose as he failed to perform the feat.
""much you know about it, old chap.
it's hard work, i can tell you, and that would n't suit such a lazy-bones.
then you are too big to begin, though you might do for a fat boy if smithers wanted one," said ben, surveying the stout youth, with calm contempt.
""let's go in swimming, not loaf round here, if we ca n't play," proposed a red and shiny boy, panting for a game of leap-frog in sandy pond.
""may as well; do n't see much else to do," sighed sam, rising like a young elephant.
the others were about to follow, when a shrill "hi, hi, boys, hold on!"
made them turn about to behold billy barton tearing down the street like a runaway colt, waving a long strip of paper as he ran.
""now, then, what's the matter?"
demanded ben, as the other came up grinning and puffing, but full of great news.
""look here, read it!
i'm going; come along, the whole of you," panted billy, putting the paper into sam's hand, and surveying the crowd with a face as beaming as a full moon.
""look out for the big show," read sam.
""van amburgh & co.'s new great golden menagerie, circus and colosseum, will exhibit at berryville, july 4th, at 1 and 7 precisely.
admission 50 cents, children half-price.
do n't forget day and date.
h. frost, manager."
while sam read, the other boys had been gloating over the enticing pictures which covered the bill.
there was the golden car, filled with noble beings in helmets, all playing on immense trumpets; the twenty-four prancing steeds with manes, tails, and feathered heads tossing in the breeze; the clowns, the tumblers, the strong men, and the riders flying about in the air as if the laws of gravitation no longer existed.
but, best of all, was the grand conglomeration of animals where the giraffe appears to stand on the elephant's back, the zebra to be jumping over the seal, the hippopotamus to be lunching off a couple of crocodiles, and lions and tigers to be raining down in all directions with their mouths, wide open and their tails as stiff as that of the famous northumberland house lion.
""cricky!
would n't i like to see that," said little cyrus fay, devoutly hoping that the cage, in which this pleasing spectacle took place, was a very strong one.
""you never would, it's only a picture!
that, now, is something like," and ben, who had pricked up his ears at the word "circus," laid his finger on a smaller cut of a man hanging by the back of his neck with a child in each hand, two men suspended from his feet, and the third swinging forward to alight on his head.
""i'm going," said sam, with calm decision, for this superb array of unknown pleasures fired his soul and made him forget his weight.
""how will you fix it?"
asked ben, fingering the bill with a nervous thrill all through his wiry limbs, just as he used to feel it when his father caught him up to dash into the ring.
""foot it with billy.
it's only four miles, and we've got lots of time, so we can take it easy.
mother wo n't care, if i send word by cy," answered sam, producing half a dollar, as if such magnificent sums were no strangers to his pocket.
""come on, brown; you'll be a first-rate fellow to show us round, as you know all the dodges," said billy, anxious to get his money's worth.
""well, i do n't know," began ben, longing to go, but afraid mrs. moss would say "no!"
if he asked leave.
""he's afraid," sneered the red-faced boy, who felt bitterly toward all mankind at that instant, because he knew there was no hope of his going.
""say that again, and i'll knock your head off," and ben faced round with a gesture which caused the other to skip out of reach precipitately.
""has n't got any money, more likely," observed a shabby youth, whose pockets never had any thing in them but a pair of dirty hands.
ben calmly produced a dollar bill and waved it defiantly before this doubter, observing with dignity: "i've got money enough to treat the whole crowd, if i choose to, which i do n't."
""then come along and have a jolly time with sam and me.
we can buy some dinner and get a ride home, as like as not," said the amiable billy, with a slap on the shoulder, and a cordial grin which made it impossible for ben to resist.
""what are you stopping for?"
demanded sam, ready to be off, that they might "take it easy."
""do n't know what to do with sancho.
he'll get lost or stolen if i take him, and it's too far to carry him home if you are in a hurry," began ben, persuading himself that this was the true reason of his delay.
""let cy take him back.
he'll do it for a cent; wo n't you, cy?"
proposed billy, smoothing away all objections, for he liked ben, and saw that he wanted to go.
""no, i wo n't; i do n't like him.
he winks at me, and growls when i touch him," muttered naughty cy, remembering how much reason poor sanch had to distrust his tormentor.
""there's bab; she'll do it.
come here, sissy; ben wants you," called sam, beckoning to a small figure just perching on the fence.
down it jumped and came fluttering up, much elated at being summoned by the captain of the sacred nine.
""i want you to take sanch home, and tell your mother i'm going to walk, and may be wo n't be back till sundown.
miss celia said i might do what i pleased, all day.
you remember, now."
ben spoke without looking up, and affected to be very busy buckling a strap into sanch's collar, for the two were so seldom parted that the dog always rebelled.
it was a mistake on ben's part, for while his eyes were on his work bab's were devouring the bill which sam still held, and her suspicions were aroused by the boys" faces.
""where are you going?
ma will want to know," she said, as curious as a magpie all at once.
""never you mind; girls ca n't know every thing.
you just catch hold of this and run along home.
lock sanch up for an hour, and tell your mother i'm all right," answered ben, bound to assert his manly supremacy before his mates.
""he's going to the circus," whispered fay, hoping to make mischief.
""circus!
oh, ben, do take me!"
cried bab, falling into a state of great excitement at the mere thought of such delight.
""you could n't walk four miles," began ben.
""yes, i could, as easy as not."
""you have n't got any money."
""you have; i saw you showing your dollar, and you could pay for me, and ma would pay it back."
""ca n't wait for you to get ready."
""i'll go as i am.
i do n't care if it is my old hat," and bab jerked it on to her head.
""your mother would n't like it."
""she wo n't like your going, either."
""she is n't my missis now.
miss celia would n't care, and i'm going, any way."
""do, do take me, ben!
i'll be just as good as ever was, and i'll take care of sanch all the way," pleaded bab, clasping her hands and looking round for some sign of relenting in the faces of the boys.
""do n't you bother; we do n't want any girls tagging after us," said sam, walking off to escape the annoyance.
""i'll bring you a roll of chickerberry lozengers, if you wo n't tease," whispered kind-hearted billy, with a consoling pat on the crown of the shabby straw hat.
""when the circus comes here you shall go, certain sure, and betty too," said ben, feeling mean while he proposed what he knew was a hollow mockery.
""they never do come to such little towns; you said so, and i think you are very cross, and i wo n't take care of sanch, so, now!"
cried bab, getting into a passion, yet ready to cry, she was so disappointed.
""i suppose it would n't do --" hinted billy, with a look from ben to the little girl, who stood winking hard to keep the tears back.
""of course it would n't.
i'd like to see her walking eight miles.
i do n't mind paying for her; it's getting her there and back.
girls are such a bother when you want to knock round.
no, bab, you ca n't go.
travel right home and do n't make a fuss.
come along, boys; it's most eleven, and we do n't want to walk fast."
ben spoke very decidedly; and, taking billy's arm, away they went, leaving poor bab and sanch to watch them out of sight, one sobbing, the other whining dismally.
somehow those two figures seemed to go before ben all along the pleasant road, and half spoilt his fun; for though he laughed and talked, cut canes, and seemed as merry as a grig, he could not help feeling that he ought to have asked leave to go, and been kinder to bab.
""perhaps mrs. moss would have planned somehow so we could all go, if i'd told her, i'd like to show her round, and she's been real good to me.
no use now.
i'll take the girls a lot of candy and make it all right."
he tried to settle it in that way and trudged gayly off, hoping sancho would n't feel hurt at being left, wondering if any of "smithers's lot" would be round, and planning to do the honors handsomely to the boys.
it was very warm; and just outside of the town they paused by a wayside watering-trough to wash their dusty faces, and cool off before plunging into the excitements of the afternoon.
as they stood refreshing themselves, a baker's cart came jingling by; and sam proposed a hasty lunch while they rested.
a supply of gingerbread was soon bought; and, climbing the green bank above, they lay on the grass under a wild cherry-tree, munching luxuriously, while they feasted their eyes at the same time on the splendors awaiting them; for the great tent, with all its flags flying, was visible from the hill.
""we'll cut across those fields, -- it's shorter than going by the road, -- and then we can look round outside till it's time to go in.
i want to have a good go at every thing, especially the lions," said sam, beginning on his last cookie.
""i heard'em roar just now;" and billy stood up to gaze with big eyes at the flapping canvas which hid the king of beasts from his longing sight.
""that was a cow mooing.
do n't you be a donkey, bill.
when you hear a real roar, you'll shake in your boots," said ben, holding up his handkerchief to dry, after it had done double duty as towel and napkin.
""i wish you'd hurry up, sam.
folks are going in now.
i see'em!"
and billy pranced with impatience; for this was his first circus, and he firmly believed that he was going to behold all that the pictures promised.
""hold on a minute, while i get one more drink.
buns are dry fodder," said sam, rolling over to the edge of the bank and preparing to descend with as little trouble as possible.
he nearly went down head first, however; for, as he looked before he leaped, he beheld a sight which caused him to stare with all his might for an instant, then turn and beckon, saying in an eager whisper, "look here, boys, -- quick!"
ben and billy peered over, and both suppressed an astonished "hullo!"
for there stood bab, waiting for sancho to lap his fill out of the overflowing trough.
such a shabby, tired-looking couple as they were!
bab with a face as red as a lobster and streaked with tears, shoes white with dust, playfrock torn at the gathers, something bundled up in her apron, and one shoe down at the heel as if it hurt her.
sancho lapped eagerly, with his eyes shut; all his ruffles were gray with dust, and his tail hung wearily down, the tassel at half mast, as if in mourning for the master whom he had come to find.
bab still held the strap, intent on keeping her charge safe, though she lost herself; but her courage seemed to be giving out, as she looked anxiously up and down the road, seeing no sign of the three familiar figures she had been following as steadily as a little indian on the war-trail.
""oh, sanch, what shall i do if they do n't come along?
we must have gone by them somewhere, for i do n't see any one that way, and there is n't any other road to the circus, seems to me."
bab spoke as if the dog could understand and answer; and sancho looked as if he did both, for he stopped drinking, pricked up his cars, and, fixing his sharp eyes on the grass above him, gave a suspicious bark.
""it's only squirrels; do n't mind, but come along and be good; for i'm so tired, i do n't know what to do!"
sighed bab, trying to pull him after her as she trudged on, bound to see the outside of that wonderful tent, even if she never got in.
but sancho had heard a soft chirrup; and, with a sudden bound, twitched the strap away, sprang up the bank, and landed directly on ben's back as he lay peeping over.
a peal of laughter greeted him; and, having got the better of his master in more ways than one, he made the most of the advantage by playfully worrying him as he kept him down, licking his face in spite of his struggles, burrowing in his neck with a ticklish nose, snapping at his buttons, and yelping joyfully, as if it was the best joke in the world to play hide-and-seek for four long miles.
before ben could quiet him, bab came climbing up the bank, with such a funny mixture of fear, fatigue, determination, and relief in her dirty little face, that the boys could not look awful if they tried.
""how dared you come after us, miss?"
demanded sam, as she looked calmly about her, and took a seat before she was asked.
""sanch would come after ben; i could n't make him go home, so i had to hold on till he was safe here, else he'd be lost, and then ben would feel bad."
the cleverness of that excuse tickled the boys immensely; and sam tried again, while ben was getting the dog down and sitting on him.
""now you expect to go to the circus, i suppose."
""course i do.
ben said he did n't mind paying, if i could get there without bothering him, and i have; and i'll go home alone.
i ai n't afraid.
sanch will take care of me, if you wo n't," answered bab, stoutly.
""what do you suppose your mother will say to you?"
asked ben, feeling much reproached by her last words.
""i guess she'll say you led me into mischief; and the sharp child nodded, as if she defied him to deny the truth of that.
""you'll catch it when you get home, ben; so you'd better have a good time while you can," advised sam, thinking bab great fun, since none of the blame of her pranks would fall on him.
""what would you have done if you had n't found us?"
asked billy, forgetting his impatience in his admiration for this plucky young lady.
""i'd have gone on and seen the circus, and then i'd have gone home again and told betty all about it," was the prompt answer.
""but you have n't any money."
""oh, i'd ask somebody to pay for me.
i'm so little, it would n't be much."
""nobody would do it; so you'd have to stay outside, you see."
""no, i would n't.
i thought of that, and planned how i'd fix it if i did n't find ben.
i'd make sanch do his tricks, and get a quarter that way; so, now!
answered bab, undaunted by any obstacle.
""i do believe she would!
you are a smart child, bab; and if i had enough i'd take you in myself," said billy, heartily; for, having sisters of his own, he kept a soft place in his heart for girls, especially enterprising ones.
""i'll take care of her.
it was very naughty to come, bab; but, so long as you did, you need n't worry about any thing.
i'll see to you; and you shall have a real good time," said ben, accepting his responsibilities without a murmur, and bound to do the handsome thing by his persistent friend.
""i thought you would;" and bab folded her arms, as if she had nothing further to do but enjoy herself.
""are you hungry?"
asked billy, fishing out several fragments of gingerbread.
""starving!"
and bab ate them with such a relish that sam added a small contribution; and ben caught some water for her in his hand, where the little spring bubbled up beside a stone.
""now, you wash your face and spat down your hair, and put your hat on straight, and then we'll go," commanded ben, giving sanch a roll on the grass to clean him.
bab scrubbed her face till it shone; and, pulling down her apron to wipe it, scattered a load of treasures collected in her walk.
some of the dead flowers, bits of moss, and green twigs fell near ben, and one attracted his attention, -- a spray of broad, smooth leaves, with a bunch of whitish berries on it.
""where did you get that?"
he asked, poking it with his foot.
""in a swampy place, coming along.
sanch saw something down there; and i went with him,'cause i thought may be it was a musk-rat, and you'd like one if we could get him."
""was it?"
asked the boys all at once, and with intense interest.
""no; only a snake, and i do n't care for snakes.
i picked some of that, it was so green and pretty.
thorny likes queer leaves and berries, you know," answered bab, "spatting," down her rough locks.
""well, he wo n't like that, nor you either; it's poisonous, and i should n't wonder if you'd got poisoned, bab.
do n't touch it!
swamp-sumach is horrid stuff, -- miss celia said so;" and ben looked anxiously at bab, who felt her chubby face all over, and examined her dingy hands with a solemn air, asking, eagerly, -- "will it break out on me "fore i get to the circus?"
""not for a day or so, i guess; but it's bad when it does come."
""i do n't care, if i see the animals first.
come quick, and never mind the old weeds and things," said bab, much relieved; for present bliss was all she had room for now in her happy little heart.
chapter xiv somebody gets lost putting all care behind them, the young folks ran down the hill, with a very lively dog gambolling beside them, and took a delightfully tantalizing survey of the external charms of the big tent.
but people were beginning to go in, and it was impossible to delay when they came round to the entrance.
ben felt that now "his foot was on his native heath," and the superb air of indifference with which he threw down his dollar at the ticket-office, carelessly swept up the change, and strolled into the tent with his hands in his pockets, was so impressive that even big sam repressed his excitement and meekly followed their leader, as he led them from cage to cage, doing the honors as if he owned the whole concern.
bab held tight to the flap of his jacket, staring about her with round eyes, and listening with little gasps of astonishment or delight to the roaring of lions, the snarling of tigers, the chatter of the monkeys, the groaning of camels, and the music of the very brass band shut up in a red bin.
five elephants were tossing their hay about in the middle of the menagerie, and billy's legs shook under him as he looked up at the big beasts whose long noses and small, sagacious eyes filled him with awe.
sam was so tickled by the droll monkeys that the others left him before the cage and went on to see the zebra, "striped just like ma's muslin gown," bab declared.
but the next minute she forgot all about him in her raptures over the ponies and their tiny colts; especially one mite of a thing who lay asleep on the hay, such a miniature copy of its little mouse-colored mamma that one could hardly believe it was alive.
""oh, ben, i must feel of it!
-- the cunning baby horse!"
and down went bab inside the rope to pat and admire the pretty creature, while its mother smelt suspiciously at the brown hat, and baby lazily opened one eye to see what was going on.
""come out of that, it is n't allowed," commanded ben, longing to do the same thing, but mindful of the proprieties and his own dignity.
bab reluctantly tore herself away to find consolation in watching the young lions, who looked so like big puppies, and the tigers washing their faces just as puss did.
""if i stroked'em, would n't they purr?"
she asked, bent on enjoying herself, while ben held her skirts lest she should try the experiment.
""you'd better not go to patting them, or you'll get your hands clawed up.
tigers do purr like fun when they are happy, but these fellers never are, and you'll only see'em spit and snarl," said ben, leading the way to the humpy carrels, who were peacefully chewing their cud and longing for the desert, with a dreamy, far-away look in their mournful eyes.
here, leaning on the rope, and scientifically biting a straw while he talked, ben played showman to his heart's content till the neigh of a horse from the circus tent beyond reminded him of the joys to come.
""we'd better hurry along and get good seats before folks begin to crowd.
i want to sit near the curtain and see if any of smitthers's lot are "round."
""i ai n't going way off there; you ca n't see half so well, and that big drum makes such a noise you ca n't hear yourself think," said sam, who had rejoined them.
so they settled in good places where they could see and hear all that went on in the ring and still catch glimpses of white horses, bright colors, and the glitter of helmets beyond the dingy red curtains.
ben treated bab to peanuts and pop-corn like an indulgent parent, and she murmured protestations of undying gratitude with her mouth full, as she sat blissfully between him and the congenial billy.
sancho, meantime, had been much excited by the familiar sights and sounds, and now was greatly exercised in his doggish mind at the unusual proceeding of his master; for he was sure that they ought to be within there, putting on their costumes, ready to take their turn.
he looked anxiously at ben, sniffed disdainfully at the strap as if to remind him that a scarlet ribbon ought to take its place, and poked peanut shells about with his paw as if searching for the letters with which to spell his famous name.
""i know, old boy, i know; but it ca n't be done.
we've quit the business and must just look on.
no larks for us this time, sanch, so keep quiet and behave," whispered ben, tucking the dog away under the seat with a sympathetic cuddle of the curly head that peeped out from between his feet.
""he wants to go and cut up, do n't he?"
said billy, "and so do you, i guess.
wish you were going to.
would n't it be fun to see ben showing off in there?"
""i'd be afraid to have him go up on a pile of elephants and jump through hoops like these folks," answered bab, poring over her pictured play-bill with unabated relish.
""done it a hundred times, and i'd just like to show you what i can do.
they do n't seem to have any boys in this lot; should n't wonder if they'd take me if i asked'em," said ben, moving uneasily on his seat and casting wistful glances toward the inner tent where he knew he would feel more at home than in his present place.
""i heard some men say that it's against the law to have small boys now; it's so dangerous and not good for them, this kind of thing.
if that's so, you're done for, ben," observed sam, with his most grown-up air, remembering ben's remarks on "fat boys."
""do n't believe a word of it, and sanch and i could go this minute and get taken on, i'll bet.
we are a valuable couple, and i could prove it if i chose to," began ben, getting excited and boastful.
""oh, see, they're coming!
-- gold carriages and lovely horses, and flags and elephants, and every thing," cried bab, giving a clutch at ben's arm as the opening procession appeared headed by the band, tooting and banging till their faces were as red as their uniforms.
round and round they went till every one had seen their fill, then the riders alone were left caracoling about the ring with feathers flying, horses prancing, and performers looking as tired and indifferent as if they would all like to go to sleep then and there.
""how splendid!"
sighed bab, as they went dashing out, to tumble off almost before the horses stopped.
""that's nothing!
you wait till you see the bareback riding and the "acrobatic exercises,"" said ben, quoting from the play-bill, with the air of one who knew all about the feats to come, and could never be surprised any more.
""what are "crowbackic exercises"?"
asked billy, thirsting for information.
""leaping and climbing and tumbling; you'll see george!
what a stunning horse!"
and ben forgot every thing else to feast his eyes on the handsome creature who now came pacing in to dance, upset and replace chairs, kneel, bow, and perform many wonderful or graceful feats, ending with a swift gallop while the rider sat in a chair on its back fanning himself, with his legs crossed, as comfortably as you please.
""that, now, is something like," and ben's eyes shone with admiration and envy as the pair vanished, and the pink and silver acrobats came leaping into the ring.
the boys were especially interested in this part, and well they might be; for strength and agility are manly attributes which lads appreciate, and these lively fellows flew about like india-rubber balls, each trying to outdo the other, till the leader of the acrobats capped the climax by turning a double somersault over five elephants standing side by side.
""there, sir, how's that for a jump?"
asked ben, rubbing his hands with satisfaction as his friends clapped till their palms tingled.
""we'll rig up a spring-board and try it," said billy, fired with emulation.
""where'll you get your elephants?"
asked sam, scornfully, for gymnastics were not in his line.
""you'll do for one," retorted ben, and billy and bab joined in his laugh so heartily that a rough-looking, man who sat behind them, hearing all they said, pronounced them a "jolly set," and kept his eye on sancho, who now showed signs of insubordination.
""hullo, that was n't on the bill!"
cried ben, as a parti-colored clown came in, followed by half a dozen dogs.
""i'm so glad; now sancho will like it.
there's a poodle that might be his ownty donty brother -- the one with the blue ribbon," said bab.
beaming with delight as the dogs took their seats in the chairs arranged for them.
sancho did like it only too well, for be scrambled out from under the seat in a great hurry to go and greet his friends; and, being sharply checked, sat up and begged so piteously that ben found it very hard to refuse and order him down.
he subsided for a moment, but when the black spaniel, who acted the canine clown, did something funny and was applauded, sancho made a dart as if bent on leaping into the ring to outdo his rival, and ben was forced to box his ears and put his feet on the poor beast, fearing he would be ordered out if he made any disturbance.
too well trained to rebel again, sancho lay meditating on his wrongs till the dog act was over, carefully abstaining from any further sign of interest in their tricks, and only giving a sidelong glance at the two little poodles who came out of a basket to run up and down stairs on their fore-paws, dance jigs on their hind-legs, and play various pretty pranks to the great delight of all the children in the audience.
if ever a dog expressed by look and attitude, "pooh!
i could do much better than that, and astonish you all, if i were only allowed to," that dog was sancho, as he curled himself up and affected to turn his back on an unappreciative world.
""it's too bad, when he knows more than all those chaps put together.
i'd give any thing if i could show him off as i used to.
folks always like it, and i was ever so proud of him.
he's mad now because i had to cuff him, and wo n't take any notice of me till i make up," said ben, regretfully eying his offended friend, but not daring to beg pardon yet.
more riding followed, and bab was kept in a breathless state by the marvellous agility and skill of the gauzy lady who drove four horses at once, leaped through hoops, over banners and bars, sprang off and on at full speed, and seemed to enjoy it all so much it was impossible to believe that there could be any danger or exertion in it.
then two girls flew about on the trapeze, and walked on a tight rope, causing bab to feel that she had at last found her sphere; for, young as she was, her mother often said, "i really do n't know what this child is fit for, except mischief, like a monkey."
""i'll fix the clothes-line when i get home, and show ma how nice it is.
then, may be, she'd let me wear red and gold trousers, and climb round like these girls," thought the busy little brain, much excited by all it saw on that memorable day.
nothing short of a pyramid of elephants with a glittering gentleman in a turban and top boots on the summit would have made her forget this new and charming plan.
but that astonishing spectacle, and the prospect of a cage of bengal tigers with a man among them, in imminent danger of being eaten before her eyes, entirely absorbed her thoughts till, just as the big animals went lumbering out, a peal of thunder caused considerable commotion in the audience.
men on the highest seats popped their heads through the openings in the tent-cover and reported that a heavy shower was coming up.
anxious mothers began to collect their flocks of children as hens do their chickens at sunset; timid people told cheerful stories of tents blown over in gales, cages upset and wild beasts let loose.
many left in haste, and the performers hurried to finish as soon as possible.
""i'm going now before the crowd comes, so i can get a lift home.
i see two or three folks i know, so i'm off;" and, climbing hastily down, sam vanished without further ceremony.
""better wait till the shower is over.
we can go and see the animals again, and get home all dry, just as well as not," observed ben, encouragingly, as billy looked anxiously at the billowing canvas over his head, the swaying posts before him, and heard the quick patter of drops outside, not to mention the melancholy roar of the lion which sounded rather awful through the sudden gloom which filled the strange place.
""i would n't miss the tigers for any thing.
see, they are pulling in the cart now, and the shiny man is all ready with his gun.
will he shoot any of them, apprehension, for the sharp crack of a rifle startled her more than the loudest thunder-clap she ever heard.
""bless you, no, child; it's only powder to make a noise and scare'em.
i would n't like to be in his place, though; father says you can never trust tigers as you can lions, no matter how tame they are.
sly fellers, like cats, and when they scratch it's no joke, i tell you," answered ben, with a knowing wag of the head, as the sides of the cage rattled down, and the poor, fierce creatures were seen leaping and snarling as if they resented this display of their captivity.
bab curled up her feet and winked fast with excitement as she watched the "shiny man" fondle the great cats, lie down among them, pull open their red mouths, and make them leap over him or crouch at his feet as he snapped the long whip.
when he fired the gun and they all fell as if dead, she with difficulty suppressed a small scream and clapped her hands over her ears; but poor billy never minded it a bit, for he was pale and quaking with the fear of "heaven's artillery" thundering overhead, and as a bright flash of lightning seemed to run down the tall tent-poles he hid his eyes and wished with all his heart that he was safe with mother.
""afraid of thunder, bill?"
asked ben, trying to speak stoutly, while a sense of his own responsibilities began to worry him, for how was bab to be got home in such a pouring rain?
""it makes me sick; always did.
wish i had n't come," sighed billy, feeling, all too late, that lemonade and "lozengers" were not the fittest food for man, or a stifling tent the best place to be in on a hot july day, especially in a thunder-storm.
""i did n't ask you to come; you asked me; so it is n't my fault," said ben, rather gruffly, as people crowded by without pausing to hear the comic song the clown was singing in spite of the confusion.
""oh, i'm so tired," groaned bab, getting up with a long stretch of arms and legs.
""you'll be tireder before you get home, i guess.
nobody asked you to come, any way;" and ben gazed dolefully round him, wishing he could see a familiar face or find a wiser head than his own to help him out of the scrape he was in.
""i said i would n't be a bother, and i wo n't.
i'll walk right home this minute.
i ai n't afraid of thunder, and the rain wo n't hurt these old clothes.
come along," cried bab, bravely, bent on keeping her word, though it looked much harder after the fun was all over than before.
""my head aches like fury.
do n't i wish old jack was here to take me back," said billy, following his companions in misfortune with sudden energy, as a louder peal than before rolled overhead.
""you might as well wish for lita and the covered wagon while you are about it, then we could all ride," answered ben, leading the way to the outer tent, where many people were lingering in hopes of fair weather.
""why, billy barton, how in the world did you get here?"
cried a surprised voice as the crook of a cane caught the boy by the collar and jerked him face to face with a young farmer, who was pushing along, followed by his, wife and two or three children.
""oh, uncle eben, i'm so glad you found me!
i walked over, and it's raining, and i do n't feel well.
let me go with you, ca n't i?"
asked billy, casting himself and all his woes upon the strong arm that had laid hold of him.
""do n't see what your mother was about to let you come so far alone, and you just over scarlet fever.
we are as full as ever we can be, but we'll tuck you in somehow," said the pleasant-faced woman, bundling up her baby, and bidding the two little lads "keep close to father."
""i did n't come alone.
sam got a ride, and ca n't you tuck ben and bab in too?
they ai n't very big, either of them," whispered billy, anxious to serve his friends now that he was provided for himself.
""ca n't do it, any way.
got to pick up mother at the corner, and that will be all i can carry.
it's lifting a little; hurry along, lizzie, and let us get out of this as quick is possible," said uncle eben, impatiently; for going to a circus with a young family is not an easy task, as every one knows who has ever tried it.
""ben, i'm real sorry there is n't room for you.
i'll tell bab's mother where she is, and may be some one will come for you," said billy, hurriedly, as he tore himself away, feeling rather mean to desert the others, though he could be of no use.
""cut away, and do n't mind us.
i'm all right, and bab must do the best she can," was all ben had time to answer before his comrade was hustled away by the crowd pressing round the entrance with much clashing of umbrellas and scrambling of boys and men, who rather enjoyed the flurry.
""no use for us to get knocked about in that scrimmage.
we'll wait a minute and then go out easy.
it's a regular rouser, and you'll be as wet as a sop before we get home.
hope you'll like that?"
added ben, looking out at the heavy rain poring down as if it never meant to stop.
""do n't care a bit," said bab, swinging on one of the ropes with a happy-go-lucky air, for her spirits were not extinguished yet, and she was bound to enjoy this exciting holiday to the very end.
""i like circuses so much!
i wish i lived here all the time, and slept in a wagon, as you did, and had these dear little colties to play with."
""it would n't be fun if you did n't have any folks to take care of you," began ben, thoughtfully looking about the familiar place where the men were now feeding the animals, setting their refreshment tables, or lounging on the hay to get such rest as they could before the evening entertainment.
suddenly he started, gave a long look, then turned to bab, and thrusting sancho's strap into her hand, said, hastily: "i see a fellow i used to know.
may be he can tell me something about father.
do n't you stir till i come back."
then he was off like a shot, and bab saw him run after a man with a bucket who bad been watering the zebra.
sancho tried to follow, but was checked with an impatient, -- "no, you ca n't go!
what a plague you are, tagging around when people do n't want you."
sancho might have answered, "so are you," but, being a gentlemanly dog, he sat down with a resigned expression to watch the little colts, who were now awake and seemed ready for a game of bo-peep behind their mammas.
bab enjoyed their funny little frisks so much that she tied the wearisome strap to a post, and crept under the rope to pet the tiny mouse-colored one who came and talked to her with baby whinnies and confiding glances of its soft, dark eyes.
""oh, luckless bab!
why did you turn your back?
oh, too accomplished sancho!
why did you neatly untie that knot and trot away to confer with the disreputable bull-dog who stood in the entrance beckoning with friendly wavings of an abbreviated tail?
oh, much afflicted ben!
why did you delay till it was too late to save your pet from the rough man who set his foot upon the trailing strap, and led poor sanch quickly out of sight among the crowd?
""it was bascum, but he did n't know any thing.
why, where's sanch?"
said ben, returning.
a breathless voice made bab turn to see ben looking about him with as much alarm in his hot face as if the dog had been a two years" child.
""i tied him -- he's here somewhere -- with the ponies," stammered bab, in sudden dismay, for no sign of a dog appeared as her eyes roved wildly to and fro.
ben whistled, called and searched in vain, till one of the lounging men said, lazily, "if you are looking after the big poodle you'd better go outside; i saw him trotting off with another dog."
away rushed ben, with bab following, regardless of the rain, for both felt that a great misfortune had befallen them.
but, long before this, sancho had vanished, and no one minded his indignant howls as he was driven off in a covered cart.
""if he is lost i'll never forgive you; never, never, never!"
and ben found it impossible to resist giving bab several hard shakes, which made her yellow braids fly up and down like pump handles.
""i'm dreadful sorry.
he'll come back -- you said he always did," pleaded bab, quite crushed by her own afflictions, and rather scared to see ben look so fierce, for he seldom lost his temper or was rough with the little girls.
""if he does n't come back, do n't you speak to me for a year.
now, i'm going home."
and, feeling that words were powerless to express his emotions, ben walked away, looking as grim as a small boy could.
a more unhappy little lass is seldom to be found than bab was, as she pattered after him, splashing recklessly through the puddles, and getting as wet and muddy as possible, as a sort of penance for her sins.
for a mile or two she trudged stoutly along, while ben marched before in solemn silence, which soon became both impressive and oppressive because so unusual, and such a proof of his deep displeasure.
penitent bab longed for just one word, one sign of relenting; and when none came, she began to wonder how she could possibly bear it if he kept his dreadful threat and did not speak to her for a whole year.
but presently her own discomfort absorbed her, for her feet were wet and cold as well as very tired; pop-corn and peanuts were not particularly nourishing food; and hunger made her feel faint; excitement was a new thing, and now that it was over she longed to lie down and go to sleep; then the long walk with a circus at the end seemed a very different affair from the homeward trip with a distracted mother awaiting her.
the shower had subsided into a dreary drizzle, a chilly east wind blew up, the hilly road seemed to lengthen before the weary feet, and the mute, blue flannel figure going on so fast with never a look or sound, added the last touch to bab's remorseful anguish.
wagons passed, but all were full, and no one offered a ride.
men and boys went by with rough jokes on the forlorn pair, for rain soon made them look like young tramps.
but there was no brave sancho to resent the impertinence, and this fact was sadly brought to both their minds by the appearance of a great newfoundland dog who came trotting after a carriage.
the good creature stopped to say a friendly word in his dumb fashion, looking up at bab with benevolent eyes, and poking his nose into ben's hand before he bounded away with his plumy tail curled over his back.
ben started as the cold nose touched his fingers, gave the soft head a lingering pat, and watched the dog out of sight through a thicker mist than any the rain made.
but bab broke down; for the wistful look of the creature's eyes reminded her of lost sancho, and she sobbed quietly as she glanced back longing to see the dear old fellow jogging along in the rear.
ben heard the piteous sound and took a sly peep over his shoulder, seeing such a mournful spectacle that he felt appeased, saying to himself as if to excuse his late sternness, -- "she is a naughty girl, but i guess she is about sorry enough now.
when we get to that sign-post i'll speak to her, only i wo n't forgive her till sanch comes back."
but he was better than his word; for, just before the post was reached, bab, blinded by tears, tripped over the root of a tree, and, rolling down the bank, landed in a bed of wet nettles.
ben had her out in a jiffy, and vainly tried to comfort her; but she was past any consolation he could offer, and roared dismally as she wrung her tingling hands, with great drops running over her cheeks almost as fast as the muddy little rills ran down the road.
""oh dear, oh dear!
i'm all stinged up, and i want my supper; and my feet ache, and i'm cold, and every thing is so horrid!"
wailed the poor child lying on the grass, such a miserable little wet bunch that the sternest parent would have melted at the sight.
""do n't cry so, babby; i was real cross, and i'm sorry.
i'll forgive you right away now, and never shake you any more," cried ben, so full of pity for her tribulations that he forgot his own, like a generous little man.
""shake me again, if you want to; i know i was very bad to tag and lose sanch.
i never will any more, and i'm so sorry, i do n't know what to do," answered bab, completely bowed down by this magnanimity.
""never mind; you just wipe up your face and come along, and we'll tell ma all about it, and she'll fix us as nice as can be.
i should n't wonder if sanch got home now before we did," said ben, cheering himself as well as her by the fond hope.
""i do n't believe i ever shall.
i'm so tired my legs wo n't go, and the water in my boots makes them feel dreadfully.
i wish that boy would wheel me a piece.
do n't you s "pose he would?
asked bab, wearily picking herself up as a tall lad trundling a barrow came out of a yard near by.
""hullo, joslyn!"
said ben, recognizing the boy as one of the "hill fellows" who came to town saturday nights for play or business.
""hullo, brown!"
responded the other, arresting his squeaking progress with signs of surprise at the moist tableau before him.
""where goin"?"
asked ben with masculine brevity.
""got to carry this home, hang the old thing."
""where to?"
""batchelor's, down yonder," and the boy pointed to a farm-house at the foot of the next hill.
""goin" that way, take it right along."
""what for?"
questioned the prudent youth, distrusting such unusual neighborliness.
""she's tired, wants a ride; i'll leave it all right, true as i live and breathe," explained ben, half ashamed yet anxious to get his little responsibility home as soon as possible, for mishaps seemed to thicken.
""ho, you could n't cart her all that way!
she's most as heavy as a bag of meal," jeered the taller lad, amused at the proposition.
""i'm stronger than most fellers of my size.
try, if i ai n't," and ben squared off in such scientific style that joslyn responded with sudden amiability, -- "all right, let's see you do it."
bab huddled into her new equipage without the least fear, and ben trundled her off at a good pace, while the boy retired to the shelter of a barn to watch their progress, glad to be rid of an irksome errand.
at first, all went well, for the way was down hill, and the wheel squeaked briskly round and round; bab smiled gratefully upon her bearer, and ben "went in on his muscle with a will," as he expressed it.
but presently the road grew sandy, began to ascend, and the load seemed to grow heavier with every step.
""i'll get out now.
it's real nice, but i guess i am too heavy," said bab, as the face before her got redder and redder, and the breath began to come in puffs.
""sit still.
he said i could n't.
i'm not going to give in with him looking on," panted ben, and he pushed gallantly up the rise, over the grassy lawn to the side gate of the batchelors" door-yard, with his head down, teeth set, and every muscle of his slender body braced to the task.
""did ever ye see the like of that now?
ah, ha!
""the streets were so wide, and the lanes were so narry, he brought his wife home on a little wheelbarry," sung a voice with an accent which made ben drop his load and push back his hat, to see pat's red head looking over the fence.
to have his enemy behold him then and there was the last bitter drop in poor ben's cup of humiliation.
a shrill approving whistle from the hill was some comfort, however, and gave him spirit to help bab out with composure, though his hands were blistered and he had hardly breath enough to issue the command, -- "go along home, and do n't mind him."
""nice childer, ye are, runnin" off this way, settin" the women distracted, and me wastin" me time comin" after ye when i'd be milkin" airly so i'd get a bit of pleasure the day," grumbled pat, coming up to untie the duke, whose roman nose ben had already recognized, as well as the roomy chaise standing before the door.
""did billy tell you about us?"
asked bab, gladly following toward this welcome refuge.
""faith he did, and the squire sent me to fetch ye home quiet and aisy.
when ye found me, i'd jist stopped here to borry a light for me pipe.
up wid ye, b "y, and not be wastin" me time stramashin" after a spalpeen that i'd like to lay me whip over," said pat, gruffly, as ben came along, having left the barrow in the shed.
""do n't you wish you could?
you need n't wait for me; i'll come when i'm ready," answered ben dodging round the chaise, bound not to mind pat, if he spent the night by the road-side in consequence.
""bedad, and i wo n't then.
it's lively ye are; but four legs is better than two, as ye'll find this night, me young man."
with that he whipped up and was off before bab could say a word to persuade ben to humble himself for the sake of a ride.
she lamented and pat chuckled, both forgetting what an agile monkey the boy was, and as neither looked back, they were unaware master ben was hanging on behind among the straps and springs, making derisive grimaces at his unconscious foe through the little glass in the leathern back.
at the lodge gate ben jumped down to run before with whoops of naughty satisfaction, which brought the anxious waiters to the door in a flock; so pat could only shake his fist at the exulting little rascal as he drove away, leaving the wanderers to be welcomed as warmly as if they were a pair of model children.
mrs. moss had not been very much troubled after all; for cy had told her that bab went after ben, and billy had lately reported her safe arrival among them, so, mother-like, she fed, dried, and warmed the runaways, before she scolded them.
even then, the lecture was a mild one, for when they tried to tell the adventures which to them seemed so exciting, not to say tragical, the effect astonished them immensely, as their audience went into gales of laughter, especially at the wheelbarrow episode, which bab insisted on telling, with grateful minuteness, to ben's confusion.
thorny shouted, and even tender-hearted betty forgot her tears over the lost dog to join in the familiar melody when bab mimicked pat's quotation from mother goose.
""we must not laugh any more, or these naughty children will think they have done something very clever in running away," said miss celia, when the fun subsided, adding, soberly, "i am displeased, but i will say nothing, for i think ben is already punished enough."
""guess i am," muttered ben, with a choke in his voice as he glanced toward the empty mat where a dear curly bunch used to be with a bright eye twinkling out of the middle of it.
chapter xv ben's ride great was the mourning for sancho, because his talents and virtues made him universally admired and beloved.
miss celia advertised, thorny offered rewards, and even surly pat kept a sharp look-out for poodle dogs when he went to market; but no sancho or any trace of him appeared.
ben was inconsolable, and sternly said it served bab right when the dogwood poison affected both face and hands.
poor bab thought so, too, and dared ask no sympathy from him, though thorny eagerly prescribed plantain leaves, and betty kept her supplied with an endless succession of them steeped in cream and pitying tears.
this treatment was so successful that the patient soon took her place in society as well as ever, but for ben's affliction there was no cure, and the boy really suffered in his spirits.
""i do n't think it's fair that i should have so much trouble, -- first losing father and then sanch.
if it was n't for lita and miss celia, i do n't believe i could stand it," he said, one day, in a fit of despair, about a week after the sad event.
""oh, come now, do n't give up so, old fellow.
we'll find him if he s alive, and if he is n't i'll try and get you another as good," answered thorny, with a friendly slap on the shoulder, as ben sat disconsolately among the beans he had been hoeing.
""as if there ever could be another half as good!"
cried ben, indignant at the idea; "or as if i'd ever try to fill his place with the best and biggest dog that ever wagged a tail!
no, sir, there's only one sanch in all the world, and if i ca n't have him i'll never have a dog again."
""try some other sort of pet, then.
you may have any of mine you like.
have the peacocks; do now," urged thorny, full of boyish sympathy and good-will.
""they are dreadful pretty, but i do n't seem to care about em, thank you," replied the mourner.
""have the rabbits, all of them," which was a handsome offer on thorny's part, for there were a dozen at least.
""they do n't love a fellow as a dog does; all they care for is stuff to eat and dirt to burrow in.
i'm sick of rabbits."
and well he might be, for he had had the charge of them ever since they came, and any boy who has ever kept bunnies knows what a care they are.
""so am i!
guess we'll have an auction and sell out.
would jack be a comfort to you?
if he will, you may have him.
i'm so well now, i can walk, or ride anything," added thorny, in a burst of generosity.
""jack could n't be with me always, as sanch was, and i could n't keep him if i had him."
ben tried to be grateful, but nothing short of lita would have healed his wounded heart, and she was not thorny's to give, or he would probably have offered her to his afflicted friend.
""well, no, you could n't take jack to bed with you, or keep him up in your room, and i'm afraid he would never learn to do any thing clever.
i do wish i had something you wanted, i'd so love to give it to you."
he spoke so heartily and was so kind that ben looked up, feeling that he had given him one of the sweetest things in the world -- friendship; he wanted to tell him so, but did not know how to do it, so caught up his hoe and fell to work, saying, in a tone thorny understood better than words, -- "you are real good to me-never mind, i wo n't worry about it; only it seems extra hard coming so soon after the other --" he stopped there, and a bright drop fell on the bean leaves, to shine like dew till ben saw clearly enough to bury it out of sight in a great flurry.
""by jove!
i'll find that dog, if he is out of the ground.
keep your spirits up, my lad, and we'll have the dear old fellow back yet."
with which cheering prophecy thorny went off to rack his brains as to what could be done about the matter.
half an hour afterward, the sound of a hand-organ in the avenue roused him from the brown study into which he had fallen as he lay on the newly mown grass of the lawn.
peeping over the wall, thorny reconnoitred, and, finding the organ a good one, the man a pleasant-faced italian, and the monkey a lively animal, he ordered them all in, as a delicate attention to ben, for music and monkey together might suggest soothing memories of the past, and so be a comfort.
in they came by way of the lodge, escorted by bab and betty, full of glee, for hand-organs were rare in those parts, and the children delighted in them.
smiling till his white teeth shone and his black eyes sparkled, the man played away while the monkey made his pathetic little bows, and picked up the pennies thorny threw him.
""it is warm, and you look tired.
sit down and i'll get you some dinner," said the young master, pointing to the seat which now stood near the great gate.
with thanks in broken english the man gladly obeyed, and ben begged to be allowed to make jacko equally comfortable, explaining that he knew all about monkeys and what they liked.
so the poor thing was freed from his cocked hat and uniform, fed with bread and milk, and allowed to curl himself up in the cool grass for a nap, looking so like a tired littie old man in a fur coat that the children were never weary of watching him.
meantime, miss celia had come out, and was talking italian to giacomo in a way that delighted his homesick heart.
she had been to naples, and could understand his longing for the lovely city of his birth, so they had a little chat in the language which is all music, and the good fellow was so grateful that he played for the children to dance till they were glad to stop, lingering afterward as if he hated to set out again upon his lonely, dusty walk.
""i'd rather like to tramp round with him for a week or so.
could make enough to live on as easy as not, if i only i had sanch to show off," said ben, as he was coaxing jacko into the suit which he detested.
""you go wid me, yes?"
asked the man, nodding and smiling, well pleased at the prospect of company, for his quick eye and what the boys let fall in their talk showed him that ben was not one of them.
""if i had my dog i'd love to," and with sad eagerness ben told the tale of his loss, for the thought of it was never long out of his mind.
""i tink i see droll dog like he, way off in new york.
he do leetle trick wid letter, and dance, and go on he head, and many tings to make laugh," said the man, when he had listened to a list of sanch's beauties and accomplishments.
""who had him?"
asked thorny, full of interest at once.
""a man i not know.
cross fellow what beat him when he do letters bad."
""did he spell his name?"
cried ben, breathlessly.
""no; that for why man beat him.
he name generale, and he go spell sancho all times, and cry when whip fall on him.
ha!
yes!
that name true one; not generale?"
and the man nodded, waved his hands, and showed his teeth, almost as much excited as the boys.
""it's sanch!
let's go and get him now, right off!
cried ben, in a fever to be gone.
""a hundred miles away, and no clue but this man's story?
we must wait a little, ben, and be sure before we set out," said miss celia, ready to do almost any thing, but not so certain as the boys.
""what sort of a dog was it?
a large, curly, white poodle, with a queer tail?"
she asked of giacomo.
""no, signorina mia, he no curly, no wite; he black, smooth dog, littel tail, small, so;" and the man held up one brown finger with a gesture which suggested a short, wagging tail.
""there, you see how mistaken we were.
dogs are often named sancho, especially spanish poodles; for the original sancho was a spaniard, you know.
this dog is not ours, and i'm so sorry."
the boys" faces had fallen dismally as their hope was destroyed; but ben would not give up.
for him there was and could be only one sancho in the world, and his quick wits suggested an explanation which no one else thought of.
""it may be my dog, -- they color'em as we used to paint over trick horses.
i told you he was a valuable chap, and those that stole him hide him that way, else he'd be no use, do n't you see?
because we'd know him."
""but the black dog had no tail," began thorny, longing to be convinced, but still doubtful.
ben shivered as if the mere thought hurt him, as he said, in a grim tone, -- "they might have cut sanch's off."
""oh, no!
no!
they must n't, -- they would n't!
how could any one be so wicked?"
cried bab and betty, horrified at the suggestion.
""you do n't know what such fellows would do to make all safe, so they could use a dog to earn their living for'em," said ben, with mysterious significance, quite forgetting in his wrath that he had just proposed to get his own living in that way himself.
""he no your dog?
sorry i not find him for you.
addio, signorina!
grazia, signor!
buon giorno, buon giorno!"
and, kissing his hand, the italian shouldered organ and monkey, ready to go.
miss celia detained him long enough to give him her address, and beg him to let her know if he met poor sanch in any of his wanderings; for such itinerant showmen often cross each other's paths.
ben and thorny walked to the school-corner with him, getting more exact information about the black dog and his owner, for they had no intention of giving it up so soon.
that very evening, thorny wrote to a boy cousin in new york, giving all the particulars of the case, and begging him to hunt up the man, investigate the dog, and see that the police made sure that every thing was right.
much relieved by this performance, the boys waited anxiously for a reply, and when it came found little comfort in it.
cousin horace had done his duty like a man, but regretted that he could only report a failure.
the owner of the black poodle was a suspicious character, but told a straight story, how he had bought the dog from a stranger, and exhibited him with success till he was stolen.
knew nothing of his history, and was very sorry to lose him, for he was a remarkably clever beast.
""i told my dog-man to look about for him, but he says he has probably been killed, with ever so many more; so there is an end of it, and i call it a mean shame."
""good for horace!
i told you he'd do it up thoroughly and see the end of it," said thorny, as he read that paragraph in the deeply interesting letter.
""may be the end of that dog, but not of mine.
i'll bet he ran away; and if it was sanch, he'll come home.
you see if he does n't!"
cried ben, refusing to believe that all was over.
""a hundred wiles off?
oh, he could n't find you without help, smart as he is," answered thorny, incredulously.
ben looked discouraged, but miss celia cheered him up again by saying, -- "yes, he could.
my father had a friend who left a little dog in paris; and the creature found her in milan, and died of fatigue next day.
that was very wonderful, but true; and i've no doubt that if sanch is alive he will come home.
let us hope so, and be happy, while we wait."
""we will!"
said the boys; and day after day looked for the wanderer's return, kept a bone ready in the old place if he should arrive at night, and shook his mat to keep it soft for his weary bones when he came.
but weeks passed, and still no sanch.
something else happened, however, so absorbing that he was almost forgotten for a time; and ben found a way to repay a part of all he owed his best friend.
miss celia went off for a ride one afternoon, and an hour afterward, as ben sat in the porch reading, lita dashed into the yard with the reins dangling about her legs, the saddle turned round, and one side covered with black mud, showing that she had been down.
for a minute, ben's heart stood still; then he flung away his book, ran to the horse, and saw at once by her heaving flanks, dilated nostrils, and wet coat, that she must have come a long way and at full speed.
""she has had a fall, but is n't hurt or frightened," thought the boy, as the pretty creature rubbed her nose against his shoulder, pawed the ground, and champed her bit, as if she tried to tell him all about the disaster, whatever it was.
""lita, where's miss celia?"
he asked, looking straight into the intelligent eyes, which were troubled but not wild.
lita threw up her head, and neighed loud and clear, as if she called her mistress; and, turning, would have gone again if ben had not caught the reins and held her.
""all right, we'll find her;" and, pulling off the broken saddle, kicking away his shoes, and ramming his hat firmly on, ben was up like a flash, tingling all over with a sense of power as he felt the bare back between his knees, and caught the roll of lita's eye as she looked round with an air of satisfaction.
""hi, there!
mrs. moss!
something has happened to miss celia, and i'm going to find her.
thorny is asleep; tell him easy, and i'll come back as soon as i can!"
then, giving lita her head, he was off before the startled woman had time to do more than wring her hands and cry out, -- "go for the squire!
oh, what shall we do?"
as if she knew exactly what was wanted of her, lita went back the way she had come, as ben could see by the fresh, irregular tracks that cut up the road where she had galloped for help.
for a mile or more they went, then she paused at a pair of bars, which were let down to allow the carts to pass into the wide hay-fields beyond.
on she went again, cantering across the new-mown turf toward a brook, across which she had evidently taken a leap before; for, on the further side, at a place where cattle went to drink, the mud showed signs of a fall.
""you were a fool to try there; but where is miss celia?"
said ben, who talked to animals as if they were people, and was understood much better than any one not used to their companionship would imagine.
now lita seemed at a loss, and put her head down, as if she expected to find her mistress where she had left her, somewhere on the ground.
ben called, but there was no answer; and he rode slowly along the brook-side, looking far and wide with anxious eyes.
""may be she was n't hurt, and has gone to that house to wait," thought the boy, pausing for a last survey of the great, sunny field, which had no place of shelter in it but one rock on the other side of the little stream.
as his eye wandered over it, something dark seemed to blow out from behind it, as if the wind played in the folds of a shirt, or a human limb moved.
away went lita, and in a moment ben had found miss celia, lying in the shadow of the rock, so white and motionless, he feared that she was dead.
he leaped down, touched her, spoke to her; and, receiving no answer, rushed away to bring a little water in his leaky hat to sprinkle in her face, as he had seen them do when any of the riders got a fall in the circus, or fainted from exhaustion after they left the ring, where "do or die" was the motto all adopted.
in a minute, the blue eyes opened, and she recognized the anxious face bending over her, saying faintly, as she touched it, -- "my good little ben, i knew you'd find me, -- i sent lita for you, -- i'm so hurt, i could n't come."
""oh, where?
what shall i do?
had i better run up to the house?"
asked ben, overjoyed to hear her speak, but much dismayed by her seeming helplessness, for he had seen bad falls, and had them, too.
""i feel bruised all over, and my arm is broken, i'm afraid.
lita tried not to hurt me.
she slipped, and we went down.
i came here into the shade, and the pain made me faint, i suppose.
call somebody, and get me home."
then she shut her eyes, and looked so white that ben hurried away, and burst upon old mrs. paine, placidly knitting at the end door, so suddenly that, as she afterward said, "it sca" t her like a clap o" thunder."
""ai n't a man nowheres around.
all down in the big medder gettin" in hay," was her reply to ben's breathless demand for "everybody to come and see to miss celia."
he turned to mount, for he had flung himself off before lita stopped, but the old lady caught his jacket, and asked half a dozen questions in a breath.
""who's your folks?
what's broke?
how'd she fall?
where is she?
why did n't she come right here?
is it a sunstroke?"
as fast as words could tumble out of his mouth, ben answered, and then tried to free himself; but the old lady held on, while she gave her directions, expressed her sympathy, and offered her hospitality with incoherent warmth.
""sakes alive!
poor dear!
fetch her right in.
liddy, get out the camphire; and, melissy, you haul down a bed to lay her on.
falls is dretful uncert "in things; should n't wonder if her back was broke.
father's down yender, and he and bijah will see to her.
you go call'em, and i'll blow the horn to start'em up.
tell her we'd be pleased to see her, and it wo n't make a mite of trouble."
ben heard no more, fur as mrs. paine turned to take down the tin horn he was up and away.
several long and dismal toots sent lita galloping through the grassy path as the sound of the trumpet excites a war-horse, and "father and bijah," alarmed by the signal at that hour, leaned on their rakes to survey with wonder the distracted-looking little horseman approaching like a whirlwind.
""guess likely grandpa's had "nother stroke.
told'em to send over soon's ever it come," said the farmer, calmly.
""should n't wonder ef suthing was afire some "r's," conjectured the hired man, surveying the horizon for a cloud of smoke.
instead of advancing to meet the messenger, both stood like statues in blue overalls and red flannel shirts, till the boy arrived and told his tale.
""sho, that's bad," said the farmer, anxiously.
""that brook always was the darndest place," added bijah; then both men bestirred themselves helpfully, the former hurrying to miss cella while the latter brought up the cart and made a bed of hay to lay her on.
""now then, boy, you go for the doctor.
my own folks will see to the lady, and she'd better keep quiet up yender till we see what the matter is," said the farmer, when the pale girl was lifted in as carefully as four strong arms could do it.
""hold on," he added, as ben made one leap to lita's back.
""you'll have to go to berryville.
dr. mills is a master hand for broken bones and old dr. babcock ai n't.
't is n't but about three miles from here to his house, and you'll fetch him "fore there's any harm done waitin"."
""do n't kill lita," called miss celia from the cart, as it began to move.
but ben did not hear her, for he was off across the fields, riding as if life and death depended upon his speed.
""that boy will break his neck," said mr. paine, standing still to watch horse and rider go over the wall as if bent on instant destruction.
""no fear for ben, he can ride any thing, and lita was trained to leap," answered miss celia, falling back on the hay with a groan, for she had involuntarily raised her head to see her little squire dash away in gallant style.
""i should hope so; regular jockey, that boy.
never see any thing like it out of a race-ground," and farmer paine strode on, still following with his eye the figures that went thundering over the bridge, up the hill, out of sight, leaving a cloud of cloud of dust behind.
now that his mistress was safe, ben enjoyed that wild ride mightily, and so did the bay mare; for lita had good blood in her, and proved it that day by doing her three miles in a wonderfully short time.
people jogging along in wagons and country carry-alls stared amazed as the reckless pair went by.
women, placidly doing their afternoon sewing at the front windows, dropped their needles to run out with exclamations of alarm, sure some one was being run away with; children playing by the roadside scattered like chickens before a hawk, as ben passed with a warning whoop, and baby-carriages were scrambled into door-yards with perilous rapidity at his approach.
but when he clattered into town, intense interest was felt in this barefooted boy on the foaming steed, and a dozen voices asked, "who's killed?"
as he pulled up at the doctor's gate.
""jest drove off that way; mrs. flynn's baby's in a fit," cried a stout lady from the piazza, never ceasing to rock, though several passers-by paused to hear the news, for she was a doctor's wife, and used to the arrival of excited messengers from all quarters at all hours of the day and night.
deigning no reply to any one, ben rode away, wishing he could leap a yawning gulf, scale a precipice, or ford a raging torrent, to prove his devotion to miss celia, and his skill in horsemanship.
but no dangers beset his path, and he found the doctor pausing to water his tired horse at the very trough where bab and sancho had been discovered on that ever-memorable day.
the story was quickly told, and, promising to be there as soon as possible, dr. mills drove on to relieve baby flynn's inner man, a little disturbed by a bit of soap and several buttons, upon which he had privately lunched while his mamma was busy at the wash-tub.
ben thanked his stars, as he had already done more than once, that he knew how to take care of a horse; for he delayed by the watering-place long enough to wash out lita's mouth with a handful of wet grass, to let her have one swallow to clear her dusty throat, and then went slowly back over the breezy hills, patting and praising the good creature for her intelligence and speed.
she knew well enough that she had been a clever little mare, and tossed her head, arched her glossy neck, and ambled daintily along, as conscious and coquettish as a pretty woman, looking round at her admiring rider to return his compliments by glance of affection, and caressing sniffs of a velvet nose at his bare feet.
miss celia had been laid comfortably in bed by the farmer's wife and daughter; and, when the doctor arrived, bore the setting of her arm bravely.
no other serious damage appeared, and bruises soon heal, so ben was sent home to comfort thorny with a good report, and ask the squire to drive up in his big carry-all for her the next day, if she was able to be moved.
mrs. moss had been wise enough to say nothing, but quietly made what preparations she could, and waited for tidings.
bab and betty were away berrying, so no one had alarmed thorny, and he had his afternoon nap in peace, -- an unusually long one, owing to the stillness which prevailed in the absence of the children; and when he awoke he lay reading for a while before he began to wonder where every one was.
lounging out to see, he found ben and lita reposing side by side on the fresh straw in the loose box, which had been made for her in the coach-house.
by the pails, sponges and curry-combs lying about, it was evident that she had been refreshed by a careful washing and rubbing down, and my lady was now luxuriously resting after her labors, with her devoted groom half asleep close by.
""well, of all queer boys you are the queerest, to spend this hot afternoon fussing over lita, just for the fun of it!"
cried thorny, looking in at them with much amusement.
""if you knew what we'd been doing, you'd think i ought to fuss over her, and both of us had a right to rest!"
answered ben, rousing up as bright as a button; for he longed to tell his thrilling tale, and had with difficulty been restrained from bursting in on thorny as soon as he arrived.
he made short work of the story, but was quite satisfied with the sensation it produced; for his listener was startled, relieved, excited and charmed, in such rapid succession, that he was obliged to sit upon the meal-chest and get his breath before he could exclaim, with an emphatic demonstration of his heels against the bin, -- "ben brown, i'll never forget what you've done for celia this day, or say "bow-legs" again as long as i live."
""george!
i felt as if i had six legs when we were going the pace.
we were all one piece, and had a jolly spin, did n't we, my beauty?"
and ben chuckled as he took lita's head in his lap, while she answered with a gusty sigh that nearly blew him away.
""like the fellow that brought the good news from ghent to aix," said thorny, surveying the recumbent pair with great admiration.
""what follow?"
asked ben, wondering if he did n't mean sheridan, of whose ride he had heard.
""do n't you know that piece?
i spoke it at school.
give it to you now; see if it is n't a rouser."
and, glad to find a vent from his excitement, thorny mounted the meal-chest, to thunder out that stirring ballad with such spirit that lita pricked up her ears and ben gave a shrill "hooray!"
as the last verse ended.
""and all i remember is friends flocking round, as i sat with his head "twixt my knees on the ground, and no voice but was praising this roland of mine, as i poured down his throat our last measure of wine, which -lrb- the burgesses voted by common consent -rrb- was no more than his due who brought good news from ghent."
chapter xvi detective thornton a few days later, miss celia was able to go about with her arm in a sling, pale still, and rather stiff, but so much better than any one expected, that all agreed mr. paine was right in pronouncing dr. mills "a master hand with broken bones."
two devoted little maids waited on her, two eager pages stood ready to run her errands, and friendly neighbors sent in delicacies enough to keep these four young persons busily employed in disposing of them.
every afternoon the great bamboo lounging chair was brought out and the interesting invalid conducted to it by stout randa, who was head nurse, and followed by a train of shawl, cushion, foot-stool and book bearers, who buzzed about like swarming bees round a new queen.
when all were settled, the little maids sewed and the pages read aloud, with much conversation by the way; for one of the rules was, that all should listen attentively, and if any one did not understand what was read, he or she should ask to have it explained on the spot.
whoever could answer was invited to do so, and at the end of the reading miss celia could ask any she liked, or add any explanations which seemed necessary.
in this way much pleasure and profit was extracted from the tales ben and thorny read, and much unexpected knowledge as well as ignorance displayed, not to mention piles of neatly hemmed towels for which bab and betty were paid like regular sewing-women.
so vacation was not all play, and the girls found their picnics, berry parties, and "goin" a visitin"," all the more agreeable for the quiet hour spent with miss celia.
thorny had improved wonderfully, and was getting to be quite energetic, especially since his sister's accident; for while she was laid up he was the head of the house, and much enjoyed his promotion.
but ben did not seem to flourish as he had done at first.
the loss of sancho preyed upon him sadly, and the longing to go and find his dog grew into such a strong temptation that he could hardly resist it.
he said little about it; but now, and then a word escaped him which might have enlightened any one who chanced to be watching him.
no one was, just then, so he brooded over this fancy, day by day, in silence and solitude, for there was no riding and driving now.
thorny was busy with his sister trying to show her that he remembered how good she had been to him when he was ill, and the little girls had their own affairs.
miss celia was the first to observe the change, having nothing to do but lie on the sofa and amuse herself by seeing others work or play.
ben was bright enough at the readings, because then he forgot his troubles; but when they were over and his various duties done, he went to his own room or sought consolation with lita, being sober and quiet, and quite unlike the merry monkey all knew and liked so well.
""thorny, what is the matter with ben?"
asked miss celia, one day, when she and her brother were alone in the "green parlor," as they called the lilac-tree walk.
""fretting about sanch, i suppose.
i declare i wish that dog had never been born!
losing him has just spoilt ben.
not a bit of fun left in him, and he wo n't have any thing i offer to cheer him up."
thorny spoke impatiently, and knit his brows over the pressed flowers he was neatly gumming into his herbal.
""i wonder if he has any thing on his mind?
he acts as if he was hiding a trouble he did n't dare to tell.
have you talked with him about it?"
asked miss celia, looking as if she was hiding a trouble she did not like to tell.
""oh, yes, i poke him up now and then, but he gets peppery, so i let him alone.
may be he is longing for his old circus again.
should n't blame him much if he was; it is n't very lively here, and he's used to excitement, you know."
""i hope it is n't that.
do you think he would slip away without telling us, and go back to the old life again?
do n't believe he would.
ben is n't a bit of a sneak; that's why i like him."
""have you ever found him sly or untrue in any way?"
asked miss celia, lowering her voice.
""no; he's as fair and square a fellow as i ever saw.
little bit low, now and then, but he does n't mean it, and wants to be a gentleman, only he never lived with one before, and it's all new to him.
i'll get him polished up after a while."
""oh, thorny, there are three peacocks on the place, and you are the finest!"
laughed miss celia, as her brother spoke in his most condescending way with a lift of the eyebrows very droll to see.
""and two donkeys, and ben's the biggest, not to know when he is well off and happy!"
retorted the "gentleman," slapping a dried specimen on the page as if he were pounding discontented ben.
""come here and let me tell you something which worries me.
i would not breathe it to another soul, but i feel rather helpless, and i dare say you can manage the matter better than i." looking much mystified, thorny went and sat on the stool at his sister's feet, while she whispered confidentially in his ear: "i've lost some money out of my drawer, and i'm so afraid ben took it."
""but it's always locked up and you keep the keys of the drawer and the little room?"
""it is gone, nevertheless, and i've had my keys safe all the time."
""but why think it is he any more than randa, or katy, or me?"
""because i trust you three as i do myself.
i've known the girls for years, and you have no object in taking it since all i have is yours, dear."
""and all mine is yours, of course.
but, celia, how could he do it?
he ca n't pick locks, i know, for we fussed over my desk together, and had to break it after all."
""i never really thought it possible till to-day when you were playing ball and it went in at the upper window, and ben climbed up the porch after it; you remember you said, "if it had gone in at the garret gable you could n't have done that so well;" and he answered, "yes, i could, there is n't a spout i ca n't shin up, or a bit of this roof i have n't been over.""
""so he did; but there is no spout near the little room window."
""there is a tree, and such an agile boy as ben could swing in and out easily.
now, thorny, i hate to think this of him, but it has happened twice, and for his own sake i must stop it.
if he is planning to run away, money is a good thing to have.
and he may feel that it is his own; for you know he asked me to put his wages in the bank, and i did.
he may not like to come to me for that, because he can give no good reason for wanting it.
i'm so troubled i really do n't know what to do."
she looked troubled, and thorny put his arms about her as if to keep all worries but his own away from her.
""do n't you fret, cely, dear; you leave it to me.
i'll fix him -- ungrateful little scamp!"
""that is not the way to begin.
i am afraid you will make him angry and hurt his feelings, and then we can do nothing."
""bother his feelings!
i shall just say, calmly and coolly: "now, look here, ben, hand over the money you took out of my sister's drawer, and we'll let you off easy," or something like that."
""it would n't do, thorny; his temper would be up in a minute, and away he would go before we could find out whether he was guilty or not.
i wish i knew how to manage."
""let me think," and thorny leaned his chin on the arm of the chair, staring hard at the knocker as if he expected the lion's mouth to open with words of counsel then and there.
""by jove, i do believe ben took it!"
he broke out suddenly; "for when i went to his room this morning to see why he did n't come and do my boots, he shut the drawer in his bureau as quick as a flash, and looked red and queer, for i did n't knock, and sort of startled him."
""he would n't be likely to put stolen money there.
ben is too wise for that."
""he would n't keep it there, but he might be looking at it and pitch it in when i called.
he's hardly spoken to me since, and when i asked him what his flag was at half-mast for, he would n't answer.
besides, you know in the reading this afternoon he did n't listen, and when you asked what he was thinking about, he colored up and muttered something about sanch.
i tell you, celia, it looks bad -- very bad," and thorny shook his head with a wise air.
""it does, and yet we may be all wrong.
let us wait a little and give the poor boy a chance to clear himself before we speak.
i'd rather lose my money than suspect him falsely."
""how much was it?"
""eleven dollars; a one went first, and i supposed i'd miscalculated somewhere when i took some out; but when i missed a ten, i felt that i ought not to let it pass."
""look here, sister, you just put the case into my hands and let me work it up.
i wo n't say any thing to ben till you give the word; but i'll watch him, and now that my eyes are open, it wo n't be easy to deceive me."
thorny was evidently pleased with the new play of detective, and intended to distinguish himself in that line; but when miss celia asked how he meant to begin, he could only respond with a blank expression: "do n't know!
you give me the keys and leave a bill or two in the drawer, and may be i can find him out somehow."
so the keys were given, and the little dressing-room where the old secretary stood was closely watched for a day or two.
ben cheered up a trifle which looked as if he knew an eye was upon him, but otherwise he went on as usual, and miss celia feeling a little guilty at even harboring a suspicion of him, was kind and patient with his moods.
thorny was very funny in the unnecessary mystery and fuss he made; his affectation of careless indifference to ben's movements and his clumsy attempts to watch every one of them; his dodgings up and down stairs, ostentatious clanking of keys, and the elaborate traps he set to catch his thief, such as throwing his ball in at the dressing-room window and sending ben up the tree to get it, which he did, thereby proving beyond a doubt that he alone could have taken the money, thorny thought.
another deep discovery was, that the old drawer was so shrunken that the lock could be pressed down by slipping a knife-blade between the hasp and socket.
""now it is as clear as day, and you'd better let me speak," he said, full of pride as well as regret at this triumphant success of his first attempt as a detective.
""not yet, and you need do nothing more.
i'm afraid it was a mistake of mine to let you do this; and if it has spoiled your friendship with ben, i shall be very sorry; for i do not think he is guilty," answered miss celia.
""why not?"
and thorny looked annoyed.
""i've watched also, and he does n't act like a deceitful boy.
to-day i asked him if he wanted any money, or should i put what i owe him with the rest, and he looked me straight in the face with such honest, grateful eyes, i could not doubt him when he said "keep it, please, i do n't need any thing here, you are all so good to me.""
""now, celia, do n't you be soft-hearted.
he's a sly little dog, and knows my eye is on him.
when i asked him what he saw in the dressing-room, after he brought out the ball, and looked sharply at him, he laughed, and said "only a mouse," as saucy as you please."
""do set the trap there, i heard the mouse nibbling last night, and it kept me awake.
we must have a cat or we shall be overrun."
""well, shall i give ben a good blowing up, or will you?"
asked thorny, scorning such poor prey as mice, and bound to prove that he was in the right.
""i'll let you know what i have decided in the morning.
be kind to ben, meantime, or i shall feel as if i had done you harm by letting you watch him."
so it was left for that day, and by the next, miss celia had made up her mind to speak to ben.
she was just going down to breakfast when the sound of loud voices made her pause and listen.
it came from ben's room, where the two boys seemed to be disputing about something.
""i hope thorny has kept his promise," she thought, and hurried through the back entry, fearing a general explosion.
ben's chamber was at the end, and she could see and hear what was going on before she was near enough to interfere.
ben stood against his closet door looking as fierce and red as a turkey-cock; thorny sternly confronted him, saying in an excited tone, and with a threatening gesture: "you are hiding something in there, and you ca n't deny it."
""i do n't."
""better not; i insist on seeing it."
""well, you wo n't."
""what have you been stealing now?"
""did n't steal it, -- used to be mine, -- i only took it when i wanted it."
""i know what that means.
you'd better give it back or i'll make you."
""stop!"
cried a third voice, as thorny put out his arm to clutch ben, who looked ready to defend himself to the last gasp, "boys, i will settle this affair.
is there anything hidden in the closet, ben?"
and miss celia came between the belligerent parties with her one hand up to part them.
thorny fell back at once, looking half ashamed of his heat, and ben briefly answered, with a gulp as if shame or anger made it hard to speak steadily: "yes'm, there is."
""does it belong to you?"
""yes'm, it does."
""where did you get it?"
""up to squire's."
""that's a lie!"
muttered thorny to himself.
ben's eye flashed, and his fist doubled up in spite of him, but he restrained himself out of respect for miss celia, who looked puzzled, as she asked another question, not quite sure how to proceed with the investigation: "is it money, ben?"
""no'm, it is n't."
""then what can it be?"
""meow!"
answered a fourth voice from the closet; and as ben flung open the door a gray kitten walked out, purring with satisfaction at her release.
miss celia fell into a chair and laughed till her eyes were full; thorny looked foolish, and ben folded his arms, curled up his nose, and regarded his accuser with calm defiance, while pussy sat down to wash her face as if her morning toilette had been interrupted by her sudden abduction.
""that's all very well, but it does n't mend matters much, so you need n't laugh, celia," began thorny, recovering himself, and stubbornly bent on sifting the case to the bottom, now he had begun.
""well, it would, if you'd let a feller alone.
she said she wanted a cat, so i went and got the one they gave me when i was at the squire's.
i went early and took her without asking, and i had a right to," explained ben, much aggrieved by having his surprise spoiled.
""it was very kind of you, and i'm glad to have this nice kitty.
we will shut her up in my room to catch the mice that plague me," said miss celia, picking up the little cat, and wondering how she would get her two angry boys safely down stairs.
""the dressing-room, she means; you know the way, and you do n't need keys to get in," added thorny, with such sarcastic emphasis that ben felt some insult was intended, and promptly resented it.
""you wo n't get me to climb any more trees after your balls, and my cat wo n't catch any of your mice, so you need n't ask me."
""cats do n't catch thieves, and they are what i'm after!"
""what do you mean by that?"
fiercely demanded ben.
""celia has lost some money out of her drawer, and you wo n't let me see what's in yours; so i thought, perhaps, you'd got it!"
blurted out thorny, finding it hard to say the words, angry as he was, for the face opposite did not look like a guilty one.
for a minute, ben did not seem to understand him, plainly as he spoke; then he turned an angry scarlet, and, with a reproachful glance at his mistress, opened the little drawer so that both could see all that it contained.
""they ai n't any thing; but i'm fond of'em they are all i've got -- i was afraid he'd laugh at me that time, so i would n't let him look -- it was father's birthday, and i felt bad about him and sanch --" ben's indignant voice got more and more indistinct as he stumbled on, and broke down over the last words.
he did not cry, however, but threw back his little treasures as if half their sacredness was gone; and, making a strong effort at self-control, faced around, asking of miss celia, with a grieved look, "did you think i'd steal anything of yours?"
""i tried not to, ben, but what could i do?
it was gone, and you the only stranger about the place."
""was n't there any one to think bad of but me?
he said, so sorrowfully that miss celia made up her mind on the spot that he was as innocent of the theft as the kitten now biting her buttons, no other refreshment being offered.
""nobody, for i know my girls well.
yet, eleven dollars are gone, and i can not imagine where or how for both drawer and door are always locked, because my papers and valuables are in that room."
""what a lot!
but how could i get it if it was locked up?"
and ben looked as if that question was unanswerable.
""folks that can climb in at windows for a ball, can go the same way for money, and get it easy enough when they've only to pry open an old lock!"
thorny's look and tone seemed to make plain to ben all that they had been suspecting, and, being innocent, he was too perplexed and unhappy to defend himself.
his eye went from one to the other, and, seeing doubt in both faces, his boyish heart sunk within him; for he could prove nothing, and his first impulse was to go away at once.
""i ca n't say any thing, only that i did n't take the money.
you wo n't believe it, so i'd better go back where i come from.
they were n't so kind, but they trusted me, and knew i would n't steal a cent.
you may keep my money, and the kitty, too; i do n't want'em," and, snatching up his hat, ben would gone straight away, if thorny had not barred his passage.
""come, now, do n't be mad.
let's talk it over, and if i'm wrong i'll take it all back and ask your pardon," he said, in a friendly tone, rather scared at the consequences of his first attempt, though as sure as ever that he was right.
""it would break my heart to have you go in that way, ben.
stay at least till your innocence is proved, then no one can doubt what you say now."
""do n't see how it can be proved," answered ben, appeased by her evident desire to trust him.
""we'll try as well as we know how, and the first thing we will do is to give that old secretary a good rummage from top to bottom.
i've done it once, but it is just possible that the bills may have slipped out of sight.
come, now, i ca n't rest till i've done all i can to comfort you and convince thorny."
miss celia rose as she spoke, and led the way to the dressing-room, which had no outlet except through her chamber.
still holding his hat, ben followed with a troubled face, and thorny brought up the rear, doggedly determined to keep his eye on "the little scamp" till the matter was satisfactorily cleared up.
miss celia had made her proposal more to soothe the feelings of one boy and to employ the superfluous energies of the other, than in the expectation of throwing any light upon the mystery; for she was sadly puzzled by ben's manner, and much regretted that she had let her brother meddle in the matter.
""there," she said, unlocking the door with the key thorny reluctantly gave up to her, "this is the room and that is the drawer on the right.
the lower ones have seldom been opened since we came, and hold only some of papa's old books.
those upper ones you may turn out and investigate as much as you -- bless me!
here's something in your trap," thorny and miss celia gave a little skip as she nearly trod on a long, gray tall, which hung out of the bole now filled by a plump mouse.
but her brother was intent on more serious things, and merely pushed the trap aside as he pulled out the drawer with an excited gesture, which sent it and all its contents clattering to the floor.
""confound the old thing!
it always stuck so i had to give a jerk.
now, there it is, topsy-turvy," and thorny looked much disgusted at his own awkwardness.
""no harm done; i left nothing of value in it.
look back there, ben, and see if there is room for a paper to get worked over the top of the drawer.
i felt quite a crack, but i do n't believe it is possible for things to slip out; the place was never full enough to overflow in any way."
miss celia spoke to ben, who was kneeling down to pick up the scattered papers, among which were two marked dollar bills, -- thorny's bait for the thief.
ben looked into the dusty recess, and then put in his hand, saying carelessly, -- "there's nothing but a bit of red stuff."
""my old pen-wiper -- why, what's the matter?"
asked miss celia, as ben dropped the handful of what looked like rubbish.
""something warm and wiggly inside of it," answered ben, stooping to examine the contents of the little scarlet bundle.
""baby mice!
ai n't they funny?
look just like mites of young pigs.
we'll have to kill'em if you've caught their mamma," he said, forgetting his own trials in boyish curiosity about his "find."
miss celia stooped also, and gently poked the red cradle with her finger; for the tiny mice were nestling deeper into the fluff with small squeals of alarm.
suddenly she cried out: "boys, boys, i've found the thief!
look here; pull out these bits and see if they wo n't make up my lost bills."
down went the motherless babies as four ruthless hands pulled apart their cosey nest, and there, among the nibbled fragments, appeared enough finely printed, greenish paper, to piece out parts of two bank bills.
a large cypher and part of a figure one were visible, and that accounted for the ten; but though there were other bits, no figures could be found, and they were willing to take the other bill on trust.
""now, then, am i a thief and a liar?"
demanded ben, pointing proudly to the tell-tale letters spread forth on the table, over which all three had been eagerly bending.
""no; i beg your pardon, and i'm very sorry that we did n't look more carefully before we spoke, then we all should have been spared this pain."
""all right, old fellow, forgive and forget.
i'll never think hard of you again, -- on my honor i wo n't."
as they spoke, miss celia and her brother held out their hands frankly and heartily.
ben shook both, but with a difference; for he pressed the soft one gratefully, remembering that its owner had always been good to him; but the brown paw he gripped with a vengeful squeeze that made thorny pull it away in a hurry, exclaiming, good-naturedly, in spite of both physical and mental discomfort, -- "come, ben, do n't you bear malice; for you've got the laugh on your side, and we feel pretty small.
i do, any way; for, after my fidgets, all i've caught is a mouse!"
""and her family.
i'm so relieved i'm almost sorry the poor little mother is dead -- she and her babies were so happy in the old pen-wiper," said miss celia, hastening to speak merrily, for ben still looked indignant, and she was much grieved at what had happened.
""a pretty expensive house," began thorny, looking about for the interesting orphans, who had been left on the floor while their paper-hangings were examined.
no further anxiety need be felt for them, however; kitty had come upon the scene, and as judge, jury, and prisoner, turned to find the little witnesses, they beheld the last pink mite going down pussy's throat in one mouthful.
""i call that summary justice, -- the whole family executed on the spot!
give kit the mouse also, and let us go to breakfast.
i feel as if i had found my appetite, now this worry is off my mind," said miss celia, laughing so infectiously that ben had to join in spite of himself, as she took his arm and led him away with a look which mutely asked his pardon over again.
""rather lively for a funeral procession," said thorny, following with the trap in his hand and puss at his heels, adding, to comfort his pride as a detective: "well, i said i'd catch the thief, and i have, though it is rather a small one!"
chapter xvii betty's bravery "celia, i've a notion that we ought to give ben something.
a sort of peace-offering, you know; for he feels dreadfully hurt about our suspecting him," said thorny, at dinner that day.
""i see he does, though he tries to seem as bright and pleasant as ever.
i do not wonder, and i've been thinking what i could do to soothe his feelings.
can you suggest any thing?"
""cuff-buttons.
i saw some jolly ones over at berryville, oxidized silver, with dogs" heads on them, yellow eyes, and all as natural as could be.
those, now, would just suit him for his go-to-meeting white shirts, -- neat, appropriate, and in memoriam."
miss celia could not help laughing, it was such a boyish suggestion; but she agreed to it, thinking thorny knew best, and hoping the yellow-eyed dogs would be as balm to ben's wounds.
""well, dear, you may give those, and lita shall give the little whip with a horse's foot for a handle, if it is not gone.
i saw it at the harness shop in town; and ben admired it so much that i planned to give it to him on his birthday."
""that will tickle him immensely; and if you'd just let him put brown tops to my old boots, and stick a cockade in his hat when he sits up behind the phaeton, he'd be a happy fellow," laughed thorny, who had discovered that one of ben's ambitions was to be a tip-top groom.
""no, thank you; those things are out of place in america, and would be absurd in a small country place like this.
his blue suit and straw hat please me better for a boy; though a nicer little groom, in livery or out, no one could desire, and you may tell him i said so."
""i will, and he'll look as proud as punch; for he thinks every word you say worth a dozen from any one else.
but wo n't you give him something?
just some little trifle, to show that we are both eating humble pie, feeling sorry about the mouse money."
""i shall give him a set of school-books, and try to get him ready to begin when vacation is over.
an education is the best present we can make him; and i want you to help me fit him to enter as well is he can.
bab and betty began, little dears, -- lent him their books and taught all they knew; so ben got a taste, and, with the right encouragement, would like to go on, i am sure."
""that's so like you celia!
always thinking of the best thing and doing it handsomely.
i'll help like a house a-fire, if he will let me; but, all day, he's been as stiff as a poker, so i do n't believe he forgives me a bit."
""he will in time, and if you are kind and patient, he will be glad to have you help him.
i shall make it a sort of favor to me on his part, to let you see to his lessons, now and then.
it will be quite true, for i do n't want you to touch your latin or algebra till cool weather; teaching him will be play to you."
miss celia's last words made her brother unbend his brows, for he longed to get at his books again, and the idea of being tutor to his "man-servant" did not altogether suit him.
""i'll tool him along at a great pace, if he will only go.
geography and arithmetic shall be my share, and you may have the writing and spelling; it gives me the fidgets to set copies", and hear children make a mess of words.
shall i get the books when i buy the other things?
can i go this afternoon?"
""yes, here is the list; bab gave it to me.
you can go if you will come home early and have your tooth filled."
gloom fell at once upon thorny's beaming face, and he gave such a shrill whistle that his sister jumped in her chair, as she added, persuasively, -- "it wo n't hurt a bit, now, and the longer you leave it the worse it will be.
dr. mann is ready at any time; and, once over, you will be at peace for months.
come, my hero, give your orders, and take one of the girls to support you in the trying hour.
have bab; she will enjoy it, and amuse you with her chatter."
""as if i needed girls round for such a trifle as that!"
returned thorny with a shrug, though he groaned inwardly at the prospect before him, as most of us do on such occasions.
""i would n't take bab at any price; she'd only get into some scrape, and upset the whole plan.
betty is the chicken for me, -- a real little lady, and as nice and purry as a kitten."
""very well; ask her mother, and take good care of her.
let her tuck her dolly in, and she will be contented anywhere.
there's a fine air, and the awning is on the phaeton, so you wo n't feel the sun.
start about three, and drive carefully."
betty was charmed to go, for thorny was a sort of prince in her eyes; and to be invited to such a grand expedition was an overwhelming honor.
bab was not surprised, for, since sancho's loss, she had felt herself in disgrace, and been unusually meek; ben let her "severely alone," which much afflicted her, for he was her great admiration, and had been pleased to express his approbation of her agility and courage so often, that she was ready to attempt any fool-hardy feat to recover his regard.
but vainly did she risk her neck jumping off the highest beams in the barn, trying to keep her balance standing on the donkey's back, and leaping the lodge gate at a bound; ben vouchsafed no reward by a look, a smile, a word of commendation; and bab felt that nothing but sancho's return would ever restore the broken friendship.
into faithful betty's bosom did she pour forth her remorseful lamentations, often bursting out with the passionate exclamation, "if i could only find sanch, and give him back to ben, i would n't care if i tumbled down and broke all my legs right away!"
such abandonment of woe made a deep impression on betty; and she fell into the way of consoling her sister by cheerful prophecies, and a firm belief that the organ-man would yet appear with the lost darling.
""i've got five cents of my berry money, and i'll buy you an orange if i see any," promised betty stepping to kiss bab, as the phaeton came to the door, and thorny handed in a young lady whose white frock was so stiff with starch that it crackled like paper.
""lemons will do if oranges are gone.
i like'em to suck with lots of sugar," answered bab, feeling that the sour sadly predominated in her cup just now.
""do n't she look sweet, the dear!"
murmured mrs. moss, proudly surveying her youngest.
she certainly did, sitting under the fringed canopy with "belinda," all in her best, upon her lap, as she turned to smile and nod, with a face so bright and winsome under the little blue hat, that it was no wonder mother and sister thought there never was such a perfect child as "our betty."
dr. mann was busy when they arrived, but would be ready in an hour; so they did their shopping at once, having made sure of the whip as they came along.
thorny added some candy to bab's lemon, and belinda had a cake, which her mamma obligingly ate for her.
betty thought that aladdin's palace could not have been more splendid than the jeweller's shop where the canine cuff-buttons were bought; but when they came to the book-store, she forgot gold, silver, and precious stones, to revel in picture-books, while thorny selected ben's modest school outfit.
seeing her delight, and feeling particularly lavish with plenty of money in his pocket, the young gentleman completed the child's bliss by telling her to choose whichever one she liked best out of the pile of walter crane's toy-books lying in bewildering colors before her.
""this one; bab always wanted to see the dreadful cupboard, and there's a picture of it here," answered betty, clasping a gorgeous copy of "bluebeard" to the little bosom, which still heaved with the rapture of looking at that delicious mixture of lovely fatimas in pale azure gowns, pink sister annes on the turret top, crimson tyrants, and yellow brothers with forests of plumage blowing wildly from their mushroom-shaped caps.
""very good; there you are, then.
now, come on, for the fun is over and the grind begins," said thorny, marching away to his doom, with his tongue in his tooth, and trepidation in his manly breast.
""shall i shut my eyes and hold your head?"
quavered devoted betty, as they went up the stairs so many reluctant feet had mounted before them.
""nonsense, child, never mind me!
you look out of window and amuse yourself; we shall not be long, i guess;" and in went thorn silently hoping that the dentist had been suddenly called away, or some person with an excruciating toothache would be waiting to take ether, and so give our young man an excuse for postponing his job.
but no; dr. mann was quite at leisure, and, full of smiling interest, awaited his victim, laying forth his unpleasant little tools with the exasperating alacrity of his kind.
glad to be released from any share in the operation, betty retired to the back window to be as far away as possible, and for half in hour was so absorbed in her book that poor thorny might have groaned dismally without disturbing her.
""done now, directly, only a trifle of polishing off and a look round," said dr. mann, at last; and thorny, with a yawn that nearly rent him asunder, called out, -- "thank goodness!
pack up, bettykin."
""i'm all ready!"
and, shutting her book with a start, she slipped down from the easy chair in a great hurry.
but "looking round" took time; and, before the circuit of thorny's mouth was satisfactorily made, betty had become absorbed by a more interesting tale than even the immortal "bluebeard."
a noise of children's voices in the narrow alley-way behind the house attracted her attention; the long window opened directly on the yard, and the gate swung in the wind.
curious as fatima, betty went to look; but all she saw was a group of excited boys peeping between the bars of another gate further down.
""what's the matter?"
she asked of two small girls, who stood close by her, longing but not daring to approach the scene of action.
""boys chasing a great black cat, i believe," answered one child.
""want to come and see?"
added the other, politely extending the invitation to the stranger.
the thought of a cat in trouble would have nerved betty to face a dozen boys; so she followed at once, meeting several lads hurrying away on some important errand, to judge from their anxious countenances.
""hold tight, jimmy, and let'em peek, if they want to.
he ca n't hurt anybody now," said one of the dusty huntsmen, who sat on the wide coping of the wall, while two others held the gate, as if a cat could only escape that way.
""you peek first, susy, and see if it looks nice," said one little girl, boosting her friend so that she could look through the bars in the upper part of the gate.
""no; it's only an ugly old dog!"
responded susy, losing all interest at once, and descending with a bounce.
""he's mad!
and jud's gone to get his gun, so we can shoot him!"
called out one mischievous boy, resenting the contempt expressed for their capture.
""ai n't, neither!"
howled another lad from his perch.
""mad dogs wo n't drink; and this one is lapping out of a tub of water."
""well, he may be, and we do n't know him, and he has n't got any muzzle on, and the police will kill him if jud do n't," answered the sanguinary youth who had first started the chase after the poor animal, which had come limping into town, so evidently a lost dog that no one felt any hesitation in stoning him.
""we must go right home; my mother is dreadful "fraid of mad dogs, and so is yours," said susy; and, having satisfied their curiosity, the young ladies prudently retired.
but betty had not had her "peep," and could not resist one look; for she had heard of these unhappy animals, and thought bab would like to know how they looked.
so she stood on tip-toe and got a good view of a dusty, brownish dog, lying on the grass close by, with his tongue hanging out while he panted, as if exhausted by fatigue and fear, for he still cast apprehensive glances at the wall which divided him from his tormentors.
""his eyes are just like sanch's," said betty to herself, unconscious that she spoke aloud, till she saw the creature prick up his cars and half rise, as if he had been called.
""he looks as if he knew me, but it is n't our sancho; he was a lovely dog."
betty said that to the little boy peeping in beside her; but before he could make any reply, the brown beast stood straight up with an inquiring bark, while his eyes shone like topaz, and the short tail wagged excitedly.
""why, that's just the way sanch used to do!"
cried betty, bewildered by the familiar ways of this unfamiliar-looking dog.
as if the repetition of his name settled his own doubts, he leaped toward the gate and thrust a pink nose between the bars, with a howl of recognition as betty's face was more clearly seen.
the boys tumbled precipitately from their perches, and the little girl fell back alarmed, yet could not bear to run away and leave those imploring eyes pleading to her through the bars so eloquently.
""he acts just like our dog, but i do n't see how it can be him.
sancho, sancho, is it really you?"
called betty, at her wits" end what to do.
""bow, wow, wow!"
answered the well-known bark, and the little tail did all it could to emphasize the sound, while the eyes were so full of dumb love and joy, the child could not refuse to believe that this ugly stray was their own sancho strangely transformed.
all of a sudden, the thought rushed into her mind, how glad ben would be!
-- and bab would feel all happy again.
""i must carry him home."
never stopping to think of danger, and forgetting all her doubts, betty caught the gate handle out of jimmy's grasp, exclaiming eagerly: "he is our dog!
let me go in; i ai n't afraid."
""not till jud comes back; he told us we must n't," answered the astonished jimmy, thinking the little girl as mad as the dog.
with a confused idea that the unknown jud had gone for a gun to shoot sanch, betty gave a desperate pull at the latch and ran into the yard, bent on saving her friend.
that it was a friend there could be no further question; for, though the creature rushed at her as if about to devour her at a mouthful, it was only to roll ecstatically at her feet, lick her hands, and gaze into her face, trying to pant out the welcome which he could not utter.
an older and more prudent person would have waited to make sure before venturing in; but confiding betty knew little of the danger which she might have run; her heart spoke more quickly than her head, and, not stopping to have the truth proved, she took the brown dog on trust, and found it was indeed dear sanch.
sitting on the grass, she hugged him close, careless of tumbled hat, dusty paws on her clean frock, or a row of strange boys staring from the wall.
""darling doggy, where have you been so long?"
she cried, the great thing sprawling across her lap, as if he could not get near enough to his brave little protector.
""did they make you black and beat you, dear?
oh, sanch, where is your tail -- your pretty tail?"
a plaintive growl and a pathetic wag was all the answer he could make to these tender inquiries; for never would the story of his wrongs be known, and never could the glory of his doggish beauty be restored.
betty was trying to comfort him with pats and praises, when a new face appeared at the gate, and thorny's authoritative voice called out, -- "betty moss, what on earth are you doing in there with that dirty beast?"
""it's sanch, it's sanch!
oh, come and see!"
shrieked betty, flying up to lead forth her prize.
but the gate was held fast, for some one said the words, "mad dog," and thorny was very naturally alarmed, because he had already seen one.
""do n't stay there another minute.
get up on that bench and i'll pull you over," directed thorny, mounting the wall to rescue his charge in hot haste; for the dog did certainly behave queerly, limping hurriedly to and fro, as if anxious to escape.
no wonder, when sancho heard a voice he knew, and recognized another face, yet did not meet as kind a welcome as before.
""no, i'm not coming out till he does.
it is sanch, and i'm going to take him home to ben," answered betty, decidedly, as she wet her handkerchief in the rain water to bind up the swollen paw that had travelled many miles to rest in her little hand again.
""you're crazy, child.
that is no more ben's dog than i am."
""see if it is n't!"
cried betty, perfectly unshaken in her faith; and, recalling the words of command as well as she could, she tried to put sancho through his little performance, as the surest proof that she was right.
the poor fellow did his best, weary and foot-sore though he was; but when it came to taking his tail in his mouth to waltz, he gave it up, and, dropping down, hid his face in his paws, as he always did when any of his tricks failed.
the act was almost pathetic now, for one of the paws was bandaged, and his whole attitude expressed the humiliation of a broken spirit.
that touched thorny, and, quite convinced both of the dog's sanity and identity, he sprung down from the wall with ben's own whistle, which gladdened sancho's longing ear as much as the boy's rough caresses comforted his homesick heart.
""now, let's carry him right home, and surprise ben.
wo n't he be pleased?"
said betty, so in earnest that she tried to lift the big brute in spite of his protesting yelps.
""you are a little trump to find him out in spite of all the horrid things that have been done to him.
we must have a rope to lead him, for he's got no collar and no muzzle.
he has got friends though, and i'd like to see any one touch him now.
out of the way, there, boy!"
looking as commanding as a drum-major, thorny cleared a passage, and with one arm about his neck, betty proudly led her treasure magnanimously ignoring his late foes, and keeping his eye fixed on the faithful friend whose tender little heart had known him in spite of all disguises.
""i found him, sir," and the lad who had been most eager for the shooting, stepped forward to claim any reward that might be offered for the now valuable victim.
""i kept him safe till she came," added the jailer jimmy, speaking for himself.
""i said he was n't mad," cried a third, feeling that his discrimination deserved approval.
""jud ai n't my brother," said the fourth, eager to clear his skirts from all offence.
""but all of you chased and stoned him, i suppose?
you'd better look out or you'll get reported to the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals."
with this awful and mysterious threat, thorny slammed the doctor's gate in the faces of the mercenary youths, nipping their hopes in the bud, and teaching them a good lesson.
after one astonished stare, lita accepted sancho without demur, and they greeted one another cordially, nose to nose, instead of shaking hands.
then the dog nestled into his old place under the linen duster with a grunt of intense content, and soon fell fast asleep, quite worn out with fatigue.
no roman conqueror bearing untold treasures with him, ever approached the eternal city feeling richer or prouder than did miss betty as she rolled rapidly toward the little brown house with the captive won by her own arms.
poor belinda was forgotten in a corner, "bluebeard" was thrust under the cushion, and the lovely lemon was squeezed before its time by being sat upon; for all the child could think of was ben's delight, bab's remorseful burden lifted off, "ma's" surprise, and miss celia's pleasure.
she could hardly realize the happy fact, and kept peeping under the cover to be sure that the dear dingy bunch at her feet was truly there.
""i'll tell you how we'll do it," said thorny, breaking a long silence as betty composed herself with an irrepressible wriggle of delight after one of these refreshing peeps.
""we'll keep sanch hidden, and smuggle him into ben's old room at your house.
then i'll drive on to the barn, and not say a word, but send ben to get something out of that room.
you just let him in, to see what he'll do.
i'll bet you a dollar he wo n't know his own dog."
""i do n't believe i can keep from screaming right out when i see him, but i'll try.
oh, wo n't it be fun!"
-- and betty clapped her hands in joyful anticipation of that exciting moment.
a nice little plan, but master thorny forgot the keen senses of the amiable animal snoring peacefully among his boots; and, when they stopped at the lodge, he had barely time to say in a whisper, "ben's coming; cover sanch and let me get him in quick!"
before the dog was out of the phaeton like a bombshell, and the approaching boy went down as if shot, for sancho gave one leap, and the two rolled over and over, with a shout and a bark of rapturous recognition.
""who is hurt?"
asked mrs. moss, running out with floury hands uplifted in alarm.
""is it a bear?"
cried bab, rushing after her, beater in hand, for a dancing bear was the delight of her heart.
""sancho's found!
sancho's found!"
shouted thorny, throwing up his hat like a lunatic.
""found, found, found!"
echoed betty, dancing wildly about as if she too had lost her little wits.
""where?
how?
when?
who did it?"
asked mrs. moss, clapping her dusty hands delightedly.
""it is n't; it's an old dirty brown thing," stammered bab, as the dog came uppermost for a minute, and then rooted into ben's jacket as if he smelt a woodchuck, and was bound to have him out directly.
then thorny, with many interruptions from betty, poured forth the wondrous tale, to which bab and his mother listened breathlessly, while the muffins burned as black as a coal, and nobody cared a bit.
""my precious lamb, how did you dare to do such a thing?"
exclaimed mrs. moss, hugging the small heroine with mingled admiration and alarm.
""i'd have dared, and slapped those horrid boys, too.
i wish i'd gone!"
and bab felt that she had for ever lost the chance of distinguishing herself.
""who cut his tail off?"
demanded ben, in a menacing tone, as he came uppermost in his turn, dusty, red and breathless, but radiant.
""the wretch who stole him, i suppose; and he deserves to be hung," answered thorny, hotly.
""if ever i catch him, i'll -- i'll cut his nose off," roared ben, with such a vengeful glare that sanch barked fiercely; and it was well that the unknown "wretch" was not there, for it would have gone hardly with him, since even gentle betty frowned, while bab brandished the egg-beater menacingly, and their mother indignantly declared that "it was too bad!"
relieved by this general outburst, they composed their outraged feelings; and while the returned wanderer went from one to another to receive a tender welcome from each, the story of his recovery was more calmly told.
ben listened with his eye devouring the injured dog; and when thorny paused, he turned to the little heroine, saying solemnly, as he laid her hand with his own on sancho's head, "betty moss, i'll never forget what you did; from this minute half of sanch is your truly own, and if i die you shall have the whole of him," and ben sealed the precious gift with a sounding kiss on either chubby check.
betty was so deeply touched by this noble bequest, that the blue eyes filled and would have overflowed if sanch had not politely offered his tongue like a red pocket-handkerchlef, and so made her laugh the drops away, while bab set the rest off by saying gloomily, -- "i mean to play with all the mad dogs i can find; then folks will think i'm smart and give me nice things."
""poor old bab, i'll forgive you now, and lend you my half whenever you want it," said ben, feeling at peace now with all mankind, including, girls who tagged.
""come and show him to celia," begged thorny, eager to fight his battles over again.
""better wash him up first; he's a sight to see, poor thing," suggested mrs. moss, as she ran in, suddenly remembering her muffins.
""it will take a lot of washings to get that brown stuff off.
see, his pretty, pink skin is all stained with it.
we'll bleach him out, and his curls will grow, and he'll be as good as ever -- all but --" ben could not finish, and a general wail went up for the departed tassel that would never wave proudly in the breeze again.
""i'll buy him a new one.
now form the procession and let us go in style," said thorny, cheerily, as he swung betty to his shoulder and marched away whistling "hail!
the conquering hero comes," while ben and his bow-wow followed arm-in-arm, and bab brought up the rear, banging on a milk-pan with the egg-beater.
chapter xviii bows and arrows if sancho's abduction made a stir, one may easily imagine with what warmth and interest he was welcomed back when his wrongs and wanderings were known.
for several days he held regular levees, that curious boys and sympathizing girls might see and pity the changed and curtailed dog.
sancho behaved with dignified affability, and sat upon his mat in the coach-house pensively eying his guests, and patiently submitting to their caresses; while ben and thorny took turns to tell the few tragical facts which were not shrouded in the deepest mystery.
if the interesting sufferer could only have spoken, what thrilling adventures and hair-breadth escapes he might have related.
but, alas!
he was dumb; and the secrets of that memorable month never were revealed.
the lame paw soon healed, the dingy color slowly yielded to many washings, the woolly coat began to knot up into little curls, a new collar, handsomely marked, made him a respectable dog, and sancho was himself again.
but it was evident that his sufferings were not forgotten; his once sweet temper was a trifle soured; and, with a few exceptions, he had lost his faith in mankind.
before, he had been the most benevolent and hospitable of dogs; now, he eyed all strangers suspiciously, and the sight of a shabby man made him growl and bristle up, as if the memory of his wrongs still burned hotly within him.
fortunately, his gratitude was stronger than his resentment, and he never seemed to forget that he owed his life to betty, -- running to meet her whenever she appeared, instantly obeying her commands, and suffering no one to molest her when he walked watchfully beside her, with her hand upon his neck, as they had walked out of the almost fatal backyard together, faithful friends for ever.
miss celia called them little una and her lion, and read the pretty story to the children when they wondered what she meant.
ben, with great pains, taught the dog to spell "betty," and surprised her with a display of this new accomplishment, which gratified her so much that she was never tired of seeing sanch paw the five red letters into place, then come and lay his nose in her hand, as if he added, "that's the name of my dear mistress."
of course bab was glad to have everything pleasant and friendly again; but in a little dark corner of her heart there was a drop of envy, and a desperate desire to do something which would make every one in her small world like and praise her as they did betty.
trying to be as good and gentle did not satisfy her; she must do something brave or surprising, and no chance for distinguishing herself in that way seemed likely to appear.
betty was as fond as ever, and the boys were very kind to her; but she felt that they both liked "little betcinda," as they called her, best, because she found sanch, and never seemed to know that she had done any thing brave in defending him against all odds.
bab did not tell any one how she felt, but endeavored to be amiable, while waiting for her chance to come; and, when it did arrive, made the most of it, though there was nothing heroic to add a charm.
miss celia's arm had been doing very well, but would, of course, be useless for some time longer.
finding that the afternoon readings amused herself as much as they did the children, she kept them up, and brought out all her old favorites enjoying a double pleasure in seeing that her young audience relished them as much as she did when a child for to all but thorny they were brand new.
out of one of these stories came much amusement for all, and satisfaction for one of the party.
""celia, did you bring our old bows?"
asked her brother, eagerly, as she put down the book from which she had been reading miss edgeworth's capital story of "waste not want not; or, two strings to your bow."
""yes, i brought all the playthings we left stored away in uncle's garret when we went abroad.
the bows are in the long box where you found the mallets, fishing-rods, and bats.
the old quivers and a few arrows are there also, i believe.
what is the idea now?
asked miss celia in her turn, as thorny bounced up in a great hurry.
""i'm going to teach ben to shoot.
grand fun this hot weather; and by-and-by we'll have an archery meeting, and you can give us a prize.
come on, ben.
i've got plenty of whip-cord to rig up the bows, and then we'll show the ladies some first-class shooting."
""i ca n't; never had a decent bow in my life.
the little gilt one i used to wave round when i was a coopid was n't worth a cent to go," answered ben, feeling as if that painted "prodigy" must have been a very distant connection of the respectable young person now walking off arm in arm with the lord of the manor.
""practice is all you want.
i used to be a capital shot, but i do n't believe i could hit any thing but a barn-door now," answered thorny, encouragingly.
as the boys vanished, with much tramping of boots and banging of doors, bab observed, in the young-ladyish tone she was apt to use when she composed her active little mind and body to the feminine task of needlework, -- "we used to make bows of whalebone when we were little girls, but we are too old to play so now."
""i'd like to, but bab wo n't,'cause she's most "leven years old," said honest betty, placidly rubbing her needle in the "ruster," as she called the family emery-bag.
""grown people enjoy archery, as bow and arrow shooting is called, especially in england.
i was reading about it the other day, and saw a picture of queen victoria with her bow; so you need n't be ashamed of it, bab," said miss celia, rummaging among the books and papers in her sofa corner to find the magazine she wanted, thinking a new play would be as good for the girls as for the big boys.
""a queen, just think!"
and betty looked much impressed by the fact, as well as uplifted by the knowledge that her friend did not agree in thinking her silly because she preferred playing with a harmless home-made toy to firing stones or snapping a pop-gun.
""in old times, bows and arrows were used to fight great battles with; and we read how the english archers shot so well that the air was dark with arrows, and many men were killed."
""so did the indians have'em; and i've got some stone arrow-heads, -- found'em by the river, in the dirt!"
cried bab, waking up, for battles interested her more than queens.
""while you finish your stints i'll tell you a little story about the indians," said miss celia, lying back on her cushions, while the needles began to go again, for the prospect of a story could not be resisted.
""a century or more ago, in a small settlement on the banks of the connecticut, -- which means the long river of pines, -- there lived a little girl called matty kilburn.
on a hill stood the fort where the people ran for protection in any danger, for the country was new and wild, and more than once the indians had come down the river in their canoes and burned the houses, killed men, and carried away women and children.
matty lived alone with her father, but felt quite safe in the log house, for he was never far away.
one afternoon, as the farmers were all busy in their fields, the bell rang suddenly, -- a sign that there was danger near, -- and, dropping their rakes or axes, the men hurried to their houses to save wives and babies, and such few treasures as they could.
mr. kilburn caught up his gun with one hand and his little girl with the other, and ran as fast as he could toward the fort.
but before he could reach it he heard a yell, and saw the red men coming up from the river.
then he knew it would be in vain to try to get in, so he looked about for a safe place to hide matty till he could come for her.
he was a brave man, and could fight, so he had no thought of hiding while his neighbors needed help; but the dear little daughter must be cared for first.
""in the corner of the lonely pasture which they dared not cross, stood a big hollow elm, and there the farmer hastily hid matty, dropping her down into the dim nook, round the mouth of which young shoots had grown, so that no one would have suspected any hole was there.
""lie still, child, till i come; say your prayers and wait for father," said the man, as he parted the leaves for a last glance at the small, frightened face looking up at him."
"come soon," whispered matty, and tried to smile bravely, as a stout settler's girl should.
""mr. kilburn went away, and was taken prisoner in the fight, carried off, and for years no one knew whether he was alive or dead.
people missed matty, but supposed she was with her father, and never expected to see her again.
a great while afterward the poor man came back, having escaped and made his way through the wilderness to his old home.
his first question was for matty, but no one had seen her; and when he told them where he had left her, they shook their heads as if they thought he was crazy.
but they went to look, that he might be satisfied; and he was; for they they found some little bones, some faded bits of cloth, and two rusty silver buckles marked with matty's name in what had once been her shoes.
an indian arrow lay there, too, showing why she had never cried for help, but waited patiently so long for father to come and find her."
if miss celia expected to see the last bit of hem done when her story ended, she was disappointed; for not a dozen stitches had been taken.
betty was using her crash towel for a handkerchief, and bab's lay on the ground as she listened with snapping eyes to the little tragedy.
""is it true?"
asked betty, hoping to find relief in being told that it was not.
""yes; i have seen the tree, and the mound where the fort was, and the rusty buckles in an old farmhouse where other kilburns live, near the spot where it all happened," answered miss celia, looking out the picture of victoria to console her auditors.
""we'll play that in the old apple-tree.
betty can scrooch down, and i'll be the father, and put leaves on her, and then i'll be a great injun and fire at her.
i can make arrows, and it will be fun, wo n't it?"
cried bab, charmed with the new drama in which she could act the leading parts.
""no, it wo n't!
i do n't like to go in a cobwebby hole, and have you play kill me, i'll make a nice fort of hay, and be all safe, and you can put dinah down there for matty.
i do n't love her any more, now her last eye has tumbled out, and you may shoot her just as much as yon like."
before bab could agree to this satisfactory arrangement, thorny appeared, singing, as he aimed at a fat robin, whose red waistcoat looked rather warm and winterish that august day, -- "so he took up his bow, and he feathered his arrow, and said," i will shoot this little cock-sparrow.""
""but he did n't," chirped the robin, flying away, with a contemptuous flirt of his rusty-black tail.
""that is exactly what you must promise not to do, boys.
fire away at your targets as much as you like, but do not harm any living creature," said miss celia, as ben followed armed and equipped with her own long-unused accoutrements.
""of course we wo n't if you say so; but, with a little practice, i could bring down a bird as well as that fellow you read to me about with his woodpeckers and larks and herons," answered thorny, who had much enjoyed the article, while his sister lamented over the destruction of the innocent birds.
""you'd do well to borrow the squire's old stuffed owl for a target; there would be some chance of your hitting him, he is so big," said his sister, who always made fun of the boy when he began to brag.
thorny's only reply was to send his arrow straight up so far out of sight that it was a long while coming down again to stick quivering in the ground near by, whence sancho brought it in his mouth, evidently highly approving of a game in which he could join.
""not bad for a beginning.
now, ben, fire away."
but ben's experience with bows was small, and, in spite of his praiseworthy efforts to imitate his great exemplar, the arrow only turned a feeble sort of somersault and descended perilously near bab's uplifted nose.
""if you endanger other people's life and liberty in your pursuit of happiness, i shall have to confiscate your arms, boys.
take the orchard for your archery ground; that is safe, and we can see you as we sit here.
i wish i had two hands, so that i could paint you a fine, gay target;" and miss celia looked regretfully at the injured arm, which as yet was of little use.
""i wish you could shoot, too; you used to beat all the girls, and i was proud of you," answered thorny, with the air of a fond elder brother; though, at the time he alluded to, he was about twelve, and hardly up to his sister's shoulder.
""thank you.
i shall be happy to give my place to bab and betty if you will make them some bows and arrows; they could not use those long ones."
the young gentlemen did not take the hint as quickly as miss celia hoped they would; in fact, both looked rather blank at the suggestion, as boys generally do when it is proposed that girls -- especially small ones -- shall join in any game they are playing.
""p "r "aps it would be too much trouble," began betty, in her winning little voice.
""i can make my own," declared bab, with an independent toss of the head.
""not a bit; i'll make you the jolliest small bow that ever was, belinda," thorny hastened to say, softened by the appealing glance of the little maid.
""you can use mine, bab; you've got such a strong fist, i guess you could pull it," added ben, remembering that it would not be amiss to have a comrade who shot worse than he did, for he felt very inferior to thorny in many ways, and, being used to praise, had missed it very much since he retired to private life.
""i will be umpire, and brighten up the silver arrow i sometimes pin my hair with, for a prize, unless we can find something better," proposed miss celia, glad to see that question settled, and every prospect of the new play being a pleasant amusement for the hot weather.
it was astonishing how soon archery became the fashion in that town, for the boys discussed it enthusiastically all that evening, formed the "william tell club" next day, with bab and betty as honorary members, and, before the week was out, nearly every lad was seen, like young norval, "with bended bow and quiver full of arrows," shooting away, with a charming disregard of the safety of their fellow citizens.
banished by the authorities to secluded spots, the members of the club set up their targets and practised indefatigably, especially ben, who soon discovered that his early gymnastics had given him a sinewy arm and a true eye; and, taking sanch into partnership as picker-up, he got more shots out of an hour than those who had to run to and fro.
thorny easily recovered much of his former skill, but his strength had not fully returned, and he soon grew tired.
bab, on the contrary, threw herself into the contest heart and soul, and tugged away at the new bow miss celia gave her, for ben's was too heavy.
no other girls were admitted, so the outsiders got up a club of their own, and called it "the victoria," the name being suggested by the magazine article, which went the rounds as a general guide and reference book.
bab and betty belonged to this club and duly reported the doings of the boys, with whom they had a right to shoot if they chose, but soon waived the right, plainly seeing that their absence would be regarded in the light of a favor.
the archery fever raged as fiercely as the base-ball epidemic had done before it, and not only did the magazine circulate freely, but miss edgeworth's story, which was eagerly read, and so much admired that the girls at once mounted green ribbons, and the boys kept yards of whip-cord in their pockets like the provident benjamin of the tale.
every one enjoyed the new play very much, and something grew out of it which was a lasting pleasure to many, long after the bows and arrows were forgotten.
seeing how glad the children were to get a new story, miss celia was moved to send a box of books -- old and new -- to the town library, which was but scantily supplied, as country libraries are apt to be.
this donation produced a good effect; for other people hunted up all the volumes they could spare for the same purpose, and the dusty shelves in the little room behind the post-office filled up amazingly.
coming in vacation time they were hailed with delight, and ancient books of travel, as well as modern tales, were feasted upon by happy young folks, with plenty of time to enjoy them in peace.
the success of her first attempt at being a public benefactor pleased miss celia very much, and suggested other ways in which she might serve the quiet town, where she seemed to feel that work was waiting for her to do.
she said little to any one but the friend over the sea, yet various plans were made then that blossomed beautifully by-and-by.
chapter xix speaking pieces the first of september came all too soon, and school began.
among the boys and girls who went trooping up to the "east corner knowledge-box," as they called it, was our friend ben, with a pile of neat books under his arm.
he felt very strange, and decidedly shy; but put on a bold face, and let nobody guess that, though nearly thirteen, he had never been to school before.
miss celia had told his story to teacher, and she, being a kind little woman, with young brothers of her own, made things as easy for him as she could.
in reading and writing he did very well, and proudly took his place among lads of his own age; but when it came to arithmetic and geography, he had to go down a long way, and begin almost at the beginning, in spite of thorny's efforts to "tool him along fast."
it mortified him sadly, but there was no help for it; and in some of the classes he had dear little betty to console with him when he failed, and smile contentedly when he got above her, as he soon began to do, -- for she was not a quick child, and plodded through first parts long after sister bab was flourishing away among girls much older than herself.
fortunately, ben was a short boy and a clever one, so he did not look out of place among the ten and eleven year olders, and fell upon his lessons with the same resolution with which he used to take a new leap, or practise patiently till he could touch his heels with his head.
that sort of exercise had given him a strong, elastic little body; this kind was to train his mind, and make its faculties as useful, quick and sure, as the obedient muscles, nerves and eye, which kept him safe where others would have broken their necks.
he knew this, and found much consolation in the fact that, though mental arithmetic was a hopeless task, he could turn a dozen somersaults, and come up as steady as a judge.
when the boys laughed at him for saying that china was in africa, he routed them entirely by his superior knowledge of the animals belonging to that wild country; and when "first class in reading" was called, he marched up with the proud consciousness that the shortest boy in it did better than tall moses towne or fat sam kitteridge.
teacher praised him all she honestly could, and corrected his many blunders so quietly that he soon ceased to be a deep, distressful red during recitation, and tugged away so manfully that no one could help respecting him for his efforts, and trying to make light of his failures.
so the first hard week went by, and though the boy's heart had sunk many a time at the prospect of a protracted wrestle with his own ignorance, he made up his mind to win, and went at it again on the monday with fresh zeal, all the better and braver for a good, cheery talk with miss celia in the sunday evening twilight.
he did not tell her one of his greatest trials, however, because he thought she could not help him there.
some of the children rather looked down upon him, called him "tramp" and "beggar," twitted him with having been a circus boy, and lived in a tent like a gypsy.
they did not mean to be cruel, but did it for the sake of teasing, never stopping to think how much such sport can make a fellow-creature suffer.
being a plucky fellow, ben pretended not to mind; but he did feel it keenly, because he wanted to start afresh, and be like other boys.
he was not ashamed of the old life; but, finding those around him disapproved of it, he was glad to let it be forgotten, even by himself; for his latest recollections were not happy ones, and present comforts made past hardships seem harder than before.
he said nothing of this to miss celia; but she found it out, and liked him all the better for keeping some of his small worries to himself.
bab and betty came over monday afternoon full of indignation at some boyish insult sam had put upon ben; and, finding them too full of it to enjoy the reading, miss celia asked what the matter was.
then both little girls burst out in a rapid succession of broken exclamations, which did not give a very clear idea of the difficulty, -- "sam did n't like it because ben jumped farther than he did --" "and he said ben ought to be in the poor-house."
""and ben said he ought to be in it pigpen."
""so he had!
-- such a greedy thing, bringing lovely big apples, and not giving any one a single bite!"
""then he was mad, and we all laughed; and he said, "want to fight?"
""and ben said, "no, thanky, not much fun in pounding a feather-bed.""
""oh, he was awfully mad then, and chased ben up the big maple."
""he's there now, for sam wo n't let him come down till he takes it all back."
""ben wo n't; and i do believe he'll have to stay up all night," said betty, distressfully.
""he wo n't care, and we'll have fun firing up his supper.
nut cakes and cheese will go splendidly; and may be baked pears would n't get smashed, he's such a good catch," added bab, decidedly relishing the prospect.
""if he does not come by tea-time, we will go and look after him.
it seems to me i have heard something about sam's troubling him before, have n't i?"
asked miss celia, ready to defend her protege against all unfair persecution.
""yes,'m, sam and mose are always plaguing ben.
they are big boys, and we ca n't make them stop.
i wo n't let the girls do it, and the little boys do n't dare to, since teacher spoke to them."
answered bab.
""why does not teacher speak to the big ones?
""ben wo n't tell of them, or let us.
he says he'll fight his own battles, and hates tell-tales.
i guess he wo n't like to have us tell you, but i do n't care, for it is too bad!"
and betty looked ready to cry over her friend's tribulations.
""i'm glad you did, for i will attend to it, and stop this sort of thing," said miss celia, after the children had told some of the tormenting speeches which had tried poor ben.
just then thorny appeared, looking much amused, and the little girls both called out in a breath, "did you see ben and get him down?"
""he got himself down in the neatest way you can imagine;" and thorny laughed at the recollection.
""where is sam?"
asked bab.
""staring up at the sky to see where ben has flown to."
""oh, tell about it!"
begged betty.
""well, i came along and found ben treed, and sam stoning him.
i stopped that at once, and told the "fat boy" to be off.
he said he would n't till ben begged his pardon; and ben said he would n't do it, if he stayed up for a week.
i was just preparing to give that rascal a scientific thrashing, when a load of hay came along, and ben dropped on to it so quietly that sam, who was trying to bully me, never saw him go.
it tickled me so, i told sam i guessed i'd let him off that time, and walked away, leaving him to hunt for ben, and wonder where the dickens he had vanished to."
the idea of sam's bewilderment amused the others as much as thorny, and they all had a good laugh over it before miss celia asked, -- "where has ben gone now?"
""oh, he'll take a little ride, and then slip down and race home full of the fun of it.
but i've got to settle sam.
i wo n't have our ben hectored by any one --" "but yourself," put in his sister, with a sly smile, for thorny was rather domineering at times.
""he does n't mind my poking him up now and then, it's good for him; and i always take his part against other people.
sam is a bully, and so is mose; and i'll thrash them both if they do n't stop."
anxious to curb her brother's pugnacious propensities, miss celia proposed milder measures, promising to speak to the boys herself if there was any more trouble.
""i have been thinking that we should have some sort of merry-making for ben on his birthday.
my plan was a very simple one; but i will enlarge it, and have all the young folks come, and ben shall be king of the fun.
he needs encouragement in well-doing, for he does try; and now the first hard part is nearly over, i am sure he will get on bravely.
if we treat him with respect, and show our regard for him, others will follow our example; and that will be better than fighting about it."
""so it will!
what shall we do to make our party tip-top?"
asked thorny, falling into the trap at once; for he dearly loved to get up theatricals, and had not had any for a long time.
""we will plan something splendid, a "grand combination," as you used to call your droll mixtures of tragedy, comedy, melodrama and farce," answered his sister, with her head already full of lively plots.
""we'll startle the natives.
i do n't believe they ever saw a play in all their lives, hey, bab?"
""i've seen a circus."
""we dress up and do "babes in the wood,"" added betty, with dignity.
""pho!
that's nothing.
i'll show you acting that will make your hair stand on end, and you shall act too.
bab will be capital for the naughty girls," began thorny, excited by the prospect of producing a sensation on the boards, and always ready to tease the girls.
before betty could protest that she did not want her hair to stand up, or bab could indignantly decline the role offered her, a shrill whistle was heard, and miss celia whispered, with a warning look, -- "hush!
ben is coming, and he must not know any thing about this yet."
the next day was wednesday, and in the afternoon miss celia went to hear the children "speak pieces," though it was very seldom that any of the busy matrons and elder sisters found time or inclination for these displays of youthful oratory.
miss celia and mrs. moss were all the audience on this occasion, but teacher was both pleased and proud to see them, and a general rustle went through the school as they came in, all the girls turning from the visitors to nod at bab and betty, who smiled all over their round faces to see "ma" sitting up" "side of teacher," and the boys grinned at ben, whose heart began to beat fast at the thought of his dear mistress coming so far to hear him say his piece.
thorny had recommended marco bozzaris, but ben preferred john gilpin, and ran the famous race with much spirit, making excellent time in some parts and having to be spurred a little in others, but came out all right, though quite breathless at the end, sitting down amid great applause, some of which, curiously enough, seemed to come from outside; which in fact it did, for thorny was bound to hear but would not come in, lest his presence should abash one orator at least.
other pieces followed, all more or less patriotic and warlike, among the boys; sentimental among the girls.
sam broke down in his attempt to give one of webster's great speeches, little cy fay boldly attacked "again to the battle, achaians!"
and shrieked his way through it in a shrill, small voice, bound to do honor to the older brother who had trained him even if he broke a vessel in the attempt.
billy chose a well-worn piece, but gave it a new interest by his style of delivery; for his gestures were so spasmodic he looked as if going into a fit, and he did such astonishing things with his voice that one never knew whether a howl or a growl would come next.
when "the woods against a stormy sky their giant branches tossed;" billy's arms went round like the sails of a windmill; the "hymns of lofty cheer" not only "shook the depths of the desert gloom," but the small children on their little benches, and the school-house literally rang "to the anthems of the free!"
when "the ocean eagle soared," billy appeared to be going bodily up, and the "pines of the forest roared" as if they had taken lessons of van amburgh's biggest lion.
""woman's fearless eye" was expressed by a wild glare; "manhood's brow, severely high," by a sudden clutch at the reddish locks falling over the orator's hot forehead, and a sounding thump on his blue checked bosom told where "the fiery heart of youth" was located.
""what sought they thus far?"
he asked, in such a natural and inquiring tone, with his eye fixed on mamie peters, that the startled innocent replied, "dunno," which caused the speaker to close in haste, devoutly pointing a stubby finger upward at the last line.
this was considered the gem of the collection, and billy took his seat proudly conscious that his native town boasted an orator who, in time, would utterly eclipse edward everett and wendell phillips.
sally folsom led off with "the coral grove," chosen for the express purpose of making her friend almira mullet start and blush, when she recited the second line of that pleasing poem, "where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove."
one of the older girls gave wordsworth's "lost love" in a pensive tone, clasping her hands and bringing out the "o" as if a sudden twinge of toothache seized her when she ended.
""but she is in her grave, and o, the difference to me!"
bab always chose a funny piece, and on this afternoon set them all laughing by the spirit with which she spoke the droll poem, "pussy's class," which some of my young readers may have read.
the "meou" and the "sptzz" were capital, and when the "fond mamma rubbed her nose," the children shouted, for miss bab made a paw of her hand and ended with an impromptu purr, which was considered the best imitation ever presented to an appreciative public.
betty bashfully murmurred "little white lily," swaying to and fro as regularly as if in no other way could the rhymes be ground out of her memory.
""that is all, i believe.
if either of the ladies would like to say a few words to the children, i should be pleased to have them," said teacher, politely, pausing before she dismissed school with a song.
""please,'m.
i'd like to speak my piece," answered miss celia, obeying a sudden impulse; and, stepping forward with her hat in her hand, she made a pretty courtesy before she recited mary howitt's sweet little ballad, "mabel on midsummer day."
she looked so young and merry, and used such simple but expressive gestures, and spoke in such a clear, soft voice that the children sat as if spell-bound, learning several lessons from this new teacher, whose performance charmed them from beginning to end, and left a moral which all could understand and carry away in that last verse, --"'t is good to make all duty sweet, to be alert and kind;'t is good, like littie mabel, to have a willing mind."
of course there was an enthusiastic clapping when miss celia sat down, but even while hands applauded, consciences pricked, and undone tasks, complaining words and sour faces seemed to rise up reproachfully before many of the children, as well as their own faults of elocution.
""now we will sing," said teacher, and a great clearing of throats ensued, but before a note could be uttered, the half-open door swung wide, and sancho, with ben's hat on, walked in upon his hind-legs, and stood with his paws meekly folded, while a voice from the entry sang rapidly, -- "benny had a little dog, his fleece was white as snow, and everywhere that benny went, the dog was sure to go.
he went into the school one day, which was against the rule; it made the children laugh and play to see a dog --" mischievous thorny got no further, for a general explosion of laughter drowned the last words, and ben's command "out, you rascal!"
sent sanch to the right-about in double-quick time.
miss celia tried to apologize for her bad brother, and teacher tried to assure her that it did n't matter in the least, as this was always a merry time, and mrs. moss vainly shook her finger at her naughty daughters; they as well as the others would have their laugh out, and only partially sobered down when the bell rang for "attention."
they thought they were to be dismissed, and repressed their giggles as well as they could in order to get a good start for a vociferous roar when they got out.
but, to their great surprise, the pretty lady stood up again and said, in her friendly way, -- "i just want to thank you for this pleasant little exhibition, and ask leave to come again.
i also wish to invite you all to my boy's birthday party on saturday week.
the archery meeting is to be in the afternoon, and both clubs will be there, i believe.
in the evening we are going to have some fun, when we can laugh as much as we please without breaking any of the rules.
in ben's name i invite you, and hope you will all come, for we mean to make this the happiest birthday he ever had."
there were twenty pupils in the room, but the eighty hands and feet made such a racket at this announcement that an outsider would have thought a hundred children, at least, must have been at it.
miss celia was a general favorite because she nodded to all the girls, called the boys by their last names, even addressing some of the largest as "mr." which won their hearts at once, so that if she had invited them all to come and be whipped they would have gone sure that it was some delightful joke.
with what eagerness they accepted the present invitation one can easily imagine, though they never guessed why she gave it in that way, and ben's face was a sight to see, he was so pleased and proud at the honor done him that he did not know where to look, and was glad to rush out with the other boys and vent his emotions in whoops of delight.
he knew that some little plot was being concocted for his birthday, but never dreamed of any thing so grand as asking the whole school, teacher and all.
the effect of the invitation was seen with comical rapidity, for the boys became overpowering in their friendly attentions to ben.
even sam, fearing he might be left out, promptly offered the peaceful olive-branch in the shape of a big apple, warm from his pocket, and mose proposed a trade of jack-knives which would be greatly to ben's advantage.
but thorny made the noblest sacrifice of all, for he said to his sister, as they walked home together, -- "i'm not going to try for the prize at all.
i shoot so much better than the rest, having had more practice, you know, that it is hardly fair.
ben and billy are next best, and about even, for ben's strong wrist makes up for billy's true eye, and both want to win.
if i am out of the way ben stands a good chance, for the other fellows do n't amount to much."
""bab does; she shoots nearly as well as ben, and wants to win even more than he or billy.
she must have her chance at any rate."
""so she may, but she wo n't do any thing; girls ca n't, though it's good exercise and pleases them to try."
""if i had full use of both my arms i'd show you that girls can do a great deal when they like.
do n't be too lofty, young man, for you may have to come down," laughed miss celia, amused by his airs.
""no fear," and thorny calmly departed to set his targets for ben's practice.
""we shall see," and from that moment miss celia made bab her especial pupil, feeling that a little lesson would be good for mr. thorny, who rather lorded it over the other young people.
there was a spice of mischief in it, for miss celia was very young at heart, in spite of her twenty-four years, and she was bound to see that her side had a fair chance, believing that girls can do whatever they are willing to strive patiently and wisely for.
so she kept bab at work early and late, giving her all the hints and help she could with only one efficient hand, and bab was delighted to think she did well enough to shoot with the club.
her arms ached and her fingers grew hard with twanging the bow, but she was indefatigable, and being a strong, tall child of her age, with a great love of all athletic sports, she got on fast and well, soon learning to send arrow after arrow with ever increasing accuracy nearer and nearer to the bull's - eye.
the boys took very little notice of her, being much absorbed in their own affairs, but betty did for bab what sancho did for ben, and trotted after arrows till her short legs were sadly tired, though her patience never gave out.
she was so sure bab would win that she cared nothing about her own success, practising little and seldom hitting any thing when she tried.
chapter xx ben's birthday a superb display of flags flapped gayly in the breeze on the september morning when ben proudly entered his teens.
an irruption of bunting seemed to have broken out all over the old house, for banners of every shape and size, color and design, flew from chimney-top to gable, porch and gate-way, making the quiet place look as lively as a circus tent, which was just what ben most desired and delighted in.
the boys had been up very early to prepare the show, and when it was ready enjoyed it hugely, for the fresh wind made the pennons cut strange capers.
the winged lion of venice looked as if trying to fly away home; the chinese dragon appeared to brandish his forked tail as he clawed at the burmese peacock; the double-headed eagle of russia pecked at the turkish crescent with one beak, while the other seemed to be screaming to the english royal beast, "come on and lend a paw."
in the hurry of hoisting the siamese elephant got turned upside down, and now danced gayly on his head, with the stars and stripes waving proudly over him.
a green flag with a yellow harp and sprig of shamrock hung in sight of the kitchen window, and katy, the cook, got breakfast to the tune of "st. patrick's day in the morning."
sancho's kennel was half hidden under a rustling paper imitation of the gorgeous spanish banner, and the scarlet sun-and-moon flag of arabia snapped and flaunted from the pole over the coach-house, as a delicate compliment to lita, arabian horses being considered the finest in the world.
the little girls came out to see, and declared it was the loveliest sight they ever beheld, while thorny played "hail columbia" on his fife, and ben, mounting the gate-post, crowed long and loud like a happy cockerel who had just reached his majority.
he had been surprised and delighted with the gifts he found in his room on awaking and guessed why miss celia and thorny gave him such pretty things, for among them was a match-box made like a mouse-trap.
the doggy buttons and the horsey whip were treasures, indeed, for miss celia had not given them when they first planned to do so, because sancho's return seemed to be joy and reward enough for that occasion.
but he did not forget to thank mrs. moss for the cake she sent him, nor the girls for the red mittens which they had secretly and painfully knit.
bab's was long and thin, with a very pointed thumb, betty's short and wide, with a stubby thumb, and all their mother's pulling and pressing could not make them look alike, to the great affliction of the little knitters.
ben, however, assured them that he rather preferred odd ones, as then he could always tell which was right and which left.
he put them on immediately and went about cracking the new whip with an expression of content which was droll to see, while the children followed after, full of admiration for the hero of the day.
they were very busy all the morning preparing for the festivities to come, and as soon as dinner was over every one scrambled into his or her best clothes as fast as possible, because, although invited to come at two, impatient boys and girls were seen hovering about the avenue as early as one.
the first to arrive, however, was an uninvited guest, for just as bab and betty sat down on the porch steps, in their stiff pink calico frocks and white ruffled aprons, to repose a moment before the party came in, a rustling was heard among the lilacs, and out stepped alfred tennyson barlow, looking like a small robin hood, in a green blouse with a silver buckle on his broad belt, a feather in his little cap and a bow in his hand.
""i have come to shoot.
i heard about it.
my papa told me what arching meant.
will there be any little cakes?
i like them."
with these opening remarks the poet took a seat and calmly awaited a response.
the young ladies, i regret to say, giggled, then remembering their manners, hastened to inform him that there would be heaps of cakes, also that miss celia would not mind his coming without an invitation, they were quite sure.
""she asked me to come that day.
i have been very busy.
i had measles.
do you have them here?"
asked the guest, as if anxious to compare notes on the sad subject.
""we had ours ever so long ago.
what have you been doing besides having measles?"
said betty, showing a polite interest.
""i had a fight with a bumble-bee."
""who beat?"
demanded bab.
""i did.
i ran away and he could n't catch me."
""can you shoot nicely?"
""i hit a cow.
she did not mind at all.
i guess she thought it was a fly."
""did your mother know you were coming?"
asked bab, feeling an interest in runaways.
""no; she is gone to drive, so i could not ask her."
""it is very wrong to disobey.
my sunday-school book says that children who are naughty that way never go to heaven," observed virtuous betty, in a warning tone.
""i do not wish to go," was the startling reply.
""why not?"
asked betty, severely.
""they do n't have any dirt there.
my mamma says so.
i am fond of dirt.
i shall stay here where there is plenty of it," and the candid youth began to grub in the mould with the satisfaction of a genuine boy.
""i am afraid you're a very bad child."
""oh yes, i am.
my papa often says so and he knows all about it," replied alfred with an involuntary wriggle suggestive of painful memories.
then, as if anxious to change the conversation from its somewhat personal channel, he asked, pointing to a row of grinning heads above the wall, "do you shoot at those?"
bab and betty looked up quickly and recognized the familiar faces of their friends peering down at them, like a choice collection of trophies or targets.
""i should think you'd be ashamed to peek before the party was ready!"
cried bab, frowning darkly upon the merry young ladies.
""miss celia told us to come before two, and be ready to receive folks, if she was n't down," added betty, importantly.
""it is striking two now.
come along, girls;" and over scrambled sally folsom, followed by three or four kindred spirits, just as their hostess appeared.
""you look like amazons storming a fort," she said, as the girls cattle up, each carrying her bow and arrows, while green ribbons flew in every direction.
""how do you do, sir?
i have been hoping you would call again," added miss celia, shaking hands with the pretty boy, who regarded with benign interest the giver of little cakes.
here a rush of boys took place, and further remarks were cut short, for every one was in a hurry to begin.
so the procession was formed at once, miss celia taking the lead, escorted by ben in the post of honor, while the boys and girls paired off behind, arm in arm, bow on shoulder, in martial array.
thorny and billy were the band, and marched before, fifing and drumming "yankee doodle" with a vigor which kept feet moving briskly, made eyes sparkle, and young hearts dance under the gay gowns and summer jackets.
the interesting stranger was elected to bear the prize, laid out on a red pin-cushion; and did so with great dignity, as he went beside the standard bearer, cy fay, who bore ben's choicest flag, snow-white, with a green wreath surrounding a painted bow and arrow, and with the letters w. t. c. done in red below.
such a merry march all about the place, out at the lodge gate, up and down the avenue, along the winding paths, till they halted in the orchard, where the target stood, and seats were placed for the archers while they waited for their turns.
various rules and regulations were discussed, and then the fun began.
miss celia had insisted that the girls should be invited to shoot with the boys; and the lads consented without much concern, whispering to one another with condescending shrugs, "let'em try, if they like; they ca n't do any thing."
there were various trials of skill before the great match came off, and in these trials the young gentlemen discovered that two at least of the girls could do something; for bab and sally shot better than many of the boys, and were well rewarded for their exertions by, the change which took place in the faces and conversation of their mates.
""why, bab, you do as well as if i'd taught you myself," said thorny, much surprised and not altogether pleased at the little girl's skill.
""a lady taught me; and i mean to beat every one of you," answered bab, saucily, while her sparkling eyes turned to miss celia with a mischievous twinkle in them.
""not a bit of it," declared thorny, stoutly; but he went to ben and whispered, "do your best, old fellow, for sister has taught bab all the scientific points, and the little rascal is ahead of billy."
""she wo n't get ahead of me," said ben, picking out his best arrow, and trying the string of his bow with a confident air which re-assured thorny, who found it impossible to believe that a girl ever could, would, or should excel a boy in any thing he cared to try.
it really did look as if bab would beat when the match for the prize came off; and the children got more and more excited as the six who were to try for it took turns at the bull's - eye.
thorny was umpire, and kept account of each shot, for the arrow which went nearest the middle would win.
each had three shots; and very soon the lookers-on saw that ben and bab were the best marksmen, and one of them would surely get the silver arrow.
sam, who was too lazy to practise, soon gave up the contest, saying, as thorny did, "it would n't be fair for such a big fellow to try with the little chaps," which made a laugh, as his want of skill was painfully evident.
but mose went at it gallantly; and, if his eye had been as true as his arms were strong, the "little chaps" would have trembled.
but his shots were none of them as near as billy's; and he retired after the third failure, declaring that it was impossible to shoot against the wind, though scarcely a breath was stirring.
sally folsom was bound to beat bab, and twanged away in great style; all in vain, however, as with tall maria newcomb, the third girl who attempted the trial.
being a little near-sighted, she had borrowed her sister's eye-glasses, and thereby lessened her chance of success; for the pinch on her nose distracted her attention, and not one of her arrows went beyond the second ring to her great disappointment.
billy did very well, but got nervous when his last shot came, and just missed the bull's - eye by being in a hurry.
bab and ben each had one turn more; and, as they were about even, that last arrow would decide the victory.
both had sent a shot into the bull's - eye, but neither was exactly in the middle; so there was room to do better, even, and the children crowded round, crying eagerly, "now, ben!"
""now, bab!"
""hit her up, ben!"
""beat him, bab!"
while thorny looked as anxious as if the fate of the country depended on the success of his man.
bab's turn came first; and, as miss celia examined her bow to see that all was right, the little girl said, with her eyes on her rival's excited face, -- "i want to beat, but ben will feel so bad, i "most hope i sha'n' t." "losing a prize sometimes makes one happier than gaining it.
you have proved that you could do better than most of them; so, if you do not beat, you may still feet proud," answered miss celia, giving back the bow with a smile that said more than her words.
it seemed to give bab a new idea, for in a minute all sorts of recollections, wishes, and plans rushed through her lively little mind, and she followed a sudden generous impulse as blindly as she often did a wilful one.
""i guess he'll beat," she said, softly, with a quick sparkle of the eyes, as she stepped to her place and fired without taking her usual careful aim.
her shot struck almost as near the centre on the right as her last one had hit on the left; and there was a shout of delight from the girls as thorny announced it before he hurried back to ben, whispering anxiously, -- "steady, old man, steady; you must beat that, or we shall never hear the last of it."
ben did not say, "she wo n't get ahead of me," as he had said at the first; he set his teeth, threw off his hat, and, knitting his brows with a resolute expression, prepared to take steady aim, though his heart beat fast and his thumb trembled as he pressed it on the bowstring.
""i hope you'll beat, i truly do," said bab, at his elbow; and, as if the breath that framed the generous wish helped it on its way, the arrow flew straight to the bull's - eye, hitting, apparently, the very spot where bab's best shot had left a hole.
""a tie!
a tie!"
cried the girls, as a general rush took place toward the target.
""no, ben's is nearest.
ben's beat!"
hooray shouted the boys, throwing up their hats.
there was only a hair's - breadth difference, and bab could honestly have disputed the decision; but she did not, though for an instant she could not help wishing that the cry had been "bab's beat!
hurrah!"
it sounded so pleasant.
then she saw ben's beaming face, thorny's intense relief, and caught the look miss celia sent her over the heads of the boys, and decided, with a sudden warm glow all over her little face, that losing a prize did sometimes make one happier than winning it.
up went her best hat, and she burst out in a shrill, "rah, rah, rah!"
that sounded very funny coming all alone after the general clamor had subsided.
""good for you, bab!
you are an honor to the club, and i'm proud of you", said prince thorny, with a hearty handshake; for, as his man had won, he could afford to praise the rival who had put him on his mettle, though she was a girl.
bab was much uplifted by the royal commendation, but a few minutes later felt pleased as well as proud when ben, having received the prize, came to her, as she stood behind a tree sucking her blistered thumb, while betty braided up her dishevelled locks.
""i think it would be fairer to call it a tie, bab, for it really was, and i want you to wear this.
i wanted the fun of beating, but i do n't care a bit for this girl's thing and i'd rather see it on you."
as he spoke, ben offered the rosette of green ribbon which held the silver arrow, and bab's eyes brightened as they fell upon the pretty ornament, for to her "the girl's thing" was almost as good as the victory.
""oh no; you must wear it to show who won.
miss celia would n't like it.
i do n't mind not getting it; i did better than all the rest, and i guess i should n't like to beat you," answered bab, unconsciously putting into childish words the sweet generosity which makes so many sisters glad to see their brothers carry off the prizes of life, while they are content to know that they have earned them and can do without the praise.
but if bab was generous, ben was just; and though he could not explain the feeling, would not consent to take all the glory without giving his little friend a share.
""you must wear it; i shall feel real mean if you do n't.
you worked harder than i did, and it was only luck my getting this.
do, bab, to please me," he persisted, awkwardly trying to fasten the ornament in the middle of bab's" white apron.
""then i will.
now do you forgive me for losing sancho?"
asked bab, with a wistful look which made ben say, heartily, -- "i did that when he came home."
""and you do n't think i'm horrid?"
""not a bit of it; you are first-rate, and i'll stand by you like a man, for you are "most as good as a boy!"
cried ben, anxious to deal handsomely with his feminine rival, whose skill had raised her immensely in his opinion.
feeling that he could not improve that last compliment, bab was fully satisfied, and let him leave the prize upon her breast, conscious that she had some claim to it.
""that is where it should be, and ben is a true knight, winning the prize that he may give it to his lady, while he is content with the victory," said miss celia, laughingly, to teacher, as the children ran off to join in the riotous games which soon made the orchard ring.
""he learned that at the circus "tunnyments," as he calls them.
he is a nice boy, and i am much interested in him; for he has the two things that do most toward making a man, patience and courage," answered teacher, also as she watched the young knight play and the honored lady tearing about in a game of tag.
""bab is a nice child, too," said miss celia; "she is as quick as a flash to catch an idea and carry it out, though very often the ideas are wild ones.
she could have won just now, i fancy, if she had tried, but took the notion into her head that it was nobler to let ben win, and so atone for the trouble she gave him in losing the dog.
i saw a very sweet look on her face just now, and am sure that ben will never know why he beat."
""she does such things at school sometimes, and i ca n't bear to spoil her little atonements, though they are not always needed or very wise," answered teacher.
""not long ago i found that she had been giving her lunch day after day to a poor child who seldom had any, and when i asked her why, she said, with tears," i used to laugh at abby, because she had only crusty, dry bread, and so she would n't bring any.
i ought to give her mine and be hungry, it was so mean to make fun of her poorness."
""did you stop the sacrifice?"
""no; i let bab "go halves," and added an extra bit to my own lunch, so i could make my contribution likewise."
""come and tell me about abby.
i want to make friends with our poor people, for soon i shall have a right to help them;" and, putting her arm in teacher's, miss celia led her away for a quiet chat in the porch, making her guest's visit a happy holiday by confiding several plans and asking advice in the friendliest way.
chapter xxi cupid's last appearance a picnic supper on the grass followed the games, and then, as twilight began to fall, the young people were marshalled to the coach-house, now transformed into a rustic theatre.
one big door was open, and seats, arranged lengthwise, faced the red table-cloths which formed the curtain.
a row of lamps made very good foot-lights, and an invisible band performed a wagner-like overture on combs, tin trumpets, drums, and pipes, with an accompaniment of suppressed laughter.
many of the children had never seen any thing like it, and sat staring about them in mute admiration and expectancy; but the older ones criticised freely, and indulged in wild speculations as to the meaning of various convulsions of nature going on behind the curtain.
while teacher was dressing the actresses for the tragedy, miss celia and thorny, who were old hands at this sort of amusement, gave a "potato" pantomime as a side show.
across an empty stall a green cloth was fastened, so high that the heads of the operators were not seen.
a little curtain flew up, disclosing the front of a chinese pagoda painted on pasteboard, with a door and window which opened quite naturally.
this stood on one side, several green trees with paper lanterns hanging from the boughs were on the other side, and the words "tea garden," printed over the top, showed the nature of this charming spot.
few of the children had ever seen the immortal punch and judy, so this was a most agreeable novelty, and before they could make out what it meant, a voice began to sing, so distinctly that every word was heard, -- "in china there lived a little man, his name was chingery wangery chan."
here the hero "took the stage" with great dignity, clad in a loose yellow jacket over a blue skirt, which concealed the hand that made his body.
a pointed hat adorned his head, and on removing this to bow he disclosed a bald pate with a black queue in the middle, and a chinese face nicely painted on the potato, the lower part of which was hollowed out to fit thorny's first finger, while his thumb and second finger were in the sleeves of the yellow jacket, making a lively pair of arms.
while he saluted, the song went on, -- "his legs were short, his feet were small, and this little man could not walk at all."
which assertion was proved to be false by the agility with which the "little man" danced a jig in time to the rollicking chorus, -- "chingery changery ri co day, ekel tekel happy man; uron odesko canty oh, oh, gallopy wallopy china go."
at the close of the dance and chorus, chan retired into the tea garden, and drank so many cups of the national beverage, with such comic gestures, that the spectators were almost sorry when the opening of the opposite window drew all eyes in that direction.
at the lattice appeared a lovely being; for this potato had been pared, and on the white surface were painted pretty pink checks, red lips, black eyes, and oblique brows; through the tuft of dark silk on the head were stuck several glittering pins, and a pink jacket shrouded the plump figure of this capital little chinese lady.
after peeping coyly out, so that all could see and admire, she fell to counting the money from a purse, so large her small hands could hardly hold it on the window seat.
while she did this, the song went on to explain, -- "miss ki hi was short and squat, she had money and he had not so off to her he resolved to go, and play her a tune on his little banjo."
during the chorus to this verse chan was seen tuning his instrument in the garden, and at the end sallied gallantly forth to sing the following tender strain, -- "whang fun li, tang hua ki, hong kong do ra me!
ah sin lo, pan to fo, tsing up chin leute!"
carried away by his passion, chan dropped his banjo, fell upon his knees, and, clasping his hands, bowed his forehead in the dust before his idol.
but, alas!
-- "miss ki hi heard his notes of love, and held her wash-bowl up above it fell upon the little man, and this was the end of chingery chan," indeed it was; for, as the doll's basin of real water was cast forth by the cruel charmer, poor chan expired in such strong convulsions that his head rolled down among the audience.
miss ki hi peeped to see what had become of her victim, and the shutter decapitated her likewise, to the great delight of the children, who passed around the heads, pronouncing a "potato" pantomime "first-rate fun."
then they settled themselves for the show, having been assured by manager thorny that they were about to behold the most elegant and varied combination ever produced on any stage.
and when one reads the following very inadequate description of the somewhat mixed entertainment, it is impossible to deny that the promise made was nobly kept.
after some delay and several crashes behind the curtain, which mightily amused the audience, the performance began with the well-known tragedy of "bluebeard;" for bab had set her heart upon it, and the young folks had acted it so often in their plays that it was very easy to get up, with a few extra touches to scenery and costumes.
thorny was superb as the tyrant with a beard of bright blue worsted, a slouched hat and long feather, fur cloak, red hose, rubber boots, and a real sword which clanked tragically as he walked.
he spoke in such a deep voice, knit his corked eye-brows, and glared so frightfully, that it was no wonder poor fatima quaked before him as he gave into her keeping an immense bunch of keys with one particularly big, bright one, among them.
bab was fine to see, with miss celia's blue dress sweeping behind her, a white plume in her flowing hair, and a real necklace with a pearl locket about her neck.
she did her part capitally, especially the shriek she gave when she looked into the fatal closet, the energy with which she scrubbed the tell-tale key, and her distracted tone when she called out: "sister anne, o, sister anne, do you see anybody coming?"
while her enraged husband was roaring: "will you come down, madam, or shall i come and fetch you?"
betty made a captivating anne, -- all in white muslin, and a hat full of such lovely pink roses that she could not help putting up one hand to feel them as she stood on the steps looking out at the little window for the approaching brothers who made such a din that it sounded like a dozen horsemen instead if two.
ben and billy were got up regardless of expense in the way of arms; for their belts were perfect arsenals, and their wooden swords were big enough to strike terror into any soul, though they struck no sparks out of bluebeard's blade in the awful combat which preceded the villain's downfall and death.
the boys enjoyed this part intensely, and cries of "go it, ben!"
""hit him again, billy!"
""two against one is n't fair!"
""thorny's a match for'em."
""now he's down, hurray!"
cheered on the combatants, till, after a terrific struggle, the tyrant fell, and with convulsive twitchings of the scarlet legs, slowly expired while the ladies sociably fainted in each other's arms, and the brothers waved their swords and shook hands over the corpse of their enemy.
this piece was rapturously applauded, and all the performers had to appear and bow their thanks, led by the defunct bluebeard, who mildly warned the excited audience that if they "did n't look out the seats would break down, and then there'd be a nice mess."
calmed by this fear they composed themselves, and waited with ardor for the next play, which promised to be a lively one, judging from the shrieks of laughter which came from behind the curtain.
""sanch's going to be in it, i know; for i heard ben say, "hold him still; he wo n't bite,"" whispered sam, longing to "jounce up and down, so great was his satisfaction at the prospect, for the dog was considered the star of the company.
""i hope bab will do something else, she is so funny.
was n't her dress elegant?"
said sally folsum, burning to wear a long silk gown and a feather in her hair.
""i like betty best, she's so cunning, and she peeked out of the window just as if she really saw somebody coming," answered liddy peckham, privately resolving to tease mother for some pink roses before another sunday came.
up went the curtain at last, and a voice announced "a tragedy in three tableaux."
""there's betty!"
was the general exclamation, as the audience recognized a familiar face under the little red hood worn by the child who stood receiving a basket from teacher, who made a nice mother with her finger up, as if telling the small messenger not to loiter by the way.
""i know what that is!"
cried sally; "it's "mabel on midsummer day."
the piece miss celia spoke; do n't you know?"
""there is n't any sick baby, and mabel had a "kerchief pinned about her head."
i say it's red riding hood," answered liddy, who had begun to learn mary howitt's pretty poem for her next piece, and knew all about it.
the question was settled by the appearance of the wolf in the second scene, and such a wolf!
on few amateur stages do we find so natural an actor for that part, or so good a costume, for sanch was irresistibly droll in the gray wolf-skin which usually lay beside miss celia's bed, now fitted over his back and fastened neatly down underneath, with his own face peeping out at one end, and the handsome tail bobbing gayly at the other.
what a comfort that tail was to sancho, none but a bereaved bow-wow could ever tell.
it reconciled him to his distasteful part at once, it made rehearsals a joy, and even before the public he could not resist turning to catch a glimpse of the noble appendage, while his own brief member wagged with the proud consciousness that though the tail did not match the head, it was long enough to be seen of all men and dogs.
that was a pretty picture, for the little maid came walking in with the basket on her arm, and such an innocent face inside the bright hood that it was quite natural the gray wolf should trot up to her with deceitful friendliness, that she should pat and talk to him confidingly about the butter for grandma, and then that they should walk away together, he politely carrying her basket, she with her hand on his head, little dreaming what evil plans were taking shape inside.
the children encored that, but there was no time to repeat it, so they listened to more stifled merriment behind the red table-cloths, and wondered whether the next scene would be the wolf popping his head out of the window as red riding hood knocks, or the tragic end of that sweet child.
it was neither, for a nice bed had been made, and in it reposed the false grandmother, with a ruffled nightcap on, a white gown, and spectacles.
betty lay beside the wolf, staring at him as if just about to say, "why, grandma, what great teeth you've got!"
for sancho's mouth was half open and a red tongue hung out, as he panted with the exertion of keeping still.
this tableau was so very good, and yet so funny, that the children clapped and shouted frantically; this excited the dog, who gave a bounce and would have leaped off the bed to bark at the rioters, if betty had not caught him by the legs, and thorny dropped the curtain just at the moment when the wicked wolf was apparently in the act of devouring the poor little girl, with most effective growls.
they had to come out then, and did so, both much dishevelled by the late tussle, for sancho's cap was all over one eye, and betty's hood was anywhere but on her head.
she made her courtesy prettily, however; her fellow-actor bowed with as much dignity as a short night-gown permitted, and they retired to their well-earned repose.
then thorny, looking much excited, appeared to make the following request: "as one of the actors in the next piece is new to the business, the company must all keep as still as mice, and not stir till i give the word.
it's perfectly splendid!
so do n't you spoil it by making a row."
""what do you suppose it is?"
asked every one, and listened with all their might to get a hint, if possible.
but what they heard only whetted their curiosity and mystified them more and more.
bab's voice cried in a loud whisper, "is n't ben beautiful?"
then there was a thumping noise, and miss celia said, in an anxious tone, "oh, do be careful," while ben laughed out as if he was too happy to care who heard him, and thorny bawled "whoa!"
in a way which would have attracted attention if lita's head had not popped out of her box, more than once, to survey the invaders of her abode, with a much astonished expression.
""sounds kind of circusy, do n't it?"
said sam to billy, who had come out to receive the compliments of the company and enjoy the tableau at a safe distance.
""you just wait till you see what's coming.
it beats any circus i ever saw," answered billy, rubbing his hands with the air of a man who had seen many instead of but one.
""ready!
be quick and get out of the way when she goes off!"
whispered ben, but they heard him and prepared for pistols, rockets or combustibles of some sort, as ships were impossible under the circumstances, and no other "she" occurred to them.
a unanimous "o-o-o-o!"
was heard when the curtain rose, but a stern "hush!"
from thorny kept them mutely staring with all their eyes at the grand spectacle of the evening.
there stood lita with a wide flat saddle on her back, a white head-stall and reins, blue rosettes in her ears, and the look of a much-bewildered beast in her bright eyes.
but who the gauzy, spangled, winged creature was, with a gilt crown on its head, a little bow in its hand, and one white slipper in the air, while the other seemed merely to touch the saddle, no one could tell for a minute, so strange and splendid did the apparition appear.
no wonder ben was not recognized in this brilliant disguise, which was more natural to him than billy's blue flannel or thorny's respectable garments.
he had so begged to be allowed to show himself "just once," as he used to be in the days when "father" tossed him up on the bare-backed old general, for hundreds to see and admire, that miss celia had consented, much against her will, and hastily arranged some bits of spangled tarlatan over the white cotton suit which was to simulate the regulation tights.
her old dancing slippers fitted, and gold paper did the rest, while ben, sure of his power over lita, promised not to break his bones, and lived for days on the thought of the moment when he could show the boys that he had not boasted vainly of past splendors.
before the delighted children could get their breath, lita gave signs of her dislike to the foot-lights, and, gathering up the reins that lay on her neck, ben gave the old cry, "houp-la!"
and let her go, as he had often done before, straight out of the coach-house for a gallop round the orchard.
""just turn about and you can see perfectly well, but stay where you are till he comes back," commanded thorny, as signs of commotion appeared in the excited audience.
round went the twenty children as if turned by one crank, and sitting there they looked out into the moonlight where the shining figure flashed to and fro, now so near they could see the smiling face under the crown, now so far away that it glittered like a fire-fly among the dusky green.
lita enjoyed that race as heartily as she had done several others of late, and caracoled about as if anxious to make up for her lack of skill by speed and obedience.
how much ben liked it there is no need to tell, yet it was a proof of the good which three months of a quiet, useful life had done him, that even as he pranced gayly under the boughs thick with the red and yellow apples almost ready to be gathered, he found this riding in the fresh air with only his mates for an audience pleasanter than the crowded tent, the tired horses, profane men, and painted women, friendly as some of them had been to him.
after the first burst was over, he felt rather glad, on the whole, that he was going back to plain clothes, helpful school, and kindly people, who cared more to have him a good boy than the most famous cupid that ever stood on one leg with a fast horse under him.
""you may make as much noise as you like, now; lita's had her run and will be as quiet as a lamb after it.
pull up, ben, and come in; sister says you'll get cold," shouted thorny, as the rider came cantering round after a leap over the lodge gate and back again.
so ben pulled up, and the admiring boys and girls were allowed to gather about him, loud in their praises as they examined the pretty mare and the mythological character who lay easily on her back.
he looked very little like the god of love now; for he had lost one slipper and splashed his white legs with dew and dust, the crown had slipped down upon his neck, and the paper wings hung in an apple-tree where he had left them as he went by.
no trouble in recognizing ben, now; but somehow he did n't want to be seen, and, instead of staying to be praised, he soon slipped away, making lita his excuse to vanish behind the curtain while the rest went into the house to have a finishing-off game of blindman's - buff in the big kitchen.
""well, ben, are you satisfied?"
asked miss celia, as she stayed a moment to unpin the remains of his gauzy scarf and tunic.
""yes,'m, thank you, it was tip-top."
""but you look rather sober.
are you tired, or is it because you do n't want to take these trappings off and be plain ben again?"
she said, looking down into his face as he lifted it for her to free him from his gilded collar.
""i want to take'em off; for somehow i do n't feel respectable," and he kicked away the crown he had helped to make so carefully, adding with a glance that said more than his words: "i'd rather be "plain ben" than any one else, for you like to have me."
""indeed i do; and i'm so glad to hear you say that, because i was afraid you'd long to be off to the old ways, and all i've tried to do would be undone.
would you like to go back, ben?"
and miss celia held his chin an instant, to watch the brown face that looked so honestly back at her.
""no, i would n't -- unless -- he was there and wanted me."
the chin quivered just a bit, but the black eyes were as bright as ever, and the boy's voice so earnest, she knew he spoke the truth, and laid her white hand softly on his head, as she answered in the tone he loved so much, because no one else had ever used it to him, -- "father is not there; but i know he wants you, dear, and i am sure he would rather see you in a home like this than in the place you came from.
now go and dress; but, tell me first, has it been a happy birthday?"
""oh, miss celia!
i did n't know they could be so beautiful, and this is the beautifulest part of it; i do n't know how to thank you, but i'm going to try --" and, finding words would n't come fast enough, ben just put his two arms round her, quite speechless with gratitude; then, as if ashamed of his little outburst, he knelt down in a great hurry to untie his one shoe.
but miss celia liked his answer better than the finest speech ever made her, and went away through the moonlight, saying to herself, -- "if i can bring one lost lamb into the fold, i shall be the fitter for a shepherd's wife, by-and-by."
chapter xxii a boy's bargain it was some days before the children were tired of talking over ben's birthday party; for it was a great event in their small world; but, gradually, newer pleasures came to occupy their minds, and they began to plan the nutting frolics which always followed the early frosts.
while waiting for jack to open the chestnut burrs, they varied the monotony of school life by a lively scrimmage long known as "the wood-pile fight."
the girls liked to play in the half-empty shed, and the boys, merely for the fun of teasing, declared that they should not, so blocked up the doorway as fast as the girls cleared it.
seeing that the squabble was a merry one, and the exercise better for all than lounging in the sun or reading in school during recess, teacher did not interfere, and the barrier rose and fell almost as regularly as the tide.
it would be difficult to say which side worked the harder; for the boys went before school began to build up the barricade, and the girls stayed after lessons were over to pull down the last one made in afternoon recess.
they had their play-time first; and, while the boys waited inside, they heard the shouts of the girls, the banging of the wood, and the final crash, as the well-packed pile went down.
then, as the lassies came in, rosy, breathless, and triumphant, the lads rushed out to man the breach, and labor gallantly till all was as tight as hard blows could make it.
so the battle raged, and bruised knuckles, splinters in fingers, torn clothes, and rubbed shoes, were the only wounds received, while a great deal of fun was had out of the maltreated logs, and a lasting peace secured between two of the boys.
when the party was safely over, sam began to fall into his old way of tormenting ben by calling names, as it cost no exertion to invent trying speeches, and slyly utter them when most likely to annoy.
ben bore it as well as he could; but fortune favored him at last, as it usually does the patient, and he was able to make his own terms with his tormentor.
when the girls demolished the wood-pile, they performed a jubilee chorus on combs, and tin kettles, played like tambourines; the boys celebrated their victories with shrill whistles, and a drum accompaniment with fists on the shed walls.
billy brought his drum, and this was such an addition that sam hunted up an old one of his little brother's, in order that he might join the drum corps.
he had no sticks, however, and, casting about in his mind for a good substitute for the genuine thing, bethought him of bulrushes.
""those will do first-rate, and there are lots in the ma "sh, if i can only get'em," he said to himself, and turned off from the road on his way home to get a supply.
now, this marsh was a treacherous spot, and the tragic story was told of a cow who got in there and sank till nothing was visible but a pair of horns above the mud, which suffocated the unwary beast.
for this reason it was called "cowslip marsh," the wags said, though it was generally believed to be so named for the yellow flowers which grew there in great profusion in the spring.
sam had seen ben hop nimbly from one tuft of grass to another when he went to gather cowslips for betty, and the stout boy thought he could do the same.
two or three heavy jumps landed him, not among the bulrushes, as he had hoped, but in a pool of muddy water, where he sank up to his middle with alarming rapidity.
much scared, he tried to wade out, but could only flounder to a tussock of grass, and cling there, while he endeavored to kick his legs free.
he got them out, but struggled in vain to coil them up or to hoist his heavy body upon the very small island in this sea of mud.
down they splashed again; and sam gave a dismal groan as he thought of the leeches and water-snakes which might be lying in wait below.
visions of the lost cow also flashed across his agitated mind, and he gave a despairing shout very like a distracted "moo!"
few people passed along the lane, and the sun was setting, so the prospect of a night in the marsh nerved sam to make a frantic plunge toward the bulrush island, which was nearer than the mainland, and looked firmer than any tussock round him.
but he failed to reach this haven of rest, and was forced to stop at an old stump which stuck up, looking very like the moss-grown horns of the "dear departed."
roosting here, sam began to shout for aid in every key possible to the human voice.
such hoots and howls, whistles and roars, never woke the echoes of the lonely marsh before, or scared the portly frog who resided there in calm seclusion.
he hardly expected any reply but the astonished "caw!"
of the crow, who sat upon a fence watching him with gloomy interest; and when a cheerful "hullo, there!"
sounded from the lane, he was so grateful that tears of joy rolled down his fat cheeks.
""come on!
i'm in the ma "sh.
lend a hand and get me out!"
bawled sam, anxiously waiting for his deliverer to appear, for he could only see a hat bobbing along behind the hazel-bushes that fringed the lane.
steps crashed through the bushes, and then over the wall came an active figure, at the sight of which sam was almost ready to dive out of sight, for, of all possible boys, who should it be but ben, the last person in the world whom he would like to have see him in his present pitiful plight.
""is it you, sam?
well, you are in a nice fix!"
and ben's eyes began to twinkle with mischievous merriment, as well they might, for sam certainly was a spectacle to convulse the soberest person.
perched unsteadily on the gnarled stump, with his muddy legs drawn up, his dismal face splashed with mud, and the whole lower half of his body as black as if he had been dipped in an inkstand, he presented such a comically doleful object that ben danced about, laughing like a naughty will-o" - the-wisp who, having led a traveller astray then fell to jeering at him.
""stop that, or i'll knock your head off!"
roared sam, in a rage.
""come on and do it; i give you leave," answered ben, sparring away derisively as the other tottered on his perch, and was forced to hold tight lest he should tumble off.
""do n't laugh, there's a good chap, but fish me out somehow, or i shall get my death sitting here all wet and cold," whined sam, changing his tune, and feeling bitterly that ben had the upper hand now.
ben felt it also; and, though a very good-natured boy, could not resist the temptation to enjoy this advantage for a moment at least.
""i wo n't laugh if i can help it; only you do look so like a fat, speckled frog, i may not be able to hold in.
i'll pull you out pretty soon; but first i'm going to talk to you, sam," said ben, sobering down as he took a seat on the little point of land nearest the stranded samuel.
""hurry up, then; i'm as stiff as a board now, and it's no fun sitting here on this knotty old thing," growled sam, with a discontented squirm.
""dare say not, but "it is good for you," as you say when you rap me over the head.
look here, i've got you in a tight place, and i do n't mean to help you a bit till you promise to let me alone.
now then!"
and ben's face grew stern with his remembered wrongs as he grimly eyed his discomfited foe.
""i'll promise fast enough if you wo n't tell anyone about this," answered sam, surveying himself and his surroundings with great disgust.
""i shall do as i like about that."
""then i wo n't promise a thing!
i'm not going to have the whole school laughing at me," protested sam, who hated to be ridiculed even more than ben did.
""very well; good-night!"
and ben walked off with his hands in his pockets as coolly as if the bog was sam's favorite retreat.
""hold on, do n't be in such a hurry!"
shouted sam, seeing little hope of rescue if he let this chance go.
""all right!"
and back came ben, ready for further negotiations.
""i'll promise not to plague you, if you'll promise not to tell on me.
is that what you want?"
""now i come to think of it, there is one thing more.
i like to make a good bargain when i begin," said ben, with a shrewd air.
""you must promise to keep mose quiet, too.
he follows your lead, and if you tell him to stop it he will.
if i was big enough, i'd make you hold your tongues.
i ai n't, so we'll try this way."
""yes, yes, i'll see to mose.
now, bring on a rail, there's a good fellow.
i've got a horrid cramp in my legs," began sam, thinking he had bought help dearly, yet admiring ben's cleverness in making the most of his chance.
ben brought the rail, but, just as he was about to lay it from the main-land to the nearest tussock, he stopped, saying, with the naughty twinkle in his black eyes again, "one more little thing must be settled first, and then i'll get you ashore.
promise you wo n't plague the girls either, "specially bab and betty.
you pull their hair, and they do n't like it."
""do n't neither!
would n't touch that bab for a dollar; she scratches and bites like a mad cat," was sam's sulky reply.
""glad of it; she can take care of herself.
betty ca n't; and if you touch one of her pig-tails i'll up and tell right out how i found you snivelling in the ma "sh like a great baby.
so now!"
and ben emphasized his threat with a blow of the suspended rail which splashed the water over poor sam, quenching his last spark of resistance.
""stop!
i will!
-- i will!"
""true as you live and breathe!"
demanded ben, sternly binding him by the most solemn oath he knew.
""true as i live and breathe," echoed sam, dolefully relinquishing his favorite pastime of pulling betty's braids and asking if she was at home.
""i'll come over there and crook fingers on the bargain," said ben, settling the rail and running over it to the tuft, then bridging another pool and crossing again till he came to the stump.
""i never thought of that way," said sam, watching him with much inward chagrin at his own failure.
""i should think you'd written "look before you leap," in your copy-book often enough to get the idea into your stupid head.
come, crook," commanded ben, leaning forward with extended little finger.
sam obediently performed the ceremony, and then ben sat astride one of the horns of the stump while the muddy crusoe went slowly across the rail from point to point till he landed safely on the shore, when he turned about and asked with an ungrateful jeer, -- "now what's going to become of you, old look-before-you-leap?"
""mud turtles can only sit on a stump and bawl till they are taken off, but frogs have legs worth something, and are not afraid of a little water," answered ben, hopping away in an opposite direction, since the pools between him and sam were too wide for even his lively legs.
sam waddled off to the brook in the lane to rinse the mud from his nether man before facing his mother, and was just wringing himself out when ben came up, breathless but good natured, for he felt that he had made an excellent bargain for himself and friends.
""better wash your face; it's as speckled as a tiger-lily.
here's my handkerchief if yours is wet," he said, pulling out a dingy article which had evidently already done service as a towel.
""do n't want it," muttered sam, gruffly, as he poured the water out of his muddy shoes.
""i was taught to say "thanky" when folks got me out of scrapes.
but you never had much bringing up, though you do "live in a house with a gambrel roof,"" retorted ben, sarcastically quoting sam's frequent boast; then he walked off, much disgusted with the ingratitude of man.
sam forgot his manners, but he remembered his promise, and kept it so well that all the school wondered.
no one could guess the secret of ben's power over him, though it was evident that he had gained it in some sudden way, for at the least sign of sam's former tricks ben would crook his little finger and wag it warningly, or call out "bulrushes!"
and sam subsided with reluctant submission, to the great amazement of his mates.
when asked what it meant, sa, turned sulky; but ben had much fun out of it, assuring the other boys that those were the signs and password of a secret society to which he and sam belonged, and promised to tell them all about it if sam would give him leave, which, of course, he would not.
this mystery, and the vain endeavors to find it out caused a lull in the war of the wood-pile, and before any new game was invented something happened which gave the children plenty to talk about for a time.
a week after the secret alliance was formed, ben ran in one evening with a letter for miss celia.
he found her enjoying the cheery blaze of the pine-cones the little girls had picked up for her, and bab and betty sat in the small chairs rocking luxuriously as they took turns to throw on the pretty fuel.
miss celia turned quickly to receive the expected letter, glanced at the writing, post-mark and stamp, with an air of delighted surprise, then clasped it close in both hands, saying, as she hurried out of the room, -- "he has come!
he has come!
now you may tell them, thorny."
""tell its what?
asked bab, pricking up her cars at once.
""oh, it's only that george has come, and i suppose we shall go and get married right away," answered thorny, rubbing his hands as if he enjoyed the prospect.
""are you going to be married?
asked betty, so soberly that the boys shouted, and thorny, with difficulty composed himself sufficiently to explain.
""no, child, not just yet; but sister is, and i must go and see that all is done up ship-shape, and bring you home some wedding-cake.
ben will take care of you while i'm gone."
""when shall you go?"
asked bab, beginning to long for her share of cake.
""to-morrow, i guess.
celia has been packed and ready for a week.
we agreed to meet george in new york, and be married as soon as he got his best clothes unpacked.
we are men of our word, and off we go.
wo n't it be fun?"
""but when will you come back again?"
questioned betty, looking anxious.
""do n't know.
sister wants to come soon, but i'd rather have our honeymoon somewhere else, -- niagara, newfoundland, west point, or the rocky mountains," said thorny, mentioning a few of the places he most desired to see.
""do you like him?"
asked ben, very naturally wondering if the new master would approve of the young man-of-all-work.
""do n't i?
george is regularly jolly; though now he's a minister, perhaps he'll stiffen up and turn sober.
wo n't it be a shame if he does?"
and thorny looked alarmed at the thought of losing his congenial friend.
""tell about him; miss celia said you might", put in bab, whose experience of "jolly" ministers had been small.
""oh, there is n't much about it.
we met in switzerland going up mount st. bernard in a storm, and --" "where the good dogs live?"
inquired betty, hoping they would come into the story.
""yes; we spent the night up there, and george gave us his room; the house was so full, and he would n't let me go down a steep place where i wanted to, and celia thought he'd saved my life, and was very good to him.
then we kept meeting, and the first thing i knew she went and was engaged to him.
i did n't care, only she would come home so he might go on studying hard and get through quick.
that was a year ago, and last winter we were in new york at uncle's; and then, in the spring, i was sick, and we came here, and that's all."
""shall you live here always when you come back?
asked bab, as thorny paused for breath.
""celia wants to.
i shall go to college, so i do n't mind.
george is going to help the old minister here and see how he likes it.
i'm to study with him, and if he is as pleasant as he used to be we shall have capital times, -- see if we do n't."
""i wonder if he will want me round," said ben, feeling no desire to be a tramp again.
""i do, so you need n't fret about that, my hearty," answered thorny, with a resounding slap on the shoulder which reassured ben more than any promises.
""i'd like to see a live wedding, then we could play it with our dolls.
i've got a nice piece of mosquito netting for a veil, and belinda's white dress is clean.
do you s "pose miss celia will ask us to hers?"
said betty to bab, as the boys began to discuss st. bernard dogs with spirit.
""i wish i could, dears," answered a voice behind them; and there was miss celia, looking so happy that the little girls wondered what the letter could have said to give her such bright eyes and smiling lips.
""i shall not be gone long, or be a bit changed when i come back, to live among you years i hope, for i am fond of the old place now, and mean it shall be home," she added, caressing the yellow heads as if they were dear to her.
""oh, goody!"
cried bab, while betty whispered with both arms round miss celia, -- "i do n't think we could bear to have anybody else come here to live."
""it is very pleasant to hear you say that, and i mean to make others feel so, if i can.
i have been trying a little this summer, but when i come back i shall go to work in earnest to be a good minister's wife, and you must help me."
""we will," promised both children, ready for any thing except preaching in the high pulpit.
then miss celia turned to ben, saying, in the respectful way that always made him feel at least twenty-five, -- "we shall be off to-morrow, and i leave you in charge.
go on just as if we were here, and be sure nothing will be changed as far as you are concerned when we come back."
ben's face beamed at that; but the only way he could express his relief was by making such a blaze in honor of the occasion that he nearly roasted the company.
next morning, the brother and sister slipped quietly away, and the children hurried to school, eager to tell the great news that "miss celia and thorny had gone to be married, and were coming back to live here for ever and ever."
chapter xxiii somebody comes bab and betty had been playing in the avenue all the afternoon several weeks later, but as the shadows began to lengthen both agreed to sit upon the gate and rest while waiting for ben, who had gone nutting with a party of boys.
when they played house bab was always the father, and went hunting or fishing with great energy and success, bringing home all sorts of game, from elephants and crocodiles to humming-birds and minnows.
betty was the mother, and a most notable little housewife, always mixing up imaginary delicacies with sand and dirt in old pans and broken china, which she baked in an oven of her own construction.
both had worked hard that day, and were glad to retire to their favorite lounging-place, where bab was happy trying to walk across the wide top bar without falling off, and betty enjoyed slow, luxurious swings while her sister was recovering from her tumbles.
on this occasion, having indulged their respective tastes, they paused for a brief interval of conversation, sitting side by side on the gate like a pair of plump gray chickens gone to roost.
""do n't you hope ben will get his bag full?
we shall have such fun eating nuts evenings observed bab, wrapping her arms in her apron, for it was october now, and the air was growing keen.
""yes, and ma says we may boil some in our little kettles.
ben promised we should have half," answered betty, still intent on her cookery.
""i shall save some of mine for thorny."
""i shall keep lots of mine for miss celia."
""does n't it seem more than two weeks since she went away?"
""i wonder what she'll bring us."
before bab could conjecture, the sound of a step and a familiar whistle made both look expectantly toward the turn in the road, all ready to cry out in one voice, "how many have you got?"
neither spoke a word, however, for the figure which presently appeared was not ben, but a stranger, -- a man who stopped whistling, and came slowly on dusting his shoes in the way-side grass, and brushing the sleeves of his shabby velveteen coat as if anxious to freshen himself up a bit.
""it's a tramp, let's run away," whispered betty, after a hasty look.
""i ai n't afraid," and bab was about to assume her boldest look when a sneeze spoilt it, and made her clutch the gate to hold on.
at that unexpected sound the man looked up, showing a thin, dark face, with a pair of sharp, black eyes, which surveyed the little girls so steadily that betty quaked, and bab began to wish she had at least jumped down inside the gate.
""how are you?"
said the man with a goodnatured nod and smile, as if to re-assure the round-eyed children staring at him.
""pretty well, thank you, sir," responded bab, politely nodding back at him.
""folks at home?"
asked the man, looking over their heads toward the house.
""only ma; all the rest have gone to be married."
""that sounds lively.
at the other place all the folks had gone to a funeral," and the man laughed as he glanced at the big house on the hill.
""why, do you know the squire?"
exclaimed bab, much surprised and re-assured.
""come on purpose to see him.
just strolling round till he gets back," with an impatient sort of sigh.
""betty thought you was a tramp, but i was n't afraid.
i like tramps ever since ben came," explained bab, with her usual candor.
""who's ben!"
and the man came nearer so quickly that betty nearly fell backward.
""do n't you be scared, sissy.
i like little girls, so you set easy and tell me about ben," he added, in a persuasive tone, as he leaned on the gate so near that both could see what a friendly face he had in spite of its eager, anxious look.
""ben is miss celia's boy.
we found him most starved in the coach-house, and he's been here ever since," answered bab, comprehensively.
""tell me about it.
i like tramps, too," and the man looked as if he did very much, as bab told the little story in a few childish words that were better than a much more elegant account.
""you were very good to the little feller," was all the man said when she ended her somewhat confused tale, in which she had jumbled the old coach and miss celia, dinner-pails and nutting, sancho and circuses."
"course we were!
he's a nice boy and we are fond of him, and he likes us," said bab, heartily."
"specially me," put in betty, quite at ease now, for the black eyes had softened wonderfully, and the brown face was smiling all over.
""do n't wonder a mite.
you are the nicest pair of little girls i've seen this long time," and the man put a hand on either side of them, as if he wanted to hug the chubby children.
but he did n't do it; he merely smiled and stood there asking questions till the two chatterboxes had told him every thing there was to tell in the most confiding manner, for he very soon ceased to seem like a stranger, and looked so familiar that bab, growing inquisitive in her turn, suddenly said, -- "have n't you ever been here before?
it seems as if i'd seen you."
""never in my life.
guess you've seen somebody that looks like me," and the black eyes twinkled for a minute as they looked into the puzzled little faces before him, then he said, soberly, -- "i'm looking round for a likely boy; do n't you think this ben would suite me?
i want just such a lively sort of chap."
""are you a circus man?"
asked bab, quickly.
""well, no, not now.
i'm in better business."
""i'm glad of it -- we do n't approve of'em; but i do think they're splendid!"
bab began by gravely quoting miss celia, and ended with an irrepressible burst of admiration which contrasted drolly with her first remark.
betty added, anxiously: "we ca n't let ben go any way.
i know he would n't want to, and miss celia would feel bad.
please do n't ask him."
""he can do as he likes, i suppose.
he has n't got any folks of his own, has he?"
""no, his father died in california, and ben felt so bad he cried, and we were real sorry, and gave him a piece of ma,'cause he was so lonesome," answered betty, in her tender little voice, with a pleading look which made the man stroke her smooth check and say, quite softly, -- "bless your heart for that!
i wo n't take him away, child, or do a thing to trouble anybody that's been good to him."
""he's coming now.
i hear sanch barking at the squirrels!"
cried bab, standing up to get a good look down the road.
the man turned quickly, and betty saw that he breathed fast as he watched the spot where the low sunshine lay warmly on the red maple at the corner.
into this glow came unconscious ben, whistling "rory o'moore," loud and clear, as he trudged along with a heavy bag of nuts over his shoulder and the light full on his contented face.
sancho trotted before and saw the stranger first, for the sun in ben's eyes dazzled him.
since his sad loss sancho cherished a strong dislike to tramps, and now he paused to growl and show his teeth, evidently intending to warn this one off the premises.
""he wo n't hurt you --" began bab, encouragingly; but before she could add a chiding word to the dog, sanch gave an excited howl, and flew at the man's throat as if about to throttle him.
betty screamed, and bab was about to go to the rescue when both perceived that the dog was licking the stranger's face in an ecstasy of joy, and heard the man say as he hugged the curly beast, -- "good old sanch!
i knew he would n't forget master, and he does n't."
""what's the matter?"
called ben, coming up briskly, with a strong grip of his stout stick.
there was no need of any answer, for, as he came into the shadow, he saw the man, and stood looking at him as if he were a ghost.
""it's father, benny; do n't you know me?"
asked the man, with an odd sort of choke in his voice, as he thrust the dog away, and held out both hands to the boy.
down dropped the nuts, and crying, "oh, daddy, daddy!"
ben cast himself into the arms of the shabby velveteen coat, while poor sanch tore round them in distracted circles, barking wildly, as if that was the only way in which he could vent his rapture.
what happened next bab and betty never stopped to see, but, dropping from their roost, they went flying home like startled chicken littles with the astounding news that "ben's father has come alive, and sancho knew him right away!"
mrs. moss had just got her cleaning done up, and was resting a minute before setting the table, but she flew out of her old rocking-chair when the excited children told the wonderful tale, exclaiming as they ended, -- "where is he?
go bring him here.
i declare it fairly takes my breath away!"
before bab could obey, or her mother compose herself, sancho bounced in and spun round like an insane top, trying to stand on his head, walk upright, waltz and bark all at once, for the good old fellow had so lost his head that he forgot the loss of his tail.
""they are coming!
they are coming!
see, ma, what a nice man he is," said bab, hopping about on one foot as she watched the slowly approaching pair.
""my patience, do n't they look alike!
i should know he was ben's pa anywhere!"
said mrs. moss, running to the door in a hurry.
they certainly did resemble one another, and it was almost comical to see the same curve in the legs, the same wide-awake style of wearing the hat, the same sparkle of the eye, good-natured smile and agile motion of every limb.
old ben carried the bag in one hand while young ben held the other fast, looking a little shame-faced at his own emotion now, for there were marks of tears on his cheeks, but too glad to repress the delight he felt that he had really found daddy this side heaven.
mrs. moss unconsciously made a pretty little picture of herself as she stood at the door with her honest face shining and both hands ont, saying in a hearty tone, which was a welcome in itself, "i'm real glad to see you safe and well, mr. brown!
come right in and make yourself to home.
i guess there is n't a happier boy living than ben is to-night."
""and i know there is n't a gratefuler man living than i am for your kindness to my poor forsaken little feller," answered mr. brown, dropping both his burdens to give the comely woman's hands a hard shake.
""now do n't say a word about it, but sit down and rest, and we'll have tea in less'n no time.
ben must be tired and hungry, though he's so happy i do n't believe he knows it," laughed mrs. moss, bustling away to hide the tears in her eyes, anxious to make things sociable and easy all round.
with this end in view she set forth her best china, and covered the table with food enough for a dozen, thanking her stars that it was baking day, and every thing had turned out well.
ben and his father sat talking by the window till they were bidden to "draw up and help themselves" with such hospitable warmth that every thing had an extra relish to the hungry pair.
ben paused occasionally to stroke the rusty coat-sleeve with bread-and-buttery fingers to convince himself that "daddy" had really come, and his father disposed of various inconvenient emotions by eating as if food was unknown in california.
mrs. moss beamed on every one from behind the big tea-pot like a mild full moon, while bab and betty kept interrupting one another in their eagerness to tell something new about ben and how sanch lost his tail.
""now you let mr. brown talk a little; we all want to hear how he "came alive," as you call it," said mrs. moss, as they drew round the fire in the "settin" - room," leaving the tea-things to take care of themselves.
it was not a long story, but a very interesting one to this circle of listeners; all about the wild life on the plains trading for mustangs, the terrible kick from a vicious horse that nearly killed ben, sen., the long months of unconsciousness in the california hospital, the slow recovery, the journey back, mr. smithers's tale of the boy's disappearance, and then the anxious trip to find out from squire allen where he now was.
""i asked the hospital folks to write and tell you as soon as i knew whether i was on my head or my heels, and they promised; but they did n't; so i came off the minute i could, and worked my way back, expecting to find you at the old place.
i was afraid you'd have worn out your welcome here and gone off again, for you are as fond of travelling as your father."
""i wanted to sometimes, but the folks here were so dreadful good to me i could n't," confessed ben, secretly surprised to find that the prospect of going off with daddy even cost him a pang of regret, for the boy had taken root in the friendly soil, and was no longer a wandering thistle-down, tossed about by every wind that blew.
""i know what i owe'em, and you and i will work out that debt before we die, or our name is n't b.b.," said mr. brown, with an emphatic slap on his knee, which ben imitated half unconsciously as he exclaimed heartily, -- "that's so!"
adding, more quietly, "what are you going to do now?
go back to smithers and the old business?"
""not likely, after the way he treated you, sonny.
i've had it out with him, and he wo n't want to see me again in a hurry," answered mr. brown, with a sudden kindling of the eye that reminded bab of ben's face when he shook her after losing sancho.
""there's more circuses than his in the world; but i'll have to limber out ever so much before i'm good for much in that line," said the boy, stretching his stout arms and legs with a curious mixture of satisfaction and regret.
""you've been living in clover and got fat, you rascal," and his father gave him a poke here and there, as mr. squeers did the plump wackford, when displaying him as a specimen of the fine diet at do-the-boys hall.
""do n't believe i could put you up now if i tried, for i have n't got my strength back yet, and we are both out of practice.
it's just as well, for i've about made up my mind to quit the business and settle down somewhere for a spell, if i can get any thing to do," continued the rider, folding his arms and gazing thoughtfully into the fire.
""i should n't wonder a mite if you could right here, for mr. towne has a great boarding-stable over yonder, and he's always wanting men."
said mrs. moss, eagerly, for she dreaded to have ben go, and no one could forbid it if his father chose to take him away.
""that sounds likely.
thanky, ma'am.
i'll look up the concern and try my chance.
would you call it too great a come-down to have father an "ostler after being first rider in the "great golden menagerie, circus, and colossem," hey, ben?"
asked mr. brown, quoting the well-remembered show-bill with a laugh.
""no, i should n't; it's real jolly up there when the big barn is full and eighty horses have to be taken care of.
i love to go and see'em.
mr. towne asked me to come and be stable-boy when i rode the kicking gray the rest were afraid of.
i hankered to go, but miss celia had just got my new books, and i knew she'd feel bad if i gave up going to school.
now i'm glad i did n't, for i get on first rate and like it."
""you done right, boy, and i'm pleased with you.
do n't you ever be ungrateful to them that befriended you, if you want to prosper.
i'll tackle the stable business a monday and see what's to be done.
now i ought to be walking, but i'll be round in the morning ma'am, if you can spare ben for a spell to-morrow.
we'd like to have a good sunday tramp and talk; would n't we, sonny?"
and mr. brown rose to go with his hand on ben's shoulder, as if loth to leave him even for the night.
mrs. moss saw the longing in his face, and forgetting that he was an utter stranger, spoke right out of her hospitable heart.
""it's a long piece to the tavern, and my little back bedroom is always ready.
it wo n't make a mite of trouble if you do n't mind a plain place, and you are heartily welcome."
mr. brown looked pleased, but hesitated to accept any further favor from the good soul who had already done so much for him and his.
ben gave him no time to speak, however, for running to a door he flung it open and beckoned, saying, eagerly, -- "do stay, father; it will be so nice to have you.
this is a tip-top room; i slept here the night i came, and that bed was just splendid after bare ground for a fortnight."
""i'll stop, and as i'm pretty well done up, i guess we may as well turn in now," answered the new guest; then, as if the memory of that homeless little lad so kindly cherished made his heart overflow in spite of him, mr. brown paused at the door to say hastily, with a hand on bab and betty's heads, as if his promise was a very earnest one, -- "i do n't forget, ma'am, these children shall never want a friend while ben brown's alive;" then he shut the door so quickly that the other ben's prompt "hear, hear!"
was cut short in the middle.
""i s "pose he means that we shall have a piece of ben's father, because we gave ben a piece of our mother," said betty, softly.
""of course he does, and it's all fair," answered bab, decidedly.
""is n't he a nice man, ma?
""go to bed, children," was all the answer she got; but when they were gone, mrs. moss, as she washed up her dishes, more than once glanced at a certain nail where a man's hat had not hung for five years, and thought with a sigh what a natural, protecting air that slouched felt had.
if one wedding were not quite enough for a child's story, we might here hint what no one dreamed of then, that before the year came round again ben had found a mother, bab and betty a father, and mr. brown's hat was quite at home behind the kitchen door.
but, on the whole, it is best not to say a word about it.
chapter xxiv the great gate is opened the browns were up and out so early next morning that bab and betty were sure they had run away in the night.
but on looking for them, they were discovered in the coach-house criticising lita, both with their hands in their pockets, both chewing straws, and looking as much alike as a big elephant and a small one.
""that's as pretty a little span as i've seen for a long time," said the elder ben, as the children came trotting down the path hand in hand, with the four blue bows at the ends of their braids bobbing briskly up and down.
""the nigh one is my favorite, but the off one is the best goer, though she's dreadfully hard bitted," answered ben the younger, with such a comical assumption of a jockey's important air that his father laughed as he said in an undertone, -- "come, boy, we must drop the old slang since we've given up the old business.
these good folks are making a gentleman of you, and i wo n't be the one to spoil their work.
hold on, my dears, and i'll show you how they say good-morning in california," he added, beckoning to the little girls, who now came up rosy and smiling.
""breakfast is ready, sir," said betty, looking much relieved to find them.
""we thought you'd run away from us," explained bab, as both put out their hands to shake those extended to them.
""that would be a mean trick.
but i'm going to run away with you," and mr. brown whisked a little girl to either shoulder before they knew what had happened, while ben, remembering the day, with difficulty restrained himself from turning a series of triumphant somersaults before them all the way to the door, where mrs. moss stood waiting for them.
after breakfast ben disappeared for a short time, and returned in his sunday suit, looking so neat and fresh that his father surveyed him with surprise and pride as he came in full of boyish satisfaction in his trim array.
""here's a smart young chap!
did you take all that trouble just to go to walk with old daddy?"
asked mr. brown, stroking the smooth head, for they were alone just then, mrs. moss and the children being up stairs preparing for church.
""i thought may be you'd like to go to meeting first," answered ben, looking up at him with such a happy face that it was hard to refuse any thing.
""i'm too shabby, sonny, else i'd go in a minute to please you."
""miss celia said god did n't mind poor clothes, and she took me when i looked worse than you do.
i always go in the morning; she likes to have me," said ben, turning his hat about as if not quite sure what he ought to do.
""do you want to go?"
asked his father in a tone of surprise.
""i want to please her, if you do n't mind.
we could have our tramp this afternoon."
""i have n't been to meeting since mother died, and it do n't seem to come easy, though i know i ought to, seeing i'm alive and here," and mr. brown looked soberly out at the lovely autumn world as if glad to be in it after his late danger and pain.
""miss celia said church was a good place to take our troubles, and to be thankful in.
i went when i thought you were dead, and now i'd love to go when i've got my daddy safe again."
no one saw him, so ben could not resist giving his father a sudden hug, which was warmly returned as the man said earnestly, -- "i'll go, and thank the lord hearty for giving me back my boy better'n i left him!"
for a minute nothing was heard but the loud tick of the old clock and a mournful whine front sancho, shut up in the shed lest he should go to church without an invitation.
then, as steps were heard on the stairs, mr. brown caught up his hat, saying hastily, -- "i ai n't fit to go with them, you tell'm, and i'll slip into a back seat after folks are in.
i know the way."
and, before ben could reply, he was gone.
nothing was seen of him along the way, but he saw the little party, and rejoiced again over his boy, changed in so many ways for the better; for ben was the one thing which had kept his heart soft through all the trials and temptations of a rough life.
""i promised mary i'd do my best for the poor baby she had to leave, and i tried; but i guess a better friend than i am has been raised up for him when he needed her most.
it wo n't hurt me to follow him in this road," thought mr. brown, as he came out into the highway from his stroll "across-lots," feeling that it would be good for him to stay in this quiet place, for his own as well as his son's sake.
the bell had done ringing when he reached the green, but a single boy sat on the steps and rail to meet him, saying, with a reproachful look, -- "i was n't going to let you be alone, and have folks think i was ashamed of my father.
come, daddy, we'll sit together."
so ben led his father straight to the squire's pew, and sat beside him with a face so full of innocent pride and joy, that people would have suspected the truth if he had not already told many of them.
mr. brown, painfully conscious of his shabby coat, was rather "taken aback," as he expressed it; but the squire's shake of the hand, and mrs. allen's gracious nod enabled him to face the eyes of the interested congregation, the younger portion of which stared steadily at him all sermon time, in spite of paternal frowns and maternal tweakings in the rear.
but the crowning glory of the day came after church, when the squire said to ben, and sam heard him, -- "i've got a letter for you from miss celia.
come home with me, and bring your father.
i want to talk to him."
the boy proudly escorted his parent to the old carry-all, and, tucking himself in behind with mrs. allen, had the satisfaction of seeing the slouched felt hat side by side with the squire's sunday beaver in front, as they drove off at such an unusually smart pace, it was evident that duke knew there was a critical eye upon him.
the interest taken in the father was owing to the son at first; but, by the time the story was told, old ben had won friends for himself not only because of the misfortunes which he had evidently borne in a manly way, but because of his delight in the boy's improvement, and the desire he felt to turn his hand to any honest work, that he might keep ben happy and contented in this good home.
""i'll give you a line to towne.
smithers spoke well of you, and your own ability will be the best recommendation," said the squire, as he parted from them at his door, having given ben the letter.
miss celia had been gone a fortnight, and every one was longing to have her back.
the first week brought ben a newspaper, with a crinkly line drawn round the marriages to attract attention to that spot, and one was marked by a black frame with a large hand pointing at it from the margin.
thorny sent that; but the next week came a parcel for mrs. moss, and in it was discovered a box of wedding cake for every member of the family, including sancho, who ate his at one gulp, and chewed up the lace paper which covered it.
this was the third week; and, as if there could not be happiness enough crowded into it for ben, the letter he read on his way home told him that his dear mistress was coming back on the following saturday.
one passage particularly pleased him, -- "i want the great gate opened, so that the new master may go in that way.
will you see that it is done, and all made neat afterward?
randa will give you the key, and you may have out all your flags if you like, for the old place can not look too gay for this home-coming."
sunday though it was, ben could not help waving the letter over his head as he ran in to tell mrs. moss the glad news, and begin at once to plan the welcome they would give miss celia, for he never called her any thing else.
during their afternoon stroll in the mellow sunshine, ben continued to talk of her, never tired of telling about his happy summer under her roof.
and mr. brown was never weary of hearing, for every hour showed him more plainly what a lovely miracle her gentle words had wrought, and every hour increased his gratitude, his desire to return the kindness in some humble way.
he had his wish, and did his part handsomely when he least expected to have a chance.
on monday he saw mr. towne, and, thanks to the squire's good word, was engaged for a month on trial, making himself so useful that it was soon evident he was the right man in the right place.
he lived on the hill, but managed to get down to the little brown house in the evening for a word with ben, who just now was as full of business as if the president and his cabinet were coming.
every thing was put in apple-pie order in and about the old house; the great gate, with much creaking of rusty hinges and some clearing away of rubbish, was set wide open, and the first creature who entered it was sancho, solemnly dragging the dead mullein which long ago had grown above the keyhole.
october frosts seemed to have spared some of the brightest leaves for this especial occasion; and on saturday the arched gate-way was hung with gay wreaths, red and yellow sprays strewed the flags, and the porch was a blaze of color with the red woodbine, that was in its glory when the honeysuckle was leafless.
fortunately it was a half-holiday, so the children could trim and chatter to their heart's content, and the little girls ran about sticking funny decorations where no one would ever think of looking for them.
ben was absorbed in his flags, which were sprinkled all down the avenue with a lavish display, suggesting several fourth of julys rolled into one.
mr. brown had come to lend a hand, and did so most energetically, for the break-neck things he did with his son during the decoration fever would have terrified mrs. moss out of her wits, if she had not been in the house giving last touches to every room, while randa and katy set forth a sumptuous tea.
all was going well, and the train would be due in an hour, when luckless bab nearly turned the rejoicing into mourning, the feast into ashes.
she heard her mother say to randa, "there ought to be a fire in every room, it looks so cheerful, and the air is chilly spite of the sunshine;" and, never waiting to hear the reply that some of the long-unused chimneys were not safe till cleaned, off went bab with an apron full of old shingles, and made a roaring blaze in the front room fire-place, which was of all others the one to be let alone, as the flue was out of order.
charmed with the brilliant light and the crackle of the tindery fuel, miss bab refilled her apron, and fed the fire till the chimney began to rumble ominously, sparks to fly out at the top, and soot and swallows" nests to come tumbling down upon the hearth.
then, scared at what she had done, the little mischief-maker hastily buried her fire, swept up the rubbish, and ran off, thinking no one would discover her prank if she never told.
everybody was very busy, and the big chimney blazed and rumbled unnoticed till the cloud of smoke caught ben's eye as he festooned his last effort in the flag line, part of an old sheet with the words "father has come!"
in red cambric letters half a foot long sewed upon it.
""hullo!
i do believe they've got up a bonfire, without asking my leave.
miss celia never would let us, because the sheds and roofs are so old and dry; i must see about it.
catch me, daddy, i'm coming down!"
cried ben, dropping out of the elm with no more thought of where he might light than a squirrel swinging from bough to bough.
his father caught him, and followed in haste as his nimble-footed son raced up the avenue, to stop in the gate-way, frightened at the prospect before him, for falling sparks had already kindled the roof here and there, and the chimney smoked and roared like a small volcano, while katy's wails and randa's cries for water came from within.
""up there with wet blankets, while i get out the hose!"
cried mr. brown, as he saw at a glance what the danger was.
ben vanished; and, before his father got the garden hose rigged, he was on the roof with a dripping blanket over the worst spot.
mrs. moss had her wits about her in a minute, and ran to put in the fireboard, and stop the draught.
then, stationing randa to watch that the falling cinders did no harm inside, she hurried off to help mr. brown, who might not know where things were.
but he had roughed it so long, that he was the man for emergencies, and seemed to lay his hand on whatever was needed, by a sort of instinct.
finding that the hose was too short to reach the upper part of the roof, he was on the roof in a jiffy with two pails of water, and quenched the most dangerous spots before much harm was done.
this he kept up till the chimney burned itself out, while ben dodged about among the gables with a watering pot, lest some stray sparks should be over-looked, and break out afresh.
while they worked there, betty ran to and fro with a dipper of water, trying to help; and sancho barked violently, as if he objected to this sort of illumination.
but where was bab, who revelled in flurries?
no one missed her till the fire was out, and the tired, sooty people met to talk over the danger just escaped.
""poor miss celia would n't have had a roof over her head, if it had n't been for you, mr. brown," said mrs. moss, sinking into a kitchen chair, pale with the excitement.
""it would have burnt lively, but i guess it's all right now.
keep an eye on the roof, ben, and i'll step up garret and see if all's safe there.
did n't you know that chimney was foul, ma'am?"
asked the man, as he wiped the perspiration off his grimy face.
""randa said it was, and i "in surprised she made a fire there," began mrs. moss, looking at the maid, who just then came in with a pan full of soot.
""bless you, ma'am, i never thought of such a thing, nor katy neither.
that naughty bab must have done it, and so do n't dar "st to show herself," answered the irate randa, whose nice room was in a mess.
""where is the child?"
asked her mother; and a hunt was immediately instituted by betty and sancho, while the elders cleared up.
anxious betty searched high and low, called and cried, but all in vain; and was about to sit down in despair, when sancho made a bolt into his new kennel and brought out a shoe with a foot in it while a doleful squeal came from the straw within.
""oh, bab, how could you do it?
ma was frightened dreadfully," said betty, gently tugging at the striped leg, as sancho poked his head in for another shoe.
""is it all burnt up?"
demanded a smothered voice from the recesses of the kennel.
""only pieces of the roof.
ben and his father put it out, and i helped," answered betty, cheering up a little as she recalled her noble exertions.
""what do they do to folks who set houses afire?"
asked the voice again.
""i do n't know; but you need n't be afraid, there is n't much harm done, i guess, and miss celia will forgive you, she's so good."
""thorny wo n't; he calls me a "botheration," and i guess i am," mourned the unseen culprit, with sincere contrition.
""i'll ask him; he is always good to me.
they will be here pretty soon, so you'd better come out and be made tidy," suggested the comforter.
""i never can come out, for every one will hate me," sobbed bab among the straw, as she pulled in her foot, as if retiring for ever from an outraged world.
""ma wo n't, she's too busy cleaning up; so it's a good time to come.
let's run home, wash our hands, and be all nice when they see us.
i'll love you, no matter what anybody else does," said betty, consoling the poor little sinner, and proposing the sort of repentance most likely to find favor in the eyes of the agitated elders.
""p'raps i'd better go home, for sanch will want his bed," and bab gladly availed herself of that excuse to back out of her refuge, a very crumpled, dusty young lady, with a dejected face and much straw sticking in her hair.
betty led her sadly away, for she still protested that she never should dare to meet the offended public again; but in fifteen minutes both appeared in fine order and good spirits, and naughty bab escaped a lecture for the time being, as the train would soon be due.
at the first sound of the car whistle every one turned good-natured as if by magic, and flew to the gate smiling as if all mishaps were forgiven and forgotten.
mrs. moss, however, slipped quietly away, and was the first to greet mrs. celia as the carriage stopped at the entrance of the avenue, so that the luggage might go in by way of the lodge.
""we will walk up and you shall tell us the news as we go, for i see you have some," said the young lady, in her friendly manner, when mrs. moss had given her welcome and paid her respects to the gentleman who shook hands in a way that convinced her he was indeed what thorny called him, "regularly jolly," though he was a minister.
that being exactly what she came for, the good woman told her tidings as rapidly as possible, and the new-comers were so glad to hear of ben's happiness they made very light of bab's bonfire, though it had nearly burnt their house down.
""we wo n't say a word about it, for every one must be happy to-day," said mr. george, so kindly that mrs. moss felt a load taken off her heart at once.
""bab was always teasing me for fireworks, but i guess she has had enough for the present," laughed thorny, who was gallantly escorting bab's mother up the avenue.
""every one is so kind!
teacher was out with the children to cheer us as we passed, and here you all are making things pretty for me," said mrs. celia, smiling with tears in her eyes, as they drew near the great gate, which certainly did present an animated if not an imposing appearance.
randa and katy stood on one side, all in their best, bobbing delighted courtesies; mr. brown, half hidden behind the gate on the other side, was keeping sancho erect, so that he might present arms promptly when the bride appeared.
as flowers were scarce, on either post stood a rosy little girl clapping her hands, while out from the thicket of red and yellow boughs, which made a grand bouquet in the lantern frame, came ben's head and shoulders, as he waved his grandest flag with its gold paper "welcome home!"
on a blue ground.
""is n't it beautiful!"
cried mrs. celia, throwing kisses to the children, shaking hands with her maids, and glancing brightly at the stranger who was keeping sanch quiet.
""most people adorn their gate-posts with stone balls, vases, or griffins; your living images are a great improvement, love, especially the happy boy in the middle," said mr. george, eying ben with interest, as he nearly tumbled overboard, top-heavy with his banner.
""you must finish what i have only begun," answered celia, adding gayly as sancho broke loose and came to offer both his paw and his congratulations.
""sanch, introduce your master, that i may thank him for coming back in time to save my old house."
""if i'd saved a dozen it would n't have half paid for all you've done for my boy, ma'am," answered mr. brown, bursting out from behind the gate quite red with gratitude and pleasure.
""i loved to do it, so please remember that this is still his home till you make one for him.
thank god, he is no longer fatherless!"
and her sweet face said even more than her words as the white hand cordially shook the brown one with a burn across the back.
""come on, sister.
i see the tea-table all ready, and i'm awfully hungry," interrupted thorny, who had not a ray of sentiment about him, though very glad ben had got his father back again.
""come over, by-and-by, little friends, and let me thank you for your pretty welcome, -- it certainly is a warm one;" and mrs. celia glanced merrily from the three bright faces above her to the old chimney, which still smoked sullenly.
""oh, do n't!"
cried bab, hiding her face.
""she did n't mean to," added betty, pleadingly.
""three cheers for the bride!"
roared ben, dipping his flag, as leaning on her husband's arm his dear mistress passed under the gay arch, along the leaf-strewn walk, over the threshold of the house which was to be her happy home for many years.
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___anne's_house_of_dreams.txt.out
chapter 1 in the garret of green gables "thanks be, i'm done with geometry, learning or teaching it," said anne shirley, a trifle vindictively, as she thumped a somewhat battered volume of euclid into a big chest of books, banged the lid in triumph, and sat down upon it, looking at diana wright across the green gables garret, with gray eyes that were like a morning sky.
the garret was a shadowy, suggestive, delightful place, as all garrets should be.
through the open window, by which anne sat, blew the sweet, scented, sun-warm air of the august afternoon; outside, poplar boughs rustled and tossed in the wind; beyond them were the woods, where lover's lane wound its enchanted path, and the old apple orchard which still bore its rosy harvests munificently.
and, over all, was a great mountain range of snowy clouds in the blue southern sky.
through the other window was glimpsed a distant, white-capped, blue sea -- the beautiful st. lawrence gulf, on which floats, like a jewel, abegweit, whose softer, sweeter indian name has long been forsaken for the more prosaic one of prince edward island.
diana wright, three years older than when we last saw her, had grown somewhat matronly in the intervening time.
but her eyes were as black and brilliant, her cheeks as rosy, and her dimples as enchanting, as in the long-ago days when she and anne shirley had vowed eternal friendship in the garden at orchard slope.
in her arms she held a small, sleeping, black-curled creature, who for two happy years had been known to the world of avonlea as "small anne cordelia."
avonlea folks knew why diana had called her anne, of course, but avonlea folks were puzzled by the cordelia.
there had never been a cordelia in the wright or barry connections.
mrs. harmon andrews said she supposed diana had found the name in some trashy novel, and wondered that fred had n't more sense than to allow it.
but diana and anne smiled at each other.
they knew how small anne cordelia had come by her name.
""you always hated geometry," said diana with a retrospective smile.
""i should think you'd be real glad to be through with teaching, anyhow."
""oh, i've always liked teaching, apart from geometry.
these past three years in summerside have been very pleasant ones.
mrs. harmon andrews told me when i came home that i would n't likely find married life as much better than teaching as i expected.
evidently mrs. harmon is of hamlet's opinion that it may be better to bear the ills that we have than fly to others that we know not of."
anne's laugh, as blithe and irresistible as of yore, with an added note of sweetness and maturity, rang through the garret.
marilla in the kitchen below, compounding blue plum preserve, heard it and smiled; then sighed to think how seldom that dear laugh would echo through green gables in the years to come.
nothing in her life had ever given marilla so much happiness as the knowledge that anne was going to marry gilbert blythe; but every joy must bring with it its little shadow of sorrow.
during the three summerside years anne had been home often for vacations and weekends; but, after this, a bi-annual visit would be as much as could be hoped for.
""you need n't let what mrs. harmon says worry you," said diana, with the calm assurance of the four-years matron.
""married life has its ups and downs, of course.
you must n't expect that everything will always go smoothly.
but i can assure you, anne, that it's a happy life, when you're married to the right man."
anne smothered a smile.
diana's airs of vast experience always amused her a little.
""i daresay i'll be putting them on too, when i've been married four years," she thought.
""surely my sense of humor will preserve me from it, though."
""is it settled yet where you are going to live?"
asked diana, cuddling small anne cordelia with the inimitable gesture of motherhood which always sent through anne's heart, filled with sweet, unuttered dreams and hopes, a thrill that was half pure pleasure and half a strange, ethereal pain.
""yes.
that was what i wanted to tell you when i "phoned to you to come down today.
by the way, i ca n't realize that we really have telephones in avonlea now.
it sounds so preposterously up-to-date and modernish for this darling, leisurely old place."
""we can thank the a. v. i. s. for them," said diana.
""we should never have got the line if they had n't taken the matter up and carried it through.
there was enough cold water thrown to discourage any society.
but they stuck to it, nevertheless.
you did a splendid thing for avonlea when you founded that society, anne.
what fun we did have at our meetings!
will you ever forget the blue hall and judson parker's scheme for painting medicine advertisements on his fence?"
""i do n't know that i'm wholly grateful to the a. v. i. s. in the matter of the telephone," said anne.
""oh, i know it's most convenient -- even more so than our old device of signalling to each other by flashes of candlelight!
and, as mrs. rachel says, "avonlea must keep up with the procession, that's what."
but somehow i feel as if i did n't want avonlea spoiled by what mr. harrison, when he wants to be witty, calls "modern inconveniences."
i should like to have it kept always just as it was in the dear old years.
that's foolish -- and sentimental -- and impossible.
so i shall immediately become wise and practical and possible.
the telephone, as mr. harrison concedes, is" a buster of a good thing" -- even if you do know that probably half a dozen interested people are listening along the line."
""that's the worst of it," sighed diana.
""it's so annoying to hear the receivers going down whenever you ring anyone up.
they say mrs. harmon andrews insisted that their "phone should be put in their kitchen just so that she could listen whenever it rang and keep an eye on the dinner at the same time.
today, when you called me, i distinctly heard that queer clock of the pyes" striking.
so no doubt josie or gertie was listening."
""oh, so that is why you said, "you've got a new clock at green gables, have n't you?"
i could n't imagine what you meant.
i heard a vicious click as soon as you had spoken.
i suppose it was the pye receiver being hung up with profane energy.
well, never mind the pyes.
as mrs. rachel says, "pyes they always were and pyes they always will be, world without end, amen."
i want to talk of pleasanter things.
it's all settled as to where my new home shall be."
""oh, anne, where?
i do hope it's near here."
""no-o-o, that's the drawback.
gilbert is going to settle at four winds harbor -- sixty miles from here."
""sixty!
it might as well be six hundred," sighed diana.
""i never can get further from home now than charlottetown."
""you'll have to come to four winds.
it's the most beautiful harbor on the island.
there's a little village called glen st. mary at its head, and dr. david blythe has been practicing there for fifty years.
he is gilbert's great-uncle, you know.
he is going to retire, and gilbert is to take over his practice.
dr. blythe is going to keep his house, though, so we shall have to find a habitation for ourselves.
i do n't know yet what it is, or where it will be in reality, but i have a little house o'dreams all furnished in my imagination -- a tiny, delightful castle in spain."
""where are you going for your wedding tour?"
asked diana.
""nowhere.
do n't look horrified, diana dearest.
you suggest mrs. harmon andrews.
she, no doubt, will remark condescendingly that people who ca n't afford wedding "towers" are real sensible not to take them; and then she'll remind me that jane went to europe for hers.
i want to spend my honeymoon at four winds in my own dear house of dreams."
""and you've decided not to have any bridesmaid?"
""there is n't any one to have.
you and phil and priscilla and jane all stole a march on me in the matter of marriage; and stella is teaching in vancouver.
i have no other "kindred soul" and i wo n't have a bridesmaid who is n't."
""but you are going to wear a veil, are n't you?"
asked diana, anxiously.
""yes, indeedy.
i should n't feel like a bride without one.
i remember telling matthew, that evening when he brought me to green gables, that i never expected to be a bride because i was so homely no one would ever want to marry me -- unless some foreign missionary did.
i had an idea then that foreign missionaries could n't afford to be finicky in the matter of looks if they wanted a girl to risk her life among cannibals.
you should have seen the foreign missionary priscilla married.
he was as handsome and inscrutable as those daydreams we once planned to marry ourselves, diana; he was the best dressed man i ever met, and he raved over priscilla's "ethereal, golden beauty."
but of course there are no cannibals in japan."
""your wedding dress is a dream, anyhow," sighed diana rapturously.
""you'll look like a perfect queen in it -- you're so tall and slender.
how do you keep so slim, anne?
i'm fatter than ever -- i'll soon have no waist at all."
""stoutness and slimness seem to be matters of predestination," said anne.
""at all events, mrs. harmon andrews ca n't say to you what she said to me when i came home from summerside, "well, anne, you're just about as skinny as ever."
it sounds quite romantic to be "slender," but "skinny" has a very different tang."
""mrs. harmon has been talking about your trousseau.
she admits it's as nice as jane's, although she says jane married a millionaire and you are only marrying a "poor young doctor without a cent to his name.""
anne laughed.
""my dresses are nice.
i love pretty things.
i remember the first pretty dress i ever had -- the brown gloria matthew gave me for our school concert.
before that everything i had was so ugly.
it seemed to me that i stepped into a new world that night."
""that was the night gilbert recited "bingen on the rhine," and looked at you when he said, "there's another, not a sister."
and you were so furious because he put your pink tissue rose in his breast pocket!
you did n't much imagine then that you would ever marry him."
""oh, well, that's another instance of predestination," laughed anne, as they went down the garret stairs.
chapter 2 the house of dreams there was more excitement in the air of green gables than there had ever been before in all its history.
even marilla was so excited that she could n't help showing it -- which was little short of being phenomenal.
""there's never been a wedding in this house," she said, half apologetically, to mrs. rachel lynde.
""when i was a child i heard an old minister say that a house was not a real home until it had been consecrated by a birth, a wedding and a death.
we've had deaths here -- my father and mother died here as well as matthew; and we've even had a birth here.
long ago, just after we moved into this house, we had a married hired man for a little while, and his wife had a baby here.
but there's never been a wedding before.
it does seem so strange to think of anne being married.
in a way she just seems to me the little girl matthew brought home here fourteen years ago.
i ca n't realize that she's grown up.
i shall never forget what i felt when i saw matthew bringing in a girl.
i wonder what became of the boy we would have got if there had n't been a mistake.
i wonder what his fate was."
""well, it was a fortunate mistake," said mrs. rachel lynde, "though, mind you, there was a time i did n't think so -- that evening i came up to see anne and she treated us to such a scene.
many things have changed since then, that's what."
mrs. rachel sighed, and then brisked up again.
when weddings were in order mrs. rachel was ready to let the dead past bury its dead.
""i'm going to give anne two of my cotton warp spreads," she resumed.
""a tobacco-stripe one and an apple-leaf one.
she tells me they're getting to be real fashionable again.
well, fashion or no fashion, i do n't believe there's anything prettier for a spare-room bed than a nice apple-leaf spread, that's what.
i must see about getting them bleached.
i've had them sewed up in cotton bags ever since thomas died, and no doubt they're an awful color.
but there's a month yet, and dew-bleaching will work wonders."
only a month!
marilla sighed and then said proudly: "i'm giving anne that half dozen braided rugs i have in the garret.
i never supposed she'd want them -- they're so old-fashioned, and nobody seems to want anything but hooked mats now.
but she asked me for them -- said she'd rather have them than anything else for her floors.
they are pretty.
i made them of the nicest rags, and braided them in stripes.
it was such company these last few winters.
and i'll make her enough blue plum preserve to stock her jam closet for a year.
it seems real strange.
those blue plum trees had n't even a blossom for three years, and i thought they might as well be cut down.
and this last spring they were white, and such a crop of plums i never remember at green gables."
""well, thank goodness that anne and gilbert really are going to be married after all.
it's what i've always prayed for," said mrs. rachel, in the tone of one who is comfortably sure that her prayers have availed much.
""it was a great relief to find out that she really did n't mean to take the kingsport man.
he was rich, to be sure, and gilbert is poor -- at least, to begin with; but then he's an island boy."
""he's gilbert blythe," said marilla contentedly.
marilla would have died the death before she would have put into words the thought that was always in the background of her mind whenever she had looked at gilbert from his childhood up -- the thought that, had it not been for her own wilful pride long, long ago, he might have been her son.
marilla felt that, in some strange way, his marriage with anne would put right that old mistake.
good had come out of the evil of the ancient bitterness.
as for anne herself, she was so happy that she almost felt frightened.
the gods, so says the old superstition, do not like to behold too happy mortals.
it is certain, at least, that some human beings do not.
two of that ilk descended upon anne one violet dusk and proceeded to do what in them lay to prick the rainbow bubble of her satisfaction.
if she thought she was getting any particular prize in young dr. blythe, or if she imagined that he was still as infatuated with her as he might have been in his salad days, it was surely their duty to put the matter before her in another light.
yet these two worthy ladies were not enemies of anne; on the contrary, they were really quite fond of her, and would have defended her as their own young had anyone else attacked her.
human nature is not obliged to be consistent.
mrs. inglis -- nee jane andrews, to quote from the daily enterprise -- came with her mother and mrs. jasper bell.
but in jane the milk of human kindness had not been curdled by years of matrimonial bickerings.
her lines had fallen in pleasant places.
in spite of the fact -- as mrs. rachel lynde would say -- that she had married a millionaire, her marriage had been happy.
wealth had not spoiled her.
she was still the placid, amiable, pink-cheeked jane of the old quartette, sympathising with her old chum's happiness and as keenly interested in all the dainty details of anne's trousseau as if it could rival her own silken and bejewelled splendors.
jane was not brilliant, and had probably never made a remark worth listening to in her life; but she never said anything that would hurt anyone's feelings -- which may be a negative talent but is likewise a rare and enviable one.
""so gilbert did n't go back on you after all," said mrs. harmon andrews, contriving to convey an expression of surprise in her tone.
""well, the blythes generally keep their word when they've once passed it, no matter what happens.
let me see -- you're twenty-five, are n't you, anne?
when i was a girl twenty-five was the first corner.
but you look quite young.
red-headed people always do."
""red hair is very fashionable now," said anne, trying to smile, but speaking rather coldly.
life had developed in her a sense of humor which helped her over many difficulties; but as yet nothing had availed to steel her against a reference to her hair.
""so it is -- so it is," conceded mrs. harmon.
""there's no telling what queer freaks fashion will take.
well, anne, your things are very pretty, and very suitable to your position in life, are n't they, jane?
i hope you'll be very happy.
you have my best wishes, i'm sure.
a long engagement does n't often turn out well.
but, of course, in your case it could n't be helped."
""gilbert looks very young for a doctor.
i'm afraid people wo n't have much confidence in him," said mrs. jasper bell gloomily.
then she shut her mouth tightly, as if she had said what she considered it her duty to say and held her conscience clear.
she belonged to the type which always has a stringy black feather in its hat and straggling locks of hair on its neck.
anne's surface pleasure in her pretty bridal things was temporarily shadowed; but the deeps of happiness below could not thus be disturbed; and the little stings of mesdames bell and andrews were forgotten when gilbert came later, and they wandered down to the birches of the brook, which had been saplings when anne had come to green gables, but were now tall, ivory columns in a fairy palace of twilight and stars.
in their shadows anne and gilbert talked in lover-fashion of their new home and their new life together.
""i've found a nest for us, anne."
""oh, where?
not right in the village, i hope.
i would n't like that altogether."
""no.
there was no house to be had in the village.
this is a little white house on the harbor shore, half way between glen st. mary and four winds point.
it's a little out of the way, but when we get a "phone in that wo n't matter so much.
the situation is beautiful.
it looks to the sunset and has the great blue harbor before it.
the sand-dunes are n't very far away -- the sea winds blow over them and the sea spray drenches them."
""but the house itself, gilbert, -- our first home?
what is it like?"
""not very large, but large enough for us.
there's a splendid living room with a fireplace in it downstairs, and a dining room that looks out on the harbor, and a little room that will do for my office.
it is about sixty years old -- the oldest house in four winds.
but it has been kept in pretty good repair, and was all done over about fifteen years ago -- shingled, plastered and re-floored.
it was well built to begin with.
i understand that there was some romantic story connected with its building, but the man i rented it from did n't know it."
""he said captain jim was the only one who could spin that old yarn now."
""who is captain jim?"
""the keeper of the lighthouse on four winds point.
you'll love that four winds light, anne.
it's a revolving one, and it flashes like a magnificent star through the twilights.
we can see it from our living room windows and our front door."
""who owns the house?"
""well, it's the property of the glen st. mary presbyterian church now, and i rented it from the trustees.
but it belonged until lately to a very old lady, miss elizabeth russell.
she died last spring, and as she had no near relatives she left her property to the glen st. mary church.
her furniture is still in the house, and i bought most of it -- for a mere song you might say, because it was all so old-fashioned that the trustees despaired of selling it.
glen st. mary folks prefer plush brocade and sideboards with mirrors and ornamentations, i fancy.
but miss russell's furniture is very good and i feel sure you'll like it, anne."
""so far, good," said anne, nodding cautious approval.
""but, gilbert, people can not live by furniture alone.
you have n't yet mentioned one very important thing.
are there trees about this house?"
""heaps of them, oh, dryad!
there is a big grove of fir trees behind it, two rows of lombardy poplars down the lane, and a ring of white birches around a very delightful garden.
our front door opens right into the garden, but there is another entrance -- a little gate hung between two firs.
the hinges are on one trunk and the catch on the other.
their boughs form an arch overhead."
""oh, i'm so glad!
i could n't live where there were no trees -- something vital in me would starve.
well, after that, there's no use asking you if there's a brook anywhere near.
that would be expecting too much."
""but there is a brook -- and it actually cuts across one corner of the garden."
""then," said anne, with a long sigh of supreme satisfaction, "this house you have found is my house of dreams and none other."
chapter 3 the land of dreams among "have you made up your mind who you're going to have to the wedding, anne?"
asked mrs. rachel lynde, as she hemstitched table napkins industriously.
""it's time your invitations were sent, even if they are to be only informal ones."
""i do n't mean to have very many," said anne.
""we just want those we love best to see us married.
gilbert's people, and mr. and mrs. allan, and mr. and mrs. harrison."
""there was a time when you'd hardly have numbered mr. harrison among your dearest friends," said marilla drily.
""well, i was n't very strongly attracted to him at our first meeting," acknowledged anne, with a laugh over the recollection.
""but mr. harrison has improved on acquaintance, and mrs. harrison is really a dear.
then, of course, there are miss lavendar and paul."
""have they decided to come to the island this summer?
i thought they were going to europe."
""they changed their minds when i wrote them i was going to be married.
i had a letter from paul today.
he says he must come to my wedding, no matter what happens to europe."
""that child always idolised you," remarked mrs. rachel.
""that "child" is a young man of nineteen now, mrs. lynde."
""how time does fly!"
was mrs. lynde's brilliant and original response.
""charlotta the fourth may come with them.
she sent word by paul that she would come if her husband would let her.
i wonder if she still wears those enormous blue bows, and whether her husband calls her charlotta or leonora.
i should love to have charlotta at my wedding.
charlotta and i were at a wedding long syne.
they expect to be at echo lodge next week.
then there are phil and the reverend jo --" "it sounds awful to hear you speaking of a minister like that, anne," said mrs. rachel severely.
""his wife calls him that."
""she should have more respect for his holy office, then," retorted mrs. rachel.
""i've heard you criticise ministers pretty sharply yourself," teased anne.
""yes, but i do it reverently," protested mrs. lynde.
""you never heard me nickname a minister."
anne smothered a smile.
""well, there are diana and fred and little fred and small anne cordelia -- and jane andrews.
i wish i could have miss stacey and aunt jamesina and priscilla and stella.
but stella is in vancouver, and pris is in japan, and miss stacey is married in california, and aunt jamesina has gone to india to explore her daughter's mission field, in spite of her horror of snakes.
it's really dreadful -- the way people get scattered over the globe."
""the lord never intended it, that's what," said mrs. rachel authoritatively.
""in my young days people grew up and married and settled down where they were born, or pretty near it.
thank goodness you've stuck to the island, anne.
i was afraid gilbert would insist on rushing off to the ends of the earth when he got through college, and dragging you with him."
""if everybody stayed where he was born places would soon be filled up, mrs. lynde."
""oh, i'm not going to argue with you, anne.
i am not a b.a..
what time of the day is the ceremony to be?"
""we have decided on noon -- high noon, as the society reporters say.
that will give us time to catch the evening train to glen st. mary."
""and you'll be married in the parlor?"
""no -- not unless it rains.
we mean to be married in the orchard -- with the blue sky over us and the sunshine around us.
do you know when and where i'd like to be married, if i could?
it would be at dawn -- a june dawn, with a glorious sunrise, and roses blooming in the gardens; and i would slip down and meet gilbert and we would go together to the heart of the beech woods, -- and there, under the green arches that would be like a splendid cathedral, we would be married."
marilla sniffed scornfully and mrs. lynde looked shocked.
""but that would be terrible queer, anne.
why, it would n't really seem legal.
and what would mrs. harmon andrews say?"
""ah, there's the rub," sighed anne.
""there are so many things in life we can not do because of the fear of what mrs. harmon andrews would say."
tis true,'t is pity, and pity't is,'t is true."
what delightful things we might do were it not for mrs. harmon andrews!"
""by times, anne, i do n't feel quite sure that i understand you altogether," complained mrs. lynde.
""anne was always romantic, you know," said marilla apologetically.
""well, married life will most likely cure her of that," mrs. rachel responded comfortingly.
anne laughed and slipped away to lover's lane, where gilbert found her; and neither of them seemed to entertain much fear, or hope, that their married life would cure them of romance.
the echo lodge people came over the next week, and green gables buzzed with the delight of them.
miss lavendar had changed so little that the three years since her last island visit might have been a watch in the night; but anne gasped with amazement over paul.
could this splendid six feet of manhood be the little paul of avonlea schooldays?
""you really make me feel old, paul," said anne.
""why, i have to look up to you!"
""you'll never grow old, teacher," said paul.
""you are one of the fortunate mortals who have found and drunk from the fountain of youth, -- you and mother lavendar.
see here!
when you're married i wo n't call you mrs. blythe.
to me you'll always be "teacher" -- the teacher of the best lessons i ever learned.
i want to show you something."
the "something" was a pocketbook full of poems.
paul had put some of his beautiful fancies into verse, and magazine editors had not been as unappreciative as they are sometimes supposed to be.
anne read paul's poems with real delight.
they were full of charm and promise.
""you'll be famous yet, paul.
i always dreamed of having one famous pupil.
he was to be a college president -- but a great poet would be even better.
some day i'll be able to boast that i whipped the distinguished paul irving.
but then i never did whip you, did i, paul?
what an opportunity lost!
i think i kept you in at recess, however."
""you may be famous yourself, teacher.
i've seen a good deal of your work these last three years."
""no.
i know what i can do.
i can write pretty, fanciful little sketches that children love and editors send welcome cheques for.
but i can do nothing big.
my only chance for earthly immortality is a corner in your memoirs."
charlotta the fourth had discarded the blue bows but her freckles were not noticeably less.
""i never did think i'd come down to marrying a yankee, miss shirley, ma'am," she said.
""but you never know what's before you, and it is n't his fault.
he was born that way."
""you're a yankee yourself, charlotta, since you've married one."
""miss shirley, ma'am, i'm not!
and i would n't be if i was to marry a dozen yankees!
tom's kind of nice.
and besides, i thought i'd better not be too hard to please, for i might n't get another chance.
tom do n't drink and he do n't growl because he has to work between meals, and when all's said and done i'm satisfied, miss shirley, ma'am."
""does he call you leonora?"
asked anne.
""goodness, no, miss shirley, ma'am.
i would n't know who he meant if he did.
of course, when we got married he had to say," i take thee, leonora," and i declare to you, miss shirley, ma'am, i've had the most dreadful feeling ever since that it was n't me he was talking to and i have n't been rightly married at all.
and so you're going to be married yourself, miss shirley, ma'am?
i always thought i'd like to marry a doctor.
it would be so handy when the children had measles and croup.
tom is only a bricklayer, but he's real good-tempered.
when i said to him, says i, "tom, can i go to miss shirley's wedding?
i mean to go anyhow, but i'd like to have your consent," he just says, "suit yourself, charlotta, and you'll suit me."
that's a real pleasant kind of husband to have, miss shirley, ma'am."
philippa and her reverend jo arrived at green gables the day before the wedding.
anne and phil had a rapturous meeting which presently simmered down to a cosy, confidential chat over all that had been and was about to be.
""queen anne, you're as queenly as ever.
i've got fearfully thin since the babies came.
i'm not half so good-looking; but i think jo likes it.
there's not such a contrast between us, you see.
and oh, it's perfectly magnificent that you're going to marry gilbert.
roy gardner would n't have done at all, at all.
i can see that now, though i was horribly disappointed at the time.
you know, anne, you did treat roy very badly."
""he has recovered, i understand," smiled anne.
""oh, yes.
he is married and his wife is a sweet little thing and they're perfectly happy.
everything works together for good.
jo and the bible say that, and they are pretty good authorities."
""are alec and alonzo married yet?"
""alec is, but alonzo is n't.
how those dear old days at patty's place come back when i'm talking to you, anne!
what fun we had!"
""have you been to patty's place lately?"
""oh, yes, i go often.
miss patty and miss maria still sit by the fireplace and knit.
and that reminds me -- we've brought you a wedding gift from them, anne.
guess what it is."
""i never could.
how did they know i was going to be married?"
""oh, i told them.
i was there last week.
and they were so interested.
two days ago miss patty wrote me a note asking me to call; and then she asked if i would take her gift to you.
what would you wish most from patty's place, anne?"
""you ca n't mean that miss patty has sent me her china dogs?"
""go up head.
they're in my trunk this very moment.
and i've a letter for you.
wait a moment and i'll get it."
""dear miss shirley," miss patty had written, "maria and i were very much interested in hearing of your approaching nuptials.
we send you our best wishes.
maria and i have never married, but we have no objection to other people doing so.
we are sending you the china dogs.
i intended to leave them to you in my will, because you seemed to have sincere affection for them.
but maria and i expect to live a good while yet -lrb- d.v. -rrb-, so i have decided to give you the dogs while you are young.
you will not have forgotten that gog looks to the right and magog to the left."
""just fancy those lovely old dogs sitting by the fireplace in my house of dreams," said anne rapturously.
""i never expected anything so delightful."
that evening green gables hummed with preparations for the following day; but in the twilight anne slipped away.
she had a little pilgrimage to make on this last day of her girlhood and she must make it alone.
she went to matthew's grave, in the little poplar-shaded avonlea graveyard, and there kept a silent tryst with old memories and immortal loves.
""how glad matthew would be tomorrow if he were here," she whispered.
""but i believe he does know and is glad of it -- somewhere else.
i've read somewhere that "our dead are never dead until we have forgotten them."
matthew will never be dead to me, for i can never forget him."
she left on his grave the flowers she had brought and walked slowly down the long hill.
it was a gracious evening, full of delectable lights and shadows.
in the west was a sky of mackerel clouds -- crimson and amber-tinted, with long strips of apple-green sky between.
beyond was the glimmering radiance of a sunset sea, and the ceaseless voice of many waters came up from the tawny shore.
all around her, lying in the fine, beautiful country silence, were the hills and fields and woods she had known and loved so long.
""history repeats itself," said gilbert, joining her as she passed the blythe gate.
""do you remember our first walk down this hill, anne -- our first walk together anywhere, for that matter?"
""i was coming home in the twilight from matthew's grave -- and you came out of the gate; and i swallowed the pride of years and spoke to you."
""and all heaven opened before me," supplemented gilbert.
""from that moment i looked forward to tomorrow.
when i left you at your gate that night and walked home i was the happiest boy in the world.
anne had forgiven me."
""i think you had the most to forgive.
i was an ungrateful little wretch -- and after you had really saved my life that day on the pond, too.
how i loathed that load of obligation at first!
i do n't deserve the happiness that has come to me."
gilbert laughed and clasped tighter the girlish hand that wore his ring.
anne's engagement ring was a circlet of pearls.
she had refused to wear a diamond.
""i've never really liked diamonds since i found out they were n't the lovely purple i had dreamed.
they will always suggest my old disappointment."
""but pearls are for tears, the old legend says," gilbert had objected.
""i'm not afraid of that.
and tears can be happy as well as sad.
my very happiest moments have been when i had tears in my eyes -- when marilla told me i might stay at green gables -- when matthew gave me the first pretty dress i ever had -- when i heard that you were going to recover from the fever.
so give me pearls for our troth ring, gilbert, and i'll willingly accept the sorrow of life with its joy."
but tonight our lovers thought only of joy and never of sorrow.
for the morrow was their wedding day, and their house of dreams awaited them on the misty, purple shore of four winds harbor.
chapter 4 the first bride of green gables anne wakened on the morning of her wedding day to find the sunshine winking in at the window of the little porch gable and a september breeze frolicking with her curtains.
""i'm so glad the sun will shine on me," she thought happily.
she recalled the first morning she had wakened in that little porch room, when the sunshine had crept in on her through the blossom-drift of the old snow queen.
that had not been a happy wakening, for it brought with it the bitter disappointment of the preceding night.
but since then the little room had been endeared and consecrated by years of happy childhood dreams and maiden visions.
to it she had come back joyfully after all her absences; at its window she had knelt through that night of bitter agony when she believed gilbert dying, and by it she had sat in speechless happiness the night of her betrothal.
many vigils of joy and some of sorrow had been kept there; and today she must leave it forever.
henceforth it would be hers no more; fifteen-year-old dora was to inherit it when she had gone.
nor did anne wish it otherwise; the little room was sacred to youth and girlhood -- to the past that was to close today before the chapter of wifehood opened.
green gables was a busy and joyous house that forenoon.
diana arrived early, with little fred and small anne cordelia, to lend a hand.
davy and dora, the green gables twins, whisked the babies off to the garden.
""do n't let small anne cordelia spoil her clothes," warned diana anxiously.
""you need n't be afraid to trust her with dora," said marilla.
""that child is more sensible and careful than most of the mothers i've known.
she's really a wonder in some ways.
not much like that other harum-scarum i brought up."
marilla smiled across her chicken salad at anne.
it might even be suspected that she liked the harum-scarum best after all.
""those twins are real nice children," said mrs. rachel, when she was sure they were out of earshot.
""dora is so womanly and helpful, and davy is developing into a very smart boy.
he is n't the holy terror for mischief he used to be."
""i never was so distracted in my life as i was the first six months he was here," acknowledged marilla.
""after that i suppose i got used to him.
he's taken a great notion to farming lately, and wants me to let him try running the farm next year.
i may, for mr. barry does n't think he'll want to rent it much longer, and some new arrangement will have to be made."
""well, you certainly have a lovely day for your wedding, anne," said diana, as she slipped a voluminous apron over her silken array.
""you could n't have had a finer one if you'd ordered it from eaton's."
""indeed, there's too much money going out of this island to that same eaton's," said mrs. lynde indignantly.
she had strong views on the subject of octopus-like department stores, and never lost an opportunity of airing them.
""and as for those catalogues of theirs, they're the avonlea girls" bible now, that's what.
they pore over them on sundays instead of studying the holy scriptures."
""well, they're splendid to amuse children with," said diana.
""fred and small anne look at the pictures by the hour.""
i amused ten children without the aid of eaton's catalogue," said mrs. rachel severely.
""come, you two, do n't quarrel over eaton's catalogue," said anne gaily.
""this is my day of days, you know.
i'm so happy i want every one else to be happy, too."
""i'm sure i hope your happiness will last, child," sighed mrs. rachel.
she did hope it truly, and believed it, but she was afraid it was in the nature of a challenge to providence to flaunt your happiness too openly.
anne, for her own good, must be toned down a trifle.
but it was a happy and beautiful bride who came down the old, homespun-carpeted stairs that september noon -- the first bride of green gables, slender and shining-eyed, in the mist of her maiden veil, with her arms full of roses.
gilbert, waiting for her in the hall below, looked up at her with adoring eyes.
she was his at last, this evasive, long-sought anne, won after years of patient waiting.
it was to him she was coming in the sweet surrender of the bride.
was he worthy of her?
could he make her as happy as he hoped?
if he failed her -- if he could not measure up to her standard of manhood -- then, as she held out her hand, their eyes met and all doubt was swept away in a glad certainty.
they belonged to each other; and, no matter what life might hold for them, it could never alter that.
their happiness was in each other's keeping and both were unafraid.
they were married in the sunshine of the old orchard, circled by the loving and kindly faces of long-familiar friends.
mr. allan married them, and the reverend jo made what mrs. rachel lynde afterwards pronounced to be the "most beautiful wedding prayer" she had ever heard.
birds do not often sing in september, but one sang sweetly from some hidden bough while gilbert and anne repeated their deathless vows.
anne heard it and thrilled to it; gilbert heard it, and wondered only that all the birds in the world had not burst into jubilant song; paul heard it and later wrote a lyric about it which was one of the most admired in his first volume of verse; charlotta the fourth heard it and was blissfully sure it meant good luck for her adored miss shirley.
the bird sang until the ceremony was ended and then it wound up with one mad little, glad little trill.
never had the old gray-green house among its enfolding orchards known a blither, merrier afternoon.
all the old jests and quips that must have done duty at weddings since eden were served up, and seemed as new and brilliant and mirth-provoking as if they had never been uttered before.
laughter and joy had their way; and when anne and gilbert left to catch the carmody train, with paul as driver, the twins were ready with rice and old shoes, in the throwing of which charlotta the fourth and mr. harrison bore a valiant part.
marilla stood at the gate and watched the carriage out of sight down the long lane with its banks of goldenrod.
anne turned at its end to wave her last good-bye.
she was gone -- green gables was her home no more; marilla's face looked very gray and old as she turned to the house which anne had filled for fourteen years, and even in her absence, with light and life.
but diana and her small fry, the echo lodge people and the allans, had stayed to help the two old ladies over the loneliness of the first evening; and they contrived to have a quietly pleasant little supper time, sitting long around the table and chatting over all the details of the day.
while they were sitting there anne and gilbert were alighting from the train at glen st. mary.
chapter 5 the home coming dr. david blythe had sent his horse and buggy to meet them, and the urchin who had brought it slipped away with a sympathetic grin, leaving them to the delight of driving alone to their new home through the radiant evening.
anne never forgot the loveliness of the view that broke upon them when they had driven over the hill behind the village.
her new home could not yet be seen; but before her lay four winds harbor like a great, shining mirror of rose and silver.
far down, she saw its entrance between the bar of sand dunes on one side and a steep, high, grim, red sandstone cliff on the other.
beyond the bar the sea, calm and austere, dreamed in the afterlight.
the little fishing village, nestled in the cove where the sand-dunes met the harbor shore, looked like a great opal in the haze.
the sky over them was like a jewelled cup from which the dusk was pouring; the air was crisp with the compelling tang of the sea, and the whole landscape was infused with the subtleties of a sea evening.
a few dim sails drifted along the darkening, fir-clad harbor shores.
a bell was ringing from the tower of a little white church on the far side; mellowly and dreamily sweet, the chime floated across the water blent with the moan of the sea.
the great revolving light on the cliff at the channel flashed warm and golden against the clear northern sky, a trembling, quivering star of good hope.
far out along the horizon was the crinkled gray ribbon of a passing steamer's smoke.
""oh, beautiful, beautiful," murmured anne.
""i shall love four winds, gilbert.
where is our house?"
""we ca n't see it yet -- the belt of birch running up from that little cove hides it.
it's about two miles from glen st. mary, and there's another mile between it and the light-house.
we wo n't have many neighbors, anne.
there's only one house near us and i do n't know who lives in it.
shall you be lonely when i'm away?"
""not with that light and that loveliness for company.
who lives in that house, gilbert?"
""i do n't know.
it does n't look -- exactly -- as if the occupants would be kindred spirits, anne, does it?"
the house was a large, substantial affair, painted such a vivid green that the landscape seemed quite faded by contrast.
there was an orchard behind it, and a nicely kept lawn before it, but, somehow, there was a certain bareness about it.
perhaps its neatness was responsible for this; the whole establishment, house, barns, orchard, garden, lawn and lane, was so starkly neat.
""it does n't seem probable that anyone with that taste in paint could be very kindred," acknowledged anne, "unless it were an accident -- like our blue hall.
i feel certain there are no children there, at least.
it's even neater than the old copp place on the tory road, and i never expected to see anything neater than that."
they had not met anybody on the moist, red road that wound along the harbor shore.
but just before they came to the belt of birch which hid their home, anne saw a girl who was driving a flock of snow-white geese along the crest of a velvety green hill on the right.
great, scattered firs grew along it.
between their trunks one saw glimpses of yellow harvest fields, gleams of golden sand-hills, and bits of blue sea.
the girl was tall and wore a dress of pale blue print.
she walked with a certain springiness of step and erectness of bearing.
she and her geese came out of the gate at the foot of the hill as anne and gilbert passed.
she stood with her hand on the fastening of the gate, and looked steadily at them, with an expression that hardly attained to interest, but did not descend to curiosity.
it seemed to anne, for a fleeting moment, that there was even a veiled hint of hostility in it.
but it was the girl's beauty which made anne give a little gasp -- a beauty so marked that it must have attracted attention anywhere.
she was hatless, but heavy braids of burnished hair, the hue of ripe wheat, were twisted about her head like a coronet; her eyes were blue and star-like; her figure, in its plain print gown, was magnificent; and her lips were as crimson as the bunch of blood-red poppies she wore at her belt.
""gilbert, who is the girl we have just passed?"
asked anne, in a low voice.
""i did n't notice any girl," said gilbert, who had eyes only for his bride.
""she was standing by that gate -- no, do n't look back.
she is still watching us.
i never saw such a beautiful face."
""i do n't remember seeing any very handsome girls while i was here.
there are some pretty girls up at the glen, but i hardly think they could be called beautiful."
""this girl is.
you ca n't have seen her, or you would remember her.
nobody could forget her.
i never saw such a face except in pictures.
and her hair!
it made me think of browning's "cord of gold" and "gorgeous snake"!"
""probably she's some visitor in four winds -- likely some one from that big summer hotel over the harbor."
""she wore a white apron and she was driving geese."
""she might do that for amusement.
look, anne -- there's our house."
anne looked and forgot for a time the girl with the splendid, resentful eyes.
the first glimpse of her new home was a delight to eye and spirit -- it looked so like a big, creamy seashell stranded on the harbor shore.
the rows of tall lombardy poplars down its lane stood out in stately, purple silhouette against the sky.
behind it, sheltering its garden from the too keen breath of sea winds, was a cloudy fir wood, in which the winds might make all kinds of weird and haunting music.
like all woods, it seemed to be holding and enfolding secrets in its recesses, -- secrets whose charm is only to be won by entering in and patiently seeking.
outwardly, dark green arms keep them inviolate from curious or indifferent eyes.
the night winds were beginning their wild dances beyond the bar and the fishing hamlet across the harbor was gemmed with lights as anne and gilbert drove up the poplar lane.
the door of the little house opened, and a warm glow of firelight flickered out into the dusk.
gilbert lifted anne from the buggy and led her into the garden, through the little gate between the ruddy-tipped firs, up the trim, red path to the sandstone step.
""welcome home," he whispered, and hand in hand they stepped over the threshold of their house of dreams.
chapter 6 captain jim "old doctor dave" and "mrs. doctor dave" had come down to the little house to greet the bride and groom.
doctor dave was a big, jolly, white-whiskered old fellow, and mrs. doctor was a trim rosy-cheeked, silver-haired little lady who took anne at once to her heart, literally and figuratively.
""i'm so glad to see you, dear.
you must be real tired.
we've got a bite of supper ready, and captain jim brought up some trout for you.
captain jim -- where are you?
oh, he's slipped out to see to the horse, i suppose.
come upstairs and take your things off."
anne looked about her with bright, appreciative eyes as she followed mrs. doctor dave upstairs.
she liked the appearance of her new home very much.
it seemed to have the atmosphere of green gables and the flavor of her old traditions.
""i think i would have found miss elizabeth russell a "kindred spirit,"" she murmured when she was alone in her room.
there were two windows in it; the dormer one looked out on the lower harbor and the sand-bar and the four winds light.
""a magic casement opening on the foam of perilous seas in fairy lands forlorn," quoted anne softly.
the gable window gave a view of a little harvest-hued valley through which a brook ran.
half a mile up the brook was the only house in sight -- an old, rambling, gray one surrounded by huge willows through which its windows peered, like shy, seeking eyes, into the dusk.
anne wondered who lived there; they would be her nearest neighbors and she hoped they would be nice.
she suddenly found herself thinking of the beautiful girl with the white geese.
""gilbert thought she did n't belong here," mused anne, "but i feel sure she does.
there was something about her that made her part of the sea and the sky and the harbor.
four winds is in her blood."
when anne went downstairs gilbert was standing before the fireplace talking to a stranger.
both turned as anne entered.
""anne, this is captain boyd.
captain boyd, my wife."
it was the first time gilbert had said "my wife" to anybody but anne, and he narrowly escaped bursting with the pride of it.
the old captain held out a sinewy hand to anne; they smiled at each other and were friends from that moment.
kindred spirit flashed recognition to kindred spirit.
""i'm right down pleased to meet you, mistress blythe; and i hope you'll be as happy as the first bride was who came here.
i ca n't wish you no better than that.
but your husband does n't introduce me jest exactly right.
"captain jim" is my week-a-day name and you might as well begin as you're sartain to end up -- calling me that.
you sartainly are a nice little bride, mistress blythe.
looking at you sorter makes me feel that i've jest been married myself."
amid the laughter that followed mrs. doctor dave urged captain jim to stay and have supper with them.
""thank you kindly.
"twill be a real treat, mistress doctor.
i mostly has to eat my meals alone, with the reflection of my ugly old phiz in a looking-glass opposite for company.
't is n't often i have a chance to sit down with two such sweet, purty ladies."
captain jim's compliments may look very bald on paper, but he paid them with such a gracious, gentle deference of tone and look that the woman upon whom they were bestowed felt that she was being offered a queen's tribute in a kingly fashion.
captain jim was a high-souled, simple-minded old man, with eternal youth in his eyes and heart.
he had a tall, rather ungainly figure, somewhat stooped, yet suggestive of great strength and endurance; a clean-shaven face deeply lined and bronzed; a thick mane of iron-gray hair falling quite to his shoulders, and a pair of remarkably blue, deep-set eyes, which sometimes twinkled and sometimes dreamed, and sometimes looked out seaward with a wistful quest in them, as of one seeking something precious and lost.
anne was to learn one day what it was for which captain jim looked.
it could not be denied that captain jim was a homely man.
his spare jaws, rugged mouth, and square brow were not fashioned on the lines of beauty; and he had passed through many hardships and sorrows which had marked his body as well as his soul; but though at first sight anne thought him plain she never thought anything more about it -- the spirit shining through that rugged tenement beautified it so wholly.
they gathered gaily around the supper table.
the hearth fire banished the chill of the september evening, but the window of the dining room was open and sea breezes entered at their own sweet will.
the view was magnificent, taking in the harbor and the sweep of low, purple hills beyond.
the table was heaped with mrs. doctor's delicacies but the piece de resistance was undoubtedly the big platter of sea trout.
""thought they'd be sorter tasty after travelling," said captain jim.
""they're fresh as trout can be, mistress blythe.
two hours ago they were swimming in the glen pond."
""who is attending to the light tonight, captain jim?"
asked doctor dave.
""nephew alec.
he understands it as well as i do.
well, now, i'm real glad you asked me to stay to supper.
i'm proper hungry -- did n't have much of a dinner today."
""i believe you half starve yourself most of the time down at that light," said mrs. doctor dave severely.
""you wo n't take the trouble to get up a decent meal."
""oh, i do, mistress doctor, i do," protested captain jim.
""why, i live like a king gen "rally.
last night i was up to the glen and took home two pounds of steak.
i meant to have a spanking good dinner today."
""and what happened to the steak?"
asked mrs. doctor dave.
""did you lose it on the way home?"
""no."
captain jim looked sheepish.
""just at bedtime a poor, ornery sort of dog came along and asked for a night's lodging.
guess he belonged to some of the fishermen "long shore.
i could n't turn the poor cur out -- he had a sore foot.
so i shut him in the porch, with an old bag to lie on, and went to bed.
but somehow i could n't sleep.
come to think it over, i sorter remembered that the dog looked hungry."
""and you got up and gave him that steak -- all that steak," said mrs. doctor dave, with a kind of triumphant reproof.
""well, there was n't anything else to give him," said captain jim deprecatingly.
""nothing a dog'd care for, that is.
i reckon he was hungry, for he made about two bites of it.
i had a fine sleep the rest of the night but my dinner had to be sorter scanty -- potatoes and point, as you might say.
the dog, he lit out for home this morning.
i reckon he were n't a vegetarian."
""the idea of starving yourself for a worthless dog!"
sniffed mrs. doctor.
""you do n't know but he may be worth a lot to somebody," protested captain jim.
""he did n't look of much account, but you ca n't go by looks in jedging a dog.
like meself, he might be a real beauty inside.
the first mate did n't approve of him, i'll allow.
his language was right down forcible.
but the first mate is prejudiced.
no use in taking a cat's opinion of a dog.
"tennyrate, i lost my dinner, so this nice spread in this dee-lightful company is real pleasant.
it's a great thing to have good neighbors."
""who lives in the house among the willows up the brook?"
asked anne.
""mrs. dick moore," said captain jim -- "and her husband," he added, as if by way of an afterthought.
anne smiled, and deduced a mental picture of mrs. dick moore from captain jim's way of putting it; evidently a second mrs. rachel lynde.
""you have n't many neighbors, mistress blythe," captain jim went on.
""this side of the harbor is mighty thinly settled.
most of the land belongs to mr. howard up yander past the glen, and he rents it out for pasture.
the other side of the harbor, now, is thick with folks -- "specially macallisters.
there's a whole colony of macallisters you ca n't throw a stone but you hit one.
i was talking to old leon blacquiere the other day.
he's been working on the harbor all summer.
"dey're nearly all macallisters over thar," he told me.
"dare's neil macallister and sandy macallister and william macallister and alec macallister and angus macallister -- and i believe dare's de devil macallister.""
""there are nearly as many elliotts and crawfords," said doctor dave, after the laughter had subsided.
""you know, gilbert, we folk on this side of four winds have an old saying -- "from the conceit of the elliotts, the pride of the macallisters, and the vainglory of the crawfords, good lord deliver us.""
""there's a plenty of fine people among them, though," said captain jim.
""i sailed with william crawford for many a year, and for courage and endurance and truth that man had n't an equal.
they've got brains over on that side of four winds.
mebbe that's why this side is sorter inclined to pick on'em.
strange, ai n't it, how folks seem to resent anyone being born a mite cleverer than they be."
doctor dave, who had a forty years" feud with the over-harbor people, laughed and subsided.
""who lives in that brilliant emerald house about half a mile up the road?"
asked gilbert.
captain jim smiled delightedly.
""miss cornelia bryant.
she'll likely be over to see you soon, seeing you're presbyterians.
if you were methodists she would n't come at all.
cornelia has a holy horror of methodists."
""she's quite a character," chuckled doctor dave.
""a most inveterate man-hater!"
""sour grapes?"
queried gilbert, laughing.
""no,'t is n't sour grapes," answered captain jim seriously.
""cornelia could have had her pick when she was young.
even yet she's only to say the word to see the old widowers jump.
she jest seems to have been born with a sort of chronic spite agin men and methodists.
she's got the bitterest tongue and the kindest heart in four winds.
wherever there's any trouble, that woman is there, doing everything to help in the tenderest way.
she never says a harsh word about another woman, and if she likes to card us poor scalawags of men down i reckon our tough old hides can stand it."
""she always speaks well of you, captain jim," said mrs. doctor.
""yes, i'm afraid so.
i do n't half like it.
it makes me feel as if there must be something sorter unnateral about me."
chapter 7 the schoolmaster's bride "who was the first bride who came to this house, captain jim?"
anne asked, as they sat around the fireplace after supper.
""was she a part of the story i've heard was connected with this house?"
asked gilbert.
""somebody told me you could tell it, captain jim."
""well, yes, i know it.
i reckon i'm the only person living in four winds now that can remember the schoolmaster's bride as she was when she come to the island.
she's been dead this thirty year, but she was one of them women you never forget."
""tell us the story," pleaded anne.
""i want to find out all about the women who have lived in this house before me."
""well, there's jest been three -- elizabeth russell, and mrs. ned russell, and the schoolmaster's bride.
elizabeth russell was a nice, clever little critter, and mrs. ned was a nice woman, too.
but they were n't ever like the schoolmaster's bride.
""the schoolmaster's name was john selwyn.
he came out from the old country to teach school at the glen when i was a boy of sixteen.
he was n't much like the usual run of derelicts who used to come out to p.e.i. to teach school in them days.
most of them were clever, drunken critters who taught the children the three r's when they were sober, and lambasted them when they was n't.
but john selwyn was a fine, handsome young fellow.
he boarded at my father's, and he and me were cronies, though he was ten years older'n me.
we read and walked and talked a heap together.
he knew about all the poetry that was ever written, i reckon, and he used to quote it to me along shore in the evenings.
dad thought it an awful waste of time, but he sorter endured it, hoping it'd put me off the notion of going to sea.
well, nothing could do that -- mother come of a race of sea-going folk and it was born in me.
but i loved to hear john read and recite.
it's almost sixty years ago, but i could repeat yards of poetry i learned from him.
nearly sixty years!"
captain jim was silent for a space, gazing into the glowing fire in a quest of the bygones.
then, with a sigh, he resumed his story.
""i remember one spring evening i met him on the sand-hills.
he looked sorter uplifted -- jest like you did, dr. blythe, when you brought mistress blythe in tonight.
i thought of him the minute i seen you.
and he told me that he had a sweetheart back home and that she was coming out to him.
i was n't more'n half pleased, ornery young lump of selfishness that i was; i thought he would n't be as much my friend after she came.
but i'd enough decency not to let him see it.
he told me all about her.
her name was persis leigh, and she would have come out with him if it had n't been for her old uncle.
he was sick, and he'd looked after her when her parents died and she would n't leave him.
and now he was dead and she was coming out to marry john selwyn.
't was n't no easy journey for a woman in them days.
there were n't no steamers, you must ricollect."
"when do you expect her?"
says i." "she sails on the royal william, the 20th of june," says he, "and so she should be here by mid-july.
i must set carpenter johnson to building me a home for her.
her letter come today.
i know before i opened it that it had good news for me.
i saw her a few nights ago."
""i did n't understand him, and then he explained -- though i did n't understand that much better.
he said he had a gift -- or a curse.
them was his words, mistress blythe -- a gift or a curse.
he did n't know which it was.
he said a great-great-grandmother of his had had it, and they burned her for a witch on account of it.
he said queer spells -- trances, i think was the name he give'em -- come over him now and again.
are there such things, doctor?"
""there are people who are certainly subject to trances," answered gilbert.
""the matter is more in the line of psychical research than medical.
what were the trances of this john selwyn like?"
""like dreams," said the old doctor skeptically.
""he said he could see things in them," said captain jim slowly.
""mind you, i'm telling you jest what he said -- things that were happening -- things that were going to happen.
he said they were sometimes a comfort to him and sometimes a horror.
four nights before this he'd been in one -- went into it while he was sitting looking at the fire.
and he saw an old room he knew well in england, and persis leigh in it, holding out her hands to him and looking glad and happy.
so he knew he was going to hear good news of her."
""a dream -- a dream," scoffed the old doctor.
""likely -- likely," conceded captain jim.
""that's what i said to him at the time.
it was a vast more comfortable to think so.
i did n't like the idea of him seeing things like that -- it was real uncanny."
"no," says he," i did n't dream it.
but we wo n't talk of this again.
you wo n't be so much my friend if you think much about it."
""i told him nothing could make me any less his friend.
but he jest shook his head and says, says he:" "lad, i know.
i've lost friends before because of this.
i do n't blame them.
there are times when i feel hardly friendly to myself because of it.
such a power has a bit of divinity in it -- whether of a good or an evil divinity who shall say?
and we mortals all shrink from too close contact with god or devil."
""them was his words.
i remember them as if't was yesterday, though i did n't know jest what he meant.
what do you s "pose he did mean, doctor?"
""i doubt if he knew what he meant himself," said doctor dave testily.
""i think i understand," whispered anne.
she was listening in her old attitude of clasped lips and shining eyes.
captain jim treated himself to an admiring smile before he went on with his story.
""well, purty soon all the glen and four winds people knew the schoolmaster's bride was coming, and they were all glad because they thought so much of him.
and everybody took an interest in his new house -- this house.
he picked this site for it, because you could see the harbor and hear the sea from it.
he made the garden out there for his bride, but he did n't plant the lombardies.
mrs. ned russell planted them.
but there's a double row of rose-bushes in the garden that the little girls who went to the glen school set out there for the schoolmaster's bride.
he said they were pink for her cheeks and white for her brow and red for her lips.
he'd quoted poetry so much that he sorter got into the habit of talking it, too, i reckon.
""almost everybody sent him some little present to help out the furnishing of the house.
when the russells came into it they were well-to-do and furnished it real handsome, as you can see; but the first furniture that went into it was plain enough.
this little house was rich in love, though.
the women sent in quilts and tablecloths and towels, and one man made a chest for her, and another a table and so on.
even blind old aunt margaret boyd wove a little basket for her out of the sweet-scented sand-hill grass.
the schoolmaster's wife used it for years to keep her handkerchiefs in.
""well, at last everything was ready -- even to the logs in the big fireplace ready for lighting.
't was n't exactly this fireplace, though't was in the same place.
miss elizabeth had this put in when she made the house over fifteen years ago.
it was a big, old-fashioned fireplace where you could have roasted an ox.
many's the time i've sat here and spun yarns, same's i'm doing tonight."
again there was a silence, while captain jim kept a passing tryst with visitants anne and gilbert could not see -- the folks who had sat with him around that fireplace in the vanished years, with mirth and bridal joy shining in eyes long since closed forever under churchyard sod or heaving leagues of sea.
here on olden nights children had tossed laughter lightly to and fro.
here on winter evenings friends had gathered.
dance and music and jest had been here.
here youths and maidens had dreamed.
for captain jim the little house was tenanted with shapes entreating remembrance.
""it was the first of july when the house was finished.
the schoolmaster began to count the days then.
we used to see him walking along the shore, and we'd say to each other, "she'll soon be with him now."
""she was expected the middle of july, but she did n't come then.
nobody felt anxious.
vessels were often delayed for days and mebbe weeks.
the royal william was a week overdue -- and then two -- and then three.
and at last we began to be frightened, and it got worse and worse.
fin "lly i could n't bear to look into john selwyn's eyes.
d'ye know, mistress blythe" -- captain jim lowered his voice -- "i used to think that they looked just like what his old great-great-grandmother's must have been when they were burning her to death.
he never said much but he taught school like a man in a dream and then hurried to the shore.
many a night he walked there from dark to dawn.
people said he was losing his mind.
everybody had given up hope -- the royal william was eight weeks overdue.
it was the middle of september and the schoolmaster's bride had n't come -- never would come, we thought.
""there was a big storm then that lasted three days, and on the evening after it died away i went to the shore.
i found the schoolmaster there, leaning with his arms folded against a big rock, gazing out to sea.
""i spoke to him but he did n't answer.
his eyes seemed to be looking at something i could n't see.
his face was set, like a dead man's."
"john -- john," i called out -- jest like that -- jest like a frightened child, "wake up -- wake up."
""that strange, awful look seemed to sorter fade out of his eyes.
""he turned his head and looked at me.
i've never forgot his face -- never will forget it till i ships for my last voyage."
"all is well, lad," he says.
"i've seen the royal william coming around east point.
she will be here by dawn.
tomorrow night i shall sit with my bride by my own hearth-fire."
""do you think he did see it?"
demanded captain jim abruptly.
""god knows," said gilbert softly.
""great love and great pain might compass we know not what marvels."
""i am sure he did see it," said anne earnestly.
""fol-de-rol," said doctor dave, but he spoke with less conviction than usual.
""because, you know," said captain jim solemnly, "the royal william came into four winds harbor at daylight the next morning.
""every soul in the glen and along the shore was at the old wharf to meet her.
the schoolmaster had been watching there all night.
how we cheered as she sailed up the channel."
captain jim's eyes were shining.
they were looking at the four winds harbor of sixty years agone, with a battered old ship sailing through the sunrise splendor.
""and persis leigh was on board?"
asked anne.
""yes -- her and the captain's wife.
they'd had an awful passage -- storm after storm -- and their provisions give out, too.
but there they were at last.
when persis leigh stepped onto the old wharf john selwyn took her in his arms -- and folks stopped cheering and begun to cry.
i cried myself, though't was years, mind you, afore i'd admit it.
ai n't it funny how ashamed boys are of tears?"
""was persis leigh beautiful?"
asked anne.
""well, i do n't know that you'd call her beautiful exactly -- i -- do n't -- know," said captain jim slowly.
""somehow, you never got so far along as to wonder if she was handsome or not.
it jest did n't matter.
there was something so sweet and winsome about her that you had to love her, that was all.
but she was pleasant to look at -- big, clear, hazel eyes and heaps of glossy brown hair, and an english skin.
john and her were married at our house that night at early candle-lighting; everybody from far and near was there to see it and we all brought them down here afterwards.
mistress selwyn lighted the fire, and we went away and left them sitting here, jest as john had seen in that vision of his.
a strange thing -- a strange thing!
but i've seen a turrible lot of strange things in my time."
captain jim shook his head sagely.
""it's a dear story," said anne, feeling that for once she had got enough romance to satisfy her.
""how long did they live here?"
""fifteen years.
i ran off to sea soon after they were married, like the young scalawag i was.
but every time i come back from a voyage i'd head for here, even before i went home, and tell mistress selwyn all about it.
fifteen happy years!
they had a sort of talent for happiness, them two.
some folks are like that, if you've noticed.
they could n't be unhappy for long, no matter what happened.
they quarrelled once or twice, for they was both high-sperrited.
but mistress selwyn says to me once, says she, laughing in that pretty way of hers," i felt dreadful when john and i quarrelled, but underneath it all i was very happy because i had such a nice husband to quarrel with and make it up with."
then they moved to charlottetown, and ned russell bought this house and brought his bride here.
they were a gay young pair, as i remember them.
miss elizabeth russell was alec's sister.
she came to live with them a year or so later, and she was a creature of mirth, too.
the walls of this house must be sorter soaked with laughing and good times.
you're the third bride i've seen come here, mistress blythe -- and the handsomest."
captain jim contrived to give his sunflower compliment the delicacy of a violet, and anne wore it proudly.
she was looking her best that night, with the bridal rose on her cheeks and the love-light in her eyes; even gruff old doctor dave gave her an approving glance, and told his wife, as they drove home together, that that red-headed wife of the boy's was something of a beauty.
""i must be getting back to the light," announced captain jim.
""i've enj "yed this evening something tremenjus."
""you must come often to see us," said anne.
""i wonder if you'd give that invitation if you knew how likely i'll be to accept it," captain jim remarked whimsically.
""which is another way of saying you wonder if i mean it," smiled anne.
""i do, "cross my heart," as we used to say at school."
""then i'll come.
you're likely to be pestered with me at any hour.
and i'll be proud to have you drop down and visit me now and then, too.
gin "rally i have n't anyone to talk to but the first mate, bless his sociable heart.
he's a mighty good listener, and has forgot more'n any macallister of them all ever knew, but he is n't much of a conversationalist.
you're young and i'm old, but our souls are about the same age, i reckon.
we both belong to the race that knows joseph, as cornelia bryant would say."
""the race that knows joseph?"
puzzled anne.
""yes.
cornelia divides all the folks in the world into two kinds -- the race that knows joseph and the race that do n't.
if a person sorter sees eye to eye with you, and has pretty much the same ideas about things, and the same taste in jokes -- why, then he belongs to the race that knows joseph."
""oh, i understand," exclaimed anne, light breaking in upon her.
""it's what i used to call -- and still call in quotation marks "kindred spirits.""
""jest so -- jest so," agreed captain jim.
""we're it, whatever it is.
when you come in tonight, mistress blythe, i says to myself, says i, "yes, she's of the race that knows joseph."
and mighty glad i was, for if it was n't so we could n't have had any real satisfaction in each other's company.
the race that knows joseph is the salt of the airth, i reckon."
the moon had just risen when anne and gilbert went to the door with their guests.
four winds harbor was beginning to be a thing of dream and glamour and enchantment -- a spellbound haven where no tempest might ever ravin.
the lombardies down the lane, tall and sombre as the priestly forms of some mystic band, were tipped with silver.
""always liked lombardies," said captain jim, waving a long arm at them.
""they're the trees of princesses.
they're out of fashion now.
folks complain that they die at the top and get ragged-looking.
so they do -- so they do, if you do n't risk your neck every spring climbing up a light ladder to trim them out.
i always did it for miss elizabeth, so her lombardies never got out-at-elbows.
she was especially fond of them.
she liked their dignity and stand-offishness.
they do n't hobnob with every tom, dick and harry.
if it's maples for company, mistress blythe, it's lombardies for society."
""what a beautiful night," said mrs. doctor dave, as she climbed into the doctor's buggy.
""most nights are beautiful," said captain jim.
""but i "low that moonlight over four winds makes me sorter wonder what's left for heaven.
the moon's a great friend of mine, mistress blythe.
i've loved her ever since i can remember.
when i was a little chap of eight i fell asleep in the garden one evening and was n't missed.
i woke up along in the night and i was most scared to death.
what shadows and queer noises there was!
i durs n't move.
jest crouched there quaking, poor small mite.
seemed's if there were n't anyone in the world but meself and it was mighty big.
then all at once i saw the moon looking down at me through the apple boughs, jest like an old friend.
i was comforted right off.
got up and walked to the house as brave as a lion, looking at her.
many's the night i've watched her from the deck of my vessel, on seas far away from here.
why do n't you folks tell me to take in the slack of my jaw and go home?"
the laughter of the goodnights died away.
anne and gilbert walked hand in hand around their garden.
the brook that ran across the corner dimpled pellucidly in the shadows of the birches.
the poppies along its banks were like shallow cups of moonlight.
flowers that had been planted by the hands of the schoolmaster's bride flung their sweetness on the shadowy air, like the beauty and blessing of sacred yesterdays.
anne paused in the gloom to gather a spray.
""i love to smell flowers in the dark," she said.
""you get hold of their soul then.
oh, gilbert, this little house is all i've dreamed it.
and i'm so glad that we are not the first who have kept bridal tryst here!"
chapter 8 miss cornelia bryant comes to call that september was a month of golden mists and purple hazes at four winds harbor -- a month of sun-steeped days and of nights that were swimming in moonlight, or pulsating with stars.
no storm marred it, no rough wind blew.
anne and gilbert put their nest in order, rambled on the shores, sailed on the harbor, drove about four winds and the glen, or through the ferny, sequestered roads of the woods around the harbor head; in short, had such a honeymoon as any lovers in the world might have envied them.
""if life were to stop short just now it would still have been richly worth while, just for the sake of these past four weeks, would n't it?"
said anne.
""i do n't suppose we will ever have four such perfect weeks again -- but we've had them.
everything -- wind, weather, folks, house of dreams -- has conspired to make our honeymoon delightful.
there has n't even been a rainy day since we came here."
""and we have n't quarrelled once," teased gilbert.
""well, "that's a pleasure all the greater for being deferred,"" quoted anne.
""i'm so glad we decided to spend our honeymoon here.
our memories of it will always belong here, in our house of dreams, instead of being scattered about in strange places."
there was a certain tang of romance and adventure in the atmosphere of their new home which anne had never found in avonlea.
there, although she had lived in sight of the sea, it had not entered intimately into her life.
in four winds it surrounded her and called to her constantly.
from every window of her new home she saw some varying aspect of it.
its haunting murmur was ever in her ears.
vessels sailed up the harbor every day to the wharf at the glen, or sailed out again through the sunset, bound for ports that might be half way round the globe.
fishing boats went white-winged down the channel in the mornings, and returned laden in the evenings.
sailors and fisher-folk travelled the red, winding harbor roads, light-hearted and content.
there was always a certain sense of things going to happen -- of adventures and farings-forth.
the ways of four winds were less staid and settled and grooved than those of avonlea; winds of change blew over them; the sea called ever to the dwellers on shore, and even those who might not answer its call felt the thrill and unrest and mystery and possibilities of it.
""i understand now why some men must go to sea," said anne.
""that desire which comes to us all at times -- "to sail beyond the bourne of sunset" -- must be very imperious when it is born in you.
i do n't wonder captain jim ran away because of it.
i never see a ship sailing out of the channel, or a gull soaring over the sand-bar, without wishing i were on board the ship or had wings, not like a dove "to fly away and be at rest," but like a gull, to sweep out into the very heart of a storm."
""you'll stay right here with me, anne-girl," said gilbert lazily.
""i wo n't have you flying away from me into the hearts of storms."
they were sitting on their red sand-stone doorstep in the late afternoon.
great tranquillities were all about them in land and sea and sky.
silvery gulls were soaring over them.
the horizons were laced with long trails of frail, pinkish clouds.
the hushed air was threaded with a murmurous refrain of minstrel winds and waves.
pale asters were blowing in the sere and misty meadows between them and the harbor.
""doctors who have to be up all night waiting on sick folk do n't feel very adventurous, i suppose," anne said indulgently.
""if you had had a good sleep last night, gilbert, you'd be as ready as i am for a flight of imagination."
""i did good work last night, anne," said gilbert quietly.
""under god, i saved a life.
this is the first time i could ever really claim that.
in other cases i may have helped; but, anne, if i had not stayed at allonby's last night and fought death hand to hand, that woman would have died before morning.
i tried an experiment that was certainly never tried in four winds before.
i doubt if it was ever tried anywhere before outside of a hospital.
it was a new thing in kingsport hospital last winter.
i could never have dared try it here if i had not been absolutely certain that there was no other chance.
i risked it -- and it succeeded.
as a result, a good wife and mother is saved for long years of happiness and usefulness.
as i drove home this morning, while the sun was rising over the harbor, i thanked god that i had chosen the profession i did.
i had fought a good fight and won -- think of it, anne, won, against the great destroyer.
it's what i dreamed of doing long ago when we talked together of what we wanted to do in life.
that dream of mine came true this morning."
""was that the only one of your dreams that has come true?"
asked anne, who knew perfectly well what the substance of his answer would be, but wanted to hear it again.
""you know, anne-girl," said gilbert, smiling into her eyes.
at that moment there were certainly two perfectly happy people sitting on the doorstep of a little white house on the four winds harbor shore.
presently gilbert said, with a change of tone, "do i or do i not see a full-rigged ship sailing up our lane?"
anne looked and sprang up.
""that must be either miss cornelia bryant or mrs. moore coming to call," she said.
""i'm going into the office, and if it is miss cornelia i warn you that i'll eavesdrop," said gilbert.
""from all i've heard regarding miss cornelia i conclude that her conversation will not be dull, to say the least."
""it may be mrs. moore."
""i do n't think mrs. moore is built on those lines.
i saw her working in her garden the other day, and, though i was too far away to see clearly, i thought she was rather slender.
she does n't seem very socially inclined when she has never called on you yet, although she's your nearest neighbor."
""she ca n't be like mrs. lynde, after all, or curiosity would have brought her," said anne.
""this caller is, i think, miss cornelia."
miss cornelia it was; moreover, miss cornelia had not come to make any brief and fashionable wedding call.
she had her work under her arm in a substantial parcel, and when anne asked her to stay she promptly took off her capacious sun-hat, which had been held on her head, despite irreverent september breezes, by a tight elastic band under her hard little knob of fair hair.
no hat pins for miss cornelia, an it please ye!
elastic bands had been good enough for her mother and they were good enough for her.
she had a fresh, round, pink-and-white face, and jolly brown eyes.
she did not look in the least like the traditional old maid, and there was something in her expression which won anne instantly.
with her old instinctive quickness to discern kindred spirits she knew she was going to like miss cornelia, in spite of uncertain oddities of opinion, and certain oddities of attire.
nobody but miss cornelia would have come to make a call arrayed in a striped blue-and-white apron and a wrapper of chocolate print, with a design of huge, pink roses scattered over it.
and nobody but miss cornelia could have looked dignified and suitably garbed in it.
had miss cornelia been entering a palace to call on a prince's bride, she would have been just as dignified and just as wholly mistress of the situation.
she would have trailed her rose-spattered flounce over the marble floors just as unconcernedly, and she would have proceeded just as calmly to disabuse the mind of the princess of any idea that the possession of a mere man, be he prince or peasant, was anything to brag of.
""i've brought my work, mrs. blythe, dearie," she remarked, unrolling some dainty material.
""i'm in a hurry to get this done, and there is n't any time to lose."
anne looked in some surprise at the white garment spread over miss cornelia's ample lap.
it was certainly a baby's dress, and it was most beautifully made, with tiny frills and tucks.
miss cornelia adjusted her glasses and fell to embroidering with exquisite stitches.
""this is for mrs. fred proctor up at the glen," she announced.
""she's expecting her eighth baby any day now, and not a stitch has she ready for it.
the other seven have wore out all she made for the first, and she's never had time or strength or spirit to make any more.
that woman is a martyr, mrs. blythe, believe me.
when she married fred proctor i knew how it would turn out.
he was one of your wicked, fascinating men.
after he got married he left off being fascinating and just kept on being wicked.
he drinks and he neglects his family.
is n't that like a man?
i do n't know how mrs. proctor would ever keep her children decently clothed if her neighbors did n't help her out."
as anne was afterwards to learn, miss cornelia was the only neighbor who troubled herself much about the decency of the young proctors.
""when i heard this eighth baby was coming i decided to make some things for it," miss cornelia went on.
""this is the last and i want to finish it today."
""it's certainly very pretty," said anne.
""i'll get my sewing and we'll have a little thimble party of two.
you are a beautiful sewer, miss bryant."
""yes, i'm the best sewer in these parts," said miss cornelia in a matter-of-fact tone.
""i ought to be!
lord, i've done more of it than if i'd had a hundred children of my own, believe me!
i s "pose i'm a fool, to be putting hand embroidery on this dress for an eighth baby.
but, lord, mrs. blythe, dearie, it is n't to blame for being the eighth, and i kind of wished it to have one real pretty dress, just as if it was wanted.
nobody's wanting the poor mite -- so i put some extra fuss on its little things just on that account."
""any baby might be proud of that dress," said anne, feeling still more strongly that she was going to like miss cornelia.
""i s "pose you've been thinking i was never coming to call on you," resumed miss cornelia.
""but this is harvest month, you know, and i've been busy -- and a lot of extra hands hanging round, eating more'n they work, just like the men.
i'd have come yesterday, but i went to mrs. roderick macallister's funeral.
at first i thought my head was aching so badly i could n't enjoy myself if i did go.
but she was a hundred years old, and i'd always promised myself that i'd go to her funeral."
""was it a successful function?"
asked anne, noticing that the office door was ajar.
""what's that?
oh, yes, it was a tremendous funeral.
she had a very large connection.
there was over one hundred and twenty carriages in the procession.
there was one or two funny things happened.
i thought that die i would to see old joe bradshaw, who is an infidel and never darkens the door of a church, singing "safe in the arms of jesus" with great gusto and fervor.
he glories in singing -- that's why he never misses a funeral.
poor mrs. bradshaw did n't look much like singing -- all wore out slaving.
old joe starts out once in a while to buy her a present and brings home some new kind of farm machinery.
is n't that like a man?
but what else would you expect of a man who never goes to church, even a methodist one?
i was real thankful to see you and the young doctor in the presbyterian church your first sunday.
no doctor for me who is n't a presbyterian."
""we were in the methodist church last sunday evening," said anne wickedly.
""oh, i s "pose dr. blythe has to go to the methodist church once in a while or he would n't get the methodist practice."
""we liked the sermon very much," declared anne boldly.
""and i thought the methodist minster's prayer was one of the most beautiful i ever heard."
""oh, i've no doubt he can pray.
i never heard anyone make more beautiful prayers than old simon bentley, who was always drunk, or hoping to be, and the drunker he was the better he prayed."
""the methodist minister is very fine looking," said anne, for the benefit of the office door.
""yes, he's quite ornamental," agreed miss cornelia.
""oh, and very ladylike.
and he thinks that every girl who looks at him falls in love with him -- as if a methodist minister, wandering about like any jew, was such a prize!
if you and the young doctor take my advice, you wo n't have much to do with the methodists.
my motto is -- if you are a presbyterian, be a presbyterian."
""do n't you think that methodists go to heaven as well as presbyterians?"
asked anne smilelessly.
""that is n't for us to decide.
it's in higher hands than ours," said miss cornelia solemnly.
""but i ai n't going to associate with them on earth whatever i may have to do in heaven.
this methodist minister is n't married.
the last one they had was, and his wife was the silliest, flightiest little thing i ever saw.
i told her husband once that he should have waited till she was grown up before he married her.
he said he wanted to have the training of her.
was n't that like a man?"
""it's rather hard to decide just when people are grown up," laughed anne.
""that's a true word, dearie.
some are grown up when they're born, and others ai n't grown up when they're eighty, believe me.
that same mrs. roderick i was speaking of never grew up.
she was as foolish when she was a hundred as when she was ten."
""perhaps that was why she lived so long," suggested anne.
""maybe't was.
i'd rather live fifty sensible years than a hundred foolish ones."
""but just think what a dull world it would be if everyone was sensible," pleaded anne.
miss cornelia disdained any skirmish of flippant epigram.
""mrs. roderick was a milgrave, and the milgraves never had much sense.
her nephew, ebenezer milgrave, used to be insane for years.
he believed he was dead and used to rage at his wife because she would n't bury him.
i'd a-done it."
miss cornelia looked so grimly determined that anne could almost see her with a spade in her hand.
""do n't you know any good husbands, miss bryant?"
""oh, yes, lots of them -- over yonder," said miss cornelia, waving her hand through the open window towards the little graveyard of the church across the harbor.
""but living -- going about in the flesh?"
persisted anne.
""oh, there's a few, just to show that with god all things are possible," acknowledged miss cornelia reluctantly.
""i do n't deny that an odd man here and there, if he's caught young and trained up proper, and if his mother has spanked him well beforehand, may turn out a decent being.
your husband, now, is n't so bad, as men go, from all i hear.
i s "pose" -- miss cornelia looked sharply at anne over her glasses -- "you think there's nobody like him in the world."
""there is n't," said anne promptly.
""ah, well, i heard another bride say that once," sighed miss cornelia.
""jennie dean thought when she married that there was n't anybody like her husband in the world.
and she was right -- there was n't!
and a good thing, too, believe me!
he led her an awful life -- and he was courting his second wife while jennie was dying.
""was n't that like a man?
however, i hope your confidence will be better justified, dearie.
the young doctor is taking real well.
i was afraid at first he might n't, for folks hereabouts have always thought old doctor dave the only doctor in the world.
doctor dave had n't much tact, to be sure -- he was always talking of ropes in houses where someone had hanged himself.
but folks forgot their hurt feelings when they had a pain in their stomachs.
if he'd been a minister instead of a doctor they'd never have forgiven him.
soul-ache does n't worry folks near as much as stomach-ache.
seeing as we're both presbyterians and no methodists around, will you tell me your candid opinion of our minister?"
""why -- really -- i -- well," hesitated anne.
miss cornelia nodded.
""exactly.
i agree with you, dearie.
we made a mistake when we called him.
his face just looks like one of those long, narrow stones in the graveyard, does n't it?
"sacred to the memory" ought to be written on his forehead.
i shall never forget the first sermon he preached after he came.
it was on the subject of everyone doing what they were best fitted for -- a very good subject, of course; but such illustrations as he used!
he said, "if you had a cow and an apple tree, and if you tied the apple tree in your stable and planted the cow in your orchard, with her legs up, how much milk would you get from the apple tree, or how many apples from the cow?"
did you ever hear the like in your born days, dearie?
i was so thankful there were no methodists there that day -- they'd never have been done hooting over it.
but what i dislike most in him is his habit of agreeing with everybody, no matter what is said.
if you said to him, "you're a scoundrel," he'd say, with that smooth smile of his, "yes, that's so."
a minister should have more backbone.
the long and the short of it is, i consider him a reverend jackass.
but, of course, this is just between you and me.
when there are methodists in hearing i praise him to the skies.
some folks think his wife dresses too gay, but i say when she has to live with a face like that she needs something to cheer her up.
you'll never hear me condemning a woman for her dress.
i'm only too thankful when her husband is n't too mean and miserly to allow it.
not that i bother much with dress myself.
women just dress to please the men, and i'd never stoop to that.
i have had a real placid, comfortable life, dearie, and it's just because i never cared a cent what the men thought."
""why do you hate the men so, miss bryant?"
""lord, dearie, i do n't hate them.
they are n't worth it.
i just sort of despise them.
i think i'll like your husband if he keeps on as he has begun.
but apart from him about the only men in the world i've much use for are the old doctor and captain jim."
""captain jim is certainly splendid," agreed anne cordially.
""captain jim is a good man, but he's kind of vexing in one way.
you ca n't make him mad.
i've tried for twenty years and he just keeps on being placid.
it does sort of rile me.
and i s "pose the woman he should have married got a man who went into tantrums twice a day."
""who was she?"
""oh, i do n't know, dearie.
i never remember of captain jim making up to anybody.
he was edging on old as far as my memory goes.
he's seventy-six, you know.
i never heard any reason for his staying a bachelor, but there must be one, believe me.
he sailed all his life till five years ago, and there's no corner of the earth he has n't poked his nose into.
he and elizabeth russell were great cronies, all their lives, but they never had any notion of sweet-hearting.
elizabeth never married, though she had plenty of chances.
she was a great beauty when she was young.
the year the prince of wales came to the island she was visiting her uncle in charlottetown and he was a government official, and so she got invited to the great ball.
she was the prettiest girl there, and the prince danced with her, and all the other women he did n't dance with were furious about it, because their social standing was higher than hers and they said he should n't have passed them over.
elizabeth was always very proud of that dance.
mean folks said that was why she never married -- she could n't put up with an ordinary man after dancing with a prince.
but that was n't so.
she told me the reason once -- it was because she had such a temper that she was afraid she could n't live peaceably with any man.
she had an awful temper -- she used to have to go upstairs and bite pieces out of her bureau to keep it down by times.
but i told her that was n't any reason for not marrying if she wanted to.
there's no reason why we should let the men have a monopoly of temper, is there, mrs. blythe, dearie?"
""i've a bit of temper myself," sighed anne.
""it's well you have, dearie.
you wo n't be half so likely to be trodden on, believe me!
my, how that golden glow of yours is blooming!
your garden looks fine.
poor elizabeth always took such care of it."
""i love it," said anne.
""i'm glad it's so full of old-fashioned flowers.
speaking of gardening, we want to get a man to dig up that little lot beyond the fir grove and set it out with strawberry plants for us.
gilbert is so busy he will never get time for it this fall.
do you know anyone we can get?"
""well, henry hammond up at the glen goes out doing jobs like that.
he'll do, maybe.
he's always a heap more interested in his wages than in his work, just like a man, and he's so slow in the uptake that he stands still for five minutes before it dawns on him that he's stopped.
his father threw a stump at him when he was small.
""nice gentle missile, was n't it?
so like a man!
course, the boy never got over it.
but he's the only one i can recommend at all.
he painted my house for me last spring.
it looks real nice now, do n't you think?"
anne was saved by the clock striking five.
""lord, is it that late?"
exclaimed miss cornelia.
""how time does slip by when you're enjoying yourself!
well, i must betake myself home."
""no, indeed!
you are going to stay and have tea with us," said anne eagerly.
""are you asking me because you think you ought to, or because you really want to?"
demanded miss cornelia.
""because i really want to."
""then i'll stay.
you belong to the race that knows joseph."
""i know we are going to be friends," said anne, with the smile that only they of the household of faith ever saw.
""yes, we are, dearie.
thank goodness, we can choose our friends.
we have to take our relatives as they are, and be thankful if there are no penitentiary birds among them.
not that i've many -- none nearer than second cousins.
i'm a kind of lonely soul, mrs. blythe."
there was a wistful note in miss cornelia's voice.
""i wish you would call me anne," exclaimed anne impulsively.
""it would seem more homey.
everyone in four winds, except my husband, calls me mrs. blythe, and it makes me feel like a stranger.
do you know that your name is very near being the one i yearned after when i was a child.
i hated "anne" and i called myself "cordelia" in imagination."
""i like anne.
it was my mother's name.
old-fashioned names are the best and sweetest in my opinion.
if you're going to get tea you might send the young doctor to talk to me.
he's been lying on the sofa in that office ever since i came, laughing fit to kill over what i've been saying."
""how did you know?"
cried anne, too aghast at this instance of miss cornelia's uncanny prescience to make a polite denial.
""i saw him sitting beside you when i came up the lane, and i know men's tricks," retorted miss cornelia.
""there, i've finished my little dress, dearie, and the eighth baby can come as soon as it pleases."
chapter 9 an evening at four winds point it was late september when anne and gilbert were able to pay four winds light their promised visit.
they had often planned to go, but something always occurred to prevent them.
captain jim had "dropped in" several times at the little house.
""i do n't stand on ceremony, mistress blythe," he told anne.
""it's a real pleasure to me to come here, and i'm not going to deny myself jest because you have n't got down to see me.
there ought n't to be no bargaining like that among the race that knows joseph.
i'll come when i can, and you come when you can, and so long's we have our pleasant little chat it do n't matter a mite what roof's over us."
captain jim took a great fancy to gog and magog, who were presiding over the destinies of the hearth in the little house with as much dignity and aplomb as they had done at patty's place.
""are n't they the cutest little cusses?"
he would say delightedly; and he bade them greeting and farewell as gravely and invariably as he did his host and hostess.
captain jim was not going to offend household deities by any lack of reverence and ceremony.
""you've made this little house just about perfect," he told anne.
""it never was so nice before.
mistress selwyn had your taste and she did wonders; but folks in those days did n't have the pretty little curtains and pictures and nicknacks you have.
as for elizabeth, she lived in the past.
you've kinder brought the future into it, so to speak.
i'd be real happy even if we could n't talk at all, when i come here -- jest to sit and look at you and your pictures and your flowers would be enough of a treat.
it's beautiful -- beautiful."
captain jim was a passionate worshipper of beauty.
every lovely thing heard or seen gave him a deep, subtle, inner joy that irradiated his life.
he was quite keenly aware of his own lack of outward comeliness and lamented it.
""folks say i'm good," he remarked whimsically upon one occasion, "but i sometimes wish the lord had made me only half as good and put the rest of it into looks.
but there, i reckon he knew what he was about, as a good captain should.
some of us have to be homely, or the purty ones -- like mistress blythe here -- would n't show up so well."
one evening anne and gilbert finally walked down to the four winds light.
the day had begun sombrely in gray cloud and mist, but it had ended in a pomp of scarlet and gold.
over the western hills beyond the harbor were amber deeps and crystalline shallows, with the fire of sunset below.
the north was a mackerel sky of little, fiery golden clouds.
the red light flamed on the white sails of a vessel gliding down the channel, bound to a southern port in a land of palms.
beyond her, it smote upon and incarnadined the shining, white, grassless faces of the sand dunes.
to the right, it fell on the old house among the willows up the brook, and gave it for a fleeting space casements more splendid than those of an old cathedral.
they glowed out of its quiet and grayness like the throbbing, blood-red thoughts of a vivid soul imprisoned in a dull husk of environment.
""that old house up the brook always seems so lonely," said anne.
""i never see visitors there.
of course, its lane opens on the upper road -- but i do n't think there's much coming and going.
it seems odd we've never met the moores yet, when they live within fifteen minutes" walk of us.
i may have seen them in church, of course, but if so i did n't know them.
i'm sorry they are so unsociable, when they are our only near neighbors."
""evidently they do n't belong to the race that knows joseph," laughed gilbert.
""have you ever found out who that girl was whom you thought so beautiful?"
""no.
somehow i have never remembered to ask about her.
but i've never seen her anywhere, so i suppose she must have been a stranger.
oh, the sun has just vanished -- and there's the light."
as the dusk deepened, the great beacon cut swathes of light through it, sweeping in a circle over the fields and the harbor, the sandbar and the gulf.
""i feel as if it might catch me and whisk me leagues out to sea," said anne, as one drenched them with radiance; and she felt rather relieved when they got so near the point that they were inside the range of those dazzling, recurrent flashes.
as they turned into the little lane that led across the fields to the point they met a man coming out of it -- a man of such extraordinary appearance that for a moment they both frankly stared.
he was a decidedly fine-looking person-tall, broad-shouldered, well-featured, with a roman nose and frank gray eyes; he was dressed in a prosperous farmer's sunday best; in so far he might have been any inhabitant of four winds or the glen.
but, flowing over his breast nearly to his knees, was a river of crinkly brown beard; and adown his back, beneath his commonplace felt hat, was a corresponding cascade of thick, wavy, brown hair.
""anne," murmured gilbert, when they were out of earshot, "you did n't put what uncle dave calls" a little of the scott act" in that lemonade you gave me just before we left home, did you?"
""no, i did n't," said anne, stifling her laughter, lest the retreating enigma should hear here.
""who in the world can he be?"
""i do n't know; but if captain jim keeps apparitions like that down at this point i'm going to carry cold iron in my pocket when i come here.
he was n't a sailor, or one might pardon his eccentricity of appearance; he must belong to the over-harbor clans.
uncle dave says they have several freaks over there."
""uncle dave is a little prejudiced, i think.
you know all the over-harbor people who come to the glen church seem very nice.
oh, gilbert, is n't this beautiful?"
the four winds light was built on a spur of red sand-stone cliff jutting out into the gulf.
on one side, across the channel, stretched the silvery sand shore of the bar; on the other, extended a long, curving beach of red cliffs, rising steeply from the pebbled coves.
it was a shore that knew the magic and mystery of storm and star.
there is a great solitude about such a shore.
the woods are never solitary -- they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life.
but the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity.
we can never pierce its infinite mystery -- we may only wander, awed and spellbound, on the outer fringe of it.
the woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only -- a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music.
the woods are human, but the sea is of the company of the archangels.
anne and gilbert found uncle jim sitting on a bench outside the lighthouse, putting the finishing touches to a wonderful, full-rigged, toy schooner.
he rose and welcomed them to his abode with the gentle, unconscious courtesy that became him so well.
""this has been a purty nice day all through, mistress blythe, and now, right at the last, it's brought its best.
would you like to sit down here outside a bit, while the light lasts?
i've just finished this bit of a plaything for my little grand nephew, joe, up at the glen.
after i promised to make it for him i was kinder sorry, for his mother was vexed.
she's afraid he'll be wanting to go to sea later on and she does n't want the notion encouraged in him.
but what could i do, mistress blythe?
i'd promised him, and i think it's sorter real dastardly to break a promise you make to a child.
come, sit down.
it wo n't take long to stay an hour."
the wind was off shore, and only broke the sea's surface into long, silvery ripples, and sent sheeny shadows flying out across it, from every point and headland, like transparent wings.
the dusk was hanging a curtain of violet gloom over the sand dunes and the headlands where gulls were huddling.
the sky was faintly filmed over with scarfs of silken vapor.
cloud fleets rode at anchor along the horizons.
an evening star was watching over the bar.
""is n't that a view worth looking at?"
said captain jim, with a loving, proprietary pride.
""nice and far from the market-place, ai n't it?
no buying and selling and getting gain.
you do n't have to pay anything -- all that sea and sky free -- "without money and without price."
there's going to be a moonrise purty soon, too -- i'm never tired of finding out what a moonrise can be over them rocks and sea and harbor.
there's a surprise in it every time."
they had their moonrise, and watched its marvel and magic in a silence that asked nothing of the world or each other.
then they went up into the tower, and captain jim showed and explained the mechanism of the great light.
finally they found themselves in the dining room, where a fire of driftwood was weaving flames of wavering, elusive, sea-born hues in the open fireplace.
""i put this fireplace in myself," remarked captain jim.
""the government do n't give lighthouse keepers such luxuries.
look at the colors that wood makes.
if you'd like some driftwood for your fire, mistress blythe, i'll bring you up a load some day.
sit down.
i'm going to make you a cup of tea."
captain jim placed a chair for anne, having first removed therefrom a huge, orange-colored cat and a newspaper.
""get down, matey.
the sofa is your place.
i must put this paper away safe till i can find time to finish the story in it.
it's called a mad love.
't is n't my favorite brand of fiction, but i'm reading it jest to see how long she can spin it out.
it's at the sixty-second chapter now, and the wedding ai n't any nearer than when it begun, far's i can see.
when little joe comes i have to read him pirate yarns.
ai n't it strange how innocent little creatures like children like the blood-thirstiest stories?"
""like my lad davy at home," said anne.
""he wants tales that reek with gore."
captain jim's tea proved to be nectar.
he was pleased as a child with anne's compliments, but he affected a fine indifference.
""the secret is i do n't skimp the cream," he remarked airily.
captain jim had never heard of oliver wendell holmes, but he evidently agreed with that writer's dictum that "big heart never liked little cream pot."
""we met an odd-looking personage coming out of your lane," said gilbert as they sipped.
""who was he?"
captain jim grinned.
""that's marshall elliott -- a mighty fine man with jest one streak of foolishness in him.
i s "pose you wondered what his object was in turning himself into a sort of dime museum freak."
""is he a modern nazarite or a hebrew prophet left over from olden times?"
asked anne.
""neither of them.
it's politics that's at the bottom of his freak.
all those elliotts and crawfords and macallisters are dyed-in-the-wool politicians.
they're born grit or tory, as the case may be, and they live grit or tory, and they die grit or tory; and what they're going to do in heaven, where there's probably no politics, is more than i can fathom.
this marshall elliott was born a grit.
i'm a grit myself in moderation, but there's no moderation about marshall.
fifteen years ago there was a specially bitter general election.
marshall fought for his party tooth and nail.
he was dead sure the liberals would win -- so sure that he got up at a public meeting and vowed that he would n't shave his face or cut his hair until the grits were in power.
well, they did n't go in -- and they've never got in yet -- and you saw the result today for yourselves.
marshall stuck to his word."
""what does his wife think of it?"
asked anne.
""he's a bachelor.
but if he had a wife i reckon she could n't make him break that vow.
that family of elliotts has always been more stubborn than natteral.
marshall's brother alexander had a dog he set great store by, and when it died the man actilly wanted to have it buried in the graveyard, "along with the other christians," he said.
course, he was n't allowed to; so he buried it just outside the graveyard fence, and never darkened the church door again.
but sundays he'd drive his family to church and sit by that dog's grave and read his bible all the time service was going on.
they say when he was dying he asked his wife to bury him beside the dog; she was a meek little soul but she fired up at that.
she said she was n't going to be buried beside no dog, and if he'd rather have his last resting place beside the dog than beside her, jest to say so.
alexander elliott was a stubborn mule, but he was fond of his wife, so he give in and said, "well, durn it, bury me where you please.
but when gabriel's trump blows i expect my dog to rise with the rest of us, for he had as much soul as any durned elliott or crawford or macallister that ever strutted."
them was his parting words.
as for marshall, we're all used to him, but he must strike strangers as right down peculiar-looking.
i've known him ever since he was ten -- he's about fifty now -- and i like him.
him and me was out cod-fishing today.
that's about all i'm good for now -- catching trout and cod occasional.
but "twere n't always so -- not by no manner of means.
i used to do other things, as you'd admit if you saw my life-book."
anne was just going to ask what his life-book was when the first mate created a diversion by springing upon captain jim's knee.
he was a gorgeous beastie, with a face as round as a full moon, vivid green eyes, and immense, white, double paws.
captain jim stroked his velvet back gently.
""i never fancied cats much till i found the first mate," he remarked, to the accompaniment of the mate's tremendous purrs.
""i saved his life, and when you've saved a creature's life you're bound to love it.
it's next thing to giving life.
there's some turrible thoughtless people in the world, mistress blythe.
some of them city folks who have summer homes over the harbor are so thoughtless that they're cruel.
it's the worst kind of cruelty -- the thoughtless kind.
you ca n't cope with it.
they keep cats there in the summer, and feed and pet'em, and doll'em up with ribbons and collars.
and then in the fall they go off and leave'em to starve or freeze.
it makes my blood boil, mistress blythe.
one day last winter i found a poor old mother cat dead on the shore, lying against the skin-and-bone bodies of her three little kittens.
she'd died trying to shelter'em.
she had her poor stiff paws around'em.
master, i cried.
then i swore.
then i carried them poor little kittens home and fed'em up and found good homes for'em.
i knew the woman who left the cat and when she come back this summer i jest went over the harbor and told her my opinion of her.
it was rank meddling, but i do love meddling in a good cause."
""how did she take it?"
asked gilbert.
""cried and said she "did n't think."
i says to her, says i, "do you s "pose that'll be held for a good excuse in the day of jedgment, when you'll have to account for that poor old mother's life?
the lord'll ask you what he give you your brains for if it was n't to think, i reckon."
i do n't fancy she'll leave cats to starve another time."
""was the first mate one of the forsaken?"
asked anne, making advances to him which were responded to graciously, if condescendingly.
""yes.
i found him one bitter cold day in winter, caught in the branches of a tree by his durn-fool ribbon collar.
he was almost starving.
if you could have seen his eyes, mistress blythe!
he was nothing but a kitten, and he'd got his living somehow since he'd been left until he got hung up.
when i loosed him he gave my hand a pitiful swipe with his little red tongue.
he was n't the able seaman you see now.
he was meek as moses.
that was nine years ago.
his life has been long in the land for a cat.
he's a good old pal, the first mate is."
""i should have expected you to have a dog," said gilbert.
captain jim shook his head.
""i had a dog once.
i thought so much of him that when he died i could n't bear the thought of getting another in his place.
he was a friend -- you understand, mistress blythe?
matey's only a pal.
i'm fond of matey -- all the fonder on account of the spice of devilment that's in him -- like there is in all cats.
but i loved my dog.
i always had a sneaking sympathy for alexander elliott about his dog.
there is n't any devil in a good dog.
that's why they're more lovable than cats, i reckon.
but i'm darned if they're as interesting.
here i am, talking too much.
why do n't you check me?
when i do get a chance to talk to anyone i run on turrible.
if you've done your tea i've a few little things you might like to look at -- picked'em up in the queer corners i used to be poking my nose into."
captain jim's "few little things" turned out to be a most interesting collection of curios, hideous, quaint and beautiful.
and almost every one had some striking story attached to it.
anne never forgot the delight with which she listened to those old tales that moonlit evening by that enchanted driftwood fire, while the silver sea called to them through the open window and sobbed against the rocks below them.
captain jim never said a boastful word, but it was impossible to help seeing what a hero the man had been -- brave, true, resourceful, unselfish.
he sat there in his little room and made those things live again for his hearers.
by a lift of the eyebrow, a twist of the lip, a gesture, a word, he painted a whole scene or character so that they saw it as it was.
some of captain jim's adventures had such a marvellous edge that anne and gilbert secretly wondered if he were not drawing a rather long bow at their credulous expense.
but in this, as they found later, they did him injustice.
his tales were all literally true.
captain jim had the gift of the born storyteller, whereby "unhappy, far-off things" can be brought vividly before the hearer in all their pristine poignancy.
anne and gilbert laughed and shivered over his tales, and once anne found herself crying.
captain jim surveyed her tears with pleasure shining from his face.
""i like to see folks cry that way," he remarked.
""it's a compliment.
but i ca n't do justice to the things i've seen or helped to do.
i've'em all jotted down in my life-book, but i have n't got the knack of writing them out properly.
if i could hit on jest the right words and string'em together proper on paper i could make a great book.
it would beat a mad love holler, and i believe joe'd like it as well as the pirate yarns.
yes, i've had some adventures in my time; and, do you know, mistress blythe, i still lust after'em.
yes, old and useless as i be, there's an awful longing sweeps over me at times to sail out -- out -- out there -- forever and ever."
""like ulysses, you would "sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the western stars until you die,"" said anne dreamily.
""ulysses?
i've read of him.
yes, that's just how i feel -- jest how all us old sailors feel, i reckon.
i'll die on land after all, i s "pose.
well, what is to be will be.
there was old william ford at the glen who never went on the water in his life,'cause he was afraid of being drowned.
a fortune-teller had predicted he would be.
and one day he fainted and fell with his face in the barn trough and was drowned.
must you go?
well, come soon and come often.
the doctor is to do the talking next time.
he knows a heap of things i want to find out.
i'm sorter lonesome here by times.
it's been worse since elizabeth russell died.
her and me was such cronies."
captain jim spoke with the pathos of the aged, who see their old friends slipping from them one by one -- friends whose place can never be quite filled by those of a younger generation, even of the race that knows joseph.
anne and gilbert promised to come soon and often.
""he's a rare old fellow, is n't he?"
said gilbert, as they walked home.
""somehow, i ca n't reconcile his simple, kindly personality with the wild, adventurous life he has lived," mused anne.
""you would n't find it so hard if you had seen him the other day down at the fishing village.
one of the men of peter gautier's boat made a nasty remark about some girl along the shore.
captain jim fairly scorched the wretched fellow with the lightning of his eyes.
he seemed a man transformed.
he did n't say much -- but the way he said it!
you'd have thought it would strip the flesh from the fellow's bones.
i understand that captain jim will never allow a word against any woman to be said in his presence."
""i wonder why he never married," said anne.
""he should have sons with their ships at sea now, and grandchildren climbing over him to hear his stories -- he's that kind of a man.
instead, he has nothing but a magnificent cat."
but anne was mistaken.
captain jim had more than that.
he had a memory.
chapter 10 leslie moore "i'm going for a walk to the outside shore tonight," anne told gog and magog one october evening.
there was no one else to tell, for gilbert had gone over the harbor.
anne had her little domain in the speckless order one would expect of anyone brought up by marilla cuthbert, and felt that she could gad shoreward with a clear conscience.
many and delightful had been her shore rambles, sometimes with gilbert, sometimes with captain jim, sometimes alone with her own thoughts and new, poignantly-sweet dreams that were beginning to span life with their rainbows.
she loved the gentle, misty harbor shore and the silvery, wind-haunted sand shore, but best of all she loved the rock shore, with its cliffs and caves and piles of surf-worn boulders, and its coves where the pebbles glittered under the pools; and it was to this shore she hied herself tonight.
there had been an autumn storm of wind and rain, lasting for three days.
thunderous had been the crash of billows on the rocks, wild the white spray and spume that blew over the bar, troubled and misty and tempest-torn the erstwhile blue peace of four winds harbor.
now it was over, and the shore lay clean-washed after the storm; not a wind stirred, but there was still a fine surf on, dashing on sand and rock in a splendid white turmoil -- the only restless thing in the great, pervading stillness and peace.
""oh, this is a moment worth living through weeks of storm and stress for," anne exclaimed, delightedly sending her far gaze across the tossing waters from the top of the cliff where she stood.
presently she scrambled down the steep path to the little cove below, where she seemed shut in with rocks and sea and sky.
""i'm going to dance and sing," she said.
""there's no one here to see me -- the seagulls wo n't carry tales of the matter.
i may be as crazy as i like."
she caught up her skirt and pirouetted along the hard strip of sand just out of reach of the waves that almost lapped her feet with their spent foam.
whirling round and round, laughing like a child, she reached the little headland that ran out to the east of the cove; then she stopped suddenly, blushing crimson; she was not alone; there had been a witness to her dance and laughter.
the girl of the golden hair and sea-blue eyes was sitting on a boulder of the headland, half-hidden by a jutting rock.
she was looking straight at anne with a strange expression -- part wonder, part sympathy, part -- could it be?
-- envy.
she was bare-headed, and her splendid hair, more than ever like browning's "gorgeous snake," was bound about her head with a crimson ribbon.
she wore a dress of some dark material, very plainly made; but swathed about her waist, outlining its fine curves, was a vivid girdle of red silk.
her hands, clasped over her knee, were brown and somewhat work-hardened; but the skin of her throat and cheeks was as white as cream.
a flying gleam of sunset broke through a low-lying western cloud and fell across her hair.
for a moment she seemed the spirit of the sea personified -- all its mystery, all its passion, all its elusive charm.
""you -- you must think me crazy," stammered anne, trying to recover her self-possession.
to be seen by this stately girl in such an abandon of childishness -- she, mrs. dr. blythe, with all the dignity of the matron to keep up -- it was too bad!
""no," said the girl, "i do n't."
she said nothing more; her voice was expressionless; her manner slightly repellent; but there was something in her eyes -- eager yet shy, defiant yet pleading -- which turned anne from her purpose of walking away.
instead, she sat down on the boulder beside the girl.
""let's introduce ourselves," she said, with the smile that had never yet failed to win confidence and friendliness.
""i am mrs. blythe -- and i live in that little white house up the harbor shore."
""yes, i know," said the girl.
""i am leslie moore -- mrs. dick moore," she added stiffly.
anne was silent for a moment from sheer amazement.
it had not occurred to her that this girl was married -- there seemed nothing of the wife about her.
and that she should be the neighbor whom anne had pictured as a commonplace four winds housewife!
anne could not quickly adjust her mental focus to this astonishing change.
""then -- then you live in that gray house up the brook," she stammered.
""yes.
i should have gone over to call on you long ago," said the other.
she did not offer any explanation or excuse for not having gone.
""i wish you would come," said anne, recovering herself somewhat.
""we're such near neighbors we ought to be friends.
that is the sole fault of four winds -- there are n't quite enough neighbors.
otherwise it is perfection."
""you like it?"
""like it!
i love it.
it is the most beautiful place i ever saw."
""i've never seen many places," said leslie moore, slowly, "but i've always thought it was very lovely here.
i -- i love it, too."
she spoke, as she looked, shyly, yet eagerly.
anne had an odd impression that this strange girl -- the word "girl" would persist -- could say a good deal if she chose.
""i often come to the shore," she added.
""so do i," said anne.
""it's a wonder we have n't met here before."
""probably you come earlier in the evening than i do.
it is generally late -- almost dark -- when i come.
and i love to come just after a storm -- like this.
i do n't like the sea so well when it's calm and quiet.
i like the struggle -- and the crash -- and the noise."
""i love it in all its moods," declared anne.
""the sea at four winds is to me what lover's lane was at home.
tonight it seemed so free -- so untamed -- something broke loose in me, too, out of sympathy.
that was why i danced along the shore in that wild way.
i did n't suppose anybody was looking, of course.
if miss cornelia bryant had seen me she would have forboded a gloomy prospect for poor young dr. blythe."
""you know miss cornelia?"
said leslie, laughing.
she had an exquisite laugh; it bubbled up suddenly and unexpectedly with something of the delicious quality of a baby's.
anne laughed, too.
""oh, yes.
she has been down to my house of dreams several times."
""your house of dreams?"
""oh, that's a dear, foolish little name gilbert and i have for our home.
we just call it that between ourselves.
it slipped out before i thought."
""so miss russell's little white house is your house of dreams," said leslie wonderingly."
i had a house of dreams once -- but it was a palace," she added, with a laugh, the sweetness of which was marred by a little note of derision.
""oh, i once dreamed of a palace, too," said anne.
""i suppose all girls do.
and then we settle down contentedly in eight-room houses that seem to fulfill all the desires of our hearts -- because our prince is there.
you should have had your palace really, though -- you are so beautiful.
you must let me say it -- it has to be said -- i'm nearly bursting with admiration.
you are the loveliest thing i ever saw, mrs. moore."
""if we are to be friends you must call me leslie," said the other with an odd passion.
""of course i will.
and my friends call me anne."
""i suppose i am beautiful," leslie went on, looking stormily out to sea.
""i hate my beauty.
i wish i had always been as brown and plain as the brownest and plainest girl at the fishing village over there.
well, what do you think of miss cornelia?"
the abrupt change of subject shut the door on any further confidences.
""miss cornelia is a darling, is n't she?"
said anne.
""gilbert and i were invited to her house to a state tea last week.
you've heard of groaning tables."
""i seem to recall seeing the expression in the newspaper reports of weddings," said leslie, smiling.
""well, miss cornelia's groaned -- at least, it creaked -- positively.
you could n't have believed she would have cooked so much for two ordinary people.
she had every kind of pie you could name, i think -- except lemon pie.
she said she had taken the prize for lemon pies at the charlottetown exhibition ten years ago and had never made any since for fear of losing her reputation for them."
""were you able to eat enough pie to please her?""
i was n't.
gilbert won her heart by eating -- i wo n't tell you how much.
she said she never knew a man who did n't like pie better than his bible.
do you know, i love miss cornelia."
""so do i," said leslie.
""she is the best friend i have in the world."
anne wondered secretly why, if this were so, miss cornelia had never mentioned mrs. dick moore to her.
miss cornelia had certainly talked freely about every other individual in or near four winds.
""is n't that beautiful?"
said leslie, after a brief silence, pointing to the exquisite effect of a shaft of light falling through a cleft in the rock behind them, across a dark green pool at its base.
""if i had come here -- and seen nothing but just that -- i would go home satisfied."
""the effects of light and shadow all along these shores are wonderful," agreed anne.
""my little sewing room looks out on the harbor, and i sit at its window and feast my eyes.
the colors and shadows are never the same two minutes together."
""and you are never lonely?"
asked leslie abruptly.
""never -- when you are alone?"
""no.
i do n't think i've ever been really lonely in my life," answered anne.
""even when i'm alone i have real good company -- dreams and imaginations and pretendings.
i like to be alone now and then, just to think over things and taste them.
but i love friendship -- and nice, jolly little times with people.
oh, wo n't you come to see me -- often?
please do.
i believe," anne added, laughing, "that you'd like me if you knew me."
""i wonder if you would like me," said leslie seriously.
she was not fishing for a compliment.
she looked out across the waves that were beginning to be garlanded with blossoms of moonlit foam, and her eyes filled with shadows.
""i'm sure i would," said anne.
""and please do n't think i'm utterly irresponsible because you saw me dancing on the shore at sunset.
no doubt i shall be dignified after a time.
you see, i have n't been married very long.
i feel like a girl, and sometimes like a child, yet."
""i have been married twelve years," said leslie.
here was another unbelievable thing.
""why, you ca n't be as old as i am!"
exclaimed anne.
""you must have been a child when you were married."
""i was sixteen," said leslie, rising, and picking up the cap and jacket lying beside her.
""i am twenty-eight now.
well, i must go back."
""so must i. gilbert will probably be home.
but i'm so glad we both came to the shore tonight and met each other."
leslie said nothing, and anne was a little chilled.
she had offered friendship frankly but it had not been accepted very graciously, if it had not been absolutely repelled.
in silence they climbed the cliffs and walked across a pasture-field of which the feathery, bleached, wild grasses were like a carpet of creamy velvet in the moonlight.
when they reached the shore lane leslie turned.
""i go this way, mrs. blythe.
you will come over and see me some time, wo n't you?"
anne felt as if the invitation had been thrown at her.
she got the impression that leslie moore gave it reluctantly.
""i will come if you really want me to," she said a little coldly.
""oh, i do -- i do," exclaimed leslie, with an eagerness which seemed to burst forth and beat down some restraint that had been imposed on it.
""then i'll come.
good-night -- leslie."
""good-night, mrs. blythe."
anne walked home in a brown study and poured out her tale to gilbert.
""so mrs. dick moore is n't one of the race that knows joseph?"
said gilbert teasingly.
""no -- o -- o, not exactly.
and yet -- i think she was one of them once, but has gone or got into exile," said anne musingly.
""she is certainly very different from the other women about here.
you ca n't talk about eggs and butter to her.
to think i've been imagining her a second mrs. rachel lynde!
have you ever seen dick moore, gilbert?"
""no.
i've seen several men working about the fields of the farm, but i do n't know which was moore."
""she never mentioned him.
i know she is n't happy."
""from what you tell me i suppose she was married before she was old enough to know her own mind or heart, and found out too late that she had made a mistake.
it's a common tragedy enough, anne.
""a fine woman would have made the best of it.
mrs. moore has evidently let it make her bitter and resentful."
""do n't let us judge her till we know," pleaded anne.
""i do n't believe her case is so ordinary.
you will understand her fascination when you meet her, gilbert.
it is a thing quite apart from her beauty.
i feel that she possesses a rich nature, into which a friend might enter as into a kingdom; but for some reason she bars every one out and shuts all her possibilities up in herself, so that they can not develop and blossom.
there, i've been struggling to define her to myself ever since i left her, and that is the nearest i can get to it.
i'm going to ask miss cornelia about her."
chapter 11 the story of leslie moore "yes, the eighth baby arrived a fortnight ago," said miss cornelia, from a rocker before the fire of the little house one chilly october afternoon.
""it's a girl.
fred was ranting mad -- said he wanted a boy -- when the truth is he did n't want it at all.
if it had been a boy he'd have ranted because it was n't a girl.
they had four girls and three boys before, so i ca n't see that it made much difference what this one was, but of course he'd have to be cantankerous, just like a man.
the baby is real pretty, dressed up in its nice little clothes.
it has black eyes and the dearest, tiny hands."
""i must go and see it.
i just love babies," said anne, smiling to herself over a thought too dear and sacred to be put into words.
""i do n't say but what they're nice," admitted miss cornelia.
""but some folks seem to have more than they really need, believe me.
my poor cousin flora up at the glen had eleven, and such a slave as she is!
her husband suicided three years ago.
just like a man!"
""what made him do that?"
asked anne, rather shocked.
""could n't get his way over something, so he jumped into the well.
a good riddance!
he was a born tyrant.
but of course it spoiled the well.
flora could never abide the thought of using it again, poor thing!
so she had another dug and a frightful expense it was, and the water as hard as nails.
if he had to drown himself there was plenty of water in the harbor, was n't there?
i've no patience with a man like that.
we've only had two suicides in four winds in my recollection.
the other was frank west -- leslie moore's father.
by the way, has leslie ever been over to call on you yet?"
""no, but i met her on the shore a few nights ago and we scraped an acquaintance," said anne, pricking up her ears.
miss cornelia nodded.
""i'm glad, dearie.
i was hoping you'd foregather with her.
what do you think of her?"
""i thought her very beautiful."
""oh, of course.
there was never anybody about four winds could touch her for looks.
did you ever see her hair?
it reaches to her feet when she lets it down.
but i meant how did you like her?"
""i think i could like her very much if she'd let me," said anne slowly.
""but she would n't let you -- she pushed you off and kept you at arm's length.
poor leslie!
you would n't be much surprised if you knew what her life has been.
it's been a tragedy -- a tragedy!"
repeated miss cornelia emphatically.
""i wish you would tell me all about her -- that is, if you can do so without betraying any confidence."
""lord, dearie, everybody in four winds knows poor leslie's story.
it's no secret -- the outside, that is.
nobody knows the inside but leslie herself, and she does n't take folks into her confidence.
i'm about the best friend she has on earth, i reckon, and she's never uttered a word of complaint to me.
have you ever seen dick moore?"
""no."
""well, i may as well begin at the beginning and tell you everything straight through, so you'll understand it.
as i said, leslie's father was frank west.
he was clever and shiftless -- just like a man.
oh, he had heaps of brains -- and much good they did him!
he started to go to college, and he went for two years, and then his health broke down.
the wests were all inclined to be consumptive.
so frank came home and started farming.
he married rose elliott from over harbor.
rose was reckoned the beauty of four winds -- leslie takes her looks from her mother, but she has ten times the spirit and go that rose had, and a far better figure.
now you know, anne, i always take the ground that us women ought to stand by each other.
we've got enough to endure at the hands of the men, the lord knows, so i hold we had n't ought to clapper-claw one another, and it is n't often you'll find me running down another woman.
but i never had much use for rose elliott.
she was spoiled to begin with, believe me, and she was nothing but a lazy, selfish, whining creature.
frank was no hand to work, so they were poor as job's turkey.
poor!
they lived on potatoes and point, believe me.
they had two children -- leslie and kenneth.
leslie had her mother's looks and her father's brains, and something she did n't get from either of them.
she took after her grandmother west -- a splendid old lady.
she was the brightest, friendliest, merriest thing when she was a child, anne.
everybody liked her.
she was her father's favorite and she was awful fond of him.
they were "chums," as she used to say.
she could n't see any of his faults -- and he was a taking sort of man in some ways.
""well, when leslie was twelve years old, the first dreadful thing happened.
she worshipped little kenneth -- he was four years younger than her, and he was a dear little chap.
and he was killed one day -- fell off a big load of hay just as it was going into the barn, and the wheel went right over his little body and crushed the life out of it.
and mind you, anne, leslie saw it.
she was looking down from the loft.
she gave one screech -- the hired man said he never heard such a sound in all his life -- he said it would ring in his ears till gabriel's trump drove it out.
but she never screeched or cried again about it.
she jumped from the loft onto the load and from the load to the floor, and caught up the little bleeding, warm, dead body, anne -- they had to tear it from her before she would let it go.
they sent for me -- i ca n't talk of it."
miss cornelia wiped the tears from her kindly brown eyes and sewed in bitter silence for a few minutes.
""well," she resumed, "it was all over -- they buried little kenneth in that graveyard over the harbor, and after a while leslie went back to her school and her studies.
she never mentioned kenneth's name -- i've never heard it cross her lips from that day to this.
i reckon that old hurt still aches and burns at times; but she was only a child and time is real kind to children, anne, dearie.
after a while she began to laugh again -- she had the prettiest laugh.
you do n't often hear it now."
""i heard it once the other night," said anne.
""it is a beautiful laugh."
""frank west began to go down after kenneth's death.
he was n't strong and it was a shock to him, because he was real fond of the child, though, as i've said, leslie was his favorite.
he got mopy and melancholy, and could n't or would n't work.
and one day, when leslie was fourteen years of age, he hanged himself -- and in the parlor, too, mind you, anne, right in the middle of the parlor from the lamp hook in the ceiling.
was n't that like a man?
it was the anniversary of his wedding day, too.
nice, tasty time to pick for it, was n't it?
and, of course, that poor leslie had to be the one to find him.
she went into the parlor that morning, singing, with some fresh flowers for the vases, and there she saw her father hanging from the ceiling, his face as black as a coal.
it was something awful, believe me!"
""oh, how horrible!"
said anne, shuddering.
""the poor, poor child!"
""leslie did n't cry at her father's funeral any more then she had cried at kenneth's.
rose whooped and howled for two, however, and leslie had all she could do trying to calm and comfort her mother.
i was disgusted with rose and so was everyone else, but leslie never got out of patience.
she loved her mother.
leslie is clannish -- her own could never do wrong in her eyes.
well, they buried frank west beside kenneth, and rose put up a great big monument to him.
it was bigger than his character, believe me!
anyhow, it was bigger than rose could afford, for the farm was mortgaged for more than its value.
but not long after leslie's old grandmother west died and she left leslie a little money -- enough to give her a year at queen's academy.
leslie had made up her mind to pass for a teacher if she could, and then earn enough to put herself through redmond college.
that had been her father's pet scheme -- he wanted her to have what he had lost.
leslie was full of ambition and her head was chock full of brains.
she went to queen's, and she took two years" work in one year and got her first; and when she came home she got the glen school.
she was so happy and hopeful and full of life and eagerness.
when i think of what she was then and what she is now, i say -- drat the men!"
miss cornelia snipped her thread off as viciously as if, nero-like, she was severing the neck of mankind by the stroke.
""dick moore came into her life that summer.
his father, abner moore, kept store at the glen, but dick had a sea-going streak in him from his mother; he used to sail in summer and clerk in his father's store in winter.
he was a big, handsome fellow, with a little ugly soul.
he was always wanting something till he got it, and then he stopped wanting it -- just like a man.
oh, he did n't growl at the weather when it was fine, and he was mostly real pleasant and agreeable when everything went right.
but he drank a good deal, and there were some nasty stories told of him and a girl down at the fishing village.
he was n't fit for leslie to wipe her feet on, that's the long and short of it.
and he was a methodist!
but he was clean mad about her -- because of her good looks in the first place, and because she would n't have anything to say to him in the second.
he vowed he'd have her -- and he got her!"
""how did he bring it about?"
""oh, it was an iniquitous thing!
i'll never forgive rose west.
you see, dearie, abner moore held the mortgage on the west farm, and the interest was overdue some years, and dick just went and told mrs. west that if leslie would n't marry him he'd get his father to foreclose the mortgage.
rose carried on terrible -- fainted and wept, and pleaded with leslie not to let her be turned out of her home.
she said it would break her heart to leave the home she'd come to as a bride.
i would n't have blamed her for feeling dreadful bad over it -- but you would n't have thought she'd be so selfish as to sacrifice her own flesh and blood because of it, would you?
well, she was.
""and leslie gave in -- she loved her mother so much she would have done anything to save her pain.
she married dick moore.
none of us knew why at the time.
it was n't till long afterward that i found out how her mother had worried her into it.
i was sure there was something wrong, though, because i knew how she had snubbed him time and again, and it was n't like leslie to turn face -- about like that.
besides, i knew that dick moore was n't the kind of man leslie could ever fancy, in spite of his good looks and dashing ways.
of course, there was no wedding, but rose asked me to go and see them married.
i went, but i was sorry i did.
i'd seen leslie's face at her brother's funeral and at her father's funeral -- and now it seemed to me i was seeing it at her own funeral.
but rose was smiling as a basket of chips, believe me!
""leslie and dick settled down on the west place -- rose could n't bear to part with her dear daughter!
-- and lived there for the winter.
in the spring rose took pneumonia and died -- a year too late!
leslie was heart-broken enough over it.
is n't it terrible the way some unworthy folks are loved, while others that deserve it far more, you'd think, never get much affection?
as for dick, he'd had enough of quiet married life -- just like a man.
he was for up and off.
he went over to nova scotia to visit his relations -- his father had come from nova scotia -- and he wrote back to leslie that his cousin, george moore, was going on a voyage to havana and he was going too.
the name of the vessel was the four sisters and they were to be gone about nine weeks.
""it must have been a relief to leslie.
but she never said anything.
from the day of her marriage she was just what she is now -- cold and proud, and keeping everyone but me at a distance.
i wo n't be kept at a distance, believe me!
i've just stuck to leslie as close as i knew how in spite of everything."
""she told me you were the best friend she had," said anne.
""did she?"
exclaimed miss cornelia delightedly.
""well, i'm real thankful to hear it.
sometimes i've wondered if she really did want me around at all -- she never let me think so.
you must have thawed her out more than you think, or she would n't have said that much itself to you.
oh, that poor, heart-broken girl!
i never see dick moore but i want to run a knife clean through him."
miss cornelia wiped her eyes again and having relieved her feelings by her blood-thirsty wish, took up her tale.
""well, leslie was left over there alone.
dick had put in the crop before he went, and old abner looked after it.
the summer went by and the four sisters did n't come back.
the nova scotia moores investigated, and found she had got to havana and discharged her cargo and took on another and left for home; and that was all they ever found out about her.
by degrees people began to talk of dick moore as one that was dead.
almost everyone believed that he was, though no one felt certain, for men have turned up here at the harbor after they'd been gone for years.
leslie never thought he was dead -- and she was right.
a thousand pities too!
the next summer captain jim was in havana -- that was before he gave up the sea, of course.
he thought he'd poke round a bit -- captain jim was always meddlesome, just like a man -- and he went to inquiring round among the sailors" boarding houses and places like that, to see if he could find out anything about the crew of the four sisters.
he'd better have let sleeping dogs lie, in my opinion!
well, he went to one out-of-the-way place, and there he found a man he knew at first sight it was dick moore, though he had a big beard.
captain jim got it shaved off and then there was no doubt -- dick moore it was -- his body at least.
his mind was n't there -- as for his soul, in my opinion he never had one!"
""what had happened to him?"
""nobody knows the rights of it.
all the folks who kept the boarding house could tell was that about a year before they had found him lying on their doorstep one morning in an awful condition -- his head battered to a jelly almost.
they supposed he'd got hurt in some drunken row, and likely that's the truth of it.
they took him in, never thinking he could live.
but he did -- and he was just like a child when he got well.
he had n't memory or intellect or reason.
they tried to find out who he was but they never could.
he could n't even tell them his name -- he could only say a few simple words.
he had a letter on him beginning "dear dick" and signed "leslie," but there was no address on it and the envelope was gone.
they let him stay on -- he learned to do a few odd jobs about the place -- and there captain jim found him.
he brought him home -- i've always said it was a bad day's work, though i s "pose there was nothing else he could do.
he thought maybe when dick got home and saw his old surroundings and familiar faces his memory would wake up.
but it had n't any effect.
there he's been at the house up the brook ever since.
he's just like a child, no more nor less.
takes fractious spells occasionally, but mostly he's just vacant and good humored and harmless.
he's apt to run away if he is n't watched.
that's the burden leslie has had to carry for eleven years -- and all alone.
old abner moore died soon after dick was brought home and it was found he was almost bankrupt.
when things were settled up there was nothing for leslie and dick but the old west farm.
leslie rented it to john ward, and the rent is all she has to live on.
sometimes in summer she takes a boarder to help out.
but most visitors prefer the other side of the harbor where the hotels and summer cottages are.
leslie's house is too far from the bathing shore.
she's taken care of dick and she's never been away from him for eleven years -- she's tied to that imbecile for life.
and after all the dreams and hopes she once had!
you can imagine what it has been like for her, anne, dearie -- with her beauty and spirit and pride and cleverness.
it's just been a living death."
""poor, poor girl!"
said anne again.
her own happiness seemed to reproach her.
what right had she to be so happy when another human soul must be so miserable?
""will you tell me just what leslie said and how she acted the night you met her on the shore?"
asked miss cornelia.
she listened intently and nodded her satisfaction.
""you thought she was stiff and cold, anne, dearie, but i can tell you she thawed out wonderful for her.
she must have taken to you real strong.
i'm so glad.
you may be able to help her a good deal.
i was thankful when i heard that a young couple was coming to this house, for i hoped it would mean some friends for leslie; especially if you belonged to the race that knows joseph.
you will be her friend, wo n't you, anne, dearie?"
""indeed i will, if she'll let me," said anne, with all her own sweet, impulsive earnestness.
""no, you must be her friend, whether she'll let you or not," said miss cornelia resolutely.
""do n't you mind if she's stiff by times -- do n't notice it.
remember what her life has been -- and is -- and must always be, i suppose, for creatures like dick moore live forever, i understand.
you should see how fat he's got since he came home.
he used to be lean enough.
just make her be friends -- you can do it -- you're one of those who have the knack.
only you must n't be sensitive.
and do n't mind if she does n't seem to want you to go over there much.
she knows that some women do n't like to be where dick is -- they complain he gives them the creeps.
just get her to come over here as often as she can.
she ca n't get away so very much -- she ca n't leave dick long, for the lord knows what he'd do -- burn the house down most likely.
at nights, after he's in bed and asleep, is about the only time she's free.
he always goes to bed early and sleeps like the dead till next morning.
that is how you came to meet her at the shore likely.
she wanders there considerable."
""i will do everything i can for her," said anne.
her interest in leslie moore, which had been vivid ever since she had seen her driving her geese down the hill, was intensified a thousand fold by miss cornelia's narration.
the girl's beauty and sorrow and loneliness drew her with an irresistible fascination.
she had never known anyone like her; her friends had hitherto been wholesome, normal, merry girls like herself, with only the average trials of human care and bereavement to shadow their girlish dreams.
leslie moore stood apart, a tragic, appealing figure of thwarted womanhood.
anne resolved that she would win entrance into the kingdom of that lonely soul and find there the comradeship it could so richly give, were it not for the cruel fetters that held it in a prison not of its own making.
""and mind you this, anne, dearie," said miss cornelia, who had not yet wholly relieved her mind, "you must n't think leslie is an infidel because she hardly ever goes to church -- or even that she's a methodist.
she ca n't take dick to church, of course -- not that he ever troubled church much in his best days.
but you just remember that she's a real strong presbyterian at heart, anne, dearie."
chapter 12 leslie comes over leslie came over to the house of dreams one frosty october night, when moonlit mists were hanging over the harbor and curling like silver ribbons along the seaward glens.
she looked as if she repented coming when gilbert answered her knock; but anne flew past him, pounced on her, and drew her in.
""i'm so glad you picked tonight for a call," she said gaily.
""i made up a lot of extra good fudge this afternoon and we want someone to help us eat it -- before the fire -- while we tell stories.
perhaps captain jim will drop in, too.
this is his night."
""no.
captain jim is over home," said leslie.
""he -- he made me come here," she added, half defiantly.
""i'll say a thank-you to him for that when i see him," said anne, pulling easy chairs before the fire.
""oh, i do n't mean that i did n't want to come," protested leslie, flushing a little.
""i -- i've been thinking of coming -- but it is n't always easy for me to get away."
""of course it must be hard for you to leave mr. moore," said anne, in a matter-of-fact tone.
she had decided that it would be best to mention dick moore occasionally as an accepted fact, and not give undue morbidness to the subject by avoiding it.
she was right, for leslie's air of constraint suddenly vanished.
evidently she had been wondering how much anne knew of the conditions of her life and was relieved that no explanations were needed.
she allowed her cap and jacket to be taken, and sat down with a girlish snuggle in the big armchair by magog.
she was dressed prettily and carefully, with the customary touch of color in the scarlet geranium at her white throat.
her beautiful hair gleamed like molten gold in the warm firelight.
her sea-blue eyes were full of soft laughter and allurement.
for the moment, under the influence of the little house of dreams, she was a girl again -- a girl forgetful of the past and its bitterness.
the atmosphere of the many loves that had sanctified the little house was all about her; the companionship of two healthy, happy, young folks of her own generation encircled her; she felt and yielded to the magic of her surroundings -- miss cornelia and captain jim would scarcely have recognized her; anne found it hard to believe that this was the cold, unresponsive woman she had met on the shore -- this animated girl who talked and listened with the eagerness of a starved soul.
and how hungrily leslie's eyes looked at the bookcases between the windows!
""our library is n't very extensive," said anne, "but every book in it is a friend.
we've picked our books up through the years, here and there, never buying one until we had first read it and knew that it belonged to the race of joseph."
leslie laughed -- beautiful laughter that seemed akin to all the mirth that had echoed through the little house in the vanished years.
""i have a few books of father's -- not many," she said.
""i've read them until i know them almost by heart.
i do n't get many books.
there's a circulating library at the glen store -- but i do n't think the committee who pick the books for mr. parker know what books are of joseph's race -- or perhaps they do n't care.
it was so seldom i got one i really liked that i gave up getting any."
""i hope you'll look on our bookshelves as your own," said anne.
""you are entirely and wholeheartedly welcome to the loan of any book on them."
""you are setting a feast of fat things before me," said leslie, joyously.
then, as the clock struck ten, she rose, half unwillingly.
""i must go.
i did n't realise it was so late.
captain jim is always saying it does n't take long to stay an hour.
but i've stayed two -- and oh, but i've enjoyed them," she added frankly.
""come often," said anne and gilbert.
they had risen and stood together in the firelight's glow.
leslie looked at them -- youthful, hopeful, happy, typifying all she had missed and must forever miss.
the light went out of her face and eyes; the girl vanished; it was the sorrowful, cheated woman who answered the invitation almost coldly and got herself away with a pitiful haste.
anne watched her until she was lost in the shadows of the chill and misty night.
then she turned slowly back to the glow of her own radiant hearthstone.
""is n't she lovely, gilbert?
her hair fascinates me.
miss cornelia says it reaches to her feet.
ruby gillis had beautiful hair -- but leslie's is alive -- every thread of it is living gold."
""she is very beautiful," agreed gilbert, so heartily that anne almost wished he were a little less enthusiastic.
""gilbert, would you like my hair better if it were like leslie's?"
she asked wistfully.
""i would n't have your hair any color but just what it is for the world," said gilbert, with one or two convincing accompaniments.
you would n't be anne if you had golden hair -- or hair of any color but" -- "red," said anne, with gloomy satisfaction.
""yes, red -- to give warmth to that milk-white skin and those shining gray-green eyes of yours.
golden hair would n't suit you at all queen anne -- my queen anne -- queen of my heart and life and home."
""then you may admire leslie's all you like," said anne magnanimously.
chapter 13 a ghostly evening one evening, a week later, anne decided to run over the fields to the house up the brook for an informal call.
it was an evening of gray fog that had crept in from the gulf, swathed the harbor, filled the glens and valleys, and clung heavily to the autumnal meadows.
through it the sea sobbed and shuddered.
anne saw four winds in a new aspect, and found it weird and mysterious and fascinating; but it also gave her a little feeling of loneliness.
gilbert was away and would be away until the morrow, attending a medical pow-wow in charlottetown.
anne longed for an hour of fellowship with some girl friend.
captain jim and miss cornelia were "good fellows" each, in their own way; but youth yearned to youth.
""if only diana or phil or pris or stella could drop in for a chat," she said to herself, "how delightful it would be!
this is such a ghostly night.
i'm sure all the ships that ever sailed out of four winds to their doom could be seen tonight sailing up the harbor with their drowned crews on their decks, if that shrouding fog could suddenly be drawn aside.
i feel as if it concealed innumerable mysteries -- as if i were surrounded by the wraiths of old generations of four winds people peering at me through that gray veil.
if ever the dear dead ladies of this little house came back to revisit it they would come on just such a night as this.
if i sit here any longer i'll see one of them there opposite me in gilbert's chair.
this place is n't exactly canny tonight.
even gog and magog have an air of pricking up their ears to hear the footsteps of unseen guests.
i'll run over to see leslie before i frighten myself with my own fancies, as i did long ago in the matter of the haunted wood.
i'll leave my house of dreams to welcome back its old inhabitants.
my fire will give them my good-will and greeting -- they will be gone before i come back, and my house will be mine once more.
tonight i am sure it is keeping a tryst with the past."
laughing a little over her fancy, yet with something of a creepy sensation in the region of her spine, anne kissed her hand to gog and magog and slipped out into the fog, with some of the new magazines under her arm for leslie.
""leslie's wild for books and magazines," miss cornelia had told her, "and she hardly ever sees one.
she ca n't afford to buy them or subscribe for them.
she's really pitifully poor, anne.
i do n't see how she makes out to live at all on the little rent the farm brings in.
she never even hints a complaint on the score of poverty, but i know what it must be.
she's been handicapped by it all her life.
she did n't mind it when she was free and ambitious, but it must gall now, believe me.
i'm glad she seemed so bright and merry the evening she spent with you.
captain jim told me he had fairly to put her cap and coat on and push her out of the door.
do n't be too long going to see her either.
if you are she'll think it's because you do n't like the sight of dick, and she'll crawl into her shell again.
dick's a great, big, harmless baby, but that silly grin and chuckle of his do get on some people's nerves.
thank goodness, i've no nerves myself.
i like dick moore better now than i ever did when he was in his right senses -- though the lord knows that is n't saying much.
i was down there one day in housecleaning time helping leslie a bit, and i was frying doughnuts.
dick was hanging round to get one, as usual, and all at once he picked up a scalding hot one i'd just fished out and dropped it on the back of my neck when i was bending over.
then he laughed and laughed.
believe me, anne, it took all the grace of god in my heart to keep me from just whisking up that stew-pan of boiling fat and pouring it over his head."
anne laughed over miss cornelia's wrath as she sped through the darkness.
but laughter accorded ill with that night.
she was sober enough when she reached the house among the willows.
everything was very silent.
the front part of the house seemed dark and deserted, so anne slipped round to the side door, which opened from the veranda into a little sitting room.
there she halted noiselessly.
the door was open.
beyond, in the dimly lighted room, sat leslie moore, with her arms flung out on the table and her head bent upon them.
she was weeping horribly -- with low, fierce, choking sobs, as if some agony in her soul were trying to tear itself out.
an old black dog was sitting by her, his nose resting on his lap, his big doggish eyes full of mute, imploring sympathy and devotion.
anne drew back in dismay.
she felt that she could not intermeddle with this bitterness.
her heart ached with a sympathy she might not utter.
to go in now would be to shut the door forever on any possible help or friendship.
some instinct warned anne that the proud, bitter girl would never forgive the one who thus surprised her in her abandonment of despair.
anne slipped noiselessly from the veranda and found her way across the yard.
beyond, she heard voices in the gloom and saw the dim glow of a light.
at the gate she met two men -- captain jim with a lantern, and another who she knew must be dick moore -- a big man, badly gone to fat, with a broad, round, red face, and vacant eyes.
even in the dull light anne got the impression that there was something unusual about his eyes.
""is this you, mistress blythe?"
said captain jim.
""now, now, you had n't oughter be roaming about alone on a night like this.
you could get lost in this fog easier than not.
jest you wait till i see dick safe inside the door and i'll come back and light you over the fields.
i ai n't going to have dr. blythe coming home and finding that you walked clean over cape leforce in the fog.
a woman did that once, forty years ago.
""so you've been over to see leslie," he said, when he rejoined her.
""i did n't go in," said anne, and told what she had seen.
captain jim sighed.
""poor, poor, little girl!
she do n't cry often, mistress blythe -- she's too brave for that.
she must feel terrible when she does cry.
a night like this is hard on poor women who have sorrows.
there's something about it that kinder brings up all we've suffered -- or feared."
""it's full of ghosts," said anne, with a shiver.
""that was why i came over -- i wanted to clasp a human hand and hear a human voice.
""there seem to be so many inhuman presences about tonight.
even my own dear house was full of them.
they fairly elbowed me out.
so i fled over here for companionship of my kind."
""you were right not to go in, though, mistress blythe.
leslie would n't have liked it.
she would n't have liked me going in with dick, as i'd have done if i had n't met you.
i had dick down with me all day.
i keep him with me as much as i can to help leslie a bit."
""is n't there something odd about his eyes?"
asked anne.
""you noticed that?
yes, one is blue and t "other is hazel -- his father had the same.
it's a moore peculiarity.
that was what told me he was dick moore when i saw him first down in cuby.
if it had n't a-bin for his eyes i might n't a-known him, with his beard and fat.
you know, i reckon, that it was me found him and brought him home.
miss cornelia always says i should n't have done it, but i ca n't agree with her.
it was the right thing to do -- and so't was the only thing.
there ai n't no question in my mind about that.
but my old heart aches for leslie.
she's only twenty-eight and she's eaten more bread with sorrow than most women do in eighty years."
they walked on in silence for a little while.
presently anne said, "do you know, captain jim, i never like walking with a lantern.
i have always the strangest feeling that just outside the circle of light, just over its edge in the darkness, i am surrounded by a ring of furtive, sinister things, watching me from the shadows with hostile eyes.
i've had that feeling from childhood.
what is the reason?
i never feel like that when i'm really in the darkness -- when it is close all around me -- i'm not the least frightened."
""i've something of that feeling myself," admitted captain jim.
""i reckon when the darkness is close to us it is a friend.
but when we sorter push it away from us -- divorce ourselves from it, so to speak, with lantern light -- it becomes an enemy.
but the fog is lifting.
""there's a smart west wind rising, if you notice.
the stars will be out when you get home."
they were out; and when anne re-entered her house of dreams the red embers were still glowing on the hearth, and all the haunting presences were gone.
chapter 14 november days the splendor of color which had glowed for weeks along the shores of four winds harbor had faded out into the soft gray-blue of late autumnal hills.
there came many days when fields and shores were dim with misty rain, or shivering before the breath of a melancholy sea-wind -- nights, too, of storm and tempest, when anne sometimes wakened to pray that no ship might be beating up the grim north shore, for if it were so not even the great, faithful light whirling through the darkness unafraid, could avail to guide it into safe haven.
""in november i sometimes feel as if spring could never come again," she sighed, grieving over the hopeless unsightliness of her frosted and bedraggled flower-plots.
the gay little garden of the schoolmaster's bride was rather a forlorn place now, and the lombardies and birches were under bare poles, as captain jim said.
but the fir-wood behind the little house was forever green and staunch; and even in november and december there came gracious days of sunshine and purple hazes, when the harbor danced and sparkled as blithely as in midsummer, and the gulf was so softly blue and tender that the storm and the wild wind seemed only things of a long-past dream.
anne and gilbert spent many an autumn evening at the lighthouse.
it was always a cheery place.
even when the east wind sang in minor and the sea was dead and gray, hints of sunshine seemed to be lurking all about it.
perhaps this was because the first mate always paraded it in panoply of gold.
he was so large and effulgent that one hardly missed the sun, and his resounding purrs formed a pleasant accompaniment to the laughter and conversation which went on around captain jim's fireplace.
captain jim and gilbert had many long discussions and high converse on matters beyond the ken of cat or king.
""i like to ponder on all kinds of problems, though i ca n't solve'em," said captain jim.
""my father held that we should never talk of things we could n't understand, but if we did n't, doctor, the subjects for conversation would be mighty few.
i reckon the gods laugh many a time to hear us, but what matters so long as we remember that we're only men and do n't take to fancying that we're gods ourselves, really, knowing good and evil.
i reckon our pow-wows wo n't do us or anyone much harm, so let's have another whack at the whence, why and whither this evening, doctor."
while they "whacked," anne listened or dreamed.
sometimes leslie went to the lighthouse with them, and she and anne wandered along the shore in the eerie twilight, or sat on the rocks below the lighthouse until the darkness drove them back to the cheer of the driftwood fire.
then captain jim would brew them tea and tell them "tales of land and sea and whatsoever might betide the great forgotten world outside."
leslie seemed always to enjoy those lighthouse carousals very much, and bloomed out for the time being into ready wit and beautiful laughter, or glowing-eyed silence.
there was a certain tang and savor in the conversation when leslie was present which they missed when she was absent.
even when she did not talk she seemed to inspire others to brilliancy.
captain jim told his stories better, gilbert was quicker in argument and repartee, anne felt little gushes and trickles of fancy and imagination bubbling to her lips under the influence of leslie's personality.
""that girl was born to be a leader in social and intellectual circles, far away from four winds," she said to gilbert as they walked home one night.
""she's just wasted here -- wasted."
""were n't you listening to captain jim and yours truly the other night when we discussed that subject generally?
we came to the comforting conclusion that the creator probably knew how to run his universe quite as well as we do, and that, after all, there are no such things as "wasted" lives, saving and except when an individual wilfully squanders and wastes his own life -- which leslie moore certainly has n't done.
and some people might think that a redmond b.a., whom editors were beginning to honor, was "wasted" as the wife of a struggling country doctor in the rural community of four winds."
""gilbert!"
""if you had married roy gardner, now," continued gilbert mercilessly, "you could have been" a leader in social and intellectual circles far away from four winds.""
""gilbert blythe!"
""you know you were in love with him at one time, anne."
""gilbert, that's mean -- "pisen mean, just like all the men," as miss cornelia says.
i never was in love with him.
i only imagined i was.
you know that.
you know i'd rather be your wife in our house of dreams and fulfillment than a queen in a palace."
gilbert's answer was not in words; but i am afraid that both of them forgot poor leslie speeding her lonely way across the fields to a house that was neither a palace nor the fulfillment of a dream.
the moon was rising over the sad, dark sea behind them and transfiguring it.
her light had not yet reached the harbor, the further side of which was shadowy and suggestive, with dim coves and rich glooms and jewelling lights.
""how the home lights shine out tonight through the dark!"
said anne.
""that string of them over the harbor looks like a necklace.
and what a coruscation there is up at the glen!
oh, look, gilbert; there is ours.
i'm so glad we left it burning.
i hate to come home to a dark house.
our homelight, gilbert!
is n't it lovely to see?"
""just one of earth's many millions of homes, anne -- girl -- but ours -- ours -- our beacon in" a naughty world."
when a fellow has a home and a dear, little, red-haired wife in it what more need he ask of life?"
""well, he might ask one thing more," whispered anne happily.
""oh, gilbert, it seems as if i just could n't wait for the spring."
chapter 15 christmas at four winds at first anne and gilbert talked of going home to avonlea for christmas; but eventually they decided to stay in four winds.
""i want to spend the first christmas of our life together in our own home," decreed anne.
so it fell out that marilla and mrs. rachel lynde and the twins came to four winds for christmas.
marilla had the face of a woman who had circumnavigated the globe.
she had never been sixty miles away from home before; and she had never eaten a christmas dinner anywhere save at green gables.
mrs. rachel had made and brought with her an enormous plum pudding.
nothing could have convinced mrs. rachel that a college graduate of the younger generation could make a christmas plum pudding properly; but she bestowed approval on anne's house.
""anne's a good housekeeper," she said to marilla in the spare room the night of their arrival.
""i've looked into her bread box and her scrap pail.
i always judge a housekeeper by those, that's what.
there's nothing in the pail that should n't have been thrown away, and no stale pieces in the bread box.
of course, she was trained up with you -- but, then, she went to college afterwards.
i notice she's got my tobacco stripe quilt on the bed here, and that big round braided mat of yours before her living-room fire.
it makes me feel right at home."
anne's first christmas in her own house was as delightful as she could have wished.
the day was fine and bright; the first skim of snow had fallen on christmas eve and made the world beautiful; the harbor was still open and glittering.
captain jim and miss cornelia came to dinner.
leslie and dick had been invited, but leslie made excuse; they always went to her uncle isaac west's for christmas, she said.
""she'd rather have it so," miss cornelia told anne.
""she ca n't bear taking dick where there are strangers.
christmas is always a hard time for leslie.
she and her father used to make a lot of it."
miss cornelia and mrs. rachel did not take a very violent fancy to each other.
""two suns hold not their courses in one sphere."
but they did not clash at all, for mrs. rachel was in the kitchen helping anne and marilla with the dinner, and it fell to gilbert to entertain captain jim and miss cornelia, -- or rather to be entertained by them, for a dialogue between those two old friends and antagonists was assuredly never dull.
""it's many a year since there was a christmas dinner here, mistress blythe," said captain jim.
""miss russell always went to her friends in town for christmas.
but i was here to the first christmas dinner that was ever eaten in this house -- and the schoolmaster's bride cooked it.
that was sixty years ago today, mistress blythe -- and a day very like this -- just enough snow to make the hills white, and the harbor as blue as june.
i was only a lad, and i'd never been invited out to dinner before, and i was too shy to eat enough.
i've got all over that."
""most men do," said miss cornelia, sewing furiously.
miss cornelia was not going to sit with idle hands, even on christmas.
babies come without any consideration for holidays, and there was one expected in a poverty-stricken household at glen st. mary.
miss cornelia had sent that household a substantial dinner for its little swarm, and so meant to eat her own with a comfortable conscience.
""well, you know, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, cornelia," explained captain jim.
""i believe you -- when he has a heart," retorted miss cornelia.
""i suppose that's why so many women kill themselves cooking -- just as poor amelia baxter did.
she died last christmas morning, and she said it was the first christmas since she was married that she did n't have to cook a big, twenty-plate dinner.
it must have been a real pleasant change for her.
well, she's been dead a year, so you'll soon hear of horace baxter taking notice."
""i heard he was taking notice already," said captain jim, winking at gilbert.
""was n't he up to your place one sunday lately, with his funeral blacks on, and a boiled collar?"
""no, he was n't.
and he need n't come neither.
i could have had him long ago when he was fresh.
i do n't want any second-hand goods, believe me.
as for horace baxter, he was in financial difficulties a year ago last summer, and he prayed to the lord for help; and when his wife died and he got her life insurance he said he believed it was the answer to his prayer.
was n't that like a man?"
""have you really proof that he said that, cornelia?"
""i have the methodist minister's word for it -- if you call that proof.
robert baxter told me the same thing too, but i admit that is n't evidence.
robert baxter is n't often known to tell the truth."
""come, come, cornelia, i think he generally tells the truth, but he changes his opinion so often it sometimes sounds as if he did n't."
""it sounds like it mighty often, believe me.
but trust one man to excuse another.
i have no use for robert baxter.
he turned methodist just because the presbyterian choir happened to be singing "behold the bridegroom cometh" for a collection piece when him and margaret walked up the aisle the sunday after they were married.
served him right for being late!
he always insisted the choir did it on purpose to insult him, as if he was of that much importance.
but that family always thought they were much bigger potatoes than they really were.
his brother eliphalet imagined the devil was always at his elbow -- but i never believed the devil wasted that much time on him."
""i -- do n't -- know," said captain jim thoughtfully.
""eliphalet baxter lived too much alone -- had n't even a cat or dog to keep him human.
when a man is alone he's mighty apt to be with the devil -- if he ai n't with god.
he has to choose which company he'll keep, i reckon.
if the devil always was at life baxter's elbow it must have been because life liked to have him there."
""man-like," said miss cornelia, and subsided into silence over a complicated arrangement of tucks until captain jim deliberately stirred her up again by remarking in a casual way: "i was up to the methodist church last sunday morning."
""you'd better have been home reading your bible," was miss cornelia's retort.
""come, now, cornelia, i ca n't see any harm in going to the methodist church when there's no preaching in your own.
i've been a presbyterian for seventy-six years, and it is n't likely my theology will hoist anchor at this late day."
""it's setting a bad example," said miss cornelia grimly.
""besides," continued wicked captain jim, "i wanted to hear some good singing.
the methodists have a good choir; and you ca n't deny, cornelia, that the singing in our church is awful since the split in the choir."
""what if the singing is n't good?
they're doing their best, and god sees no difference between the voice of a crow and the voice of a nightingale."
""come, come, cornelia," said captain jim mildly, "i've a better opinion of the almighty's ear for music than that."
""what caused the trouble in our choir?"
asked gilbert, who was suffering from suppressed laughter.
""it dates back to the new church, three years ago," answered captain jim.
""we had a fearful time over the building of that church -- fell out over the question of a new site.
the two sites was n't more'n two hundred yards apart, but you'd have thought they was a thousand by the bitterness of that fight.
we was split up into three factions -- one wanted the east site and one the south, and one held to the old.
it was fought out in bed and at board, and in church and at market.
all the old scandals of three generations were dragged out of their graves and aired.
three matches was broken up by it.
and the meetings we had to try to settle the question!
cornelia, will you ever forget the one when old luther burns got up and made a speech?
he stated his opinions forcibly."
""call a spade a spade, captain.
you mean he got red-mad and raked them all, fore and aft.
they deserved it too -- a pack of incapables.
but what would you expect of a committee of men?
that building committee held twenty-seven meetings, and at the end of the twenty-seventh were n't no nearer having a church than when they begun -- not so near, for a fact, for in one fit of hurrying things along they'd gone to work and tore the old church down, so there we were, without a church, and no place but the hall to worship in."
""the methodists offered us their church, cornelia."
""the glen st. mary church would n't have been built to this day," went on miss cornelia, ignoring captain jim, "if we women had n't just started in and took charge.
we said we meant to have a church, if the men meant to quarrel till doomsday, and we were tired of being a laughing-stock for the methodists.
we held one meeting and elected a committee and canvassed for subscriptions.
we got them, too.
when any of the men tried to sass us we told them they'd tried for two years to build a church and it was our turn now.
we shut them up close, believe me, and in six months we had our church.
of course, when the men saw we were determined they stopped fighting and went to work, man-like, as soon as they saw they had to, or quit bossing.
oh, women ca n't preach or be elders; but they can build churches and scare up the money for them."
""the methodists allow women to preach," said captain jim.
miss cornelia glared at him.
""i never said the methodists had n't common sense, captain.
what i say is, i doubt if they have much religion."
""i suppose you are in favor of votes for women, miss cornelia," said gilbert.
""i'm not hankering after the vote, believe me," said miss cornelia scornfully."
i know what it is to clean up after the men.
but some of these days, when the men realize they've got the world into a mess they ca n't get it out of, they'll be glad to give us the vote, and shoulder their troubles over on us.
that's their scheme.
oh, it's well that women are patient, believe me!"
""what about job?"
suggested captain jim.
""job!
it was such a rare thing to find a patient man that when one was really discovered they were determined he should n't be forgotten," retorted miss cornelia triumphantly.
""anyhow, the virtue does n't go with the name.
there never was such an impatient man born as old job taylor over harbor."
""well, you know, he had a good deal to try him, cornelia.
even you ca n't defend his wife.
i always remember what old william macallister said of her at her funeral, "there's nae doot she was a chreestian wumman, but she had the de'il's own temper.""
""i suppose she was trying," admitted miss cornelia reluctantly, "but that did n't justify what job said when she died.
he rode home from the graveyard the day of the funeral with my father.
he never said a word till they got near home.
then he heaved a big sigh and said, "you may not believe it, stephen, but this is the happiest day of my life!"
was n't that like a man?"
""i s "pose poor old mrs. job did make life kinder uneasy for him," reflected captain jim.
""well, there's such a thing as decency, is n't there?
even if a man is rejoicing in his heart over his wife being dead, he need n't proclaim it to the four winds of heaven.
and happy day or not, job taylor was n't long in marrying again, you might notice.
his second wife could manage him.
she made him walk spanish, believe me!
the first thing she did was to make him hustle round and put up a tombstone to the first mrs. job -- and she had a place left on it for her own name.
she said there'd be nobody to make job put up a monument to her."
""speaking of taylors, how is mrs. lewis taylor up at the glen, doctor?"
asked captain jim.
""she's getting better slowly -- but she has to work too hard," replied gilbert.
""her husband works hard too -- raising prize pigs," said miss cornelia.
""he's noted for his beautiful pigs.
he's a heap prouder of his pigs than of his children.
but then, to be sure, his pigs are the best pigs possible, while his children do n't amount to much.
he picked a poor mother for them, and starved her while she was bearing and rearing them.
his pigs got the cream and his children got the skim milk.
""there are times, cornelia, when i have to agree with you, though it hurts me," said captain jim.
""that's just exactly the truth about lewis taylor.
when i see those poor, miserable children of his, robbed of all children ought to have, it p "isens my own bite and sup for days afterwards."
gilbert went out to the kitchen in response to anne's beckoning.
anne shut the door and gave him a connubial lecture.
""gilbert, you and captain jim must stop baiting miss cornelia.
oh, i've been listening to you -- and i just wo n't allow it."
"anne, miss cornelia is enjoying herself hugely.
you know she is."
""well, never mind.
you two need n't egg her on like that.
dinner is ready now, and, gilbert, do n't let mrs. rachel carve the geese.
i know she means to offer to do it because she does n't think you can do it properly.
show her you can."
""i ought to be able to.
i've been studying a-b-c-d diagrams of carving for the past month," said gilbert.
""only do n't talk to me while i'm doing it, anne, for if you drive the letters out of my head i'll be in a worse predicament than you were in old geometry days when the teacher changed them."
gilbert carved the geese beautifully.
even mrs. rachel had to admit that.
and everybody ate of them and enjoyed them.
anne's first christmas dinner was a great success and she beamed with housewifely pride.
merry was the feast and long; and when it was over they gathered around the cheer of the red hearth flame and captain jim told them stories until the red sun swung low over four winds harbor, and the long blue shadows of the lombardies fell across the snow in the lane.
""i must be getting back to the light," he said finally.
""i'll jest have time to walk home before sundown.
thank you for a beautiful christmas, mistress blythe.
bring master davy down to the light some night before he goes home.
""i want to see those stone gods," said davy with a relish.
chapter 16 new year's eve at the light the green gables folk went home after christmas, marilla under solemn covenant to return for a month in the spring.
more snow came before new year's, and the harbor froze over, but the gulf still was free, beyond the white, imprisoned fields.
the last day of the old year was one of those bright, cold, dazzling winter days, which bombard us with their brilliancy, and command our admiration but never our love.
the sky was sharp and blue; the snow diamonds sparkled insistently; the stark trees were bare and shameless, with a kind of brazen beauty; the hills shot assaulting lances of crystal.
even the shadows were sharp and stiff and clear-cut, as no proper shadows should be.
everything that was handsome seemed ten times handsomer and less attractive in the glaring splendor; and everything that was ugly seemed ten times uglier, and everything was either handsome or ugly.
there was no soft blending, or kind obscurity, or elusive mistiness in that searching glitter.
the only things that held their own individuality were the firs -- for the fir is the tree of mystery and shadow, and yields never to the encroachments of crude radiance.
but finally the day began to realise that she was growing old.
then a certain pensiveness fell over her beauty which dimmed yet intensified it; sharp angles, glittering points, melted away into curves and enticing gleams.
the white harbor put on soft grays and pinks; the far-away hills turned amethyst.
""the old year is going away beautifully," said anne.
she and leslie and gilbert were on their way to the four winds point, having plotted with captain jim to watch the new year in at the light.
the sun had set and in the southwestern sky hung venus, glorious and golden, having drawn as near to her earth-sister as is possible for her.
for the first time anne and gilbert saw the shadow cast by that brilliant star of evening, that faint, mysterious shadow, never seen save when there is white snow to reveal it, and then only with averted vision, vanishing when you gaze at it directly.
""it's like the spirit of a shadow, is n't it?"
whispered anne.
""you can see it so plainly haunting your side when you look ahead; but when you turn and look at it -- it's gone."
""i have heard that you can see the shadow of venus only once in a lifetime, and that within a year of seeing it your life's most wonderful gift will come to you," said leslie.
but she spoke rather hardly; perhaps she thought that even the shadow of venus could bring her no gift of life.
anne smiled in the soft twilight; she felt quite sure what the mystic shadow promised her.
they found marshall elliott at the lighthouse.
at first anne felt inclined to resent the intrusion of this long-haired, long-bearded eccentric into the familiar little circle.
but marshall elliott soon proved his legitimate claim to membership in the household of joseph.
he was a witty, intelligent, well-read man, rivalling captain jim himself in the knack of telling a good story.
they were all glad when he agreed to watch the old year out with them.
captain jim's small nephew joe had come down to spend new year's with his great-uncle, and had fallen asleep on the sofa with the first mate curled up in a huge golden ball at his feet.
""ai n't he a dear little man?"
said captain jim gloatingly.
""i do love to watch a little child asleep, mistress blythe.
it's the most beautiful sight in the world, i reckon.
joe does love to get down here for a night, because i have him sleep with me.
at home he has to sleep with the other two boys, and he does n't like it.
why ca n't i sleep with father, uncle jim?"
says he.
"everybody in the bible slept with their fathers."
as for the questions he asks, the minister himself could n't answer them.
they fair swamp me.
"uncle jim, if i was n't me who'd i be?"
and, "uncle jim, what would happen if god died?"
he fired them two off at me tonight, afore he went to sleep.
as for his imagination, it sails away from everything.
he makes up the most remarkable yarns -- and then his mother shuts him up in the closet for telling stories.
and he sits down and makes up another one, and has it ready to relate to her when she lets him out.
he had one for me when he come down tonight.
"uncle jim," says he, solemn as a tombstone," i had a "venture in the glen today."
"yes, what was it?"
says i, expecting something quite startling, but nowise prepared for what i really got."
i met a wolf in the street," says he," a "normous wolf with a big, red mouf and awful long teeth, uncle jim.'"
i did n't know there was any wolves up at the glen," says i. "oh, he comed there from far, far away," says joe, "and i fought he was going to eat me up, uncle jim."
"were you scared?"
says i. "no,'cause i had a big gun," says joe, "and i shot the wolf dead, uncle jim, -- solid dead -- and then he went up to heaven and bit god," says he.
well, i was fair staggered, mistress blythe."
the hours bloomed into mirth around the driftwood fire.
captain jim told tales, and marshall elliott sang old scotch ballads in a fine tenor voice; finally captain jim took down his old brown fiddle from the wall and began to play.
he had a tolerable knack of fiddling, which all appreciated save the first mate, who sprang from the sofa as if he had been shot, emitted a shriek of protest, and fled wildly up the stairs.
""ca n't cultivate an ear for music in that cat nohow," said captain jim.
""he wo n't stay long enough to learn to like it.
when we got the organ up at the glen church old elder richards bounced up from his seat the minute the organist began to play and scuttled down the aisle and out of the church at the rate of no-man's - business.
it reminded me so strong of the first mate tearing loose as soon as i begin to fiddle that i come nearer to laughing out loud in church than i ever did before or since."
there was something so infectious in the rollicking tunes which captain jim played that very soon marshall elliott's feet began to twitch.
he had been a noted dancer in his youth.
presently he started up and held out his hands to leslie.
instantly she responded.
round and round the firelit room they circled with a rhythmic grace that was wonderful.
leslie danced like one inspired; the wild, sweet abandon of the music seemed to have entered into and possessed her.
anne watched her in fascinated admiration.
she had never seen her like this.
all the innate richness and color and charm of her nature seemed to have broken loose and overflowed in crimson cheek and glowing eye and grace of motion.
even the aspect of marshall elliott, with his long beard and hair, could not spoil the picture.
on the contrary, it seemed to enhance it.
marshall elliott looked like a viking of elder days, dancing with one of the blue-eyed, golden-haired daughters of the northland.
""the purtiest dancing i ever saw, and i've seen some in my time," declared captain jim, when at last the bow fell from his tired hand.
leslie dropped into her chair, laughing, breathless.
""i love dancing," she said apart to anne.
""i have n't danced since i was sixteen -- but i love it.
the music seems to run through my veins like quicksilver and i forget everything -- everything -- except the delight of keeping time to it.
there is n't any floor beneath me, or walls about me, or roof over me -- i'm floating amid the stars."
captain jim hung his fiddle up in its place, beside a large frame enclosing several banknotes.
""is there anybody else of your acquaintance who can afford to hang his walls with banknotes for pictures?"
he asked.
""there's twenty ten-dollar notes there, not worth the glass over them.
they're old bank of p. e. island notes.
had them by me when the bank failed, and i had'em framed and hung up, partly as a reminder not to put your trust in banks, and partly to give me a real luxurious, millionairy feeling.
hullo, matey, do n't be scared.
you can come back now.
the music and revelry is over for tonight.
the old year has just another hour to stay with us.
i've seen seventy-six new years come in over that gulf yonder, mistress blythe."
""you'll see a hundred," said marshall elliott.
captain jim shook his head.
""no; and i do n't want to -- at least, i think i do n't.
death grows friendlier as we grow older.
not that one of us really wants to die though, marshall.
tennyson spoke truth when he said that.
there's old mrs. wallace up at the glen.
she's had heaps of trouble all her life, poor soul, and she's lost almost everyone she cared about.
she's always saying that she'll be glad when her time comes, and she does n't want to sojourn any longer in this vale of tears.
but when she takes a sick spell there's a fuss!
doctors from town, and a trained nurse, and enough medicine to kill a dog.
life may be a vale of tears, all right, but there are some folks who enjoy weeping, i reckon."
they spent the old year's last hour quietly around the fire.
a few minutes before twelve captain jim rose and opened the door.
""we must let the new year in," he said.
outside was a fine blue night.
a sparkling ribbon of moonlight garlanded the gulf.
inside the bar the harbor shone like a pavement of pearl.
they stood before the door and waited -- captain jim with his ripe, full experience, marshall elliott in his vigorous but empty middle life, gilbert and anne with their precious memories and exquisite hopes, leslie with her record of starved years and her hopeless future.
the clock on the little shelf above the fireplace struck twelve.
""welcome, new year," said captain jim, bowing low as the last stroke died away.
""i wish you all the best year of your lives, mates.
i reckon that whatever the new year brings us will be the best the great captain has for us -- and somehow or other we'll all make port in a good harbor."
chapter 17 a four winds winter winter set in vigorously after new year's.
big, white drifts heaped themselves about the little house, and palms of frost covered its windows.
the harbor ice grew harder and thicker, until the four winds people began their usual winter travelling over it.
the safe ways were "bushed" by a benevolent government, and night and day the gay tinkle of the sleigh-bells sounded on it.
on moonlit nights anne heard them in her house of dreams like fairy chimes.
the gulf froze over, and the four winds light flashed no more.
during the months when navigation was closed captain jim's office was a sinecure.
""the first mate and i will have nothing to do till spring except keep warm and amuse ourselves.
the last lighthouse keeper used always to move up to the glen in winter; but i'd rather stay at the point.
the first mate might get poisoned or chewed up by dogs at the glen.
it's a mite lonely, to be sure, with neither the light nor the water for company, but if our friends come to see us often we'll weather it through."
captain jim had an ice boat, and many a wild, glorious spin gilbert and anne and leslie had over the glib harbor ice with him.
anne and leslie took long snowshoe tramps together, too, over the fields, or across the harbor after storms, or through the woods beyond the glen.
they were very good comrades in their rambles and their fireside communings.
each had something to give the other -- each felt life the richer for friendly exchange of thought and friendly silence; each looked across the white fields between their homes with a pleasant consciousness of a friend beyond.
but, in spite of all this, anne felt that there was always a barrier between leslie and herself -- a constraint that never wholly vanished.
""i do n't know why i ca n't get closer to her," anne said one evening to captain jim.
""i like her so much -- i admire her so much -- i want to take her right into my heart and creep right into hers.
but i can never cross the barrier."
""you've been too happy all your life, mistress blythe," said captain jim thoughtfully.
""i reckon that's why you and leslie ca n't get real close together in your souls.
the barrier between you is her experience of sorrow and trouble.
she ai n't responsible for it and you ai n't; but it's there and neither of you can cross it."
""my childhood was n't very happy before i came to green gables," said anne, gazing soberly out of the window at the still, sad, dead beauty of the leafless tree-shadows on the moonlit snow.
""mebbe not -- but it was just the usual unhappiness of a child who has n't anyone to look after it properly.
there has n't been any tragedy in your life, mistress blythe.
and poor leslie's has been almost all tragedy.
she feels, i reckon, though mebbe she hardly knows she feels it, that there's a vast deal in her life you ca n't enter nor understand -- and so she has to keep you back from it -- hold you off, so to speak, from hurting her.
you know if we've got anything about us that hurts we shrink from anyone's touch on or near it.
it holds good with our souls as well as our bodies, i reckon.
leslie's soul must be near raw -- it's no wonder she hides it away."
""if that were really all, i would n't mind, captain jim.
i would understand.
but there are times -- not always, but now and again -- when i almost have to believe that leslie does n't -- does n't like me.
sometimes i surprise a look in her eyes that seems to show resentment and dislike -- it goes so quickly -- but i've seen it, i'm sure of that.
and it hurts me, captain jim.
i'm not used to being disliked -- and i've tried so hard to win leslie's friendship."
""you have won it, mistress blythe.
do n't you go cherishing any foolish notion that leslie do n't like you.
if she did n't she would n't have anything to do with you, much less chumming with you as she does.
i know leslie moore too well not to be sure of that."
""the first time i ever saw her, driving her geese down the hill on the day i came to four winds, she looked at me with the same expression," persisted anne.
""i felt it, even in the midst of my admiration of her beauty.
she looked at me resentfully -- she did, indeed, captain jim."
""the resentment must have been about something else, mistress blythe, and you jest come in for a share of it because you happened past.
leslie does take sullen spells now and again, poor girl.
i ca n't blame her, when i know what she has to put up with.
i do n't know why it's permitted.
the doctor and i have talked a lot abut the origin of evil, but we have n't quite found out all about it yet.
there's a vast of onunderstandable things in life, ai n't there, mistress blythe?
sometimes things seem to work out real proper-like, same as with you and the doctor.
and then again they all seem to go catawampus.
there's leslie, so clever and beautiful you'd think she was meant for a queen, and instead she's cooped up over there, robbed of almost everything a woman'd value, with no prospect except waiting on dick moore all her life.
though, mind you, mistress blythe, i daresay she'd choose her life now, such as it is, rather than the life she lived with dick before he went away.
that's something a clumsy old sailor's tongue must n't meddle with.
but you've helped leslie a lot -- she's a different creature since you come to four winds.
us old friends see the difference in her, as you ca n't.
miss cornelia and me was talking it over the other day, and it's one of the mighty few p "ints that we see eye to eye on.
so jest you throw overboard any idea of her not liking you."
anne could hardly discard it completely, for there were undoubtedly times when she felt, with an instinct that was not to be combated by reason, that leslie harbored a queer, indefinable resentment towards her.
at times, this secret consciousness marred the delight of their comradeship; at others it was almost forgotten; but anne always felt the hidden thorn was there, and might prick her at any moment.
she felt a cruel sting from it on the day when she told leslie of what she hoped the spring would bring to the little house of dreams.
leslie looked at her with hard, bitter, unfriendly eyes.
""so you are to have that, too," she said in a choked voice.
and without another word she had turned and gone across the fields homeward.
anne was deeply hurt; for the moment she felt as if she could never like leslie again.
but when leslie came over a few evenings later she was so pleasant, so friendly, so frank, and witty, and winsome, that anne was charmed into forgiveness and forgetfulness.
only, she never mentioned her darling hope to leslie again; nor did leslie ever refer to it.
but one evening, when late winter was listening for the word of spring, she came over to the little house for a twilight chat; and when she went away she left a small, white box on the table.
anne found it after she was gone and opened it wonderingly.
in it was a tiny white dress of exquisite workmanship -- delicate embroidery, wonderful tucking, sheer loveliness.
every stitch in it was handwork; and the little frills of lace at neck and sleeves were of real valenciennes.
lying on it was a card -- "with leslie's love."
""what hours of work she must have put on it," said anne.
""and the material must have cost more than she could really afford.
it is very sweet of her."
but leslie was brusque and curt when anne thanked her, and again the latter felt thrown back upon herself.
leslie's gift was not alone in the little house.
miss cornelia had, for the time being, given up sewing for unwanted, unwelcome eighth babies, and fallen to sewing for a very much wanted first one, whose welcome would leave nothing to be desired.
philippa blake and diana wright each sent a marvellous garment; and mrs. rachel lynde sent several, in which good material and honest stitches took the place of embroidery and frills.
anne herself made many, desecrated by no touch of machinery, spending over them the happiest hours of the happy winter.
captain jim was the most frequent guest of the little house, and none was more welcome.
every day anne loved the simple-souled, true-hearted old sailor more and more.
he was as refreshing as a sea breeze, as interesting as some ancient chronicle.
she was never tired of listening to his stories, and his quaint remarks and comments were a continual delight to her.
captain jim was one of those rare and interesting people who "never speak but they say something."
the milk of human kindness and the wisdom of the serpent were mingled in his composition in delightful proportions.
nothing ever seemed to put captain jim out or depress him in any way.
""i've kind of contracted a habit of enj "ying things," he remarked once, when anne had commented on his invariable cheerfulness.
""it's got so chronic that i believe i even enj" y the disagreeable things.
it's great fun thinking they ca n't last.
"old rheumatiz," says i, when it grips me hard, "you've got to stop aching sometime.
the worse you are the sooner you'll stop, mebbe.
i'm bound to get the better of you in the long run, whether in the body or out of the body.""
one night, by the fireside at the light anne saw captain jim's "life-book."
he needed no coaxing to show it and proudly gave it to her to read.
""i writ it to leave to little joe," he said.
""i do n't like the idea of everything i've done and seen being clean forgot after i've shipped for my last v "yage.
joe, he'll remember it, and tell the yarns to his children."
it was an old leather-bound book filled with the record of his voyages and adventures.
anne thought what a treasure trove it would be to a writer.
every sentence was a nugget.
in itself the book had no literary merit; captain jim's charm of storytelling failed him when he came to pen and ink; he could only jot roughly down the outline of his famous tales, and both spelling and grammar were sadly askew.
but anne felt that if anyone possessed of the gift could take that simple record of a brave, adventurous life, reading between the bald lines the tales of dangers staunchly faced and duty manfully done, a wonderful story might be made from it.
rich comedy and thrilling tragedy were both lying hidden in captain jim's "life-book," waiting for the touch of the master hand to waken the laughter and grief and horror of thousands.
anne said something of this to gilbert as they walked home.
""why do n't you try your hand at it yourself, anne?"
anne shook her head.
""no.
i only wish i could.
but it's not in the power of my gift.
you know what my forte is, gilbert -- the fanciful, the fairylike, the pretty.
to write captain jim's life-book as it should be written one should be a master of vigorous yet subtle style, a keen psychologist, a born humorist and a born tragedian.
a rare combination of gifts is needed.
paul might do it if he were older.
anyhow, i'm going to ask him to come down next summer and meet captain jim."
""come to this shore," wrote anne to paul.
""i am afraid you can not find here nora or the golden lady or the twin sailors; but you will find one old sailor who can tell you wonderful stories."
paul, however wrote back, saying regretfully that he could not come that year.
he was going abroad for two year's study.
""when i return i'll come to four winds, dear teacher," he wrote.
""but meanwhile, captain jim is growing old," said anne, sorrowfully, "and there is nobody to write his life-book."
chapter 18 spring days the ice in the harbor grew black and rotten in the march suns; in april there were blue waters and a windy, white-capped gulf again; and again the four winds light begemmed the twilights.
""i'm so glad to see it once more," said anne, on the first evening of its reappearance.
""i've missed it so all winter.
the northwestern sky has seemed blank and lonely without it."
the land was tender with brand-new, golden-green, baby leaves.
there was an emerald mist on the woods beyond the glen.
the seaward valleys were full of fairy mists at dawn.
vibrant winds came and went with salt foam in their breath.
the sea laughed and flashed and preened and allured, like a beautiful, coquettish woman.
the herring schooled and the fishing village woke to life.
the harbor was alive with white sails making for the channel.
the ships began to sail outward and inward again.
""on a spring day like this," said anne, "i know exactly what my soul will feel like on the resurrection morning."
""there are times in spring when i sorter feel that i might have been a poet if i'd been caught young," remarked captain jim.
""i catch myself conning over old lines and verses i heard the schoolmaster reciting sixty years ago.
they do n't trouble me at other times.
now i feel as if i had to get out on the rocks or the fields or the water and spout them."
captain jim had come up that afternoon to bring anne a load of shells for her garden, and a little bunch of sweet-grass which he had found in a ramble over the sand dunes.
""it's getting real scarce along this shore now," he said.
""when i was a boy there was a-plenty of it.
but now it's only once in a while you'll find a plot -- and never when you're looking for it.
you jest have to stumble on it -- you're walking along on the sand hills, never thinking of sweet-grass -- and all at once the air is full of sweetness -- and there's the grass under your feet.
i favor the smell of sweet-grass.
it always makes me think of my mother."
""she was fond of it?"
asked anne.
""not that i knows on.
dunno's she ever saw any sweet-grass.
no, it's because it has a kind of motherly perfume -- not too young, you understand -- something kind of seasoned and wholesome and dependable -- jest like a mother.
the schoolmaster's bride always kept it among her handkerchiefs.
you might put that little bunch among yours, mistress blythe.
i do n't like these boughten scents -- but a whiff of sweet-grass belongs anywhere a lady does."
anne had not been especially enthusiastic over the idea of surrounding her flower beds with quahog shells; as a decoration they did not appeal to her on first thought.
but she would not have hurt captain jim's feelings for anything; so she assumed a virtue she did not at first feel, and thanked him heartily.
and when captain jim had proudly encircled every bed with a rim of the big, milk-white shells, anne found to her surprise that she liked the effect.
on a town lawn, or even up at the glen, they would not have been in keeping, but here, in the old-fashioned, sea-bound garden of the little house of dreams, they belonged.
""they do look nice," she said sincerely.
""the schoolmaster's bride always had cowhawks round her beds," said captain jim.
""she was a master hand with flowers.
she looked at'em -- and touched'em -- so -- and they grew like mad.
some folks have that knack -- i reckon you have it, too, mistress blythe."
""oh, i do n't know -- but i love my garden, and i love working in it.
to potter with green, growing things, watching each day to see the dear, new sprouts come up, is like taking a hand in creation, i think.
just now my garden is like faith -- the substance of things hoped for.
but bide a wee."
""it always amazes me to look at the little, wrinkled brown seeds and think of the rainbows in'em," said captain jim.
""when i ponder on them seeds i do n't find it nowise hard to believe that we've got souls that'll live in other worlds.
you could n't hardly believe there was life in them tiny things, some no bigger than grains of dust, let alone color and scent, if you had n't seen the miracle, could you?"
anne, who was counting her days like silver beads on a rosary, could not now take the long walk to the lighthouse or up the glen road.
but miss cornelia and captain jim came very often to the little house.
miss cornelia was the joy of anne's and gilbert's existence.
they laughed side-splittingly over her speeches after every visit.
when captain jim and she happened to visit the little house at the same time there was much sport for the listening.
they waged wordy warfare, she attacking, he defending.
anne once reproached the captain for his baiting of miss cornelia.
""oh, i do love to set her going, mistress blythe," chuckled the unrepentant sinner.
""it's the greatest amusement i have in life.
that tongue of hers would blister a stone.
and you and that young dog of a doctor enj" y listening to her as much as i do."
captain jim came along another evening to bring anne some mayflowers.
the garden was full of the moist, scented air of a maritime spring evening.
there was a milk-white mist on the edge of the sea, with a young moon kissing it, and a silver gladness of stars over the glen.
the bell of the church across the harbor was ringing dreamily sweet.
the mellow chime drifted through the dusk to mingle with the soft spring-moan of the sea.
captain jim's mayflowers added the last completing touch to the charm of the night.
""i have n't seen any this spring, and i've missed them," said anne, burying her face in them.
""they ai n't to be found around four winds, only in the barrens away behind the glen up yander.
i took a little trip today to the land-of-nothing-to-do, and hunted these up for you.
i reckon they're the last you'll see this spring, for they're nearly done."
""how kind and thoughtful you are, captain jim.
nobody else -- not even gilbert" -- with a shake of her head at him -- "remembered that i always long for mayflowers in spring."
""well, i had another errand, too -- i wanted to take mr. howard back yander a mess of trout.
he likes one occasional, and it's all i can do for a kindness he did me once.
i stayed all the afternoon and talked to him.
he likes to talk to me, though he's a highly eddicated man and i'm only an ignorant old sailor, because he's one of the folks that's got to talk or they're miserable, and he finds listeners scarce around here.
the glen folks fight shy of him because they think he's an infidel.
he ai n't that far gone exactly -- few men is, i reckon -- but he's what you might call a heretic.
heretics are wicked, but they're mighty int "resting.
it's jest that they've got sorter lost looking for god, being under the impression that he's hard to find -- which he ai n't never.
most of'em blunder to him after awhile, i guess.
i do n't think listening to mr. howard's arguments is likely to do me much harm.
mind you, i believe what i was brought up to believe.
it saves a vast of bother -- and back of it all, god is good.
the trouble with mr. howard is that he's a leetle too clever.
he thinks that he's bound to live up to his cleverness, and that it's smarter to thrash out some new way of getting to heaven than to go by the old track the common, ignorant folks is travelling.
but he'll get there sometime all right, and then he'll laugh at himself."
""mr. howard was a methodist to begin with," said miss cornelia, as if she thought he had not far to go from that to heresy.
""do you know, cornelia," said captain jim gravely, "i've often thought that if i was n't a presbyterian i'd be a methodist."
""oh, well," conceded miss cornelia, "if you were n't a presbyterian it would n't matter much what you were.
speaking of heresy, reminds me, doctor -- i've brought back that book you lent me -- that natural law in the spiritual world -- i did n't read more'n a third of it.
i can read sense, and i can read nonsense, but that book is neither the one nor the other."
""it is considered rather heretical in some quarters," admitted gilbert, "but i told you that before you took it, miss cornelia."
""oh, i would n't have minded its being heretical.
i can stand wickedness, but i ca n't stand foolishness," said miss cornelia calmly, and with the air of having said the last thing there was to say about natural law.
""speaking of books, a mad love come to an end at last two weeks ago," remarked captain jim musingly.
""it run to one hundred and three chapters.
when they got married the book stopped right off, so i reckon their troubles were all over.
it's real nice that that's the way in books anyhow, is n't it, even if't ist n't so anywhere else?"
""i never read novels," said miss cornelia.
""did you hear how geordie russell was today, captain jim?"
""yes, i called in on my way home to see him.
he's getting round all right -- but stewing in a broth of trouble, as usual, poor man."
"course he brews up most of it for himself, but i reckon that do n't make it any easier to bear."
""he's an awful pessimist," said miss cornelia.
""well, no, he ai n't a pessimist exactly, cornelia.
he only jest never finds anything that suits him."
""and is n't that a pessimist?"
""no, no.
a pessimist is one who never expects to find anything to suit him.
geordie hai n't got that far yet."
""you'd find something good to say of the devil himself, jim boyd."
""well, you've heard the story of the old lady who said he was persevering.
but no, cornelia, i've nothing good to say of the devil."
""do you believe in him at all?"
asked miss cornelia seriously.
""how can you ask that when you know what a good presbyterian i am, cornelia?
how could a presbyterian get along without a devil?"
""do you?"
persisted miss cornelia.
captain jim suddenly became grave.
""i believe in what i heard a minister once call" a mighty and malignant and intelligent power of evil working in the universe,"" he said solemnly.
""i do that, cornelia.
you can call it the devil, or the "principle of evil," or the old scratch, or any name you like.
it's there, and all the infidels and heretics in the world ca n't argue it away, any more'n they can argue god away.
it's there, and it's working.
but, mind you, cornelia, i believe it's going to get the worst of it in the long run."
""i am sure i hope so," said miss cornelia, none too hopefully.
""but speaking of the devil, i am positive that billy booth is possessed by him now.
have you heard of billy's latest performance?"
""no, what was that?"
""he's gone and burned up his wife's new, brown broadcloth suit, that she paid twenty-five dollars for in charlottetown, because he declares the men looked too admiring at her when she wore it to church the first time.
was n't that like a man?"
""mistress booth is mighty pretty, and brown's her color," said captain jim reflectively.
""is that any good reason why he should poke her new suit into the kitchen stove?
billy booth is a jealous fool, and he makes his wife's life miserable.
she's cried all the week about her suit.
oh, anne, i wish i could write like you, believe me.
would n't i score some of the men round here!"
""those booths are all a mite queer," said captain jim.
""billy seemed the sanest of the lot till he got married and then this queer jealous streak cropped out in him.
his brother daniel, now, was always odd."
""took tantrums every few days or so and would n't get out of bed," said miss cornelia with a relish.
""his wife would have to do all the barn work till he got over his spell.
when he died people wrote her letters of condolence; if i'd written anything it would have been one of congratulation.
their father, old abram booth, was a disgusting old sot.
he was drunk at his wife's funeral, and kept reeling round and hiccuping" i did n't dri -- i -- i -- nk much but i feel a -- a -- awfully que -- e -- e -- r." i gave him a good jab in the back with my umbrella when he came near me, and it sobered him up until they got the casket out of the house.
young johnny booth was to have been married yesterday, but he could n't be because he's gone and got the mumps.
was n't that like a man?"
""how could he help getting the mumps, poor fellow?"
""i'd poor fellow him, believe me, if i was kate sterns.
i do n't know how he could help getting the mumps, but i do know the wedding supper was all prepared and everything will be spoiled before he's well again.
such a waste!
he should have had the mumps when he was a boy."
""come, come, cornelia, do n't you think you're a mite unreasonable?"
miss cornelia disdained to reply and turned instead to susan baker, a grim-faced, kind-hearted elderly spinster of the glen, who had been installed as maid-of-all-work at the little house for some weeks.
susan had been up to the glen to make a sick call, and had just returned.
""how is poor old aunt mandy tonight?"
asked miss cornelia.
susan sighed.
""very poorly -- very poorly, cornelia.
i am afraid she will soon be in heaven, poor thing!"
""oh, surely, it's not so bad as that!"
exclaimed miss cornelia, sympathetically.
captain jim and gilbert looked at each other.
then they suddenly rose and went out.
""there are times," said captain jim, between spasms, "when it would be a sin not to laugh.
them two excellent women!"
chapter 19 dawn and dusk in early june, when the sand hills were a great glory of pink wild roses, and the glen was smothered in apple blossoms, marilla arrived at the little house, accompanied by a black horsehair trunk, patterned with brass nails, which had reposed undisturbed in the green gables garret for half a century.
susan baker, who, during her few weeks" sojourn in the little house, had come to worship "young mrs. doctor," as she called anne, with blind fervor, looked rather jealously askance at marilla at first.
but as marilla did not try to interfere in kitchen matters, and showed no desire to interrupt susan's ministrations to young mrs. doctor, the good handmaiden became reconciled to her presence, and told her cronies at the glen that miss cuthbert was a fine old lady and knew her place.
one evening, when the sky's limpid bowl was filled with a red glory, and the robins were thrilling the golden twilight with jubilant hymns to the stars of evening, there was a sudden commotion in the little house of dreams.
telephone messages were sent up to the glen, doctor dave and a white-capped nurse came hastily down, marilla paced the garden walks between the quahog shells, murmuring prayers between her set lips, and susan sat in the kitchen with cotton wool in her ears and her apron over her head.
leslie, looking out from the house up the brook, saw that every window of the little house was alight, and did not sleep that night.
the june night was short; but it seemed an eternity to those who waited and watched.
""oh, will it never end?"
said marilla; then she saw how grave the nurse and doctor dave looked, and she dared ask no more questions.
suppose anne -- but marilla could not suppose it.
""do not tell me," said susan fiercely, answering the anguish in marilla's eyes, "that god could be so cruel as to take that darling lamb from us when we all love her so much."
""he has taken others as well beloved," said marilla hoarsely.
but at dawn, when the rising sun rent apart the mists hanging over the sandbar, and made rainbows of them, joy came to the little house.
anne was safe, and a wee, white lady, with her mother's big eyes, was lying beside her.
gilbert, his face gray and haggard from his night's agony, came down to tell marilla and susan.
""thank god," shuddered marilla.
susan got up and took the cotton wool out of her ears.
""now for breakfast," she said briskly.
""i am of the opinion that we will all be glad of a bite and sup.
you tell young mrs. doctor not to worry about a single thing -- susan is at the helm.
you tell her just to think of her baby."
gilbert smiled rather sadly as he went away.
anne, her pale face blanched with its baptism of pain, her eyes aglow with the holy passion of motherhood, did not need to be told to think of her baby.
she thought of nothing else.
for a few hours she tasted of happiness so rare and exquisite that she wondered if the angels in heaven did not envy her.
""little joyce," she murmured, when marilla came in to see the baby.
""we planned to call her that if she were a girlie.
there were so many we would have liked to name her for; we could n't choose between them, so we decided on joyce -- we can call her joy for short -- joy -- it suits so well.
oh, marilla, i thought i was happy before.
now i know that i just dreamed a pleasant dream of happiness.
this is the reality."
""you must n't talk, anne -- wait till you're stronger," said marilla warningly.
""you know how hard it is for me not to talk," smiled anne.
at first she was too weak and too happy to notice that gilbert and the nurse looked grave and marilla sorrowful.
then, as subtly, and coldly, and remorselessly as a sea-fog stealing landward, fear crept into her heart.
why was not gilbert gladder?
why would he not talk about the baby?
why would they not let her have it with her after that first heavenly -- happy hour?
was -- was there anything wrong?
""gilbert," whispered anne imploringly, "the baby -- is all right -- is n't she?
tell me -- tell me."
gilbert was a long while in turning round; then he bent over anne and looked in her eyes.
marilla, listening fearfully outside the door, heard a pitiful, heartbroken moan, and fled to the kitchen where susan was weeping.
""oh, the poor lamb -- the poor lamb!
how can she bear it, miss cuthbert?
i am afraid it will kill her.
she has been that built up and happy, longing for that baby, and planning for it.
can not anything be done nohow, miss cuthbert?"
""i'm afraid not, susan.
gilbert says there is no hope.
he knew from the first the little thing could n't live."
""and it is such a sweet baby," sobbed susan.
""i never saw one so white -- they are mostly red or yallow.
and it opened its big eyes as if it was months old.
the little, little thing!
oh, the poor, young mrs. doctor!"
at sunset the little soul that had come with the dawning went away, leaving heartbreak behind it.
miss cornelia took the wee, white lady from the kindly but stranger hands of the nurse, and dressed the tiny waxen form in the beautiful dress leslie had made for it.
leslie had asked her to do that.
then she took it back and laid it beside the poor, broken, tear-blinded little mother.
""the lord has given and the lord has taken away, dearie," she said through her own tears.
""blessed be the name of the lord."
then she went away, leaving anne and gilbert alone together with their dead.
the next day, the small white joy was laid in a velvet casket which leslie had lined with apple-blossoms, and taken to the graveyard of the church across the harbor.
miss cornelia and marilla put all the little love-made garments away, together with the ruffled basket which had been befrilled and belaced for dimpled limbs and downy head.
little joy was never to sleep there; she had found a colder, narrower bed.
""this has been an awful disappointment to me," sighed miss cornelia.
""i've looked forward to this baby -- and i did want it to be a girl, too."
""i can only be thankful that anne's life was spared," said marilla, with a shiver, recalling those hours of darkness when the girl she loved was passing through the valley of the shadow.
""poor, poor lamb!
her heart is broken," said susan.
""i envy anne," said leslie suddenly and fiercely, "and i'd envy her even if she had died!
she was a mother for one beautiful day.
i'd gladly give my life for that!"
""i would n't talk like that, leslie, dearie," said miss cornelia deprecatingly.
she was afraid that the dignified miss cuthbert would think leslie quite terrible.
anne's convalescence was long, and made bitter for her by many things.
the bloom and sunshine of the four winds world grated harshly on her; and yet, when the rain fell heavily, she pictured it beating so mercilessly down on that little grave across the harbor; and when the wind blew around the eaves she heard sad voices in it she had never heard before.
kindly callers hurt her, too, with the well-meant platitudes with which they strove to cover the nakedness of bereavement.
a letter from phil blake was an added sting.
phil had heard of the baby's birth, but not of its death, and she wrote anne a congratulatory letter of sweet mirth which hurt her horribly.
""i would have laughed over it so happily if i had my baby," she sobbed to marilla.
""but when i have n't it just seems like wanton cruelty -- though i know phil would n't hurt me for the world.
oh, marilla, i do n't see how i can ever be happy again -- everything will hurt me all the rest of my life."
""time will help you," said marilla, who was racked with sympathy but could never learn to express it in other than age-worn formulas.
""it does n't seem fair," said anne rebelliously.
""babies are born and live where they are not wanted -- where they will be neglected -- where they will have no chance.
i would have loved my baby so -- and cared for it so tenderly -- and tried to give her every chance for good.
and yet i was n't allowed to keep her."
""it was god's will, anne," said marilla, helpless before the riddle of the universe -- the why of undeserved pain.
""and little joy is better off."
""i ca n't believe that," cried anne bitterly.
then, seeing that marilla looked shocked, she added passionately, "why should she be born at all -- why should any one be born at all -- if she's better off dead?
i do n't believe it is better for a child to die at birth than to live its life out -- and love and be loved -- and enjoy and suffer -- and do its work -- and develop a character that would give it a personality in eternity.
and how do you know it was god's will?
perhaps it was just a thwarting of his purpose by the power of evil.
we ca n't be expected to be resigned to that."
""oh, anne, do n't talk so," said marilla, genuinely alarmed lest anne were drifting into deep and dangerous waters.
""we ca n't understand -- but we must have faith -- we must believe that all is for the best.
i know you find it hard to think so, just now.
but try to be brave -- for gilbert's sake.
he's so worried about you.
you are n't getting strong as fast as you should."
""oh, i know i've been very selfish," sighed anne.
""i love gilbert more than ever -- and i want to live for his sake.
but it seems as if part of me was buried over there in that little harbor graveyard -- and it hurts so much that i'm afraid of life."
""it wo n't hurt so much always, anne."
""the thought that it may stop hurting sometimes hurts me worse than all else, marilla."
""yes, i know, i've felt that too, about other things.
but we all love you, anne.
captain jim has been up every day to ask for you -- and mrs. moore haunts the place -- and miss bryant spends most of her time, i think, cooking up nice things for you.
susan does n't like it very well.
she thinks she can cook as well as miss bryant."
""dear susan!
oh, everybody has been so dear and good and lovely to me, marilla.
i'm not ungrateful -- and perhaps -- when this horrible ache grows a little less -- i'll find that i can go on living."
chapter 20 lost margaret anne found that she could go on living; the day came when she even smiled again over one of miss cornelia's speeches.
but there was something in the smile that had never been in anne's smile before and would never be absent from it again.
on the first day she was able to go for a drive gilbert took her down to four winds point, and left her there while he rowed over the channel to see a patient at the fishing village.
a rollicking wind was scudding across the harbor and the dunes, whipping the water into white-caps and washing the sandshore with long lines of silvery breakers.
""i'm real proud to see you here again, mistress blythe," said captain jim.
""sit down -- sit down.
i'm afeared it's mighty dusty here today -- but there's no need of looking at dust when you can look at such scenery, is there?"
""i do n't mind the dust," said anne, "but gilbert says i must keep in the open air.
i think i'll go and sit on the rocks down there."
""would you like company or would you rather be alone?"
""if by company you mean yours i'd much rather have it than be alone," said anne, smiling.
then she sighed.
she had never before minded being alone.
now she dreaded it.
when she was alone now she felt so dreadfully alone.
""here's a nice little spot where the wind ca n't get at you," said captain jim, when they reached the rocks.
""i often sit here.
it's a great place jest to sit and dream."
""oh -- dreams," sighed anne.
""i ca n't dream now, captain jim -- i'm done with dreams."
""oh, no, you're not, mistress blythe -- oh, no, you're not," said captain jim meditatively.
""i know how you feel jest now -- but if you keep on living you'll get glad again, and the first thing you know you'll be dreaming again -- thank the good lord for it!
if it was n't for our dreams they might as well bury us.
how'd we stand living if it was n't for our dream of immortality?
and that's a dream that's bound to come true, mistress blythe.
you'll see your little joyce again some day."
""but she wo n't be my baby," said anne, with trembling lips.
""oh, she may be, as longfellow says," a fair maiden clothed with celestial grace" -- but she'll be a stranger to me."
""god will manage better'n that, i believe," said captain jim.
they were both silent for a little time.
then captain jim said very softly: "mistress blythe, may i tell you about lost margaret?"
""of course," said anne gently.
she did not know who "lost margaret" was, but she felt that she was going to hear the romance of captain jim's life.
""i've often wanted to tell you about her," captain jim went on.
""do you know why, mistress blythe?
it's because i want somebody to remember and think of her sometime after i'm gone.
i ca n't bear that her name should be forgotten by all living souls.
and now nobody remembers lost margaret but me."
then captain jim told the story -- an old, old forgotten story, for it was over fifty years since margaret had fallen asleep one day in her father's dory and drifted -- or so it was supposed, for nothing was ever certainly known as to her fate -- out of the channel, beyond the bar, to perish in the black thundersquall which had come up so suddenly that long-ago summer afternoon.
but to captain jim those fifty years were but as yesterday when it is past.
""i walked the shore for months after that," he said sadly, "looking to find her dear, sweet little body; but the sea never give her back to me.
but i'll find her sometime, mistress blythe -- i'll find her sometime.
she's waiting for me.
i wish i could tell you jest how she looked, but i ca n't.
i've seen a fine, silvery mist hanging over the bar at sunrise that seemed like her -- and then again i've seen a white birch in the woods back yander that made me think of her.
she had pale, brown hair and a little white, sweet face, and long slender fingers like yours, mistress blythe, only browner, for she was a shore girl.
sometimes i wake up in the night and hear the sea calling to me in the old way, and it seems as if lost margaret called in it.
and when there's a storm and the waves are sobbing and moaning i hear her lamenting among them.
and when they laugh on a gay day it's her laugh -- lost margaret's sweet, roguish, little laugh.
the sea took her from me, but some day i'll find her.
mistress blythe.
it ca n't keep us apart forever."
""i am glad you have told me about her," said anne.
""i have often wondered why you had lived all your life alone."
""i could n't ever care for anyone else.
lost margaret took my heart with her -- out there," said the old lover, who had been faithful for fifty years to his drowned sweetheart.
""you wo n't mind if i talk a good deal about her, will you, mistress blythe?
it's a pleasure to me -- for all the pain went out of her memory years ago and jest left its blessing.
i know you'll never forget her, mistress blythe.
and if the years, as i hope, bring other little folks to your home, i want you to promise me that you'll tell them the story of lost margaret, so that her name wo n't be forgotten among humankind."
chapter 21 barriers swept away "anne," said leslie, breaking abruptly a short silence, "you do n't know how good it is to be sitting here with you again -- working -- and talking -- and being silent together."
they were sitting among the blue-eyed grasses on the bank of the brook in anne's garden.
the water sparkled and crooned past them; the birches threw dappled shadows over them; roses bloomed along the walks.
the sun was beginning to be low, and the air was full of woven music.
there was one music of the wind in the firs behind the house, and another of the waves on the bar, and still another from the distant bell of the church near which the wee, white lady slept.
anne loved that bell, though it brought sorrowful thoughts now.
she looked curiously at leslie, who had thrown down her sewing and spoken with a lack of restraint that was very unusual with her.
""on that horrible night when you were so ill," leslie went on, "i kept thinking that perhaps we'd have no more talks and walks and works together.
and i realised just what your friendship had come to mean to me -- just what you meant -- and just what a hateful little beast i had been."
""leslie!
leslie!
i never allow anyone to call my friends names."
""it's true.
that's exactly what i am -- a hateful little beast.
there's something i've got to tell you, anne.
i suppose it will make you despise me, but i must confess it.
anne, there have been times this past winter and spring when i have hated you."
""i knew it," said anne calmly.
""you knew it?"
""yes, i saw it in your eyes."
""and yet you went on liking me and being my friend."
""well, it was only now and then you hated me, leslie.
between times you loved me, i think."
""i certainly did.
but that other horrid feeling was always there, spoiling it, back in my heart.
i kept it down -- sometimes i forgot it -- but sometimes it would surge up and take possession of me.
i hated you because i envied you -- oh, i was sick with envy of you at times.
you had a dear little home -- and love -- and happiness -- and glad dreams -- everything i wanted -- and never had -- and never could have.
oh, never could have!
that was what stung.
i would n't have envied you, if i had had any hope that life would ever be different for me.
but i had n't -- i had n't -- and it did n't seem fair.
it made me rebellious -- and it hurt me -- and so i hated you at times.
oh, i was so ashamed of it -- i'm dying of shame now -- but i could n't conquer it.
""that night, when i was afraid you might n't live -- i thought i was going to be punished for my wickedness -- and i loved you so then.
anne, anne, i never had anything to love since my mother died, except dick's old dog -- and it's so dreadful to have nothing to love -- life is so empty -- and there's nothing worse than emptiness -- and i might have loved you so much -- and that horrible thing had spoiled it --" leslie was trembling and growing almost incoherent with the violence of her emotion.
""do n't, leslie," implored anne, "oh, do n't.
i understand -- do n't talk of it any more."
""i must -- i must.
when i knew you were going to live i vowed that i would tell you as soon as you were well -- that i would n't go on accepting your friendship and companionship without telling you how unworthy i was of it.
and i've been so afraid -- it would turn you against me."
""you need n't fear that, leslie."
""oh, i'm so glad -- so glad, anne."
leslie clasped her brown, work-hardened hands tightly together to still their shaking.
""but i want to tell you everything, now i've begun.
you do n't remember the first time i saw you, i suppose -- it was n't that night on the shore --" "no, it was the night gilbert and i came home.
you were driving your geese down the hill.
i should think i do remember it!
i thought you were so beautiful -- i longed for weeks after to find out who you were."
""i knew who you were, although i had never seen either of you before.
i had heard of the new doctor and his bride who were coming to live in miss russell's little house.
i -- i hated you that very moment, anne."
""i felt the resentment in your eyes -- then i doubted -- i thought i must be mistaken -- because why should it be?"
""it was because you looked so happy.
oh, you'll agree with me now that i am a hateful beast -- to hate another woman just because she was happy, -- and when her happiness did n't take anything from me!
that was why i never went to see you.
i knew quite well i ought to go -- even our simple four winds customs demanded that.
but i could n't.
i used to watch you from my window -- i could see you and your husband strolling about your garden in the evening -- or you running down the poplar lane to meet him.
and it hurt me.
and yet in another way i wanted to go over.
i felt that, if i were not so miserable, i could have liked you and found in you what i've never had in my life -- an intimate, real friend of my own age.
and then you remember that night at the shore?
you were afraid i would think you crazy.
you must have thought i was."
""no, but i could n't understand you, leslie.
one moment you drew me to you -- the next you pushed me back."
""i was very unhappy that evening.
i had had a hard day.
dick had been very -- very hard to manage that day.
generally he is quite good-natured and easily controlled, you know, anne.
but some days he is very different.
i was so heartsick -- i ran away to the shore as soon as he went to sleep.
it was my only refuge.
i sat there thinking of how my poor father had ended his life, and wondering if i would n't be driven to it some day.
oh, my heart was full of black thoughts!
and then you came dancing along the cove like a glad, light-hearted child.
i -- i hated you more then than i've ever done since.
and yet i craved your friendship.
the one feeling swayed me one moment; the other feeling the next.
when i got home that night i cried for shame of what you must think of me.
but it's always been just the same when i came over here.
sometimes i'd be happy and enjoy my visit.
and at other times that hideous feeling would mar it all.
there were times when everything about you and your house hurt me.
you had so many dear little things i could n't have.
do you know -- it's ridiculous -- but i had an especial spite at those china dogs of yours.
there were times when i wanted to catch up gog and magog and bang their pert black noses together!
oh, you smile, anne -- but it was never funny to me.
i would come here and see you and gilbert with your books and your flowers, and your household gods, and your little family jokes -- and your love for each other showing in every look and word, even when you did n't know it -- and i would go home to -- you know what i went home to!
oh, anne, i do n't believe i'm jealous and envious by nature.
when i was a girl i lacked many things my schoolmates had, but i never cared -- i never disliked them for it.
but i seem to have grown so hateful --" "leslie, dearest, stop blaming yourself.
you are not hateful or jealous or envious.
the life you have to live has warped you a little, perhaps-but it would have ruined a nature less fine and noble than yours.
i'm letting you tell me all this because i believe it's better for you to talk it out and rid your soul of it.
but do n't blame yourself any more."
""well, i wo n't.
i just wanted you to know me as i am.
that time you told me of your darling hope for the spring was the worst of all, anne.
i shall never forgive myself for the way i behaved then.
i repented it with tears.
and i did put many a tender and loving thought of you into the little dress i made.
but i might have known that anything i made could only be a shroud in the end."
""now, leslie, that is bitter and morbid -- put such thoughts away.
""i was so glad when you brought the little dress; and since i had to lose little joyce i like to think that the dress she wore was the one you made for her when you let yourself love me."
""anne, do you know, i believe i shall always love you after this.
i do n't think i'll ever feel that dreadful way about you again.
talking it all out seems to have done away with it, somehow.
it's very strange -- and i thought it so real and bitter.
it's like opening the door of a dark room to show some hideous creature you've believed to be there -- and when the light streams in your monster turns out to have been just a shadow, vanishing when the light comes.
it will never come between us again."
""no, we are real friends now, leslie, and i am very glad."
""i hope you wo n't misunderstand me if i say something else.
anne, i was grieved to the core of my heart when you lost your baby; and if i could have saved her for you by cutting off one of my hands i would have done it.
but your sorrow has brought us closer together.
your perfect happiness is n't a barrier any longer.
oh, do n't misunderstand, dearest -- i'm not glad that your happiness is n't perfect any longer -- i can say that sincerely; but since it is n't, there is n't such a gulf between us."
""i do understand that, too, leslie.
now, we'll just shut up the past and forget what was unpleasant in it.
it's all going to be different.
we're both of the race of joseph now.
i think you've been wonderful -- wonderful.
and, leslie, i ca n't help believing that life has something good and beautiful for you yet."
leslie shook her head.
""no," she said dully.
""there is n't any hope.
dick will never be better -- and even if his memory were to come back -- oh, anne, it would be worse, even worse, than it is now.
this is something you ca n't understand, you happy bride.
anne, did miss cornelia ever tell you how i came to marry dick?"
""yes."
""i'm glad -- i wanted you to know -- but i could n't bring myself to talk of it if you had n't known.
anne, it seems to me that ever since i was twelve years old life has been bitter.
before that i had a happy childhood.
we were very poor -- but we did n't mind.
father was so splendid -- so clever and loving and sympathetic.
we were chums as far back as i can remember.
and mother was so sweet.
she was very, very beautiful.
i look like her, but i am not so beautiful as she was."
""miss cornelia says you are far more beautiful."
""she is mistaken -- or prejudiced.
i think my figure is better -- mother was slight and bent by hard work -- but she had the face of an angel.
i used just to look up at her in worship.
we all worshipped her, -- father and kenneth and i." anne remembered that miss cornelia had given her a very different impression of leslie's mother.
but had not love the truer vision?
still, it was selfish of rose west to make her daughter marry dick moore.
""kenneth was my brother," went on leslie.
""oh, i ca n't tell you how i loved him.
and he was cruelly killed.
do you know how?"
""yes."
""anne, i saw his little face as the wheel went over him.
he fell on his back.
anne -- anne -- i can see it now.
i shall always see it.
anne, all i ask of heaven is that that recollection shall be blotted out of my memory.
o my god!"
""leslie, do n't speak of it.
i know the story -- do n't go into details that only harrow your soul up unavailingly.
it will be blotted out."
after a moment's struggle, leslie regained a measure of self-control.
""then father's health got worse and he grew despondent -- his mind became unbalanced -- you've heard all that, too?"
""yes."
""after that i had just mother to live for.
but i was very ambitious.
i meant to teach and earn my way through college.
i meant to climb to the very top -- oh, i wo n't talk of that either.
it's no use.
you know what happened.
i could n't see my dear little heart-broken mother, who had been such a slave all her life, turned out of her home.
of course, i could have earned enough for us to live on.
but mother could n't leave her home.
she had come there as a bride -- and she had loved father so -- and all her memories were there.
even yet, anne, when i think that i made her last year happy i'm not sorry for what i did.
as for dick -- i did n't hate him when i married him -- i just felt for him the indifferent, friendly feeling i had for most of my schoolmates.
i knew he drank some -- but i had never heard the story of the girl down at the fishing cove.
if i had, i could n't have married him, even for mother's sake.
afterwards -- i did hate him -- but mother never knew.
she died -- and then i was alone.
i was only seventeen and i was alone.
dick had gone off in the four sisters.
i hoped he would n't be home very much more.
the sea had always been in his blood.
i had no other hope.
well, captain jim brought him home, as you know -- and that's all there is to say.
you know me now, anne -- the worst of me -- the barriers are all down.
and you still want to be my friend?"
anne looked up through the birches, at the white paper-lantern of a half moon drifting downwards to the gulf of sunset.
her face was very sweet.
""i am your friend and you are mine, for always," she said.
""such a friend as i never had before.
i have had many dear and beloved friends -- but there is a something in you, leslie, that i never found in anyone else.
you have more to offer me in that rich nature of yours, and i have more to give you than i had in my careless girlhood.
we are both women -- and friends forever."
they clasped hands and smiled at each other through the tears that filled the gray eyes and the blue.
chapter 22 miss cornelia arranges matters gilbert insisted that susan should be kept on at the little house for the summer.
anne protested at first.
""life here with just the two of us is so sweet, gilbert.
it spoils it a little to have anyone else.
susan is a dear soul, but she is an outsider.
it wo n't hurt me to do the work here."
""you must take your doctor's advice," said gilbert.
""there's an old proverb to the effect that shoemakers" wives go barefoot and doctors" wives die young.
i do n't mean that it shall be true in my household.
you will keep susan until the old spring comes back into your step, and those little hollows on your cheeks fill out."
""you just take it easy, mrs. doctor, dear," said susan, coming abruptly in.
""have a good time and do not worry about the pantry.
susan is at the helm.
there is no use in keeping a dog and doing your own barking.
i am going to take your breakfast up to you every morning."
""indeed you are not," laughed anne.
""i agree with miss cornelia that it's a scandal for a woman who is n't sick to eat her breakfast in bed, and almost justifies the men in any enormities."
""oh, cornelia!"
said susan, with ineffable contempt.
""i think you have better sense, mrs. doctor, dear, than to heed what cornelia bryant says.
i can not see why she must be always running down the men, even if she is an old maid.
i am an old maid, but you never hear me abusing the men.
i like'em.
i would have married one if i could.
is it not funny nobody ever asked me to marry him, mrs. doctor, dear?
i am no beauty, but i am as good-looking as most of the married women you see.
but i never had a beau.
what do you suppose is the reason?"
""it may be predestination," suggested anne, with unearthly solemnity.
susan nodded.
""that is what i have often thought, mrs. doctor, dear, and a great comfort it is.
i do not mind nobody wanting me if the almighty decreed it so for his own wise purposes.
but sometimes doubt creeps in, mrs. doctor, dear, and i wonder if maybe the old scratch has not more to do with it than anyone else.
i can not feel resigned then.
but maybe," added susan, brightening up, "i will have a chance to get married yet.
i often and often think of the old verse my aunt used to repeat: there never was a goose so gray but sometime soon or late some honest gander came her way and took her for his mate!
a woman can not ever be sure of not being married till she is buried, mrs. doctor, dear, and meanwhile i will make a batch of cherry pies.
i notice the doctor favors'em, and i do like cooking for a man who appreciates his victuals."
miss cornelia dropped in that afternoon, puffing a little.
""i do n't mind the world or the devil much, but the flesh does rather bother me," she admitted.
""you always look as cool as a cucumber, anne, dearie.
do i smell cherry pie?
if i do, ask me to stay to tea.
have n't tasted a cherry pie this summer.
my cherries have all been stolen by those scamps of gilman boys from the glen."
""now, now, cornelia," remonstrated captain jim, who had been reading a sea novel in a corner of the living room, "you should n't say that about those two poor, motherless gilman boys, unless you've got certain proof.
jest because their father ai n't none too honest is n't any reason for calling them thieves.
it's more likely it's been the robins took your cherries.
they're turrible thick this year."
""robins!"
said miss cornelia disdainfully.
""humph!
two-legged robins, believe me!"
""well, most of the four winds robins are constructed on that principle," said captain jim gravely.
miss cornelia stared at him for a moment.
then she leaned back in her rocker and laughed long and ungrudgingly.
""well, you have got one on me at last, jim boyd, i'll admit.
just look how pleased he is, anne, dearie, grinning like a chessy-cat.
as for the robins" legs if robins have great, big, bare, sunburned legs, with ragged trousers hanging on'em, such as i saw up in my cherry tree one morning at sunrise last week, i'll beg the gilman boys" pardon.
by the time i got down they were gone.
i could n't understand how they had disappeared so quick, but captain jim has enlightened me.
they flew away, of course."
captain jim laughed and went away, regretfully declining an invitation to stay to supper and partake of cherry pie.
""i'm on my way to see leslie and ask her if she'll take a boarder," miss cornelia resumed.
""i'd a letter yesterday from a mrs. daly in toronto, who boarded a spell with me two years ago.
she wanted me to take a friend of hers for the summer.
his name is owen ford, and he's a newspaper man, and it seems he's a grandson of the schoolmaster who built this house.
john selwyn's oldest daughter married an ontario man named ford, and this is her son.
he wants to see the old place his grandparents lived in.
he had a bad spell of typhoid in the spring and has n't got rightly over it, so his doctor has ordered him to the sea.
he does n't want to go to the hotel -- he just wants a quiet home place.
i ca n't take him, for i have to be away in august.
i've been appointed a delegate to the w.f.m.s. convention in kingsport and i'm going.
i do n't know whether leslie'll want to be bothered with him, either, but there's no one else.
if she ca n't take him he'll have to go over the harbor."
""when you've seen her come back and help us eat our cherry pies," said anne.
""bring leslie and dick, too, if they can come.
and so you're going to kingsport?
what a nice time you will have.
i must give you a letter to a friend of mine there -- mrs. jonas blake."
""i've prevailed on mrs. thomas holt to go with me," said miss cornelia complacently.
""it's time she had a little holiday, believe me.
she has just about worked herself to death.
tom holt can crochet beautifully, but he ca n't make a living for his family.
he never seems to be able to get up early enough to do any work, but i notice he can always get up early to go fishing.
is n't that like a man?"
anne smiled.
she had learned to discount largely miss cornelia's opinions of the four winds men.
otherwise she must have believed them the most hopeless assortment of reprobates and ne'er - do-wells in the world, with veritable slaves and martyrs for wives.
this particular tom holt, for example, she knew to be a kind husband, a much loved father, and an excellent neighbor.
if he were rather inclined to be lazy, liking better the fishing he had been born for than the farming he had not, and if he had a harmless eccentricity for doing fancy work, nobody save miss cornelia seemed to hold it against him.
his wife was a "hustler," who gloried in hustling; his family got a comfortable living off the farm; and his strapping sons and daughters, inheriting their mother's energy, were all in a fair way to do well in the world.
there was not a happier household in glen st. mary than the holts".
miss cornelia returned satisfied from the house up the brook.
""leslie's going to take him," she announced.
""she jumped at the chance.
she wants to make a little money to shingle the roof of her house this fall, and she did n't know how she was going to manage it.
i expect captain jim'll be more than interested when he hears that a grandson of the selwyns" is coming here.
leslie said to tell you she hankered after cherry pie, but she could n't come to tea because she has to go and hunt up her turkeys.
they've strayed away.
but she said, if there was a piece left, for you to put it in the pantry and she'd run over in the cat's light, when prowling's in order, to get it.
you do n't know, anne, dearie, what good it did my heart to hear leslie send you a message like that, laughing like she used to long ago.
""there's a great change come over her lately.
she laughs and jokes like a girl, and from her talk i gather she's here real often."
""every day -- or else i'm over there," said anne.
""i do n't know what i'd do without leslie, especially just now when gilbert is so busy.
he's hardly ever home except for a few hours in the wee sma's.
he's really working himself to death.
so many of the over-harbor people send for him now."
""they might better be content with their own doctor," said miss cornelia.
""though to be sure i ca n't blame them, for he's a methodist.
ever since dr. blythe brought mrs. allonby round folks think he can raise the dead.
i believe dr. dave is a mite jealous -- just like a man.
he thinks dr. blythe has too many new-fangled notions!
"well," i says to him, "it was a new-fangled notion saved rhoda allonby.
if you'd been attending her she'd have died, and had a tombstone saying it had pleased god to take her away."
oh, i do like to speak my mind to dr. dave!
he's bossed the glen for years, and he thinks he's forgotten more than other people ever knew.
speaking of doctors, i wish dr. blythe'd run over and see to that boil on dick moore's neck.
it's getting past leslie's skill.
i'm sure i do n't know what dick moore wants to start in having boils for -- as if he was n't enough trouble without that!"
""do you know, dick has taken quite a fancy to me," said anne.
""he follows me round like a dog, and smiles like a pleased child when i notice him."
""does it make you creepy?"
""not at all.
i rather like poor dick moore.
he seems so pitiful and appealing, somehow."
""you would n't think him very appealing if you'd see him on his cantankerous days, believe me.
but i'm glad you do n't mind him -- it's all the nicer for leslie.
she'll have more to do when her boarder comes.
i hope he'll be a decent creature.
you'll probably like him -- he's a writer."
""i wonder why people so commonly suppose that if two individuals are both writers they must therefore be hugely congenial," said anne, rather scornfully.
""nobody would expect two blacksmiths to be violently attracted toward each other merely because they were both blacksmiths."
nevertheless, she looked forward to the advent of owen ford with a pleasant sense of expectation.
if he were young and likeable he might prove a very pleasant addition to society in four winds.
the latch-string of the little house was always out for the race of joseph.
chapter 23 owen ford comes one evening miss cornelia telephoned down to anne.
""the writer man has just arrived here.
i'm going to drive him down to your place, and you can show him the way over to leslie's.
it's shorter than driving round by the other road, and i'm in a mortal hurry.
the reese baby has gone and fallen into a pail of hot water at the glen, and got nearly scalded to death and they want me right off -- to put a new skin on the child, i presume.
mrs. reese is always so careless, and then expects other people to mend her mistakes.
you wo n't mind, will you, dearie?
his trunk can go down tomorrow."
""very well," said anne.
""what is he like, miss cornelia?"
""you'll see what he's like outside when i take him down.
as for what he's like inside only the lord who made him knows that.
i'm not going to say another word, for every receiver in the glen is down."
""miss cornelia evidently ca n't find much fault with mr. ford's looks, or she would find it in spite of the receivers," said anne.
""i conclude therefore, susan, that mr. ford is rather handsome than otherwise."
""well, mrs. doctor, dear, i do enjoy seeing a well-looking man," said susan candidly.
""had i not better get up a snack for him?
there is a strawberry pie that would melt in your mouth."
""no, leslie is expecting him and has his supper ready.
besides, i want that strawberry pie for my own poor man.
he wo n't be home till late, so leave the pie and a glass of milk out for him, susan."
""that i will, mrs. doctor, dear.
susan is at the helm.
after all, it is better to give pie to your own men than to strangers, who may be only seeking to devour, and the doctor himself is as well-looking a man as you often come across."
when owen ford came anne secretly admitted, as miss cornelia towed him in, that he was very "well-looking" indeed.
he was tall and broad-shouldered, with thick, brown hair, finely-cut nose and chin, large and brilliant dark-gray eyes.
""and did you notice his ears and his teeth, mrs. doctor, dear?"
queried susan later on.
""he has got the nicest-shaped ears i ever saw on a man's head.
i am choice about ears.
when i was young i was scared that i might have to marry a man with ears like flaps.
but i need not have worried, for never a chance did i have with any kind of ears."
anne had not noticed owen ford's ears, but she did see his teeth, as his lips parted over them in a frank and friendly smile.
unsmiling, his face was rather sad and absent in expression, not unlike the melancholy, inscrutable hero of anne's own early dreams; but mirth and humor and charm lighted it up when he smiled.
certainly, on the outside, as miss cornelia said, owen ford was a very presentable fellow.
""you can not realise how delighted i am to be here, mrs. blythe," he said, looking around him with eager, interested eyes.
""i have an odd feeling of coming home.
my mother was born and spent her childhood here, you know.
she used to talk a great deal to me of her old home.
i know the geography of it as well as of the one i lived in, and, of course, she told me the story of the building of the house, and of my grandfather's agonised watch for the royal william.
i had thought that so old a house must have vanished years ago, or i should have come to see it before this."
""old houses do n't vanish easily on this enchanted coast," smiled anne.
""this is a "land where all things always seem the same" -- nearly always, at least.
john selwyn's house has n't even been much changed, and outside the rose-bushes your grandfather planted for his bride are blooming this very minute."
""how the thought links me with them!
with your leave i must explore the whole place soon."
""our latch-string will always be out for you," promised anne.
""and do you know that the old sea captain who keeps the four winds light knew john selwyn and his bride well in his boyhood?
he told me their story the night i came here -- the third bride of the old house."
""can it be possible?
this is a discovery.
i must hunt him up."
""it wo n't be difficult; we are all cronies of captain jim.
he will be as eager to see you as you could be to see him.
your grandmother shines like a star in his memory.
but i think mrs. moore is expecting you.
i'll show you our "cross-lots" road."
anne walked with him to the house up the brook, over a field that was as white as snow with daisies.
a boat-load of people were singing far across the harbor.
the sound drifted over the water like faint, unearthly music wind-blown across a starlit sea.
the big light flashed and beaconed.
owen ford looked around him with satisfaction.
""and so this is four winds," he said.
""i was n't prepared to find it quite so beautiful, in spite of all mother's praises.
what colors -- what scenery -- what charm!
i shall get as strong as a horse in no time.
and if inspiration comes from beauty, i should certainly be able to begin my great canadian novel here."
""you have n't begun it yet?"
asked anne.
""alack-a-day, no.
i've never been able to get the right central idea for it.
it lurks beyond me -- it allures -- and beckons -- and recedes -- i almost grasp it and it is gone.
perhaps amid this peace and loveliness, i shall be able to capture it.
miss bryant tells me that you write."
""oh, i do little things for children.
i have n't done much since i was married.
and -- i have no designs on a great canadian novel," laughed anne.
""that is quite beyond me."
owen ford laughed too.
""i dare say it is beyond me as well.
all the same i mean to have a try at it some day, if i can ever get time.
a newspaper man does n't have much chance for that sort of thing.
i've done a good deal of short story writing for the magazines, but i've never had the leisure that seems to be necessary for the writing of a book.
with three months of liberty i ought to make a start, though -- if i could only get the necessary motif for it -- the soul of the book."
an idea whisked through anne's brain with a suddenness that made her jump.
but she did not utter it, for they had reached the moore house.
as they entered the yard leslie came out on the veranda from the side door, peering through the gloom for some sign of her expected guest.
she stood just where the warm yellow light flooded her from the open door.
she wore a plain dress of cheap, cream-tinted cotton voile, with the usual girdle of crimson.
leslie was never without her touch of crimson.
she had told anne that she never felt satisfied without a gleam of red somewhere about her, if it were only a flower.
to anne, it always seemed to symbolise leslie's glowing, pent-up personality, denied all expression save in that flaming glint.
leslie's dress was cut a little away at the neck and had short sleeves.
her arms gleamed like ivory-tinted marble.
every exquisite curve of her form was outlined in soft darkness against the light.
her hair shone in it like flame.
beyond her was a purple sky, flowering with stars over the harbor.
anne heard her companion give a gasp.
even in the dusk she could see the amazement and admiration on his face.
""who is that beautiful creature?"
he asked.
""that is mrs. moore," said anne.
""she is very lovely, is n't she?"
""i -- i never saw anything like her," he answered, rather dazedly.
""i was n't prepared -- i did n't expect -- good heavens, one does n't expect a goddess for a landlady!
why, if she were clothed in a gown of sea-purple, with a rope of amethysts in her hair, she would be a veritable sea-queen.
and she takes in boarders!"
""even goddesses must live," said anne.
""and leslie is n't a goddess.
she's just a very beautiful woman, as human as the rest of us.
did miss bryant tell you about mr. moore?"
""yes, -- he's mentally deficient, or something of the sort, is n't he?
but she said nothing about mrs. moore, and i supposed she'd be the usual hustling country housewife who takes in boarders to earn an honest penny."
""well, that's just what leslie is doing," said anne crisply.
""and it is n't altogether pleasant for her, either.
i hope you wo n't mind dick.
if you do, please do n't let leslie see it.
it would hurt her horribly.
he's just a big baby, and sometimes a rather annoying one."
""oh, i wo n't mind him.
i do n't suppose i'll be much in the house anyhow, except for meals.
but what a shame it all is!
her life must be a hard one."
""it is.
but she does n't like to be pitied."
leslie had gone back into the house and now met them at the front door.
she greeted owen ford with cold civility, and told him in a business-like tone that his room and his supper were ready for him.
dick, with a pleased grin, shambled upstairs with the valise, and owen ford was installed as an inmate of the old house among the willows.
chapter 24 the life-book of captain jim "i have a little brown cocoon of an idea that may possibly expand into a magnificent moth of fulfilment," anne told gilbert when she reached home.
he had returned earlier than she had expected, and was enjoying susan's cherry pie.
susan herself hovered in the background, like a rather grim but beneficent guardian spirit, and found as much pleasure in watching gilbert eat pie as he did in eating it.
""what is your idea?"
he asked.
""i sha'n' t tell you just yet -- not till i see if i can bring the thing about."
""what sort of a chap is ford?"
""oh, very nice, and quite good-looking."
""such beautiful ears, doctor, dear," interjected susan with a relish.
""he is about thirty or thirty-five, i think, and he meditates writing a novel.
his voice is pleasant and his smile delightful, and he knows how to dress.
he looks as if life had n't been altogether easy for him, somehow."
owen ford came over the next evening with a note to anne from leslie; they spent the sunset time in the garden and then went for a moonlit sail on the harbor, in the little boat gilbert had set up for summer outings.
they liked owen immensely and had that feeling of having known him for many years which distinguishes the freemasonry of the house of joseph.
""he is as nice as his ears, mrs. doctor, dear," said susan, when he had gone.
he had told susan that he had never tasted anything like her strawberry shortcake and susan's susceptible heart was his forever.
""he has got a way with him," she reflected, as she cleared up the relics of the supper.
""it is real queer he is not married, for a man like that could have anybody for the asking.
well, maybe he is like me, and has not met the right one yet."
susan really grew quite romantic in her musings as she washed the supper dishes.
two nights later anne took owen ford down to four winds point to introduce him to captain jim.
the clover fields along the harbor shore were whitening in the western wind, and captain jim had one of his finest sunsets on exhibition.
he himself had just returned from a trip over the harbor.
""i had to go over and tell henry pollack he was dying.
everybody else was afraid to tell him.
they expected he'd take on turrible, for he's been dreadful determined to live, and been making no end of plans for the fall.
his wife thought he oughter be told and that i'd be the best one to break it to him that he could n't get better.
henry and me are old cronies -- we sailed in the gray gull for years together.
well, i went over and sat down by henry's bed and i says to him, says i, jest right out plain and simple, for if a thing's got to be told it may as well be told first as last, says i, "mate, i reckon you've got your sailing orders this time," i was sorter quaking inside, for it's an awful thing to have to tell a man who hai n't any idea he's dying that he is.
but lo and behold, mistress blythe, henry looks up at me, with those bright old black eyes of his in his wizened face and says, says he, "tell me something i do n't know, jim boyd, if you want to give me information.
i've known that for a week."
i was too astonished to speak, and henry, he chuckled.
"to see you coming in here," says he, "with your face as solemn as a tombstone and sitting down there with your hands clasped over your stomach, and passing me out a blue-mouldy old item of news like that!
it'd make a cat laugh, jim boyd," says he.
"who told you?"
says i, stupid like.
"nobody," says he."
a week ago tuesday night i was lying here awake -- and i jest knew.
i'd suspicioned it before, but then i knew.
i've been keeping up for the wife's sake.
and i'd like to have got that barn built, for eben'll never get it right.
but anyhow, now that you've eased your mind, jim, put on a smile and tell me something interesting," well, there it was.
they'd been so scared to tell him and he knew it all the time.
strange how nature looks out for us, ai n't it, and lets us know what we should know when the time comes?
did i never tell you the yarn about henry getting the fish hook in his nose, mistress blythe?"
""no."
""well, him and me had a laugh over it today.
it happened nigh unto thirty years ago.
him and me and several more was out mackerel fishing one day.
it was a great day -- never saw such a school of mackerel in the gulf -- and in the general excitement henry got quite wild and contrived to stick a fish hook clean through one side of his nose.
well, there he was; there was barb on one end and a big piece of lead on the other, so it could n't be pulled out.
we wanted to take him ashore at once, but henry was game; he said he'd be jiggered if he'd leave a school like that for anything short of lockjaw; then he kept fishing away, hauling in hand over fist and groaning between times.
fin "lly the school passed and we come in with a load; i got a file and begun to try to file through that hook.
i tried to be as easy as i could, but you should have heard henry -- no, you should n't either.
it was well no ladies were around.
henry was n't a swearing man, but he'd heard some few matters of that sort along shore in his time, and he fished'em all out of his recollection and hurled'em at me.
fin "lly he declared he could n't stand it and i had no bowels of compassion.
so we hitched up and i drove him to a doctor in charlottetown, thirty-five miles -- there were n't none nearer in them days -- with that blessed hook still hanging from his nose.
when we got there old dr. crabb jest took a file and filed that hook jest the same as i'd tried to do, only he were n't a mite particular about doing it easy!"
captain jim's visit to his old friend had revived many recollections and he was now in the full tide of reminiscences.
""henry was asking me today if i remembered the time old father chiniquy blessed alexander macallister's boat.
another odd yarn -- and true as gospel.
i was in the boat myself.
we went out, him and me, in alexander macallister's boat one morning at sunrise.
besides, there was a french boy in the boat -- catholic of course.
you know old father chiniquy had turned protestant, so the catholics had n't much use for him.
well, we sat out in the gulf in the broiling sun till noon, and not a bite did we get.
when we went ashore old father chiniquy had to go, so he said in that polite way of his, "i'm very sorry i can not go out with you dis afternoon, mr. macallister, but i leave you my blessing.
you will catch a t "ousand dis afternoon.
"well, we did not catch a thousand, but we caught exactly nine hundred and ninety-nine -- the biggest catch for a small boat on the whole north shore that summer.
curious, was n't it?
alexander macallister, he says to andrew peters, "well, and what do you think of father chiniquy now?"
"vell," growled andrew," i t "ink de old devil has got a blessing left yet."
laws, how henry did laugh over that today!"
""do you know who mr. ford is, captain jim?"
asked anne, seeing that captain jim's fountain of reminiscence had run out for the present.
""i want you to guess."
captain jim shook his head.
""i never was any hand at guessing, mistress blythe, and yet somehow when i come in i thought, "where have i seen them eyes before?"
-- for i have seen'em."
""think of a september morning many years ago," said anne, softly.
""think of a ship sailing up the harbor -- a ship long waited for and despaired of.
think of the day the royal william came in and the first look you had at the schoolmaster's bride."
captain jim sprang up.
""they're persis selwyn's eyes," he almost shouted.
""you ca n't be her son -- you must be her --" "grandson; yes, i am alice selwyn's son."
captain jim swooped down on owen ford and shook his hand over again.
""alice selwyn's son!
lord, but you're welcome!
many's the time i've wondered where the descendants of the schoolmaster were living.
i knew there was none on the island.
alice -- alice -- the first baby ever born in that little house.
no baby ever brought more joy!
i've dandled her a hundred times.
it was from my knee she took her first steps alone.
ca n't i see her mother's face watching her -- and it was near sixty years ago.
is she living yet?"
""no, she died when i was only a boy."
""oh, it does n't seem right that i should be living to hear that," sighed captain jim.
""but i'm heart-glad to see you.
it's brought back my youth for a little while.
you do n't know yet what a boon that is.
mistress blythe here has the trick -- she does it quite often for me."
captain jim was still more excited when he discovered that owen ford was what he called a "real writing man."
he gazed at him as at a superior being.
captain jim knew that anne wrote, but he had never taken that fact very seriously.
captain jim thought women were delightful creatures, who ought to have the vote, and everything else they wanted, bless their hearts; but he did not believe they could write.
""jest look at a mad love," he would protest.
""a woman wrote that and jest look at it -- one hundred and three chapters when it could all have been told in ten.
a writing woman never knows when to stop; that's the trouble.
the p "int of good writing is to know when to stop."
""mr. ford wants to hear some of your stories, captain jim" said anne.
""tell him the one about the captain who went crazy and imagined he was the flying dutchman."
this was captain jim's best story.
it was a compound of horror and humor, and though anne had heard it several times she laughed as heartily and shivered as fearsomely over it as mr. ford did.
other tales followed, for captain jim had an audience after his own heart.
he told how his vessel had been run down by a steamer; how he had been boarded by malay pirates; how his ship had caught fire; how he helped a political prisoner escape from a south african republic; how he had been wrecked one fall on the magdalens and stranded there for the winter; how a tiger had broken loose on board ship; how his crew had mutinied and marooned him on a barren island -- these and many other tales, tragic or humorous or grotesque, did captain jim relate.
the mystery of the sea, the fascination of far lands, the lure of adventure, the laughter of the world -- his hearers felt and realised them all.
owen ford listened, with his head on his hand, and the first mate purring on his knee, his brilliant eyes fastened on captain jim's rugged, eloquent face.
""wo n't you let mr. ford see your life-book, captain jim?"
asked anne, when captain jim finally declared that yarn-spinning must end for the time.
""oh, he do n't want to be bothered with that," protested captain jim, who was secretly dying to show it.
""i should like nothing better than to see it, captain boyd," said owen.
""if it is half as wonderful as your tales it will be worth seeing."
with pretended reluctance captain jim dug his life-book out of his old chest and handed it to owen.
""i reckon you wo n't care to wrastle long with my old hand o" write.
i never had much schooling," he observed carelessly.
""just wrote that there to amuse my nephew joe.
he's always wanting stories.
comes here yesterday and says to me, reproachful-like, as i was lifting a twenty-pound codfish out of my boat, "uncle jim, ai n't a codfish a dumb animal?"
i'd been a-telling him, you see, that he must be real kind to dumb animals, and never hurt'em in any way.
i got out of the scrape by saying a codfish was dumb enough but it was n't an animal, but joe did n't look satisfied, and i was n't satisfied myself.
you've got to be mighty careful what you tell them little critters.
they can see through you."
while talking, captain jim watched owen ford from the corner of his eye as the latter examined the life-book; and presently observing that his guest was lost in its pages, he turned smilingly to his cupboard and proceeded to make a pot of tea.
owen ford separated himself from the life-book, with as much reluctance as a miser wrenches himself from his gold, long enough to drink his tea, and then returned to it hungrily.
""oh, you can take that thing home with you if you want to," said captain jim, as if the "thing" were not his most treasured possession.
""i must go down and pull my boat up a bit on the skids.
there's a wind coming.
did you notice the sky tonight?
mackerel skies and mares" tails make tall ships carry short sails."
owen ford accepted the offer of the life-book gladly.
on their way home anne told him the story of lost margaret.
""that old captain is a wonderful old fellow," he said.
""what a life he has led!
why, the man had more adventures in one week of his life than most of us have in a lifetime.
do you really think his tales are all true?"
""i certainly do.
i am sure captain jim could not tell a lie; and besides, all the people about here say that everything happened as he relates it.
there used to be plenty of his old shipmates alive to corroborate him.
he's one of the last of the old type of p.e. island sea-captains.
they are almost extinct now."
chapter 25 the writing of the book owen ford came over to the little house the next morning in a state of great excitement.
""mrs. blythe, this is a wonderful book -- absolutely wonderful.
if i could take it and use the material for a book i feel certain i could make the novel of the year out of it.
do you suppose captain jim would let me do it?"
""let you!
i'm sure he would be delighted," cried anne.
""i admit that it was what was in my head when i took you down last night.
captain jim has always been wishing he could get somebody to write his life-book properly for him."
""will you go down to the point with me this evening, mrs. blythe?
i'll ask him about that life-book myself, but i want you to tell him that you told me the story of lost margaret and ask him if he will let me use it as a thread of romance with which to weave the stories of the life-book into a harmonious whole."
captain jim was more excited than ever when owen ford told him of his plan.
at last his cherished dream was to be realized and his "life-book" given to the world.
he was also pleased that the story of lost margaret should be woven into it.
""it will keep her name from being forgotten," he said wistfully.
""that's why i want it put in."
""we'll collaborate," cried owen delightedly.
""you will give the soul and i the body.
oh, we'll write a famous book between us, captain jim.
and we'll get right to work."
""and to think my book is to be writ by the schoolmaster's grandson!"
exclaimed captain jim.
""lad, your grandfather was my dearest friend.
i thought there was nobody like him.
i see now why i had to wait so long.
it could n't be writ till the right man come.
you belong here -- you've got the soul of this old north shore in you -- you're the only one who could write it."
it was arranged that the tiny room off the living room at the lighthouse should be given over to owen for a workshop.
it was necessary that captain jim should be near him as he wrote, for consultation upon many matters of sea-faring and gulf lore of which owen was quite ignorant.
he began work on the book the very next morning, and flung himself into it heart and soul.
as for captain jim, he was a happy man that summer.
he looked upon the little room where owen worked as a sacred shrine.
owen talked everything over with captain jim, but he would not let him see the manuscript.
""you must wait until it is published," he said.
""then you'll get it all at once in its best shape."
he delved into the treasures of the life-book and used them freely.
he dreamed and brooded over lost margaret until she became a vivid reality to him and lived in his pages.
as the book progressed it took possession of him and he worked at it with feverish eagerness.
he let anne and leslie read the manuscript and criticise it; and the concluding chapter of the book, which the critics, later on, were pleased to call idyllic, was modelled upon a suggestion of leslie's.
anne fairly hugged herself with delight over the success of her idea.
""i knew when i looked at owen ford that he was the very man for it," she told gilbert.
""both humor and passion were in his face, and that, together with the art of expression, was just what was necessary for the writing of such a book.
as mrs. rachel would say, he was predestined for the part."
owen ford wrote in the mornings.
the afternoons were generally spent in some merry outing with the blythes.
leslie often went, too, for captain jim took charge of dick frequently, in order to set her free.
they went boating on the harbor and up the three pretty rivers that flowed into it; they had clambakes on the bar and mussel-bakes on the rocks; they picked strawberries on the sand-dunes; they went out cod-fishing with captain jim; they shot plover in the shore fields and wild ducks in the cove -- at least, the men did.
in the evenings they rambled in the low-lying, daisied, shore fields under a golden moon, or they sat in the living room at the little house where often the coolness of the sea breeze justified a driftwood fire, and talked of the thousand and one things which happy, eager, clever young people can find to talk about.
ever since the day on which she had made her confession to anne leslie had been a changed creature.
there was no trace of her old coldness and reserve, no shadow of her old bitterness.
the girlhood of which she had been cheated seemed to come back to her with the ripeness of womanhood; she expanded like a flower of flame and perfume; no laugh was readier than hers, no wit quicker, in the twilight circles of that enchanted summer.
when she could not be with them all felt that some exquisite savor was lacking in their intercourse.
her beauty was illumined by the awakened soul within, as some rosy lamp might shine through a flawless vase of alabaster.
there were hours when anne's eyes seemed to ache with the splendor of her.
as for owen ford, the "margaret" of his book, although she had the soft brown hair and elfin face of the real girl who had vanished so long ago, "pillowed where lost atlantis sleeps," had the personality of leslie moore, as it was revealed to him in those halcyon days at four winds harbor.
all in all, it was a never-to-be-forgotten summer -- one of those summers which come seldom into any life, but leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going -- one of those summers which, in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, delightful friends and delightful doings, come as near to perfection as anything can come in this world.
""too good to last," anne told herself with a little sigh, on the september day when a certain nip in the wind and a certain shade of intense blue on the gulf water said that autumn was hard by.
that evening owen ford told them that he had finished his book and that his vacation must come to an end.
""i have a good deal to do to it yet -- revising and pruning and so forth," he said, "but in the main it's done.
i wrote the last sentence this morning.
if i can find a publisher for it it will probably be out next summer or fall."
owen had not much doubt that he would find a publisher.
he knew that he had written a great book -- a book that would score a wonderful success -- a book that would live.
he knew that it would bring him both fame and fortune; but when he had written the last line of it he had bowed his head on the manuscript and so sat for a long time.
and his thoughts were not of the good work he had done.
chapter 26 owen ford's confession "i'm so sorry gilbert is away," said anne.
""he had to go -- allan lyons at the glen has met with a serious accident.
he will not likely be home till very late.
but he told me to tell you he'd be up and over early enough in the morning to see you before you left.
it's too provoking.
susan and i had planned such a nice little jamboree for your last night here."
she was sitting beside the garden brook on the little rustic seat gilbert had built.
owen ford stood before her, leaning against the bronze column of a yellow birch.
he was very pale and his face bore the marks of the preceding sleepless night.
anne, glancing up at him, wondered if, after all, his summer had brought him the strength it should.
had he worked too hard over his book?
she remembered that for a week he had not been looking well.
""i'm rather glad the doctor is away," said owen slowly.
""i wanted to see you alone, mrs. blythe.
there is something i must tell somebody, or i think it will drive me mad.
i've been trying for a week to look it in the face -- and i ca n't.
i know i can trust you -- and, besides, you will understand.
a woman with eyes like yours always understands.
you are one of the folks people instinctively tell things to.
mrs. blythe, i love leslie.
love her!
that seems too weak a word!"
his voice suddenly broke with the suppressed passion of his utterance.
he turned his head away and hid his face on his arm.
his whole form shook.
anne sat looking at him, pale and aghast.
she had never thought of this!
and yet -- how was it she had never thought of it?
it now seemed a natural and inevitable thing.
she wondered at her own blindness.
but -- but -- things like this did not happen in four winds.
elsewhere in the world human passions might set at defiance human conventions and laws -- but not here, surely.
leslie had kept summer boarders off and on for ten years, and nothing like this had happened.
but perhaps they had not been like owen ford; and the vivid, living leslie of this summer was not the cold, sullen girl of other years.
oh, somebody should have thought of this!
why had n't miss cornelia thought of it?
miss cornelia was always ready enough to sound the alarm where men were concerned.
anne felt an unreasonable resentment against miss cornelia.
then she gave a little inward groan.
no matter who was to blame the mischief was done.
and leslie -- what of leslie?
it was for leslie anne felt most concerned.
""does leslie know this, mr. ford?"
she asked quietly.
""no -- no, -- unless she has guessed it.
you surely do n't think i'd be cad and scoundrel enough to tell her, mrs. blythe.
i could n't help loving her -- that's all -- and my misery is greater than i can bear."
""does she care?"
asked anne.
the moment the question crossed her lips she felt that she should not have asked it.
owen ford answered it with overeager protest.
""no -- no, of course not.
but i could make her care if she were free -- i know i could."
""she does care -- and he knows it," thought anne.
aloud she said, sympathetically but decidedly: "but she is not free, mr. ford.
and the only thing you can do is to go away in silence and leave her to her own life."
""i know -- i know," groaned owen.
he sat down on the grassy bank and stared moodily into the amber water beneath him.
""i know there's nothing to do -- nothing but to say conventionally, "good-bye, mrs. moore.
thank you for all your kindness to me this summer," just as i would have said it to the sonsy, bustling, keen-eyed housewife i expected her to be when i came.
then i'll pay my board money like any honest boarder and go!
oh, it's very simple.
no doubt -- no perplexity -- a straight road to the end of the world!
""and i'll walk it -- you need n't fear that i wo n't, mrs. blythe.
but it would be easier to walk over red-hot ploughshares."
anne flinched with the pain of his voice.
and there was so little she could say that would be adequate to the situation.
blame was out of the question -- advice was not needed -- sympathy was mocked by the man's stark agony.
she could only feel with him in a maze of compassion and regret.
her heart ached for leslie!
had not that poor girl suffered enough without this?
""it would n't be so hard to go and leave her if she were only happy," resumed owen passionately.
""but to think of her living death -- to realise what it is to which i do leave her!
that is the worst of all.
i would give my life to make her happy -- and i can do nothing even to help her -- nothing.
she is bound forever to that poor wretch -- with nothing to look forward to but growing old in a succession of empty, meaningless, barren years.
it drives me mad to think of it.
but i must go through my life, never seeing her, but always knowing what she is enduring.
it's hideous -- hideous!"
""it is very hard," said anne sorrowfully.
""we -- her friends here -- all know how hard it is for her."
""and she is so richly fitted for life," said owen rebelliously.
""her beauty is the least of her dower -- and she is the most beautiful woman i've ever known.
that laugh of hers!
i've angled all summer to evoke that laugh, just for the delight of hearing it.
and her eyes -- they are as deep and blue as the gulf out there.
i never saw such blueness -- and gold!
did you ever see her hair down, mrs. blythe?"
""no."
""i did -- once.
i had gone down to the point to go fishing with captain jim but it was too rough to go out, so i came back.
she had taken the opportunity of what she expected to be an afternoon alone to wash her hair, and she was standing on the veranda in the sunshine to dry it.
it fell all about her to her feet in a fountain of living gold.
when she saw me she hurried in, and the wind caught her hair and swirled it all around her -- danae in her cloud.
somehow, just then the knowledge that i loved her came home to me -- and realised that i had loved her from the moment i first saw her standing against the darkness in that glow of light.
and she must live on here -- petting and soothing dick, pinching and saving for a mere existence, while i spend my life longing vainly for her, and debarred, by that very fact, from even giving her the little help a friend might.
i walked the shore last night, almost till dawn, and thrashed it all out over and over again.
and yet, in spite of everything, i ca n't find it in my heart to be sorry that i came to four winds.
it seems to me that, bad as everything is, it would be still worse never to have known leslie.
it's burning, searing pain to love her and leave her -- but not to have loved her is unthinkable.
i suppose all this sounds very crazy -- all these terrible emotions always do sound foolish when we put them into our inadequate words.
they are not meant to be spoken -- only felt and endured.
i should n't have spoken -- but it has helped -- some.
at least, it has given me strength to go away respectably tomorrow morning, without making a scene.
you'll write me now and then, wo n't you, mrs. blythe, and give me what news there is to give of her?"
""yes," said anne.
""oh, i'm so sorry you are going -- we'll miss you so -- we've all been such friends!
if it were not for this you could come back other summers.
perhaps, even yet -- by-and-by -- when you've forgotten, perhaps --" "i shall never forget -- and i shall never come back to four winds," said owen briefly.
silence and twilight fell over the garden.
far away the sea was lapping gently and monotonously on the bar.
the wind of evening in the poplars sounded like some sad, weird, old rune -- some broken dream of old memories.
a slender shapely young aspen rose up before them against the fine maize and emerald and paling rose of the western sky, which brought out every leaf and twig in dark, tremulous, elfin loveliness.
""is n't that beautiful?"
said owen, pointing to it with the air of a man who puts a certain conversation behind him.
""it's so beautiful that it hurts me," said anne softly.
""perfect things like that always did hurt me -- i remember i called it "the queer ache" when i was a child.
what is the reason that pain like this seems inseparable from perfection?
is it the pain of finality -- when we realise that there can be nothing beyond but retrogression?"
""perhaps," said owen dreamily, "it is the prisoned infinite in us calling out to its kindred infinite as expressed in that visible perfection."
""you seem to have a cold in the head.
better rub some tallow on your nose when you go to bed," said miss cornelia, who had come in through the little gate between the firs in time to catch owen's last remark.
miss cornelia liked owen; but it was a matter of principle with her to visit any "high-falutin" language from a man with a snub.
miss cornelia personated the comedy that ever peeps around the corner at the tragedy of life.
anne, whose nerves had been rather strained, laughed hysterically, and even owen smiled.
certainly, sentiment and passion had a way of shrinking out of sight in miss cornelia's presence.
and yet to anne nothing seemed quite as hopeless and dark and painful as it had seemed a few moments before.
but sleep was far from her eyes that night.
chapter 27 on the sand bar owen ford left four winds the next morning.
in the evening anne went over to see leslie, but found nobody.
the house was locked and there was no light in any window.
it looked like a home left soulless.
leslie did not run over on the following day -- which anne thought a bad sign.
gilbert having occasion to go in the evening to the fishing cove, anne drove with him to the point, intending to stay awhile with captain jim.
but the great light, cutting its swathes through the fog of the autumn evening, was in care of alec boyd and captain jim was away.
""what will you do?"
asked gilbert.
""come with me?"
""i do n't want to go to the cove -- but i'll go over the channel with you, and roam about on the sand shore till you come back.
the rock shore is too slippery and grim tonight."
alone on the sands of the bar anne gave herself up to the eerie charm of the night.
it was warm for september, and the late afternoon had been very foggy; but a full moon had in part lessened the fog and transformed the harbor and the gulf and the surrounding shores into a strange, fantastic, unreal world of pale silver mist, through which everything loomed phantom-like.
captain josiah crawford's black schooner sailing down the channel, laden with potatoes for bluenose ports, was a spectral ship bound for a far uncharted land, ever receding, never to be reached.
the calls of unseen gulls overhead were the cries of the souls of doomed seamen.
the little curls of foam that blew across the sand were elfin things stealing up from the sea-caves.
the big, round-shouldered sand-dunes were the sleeping giants of some old northern tale.
the lights that glimmered palely across the harbor were the delusive beacons on some coast of fairyland.
anne pleased herself with a hundred fancies as she wandered through the mist.
it was delightful -- romantic -- mysterious to be roaming here alone on this enchanted shore.
but was she alone?
something loomed in the mist before her -- took shape and form -- suddenly moved towards her across the wave-rippled sand.
""leslie!"
exclaimed anne in amazement.
""whatever are you doing -- here -- tonight?"
""if it comes to that, whatever are you doing here?"
said leslie, trying to laugh.
the effort was a failure.
she looked very pale and tired; but the love locks under her scarlet cap were curling about her face and eyes like little sparkling rings of gold.
""i'm waiting for gilbert -- he's over at the cove.
i intended to stay at the light, but captain jim is away."
""well, i came here because i wanted to walk -- and walk -- and walk," said leslie restlessly.
""i could n't on the rock shore -- the tide was too high and the rocks prisoned me.
i had to come here -- or i should have gone mad, i think.
i rowed myself over the channel in captain jim's flat.
i've been here for an hour.
come -- come -- let us walk.
i ca n't stand still.
oh, anne!"
""leslie, dearest, what is the trouble?"
asked anne, though she knew too well already.
""i ca n't tell you -- do n't ask me.
i would n't mind your knowing -- i wish you did know -- but i ca n't tell you -- i ca n't tell anyone.
i've been such a fool, anne -- and oh, it hurts so terribly to be a fool.
there's nothing so painful in the world."
she laughed bitterly.
anne slipped her arm around her.
""leslie, is it that you have learned to care for mr. ford?"
leslie turned herself about passionately.
""how did you know?"
she cried.
""anne, how did you know?
oh, is it written in my face for everyone to see?
is it as plain as that?"
""no, no.
i -- i ca n't tell you how i knew.
it just came into my mind, somehow.
leslie, do n't look at me like that!"
""do you despise me?"
demanded leslie in a fierce, low tone.
""do you think i'm wicked -- unwomanly?
or do you think i'm just plain fool?"
""i do n't think you any of those things.
come, dear, let's just talk it over sensibly, as we might talk over any other of the great crises of life.
you've been brooding over it and let yourself drift into a morbid view of it.
you know you have a little tendency to do that about everything that goes wrong, and you promised me that you would fight against it."
""but -- oh, it's so -- so shameful," murmured leslie.
""to love him -- unsought -- and when i'm not free to love anybody."
""there's nothing shameful about it.
but i'm very sorry that you have learned to care for owen, because, as things are, it will only make you more unhappy."
""i did n't learn to care," said leslie, walking on and speaking passionately.
""if it had been like that i could have prevented it.
i never dreamed of such a thing until that day, a week ago, when he told me he had finished his book and must soon go away.
then -- then i knew.
i felt as if someone had struck me a terrible blow.
i did n't say anything -- i could n't speak -- but i do n't know what i looked like.
i'm so afraid my face betrayed me.
oh, i would die of shame if i thought he knew -- or suspected."
anne was miserably silent, hampered by her deductions from her conversation with owen.
leslie went on feverishly, as if she found relief in speech.
""i was so happy all this summer, anne -- happier than i ever was in my life.
i thought it was because everything had been made clear between you and me, and that it was our friendship which made life seem so beautiful and full once more.
and it was, in part -- but not all -- oh, not nearly all.
i know now why everything was so different.
and now it's all over -- and he has gone.
how can i live, anne?
when i turned back into the house this morning after he had gone the solitude struck me like a blow in the face."
""it wo n't seem so hard by and by, dear," said anne, who always felt the pain of her friends so keenly that she could not speak easy, fluent words of comforting.
besides, she remembered how well-meant speeches had hurt her in her own sorrow and was afraid.
""oh, it seems to me it will grow harder all the time," said leslie miserably.
""i've nothing to look forward to.
morning will come after morning -- and he will not come back -- he will never come back.
oh, when i think that i will never see him again i feel as if a great brutal hand had twisted itself among my heartstrings, and was wrenching them.
once, long ago, i dreamed of love -- and i thought it must be beautiful -- and now -- its like this.
when he went away yesterday morning he was so cold and indifferent.
he said "good-bye, mrs. moore" in the coldest tone in the world -- as if we had not even been friends -- as if i meant absolutely nothing to him.
i know i do n't -- i did n't want him to care -- but he might have been a little kinder."
""oh, i wish gilbert would come," thought anne.
she was racked between her sympathy for leslie and the necessity of avoiding anything that would betray owen's confidence.
she knew why his good-bye had been so cold -- why it could not have the cordiality that their good-comradeship demanded -- but she could not tell leslie.
""i could n't help it, anne -- i could n't help it," said poor leslie.
""i know that."
""do you blame me so very much?"
""i do n't blame you at all."
""and you wo n't -- you wo n't tell gilbert?"
""leslie!
do you think i would do such a thing?"
""oh, i do n't know -- you and gilbert are such chums.
i do n't see how you could help telling him everything."
""everything about my own concerns -- yes.
but not my friends" secrets."
""i could n't have him know.
but i'm glad you know.
i would feel guilty if there were anything i was ashamed to tell you.
i hope miss cornelia wo n't find out.
sometimes i feel as if those terrible, kind brown eyes of hers read my very soul.
oh, i wish this mist would never lift -- i wish i could just stay in it forever, hidden away from every living being.
i do n't see how i can go on with life.
this summer has been so full.
i never was lonely for a moment.
before owen came there used to be horrible moments -- when i had been with you and gilbert -- and then had to leave you.
you two would walk away together and i would walk away alone.
after owen came he was always there to walk home with me -- we would laugh and talk as you and gilbert were doing -- there were no more lonely, envious moments for me.
and now!
oh, yes, i've been a fool.
let's have done talking about my folly.
i'll never bore you with it again."
""here is gilbert, and you are coming back with us," said anne, who had no intention of leaving leslie to wander alone on the sand-bar on such a night and in such a mood.
""there's plenty of room in our boat for three, and we'll tie the flat on behind."
""oh, i suppose i must reconcile myself to being the odd one again," said poor leslie with another bitter laugh.
""forgive me, anne -- that was hateful.
i ought to be thankful -- and i am -- that i have two good friends who are glad to count me in as a third.
do n't mind my hateful speeches.
i just seem to be one great pain all over and everything hurts me."
""leslie seemed very quiet tonight, did n't she?"
said gilbert, when he and anne reached home.
""what in the world was she doing over there on the bar alone?"
""oh, she was tired -- and you know she likes to go to the shore after one of dick's bad days."
""what a pity she had n't met and married a fellow like ford long ago," ruminated gilbert.
""they'd have made an ideal couple, would n't they?"
""for pity's sake, gilbert, do n't develop into a match-maker.
it's an abominable profession for a man," cried anne rather sharply, afraid that gilbert might blunder on the truth if he kept on in this strain.
""bless us, anne-girl, i'm not matchmaking," protested gilbert, rather surprised at her tone.
""i was only thinking of one of the might-have-beens."
""well, do n't.
it's a waste of time," said anne.
then she added suddenly: "oh, gilbert, i wish everybody could be as happy as we are."
chapter 28 odds and ends "i've been reading obituary notices," said miss cornelia, laying down the daily enterprise and taking up her sewing.
the harbor was lying black and sullen under a dour november sky; the wet, dead leaves clung drenched and sodden to the window sills; but the little house was gay with firelight and spring-like with anne's ferns and geraniums.
""it's always summer here, anne," leslie had said one day; and all who were the guests of that house of dreams felt the same.
""the enterprise seems to run to obituaries these days," quoth miss cornelia.
""it always has a couple of columns of them, and i read every line.
it's one of my forms of recreation, especially when there's some original poetry attached to them.
here's a choice sample for you: she's gone to be with her maker, never more to roam.
she used to play and sing with joy the song of home, sweet home.
who says we have n't any poetical talent on the island!
have you ever noticed what heaps of good people die, anne, dearie?
it's kind of pitiful.
here's ten obituaries, and every one of them saints and models, even the men.
here's old peter stimson, who has "left a large circle of friends to mourn his untimely loss."
lord, anne, dearie, that man was eighty, and everybody who knew him had been wishing him dead these thirty years.
read obituaries when you're blue, anne, dearie -- especially the ones of folks you know.
if you've any sense of humor at all they'll cheer you up, believe me.
i just wish i had the writing of the obituaries of some people.
is n't "obituary" an awful ugly word?
this very peter i've been speaking of had a face exactly like one.
i never saw it but i thought of the word obituary then and there.
there's only one uglier word that i know of, and that's relict.
lord, anne, dearie, i may be an old maid, but there's this comfort in it -- i'll never be any man's "relict.""
""it is an ugly word," said anne, laughing.
""avonlea graveyard was full of old tombstones "sacred to the memory of so-and-so, relict of the late so-and-so."
it always made me think of something worn out and moth eaten.
why is it that so many of the words connected with death are so disagreeable?
i do wish that the custom of calling a dead body "the remains" could be abolished.
i positively shiver when i hear the undertaker say at a funeral, "all who wish to see the remains please step this way."
it always gives me the horrible impression that i am about to view the scene of a cannibal feast."
""well, all i hope," said miss cornelia calmly, "is that when i'm dead nobody will call me "our departed sister."
i took a scunner at this sister-and-brothering business five years ago when there was a travelling evangelist holding meetings at the glen.
i had n't any use for him from the start.
i felt in my bones that there was something wrong with him.
and there was.
mind you, he was pretending to be a presbyterian -- presbytarian, he called it -- and all the time he was a methodist.
he brothered and sistered everybody.
he had a large circle of relations, that man had.
he clutched my hand fervently one night, and said imploringly, "my dear sister bryant, are you a christian?"
i just looked him over a bit, and then i said calmly, "the only brother i ever had, mr. fiske, was buried fifteen years ago, and i have n't adopted any since.
as for being a christian, i was that, i hope and believe, when you were crawling about the floor in petticoats."
that squelched him, believe me.
mind you, anne dearie, i'm not down on all evangelists.
we've had some real fine, earnest men, who did a lot of good and made the old sinners squirm.
but this fiske-man was n't one of them.
i had a good laugh all to myself one evening.
fiske had asked all who were christians to stand up.
i did n't, believe me!
i never had any use for that sort of thing.
but most of them did, and then he asked all who wanted to be christians to stand up.
nobody stirred for a spell, so fiske started up a hymn at the top of his voice.
just in front of me poor little ikey baker was sitting in the millison pew.
he was a home boy, ten years old, and millison just about worked him to death.
the poor little creature was always so tired he fell asleep right off whenever he went to church or anywhere he could sit still for a few minutes.
he'd been sleeping all through the meeting, and i was thankful to see the poor child getting a rest, believe me.
well, when fiske's voice went soaring skyward and the rest joined in, poor ikey wakened with a start.
he thought it was just an ordinary singing and that everybody ought to stand up, so he scrambled to his feet mighty quick, knowing he'd get a combing down from maria millison for sleeping in meeting.
fiske saw him, stopped and shouted, "another soul saved!
glory hallelujah!"
and there was poor, frightened ikey, only half awake and yawning, never thinking about his soul at all.
poor child, he never had time to think of anything but his tired, overworked little body.
""leslie went one night and the fiske-man got right after her -- oh, he was especially anxious about the souls of the nice-looking girls, believe me!
-- and he hurt her feelings so she never went again.
and then he prayed every night after that, right in public, that the lord would soften her hard heart.
finally i went to mr. leavitt, our minister then, and told him if he did n't make fiske stop that i'd just rise up the next night and throw my hymn book at him when he mentioned that "beautiful but unrepentant young woman."
i'd have done it too, believe me.
mr. leavitt did put a stop to it, but fiske kept on with his meetings until charley douglas put an end to his career in the glen.
mrs. charley had been out in california all winter.
she'd been real melancholy in the fall -- religious melancholy -- it ran in her family.
her father worried so much over believing that he had committed the unpardonable sin that he died in the asylum.
so when rose douglas got that way charley packed her off to visit her sister in los angeles.
she got perfectly well and came home just when the fiske revival was in full swing.
she stepped off the train at the glen, real smiling and chipper, and the first thing she saw staring her in the face on the black, gable-end of the freight shed, was the question, in big white letters, two feet high, "whither goest thou -- to heaven or hell?"
that had been one of fiske's ideas, and he had got henry hammond to paint it.
rose just gave a shriek and fainted; and when they got her home she was worse than ever.
charley douglas went to mr. leavitt and told him that every douglas would leave the church if fiske was kept there any longer.
mr. leavitt had to give in, for the douglases paid half his salary, so fiske departed, and we had to depend on our bibles once more for instructions on how to get to heaven.
after he was gone mr. leavitt found out he was just a masquerading methodist, and he felt pretty sick, believe me.
mr. leavitt fell short in some ways, but he was a good, sound presbyterian."
""by the way, i had a letter from mr. ford yesterday," said anne.
""he asked me to remember him kindly to you."
""i do n't want his remembrances," said miss cornelia, curtly.
""why?"
said anne, in astonishment.
""i thought you liked him."
""well, so i did, in a kind of way.
but i'll never forgive him for what he done to leslie.
there's that poor child eating her heart out about him -- as if she had n't had trouble enough -- and him ranting round toronto, i've no doubt, enjoying himself same as ever.
just like a man."
""oh, miss cornelia, how did you find out?"
""lord, anne, dearie, i've got eyes, have n't i?
and i've known leslie since she was a baby.
there's been a new kind of heartbreak in her eyes all the fall, and i know that writer-man was behind it somehow.
i'll never forgive myself for being the means of bringing him here.
but i never expected he'd be like he was.
i thought he'd just be like the other men leslie had boarded -- conceited young asses, every one of them, that she never had any use for.
one of them did try to flirt with her once and she froze him out -- so bad, i feel sure he's never got himself thawed since.
so i never thought of any danger."
""do n't let leslie suspect you know her secret," said anne hurriedly.
""i think it would hurt her."
""trust me, anne, dearie.
i was n't born yesterday.
oh, a plague on all the men!
one of them ruined leslie's life to begin with, and now another of the tribe comes and makes her still more wretched.
anne, this world is an awful place, believe me."
""there's something in the world amiss will be unriddled by and by," quoted anne dreamily.
""if it is, it'll be in a world where there are n't any men," said miss cornelia gloomily.
""what have the men been doing now?"
asked gilbert, entering.
""mischief -- mischief!
what else did they ever do?"
""it was eve ate the apple, miss cornelia.""
't was a he-creature tempted her," retorted miss cornelia triumphantly.
leslie, after her first anguish was over, found it possible to go on with life after all, as most of us do, no matter what our particular form of torment has been.
it is even possible that she enjoyed moments of it, when she was one of the gay circle in the little house of dreams.
but if anne ever hoped that she was forgetting owen ford she would have been undeceived by the furtive hunger in leslie's eyes whenever his name was mentioned.
pitiful to that hunger, anne always contrived to tell captain jim or gilbert bits of news from owen's letters when leslie was with them.
the girl's flush and pallor at such moments spoke all too eloquently of the emotion that filled her being.
but she never spoke of him to anne, or mentioned that night on the sand-bar.
one day her old dog died and she grieved bitterly over him.
""he's been my friend so long," she said sorrowfully to anne.
""he was dick's old dog, you know -- dick had him for a year or so before we were married.
he left him with me when he sailed on the four sisters.
carlo got very fond of me -- and his dog-love helped me through that first dreadful year after mother died, when i was alone.
when i heard that dick was coming back i was afraid carlo would n't be so much mine.
but he never seemed to care for dick, though he had been so fond of him once.
he would snap and growl at him as if he were a stranger.
i was glad.
it was nice to have one thing whose love was all mine.
that old dog has been such a comfort to me, anne.
he got so feeble in the fall that i was afraid he could n't live long -- but i hoped i could nurse him through the winter.
he seemed pretty well this morning.
he was lying on the rug before the fire; then, all at once, he got up and crept over to me; he put his head on my lap and gave me one loving look out of his big, soft, dog eyes -- and then he just shivered and died.
i shall miss him so."
""let me give you another dog, leslie," said anne.
""i'm getting a lovely gordon setter for a christmas present for gilbert.
let me give you one too."
leslie shook her head.
""not just now, thank you, anne.
i do n't feel like having another dog yet.
i do n't seem to have any affection left for another.
perhaps -- in time -- i'll let you give me one.
i really need one as a kind of protection.
but there was something almost human about carlo -- it would n't be decent to fill his place too hurriedly, dear old fellow."
anne went to avonlea a week before christmas and stayed until after the holidays.
gilbert came up for her, and there was a glad new year celebration at green gables, when barrys and blythes and wrights assembled to devour a dinner which had cost mrs. rachel and marilla much careful thought and preparation.
when they went back to four winds the little house was almost drifted over, for the third storm of a winter that was to prove phenomenally stormy had whirled up the harbor and heaped huge snow mountains about everything it encountered.
but captain jim had shovelled out doors and paths, and miss cornelia had come down and kindled the hearth-fire.
""it's good to see you back, anne, dearie!
but did you ever see such drifts?
you ca n't see the moore place at all unless you go upstairs.
leslie'll be so glad you're back.
she's almost buried alive over there.
fortunately dick can shovel snow, and thinks it's great fun.
susan sent me word to tell you she would be on hand tomorrow.
where are you off to now, captain?"
""i reckon i'll plough up to the glen and sit a bit with old martin strong.
he's not far from his end and he's lonesome.
he has n't many friends -- been too busy all his life to make any.
he's made heaps of money, though."
""well, he thought that since he could n't serve god and mammon he'd better stick to mammon," said miss cornelia crisply.
""so he should n't complain if he does n't find mammon very good company now."
captain jim went out, but remembered something in the yard and turned back for a moment.
""i'd a letter from mr. ford, mistress blythe, and he says the life-book is accepted and is going to be published next fall.
i felt fair uplifted when i got the news.
to think that i'm to see it in print at last."
""that man is clean crazy on the subject of his life-book," said miss cornelia compassionately.
""for my part, i think there's far too many books in the world now."
chapter 29 gilbert and anne disagree gilbert laid down the ponderous medical tome over which he had been poring until the increasing dusk of the march evening made him desist.
he leaned back in his chair and gazed meditatively out of the window.
it was early spring -- probably the ugliest time of the year.
not even the sunset could redeem the dead, sodden landscape and rotten black harbor ice upon which he looked.
no sign of life was visible, save a big black crow winging his solitary way across a leaden field.
gilbert speculated idly concerning that crow.
was he a family crow, with a black but comely crow wife awaiting him in the woods beyond the glen?
or was he a glossy young buck of a crow on courting thoughts intent?
or was he a cynical bachelor crow, believing that he travels the fastest who travels alone?
whatever he was, he soon disappeared in congenial gloom and gilbert turned to the cheerier view indoors.
the firelight flickered from point to point, gleaming on the white and green coats of gog and magog, on the sleek, brown head of the beautiful setter basking on the rug, on the picture frames on the walls, on the vaseful of daffodils from the window garden, on anne herself, sitting by her little table, with her sewing beside her and her hands clasped over her knee while she traced out pictures in the fire -- castles in spain whose airy turrets pierced moonlit cloud and sunset bar-ships sailing from the haven of good hopes straight to four winds harbor with precious burthen.
for anne was again a dreamer of dreams, albeit a grim shape of fear went with her night and day to shadow and darken her visions.
gilbert was accustomed to refer to himself as "an old married man."
but he still looked upon anne with the incredulous eyes of a lover.
he could n't wholly believe yet that she was really his.
it might be only a dream after all, part and parcel of this magic house of dreams.
his soul still went on tip-toe before her, lest the charm be shattered and the dream dispelled.
""anne," he said slowly, "lend me your ears.
i want to talk with you about something."
anne looked across at him through the fire-lit gloom.
""what is it?"
she asked gaily.
""you look fearfully solemn, gilbert.
i really have n't done anything naughty today.
ask susan."
""it's not of you -- or ourselves -- i want to talk.
it's about dick moore."
""dick moore?"
echoed anne, sitting up alertly.
""why, what in the world have you to say about dick moore?"
""i've been thinking a great deal about him lately.
do you remember that time last summer i treated him for those carbuncles on his neck?"
""yes -- yes."
""i took the opportunity to examine the scars on his head thoroughly.
i've always thought dick was a very interesting case from a medical point of view.
lately i've been studying the history of trephining and the cases where it has been employed.
anne, i have come to the conclusion that if dick moore were taken to a good hospital and the operation of trephining performed on several places in his skull, his memory and faculties might be restored."
""gilbert!"
anne's voice was full of protest.
""surely you do n't mean it!"
""i do, indeed.
and i have decided that it is my duty to broach the subject to leslie."
""gilbert blythe, you shall not do any such thing," cried anne vehemently.
""oh, gilbert, you wo n't -- you wo n't.
you could n't be so cruel.
promise me you wo n't."
""why, anne-girl, i did n't suppose you would take it like this.
be reasonable --" "i wo n't be reasonable -- i ca n't be reasonable -- i am reasonable.
it is you who are unreasonable.
gilbert, have you ever once thought what it would mean for leslie if dick moore were to be restored to his right senses?
just stop and think!
she's unhappy enough now; but life as dick's nurse and attendant is a thousand times easier for her than life as dick's wife.
i know -- i know!
it's unthinkable.
do n't you meddle with the matter.
leave well enough alone."
""i have thought over that aspect of the case thoroughly, anne.
but i believe that a doctor is bound to set the sanctity of a patient's mind and body above all other considerations, no matter what the consequences may be.
i believe it his duty to endeavor to restore health and sanity, if there is any hope whatever of it."
""but dick is n't your patient in that respect," cried anne, taking another tack.
""if leslie had asked you if anything could be done for him, then it might be your duty to tell her what you really thought.
but you've no right to meddle."
""i do n't call it meddling.
uncle dave told leslie twelve years ago that nothing could be done for dick.
she believes that, of course."
""and why did uncle dave tell her that, if it was n't true?"
cried anne, triumphantly.
""does n't he know as much about it as you?"
""i think not -- though it may sound conceited and presumptuous to say it.
and you know as well as i that he is rather prejudiced against what he calls "these new-fangled notions of cutting and carving."
he's even opposed to operating for appendicitis."
""he's right," exclaimed anne, with a complete change of front."
i believe myself that you modern doctors are entirely too fond of making experiments with human flesh and blood."
""rhoda allonby would not be a living woman today if i had been afraid of making a certain experiment," argued gilbert.
""i took the risk -- and saved her life."
""i'm sick and tired of hearing about rhoda allonby," cried anne -- most unjustly, for gilbert had never mentioned mrs. allonby's name since the day he had told anne of his success in regard to her.
and he could not be blamed for other people's discussion of it.
gilbert felt rather hurt.
""i had not expected you to look at the matter as you do, anne," he said a little stiffly, getting up and moving towards the office door.
it was their first approach to a quarrel.
but anne flew after him and dragged him back.
""now, gilbert, you are not "going off mad."
sit down here and i'll apologise bee-yew-ti-fully, i should n't have said that.
but -- oh, if you knew --" anne checked herself just in time.
she had been on the very verge of betraying leslie's secret.
""knew what a woman feels about it," she concluded lamely.
""i think i do know.
i've looked at the matter from every point of view -- and i've been driven to the conclusion that it is my duty to tell leslie that i believe it is possible that dick can be restored to himself; there my responsibility ends.
it will be for her to decide what she will do."
""i do n't think you've any right to put such a responsibility on her.
she has enough to bear.
she is poor -- how could she afford such an operation?"
""that is for her to decide," persisted gilbert stubbornly.
""you say you think that dick can be cured.
but are you sure of it?"
""certainly not.
nobody could be sure of such a thing.
there may have been lesions of the brain itself, the effect of which can never be removed.
but if, as i believe, his loss of memory and other faculties is due merely to the pressure on the brain centers of certain depressed areas of bone, then he can be cured."
""but it's only a possibility!"
insisted anne.
""now, suppose you tell leslie and she decides to have the operation.
it will cost a great deal.
she will have to borrow the money, or sell her little property.
and suppose the operation is a failure and dick remains the same.
""how will she be able to pay back the money she borrows, or make a living for herself and that big helpless creature if she sells the farm?"
""oh, i know -- i know.
but it is my duty to tell her.
i ca n't get away from that conviction."
""oh, i know the blythe stubbornness," groaned anne.
""but do n't do this solely on your own responsibility.
consult doctor dave."
""i have done so," said gilbert reluctantly.
""and what did he say?"
""in brief -- as you say -- leave well enough alone.
apart from his prejudice against new-fangled surgery, i'm afraid he looks at the case from your point of view -- do n't do it, for leslie's sake."
""there now," cried anne triumphantly.
""i do think, gilbert, that you ought to abide by the judgment of a man nearly eighty, who has seen a great deal and saved scores of lives himself -- surely his opinion ought to weigh more than a mere boy's."
""thank you."
""do n't laugh.
it's too serious."
""that's just my point.
it is serious.
here is a man who is a helpless burden.
he may be restored to reason and usefulness --" "he was so very useful before," interjected anne witheringly.
""he may be given a chance to make good and redeem the past.
his wife does n't know this.
i do.
it is therefore my duty to tell her that there is such a possibility.
that, boiled down, is my decision."
""do n't say "decision" yet, gilbert.
consult somebody else.
ask captain jim what he thinks about it."
""very well.
but i'll not promise to abide by his opinion, anne.
""this is something a man must decide for himself.
my conscience would never be easy if i kept silent on the subject."
""oh, your conscience!"
moaned anne.
""i suppose that uncle dave has a conscience too, has n't he?"
""yes.
but i am not the keeper of his conscience.
come, anne, if this affair did not concern leslie -- if it were a purely abstract case, you would agree with me, -- you know you would."
""i would n't," vowed anne, trying to believe it herself.
""oh, you can argue all night, gilbert, but you wo n't convince me.
just you ask miss cornelia what she thinks of it."
""you're driven to the last ditch, anne, when you bring up miss cornelia as a reinforcement.
she will say, "just like a man," and rage furiously.
no matter.
this is no affair for miss cornelia to settle.
leslie alone must decide it."
""you know very well how she will decide it," said anne, almost in tears.
""she has ideals of duty, too.
i do n't see how you can take such a responsibility on your shoulders.
i could n't.""
"because right is right to follow right were wisdom in the scorn of consequence,"" quoted gilbert.
""oh, you think a couplet of poetry a convincing argument!"
scoffed anne.
""that is so like a man."
and then she laughed in spite of herself.
it sounded so like an echo of miss cornelia.
""well, if you wo n't accept tennyson as an authority, perhaps you will believe the words of a greater than he," said gilbert seriously."
"ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free."
i believe that, anne, with all my heart.
it's the greatest and grandest verse in the bible -- or in any literature -- and the truest, if there are comparative degrees of trueness.
and it's the first duty of a man to tell the truth, as he sees it and believes it."
""in this case the truth wo n't make poor leslie free," sighed anne.
""it will probably end in still more bitter bondage for her.
oh, gilbert, i ca n't think you are right."
chapter 30 leslie decides a sudden outbreak of a virulent type of influenza at the glen and down at the fishing village kept gilbert so busy for the next fortnight that he had no time to pay the promised visit to captain jim.
anne hoped against hope that he had abandoned the idea about dick moore, and, resolving to let sleeping dogs lie, she said no more about the subject.
but she thought of it incessantly.
""i wonder if it would be right for me to tell him that leslie cares for owen," she thought.
""he would never let her suspect that he knew, so her pride would not suffer, and it might convince him that he should let dick moore alone.
shall i -- shall i?
no, after all, i can not.
a promise is sacred, and i've no right to betray leslie's secret.
but oh, i never felt so worried over anything in my life as i do over this.
it's spoiling the spring -- it's spoiling everything."
one evening gilbert abruptly proposed that they go down and see captain jim.
with a sinking heart anne agreed, and they set forth.
two weeks of kind sunshine had wrought a miracle in the bleak landscape over which gilbert's crow had flown.
the hills and fields were dry and brown and warm, ready to break into bud and blossom; the harbor was laughter-shaken again; the long harbor road was like a gleaming red ribbon; down on the dunes a crowd of boys, who were out smelt fishing, were burning the thick, dry sandhill grass of the preceding summer.
the flames swept over the dunes rosily, flinging their cardinal banners against the dark gulf beyond, and illuminating the channel and the fishing village.
it was a picturesque scene which would at other times have delighted anne's eyes; but she was not enjoying this walk.
neither was gilbert.
their usual good-comradeship and josephian community of taste and viewpoint were sadly lacking.
anne's disapproval of the whole project showed itself in the haughty uplift of her head and the studied politeness of her remarks.
gilbert's mouth was set in all the blythe obstinacy, but his eyes were troubled.
he meant to do what he believed to be his duty; but to be at outs with anne was a high price to pay.
altogether, both were glad when they reached the light -- and remorseful that they should be glad.
captain jim put away the fishing net upon which he was working, and welcomed them joyfully.
in the searching light of the spring evening he looked older than anne had ever seen him.
his hair had grown much grayer, and the strong old hand shook a little.
but his blue eyes were clear and steady, and the staunch soul looked out through them gallant and unafraid.
captain jim listened in amazed silence while gilbert said what he had come to say.
anne, who knew how the old man worshipped leslie, felt quite sure that he would side with her, although she had not much hope that this would influence gilbert.
she was therefore surprised beyond measure when captain jim, slowly and sorrowfully, but unhesitatingly, gave it as his opinion that leslie should be told.
""oh, captain jim, i did n't think you'd say that," she exclaimed reproachfully.
""i thought you would n't want to make more trouble for her."
captain jim shook his head.
""i do n't want to.
i know how you feel about it, mistress blythe -- just as i feel meself.
but it ai n't our feelings we have to steer by through life -- no, no, we'd make shipwreck mighty often if we did that.
there's only the one safe compass and we've got to set our course by that -- what it's right to do.
i agree with the doctor.
if there's a chance for dick, leslie should be told of it.
there's no two sides to that, in my opinion."
""well," said anne, giving up in despair, "wait until miss cornelia gets after you two men."
""cornelia'll rake us fore and aft, no doubt," assented captain jim.
""you women are lovely critters, mistress blythe, but you're just a mite illogical.
you're a highly eddicated lady and cornelia is n't, but you're like as two peas when it comes to that.
i dunno's you're any the worse for it.
logic is a sort of hard, merciless thing, i reckon.
now, i'll brew a cup of tea and we'll drink it and talk of pleasant things, jest to calm our minds a bit."
at least, captain jim's tea and conversation calmed anne's mind to such an extent that she did not make gilbert suffer so acutely on the way home as she had deliberately intended to do.
she did not refer to the burning question at all, but she chatted amiably of other matters, and gilbert understood that he was forgiven under protest.
""captain jim seems very frail and bent this spring.
the winter has aged him," said anne sadly.
""i am afraid that he will soon be going to seek lost margaret.
i ca n't bear to think of it."
""four winds wo n't be the same place when captain jim "sets out to sea,"" agreed gilbert.
the following evening he went to the house up the brook.
anne wandered dismally around until his return.
""well, what did leslie say?"
she demanded when he came in.
""very little.
i think she felt rather dazed."
""and is she going to have the operation?"
""she is going to think it over and decide very soon."
gilbert flung himself wearily into the easy chair before the fire.
he looked tired.
it had not been an easy thing for him to tell leslie.
and the terror that had sprung into her eyes when the meaning of what he told her came home to her was not a pleasant thing to remember.
now, when the die was cast, he was beset with doubts of his own wisdom.
anne looked at him remorsefully; then she slipped down on the rug beside him and laid her glossy red head on his arm.
""gilbert, i've been rather hateful over this.
i wo n't be any more.
please just call me red-headed and forgive me."
by which gilbert understood that, no matter what came of it, there would be no i-told-you-so's.
but he was not wholly comforted.
duty in the abstract is one thing; duty in the concrete is quite another, especially when the doer is confronted by a woman's stricken eyes.
some instinct made anne keep away from leslie for the next three days.
on the third evening leslie came down to the little house and told gilbert that she had made up her mind; she would take dick to montreal and have the operation.
she was very pale and seemed to have wrapped herself in her old mantle of aloofness.
but her eyes had lost the look which had haunted gilbert; they were cold and bright; and she proceeded to discuss details with him in a crisp, business-like way.
there were plans to be made and many things to be thought over.
when leslie had got the information she wanted she went home.
anne wanted to walk part of the way with her.
""better not," said leslie curtly.
""today's rain has made the ground damp.
good-night."
""have i lost my friend?"
said anne with a sigh.
""if the operation is successful and dick moore finds himself again leslie will retreat into some remote fastness of her soul where none of us can ever find her."
""perhaps she will leave him," said gilbert.
""leslie would never do that, gilbert.
her sense of duty is very strong.
she told me once that her grandmother west always impressed upon her the fact that when she assumed any responsibility she must never shirk it, no matter what the consequences might be.
that is one of her cardinal rules.
i suppose it's very old-fashioned."
""do n't be bitter, anne-girl.
you know you do n't think it old-fashioned -- you know you have the very same idea of sacredness of assumed responsibilities yourself.
and you are right.
shirking responsibilities is the curse of our modern life -- the secret of all the unrest and discontent that is seething in the world."
""thus saith the preacher," mocked anne.
but under the mockery she felt that he was right; and she was very sick at heart for leslie.
a week later miss cornelia descended like an avalanche upon the little house.
gilbert was away and anne was compelled to bear the shock of the impact alone.
miss cornelia hardly waited to get her hat off before she began.
""anne, do you mean to tell me it's true what i've heard -- that dr. blythe has told leslie dick can be cured, and that she is going to take him to montreal to have him operated on?"
""yes, it is quite true, miss cornelia," said anne bravely.
""well, it's inhuman cruelty, that's what it is," said miss cornelia, violently agitated.
""i did think dr. blythe was a decent man.
i did n't think he could have been guilty of this."
""dr. blythe thought it was his duty to tell leslie that there was a chance for dick," said anne with spirit, "and," she added, loyalty to gilbert getting the better of her, "i agree with him."
""oh, no, you do n't, dearie," said miss cornelia.
""no person with any bowels of compassion could."
""captain jim does."
""do n't quote that old ninny to me," cried miss cornelia.
""and i do n't care who agrees with him.
think -- think what it means to that poor hunted, harried girl."
""we do think of it.
but gilbert believes that a doctor should put the welfare of a patient's mind and body before all other considerations."
""that's just like a man.
but i expected better things of you, anne," said miss cornelia, more in sorrow than in wrath; then she proceeded to bombard anne with precisely the same arguments with which the latter had attacked gilbert; and anne valiantly defended her husband with the weapons he had used for his own protection.
long was the fray, but miss cornelia made an end at last.
""it's an iniquitous shame," she declared, almost in tears.
""that's just what it is -- an iniquitous shame.
poor, poor leslie!"
""do n't you think dick should be considered a little too?"
pleaded anne.
""dick!
dick moore!
he's happy enough.
he's a better behaved and more reputable member of society now than he ever was before.
""why, he was a drunkard and perhaps worse.
are you going to set him loose again to roar and to devour?"
""he may reform," said poor anne, beset by foe without and traitor within.
""reform your grandmother!"
retorted miss cornelia.
""dick moore got the injuries that left him as he is in a drunken brawl.
he deserves his fate.
it was sent on him for a punishment.
i do n't believe the doctor has any business to tamper with the visitations of god."
""nobody knows how dick was hurt, miss cornelia.
it may not have been in a drunken brawl at all.
he may have been waylaid and robbed."
""pigs may whistle, but they've poor mouths for it," said miss cornelia.
""well, the gist of what you tell me is that the thing is settled and there's no use in talking.
if that's so i'll hold my tongue.
i do n't propose to wear my teeth out gnawing files.
when a thing has to be i give in to it.
but i like to make mighty sure first that it has to be.
now, i'll devote my energies to comforting and sustaining leslie.
and after all," added miss cornelia, brightening up hopefully, "perhaps nothing can be done for dick."
chapter 31 the truth makes free leslie, having once made up her mind what to do, proceeded to do it with characteristic resolution and speed.
house-cleaning must be finished with first, whatever issues of life and death might await beyond.
the gray house up the brook was put into flawless order and cleanliness, with miss cornelia's ready assistance.
miss cornelia, having said her say to anne, and later on to gilbert and captain jim -- sparing neither of them, let it be assured -- never spoke of the matter to leslie.
she accepted the fact of dick's operation, referred to it when necessary in a business-like way, and ignored it when it was not.
leslie never attempted to discuss it.
she was very cold and quiet during these beautiful spring days.
she seldom visited anne, and though she was invariably courteous and friendly, that very courtesy was as an icy barrier between her and the people of the little house.
the old jokes and laughter and chumminess of common things could not reach her over it.
anne refused to feel hurt.
she knew that leslie was in the grip of a hideous dread -- a dread that wrapped her away from all little glimpses of happiness and hours of pleasure.
when one great passion seizes possession of the soul all other feelings are crowded aside.
never in all her life had leslie moore shuddered away from the future with more intolerable terror.
but she went forward as unswervingly in the path she had elected as the martyrs of old walked their chosen way, knowing the end of it to be the fiery agony of the stake.
the financial question was settled with greater ease than anne had feared.
leslie borrowed the necessary money from captain jim, and, at her insistence, he took a mortgage on the little farm.
""so that is one thing off the poor girl's mind," miss cornelia told anne, "and off mine too.
now, if dick gets well enough to work again he'll be able to earn enough to pay the interest on it; and if he does n't i know captain jim'll manage someway that leslie wo n't have to.
he said as much to me.
"i'm getting old, cornelia," he said, "and i've no chick or child of my own.
leslie wo n't take a gift from a living man, but mebbe she will from a dead one."
so it will be all right as far as that goes.
i wish everything else might be settled as satisfactorily.
as for that wretch of a dick, he's been awful these last few days.
the devil was in him, believe me!
leslie and i could n't get on with our work for the tricks he'd play.
he chased all her ducks one day around the yard till most of them died.
and not one thing would he do for us.
sometimes, you know, he'll make himself quite handy, bringing in pails of water and wood.
but this week if we sent him to the well he'd try to climb down into it.
i thought once, "if you'd only shoot down there head-first everything would be nicely settled.""
""oh, miss cornelia!"
""now, you need n't miss cornelia me, anne, dearie.
anybody would have thought the same.
if the montreal doctors can make a rational creature out of dick moore they're wonders."
leslie took dick to montreal early in may.
gilbert went with her, to help her, and make the necessary arrangements for her.
he came home with the report that the montreal surgeon whom they had consulted agreed with him that there was a good chance of dick's restoration.
""very comforting," was miss cornelia's sarcastic comment.
anne only sighed.
leslie had been very distant at their parting.
but she had promised to write.
ten days after gilbert's return the letter came.
leslie wrote that the operation had been successfully performed and that dick was making a good recovery.
""what does she mean by "successfully?""
asked anne.
""does she mean that dick's memory is really restored?"
""not likely -- since she says nothing of it," said gilbert.
""she uses the word "successfully" from the surgeon's point of view.
the operation has been performed and followed by normal results.
but it is too soon to know whether dick's faculties will be eventually restored, wholly or in part.
his memory would not be likely to return to him all at once.
the process will be gradual, if it occurs at all.
is that all she says?"
""yes -- there's her letter.
it's very short.
poor girl, she must be under a terrible strain.
gilbert blythe, there are heaps of things i long to say to you, only it would be mean."
""miss cornelia says them for you," said gilbert with a rueful smile.
""she combs me down every time i encounter her.
she makes it plain to me that she regards me as little better than a murderer, and that she thinks it a great pity that dr. dave ever let me step into his shoes.
she even told me that the methodist doctor over the harbor was to be preferred before me.
with miss cornelia the force of condemnation can no further go."
""if cornelia bryant was sick, it would not be doctor dave or the methodist doctor she would send for," sniffed susan.
""she would have you out of your hard-earned bed in the middle of the night, doctor, dear, if she took a spell of misery, that she would.
and then she would likely say your bill was past all reason.
but do not mind her, doctor, dear.
it takes all kinds of people to make a world."
no further word came from leslie for some time.
the may days crept away in a sweet succession and the shores of four winds harbor greened and bloomed and purpled.
one day in late may gilbert came home to be met by susan in the stable yard.
""i am afraid something has upset mrs. doctor, doctor, dear," she said mysteriously.
""she got a letter this afternoon and since then she has just been walking round the garden and talking to herself.
you know it is not good for her to be on her feet so much, doctor, dear.
she did not see fit to tell me what her news was, and i am no pry, doctor, dear, and never was, but it is plain something has upset her.
and it is not good for her to be upset."
gilbert hurried rather anxiously to the garden.
had anything happened at green gables?
but anne, sitting on the rustic seat by the brook, did not look troubled, though she was certainly much excited.
her eyes were their grayest, and scarlet spots burned on her cheeks.
""what has happened, anne?"
anne gave a queer little laugh.
""i think you'll hardly believe it when i tell you, gilbert.
i ca n't believe it yet.
as susan said the other day," i feel like a fly coming to live in the sun -- dazed-like."
it's all so incredible.
i've read the letter a score of times and every time it's just the same -- i ca n't believe my own eyes.
oh, gilbert, you were right -- so right.
i can see that clearly enough now -- and i'm so ashamed of myself -- and will you ever really forgive me?"
""anne, i'll shake you if you do n't grow coherent.
redmond would be ashamed of you.
what has happened?"
""you wo n't believe it -- you wo n't believe it --" "i'm going to phone for uncle dave," said gilbert, pretending to start for the house.
""sit down, gilbert.
i'll try to tell you.
i've had a letter, and oh, gilbert, it's all so amazing -- so incredibly amazing -- we never thought -- not one of us ever dreamed --" "i suppose," said gilbert, sitting down with a resigned air, "the only thing to do in a case of this kind is to have patience and go at the matter categorically.
whom is your letter from?"
""leslie -- and, oh, gilbert --" "leslie!
whew!
what has she to say?
what's the news about dick?"
anne lifted the letter and held it out, calmly dramatic in a moment.
""there is no dick!
the man we have thought dick moore -- whom everybody in four winds has believed for twelve years to be dick moore -- is his cousin, george moore, of nova scotia, who, it seems, always resembled him very strikingly.
dick moore died of yellow fever thirteen years ago in cuba."
chapter 32 miss cornelia discusses the affair "and do you mean to tell me, anne, dearie, that dick moore has turned out not to be dick moore at all but somebody else?
is that what you phoned up to me today?"
""yes, miss cornelia.
it is very amazing, is n't it?"
""it's -- it's -- just like a man," said miss cornelia helplessly.
she took off her hat with trembling fingers.
for once in her life miss cornelia was undeniably staggered.
""i ca n't seem to sense it, anne," she said.
""i've heard you say it -- and i believe you -- but i ca n't take it in.
dick moore is dead -- has been dead all these years -- and leslie is free?"
""yes.
the truth has made her free.
gilbert was right when he said that verse was the grandest in the bible."
""tell me everything, anne, dearie.
since i got your phone i've been in a regular muddle, believe me.
cornelia bryant was never so kerflummuxed before."
""there is n't a very great deal to tell.
leslie's letter was short.
she did n't go into particulars.
this man -- george moore -- has recovered his memory and knows who he is.
he says dick took yellow fever in cuba, and the four sisters had to sail without him.
george stayed behind to nurse him.
but he died very shortly afterwards.
""george did not write leslie because he intended to come right home and tell her himself."
""and why did n't he?"
""i suppose his accident must have intervened.
gilbert says it is quite likely that george moore remembers nothing of his accident, or what led to it, and may never remember it.
it probably happened very soon after dick's death.
we may find out more particulars when leslie writes again."
""does she say what she is going to do?
when is she coming home?"
""she says she will stay with george moore until he can leave the hospital.
she has written to his people in nova scotia.
it seems that george's only near relative is a married sister much older than himself.
she was living when george sailed on the four sisters, but of course we do not know what may have happened since.
did you ever see george moore, miss cornelia?"
""i did.
it is all coming back to me.
he was here visiting his uncle abner eighteen years ago, when he and dick would be about seventeen.
they were double cousins, you see.
their fathers were brothers and their mothers were twin sisters, and they did look a terrible lot alike.
of course," added miss cornelia scornfully, "it was n't one of those freak resemblances you read of in novels where two people are so much alike that they can fill each other's places and their nearest and dearest ca n't tell between them.
in those days you could tell easy enough which was george and which was dick, if you saw them together and near at hand.
apart, or some distance away, it was n't so easy.
they played lots of tricks on people and thought it great fun, the two scamps.
george moore was a little taller and a good deal fatter than dick -- though neither of them was what you would call fat -- they were both of the lean kind.
dick had higher color than george, and his hair was a shade lighter.
but their features were just alike, and they both had that queer freak of eyes -- one blue and one hazel.
they were n't much alike in any other way, though.
george was a real nice fellow, though he was a scalawag for mischief, and some said he had a liking for a glass even then.
but everybody liked him better than dick.
he spent about a month here.
leslie never saw him; she was only about eight or nine then and i remember now that she spent that whole winter over harbor with her grandmother west.
captain jim was away, too -- that was the winter he was wrecked on the magdalens.
i do n't suppose either he or leslie had ever heard about the nova scotia cousin looking so much like dick.
nobody ever thought of him when captain jim brought dick -- george, i should say -- home.
of course, we all thought dick had changed considerable -- he'd got so lumpish and fat.
but we put that down to what had happened to him, and no doubt that was the reason, for, as i've said, george was n't fat to begin with either.
and there was no other way we could have guessed, for the man's senses were clean gone.
i ca n't see that it is any wonder we were all deceived.
but it's a staggering thing.
and leslie has sacrificed the best years of her life to nursing a man who had n't any claim on her!
oh, drat the men!
no matter what they do, it's the wrong thing.
and no matter who they are, it's somebody they should n't be.
they do exasperate me."
""gilbert and captain jim are men, and it is through them that the truth has been discovered at last," said anne.
""well, i admit that," conceded miss cornelia reluctantly.
""i'm sorry i raked the doctor off so.
it's the first time in my life i've ever felt ashamed of anything i said to a man.
i do n't know as i shall tell him so, though.
he'll just have to take it for granted.
well, anne, dearie, it's a mercy the lord does n't answer all our prayers.
i've been praying hard right along that the operation would n't cure dick.
of course i did n't put it just quite so plain.
but that was what was in the back of my mind, and i have no doubt the lord knew it."
""well, he has answered the spirit of your prayer.
you really wished that things should n't be made any harder for leslie.
i'm afraid that in my secret heart i've been hoping the operation would n't succeed, and i am wholesomely ashamed of it."
""how does leslie seem to take it?"
""she writes like one dazed.
i think that, like ourselves, she hardly realises it yet.
she says, "it all seems like a strange dream to me, anne."
that is the only reference she makes to herself."
""poor child!
i suppose when the chains are struck off a prisoner he'd feel queer and lost without them for a while.
anne, dearie, here's a thought keeps coming into my mind.
what about owen ford?
we both know leslie was fond of him.
did it ever occur to you that he was fond of her?"
""it -- did -- once," admitted anne, feeling that she might say so much.
""well, i had n't any reason to think he was, but it just appeared to me he must be.
now, anne, dearie, the lord knows i'm not a match-maker, and i scorn all such doings.
but if i were you and writing to that ford man i'd just mention, casual-like, what has happened.
that is what i'd do."
""of course i will mention it when i write him," said anne, a trifle distantly.
somehow, this was a thing she could not discuss with miss cornelia.
and yet, she had to admit that the same thought had been lurking in her mind ever since she had heard of leslie's freedom.
but she would not desecrate it by free speech.
""of course there is no great rush, dearie.
but dick moore's been dead for thirteen years and leslie has wasted enough of her life for him.
we'll just see what comes of it.
as for this george moore, who's gone and come back to life when everyone thought he was dead and done for, just like a man, i'm real sorry for him.
he wo n't seem to fit in anywhere."
""he is still a young man, and if he recovers completely, as seems likely, he will be able to make a place for himself again.
it must be very strange for him, poor fellow.
i suppose all these years since his accident will not exist for him."
chapter 33 leslie returns a fortnight later leslie moore came home alone to the old house where she had spent so many bitter years.
in the june twilight she went over the fields to anne's, and appeared with ghost-like suddenness in the scented garden.
""leslie!"
cried anne in amazement.
""where have you sprung from?
we never knew you were coming.
why did n't you write?
we would have met you."
""i could n't write somehow, anne.
it seemed so futile to try to say anything with pen and ink.
and i wanted to get back quietly and unobserved."
anne put her arms about leslie and kissed her.
leslie returned the kiss warmly.
she looked pale and tired, and she gave a little sigh as she dropped down on the grasses beside a great bed of daffodils that were gleaming through the pale, silvery twilight like golden stars.
""and you have come home alone, leslie?"
""yes.
george moore's sister came to montreal and took him home with her.
poor fellow, he was sorry to part with me -- though i was a stranger to him when his memory first came back.
he clung to me in those first hard days when he was trying to realise that dick's death was not the thing of yesterday that it seemed to him.
it was all very hard for him.
i helped him all i could.
when his sister came it was easier for him, because it seemed to him only the other day that he had seen her last.
fortunately she had not changed much, and that helped him, too."
""it is all so strange and wonderful, leslie.
i think we none of us realise it yet."
""i can not.
when i went into the house over there an hour ago, i felt that it must be a dream -- that dick must be there, with his childish smile, as he had been for so long.
anne, i seem stunned yet.
i'm not glad or sorry -- or anything.
i feel as if something had been torn suddenly out of my life and left a terrible hole.
i feel as if i could n't be i -- as if i must have changed into somebody else and could n't get used to it.
it gives me a horrible lonely, dazed, helpless feeling.
it's good to see you again -- it seems as if you were a sort of anchor for my drifting soul.
oh, anne, i dread it all -- the gossip and wonderment and questioning.
when i think of that, i wish that i need not have come home at all.
dr. dave was at the station when i came off the train -- he brought me home.
poor old man, he feels very badly because he told me years ago that nothing could be done for dick."
i honestly thought so, leslie," he said to me today.
"but i should have told you not to depend on my opinion -- i should have told you to go to a specialist.
if i had, you would have been saved many bitter years, and poor george moore many wasted ones.
i blame myself very much, leslie."
i told him not to do that -- he had done what he thought right.
he has always been so kind to me -- i could n't bear to see him worrying over it."
""and dick -- george, i mean?
is his memory fully restored?"
""practically.
of course, there are a great many details he ca n't recall yet -- but he remembers more and more every day.
he went out for a walk on the evening after dick was buried.
he had dick's money and watch on him; he meant to bring them home to me, along with my letter.
he admits he went to a place where the sailors resorted -- and he remembers drinking -- and nothing else.
anne, i shall never forget the moment he remembered his own name.
i saw him looking at me with an intelligent but puzzled expression.
i said, "do you know me, dick?"
he answered," i never saw you before.
who are you?
and my name is not dick.
i am george moore, and dick died of yellow fever yesterday!
where am i?
what has happened to me?"
i -- i fainted, anne.
and ever since i have felt as if i were in a dream."
""you will soon adjust yourself to this new state of things, leslie.
and you are young -- life is before you -- you will have many beautiful years yet."
""perhaps i shall be able to look at it in that way after a while, anne.
just now i feel too tired and indifferent to think about the future.
i'm -- i'm -- anne, i'm lonely.
i miss dick.
is n't it all very strange?
do you know, i was really fond of poor dick -- george, i suppose i should say -- just as i would have been fond of a helpless child who depended on me for everything.
i would never have admitted it -- i was really ashamed of it -- because, you see, i had hated and despised dick so much before he went away.
when i heard that captain jim was bringing him home i expected i would just feel the same to him.
but i never did -- although i continued to loathe him as i remembered him before.
from the time he came home i felt only pity -- a pity that hurt and wrung me.
i supposed then that it was just because his accident had made him so helpless and changed.
but now i believe it was because there was really a different personality there.
carlo knew it, anne -- i know now that carlo knew it.
i always thought it strange that carlo should n't have known dick.
dogs are usually so faithful.
but he knew it was not his master who had come back, although none of the rest of us did.
i had never seen george moore, you know.
i remember now that dick once mentioned casually that he had a cousin in nova scotia who looked as much like him as a twin; but the thing had gone out of my memory, and in any case i would never have thought it of any importance.
you see, it never occurred to me to question dick's identity.
any change in him seemed to me just the result of the accident.
""oh, anne, that night in april when gilbert told me he thought dick might be cured!
i can never forget it.
it seemed to me that i had once been a prisoner in a hideous cage of torture, and then the door had been opened and i could get out.
i was still chained to the cage but i was not in it.
and that night i felt that a merciless hand was drawing me back into the cage -- back to a torture even more terrible than it had once been.
i did n't blame gilbert.
i felt he was right.
and he had been very good -- he said that if, in view of the expense and uncertainty of the operation, i should decide not to risk it, he would not blame me in the least.
but i knew how i ought to decide -- and i could n't face it.
all night i walked the floor like a mad woman, trying to compel myself to face it.
i could n't, anne -- i thought i could n't -- and when morning broke i set my teeth and resolved that i would n't.
i would let things remain as they were.
it was very wicked, i know.
it would have been just punishment for such wickedness if i had just been left to abide by that decision.
i kept to it all day.
that afternoon i had to go up to the glen to do some shopping.
it was one of dick's quiet, drowsy days, so i left him alone.
i was gone a little longer than i had expected, and he missed me.
he felt lonely.
and when i got home, he ran to meet me just like a child, with such a pleased smile on his face.
somehow, anne, i just gave way then.
that smile on his poor vacant face was more than i could endure.
i felt as if i were denying a child the chance to grow and develop.
i knew that i must give him his chance, no matter what the consequences might be.
so i came over and told gilbert.
oh, anne, you must have thought me hateful in those weeks before i went away.
i did n't mean to be -- but i could n't think of anything except what i had to do, and everything and everybody about me were like shadows."
""i know -- i understood, leslie.
and now it is all over -- your chain is broken -- there is no cage."
""there is no cage," repeated leslie absently, plucking at the fringing grasses with her slender, brown hands.
""but -- it does n't seem as if there were anything else, anne.
you -- you remember what i told you of my folly that night on the sand-bar?
i find one does n't get over being a fool very quickly.
sometimes i think there are people who are fools forever.
and to be a fool -- of that kind -- is almost as bad as being a -- a dog on a chain."
""you will feel very differently after you get over being tired and bewildered," said anne, who, knowing a certain thing that leslie did not know, did not feel herself called upon to waste overmuch sympathy.
leslie laid her splendid golden head against anne's knee.
""anyhow, i have you," she said.
""life ca n't be altogether empty with such a friend.
anne, pat my head -- just as if i were a little girl -- mother me a bit -- and let me tell you while my stubborn tongue is loosed a little just what you and your comradeship have meant to me since that night i met you on the rock shore."
chapter 34 the ship o'dreams comes to harbor one morning, when a windy golden sunrise was billowing over the gulf in waves of light, a certain weary stork flew over the bar of four winds harbor on his way from the land of evening stars.
under his wing was tucked a sleepy, starry-eyed, little creature.
the stork was tired, and he looked wistfully about him.
he knew he was somewhere near his destination, but he could not yet see it.
the big, white light-house on the red sandstone cliff had its good points; but no stork possessed of any gumption would leave a new, velvet baby there.
an old gray house, surrounded by willows, in a blossomy brook valley, looked more promising, but did not seem quite the thing either.
the staring green abode further on was manifestly out of the question.
then the stork brightened up.
he had caught sight of the very place -- a little white house nestled against a big, whispering firwood, with a spiral of blue smoke winding up from its kitchen chimney -- a house which just looked as if it were meant for babies.
the stork gave a sigh of satisfaction, and softly alighted on the ridge-pole.
half an hour later gilbert ran down the hall and tapped on the spare-room door.
a drowsy voice answered him and in a moment marilla's pale, scared face peeped out from behind the door.
""marilla, anne has sent me to tell you that a certain young gentleman has arrived here.
he has n't brought much luggage with him, but he evidently means to stay."
""for pity's sake!"
said marilla blankly.
""you do n't mean to tell me, gilbert, that it's all over.
why was n't i called?"
""anne would n't let us disturb you when there was no need.
nobody was called until about two hours ago.
there was no "passage perilous" this time."
""and -- and -- gilbert -- will this baby live?"
""he certainly will.
he weighs ten pounds and -- why, listen to him.
nothing wrong with his lungs, is there?
the nurse says his hair will be red.
anne is furious with her, and i'm tickled to death."
that was a wonderful day in the little house of dreams.
""the best dream of all has come true," said anne, pale and rapturous.
""oh, marilla, i hardly dare believe it, after that horrible day last summer.
i have had a heartache ever since then -- but it is gone now."
""this baby will take joy's place," said marilla.
""oh, no, no, no, marilla.
he ca n't -- nothing can ever do that.
he has his own place, my dear, wee man-child.
but little joy has hers, and always will have it.
if she had lived she would have been over a year old.
she would have been toddling around on her tiny feet and lisping a few words.
i can see her so plainly, marilla.
oh, i know now that captain jim was right when he said god would manage better than that my baby would seem a stranger to me when i found her beyond.
i've learned that this past year.
i've followed her development day by day and week by week -- i always shall.
i shall know just how she grows from year to year -- and when i meet her again i'll know her -- she wo n't be a stranger.
oh, marilla, look at his dear, darling toes!
is n't it strange they should be so perfect?"
""it would be stranger if they were n't," said marilla crisply.
now that all was safely over, marilla was herself again.
""oh, i know -- but it seems as if they could n't be quite finished, you know -- and they are, even to the tiny nails.
and his hands -- just look at his hands, marilla."
""they appear to be a good deal like hands," marilla conceded.
""see how he clings to my finger.
i'm sure he knows me already.
he cries when the nurse takes him away.
oh, marilla, do you think -- you do n't think, do you -- that his hair is going to be red?"
""i do n't see much hair of any color," said marilla.
""i would n't worry about it, if i were you, until it becomes visible."
""marilla, he has hair -- look at that fine little down all over his head.
anyway, nurse says his eyes will be hazel and his forehead is exactly like gilbert's."
""and he has the nicest little ears, mrs. doctor, dear," said susan.
""the first thing i did was to look at his ears.
hair is deceitful and noses and eyes change, and you can not tell what is going to come of them, but ears is ears from start to finish, and you always know where you are with them.
just look at their shape -- and they are set right back against his precious head.
you will never need to be ashamed of his ears, mrs. doctor, dear."
anne's convalescence was rapid and happy.
folks came and worshipped the baby, as people have bowed before the kingship of the new-born since long before the wise men of the east knelt in homage to the royal babe of the bethlehem manger.
leslie, slowly finding herself amid the new conditions of her life, hovered over it, like a beautiful, golden-crowned madonna.
miss cornelia nursed it as knackily as could any mother in israel.
captain jim held the small creature in his big brown hands and gazed tenderly at it, with eyes that saw the children who had never been born to him.
""what are you going to call him?"
asked miss cornelia.
""anne has settled his name," answered gilbert.
""james matthew -- after the two finest gentlemen i've ever known -- not even saving your presence," said anne with a saucy glance at gilbert.
gilbert smiled.
""i never knew matthew very well; he was so shy we boys could n't get acquainted with him -- but i quite agree with you that captain jim is one of the rarest and finest souls god ever clothed in clay.
he is so delighted over the fact that we have given his name to our small lad.
it seems he has no other namesake."
""well, james matthew is a name that will wear well and not fade in the washing," said miss cornelia.
""i'm glad you did n't load him down with some highfalutin, romantic name that he'd be ashamed of when he gets to be a grandfather.
mrs. william drew at the glen has called her baby bertie shakespeare.
quite a combination, is n't it?
and i'm glad you have n't had much trouble picking on a name.
some folks have an awful time.
when the stanley flaggs" first boy was born there was so much rivalry as to who the child should be named for that the poor little soul had to go for two years without a name.
then a brother came along and there it was -- "big baby" and "little baby."
finally they called big baby peter and little baby isaac, after the two grandfathers, and had them both christened together.
and each tried to see if it could n't howl the other down.
you know that highland scotch family of macnabs back of the glen?
they've got twelve boys and the oldest and the youngest are both called neil -- big neil and little neil in the same family.
well, i s "pose they ran out of names."
""i have read somewhere," laughed anne, "that the first child is a poem but the tenth is very prosy prose.
perhaps mrs. macnab thought that the twelfth was merely an old tale re-told."
""well, there's something to be said for large families," said miss cornelia, with a sigh.
""i was an only child for eight years and i did long for a brother and sister.
mother told me to pray for one -- and pray i did, believe me.
well, one day aunt nellie came to me and said, "cornelia, there is a little brother for you upstairs in your ma's room.
you can go up and see him."
i was so excited and delighted i just flew upstairs.
and old mrs. flagg lifted up the baby for me to see.
lord, anne, dearie, i never was so disappointed in my life.
you see, i'd been praying for a brother two years older than myself."
""how long did it take you to get over your disappointment?"
asked anne, amid her laughter.
""well, i had a spite at providence for a good spell, and for weeks i would n't even look at the baby.
nobody knew why, for i never told.
then he began to get real cute, and held out his wee hands to me and i began to get fond of him.
but i did n't get really reconciled to him until one day a school chum came to see him and said she thought he was awful small for his age.
i just got boiling mad, and i sailed right into her, and told her she did n't know a nice baby when she saw one, and ours was the nicest baby in the world.
and after that i just worshipped him.
mother died before he was three years old and i was sister and mother to him both.
poor little lad, he was never strong, and he died when he was n't much over twenty.
seems to me i'd have given anything on earth, anne, dearie, if he'd only lived."
miss cornelia sighed.
gilbert had gone down and leslie, who had been crooning over the small james matthew in the dormer window, laid him asleep in his basket and went her way.
as soon as she was safely out of earshot, miss cornelia bent forward and said in a conspirator's whisper: "anne, dearie, i'd a letter from owen ford yesterday.
he's in vancouver just now, but he wants to know if i can board him for a month later on.
you know what that means.
well, i hope we're doing right."
""we've nothing to do with it -- we could n't prevent him from coming to four winds if he wanted to," said anne quickly.
she did not like the feeling of match-making miss cornelia's whispers gave her; and then she weakly succumbed herself.
""do n't let leslie know he is coming until he is here," she said.
""if she found out i feel sure she would go away at once.
she intends to go in the fall anyhow -- she told me so the other day.
she is going to montreal to take up nursing and make what she can of her life."
""oh, well, anne, dearie," said miss cornelia, nodding sagely "that is all as it may be.
you and i have done our part and we must leave the rest to higher hands."
chapter 35 politics at four winds when anne came downstairs again, the island, as well as all canada, was in the throes of a campaign preceding a general election.
gilbert, who was an ardent conservative, found himself caught in the vortex, being much in demand for speech-making at the various county rallies.
miss cornelia did not approve of his mixing up in politics and told anne so.
""dr. dave never did it.
dr. blythe will find he is making a mistake, believe me.
politics is something no decent man should meddle with."
""is the government of the country to be left solely to the rogues then?"
asked anne.
""yes -- so long as it's conservative rogues," said miss cornelia, marching off with the honors of war.
""men and politicians are all tarred with the same brush.
the grits have it laid on thicker than the conservatives, that's all -- considerably thicker.
but grit or tory, my advice to dr. blythe is to steer clear of politics.
first thing you know, he'll be running an election himself, and going off to ottawa for half the year and leaving his practice to go to the dogs."
""ah, well, let's not borrow trouble," said anne.
""the rate of interest is too high.
instead, let's look at little jem.
it should be spelled with a g. is n't he perfectly beautiful?
just see the dimples in his elbows.
we'll bring him up to be a good conservative, you and i, miss cornelia."
""bring him up to be a good man," said miss cornelia.
""they're scarce and valuable; though, mind you, i would n't like to see him a grit.
as for the election, you and i may be thankful we do n't live over harbor.
the air there is blue these days.
every elliott and crawford and macallister is on the warpath, loaded for bear.
this side is peaceful and calm, seeing there's so few men.
captain jim's a grit, but it's my opinion he's ashamed of it, for he never talks politics.
there is n't any earthly doubt that the conservatives will be returned with a big majority again."
miss cornelia was mistaken.
on the morning after the election captain jim dropped in at the little house to tell the news.
so virulent is the microbe of party politics, even in a peaceable old man, that captain jim's cheeks were flushed and his eyes were flashing with all his old-time fire.
""mistress blythe, the liberals are in with a sweeping majority.
after eighteen years of tory mismanagement this down-trodden country is going to have a chance at last."
""i never heard you make such a bitter partisan speech before, captain jim.
i did n't think you had so much political venom in you," laughed anne, who was not much excited over the tidings.
little jem had said "wow-ga" that morning.
what were principalities and powers, the rise and fall of dynasties, the overthrow of grit or tory, compared with that miraculous occurrence?
""it's been accumulating for a long while," said captain jim, with a deprecating smile.
""i thought i was only a moderate grit, but when the news came that we were in i found out how gritty i really was."
""you know the doctor and i are conservatives."
""ah, well, it's the only bad thing i know of either of you, mistress blythe.
cornelia is a tory, too.
i called in on my way from the glen to tell her the news."
""did n't you know you took your life in your hands?"
""yes, but i could n't resist the temptation."
""how did she take it?"
""comparatively calm, mistress blythe, comparatively calm.
she says, says she, "well, providence sends seasons of humiliation to a country, same as to individuals.
you grits have been cold and hungry for many a year.
make haste to get warmed and fed, for you wo n't be in long."
"well, now cornelia," i says, "mebbe providence thinks canada needs a real long spell of humiliation."
ah, susan, have you heard the news?
the liberals are in."
susan had just come in from the kitchen, attended by the odor of delectable dishes which always seemed to hover around her.
""now, are they?"
she said, with beautiful unconcern.
""well, i never could see but that my bread rose just as light when grits were in as when they were not.
and if any party, mrs. doctor, dear, will make it rain before the week is out, and save our kitchen garden from entire ruination, that is the party susan will vote for.
in the meantime, will you just step out and give me your opinion on the meat for dinner?
i am fearing that it is very tough, and i think that we had better change our butcher as well as our government."
one evening, a week later, anne walked down to the point, to see if she could get some fresh fish from captain jim, leaving little jem for the first time.
it was quite a tragedy.
suppose he cried?
suppose susan did not know just exactly what to do for him?
susan was calm and serene.
""i have had as much experience with him as you, mrs. doctor, dear, have i not?"
""yes, with him -- but not with other babies.
why, i looked after three pairs of twins, when i was a child, susan.
when they cried, i gave them peppermint or castor oil quite coolly.
it's quite curious now to recall how lightly i took all those babies and their woes."
""oh, well, if little jem cries, i will just clap a hot water bag on his little stomach," said susan.
""not too hot, you know," said anne anxiously.
oh, was it really wise to go?
""do not you fret, mrs. doctor, dear.
susan is not the woman to burn a wee man.
bless him, he has no notion of crying."
anne tore herself away finally and enjoyed her walk to the point after all, through the long shadows of the sun-setting.
captain jim was not in the living room of the lighthouse, but another man was -- a handsome, middle-aged man, with a strong, clean-shaven chin, who was unknown to anne.
nevertheless, when she sat down, he began to talk to her with all the assurance of an old acquaintance.
there was nothing amiss in what he said or the way he said it, but anne rather resented such a cool taking-for-granted in a complete stranger.
her replies were frosty, and as few as decency required.
nothing daunted, her companion talked on for several minutes, then excused himself and went away.
anne could have sworn there was a twinkle in his eye and it annoyed her.
who was the creature?
there was something vaguely familiar about him but she was certain she had never seen him before.
""captain jim, who was that who just went out?"
she asked, as captain jim came in.
""marshall elliott," answered the captain.
""marshall elliott!"
cried anne.
""oh, captain jim -- it was n't -- yes, it was his voice -- oh, captain jim, i did n't know him -- and i was quite insulting to him!
why did n't he tell me?
he must have seen i did n't know him."
""he would n't say a word about it -- he'd just enjoy the joke.
do n't worry over snubbing him -- he'll think it fun.
yes, marshall's shaved off his beard at last and cut his hair.
his party is in, you know.
i did n't know him myself first time i saw him.
he was up in carter flagg's store at the glen the night after election day, along with a crowd of others, waiting for the news.
about twelve the "phone came through -- the liberals were in.
marshall just got up and walked out -- he did n't cheer or shout -- he left the others to do that, and they nearly lifted the roof off carter's store, i reckon.
of course, all the tories were over in raymond russell's store.
not much cheering there.
marshall went straight down the street to the side door of augustus palmer's barber shop.
augustus was in bed asleep, but marhall hammered on the door until he got up and come down, wanting to know what all the racket was about.
""come into your shop and do the best job you ever did in your life, gus," said marshall.
"the liberals are in and you're going to barber a good grit before the sun rises."
""gus was mad as hops -- partly because he'd been dragged out of bed, but more because he's a tory.
he vowed he would n't shave any man after twelve at night."
"you'll do what i want you to do, sonny," said marshall, "or i'll jest turn you over my knee and give you one of those spankings your mother forgot."
""he'd have done it, too, and gus knew it, for marshall is as strong as an ox and gus is only a midget of a man.
so he gave in and towed marshall in to the shop and went to work.
"now," says he, "i'll barber you up, but if you say one word to me about the grits getting in while i'm doing it i'll cut your throat with this razor," says he.
you would n't have thought mild little gus could be so bloodthirsty, would you?
shows what party politics will do for a man.
marshall kept quiet and got his hair and beard disposed of and went home.
when his old housekeeper heard him come upstairs she peeked out of her bedroom door to see whether't was him or the hired boy.
and when she saw a strange man striding down the hall with a candle in his hand she screamed blue murder and fainted dead away.
they had to send for the doctor before they could bring her to, and it was several days before she could look at marshall without shaking all over."
captain jim had no fish.
he seldom went out in his boat that summer, and his long tramping expeditions were over.
he spent a great deal of his time sitting by his seaward window, looking out over the gulf, with his swiftly-whitening head leaning on his hand.
he sat there tonight for many silent minutes, keeping some tryst with the past which anne would not disturb.
presently he pointed to the iris of the west: "that's beautiful, is n't, it, mistress blythe?
but i wish you could have seen the sunrise this morning.
it was a wonderful thing -- wonderful.
i've seen all kinds of sunrises come over that gulf.
i've been all over the world, mistress blythe, and take it all in all, i've never seen a finer sight than a summer sunrise over the gulf.
a man ca n't pick his time for dying, mistress blythe -- jest got to go when the great captain gives his sailing orders.
but if i could i'd go out when the morning comes across that water.
i've watched it many a time and thought what a thing it would be to pass out through that great white glory to whatever was waiting beyant, on a sea that ai n't mapped out on any airthly chart.
i think, mistress blythe, that i'd find lost margaret there."
captain jim had often talked to anne of lost margaret since he had told her the old story.
his love for her trembled in every tone -- that love that had never grown faint or forgetful.
""anyway, i hope when my time comes i'll go quick and easy.
i do n't think i'm a coward, mistress blythe -- i've looked an ugly death in the face more than once without blenching.
but the thought of a lingering death does give me a queer, sick feeling of horror."
""do n't talk about leaving us, dear, dear captain, jim," pleaded anne, in a choked voice, patting the old brown hand, once so strong, but now grown very feeble.
""what would we do without you?"
captain jim smiled beautifully.
""oh, you'd get along nicely -- nicely -- but you would n't forget the old man altogether, mistress blythe -- no, i do n't think you'll ever quite forget him.
the race of joseph always remembers one another.
but it'll be a memory that wo n't hurt -- i like to think that my memory wo n't hurt my friends -- it'll always be kind of pleasant to them, i hope and believe.
it wo n't be very long now before lost margaret calls me, for the last time.
i'll be all ready to answer.
i jest spoke of this because there's a little favor i want to ask you.
here's this poor old matey of mine" -- captain jim reached out a hand and poked the big, warm, velvety, golden ball on the sofa.
the first mate uncoiled himself like a spring with a nice, throaty, comfortable sound, half purr, half meow, stretched his paws in air, turned over and coiled himself up again.
""he'll miss me when i start on the v'yage.
i ca n't bear to think of leaving the poor critter to starve, like he was left before.
if anything happens to me will you give matey a bite and a corner, mistress blythe?"
""indeed i will."
""then that is all i had on my mind.
your little jem is to have the few curious things i picked up -- i've seen to that.
and now i do n't like to see tears in those pretty eyes, mistress blythe.
i'll mebbe hang on for quite a spell yet.
i heard you reading a piece of poetry one day last winter -- one of tennyson's pieces.
i'd sorter like to hear it again, if you could recite it for me."
softly and clearly, while the seawind blew in on them, anne repeated the beautiful lines of tennyson's wonderful swan song -- "crossing the bar."
the old captain kept time gently with his sinewy hand.
""yes, yes, mistress blythe," he said, when she had finished, "that's it, that's it.
he was n't a sailor, you tell me -- i dunno how he could have put an old sailor's feelings into words like that, if he was n't one.
he did n't want any "sadness o" farewells" and neither do i, mistress blythe -- for all will be well with me and mine beyant the bar."
chapter 36 beauty for ashes "any news from green gables, anne?"
""nothing very especial," replied anne, folding up marilla's letter.
""jake donnell has been there shingling the roof.
he is a full-fledged carpenter now, so it seems he has had his own way in regard to the choice of a life-work.
you remember his mother wanted him to be a college professor.
i shall never forget the day she came to the school and rated me for failing to call him st. clair."
""does anyone ever call him that now?"
""evidently not.
it seems that he has completely lived it down.
even his mother has succumbed.
i always thought that a boy with jake's chin and mouth would get his own way in the end.
diana writes me that dora has a beau.
just think of it -- that child!"
""dora is seventeen," said gilbert.
""charlie sloane and i were both mad about you when you were seventeen, anne."
""really, gilbert, we must be getting on in years," said anne, with a half-rueful smile, "when children who were six when we thought ourselves grown up are old enough now to have beaux.
dora's is ralph andrews -- jane's brother.
i remember him as a little, round, fat, white-headed fellow who was always at the foot of his class.
but i understand he is quite a fine-looking young man now."
""dora will probably marry young.
she's of the same type as charlotta the fourth -- she'll never miss her first chance for fear she might not get another."
""well; if she marries ralph i hope he will be a little more up-and-coming than his brother billy," mused anne.
""for instance," said gilbert, laughing, "let us hope he will be able to propose on his own account.
anne, would you have married billy if he had asked you himself, instead of getting jane to do it for him?"
""i might have."
anne went off into a shriek of laughter over the recollection of her first proposal.
""the shock of the whole thing might have hypnotized me into some such rash and foolish act.
let us be thankful he did it by proxy."
""i had a letter from george moore yesterday," said leslie, from the corner where she was reading.
""oh, how is he?"
asked anne interestedly, yet with an unreal feeling that she was inquiring about some one whom she did not know.
""he is well, but he finds it very hard to adapt himself to all the changes in his old home and friends.
he is going to sea again in the spring.
it's in his blood, he says, and he longs for it.
but he told me something that made me glad for him, poor fellow.
before he sailed on the four sisters he was engaged to a girl at home.
he did not tell me anything about her in montreal, because he said he supposed she would have forgotten him and married someone else long ago, and with him, you see, his engagement and love was still a thing of the present.
it was pretty hard on him, but when he got home he found she had never married and still cared for him.
they are to be married this fall.
i'm going to ask him to bring her over here for a little trip; he says he wants to come and see the place where he lived so many years without knowing it."
""what a nice little romance," said anne, whose love for the romantic was immortal.
""and to think," she added with a sigh of self-reproach, "that if i had had my way george moore would never have come up from the grave in which his identity was buried.
how i did fight against gilbert's suggestion!
well, i am punished: i shall never be able to have a different opinion from gilbert's again!
if i try to have, he will squelch me by casting george moore's case up to me!"
""as if even that would squelch a woman!"
mocked gilbert.
""at least do not become my echo, anne.
a little opposition gives spice to life.
i do not want a wife like john macallister's over the harbor.
no matter what he says, she at once remarks in that drab, lifeless little voice of hers, "that is very true, john, dear me!""
anne and leslie laughed.
anne's laughter was silver and leslie's golden, and the combination of the two was as satisfactory as a perfect chord in music.
susan, coming in on the heels of the laughter, echoed it with a resounding sigh.
""why, susan, what is the matter?"
asked gilbert.
""there's nothing wrong with little jem, is there, susan?"
cried anne, starting up in alarm.
""no, no, calm yourself, mrs. doctor, dear.
something has happened, though.
dear me, everything has gone catawampus with me this week.
i spoiled the bread, as you know too well -- and i scorched the doctor's best shirt bosom -- and i broke your big platter.
and now, on the top of all this, comes word that my sister matilda has broken her leg and wants me to go and stay with her for a spell."
""oh, i'm very sorry -- sorry that your sister has met with such an accident, i mean," exclaimed anne.
""ah, well, man was made to mourn, mrs. doctor, dear.
that sounds as if it ought to be in the bible, but they tell me a person named burns wrote it.
and there is no doubt that we are born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.
as for matilda, i do not know what to think of her.
none of our family ever broke their legs before.
but whatever she has done she is still my sister, and i feel that it is my duty to go and wait on her, if you can spare me for a few weeks, mrs. doctor, dear."
""of course, susan, of course.
i can get someone to help me while you are gone."
""if you can not i will not go, mrs. doctor, dear, matilda's leg to the contrary notwithstanding.
i will not have you worried, and that blessed child upset in consequence, for any number of legs."
""oh, you must go to your sister at once, susan.
i can get a girl from the cove, who will do for a time."
""anne, will you let me come and stay with you while susan is away?"
exclaimed leslie.
""do!
i'd love to -- and it would be an act of charity on your part.
i'm so horribly lonely over there in that big barn of a house.
there's so little to do -- and at night i'm worse than lonely -- i'm frightened and nervous in spite of locked doors.
there was a tramp around two days ago."
anne joyfully agreed, and next day leslie was installed as an inmate of the little house of dreams.
miss cornelia warmly approved of the arrangement.
""it seems providential," she told anne in confidence.
""i'm sorry for matilda clow, but since she had to break her leg it could n't have happened at a better time.
leslie will be here while owen ford is in four winds, and those old cats up at the glen wo n't get the chance to meow, as they would if she was living over there alone and owen going to see her.
they are doing enough of it as it is, because she does n't put on mourning.
i said to one of them, "if you mean she should put on mourning for george moore, it seems to me more like his resurrection than his funeral; and if it's dick you mean, i confess i ca n't see the propriety of going into weeds for a man who died thirteen years ago and good riddance then!"
and when old louisa baldwin remarked to me that she thought it very strange that leslie should never have suspected it was n't her own husband i said, "you never suspected it was n't dick moore, and you were next-door neighbor to him all his life, and by nature you're ten times as suspicious as leslie."
but you ca n't stop some people's tongues, anne, dearie, and i'm real thankful leslie will be under your roof while owen is courting her."
owen ford came to the little house one august evening when leslie and anne were absorbed in worshipping the baby.
he paused at the open door of the living room, unseen by the two within, gazing with greedy eyes at the beautiful picture.
leslie sat on the floor with the baby in her lap, making ecstatic dabs at his fat little hands as he fluttered them in the air.
""oh, you dear, beautiful, beloved baby," she mumbled, catching one wee hand and covering it with kisses.
""is n't him ze darlingest itty sing," crooned anne, hanging over the arm of her chair adoringly.
""dem itty wee pads are ze very tweetest handies in ze whole big world, is n't dey, you darling itty man."
anne, in the months before little jem's coming, had pored diligently over several wise volumes, and pinned her faith to one in especial, "sir oracle on the care and training of children."
sir oracle implored parents by all they held sacred never to talk "baby talk" to their children.
infants should invariably be addressed in classical language from the moment of their birth.
so should they learn to speak english undefiled from their earliest utterance.
""how," demanded sir oracle, "can a mother reasonably expect her child to learn correct speech, when she continually accustoms its impressionable gray matter to such absurd expressions and distortions of our noble tongue as thoughtless mothers inflict every day on the helpless creatures committed to their care?
can a child who is constantly called "tweet itty wee singie" ever attain to any proper conception of his own being and possibilities and destiny?"
anne was vastly impressed with this, and informed gilbert that she meant to make it an inflexible rule never, under any circumstances, to talk "baby talk" to her children.
gilbert agreed with her, and they made a solemn compact on the subject -- a compact which anne shamelessly violated the very first moment little jem was laid in her arms.
""oh, the darling itty wee sing!"
she had exclaimed.
and she had continued to violate it ever since.
when gilbert teased her she laughed sir oracle to scorn.
""he never had any children of his own, gilbert -- i am positive he had n't or he would never have written such rubbish.
you just ca n't help talking baby talk to a baby.
it comes natural -- and it's right.
it would be inhuman to talk to those tiny, soft, velvety little creatures as we do to great big boys and girls.
babies want love and cuddling and all the sweet baby talk they can get, and little jem is going to have it, bless his dear itty heartums."
""but you're the worst i ever heard, anne," protested gilbert, who, not being a mother but only a father, was not wholly convinced yet that sir oracle was wrong.
""i never heard anything like the way you talk to that child."
""very likely you never did.
go away -- go away.
did n't i bring up three pairs of hammond twins before i was eleven?
you and sir oracle are nothing but cold-blooded theorists.
gilbert, just look at him!
he's smiling at me -- he knows what we're talking about.
and oo dest agwees wif evy word muzzer says, do n't oo, angel-lover?"
gilbert put his arm about them.
""oh you mothers!"
he said.
""you mothers!
god knew what he was about when he made you."
so little jem was talked to and loved and cuddled; and he throve as became a child of the house of dreams.
leslie was quite as foolish over him as anne was.
when their work was done and gilbert was out of the way, they gave themselves over to shameless orgies of love-making and ecstasies of adoration, such as that in which owen ford had surprised them.
leslie was the first to become aware of him.
even in the twilight anne could see the sudden whiteness that swept over her beautiful face, blotting out the crimson of lip and cheeks.
owen came forward, eagerly, blind for a moment to anne.
""leslie!"
he said, holding out his hand.
it was the first time he had ever called her by her name; but the hand leslie gave him was cold; and she was very quiet all the evening, while anne and gilbert and owen laughed and talked together.
before his call ended she excused herself and went upstairs.
owen's gay spirits flagged and he went away soon after with a downcast air.
gilbert looked at anne.
""anne, what are you up to?
there's something going on that i do n't understand.
the whole air here tonight has been charged with electricity.
leslie sits like the muse of tragedy; owen ford jokes and laughs on the surface, and watches leslie with the eyes of his soul.
you seem all the time to be bursting with some suppressed excitement.
own up.
what secret have you been keeping from your deceived husband?"
""do n't be a goose, gilbert," was anne's conjugal reply.
""as for leslie, she is absurd and i'm going up to tell her so."
anne found leslie at the dormer window of her room.
the little place was filled with the rhythmic thunder of the sea.
leslie sat with locked hands in the misty moonshine -- a beautiful, accusing presence.
""anne," she said in a low, reproachful voice, "did you know owen ford was coming to four winds?"
""i did," said anne brazenly.
""oh, you should have told me, anne," leslie cried passionately.
""if i had known i would have gone away -- i would n't have stayed here to meet him.
you should have told me.
it was n't fair of you, anne -- oh, it was n't fair!"
leslie's lips were trembling and her whole form was tense with emotion.
but anne laughed heartlessly.
she bent over and kissed leslie's upturned reproachful face.
""leslie, you are an adorable goose.
owen ford did n't rush from the pacific to the atlantic from a burning desire to see me.
neither do i believe that he was inspired by any wild and frenzied passion for miss cornelia.
take off your tragic airs, my dear friend, and fold them up and put them away in lavender.
you'll never need them again.
there are some people who can see through a grindstone when there is a hole in it, even if you can not.
i am not a prophetess, but i shall venture on a prediction.
the bitterness of life is over for you.
after this you are going to have the joys and hopes -- and i daresay the sorrows, too -- of a happy woman.
the omen of the shadow of venus did come true for you, leslie.
the year in which you saw it brought your life's best gift for you -- your love for owen ford.
now, go right to bed and have a good sleep."
leslie obeyed orders in so far that she went to bed: but it may be questioned if she slept much.
i do not think she dared to dream wakingly; life had been so hard for this poor leslie, the path on which she had had to walk had been so strait, that she could not whisper to her own heart the hopes that might wait on the future.
but she watched the great revolving light bestarring the short hours of the summer night, and her eyes grew soft and bright and young once more.
nor, when owen ford came next day, to ask her to go with him to the shore, did she say him nay.
chapter 37 miss cornelia makes a startling announcement miss cornelia sailed down to the little house one drowsy afternoon, when the gulf was the faint, bleached blue of the august seas, and the orange lilies at the gate of anne's garden held up their imperial cups to be filled with the molten gold of august sunshine.
not that miss cornelia concerned herself with painted oceans or sun-thirsty lilies.
she sat in her favorite rocker in unusual idleness.
she sewed not, neither did she spin.
nor did she say a single derogatory word concerning any portion of mankind.
in short, miss cornelia's conversation was singularly devoid of spice that day, and gilbert, who had stayed home to listen to her, instead of going a-fishing, as he had intended, felt himself aggrieved.
what had come over miss cornelia?
she did not look cast down or worried.
on the contrary, there was a certain air of nervous exultation about her.
""where is leslie?"
she asked -- not as if it mattered much either.
""owen and she went raspberrying in the woods back of her farm," answered anne.
""they wo n't be back before supper time -- if then."
""they do n't seem to have any idea that there is such a thing as a clock," said gilbert.
""i ca n't get to the bottom of that affair.
i'm certain you women pulled strings.
but anne, undutiful wife, wo n't tell me.
will you, miss cornelia?"
""no, i shall not.
but," said miss cornelia, with the air of one determined to take the plunge and have it over, "i will tell you something else.
i came today on purpose to tell it.
i am going to be married."
anne and gilbert were silent.
if miss cornelia had announced her intention of going out to the channel and drowning herself the thing might have been believable.
this was not.
so they waited.
of course miss cornelia had made a mistake.
""well, you both look sort of kerflummexed," said miss cornelia, with a twinkle in her eyes.
now that the awkward moment of revelation was over, miss cornelia was her own woman again.
""do you think i'm too young and inexperienced for matrimony?"
""you know -- it is rather staggering," said gilbert, trying to gather his wits together.
""i've heard you say a score of times that you would n't marry the best man in the world."
""i'm not going to marry the best man in the world," retorted miss cornelia.
""marshall elliott is a long way from being the best."
""are you going to marry marshall elliott?"
exclaimed anne, recovering her power of speech under this second shock.
""yes.
i could have had him any time these twenty years if i'd lifted my finger.
but do you suppose i was going to walk into church beside a perambulating haystack like that?"
""i am sure we are very glad -- and we wish you all possible happiness," said anne, very flatly and inadequately, as she felt.
she was not prepared for such an occasion.
she had never imagined herself offering betrothal felicitations to miss cornelia.
""thanks, i knew you would," said miss cornelia.
""you are the first of my friends to know it."
""we shall be so sorry to lose you, though, dear miss cornelia," said anne, beginning to be a little sad and sentimental.
""oh, you wo n't lose me," said miss cornelia unsentimentally.
""you do n't suppose i would live over harbor with all those macallisters and elliotts and crawfords, do you?
"from the conceit of the elliotts, the pride of the macallisters and the vain-glory of the crawfords, good lord deliver us."
marshall is coming to live at my place.
i'm sick and tired of hired men.
that jim hastings i've got this summer is positively the worst of the species.
he would drive anyone to getting married.
what do you think?
he upset the churn yesterday and spilled a big churning of cream over the yard.
and not one whit concerned about it was he!
just gave a foolish laugh and said cream was good for the land.
was n't that like a man?
i told him i was n't in the habit of fertilising my back yard with cream."
""well, i wish you all manner of happiness too, miss cornelia," said gilbert, solemnly; "but," he added, unable to resist the temptation to tease miss cornelia, despite anne's imploring eyes, "i fear your day of independence is done.
as you know, marshall elliott is a very determined man."
""i like a man who can stick to a thing," retorted miss cornelia.
""amos grant, who used to be after me long ago, could n't.
you never saw such a weather-vane.
he jumped into the pond to drown himself once and then changed his mind and swum out again.
was n't that like a man?
marshall would have stuck to it and drowned."
""and he has a bit of a temper, they tell me," persisted gilbert.
""he would n't be an elliott if he had n't.
i'm thankful he has.
it will be real fun to make him mad.
and you can generally do something with a tempery man when it comes to repenting time.
but you ca n't do anything with a man who just keeps placid and aggravating."
""you know he's a grit, miss cornelia."
""yes, he is," admitted miss cornelia rather sadly.
""and of course there is no hope of making a conservative of him.
but at least he is a presbyterian.
so i suppose i shall have to be satisfied with that."
""would you marry him if he were a methodist, miss cornelia?"
""no, i would not.
politics is for this world, but religion is for both."
""and you may be a "relict" after all, miss cornelia."
""not i. marshall will live me out.
the elliotts are long-lived, and the bryants are not."
""when are you to be married?"
asked anne.
""in about a month's time.
my wedding dress is to be navy blue silk.
and i want to ask you, anne, dearie, if you think it would be all right to wear a veil with a navy blue dress.
i've always thought i'd like to wear a veil if i ever got married.
marshall says to have it if i want to.
is n't that like a man?"
""why should n't you wear it if you want to?"
asked anne.
""well, one does n't want to be different from other people," said miss cornelia, who was not noticeably like anyone else on the face of the earth.
""as i say, i do fancy a veil.
but maybe it should n't be worn with any dress but a white one.
please tell me, anne, dearie, what you really think.
i'll go by your advice."
""i do n't think veils are usually worn with any but white dresses," admitted anne, "but that is merely a convention; and i am like mr. elliott, miss cornelia.
i do n't see any good reason why you should n't have a veil if you want one."
but miss cornelia, who made her calls in calico wrappers, shook her head.
""if it is n't the proper thing i wo n't wear it," she said, with a sigh of regret for a lost dream.
""since you are determined to be married, miss cornelia," said gilbert solemnly, "i shall give you the excellent rules for the management of a husband which my grandmother gave my mother when she married my father."
""well, i reckon i can manage marshall elliott," said miss cornelia placidly.
""but let us hear your rules."
""the first one is, catch him."
""he's caught.
go on."
""the second one is, feed him well."
""with enough pie.
what next?"
""the third and fourth are -- keep your eye on him."
""i believe you," said miss cornelia emphatically.
chapter 38 red roses the garden of the little house was a haunt beloved of bees and reddened by late roses that august.
the little house folk lived much in it, and were given to taking picnic suppers in the grassy corner beyond the brook and sitting about in it through the twilights when great night moths sailed athwart the velvet gloom.
one evening owen ford found leslie alone in it.
anne and gilbert were away, and susan, who was expected back that night, had not yet returned.
the northern sky was amber and pale green over the fir tops.
the air was cool, for august was nearing september, and leslie wore a crimson scarf over her white dress.
together they wandered through the little, friendly, flower-crowded paths in silence.
owen must go soon.
his holiday was nearly over.
leslie found her heart beating wildly.
she knew that this beloved garden was to be the scene of the binding words that must seal their as yet unworded understanding.
""some evenings a strange odor blows down the air of this garden, like a phantom perfume," said owen.
""i have never been able to discover from just what flower it comes.
it is elusive and haunting and wonderfully sweet.
i like to fancy it is the soul of grandmother selwyn passing on a little visit to the old spot she loved so well.
there should be a lot of friendly ghosts about this little old house."
""i have lived under its roof only a month," said leslie, "but i love it as i never loved the house over there where i have lived all my life."
""this house was builded and consecrated by love," said owen.
""such houses, must exert an influence over those who live in them.
and this garden -- it is over sixty years old and the history of a thousand hopes and joys is written in its blossoms.
some of those flowers were actually set out by the schoolmaster's bride, and she has been dead for thirty years.
yet they bloom on every summer.
look at those red roses, leslie -- how they queen it over everything else!"
""i love the red roses," said leslie.
""anne likes the pink ones best, and gilbert likes the white.
but i want the crimson ones.
they satisfy some craving in me as no other flower does."
""these roses are very late -- they bloom after all the others have gone -- and they hold all the warmth and soul of the summer come to fruition," said owen, plucking some of the glowing, half-opened buds.
""the rose is the flower of love -- the world has acclaimed it so for centuries.
the pink roses are love hopeful and expectant -- the white roses are love dead or forsaken -- but the red roses -- ah, leslie, what are the red roses?"
""love triumphant," said leslie in a low voice.
""yes -- love triumphant and perfect.
leslie, you know -- you understand.
i have loved you from the first.
and i know you love me -- i do n't need to ask you.
but i want to hear you say it -- my darling -- my darling!"
leslie said something in a very low and tremulous voice.
their hands and lips met; it was life's supreme moment for them and as they stood there in the old garden, with its many years of love and delight and sorrow and glory, he crowned her shining hair with the red, red rose of a love triumphant.
anne and gilbert returned presently, accompanied by captain jim.
anne lighted a few sticks of driftwood in the fireplace, for love of the pixy flames, and they sat around it for an hour of good fellowship.
""when i sit looking at a driftwood fire it's easy to believe i'm young again," said captain jim.
""can you read futures in the fire, captain jim?"
asked owen.
captain jim looked at them all affectionately and then back again at leslie's vivid face and glowing eyes.
""i do n't need the fire to read your futures," he said.
""i see happiness for all of you -- all of you -- for leslie and mr. ford -- and the doctor here and mistress blythe -- and little jem -- and children that ai n't born yet but will be.
happiness for you all -- though, mind you, i reckon you'll have your troubles and worries and sorrows, too.
they're bound to come -- and no house, whether it's a palace or a little house of dreams, can bar'em out.
but they wo n't get the better of you if you face'em together with love and trust.
you can weather any storm with them two for compass and pilot."
the old man rose suddenly and placed one hand on leslie's head and one on anne's.
""two good, sweet women," he said.
""true and faithful and to be depended on.
your husbands will have honor in the gates because of you -- your children will rise up and call you blessed in the years to come."
there was a strange solemnity about the little scene.
anne and leslie bowed as those receiving a benediction.
gilbert suddenly brushed his hand over his eyes; owen ford was rapt as one who can see visions.
all were silent for a space.
the little house of dreams added another poignant and unforgettable moment to its store of memories.
""i must be going now," said captain jim slowly at last.
he took up his hat and looked lingeringly about the room.
""good night, all of you," he said, as he went out.
anne, pierced by the unusual wistfulness of his farewell, ran to the door after him.
""come back soon, captain jim," she called, as he passed through the little gate hung between the firs.
""ay, ay," he called cheerily back to her.
but captain jim had sat by the old fireside of the house of dreams for the last time.
anne went slowly back to the others.
""it's so -- so pitiful to think of him going all alone down to that lonely point," she said.
""and there is no one to welcome him there."
""captain jim is such good company for others that one ca n't imagine him being anything but good company for himself," said owen.
""but he must often be lonely.
there was a touch of the seer about him tonight -- he spoke as one to whom it had been given to speak.
well, i must be going, too."
anne and gilbert discreetly melted away; but when owen had gone anne returned, to find leslie standing by the hearth.
""oh, leslie -- i know -- and i'm so glad, dear," she said, putting her arms about her.
""anne, my happiness frightens me," whispered leslie.
""it seems too great to be real -- i'm afraid to speak of it -- to think of it.
it seems to me that it must just be another dream of this house of dreams and it will vanish when i leave here."
""well, you are not going to leave here -- until owen takes you.
you are going to stay with me until that times comes.
do you think i'd let you go over to that lonely, sad place again?"
""thank you, dear.
i meant to ask you if i might stay with you.
i did n't want to go back there -- it would seem like going back into the chill and dreariness of the old life again.
anne, anne, what a friend you've been to me --" a good, sweet woman -- true and faithful and to be depended on" -- captain jim summed you up."
""he said "women," not "woman,"" smiled anne.
""perhaps captain jim sees us both through the rose-colored spectacles of his love for us.
but we can try to live up to his belief in us, at least."
""do you remember, anne," said leslie slowly, "that i once said -- that night we met on the shore -- that i hated my good looks?
i did -- then.
it always seemed to me that if i had been homely dick would never have thought of me.
i hated my beauty because it had attracted him, but now -- oh, i'm glad that i have it.
it's all i have to offer owen, -- his artist soul delights in it.
i feel as if i do not come to him quite empty-handed."
""owen loves your beauty, leslie.
who would not?
but it's foolish of you to say or think that that is all you bring him.
he will tell you that -- i need n't.
and now i must lock up.
i expected susan back tonight, but she has not come."
""oh, yes, here i am, mrs. doctor, dear," said susan, entering unexpectedly from the kitchen, "and puffing like a hen drawing rails at that!
it's quite a walk from the glen down here."
""i'm glad to see you back, susan.
how is your sister?"
""she is able to sit up, but of course she can not walk yet.
however, she is very well able to get on without me now, for her daughter has come home for her vacation.
and i am thankful to be back, mrs. doctor, dear.
matilda's leg was broken and no mistake, but her tongue was not.
she would talk the legs off an iron pot, that she would, mrs. doctor, dear, though i grieve to say it of my own sister.
she was always a great talker and yet she was the first of our family to get married.
she really did not care much about marrying james clow, but she could not bear to disoblige him.
not but what james is a good man -- the only fault i have to find with him is that he always starts in to say grace with such an unearthly groan, mrs. doctor, dear.
it always frightens my appetite clear away.
and speaking of getting married, mrs. doctor, dear, is it true that cornelia bryant is going to be married to marshall elliott?"
""yes, quite true, susan."
""well, mrs. doctor, dear, it does not seem to me fair.
here is me, who never said a word against the men, and i can not get married nohow.
and there is cornelia bryant, who is never done abusing them, and all she has to do is to reach out her hand and pick one up, as it were.
it is a very strange world, mrs. doctor, dear."
""there's another world, you know, susan."
""yes," said susan with a heavy sigh, "but, mrs. doctor, dear, there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage there."
chapter 39 captain jim crosses the bar one day in late september owen ford's book came at last.
captain jim had gone faithfully to the glen post office every day for a month, expecting it.
this day he had not gone, and leslie brought his copy home with hers and anne's.
""we'll take it down to him this evening," said anne, excited as a schoolgirl.
the long walk to the point on that clear, beguiling evening along the red harbor road was very pleasant.
then the sun dropped down behind the western hills into some valley that must have been full of lost sunsets, and at the same instant the big light flashed out on the white tower of the point.
""captain jim is never late by the fraction of a second," said leslie.
neither anne nor leslie ever forgot captain jim's face when they gave him the book -- his book, transfigured and glorified.
the cheeks that had been blanched of late suddenly flamed with the color of boyhood; his eyes glowed with all the fire of youth; but his hands trembled as he opened it.
it was called simply the life-book of captain jim, and on the title page the names of owen ford and james boyd were printed as collaborators.
the frontispiece was a photograph of captain jim himself, standing at the door of the lighthouse, looking across the gulf.
owen ford had "snapped" him one day while the book was being written.
captain jim had known this, but he had not known that the picture was to be in the book.
""just think of it," he said, "the old sailor right there in a real printed book.
this is the proudest day of my life.
i'm like to bust, girls.
there'll be no sleep for me tonight.
i'll read my book clean through before sun-up."
""we'll go right away and leave you free to begin it," said anne.
captain jim had been handling the book in a kind of reverent rapture.
now he decidedly closed it and laid it aside.
""no, no, you're not going away before you take a cup of tea with the old man," he protested.
""i could n't hear to that -- could you, matey?
the life-book will keep, i reckon.
i've waited for it this many a year.
i can wait a little longer while i'm enjoying my friends."
captain jim moved about getting his kettle on to boil, and setting out his bread and butter.
despite his excitement he did not move with his old briskness.
his movements were slow and halting.
but the girls did not offer to help him.
they knew it would hurt his feelings.
""you just picked the right evening to visit me," he said, producing a cake from his cupboard.
""leetle joe's mother sent me down a big basket full of cakes and pies today.
a blessing on all good cooks, says i. look at this purty cake, all frosting and nuts.
"tai n't often i can entertain in such style.
set in, girls, set in!
we'll "tak a cup o" kindness yet for auld lang syne.""
the girls "set in" right merrily.
the tea was up to captain jim's best brewing.
little joe's mother's cake was the last word in cakes; captain jim was the prince of gracious hosts, never even permitting his eyes to wander to the corner where the life-book lay, in all its bravery of green and gold.
but when his door finally closed behind anne and leslie they knew that he went straight to it, and as they walked home they pictured the delight of the old man poring over the printed pages wherein his own life was portrayed with all the charm and color of reality itself.
""i wonder how he will like the ending -- the ending i suggested," said leslie.
she was never to know.
early the next morning anne awakened to find gilbert bending over her, fully dressed, and with an expression of anxiety on his face.
""are you called out?"
she asked drowsily.
""no.
anne, i'm afraid there's something wrong at the point.
it's an hour after sunrise now, and the light is still burning.
you know it has always been a matter of pride with captain jim to start the light the moment the sun sets, and put it out the moment it rises."
anne sat up in dismay.
through her window she saw the light blinking palely against the blue skies of dawn.
""perhaps he has fallen asleep over his life-book," she said anxiously, "or become so absorbed in it that he has forgotten the light."
gilbert shook his head.
""that would n't be like captain jim.
anyway, i'm going down to see."
""wait a minute and i'll go with you," exclaimed anne.
""oh, yes, i must -- little jem will sleep for an hour yet, and i'll call susan.
you may need a woman's help if captain jim is ill."
it was an exquisite morning, full of tints and sounds at once ripe and delicate.
the harbor was sparkling and dimpling like a girl; white gulls were soaring over the dunes; beyond the bar was a shining, wonderful sea.
the long fields by the shore were dewy and fresh in that first fine, purely-tinted light.
the wind came dancing and whistling up the channel to replace the beautiful silence with a music more beautiful still.
had it not been for the baleful star on the white tower that early walk would have been a delight to anne and gilbert.
but they went softly with fear.
their knock was not responded to.
gilbert opened the door and they went in.
the old room was very quiet.
on the table were the remnants of the little evening feast.
the lamp still burned on the corner stand.
the first mate was asleep in a square of sunshine by the sofa.
captain jim lay on the sofa, with his hands clasped over the life-book, open at the last page, lying on his breast.
his eyes were closed and on his face was a look of the most perfect peace and happiness -- the look of one who has long sought and found at last.
""he is asleep?"
whispered anne tremulously.
gilbert went to the sofa and bent over him for a few moments.
then he straightened up.
""yes, he sleeps -- well," he added quietly.
""anne, captain jim has crossed the bar."
they could not know precisely at what hour he had died, but anne always believed that he had had his wish, and went out when the morning came across the gulf.
out on that shining tide his spirit drifted, over the sunrise sea of pearl and silver, to the haven where lost margaret waited, beyond the storms and calms.
chapter 40 farewell to the house of dreams captain jim was buried in the little over-harbor graveyard, very near to the spot where the wee white lady slept.
his relatives put up a very expensive, very ugly "monument" -- a monument at which he would have poked sly fun had he seen it in life.
but his real monument was in the hearts of those who knew him, and in the book that was to live for generations.
leslie mourned that captain jim had not lived to see the amazing success of it.
""how he would have delighted in the reviews -- they are almost all so kindly.
and to have seen his life-book heading the lists of the best sellers -- oh, if he could just have lived to see it, anne!"
but anne, despite her grief, was wiser.
""it was the book itself he cared for, leslie -- not what might be said of it -- and he had it.
he had read it all through.
that last night must have been one of the greatest happiness for him -- with the quick, painless ending he had hoped for in the morning.
i am glad for owen's sake and yours that the book is such a success -- but captain jim was satisfied -- i know."
the lighthouse star still kept a nightly vigil; a substitute keeper had been sent to the point, until such time as an all-wise government could decide which of many applicants was best fitted for the place -- or had the strongest pull.
the first mate was at home in the little house, beloved by anne and gilbert and leslie, and tolerated by a susan who had small liking for cats.
""i can put up with him for the sake of captain jim, mrs. doctor, dear, for i liked the old man.
and i will see that he gets bite and sup, and every mouse the traps account for.
but do not ask me to do more than that, mrs. doctor, dear.
cats is cats, and take my word for it, they will never be anything else.
and at least, mrs. doctor, dear, do keep him away from the blessed wee man.
picture to yourself how awful it would be if he was to suck the darling's breath."
""that might be fitly called a cat-astrophe," said gilbert.
""oh, you may laugh, doctor, dear, but it would be no laughing matter."
""cats never suck babies" breaths," said gilbert.
""that is only an old superstition, susan."
""oh, well, it may be a superstition or it may not, doctor, dear.
all that i know is, it has happened.
my sister's husband's nephew's wife's cat sucked their baby's breath, and the poor innocent was all but gone when they found it.
and superstition or not, if i find that yellow beast lurking near our baby i will whack him with the poker, mrs. doctor, dear."
mr. and mrs. marshall elliott were living comfortably and harmoniously in the green house.
leslie was busy with sewing, for she and owen were to be married at christmas.
anne wondered what she would do when leslie was gone.
""changes come all the time.
just as soon as things get really nice they change," she said with a sigh.
""the old morgan place up at the glen is for sale," said gilbert, apropos of nothing in especial.
""is it?"
asked anne indifferently.
""yes.
now that mr. morgan has gone, mrs. morgan wants to go to live with her children in vancouver.
she will sell cheaply, for a big place like that in a small village like the glen will not be very easy to dispose of."
""well, it's certainly a beautiful place, so it is likely she will find a purchaser," said anne, absently, wondering whether she should hemstitch or feather-stitch little jem's "short" dresses.
he was to be shortened the next week, and anne felt ready to cry at the thought of it.
""suppose we buy it, anne?"
remarked gilbert quietly.
anne dropped her sewing and stared at him.
""you're not in earnest, gilbert?"
""indeed i am, dear."
""and leave this darling spot -- our house of dreams?"
said anne incredulously.
""oh, gilbert, it's -- it's unthinkable!"
""listen patiently to me, dear.
i know just how you feel about it.
i feel the same.
but we've always known we would have to move some day."
""oh, but not so soon, gilbert -- not just yet."
""we may never get such a chance again.
if we do n't buy the morgan place someone else will -- and there is no other house in the glen we would care to have, and no other really good site on which to build.
this little house is -- well, it is and has been what no other house can ever be to us, i admit, but you know it is out-of-the-way down here for a doctor.
we have felt the inconvenience, though we've made the best of it.
and it's a tight fit for us now.
perhaps, in a few years, when jem wants a room of his own, it will be entirely too small."
""oh, i know -- i know," said anne, tears filling her eyes.
""i know all that can be said against it, but i love it so -- and it's so beautiful here."
""you would find it very lonely here after leslie goes -- and captain jim has gone too.
the morgan place is beautiful, and in time we would love it.
you know you have always admired it, anne."
""oh, yes, but -- but -- this has all seemed to come up so suddenly, gilbert.
i'm dizzy.
ten minutes ago i had no thought of leaving this dear spot.
i was planning what i meant to do for it in the spring -- what i meant to do in the garden.
and if we leave this place who will get it?
it is out-of-the-way, so it's likely some poor, shiftless, wandering family will rent it -- and over-run it -- and oh, that would be desecration.
it would hurt me horribly."
""i know.
but we can not sacrifice our own interests to such considerations, anne-girl.
the morgan place will suit us in every essential particular -- we really ca n't afford to miss such a chance.
think of that big lawn with those magnificent old trees; and of that splendid hardwood grove behind it -- twelve acres of it.
what a play place for our children!
there's a fine orchard, too, and you've always admired that high brick wall around the garden with the door in it -- you've thought it was so like a story-book garden.
and there is almost as fine a view of the harbor and the dunes from the morgan place as from here."
""you ca n't see the lighthouse star from it."
""yes, you can see it from the attic window.
there's another advantage, anne-girl -- you love big garrets."
""there's no brook in the garden."
""well, no, but there is one running through the maple grove into the glen pond.
and the pond itself is n't far away.
you'll be able to fancy you have your own lake of shining waters again."
""well, do n't say anything more about it just now, gilbert.
give me time to think -- to get used to the idea."
""all right.
there is no great hurry, of course.
only -- if we decide to buy, it would be well to be moved in and settled before winter."
gilbert went out, and anne put away little jem's short dresses with trembling hands.
she could not sew any more that day.
with tear-wet eyes she wandered over the little domain where she had reigned so happy a queen.
the morgan place was all that gilbert claimed.
the grounds were beautiful, the house old enough to have dignity and repose and traditions, and new enough to be comfortable and up-to-date.
anne had always admired it; but admiring is not loving; and she loved this house of dreams so much.
she loved everything about it -- the garden she had tended, and which so many women had tended before her -- the gleam and sparkle of the little brook that crept so roguishly across the corner -- the gate between the creaking fir trees -- the old red sandstone step -- the stately lombardies -- the two tiny quaint glass cupboards over the chimney-piece in the living-room -- the crooked pantry door in the kitchen -- the two funny dormer windows upstairs -- the little jog in the staircase -- why, these things were a part of her!
how could she leave them?
and how this little house, consecrated aforetime by love and joy, had been re-consecrated for her by her happiness and sorrow!
here she had spent her bridal moon; here wee joyce had lived her one brief day; here the sweetness of motherhood had come again with little jem; here she had heard the exquisite music of her baby's cooing laughter; here beloved friends had sat by her fireside.
joy and grief, birth and death, had made sacred forever this little house of dreams.
and now she must leave it.
she knew that, even while she had contended against the idea to gilbert.
the little house was outgrown.
gilbert's interests made the change necessary; his work, successful though it had been, was hampered by his location.
anne realised that the end of their life in this dear place drew nigh, and that she must face the fact bravely.
but how her heart ached!
""it will be just like tearing something out of my life," she sobbed.
""and oh, if i could hope that some nice folk would come here in our place -- or even that it would be left vacant.
that itself would be better than having it overrun with some horde who know nothing of the geography of dreamland, and nothing of the history that has given this house its soul and its identity.
and if such a tribe come here the place will go to rack and ruin in no time -- an old place goes down so quickly if it is not carefully attended to.
they'll tear up my garden -- and let the lombardies get ragged -- and the paling will come to look like a mouth with half the teeth missing -- and the roof will leak -- and the plaster fall -- and they'll stuff pillows and rags in broken window panes -- and everything will be out-at-elbows."
anne's imagination pictured forth so vividly the coming degeneration of her dear little house that it hurt her as severely as if it had already been an accomplished fact.
she sat down on the stairs and had a long, bitter cry.
susan found her there and enquired with much concern what the trouble was.
""you have not quarrelled with the doctor, have you now, mrs. doctor, dear?
but if you have, do not worry.
it is a thing quite likely to happen to married couples, i am told, although i have had no experience that way myself.
he will be sorry, and you can soon make it up."
""no, no, susan, we have n't quarrelled.
it's only -- gilbert is going to buy the morgan place, and we'll have to go and live at the glen.
and it will break my heart."
susan did not enter into anne's feelings at all.
she was, indeed, quite rejoiced over the prospect of living at the glen.
her one grievance against her place in the little house was its lonesome location.
""why, mrs. doctor, dear, it will be splendid.
the morgan house is such a fine, big one."
""i hate big houses," sobbed anne.
""oh, well, you will not hate them by the time you have half a dozen children," remarked susan calmly.
""and this house is too small already for us.
we have no spare room, since mrs. moore is here, and that pantry is the most aggravating place i ever tried to work in.
there is a corner every way you turn.
besides, it is out-of-the-world down here.
there is really nothing at all but scenery."
""out of your world perhaps, susan -- but not out of mine," said anne with a faint smile.
""i do not quite understand you, mrs. doctor, dear, but of course i am not well educated.
but if dr. blythe buys the morgan place he will make no mistake, and that you may tie to.
they have water in it, and the pantries and closets are beautiful, and there is not another such cellar in p. e. island, so i have been told.
why, the cellar here, mrs. doctor, dear, has been a heart-break to me, as well you know."
""oh, go away, susan, go away," said anne forlornly.
""cellars and pantries and closets do n't make a home.
why do n't you weep with those who weep?"
""well, i never was much hand for weeping, mrs. doctor, dear.
i would rather fall to and cheer people up than weep with them.
now, do not you cry and spoil your pretty eyes.
this house is very well and has served your turn, but it is high time you had a better."
susan's point of view seemed to be that of most people.
leslie was the only one who sympathised understandingly with anne.
she had a good cry, too, when she heard the news.
then they both dried their tears and went to work at the preparations for moving.
""since we must go let us go as soon as we can and have it over," said poor anne with bitter resignation.
""you know you will like that lovely old place at the glen after you have lived in it long enough to have dear memories woven about it," said leslie.
""friends will come there, as they have come here -- happiness will glorify it for you.
now, it's just a house to you -- but the years will make it a home."
anne and leslie had another cry the next week when they shortened little jem.
anne felt the tragedy of it until evening when in his long nightie she found her own dear baby again.
""but it will be rompers next -- and then trousers -- and in no time he will be grown-up," she sighed.
""well, you would not want him to stay a baby always, mrs. doctor, dear, would you?"
said susan.
""bless his innocent heart, he looks too sweet for anything in his little short dresses, with his dear feet sticking out.
and think of the save in the ironing, mrs. doctor, dear."
""anne, i have just had a letter from owen," said leslie, entering with a bright face.
""and, oh!
i have such good news.
he writes me that he is going to buy this place from the church trustees and keep it to spend our summer vacations in.
anne, are you not glad?"
""oh, leslie, "glad" is n't the word for it!
it seems almost too good to be true.
i sha'n' t feel half so badly now that i know this dear spot will never be desecrated by a vandal tribe, or left to tumble down in decay.
why, it's lovely!
it's lovely!"
one october morning anne wakened to the realisation that she had slept for the last time under the roof of her little house.
the day was too busy to indulge regret and when evening came the house was stripped and bare.
anne and gilbert were alone in it to say farewell.
leslie and susan and little jem had gone to the glen with the last load of furniture.
the sunset light streamed in through the curtainless windows.
""it has all such a heart-broken, reproachful look, has n't it?"
said anne.
""oh, i shall be so homesick at the glen tonight!"
""we have been very happy here, have n't we, anne-girl?"
said gilbert, his voice full of feeling.
anne choked, unable to answer.
gilbert waited for her at the fir-tree gate, while she went over the house and said farewell to every room.
she was going away; but the old house would still be there, looking seaward through its quaint windows.
the autumn winds would blow around it mournfully, and the gray rain would beat upon it and the white mists would come in from the sea to enfold it; and the moonlight would fall over it and light up the old paths where the schoolmaster and his bride had walked.
there on that old harbor shore the charm of story would linger; the wind would still whistle alluringly over the silver sand-dunes; the waves would still call from the red rock-coves.
""but we will be gone," said anne through her tears.
she went out, closing and locking the door behind her.
gilbert was waiting for her with a smile.
the lighthouse star was gleaming northward.
the little garden, where only marigolds still bloomed, was already hooding itself in shadows.
anne knelt down and kissed the worn old step which she had crossed as a bride.
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___anne_of_avonlea.txt.out
i an irate neighbor a tall, slim girl, "half-past sixteen," with serious gray eyes and hair which her friends called auburn, had sat down on the broad red sandstone doorstep of a prince edward island farmhouse one ripe afternoon in august, firmly resolved to construe so many lines of virgil.
but an august afternoon, with blue hazes scarfing the harvest slopes, little winds whispering elfishly in the poplars, and a dancing slendor of red poppies outflaming against the dark coppice of young firs in a corner of the cherry orchard, was fitter for dreams than dead languages.
the virgil soon slipped unheeded to the ground, and anne, her chin propped on her clasped hands, and her eyes on the splendid mass of fluffy clouds that were heaping up just over mr. j. a. harrison's house like a great white mountain, was far away in a delicious world where a certain schoolteacher was doing a wonderful work, shaping the destinies of future statesmen, and inspiring youthful minds and hearts with high and lofty ambitions.
to be sure, if you came down to harsh facts... which, it must be confessed, anne seldom did until she had to... it did not seem likely that there was much promising material for celebrities in avonlea school; but you could never tell what might happen if a teacher used her influence for good.
anne had certain rose-tinted ideals of what a teacher might accomplish if she only went the right way about it; and she was in the midst of a delightful scene, forty years hence, with a famous personage... just exactly what he was to be famous for was left in convenient haziness, but anne thought it would be rather nice to have him a college president or a canadian premier... bowing low over her wrinkled hand and assuring her that it was she who had first kindled his ambition, and that all his success in life was due to the lessons she had instilled so long ago in avonlea school.
this pleasant vision was shattered by a most unpleasant interruption.
a demure little jersey cow came scuttling down the lane and five seconds later mr. harrison arrived... if "arrived" be not too mild a term to describe the manner of his irruption into the yard.
he bounced over the fence without waiting to open the gate, and angrily confronted astonished anne, who had risen to her feet and stood looking at him in some bewilderment.
mr. harrison was their new righthand neighbor and she had never met him before, although she had seen him once or twice.
in early april, before anne had come home from queen's, mr. robert bell, whose farm adjoined the cuthbert place on the west, had sold out and moved to charlottetown.
his farm had been bought by a certain mr. j. a. harrison, whose name, and the fact that he was a new brunswick man, were all that was known about him.
but before he had been a month in avonlea he had won the reputation of being an odd person... "a crank," mrs. rachel lynde said.
mrs. rachel was an outspoken lady, as those of you who may have already made her acquaintance will remember.
mr. harrison was certainly different from other people... and that is the essential characteristic of a crank, as everybody knows.
in the first place he kept house for himself and had publicly stated that he wanted no fools of women around his diggings.
feminine avonlea took its revenge by the gruesome tales it related about his house-keeping and cooking.
he had hired little john henry carter of white sands and john henry started the stories.
for one thing, there was never any stated time for meals in the harrison establishment.
mr. harrison "got a bite" when he felt hungry, and if john henry were around at the time, he came in for a share, but if he were not, he had to wait until mr. harrison's next hungry spell.
john henry mournfully averred that he would have starved to death if it was n't that he got home on sundays and got a good filling up, and that his mother always gave him a basket of "grub" to take back with him on monday mornings.
as for washing dishes, mr. harrison never made any pretence of doing it unless a rainy sunday came.
then he went to work and washed them all at once in the rainwater hogshead, and left them to drain dry.
again, mr. harrison was "close."
when he was asked to subscribe to the rev. mr. allan's salary he said he'd wait and see how many dollars" worth of good he got out of his preaching first... he did n't believe in buying a pig in a poke.
and when mrs. lynde went to ask for a contribution to missions... and incidentally to see the inside of the house... he told her there were more heathens among the old woman gossips in avonlea than anywhere else he knew of, and he'd cheerfully contribute to a mission for christianizing them if she'd undertake it.
mrs. rachel got herself away and said it was a mercy poor mrs. robert bell was safe in her grave, for it would have broken her heart to see the state of her house in which she used to take so much pride.
""why, she scrubbed the kitchen floor every second day," mrs. lynde told marilla cuthbert indignantly, "and if you could see it now!
i had to hold up my skirts as i walked across it."
finally, mr. harrison kept a parrot called ginger.
nobody in avonlea had ever kept a parrot before; consequently that proceeding was considered barely respectable.
and such a parrot!
if you took john henry carter's word for it, never was such an unholy bird.
it swore terribly.
mrs. carter would have taken john henry away at once if she had been sure she could get another place for him.
besides, ginger had bitten a piece right out of the back of john henry's neck one day when he had stooped down too near the cage.
mrs. carter showed everybody the mark when the luckless john henry went home on sundays.
all these things flashed through anne's mind as mr. harrison stood, quite speechless with wrath apparently, before her.
in his most amiable mood mr. harrison could not have been considered a handsome man; he was short and fat and bald; and now, with his round face purple with rage and his prominent blue eyes almost sticking out of his head, anne thought he was really the ugliest person she had ever seen.
all at once mr. harrison found his voice.
""i'm not going to put up with this," he spluttered, "not a day longer, do you hear, miss.
bless my soul, this is the third time, miss... the third time!
patience has ceased to be a virtue, miss.
i warned your aunt the last time not to let it occur again... and she's let it... she's done it... what does she mean by it, that is what i want to know.
that is what i'm here about, miss."
""will you explain what the trouble is?"
asked anne, in her most dignified manner.
she had been practicing it considerably of late to have it in good working order when school began; but it had no apparent effect on the irate j. a. harrison.
""trouble, is it?
bless my soul, trouble enough, i should think.
the trouble is, miss, that i found that jersey cow of your aunt's in my oats again, not half an hour ago.
the third time, mark you.
i found her in last tuesday and i found her in yesterday.
i came here and told your aunt not to let it occur again.
she has let it occur again.
where's your aunt, miss?
i just want to see her for a minute and give her a piece of my mind... a piece of j. a. harrison's mind, miss."
""if you mean miss marilla cuthbert, she is not my aunt, and she has gone down to east grafton to see a distant relative of hers who is very ill," said anne, with due increase of dignity at every word.
""i am very sorry that my cow should have broken into your oats... she is my cow and not miss cuthbert's... matthew gave her to me three years ago when she was a little calf and he bought her from mr. bell."
""sorry, miss!
sorry is n't going to help matters any.
you'd better go and look at the havoc that animal has made in my oats... trampled them from center to circumference, miss."
""i am very sorry," repeated anne firmly, "but perhaps if you kept your fences in better repair dolly might not have broken in.
it is your part of the line fence that separates your oatfield from our pasture and i noticed the other day that it was not in very good condition."
""my fence is all right," snapped mr. harrison, angrier than ever at this carrying of the war into the enemy's country.
""the jail fence could n't keep a demon of a cow like that out.
and i can tell you, you redheaded snippet, that if the cow is yours, as you say, you'd be better employed in watching her out of other people's grain than in sitting round reading yellow-covered novels,"... with a scathing glance at the innocent tan-colored virgil by anne's feet.
something at that moment was red besides anne's hair... which had always been a tender point with her.
""i'd rather have red hair than none at all, except a little fringe round my ears," she flashed.
the shot told, for mr. harrison was really very sensitive about his bald head.
his anger choked him up again and he could only glare speechlessly at anne, who recovered her temper and followed up her advantage.
""i can make allowance for you, mr. harrison, because i have an imagination.
i can easily imagine how very trying it must be to find a cow in your oats and i shall not cherish any hard feelings against you for the things you've said.
i promise you that dolly shall never break into your oats again.
i give you my word of honor on that point."
""well, mind you she does n't," muttered mr. harrison in a somewhat subdued tone; but he stamped off angrily enough and anne heard him growling to himself until he was out of earshot.
grievously disturbed in mind, anne marched across the yard and shut the naughty jersey up in the milking pen.
""she ca n't possibly get out of that unless she tears the fence down," she reflected.
""she looks pretty quiet now.
i daresay she has sickened herself on those oats.
i wish i'd sold her to mr. shearer when he wanted her last week, but i thought it was just as well to wait until we had the auction of the stock and let them all go together.
i believe it is true about mr. harrison being a crank.
certainly there's nothing of the kindred spirit about him."
anne had always a weather eye open for kindred spirits.
marilla cuthbert was driving into the yard as anne returned from the house, and the latter flew to get tea ready.
they discussed the matter at the tea table.
""i'll be glad when the auction is over," said marilla.
""it is too much responsibility having so much stock about the place and nobody but that unreliable martin to look after them.
he has never come back yet and he promised that he would certainly be back last night if i'd give him the day off to go to his aunt's funeral.
i do n't know how many aunts he has got, i am sure.
that's the fourth that's died since he hired here a year ago.
i'll be more than thankful when the crop is in and mr. barry takes over the farm.
we'll have to keep dolly shut up in the pen till martin comes, for she must be put in the back pasture and the fences there have to be fixed.
i declare, it is a world of trouble, as rachel says.
here's poor mary keith dying and what is to become of those two children of hers is more than i know.
she has a brother in british columbia and she has written to him about them, but she has n't heard from him yet."
""what are the children like?
how old are they?"
""six past... they're twins."
""oh, i've always been especially interested in twins ever since mrs. hammond had so many," said anne eagerly.
""are they pretty?"
""goodness, you could n't tell... they were too dirty.
davy had been out making mud pies and dora went out to call him in.
davy pushed her headfirst into the biggest pie and then, because she cried, he got into it himself and wallowed in it to show her it was nothing to cry about.
mary said dora was really a very good child but that davy was full of mischief.
he has never had any bringing up you might say.
his father died when he was a baby and mary has been sick almost ever since."
""i'm always sorry for children that have no bringing up," said anne soberly.
""you know i had n't any till you took me in hand.
i hope their uncle will look after them.
just what relation is mrs. keith to you?"
""mary?
none in the world.
it was her husband... he was our third cousin.
there's mrs. lynde coming through the yard.
i thought she'd be up to hear about mary."
""do n't tell her about mr. harrison and the cow," implored anne.
marilla promised; but the promise was quite unnecessary, for mrs. lynde was no sooner fairly seated than she said, "i saw mr. harrison chasing your jersey out of his oats today when i was coming home from carmody.
i thought he looked pretty mad.
did he make much of a rumpus?"
anne and marilla furtively exchanged amused smiles.
few things in avonlea ever escaped mrs. lynde.
it was only that morning anne had said, "if you went to your own room at midnight, locked the door, pulled down the blind, and sneezed, mrs. lynde would ask you the next day how your cold was!"
""i believe he did," admitted marilla.
""i was away.
he gave anne a piece of his mind."
""i think he is a very disagreeable man," said anne, with a resentful toss of her ruddy head.
""you never said a truer word," said mrs. rachel solemnly.
""i knew there'd be trouble when robert bell sold his place to a new brunswick man, that's what.
i do n't know what avonlea is coming to, with so many strange people rushing into it.
it'll soon not be safe to go to sleep in our beds."
""why, what other strangers are coming in?"
asked marilla.
""have n't you heard?
well, there's a family of donnells, for one thing.
they've rented peter sloane's old house.
peter has hired the man to run his mill.
they belong down east and nobody knows anything about them.
then that shiftless timothy cotton family are going to move up from white sands and they'll simply be a burden on the public.
he is in consumption... when he is n't stealing... and his wife is a slack-twisted creature that ca n't turn her hand to a thing.
she washes her dishes sitting down.
mrs. george pye has taken her husband's orphan nephew, anthony pye.
he'll be going to school to you, anne, so you may expect trouble, that's what.
and you'll have another strange pupil, too.
paul irving is coming from the states to live with his grandmother.
you remember his father, marilla... stephen irving, him that jilted lavendar lewis over at grafton?"
""i do n't think he jilted her.
there was a quarrel... i suppose there was blame on both sides."
""well, anyway, he did n't marry her, and she's been as queer as possible ever since, they say... living all by herself in that little stone house she calls echo lodge.
stephen went off to the states and went into business with his uncle and married a yankee.
he's never been home since, though his mother has been up to see him once or twice.
his wife died two years ago and he's sending the boy home to his mother for a spell.
he's ten years old and i do n't know if he'll be a very desirable pupil.
you can never tell about those yankees."
mrs lynde looked upon all people who had the misfortune to be born or brought up elsewhere than in prince edward island with a decided can-any-good-thing-come-out-of-nazareth air.
they might be good people, of course; but you were on the safe side in doubting it.
she had a special prejudice against "yankees."
her husband had been cheated out of ten dollars by an employer for whom he had once worked in boston and neither angels nor principalities nor powers could have convinced mrs. rachel that the whole united states was not responsible for it.
""avonlea school wo n't be the worse for a little new blood," said marilla drily, "and if this boy is anything like his father he'll be all right.
steve irving was the nicest boy that was ever raised in these parts, though some people did call him proud.
i should think mrs. irving would be very glad to have the child.
she has been very lonesome since her husband died."
""oh, the boy may be well enough, but he'll be different from avonlea children," said mrs. rachel, as if that clinched the matter.
mrs. rachel's opinions concerning any person, place, or thing, were always warranted to wear.
""what's this i hear about your going to start up a village improvement society, anne?"
""i was just talking it over with some of the girls and boys at the last debating club," said anne, flushing.
""they thought it would be rather nice... and so do mr. and mrs. allan.
lots of villages have them now."
""well, you'll get into no end of hot water if you do.
better leave it alone, anne, that's what.
people do n't like being improved."
""oh, we are not going to try to improve the people.
it is avonlea itself.
there are lots of things which might be done to make it prettier.
for instance, if we could coax mr. levi boulter to pull down that dreadful old house on his upper farm would n't that be an improvement?"
""it certainly would," admitted mrs. rachel.
""that old ruin has been an eyesore to the settlement for years.
but if you improvers can coax levi boulter to do anything for the public that he is n't to be paid for doing, may i be there to see and hear the process, that's what.
i do n't want to discourage you, anne, for there may be something in your idea, though i suppose you did get it out of some rubbishy yankee magazine; but you'll have your hands full with your school and i advise you as a friend not to bother with your improvements, that's what.
but there, i know you'll go ahead with it if you've set your mind on it.
you were always one to carry a thing through somehow."
something about the firm outlines of anne's lips told that mrs. rachel was not far astray in this estimate.
anne's heart was bent on forming the improvement society.
gilbert blythe, who was to teach in white sands but would always be home from friday night to monday morning, was enthusiastic about it; and most of the other folks were willing to go in for anything that meant occasional meetings and consequently some "fun."
as for what the "improvements" were to be, nobody had any very clear idea except anne and gilbert.
they had talked them over and planned them out until an ideal avonlea existed in their minds, if nowhere else.
mrs. rachel had still another item of news.
""they've given the carmody school to a priscilla grant.
did n't you go to queen's with a girl of that name, anne?"
""yes, indeed.
priscilla to teach at carmody!
how perfectly lovely!"
exclaimed anne, her gray eyes lighting up until they looked like evening stars, causing mrs. lynde to wonder anew if she would ever get it settled to her satisfaction whether anne shirley were really a pretty girl or not.
ii selling in haste and repenting at leisure anne drove over to carmody on a shopping expedition the next afternoon and took diana barry with her.
diana was, of course, a pledged member of the improvement society, and the two girls talked about little else all the way to carmody and back.
""the very first thing we ought to do when we get started is to have that hall painted," said diana, as they drove past the avonlea hall, a rather shabby building set down in a wooded hollow, with spruce trees hooding it about on all sides.
""it's a disgraceful looking place and we must attend to it even before we try to get mr. levi boulder to pull his house down.
father says we'll never succeed in doing that.
levi boulter is too mean to spend the time it would take."
""perhaps he'll let the boys take it down if they promise to haul the boards and split them up for him for kindling wood," said anne hopefully.
""we must do our best and be content to go slowly at first.
we ca n't expect to improve everything all at once.
we'll have to educate public sentiment first, of course."
diana was n't exactly sure what educating public sentiment meant; but it sounded fine and she felt rather proud that she was going to belong to a society with such an aim in view.
""i thought of something last night that we could do, anne.
you know that three-cornered piece of ground where the roads from carmody and newbridge and white sands meet?
it's all grown over with young spruce; but would n't it be nice to have them all cleared out, and just leave the two or three birch trees that are on it?"
""splendid," agreed anne gaily.
""and have a rustic seat put under the birches.
and when spring comes we'll have a flower-bed made in the middle of it and plant geraniums."
""yes; only we'll have to devise some way of getting old mrs. hiram sloane to keep her cow off the road, or she'll eat our geraniums up," laughed diana.
""i begin to see what you mean by educating public sentiment, anne.
there's the old boulter house now.
did you ever see such a rookery?
and perched right close to the road too.
an old house with its windows gone always makes me think of something dead with its eyes picked out."
""i think an old, deserted house is such a sad sight," said anne dreamily.
""it always seems to me to be thinking about its past and mourning for its old-time joys.
marilla says that a large family was raised in that old house long ago, and that it was a real pretty place, with a lovely garden and roses climbing all over it.
it was full of little children and laughter and songs; and now it is empty, and nothing ever wanders through it but the wind.
how lonely and sorrowful it must feel!
perhaps they all come back on moonlit nights... the ghosts of the little children of long ago and the roses and the songs... and for a little while the old house can dream it is young and joyous again."
diana shook her head.
""i never imagine things like that about places now, anne.
do n't you remember how cross mother and marilla were when we imagined ghosts into the haunted wood?
to this day i ca n't go through that bush comfortably after dark; and if i began imagining such things about the old boulter house i'd be frightened to pass it too.
besides, those children are n't dead.
they're all grown up and doing well... and one of them is a butcher.
and flowers and songs could n't have ghosts anyhow."
anne smothered a little sigh.
she loved diana dearly and they had always been good comrades.
but she had long ago learned that when she wandered into the realm of fancy she must go alone.
the way to it was by an enchanted path where not even her dearest might follow her.
a thunder-shower came up while the girls were at carmody; it did not last long, however, and the drive home, through lanes where the raindrops sparkled on the boughs and little leafy valleys where the drenched ferns gave out spicy odors, was delightful.
but just as they turned into the cuthbert lane anne saw something that spoiled the beauty of the landscape for her.
before them on the right extended mr. harrison's broad, gray-green field of late oats, wet and luxuriant; and there, standing squarely in the middle of it, up to her sleek sides in the lush growth, and blinking at them calmly over the intervening tassels, was a jersey cow!
anne dropped the reins and stood up with a tightening of the lips that boded no good to the predatory quadruped.
not a word said she, but she climbed nimbly down over the wheels, and whisked across the fence before diana understood what had happened.
""anne, come back," shrieked the latter, as soon as she found her voice.
""you'll ruin your dress in that wet grain... ruin it.
she does n't hear me!
well, she'll never get that cow out by herself.
i must go and help her, of course."
anne was charging through the grain like a mad thing.
diana hopped briskly down, tied the horse securely to a post, turned the skirt of her pretty gingham dress over her shoulders, mounted the fence, and started in pursuit of her frantic friend.
she could run faster than anne, who was hampered by her clinging and drenched skirt, and soon overtook her.
behind them they left a trail that would break mr. harrison's heart when he should see it.
""anne, for mercy's sake, stop," panted poor diana.
""i'm right out of breath and you are wet to the skin."
""i must... get... that cow... out... before... mr. harrison... sees her," gasped anne.
""i do n't... care... if i'm... drowned... if we... can... only... do that."
but the jersey cow appeared to see no good reason for being hustled out of her luscious browsing ground.
no sooner had the two breathless girls got near her than she turned and bolted squarely for the opposite corner of the field.
""head her off," screamed anne.
""run, diana, run."
diana did run.
anne tried to, and the wicked jersey went around the field as if she were possessed.
privately, diana thought she was.
it was fully ten minutes before they headed her off and drove her through the corner gap into the cuthbert lane.
there is no denying that anne was in anything but an angelic temper at that precise moment.
nor did it soothe her in the least to behold a buggy halted just outside the lane, wherein sat mr. shearer of carmody and his son, both of whom wore a broad smile.
""i guess you'd better have sold me that cow when i wanted to buy her last week, anne," chuckled mr. shearer.
""i'll sell her to you now, if you want her," said her flushed and disheveled owner.
""you may have her this very minute."
""done.
i'll give you twenty for her as i offered before, and jim here can drive her right over to carmody.
she'll go to town with the rest of the shipment this evening.
mr. reed of brighton wants a jersey cow."
five minutes later jim shearer and the jersey cow were marching up the road, and impulsive anne was driving along the green gables lane with her twenty dollars.
""what will marilla say?"
asked diana.
""oh, she wo n't care.
dolly was my own cow and it is n't likely she'd bring more than twenty dollars at the auction.
but oh dear, if mr. harrison sees that grain he will know she has been in again, and after my giving him my word of honor that i'd never let it happen!
well, it has taught me a lesson not to give my word of honor about cows.
a cow that could jump over or break through our milk-pen fence could n't be trusted anywhere."
marilla had gone down to mrs. lynde's, and when she returned knew all about dolly's sale and transfer, for mrs. lynde had seen most of the transaction from her window and guessed the rest.
""i suppose it's just as well she's gone, though you do do things in a dreadful headlong fashion, anne.
i do n't see how she got out of the pen, though.
she must have broken some of the boards off."
""i did n't think of looking," said anne, "but i'll go and see now.
martin has never come back yet.
perhaps some more of his aunts have died.
i think it's something like mr. peter sloane and the octogenarians.
the other evening mrs. sloane was reading a newspaper and she said to mr. sloane," i see here that another octogenarian has just died.
what is an octogenarian, peter?"
and mr. sloane said he did n't know, but they must be very sickly creatures, for you never heard tell of them but they were dying.
that's the way with martin's aunts."
""martin's just like all the rest of those french," said marilla in disgust.
""you ca n't depend on them for a day."
marilla was looking over anne's carmody purchases when she heard a shrill shriek in the barnyard.
a minute later anne dashed into the kitchen, wringing her hands.
""anne shirley, what's the matter now?"
""oh, marilla, whatever shall i do?
this is terrible.
and it's all my fault.
oh, will i ever learn to stop and reflect a little before doing reckless things?
mrs. lynde always told me i would do something dreadful some day, and now i've done it!"
""anne, you are the most exasperating girl!
what is it you've done?"
""sold mr. harrison's jersey cow... the one he bought from mr. bell... to mr. shearer!
dolly is out in the milking pen this very minute."
""anne shirley, are you dreaming?"
""i only wish i were.
there's no dream about it, though it's very like a nightmare.
and mr. harrison's cow is in charlottetown by this time.
oh, marilla, i thought i'd finished getting into scrapes, and here i am in the very worst one i ever was in in my life.
what can i do?"
""do?
there's nothing to do, child, except go and see mr. harrison about it.
we can offer him our jersey in exchange if he does n't want to take the money.
she is just as good as his."
""i'm sure he'll be awfully cross and disagreeable about it, though," moaned anne.
""i daresay he will.
he seems to be an irritable sort of a man.
i'll go and explain to him if you like."
""no, indeed, i'm not as mean as that," exclaimed anne.
""this is all my fault and i'm certainly not going to let you take my punishment.
i'll go myself and i'll go at once.
the sooner it's over the better, for it will be terribly humiliating."
poor anne got her hat and her twenty dollars and was passing out when she happened to glance through the open pantry door.
on the table reposed a nut cake which she had baked that morning... a particularly toothsome concoction iced with pink icing and adorned with walnuts.
anne had intended it for friday evening, when the youth of avonlea were to meet at green gables to organize the improvement society.
but what were they compared to the justly offended mr. harrison?
anne thought that cake ought to soften the heart of any man, especially one who had to do his own cooking, and she promptly popped it into a box.
she would take it to mr. harrison as a peace offering.
""that is, if he gives me a chance to say anything at all," she thought ruefully, as she climbed the lane fence and started on a short cut across the fields, golden in the light of the dreamy august evening.
""i know now just how people feel who are being led to execution."
iii mr. harrison at home mr. harrison's house was an old-fashioned, low-eaved, whitewashed structure, set against a thick spruce grove.
mr. harrison himself was sitting on his vineshaded veranda, in his shirt sleeves, enjoying his evening pipe.
when he realized who was coming up the path he sprang suddenly to his feet, bolted into the house, and shut the door.
this was merely the uncomfortable result of his surprise, mingled with a good deal of shame over his outburst of temper the day before.
but it nearly swept the remnant of her courage from anne's heart.
""if he's so cross now what will he be when he hears what i've done," she reflected miserably, as she rapped at the door.
but mr. harrison opened it, smiling sheepishly, and invited her to enter in a tone quite mild and friendly, if somewhat nervous.
he had laid aside his pipe and donned his coat; he offered anne a very dusty chair very politely, and her reception would have passed off pleasantly enough if it had not been for the telltale of a parrot who was peering through the bars of his cage with wicked golden eyes.
no sooner had anne seated herself than ginger exclaimed, "bless my soul, what's that redheaded snippet coming here for?"
it would be hard to say whose face was the redder, mr. harrison's or anne's.
""do n't you mind that parrot," said mr. harrison, casting a furious glance at ginger.
""he's... he's always talking nonsense.
i got him from my brother who was a sailor.
sailors do n't always use the choicest language, and parrots are very imitative birds."
""so i should think," said poor anne, the remembrance of her errand quelling her resentment.
she could n't afford to snub mr. harrison under the circumstances, that was certain.
when you had just sold a man's jersey cow offhand, without his knowledge or consent you must not mind if his parrot repeated uncomplimentary things.
nevertheless, the "redheaded snippet" was not quite so meek as she might otherwise have been.
""i've come to confess something to you, mr. harrison," she said resolutely.
""it's... it's about... that jersey cow."
""bless my soul," exclaimed mr. harrison nervously, "has she gone and broken into my oats again?
well, never mind... never mind if she has.
it's no difference... none at all, i... i was too hasty yesterday, that's a fact.
never mind if she has."
""oh, if it were only that," sighed anne.
""but it's ten times worse.
i do n't..." "bless my soul, do you mean to say she's got into my wheat?"
""no... no... not the wheat.
but..." "then it's the cabbages!
she's broken into my cabbages that i was raising for exhibition, hey?"
""it's not the cabbages, mr. harrison.
i'll tell you everything... that is what i came for -- but please do n't interrupt me.
it makes me so nervous.
just let me tell my story and do n't say anything till i get through -- and then no doubt you'll say plenty," anne concluded, but in thought only.
""i wo n't say another word," said mr. harrison, and he did n't.
but ginger was not bound by any contract of silence and kept ejaculating, "redheaded snippet" at intervals until anne felt quite wild.
""i shut my jersey cow up in our pen yesterday.
this morning i went to carmody and when i came back i saw a jersey cow in your oats.
diana and i chased her out and you ca n't imagine what a hard time we had.
i was so dreadfully wet and tired and vexed -- and mr. shearer came by that very minute and offered to buy the cow.
i sold her to him on the spot for twenty dollars.
it was wrong of me.
i should have waited and consulted marilla, of course.
but i'm dreadfully given to doing things without thinking -- everybody who knows me will tell you that.
mr. shearer took the cow right away to ship her on the afternoon train."
""redheaded snippet," quoted ginger in a tone of profound contempt.
at this point mr. harrison arose and, with an expression that would have struck terror into any bird but a parrot, carried ginger's cage into an adjoining room and shut the door.
ginger shrieked, swore, and otherwise conducted himself in keeping with his reputation, but finding himself left alone, relapsed into sulky silence.
""excuse me and go on," said mr. harrison, sitting down again.
""my brother the sailor never taught that bird any manners."
""i went home and after tea i went out to the milking pen.
mr. harrison,"... anne leaned forward, clasping her hands with her old childish gesture, while her big gray eyes gazed imploringly into mr. harrison's embarrassed face... "i found my cow still shut up in the pen.
it was your cow i had sold to mr. shearer."
""bless my soul," exclaimed mr. harrison, in blank amazement at this unlooked-for conclusion.
""what a very extraordinary thing!"
""oh, it is n't in the least extraordinary that i should be getting myself and other people into scrapes," said anne mournfully.
""i'm noted for that.
you might suppose i'd have grown out of it by this time... i'll be seventeen next march... but it seems that i have n't.
mr. harrison, is it too much to hope that you'll forgive me?
i'm afraid it's too late to get your cow back, but here is the money for her... or you can have mine in exchange if you'd rather.
she's a very good cow.
and i ca n't express how sorry i am for it all."
""tut, tut," said mr. harrison briskly, "do n't say another word about it, miss.
it's of no consequence... no consequence whatever.
accidents will happen.
i'm too hasty myself sometimes, miss... far too hasty.
but i ca n't help speaking out just what i think and folks must take me as they find me.
if that cow had been in my cabbages now... but never mind, she was n't, so it's all right.
i think i'd rather have your cow in exchange, since you want to be rid of her."
""oh, thank you, mr. harrison.
i'm so glad you are not vexed.
i was afraid you would be."
""and i suppose you were scared to death to come here and tell me, after the fuss i made yesterday, hey?
but you must n't mind me, i'm a terrible outspoken old fellow, that's all... awful apt to tell the truth, no matter if it is a bit plain."
""so is mrs. lynde," said anne, before she could prevent herself.
""who?
mrs. lynde?
do n't you tell me i'm like that old gossip," said mr. harrison irritably.
""i'm not... not a bit.
what have you got in that box?"
""a cake," said anne archly.
in her relief at mr. harrison's unexpected amiability her spirits soared upward feather-light.
""i brought it over for you... i thought perhaps you did n't have cake very often."
""i do n't, that's a fact, and i'm mighty fond of it, too.
i'm much obliged to you.
it looks good on top.
i hope it's good all the way through."
""it is," said anne, gaily confident.
""i have made cakes in my time that were not, as mrs. allan could tell you, but this one is all right.
i made it for the improvement society, but i can make another for them."
""well, i'll tell you what, miss, you must help me eat it.
i'll put the kettle on and we'll have a cup of tea.
how will that do?"
""will you let me make the tea?"
said anne dubiously.
mr. harrison chuckled.
""i see you have n't much confidence in my ability to make tea.
you're wrong... i can brew up as good a jorum of tea as you ever drank.
but go ahead yourself.
fortunately it rained last sunday, so there's plenty of clean dishes."
anne hopped briskly up and went to work.
she washed the teapot in several waters before she put the tea to steep.
then she swept the stove and set the table, bringing the dishes out of the pantry.
the state of that pantry horrified anne, but she wisely said nothing.
mr. harrison told her where to find the bread and butter and a can of peaches.
anne adorned the table with a bouquet from the garden and shut her eyes to the stains on the tablecloth.
soon the tea was ready and anne found herself sitting opposite mr. harrison at his own table, pouring his tea for him, and chatting freely to him about her school and friends and plans.
she could hardly believe the evidence of her senses.
mr. harrison had brought ginger back, averring that the poor bird would be lonesome; and anne, feeling that she could forgive everybody and everything, offered him a walnut.
but ginger's feelings had been grievously hurt and he rejected all overtures of friendship.
he sat moodily on his perch and ruffled his feathers up until he looked like a mere ball of green and gold.
""why do you call him ginger?"
asked anne, who liked appropriate names and thought ginger accorded not at all with such gorgeous plumage.
""my brother the sailor named him.
maybe it had some reference to his temper.
i think a lot of that bird though... you'd be surprised if you knew how much.
he has his faults of course.
that bird has cost me a good deal one way and another.
some people object to his swearing habits but he ca n't be broken of them.
i've tried... other people have tried.
some folks have prejudices against parrots.
silly, ai n't it?
i like them myself.
ginger's a lot of company to me.
nothing would induce me to give that bird up... nothing in the world, miss."
mr. harrison flung the last sentence at anne as explosively as if he suspected her of some latent design of persuading him to give ginger up.
anne, however, was beginning to like the queer, fussy, fidgety little man, and before the meal was over they were quite good friends.
mr. harrison found out about the improvement society and was disposed to approve of it.
""that's right.
go ahead.
there's lots of room for improvement in this settlement... and in the people too."
""oh, i do n't know," flashed anne.
to herself, or to her particular cronies, she might admit that there were some small imperfections, easily removable, in avonlea and its inhabitants.
but to hear a practical outsider like mr. harrison saying it was an entirely different thing.
""i think avonlea is a lovely place; and the people in it are very nice, too."
""i guess you've got a spice of temper," commented mr. harrison, surveying the flushed cheeks and indignant eyes opposite him.
""it goes with hair like yours, i reckon.
avonlea is a pretty decent place or i would n't have located here; but i suppose even you will admit that it has some faults?"
""i like it all the better for them," said loyal anne.
""i do n't like places or people either that have n't any faults.
i think a truly perfect person would be very uninteresting.
mrs. milton white says she never met a perfect person, but she's heard enough about one... her husband's first wife.
do n't you think it must be very uncomfortable to be married to a man whose first wife was perfect?"
""it would be more uncomfortable to be married to the perfect wife," declared mr. harrison, with a sudden and inexplicable warmth.
when tea was over anne insisted on washing the dishes, although mr. harrison assured her that there were enough in the house to do for weeks yet.
she would dearly have loved to sweep the floor also, but no broom was visible and she did not like to ask where it was for fear there was n't one at all.
""you might run across and talk to me once in a while," suggested mr. harrison when she was leaving."
't is n't far and folks ought to be neighborly.
i'm kind of interested in that society of yours.
seems to me there'll be some fun in it.
who are you going to tackle first?"
""we are not going to meddle with people... it is only places we mean to improve," said anne, in a dignified tone.
she rather suspected that mr. harrison was making fun of the project.
when she had gone mr. harrison watched her from the window... a lithe, girlish shape, tripping lightheartedly across the fields in the sunset afterglow.
""i'm a crusty, lonesome, crabbed old chap," he said aloud, "but there's something about that little girl makes me feel young again... and it's such a pleasant sensation i'd like to have it repeated once in a while."
""redheaded snippet," croaked ginger mockingly.
mr. harrison shook his fist at the parrot.
""you ornery bird," he muttered, "i almost wish i'd wrung your neck when my brother the sailor brought you home.
will you never be done getting me into trouble?"
anne ran home blithely and recounted her adventures to marilla, who had been not a little alarmed by her long absence and was on the point of starting out to look for her.
""it's a pretty good world, after all, is n't it, marilla?"
concluded anne happily.
""mrs. lynde was complaining the other day that it was n't much of a world.
she said whenever you looked forward to anything pleasant you were sure to be more or less disappointed... perhaps that is true.
but there is a good side to it too.
the bad things do n't always come up to your expectations either... they nearly always turn out ever so much better than you think.
i looked forward to a dreadfully unpleasant experience when i went over to mr. harrison's tonight; and instead he was quite kind and i had almost a nice time.
i think we're going to be real good friends if we make plenty of allowances for each other, and everything has turned out for the best.
but all the same, marilla, i shall certainly never again sell a cow before making sure to whom she belongs.
and i do not like parrots!"
iv different opinions one evening at sunset, jane andrews, gilbert blythe, and anne shirley were lingering by a fence in the shadow of gently swaying spruce boughs, where a wood cut known as the birch path joined the main road.
jane had been up to spend the afternoon with anne, who walked part of the way home with her; at the fence they met gilbert, and all three were now talking about the fateful morrow; for that morrow was the first of september and the schools would open.
jane would go to newbridge and gilbert to white sands.
""you both have the advantage of me," sighed anne.
""you're going to teach children who do n't know you, but i have to teach my own old schoolmates, and mrs. lynde says she's afraid they wo n't respect me as they would a stranger unless i'm very cross from the first.
but i do n't believe a teacher should be cross.
oh, it seems to me such a responsibility!"
""i guess we'll get on all right," said jane comfortably.
jane was not troubled by any aspirations to be an influence for good.
she meant to earn her salary fairly, please the trustees, and get her name on the school inspector's roll of honor.
further ambitions jane had none.
""the main thing will be to keep order and a teacher has to be a little cross to do that.
if my pupils wo n't do as i tell them i shall punish them."
""how?"
""give them a good whipping, of course."
""oh, jane, you would n't," cried anne, shocked.
""jane, you could n't!"
""indeed, i could and would, if they deserved it," said jane decidedly.
""i could never whip a child," said anne with equal decision.
""i do n't believe in it at all.
miss stacy never whipped any of us and she had perfect order; and mr. phillips was always whipping and he had no order at all.
no, if i ca n't get along without whipping i shall not try to teach school.
there are better ways of managing.
i shall try to win my pupils" affections and then they will want to do what i tell them."
""but suppose they do n't?"
said practical jane.
""i would n't whip them anyhow.
i'm sure it would n't do any good.
oh, do n't whip your pupils, jane dear, no matter what they do."
""what do you think about it, gilbert?"
demanded jane.
""do n't you think there are some children who really need a whipping now and then?"
""do n't you think it's a cruel, barbarous thing to whip a child... any child?"
exclaimed anne, her face flushing with earnestness.
""well," said gilbert slowly, torn between his real convictions and his wish to measure up to anne's ideal, "there's something to be said on both sides.
i do n't believe in whipping children much.
i think, as you say, anne, that there are better ways of managing as a rule, and that corporal punishment should be a last resort.
but on the other hand, as jane says, i believe there is an occasional child who ca n't be influenced in any other way and who, in short, needs a whipping and would be improved by it.
corporal punishment as a last resort is to be my rule."
gilbert, having tried to please both sides, succeeded, as is usual and eminently right, in pleasing neither.
jane tossed her head.
""i'll whip my pupils when they're naughty.
it's the shortest and easiest way of convincing them."
anne gave gilbert a disappointed glance.
""i shall never whip a child," she repeated firmly.
""i feel sure it is n't either right or necessary."
""suppose a boy sauced you back when you told him to do something?"
said jane.
""i'd keep him in after school and talk kindly and firmly to him," said anne.
""there is some good in every person if you can find it.
it is a teacher's duty to find and develop it.
that is what our school management professor at queen's told us, you know.
do you suppose you could find any good in a child by whipping him?
it's far more important to influence the children aright than it is even to teach them the three r's, professor rennie says."
""but the inspector examines them in the three r's, mind you, and he wo n't give you a good report if they do n't come up to his standard," protested jane.
""i'd rather have my pupils love me and look back to me in after years as a real helper than be on the roll of honor," asserted anne decidedly.
""would n't you punish children at all, when they misbehaved?"
asked gilbert.
""oh, yes, i suppose i shall have to, although i know i'll hate to do it.
but you can keep them in at recess or stand them on the floor or give them lines to write."
""i suppose you wo n't punish the girls by making them sit with the boys?"
said jane slyly.
gilbert and anne looked at each other and smiled rather foolishly.
once upon a time, anne had been made to sit with gilbert for punishment and sad and bitter had been the consequences thereof.
""well, time will tell which is the best way," said jane philosophically as they parted.
anne went back to green gables by way of birch path, shadowy, rustling, fern-scented, through violet vale and past willowmere, where dark and light kissed each other under the firs, and down through lover's lane... spots she and diana had so named long ago.
she walked slowly, enjoying the sweetness of wood and field and the starry summer twilight, and thinking soberly about the new duties she was to take up on the morrow.
when she reached the yard at green gables mrs. lynde's loud, decided tones floated out through the open kitchen window.
""mrs. lynde has come up to give me good advice about tomorrow," thought anne with a grimace, "but i do n't believe i'll go in.
her advice is much like pepper, i think... excellent in small quantities but rather scorching in her doses.
i'll run over and have a chat with mr. harrison instead."
this was not the first time anne had run over and chatted with mr. harrison since the notable affair of the jersey cow.
she had been there several evenings and mr. harrison and she were very good friends, although there were times and seasons when anne found the outspokenness on which he prided himself rather trying.
ginger still continued to regard her with suspicion, and never failed to greet her sarcastically as "redheaded snippet."
mr. harrison had tried vainly to break him of the habit by jumping excitedly up whenever he saw anne coming and exclaiming, "bless my soul, here's that pretty little girl again," or something equally flattering.
but ginger saw through the scheme and scorned it.
anne was never to know how many compliments mr. harrison paid her behind her back.
he certainly never paid her any to her face.
""well, i suppose you've been back in the woods laying in a supply of switches for tomorrow?"
was his greeting as anne came up the veranda steps.
""no, indeed," said anne indignantly.
she was an excellent target for teasing because she always took things so seriously.
""i shall never have a switch in my school, mr. harrison.
of course, i shall have to have a pointer, but i shall use it for pointing only."
""so you mean to strap them instead?
well, i do n't know but you're right.
a switch stings more at the time but the strap smarts longer, that's a fact."
""i shall not use anything of the sort.
i'm not going to whip my pupils."
""bless my soul," exclaimed mr. harrison in genuine astonishment, "how do you lay out to keep order then?"
""i shall govern by affection, mr. harrison."
""it wo n't do," said mr. harrison, "wo n't do at all, anne.
"spare the rod and spoil the child."
when i went to school the master whipped me regular every day because he said if i was n't in mischief just then i was plotting it."
""methods have changed since your schooldays, mr. harrison."
""but human nature has n't.
mark my words, you'll never manage the young fry unless you keep a rod in pickle for them.
the thing is impossible."
""well, i'm going to try my way first," said anne, who had a fairly strong will of her own and was apt to cling very tenaciously to her theories.
""you're pretty stubborn, i reckon," was mr. harrison's way of putting it.
""well, well, we'll see.
someday when you get riled up... and people with hair like yours are desperate apt to get riled... you'll forget all your pretty little notions and give some of them a whaling.
you're too young to be teaching anyhow... far too young and childish."
altogether, anne went to bed that night in a rather pessimistic mood.
she slept poorly and was so pale and tragic at breakfast next morning that marilla was alarmed and insisted on making her take a cup of scorching ginger tea.
anne sipped it patiently, although she could not imagine what good ginger tea would do.
had it been some magic brew, potent to confer age and experience, anne would have swallowed a quart of it without flinching.
""marilla, what if i fail!"
""you'll hardly fail completely in one day and there's plenty more days coming," said marilla.
""the trouble with you, anne, is that you'll expect to teach those children everything and reform all their faults right off, and if you ca n't you'll think you've failed."
v a full-fledged schoolma'am when anne reached the school that morning... for the first time in her life she had traversed the birch path deaf and blind to its beauties... all was quiet and still.
the preceding teacher had trained the children to be in their places at her arrival, and when anne entered the schoolroom she was confronted by prim rows of "shining morning faces" and bright, inquisitive eyes.
she hung up her hat and faced her pupils, hoping that she did not look as frightened and foolish as she felt and that they would not perceive how she was trembling.
she had sat up until nearly twelve the preceding night composing a speech she meant to make to her pupils upon opening the school.
she had revised and improved it painstakingly, and then she had learned it off by heart.
it was a very good speech and had some very fine ideas in it, especially about mutual help and earnest striving after knowledge.
the only trouble was that she could not now remember a word of it.
after what seemed to her a year... about ten seconds in reality... she said faintly, "take your testaments, please," and sank breathlessly into her chair under cover of the rustle and clatter of desk lids that followed.
while the children read their verses anne marshalled her shaky wits into order and looked over the array of little pilgrims to the grownup land.
most of them were, of course, quite well known to her.
her own classmates had passed out in the preceding year but the rest had all gone to school with her, excepting the primer class and ten newcomers to avonlea.
anne secretly felt more interest in these ten than in those whose possibilities were already fairly well mapped out to her.
to be sure, they might be just as commonplace as the rest; but on the other hand there might be a genius among them.
it was a thrilling idea.
sitting by himself at a corner desk was anthony pye.
he had a dark, sullen little face, and was staring at anne with a hostile expression in his black eyes.
anne instantly made up her mind that she would win that boy's affection and discomfit the pyes utterly.
in the other corner another strange boy was sitting with arty sloane... a jolly looking little chap, with a snub nose, freckled face, and big, light blue eyes, fringed with whitish lashes... probably the donnell boy; and if resemblance went for anything, his sister was sitting across the aisle with mary bell.
anne wondered what sort of mother the child had, to send her to school dressed as she was.
she wore a faded pink silk dress, trimmed with a great deal of cotton lace, soiled white kid slippers, and silk stockings.
her sandy hair was tortured into innumerable kinky and unnatural curls, surmounted by a flamboyant bow of pink ribbon bigger than her head.
judging from her expression she was very well satisfied with herself.
a pale little thing, with smooth ripples of fine, silky, fawn-colored hair flowing over her shoulders, must, anne thought, be annetta bell, whose parents had formerly lived in the newbridge school district, but, by reason of hauling their house fifty yards north of its old site were now in avonlea.
three pallid little girls crowded into one seat were certainly cottons; and there was no doubt that the small beauty with the long brown curls and hazel eyes, who was casting coquettish looks at jack gills over the edge of her testament, was prillie rogerson, whose father had recently married a second wife and brought prillie home from her grandmother's in grafton.
a tall, awkward girl in a back seat, who seemed to have too many feet and hands, anne could not place at all, but later on discovered that her name was barbara shaw and that she had come to live with an avonlea aunt.
she was also to find that if barbara ever managed to walk down the aisle without falling over her own or somebody else's feet the avonlea scholars wrote the unusual fact up on the porch wall to commemorate it.
but when anne's eyes met those of the boy at the front desk facing her own, a queer little thrill went over her, as if she had found her genius.
she knew this must be paul irving and that mrs. rachel lynde had been right for once when she prophesied that he would be unlike the avonlea children.
more than that, anne realized that he was unlike other children anywhere, and that there was a soul subtly akin to her own gazing at her out of the very dark blue eyes that were watching her so intently.
she knew paul was ten but he looked no more than eight.
he had the most beautiful little face she had ever seen in a child... features of exquisite delicacy and refinement, framed in a halo of chestnut curls.
his mouth was delicious, being full without pouting, the crimson lips just softly touching and curving into finely finished little corners that narrowly escaped being dimpled.
he had a sober, grave, meditative expression, as if his spirit was much older than his body; but when anne smiled softly at him it vanished in a sudden answering smile, which seemed an illumination of his whole being, as if some lamp had suddenly kindled into flame inside of him, irradiating him from top to toe.
best of all, it was involuntary, born of no external effort or motive, but simply the outflashing of a hidden personality, rare and fine and sweet.
with a quick interchange of smiles anne and paul were fast friends forever before a word had passed between them.
the day went by like a dream.
anne could never clearly recall it afterwards.
it almost seemed as if it were not she who was teaching but somebody else.
she heard classes and worked sums and set copies mechanically.
the children behaved quite well; only two cases of discipline occurred.
morley andrews was caught driving a pair of trained crickets in the aisle.
anne stood morley on the platform for an hour and... which morley felt much more keenly... confiscated his crickets.
she put them in a box and on the way from school set them free in violet vale; but morley believed, then and ever afterwards, that she took them home and kept them for her own amusement.
the other culprit was anthony pye, who poured the last drops of water from his slate bottle down the back of aurelia clay's neck.
anne kept anthony in at recess and talked to him about what was expected of gentlemen, admonishing him that they never poured water down ladies" necks.
she wanted all her boys to be gentlemen, she said.
her little lecture was quite kind and touching; but unfortunately anthony remained absolutely untouched.
he listened to her in silence, with the same sullen expression, and whistled scornfully as he went out.
anne sighed; and then cheered herself up by remembering that winning a pye's affections, like the building of rome, was n't the work of a day.
in fact, it was doubtful whether some of the pyes had any affections to win; but anne hoped better things of anthony, who looked as if he might be a rather nice boy if one ever got behind his sullenness.
when school was dismissed and the children had gone anne dropped wearily into her chair.
her head ached and she felt woefully discouraged.
there was no real reason for discouragement, since nothing very dreadful had occurred; but anne was very tired and inclined to believe that she would never learn to like teaching.
and how terrible it would be to be doing something you did n't like every day for... well, say forty years.
anne was of two minds whether to have her cry out then and there, or wait till she was safely in her own white room at home.
before she could decide there was a click of heels and a silken swish on the porch floor, and anne found herself confronted by a lady whose appearance made her recall a recent criticism of mr. harrison's on an overdressed female he had seen in a charlottetown store.
""she looked like a head-on collision between a fashion plate and a nightmare."
the newcomer was gorgeously arrayed in a pale blue summer silk, puffed, frilled, and shirred wherever puff, frill, or shirring could possibly be placed.
her head was surmounted by a huge white chiffon hat, bedecked with three long but rather stringy ostrich feathers.
a veil of pink chiffon, lavishly sprinkled with huge black dots, hung like a flounce from the hat brim to her shoulders and floated off in two airy streamers behind her.
she wore all the jewelry that could be crowded on one small woman, and a very strong odor of perfume attended her.
""i am mrs. donnell... mrs. h. b. donnell," announced this vision, "and i have come in to see you about something clarice almira told me when she came home to dinner today.
it annoyed me excessively."
""i'm sorry," faltered anne, vainly trying to recollect any incident of the morning connected with the donnell children.
""clarice almira told me that you pronounced our name donnell.
now, miss shirley, the correct pronunciation of our name is donnell... accent on the last syllable.
i hope you'll remember this in future."
""i'll try to," gasped anne, choking back a wild desire to laugh.
""i know by experience that it's very unpleasant to have one's name spelled wrong and i suppose it must be even worse to have it pronounced wrong."
""certainly it is.
and clarice almira also informed me that you call my son jacob."
""he told me his name was jacob," protested anne.
""i might well have expected that," said mrs. h. b. donnell, in a tone which implied that gratitude in children was not to be looked for in this degenerate age.
""that boy has such plebeian tastes, miss shirley.
when he was born i wanted to call him st. clair... it sounds so aristocratic, does n't it?
but his father insisted he should be called jacob after his uncle.
i yielded, because uncle jacob was a rich old bachelor.
and what do you think, miss shirley?
when our innocent boy was five years old uncle jacob actually went and got married and now he has three boys of his own.
did you ever hear of such ingratitude?
the moment the invitation to the wedding... for he had the impertinence to send us an invitation, miss shirley... came to the house i said, "no more jacobs for me, thank you."
from that day i called my son st. clair and st. clair i am determined he shall be called.
his father obstinately continues to call him jacob, and the boy himself has a perfectly unaccountable preference for the vulgar name.
but st. clair he is and st. clair he shall remain.
you will kindly remember this, miss shirley, will you not?
thank you.
i told clarice almira that i was sure it was only a misunderstanding and that a word would set it right.
donnell... accent on the last syllable... and st. clair... on no account jacob.
you'll remember?
thank you."
when mrs. h. b. donnell had skimmed away anne locked the school door and went home.
at the foot of the hill she found paul irving by the birch path.
he held out to her a cluster of the dainty little wild orchids which avonlea children called "rice lillies."
""please, teacher, i found these in mr. wright's field," he said shyly, "and i came back to give them to you because i thought you were the kind of lady that would like them, and because..." he lifted his big beautiful eyes... "i like you, teacher."
""you darling," said anne, taking the fragrant spikes.
as if paul's words had been a spell of magic, discouragement and weariness passed from her spirit, and hope upwelled in her heart like a dancing fountain.
she went through the birch path light-footedly, attended by the sweetness of her orchids as by a benediction.
""well, how did you get along?"
marilla wanted to know.
""ask me that a month later and i may be able to tell you.
i ca n't now... i do n't know myself... i'm too near it.
my thoughts feel as if they had been all stirred up until they were thick and muddy.
the only thing i feel really sure of having accomplished today is that i taught cliffie wright that a is a.
he never knew it before.
is n't it something to have started a soul along a path that may end in shakespeare and paradise lost?"
mrs. lynde came up later on with more encouragement.
that good lady had waylaid the schoolchildren at her gate and demanded of them how they liked their new teacher.
""and every one of them said they liked you splendid, anne, except anthony pye.
i must admit he did n't.
he said you "were n't any good, just like all girl teachers."
there's the pye leaven for you.
but never mind."
""i'm not going to mind," said anne quietly, "and i'm going to make anthony pye like me yet.
patience and kindness will surely win him."
""well, you can never tell about a pye," said mrs. rachel cautiously.
""they go by contraries, like dreams, often as not.
as for that donnell woman, she'll get no donnelling from me, i can assure you.
the name is donnell and always has been.
the woman is crazy, that's what.
she has a pug dog she calls queenie and it has its meals at the table along with the family, eating off a china plate.
i'd be afraid of a judgment if i was her.
thomas says donnell himself is a sensible, hard-working man, but he had n't much gumption when he picked out a wife, that's what."
vi all sorts and conditions of men... and women a september day on prince edward island hills; a crisp wind blowing up over the sand dunes from the sea; a long red road, winding through fields and woods, now looping itself about a corner of thick set spruces, now threading a plantation of young maples with great feathery sheets of ferns beneath them, now dipping down into a hollow where a brook flashed out of the woods and into them again, now basking in open sunshine between ribbons of golden-rod and smoke-blue asters; air athrill with the pipings of myriads of crickets, those glad little pensioners of the summer hills; a plump brown pony ambling along the road; two girls behind him, full to the lips with the simple, priceless joy of youth and life.
""oh, this is a day left over from eden, is n't it, diana?"
... and anne sighed for sheer happiness.
""the air has magic in it.
look at the purple in the cup of the harvest valley, diana.
and oh, do smell the dying fir!
it's coming up from that little sunny hollow where mr. eben wright has been cutting fence poles.
bliss is it on such a day to be alive; but to smell dying fir is very heaven.
that's two thirds wordsworth and one third anne shirley.
it does n't seem possible that there should be dying fir in heaven, does it?
and yet it does n't seem to me that heaven would be quite perfect if you could n't get a whiff of dead fir as you went through its woods.
perhaps we'll have the odor there without the death.
yes, i think that will be the way.
that delicious aroma must be the souls of the firs... and of course it will be just souls in heaven."
""trees have n't souls," said practical diana, "but the smell of dead fir is certainly lovely.
i'm going to make a cushion and fill it with fir needles.
you'd better make one too, anne."
""i think i shall... and use it for my naps.
i'd be certain to dream i was a dryad or a woodnymph then.
but just this minute i'm well content to be anne shirley, avonlea schoolma'am, driving over a road like this on such a sweet, friendly day."
""it's a lovely day but we have anything but a lovely task before us," sighed diana.
""why on earth did you offer to canvass this road, anne?
almost all the cranks in avonlea live along it, and we'll probably be treated as if we were begging for ourselves.
it's the very worst road of all."
""that is why i chose it.
of course gilbert and fred would have taken this road if we had asked them.
but you see, diana, i feel myself responsible for the a.v.i.s., since i was the first to suggest it, and it seems to me that i ought to do the most disagreeable things.
i'm sorry on your account; but you need n't say a word at the cranky places.
i'll do all the talking... mrs. lynde would say i was well able to.
mrs. lynde does n't know whether to approve of our enterprise or not.
she inclines to, when she remembers that mr. and mrs. allan are in favor of it; but the fact that village improvement societies first originated in the states is a count against it.
so she is halting between two opinions and only success will justify us in mrs. lynde's eyes.
priscilla is going to write a paper for our next improvement meeting, and i expect it will be good, for her aunt is such a clever writer and no doubt it runs in the family.
i shall never forget the thrill it gave me when i found out that mrs. charlotte e. morgan was priscilla's aunt.
it seemed so wonderful that i was a friend of the girl whose aunt wrote "edgewood days" and "the rosebud garden.""
""where does mrs. morgan live?"
""in toronto.
and priscilla says she is coming to the island for a visit next summer, and if it is possible priscilla is going to arrange to have us meet her.
that seems almost too good to be true -- but it's something pleasant to imagine after you go to bed."
the avonlea village improvement society was an organized fact.
gilbert blythe was president, fred wright vice-president, anne shirley secretary, and diana barry treasurer.
the "improvers," as they were promptly christened, were to meet once a fortnight at the homes of the members.
it was admitted that they could not expect to affect many improvements so late in the season; but they meant to plan the next summer's campaign, collect and discuss ideas, write and read papers, and, as anne said, educate the public sentiment generally.
there was some disapproval, of course, and... which the improvers felt much more keenly... a good deal of ridicule.
mr. elisha wright was reported to have said that a more appropriate name for the organization would be courting club.
mrs. hiram sloane declared she had heard the improvers meant to plough up all the roadsides and set them out with geraniums.
mr. levi boulter warned his neighbors that the improvers would insist that everybody pull down his house and rebuild it after plans approved by the society.
mr. james spencer sent them word that he wished they would kindly shovel down the church hill.
eben wright told anne that he wished the improvers could induce old josiah sloane to keep his whiskers trimmed.
mr. lawrence bell said he would whitewash his barns if nothing else would please them but he would not hang lace curtains in the cowstable windows.
mr. major spencer asked clifton sloane, an improver who drove the milk to the carmody cheese factory, if it was true that everybody would have to have his milk-stand hand-painted next summer and keep an embroidered centerpiece on it.
in spite of... or perhaps, human nature being what it is, because of... this, the society went gamely to work at the only improvement they could hope to bring about that fall.
at the second meeting, in the barry parlor, oliver sloane moved that they start a subscription to re-shingle and paint the hall; julia bell seconded it, with an uneasy feeling that she was doing something not exactly ladylike.
gilbert put the motion, it was carried unanimously, and anne gravely recorded it in her minutes.
the next thing was to appoint a committee, and gertie pye, determined not to let julia bell carry off all the laurels, boldly moved that miss jane andrews be chairman of said committee.
this motion being also duly seconded and carried, jane returned the compliment by appointing gertie on the committee, along with gilbert, anne, diana, and fred wright.
the committee chose their routes in private conclave.
anne and diana were told off for the newbridge road, gilbert and fred for the white sands road, and jane and gertie for the carmody road.
""because," explained gilbert to anne, as they walked home together through the haunted wood, "the pyes all live along that road and they wo n't give a cent unless one of themselves canvasses them."
the next saturday anne and diana started out.
they drove to the end of the road and canvassed homeward, calling first on the "andrew girls."
""if catherine is alone we may get something," said diana, "but if eliza is there we wo n't."
eliza was there... very much so... and looked even grimmer than usual.
miss eliza was one of those people who give you the impression that life is indeed a vale of tears, and that a smile, never to speak of a laugh, is a waste of nervous energy truly reprehensible.
the andrew girls had been "girls" for fifty odd years and seemed likely to remain girls to the end of their earthly pilgrimage.
catherine, it was said, had not entirely given up hope, but eliza, who was born a pessimist, had never had any.
they lived in a little brown house built in a sunny corner scooped out of mark andrew's beech woods.
eliza complained that it was terrible hot in summer, but catherine was wont to say it was lovely and warm in winter.
eliza was sewing patchwork, not because it was needed but simply as a protest against the frivolous lace catherine was crocheting.
eliza listened with a frown and catherine with a smile, as the girls explained their errand.
to be sure, whenever catherine caught eliza's eye she discarded the smile in guilty confusion; but it crept back the next moment.
""if i had money to waste," said eliza grimly, "i'd burn it up and have the fun of seeing a blaze maybe; but i would n't give it to that hall, not a cent.
it's no benefit to the settlement... just a place for young folks to meet and carry on when they's better be home in their beds."
""oh, eliza, young folks must have some amusement," protested catherine.
""i do n't see the necessity.
we did n't gad about to halls and places when we were young, catherine andrews.
this world is getting worse every day."
""i think it's getting better," said catherine firmly.
""you think!"
miss eliza's voice expressed the utmost contempt.
""it does n't signify what you think, catherine andrews.
facts is facts."
""well, i always like to look on the bright side, eliza."
""there is n't any bright side."
""oh, indeed there is," cried anne, who could n't endure such heresy in silence.
""why, there are ever so many bright sides, miss andrews.
it's really a beautiful world."
""you wo n't have such a high opinion of it when you've lived as long in it as i have," retorted miss eliza sourly, "and you wo n't be so enthusiastic about improving it either.
how is your mother, diana?
dear me, but she has failed of late.
she looks terrible run down.
and how long is it before marilla expects to be stone blind, anne?"
""the doctor thinks her eyes will not get any worse if she is very careful," faltered anne.
eliza shook her head.
""doctors always talk like that just to keep people cheered up.
i would n't have much hope if i was her.
it's best to be prepared for the worst."
""but ought n't we be prepared for the best too?"
pleaded anne.
""it's just as likely to happen as the worst."
""not in my experience, and i've fifty-seven years to set against your sixteen," retorted eliza.
""going, are you?
well, i hope this new society of yours will be able to keep avonlea from running any further down hill but i have n't much hope of it."
anne and diana got themselves thankfully out, and drove away as fast as the fat pony could go.
as they rounded the curve below the beech wood a plump figure came speeding over mr. andrews" pasture, waving to them excitedly.
it was catherine andrews and she was so out of breath that she could hardly speak, but she thrust a couple of quarters into anne's hand.
""that's my contribution to painting the hall," she gasped.
""i'd like to give you a dollar but i do n't dare take more from my egg money for eliza would find it out if i did.
i'm real interested in your society and i believe you're going to do a lot of good.
i'm an optimist.
i have to be, living with eliza.
i must hurry back before she misses me... she thinks i'm feeding the hens.
i hope you'll have good luck canvassing, and do n't be cast down over what eliza said.
the world is getting better... it certainly is."
the next house was daniel blair's.
""now, it all depends on whether his wife is home or not," said diana, as they jolted along a deep-rutted lane.
""if she is we wo n't get a cent.
everybody says dan blair does n't dare have his hair cut without asking her permission; and it's certain she's very close, to state it moderately.
she says she has to be just before she's generous.
but mrs. lynde says she's so much "before" that generosity never catches up with her at all."
anne related their experience at the blair place to marilla that evening.
""we tied the horse and then rapped at the kitchen door.
nobody came but the door was open and we could hear somebody in the pantry, going on dreadfully.
we could n't make out the words but diana says she knows they were swearing by the sound of them.
i ca n't believe that of mr. blair, for he is always so quiet and meek; but at least he had great provocation, for marilla, when that poor man came to the door, red as a beet, with perspiration streaming down his face, he had on one of his wife's big gingham aprons."
i ca n't get this durned thing off," he said, "for the strings are tied in a hard knot and i ca n't bust'em, so you'll have to excuse me, ladies."
we begged him not to mention it and went in and sat down.
mr. blair sat down too; he twisted the apron around to his back and rolled it up, but he did look so ashamed and worried that i felt sorry for him, and diana said she feared we had called at an inconvenient time.
"oh, not at all," said mr. blair, trying to smile... you know he is always very polite... "i'm a little busy... getting ready to bake a cake as it were.
my wife got a telegram today that her sister from montreal is coming tonight and she's gone to the train to meet her and left orders for me to make a cake for tea.
she writ out the recipe and told me what to do but i've clean forgot half the directions already.
and it says, "flavor according to taste."
what does that mean?
how can you tell?
and what if my taste does n't happen to be other people's taste?
would a tablespoon of vanilla be enough for a small layer cake?"
""i felt sorrier than ever for the poor man.
he did n't seem to be in his proper sphere at all.
i had heard of henpecked husbands and now i felt that i saw one.
it was on my lips to say, "mr. blair, if you'll give us a subscription for the hall i'll mix up your cake for you."
but i suddenly thought it would n't be neighborly to drive too sharp a bargain with a fellow creature in distress.
so i offered to mix the cake for him without any conditions at all.
he just jumped at my offer.
he said he'd been used to making his own bread before he was married but he feared cake was beyond him, and yet he hated to disappoint his wife.
he got me another apron, and diana beat the eggs and i mixed the cake.
mr. blair ran about and got us the materials.
he had forgotten all about his apron and when he ran it streamed out behind him and diana said she thought she would die to see it.
he said he could bake the cake all right... he was used to that... and then he asked for our list and he put down four dollars.
so you see we were rewarded.
but even if he had n't given a cent i'd always feel that we had done a truly christian act in helping him."
theodore white's was the next stopping place.
neither anne nor diana had ever been there before, and they had only a very slight acquaintance with mrs. theodore, who was not given to hospitality.
should they go to the back or front door?
while they held a whispered consultation mrs. theodore appeared at the front door with an armful of newspapers.
deliberately she laid them down one by one on the porch floor and the porch steps, and then down the path to the very feet of her mystified callers.
""will you please wipe your feet carefully on the grass and then walk on these papers?"
she said anxiously.
""i've just swept the house all over and i ca n't have any more dust tracked in.
the path's been real muddy since the rain yesterday."
""do n't you dare laugh," warned anne in a whisper, as they marched along the newspapers.
""and i implore you, diana, not to look at me, no matter what she says, or i shall not be able to keep a sober face."
the papers extended across the hall and into a prim, fleckless parlor.
anne and diana sat down gingerly on the nearest chairs and explained their errand.
mrs. white heard them politely, interrupting only twice, once to chase out an adventurous fly, and once to pick up a tiny wisp of grass that had fallen on the carpet from anne's dress.
anne felt wretchedly guilty; but mrs. white subscribed two dollars and paid the money down... "to prevent us from having to go back for it," diana said when they got away.
mrs. white had the newspapers gathered up before they had their horse untied and as they drove out of the yard they saw her busily wielding a broom in the hall.
""i've always heard that mrs. theodore white was the neatest woman alive and i'll believe it after this," said diana, giving way to her suppressed laughter as soon as it was safe.
""i am glad she has no children," said anne solemnly.
""it would be dreadful beyond words for them if she had."
at the spencers" mrs. isabella spencer made them miserable by saying something ill-natured about everyone in avonlea.
mr. thomas boulter refused to give anything because the hall, when it had been built, twenty years before, had n't been built on the site he recommended.
mrs. esther bell, who was the picture of health, took half an hour to detail all her aches and pains, and sadly put down fifty cents because she would n't be there that time next year to do it... no, she would be in her grave.
their worst reception, however, was at simon fletcher's.
when they drove into the yard they saw two faces peering at them through the porch window.
but although they rapped and waited patiently and persistently nobody came to the door.
two decidedly ruffled and indignant girls drove away from simon fletcher's.
even anne admitted that she was beginning to feel discouraged.
but the tide turned after that.
several sloane homesteads came next, where they got liberal subscriptions, and from that to the end they fared well, with only an occasional snub.
their last place of call was at robert dickson's by the pond bridge.
they stayed to tea here, although they were nearly home, rather than risk offending mrs. dickson, who had the reputation of being a very "touchy" woman.
while they were there old mrs. james white called in.
""i've just been down to lorenzo's," she announced.
""he's the proudest man in avonlea this minute.
what do you think?
there's a brand new boy there... and after seven girls that's quite an event, i can tell you."
anne pricked up her ears, and when they drove away she said.
""i'm going straight to lorenzo white's."
""but he lives on the white sands road and it's quite a distance out of our way," protested diana.
""gilbert and fred will canvass him."
""they are not going around until next saturday and it will be too late by then," said anne firmly.
""the novelty will be worn off.
lorenzo white is dreadfully mean but he will subscribe to anything just now.
we must n't let such a golden opportunity slip, diana."
the result justified anne's foresight.
mr. white met them in the yard, beaming like the sun upon an easter day.
when anne asked for a subscription he agreed enthusiastically.
""certain, certain.
just put me down for a dollar more than the highest subscription you've got."
""that will be five dollars... mr. daniel blair put down four," said anne, half afraid.
but lorenzo did not flinch.
""five it is... and here's the money on the spot.
now, i want you to come into the house.
there's something in there worth seeing... something very few people have seen as yet.
just come in and pass your opinion."
""what will we say if the baby is n't pretty?"
whispered diana in trepidation as they followed the excited lorenzo into the house.
""oh, there will certainly be something else nice to say about it," said anne easily.
""there always is about a baby."
the baby was pretty, however, and mr. white felt that he got his five dollars" worth of the girls" honest delight over the plump little newcomer.
but that was the first, last, and only time that lorenzo white ever subscribed to anything.
anne, tired as she was, made one more effort for the public weal that night, slipping over the fields to interview mr. harrison, who was as usual smoking his pipe on the veranda with ginger beside him.
strickly speaking he was on the carmody road; but jane and gertie, who were not acquainted with him save by doubtful report, had nervously begged anne to canvass him.
mr. harrison, however, flatly refused to subscribe a cent, and all anne's wiles were in vain.
""but i thought you approved of our society, mr. harrison," she mourned.
""so i do... so i do... but my approval does n't go as deep as my pocket, anne."
""a few more experiences such as i have had today would make me as much of a pessimist as miss eliza andrews," anne told her reflection in the east gable mirror at bedtime.
vii the pointing of duty anne leaned back in her chair one mild october evening and sighed.
she was sitting at a table covered with text books and exercises, but the closely written sheets of paper before her had no apparent connection with studies or school work.
""what is the matter?"
asked gilbert, who had arrived at the open kitchen door just in time to hear the sigh.
anne colored, and thrust her writing out of sight under some school compositions.
""nothing very dreadful.
i was just trying to write out some of my thoughts, as professor hamilton advised me, but i could n't get them to please me.
they seem so still and foolish directly they're written down on white paper with black ink.
fancies are like shadows... you ca n't cage them, they're such wayward, dancing things.
but perhaps i'll learn the secret some day if i keep on trying.
i have n't a great many spare moments, you know.
by the time i finish correcting school exercises and compositions, i do n't always feel like writing any of my own."
""you are getting on splendidly in school, anne.
all the children like you," said gilbert, sitting down on the stone step.
""no, not all.
anthony pye does n't and wo n't like me.
what is worse, he does n't respect me... no, he does n't.
he simply holds me in contempt and i do n't mind confessing to you that it worries me miserably.
it is n't that he is so very bad... he is only rather mischievous, but no worse than some of the others.
he seldom disobeys me; but he obeys with a scornful air of toleration as if it was n't worthwhile disputing the point or he would... and it has a bad effect on the others.
i've tried every way to win him but i'm beginning to fear i never shall.
i want to, for he's rather a cute little lad, if he is a pye, and i could like him if he'd let me."
""probably it's merely the effect of what he hears at home."
""not altogether.
anthony is an independent little chap and makes up his own mind about things.
he has always gone to men before and he says girl teachers are no good.
well, we'll see what patience and kindness will do.
i like overcoming difficulties and teaching is really very interesting work.
paul irving makes up for all that is lacking in the others.
that child is a perfect darling, gilbert, and a genius into the bargain.
i'm persuaded the world will hear of him some day," concluded anne in a tone of conviction.
""i like teaching, too," said gilbert.
""it's good training, for one thing.
why, anne, i've learned more in the weeks i've been teaching the young ideas of white sands than i learned in all the years i went to school myself.
we all seem to be getting on pretty well.
the newbridge people like jane, i hear; and i think white sands is tolerably satisfied with your humble servant... all except mr. andrew spencer.
i met mrs. peter blewett on my way home last night and she told me she thought it her duty to inform me that mr. spencer did n't approve of my methods."
""have you ever noticed," asked anne reflectively, "that when people say it is their duty to tell you a certain thing you may prepare for something disagreeable?
why is it that they never seem to think it a duty to tell you the pleasant things they hear about you?
mrs. h. b. donnell called at the school again yesterday and told me she thought it her duty to inform me that mrs. harmon andrew did n't approve of my reading fairy tales to the children, and that mr. rogerson thought prillie was n't coming on fast enough in arithmetic.
if prillie would spend less time making eyes at the boys over her slate she might do better.
i feel quite sure that jack gillis works her class sums for her, though i've never been able to catch him red-handed."
""have you succeeded in reconciling mrs. donnell's hopeful son to his saintly name?"
""yes," laughed anne, "but it was really a difficult task.
at first, when i called him "st. clair" he would not take the least notice until i'd spoken two or three times; and then, when the other boys nudged him, he would look up with such an aggrieved air, as if i'd called him john or charlie and he could n't be expected to know i meant him.
so i kept him in after school one night and talked kindly to him.
i told him his mother wished me to call him st. clair and i could n't go against her wishes.
he saw it when it was all explained out... he's really a very reasonable little fellow... and he said i could call him st. clair but that he'd "lick the stuffing" out of any of the boys that tried it.
of course, i had to rebuke him again for using such shocking language.
since then i call him st. clair and the boys call him jake and all goes smoothly.
he informs me that he means to be a carpenter, but mrs. donnell says i am to make a college professor out of him."
the mention of college gave a new direction to gilbert's thoughts, and they talked for a time of their plans and wishes... gravely, earnestly, hopefully, as youth loves to talk, while the future is yet an untrodden path full of wonderful possibilities.
gilbert had finally made up his mind that he was going to be a doctor.
""it's a splendid profession," he said enthusiastically.
""a fellow has to fight something all through life... did n't somebody once define man as a fighting animal?
... and i want to fight disease and pain and ignorance... which are all members one of another.
i want to do my share of honest, real work in the world, anne... add a little to the sum of human knowledge that all the good men have been accumulating since it began.
the folks who lived before me have done so much for me that i want to show my gratitude by doing something for the folks who will live after me.
it seems to me that is the only way a fellow can get square with his obligations to the race."
""i'd like to add some beauty to life," said anne dreamily.
""i do n't exactly want to make people know more... though i know that is the noblest ambition... but i'd love to make them have a pleasanter time because of me... to have some little joy or happy thought that would never have existed if i had n't been born."
""i think you're fulfilling that ambition every day," said gilbert admiringly.
and he was right.
anne was one of the children of light by birthright.
after she had passed through a life with a smile or a word thrown across it like a gleam of sunshine the owner of that life saw it, for the time being at least, as hopeful and lovely and of good report.
finally gilbert rose regretfully.
""well, i must run up to macphersons".
moody spurgeon came home from queen's today for sunday and he was to bring me out a book professor boyd is lending me."
""and i must get marilla's tea.
she went to see mrs. keith this evening and she will soon be back."
anne had tea ready when marilla came home; the fire was crackling cheerily, a vase of frost-bleached ferns and ruby-red maple leaves adorned the table, and delectable odors of ham and toast pervaded the air.
but marilla sank into her chair with a deep sigh.
""are your eyes troubling you?
does your head ache?"
queried anne anxiously.
""no.
i'm only tired... and worried.
it's about mary and those children... mary is worse... she ca n't last much longer.
and as for the twins, i do n't know what is to become of them."
""has n't their uncle been heard from?"
""yes, mary had a letter from him.
he's working in a lumber camp and "shacking it," whatever that means.
anyway, he says he ca n't possibly take the children till the spring.
he expects to be married then and will have a home to take them to; but he says she must get some of the neighbors to keep them for the winter.
she says she ca n't bear to ask any of them.
mary never got on any too well with the east grafton people and that's a fact.
and the long and short of it is, anne, that i'm sure mary wants me to take those children... she did n't say so but she looked it."
""oh!"
anne clasped her hands, all athrill with excitement.
""and of course you will, marilla, wo n't you?"
""i have n't made up my mind," said marilla rather tartly.
""i do n't rush into things in your headlong way, anne.
third cousinship is a pretty slim claim.
and it will be a fearful responsibility to have two children of six years to look after... twins, at that."
marilla had an idea that twins were just twice as bad as single children.
""twins are very interesting... at least one pair of them," said anne.
""it's only when there are two or three pairs that it gets monotonous.
and i think it would be real nice for you to have something to amuse you when i'm away in school."
""i do n't reckon there'd be much amusement in it... more worry and bother than anything else, i should say.
it would n't be so risky if they were even as old as you were when i took you.
i would n't mind dora so much... she seems good and quiet.
but that davy is a limb."
anne was fond of children and her heart yearned over the keith twins.
the remembrance of her own neglected childhood was very vivid with her still.
she knew that marilla's only vulnerable point was her stern devotion to what she believed to be her duty, and anne skillfully marshalled her arguments along this line.
""if davy is naughty it's all the more reason why he should have good training, is n't it, marilla?
if we do n't take them we do n't know who will, nor what kind of influences may surround them.
suppose mrs. keith's next door neighbors, the sprotts, were to take them.
mrs. lynde says henry sprott is the most profane man that ever lived and you ca n't believe a word his children say.
would n't it be dreadful to have the twins learn anything like that?
or suppose they went to the wiggins".
mrs. lynde says that mr. wiggins sells everything off the place that can be sold and brings his family up on skim milk.
you would n't like your relations to be starved, even if they were only third cousins, would you?
it seems to me, marilla, that it is our duty to take them."
""i suppose it is," assented marilla gloomily.
""i daresay i'll tell mary i'll take them.
you need n't look so delighted, anne.
it will mean a good deal of extra work for you.
i ca n't sew a stitch on account of my eyes, so you'll have to see to the making and mending of their clothes.
and you do n't like sewing."
""i hate it," said anne calmly, "but if you are willing to take those children from a sense of duty surely i can do their sewing from a sense of duty.
it does people good to have to do things they do n't like... in moderation."
viii marilla adopts twins mrs. rachel lynde was sitting at her kitchen window, knitting a quilt, just as she had been sitting one evening several years previously when matthew cuthbert had driven down over the hill with what mrs. rachel called "his imported orphan."
but that had been in springtime; and this was late autumn, and all the woods were leafless and the fields sere and brown.
the sun was just setting with a great deal of purple and golden pomp behind the dark woods west of avonlea when a buggy drawn by a comfortable brown nag came down the hill.
mrs. rachel peered at it eagerly.
""there's marilla getting home from the funeral," she said to her husband, who was lying on the kitchen lounge.
thomas lynde lay more on the lounge nowadays than he had been used to do, but mrs. rachel, who was so sharp at noticing anything beyond her own household, had not as yet noticed this.
""and she's got the twins with her,... yes, there's davy leaning over the dashboard grabbing at the pony's tail and marilla jerking him back.
dora's sitting up on the seat as prim as you please.
she always looks as if she'd just been starched and ironed.
well, poor marilla is going to have her hands full this winter and no mistake.
still, i do n't see that she could do anything less than take them, under the circumstances, and she'll have anne to help her.
anne's tickled to death over the whole business, and she has a real knacky way with children, i must say.
dear me, it does n't seem a day since poor matthew brought anne herself home and everybody laughed at the idea of marilla bringing up a child.
and now she has adopted twins.
you're never safe from being surprised till you're dead."
the fat pony jogged over the bridge in lynde's hollow and along the green gables lane.
marilla's face was rather grim.
it was ten miles from east grafton and davy keith seemed to be possessed with a passion for perpetual motion.
it was beyond marilla's power to make him sit still and she had been in an agony the whole way lest he fall over the back of the wagon and break his neck, or tumble over the dashboard under the pony's heels.
in despair she finally threatened to whip him soundly when she got him home.
whereupon davy climbed into her lap, regardless of the reins, flung his chubby arms about her neck and gave her a bear-like hug.
""i do n't believe you mean it," he said, smacking her wrinkled cheek affectionately.
""you do n't look like a lady who'd whip a little boy just'cause he could n't keep still.
did n't you find it awful hard to keep still when you was only's old as me?"
""no, i always kept still when i was told," said marilla, trying to speak sternly, albeit she felt her heart waxing soft within her under davy's impulsive caresses.
""well, i s "pose that was'cause you was a girl," said davy, squirming back to his place after another hug.
""you was a girl once, i s "pose, though it's awful funny to think of it.
dora can sit still... but there ai n't much fun in it i do n't think.
seems to me it must be slow to be a girl.
here, dora, let me liven you up a bit."
davy's method of "livening up" was to grasp dora's curls in his fingers and give them a tug.
dora shrieked and then cried.
""how can you be such a naughty boy and your poor mother just laid in her grave this very day?"
demanded marilla despairingly.
""but she was glad to die," said davy confidentially.
""i know,'cause she told me so.
she was awful tired of being sick.
we'd a long talk the night before she died.
she told me you was going to take me and dora for the winter and i was to be a good boy.
i'm going to be good, but ca n't you be good running round just as well as sitting still?
and she said i was always to be kind to dora and stand up for her, and i'm going to."
""do you call pulling her hair being kind to her?"
""well, i ai n't going to let anybody else pull it," said davy, doubling up his fists and frowning.
""they'd just better try it.
i did n't hurt her much... she just cried'cause she's a girl.
i'm glad i'm a boy but i'm sorry i'm a twin.
when jimmy sprott's sister conterdicks him he just says, "i'm oldern you, so of course i know better," and that settles her.
but i ca n't tell dora that, and she just goes on thinking diffrunt from me.
you might let me drive the gee-gee for a spell, since i'm a man."
altogether, marilla was a thankful woman when she drove into her own yard, where the wind of the autumn night was dancing with the brown leaves.
anne was at the gate to meet them and lift the twins out.
dora submitted calmly to be kissed, but davy responded to anne's welcome with one of his hearty hugs and the cheerful announcement, "i'm mr. davy keith."
at the supper table dora behaved like a little lady, but davy's manners left much to be desired.
""i'm so hungry i ai n't got time to eat p "litely," he said when marilla reproved him.
""dora ai n't half as hungry as i am.
look at all the ex "cise i took on the road here.
that cake's awful nice and plummy.
we have n't had any cake at home for ever'n ever so long,'cause mother was too sick to make it and mrs. sprott said it was as much as she could do to bake our bread for us.
and mrs. wiggins never puts any plums in her cakes.
catch her!
can i have another piece?"
marilla would have refused but anne cut a generous second slice.
however, she reminded davy that he ought to say "thank you" for it.
davy merely grinned at her and took a huge bite.
when he had finished the slice he said, "if you'll give me another piece i'll say thank you for it."
""no, you have had plenty of cake," said marilla in a tone which anne knew and davy was to learn to be final.
davy winked at anne, and then, leaning over the table, snatched dora's first piece of cake, from which she had just taken one dainty little bite, out of her very fingers and, opening his mouth to the fullest extent, crammed the whole slice in.
dora's lip trembled and marilla was speechless with horror.
anne promptly exclaimed, with her best "schoolma'am" air, "oh, davy, gentlemen do n't do things like that."
""i know they do n't," said davy, as soon as he could speak, "but i ai n't a gemplum."
""but do n't you want to be?"
said shocked anne.
""course i do.
but you ca n't be a gemplum till you grow up."
""oh, indeed you can," anne hastened to say, thinking she saw a chance to sow good seed betimes.
""you can begin to be a gentleman when you are a little boy.
and gentlemen never snatch things from ladies... or forget to say thank you... or pull anybody's hair."
""they do n't have much fun, that's a fact," said davy frankly.
""i guess i'll wait till i'm grown up to be one."
marilla, with a resigned air, had cut another piece of cake for dora.
she did not feel able to cope with davy just then.
it had been a hard day for her, what with the funeral and the long drive.
at that moment she looked forward to the future with a pessimism that would have done credit to eliza andrews herself.
the twins were not noticeably alike, although both were fair.
dora had long sleek curls that never got out of order.
davy had a crop of fuzzy little yellow ringlets all over his round head.
dora's hazel eyes were gentle and mild; davy's were as roguish and dancing as an elf's.
dora's nose was straight, davy's a positive snub; dora had a "prunes and prisms" mouth, davy's was all smiles; and besides, he had a dimple in one cheek and none in the other, which gave him a dear, comical, lopsided look when he laughed.
mirth and mischief lurked in every corner of his little face.
""they'd better go to bed," said marilla, who thought it was the easiest way to dispose of them.
""dora will sleep with me and you can put davy in the west gable.
you're not afraid to sleep alone, are you, davy?"
""no; but i ai n't going to bed for ever so long yet," said davy comfortably.
""oh, yes, you are."
that was all the much-tried marilla said, but something in her tone squelched even davy.
he trotted obediently upstairs with anne.
""when i'm grown up the very first thing i'm going to do is stay up all night just to see what it would be like," he told her confidentially.
in after years marilla never thought of that first week of the twins" sojourn at green gables without a shiver.
not that it really was so much worse than the weeks that followed it; but it seemed so by reason of its novelty.
there was seldom a waking minute of any day when davy was not in mischief or devising it; but his first notable exploit occurred two days after his arrival, on sunday morning... a fine, warm day, as hazy and mild as september.
anne dressed him for church while marilla attended to dora.
davy at first objected strongly to having his face washed.
""marilla washed it yesterday... and mrs. wiggins scoured me with hard soap the day of the funeral.
that's enough for one week.
i do n't see the good of being so awful clean.
it's lots more comfable being dirty."
""paul irving washes his face every day of his own accord," said anne astutely.
davy had been an inmate of green gables for little over forty-eight hours; but he already worshipped anne and hated paul irving, whom he had heard anne praising enthusiastically the day after his arrival.
if paul irving washed his face every day, that settled it.
he, davy keith, would do it too, if it killed him.
the same consideration induced him to submit meekly to the other details of his toilet, and he was really a handsome little lad when all was done.
anne felt an almost maternal pride in him as she led him into the old cuthbert pew.
davy behaved quite well at first, being occupied in casting covert glances at all the small boys within view and wondering which was paul irving.
the first two hymns and the scripture reading passed off uneventfully.
mr. allan was praying when the sensation came.
lauretta white was sitting in front of davy, her head slightly bent and her fair hair hanging in two long braids, between which a tempting expanse of white neck showed, encased in a loose lace frill.
lauretta was a fat, placid-looking child of eight, who had conducted herself irreproachably in church from the very first day her mother carried her there, an infant of six months.
davy thrust his hand into his pocket and produced... a caterpillar, a furry, squirming caterpillar.
marilla saw and clutched at him but she was too late.
davy dropped the caterpillar down lauretta's neck.
right into the middle of mr. allan's prayer burst a series of piercing shrieks.
the minister stopped appalled and opened his eyes.
every head in the congregation flew up.
lauretta white was dancing up and down in her pew, clutching frantically at the back of her dress.
""ow... mommer... mommer... ow... take it off... ow... get it out... ow... that bad boy put it down my neck... ow... mommer... it's going further down... ow... ow... ow..." mrs. white rose and with a set face carried the hysterical, writhing lauretta out of church.
her shrieks died away in the distance and mr. allan proceeded with the service.
but everybody felt that it was a failure that day.
for the first time in her life marilla took no notice of the text and anne sat with scarlet cheeks of mortification.
when they got home marilla put davy to bed and made him stay there for the rest of the day.
she would not give him any dinner but allowed him a plain tea of bread and milk.
anne carried it to him and sat sorrowfully by him while he ate it with an unrepentant relish.
but anne's mournful eyes troubled him.
""i s "pose," he said reflectively, "that paul irving would n't have dropped a caterpillar down a girl's neck in church, would he?"
""indeed he would n't," said anne sadly.
""well, i'm kind of sorry i did it, then," conceded davy.
""but it was such a jolly big caterpillar... i picked him up on the church steps just as we went in.
it seemed a pity to waste him.
and say, was n't it fun to hear that girl yell?"
tuesday afternoon the aid society met at green gables.
anne hurried home from school, for she knew that marilla would need all the assistance she could give.
dora, neat and proper, in her nicely starched white dress and black sash, was sitting with the members of the aid in the parlor, speaking demurely when spoken to, keeping silence when not, and in every way comporting herself as a model child.
davy, blissfully dirty, was making mud pies in the barnyard.
""i told him he might," said marilla wearily.
""i thought it would keep him out of worse mischief.
he can only get dirty at that.
we'll have our teas over before we call him to his.
dora can have hers with us, but i would never dare to let davy sit down at the table with all the aids here."
when anne went to call the aids to tea she found that dora was not in the parlor.
mrs. jasper bell said davy had come to the front door and called her out.
a hasty consultation with marilla in the pantry resulted in a decision to let both children have their teas together later on.
tea was half over when the dining room was invaded by a forlorn figure.
marilla and anne stared in dismay, the aids in amazement.
could that be dora... that sobbing nondescript in a drenched, dripping dress and hair from which the water was streaming on marilla's new coin-spot rug?
""dora, what has happened to you?"
cried anne, with a guilty glance at mrs. jasper bell, whose family was said to be the only one in the world in which accidents never occurred.
""davy made me walk the pigpen fence," wailed dora.
""i did n't want to but he called me a fraid-cat.
and i fell off into the pigpen and my dress got all dirty and the pig runned right over me.
my dress was just awful but davy said if i'd stand under the pump he'd wash it clean, and i did and he pumped water all over me but my dress ai n't a bit cleaner and my pretty sash and shoes is all spoiled."
anne did the honors of the table alone for the rest of the meal while marilla went upstairs and redressed dora in her old clothes.
davy was caught and sent to bed without any supper.
anne went to his room at twilight and talked to him seriously... a method in which she had great faith, not altogether unjustified by results.
she told him she felt very badly over his conduct.
""i feel sorry now myself," admitted davy, "but the trouble is i never feel sorry for doing things till after i've did them.
dora would n't help me make pies, cause she was afraid of messing her clo'es and that made me hopping mad.
i s "pose paul irving would n't have made his sister walk a pigpen fence if he knew she'd fall in?"
""no, he would never dream of such a thing.
paul is a perfect little gentleman."
davy screwed his eyes tight shut and seemed to meditate on this for a time.
then he crawled up and put his arms about anne's neck, snuggling his flushed little face down on her shoulder.
""anne, do n't you like me a little bit, even if i ai n't a good boy like paul?"
""indeed i do," said anne sincerely.
somehow, it was impossible to help liking davy.
""but i'd like you better still if you were n't so naughty."
""i... did something else today," went on davy in a muffled voice.
""i'm sorry now but i'm awful scared to tell you.
you wo n't be very cross, will you?
and you wo n't tell marilla, will you?"
""i do n't know, davy.
perhaps i ought to tell her.
but i think i can promise you i wo n't if you promise me that you will never do it again, whatever it is."
""no, i never will.
anyhow, it's not likely i'd find any more of them this year.
i found this one on the cellar steps."
""davy, what is it you've done?"
""i put a toad in marilla's bed.
you can go and take it out if you like.
but say, anne, would n't it be fun to leave it there?"
""davy keith!"
anne sprang from davy's clinging arms and flew across the hall to marilla's room.
the bed was slightly rumpled.
she threw back the blankets in nervous haste and there in very truth was the toad, blinking at her from under a pillow.
""how can i carry that awful thing out?"
moaned anne with a shudder.
the fire shovel suggested itself to her and she crept down to get it while marilla was busy in the pantry.
anne had her own troubles carrying that toad downstairs, for it hopped off the shovel three times and once she thought she had lost it in the hall.
when she finally deposited it in the cherry orchard she drew a long breath of relief.
""if marilla knew she'd never feel safe getting into bed again in her life.
i'm so glad that little sinner repented in time.
there's diana signaling to me from her window.
i'm glad... i really feel the need of some diversion, for what with anthony pye in school and davy keith at home my nerves have had about all they can endure for one day."
ix a question of color "that old nuisance of a rachel lynde was here again today, pestering me for a subscription towards buying a carpet for the vestry room," said mr. harrison wrathfully.
""i detest that woman more than anybody i know.
she can put a whole sermon, text, comment, and application, into six words, and throw it at you like a brick."
anne, who was perched on the edge of the veranda, enjoying the charm of a mild west wind blowing across a newly ploughed field on a gray november twilight and piping a quaint little melody among the twisted firs below the garden, turned her dreamy face over her shoulder.
""the trouble is, you and mrs. lynde do n't understand one another," she explained.
""that is always what is wrong when people do n't like each other.
i did n't like mrs. lynde at first either; but as soon as i came to understand her i learned to."
""mrs. lynde may be an acquired taste with some folks; but i did n't keep on eating bananas because i was told i'd learn to like them if i did," growled mr. harrison.
""and as for understanding her, i understand that she is a confirmed busybody and i told her so."
""oh, that must have hurt her feelings very much," said anne reproachfully.
""how could you say such a thing?
i said some dreadful things to mrs. lynde long ago but it was when i had lost my temper.
i could n't say them deliberately."
""it was the truth and i believe in telling the truth to everybody."
""but you do n't tell the whole truth," objected anne.
""you only tell the disagreeable part of the truth.
now, you've told me a dozen times that my hair was red, but you've never once told me that i had a nice nose."
""i daresay you know it without any telling," chuckled mr. harrison.
""i know i have red hair too... although it's much darker than it used to be... so there's no need of telling me that either."
""well, well, i'll try and not mention it again since you're so sensitive.
you must excuse me, anne.
i've got a habit of being outspoken and folks must n't mind it."
""but they ca n't help minding it.
and i do n't think it's any help that it's your habit.
what would you think of a person who went about sticking pins and needles into people and saying, "excuse me, you must n't mind it... it's just a habit i've got."
you'd think he was crazy, would n't you?
and as for mrs. lynde being a busybody, perhaps she is.
but did you tell her she had a very kind heart and always helped the poor, and never said a word when timothy cotton stole a crock of butter out of her dairy and told his wife he'd bought it from her?
mrs. cotton cast it up to her the next time they met that it tasted of turnips and mrs. lynde just said she was sorry it had turned out so poorly."
""i suppose she has some good qualities," conceded mr. harrison grudgingly.
""most folks have.
i have some myself, though you might never suspect it.
but anyhow i ai n't going to give anything to that carpet.
folks are everlasting begging for money here, it seems to me.
how's your project of painting the hall coming on?"
""splendidly.
we had a meeting of the a.v.i.s. last friday night and found that we had plenty of money subscribed to paint the hall and shingle the roof too.
most people gave very liberally, mr. harrison."
anne was a sweet-souled lass, but she could instill some venom into innocent italics when occasion required.
""what color are you going to have it?"
""we have decided on a very pretty green.
the roof will be dark red, of course.
mr. roger pye is going to get the paint in town today."
""who's got the job?"
""mr. joshua pye of carmody.
he has nearly finished the shingling.
we had to give him the contract, for every one of the pyes... and there are four families, you know... said they would n't give a cent unless joshua got it.
they had subscribed twelve dollars between them and we thought that was too much to lose, although some people think we should n't have given in to the pyes.
mrs. lynde says they try to run everything."
""the main question is will this joshua do his work well.
if he does i do n't see that it matters whether his name is pye or pudding."
""he has the reputation of being a good workman, though they say he's a very peculiar man.
he hardly ever talks."
""he's peculiar enough all right then," said mr. harrison drily.
""or at least, folks here will call him so.
i never was much of a talker till i came to avonlea and then i had to begin in self-defense or mrs. lynde would have said i was dumb and started a subscription to have me taught sign language.
you're not going yet, anne?"
""i must.
i have some sewing to do for dora this evening.
besides, davy is probably breaking marilla's heart with some new mischief by this time.
this morning the first thing he said was, "where does the dark go, anne?
i want to know."
i told him it went around to the other side of the world but after breakfast he declared it did n't... that it went down the well.
marilla says she caught him hanging over the well-box four times today, trying to reach down to the dark."
""he's a limb," declared mr. harrison.
""he came over here yesterday and pulled six feathers out of ginger's tail before i could get in from the barn.
the poor bird has been moping ever since.
those children must be a sight of trouble to you folks."
""everything that's worth having is some trouble," said anne, secretly resolving to forgive davy's next offence, whatever it might be, since he had avenged her on ginger.
mr. roger pye brought the hall paint home that night and mr. joshua pye, a surly, taciturn man, began painting the next day.
he was not disturbed in his task.
the hall was situated on what was called "the lower road."
in late autumn this road was always muddy and wet, and people going to carmody traveled by the longer "upper" road.
the hall was so closely surrounded by fir woods that it was invisible unless you were near it.
mr. joshua pye painted away in the solitude and independence that were so dear to his unsociable heart.
friday afternoon he finished his job and went home to carmody.
soon after his departure mrs. rachel lynde drove by, having braved the mud of the lower road out of curiosity to see what the hall looked like in its new coat of paint.
when she rounded the spruce curve she saw.
the sight affected mrs. lynde oddly.
she dropped the reins, held up her hands, and said "gracious providence!"
she stared as if she could not believe her eyes.
then she laughed almost hysterically.
""there must be some mistake... there must.
i knew those pyes would make a mess of things."
mrs. lynde drove home, meeting several people on the road and stopping to tell them about the hall.
the news flew like wildfire.
gilbert blythe, poring over a text book at home, heard it from his father's hired boy at sunset, and rushed breathlessly to green gables, joined on the way by fred wright.
they found diana barry, jane andrews, and anne shirley, despair personified, at the yard gate of green gables, under the big leafless willows.
""it is n't true surely, anne?"
exclaimed gilbert.
""it is true," answered anne, looking like the muse of tragedy.
""mrs. lynde called on her way from carmody to tell me.
oh, it is simply dreadful!
what is the use of trying to improve anything?"
""what is dreadful?"
asked oliver sloane, arriving at this moment with a bandbox he had brought from town for marilla.
""have n't you heard?"
said jane wrathfully.
""well, its simply this... joshua pye has gone and painted the hall blue instead of green... a deep, brilliant blue, the shade they use for painting carts and wheelbarrows.
and mrs. lynde says it is the most hideous color for a building, especially when combined with a red roof, that she ever saw or imagined.
you could simply have knocked me down with a feather when i heard it.
it's heartbreaking, after all the trouble we've had."
""how on earth could such a mistake have happened?"
wailed diana.
the blame of this unmerciful disaster was eventually narrowed down to the pyes.
the improvers had decided to use morton-harris paints and the morton-harris paint cans were numbered according to a color card.
a purchaser chose his shade on the card and ordered by the accompanying number.
number 147 was the shade of green desired and when mr. roger pye sent word to the improvers by his son, john andrew, that he was going to town and would get their paint for them, the improvers told john andrew to tell his father to get 147.
john andrew always averred that he did so, but mr. roger pye as stanchly declared that john andrew told him 157; and there the matter stands to this day.
that night there was blank dismay in every avonlea house where an improver lived.
the gloom at green gables was so intense that it quenched even davy.
anne wept and would not be comforted.
""i must cry, even if i am almost seventeen, marilla," she sobbed.
""it is so mortifying.
and it sounds the death knell of our society.
we'll simply be laughed out of existence."
in life, as in dreams, however, things often go by contraries.
the avonlea people did not laugh; they were too angry.
their money had gone to paint the hall and consequently they felt themselves bitterly aggrieved by the mistake.
public indignation centered on the pyes.
roger pye and john andrew had bungled the matter between them; and as for joshua pye, he must be a born fool not to suspect there was something wrong when he opened the cans and saw the color of the paint.
joshua pye, when thus animadverted upon, retorted that the avonlea taste in colors was no business of his, whatever his private opinion might be; he had been hired to paint the hall, not to talk about it; and he meant to have his money for it.
the improvers paid him his money in bitterness of spirit, after consulting mr. peter sloane, who was a magistrate.
""you'll have to pay it," peter told him.
""you ca n't hold him responsible for the mistake, since he claims he was never told what the color was supposed to be but just given the cans and told to go ahead.
but it's a burning shame and that hall certainly does look awful."
the luckless improvers expected that avonlea would be more prejudiced than ever against them; but instead, public sympathy veered around in their favor.
people thought the eager, enthusiastic little band who had worked so hard for their object had been badly used.
mrs. lynde told them to keep on and show the pyes that there really were people in the world who could do things without making a muddle of them.
mr. major spencer sent them word that he would clean out all the stumps along the road front of his farm and seed it down with grass at his own expense; and mrs. hiram sloane called at the school one day and beckoned anne mysteriously out into the porch to tell her that if the "sassiety" wanted to make a geranium bed at the crossroads in the spring they need n't be afraid of her cow, for she would see that the marauding animal was kept within safe bounds.
even mr. harrison chuckled, if he chuckled at all, in private, and was all sympathy outwardly.
""never mind, anne.
most paints fade uglier every year but that blue is as ugly as it can be to begin with, so it's bound to fade prettier.
and the roof is shingled and painted all right.
folks will be able to sit in the hall after this without being leaked on.
you've accomplished so much anyhow."
""but avonlea's blue hall will be a byword in all the neighboring settlements from this time out," said anne bitterly.
and it must be confessed that it was.
x davy in search of a sensation anne, walking home from school through the birch path one november afternoon, felt convinced afresh that life was a very wonderful thing.
the day had been a good day; all had gone well in her little kingdom.
st. clair donnell had not fought any of the other boys over the question of his name; prillie rogerson's face had been so puffed up from the effects of toothache that she did not once try to coquette with the boys in her vicinity.
barbara shaw had met with only one accident... spilling a dipper of water over the floor... and anthony pye had not been in school at all.
""what a nice month this november has been!"
said anne, who had never quite got over her childish habit of talking to herself.
""november is usually such a disagreeable month... as if the year had suddenly found out that she was growing old and could do nothing but weep and fret over it.
this year is growing old gracefully... just like a stately old lady who knows she can be charming even with gray hair and wrinkles.
we've had lovely days and delicious twilights.
this last fortnight has been so peaceful, and even davy has been almost well-behaved.
i really think he is improving a great deal.
how quiet the woods are today... not a murmur except that soft wind purring in the treetops!
it sounds like surf on a faraway shore.
how dear the woods are!
you beautiful trees!
i love every one of you as a friend."
anne paused to throw her arm about a slim young birch and kiss its cream-white trunk.
diana, rounding a curve in the path, saw her and laughed.
""anne shirley, you're only pretending to be grown up.
i believe when you're alone you're as much a little girl as you ever were."
""well, one ca n't get over the habit of being a little girl all at once," said anne gaily.
""you see, i was little for fourteen years and i've only been grown-uppish for scarcely three.
i'm sure i shall always feel like a child in the woods.
these walks home from school are almost the only time i have for dreaming... except the half-hour or so before i go to sleep.
i'm so busy with teaching and studying and helping marilla with the twins that i have n't another moment for imagining things.
you do n't know what splendid adventures i have for a little while after i go to bed in the east gable every night.
i always imagine i'm something very brilliant and triumphant and splendid... a great prima donna or a red cross nurse or a queen.
last night i was a queen.
it's really splendid to imagine you are a queen.
you have all the fun of it without any of the inconveniences and you can stop being a queen whenever you want to, which you could n't in real life.
but here in the woods i like best to imagine quite different things... i'm a dryad living in an old pine, or a little brown wood-elf hiding under a crinkled leaf.
that white birch you caught me kissing is a sister of mine.
the only difference is, she's a tree and i'm a girl, but that's no real difference.
where are you going, diana?"
""down to the dicksons.
i promised to help alberta cut out her new dress.
ca n't you walk down in the evening, anne, and come home with me?"
""i might... since fred wright is away in town," said anne with a rather too innocent face.
diana blushed, tossed her head, and walked on.
she did not look offended, however.
anne fully intended to go down to the dicksons" that evening, but she did not.
when she arrived at green gables she found a state of affairs which banished every other thought from her mind.
marilla met her in the yard... a wild-eyed marilla.
""anne, dora is lost!"
""dora!
lost!"
anne looked at davy, who was swinging on the yard gate, and detected merriment in his eyes.
""davy, do you know where she is?"
""no, i do n't," said davy stoutly.
""i have n't seen her since dinner time, cross my heart."
""i've been away ever since one o'clock," said marilla.
""thomas lynde took sick all of a sudden and rachel sent up for me to go at once.
when i left here dora was playing with her doll in the kitchen and davy was making mud pies behind the barn.
i only got home half an hour ago... and no dora to be seen.
davy declares he never saw her since i left."
""neither i did," avowed davy solemnly.
""she must be somewhere around," said anne.
""she would never wander far away alone... you know how timid she is.
perhaps she has fallen asleep in one of the rooms."
marilla shook her head.
""i've hunted the whole house through.
but she may be in some of the buildings."
a thorough search followed.
every corner of house, yard, and outbuildings was ransacked by those two distracted people.
anne roved the orchards and the haunted wood, calling dora's name.
marilla took a candle and explored the cellar.
davy accompanied each of them in turn, and was fertile in thinking of places where dora could possibly be.
finally they met again in the yard.
""it's a most mysterious thing," groaned marilla.
""where can she be?"
said anne miserably "maybe she's tumbled into the well," suggested davy cheerfully.
anne and marilla looked fearfully into each other's eyes.
the thought had been with them both through their entire search but neither had dared to put it into words.
""she... she might have," whispered marilla.
anne, feeling faint and sick, went to the wellbox and peered over.
the bucket sat on the shelf inside.
far down below was a tiny glimmer of still water.
the cuthbert well was the deepest in avonlea.
if dora... but anne could not face the idea.
she shuddered and turned away.
""run across for mr. harrison," said marilla, wringing her hands.
""mr. harrison and john henry are both away... they went to town today.
i'll go for mr. barry."
mr. barry came back with anne, carrying a coil of rope to which was attached a claw-like instrument that had been the business end of a grubbing fork.
marilla and anne stood by, cold and shaken with horror and dread, while mr. barry dragged the well, and davy, astride the gate, watched the group with a face indicative of huge enjoyment.
finally mr. barry shook his head, with a relieved air.
""she ca n't be down there.
it's a mighty curious thing where she could have got to, though.
look here, young man, are you sure you've no idea where your sister is?"
""i've told you a dozen times that i have n't," said davy, with an injured air.
""maybe a tramp come and stole her."
""nonsense," said marilla sharply, relieved from her horrible fear of the well.
""anne, do you suppose she could have strayed over to mr. harrison's?
she has always been talking about his parrot ever since that time you took her over."
""i ca n't believe dora would venture so far alone but i'll go over and see," said anne.
nobody was looking at davy just then or it would have been seen that a very decided change came over his face.
he quietly slipped off the gate and ran, as fast as his fat legs could carry him, to the barn.
anne hastened across the fields to the harrison establishment in no very hopeful frame of mind.
the house was locked, the window shades were down, and there was no sign of anything living about the place.
she stood on the veranda and called dora loudly.
ginger, in the kitchen behind her, shrieked and swore with sudden fierceness; but between his outbursts anne heard a plaintive cry from the little building in the yard which served mr. harrison as a toolhouse.
anne flew to the door, unhasped it, and caught up a small mortal with a tearstained face who was sitting forlornly on an upturned nail keg.
""oh, dora, dora, what a fright you have given us!
how came you to be here?"
""davy and i came over to see ginger," sobbed dora, "but we could n't see him after all, only davy made him swear by kicking the door.
and then davy brought me here and run out and shut the door; and i could n't get out.
i cried and cried, i was frightened, and oh, i'm so hungry and cold; and i thought you'd never come, anne."
""davy?"
but anne could say no more.
she carried dora home with a heavy heart.
her joy at finding the child safe and sound was drowned out in the pain caused by davy's behavior.
the freak of shutting dora up might easily have been pardoned.
but davy had told falsehoods... downright coldblooded falsehoods about it.
that was the ugly fact and anne could not shut her eyes to it.
she could have sat down and cried with sheer disappointment.
she had grown to love davy dearly... how dearly she had not known until this minute... and it hurt her unbearably to discover that he was guilty of deliberate falsehood.
marilla listened to anne's tale in a silence that boded no good davy-ward; mr. barry laughed and advised that davy be summarily dealt with.
when he had gone home anne soothed and warmed the sobbing, shivering dora, got her her supper and put her to bed.
then she returned to the kitchen, just as marilla came grimly in, leading, or rather pulling, the reluctant, cobwebby davy, whom she had just found hidden away in the darkest corner of the stable.
she jerked him to the mat on the middle of the floor and then went and sat down by the east window.
anne was sitting limply by the west window.
between them stood the culprit.
his back was toward marilla and it was a meek, subdued, frightened back; but his face was toward anne and although it was a little shamefaced there was a gleam of comradeship in davy's eyes, as if he knew he had done wrong and was going to be punished for it, but could count on a laugh over it all with anne later on.
but no half hidden smile answered him in anne's gray eyes, as there might have done had it been only a question of mischief.
there was something else... something ugly and repulsive.
""how could you behave so, davy?"
she asked sorrowfully.
davy squirmed uncomfortably.
""i just did it for fun.
things have been so awful quiet here for so long that i thought it would be fun to give you folks a big scare.
it was, too."
in spite of fear and a little remorse davy grinned over the recollection.
""but you told a falsehood about it, davy," said anne, more sorrowfully than ever.
davy looked puzzled.
""what's a falsehood?
do you mean a whopper?"
""i mean a story that was not true."
""course i did," said davy frankly.
""if i had n't you would n't have been scared.
i had to tell it."
anne was feeling the reaction from her fright and exertions.
davy's impenitent attitude gave the finishing touch.
two big tears brimmed up in her eyes.
""oh, davy, how could you?"
she said, with a quiver in her voice.
""do n't you know how wrong it was?"
davy was aghast.
anne crying... he had made anne cry!
a flood of real remorse rolled like a wave over his warm little heart and engulfed it.
he rushed to anne, hurled himself into her lap, flung his arms around her neck, and burst into tears.
""i did n't know it was wrong to tell whoppers," he sobbed.
""how did you expect me to know it was wrong?
all mr. sprott's children told them regular every day, and cross their hearts too.
i s "pose paul irving never tells whoppers and here i've been trying awful hard to be as good as him, but now i s "pose you'll never love me again.
but i think you might have told me it was wrong.
i'm awful sorry i've made you cry, anne, and i'll never tell a whopper again."
davy buried his face in anne's shoulder and cried stormily.
anne, in a sudden glad flash of understanding, held him tight and looked over his curly thatch at marilla.
""he did n't know it was wrong to tell falsehoods, marilla.
i think we must forgive him for that part of it this time if he will promise never to say what is n't true again."
""i never will, now that i know it's bad," asseverated davy between sobs.
""if you ever catch me telling a whopper again you can..." davy groped mentally for a suitable penance... "you can skin me alive, anne."
""do n't say "whopper," davy... say "falsehood,"" said the schoolma'am.
""why?"
queried davy, settling comfortably down and looking up with a tearstained, investigating face.
""why ai n't whopper as good as falsehood?
i want to know.
it's just as big a word."
""it's slang; and it's wrong for little boys to use slang."
""there's an awful lot of things it's wrong to do," said davy with a sigh.
""i never s "posed there was so many.
i'm sorry it's wrong to tell whop... falsehoods,'cause it's awful handy, but since it is i'm never going to tell any more.
what are you going to do to me for telling them this time?
i want to know."
anne looked beseechingly at marilla.
""i do n't want to be too hard on the child," said marilla.
""i daresay nobody ever did tell him it was wrong to tell lies, and those sprott children were no fit companions for him.
poor mary was too sick to train him properly and i presume you could n't expect a six-year-old child to know things like that by instinct.
i suppose we'll just have to assume he does n't know anything right and begin at the beginning.
but he'll have to be punished for shutting dora up, and i ca n't think of any way except to send him to bed without his supper and we've done that so often.
ca n't you suggest something else, anne?
i should think you ought to be able to, with that imagination you're always talking of."
""but punishments are so horrid and i like to imagine only pleasant things," said anne, cuddling davy.
""there are so many unpleasant things in the world already that there is no use in imagining any more."
in the end davy was sent to bed, as usual, there to remain until noon next day.
he evidently did some thinking, for when anne went up to her room a little later she heard him calling her name softly.
going in, she found him sitting up in bed, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his hands.
""anne," he said solemnly, "is it wrong for everybody to tell whop... falsehoods?
i want to know?"
""yes, indeed."
""is it wrong for a grown-up person?"
""yes."
""then," said davy decidedly, "marilla is bad, for she tells them.
and she's worse'n me, for i did n't know it was wrong but she does."
""davy keith, marilla never told a story in her life," said anne indignantly.
""she did so.
she told me last tuesday that something dreadful would happen to me if i did n't say my prayers every night.
and i have n't said them for over a week, just to see what would happen... and nothing has," concluded davy in an aggrieved tone.
anne choked back a mad desire to laugh with the conviction that it would be fatal, and then earnestly set about saving marilla's reputation.
""why, davy keith," she said solemnly, "something dreadful has happened to you this very day."
davy looked sceptical.
""i s "pose you mean being sent to bed without any supper," he said scornfully, "but that is n't dreadful.
course, i do n't like it, but i've been sent to bed so much since i come here that i'm getting used to it.
and you do n't save anything by making me go without supper either, for i always eat twice as much for breakfast."
""i do n't mean your being sent to bed.
i mean the fact that you told a falsehood today.
and, davy,"... anne leaned over the footboard of the bed and shook her finger impressively at the culprit... "for a boy to tell what is n't true is almost the worst thing that could happen to him... almost the very worst.
so you see marilla told you the truth."
""but i thought the something bad would be exciting," protested davy in an injured tone.
""marilla is n't to blame for what you thought.
bad things are n't always exciting.
they're very often just nasty and stupid."
""it was awful funny to see marilla and you looking down the well, though," said davy, hugging his knees.
anne kept a sober face until she got downstairs and then she collapsed on the sitting room lounge and laughed until her sides ached.
""i wish you'd tell me the joke," said marilla, a little grimly.
""i have n't seen much to laugh at today."
""you'll laugh when you hear this," assured anne.
and marilla did laugh, which showed how much her education had advanced since the adoption of anne.
but she sighed immediately afterwards.
""i suppose i should n't have told him that, although i heard a minister say it to a child once.
but he did aggravate me so.
it was that night you were at the carmody concert and i was putting him to bed.
he said he did n't see the good of praying until he got big enough to be of some importance to god.
anne, i do not know what we are going to do with that child.
i never saw his beat.
i'm feeling clean discouraged."
""oh, do n't say that, marilla.
remember how bad i was when i came here."
""anne, you never were bad... never.
i see that now, when i've learned what real badness is.
you were always getting into terrible scrapes, i'll admit, but your motive was always good.
davy is just bad from sheer love of it."
""oh, no, i do n't think it is real badness with him either," pleaded anne.
""it's just mischief.
and it is rather quiet for him here, you know.
he has no other boys to play with and his mind has to have something to occupy it.
dora is so prim and proper she is no good for a boy's playmate.
i really think it would be better to let them go to school, marilla."
""no," said marilla resolutely, "my father always said that no child should be cooped up in the four walls of a school until it was seven years old, and mr. allan says the same thing.
the twins can have a few lessons at home but go to school they sha n't till they're seven."
""well, we must try to reform davy at home then," said anne cheerfully.
""with all his faults he's really a dear little chap.
i ca n't help loving him.
marilla, it may be a dreadful thing to say, but honestly, i like davy better than dora, for all she's so good."
""i do n't know but that i do, myself," confessed marilla, "and it is n't fair, for dora is n't a bit of trouble.
there could n't be a better child and you'd hardly know she was in the house."
""dora is too good," said anne.
""she'd behave just as well if there was n't a soul to tell her what to do.
she was born already brought up, so she does n't need us; and i think," concluded anne, hitting on a very vital truth, "that we always love best the people who need us.
davy needs us badly."
""he certainly needs something," agreed marilla.
""rachel lynde would say it was a good spanking."
xi facts and fancies "teaching is really very interesting work," wrote anne to a queen's academy chum.
""jane says she thinks it is monotonous but i do n't find it so.
something funny is almost sure to happen every day, and the children say such amusing things.
jane says she punishes her pupils when they make funny speeches, which is probably why she finds teaching monotonous.
this afternoon little jimmy andrews was trying to spell "speckled" and could n't manage it.
"well," he said finally," i ca n't spell it but i know what it means.""
"what?"
i asked."
"st. clair donnell's face, miss."
""st. clair is certainly very much freckled, although i try to prevent the others from commenting on it... for i was freckled once and well do i remember it.
but i do n't think st. clair minds.
it was because jimmy called him "st. clair" that st. clair pounded him on the way home from school.
i heard of the pounding, but not officially, so i do n't think i'll take any notice of it.
""yesterday i was trying to teach lottie wright to do addition.
i said, "if you had three candies in one hand and two in the other, how many would you have altogether?'"
a mouthful," said lottie.
and in the nature study class, when i asked them to give me a good reason why toads should n't be killed, benjie sloane gravely answered, "because it would rain the next day."
""it's so hard not to laugh, stella.
i have to save up all my amusement until i get home, and marilla says it makes her nervous to hear wild shrieks of mirth proceeding from the east gable without any apparent cause.
she says a man in grafton went insane once and that was how it began.
""did you know that thomas a becket was canonized as a snake?
rose bell says he was... also that william tyndale wrote the new testament.
claude white says a "glacier" is a man who puts in window frames!
""i think the most difficult thing in teaching, as well as the most interesting, is to get the children to tell you their real thoughts about things.
one stormy day last week i gathered them around me at dinner hour and tried to get them to talk to me just as if i were one of themselves.
i asked them to tell me the things they most wanted.
some of the answers were commonplace enough... dolls, ponies, and skates.
others were decidedly original.
hester boulter wanted "to wear her sunday dress every day and eat in the sitting room."
hannah bell wanted "to be good without having to take any trouble about it."
marjory white, aged ten, wanted to be a widow.
questioned why, she gravely said that if you were n't married people called you an old maid, and if you were your husband bossed you; but if you were a widow there'd be no danger of either.
the most remarkable wish was sally bell's.
she wanted a "honeymoon."
i asked her if she knew what it was and she said she thought it was an extra nice kind of bicycle because her cousin in montreal went on a honeymoon when he was married and he had always had the very latest in bicycles!
""another day i asked them all to tell me the naughtiest thing they had ever done.
i could n't get the older ones to do so, but the third class answered quite freely.
eliza bell had "set fire to her aunt's carded rolls."
asked if she meant to do it she said, "not altogether."
she just tried a little end to see how it would burn and the whole bundle blazed up in a jiffy.
emerson gillis had spent ten cents for candy when he should have put it in his missionary box.
annetta bell's worst crime was "eating some blueberries that grew in the graveyard."
willie white had "slid down the sheephouse roof a lot of times with his sunday trousers on."
"but i was punished for it'cause i had to wear patched pants to sunday school all summer, and when you're punished for a thing you do n't have to repent of it," declared willie.
""i wish you could see some of their compositions... so much do i wish it that i'll send you copies of some written recently.
last week i told the fourth class i wanted them to write me letters about anything they pleased, adding by way of suggestion that they might tell me of some place they had visited or some interesting thing or person they had seen.
they were to write the letters on real note paper, seal them in an envelope, and address them to me, all without any assistance from other people.
last friday morning i found a pile of letters on my desk and that evening i realized afresh that teaching has its pleasures as well as its pains.
those compositions would atone for much.
here is ned clay's, address, spelling, and grammar as originally penned."
"miss teacher shirley green gabels.
p.e. island can birds" "dear teacher i think i will write you a composition about birds.
birds is very useful animals.
my cat catches birds.
his name is william but pa calls him tom.
he is oll striped and he got one of his ears froz of last winter.
only for that he would be a good-looking cat.
my unkle has adopted a cat.
it come to his house one day and woudent go away and unkle says it has forgot more than most people ever knowed.
he lets it sleep on his rocking chare and my aunt says he thinks more of it than he does of his children.
that is not right.
we ought to be kind to cats and give them new milk but we ought not be better to them than to our children.
this is oll i can think of so no more at present from edward blake clay.""
""st. clair donnell's is, as usual, short and to the point.
st. clair never wastes words.
i do not think he chose his subject or added the postscript out of malice aforethought.
it is just that he has not a great deal of tact or imagination.""
"dear miss shirley" "you told us to describe something strange we have seen.
i will describe the avonlea hall.
it has two doors, an inside one and an outside one.
it has six windows and a chimney.
it has two ends and two sides.
it is painted blue.
that is what makes it strange.
it is built on the lower carmody road.
it is the third most important building in avonlea.
the others are the church and the blacksmith shop.
they hold debating clubs and lectures in it and concerts."
"yours truly," "jacob donnell."
"p.s..
the hall is a very bright blue.""
""annetta bell's letter was quite long, which surprised me, for writing essays is not annetta's forte, and hers are generally as brief as st. clair's.
annetta is a quiet little puss and a model of good behavior, but there is n't a shadow of orginality in her.
here is her letter.
--" "dearest teacher," "i think i will write you a letter to tell you how much i love you.
i love you with my whole heart and soul and mind... with all there is of me to love... and i want to serve you for ever.
it would be my highest privilege.
that is why i try so hard to be good in school and learn my lessuns."
"you are so beautiful, my teacher.
your voice is like music and your eyes are like pansies when the dew is on them.
you are like a tall stately queen.
your hair is like rippling gold.
anthony pye says it is red, but you need n't pay any attention to anthony.""
i have only known you for a few months but i can not realize that there was ever a time when i did not know you... when you had not come into my life to bless and hallow it.
i will always look back to this year as the most wonderful in my life because it brought you to me.
besides, it's the year we moved to avonlea from newbridge.
my love for you has made my life very rich and it has kept me from much of harm and evil.
i owe this all to you, my sweetest teacher.""
i shall never forget how sweet you looked the last time i saw you in that black dress with flowers in your hair.
i shall see you like that for ever, even when we are both old and gray.
you will always be young and fair to me, dearest teacher.
i am thinking of you all the time... in the morning and at the noontide and at the twilight.
i love you when you laugh and when you sigh... even when you look disdainful.
i never saw you look cross though anthony pye says you always look so but i do n't wonder you look cross at him for he deserves it.
i love you in every dress... you seem more adorable in each new dress than the last."
"dearest teacher, good night.
the sun has set and the stars are shining... stars that are as bright and beautiful as your eyes.
i kiss your hands and face, my sweet.
may god watch over you and protect you from all harm."
""your afecksionate pupil," "annetta bell.""
""this extraordinary letter puzzled me not a little.
i knew annetta could n't have composed it any more than she could fly.
when i went to school the next day i took her for a walk down to the brook at recess and asked her to tell me the truth about the letter.
annetta cried and "fessed up freely.
she said she had never written a letter and she did n't know how to, or what to say, but there was bundle of love letters in her mother's top bureau drawer which had been written to her by an old "beau.""
"it was n't father," sobbed annetta, "it was someone who was studying for a minister, and so he could write lovely letters, but ma did n't marry him after all.
she said she could n't make out what he was driving at half the time.
but i thought the letters were sweet and that i'd just copy things out of them here and there to write you.
i put "teacher" where he put "lady" and i put in something of my own when i could think of it and i changed some words.
i put "dress" in place of "mood."
i did n't know just what a "mood" was but i s "posed it was something to wear.
i did n't s "pose you'd know the difference.
i do n't see how you found out it was n't all mine.
you must be awful clever, teacher."
""i told annetta it was very wrong to copy another person's letter and pass it off as her own.
but i'm afraid that all annetta repented of was being found out."
"and i do love you, teacher," she sobbed.
"it was all true, even if the minister wrote it first.
i do love you with all my heart."
""it's very difficult to scold anybody properly under such circumstances.
""here is barbara shaw's letter.
i ca n't reproduce the blots of the original."
"dear teacher," "you said we might write about a visit.
i never visited but once.
it was at my aunt mary's last winter.
my aunt mary is a very particular woman and a great housekeeper.
the first night i was there we were at tea.
i knocked over a jug and broke it.
aunt mary said she had had that jug ever since she was married and nobody had ever broken it before.
when we got up i stepped on her dress and all the gathers tore out of the skirt.
the next morning when i got up i hit the pitcher against the basin and cracked them both and i upset a cup of tea on the tablecloth at breakfast.
when i was helping aunt mary with the dinner dishes i dropped a china plate and it smashed.
that evening i fell downstairs and sprained my ankle and had to stay in bed for a week.
i heard aunt mary tell uncle joseph it was a mercy or i'd have broken everything in the house.
when i got better it was time to go home.
i do n't like visiting very much.
i like going to school better, especially since i came to avonlea."
"yours respectfully," "barbara shaw.""
""willie white's began," "respected miss," "i want to tell you about my very brave aunt.
she lives in ontario and one day she went out to the barn and saw a dog in the yard.
the dog had no business there so she got a stick and whacked him hard and drove him into the barn and shut him up.
pretty soon a man came looking for an inaginary lion" -lrb- query; -- did willie mean a menagerie lion? -rrb-
"that had run away from a circus.
and it turned out that the dog was a lion and my very brave aunt had druv him into the barn with a stick.
it was a wonder she was not et up but she was very brave.
emerson gillis says if she thought it was a dog she was n't any braver than if it really was a dog.
but emerson is jealous because he has n't got a brave aunt himself, nothing but uncles."""
i have kept the best for the last.
you laugh at me because i think paul is a genius but i am sure his letter will convince you that he is a very uncommon child.
paul lives away down near the shore with his grandmother and he has no playmates... no real playmates.
you remember our school management professor told us that we must not have "favorites" among our pupils, but i ca n't help loving paul irving the best of all mine.
i do n't think it does any harm, though, for everybody loves paul, even mrs. lynde, who says she could never have believed she'd get so fond of a yankee.
the other boys in school like him too.
there is nothing weak or girlish about him in spite of his dreams and fancies.
he is very manly and can hold his own in all games.
he fought st. clair donnell recently because st. clair said the union jack was away ahead of the stars and stripes as a flag.
the result was a drawn battle and a mutual agreement to respect each other's patriotism henceforth.
st. clair says he can hit the hardest but paul can hit the oftenest.""
""paul's letter."
"my dear teacher," "you told us we might write you about some interesting people we knew.
i think the most interesting people i know are my rock people and i mean to tell you about them.
i have never told anybody about them except grandma and father but i would like to have you know about them because you understand things.
there are a great many people who do not understand things so there is no use in telling them.""
"my rock people live at the shore.
i used to visit them almost every evening before the winter came.
now i ca n't go till spring, but they will be there, for people like that never change... that is the splendid thing about them.
nora was the first one of them i got acquainted with and so i think i love her the best.
she lives in andrews" cove and she has black hair and black eyes, and she knows all about the mermaids and the water kelpies.
you ought to hear the stories she can tell.
then there are the twin sailors.
they do n't live anywhere, they sail all the time, but they often come ashore to talk to me.
they are a pair of jolly tars and they have seen everything in the world... and more than what is in the world.
do you know what happened to the youngest twin sailor once?
he was sailing and he sailed right into a moonglade.
a moonglade is the track the full moon makes on the water when it is rising from the sea, you know, teacher.
well, the youngest twin sailor sailed along the moonglade till he came right up to the moon, and there was a little golden door in the moon and he opened it and sailed right through.
he had some wonderful adventures in the moon but it would make this letter too long to tell them.""
"then there is the golden lady of the cave.
one day i found a big cave down on the shore and i went away in and after a while i found the golden lady.
she has golden hair right down to her feet and her dress is all glittering and glistening like gold that is alive.
and she has a golden harp and plays on it all day long... you can hear the music any time along shore if you listen carefully but most people would think it was only the wind among the rocks.
i've never told nora about the golden lady.
i was afraid it might hurt her feelings.
it even hurt her feelings if i talked too long with the twin sailors."""
i always met the twin sailors at the striped rocks.
the youngest twin sailor is very good-tempered but the oldest twin sailor can look dreadfully fierce at times.
i have my suspicions about that oldest twin.
i believe he'd be a pirate if he dared.
there's really something very mysterious about him.
he swore once and i told him if he ever did it again he need n't come ashore to talk to me because i'd promised grandmother i'd never associate with anybody that swore.
he was pretty well scared, i can tell you, and he said if i would forgive him he would take me to the sunset.
so the next evening when i was sitting on the striped rocks the oldest twin came sailing over the sea in an enchanted boat and i got in her.
the boat was all pearly and rainbowy, like the inside of the mussel shells, and her sail was like moonshine.
well, we sailed right across to the sunset.
think of that, teacher, i've been in the sunset.
and what do you suppose it is?
the sunset is a land all flowers.
we sailed into a great garden, and the clouds are beds of flowers.
we sailed into a great harbor, all the color of gold, and i stepped right out of the boat on a big meadow all covered with buttercups as big as roses.
i stayed there for ever so long.
it seemed nearly a year but the oldest twin says it was only a few minutes.
you see, in the sunset land the time is ever so much longer than it is here.""
"your loving pupil paul irving.""
"p. s. of course, this letter is n't really true, teacher.
p.i."" xii a jonah day it really began the night before with a restless, wakeful vigil of grumbling toothache.
when anne arose in the dull, bitter winter morning she felt that life was flat, stale, and unprofitable.
she went to school in no angelic mood.
her cheek was swollen and her face ached.
the schoolroom was cold and smoky, for the fire refused to burn and the children were huddled about it in shivering groups.
anne sent them to their seats with a sharper tone than she had ever used before.
anthony pye strutted to his with his usual impertinent swagger and she saw him whisper something to his seat-mate and then glance at her with a grin.
never, so it seemed to anne, had there been so many squeaky pencils as there were that morning; and when barbara shaw came up to the desk with a sum she tripped over the coal scuttle with disastrous results.
the coal rolled to every part of the room, her slate was broken into fragments, and when she picked herself up, her face, stained with coal dust, sent the boys into roars of laughter.
anne turned from the second reader class which she was hearing.
""really, barbara," she said icily, "if you can not move without falling over something you'd better remain in your seat.
it is positively disgraceful for a girl of your age to be so awkward."
poor barbara stumbled back to her desk, her tears combining with the coal dust to produce an effect truly grotesque.
never before had her beloved, sympathetic teacher spoken to her in such a tone or fashion, and barbara was heartbroken.
anne herself felt a prick of conscience but it only served to increase her mental irritation, and the second reader class remember that lesson yet, as well as the unmerciful infliction of arithmetic that followed.
just as anne was snapping the sums out st. clair donnell arrived breathlessly.
""you are half an hour late, st. clair," anne reminded him frigidly.
""why is this?"
""please, miss, i had to help ma make a pudding for dinner'cause we're expecting company and clarice almira's sick," was st. clair's answer, given in a perfectly respectful voice but nevertheless provocative of great mirth among his mates.
""take your seat and work out the six problems on page eighty-four of your arithmetic for punishment," said anne.
st. clair looked rather amazed at her tone but he went meekly to his desk and took out his slate.
then he stealthily passed a small parcel to joe sloane across the aisle.
anne caught him in the act and jumped to a fatal conclusion about that parcel.
old mrs. hiram sloane had lately taken to making and selling "nut cakes" by way of adding to her scanty income.
the cakes were specially tempting to small boys and for several weeks anne had had not a little trouble in regard to them.
on their way to school the boys would invest their spare cash at mrs. hiram's, bring the cakes along with them to school, and, if possible, eat them and treat their mates during school hours.
anne had warned them that if they brought any more cakes to school they would be confiscated; and yet here was st. clair donnell coolly passing a parcel of them, wrapped up in the blue and white striped paper mrs. hiram used, under her very eyes.
""joseph," said anne quietly, "bring that parcel here."
joe, startled and abashed, obeyed.
he was a fat urchin who always blushed and stuttered when he was frightened.
never did anybody look more guilty than poor joe at that moment.
""throw it into the fire," said anne.
joe looked very blank.
""p... p... p... lease, m... m... miss," he began.
""do as i tell you, joseph, without any words about it."
""b... b... but m... m... miss... th... th... they're..." gasped joe in desperation.
""joseph, are you going to obey me or are you not?"
said anne.
a bolder and more self-possessed lad than joe sloane would have been overawed by her tone and the dangerous flash of her eyes.
this was a new anne whom none of her pupils had ever seen before.
joe, with an agonized glance at st. clair, went to the stove, opened the big, square front door, and threw the blue and white parcel in, before st. clair, who had sprung to his feet, could utter a word.
then he dodged back just in time.
for a few moments the terrified occupants of avonlea school did not know whether it was an earthquake or a volcanic explosion that had occurred.
the innocent looking parcel which anne had rashly supposed to contain mrs. hiram's nut cakes really held an assortment of firecrackers and pinwheels for which warren sloane had sent to town by st. clair donnell's father the day before, intending to have a birthday celebration that evening.
the crackers went off in a thunderclap of noise and the pinwheels bursting out of the door spun madly around the room, hissing and spluttering.
anne dropped into her chair white with dismay and all the girls climbed shrieking upon their desks.
joe sloane stood as one transfixed in the midst of the commotion and st. clair, helpless with laughter, rocked to and fro in the aisle.
prillie rogerson fainted and annetta bell went into hysterics.
it seemed a long time, although it was really only a few minutes, before the last pinwheel subsided.
anne, recovering herself, sprang to open doors and windows and let out the gas and smoke which filled the room.
then she helped the girls carry the unconscious prillie into the porch, where barbara shaw, in an agony of desire to be useful, poured a pailful of half frozen water over prillie's face and shoulders before anyone could stop her.
it was a full hour before quiet was restored... but it was a quiet that might be felt.
everybody realized that even the explosion had not cleared the teacher's mental atmosphere.
nobody, except anthony pye, dared whisper a word.
ned clay accidentally squeaked his pencil while working a sum, caught anne's eye and wished the floor would open and swallow him up.
the geography class were whisked through a continent with a speed that made them dizzy.
the grammar class were parsed and analyzed within an inch of their lives.
chester sloane, spelling "odoriferous" with two f's, was made to feel that he could never live down the disgrace of it, either in this world or that which is to come.
anne knew that she had made herself ridiculous and that the incident would be laughed over that night at a score of tea-tables, but the knowledge only angered her further.
in a calmer mood she could have carried off the situation with a laugh but now that was impossible; so she ignored it in icy disdain.
when anne returned to the school after dinner all the children were as usual in their seats and every face was bent studiously over a desk except anthony pye's.
he peered across his book at anne, his black eyes sparkling with curiosity and mockery.
anne twitched open the drawer of her desk in search of chalk and under her very hand a lively mouse sprang out of the drawer, scampered over the desk, and leaped to the floor.
anne screamed and sprang back, as if it had been a snake, and anthony pye laughed aloud.
then a silence fell... a very creepy, uncomfortable silence.
annetta bell was of two minds whether to go into hysterics again or not, especially as she did n't know just where the mouse had gone.
but she decided not to.
who could take any comfort out of hysterics with a teacher so white-faced and so blazing-eyed standing before one?
""who put that mouse in my desk?"
said anne.
her voice was quite low but it made a shiver go up and down paul irving's spine.
joe sloane caught her eye, felt responsible from the crown of his head to the sole of his feet, but stuttered out wildly, "n... n... not m... m... me t... t... teacher, n... n... not m... m... me."
anne paid no attention to the wretched joseph.
she looked at anthony pye, and anthony pye looked back unabashed and unashamed.
""anthony, was it you?"
""yes, it was," said anthony insolently.
anne took her pointer from her desk.
it was a long, heavy hardwood pointer.
""come here, anthony."
it was far from being the most severe punishment anthony pye had ever undergone.
anne, even the stormy-souled anne she was at that moment, could not have punished any child cruelly.
but the pointer nipped keenly and finally anthony's bravado failed him; he winced and the tears came to his eyes.
anne, conscience-stricken, dropped the pointer and told anthony to go to his seat.
she sat down at her desk feeling ashamed, repentant, and bitterly mortified.
her quick anger was gone and she would have given much to have been able to seek relief in tears.
so all her boasts had come to this... she had actually whipped one of her pupils.
how jane would triumph!
and how mr. harrison would chuckle!
but worse than this, bitterest thought of all, she had lost her last chance of winning anthony pye.
never would he like her now.
anne, by what somebody has called "a herculaneum effort," kept back her tears until she got home that night.
then she shut herself in the east gable room and wept all her shame and remorse and disappointment into her pillows... wept so long that marilla grew alarmed, invaded the room, and insisted on knowing what the trouble was.
""the trouble is, i've got things the matter with my conscience," sobbed anne.
""oh, this has been such a jonah day, marilla.
i'm so ashamed of myself.
i lost my temper and whipped anthony pye."
""i'm glad to hear it," said marilla with decision.
""it's what you should have done long ago."
""oh, no, no, marilla.
and i do n't see how i can ever look those children in the face again.
i feel that i have humiliated myself to the very dust.
you do n't know how cross and hateful and horrid i was.
i ca n't forget the expression in paul irving's eyes... he looked so surprised and disappointed.
oh, marilla, i have tried so hard to be patient and to win anthony's liking... and now it has all gone for nothing."
marilla passed her hard work-worn hand over the girl's glossy, tumbled hair with a wonderful tenderness.
when anne's sobs grew quieter she said, very gently for her, "you take things too much to heart, anne.
we all make mistakes... but people forget them.
and jonah days come to everybody.
as for anthony pye, why need you care if he does dislike you?
he is the only one."
""i ca n't help it.
i want everybody to love me and it hurts me so when anybody does n't.
and anthony never will now.
oh, i just made an idiot of myself today, marilla.
i'll tell you the whole story."
marilla listened to the whole story, and if she smiled at certain parts of it anne never knew.
when the tale was ended she said briskly, "well, never mind.
this day's done and there's a new one coming tomorrow, with no mistakes in it yet, as you used to say yourself.
just come downstairs and have your supper.
you'll see if a good cup of tea and those plum puffs i made today wo n't hearten you up."
""plum puffs wo n't minister to a mind diseased," said anne disconsolately; but marilla thought it a good sign that she had recovered sufficiently to adapt a quotation.
the cheerful supper table, with the twins" bright faces, and marilla's matchless plum puffs... of which davy ate four... did "hearten her up" considerably after all.
she had a good sleep that night and awakened in the morning to find herself and the world transformed.
it had snowed softly and thickly all through the hours of darkness and the beautiful whiteness, glittering in the frosty sunshine, looked like a mantle of charity cast over all the mistakes and humiliations of the past.
""every morn is a fresh beginning, every morn is the world made new," sang anne, as she dressed.
owing to the snow she had to go around by the road to school and she thought it was certainly an impish coincidence that anthony pye should come ploughing along just as she left the green gables lane.
she felt as guilty as if their positions were reversed; but to her unspeakable astonishment anthony not only lifted his cap... which he had never done before... but said easily, "kind of bad walking, ai n't it?
can i take those books for you, teacher?"
anne surrendered her books and wondered if she could possibly be awake.
anthony walked on in silence to the school, but when anne took her books she smiled down at him... not the stereotyped "kind" smile she had so persistently assumed for his benefit but a sudden outflashing of good comradeship.
anthony smiled... no, if the truth must be told, anthony grinned back.
a grin is not generally supposed to be a respectful thing; yet anne suddenly felt that if she had not yet won anthony's liking she had, somehow or other, won his respect.
mrs. rachel lynde came up the next saturday and confirmed this.
""well, anne, i guess you've won over anthony pye, that's what.
he says he believes you are some good after all, even if you are a girl.
says that whipping you gave him was "just as good as a man's.""
""i never expected to win him by whipping him, though," said anne, a little mournfully, feeling that her ideals had played her false somewhere.
""it does n't seem right.
i'm sure my theory of kindness ca n't be wrong."
""no, but the pyes are an exception to every known rule, that's what," declared mrs. rachel with conviction.
mr. harrison said, "thought you'd come to it," when he heard it, and jane rubbed it in rather unmercifully.
xiii a golden picnic anne, on her way to orchard slope, met diana, bound for green gables, just where the mossy old log bridge spanned the brook below the haunted wood, and they sat down by the margin of the dryad's bubble, where tiny ferns were unrolling like curly-headed green pixy folk wakening up from a nap.
""i was just on my way over to invite you to help me celebrate my birthday on saturday," said anne.
""your birthday?
but your birthday was in march!"
""that was n't my fault," laughed anne.
""if my parents had consulted me it would never have happened then.
i should have chosen to be born in spring, of course.
it must be delightful to come into the world with the mayflowers and violets.
you would always feel that you were their foster sister.
but since i did n't, the next best thing is to celebrate my birthday in the spring.
priscilla is coming over saturday and jane will be home.
we'll all four start off to the woods and spend a golden day making the acquaintance of the spring.
we none of us really know her yet, but we'll meet her back there as we never can anywhere else.
i want to explore all those fields and lonely places anyhow.
i have a conviction that there are scores of beautiful nooks there that have never really been seen although they may have been looked at.
we'll make friends with wind and sky and sun, and bring home the spring in our hearts."
""it sounds awfully nice," said diana, with some inward distrust of anne's magic of words.
""but wo n't it be very damp in some places yet?"
""oh, we'll wear rubbers," was anne's concession to practicalities.
""and i want you to come over early saturday morning and help me prepare lunch.
i'm going to have the daintiest things possible... things that will match the spring, you understand... little jelly tarts and lady fingers, and drop cookies frosted with pink and yellow icing, and buttercup cake.
and we must have sandwiches too, though they're not very poetical."
saturday proved an ideal day for a picnic... a day of breeze and blue, warm, sunny, with a little rollicking wind blowing across meadow and orchard.
over every sunlit upland and field was a delicate, flower-starred green.
mr. harrison, harrowing at the back of his farm and feeling some of the spring witch-work even in his sober, middle-aged blood, saw four girls, basket laden, tripping across the end of his field where it joined a fringing woodland of birch and fir.
their blithe voices and laughter echoed down to him.
""it's so easy to be happy on a day like this, is n't it?"
anne was saying, with true anneish philosophy.
""let's try to make this a really golden day, girls, a day to which we can always look back with delight.
we're to seek for beauty and refuse to see anything else.
"begone, dull care!"
jane, you are thinking of something that went wrong in school yesterday."
""how do you know?"
gasped jane, amazed.
""oh, i know the expression... i've felt it often enough on my own face.
but put it out of your mind, there's a dear.
it will keep till monday... or if it does n't so much the better.
oh, girls, girls, see that patch of violets!
there's something for memory's picture gallery.
when i'm eighty years old... if i ever am... i shall shut my eyes and see those violets just as i see them now.
that's the first good gift our day has given us."
""if a kiss could be seen i think it would look like a violet," said priscilla.
anne glowed.
""i'm so glad you spoke that thought, priscilla, instead of just thinking it and keeping it to yourself.
this world would be a much more interesting place... although it is very interesting anyhow... if people spoke out their real thoughts."
""it would be too hot to hold some folks," quoted jane sagely.
""i suppose it might be, but that would be their own faults for thinking nasty things.
anyhow, we can tell all our thoughts today because we are going to have nothing but beautiful thoughts.
everybody can say just what comes into her head.
that is conversation.
here's a little path i never saw before.
let's explore it."
the path was a winding one, so narrow that the girls walked in single file and even then the fir boughs brushed their faces.
under the firs were velvety cushions of moss, and further on, where the trees were smaller and fewer, the ground was rich in a variety of green growing things.
""what a lot of elephant's ears," exclaimed diana.
""i'm going to pick a big bunch, they're so pretty."
""how did such graceful feathery things ever come to have such a dreadful name?"
asked priscilla.
""because the person who first named them either had no imagination at all or else far too much," said anne, "oh, girls, look at that!"
""that" was a shallow woodland pool in the center of a little open glade where the path ended.
later on in the season it would be dried up and its place filled with a rank growth of ferns; but now it was a glimmering placid sheet, round as a saucer and clear as crystal.
a ring of slender young birches encircled it and little ferns fringed its margin.
""how sweet!"
said jane.
""let us dance around it like wood-nymphs," cried anne, dropping her basket and extending her hands.
but the dance was not a success for the ground was boggy and jane's rubbers came off.
""you ca n't be a wood-nymph if you have to wear rubbers," was her decision.
""well, we must name this place before we leave it," said anne, yielding to the indisputable logic of facts.
""everybody suggest a name and we'll draw lots.
diana?"
""birch pool," suggested diana promptly.
""crystal lake," said jane.
anne, standing behind them, implored priscilla with her eyes not to perpetrate another such name and priscilla rose to the occasion with "glimmer-glass."
anne's selection was "the fairies" mirror."
the names were written on strips of birch bark with a pencil schoolma'am jane produced from her pocket, and placed in anne's hat.
then priscilla shut her eyes and drew one.
""crystal lake," read jane triumphantly.
crystal lake it was, and if anne thought that chance had played the pool a shabby trick she did not say so.
pushing through the undergrowth beyond, the girls came out to the young green seclusion of mr. silas sloane's back pasture.
across it they found the entrance to a lane striking up through the woods and voted to explore it also.
it rewarded their quest with a succession of pretty surprises.
first, skirting mr. sloane's pasture, came an archway of wild cherry trees all in bloom.
the girls swung their hats on their arms and wreathed their hair with the creamy, fluffy blossoms.
then the lane turned at right angles and plunged into a spruce wood so thick and dark that they walked in a gloom as of twilight, with not a glimpse of sky or sunlight to be seen.
""this is where the bad wood elves dwell," whispered anne.
""they are impish and malicious but they ca n't harm us, because they are not allowed to do evil in the spring.
there was one peeping at us around that old twisted fir; and did n't you see a group of them on that big freckly toadstool we just passed?
the good fairies always dwell in the sunshiny places."
""i wish there really were fairies," said jane.
""would n't it be nice to have three wishes granted you... or even only one?
what would you wish for, girls, if you could have a wish granted?
i'd wish to be rich and beautiful and clever."
""i'd wish to be tall and slender," said diana.
""i would wish to be famous," said priscilla.
anne thought of her hair and then dismissed the thought as unworthy.
""i'd wish it might be spring all the time and in everybody's heart and all our lives," she said.
""but that," said priscilla, "would be just wishing this world were like heaven."
""only like a part of heaven.
in the other parts there would be summer and autumn... yes, and a bit of winter, too.
i think i want glittering snowy fields and white frosts in heaven sometimes.
do n't you, jane?"
""i... i do n't know," said jane uncomfortably.
jane was a good girl, a member of the church, who tried conscientiously to live up to her profession and believed everything she had been taught.
but she never thought about heaven any more than she could help, for all that.
""minnie may asked me the other day if we would wear our best dresses every day in heaven," laughed diana.
""and did n't you tell her we would?"
asked anne.
""mercy, no!
i told her we would n't be thinking of dresses at all there."
""oh, i think we will... a little," said anne earnestly.
""there'll be plenty of time in all eternity for it without neglecting more important things.
i believe we'll all wear beautiful dresses... or i suppose raiment would be a more suitable way of speaking.
i shall want to wear pink for a few centuries at first... it would take me that long to get tired of it, i feel sure.
i do love pink so and i can never wear it in this world."
past the spruces the lane dipped down into a sunny little open where a log bridge spanned a brook; and then came the glory of a sunlit beechwood where the air was like transparent golden wine, and the leaves fresh and green, and the wood floor a mosaic of tremulous sunshine.
then more wild cherries, and a little valley of lissome firs, and then a hill so steep that the girls lost their breath climbing it; but when they reached the top and came out into the open the prettiest surprise of all awaited them.
beyond were the "back fields" of the farms that ran out to the upper carmody road.
just before them, hemmed in by beeches and firs but open to the south, was a little corner and in it a garden... or what had once been a garden.
a tumbledown stone dyke, overgrown with mosses and grass, surrounded it.
along the eastern side ran a row of garden cherry trees, white as a snowdrift.
there were traces of old paths still and a double line of rosebushes through the middle; but all the rest of the space was a sheet of yellow and white narcissi, in their airiest, most lavish, wind-swayed bloom above the lush green grasses.
""oh, how perfectly lovely!"
three of the girls cried.
anne only gazed in eloquent silence.
""how in the world does it happen that there ever was a garden back here?"
said priscilla in amazement.
""it must be hester gray's garden," said diana.
""i've heard mother speak of it but i never saw it before, and i would n't have supposed that it could be in existence still.
you've heard the story, anne?"
""no, but the name seems familiar to me."
""oh, you've seen it in the graveyard.
she is buried down there in the poplar corner.
you know the little brown stone with the opening gates carved on it and "sacred to the memory of hester gray, aged twenty-two."
jordan gray is buried right beside her but there's no stone to him.
it's a wonder marilla never told you about it, anne.
to be sure, it happened thirty years ago and everybody has forgotten."
""well, if there's a story we must have it," said anne.
""let's sit right down here among the narcissi and diana will tell it.
why, girls, there are hundreds of them... they've spread over everything.
it looks as if the garden were carpeted with moonshine and sunshine combined.
this is a discovery worth making.
to think that i've lived within a mile of this place for six years and have never seen it before!
now, diana."
""long ago," began diana, "this farm belonged to old mr. david gray.
he did n't live on it... he lived where silas sloane lives now.
he had one son, jordan, and he went up to boston one winter to work and while he was there he fell in love with a girl named hester murray.
she was working in a store and she hated it.
she'd been brought up in the country and she always wanted to get back.
when jordan asked her to marry him she said she would if he'd take her away to some quiet spot where she'd see nothing but fields and trees.
so he brought her to avonlea.
mrs. lynde said he was taking a fearful risk in marrying a yankee, and it's certain that hester was very delicate and a very poor housekeeper; but mother says she was very pretty and sweet and jordan just worshipped the ground she walked on.
well, mr. gray gave jordan this farm and he built a little house back here and jordan and hester lived in it for four years.
she never went out much and hardly anybody went to see her except mother and mrs. lynde.
jordan made her this garden and she was crazy about it and spent most of her time in it.
she was n't much of a housekeeper but she had a knack with flowers.
and then she got sick.
mother says she thinks she was in consumption before she ever came here.
she never really laid up but just grew weaker and weaker all the time.
jordan would n't have anybody to wait on her.
he did it all himself and mother says he was as tender and gentle as a woman.
every day he'd wrap her in a shawl and carry her out to the garden and she'd lie there on a bench quite happy.
they say she used to make jordan kneel down by her every night and morning and pray with her that she might die out in the garden when the time came.
and her prayer was answered.
one day jordan carried her out to the bench and then he picked all the roses that were out and heaped them over her; and she just smiled up at him... and closed her eyes... and that," concluded diana softly, "was the end."
""oh, what a dear story," sighed anne, wiping away her tears.
""what became of jordan?"
asked priscilla.
""he sold the farm after hester died and went back to boston.
mr. jabez sloane bought the farm and hauled the little house out to the road.
jordan died about ten years after and he was brought home and buried beside hester."
""i ca n't understand how she could have wanted to live back here, away from everything," said jane.
""oh, i can easily understand that," said anne thoughtfully.
""i would n't want it myself for a steady thing, because, although i love the fields and woods, i love people too.
but i can understand it in hester.
she was tired to death of the noise of the big city and the crowds of people always coming and going and caring nothing for her.
she just wanted to escape from it all to some still, green, friendly place where she could rest.
and she got just what she wanted, which is something very few people do, i believe.
she had four beautiful years before she died... four years of perfect happiness, so i think she was to be envied more than pitied.
and then to shut your eyes and fall asleep among roses, with the one you loved best on earth smiling down at you... oh, i think it was beautiful!"
""she set out those cherry trees over there," said diana.
""she told mother she'd never live to eat their fruit, but she wanted to think that something she had planted would go on living and helping to make the world beautiful after she was dead."
""i'm so glad we came this way," said anne, the shining-eyed.
""this is my adopted birthday, you know, and this garden and its story is the birthday gift it has given me.
did your mother ever tell you what hester gray looked like, diana?"
""no... only just that she was pretty."
""i'm rather glad of that, because i can imagine what she looked like, without being hampered by facts.
i think she was very slight and small, with softly curling dark hair and big, sweet, timid brown eyes, and a little wistful, pale face."
the girls left their baskets in hester's garden and spent the rest of the afternoon rambling in the woods and fields surrounding it, discovering many pretty nooks and lanes.
when they got hungry they had lunch in the prettiest spot of all... on the steep bank of a gurgling brook where white birches shot up out of long feathery grasses.
the girls sat down by the roots and did full justice to anne's dainties, even the unpoetical sandwiches being greatly appreciated by hearty, unspoiled appetites sharpened by all the fresh air and exercise they had enjoyed.
anne had brought glasses and lemonade for her guests, but for her own part drank cold brook water from a cup fashioned out of birch bark.
the cup leaked, and the water tasted of earth, as brook water is apt to do in spring; but anne thought it more appropriate to the occasion than lemonade.
""look do you see that poem?"
she said suddenly, pointing.
""where?"
jane and diana stared, as if expecting to see runic rhymes on the birch trees.
""there... down in the brook... that old green, mossy log with the water flowing over it in those smooth ripples that look as if they'd been combed, and that single shaft of sunshine falling right athwart it, far down into the pool.
oh, it's the most beautiful poem i ever saw."
""i should rather call it a picture," said jane.
""a poem is lines and verses."
""oh dear me, no."
anne shook her head with its fluffy wild cherry coronal positively.
""the lines and verses are only the outward garments of the poem and are no more really it than your ruffles and flounces are you, jane.
the real poem is the soul within them... and that beautiful bit is the soul of an unwritten poem.
it is not every day one sees a soul... even of a poem."
""i wonder what a soul... a person's soul... would look like," said priscilla dreamily.
""like that, i should think," answered anne, pointing to a radiance of sifted sunlight streaming through a birch tree.
""only with shape and features of course.
i like to fancy souls as being made of light.
and some are all shot through with rosy stains and quivers... and some have a soft glitter like moonlight on the sea... and some are pale and transparent like mist at dawn."
""i read somewhere once that souls were like flowers," said priscilla.
""then your soul is a golden narcissus," said anne, "and diana's is like a red, red rose.
jane's is an apple blossom, pink and wholesome and sweet."
""and your own is a white violet, with purple streaks in its heart," finished priscilla.
jane whispered to diana that she really could not understand what they were talking about.
could she?
the girls went home by the light of a calm golden sunset, their baskets filled with narcissus blossoms from hester's garden, some of which anne carried to the cemetery next day and laid upon hester's grave.
minstrel robins were whistling in the firs and the frogs were singing in the marshes.
all the basins among the hills were brimmed with topaz and emerald light.
""well, we have had a lovely time after all," said diana, as if she had hardly expected to have it when she set out.
""it has been a truly golden day," said priscilla.
""i'm really awfully fond of the woods myself," said jane.
anne said nothing.
she was looking afar into the western sky and thinking of little hester gray.
xiv a danger averted anne, walking home from the post office one friday evening, was joined by mrs. lynde, who was as usual cumbered with all the cares of church and state.
""i've just been down to timothy cotton's to see if i could get alice louise to help me for a few days," she said.
""i had her last week, for, though she's too slow to stop quick, she's better than nobody.
but she's sick and ca n't come.
timothy's sitting there, too, coughing and complaining.
he's been dying for ten years and he'll go on dying for ten years more.
that kind ca n't even die and have done with it... they ca n't stick to anything, even to being sick, long enough to finish it.
they're a terrible shiftless family and what is to become of them i do n't know, but perhaps providence does."
mrs. lynde sighed as if she rather doubted the extent of providential knowledge on the subject.
""marilla was in about her eyes again tuesday, was n't she?
what did the specialist think of them?"
she continued.
""he was much pleased," said anne brightly.
""he says there is a great improvement in them and he thinks the danger of her losing her sight completely is past.
but he says she'll never be able to read much or do any fine hand-work again.
how are your preparations for your bazaar coming on?"
the ladies" aid society was preparing for a fair and supper, and mrs. lynde was the head and front of the enterprise.
""pretty well... and that reminds me.
mrs. allan thinks it would be nice to fix up a booth like an old-time kitchen and serve a supper of baked beans, doughnuts, pie, and so on.
we're collecting old-fashioned fixings everywhere.
mrs. simon fletcher is going to lend us her mother's braided rugs and mrs. levi boulter some old chairs and aunt mary shaw will lend us her cupboard with the glass doors.
i suppose marilla will let us have her brass candlesticks?
and we want all the old dishes we can get.
mrs. allan is specially set on having a real blue willow ware platter if we can find one.
but nobody seems to have one.
do you know where we could get one?"
""miss josephine barry has one.
i'll write and ask her if she'll lend it for the occasion," said anne.
""well, i wish you would.
i guess we'll have the supper in about a fortnight's time.
uncle abe andrews is prophesying rain and storms for about that time; and that's a pretty sure sign we'll have fine weather."
the said "uncle abe," it may be mentioned, was at least like other prophets in that he had small honor in his own country.
he was, in fact, considered in the light of a standing joke, for few of his weather predictions were ever fulfilled.
mr. elisha wright, who labored under the impression that he was a local wit, used to say that nobody in avonlea ever thought of looking in the charlottetown dailies for weather probabilities.
no; they just asked uncle abe what it was going to be tomorrow and expected the opposite.
nothing daunted, uncle abe kept on prophesying.
""we want to have the fair over before the election comes off," continued mrs. lynde, "for the candidates will be sure to come and spend lots of money.
the tories are bribing right and left, so they might as well be given a chance to spend their money honestly for once."
anne was a red-hot conservative, out of loyalty to matthew's memory, but she said nothing.
she knew better than to get mrs. lynde started on politics.
she had a letter for marilla, postmarked from a town in british columbia.
""it's probably from the children's uncle," she said excitedly, when she got home.
""oh, marilla, i wonder what he says about them."
""the best plan might be to open it and see," said marilla curtly.
a close observer might have thought that she was excited also, but she would rather have died than show it.
anne tore open the letter and glanced over the somewhat untidy and poorly written contents.
""he says he ca n't take the children this spring... he's been sick most of the winter and his wedding is put off.
he wants to know if we can keep them till the fall and he'll try and take them then.
we will, of course, wo n't we marilla?"
""i do n't see that there is anything else for us to do," said marilla rather grimly, although she felt a secret relief.
""anyhow they're not so much trouble as they were... or else we've got used to them.
davy has improved a great deal."
""his manners are certainly much better," said anne cautiously, as if she were not prepared to say as much for his morals.
anne had come home from school the previous evening, to find marilla away at an aid meeting, dora asleep on the kitchen sofa, and davy in the sitting room closet, blissfully absorbing the contents of a jar of marilla's famous yellow plum preserves... "company jam," davy called it... which he had been forbidden to touch.
he looked very guilty when anne pounced on him and whisked him out of the closet.
""davy keith, do n't you know that it is very wrong of you to be eating that jam, when you were told never to meddle with anything in that closet?"
""yes, i knew it was wrong," admitted davy uncomfortably, "but plum jam is awful nice, anne.
i just peeped in and it looked so good i thought i'd take just a weeny taste.
i stuck my finger in..." anne groaned... "and licked it clean.
and it was so much gooder than i'd ever thought that i got a spoon and just sailed in."
anne gave him such a serious lecture on the sin of stealing plum jam that davy became conscience stricken and promised with repentant kisses never to do it again.
""anyhow, there'll be plenty of jam in heaven, that's one comfort," he said complacently.
anne nipped a smile in the bud.
""perhaps there will... if we want it," she said, "but what makes you think so?"
""why, it's in the catechism," said davy.
""oh, no, there is nothing like that in the catechism, davy."
""but i tell you there is," persisted davy.
""it was in that question marilla taught me last sunday.
"why should we love god?"
it says, "because he makes preserves, and redeems us."
preserves is just a holy way of saying jam."
""i must get a drink of water," said anne hastily.
when she came back it cost her some time and trouble to explain to davy that a certain comma in the said catechism question made a great deal of difference in the meaning.
""well, i thought it was too good to be true," he said at last, with a sigh of disappointed conviction.
""and besides, i did n't see when he'd find time to make jam if it's one endless sabbath day, as the hymn says.
i do n't believe i want to go to heaven.
wo n't there ever be any saturdays in heaven, anne?"
""yes, saturdays, and every other kind of beautiful days.
and every day in heaven will be more beautiful than the one before it, davy," assured anne, who was rather glad that marilla was not by to be shocked.
marilla, it is needless to say, was bringing the twins up in the good old ways of theology and discouraged all fanciful speculations thereupon.
davy and dora were taught a hymn, a catechism question, and two bible verses every sunday.
dora learned meekly and recited like a little machine, with perhaps as much understanding or interest as if she were one.
davy, on the contrary, had a lively curiosity, and frequently asked questions which made marilla tremble for his fate.
""chester sloane says we'll do nothing all the time in heaven but walk around in white dresses and play on harps; and he says he hopes he wo n't have to go till he's an old man,'cause maybe he'll like it better then.
and he thinks it will be horrid to wear dresses and i think so too.
why ca n't men angels wear trousers, anne?
chester sloane is interested in those things,'cause they're going to make a minister of him.
he's got to be a minister'cause his grandmother left the money to send him to college and he ca n't have it unless he is a minister.
she thought a minister was such a "spectable thing to have in a family.
chester says he does n't mind much... though he'd rather be a blacksmith... but he's bound to have all the fun he can before he begins to be a minister,'cause he does n't expect to have much afterwards.
i ai n't going to be a minister.
i'm going to be a storekeeper, like mr. blair, and keep heaps of candy and bananas.
but i'd rather like going to your kind of a heaven if they'd let me play a mouth organ instead of a harp.
do you s "pose they would?"
""yes, i think they would if you wanted it," was all anne could trust herself to say.
the a.v.i.s. met at mr. harmon andrews" that evening and a full attendance had been requested, since important business was to be discussed.
the a.v.i.s. was in a flourishing condition, and had already accomplished wonders.
early in the spring mr. major spencer had redeemed his promise and had stumped, graded, and seeded down all the road front of his farm.
a dozen other men, some prompted by a determination not to let a spencer get ahead of them, others goaded into action by improvers in their own households, had followed his example.
the result was that there were long strips of smooth velvet turf where once had been unsightly undergrowth or brush.
the farm fronts that had not been done looked so badly by contrast that their owners were secretly shamed into resolving to see what they could do another spring.
the triangle of ground at the cross roads had also been cleared and seeded down, and anne's bed of geraniums, unharmed by any marauding cow, was already set out in the center.
altogether, the improvers thought that they were getting on beautifully, even if mr. levi boulter, tactfully approached by a carefully selected committee in regard to the old house on his upper farm, did bluntly tell them that he was n't going to have it meddled with.
at this especial meeting they intended to draw up a petition to the school trustees, humbly praying that a fence be put around the school grounds; and a plan was also to be discussed for planting a few ornamental trees by the church, if the funds of the society would permit of it... for, as anne said, there was no use in starting another subscription as long as the hall remained blue.
the members were assembled in the andrews" parlor and jane was already on her feet to move the appointment of a committee which should find out and report on the price of said trees, when gertie pye swept in, pompadoured and frilled within an inch of her life.
gertie had a habit of being late... "to make her entrance more effective," spiteful people said.
gertie's entrance in this instance was certainly effective, for she paused dramatically on the middle of the floor, threw up her hands, rolled her eyes, and exclaimed, "i've just heard something perfectly awful.
what do you think?
mr. judson parker is going to rent all the road fence of his farm to a patent medicine company to paint advertisements on."
for once in her life gertie pye made all the sensation she desired.
if she had thrown a bomb among the complacent improvers she could hardly have made more.
""it ca n't be true," said anne blankly.
""that's just what i said when i heard it first, do n't you know," said gertie, who was enjoying herself hugely."
i said it could n't be true... that judson parker would n't have the heart to do it, do n't you know.
but father met him this afternoon and asked him about it and he said it was true.
just fancy!
his farm is side-on to the newbridge road and how perfectly awful it will look to see advertisements of pills and plasters all along it, do n't you know?"
the improvers did know, all too well.
even the least imaginative among them could picture the grotesque effect of half a mile of board fence adorned with such advertisements.
all thought of church and school grounds vanished before this new danger.
parliamentary rules and regulations were forgotten, and anne, in despair, gave up trying to keep minutes at all.
everybody talked at once and fearful was the hubbub.
""oh, let us keep calm," implored anne, who was the most excited of them all, "and try to think of some way of preventing him."
""i do n't know how you're going to prevent him," exclaimed jane bitterly.
""everybody knows what judson parker is.
he'd do anything for money.
he has n't a spark of public spirit or any sense of the beautiful."
the prospect looked rather unpromising.
judson parker and his sister were the only parkers in avonlea, so that no leverage could be exerted by family connections.
martha parker was a lady of all too certain age who disapproved of young people in general and the improvers in particular.
judson was a jovial, smooth-spoken man, so uniformly goodnatured and bland that it was surprising how few friends he had.
perhaps he had got the better in too many business transactions... which seldom makes for popularity.
he was reputed to be very "sharp" and it was the general opinion that he "had n't much principle."
""if judson parker has a chance to "turn an honest penny," as he says himself, he'll never lose it," declared fred wright.
""is there nobody who has any influence over him?"
asked anne despairingly.
""he goes to see louisa spencer at white sands," suggested carrie sloane.
""perhaps she could coax him not to rent his fences."
""not she," said gilbert emphatically.
""i know louisa spencer well.
she does n't "believe" in village improvement societies, but she does believe in dollars and cents.
she'd be more likely to urge judson on than to dissuade him."
""the only thing to do is to appoint a committee to wait on him and protest," said julia bell, "and you must send girls, for he'd hardly be civil to boys... but i wo n't go, so nobody need nominate me."
""better send anne alone," said oliver sloane.
""she can talk judson over if anybody can."
anne protested.
she was willing to go and do the talking; but she must have others with her "for moral support."
diana and jane were therefore appointed to support her morally and the improvers broke up, buzzing like angry bees with indignation.
anne was so worried that she did n't sleep until nearly morning, and then she dreamed that the trustees had put a fence around the school and painted "try purple pills" all over it.
the committee waited on judson parker the next afternoon.
anne pleaded eloquently against his nefarious design and jane and diana supported her morally and valiantly.
judson was sleek, suave, flattering; paid them several compliments of the delicacy of sunflowers; felt real bad to refuse such charming young ladies... but business was business; could n't afford to let sentiment stand in the way these hard times.
""but i'll tell what i will do," he said, with a twinkle in his light, full eyes.
""i'll tell the agent he must use only handsome, tasty colors... red and yellow and so on.
i'll tell him he must n't paint the ads blue on any account."
the vanquished committee retired, thinking things not lawful to be uttered.
""we have done all we can do and must simply trust the rest to providence," said jane, with an unconscious imitation of mrs. lynde's tone and manner.
""i wonder if mr. allan could do anything," reflected diana.
anne shook her head.
""no, it's no use to worry mr. allan, especially now when the baby's so sick.
judson would slip away from him as smoothly as from us, although he has taken to going to church quite regularly just now.
that is simply because louisa spencer's father is an elder and very particular about such things."
""judson parker is the only man in avonlea who would dream of renting his fences," said jane indignantly.
""even levi boulter or lorenzo white would never stoop to that, tightfisted as they are.
they would have too much respect for public opinion."
public opinion was certainly down on judson parker when the facts became known, but that did not help matters much.
judson chuckled to himself and defied it, and the improvers were trying to reconcile themselves to the prospect of seeing the prettiest part of the newbridge road defaced by advertisements, when anne rose quietly at the president's call for reports of committees on the occasion of the next meeting of the society, and announced that mr. judson parker had instructed her to inform the society that he was not going to rent his fences to the patent medicine company.
jane and diana stared as if they found it hard to believe their ears.
parliamentary etiquette, which was generally very strictly enforced in the a.v.i.s., forbade them giving instant vent to their curiosity, but after the society adjourned anne was besieged for explanations.
anne had no explanation to give.
judson parker had overtaken her on the road the preceding evening and told her that he had decided to humor the a.v.i.s. in its peculiar prejudice against patent medicine advertisements.
that was all anne would say, then or ever afterwards, and it was the simple truth; but when jane andrews, on her way home, confided to oliver sloane her firm belief that there was more behind judson parker's mysterious change of heart than anne shirley had revealed, she spoke the truth also.
anne had been down to old mrs. irving's on the shore road the preceding evening and had come home by a short cut which led her first over the low-lying shore fields, and then through the beech wood below robert dickson's, by a little footpath that ran out to the main road just above the lake of shining waters... known to unimaginative people as barry's pond.
two men were sitting in their buggies, reined off to the side of the road, just at the entrance of the path.
one was judson parker; the other was jerry corcoran, a newbridge man against whom, as mrs. lynde would have told you in eloquent italics, nothing shady had ever been proved.
he was an agent for agricultural implements and a prominent personage in matters political.
he had a finger... some people said all his fingers... in every political pie that was cooked; and as canada was on the eve of a general election jerry corcoran had been a busy man for many weeks, canvassing the county in the interests of his party's candidate.
just as anne emerged from under the overhanging beech boughs she heard corcoran say, "if you'll vote for amesbury, parker... well, i've a note for that pair of harrows you've got in the spring.
i suppose you would n't object to having it back, eh?"
""we... ll, since you put it in that way," drawled judson with a grin, "i reckon i might as well do it.
a man must look out for his own interests in these hard times."
both saw anne at this moment and conversation abruptly ceased.
anne bowed frostily and walked on, with her chin slightly more tilted than usual.
soon judson parker overtook her.
""have a lift, anne?"
he inquired genially.
""thank you, no," said anne politely, but with a fine, needle-like disdain in her voice that pierced even judson parker's none too sensitive consciousness.
his face reddened and he twitched his reins angrily; but the next second prudential considerations checked him.
he looked uneasily at anne, as she walked steadily on, glancing neither to the right nor to the left.
had she heard corcoran's unmistakable offer and his own too plain acceptance of it?
confound corcoran!
if he could n't put his meaning into less dangerous phrases he'd get into trouble some of these long-come-shorts.
and confound redheaded school-ma "ams with a habit of popping out of beechwoods where they had no business to be.
if anne had heard, judson parker, measuring her corn in his own half bushel, as the country saying went, and cheating himself thereby, as such people generally do, believed that she would tell it far and wide.
now, judson parker, as has been seen, was not overly regardful of public opinion; but to be known as having accepted a bribe would be a nasty thing; and if it ever reached isaac spencer's ears farewell forever to all hope of winning louisa jane with her comfortable prospects as the heiress of a well-to-do farmer.
judson parker knew that mr. spencer looked somewhat askance at him as it was; he could not afford to take any risks.
""ahem... anne, i've been wanting to see you about that little matter we were discussing the other day.
i've decided not to let my fences to that company after all.
a society with an aim like yours ought to be encouraged."
anne thawed out the merest trifle.
""thank you," she said.
""and... and... you need n't mention that little conversation of mine with jerry."
""i have no intention of mentioning it in any case," said anne icily, for she would have seen every fence in avonlea painted with advertisements before she would have stooped to bargain with a man who would sell his vote.
""just so... just so," agreed judson, imagining that they understood each other beautifully.
""i did n't suppose you would.
of course, i was only stringing jerry... he thinks he's so all-fired cute and smart.
i've no intention of voting for amesbury.
i'm going to vote for grant as i've always done... you'll see that when the election comes off.
i just led jerry on to see if he would commit himself.
and it's all right about the fence... you can tell the improvers that."
""it takes all sorts of people to make a world, as i've often heard, but i think there are some who could be spared," anne told her reflection in the east gable mirror that night.
""i would n't have mentioned the disgraceful thing to a soul anyhow, so my conscience is clear on that score.
i really do n't know who or what is to be thanked for this.
i did nothing to bring it about, and it's hard to believe that providence ever works by means of the kind of politics men like judson parker and jerry corcoran have."
xv the beginning of vacation anne locked the schoolhouse door on a still, yellow evening, when the winds were purring in the spruces around the playground, and the shadows were long and lazy by the edge of the woods.
she dropped the key into her pocket with a sigh of satisfaction.
the school year was ended, she had been reengaged for the next, with many expressions of satisfaction.
... only mr. harmon andrews told her she ought to use the strap oftener... and two delightful months of a well-earned vacation beckoned her invitingly.
anne felt at peace with the world and herself as she walked down the hill with her basket of flowers in her hand.
since the earliest mayflowers anne had never missed her weekly pilgrimage to matthew's grave.
everyone else in avonlea, except marilla, had already forgotten quiet, shy, unimportant matthew cuthbert; but his memory was still green in anne's heart and always would be.
she could never forget the kind old man who had been the first to give her the love and sympathy her starved childhood had craved.
at the foot of the hill a boy was sitting on the fence in the shadow of the spruces... a boy with big, dreamy eyes and a beautiful, sensitive face.
he swung down and joined anne, smiling; but there were traces of tears on his cheeks.
""i thought i'd wait for you, teacher, because i knew you were going to the graveyard," he said, slipping his hand into hers.
""i'm going there, too... i'm taking this bouquet of geraniums to put on grandpa irving's grave for grandma.
and look, teacher, i'm going to put this bunch of white roses beside grandpa's grave in memory of my little mother... because i ca n't go to her grave to put it there.
but do n't you think she'll know all about it, just the same?"
""yes, i am sure she will, paul."
""you see, teacher, it's just three years today since my little mother died.
it's such a long, long time but it hurts just as much as ever... and i miss her just as much as ever.
sometimes it seems to me that i just ca n't bear it, it hurts so."
paul's voice quivered and his lip trembled.
he looked down at his roses, hoping that his teacher would not notice the tears in his eyes.
""and yet," said anne, very softly, "you would n't want it to stop hurting... you would n't want to forget your little mother even if you could."
""no, indeed, i would n't... that's just the way i feel.
you're so good at understanding, teacher.
nobody else understands so well... not even grandma, although she's so good to me.
father understood pretty well, but still i could n't talk much to him about mother, because it made him feel so bad.
when he put his hand over his face i always knew it was time to stop.
poor father, he must be dreadfully lonesome without me; but you see he has nobody but a housekeeper now and he thinks housekeepers are no good to bring up little boys, especially when he has to be away from home so much on business.
grandmothers are better, next to mothers.
someday, when i'm brought up, i'll go back to father and we're never going to be parted again."
paul had talked so much to anne about his mother and father that she felt as if she had known them.
she thought his mother must have been very like what he was himself, in temperament and disposition; and she had an idea that stephen irving was a rather reserved man with a deep and tender nature which he kept hidden scrupulously from the world.
""father's not very easy to get acquainted with," paul had said once.
""i never got really acquainted with him until after my little mother died.
but he's splendid when you do get to know him.
i love him the best in all the world, and grandma irving next, and then you, teacher.
i'd love you next to father if it was n't my duty to love grandma irving best, because she's doing so much for me.
you know, teacher.
i wish she would leave the lamp in my room till i go to sleep, though.
she takes it right out as soon as she tucks me up because she says i must n't be a coward.
i'm not scared, but i'd rather have the light.
my little mother used always to sit beside me and hold my hand till i went to sleep.
i expect she spoiled me.
mothers do sometimes, you know."
no, anne did not know this, although she might imagine it.
she thought sadly of her "little mother," the mother who had thought her so "perfectly beautiful" and who had died so long ago and was buried beside her boyish husband in that unvisited grave far away.
anne could not remember her mother and for this reason she almost envied paul.
""my birthday is next week," said paul, as they walked up the long red hill, basking in the june sunshine, "and father wrote me that he is sending me something that he thinks i'll like better than anything else he could send.
i believe it has come already, for grandma is keeping the bookcase drawer locked and that is something new.
and when i asked her why, she just looked mysterious and said little boys must n't be too curious.
it's very exciting to have a birthday, is n't it?
i'll be eleven.
you'd never think it to look at me, would you?
grandma says i'm very small for my age and that it's all because i do n't eat enough porridge.
i do my very best, but grandma gives such generous platefuls... there's nothing mean about grandma, i can tell you.
ever since you and i had that talk about praying going home from sunday school that day, teacher... when you said we ought to pray about all our difficulties... i've prayed every night that god would give me enough grace to enable me to eat every bit of my porridge in the mornings.
but i've never been able to do it yet, and whether it's because i have too little grace or too much porridge i really ca n't decide.
grandma says father was brought up on porridge, and it certainly did work well in his case, for you ought to see the shoulders he has.
but sometimes," concluded paul with a sigh and a meditative air "i really think porridge will be the death of me."
anne permitted herself a smile, since paul was not looking at her.
all avonlea knew that old mrs. irving was bringing her grandson up in accordance with the good, old-fashioned methods of diet and morals.
""let us hope not, dear," she said cheerfully.
""how are your rock people coming on?
does the oldest twin still continue to behave himself?"
""he has to," said paul emphatically.
""he knows i wo n't associate with him if he does n't.
he is really full of wickedness, i think."
""and has nora found out about the golden lady yet?"
""no; but i think she suspects.
i'm almost sure she watched me the last time i went to the cave.
i do n't mind if she finds out... it is only for her sake i do n't want her to... so that her feelings wo n't be hurt.
but if she is determined to have her feelings hurt it ca n't be helped."
""if i were to go to the shore some night with you do you think i could see your rock people too?"
paul shook his head gravely.
""no, i do n't think you could see my rock people.
i'm the only person who can see them.
but you could see rock people of your own.
you're one of the kind that can.
we're both that kind.
you know, teacher," he added, squeezing her hand chummily.
""is n't it splendid to be that kind, teacher?"
""splendid," anne agreed, gray shining eyes looking down into blue shining ones.
anne and paul both knew "how fair the realm imagination opens to the view," and both knew the way to that happy land.
there the rose of joy bloomed immortal by dale and stream; clouds never darkened the sunny sky; sweet bells never jangled out of tune; and kindred spirits abounded.
the knowledge of that land's geography... "east o" the sun, west o" the moon"... is priceless lore, not to be bought in any market place.
it must be the gift of the good fairies at birth and the years can never deface it or take it away.
it is better to possess it, living in a garret, than to be the inhabitant of palaces without it.
the avonlea graveyard was as yet the grass-grown solitude it had always been.
to be sure, the improvers had an eye on it, and priscilla grant had read a paper on cemeteries before the last meeting of the society.
at some future time the improvers meant to have the lichened, wayward old board fence replaced by a neat wire railing, the grass mown and the leaning monuments straightened up.
anne put on matthew's grave the flowers she had brought for it, and then went over to the little poplar shaded corner where hester gray slept.
ever since the day of the spring picnic anne had put flowers on hester's grave when she visited matthew's.
the evening before she had made a pilgrimage back to the little deserted garden in the woods and brought therefrom some of hester's own white roses.
""i thought you would like them better than any others, dear," she said softly.
anne was still sitting there when a shadow fell over the grass and she looked up to see mrs. allan.
they walked home together.
mrs. allan's face was not the face of the girlbride whom the minister had brought to avonlea five years before.
it had lost some of its bloom and youthful curves, and there were fine, patient lines about eyes and mouth.
a tiny grave in that very cemetery accounted for some of them; and some new ones had come during the recent illness, now happily over, of her little son.
but mrs. allan's dimples were as sweet and sudden as ever, her eyes as clear and bright and true; and what her face lacked of girlish beauty was now more than atoned for in added tenderness and strength.
""i suppose you are looking forward to your vacation, anne?"
she said, as they left the graveyard.
anne nodded.
""yes... i could roll the word as a sweet morsel under my tongue.
i think the summer is going to be lovely.
for one thing, mrs. morgan is coming to the island in july and priscilla is going to bring her up.
i feel one of my old "thrills" at the mere thought."
""i hope you'll have a good time, anne.
you've worked very hard this past year and you have succeeded."
""oh, i do n't know.
i've come so far short in so many things.
i have n't done what i meant to do when i began to teach last fall.
i have n't lived up to my ideals."
""none of us ever do," said mrs. allan with a sigh.
""but then, anne, you know what lowell says, "not failure but low aim is crime."
we must have ideals and try to live up to them, even if we never quite succeed.
life would be a sorry business without them.
with them it's grand and great.
hold fast to your ideals, anne."
""i shall try.
but i have to let go most of my theories," said anne, laughing a little.
""i had the most beautiful set of theories you ever knew when i started out as a schoolma'am, but every one of them has failed me at some pinch or another."
""even the theory on corporal punishment," teased mrs. allan.
but anne flushed.
""i shall never forgive myself for whipping anthony."
""nonsense, dear, he deserved it.
and it agreed with him.
you have had no trouble with him since and he has come to think there's nobody like you.
your kindness won his love after the idea that a "girl was no good" was rooted out of his stubborn mind."
""he may have deserved it, but that is not the point.
if i had calmly and deliberately decided to whip him because i thought it a just punishment for him i would not feel over it as i do.
but the truth is, mrs. allan, that i just flew into a temper and whipped him because of that.
i was n't thinking whether it was just or unjust... even if he had n't deserved it i'd have done it just the same.
that is what humiliates me."
""well, we all make mistakes, dear, so just put it behind you.
we should regret our mistakes and learn from them, but never carry them forward into the future with us.
there goes gilbert blythe on his wheel... home for his vacation too, i suppose.
how are you and he getting on with your studies?"
""pretty well.
we plan to finish the virgil tonight... there are only twenty lines to do.
then we are not going to study any more until september."
""do you think you will ever get to college?"
""oh, i do n't know."
anne looked dreamily afar to the opal-tinted horizon.
""marilla's eyes will never be much better than they are now, although we are so thankful to think that they will not get worse.
and then there are the twins... somehow i do n't believe their uncle will ever really send for them.
perhaps college may be around the bend in the road, but i have n't got to the bend yet and i do n't think much about it lest i might grow discontented."
""well, i should like to see you go to college, anne; but if you never do, do n't be discontented about it.
we make our own lives wherever we are, after all... college can only help us to do it more easily.
they are broad or narrow according to what we put into them, not what we get out.
life is rich and full here... everywhere... if we can only learn how to open our whole hearts to its richness and fulness."
""i think i understand what you mean," said anne thoughtfully, "and i know i have so much to feel thankful for... oh, so much... my work, and paul irving, and the dear twins, and all my friends.
do you know, mrs. allan, i'm so thankful for friendship.
it beautifies life so much."
""true friendship is a very helpful thing indeed," said mrs. allan, "and we should have a very high ideal of it, and never sully it by any failure in truth and sincerity.
i fear the name of friendship is often degraded to a kind of intimacy that has nothing of real friendship in it."
""yes... like gertie pye's and julia bell's.
they are very intimate and go everywhere together; but gertie is always saying nasty things of julia behind her back and everybody thinks she is jealous of her because she is always so pleased when anybody criticizes julia.
i think it is desecration to call that friendship.
if we have friends we should look only for the best in them and give them the best that is in us, do n't you think?
then friendship would be the most beautiful thing in the world."
""friendship is very beautiful," smiled mrs. allan, "but some day..." then she paused abruptly.
in the delicate, white-browed face beside her, with its candid eyes and mobile features, there was still far more of the child than of the woman.
anne's heart so far harbored only dreams of friendship and ambition, and mrs. allan did not wish to brush the bloom from her sweet unconsciousness.
so she left her sentence for the future years to finish.
xvi the substance of things hoped for "anne," said davy appealingly, scrambling up on the shiny, leather-covered sofa in the green gables kitchen, where anne sat, reading a letter, "anne, i'm awful hungry.
you've no idea."
""i'll get you a piece of bread and butter in a minute," said anne absently.
her letter evidently contained some exciting news, for her cheeks were as pink as the roses on the big bush outside, and her eyes were as starry as only anne's eyes could be.
""but i ai n't bread and butter hungry," said davy in a disgusted tone.
""i'm plum cake hungry."
""oh," laughed anne, laying down her letter and putting her arm about davy to give him a squeeze, "that's a kind of hunger that can be endured very comfortably, davy-boy.
you know it's one of marilla's rules that you ca n't have anything but bread and butter between meals."
""well, gim me a piece then... please."
davy had been at last taught to say "please," but he generally tacked it on as an afterthought.
he looked with approval at the generous slice anne presently brought to him.
""you always put such a nice lot of butter on it, anne.
marilla spreads it pretty thin.
it slips down a lot easier when there's plenty of butter."
the slice "slipped down" with tolerable ease, judging from its rapid disappearance.
davy slid head first off the sofa, turned a double somersault on the rug, and then sat up and announced decidedly, "anne, i've made up my mind about heaven.
i do n't want to go there."
""why not?"
asked anne gravely.
""cause heaven is in simon fletcher's garret, and i do n't like simon fletcher."
""heaven in... simon fletcher's garret!"
gasped anne, too amazed even to laugh.
""davy keith, whatever put such an extraordinary idea into your head?"
""milty boulter says that's where it is.
it was last sunday in sunday school.
the lesson was about elijah and elisha, and i up and asked miss rogerson where heaven was.
miss rogerson looked awful offended.
she was cross anyhow, because when she'd asked us what elijah left elisha when he went to heaven milty boulter said, "his old clo'es," and us fellows all laughed before we thought.
i wish you could think first and do things afterwards,'cause then you would n't do them.
but milty did n't mean to be disrespeckful.
he just could n't think of the name of the thing.
miss rogerson said heaven was where god was and i was n't to ask questions like that.
milty nudged me and said in a whisper, "heaven's in uncle simon's garret and i'll esplain about it on the road home."
so when we was coming home he esplained.
milty's a great hand at esplaining things.
even if he do n't know anything about a thing he'll make up a lot of stuff and so you get it esplained all the same.
his mother is mrs. simon's sister and he went with her to the funeral when his cousin, jane ellen, died.
the minister said she'd gone to heaven, though milty says she was lying right before them in the coffin.
but he s "posed they carried the coffin to the garret afterwards.
well, when milty and his mother went upstairs after it was all over to get her bonnet he asked her where heaven was that jane ellen had gone to, and she pointed right to the ceiling and said, "up there."
milty knew there was n't anything but the garret over the ceiling, so that's how he found out.
and he's been awful scared to go to his uncle simon's ever since."
anne took davy on her knee and did her best to straighten out this theological tangle also.
she was much better fitted for the task than marilla, for she remembered her own childhood and had an instinctive understanding of the curious ideas that seven-year-olds sometimes get about matters that are, of course, very plain and simple to grown up people.
she had just succeeded in convincing davy that heaven was not in simon fletcher's garret when marilla came in from the garden, where she and dora had been picking peas.
dora was an industrious little soul and never happier than when "helping" in various small tasks suited to her chubby fingers.
she fed chickens, picked up chips, wiped dishes, and ran errands galore.
she was neat, faithful and observant; she never had to be told how to do a thing twice and never forgot any of her little duties.
davy, on the other hand, was rather heedless and forgetful; but he had the born knack of winning love, and even yet anne and marilla liked him the better.
while dora proudly shelled the peas and davy made boats of the pods, with masts of matches and sails of paper, anne told marilla about the wonderful contents of her letter.
""oh, marilla, what do you think?
i've had a letter from priscilla and she says that mrs. morgan is on the island, and that if it is fine thursday they are going to drive up to avonlea and will reach here about twelve.
they will spend the afternoon with us and go to the hotel at white sands in the evening, because some of mrs. morgan's american friends are staying there.
oh, marilla, is n't it wonderful?
i can hardly believe i'm not dreaming."
""i daresay mrs. morgan is a lot like other people," said marilla drily, although she did feel a trifle excited herself.
mrs. morgan was a famous woman and a visit from her was no commonplace occurrence.
""they'll be here to dinner, then?"
""yes; and oh, marilla, may i cook every bit of the dinner myself?
i want to feel that i can do something for the author of "the rosebud garden," if it is only to cook a dinner for her.
you wo n't mind, will you?"
""goodness, i'm not so fond of stewing over a hot fire in july that it would vex me very much to have someone else do it.
you're quite welcome to the job."
""oh, thank you," said anne, as if marilla had just conferred a tremendous favor, "i'll make out the menu this very night."
""you'd better not try to put on too much style," warned marilla, a little alarmed by the high-flown sound of "menu."
""you'll likely come to grief if you do."
""oh, i'm not going to put on any "style," if you mean trying to do or have things we do n't usually have on festal occasions," assured anne.
""that would be affectation, and, although i know i have n't as much sense and steadiness as a girl of seventeen and a schoolteacher ought to have, i'm not so silly as that.
but i want to have everything as nice and dainty as possible.
davy-boy, do n't leave those peapods on the back stairs... someone might slip on them.
i'll have a light soup to begin with... you know i can make lovely cream-of-onion soup... and then a couple of roast fowls.
i'll have the two white roosters.
i have real affection for those roosters and they've been pets ever since the gray hen hatched out just the two of them... little balls of yellow down.
but i know they would have to be sacrificed sometime, and surely there could n't be a worthier occasion than this.
but oh, marilla, i can not kill them... not even for mrs. morgan's sake.
i'll have to ask john henry carter to come over and do it for me."
""i'll do it," volunteered davy, "if marilla'll hold them by the legs,'cause i guess it'd take both my hands to manage the axe.
it's awful jolly fun to see them hopping about after their heads are cut off."
""then i'll have peas and beans and creamed potatoes and a lettuce salad, for vegetables," resumed anne, "and for dessert, lemon pie with whipped cream, and coffee and cheese and lady fingers.
i'll make the pies and lady fingers tomorrow and do up my white muslin dress.
and i must tell diana tonight, for she'll want to do up hers.
mrs. morgan's heroines are nearly always dressed in white muslin, and diana and i have always resolved that that was what we would wear if we ever met her.
it will be such a delicate compliment, do n't you think?
davy, dear, you must n't poke peapods into the cracks of the floor.
i must ask mr. and mrs. allan and miss stacy to dinner, too, for they're all very anxious to meet mrs. morgan.
it's so fortunate she's coming while miss stacy is here.
davy dear, do n't sail the peapods in the water bucket... go out to the trough.
oh, i do hope it will be fine thursday, and i think it will, for uncle abe said last night when he called at mr. harrison's, that it was going to rain most of this week."
""that's a good sign," agreed marilla.
anne ran across to orchard slope that evening to tell the news to diana, who was also very much excited over it, and they discussed the matter in the hammock swung under the big willow in the barry garden.
""oh, anne, may n't i help you cook the dinner?"
implored diana.
""you know i can make splendid lettuce salad."
""indeed you, may" said anne unselfishly.
""and i shall want you to help me decorate too.
i mean to have the parlor simply a bower of blossoms... and the dining table is to be adorned with wild roses.
oh, i do hope everything will go smoothly.
mrs. morgan's heroines never get into scrapes or are taken at a disadvantage, and they are always so selfpossessed and such good housekeepers.
they seem to be born good housekeepers.
you remember that gertrude in "edgewood days" kept house for her father when she was only eight years old.
when i was eight years old i hardly knew how to do a thing except bring up children.
mrs. morgan must be an authority on girls when she has written so much about them, and i do want her to have a good opinion of us.
i've imagined it all out a dozen different ways... what she'll look like, and what she'll say, and what i'll say.
and i'm so anxious about my nose.
there are seven freckles on it, as you can see.
they came at the a.v.i s. picnic, when i went around in the sun without my hat.
i suppose it's ungrateful of me to worry over them, when i should be thankful they're not spread all over my face as they once were; but i do wish they had n't come... all mrs. morgan's heroines have such perfect complexions.
i ca n't recall a freckled one among them."
""yours are not very noticeable," comforted diana.
""try a little lemon juice on them tonight."
the next day anne made her pies and lady fingers, did up her muslin dress, and swept and dusted every room in the house... a quite unnecessary proceeding, for green gables was, as usual, in the apple pie order dear to marilla's heart.
but anne felt that a fleck of dust would be a desecration in a house that was to be honored by a visit from charlotte e. morgan.
she even cleaned out the "catch-all" closet under the stairs, although there was not the remotest possibility of mrs. morgan's seeing its interior.
""but i want to feel that it is in perfect order, even if she is n't to see it," anne told marilla.
""you know, in her book "golden keys," she makes her two heroines alice and louisa take for their motto that verse of longfellow's, "in the elder days of art builders wrought with greatest care each minute and unseen part, for the gods see everywhere," and so they always kept their cellar stairs scrubbed and never forgot to sweep under the beds.
i should have a guilty conscience if i thought this closet was in disorder when mrs. morgan was in the house.
ever since we read "golden keys," last april, diana and i have taken that verse for our motto too."
that night john henry carter and davy between them contrived to execute the two white roosters, and anne dressed them, the usually distasteful task glorified in her eyes by the destination of the plump birds.
""i do n't like picking fowls," she told marilla, "but is n't it fortunate we do n't have to put our souls into what our hands may be doing?
i've been picking chickens with my hands but in imagination i've been roaming the milky way."
""i thought you'd scattered more feathers over the floor than usual," remarked marilla.
then anne put davy to bed and made him promise that he would behave perfectly the next day.
""if i'm as good as good can be all day tomorrow will you let me be just as bad as i like all the next day?"
asked davy.
""i could n't do that," said anne discreetly, "but i'll take you and dora for a row in the flat right to the bottom of the pond, and we'll go ashore on the sandhills and have a picnic."
""it's a bargain," said davy.
""i'll be good, you bet.
i meant to go over to mr. harrison's and fire peas from my new popgun at ginger but another day'll do as well.
i espect it will be just like sunday, but a picnic at the shore'll make up for that."
xvii a chapter of accidents anne woke three times in the night and made pilgrimages to her window to make sure that uncle abe's prediction was not coming true.
finally the morning dawned pearly and lustrous in a sky full of silver sheen and radiance, and the wonderful day had arrived.
diana appeared soon after breakfast, with a basket of flowers over one arm and her muslin dress over the other... for it would not do to don it until all the dinner preparations were completed.
meanwhile she wore her afternoon pink print and a lawn apron fearfully and wonderfully ruffled and frilled; and very neat and pretty and rosy she was.
""you look simply sweet," said anne admiringly.
diana sighed.
""but i've had to let out every one of my dresses again.
i weigh four pounds more than i did in july.
anne, where will this end?
mrs. morgan's heroines are all tall and slender."
""well, let's forget our troubles and think of our mercies," said anne gaily.
""mrs. allan says that whenever we think of anything that is a trial to us we should also think of something nice that we can set over against it.
if you are slightly too plump you've got the dearest dimples; and if i have a freckled nose the shape of it is all right.
do you think the lemon juice did any good?"
""yes, i really think it did," said diana critically; and, much elated, anne led the way to the garden, which was full of airy shadows and wavering golden lights.
""we'll decorate the parlor first.
we have plenty of time, for priscilla said they'd be here about twelve or half past at the latest, so we'll have dinner at one."
there may have been two happier and more excited girls somewhere in canada or the united states at that moment, but i doubt it.
every snip of the scissors, as rose and peony and bluebell fell, seemed to chirp, "mrs. morgan is coming today."
anne wondered how mr. harrison could go on placidly mowing hay in the field across the lane, just as if nothing were going to happen.
the parlor at green gables was a rather severe and gloomy apartment, with rigid horsehair furniture, stiff lace curtains, and white antimacassars that were always laid at a perfectly correct angle, except at such times as they clung to unfortunate people's buttons.
even anne had never been able to infuse much grace into it, for marilla would not permit any alterations.
but it is wonderful what flowers can accomplish if you give them a fair chance; when anne and diana finished with the room you would not have recognized it.
a great blue bowlful of snowballs overflowed on the polished table.
the shining black mantelpiece was heaped with roses and ferns.
every shelf of the what-not held a sheaf of bluebells; the dark corners on either side of the grate were lighted up with jars full of glowing crimson peonies, and the grate itself was aflame with yellow poppies.
all this splendor and color, mingled with the sunshine falling through the honeysuckle vines at the windows in a leafy riot of dancing shadows over walls and floor, made of the usually dismal little room the veritable "bower" of anne's imagination, and even extorted a tribute of admiration from marilla, who came in to criticize and remained to praise.
""now, we must set the table," said anne, in the tone of a priestess about to perform some sacred rite in honor of a divinity.
""we'll have a big vaseful of wild roses in the center and one single rose in front of everybody's plate -- and a special bouquet of rosebuds only by mrs. morgan's -- an allusion to "the rosebud garden" you know."
the table was set in the sitting room, with marilla's finest linen and the best china, glass, and silver.
you may be perfectly certain that every article placed on it was polished or scoured to the highest possible perfection of gloss and glitter.
then the girls tripped out to the kitchen, which was filled with appetizing odors emanating from the oven, where the chickens were already sizzling splendidly.
anne prepared the potatoes and diana got the peas and beans ready.
then, while diana shut herself into the pantry to compound the lettuce salad, anne, whose cheeks were already beginning to glow crimson, as much with excitement as from the heat of the fire, prepared the bread sauce for the chickens, minced her onions for the soup, and finally whipped the cream for her lemon pies.
and what about davy all this time?
was he redeeming his promise to be good?
he was, indeed.
to be sure, he insisted on remaining in the kitchen, for his curiosity wanted to see all that went on.
but as he sat quietly in a corner, busily engaged in untying the knots in a piece of herring net he had brought home from his last trip to the shore, nobody objected to this.
at half past eleven the lettuce salad was made, the golden circles of the pies were heaped with whipped cream, and everything was sizzling and bubbling that ought to sizzle and bubble.
""we'd better go and dress now," said anne, "for they may be here by twelve.
we must have dinner at sharp one, for the soup must be served as soon as it's done."
serious indeed were the toilet rites presently performed in the east gable.
anne peered anxiously at her nose and rejoiced to see that its freckles were not at all prominent, thanks either to the lemon juice or to the unusual flush on her cheeks.
when they were ready they looked quite as sweet and trim and girlish as ever did any of "mrs. morgan's heroines."
""i do hope i'll be able to say something once in a while, and not sit like a mute," said diana anxiously.
""all mrs. morgan's heroines converse so beautifully.
but i'm afraid i'll be tongue-tied and stupid.
and i'll be sure to say" i seen."
i have n't often said it since miss stacy taught here; but in moments of excitement it's sure to pop out.
anne, if i were to say" i seen" before mrs. morgan i'd die of mortification.
and it would be almost as bad to have nothing to say."
""i'm nervous about a good many things," said anne, "but i do n't think there is much fear that i wo n't be able to talk."
and, to do her justice, there was n't.
anne shrouded her muslin glories in a big apron and went down to concoct her soup.
marilla had dressed herself and the twins, and looked more excited than she had ever been known to look before.
at half past twelve the allans and miss stacy came.
everything was going well but anne was beginning to feel nervous.
it was surely time for priscilla and mrs. morgan to arrive.
she made frequent trips to the gate and looked as anxiously down the lane as ever her namesake in the bluebeard story peered from the tower casement.
""suppose they do n't come at all?"
she said piteously.
""do n't suppose it.
it would be too mean," said diana, who, however, was beginning to have uncomfortable misgivings on the subject.
""anne," said marilla, coming out from the parlor, "miss stacy wants to see miss barry's willowware platter."
anne hastened to the sitting room closet to get the platter.
she had, in accordance with her promise to mrs. lynde, written to miss barry of charlottetown, asking for the loan of it.
miss barry was an old friend of anne's, and she promptly sent the platter out, with a letter exhorting anne to be very careful of it, for she had paid twenty dollars for it.
the platter had served its purpose at the aid bazaar and had then been returned to the green gables closet, for anne would not trust anybody but herself to take it back to town.
she carried the platter carefully to the front door where her guests were enjoying the cool breeze that blew up from the brook.
it was examined and admired; then, just as anne had taken it back into her own hands, a terrific crash and clatter sounded from the kitchen pantry.
marilla, diana, and anne fled out, the latter pausing only long enough to set the precious platter hastily down on the second step of the stairs.
when they reached the pantry a truly harrowing spectacle met their eyes... a guilty looking small boy scrambling down from the table, with his clean print blouse liberally plastered with yellow filling, and on the table the shattered remnants of what had been two brave, becreamed lemon pies.
davy had finished ravelling out his herring net and had wound the twine into a ball.
then he had gone into the pantry to put it up on the shelf above the table, where he already kept a score or so of similar balls, which, so far as could be discovered, served no useful purpose save to yield the joy of possession.
davy had to climb on the table and reach over to the shelf at a dangerous angle... something he had been forbidden by marilla to do, as he had come to grief once before in the experiment.
the result in this instance was disastrous.
davy slipped and came sprawling squarely down on the lemon pies.
his clean blouse was ruined for that time and the pies for all time.
it is, however, an ill wind that blows nobody good, and the pig was eventually the gainer by davy's mischance.
""davy keith," said marilla, shaking him by the shoulder, "did n't i forbid you to climb up on that table again?
did n't i?"
""i forgot," whimpered davy.
""you've told me not to do such an awful lot of things that i ca n't remember them all."
""well, you march upstairs and stay there till after dinner.
perhaps you'll get them sorted out in your memory by that time.
no, anne, never you mind interceding for him.
i'm not punishing him because he spoiled your pies... that was an accident.
i'm punishing him for his disobedience.
go, davy, i say."
""ai n't i to have any dinner?"
wailed davy.
""you can come down after dinner is over and have yours in the kitchen."
""oh, all right," said davy, somewhat comforted.
""i know anne'll save some nice bones for me, wo n't you, anne?
'cause you know i did n't mean to fall on the pies.
say, anne, since they are spoiled ca n't i take some of the pieces upstairs with me?"
""no, no lemon pie for you, master davy," said marilla, pushing him toward the hall.
""what shall we do for dessert?"
asked anne, looking regretfully at the wreck and ruin.
""get out a crock of strawberry preserves," said marilla consolingly.
""there's plenty of whipped cream left in the bowl for it."
one o'clock came... but no priscilla or mrs. morgan.
anne was in an agony.
everything was done to a turn and the soup was just what soup should be, but could n't be depended on to remain so for any length of time.
""i do n't believe they're coming after all," said marilla crossly.
anne and diana sought comfort in each other's eyes.
at half past one marilla again emerged from the parlor.
""girls, we must have dinner.
everybody is hungry and it's no use waiting any longer.
priscilla and mrs. morgan are not coming, that's plain, and nothing is being improved by waiting."
anne and diana set about lifting the dinner, with all the zest gone out of the performance.
""i do n't believe i'll be able to eat a mouthful," said diana dolefully.
""nor i.
but i hope everything will be nice for miss stacy's and mr. and mrs. allan's sakes," said anne listlessly.
when diana dished the peas she tasted them and a very peculiar expression crossed her face.
""anne, did you put sugar in these peas?"
""yes," said anne, mashing the potatoes with the air of one expected to do her duty.
""i put a spoonful of sugar in.
we always do.
do n't you like it?"
""but i put a spoonful in too, when i set them on the stove," said diana.
anne dropped her masher and tasted the peas also.
then she made a grimace.
""how awful!
i never dreamed you had put sugar in, because i knew your mother never does.
i happened to think of it, for a wonder... i'm always forgetting it... so i popped a spoonful in."
""it's a case of too many cooks, i guess," said marilla, who had listened to this dialogue with a rather guilty expression.
""i did n't think you'd remember about the sugar, anne, for i'm perfectly certain you never did before... so i put in a spoonful."
the guests in the parlor heard peal after peal of laughter from the kitchen, but they never knew what the fun was about.
there were no green peas on the dinner table that day, however.
""well," said anne, sobering down again with a sigh of recollection, "we have the salad anyhow and i do n't think anything has happened to the beans.
let's carry the things in and get it over."
it can not be said that that dinner was a notable success socially.
the allans and miss stacy exerted themselves to save the situation and marilla's customary placidity was not noticeably ruffled.
but anne and diana, between their disappointment and the reaction from their excitement of the forenoon, could neither talk nor eat.
anne tried heroically to bear her part in the conversation for the sake of her guests; but all the sparkle had been quenched in her for the time being, and, in spite of her love for the allans and miss stacy, she could n't help thinking how nice it would be when everybody had gone home and she could bury her weariness and disappointment in the pillows of the east gable.
there is an old proverb that really seems at times to be inspired... "it never rains but it pours."
the measure of that day's tribulations was not yet full.
just as mr. allan had finished returning thanks there arose a strange, ominous sound on the stairs, as of some hard, heavy object bounding from step to step, finishing up with a grand smash at the bottom.
everybody ran out into the hall.
anne gave a shriek of dismay.
at the bottom of the stairs lay a big pink conch shell amid the fragments of what had been miss barry's platter; and at the top of the stairs knelt a terrified davy, gazing down with wide-open eyes at the havoc.
""davy," said marilla ominously, "did you throw that conch down on purpose?"
""no, i never did," whimpered davy.
""i was just kneeling here, quiet as quiet, to watch you folks through the bannisters, and my foot struck that old thing and pushed it off... and i'm awful hungry... and i do wish you'd lick a fellow and have done with it, instead of always sending him upstairs to miss all the fun."
""do n't blame davy," said anne, gathering up the fragments with trembling fingers.
""it was my fault.
i set that platter there and forgot all about it.
i am properly punished for my carelessness; but oh, what will miss barry say?"
""well, you know she only bought it, so it is n't the same as if it was an heirloom," said diana, trying to console.
the guests went away soon after, feeling that it was the most tactful thing to do, and anne and diana washed the dishes, talking less than they had ever been known to do before.
then diana went home with a headache and anne went with another to the east gable, where she stayed until marilla came home from the post office at sunset, with a letter from priscilla, written the day before.
mrs. morgan had sprained her ankle so severely that she could not leave her room.
""and oh, anne dear," wrote priscilla, "i'm so sorry, but i'm afraid we wo n't get up to green gables at all now, for by the time aunty's ankle is well she will have to go back to toronto.
she has to be there by a certain date."
""well," sighed anne, laying the letter down on the red sandstone step of the back porch, where she was sitting, while the twilight rained down out of a dappled sky, "i always thought it was too good to be true that mrs. morgan should really come.
but there... that speech sounds as pessimistic as miss eliza andrews and i'm ashamed of making it.
after all, it was not too good to be true... things just as good and far better are coming true for me all the time.
and i suppose the events of today have a funny side too.
perhaps when diana and i are old and gray we shall be able to laugh over them.
but i feel that i ca n't expect to do it before then, for it has truly been a bitter disappointment."
""you'll probably have a good many more and worse disappointments than that before you get through life," said marilla, who honestly thought she was making a comforting speech.
""it seems to me, anne, that you are never going to outgrow your fashion of setting your heart so on things and then crashing down into despair because you do n't get them."
""i know i'm too much inclined that, way" agreed anne ruefully.
""when i think something nice is going to happen i seem to fly right up on the wings of anticipation; and then the first thing i realize i drop down to earth with a thud.
but really, marilla, the flying part is glorious as long as it lasts... it's like soaring through a sunset.
i think it almost pays for the thud."
""well, maybe it does," admitted marilla.
""i'd rather walk calmly along and do without both flying and thud.
but everybody has her own way of living... i used to think there was only one right way... but since i've had you and the twins to bring up i do n't feel so sure of it.
what are you going to do about miss barry's platter?"
""pay her back the twenty dollars she paid for it, i suppose.
i'm so thankful it was n't a cherished heirloom because then no money could replace it."
""maybe you could find one like it somewhere and buy it for her."
""i'm afraid not.
platters as old as that are very scarce.
mrs. lynde could n't find one anywhere for the supper.
i only wish i could, for of course miss barry would just as soon have one platter as another, if both were equally old and genuine.
marilla, look at that big star over mr. harrison's maple grove, with all that holy hush of silvery sky about it.
it gives me a feeling that is like a prayer.
after all, when one can see stars and skies like that, little disappointments and accidents ca n't matter so much, can they?"
""where's davy?"
said marilla, with an indifferent glance at the star.
""in bed.
i've promised to take him and dora to the shore for a picnic tomorrow.
of course, the original agreement was that he must be good.
but he tried to be good... and i had n't the heart to disappoint him."
""you'll drown yourself or the twins, rowing about the pond in that flat," grumbled marilla.
""i've lived here for sixty years and i've never been on the pond yet."
""well, it's never too late to mend," said anne roguishly.
""suppose you come with us tomorrow.
we'll shut green gables up and spend the whole day at the shore, daffing the world aside."
""no, thank you," said marilla, with indignant emphasis.
""i'd be a nice sight, would n't i, rowing down the pond in a flat?
i think i hear rachel pronouncing on it.
there's mr. harrison driving away somewhere.
do you suppose there is any truth in the gossip that mr. harrison is going to see isabella andrews?"
""no, i'm sure there is n't.
he just called there one evening on business with mr. harmon andrews and mrs. lynde saw him and said she knew he was courting because he had a white collar on.
i do n't believe mr. harrison will ever marry.
he seems to have a prejudice against marriage."
""well, you can never tell about those old bachelors.
and if he had a white collar on i'd agree with rachel that it looks suspicious, for i'm sure he never was seen with one before."
""i think he only put it on because he wanted to conclude a business deal with harmon andrews," said anne.
""i've heard him say that's the only time a man needs to be particular about his appearance, because if he looks prosperous the party of the second part wo n't be so likely to try to cheat him.
i really feel sorry for mr. harrison; i do n't believe he feels satisfied with his life.
it must be very lonely to have no one to care about except a parrot, do n't you think?
but i notice mr. harrison does n't like to be pitied.
nobody does, i imagine."
""there's gilbert coming up the lane," said marilla.
""if he wants you to go for a row on the pond mind you put on your coat and rubbers.
there's a heavy dew tonight."
xviii an adventure on the tory road "anne," said davy, sitting up in bed and propping his chin on his hands, "anne, where is sleep?
people go to sleep every night, and of course i know it's the place where i do the things i dream, but i want to know where it is and how i get there and back without knowing anything about it... and in my nighty too.
where is it?"
anne was kneeling at the west gable window watching the sunset sky that was like a great flower with petals of crocus and a heart of fiery yellow.
she turned her head at davy's question and answered dreamily," "over the mountains of the moon, down the valley of the shadow.""
paul irving would have known the meaning of this, or made a meaning out of it for himself, if he did n't; but practical davy, who, as anne often despairingly remarked, had n't a particle of imagination, was only puzzled and disgusted.
""anne, i believe you're just talking nonsense."
""of course, i was, dear boy.
do n't you know that it is only very foolish folk who talk sense all the time?"
""well, i think you might give a sensible answer when i ask a sensible question," said davy in an injured tone.
""oh, you are too little to understand," said anne.
but she felt rather ashamed of saying it; for had she not, in keen remembrance of many similar snubs administered in her own early years, solemnly vowed that she would never tell any child it was too little to understand?
yet here she was doing it... so wide sometimes is the gulf between theory and practice.
""well, i'm doing my best to grow," said davy, "but it's a thing you ca n't hurry much.
if marilla was n't so stingy with her jam i believe i'd grow a lot faster."
""marilla is not stingy, davy," said anne severely.
""it is very ungrateful of you to say such a thing."
""there's another word that means the same thing and sounds a lot better, but i do n't just remember it," said davy, frowning intently.
""i heard marilla say she was it, herself, the other day."
""if you mean economical, it's a very different thing from being stingy.
it is an excellent trait in a person if she is economical.
if marilla had been stingy she would n't have taken you and dora when your mother died.
would you have liked to live with mrs. wiggins?"
""you just bet i would n't!"
davy was emphatic on that point.
""nor i do n't want to go out to uncle richard neither.
i'd far rather live here, even if marilla is that long-tailed word when it comes to jam,'cause you're here, anne.
say, anne, wo n't you tell me a story "fore i go to sleep?
i do n't want a fairy story.
they're all right for girls, i s "pose, but i want something exciting... lots of killing and shooting in it, and a house on fire, and i n'trusting things like that."
fortunately for anne, marilla called out at this moment from her room.
""anne, diana's signaling at a great rate.
you'd better see what she wants."
anne ran to the east gable and saw flashes of light coming through the twilight from diana's window in groups of five, which meant, according to their old childish code, "come over at once for i have something important to reveal."
anne threw her white shawl over her head and hastened through the haunted wood and across mr. bell's pasture corner to orchard slope.
""i've good news for you, anne," said diana.
""mother and i have just got home from carmody, and i saw mary sentner from spencer vale in mr. blair's store.
she says the old copp girls on the tory road have a willow-ware platter and she thinks it's exactly like the one we had at the supper.
she says they'll likely sell it, for martha copp has never been known to keep anything she could sell; but if they wo n't there's a platter at wesley keyson's at spencervale and she knows they'd sell it, but she is n't sure it's just the same kind as aunt josephine's."
""i'll go right over to spencervale after it tomorrow," said anne resolutely, "and you must come with me.
it will be such a weight off my mind, for i have to go to town day after tomorrow and how can i face your aunt josephine without a willow-ware platter?
it would be even worse than the time i had to confess about jumping on the spare room bed."
both girls laughed over the old memory... concerning which, if any of my readers are ignorant and curious, i must refer them to anne's earlier history.
the next afternoon the girls fared forth on their platter hunting expedition.
it was ten miles to spencervale and the day was not especially pleasant for traveling.
it was very warm and windless, and the dust on the road was such as might have been expected after six weeks of dry weather.
""oh, i do wish it would rain soon," sighed anne.
""everything is so parched up.
the poor fields just seem pitiful to me and the trees seem to be stretching out their hands pleading for rain.
as for my garden, it hurts me every time i go into it.
i suppose i should n't complain about a garden when the farmers" crops are suffering so.
mr. harrison says his pastures are so scorched up that his poor cows can hardly get a bite to eat and he feels guilty of cruelty to animals every time he meets their eyes."
after a wearisome drive the girls reached spencervale and turned down the "tory" road... a green, solitary highway where the strips of grass between the wheel tracks bore evidence to lack of travel.
along most of its extent it was lined with thick-set young spruces crowding down to the roadway, with here and there a break where the back field of a spencervale farm came out to the fence or an expanse of stumps was aflame with fireweed and goldenrod.
""why is it called the tory road?"
asked anne.
""mr. allan says it is on the principle of calling a place a grove because there are no trees in it," said diana, "for nobody lives along the road except the copp girls and old martin bovyer at the further end, who is a liberal.
the tory government ran the road through when they were in power just to show they were doing something."
diana's father was a liberal, for which reason she and anne never discussed politics.
green gables folk had always been conservatives.
finally the girls came to the old copp homestead... a place of such exceeding external neatness that even green gables would have suffered by contrast.
the house was a very old-fashioned one, situated on a slope, which fact had necessitated the building of a stone basement under one end.
the house and out-buildings were all whitewashed to a condition of blinding perfection and not a weed was visible in the prim kitchen garden surrounded by its white paling.
""the shades are all down," said diana ruefully.
""i believe that nobody is home."
this proved to be the case.
the girls looked at each other in perplexity.
""i do n't know what to do," said anne.
""if i were sure the platter was the right kind i would not mind waiting until they came home.
but if it is n't it may be too late to go to wesley keyson's afterward."
diana looked at a certain little square window over the basement.
""that is the pantry window, i feel sure," she said, "because this house is just like uncle charles" at newbridge, and that is their pantry window.
the shade is n't down, so if we climbed up on the roof of that little house we could look into the pantry and might be able to see the platter.
do you think it would be any harm?"
""no, i do n't think so," decided anne, after due reflection, "since our motive is not idle curiosity."
this important point of ethics being settled, anne prepared to mount the aforesaid "little house," a construction of lathes, with a peaked roof, which had in times past served as a habitation for ducks.
the copp girls had given up keeping ducks... "because they were such untidy birds".
.
.
and the house had not been in use for some years, save as an abode of correction for setting hens.
although scrupulously whitewashed it had become somewhat shaky, and anne felt rather dubious as she scrambled up from the vantage point of a keg placed on a box.
""i'm afraid it wo n't bear my weight," she said as she gingerly stepped on the roof.
""lean on the window sill," advised diana, and anne accordingly leaned.
much to her delight, she saw, as she peered through the pane, a willow-ware platter, exactly such as she was in quest of, on the shelf in front of the window.
so much she saw before the catastrophe came.
in her joy anne forgot the precarious nature of her footing, incautiously ceased to lean on the window sill, gave an impulsive little hop of pleasure... and the next moment she had crashed through the roof up to her armpits, and there she hung, quite unable to extricate herself.
diana dashed into the duck house and, seizing her unfortunate friend by the waist, tried to draw her down.
""ow... do n't," shrieked poor anne.
""there are some long splinters sticking into me.
see if you can put something under my feet... then perhaps i can draw myself up."
diana hastily dragged in the previously mentioned keg and anne found that it was just sufficiently high to furnish a secure resting place for her feet.
but she could not release herself.
""could i pull you out if i crawled up?"
suggested diana.
anne shook her head hopelessly.
""no... the splinters hurt too badly.
if you can find an axe you might chop me out, though.
oh dear, i do really begin to believe that i was born under an ill-omened star."
diana searched faithfully but no axe was to be found.
""i'll have to go for help," she said, returning to the prisoner.
""no, indeed, you wo n't," said anne vehemently.
""if you do the story of this will get out everywhere and i shall be ashamed to show my face.
no, we must just wait until the copp girls come home and bind them to secrecy.
they'll know where the axe is and get me out.
i'm not uncomfortable, as long as i keep perfectly still... not uncomfortable in body i mean.
i wonder what the copp girls value this house at.
i shall have to pay for the damage i've done, but i would n't mind that if i were only sure they would understand my motive in peeping in at their pantry window.
my sole comfort is that the platter is just the kind i want and if miss copp will only sell it to me i shall be resigned to what has happened."
""what if the copp girls do n't come home until after night... or till tomorrow?"
suggested diana.
""if they're not back by sunset you'll have to go for other assistance, i suppose," said anne reluctantly, "but you must n't go until you really have to.
oh dear, this is a dreadful predicament.
i would n't mind my misfortunes so much if they were romantic, as mrs. morgan's heroines" always are, but they are always just simply ridiculous.
fancy what the copp girls will think when they drive into their yard and see a girl's head and shoulders sticking out of the roof of one of their outhouses.
listen... is that a wagon?
no, diana, i believe it is thunder."
thunder it was undoubtedly, and diana, having made a hasty pilgrimage around the house, returned to announce that a very black cloud was rising rapidly in the northwest.
""i believe we're going to have a heavy thunder-shower," she exclaimed in dismay, "oh, anne, what will we do?"
""we must prepare for it," said anne tranquilly.
a thunderstorm seemed a trifle in comparison with what had already happened.
""you'd better drive the horse and buggy into that open shed.
fortunately my parasol is in the buggy.
here... take my hat with you.
marilla told me i was a goose to put on my best hat to come to the tory road and she was right, as she always is."
diana untied the pony and drove into the shed, just as the first heavy drops of rain fell.
there she sat and watched the resulting downpour, which was so thick and heavy that she could hardly see anne through it, holding the parasol bravely over her bare head.
there was not a great deal of thunder, but for the best part of an hour the rain came merrily down.
occasionally anne slanted back her parasol and waved an encouraging hand to her friend; but conversation at that distance was quite out of the question.
finally the rain ceased, the sun came out, and diana ventured across the puddles of the yard.
""did you get very wet?"
she asked anxiously.
""oh, no," returned anne cheerfully.
""my head and shoulders are quite dry and my skirt is only a little damp where the rain beat through the lathes.
do n't pity me, diana, for i have n't minded it at all.
i kept thinking how much good the rain will do and how glad my garden must be for it, and imagining what the flowers and buds would think when the drops began to fall.
i imagined out a most interesting dialogue between the asters and the sweet peas and the wild canaries in the lilac bush and the guardian spirit of the garden.
when i go home i mean to write it down.
i wish i had a pencil and paper to do it now, because i daresay i'll forget the best parts before i reach home."
diana the faithful had a pencil and discovered a sheet of wrapping paper in the box of the buggy.
anne folded up her dripping parasol, put on her hat, spread the wrapping paper on a shingle diana handed up, and wrote out her garden idyl under conditions that could hardly be considered as favorable to literature.
nevertheless, the result was quite pretty, and diana was "enraptured" when anne read it to her.
""oh, anne, it's sweet... just sweet.
do send it to the "canadian woman.""
anne shook her head.
""oh, no, it would n't be suitable at all.
there is no plot in it, you see.
it's just a string of fancies.
i like writing such things, but of course nothing of the sort would ever do for publication, for editors insist on plots, so priscilla says.
oh, there's miss sarah copp now.
please, diana, go and explain."
miss sarah copp was a small person, garbed in shabby black, with a hat chosen less for vain adornment than for qualities that would wear well.
she looked as amazed as might be expected on seeing the curious tableau in her yard, but when she heard diana's explanation she was all sympathy.
she hurriedly unlocked the back door, produced the axe, and with a few skillfull blows set anne free.
the latter, somewhat tired and stiff, ducked down into the interior of her prison and thankfully emerged into liberty once more.
""miss copp," she said earnestly.
""i assure you i looked into your pantry window only to discover if you had a willow-ware platter.
i did n't see anything else -- i did n't look for anything else."
""bless you, that's all right," said miss sarah amiably.
""you need n't worry -- there's no harm done.
thank goodness, we copps keep our pantries presentable at all times and do n't care who sees into them.
as for that old duckhouse, i'm glad it's smashed, for maybe now martha will agree to having it taken down.
she never would before for fear it might come in handy sometime and i've had to whitewash it every spring.
but you might as well argue with a post as with martha.
she went to town today -- i drove her to the station.
and you want to buy my platter.
well, what will you give for it?"
""twenty dollars," said anne, who was never meant to match business wits with a copp, or she would not have offered her price at the start.
""well, i'll see," said miss sarah cautiously.
""that platter is mine fortunately, or i'd never dare to sell it when martha was n't here.
as it is, i daresay she'll raise a fuss.
martha's the boss of this establishment i can tell you.
i'm getting awful tired of living under another woman's thumb.
but come in, come in.
you must be real tired and hungry.
i'll do the best i can for you in the way of tea but i warn you not to expect anything but bread and butter and some cowcumbers.
martha locked up all the cake and cheese and preserves afore she went.
she always does, because she says i'm too extravagant with them if company comes."
the girls were hungry enough to do justice to any fare, and they enjoyed miss sarah's excellent bread and butter and "cowcumbers" thoroughly.
when the meal was over miss sarah said, "i do n't know as i mind selling the platter.
but it's worth twenty-five dollars.
it's a very old platter."
diana gave anne's foot a gentle kick under the table, meaning, "do n't agree -- she'll let it go for twenty if you hold out."
but anne was not minded to take any chances in regard to that precious platter.
she promptly agreed to give twenty-five and miss sarah looked as if she felt sorry she had n't asked for thirty.
""well, i guess you may have it.
i want all the money i can scare up just now.
the fact is --" miss sarah threw up her head importantly, with a proud flush on her thin cheeks -- "i'm going to be married -- to luther wallace.
he wanted me twenty years ago.
i liked him real well but he was poor then and father packed him off.
i s "pose i should n't have let him go so meek but i was timid and frightened of father.
besides, i did n't know men were so skurse."
when the girls were safely away, diana driving and anne holding the coveted platter carefully on her lap, the green, rain-freshened solitudes of the tory road were enlivened by ripples of girlish laughter.
""i'll amuse your aunt josephine with the "strange eventful history" of this afternoon when i go to town tomorrow.
we've had a rather trying time but it's over now.
i've got the platter, and that rain has laid the dust beautifully.
so "all's well that ends well.""
""we're not home yet," said diana rather pessimistically, "and there's no telling what may happen before we are.
you're such a girl to have adventures, anne."
""having adventures comes natural to some people," said anne serenely.
""you just have a gift for them or you have n't."
xix just a happy day "after all," anne had said to marilla once, "i believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string."
life at green gables was full of just such days, for anne's adventures and misadventures, like those of other people, did not all happen at once, but were sprinkled over the year, with long stretches of harmless, happy days between, filled with work and dreams and laughter and lessons.
such a day came late in august.
in the forenoon anne and diana rowed the delighted twins down the pond to the sandshore to pick "sweet grass" and paddle in the surf, over which the wind was harping an old lyric learned when the world was young.
in the afternoon anne walked down to the old irving place to see paul.
she found him stretched out on the grassy bank beside the thick fir grove that sheltered the house on the north, absorbed in a book of fairy tales.
he sprang up radiantly at sight of her.
""oh, i'm so glad you've come, teacher," he said eagerly, "because grandma's away.
you'll stay and have tea with me, wo n't you?
it's so lonesome to have tea all by oneself.
you know, teacher.
i've had serious thoughts of asking young mary joe to sit down and eat her tea with me, but i expect grandma would n't approve.
she says the french have to be kept in their place.
and anyhow, it's difficult to talk with young mary joe.
she just laughs and says, "well, yous do beat all de kids i ever knowed."
that is n't my idea of conversation."
""of course i'll stay to tea," said anne gaily.
""i was dying to be asked.
my mouth has been watering for some more of your grandma's delicious shortbread ever since i had tea here before."
paul looked very sober.
""if it depended on me, teacher," he said, standing before anne with his hands in his pockets and his beautiful little face shadowed with sudden care, "you should have shortbread with a right good will.
but it depends on mary joe.
i heard grandma tell her before she left that she was n't to give me any shortcake because it was too rich for little boys" stomachs.
but maybe mary joe will cut some for you if i promise i wo n't eat any.
let us hope for the best."
""yes, let us," agreed anne, whom this cheerful philosophy suited exactly, "and if mary joe proves hard-hearted and wo n't give me any shortbread it does n't matter in the least, so you are not to worry over that."
""you're sure you wo n't mind if she does n't?"
said paul anxiously.
""perfectly sure, dear heart."
""then i wo n't worry," said paul, with a long breath of relief, "especially as i really think mary joe will listen to reason.
she's not a naturally unreasonable person, but she has learned by experience that it does n't do to disobey grandma's orders.
grandma is an excellent woman but people must do as she tells them.
she was very much pleased with me this morning because i managed at last to eat all my plateful of porridge.
it was a great effort but i succeeded.
grandma says she thinks she'll make a man of me yet.
but, teacher, i want to ask you a very important question.
you will answer it truthfully, wo n't you?"
""i'll try," promised anne.
""do you think i'm wrong in my upper story?"
asked paul, as if his very existence depended on her reply.
""goodness, no, paul," exclaimed anne in amazement.
""certainly you're not.
what put such an idea into your head?"
""mary joe... but she did n't know i heard her.
mrs. peter sloane's hired girl, veronica, came to see mary joe last evening and i heard them talking in the kitchen as i was going through the hall.
i heard mary joe say, "dat paul, he is de queeres" leetle boy.
he talks dat queer.
i tink dere's someting wrong in his upper story."
i could n't sleep last night for ever so long, thinking of it, and wondering if mary joe was right.
i could n't bear to ask grandma about it somehow, but i made up my mind i'd ask you.
i'm so glad you think i'm all right in my upper story."
""of course you are.
mary joe is a silly, ignorant girl, and you are never to worry about anything she says," said anne indignantly, secretly resolving to give mrs. irving a discreet hint as to the advisability of restraining mary joe's tongue.
""well, that's a weight off my mind," said paul.
""i'm perfectly happy now, teacher, thanks to you.
it would n't be nice to have something wrong in your upper story, would it, teacher?
i suppose the reason mary joe imagines i have is because i tell her what i think about things sometimes."
""it is a rather dangerous practice," admitted anne, out of the depths of her own experience.
""well, by and by i'll tell you the thoughts i told mary joe and you can see for yourself if there's anything queer in them," said paul, "but i'll wait till it begins to get dark.
that is the time i ache to tell people things, and when nobody else is handy i just have to tell mary joe.
but after this i wo n't, if it makes her imagine i'm wrong in my upper story.
i'll just ache and bear it."
""and if the ache gets too bad you can come up to green gables and tell me your thoughts," suggested anne, with all the gravity that endeared her to children, who so dearly love to be taken seriously.
""yes, i will.
but i hope davy wo n't be there when i go because he makes faces at me.
i do n't mind very much because he is such a little boy and i am quite a big one, but still it is not pleasant to have faces made at you.
and davy makes such terrible ones.
sometimes i am frightened he will never get his face straightened out again.
he makes them at me in church when i ought to be thinking of sacred things.
dora likes me though, and i like her, but not so well as i did before she told minnie may barry that she meant to marry me when i grew up.
i may marry somebody when i grow up but i'm far too young to be thinking of it yet, do n't you think, teacher?"
""rather young," agreed teacher.
""speaking of marrying, reminds me of another thing that has been troubling me of late," continued paul.
""mrs. lynde was down here one day last week having tea with grandma, and grandma made me show her my little mother's picture... the one father sent me for my birthday present.
i did n't exactly want to show it to mrs. lynde.
mrs. lynde is a good, kind woman, but she is n't the sort of person you want to show your mother's picture to.
you know, teacher.
but of course i obeyed grandma.
mrs. lynde said she was very pretty but kind of actressy looking, and must have been an awful lot younger than father.
then she said, "some of these days your pa will be marrying again likely.
how will you like to have a new ma, master paul?"
well, the idea almost took my breath away, teacher, but i was n't going to let mrs. lynde see that.
i just looked her straight in the face... like this... and i said, "mrs. lynde, father made a pretty good job of picking out my first mother and i could trust him to pick out just as good a one the second time."
and i can trust him, teacher.
but still, i hope, if he ever does give me a new mother, he'll ask my opinion about her before it's too late.
there's mary joe coming to call us to tea.
i'll go and consult with her about the shortbread."
as a result of the "consultation," mary joe cut the shortbread and added a dish of preserves to the bill of fare.
anne poured the tea and she and paul had a very merry meal in the dim old sitting room whose windows were open to the gulf breezes, and they talked so much "nonsense" that mary joe was quite scandalized and told veronica the next evening that "de school mees" was as queer as paul.
after tea paul took anne up to his room to show her his mother's picture, which had been the mysterious birthday present kept by mrs. irving in the bookcase.
paul's little low-ceilinged room was a soft whirl of ruddy light from the sun that was setting over the sea and swinging shadows from the fir trees that grew close to the square, deep-set window.
from out this soft glow and glamor shone a sweet, girlish face, with tender mother eyes, that was hanging on the wall at the foot of the bed.
""that's my little mother," said paul with loving pride.
""i got grandma to hang it there where i'd see it as soon as i opened my eyes in the morning.
i never mind not having the light when i go to bed now, because it just seems as if my little mother was right here with me.
father knew just what i would like for a birthday present, although he never asked me.
is n't it wonderful how much fathers do know?"
""your mother was very lovely, paul, and you look a little like her.
but her eyes and hair are darker than yours."
""my eyes are the same color as father's," said paul, flying about the room to heap all available cushions on the window seat, "but father's hair is gray.
he has lots of it, but it is gray.
you see, father is nearly fifty.
that's ripe old age, is n't it?
but it's only outside he's old.
inside he's just as young as anybody.
now, teacher, please sit here; and i'll sit at your feet.
may i lay my head against your knee?
that's the way my little mother and i used to sit.
oh, this is real splendid, i think."
""now, i want to hear those thoughts which mary joe pronounces so queer," said anne, patting the mop of curls at her side.
paul never needed any coaxing to tell his thoughts... at least, to congenial souls.
""i thought them out in the fir grove one night," he said dreamily.
""of course i did n't believe them but i thought them.
you know, teacher.
and then i wanted to tell them to somebody and there was nobody but mary joe.
mary joe was in the pantry setting bread and i sat down on the bench beside her and i said, "mary joe, do you know what i think?
i think the evening star is a lighthouse on the land where the fairies dwell."
and mary joe said, "well, yous are de queer one.
dare ai n't no such ting as fairies."
i was very much provoked.
of course, i knew there are no fairies; but that need n't prevent my thinking there is.
you know, teacher.
but i tried again quite patiently.
i said, "well then, mary joe, do you know what i think?
i think an angel walks over the world after the sun sets... a great, tall, white angel, with silvery folded wings... and sings the flowers and birds to sleep.
children can hear him if they know how to listen."
then mary joe held up her hands all over flour and said, "well, yous are de queer leetle boy.
yous make me feel scare."
and she really did looked scared.
i went out then and whispered the rest of my thoughts to the garden.
there was a little birch tree in the garden and it died.
grandma says the salt spray killed it; but i think the dryad belonging to it was a foolish dryad who wandered away to see the world and got lost.
and the little tree was so lonely it died of a broken heart."
""and when the poor, foolish little dryad gets tired of the world and comes back to her tree her heart will break," said anne.
""yes; but if dryads are foolish they must take the consequences, just as if they were real people," said paul gravely.
""do you know what i think about the new moon, teacher?
i think it is a little golden boat full of dreams."
""and when it tips on a cloud some of them spill out and fall into your sleep."
""exactly, teacher.
oh, you do know.
and i think the violets are little snips of the sky that fell down when the angels cut out holes for the stars to shine through.
and the buttercups are made out of old sunshine; and i think the sweet peas will be butterflies when they go to heaven.
now, teacher, do you see anything so very queer about those thoughts?"
""no, laddie dear, they are not queer at all; they are strange and beautiful thoughts for a little boy to think, and so people who could n't think anything of the sort themselves, if they tried for a hundred years, think them queer.
but keep on thinking them, paul... some day you are going to be a poet, i believe."
when anne reached home she found a very different type of boyhood waiting to be put to bed.
davy was sulky; and when anne had undressed him he bounced into bed and buried his face in the pillow.
""davy, you have forgotten to say your prayers," said anne rebukingly.
""no, i did n't forget," said davy defiantly, "but i ai n't going to say my prayers any more.
i'm going to give up trying to be good,'cause no matter how good i am you'd like paul irving better.
so i might as well be bad and have the fun of it."
""i do n't like paul irving better," said anne seriously.
""i like you just as well, only in a different way."
""but i want you to like me the same way," pouted davy.
""you ca n't like different people the same way.
you do n't like dora and me the same way, do you?"
davy sat up and reflected.
""no... o... o," he admitted at last, "i like dora because she's my sister but i like you because you're you."
""and i like paul because he is paul and davy because he is davy," said anne gaily.
""well, i kind of wish i'd said my prayers then," said davy, convinced by this logic.
""but it's too much bother getting out now to say them.
i'll say them twice over in the morning, anne.
wo n't that do as well?"
no, anne was positive it would not do as well.
so davy scrambled out and knelt down at her knee.
when he had finished his devotions he leaned back on his little, bare, brown heels and looked up at her.
""anne, i'm gooder than i used to be."
""yes, indeed you are, davy," said anne, who never hesitated to give credit where credit was due.
""i know i'm gooder," said davy confidently, "and i'll tell you how i know it.
today marilla give me two pieces of bread and jam, one for me and one for dora.
one was a good deal bigger than the other and marilla did n't say which was mine.
but i give the biggest piece to dora.
that was good of me, was n't it?"
""very good, and very manly, davy."
""of course," admitted davy, "dora was n't very hungry and she only et half her slice and then she give the rest to me.
but i did n't know she was going to do that when i give it to her, so i was good, anne."
in the twilight anne sauntered down to the dryad's bubble and saw gilbert blythe coming down through the dusky haunted wood.
she had a sudden realization that gilbert was a schoolboy no longer.
and how manly he looked -- the tall, frank-faced fellow, with the clear, straightforward eyes and the broad shoulders.
anne thought gilbert was a very handsome lad, even though he did n't look at all like her ideal man.
she and diana had long ago decided what kind of a man they admired and their tastes seemed exactly similar.
he must be very tall and distinguished looking, with melancholy, inscrutable eyes, and a melting, sympathetic voice.
there was nothing either melancholy or inscrutable in gilbert's physiognomy, but of course that did n't matter in friendship!
gilbert stretched himself out on the ferns beside the bubble and looked approvingly at anne.
if gilbert had been asked to describe his ideal woman the description would have answered point for point to anne, even to those seven tiny freckles whose obnoxious presence still continued to vex her soul.
gilbert was as yet little more than a boy; but a boy has his dreams as have others, and in gilbert's future there was always a girl with big, limpid gray eyes, and a face as fine and delicate as a flower.
he had made up his mind, also, that his future must be worthy of its goddess.
even in quiet avonlea there were temptations to be met and faced.
white sands youth were a rather "fast" set, and gilbert was popular wherever he went.
but he meant to keep himself worthy of anne's friendship and perhaps some distant day her love; and he watched over word and thought and deed as jealously as if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it.
she held over him the unconscious influence that every girl, whose ideals are high and pure, wields over her friends; an influence which would endure as long as she was faithful to those ideals and which she would as certainly lose if she were ever false to them.
in gilbert's eyes anne's greatest charm was the fact that she never stooped to the petty practices of so many of the avonlea girls -- the small jealousies, the little deceits and rivalries, the palpable bids for favor.
anne held herself apart from all this, not consciously or of design, but simply because anything of the sort was utterly foreign to her transparent, impulsive nature, crystal clear in its motives and aspirations.
but gilbert did not attempt to put his thoughts into words, for he had already too good reason to know that anne would mercilessly and frostily nip all attempts at sentiment in the bud -- or laugh at him, which was ten times worse.
""you look like a real dryad under that birch tree," he said teasingly.
""i love birch trees," said anne, laying her cheek against the creamy satin of the slim bole, with one of the pretty, caressing gestures that came so natural to her.
""then you'll be glad to hear that mr. major spencer has decided to set out a row of white birches all along the road front of his farm, by way of encouraging the a.v.i.s.," said gilbert.
""he was talking to me about it today.
major spencer is the most progressive and public-spirited man in avonlea.
and mr. william bell is going to set out a spruce hedge along his road front and up his lane.
our society is getting on splendidly, anne.
it is past the experimental stage and is an accepted fact.
the older folks are beginning to take an interest in it and the white sands people are talking of starting one too.
even elisha wright has come around since that day the americans from the hotel had the picnic at the shore.
they praised our roadsides so highly and said they were so much prettier than in any other part of the island.
and when, in due time, the other farmers follow mr. spencer's good example and plant ornamental trees and hedges along their road fronts avonlea will be the prettiest settlement in the province."
""the aids are talking of taking up the graveyard," said anne, "and i hope they will, because there will have to be a subscription for that, and it would be no use for the society to try it after the hall affair.
but the aids would never have stirred in the matter if the society had n't put it into their thoughts unofficially.
those trees we planted on the church grounds are flourishing, and the trustees have promised me that they will fence in the school grounds next year.
if they do i'll have an arbor day and every scholar shall plant a tree; and we'll have a garden in the corner by the road."
""we've succeeded in almost all our plans so far, except in getting the old boulter house removed," said gilbert, "and i've given that up in despair.
levi wo n't have it taken down just to vex us.
there's a contrary streak in all the boulters and it's strongly developed in him."
""julia bell wants to send another committee to him, but i think the better way will just be to leave him severely alone," said anne sagely.
""and trust to providence, as mrs. lynde says," smiled gilbert.
""certainly, no more committees.
they only aggravate him.
julia bell thinks you can do anything, if you only have a committee to attempt it.
next spring, anne, we must start an agitation for nice lawns and grounds.
we'll sow good seed betimes this winter.
i've a treatise here on lawns and lawnmaking and i'm going to prepare a paper on the subject soon.
well, i suppose our vacation is almost over.
school opens monday.
has ruby gillis got the carmody school?"
""yes; priscilla wrote that she had taken her own home school, so the carmody trustees gave it to ruby.
i'm sorry priscilla is not coming back, but since she ca n't i'm glad ruby has got the school.
she will be home for saturdays and it will seem like old times, to have her and jane and diana and myself all together again."
marilla, just home from mrs. lynde's, was sitting on the back porch step when anne returned to the house.
""rachel and i have decided to have our cruise to town tomorrow," she said.
""mr. lynde is feeling better this week and rachel wants to go before he has another sick spell."
""i intend to get up extra early tomorrow morning, for i've ever so much to do," said anne virtuously.
""for one thing, i'm going to shift the feathers from my old bedtick to the new one.
i ought to have done it long ago but i've just kept putting it off... it's such a detestable task.
it's a very bad habit to put off disagreeable things, and i never mean to again, or else i ca n't comfortably tell my pupils not to do it.
that would be inconsistent.
then i want to make a cake for mr. harrison and finish my paper on gardens for the a.v.i.s., and write stella, and wash and starch my muslin dress, and make dora's new apron."
""you wo n't get half done," said marilla pessimistically.
""i never yet planned to do a lot of things but something happened to prevent me."
xx the way it often happens anne rose betimes the next morning and blithely greeted the fresh day, when the banners of the sunrise were shaken triumphantly across the pearly skies.
green gables lay in a pool of sunshine, flecked with the dancing shadows of poplar and willow.
beyond the land was mr. harrison's wheatfield, a great, windrippled expanse of pale gold.
the world was so beautiful that anne spent ten blissful minutes hanging idly over the garden gate drinking the loveliness in.
after breakfast marilla made ready for her journey.
dora was to go with her, having been long promised this treat.
""now, davy, you try to be a good boy and do n't bother anne," she straitly charged him.
""if you are good i'll bring you a striped candy cane from town."
for alas, marilla had stooped to the evil habit of bribing people to be good!
""i wo n't be bad on purpose, but s "posen i'm bad zacksidentally?"
davy wanted to know.
""you'll have to guard against accidents," admonished marilla.
""anne, if mr. shearer comes today get a nice roast and some steak.
if he does n't you'll have to kill a fowl for dinner tomorrow."
anne nodded.
""i'm not going to bother cooking any dinner for just davy and myself today," she said.
""that cold ham bone will do for noon lunch and i'll have some steak fried for you when you come home at night."
""i'm going to help mr. harrison haul dulse this morning," announced davy.
""he asked me to, and i guess he'll ask me to dinner too.
mr. harrison is an awful kind man.
he's a real sociable man.
i hope i'll be like him when i grow up.
i mean behave like him... i do n't want to look like him.
but i guess there's no danger, for mrs. lynde says i'm a very handsome child.
do you s "pose it'll last, anne?
i want to know?"
""i daresay it will," said anne gravely.
""you are a handsome boy, davy,"... marilla looked volumes of disapproval... "but you must live up to it and be just as nice and gentlemanly as you look to be."
""and you told minnie may barry the other day, when you found her crying'cause some one said she was ugly, that if she was nice and kind and loving people would n't mind her looks," said davy discontentedly.
""seems to me you ca n't get out of being good in this world for some reason or "nother.
you just have to behave."
""do n't you want to be good?"
asked marilla, who had learned a great deal but had not yet learned the futility of asking such questions.
""yes, i want to be good but not too good," said davy cautiously.
""you do n't have to be very good to be a sunday school superintendent.
mr. bell's that, and he's a real bad man."
""indeed he's not," said marila indignantly.
""he is... he says he is himself," asseverated davy.
""he said it when he prayed in sunday school last sunday.
he said he was a vile worm and a miserable sinner and guilty of the blackest "niquity.
what did he do that was so bad, marilla?
did he kill anybody?
or steal the collection cents?
i want to know."
fortunately mrs. lynde came driving up the lane at this moment and marilla made off, feeling that she had escaped from the snare of the fowler, and wishing devoutly that mr. bell were not quite so highly figurative in his public petitions, especially in the hearing of small boys who were always "wanting to know."
anne, left alone in her glory, worked with a will.
the floor was swept, the beds made, the hens fed, the muslin dress washed and hung out on the line.
then anne prepared for the transfer of feathers.
she mounted to the garret and donned the first old dress that came to hand... a navy blue cashmere she had worn at fourteen.
it was decidedly on the short side and as "skimpy" as the notable wincey anne had worn upon the occasion of her debut at green gables; but at least it would not be materially injured by down and feathers.
anne completed her toilet by tying a big red and white spotted handkerchief that had belonged to matthew over her head, and, thus accoutred, betook herself to the kitchen chamber, whither marilla, before her departure, had helped her carry the feather bed.
a cracked mirror hung by the chamber window and in an unlucky moment anne looked into it.
there were those seven freckles on her nose, more rampant than ever, or so it seemed in the glare of light from the unshaded window.
""oh, i forgot to rub that lotion on last night," she thought.
""i'd better run down to the pantry and do it now."
anne had already suffered many things trying to remove those freckles.
on one occasion the entire skin had peeled off her nose but the freckles remained.
a few days previously she had found a recipe for a freckle lotion in a magazine and, as the ingredients were within her reach, she straightway compounded it, much to the disgust of marilla, who thought that if providence had placed freckles on your nose it was your bounden duty to leave them there.
anne scurried down to the pantry, which, always dim from the big willow growing close to the window, was now almost dark by reason of the shade drawn to exclude flies.
anne caught the bottle containing the lotion from the shelf and copiously anointed her nose therewith by means of a little sponge sacred to the purpose.
this important duty done, she returned to her work.
any one who has ever shifted feathers from one tick to another will not need to be told that when anne finished she was a sight to behold.
her dress was white with down and fluff, and her front hair, escaping from under the handkerchief, was adorned with a veritable halo of feathers.
at this auspicious moment a knock sounded at the kitchen door.
""that must be mr. shearer," thought anne.
""i'm in a dreadful mess but i'll have to run down as i am, for he's always in a hurry."
down flew anne to the kitchen door.
if ever a charitable floor did open to swallow up a miserable, befeathered damsel the green gables porch floor should promptly have engulfed anne at that moment.
on the doorstep were standing priscilla grant, golden and fair in silk attire, a short, stout gray-haired lady in a tweed suit, and another lady, tall stately, wonderfully gowned, with a beautiful, highbred face and large, black-lashed violet eyes, whom anne "instinctively felt," as she would have said in her earlier days, to be mrs. charlotte e. morgan.
in the dismay of the moment one thought stood out from the confusion of anne's mind and she grasped at it as at the proverbial straw.
all mrs. morgan's heroines were noted for "rising to the occasion."
no matter what their troubles were, they invariably rose to the occasion and showed their superiority over all ills of time, space, and quantity.
anne therefore felt it was her duty to rise to the occasion and she did it, so perfectly that priscilla afterward declared she never admired anne shirley more than at that moment.
no matter what her outraged feelings were she did not show them.
she greeted priscilla and was introduced to her companions as calmly and composedly as if she had been arrayed in purple and fine linen.
to be sure, it was somewhat of a shock to find that the lady she had instinctively felt to be mrs. morgan was not mrs. morgan at all, but an unknown mrs. pendexter, while the stout little gray-haired woman was mrs. morgan; but in the greater shock the lesser lost its power.
anne ushered her guests to the spare room and thence into the parlor, where she left them while she hastened out to help priscilla unharness her horse.
""it's dreadful to come upon you so unexpectedly as this," apologized priscilla, "but i did not know till last night that we were coming.
aunt charlotte is going away monday and she had promised to spend today with a friend in town.
but last night her friend telephoned to her not to come because they were quarantined for scarlet fever.
so i suggested we come here instead, for i knew you were longing to see her.
we called at the white sands hotel and brought mrs. pendexter with us.
she is a friend of aunt's and lives in new york and her husband is a millionaire.
we ca n't stay very long, for mrs. pendexter has to be back at the hotel by five o'clock."
several times while they were putting away the horse anne caught priscilla looking at her in a furtive, puzzled way.
""she need n't stare at me so," anne thought a little resentfully.
""if she does n't know what it is to change a feather bed she might imagine it."
when priscilla had gone to the parlor, and before anne could escape upstairs, diana walked into the kitchen.
anne caught her astonished friend by the arm.
""diana barry, who do you suppose is in that parlor at this very moment?
mrs. charlotte e. morgan... and a new york millionaire's wife... and here i am like this... and not a thing in the house for dinner but a cold ham bone, diana!"
by this time anne had become aware that diana was staring at her in precisely the same bewildered fashion as priscilla had done.
it was really too much.
""oh, diana, do n't look at me so," she implored.
""you, at least, must know that the neatest person in the world could n't empty feathers from one tick into another and remain neat in the process."
""it... it... is n't the feathers," hesitated diana.
""it's... it's... your nose, anne."
""my nose?
oh, diana, surely nothing has gone wrong with it!"
anne rushed to the little looking glass over the sink.
one glance revealed the fatal truth.
her nose was a brilliant scarlet!
anne sat down on the sofa, her dauntless spirit subdued at last.
""what is the matter with it?"
asked diana, curiosity overcoming delicacy.
""i thought i was rubbing my freckle lotion on it, but i must have used that red dye marilla has for marking the pattern on her rugs," was the despairing response.
""what shall i do?"
""wash it off," said diana practically.
""perhaps it wo n't wash off.
first i dye my hair; then i dye my nose.
marilla cut my hair off when i dyed it but that remedy would hardly be practicable in this case.
well, this is another punishment for vanity and i suppose i deserve it... though there's not much comfort in that.
it is really almost enough to make one believe in ill-luck, though mrs. lynde says there is no such thing, because everything is foreordained."
fortunately the dye washed off easily and anne, somewhat consoled, betook herself to the east gable while diana ran home.
presently anne came down again, clothed and in her right mind.
the muslin dress she had fondly hoped to wear was bobbing merrily about on the line outside, so she was forced to content herself with her black lawn.
she had the fire on and the tea steeping when diana returned; the latter wore her muslin, at least, and carried a covered platter in her hand.
""mother sent you this," she said, lifting the cover and displaying a nicely carved and jointed chicken to anne's greatful eyes.
the chicken was supplemented by light new bread, excellent butter and cheese, marilla's fruit cake and a dish of preserved plums, floating in their golden syrup as in congealed summer sunshine.
there was a big bowlful of pink-and-white asters also, by way of decoration; yet the spread seemed very meager beside the elaborate one formerly prepared for mrs. morgan.
anne's hungry guests, however, did not seem to think anything was lacking and they ate the simple viands with apparent enjoyment.
but after the first few moments anne thought no more of what was or was not on her bill of fare.
mrs. morgan's appearance might be somewhat disappointing, as even her loyal worshippers had been forced to admit to each other; but she proved to be a delightful conversationalist.
she had traveled extensively and was an excellent storyteller.
she had seen much of men and women, and crystalized her experiences into witty little sentences and epigrams which made her hearers feel as if they were listening to one of the people in clever books.
but under all her sparkle there was a strongly felt undercurrent of true, womanly sympathy and kindheartedness which won affection as easily as her brilliancy won admiration.
nor did she monopolize the conversation.
she could draw others out as skillfully and fully as she could talk herself, and anne and diana found themselves chattering freely to her.
mrs. pendexter said little; she merely smiled with her lovely eyes and lips, and ate chicken and fruit cake and preserves with such exquisite grace that she conveyed the impression of dining on ambrosia and honeydew.
but then, as anne said to diana later on, anybody so divinely beautiful as mrs. pendexter did n't need to talk; it was enough for her just to look.
after dinner they all had a walk through lover's lane and violet vale and the birch path, then back through the haunted wood to the dryad's bubble, where they sat down and talked for a delightful last half hour.
mrs. morgan wanted to know how the haunted wood came by its name, and laughed until she cried when she heard the story and anne's dramatic account of a certain memorable walk through it at the witching hour of twilight.
""it has indeed been a feast of reason and flow of soul, has n't it?"
said anne, when her guests had gone and she and diana were alone again.
""i do n't know which i enjoyed more... listening to mrs. morgan or gazing at mrs. pendexter.
i believe we had a nicer time than if we'd known they were coming and been cumbered with much serving.
you must stay to tea with me, diana, and we'll talk it all over."
""priscilla says mrs. pendexter's husband's sister is married to an english earl; and yet she took a second helping of the plum preserves," said diana, as if the two facts were somehow incompatible.
""i daresay even the english earl himself would n't have turned up his aristocratic nose at marilla's plum preserves," said anne proudly.
anne did not mention the misfortune which had befallen her nose when she related the day's history to marilla that evening.
but she took the bottle of freckle lotion and emptied it out of the window.
""i shall never try any beautifying messes again," she said, darkly resolute.
""they may do for careful, deliberate people; but for anyone so hopelessly given over to making mistakes as i seem to be it's tempting fate to meddle with them."
xxi sweet miss lavendar school opened and anne returned to her work, with fewer theories but considerably more experience.
she had several new pupils, six - and seven-year-olds just venturing, round-eyed, into a world of wonder.
among them were davy and dora.
davy sat with milty boulter, who had been going to school for a year and was therefore quite a man of the world.
dora had made a compact at sunday school the previous sunday to sit with lily sloane; but lily sloane not coming the first day, she was temporarily assigned to mirabel cotton, who was ten years old and therefore, in dora's eyes, one of the "big girls."
""i think school is great fun," davy told marilla when he got home that night.
""you said i'd find it hard to sit still and i did... you mostly do tell the truth, i notice... but you can wriggle your legs about under the desk and that helps a lot.
it's splendid to have so many boys to play with.
i sit with milty boulter and he's fine.
he's longer than me but i'm wider.
it's nicer to sit in the back seats but you ca n't sit there till your legs grow long enough to touch the floor.
milty drawed a picture of anne on his slate and it was awful ugly and i told him if he made pictures of anne like that i'd lick him at recess.
i thought first i'd draw one of him and put horns and a tail on it, but i was afraid it would hurt his feelings, and anne says you should never hurt anyone's feelings.
it seems it's dreadful to have your feelings hurt.
it's better to knock a boy down than hurt his feelings if you must do something.
milty said he was n't scared of me but he'd just as soon call it somebody else to "blige me, so he rubbed out anne's name and printed barbara shaw's under it.
milty does n't like barbara'cause she calls him a sweet little boy and once she patted him on his head."
dora said primly that she liked school; but she was very quiet, even for her; and when at twilight marilla bade her go upstairs to bed she hesitated and began to cry.
""i'm... i'm frightened," she sobbed.
""i... i do n't want to go upstairs alone in the dark."
""what notion have you got into your head now?"
demanded marilla.
""i'm sure you've gone to bed alone all summer and never been frightened before."
dora still continued to cry, so anne picked her up, cuddled her sympathetically, and whispered, "tell anne all about it, sweetheart.
what are you frightened of?"
""of... of mirabel cotton's uncle," sobbed dora.
""mirabel cotton told me all about her family today in school.
nearly everybody in her family has died... all her grandfathers and grandmothers and ever so many uncles and aunts.
they have a habit of dying, mirabel says.
mirabel's awful proud of having so many dead relations, and she told me what they all died of, and what they said, and how they looked in their coffins.
and mirabel says one of her uncles was seen walking around the house after he was buried.
her mother saw him.
i do n't mind the rest so much but i ca n't help thinking about that uncle."
anne went upstairs with dora and sat by her until she fell asleep.
the next day mirabel cotton was kept in at recess and "gently but firmly" given to understand that when you were so unfortunate as to possess an uncle who persisted in walking about houses after he had been decently interred it was not in good taste to talk about that eccentric gentleman to your deskmate of tender years.
mirabel thought this very harsh.
the cottons had not much to boast of.
how was she to keep up her prestige among her schoolmates if she were forbidden to make capital out of the family ghost?
september slipped by into a gold and crimson graciousness of october.
one friday evening diana came over.
""i'd a letter from ella kimball today, anne, and she wants us to go over to tea tomorrow afternoon to meet her cousin, irene trent, from town.
but we ca n't get one of our horses to go, for they'll all be in use tomorrow, and your pony is lame... so i suppose we ca n't go."
""why ca n't we walk?"
suggested anne.
""if we go straight back through the woods we'll strike the west grafton road not far from the kimball place.
i was through that way last winter and i know the road.
it's no more than four miles and we wo n't have to walk home, for oliver kimball will be sure to drive us.
he'll be only too glad of the excuse, for he goes to see carrie sloane and they say his father will hardly ever let him have a horse."
it was accordingly arranged that they should walk, and the following afternoon they set out, going by way of lover's lane to the back of the cuthbert farm, where they found a road leading into the heart of acres of glimmering beech and maple woods, which were all in a wondrous glow of flame and gold, lying in a great purple stillness and peace.
""it's as if the year were kneeling to pray in a vast cathedral full of mellow stained light, is n't it?"
said anne dreamily.
""it does n't seem right to hurry through it, does it?
it seems irreverent, like running in a church."
""we must hurry though," said diana, glancing at her watch.
""we've left ourselves little enough time as it is."
""well, i'll walk fast but do n't ask me to talk," said anne, quickening her pace.
""i just want to drink the day's loveliness in... i feel as if she were holding it out to my lips like a cup of airy wine and i'll take a sip at every step."
perhaps it was because she was so absorbed in "drinking it in" that anne took the left turning when they came to a fork in the road.
she should have taken the right, but ever afterward she counted it the most fortunate mistake of her life.
they came out finally to a lonely, grassy road, with nothing in sight along it but ranks of spruce saplings.
""why, where are we?"
exclaimed diana in bewilderment.
""this is n't the west grafton road."
""no, it's the base line road in middle grafton," said anne, rather shamefacedly.
""i must have taken the wrong turning at the fork.
i do n't know where we are exactly, but we must be all of three miles from kimballs" still."
""then we ca n't get there by five, for it's half past four now," said diana, with a despairing look at her watch.
""we'll arrive after they have had their tea, and they'll have all the bother of getting ours over again."
""we'd better turn back and go home," suggested anne humbly.
but diana, after consideration, vetoed this.
""no, we may as well go and spend the evening, since we have come this far."
a few yards further on the girls came to a place where the road forked again.
""which of these do we take?"
asked diana dubiously.
anne shook her head.
""i do n't know and we ca n't afford to make any more mistakes.
here is a gate and a lane leading right into the wood.
there must be a house at the other side.
let us go down and inquire."
""what a romantic old lane this it," said diana, as they walked along its twists and turns.
it ran under patriarchal old firs whose branches met above, creating a perpetual gloom in which nothing except moss could grow.
on either hand were brown wood floors, crossed here and there by fallen lances of sunlight.
all was very still and remote, as if the world and the cares of the world were far away.
""i feel as if we were walking through an enchanted forest," said anne in a hushed tone.
""do you suppose we'll ever find our way back to the real world again, diana?
we shall presently come to a palace with a spellbound princess in it, i think."
around the next turn they came in sight, not indeed of a palace, but of a little house almost as surprising as a palace would have been in this province of conventional wooden farmhouses, all as much alike in general characteristics as if they had grown from the same seed.
anne stopped short in rapture and diana exclaimed, "oh, i know where we are now.
that is the little stone house where miss lavendar lewis lives... echo lodge, she calls it, i think.
i've often heard of it but i've never seen it before.
is n't it a romantic spot?"
""it's the sweetest, prettiest place i ever saw or imagined," said anne delightedly.
""it looks like a bit out of a story book or a dream."
the house was a low-eaved structure built of undressed blocks of red island sandstone, with a little peaked roof out of which peered two dormer windows, with quaint wooden hoods over them, and two great chimneys.
the whole house was covered with a luxuriant growth of ivy, finding easy foothold on the rough stonework and turned by autumn frosts to most beautiful bronze and wine-red tints.
before the house was an oblong garden into which the lane gate where the girls were standing opened.
the house bounded it on one side; on the three others it was enclosed by an old stone dyke, so overgrown with moss and grass and ferns that it looked like a high, green bank.
on the right and left the tall, dark spruces spread their palm-like branches over it; but below it was a little meadow, green with clover aftermath, sloping down to the blue loop of the grafton river.
no other house or clearing was in sight... nothing but hills and valleys covered with feathery young firs.
""i wonder what sort of a person miss lewis is," speculated diana as they opened the gate into the garden.
""they say she is very peculiar."
""she'll be interesting then," said anne decidedly.
""peculiar people are always that at least, whatever else they are or are not.
did n't i tell you we would come to an enchanted palace?
i knew the elves had n't woven magic over that lane for nothing."
""but miss lavendar lewis is hardly a spellbound princess," laughed diana.
""she's an old maid... she's forty-five and quite gray, i've heard."
""oh, that's only part of the spell," asserted anne confidently.
""at heart she's young and beautiful still... and if we only knew how to unloose the spell she would step forth radiant and fair again.
but we do n't know how... it's always and only the prince who knows that... and miss lavendar's prince has n't come yet.
perhaps some fatal mischance has befallen him... though that's against the law of all fairy tales."
""i'm afraid he came long ago and went away again," said diana.
""they say she used to be engaged to stephan irving... paul's father... when they were young.
but they quarreled and parted."
""hush," warned anne.
""the door is open."
the girls paused in the porch under the tendrils of ivy and knocked at the open door.
there was a patter of steps inside and a rather odd little personage presented herself... a girl of about fourteen, with a freckled face, a snub nose, a mouth so wide that it did really seem as if it stretched "from ear to ear," and two long braids of fair hair tied with two enormous bows of blue ribbon.
""is miss lewis at home?"
asked diana.
""yes, ma'am.
come in, ma'am.
i'll tell miss lavendar you're here, ma'am.
she's upstairs, ma'am."
with this the small handmaiden whisked out of sight and the girls, left alone, looked about them with delighted eyes.
the interior of this wonderful little house was quite as interesting as its exterior.
the room had a low ceiling and two square, small-paned windows, curtained with muslin frills.
all the furnishings were old-fashioned, but so well and daintily kept that the effect was delicious.
but it must be candidly admitted that the most attractive feature, to two healthy girls who had just tramped four miles through autumn air, was a table, set out with pale blue china and laden with delicacies, while little golden-hued ferns scattered over the cloth gave it what anne would have termed "a festal air."
""miss lavendar must be expecting company to tea," she whispered.
""there are six places set.
but what a funny little girl she has.
she looked like a messenger from pixy land.
i suppose she could have told us the road, but i was curious to see miss lavendar.
s... s... sh, she's coming."
and with that miss lavendar lewis was standing in the doorway.
the girls were so surprised that they forgot good manners and simply stared.
they had unconsciously been expecting to see the usual type of elderly spinster as known to their experience... a rather angular personage, with prim gray hair and spectacles.
nothing more unlike miss lavendar could possibly be imagined.
she was a little lady with snow-white hair beautifully wavy and thick, and carefully arranged in becoming puffs and coils.
beneath it was an almost girlish face, pink cheeked and sweet lipped, with big soft brown eyes and dimples... actually dimples.
she wore a very dainty gown of cream muslin with pale-hued roses on it... a gown which would have seemed ridiculously juvenile on most women of her age, but which suited miss lavendar so perfectly that you never thought about it at all.
""charlotta the fourth says that you wished to see me," she said, in a voice that matched her appearance.
""we wanted to ask the right road to west grafton," said diana.
""we are invited to tea at mr. kimball's, but we took the wrong path coming through the woods and came out to the base line instead of the west grafton road.
do we take the right or left turning at your gate?"
""the left," said miss lavendar, with a hesitating glance at her tea table.
then she exclaimed, as if in a sudden little burst of resolution, "but oh, wo n't you stay and have tea with me?
please, do.
mr. kimball's will have tea over before you get there.
and charlotta the fourth and i will be so glad to have you."
diana looked mute inquiry at anne.
""we'd like to stay," said anne promptly, for she had made up her mind that she wanted to know more of this surprising miss lavendar, "if it wo n't inconvenience you.
but you are expecting other guests, are n't you?"
miss lavendar looked at her tea table again, and blushed.
""i know you'll think me dreadfully foolish," she said.
""i am foolish... and i'm ashamed of it when i'm found out, but never unless i am found out.
i'm not expecting anybody... i was just pretending i was.
you see, i was so lonely.
i love company... that is, the right kind of company.
.
.
but so few people ever come here because it is so far out of the way.
charlotta the fourth was lonely too.
so i just pretended i was going to have a tea party.
i cooked for it... and decorated the table for it.
.
.
and set it with my mother's wedding china... and i dressed up for it."
diana secretly thought miss lavendar quite as peculiar as report had pictured her.
the idea of a woman of forty-five playing at having a tea party, just as if she were a little girl!
but anne of the shining eyes exclaimed joyfuly, "oh, do you imagine things too?"
that "too" revealed a kindred spirit to miss lavendar.
""yes, i do," she confessed, boldly.
""of course it's silly in anybody as old as i am.
but what is the use of being an independent old maid if you ca n't be silly when you want to, and when it does n't hurt anybody?
a person must have some compensations.
i do n't believe i could live at times if i did n't pretend things.
i'm not often caught at it though, and charlotta the fourth never tells.
but i'm glad to be caught today, for you have really come and i have tea all ready for you.
will you go up to the spare room and take off your hats?
it's the white door at the head of the stairs.
i must run out to the kitchen and see that charlotta the fourth is n't letting the tea boil.
charlotta the fourth is a very good girl but she will let the tea boil."
miss lavendar tripped off to the kitchen on hospitable thoughts intent and the girls found their way up to the spare room, an apartment as white as its door, lighted by the ivy-hung dormer window and looking, as anne said, like the place where happy dreams grew.
""this is quite an adventure, is n't it?"
said diana.
""and is n't miss lavendar sweet, if she is a little odd?
she does n't look a bit like an old maid."
""she looks just as music sounds, i think," answered anne.
when they went down miss lavendar was carrying in the teapot, and behind her, looking vastly pleased, was charlotta the fourth, with a plate of hot biscuits.
""now, you must tell me your names," said miss lavendar.
""i'm so glad you are young girls.
i love young girls.
it's so easy to pretend i'm a girl myself when i'm with them.
i do hate"... with a little grimace... "to believe i'm old.
now, who are you... just for convenience" sake?
diana barry?
and anne shirley?
may i pretend that i've known you for a hundred years and call you anne and diana right away?"
""you, may" the girls said both together.
""then just let's sit comfily down and eat everything," said miss lavendar happily.
""charlotta, you sit at the foot and help with the chicken.
it is so fortunate that i made the sponge cake and doughnuts.
of course, it was foolish to do it for imaginary guests... i know charlotta the fourth thought so, did n't you, charlotta?
but you see how well it has turned out.
of course they would n't have been wasted, for charlotta the fourth and i could have eaten them through time.
but sponge cake is not a thing that improves with time."
that was a merry and memorable meal; and when it was over they all went out to the garden, lying in the glamor of sunset.
""i do think you have the loveliest place here," said diana, looking round her admiringly.
""why do you call it echo lodge?"
asked anne.
""charlotta," said miss lavendar, "go into the house and bring out the little tin horn that is hanging over the clock shelf."
charlotta the fourth skipped off and returned with the horn.
""blow it, charlotta," commanded miss lavendar.
charlotta accordingly blew, a rather raucous, strident blast.
there was moment's stillness... and then from the woods over the river came a multitude of fairy echoes, sweet, elusive, silvery, as if all the "horns of elfland" were blowing against the sunset.
anne and diana exclaimed in delight.
""now laugh, charlotta... laugh loudly."
charlotta, who would probably have obeyed if miss lavendar had told her to stand on her head, climbed upon the stone bench and laughed loud and heartily.
back came the echoes, as if a host of pixy people were mimicking her laughter in the purple woodlands and along the fir-fringed points.
""people always admire my echoes very much," said miss lavendar, as if the echoes were her personal property.
""i love them myself.
they are very good company... with a little pretending.
on calm evenings charlotta the fourth and i often sit out here and amuse ourselves with them.
charlotta, take back the horn and hang it carefully in its place."
""why do you call her charlotta the fourth?"
asked diana, who was bursting with curiosity on this point.
""just to keep her from getting mixed up with other charlottas in my thoughts," said miss lavendar seriously.
""they all look so much alike there's no telling them apart.
her name is n't really charlotta at all.
it is... let me see... what is it?
i think it's leonora... yes, it is leonora.
you see, it is this way.
when mother died ten years ago i could n't stay here alone... and i could n't afford to pay the wages of a grown-up girl.
so i got little charlotta bowman to come and stay with me for board and clothes.
her name really was charlotta... she was charlotta the first.
she was just thirteen.
she stayed with me till she was sixteen and then she went away to boston, because she could do better there.
her sister came to stay with me then.
her name was julietta... mrs. bowman had a weakness for fancy names i think... but she looked so like charlotta that i kept calling her that all the time... and she did n't mind.
so i just gave up trying to remember her right name.
she was charlotta the second, and when she went away evelina came and she was charlotta the third.
now i have charlotta the fourth; but when she is sixteen... she's fourteen now... she will want to go to boston too, and what i shall do then i really do not know.
charlotta the fourth is the last of the bowman girls, and the best.
the other charlottas always let me see that they thought it silly of me to pretend things but charlotta the fourth never does, no matter what she may really think.
i do n't care what people think about me if they do n't let me see it."
""well," said diana looking regretfully at the setting sun.
""i suppose we must go if we want to get to mr. kimball's before dark.
we've had a lovely time, miss lewis."
""wo n't you come again to see me?"
pleaded miss lavendar.
tall anne put her arm about the little lady.
""indeed we shall," she promised.
""now that we have discovered you we'll wear out our welcome coming to see you.
yes, we must go... "we must tear ourselves away," as paul irving says every time he comes to green gables."
""paul irving?"
there was a subtle change in miss lavendar's voice.
""who is he?
i did n't think there was anybody of that name in avonlea."
anne felt vexed at her own heedlessness.
she had forgotten about miss lavendar's old romance when paul's name slipped out.
""he is a little pupil of mine," she explained slowly.
""he came from boston last year to live with his grandmother, mrs. irving of the shore road."
""is he stephen irving's son?"
miss lavendar asked, bending over her namesake border so that her face was hidden.
""yes."
""i'm going to give you girls a bunch of lavendar apiece," said miss lavendar brightly, as if she had not heard the answer to her question.
""it's very sweet, do n't you think?
mother always loved it.
she planted these borders long ago.
father named me lavendar because he was so fond of it.
the very first time he saw mother was when he visited her home in east grafton with her brother.
he fell in love with her at first sight; and they put him in the spare room bed to sleep and the sheets were scented with lavendar and he lay awake all night and thought of her.
he always loved the scent of lavendar after that... and that was why he gave me the name.
do n't forget to come back soon, girls dear.
we'll be looking for you, charlotta the fourth and i." she opened the gate under the firs for them to pass through.
she looked suddenly old and tired; the glow and radiance had faded from her face; her parting smile was as sweet with ineradicable youth as ever, but when the girls looked back from the first curve in the lane they saw her sitting on the old stone bench under the silver poplar in the middle of the garden with her head leaning wearily on her hand.
""she does look lonely," said diana softly.
""we must come often to see her."
""i think her parents gave her the only right and fitting name that could possibly be given her," said anne.
""if they had been so blind as to name her elizabeth or nellie or muriel she must have been called lavendar just the same, i think.
it's so suggestive of sweetness and old-fashioned graces and "silk attire."
now, my name just smacks of bread and butter, patchwork and chores."
""oh, i do n't think so," said diana.
""anne seems to me real stately and like a queen.
but i'd like kerrenhappuch if it happened to be your name.
i think people make their names nice or ugly just by what they are themselves.
i ca n't bear josie or gertie for names now but before i knew the pye girls i thought them real pretty."
""that's a lovely idea, diana," said anne enthusiastically.
""living so that you beautify your name, even if it was n't beautiful to begin with... making it stand in people's thoughts for something so lovely and pleasant that they never think of it by itself.
thank you, diana."
xxii odds and ends "so you had tea at the stone house with lavendar lewis?"
said marilla at the breakfast table next morning.
""what is she like now?
it's over fifteen years since i saw her last... it was one sunday in grafton church.
i suppose she has changed a great deal.
davy keith, when you want something you ca n't reach, ask to have it passed and do n't spread yourself over the table in that fashion.
did you ever see paul irving doing that when he was here to meals?"
""but paul's arms are longer'n mine," brumbled davy.
""they've had eleven years to grow and mine've only had seven.
"sides, i did ask, but you and anne was so busy talking you did n't pay any "tention.
"sides, paul's never been here to any meal escept tea, and it's easier to be p "lite at tea than at breakfast.
you ai n't half as hungry.
it's an awful long while between supper and breakfast.
now, anne, that spoonful ai n't any bigger than it was last year and i'm ever so much bigger."
""of course, i do n't know what miss lavendar used to look like but i do n't fancy somehow that she has changed a great deal," said anne, after she had helped davy to maple syrup, giving him two spoonfuls to pacify him.
""her hair is snow-white but her face is fresh and almost girlish, and she has the sweetest brown eyes... such a pretty shade of wood-brown with little golden glints in them... and her voice makes you think of white satin and tinkling water and fairy bells all mixed up together."
""she was reckoned a great beauty when she was a girl," said marilla.
""i never knew her very well but i liked her as far as i did know her.
some folks thought her peculiar even then.
davy, if ever i catch you at such a trick again you'll be made to wait for your meals till everyone else is done, like the french."
most conversations between anne and marilla in the presence of the twins, were punctuated by these rebukes davy-ward.
in this instance, davy, sad to relate, not being able to scoop up the last drops of his syrup with his spoon, had solved the difficulty by lifting his plate in both hands and applying his small pink tongue to it.
anne looked at him with such horrified eyes that the little sinner turned red and said, half shamefacedly, half defiantly, "there ai n't any wasted that way."
""people who are different from other people are always called peculiar," said anne.
""and miss lavendar is certainly different, though it's hard to say just where the difference comes in.
perhaps it is because she is one of those people who never grow old."
""one might as well grow old when all your generation do," said marilla, rather reckless of her pronouns.
""if you do n't, you do n't fit in anywhere.
far as i can learn lavendar lewis has just dropped out of everything.
she's lived in that out of the way place until everybody has forgotten her.
that stone house is one of the oldest on the island.
old mr. lewis built it eighty years ago when he came out from england.
davy, stop joggling dora's elbow.
oh, i saw you!
you need n't try to look innocent.
what does make you behave so this morning?"
""maybe i got out of the wrong side of the bed," suggested davy.
""milty boulter says if you do that things are bound to go wrong with you all day.
his grandmother told him.
but which is the right side?
and what are you to do when your bed's against the wall?
i want to know."
""i've always wondered what went wrong between stephen irving and lavendar lewis," continued marilla, ignoring davy.
""they were certainly engaged twenty-five years ago and then all at once it was broken off.
i do n't know what the trouble was but it must have been something terrible, for he went away to the states and never come home since."
""perhaps it was nothing very dreadful after all.
i think the little things in life often make more trouble than the big things," said anne, with one of those flashes of insight which experience could not have bettered.
""marilla, please do n't say anything about my being at miss lavendar's to mrs. lynde.
she'd be sure to ask a hundred questions and somehow i would n't like it... nor miss lavendar either if she knew, i feel sure."
""i daresay rachel would be curious," admitted marilla, "though she has n't as much time as she used to have for looking after other people's affairs.
she's tied home now on account of thomas; and she's feeling pretty downhearted, for i think she's beginning to lose hope of his ever getting better.
rachel will be left pretty lonely if anything happens to him, with all her children settled out west, except eliza in town; and she does n't like her husband."
marilla's pronouns slandered eliza, who was very fond of her husband.
""rachel says if he'd only brace up and exert his will power he'd get better.
but what is the use of asking a jellyfish to sit up straight?"
continued marilla.
""thomas lynde never had any will power to exert.
his mother ruled him till he married and then rachel carried it on.
it's a wonder he dared to get sick without asking her permission.
but there, i should n't talk so.
rachel has been a good wife to him.
he'd never have amounted to anything without her, that's certain.
he was born to be ruled; and it's well he fell into the hands of a clever, capable manager like rachel.
he did n't mind her way.
it saved him the bother of ever making up his own mind about anything.
davy, do stop squirming like an eel."
""i've nothing else to do," protested davy.
""i ca n't eat any more, and it's no fun watching you and anne eat."
""well, you and dora go out and give the hens their wheat," said marilla.
""and do n't you try to pull any more feathers out of the white rooster's tail either."
""i wanted some feathers for an injun headdress," said davy sulkily.
""milty boulter has a dandy one, made out of the feathers his mother give him when she killed their old white gobbler.
you might let me have some.
that rooster's got ever so many more'n he wants."
""you may have the old feather duster in the garret," said anne, "and i'll dye them green and red and yellow for you."
""you do spoil that boy dreadfully," said marilla, when davy, with a radiant face, had followed prim dora out.
marilla's education had made great strides in the past six years; but she had not yet been able to rid herself of the idea that it was very bad for a child to have too many of its wishes indulged.
""all the boys of his class have indian headdresses, and davy wants one too," said anne."
i know how it feels... i'll never forget how i used to long for puffed sleeves when all the other girls had them.
and davy is n't being spoiled.
he is improving every day.
think what a difference there is in him since he came here a year ago."
""he certainly does n't get into as much mischief since he began to go to school," acknowledged marilla.
""i suppose he works off the tendency with the other boys.
but it's a wonder to me we have n't heard from richard keith before this.
never a word since last may."
""i'll be afraid to hear from him," sighed anne, beginning to clear away the dishes.
""if a letter should come i'd dread opening it, for fear it would tell us to send the twins to him."
a month later a letter did come.
but it was not from richard keith.
a friend of his wrote to say that richard keith had died of consumption a fortnight previously.
the writer of the letter was the executor of his will and by that will the sum of two thousand dollars was left to miss marilla cuthbert in trust for david and dora keith until they came of age or married.
in the meantime the interest was to be used for their maintenance.
""it seems dreadful to be glad of anything in connection with a death," said anne soberly.
""i'm sorry for poor mr. keith; but i am glad that we can keep the twins."
""it's a very good thing about the money," said marilla practically.
""i wanted to keep them but i really did n't see how i could afford to do it, especially when they grew older.
the rent of the farm does n't do any more than keep the house and i was bound that not a cent of your money should be spent on them.
you do far too much for them as it is.
dora did n't need that new hat you bought her any more than a cat needs two tails.
but now the way is made clear and they are provided for."
davy and dora were delighted when they heard that they were to live at green gables, "for good."
the death of an uncle whom they had never seen could not weigh a moment in the balance against that.
but dora had one misgiving.
""was uncle richard buried?"
she whispered to anne.
""yes, dear, of course."
""he... he... is n't like mirabel cotton's uncle, is he?"
in a still more agitated whisper.
""he wo n't walk about houses after being buried, will he, anne?"
xxiii miss lavendar's romance "i think i'll take a walk through to echo lodge this evening," said anne, one friday afternoon in december.
""it looks like snow," said marilla dubiously.
""i'll be there before the snow comes and i mean to stay all night.
diana ca n't go because she has company, and i'm sure miss lavendar will be looking for me tonight.
it's a whole fortnight since i was there."
anne had paid many a visit to echo lodge since that october day.
sometimes she and diana drove around by the road; sometimes they walked through the woods.
when diana could not go anne went alone.
between her and miss lavendar had sprung up one of those fervent, helpful friendships possible only between a woman who has kept the freshness of youth in her heart and soul, and a girl whose imagination and intuition supplied the place of experience.
anne had at last discovered a real "kindred spirit," while into the little lady's lonely, sequestered life of dreams anne and diana came with the wholesome joy and exhilaration of the outer existence, which miss lavendar, "the world forgetting, by the world forgot," had long ceased to share; they brought an atmosphere of youth and reality to the little stone house.
charlotta the fourth always greeted them with her very widest smile... and charlotta's smiles were fearfully wide... loving them for the sake of her adored mistress as well as for their own.
never had there been such "high jinks" held in the little stone house as were held there that beautiful, late-lingering autumn, when november seemed october over again, and even december aped the sunshine and hazes of summer.
but on this particular day it seemed as if december had remembered that it was time for winter and had turned suddenly dull and brooding, with a windless hush predictive of coming snow.
nevertheless, anne keenly enjoyed her walk through the great gray maze of the beechlands; though alone she never found it lonely; her imagination peopled her path with merry companions, and with these she carried on a gay, pretended conversation that was wittier and more fascinating than conversations are apt to be in real life, where people sometimes fail most lamentably to talk up to the requirements.
in a "make believe" assembly of choice spirits everybody says just the thing you want her to say and so gives you the chance to say just what you want to say.
attended by this invisible company, anne traversed the woods and arrived at the fir lane just as broad, feathery flakes began to flutter down softly.
at the first bend she came upon miss lavendar, standing under a big, broad-branching fir.
she wore a gown of warm, rich red, and her head and shoulders were wrapped in a silvery gray silk shawl.
""you look like the queen of the fir wood fairies," called anne merrily.
""i thought you would come tonight, anne," said miss lavendar, running forward.
""and i'm doubly glad, for charlotta the fourth is away.
her mother is sick and she had to go home for the night.
i should have been very lonely if you had n't come... even the dreams and the echoes would n't have been enough company.
oh, anne, how pretty you are," she added suddenly, looking up at the tall, slim girl with the soft rose-flush of walking on her face.
""how pretty and how young!
it's so delightful to be seventeen, is n't it?
i do envy you," concluded miss lavendar candidly.
""but you are only seventeen at heart," smiled anne.
""no, i'm old... or rather middle-aged, which is far worse," sighed miss lavendar.
""sometimes i can pretend i'm not, but at other times i realize it.
and i ca n't reconcile myself to it as most women seem to.
i'm just as rebellious as i was when i discovered my first gray hair.
now, anne, do n't look as if you were trying to understand.
seventeen ca n't understand.
i'm going to pretend right away that i am seventeen too, and i can do it, now that you're here.
you always bring youth in your hand like a gift.
we're going to have a jolly evening.
tea first... what do you want for tea?
we'll have whatever you like.
do think of something nice and indigestible."
there were sounds of riot and mirth in the little stone house that night.
what with cooking and feasting and making candy and laughing and "pretending," it is quite true that miss lavendar and anne comported themselves in a fashion entirely unsuited to the dignity of a spinster of forty-five and a sedate schoolma'am.
then, when they were tired, they sat down on the rug before the grate in the parlor, lighted only by the soft fireshine and perfumed deliciously by miss lavendar's open rose-jar on the mantel.
the wind had risen and was sighing and wailing around the eaves and the snow was thudding softly against the windows, as if a hundred storm sprites were tapping for entrance.
""i'm so glad you're here, anne," said miss lavendar, nibbling at her candy.
""if you were n't i should be blue... very blue... almost navy blue.
dreams and make-believes are all very well in the daytime and the sunshine, but when dark and storm come they fail to satisfy.
one wants real things then.
but you do n't know this... seventeen never knows it.
at seventeen dreams do satisfy because you think the realities are waiting for you further on.
when i was seventeen, anne, i did n't think forty-five would find me a white-haired little old maid with nothing but dreams to fill my life."
""but you are n't an old maid," said anne, smiling into miss lavendar's wistful woodbrown eyes.
""old maids are born... they do n't become."
""some are born old maids, some achieve old maidenhood, and some have old maidenhood thrust upon them," parodied miss lavendar whimsically.
""you are one of those who have achieved it then," laughed anne, "and you've done it so beautifully that if every old maid were like you they would come into the fashion, i think."
""i always like to do things as well as possible," said miss lavendar meditatively, "and since an old maid i had to be i was determined to be a very nice one.
people say i'm odd; but it's just because i follow my own way of being an old maid and refuse to copy the traditional pattern.
anne, did anyone ever tell you anything about stephen irving and me?"
""yes," said anne candidly, "i've heard that you and he were engaged once."
""so we were... twenty-five years ago... a lifetime ago.
and we were to have been married the next spring.
i had my wedding dress made, although nobody but mother and stephen ever knew that.
we'd been engaged in a way almost all our lives, you might say.
when stephen was a little boy his mother would bring him here when she came to see my mother; and the second time he ever came... he was nine and i was six... he told me out in the garden that he had pretty well made up his mind to marry me when he grew up.
i remember that i said "thank you"; and when he was gone i told mother very gravely that there was a great weight off my mind, because i was n't frightened any more about having to be an old maid.
how poor mother laughed!"
""and what went wrong?"
asked anne breathlessly.
""we had just a stupid, silly, commonplace quarrel.
so commonplace that, if you'll believe me, i do n't even remember just how it began.
i hardly know who was the more to blame for it.
stephen did really begin it, but i suppose i provoked him by some foolishness of mine.
he had a rival or two, you see.
i was vain and coquettish and liked to tease him a little.
he was a very high-strung, sensitive fellow.
well, we parted in a temper on both sides.
but i thought it would all come right; and it would have if stephen had n't come back too soon.
anne, my dear, i'm sorry to say"... miss lavendar dropped her voice as if she were about to confess a predilection for murdering people, "that i am a dreadfully sulky person.
oh, you need n't smile,... it's only too true.
i do sulk; and stephen came back before i had finished sulking.
i would n't listen to him and i would n't forgive him; and so he went away for good.
he was too proud to come again.
and then i sulked because he did n't come.
i might have sent for him perhaps, but i could n't humble myself to do that.
i was just as proud as he was... pride and sulkiness make a very bad combination, anne.
but i could never care for anybody else and i did n't want to.
i knew i would rather be an old maid for a thousand years than marry anybody who was n't stephen irving.
well, it all seems like a dream now, of course.
how sympathetic you look, anne... as sympathetic as only seventeen can look.
but do n't overdo it.
i'm really a very happy, contented little person in spite of my broken heart.
my heart did break, if ever a heart did, when i realized that stephen irving was not coming back.
but, anne, a broken heart in real life is n't half as dreadful as it is in books.
it's a good deal like a bad tooth... though you wo n't think that a very romantic simile.
it takes spells of aching and gives you a sleepless night now and then, but between times it lets you enjoy life and dreams and echoes and peanut candy as if there were nothing the matter with it.
and now you're looking disappointed.
you do n't think i'm half as interesting a person as you did five minutes ago when you believed i was always the prey of a tragic memory bravely hidden beneath external smiles.
that's the worst... or the best... of real life, anne.
it wo n't let you be miserable.
it keeps on trying to make you comfortable... and succeeding... even when you're determined to be unhappy and romantic.
is n't this candy scrumptious?
i've eaten far more than is good for me already but i'm going to keep recklessly on."
after a little silence miss lavendar said abruptly, "it gave me a shock to hear about stephen's son that first day you were here, anne.
i've never been able to mention him to you since, but i've wanted to know all about him.
what sort of a boy is he?"
""he is the dearest, sweetest child i ever knew, miss lavendar... and he pretends things too, just as you and i do."
""i'd like to see him," said miss lavendar softly, as if talking to herself.
""i wonder if he looks anything like the little dream-boy who lives here with me... my little dream-boy."
""if you would like to see paul i'll bring him through with me sometime," said anne.
""i would like it... but not too soon.
i want to get used to the thought.
there might be more pain than pleasure in it... if he looked too much like stephen... or if he did n't look enough like him.
in a month's time you may bring him."
accordingly, a month later anne and paul walked through the woods to the stone house, and met miss lavendar in the lane.
she had not been expecting them just then and she turned very pale.
""so this is stephen's boy," she said in a low tone, taking paul's hand and looking at him as he stood, beautiful and boyish, in his smart little fur coat and cap.
""he... he is very like his father."
""everybody says i'm a chip off the old block," remarked paul, quite at his ease.
anne, who had been watching the little scene, drew a relieved breath.
she saw that miss lavendar and paul had "taken" to each other, and that there would be no constraint or stiffness.
miss lavendar was a very sensible person, in spite of her dreams and romance, and after that first little betrayal she tucked her feelings out of sight and entertained paul as brightly and naturally as if he were anybody's son who had come to see her.
they all had a jolly afternoon together and such a feast of fat things by way of supper as would have made old mrs. irving hold up her hands in horror, believing that paul's digestion would be ruined for ever.
""come again, laddie," said miss lavendar, shaking hands with him at parting.
""you may kiss me if you like," said paul gravely.
miss lavendar stooped and kissed him.
""how did you know i wanted to?"
she whispered.
""because you looked at me just as my little mother used to do when she wanted to kiss me.
as a rule, i do n't like to be kissed.
boys do n't.
you know, miss lewis.
but i think i rather like to have you kiss me.
and of course i'll come to see you again.
i think i'd like to have you for a particular friend of mine, if you do n't object."
""i... i do n't think i shall object," said miss lavendar.
she turned and went in very quickly; but a moment later she was waving a gay and smiling good-bye to them from the window.
""i like miss lavendar," announced paul, as they walked through the beech woods.
""i like the way she looked at me, and i like her stone house, and i like charlotta the fourth.
i wish grandma irving had a charlotta the fourth instead of a mary joe.
i feel sure charlotta the fourth would n't think i was wrong in my upper story when i told her what i think about things.
was n't that a splendid tea we had, teacher?
grandma says a boy should n't be thinking about what he gets to eat, but he ca n't help it sometimes when he is real hungry.
you know, teacher.
i do n't think miss lavendar would make a boy eat porridge for breakfast if he did n't like it.
she'd get things for him he did like.
but of course"... paul was nothing if not fair-minded... "that might n't be very good for him.
it's very nice for a change though, teacher.
you know."
xxiv a prophet in his own country one may day avonlea folks were mildly excited over some "avonlea notes," signed "observer," which appeared in the charlottetown "daily enterprise."
gossip ascribed the authorship thereof to charlie sloane, partly because the said charlie had indulged in similar literary flights in times past, and partly because one of the notes seemed to embody a sneer at gilbert blythe.
avonlea juvenile society persisted in regarding gilbert blythe and charlie sloane as rivals in the good graces of a certain damsel with gray eyes and an imagination.
gossip, as usual, was wrong.
gilbert blythe, aided and abetted by anne, had written the notes, putting in the one about himself as a blind.
only two of the notes have any bearing on this history: "rumor has it that there will be a wedding in our village ere the daisies are in bloom.
a new and highly respected citizen will lead to the hymeneal altar one of our most popular ladies.
""uncle abe, our well-known weather prophet, predicts a violent storm of thunder and lightning for the evening of the twenty-third of may, beginning at seven o'clock sharp.
the area of the storm will extend over the greater part of the province.
people traveling that evening will do well to take umbrellas and mackintoshes with them."
""uncle abe really has predicted a storm for sometime this spring," said gilbert, "but do you suppose mr. harrison really does go to see isabella andrews?"
""no," said anne, laughing, "i'm sure he only goes to play checkers with mr. harrison andrews, but mrs. lynde says she knows isabella andrews must be going to get married, she's in such good spirits this spring."
poor old uncle abe felt rather indignant over the notes.
he suspected that "observer" was making fun of him.
he angrily denied having assigned any particular date for his storm but nobody believed him.
life in avonlea continued on the smooth and even tenor of its way.
the "planting" was put in; the improvers celebrated an arbor day.
each improver set out, or caused to be set out, five ornamental trees.
as the society now numbered forty members, this meant a total of two hundred young trees.
early oats greened over the red fields; apple orchards flung great blossoming arms about the farmhouses and the snow queen adorned itself as a bride for her husband.
anne liked to sleep with her window open and let the cherry fragrance blow over her face all night.
she thought it very poetical.
marilla thought she was risking her life.
""thanksgiving should be celebrated in the spring," said anne one evening to marilla, as they sat on the front door steps and listened to the silver-sweet chorus of the frogs.
""i think it would be ever so much better than having it in november when everything is dead or asleep.
then you have to remember to be thankful; but in may one simply ca n't help being thankful... that they are alive, if for nothing else.
i feel exactly as eve must have felt in the garden of eden before the trouble began.
is that grass in the hollow green or golden?
it seems to me, marilla, that a pearl of a day like this, when the blossoms are out and the winds do n't know where to blow from next for sheer crazy delight must be pretty near as good as heaven."
marilla looked scandalized and glanced apprehensively around to make sure the twins were not within earshot.
they came around the corner of the house just then.
""ai n't it an awful nice-smelling evening?"
asked davy, sniffing delightedly as he swung a hoe in his grimy hands.
he had been working in his garden.
that spring marilla, by way of turning davy's passion for reveling in mud and clay into useful channels, had given him and dora a small plot of ground for a garden.
both had eagerly gone to work in a characteristic fashion.
dora planted, weeded, and watered carefully, systematically, and dispassionately.
as a result, her plot was already green with prim, orderly little rows of vegetables and annuals.
davy, however, worked with more zeal than discretion; he dug and hoed and raked and watered and transplanted so energetically that his seeds had no chance for their lives.
""how is your garden coming on, davy-boy?"
asked anne.
""kind of slow," said davy with a sigh.
""i do n't know why the things do n't grow better.
milty boulter says i must have planted them in the dark of the moon and that's the whole trouble.
he says you must never sow seeds or kill pork or cut your hair or do any "portant thing in the wrong time of the moon.
is that true, anne?
i want to know."
""maybe if you did n't pull your plants up by the roots every other day to see how they're getting on "at the other end," they'd do better," said marilla sarcastically.
""i only pulled six of them up," protested davy.
""i wanted to see if there was grubs at the roots.
milty boulter said if it was n't the moon's fault it must be grubs.
but i only found one grub.
he was a great big juicy curly grub.
i put him on a stone and got another stone and smashed him flat.
he made a jolly squish i tell you.
i was sorry there was n't more of them.
dora's garden was planted same time's mine and her things are growing all right.
it ca n't be the moon," davy concluded in a reflective tone.
""marilla, look at that apple tree," said anne.
""why, the thing is human.
it is reaching out long arms to pick its own pink skirts daintily up and provoke us to admiration."
""those yellow duchess trees always bear well," said marilla complacently.
""that tree'll be loaded this year.
i'm real glad... they're great for pies."
but neither marilla nor anne nor anybody else was fated to make pies out of yellow duchess apples that year.
the twenty-third of may came... an unseasonably warm day, as none realized more keenly than anne and her little beehive of pupils, sweltering over fractions and syntax in the avonlea schoolroom.
a hot breeze blew all the forenoon; but after noon hour it died away into a heavy stillness.
at half past three anne heard a low rumble of thunder.
she promptly dismissed school at once, so that the children might get home before the storm came.
as they went out to the playground anne perceived a certain shadow and gloom over the world in spite of the fact that the sun was still shining brightly.
annetta bell caught her hand nervously.
""oh, teacher, look at that awful cloud!"
anne looked and gave an exclamation of dismay.
in the northwest a mass of cloud, such as she had never in all her life beheld before, was rapidly rolling up.
it was dead black, save where its curled and fringed edges showed a ghastly, livid white.
there was something about it indescribably menacing as it gloomed up in the clear blue sky; now and again a bolt of lightning shot across it, followed by a savage growl.
it hung so low that it almost seemed to be touching the tops of the wooded hills.
mr. harmon andrews came clattering up the hill in his truck wagon, urging his team of grays to their utmost speed.
he pulled them to a halt opposite the school.
""guess uncle abe's hit it for once in his life, anne," he shouted.
""his storm's coming a leetle ahead of time.
did ye ever see the like of that cloud?
here, all you young ones, that are going my way, pile in, and those that ai n't scoot for the post office if ye've more'n a quarter of a mile to go, and stay there till the shower's over."
anne caught davy and dora by the hands and flew down the hill, along the birch path, and past violet vale and willowmere, as fast as the twins" fat legs could go.
they reached green gables not a moment too soon and were joined at the door by marilla, who had been hustling her ducks and chickens under shelter.
as they dashed into the kitchen the light seemed to vanish, as if blown out by some mighty breath; the awful cloud rolled over the sun and a darkness as of late twilight fell across the world.
at the same moment, with a crash of thunder and a blinding glare of lightning, the hail swooped down and blotted the landscape out in one white fury.
through all the clamor of the storm came the thud of torn branches striking the house and the sharp crack of breaking glass.
in three minutes every pane in the west and north windows was broken and the hail poured in through the apertures covering the floor with stones, the smallest of which was as big as a hen's egg.
for three quarters of an hour the storm raged unabated and no one who underwent it ever forgot it.
marilla, for once in her life shaken out of her composure by sheer terror, knelt by her rocking chair in a corner of the kitchen, gasping and sobbing between the deafening thunder peals.
anne, white as paper, had dragged the sofa away from the window and sat on it with a twin on either side.
davy at the first crash had howled, "anne, anne, is it the judgment day?
anne, anne, i never meant to be naughty," and then had buried his face in anne's lap and kept it there, his little body quivering.
dora, somewhat pale but quite composed, sat with her hand clasped in anne's, quiet and motionless.
it is doubtful if an earthquake would have disturbed dora.
then, almost as suddenly as it began, the storm ceased.
the hail stopped, the thunder rolled and muttered away to the eastward, and the sun burst out merry and radiant over a world so changed that it seemed an absurd thing to think that a scant three quarters of an hour could have effected such a transformation.
marilla rose from her knees, weak and trembling, and dropped on her rocker.
her face was haggard and she looked ten years older.
""have we all come out of that alive?"
she asked solemnly.
""you bet we have," piped davy cheerfully, quite his own man again.
""i was n't a bit scared either... only just at the first.
it come on a fellow so sudden.
i made up my mind quick as a wink that i would n't fight teddy sloane monday as i'd promised; but now maybe i will.
say, dora, was you scared?"
""yes, i was a little scared," said dora primly, "but i held tight to anne's hand and said my prayers over and over again."
""well, i'd have said my prayers too if i'd have thought of it," said davy; "but," he added triumphantly, "you see i came through just as safe as you for all i did n't say them."
anne got marilla a glassful of her potent currant wine... how potent it was anne, in her earlier days, had had all too good reason to know... and then they went to the door to look out on the strange scene.
far and wide was a white carpet, knee deep, of hailstones; drifts of them were heaped up under the eaves and on the steps.
when, three or four days later, those hailstones melted, the havoc they had wrought was plainly seen, for every green growing thing in the field or garden was cut off.
not only was every blossom stripped from the apple trees but great boughs and branches were wrenched away.
and out of the two hundred trees set out by the improvers by far the greater number were snapped off or torn to shreds.
""can it possibly be the same world it was an hour ago?"
asked anne, dazedly.
""it must have taken longer than that to play such havoc."
""the like of this has never been known in prince edward island," said marilla, "never.
i remember when i was a girl there was a bad storm, but it was nothing to this.
we'll hear of terrible destruction, you may be sure."
""i do hope none of the children were caught out in it," murmured anne anxiously.
as it was discovered later, none of the children had been, since all those who had any distance to go had taken mr. andrews" excellent advice and sought refuge at the post office.
""there comes john henry carter," said marilla.
john henry came wading through the hailstones with a rather scared grin.
""oh, ai n't this awful, miss cuthbert?
mr. harrison sent me over to see if yous had come out all right."
""we're none of us killed," said marilla grimly, "and none of the buildings was struck.
i hope you got off equally well."
""yas'm.
not quite so well, ma'am.
we was struck.
the lightning knocked over the kitchen chimbly and come down the flue and knocked over ginger's cage and tore a hole in the floor and went into the sullar.
yas'm."
""was ginger hurt?"
queried anne.
""yas'm.
he was hurt pretty bad.
he was killed."
later on anne went over to comfort mr. harrison.
she found him sitting by the table, stroking ginger's gay dead body with a trembling hand.
""poor ginger wo n't call you any more names, anne," he said mournfully.
anne could never have imagined herself crying on ginger's account, but the tears came into her eyes.
""he was all the company i had, anne... and now he's dead.
well, well, i'm an old fool to care so much.
i'll let on i do n't care.
i know you're going to say something sympathetic as soon as i stop talking... but do n't.
if you did i'd cry like a baby.
has n't this been a terrible storm?
i guess folks wo n't laugh at uncle abe's predictions again.
seems as if all the storms that he's been prophesying all his life that never happened came all at once.
beats all how he struck the very day though, do n't it?
look at the mess we have here.
i must hustle round and get some boards to patch up that hole in the floor."
avonlea folks did nothing the next day but visit each other and compare damages.
the roads were impassable for wheels by reason of the hailstones, so they walked or rode on horseback.
the mail came late with ill tidings from all over the province.
houses had been struck, people killed and injured; the whole telephone and telegraph system had been disorganized, and any number of young stock exposed in the fields had perished.
uncle abe waded out to the blacksmith's forge early in the morning and spent the whole day there.
it was uncle abe's hour of triumph and he enjoyed it to the full.
it would be doing uncle abe an injustice to say that he was glad the storm had happened; but since it had to be he was very glad he had predicted it... to the very day, too.
uncle abe forgot that he had ever denied setting the day.
as for the trifling discrepancy in the hour, that was nothing.
gilbert arrived at green gables in the evening and found marilla and anne busily engaged in nailing strips of oilcloth over the broken windows.
""goodness only knows when we'll get glass for them," said marilla.
""mr. barry went over to carmody this afternoon but not a pane could he get for love or money.
lawson and blair were cleaned out by the carmody people by ten o'clock.
was the storm bad at white sands, gilbert?"
""i should say so.
i was caught in the school with all the children and i thought some of them would go mad with fright.
three of them fainted, and two girls took hysterics, and tommy blewett did nothing but shriek at the top of his voice the whole time."
""i only squealed once," said davy proudly.
""my garden was all smashed flat," he continued mournfully, "but so was dora's," he added in a tone which indicated that there was yet balm in gilead.
anne came running down from the west gable.
""oh, gilbert, have you heard the news?
mr. levi boulter's old house was struck and burned to the ground.
it seems to me that i'm dreadfully wicked to feel glad over that, when so much damage has been done.
mr. boulter says he believes the a.v.i.s. magicked up that storm on purpose."
""well, one thing is certain," said gilbert, laughing," "observer" has made uncle abe's reputation as a weather prophet.
"uncle abe's storm" will go down in local history.
it is a most extraordinary coincidence that it should have come on the very day we selected.
i actually have a half guilty feeling, as if i really had "magicked" it up.
we may as well rejoice over the old house being removed, for there's not much to rejoice over where our young trees are concerned.
not ten of them have escaped."
""ah, well, we'll just have to plant them over again next spring," said anne philosophically.
""that is one good thing about this world... there are always sure to be more springs."
xxv an avonlea scandal one blithe june morning, a fortnight after uncle abe's storm, anne came slowly through the green gables yard from the garden, carrying in her hands two blighted stalks of white narcissus.
""look, marilla," she said sorrowfully, holding up the flowers before the eyes of a grim lady, with her hair coifed in a green gingham apron, who was going into the house with a plucked chicken, "these are the only buds the storm spared... and even they are imperfect.
i'm so sorry... i wanted some for matthew's grave.
he was always so fond of june lilies."
""i kind of miss them myself," admitted marilla, "though it does n't seem right to lament over them when so many worse things have happened... all the crops destroyed as well as the fruit."
""but people have sown their oats over again," said anne comfortingly, "and mr. harrison says he thinks if we have a good summer they will come out all right though late.
and my annuals are all coming up again... but oh, nothing can replace the june lilies.
poor little hester gray will have none either.
i went all the way back to her garden last night but there was n't one.
i'm sure she'll miss them."
""i do n't think it's right for you to say such things, anne, i really do n't," said marilla severely.
""hester gray has been dead for thirty years and her spirit is in heaven... i hope."
""yes, but i believe she loves and remembers her garden here still," said anne.
""i'm sure no matter how long i'd lived in heaven i'd like to look down and see somebody putting flowers on my grave.
if i had had a garden here like hester gray's it would take me more than thirty years, even in heaven, to forget being homesick for it by spells."
""well, do n't let the twins hear you talking like that," was marilla's feeble protest, as she carried her chicken into the house.
anne pinned her narcissi on her hair and went to the lane gate, where she stood for awhile sunning herself in the june brightness before going in to attend to her saturday morning duties.
the world was growing lovely again; old mother nature was doing her best to remove the traces of the storm, and, though she was not to succeed fully for many a moon, she was really accomplishing wonders.
""i wish i could just be idle all day today," anne told a bluebird, who was singing and swinging on a willow bough, "but a schoolma'am, who is also helping to bring up twins, ca n't indulge in laziness, birdie.
how sweet you are singing, little bird.
you are just putting the feelings of my heart into song ever so much better than i could myself.
why, who is coming?"
an express wagon was jolting up the lane, with two people on the front seat and a big trunk behind.
when it drew near anne recognized the driver as the son of the station agent at bright river; but his companion was a stranger... a scrap of a woman who sprang nimbly down at the gate almost before the horse came to a standstill.
she was a very pretty little person, evidently nearer fifty than forty, but with rosy cheeks, sparkling black eyes, and shining black hair, surmounted by a wonderful beflowered and beplumed bonnet.
in spite of having driven eight miles over a dusty road she was as neat as if she had just stepped out of the proverbial bandbox.
""is this where mr. james a. harrison lives?"
she inquired briskly.
""no, mr. harrison lives over there," said anne, quite lost in astonishment.
""well, i did think this place seemed too tidy... much too tidy for james a. to be living here, unless he has greatly changed since i knew him," chirped the little lady.
""is it true that james a. is going to be married to some woman living in this settlement?"
""no, oh no," cried anne, flushing so guiltily that the stranger looked curiously at her, as if she half suspected her of matrimonial designs on mr. harrison.
""but i saw it in an island paper," persisted the fair unknown.
""a friend sent a marked copy to me... friends are always so ready to do such things.
james a.'s name was written in over "new citizen.""
""oh, that note was only meant as a joke," gasped anne.
""mr. harrison has no intention of marrying anybody.
i assure you he has n't."
""i'm very glad to hear it," said the rosy lady, climbing nimbly back to her seat in the wagon, "because he happens to be married already.
i am his wife.
oh, you may well look surprised.
i suppose he has been masquerading as a bachelor and breaking hearts right and left.
well, well, james a.," nodding vigorously over the fields at the long white house, "your fun is over.
i am here... though i would n't have bothered coming if i had n't thought you were up to some mischief.
i suppose," turning to anne, "that parrot of his is as profane as ever?"
""his parrot... is dead... i think," gasped poor anne, who could n't have felt sure of her own name at that precise moment.
""dead!
everything will be all right then," cried the rosy lady jubilantly.
""i can manage james a. if that bird is out of the way."
with which cryptic utterance she went joyfully on her way and anne flew to the kitchen door to meet marilla.
""anne, who was that woman?"
""marilla," said anne solemnly, but with dancing eyes, "do i look as if i were crazy?"
""not more so than usual," said marilla, with no thought of being sarcastic.
""well then, do you think i am awake?"
""anne, what nonsense has got into you?
who was that woman, i say?"
""marilla, if i'm not crazy and not asleep she ca n't be such stuff as dreams are made of... she must be real.
anyway, i'm sure i could n't have imagined such a bonnet.
she says she is mr. harrison's wife, marilla."
marilla stared in her turn.
""his wife!
anne shirley!
then what has he been passing himself off as an unmarried man for?"
""i do n't suppose he did, really," said anne, trying to be just.
""he never said he was n't married.
people simply took it for granted.
oh marilla, what will mrs. lynde say to this?"
they found out what mrs. lynde had to say when she came up that evening.
mrs. lynde was n't surprised!
mrs. lynde had always expected something of the sort!
mrs. lynde had always known there was something about mr. harrison!
""to think of his deserting his wife!"
she said indignantly.
""it's like something you'd read of in the states, but who would expect such a thing to happen right here in avonlea?"
""but we do n't know that he deserted her," protested anne, determined to believe her friend innocent till he was proved guilty.
""we do n't know the rights of it at all."
""well, we soon will.
i'm going straight over there," said mrs. lynde, who had never learned that there was such a word as delicacy in the dictionary.
""i'm not supposed to know anything about her arrival, and mr. harrison was to bring some medicine for thomas from carmody today, so that will be a good excuse.
i'll find out the whole story and come in and tell you on the way back."
mrs. lynde rushed in where anne had feared to tread.
nothing would have induced the latter to go over to the harrison place; but she had her natural and proper share of curiosity and she felt secretly glad that mrs. lynde was going to solve the mystery.
she and marilla waited expectantly for that good lady's return, but waited in vain.
mrs. lynde did not revisit green gables that night.
davy, arriving home at nine o'clock from the boulter place, explained why.
""i met mrs. lynde and some strange woman in the hollow," he said, "and gracious, how they were talking both at once!
mrs. lynde said to tell you she was sorry it was too late to call tonight.
anne, i'm awful hungry.
we had tea at milty's at four and i think mrs. boulter is real mean.
she did n't give us any preserves or cake... and even the bread was skurce."
""davy, when you go visiting you must never criticize anything you are given to eat," said anne solemnly.
""it is very bad manners."
""all right... i'll only think it," said davy cheerfully.
""do give a fellow some supper, anne."
anne looked at marilla, who followed her into the pantry and shut the door cautiously.
""you can give him some jam on his bread, i know what tea at levi boulter's is apt to be."
davy took his slice of bread and jam with a sigh.
""it's a kind of disappointing world after all," he remarked.
""milty has a cat that takes fits... she's took a fit regular every day for three weeks.
milty says it's awful fun to watch her.
i went down today on purpose to see her have one but the mean old thing would n't take a fit and just kept healthy as healthy, though milty and me hung round all the afternoon and waited.
but never mind"... davy brightened up as the insidious comfort of the plum jam stole into his soul... "maybe i'll see her in one sometime yet.
it does n't seem likely she'd stop having them all at once when she's been so in the habit of it, does it?
this jam is awful nice."
davy had no sorrows that plum jam could not cure.
sunday proved so rainy that there was no stirring abroad; but by monday everybody had heard some version of the harrison story.
the school buzzed with it and davy came home, full of information.
""marilla, mr. harrison has a new wife... well, not ezackly new, but they've stopped being married for quite a spell, milty says.
i always s "posed people had to keep on being married once they'd begun, but milty says no, there's ways of stopping if you ca n't agree.
milty says one way is just to start off and leave your wife, and that's what mr. harrison did.
milty says mr. harrison left his wife because she throwed things at him... hard things... and arty sloane says it was because she would n't let him smoke, and ned clay says it was'cause she never let up scolding him.
i would n't leave my wife for anything like that.
i'd just put my foot down and say, "mrs. davy, you've just got to do what'll please me'cause i'm a man."
that'd settle her pretty quick i guess.
but annetta clay says she left him because he would n't scrape his boots at the door and she does n't blame her.
i'm going right over to mr. harrison's this minute to see what she's like."
davy soon returned, somewhat cast down.
""mrs. harrison was away... she's gone to carmody with mrs. rachel lynde to get new paper for the parlor.
and mr. harrison said to tell anne to go over and see him'cause he wants to have a talk with her.
and say, the floor is scrubbed, and mr. harrison is shaved, though there was n't any preaching yesterday."
the harrison kitchen wore a very unfamiliar look to anne.
the floor was indeed scrubbed to a wonderful pitch of purity and so was every article of furniture in the room; the stove was polished until she could see her face in it; the walls were whitewashed and the window panes sparkled in the sunlight.
by the table sat mr. harrison in his working clothes, which on friday had been noted for sundry rents and tatters but which were now neatly patched and brushed.
he was sprucely shaved and what little hair he had was carefully trimmed.
""sit down, anne, sit down," said mr. harrison in a tone but two degrees removed from that which avonlea people used at funerals.
""emily's gone over to carmody with rachel lynde... she's struck up a lifelong friendship already with rachel lynde.
beats all how contrary women are.
well, anne, my easy times are over... all over.
it's neatness and tidiness for me for the rest of my natural life, i suppose."
mr. harrison did his best to speak dolefully, but an irrepressible twinkle in his eye betrayed him.
""mr. harrison, you are glad your wife is come back," cried anne, shaking her finger at him.
""you need n't pretend you're not, because i can see it plainly."
mr. harrison relaxed into a sheepish smile.
""well... well... i'm getting used to it," he conceded.
""i ca n't say i was sorry to see emily.
a man really needs some protection in a community like this, where he ca n't play a game of checkers with a neighbor without being accused of wanting to marry that neighbor's sister and having it put in the paper."
""nobody would have supposed you went to see isabella andrews if you had n't pretended to be unmarried," said anne severely.
""i did n't pretend i was.
if anybody'd have asked me if i was married i'd have said i was.
but they just took it for granted.
i was n't anxious to talk about the matter... i was feeling too sore over it.
it would have been nuts for mrs. rachel lynde if she had known my wife had left me, would n't it now?"
""but some people say that you left her."
""she started it, anne, she started it.
i'm going to tell you the whole story, for i do n't want you to think worse of me than i deserve... nor of emily neither.
but let's go out on the veranda.
everything is so fearful neat in here that it kind of makes me homesick.
i suppose i'll get used to it after awhile but it eases me up to look at the yard.
emily has n't had time to tidy it up yet."
as soon as they were comfortably seated on the veranda mr. harrison began his tale of woe.
""i lived in scottsford, new brunswick, before i came here, anne.
my sister kept house for me and she suited me fine; she was just reasonably tidy and she let me alone and spoiled me... so emily says.
but three years ago she died.
before she died she worried a lot about what was to become of me and finally she got me to promise i'd get married.
she advised me to take emily scott because emily had money of her own and was a pattern housekeeper.
i said, says i,'em ily scott would n't look at me."
"you ask her and see," says my sister; and just to ease her mind i promised her i would... and i did.
and emily said she'd have me.
never was so surprised in my life, anne... a smart pretty little woman like her and an old fellow like me.
i tell you i thought at first i was in luck.
well, we were married and took a little wedding trip to st. john for a fortnight and then we went home.
we got home at ten o'clock at night, and i give you my word, anne, that in half an hour that woman was at work housecleaning.
oh, i know you're thinking my house needed it... you've got a very expressive face, anne; your thoughts just come out on it like print... but it did n't, not that bad.
it had got pretty mixed up while i was keeping bachelor's hall, i admit, but i'd got a woman to come in and clean it up before i was married and there'd been considerable painting and fixing done.
i tell you if you took emily into a brand new white marble palace she'd be into the scrubbing as soon as she could get an old dress on.
well, she cleaned house till one o'clock that night and at four she was up and at it again.
and she kept on that way... far's i could see she never stopped.
it was scour and sweep and dust everlasting, except on sundays, and then she was just longing for monday to begin again.
but it was her way of amusing herself and i could have reconciled myself to it if she'd left me alone.
but that she would n't do.
she'd set out to make me over but she had n't caught me young enough.
i was n't allowed to come into the house unless i changed my boots for slippers at the door.
i dars n't smoke a pipe for my life unless i went to the barn.
and i did n't use good enough grammar.
emily'd been a schoolteacher in her early life and she'd never got over it.
then she hated to see me eating with my knife.
well, there it was, pick and nag everlasting.
but i s "pose, anne, to be fair, i was cantankerous too.
i did n't try to improve as i might have done... i just got cranky and disagreeable when she found fault.
i told her one day she had n't complained of my grammar when i proposed to her.
it was n't an overly tactful thing to say.
a woman would forgive a man for beating her sooner than for hinting she was too much pleased to get him.
well, we bickered along like that and it was n't exactly pleasant, but we might have got used to each other after a spell if it had n't been for ginger.
ginger was the rock we split on at last.
emily did n't like parrots and she could n't stand ginger's profane habits of speech.
i was attached to the bird for my brother the sailor's sake.
my brother the sailor was a pet of mine when we were little tads and he'd sent ginger to me when he was dying.
i did n't see any sense in getting worked up over his swearing.
there's nothing i hate worse'n profanity in a human being, but in a parrot, that's just repeating what it's heard with no more understanding of it than i'd have of chinese, allowances might be made.
but emily could n't see it that way.
women ai n't logical.
she tried to break ginger of swearing but she had n't any better success than she had in trying to make me stop saying" i seen" and "them things."
seemed as if the more she tried the worse ginger got, same as me.
""well, things went on like this, both of us getting raspier, till the climax came.
emily invited our minister and his wife to tea, and another minister and his wife that was visiting them.
i'd promised to put ginger away in some safe place where nobody would hear him... emily would n't touch his cage with a ten-foot pole... and i meant to do it, for i did n't want the ministers to hear anything unpleasant in my house.
but it slipped my mind... emily was worrying me so much about clean collars and grammar that it was n't any wonder... and i never thought of that poor parrot till we sat down to tea.
just as minister number one was in the very middle of saying grace, ginger, who was on the veranda outside the dining room window, lifted up his voice.
the gobbler had come into view in the yard and the sight of a gobbler always had an unwholesome effect on ginger.
he surpassed himself that time.
you can smile, anne, and i do n't deny i've chuckled some over it since myself, but at the time i felt almost as much mortified as emily.
i went out and carried ginger to the barn.
i ca n't say i enjoyed the meal.
i knew by the look of emily that there was trouble brewing for ginger and james a.
when the folks went away i started for the cow pasture and on the way i did some thinking.
i felt sorry for emily and kind of fancied i had n't been so thoughtful of her as i might; and besides, i wondered if the ministers would think that ginger had learned his vocabulary from me.
the long and short of it was, i decided that ginger would have to be mercifully disposed of and when i'd druv the cows home i went in to tell emily so.
but there was no emily and there was a letter on the table... just according to the rule in story books.
emily writ that i'd have to choose between her and ginger; she'd gone back to her own house and there she would stay till i went and told her i'd got rid of that parrot.
""i was all riled up, anne, and i said she might stay till doomsday if she waited for that; and i stuck to it.
i packed up her belongings and sent them after her.
it made an awful lot of talk... scottsford was pretty near as bad as avonlea for gossip... and everybody sympathized with emily.
it kept me all cross and cantankerous and i saw i'd have to get out or i'd never have any peace.
i concluded i'd come to the island.
i'd been here when i was a boy and i liked it; but emily had always said she would n't live in a place where folks were scared to walk out after dark for fear they'd fall off the edge.
so, just to be contrary, i moved over here.
and that's all there is to it.
i had n't ever heard a word from or about emily till i come home from the back field saturday and found her scrubbing the floor but with the first decent dinner i'd had since she left me all ready on the table.
she told me to eat it first and then we'd talk... by which i concluded that emily had learned some lessons about getting along with a man.
so she's here and she's going to stay... seeing that ginger's dead and the island's some bigger than she thought.
there's mrs. lynde and her now.
no, do n't go, anne.
stay and get acquainted with emily.
she took quite a notion to you saturday... wanted to know who that handsome redhaired girl was at the next house."
mrs. harrison welcomed anne radiantly and insisted on her staying to tea.
""james a. has been telling me all about you and how kind you've been, making cakes and things for him," she said.
""i want to get acquainted with all my new neighbors just as soon as possible.
mrs. lynde is a lovely woman, is n't she?
so friendly."
when anne went home in the sweet june dusk, mrs. harrison went with her across the fields where the fireflies were lighting their starry lamps.
""i suppose," said mrs. harrison confidentially, "that james a. has told you our story?"
""yes."
""then i need n't tell it, for james a. is a just man and he would tell the truth.
the blame was far from being all on his side.
i can see that now.
i was n't back in my own house an hour before i wished i had n't been so hasty but i would n't give in.
i see now that i expected too much of a man.
and i was real foolish to mind his bad grammar.
it does n't matter if a man does use bad grammar so long as he is a good provider and does n't go poking round the pantry to see how much sugar you've used in a week.
i feel that james a. and i are going to be real happy now.
i wish i knew who "observer" is, so that i could thank him.
i owe him a real debt of gratitude."
anne kept her own counsel and mrs. harrison never knew that her gratitude found its way to its object.
anne felt rather bewildered over the far-reaching consequences of those foolish "notes."
they had reconciled a man to his wife and made the reputation of a prophet.
mrs. lynde was in the green gables kitchen.
she had been telling the whole story to marilla.
""well, and how do you like mrs. harrison?"
she asked anne.
""very much.
i think she's a real nice little woman."
""that's exactly what she is," said mrs. rachel with emphasis, "and as i've just been sayin" to marilla, i think we ought all to overlook mr. harrison's peculiarities for her sake and try to make her feel at home here, that's what.
well, i must get back.
thomas'll be wearying for me.
i get out a little since eliza came and he's seemed a lot better these past few days, but i never like to be long away from him.
i hear gilbert blythe has resigned from white sands.
he'll be off to college in the fall, i suppose."
mrs. rachel looked sharply at anne, but anne was bending over a sleepy davy nodding on the sofa and nothing was to be read in her face.
she carried davy away, her oval girlish cheek pressed against his curly yellow head.
as they went up the stairs davy flung a tired arm about anne's neck and gave her a warm hug and a sticky kiss.
""you're awful nice, anne.
milty boulter wrote on his slate today and showed it to jennie sloane," "roses red and vi "lets blue, sugar's sweet, and so are you" and that "spresses my feelings for you ezackly, anne."
xxvi around the bend thomas lynde faded out of life as quietly and unobtrusively as he had lived it.
his wife was a tender, patient, unwearied nurse.
sometimes rachel had been a little hard on her thomas in health, when his slowness or meekness had provoked her; but when he became ill no voice could be lower, no hand more gently skillful, no vigil more uncomplaining.
""you've been a good wife to me, rachel," he once said simply, when she was sitting by him in the dusk, holding his thin, blanched old hand in her work-hardened one.
""a good wife.
i'm sorry i ai n't leaving you better off; but the children will look after you.
they're all smart, capable children, just like their mother.
a good mother... a good woman...."
he had fallen asleep then, and the next morning, just as the white dawn was creeping up over the pointed firs in the hollow, marilla went softly into the east gable and wakened anne.
""anne, thomas lynde is gone... their hired boy just brought the word.
i'm going right down to rachel."
on the day after thomas lynde's funeral marilla went about green gables with a strangely preoccupied air.
occasionally she looked at anne, seemed on the point of saying something, then shook her head and buttoned up her mouth.
after tea she went down to see mrs. rachel; and when she returned she went to the east gable, where anne was correcting school exercises.
""how is mrs. lynde tonight?"
asked the latter.
""she's feeling calmer and more composed," answered marilla, sitting down on anne's bed... a proceeding which betokened some unusual mental excitement, for in marilla's code of household ethics to sit on a bed after it was made up was an unpardonable offense.
""but she's very lonely.
eliza had to go home today... her son is n't well and she felt she could n't stay any longer."
""when i've finished these exercises i'll run down and chat awhile with mrs. lynde," said anne.
""i had intended to study some latin composition tonight but it can wait."
""i suppose gilbert blythe is going to college in the fall," said marilla jerkily.
""how would you like to go too, anne?"
anne looked up in astonishment.
""i would like it, of course, marilla.
but it is n't possible."
""i guess it can be made possible.
i've always felt that you should go.
i've never felt easy to think you were giving it all up on my account."
""but marilla, i've never been sorry for a moment that i stayed home.
i've been so happy... oh, these past two years have just been delightful."
""oh, yes, i know you've been contented enough.
but that is n't the question exactly.
you ought to go on with your education.
you've saved enough to put you through one year at redmond and the money the stock brought in will do for another year... and there's scholarships and things you might win."
""yes, but i ca n't go, marilla.
your eyes are better, of course; but i ca n't leave you alone with the twins.
they need so much looking after."
""i wo n't be alone with them.
that's what i meant to discuss with you.
i had a long talk with rachel tonight.
anne, she's feeling dreadful bad over a good many things.
she's not left very well off.
it seems they mortgaged the farm eight years ago to give the youngest boy a start when he went west; and they've never been able to pay much more than the interest since.
and then of course thomas" illness has cost a good deal, one way or another.
the farm will have to be sold and rachel thinks there'll be hardly anything left after the bills are settled.
she says she'll have to go and live with eliza and it's breaking her heart to think of leaving avonlea.
a woman of her age does n't make new friends and interests easy.
and, anne, as she talked about it the thought came to me that i would ask her to come and live with me, but i thought i ought to talk it over with you first before i said anything to her.
if i had rachel living with me you could go to college.
how do you feel about it?"
""i feel... as if... somebody... had handed me... the moon... and i did n't know... exactly... what to do... with it," said anne dazedly.
""but as for asking mrs. lynde to come here, that is for you to decide, marilla.
do you think... are you sure... you would like it?
mrs. lynde is a good woman and a kind neighbor, but... but..." "but she's got her faults, you mean to say?
well, she has, of course; but i think i'd rather put up with far worse faults than see rachel go away from avonlea.
i'd miss her terrible.
she's the only close friend i've got here and i'd be lost without her.
we've been neighbors for forty-five years and we've never had a quarrel... though we came rather near it that time you flew at mrs. rachel for calling you homely and redhaired.
do you remember, anne?"
""i should think i do," said anne ruefully.
""people do n't forget things like that.
how i hated poor mrs. rachel at that moment!"
""and then that "apology" you made her.
well, you were a handful, in all conscience, anne.
i did feel so puzzled and bewildered how to manage you.
matthew understood you better."
""matthew understood everything," said anne softly, as she always spoke of him.
""well, i think it could be managed so that rachel and i would n't clash at all.
it always seemed to me that the reason two women ca n't get along in one house is that they try to share the same kitchen and get in each other's way.
now, if rachel came here, she could have the north gable for her bedroom and the spare room for a kitchen as well as not, for we do n't really need a spare room at all.
she could put her stove there and what furniture she wanted to keep, and be real comfortable and independent.
she'll have enough to live on of course... her children'll see to that... so all i'd be giving her would be house room.
yes, anne, far as i'm concerned i'd like it."
""then ask her," said anne promptly.
""i'd be very sorry myself to see mrs. rachel go away."
""and if she comes," continued marilla, "you can go to college as well as not.
she'll be company for me and she'll do for the twins what i ca n't do, so there's no reason in the world why you should n't go."
anne had a long meditation at her window that night.
joy and regret struggled together in her heart.
she had come at last... suddenly and unexpectedly... to the bend in the road; and college was around it, with a hundred rainbow hopes and visions; but anne realized as well that when she rounded that curve she must leave many sweet things behind... all the little simple duties and interests which had grown so dear to her in the last two years and which she had glorified into beauty and delight by the enthusiasm she had put into them.
she must give up her school... and she loved every one of her pupils, even the stupid and naughty ones.
the mere thought of paul irving made her wonder if redmond were such a name to conjure with after all.
""i've put out a lot of little roots these two years," anne told the moon, "and when i'm pulled up they're going to hurt a great deal.
but it's best to go, i think, and, as marilla says, there's no good reason why i should n't.
i must get out all my ambitions and dust them."
anne sent in her resignation the next day; and mrs. rachel, after a heart to heart talk with marilla, gratefully accepted the offer of a home at green gables.
she elected to remain in her own house for the summer, however; the farm was not to be sold until the fall and there were many arrangements to be made.
""i certainly never thought of living as far off the road as green gables," sighed mrs. rachel to herself.
""but really, green gables does n't seem as out of the world as it used to do... anne has lots of company and the twins make it real lively.
and anyhow, i'd rather live at the bottom of a well than leave avonlea."
these two decisions being noised abroad speedily ousted the arrival of mrs. harrison in popular gossip.
sage heads were shaken over marilla cuthbert's rash step in asking mrs. rachel to live with her.
people opined that they would n't get on together.
they were both "too fond of their own way," and many doleful predictions were made, none of which disturbed the parties in question at all.
they had come to a clear and distinct understanding of the respective duties and rights of their new arrangements and meant to abide by them.
""i wo n't meddle with you nor you with me," mrs. rachel had said decidedly, "and as for the twins, i'll be glad to do all i can for them; but i wo n't undertake to answer davy's questions, that's what.
i'm not an encyclopedia, neither am i a philadelphia lawyer.
you'll miss anne for that."
""sometimes anne's answers were about as queer as davy's questions," said marilla drily.
""the twins will miss her and no mistake; but her future ca n't be sacrificed to davy's thirst for information.
when he asks questions i ca n't answer i'll just tell him children should be seen and not heard.
that was how i was brought up, and i do n't know but what it was just as good a way as all these new-fangled notions for training children."
""well, anne's methods seem to have worked fairly well with davy," said mrs. lynde smilingly.
""he is a reformed character, that's what."
""he is n't a bad little soul," conceded marilla.
""i never expected to get as fond of those children as i have.
davy gets round you somehow... and dora is a lovely child, although she is... kind of... well, kind of..." "monotonous?
exactly," supplied mrs. rachel.
""like a book where every page is the same, that's what.
dora will make a good, reliable woman but she'll never set the pond on fire.
well, that sort of folks are comfortable to have round, even if they're not as interesting as the other kind."
gilbert blythe was probably the only person to whom the news of anne's resignation brought unmixed pleasure.
her pupils looked upon it as a sheer catastrophe.
annetta bell had hysterics when she went home.
anthony pye fought two pitched and unprovoked battles with other boys by way of relieving his feelings.
barbara shaw cried all night.
paul irving defiantly told his grandmother that she need n't expect him to eat any porridge for a week.
""i ca n't do it, grandma," he said.
""i do n't really know if i can eat anything.
i feel as if there was a dreadful lump in my throat.
i'd have cried coming home from school if jake donnell had n't been watching me.
i believe i will cry after i go to bed.
it would n't show on my eyes tomorrow, would it?
and it would be such a relief.
but anyway, i ca n't eat porridge.
i'm going to need all my strength of mind to bear up against this, grandma, and i wo n't have any left to grapple with porridge.
oh grandma, i do n't know what i'll do when my beautiful teacher goes away.
milty boulter says he bets jane andrews will get the school.
i suppose miss andrews is very nice.
but i know she wo n't understand things like miss shirley."
diana also took a very pessimistic view of affairs.
""it will be horribly lonesome here next winter," she mourned, one twilight when the moonlight was raining "airy silver" through the cherry boughs and filling the east gable with a soft, dream-like radiance in which the two girls sat and talked, anne on her low rocker by the window, diana sitting turkfashion on the bed.
""you and gilbert will be gone... and the allans too.
they are going to call mr. allan to charlottetown and of course he'll accept.
it's too mean.
we'll be vacant all winter, i suppose, and have to listen to a long string of candidates... and half of them wo n't be any good."
""i hope they wo n't call mr. baxter from east grafton here, anyhow," said anne decidedly.
""he wants the call but he does preach such gloomy sermons.
mr. bell says he's a minister of the old school, but mrs. lynde says there's nothing whatever the matter with him but indigestion.
his wife is n't a very good cook, it seems, and mrs. lynde says that when a man has to eat sour bread two weeks out of three his theology is bound to get a kink in it somewhere.
mrs. allan feels very badly about going away.
she says everybody has been so kind to her since she came here as a bride that she feels as if she were leaving lifelong friends.
and then, there's the baby's grave, you know.
she says she does n't see how she can go away and leave that... it was such a little mite of a thing and only three months old, and she says she is afraid it will miss its mother, although she knows better and would n't say so to mr. allan for anything.
she says she has slipped through the birch grove back of the manse nearly every night to the graveyard and sung a little lullaby to it.
she told me all about it last evening when i was up putting some of those early wild roses on matthew's grave.
i promised her that as long as i was in avonlea i would put flowers on the baby's grave and when i was away i felt sure that..." "that i would do it," supplied diana heartily.
""of course i will.
and i'll put them on matthew's grave too, for your sake, anne."
""oh, thank you.
i meant to ask you to if you would.
and on little hester gray's too?
please do n't forget hers.
do you know, i've thought and dreamed so much about little hester gray that she has become strangely real to me.
i think of her, back there in her little garden in that cool, still, green corner; and i have a fancy that if i could steal back there some spring evening, just at the magic time "twixt light and dark, and tiptoe so softly up the beech hill that my footsteps could not frighten her, i would find the garden just as it used to be, all sweet with june lilies and early roses, with the tiny house beyond it all hung with vines; and little hester gray would be there, with her soft eyes, and the wind ruffling her dark hair, wandering about, putting her fingertips under the chins of the lilies and whispering secrets with the roses; and i would go forward, oh, so softly, and hold out my hands and say to her, "little hester gray, wo n't you let me be your playmate, for i love the roses too?"
and we would sit down on the old bench and talk a little and dream a little, or just be beautifully silent together.
and then the moon would rise and i would look around me... and there would be no hester gray and no little vine-hung house, and no roses... only an old waste garden starred with june lilies amid the grasses, and the wind sighing, oh, so sorrowfully in the cherry trees.
and i would not know whether it had been real or if i had just imagined it all."
diana crawled up and got her back against the headboard of the bed.
when your companion of twilight hour said such spooky things it was just as well not to be able to fancy there was anything behind you.
""i'm afraid the improvement society will go down when you and gilbert are both gone," she remarked dolefully.
""not a bit of fear of it," said anne briskly, coming back from dreamland to the affairs of practical life.
""it is too firmly established for that, especially since the older people are becoming so enthusiastic about it.
look what they are doing this summer for their lawns and lanes.
besides, i'll be watching for hints at redmond and i'll write a paper for it next winter and send it over.
do n't take such a gloomy view of things, diana.
and do n't grudge me my little hour of gladness and jubilation now.
later on, when i have to go away, i'll feel anything but glad."
""it's all right for you to be glad... you're going to college and you'll have a jolly time and make heaps of lovely new friends."
""i hope i shall make new friends," said anne thoughtfully.
""the possibilities of making new friends help to make life very fascinating.
but no matter how many friends i make they'll never be as dear to me as the old ones... especially a certain girl with black eyes and dimples.
can you guess who she is, diana?"
""but there'll be so many clever girls at redmond," sighed diana, "and i'm only a stupid little country girl who says" i seen" sometimes... though i really know better when i stop to think.
well, of course these past two years have really been too pleasant to last.
i know somebody who is glad you are going to redmond anyhow.
anne, i'm going to ask you a question... a serious question.
do n't be vexed and do answer seriously.
do you care anything for gilbert?"
""ever so much as a friend and not a bit in the way you mean," said anne calmly and decidedly; she also thought she was speaking sincerely.
diana sighed.
she wished, somehow, that anne had answered differently.
""do n't you mean ever to be married, anne?"
""perhaps... some day... when i meet the right one," said anne, smiling dreamily up at the moonlight.
""but how can you be sure when you do meet the right one?"
persisted diana.
""oh, i should know him... something would tell me.
you know what my ideal is, diana."
""but people's ideals change sometimes."
""mine wo n't.
and i could n't care for any man who did n't fulfill it."
""what if you never meet him?"
""then i shall die an old maid," was the cheerful response.
""i daresay it is n't the hardest death by any means."
""oh, i suppose the dying would be easy enough; it's the living an old maid i should n't like," said diana, with no intention of being humorous.
""although i would n't mind being an old maid very much if i could be one like miss lavendar.
but i never could be.
when i'm forty-five i'll be horribly fat.
and while there might be some romance about a thin old maid there could n't possibly be any about a fat one.
oh, mind you, nelson atkins proposed to ruby gillis three weeks ago.
ruby told me all about it.
she says she never had any intention of taking him, because any one who married him will have to go in with the old folks; but ruby says that he made such a perfectly beautiful and romantic proposal that it simply swept her off her feet.
but she did n't want to do anything rash so she asked for a week to consider; and two days later she was at a meeting of the sewing circle at his mother's and there was a book called "the complete guide to etiquette," lying on the parlor table.
ruby said she simply could n't describe her feelings when in a section of it headed, "the deportment of courtship and marriage," she found the very proposal nelson had made, word for word.
she went home and wrote him a perfectly scathing refusal; and she says his father and mother have taken turns watching him ever since for fear he'll drown himself in the river; but ruby says they need n't be afraid; for in the deportment of courtship and marriage it told how a rejected lover should behave and there's nothing about drowning in that.
and she says wilbur blair is literally pining away for her but she's perfectly helpless in the matter."
anne made an impatient movement.
""i hate to say it... it seems so disloyal... but, well, i do n't like ruby gillis now.
i liked her when we went to school and queen's together... though not so well as you and jane of course.
but this last year at carmody she seems so different... so... so..." "i know," nodded diana.
""it's the gillis coming out in her... she ca n't help it.
mrs. lynde says that if ever a gillis girl thought about anything but the boys she never showed it in her walk and conversation.
she talks about nothing but boys and what compliments they pay her, and how crazy they all are about her at carmody.
and the strange thing is, they are, too..." diana admitted this somewhat resentfully.
""last night when i saw her in mr. blair's store she whispered to me that she'd just made a new "mash."
i would n't ask her who it was, because i knew she was dying to be asked.
well, it's what ruby always wanted, i suppose.
you remember even when she was little she always said she meant to have dozens of beaus when she grew up and have the very gayest time she could before she settled down.
she's so different from jane, is n't she?
jane is such a nice, sensible, lady-like girl."
""dear old jane is a jewel," agreed anne, "but," she added, leaning forward to bestow a tender pat on the plump, dimpled little hand hanging over her pillow, "there's nobody like my own diana after all.
do you remember that evening we first met, diana, and "swore" eternal friendship in your garden?
we've kept that "oath," i think... we've never had a quarrel nor even a coolness.
i shall never forget the thrill that went over me the day you told me you loved me.
i had had such a lonely, starved heart all through my childhood.
i'm just beginning to realize how starved and lonely it really was.
nobody cared anything for me or wanted to be bothered with me.
i should have been miserable if it had n't been for that strange little dream-life of mine, wherein i imagined all the friends and love i craved.
but when i came to green gables everything was changed.
and then i met you.
you do n't know what your friendship meant to me.
i want to thank you here and now, dear, for the warm and true affection you've always given me."
""and always, always will," sobbed diana.
""i shall never love anybody... any girl... half as well as i love you.
and if i ever do marry and have a little girl of my own i'm going to name her anne."
xxvii an afternoon at the stone house "where are you going, all dressed up, anne?"
davy wanted to know.
""you look bully in that dress."
anne had come down to dinner in a new dress of pale green muslin... the first color she had worn since matthew's death.
it became her perfectly, bringing out all the delicate, flower-like tints of her face and the gloss and burnish of her hair.
""davy, how many times have i told you that you must n't use that word," she rebuked.
""i'm going to echo lodge."
""take me with you," entreated davy.
""i would if i were driving.
but i'm going to walk and it's too far for your eight-year-old legs.
besides, paul is going with me and i fear you do n't enjoy yourself in his company."
""oh, i like paul lots better'n i did," said davy, beginning to make fearful inroads into his pudding.
""since i've got pretty good myself i do n't mind his being gooder so much.
if i can keep on i'll catch up with him some day, both in legs and goodness.
"sides, paul's real nice to us second primer boys in school.
he wo n't let the other big boys meddle with us and he shows us lots of games."
""how came paul to fall into the brook at noon hour yesterday?"
asked anne.
""i met him on the playground, such a dripping figure that i sent him promptly home for clothes without waiting to find out what had happened."
""well, it was partly a zacksident," explained davy.
""he stuck his head in on purpose but the rest of him fell in zacksidentally.
we was all down at the brook and prillie rogerson got mad at paul about something... she's awful mean and horrid anyway, if she is pretty... and said that his grandmother put his hair up in curl rags every night.
paul would n't have minded what she said, i guess, but gracie andrews laughed, and paul got awful red,'cause gracie's his girl, you know.
he's clean gone on her... brings her flowers and carries her books as far as the shore road.
he got as red as a beet and said his grandmother did n't do any such thing and his hair was born curly.
and then he laid down on the bank and stuck his head right into the spring to show them.
oh, it was n't the spring we drink out of..." seeing a horrified look on marilla's face... "it was the little one lower down.
but the bank's awful slippy and paul went right in.
i tell you he made a bully splash.
oh, anne, anne, i did n't mean to say that... it just slipped out before i thought.
he made a splendid splash.
but he looked so funny when he crawled out, all wet and muddy.
the girls laughed more'n ever, but gracie did n't laugh.
she looked sorry.
gracie's a nice girl but she's got a snub nose.
when i get big enough to have a girl i wo n't have one with a snub nose... i'll pick one with a pretty nose like yours, anne."
""a boy who makes such a mess of syrup all over his face when he is eating his pudding will never get a girl to look at him," said marilla severely.
""but i'll wash my face before i go courting," protested davy, trying to improve matters by rubbing the back of his hand over the smears.
""and i'll wash behind my ears too, without being told.
i remembered to this morning, marilla.
i do n't forget half as often as i did.
but..." and davy sighed... "there's so many corners about a fellow that it's awful hard to remember them all.
well, if i ca n't go to miss lavendar's i'll go over and see mrs. harrison.
mrs. harrison's an awful nice woman, i tell you.
she keeps a jar of cookies in her pantry a-purpose for little boys, and she always gives me the scrapings out of a pan she's mixed up a plum cake in.
a good many plums stick to the sides, you see.
mr. harrison was always a nice man, but he's twice as nice since he got married over again.
i guess getting married makes folks nicer.
why do n't you get married, marilla?
i want to know."
marilla's state of single blessedness had never been a sore point with her, so she answered amiably, with an exchange of significant looks with anne, that she supposed it was because nobody would have her.
""but maybe you never asked anybody to have you," protested davy.
""oh, davy," said dora primly, shocked into speaking without being spoken to, "it's the men that have to do the asking."
""i do n't know why they have to do it always," grumbled davy.
""seems to me everything's put on the men in this world.
can i have some more pudding, marilla?"
""you've had as much as was good for you," said marilla; but she gave him a moderate second helping.
""i wish people could live on pudding.
why ca n't they, marilla?
i want to know."
""because they'd soon get tired of it."
""i'd like to try that for myself," said skeptical davy.
""but i guess it's better to have pudding only on fish and company days than none at all.
they never have any at milty boulter's.
milty says when company comes his mother gives them cheese and cuts it herself... one little bit apiece and one over for manners."
""if milty boulter talks like that about his mother at least you need n't repeat it," said marilla severely.
""bless my soul,"... davy had picked this expression up from mr. harrison and used it with great gusto... "milty meant it as a compelment.
he's awful proud of his mother, cause folks say she could scratch a living on a rock."
""i... i suppose them pesky hens are in my pansy bed again," said marilla, rising and going out hurriedly.
the slandered hens were nowhere near the pansy bed and marilla did not even glance at it.
instead, she sat down on the cellar hatch and laughed until she was ashamed of herself.
when anne and paul reached the stone house that afternoon they found miss lavendar and charlotta the fourth in the garden, weeding, raking, clipping, and trimming as if for dear life.
miss lavendar herself, all gay and sweet in the frills and laces she loved, dropped her shears and ran joyously to meet her guests, while charlotta the fourth grinned cheerfully.
""welcome, anne.
i thought you'd come today.
you belong to the afternoon so it brought you.
things that belong together are sure to come together.
what a lot of trouble that would save some people if they only knew it.
but they do n't... and so they waste beautiful energy moving heaven and earth to bring things together that do n't belong.
and you, paul... why, you've grown!
you're half a head taller than when you were here before."
""yes, i've begun to grow like pigweed in the night, as mrs. lynde says," said paul, in frank delight over the fact.
""grandma says it's the porridge taking effect at last.
perhaps it is.
goodness knows..." paul sighed deeply... "i've eaten enough to make anyone grow.
i do hope, now that i've begun, i'll keep on till i'm as tall as father.
he is six feet, you know, miss lavendar."
yes, miss lavendar did know; the flush on her pretty cheeks deepened a little; she took paul's hand on one side and anne's on the other and walked to the house in silence.
""is it a good day for the echoes, miss lavendar?"
queried paul anxiously.
the day of his first visit had been too windy for echoes and paul had been much disappointed.
""yes, just the best kind of a day," answered miss lavendar, rousing herself from her reverie.
""but first we are all going to have something to eat.
i know you two folks did n't walk all the way back here through those beechwoods without getting hungry, and charlotta the fourth and i can eat any hour of the day... we have such obliging appetites.
so we'll just make a raid on the pantry.
fortunately it's lovely and full.
i had a presentiment that i was going to have company today and charlotta the fourth and i prepared."
""i think you are one of the people who always have nice things in their pantry," declared paul.
""grandma's like that too.
but she does n't approve of snacks between meals.
i wonder," he added meditatively, "if i ought to eat them away from home when i know she does n't approve."
""oh, i do n't think she would disapprove after you have had a long walk.
that makes a difference," said miss lavendar, exchanging amused glances with anne over paul's brown curls.
""i suppose that snacks are extremely unwholesome.
that is why we have them so often at echo lodge.
we... charlotta the fourth and i... live in defiance of every known law of diet.
we eat all sorts of indigestible things whenever we happen to think of it, by day or night; and we flourish like green bay trees.
we are always intending to reform.
when we read any article in a paper warning us against something we like we cut it out and pin it up on the kitchen wall so that we'll remember it.
but we never can somehow... until after we've gone and eaten that very thing.
nothing has ever killed us yet; but charlotta the fourth has been known to have bad dreams after we had eaten doughnuts and mince pie and fruit cake before we went to bed."
""grandma lets me have a glass of milk and a slice of bread and butter before i go to bed; and on sunday nights she puts jam on the bread," said paul.
""so i'm always glad when it's sunday night... for more reasons than one.
sunday is a very long day on the shore road.
grandma says it's all too short for her and that father never found sundays tiresome when he was a little boy.
it would n't seem so long if i could talk to my rock people but i never do that because grandma does n't approve of it on sundays.
i think a good deal; but i'm afraid my thoughts are worldly.
grandma says we should never think anything but religious thoughts on sundays.
but teacher here said once that every really beautiful thought was religious, no matter what it was about, or what day we thought it on.
but i feel sure grandma thinks that sermons and sunday school lessons are the only things you can think truly religious thoughts about.
and when it comes to a difference of opinion between grandma and teacher i do n't know what to do.
in my heart"... paul laid his hand on his breast and raised very serious blue eyes to miss lavendar's immediately sympathetic face... "i agree with teacher.
but then, you see, grandma has brought father up her way and made a brilliant success of him; and teacher has never brought anybody up yet, though she's helping with davy and dora.
but you ca n't tell how they'll turn out till they are grown up.
so sometimes i feel as if it might be safer to go by grandma's opinions."
""i think it would," agreed anne solemnly.
""anyway, i daresay that if your grandma and i both got down to what we really do mean, under our different ways of expressing it, we'd find out we both meant much the same thing.
you'd better go by her way of expressing it, since it's been the result of experience.
we'll have to wait until we see how the twins do turn out before we can be sure that my way is equally good."
after lunch they went back to the garden, where paul made the acquaintance of the echoes, to his wonder and delight, while anne and miss lavendar sat on the stone bench under the poplar and talked.
""so you are going away in the fall?"
said miss lavendar wistfully.
""i ought to be glad for your sake, anne... but i'm horribly, selfishly sorry.
i shall miss you so much.
oh, sometimes, i think it is of no use to make friends.
they only go out of your life after awhile and leave a hurt that is worse than the emptiness before they came."
""that sounds like something miss eliza andrews might say but never miss lavendar," said anne.
""nothing is worse than emptiness... and i'm not going out of your life.
there are such things as letters and vacations.
dearest, i'm afraid you're looking a little pale and tired."
""oh... hoo... hoo... hoo," went paul on the dyke, where he had been making noises diligently... not all of them melodious in the making, but all coming back transmuted into the very gold and silver of sound by the fairy alchemists over the river.
miss lavendar made an impatient movement with her pretty hands.
""i'm just tired of everything... even of the echoes.
there is nothing in my life but echoes... echoes of lost hopes and dreams and joys.
they're beautiful and mocking.
oh anne, it's horrid of me to talk like this when i have company.
it's just that i'm getting old and it does n't agree with me.
i know i'll be fearfully cranky by the time i'm sixty.
but perhaps all i need is a course of blue pills."
at this moment charlotta the fourth, who had disappeared after lunch, returned, and announced that the northeast corner of mr. john kimball's pasture was red with early strawberries, and would n't miss shirley like to go and pick some.
""early strawberries for tea!"
exclaimed miss lavendar.
""oh, i'm not so old as i thought... and i do n't need a single blue pill!
girls, when you come back with your strawberries we'll have tea out here under the silver poplar.
i'll have it all ready for you with home-grown cream."
anne and charlotta the fourth accordingly betook themselves back to mr. kimball's pasture, a green remote place where the air was as soft as velvet and fragrant as a bed of violets and golden as amber.
""oh, is n't it sweet and fresh back here?"
breathed anne.
""i just feel as if i were drinking in the sunshine."
""yes, ma'am, so do i. that's just exactly how i feel too, ma'am," agreed charlotta the fourth, who would have said precisely the same thing if anne had remarked that she felt like a pelican of the wilderness.
always after anne had visited echo lodge charlotta the fourth mounted to her little room over the kitchen and tried before her looking glass to speak and look and move like anne.
charlotta could never flatter herself that she quite succeeded; but practice makes perfect, as charlotta had learned at school, and she fondly hoped that in time she might catch the trick of that dainty uplift of chin, that quick, starry outflashing of eyes, that fashion of walking as if you were a bough swaying in the wind.
it seemed so easy when you watched anne.
charlotta the fourth admired anne wholeheartedly.
it was not that she thought her so very handsome.
diana barry's beauty of crimson cheek and black curls was much more to charlotta the fourth's taste than anne's moonshine charm of luminous gray eyes and the pale, everchanging roses of her cheeks.
""but i'd rather look like you than be pretty," she told anne sincerely.
anne laughed, sipped the honey from the tribute, and cast away the sting.
she was used to taking her compliments mixed.
public opinion never agreed on anne's looks.
people who had heard her called handsome met her and were disappointed.
people who had heard her called plain saw her and wondered where other people's eyes were.
anne herself would never believe that she had any claim to beauty.
when she looked in the glass all she saw was a little pale face with seven freckles on the nose thereof.
her mirror never revealed to her the elusive, ever-varying play of feeling that came and went over her features like a rosy illuminating flame, or the charm of dream and laughter alternating in her big eyes.
while anne was not beautiful in any strictly defined sense of the word she possessed a certain evasive charm and distinction of appearance that left beholders with a pleasurable sense of satisfaction in that softly rounded girlhood of hers, with all its strongly felt potentialities.
those who knew anne best felt, without realizing that they felt it, that her greatest attraction was the aura of possibility surrounding her... the power of future development that was in her.
she seemed to walk in an atmosphere of things about to happen.
as they picked, charlotta the fourth confided to anne her fears regarding miss lavendar.
the warm-hearted little handmaiden was honestly worried over her adored mistress" condition.
""miss lavendar is n't well, miss shirley, ma'am.
i'm sure she is n't, though she never complains.
she has n't seemed like herself this long while, ma'am... not since that day you and paul were here together before.
i feel sure she caught cold that night, ma'am.
after you and him had gone she went out and walked in the garden for long after dark with nothing but a little shawl on her.
there was a lot of snow on the walks and i feel sure she got a chill, ma'am.
ever since then i've noticed her acting tired and lonesome like.
she do n't seem to take an interest in anything, ma'am.
she never pretends company's coming, nor fixes up for it, nor nothing, ma'am.
it's only when you come she seems to chirk up a bit.
and the worst sign of all, miss shirley, ma'am..." charlotta the fourth lowered her voice as if she were about to tell some exceedingly weird and awful symptom indeed... "is that she never gets cross now when i breaks things.
why, miss shirley, ma'am, yesterday i bruk her green and yaller bowl that's always stood on the bookcase.
her grandmother brought it out from england and miss lavendar was awful choice of it.
i was dusting it just as careful, miss shirley, ma'am, and it slipped out, so fashion, afore i could grab holt of it, and bruk into about forty millyun pieces.
i tell you i was sorry and scared.
i thought miss lavendar would scold me awful, ma'am; and i'd ruther she had than take it the way she did.
she just come in and hardly looked at it and said, "it's no matter, charlotta.
take up the pieces and throw them away."
just like that, miss shirley, ma'am... "take up the pieces and throw them away," as if it was n't her grandmother's bowl from england.
oh, she is n't well and i feel awful bad about it.
she's got nobody to look after her but me."
charlotta the fourth's eyes brimmed up with tears.
anne patted the little brown paw holding the cracked pink cup sympathetically.
""i think miss lavendar needs a change, charlotta.
she stays here alone too much.
ca n't we induce her to go away for a little trip?"
charlotta shook her head, with its rampant bows, disconsolately.
""i do n't think so, miss shirley, ma'am.
miss lavendar hates visiting.
she's only got three relations she ever visits and she says she just goes to see them as a family duty.
last time when she come home she said she was n't going to visit for family duty no more.
"i've come home in love with loneliness, charlotta," she says to me, "and i never want to stray from my own vine and fig tree again.
my relations try so hard to make an old lady of me and it has a bad effect on me."
just like that, miss shirley, ma'am.
"it has a very bad effect on me."
so i do n't think it would do any good to coax her to go visiting."
""we must see what can be done," said anne decidedly, as she put the last possible berry in her pink cup.
""just as soon as i have my vacation i'll come through and spend a whole week with you.
we'll have a picnic every day and pretend all sorts of interesting things, and see if we ca n't cheer miss lavendar up."
""that will be the very thing, miss shirley, ma'am," exclaimed charlotta the fourth in rapture.
she was glad for miss lavendar's sake and for her own too.
with a whole week in which to study anne constantly she would surely be able to learn how to move and behave like her.
when the girls got back to echo lodge they found that miss lavendar and paul had carried the little square table out of the kitchen to the garden and had everything ready for tea.
nothing ever tasted so delicious as those strawberries and cream, eaten under a great blue sky all curdled over with fluffy little white clouds, and in the long shadows of the wood with its lispings and its murmurings.
after tea anne helped charlotta wash the dishes in the kitchen, while miss lavendar sat on the stone bench with paul and heard all about his rock people.
she was a good listener, this sweet miss lavendar, but just at the last it struck paul that she had suddenly lost interest in the twin sailors.
""miss lavendar, why do you look at me like that?"
he asked gravely.
""how do i look, paul?"
""just as if you were looking through me at somebody i put you in mind of," said paul, who had such occasional flashes of uncanny insight that it was n't quite safe to have secrets when he was about.
""you do put me in mind of somebody i knew long ago," said miss lavendar dreamily.
""when you were young?"
""yes, when i was young.
do i seem very old to you, paul?"
""do you know, i ca n't make up my mind about that," said paul confidentially.
""your hair looks old... i never knew a young person with white hair.
but your eyes are as young as my beautiful teacher's when you laugh.
i tell you what, miss lavendar"... paul's voice and face were as solemn as a judge's... "i think you would make a splendid mother.
you have just the right look in your eyes... the look my little mother always had.
i think it's a pity you have n't any boys of your own."
""i have a little dream boy, paul."
""oh, have you really?
how old is he?"
""about your age i think.
he ought to be older because i dreamed him long before you were born.
but i'll never let him get any older than eleven or twelve; because if i did some day he might grow up altogether and then i'd lose him."
""i know," nodded paul.
""that's the beauty of dream-people... they stay any age you want them.
you and my beautiful teacher and me myself are the only folks in the world that i know of that have dream-people.
is n't it funny and nice we should all know each other?
but i guess that kind of people always find each other out.
grandma never has dream-people and mary joe thinks i'm wrong in the upper story because i have them.
but i think it's splendid to have them.
you know, miss lavendar.
tell me all about your little dream-boy."
""he has blue eyes and curly hair.
he steals in and wakens me with a kiss every morning.
then all day he plays here in the garden... and i play with him.
such games as we have.
we run races and talk with the echoes; and i tell him stories.
and when twilight comes..." "i know," interrupted paul eagerly.
""he comes and sits beside you... so... because of course at twelve he'd be too big to climb into your lap... and lays his head on your shoulder... so... and you put your arms about him and hold him tight, tight, and rest your cheek on his head... yes, that's the very way.
oh, you do know, miss lavendar."
anne found the two of them there when she came out of the stone house, and something in miss lavendar's face made her hate to disturb them.
""i'm afraid we must go, paul, if we want to get home before dark.
miss lavendar, i'm going to invite myself to echo lodge for a whole week pretty soon."
""if you come for a week i'll keep you for two," threatened miss lavendar.
xxviii the prince comes back to the enchanted palace the last day of school came and went.
a triumphant "semi-annual examination" was held and anne's pupils acquitted themselves splendidly.
at the close they gave her an address and a writing desk.
all the girls and ladies present cried, and some of the boys had it cast up to them later on that they cried too, although they always denied it.
mrs. harmon andrews, mrs. peter sloane, and mrs. william bell walked home together and talked things over.
""i do think it is such a pity anne is leaving when the children seem so much attached to her," sighed mrs. peter sloane, who had a habit of sighing over everything and even finished off her jokes that way.
""to be sure," she added hastily, "we all know we'll have a good teacher next year too."
""jane will do her duty, i've no doubt," said mrs. andrews rather stiffly.
""i do n't suppose she'll tell the children quite so many fairy tales or spend so much time roaming about the woods with them.
but she has her name on the inspector's roll of honor and the newbridge people are in a terrible state over her leaving."
""i'm real glad anne is going to college," said mrs. bell.
""she has always wanted it and it will be a splendid thing for her."
""well, i do n't know."
mrs. andrews was determined not to agree fully with anybody that day.
""i do n't see that anne needs any more education.
she'll probably be marrying gilbert blythe, if his infatuation for her lasts till he gets through college, and what good will latin and greek do her then?
if they taught you at college how to manage a man there might be some sense in her going."
mrs. harmon andrews, so avonlea gossip whispered, had never learned how to manage her "man," and as a result the andrews household was not exactly a model of domestic happiness.
""i see that the charlottetown call to mr. allan is up before the presbytery," said mrs. bell.
""that means we'll be losing him soon, i suppose."
""they're not going before september," said mrs. sloane.
""it will be a great loss to the community... though i always did think that mrs. allan dressed rather too gay for a minister's wife.
but we are none of us perfect.
did you notice how neat and snug mr. harrison looked today?
i never saw such a changed man.
he goes to church every sunday and has subscribed to the salary."
""has n't that paul irving grown to be a big boy?"
said mrs. andrews.
""he was such a mite for his age when he came here.
i declare i hardly knew him today.
he's getting to look a lot like his father."
""he's a smart boy," said mrs. bell.
""he's smart enough, but"... mrs. andrews lowered her voice... "i believe he tells queer stories.
gracie came home from school one day last week with the greatest rigmarole he had told her about people who lived down at the shore... stories there could n't be a word of truth in, you know.
i told gracie not to believe them, and she said paul did n't intend her to.
but if he did n't what did he tell them to her for?"
""anne says paul is a genius," said mrs. sloane.
""he may be.
you never know what to expect of them americans," said mrs. andrews.
mrs. andrews" only acquaintance with the word "genius" was derived from the colloquial fashion of calling any eccentric individual "a queer genius."
she probably thought, with mary joe, that it meant a person with something wrong in his upper story.
back in the schoolroom anne was sitting alone at her desk, as she had sat on the first day of school two years before, her face leaning on her hand, her dewy eyes looking wistfully out of the window to the lake of shining waters.
her heart was so wrung over the parting with her pupils that for a moment college had lost all its charm.
she still felt the clasp of annetta bell's arms about her neck and heard the childish wail, "i'll never love any teacher as much as you, miss shirley, never, never."
for two years she had worked earnestly and faithfully, making many mistakes and learning from them.
she had had her reward.
she had taught her scholars something, but she felt that they had taught her much more... lessons of tenderness, self-control, innocent wisdom, lore of childish hearts.
perhaps she had not succeeded in "inspiring" any wonderful ambitions in her pupils, but she had taught them, more by her own sweet personality than by all her careful precepts, that it was good and necessary in the years that were before them to live their lives finely and graciously, holding fast to truth and courtesy and kindness, keeping aloof from all that savored of falsehood and meanness and vulgarity.
they were, perhaps, all unconscious of having learned such lessons; but they would remember and practice them long after they had forgotten the capital of afghanistan and the dates of the wars of the roses.
""another chapter in my life is closed," said anne aloud, as she locked her desk.
she really felt very sad over it; but the romance in the idea of that "closed chapter" did comfort her a little.
anne spent a fortnight at echo lodge early in her vacation and everybody concerned had a good time.
she took miss lavendar on a shopping expedition to town and persuaded her to buy a new organdy dress; then came the excitement of cutting and making it together, while the happy charlotta the fourth basted and swept up clippings.
miss lavendar had complained that she could not feel much interest in anything, but the sparkle came back to her eyes over her pretty dress.
""what a foolish, frivolous person i must be," she sighed.
""i'm wholesomely ashamed to think that a new dress... even it is a forget-me-not organdy... should exhilarate me so, when a good conscience and an extra contribution to foreign missions could n't do it."
midway in her visit anne went home to green gables for a day to mend the twins" stockings and settle up davy's accumulated store of questions.
in the evening she went down to the shore road to see paul irving.
as she passed by the low, square window of the irving sitting room she caught a glimpse of paul on somebody's lap; but the next moment he came flying through the hall.
""oh, miss shirley," he cried excitedly, "you ca n't think what has happened!
something so splendid.
father is here... just think of that!
father is here!
come right in.
father, this is my beautiful teacher.
you know, father."
stephen irving came forward to meet anne with a smile.
he was a tall, handsome man of middle age, with iron-gray hair, deep-set, dark blue eyes, and a strong, sad face, splendidly modeled about chin and brow.
just the face for a hero of romance, anne thought with a thrill of intense satisfaction.
it was so disappointing to meet someone who ought to be a hero and find him bald or stooped, or otherwise lacking in manly beauty.
anne would have thought it dreadful if the object of miss lavendar's romance had not looked the part.
""so this is my little son's "beautiful teacher," of whom i have heard so much," said mr. irving with a hearty handshake.
""paul's letters have been so full of you, miss shirley, that i feel as if i were pretty well acquainted with you already.
i want to thank you for what you have done for paul.
i think that your influence has been just what he needed.
mother is one of the best and dearest of women; but her robust, matter-of-fact scotch common sense could not always understand a temperament like my laddie's.
what was lacking in her you have supplied.
between you, i think paul's training in these two past years has been as nearly ideal as a motherless boy's could be."
everybody likes to be appreciated.
under mr. irving's praise anne's face "burst flower like into rosy bloom," and the busy, weary man of the world, looking at her, thought he had never seen a fairer, sweeter slip of girlhood than this little "down east" schoolteacher with her red hair and wonderful eyes.
paul sat between them blissfully happy.
""i never dreamed father was coming," he said radiantly.
""even grandma did n't know it.
it was a great surprise.
as a general thing..." paul shook his brown curls gravely... "i do n't like to be surprised.
you lose all the fun of expecting things when you're surprised.
but in a case like this it is all right.
father came last night after i had gone to bed.
and after grandma and mary joe had stopped being surprised he and grandma came upstairs to look at me, not meaning to wake me up till morning.
but i woke right up and saw father.
i tell you i just sprang at him."
""with a hug like a bear's," said mr. irving, putting his arms around paul's shoulder smilingly.
""i hardly knew my boy, he had grown so big and brown and sturdy."
""i do n't know which was the most pleased to see father, grandma or i," continued paul.
""grandma's been in kitchen all day making the things father likes to eat.
she would n't trust them to mary joe, she says.
that's her way of showing gladness.
i like best just to sit and talk to father.
but i'm going to leave you for a little while now if you'll excuse me.
i must get the cows for mary joe.
that is one of my daily duties."
when paul had scampered away to do his "daily duty" mr. irving talked to anne of various matters.
but anne felt that he was thinking of something else underneath all the time.
presently it came to the surface.
""in paul's last letter he spoke of going with you to visit an old... friend of mine... miss lewis at the stone house in grafton.
do you know her well?"
""yes, indeed, she is a very dear friend of mine," was anne's demure reply, which gave no hint of the sudden thrill that tingled over her from head to foot at mr. irving's question.
anne "felt instinctively" that romance was peeping at her around a corner.
mr. irving rose and went to the window, looking out on a great, golden, billowing sea where a wild wind was harping.
for a few moments there was silence in the little dark-walled room.
then he turned and looked down into anne's sympathetic face with a smile, half-whimsical, half-tender.
""i wonder how much you know," he said.
""i know all about it," replied anne promptly.
""you see," she explained hastily, "miss lavendar and i are very intimate.
she would n't tell things of such a sacred nature to everybody.
we are kindred spirits."
""yes, i believe you are.
well, i am going to ask a favor of you.
i would like to go and see miss lavendar if she will let me.
will you ask her if i may come?"
would she not?
oh, indeed she would!
yes, this was romance, the very, the real thing, with all the charm of rhyme and story and dream.
it was a little belated, perhaps, like a rose blooming in october which should have bloomed in june; but none the less a rose, all sweetness and fragrance, with the gleam of gold in its heart.
never did anne's feet bear her on a more willing errand than on that walk through the beechwoods to grafton the next morning.
she found miss lavendar in the garden.
anne was fearfully excited.
her hands grew cold and her voice trembled.
""miss lavendar, i have something to tell you... something very important.
can you guess what it is?"
anne never supposed that miss lavendar could guess; but miss lavendar's face grew very pale and miss lavendar said in a quiet, still voice, from which all the color and sparkle that miss lavendar's voice usually suggested had faded.
""stephen irving is home?"
""how did you know?
who told you?"
cried anne disappointedly, vexed that her great revelation had been anticipated.
""nobody.
i knew that must be it, just from the way you spoke."
""he wants to come and see you," said anne.
""may i send him word that he may?"
""yes, of course," fluttered miss lavendar.
""there is no reason why he should n't.
he is only coming as any old friend might."
anne had her own opinion about that as she hastened into the house to write a note at miss lavendar's desk.
""oh, it's delightful to be living in a storybook," she thought gaily.
""it will come out all right of course... it must... and paul will have a mother after his own heart and everybody will be happy.
but mr. irving will take miss lavendar away... and dear knows what will happen to the little stone house... and so there are two sides to it, as there seems to be to everything in this world."
the important note was written and anne herself carried it to the grafton post office, where she waylaid the mail carrier and asked him to leave it at the avonlea office.
""it's so very important," anne assured him anxiously.
the mail carrier was a rather grumpy old personage who did not at all look the part of a messenger of cupid; and anne was none too certain that his memory was to be trusted.
but he said he would do his best to remember and she had to be contented with that.
charlotta the fourth felt that some mystery pervaded the stone house that afternoon... a mystery from which she was excluded.
miss lavendar roamed about the garden in a distracted fashion.
anne, too, seemed possessed by a demon of unrest, and walked to and fro and went up and down.
charlotta the fourth endured it till patience ceased to be a virtue; then she confronted anne on the occasion of that romantic young person's third aimless peregrination through the kitchen.
""please, miss shirley, ma'am," said charlotta the fourth, with an indignant toss of her very blue bows, "it's plain to be seen you and miss lavendar have got a secret and i think, begging your pardon if i'm too forward, miss shirley, ma'am, that it's real mean not to tell me when we've all been such chums."
""oh, charlotta dear, i'd have told you all about it if it were my secret... but it's miss lavendar's, you see.
however, i'll tell you this much... and if nothing comes of it you must never breathe a word about it to a living soul.
you see, prince charming is coming tonight.
he came long ago, but in a foolish moment went away and wandered afar and forgot the secret of the magic pathway to the enchanted castle, where the princess was weeping her faithful heart out for him.
but at last he remembered it again and the princess is waiting still... because nobody but her own dear prince could carry her off."
""oh, miss shirley, ma'am, what is that in prose?"
gasped the mystified charlotta.
anne laughed.
""in prose, an old friend of miss lavendar's is coming to see her tonight."
""do you mean an old beau of hers?"
demanded the literal charlotta.
""that is probably what i do mean... in prose," answered anne gravely.
""it is paul's father... stephen irving.
and goodness knows what will come of it, but let us hope for the best, charlotta."
""i hope that he'll marry miss lavendar," was charlotta's unequivocal response.
""some women's intended from the start to be old maids, and i'm afraid i'm one of them, miss shirley, ma'am, because i've awful little patience with the men.
but miss lavendar never was.
and i've been awful worried, thinking what on earth she'd do when i got so big i'd have to go to boston.
there ai n't any more girls in our family and dear knows what she'd do if she got some stranger that might laugh at her pretendings and leave things lying round out of their place and not be willing to be called charlotta the fifth.
she might get someone who would n't be as unlucky as me in breaking dishes but she'd never get anyone who'd love her better."
and the faithful little handmaiden dashed to the oven door with a sniff.
they went through the form of having tea as usual that night at echo lodge; but nobody really ate anything.
after tea miss lavendar went to her room and put on her new forget-me-not organdy, while anne did her hair for her.
both were dreadfully excited; but miss lavendar pretended to be very calm and indifferent.
""i must really mend that rent in the curtain tomorrow," she said anxiously, inspecting it as if it were the only thing of any importance just then.
""those curtains have not worn as well as they should, considering the price i paid.
dear me, charlotta has forgotten to dust the stair railing again.
i really must speak to her about it."
anne was sitting on the porch steps when stephen irving came down the lane and across the garden.
""this is the one place where time stands still," he said, looking around him with delighted eyes.
""there is nothing changed about this house or garden since i was here twenty-five years ago.
it makes me feel young again."
""you know time always does stand still in an enchanted palace," said anne seriously.
""it is only when the prince comes that things begin to happen."
mr. irving smiled a little sadly into her uplifted face, all astar with its youth and promise.
""sometimes the prince comes too late," he said.
he did not ask anne to translate her remark into prose.
like all kindred spirits he "understood."
""oh, no, not if he is the real prince coming to the true princess," said anne, shaking her red head decidedly, as she opened the parlor door.
when he had gone in she shut it tightly behind him and turned to confront charlotta the fourth, who was in the hall, all "nods and becks and wreathed smiles."
""oh, miss shirley, ma'am," she breathed, "i peeked from the kitchen window... and he's awful handsome... and just the right age for miss lavendar.
and oh, miss shirley, ma'am, do you think it would be much harm to listen at the door?"
""it would be dreadful, charlotta," said anne firmly, "so just you come away with me out of the reach of temptation."
""i ca n't do anything, and it's awful to hang round just waiting," sighed charlotta.
""what if he do n't propose after all, miss shirley, ma'am?
you can never be sure of them men.
my older sister, charlotta the first, thought she was engaged to one once.
but it turned out he had a different opinion and she says she'll never trust one of them again.
and i heard of another case where a man thought he wanted one girl awful bad when it was really her sister he wanted all the time.
when a man do n't know his own mind, miss shirley, ma'am, how's a poor woman going to be sure of it?"
""we'll go to the kitchen and clean the silver spoons," said anne.
""that's a task which wo n't require much thinking fortunately... for i could n't think tonight.
and it will pass the time."
it passed an hour.
then, just as anne laid down the last shining spoon, they heard the front door shut.
both sought comfort fearfully in each other's eyes.
""oh, miss shirley, ma'am," gasped charlotta, "if he's going away this early there's nothing into it and never will be."
they flew to the window.
mr. irving had no intention of going away.
he and miss lavendar were strolling slowly down the middle path to the stone bench.
""oh, miss shirley, ma'am, he's got his arm around her waist," whispered charlotta the fourth delightedly.
""he must have proposed to her or she'd never allow it."
anne caught charlotta the fourth by her own plump waist and danced her around the kitchen until they were both out of breath.
""oh, charlotta," she cried gaily, "i'm neither a prophetess nor the daughter of a prophetess but i'm going to make a prediction.
there'll be a wedding in this old stone house before the maple leaves are red.
do you want that translated into prose, charlotta?"
""no, i can understand that," said charlotta.
""a wedding ai n't poetry.
why, miss shirley, ma'am, you're crying!
what for?"
""oh, because it's all so beautiful... and story bookish... and romantic... and sad," said anne, winking the tears out of her eyes.
""it's all perfectly lovely... but there's a little sadness mixed up in it too, somehow."
""oh, of course there's a resk in marrying anybody," conceded charlotta the fourth, "but, when all's said and done, miss shirley, ma'am, there's many a worse thing than a husband."
xxix poetry and prose for the next month anne lived in what, for avonlea, might be called a whirl of excitement.
the preparation of her own modest outfit for redmond was of secondary importance.
miss lavendar was getting ready to be married and the stone house was the scene of endless consultations and plannings and discussions, with charlotta the fourth hovering on the outskirts of things in agitated delight and wonder.
then the dressmaker came, and there was the rapture and wretchedness of choosing fashions and being fitted.
anne and diana spent half their time at echo lodge and there were nights when anne could not sleep for wondering whether she had done right in advising miss lavendar to select brown rather than navy blue for her traveling dress, and to have her gray silk made princess.
everybody concerned in miss lavendar's story was very happy.
paul irving rushed to green gables to talk the news over with anne as soon as his father had told him.
""i knew i could trust father to pick me out a nice little second mother," he said proudly.
""it's a fine thing to have a father you can depend on, teacher.
i just love miss lavendar.
grandma is pleased, too.
she says she's real glad father did n't pick out an american for his second wife, because, although it turned out all right the first time, such a thing would n't be likely to happen twice.
mrs. lynde says she thoroughly approves of the match and thinks its likely miss lavendar will give up her queer notions and be like other people, now that she's going to be married.
but i hope she wo n't give her queer notions up, teacher, because i like them.
and i do n't want her to be like other people.
there are too many other people around as it is.
you know, teacher."
charlotta the fourth was another radiant person.
""oh, miss shirley, ma'am, it has all turned out so beautiful.
when mr. irving and miss lavendar come back from their tower i'm to go up to boston and live with them... and me only fifteen, and the other girls never went till they were sixteen.
ai n't mr. irving splendid?
he just worships the ground she treads on and it makes me feel so queer sometimes to see the look in his eyes when he's watching her.
it beggars description, miss shirley, ma'am.
i'm awful thankful they're so fond of each other.
it's the best way, when all's said and done, though some folks can get along without it.
i've got an aunt who has been married three times and says she married the first time for love and the last two times for strictly business, and was happy with all three except at the times of the funerals.
but i think she took a resk, miss shirley, ma'am."
""oh, it's all so romantic," breathed anne to marilla that night.
""if i had n't taken the wrong path that day we went to mr. kimball's i'd never have known miss lavendar; and if i had n't met her i'd never have taken paul there... and he'd never have written to his father about visiting miss lavendar just as mr. irving was starting for san francisco.
mr. irving says whenever he got that letter he made up his mind to send his partner to san francisco and come here instead.
he had n't heard anything of miss lavendar for fifteen years.
somebody had told him then that she was to be married and he thought she was and never asked anybody anything about her.
and now everything has come right.
and i had a hand in bringing it about.
perhaps, as mrs. lynde says, everything is foreordained and it was bound to happen anyway.
but even so, it's nice to think one was an instrument used by predestination.
yes indeed, it's very romantic."
""i ca n't see that it's so terribly romantic at all," said marilla rather crisply.
marilla thought anne was too worked up about it and had plenty to do with getting ready for college without "traipsing" to echo lodge two days out of three helping miss lavendar.
""in the first place two young fools quarrel and turn sulky; then steve irving goes to the states and after a spell gets married up there and is perfectly happy from all accounts.
then his wife dies and after a decent interval he thinks he'll come home and see if his first fancy'll have him.
meanwhile, she's been living single, probably because nobody nice enough came along to want her, and they meet and agree to be married after all.
now, where is the romance in all that?"
""oh, there is n't any, when you put it that way," gasped anne, rather as if somebody had thrown cold water over her.
""i suppose that's how it looks in prose.
but it's very different if you look at it through poetry... and i think it's nicer..." anne recovered herself and her eyes shone and her cheeks flushed... "to look at it through poetry."
marilla glanced at the radiant young face and refrained from further sarcastic comments.
perhaps some realization came to her that after all it was better to have, like anne, "the vision and the faculty divine"... that gift which the world can not bestow or take away, of looking at life through some transfiguring... or revealing?
... medium, whereby everything seemed apparelled in celestial light, wearing a glory and a freshness not visible to those who, like herself and charlotta the fourth, looked at things only through prose.
""when's the wedding to be?"
she asked after a pause.
""the last wednesday in august.
they are to be married in the garden under the honeysuckle trellis... the very spot where mr. irving proposed to her twenty-five years ago.
marilla, that is romantic, even in prose.
there's to be nobody there except mrs. irving and paul and gilbert and diana and i, and miss lavendar's cousins.
and they will leave on the six o'clock train for a trip to the pacific coast.
when they come back in the fall paul and charlotta the fourth are to go up to boston to live with them.
but echo lodge is to be left just as it is... only of course they'll sell the hens and cow, and board up the windows... and every summer they're coming down to live in it.
i'm so glad.
it would have hurt me dreadfully next winter at redmond to think of that dear stone house all stripped and deserted, with empty rooms... or far worse still, with other people living in it.
but i can think of it now, just as i've always seen it, waiting happily for the summer to bring life and laughter back to it again."
there was more romance in the world than that which had fallen to the share of the middle-aged lovers of the stone house.
anne stumbled suddenly on it one evening when she went over to orchard slope by the wood cut and came out into the barry garden.
diana barry and fred wright were standing together under the big willow.
diana was leaning against the gray trunk, her lashes cast down on very crimson cheeks.
one hand was held by fred, who stood with his face bent toward her, stammering something in low earnest tones.
there were no other people in the world except their two selves at that magic moment; so neither of them saw anne, who, after one dazed glance of comprehension, turned and sped noiselessly back through the spruce wood, never stopping till she gained her own gable room, where she sat breathlessly down by her window and tried to collect her scattered wits.
""diana and fred are in love with each other," she gasped.
""oh, it does seem so... so... so hopelessly grown up."
anne, of late, had not been without her suspicions that diana was proving false to the melancholy byronic hero of her early dreams.
but as "things seen are mightier than things heard," or suspected, the realization that it was actually so came to her with almost the shock of perfect surprise.
this was succeeded by a queer, little lonely feeling... as if, somehow, diana had gone forward into a new world, shutting a gate behind her, leaving anne on the outside.
""things are changing so fast it almost frightens me," anne thought, a little sadly.
""and i'm afraid that this ca n't help making some difference between diana and me.
i'm sure i ca n't tell her all my secrets after this... she might tell fred.
and what can she see in fred?
he's very nice and jolly... but he's just fred wright."
it is always a very puzzling question... what can somebody see in somebody else?
but how fortunate after all that it is so, for if everybody saw alike... well, in that case, as the old indian said, "everybody would want my squaw."
it was plain that diana did see something in fred wright, however anne's eyes might be holden.
diana came to green gables the next evening, a pensive, shy young lady, and told anne the whole story in the dusky seclusion of the east gable.
both girls cried and kissed and laughed.
""i'm so happy," said diana, "but it does seem ridiculous to think of me being engaged."
""what is it really like to be engaged?"
asked anne curiously.
""well, that all depends on who you're engaged to," answered diana, with that maddening air of superior wisdom always assumed by those who are engaged over those who are not.
""it's perfectly lovely to be engaged to fred... but i think it would be simply horrid to be engaged to anyone else."
""there's not much comfort for the rest of us in that, seeing that there is only one fred," laughed anne.
""oh, anne, you do n't understand," said diana in vexation.
""i did n't mean that... it's so hard to explain.
never mind, you'll understand sometime, when your own turn comes."
""bless you, dearest of dianas, i understand now.
what is an imagination for if not to enable you to peep at life through other people's eyes?"
""you must be my bridesmaid, you know, anne.
promise me that... wherever you may be when i'm married."
""i'll come from the ends of the earth if necessary," promised anne solemnly.
""of course, it wo n't be for ever so long yet," said diana, blushing.
""three years at the very least... for i'm only eighteen and mother says no daughter of hers shall be married before she's twenty-one.
besides, fred's father is going to buy the abraham fletcher farm for him and he says he's got to have it two thirds paid for before he'll give it to him in his own name.
but three years is n't any too much time to get ready for housekeeping, for i have n't a speck of fancy work made yet.
but i'm going to begin crocheting doilies tomorrow.
myra gillis had thirty-seven doilies when she was married and i'm determined i shall have as many as she had."
""i suppose it would be perfectly impossible to keep house with only thirty-six doilies," conceded anne, with a solemn face but dancing eyes.
diana looked hurt.
""i did n't think you'd make fun of me, anne," she said reproachfully.
""dearest, i was n't making fun of you," cried anne repentantly.
""i was only teasing you a bit.
i think you'll make the sweetest little housekeeper in the world.
and i think it's perfectly lovely of you to be planning already for your home o'dreams."
anne had no sooner uttered the phrase, "home o'dreams," than it captivated her fancy and she immediately began the erection of one of her own.
it was, of course, tenanted by an ideal master, dark, proud, and melancholy; but oddly enough, gilbert blythe persisted in hanging about too, helping her arrange pictures, lay out gardens, and accomplish sundry other tasks which a proud and melancholy hero evidently considered beneath his dignity.
anne tried to banish gilbert's image from her castle in spain but, somehow, he went on being there, so anne, being in a hurry, gave up the attempt and pursued her aerial architecture with such success that her "home o'dreams" was built and furnished before diana spoke again.
""i suppose, anne, you must think it's funny i should like fred so well when he's so different from the kind of man i've always said i would marry... the tall, slender kind?
but somehow i would n't want fred to be tall and slender... because, do n't you see, he would n't be fred then.
of course," added diana rather dolefully, "we will be a dreadfully pudgy couple.
but after all that's better than one of us being short and fat and the other tall and lean, like morgan sloane and his wife.
mrs. lynde says it always makes her think of the long and short of it when she sees them together."
""well," said anne to herself that night, as she brushed her hair before her gilt framed mirror, "i am glad diana is so happy and satisfied.
but when my turn comes... if it ever does... i do hope there'll be something a little more thrilling about it.
but then diana thought so too, once.
i've heard her say time and again she'd never get engaged any poky commonplace way... he'd have to do something splendid to win her.
but she has changed.
perhaps i'll change too.
but i wo n't... and i'm determined i wo n't.
oh, i think these engagements are dreadfully unsettling things when they happen to your intimate friends."
xxx a wedding at the stone house the last week in august came.
miss lavendar was to be married in it.
two weeks later anne and gilbert would leave for redmond college.
in a week's time mrs. rachel lynde would move to green gables and set up her lares and penates in the erstwhile spare room, which was already prepared for her coming.
she had sold all her superfluous household plenishings by auction and was at present reveling in the congenial occupation of helping the allans pack up.
mr. allan was to preach his farewell sermon the next sunday.
the old order was changing rapidly to give place to the new, as anne felt with a little sadness threading all her excitement and happiness.
""changes ai n't totally pleasant but they're excellent things," said mr. harrison philosophically.
""two years is about long enough for things to stay exactly the same.
if they stayed put any longer they might grow mossy."
mr. harrison was smoking on his veranda.
his wife had self-sacrificingly told that he might smoke in the house if he took care to sit by an open window.
mr. harrison rewarded this concession by going outdoors altogether to smoke in fine weather, and so mutual goodwill reigned.
anne had come over to ask mrs. harrison for some of her yellow dahlias.
she and diana were going through to echo lodge that evening to help miss lavendar and charlotta the fourth with their final preparations for the morrow's bridal.
miss lavendar herself never had dahlias; she did not like them and they would not have suited the fine retirement of her old-fashioned garden.
but flowers of any kind were rather scarce in avonlea and the neighboring districts that summer, thanks to uncle abe's storm; and anne and diana thought that a certain old cream-colored stone jug, usually kept sacred to doughnuts, brimmed over with yellow dahlias, would be just the thing to set in a dim angle of the stone house stairs, against the dark background of red hall paper.
""i s "pose you'll be starting off for college in a fortnight's time?"
continued mr. harrison.
""well, we're going to miss you an awful lot, emily and me.
to be sure, mrs. lynde'll be over there in your place.
there ai n't nobody but a substitute can be found for them."
the irony of mr. harrison's tone is quite untransferable to paper.
in spite of his wife's intimacy with mrs. lynde, the best that could be said of the relationship between her and mr. harrison even under the new regime, was that they preserved an armed neutrality.
""yes, i'm going," said anne.
""i'm very glad with my head... and very sorry with my heart."
""i s "pose you'll be scooping up all the honors that are lying round loose at redmond."
""i may try for one or two of them," confessed anne, "but i do n't care so much for things like that as i did two years ago.
what i want to get out of my college course is some knowledge of the best way of living life and doing the most and best with it.
i want to learn to understand and help other people and myself."
mr. harrison nodded.
""that's the idea exactly.
that's what college ought to be for, instead of for turning out a lot of b.a.'s, so chock full of book-learning and vanity that there ai n't room for anything else.
you're all right.
college wo n't be able to do you much harm, i reckon."
diana and anne drove over to echo lodge after tea, taking with them all the flowery spoil that several predatory expeditions in their own and their neighbors" gardens had yielded.
they found the stone house agog with excitement.
charlotta the fourth was flying around with such vim and briskness that her blue bows seemed really to possess the power of being everywhere at once.
like the helmet of navarre, charlotta's blue bows waved ever in the thickest of the fray.
""praise be to goodness you've come," she said devoutly, "for there's heaps of things to do... and the frosting on that cake wo n't harden... and there's all the silver to be rubbed up yet... and the horsehair trunk to be packed... and the roosters for the chicken salad are running out there beyant the henhouse yet, crowing, miss shirley, ma'am.
and miss lavendar ai n't to be trusted to do a thing.
i was thankful when mr. irving came a few minutes ago and took her off for a walk in the woods.
courting's all right in its place, miss shirley, ma'am, but if you try to mix it up with cooking and scouring everything's spoiled.
that's my opinion, miss shirley, ma'am."
anne and diana worked so heartily that by ten o'clock even charlotta the fourth was satisfied.
she braided her hair in innumerable plaits and took her weary little bones off to bed.
""but i'm sure i sha n't sleep a blessed wink, miss shirley, ma'am, for fear that something'll go wrong at the last minute... the cream wo n't whip... or mr. irving'll have a stroke and not be able to come."
""he is n't in the habit of having strokes, is he?"
asked diana, the dimpled corners of her mouth twitching.
to diana, charlotta the fourth was, if not exactly a thing of beauty, certainly a joy forever.
""they're not things that go by habit," said charlotta the fourth with dignity.
""they just happen... and there you are.
anybody can have a stroke.
you do n't have to learn how.
mr. irving looks a lot like an uncle of mine that had one once just as he was sitting down to dinner one day.
but maybe everything'll go all right.
in this world you've just got to hope for the best and prepare for the worst and take whatever god sends."
""the only thing i'm worried about is that it wo n't be fine tomorrow," said diana.
""uncle abe predicted rain for the middle of the week, and ever since the big storm i ca n't help believing there's a good deal in what uncle abe says."
anne, who knew better than diana just how much uncle abe had to do with the storm, was not much disturbed by this.
she slept the sleep of the just and weary, and was roused at an unearthly hour by charlotta the fourth.
""oh, miss shirley, ma'am, it's awful to call you so early," came wailing through the keyhole, "but there's so much to do yet... and oh, miss shirley, ma'am, i'm skeered it's going to rain and i wish you'd get up and tell me you think it ai n't."
anne flew to the window, hoping against hope that charlotta the fourth was saying this merely by way of rousing her effectually.
but alas, the morning did look unpropitious.
below the window miss lavendar's garden, which should have been a glory of pale virgin sunshine, lay dim and windless; and the sky over the firs was dark with moody clouds.
""is n't it too mean!"
said diana.
""we must hope for the best," said anne determinedly.
""if it only does n't actually rain, a cool, pearly gray day like this would really be nicer than hot sunshine."
""but it will rain," mourned charlotta, creeping into the room, a figure of fun, with her many braids wound about her head, the ends, tied up with white thread, sticking out in all directions.
""it'll hold off till the last minute and then pour cats and dogs.
and all the folks will get sopping... and track mud all over the house... and they wo n't be able to be married under the honeysuckle... and it's awful unlucky for no sun to shine on a bride, say what you will, miss shirley, ma'am.
i knew things were going too well to last."
charlotta the fourth seemed certainly to have borrowed a leaf out of miss eliza andrews" book.
it did not rain, though it kept on looking as if it meant to.
by noon the rooms were decorated, the table beautifully laid; and upstairs was waiting a bride, "adorned for her husband."
""you do look sweet," said anne rapturously.
""lovely," echoed diana.
""everything's ready, miss shirley, ma'am, and nothing dreadful has happened yet," was charlotta's cheerful statement as she betook herself to her little back room to dress.
out came all the braids; the resultant rampant crinkliness was plaited into two tails and tied, not with two bows alone, but with four, of brand-new ribbon, brightly blue.
the two upper bows rather gave the impression of overgrown wings sprouting from charlotta's neck, somewhat after the fashion of raphael's cherubs.
but charlotta the fourth thought them very beautiful, and after she had rustled into a white dress, so stiffly starched that it could stand alone, she surveyed herself in her glass with great satisfaction... a satisfaction which lasted until she went out in the hall and caught a glimpse through the spare room door of a tall girl in some softly clinging gown, pinning white, star-like flowers on the smooth ripples of her ruddy hair.
""oh, i'll never be able to look like miss shirley," thought poor charlotta despairingly.
""you just have to be born so, i guess... do n't seem's if any amount of practice could give you that air."
by one o'clock the guests had come, including mr. and mrs. allan, for mr. allan was to perform the ceremony in the absence of the grafton minister on his vacation.
there was no formality about the marriage.
miss lavendar came down the stairs to meet her bridegroom at the foot, and as he took her hand she lifted her big brown eyes to his with a look that made charlotta the fourth, who intercepted it, feel queerer than ever.
they went out to the honeysuckle arbor, where mr. allan was awaiting them.
the guests grouped themselves as they pleased.
anne and diana stood by the old stone bench, with charlotta the fourth between them, desperately clutching their hands in her cold, tremulous little paws.
mr. allan opened his blue book and the ceremony proceeded.
just as miss lavendar and stephen irving were pronounced man and wife a very beautiful and symbolic thing happened.
the sun suddenly burst through the gray and poured a flood of radiance on the happy bride.
instantly the garden was alive with dancing shadows and flickering lights.
""what a lovely omen," thought anne, as she ran to kiss the bride.
then the three girls left the rest of the guests laughing around the bridal pair while they flew into the house to see that all was in readiness for the feast.
""thanks be to goodness, it's over, miss shirley, ma'am," breathed charlotta the fourth, "and they're married safe and sound, no matter what happens now.
the bags of rice are in the pantry, ma'am, and the old shoes are behind the door, and the cream for whipping is on the sullar steps."
at half past two mr. and mrs. irving left, and everybody went to bright river to see them off on the afternoon train.
as miss lavendar... i beg her pardon, mrs. irving... stepped from the door of her old home gilbert and the girls threw the rice and charlotta the fourth hurled an old shoe with such excellent aim that she struck mr. allan squarely on the head.
but it was reserved for paul to give the prettiest send-off.
he popped out of the porch ringing furiously a huge old brass dinner bell which had adorned the dining room mantel.
paul's only motive was to make a joyful noise; but as the clangor died away, from point and curve and hill across the river came the chime of "fairy wedding bells," ringing clearly, sweetly, faintly and more faint, as if miss lavendar's beloved echoes were bidding her greeting and farewell.
and so, amid this benediction of sweet sounds, miss lavendar drove away from the old life of dreams and make-believes to a fuller life of realities in the busy world beyond.
two hours later anne and charlotta the fourth came down the lane again.
gilbert had gone to west grafton on an errand and diana had to keep an engagement at home.
anne and charlotta had come back to put things in order and lock up the little stone house.
the garden was a pool of late golden sunshine, with butterflies hovering and bees booming; but the little house had already that indefinable air of desolation which always follows a festivity.
""oh dear me, do n't it look lonesome?"
sniffed charlotta the fourth, who had been crying all the way home from the station.
""a wedding ai n't much cheerfuller than a funeral after all, when it's all over, miss shirley, ma'am."
a busy evening followed.
the decorations had to be removed, the dishes washed, the uneaten delicacies packed into a basket for the delectation of charlotta the fourth's young brothers at home.
anne would not rest until everything was in apple-pie order; after charlotta had gone home with her plunder anne went over the still rooms, feeling like one who trod alone some banquet hall deserted, and closed the blinds.
then she locked the door and sat down under the silver poplar to wait for gilbert, feeling very tired but still unweariedly thinking "long, long thoughts."
""what are you thinking of, anne?"
asked gilbert, coming down the walk.
he had left his horse and buggy out at the road.
""of miss lavendar and mr. irving," answered anne dreamily.
""is n't it beautiful to think how everything has turned out... how they have come together again after all the years of separation and misunderstanding?"
""yes, it's beautiful," said gilbert, looking steadily down into anne's uplifted face, "but would n't it have been more beautiful still, anne, if there had been no separation or misunderstanding... if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?"
for a moment anne's heart fluttered queerly and for the first time her eyes faltered under gilbert's gaze and a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face.
it was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities.
perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one's life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one's side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps... perhaps... love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.
then the veil dropped again; but the anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same anne who had driven gaily down it the evening before.
the page of girlhood had been turned, as by an unseen finger, and the page of womanhood was before her with all its charm and mystery, its pain and gladness.
gilbert wisely said nothing more; but in his silence he read the history of the next four years in the light of anne's remembered blush.
four years of earnest, happy work... and then the guerdon of a useful knowledge gained and a sweet heart won.
behind them in the garden the little stone house brooded among the shadows.
it was lonely but not forsaken.
it had not yet done with dreams and laughter and the joy of life; there were to be future summers for the little stone house; meanwhile, it could wait.
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___anne_of_green_gables.txt.out
chapter i. mrs. rachel lynde is surprised mrs. rachel lynde lived just where the avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies" eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached lynde's hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past mrs. rachel lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that mrs. rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof.
there are plenty of people in avonlea and out of it, who can attend closely to their neighbor's business by dint of neglecting their own; but mrs. rachel lynde was one of those capable creatures who can manage their own concerns and those of other folks into the bargain.
she was a notable housewife; her work was always done and well done; she "ran" the sewing circle, helped run the sunday-school, and was the strongest prop of the church aid society and foreign missions auxiliary.
yet with all this mrs. rachel found abundant time to sit for hours at her kitchen window, knitting "cotton warp" quilts -- she had knitted sixteen of them, as avonlea housekeepers were wont to tell in awed voices -- and keeping a sharp eye on the main road that crossed the hollow and wound up the steep red hill beyond.
since avonlea occupied a little triangular peninsula jutting out into the gulf of st. lawrence with water on two sides of it, anybody who went out of it or into it had to pass over that hill road and so run the unseen gauntlet of mrs. rachel's all-seeing eye.
she was sitting there one afternoon in early june.
the sun was coming in at the window warm and bright; the orchard on the slope below the house was in a bridal flush of pinky-white bloom, hummed over by a myriad of bees.
thomas lynde -- a meek little man whom avonlea people called "rachel lynde's husband" -- was sowing his late turnip seed on the hill field beyond the barn; and matthew cuthbert ought to have been sowing his on the big red brook field away over by green gables.
mrs. rachel knew that he ought because she had heard him tell peter morrison the evening before in william j. blair's store over at carmody that he meant to sow his turnip seed the next afternoon.
peter had asked him, of course, for matthew cuthbert had never been known to volunteer information about anything in his whole life.
and yet here was matthew cuthbert, at half-past three on the afternoon of a busy day, placidly driving over the hollow and up the hill; moreover, he wore a white collar and his best suit of clothes, which was plain proof that he was going out of avonlea; and he had the buggy and the sorrel mare, which betokened that he was going a considerable distance.
now, where was matthew cuthbert going and why was he going there?
had it been any other man in avonlea, mrs. rachel, deftly putting this and that together, might have given a pretty good guess as to both questions.
but matthew so rarely went from home that it must be something pressing and unusual which was taking him; he was the shyest man alive and hated to have to go among strangers or to any place where he might have to talk.
matthew, dressed up with a white collar and driving in a buggy, was something that did n't happen often.
mrs. rachel, ponder as she might, could make nothing of it and her afternoon's enjoyment was spoiled.
""i'll just step over to green gables after tea and find out from marilla where he's gone and why," the worthy woman finally concluded.
""he does n't generally go to town this time of year and he never visits; if he'd run out of turnip seed he would n't dress up and take the buggy to go for more; he was n't driving fast enough to be going for a doctor.
yet something must have happened since last night to start him off.
i'm clean puzzled, that's what, and i wo n't know a minute's peace of mind or conscience until i know what has taken matthew cuthbert out of avonlea today."
accordingly after tea mrs. rachel set out; she had not far to go; the big, rambling, orchard-embowered house where the cuthberts lived was a scant quarter of a mile up the road from lynde's hollow.
to be sure, the long lane made it a good deal further.
matthew cuthbert's father, as shy and silent as his son after him, had got as far away as he possibly could from his fellow men without actually retreating into the woods when he founded his homestead.
green gables was built at the furthest edge of his cleared land and there it was to this day, barely visible from the main road along which all the other avonlea houses were so sociably situated.
mrs. rachel lynde did not call living in such a place living at all.
""it's just staying, that's what," she said as she stepped along the deep-rutted, grassy lane bordered with wild rose bushes.
""it's no wonder matthew and marilla are both a little odd, living away back here by themselves.
trees are n't much company, though dear knows if they were there'd be enough of them.
i'd ruther look at people.
to be sure, they seem contented enough; but then, i suppose, they're used to it.
a body can get used to anything, even to being hanged, as the irishman said."
with this mrs. rachel stepped out of the lane into the backyard of green gables.
very green and neat and precise was that yard, set about on one side with great patriarchal willows and the other with prim lombardies.
not a stray stick nor stone was to be seen, for mrs. rachel would have seen it if there had been.
privately she was of the opinion that marilla cuthbert swept that yard over as often as she swept her house.
one could have eaten a meal off the ground without overbrimming the proverbial peck of dirt.
mrs. rachel rapped smartly at the kitchen door and stepped in when bidden to do so.
the kitchen at green gables was a cheerful apartment -- or would have been cheerful if it had not been so painfully clean as to give it something of the appearance of an unused parlor.
its windows looked east and west; through the west one, looking out on the back yard, came a flood of mellow june sunlight; but the east one, whence you got a glimpse of the bloom white cherry-trees in the left orchard and nodding, slender birches down in the hollow by the brook, was greened over by a tangle of vines.
here sat marilla cuthbert, when she sat at all, always slightly distrustful of sunshine, which seemed to her too dancing and irresponsible a thing for a world which was meant to be taken seriously; and here she sat now, knitting, and the table behind her was laid for supper.
mrs. rachel, before she had fairly closed the door, had taken a mental note of everything that was on that table.
there were three plates laid, so that marilla must be expecting some one home with matthew to tea; but the dishes were everyday dishes and there was only crab-apple preserves and one kind of cake, so that the expected company could not be any particular company.
yet what of matthew's white collar and the sorrel mare?
mrs. rachel was getting fairly dizzy with this unusual mystery about quiet, unmysterious green gables.
""good evening, rachel," marilla said briskly.
""this is a real fine evening, is n't it?
wo n't you sit down?
how are all your folks?"
something that for lack of any other name might be called friendship existed and always had existed between marilla cuthbert and mrs. rachel, in spite of -- or perhaps because of -- their dissimilarity.
marilla was a tall, thin woman, with angles and without curves; her dark hair showed some gray streaks and was always twisted up in a hard little knot behind with two wire hairpins stuck aggressively through it.
she looked like a woman of narrow experience and rigid conscience, which she was; but there was a saving something about her mouth which, if it had been ever so slightly developed, might have been considered indicative of a sense of humor.
""we're all pretty well," said mrs. rachel.
""i was kind of afraid you were n't, though, when i saw matthew starting off today.
i thought maybe he was going to the doctor's."
marilla's lips twitched understandingly.
she had expected mrs. rachel up; she had known that the sight of matthew jaunting off so unaccountably would be too much for her neighbor's curiosity.
""oh, no, i'm quite well although i had a bad headache yesterday," she said.
""matthew went to bright river.
we're getting a little boy from an orphan asylum in nova scotia and he's coming on the train tonight."
if marilla had said that matthew had gone to bright river to meet a kangaroo from australia mrs. rachel could not have been more astonished.
she was actually stricken dumb for five seconds.
it was unsupposable that marilla was making fun of her, but mrs. rachel was almost forced to suppose it.
""are you in earnest, marilla?"
she demanded when voice returned to her.
""yes, of course," said marilla, as if getting boys from orphan asylums in nova scotia were part of the usual spring work on any well-regulated avonlea farm instead of being an unheard of innovation.
mrs. rachel felt that she had received a severe mental jolt.
she thought in exclamation points.
a boy!
marilla and matthew cuthbert of all people adopting a boy!
from an orphan asylum!
well, the world was certainly turning upside down!
she would be surprised at nothing after this!
nothing!
""what on earth put such a notion into your head?"
she demanded disapprovingly.
this had been done without her advice being asked, and must perforce be disapproved.
""well, we've been thinking about it for some time -- all winter in fact," returned marilla.
""mrs. alexander spencer was up here one day before christmas and she said she was going to get a little girl from the asylum over in hopeton in the spring.
her cousin lives there and mrs. spencer has visited here and knows all about it.
so matthew and i have talked it over off and on ever since.
we thought we'd get a boy.
matthew is getting up in years, you know -- he's sixty -- and he is n't so spry as he once was.
his heart troubles him a good deal.
and you know how desperate hard it's got to be to get hired help.
there's never anybody to be had but those stupid, half-grown little french boys; and as soon as you do get one broke into your ways and taught something he's up and off to the lobster canneries or the states.
at first matthew suggested getting a home boy.
but i said "no" flat to that.
"they may be all right -- i'm not saying they're not -- but no london street arabs for me," i said.
"give me a native born at least.
there'll be a risk, no matter who we get.
but i'll feel easier in my mind and sleep sounder at nights if we get a born canadian."
so in the end we decided to ask mrs. spencer to pick us out one when she went over to get her little girl.
we heard last week she was going, so we sent her word by richard spencer's folks at carmody to bring us a smart, likely boy of about ten or eleven.
we decided that would be the best age -- old enough to be of some use in doing chores right off and young enough to be trained up proper.
we mean to give him a good home and schooling.
we had a telegram from mrs. alexander spencer today -- the mail-man brought it from the station -- saying they were coming on the five-thirty train tonight.
so matthew went to bright river to meet him.
mrs. spencer will drop him off there.
of course she goes on to white sands station herself."
mrs. rachel prided herself on always speaking her mind; she proceeded to speak it now, having adjusted her mental attitude to this amazing piece of news.
""well, marilla, i'll just tell you plain that i think you're doing a mighty foolish thing -- a risky thing, that's what.
you do n't know what you're getting.
you're bringing a strange child into your house and home and you do n't know a single thing about him nor what his disposition is like nor what sort of parents he had nor how he's likely to turn out.
why, it was only last week i read in the paper how a man and his wife up west of the island took a boy out of an orphan asylum and he set fire to the house at night -- set it on purpose, marilla -- and nearly burnt them to a crisp in their beds.
and i know another case where an adopted boy used to suck the eggs -- they could n't break him of it.
if you had asked my advice in the matter -- which you did n't do, marilla -- i'd have said for mercy's sake not to think of such a thing, that's what."
this job's comforting seemed neither to offend nor to alarm marilla.
she knitted steadily on.
""i do n't deny there's something in what you say, rachel.
i've had some qualms myself.
but matthew was terrible set on it.
i could see that, so i gave in.
it's so seldom matthew sets his mind on anything that when he does i always feel it's my duty to give in.
and as for the risk, there's risks in pretty near everything a body does in this world.
there's risks in people's having children of their own if it comes to that -- they do n't always turn out well.
and then nova scotia is right close to the island.
it is n't as if we were getting him from england or the states.
he ca n't be much different from ourselves."
""well, i hope it will turn out all right," said mrs. rachel in a tone that plainly indicated her painful doubts.
""only do n't say i did n't warn you if he burns green gables down or puts strychnine in the well -- i heard of a case over in new brunswick where an orphan asylum child did that and the whole family died in fearful agonies.
only, it was a girl in that instance."
""well, we're not getting a girl," said marilla, as if poisoning wells were a purely feminine accomplishment and not to be dreaded in the case of a boy.
""i'd never dream of taking a girl to bring up.
i wonder at mrs. alexander spencer for doing it.
but there, she would n't shrink from adopting a whole orphan asylum if she took it into her head."
mrs. rachel would have liked to stay until matthew came home with his imported orphan.
but reflecting that it would be a good two hours at least before his arrival she concluded to go up the road to robert bell's and tell the news.
it would certainly make a sensation second to none, and mrs. rachel dearly loved to make a sensation.
so she took herself away, somewhat to marilla's relief, for the latter felt her doubts and fears reviving under the influence of mrs. rachel's pessimism.
""well, of all things that ever were or will be!"
ejaculated mrs. rachel when she was safely out in the lane.
""it does really seem as if i must be dreaming.
well, i'm sorry for that poor young one and no mistake.
matthew and marilla do n't know anything about children and they'll expect him to be wiser and steadier that his own grandfather, if so be's he ever had a grandfather, which is doubtful.
it seems uncanny to think of a child at green gables somehow; there's never been one there, for matthew and marilla were grown up when the new house was built -- if they ever were children, which is hard to believe when one looks at them.
i would n't be in that orphan's shoes for anything.
my, but i pity him, that's what."
so said mrs. rachel to the wild rose bushes out of the fulness of her heart; but if she could have seen the child who was waiting patiently at the bright river station at that very moment her pity would have been still deeper and more profound.
chapter ii.
matthew cuthbert is surprised matthew cuthbert and the sorrel mare jogged comfortably over the eight miles to bright river.
it was a pretty road, running along between snug farmsteads, with now and again a bit of balsamy fir wood to drive through or a hollow where wild plums hung out their filmy bloom.
the air was sweet with the breath of many apple orchards and the meadows sloped away in the distance to horizon mists of pearl and purple; while "the little birds sang as if it were the one day of summer in all the year."
matthew enjoyed the drive after his own fashion, except during the moments when he met women and had to nod to them -- for in prince edward island you are supposed to nod to all and sundry you meet on the road whether you know them or not.
matthew dreaded all women except marilla and mrs. rachel; he had an uncomfortable feeling that the mysterious creatures were secretly laughing at him.
he may have been quite right in thinking so, for he was an odd-looking personage, with an ungainly figure and long iron-gray hair that touched his stooping shoulders, and a full, soft brown beard which he had worn ever since he was twenty.
in fact, he had looked at twenty very much as he looked at sixty, lacking a little of the grayness.
when he reached bright river there was no sign of any train; he thought he was too early, so he tied his horse in the yard of the small bright river hotel and went over to the station house.
the long platform was almost deserted; the only living creature in sight being a girl who was sitting on a pile of shingles at the extreme end.
matthew, barely noting that it was a girl, sidled past her as quickly as possible without looking at her.
had he looked he could hardly have failed to notice the tense rigidity and expectation of her attitude and expression.
she was sitting there waiting for something or somebody and, since sitting and waiting was the only thing to do just then, she sat and waited with all her might and main.
matthew encountered the stationmaster locking up the ticket office preparatory to going home for supper, and asked him if the five-thirty train would soon be along.
""the five-thirty train has been in and gone half an hour ago," answered that brisk official.
""but there was a passenger dropped off for you -- a little girl.
she's sitting out there on the shingles.
i asked her to go into the ladies" waiting room, but she informed me gravely that she preferred to stay outside.
"there was more scope for imagination," she said.
she's a case, i should say."
""i'm not expecting a girl," said matthew blankly.
""it's a boy i've come for.
he should be here.
mrs. alexander spencer was to bring him over from nova scotia for me."
the stationmaster whistled.
""guess there's some mistake," he said.
""mrs. spencer came off the train with that girl and gave her into my charge.
said you and your sister were adopting her from an orphan asylum and that you would be along for her presently.
that's all i know about it -- and i have n't got any more orphans concealed hereabouts."
""i do n't understand," said matthew helplessly, wishing that marilla was at hand to cope with the situation.
""well, you'd better question the girl," said the station-master carelessly.
""i dare say she'll be able to explain -- she's got a tongue of her own, that's certain.
maybe they were out of boys of the brand you wanted."
he walked jauntily away, being hungry, and the unfortunate matthew was left to do that which was harder for him than bearding a lion in its den -- walk up to a girl -- a strange girl -- an orphan girl -- and demand of her why she was n't a boy.
matthew groaned in spirit as he turned about and shuffled gently down the platform towards her.
she had been watching him ever since he had passed her and she had her eyes on him now.
matthew was not looking at her and would not have seen what she was really like if he had been, but an ordinary observer would have seen this: a child of about eleven, garbed in a very short, very tight, very ugly dress of yellowish-gray wincey.
she wore a faded brown sailor hat and beneath the hat, extending down her back, were two braids of very thick, decidedly red hair.
her face was small, white and thin, also much freckled; her mouth was large and so were her eyes, which looked green in some lights and moods and gray in others.
so far, the ordinary observer; an extraordinary observer might have seen that the chin was very pointed and pronounced; that the big eyes were full of spirit and vivacity; that the mouth was sweet-lipped and expressive; that the forehead was broad and full; in short, our discerning extraordinary observer might have concluded that no commonplace soul inhabited the body of this stray woman-child of whom shy matthew cuthbert was so ludicrously afraid.
matthew, however, was spared the ordeal of speaking first, for as soon as she concluded that he was coming to her she stood up, grasping with one thin brown hand the handle of a shabby, old-fashioned carpet-bag; the other she held out to him.
""i suppose you are mr. matthew cuthbert of green gables?"
she said in a peculiarly clear, sweet voice.
""i'm very glad to see you.
i was beginning to be afraid you were n't coming for me and i was imagining all the things that might have happened to prevent you.
i had made up my mind that if you did n't come for me to-night i'd go down the track to that big wild cherry-tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay all night.
i would n't be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, do n't you think?
you could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, could n't you?
and i was quite sure you would come for me in the morning, if you did n't to-night."
matthew had taken the scrawny little hand awkwardly in his; then and there he decided what to do.
he could not tell this child with the glowing eyes that there had been a mistake; he would take her home and let marilla do that.
she could n't be left at bright river anyhow, no matter what mistake had been made, so all questions and explanations might as well be deferred until he was safely back at green gables.
""i'm sorry i was late," he said shyly.
""come along.
the horse is over in the yard.
give me your bag."
""oh, i can carry it," the child responded cheerfully.
""it is n't heavy.
i've got all my worldly goods in it, but it is n't heavy.
and if it is n't carried in just a certain way the handle pulls out -- so i'd better keep it because i know the exact knack of it.
it's an extremely old carpet-bag.
oh, i'm very glad you've come, even if it would have been nice to sleep in a wild cherry-tree.
we've got to drive a long piece, have n't we?
mrs. spencer said it was eight miles.
i'm glad because i love driving.
oh, it seems so wonderful that i'm going to live with you and belong to you.
i've never belonged to anybody -- not really.
but the asylum was the worst.
i've only been in it four months, but that was enough.
i do n't suppose you ever were an orphan in an asylum, so you ca n't possibly understand what it is like.
it's worse than anything you could imagine.
mrs. spencer said it was wicked of me to talk like that, but i did n't mean to be wicked.
it's so easy to be wicked without knowing it, is n't it?
they were good, you know -- the asylum people.
but there is so little scope for the imagination in an asylum -- only just in the other orphans.
it was pretty interesting to imagine things about them -- to imagine that perhaps the girl who sat next to you was really the daughter of a belted earl, who had been stolen away from her parents in her infancy by a cruel nurse who died before she could confess.
i used to lie awake at nights and imagine things like that, because i did n't have time in the day.
i guess that's why i'm so thin -- i am dreadful thin, ai n't i?
there is n't a pick on my bones.
i do love to imagine i'm nice and plump, with dimples in my elbows."
with this matthew's companion stopped talking, partly because she was out of breath and partly because they had reached the buggy.
not another word did she say until they had left the village and were driving down a steep little hill, the road part of which had been cut so deeply into the soft soil, that the banks, fringed with blooming wild cherry-trees and slim white birches, were several feet above their heads.
the child put out her hand and broke off a branch of wild plum that brushed against the side of the buggy.
""is n't that beautiful?
what did that tree, leaning out from the bank, all white and lacy, make you think of?"
she asked.
""well now, i dunno," said matthew.
""why, a bride, of course -- a bride all in white with a lovely misty veil.
i've never seen one, but i can imagine what she would look like.
i do n't ever expect to be a bride myself.
i'm so homely nobody will ever want to marry me -- unless it might be a foreign missionary.
i suppose a foreign missionary might n't be very particular.
but i do hope that some day i shall have a white dress.
that is my highest ideal of earthly bliss.
i just love pretty clothes.
and i've never had a pretty dress in my life that i can remember -- but of course it's all the more to look forward to, is n't it?
and then i can imagine that i'm dressed gorgeously.
this morning when i left the asylum i felt so ashamed because i had to wear this horrid old wincey dress.
all the orphans had to wear them, you know.
a merchant in hopeton last winter donated three hundred yards of wincey to the asylum.
some people said it was because he could n't sell it, but i'd rather believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart, would n't you?
when we got on the train i felt as if everybody must be looking at me and pitying me.
but i just went to work and imagined that i had on the most beautiful pale blue silk dress -- because when you are imagining you might as well imagine something worth while -- and a big hat all flowers and nodding plumes, and a gold watch, and kid gloves and boots.
i felt cheered up right away and i enjoyed my trip to the island with all my might.
i was n't a bit sick coming over in the boat.
neither was mrs. spencer although she generally is.
she said she had n't time to get sick, watching to see that i did n't fall overboard.
she said she never saw the beat of me for prowling about.
but if it kept her from being seasick it's a mercy i did prowl, is n't it?
and i wanted to see everything that was to be seen on that boat, because i did n't know whether i'd ever have another opportunity.
oh, there are a lot more cherry-trees all in bloom!
this island is the bloomiest place.
i just love it already, and i'm so glad i'm going to live here.
i've always heard that prince edward island was the prettiest place in the world, and i used to imagine i was living here, but i never really expected i would.
it's delightful when your imaginations come true, is n't it?
but those red roads are so funny.
when we got into the train at charlottetown and the red roads began to flash past i asked mrs. spencer what made them red and she said she did n't know and for pity's sake not to ask her any more questions.
she said i must have asked her a thousand already.
i suppose i had, too, but how you going to find out about things if you do n't ask questions?
and what does make the roads red?"
""well now, i dunno," said matthew.
""well, that is one of the things to find out sometime.
is n't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about?
it just makes me feel glad to be alive -- it's such an interesting world.
it would n't be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it?
there'd be no scope for imagination then, would there?
but am i talking too much?
people are always telling me i do.
would you rather i did n't talk?
if you say so i'll stop.
i can stop when i make up my mind to it, although it's difficult."
matthew, much to his own surprise, was enjoying himself.
like most quiet folks he liked talkative people when they were willing to do the talking themselves and did not expect him to keep up his end of it.
but he had never expected to enjoy the society of a little girl.
women were bad enough in all conscience, but little girls were worse.
he detested the way they had of sidling past him timidly, with sidewise glances, as if they expected him to gobble them up at a mouthful if they ventured to say a word.
that was the avonlea type of well-bred little girl.
but this freckled witch was very different, and although he found it rather difficult for his slower intelligence to keep up with her brisk mental processes he thought that he "kind of liked her chatter."
so he said as shyly as usual: "oh, you can talk as much as you like.
i do n't mind."
""oh, i'm so glad.
i know you and i are going to get along together fine.
it's such a relief to talk when one wants to and not be told that children should be seen and not heard.
i've had that said to me a million times if i have once.
and people laugh at me because i use big words.
but if you have big ideas you have to use big words to express them, have n't you?"
""well now, that seems reasonable," said matthew.
""mrs. spencer said that my tongue must be hung in the middle.
but it is n't -- it's firmly fastened at one end.
mrs. spencer said your place was named green gables.
i asked her all about it.
and she said there were trees all around it.
i was gladder than ever.
i just love trees.
and there were n't any at all about the asylum, only a few poor weeny-teeny things out in front with little whitewashed cagey things about them.
they just looked like orphans themselves, those trees did.
it used to make me want to cry to look at them.
i used to say to them, "oh, you poor little things!
if you were out in a great big woods with other trees all around you and little mosses and junebells growing over your roots and a brook not far away and birds singing in you branches, you could grow, could n't you?
but you ca n't where you are.
i know just exactly how you feel, little trees."
i felt sorry to leave them behind this morning.
you do get so attached to things like that, do n't you?
is there a brook anywhere near green gables?
i forgot to ask mrs. spencer that."
""well now, yes, there's one right below the house."
""fancy.
it's always been one of my dreams to live near a brook.
i never expected i would, though.
dreams do n't often come true, do they?
would n't it be nice if they did?
but just now i feel pretty nearly perfectly happy.
i ca n't feel exactly perfectly happy because -- well, what color would you call this?"
she twitched one of her long glossy braids over her thin shoulder and held it up before matthew's eyes.
matthew was not used to deciding on the tints of ladies" tresses, but in this case there could n't be much doubt.
""it's red, ai n't it?"
he said.
the girl let the braid drop back with a sigh that seemed to come from her very toes and to exhale forth all the sorrows of the ages.
""yes, it's red," she said resignedly.
""now you see why i ca n't be perfectly happy.
nobody could who has red hair.
i do n't mind the other things so much -- the freckles and the green eyes and my skinniness.
i can imagine them away.
i can imagine that i have a beautiful rose-leaf complexion and lovely starry violet eyes.
but i can not imagine that red hair away.
i do my best.
i think to myself, "now my hair is a glorious black, black as the raven's wing."
but all the time i know it is just plain red and it breaks my heart.
it will be my lifelong sorrow.
i read of a girl once in a novel who had a lifelong sorrow but it was n't red hair.
her hair was pure gold rippling back from her alabaster brow.
what is an alabaster brow?
i never could find out.
can you tell me?"
""well now, i'm afraid i ca n't," said matthew, who was getting a little dizzy.
he felt as he had once felt in his rash youth when another boy had enticed him on the merry-go-round at a picnic.
""well, whatever it was it must have been something nice because she was divinely beautiful.
have you ever imagined what it must feel like to be divinely beautiful?"
""well now, no, i have n't," confessed matthew ingenuously.
""i have, often.
which would you rather be if you had the choice -- divinely beautiful or dazzlingly clever or angelically good?"
""well now, i -- i do n't know exactly."
""neither do i. i can never decide.
but it does n't make much real difference for it is n't likely i'll ever be either.
it's certain i'll never be angelically good.
mrs. spencer says -- oh, mr. cuthbert!
oh, mr. cuthbert!!
oh, mr. cuthbert!!!"
that was not what mrs. spencer had said; neither had the child tumbled out of the buggy nor had matthew done anything astonishing.
they had simply rounded a curve in the road and found themselves in the "avenue."
the "avenue," so called by the newbridge people, was a stretch of road four or five hundred yards long, completely arched over with huge, wide-spreading apple-trees, planted years ago by an eccentric old farmer.
overhead was one long canopy of snowy fragrant bloom.
below the boughs the air was full of a purple twilight and far ahead a glimpse of painted sunset sky shone like a great rose window at the end of a cathedral aisle.
its beauty seemed to strike the child dumb.
she leaned back in the buggy, her thin hands clasped before her, her face lifted rapturously to the white splendor above.
even when they had passed out and were driving down the long slope to newbridge she never moved or spoke.
still with rapt face she gazed afar into the sunset west, with eyes that saw visions trooping splendidly across that glowing background.
through newbridge, a bustling little village where dogs barked at them and small boys hooted and curious faces peered from the windows, they drove, still in silence.
when three more miles had dropped away behind them the child had not spoken.
she could keep silence, it was evident, as energetically as she could talk.
""i guess you're feeling pretty tired and hungry," matthew ventured to say at last, accounting for her long visitation of dumbness with the only reason he could think of.
""but we have n't very far to go now -- only another mile."
she came out of her reverie with a deep sigh and looked at him with the dreamy gaze of a soul that had been wondering afar, star-led.
""oh, mr. cuthbert," she whispered, "that place we came through -- that white place -- what was it?"
""well now, you must mean the avenue," said matthew after a few moments" profound reflection.
""it is a kind of pretty place."
""pretty?
oh, pretty does n't seem the right word to use.
nor beautiful, either.
they do n't go far enough.
oh, it was wonderful -- wonderful.
it's the first thing i ever saw that could n't be improved upon by imagination.
it just satisfies me here" -- she put one hand on her breast -- "it made a queer funny ache and yet it was a pleasant ache.
did you ever have an ache like that, mr. cuthbert?"
""well now, i just ca n't recollect that i ever had."
""i have it lots of time -- whenever i see anything royally beautiful.
but they should n't call that lovely place the avenue.
there is no meaning in a name like that.
they should call it -- let me see -- the white way of delight.
is n't that a nice imaginative name?
when i do n't like the name of a place or a person i always imagine a new one and always think of them so.
there was a girl at the asylum whose name was hepzibah jenkins, but i always imagined her as rosalia devere.
other people may call that place the avenue, but i shall always call it the white way of delight.
have we really only another mile to go before we get home?
i'm glad and i'm sorry.
i'm sorry because this drive has been so pleasant and i'm always sorry when pleasant things end.
something still pleasanter may come after, but you can never be sure.
and it's so often the case that it is n't pleasanter.
that has been my experience anyhow.
but i'm glad to think of getting home.
you see, i've never had a real home since i can remember.
it gives me that pleasant ache again just to think of coming to a really truly home.
oh, is n't that pretty!"
they had driven over the crest of a hill.
below them was a pond, looking almost like a river so long and winding was it.
a bridge spanned it midway and from there to its lower end, where an amber-hued belt of sand-hills shut it in from the dark blue gulf beyond, the water was a glory of many shifting hues -- the most spiritual shadings of crocus and rose and ethereal green, with other elusive tintings for which no name has ever been found.
above the bridge the pond ran up into fringing groves of fir and maple and lay all darkly translucent in their wavering shadows.
here and there a wild plum leaned out from the bank like a white-clad girl tip-toeing to her own reflection.
from the marsh at the head of the pond came the clear, mournfully-sweet chorus of the frogs.
there was a little gray house peering around a white apple orchard on a slope beyond and, although it was not yet quite dark, a light was shining from one of its windows.
""that's barry's pond," said matthew.
""oh, i do n't like that name, either.
i shall call it -- let me see -- the lake of shining waters.
yes, that is the right name for it.
i know because of the thrill.
when i hit on a name that suits exactly it gives me a thrill.
do things ever give you a thrill?"
matthew ruminated.
""well now, yes.
it always kind of gives me a thrill to see them ugly white grubs that spade up in the cucumber beds.
i hate the look of them."
""oh, i do n't think that can be exactly the same kind of a thrill.
do you think it can?
there does n't seem to be much connection between grubs and lakes of shining waters, does there?
but why do other people call it barry's pond?"
""i reckon because mr. barry lives up there in that house.
orchard slope's the name of his place.
if it was n't for that big bush behind it you could see green gables from here.
but we have to go over the bridge and round by the road, so it's near half a mile further."
""has mr. barry any little girls?
well, not so very little either -- about my size."
""he's got one about eleven.
her name is diana."
""oh!"
with a long indrawing of breath.
""what a perfectly lovely name!"
""well now, i dunno.
there's something dreadful heathenish about it, seems to me.
i'd ruther jane or mary or some sensible name like that.
but when diana was born there was a schoolmaster boarding there and they gave him the naming of her and he called her diana."
""i wish there had been a schoolmaster like that around when i was born, then.
oh, here we are at the bridge.
i'm going to shut my eyes tight.
i'm always afraid going over bridges.
i ca n't help imagining that perhaps just as we get to the middle, they'll crumple up like a jack-knife and nip us.
so i shut my eyes.
but i always have to open them for all when i think we're getting near the middle.
because, you see, if the bridge did crumple up i'd want to see it crumple.
what a jolly rumble it makes!
i always like the rumble part of it.
is n't it splendid there are so many things to like in this world?
there we're over.
now i'll look back.
good night, dear lake of shining waters.
i always say good night to the things i love, just as i would to people.
i think they like it.
that water looks as if it was smiling at me."
when they had driven up the further hill and around a corner matthew said: "we're pretty near home now.
that's green gables over --" "oh, do n't tell me," she interrupted breathlessly, catching at his partially raised arm and shutting her eyes that she might not see his gesture.
""let me guess.
i'm sure i'll guess right."
she opened her eyes and looked about her.
they were on the crest of a hill.
the sun had set some time since, but the landscape was still clear in the mellow afterlight.
to the west a dark church spire rose up against a marigold sky.
below was a little valley and beyond a long, gently-rising slope with snug farmsteads scattered along it.
from one to another the child's eyes darted, eager and wistful.
at last they lingered on one away to the left, far back from the road, dimly white with blossoming trees in the twilight of the surrounding woods.
over it, in the stainless southwest sky, a great crystal-white star was shining like a lamp of guidance and promise.
""that's it, is n't it?"
she said, pointing.
matthew slapped the reins on the sorrel's back delightedly.
""well now, you've guessed it!
but i reckon mrs. spencer described it so's you could tell."
""no, she did n't -- really she did n't.
all she said might just as well have been about most of those other places.
i had n't any real idea what it looked like.
but just as soon as i saw it i felt it was home.
oh, it seems as if i must be in a dream.
do you know, my arm must be black and blue from the elbow up, for i've pinched myself so many times today.
every little while a horrible sickening feeling would come over me and i'd be so afraid it was all a dream.
then i'd pinch myself to see if it was real -- until suddenly i remembered that even supposing it was only a dream i'd better go on dreaming as long as i could; so i stopped pinching.
but it is real and we're nearly home."
with a sigh of rapture she relapsed into silence.
matthew stirred uneasily.
he felt glad that it would be marilla and not he who would have to tell this waif of the world that the home she longed for was not to be hers after all.
they drove over lynde's hollow, where it was already quite dark, but not so dark that mrs. rachel could not see them from her window vantage, and up the hill and into the long lane of green gables.
by the time they arrived at the house matthew was shrinking from the approaching revelation with an energy he did not understand.
it was not of marilla or himself he was thinking of the trouble this mistake was probably going to make for them, but of the child's disappointment.
when he thought of that rapt light being quenched in her eyes he had an uncomfortable feeling that he was going to assist at murdering something -- much the same feeling that came over him when he had to kill a lamb or calf or any other innocent little creature.
the yard was quite dark as they turned into it and the poplar leaves were rustling silkily all round it.
""listen to the trees talking in their sleep," she whispered, as he lifted her to the ground.
""what nice dreams they must have!"
then, holding tightly to the carpet-bag which contained "all her worldly goods," she followed him into the house.
chapter iii.
marilla cuthbert is surprised marilla came briskly forward as matthew opened the door.
but when her eyes fell of the odd little figure in the stiff, ugly dress, with the long braids of red hair and the eager, luminous eyes, she stopped short in amazement.
""matthew cuthbert, who's that?"
she ejaculated.
""where is the boy?"
""there was n't any boy," said matthew wretchedly.
""there was only her."
he nodded at the child, remembering that he had never even asked her name.
""no boy!
but there must have been a boy," insisted marilla.
""we sent word to mrs. spencer to bring a boy."
""well, she did n't.
she brought her.
i asked the station-master.
and i had to bring her home.
she could n't be left there, no matter where the mistake had come in."
""well, this is a pretty piece of business!"
ejaculated marilla.
during this dialogue the child had remained silent, her eyes roving from one to the other, all the animation fading out of her face.
suddenly she seemed to grasp the full meaning of what had been said.
dropping her precious carpet-bag she sprang forward a step and clasped her hands.
""you do n't want me!"
she cried.
""you do n't want me because i'm not a boy!
i might have expected it.
nobody ever did want me.
i might have known it was all too beautiful to last.
i might have known nobody really did want me.
oh, what shall i do?
i'm going to burst into tears!"
burst into tears she did.
sitting down on a chair by the table, flinging her arms out upon it, and burying her face in them, she proceeded to cry stormily.
marilla and matthew looked at each other deprecatingly across the stove.
neither of them knew what to say or do.
finally marilla stepped lamely into the breach.
""well, well, there's no need to cry so about it."
""yes, there is need!"
the child raised her head quickly, revealing a tear-stained face and trembling lips.
""you would cry, too, if you were an orphan and had come to a place you thought was going to be home and found that they did n't want you because you were n't a boy.
oh, this is the most tragical thing that ever happened to me!"
something like a reluctant smile, rather rusty from long disuse, mellowed marilla's grim expression.
""well, do n't cry any more.
we're not going to turn you out-of-doors to-night.
you'll have to stay here until we investigate this affair.
what's your name?"
the child hesitated for a moment.
""will you please call me cordelia?"
she said eagerly.
""call you cordelia?
is that your name?"
""no-o-o, it's not exactly my name, but i would love to be called cordelia.
it's such a perfectly elegant name."
""i do n't know what on earth you mean.
if cordelia is n't your name, what is?"
""anne shirley," reluctantly faltered forth the owner of that name, "but, oh, please do call me cordelia.
it ca n't matter much to you what you call me if i'm only going to be here a little while, can it?
and anne is such an unromantic name."
""unromantic fiddlesticks!"
said the unsympathetic marilla.
""anne is a real good plain sensible name.
you've no need to be ashamed of it."
""oh, i'm not ashamed of it," explained anne, "only i like cordelia better.
i've always imagined that my name was cordelia -- at least, i always have of late years.
when i was young i used to imagine it was geraldine, but i like cordelia better now.
but if you call me anne please call me anne spelled with an e." "what difference does it make how it's spelled?"
asked marilla with another rusty smile as she picked up the teapot.
""oh, it makes such a difference.
it looks so much nicer.
when you hear a name pronounced ca n't you always see it in your mind, just as if it was printed out?
i can; and a-n-n looks dreadful, but a-n-n-e looks so much more distinguished.
if you'll only call me anne spelled with an e i shall try to reconcile myself to not being called cordelia."
""very well, then, anne spelled with an e, can you tell us how this mistake came to be made?
we sent word to mrs. spencer to bring us a boy.
were there no boys at the asylum?"
""oh, yes, there was an abundance of them.
but mrs. spencer said distinctly that you wanted a girl about eleven years old.
and the matron said she thought i would do.
you do n't know how delighted i was.
i could n't sleep all last night for joy.
oh," she added reproachfully, turning to matthew, "why did n't you tell me at the station that you did n't want me and leave me there?
if i had n't seen the white way of delight and the lake of shining waters it would n't be so hard."
""what on earth does she mean?"
demanded marilla, staring at matthew.
""she -- she's just referring to some conversation we had on the road," said matthew hastily.
""i'm going out to put the mare in, marilla.
have tea ready when i come back."
""did mrs. spencer bring anybody over besides you?"
continued marilla when matthew had gone out.
""she brought lily jones for herself.
lily is only five years old and she is very beautiful and had nut-brown hair.
if i was very beautiful and had nut-brown hair would you keep me?"
""no.
we want a boy to help matthew on the farm.
a girl would be of no use to us.
take off your hat.
i'll lay it and your bag on the hall table."
anne took off her hat meekly.
matthew came back presently and they sat down to supper.
but anne could not eat.
in vain she nibbled at the bread and butter and pecked at the crab-apple preserve out of the little scalloped glass dish by her plate.
she did not really make any headway at all.
""you're not eating anything," said marilla sharply, eying her as if it were a serious shortcoming.
anne sighed.
""i ca n't.
i'm in the depths of despair.
can you eat when you are in the depths of despair?"
""i've never been in the depths of despair, so i ca n't say," responded marilla.
""were n't you?
well, did you ever try to imagine you were in the depths of despair?"
""no, i did n't."
""then i do n't think you can understand what it's like.
it's very uncomfortable feeling indeed.
when you try to eat a lump comes right up in your throat and you ca n't swallow anything, not even if it was a chocolate caramel.
i had one chocolate caramel once two years ago and it was simply delicious.
i've often dreamed since then that i had a lot of chocolate caramels, but i always wake up just when i'm going to eat them.
i do hope you wo n't be offended because i ca n't eat.
everything is extremely nice, but still i can not eat."
""i guess she's tired," said matthew, who had n't spoken since his return from the barn.
""best put her to bed, marilla."
marilla had been wondering where anne should be put to bed.
she had prepared a couch in the kitchen chamber for the desired and expected boy.
but, although it was neat and clean, it did not seem quite the thing to put a girl there somehow.
but the spare room was out of the question for such a stray waif, so there remained only the east gable room.
marilla lighted a candle and told anne to follow her, which anne spiritlessly did, taking her hat and carpet-bag from the hall table as she passed.
the hall was fearsomely clean; the little gable chamber in which she presently found herself seemed still cleaner.
marilla set the candle on a three-legged, three-cornered table and turned down the bedclothes.
""i suppose you have a nightgown?"
she questioned.
anne nodded.
""yes, i have two.
the matron of the asylum made them for me.
they're fearfully skimpy.
there is never enough to go around in an asylum, so things are always skimpy -- at least in a poor asylum like ours.
i hate skimpy night-dresses.
but one can dream just as well in them as in lovely trailing ones, with frills around the neck, that's one consolation."
""well, undress as quick as you can and go to bed.
i'll come back in a few minutes for the candle.
i dare n't trust you to put it out yourself.
you'd likely set the place on fire."
when marilla had gone anne looked around her wistfully.
the whitewashed walls were so painfully bare and staring that she thought they must ache over their own bareness.
the floor was bare, too, except for a round braided mat in the middle such as anne had never seen before.
in one corner was the bed, a high, old-fashioned one, with four dark, low-turned posts.
in the other corner was the aforesaid three-corner table adorned with a fat, red velvet pin-cushion hard enough to turn the point of the most adventurous pin.
above it hung a little six-by-eight mirror.
midway between table and bed was the window, with an icy white muslin frill over it, and opposite it was the wash-stand.
the whole apartment was of a rigidity not to be described in words, but which sent a shiver to the very marrow of anne's bones.
with a sob she hastily discarded her garments, put on the skimpy nightgown and sprang into bed where she burrowed face downward into the pillow and pulled the clothes over her head.
when marilla came up for the light various skimpy articles of raiment scattered most untidily over the floor and a certain tempestuous appearance of the bed were the only indications of any presence save her own.
she deliberately picked up anne's clothes, placed them neatly on a prim yellow chair, and then, taking up the candle, went over to the bed.
""good night," she said, a little awkwardly, but not unkindly.
anne's white face and big eyes appeared over the bedclothes with a startling suddenness.
""how can you call it a good night when you know it must be the very worst night i've ever had?"
she said reproachfully.
then she dived down into invisibility again.
marilla went slowly down to the kitchen and proceeded to wash the supper dishes.
matthew was smoking -- a sure sign of perturbation of mind.
he seldom smoked, for marilla set her face against it as a filthy habit; but at certain times and seasons he felt driven to it and them marilla winked at the practice, realizing that a mere man must have some vent for his emotions.
""well, this is a pretty kettle of fish," she said wrathfully.
""this is what comes of sending word instead of going ourselves.
richard spencer's folks have twisted that message somehow.
one of us will have to drive over and see mrs. spencer tomorrow, that's certain.
this girl will have to be sent back to the asylum."
""yes, i suppose so," said matthew reluctantly.
""you suppose so!
do n't you know it?"
""well now, she's a real nice little thing, marilla.
it's kind of a pity to send her back when she's so set on staying here."
""matthew cuthbert, you do n't mean to say you think we ought to keep her!"
marilla's astonishment could not have been greater if matthew had expressed a predilection for standing on his head.
""well, now, no, i suppose not -- not exactly," stammered matthew, uncomfortably driven into a corner for his precise meaning.
""i suppose -- we could hardly be expected to keep her."
""i should say not.
what good would she be to us?"
""we might be some good to her," said matthew suddenly and unexpectedly.
""matthew cuthbert, i believe that child has bewitched you!
i can see as plain as plain that you want to keep her."
""well now, she's a real interesting little thing," persisted matthew.
""you should have heard her talk coming from the station."
""oh, she can talk fast enough.
i saw that at once.
it's nothing in her favour, either.
i do n't like children who have so much to say.
i do n't want an orphan girl and if i did she is n't the style i'd pick out.
there's something i do n't understand about her.
no, she's got to be despatched straight-way back to where she came from."
""i could hire a french boy to help me," said matthew, "and she'd be company for you."
""i'm not suffering for company," said marilla shortly.
""and i'm not going to keep her."
""well now, it's just as you say, of course, marilla," said matthew rising and putting his pipe away.
""i'm going to bed."
to bed went matthew.
and to bed, when she had put her dishes away, went marilla, frowning most resolutely.
and up-stairs, in the east gable, a lonely, heart-hungry, friendless child cried herself to sleep.
chapter iv.
morning at green gables it was broad daylight when anne awoke and sat up in bed, staring confusedly at the window through which a flood of cheery sunshine was pouring and outside of which something white and feathery waved across glimpses of blue sky.
for a moment she could not remember where she was.
first came a delightful thrill, as something very pleasant; then a horrible remembrance.
this was green gables and they did n't want her because she was n't a boy!
but it was morning and, yes, it was a cherry-tree in full bloom outside of her window.
with a bound she was out of bed and across the floor.
she pushed up the sash -- it went up stiffly and creakily, as if it had n't been opened for a long time, which was the case; and it stuck so tight that nothing was needed to hold it up.
anne dropped on her knees and gazed out into the june morning, her eyes glistening with delight.
oh, was n't it beautiful?
was n't it a lovely place?
suppose she was n't really going to stay here!
she would imagine she was.
there was scope for imagination here.
a huge cherry-tree grew outside, so close that its boughs tapped against the house, and it was so thick-set with blossoms that hardly a leaf was to be seen.
on both sides of the house was a big orchard, one of apple-trees and one of cherry-trees, also showered over with blossoms; and their grass was all sprinkled with dandelions.
in the garden below were lilac-trees purple with flowers, and their dizzily sweet fragrance drifted up to the window on the morning wind.
below the garden a green field lush with clover sloped down to the hollow where the brook ran and where scores of white birches grew, upspringing airily out of an undergrowth suggestive of delightful possibilities in ferns and mosses and woodsy things generally.
beyond it was a hill, green and feathery with spruce and fir; there was a gap in it where the gray gable end of the little house she had seen from the other side of the lake of shining waters was visible.
off to the left were the big barns and beyond them, away down over green, low-sloping fields, was a sparkling blue glimpse of sea.
anne's beauty-loving eyes lingered on it all, taking everything greedily in.
she had looked on so many unlovely places in her life, poor child; but this was as lovely as anything she had ever dreamed.
she knelt there, lost to everything but the loveliness around her, until she was startled by a hand on her shoulder.
marilla had come in unheard by the small dreamer.
""it's time you were dressed," she said curtly.
marilla really did not know how to talk to the child, and her uncomfortable ignorance made her crisp and curt when she did not mean to be.
anne stood up and drew a long breath.
""oh, is n't it wonderful?"
she said, waving her hand comprehensively at the good world outside.
""it's a big tree," said marilla, "and it blooms great, but the fruit do n't amount to much never -- small and wormy."
""oh, i do n't mean just the tree; of course it's lovely -- yes, it's radiantly lovely -- it blooms as if it meant it -- but i meant everything, the garden and the orchard and the brook and the woods, the whole big dear world.
do n't you feel as if you just loved the world on a morning like this?
and i can hear the brook laughing all the way up here.
have you ever noticed what cheerful things brooks are?
they're always laughing.
even in winter-time i've heard them under the ice.
i'm so glad there's a brook near green gables.
perhaps you think it does n't make any difference to me when you're not going to keep me, but it does.
i shall always like to remember that there is a brook at green gables even if i never see it again.
if there was n't a brook i'd be haunted by the uncomfortable feeling that there ought to be one.
i'm not in the depths of despair this morning.
i never can be in the morning.
is n't it a splendid thing that there are mornings?
but i feel very sad.
i've just been imagining that it was really me you wanted after all and that i was to stay here for ever and ever.
it was a great comfort while it lasted.
but the worst of imagining things is that the time comes when you have to stop and that hurts."
""you'd better get dressed and come down-stairs and never mind your imaginings," said marilla as soon as she could get a word in edgewise.
""breakfast is waiting.
wash your face and comb your hair.
leave the window up and turn your bedclothes back over the foot of the bed.
be as smart as you can."
anne could evidently be smart to some purpose for she was down-stairs in ten minutes" time, with her clothes neatly on, her hair brushed and braided, her face washed, and a comfortable consciousness pervading her soul that she had fulfilled all marilla's requirements.
as a matter of fact, however, she had forgotten to turn back the bedclothes.
""i'm pretty hungry this morning," she announced as she slipped into the chair marilla placed for her.
""the world does n't seem such a howling wilderness as it did last night.
i'm so glad it's a sunshiny morning.
but i like rainy mornings real well, too.
all sorts of mornings are interesting, do n't you think?
you do n't know what's going to happen through the day, and there's so much scope for imagination.
but i'm glad it's not rainy today because it's easier to be cheerful and bear up under affliction on a sunshiny day.
i feel that i have a good deal to bear up under.
it's all very well to read about sorrows and imagine yourself living through them heroically, but it's not so nice when you really come to have them, is it?"
""for pity's sake hold your tongue," said marilla.
""you talk entirely too much for a little girl."
thereupon anne held her tongue so obediently and thoroughly that her continued silence made marilla rather nervous, as if in the presence of something not exactly natural.
matthew also held his tongue, -- but this was natural, -- so that the meal was a very silent one.
as it progressed anne became more and more abstracted, eating mechanically, with her big eyes fixed unswervingly and unseeingly on the sky outside the window.
this made marilla more nervous than ever; she had an uncomfortable feeling that while this odd child's body might be there at the table her spirit was far away in some remote airy cloudland, borne aloft on the wings of imagination.
who would want such a child about the place?
yet matthew wished to keep her, of all unaccountable things!
marilla felt that he wanted it just as much this morning as he had the night before, and that he would go on wanting it.
that was matthew's way -- take a whim into his head and cling to it with the most amazing silent persistency -- a persistency ten times more potent and effectual in its very silence than if he had talked it out.
when the meal was ended anne came out of her reverie and offered to wash the dishes.
""can you wash dishes right?"
asked marilla distrustfully.
""pretty well.
i'm better at looking after children, though.
i've had so much experience at that.
it's such a pity you have n't any here for me to look after."
""i do n't feel as if i wanted any more children to look after than i've got at present.
you're problem enough in all conscience.
what's to be done with you i do n't know.
matthew is a most ridiculous man."
""i think he's lovely," said anne reproachfully.
""he is so very sympathetic.
he did n't mind how much i talked -- he seemed to like it.
i felt that he was a kindred spirit as soon as ever i saw him."
""you're both queer enough, if that's what you mean by kindred spirits," said marilla with a sniff.
""yes, you may wash the dishes.
take plenty of hot water, and be sure you dry them well.
i've got enough to attend to this morning for i'll have to drive over to white sands in the afternoon and see mrs. spencer.
you'll come with me and we'll settle what's to be done with you.
after you've finished the dishes go up-stairs and make your bed."
anne washed the dishes deftly enough, as marilla who kept a sharp eye on the process, discerned.
later on she made her bed less successfully, for she had never learned the art of wrestling with a feather tick.
but is was done somehow and smoothed down; and then marilla, to get rid of her, told her she might go out-of-doors and amuse herself until dinner time.
anne flew to the door, face alight, eyes glowing.
on the very threshold she stopped short, wheeled about, came back and sat down by the table, light and glow as effectually blotted out as if some one had clapped an extinguisher on her.
""what's the matter now?"
demanded marilla.
""i do n't dare go out," said anne, in the tone of a martyr relinquishing all earthly joys.
""if i ca n't stay here there is no use in my loving green gables.
and if i go out there and get acquainted with all those trees and flowers and the orchard and the brook i'll not be able to help loving it.
it's hard enough now, so i wo n't make it any harder.
i want to go out so much -- everything seems to be calling to me, "anne, anne, come out to us.
anne, anne, we want a playmate" -- but it's better not.
there is no use in loving things if you have to be torn from them, is there?
and it's so hard to keep from loving things, is n't it?
that was why i was so glad when i thought i was going to live here.
i thought i'd have so many things to love and nothing to hinder me.
but that brief dream is over.
i am resigned to my fate now, so i do n't think i'll go out for fear i'll get unresigned again.
what is the name of that geranium on the window-sill, please?"
""that's the apple-scented geranium."
""oh, i do n't mean that sort of a name.
i mean just a name you gave it yourself.
did n't you give it a name?
may i give it one then?
may i call it -- let me see -- bonny would do -- may i call it bonny while i'm here?
oh, do let me!"
""goodness, i do n't care.
but where on earth is the sense of naming a geranium?"
""oh, i like things to have handles even if they are only geraniums.
it makes them seem more like people.
how do you know but that it hurts a geranium's feelings just to be called a geranium and nothing else?
you would n't like to be called nothing but a woman all the time.
yes, i shall call it bonny.
i named that cherry-tree outside my bedroom window this morning.
i called it snow queen because it was so white.
of course, it wo n't always be in blossom, but one can imagine that it is, ca n't one?"
""i never in all my life saw or heard anything to equal her," muttered marilla, beating a retreat down to the cellar after potatoes.
""she is kind of interesting as matthew says.
i can feel already that i'm wondering what on earth she'll say next.
she'll be casting a spell over me, too.
she's cast it over matthew.
that look he gave me when he went out said everything he said or hinted last night over again.
i wish he was like other men and would talk things out.
a body could answer back then and argue him into reason.
but what's to be done with a man who just looks?"
anne had relapsed into reverie, with her chin in her hands and her eyes on the sky, when marilla returned from her cellar pilgrimage.
there marilla left her until the early dinner was on the table.
""i suppose i can have the mare and buggy this afternoon, matthew?"
said marilla.
matthew nodded and looked wistfully at anne.
marilla intercepted the look and said grimly: "i'm going to drive over to white sands and settle this thing.
i'll take anne with me and mrs. spencer will probably make arrangements to send her back to nova scotia at once.
i'll set your tea out for you and i'll be home in time to milk the cows."
still matthew said nothing and marilla had a sense of having wasted words and breath.
there is nothing more aggravating than a man who wo n't talk back -- unless it is a woman who wo n't.
matthew hitched the sorrel into the buggy in due time and marilla and anne set off.
matthew opened the yard gate for them and as they drove slowly through, he said, to nobody in particular as it seemed: "little jerry buote from the creek was here this morning, and i told him i guessed i'd hire him for the summer."
marilla made no reply, but she hit the unlucky sorrel such a vicious clip with the whip that the fat mare, unused to such treatment, whizzed indignantly down the lane at an alarming pace.
marilla looked back once as the buggy bounced along and saw that aggravating matthew leaning over the gate, looking wistfully after them.
chapter v. anne's history "do you know," said anne confidentially, "i've made up my mind to enjoy this drive.
it's been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will.
of course, you must make it up firmly.
i am not going to think about going back to the asylum while we're having our drive.
i'm just going to think about the drive.
oh, look, there's one little early wild rose out!
is n't it lovely?
do n't you think it must be glad to be a rose?
would n't it be nice if roses could talk?
i'm sure they could tell us such lovely things.
and is n't pink the most bewitching color in the world?
i love it, but i ca n't wear it.
redheaded people ca n't wear pink, not even in imagination.
did you ever know of anybody whose hair was red when she was young, but got to be another color when she grew up?"
""no, i do n't know as i ever did," said marilla mercilessly, "and i should n't think it likely to happen in your case either."
anne sighed.
""well, that is another hope gone.
"my life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes."
that's a sentence i read in a book once, and i say it over to comfort myself whenever i'm disappointed in anything."
""i do n't see where the comforting comes in myself," said marilla.
""why, because it sounds so nice and romantic, just as if i were a heroine in a book, you know.
i am so fond of romantic things, and a graveyard full of buried hopes is about as romantic a thing as one can imagine is n't it?
i'm rather glad i have one.
are we going across the lake of shining waters today?"
""we're not going over barry's pond, if that's what you mean by your lake of shining waters.
we're going by the shore road."
""shore road sounds nice," said anne dreamily.
""is it as nice as it sounds?
just when you said "shore road" i saw it in a picture in my mind, as quick as that!
and white sands is a pretty name, too; but i do n't like it as well as avonlea.
avonlea is a lovely name.
it just sounds like music.
how far is it to white sands?"
""it's five miles; and as you're evidently bent on talking you might as well talk to some purpose by telling me what you know about yourself."
""oh, what i know about myself is n't really worth telling," said anne eagerly.
""if you'll only let me tell you what i imagine about myself you'll think it ever so much more interesting."
""no, i do n't want any of your imaginings.
just you stick to bald facts.
begin at the beginning.
where were you born and how old are you?"
""i was eleven last march," said anne, resigning herself to bald facts with a little sigh.
""and i was born in bolingbroke, nova scotia.
my father's name was walter shirley, and he was a teacher in the bolingbroke high school.
my mother's name was bertha shirley.
are n't walter and bertha lovely names?
i'm so glad my parents had nice names.
it would be a real disgrace to have a father named -- well, say jedediah, would n't it?"
""i guess it does n't matter what a person's name is as long as he behaves himself," said marilla, feeling herself called upon to inculcate a good and useful moral.
""well, i do n't know."
anne looked thoughtful.
""i read in a book once that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but i've never been able to believe it.
i do n't believe a rose would be as nice if it was called a thistle or a skunk cabbage.
i suppose my father could have been a good man even if he had been called jedediah; but i'm sure it would have been a cross.
well, my mother was a teacher in the high school, too, but when she married father she gave up teaching, of course.
a husband was enough responsibility.
mrs. thomas said that they were a pair of babies and as poor as church mice.
they went to live in a weeny-teeny little yellow house in bolingbroke.
i've never seen that house, but i've imagined it thousands of times.
i think it must have had honeysuckle over the parlor window and lilacs in the front yard and lilies of the valley just inside the gate.
yes, and muslin curtains in all the windows.
muslin curtains give a house such an air.
i was born in that house.
mrs. thomas said i was the homeliest baby she ever saw, i was so scrawny and tiny and nothing but eyes, but that mother thought i was perfectly beautiful.
i should think a mother would be a better judge than a poor woman who came in to scrub, would n't you?
i'm glad she was satisfied with me anyhow, i would feel so sad if i thought i was a disappointment to her -- because she did n't live very long after that, you see.
she died of fever when i was just three months old.
i do wish she'd lived long enough for me to remember calling her mother.
i think it would be so sweet to say "mother," do n't you?
and father died four days afterwards from fever too.
that left me an orphan and folks were at their wits" end, so mrs. thomas said, what to do with me.
you see, nobody wanted me even then.
it seems to be my fate.
father and mother had both come from places far away and it was well known they had n't any relatives living.
finally mrs. thomas said she'd take me, though she was poor and had a drunken husband.
she brought me up by hand.
do you know if there is anything in being brought up by hand that ought to make people who are brought up that way better than other people?
because whenever i was naughty mrs. thomas would ask me how i could be such a bad girl when she had brought me up by hand -- reproachful-like.
""mr. and mrs. thomas moved away from bolingbroke to marysville, and i lived with them until i was eight years old.
i helped look after the thomas children -- there were four of them younger than me -- and i can tell you they took a lot of looking after.
then mr. thomas was killed falling under a train and his mother offered to take mrs. thomas and the children, but she did n't want me.
mrs. thomas was at her wits" end, so she said, what to do with me.
then mrs. hammond from up the river came down and said she'd take me, seeing i was handy with children, and i went up the river to live with her in a little clearing among the stumps.
it was a very lonesome place.
i'm sure i could never have lived there if i had n't had an imagination.
mr. hammond worked a little sawmill up there, and mrs. hammond had eight children.
she had twins three times.
i like babies in moderation, but twins three times in succession is too much.
i told mrs. hammond so firmly, when the last pair came.
i used to get so dreadfully tired carrying them about.
""i lived up river with mrs. hammond over two years, and then mr. hammond died and mrs. hammond broke up housekeeping.
she divided her children among her relatives and went to the states.
i had to go to the asylum at hopeton, because nobody would take me.
they did n't want me at the asylum, either; they said they were over-crowded as it was.
but they had to take me and i was there four months until mrs. spencer came."
anne finished up with another sigh, of relief this time.
evidently she did not like talking about her experiences in a world that had not wanted her.
""did you ever go to school?"
demanded marilla, turning the sorrel mare down the shore road.
""not a great deal.
i went a little the last year i stayed with mrs. thomas.
when i went up river we were so far from a school that i could n't walk it in winter and there was a vacation in summer, so i could only go in the spring and fall.
but of course i went while i was at the asylum.
i can read pretty well and i know ever so many pieces of poetry off by heart -- "the battle of hohenlinden" and "edinburgh after flodden," and "bingen of the rhine," and most of the "lady of the lake" and most of "the seasons" by james thompson.
do n't you just love poetry that gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back?
there is a piece in the fifth reader -- "the downfall of poland" -- that is just full of thrills.
of course, i was n't in the fifth reader -- i was only in the fourth -- but the big girls used to lend me theirs to read."
""were those women -- mrs. thomas and mrs. hammond -- good to you?"
asked marilla, looking at anne out of the corner of her eye.
""o-o-o-h," faltered anne.
her sensitive little face suddenly flushed scarlet and embarrassment sat on her brow.
""oh, they meant to be -- i know they meant to be just as good and kind as possible.
and when people mean to be good to you, you do n't mind very much when they're not quite -- always.
they had a good deal to worry them, you know.
it's very trying to have a drunken husband, you see; and it must be very trying to have twins three times in succession, do n't you think?
but i feel sure they meant to be good to me."
marilla asked no more questions.
anne gave herself up to a silent rapture over the shore road and marilla guided the sorrel abstractedly while she pondered deeply.
pity was suddenly stirring in her heart for the child.
what a starved, unloved life she had had -- a life of drudgery and poverty and neglect; for marilla was shrewd enough to read between the lines of anne's history and divine the truth.
no wonder she had been so delighted at the prospect of a real home.
it was a pity she had to be sent back.
what if she, marilla, should indulge matthew's unaccountable whim and let her stay?
he was set on it; and the child seemed a nice, teachable little thing.
""she's got too much to say," thought marilla, "but she might be trained out of that.
and there's nothing rude or slangy in what she does say.
she's ladylike.
it's likely her people were nice folks."
the shore road was "woodsy and wild and lonesome."
on the right hand, scrub firs, their spirits quite unbroken by long years of tussle with the gulf winds, grew thickly.
on the left were the steep red sandstone cliffs, so near the track in places that a mare of less steadiness than the sorrel might have tried the nerves of the people behind her.
down at the base of the cliffs were heaps of surf-worn rocks or little sandy coves inlaid with pebbles as with ocean jewels; beyond lay the sea, shimmering and blue, and over it soared the gulls, their pinions flashing silvery in the sunlight.
""is n't the sea wonderful?"
said anne, rousing from a long, wide-eyed silence.
""once, when i lived in marysville, mr. thomas hired an express wagon and took us all to spend the day at the shore ten miles away.
i enjoyed every moment of that day, even if i had to look after the children all the time.
i lived it over in happy dreams for years.
but this shore is nicer than the marysville shore.
are n't those gulls splendid?
would you like to be a gull?
i think i would -- that is, if i could n't be a human girl.
do n't you think it would be nice to wake up at sunrise and swoop down over the water and away out over that lovely blue all day; and then at night to fly back to one's nest?
oh, i can just imagine myself doing it.
what big house is that just ahead, please?"
""that's the white sands hotel.
mr. kirke runs it, but the season has n't begun yet.
there are heaps of americans come there for the summer.
they think this shore is just about right."
""i was afraid it might be mrs. spencer's place," said anne mournfully.
""i do n't want to get there.
somehow, it will seem like the end of everything."
chapter vi.
marilla makes up her mind get there they did, however, in due season.
mrs. spencer lived in a big yellow house at white sands cove, and she came to the door with surprise and welcome mingled on her benevolent face.
""dear, dear," she exclaimed, "you're the last folks i was looking for today, but i'm real glad to see you.
you'll put your horse in?
and how are you, anne?"
""i'm as well as can be expected, thank you," said anne smilelessly.
a blight seemed to have descended on her.
""i suppose we'll stay a little while to rest the mare," said marilla, "but i promised matthew i'd be home early.
the fact is, mrs. spencer, there's been a queer mistake somewhere, and i've come over to see where it is.
we send word, matthew and i, for you to bring us a boy from the asylum.
we told your brother robert to tell you we wanted a boy ten or eleven years old."
""marilla cuthbert, you do n't say so!"
said mrs. spencer in distress.
""why, robert sent word down by his daughter nancy and she said you wanted a girl -- did n't she flora jane?"
appealing to her daughter who had come out to the steps.
""she certainly did, miss cuthbert," corroborated flora jane earnestly.
""i'm dreadful sorry," said mrs. spencer.
""it's too bad; but it certainly was n't my fault, you see, miss cuthbert.
i did the best i could and i thought i was following your instructions.
nancy is a terrible flighty thing.
i've often had to scold her well for her heedlessness."
""it was our own fault," said marilla resignedly.
""we should have come to you ourselves and not left an important message to be passed along by word of mouth in that fashion.
anyhow, the mistake has been made and the only thing to do is to set it right.
can we send the child back to the asylum?
i suppose they'll take her back, wo n't they?"
""i suppose so," said mrs. spencer thoughtfully, "but i do n't think it will be necessary to send her back.
mrs. peter blewett was up here yesterday, and she was saying to me how much she wished she'd sent by me for a little girl to help her.
mrs. peter has a large family, you know, and she finds it hard to get help.
anne will be the very girl for you.
i call it positively providential."
marilla did not look as if she thought providence had much to do with the matter.
here was an unexpectedly good chance to get this unwelcome orphan off her hands, and she did not even feel grateful for it.
she knew mrs. peter blewett only by sight as a small, shrewish-faced woman without an ounce of superfluous flesh on her bones.
but she had heard of her.
""a terrible worker and driver," mrs. peter was said to be; and discharged servant girls told fearsome tales of her temper and stinginess, and her family of pert, quarrelsome children.
marilla felt a qualm of conscience at the thought of handing anne over to her tender mercies.
""well, i'll go in and we'll talk the matter over," she said.
""and if there is n't mrs. peter coming up the lane this blessed minute!"
exclaimed mrs. spencer, bustling her guests through the hall into the parlor, where a deadly chill struck on them as if the air had been strained so long through dark green, closely drawn blinds that it had lost every particle of warmth it had ever possessed.
""that is real lucky, for we can settle the matter right away.
take the armchair, miss cuthbert.
anne, you sit here on the ottoman and do n't wiggle.
let me take your hats.
flora jane, go out and put the kettle on.
good afternoon, mrs. blewett.
we were just saying how fortunate it was you happened along.
let me introduce you two ladies.
mrs. blewett, miss cuthbert.
please excuse me for just a moment.
i forgot to tell flora jane to take the buns out of the oven."
mrs. spencer whisked away, after pulling up the blinds.
anne sitting mutely on the ottoman, with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, stared at mrs blewett as one fascinated.
was she to be given into the keeping of this sharp-faced, sharp-eyed woman?
she felt a lump coming up in her throat and her eyes smarted painfully.
she was beginning to be afraid she could n't keep the tears back when mrs. spencer returned, flushed and beaming, quite capable of taking any and every difficulty, physical, mental or spiritual, into consideration and settling it out of hand.
""it seems there's been a mistake about this little girl, mrs. blewett," she said.
""i was under the impression that mr. and miss cuthbert wanted a little girl to adopt.
i was certainly told so.
but it seems it was a boy they wanted.
so if you're still of the same mind you were yesterday, i think she'll be just the thing for you."
mrs. blewett darted her eyes over anne from head to foot.
""how old are you and what's your name?"
she demanded.
""anne shirley," faltered the shrinking child, not daring to make any stipulations regarding the spelling thereof, "and i'm eleven years old."
""humph!
you do n't look as if there was much to you.
but you're wiry.
i do n't know but the wiry ones are the best after all.
well, if i take you you'll have to be a good girl, you know -- good and smart and respectful.
i'll expect you to earn your keep, and no mistake about that.
yes, i suppose i might as well take her off your hands, miss cuthbert.
the baby's awful fractious, and i'm clean worn out attending to him.
if you like i can take her right home now."
marilla looked at anne and softened at sight of the child's pale face with its look of mute misery -- the misery of a helpless little creature who finds itself once more caught in the trap from which it had escaped.
marilla felt an uncomfortable conviction that, if she denied the appeal of that look, it would haunt her to her dying day.
more-over, she did not fancy mrs. blewett.
to hand a sensitive, "highstrung" child over to such a woman!
no, she could not take the responsibility of doing that!
""well, i do n't know," she said slowly.
""i did n't say that matthew and i had absolutely decided that we would n't keep her.
in fact i may say that matthew is disposed to keep her.
i just came over to find out how the mistake had occurred.
i think i'd better take her home again and talk it over with matthew.
i feel that i ought n't to decide on anything without consulting him.
if we make up our mind not to keep her we'll bring or send her over to you tomorrow night.
if we do n't you may know that she is going to stay with us.
will that suit you, mrs. blewett?"
""i suppose it'll have to," said mrs. blewett ungraciously.
during marilla's speech a sunrise had been dawning on anne's face.
first the look of despair faded out; then came a faint flush of hope; her eyes grew deep and bright as morning stars.
the child was quite transfigured; and, a moment later, when mrs. spencer and mrs. blewett went out in quest of a recipe the latter had come to borrow she sprang up and flew across the room to marilla.
""oh, miss cuthbert, did you really say that perhaps you would let me stay at green gables?"
she said, in a breathless whisper, as if speaking aloud might shatter the glorious possibility.
""did you really say it?
or did i only imagine that you did?"
""i think you'd better learn to control that imagination of yours, anne, if you ca n't distinguish between what is real and what is n't," said marilla crossly.
""yes, you did hear me say just that and no more.
it is n't decided yet and perhaps we will conclude to let mrs. blewett take you after all.
she certainly needs you much more than i do."
""i'd rather go back to the asylum than go to live with her," said anne passionately.
""she looks exactly like a -- like a gimlet."
marilla smothered a smile under the conviction that anne must be reproved for such a speech.
""a little girl like you should be ashamed of talking so about a lady and a stranger," she said severely.
""go back and sit down quietly and hold your tongue and behave as a good girl should."
""i'll try to do and be anything you want me, if you'll only keep me," said anne, returning meekly to her ottoman.
when they arrived back at green gables that evening matthew met them in the lane.
marilla from afar had noted him prowling along it and guessed his motive.
she was prepared for the relief she read in his face when he saw that she had at least brought back anne back with her.
but she said nothing, to him, relative to the affair, until they were both out in the yard behind the barn milking the cows.
then she briefly told him anne's history and the result of the interview with mrs. spencer.
""i would n't give a dog i liked to that blewett woman," said matthew with unusual vim.
""i do n't fancy her style myself," admitted marilla, "but it's that or keeping her ourselves, matthew.
and since you seem to want her, i suppose i'm willing -- or have to be.
i've been thinking over the idea until i've got kind of used to it.
it seems a sort of duty.
i've never brought up a child, especially a girl, and i dare say i'll make a terrible mess of it.
but i'll do my best.
so far as i'm concerned, matthew, she may stay."
matthew's shy face was a glow of delight.
""well now, i reckoned you'd come to see it in that light, marilla," he said.
""she's such an interesting little thing."
""it'd be more to the point if you could say she was a useful little thing," retorted marilla, "but i'll make it my business to see she's trained to be that.
and mind, matthew, you're not to go interfering with my methods.
perhaps an old maid does n't know much about bringing up a child, but i guess she knows more than an old bachelor.
so you just leave me to manage her.
when i fail it'll be time enough to put your oar in."
""there, there, marilla, you can have your own way," said matthew reassuringly.
""only be as good and kind to her as you can without spoiling her.
i kind of think she's one of the sort you can do anything with if you only get her to love you."
marilla sniffed, to express her contempt for matthew's opinions concerning anything feminine, and walked off to the dairy with the pails.
""i wo n't tell her tonight that she can stay," she reflected, as she strained the milk into the creamers.
""she'd be so excited that she would n't sleep a wink.
marilla cuthbert, you're fairly in for it.
did you ever suppose you'd see the day when you'd be adopting an orphan girl?
it's surprising enough; but not so surprising as that matthew should be at the bottom of it, him that always seemed to have such a mortal dread of little girls.
anyhow, we've decided on the experiment and goodness only knows what will come of it."
chapter vii.
anne says her prayers when marilla took anne up to bed that night she said stiffly: "now, anne, i noticed last night that you threw your clothes all about the floor when you took them off.
that is a very untidy habit, and i ca n't allow it at all.
as soon as you take off any article of clothing fold it neatly and place it on the chair.
i have n't any use at all for little girls who are n't neat."
""i was so harrowed up in my mind last night that i did n't think about my clothes at all," said anne.
""i'll fold them nicely tonight.
they always made us do that at the asylum.
half the time, though, i'd forget, i'd be in such a hurry to get into bed nice and quiet and imagine things."
""you'll have to remember a little better if you stay here," admonished marilla.
""there, that looks something like.
say your prayers now and get into bed."
""i never say any prayers," announced anne.
marilla looked horrified astonishment.
""why, anne, what do you mean?
were you never taught to say your prayers?
god always wants little girls to say their prayers.
do n't you know who god is, anne?""
"god is a spirit, infinite, eternal and unchangeable, in his being, wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness, and truth,"" responded anne promptly and glibly.
marilla looked rather relieved.
""so you do know something then, thank goodness!
you're not quite a heathen.
where did you learn that?"
""oh, at the asylum sunday-school.
they made us learn the whole catechism.
i liked it pretty well.
there's something splendid about some of the words.
"infinite, eternal and unchangeable."
is n't that grand?
it has such a roll to it -- just like a big organ playing.
you could n't quite call it poetry, i suppose, but it sounds a lot like it, does n't it?"
""we're not talking about poetry, anne -- we are talking about saying your prayers.
do n't you know it's a terrible wicked thing not to say your prayers every night?
i'm afraid you are a very bad little girl."
""you'd find it easier to be bad than good if you had red hair," said anne reproachfully.
""people who have n't red hair do n't know what trouble is.
mrs. thomas told me that god made my hair red on purpose, and i've never cared about him since.
and anyhow i'd always be too tired at night to bother saying prayers.
people who have to look after twins ca n't be expected to say their prayers.
now, do you honestly think they can?"
marilla decided that anne's religious training must be begun at once.
plainly there was no time to be lost.
""you must say your prayers while you are under my roof, anne."
""why, of course, if you want me to," assented anne cheerfully.
""i'd do anything to oblige you.
but you'll have to tell me what to say for this once.
after i get into bed i'll imagine out a real nice prayer to say always.
i believe that it will be quite interesting, now that i come to think of it."
""you must kneel down," said marilla in embarrassment.
anne knelt at marilla's knee and looked up gravely.
""why must people kneel down to pray?
if i really wanted to pray i'll tell you what i'd do.
i'd go out into a great big field all alone or into the deep, deep, woods, and i'd look up into the sky -- up -- up -- up -- into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness.
and then i'd just feel a prayer.
well, i'm ready.
what am i to say?"
marilla felt more embarrassed than ever.
she had intended to teach anne the childish classic, "now i lay me down to sleep."
but she had, as i have told you, the glimmerings of a sense of humor -- which is simply another name for a sense of fitness of things; and it suddenly occurred to her that that simple little prayer, sacred to white-robed childhood lisping at motherly knees, was entirely unsuited to this freckled witch of a girl who knew and cared nothing bout god's love, since she had never had it translated to her through the medium of human love.
""you're old enough to pray for yourself, anne," she said finally.
""just thank god for your blessings and ask him humbly for the things you want."
""well, i'll do my best," promised anne, burying her face in marilla's lap.
""gracious heavenly father -- that's the way the ministers say it in church, so i suppose it's all right in private prayer, is n't it?"
she interjected, lifting her head for a moment.
""gracious heavenly father, i thank thee for the white way of delight and the lake of shining waters and bonny and the snow queen.
i'm really extremely grateful for them.
and that's all the blessings i can think of just now to thank thee for.
as for the things i want, they're so numerous that it would take a great deal of time to name them all so i will only mention the two most important.
please let me stay at green gables; and please let me be good-looking when i grow up.
i remain, "yours respectfully, anne shirley.
""there, did i do all right?"
she asked eagerly, getting up.
""i could have made it much more flowery if i'd had a little more time to think it over."
poor marilla was only preserved from complete collapse by remembering that it was not irreverence, but simply spiritual ignorance on the part of anne that was responsible for this extraordinary petition.
she tucked the child up in bed, mentally vowing that she should be taught a prayer the very next day, and was leaving the room with the light when anne called her back.
""i've just thought of it now.
i should have said, "amen" in place of "yours respectfully," should n't i?
-- the way the ministers do.
i'd forgotten it, but i felt a prayer should be finished off in some way, so i put in the other.
do you suppose it will make any difference?"
""i -- i do n't suppose it will," said marilla.
""go to sleep now like a good child.
good night."
""i can only say good night tonight with a clear conscience," said anne, cuddling luxuriously down among her pillows.
marilla retreated to the kitchen, set the candle firmly on the table, and glared at matthew.
""matthew cuthbert, it's about time somebody adopted that child and taught her something.
she's next door to a perfect heathen.
will you believe that she never said a prayer in her life till tonight?
i'll send her to the manse tomorrow and borrow the peep of the day series, that's what i'll do.
and she shall go to sunday-school just as soon as i can get some suitable clothes made for her.
i foresee that i shall have my hands full.
well, well, we ca n't get through this world without our share of trouble.
i've had a pretty easy life of it so far, but my time has come at last and i suppose i'll just have to make the best of it."
chapter viii.
anne's bringing-up is begun for reasons best known to herself, marilla did not tell anne that she was to stay at green gables until the next afternoon.
during the forenoon she kept the child busy with various tasks and watched over her with a keen eye while she did them.
by noon she had concluded that anne was smart and obedient, willing to work and quick to learn; her most serious shortcoming seemed to be a tendency to fall into daydreams in the middle of a task and forget all about it until such time as she was sharply recalled to earth by a reprimand or a catastrophe.
when anne had finished washing the dinner dishes she suddenly confronted marilla with the air and expression of one desperately determined to learn the worst.
her thin little body trembled from head to foot; her face flushed and her eyes dilated until they were almost black; she clasped her hands tightly and said in an imploring voice: "oh, please, miss cuthbert, wo n't you tell me if you are going to send me away or not?
i've tried to be patient all the morning, but i really feel that i can not bear not knowing any longer.
it's a dreadful feeling.
please tell me."
""you have n't scalded the dishcloth in clean hot water as i told you to do," said marilla immovably.
""just go and do it before you ask any more questions, anne."
anne went and attended to the dishcloth.
then she returned to marilla and fastened imploring eyes of the latter's face.
""well," said marilla, unable to find any excuse for deferring her explanation longer, "i suppose i might as well tell you.
matthew and i have decided to keep you -- that is, if you will try to be a good little girl and show yourself grateful.
why, child, whatever is the matter?"
""i'm crying," said anne in a tone of bewilderment.
""i ca n't think why.
i'm glad as glad can be.
oh, glad does n't seem the right word at all.
i was glad about the white way and the cherry blossoms -- but this!
oh, it's something more than glad.
i'm so happy.
i'll try to be so good.
it will be uphill work, i expect, for mrs. thomas often told me i was desperately wicked.
however, i'll do my very best.
but can you tell me why i'm crying?"
""i suppose it's because you're all excited and worked up," said marilla disapprovingly.
""sit down on that chair and try to calm yourself.
i'm afraid you both cry and laugh far too easily.
yes, you can stay here and we will try to do right by you.
you must go to school; but it's only a fortnight till vacation so it is n't worth while for you to start before it opens again in september."
""what am i to call you?"
asked anne.
""shall i always say miss cuthbert?
can i call you aunt marilla?"
""no; you'll call me just plain marilla.
i'm not used to being called miss cuthbert and it would make me nervous."
""it sounds awfully disrespectful to just say marilla," protested anne.
""i guess there'll be nothing disrespectful in it if you're careful to speak respectfully.
everybody, young and old, in avonlea calls me marilla except the minister.
he says miss cuthbert -- when he thinks of it."
""i'd love to call you aunt marilla," said anne wistfully.
""i've never had an aunt or any relation at all -- not even a grandmother.
it would make me feel as if i really belonged to you.
ca n't i call you aunt marilla?"
""no.
i'm not your aunt and i do n't believe in calling people names that do n't belong to them."
""but we could imagine you were my aunt."
""i could n't," said marilla grimly.
""do you never imagine things different from what they really are?"
asked anne wide-eyed.
""no."
""oh!"
anne drew a long breath.
""oh, miss -- marilla, how much you miss!"
""i do n't believe in imagining things different from what they really are," retorted marilla.
""when the lord puts us in certain circumstances he does n't mean for us to imagine them away.
and that reminds me.
go into the sitting room, anne -- be sure your feet are clean and do n't let any flies in -- and bring me out the illustrated card that's on the mantelpiece.
the lord's prayer is on it and you'll devote your spare time this afternoon to learning it off by heart.
there's to be no more of such praying as i heard last night."
""i suppose i was very awkward," said anne apologetically, "but then, you see, i'd never had any practice.
you could n't really expect a person to pray very well the first time she tried, could you?
i thought out a splendid prayer after i went to bed, just as i promised you i would.
it was nearly as long as a minister's and so poetical.
but would you believe it?
i could n't remember one word when i woke up this morning.
and i'm afraid i'll never be able to think out another one as good.
somehow, things never are so good when they're thought out a second time.
have you ever noticed that?"
""here is something for you to notice, anne.
when i tell you to do a thing i want you to obey me at once and not stand stock-still and discourse about it.
just you go and do as i bid you."
anne promptly departed for the sitting-room across the hall; she failed to return; after waiting ten minutes marilla laid down her knitting and marched after her with a grim expression.
she found anne standing motionless before a picture hanging on the wall between the two windows, with her eyes astar with dreams.
the white and green light strained through apple trees and clustering vines outside fell over the rapt little figure with a half-unearthly radiance.
""anne, whatever are you thinking of?"
demanded marilla sharply.
anne came back to earth with a start.
""that," she said, pointing to the picture -- a rather vivid chromo entitled, "christ blessing little children" -- "and i was just imagining i was one of them -- that i was the little girl in the blue dress, standing off by herself in the corner as if she did n't belong to anybody, like me.
she looks lonely and sad, do n't you think?
i guess she had n't any father or mother of her own.
but she wanted to be blessed, too, so she just crept shyly up on the outside of the crowd, hoping nobody would notice her -- except him.
i'm sure i know just how she felt.
her heart must have beat and her hands must have got cold, like mine did when i asked you if i could stay.
she was afraid he might n't notice her.
but it's likely he did, do n't you think?
i've been trying to imagine it all out -- her edging a little nearer all the time until she was quite close to him; and then he would look at her and put his hand on her hair and oh, such a thrill of joy as would run over her!
but i wish the artist had n't painted him so sorrowful looking.
all his pictures are like that, if you've noticed.
but i do n't believe he could really have looked so sad or the children would have been afraid of him."
""anne," said marilla, wondering why she had not broken into this speech long before, "you should n't talk that way.
it's irreverent -- positively irreverent."
anne's eyes marveled.
""why, i felt just as reverent as could be.
i'm sure i did n't mean to be irreverent."
""well i do n't suppose you did -- but it does n't sound right to talk so familiarly about such things.
and another thing, anne, when i send you after something you're to bring it at once and not fall into mooning and imagining before pictures.
remember that.
take that card and come right to the kitchen.
now, sit down in the corner and learn that prayer off by heart."
anne set the card up against the jugful of apple blossoms she had brought in to decorate the dinner-table -- marilla had eyed that decoration askance, but had said nothing -- propped her chin on her hands, and fell to studying it intently for several silent minutes.
""i like this," she announced at length.
""it's beautiful.
i've heard it before -- i heard the superintendent of the asylum sunday school say it over once.
but i did n't like it then.
he had such a cracked voice and he prayed it so mournfully.
i really felt sure he thought praying was a disagreeable duty.
this is n't poetry, but it makes me feel just the same way poetry does.
"our father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name."
that is just like a line of music.
oh, i'm so glad you thought of making me learn this, miss -- marilla."
""well, learn it and hold your tongue," said marilla shortly.
anne tipped the vase of apple blossoms near enough to bestow a soft kiss on a pink-cupped bud, and then studied diligently for some moments longer.
""marilla," she demanded presently, "do you think that i shall ever have a bosom friend in avonlea?"
""a -- a what kind of friend?"
""a bosom friend -- an intimate friend, you know -- a really kindred spirit to whom i can confide my inmost soul.
i've dreamed of meeting her all my life.
i never really supposed i would, but so many of my loveliest dreams have come true all at once that perhaps this one will, too.
do you think it's possible?"
""diana barry lives over at orchard slope and she's about your age.
she's a very nice little girl, and perhaps she will be a playmate for you when she comes home.
she's visiting her aunt over at carmody just now.
you'll have to be careful how you behave yourself, though.
mrs. barry is a very particular woman.
she wo n't let diana play with any little girl who is n't nice and good."
anne looked at marilla through the apple blossoms, her eyes aglow with interest.
""what is diana like?
her hair is n't red, is it?
oh, i hope not.
it's bad enough to have red hair myself, but i positively could n't endure it in a bosom friend."
""diana is a very pretty little girl.
she has black eyes and hair and rosy cheeks.
and she is good and smart, which is better than being pretty."
marilla was as fond of morals as the duchess in wonderland, and was firmly convinced that one should be tacked on to every remark made to a child who was being brought up.
but anne waved the moral inconsequently aside and seized only on the delightful possibilities before it.
""oh, i'm so glad she's pretty.
next to being beautiful oneself -- and that's impossible in my case -- it would be best to have a beautiful bosom friend.
when i lived with mrs. thomas she had a bookcase in her sitting room with glass doors.
there were n't any books in it; mrs. thomas kept her best china and her preserves there -- when she had any preserves to keep.
one of the doors was broken.
mr. thomas smashed it one night when he was slightly intoxicated.
but the other was whole and i used to pretend that my reflection in it was another little girl who lived in it.
i called her katie maurice, and we were very intimate.
i used to talk to her by the hour, especially on sunday, and tell her everything.
katie was the comfort and consolation of my life.
we used to pretend that the bookcase was enchanted and that if i only knew the spell i could open the door and step right into the room where katie maurice lived, instead of into mrs. thomas" shelves of preserves and china.
and then katie maurice would have taken me by the hand and led me out into a wonderful place, all flowers and sunshine and fairies, and we would have lived there happy for ever after.
when i went to live with mrs. hammond it just broke my heart to leave katie maurice.
she felt it dreadfully, too, i know she did, for she was crying when she kissed me good-bye through the bookcase door.
there was no bookcase at mrs. hammond's.
but just up the river a little way from the house there was a long green little valley, and the loveliest echo lived there.
it echoed back every word you said, even if you did n't talk a bit loud.
so i imagined that it was a little girl called violetta and we were great friends and i loved her almost as well as i loved katie maurice -- not quite, but almost, you know.
the night before i went to the asylum i said good-bye to violetta, and oh, her good-bye came back to me in such sad, sad tones.
i had become so attached to her that i had n't the heart to imagine a bosom friend at the asylum, even if there had been any scope for imagination there."
""i think it's just as well there was n't," said marilla drily.
""i do n't approve of such goings-on.
you seem to half believe your own imaginations.
it will be well for you to have a real live friend to put such nonsense out of your head.
but do n't let mrs. barry hear you talking about your katie maurices and your violettas or she'll think you tell stories."
""oh, i wo n't.
i could n't talk of them to everybody -- their memories are too sacred for that.
but i thought i'd like to have you know about them.
oh, look, here's a big bee just tumbled out of an apple blossom.
just think what a lovely place to live -- in an apple blossom!
fancy going to sleep in it when the wind was rocking it.
if i was n't a human girl i think i'd like to be a bee and live among the flowers."
""yesterday you wanted to be a sea gull," sniffed marilla.
""i think you are very fickle minded.
i told you to learn that prayer and not talk.
but it seems impossible for you to stop talking if you've got anybody that will listen to you.
so go up to your room and learn it."
""oh, i know it pretty nearly all now -- all but just the last line."
""well, never mind, do as i tell you.
go to your room and finish learning it well, and stay there until i call you down to help me get tea."
""can i take the apple blossoms with me for company?"
pleaded anne.
""no; you do n't want your room cluttered up with flowers.
you should have left them on the tree in the first place."
""i did feel a little that way, too," said anne.
""i kind of felt i should n't shorten their lovely lives by picking them -- i would n't want to be picked if i were an apple blossom.
but the temptation was irresistible.
what do you do when you meet with an irresistible temptation?"
""anne, did you hear me tell you to go to your room?"
anne sighed, retreated to the east gable, and sat down in a chair by the window.
""there -- i know this prayer.
i learned that last sentence coming upstairs.
now i'm going to imagine things into this room so that they'll always stay imagined.
the floor is covered with a white velvet carpet with pink roses all over it and there are pink silk curtains at the windows.
the walls are hung with gold and silver brocade tapestry.
the furniture is mahogany.
i never saw any mahogany, but it does sound so luxurious.
this is a couch all heaped with gorgeous silken cushions, pink and blue and crimson and gold, and i am reclining gracefully on it.
i can see my reflection in that splendid big mirror hanging on the wall.
i am tall and regal, clad in a gown of trailing white lace, with a pearl cross on my breast and pearls in my hair.
my hair is of midnight darkness and my skin is a clear ivory pallor.
my name is the lady cordelia fitzgerald.
no, it is n't -- i ca n't make that seem real."
she danced up to the little looking-glass and peered into it.
her pointed freckled face and solemn gray eyes peered back at her.
""you're only anne of green gables," she said earnestly, "and i see you, just as you are looking now, whenever i try to imagine i'm the lady cordelia.
but it's a million times nicer to be anne of green gables than anne of nowhere in particular, is n't it?"
she bent forward, kissed her reflection affectionately, and betook herself to the open window.
""dear snow queen, good afternoon.
and good afternoon dear birches down in the hollow.
and good afternoon, dear gray house up on the hill.
i wonder if diana is to be my bosom friend.
i hope she will, and i shall love her very much.
but i must never quite forget katie maurice and violetta.
they would feel so hurt if i did and i'd hate to hurt anybody's feelings, even a little bookcase girl's or a little echo girl's.
i must be careful to remember them and send them a kiss every day."
anne blew a couple of airy kisses from her fingertips past the cherry blossoms and then, with her chin in her hands, drifted luxuriously out on a sea of daydreams.
chapter ix.
mrs. rachel lynde is properly horrified anne had been a fortnight at green gables before mrs. lynde arrived to inspect her.
mrs. rachel, to do her justice, was not to blame for this.
a severe and unseasonable attack of grippe had confined that good lady to her house ever since the occasion of her last visit to green gables.
mrs. rachel was not often sick and had a well-defined contempt for people who were; but grippe, she asserted, was like no other illness on earth and could only be interpreted as one of the special visitations of providence.
as soon as her doctor allowed her to put her foot out-of-doors she hurried up to green gables, bursting with curiosity to see matthew and marilla's orphan, concerning whom all sorts of stories and suppositions had gone abroad in avonlea.
anne had made good use of every waking moment of that fortnight.
already she was acquainted with every tree and shrub about the place.
she had discovered that a lane opened out below the apple orchard and ran up through a belt of woodland; and she had explored it to its furthest end in all its delicious vagaries of brook and bridge, fir coppice and wild cherry arch, corners thick with fern, and branching byways of maple and mountain ash.
she had made friends with the spring down in the hollow -- that wonderful deep, clear icy-cold spring; it was set about with smooth red sandstones and rimmed in by great palm-like clumps of water fern; and beyond it was a log bridge over the brook.
that bridge led anne's dancing feet up over a wooded hill beyond, where perpetual twilight reigned under the straight, thick-growing firs and spruces; the only flowers there were myriads of delicate "june bells," those shyest and sweetest of woodland blooms, and a few pale, aerial starflowers, like the spirits of last year's blossoms.
gossamers glimmered like threads of silver among the trees and the fir boughs and tassels seemed to utter friendly speech.
all these raptured voyages of exploration were made in the odd half hours which she was allowed for play, and anne talked matthew and marilla half-deaf over her discoveries.
not that matthew complained, to be sure; he listened to it all with a wordless smile of enjoyment on his face; marilla permitted the "chatter" until she found herself becoming too interested in it, whereupon she always promptly quenched anne by a curt command to hold her tongue.
anne was out in the orchard when mrs. rachel came, wandering at her own sweet will through the lush, tremulous grasses splashed with ruddy evening sunshine; so that good lady had an excellent chance to talk her illness fully over, describing every ache and pulse beat with such evident enjoyment that marilla thought even grippe must bring its compensations.
when details were exhausted mrs. rachel introduced the real reason of her call.
""i've been hearing some surprising things about you and matthew."
""i do n't suppose you are any more surprised than i am myself," said marilla.
""i'm getting over my surprise now."
""it was too bad there was such a mistake," said mrs. rachel sympathetically.
""could n't you have sent her back?"
""i suppose we could, but we decided not to.
matthew took a fancy to her.
and i must say i like her myself -- although i admit she has her faults.
the house seems a different place already.
she's a real bright little thing."
marilla said more than she had intended to say when she began, for she read disapproval in mrs. rachel's expression.
""it's a great responsibility you've taken on yourself," said that lady gloomily, "especially when you've never had any experience with children.
you do n't know much about her or her real disposition, i suppose, and there's no guessing how a child like that will turn out.
but i do n't want to discourage you i'm sure, marilla."
""i'm not feeling discouraged," was marilla's dry response, "when i make up my mind to do a thing it stays made up.
i suppose you'd like to see anne.
i'll call her in."
anne came running in presently, her face sparkling with the delight of her orchard rovings; but, abashed at finding the delight herself in the unexpected presence of a stranger, she halted confusedly inside the door.
she certainly was an odd-looking little creature in the short tight wincey dress she had worn from the asylum, below which her thin legs seemed ungracefully long.
her freckles were more numerous and obtrusive than ever; the wind had ruffled her hatless hair into over-brilliant disorder; it had never looked redder than at that moment.
""well, they did n't pick you for your looks, that's sure and certain," was mrs. rachel lynde's emphatic comment.
mrs. rachel was one of those delightful and popular people who pride themselves on speaking their mind without fear or favor.
""she's terrible skinny and homely, marilla.
come here, child, and let me have a look at you.
lawful heart, did any one ever see such freckles?
and hair as red as carrots!
come here, child, i say."
anne "came there," but not exactly as mrs. rachel expected.
with one bound she crossed the kitchen floor and stood before mrs. rachel, her face scarlet with anger, her lips quivering, and her whole slender form trembling from head to foot.
""i hate you," she cried in a choked voice, stamping her foot on the floor.
""i hate you -- i hate you -- i hate you --" a louder stamp with each assertion of hatred.
""how dare you call me skinny and ugly?
how dare you say i'm freckled and redheaded?
you are a rude, impolite, unfeeling woman!"
""anne!"
exclaimed marilla in consternation.
but anne continued to face mrs. rachel undauntedly, head up, eyes blazing, hands clenched, passionate indignation exhaling from her like an atmosphere.
""how dare you say such things about me?"
she repeated vehemently.
""how would you like to have such things said about you?
how would you like to be told that you are fat and clumsy and probably had n't a spark of imagination in you?
i do n't care if i do hurt your feelings by saying so!
i hope i hurt them.
you have hurt mine worse than they were ever hurt before even by mrs. thomas" intoxicated husband.
and i'll never forgive you for it, never, never!"
stamp!
stamp!
""did anybody ever see such a temper!"
exclaimed the horrified mrs. rachel.
""anne go to your room and stay there until i come up," said marilla, recovering her powers of speech with difficulty.
anne, bursting into tears, rushed to the hall door, slammed it until the tins on the porch wall outside rattled in sympathy, and fled through the hall and up the stairs like a whirlwind.
a subdued slam above told that the door of the east gable had been shut with equal vehemence.
""well, i do n't envy you your job bringing that up, marilla," said mrs. rachel with unspeakable solemnity.
marilla opened her lips to say she knew not what of apology or deprecation.
what she did say was a surprise to herself then and ever afterwards.
""you should n't have twitted her about her looks, rachel."
""marilla cuthbert, you do n't mean to say that you are upholding her in such a terrible display of temper as we've just seen?"
demanded mrs. rachel indignantly.
""no," said marilla slowly, "i'm not trying to excuse her.
she's been very naughty and i'll have to give her a talking to about it.
but we must make allowances for her.
she's never been taught what is right.
and you were too hard on her, rachel."
marilla could not help tacking on that last sentence, although she was again surprised at herself for doing it.
mrs. rachel got up with an air of offended dignity.
""well, i see that i'll have to be very careful what i say after this, marilla, since the fine feelings of orphans, brought from goodness knows where, have to be considered before anything else.
oh, no, i'm not vexed -- do n't worry yourself.
i'm too sorry for you to leave any room for anger in my mind.
you'll have your own troubles with that child.
but if you'll take my advice -- which i suppose you wo n't do, although i've brought up ten children and buried two -- you'll do that "talking to" you mention with a fair-sized birch switch.
i should think that would be the most effective language for that kind of a child.
her temper matches her hair i guess.
well, good evening, marilla.
i hope you'll come down to see me often as usual.
but you ca n't expect me to visit here again in a hurry, if i'm liable to be flown at and insulted in such a fashion.
it's something new in my experience."
whereat mrs. rachel swept out and away -- if a fat woman who always waddled could be said to sweep away -- and marilla with a very solemn face betook herself to the east gable.
on the way upstairs she pondered uneasily as to what she ought to do.
she felt no little dismay over the scene that had just been enacted.
how unfortunate that anne should have displayed such temper before mrs. rachel lynde, of all people!
then marilla suddenly became aware of an uncomfortable and rebuking consciousness that she felt more humiliation over this than sorrow over the discovery of such a serious defect in anne's disposition.
and how was she to punish her?
the amiable suggestion of the birch switch -- to the efficiency of which all of mrs. rachel's own children could have borne smarting testimony -- did not appeal to marilla.
she did not believe she could whip a child.
no, some other method of punishment must be found to bring anne to a proper realization of the enormity of her offense.
marilla found anne face downward on her bed, crying bitterly, quite oblivious of muddy boots on a clean counterpane.
""anne," she said not ungently.
no answer.
""anne," with greater severity, "get off that bed this minute and listen to what i have to say to you."
anne squirmed off the bed and sat rigidly on a chair beside it, her face swollen and tear-stained and her eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor.
""this is a nice way for you to behave.
anne!
are n't you ashamed of yourself?"
""she had n't any right to call me ugly and redheaded," retorted anne, evasive and defiant.
""you had n't any right to fly into such a fury and talk the way you did to her, anne.
i was ashamed of you -- thoroughly ashamed of you.
i wanted you to behave nicely to mrs. lynde, and instead of that you have disgraced me.
i'm sure i do n't know why you should lose your temper like that just because mrs. lynde said you were red-haired and homely.
you say it yourself often enough."
""oh, but there's such a difference between saying a thing yourself and hearing other people say it," wailed anne.
""you may know a thing is so, but you ca n't help hoping other people do n't quite think it is.
i suppose you think i have an awful temper, but i could n't help it.
when she said those things something just rose right up in me and choked me.
i had to fly out at her."
""well, you made a fine exhibition of yourself i must say.
mrs. lynde will have a nice story to tell about you everywhere -- and she'll tell it, too.
it was a dreadful thing for you to lose your temper like that, anne."
""just imagine how you would feel if somebody told you to your face that you were skinny and ugly," pleaded anne tearfully.
an old remembrance suddenly rose up before marilla.
she had been a very small child when she had heard one aunt say of her to another, "what a pity she is such a dark, homely little thing."
marilla was every day of fifty before the sting had gone out of that memory.
""i do n't say that i think mrs. lynde was exactly right in saying what she did to you, anne," she admitted in a softer tone.
""rachel is too outspoken.
but that is no excuse for such behavior on your part.
she was a stranger and an elderly person and my visitor -- all three very good reasons why you should have been respectful to her.
you were rude and saucy and" -- marilla had a saving inspiration of punishment -- "you must go to her and tell her you are very sorry for your bad temper and ask her to forgive you."
""i can never do that," said anne determinedly and darkly.
""you can punish me in any way you like, marilla.
you can shut me up in a dark, damp dungeon inhabited by snakes and toads and feed me only on bread and water and i shall not complain.
but i can not ask mrs. lynde to forgive me."
""we're not in the habit of shutting people up in dark damp dungeons," said marilla drily, "especially as they're rather scarce in avonlea.
but apologize to mrs. lynde you must and shall and you'll stay here in your room until you can tell me you're willing to do it."
""i shall have to stay here forever then," said anne mournfully, "because i ca n't tell mrs. lynde i'm sorry i said those things to her.
how can i?
i'm not sorry.
i'm sorry i've vexed you; but i'm glad i told her just what i did.
it was a great satisfaction.
i ca n't say i'm sorry when i'm not, can i?
i ca n't even imagine i'm sorry."
""perhaps your imagination will be in better working order by the morning," said marilla, rising to depart.
""you'll have the night to think over your conduct in and come to a better frame of mind.
you said you would try to be a very good girl if we kept you at green gables, but i must say it has n't seemed very much like it this evening."
leaving this parthian shaft to rankle in anne's stormy bosom, marilla descended to the kitchen, grievously troubled in mind and vexed in soul.
she was as angry with herself as with anne, because, whenever she recalled mrs. rachel's dumbfounded countenance her lips twitched with amusement and she felt a most reprehensible desire to laugh.
chapter x. anne's apology marilla said nothing to matthew about the affair that evening; but when anne proved still refractory the next morning an explanation had to be made to account for her absence from the breakfast table.
marilla told matthew the whole story, taking pains to impress him with a due sense of the enormity of anne's behavior.
""it's a good thing rachel lynde got a calling down; she's a meddlesome old gossip," was matthew's consolatory rejoinder.
""matthew cuthbert, i'm astonished at you.
you know that anne's behavior was dreadful, and yet you take her part!
i suppose you'll be saying next thing that she ought n't to be punished at all!"
""well now -- no -- not exactly," said matthew uneasily.
""i reckon she ought to be punished a little.
but do n't be too hard on her, marilla.
recollect she has n't ever had anyone to teach her right.
you're -- you're going to give her something to eat, are n't you?"
""when did you ever hear of me starving people into good behavior?"
demanded marilla indignantly.
""she'll have her meals regular, and i'll carry them up to her myself.
but she'll stay up there until she's willing to apologize to mrs. lynde, and that's final, matthew."
breakfast, dinner, and supper were very silent meals -- for anne still remained obdurate.
after each meal marilla carried a well-filled tray to the east gable and brought it down later on not noticeably depleted.
matthew eyed its last descent with a troubled eye.
had anne eaten anything at all?
when marilla went out that evening to bring the cows from the back pasture, matthew, who had been hanging about the barns and watching, slipped into the house with the air of a burglar and crept upstairs.
as a general thing matthew gravitated between the kitchen and the little bedroom off the hall where he slept; once in a while he ventured uncomfortably into the parlor or sitting room when the minister came to tea.
but he had never been upstairs in his own house since the spring he helped marilla paper the spare bedroom, and that was four years ago.
he tiptoed along the hall and stood for several minutes outside the door of the east gable before he summoned courage to tap on it with his fingers and then open the door to peep in.
anne was sitting on the yellow chair by the window gazing mournfully out into the garden.
very small and unhappy she looked, and matthew's heart smote him.
he softly closed the door and tiptoed over to her.
""anne," he whispered, as if afraid of being overheard, "how are you making it, anne?"
anne smiled wanly.
""pretty well.
i imagine a good deal, and that helps to pass the time.
of course, it's rather lonesome.
but then, i may as well get used to that."
anne smiled again, bravely facing the long years of solitary imprisonment before her.
matthew recollected that he must say what he had come to say without loss of time, lest marilla return prematurely.
""well now, anne, do n't you think you'd better do it and have it over with?"
he whispered.
""it'll have to be done sooner or later, you know, for marilla's a dreadful deter-mined woman -- dreadful determined, anne.
do it right off, i say, and have it over."
""do you mean apologize to mrs. lynde?"
""yes -- apologize -- that's the very word," said matthew eagerly.
""just smooth it over so to speak.
that's what i was trying to get at."
""i suppose i could do it to oblige you," said anne thoughtfully.
""it would be true enough to say i am sorry, because i am sorry now.
i was n't a bit sorry last night.
i was mad clear through, and i stayed mad all night.
i know i did because i woke up three times and i was just furious every time.
but this morning it was over.
i was n't in a temper anymore -- and it left a dreadful sort of goneness, too.
i felt so ashamed of myself.
but i just could n't think of going and telling mrs. lynde so.
it would be so humiliating.
i made up my mind i'd stay shut up here forever rather than do that.
but still -- i'd do anything for you -- if you really want me to --" "well now, of course i do.
it's terrible lonesome downstairs without you.
just go and smooth things over -- that's a good girl."
""very well," said anne resignedly.
""i'll tell marilla as soon as she comes in i've repented."
""that's right -- that's right, anne.
but do n't tell marilla i said anything about it.
she might think i was putting my oar in and i promised not to do that."
""wild horses wo n't drag the secret from me," promised anne solemnly.
""how would wild horses drag a secret from a person anyhow?"
but matthew was gone, scared at his own success.
he fled hastily to the remotest corner of the horse pasture lest marilla should suspect what he had been up to.
marilla herself, upon her return to the house, was agreeably surprised to hear a plaintive voice calling, "marilla" over the banisters.
""well?"
she said, going into the hall.
""i'm sorry i lost my temper and said rude things, and i'm willing to go and tell mrs. lynde so."
""very well."
marilla's crispness gave no sign of her relief.
she had been wondering what under the canopy she should do if anne did not give in.
""i'll take you down after milking."
accordingly, after milking, behold marilla and anne walking down the lane, the former erect and triumphant, the latter drooping and dejected.
but halfway down anne's dejection vanished as if by enchantment.
she lifted her head and stepped lightly along, her eyes fixed on the sunset sky and an air of subdued exhilaration about her.
marilla beheld the change disapprovingly.
this was no meek penitent such as it behooved her to take into the presence of the offended mrs. lynde.
""what are you thinking of, anne?"
she asked sharply.
""i'm imagining out what i must say to mrs. lynde," answered anne dreamily.
this was satisfactory -- or should have been so.
but marilla could not rid herself of the notion that something in her scheme of punishment was going askew.
anne had no business to look so rapt and radiant.
rapt and radiant anne continued until they were in the very presence of mrs. lynde, who was sitting knitting by her kitchen window.
then the radiance vanished.
mournful penitence appeared on every feature.
before a word was spoken anne suddenly went down on her knees before the astonished mrs. rachel and held out her hands beseechingly.
""oh, mrs. lynde, i am so extremely sorry," she said with a quiver in her voice.
""i could never express all my sorrow, no, not if i used up a whole dictionary.
you must just imagine it.
i behaved terribly to you -- and i've disgraced the dear friends, matthew and marilla, who have let me stay at green gables although i'm not a boy.
i'm a dreadfully wicked and ungrateful girl, and i deserve to be punished and cast out by respectable people forever.
it was very wicked of me to fly into a temper because you told me the truth.
it was the truth; every word you said was true.
my hair is red and i'm freckled and skinny and ugly.
what i said to you was true, too, but i should n't have said it.
oh, mrs. lynde, please, please, forgive me.
if you refuse it will be a lifelong sorrow on a poor little orphan girl, would you, even if she had a dreadful temper?
oh, i am sure you would n't.
please say you forgive me, mrs. lynde."
anne clasped her hands together, bowed her head, and waited for the word of judgment.
there was no mistaking her sincerity -- it breathed in every tone of her voice.
both marilla and mrs. lynde recognized its unmistakable ring.
but the former under-stood in dismay that anne was actually enjoying her valley of humiliation -- was reveling in the thoroughness of her abasement.
where was the wholesome punishment upon which she, marilla, had plumed herself?
anne had turned it into a species of positive pleasure.
good mrs. lynde, not being overburdened with perception, did not see this.
she only perceived that anne had made a very thorough apology and all resentment vanished from her kindly, if somewhat officious, heart.
""there, there, get up, child," she said heartily.
""of course i forgive you.
i guess i was a little too hard on you, anyway.
but i'm such an outspoken person.
you just must n't mind me, that's what.
it ca n't be denied your hair is terrible red; but i knew a girl once -- went to school with her, in fact -- whose hair was every mite as red as yours when she was young, but when she grew up it darkened to a real handsome auburn.
i would n't be a mite surprised if yours did, too -- not a mite."
""oh, mrs. lynde!"
anne drew a long breath as she rose to her feet.
""you have given me a hope.
i shall always feel that you are a benefactor.
oh, i could endure anything if i only thought my hair would be a handsome auburn when i grew up.
it would be so much easier to be good if one's hair was a handsome auburn, do n't you think?
and now may i go out into your garden and sit on that bench under the apple-trees while you and marilla are talking?
there is so much more scope for imagination out there."
""laws, yes, run along, child.
and you can pick a bouquet of them white june lilies over in the corner if you like."
as the door closed behind anne mrs. lynde got briskly up to light a lamp.
""she's a real odd little thing.
take this chair, marilla; it's easier than the one you've got; i just keep that for the hired boy to sit on.
yes, she certainly is an odd child, but there is something kind of taking about her after all.
i do n't feel so surprised at you and matthew keeping her as i did -- nor so sorry for you, either.
she may turn out all right.
of course, she has a queer way of expressing herself -- a little too -- well, too kind of forcible, you know; but she'll likely get over that now that she's come to live among civilized folks.
and then, her temper's pretty quick, i guess; but there's one comfort, a child that has a quick temper, just blaze up and cool down, ai n't never likely to be sly or deceitful.
preserve me from a sly child, that's what.
on the whole, marilla, i kind of like her."
when marilla went home anne came out of the fragrant twilight of the orchard with a sheaf of white narcissi in her hands.
""i apologized pretty well, did n't i?"
she said proudly as they went down the lane.
""i thought since i had to do it i might as well do it thoroughly."
""you did it thoroughly, all right enough," was marilla's comment.
marilla was dismayed at finding herself inclined to laugh over the recollection.
she had also an uneasy feeling that she ought to scold anne for apologizing so well; but then, that was ridiculous!
she compromised with her conscience by saying severely: "i hope you wo n't have occasion to make many more such apologies.
i hope you'll try to control your temper now, anne."
""that would n't be so hard if people would n't twit me about my looks," said anne with a sigh.
""i do n't get cross about other things; but i'm so tired of being twitted about my hair and it just makes me boil right over.
do you suppose my hair will really be a handsome auburn when i grow up?"
""you should n't think so much about your looks, anne.
i'm afraid you are a very vain little girl."
""how can i be vain when i know i'm homely?"
protested anne.
""i love pretty things; and i hate to look in the glass and see something that is n't pretty.
it makes me feel so sorrowful -- just as i feel when i look at any ugly thing.
i pity it because it is n't beautiful."
""handsome is as handsome does," quoted marilla.
""i've had that said to me before, but i have my doubts about it," remarked skeptical anne, sniffing at her narcissi.
""oh, are n't these flowers sweet!
it was lovely of mrs. lynde to give them to me.
i have no hard feelings against mrs. lynde now.
it gives you a lovely, comfortable feeling to apologize and be forgiven, does n't it?
are n't the stars bright tonight?
if you could live in a star, which one would you pick?
i'd like that lovely clear big one away over there above that dark hill."
""anne, do hold your tongue," said marilla, thoroughly worn out trying to follow the gyrations of anne's thoughts.
anne said no more until they turned into their own lane.
a little gypsy wind came down it to meet them, laden with the spicy perfume of young dew-wet ferns.
far up in the shadows a cheerful light gleamed out through the trees from the kitchen at green gables.
anne suddenly came close to marilla and slipped her hand into the older woman's hard palm.
""it's lovely to be going home and know it's home," she said.
""i love green gables already, and i never loved any place before.
no place ever seemed like home.
oh, marilla, i'm so happy.
i could pray right now and not find it a bit hard."
something warm and pleasant welled up in marilla's heart at touch of that thin little hand in her own -- a throb of the maternity she had missed, perhaps.
its very unaccustomedness and sweetness disturbed her.
she hastened to restore her sensations to their normal calm by inculcating a moral.
""if you'll be a good girl you'll always be happy, anne.
and you should never find it hard to say your prayers."
""saying one's prayers is n't exactly the same thing as praying," said anne meditatively.
""but i'm going to imagine that i'm the wind that is blowing up there in those tree tops.
when i get tired of the trees i'll imagine i'm gently waving down here in the ferns -- and then i'll fly over to mrs. lynde's garden and set the flowers dancing -- and then i'll go with one great swoop over the clover field -- and then i'll blow over the lake of shining waters and ripple it all up into little sparkling waves.
oh, there's so much scope for imagination in a wind!
so i'll not talk any more just now, marilla."
""thanks be to goodness for that," breathed marilla in devout relief.
chapter xi.
anne's impressions of sunday-school "well, how do you like them?"
said marilla.
anne was standing in the gable room, looking solemnly at three new dresses spread out on the bed.
one was of snuffy colored gingham which marilla had been tempted to buy from a peddler the preceding summer because it looked so serviceable; one was of black-and-white checkered sateen which she had picked up at a bargain counter in the winter; and one was a stiff print of an ugly blue shade which she had purchased that week at a carmody store.
she had made them up herself, and they were all made alike -- plain skirts fulled tightly to plain waists, with sleeves as plain as waist and skirt and tight as sleeves could be.
""i'll imagine that i like them," said anne soberly.
""i do n't want you to imagine it," said marilla, offended.
""oh, i can see you do n't like the dresses!
what is the matter with them?
are n't they neat and clean and new?"
""yes."
""then why do n't you like them?"
""they're -- they're not -- pretty," said anne reluctantly.
""pretty!"
marilla sniffed.
""i did n't trouble my head about getting pretty dresses for you.
i do n't believe in pampering vanity, anne, i'll tell you that right off.
those dresses are good, sensible, serviceable dresses, without any frills or furbelows about them, and they're all you'll get this summer.
the brown gingham and the blue print will do you for school when you begin to go.
the sateen is for church and sunday school.
i'll expect you to keep them neat and clean and not to tear them.
i should think you'd be grateful to get most anything after those skimpy wincey things you've been wearing."
""oh, i am grateful," protested anne.
""but i'd be ever so much gratefuller if -- if you'd made just one of them with puffed sleeves.
puffed sleeves are so fashionable now.
it would give me such a thrill, marilla, just to wear a dress with puffed sleeves."
""well, you'll have to do without your thrill.
i had n't any material to waste on puffed sleeves.
i think they are ridiculous-looking things anyhow.
i prefer the plain, sensible ones."
""but i'd rather look ridiculous when everybody else does than plain and sensible all by myself," persisted anne mournfully.
""trust you for that!
well, hang those dresses carefully up in your closet, and then sit down and learn the sunday school lesson.
i got a quarterly from mr. bell for you and you'll go to sunday school tomorrow," said marilla, disappearing downstairs in high dudgeon.
anne clasped her hands and looked at the dresses.
""i did hope there would be a white one with puffed sleeves," she whispered disconsolately.
""i prayed for one, but i did n't much expect it on that account.
i did n't suppose god would have time to bother about a little orphan girl's dress.
i knew i'd just have to depend on marilla for it.
well, fortunately i can imagine that one of them is of snow-white muslin with lovely lace frills and three-puffed sleeves."
the next morning warnings of a sick headache prevented marilla from going to sunday-school with anne.
""you'll have to go down and call for mrs. lynde, anne," she said.
""she'll see that you get into the right class.
now, mind you behave yourself properly.
stay to preaching afterwards and ask mrs. lynde to show you our pew.
here's a cent for collection.
do n't stare at people and do n't fidget.
i shall expect you to tell me the text when you come home."
anne started off irreproachable, arrayed in the stiff black-and-white sateen, which, while decent as regards length and certainly not open to the charge of skimpiness, contrived to emphasize every corner and angle of her thin figure.
her hat was a little, flat, glossy, new sailor, the extreme plainness of which had likewise much disappointed anne, who had permitted herself secret visions of ribbon and flowers.
the latter, however, were supplied before anne reached the main road, for being confronted halfway down the lane with a golden frenzy of wind-stirred buttercups and a glory of wild roses, anne promptly and liberally garlanded her hat with a heavy wreath of them.
whatever other people might have thought of the result it satisfied anne, and she tripped gaily down the road, holding her ruddy head with its decoration of pink and yellow very proudly.
when she had reached mrs. lynde's house she found that lady gone.
nothing daunted, anne proceeded onward to the church alone.
in the porch she found a crowd of little girls, all more or less gaily attired in whites and blues and pinks, and all staring with curious eyes at this stranger in their midst, with her extraordinary head adornment.
avonlea little girls had already heard queer stories about anne.
mrs. lynde said she had an awful temper; jerry buote, the hired boy at green gables, said she talked all the time to herself or to the trees and flowers like a crazy girl.
they looked at her and whispered to each other behind their quarterlies.
nobody made any friendly advances, then or later on when the opening exercises were over and anne found herself in miss rogerson's class.
miss rogerson was a middle-aged lady who had taught a sunday-school class for twenty years.
her method of teaching was to ask the printed questions from the quarterly and look sternly over its edge at the particular little girl she thought ought to answer the question.
she looked very often at anne, and anne, thanks to marilla's drilling, answered promptly; but it may be questioned if she understood very much about either question or answer.
she did not think she liked miss rogerson, and she felt very miserable; every other little girl in the class had puffed sleeves.
anne felt that life was really not worth living without puffed sleeves.
""well, how did you like sunday school?"
marilla wanted to know when anne came home.
her wreath having faded, anne had discarded it in the lane, so marilla was spared the knowledge of that for a time.
""i did n't like it a bit.
it was horrid."
""anne shirley!"
said marilla rebukingly.
anne sat down on the rocker with a long sigh, kissed one of bonny's leaves, and waved her hand to a blossoming fuchsia.
""they might have been lonesome while i was away," she explained.
""and now about the sunday school.
i behaved well, just as you told me.
mrs. lynde was gone, but i went right on myself.
i went into the church, with a lot of other little girls, and i sat in the corner of a pew by the window while the opening exercises went on.
mr. bell made an awfully long prayer.
i would have been dreadfully tired before he got through if i had n't been sitting by that window.
but it looked right out on the lake of shining waters, so i just gazed at that and imagined all sorts of splendid things."
""you should n't have done anything of the sort.
you should have listened to mr. bell."
""but he was n't talking to me," protested anne.
""he was talking to god and he did n't seem to be very much inter-ested in it, either.
i think he thought god was too far off though.
there was a long row of white birches hanging over the lake and the sunshine fell down through them, "way, "way down, deep into the water.
oh, marilla, it was like a beautiful dream!
it gave me a thrill and i just said, "thank you for it, god," two or three times."
""not out loud, i hope," said marilla anxiously.
""oh, no, just under my breath.
well, mr. bell did get through at last and they told me to go into the classroom with miss rogerson's class.
there were nine other girls in it.
they all had puffed sleeves.
i tried to imagine mine were puffed, too, but i could n't.
why could n't i?
it was as easy as could be to imagine they were puffed when i was alone in the east gable, but it was awfully hard there among the others who had really truly puffs."
""you should n't have been thinking about your sleeves in sunday school.
you should have been attending to the lesson.
i hope you knew it."
""oh, yes; and i answered a lot of questions.
miss rogerson asked ever so many.
i do n't think it was fair for her to do all the asking.
there were lots i wanted to ask her, but i did n't like to because i did n't think she was a kindred spirit.
then all the other little girls recited a paraphrase.
she asked me if i knew any.
i told her i did n't, but i could recite, "the dog at his master's grave" if she liked.
that's in the third royal reader.
it is n't a really truly religious piece of poetry, but it's so sad and melancholy that it might as well be.
she said it would n't do and she told me to learn the nineteenth paraphrase for next sunday.
i read it over in church afterwards and it's splendid.
there are two lines in particular that just thrill me."
"quick as the slaughtered squadrons fell in midian's evil day."
""i do n't know what "squadrons" means nor "midian," either, but it sounds so tragical.
i can hardly wait until next sunday to recite it.
i'll practice it all the week.
after sunday school i asked miss rogerson -- because mrs. lynde was too far away -- to show me your pew.
i sat just as still as i could and the text was revelations, third chapter, second and third verses.
it was a very long text.
if i was a minister i'd pick the short, snappy ones.
the sermon was awfully long, too.
i suppose the minister had to match it to the text.
i did n't think he was a bit interesting.
the trouble with him seems to be that he has n't enough imagination.
i did n't listen to him very much.
i just let my thoughts run and i thought of the most surprising things."
marilla felt helplessly that all this should be sternly reproved, but she was hampered by the undeniable fact that some of the things anne had said, especially about the minister's sermons and mr. bell's prayers, were what she herself had really thought deep down in her heart for years, but had never given expression to.
it almost seemed to her that those secret, unuttered, critical thoughts had suddenly taken visible and accusing shape and form in the person of this outspoken morsel of neglected humanity.
chapter xii.
a solemn vow and promise it was not until the next friday that marilla heard the story of the flower-wreathed hat.
she came home from mrs. lynde's and called anne to account.
""anne, mrs. rachel says you went to church last sunday with your hat rigged out ridiculous with roses and buttercups.
what on earth put you up to such a caper?
a pretty-looking object you must have been!"
""oh.
i know pink and yellow are n't becoming to me," began anne.
""becoming fiddlesticks!
it was putting flowers on your hat at all, no matter what color they were, that was ridiculous.
you are the most aggravating child!"
""i do n't see why it's any more ridiculous to wear flowers on your hat than on your dress," protested anne.
""lots of little girls there had bouquets pinned on their dresses.
what's the difference?"
marilla was not to be drawn from the safe concrete into dubious paths of the abstract.
""do n't answer me back like that, anne.
it was very silly of you to do such a thing.
never let me catch you at such a trick again.
mrs. rachel says she thought she would sink through the floor when she saw you come in all rigged out like that.
she could n't get near enough to tell you to take them off till it was too late.
she says people talked about it something dreadful.
of course they would think i had no better sense than to let you go decked out like that."
""oh, i'm so sorry," said anne, tears welling into her eyes.
""i never thought you'd mind.
the roses and buttercups were so sweet and pretty i thought they'd look lovely on my hat.
lots of the little girls had artificial flowers on their hats.
i'm afraid i'm going to be a dreadful trial to you.
maybe you'd better send me back to the asylum.
that would be terrible; i do n't think i could endure it; most likely i would go into consumption; i'm so thin as it is, you see.
but that would be better than being a trial to you."
""nonsense," said marilla, vexed at herself for having made the child cry.
""i do n't want to send you back to the asylum, i'm sure.
all i want is that you should behave like other little girls and not make yourself ridiculous.
do n't cry any more.
i've got some news for you.
diana barry came home this afternoon.
i'm going up to see if i can borrow a skirt pattern from mrs. barry, and if you like you can come with me and get acquainted with diana."
anne rose to her feet, with clasped hands, the tears still glistening on her cheeks; the dish towel she had been hemming slipped unheeded to the floor.
""oh, marilla, i'm frightened -- now that it has come i'm actually frightened.
what if she should n't like me!
it would be the most tragical disappointment of my life."
""now, do n't get into a fluster.
and i do wish you would n't use such long words.
it sounds so funny in a little girl.
i guess diana'll like you well enough.
it's her mother you've got to reckon with.
if she does n't like you it wo n't matter how much diana does.
if she has heard about your outburst to mrs. lynde and going to church with buttercups round your hat i do n't know what she'll think of you.
you must be polite and well behaved, and do n't make any of your startling speeches.
for pity's sake, if the child is n't actually trembling!"
anne was trembling.
her face was pale and tense.
""oh, marilla, you'd be excited, too, if you were going to meet a little girl you hoped to be your bosom friend and whose mother might n't like you," she said as she hastened to get her hat.
they went over to orchard slope by the short cut across the brook and up the firry hill grove.
mrs. barry came to the kitchen door in answer to marilla's knock.
she was a tall black-eyed, black-haired woman, with a very resolute mouth.
she had the reputation of being very strict with her children.
""how do you do, marilla?"
she said cordially.
""come in.
and this is the little girl you have adopted, i suppose?"
""yes, this is anne shirley," said marilla.
""spelled with an e," gasped anne, who, tremulous and excited as she was, was determined there should be no misunderstanding on that important point.
mrs. barry, not hearing or not comprehending, merely shook hands and said kindly: "how are you?"
""i am well in body although considerable rumpled up in spirit, thank you ma'am," said anne gravely.
then aside to marilla in an audible whisper, "there was n't anything startling in that, was there, marilla?"
diana was sitting on the sofa, reading a book which she dropped when the callers entered.
she was a very pretty little girl, with her mother's black eyes and hair, and rosy cheeks, and the merry expression which was her inheritance from her father.
""this is my little girl diana," said mrs. barry.
""diana, you might take anne out into the garden and show her your flowers.
it will be better for you than straining your eyes over that book.
she reads entirely too much --" this to marilla as the little girls went out -- "and i ca n't prevent her, for her father aids and abets her.
she's always poring over a book.
i'm glad she has the prospect of a playmate -- perhaps it will take her more out-of-doors."
outside in the garden, which was full of mellow sunset light streaming through the dark old firs to the west of it, stood anne and diana, gazing bashfully at each other over a clump of gorgeous tiger lilies.
the barry garden was a bowery wilderness of flowers which would have delighted anne's heart at any time less fraught with destiny.
it was encircled by huge old willows and tall firs, beneath which flourished flowers that loved the shade.
prim, right-angled paths neatly bordered with clamshells, intersected it like moist red ribbons and in the beds between old-fashioned flowers ran riot.
there were rosy bleeding-hearts and great splendid crimson peonies; white, fragrant narcissi and thorny, sweet scotch roses; pink and blue and white columbines and lilac-tinted bouncing bets; clumps of southernwood and ribbon grass and mint; purple adam-and-eve, daffodils, and masses of sweet clover white with its delicate, fragrant, feathery sprays; scarlet lightning that shot its fiery lances over prim white musk-flowers; a garden it was where sunshine lingered and bees hummed, and winds, beguiled into loitering, purred and rustled.
""oh, diana," said anne at last, clasping her hands and speaking almost in a whisper, "oh, do you think you can like me a little -- enough to be my bosom friend?"
diana laughed.
diana always laughed before she spoke.
""why, i guess so," she said frankly.
""i'm awfully glad you've come to live at green gables.
it will be jolly to have somebody to play with.
there is n't any other girl who lives near enough to play with, and i've no sisters big enough."
""will you swear to be my friend forever and ever?"
demanded anne eagerly.
diana looked shocked.
""why it's dreadfully wicked to swear," she said rebukingly.
""oh no, not my kind of swearing.
there are two kinds, you know."
""i never heard of but one kind," said diana doubtfully.
""there really is another.
oh, it is n't wicked at all.
it just means vowing and promising solemnly."
""well, i do n't mind doing that," agreed diana, relieved.
""how do you do it?"
""we must join hands -- so," said anne gravely.
""it ought to be over running water.
we'll just imagine this path is running water.
i'll repeat the oath first.
i solemnly swear to be faithful to my bosom friend, diana barry, as long as the sun and moon shall endure.
now you say it and put my name in."
diana repeated the "oath" with a laugh fore and aft.
then she said: "you're a queer girl, anne.
i heard before that you were queer.
but i believe i'm going to like you real well."
when marilla and anne went home diana went with them as for as the log bridge.
the two little girls walked with their arms about each other.
at the brook they parted with many promises to spend the next afternoon together.
""well, did you find diana a kindred spirit?"
asked marilla as they went up through the garden of green gables.
""oh yes," sighed anne, blissfully unconscious of any sarcasm on marilla's part.
""oh marilla, i'm the happiest girl on prince edward island this very moment.
i assure you i'll say my prayers with a right good-will tonight.
diana and i are going to build a playhouse in mr. william bell's birch grove tomorrow.
can i have those broken pieces of china that are out in the woodshed?
diana's birthday is in february and mine is in march.
do n't you think that is a very strange coincidence?
diana is going to lend me a book to read.
she says it's perfectly splendid and tremendously exciting.
she's going to show me a place back in the woods where rice lilies grow.
do n't you think diana has got very soulful eyes?
i wish i had soulful eyes.
diana is going to teach me to sing a song called "nelly in the hazel dell."
she's going to give me a picture to put up in my room; it's a perfectly beautiful picture, she says -- a lovely lady in a pale blue silk dress.
a sewing-machine agent gave it to her.
i wish i had something to give diana.
i'm an inch taller than diana, but she is ever so much fatter; she says she'd like to be thin because it's so much more graceful, but i'm afraid she only said it to soothe my feelings.
we're going to the shore some day to gather shells.
we have agreed to call the spring down by the log bridge the dryad's bubble.
is n't that a perfectly elegant name?
i read a story once about a spring called that.
a dryad is sort of a grown-up fairy, i think."
""well, all i hope is you wo n't talk diana to death," said marilla.
""but remember this in all your planning, anne.
you're not going to play all the time nor most of it.
you'll have your work to do and it'll have to be done first."
anne's cup of happiness was full, and matthew caused it to overflow.
he had just got home from a trip to the store at carmody, and he sheepishly produced a small parcel from his pocket and handed it to anne, with a deprecatory look at marilla.
""i heard you say you liked chocolate sweeties, so i got you some," he said.
""humph," sniffed marilla.
""it'll ruin her teeth and stomach.
there, there, child, do n't look so dismal.
you can eat those, since matthew has gone and got them.
he'd better have brought you peppermints.
they're wholesomer.
do n't sicken yourself eating all them at once now."
""oh, no, indeed, i wo n't," said anne eagerly.
""i'll just eat one tonight, marilla.
and i can give diana half of them, ca n't i?
the other half will taste twice as sweet to me if i give some to her.
it's delightful to think i have something to give her."
""i will say it for the child," said marilla when anne had gone to her gable, "she is n't stingy.
i'm glad, for of all faults i detest stinginess in a child.
dear me, it's only three weeks since she came, and it seems as if she'd been here always.
i ca n't imagine the place without her.
now, do n't be looking i told-you-so, matthew.
that's bad enough in a woman, but it is n't to be endured in a man.
i'm perfectly willing to own up that i'm glad i consented to keep the child and that i'm getting fond of her, but do n't you rub it in, matthew cuthbert."
chapter xiii.
the delights of anticipation "it's time anne was in to do her sewing," said marilla, glancing at the clock and then out into the yellow august afternoon where everything drowsed in the heat.
""she stayed playing with diana more than half an hour more'n i gave her leave to; and now she's perched out there on the woodpile talking to matthew, nineteen to the dozen, when she knows perfectly well she ought to be at her work.
and of course he's listening to her like a perfect ninny.
i never saw such an infatuated man.
the more she talks and the odder the things she says, the more he's delighted evidently.
anne shirley, you come right in here this minute, do you hear me!"
a series of staccato taps on the west window brought anne flying in from the yard, eyes shining, cheeks faintly flushed with pink, unbraided hair streaming behind her in a torrent of brightness.
""oh, marilla," she exclaimed breathlessly, "there's going to be a sunday-school picnic next week -- in mr. harmon andrews's field, right near the lake of shining waters.
and mrs. superintendent bell and mrs. rachel lynde are going to make ice cream -- think of it, marilla -- ice cream!
and, oh, marilla, can i go to it?"
""just look at the clock, if you please, anne.
what time did i tell you to come in?"
""two o'clock -- but is n't it splendid about the picnic, marilla?
please can i go?
oh, i've never been to a picnic -- i've dreamed of picnics, but i've never --" "yes, i told you to come at two o'clock.
and it's a quarter to three.
i'd like to know why you did n't obey me, anne."
""why, i meant to, marilla, as much as could be.
but you have no idea how fascinating idlewild is.
and then, of course, i had to tell matthew about the picnic.
matthew is such a sympathetic listener.
please can i go?"
""you'll have to learn to resist the fascination of idle-whatever-you-call-it.
when i tell you to come in at a certain time i mean that time and not half an hour later.
and you need n't stop to discourse with sympathetic listeners on your way, either.
as for the picnic, of course you can go.
you're a sunday-school scholar, and it's not likely i'd refuse to let you go when all the other little girls are going."
""but -- but," faltered anne, "diana says that everybody must take a basket of things to eat.
i ca n't cook, as you know, marilla, and -- and -- i do n't mind going to a picnic without puffed sleeves so much, but i'd feel terribly humiliated if i had to go without a basket.
it's been preying on my mind ever since diana told me."
""well, it need n't prey any longer.
i'll bake you a basket."
""oh, you dear good marilla.
oh, you are so kind to me.
oh, i'm so much obliged to you."
getting through with her "ohs" anne cast herself into marilla's arms and rapturously kissed her sallow cheek.
it was the first time in her whole life that childish lips had voluntarily touched marilla's face.
again that sudden sensation of startling sweetness thrilled her.
she was secretly vastly pleased at anne's impulsive caress, which was probably the reason why she said brusquely: "there, there, never mind your kissing nonsense.
i'd sooner see you doing strictly as you're told.
as for cooking, i mean to begin giving you lessons in that some of these days.
but you're so featherbrained, anne, i've been waiting to see if you'd sober down a little and learn to be steady before i begin.
you've got to keep your wits about you in cooking and not stop in the middle of things to let your thoughts rove all over creation.
now, get out your patchwork and have your square done before teatime."
""i do not like patchwork," said anne dolefully, hunting out her workbasket and sitting down before a little heap of red and white diamonds with a sigh.
""i think some kinds of sewing would be nice; but there's no scope for imagination in patchwork.
it's just one little seam after another and you never seem to be getting anywhere.
but of course i'd rather be anne of green gables sewing patchwork than anne of any other place with nothing to do but play.
i wish time went as quick sewing patches as it does when i'm playing with diana, though.
oh, we do have such elegant times, marilla.
i have to furnish most of the imagination, but i'm well able to do that.
diana is simply perfect in every other way.
you know that little piece of land across the brook that runs up between our farm and mr. barry's.
it belongs to mr. william bell, and right in the corner there is a little ring of white birch trees -- the most romantic spot, marilla.
diana and i have our playhouse there.
we call it idlewild.
is n't that a poetical name?
i assure you it took me some time to think it out.
i stayed awake nearly a whole night before i invented it.
then, just as i was dropping off to sleep, it came like an inspiration.
diana was enraptured when she heard it.
we have got our house fixed up elegantly.
you must come and see it, marilla -- wo n't you?
we have great big stones, all covered with moss, for seats, and boards from tree to tree for shelves.
and we have all our dishes on them.
of course, they're all broken but it's the easiest thing in the world to imagine that they are whole.
there's a piece of a plate with a spray of red and yellow ivy on it that is especially beautiful.
we keep it in the parlor and we have the fairy glass there, too.
the fairy glass is as lovely as a dream.
diana found it out in the woods behind their chicken house.
it's all full of rainbows -- just little young rainbows that have n't grown big yet -- and diana's mother told her it was broken off a hanging lamp they once had.
but it's nice to imagine the fairies lost it one night when they had a ball, so we call it the fairy glass.
matthew is going to make us a table.
oh, we have named that little round pool over in mr. barry's field willowmere.
i got that name out of the book diana lent me.
that was a thrilling book, marilla.
the heroine had five lovers.
i'd be satisfied with one, would n't you?
she was very handsome and she went through great tribulations.
she could faint as easy as anything.
i'd love to be able to faint, would n't you, marilla?
it's so romantic.
but i'm really very healthy for all i'm so thin.
i believe i'm getting fatter, though.
do n't you think i am?
i look at my elbows every morning when i get up to see if any dimples are coming.
diana is having a new dress made with elbow sleeves.
she is going to wear it to the picnic.
oh, i do hope it will be fine next wednesday.
i do n't feel that i could endure the disappointment if anything happened to prevent me from getting to the picnic.
i suppose i'd live through it, but i'm certain it would be a lifelong sorrow.
it would n't matter if i got to a hundred picnics in after years; they would n't make up for missing this one.
they're going to have boats on the lake of shining waters -- and ice cream, as i told you.
i have never tasted ice cream.
diana tried to explain what it was like, but i guess ice cream is one of those things that are beyond imagination."
""anne, you have talked even on for ten minutes by the clock," said marilla.
""now, just for curiosity's sake, see if you can hold your tongue for the same length of time."
anne held her tongue as desired.
but for the rest of the week she talked picnic and thought picnic and dreamed picnic.
on saturday it rained and she worked herself up into such a frantic state lest it should keep on raining until and over wednesday that marilla made her sew an extra patchwork square by way of steadying her nerves.
on sunday anne confided to marilla on the way home from church that she grew actually cold all over with excitement when the minister announced the picnic from the pulpit.
""such a thrill as went up and down my back, marilla!
i do n't think i'd ever really believed until then that there was honestly going to be a picnic.
i could n't help fearing i'd only imagined it.
but when a minister says a thing in the pulpit you just have to believe it."
""you set your heart too much on things, anne," said marilla, with a sigh.
""i'm afraid there'll be a great many disappointments in store for you through life."
""oh, marilla, looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them," exclaimed anne.
""you may n't get the things themselves; but nothing can prevent you from having the fun of looking forward to them.
mrs. lynde says, "blessed are they who expect nothing for they shall not be disappointed."
but i think it would be worse to expect nothing than to be disappointed."
marilla wore her amethyst brooch to church that day as usual.
marilla always wore her amethyst brooch to church.
she would have thought it rather sacrilegious to leave it off -- as bad as forgetting her bible or her collection dime.
that amethyst brooch was marilla's most treasured possession.
a seafaring uncle had given it to her mother who in turn had bequeathed it to marilla.
it was an old-fashioned oval, containing a braid of her mother's hair, surrounded by a border of very fine amethysts.
marilla knew too little about precious stones to realize how fine the amethysts actually were; but she thought them very beautiful and was always pleasantly conscious of their violet shimmer at her throat, above her good brown satin dress, even although she could not see it.
anne had been smitten with delighted admiration when she first saw that brooch.
""oh, marilla, it's a perfectly elegant brooch.
i do n't know how you can pay attention to the sermon or the prayers when you have it on.
i could n't, i know.
i think amethysts are just sweet.
they are what i used to think diamonds were like.
long ago, before i had ever seen a diamond, i read about them and i tried to imagine what they would be like.
i thought they would be lovely glimmering purple stones.
when i saw a real diamond in a lady's ring one day i was so disappointed i cried.
of course, it was very lovely but it was n't my idea of a diamond.
will you let me hold the brooch for one minute, marilla?
do you think amethysts can be the souls of good violets?"
chapter xiv.
anne's confession on the monday evening before the picnic marilla came down from her room with a troubled face.
""anne," she said to that small personage, who was shelling peas by the spotless table and singing, "nelly of the hazel dell" with a vigor and expression that did credit to diana's teaching, "did you see anything of my amethyst brooch?
i thought i stuck it in my pincushion when i came home from church yesterday evening, but i ca n't find it anywhere."
""i -- i saw it this afternoon when you were away at the aid society," said anne, a little slowly.
""i was passing your door when i saw it on the cushion, so i went in to look at it."
""did you touch it?"
said marilla sternly.
""y-e-e-s," admitted anne, "i took it up and i pinned it on my breast just to see how it would look."
""you had no business to do anything of the sort.
it's very wrong in a little girl to meddle.
you should n't have gone into my room in the first place and you should n't have touched a brooch that did n't belong to you in the second.
where did you put it?"
""oh, i put it back on the bureau.
i had n't it on a minute.
truly, i did n't mean to meddle, marilla.
i did n't think about its being wrong to go in and try on the brooch; but i see now that it was and i'll never do it again.
that's one good thing about me.
i never do the same naughty thing twice."
""you did n't put it back," said marilla.
""that brooch is n't anywhere on the bureau.
you've taken it out or something, anne."
""i did put it back," said anne quickly -- pertly, marilla thought.
""i do n't just remember whether i stuck it on the pincushion or laid it in the china tray.
but i'm perfectly certain i put it back."
""i'll go and have another look," said marilla, determining to be just.
""if you put that brooch back it's there still.
if it is n't i'll know you did n't, that's all!"
marilla went to her room and made a thorough search, not only over the bureau but in every other place she thought the brooch might possibly be.
it was not to be found and she returned to the kitchen.
""anne, the brooch is gone.
by your own admission you were the last person to handle it.
now, what have you done with it?
tell me the truth at once.
did you take it out and lose it?"
""no, i did n't," said anne solemnly, meeting marilla's angry gaze squarely.
""i never took the brooch out of your room and that is the truth, if i was to be led to the block for it -- although i'm not very certain what a block is.
so there, marilla."
anne's "so there" was only intended to emphasize her assertion, but marilla took it as a display of defiance.
""i believe you are telling me a falsehood, anne," she said sharply.
""i know you are.
there now, do n't say anything more unless you are prepared to tell the whole truth.
go to your room and stay there until you are ready to confess."
""will i take the peas with me?"
said anne meekly.
""no, i'll finish shelling them myself.
do as i bid you."
when anne had gone marilla went about her evening tasks in a very disturbed state of mind.
she was worried about her valuable brooch.
what if anne had lost it?
and how wicked of the child to deny having taken it, when anybody could see she must have!
with such an innocent face, too!
""i do n't know what i would n't sooner have had happen," thought marilla, as she nervously shelled the peas.
""of course, i do n't suppose she meant to steal it or anything like that.
she's just taken it to play with or help along that imagination of hers.
she must have taken it, that's clear, for there has n't been a soul in that room since she was in it, by her own story, until i went up tonight.
and the brooch is gone, there's nothing surer.
i suppose she has lost it and is afraid to own up for fear she'll be punished.
it's a dreadful thing to think she tells falsehoods.
it's a far worse thing than her fit of temper.
it's a fearful responsibility to have a child in your house you ca n't trust.
slyness and untruthfulness -- that's what she has displayed.
i declare i feel worse about that than about the brooch.
if she'd only have told the truth about it i would n't mind so much."
marilla went to her room at intervals all through the evening and searched for the brooch, without finding it.
a bedtime visit to the east gable produced no result.
anne persisted in denying that she knew anything about the brooch but marilla was only the more firmly convinced that she did.
she told matthew the story the next morning.
matthew was confounded and puzzled; he could not so quickly lose faith in anne but he had to admit that circumstances were against her.
""you're sure it has n't fell down behind the bureau?"
was the only suggestion he could offer.
""i've moved the bureau and i've taken out the drawers and i've looked in every crack and cranny" was marilla's positive answer.
""the brooch is gone and that child has taken it and lied about it.
that's the plain, ugly truth, matthew cuthbert, and we might as well look it in the face."
""well now, what are you going to do about it?"
matthew asked forlornly, feeling secretly thankful that marilla and not he had to deal with the situation.
he felt no desire to put his oar in this time.
""she'll stay in her room until she confesses," said marilla grimly, remembering the success of this method in the former case.
""then we'll see.
perhaps we'll be able to find the brooch if she'll only tell where she took it; but in any case she'll have to be severely punished, matthew."
""well now, you'll have to punish her," said matthew, reaching for his hat.
""i've nothing to do with it, remember.
you warned me off yourself."
marilla felt deserted by everyone.
she could not even go to mrs. lynde for advice.
she went up to the east gable with a very serious face and left it with a face more serious still.
anne steadfastly refused to confess.
she persisted in asserting that she had not taken the brooch.
the child had evidently been crying and marilla felt a pang of pity which she sternly repressed.
by night she was, as she expressed it, "beat out."
""you'll stay in this room until you confess, anne.
you can make up your mind to that," she said firmly.
""but the picnic is tomorrow, marilla," cried anne.
""you wo n't keep me from going to that, will you?
you'll just let me out for the afternoon, wo n't you?
then i'll stay here as long as you like afterwards cheerfully.
but i must go to the picnic."
""you'll not go to picnics nor anywhere else until you've confessed, anne."
""oh, marilla," gasped anne.
but marilla had gone out and shut the door.
wednesday morning dawned as bright and fair as if expressly made to order for the picnic.
birds sang around green gables; the madonna lilies in the garden sent out whiffs of perfume that entered in on viewless winds at every door and window, and wandered through halls and rooms like spirits of benediction.
the birches in the hollow waved joyful hands as if watching for anne's usual morning greeting from the east gable.
but anne was not at her window.
when marilla took her breakfast up to her she found the child sitting primly on her bed, pale and resolute, with tight-shut lips and gleaming eyes.
""marilla, i'm ready to confess."
""ah!"
marilla laid down her tray.
once again her method had succeeded; but her success was very bitter to her.
""let me hear what you have to say then, anne."
""i took the amethyst brooch," said anne, as if repeating a lesson she had learned.
""i took it just as you said.
i did n't mean to take it when i went in.
but it did look so beautiful, marilla, when i pinned it on my breast that i was overcome by an irresistible temptation.
i imagined how perfectly thrilling it would be to take it to idlewild and play i was the lady cordelia fitzgerald.
it would be so much easier to imagine i was the lady cordelia if i had a real amethyst brooch on.
diana and i make necklaces of roseberries but what are roseberries compared to amethysts?
so i took the brooch.
i thought i could put it back before you came home.
i went all the way around by the road to lengthen out the time.
when i was going over the bridge across the lake of shining waters i took the brooch off to have another look at it.
oh, how it did shine in the sunlight!
and then, when i was leaning over the bridge, it just slipped through my fingers -- so -- and went down -- down -- down, all purply-sparkling, and sank forevermore beneath the lake of shining waters.
and that's the best i can do at confessing, marilla."
marilla felt hot anger surge up into her heart again.
this child had taken and lost her treasured amethyst brooch and now sat there calmly reciting the details thereof without the least apparent compunction or repentance.
""anne, this is terrible," she said, trying to speak calmly.
""you are the very wickedest girl i ever heard of."
""yes, i suppose i am," agreed anne tranquilly.
""and i know i'll have to be punished.
it'll be your duty to punish me, marilla.
wo n't you please get it over right off because i'd like to go to the picnic with nothing on my mind."
""picnic, indeed!
you'll go to no picnic today, anne shirley.
that shall be your punishment.
and it is n't half severe enough either for what you've done!"
""not go to the picnic!"
anne sprang to her feet and clutched marilla's hand.
""but you promised me i might!
oh, marilla, i must go to the picnic.
that was why i confessed.
punish me any way you like but that.
oh, marilla, please, please, let me go to the picnic.
think of the ice cream!
for anything you know i may never have a chance to taste ice cream again."
marilla disengaged anne's clinging hands stonily.
""you need n't plead, anne.
you are not going to the picnic and that's final.
no, not a word."
anne realized that marilla was not to be moved.
she clasped her hands together, gave a piercing shriek, and then flung herself face downward on the bed, crying and writhing in an utter abandonment of disappointment and despair.
""for the land's sake!"
gasped marilla, hastening from the room.
""i believe the child is crazy.
no child in her senses would behave as she does.
if she is n't she's utterly bad.
oh dear, i'm afraid rachel was right from the first.
but i've put my hand to the plow and i wo n't look back."
that was a dismal morning.
marilla worked fiercely and scrubbed the porch floor and the dairy shelves when she could find nothing else to do.
neither the shelves nor the porch needed it -- but marilla did.
then she went out and raked the yard.
when dinner was ready she went to the stairs and called anne.
a tear-stained face appeared, looking tragically over the banisters.
""come down to your dinner, anne."
""i do n't want any dinner, marilla," said anne, sobbingly.
""i could n't eat anything.
my heart is broken.
you'll feel remorse of conscience someday, i expect, for breaking it, marilla, but i forgive you.
remember when the time comes that i forgive you.
but please do n't ask me to eat anything, especially boiled pork and greens.
boiled pork and greens are so unromantic when one is in affliction."
exasperated, marilla returned to the kitchen and poured out her tale of woe to matthew, who, between his sense of justice and his unlawful sympathy with anne, was a miserable man.
""well now, she should n't have taken the brooch, marilla, or told stories about it," he admitted, mournfully surveying his plateful of unromantic pork and greens as if he, like anne, thought it a food unsuited to crises of feeling, "but she's such a little thing -- such an interesting little thing.
do n't you think it's pretty rough not to let her go to the picnic when she's so set on it?"
""matthew cuthbert, i'm amazed at you.
i think i've let her off entirely too easy.
and she does n't appear to realize how wicked she's been at all -- that's what worries me most.
if she'd really felt sorry it would n't be so bad.
and you do n't seem to realize it, neither; you're making excuses for her all the time to yourself -- i can see that."
""well now, she's such a little thing," feebly reiterated matthew.
""and there should be allowances made, marilla.
you know she's never had any bringing up."
""well, she's having it now" retorted marilla.
the retort silenced matthew if it did not convince him.
that dinner was a very dismal meal.
the only cheerful thing about it was jerry buote, the hired boy, and marilla resented his cheerfulness as a personal insult.
when her dishes were washed and her bread sponge set and her hens fed marilla remembered that she had noticed a small rent in her best black lace shawl when she had taken it off on monday afternoon on returning from the ladies" aid.
she would go and mend it.
the shawl was in a box in her trunk.
as marilla lifted it out, the sunlight, falling through the vines that clustered thickly about the window, struck upon something caught in the shawl -- something that glittered and sparkled in facets of violet light.
marilla snatched at it with a gasp.
it was the amethyst brooch, hanging to a thread of the lace by its catch!
""dear life and heart," said marilla blankly, "what does this mean?
here's my brooch safe and sound that i thought was at the bottom of barry's pond.
whatever did that girl mean by saying she took it and lost it?
i declare i believe green gables is bewitched.
i remember now that when i took off my shawl monday afternoon i laid it on the bureau for a minute.
i suppose the brooch got caught in it somehow.
well!"
marilla betook herself to the east gable, brooch in hand.
anne had cried herself out and was sitting dejectedly by the window.
""anne shirley," said marilla solemnly, "i've just found my brooch hanging to my black lace shawl.
now i want to know what that rigmarole you told me this morning meant."
""why, you said you'd keep me here until i confessed," returned anne wearily, "and so i decided to confess because i was bound to get to the picnic.
i thought out a confession last night after i went to bed and made it as interesting as i could.
and i said it over and over so that i would n't forget it.
but you would n't let me go to the picnic after all, so all my trouble was wasted."
marilla had to laugh in spite of herself.
but her conscience pricked her.
""anne, you do beat all!
but i was wrong -- i see that now.
i should n't have doubted your word when i'd never known you to tell a story.
of course, it was n't right for you to confess to a thing you had n't done -- it was very wrong to do so.
but i drove you to it.
so if you'll forgive me, anne, i'll forgive you and we'll start square again.
and now get yourself ready for the picnic."
anne flew up like a rocket.
""oh, marilla, is n't it too late?"
""no, it's only two o'clock.
they wo n't be more than well gathered yet and it'll be an hour before they have tea.
wash your face and comb your hair and put on your gingham.
i'll fill a basket for you.
there's plenty of stuff baked in the house.
and i'll get jerry to hitch up the sorrel and drive you down to the picnic ground."
""oh, marilla," exclaimed anne, flying to the washstand.
""five minutes ago i was so miserable i was wishing i'd never been born and now i would n't change places with an angel!"
that night a thoroughly happy, completely tired-out anne returned to green gables in a state of beatification impossible to describe.
""oh, marilla, i've had a perfectly scrumptious time.
scrumptious is a new word i learned today.
i heard mary alice bell use it.
is n't it very expressive?
everything was lovely.
we had a splendid tea and then mr. harmon andrews took us all for a row on the lake of shining waters -- six of us at a time.
and jane andrews nearly fell overboard.
she was leaning out to pick water lilies and if mr. andrews had n't caught her by her sash just in the nick of time she'd fallen in and prob "ly been drowned.
i wish it had been me.
it would have been such a romantic experience to have been nearly drowned.
it would be such a thrilling tale to tell.
and we had the ice cream.
words fail me to describe that ice cream.
marilla, i assure you it was sublime."
that evening marilla told the whole story to matthew over her stocking basket.
""i'm willing to own up that i made a mistake," she concluded candidly, "but i've learned a lesson.
i have to laugh when i think of anne's "confession," although i suppose i should n't for it really was a falsehood.
but it does n't seem as bad as the other would have been, somehow, and anyhow i'm responsible for it.
that child is hard to understand in some respects.
but i believe she'll turn out all right yet.
and there's one thing certain, no house will ever be dull that she's in."
chapter xv.
a tempest in the school teapot "what a splendid day!"
said anne, drawing a long breath.
""is n't it good just to be alive on a day like this?
i pity the people who are n't born yet for missing it.
they may have good days, of course, but they can never have this one.
and it's splendider still to have such a lovely way to go to school by, is n't it?"
""it's a lot nicer than going round by the road; that is so dusty and hot," said diana practically, peeping into her dinner basket and mentally calculating if the three juicy, toothsome, raspberry tarts reposing there were divided among ten girls how many bites each girl would have.
the little girls of avonlea school always pooled their lunches, and to eat three raspberry tarts all alone or even to share them only with one's best chum would have forever and ever branded as "awful mean" the girl who did it.
and yet, when the tarts were divided among ten girls you just got enough to tantalize you.
the way anne and diana went to school was a pretty one.
anne thought those walks to and from school with diana could n't be improved upon even by imagination.
going around by the main road would have been so unromantic; but to go by lover's lane and willowmere and violet vale and the birch path was romantic, if ever anything was.
lover's lane opened out below the orchard at green gables and stretched far up into the woods to the end of the cuthbert farm.
it was the way by which the cows were taken to the back pasture and the wood hauled home in winter.
anne had named it lover's lane before she had been a month at green gables.
""not that lovers ever really walk there," she explained to marilla, "but diana and i are reading a perfectly magnificent book and there's a lover's lane in it.
so we want to have one, too.
and it's a very pretty name, do n't you think?
so romantic!
we ca n't imagine the lovers into it, you know.
i like that lane because you can think out loud there without people calling you crazy."
anne, starting out alone in the morning, went down lover's lane as far as the brook.
here diana met her, and the two little girls went on up the lane under the leafy arch of maples -- "maples are such sociable trees," said anne; "they're always rustling and whispering to you" -- until they came to a rustic bridge.
then they left the lane and walked through mr. barry's back field and past willowmere.
beyond willowmere came violet vale -- a little green dimple in the shadow of mr. andrew bell's big woods.
""of course there are no violets there now," anne told marilla, "but diana says there are millions of them in spring.
oh, marilla, ca n't you just imagine you see them?
it actually takes away my breath.
i named it violet vale.
diana says she never saw the beat of me for hitting on fancy names for places.
it's nice to be clever at something, is n't it?
but diana named the birch path.
she wanted to, so i let her; but i'm sure i could have found something more poetical than plain birch path.
anybody can think of a name like that.
but the birch path is one of the prettiest places in the world, marilla."
it was.
other people besides anne thought so when they stumbled on it.
it was a little narrow, twisting path, winding down over a long hill straight through mr. bell's woods, where the light came down sifted through so many emerald screens that it was as flawless as the heart of a diamond.
it was fringed in all its length with slim young birches, white stemmed and lissom boughed; ferns and starflowers and wild lilies-of-the-valley and scarlet tufts of pigeonberries grew thickly along it; and always there was a delightful spiciness in the air and music of bird calls and the murmur and laugh of wood winds in the trees overhead.
now and then you might see a rabbit skipping across the road if you were quiet -- which, with anne and diana, happened about once in a blue moon.
down in the valley the path came out to the main road and then it was just up the spruce hill to the school.
the avonlea school was a whitewashed building, low in the eaves and wide in the windows, furnished inside with comfortable substantial old-fashioned desks that opened and shut, and were carved all over their lids with the initials and hieroglyphics of three generations of school children.
the schoolhouse was set back from the road and behind it was a dusky fir wood and a brook where all the children put their bottles of milk in the morning to keep cool and sweet until dinner hour.
marilla had seen anne start off to school on the first day of september with many secret misgivings.
anne was such an odd girl.
how would she get on with the other children?
and how on earth would she ever manage to hold her tongue during school hours?
things went better than marilla feared, however.
anne came home that evening in high spirits.
""i think i'm going to like school here," she announced.
""i do n't think much of the master, through.
he's all the time curling his mustache and making eyes at prissy andrews.
prissy is grown up, you know.
she's sixteen and she's studying for the entrance examination into queen's academy at charlottetown next year.
tillie boulter says the master is dead gone on her.
she's got a beautiful complexion and curly brown hair and she does it up so elegantly.
she sits in the long seat at the back and he sits there, too, most of the time -- to explain her lessons, he says.
but ruby gillis says she saw him writing something on her slate and when prissy read it she blushed as red as a beet and giggled; and ruby gillis says she does n't believe it had anything to do with the lesson."
""anne shirley, do n't let me hear you talking about your teacher in that way again," said marilla sharply.
""you do n't go to school to criticize the master.
i guess he can teach you something, and it's your business to learn.
and i want you to understand right off that you are not to come home telling tales about him.
that is something i wo n't encourage.
i hope you were a good girl."
""indeed i was," said anne comfortably.
""it was n't so hard as you might imagine, either.
i sit with diana.
our seat is right by the window and we can look down to the lake of shining waters.
there are a lot of nice girls in school and we had scrumptious fun playing at dinnertime.
it's so nice to have a lot of little girls to play with.
but of course i like diana best and always will.
i adore diana.
i'm dreadfully far behind the others.
they're all in the fifth book and i'm only in the fourth.
i feel that it's kind of a disgrace.
but there's not one of them has such an imagination as i have and i soon found that out.
we had reading and geography and canadian history and dictation today.
mr. phillips said my spelling was disgraceful and he held up my slate so that everybody could see it, all marked over.
i felt so mortified, marilla; he might have been politer to a stranger, i think.
ruby gillis gave me an apple and sophia sloane lent me a lovely pink card with "may i see you home?"
on it.
i'm to give it back to her tomorrow.
and tillie boulter let me wear her bead ring all the afternoon.
can i have some of those pearl beads off the old pincushion in the garret to make myself a ring?
and oh, marilla, jane andrews told me that minnie macpherson told her that she heard prissy andrews tell sara gillis that i had a very pretty nose.
marilla, that is the first compliment i have ever had in my life and you ca n't imagine what a strange feeling it gave me.
marilla, have i really a pretty nose?
i know you'll tell me the truth."
""your nose is well enough," said marilla shortly.
secretly she thought anne's nose was a remarkable pretty one; but she had no intention of telling her so.
that was three weeks ago and all had gone smoothly so far.
and now, this crisp september morning, anne and diana were tripping blithely down the birch path, two of the happiest little girls in avonlea.
""i guess gilbert blythe will be in school today," said diana.
""he's been visiting his cousins over in new brunswick all summer and he only came home saturday night.
he's aw "fly handsome, anne.
and he teases the girls something terrible.
he just torments our lives out."
diana's voice indicated that she rather liked having her life tormented out than not.
""gilbert blythe?"
said anne.
""is n't his name that's written up on the porch wall with julia bell's and a big "take notice" over them?"
""yes," said diana, tossing her head, "but i'm sure he does n't like julia bell so very much.
i've heard him say he studied the multiplication table by her freckles."
""oh, do n't speak about freckles to me," implored anne.
""it is n't delicate when i've got so many.
but i do think that writing take-notices up on the wall about the boys and girls is the silliest ever.
i should just like to see anybody dare to write my name up with a boy's.
not, of course," she hastened to add, "that anybody would."
anne sighed.
she did n't want her name written up.
but it was a little humiliating to know that there was no danger of it.
""nonsense," said diana, whose black eyes and glossy tresses had played such havoc with the hearts of avonlea schoolboys that her name figured on the porch walls in half a dozen take-notices.
""it's only meant as a joke.
and do n't you be too sure your name wo n't ever be written up.
charlie sloane is dead gone on you.
he told his mother -- his mother, mind you -- that you were the smartest girl in school.
that's better than being good looking."
""no, it is n't," said anne, feminine to the core.
""i'd rather be pretty than clever.
and i hate charlie sloane, i ca n't bear a boy with goggle eyes.
if anyone wrote my name up with his i'd never get over it, diana barry.
but it is nice to keep head of your class."
""you'll have gilbert in your class after this," said diana, "and he's used to being head of his class, i can tell you.
he's only in the fourth book although he's nearly fourteen.
four years ago his father was sick and had to go out to alberta for his health and gilbert went with him.
they were there three years and gil did n't go to school hardly any until they came back.
you wo n't find it so easy to keep head after this, anne."
""i'm glad," said anne quickly.
""i could n't really feel proud of keeping head of little boys and girls of just nine or ten.
i got up yesterday spelling "ebullition."
josie pye was head and, mind you, she peeped in her book.
mr. phillips did n't see her -- he was looking at prissy andrews -- but i did.
i just swept her a look of freezing scorn and she got as red as a beet and spelled it wrong after all."
""those pye girls are cheats all round," said diana indignantly, as they climbed the fence of the main road.
""gertie pye actually went and put her milk bottle in my place in the brook yesterday.
did you ever?
i do n't speak to her now."
when mr. phillips was in the back of the room hearing prissy andrews's latin, diana whispered to anne, "that's gilbert blythe sitting right across the aisle from you, anne.
just look at him and see if you do n't think he's handsome."
anne looked accordingly.
she had a good chance to do so, for the said gilbert blythe was absorbed in stealthily pinning the long yellow braid of ruby gillis, who sat in front of him, to the back of her seat.
he was a tall boy, with curly brown hair, roguish hazel eyes, and a mouth twisted into a teasing smile.
presently ruby gillis started up to take a sum to the master; she fell back into her seat with a little shriek, believing that her hair was pulled out by the roots.
everybody looked at her and mr. phillips glared so sternly that ruby began to cry.
gilbert had whisked the pin out of sight and was studying his history with the soberest face in the world; but when the commotion subsided he looked at anne and winked with inexpressible drollery.
""i think your gilbert blythe is handsome," confided anne to diana, "but i think he's very bold.
it is n't good manners to wink at a strange girl."
but it was not until the afternoon that things really began to happen.
mr. phillips was back in the corner explaining a problem in algebra to prissy andrews and the rest of the scholars were doing pretty much as they pleased eating green apples, whispering, drawing pictures on their slates, and driving crickets harnessed to strings, up and down aisle.
gilbert blythe was trying to make anne shirley look at him and failing utterly, because anne was at that moment totally oblivious not only to the very existence of gilbert blythe, but of every other scholar in avonlea school itself.
with her chin propped on her hands and her eyes fixed on the blue glimpse of the lake of shining waters that the west window afforded, she was far away in a gorgeous dreamland hearing and seeing nothing save her own wonderful visions.
gilbert blythe was n't used to putting himself out to make a girl look at him and meeting with failure.
she should look at him, that red-haired shirley girl with the little pointed chin and the big eyes that were n't like the eyes of any other girl in avonlea school.
gilbert reached across the aisle, picked up the end of anne's long red braid, held it out at arm's length and said in a piercing whisper: "carrots!
carrots!"
then anne looked at him with a vengeance!
she did more than look.
she sprang to her feet, her bright fancies fallen into cureless ruin.
she flashed one indignant glance at gilbert from eyes whose angry sparkle was swiftly quenched in equally angry tears.
""you mean, hateful boy!"
she exclaimed passionately.
""how dare you!"
and then -- thwack!
anne had brought her slate down on gilbert's head and cracked it -- slate not head -- clear across.
avonlea school always enjoyed a scene.
this was an especially enjoyable one.
everybody said "oh" in horrified delight.
diana gasped.
ruby gillis, who was inclined to be hysterical, began to cry.
tommy sloane let his team of crickets escape him altogether while he stared open-mouthed at the tableau.
mr. phillips stalked down the aisle and laid his hand heavily on anne's shoulder.
""anne shirley, what does this mean?"
he said angrily.
anne returned no answer.
it was asking too much of flesh and blood to expect her to tell before the whole school that she had been called "carrots."
gilbert it was who spoke up stoutly.
""it was my fault mr. phillips.
i teased her."
mr. phillips paid no heed to gilbert.
""i am sorry to see a pupil of mine displaying such a temper and such a vindictive spirit," he said in a solemn tone, as if the mere fact of being a pupil of his ought to root out all evil passions from the hearts of small imperfect mortals.
""anne, go and stand on the platform in front of the blackboard for the rest of the afternoon."
anne would have infinitely preferred a whipping to this punishment under which her sensitive spirit quivered as from a whiplash.
with a white, set face she obeyed.
mr. phillips took a chalk crayon and wrote on the blackboard above her head.
""ann shirley has a very bad temper.
ann shirley must learn to control her temper," and then read it out loud so that even the primer class, who could n't read writing, should understand it.
anne stood there the rest of the afternoon with that legend above her.
she did not cry or hang her head.
anger was still too hot in her heart for that and it sustained her amid all her agony of humiliation.
with resentful eyes and passion-red cheeks she confronted alike diana's sympathetic gaze and charlie sloane's indignant nods and josie pye's malicious smiles.
as for gilbert blythe, she would not even look at him.
she would never look at him again!
she would never speak to him!!
when school was dismissed anne marched out with her red head held high.
gilbert blythe tried to intercept her at the porch door.
""i'm awfully sorry i made fun of your hair, anne," he whispered contritely.
""honest i am.
do n't be mad for keeps, now."
anne swept by disdainfully, without look or sign of hearing.
""oh how could you, anne?"
breathed diana as they went down the road half reproachfully, half admiringly.
diana felt that she could never have resisted gilbert's plea.
""i shall never forgive gilbert blythe," said anne firmly.
""and mr. phillips spelled my name without an e, too.
the iron has entered into my soul, diana."
diana had n't the least idea what anne meant but she understood it was something terrible.
""you must n't mind gilbert making fun of your hair," she said soothingly.
""why, he makes fun of all the girls.
he laughs at mine because it's so black.
he's called me a crow a dozen times; and i never heard him apologize for anything before, either."
""there's a great deal of difference between being called a crow and being called carrots," said anne with dignity.
""gilbert blythe has hurt my feelings excruciatingly, diana."
it is possible the matter might have blown over without more excruciation if nothing else had happened.
but when things begin to happen they are apt to keep on.
avonlea scholars often spent noon hour picking gum in mr. bell's spruce grove over the hill and across his big pasture field.
from there they could keep an eye on eben wright's house, where the master boarded.
when they saw mr. phillips emerging therefrom they ran for the schoolhouse; but the distance being about three times longer than mr. wright's lane they were very apt to arrive there, breathless and gasping, some three minutes too late.
on the following day mr. phillips was seized with one of his spasmodic fits of reform and announced before going home to dinner, that he should expect to find all the scholars in their seats when he returned.
anyone who came in late would be punished.
all the boys and some of the girls went to mr. bell's spruce grove as usual, fully intending to stay only long enough to "pick a chew."
but spruce groves are seductive and yellow nuts of gum beguiling; they picked and loitered and strayed; and as usual the first thing that recalled them to a sense of the flight of time was jimmy glover shouting from the top of a patriarchal old spruce "master's coming."
the girls who were on the ground, started first and managed to reach the schoolhouse in time but without a second to spare.
the boys, who had to wriggle hastily down from the trees, were later; and anne, who had not been picking gum at all but was wandering happily in the far end of the grove, waist deep among the bracken, singing softly to herself, with a wreath of rice lilies on her hair as if she were some wild divinity of the shadowy places, was latest of all.
anne could run like a deer, however; run she did with the impish result that she overtook the boys at the door and was swept into the schoolhouse among them just as mr. phillips was in the act of hanging up his hat.
mr. phillips's brief reforming energy was over; he did n't want the bother of punishing a dozen pupils; but it was necessary to do something to save his word, so he looked about for a scapegoat and found it in anne, who had dropped into her seat, gasping for breath, with a forgotten lily wreath hanging askew over one ear and giving her a particularly rakish and disheveled appearance.
""anne shirley, since you seem to be so fond of the boys" company we shall indulge your taste for it this afternoon," he said sarcastically.
""take those flowers out of your hair and sit with gilbert blythe."
the other boys snickered.
diana, turning pale with pity, plucked the wreath from anne's hair and squeezed her hand.
anne stared at the master as if turned to stone.
""did you hear what i said, anne?"
queried mr. phillips sternly.
""yes, sir," said anne slowly "but i did n't suppose you really meant it."
""i assure you i did" -- still with the sarcastic inflection which all the children, and anne especially, hated.
it flicked on the raw.
""obey me at once."
for a moment anne looked as if she meant to disobey.
then, realizing that there was no help for it, she rose haughtily, stepped across the aisle, sat down beside gilbert blythe, and buried her face in her arms on the desk.
ruby gillis, who got a glimpse of it as it went down, told the others going home from school that she'd "acksually never seen anything like it -- it was so white, with awful little red spots in it."
to anne, this was as the end of all things.
it was bad enough to be singled out for punishment from among a dozen equally guilty ones; it was worse still to be sent to sit with a boy, but that that boy should be gilbert blythe was heaping insult on injury to a degree utterly unbearable.
anne felt that she could not bear it and it would be of no use to try.
her whole being seethed with shame and anger and humiliation.
at first the other scholars looked and whispered and giggled and nudged.
but as anne never lifted her head and as gilbert worked fractions as if his whole soul was absorbed in them and them only, they soon returned to their own tasks and anne was forgotten.
when mr. phillips called the history class out anne should have gone, but anne did not move, and mr. phillips, who had been writing some verses "to priscilla" before he called the class, was thinking about an obstinate rhyme still and never missed her.
once, when nobody was looking, gilbert took from his desk a little pink candy heart with a gold motto on it, "you are sweet," and slipped it under the curve of anne's arm.
whereupon anne arose, took the pink heart gingerly between the tips of her fingers, dropped it on the floor, ground it to powder beneath her heel, and resumed her position without deigning to bestow a glance on gilbert.
when school went out anne marched to her desk, ostentatiously took out everything therein, books and writing tablet, pen and ink, testament and arithmetic, and piled them neatly on her cracked slate.
""what are you taking all those things home for, anne?"
diana wanted to know, as soon as they were out on the road.
she had not dared to ask the question before.
""i am not coming back to school any more," said anne.
diana gasped and stared at anne to see if she meant it.
""will marilla let you stay home?"
she asked.
""she'll have to," said anne.
""i'll never go to school to that man again."
""oh, anne!"
diana looked as if she were ready to cry.
""i do think you're mean.
what shall i do?
mr. phillips will make me sit with that horrid gertie pye -- i know he will because she is sitting alone.
do come back, anne."
""i'd do almost anything in the world for you, diana," said anne sadly.
""i'd let myself be torn limb from limb if it would do you any good.
but i ca n't do this, so please do n't ask it.
you harrow up my very soul."
""just think of all the fun you will miss," mourned diana.
""we are going to build the loveliest new house down by the brook; and we'll be playing ball next week and you've never played ball, anne.
it's tremendously exciting.
and we're going to learn a new song -- jane andrews is practicing it up now; and alice andrews is going to bring a new pansy book next week and we're all going to read it out loud, chapter about, down by the brook.
and you know you are so fond of reading out loud, anne."
nothing moved anne in the least.
her mind was made up.
she would not go to school to mr. phillips again; she told marilla so when she got home.
""nonsense," said marilla.
""it is n't nonsense at all," said anne, gazing at marilla with solemn, reproachful eyes.
""do n't you understand, marilla?
i've been insulted."
""insulted fiddlesticks!
you'll go to school tomorrow as usual."
""oh, no."
anne shook her head gently.
""i'm not going back, marilla.
i'll learn my lessons at home and i'll be as good as i can be and hold my tongue all the time if it's possible at all.
but i will not go back to school, i assure you."
marilla saw something remarkably like unyielding stubbornness looking out of anne's small face.
she understood that she would have trouble in overcoming it; but she re-solved wisely to say nothing more just then.
""i'll run down and see rachel about it this evening," she thought.
""there's no use reasoning with anne now.
she's too worked up and i've an idea she can be awful stubborn if she takes the notion.
far as i can make out from her story, mr. phillips has been carrying matters with a rather high hand.
but it would never do to say so to her.
i'll just talk it over with rachel.
she's sent ten children to school and she ought to know something about it.
she'll have heard the whole story, too, by this time."
marilla found mrs. lynde knitting quilts as industriously and cheerfully as usual.
""i suppose you know what i've come about," she said, a little shamefacedly.
mrs. rachel nodded.
""about anne's fuss in school, i reckon," she said.
""tillie boulter was in on her way home from school and told me about it."
""i do n't know what to do with her," said marilla.
""she declares she wo n't go back to school.
i never saw a child so worked up.
i've been expecting trouble ever since she started to school.
i knew things were going too smooth to last.
she's so high strung.
what would you advise, rachel?"
""well, since you've asked my advice, marilla," said mrs. lynde amiably -- mrs. lynde dearly loved to be asked for advice -- "i'd just humor her a little at first, that's what i'd do.
it's my belief that mr. phillips was in the wrong.
of course, it does n't do to say so to the children, you know.
and of course he did right to punish her yesterday for giving way to temper.
but today it was different.
the others who were late should have been punished as well as anne, that's what.
and i do n't believe in making the girls sit with the boys for punishment.
it is n't modest.
tillie boulter was real indignant.
she took anne's part right through and said all the scholars did too.
anne seems real popular among them, somehow.
i never thought she'd take with them so well."
""then you really think i'd better let her stay home," said marilla in amazement.
""yes.
that is i would n't say school to her again until she said it herself.
depend upon it, marilla, she'll cool off in a week or so and be ready enough to go back of her own accord, that's what, while, if you were to make her go back right off, dear knows what freak or tantrum she'd take next and make more trouble than ever.
the less fuss made the better, in my opinion.
she wo n't miss much by not going to school, as far as that goes.
mr. phillips is n't any good at all as a teacher.
the order he keeps is scandalous, that's what, and he neglects the young fry and puts all his time on those big scholars he's getting ready for queen's.
he'd never have got the school for another year if his uncle had n't been a trustee -- the trustee, for he just leads the other two around by the nose, that's what.
i declare, i do n't know what education in this island is coming to."
mrs. rachel shook her head, as much as to say if she were only at the head of the educational system of the province things would be much better managed.
marilla took mrs. rachel's advice and not another word was said to anne about going back to school.
she learned her lessons at home, did her chores, and played with diana in the chilly purple autumn twilights; but when she met gilbert blythe on the road or encountered him in sunday school she passed him by with an icy contempt that was no whit thawed by his evident desire to appease her.
even diana's efforts as a peacemaker were of no avail.
anne had evidently made up her mind to hate gilbert blythe to the end of life.
as much as she hated gilbert, however, did she love diana, with all the love of her passionate little heart, equally intense in its likes and dislikes.
one evening marilla, coming in from the orchard with a basket of apples, found anne sitting along by the east window in the twilight, crying bitterly.
""whatever's the matter now, anne?"
she asked.
""it's about diana," sobbed anne luxuriously.
""i love diana so, marilla.
i can not ever live without her.
but i know very well when we grow up that diana will get married and go away and leave me.
and oh, what shall i do?
i hate her husband -- i just hate him furiously.
i've been imagining it all out -- the wedding and everything -- diana dressed in snowy garments, with a veil, and looking as beautiful and regal as a queen; and me the bridesmaid, with a lovely dress too, and puffed sleeves, but with a breaking heart hid beneath my smiling face.
and then bidding diana goodbye-e-e --" here anne broke down entirely and wept with increasing bitterness.
marilla turned quickly away to hide her twitching face; but it was no use; she collapsed on the nearest chair and burst into such a hearty and unusual peal of laughter that matthew, crossing the yard outside, halted in amazement.
when had he heard marilla laugh like that before?
""well, anne shirley," said marilla as soon as she could speak, "if you must borrow trouble, for pity's sake borrow it handier home.
i should think you had an imagination, sure enough."
chapter xvi.
diana is invited to tea with tragic results october was a beautiful month at green gables, when the birches in the hollow turned as golden as sunshine and the maples behind the orchard were royal crimson and the wild cherry trees along the lane put on the loveliest shades of dark red and bronzy green, while the fields sunned themselves in aftermaths.
anne reveled in the world of color about her.
""oh, marilla," she exclaimed one saturday morning, coming dancing in with her arms full of gorgeous boughs, "i'm so glad i live in a world where there are octobers.
it would be terrible if we just skipped from september to november, would n't it?
look at these maple branches.
do n't they give you a thrill -- several thrills?
i'm going to decorate my room with them."
""messy things," said marilla, whose aesthetic sense was not noticeably developed.
""you clutter up your room entirely too much with out-of-doors stuff, anne.
bedrooms were made to sleep in."
""oh, and dream in too, marilla.
and you know one can dream so much better in a room where there are pretty things.
i'm going to put these boughs in the old blue jug and set them on my table."
""mind you do n't drop leaves all over the stairs then.
i'm going on a meeting of the aid society at carmody this afternoon, anne, and i wo n't likely be home before dark.
you'll have to get matthew and jerry their supper, so mind you do n't forget to put the tea to draw until you sit down at the table as you did last time."
""it was dreadful of me to forget," said anne apologetically, "but that was the afternoon i was trying to think of a name for violet vale and it crowded other things out.
matthew was so good.
he never scolded a bit.
he put the tea down himself and said we could wait awhile as well as not.
and i told him a lovely fairy story while we were waiting, so he did n't find the time long at all.
it was a beautiful fairy story, marilla.
i forgot the end of it, so i made up an end for it myself and matthew said he could n't tell where the join came in."
""matthew would think it all right, anne, if you took a notion to get up and have dinner in the middle of the night.
but you keep your wits about you this time.
and -- i do n't really know if i'm doing right -- it may make you more addlepated than ever -- but you can ask diana to come over and spend the afternoon with you and have tea here."
""oh, marilla!"
anne clasped her hands.
""how perfectly lovely!
you are able to imagine things after all or else you'd never have understood how i've longed for that very thing.
it will seem so nice and grown-uppish.
no fear of my forgetting to put the tea to draw when i have company.
oh, marilla, can i use the rosebud spray tea set?"
""no, indeed!
the rosebud tea set!
well, what next?
you know i never use that except for the minister or the aids.
you'll put down the old brown tea set.
but you can open the little yellow crock of cherry preserves.
it's time it was being used anyhow -- i believe it's beginning to work.
and you can cut some fruit cake and have some of the cookies and snaps."
""i can just imagine myself sitting down at the head of the table and pouring out the tea," said anne, shutting her eyes ecstatically.
""and asking diana if she takes sugar!
i know she does n't but of course i'll ask her just as if i did n't know.
and then pressing her to take another piece of fruit cake and another helping of preserves.
oh, marilla, it's a wonderful sensation just to think of it.
can i take her into the spare room to lay off her hat when she comes?
and then into the parlor to sit?"
""no.
the sitting room will do for you and your company.
but there's a bottle half full of raspberry cordial that was left over from the church social the other night.
it's on the second shelf of the sitting-room closet and you and diana can have it if you like, and a cooky to eat with it along in the afternoon, for i daresay matthew'll be late coming in to tea since he's hauling potatoes to the vessel."
anne flew down to the hollow, past the dryad's bubble and up the spruce path to orchard slope, to ask diana to tea.
as a result just after marilla had driven off to carmody, diana came over, dressed in her second-best dress and looking exactly as it is proper to look when asked out to tea.
at other times she was wont to run into the kitchen without knocking; but now she knocked primly at the front door.
and when anne, dressed in her second best, as primly opened it, both little girls shook hands as gravely as if they had never met before.
this unnatural solemnity lasted until after diana had been taken to the east gable to lay off her hat and then had sat for ten minutes in the sitting room, toes in position.
""how is your mother?"
inquired anne politely, just as if she had not seen mrs. barry picking apples that morning in excellent health and spirits.
""she is very well, thank you.
i suppose mr. cuthbert is hauling potatoes to the lily sands this afternoon, is he?"
said diana, who had ridden down to mr. harmon andrews's that morning in matthew's cart.
""yes.
our potato crop is very good this year.
i hope your father's crop is good too."
""it is fairly good, thank you.
have you picked many of your apples yet?"
""oh, ever so many," said anne forgetting to be dignified and jumping up quickly.
""let's go out to the orchard and get some of the red sweetings, diana.
marilla says we can have all that are left on the tree.
marilla is a very generous woman.
she said we could have fruit cake and cherry preserves for tea.
but it is n't good manners to tell your company what you are going to give them to eat, so i wo n't tell you what she said we could have to drink.
only it begins with an r and a c and it's bright red color.
i love bright red drinks, do n't you?
they taste twice as good as any other color."
the orchard, with its great sweeping boughs that bent to the ground with fruit, proved so delightful that the little girls spent most of the afternoon in it, sitting in a grassy corner where the frost had spared the green and the mellow autumn sunshine lingered warmly, eating apples and talking as hard as they could.
diana had much to tell anne of what went on in school.
she had to sit with gertie pye and she hated it; gertie squeaked her pencil all the time and it just made her -- diana's -- blood run cold; ruby gillis had charmed all her warts away, true's you live, with a magic pebble that old mary joe from the creek gave her.
you had to rub the warts with the pebble and then throw it away over your left shoulder at the time of the new moon and the warts would all go.
charlie sloane's name was written up with em white's on the porch wall and em white was awful mad about it; sam boulter had "sassed" mr. phillips in class and mr. phillips whipped him and sam's father came down to the school and dared mr. phillips to lay a hand on one of his children again; and mattie andrews had a new red hood and a blue crossover with tassels on it and the airs she put on about it were perfectly sickening; and lizzie wright did n't speak to mamie wilson because mamie wilson's grown-up sister had cut out lizzie wright's grown-up sister with her beau; and everybody missed anne so and wished she's come to school again; and gilbert blythe -- but anne did n't want to hear about gilbert blythe.
she jumped up hurriedly and said suppose they go in and have some raspberry cordial.
anne looked on the second shelf of the room pantry but there was no bottle of raspberry cordial there.
search revealed it away back on the top shelf.
anne put it on a tray and set it on the table with a tumbler.
""now, please help yourself, diana," she said politely.
""i do n't believe i'll have any just now.
i do n't feel as if i wanted any after all those apples."
diana poured herself out a tumblerful, looked at its bright-red hue admiringly, and then sipped it daintily.
""that's awfully nice raspberry cordial, anne," she said.
""i did n't know raspberry cordial was so nice."
""i'm real glad you like it.
take as much as you want.
i'm going to run out and stir the fire up.
there are so many responsibilities on a person's mind when they're keeping house, is n't there?"
when anne came back from the kitchen diana was drinking her second glassful of cordial; and, being entreated thereto by anne, she offered no particular objection to the drinking of a third.
the tumblerfuls were generous ones and the raspberry cordial was certainly very nice.
""the nicest i ever drank," said diana.
""it's ever so much nicer than mrs. lynde's, although she brags of hers so much.
it does n't taste a bit like hers."
""i should think marilla's raspberry cordial would prob "ly be much nicer than mrs. lynde's," said anne loyally.
""marilla is a famous cook.
she is trying to teach me to cook but i assure you, diana, it is uphill work.
there's so little scope for imagination in cookery.
you just have to go by rules.
the last time i made a cake i forgot to put the flour in.
i was thinking the loveliest story about you and me, diana.
i thought you were desperately ill with smallpox and everybody deserted you, but i went boldly to your bedside and nursed you back to life; and then i took the smallpox and died and i was buried under those poplar trees in the graveyard and you planted a rosebush by my grave and watered it with your tears; and you never, never forgot the friend of your youth who sacrificed her life for you.
oh, it was such a pathetic tale, diana.
the tears just rained down over my cheeks while i mixed the cake.
but i forgot the flour and the cake was a dismal failure.
flour is so essential to cakes, you know.
marilla was very cross and i do n't wonder.
i'm a great trial to her.
she was terribly mortified about the pudding sauce last week.
we had a plum pudding for dinner on tuesday and there was half the pudding and a pitcherful of sauce left over.
marilla said there was enough for another dinner and told me to set it on the pantry shelf and cover it.
i meant to cover it just as much as could be, diana, but when i carried it in i was imagining i was a nun -- of course i'm a protestant but i imagined i was a catholic -- taking the veil to bury a broken heart in cloistered seclusion; and i forgot all about covering the pudding sauce.
i thought of it next morning and ran to the pantry.
diana, fancy if you can my extreme horror at finding a mouse drowned in that pudding sauce!
i lifted the mouse out with a spoon and threw it out in the yard and then i washed the spoon in three waters.
marilla was out milking and i fully intended to ask her when she came in if i'd give the sauce to the pigs; but when she did come in i was imagining that i was a frost fairy going through the woods turning the trees red and yellow, whichever they wanted to be, so i never thought about the pudding sauce again and marilla sent me out to pick apples.
well, mr. and mrs. chester ross from spencervale came here that morning.
you know they are very stylish people, especially mrs. chester ross.
when marilla called me in dinner was all ready and everybody was at the table.
i tried to be as polite and dignified as i could be, for i wanted mrs. chester ross to think i was a ladylike little girl even if i was n't pretty.
everything went right until i saw marilla coming with the plum pudding in one hand and the pitcher of pudding sauce warmed up, in the other.
diana, that was a terrible moment.
i remembered everything and i just stood up in my place and shrieked out "marilla, you must n't use that pudding sauce.
there was a mouse drowned in it.
i forgot to tell you before."
oh, diana, i shall never forget that awful moment if i live to be a hundred.
mrs. chester ross just looked at me and i thought i would sink through the floor with mortification.
she is such a perfect housekeeper and fancy what she must have thought of us.
marilla turned red as fire but she never said a word -- then.
she just carried that sauce and pudding out and brought in some strawberry preserves.
she even offered me some, but i could n't swallow a mouthful.
it was like heaping coals of fire on my head.
after mrs. chester ross went away, marilla gave me a dreadful scolding.
why, diana, what is the matter?"
diana had stood up very unsteadily; then she sat down again, putting her hands to her head.
""i'm -- i'm awful sick," she said, a little thickly.
""i -- i -- must go right home."
""oh, you must n't dream of going home without your tea," cried anne in distress.
""i'll get it right off -- i'll go and put the tea down this very minute."
""i must go home," repeated diana, stupidly but determinedly.
""let me get you a lunch anyhow," implored anne.
""let me give you a bit of fruit cake and some of the cherry preserves.
lie down on the sofa for a little while and you'll be better.
where do you feel bad?"
""i must go home," said diana, and that was all she would say.
in vain anne pleaded.
""i never heard of company going home without tea," she mourned.
""oh, diana, do you suppose that it's possible you're really taking the smallpox?
if you are i'll go and nurse you, you can depend on that.
i'll never forsake you.
but i do wish you'd stay till after tea.
where do you feel bad?"
""i'm awful dizzy," said diana.
and indeed, she walked very dizzily.
anne, with tears of disappointment in her eyes, got diana's hat and went with her as far as the barry yard fence.
then she wept all the way back to green gables, where she sorrowfully put the remainder of the raspberry cordial back into the pantry and got tea ready for matthew and jerry, with all the zest gone out of the performance.
the next day was sunday and as the rain poured down in torrents from dawn till dusk anne did not stir abroad from green gables.
monday afternoon marilla sent her down to mrs. lynde's on an errand.
in a very short space of time anne came flying back up the lane with tears rolling down her cheeks.
into the kitchen she dashed and flung herself face downward on the sofa in an agony.
""whatever has gone wrong now, anne?"
queried marilla in doubt and dismay.
""i do hope you have n't gone and been saucy to mrs. lynde again."
no answer from anne save more tears and stormier sobs!
""anne shirley, when i ask you a question i want to be answered.
sit right up this very minute and tell me what you are crying about."
anne sat up, tragedy personified.
""mrs. lynde was up to see mrs. barry today and mrs. barry was in an awful state," she wailed.
""she says that i set diana drunk saturday and sent her home in a disgraceful condition.
and she says i must be a thoroughly bad, wicked little girl and she's never, never going to let diana play with me again.
oh, marilla, i'm just overcome with woe."
marilla stared in blank amazement.
""set diana drunk!"
she said when she found her voice.
""anne are you or mrs. barry crazy?
what on earth did you give her?"
""not a thing but raspberry cordial," sobbed anne.
""i never thought raspberry cordial would set people drunk, marilla -- not even if they drank three big tumblerfuls as diana did.
oh, it sounds so -- so -- like mrs. thomas's husband!
but i did n't mean to set her drunk."
""drunk fiddlesticks!"
said marilla, marching to the sitting room pantry.
there on the shelf was a bottle which she at once recognized as one containing some of her three-year-old homemade currant wine for which she was celebrated in avonlea, although certain of the stricter sort, mrs. barry among them, disapproved strongly of it.
and at the same time marilla recollected that she had put the bottle of raspberry cordial down in the cellar instead of in the pantry as she had told anne.
she went back to the kitchen with the wine bottle in her hand.
her face was twitching in spite of herself.
""anne, you certainly have a genius for getting into trouble.
you went and gave diana currant wine instead of raspberry cordial.
did n't you know the difference yourself?"
""i never tasted it," said anne.
""i thought it was the cordial.
i meant to be so -- so -- hospitable.
diana got awfully sick and had to go home.
mrs. barry told mrs. lynde she was simply dead drunk.
she just laughed silly-like when her mother asked her what was the matter and went to sleep and slept for hours.
her mother smelled her breath and knew she was drunk.
she had a fearful headache all day yesterday.
mrs. barry is so indignant.
she will never believe but what i did it on purpose."
""i should think she would better punish diana for being so greedy as to drink three glassfuls of anything," said marilla shortly.
""why, three of those big glasses would have made her sick even if it had only been cordial.
well, this story will be a nice handle for those folks who are so down on me for making currant wine, although i have n't made any for three years ever since i found out that the minister did n't approve.
i just kept that bottle for sickness.
there, there, child, do n't cry.
i ca n't see as you were to blame although i'm sorry it happened so."
""i must cry," said anne.
""my heart is broken.
the stars in their courses fight against me, marilla.
diana and i are parted forever.
oh, marilla, i little dreamed of this when first we swore our vows of friendship."
""do n't be foolish, anne.
mrs. barry will think better of it when she finds you're not to blame.
i suppose she thinks you've done it for a silly joke or something of that sort.
you'd best go up this evening and tell her how it was."
""my courage fails me at the thought of facing diana's injured mother," sighed anne.
""i wish you'd go, marilla.
you're so much more dignified than i am.
likely she'd listen to you quicker than to me."
""well, i will," said marilla, reflecting that it would probably be the wiser course.
""do n't cry any more, anne.
it will be all right."
marilla had changed her mind about it being all right by the time she got back from orchard slope.
anne was watching for her coming and flew to the porch door to meet her.
""oh, marilla, i know by your face that it's been no use," she said sorrowfully.
""mrs. barry wo n't forgive me?"
""mrs. barry indeed!"
snapped marilla.
""of all the unreasonable women i ever saw she's the worst.
i told her it was all a mistake and you were n't to blame, but she just simply did n't believe me.
and she rubbed it well in about my currant wine and how i'd always said it could n't have the least effect on anybody.
i just told her plainly that currant wine was n't meant to be drunk three tumblerfuls at a time and that if a child i had to do with was so greedy i'd sober her up with a right good spanking."
marilla whisked into the kitchen, grievously disturbed, leaving a very much distracted little soul in the porch behind her.
presently anne stepped out bareheaded into the chill autumn dusk; very determinedly and steadily she took her way down through the sere clover field over the log bridge and up through the spruce grove, lighted by a pale little moon hanging low over the western woods.
mrs. barry, coming to the door in answer to a timid knock, found a white-lipped eager-eyed suppliant on the doorstep.
her face hardened.
mrs. barry was a woman of strong prejudices and dislikes, and her anger was of the cold, sullen sort which is always hardest to overcome.
to do her justice, she really believed anne had made diana drunk out of sheer malice prepense, and she was honestly anxious to preserve her little daughter from the contamination of further intimacy with such a child.
""what do you want?"
she said stiffly.
anne clasped her hands.
""oh, mrs. barry, please forgive me.
i did not mean to -- to -- intoxicate diana.
how could i?
just imagine if you were a poor little orphan girl that kind people had adopted and you had just one bosom friend in all the world.
do you think you would intoxicate her on purpose?
i thought it was only raspberry cordial.
i was firmly convinced it was raspberry cordial.
oh, please do n't say that you wo n't let diana play with me any more.
if you do you will cover my life with a dark cloud of woe."
this speech which would have softened good mrs. lynde's heart in a twinkling, had no effect on mrs. barry except to irritate her still more.
she was suspicious of anne's big words and dramatic gestures and imagined that the child was making fun of her.
so she said, coldly and cruelly: "i do n't think you are a fit little girl for diana to associate with.
you'd better go home and behave yourself."
anne's lips quivered.
""wo n't you let me see diana just once to say farewell?"
she implored.
""diana has gone over to carmody with her father," said mrs. barry, going in and shutting the door.
anne went back to green gables calm with despair.
""my last hope is gone," she told marilla.
""i went up and saw mrs. barry myself and she treated me very insultingly.
marilla, i do not think she is a well-bred woman.
there is nothing more to do except to pray and i have n't much hope that that'll do much good because, marilla, i do not believe that god himself can do very much with such an obstinate person as mrs. barry."
""anne, you should n't say such things" rebuked marilla, striving to overcome that unholy tendency to laughter which she was dismayed to find growing upon her.
and indeed, when she told the whole story to matthew that night, she did laugh heartily over anne's tribulations.
but when she slipped into the east gable before going to bed and found that anne had cried herself to sleep an unaccustomed softness crept into her face.
""poor little soul," she murmured, lifting a loose curl of hair from the child's tear-stained face.
then she bent down and kissed the flushed cheek on the pillow.
chapter xvii.
a new interest in life the next afternoon anne, bending over her patchwork at the kitchen window, happened to glance out and beheld diana down by the dryad's bubble beckoning mysteriously.
in a trice anne was out of the house and flying down to the hollow, astonishment and hope struggling in her expressive eyes.
but the hope faded when she saw diana's dejected countenance.
""your mother has n't relented?"
she gasped.
diana shook her head mournfully.
""no; and oh, anne, she says i'm never to play with you again.
i've cried and cried and i told her it was n't your fault, but it was n't any use.
i had ever such a time coaxing her to let me come down and say good-bye to you.
she said i was only to stay ten minutes and she's timing me by the clock."
""ten minutes is n't very long to say an eternal farewell in," said anne tearfully.
""oh, diana, will you promise faithfully never to forget me, the friend of your youth, no matter what dearer friends may caress thee?"
""indeed i will," sobbed diana, "and i'll never have another bosom friend -- i do n't want to have.
i could n't love anybody as i love you."
""oh, diana," cried anne, clasping her hands, "do you love me?"
""why, of course i do.
did n't you know that?"
""no."
anne drew a long breath.
""i thought you liked me of course but i never hoped you loved me.
why, diana, i did n't think anybody could love me.
nobody ever has loved me since i can remember.
oh, this is wonderful!
it's a ray of light which will forever shine on the darkness of a path severed from thee, diana.
oh, just say it once again."
""i love you devotedly, anne," said diana stanchly, "and i always will, you may be sure of that."
""and i will always love thee, diana," said anne, solemnly extending her hand.
""in the years to come thy memory will shine like a star over my lonely life, as that last story we read together says.
diana, wilt thou give me a lock of thy jet-black tresses in parting to treasure forevermore?"
""have you got anything to cut it with?"
queried diana, wiping away the tears which anne's affecting accents had caused to flow afresh, and returning to practicalities.
""yes.
i've got my patchwork scissors in my apron pocket fortunately," said anne.
she solemnly clipped one of diana's curls.
""fare thee well, my beloved friend.
henceforth we must be as strangers though living side by side.
but my heart will ever be faithful to thee."
anne stood and watched diana out of sight, mournfully waving her hand to the latter whenever she turned to look back.
then she returned to the house, not a little consoled for the time being by this romantic parting.
""it is all over," she informed marilla.
""i shall never have another friend.
i'm really worse off than ever before, for i have n't katie maurice and violetta now.
and even if i had it would n't be the same.
somehow, little dream girls are not satisfying after a real friend.
diana and i had such an affecting farewell down by the spring.
it will be sacred in my memory forever.
i used the most pathetic language i could think of and said "thou" and "thee."
"thou" and "thee" seem so much more romantic than "you."
diana gave me a lock of her hair and i'm going to sew it up in a little bag and wear it around my neck all my life.
please see that it is buried with me, for i do n't believe i'll live very long.
perhaps when she sees me lying cold and dead before her mrs. barry may feel remorse for what she has done and will let diana come to my funeral."
""i do n't think there is much fear of your dying of grief as long as you can talk, anne," said marilla unsympathetically.
the following monday anne surprised marilla by coming down from her room with her basket of books on her arm and hip and her lips primmed up into a line of determination.
""i'm going back to school," she announced.
""that is all there is left in life for me, now that my friend has been ruthlessly torn from me.
in school i can look at her and muse over days departed."
""you'd better muse over your lessons and sums," said marilla, concealing her delight at this development of the situation.
""if you're going back to school i hope we'll hear no more of breaking slates over people's heads and such carryings on.
behave yourself and do just what your teacher tells you."
""i'll try to be a model pupil," agreed anne dolefully.
""there wo n't be much fun in it, i expect.
mr. phillips said minnie andrews was a model pupil and there is n't a spark of imagination or life in her.
she is just dull and poky and never seems to have a good time.
but i feel so depressed that perhaps it will come easy to me now.
i'm going round by the road.
i could n't bear to go by the birch path all alone.
i should weep bitter tears if i did."
anne was welcomed back to school with open arms.
her imagination had been sorely missed in games, her voice in the singing and her dramatic ability in the perusal aloud of books at dinner hour.
ruby gillis smuggled three blue plums over to her during testament reading; ella may macpherson gave her an enormous yellow pansy cut from the covers of a floral catalogue -- a species of desk decoration much prized in avonlea school.
sophia sloane offered to teach her a perfectly elegant new pattern of knit lace, so nice for trimming aprons.
katie boulter gave her a perfume bottle to keep slate water in, and julia bell copied carefully on a piece of pale pink paper scalloped on the edges the following effusion: when twilight drops her curtain down and pins it with a star remember that you have a friend though she may wander far.
""it's so nice to be appreciated," sighed anne rapturously to marilla that night.
the girls were not the only scholars who "appreciated" her.
when anne went to her seat after dinner hour -- she had been told by mr. phillips to sit with the model minnie andrews -- she found on her desk a big luscious "strawberry apple."
anne caught it up all ready to take a bite when she remembered that the only place in avonlea where strawberry apples grew was in the old blythe orchard on the other side of the lake of shining waters.
anne dropped the apple as if it were a red-hot coal and ostentatiously wiped her fingers on her handkerchief.
the apple lay untouched on her desk until the next morning, when little timothy andrews, who swept the school and kindled the fire, annexed it as one of his perquisites.
charlie sloane's slate pencil, gorgeously bedizened with striped red and yellow paper, costing two cents where ordinary pencils cost only one, which he sent up to her after dinner hour, met with a more favorable reception.
anne was graciously pleased to accept it and rewarded the donor with a smile which exalted that infatuated youth straightway into the seventh heaven of delight and caused him to make such fearful errors in his dictation that mr. phillips kept him in after school to rewrite it.
but as, the caesar's pageant shorn of brutus" bust did but of rome's best son remind her more, so the marked absence of any tribute or recognition from diana barry who was sitting with gertie pye embittered anne's little triumph.
""diana might just have smiled at me once, i think," she mourned to marilla that night.
but the next morning a note most fearfully and wonderfully twisted and folded, and a small parcel were passed across to anne.
dear anne -lrb- ran the former -rrb- mother says i'm not to play with you or talk to you even in school.
it is n't my fault and do n't be cross at me, because i love you as much as ever.
i miss you awfully to tell all my secrets to and i do n't like gertie pye one bit.
i made you one of the new bookmarkers out of red tissue paper.
they are awfully fashionable now and only three girls in school know how to make them.
when you look at it remember your true friend diana barry.
anne read the note, kissed the bookmark, and dispatched a prompt reply back to the other side of the school.
my own darling diana: -- of course i am not cross at you because you have to obey your mother.
our spirits can commune.
i shall keep your lovely present forever.
minnie andrews is a very nice little girl -- although she has no imagination -- but after having been diana's busum friend i can not be minnie's.
please excuse mistakes because my spelling is n't very good yet, although much improoved.
yours until death us do part anne or cordelia shirley.
p.s. i shall sleep with your letter under my pillow tonight.
a. or c.s. marilla pessimistically expected more trouble since anne had again begun to go to school.
but none developed.
perhaps anne caught something of the "model" spirit from minnie andrews; at least she got on very well with mr. phillips thenceforth.
she flung herself into her studies heart and soul, determined not to be outdone in any class by gilbert blythe.
the rivalry between them was soon apparent; it was entirely good natured on gilbert's side; but it is much to be feared that the same thing can not be said of anne, who had certainly an unpraiseworthy tenacity for holding grudges.
she was as intense in her hatreds as in her loves.
she would not stoop to admit that she meant to rival gilbert in schoolwork, because that would have been to acknowledge his existence which anne persistently ignored; but the rivalry was there and honors fluctuated between them.
now gilbert was head of the spelling class; now anne, with a toss of her long red braids, spelled him down.
one morning gilbert had all his sums done correctly and had his name written on the blackboard on the roll of honor; the next morning anne, having wrestled wildly with decimals the entire evening before, would be first.
one awful day they were ties and their names were written up together.
it was almost as bad as a take-notice and anne's mortification was as evident as gilbert's satisfaction.
when the written examinations at the end of each month were held the suspense was terrible.
the first month gilbert came out three marks ahead.
the second anne beat him by five.
but her triumph was marred by the fact that gilbert congratulated her heartily before the whole school.
it would have been ever so much sweeter to her if he had felt the sting of his defeat.
mr. phillips might not be a very good teacher; but a pupil so inflexibly determined on learning as anne was could hardly escape making progress under any kind of teacher.
by the end of the term anne and gilbert were both promoted into the fifth class and allowed to begin studying the elements of "the branches" -- by which latin, geometry, french, and algebra were meant.
in geometry anne met her waterloo.
""it's perfectly awful stuff, marilla," she groaned.
""i'm sure i'll never be able to make head or tail of it.
there is no scope for imagination in it at all.
mr. phillips says i'm the worst dunce he ever saw at it.
and gil -- i mean some of the others are so smart at it.
it is extremely mortifying, marilla.
""even diana gets along better than i do.
but i do n't mind being beaten by diana.
even although we meet as strangers now i still love her with an inextinguishable love.
it makes me very sad at times to think about her.
but really, marilla, one ca n't stay sad very long in such an interesting world, can one?"
chapter xviii.
anne to the rescue all things great are wound up with all things little.
at first glance it might not seem that the decision of a certain canadian premier to include prince edward island in a political tour could have much or anything to do with the fortunes of little anne shirley at green gables.
but it had.
it was a january the premier came, to address his loyal supporters and such of his nonsupporters as chose to be present at the monster mass meeting held in charlottetown.
most of the avonlea people were on premier's side of politics; hence on the night of the meeting nearly all the men and a goodly proportion of the women had gone to town thirty miles away.
mrs. rachel lynde had gone too.
mrs. rachel lynde was a red-hot politician and could n't have believed that the political rally could be carried through without her, although she was on the opposite side of politics.
so she went to town and took her husband -- thomas would be useful in looking after the horse -- and marilla cuthbert with her.
marilla had a sneaking interest in politics herself, and as she thought it might be her only chance to see a real live premier, she promptly took it, leaving anne and matthew to keep house until her return the following day.
hence, while marilla and mrs. rachel were enjoying themselves hugely at the mass meeting, anne and matthew had the cheerful kitchen at green gables all to themselves.
a bright fire was glowing in the old-fashioned waterloo stove and blue-white frost crystals were shining on the windowpanes.
matthew nodded over a farmers" advocate on the sofa and anne at the table studied her lessons with grim determination, despite sundry wistful glances at the clock shelf, where lay a new book that jane andrews had lent her that day.
jane had assured her that it was warranted to produce any number of thrills, or words to that effect, and anne's fingers tingled to reach out for it.
but that would mean gilbert blythe's triumph on the morrow.
anne turned her back on the clock shelf and tried to imagine it was n't there.
""matthew, did you ever study geometry when you went to school?"
""well now, no, i did n't," said matthew, coming out of his doze with a start.
""i wish you had," sighed anne, "because then you'd be able to sympathize with me.
you ca n't sympathize properly if you've never studied it.
it is casting a cloud over my whole life.
i'm such a dunce at it, matthew."
""well now, i dunno," said matthew soothingly.
""i guess you're all right at anything.
mr. phillips told me last week in blair's store at carmody that you was the smartest scholar in school and was making rapid progress.
"rapid progress" was his very words.
there's them as runs down teddy phillips and says he ai n't much of a teacher, but i guess he's all right."
matthew would have thought anyone who praised anne was "all right."
""i'm sure i'd get on better with geometry if only he would n't change the letters," complained anne.
""i learn the proposition off by heart and then he draws it on the blackboard and puts different letters from what are in the book and i get all mixed up.
i do n't think a teacher should take such a mean advantage, do you?
we're studying agriculture now and i've found out at last what makes the roads red.
it's a great comfort.
i wonder how marilla and mrs. lynde are enjoying themselves.
mrs. lynde says canada is going to the dogs the way things are being run at ottawa and that it's an awful warning to the electors.
she says if women were allowed to vote we would soon see a blessed change.
what way do you vote, matthew?"
""conservative," said matthew promptly.
to vote conservative was part of matthew's religion.
""then i'm conservative too," said anne decidedly.
""i'm glad because gil -- because some of the boys in school are grits.
i guess mr. phillips is a grit too because prissy andrews's father is one, and ruby gillis says that when a man is courting he always has to agree with the girl's mother in religion and her father in politics.
is that true, matthew?"
""well now, i dunno," said matthew.
""did you ever go courting, matthew?"
""well now, no, i dunno's i ever did," said matthew, who had certainly never thought of such a thing in his whole existence.
anne reflected with her chin in her hands.
""it must be rather interesting, do n't you think, matthew?
ruby gillis says when she grows up she's going to have ever so many beaus on the string and have them all crazy about her; but i think that would be too exciting.
i'd rather have just one in his right mind.
but ruby gillis knows a great deal about such matters because she has so many big sisters, and mrs. lynde says the gillis girls have gone off like hot cakes.
mr. phillips goes up to see prissy andrews nearly every evening.
he says it is to help her with her lessons but miranda sloane is studying for queen's too, and i should think she needed help a lot more than prissy because she's ever so much stupider, but he never goes to help her in the evenings at all.
there are a great many things in this world that i ca n't understand very well, matthew."
""well now, i dunno as i comprehend them all myself," acknowledged matthew.
""well, i suppose i must finish up my lessons.
i wo n't allow myself to open that new book jane lent me until i'm through.
but it's a terrible temptation, matthew.
even when i turn my back on it i can see it there just as plain.
jane said she cried herself sick over it.
i love a book that makes me cry.
but i think i'll carry that book into the sitting room and lock it in the jam closet and give you the key.
and you must not give it to me, matthew, until my lessons are done, not even if i implore you on my bended knees.
it's all very well to say resist temptation, but it's ever so much easier to resist it if you ca n't get the key.
and then shall i run down the cellar and get some russets, matthew?
would n't you like some russets?"
""well now, i dunno but what i would," said matthew, who never ate russets but knew anne's weakness for them.
just as anne emerged triumphantly from the cellar with her plateful of russets came the sound of flying footsteps on the icy board walk outside and the next moment the kitchen door was flung open and in rushed diana barry, white faced and breathless, with a shawl wrapped hastily around her head.
anne promptly let go of her candle and plate in her surprise, and plate, candle, and apples crashed together down the cellar ladder and were found at the bottom embedded in melted grease, the next day, by marilla, who gathered them up and thanked mercy the house had n't been set on fire.
""whatever is the matter, diana?"
cried anne.
""has your mother relented at last?"
""oh, anne, do come quick," implored diana nervously.
""minnie may is awful sick -- she's got croup.
young mary joe says -- and father and mother are away to town and there's nobody to go for the doctor.
minnie may is awful bad and young mary joe does n't know what to do -- and oh, anne, i'm so scared!"
matthew, without a word, reached out for cap and coat, slipped past diana and away into the darkness of the yard.
""he's gone to harness the sorrel mare to go to carmody for the doctor," said anne, who was hurrying on hood and jacket.
""i know it as well as if he'd said so.
matthew and i are such kindred spirits i can read his thoughts without words at all."
""i do n't believe he'll find the doctor at carmody," sobbed diana.
""i know that dr. blair went to town and i guess dr. spencer would go too.
young mary joe never saw anybody with croup and mrs. lynde is away.
oh, anne!"
""do n't cry, di," said anne cheerily.
""i know exactly what to do for croup.
you forget that mrs. hammond had twins three times.
when you look after three pairs of twins you naturally get a lot of experience.
they all had croup regularly.
just wait till i get the ipecac bottle -- you may n't have any at your house.
come on now."
the two little girls hastened out hand in hand and hurried through lover's lane and across the crusted field beyond, for the snow was too deep to go by the shorter wood way.
anne, although sincerely sorry for minnie may, was far from being insensible to the romance of the situation and to the sweetness of once more sharing that romance with a kindred spirit.
the night was clear and frosty, all ebony of shadow and silver of snowy slope; big stars were shining over the silent fields; here and there the dark pointed firs stood up with snow powdering their branches and the wind whistling through them.
anne thought it was truly delightful to go skimming through all this mystery and loveliness with your bosom friend who had been so long estranged.
minnie may, aged three, was really very sick.
she lay on the kitchen sofa feverish and restless, while her hoarse breathing could be heard all over the house.
young mary joe, a buxom, broad-faced french girl from the creek, whom mrs. barry had engaged to stay with the children during her absence, was helpless and bewildered, quite incapable of thinking what to do, or doing it if she thought of it.
anne went to work with skill and promptness.
""minnie may has croup all right; she's pretty bad, but i've seen them worse.
first we must have lots of hot water.
i declare, diana, there is n't more than a cupful in the kettle!
there, i've filled it up, and, mary joe, you may put some wood in the stove.
i do n't want to hurt your feelings but it seems to me you might have thought of this before if you'd any imagination.
now, i'll undress minnie may and put her to bed and you try to find some soft flannel cloths, diana.
i'm going to give her a dose of ipecac first of all."
minnie may did not take kindly to the ipecac but anne had not brought up three pairs of twins for nothing.
down that ipecac went, not only once, but many times during the long, anxious night when the two little girls worked patiently over the suffering minnie may, and young mary joe, honestly anxious to do all she could, kept up a roaring fire and heated more water than would have been needed for a hospital of croupy babies.
it was three o'clock when matthew came with a doctor, for he had been obliged to go all the way to spencervale for one.
but the pressing need for assistance was past.
minnie may was much better and was sleeping soundly.
""i was awfully near giving up in despair," explained anne.
""she got worse and worse until she was sicker than ever the hammond twins were, even the last pair.
i actually thought she was going to choke to death.
i gave her every drop of ipecac in that bottle and when the last dose went down i said to myself -- not to diana or young mary joe, because i did n't want to worry them any more than they were worried, but i had to say it to myself just to relieve my feelings -- "this is the last lingering hope and i fear, tis a vain one."
but in about three minutes she coughed up the phlegm and began to get better right away.
you must just imagine my relief, doctor, because i ca n't express it in words.
you know there are some things that can not be expressed in words."
""yes, i know," nodded the doctor.
he looked at anne as if he were thinking some things about her that could n't be expressed in words.
later on, however, he expressed them to mr. and mrs. barry.
""that little redheaded girl they have over at cuthbert's is as smart as they make'em.
i tell you she saved that baby's life, for it would have been too late by the time i got there.
she seems to have a skill and presence of mind perfectly wonderful in a child of her age.
i never saw anything like the eyes of her when she was explaining the case to me."
anne had gone home in the wonderful, white-frosted winter morning, heavy eyed from loss of sleep, but still talking unweariedly to matthew as they crossed the long white field and walked under the glittering fairy arch of the lover's lane maples.
""oh, matthew, is n't it a wonderful morning?
the world looks like something god had just imagined for his own pleasure, does n't it?
those trees look as if i could blow them away with a breath -- pouf!
i'm so glad i live in a world where there are white frosts, are n't you?
and i'm so glad mrs. hammond had three pairs of twins after all.
if she had n't i might n't have known what to do for minnie may.
i'm real sorry i was ever cross with mrs. hammond for having twins.
but, oh, matthew, i'm so sleepy.
i ca n't go to school.
i just know i could n't keep my eyes open and i'd be so stupid.
but i hate to stay home, for gil -- some of the others will get head of the class, and it's so hard to get up again -- although of course the harder it is the more satisfaction you have when you do get up, have n't you?"
""well now, i guess you'll manage all right," said matthew, looking at anne's white little face and the dark shadows under her eyes.
""you just go right to bed and have a good sleep.
i'll do all the chores."
anne accordingly went to bed and slept so long and soundly that it was well on in the white and rosy winter afternoon when she awoke and descended to the kitchen where marilla, who had arrived home in the meantime, was sitting knitting.
""oh, did you see the premier?"
exclaimed anne at once.
""what did he look like marilla?"
""well, he never got to be premier on account of his looks," said marilla.
""such a nose as that man had!
but he can speak.
i was proud of being a conservative.
rachel lynde, of course, being a liberal, had no use for him.
your dinner is in the oven, anne, and you can get yourself some blue plum preserve out of the pantry.
i guess you're hungry.
matthew has been telling me about last night.
i must say it was fortunate you knew what to do.
i would n't have had any idea myself, for i never saw a case of croup.
there now, never mind talking till you've had your dinner.
i can tell by the look of you that you're just full up with speeches, but they'll keep."
marilla had something to tell anne, but she did not tell it just then for she knew if she did anne's consequent excitement would lift her clear out of the region of such material matters as appetite or dinner.
not until anne had finished her saucer of blue plums did marilla say: "mrs. barry was here this afternoon, anne.
she wanted to see you, but i would n't wake you up.
she says you saved minnie may's life, and she is very sorry she acted as she did in that affair of the currant wine.
she says she knows now you did n't mean to set diana drunk, and she hopes you'll forgive her and be good friends with diana again.
you're to go over this evening if you like for diana ca n't stir outside the door on account of a bad cold she caught last night.
now, anne shirley, for pity's sake do n't fly up into the air."
the warning seemed not unnecessary, so uplifted and aerial was anne's expression and attitude as she sprang to her feet, her face irradiated with the flame of her spirit.
""oh, marilla, can i go right now -- without washing my dishes?
i'll wash them when i come back, but i can not tie myself down to anything so unromantic as dishwashing at this thrilling moment."
""yes, yes, run along," said marilla indulgently.
""anne shirley -- are you crazy?
come back this instant and put something on you.
i might as well call to the wind.
she's gone without a cap or wrap.
look at her tearing through the orchard with her hair streaming.
it'll be a mercy if she does n't catch her death of cold."
anne came dancing home in the purple winter twilight across the snowy places.
afar in the southwest was the great shimmering, pearl-like sparkle of an evening star in a sky that was pale golden and ethereal rose over gleaming white spaces and dark glens of spruce.
the tinkles of sleigh bells among the snowy hills came like elfin chimes through the frosty air, but their music was not sweeter than the song in anne's heart and on her lips.
""you see before you a perfectly happy person, marilla," she announced.
""i'm perfectly happy -- yes, in spite of my red hair.
just at present i have a soul above red hair.
mrs. barry kissed me and cried and said she was so sorry and she could never repay me.
i felt fearfully embarrassed, marilla, but i just said as politely as i could," i have no hard feelings for you, mrs. barry.
i assure you once for all that i did not mean to intoxicate diana and henceforth i shall cover the past with the mantle of oblivion."
that was a pretty dignified way of speaking was n't it, marilla?"
""i felt that i was heaping coals of fire on mrs. barry's head.
and diana and i had a lovely afternoon.
diana showed me a new fancy crochet stitch her aunt over at carmody taught her.
not a soul in avonlea knows it but us, and we pledged a solemn vow never to reveal it to anyone else.
diana gave me a beautiful card with a wreath of roses on it and a verse of poetry: "if you love me as i love you nothing but death can part us two.
""and that is true, marilla.
we're going to ask mr. phillips to let us sit together in school again, and gertie pye can go with minnie andrews.
we had an elegant tea.
mrs. barry had the very best china set out, marilla, just as if i was real company.
i ca n't tell you what a thrill it gave me.
nobody ever used their very best china on my account before.
and we had fruit cake and pound cake and doughnuts and two kinds of preserves, marilla.
and mrs. barry asked me if i took tea and said "pa, why do n't you pass the biscuits to anne?"
it must be lovely to be grown up, marilla, when just being treated as if you were is so nice."
""i do n't know about that," said marilla, with a brief sigh.
""well, anyway, when i am grown up," said anne decidedly, "i'm always going to talk to little girls as if they were too, and i'll never laugh when they use big words.
i know from sorrowful experience how that hurts one's feelings.
after tea diana and i made taffy.
the taffy was n't very good, i suppose because neither diana nor i had ever made any before.
diana left me to stir it while she buttered the plates and i forgot and let it burn; and then when we set it out on the platform to cool the cat walked over one plate and that had to be thrown away.
but the making of it was splendid fun.
then when i came home mrs. barry asked me to come over as often as i could and diana stood at the window and threw kisses to me all the way down to lover's lane.
i assure you, marilla, that i feel like praying tonight and i'm going to think out a special brand-new prayer in honor of the occasion."
chapter xix.
a concert a catastrophe and a confession "marilla, can i go over to see diana just for a minute?"
asked anne, running breathlessly down from the east gable one february evening.
""i do n't see what you want to be traipsing about after dark for," said marilla shortly.
""you and diana walked home from school together and then stood down there in the snow for half an hour more, your tongues going the whole blessed time, clickety-clack.
so i do n't think you're very badly off to see her again."
""but she wants to see me," pleaded anne.
""she has something very important to tell me."
""how do you know she has?"
""because she just signaled to me from her window.
we have arranged a way to signal with our candles and cardboard.
we set the candle on the window sill and make flashes by passing the cardboard back and forth.
so many flashes mean a certain thing.
it was my idea, marilla."
""i'll warrant you it was," said marilla emphatically.
""and the next thing you'll be setting fire to the curtains with your signaling nonsense."
""oh, we're very careful, marilla.
and it's so interesting.
two flashes mean, "are you there?"
three mean "yes" and four "no."
five mean, "come over as soon as possible, because i have something important to reveal."
diana has just signaled five flashes, and i'm really suffering to know what it is."
""well, you need n't suffer any longer," said marilla sarcastically.
""you can go, but you're to be back here in just ten minutes, remember that."
anne did remember it and was back in the stipulated time, although probably no mortal will ever know just what it cost her to confine the discussion of diana's important communication within the limits of ten minutes.
but at least she had made good use of them.
""oh, marilla, what do you think?
you know tomorrow is diana's birthday.
well, her mother told her she could ask me to go home with her from school and stay all night with her.
and her cousins are coming over from newbridge in a big pung sleigh to go to the debating club concert at the hall tomorrow night.
and they are going to take diana and me to the concert -- if you'll let me go, that is.
you will, wo n't you, marilla?
oh, i feel so excited."
""you can calm down then, because you're not going.
you're better at home in your own bed, and as for that club concert, it's all nonsense, and little girls should not be allowed to go out to such places at all."
""i'm sure the debating club is a most respectable affair," pleaded anne.
""i'm not saying it is n't.
but you're not going to begin gadding about to concerts and staying out all hours of the night.
pretty doings for children.
i'm surprised at mrs. barry's letting diana go."
""but it's such a very special occasion," mourned anne, on the verge of tears.
""diana has only one birthday in a year.
it is n't as if birthdays were common things, marilla.
prissy andrews is going to recite "curfew must not ring tonight."
that is such a good moral piece, marilla, i'm sure it would do me lots of good to hear it.
and the choir are going to sing four lovely pathetic songs that are pretty near as good as hymns.
and oh, marilla, the minister is going to take part; yes, indeed, he is; he's going to give an address.
that will be just about the same thing as a sermon.
please, may n't i go, marilla?"
""you heard what i said, anne, did n't you?
take off your boots now and go to bed.
it's past eight."
""there's just one more thing, marilla," said anne, with the air of producing the last shot in her locker.
""mrs. barry told diana that we might sleep in the spare-room bed.
think of the honor of your little anne being put in the spare-room bed."
""it's an honor you'll have to get along without.
go to bed, anne, and do n't let me hear another word out of you."
when anne, with tears rolling over her cheeks, had gone sorrowfully upstairs, matthew, who had been apparently sound asleep on the lounge during the whole dialogue, opened his eyes and said decidedly: "well now, marilla, i think you ought to let anne go."
""i do n't then," retorted marilla.
""who's bringing this child up, matthew, you or me?"
""well now, you," admitted matthew.
""do n't interfere then."
""well now, i ai n't interfering.
it ai n't interfering to have your own opinion.
and my opinion is that you ought to let anne go."
""you'd think i ought to let anne go to the moon if she took the notion, i've no doubt" was marilla's amiable rejoinder.
""i might have let her spend the night with diana, if that was all.
but i do n't approve of this concert plan.
she'd go there and catch cold like as not, and have her head filled up with nonsense and excitement.
it would unsettle her for a week.
i understand that child's disposition and what's good for it better than you, matthew."
""i think you ought to let anne go," repeated matthew firmly.
argument was not his strong point, but holding fast to his opinion certainly was.
marilla gave a gasp of helplessness and took refuge in silence.
the next morning, when anne was washing the breakfast dishes in the pantry, matthew paused on his way out to the barn to say to marilla again: "i think you ought to let anne go, marilla."
for a moment marilla looked things not lawful to be uttered.
then she yielded to the inevitable and said tartly: "very well, she can go, since nothing else'll please you."
anne flew out of the pantry, dripping dishcloth in hand.
""oh, marilla, marilla, say those blessed words again."
""i guess once is enough to say them.
this is matthew's doings and i wash my hands of it.
if you catch pneumonia sleeping in a strange bed or coming out of that hot hall in the middle of the night, do n't blame me, blame matthew.
anne shirley, you're dripping greasy water all over the floor.
i never saw such a careless child."
""oh, i know i'm a great trial to you, marilla," said anne repentantly.
""i make so many mistakes.
but then just think of all the mistakes i do n't make, although i might.
i'll get some sand and scrub up the spots before i go to school.
oh, marilla, my heart was just set on going to that concert.
i never was to a concert in my life, and when the other girls talk about them in school i feel so out of it.
you did n't know just how i felt about it, but you see matthew did.
matthew understands me, and it's so nice to be understood, marilla."
anne was too excited to do herself justice as to lessons that morning in school.
gilbert blythe spelled her down in class and left her clear out of sight in mental arithmetic.
anne's consequent humiliation was less than it might have been, however, in view of the concert and the spare-room bed.
she and diana talked so constantly about it all day that with a stricter teacher than mr. phillips dire disgrace must inevitably have been their portion.
anne felt that she could not have borne it if she had not been going to the concert, for nothing else was discussed that day in school.
the avonlea debating club, which met fortnightly all winter, had had several smaller free entertainments; but this was to be a big affair, admission ten cents, in aid of the library.
the avonlea young people had been practicing for weeks, and all the scholars were especially interested in it by reason of older brothers and sisters who were going to take part.
everybody in school over nine years of age expected to go, except carrie sloane, whose father shared marilla's opinions about small girls going out to night concerts.
carrie sloane cried into her grammar all the afternoon and felt that life was not worth living.
for anne the real excitement began with the dismissal of school and increased therefrom in crescendo until it reached to a crash of positive ecstasy in the concert itself.
they had a "perfectly elegant tea;" and then came the delicious occupation of dressing in diana's little room upstairs.
diana did anne's front hair in the new pompadour style and anne tied diana's bows with the especial knack she possessed; and they experimented with at least half a dozen different ways of arranging their back hair.
at last they were ready, cheeks scarlet and eyes glowing with excitement.
true, anne could not help a little pang when she contrasted her plain black tam and shapeless, tight-sleeved, homemade gray-cloth coat with diana's jaunty fur cap and smart little jacket.
but she remembered in time that she had an imagination and could use it.
then diana's cousins, the murrays from newbridge, came; they all crowded into the big pung sleigh, among straw and furry robes.
anne reveled in the drive to the hall, slipping along over the satin-smooth roads with the snow crisping under the runners.
there was a magnificent sunset, and the snowy hills and deep-blue water of the st. lawrence gulf seemed to rim in the splendor like a huge bowl of pearl and sapphire brimmed with wine and fire.
tinkles of sleigh bells and distant laughter, that seemed like the mirth of wood elves, came from every quarter.
""oh, diana," breathed anne, squeezing diana's mittened hand under the fur robe, "is n't it all like a beautiful dream?
do i really look the same as usual?
i feel so different that it seems to me it must show in my looks."
""you look awfully nice," said diana, who having just received a compliment from one of her cousins, felt that she ought to pass it on.
""you've got the loveliest color."
the program that night was a series of "thrills" for at least one listener in the audience, and, as anne assured diana, every succeeding thrill was thrillier than the last.
when prissy andrews, attired in a new pink-silk waist with a string of pearls about her smooth white throat and real carnations in her hair -- rumor whispered that the master had sent all the way to town for them for her -- "climbed the slimy ladder, dark without one ray of light," anne shivered in luxurious sympathy; when the choir sang "far above the gentle daisies" anne gazed at the ceiling as if it were frescoed with angels; when sam sloane proceeded to explain and illustrate "how sockery set a hen" anne laughed until people sitting near her laughed too, more out of sympathy with her than with amusement at a selection that was rather threadbare even in avonlea; and when mr. phillips gave mark antony's oration over the dead body of caesar in the most heart-stirring tones -- looking at prissy andrews at the end of every sentence -- anne felt that she could rise and mutiny on the spot if but one roman citizen led the way.
only one number on the program failed to interest her.
when gilbert blythe recited "bingen on the rhine" anne picked up rhoda murray's library book and read it until he had finished, when she sat rigidly stiff and motionless while diana clapped her hands until they tingled.
it was eleven when they got home, sated with dissipation, but with the exceeding sweet pleasure of talking it all over still to come.
everybody seemed asleep and the house was dark and silent.
anne and diana tiptoed into the parlor, a long narrow room out of which the spare room opened.
it was pleasantly warm and dimly lighted by the embers of a fire in the grate.
""let's undress here," said diana.
""it's so nice and warm."
""has n't it been a delightful time?"
sighed anne rapturously.
""it must be splendid to get up and recite there.
do you suppose we will ever be asked to do it, diana?"
""yes, of course, someday.
they're always wanting the big scholars to recite.
gilbert blythe does often and he's only two years older than us.
oh, anne, how could you pretend not to listen to him?
when he came to the line, "there's another, not a sister, he looked right down at you."
""diana," said anne with dignity, "you are my bosom friend, but i can not allow even you to speak to me of that person.
are you ready for bed?
let's run a race and see who'll get to the bed first."
the suggestion appealed to diana.
the two little white-clad figures flew down the long room, through the spare-room door, and bounded on the bed at the same moment.
and then -- something -- moved beneath them, there was a gasp and a cry -- and somebody said in muffled accents: "merciful goodness!"
anne and diana were never able to tell just how they got off that bed and out of the room.
they only knew that after one frantic rush they found themselves tiptoeing shiveringly upstairs.
""oh, who was it -- what was it?"
whispered anne, her teeth chattering with cold and fright.
""it was aunt josephine," said diana, gasping with laughter.
""oh, anne, it was aunt josephine, however she came to be there.
oh, and i know she will be furious.
it's dreadful -- it's really dreadful -- but did you ever know anything so funny, anne?"
""who is your aunt josephine?"
""she's father's aunt and she lives in charlottetown.
she's awfully old -- seventy anyhow -- and i do n't believe she was ever a little girl.
we were expecting her out for a visit, but not so soon.
she's awfully prim and proper and she'll scold dreadfully about this, i know.
well, we'll have to sleep with minnie may -- and you ca n't think how she kicks."
miss josephine barry did not appear at the early breakfast the next morning.
mrs. barry smiled kindly at the two little girls.
""did you have a good time last night?
i tried to stay awake until you came home, for i wanted to tell you aunt josephine had come and that you would have to go upstairs after all, but i was so tired i fell asleep.
i hope you did n't disturb your aunt, diana."
diana preserved a discreet silence, but she and anne exchanged furtive smiles of guilty amusement across the table.
anne hurried home after breakfast and so remained in blissful ignorance of the disturbance which presently resulted in the barry household until the late afternoon, when she went down to mrs. lynde's on an errand for marilla.
""so you and diana nearly frightened poor old miss barry to death last night?"
said mrs. lynde severely, but with a twinkle in her eye.
""mrs. barry was here a few minutes ago on her way to carmody.
she's feeling real worried over it.
old miss barry was in a terrible temper when she got up this morning -- and josephine barry's temper is no joke, i can tell you that.
she would n't speak to diana at all."
""it was n't diana's fault," said anne contritely.
""it was mine.
i suggested racing to see who would get into bed first."
""i knew it!"
said mrs. lynde, with the exultation of a correct guesser.
""i knew that idea came out of your head.
well, it's made a nice lot of trouble, that's what.
old miss barry came out to stay for a month, but she declares she wo n't stay another day and is going right back to town tomorrow, sunday and all as it is.
she'd have gone today if they could have taken her.
she had promised to pay for a quarter's music lessons for diana, but now she is determined to do nothing at all for such a tomboy.
oh, i guess they had a lively time of it there this morning.
the barrys must feel cut up.
old miss barry is rich and they'd like to keep on the good side of her.
of course, mrs. barry did n't say just that to me, but i'm a pretty good judge of human nature, that's what."
""i'm such an unlucky girl," mourned anne.
""i'm always getting into scrapes myself and getting my best friends -- people i'd shed my heart's blood for -- into them too.
can you tell me why it is so, mrs. lynde?"
""it's because you're too heedless and impulsive, child, that's what.
you never stop to think -- whatever comes into your head to say or do you say or do it without a moment's reflection."
""oh, but that's the best of it," protested anne.
""something just flashes into your mind, so exciting, and you must out with it.
if you stop to think it over you spoil it all.
have n't you never felt that yourself, mrs. lynde?"
no, mrs. lynde had not.
she shook her head sagely.
""you must learn to think a little, anne, that's what.
the proverb you need to go by is "look before you leap" -- especially into spare-room beds."
mrs. lynde laughed comfortably over her mild joke, but anne remained pensive.
she saw nothing to laugh at in the situation, which to her eyes appeared very serious.
when she left mrs. lynde's she took her way across the crusted fields to orchard slope.
diana met her at the kitchen door.
""your aunt josephine was very cross about it, was n't she?"
whispered anne.
""yes," answered diana, stifling a giggle with an apprehensive glance over her shoulder at the closed sitting-room door.
""she was fairly dancing with rage, anne.
oh, how she scolded.
she said i was the worst-behaved girl she ever saw and that my parents ought to be ashamed of the way they had brought me up.
she says she wo n't stay and i'm sure i do n't care.
but father and mother do."
""why did n't you tell them it was my fault?"
demanded anne.
""it's likely i'd do such a thing, is n't it?"
said diana with just scorn.
""i'm no telltale, anne shirley, and anyhow i was just as much to blame as you."
""well, i'm going in to tell her myself," said anne resolutely.
diana stared.
""anne shirley, you'd never!
why -- she'll eat you alive!"
""do n't frighten me any more than i am frightened," implored anne.
""i'd rather walk up to a cannon's mouth.
but i've got to do it, diana.
it was my fault and i've got to confess.
i've had practice in confessing, fortunately."
""well, she's in the room," said diana.
""you can go in if you want to.
i would n't dare.
and i do n't believe you'll do a bit of good."
with this encouragement anne bearded the lion in its den -- that is to say, walked resolutely up to the sitting-room door and knocked faintly.
a sharp "come in" followed.
miss josephine barry, thin, prim, and rigid, was knitting fiercely by the fire, her wrath quite unappeased and her eyes snapping through her gold-rimmed glasses.
she wheeled around in her chair, expecting to see diana, and beheld a white-faced girl whose great eyes were brimmed up with a mixture of desperate courage and shrinking terror.
""who are you?"
demanded miss josephine barry, without ceremony.
""i'm anne of green gables," said the small visitor tremulously, clasping her hands with her characteristic gesture, "and i've come to confess, if you please."
""confess what?"
""that it was all my fault about jumping into bed on you last night.
i suggested it.
diana would never have thought of such a thing, i am sure.
diana is a very ladylike girl, miss barry.
so you must see how unjust it is to blame her."
""oh, i must, hey?
i rather think diana did her share of the jumping at least.
such carryings on in a respectable house!"
""but we were only in fun," persisted anne.
""i think you ought to forgive us, miss barry, now that we've apologized.
and anyhow, please forgive diana and let her have her music lessons.
diana's heart is set on her music lessons, miss barry, and i know too well what it is to set your heart on a thing and not get it.
if you must be cross with anyone, be cross with me.
i've been so used in my early days to having people cross at me that i can endure it much better than diana can."
much of the snap had gone out of the old lady's eyes by this time and was replaced by a twinkle of amused interest.
but she still said severely: "i do n't think it is any excuse for you that you were only in fun.
little girls never indulged in that kind of fun when i was young.
you do n't know what it is to be awakened out of a sound sleep, after a long and arduous journey, by two great girls coming bounce down on you."
""i do n't know, but i can imagine," said anne eagerly.
""i'm sure it must have been very disturbing.
but then, there is our side of it too.
have you any imagination, miss barry?
if you have, just put yourself in our place.
we did n't know there was anybody in that bed and you nearly scared us to death.
it was simply awful the way we felt.
and then we could n't sleep in the spare room after being promised.
i suppose you are used to sleeping in spare rooms.
but just imagine what you would feel like if you were a little orphan girl who had never had such an honor."
all the snap had gone by this time.
miss barry actually laughed -- a sound which caused diana, waiting in speechless anxiety in the kitchen outside, to give a great gasp of relief.
""i'm afraid my imagination is a little rusty -- it's so long since i used it," she said.
""i dare say your claim to sympathy is just as strong as mine.
it all depends on the way we look at it.
sit down here and tell me about yourself."
""i am very sorry i ca n't," said anne firmly.
""i would like to, because you seem like an interesting lady, and you might even be a kindred spirit although you do n't look very much like it.
but it is my duty to go home to miss marilla cuthbert.
miss marilla cuthbert is a very kind lady who has taken me to bring up properly.
she is doing her best, but it is very discouraging work.
you must not blame her because i jumped on the bed.
but before i go i do wish you would tell me if you will forgive diana and stay just as long as you meant to in avonlea."
""i think perhaps i will if you will come over and talk to me occasionally," said miss barry.
that evening miss barry gave diana a silver bangle bracelet and told the senior members of the household that she had unpacked her valise.
""i've made up my mind to stay simply for the sake of getting better acquainted with that anne-girl," she said frankly.
""she amuses me, and at my time of life an amusing person is a rarity."
marilla's only comment when she heard the story was, "i told you so."
this was for matthew's benefit.
miss barry stayed her month out and over.
she was a more agreeable guest than usual, for anne kept her in good humor.
they became firm friends.
when miss barry went away she said: "remember, you anne-girl, when you come to town you're to visit me and i'll put you in my very sparest spare-room bed to sleep."
""miss barry was a kindred spirit, after all," anne confided to marilla.
""you would n't think so to look at her, but she is.
you do n't find it right out at first, as in matthew's case, but after a while you come to see it.
kindred spirits are not so scarce as i used to think.
it's splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world."
chapter xx.
a good imagination gone wrong spring had come once more to green gables -- the beautiful capricious, reluctant canadian spring, lingering along through april and may in a succession of sweet, fresh, chilly days, with pink sunsets and miracles of resurrection and growth.
the maples in lover's lane were red budded and little curly ferns pushed up around the dryad's bubble.
away up in the barrens, behind mr. silas sloane's place, the mayflowers blossomed out, pink and white stars of sweetness under their brown leaves.
all the school girls and boys had one golden afternoon gathering them, coming home in the clear, echoing twilight with arms and baskets full of flowery spoil.
""i'm so sorry for people who live in lands where there are no mayflowers," said anne.
""diana says perhaps they have something better, but there could n't be anything better than mayflowers, could there, marilla?
and diana says if they do n't know what they are like they do n't miss them.
but i think that is the saddest thing of all.
i think it would be tragic, marilla, not to know what mayflowers are like and not to miss them.
do you know what i think mayflowers are, marilla?
i think they must be the souls of the flowers that died last summer and this is their heaven.
but we had a splendid time today, marilla.
we had our lunch down in a big mossy hollow by an old well -- such a romantic spot.
charlie sloane dared arty gillis to jump over it, and arty did because he would n't take a dare.
nobody would in school.
it is very fashionable to dare.
mr. phillips gave all the mayflowers he found to prissy andrews and i heard him to say "sweets to the sweet."
he got that out of a book, i know; but it shows he has some imagination.
i was offered some mayflowers too, but i rejected them with scorn.
i ca n't tell you the person's name because i have vowed never to let it cross my lips.
we made wreaths of the mayflowers and put them on our hats; and when the time came to go home we marched in procession down the road, two by two, with our bouquets and wreaths, singing "my home on the hill."
oh, it was so thrilling, marilla.
all mr. silas sloane's folks rushed out to see us and everybody we met on the road stopped and stared after us.
we made a real sensation."
""not much wonder!
such silly doings!"
was marilla's response.
after the mayflowers came the violets, and violet vale was empurpled with them.
anne walked through it on her way to school with reverent steps and worshiping eyes, as if she trod on holy ground.
""somehow," she told diana, "when i'm going through here i do n't really care whether gil -- whether anybody gets ahead of me in class or not.
but when i'm up in school it's all different and i care as much as ever.
there's such a lot of different annes in me.
i sometimes think that is why i'm such a troublesome person.
if i was just the one anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it would n't be half so interesting."
one june evening, when the orchards were pink blossomed again, when the frogs were singing silverly sweet in the marshes about the head of the lake of shining waters, and the air was full of the savor of clover fields and balsamic fir woods, anne was sitting by her gable window.
she had been studying her lessons, but it had grown too dark to see the book, so she had fallen into wide-eyed reverie, looking out past the boughs of the snow queen, once more bestarred with its tufts of blossom.
in all essential respects the little gable chamber was unchanged.
the walls were as white, the pincushion as hard, the chairs as stiffly and yellowly upright as ever.
yet the whole character of the room was altered.
it was full of a new vital, pulsing personality that seemed to pervade it and to be quite independent of schoolgirl books and dresses and ribbons, and even of the cracked blue jug full of apple blossoms on the table.
it was as if all the dreams, sleeping and waking, of its vivid occupant had taken a visible although unmaterial form and had tapestried the bare room with splendid filmy tissues of rainbow and moonshine.
presently marilla came briskly in with some of anne's freshly ironed school aprons.
she hung them over a chair and sat down with a short sigh.
she had had one of her headaches that afternoon, and although the pain had gone she felt weak and "tuckered out," as she expressed it.
anne looked at her with eyes limpid with sympathy.
""i do truly wish i could have had the headache in your place, marilla.
i would have endured it joyfully for your sake."
""i guess you did your part in attending to the work and letting me rest," said marilla.
""you seem to have got on fairly well and made fewer mistakes than usual.
of course it was n't exactly necessary to starch matthew's handkerchiefs!
and most people when they put a pie in the oven to warm up for dinner take it out and eat it when it gets hot instead of leaving it to be burned to a crisp.
but that does n't seem to be your way evidently."
headaches always left marilla somewhat sarcastic.
""oh, i'm so sorry," said anne penitently.
""i never thought about that pie from the moment i put it in the oven till now, although i felt instinctively that there was something missing on the dinner table.
i was firmly resolved, when you left me in charge this morning, not to imagine anything, but keep my thoughts on facts.
i did pretty well until i put the pie in, and then an irresistible temptation came to me to imagine i was an enchanted princess shut up in a lonely tower with a handsome knight riding to my rescue on a coal-black steed.
so that is how i came to forget the pie.
i did n't know i starched the handkerchiefs.
all the time i was ironing i was trying to think of a name for a new island diana and i have discovered up the brook.
it's the most ravishing spot, marilla.
there are two maple trees on it and the brook flows right around it.
at last it struck me that it would be splendid to call it victoria island because we found it on the queen's birthday.
both diana and i are very loyal.
but i'm sorry about that pie and the handkerchiefs.
i wanted to be extra good today because it's an anniversary.
do you remember what happened this day last year, marilla?"
""no, i ca n't think of anything special."
""oh, marilla, it was the day i came to green gables.
i shall never forget it.
it was the turning point in my life.
of course it would n't seem so important to you.
i've been here for a year and i've been so happy.
of course, i've had my troubles, but one can live down troubles.
are you sorry you kept me, marilla?"
""no, i ca n't say i'm sorry," said marilla, who sometimes wondered how she could have lived before anne came to green gables, "no, not exactly sorry.
if you've finished your lessons, anne, i want you to run over and ask mrs. barry if she'll lend me diana's apron pattern."
""oh -- it's -- it's too dark," cried anne.
""too dark?
why, it's only twilight.
and goodness knows you've gone over often enough after dark."
""i'll go over early in the morning," said anne eagerly.
""i'll get up at sunrise and go over, marilla."
""what has got into your head now, anne shirley?
i want that pattern to cut out your new apron this evening.
go at once and be smart too."
""i'll have to go around by the road, then," said anne, taking up her hat reluctantly.
""go by the road and waste half an hour!
i'd like to catch you!"
""i ca n't go through the haunted wood, marilla," cried anne desperately.
marilla stared.
""the haunted wood!
are you crazy?
what under the canopy is the haunted wood?"
""the spruce wood over the brook," said anne in a whisper.
""fiddlesticks!
there is no such thing as a haunted wood anywhere.
who has been telling you such stuff?"
""nobody," confessed anne.
""diana and i just imagined the wood was haunted.
all the places around here are so -- so -- commonplace.
we just got this up for our own amusement.
we began it in april.
a haunted wood is so very romantic, marilla.
we chose the spruce grove because it's so gloomy.
oh, we have imagined the most harrowing things.
there's a white lady walks along the brook just about this time of the night and wrings her hands and utters wailing cries.
she appears when there is to be a death in the family.
and the ghost of a little murdered child haunts the corner up by idlewild; it creeps up behind you and lays its cold fingers on your hand -- so.
oh, marilla, it gives me a shudder to think of it.
and there's a headless man stalks up and down the path and skeletons glower at you between the boughs.
oh, marilla, i would n't go through the haunted wood after dark now for anything.
i'd be sure that white things would reach out from behind the trees and grab me."
""did ever anyone hear the like!"
ejaculated marilla, who had listened in dumb amazement.
""anne shirley, do you mean to tell me you believe all that wicked nonsense of your own imagination?"
""not believe exactly," faltered anne.
""at least, i do n't believe it in daylight.
but after dark, marilla, it's different.
that is when ghosts walk."
""there are no such things as ghosts, anne."
""oh, but there are, marilla," cried anne eagerly.
""i know people who have seen them.
and they are respectable people.
charlie sloane says that his grandmother saw his grandfather driving home the cows one night after he'd been buried for a year.
you know charlie sloane's grandmother would n't tell a story for anything.
she's a very religious woman.
and mrs. thomas's father was pursued home one night by a lamb of fire with its head cut off hanging by a strip of skin.
he said he knew it was the spirit of his brother and that it was a warning he would die within nine days.
he did n't, but he died two years after, so you see it was really true.
and ruby gillis says --" "anne shirley," interrupted marilla firmly, "i never want to hear you talking in this fashion again.
i've had my doubts about that imagination of yours right along, and if this is going to be the outcome of it, i wo n't countenance any such doings.
you'll go right over to barry's, and you'll go through that spruce grove, just for a lesson and a warning to you.
and never let me hear a word out of your head about haunted woods again."
anne might plead and cry as she liked -- and did, for her terror was very real.
her imagination had run away with her and she held the spruce grove in mortal dread after nightfall.
but marilla was inexorable.
she marched the shrinking ghost-seer down to the spring and ordered her to proceed straightaway over the bridge and into the dusky retreats of wailing ladies and headless specters beyond.
""oh, marilla, how can you be so cruel?"
sobbed anne.
""what would you feel like if a white thing did snatch me up and carry me off?"
""i'll risk it," said marilla unfeelingly.
""you know i always mean what i say.
i'll cure you of imagining ghosts into places.
march, now."
anne marched.
that is, she stumbled over the bridge and went shuddering up the horrible dim path beyond.
anne never forgot that walk.
bitterly did she repent the license she had given to her imagination.
the goblins of her fancy lurked in every shadow about her, reaching out their cold, fleshless hands to grasp the terrified small girl who had called them into being.
a white strip of birch bark blowing up from the hollow over the brown floor of the grove made her heart stand still.
the long-drawn wail of two old boughs rubbing against each other brought out the perspiration in beads on her forehead.
the swoop of bats in the darkness over her was as the wings of unearthly creatures.
when she reached mr. william bell's field she fled across it as if pursued by an army of white things, and arrived at the barry kitchen door so out of breath that she could hardly gasp out her request for the apron pattern.
diana was away so that she had no excuse to linger.
the dreadful return journey had to be faced.
anne went back over it with shut eyes, preferring to take the risk of dashing her brains out among the boughs to that of seeing a white thing.
when she finally stumbled over the log bridge she drew one long shivering breath of relief.
""well, so nothing caught you?"
said marilla unsympathetically.
""oh, mar -- marilla," chattered anne, "i'll b-b-be contt-tented with c-c-commonplace places after this."
chapter xxi.
a new departure in flavorings "dear me, there is nothing but meetings and partings in this world, as mrs. lynde says," remarked anne plaintively, putting her slate and books down on the kitchen table on the last day of june and wiping her red eyes with a very damp handkerchief.
""was n't it fortunate, marilla, that i took an extra handkerchief to school today?
i had a presentiment that it would be needed."
""i never thought you were so fond of mr. phillips that you'd require two handkerchiefs to dry your tears just because he was going away," said marilla.
""i do n't think i was crying because i was really so very fond of him," reflected anne.
""i just cried because all the others did.
it was ruby gillis started it.
ruby gillis has always declared she hated mr. phillips, but just as soon as he got up to make his farewell speech she burst into tears.
then all the girls began to cry, one after the other.
i tried to hold out, marilla.
i tried to remember the time mr. phillips made me sit with gil -- with a, boy; and the time he spelled my name without an e on the blackboard; and how he said i was the worst dunce he ever saw at geometry and laughed at my spelling; and all the times he had been so horrid and sarcastic; but somehow i could n't, marilla, and i just had to cry too.
jane andrews has been talking for a month about how glad she'd be when mr. phillips went away and she declared she'd never shed a tear.
well, she was worse than any of us and had to borrow a handkerchief from her brother -- of course the boys did n't cry -- because she had n't brought one of her own, not expecting to need it.
oh, marilla, it was heartrending.
mr. phillips made such a beautiful farewell speech beginning, "the time has come for us to part."
it was very affecting.
and he had tears in his eyes too, marilla.
oh, i felt dreadfully sorry and remorseful for all the times i'd talked in school and drawn pictures of him on my slate and made fun of him and prissy.
i can tell you i wished i'd been a model pupil like minnie andrews.
she had n't anything on her conscience.
the girls cried all the way home from school.
carrie sloane kept saying every few minutes, "the time has come for us to part," and that would start us off again whenever we were in any danger of cheering up.
i do feel dreadfully sad, marilla.
but one ca n't feel quite in the depths of despair with two months" vacation before them, can they, marilla?
and besides, we met the new minister and his wife coming from the station.
for all i was feeling so bad about mr. phillips going away i could n't help taking a little interest in a new minister, could i?
his wife is very pretty.
not exactly regally lovely, of course -- it would n't do, i suppose, for a minister to have a regally lovely wife, because it might set a bad example.
mrs. lynde says the minister's wife over at newbridge sets a very bad example because she dresses so fashionably.
our new minister's wife was dressed in blue muslin with lovely puffed sleeves and a hat trimmed with roses.
jane andrews said she thought puffed sleeves were too worldly for a minister's wife, but i did n't make any such uncharitable remark, marilla, because i know what it is to long for puffed sleeves.
besides, she's only been a minister's wife for a little while, so one should make allowances, should n't they?
they are going to board with mrs. lynde until the manse is ready."
if marilla, in going down to mrs. lynde's that evening, was actuated by any motive save her avowed one of returning the quilting frames she had borrowed the preceding winter, it was an amiable weakness shared by most of the avonlea people.
many a thing mrs. lynde had lent, sometimes never expecting to see it again, came home that night in charge of the borrowers thereof.
a new minister, and moreover a minister with a wife, was a lawful object of curiosity in a quiet little country settlement where sensations were few and far between.
old mr. bentley, the minister whom anne had found lacking in imagination, had been pastor of avonlea for eighteen years.
he was a widower when he came, and a widower he remained, despite the fact that gossip regularly married him to this, that, or the other one, every year of his sojourn.
in the preceding february he had resigned his charge and departed amid the regrets of his people, most of whom had the affection born of long intercourse for their good old minister in spite of his shortcomings as an orator.
since then the avonlea church had enjoyed a variety of religious dissipation in listening to the many and various candidates and "supplies" who came sunday after sunday to preach on trial.
these stood or fell by the judgment of the fathers and mothers in israel; but a certain small, red-haired girl who sat meekly in the corner of the old cuthbert pew also had her opinions about them and discussed the same in full with matthew, marilla always declining from principle to criticize ministers in any shape or form.
""i do n't think mr. smith would have done, matthew" was anne's final summing up.
""mrs. lynde says his delivery was so poor, but i think his worst fault was just like mr. bentley's -- he had no imagination.
and mr. terry had too much; he let it run away with him just as i did mine in the matter of the haunted wood.
besides, mrs. lynde says his theology was n't sound.
mr. gresham was a very good man and a very religious man, but he told too many funny stories and made the people laugh in church; he was undignified, and you must have some dignity about a minister, must n't you, matthew?
i thought mr. marshall was decidedly attractive; but mrs. lynde says he is n't married, or even engaged, because she made special inquiries about him, and she says it would never do to have a young unmarried minister in avonlea, because he might marry in the congregation and that would make trouble.
mrs. lynde is a very farseeing woman, is n't she, matthew?
i'm very glad they've called mr. allan.
i liked him because his sermon was interesting and he prayed as if he meant it and not just as if he did it because he was in the habit of it.
mrs. lynde says he is n't perfect, but she says she supposes we could n't expect a perfect minister for seven hundred and fifty dollars a year, and anyhow his theology is sound because she questioned him thoroughly on all the points of doctrine.
and she knows his wife's people and they are most respectable and the women are all good housekeepers.
mrs. lynde says that sound doctrine in the man and good housekeeping in the woman make an ideal combination for a minister's family."
the new minister and his wife were a young, pleasant-faced couple, still on their honeymoon, and full of all good and beautiful enthusiasms for their chosen lifework.
avonlea opened its heart to them from the start.
old and young liked the frank, cheerful young man with his high ideals, and the bright, gentle little lady who assumed the mistress-ship of the manse.
with mrs. allan anne fell promptly and wholeheartedly in love.
she had discovered another kindred spirit.
""mrs. allan is perfectly lovely," she announced one sunday afternoon.
""she's taken our class and she's a splendid teacher.
she said right away she did n't think it was fair for the teacher to ask all the questions, and you know, marilla, that is exactly what i've always thought.
she said we could ask her any question we liked and i asked ever so many.
i'm good at asking questions, marilla."
""i believe you" was marilla's emphatic comment.
""nobody else asked any except ruby gillis, and she asked if there was to be a sunday-school picnic this summer.
i did n't think that was a very proper question to ask because it had n't any connection with the lesson -- the lesson was about daniel in the lions" den -- but mrs. allan just smiled and said she thought there would be.
mrs. allan has a lovely smile; she has such exquisite dimples in her cheeks.
i wish i had dimples in my cheeks, marilla.
i'm not half so skinny as i was when i came here, but i have no dimples yet.
if i had perhaps i could influence people for good.
mrs. allan said we ought always to try to influence other people for good.
she talked so nice about everything.
i never knew before that religion was such a cheerful thing.
i always thought it was kind of melancholy, but mrs. allan's is n't, and i'd like to be a christian if i could be one like her.
i would n't want to be one like mr. superintendent bell."
""it's very naughty of you to speak so about mr. bell," said marilla severely.
""mr. bell is a real good man."
""oh, of course he's good," agreed anne, "but he does n't seem to get any comfort out of it.
if i could be good i'd dance and sing all day because i was glad of it.
i suppose mrs. allan is too old to dance and sing and of course it would n't be dignified in a minister's wife.
but i can just feel she's glad she's a christian and that she'd be one even if she could get to heaven without it."
""i suppose we must have mr. and mrs. allan up to tea someday soon," said marilla reflectively.
""they've been most everywhere but here.
let me see.
next wednesday would be a good time to have them.
but do n't say a word to matthew about it, for if he knew they were coming he'd find some excuse to be away that day.
he'd got so used to mr. bentley he did n't mind him, but he's going to find it hard to get acquainted with a new minister, and a new minister's wife will frighten him to death."
""i'll be as secret as the dead," assured anne.
""but oh, marilla, will you let me make a cake for the occasion?
i'd love to do something for mrs. allan, and you know i can make a pretty good cake by this time."
""you can make a layer cake," promised marilla.
monday and tuesday great preparations went on at green gables.
having the minister and his wife to tea was a serious and important undertaking, and marilla was determined not to be eclipsed by any of the avonlea housekeepers.
anne was wild with excitement and delight.
she talked it all over with diana tuesday night in the twilight, as they sat on the big red stones by the dryad's bubble and made rainbows in the water with little twigs dipped in fir balsam.
""everything is ready, diana, except my cake which i'm to make in the morning, and the baking-powder biscuits which marilla will make just before teatime.
i assure you, diana, that marilla and i have had a busy two days of it.
it's such a responsibility having a minister's family to tea.
i never went through such an experience before.
you should just see our pantry.
it's a sight to behold.
we're going to have jellied chicken and cold tongue.
we're to have two kinds of jelly, red and yellow, and whipped cream and lemon pie, and cherry pie, and three kinds of cookies, and fruit cake, and marilla's famous yellow plum preserves that she keeps especially for ministers, and pound cake and layer cake, and biscuits as aforesaid; and new bread and old both, in case the minister is dyspeptic and ca n't eat new.
mrs. lynde says ministers are dyspeptic, but i do n't think mr. allan has been a minister long enough for it to have had a bad effect on him.
i just grow cold when i think of my layer cake.
oh, diana, what if it should n't be good!
i dreamed last night that i was chased all around by a fearful goblin with a big layer cake for a head."
""it'll be good, all right," assured diana, who was a very comfortable sort of friend.
""i'm sure that piece of the one you made that we had for lunch in idlewild two weeks ago was perfectly elegant."
""yes; but cakes have such a terrible habit of turning out bad just when you especially want them to be good," sighed anne, setting a particularly well-balsamed twig afloat.
""however, i suppose i shall just have to trust to providence and be careful to put in the flour.
oh, look, diana, what a lovely rainbow!
do you suppose the dryad will come out after we go away and take it for a scarf?"
""you know there is no such thing as a dryad," said diana.
diana's mother had found out about the haunted wood and had been decidedly angry over it.
as a result diana had abstained from any further imitative flights of imagination and did not think it prudent to cultivate a spirit of belief even in harmless dryads.
""but it's so easy to imagine there is," said anne.
""every night before i go to bed, i look out of my window and wonder if the dryad is really sitting here, combing her locks with the spring for a mirror.
sometimes i look for her footprints in the dew in the morning.
oh, diana, do n't give up your faith in the dryad!"
wednesday morning came.
anne got up at sunrise because she was too excited to sleep.
she had caught a severe cold in the head by reason of her dabbling in the spring on the preceding evening; but nothing short of absolute pneumonia could have quenched her interest in culinary matters that morning.
after breakfast she proceeded to make her cake.
when she finally shut the oven door upon it she drew a long breath.
""i'm sure i have n't forgotten anything this time, marilla.
but do you think it will rise?
just suppose perhaps the baking powder is n't good?
i used it out of the new can.
and mrs. lynde says you can never be sure of getting good baking powder nowadays when everything is so adulterated.
mrs. lynde says the government ought to take the matter up, but she says we'll never see the day when a tory government will do it.
marilla, what if that cake does n't rise?"
""we'll have plenty without it" was marilla's unimpassioned way of looking at the subject.
the cake did rise, however, and came out of the oven as light and feathery as golden foam.
anne, flushed with delight, clapped it together with layers of ruby jelly and, in imagination, saw mrs. allan eating it and possibly asking for another piece!
""you'll be using the best tea set, of course, marilla," she said.
""can i fix the table with ferns and wild roses?"
""i think that's all nonsense," sniffed marilla.
""in my opinion it's the eatables that matter and not flummery decorations."
""mrs. barry had her table decorated," said anne, who was not entirely guiltless of the wisdom of the serpent, "and the minister paid her an elegant compliment.
he said it was a feast for the eye as well as the palate."
""well, do as you like," said marilla, who was quite determined not to be surpassed by mrs. barry or anybody else.
""only mind you leave enough room for the dishes and the food."
anne laid herself out to decorate in a manner and after a fashion that should leave mrs. barry's nowhere.
having abundance of roses and ferns and a very artistic taste of her own, she made that tea table such a thing of beauty that when the minister and his wife sat down to it they exclaimed in chorus over it loveliness.
""it's anne's doings," said marilla, grimly just; and anne felt that mrs. allan's approving smile was almost too much happiness for this world.
matthew was there, having been inveigled into the party only goodness and anne knew how.
he had been in such a state of shyness and nervousness that marilla had given him up in despair, but anne took him in hand so successfully that he now sat at the table in his best clothes and white collar and talked to the minister not uninterestingly.
he never said a word to mrs. allan, but that perhaps was not to be expected.
all went merry as a marriage bell until anne's layer cake was passed.
mrs. allan, having already been helped to a bewildering variety, declined it.
but marilla, seeing the disappointment on anne's face, said smilingly: "oh, you must take a piece of this, mrs. allan.
anne made it on purpose for you."
""in that case i must sample it," laughed mrs. allan, helping herself to a plump triangle, as did also the minister and marilla.
mrs. allan took a mouthful of hers and a most peculiar expression crossed her face; not a word did she say, however, but steadily ate away at it.
marilla saw the expression and hastened to taste the cake.
""anne shirley!"
she exclaimed, "what on earth did you put into that cake?"
""nothing but what the recipe said, marilla," cried anne with a look of anguish.
""oh, is n't it all right?"
""all right!
it's simply horrible.
mr. allan, do n't try to eat it.
anne, taste it yourself.
what flavoring did you use?"
""vanilla," said anne, her face scarlet with mortification after tasting the cake.
""only vanilla.
oh, marilla, it must have been the baking powder.
i had my suspicions of that bak --" "baking powder fiddlesticks!
go and bring me the bottle of vanilla you used."
anne fled to the pantry and returned with a small bottle partially filled with a brown liquid and labeled yellowly, "best vanilla."
marilla took it, uncorked it, smelled it.
""mercy on us, anne, you've flavored that cake with anodyne liniment.
i broke the liniment bottle last week and poured what was left into an old empty vanilla bottle.
i suppose it's partly my fault -- i should have warned you -- but for pity's sake why could n't you have smelled it?"
anne dissolved into tears under this double disgrace.
""i could n't -- i had such a cold!"
and with this she fairly fled to the gable chamber, where she cast herself on the bed and wept as one who refuses to be comforted.
presently a light step sounded on the stairs and somebody entered the room.
""oh, marilla," sobbed anne, without looking up, "i'm disgraced forever.
i shall never be able to live this down.
it will get out -- things always do get out in avonlea.
diana will ask me how my cake turned out and i shall have to tell her the truth.
i shall always be pointed at as the girl who flavored a cake with anodyne liniment.
gil -- the boys in school will never get over laughing at it.
oh, marilla, if you have a spark of christian pity do n't tell me that i must go down and wash the dishes after this.
i'll wash them when the minister and his wife are gone, but i can not ever look mrs. allan in the face again.
perhaps she'll think i tried to poison her.
mrs. lynde says she knows an orphan girl who tried to poison her benefactor.
but the liniment is n't poisonous.
it's meant to be taken internally -- although not in cakes.
wo n't you tell mrs. allan so, marilla?"
""suppose you jump up and tell her so yourself," said a merry voice.
anne flew up, to find mrs. allan standing by her bed, surveying her with laughing eyes.
""my dear little girl, you must n't cry like this," she said, genuinely disturbed by anne's tragic face.
""why, it's all just a funny mistake that anybody might make."
""oh, no, it takes me to make such a mistake," said anne forlornly.
""and i wanted to have that cake so nice for you, mrs. allan."
""yes, i know, dear.
and i assure you i appreciate your kindness and thoughtfulness just as much as if it had turned out all right.
now, you must n't cry any more, but come down with me and show me your flower garden.
miss cuthbert tells me you have a little plot all your own.
i want to see it, for i'm very much interested in flowers."
anne permitted herself to be led down and comforted, reflecting that it was really providential that mrs. allan was a kindred spirit.
nothing more was said about the liniment cake, and when the guests went away anne found that she had enjoyed the evening more than could have been expected, considering that terrible incident.
nevertheless, she sighed deeply.
""marilla, is n't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?"
""i'll warrant you'll make plenty in it," said marilla.
""i never saw your beat for making mistakes, anne."
""yes, and well i know it," admitted anne mournfully.
""but have you ever noticed one encouraging thing about me, marilla?
i never make the same mistake twice."
""i do n't know as that's much benefit when you're always making new ones."
""oh, do n't you see, marilla?
there must be a limit to the mistakes one person can make, and when i get to the end of them, then i'll be through with them.
that's a very comforting thought."
""well, you'd better go and give that cake to the pigs," said marilla.
""it is n't fit for any human to eat, not even jerry boute."
chapter xxii.
anne is invited out to tea "and what are your eyes popping out of your head about.
now?"
asked marilla, when anne had just come in from a run to the post office.
""have you discovered another kindred spirit?"
excitement hung around anne like a garment, shone in her eyes, kindled in every feature.
she had come dancing up the lane, like a wind-blown sprite, through the mellow sunshine and lazy shadows of the august evening.
""no, marilla, but oh, what do you think?
i am invited to tea at the manse tomorrow afternoon!
mrs. allan left the letter for me at the post office.
just look at it, marilla.
"miss anne shirley, green gables."
that is the first time i was ever called "miss." such a thrill as it gave me!
i shall cherish it forever among my choicest treasures."
""mrs. allan told me she meant to have all the members of her sunday-school class to tea in turn," said marilla, regarding the wonderful event very coolly.
""you need n't get in such a fever over it.
do learn to take things calmly, child."
for anne to take things calmly would have been to change her nature.
all "spirit and fire and dew," as she was, the pleasures and pains of life came to her with trebled intensity.
marilla felt this and was vaguely troubled over it, realizing that the ups and downs of existence would probably bear hardly on this impulsive soul and not sufficiently understanding that the equally great capacity for delight might more than compensate.
therefore marilla conceived it to be her duty to drill anne into a tranquil uniformity of disposition as impossible and alien to her as to a dancing sunbeam in one of the brook shallows.
she did not make much headway, as she sorrowfully admitted to herself.
the downfall of some dear hope or plan plunged anne into "deeps of affliction."
the fulfillment thereof exalted her to dizzy realms of delight.
marilla had almost begun to despair of ever fashioning this waif of the world into her model little girl of demure manners and prim deportment.
neither would she have believed that she really liked anne much better as she was.
anne went to bed that night speechless with misery because matthew had said the wind was round northeast and he feared it would be a rainy day tomorrow.
the rustle of the poplar leaves about the house worried her, it sounded so like pattering raindrops, and the full, faraway roar of the gulf, to which she listened delightedly at other times, loving its strange, sonorous, haunting rhythm, now seemed like a prophecy of storm and disaster to a small maiden who particularly wanted a fine day.
anne thought that the morning would never come.
but all things have an end, even nights before the day on which you are invited to take tea at the manse.
the morning, in spite of matthew's predictions, was fine and anne's spirits soared to their highest.
""oh, marilla, there is something in me today that makes me just love everybody i see," she exclaimed as she washed the breakfast dishes.
""you do n't know how good i feel!
would n't it be nice if it could last?
i believe i could be a model child if i were just invited out to tea every day.
but oh, marilla, it's a solemn occasion too.
i feel so anxious.
what if i should n't behave properly?
you know i never had tea at a manse before, and i'm not sure that i know all the rules of etiquette, although i've been studying the rules given in the etiquette department of the family herald ever since i came here.
i'm so afraid i'll do something silly or forget to do something i should do.
would it be good manners to take a second helping of anything if you wanted to very much?"
""the trouble with you, anne, is that you're thinking too much about yourself.
you should just think of mrs. allan and what would be nicest and most agreeable to her," said marilla, hitting for once in her life on a very sound and pithy piece of advice.
anne instantly realized this.
""you are right, marilla.
i'll try not to think about myself at all."
anne evidently got through her visit without any serious breach of "etiquette," for she came home through the twilight, under a great, high-sprung sky gloried over with trails of saffron and rosy cloud, in a beatified state of mind and told marilla all about it happily, sitting on the big red-sandstone slab at the kitchen door with her tired curly head in marilla's gingham lap.
a cool wind was blowing down over the long harvest fields from the rims of firry western hills and whistling through the poplars.
one clear star hung over the orchard and the fireflies were flitting over in lover's lane, in and out among the ferns and rustling boughs.
anne watched them as she talked and somehow felt that wind and stars and fireflies were all tangled up together into something unutterably sweet and enchanting.
""oh, marilla, i've had a most fascinating time.
i feel that i have not lived in vain and i shall always feel like that even if i should never be invited to tea at a manse again.
when i got there mrs. allan met me at the door.
she was dressed in the sweetest dress of pale-pink organdy, with dozens of frills and elbow sleeves, and she looked just like a seraph.
i really think i'd like to be a minister's wife when i grow up, marilla.
a minister might n't mind my red hair because he would n't be thinking of such worldly things.
but then of course one would have to be naturally good and i'll never be that, so i suppose there's no use in thinking about it.
some people are naturally good, you know, and others are not.
i'm one of the others.
mrs. lynde says i'm full of original sin.
no matter how hard i try to be good i can never make such a success of it as those who are naturally good.
it's a good deal like geometry, i expect.
but do n't you think the trying so hard ought to count for something?
mrs. allan is one of the naturally good people.
i love her passionately.
you know there are some people, like matthew and mrs. allan that you can love right off without any trouble.
and there are others, like mrs. lynde, that you have to try very hard to love.
you know you ought to love them because they know so much and are such active workers in the church, but you have to keep reminding yourself of it all the time or else you forget.
there was another little girl at the manse to tea, from the white sands sunday school.
her name was laurette bradley, and she was a very nice little girl.
not exactly a kindred spirit, you know, but still very nice.
we had an elegant tea, and i think i kept all the rules of etiquette pretty well.
after tea mrs. allan played and sang and she got lauretta and me to sing too.
mrs. allan says i have a good voice and she says i must sing in the sunday-school choir after this.
you ca n't think how i was thrilled at the mere thought.
i've longed so to sing in the sunday-school choir, as diana does, but i feared it was an honor i could never aspire to.
lauretta had to go home early because there is a big concert in the white sands hotel tonight and her sister is to recite at it.
lauretta says that the americans at the hotel give a concert every fortnight in aid of the charlottetown hospital, and they ask lots of the white sands people to recite.
lauretta said she expected to be asked herself someday.
i just gazed at her in awe.
after she had gone mrs. allan and i had a heart-to-heart talk.
i told her everything -- about mrs. thomas and the twins and katie maurice and violetta and coming to green gables and my troubles over geometry.
and would you believe it, marilla?
mrs. allan told me she was a dunce at geometry too.
you do n't know how that encouraged me.
mrs. lynde came to the manse just before i left, and what do you think, marilla?
the trustees have hired a new teacher and it's a lady.
her name is miss muriel stacy.
is n't that a romantic name?
mrs. lynde says they've never had a female teacher in avonlea before and she thinks it is a dangerous innovation.
but i think it will be splendid to have a lady teacher, and i really do n't see how i'm going to live through the two weeks before school begins.
i'm so impatient to see her."
chapter xxiii.
anne comes to grief in an affair of honor anne had to live through more than two weeks, as it happened.
almost a month having elapsed since the liniment cake episode, it was high time for her to get into fresh trouble of some sort, little mistakes, such as absentmindedly emptying a pan of skim milk into a basket of yarn balls in the pantry instead of into the pigs" bucket, and walking clean over the edge of the log bridge into the brook while wrapped in imaginative reverie, not really being worth counting.
a week after the tea at the manse diana barry gave a party.
""small and select," anne assured marilla.
""just the girls in our class."
they had a very good time and nothing untoward happened until after tea, when they found themselves in the barry garden, a little tired of all their games and ripe for any enticing form of mischief which might present itself.
this presently took the form of "daring."
daring was the fashionable amusement among the avonlea small fry just then.
it had begun among the boys, but soon spread to the girls, and all the silly things that were done in avonlea that summer because the doers thereof were "dared" to do them would fill a book by themselves.
first of all carrie sloane dared ruby gillis to climb to a certain point in the huge old willow tree before the front door; which ruby gillis, albeit in mortal dread of the fat green caterpillars with which said tree was infested and with the fear of her mother before her eyes if she should tear her new muslin dress, nimbly did, to the discomfiture of the aforesaid carrie sloane.
then josie pye dared jane andrews to hop on her left leg around the garden without stopping once or putting her right foot to the ground; which jane andrews gamely tried to do, but gave out at the third corner and had to confess herself defeated.
josie's triumph being rather more pronounced than good taste permitted, anne shirley dared her to walk along the top of the board fence which bounded the garden to the east.
now, to "walk" board fences requires more skill and steadiness of head and heel than one might suppose who has never tried it.
but josie pye, if deficient in some qualities that make for popularity, had at least a natural and inborn gift, duly cultivated, for walking board fences.
josie walked the barry fence with an airy unconcern which seemed to imply that a little thing like that was n't worth a "dare."
reluctant admiration greeted her exploit, for most of the other girls could appreciate it, having suffered many things themselves in their efforts to walk fences.
josie descended from her perch, flushed with victory, and darted a defiant glance at anne.
anne tossed her red braids.
""i do n't think it's such a very wonderful thing to walk a little, low, board fence," she said.
""i knew a girl in marysville who could walk the ridgepole of a roof."
""i do n't believe it," said josie flatly.
""i do n't believe anybody could walk a ridgepole.
you could n't, anyhow."
""could n't i?"
cried anne rashly.
""then i dare you to do it," said josie defiantly.
""i dare you to climb up there and walk the ridgepole of mr. barry's kitchen roof."
anne turned pale, but there was clearly only one thing to be done.
she walked toward the house, where a ladder was leaning against the kitchen roof.
all the fifth-class girls said, "oh!"
partly in excitement, partly in dismay.
""do n't you do it, anne," entreated diana.
""you'll fall off and be killed.
never mind josie pye.
it is n't fair to dare anybody to do anything so dangerous."
""i must do it.
my honor is at stake," said anne solemnly.
""i shall walk that ridgepole, diana, or perish in the attempt.
if i am killed you are to have my pearl bead ring."
anne climbed the ladder amid breathless silence, gained the ridgepole, balanced herself uprightly on that precarious footing, and started to walk along it, dizzily conscious that she was uncomfortably high up in the world and that walking ridgepoles was not a thing in which your imagination helped you out much.
nevertheless, she managed to take several steps before the catastrophe came.
then she swayed, lost her balance, stumbled, staggered, and fell, sliding down over the sun-baked roof and crashing off it through the tangle of virginia creeper beneath -- all before the dismayed circle below could give a simultaneous, terrified shriek.
if anne had tumbled off the roof on the side up which she had ascended diana would probably have fallen heir to the pearl bead ring then and there.
fortunately she fell on the other side, where the roof extended down over the porch so nearly to the ground that a fall therefrom was a much less serious thing.
nevertheless, when diana and the other girls had rushed frantically around the house -- except ruby gillis, who remained as if rooted to the ground and went into hysterics -- they found anne lying all white and limp among the wreck and ruin of the virginia creeper.
""anne, are you killed?"
shrieked diana, throwing herself on her knees beside her friend.
""oh, anne, dear anne, speak just one word to me and tell me if you're killed."
to the immense relief of all the girls, and especially of josie pye, who, in spite of lack of imagination, had been seized with horrible visions of a future branded as the girl who was the cause of anne shirley's early and tragic death, anne sat dizzily up and answered uncertainly: "no, diana, i am not killed, but i think i am rendered unconscious."
""where?"
sobbed carrie sloane.
""oh, where, anne?"
before anne could answer mrs. barry appeared on the scene.
at sight of her anne tried to scramble to her feet, but sank back again with a sharp little cry of pain.
""what's the matter?
where have you hurt yourself?"
demanded mrs. barry.
""my ankle," gasped anne.
""oh, diana, please find your father and ask him to take me home.
i know i can never walk there.
and i'm sure i could n't hop so far on one foot when jane could n't even hop around the garden."
marilla was out in the orchard picking a panful of summer apples when she saw mr. barry coming over the log bridge and up the slope, with mrs. barry beside him and a whole procession of little girls trailing after him.
in his arms he carried anne, whose head lay limply against his shoulder.
at that moment marilla had a revelation.
in the sudden stab of fear that pierced her very heart she realized what anne had come to mean to her.
she would have admitted that she liked anne -- nay, that she was very fond of anne.
but now she knew as she hurried wildly down the slope that anne was dearer to her than anything else on earth.
""mr. barry, what has happened to her?"
she gasped, more white and shaken than the self-contained, sensible marilla had been for many years.
anne herself answered, lifting her head.
""do n't be very frightened, marilla.
i was walking the ridgepole and i fell off.
i expect i have sprained my ankle.
but, marilla, i might have broken my neck.
let us look on the bright side of things."
""i might have known you'd go and do something of the sort when i let you go to that party," said marilla, sharp and shrewish in her very relief.
""bring her in here, mr. barry, and lay her on the sofa.
mercy me, the child has gone and fainted!"
it was quite true.
overcome by the pain of her injury, anne had one more of her wishes granted to her.
she had fainted dead away.
matthew, hastily summoned from the harvest field, was straightway dispatched for the doctor, who in due time came, to discover that the injury was more serious than they had supposed.
anne's ankle was broken.
that night, when marilla went up to the east gable, where a white-faced girl was lying, a plaintive voice greeted her from the bed.
""are n't you very sorry for me, marilla?"
""it was your own fault," said marilla, twitching down the blind and lighting a lamp.
""and that is just why you should be sorry for me," said anne, "because the thought that it is all my own fault is what makes it so hard.
if i could blame it on anybody i would feel so much better.
but what would you have done, marilla, if you had been dared to walk a ridgepole?"
""i'd have stayed on good firm ground and let them dare away.
such absurdity!"
said marilla.
anne sighed.
""but you have such strength of mind, marilla.
i have n't.
i just felt that i could n't bear josie pye's scorn.
she would have crowed over me all my life.
and i think i have been punished so much that you need n't be very cross with me, marilla.
it's not a bit nice to faint, after all.
and the doctor hurt me dreadfully when he was setting my ankle.
i wo n't be able to go around for six or seven weeks and i'll miss the new lady teacher.
she wo n't be new any more by the time i'm able to go to school.
and gil -- everybody will get ahead of me in class.
oh, i am an afflicted mortal.
but i'll try to bear it all bravely if only you wo n't be cross with me, marilla."
""there, there, i'm not cross," said marilla.
""you're an unlucky child, there's no doubt about that; but as you say, you'll have the suffering of it.
here now, try and eat some supper."
""is n't it fortunate i've got such an imagination?"
said anne.
""it will help me through splendidly, i expect.
what do people who have n't any imagination do when they break their bones, do you suppose, marilla?"
anne had good reason to bless her imagination many a time and oft during the tedious seven weeks that followed.
but she was not solely dependent on it.
she had many visitors and not a day passed without one or more of the schoolgirls dropping in to bring her flowers and books and tell her all the happenings in the juvenile world of avonlea.
""everybody has been so good and kind, marilla," sighed anne happily, on the day when she could first limp across the floor.
""it is n't very pleasant to be laid up; but there is a bright side to it, marilla.
you find out how many friends you have.
why, even superintendent bell came to see me, and he's really a very fine man.
not a kindred spirit, of course; but still i like him and i'm awfully sorry i ever criticized his prayers.
i believe now he really does mean them, only he has got into the habit of saying them as if he did n't.
he could get over that if he'd take a little trouble.
i gave him a good broad hint.
i told him how hard i tried to make my own little private prayers interesting.
he told me all about the time he broke his ankle when he was a boy.
it does seem so strange to think of superintendent bell ever being a boy.
even my imagination has its limits, for i ca n't imagine that.
when i try to imagine him as a boy i see him with gray whiskers and spectacles, just as he looks in sunday school, only small.
now, it's so easy to imagine mrs. allan as a little girl.
mrs. allan has been to see me fourteen times.
is n't that something to be proud of, marilla?
when a minister's wife has so many claims on her time!
she is such a cheerful person to have visit you, too.
she never tells you it's your own fault and she hopes you'll be a better girl on account of it.
mrs. lynde always told me that when she came to see me; and she said it in a kind of way that made me feel she might hope i'd be a better girl but did n't really believe i would.
even josie pye came to see me.
i received her as politely as i could, because i think she was sorry she dared me to walk a ridgepole.
if i had been killed she would had to carry a dark burden of remorse all her life.
diana has been a faithful friend.
she's been over every day to cheer my lonely pillow.
but oh, i shall be so glad when i can go to school for i've heard such exciting things about the new teacher.
the girls all think she is perfectly sweet.
diana says she has the loveliest fair curly hair and such fascinating eyes.
she dresses beautifully, and her sleeve puffs are bigger than anybody else's in avonlea.
every other friday afternoon she has recitations and everybody has to say a piece or take part in a dialogue.
oh, it's just glorious to think of it.
josie pye says she hates it but that is just because josie has so little imagination.
diana and ruby gillis and jane andrews are preparing a dialogue, called" a morning visit," for next friday.
and the friday afternoons they do n't have recitations miss stacy takes them all to the woods for a "field" day and they study ferns and flowers and birds.
and they have physical culture exercises every morning and evening.
mrs. lynde says she never heard of such goings on and it all comes of having a lady teacher.
but i think it must be splendid and i believe i shall find that miss stacy is a kindred spirit."
""there's one thing plain to be seen, anne," said marilla, "and that is that your fall off the barry roof has n't injured your tongue at all."
chapter xxiv.
miss stacy and her pupils get up a concert it was october again when anne was ready to go back to school -- a glorious october, all red and gold, with mellow mornings when the valleys were filled with delicate mists as if the spirit of autumn had poured them in for the sun to drain -- amethyst, pearl, silver, rose, and smoke-blue.
the dews were so heavy that the fields glistened like cloth of silver and there were such heaps of rustling leaves in the hollows of many-stemmed woods to run crisply through.
the birch path was a canopy of yellow and the ferns were sear and brown all along it.
there was a tang in the very air that inspired the hearts of small maidens tripping, unlike snails, swiftly and willingly to school; and it was jolly to be back again at the little brown desk beside diana, with ruby gillis nodding across the aisle and carrie sloane sending up notes and julia bell passing a "chew" of gum down from the back seat.
anne drew a long breath of happiness as she sharpened her pencil and arranged her picture cards in her desk.
life was certainly very interesting.
in the new teacher she found another true and helpful friend.
miss stacy was a bright, sympathetic young woman with the happy gift of winning and holding the affections of her pupils and bringing out the best that was in them mentally and morally.
anne expanded like a flower under this wholesome influence and carried home to the admiring matthew and the critical marilla glowing accounts of schoolwork and aims.
""i love miss stacy with my whole heart, marilla.
she is so ladylike and she has such a sweet voice.
when she pronounces my name i feel instinctively that she's spelling it with an e.
we had recitations this afternoon.
i just wish you could have been there to hear me recite "mary, queen of scots."
i just put my whole soul into it.
ruby gillis told me coming home that the way i said the line, "now for my father's arm," she said, "my woman's heart farewell," just made her blood run cold."
""well now, you might recite it for me some of these days, out in the barn," suggested matthew.
""of course i will," said anne meditatively, "but i wo n't be able to do it so well, i know.
it wo n't be so exciting as it is when you have a whole schoolful before you hanging breathlessly on your words.
i know i wo n't be able to make your blood run cold."
""mrs. lynde says it made her blood run cold to see the boys climbing to the very tops of those big trees on bell's hill after crows" nests last friday," said marilla.
""i wonder at miss stacy for encouraging it."
""but we wanted a crow's nest for nature study," explained anne.
""that was on our field afternoon.
field afternoons are splendid, marilla.
and miss stacy explains everything so beautifully.
we have to write compositions on our field afternoons and i write the best ones."
""it's very vain of you to say so then.
you'd better let your teacher say it."
""but she did say it, marilla.
and indeed i'm not vain about it.
how can i be, when i'm such a dunce at geometry?
although i'm really beginning to see through it a little, too.
miss stacy makes it so clear.
still, i'll never be good at it and i assure you it is a humbling reflection.
but i love writing compositions.
mostly miss stacy lets us choose our own subjects; but next week we are to write a composition on some remarkable person.
it's hard to choose among so many remarkable people who have lived.
must n't it be splendid to be remarkable and have compositions written about you after you're dead?
oh, i would dearly love to be remarkable.
i think when i grow up i'll be a trained nurse and go with the red crosses to the field of battle as a messenger of mercy.
that is, if i do n't go out as a foreign missionary.
that would be very romantic, but one would have to be very good to be a missionary, and that would be a stumbling block.
we have physical culture exercises every day, too.
they make you graceful and promote digestion."
""promote fiddlesticks!"
said marilla, who honestly thought it was all nonsense.
but all the field afternoons and recitation fridays and physical culture contortions paled before a project which miss stacy brought forward in november.
this was that the scholars of avonlea school should get up a concert and hold it in the hall on christmas night, for the laudable purpose of helping to pay for a schoolhouse flag.
the pupils one and all taking graciously to this plan, the preparations for a program were begun at once.
and of all the excited performers-elect none was so excited as anne shirley, who threw herself into the undertaking heart and soul, hampered as she was by marilla's disapproval.
marilla thought it all rank foolishness.
""it's just filling your heads up with nonsense and taking time that ought to be put on your lessons," she grumbled.
""i do n't approve of children's getting up concerts and racing about to practices.
it makes them vain and forward and fond of gadding."
""but think of the worthy object," pleaded anne.
""a flag will cultivate a spirit of patriotism, marilla."
""fudge!
there's precious little patriotism in the thoughts of any of you.
all you want is a good time."
""well, when you can combine patriotism and fun, is n't it all right?
of course it's real nice to be getting up a concert.
we're going to have six choruses and diana is to sing a solo.
i'm in two dialogues -- "the society for the suppression of gossip" and "the fairy queen."
the boys are going to have a dialogue too.
and i'm to have two recitations, marilla.
i just tremble when i think of it, but it's a nice thrilly kind of tremble.
and we're to have a tableau at the last -- "faith, hope and charity."
diana and ruby and i are to be in it, all draped in white with flowing hair.
i'm to be hope, with my hands clasped -- so -- and my eyes uplifted.
i'm going to practice my recitations in the garret.
do n't be alarmed if you hear me groaning.
i have to groan heartrendingly in one of them, and it's really hard to get up a good artistic groan, marilla.
josie pye is sulky because she did n't get the part she wanted in the dialogue.
she wanted to be the fairy queen.
that would have been ridiculous, for who ever heard of a fairy queen as fat as josie?
fairy queens must be slender.
jane andrews is to be the queen and i am to be one of her maids of honor.
josie says she thinks a red-haired fairy is just as ridiculous as a fat one, but i do not let myself mind what josie says.
i'm to have a wreath of white roses on my hair and ruby gillis is going to lend me her slippers because i have n't any of my own.
it's necessary for fairies to have slippers, you know.
you could n't imagine a fairy wearing boots, could you?
especially with copper toes?
we are going to decorate the hall with creeping spruce and fir mottoes with pink tissue-paper roses in them.
and we are all to march in two by two after the audience is seated, while emma white plays a march on the organ.
oh, marilla, i know you are not so enthusiastic about it as i am, but do n't you hope your little anne will distinguish herself?"
""all i hope is that you'll behave yourself.
i'll be heartily glad when all this fuss is over and you'll be able to settle down.
you are simply good for nothing just now with your head stuffed full of dialogues and groans and tableaus.
as for your tongue, it's a marvel it's not clean worn out."
anne sighed and betook herself to the back yard, over which a young new moon was shining through the leafless poplar boughs from an apple-green western sky, and where matthew was splitting wood.
anne perched herself on a block and talked the concert over with him, sure of an appreciative and sympathetic listener in this instance at least.
""well now, i reckon it's going to be a pretty good concert.
and i expect you'll do your part fine," he said, smiling down into her eager, vivacious little face.
anne smiled back at him.
those two were the best of friends and matthew thanked his stars many a time and oft that he had nothing to do with bringing her up.
that was marilla's exclusive duty; if it had been his he would have been worried over frequent conflicts between inclination and said duty.
as it was, he was free to, "spoil anne" -- marilla's phrasing -- as much as he liked.
but it was not such a bad arrangement after all; a little "appreciation" sometimes does quite as much good as all the conscientious "bringing up" in the world.
chapter xxv.
matthew insists on puffed sleeves matthew was having a bad ten minutes of it.
he had come into the kitchen, in the twilight of a cold, gray december evening, and had sat down in the woodbox corner to take off his heavy boots, unconscious of the fact that anne and a bevy of her schoolmates were having a practice of "the fairy queen" in the sitting room.
presently they came trooping through the hall and out into the kitchen, laughing and chattering gaily.
they did not see matthew, who shrank bashfully back into the shadows beyond the woodbox with a boot in one hand and a bootjack in the other, and he watched them shyly for the aforesaid ten minutes as they put on caps and jackets and talked about the dialogue and the concert.
anne stood among them, bright eyed and animated as they; but matthew suddenly became conscious that there was something about her different from her mates.
and what worried matthew was that the difference impressed him as being something that should not exist.
anne had a brighter face, and bigger, starrier eyes, and more delicate features than the other; even shy, unobservant matthew had learned to take note of these things; but the difference that disturbed him did not consist in any of these respects.
then in what did it consist?
matthew was haunted by this question long after the girls had gone, arm in arm, down the long, hard-frozen lane and anne had betaken herself to her books.
he could not refer it to marilla, who, he felt, would be quite sure to sniff scornfully and remark that the only difference she saw between anne and the other girls was that they sometimes kept their tongues quiet while anne never did.
this, matthew felt, would be no great help.
he had recourse to his pipe that evening to help him study it out, much to marilla's disgust.
after two hours of smoking and hard reflection matthew arrived at a solution of his problem.
anne was not dressed like the other girls!
the more matthew thought about the matter the more he was convinced that anne never had been dressed like the other girls -- never since she had come to green gables.
marilla kept her clothed in plain, dark dresses, all made after the same unvarying pattern.
if matthew knew there was such a thing as fashion in dress it was as much as he did; but he was quite sure that anne's sleeves did not look at all like the sleeves the other girls wore.
he recalled the cluster of little girls he had seen around her that evening -- all gay in waists of red and blue and pink and white -- and he wondered why marilla always kept her so plainly and soberly gowned.
of course, it must be all right.
marilla knew best and marilla was bringing her up.
probably some wise, inscrutable motive was to be served thereby.
but surely it would do no harm to let the child have one pretty dress -- something like diana barry always wore.
matthew decided that he would give her one; that surely could not be objected to as an unwarranted putting in of his oar.
christmas was only a fortnight off.
a nice new dress would be the very thing for a present.
matthew, with a sigh of satisfaction, put away his pipe and went to bed, while marilla opened all the doors and aired the house.
the very next evening matthew betook himself to carmody to buy the dress, determined to get the worst over and have done with it.
it would be, he felt assured, no trifling ordeal.
there were some things matthew could buy and prove himself no mean bargainer; but he knew he would be at the mercy of shopkeepers when it came to buying a girl's dress.
after much cogitation matthew resolved to go to samuel lawson's store instead of william blair's.
to be sure, the cuthberts always had gone to william blair's; it was almost as much a matter of conscience with them as to attend the presbyterian church and vote conservative.
but william blair's two daughters frequently waited on customers there and matthew held them in absolute dread.
he could contrive to deal with them when he knew exactly what he wanted and could point it out; but in such a matter as this, requiring explanation and consultation, matthew felt that he must be sure of a man behind the counter.
so he would go to lawson's, where samuel or his son would wait on him.
alas!
matthew did not know that samuel, in the recent expansion of his business, had set up a lady clerk also; she was a niece of his wife's and a very dashing young person indeed, with a huge, drooping pompadour, big, rolling brown eyes, and a most extensive and bewildering smile.
she was dressed with exceeding smartness and wore several bangle bracelets that glittered and rattled and tinkled with every movement of her hands.
matthew was covered with confusion at finding her there at all; and those bangles completely wrecked his wits at one fell swoop.
""what can i do for you this evening, mr. cuthbert?"
miss lucilla harris inquired, briskly and ingratiatingly, tapping the counter with both hands.
""have you any -- any -- any -- well now, say any garden rakes?"
stammered matthew.
miss harris looked somewhat surprised, as well she might, to hear a man inquiring for garden rakes in the middle of december.
""i believe we have one or two left over," she said, "but they're upstairs in the lumber room.
i'll go and see."
during her absence matthew collected his scattered senses for another effort.
when miss harris returned with the rake and cheerfully inquired: "anything else tonight, mr. cuthbert?"
matthew took his courage in both hands and replied: "well now, since you suggest it, i might as well -- take -- that is -- look at -- buy some -- some hayseed."
miss harris had heard matthew cuthbert called odd.
she now concluded that he was entirely crazy.
""we only keep hayseed in the spring," she explained loftily.
""we've none on hand just now."
""oh, certainly -- certainly -- just as you say," stammered unhappy matthew, seizing the rake and making for the door.
at the threshold he recollected that he had not paid for it and he turned miserably back.
while miss harris was counting out his change he rallied his powers for a final desperate attempt.
""well now -- if it is n't too much trouble -- i might as well -- that is -- i'd like to look at -- at -- some sugar."
""white or brown?"
queried miss harris patiently.
""oh -- well now -- brown," said matthew feebly.
""there's a barrel of it over there," said miss harris, shaking her bangles at it.
""it's the only kind we have."
""i'll -- i'll take twenty pounds of it," said matthew, with beads of perspiration standing on his forehead.
matthew had driven halfway home before he was his own man again.
it had been a gruesome experience, but it served him right, he thought, for committing the heresy of going to a strange store.
when he reached home he hid the rake in the tool house, but the sugar he carried in to marilla.
""brown sugar!"
exclaimed marilla.
""whatever possessed you to get so much?
you know i never use it except for the hired man's porridge or black fruit cake.
jerry's gone and i've made my cake long ago.
it's not good sugar, either -- it's coarse and dark -- william blair does n't usually keep sugar like that."
""i -- i thought it might come in handy sometime," said matthew, making good his escape.
when matthew came to think the matter over he decided that a woman was required to cope with the situation.
marilla was out of the question.
matthew felt sure she would throw cold water on his project at once.
remained only mrs. lynde; for of no other woman in avonlea would matthew have dared to ask advice.
to mrs. lynde he went accordingly, and that good lady promptly took the matter out of the harassed man's hands.
""pick out a dress for you to give anne?
to be sure i will.
i'm going to carmody tomorrow and i'll attend to it.
have you something particular in mind?
no?
well, i'll just go by my own judgment then.
i believe a nice rich brown would just suit anne, and william blair has some new gloria in that's real pretty.
perhaps you'd like me to make it up for her, too, seeing that if marilla was to make it anne would probably get wind of it before the time and spoil the surprise?
well, i'll do it.
no, it is n't a mite of trouble.
i like sewing.
i'll make it to fit my niece, jenny gillis, for she and anne are as like as two peas as far as figure goes."
""well now, i'm much obliged," said matthew, "and -- and -- i dunno -- but i'd like -- i think they make the sleeves different nowadays to what they used to be.
if it would n't be asking too much i -- i'd like them made in the new way."
""puffs?
of course.
you need n't worry a speck more about it, matthew.
i'll make it up in the very latest fashion," said mrs. lynde.
to herself she added when matthew had gone: "it'll be a real satisfaction to see that poor child wearing something decent for once.
the way marilla dresses her is positively ridiculous, that's what, and i've ached to tell her so plainly a dozen times.
i've held my tongue though, for i can see marilla does n't want advice and she thinks she knows more about bringing children up than i do for all she's an old maid.
but that's always the way.
folks that has brought up children know that there's no hard and fast method in the world that'll suit every child.
but them as never have think it's all as plain and easy as rule of three -- just set your three terms down so fashion, and the sum'll work out correct.
but flesh and blood do n't come under the head of arithmetic and that's where marilla cuthbert makes her mistake.
i suppose she's trying to cultivate a spirit of humility in anne by dressing her as she does; but it's more likely to cultivate envy and discontent.
i'm sure the child must feel the difference between her clothes and the other girls".
but to think of matthew taking notice of it!
that man is waking up after being asleep for over sixty years."
marilla knew all the following fortnight that matthew had something on his mind, but what it was she could not guess, until christmas eve, when mrs. lynde brought up the new dress.
marilla behaved pretty well on the whole, although it is very likely she distrusted mrs. lynde's diplomatic explanation that she had made the dress because matthew was afraid anne would find out about it too soon if marilla made it.
""so this is what matthew has been looking so mysterious over and grinning about to himself for two weeks, is it?"
she said a little stiffly but tolerantly.
""i knew he was up to some foolishness.
well, i must say i do n't think anne needed any more dresses.
i made her three good, warm, serviceable ones this fall, and anything more is sheer extravagance.
there's enough material in those sleeves alone to make a waist, i declare there is.
you'll just pamper anne's vanity, matthew, and she's as vain as a peacock now.
well, i hope she'll be satisfied at last, for i know she's been hankering after those silly sleeves ever since they came in, although she never said a word after the first.
the puffs have been getting bigger and more ridiculous right along; they're as big as balloons now.
next year anybody who wears them will have to go through a door sideways."
christmas morning broke on a beautiful white world.
it had been a very mild december and people had looked forward to a green christmas; but just enough snow fell softly in the night to transfigure avonlea.
anne peeped out from her frosted gable window with delighted eyes.
the firs in the haunted wood were all feathery and wonderful; the birches and wild cherry trees were outlined in pearl; the plowed fields were stretches of snowy dimples; and there was a crisp tang in the air that was glorious.
anne ran downstairs singing until her voice reechoed through green gables.
""merry christmas, marilla!
merry christmas, matthew!
is n't it a lovely christmas?
i'm so glad it's white.
any other kind of christmas does n't seem real, does it?
i do n't like green christmases.
they're not green -- they're just nasty faded browns and grays.
what makes people call them green?
why -- why -- matthew, is that for me?
oh, matthew!"
matthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings and held it out with a deprecatory glance at marilla, who feigned to be contemptuously filling the teapot, but nevertheless watched the scene out of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air.
anne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence.
oh, how pretty it was -- a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk; a skirt with dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately pintucked in the most fashionable way, with a little ruffle of filmy lace at the neck.
but the sleeves -- they were the crowning glory!
long elbow cuffs, and above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of shirring and bows of brown-silk ribbon.
""that's a christmas present for you, anne," said matthew shyly.
""why -- why -- anne, do n't you like it?
well now -- well now."
for anne's eyes had suddenly filled with tears.
""like it!
oh, matthew!"
anne laid the dress over a chair and clasped her hands.
""matthew, it's perfectly exquisite.
oh, i can never thank you enough.
look at those sleeves!
oh, it seems to me this must be a happy dream."
""well, well, let us have breakfast," interrupted marilla.
""i must say, anne, i do n't think you needed the dress; but since matthew has got it for you, see that you take good care of it.
there's a hair ribbon mrs. lynde left for you.
it's brown, to match the dress.
come now, sit in."
""i do n't see how i'm going to eat breakfast," said anne rapturously.
""breakfast seems so commonplace at such an exciting moment.
i'd rather feast my eyes on that dress.
i'm so glad that puffed sleeves are still fashionable.
it did seem to me that i'd never get over it if they went out before i had a dress with them.
i'd never have felt quite satisfied, you see.
it was lovely of mrs. lynde to give me the ribbon too.
i feel that i ought to be a very good girl indeed.
it's at times like this i'm sorry i'm not a model little girl; and i always resolve that i will be in future.
but somehow it's hard to carry out your resolutions when irresistible temptations come.
still, i really will make an extra effort after this."
when the commonplace breakfast was over diana appeared, crossing the white log bridge in the hollow, a gay little figure in her crimson ulster.
anne flew down the slope to meet her.
""merry christmas, diana!
and oh, it's a wonderful christmas.
i've something splendid to show you.
matthew has given me the loveliest dress, with such sleeves.
i could n't even imagine any nicer."
""i've got something more for you," said diana breathlessly.
""here -- this box.
aunt josephine sent us out a big box with ever so many things in it -- and this is for you.
i'd have brought it over last night, but it did n't come until after dark, and i never feel very comfortable coming through the haunted wood in the dark now."
anne opened the box and peeped in.
first a card with "for the anne-girl and merry christmas," written on it; and then, a pair of the daintiest little kid slippers, with beaded toes and satin bows and glistening buckles.
""oh," said anne, "diana, this is too much.
i must be dreaming."
""i call it providential," said diana.
""you wo n't have to borrow ruby's slippers now, and that's a blessing, for they're two sizes too big for you, and it would be awful to hear a fairy shuffling.
josie pye would be delighted.
mind you, rob wright went home with gertie pye from the practice night before last.
did you ever hear anything equal to that?"
all the avonlea scholars were in a fever of excitement that day, for the hall had to be decorated and a last grand rehearsal held.
the concert came off in the evening and was a pronounced success.
the little hall was crowded; all the performers did excellently well, but anne was the bright particular star of the occasion, as even envy, in the shape of josie pye, dared not deny.
""oh, has n't it been a brilliant evening?"
sighed anne, when it was all over and she and diana were walking home together under a dark, starry sky.
""everything went off very well," said diana practically.
""i guess we must have made as much as ten dollars.
mind you, mr. allan is going to send an account of it to the charlottetown papers."
""oh, diana, will we really see our names in print?
it makes me thrill to think of it.
your solo was perfectly elegant, diana.
i felt prouder than you did when it was encored.
i just said to myself, "it is my dear bosom friend who is so honored.""
""well, your recitations just brought down the house, anne.
that sad one was simply splendid."
""oh, i was so nervous, diana.
when mr. allan called out my name i really can not tell how i ever got up on that platform.
i felt as if a million eyes were looking at me and through me, and for one dreadful moment i was sure i could n't begin at all.
then i thought of my lovely puffed sleeves and took courage.
i knew that i must live up to those sleeves, diana.
so i started in, and my voice seemed to be coming from ever so far away.
i just felt like a parrot.
it's providential that i practiced those recitations so often up in the garret, or i'd never have been able to get through.
did i groan all right?"
""yes, indeed, you groaned lovely," assured diana.
""i saw old mrs. sloane wiping away tears when i sat down.
it was splendid to think i had touched somebody's heart.
it's so romantic to take part in a concert, is n't it?
oh, it's been a very memorable occasion indeed."
""was n't the boys" dialogue fine?"
said diana.
""gilbert blythe was just splendid.
anne, i do think it's awful mean the way you treat gil.
wait till i tell you.
when you ran off the platform after the fairy dialogue one of your roses fell out of your hair.
i saw gil pick it up and put it in his breast pocket.
there now.
you're so romantic that i'm sure you ought to be pleased at that."
""it's nothing to me what that person does," said anne loftily.
""i simply never waste a thought on him, diana."
that night marilla and matthew, who had been out to a concert for the first time in twenty years, sat for a while by the kitchen fire after anne had gone to bed.
""well now, i guess our anne did as well as any of them," said matthew proudly.
""yes, she did," admitted marilla.
""she's a bright child, matthew.
and she looked real nice too.
i've been kind of opposed to this concert scheme, but i suppose there's no real harm in it after all.
anyhow, i was proud of anne tonight, although i'm not going to tell her so."
""well now, i was proud of her and i did tell her so "fore she went upstairs," said matthew.
""we must see what we can do for her some of these days, marilla.
i guess she'll need something more than avonlea school by and by."
""there's time enough to think of that," said marilla.
""she's only thirteen in march.
though tonight it struck me she was growing quite a big girl.
mrs. lynde made that dress a mite too long, and it makes anne look so tall.
she's quick to learn and i guess the best thing we can do for her will be to send her to queen's after a spell.
but nothing need be said about that for a year or two yet."
""well now, it'll do no harm to be thinking it over off and on," said matthew.
""things like that are all the better for lots of thinking over."
chapter xxvi.
the story club is formed junior avonlea found it hard to settle down to humdrum existence again.
to anne in particular things seemed fearfully flat, stale, and unprofitable after the goblet of excitement she had been sipping for weeks.
could she go back to the former quiet pleasures of those faraway days before the concert?
at first, as she told diana, she did not really think she could.
""i'm positively certain, diana, that life can never be quite the same again as it was in those olden days," she said mournfully, as if referring to a period of at least fifty years back.
""perhaps after a while i'll get used to it, but i'm afraid concerts spoil people for everyday life.
i suppose that is why marilla disapproves of them.
marilla is such a sensible woman.
it must be a great deal better to be sensible; but still, i do n't believe i'd really want to be a sensible person, because they are so unromantic.
mrs. lynde says there is no danger of my ever being one, but you can never tell.
i feel just now that i may grow up to be sensible yet.
but perhaps that is only because i'm tired.
i simply could n't sleep last night for ever so long.
i just lay awake and imagined the concert over and over again.
that's one splendid thing about such affairs -- it's so lovely to look back to them."
eventually, however, avonlea school slipped back into its old groove and took up its old interests.
to be sure, the concert left traces.
ruby gillis and emma white, who had quarreled over a point of precedence in their platform seats, no longer sat at the same desk, and a promising friendship of three years was broken up.
josie pye and julia bell did not "speak" for three months, because josie pye had told bessie wright that julia bell's bow when she got up to recite made her think of a chicken jerking its head, and bessie told julia.
none of the sloanes would have any dealings with the bells, because the bells had declared that the sloanes had too much to do in the program, and the sloanes had retorted that the bells were not capable of doing the little they had to do properly.
finally, charlie sloane fought moody spurgeon macpherson, because moody spurgeon had said that anne shirley put on airs about her recitations, and moody spurgeon was "licked"; consequently moody spurgeon's sister, ella may, would not "speak" to anne shirley all the rest of the winter.
with the exception of these trifling frictions, work in miss stacy's little kingdom went on with regularity and smoothness.
the winter weeks slipped by.
it was an unusually mild winter, with so little snow that anne and diana could go to school nearly every day by way of the birch path.
on anne's birthday they were tripping lightly down it, keeping eyes and ears alert amid all their chatter, for miss stacy had told them that they must soon write a composition on "a winter's walk in the woods," and it behooved them to be observant.
""just think, diana, i'm thirteen years old today," remarked anne in an awed voice.
""i can scarcely realize that i'm in my teens.
when i woke this morning it seemed to me that everything must be different.
you've been thirteen for a month, so i suppose it does n't seem such a novelty to you as it does to me.
it makes life seem so much more interesting.
in two more years i'll be really grown up.
it's a great comfort to think that i'll be able to use big words then without being laughed at."
""ruby gillis says she means to have a beau as soon as she's fifteen," said diana.
""ruby gillis thinks of nothing but beaus," said anne disdainfully.
""she's actually delighted when anyone writes her name up in a take-notice for all she pretends to be so mad.
but i'm afraid that is an uncharitable speech.
mrs. allan says we should never make uncharitable speeches; but they do slip out so often before you think, do n't they?
i simply ca n't talk about josie pye without making an uncharitable speech, so i never mention her at all.
you may have noticed that.
i'm trying to be as much like mrs. allan as i possibly can, for i think she's perfect.
mr. allan thinks so too.
mrs. lynde says he just worships the ground she treads on and she does n't really think it right for a minister to set his affections so much on a mortal being.
but then, diana, even ministers are human and have their besetting sins just like everybody else.
i had such an interesting talk with mrs. allan about besetting sins last sunday afternoon.
there are just a few things it's proper to talk about on sundays and that is one of them.
my besetting sin is imagining too much and forgetting my duties.
i'm striving very hard to overcome it and now that i'm really thirteen perhaps i'll get on better."
""in four more years we'll be able to put our hair up," said diana.
""alice bell is only sixteen and she is wearing hers up, but i think that's ridiculous.
i shall wait until i'm seventeen."
""if i had alice bell's crooked nose," said anne decidedly, "i would n't -- but there!
i wo n't say what i was going to because it was extremely uncharitable.
besides, i was comparing it with my own nose and that's vanity.
i'm afraid i think too much about my nose ever since i heard that compliment about it long ago.
it really is a great comfort to me.
oh, diana, look, there's a rabbit.
that's something to remember for our woods composition.
i really think the woods are just as lovely in winter as in summer.
they're so white and still, as if they were asleep and dreaming pretty dreams."
""i wo n't mind writing that composition when its time comes," sighed diana.
""i can manage to write about the woods, but the one we're to hand in monday is terrible.
the idea of miss stacy telling us to write a story out of our own heads!"
""why, it's as easy as wink," said anne.
""it's easy for you because you have an imagination," retorted diana, "but what would you do if you had been born without one?
i suppose you have your composition all done?"
anne nodded, trying hard not to look virtuously complacent and failing miserably.
""i wrote it last monday evening.
it's called "the jealous rival; or in death not divided."
i read it to marilla and she said it was stuff and nonsense.
then i read it to matthew and he said it was fine.
that is the kind of critic i like.
it's a sad, sweet story.
i just cried like a child while i was writing it.
it's about two beautiful maidens called cordelia montmorency and geraldine seymour who lived in the same village and were devotedly attached to each other.
cordelia was a regal brunette with a coronet of midnight hair and duskly flashing eyes.
geraldine was a queenly blonde with hair like spun gold and velvety purple eyes."
""i never saw anybody with purple eyes," said diana dubiously.
""neither did i. i just imagined them.
i wanted something out of the common.
geraldine had an alabaster brow too.
i've found out what an alabaster brow is.
that is one of the advantages of being thirteen.
you know so much more than you did when you were only twelve."
""well, what became of cordelia and geraldine?"
asked diana, who was beginning to feel rather interested in their fate.
""they grew in beauty side by side until they were sixteen.
then bertram devere came to their native village and fell in love with the fair geraldine.
he saved her life when her horse ran away with her in a carriage, and she fainted in his arms and he carried her home three miles; because, you understand, the carriage was all smashed up.
i found it rather hard to imagine the proposal because i had no experience to go by.
i asked ruby gillis if she knew anything about how men proposed because i thought she'd likely be an authority on the subject, having so many sisters married.
ruby told me she was hid in the hall pantry when malcolm andres proposed to her sister susan.
she said malcolm told susan that his dad had given him the farm in his own name and then said, "what do you say, darling pet, if we get hitched this fall?"
and susan said, "yes -- no -- i do n't know -- let me see" -- and there they were, engaged as quick as that.
but i did n't think that sort of a proposal was a very romantic one, so in the end i had to imagine it out as well as i could.
i made it very flowery and poetical and bertram went on his knees, although ruby gillis says it is n't done nowadays.
geraldine accepted him in a speech a page long.
i can tell you i took a lot of trouble with that speech.
i rewrote it five times and i look upon it as my masterpiece.
bertram gave her a diamond ring and a ruby necklace and told her they would go to europe for a wedding tour, for he was immensely wealthy.
but then, alas, shadows began to darken over their path.
cordelia was secretly in love with bertram herself and when geraldine told her about the engagement she was simply furious, especially when she saw the necklace and the diamond ring.
all her affection for geraldine turned to bitter hate and she vowed that she should never marry bertram.
but she pretended to be geraldine's friend the same as ever.
one evening they were standing on the bridge over a rushing turbulent stream and cordelia, thinking they were alone, pushed geraldine over the brink with a wild, mocking, "ha, ha, ha."
but bertram saw it all and he at once plunged into the current, exclaiming," i will save thee, my peerless geraldine."
but alas, he had forgotten he could n't swim, and they were both drowned, clasped in each other's arms.
their bodies were washed ashore soon afterwards.
they were buried in the one grave and their funeral was most imposing, diana.
it's so much more romantic to end a story up with a funeral than a wedding.
as for cordelia, she went insane with remorse and was shut up in a lunatic asylum.
i thought that was a poetical retribution for her crime."
""how perfectly lovely!"
sighed diana, who belonged to matthew's school of critics.
""i do n't see how you can make up such thrilling things out of your own head, anne.
i wish my imagination was as good as yours."
""it would be if you'd only cultivate it," said anne cheeringly.
""i've just thought of a plan, diana.
let you and me have a story club all our own and write stories for practice.
i'll help you along until you can do them by yourself.
you ought to cultivate your imagination, you know.
miss stacy says so.
only we must take the right way.
i told her about the haunted wood, but she said we went the wrong way about it in that."
this was how the story club came into existence.
it was limited to diana and anne at first, but soon it was extended to include jane andrews and ruby gillis and one or two others who felt that their imaginations needed cultivating.
no boys were allowed in it -- although ruby gillis opined that their admission would make it more exciting -- and each member had to produce one story a week.
""it's extremely interesting," anne told marilla.
""each girl has to read her story out loud and then we talk it over.
we are going to keep them all sacredly and have them to read to our descendants.
we each write under a nom-de-plume.
mine is rosamond montmorency.
all the girls do pretty well.
ruby gillis is rather sentimental.
she puts too much lovemaking into her stories and you know too much is worse than too little.
jane never puts any because she says it makes her feel so silly when she had to read it out loud.
jane's stories are extremely sensible.
then diana puts too many murders into hers.
she says most of the time she does n't know what to do with the people so she kills them off to get rid of them.
i mostly always have to tell them what to write about, but that is n't hard for i've millions of ideas."
""i think this story-writing business is the foolishest yet," scoffed marilla.
""you'll get a pack of nonsense into your heads and waste time that should be put on your lessons.
reading stories is bad enough but writing them is worse."
""but we're so careful to put a moral into them all, marilla," explained anne.
""i insist upon that.
all the good people are rewarded and all the bad ones are suitably punished.
i'm sure that must have a wholesome effect.
the moral is the great thing.
mr. allan says so.
i read one of my stories to him and mrs. allan and they both agreed that the moral was excellent.
only they laughed in the wrong places.
i like it better when people cry.
jane and ruby almost always cry when i come to the pathetic parts.
diana wrote her aunt josephine about our club and her aunt josephine wrote back that we were to send her some of our stories.
so we copied out four of our very best and sent them.
miss josephine barry wrote back that she had never read anything so amusing in her life.
that kind of puzzled us because the stories were all very pathetic and almost everybody died.
but i'm glad miss barry liked them.
it shows our club is doing some good in the world.
mrs. allan says that ought to be our object in everything.
i do really try to make it my object but i forget so often when i'm having fun.
i hope i shall be a little like mrs. allan when i grow up.
do you think there is any prospect of it, marilla?"
""i should n't say there was a great deal" was marilla's encouraging answer.
""i'm sure mrs. allan was never such a silly, forgetful little girl as you are."
""no; but she was n't always so good as she is now either," said anne seriously.
""she told me so herself -- that is, she said she was a dreadful mischief when she was a girl and was always getting into scrapes.
i felt so encouraged when i heard that.
is it very wicked of me, marilla, to feel encouraged when i hear that other people have been bad and mischievous?
mrs. lynde says it is.
mrs. lynde says she always feels shocked when she hears of anyone ever having been naughty, no matter how small they were.
mrs. lynde says she once heard a minister confess that when he was a boy he stole a strawberry tart out of his aunt's pantry and she never had any respect for that minister again.
now, i would n't have felt that way.
i'd have thought that it was real noble of him to confess it, and i'd have thought what an encouraging thing it would be for small boys nowadays who do naughty things and are sorry for them to know that perhaps they may grow up to be ministers in spite of it.
that's how i'd feel, marilla."
""the way i feel at present, anne," said marilla, "is that it's high time you had those dishes washed.
you've taken half an hour longer than you should with all your chattering.
learn to work first and talk afterwards."
chapter xxvii.
vanity and vexation of spirit marilla, walking home one late april evening from an aid meeting, realized that the winter was over and gone with the thrill of delight that spring never fails to bring to the oldest and saddest as well as to the youngest and merriest.
marilla was not given to subjective analysis of her thoughts and feelings.
she probably imagined that she was thinking about the aids and their missionary box and the new carpet for the vestry room, but under these reflections was a harmonious consciousness of red fields smoking into pale-purply mists in the declining sun, of long, sharp-pointed fir shadows falling over the meadow beyond the brook, of still, crimson-budded maples around a mirrorlike wood pool, of a wakening in the world and a stir of hidden pulses under the gray sod.
the spring was abroad in the land and marilla's sober, middle-aged step was lighter and swifter because of its deep, primal gladness.
her eyes dwelt affectionately on green gables, peering through its network of trees and reflecting the sunlight back from its windows in several little coruscations of glory.
marilla, as she picked her steps along the damp lane, thought that it was really a satisfaction to know that she was going home to a briskly snapping wood fire and a table nicely spread for tea, instead of to the cold comfort of old aid meeting evenings before anne had come to green gables.
consequently, when marilla entered her kitchen and found the fire black out, with no sign of anne anywhere, she felt justly disappointed and irritated.
she had told anne to be sure and have tea ready at five o'clock, but now she must hurry to take off her second-best dress and prepare the meal herself against matthew's return from plowing.
""i'll settle miss anne when she comes home," said marilla grimly, as she shaved up kindlings with a carving knife and with more vim than was strictly necessary.
matthew had come in and was waiting patiently for his tea in his corner.
""she's gadding off somewhere with diana, writing stories or practicing dialogues or some such tomfoolery, and never thinking once about the time or her duties.
she's just got to be pulled up short and sudden on this sort of thing.
i do n't care if mrs. allan does say she's the brightest and sweetest child she ever knew.
she may be bright and sweet enough, but her head is full of nonsense and there's never any knowing what shape it'll break out in next.
just as soon as she grows out of one freak she takes up with another.
but there!
here i am saying the very thing i was so riled with rachel lynde for saying at the aid today.
i was real glad when mrs. allan spoke up for anne, for if she had n't i know i'd have said something too sharp to rachel before everybody.
anne's got plenty of faults, goodness knows, and far be it from me to deny it.
but i'm bringing her up and not rachel lynde, who'd pick faults in the angel gabriel himself if he lived in avonlea.
just the same, anne has no business to leave the house like this when i told her she was to stay home this afternoon and look after things.
i must say, with all her faults, i never found her disobedient or untrustworthy before and i'm real sorry to find her so now."
""well now, i dunno," said matthew, who, being patient and wise and, above all, hungry, had deemed it best to let marilla talk her wrath out unhindered, having learned by experience that she got through with whatever work was on hand much quicker if not delayed by untimely argument.
""perhaps you're judging her too hasty, marilla.
do n't call her untrustworthy until you're sure she has disobeyed you.
mebbe it can all be explained -- anne's a great hand at explaining."
""she's not here when i told her to stay," retorted marilla.
""i reckon she'll find it hard to explain that to my satisfaction.
of course i knew you'd take her part, matthew.
but i'm bringing her up, not you."
it was dark when supper was ready, and still no sign of anne, coming hurriedly over the log bridge or up lover's lane, breathless and repentant with a sense of neglected duties.
marilla washed and put away the dishes grimly.
then, wanting a candle to light her way down the cellar, she went up to the east gable for the one that generally stood on anne's table.
lighting it, she turned around to see anne herself lying on the bed, face downward among the pillows.
""mercy on us," said astonished marilla, "have you been asleep, anne?"
""no," was the muffled reply.
""are you sick then?"
demanded marilla anxiously, going over to the bed.
anne cowered deeper into her pillows as if desirous of hiding herself forever from mortal eyes.
""no.
but please, marilla, go away and do n't look at me.
i'm in the depths of despair and i do n't care who gets head in class or writes the best composition or sings in the sunday-school choir any more.
little things like that are of no importance now because i do n't suppose i'll ever be able to go anywhere again.
my career is closed.
please, marilla, go away and do n't look at me."
""did anyone ever hear the like?"
the mystified marilla wanted to know.
""anne shirley, whatever is the matter with you?
what have you done?
get right up this minute and tell me.
this minute, i say.
there now, what is it?"
anne had slid to the floor in despairing obedience.
""look at my hair, marilla," she whispered.
accordingly, marilla lifted her candle and looked scrutinizingly at anne's hair, flowing in heavy masses down her back.
it certainly had a very strange appearance.
""anne shirley, what have you done to your hair?
why, it's green!"
green it might be called, if it were any earthly color -- a queer, dull, bronzy green, with streaks here and there of the original red to heighten the ghastly effect.
never in all her life had marilla seen anything so grotesque as anne's hair at that moment.
""yes, it's green," moaned anne.
""i thought nothing could be as bad as red hair.
but now i know it's ten times worse to have green hair.
oh, marilla, you little know how utterly wretched i am."
""i little know how you got into this fix, but i mean to find out," said marilla.
""come right down to the kitchen -- it's too cold up here -- and tell me just what you've done.
i've been expecting something queer for some time.
you have n't got into any scrape for over two months, and i was sure another one was due.
now, then, what did you do to your hair?"
""i dyed it."
""dyed it!
dyed your hair!
anne shirley, did n't you know it was a wicked thing to do?"
""yes, i knew it was a little wicked," admitted anne.
""but i thought it was worth while to be a little wicked to get rid of red hair.
i counted the cost, marilla.
besides, i meant to be extra good in other ways to make up for it."
""well," said marilla sarcastically, "if i'd decided it was worth while to dye my hair i'd have dyed it a decent color at least.
i would n't have dyed it green."
""but i did n't mean to dye it green, marilla," protested anne dejectedly.
""if i was wicked i meant to be wicked to some purpose.
he said it would turn my hair a beautiful raven black -- he positively assured me that it would.
how could i doubt his word, marilla?
i know what it feels like to have your word doubted.
and mrs. allan says we should never suspect anyone of not telling us the truth unless we have proof that they're not.
i have proof now -- green hair is proof enough for anybody.
but i had n't then and i believed every word he said implicitly."
""who said?
who are you talking about?"
""the peddler that was here this afternoon.
i bought the dye from him."
""anne shirley, how often have i told you never to let one of those italians in the house!
i do n't believe in encouraging them to come around at all."
""oh, i did n't let him in the house.
i remembered what you told me, and i went out, carefully shut the door, and looked at his things on the step.
besides, he was n't an italian -- he was a german jew.
he had a big box full of very interesting things and he told me he was working hard to make enough money to bring his wife and children out from germany.
he spoke so feelingly about them that it touched my heart.
i wanted to buy something from him to help him in such a worthy object.
then all at once i saw the bottle of hair dye.
the peddler said it was warranted to dye any hair a beautiful raven black and would n't wash off.
in a trice i saw myself with beautiful raven-black hair and the temptation was irresistible.
but the price of the bottle was seventy-five cents and i had only fifty cents left out of my chicken money.
i think the peddler had a very kind heart, for he said that, seeing it was me, he'd sell it for fifty cents and that was just giving it away.
so i bought it, and as soon as he had gone i came up here and applied it with an old hairbrush as the directions said.
i used up the whole bottle, and oh, marilla, when i saw the dreadful color it turned my hair i repented of being wicked, i can tell you.
and i've been repenting ever since."
""well, i hope you'll repent to good purpose," said marilla severely, "and that you've got your eyes opened to where your vanity has led you, anne.
goodness knows what's to be done.
i suppose the first thing is to give your hair a good washing and see if that will do any good."
accordingly, anne washed her hair, scrubbing it vigorously with soap and water, but for all the difference it made she might as well have been scouring its original red.
the peddler had certainly spoken the truth when he declared that the dye would n't wash off, however his veracity might be impeached in other respects.
""oh, marilla, what shall i do?"
questioned anne in tears.
""i can never live this down.
people have pretty well forgotten my other mistakes -- the liniment cake and setting diana drunk and flying into a temper with mrs. lynde.
but they'll never forget this.
they will think i am not respectable.
oh, marilla, "what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive."
that is poetry, but it is true.
and oh, how josie pye will laugh!
marilla, i can not face josie pye.
i am the unhappiest girl in prince edward island."
anne's unhappiness continued for a week.
during that time she went nowhere and shampooed her hair every day.
diana alone of outsiders knew the fatal secret, but she promised solemnly never to tell, and it may be stated here and now that she kept her word.
at the end of the week marilla said decidedly: "it's no use, anne.
that is fast dye if ever there was any.
your hair must be cut off; there is no other way.
you ca n't go out with it looking like that."
anne's lips quivered, but she realized the bitter truth of marilla's remarks.
with a dismal sigh she went for the scissors.
""please cut it off at once, marilla, and have it over.
oh, i feel that my heart is broken.
this is such an unromantic affliction.
the girls in books lose their hair in fevers or sell it to get money for some good deed, and i'm sure i would n't mind losing my hair in some such fashion half so much.
but there is nothing comforting in having your hair cut off because you've dyed it a dreadful color, is there?
i'm going to weep all the time you're cutting it off, if it wo n't interfere.
it seems such a tragic thing."
anne wept then, but later on, when she went upstairs and looked in the glass, she was calm with despair.
marilla had done her work thoroughly and it had been necessary to shingle the hair as closely as possible.
the result was not becoming, to state the case as mildly as may be.
anne promptly turned her glass to the wall.
""i'll never, never look at myself again until my hair grows," she exclaimed passionately.
then she suddenly righted the glass.
""yes, i will, too.
i'd do penance for being wicked that way.
i'll look at myself every time i come to my room and see how ugly i am.
and i wo n't try to imagine it away, either.
i never thought i was vain about my hair, of all things, but now i know i was, in spite of its being red, because it was so long and thick and curly.
i expect something will happen to my nose next."
anne's clipped head made a sensation in school on the following monday, but to her relief nobody guessed the real reason for it, not even josie pye, who, however, did not fail to inform anne that she looked like a perfect scarecrow.
""i did n't say anything when josie said that to me," anne confided that evening to marilla, who was lying on the sofa after one of her headaches, "because i thought it was part of my punishment and i ought to bear it patiently.
it's hard to be told you look like a scarecrow and i wanted to say something back.
but i did n't.
i just swept her one scornful look and then i forgave her.
it makes you feel very virtuous when you forgive people, does n't it?
i mean to devote all my energies to being good after this and i shall never try to be beautiful again.
of course it's better to be good.
i know it is, but it's sometimes so hard to believe a thing even when you know it.
i do really want to be good, marilla, like you and mrs. allan and miss stacy, and grow up to be a credit to you.
diana says when my hair begins to grow to tie a black velvet ribbon around my head with a bow at one side.
she says she thinks it will be very becoming.
i will call it a snood -- that sounds so romantic.
but am i talking too much, marilla?
does it hurt your head?"
""my head is better now.
it was terrible bad this afternoon, though.
these headaches of mine are getting worse and worse.
i'll have to see a doctor about them.
as for your chatter, i do n't know that i mind it -- i've got so used to it."
which was marilla's way of saying that she liked to hear it.
chapter xxviii.
an unfortunate lily maid "of course you must be elaine, anne," said diana.
""i could never have the courage to float down there."
""nor i," said ruby gillis, with a shiver.
""i do n't mind floating down when there's two or three of us in the flat and we can sit up.
it's fun then.
but to lie down and pretend i was dead -- i just could n't.
i'd die really of fright."
""of course it would be romantic," conceded jane andrews, "but i know i could n't keep still.
i'd be popping up every minute or so to see where i was and if i was n't drifting too far out.
and you know, anne, that would spoil the effect."
""but it's so ridiculous to have a redheaded elaine," mourned anne.
""i'm not afraid to float down and i'd love to be elaine.
but it's ridiculous just the same.
ruby ought to be elaine because she is so fair and has such lovely long golden hair -- elaine had "all her bright hair streaming down," you know.
and elaine was the lily maid.
now, a red-haired person can not be a lily maid."
""your complexion is just as fair as ruby's," said diana earnestly, "and your hair is ever so much darker than it used to be before you cut it."
""oh, do you really think so?"
exclaimed anne, flushing sensitively with delight.
""i've sometimes thought it was myself -- but i never dared to ask anyone for fear she would tell me it was n't.
do you think it could be called auburn now, diana?"
""yes, and i think it is real pretty," said diana, looking admiringly at the short, silky curls that clustered over anne's head and were held in place by a very jaunty black velvet ribbon and bow.
they were standing on the bank of the pond, below orchard slope, where a little headland fringed with birches ran out from the bank; at its tip was a small wooden platform built out into the water for the convenience of fishermen and duck hunters.
ruby and jane were spending the midsummer afternoon with diana, and anne had come over to play with them.
anne and diana had spent most of their playtime that summer on and about the pond.
idlewild was a thing of the past, mr. bell having ruthlessly cut down the little circle of trees in his back pasture in the spring.
anne had sat among the stumps and wept, not without an eye to the romance of it; but she was speedily consoled, for, after all, as she and diana said, big girls of thirteen, going on fourteen, were too old for such childish amusements as playhouses, and there were more fascinating sports to be found about the pond.
it was splendid to fish for trout over the bridge and the two girls learned to row themselves about in the little flat-bottomed dory mr. barry kept for duck shooting.
it was anne's idea that they dramatize elaine.
they had studied tennyson's poem in school the preceding winter, the superintendent of education having prescribed it in the english course for the prince edward island schools.
they had analyzed and parsed it and torn it to pieces in general until it was a wonder there was any meaning at all left in it for them, but at least the fair lily maid and lancelot and guinevere and king arthur had become very real people to them, and anne was devoured by secret regret that she had not been born in camelot.
those days, she said, were so much more romantic than the present.
anne's plan was hailed with enthusiasm.
the girls had discovered that if the flat were pushed off from the landing place it would drift down with the current under the bridge and finally strand itself on another headland lower down which ran out at a curve in the pond.
they had often gone down like this and nothing could be more convenient for playing elaine.
""well, i'll be elaine," said anne, yielding reluctantly, for, although she would have been delighted to play the principal character, yet her artistic sense demanded fitness for it and this, she felt, her limitations made impossible.
""ruby, you must be king arthur and jane will be guinevere and diana must be lancelot.
but first you must be the brothers and the father.
we ca n't have the old dumb servitor because there is n't room for two in the flat when one is lying down.
we must pall the barge all its length in blackest samite.
that old black shawl of your mother's will be just the thing, diana."
the black shawl having been procured, anne spread it over the flat and then lay down on the bottom, with closed eyes and hands folded over her breast.
""oh, she does look really dead," whispered ruby gillis nervously, watching the still, white little face under the flickering shadows of the birches.
""it makes me feel frightened, girls.
do you suppose it's really right to act like this?
mrs. lynde says that all play-acting is abominably wicked."
""ruby, you should n't talk about mrs. lynde," said anne severely.
""it spoils the effect because this is hundreds of years before mrs. lynde was born.
jane, you arrange this.
it's silly for elaine to be talking when she's dead."
jane rose to the occasion.
cloth of gold for coverlet there was none, but an old piano scarf of yellow japanese crepe was an excellent substitute.
a white lily was not obtainable just then, but the effect of a tall blue iris placed in one of anne's folded hands was all that could be desired.
""now, she's all ready," said jane.
""we must kiss her quiet brows and, diana, you say, "sister, farewell forever," and ruby, you say, "farewell, sweet sister," both of you as sorrowfully as you possibly can.
anne, for goodness sake smile a little.
you know elaine "lay as though she smiled."
that's better.
now push the flat off."
the flat was accordingly pushed off, scraping roughly over an old embedded stake in the process.
diana and jane and ruby only waited long enough to see it caught in the current and headed for the bridge before scampering up through the woods, across the road, and down to the lower headland where, as lancelot and guinevere and the king, they were to be in readiness to receive the lily maid.
for a few minutes anne, drifting slowly down, enjoyed the romance of her situation to the full.
then something happened not at all romantic.
the flat began to leak.
in a very few moments it was necessary for elaine to scramble to her feet, pick up her cloth of gold coverlet and pall of blackest samite and gaze blankly at a big crack in the bottom of her barge through which the water was literally pouring.
that sharp stake at the landing had torn off the strip of batting nailed on the flat.
anne did not know this, but it did not take her long to realize that she was in a dangerous plight.
at this rate the flat would fill and sink long before it could drift to the lower headland.
where were the oars?
left behind at the landing!
anne gave one gasping little scream which nobody ever heard; she was white to the lips, but she did not lose her self-possession.
there was one chance -- just one.
""i was horribly frightened," she told mrs. allan the next day, "and it seemed like years while the flat was drifting down to the bridge and the water rising in it every moment.
i prayed, mrs. allan, most earnestly, but i did n't shut my eyes to pray, for i knew the only way god could save me was to let the flat float close enough to one of the bridge piles for me to climb up on it.
you know the piles are just old tree trunks and there are lots of knots and old branch stubs on them.
it was proper to pray, but i had to do my part by watching out and right well i knew it.
i just said, "dear god, please take the flat close to a pile and i'll do the rest," over and over again.
under such circumstances you do n't think much about making a flowery prayer.
but mine was answered, for the flat bumped right into a pile for a minute and i flung the scarf and the shawl over my shoulder and scrambled up on a big providential stub.
and there i was, mrs. allan, clinging to that slippery old pile with no way of getting up or down.
it was a very unromantic position, but i did n't think about that at the time.
you do n't think much about romance when you have just escaped from a watery grave.
i said a grateful prayer at once and then i gave all my attention to holding on tight, for i knew i should probably have to depend on human aid to get back to dry land."
the flat drifted under the bridge and then promptly sank in midstream.
ruby, jane, and diana, already awaiting it on the lower headland, saw it disappear before their very eyes and had not a doubt but that anne had gone down with it.
for a moment they stood still, white as sheets, frozen with horror at the tragedy; then, shrieking at the tops of their voices, they started on a frantic run up through the woods, never pausing as they crossed the main road to glance the way of the bridge.
anne, clinging desperately to her precarious foothold, saw their flying forms and heard their shrieks.
help would soon come, but meanwhile her position was a very uncomfortable one.
the minutes passed by, each seeming an hour to the unfortunate lily maid.
why did n't somebody come?
where had the girls gone?
suppose they had fainted, one and all!
suppose nobody ever came!
suppose she grew so tired and cramped that she could hold on no longer!
anne looked at the wicked green depths below her, wavering with long, oily shadows, and shivered.
her imagination began to suggest all manner of gruesome possibilities to her.
then, just as she thought she really could not endure the ache in her arms and wrists another moment, gilbert blythe came rowing under the bridge in harmon andrews's dory!
gilbert glanced up and, much to his amazement, beheld a little white scornful face looking down upon him with big, frightened but also scornful gray eyes.
""anne shirley!
how on earth did you get there?"
he exclaimed.
without waiting for an answer he pulled close to the pile and extended his hand.
there was no help for it; anne, clinging to gilbert blythe's hand, scrambled down into the dory, where she sat, drabbled and furious, in the stern with her arms full of dripping shawl and wet crepe.
it was certainly extremely difficult to be dignified under the circumstances!
""what has happened, anne?"
asked gilbert, taking up his oars.
""we were playing elaine" explained anne frigidly, without even looking at her rescuer, "and i had to drift down to camelot in the barge -- i mean the flat.
the flat began to leak and i climbed out on the pile.
the girls went for help.
will you be kind enough to row me to the landing?"
gilbert obligingly rowed to the landing and anne, disdaining assistance, sprang nimbly on shore.
""i'm very much obliged to you," she said haughtily as she turned away.
but gilbert had also sprung from the boat and now laid a detaining hand on her arm.
""anne," he said hurriedly, "look here.
ca n't we be good friends?
i'm awfully sorry i made fun of your hair that time.
i did n't mean to vex you and i only meant it for a joke.
besides, it's so long ago.
i think your hair is awfully pretty now -- honest i do.
let's be friends."
for a moment anne hesitated.
she had an odd, newly awakened consciousness under all her outraged dignity that the half-shy, half-eager expression in gilbert's hazel eyes was something that was very good to see.
her heart gave a quick, queer little beat.
but the bitterness of her old grievance promptly stiffened up her wavering determination.
that scene of two years before flashed back into her recollection as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday.
gilbert had called her "carrots" and had brought about her disgrace before the whole school.
her resentment, which to other and older people might be as laughable as its cause, was in no whit allayed and softened by time seemingly.
she hated gilbert blythe!
she would never forgive him!
""no," she said coldly, "i shall never be friends with you, gilbert blythe; and i do n't want to be!"
""all right!"
gilbert sprang into his skiff with an angry color in his cheeks.
""i'll never ask you to be friends again, anne shirley.
and i do n't care either!"
he pulled away with swift defiant strokes, and anne went up the steep, ferny little path under the maples.
she held her head very high, but she was conscious of an odd feeling of regret.
she almost wished she had answered gilbert differently.
of course, he had insulted her terribly, but still --!
altogether, anne rather thought it would be a relief to sit down and have a good cry.
she was really quite unstrung, for the reaction from her fright and cramped clinging was making itself felt.
halfway up the path she met jane and diana rushing back to the pond in a state narrowly removed from positive frenzy.
they had found nobody at orchard slope, both mr. and mrs. barry being away.
here ruby gillis had succumbed to hysterics, and was left to recover from them as best she might, while jane and diana flew through the haunted wood and across the brook to green gables.
there they had found nobody either, for marilla had gone to carmody and matthew was making hay in the back field.
""oh, anne," gasped diana, fairly falling on the former's neck and weeping with relief and delight, "oh, anne -- we thought -- you were -- drowned -- and we felt like murderers -- because we had made -- you be -- elaine.
and ruby is in hysterics -- oh, anne, how did you escape?"
""i climbed up on one of the piles," explained anne wearily, "and gilbert blythe came along in mr. andrews's dory and brought me to land."
""oh, anne, how splendid of him!
why, it's so romantic!"
said jane, finding breath enough for utterance at last.
""of course you'll speak to him after this."
""of course i wo n't," flashed anne, with a momentary return of her old spirit.
""and i do n't want ever to hear the word "romantic" again, jane andrews.
i'm awfully sorry you were so frightened, girls.
it is all my fault.
i feel sure i was born under an unlucky star.
everything i do gets me or my dearest friends into a scrape.
we've gone and lost your father's flat, diana, and i have a presentiment that we'll not be allowed to row on the pond any more."
anne's presentiment proved more trustworthy than presentiments are apt to do.
great was the consternation in the barry and cuthbert households when the events of the afternoon became known.
""will you ever have any sense, anne?"
groaned marilla.
""oh, yes, i think i will, marilla," returned anne optimistically.
a good cry, indulged in the grateful solitude of the east gable, had soothed her nerves and restored her to her wonted cheerfulness.
""i think my prospects of becoming sensible are brighter now than ever."
""i do n't see how," said marilla.
""well," explained anne, "i've learned a new and valuable lesson today.
ever since i came to green gables i've been making mistakes, and each mistake has helped to cure me of some great shortcoming.
the affair of the amethyst brooch cured me of meddling with things that did n't belong to me.
the haunted wood mistake cured me of letting my imagination run away with me.
the liniment cake mistake cured me of carelessness in cooking.
dyeing my hair cured me of vanity.
i never think about my hair and nose now -- at least, very seldom.
and today's mistake is going to cure me of being too romantic.
i have come to the conclusion that it is no use trying to be romantic in avonlea.
it was probably easy enough in towered camelot hundreds of years ago, but romance is not appreciated now.
i feel quite sure that you will soon see a great improvement in me in this respect, marilla."
""i'm sure i hope so," said marilla skeptically.
but matthew, who had been sitting mutely in his corner, laid a hand on anne's shoulder when marilla had gone out.
""do n't give up all your romance, anne," he whispered shyly, "a little of it is a good thing -- not too much, of course -- but keep a little of it, anne, keep a little of it."
chapter xxix.
an epoch in anne's life anne was bringing the cows home from the back pasture by way of lover's lane.
it was a september evening and all the gaps and clearings in the woods were brimmed up with ruby sunset light.
here and there the lane was splashed with it, but for the most part it was already quite shadowy beneath the maples, and the spaces under the firs were filled with a clear violet dusk like airy wine.
the winds were out in their tops, and there is no sweeter music on earth than that which the wind makes in the fir trees at evening.
the cows swung placidly down the lane, and anne followed them dreamily, repeating aloud the battle canto from marmion -- which had also been part of their english course the preceding winter and which miss stacy had made them learn off by heart -- and exulting in its rushing lines and the clash of spears in its imagery.
when she came to the lines the stubborn spearsmen still made good their dark impenetrable wood, she stopped in ecstasy to shut her eyes that she might the better fancy herself one of that heroic ring.
when she opened them again it was to behold diana coming through the gate that led into the barry field and looking so important that anne instantly divined there was news to be told.
but betray too eager curiosity she would not.
""is n't this evening just like a purple dream, diana?
it makes me so glad to be alive.
in the mornings i always think the mornings are best; but when evening comes i think it's lovelier still."
""it's a very fine evening," said diana, "but oh, i have such news, anne.
guess.
you can have three guesses."
""charlotte gillis is going to be married in the church after all and mrs. allan wants us to decorate it," cried anne.
""no.
charlotte's beau wo n't agree to that, because nobody ever has been married in the church yet, and he thinks it would seem too much like a funeral.
it's too mean, because it would be such fun.
guess again."
""jane's mother is going to let her have a birthday party?"
diana shook her head, her black eyes dancing with merriment.
""i ca n't think what it can be," said anne in despair, "unless it's that moody spurgeon macpherson saw you home from prayer meeting last night.
did he?"
""i should think not," exclaimed diana indignantly.
""i would n't be likely to boast of it if he did, the horrid creature!
i knew you could n't guess it.
mother had a letter from aunt josephine today, and aunt josephine wants you and me to go to town next tuesday and stop with her for the exhibition.
there!"
""oh, diana," whispered anne, finding it necessary to lean up against a maple tree for support, "do you really mean it?
but i'm afraid marilla wo n't let me go.
she will say that she ca n't encourage gadding about.
that was what she said last week when jane invited me to go with them in their double-seated buggy to the american concert at the white sands hotel.
i wanted to go, but marilla said i'd be better at home learning my lessons and so would jane.
i was bitterly disappointed, diana.
i felt so heartbroken that i would n't say my prayers when i went to bed.
but i repented of that and got up in the middle of the night and said them."
""i'll tell you," said diana, "we'll get mother to ask marilla.
she'll be more likely to let you go then; and if she does we'll have the time of our lives, anne.
i've never been to an exhibition, and it's so aggravating to hear the other girls talking about their trips.
jane and ruby have been twice, and they're going this year again."
""i'm not going to think about it at all until i know whether i can go or not," said anne resolutely.
""if i did and then was disappointed, it would be more than i could bear.
but in case i do go i'm very glad my new coat will be ready by that time.
marilla did n't think i needed a new coat.
she said my old one would do very well for another winter and that i ought to be satisfied with having a new dress.
the dress is very pretty, diana -- navy blue and made so fashionably.
marilla always makes my dresses fashionably now, because she says she does n't intend to have matthew going to mrs. lynde to make them.
i'm so glad.
it is ever so much easier to be good if your clothes are fashionable.
at least, it is easier for me.
i suppose it does n't make such a difference to naturally good people.
but matthew said i must have a new coat, so marilla bought a lovely piece of blue broadcloth, and it's being made by a real dressmaker over at carmody.
it's to be done saturday night, and i'm trying not to imagine myself walking up the church aisle on sunday in my new suit and cap, because i'm afraid it is n't right to imagine such things.
but it just slips into my mind in spite of me.
my cap is so pretty.
matthew bought it for me the day we were over at carmody.
it is one of those little blue velvet ones that are all the rage, with gold cord and tassels.
your new hat is elegant, diana, and so becoming.
when i saw you come into church last sunday my heart swelled with pride to think you were my dearest friend.
do you suppose it's wrong for us to think so much about our clothes?
marilla says it is very sinful.
but it is such an interesting subject, is n't it?"
marilla agreed to let anne go to town, and it was arranged that mr. barry should take the girls in on the following tuesday.
as charlottetown was thirty miles away and mr. barry wished to go and return the same day, it was necessary to make a very early start.
but anne counted it all joy, and was up before sunrise on tuesday morning.
a glance from her window assured her that the day would be fine, for the eastern sky behind the firs of the haunted wood was all silvery and cloudless.
through the gap in the trees a light was shining in the western gable of orchard slope, a token that diana was also up.
anne was dressed by the time matthew had the fire on and had the breakfast ready when marilla came down, but for her own part was much too excited to eat.
after breakfast the jaunty new cap and jacket were donned, and anne hastened over the brook and up through the firs to orchard slope.
mr. barry and diana were waiting for her, and they were soon on the road.
it was a long drive, but anne and diana enjoyed every minute of it.
it was delightful to rattle along over the moist roads in the early red sunlight that was creeping across the shorn harvest fields.
the air was fresh and crisp, and little smoke-blue mists curled through the valleys and floated off from the hills.
sometimes the road went through woods where maples were beginning to hang out scarlet banners; sometimes it crossed rivers on bridges that made anne's flesh cringe with the old, half-delightful fear; sometimes it wound along a harbor shore and passed by a little cluster of weather-gray fishing huts; again it mounted to hills whence a far sweep of curving upland or misty-blue sky could be seen; but wherever it went there was much of interest to discuss.
it was almost noon when they reached town and found their way to "beechwood."
it was quite a fine old mansion, set back from the street in a seclusion of green elms and branching beeches.
miss barry met them at the door with a twinkle in her sharp black eyes.
""so you've come to see me at last, you anne-girl," she said.
""mercy, child, how you have grown!
you're taller than i am, i declare.
and you're ever so much better looking than you used to be, too.
but i dare say you know that without being told."
""indeed i did n't," said anne radiantly.
""i know i'm not so freckled as i used to be, so i've much to be thankful for, but i really had n't dared to hope there was any other improvement.
i'm so glad you think there is, miss barry."
miss barry's house was furnished with "great magnificence," as anne told marilla afterward.
the two little country girls were rather abashed by the splendor of the parlor where miss barry left them when she went to see about dinner.
""is n't it just like a palace?"
whispered diana.
""i never was in aunt josephine's house before, and i'd no idea it was so grand.
i just wish julia bell could see this -- she puts on such airs about her mother's parlor."
""velvet carpet," sighed anne luxuriously, "and silk curtains!
i've dreamed of such things, diana.
but do you know i do n't believe i feel very comfortable with them after all.
there are so many things in this room and all so splendid that there is no scope for imagination.
that is one consolation when you are poor -- there are so many more things you can imagine about."
their sojourn in town was something that anne and diana dated from for years.
from first to last it was crowded with delights.
on wednesday miss barry took them to the exhibition grounds and kept them there all day.
""it was splendid," anne related to marilla later on.
""i never imagined anything so interesting.
i do n't really know which department was the most interesting.
i think i liked the horses and the flowers and the fancywork best.
josie pye took first prize for knitted lace.
i was real glad she did.
and i was glad that i felt glad, for it shows i'm improving, do n't you think, marilla, when i can rejoice in josie's success?
mr. harmon andrews took second prize for gravenstein apples and mr. bell took first prize for a pig.
diana said she thought it was ridiculous for a sunday-school superintendent to take a prize in pigs, but i do n't see why.
do you?
she said she would always think of it after this when he was praying so solemnly.
clara louise macpherson took a prize for painting, and mrs. lynde got first prize for homemade butter and cheese.
so avonlea was pretty well represented, was n't it?
mrs. lynde was there that day, and i never knew how much i really liked her until i saw her familiar face among all those strangers.
there were thousands of people there, marilla.
it made me feel dreadfully insignificant.
and miss barry took us up to the grandstand to see the horse races.
mrs. lynde would n't go; she said horse racing was an abomination and, she being a church member, thought it her bounden duty to set a good example by staying away.
but there were so many there i do n't believe mrs. lynde's absence would ever be noticed.
i do n't think, though, that i ought to go very often to horse races, because they are awfully fascinating.
diana got so excited that she offered to bet me ten cents that the red horse would win.
i did n't believe he would, but i refused to bet, because i wanted to tell mrs. allan all about everything, and i felt sure it would n't do to tell her that.
it's always wrong to do anything you ca n't tell the minister's wife.
it's as good as an extra conscience to have a minister's wife for your friend.
and i was very glad i did n't bet, because the red horse did win, and i would have lost ten cents.
so you see that virtue was its own reward.
we saw a man go up in a balloon.
i'd love to go up in a balloon, marilla; it would be simply thrilling; and we saw a man selling fortunes.
you paid him ten cents and a little bird picked out your fortune for you.
miss barry gave diana and me ten cents each to have our fortunes told.
mine was that i would marry a dark-complected man who was very wealthy, and i would go across water to live.
i looked carefully at all the dark men i saw after that, but i did n't care much for any of them, and anyhow i suppose it's too early to be looking out for him yet.
oh, it was a never-to-be-forgotten day, marilla.
i was so tired i could n't sleep at night.
miss barry put us in the spare room, according to promise.
it was an elegant room, marilla, but somehow sleeping in a spare room is n't what i used to think it was.
that's the worst of growing up, and i'm beginning to realize it.
the things you wanted so much when you were a child do n't seem half so wonderful to you when you get them."
thursday the girls had a drive in the park, and in the evening miss barry took them to a concert in the academy of music, where a noted prima donna was to sing.
to anne the evening was a glittering vision of delight.
""oh, marilla, it was beyond description.
i was so excited i could n't even talk, so you may know what it was like.
i just sat in enraptured silence.
madame selitsky was perfectly beautiful, and wore white satin and diamonds.
but when she began to sing i never thought about anything else.
oh, i ca n't tell you how i felt.
but it seemed to me that it could never be hard to be good any more.
i felt like i do when i look up to the stars.
tears came into my eyes, but, oh, they were such happy tears.
i was so sorry when it was all over, and i told miss barry i did n't see how i was ever to return to common life again.
she said she thought if we went over to the restaurant across the street and had an ice cream it might help me.
that sounded so prosaic; but to my surprise i found it true.
the ice cream was delicious, marilla, and it was so lovely and dissipated to be sitting there eating it at eleven o'clock at night.
diana said she believed she was born for city life.
miss barry asked me what my opinion was, but i said i would have to think it over very seriously before i could tell her what i really thought.
so i thought it over after i went to bed.
that is the best time to think things out.
and i came to the conclusion, marilla, that i was n't born for city life and that i was glad of it.
it's nice to be eating ice cream at brilliant restaurants at eleven o'clock at night once in a while; but as a regular thing i'd rather be in the east gable at eleven, sound asleep, but kind of knowing even in my sleep that the stars were shining outside and that the wind was blowing in the firs across the brook.
i told miss barry so at breakfast the next morning and she laughed.
miss barry generally laughed at anything i said, even when i said the most solemn things.
i do n't think i liked it, marilla, because i was n't trying to be funny.
but she is a most hospitable lady and treated us royally."
friday brought going-home time, and mr. barry drove in for the girls.
""well, i hope you've enjoyed yourselves," said miss barry, as she bade them good-bye.
""indeed we have," said diana.
""and you, anne-girl?"
""i've enjoyed every minute of the time," said anne, throwing her arms impulsively about the old woman's neck and kissing her wrinkled cheek.
diana would never have dared to do such a thing and felt rather aghast at anne's freedom.
but miss barry was pleased, and she stood on her veranda and watched the buggy out of sight.
then she went back into her big house with a sigh.
it seemed very lonely, lacking those fresh young lives.
miss barry was a rather selfish old lady, if the truth must be told, and had never cared much for anybody but herself.
she valued people only as they were of service to her or amused her.
anne had amused her, and consequently stood high in the old lady's good graces.
but miss barry found herself thinking less about anne's quaint speeches than of her fresh enthusiasms, her transparent emotions, her little winning ways, and the sweetness of her eyes and lips.
""i thought marilla cuthbert was an old fool when i heard she'd adopted a girl out of an orphan asylum," she said to herself, "but i guess she did n't make much of a mistake after all.
if i'd a child like anne in the house all the time i'd be a better and happier woman."
anne and diana found the drive home as pleasant as the drive in -- pleasanter, indeed, since there was the delightful consciousness of home waiting at the end of it.
it was sunset when they passed through white sands and turned into the shore road.
beyond, the avonlea hills came out darkly against the saffron sky.
behind them the moon was rising out of the sea that grew all radiant and transfigured in her light.
every little cove along the curving road was a marvel of dancing ripples.
the waves broke with a soft swish on the rocks below them, and the tang of the sea was in the strong, fresh air.
""oh, but it's good to be alive and to be going home," breathed anne.
when she crossed the log bridge over the brook the kitchen light of green gables winked her a friendly welcome back, and through the open door shone the hearth fire, sending out its warm red glow athwart the chilly autumn night.
anne ran blithely up the hill and into the kitchen, where a hot supper was waiting on the table.
""so you've got back?"
said marilla, folding up her knitting.
""yes, and oh, it's so good to be back," said anne joyously.
""i could kiss everything, even to the clock.
marilla, a broiled chicken!
you do n't mean to say you cooked that for me!"
""yes, i did," said marilla.
""i thought you'd be hungry after such a drive and need something real appetizing.
hurry and take off your things, and we'll have supper as soon as matthew comes in.
i'm glad you've got back, i must say.
it's been fearful lonesome here without you, and i never put in four longer days."
after supper anne sat before the fire between matthew and marilla, and gave them a full account of her visit.
""i've had a splendid time," she concluded happily, "and i feel that it marks an epoch in my life.
but the best of it all was the coming home."
chapter xxx.
the queens class is organized marilla laid her knitting on her lap and leaned back in her chair.
her eyes were tired, and she thought vaguely that she must see about having her glasses changed the next time she went to town, for her eyes had grown tired very often of late.
it was nearly dark, for the full november twilight had fallen around green gables, and the only light in the kitchen came from the dancing red flames in the stove.
anne was curled up turk-fashion on the hearthrug, gazing into that joyous glow where the sunshine of a hundred summers was being distilled from the maple cordwood.
she had been reading, but her book had slipped to the floor, and now she was dreaming, with a smile on her parted lips.
glittering castles in spain were shaping themselves out of the mists and rainbows of her lively fancy; adventures wonderful and enthralling were happening to her in cloudland -- adventures that always turned out triumphantly and never involved her in scrapes like those of actual life.
marilla looked at her with a tenderness that would never have been suffered to reveal itself in any clearer light than that soft mingling of fireshine and shadow.
the lesson of a love that should display itself easily in spoken word and open look was one marilla could never learn.
but she had learned to love this slim, gray-eyed girl with an affection all the deeper and stronger from its very undemonstrativeness.
her love made her afraid of being unduly indulgent, indeed.
she had an uneasy feeling that it was rather sinful to set one's heart so intensely on any human creature as she had set hers on anne, and perhaps she performed a sort of unconscious penance for this by being stricter and more critical than if the girl had been less dear to her.
certainly anne herself had no idea how marilla loved her.
she sometimes thought wistfully that marilla was very hard to please and distinctly lacking in sympathy and understanding.
but she always checked the thought reproachfully, remembering what she owed to marilla.
""anne," said marilla abruptly, "miss stacy was here this afternoon when you were out with diana."
anne came back from her other world with a start and a sigh.
""was she?
oh, i'm so sorry i was n't in.
why did n't you call me, marilla?
diana and i were only over in the haunted wood.
it's lovely in the woods now.
all the little wood things -- the ferns and the satin leaves and the crackerberries -- have gone to sleep, just as if somebody had tucked them away until spring under a blanket of leaves.
i think it was a little gray fairy with a rainbow scarf that came tiptoeing along the last moonlight night and did it.
diana would n't say much about that, though.
diana has never forgotten the scolding her mother gave her about imagining ghosts into the haunted wood.
it had a very bad effect on diana's imagination.
it blighted it.
mrs. lynde says myrtle bell is a blighted being.
i asked ruby gillis why myrtle was blighted, and ruby said she guessed it was because her young man had gone back on her.
ruby gillis thinks of nothing but young men, and the older she gets the worse she is.
young men are all very well in their place, but it does n't do to drag them into everything, does it?
diana and i are thinking seriously of promising each other that we will never marry but be nice old maids and live together forever.
diana has n't quite made up her mind though, because she thinks perhaps it would be nobler to marry some wild, dashing, wicked young man and reform him.
diana and i talk a great deal about serious subjects now, you know.
we feel that we are so much older than we used to be that it is n't becoming to talk of childish matters.
it's such a solemn thing to be almost fourteen, marilla.
miss stacy took all us girls who are in our teens down to the brook last wednesday, and talked to us about it.
she said we could n't be too careful what habits we formed and what ideals we acquired in our teens, because by the time we were twenty our characters would be developed and the foundation laid for our whole future life.
and she said if the foundation was shaky we could never build anything really worth while on it.
diana and i talked the matter over coming home from school.
we felt extremely solemn, marilla.
and we decided that we would try to be very careful indeed and form respectable habits and learn all we could and be as sensible as possible, so that by the time we were twenty our characters would be properly developed.
it's perfectly appalling to think of being twenty, marilla.
it sounds so fearfully old and grown up.
but why was miss stacy here this afternoon?"
""that is what i want to tell you, anne, if you'll ever give me a chance to get a word in edgewise.
she was talking about you."
""about me?"
anne looked rather scared.
then she flushed and exclaimed: "oh, i know what she was saying.
i meant to tell you, marilla, honestly i did, but i forgot.
miss stacy caught me reading ben hur in school yesterday afternoon when i should have been studying my canadian history.
jane andrews lent it to me.
i was reading it at dinner hour, and i had just got to the chariot race when school went in.
i was simply wild to know how it turned out -- although i felt sure ben hur must win, because it would n't be poetical justice if he did n't -- so i spread the history open on my desk lid and then tucked ben hur between the desk and my knee.
i just looked as if i were studying canadian history, you know, while all the while i was reveling in ben hur.
i was so interested in it that i never noticed miss stacy coming down the aisle until all at once i just looked up and there she was looking down at me, so reproachful-like.
i ca n't tell you how ashamed i felt, marilla, especially when i heard josie pye giggling.
miss stacy took ben hur away, but she never said a word then.
she kept me in at recess and talked to me.
she said i had done very wrong in two respects.
first, i was wasting the time i ought to have put on my studies; and secondly, i was deceiving my teacher in trying to make it appear i was reading a history when it was a storybook instead.
i had never realized until that moment, marilla, that what i was doing was deceitful.
i was shocked.
i cried bitterly, and asked miss stacy to forgive me and i'd never do such a thing again; and i offered to do penance by never so much as looking at ben hur for a whole week, not even to see how the chariot race turned out.
but miss stacy said she would n't require that, and she forgave me freely.
so i think it was n't very kind of her to come up here to you about it after all."
""miss stacy never mentioned such a thing to me, anne, and its only your guilty conscience that's the matter with you.
you have no business to be taking storybooks to school.
you read too many novels anyhow.
when i was a girl i was n't so much as allowed to look at a novel."
""oh, how can you call ben hur a novel when it's really such a religious book?"
protested anne.
""of course it's a little too exciting to be proper reading for sunday, and i only read it on weekdays.
and i never read any book now unless either miss stacy or mrs. allan thinks it is a proper book for a girl thirteen and three-quarters to read.
miss stacy made me promise that.
she found me reading a book one day called, the lurid mystery of the haunted hall.
it was one ruby gillis had lent me, and, oh, marilla, it was so fascinating and creepy.
it just curdled the blood in my veins.
but miss stacy said it was a very silly, unwholesome book, and she asked me not to read any more of it or any like it.
i did n't mind promising not to read any more like it, but it was agonizing to give back that book without knowing how it turned out.
but my love for miss stacy stood the test and i did.
it's really wonderful, marilla, what you can do when you're truly anxious to please a certain person."
""well, i guess i'll light the lamp and get to work," said marilla.
""i see plainly that you do n't want to hear what miss stacy had to say.
you're more interested in the sound of your own tongue than in anything else."
""oh, indeed, marilla, i do want to hear it," cried anne contritely.
""i wo n't say another word -- not one.
i know i talk too much, but i am really trying to overcome it, and although i say far too much, yet if you only knew how many things i want to say and do n't, you'd give me some credit for it.
please tell me, marilla."
""well, miss stacy wants to organize a class among her advanced students who mean to study for the entrance examination into queen's.
she intends to give them extra lessons for an hour after school.
and she came to ask matthew and me if we would like to have you join it.
what do you think about it yourself, anne?
would you like to go to queen's and pass for a teacher?"
""oh, marilla!"
anne straightened to her knees and clasped her hands.
""it's been the dream of my life -- that is, for the last six months, ever since ruby and jane began to talk of studying for the entrance.
but i did n't say anything about it, because i supposed it would be perfectly useless.
i'd love to be a teacher.
but wo n't it be dreadfully expensive?
mr. andrews says it cost him one hundred and fifty dollars to put prissy through, and prissy was n't a dunce in geometry."
""i guess you need n't worry about that part of it.
when matthew and i took you to bring up we resolved we would do the best we could for you and give you a good education.
i believe in a girl being fitted to earn her own living whether she ever has to or not.
you'll always have a home at green gables as long as matthew and i are here, but nobody knows what is going to happen in this uncertain world, and it's just as well to be prepared.
so you can join the queen's class if you like, anne."
""oh, marilla, thank you."
anne flung her arms about marilla's waist and looked up earnestly into her face.
""i'm extremely grateful to you and matthew.
and i'll study as hard as i can and do my very best to be a credit to you.
i warn you not to expect much in geometry, but i think i can hold my own in anything else if i work hard."
""i dare say you'll get along well enough.
miss stacy says you are bright and diligent."
not for worlds would marilla have told anne just what miss stacy had said about her; that would have been to pamper vanity.
""you need n't rush to any extreme of killing yourself over your books.
there is no hurry.
you wo n't be ready to try the entrance for a year and a half yet.
but it's well to begin in time and be thoroughly grounded, miss stacy says."
""i shall take more interest than ever in my studies now," said anne blissfully, "because i have a purpose in life.
mr. allan says everybody should have a purpose in life and pursue it faithfully.
only he says we must first make sure that it is a worthy purpose.
i would call it a worthy purpose to want to be a teacher like miss stacy, would n't you, marilla?
i think it's a very noble profession."
the queen's class was organized in due time.
gilbert blythe, anne shirley, ruby gillis, jane andrews, josie pye, charlie sloane, and moody spurgeon macpherson joined it.
diana barry did not, as her parents did not intend to send her to queen's.
this seemed nothing short of a calamity to anne.
never, since the night on which minnie may had had the croup, had she and diana been separated in anything.
on the evening when the queen's class first remained in school for the extra lessons and anne saw diana go slowly out with the others, to walk home alone through the birch path and violet vale, it was all the former could do to keep her seat and refrain from rushing impulsively after her chum.
a lump came into her throat, and she hastily retired behind the pages of her uplifted latin grammar to hide the tears in her eyes.
not for worlds would anne have had gilbert blythe or josie pye see those tears.
""but, oh, marilla, i really felt that i had tasted the bitterness of death, as mr. allan said in his sermon last sunday, when i saw diana go out alone," she said mournfully that night.
""i thought how splendid it would have been if diana had only been going to study for the entrance, too.
but we ca n't have things perfect in this imperfect world, as mrs. lynde says.
mrs. lynde is n't exactly a comforting person sometimes, but there's no doubt she says a great many very true things.
and i think the queen's class is going to be extremely interesting.
jane and ruby are just going to study to be teachers.
that is the height of their ambition.
ruby says she will only teach for two years after she gets through, and then she intends to be married.
jane says she will devote her whole life to teaching, and never, never marry, because you are paid a salary for teaching, but a husband wo n't pay you anything, and growls if you ask for a share in the egg and butter money.
i expect jane speaks from mournful experience, for mrs. lynde says that her father is a perfect old crank, and meaner than second skimmings.
josie pye says she is just going to college for education's sake, because she wo n't have to earn her own living; she says of course it is different with orphans who are living on charity -- they have to hustle.
moody spurgeon is going to be a minister.
mrs. lynde says he could n't be anything else with a name like that to live up to.
i hope it is n't wicked of me, marilla, but really the thought of moody spurgeon being a minister makes me laugh.
he's such a funny-looking boy with that big fat face, and his little blue eyes, and his ears sticking out like flaps.
but perhaps he will be more intellectual looking when he grows up.
charlie sloane says he's going to go into politics and be a member of parliament, but mrs. lynde says he'll never succeed at that, because the sloanes are all honest people, and it's only rascals that get on in politics nowadays."
""what is gilbert blythe going to be?"
queried marilla, seeing that anne was opening her caesar.
""i do n't happen to know what gilbert blythe's ambition in life is -- if he has any," said anne scornfully.
there was open rivalry between gilbert and anne now.
previously the rivalry had been rather onesided, but there was no longer any doubt that gilbert was as determined to be first in class as anne was.
he was a foeman worthy of her steel.
the other members of the class tacitly acknowledged their superiority, and never dreamed of trying to compete with them.
since the day by the pond when she had refused to listen to his plea for forgiveness, gilbert, save for the aforesaid determined rivalry, had evinced no recognition whatever of the existence of anne shirley.
he talked and jested with the other girls, exchanged books and puzzles with them, discussed lessons and plans, sometimes walked home with one or the other of them from prayer meeting or debating club.
but anne shirley he simply ignored, and anne found out that it is not pleasant to be ignored.
it was in vain that she told herself with a toss of her head that she did not care.
deep down in her wayward, feminine little heart she knew that she did care, and that if she had that chance of the lake of shining waters again she would answer very differently.
all at once, as it seemed, and to her secret dismay, she found that the old resentment she had cherished against him was gone -- gone just when she most needed its sustaining power.
it was in vain that she recalled every incident and emotion of that memorable occasion and tried to feel the old satisfying anger.
that day by the pond had witnessed its last spasmodic flicker.
anne realized that she had forgiven and forgotten without knowing it.
but it was too late.
and at least neither gilbert nor anybody else, not even diana, should ever suspect how sorry she was and how much she wished she had n't been so proud and horrid!
she determined to "shroud her feelings in deepest oblivion," and it may be stated here and now that she did it, so successfully that gilbert, who possibly was not quite so indifferent as he seemed, could not console himself with any belief that anne felt his retaliatory scorn.
the only poor comfort he had was that she snubbed charlie sloane, unmercifully, continually, and undeservedly.
otherwise the winter passed away in a round of pleasant duties and studies.
for anne the days slipped by like golden beads on the necklace of the year.
she was happy, eager, interested; there were lessons to be learned and honor to be won; delightful books to read; new pieces to be practiced for the sunday-school choir; pleasant saturday afternoons at the manse with mrs. allan; and then, almost before anne realized it, spring had come again to green gables and all the world was abloom once more.
studies palled just a wee bit then; the queen's class, left behind in school while the others scattered to green lanes and leafy wood cuts and meadow byways, looked wistfully out of the windows and discovered that latin verbs and french exercises had somehow lost the tang and zest they had possessed in the crisp winter months.
even anne and gilbert lagged and grew indifferent.
teacher and taught were alike glad when the term was ended and the glad vacation days stretched rosily before them.
""but you've done good work this past year," miss stacy told them on the last evening, "and you deserve a good, jolly vacation.
have the best time you can in the out-of-door world and lay in a good stock of health and vitality and ambition to carry you through next year.
it will be the tug of war, you know -- the last year before the entrance."
""are you going to be back next year, miss stacy?"
asked josie pye.
josie pye never scrupled to ask questions; in this instance the rest of the class felt grateful to her; none of them would have dared to ask it of miss stacy, but all wanted to, for there had been alarming rumors running at large through the school for some time that miss stacy was not coming back the next year -- that she had been offered a position in the grade school of her own home district and meant to accept.
the queen's class listened in breathless suspense for her answer.
""yes, i think i will," said miss stacy.
""i thought of taking another school, but i have decided to come back to avonlea.
to tell the truth, i've grown so interested in my pupils here that i found i could n't leave them.
so i'll stay and see you through."
""hurrah!"
said moody spurgeon.
moody spurgeon had never been so carried away by his feelings before, and he blushed uncomfortably every time he thought about it for a week.
""oh, i'm so glad," said anne, with shining eyes.
""dear stacy, it would be perfectly dreadful if you did n't come back.
i do n't believe i could have the heart to go on with my studies at all if another teacher came here."
when anne got home that night she stacked all her textbooks away in an old trunk in the attic, locked it, and threw the key into the blanket box.
""i'm not even going to look at a schoolbook in vacation," she told marilla.
""i've studied as hard all the term as i possibly could and i've pored over that geometry until i know every proposition in the first book off by heart, even when the letters are changed.
i just feel tired of everything sensible and i'm going to let my imagination run riot for the summer.
oh, you need n't be alarmed, marilla.
i'll only let it run riot within reasonable limits.
but i want to have a real good jolly time this summer, for maybe it's the last summer i'll be a little girl.
mrs. lynde says that if i keep stretching out next year as i've done this i'll have to put on longer skirts.
she says i'm all running to legs and eyes.
and when i put on longer skirts i shall feel that i have to live up to them and be very dignified.
it wo n't even do to believe in fairies then, i'm afraid; so i'm going to believe in them with all my whole heart this summer.
i think we're going to have a very gay vacation.
ruby gillis is going to have a birthday party soon and there's the sunday school picnic and the missionary concert next month.
and mr. barry says that some evening he'll take diana and me over to the white sands hotel and have dinner there.
they have dinner there in the evening, you know.
jane andrews was over once last summer and she says it was a dazzling sight to see the electric lights and the flowers and all the lady guests in such beautiful dresses.
jane says it was her first glimpse into high life and she'll never forget it to her dying day."
mrs. lynde came up the next afternoon to find out why marilla had not been at the aid meeting on thursday.
when marilla was not at aid meeting people knew there was something wrong at green gables.
""matthew had a bad spell with his heart thursday," marilla explained, "and i did n't feel like leaving him.
oh, yes, he's all right again now, but he takes them spells oftener than he used to and i'm anxious about him.
the doctor says he must be careful to avoid excitement.
that's easy enough, for matthew does n't go about looking for excitement by any means and never did, but he's not to do any very heavy work either and you might as well tell matthew not to breathe as not to work.
come and lay off your things, rachel.
you'll stay to tea?"
""well, seeing you're so pressing, perhaps i might as well, stay" said mrs. rachel, who had not the slightest intention of doing anything else.
mrs. rachel and marilla sat comfortably in the parlor while anne got the tea and made hot biscuits that were light and white enough to defy even mrs. rachel's criticism.
""i must say anne has turned out a real smart girl," admitted mrs. rachel, as marilla accompanied her to the end of the lane at sunset.
""she must be a great help to you."
""she is," said marilla, "and she's real steady and reliable now.
i used to be afraid she'd never get over her featherbrained ways, but she has and i would n't be afraid to trust her in anything now."
""i never would have thought she'd have turned out so well that first day i was here three years ago," said mrs. rachel.
""lawful heart, shall i ever forget that tantrum of hers!
when i went home that night i says to thomas, says i, "mark my words, thomas, marilla cuthbert'll live to rue the step she's took."
but i was mistaken and i'm real glad of it.
i ai n't one of those kind of people, marilla, as can never be brought to own up that they've made a mistake.
no, that never was my way, thank goodness.
i did make a mistake in judging anne, but it were n't no wonder, for an odder, unexpecteder witch of a child there never was in this world, that's what.
there was no ciphering her out by the rules that worked with other children.
it's nothing short of wonderful how she's improved these three years, but especially in looks.
she's a real pretty girl got to be, though i ca n't say i'm overly partial to that pale, big-eyed style myself.
i like more snap and color, like diana barry has or ruby gillis.
ruby gillis's looks are real showy.
but somehow -- i do n't know how it is but when anne and them are together, though she ai n't half as handsome, she makes them look kind of common and overdone -- something like them white june lilies she calls narcissus alongside of the big, red peonies, that's what."
chapter xxxi.
where the brook and river meet anne had her "good" summer and enjoyed it wholeheartedly.
she and diana fairly lived outdoors, reveling in all the delights that lover's lane and the dryad's bubble and willowmere and victoria island afforded.
marilla offered no objections to anne's gypsyings.
the spencervale doctor who had come the night minnie may had the croup met anne at the house of a patient one afternoon early in vacation, looked her over sharply, screwed up his mouth, shook his head, and sent a message to marilla cuthbert by another person.
it was: "keep that redheaded girl of yours in the open air all summer and do n't let her read books until she gets more spring into her step."
this message frightened marilla wholesomely.
she read anne's death warrant by consumption in it unless it was scrupulously obeyed.
as a result, anne had the golden summer of her life as far as freedom and frolic went.
she walked, rowed, berried, and dreamed to her heart's content; and when september came she was bright-eyed and alert, with a step that would have satisfied the spencervale doctor and a heart full of ambition and zest once more.
""i feel just like studying with might and main," she declared as she brought her books down from the attic.
""oh, you good old friends, i'm glad to see your honest faces once more -- yes, even you, geometry.
i've had a perfectly beautiful summer, marilla, and now i'm rejoicing as a strong man to run a race, as mr. allan said last sunday.
does n't mr. allan preach magnificent sermons?
mrs. lynde says he is improving every day and the first thing we know some city church will gobble him up and then we'll be left and have to turn to and break in another green preacher.
but i do n't see the use of meeting trouble halfway, do you, marilla?
i think it would be better just to enjoy mr. allan while we have him.
if i were a man i think i'd be a minister.
they can have such an influence for good, if their theology is sound; and it must be thrilling to preach splendid sermons and stir your hearers" hearts.
why ca n't women be ministers, marilla?
i asked mrs. lynde that and she was shocked and said it would be a scandalous thing.
she said there might be female ministers in the states and she believed there was, but thank goodness we had n't got to that stage in canada yet and she hoped we never would.
but i do n't see why.
i think women would make splendid ministers.
when there is a social to be got up or a church tea or anything else to raise money the women have to turn to and do the work.
i'm sure mrs. lynde can pray every bit as well as superintendent bell and i've no doubt she could preach too with a little practice."
""yes, i believe she could," said marilla dryly.
""she does plenty of unofficial preaching as it is.
nobody has much of a chance to go wrong in avonlea with rachel to oversee them."
""marilla," said anne in a burst of confidence, "i want to tell you something and ask you what you think about it.
it has worried me terribly -- on sunday afternoons, that is, when i think specially about such matters.
i do really want to be good; and when i'm with you or mrs. allan or miss stacy i want it more than ever and i want to do just what would please you and what you would approve of.
but mostly when i'm with mrs. lynde i feel desperately wicked and as if i wanted to go and do the very thing she tells me i ought n't to do.
i feel irresistibly tempted to do it.
now, what do you think is the reason i feel like that?
do you think it's because i'm really bad and unregenerate?"
marilla looked dubious for a moment.
then she laughed.
""if you are i guess i am too, anne, for rachel often has that very effect on me.
i sometimes think she'd have more of an influence for good, as you say yourself, if she did n't keep nagging people to do right.
there should have been a special commandment against nagging.
but there, i should n't talk so.
rachel is a good christian woman and she means well.
there is n't a kinder soul in avonlea and she never shirks her share of work."
""i'm very glad you feel the same," said anne decidedly.
""it's so encouraging.
i sha n't worry so much over that after this.
but i dare say there'll be other things to worry me.
they keep coming up new all the time -- things to perplex you, you know.
you settle one question and there's another right after.
there are so many things to be thought over and decided when you're beginning to grow up.
it keeps me busy all the time thinking them over and deciding what is right.
it's a serious thing to grow up, is n't it, marilla?
but when i have such good friends as you and matthew and mrs. allan and miss stacy i ought to grow up successfully, and i'm sure it will be my own fault if i do n't.
i feel it's a great responsibility because i have only the one chance.
if i do n't grow up right i ca n't go back and begin over again.
i've grown two inches this summer, marilla.
mr. gillis measured me at ruby's party.
i'm so glad you made my new dresses longer.
that dark-green one is so pretty and it was sweet of you to put on the flounce.
of course i know it was n't really necessary, but flounces are so stylish this fall and josie pye has flounces on all her dresses.
i know i'll be able to study better because of mine.
i shall have such a comfortable feeling deep down in my mind about that flounce."
""it's worth something to have that," admitted marilla.
miss stacy came back to avonlea school and found all her pupils eager for work once more.
especially did the queen's class gird up their loins for the fray, for at the end of the coming year, dimly shadowing their pathway already, loomed up that fateful thing known as "the entrance," at the thought of which one and all felt their hearts sink into their very shoes.
suppose they did not pass!
that thought was doomed to haunt anne through the waking hours of that winter, sunday afternoons inclusive, to the almost entire exclusion of moral and theological problems.
when anne had bad dreams she found herself staring miserably at pass lists of the entrance exams, where gilbert blythe's name was blazoned at the top and in which hers did not appear at all.
but it was a jolly, busy, happy swift-flying winter.
schoolwork was as interesting, class rivalry as absorbing, as of yore.
new worlds of thought, feeling, and ambition, fresh, fascinating fields of unexplored knowledge seemed to be opening out before anne's eager eyes.
""hills peeped o'er hill and alps on alps arose."
much of all this was due to miss stacy's tactful, careful, broadminded guidance.
she led her class to think and explore and discover for themselves and encouraged straying from the old beaten paths to a degree that quite shocked mrs. lynde and the school trustees, who viewed all innovations on established methods rather dubiously.
apart from her studies anne expanded socially, for marilla, mindful of the spencervale doctor's dictum, no longer vetoed occasional outings.
the debating club flourished and gave several concerts; there were one or two parties almost verging on grown-up affairs; there were sleigh drives and skating frolics galore.
betweentimes anne grew, shooting up so rapidly that marilla was astonished one day, when they were standing side by side, to find the girl was taller than herself.
""why, anne, how you've grown!"
she said, almost unbelievingly.
a sigh followed on the words.
marilla felt a queer regret over anne's inches.
the child she had learned to love had vanished somehow and here was this tall, serious-eyed girl of fifteen, with the thoughtful brows and the proudly poised little head, in her place.
marilla loved the girl as much as she had loved the child, but she was conscious of a queer sorrowful sense of loss.
and that night, when anne had gone to prayer meeting with diana, marilla sat alone in the wintry twilight and indulged in the weakness of a cry.
matthew, coming in with a lantern, caught her at it and gazed at her in such consternation that marilla had to laugh through her tears.
""i was thinking about anne," she explained.
""she's got to be such a big girl -- and she'll probably be away from us next winter.
i'll miss her terrible."
""she'll be able to come home often," comforted matthew, to whom anne was as yet and always would be the little, eager girl he had brought home from bright river on that june evening four years before.
""the branch railroad will be built to carmody by that time."
""it wo n't be the same thing as having her here all the time," sighed marilla gloomily, determined to enjoy her luxury of grief uncomforted.
""but there -- men ca n't understand these things!"
there were other changes in anne no less real than the physical change.
for one thing, she became much quieter.
perhaps she thought all the more and dreamed as much as ever, but she certainly talked less.
marilla noticed and commented on this also.
""you do n't chatter half as much as you used to, anne, nor use half as many big words.
what has come over you?"
anne colored and laughed a little, as she dropped her book and looked dreamily out of the window, where big fat red buds were bursting out on the creeper in response to the lure of the spring sunshine.
""i do n't know -- i do n't want to talk as much," she said, denting her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger.
""it's nicer to think dear, pretty thoughts and keep them in one's heart, like treasures.
i do n't like to have them laughed at or wondered over.
and somehow i do n't want to use big words any more.
it's almost a pity, is n't it, now that i'm really growing big enough to say them if i did want to.
it's fun to be almost grown up in some ways, but it's not the kind of fun i expected, marilla.
there's so much to learn and do and think that there is n't time for big words.
besides, miss stacy says the short ones are much stronger and better.
she makes us write all our essays as simply as possible.
it was hard at first.
i was so used to crowding in all the fine big words i could think of -- and i thought of any number of them.
but i've got used to it now and i see it's so much better."
""what has become of your story club?
i have n't heard you speak of it for a long time."
""the story club is n't in existence any longer.
we had n't time for it -- and anyhow i think we had got tired of it.
it was silly to be writing about love and murder and elopements and mysteries.
miss stacy sometimes has us write a story for training in composition, but she wo n't let us write anything but what might happen in avonlea in our own lives, and she criticizes it very sharply and makes us criticize our own too.
i never thought my compositions had so many faults until i began to look for them myself.
i felt so ashamed i wanted to give up altogether, but miss stacy said i could learn to write well if i only trained myself to be my own severest critic.
and so i am trying to."
""you've only two more months before the entrance," said marilla.
""do you think you'll be able to get through?"
anne shivered.
""i do n't know.
sometimes i think i'll be all right -- and then i get horribly afraid.
we've studied hard and miss stacy has drilled us thoroughly, but we may n't get through for all that.
we've each got a stumbling block.
mine is geometry of course, and jane's is latin, and ruby and charlie's is algebra, and josie's is arithmetic.
moody spurgeon says he feels it in his bones that he is going to fail in english history.
miss stacy is going to give us examinations in june just as hard as we'll have at the entrance and mark us just as strictly, so we'll have some idea.
i wish it was all over, marilla.
it haunts me.
sometimes i wake up in the night and wonder what i'll do if i do n't pass."
""why, go to school next year and try again," said marilla unconcernedly.
""oh, i do n't believe i'd have the heart for it.
it would be such a disgrace to fail, especially if gil -- if the others passed.
and i get so nervous in an examination that i'm likely to make a mess of it.
i wish i had nerves like jane andrews.
nothing rattles her."
anne sighed and, dragging her eyes from the witcheries of the spring world, the beckoning day of breeze and blue, and the green things upspringing in the garden, buried herself resolutely in her book.
there would be other springs, but if she did not succeed in passing the entrance, anne felt convinced that she would never recover sufficiently to enjoy them.
chapter xxxii.
the pass list is out with the end of june came the close of the term and the close of miss stacy's rule in avonlea school.
anne and diana walked home that evening feeling very sober indeed.
red eyes and damp handkerchiefs bore convincing testimony to the fact that miss stacy's farewell words must have been quite as touching as mr. phillips's had been under similar circumstances three years before.
diana looked back at the schoolhouse from the foot of the spruce hill and sighed deeply.
""it does seem as if it was the end of everything, does n't it?"
she said dismally.
""you ought n't to feel half as badly as i do," said anne, hunting vainly for a dry spot on her handkerchief.
""you'll be back again next winter, but i suppose i've left the dear old school forever -- if i have good luck, that is."
""it wo n't be a bit the same.
miss stacy wo n't be there, nor you nor jane nor ruby probably.
i shall have to sit all alone, for i could n't bear to have another deskmate after you.
oh, we have had jolly times, have n't we, anne?
it's dreadful to think they're all over."
two big tears rolled down by diana's nose.
""if you would stop crying i could," said anne imploringly.
""just as soon as i put away my hanky i see you brimming up and that starts me off again.
as mrs. lynde says, "if you ca n't be cheerful, be as cheerful as you can."
after all, i dare say i'll be back next year.
this is one of the times i know i'm not going to pass.
they're getting alarmingly frequent."
""why, you came out splendidly in the exams miss stacy gave."
""yes, but those exams did n't make me nervous.
when i think of the real thing you ca n't imagine what a horrid cold fluttery feeling comes round my heart.
and then my number is thirteen and josie pye says it's so unlucky.
i am not superstitious and i know it can make no difference.
but still i wish it was n't thirteen."
""i do wish i was going in with you," said diana.
""would n't we have a perfectly elegant time?
but i suppose you'll have to cram in the evenings."
""no; miss stacy has made us promise not to open a book at all.
she says it would only tire and confuse us and we are to go out walking and not think about the exams at all and go to bed early.
it's good advice, but i expect it will be hard to follow; good advice is apt to be, i think.
prissy andrews told me that she sat up half the night every night of her entrance week and crammed for dear life; and i had determined to sit up at least as long as she did.
it was so kind of your aunt josephine to ask me to stay at beechwood while i'm in town."
""you'll write to me while you're in, wo n't you?"
""i'll write tuesday night and tell you how the first day goes," promised anne.
""i'll be haunting the post office wednesday," vowed diana.
anne went to town the following monday and on wednesday diana haunted the post office, as agreed, and got her letter.
""dearest diana" -lsb- wrote anne -rsb-, "here it is tuesday night and i'm writing this in the library at beechwood.
last night i was horribly lonesome all alone in my room and wished so much you were with me.
i could n't "cram" because i'd promised miss stacy not to, but it was as hard to keep from opening my history as it used to be to keep from reading a story before my lessons were learned.
""this morning miss stacy came for me and we went to the academy, calling for jane and ruby and josie on our way.
ruby asked me to feel her hands and they were as cold as ice.
josie said i looked as if i had n't slept a wink and she did n't believe i was strong enough to stand the grind of the teacher's course even if i did get through.
there are times and seasons even yet when i do n't feel that i've made any great headway in learning to like josie pye!
""when we reached the academy there were scores of students there from all over the island.
the first person we saw was moody spurgeon sitting on the steps and muttering away to himself.
jane asked him what on earth he was doing and he said he was repeating the multiplication table over and over to steady his nerves and for pity's sake not to interrupt him, because if he stopped for a moment he got frightened and forgot everything he ever knew, but the multiplication table kept all his facts firmly in their proper place!
""when we were assigned to our rooms miss stacy had to leave us.
jane and i sat together and jane was so composed that i envied her.
no need of the multiplication table for good, steady, sensible jane!
i wondered if i looked as i felt and if they could hear my heart thumping clear across the room.
then a man came in and began distributing the english examination sheets.
my hands grew cold then and my head fairly whirled around as i picked it up.
just one awful moment -- diana, i felt exactly as i did four years ago when i asked marilla if i might stay at green gables -- and then everything cleared up in my mind and my heart began beating again -- i forgot to say that it had stopped altogether!
-- for i knew i could do something with that paper anyhow.
""at noon we went home for dinner and then back again for history in the afternoon.
the history was a pretty hard paper and i got dreadfully mixed up in the dates.
still, i think i did fairly well today.
but oh, diana, tomorrow the geometry exam comes off and when i think of it it takes every bit of determination i possess to keep from opening my euclid.
if i thought the multiplication table would help me any i would recite it from now till tomorrow morning.
""i went down to see the other girls this evening.
on my way i met moody spurgeon wandering distractedly around.
he said he knew he had failed in history and he was born to be a disappointment to his parents and he was going home on the morning train; and it would be easier to be a carpenter than a minister, anyhow.
i cheered him up and persuaded him to stay to the end because it would be unfair to miss stacy if he did n't.
sometimes i have wished i was born a boy, but when i see moody spurgeon i'm always glad i'm a girl and not his sister.
""ruby was in hysterics when i reached their boardinghouse; she had just discovered a fearful mistake she had made in her english paper.
when she recovered we went uptown and had an ice cream.
how we wished you had been with us.
""oh, diana, if only the geometry examination were over!
but there, as mrs. lynde would say, the sun will go on rising and setting whether i fail in geometry or not.
that is true but not especially comforting.
i think i'd rather it did n't go on if i failed!
""yours devotedly, "anne" the geometry examination and all the others were over in due time and anne arrived home on friday evening, rather tired but with an air of chastened triumph about her.
diana was over at green gables when she arrived and they met as if they had been parted for years.
""you old darling, it's perfectly splendid to see you back again.
it seems like an age since you went to town and oh, anne, how did you get along?"
""pretty well, i think, in everything but the geometry.
i do n't know whether i passed in it or not and i have a creepy, crawly presentiment that i did n't.
oh, how good it is to be back!
green gables is the dearest, loveliest spot in the world."
""how did the others do?"
""the girls say they know they did n't pass, but i think they did pretty well.
josie says the geometry was so easy a child of ten could do it!
moody spurgeon still thinks he failed in history and charlie says he failed in algebra.
but we do n't really know anything about it and wo n't until the pass list is out.
that wo n't be for a fortnight.
fancy living a fortnight in such suspense!
i wish i could go to sleep and never wake up until it is over."
diana knew it would be useless to ask how gilbert blythe had fared, so she merely said: "oh, you'll pass all right.
do n't worry."
""i'd rather not pass at all than not come out pretty well up on the list," flashed anne, by which she meant -- and diana knew she meant -- that success would be incomplete and bitter if she did not come out ahead of gilbert blythe.
with this end in view anne had strained every nerve during the examinations.
so had gilbert.
they had met and passed each other on the street a dozen times without any sign of recognition and every time anne had held her head a little higher and wished a little more earnestly that she had made friends with gilbert when he asked her, and vowed a little more determinedly to surpass him in the examination.
she knew that all avonlea junior was wondering which would come out first; she even knew that jimmy glover and ned wright had a bet on the question and that josie pye had said there was no doubt in the world that gilbert would be first; and she felt that her humiliation would be unbearable if she failed.
but she had another and nobler motive for wishing to do well.
she wanted to "pass high" for the sake of matthew and marilla -- especially matthew.
matthew had declared to her his conviction that she "would beat the whole island."
that, anne felt, was something it would be foolish to hope for even in the wildest dreams.
but she did hope fervently that she would be among the first ten at least, so that she might see matthew's kindly brown eyes gleam with pride in her achievement.
that, she felt, would be a sweet reward indeed for all her hard work and patient grubbing among unimaginative equations and conjugations.
at the end of the fortnight anne took to "haunting" the post office also, in the distracted company of jane, ruby, and josie, opening the charlottetown dailies with shaking hands and cold, sinkaway feelings as bad as any experienced during the entrance week.
charlie and gilbert were not above doing this too, but moody spurgeon stayed resolutely away.
""i have n't got the grit to go there and look at a paper in cold blood," he told anne.
""i'm just going to wait until somebody comes and tells me suddenly whether i've passed or not."
when three weeks had gone by without the pass list appearing anne began to feel that she really could n't stand the strain much longer.
her appetite failed and her interest in avonlea doings languished.
mrs. lynde wanted to know what else you could expect with a tory superintendent of education at the head of affairs, and matthew, noting anne's paleness and indifference and the lagging steps that bore her home from the post office every afternoon, began seriously to wonder if he had n't better vote grit at the next election.
but one evening the news came.
anne was sitting at her open window, for the time forgetful of the woes of examinations and the cares of the world, as she drank in the beauty of the summer dusk, sweet-scented with flower breaths from the garden below and sibilant and rustling from the stir of poplars.
the eastern sky above the firs was flushed faintly pink from the reflection of the west, and anne was wondering dreamily if the spirit of color looked like that, when she saw diana come flying down through the firs, over the log bridge, and up the slope, with a fluttering newspaper in her hand.
anne sprang to her feet, knowing at once what that paper contained.
the pass list was out!
her head whirled and her heart beat until it hurt her.
she could not move a step.
it seemed an hour to her before diana came rushing along the hall and burst into the room without even knocking, so great was her excitement.
""anne, you've passed," she cried, "passed the very first -- you and gilbert both -- you're ties -- but your name is first.
oh, i'm so proud!"
diana flung the paper on the table and herself on anne's bed, utterly breathless and incapable of further speech.
anne lighted the lamp, oversetting the match safe and using up half a dozen matches before her shaking hands could accomplish the task.
then she snatched up the paper.
yes, she had passed -- there was her name at the very top of a list of two hundred!
that moment was worth living for.
""you did just splendidly, anne," puffed diana, recovering sufficiently to sit up and speak, for anne, starry eyed and rapt, had not uttered a word.
""father brought the paper home from bright river not ten minutes ago -- it came out on the afternoon train, you know, and wo n't be here till tomorrow by mail -- and when i saw the pass list i just rushed over like a wild thing.
you've all passed, every one of you, moody spurgeon and all, although he's conditioned in history.
jane and ruby did pretty well -- they're halfway up -- and so did charlie.
josie just scraped through with three marks to spare, but you'll see she'll put on as many airs as if she'd led.
wo n't miss stacy be delighted?
oh, anne, what does it feel like to see your name at the head of a pass list like that?
if it were me i know i'd go crazy with joy.
i am pretty near crazy as it is, but you're as calm and cool as a spring evening."
""i'm just dazzled inside," said anne.
""i want to say a hundred things, and i ca n't find words to say them in.
i never dreamed of this -- yes, i did too, just once!
i let myself think once, "what if i should come out first?"
quakingly, you know, for it seemed so vain and presumptuous to think i could lead the island.
excuse me a minute, diana.
i must run right out to the field to tell matthew.
then we'll go up the road and tell the good news to the others."
they hurried to the hayfield below the barn where matthew was coiling hay, and, as luck would have it, mrs. lynde was talking to marilla at the lane fence.
""oh, matthew," exclaimed anne, "i've passed and i'm first -- or one of the first!
i'm not vain, but i'm thankful."
""well now, i always said it," said matthew, gazing at the pass list delightedly.
""i knew you could beat them all easy."
""you've done pretty well, i must say, anne," said marilla, trying to hide her extreme pride in anne from mrs. rachel's critical eye.
but that good soul said heartily: "i just guess she has done well, and far be it from me to be backward in saying it.
you're a credit to your friends, anne, that's what, and we're all proud of you."
that night anne, who had wound up the delightful evening with a serious little talk with mrs. allan at the manse, knelt sweetly by her open window in a great sheen of moonshine and murmured a prayer of gratitude and aspiration that came straight from her heart.
there was in it thankfulness for the past and reverent petition for the future; and when she slept on her white pillow her dreams were as fair and bright and beautiful as maidenhood might desire.
chapter xxxiii.
the hotel concert "put on your white organdy, by all means, anne," advised diana decidedly.
they were together in the east gable chamber; outside it was only twilight -- a lovely yellowish-green twilight with a clear-blue cloudless sky.
a big round moon, slowly deepening from her pallid luster into burnished silver, hung over the haunted wood; the air was full of sweet summer sounds -- sleepy birds twittering, freakish breezes, faraway voices and laughter.
but in anne's room the blind was drawn and the lamp lighted, for an important toilet was being made.
the east gable was a very different place from what it had been on that night four years before, when anne had felt its bareness penetrate to the marrow of her spirit with its inhospitable chill.
changes had crept in, marilla conniving at them resignedly, until it was as sweet and dainty a nest as a young girl could desire.
the velvet carpet with the pink roses and the pink silk curtains of anne's early visions had certainly never materialized; but her dreams had kept pace with her growth, and it is not probable she lamented them.
the floor was covered with a pretty matting, and the curtains that softened the high window and fluttered in the vagrant breezes were of pale-green art muslin.
the walls, hung not with gold and silver brocade tapestry, but with a dainty apple-blossom paper, were adorned with a few good pictures given anne by mrs. allan.
miss stacy's photograph occupied the place of honor, and anne made a sentimental point of keeping fresh flowers on the bracket under it.
tonight a spike of white lilies faintly perfumed the room like the dream of a fragrance.
there was no "mahogany furniture," but there was a white-painted bookcase filled with books, a cushioned wicker rocker, a toilet table befrilled with white muslin, a quaint, gilt-framed mirror with chubby pink cupids and purple grapes painted over its arched top, that used to hang in the spare room, and a low white bed.
anne was dressing for a concert at the white sands hotel.
the guests had got it up in aid of the charlottetown hospital, and had hunted out all the available amateur talent in the surrounding districts to help it along.
bertha sampson and pearl clay of the white sands baptist choir had been asked to sing a duet; milton clark of newbridge was to give a violin solo; winnie adella blair of carmody was to sing a scotch ballad; and laura spencer of spencervale and anne shirley of avonlea were to recite.
as anne would have said at one time, it was "an epoch in her life," and she was deliciously athrill with the excitement of it.
matthew was in the seventh heaven of gratified pride over the honor conferred on his anne and marilla was not far behind, although she would have died rather than admit it, and said she did n't think it was very proper for a lot of young folks to be gadding over to the hotel without any responsible person with them.
anne and diana were to drive over with jane andrews and her brother billy in their double-seated buggy; and several other avonlea girls and boys were going too.
there was a party of visitors expected out from town, and after the concert a supper was to be given to the performers.
""do you really think the organdy will be best?"
queried anne anxiously.
""i do n't think it's as pretty as my blue-flowered muslin -- and it certainly is n't so fashionable."
""but it suits you ever so much better," said diana.
""it's so soft and frilly and clinging.
the muslin is stiff, and makes you look too dressed up.
but the organdy seems as if it grew on you."
anne sighed and yielded.
diana was beginning to have a reputation for notable taste in dressing, and her advice on such subjects was much sought after.
she was looking very pretty herself on this particular night in a dress of the lovely wild-rose pink, from which anne was forever debarred; but she was not to take any part in the concert, so her appearance was of minor importance.
all her pains were bestowed upon anne, who, she vowed, must, for the credit of avonlea, be dressed and combed and adorned to the queen's taste.
""pull out that frill a little more -- so; here, let me tie your sash; now for your slippers.
i'm going to braid your hair in two thick braids, and tie them halfway up with big white bows -- no, do n't pull out a single curl over your forehead -- just have the soft part.
there is no way you do your hair suits you so well, anne, and mrs. allan says you look like a madonna when you part it so.
i shall fasten this little white house rose just behind your ear.
there was just one on my bush, and i saved it for you."
""shall i put my pearl beads on?"
asked anne.
""matthew brought me a string from town last week, and i know he'd like to see them on me."
diana pursed up her lips, put her black head on one side critically, and finally pronounced in favor of the beads, which were thereupon tied around anne's slim milk-white throat.
""there's something so stylish about you, anne," said diana, with unenvious admiration.
""you hold your head with such an air.
i suppose it's your figure.
i am just a dumpling.
i've always been afraid of it, and now i know it is so.
well, i suppose i shall just have to resign myself to it."
""but you have such dimples," said anne, smiling affectionately into the pretty, vivacious face so near her own.
""lovely dimples, like little dents in cream.
i have given up all hope of dimples.
my dimple-dream will never come true; but so many of my dreams have that i must n't complain.
am i all ready now?"
""all ready," assured diana, as marilla appeared in the doorway, a gaunt figure with grayer hair than of yore and no fewer angles, but with a much softer face.
""come right in and look at our elocutionist, marilla.
does n't she look lovely?"
marilla emitted a sound between a sniff and a grunt.
""she looks neat and proper.
i like that way of fixing her hair.
but i expect she'll ruin that dress driving over there in the dust and dew with it, and it looks most too thin for these damp nights.
organdy's the most unserviceable stuff in the world anyhow, and i told matthew so when he got it.
but there is no use in saying anything to matthew nowadays.
time was when he would take my advice, but now he just buys things for anne regardless, and the clerks at carmody know they can palm anything off on him.
just let them tell him a thing is pretty and fashionable, and matthew plunks his money down for it.
mind you keep your skirt clear of the wheel, anne, and put your warm jacket on."
then marilla stalked downstairs, thinking proudly how sweet anne looked, with that "one moonbeam from the forehead to the crown" and regretting that she could not go to the concert herself to hear her girl recite.
""i wonder if it is too damp for my dress," said anne anxiously.
""not a bit of it," said diana, pulling up the window blind.
""it's a perfect night, and there wo n't be any dew.
look at the moonlight."
""i'm so glad my window looks east into the sunrising," said anne, going over to diana.
""it's so splendid to see the morning coming up over those long hills and glowing through those sharp fir tops.
it's new every morning, and i feel as if i washed my very soul in that bath of earliest sunshine.
oh, diana, i love this little room so dearly.
i do n't know how i'll get along without it when i go to town next month."
""do n't speak of your going away tonight," begged diana.
""i do n't want to think of it, it makes me so miserable, and i do want to have a good time this evening.
what are you going to recite, anne?
and are you nervous?"
""not a bit.
i've recited so often in public i do n't mind at all now.
i've decided to give "the maiden's vow."
it's so pathetic.
laura spencer is going to give a comic recitation, but i'd rather make people cry than laugh."
""what will you recite if they encore you?"
""they wo n't dream of encoring me," scoffed anne, who was not without her own secret hopes that they would, and already visioned herself telling matthew all about it at the next morning's breakfast table.
""there are billy and jane now -- i hear the wheels.
come on."
billy andrews insisted that anne should ride on the front seat with him, so she unwillingly climbed up.
she would have much preferred to sit back with the girls, where she could have laughed and chattered to her heart's content.
there was not much of either laughter or chatter in billy.
he was a big, fat, stolid youth of twenty, with a round, expressionless face, and a painful lack of conversational gifts.
but he admired anne immensely, and was puffed up with pride over the prospect of driving to white sands with that slim, upright figure beside him.
anne, by dint of talking over her shoulder to the girls and occasionally passing a sop of civility to billy -- who grinned and chuckled and never could think of any reply until it was too late -- contrived to enjoy the drive in spite of all.
it was a night for enjoyment.
the road was full of buggies, all bound for the hotel, and laughter, silver clear, echoed and reechoed along it.
when they reached the hotel it was a blaze of light from top to bottom.
they were met by the ladies of the concert committee, one of whom took anne off to the performers" dressing room which was filled with the members of a charlottetown symphony club, among whom anne felt suddenly shy and frightened and countrified.
her dress, which, in the east gable, had seemed so dainty and pretty, now seemed simple and plain -- too simple and plain, she thought, among all the silks and laces that glistened and rustled around her.
what were her pearl beads compared to the diamonds of the big, handsome lady near her?
and how poor her one wee white rose must look beside all the hothouse flowers the others wore!
anne laid her hat and jacket away, and shrank miserably into a corner.
she wished herself back in the white room at green gables.
it was still worse on the platform of the big concert hall of the hotel, where she presently found herself.
the electric lights dazzled her eyes, the perfume and hum bewildered her.
she wished she were sitting down in the audience with diana and jane, who seemed to be having a splendid time away at the back.
she was wedged in between a stout lady in pink silk and a tall, scornful-looking girl in a white-lace dress.
the stout lady occasionally turned her head squarely around and surveyed anne through her eyeglasses until anne, acutely sensitive of being so scrutinized, felt that she must scream aloud; and the white-lace girl kept talking audibly to her next neighbor about the "country bumpkins" and "rustic belles" in the audience, languidly anticipating "such fun" from the displays of local talent on the program.
anne believed that she would hate that white-lace girl to the end of life.
unfortunately for anne, a professional elocutionist was staying at the hotel and had consented to recite.
she was a lithe, dark-eyed woman in a wonderful gown of shimmering gray stuff like woven moonbeams, with gems on her neck and in her dark hair.
she had a marvelously flexible voice and wonderful power of expression; the audience went wild over her selection.
anne, forgetting all about herself and her troubles for the time, listened with rapt and shining eyes; but when the recitation ended she suddenly put her hands over her face.
she could never get up and recite after that -- never.
had she ever thought she could recite?
oh, if she were only back at green gables!
at this unpropitious moment her name was called.
somehow anne -- who did not notice the rather guilty little start of surprise the white-lace girl gave, and would not have understood the subtle compliment implied therein if she had -- got on her feet, and moved dizzily out to the front.
she was so pale that diana and jane, down in the audience, clasped each other's hands in nervous sympathy.
anne was the victim of an overwhelming attack of stage fright.
often as she had recited in public, she had never before faced such an audience as this, and the sight of it paralyzed her energies completely.
everything was so strange, so brilliant, so bewildering -- the rows of ladies in evening dress, the critical faces, the whole atmosphere of wealth and culture about her.
very different this from the plain benches at the debating club, filled with the homely, sympathetic faces of friends and neighbors.
these people, she thought, would be merciless critics.
perhaps, like the white-lace girl, they anticipated amusement from her "rustic" efforts.
she felt hopelessly, helplessly ashamed and miserable.
her knees trembled, her heart fluttered, a horrible faintness came over her; not a word could she utter, and the next moment she would have fled from the platform despite the humiliation which, she felt, must ever after be her portion if she did so.
but suddenly, as her dilated, frightened eyes gazed out over the audience, she saw gilbert blythe away at the back of the room, bending forward with a smile on his face -- a smile which seemed to anne at once triumphant and taunting.
in reality it was nothing of the kind.
gilbert was merely smiling with appreciation of the whole affair in general and of the effect produced by anne's slender white form and spiritual face against a background of palms in particular.
josie pye, whom he had driven over, sat beside him, and her face certainly was both triumphant and taunting.
but anne did not see josie, and would not have cared if she had.
she drew a long breath and flung her head up proudly, courage and determination tingling over her like an electric shock.
she would not fail before gilbert blythe -- he should never be able to laugh at her, never, never!
her fright and nervousness vanished; and she began her recitation, her clear, sweet voice reaching to the farthest corner of the room without a tremor or a break.
self-possession was fully restored to her, and in the reaction from that horrible moment of powerlessness she recited as she had never done before.
when she finished there were bursts of honest applause.
anne, stepping back to her seat, blushing with shyness and delight, found her hand vigorously clasped and shaken by the stout lady in pink silk.
""my dear, you did splendidly," she puffed.
""i've been crying like a baby, actually i have.
there, they're encoring you -- they're bound to have you back!"
""oh, i ca n't go," said anne confusedly.
""but yet -- i must, or matthew will be disappointed.
he said they would encore me."
""then do n't disappoint matthew," said the pink lady, laughing.
smiling, blushing, limpid eyed, anne tripped back and gave a quaint, funny little selection that captivated her audience still further.
the rest of the evening was quite a little triumph for her.
when the concert was over, the stout, pink lady -- who was the wife of an american millionaire -- took her under her wing, and introduced her to everybody; and everybody was very nice to her.
the professional elocutionist, mrs. evans, came and chatted with her, telling her that she had a charming voice and "interpreted" her selections beautifully.
even the white-lace girl paid her a languid little compliment.
they had supper in the big, beautifully decorated dining room; diana and jane were invited to partake of this, also, since they had come with anne, but billy was nowhere to be found, having decamped in mortal fear of some such invitation.
he was in waiting for them, with the team, however, when it was all over, and the three girls came merrily out into the calm, white moonshine radiance.
anne breathed deeply, and looked into the clear sky beyond the dark boughs of the firs.
oh, it was good to be out again in the purity and silence of the night!
how great and still and wonderful everything was, with the murmur of the sea sounding through it and the darkling cliffs beyond like grim giants guarding enchanted coasts.
""has n't it been a perfectly splendid time?"
sighed jane, as they drove away.
""i just wish i was a rich american and could spend my summer at a hotel and wear jewels and low-necked dresses and have ice cream and chicken salad every blessed day.
i'm sure it would be ever so much more fun than teaching school.
anne, your recitation was simply great, although i thought at first you were never going to begin.
i think it was better than mrs. evans's."
""oh, no, do n't say things like that, jane," said anne quickly, "because it sounds silly.
it could n't be better than mrs. evans's, you know, for she is a professional, and i'm only a schoolgirl, with a little knack of reciting.
i'm quite satisfied if the people just liked mine pretty well."
""i've a compliment for you, anne," said diana.
""at least i think it must be a compliment because of the tone he said it in.
part of it was anyhow.
there was an american sitting behind jane and me -- such a romantic-looking man, with coal-black hair and eyes.
josie pye says he is a distinguished artist, and that her mother's cousin in boston is married to a man that used to go to school with him.
well, we heard him say -- did n't we, jane?
-- "who is that girl on the platform with the splendid titian hair?
she has a face i should like to paint."
there now, anne.
but what does titian hair mean?"
""being interpreted it means plain red, i guess," laughed anne.
""titian was a very famous artist who liked to paint red-haired women."
""did you see all the diamonds those ladies wore?"
sighed jane.
""they were simply dazzling.
would n't you just love to be rich, girls?"
""we are rich," said anne staunchly.
""why, we have sixteen years to our credit, and we're happy as queens, and we've all got imaginations, more or less.
look at that sea, girls -- all silver and shadow and vision of things not seen.
we could n't enjoy its loveliness any more if we had millions of dollars and ropes of diamonds.
you would n't change into any of those women if you could.
would you want to be that white-lace girl and wear a sour look all your life, as if you'd been born turning up your nose at the world?
or the pink lady, kind and nice as she is, so stout and short that you'd really no figure at all?
or even mrs. evans, with that sad, sad look in her eyes?
she must have been dreadfully unhappy sometime to have such a look.
you know you would n't, jane andrews!"
""i do n't know -- exactly," said jane unconvinced.
""i think diamonds would comfort a person for a good deal."
""well, i do n't want to be anyone but myself, even if i go uncomforted by diamonds all my life," declared anne.
""i'm quite content to be anne of green gables, with my string of pearl beads.
i know matthew gave me as much love with them as ever went with madame the pink lady's jewels."
chapter xxxiv.
a queen's girl the next three weeks were busy ones at green gables, for anne was getting ready to go to queen's, and there was much sewing to be done, and many things to be talked over and arranged.
anne's outfit was ample and pretty, for matthew saw to that, and marilla for once made no objections whatever to anything he purchased or suggested.
more -- one evening she went up to the east gable with her arms full of a delicate pale green material.
""anne, here's something for a nice light dress for you.
i do n't suppose you really need it; you've plenty of pretty waists; but i thought maybe you'd like something real dressy to wear if you were asked out anywhere of an evening in town, to a party or anything like that.
i hear that jane and ruby and josie have got "evening dresses," as they call them, and i do n't mean you shall be behind them.
i got mrs. allan to help me pick it in town last week, and we'll get emily gillis to make it for you.
emily has got taste, and her fits are n't to be equaled."
""oh, marilla, it's just lovely," said anne.
""thank you so much.
i do n't believe you ought to be so kind to me -- it's making it harder every day for me to go away."
the green dress was made up with as many tucks and frills and shirrings as emily's taste permitted.
anne put it on one evening for matthew's and marilla's benefit, and recited "the maiden's vow" for them in the kitchen.
as marilla watched the bright, animated face and graceful motions her thoughts went back to the evening anne had arrived at green gables, and memory recalled a vivid picture of the odd, frightened child in her preposterous yellowish-brown wincey dress, the heartbreak looking out of her tearful eyes.
something in the memory brought tears to marilla's own eyes.
""i declare, my recitation has made you cry, marilla," said anne gaily stooping over marilla's chair to drop a butterfly kiss on that lady's cheek.
""now, i call that a positive triumph."
""no, i was n't crying over your piece," said marilla, who would have scorned to be betrayed into such weakness by any poetry stuff.
""i just could n't help thinking of the little girl you used to be, anne.
and i was wishing you could have stayed a little girl, even with all your queer ways.
you've grown up now and you're going away; and you look so tall and stylish and so -- so -- different altogether in that dress -- as if you did n't belong in avonlea at all -- and i just got lonesome thinking it all over."
""marilla!"
anne sat down on marilla's gingham lap, took marilla's lined face between her hands, and looked gravely and tenderly into marilla's eyes.
""i'm not a bit changed -- not really.
i'm only just pruned down and branched out.
the real me -- back here -- is just the same.
it wo n't make a bit of difference where i go or how much i change outwardly; at heart i shall always be your little anne, who will love you and matthew and dear green gables more and better every day of her life."
anne laid her fresh young cheek against marilla's faded one, and reached out a hand to pat matthew's shoulder.
marilla would have given much just then to have possessed anne's power of putting her feelings into words; but nature and habit had willed it otherwise, and she could only put her arms close about her girl and hold her tenderly to her heart, wishing that she need never let her go.
matthew, with a suspicious moisture in his eyes, got up and went out-of-doors.
under the stars of the blue summer night he walked agitatedly across the yard to the gate under the poplars.
""well now, i guess she ai n't been much spoiled," he muttered, proudly.
""i guess my putting in my oar occasional never did much harm after all.
she's smart and pretty, and loving, too, which is better than all the rest.
she's been a blessing to us, and there never was a luckier mistake than what mrs. spencer made -- if it was luck.
i do n't believe it was any such thing.
it was providence, because the almighty saw we needed her, i reckon."
the day finally came when anne must go to town.
she and matthew drove in one fine september morning, after a tearful parting with diana and an untearful practical one -- on marilla's side at least -- with marilla.
but when anne had gone diana dried her tears and went to a beach picnic at white sands with some of her carmody cousins, where she contrived to enjoy herself tolerably well; while marilla plunged fiercely into unnecessary work and kept at it all day long with the bitterest kind of heartache -- the ache that burns and gnaws and can not wash itself away in ready tears.
but that night, when marilla went to bed, acutely and miserably conscious that the little gable room at the end of the hall was untenanted by any vivid young life and unstirred by any soft breathing, she buried her face in her pillow, and wept for her girl in a passion of sobs that appalled her when she grew calm enough to reflect how very wicked it must be to take on so about a sinful fellow creature.
anne and the rest of the avonlea scholars reached town just in time to hurry off to the academy.
that first day passed pleasantly enough in a whirl of excitement, meeting all the new students, learning to know the professors by sight and being assorted and organized into classes.
anne intended taking up the second year work being advised to do so by miss stacy; gilbert blythe elected to do the same.
this meant getting a first class teacher's license in one year instead of two, if they were successful; but it also meant much more and harder work.
jane, ruby, josie, charlie, and moody spurgeon, not being troubled with the stirrings of ambition, were content to take up the second class work.
anne was conscious of a pang of loneliness when she found herself in a room with fifty other students, not one of whom she knew, except the tall, brown-haired boy across the room; and knowing him in the fashion she did, did not help her much, as she reflected pessimistically.
yet she was undeniably glad that they were in the same class; the old rivalry could still be carried on, and anne would hardly have known what to do if it had been lacking.
""i would n't feel comfortable without it," she thought.
""gilbert looks awfully determined.
i suppose he's making up his mind, here and now, to win the medal.
what a splendid chin he has!
i never noticed it before.
i do wish jane and ruby had gone in for first class, too.
i suppose i wo n't feel so much like a cat in a strange garret when i get acquainted, though.
i wonder which of the girls here are going to be my friends.
it's really an interesting speculation.
of course i promised diana that no queen's girl, no matter how much i liked her, should ever be as dear to me as she is; but i've lots of second-best affections to bestow.
i like the look of that girl with the brown eyes and the crimson waist.
she looks vivid and red-rosy; there's that pale, fair one gazing out of the window.
she has lovely hair, and looks as if she knew a thing or two about dreams.
i'd like to know them both -- know them well -- well enough to walk with my arm about their waists, and call them nicknames.
but just now i do n't know them and they do n't know me, and probably do n't want to know me particularly.
oh, it's lonesome!"
it was lonesomer still when anne found herself alone in her hall bedroom that night at twilight.
she was not to board with the other girls, who all had relatives in town to take pity on them.
miss josephine barry would have liked to board her, but beechwood was so far from the academy that it was out of the question; so miss barry hunted up a boarding-house, assuring matthew and marilla that it was the very place for anne.
""the lady who keeps it is a reduced gentlewoman," explained miss barry.
""her husband was a british officer, and she is very careful what sort of boarders she takes.
anne will not meet with any objectionable persons under her roof.
the table is good, and the house is near the academy, in a quiet neighborhood."
all this might be quite true, and indeed, proved to be so, but it did not materially help anne in the first agony of homesickness that seized upon her.
she looked dismally about her narrow little room, with its dull-papered, pictureless walls, its small iron bedstead and empty book-case; and a horrible choke came into her throat as she thought of her own white room at green gables, where she would have the pleasant consciousness of a great green still outdoors, of sweet peas growing in the garden, and moonlight falling on the orchard, of the brook below the slope and the spruce boughs tossing in the night wind beyond it, of a vast starry sky, and the light from diana's window shining out through the gap in the trees.
here there was nothing of this; anne knew that outside of her window was a hard street, with a network of telephone wires shutting out the sky, the tramp of alien feet, and a thousand lights gleaming on stranger faces.
she knew that she was going to cry, and fought against it.
""i wo n't cry.
it's silly -- and weak -- there's the third tear splashing down by my nose.
there are more coming!
i must think of something funny to stop them.
but there's nothing funny except what is connected with avonlea, and that only makes things worse -- four -- five -- i'm going home next friday, but that seems a hundred years away.
oh, matthew is nearly home by now -- and marilla is at the gate, looking down the lane for him -- six -- seven -- eight -- oh, there's no use in counting them!
they're coming in a flood presently.
i ca n't cheer up -- i do n't want to cheer up.
it's nicer to be miserable!"
the flood of tears would have come, no doubt, had not josie pye appeared at that moment.
in the joy of seeing a familiar face anne forgot that there had never been much love lost between her and josie.
as a part of avonlea life even a pye was welcome.
""i'm so glad you came up," anne said sincerely.
""you've been crying," remarked josie, with aggravating pity.
""i suppose you're homesick -- some people have so little self-control in that respect.
i've no intention of being homesick, i can tell you.
town's too jolly after that poky old avonlea.
i wonder how i ever existed there so long.
you should n't cry, anne; it is n't becoming, for your nose and eyes get red, and then you seem all red.
i'd a perfectly scrumptious time in the academy today.
our french professor is simply a duck.
his moustache would give you kerwollowps of the heart.
have you anything eatable around, anne?
i'm literally starving.
ah, i guessed likely marilla'd load you up with cake.
that's why i called round.
otherwise i'd have gone to the park to hear the band play with frank stockley.
he boards same place as i do, and he's a sport.
he noticed you in class today, and asked me who the red-headed girl was.
i told him you were an orphan that the cuthberts had adopted, and nobody knew very much about what you'd been before that."
anne was wondering if, after all, solitude and tears were not more satisfactory than josie pye's companionship when jane and ruby appeared, each with an inch of queen's color ribbon -- purple and scarlet -- pinned proudly to her coat.
as josie was not "speaking" to jane just then she had to subside into comparative harmlessness.
""well," said jane with a sigh, "i feel as if i'd lived many moons since the morning.
i ought to be home studying my virgil -- that horrid old professor gave us twenty lines to start in on tomorrow.
but i simply could n't settle down to study tonight.
anne, methinks i see the traces of tears.
if you've been crying do own up.
it will restore my self-respect, for i was shedding tears freely before ruby came along.
i do n't mind being a goose so much if somebody else is goosey, too.
cake?
you'll give me a teeny piece, wo n't you?
thank you.
it has the real avonlea flavor."
ruby, perceiving the queen's calendar lying on the table, wanted to know if anne meant to try for the gold medal.
anne blushed and admitted she was thinking of it.
""oh, that reminds me," said josie, "queen's is to get one of the avery scholarships after all.
the word came today.
frank stockley told me -- his uncle is one of the board of governors, you know.
it will be announced in the academy tomorrow."
an avery scholarship!
anne felt her heart beat more quickly, and the horizons of her ambition shifted and broadened as if by magic.
before josie had told the news anne's highest pinnacle of aspiration had been a teacher's provincial license, first class, at the end of the year, and perhaps the medal!
but now in one moment anne saw herself winning the avery scholarship, taking an arts course at redmond college, and graduating in a gown and mortar board, before the echo of josie's words had died away.
for the avery scholarship was in english, and anne felt that here her foot was on native heath.
a wealthy manufacturer of new brunswick had died and left part of his fortune to endow a large number of scholarships to be distributed among the various high schools and academies of the maritime provinces, according to their respective standings.
there had been much doubt whether one would be allotted to queen's, but the matter was settled at last, and at the end of the year the graduate who made the highest mark in english and english literature would win the scholarship -- two hundred and fifty dollars a year for four years at redmond college.
no wonder that anne went to bed that night with tingling cheeks!
""i'll win that scholarship if hard work can do it," she resolved.
""would n't matthew be proud if i got to be a b.a.?
oh, it's delightful to have ambitions.
i'm so glad i have such a lot.
and there never seems to be any end to them -- that's the best of it.
just as soon as you attain to one ambition you see another one glittering higher up still.
it does make life so interesting."
chapter xxxv.
the winter at queen's anne's homesickness wore off, greatly helped in the wearing by her weekend visits home.
as long as the open weather lasted the avonlea students went out to carmody on the new branch railway every friday night.
diana and several other avonlea young folks were generally on hand to meet them and they all walked over to avonlea in a merry party.
anne thought those friday evening gypsyings over the autumnal hills in the crisp golden air, with the homelights of avonlea twinkling beyond, were the best and dearest hours in the whole week.
gilbert blythe nearly always walked with ruby gillis and carried her satchel for her.
ruby was a very handsome young lady, now thinking herself quite as grown up as she really was; she wore her skirts as long as her mother would let her and did her hair up in town, though she had to take it down when she went home.
she had large, bright-blue eyes, a brilliant complexion, and a plump showy figure.
she laughed a great deal, was cheerful and good-tempered, and enjoyed the pleasant things of life frankly.
""but i should n't think she was the sort of girl gilbert would like," whispered jane to anne.
anne did not think so either, but she would not have said so for the avery scholarship.
she could not help thinking, too, that it would be very pleasant to have such a friend as gilbert to jest and chatter with and exchange ideas about books and studies and ambitions.
gilbert had ambitions, she knew, and ruby gillis did not seem the sort of person with whom such could be profitably discussed.
there was no silly sentiment in anne's ideas concerning gilbert.
boys were to her, when she thought about them at all, merely possible good comrades.
if she and gilbert had been friends she would not have cared how many other friends he had nor with whom he walked.
she had a genius for friendship; girl friends she had in plenty; but she had a vague consciousness that masculine friendship might also be a good thing to round out one's conceptions of companionship and furnish broader standpoints of judgment and comparison.
not that anne could have put her feelings on the matter into just such clear definition.
but she thought that if gilbert had ever walked home with her from the train, over the crisp fields and along the ferny byways, they might have had many and merry and interesting conversations about the new world that was opening around them and their hopes and ambitions therein.
gilbert was a clever young fellow, with his own thoughts about things and a determination to get the best out of life and put the best into it.
ruby gillis told jane andrews that she did n't understand half the things gilbert blythe said; he talked just like anne shirley did when she had a thoughtful fit on and for her part she did n't think it any fun to be bothering about books and that sort of thing when you did n't have to.
frank stockley had lots more dash and go, but then he was n't half as good-looking as gilbert and she really could n't decide which she liked best!
in the academy anne gradually drew a little circle of friends about her, thoughtful, imaginative, ambitious students like herself.
with the "rose-red" girl, stella maynard, and the "dream girl," priscilla grant, she soon became intimate, finding the latter pale spiritual-looking maiden to be full to the brim of mischief and pranks and fun, while the vivid, black-eyed stella had a heartful of wistful dreams and fancies, as aerial and rainbow-like as anne's own.
after the christmas holidays the avonlea students gave up going home on fridays and settled down to hard work.
by this time all the queen's scholars had gravitated into their own places in the ranks and the various classes had assumed distinct and settled shadings of individuality.
certain facts had become generally accepted.
it was admitted that the medal contestants had practically narrowed down to three -- gilbert blythe, anne shirley, and lewis wilson; the avery scholarship was more doubtful, any one of a certain six being a possible winner.
the bronze medal for mathematics was considered as good as won by a fat, funny little up-country boy with a bumpy forehead and a patched coat.
ruby gillis was the handsomest girl of the year at the academy; in the second year classes stella maynard carried off the palm for beauty, with small but critical minority in favor of anne shirley.
ethel marr was admitted by all competent judges to have the most stylish modes of hair-dressing, and jane andrews -- plain, plodding, conscientious jane -- carried off the honors in the domestic science course.
even josie pye attained a certain preeminence as the sharpest-tongued young lady in attendance at queen's.
so it may be fairly stated that miss stacy's old pupils held their own in the wider arena of the academical course.
anne worked hard and steadily.
her rivalry with gilbert was as intense as it had ever been in avonlea school, although it was not known in the class at large, but somehow the bitterness had gone out of it.
anne no longer wished to win for the sake of defeating gilbert; rather, for the proud consciousness of a well-won victory over a worthy foeman.
it would be worth while to win, but she no longer thought life would be insupportable if she did not.
in spite of lessons the students found opportunities for pleasant times.
anne spent many of her spare hours at beechwood and generally ate her sunday dinners there and went to church with miss barry.
the latter was, as she admitted, growing old, but her black eyes were not dim nor the vigor of her tongue in the least abated.
but she never sharpened the latter on anne, who continued to be a prime favorite with the critical old lady.
""that anne-girl improves all the time," she said.
""i get tired of other girls -- there is such a provoking and eternal sameness about them.
anne has as many shades as a rainbow and every shade is the prettiest while it lasts.
i do n't know that she is as amusing as she was when she was a child, but she makes me love her and i like people who make me love them.
it saves me so much trouble in making myself love them."
then, almost before anybody realized it, spring had come; out in avonlea the mayflowers were peeping pinkly out on the sere barrens where snow-wreaths lingered; and the "mist of green" was on the woods and in the valleys.
but in charlottetown harassed queen's students thought and talked only of examinations.
""it does n't seem possible that the term is nearly over," said anne.
""why, last fall it seemed so long to look forward to -- a whole winter of studies and classes.
and here we are, with the exams looming up next week.
girls, sometimes i feel as if those exams meant everything, but when i look at the big buds swelling on those chestnut trees and the misty blue air at the end of the streets they do n't seem half so important."
jane and ruby and josie, who had dropped in, did not take this view of it.
to them the coming examinations were constantly very important indeed -- far more important than chestnut buds or maytime hazes.
it was all very well for anne, who was sure of passing at least, to have her moments of belittling them, but when your whole future depended on them -- as the girls truly thought theirs did -- you could not regard them philosophically.
""i've lost seven pounds in the last two weeks," sighed jane.
""it's no use to say do n't worry.
i will worry.
worrying helps you some -- it seems as if you were doing something when you're worrying.
it would be dreadful if i failed to get my license after going to queen's all winter and spending so much money.""
i do n't care," said josie pye.
""if i do n't pass this year i'm coming back next.
my father can afford to send me.
anne, frank stockley says that professor tremaine said gilbert blythe was sure to get the medal and that emily clay would likely win the avery scholarship."
""that may make me feel badly tomorrow, josie," laughed anne, "but just now i honestly feel that as long as i know the violets are coming out all purple down in the hollow below green gables and that little ferns are poking their heads up in lovers" lane, it's not a great deal of difference whether i win the avery or not.
i've done my best and i begin to understand what is meant by the "joy of the strife."
next to trying and winning, the best thing is trying and failing.
girls, do n't talk about exams!
look at that arch of pale green sky over those houses and picture to yourself what it must look like over the purply-dark beech-woods back of avonlea."
""what are you going to wear for commencement, jane?"
asked ruby practically.
jane and josie both answered at once and the chatter drifted into a side eddy of fashions.
but anne, with her elbows on the window sill, her soft cheek laid against her clasped hands, and her eyes filled with visions, looked out unheedingly across city roof and spire to that glorious dome of sunset sky and wove her dreams of a possible future from the golden tissue of youth's own optimism.
all the beyond was hers with its possibilities lurking rosily in the oncoming years -- each year a rose of promise to be woven into an immortal chaplet.
chapter xxxvi.
the glory and the dream on the morning when the final results of all the examinations were to be posted on the bulletin board at queen's, anne and jane walked down the street together.
jane was smiling and happy; examinations were over and she was comfortably sure she had made a pass at least; further considerations troubled jane not at all; she had no soaring ambitions and consequently was not affected with the unrest attendant thereon.
for we pay a price for everything we get or take in this world; and although ambitions are well worth having, they are not to be cheaply won, but exact their dues of work and self-denial, anxiety and discouragement.
anne was pale and quiet; in ten more minutes she would know who had won the medal and who the avery.
beyond those ten minutes there did not seem, just then, to be anything worth being called time.
""of course you'll win one of them anyhow," said jane, who could n't understand how the faculty could be so unfair as to order it otherwise.
""i have not hope of the avery," said anne.
""everybody says emily clay will win it.
and i'm not going to march up to that bulletin board and look at it before everybody.
i have n't the moral courage.
i'm going straight to the girls" dressing room.
you must read the announcements and then come and tell me, jane.
and i implore you in the name of our old friendship to do it as quickly as possible.
if i have failed just say so, without trying to break it gently; and whatever you do do n't sympathize with me.
promise me this, jane."
jane promised solemnly; but, as it happened, there was no necessity for such a promise.
when they went up the entrance steps of queen's they found the hall full of boys who were carrying gilbert blythe around on their shoulders and yelling at the tops of their voices, "hurrah for blythe, medalist!"
for a moment anne felt one sickening pang of defeat and disappointment.
so she had failed and gilbert had won!
well, matthew would be sorry -- he had been so sure she would win.
and then!
somebody called out: "three cheers for miss shirley, winner of the avery!"
""oh, anne," gasped jane, as they fled to the girls" dressing room amid hearty cheers.
""oh, anne i'm so proud!
is n't it splendid?"
and then the girls were around them and anne was the center of a laughing, congratulating group.
her shoulders were thumped and her hands shaken vigorously.
she was pushed and pulled and hugged and among it all she managed to whisper to jane: "oh, wo n't matthew and marilla be pleased!
i must write the news home right away."
commencement was the next important happening.
the exercises were held in the big assembly hall of the academy.
addresses were given, essays read, songs sung, the public award of diplomas, prizes and medals made.
matthew and marilla were there, with eyes and ears for only one student on the platform -- a tall girl in pale green, with faintly flushed cheeks and starry eyes, who read the best essay and was pointed out and whispered about as the avery winner.
""reckon you're glad we kept her, marilla?"
whispered matthew, speaking for the first time since he had entered the hall, when anne had finished her essay.
""it's not the first time i've been glad," retorted marilla.
""you do like to rub things in, matthew cuthbert."
miss barry, who was sitting behind them, leaned forward and poked marilla in the back with her parasol.
""are n't you proud of that anne-girl?
i am," she said.
anne went home to avonlea with matthew and marilla that evening.
she had not been home since april and she felt that she could not wait another day.
the apple blossoms were out and the world was fresh and young.
diana was at green gables to meet her.
in her own white room, where marilla had set a flowering house rose on the window sill, anne looked about her and drew a long breath of happiness.
""oh, diana, it's so good to be back again.
it's so good to see those pointed firs coming out against the pink sky -- and that white orchard and the old snow queen.
is n't the breath of the mint delicious?
and that tea rose -- why, it's a song and a hope and a prayer all in one.
and it's good to see you again, diana!"
""i thought you liked that stella maynard better than me," said diana reproachfully.
""josie pye told me you did.
josie said you were infatuated with her."
anne laughed and pelted diana with the faded "june lilies" of her bouquet.
""stella maynard is the dearest girl in the world except one and you are that one, diana," she said.
""i love you more than ever -- and i've so many things to tell you.
but just now i feel as if it were joy enough to sit here and look at you.
i'm tired, i think -- tired of being studious and ambitious.
i mean to spend at least two hours tomorrow lying out in the orchard grass, thinking of absolutely nothing."
""you've done splendidly, anne.
i suppose you wo n't be teaching now that you've won the avery?"
""no.
i'm going to redmond in september.
does n't it seem wonderful?
i'll have a brand new stock of ambition laid in by that time after three glorious, golden months of vacation.
jane and ruby are going to teach.
is n't it splendid to think we all got through even to moody spurgeon and josie pye?"
""the newbridge trustees have offered jane their school already," said diana.
""gilbert blythe is going to teach, too.
he has to.
his father ca n't afford to send him to college next year, after all, so he means to earn his own way through.
i expect he'll get the school here if miss ames decides to leave."
anne felt a queer little sensation of dismayed surprise.
she had not known this; she had expected that gilbert would be going to redmond also.
what would she do without their inspiring rivalry?
would not work, even at a coeducational college with a real degree in prospect, be rather flat without her friend the enemy?
the next morning at breakfast it suddenly struck anne that matthew was not looking well.
surely he was much grayer than he had been a year before.
""marilla," she said hesitatingly when he had gone out, "is matthew quite well?"
""no, he is n't," said marilla in a troubled tone.
""he's had some real bad spells with his heart this spring and he wo n't spare himself a mite.
i've been real worried about him, but he's some better this while back and we've got a good hired man, so i'm hoping he'll kind of rest and pick up.
maybe he will now you're home.
you always cheer him up."
anne leaned across the table and took marilla's face in her hands.
""you are not looking as well yourself as i'd like to see you, marilla.
you look tired.
i'm afraid you've been working too hard.
you must take a rest, now that i'm home.
i'm just going to take this one day off to visit all the dear old spots and hunt up my old dreams, and then it will be your turn to be lazy while i do the work."
marilla smiled affectionately at her girl.
""it's not the work -- it's my head.
i've got a pain so often now -- behind my eyes.
doctor spencer's been fussing with glasses, but they do n't do me any good.
there is a distinguished oculist coming to the island the last of june and the doctor says i must see him.
i guess i'll have to.
i ca n't read or sew with any comfort now.
well, anne, you've done real well at queen's i must say.
to take first class license in one year and win the avery scholarship -- well, well, mrs. lynde says pride goes before a fall and she does n't believe in the higher education of women at all; she says it unfits them for woman's true sphere.
i do n't believe a word of it.
speaking of rachel reminds me -- did you hear anything about the abbey bank lately, anne?"
""i heard it was shaky," answered anne.
""why?"
""that is what rachel said.
she was up here one day last week and said there was some talk about it.
matthew felt real worried.
all we have saved is in that bank -- every penny.
i wanted matthew to put it in the savings bank in the first place, but old mr. abbey was a great friend of father's and he'd always banked with him.
matthew said any bank with him at the head of it was good enough for anybody."
""i think he has only been its nominal head for many years," said anne.
""he is a very old man; his nephews are really at the head of the institution."
""well, when rachel told us that, i wanted matthew to draw our money right out and he said he'd think of it.
but mr. russell told him yesterday that the bank was all right."
anne had her good day in the companionship of the outdoor world.
she never forgot that day; it was so bright and golden and fair, so free from shadow and so lavish of blossom.
anne spent some of its rich hours in the orchard; she went to the dryad's bubble and willowmere and violet vale; she called at the manse and had a satisfying talk with mrs. allan; and finally in the evening she went with matthew for the cows, through lovers" lane to the back pasture.
the woods were all gloried through with sunset and the warm splendor of it streamed down through the hill gaps in the west.
matthew walked slowly with bent head; anne, tall and erect, suited her springing step to his.
""you've been working too hard today, matthew," she said reproachfully.
""why wo n't you take things easier?"
""well now, i ca n't seem to," said matthew, as he opened the yard gate to let the cows through.
""it's only that i'm getting old, anne, and keep forgetting it.
well, well, i've always worked pretty hard and i'd rather drop in harness."
""if i had been the boy you sent for," said anne wistfully, "i'd be able to help you so much now and spare you in a hundred ways.
i could find it in my heart to wish i had been, just for that."
""well now, i'd rather have you than a dozen boys, anne," said matthew patting her hand.
""just mind you that -- rather than a dozen boys.
well now, i guess it was n't a boy that took the avery scholarship, was it?
it was a girl -- my girl -- my girl that i'm proud of."
he smiled his shy smile at her as he went into the yard.
anne took the memory of it with her when she went to her room that night and sat for a long while at her open window, thinking of the past and dreaming of the future.
outside the snow queen was mistily white in the moonshine; the frogs were singing in the marsh beyond orchard slope.
anne always remembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and fragrant calm of that night.
it was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it.
chapter xxxvii.
the reaper whose name is death "matthew -- matthew -- what is the matter?
matthew, are you sick?"
it was marilla who spoke, alarm in every jerky word.
anne came through the hall, her hands full of white narcissus, -- it was long before anne could love the sight or odor of white narcissus again, -- in time to hear her and to see matthew standing in the porch doorway, a folded paper in his hand, and his face strangely drawn and gray.
anne dropped her flowers and sprang across the kitchen to him at the same moment as marilla.
they were both too late; before they could reach him matthew had fallen across the threshold.
""he's fainted," gasped marilla.
""anne, run for martin -- quick, quick!
he's at the barn."
martin, the hired man, who had just driven home from the post office, started at once for the doctor, calling at orchard slope on his way to send mr. and mrs. barry over.
mrs. lynde, who was there on an errand, came too.
they found anne and marilla distractedly trying to restore matthew to consciousness.
mrs. lynde pushed them gently aside, tried his pulse, and then laid her ear over his heart.
she looked at their anxious faces sorrowfully and the tears came into her eyes.
""oh, marilla," she said gravely.
""i do n't think -- we can do anything for him."
""mrs. lynde, you do n't think -- you ca n't think matthew is -- is --" anne could not say the dreadful word; she turned sick and pallid.
""child, yes, i'm afraid of it.
look at his face.
when you've seen that look as often as i have you'll know what it means."
anne looked at the still face and there beheld the seal of the great presence.
when the doctor came he said that death had been instantaneous and probably painless, caused in all likelihood by some sudden shock.
the secret of the shock was discovered to be in the paper matthew had held and which martin had brought from the office that morning.
it contained an account of the failure of the abbey bank.
the news spread quickly through avonlea, and all day friends and neighbors thronged green gables and came and went on errands of kindness for the dead and living.
for the first time shy, quiet matthew cuthbert was a person of central importance; the white majesty of death had fallen on him and set him apart as one crowned.
when the calm night came softly down over green gables the old house was hushed and tranquil.
in the parlor lay matthew cuthbert in his coffin, his long gray hair framing his placid face on which there was a little kindly smile as if he but slept, dreaming pleasant dreams.
there were flowers about him -- sweet old-fashioned flowers which his mother had planted in the homestead garden in her bridal days and for which matthew had always had a secret, wordless love.
anne had gathered them and brought them to him, her anguished, tearless eyes burning in her white face.
it was the last thing she could do for him.
the barrys and mrs. lynde stayed with them that night.
diana, going to the east gable, where anne was standing at her window, said gently: "anne dear, would you like to have me sleep with you tonight?"
""thank you, diana."
anne looked earnestly into her friend's face.
""i think you wo n't misunderstand me when i say i want to be alone.
i'm not afraid.
i have n't been alone one minute since it happened -- and i want to be.
i want to be quite silent and quiet and try to realize it.
i ca n't realize it.
half the time it seems to me that matthew ca n't be dead; and the other half it seems as if he must have been dead for a long time and i've had this horrible dull ache ever since."
diana did not quite understand.
marilla's impassioned grief, breaking all the bounds of natural reserve and lifelong habit in its stormy rush, she could comprehend better than anne's tearless agony.
but she went away kindly, leaving anne alone to keep her first vigil with sorrow.
anne hoped that the tears would come in solitude.
it seemed to her a terrible thing that she could not shed a tear for matthew, whom she had loved so much and who had been so kind to her, matthew who had walked with her last evening at sunset and was now lying in the dim room below with that awful peace on his brow.
but no tears came at first, even when she knelt by her window in the darkness and prayed, looking up to the stars beyond the hills -- no tears, only the same horrible dull ache of misery that kept on aching until she fell asleep, worn out with the day's pain and excitement.
in the night she awakened, with the stillness and the darkness about her, and the recollection of the day came over her like a wave of sorrow.
she could see matthew's face smiling at her as he had smiled when they parted at the gate that last evening -- she could hear his voice saying, "my girl -- my girl that i'm proud of."
then the tears came and anne wept her heart out.
marilla heard her and crept in to comfort her.
""there -- there -- do n't cry so, dearie.
it ca n't bring him back.
it -- it -- is n't right to cry so.
i knew that today, but i could n't help it then.
he'd always been such a good, kind brother to me -- but god knows best."
""oh, just let me cry, marilla," sobbed anne.
""the tears do n't hurt me like that ache did.
stay here for a little while with me and keep your arm round me -- so.
i could n't have diana stay, she's good and kind and sweet -- but it's not her sorrow -- she's outside of it and she could n't come close enough to my heart to help me.
it's our sorrow -- yours and mine.
oh, marilla, what will we do without him?"
""we've got each other, anne.
i do n't know what i'd do if you were n't here -- if you'd never come.
oh, anne, i know i've been kind of strict and harsh with you maybe -- but you must n't think i did n't love you as well as matthew did, for all that.
i want to tell you now when i can.
it's never been easy for me to say things out of my heart, but at times like this it's easier.
i love you as dear as if you were my own flesh and blood and you've been my joy and comfort ever since you came to green gables."
two days afterwards they carried matthew cuthbert over his homestead threshold and away from the fields he had tilled and the orchards he had loved and the trees he had planted; and then avonlea settled back to its usual placidity and even at green gables affairs slipped into their old groove and work was done and duties fulfilled with regularity as before, although always with the aching sense of "loss in all familiar things."
anne, new to grief, thought it almost sad that it could be so -- that they could go on in the old way without matthew.
she felt something like shame and remorse when she discovered that the sunrises behind the firs and the pale pink buds opening in the garden gave her the old inrush of gladness when she saw them -- that diana's visits were pleasant to her and that diana's merry words and ways moved her to laughter and smiles -- that, in brief, the beautiful world of blossom and love and friendship had lost none of its power to please her fancy and thrill her heart, that life still called to her with many insistent voices.
""it seems like disloyalty to matthew, somehow, to find pleasure in these things now that he has gone," she said wistfully to mrs. allan one evening when they were together in the manse garden.
""i miss him so much -- all the time -- and yet, mrs. allan, the world and life seem very beautiful and interesting to me for all.
today diana said something funny and i found myself laughing.
i thought when it happened i could never laugh again.
and it somehow seems as if i ought n't to."
""when matthew was here he liked to hear you laugh and he liked to know that you found pleasure in the pleasant things around you," said mrs. allan gently.
""he is just away now; and he likes to know it just the same.
i am sure we should not shut our hearts against the healing influences that nature offers us.
but i can understand your feeling.
i think we all experience the same thing.
we resent the thought that anything can please us when someone we love is no longer here to share the pleasure with us, and we almost feel as if we were unfaithful to our sorrow when we find our interest in life returning to us."
""i was down to the graveyard to plant a rosebush on matthew's grave this afternoon," said anne dreamily.
""i took a slip of the little white scotch rosebush his mother brought out from scotland long ago; matthew always liked those roses the best -- they were so small and sweet on their thorny stems.
it made me feel glad that i could plant it by his grave -- as if i were doing something that must please him in taking it there to be near him.
i hope he has roses like them in heaven.
perhaps the souls of all those little white roses that he has loved so many summers were all there to meet him.
i must go home now.
marilla is all alone and she gets lonely at twilight."
""she will be lonelier still, i fear, when you go away again to college," said mrs. allan.
anne did not reply; she said good night and went slowly back to green gables.
marilla was sitting on the front door-steps and anne sat down beside her.
the door was open behind them, held back by a big pink conch shell with hints of sea sunsets in its smooth inner convolutions.
anne gathered some sprays of pale-yellow honeysuckle and put them in her hair.
she liked the delicious hint of fragrance, as some aerial benediction, above her every time she moved.
""doctor spencer was here while you were away," marilla said.
""he says that the specialist will be in town tomorrow and he insists that i must go in and have my eyes examined.
i suppose i'd better go and have it over.
i'll be more than thankful if the man can give me the right kind of glasses to suit my eyes.
you wo n't mind staying here alone while i'm away, will you?
martin will have to drive me in and there's ironing and baking to do."
""i shall be all right.
diana will come over for company for me.
i shall attend to the ironing and baking beautifully -- you need n't fear that i'll starch the handkerchiefs or flavor the cake with liniment."
marilla laughed.
""what a girl you were for making mistakes in them days, anne.
you were always getting into scrapes.
i did use to think you were possessed.
do you mind the time you dyed your hair?"
""yes, indeed.
i shall never forget it," smiled anne, touching the heavy braid of hair that was wound about her shapely head.
""i laugh a little now sometimes when i think what a worry my hair used to be to me -- but i do n't laugh much, because it was a very real trouble then.
i did suffer terribly over my hair and my freckles.
my freckles are really gone; and people are nice enough to tell me my hair is auburn now -- all but josie pye.
she informed me yesterday that she really thought it was redder than ever, or at least my black dress made it look redder, and she asked me if people who had red hair ever got used to having it.
marilla, i've almost decided to give up trying to like josie pye.
i've made what i would once have called a heroic effort to like her, but josie pye wo n't be liked."
""josie is a pye," said marilla sharply, "so she ca n't help being disagreeable.
i suppose people of that kind serve some useful purpose in society, but i must say i do n't know what it is any more than i know the use of thistles.
is josie going to teach?"
""no, she is going back to queen's next year.
so are moody spurgeon and charlie sloane.
jane and ruby are going to teach and they have both got schools -- jane at newbridge and ruby at some place up west."
""gilbert blythe is going to teach too, is n't he?"
""yes" -- briefly.
""what a nice-looking fellow he is," said marilla absently.
""i saw him in church last sunday and he seemed so tall and manly.
he looks a lot like his father did at the same age.
john blythe was a nice boy.
we used to be real good friends, he and i. people called him my beau."
anne looked up with swift interest.
""oh, marilla -- and what happened?
-- why did n't you --" "we had a quarrel.
i would n't forgive him when he asked me to.
i meant to, after awhile -- but i was sulky and angry and i wanted to punish him first.
he never came back -- the blythes were all mighty independent.
but i always felt -- rather sorry.
i've always kind of wished i'd forgiven him when i had the chance."
""so you've had a bit of romance in your life, too," said anne softly.
""yes, i suppose you might call it that.
you would n't think so to look at me, would you?
but you never can tell about people from their outsides.
everybody has forgot about me and john.
i'd forgotten myself.
but it all came back to me when i saw gilbert last sunday."
chapter xxxviii.
the bend in the road marilla went to town the next day and returned in the evening.
anne had gone over to orchard slope with diana and came back to find marilla in the kitchen, sitting by the table with her head leaning on her hand.
something in her dejected attitude struck a chill to anne's heart.
she had never seen marilla sit limply inert like that.
""are you very tired, marilla?"
""yes -- no -- i do n't know," said marilla wearily, looking up.
""i suppose i am tired but i have n't thought about it.
it's not that."
""did you see the oculist?
what did he say?"
asked anne anxiously.
""yes, i saw him.
he examined my eyes.
he says that if i give up all reading and sewing entirely and any kind of work that strains the eyes, and if i'm careful not to cry, and if i wear the glasses he's given me he thinks my eyes may not get any worse and my headaches will be cured.
but if i do n't he says i'll certainly be stone-blind in six months.
blind!
anne, just think of it!"
for a minute anne, after her first quick exclamation of dismay, was silent.
it seemed to her that she could not speak.
then she said bravely, but with a catch in her voice: "marilla, do n't think of it.
you know he has given you hope.
if you are careful you wo n't lose your sight altogether; and if his glasses cure your headaches it will be a great thing."
""i do n't call it much hope," said marilla bitterly.
""what am i to live for if i ca n't read or sew or do anything like that?
i might as well be blind -- or dead.
and as for crying, i ca n't help that when i get lonesome.
but there, it's no good talking about it.
if you'll get me a cup of tea i'll be thankful.
i'm about done out.
do n't say anything about this to any one for a spell yet, anyway.
i ca n't bear that folks should come here to question and sympathize and talk about it."
when marilla had eaten her lunch anne persuaded her to go to bed.
then anne went herself to the east gable and sat down by her window in the darkness alone with her tears and her heaviness of heart.
how sadly things had changed since she had sat there the night after coming home!
then she had been full of hope and joy and the future had looked rosy with promise.
anne felt as if she had lived years since then, but before she went to bed there was a smile on her lips and peace in her heart.
she had looked her duty courageously in the face and found it a friend -- as duty ever is when we meet it frankly.
one afternoon a few days later marilla came slowly in from the front yard where she had been talking to a caller -- a man whom anne knew by sight as sadler from carmody.
anne wondered what he could have been saying to bring that look to marilla's face.
""what did mr. sadler want, marilla?"
marilla sat down by the window and looked at anne.
there were tears in her eyes in defiance of the oculist's prohibition and her voice broke as she said: "he heard that i was going to sell green gables and he wants to buy it."
""buy it!
buy green gables?"
anne wondered if she had heard aright.
""oh, marilla, you do n't mean to sell green gables!"
""anne, i do n't know what else is to be done.
i've thought it all over.
if my eyes were strong i could stay here and make out to look after things and manage, with a good hired man.
but as it is i ca n't.
i may lose my sight altogether; and anyway i'll not be fit to run things.
oh, i never thought i'd live to see the day when i'd have to sell my home.
but things would only go behind worse and worse all the time, till nobody would want to buy it.
every cent of our money went in that bank; and there's some notes matthew gave last fall to pay.
mrs. lynde advises me to sell the farm and board somewhere -- with her i suppose.
it wo n't bring much -- it's small and the buildings are old.
but it'll be enough for me to live on i reckon.
i'm thankful you're provided for with that scholarship, anne.
i'm sorry you wo n't have a home to come to in your vacations, that's all, but i suppose you'll manage somehow."
marilla broke down and wept bitterly.
""you must n't sell green gables," said anne resolutely.
""oh, anne, i wish i did n't have to.
but you can see for yourself.
i ca n't stay here alone.
i'd go crazy with trouble and loneliness.
and my sight would go -- i know it would."
""you wo n't have to stay here alone, marilla.
i'll be with you.
i'm not going to redmond."
""not going to redmond!"
marilla lifted her worn face from her hands and looked at anne.
""why, what do you mean?"
""just what i say.
i'm not going to take the scholarship.
i decided so the night after you came home from town.
you surely do n't think i could leave you alone in your trouble, marilla, after all you've done for me.
i've been thinking and planning.
let me tell you my plans.
mr. barry wants to rent the farm for next year.
so you wo n't have any bother over that.
and i'm going to teach.
i've applied for the school here -- but i do n't expect to get it for i understand the trustees have promised it to gilbert blythe.
but i can have the carmody school -- mr. blair told me so last night at the store.
of course that wo n't be quite as nice or convenient as if i had the avonlea school.
but i can board home and drive myself over to carmody and back, in the warm weather at least.
and even in winter i can come home fridays.
we'll keep a horse for that.
oh, i have it all planned out, marilla.
and i'll read to you and keep you cheered up.
you sha'n' t be dull or lonesome.
and we'll be real cozy and happy here together, you and i." marilla had listened like a woman in a dream.
""oh, anne, i could get on real well if you were here, i know.
but i ca n't let you sacrifice yourself so for me.
it would be terrible."
""nonsense!"
anne laughed merrily.
""there is no sacrifice.
nothing could be worse than giving up green gables -- nothing could hurt me more.
we must keep the dear old place.
my mind is quite made up, marilla.
i'm not going to redmond; and i am going to stay here and teach.
do n't you worry about me a bit."
""but your ambitions -- and --" "i'm just as ambitious as ever.
only, i've changed the object of my ambitions.
i'm going to be a good teacher -- and i'm going to save your eyesight.
besides, i mean to study at home here and take a little college course all by myself.
oh, i've dozens of plans, marilla.
i've been thinking them out for a week.
i shall give life here my best, and i believe it will give its best to me in return.
when i left queen's my future seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road.
i thought i could see along it for many a milestone.
now there is a bend in it.
i do n't know what lies around the bend, but i'm going to believe that the best does.
it has a fascination of its own, that bend, marilla.
i wonder how the road beyond it goes -- what there is of green glory and soft, checkered light and shadows -- what new landscapes -- what new beauties -- what curves and hills and valleys further on."
""i do n't feel as if i ought to let you give it up," said marilla, referring to the scholarship.
""but you ca n't prevent me.
i'm sixteen and a half, "obstinate as a mule," as mrs. lynde once told me," laughed anne.
""oh, marilla, do n't you go pitying me.
i do n't like to be pitied, and there is no need for it.
i'm heart glad over the very thought of staying at dear green gables.
nobody could love it as you and i do -- so we must keep it."
""you blessed girl!"
said marilla, yielding.
""i feel as if you'd given me new life.
i guess i ought to stick out and make you go to college -- but i know i ca n't, so i ai n't going to try.
i'll make it up to you though, anne."
when it became noised abroad in avonlea that anne shirley had given up the idea of going to college and intended to stay home and teach there was a good deal of discussion over it.
most of the good folks, not knowing about marilla's eyes, thought she was foolish.
mrs. allan did not.
she told anne so in approving words that brought tears of pleasure to the girl's eyes.
neither did good mrs. lynde.
she came up one evening and found anne and marilla sitting at the front door in the warm, scented summer dusk.
they liked to sit there when the twilight came down and the white moths flew about in the garden and the odor of mint filled the dewy air.
mrs. rachel deposited her substantial person upon the stone bench by the door, behind which grew a row of tall pink and yellow hollyhocks, with a long breath of mingled weariness and relief.
""i declare i'm getting glad to sit down.
i've been on my feet all day, and two hundred pounds is a good bit for two feet to carry round.
it's a great blessing not to be fat, marilla.
i hope you appreciate it.
well, anne, i hear you've given up your notion of going to college.
i was real glad to hear it.
you've got as much education now as a woman can be comfortable with.
i do n't believe in girls going to college with the men and cramming their heads full of latin and greek and all that nonsense."
""but i'm going to study latin and greek just the same, mrs. lynde," said anne laughing.
""i'm going to take my arts course right here at green gables, and study everything that i would at college."
mrs. lynde lifted her hands in holy horror.
""anne shirley, you'll kill yourself."
""not a bit of it.
i shall thrive on it.
oh, i'm not going to overdo things.
as "josiah allen's wife," says, i shall be "mejum".
but i'll have lots of spare time in the long winter evenings, and i've no vocation for fancy work.
i'm going to teach over at carmody, you know."
""i do n't know it.
i guess you're going to teach right here in avonlea.
the trustees have decided to give you the school."
""mrs. lynde!"
cried anne, springing to her feet in her surprise.
""why, i thought they had promised it to gilbert blythe!"
""so they did.
but as soon as gilbert heard that you had applied for it he went to them -- they had a business meeting at the school last night, you know -- and told them that he withdrew his application, and suggested that they accept yours.
he said he was going to teach at white sands.
of course he knew how much you wanted to stay with marilla, and i must say i think it was real kind and thoughtful in him, that's what.
real self-sacrificing, too, for he'll have his board to pay at white sands, and everybody knows he's got to earn his own way through college.
so the trustees decided to take you.
i was tickled to death when thomas came home and told me."
""i do n't feel that i ought to take it," murmured anne.
""i mean -- i do n't think i ought to let gilbert make such a sacrifice for -- for me."
""i guess you ca n't prevent him now.
he's signed papers with the white sands trustees.
so it would n't do him any good now if you were to refuse.
of course you'll take the school.
you'll get along all right, now that there are no pyes going.
josie was the last of them, and a good thing she was, that's what.
there's been some pye or other going to avonlea school for the last twenty years, and i guess their mission in life was to keep school teachers reminded that earth is n't their home.
bless my heart!
what does all that winking and blinking at the barry gable mean?"
""diana is signaling for me to go over," laughed anne.
""you know we keep up the old custom.
excuse me while i run over and see what she wants."
anne ran down the clover slope like a deer, and disappeared in the firry shadows of the haunted wood.
mrs. lynde looked after her indulgently.
""there's a good deal of the child about her yet in some ways."
""there's a good deal more of the woman about her in others," retorted marilla, with a momentary return of her old crispness.
but crispness was no longer marilla's distinguishing characteristic.
as mrs. lynde told her thomas that night.
""marilla cuthbert has got mellow.
that's what."
anne went to the little avonlea graveyard the next evening to put fresh flowers on matthew's grave and water the scotch rosebush.
she lingered there until dusk, liking the peace and calm of the little place, with its poplars whose rustle was like low, friendly speech, and its whispering grasses growing at will among the graves.
when she finally left it and walked down the long hill that sloped to the lake of shining waters it was past sunset and all avonlea lay before her in a dreamlike afterlight -- "a haunt of ancient peace."
there was a freshness in the air as of a wind that had blown over honey-sweet fields of clover.
home lights twinkled out here and there among the homestead trees.
beyond lay the sea, misty and purple, with its haunting, unceasing murmur.
the west was a glory of soft mingled hues, and the pond reflected them all in still softer shadings.
the beauty of it all thrilled anne's heart, and she gratefully opened the gates of her soul to it.
""dear old world," she murmured, "you are very lovely, and i am glad to be alive in you."
halfway down the hill a tall lad came whistling out of a gate before the blythe homestead.
it was gilbert, and the whistle died on his lips as he recognized anne.
he lifted his cap courteously, but he would have passed on in silence, if anne had not stopped and held out her hand.
""gilbert," she said, with scarlet cheeks, "i want to thank you for giving up the school for me.
it was very good of you -- and i want you to know that i appreciate it."
gilbert took the offered hand eagerly.
""it was n't particularly good of me at all, anne.
i was pleased to be able to do you some small service.
are we going to be friends after this?
have you really forgiven me my old fault?"
anne laughed and tried unsuccessfully to withdraw her hand.
""i forgave you that day by the pond landing, although i did n't know it.
what a stubborn little goose i was.
i've been -- i may as well make a complete confession -- i've been sorry ever since."
""we are going to be the best of friends," said gilbert, jubilantly.
""we were born to be good friends, anne.
you've thwarted destiny enough.
i know we can help each other in many ways.
you are going to keep up your studies, are n't you?
so am i. come, i'm going to walk home with you."
marilla looked curiously at anne when the latter entered the kitchen.
""who was that came up the lane with you, anne?"
""gilbert blythe," answered anne, vexed to find herself blushing.
""i met him on barry's hill."
""i did n't think you and gilbert blythe were such good friends that you'd stand for half an hour at the gate talking to him," said marilla with a dry smile.
""we have n't been -- we've been good enemies.
but we have decided that it will be much more sensible to be good friends in the future.
were we really there half an hour?
it seemed just a few minutes.
but, you see, we have five years" lost conversations to catch up with, marilla."
anne sat long at her window that night companioned by a glad content.
the wind purred softly in the cherry boughs, and the mint breaths came up to her.
the stars twinkled over the pointed firs in the hollow and diana's light gleamed through the old gap.
anne's horizons had closed in since the night she had sat there after coming home from queen's; but if the path set before her feet was to be narrow she knew that flowers of quiet happiness would bloom along it.
the joy of sincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or her ideal world of dreams.
and there was always the bend in the road!"
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___anne_of_the_island.txt.out
chapter i the shadow of change "harvest is ended and summer is gone," quoted anne shirley, gazing across the shorn fields dreamily.
she and diana barry had been picking apples in the green gables orchard, but were now resting from their labors in a sunny corner, where airy fleets of thistledown drifted by on the wings of a wind that was still summer-sweet with the incense of ferns in the haunted wood.
but everything in the landscape around them spoke of autumn.
the sea was roaring hollowly in the distance, the fields were bare and sere, scarfed with golden rod, the brook valley below green gables overflowed with asters of ethereal purple, and the lake of shining waters was blue -- blue -- blue; not the changeful blue of spring, nor the pale azure of summer, but a clear, steadfast, serene blue, as if the water were past all moods and tenses of emotion and had settled down to a tranquility unbroken by fickle dreams.
""it has been a nice summer," said diana, twisting the new ring on her left hand with a smile.
""and miss lavendar's wedding seemed to come as a sort of crown to it.
i suppose mr. and mrs. irving are on the pacific coast now."
""it seems to me they have been gone long enough to go around the world," sighed anne.
""i ca n't believe it is only a week since they were married.
everything has changed.
miss lavendar and mr. and mrs. allan gone -- how lonely the manse looks with the shutters all closed!
i went past it last night, and it made me feel as if everybody in it had died."
""we'll never get another minister as nice as mr. allan," said diana, with gloomy conviction.
""i suppose we'll have all kinds of supplies this winter, and half the sundays no preaching at all.
and you and gilbert gone -- it will be awfully dull."
""fred will be here," insinuated anne slyly.
""when is mrs. lynde going to move up?"
asked diana, as if she had not heard anne's remark.
""tomorrow.
i'm glad she's coming -- but it will be another change.
marilla and i cleared everything out of the spare room yesterday.
do you know, i hated to do it?
of course, it was silly -- but it did seem as if we were committing sacrilege.
that old spare room has always seemed like a shrine to me.
when i was a child i thought it the most wonderful apartment in the world.
you remember what a consuming desire i had to sleep in a spare room bed -- but not the green gables spare room.
oh, no, never there!
it would have been too terrible -- i could n't have slept a wink from awe.
i never walked through that room when marilla sent me in on an errand -- no, indeed, i tiptoed through it and held my breath, as if i were in church, and felt relieved when i got out of it.
the pictures of george whitefield and the duke of wellington hung there, one on each side of the mirror, and frowned so sternly at me all the time i was in, especially if i dared peep in the mirror, which was the only one in the house that did n't twist my face a little.
i always wondered how marilla dared houseclean that room.
and now it's not only cleaned but stripped bare.
george whitefield and the duke have been relegated to the upstairs hall.
"so passes the glory of this world,"" concluded anne, with a laugh in which there was a little note of regret.
it is never pleasant to have our old shrines desecrated, even when we have outgrown them.
""i'll be so lonesome when you go," moaned diana for the hundredth time.
""and to think you go next week!"
""but we're together still," said anne cheerily.
""we must n't let next week rob us of this week's joy.
i hate the thought of going myself -- home and i are such good friends.
talk of being lonesome!
it's i who should groan.
you'll be here with any number of your old friends -- and fred!
while i shall be alone among strangers, not knowing a soul!"
""except gilbert -- and charlie sloane," said diana, imitating anne's italics and slyness.
""charlie sloane will be a great comfort, of course," agreed anne sarcastically; whereupon both those irresponsible damsels laughed.
diana knew exactly what anne thought of charlie sloane; but, despite sundry confidential talks, she did not know just what anne thought of gilbert blythe.
to be sure, anne herself did not know that.
""the boys may be boarding at the other end of kingsport, for all i know," anne went on.
""i am glad i'm going to redmond, and i am sure i shall like it after a while.
but for the first few weeks i know i wo n't.
i sha n't even have the comfort of looking forward to the weekend visit home, as i had when i went to queen's.
christmas will seem like a thousand years away."
""everything is changing -- or going to change," said diana sadly.
""i have a feeling that things will never be the same again, anne."
""we have come to a parting of the ways, i suppose," said anne thoughtfully.
""we had to come to it.
do you think, diana, that being grown-up is really as nice as we used to imagine it would be when we were children?"
""i do n't know -- there are some nice things about it," answered diana, again caressing her ring with that little smile which always had the effect of making anne feel suddenly left out and inexperienced.
""but there are so many puzzling things, too.
sometimes i feel as if being grown-up just frightened me -- and then i would give anything to be a little girl again."
""i suppose we'll get used to being grownup in time," said anne cheerfully.
""there wo n't be so many unexpected things about it by and by -- though, after all, i fancy it's the unexpected things that give spice to life.
we're eighteen, diana.
in two more years we'll be twenty.
when i was ten i thought twenty was a green old age.
in no time you'll be a staid, middle-aged matron, and i shall be nice, old maid aunt anne, coming to visit you on vacations.
you'll always keep a corner for me, wo n't you, di darling?
not the spare room, of course -- old maids ca n't aspire to spare rooms, and i shall be as "umble as uriah heep, and quite content with a little over-the-porch or off-the-parlor cubby hole."
""what nonsense you do talk, anne," laughed diana.
""you'll marry somebody splendid and handsome and rich -- and no spare room in avonlea will be half gorgeous enough for you -- and you'll turn up your nose at all the friends of your youth."
""that would be a pity; my nose is quite nice, but i fear turning it up would spoil it," said anne, patting that shapely organ.
""i have n't so many good features that i could afford to spoil those i have; so, even if i should marry the king of the cannibal islands, i promise you i wo n't turn up my nose at you, diana."
with another gay laugh the girls separated, diana to return to orchard slope, anne to walk to the post office.
she found a letter awaiting her there, and when gilbert blythe overtook her on the bridge over the lake of shining waters she was sparkling with the excitement of it.
""priscilla grant is going to redmond, too," she exclaimed.
""is n't that splendid?
i hoped she would, but she did n't think her father would consent.
he has, however, and we're to board together.
i feel that i can face an army with banners -- or all the professors of redmond in one fell phalanx -- with a chum like priscilla by my side."
""i think we'll like kingsport," said gilbert.
""it's a nice old burg, they tell me, and has the finest natural park in the world.
i've heard that the scenery in it is magnificent."
""i wonder if it will be -- can be -- any more beautiful than this," murmured anne, looking around her with the loving, enraptured eyes of those to whom "home" must always be the loveliest spot in the world, no matter what fairer lands may lie under alien stars.
they were leaning on the bridge of the old pond, drinking deep of the enchantment of the dusk, just at the spot where anne had climbed from her sinking dory on the day elaine floated down to camelot.
the fine, empurpling dye of sunset still stained the western skies, but the moon was rising and the water lay like a great, silver dream in her light.
remembrance wove a sweet and subtle spell over the two young creatures.
""you are very quiet, anne," said gilbert at last.
""i'm afraid to speak or move for fear all this wonderful beauty will vanish just like a broken silence," breathed anne.
gilbert suddenly laid his hand over the slender white one lying on the rail of the bridge.
his hazel eyes deepened into darkness, his still boyish lips opened to say something of the dream and hope that thrilled his soul.
but anne snatched her hand away and turned quickly.
the spell of the dusk was broken for her.
""i must go home," she exclaimed, with a rather overdone carelessness.
""marilla had a headache this afternoon, and i'm sure the twins will be in some dreadful mischief by this time.
i really should n't have stayed away so long."
she chattered ceaselessly and inconsequently until they reached the green gables lane.
poor gilbert hardly had a chance to get a word in edgewise.
anne felt rather relieved when they parted.
there had been a new, secret self-consciousness in her heart with regard to gilbert, ever since that fleeting moment of revelation in the garden of echo lodge.
something alien had intruded into the old, perfect, school-day comradeship -- something that threatened to mar it.
""i never felt glad to see gilbert go before," she thought, half-resentfully, half-sorrowfully, as she walked alone up the lane.
""our friendship will be spoiled if he goes on with this nonsense.
it must n't be spoiled -- i wo n't let it.
oh, why ca n't boys be just sensible!"
anne had an uneasy doubt that it was not strictly "sensible" that she should still feel on her hand the warm pressure of gilbert's, as distinctly as she had felt it for the swift second his had rested there; and still less sensible that the sensation was far from being an unpleasant one -- very different from that which had attended a similar demonstration on charlie sloane's part, when she had been sitting out a dance with him at a white sands party three nights before.
anne shivered over the disagreeable recollection.
but all problems connected with infatuated swains vanished from her mind when she entered the homely, unsentimental atmosphere of the green gables kitchen where an eight-year-old boy was crying grievously on the sofa.
""what is the matter, davy?"
asked anne, taking him up in her arms.
""where are marilla and dora?"
""marilla's putting dora to bed," sobbed davy, "and i'm crying'cause dora fell down the outside cellar steps, heels over head, and scraped all the skin off her nose, and --" "oh, well, do n't cry about it, dear.
of course, you are sorry for her, but crying wo n't help her any.
she'll be all right tomorrow.
crying never helps any one, davy-boy, and --" "i ai n't crying'cause dora fell down cellar," said davy, cutting short anne's wellmeant preachment with increasing bitterness.
""i'm crying, cause i was n't there to see her fall.
i'm always missing some fun or other, seems to me."
""oh, davy!"
anne choked back an unholy shriek of laughter.
""would you call it fun to see poor little dora fall down the steps and get hurt?"
""she was n't much hurt," said davy, defiantly."
"course, if she'd been killed i'd have been real sorry, anne.
but the keiths ai n't so easy killed.
they're like the blewetts, i guess.
herb blewett fell off the hayloft last wednesday, and rolled right down through the turnip chute into the box stall, where they had a fearful wild, cross horse, and rolled right under his heels.
and still he got out alive, with only three bones broke.
mrs. lynde says there are some folks you ca n't kill with a meat-axe.
is mrs. lynde coming here tomorrow, anne?"
""yes, davy, and i hope you'll be always very nice and good to her."
""i'll be nice and good.
but will she ever put me to bed at nights, anne?"
""perhaps.
why?""
'cause," said davy very decidedly, "if she does i wo n't say my prayers before her like i do before you, anne."
""why not?""
'cause i do n't think it would be nice to talk to god before strangers, anne.
dora can say hers to mrs. lynde if she likes, but i wo n't.
i'll wait till she's gone and then say'em.
wo n't that be all right, anne?"
""yes, if you are sure you wo n't forget to say them, davy-boy."
""oh, i wo n't forget, you bet.
i think saying my prayers is great fun.
but it wo n't be as good fun saying them alone as saying them to you.
i wish you'd stay home, anne.
i do n't see what you want to go away and leave us for."
""i do n't exactly want to, davy, but i feel i ought to go."
""if you do n't want to go you need n't.
you're grown up.
when i'm grown up i'm not going to do one single thing i do n't want to do, anne."
""all your life, davy, you'll find yourself doing things you do n't want to do."
""i wo n't," said davy flatly.
""catch me!
i have to do things i do n't want to now'cause you and marilla'll send me to bed if i do n't.
but when i grow up you ca n't do that, and there'll be nobody to tell me not to do things.
wo n't i have the time!
say, anne, milty boulter says his mother says you're going to college to see if you can catch a man.
are you, anne?
i want to know."
for a second anne burned with resentment.
then she laughed, reminding herself that mrs. boulter's crude vulgarity of thought and speech could not harm her.
""no, davy, i'm not.
i'm going to study and grow and learn about many things."
""what things?""
"shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings,"" quoted anne.
""but if you did want to catch a man how would you go about it?
i want to know," persisted davy, for whom the subject evidently possessed a certain fascination.
""you'd better ask mrs. boulter," said anne thoughtlessly.
""i think it's likely she knows more about the process than i do."
""i will, the next time i see her," said davy gravely.
""davy!
if you do!"
cried anne, realizing her mistake.
""but you just told me to," protested davy aggrieved.
""it's time you went to bed," decreed anne, by way of getting out of the scrape.
after davy had gone to bed anne wandered down to victoria island and sat there alone, curtained with fine-spun, moonlit gloom, while the water laughed around her in a duet of brook and wind.
anne had always loved that brook.
many a dream had she spun over its sparkling water in days gone by.
she forgot lovelorn youths, and the cayenne speeches of malicious neighbors, and all the problems of her girlish existence.
in imagination she sailed over storied seas that wash the distant shining shores of "faery lands forlorn," where lost atlantis and elysium lie, with the evening star for pilot, to the land of heart's desire.
and she was richer in those dreams than in realities; for things seen pass away, but the things that are unseen are eternal.
chapter ii garlands of autumn the following week sped swiftly, crowded with innumerable "last things," as anne called them.
good-bye calls had to be made and received, being pleasant or otherwise, according to whether callers and called-upon were heartily in sympathy with anne's hopes, or thought she was too much puffed-up over going to college and that it was their duty to "take her down a peg or two."
the a.v.i.s. gave a farewell party in honor of anne and gilbert one evening at the home of josie pye, choosing that place, partly because mr. pye's house was large and convenient, partly because it was strongly suspected that the pye girls would have nothing to do with the affair if their offer of the house for the party was not accepted.
it was a very pleasant little time, for the pye girls were gracious, and said and did nothing to mar the harmony of the occasion -- which was not according to their wont.
josie was unusually amiable -- so much so that she even remarked condescendingly to anne, "your new dress is rather becoming to you, anne.
really, you look almost pretty in it."
""how kind of you to say so," responded anne, with dancing eyes.
her sense of humor was developing, and the speeches that would have hurt her at fourteen were becoming merely food for amusement now.
josie suspected that anne was laughing at her behind those wicked eyes; but she contented herself with whispering to gertie, as they went downstairs, that anne shirley would put on more airs than ever now that she was going to college -- you'd see!
all the "old crowd" was there, full of mirth and zest and youthful lightheartedness.
diana barry, rosy and dimpled, shadowed by the faithful fred; jane andrews, neat and sensible and plain; ruby gillis, looking her handsomest and brightest in a cream silk blouse, with red geraniums in her golden hair; gilbert blythe and charlie sloane, both trying to keep as near the elusive anne as possible; carrie sloane, looking pale and melancholy because, so it was reported, her father would not allow oliver kimball to come near the place; moody spurgeon macpherson, whose round face and objectionable ears were as round and objectionable as ever; and billy andrews, who sat in a corner all the evening, chuckled when any one spoke to him, and watched anne shirley with a grin of pleasure on his broad, freckled countenance.
anne had known beforehand of the party, but she had not known that she and gilbert were, as the founders of the society, to be presented with a very complimentary "address" and "tokens of respect" -- in her case a volume of shakespeare's plays, in gilbert's a fountain pen.
she was so taken by surprise and pleased by the nice things said in the address, read in moody spurgeon's most solemn and ministerial tones, that the tears quite drowned the sparkle of her big gray eyes.
she had worked hard and faithfully for the a.v.i.s., and it warmed the cockles of her heart that the members appreciated her efforts so sincerely.
and they were all so nice and friendly and jolly -- even the pye girls had their merits; at that moment anne loved all the world.
she enjoyed the evening tremendously, but the end of it rather spoiled all.
gilbert again made the mistake of saying something sentimental to her as they ate their supper on the moonlit verandah; and anne, to punish him, was gracious to charlie sloane and allowed the latter to walk home with her.
she found, however, that revenge hurts nobody quite so much as the one who tries to inflict it.
gilbert walked airily off with ruby gillis, and anne could hear them laughing and talking gaily as they loitered along in the still, crisp autumn air.
they were evidently having the best of good times, while she was horribly bored by charlie sloane, who talked unbrokenly on, and never, even by accident, said one thing that was worth listening to.
anne gave an occasional absent "yes" or "no," and thought how beautiful ruby had looked that night, how very goggly charlie's eyes were in the moonlight -- worse even than by daylight -- and that the world, somehow, was n't quite such a nice place as she had believed it to be earlier in the evening.
""i'm just tired out -- that is what is the matter with me," she said, when she thankfully found herself alone in her own room.
and she honestly believed it was.
but a certain little gush of joy, as from some secret, unknown spring, bubbled up in her heart the next evening, when she saw gilbert striding down through the haunted wood and crossing the old log bridge with that firm, quick step of his.
so gilbert was not going to spend this last evening with ruby gillis after all!
""you look tired, anne," he said.
""i am tired, and, worse than that, i'm disgruntled.
i'm tired because i've been packing my trunk and sewing all day.
but i'm disgruntled because six women have been here to say good-bye to me, and every one of the six managed to say something that seemed to take the color right out of life and leave it as gray and dismal and cheerless as a november morning."
""spiteful old cats!"
was gilbert's elegant comment.
""oh, no, they were n't," said anne seriously.
""that is just the trouble.
if they had been spiteful cats i would n't have minded them.
but they are all nice, kind, motherly souls, who like me and whom i like, and that is why what they said, or hinted, had such undue weight with me.
they let me see they thought i was crazy going to redmond and trying to take a b.a., and ever since i've been wondering if i am.
mrs. peter sloane sighed and said she hoped my strength would hold out till i got through; and at once i saw myself a hopeless victim of nervous prostration at the end of my third year; mrs. eben wright said it must cost an awful lot to put in four years at redmond; and i felt all over me that it was unpardonable of me to squander marilla's money and my own on such a folly.
mrs. jasper bell said she hoped i would n't let college spoil me, as it did some people; and i felt in my bones that the end of my four redmond years would see me a most insufferable creature, thinking i knew it all, and looking down on everything and everybody in avonlea; mrs. elisha wright said she understood that redmond girls, especially those who belonged to kingsport, were "dreadful dressy and stuck-up," and she guessed i would n't feel much at home among them; and i saw myself, a snubbed, dowdy, humiliated country girl, shuffling through redmond's classic halls in coppertoned boots."
anne ended with a laugh and a sigh commingled.
with her sensitive nature all disapproval had weight, even the disapproval of those for whose opinions she had scant respect.
for the time being life was savorless, and ambition had gone out like a snuffed candle.
""you surely do n't care for what they said," protested gilbert.
""you know exactly how narrow their outlook on life is, excellent creatures though they are.
to do anything they have never done is anathema maranatha.
you are the first avonlea girl who has ever gone to college; and you know that all pioneers are considered to be afflicted with moonstruck madness."
""oh, i know.
but feeling is so different from knowing.
my common sense tells me all you can say, but there are times when common sense has no power over me.
common nonsense takes possession of my soul.
really, after mrs. elisha went away i hardly had the heart to finish packing."
""you're just tired, anne.
come, forget it all and take a walk with me -- a ramble back through the woods beyond the marsh.
there should be something there i want to show you."
""should be!
do n't you know if it is there?"
""no.
i only know it should be, from something i saw there in spring.
come on.
we'll pretend we are two children again and we'll go the way of the wind."
they started gaily off.
anne, remembering the unpleasantness of the preceding evening, was very nice to gilbert; and gilbert, who was learning wisdom, took care to be nothing save the schoolboy comrade again.
mrs. lynde and marilla watched them from the kitchen window.
""that'll be a match some day," mrs. lynde said approvingly.
marilla winced slightly.
in her heart she hoped it would, but it went against her grain to hear the matter spoken of in mrs. lynde's gossipy matter-of-fact way.
""they're only children yet," she said shortly.
mrs. lynde laughed good-naturedly.
""anne is eighteen; i was married when i was that age.
we old folks, marilla, are too much given to thinking children never grow up, that's what.
anne is a young woman and gilbert's a man, and he worships the ground she walks on, as any one can see.
he's a fine fellow, and anne ca n't do better.
i hope she wo n't get any romantic nonsense into her head at redmond.
i do n't approve of them coeducational places and never did, that's what.
i do n't believe," concluded mrs. lynde solemnly, "that the students at such colleges ever do much else than flirt."
""they must study a little," said marilla, with a smile.
""precious little," sniffed mrs. rachel.
""however, i think anne will.
she never was flirtatious.
but she does n't appreciate gilbert at his full value, that's what.
oh, i know girls!
charlie sloane is wild about her, too, but i'd never advise her to marry a sloane.
the sloanes are good, honest, respectable people, of course.
but when all's said and done, they're sloanes."
marilla nodded.
to an outsider, the statement that sloanes were sloanes might not be very illuminating, but she understood.
every village has such a family; good, honest, respectable people they may be, but sloanes they are and must ever remain, though they speak with the tongues of men and angels.
gilbert and anne, happily unconscious that their future was thus being settled by mrs. rachel, were sauntering through the shadows of the haunted wood.
beyond, the harvest hills were basking in an amber sunset radiance, under a pale, aerial sky of rose and blue.
the distant spruce groves were burnished bronze, and their long shadows barred the upland meadows.
but around them a little wind sang among the fir tassels, and in it there was the note of autumn.
""this wood really is haunted now -- by old memories," said anne, stooping to gather a spray of ferns, bleached to waxen whiteness by frost.
""it seems to me that the little girls diana and i used to be play here still, and sit by the dryad's bubble in the twilights, trysting with the ghosts.
do you know, i can never go up this path in the dusk without feeling a bit of the old fright and shiver?
there was one especially horrifying phantom which we created -- the ghost of the murdered child that crept up behind you and laid cold fingers on yours.
i confess that, to this day, i can not help fancying its little, furtive footsteps behind me when i come here after nightfall.
i'm not afraid of the white lady or the headless man or the skeletons, but i wish i had never imagined that baby's ghost into existence.
how angry marilla and mrs. barry were over that affair," concluded anne, with reminiscent laughter.
the woods around the head of the marsh were full of purple vistas, threaded with gossamers.
past a dour plantation of gnarled spruces and a maple-fringed, sun-warm valley they found the "something" gilbert was looking for.
""ah, here it is," he said with satisfaction.
""an apple tree -- and away back here!"
exclaimed anne delightedly.
""yes, a veritable apple-bearing apple tree, too, here in the very midst of pines and beeches, a mile away from any orchard.
i was here one day last spring and found it, all white with blossom.
so i resolved i'd come again in the fall and see if it had been apples.
see, it's loaded.
they look good, too -- tawny as russets but with a dusky red cheek.
most wild seedlings are green and uninviting."
""i suppose it sprang years ago from some chance-sown seed," said anne dreamily.
""and how it has grown and flourished and held its own here all alone among aliens, the brave determined thing!"
""here's a fallen tree with a cushion of moss.
sit down, anne -- it will serve for a woodland throne.
i'll climb for some apples.
they all grow high -- the tree had to reach up to the sunlight."
the apples proved to be delicious.
under the tawny skin was a white, white flesh, faintly veined with red; and, besides their own proper apple taste, they had a certain wild, delightful tang no orchard-grown apple ever possessed.
""the fatal apple of eden could n't have had a rarer flavor," commented anne.
""but it's time we were going home.
see, it was twilight three minutes ago and now it's moonlight.
what a pity we could n't have caught the moment of transformation.
but such moments never are caught, i suppose."
""let's go back around the marsh and home by way of lover's lane.
do you feel as disgruntled now as when you started out, anne?"
""not i. those apples have been as manna to a hungry soul.
i feel that i shall love redmond and have a splendid four years there."
""and after those four years -- what?"
""oh, there's another bend in the road at their end," answered anne lightly.
""i've no idea what may be around it -- i do n't want to have.
it's nicer not to know."
lover's lane was a dear place that night, still and mysteriously dim in the pale radiance of the moonlight.
they loitered through it in a pleasant chummy silence, neither caring to talk.
""if gilbert were always as he has been this evening how nice and simple everything would be," reflected anne.
gilbert was looking at anne, as she walked along.
in her light dress, with her slender delicacy, she made him think of a white iris.
""i wonder if i can ever make her care for me," he thought, with a pang of self-distrust.
chapter iii greeting and farewell charlie sloane, gilbert blythe and anne shirley left avonlea the following monday morning.
anne had hoped for a fine day.
diana was to drive her to the station and they wanted this, their last drive together for some time, to be a pleasant one.
but when anne went to bed sunday night the east wind was moaning around green gables with an ominous prophecy which was fulfilled in the morning.
anne awoke to find raindrops pattering against her window and shadowing the pond's gray surface with widening rings; hills and sea were hidden in mist, and the whole world seemed dim and dreary.
anne dressed in the cheerless gray dawn, for an early start was necessary to catch the boat train; she struggled against the tears that would well up in her eyes in spite of herself.
she was leaving the home that was so dear to her, and something told her that she was leaving it forever, save as a holiday refuge.
things would never be the same again; coming back for vacations would not be living there.
and oh, how dear and beloved everything was -- that little white porch room, sacred to the dreams of girlhood, the old snow queen at the window, the brook in the hollow, the dryad's bubble, the haunted woods, and lover's lane -- all the thousand and one dear spots where memories of the old years bided.
could she ever be really happy anywhere else?
breakfast at green gables that morning was a rather doleful meal.
davy, for the first time in his life probably, could not eat, but blubbered shamelessly over his porridge.
nobody else seemed to have much appetite, save dora, who tucked away her rations comfortably.
dora, like the immortal and most prudent charlotte, who "went on cutting bread and butter" when her frenzied lover's body had been carried past on a shutter, was one of those fortunate creatures who are seldom disturbed by anything.
even at eight it took a great deal to ruffle dora's placidity.
she was sorry anne was going away, of course, but was that any reason why she should fail to appreciate a poached egg on toast?
not at all.
and, seeing that davy could not eat his, dora ate it for him.
promptly on time diana appeared with horse and buggy, her rosy face glowing above her raincoat.
the good-byes had to be said then somehow.
mrs. lynde came in from her quarters to give anne a hearty embrace and warn her to be careful of her health, whatever she did.
marilla, brusque and tearless, pecked anne's cheek and said she supposed they'd hear from her when she got settled.
a casual observer might have concluded that anne's going mattered very little to her -- unless said observer had happened to get a good look in her eyes.
dora kissed anne primly and squeezed out two decorous little tears; but davy, who had been crying on the back porch step ever since they rose from the table, refused to say good-bye at all.
when he saw anne coming towards him he sprang to his feet, bolted up the back stairs, and hid in a clothes closet, out of which he would not come.
his muffled howls were the last sounds anne heard as she left green gables.
it rained heavily all the way to bright river, to which station they had to go, since the branch line train from carmody did not connect with the boat train.
charlie and gilbert were on the station platform when they reached it, and the train was whistling.
anne had just time to get her ticket and trunk check, say a hurried farewell to diana, and hasten on board.
she wished she were going back with diana to avonlea; she knew she was going to die of homesickness.
and oh, if only that dismal rain would stop pouring down as if the whole world were weeping over summer vanished and joys departed!
even gilbert's presence brought her no comfort, for charlie sloane was there, too, and sloanishness could be tolerated only in fine weather.
it was absolutely insufferable in rain.
but when the boat steamed out of charlottetown harbor things took a turn for the better.
the rain ceased and the sun began to burst out goldenly now and again between the rents in the clouds, burnishing the gray seas with copper-hued radiance, and lighting up the mists that curtained the island's red shores with gleams of gold foretokening a fine day after all.
besides, charlie sloane promptly became so seasick that he had to go below, and anne and gilbert were left alone on deck.
""i am very glad that all the sloanes get seasick as soon as they go on water," thought anne mercilessly.
""i am sure i could n't take my farewell look at the "ould sod" with charlie standing there pretending to look sentimentally at it, too."
""well, we're off," remarked gilbert unsentimentally.
""yes, i feel like byron's "childe harold" -- only it is n't really my "native shore" that i'm watching," said anne, winking her gray eyes vigorously.
""nova scotia is that, i suppose.
but one's native shore is the land one loves the best, and that's good old p.e.i. for me.
i ca n't believe i did n't always live here.
those eleven years before i came seem like a bad dream.
it's seven years since i crossed on this boat -- the evening mrs. spencer brought me over from hopetown.
i can see myself, in that dreadful old wincey dress and faded sailor hat, exploring decks and cabins with enraptured curiosity.
it was a fine evening; and how those red island shores did gleam in the sunshine.
now i'm crossing the strait again.
oh, gilbert, i do hope i'll like redmond and kingsport, but i'm sure i wo n't!"
""where's all your philosophy gone, anne?"
""it's all submerged under a great, swamping wave of loneliness and homesickness.
i've longed for three years to go to redmond -- and now i'm going -- and i wish i were n't!
never mind!
i shall be cheerful and philosophical again after i have just one good cry.
i must have that, "as a went" -- and i'll have to wait until i get into my boardinghouse bed tonight, wherever it may be, before i can have it.
then anne will be herself again.
i wonder if davy has come out of the closet yet."
it was nine that night when their train reached kingsport, and they found themselves in the blue-white glare of the crowded station.
anne felt horribly bewildered, but a moment later she was seized by priscilla grant, who had come to kingsport on saturday.
""here you are, beloved!
and i suppose you're as tired as i was when i got here saturday night."
""tired!
priscilla, do n't talk of it.
i'm tired, and green, and provincial, and only about ten years old.
for pity's sake take your poor, broken-down chum to some place where she can hear herself think."
""i'll take you right up to our boardinghouse.
i've a cab ready outside."
""it's such a blessing you're here, prissy.
if you were n't i think i should just sit down on my suitcase, here and now, and weep bitter tears.
what a comfort one familiar face is in a howling wilderness of strangers!"
""is that gilbert blythe over there, anne?
how he has grown up this past year!
he was only a schoolboy when i taught in carmody.
and of course that's charlie sloane.
he has n't changed -- could n't!
he looked just like that when he was born, and he'll look like that when he's eighty.
this way, dear.
we'll be home in twenty minutes."
""home!"
groaned anne.
""you mean we'll be in some horrible boardinghouse, in a still more horrible hall bedroom, looking out on a dingy back yard."
""it is n't a horrible boardinghouse, anne-girl.
here's our cab.
hop in -- the driver will get your trunk.
oh, yes, the boardinghouse -- it's really a very nice place of its kind, as you'll admit tomorrow morning when a good night's sleep has turned your blues rosy pink.
it's a big, old-fashioned, gray stone house on st. john street, just a nice little constitutional from redmond.
it used to be the "residence" of great folk, but fashion has deserted st. john street and its houses only dream now of better days.
they're so big that people living in them have to take boarders just to fill up.
at least, that is the reason our landladies are very anxious to impress on us.
they're delicious, anne -- our landladies, i mean."
""how many are there?"
""two.
miss hannah harvey and miss ada harvey.
they were born twins about fifty years ago."
""i ca n't get away from twins, it seems," smiled anne.
""wherever i go they confront me."
""oh, they're not twins now, dear.
after they reached the age of thirty they never were twins again.
miss hannah has grown old, not too gracefully, and miss ada has stayed thirty, less gracefully still.
i do n't know whether miss hannah can smile or not; i've never caught her at it so far, but miss ada smiles all the time and that's worse.
however, they're nice, kind souls, and they take two boarders every year because miss hannah's economical soul can not bear to "waste room space" -- not because they need to or have to, as miss ada has told me seven times since saturday night.
as for our rooms, i admit they are hall bedrooms, and mine does look out on the back yard.
your room is a front one and looks out on old st. john's graveyard, which is just across the street."
""that sounds gruesome," shivered anne.
""i think i'd rather have the back yard view."
""oh, no, you would n't.
wait and see.
old st. john's is a darling place.
it's been a graveyard so long that it's ceased to be one and has become one of the sights of kingsport.
i was all through it yesterday for a pleasure exertion.
there's a big stone wall and a row of enormous trees all around it, and rows of trees all through it, and the queerest old tombstones, with the queerest and quaintest inscriptions.
you'll go there to study, anne, see if you do n't.
of course, nobody is ever buried there now.
but a few years ago they put up a beautiful monument to the memory of nova scotian soldiers who fell in the crimean war.
it is just opposite the entrance gates and there's "scope for imagination" in it, as you used to say.
here's your trunk at last -- and the boys coming to say good night.
must i really shake hands with charlie sloane, anne?
his hands are always so cold and fishy-feeling.
we must ask them to call occasionally.
miss hannah gravely told me we could have "young gentlemen callers" two evenings in the week, if they went away at a reasonable hour; and miss ada asked me, smiling, please to be sure they did n't sit on her beautiful cushions.
i promised to see to it; but goodness knows where else they can sit, unless they sit on the floor, for there are cushions on everything.
miss ada even has an elaborate battenburg one on top of the piano."
anne was laughing by this time.
priscilla's gay chatter had the intended effect of cheering her up; homesickness vanished for the time being, and did not even return in full force when she finally found herself alone in her little bedroom.
she went to her window and looked out.
the street below was dim and quiet.
across it the moon was shining above the trees in old st. john's, just behind the great dark head of the lion on the monument.
anne wondered if it could have been only that morning that she had left green gables.
she had the sense of a long passage of time which one day of change and travel gives.
""i suppose that very moon is looking down on green gables now," she mused.
""but i wo n't think about it -- that way homesickness lies.
i'm not even going to have my good cry.
i'll put that off to a more convenient season, and just now i'll go calmly and sensibly to bed and to sleep."
chapter iv april's lady kingsport is a quaint old town, hearking back to early colonial days, and wrapped in its ancient atmosphere, as some fine old dame in garments fashioned like those of her youth.
here and there it sprouts out into modernity, but at heart it is still unspoiled; it is full of curious relics, and haloed by the romance of many legends of the past.
once it was a mere frontier station on the fringe of the wilderness, and those were the days when indians kept life from being monotonous to the settlers.
then it grew to be a bone of contention between the british and the french, being occupied now by the one and now by the other, emerging from each occupation with some fresh scar of battling nations branded on it.
it has in its park a martello tower, autographed all over by tourists, a dismantled old french fort on the hills beyond the town, and several antiquated cannon in its public squares.
it has other historic spots also, which may be hunted out by the curious, and none is more quaint and delightful than old st. john's cemetery at the very core of the town, with streets of quiet, old-time houses on two sides, and busy, bustling, modern thoroughfares on the others.
every citizen of kingsport feels a thrill of possessive pride in old st. john's, for, if he be of any pretensions at all, he has an ancestor buried there, with a queer, crooked slab at his head, or else sprawling protectively over the grave, on which all the main facts of his history are recorded.
for the most part no great art or skill was lavished on those old tombstones.
the larger number are of roughly chiselled brown or gray native stone, and only in a few cases is there any attempt at ornamentation.
some are adorned with skull and cross-bones, and this grizzly decoration is frequently coupled with a cherub's head.
many are prostrate and in ruins.
into almost all time's tooth has been gnawing, until some inscriptions have been completely effaced, and others can only be deciphered with difficulty.
the graveyard is very full and very bowery, for it is surrounded and intersected by rows of elms and willows, beneath whose shade the sleepers must lie very dreamlessly, forever crooned to by the winds and leaves over them, and quite undisturbed by the clamor of traffic just beyond.
anne took the first of many rambles in old st. john's the next afternoon.
she and priscilla had gone to redmond in the forenoon and registered as students, after which there was nothing more to do that day.
the girls gladly made their escape, for it was not exhilarating to be surrounded by crowds of strangers, most of whom had a rather alien appearance, as if not quite sure where they belonged.
the "freshettes" stood about in detached groups of two or three, looking askance at each other; the "freshies," wiser in their day and generation, had banded themselves together on the big staircase of the entrance hall, where they were shouting out glees with all the vigor of youthful lungs, as a species of defiance to their traditional enemies, the sophomores, a few of whom were prowling loftily about, looking properly disdainful of the "unlicked cubs" on the stairs.
gilbert and charlie were nowhere to be seen.
""little did i think the day would ever come when i'd be glad of the sight of a sloane," said priscilla, as they crossed the campus, "but i'd welcome charlie's goggle eyes almost ecstatically.
at least, they'd be familiar eyes."
""oh," sighed anne.
""i ca n't describe how i felt when i was standing there, waiting my turn to be registered -- as insignificant as the teeniest drop in a most enormous bucket.
it's bad enough to feel insignificant, but it's unbearable to have it grained into your soul that you will never, can never, be anything but insignificant, and that is how i did feel -- as if i were invisible to the naked eye and some of those sophs might step on me.
i knew i would go down to my grave unwept, unhonored and unsung."
""wait till next year," comforted priscilla.
""then we'll be able to look as bored and sophisticated as any sophomore of them all.
no doubt it is rather dreadful to feel insignificant; but i think it's better than to feel as big and awkward as i did -- as if i were sprawled all over redmond.
that's how i felt -- i suppose because i was a good two inches taller than any one else in the crowd.
i was n't afraid a soph might walk over me; i was afraid they'd take me for an elephant, or an overgrown sample of a potato-fed islander."
""i suppose the trouble is we ca n't forgive big redmond for not being little queen's," said anne, gathering about her the shreds of her old cheerful philosophy to cover her nakedness of spirit.
""when we left queen's we knew everybody and had a place of our own.
i suppose we have been unconsciously expecting to take life up at redmond just where we left off at queen's, and now we feel as if the ground had slipped from under our feet.
i'm thankful that neither mrs. lynde nor mrs. elisha wright know, or ever will know, my state of mind at present.
they would exult in saying" i told you so," and be convinced it was the beginning of the end.
whereas it is just the end of the beginning."
""exactly.
that sounds more anneish.
in a little while we'll be acclimated and acquainted, and all will be well.
anne, did you notice the girl who stood alone just outside the door of the coeds" dressing room all the morning -- the pretty one with the brown eyes and crooked mouth?"
""yes, i did.
i noticed her particularly because she seemed the only creature there who looked as lonely and friendless as i felt.
i had you, but she had no one."
""i think she felt pretty all-by-herselfish, too.
several times i saw her make a motion as if to cross over to us, but she never did it -- too shy, i suppose.
i wished she would come.
if i had n't felt so much like the aforesaid elephant i'd have gone to her.
but i could n't lumber across that big hall with all those boys howling on the stairs.
she was the prettiest freshette i saw today, but probably favor is deceitful and even beauty is vain on your first day at redmond," concluded priscilla with a laugh.
""i'm going across to old st. john's after lunch," said anne.
""i do n't know that a graveyard is a very good place to go to get cheered up, but it seems the only get-at-able place where there are trees, and trees i must have.
i'll sit on one of those old slabs and shut my eyes and imagine i'm in the avonlea woods."
anne did not do that, however, for she found enough of interest in old st. john's to keep her eyes wide open.
they went in by the entrance gates, past the simple, massive, stone arch surmounted by the great lion of england."
"and on inkerman yet the wild bramble is gory, and those bleak heights henceforth shall be famous in story,"" quoted anne, looking at it with a thrill.
they found themselves in a dim, cool, green place where winds were fond of purring.
up and down the long grassy aisles they wandered, reading the quaint, voluminous epitaphs, carved in an age that had more leisure than our own."
"here lieth the body of albert crawford, esq.,"" read anne from a worn, gray slab," "for many years keeper of his majesty's ordnance at kingsport.
he served in the army till the peace of 1763, when he retired from bad health.
he was a brave officer, the best of husbands, the best of fathers, the best of friends.
he died october 29th, 1792, aged 84 years."
there's an epitaph for you, prissy.
there is certainly some "scope for imagination" in it.
how full such a life must have been of adventure!
and as for his personal qualities, i'm sure human eulogy could n't go further.
i wonder if they told him he was all those best things while he was alive."
""here's another," said priscilla.
""listen -- "to the memory of alexander ross, who died on the 22nd of september, 1840, aged 43 years.
this is raised as a tribute of affection by one whom he served so faithfully for 27 years that he was regarded as a friend, deserving the fullest confidence and attachment.""
""a very good epitaph," commented anne thoughtfully.
""i would n't wish a better.
we are all servants of some sort, and if the fact that we are faithful can be truthfully inscribed on our tombstones nothing more need be added.
here's a sorrowful little gray stone, prissy -- "to the memory of a favorite child."
and here is another "erected to the memory of one who is buried elsewhere."
i wonder where that unknown grave is.
really, pris, the graveyards of today will never be as interesting as this.
you were right -- i shall come here often.
i love it already.
i see we're not alone here -- there's a girl down at the end of this avenue."
""yes, and i believe it's the very girl we saw at redmond this morning.
i've been watching her for five minutes.
she has started to come up the avenue exactly half a dozen times, and half a dozen times has she turned and gone back.
either she's dreadfully shy or she has got something on her conscience.
let's go and meet her.
it's easier to get acquainted in a graveyard than at redmond, i believe."
they walked down the long grassy arcade towards the stranger, who was sitting on a gray slab under an enormous willow.
she was certainly very pretty, with a vivid, irregular, bewitching type of prettiness.
there was a gloss as of brown nuts on her satin-smooth hair and a soft, ripe glow on her round cheeks.
her eyes were big and brown and velvety, under oddly-pointed black brows, and her crooked mouth was rose-red.
she wore a smart brown suit, with two very modish little shoes peeping from beneath it; and her hat of dull pink straw, wreathed with golden-brown poppies, had the indefinable, unmistakable air which pertains to the "creation" of an artist in millinery.
priscilla had a sudden stinging consciousness that her own hat had been trimmed by her village store milliner, and anne wondered uncomfortably if the blouse she had made herself, and which mrs. lynde had fitted, looked very countrified and home-made besides the stranger's smart attire.
for a moment both girls felt like turning back.
but they had already stopped and turned towards the gray slab.
it was too late to retreat, for the brown-eyed girl had evidently concluded that they were coming to speak to her.
instantly she sprang up and came forward with outstretched hand and a gay, friendly smile in which there seemed not a shadow of either shyness or burdened conscience.
""oh, i want to know who you two girls are," she exclaimed eagerly.
""i've been dying to know.
i saw you at redmond this morning.
say, was n't it awful there?
for the time i wished i had stayed home and got married."
anne and priscilla both broke into unconstrained laughter at this unexpected conclusion.
the brown-eyed girl laughed, too.
""i really did.
i could have, you know.
come, let's all sit down on this gravestone and get acquainted.
it wo n't be hard.
i know we're going to adore each other -- i knew it as soon as i saw you at redmond this morning.
i wanted so much to go right over and hug you both."
""why did n't you?"
asked priscilla.
""because i simply could n't make up my mind to do it.
i never can make up my mind about anything myself -- i'm always afflicted with indecision.
just as soon as i decide to do something i feel in my bones that another course would be the correct one.
it's a dreadful misfortune, but i was born that way, and there is no use in blaming me for it, as some people do.
so i could n't make up my mind to go and speak to you, much as i wanted to."
""we thought you were too shy," said anne.
""no, no, dear.
shyness is n't among the many failings -- or virtues -- of philippa gordon -- phil for short.
do call me phil right off.
now, what are your handles?"
""she's priscilla grant," said anne, pointing.
""and she's anne shirley," said priscilla, pointing in turn.
""and we're from the island," said both together.
""i hail from bolingbroke, nova scotia," said philippa.
""bolingbroke!"
exclaimed anne.
""why, that is where i was born."
""do you really mean it?
why, that makes you a bluenose after all."
""no, it does n't," retorted anne.
""was n't it dan o'connell who said that if a man was born in a stable it did n't make him a horse?
i'm island to the core."
""well, i'm glad you were born in bolingbroke anyway.
it makes us kind of neighbors, does n't it?
and i like that, because when i tell you secrets it wo n't be as if i were telling them to a stranger.
i have to tell them.
i ca n't keep secrets -- it's no use to try.
that's my worst failing -- that, and indecision, as aforesaid.
would you believe it?
-- it took me half an hour to decide which hat to wear when i was coming here -- here, to a graveyard!
at first i inclined to my brown one with the feather; but as soon as i put it on i thought this pink one with the floppy brim would be more becoming.
when i got it pinned in place i liked the brown one better.
at last i put them close together on the bed, shut my eyes, and jabbed with a hat pin.
the pin speared the pink one, so i put it on.
it is becoming, is n't it?
tell me, what do you think of my looks?"
at this naive demand, made in a perfectly serious tone, priscilla laughed again.
but anne said, impulsively squeezing philippa's hand, "we thought this morning that you were the prettiest girl we saw at redmond."
philippa's crooked mouth flashed into a bewitching, crooked smile over very white little teeth.
""i thought that myself," was her next astounding statement, "but i wanted some one else's opinion to bolster mine up.
i ca n't decide even on my own appearance.
just as soon as i've decided that i'm pretty i begin to feel miserably that i'm not.
besides, have a horrible old great-aunt who is always saying to me, with a mournful sigh, "you were such a pretty baby.
it's strange how children change when they grow up."
i adore aunts, but i detest great-aunts.
please tell me quite often that i am pretty, if you do n't mind.
i feel so much more comfortable when i can believe i'm pretty.
and i'll be just as obliging to you if you want me to -- i can be, with a clear conscience."
""thanks," laughed anne, "but priscilla and i are so firmly convinced of our own good looks that we do n't need any assurance about them, so you need n't trouble."
""oh, you're laughing at me.
i know you think i'm abominably vain, but i'm not.
there really is n't one spark of vanity in me.
and i'm never a bit grudging about paying compliments to other girls when they deserve them.
i'm so glad i know you folks.
i came up on saturday and i've nearly died of homesickness ever since.
it's a horrible feeling, is n't it?
in bolingbroke i'm an important personage, and in kingsport i'm just nobody!
there were times when i could feel my soul turning a delicate blue.
where do you hang out?"
""thirty-eight st. john's street."
""better and better.
why, i'm just around the corner on wallace street.
i do n't like my boardinghouse, though.
it's bleak and lonesome, and my room looks out on such an unholy back yard.
it's the ugliest place in the world.
as for cats -- well, surely all the kingsport cats ca n't congregate there at night, but half of them must.
i adore cats on hearth rugs, snoozing before nice, friendly fires, but cats in back yards at midnight are totally different animals.
the first night i was here i cried all night, and so did the cats.
you should have seen my nose in the morning.
how i wished i had never left home!"
""i do n't know how you managed to make up your mind to come to redmond at all, if you are really such an undecided person," said amused priscilla.
""bless your heart, honey, i did n't.
it was father who wanted me to come here.
his heart was set on it -- why, i do n't know.
it seems perfectly ridiculous to think of me studying for a b.a. degree, does n't it?
not but what i can do it, all right.
i have heaps of brains."
""oh!"
said priscilla vaguely.
""yes.
but it's such hard work to use them.
and b.a.'s are such learned, dignified, wise, solemn creatures -- they must be.
no, i did n't want to come to redmond.
i did it just to oblige father.
he is such a duck.
besides, i knew if i stayed home i'd have to get married.
mother wanted that -- wanted it decidedly.
mother has plenty of decision.
but i really hated the thought of being married for a few years yet.
i want to have heaps of fun before i settle down.
and, ridiculous as the idea of my being a b.a. is, the idea of my being an old married woman is still more absurd, is n't it?
i'm only eighteen.
no, i concluded i would rather come to redmond than be married.
besides, how could i ever have made up my mind which man to marry?"
""were there so many?"
laughed anne.
""heaps.
the boys like me awfully -- they really do.
but there were only two that mattered.
the rest were all too young and too poor.
i must marry a rich man, you know."
""why must you?"
""honey, you could n't imagine me being a poor man's wife, could you?
i ca n't do a single useful thing, and i am very extravagant.
oh, no, my husband must have heaps of money.
so that narrowed them down to two.
but i could n't decide between two any easier than between two hundred.
i knew perfectly well that whichever one i chose i'd regret all my life that i had n't married the other."
""did n't you -- love -- either of them?"
asked anne, a little hesitatingly.
it was not easy for her to speak to a stranger of the great mystery and transformation of life.
""goodness, no.
i could n't love anybody.
it is n't in me.
besides i would n't want to.
being in love makes you a perfect slave, i think.
and it would give a man such power to hurt you.
i'd be afraid.
no, no, alec and alonzo are two dear boys, and i like them both so much that i really do n't know which i like the better.
that is the trouble.
alec is the best looking, of course, and i simply could n't marry a man who was n't handsome.
he is good-tempered too, and has lovely, curly, black hair.
he's rather too perfect -- i do n't believe i'd like a perfect husband -- somebody i could never find fault with."
""then why not marry alonzo?"
asked priscilla gravely.
""think of marrying a name like alonzo!"
said phil dolefully.
""i do n't believe i could endure it.
but he has a classic nose, and it would be a comfort to have a nose in the family that could be depended on.
i ca n't depend on mine.
so far, it takes after the gordon pattern, but i'm so afraid it will develop byrne tendencies as i grow older.
i examine it every day anxiously to make sure it's still gordon.
mother was a byrne and has the byrne nose in the byrnest degree.
wait till you see it.
i adore nice noses.
your nose is awfully nice, anne shirley.
alonzo's nose nearly turned the balance in his favor.
but alonzo!
no, i could n't decide.
if i could have done as i did with the hats -- stood them both up together, shut my eyes, and jabbed with a hatpin -- it would have been quite easy."
""what did alec and alonzo feel like when you came away?"
queried priscilla.
""oh, they still have hope.
i told them they'd have to wait till i could make up my mind.
they're quite willing to wait.
they both worship me, you know.
meanwhile, i intend to have a good time.
i expect i shall have heaps of beaux at redmond.
i ca n't be happy unless i have, you know.
but do n't you think the freshmen are fearfully homely?
i saw only one really handsome fellow among them.
he went away before you came.
i heard his chum call him gilbert.
his chum had eyes that stuck out that far.
but you're not going yet, girls?
do n't go yet."
""i think we must," said anne, rather coldly.
""it's getting late, and i've some work to do."
""but you'll both come to see me, wo n't you?"
asked philippa, getting up and putting an arm around each.
""and let me come to see you.
i want to be chummy with you.
i've taken such a fancy to you both.
and i have n't quite disgusted you with my frivolity, have i?"
""not quite," laughed anne, responding to phil's squeeze, with a return of cordiality.
""because i'm not half so silly as i seem on the surface, you know.
you just accept philippa gordon, as the lord made her, with all her faults, and i believe you'll come to like her.
is n't this graveyard a sweet place?
i'd love to be buried here.
here's a grave i did n't see before -- this one in the iron railing -- oh, girls, look, see -- the stone says it's the grave of a middy who was killed in the fight between the shannon and the chesapeake.
just fancy!"
anne paused by the railing and looked at the worn stone, her pulses thrilling with sudden excitement.
the old graveyard, with its over-arching trees and long aisles of shadows, faded from her sight.
instead, she saw the kingsport harbor of nearly a century agone.
out of the mist came slowly a great frigate, brilliant with "the meteor flag of england."
behind her was another, with a still, heroic form, wrapped in his own starry flag, lying on the quarter deck -- the gallant lawrence.
time's finger had turned back his pages, and that was the shannon sailing triumphant up the bay with the chesapeake as her prize.
""come back, anne shirley -- come back," laughed philippa, pulling her arm.
""you're a hundred years away from us.
come back."
anne came back with a sigh; her eyes were shining softly.
""i've always loved that old story," she said, "and although the english won that victory, i think it was because of the brave, defeated commander i love it.
this grave seems to bring it so near and make it so real.
this poor little middy was only eighteen.
he "died of desperate wounds received in gallant action" -- so reads his epitaph.
it is such as a soldier might wish for."
before she turned away, anne unpinned the little cluster of purple pansies she wore and dropped it softly on the grave of the boy who had perished in the great sea-duel.
""well, what do you think of our new friend?"
asked priscilla, when phil had left them.
""i like her.
there is something very lovable about her, in spite of all her nonsense.
i believe, as she says herself, that she is n't half as silly as she sounds.
she's a dear, kissable baby -- and i do n't know that she'll ever really grow up."
""i like her, too," said priscilla, decidedly.
""she talks as much about boys as ruby gillis does.
but it always enrages or sickens me to hear ruby, whereas i just wanted to laugh good-naturedly at phil.
now, what is the why of that?"
""there is a difference," said anne meditatively.
""i think it's because ruby is really so conscious of boys.
she plays at love and love-making.
besides, you feel, when she is boasting of her beaux that she is doing it to rub it well into you that you have n't half so many.
now, when phil talks of her beaux it sounds as if she was just speaking of chums.
she really looks upon boys as good comrades, and she is pleased when she has dozens of them tagging round, simply because she likes to be popular and to be thought popular.
even alex and alonzo -- i'll never be able to think of those two names separately after this -- are to her just two playfellows who want her to play with them all their lives.
i'm glad we met her, and i'm glad we went to old st. john's.
i believe i've put forth a tiny soul-root into kingsport soil this afternoon.
i hope so.
i hate to feel transplanted."
chapter v letters from home for the next three weeks anne and priscilla continued to feel as strangers in a strange land.
then, suddenly, everything seemed to fall into focus -- redmond, professors, classes, students, studies, social doings.
life became homogeneous again, instead of being made up of detached fragments.
the freshmen, instead of being a collection of unrelated individuals, found themselves a class, with a class spirit, a class yell, class interests, class antipathies and class ambitions.
they won the day in the annual "arts rush" against the sophomores, and thereby gained the respect of all the classes, and an enormous, confidence-giving opinion of themselves.
for three years the sophomores had won in the "rush"; that the victory of this year perched upon the freshmen's banner was attributed to the strategic generalship of gilbert blythe, who marshalled the campaign and originated certain new tactics, which demoralized the sophs and swept the freshmen to triumph.
as a reward of merit he was elected president of the freshman class, a position of honor and responsibility -- from a fresh point of view, at least -- coveted by many.
he was also invited to join the "lambs" -- redmondese for lamba theta -- a compliment rarely paid to a freshman.
as a preparatory initiation ordeal he had to parade the principal business streets of kingsport for a whole day wearing a sunbonnet and a voluminous kitchen apron of gaudily flowered calico.
this he did cheerfully, doffing his sunbonnet with courtly grace when he met ladies of his acquaintance.
charlie sloane, who had not been asked to join the lambs, told anne he did not see how blythe could do it, and he, for his part, could never humiliate himself so.
""fancy charlie sloane in a "caliker" apron and a "sunbunnit,"" giggled priscilla.
""he'd look exactly like his old grandmother sloane.
gilbert, now, looked as much like a man in them as in his own proper habiliments."
anne and priscilla found themselves in the thick of the social life of redmond.
that this came about so speedily was due in great measure to philippa gordon.
philippa was the daughter of a rich and well-known man, and belonged to an old and exclusive "bluenose" family.
this, combined with her beauty and charm -- a charm acknowledged by all who met her -- promptly opened the gates of all cliques, clubs and classes in redmond to her; and where she went anne and priscilla went, too.
phil "adored" anne and priscilla, especially anne.
she was a loyal little soul, crystal-free from any form of snobbishness.
""love me, love my friends" seemed to be her unconscious motto.
without effort, she took them with her into her ever widening circle of acquaintanceship, and the two avonlea girls found their social pathway at redmond made very easy and pleasant for them, to the envy and wonderment of the other freshettes, who, lacking philippa's sponsorship, were doomed to remain rather on the fringe of things during their first college year.
to anne and priscilla, with their more serious views of life, phil remained the amusing, lovable baby she had seemed on their first meeting.
yet, as she said herself, she had "heaps" of brains.
when or where she found time to study was a mystery, for she seemed always in demand for some kind of "fun," and her home evenings were crowded with callers.
she had all the "beaux" that heart could desire, for nine-tenths of the freshmen and a big fraction of all the other classes were rivals for her smiles.
she was naively delighted over this, and gleefully recounted each new conquest to anne and priscilla, with comments that might have made the unlucky lover's ears burn fiercely.
""alec and alonzo do n't seem to have any serious rival yet," remarked anne, teasingly.
""not one," agreed philippa.
""i write them both every week and tell them all about my young men here.
i'm sure it must amuse them.
but, of course, the one i like best i ca n't get.
gilbert blythe wo n't take any notice of me, except to look at me as if i were a nice little kitten he'd like to pat.
too well i know the reason.
i owe you a grudge, queen anne.
i really ought to hate you and instead i love you madly, and i'm miserable if i do n't see you every day.
you're different from any girl i ever knew before.
when you look at me in a certain way i feel what an insignificant, frivolous little beast i am, and i long to be better and wiser and stronger.
and then i make good resolutions; but the first nice-looking mannie who comes my way knocks them all out of my head.
is n't college life magnificent?
it's so funny to think i hated it that first day.
but if i had n't i might never got really acquainted with you.
anne, please tell me over again that you like me a little bit.
i yearn to hear it."
""i like you a big bit -- and i think you're a dear, sweet, adorable, velvety, clawless, little -- kitten," laughed anne, "but i do n't see when you ever get time to learn your lessons."
phil must have found time for she held her own in every class of her year.
even the grumpy old professor of mathematics, who detested coeds, and had bitterly opposed their admission to redmond, could n't floor her.
she led the freshettes everywhere, except in english, where anne shirley left her far behind.
anne herself found the studies of her freshman year very easy, thanks in great part to the steady work she and gilbert had put in during those two past years in avonlea.
this left her more time for a social life which she thoroughly enjoyed.
but never for a moment did she forget avonlea and the friends there.
to her, the happiest moments in each week were those in which letters came from home.
it was not until she had got her first letters that she began to think she could ever like kingsport or feel at home there.
before they came, avonlea had seemed thousands of miles away; those letters brought it near and linked the old life to the new so closely that they began to seem one and the same, instead of two hopelessly segregated existences.
the first batch contained six letters, from jane andrews, ruby gillis, diana barry, marilla, mrs. lynde and davy.
jane's was a copperplate production, with every "t" nicely crossed and every "i" precisely dotted, and not an interesting sentence in it.
she never mentioned the school, concerning which anne was avid to hear; she never answered one of the questions anne had asked in her letter.
but she told anne how many yards of lace she had recently crocheted, and the kind of weather they were having in avonlea, and how she intended to have her new dress made, and the way she felt when her head ached.
ruby gillis wrote a gushing epistle deploring anne's absence, assuring her she was horribly missed in everything, asking what the redmond "fellows" were like, and filling the rest with accounts of her own harrowing experiences with her numerous admirers.
it was a silly, harmless letter, and anne would have laughed over it had it not been for the postscript.
""gilbert seems to be enjoying redmond, judging from his letters," wrote ruby.
""i do n't think charlie is so stuck on it."
so gilbert was writing to ruby!
very well.
he had a perfect right to, of course.
only --!!
anne did not know that ruby had written the first letter and that gilbert had answered it from mere courtesy.
she tossed ruby's letter aside contemptuously.
but it took all diana's breezy, newsy, delightful epistle to banish the sting of ruby's postscript.
diana's letter contained a little too much fred, but was otherwise crowded and crossed with items of interest, and anne almost felt herself back in avonlea while reading it.
marilla's was a rather prim and colorless epistle, severely innocent of gossip or emotion.
yet somehow it conveyed to anne a whiff of the wholesome, simple life at green gables, with its savor of ancient peace, and the steadfast abiding love that was there for her.
mrs. lynde's letter was full of church news.
having broken up housekeeping, mrs. lynde had more time than ever to devote to church affairs and had flung herself into them heart and soul.
she was at present much worked up over the poor "supplies" they were having in the vacant avonlea pulpit.
""i do n't believe any but fools enter the ministry nowadays," she wrote bitterly.
""such candidates as they have sent us, and such stuff as they preach!
half of it ai n't true, and, what's worse, it ai n't sound doctrine.
the one we have now is the worst of the lot.
he mostly takes a text and preaches about something else.
and he says he does n't believe all the heathen will be eternally lost.
the idea!
if they wo n't all the money we've been giving to foreign missions will be clean wasted, that's what!
last sunday night he announced that next sunday he'd preach on the axe-head that swam.
i think he'd better confine himself to the bible and leave sensational subjects alone.
things have come to a pretty pass if a minister ca n't find enough in holy writ to preach about, that's what.
what church do you attend, anne?
i hope you go regularly.
people are apt to get so careless about church-going away from home, and i understand college students are great sinners in this respect.
i'm told many of them actually study their lessons on sunday.
i hope you'll never sink that low, anne.
remember how you were brought up.
and be very careful what friends you make.
you never know what sort of creatures are in them colleges.
outwardly they may be as whited sepulchers and inwardly as ravening wolves, that's what.
you'd better not have anything to say to any young man who is n't from the island.
""i forgot to tell you what happened the day the minister called here.
it was the funniest thing i ever saw.
i said to marilla, "if anne had been here would n't she have had a laugh?"
even marilla laughed.
you know he's a very short, fat little man with bow legs.
well, that old pig of mr. harrison's -- the big, tall one -- had wandered over here that day again and broke into the yard, and it got into the back porch, unbeknowns to us, and it was there when the minister appeared in the doorway.
it made one wild bolt to get out, but there was nowhere to bolt to except between them bow legs.
so there it went, and, being as it was so big and the minister so little, it took him clean off his feet and carried him away.
his hat went one way and his cane another, just as marilla and i got to the door.
i'll never forget the look of him.
and that poor pig was near scared to death.
i'll never be able to read that account in the bible of the swine that rushed madly down the steep place into the sea without seeing mr. harrison's pig careering down the hill with that minister.
i guess the pig thought he had the old boy on his back instead of inside of him.
i was thankful the twins were n't about.
it would n't have been the right thing for them to have seen a minister in such an undignified predicament.
just before they got to the brook the minister jumped off or fell off.
the pig rushed through the brook like mad and up through the woods.
marilla and i run down and helped the minister get up and brush his coat.
he was n't hurt, but he was mad.
he seemed to hold marilla and me responsible for it all, though we told him the pig did n't belong to us, and had been pestering us all summer.
besides, what did he come to the back door for?
you'd never have caught mr. allan doing that.
it'll be a long time before we get a man like mr. allan.
but it's an ill wind that blows no good.
we've never seen hoof or hair of that pig since, and it's my belief we never will.
""things is pretty quiet in avonlea.
i do n't find green gables as lonesome as i expected.
i think i'll start another cotton warp quilt this winter.
mrs. silas sloane has a handsome new apple-leaf pattern.
""when i feel that i must have some excitement i read the murder trials in that boston paper my niece sends me.
i never used to do it, but they're real interesting.
the states must be an awful place.
i hope you'll never go there, anne.
but the way girls roam over the earth now is something terrible.
it always makes me think of satan in the book of job, going to and fro and walking up and down.
i do n't believe the lord ever intended it, that's what.
""davy has been pretty good since you went away.
one day he was bad and marilla punished him by making him wear dora's apron all day, and then he went and cut all dora's aprons up.
i spanked him for that and then he went and chased my rooster to death.
""the macphersons have moved down to my place.
she's a great housekeeper and very particular.
she's rooted all my june lilies up because she says they make a garden look so untidy.
thomas set them lilies out when we were married.
her husband seems a nice sort of a man, but she ca n't get over being an old maid, that's what.
""do n't study too hard, and be sure and put your winter underclothes on as soon as the weather gets cool.
marilla worries a lot about you, but i tell her you've got a lot more sense than i ever thought you would have at one time, and that you'll be all right."
davy's letter plunged into a grievance at the start.
""dear anne, please write and tell marilla not to tie me to the rale of the bridge when i go fishing the boys make fun of me when she does.
its awful lonesome here without you but grate fun in school.
jane andrews is crosser than you.
i scared mrs. lynde with a jacky lantern last nite.
she was offel mad and she was mad cause i chased her old rooster round the yard till he fell down ded.
i did n't mean to make him fall down ded.
what made him die, anne, i want to know.
mrs. lynde threw him into the pig pen she mite of sold him to mr. blair.
mr. blair is giving 50 sense apeace for good ded roosters now.
i herd mrs. lynde asking the minister to pray for her.
what did she do that was so bad, anne, i want to know.
i've got a kite with a magnificent tail, anne.
milty bolter told me a grate story in school yesterday.
it is troo.
old joe mosey and leon were playing cards one nite last week in the woods.
the cards were on a stump and a big black man bigger than the trees come along and grabbed the cards and the stump and disapered with a noys like thunder.
ill bet they were skared.
milty says the black man was the old harry.
was he, anne, i want to know.
mr. kimball over at spenservale is very sick and will have to go to the hospitable.
please excuse me while i ask marilla if thats spelled rite.
marilla says its the silem he has to go to not the other place.
he thinks he has a snake inside of him.
whats it like to have a snake inside of you, anne.
i want to know.
mrs. lawrence bell is sick to.
mrs. lynde says that all that is the matter with her is that she thinks too much about her insides."
""i wonder," said anne, as she folded up her letters, "what mrs. lynde would think of philippa."
chapter vi in the park "what are you going to do with yourselves today, girls?"
asked philippa, popping into anne's room one saturday afternoon.
""we are going for a walk in the park," answered anne.
""i ought to stay in and finish my blouse.
but i could n't sew on a day like this.
there's something in the air that gets into my blood and makes a sort of glory in my soul.
my fingers would twitch and i'd sew a crooked seam.
so it's ho for the park and the pines."
""does "we" include any one but yourself and priscilla?"
""yes, it includes gilbert and charlie, and we'll be very glad if it will include you, also."
""but," said philippa dolefully, "if i go i'll have to be gooseberry, and that will be a new experience for philippa gordon."
""well, new experiences are broadening.
come along, and you'll be able to sympathize with all poor souls who have to play gooseberry often.
but where are all the victims?"
""oh, i was tired of them all and simply could n't be bothered with any of them today.
besides, i've been feeling a little blue -- just a pale, elusive azure.
it is n't serious enough for anything darker.
i wrote alec and alonzo last week.
i put the letters into envelopes and addressed them, but i did n't seal them up.
that evening something funny happened.
that is, alec would think it funny, but alonzo would n't be likely to.
i was in a hurry, so i snatched alec's letter -- as i thought -- out of the envelope and scribbled down a postscript.
then i mailed both letters.
i got alonzo's reply this morning.
girls, i had put that postscript to his letter and he was furious.
of course he'll get over it -- and i do n't care if he does n't -- but it spoiled my day.
so i thought i'd come to you darlings to get cheered up.
after the football season opens i wo n't have any spare saturday afternoons.
i adore football.
i've got the most gorgeous cap and sweater striped in redmond colors to wear to the games.
to be sure, a little way off i'll look like a walking barber's pole.
do you know that that gilbert of yours has been elected captain of the freshman football team?"
""yes, he told us so last evening," said priscilla, seeing that outraged anne would not answer.
""he and charlie were down.
we knew they were coming, so we painstakingly put out of sight or out of reach all miss ada's cushions.
that very elaborate one with the raised embroidery i dropped on the floor in the corner behind the chair it was on.
i thought it would be safe there.
but would you believe it?
charlie sloane made for that chair, noticed the cushion behind it, solemnly fished it up, and sat on it the whole evening.
such a wreck of a cushion as it was!
poor miss ada asked me today, still smiling, but oh, so reproachfully, why i had allowed it to be sat upon.
i told her i had n't -- that it was a matter of predestination coupled with inveterate sloanishness and i was n't a match for both combined."
""miss ada's cushions are really getting on my nerves," said anne.
""she finished two new ones last week, stuffed and embroidered within an inch of their lives.
there being absolutely no other cushionless place to put them she stood them up against the wall on the stair landing.
they topple over half the time and if we come up or down the stairs in the dark we fall over them.
last sunday, when dr. davis prayed for all those exposed to the perils of the sea, i added in thought "and for all those who live in houses where cushions are loved not wisely but too well!"
there!
we're ready, and i see the boys coming through old st. john's.
do you cast in your lot with us, phil?"
""i'll go, if i can walk with priscilla and charlie.
that will be a bearable degree of gooseberry.
that gilbert of yours is a darling, anne, but why does he go around so much with goggle-eyes?"
anne stiffened.
she had no great liking for charlie sloane; but he was of avonlea, so no outsider had any business to laugh at him.
""charlie and gilbert have always been friends," she said coldly.
""charlie is a nice boy.
he's not to blame for his eyes."
""do n't tell me that!
he is!
he must have done something dreadful in a previous existence to be punished with such eyes.
pris and i are going to have such sport with him this afternoon.
we'll make fun of him to his face and he'll never know it."
doubtless, "the abandoned p's," as anne called them, did carry out their amiable intentions.
but sloane was blissfully ignorant; he thought he was quite a fine fellow to be walking with two such coeds, especially philippa gordon, the class beauty and belle.
it must surely impress anne.
she would see that some people appreciated him at his real value.
gilbert and anne loitered a little behind the others, enjoying the calm, still beauty of the autumn afternoon under the pines of the park, on the road that climbed and twisted round the harbor shore.
""the silence here is like a prayer, is n't it?"
said anne, her face upturned to the shining sky.
""how i love the pines!
they seem to strike their roots deep into the romance of all the ages.
it is so comforting to creep away now and then for a good talk with them.
i always feel so happy out here.""
"and so in mountain solitudes o'ertaken as by some spell divine, their cares drop from them like the needles shaken from out the gusty pine,"" quoted gilbert.
""they make our little ambitions seem rather petty, do n't they, anne?"
""i think, if ever any great sorrow came to me, i would come to the pines for comfort," said anne dreamily.
""i hope no great sorrow ever will come to you, anne," said gilbert, who could not connect the idea of sorrow with the vivid, joyous creature beside him, unwitting that those who can soar to the highest heights can also plunge to the deepest depths, and that the natures which enjoy most keenly are those which also suffer most sharply.
""but there must -- sometime," mused anne.
""life seems like a cup of glory held to my lips just now.
but there must be some bitterness in it -- there is in every cup.
i shall taste mine some day.
well, i hope i shall be strong and brave to meet it.
and i hope it wo n't be through my own fault that it will come.
do you remember what dr. davis said last sunday evening -- that the sorrows god sent us brought comfort and strength with them, while the sorrows we brought on ourselves, through folly or wickedness, were by far the hardest to bear?
but we must n't talk of sorrow on an afternoon like this.
it's meant for the sheer joy of living, is n't it?"
""if i had my way i'd shut everything out of your life but happiness and pleasure, anne," said gilbert in the tone that meant "danger ahead."
""then you would be very unwise," rejoined anne hastily.
""i'm sure no life can be properly developed and rounded out without some trial and sorrow -- though i suppose it is only when we are pretty comfortable that we admit it.
come -- the others have got to the pavilion and are beckoning to us."
they all sat down in the little pavilion to watch an autumn sunset of deep red fire and pallid gold.
to their left lay kingsport, its roofs and spires dim in their shroud of violet smoke.
to their right lay the harbor, taking on tints of rose and copper as it stretched out into the sunset.
before them the water shimmered, satin smooth and silver gray, and beyond, clean shaven william's island loomed out of the mist, guarding the town like a sturdy bulldog.
its lighthouse beacon flared through the mist like a baleful star, and was answered by another in the far horizon.
""did you ever see such a strong-looking place?"
asked philippa.
""i do n't want william's island especially, but i'm sure i could n't get it if i did.
look at that sentry on the summit of the fort, right beside the flag.
does n't he look as if he had stepped out of a romance?"
""speaking of romance," said priscilla, "we've been looking for heather -- but, of course, we could n't find any.
it's too late in the season, i suppose."
""heather!"
exclaimed anne.
""heather does n't grow in america, does it?"
""there are just two patches of it in the whole continent," said phil, "one right here in the park, and one somewhere else in nova scotia, i forget where.
the famous highland regiment, the black watch, camped here one year, and, when the men shook out the straw of their beds in the spring, some seeds of heather took root."
""oh, how delightful!"
said enchanted anne.
""let's go home around by spofford avenue," suggested gilbert.
""we can see all "the handsome houses where the wealthy nobles dwell."
spofford avenue is the finest residential street in kingsport.
nobody can build on it unless he's a millionaire."
""oh, do," said phil.
""there's a perfectly killing little place i want to show you, anne.
it was n't built by a millionaire.
it's the first place after you leave the park, and must have grown while spofford avenue was still a country road.
it did grow -- it was n't built!
i do n't care for the houses on the avenue.
they're too brand new and plateglassy.
but this little spot is a dream -- and its name -- but wait till you see it."
they saw it as they walked up the pine-fringed hill from the park.
just on the crest, where spofford avenue petered out into a plain road, was a little white frame house with groups of pines on either side of it, stretching their arms protectingly over its low roof.
it was covered with red and gold vines, through which its green-shuttered windows peeped.
before it was a tiny garden, surrounded by a low stone wall.
october though it was, the garden was still very sweet with dear, old-fashioned, unworldly flowers and shrubs -- sweet may, southern-wood, lemon verbena, alyssum, petunias, marigolds and chrysanthemums.
a tiny brick wall, in herring-bone pattern, led from the gate to the front porch.
the whole place might have been transplanted from some remote country village; yet there was something about it that made its nearest neighbor, the big lawn-encircled palace of a tobacco king, look exceedingly crude and showy and ill-bred by contrast.
as phil said, it was the difference between being born and being made.
""it's the dearest place i ever saw," said anne delightedly.
""it gives me one of my old, delightful funny aches.
it's dearer and quainter than even miss lavendar's stone house."
""it's the name i want you to notice especially," said phil.
""look -- in white letters, around the archway over the gate.
"patty's place."
is n't that killing?
especially on this avenue of pinehursts and elmwolds and cedarcrofts?
"patty's place," if you please!
i adore it."
""have you any idea who patty is?"
asked priscilla.
""patty spofford is the name of the old lady who owns it, i've discovered.
she lives there with her niece, and they've lived there for hundreds of years, more or less -- maybe a little less, anne.
exaggeration is merely a flight of poetic fancy.
i understand that wealthy folk have tried to buy the lot time and again -- it's really worth a small fortune now, you know -- but "patty" wo n't sell upon any consideration.
and there's an apple orchard behind the house in place of a back yard -- you'll see it when we get a little past -- a real apple orchard on spofford avenue!"
""i'm going to dream about "patty's place" tonight," said anne.
""why, i feel as if i belonged to it.
i wonder if, by any chance, we'll ever see the inside of it."
""it is n't likely," said priscilla.
anne smiled mysteriously.
""no, it is n't likely.
but i believe it will happen.
i have a queer, creepy, crawly feeling -- you can call it a presentiment, if you like -- that "patty's place" and i are going to be better acquainted yet."
chapter vii home again those first three weeks at redmond had seemed long; but the rest of the term flew by on wings of wind.
before they realized it the redmond students found themselves in the grind of christmas examinations, emerging therefrom more or less triumphantly.
the honor of leading in the freshman classes fluctuated between anne, gilbert and philippa; priscilla did very well; charlie sloane scraped through respectably, and comported himself as complacently as if he had led in everything.
""i ca n't really believe that this time tomorrow i'll be in green gables," said anne on the night before departure.
""but i shall be.
and you, phil, will be in bolingbroke with alec and alonzo."
""i'm longing to see them," admitted phil, between the chocolate she was nibbling.
""they really are such dear boys, you know.
there's to be no end of dances and drives and general jamborees.
i shall never forgive you, queen anne, for not coming home with me for the holidays.""
"never" means three days with you, phil.
it was dear of you to ask me -- and i'd love to go to bolingbroke some day.
but i ca n't go this year -- i must go home.
you do n't know how my heart longs for it."
""you wo n't have much of a time," said phil scornfully.
""there'll be one or two quilting parties, i suppose; and all the old gossips will talk you over to your face and behind your back.
you'll die of lonesomeness, child."
""in avonlea?"
said anne, highly amused.
""now, if you'd come with me you'd have a perfectly gorgeous time.
bolingbroke would go wild over you, queen anne -- your hair and your style and, oh, everything!
you're so different.
you'd be such a success -- and i would bask in reflected glory -- "not the rose but near the rose."
do come, after all, anne."
""your picture of social triumphs is quite fascinating, phil, but i'll paint one to offset it.
i'm going home to an old country farmhouse, once green, rather faded now, set among leafless apple orchards.
there is a brook below and a december fir wood beyond, where i've heard harps swept by the fingers of rain and wind.
there is a pond nearby that will be gray and brooding now.
there will be two oldish ladies in the house, one tall and thin, one short and fat; and there will be two twins, one a perfect model, the other what mrs. lynde calls a "holy terror."
there will be a little room upstairs over the porch, where old dreams hang thick, and a big, fat, glorious feather bed which will almost seem the height of luxury after a boardinghouse mattress.
how do you like my picture, phil?"
""it seems a very dull one," said phil, with a grimace.
""oh, but i've left out the transforming thing," said anne softly.
""there'll be love there, phil -- faithful, tender love, such as i'll never find anywhere else in the world -- love that's waiting for me.
that makes my picture a masterpiece, does n't it, even if the colors are not very brilliant?"
phil silently got up, tossed her box of chocolates away, went up to anne, and put her arms about her.
""anne, i wish i was like you," she said soberly.
diana met anne at the carmody station the next night, and they drove home together under silent, star-sown depths of sky.
green gables had a very festal appearance as they drove up the lane.
there was a light in every window, the glow breaking out through the darkness like flame-red blossoms swung against the dark background of the haunted wood.
and in the yard was a brave bonfire with two gay little figures dancing around it, one of which gave an unearthly yell as the buggy turned in under the poplars.
""davy means that for an indian war-whoop," said diana.
""mr. harrison's hired boy taught it to him, and he's been practicing it up to welcome you with.
mrs. lynde says it has worn her nerves to a frazzle.
he creeps up behind her, you know, and then lets go.
he was determined to have a bonfire for you, too.
he's been piling up branches for a fortnight and pestering marilla to be let pour some kerosene oil over it before setting it on fire.
i guess she did, by the smell, though mrs. lynde said up to the last that davy would blow himself and everybody else up if he was let."
anne was out of the buggy by this time, and davy was rapturously hugging her knees, while even dora was clinging to her hand.
""is n't that a bully bonfire, anne?
just let me show you how to poke it -- see the sparks?
i did it for you, anne,'cause i was so glad you were coming home."
the kitchen door opened and marilla's spare form darkened against the inner light.
she preferred to meet anne in the shadows, for she was horribly afraid that she was going to cry with joy -- she, stern, repressed marilla, who thought all display of deep emotion unseemly.
mrs. lynde was behind her, sonsy, kindly, matronly, as of yore.
the love that anne had told phil was waiting for her surrounded her and enfolded her with its blessing and its sweetness.
nothing, after all, could compare with old ties, old friends, and old green gables!
how starry anne's eyes were as they sat down to the loaded supper table, how pink her cheeks, how silver-clear her laughter!
and diana was going to stay all night, too.
how like the dear old times it was!
and the rose-bud tea-set graced the table!
with marilla the force of nature could no further go.
""i suppose you and diana will now proceed to talk all night," said marilla sarcastically, as the girls went upstairs.
marilla was always sarcastic after any self-betrayal.
""yes," agreed anne gaily, "but i'm going to put davy to bed first.
he insists on that."
""you bet," said davy, as they went along the hall.
""i want somebody to say my prayers to again.
it's no fun saying them alone."
""you do n't say them alone, davy.
god is always with you to hear you."
""well, i ca n't see him," objected davy.
""i want to pray to somebody i can see, but i wo n't say them to mrs. lynde or marilla, there now!"
nevertheless, when davy was garbed in his gray flannel nighty, he did not seem in a hurry to begin.
he stood before anne, shuffling one bare foot over the other, and looked undecided.
""come, dear, kneel down," said anne.
davy came and buried his head in anne's lap, but he did not kneel down.
""anne," he said in a muffled voice.
""i do n't feel like praying after all.
i have n't felt like it for a week now.
i -- i did n't pray last night nor the night before."
""why not, davy?"
asked anne gently.
""you -- you wo n't be mad if i tell you?"
implored davy.
anne lifted the little gray-flannelled body on her knee and cuddled his head on her arm.
""do i ever get "mad" when you tell me things, davy?"
""no-o-o, you never do.
but you get sorry, and that's worse.
you'll be awful sorry when i tell you this, anne -- and you'll be "shamed of me, i s "pose."
""have you done something naughty, davy, and is that why you ca n't say your prayers?"
""no, i have n't done anything naughty -- yet.
but i want to do it."
""what is it, davy?"
""i -- i want to say a bad word, anne," blurted out davy, with a desperate effort.
""i heard mr. harrison's hired boy say it one day last week, and ever since i've been wanting to say it all the time -- even when i'm saying my prayers."
""say it then, davy."
davy lifted his flushed face in amazement.
""but, anne, it's an awful bad word."
""say it!"
davy gave her another incredulous look, then in a low voice he said the dreadful word.
the next minute his face was burrowing against her.
""oh, anne, i'll never say it again -- never.
i'll never want to say it again.
i knew it was bad, but i did n't s "pose it was so -- so -- i did n't s "pose it was like that."
""no, i do n't think you'll ever want to say it again, davy -- or think it, either.
and i would n't go about much with mr. harrison's hired boy if i were you."
""he can make bully war-whoops," said davy a little regretfully.
""but you do n't want your mind filled with bad words, do you, davy -- words that will poison it and drive out all that is good and manly?"
""no," said davy, owl-eyed with introspection.
""then do n't go with those people who use them.
and now do you feel as if you could say your prayers, davy?"
""oh, yes," said davy, eagerly wriggling down on his knees, "i can say them now all right.
i ai n't scared now to say "if i should die before i wake," like i was when i was wanting to say that word."
probably anne and diana did empty out their souls to each other that night, but no record of their confidences has been preserved.
they both looked as fresh and bright-eyed at breakfast as only youth can look after unlawful hours of revelry and confession.
there had been no snow up to this time, but as diana crossed the old log bridge on her homeward way the white flakes were beginning to flutter down over the fields and woods, russet and gray in their dreamless sleep.
soon the far-away slopes and hills were dim and wraith-like through their gauzy scarfing, as if pale autumn had flung a misty bridal veil over her hair and was waiting for her wintry bridegroom.
so they had a white christmas after all, and a very pleasant day it was.
in the forenoon letters and gifts came from miss lavendar and paul; anne opened them in the cheerful green gables kitchen, which was filled with what davy, sniffing in ecstasy, called "pretty smells."
""miss lavendar and mr. irving are settled in their new home now," reported anne.
""i am sure miss lavendar is perfectly happy -- i know it by the general tone of her letter -- but there's a note from charlotta the fourth.
she does n't like boston at all, and she is fearfully homesick.
miss lavendar wants me to go through to echo lodge some day while i'm home and light a fire to air it, and see that the cushions are n't getting moldy.
i think i'll get diana to go over with me next week, and we can spend the evening with theodora dix.
i want to see theodora.
by the way, is ludovic speed still going to see her?"
""they say so," said marilla, "and he's likely to continue it.
folks have given up expecting that that courtship will ever arrive anywhere."
""i'd hurry him up a bit, if i was theodora, that's what," said mrs. lynde.
and there is not the slightest doubt but that she would.
there was also a characteristic scrawl from philippa, full of alec and alonzo, what they said and what they did, and how they looked when they saw her.
""but i ca n't make up my mind yet which to marry," wrote phil.
""i do wish you had come with me to decide for me.
some one will have to.
when i saw alec my heart gave a great thump and i thought, "he might be the right one."
and then, when alonzo came, thump went my heart again.
so that's no guide, though it should be, according to all the novels i've ever read.
now, anne, your heart would n't thump for anybody but the genuine prince charming, would it?
there must be something radically wrong with mine.
but i'm having a perfectly gorgeous time.
how i wish you were here!
it's snowing today, and i'm rapturous.
i was so afraid we'd have a green christmas and i loathe them.
you know, when christmas is a dirty grayey-browney affair, looking as if it had been left over a hundred years ago and had been in soak ever since, it is called a green christmas!
do n't ask me why.
as lord dundreary says, "there are thome thingth no fellow can underthtand."
""anne, did you ever get on a street car and then discover that you had n't any money with you to pay your fare?
i did, the other day.
it's quite awful.
i had a nickel with me when i got on the car.
i thought it was in the left pocket of my coat.
when i got settled down comfortably i felt for it.
it was n't there.
i had a cold chill.
i felt in the other pocket.
not there.
i had another chill.
then i felt in a little inside pocket.
all in vain.
i had two chills at once.
""i took off my gloves, laid them on the seat, and went over all my pockets again.
it was not there.
i stood up and shook myself, and then looked on the floor.
the car was full of people, who were going home from the opera, and they all stared at me, but i was past caring for a little thing like that.
""but i could not find my fare.
i concluded i must have put it in my mouth and swallowed it inadvertently.
""i did n't know what to do.
would the conductor, i wondered, stop the car and put me off in ignominy and shame?
was it possible that i could convince him that i was merely the victim of my own absentmindedness, and not an unprincipled creature trying to obtain a ride upon false pretenses?
how i wished that alec or alonzo were there.
but they were n't because i wanted them.
if i had n't wanted them they would have been there by the dozen.
and i could n't decide what to say to the conductor when he came around.
as soon as i got one sentence of explanation mapped out in my mind i felt nobody could believe it and i must compose another.
it seemed there was nothing to do but trust in providence, and for all the comfort that gave me i might as well have been the old lady who, when told by the captain during a storm that she must put her trust in the almighty exclaimed, "oh, captain, is it as bad as that?"
""just at the conventional moment, when all hope had fled, and the conductor was holding out his box to the passenger next to me, i suddenly remembered where i had put that wretched coin of the realm.
i had n't swallowed it after all.
i meekly fished it out of the index finger of my glove and poked it in the box.
i smiled at everybody and felt that it was a beautiful world."
the visit to echo lodge was not the least pleasant of many pleasant holiday outings.
anne and diana went back to it by the old way of the beech woods, carrying a lunch basket with them.
echo lodge, which had been closed ever since miss lavendar's wedding, was briefly thrown open to wind and sunshine once more, and firelight glimmered again in the little rooms.
the perfume of miss lavendar's rose bowl still filled the air.
it was hardly possible to believe that miss lavendar would not come tripping in presently, with her brown eyes a-star with welcome, and that charlotta the fourth, blue of bow and wide of smile, would not pop through the door.
paul, too, seemed hovering around, with his fairy fancies.
""it really makes me feel a little bit like a ghost revisiting the old time glimpses of the moon," laughed anne.
""let's go out and see if the echoes are at home.
bring the old horn.
it is still behind the kitchen door."
the echoes were at home, over the white river, as silver-clear and multitudinous as ever; and when they had ceased to answer the girls locked up echo lodge again and went away in the perfect half hour that follows the rose and saffron of a winter sunset.
chapter viii anne's first proposal the old year did not slip away in a green twilight, with a pinky-yellow sunset.
instead, it went out with a wild, white bluster and blow.
it was one of the nights when the storm-wind hurtles over the frozen meadows and black hollows, and moans around the eaves like a lost creature, and drives the snow sharply against the shaking panes.
""just the sort of night people like to cuddle down between their blankets and count their mercies," said anne to jane andrews, who had come up to spend the afternoon and stay all night.
but when they were cuddled between their blankets, in anne's little porch room, it was not her mercies of which jane was thinking.
""anne," she said very solemnly, "i want to tell you something.
may i" anne was feeling rather sleepy after the party ruby gillis had given the night before.
she would much rather have gone to sleep than listen to jane's confidences, which she was sure would bore her.
she had no prophetic inkling of what was coming.
probably jane was engaged, too; rumor averred that ruby gillis was engaged to the spencervale schoolteacher, about whom all the girls were said to be quite wild.
""i'll soon be the only fancy-free maiden of our old quartet," thought anne, drowsily.
aloud she said, "of course."
""anne," said jane, still more solemnly, "what do you think of my brother billy?"
anne gasped over this unexpected question, and floundered helplessly in her thoughts.
goodness, what did she think of billy andrews?
she had never thought anything about him -- round-faced, stupid, perpetually smiling, good-natured billy andrews.
did anybody ever think about billy andrews?
""i -- i do n't understand, jane," she stammered.
""what do you mean -- exactly?"
""do you like billy?"
asked jane bluntly.
""why -- why -- yes, i like him, of course," gasped anne, wondering if she were telling the literal truth.
certainly she did not dislike billy.
but could the indifferent tolerance with which she regarded him, when he happened to be in her range of vision, be considered positive enough for liking?
what was jane trying to elucidate?
""would you like him for a husband?"
asked jane calmly.
""a husband!"
anne had been sitting up in bed, the better to wrestle with the problem of her exact opinion of billy andrews.
now she fell flatly back on her pillows, the very breath gone out of her.
""whose husband?"
""yours, of course," answered jane.
""billy wants to marry you.
he's always been crazy about you -- and now father has given him the upper farm in his own name and there's nothing to prevent him from getting married.
but he's so shy he could n't ask you himself if you'd have him, so he got me to do it.
i'd rather not have, but he gave me no peace till i said i would, if i got a good chance.
what do you think about it, anne?"
was it a dream?
was it one of those nightmare things in which you find yourself engaged or married to some one you hate or do n't know, without the slightest idea how it ever came about?
no, she, anne shirley, was lying there, wide awake, in her own bed, and jane andrews was beside her, calmly proposing for her brother billy.
anne did not know whether she wanted to writhe or laugh; but she could do neither, for jane's feelings must not be hurt.
""i -- i could n't marry bill, you know, jane," she managed to gasp.
""why, such an idea never occurred to me -- never!"
""i do n't suppose it did," agreed jane.
""billy has always been far too shy to think of courting.
but you might think it over, anne.
billy is a good fellow.
i must say that, if he is my brother.
he has no bad habits and he's a great worker, and you can depend on him."
a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."
he told me to tell you he'd be quite willing to wait till you got through college, if you insisted, though he'd rather get married this spring before the planting begins.
he'd always be very good to you, i'm sure, and you know, anne, i'd love to have you for a sister."
""i ca n't marry billy," said anne decidedly.
she had recovered her wits, and was even feeling a little angry.
it was all so ridiculous.
""there is no use thinking of it, jane.
i do n't care anything for him in that way, and you must tell him so."
""well, i did n't suppose you would," said jane with a resigned sigh, feeling that she had done her best.
""i told billy i did n't believe it was a bit of use to ask you, but he insisted.
well, you've made your decision, anne, and i hope you wo n't regret it."
jane spoke rather coldly.
she had been perfectly sure that the enamored billy had no chance at all of inducing anne to marry him.
nevertheless, she felt a little resentment that anne shirley, who was, after all, merely an adopted orphan, without kith or kin, should refuse her brother -- one of the avonlea andrews.
well, pride sometimes goes before a fall, jane reflected ominously.
anne permitted herself to smile in the darkness over the idea that she might ever regret not marrying billy andrews.
""i hope billy wo n't feel very badly over it," she said nicely.
jane made a movement as if she were tossing her head on her pillow.
""oh, he wo n't break his heart.
billy has too much good sense for that.
he likes nettie blewett pretty well, too, and mother would rather he married her than any one.
she's such a good manager and saver.
i think, when billy is once sure you wo n't have him, he'll take nettie.
please do n't mention this to any one, will you, anne?"
""certainly not," said anne, who had no desire whatever to publish abroad the fact that billy andrews wanted to marry her, preferring her, when all was said and done, to nettie blewett.
nettie blewett!
""and now i suppose we'd better go to sleep," suggested jane.
to sleep went jane easily and speedily; but, though very unlike macbeth in most respects, she had certainly contrived to murder sleep for anne.
that proposed-to damsel lay on a wakeful pillow until the wee sma's, but her meditations were far from being romantic.
it was not, however, until the next morning that she had an opportunity to indulge in a good laugh over the whole affair.
when jane had gone home -- still with a hint of frost in voice and manner because anne had declined so ungratefully and decidedly the honor of an alliance with the house of andrews -- anne retreated to the porch room, shut the door, and had her laugh out at last.
""if i could only share the joke with some one!"
she thought.
""but i ca n't.
diana is the only one i'd want to tell, and, even if i had n't sworn secrecy to jane, i ca n't tell diana things now.
she tells everything to fred -- i know she does.
well, i've had my first proposal.
i supposed it would come some day -- but i certainly never thought it would be by proxy.
it's awfully funny -- and yet there's a sting in it, too, somehow."
anne knew quite well wherein the sting consisted, though she did not put it into words.
she had had her secret dreams of the first time some one should ask her the great question.
and it had, in those dreams, always been very romantic and beautiful: and the "some one" was to be very handsome and dark-eyed and distinguished-looking and eloquent, whether he were prince charming to be enraptured with "yes," or one to whom a regretful, beautifully worded, but hopeless refusal must be given.
if the latter, the refusal was to be expressed so delicately that it would be next best thing to acceptance, and he would go away, after kissing her hand, assuring her of his unalterable, life-long devotion.
and it would always be a beautiful memory, to be proud of and a little sad about, also.
and now, this thrilling experience had turned out to be merely grotesque.
billy andrews had got his sister to propose for him because his father had given him the upper farm; and if anne would n't "have him" nettie blewett would.
there was romance for you, with a vengeance!
anne laughed -- and then sighed.
the bloom had been brushed from one little maiden dream.
would the painful process go on until everything became prosaic and hum-drum?
chapter ix an unwelcome lover and a welcome friend the second term at redmond sped as quickly as had the first -- "actually whizzed away," philippa said.
anne enjoyed it thoroughly in all its phases -- the stimulating class rivalry, the making and deepening of new and helpful friendships, the gay little social stunts, the doings of the various societies of which she was a member, the widening of horizons and interests.
she studied hard, for she had made up her mind to win the thorburn scholarship in english.
this being won, meant that she could come back to redmond the next year without trenching on marilla's small savings -- something anne was determined she would not do.
gilbert, too, was in full chase after a scholarship, but found plenty of time for frequent calls at thirty-eight, st. john's.
he was anne's escort at nearly all the college affairs, and she knew that their names were coupled in redmond gossip.
anne raged over this but was helpless; she could not cast an old friend like gilbert aside, especially when he had grown suddenly wise and wary, as behooved him in the dangerous proximity of more than one redmond youth who would gladly have taken his place by the side of the slender, red-haired coed, whose gray eyes were as alluring as stars of evening.
anne was never attended by the crowd of willing victims who hovered around philippa's conquering march through her freshman year; but there was a lanky, brainy freshie, a jolly, little, round sophomore, and a tall, learned junior who all liked to call at thirty-eight, st. john's, and talk over "ologies and "isms, as well as lighter subjects, with anne, in the becushioned parlor of that domicile.
gilbert did not love any of them, and he was exceedingly careful to give none of them the advantage over him by any untimely display of his real feelings anne-ward.
to her he had become again the boy-comrade of avonlea days, and as such could hold his own against any smitten swain who had so far entered the lists against him.
as a companion, anne honestly acknowledged nobody could be so satisfactory as gilbert; she was very glad, so she told herself, that he had evidently dropped all nonsensical ideas -- though she spent considerable time secretly wondering why.
only one disagreeable incident marred that winter.
charlie sloane, sitting bolt upright on miss ada's most dearly beloved cushion, asked anne one night if she would promise "to become mrs. charlie sloane some day."
coming after billy andrews" proxy effort, this was not quite the shock to anne's romantic sensibilities that it would otherwise have been; but it was certainly another heart-rending disillusion.
she was angry, too, for she felt that she had never given charlie the slightest encouragement to suppose such a thing possible.
but what could you expect of a sloane, as mrs. rachel lynde would ask scornfully?
charlie's whole attitude, tone, air, words, fairly reeked with sloanishness.
""he was conferring a great honor -- no doubt whatever about that.
and when anne, utterly insensible to the honor, refused him, as delicately and considerately as she could -- for even a sloane had feelings which ought not to be unduly lacerated -- sloanishness still further betrayed itself.
charlie certainly did not take his dismissal as anne's imaginary rejected suitors did.
instead, he became angry, and showed it; he said two or three quite nasty things; anne's temper flashed up mutinously and she retorted with a cutting little speech whose keenness pierced even charlie's protective sloanishness and reached the quick; he caught up his hat and flung himself out of the house with a very red face; anne rushed upstairs, falling twice over miss ada's cushions on the way, and threw herself on her bed, in tears of humiliation and rage.
had she actually stooped to quarrel with a sloane?
was it possible anything charlie sloane could say had power to make her angry?
oh, this was degradation, indeed -- worse even than being the rival of nettie blewett!
""i wish i need never see the horrible creature again," she sobbed vindictively into her pillows.
she could not avoid seeing him again, but the outraged charlie took care that it should not be at very close quarters.
miss ada's cushions were henceforth safe from his depredations, and when he met anne on the street, or in redmond's halls, his bow was icy in the extreme.
relations between these two old schoolmates continued to be thus strained for nearly a year!
then charlie transferred his blighted affections to a round, rosy, snub-nosed, blue-eyed, little sophomore who appreciated them as they deserved, whereupon he forgave anne and condescended to be civil to her again; in a patronizing manner intended to show her just what she had lost.
one day anne scurried excitedly into priscilla's room.
""read that," she cried, tossing priscilla a letter.
""it's from stella -- and she's coming to redmond next year -- and what do you think of her idea?
i think it's a perfectly splendid one, if we can only carry it out.
do you suppose we can, pris?"
""i'll be better able to tell you when i find out what it is," said priscilla, casting aside a greek lexicon and taking up stella's letter.
stella maynard had been one of their chums at queen's academy and had been teaching school ever since.
""but i'm going to give it up, anne dear," she wrote, "and go to college next year.
as i took the third year at queen's i can enter the sophomore year.
i'm tired of teaching in a back country school.
some day i'm going to write a treatise on "the trials of a country schoolmarm."
it will be a harrowing bit of realism.
it seems to be the prevailing impression that we live in clover, and have nothing to do but draw our quarter's salary.
my treatise shall tell the truth about us.
why, if a week should pass without some one telling me that i am doing easy work for big pay i would conclude that i might as well order my ascension robe "immediately and to onct."
"well, you get your money easy," some rate-payer will tell me, condescendingly.
"all you have to do is to sit there and hear lessons."
i used to argue the matter at first, but i'm wiser now.
facts are stubborn things, but as some one has wisely said, not half so stubborn as fallacies.
so i only smile loftily now in eloquent silence.
why, i have nine grades in my school and i have to teach a little of everything, from investigating the interiors of earthworms to the study of the solar system.
my youngest pupil is four -- his mother sends him to school to "get him out of the way" -- and my oldest twenty -- it "suddenly struck him" that it would be easier to go to school and get an education than follow the plough any longer.
in the wild effort to cram all sorts of research into six hours a day i do n't wonder if the children feel like the little boy who was taken to see the biograph."
i have to look for what's coming next before i know what went last," he complained.
i feel like that myself.
""and the letters i get, anne!
tommy's mother writes me that tommy is not coming on in arithmetic as fast as she would like.
he is only in simple reduction yet, and johnny johnson is in fractions, and johnny is n't half as smart as her tommy, and she ca n't understand it.
and susy's father wants to know why susy ca n't write a letter without misspelling half the words, and dick's aunt wants me to change his seat, because that bad brown boy he is sitting with is teaching him to say naughty words.
""as to the financial part -- but i'll not begin on that.
those whom the gods wish to destroy they first make country schoolmarms!
""there, i feel better, after that growl.
after all, i've enjoyed these past two years.
but i'm coming to redmond.
""and now, anne, i've a little plan.
you know how i loathe boarding.
i've boarded for four years and i'm so tired of it.
i do n't feel like enduring three years more of it.
""now, why ca n't you and priscilla and i club together, rent a little house somewhere in kingsport, and board ourselves?
it would be cheaper than any other way.
of course, we would have to have a housekeeper and i have one ready on the spot.
you've heard me speak of aunt jamesina?
she's the sweetest aunt that ever lived, in spite of her name.
she ca n't help that!
she was called jamesina because her father, whose name was james, was drowned at sea a month before she was born.
i always call her aunt jimsie.
well, her only daughter has recently married and gone to the foreign mission field.
aunt jamesina is left alone in a great big house, and she is horribly lonesome.
she will come to kingsport and keep house for us if we want her, and i know you'll both love her.
the more i think of the plan the more i like it.
we could have such good, independent times.
""now, if you and priscilla agree to it, would n't it be a good idea for you, who are on the spot, to look around and see if you can find a suitable house this spring?
that would be better than leaving it till the fall.
if you could get a furnished one so much the better, but if not, we can scare up a few sticks of finiture between us and old family friends with attics.
anyhow, decide as soon as you can and write me, so that aunt jamesina will know what plans to make for next year."
""i think it's a good idea," said priscilla.
""so do i," agreed anne delightedly.
""of course, we have a nice boardinghouse here, but, when all's said and done, a boardinghouse is n't home.
so let's go house-hunting at once, before exams come on."
""i'm afraid it will be hard enough to get a really suitable house," warned priscilla.
""do n't expect too much, anne.
nice houses in nice localities will probably be away beyond our means.
we'll likely have to content ourselves with a shabby little place on some street whereon live people whom to know is to be unknown, and make life inside compensate for the outside."
accordingly they went house-hunting, but to find just what they wanted proved even harder than priscilla had feared.
houses there were galore, furnished and unfurnished; but one was too big, another too small; this one too expensive, that one too far from redmond.
exams were on and over; the last week of the term came and still their "house o'dreams," as anne called it, remained a castle in the air.
""we shall have to give up and wait till the fall, i suppose," said priscilla wearily, as they rambled through the park on one of april's darling days of breeze and blue, when the harbor was creaming and shimmering beneath the pearl-hued mists floating over it.
""we may find some shack to shelter us then; and if not, boardinghouses we shall have always with us."
""i'm not going to worry about it just now, anyway, and spoil this lovely afternoon," said anne, gazing around her with delight.
the fresh chill air was faintly charged with the aroma of pine balsam, and the sky above was crystal clear and blue -- a great inverted cup of blessing.
""spring is singing in my blood today, and the lure of april is abroad on the air.
i'm seeing visions and dreaming dreams, pris.
that's because the wind is from the west.
i do love the west wind.
it sings of hope and gladness, does n't it?
when the east wind blows i always think of sorrowful rain on the eaves and sad waves on a gray shore.
when i get old i shall have rheumatism when the wind is east."
""and is n't it jolly when you discard furs and winter garments for the first time and sally forth, like this, in spring attire?"
laughed priscilla.
""do n't you feel as if you had been made over new?"
""everything is new in the spring," said anne.
""springs themselves are always so new, too.
no spring is ever just like any other spring.
it always has something of its own to be its own peculiar sweetness.
see how green the grass is around that little pond, and how the willow buds are bursting."
""and exams are over and gone -- the time of convocation will come soon -- next wednesday.
this day next week we'll be home."
""i'm glad," said anne dreamily.
""there are so many things i want to do.
i want to sit on the back porch steps and feel the breeze blowing down over mr. harrison's fields.
i want to hunt ferns in the haunted wood and gather violets in violet vale.
do you remember the day of our golden picnic, priscilla?
i want to hear the frogs singing and the poplars whispering.
but i've learned to love kingsport, too, and i'm glad i'm coming back next fall.
if i had n't won the thorburn i do n't believe i could have.
i could n't take any of marilla's little hoard."
""if we could only find a house!"
sighed priscilla.
""look over there at kingsport, anne -- houses, houses everywhere, and not one for us."
""stop it, pris.
"the best is yet to be."
like the old roman, we'll find a house or build one.
on a day like this there's no such word as fail in my bright lexicon."
they lingered in the park until sunset, living in the amazing miracle and glory and wonder of the springtide; and they went home as usual, by way of spofford avenue, that they might have the delight of looking at patty's place.
""i feel as if something mysterious were going to happen right away -- "by the pricking of my thumbs,"" said anne, as they went up the slope.
""it's a nice story-bookish feeling.
why -- why -- why!
priscilla grant, look over there and tell me if it's true, or am i seein" things?"
priscilla looked.
anne's thumbs and eyes had not deceived her.
over the arched gateway of patty's place dangled a little, modest sign.
it said "to let, furnished.
inquire within."
""priscilla," said anne, in a whisper, "do you suppose it's possible that we could rent patty's place?"
""no, i do n't," averred priscilla.
""it would be too good to be true.
fairy tales do n't happen nowadays.
i wo n't hope, anne.
the disappointment would be too awful to bear.
they're sure to want more for it than we can afford.
remember, it's on spofford avenue."
""we must find out anyhow," said anne resolutely.
""it's too late to call this evening, but we'll come tomorrow.
oh, pris, if we can get this darling spot!
i've always felt that my fortunes were linked with patty's place, ever since i saw it first."
chapter x patty's place the next evening found them treading resolutely the herring-bone walk through the tiny garden.
the april wind was filling the pine trees with its roundelay, and the grove was alive with robins -- great, plump, saucy fellows, strutting along the paths.
the girls rang rather timidly, and were admitted by a grim and ancient handmaiden.
the door opened directly into a large living-room, where by a cheery little fire sat two other ladies, both of whom were also grim and ancient.
except that one looked to be about seventy and the other fifty, there seemed little difference between them.
each had amazingly big, light-blue eyes behind steel-rimmed spectacles; each wore a cap and a gray shawl; each was knitting without haste and without rest; each rocked placidly and looked at the girls without speaking; and just behind each sat a large white china dog, with round green spots all over it, a green nose and green ears.
those dogs captured anne's fancy on the spot; they seemed like the twin guardian deities of patty's place.
for a few minutes nobody spoke.
the girls were too nervous to find words, and neither the ancient ladies nor the china dogs seemed conversationally inclined.
anne glanced about the room.
what a dear place it was!
another door opened out of it directly into the pine grove and the robins came boldly up on the very step.
the floor was spotted with round, braided mats, such as marilla made at green gables, but which were considered out of date everywhere else, even in avonlea.
and yet here they were on spofford avenue!
a big, polished grandfather's clock ticked loudly and solemnly in a corner.
there were delightful little cupboards over the mantelpiece, behind whose glass doors gleamed quaint bits of china.
the walls were hung with old prints and silhouettes.
in one corner the stairs went up, and at the first low turn was a long window with an inviting seat.
it was all just as anne had known it must be.
by this time the silence had grown too dreadful, and priscilla nudged anne to intimate that she must speak.
""we -- we -- saw by your sign that this house is to let," said anne faintly, addressing the older lady, who was evidently miss patty spofford.
""oh, yes," said miss patty.
""i intended to take that sign down today."
""then -- then we are too late," said anne sorrowfully.
""you've let it to some one else?"
""no, but we have decided not to let it at all."
""oh, i'm so sorry," exclaimed anne impulsively.
""i love this place so.
i did hope we could have got it."
then did miss patty lay down her knitting, take off her specs, rub them, put them on again, and for the first time look at anne as at a human being.
the other lady followed her example so perfectly that she might as well have been a reflection in a mirror.
""you love it," said miss patty with emphasis.
""does that mean that you really love it?
or that you merely like the looks of it?
the girls nowadays indulge in such exaggerated statements that one never can tell what they do mean.
it was n't so in my young days.
then a girl did not say she loved turnips, in just the same tone as she might have said she loved her mother or her savior."
anne's conscience bore her up.
""i really do love it," she said gently.
""i've loved it ever since i saw it last fall.
my two college chums and i want to keep house next year instead of boarding, so we are looking for a little place to rent; and when i saw that this house was to let i was so happy."
""if you love it, you can have it," said miss patty.
""maria and i decided today that we would not let it after all, because we did not like any of the people who have wanted it.
we do n't have to let it.
we can afford to go to europe even if we do n't let it.
it would help us out, but not for gold will i let my home pass into the possession of such people as have come here and looked at it.
you are different.
i believe you do love it and will be good to it.
you can have it."
""if -- if we can afford to pay what you ask for it," hesitated anne.
miss patty named the amount required.
anne and priscilla looked at each other.
priscilla shook her head.
""i'm afraid we ca n't afford quite so much," said anne, choking back her disappointment.
""you see, we are only college girls and we are poor."
""what were you thinking you could afford?"
demanded miss patty, ceasing not to knit.
anne named her amount.
miss patty nodded gravely.
""that will do.
as i told you, it is not strictly necessary that we should let it at all.
we are not rich, but we have enough to go to europe on.
i have never been in europe in my life, and never expected or wanted to go.
but my niece there, maria spofford, has taken a fancy to go.
now, you know a young person like maria ca n't go globetrotting alone."
""no -- i -- i suppose not," murmured anne, seeing that miss patty was quite solemnly in earnest.
""of course not.
so i have to go along to look after her.
i expect to enjoy it, too; i'm seventy years old, but i'm not tired of living yet.
i daresay i'd have gone to europe before if the idea had occurred to me.
we shall be away for two years, perhaps three.
we sail in june and we shall send you the key, and leave all in order for you to take possession when you choose.
we shall pack away a few things we prize especially, but all the rest will be left."
""will you leave the china dogs?"
asked anne timidly.
""would you like me to?"
""oh, indeed, yes.
they are delightful."
a pleased expression came into miss patty's face.
""i think a great deal of those dogs," she said proudly.
""they are over a hundred years old, and they have sat on either side of this fireplace ever since my brother aaron brought them from london fifty years ago.
spofford avenue was called after my brother aaron."
""a fine man he was," said miss maria, speaking for the first time.
""ah, you do n't see the like of him nowadays."
""he was a good uncle to you, maria," said miss patty, with evident emotion.
""you do well to remember him."
""i shall always remember him," said miss maria solemnly.
""i can see him, this minute, standing there before that fire, with his hands under his coat-tails, beaming on us."
miss maria took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes; but miss patty came resolutely back from the regions of sentiment to those of business.
""i shall leave the dogs where they are, if you will promise to be very careful of them," she said.
""their names are gog and magog.
gog looks to the right and magog to the left.
and there's just one thing more.
you do n't object, i hope, to this house being called patty's place?"
""no, indeed.
we think that is one of the nicest things about it."
""you have sense, i see," said miss patty in a tone of great satisfaction.
""would you believe it?
all the people who came here to rent the house wanted to know if they could n't take the name off the gate during their occupation of it.
i told them roundly that the name went with the house.
this has been patty's place ever since my brother aaron left it to me in his will, and patty's place it shall remain until i die and maria dies.
after that happens the next possessor can call it any fool name he likes," concluded miss patty, much as she might have said, "after that -- the deluge."
""and now, would n't you like to go over the house and see it all before we consider the bargain made?"
further exploration still further delighted the girls.
besides the big living-room, there was a kitchen and a small bedroom downstairs.
upstairs were three rooms, one large and two small.
anne took an especial fancy to one of the small ones, looking out into the big pines, and hoped it would be hers.
it was papered in pale blue and had a little, old-timey toilet table with sconces for candles.
there was a diamond-paned window with a seat under the blue muslin frills that would be a satisfying spot for studying or dreaming.
""it's all so delicious that i know we are going to wake up and find it a fleeting vision of the night," said priscilla as they went away.
""miss patty and miss maria are hardly such stuff as dreams are made of," laughed anne.
""can you fancy them "globe-trotting" -- especially in those shawls and caps?"
""i suppose they'll take them off when they really begin to trot," said priscilla, "but i know they'll take their knitting with them everywhere.
they simply could n't be parted from it.
they will walk about westminster abbey and knit, i feel sure.
meanwhile, anne, we shall be living in patty's place -- and on spofford avenue.
i feel like a millionairess even now."
""i feel like one of the morning stars that sang for joy," said anne.
phil gordon crept into thirty-eight, st. john's, that night and flung herself on anne's bed.
""girls, dear, i'm tired to death.
i feel like the man without a country -- or was it without a shadow?
i forget which.
anyway, i've been packing up."
""and i suppose you are worn out because you could n't decide which things to pack first, or where to put them," laughed priscilla.
""e-zackly.
and when i had got everything jammed in somehow, and my landlady and her maid had both sat on it while i locked it, i discovered i had packed a whole lot of things i wanted for convocation at the very bottom.
i had to unlock the old thing and poke and dive into it for an hour before i fished out what i wanted.
i would get hold of something that felt like what i was looking for, and i'd yank it up, and it would be something else.
no, anne, i did not swear."
""i did n't say you did."
""well, you looked it.
but i admit my thoughts verged on the profane.
and i have such a cold in the head -- i can do nothing but sniffle, sigh and sneeze.
is n't that alliterative agony for you?
queen anne, do say something to cheer me up."
""remember that next thursday night, you'll be back in the land of alec and alonzo," suggested anne.
phil shook her head dolefully.
""more alliteration.
no, i do n't want alec and alonzo when i have a cold in the head.
but what has happened you two?
now that i look at you closely you seem all lighted up with an internal iridescence.
why, you're actually shining!
what's up?"
""we are going to live in patty's place next winter," said anne triumphantly.
""live, mark you, not board!
we've rented it, and stella maynard is coming, and her aunt is going to keep house for us."
phil bounced up, wiped her nose, and fell on her knees before anne.
""girls -- girls -- let me come, too.
oh, i'll be so good.
if there's no room for me i'll sleep in the little doghouse in the orchard -- i've seen it.
only let me come."
""get up, you goose."
""i wo n't stir off my marrow bones till you tell me i can live with you next winter."
anne and priscilla looked at each other.
then anne said slowly, "phil dear, we'd love to have you.
but we may as well speak plainly.
i'm poor -- pris is poor -- stella maynard is poor -- our housekeeping will have to be very simple and our table plain.
you'd have to live as we would.
now, you are rich and your boardinghouse fare attests the fact."
""oh, what do i care for that?"
demanded phil tragically.
""better a dinner of herbs where your chums are than a stalled ox in a lonely boardinghouse.
do n't think i'm all stomach, girls.
i'll be willing to live on bread and water -- with just a leetle jam -- if you'll let me come."
""and then," continued anne, "there will be a good deal of work to be done.
stella's aunt ca n't do it all.
we all expect to have our chores to do.
now, you --" "toil not, neither do i spin," finished philippa.
""but i'll learn to do things.
you'll only have to show me once.
i can make my own bed to begin with.
and remember that, though i ca n't cook, i can keep my temper.
that's something.
and i never growl about the weather.
that's more.
oh, please, please!
i never wanted anything so much in my life -- and this floor is awfully hard."
""there's just one more thing," said priscilla resolutely.
""you, phil, as all redmond knows, entertain callers almost every evening.
now, at patty's place we ca n't do that.
we have decided that we shall be at home to our friends on friday evenings only.
if you come with us you'll have to abide by that rule."
""well, you do n't think i'll mind that, do you?
why, i'm glad of it.
i knew i should have had some such rule myself, but i had n't enough decision to make it or stick to it.
when i can shuffle off the responsibility on you it will be a real relief.
if you wo n't let me cast in my lot with you i'll die of the disappointment and then i'll come back and haunt you.
i'll camp on the very doorstep of patty's place and you wo n't be able to go out or come in without falling over my spook."
again anne and priscilla exchanged eloquent looks.
""well," said anne, "of course we ca n't promise to take you until we've consulted with stella; but i do n't think she'll object, and, as far as we are concerned, you may come and glad welcome."
""if you get tired of our simple life you can leave us, and no questions asked," added priscilla.
phil sprang up, hugged them both jubilantly, and went on her way rejoicing.
""i hope things will go right," said priscilla soberly.
""we must make them go right," avowed anne.
""i think phil will fit into our "appy little "ome very well."
""oh, phil's a dear to rattle round with and be chums.
and, of course, the more there are of us the easier it will be on our slim purses.
but how will she be to live with?
you have to summer and winter with any one before you know if she's livable or not."
""oh, well, we'll all be put to the test, as far as that goes.
and we must quit us like sensible folk, living and let live.
phil is n't selfish, though she's a little thoughtless, and i believe we will all get on beautifully in patty's place."
chapter xi the round of life anne was back in avonlea with the luster of the thorburn scholarship on her brow.
people told her she had n't changed much, in a tone which hinted they were surprised and a little disappointed she had n't.
avonlea had not changed, either.
at least, so it seemed at first.
but as anne sat in the green gables pew, on the first sunday after her return, and looked over the congregation, she saw several little changes which, all coming home to her at once, made her realize that time did not quite stand still, even in avonlea.
a new minister was in the pulpit.
in the pews more than one familiar face was missing forever.
old "uncle abe," his prophesying over and done with, mrs. peter sloane, who had sighed, it was to be hoped, for the last time, timothy cotton, who, as mrs. rachel lynde said "had actually managed to die at last after practicing at it for twenty years," and old josiah sloane, whom nobody knew in his coffin because he had his whiskers neatly trimmed, were all sleeping in the little graveyard behind the church.
and billy andrews was married to nettie blewett!
they "appeared out" that sunday.
when billy, beaming with pride and happiness, showed his be-plumed and be-silked bride into the harmon andrews" pew, anne dropped her lids to hide her dancing eyes.
she recalled the stormy winter night of the christmas holidays when jane had proposed for billy.
he certainly had not broken his heart over his rejection.
anne wondered if jane had also proposed to nettie for him, or if he had mustered enough spunk to ask the fateful question himself.
all the andrews family seemed to share in his pride and pleasure, from mrs. harmon in the pew to jane in the choir.
jane had resigned from the avonlea school and intended to go west in the fall.
""ca n't get a beau in avonlea, that's what," said mrs. rachel lynde scornfully.
""says she thinks she'll have better health out west.
i never heard her health was poor before."
""jane is a nice girl," anne had said loyally.
""she never tried to attract attention, as some did."
""oh, she never chased the boys, if that's what you mean," said mrs. rachel.
""but she'd like to be married, just as much as anybody, that's what.
what else would take her out west to some forsaken place whose only recommendation is that men are plenty and women scarce?
do n't you tell me!"
but it was not at jane, anne gazed that day in dismay and surprise.
it was at ruby gillis, who sat beside her in the choir.
what had happened to ruby?
she was even handsomer than ever; but her blue eyes were too bright and lustrous, and the color of her cheeks was hectically brilliant; besides, she was very thin; the hands that held her hymn-book were almost transparent in their delicacy.
""is ruby gillis ill?"
anne asked of mrs. lynde, as they went home from church.
""ruby gillis is dying of galloping consumption," said mrs. lynde bluntly.
""everybody knows it except herself and her family.
they wo n't give in.
if you ask them, she's perfectly well.
she has n't been able to teach since she had that attack of congestion in the winter, but she says she's going to teach again in the fall, and she's after the white sands school.
she'll be in her grave, poor girl, when white sands school opens, that's what."
anne listened in shocked silence.
ruby gillis, her old school-chum, dying?
could it be possible?
of late years they had grown apart; but the old tie of school-girl intimacy was there, and made itself felt sharply in the tug the news gave at anne's heartstrings.
ruby, the brilliant, the merry, the coquettish!
it was impossible to associate the thought of her with anything like death.
she had greeted anne with gay cordiality after church, and urged her to come up the next evening.
""i'll be away tuesday and wednesday evenings," she had whispered triumphantly.
""there's a concert at carmody and a party at white sands.
herb spencer's going to take me.
he's my latest.
be sure to come up tomorrow.
i'm dying for a good talk with you.
i want to hear all about your doings at redmond."
anne knew that ruby meant that she wanted to tell anne all about her own recent flirtations, but she promised to go, and diana offered to go with her.
""i've been wanting to go to see ruby for a long while," she told anne, when they left green gables the next evening, "but i really could n't go alone.
it's so awful to hear ruby rattling on as she does, and pretending there is nothing the matter with her, even when she can hardly speak for coughing.
she's fighting so hard for her life, and yet she has n't any chance at all, they say."
the girls walked silently down the red, twilit road.
the robins were singing vespers in the high treetops, filling the golden air with their jubilant voices.
the silver fluting of the frogs came from marshes and ponds, over fields where seeds were beginning to stir with life and thrill to the sunshine and rain that had drifted over them.
the air was fragrant with the wild, sweet, wholesome smell of young raspberry copses.
white mists were hovering in the silent hollows and violet stars were shining bluely on the brooklands.
""what a beautiful sunset," said diana.
""look, anne, it's just like a land in itself, is n't it?
that long, low back of purple cloud is the shore, and the clear sky further on is like a golden sea."
""if we could sail to it in the moonshine boat paul wrote of in his old composition -- you remember?
-- how nice it would be," said anne, rousing from her reverie.
""do you think we could find all our yesterdays there, diana -- all our old springs and blossoms?
the beds of flowers that paul saw there are the roses that have bloomed for us in the past?"
""do n't!"
said diana.
""you make me feel as if we were old women with everything in life behind us."
""i think i've almost felt as if we were since i heard about poor ruby," said anne.
""if it is true that she is dying any other sad thing might be true, too."
""you do n't mind calling in at elisha wright's for a moment, do you?"
asked diana.
""mother asked me to leave this little dish of jelly for aunt atossa."
""who is aunt atossa?"
""oh, have n't you heard?
she's mrs. samson coates of spencervale -- mrs. elisha wright's aunt.
she's father's aunt, too.
her husband died last winter and she was left very poor and lonely, so the wrights took her to live with them.
mother thought we ought to take her, but father put his foot down.
live with aunt atossa he would not."
""is she so terrible?"
asked anne absently.
""you'll probably see what she's like before we can get away," said diana significantly.
""father says she has a face like a hatchet -- it cuts the air.
but her tongue is sharper still."
late as it was aunt atossa was cutting potato sets in the wright kitchen.
she wore a faded old wrapper, and her gray hair was decidedly untidy.
aunt atossa did not like being "caught in a kilter," so she went out of her way to be disagreeable.
""oh, so you're anne shirley?"
she said, when diana introduced anne.
""i've heard of you."
her tone implied that she had heard nothing good.
""mrs. andrews was telling me you were home.
she said you had improved a good deal."
there was no doubt aunt atossa thought there was plenty of room for further improvement.
she ceased not from cutting sets with much energy.
""is it any use to ask you to sit down?"
she inquired sarcastically.
""of course, there's nothing very entertaining here for you.
the rest are all away."
""mother sent you this little pot of rhubarb jelly," said diana pleasantly.
""she made it today and thought you might like some."
""oh, thanks," said aunt atossa sourly.
""i never fancy your mother's jelly -- she always makes it too sweet.
however, i'll try to worry some down.
my appetite's been dreadful poor this spring.
i'm far from well," continued aunt atossa solemnly, "but still i keep a-doing.
people who ca n't work are n't wanted here.
if it is n't too much trouble will you be condescending enough to set the jelly in the pantry?
i'm in a hurry to get these spuds done tonight.
i suppose you two ladies never do anything like this.
you'd be afraid of spoiling your hands."
""i used to cut potato sets before we rented the farm," smiled anne.
""i do it yet," laughed diana.
""i cut sets three days last week.
of course," she added teasingly, "i did my hands up in lemon juice and kid gloves every night after it."
aunt atossa sniffed.
""i suppose you got that notion out of some of those silly magazines you read so many of.
i wonder your mother allows you.
but she always spoiled you.
we all thought when george married her she would n't be a suitable wife for him."
aunt atossa sighed heavily, as if all forebodings upon the occasion of george barry's marriage had been amply and darkly fulfilled.
""going, are you?"
she inquired, as the girls rose.
""well, i suppose you ca n't find much amusement talking to an old woman like me.
it's such a pity the boys ai n't home."
""we want to run in and see ruby gillis a little while," explained diana.
""oh, anything does for an excuse, of course," said aunt atossa, amiably.
""just whip in and whip out before you have time to say how-do decently.
it's college airs, i s "pose.
you'd be wiser to keep away from ruby gillis.
the doctors say consumption's catching.
i always knew ruby'd get something, gadding off to boston last fall for a visit.
people who ai n't content to stay home always catch something."
""people who do n't go visiting catch things, too.
sometimes they even die," said diana solemnly.
""then they do n't have themselves to blame for it," retorted aunt atossa triumphantly.
""i hear you are to be married in june, diana."
""there is no truth in that report," said diana, blushing.
""well, do n't put it off too long," said aunt atossa significantly.
""you'll fade soon -- you're all complexion and hair.
and the wrights are terrible fickle.
you ought to wear a hat, miss shirley.
your nose is freckling scandalous.
my, but you are redheaded!
well, i s "pose we're all as the lord made us!
give marilla cuthbert my respects.
she's never been to see me since i come to avonlea, but i s "pose i ought n't to complain.
the cuthberts always did think themselves a cut higher than any one else round here."
""oh, is n't she dreadful?"
gasped diana, as they escaped down the lane.
""she's worse than miss eliza andrews," said anne.
""but then think of living all your life with a name like atossa!
would n't it sour almost any one?
she should have tried to imagine her name was cordelia.
it might have helped her a great deal.
it certainly helped me in the days when i did n't like anne."
""josie pye will be just like her when she grows up," said diana.
""josie's mother and aunt atossa are cousins, you know.
oh, dear, i'm glad that's over.
she's so malicious -- she seems to put a bad flavor in everything.
father tells such a funny story about her.
one time they had a minister in spencervale who was a very good, spiritual man but very deaf.
he could n't hear any ordinary conversation at all.
well, they used to have a prayer meeting on sunday evenings, and all the church members present would get up and pray in turn, or say a few words on some bible verse.
but one evening aunt atossa bounced up.
she did n't either pray or preach.
instead, she lit into everybody else in the church and gave them a fearful raking down, calling them right out by name and telling them how they all had behaved, and casting up all the quarrels and scandals of the past ten years.
finally she wound up by saying that she was disgusted with spencervale church and she never meant to darken its door again, and she hoped a fearful judgment would come upon it.
then she sat down out of breath, and the minister, who had n't heard a word she said, immediately remarked, in a very devout voice, "amen!
the lord grant our dear sister's prayer!"
you ought to hear father tell the story."
""speaking of stories, diana," remarked anne, in a significant, confidential tone, "do you know that lately i have been wondering if i could write a short story -- a story that would be good enough to be published?"
""why, of course you could," said diana, after she had grasped the amazing suggestion.
""you used to write perfectly thrilling stories years ago in our old story club."
""well, i hardly meant one of that kind of stories," smiled anne.
""i've been thinking about it a little of late, but i'm almost afraid to try, for, if i should fail, it would be too humiliating."
""i heard priscilla say once that all mrs. morgan's first stories were rejected.
but i'm sure yours would n't be, anne, for it's likely editors have more sense nowadays."
""margaret burton, one of the junior girls at redmond, wrote a story last winter and it was published in the canadian woman.
i really do think i could write one at least as good."
""and will you have it published in the canadian woman?"
""i might try one of the bigger magazines first.
it all depends on what kind of a story i write."
""what is it to be about?"
""i do n't know yet.
i want to get hold of a good plot.
i believe this is very necessary from an editor's point of view.
the only thing i've settled on is the heroine's name.
it is to be averil lester.
rather pretty, do n't you think?
do n't mention this to any one, diana.
i have n't told anybody but you and mr. harrison.
he was n't very encouraging -- he said there was far too much trash written nowadays as it was, and he'd expected something better of me, after a year at college."
""what does mr. harrison know about it?"
demanded diana scornfully.
they found the gillis home gay with lights and callers.
leonard kimball, of spencervale, and morgan bell, of carmody, were glaring at each other across the parlor.
several merry girls had dropped in.
ruby was dressed in white and her eyes and cheeks were very brilliant.
she laughed and chattered incessantly, and after the other girls had gone she took anne upstairs to display her new summer dresses.
""i've a blue silk to make up yet, but it's a little heavy for summer wear.
i think i'll leave it until the fall.
i'm going to teach in white sands, you know.
how do you like my hat?
that one you had on in church yesterday was real dinky.
but i like something brighter for myself.
did you notice those two ridiculous boys downstairs?
they've both come determined to sit each other out.
i do n't care a single bit about either of them, you know.
herb spencer is the one i like.
sometimes i really do think he's mr. right.
at christmas i thought the spencervale schoolmaster was that.
but i found out something about him that turned me against him.
he nearly went insane when i turned him down.
i wish those two boys had n't come tonight.
i wanted to have a nice good talk with you, anne, and tell you such heaps of things.
you and i were always good chums, were n't we?"
ruby slipped her arm about anne's waist with a shallow little laugh.
but just for a moment their eyes met, and, behind all the luster of ruby's, anne saw something that made her heart ache.
""come up often, wo n't you, anne?"
whispered ruby.
""come alone -- i want you."
""are you feeling quite well, ruby?"
""me!
why, i'm perfectly well.
i never felt better in my life.
of course, that congestion last winter pulled me down a little.
but just see my color.
i do n't look much like an invalid, i'm sure."
ruby's voice was almost sharp.
she pulled her arm away from anne, as if in resentment, and ran downstairs, where she was gayer than ever, apparently so much absorbed in bantering her two swains that diana and anne felt rather out of it and soon went away.
chapter xii "averil's atonement" "what are you dreaming of, anne?"
the two girls were loitering one evening in a fairy hollow of the brook.
ferns nodded in it, and little grasses were green, and wild pears hung finely-scented, white curtains around it.
anne roused herself from her reverie with a happy sigh.
""i was thinking out my story, diana."
""oh, have you really begun it?"
cried diana, all alight with eager interest in a moment.
""yes, i have only a few pages written, but i have it all pretty well thought out.
i've had such a time to get a suitable plot.
none of the plots that suggested themselves suited a girl named averil."
""could n't you have changed her name?"
""no, the thing was impossible.
i tried to, but i could n't do it, any more than i could change yours.
averil was so real to me that no matter what other name i tried to give her i just thought of her as averil behind it all.
but finally i got a plot that matched her.
then came the excitement of choosing names for all my characters.
you have no idea how fascinating that is.
i've lain awake for hours thinking over those names.
the hero's name is perceval dalrymple."
""have you named all the characters?"
asked diana wistfully.
""if you had n't i was going to ask you to let me name one -- just some unimportant person.
i'd feel as if i had a share in the story then."
""you may name the little hired boy who lived with the lesters," conceded anne.
""he is not very important, but he is the only one left unnamed."
""call him raymond fitzosborne," suggested diana, who had a store of such names laid away in her memory, relics of the old "story club," which she and anne and jane andrews and ruby gillis had had in their schooldays.
anne shook her head doubtfully.
""i'm afraid that is too aristocratic a name for a chore boy, diana.
i could n't imagine a fitzosborne feeding pigs and picking up chips, could you?"
diana did n't see why, if you had an imagination at all, you could n't stretch it to that extent; but probably anne knew best, and the chore boy was finally christened robert ray, to be called bobby should occasion require.
""how much do you suppose you'll get for it?"
asked diana.
but anne had not thought about this at all.
she was in pursuit of fame, not filthy lucre, and her literary dreams were as yet untainted by mercenary considerations.
""you'll let me read it, wo n't you?"
pleaded diana.
""when it is finished i'll read it to you and mr. harrison, and i shall want you to criticize it severely.
no one else shall see it until it is published."
""how are you going to end it -- happily or unhappily?"
""i'm not sure.
i'd like it to end unhappily, because that would be so much more romantic.
but i understand editors have a prejudice against sad endings.
i heard professor hamilton say once that nobody but a genius should try to write an unhappy ending.
and," concluded anne modestly, "i'm anything but a genius."
""oh i like happy endings best.
you'd better let him marry her," said diana, who, especially since her engagement to fred, thought this was how every story should end.
""but you like to cry over stories?"
""oh, yes, in the middle of them.
but i like everything to come right at last."
""i must have one pathetic scene in it," said anne thoughtfully.
""i might let robert ray be injured in an accident and have a death scene."
""no, you must n't kill bobby off," declared diana, laughing.
""he belongs to me and i want him to live and flourish.
kill somebody else if you have to."
for the next fortnight anne writhed or reveled, according to mood, in her literary pursuits.
now she would be jubilant over a brilliant idea, now despairing because some contrary character would not behave properly.
diana could not understand this.
""make them do as you want them to," she said.
""i ca n't," mourned anne.
""averil is such an unmanageable heroine.
she will do and say things i never meant her to.
then that spoils everything that went before and i have to write it all over again."
finally, however, the story was finished, and anne read it to diana in the seclusion of the porch gable.
she had achieved her "pathetic scene" without sacrificing robert ray, and she kept a watchful eye on diana as she read it.
diana rose to the occasion and cried properly; but, when the end came, she looked a little disappointed.
""why did you kill maurice lennox?"
she asked reproachfully.
""he was the villain," protested anne.
""he had to be punished."
""i like him best of them all," said unreasonable diana.
""well, he's dead, and he'll have to stay dead," said anne, rather resentfully.
""if i had let him live he'd have gone on persecuting averil and perceval."
""yes -- unless you had reformed him."
""that would n't have been romantic, and, besides, it would have made the story too long."
""well, anyway, it's a perfectly elegant story, anne, and will make you famous, of that i'm sure.
have you got a title for it?"
""oh, i decided on the title long ago.
i call it averil's atonement.
does n't that sound nice and alliterative?
now, diana, tell me candidly, do you see any faults in my story?"
""well," hesitated diana, "that part where averil makes the cake does n't seem to me quite romantic enough to match the rest.
it's just what anybody might do.
heroines should n't do cooking, i think."
""why, that is where the humor comes in, and it's one of the best parts of the whole story," said anne.
and it may be stated that in this she was quite right.
diana prudently refrained from any further criticism, but mr. harrison was much harder to please.
first he told her there was entirely too much description in the story.
""cut out all those flowery passages," he said unfeelingly.
anne had an uncomfortable conviction that mr. harrison was right, and she forced herself to expunge most of her beloved descriptions, though it took three re-writings before the story could be pruned down to please the fastidious mr. harrison.
""i've left out all the descriptions but the sunset," she said at last.
""i simply could n't let it go.
it was the best of them all."
""it has n't anything to do with the story," said mr. harrison, "and you should n't have laid the scene among rich city people.
what do you know of them?
why did n't you lay it right here in avonlea -- changing the name, of course, or else mrs. rachel lynde would probably think she was the heroine."
""oh, that would never have done," protested anne.
""avonlea is the dearest place in the world, but it is n't quite romantic enough for the scene of a story."
""i daresay there's been many a romance in avonlea -- and many a tragedy, too," said mr. harrison drily.
""but your folks ai n't like real folks anywhere.
they talk too much and use too high-flown language.
there's one place where that dalrymple chap talks even on for two pages, and never lets the girl get a word in edgewise.
if he'd done that in real life she'd have pitched him."
""i do n't believe it," said anne flatly.
in her secret soul she thought that the beautiful, poetical things said to averil would win any girl's heart completely.
besides, it was gruesome to hear of averil, the stately, queen-like averil, "pitching" any one.
averil "declined her suitors."
""anyhow," resumed the merciless mr. harrison, "i do n't see why maurice lennox did n't get her.
he was twice the man the other is.
he did bad things, but he did them.
perceval had n't time for anything but mooning."
""mooning."
that was even worse than "pitching!"
""maurice lennox was the villain," said anne indignantly.
""i do n't see why every one likes him better than perceval."
""perceval is too good.
he's aggravating.
next time you write about a hero put a little spice of human nature in him."
""averil could n't have married maurice.
he was bad."
""she'd have reformed him.
you can reform a man; you ca n't reform a jelly-fish, of course.
your story is n't bad -- it's kind of interesting, i'll admit.
but you're too young to write a story that would be worth while.
wait ten years."
anne made up her mind that the next time she wrote a story she would n't ask anybody to criticize it.
it was too discouraging.
she would not read the story to gilbert, although she told him about it.
""if it is a success you'll see it when it is published, gilbert, but if it is a failure nobody shall ever see it."
marilla knew nothing about the venture.
in imagination anne saw herself reading a story out of a magazine to marilla, entrapping her into praise of it -- for in imagination all things are possible -- and then triumphantly announcing herself the author.
one day anne took to the post office a long, bulky envelope, addressed, with the delightful confidence of youth and inexperience, to the very biggest of the "big" magazines.
diana was as excited over it as anne herself.
""how long do you suppose it will be before you hear from it?"
she asked.
""it should n't be longer than a fortnight.
oh, how happy and proud i shall be if it is accepted!"
""of course it will be accepted, and they will likely ask you to send them more.
you may be as famous as mrs. morgan some day, anne, and then how proud i'll be of knowing you," said diana, who possessed, at least, the striking merit of an unselfish admiration of the gifts and graces of her friends.
a week of delightful dreaming followed, and then came a bitter awakening.
one evening diana found anne in the porch gable, with suspicious-looking eyes.
on the table lay a long envelope and a crumpled manuscript.
""anne, your story has n't come back?"
cried diana incredulously.
""yes, it has," said anne shortly.
""well, that editor must be crazy.
what reason did he give?"
""no reason at all.
there is just a printed slip saying that it was n't found acceptable."
""i never thought much of that magazine, anyway," said diana hotly.
""the stories in it are not half as interesting as those in the canadian woman, although it costs so much more.
i suppose the editor is prejudiced against any one who is n't a yankee.
do n't be discouraged, anne.
remember how mrs. morgan's stories came back.
send yours to the canadian woman."
""i believe i will," said anne, plucking up heart.
""and if it is published i'll send that american editor a marked copy.
but i'll cut the sunset out.
i believe mr. harrison was right."
out came the sunset; but in spite of this heroic mutilation the editor of the canadian woman sent averil's atonement back so promptly that the indignant diana declared that it could n't have been read at all, and vowed she was going to stop her subscription immediately.
anne took this second rejection with the calmness of despair.
she locked the story away in the garret trunk where the old story club tales reposed; but first she yielded to diana's entreaties and gave her a copy.
""this is the end of my literary ambitions," she said bitterly.
she never mentioned the matter to mr. harrison, but one evening he asked her bluntly if her story had been accepted.
""no, the editor would n't take it," she answered briefly.
mr. harrison looked sidewise at the flushed, delicate profile.
""well, i suppose you'll keep on writing them," he said encouragingly.
""no, i shall never try to write a story again," declared anne, with the hopeless finality of nineteen when a door is shut in its face.
""i would n't give up altogether," said mr. harrison reflectively.
""i'd write a story once in a while, but i would n't pester editors with it.
i'd write of people and places like i knew, and i'd make my characters talk everyday english; and i'd let the sun rise and set in the usual quiet way without much fuss over the fact.
if i had to have villains at all, i'd give them a chance, anne -- i'd give them a chance.
there are some terrible bad men in the world, i suppose, but you'd have to go a long piece to find them -- though mrs. lynde believes we're all bad.
but most of us have got a little decency somewhere in us.
keep on writing, anne."
""no.
it was very foolish of me to attempt it.
when i'm through redmond i'll stick to teaching.
i can teach.
i ca n't write stories."
""it'll be time for you to be getting a husband when you're through redmond," said mr. harrison.
""i do n't believe in putting marrying off too long -- like i did."
anne got up and marched home.
there were times when mr. harrison was really intolerable.
""pitching," "mooning," and "getting a husband."
ow!!
chapter xiii the way of transgressors davy and dora were ready for sunday school.
they were going alone, which did not often happen, for mrs. lynde always attended sunday school.
but mrs. lynde had twisted her ankle and was lame, so she was staying home this morning.
the twins were also to represent the family at church, for anne had gone away the evening before to spend sunday with friends in carmody, and marilla had one of her headaches.
davy came downstairs slowly.
dora was waiting in the hall for him, having been made ready by mrs. lynde.
davy had attended to his own preparations.
he had a cent in his pocket for the sunday school collection, and a five-cent piece for the church collection; he carried his bible in one hand and his sunday school quarterly in the other; he knew his lesson and his golden text and his catechism question perfectly.
had he not studied them -- perforce -- in mrs. lynde's kitchen, all last sunday afternoon?
davy, therefore, should have been in a placid frame of mind.
as a matter of fact, despite text and catechism, he was inwardly as a ravening wolf.
mrs. lynde limped out of her kitchen as he joined dora.
""are you clean?"
she demanded severely.
""yes -- all of me that shows," davy answered with a defiant scowl.
mrs. rachel sighed.
she had her suspicions about davy's neck and ears.
but she knew that if she attempted to make a personal examination davy would likely take to his heels and she could not pursue him today.
""well, be sure you behave yourselves," she warned them.
""do n't walk in the dust.
do n't stop in the porch to talk to the other children.
do n't squirm or wriggle in your places.
do n't forget the golden text.
do n't lose your collection or forget to put it in.
do n't whisper at prayer time, and do n't forget to pay attention to the sermon."
davy deigned no response.
he marched away down the lane, followed by the meek dora.
but his soul seethed within.
davy had suffered, or thought he had suffered, many things at the hands and tongue of mrs. rachel lynde since she had come to green gables, for mrs. lynde could not live with anybody, whether they were nine or ninety, without trying to bring them up properly.
and it was only the preceding afternoon that she had interfered to influence marilla against allowing davy to go fishing with the timothy cottons.
davy was still boiling over this.
as soon as he was out of the lane davy stopped and twisted his countenance into such an unearthly and terrific contortion that dora, although she knew his gifts in that respect, was honestly alarmed lest he should never in the world be able to get it straightened out again.
""darn her," exploded davy.
""oh, davy, do n't swear," gasped dora in dismay."
"darn" is n't swearing -- not real swearing.
and i do n't care if it is," retorted davy recklessly.
""well, if you must say dreadful words do n't say them on sunday," pleaded dora.
davy was as yet far from repentance, but in his secret soul he felt that, perhaps, he had gone a little too far.
""i'm going to invent a swear word of my own," he declared.
""god will punish you if you do," said dora solemnly.
""then i think god is a mean old scamp," retorted davy.
""does n't he know a fellow must have some way of "spressing his feelings?"
""davy!!!"
said dora.
she expected that davy would be struck down dead on the spot.
but nothing happened.
""anyway, i ai n't going to stand any more of mrs. lynde's bossing," spluttered davy.
""anne and marilla may have the right to boss me, but she has n't.
i'm going to do every single thing she told me not to do.
you watch me."
in grim, deliberate silence, while dora watched him with the fascination of horror, davy stepped off the green grass of the roadside, ankle deep into the fine dust which four weeks of rainless weather had made on the road, and marched along in it, shuffling his feet viciously until he was enveloped in a hazy cloud.
""that's the beginning," he announced triumphantly.
""and i'm going to stop in the porch and talk as long as there's anybody there to talk to.
i'm going to squirm and wriggle and whisper, and i'm going to say i do n't know the golden text.
and i'm going to throw away both of my collections right now."
and davy hurled cent and nickel over mr. barry's fence with fierce delight.
""satan made you do that," said dora reproachfully.
""he did n't," cried davy indignantly.
""i just thought it out for myself.
and i've thought of something else.
i'm not going to sunday school or church at all.
i'm going up to play with the cottons.
they told me yesterday they were n't going to sunday school today,'cause their mother was away and there was nobody to make them.
come along, dora, we'll have a great time."
""i do n't want to go," protested dora.
""you've got to," said davy.
""if you do n't come i'll tell marilla that frank bell kissed you in school last monday."
""i could n't help it.
i did n't know he was going to," cried dora, blushing scarlet.
""well, you did n't slap him or seem a bit cross," retorted davy.
""i'll tell her that, too, if you do n't come.
we'll take the short cut up this field."
""i'm afraid of those cows," protested poor dora, seeing a prospect of escape.
""the very idea of your being scared of those cows," scoffed davy.
""why, they're both younger than you."
""they're bigger," said dora.
""they wo n't hurt you.
come along, now.
this is great.
when i grow up i ai n't going to bother going to church at all.
i believe i can get to heaven by myself."
""you'll go to the other place if you break the sabbath day," said unhappy dora, following him sorely against her will.
but davy was not scared -- yet.
hell was very far off, and the delights of a fishing expedition with the cottons were very near.
he wished dora had more spunk.
she kept looking back as if she were going to cry every minute, and that spoiled a fellow's fun.
hang girls, anyway.
davy did not say "darn" this time, even in thought.
he was not sorry -- yet -- that he had said it once, but it might be as well not to tempt the unknown powers too far on one day.
the small cottons were playing in their back yard, and hailed davy's appearance with whoops of delight.
pete, tommy, adolphus, and mirabel cotton were all alone.
their mother and older sisters were away.
dora was thankful mirabel was there, at least.
she had been afraid she would be alone in a crowd of boys.
mirabel was almost as bad as a boy -- she was so noisy and sunburned and reckless.
but at least she wore dresses.
""we've come to go fishing," announced davy.
""whoop," yelled the cottons.
they rushed away to dig worms at once, mirabel leading the van with a tin can.
dora could have sat down and cried.
oh, if only that hateful frank bell had never kissed her!
then she could have defied davy, and gone to her beloved sunday school.
they dared not, of course, go fishing on the pond, where they would be seen by people going to church.
they had to resort to the brook in the woods behind the cotton house.
but it was full of trout, and they had a glorious time that morning -- at least the cottons certainly had, and davy seemed to have it.
not being entirely bereft of prudence, he had discarded boots and stockings and borrowed tommy cotton's overalls.
thus accoutered, bog and marsh and undergrowth had no terrors for him.
dora was frankly and manifestly miserable.
she followed the others in their peregrinations from pool to pool, clasping her bible and quarterly tightly and thinking with bitterness of soul of her beloved class where she should be sitting that very moment, before a teacher she adored.
instead, here she was roaming the woods with those half-wild cottons, trying to keep her boots clean and her pretty white dress free from rents and stains.
mirabel had offered the loan of an apron but dora had scornfully refused.
the trout bit as they always do on sundays.
in an hour the transgressors had all the fish they wanted, so they returned to the house, much to dora's relief.
she sat primly on a hencoop in the yard while the others played an uproarious game of tag; and then they all climbed to the top of the pig-house roof and cut their initials on the saddleboard.
the flat-roofed henhouse and a pile of straw beneath gave davy another inspiration.
they spent a splendid half hour climbing on the roof and diving off into the straw with whoops and yells.
but even unlawful pleasures must come to an end.
when the rumble of wheels over the pond bridge told that people were going home from church davy knew they must go.
he discarded tommy's overalls, resumed his own rightful attire, and turned away from his string of trout with a sigh.
no use to think of taking them home.
""well, had n't we a splendid time?"
he demanded defiantly, as they went down the hill field.
""i had n't," said dora flatly.
""and i do n't believe you had -- really -- either," she added, with a flash of insight that was not to be expected of her.
""i had so," cried davy, but in the voice of one who doth protest too much.
""no wonder you had n't -- just sitting there like a -- like a mule."
""i ai n't going to, "sociate with the cottons," said dora loftily.
""the cottons are all right," retorted davy.
""and they have far better times than we have.
they do just as they please and say just what they like before everybody.
i'm going to do that, too, after this."
""there are lots of things you would n't dare say before everybody," averred dora.
""no, there is n't."
""there is, too.
would you," demanded dora gravely, "would you say "tomcat" before the minister?"
this was a staggerer.
davy was not prepared for such a concrete example of the freedom of speech.
but one did not have to be consistent with dora.
""of course not," he admitted sulkily."
"tomcat" is n't a holy word.
i would n't mention such an animal before a minister at all."
""but if you had to?"
persisted dora.
""i'd call it a thomas pussy," said davy."
i think "gentleman cat" would be more polite," reflected dora.
""you thinking!"
retorted davy with withering scorn.
davy was not feeling comfortable, though he would have died before he admitted it to dora.
now that the exhilaration of truant delights had died away, his conscience was beginning to give him salutary twinges.
after all, perhaps it would have been better to have gone to sunday school and church.
mrs. lynde might be bossy; but there was always a box of cookies in her kitchen cupboard and she was not stingy.
at this inconvenient moment davy remembered that when he had torn his new school pants the week before, mrs. lynde had mended them beautifully and never said a word to marilla about them.
but davy's cup of iniquity was not yet full.
he was to discover that one sin demands another to cover it.
they had dinner with mrs. lynde that day, and the first thing she asked davy was, "were all your class in sunday school today?"
""yes'm," said davy with a gulp.
""all were there -- "cept one."
""did you say your golden text and catechism?"
""yes'm."
""did you put your collection in?"
""yes'm."
""was mrs. malcolm macpherson in church?"
""i do n't know."
this, at least, was the truth, thought wretched davy.
""was the ladies" aid announced for next week?"
""yes'm" -- quakingly.
""was prayer-meeting?"
""i -- i do n't know."
""you should know.
you should listen more attentively to the announcements.
what was mr. harvey's text?"
davy took a frantic gulp of water and swallowed it and the last protest of conscience together.
he glibly recited an old golden text learned several weeks ago.
fortunately mrs. lynde now stopped questioning him; but davy did not enjoy his dinner.
he could only eat one helping of pudding.
""what's the matter with you?"
demanded justly astonished mrs. lynde.
""are you sick?"
""no," muttered davy.
""you look pale.
you'd better keep out of the sun this afternoon," admonished mrs. lynde.
""do you know how many lies you told mrs. lynde?"
asked dora reproachfully, as soon as they were alone after dinner.
davy, goaded to desperation, turned fiercely.
""i do n't know and i do n't care," he said.
""you just shut up, dora keith."
then poor davy betook himself to a secluded retreat behind the woodpile to think over the way of transgressors.
green gables was wrapped in darkness and silence when anne reached home.
she lost no time going to bed, for she was very tired and sleepy.
there had been several avonlea jollifications the preceding week, involving rather late hours.
anne's head was hardly on her pillow before she was half asleep; but just then her door was softly opened and a pleading voice said, "anne."
anne sat up drowsily.
""davy, is that you?
what is the matter?"
a white-clad figure flung itself across the floor and on to the bed.
""anne," sobbed davy, getting his arms about her neck.
""i'm awful glad you're home.
i could n't go to sleep till i'd told somebody."
""told somebody what?"
""how mis "rubul i am."
""why are you miserable, dear?""
'cause i was so bad today, anne.
oh, i was awful bad -- badder'n i've ever been yet."
""what did you do?"
""oh, i'm afraid to tell you.
you'll never like me again, anne.
i could n't say my prayers tonight.
i could n't tell god what i'd done.
i was "shamed to have him know."
""but he knew anyway, davy."
""that's what dora said.
but i thought p "raps he might n't have noticed just at the time.
anyway, i'd rather tell you first."
""what is it you did?"
out it all came in a rush.
""i run away from sunday school -- and went fishing with the cottons -- and i told ever so many whoppers to mrs. lynde -- oh!
"most half a dozen -- and -- and -- i -- i said a swear word, anne -- a pretty near swear word, anyhow -- and i called god names."
there was silence.
davy did n't know what to make of it.
was anne so shocked that she never would speak to him again?
""anne, what are you going to do to me?"
he whispered.
""nothing, dear.
you've been punished already, i think."
""no, i have n't.
nothing's been done to me."
""you've been very unhappy ever since you did wrong, have n't you?"
""you bet!"
said davy emphatically.
""that was your conscience punishing you, davy."
""what's my conscience?
i want to know."
""it's something in you, davy, that always tells you when you are doing wrong and makes you unhappy if you persist in doing it.
have n't you noticed that?"
""yes, but i did n't know what it was.
i wish i did n't have it.
i'd have lots more fun.
where is my conscience, anne?
i want to know.
is it in my stomach?"
""no, it's in your soul," answered anne, thankful for the darkness, since gravity must be preserved in serious matters.
""i s "pose i ca n't get clear of it then," said davy with a sigh.
""are you going to tell marilla and mrs. lynde on me, anne?"
""no, dear, i'm not going to tell any one.
you are sorry you were naughty, are n't you?"
""you bet!"
""and you'll never be bad like that again."
""no, but --" added davy cautiously, "i might be bad some other way."
""you wo n't say naughty words, or run away on sundays, or tell falsehoods to cover up your sins?"
""no.
it does n't pay," said davy.
""well, davy, just tell god you are sorry and ask him to forgive you."
""have you forgiven me, anne?"
""yes, dear."
""then," said davy joyously, "i do n't care much whether god does or not."
""davy!"
""oh -- i'll ask him -- i'll ask him," said davy quickly, scrambling off the bed, convinced by anne's tone that he must have said something dreadful.
""i do n't mind asking him, anne.
-- please, god, i'm awful sorry i behaved bad today and i'll try to be good on sundays always and please forgive me.
-- there now, anne."
""well, now, run off to bed like a good boy."
""all right.
say, i do n't feel mis "rubul any more.
i feel fine.
good night."
""good night."
anne slipped down on her pillows with a sigh of relief.
oh -- how sleepy -- she was!
in another second -- "anne!"
davy was back again by her bed.
anne dragged her eyes open.
""what is it now, dear?"
she asked, trying to keep a note of impatience out of her voice.
""anne, have you ever noticed how mr. harrison spits?
do you s "pose, if i practice hard, i can learn to spit just like him?"
anne sat up.
""davy keith," she said, "go straight to your bed and do n't let me catch you out of it again tonight!
go, now!"
davy went, and stood not upon the order of his going.
chapter xiv the summons anne was sitting with ruby gillis in the gillis" garden after the day had crept lingeringly through it and was gone.
it had been a warm, smoky summer afternoon.
the world was in a splendor of out-flowering.
the idle valleys were full of hazes.
the woodways were pranked with shadows and the fields with the purple of the asters.
anne had given up a moonlight drive to the white sands beach that she might spend the evening with ruby.
she had so spent many evenings that summer, although she often wondered what good it did any one, and sometimes went home deciding that she could not go again.
ruby grew paler as the summer waned; the white sands school was given up -- "her father thought it better that she should n't teach till new year's" -- and the fancy work she loved oftener and oftener fell from hands grown too weary for it.
but she was always gay, always hopeful, always chattering and whispering of her beaux, and their rivalries and despairs.
it was this that made anne's visits hard for her.
what had once been silly or amusing was gruesome, now; it was death peering through a wilful mask of life.
yet ruby seemed to cling to her, and never let her go until she had promised to come again soon.
mrs. lynde grumbled about anne's frequent visits, and declared she would catch consumption; even marilla was dubious.
""every time you go to see ruby you come home looking tired out," she said.
""it's so very sad and dreadful," said anne in a low tone.
""ruby does n't seem to realize her condition in the least.
and yet i somehow feel she needs help -- craves it -- and i want to give it to her and ca n't.
all the time i'm with her i feel as if i were watching her struggle with an invisible foe -- trying to push it back with such feeble resistance as she has.
that is why i come home tired."
but tonight anne did not feel this so keenly.
ruby was strangely quiet.
she said not a word about parties and drives and dresses and "fellows."
she lay in the hammock, with her untouched work beside her, and a white shawl wrapped about her thin shoulders.
her long yellow braids of hair -- how anne had envied those beautiful braids in old schooldays!
-- lay on either side of her.
she had taken the pins out -- they made her head ache, she said.
the hectic flush was gone for the time, leaving her pale and childlike.
the moon rose in the silvery sky, empearling the clouds around her.
below, the pond shimmered in its hazy radiance.
just beyond the gillis homestead was the church, with the old graveyard beside it.
the moonlight shone on the white stones, bringing them out in clear-cut relief against the dark trees behind.
""how strange the graveyard looks by moonlight!"
said ruby suddenly.
""how ghostly!"
she shuddered.
""anne, it wo n't be long now before i'll be lying over there.
you and diana and all the rest will be going about, full of life -- and i'll be there -- in the old graveyard -- dead!"
the surprise of it bewildered anne.
for a few moments she could not speak.
""you know it's so, do n't you?"
said ruby insistently.
""yes, i know," answered anne in a low tone.
""dear ruby, i know."
""everybody knows it," said ruby bitterly.
""i know it -- i've known it all summer, though i would n't give in.
and, oh, anne" -- she reached out and caught anne's hand pleadingly, impulsively -- "i do n't want to die.
i'm afraid to die."
""why should you be afraid, ruby?"
asked anne quietly.
""because -- because -- oh, i'm not afraid but that i'll go to heaven, anne.
i'm a church member.
but -- it'll be all so different.
i think -- and think -- and i get so frightened -- and -- and -- homesick.
heaven must be very beautiful, of course, the bible says so -- but, anne, it wo n't be what i've been used to."
through anne's mind drifted an intrusive recollection of a funny story she had heard philippa gordon tell -- the story of some old man who had said very much the same thing about the world to come.
it had sounded funny then -- she remembered how she and priscilla had laughed over it.
but it did not seem in the least humorous now, coming from ruby's pale, trembling lips.
it was sad, tragic -- and true!
heaven could not be what ruby had been used to.
there had been nothing in her gay, frivolous life, her shallow ideals and aspirations, to fit her for that great change, or make the life to come seem to her anything but alien and unreal and undesirable.
anne wondered helplessly what she could say that would help her.
could she say anything?
""i think, ruby," she began hesitatingly -- for it was difficult for anne to speak to any one of the deepest thoughts of her heart, or the new ideas that had vaguely begun to shape themselves in her mind, concerning the great mysteries of life here and hereafter, superseding her old childish conceptions, and it was hardest of all to speak of them to such as ruby gillis -- "i think, perhaps, we have very mistaken ideas about heaven -- what it is and what it holds for us.
i do n't think it can be so very different from life here as most people seem to think.
i believe we'll just go on living, a good deal as we live here -- and be ourselves just the same -- only it will be easier to be good and to -- follow the highest.
all the hindrances and perplexities will be taken away, and we shall see clearly.
do n't be afraid, ruby."
""i ca n't help it," said ruby pitifully.
""even if what you say about heaven is true -- and you ca n't be sure -- it may be only that imagination of yours -- it wo n't be just the same.
it ca n't be.
i want to go on living here.
i'm so young, anne.
i have n't had my life.
i've fought so hard to live -- and it is n't any use -- i have to die -- and leave everything i care for."
anne sat in a pain that was almost intolerable.
she could not tell comforting falsehoods; and all that ruby said was so horribly true.
she was leaving everything she cared for.
she had laid up her treasures on earth only; she had lived solely for the little things of life -- the things that pass -- forgetting the great things that go onward into eternity, bridging the gulf between the two lives and making of death a mere passing from one dwelling to the other -- from twilight to unclouded day.
god would take care of her there -- anne believed -- she would learn -- but now it was no wonder her soul clung, in blind helplessness, to the only things she knew and loved.
ruby raised herself on her arm and lifted up her bright, beautiful blue eyes to the moonlit skies.
""i want to live," she said, in a trembling voice.
""i want to live like other girls.
i -- i want to be married, anne -- and -- and -- have little children.
you know i always loved babies, anne.
i could n't say this to any one but you.
i know you understand.
and then poor herb -- he -- he loves me and i love him, anne.
the others meant nothing to me, but he does -- and if i could live i would be his wife and be so happy.
oh, anne, it's hard."
ruby sank back on her pillows and sobbed convulsively.
anne pressed her hand in an agony of sympathy -- silent sympathy, which perhaps helped ruby more than broken, imperfect words could have done; for presently she grew calmer and her sobs ceased.
""i'm glad i've told you this, anne," she whispered.
""it has helped me just to say it all out.
i've wanted to all summer -- every time you came.
i wanted to talk it over with you -- but i could n't.
it seemed as if it would make death so sure if i said i was going to die, or if any one else said it or hinted it.
i would n't say it, or even think it.
in the daytime, when people were around me and everything was cheerful, it was n't so hard to keep from thinking of it.
but in the night, when i could n't sleep -- it was so dreadful, anne.
i could n't get away from it then.
death just came and stared me in the face, until i got so frightened i could have screamed.
""but you wo n't be frightened any more, ruby, will you?
you'll be brave, and believe that all is going to be well with you."
""i'll try.
i'll think over what you have said, and try to believe it.
and you'll come up as often as you can, wo n't you, anne?"
""yes, dear."
""it -- it wo n't be very long now, anne.
i feel sure of that.
and i'd rather have you than any one else.
i always liked you best of all the girls i went to school with.
you were never jealous, or mean, like some of them were.
poor em white was up to see me yesterday.
you remember em and i were such chums for three years when we went to school?
and then we quarrelled the time of the school concert.
we've never spoken to each other since.
was n't it silly?
anything like that seems silly now.
but em and i made up the old quarrel yesterday.
she said she'd have spoken years ago, only she thought i would n't.
and i never spoke to her because i was sure she would n't speak to me.
is n't it strange how people misunderstand each other, anne?"
""most of the trouble in life comes from misunderstanding, i think," said anne.
""i must go now, ruby.
it's getting late -- and you should n't be out in the damp."
""you'll come up soon again."
""yes, very soon.
and if there's anything i can do to help you i'll be so glad."
""i know.
you have helped me already.
nothing seems quite so dreadful now.
good night, anne."
""good night, dear."
anne walked home very slowly in the moonlight.
the evening had changed something for her.
life held a different meaning, a deeper purpose.
on the surface it would go on just the same; but the deeps had been stirred.
it must not be with her as with poor butterfly ruby.
when she came to the end of one life it must not be to face the next with the shrinking terror of something wholly different -- something for which accustomed thought and ideal and aspiration had unfitted her.
the little things of life, sweet and excellent in their place, must not be the things lived for; the highest must be sought and followed; the life of heaven must be begun here on earth.
that good night in the garden was for all time.
anne never saw ruby in life again.
the next night the a.v.i.s. gave a farewell party to jane andrews before her departure for the west.
and, while light feet danced and bright eyes laughed and merry tongues chattered, there came a summons to a soul in avonlea that might not be disregarded or evaded.
the next morning the word went from house to house that ruby gillis was dead.
she had died in her sleep, painlessly and calmly, and on her face was a smile -- as if, after all, death had come as a kindly friend to lead her over the threshold, instead of the grisly phantom she had dreaded.
mrs. rachel lynde said emphatically after the funeral that ruby gillis was the handsomest corpse she ever laid eyes on.
her loveliness, as she lay, white-clad, among the delicate flowers that anne had placed about her, was remembered and talked of for years in avonlea.
ruby had always been beautiful; but her beauty had been of the earth, earthy; it had had a certain insolent quality in it, as if it flaunted itself in the beholder's eye; spirit had never shone through it, intellect had never refined it.
but death had touched it and consecrated it, bringing out delicate modelings and purity of outline never seen before -- doing what life and love and great sorrow and deep womanhood joys might have done for ruby.
anne, looking down through a mist of tears, at her old playfellow, thought she saw the face god had meant ruby to have, and remembered it so always.
mrs. gillis called anne aside into a vacant room before the funeral procession left the house, and gave her a small packet.
""i want you to have this," she sobbed.
""ruby would have liked you to have it.
it's the embroidered centerpiece she was working at.
it is n't quite finished -- the needle is sticking in it just where her poor little fingers put it the last time she laid it down, the afternoon before she died."
""there's always a piece of unfinished work left," said mrs. lynde, with tears in her eyes.
""but i suppose there's always some one to finish it."
""how difficult it is to realize that one we have always known can really be dead," said anne, as she and diana walked home.
""ruby is the first of our schoolmates to go.
one by one, sooner or later, all the rest of us must follow."
""yes, i suppose so," said diana uncomfortably.
she did not want to talk of that.
she would have preferred to have discussed the details of the funeral -- the splendid white velvet casket mr. gillis had insisted on having for ruby -- "the gillises must always make a splurge, even at funerals," quoth mrs. rachel lynde -- herb spencer's sad face, the uncontrolled, hysteric grief of one of ruby's sisters -- but anne would not talk of these things.
she seemed wrapped in a reverie in which diana felt lonesomely that she had neither lot nor part.
""ruby gillis was a great girl to laugh," said davy suddenly.
""will she laugh as much in heaven as she did in avonlea, anne?
i want to know."
""yes, i think she will," said anne.
""oh, anne," protested diana, with a rather shocked smile.
""well, why not, diana?"
asked anne seriously.
""do you think we'll never laugh in heaven?"
""oh -- i -- i do n't know" floundered diana.
""it does n't seem just right, somehow.
you know it's rather dreadful to laugh in church."
""but heaven wo n't be like church -- all the time," said anne.
""i hope it ai n't," said davy emphatically.
""if it is i do n't want to go.
church is awful dull.
anyway, i do n't mean to go for ever so long.
i mean to live to be a hundred years old, like mr. thomas blewett of white sands.
he says he's lived so long'cause he always smoked tobacco and it killed all the germs.
can i smoke tobacco pretty soon, anne?"
""no, davy, i hope you'll never use tobacco," said anne absently.
""what'll you feel like if the germs kill me then?"
demanded davy.
chapter xv a dream turned upside down "just one more week and we go back to redmond," said anne.
she was happy at the thought of returning to work, classes and redmond friends.
pleasing visions were also being woven around patty's place.
there was a warm pleasant sense of home in the thought of it, even though she had never lived there.
but the summer had been a very happy one, too -- a time of glad living with summer suns and skies, a time of keen delight in wholesome things; a time of renewing and deepening of old friendships; a time in which she had learned to live more nobly, to work more patiently, to play more heartily.
""all life lessons are not learned at college," she thought.
""life teaches them everywhere."
but alas, the final week of that pleasant vacation was spoiled for anne, by one of those impish happenings which are like a dream turned upside down.
""been writing any more stories lately?"
inquired mr. harrison genially one evening when anne was taking tea with him and mrs. harrison.
""no," answered anne, rather crisply.
""well, no offense meant.
mrs. hiram sloane told me the other day that a big envelope addressed to the rollings reliable baking powder company of montreal had been dropped into the post office box a month ago, and she suspicioned that somebody was trying for the prize they'd offered for the best story that introduced the name of their baking powder.
she said it was n't addressed in your writing, but i thought maybe it was you."
""indeed, no!
i saw the prize offer, but i'd never dream of competing for it.
i think it would be perfectly disgraceful to write a story to advertise a baking powder.
it would be almost as bad as judson parker's patent medicine fence."
so spake anne loftily, little dreaming of the valley of humiliation awaiting her.
that very evening diana popped into the porch gable, bright-eyed and rosy cheeked, carrying a letter.
""oh, anne, here's a letter for you.
i was at the office, so i thought i'd bring it along.
do open it quick.
if it is what i believe it is i shall just be wild with delight."
anne, puzzled, opened the letter and glanced over the typewritten contents.
miss anne shirley, green gables, avonlea, p.e. island.
""dear madam: we have much pleasure in informing you that your charming story "averil's atonement" has won the prize of twenty-five dollars offered in our recent competition.
we enclose the check herewith.
we are arranging for the publication of the story in several prominent canadian newspapers, and we also intend to have it printed in pamphlet form for distribution among our patrons.
thanking you for the interest you have shown in our enterprise, we remain, "yours very truly, "the rollings reliable "baking powder co." "i do n't understand," said anne, blankly.
diana clapped her hands.
""oh, i knew it would win the prize -- i was sure of it.
i sent your story into the competition, anne."
""diana -- barry!"
""yes, i did," said diana gleefully, perching herself on the bed.
""when i saw the offer i thought of your story in a minute, and at first i thought i'd ask you to send it in.
but then i was afraid you would n't -- you had so little faith left in it.
so i just decided i'd send the copy you gave me, and say nothing about it.
then, if it did n't win the prize, you'd never know and you would n't feel badly over it, because the stories that failed were not to be returned, and if it did you'd have such a delightful surprise."
diana was not the most discerning of mortals, but just at this moment it struck her that anne was not looking exactly overjoyed.
the surprise was there, beyond doubt -- but where was the delight?
""why, anne, you do n't seem a bit pleased!"
she exclaimed.
anne instantly manufactured a smile and put it on.
""of course i could n't be anything but pleased over your unselfish wish to give me pleasure," she said slowly.
""but you know -- i'm so amazed -- i ca n't realize it -- and i do n't understand.
there was n't a word in my story about -- about --" anne choked a little over the word -- "baking powder."
""oh, i put that in," said diana, reassured.
""it was as easy as wink -- and of course my experience in our old story club helped me.
you know the scene where averil makes the cake?
well, i just stated that she used the rollings reliable in it, and that was why it turned out so well; and then, in the last paragraph, where perceval clasps averil in his arms and says, "sweetheart, the beautiful coming years will bring us the fulfilment of our home of dreams," i added, "in which we will never use any baking powder except rollings reliable.""
""oh," gasped poor anne, as if some one had dashed cold water on her.
""and you've won the twenty-five dollars," continued diana jubilantly.
""why, i heard priscilla say once that the canadian woman only pays five dollars for a story!"
anne held out the hateful pink slip in shaking fingers.
""i ca n't take it -- it's yours by right, diana.
you sent the story in and made the alterations.
i -- i would certainly never have sent it.
so you must take the check."
""i'd like to see myself," said diana scornfully.
""why, what i did was n't any trouble.
the honor of being a friend of the prizewinner is enough for me.
well, i must go.
i should have gone straight home from the post office for we have company.
but i simply had to come and hear the news.
i'm so glad for your sake, anne."
anne suddenly bent forward, put her arms about diana, and kissed her cheek.
""i think you are the sweetest and truest friend in the world, diana," she said, with a little tremble in her voice, "and i assure you i appreciate the motive of what you've done."
diana, pleased and embarrassed, got herself away, and poor anne, after flinging the innocent check into her bureau drawer as if it were blood-money, cast herself on her bed and wept tears of shame and outraged sensibility.
oh, she could never live this down -- never!
gilbert arrived at dusk, brimming over with congratulations, for he had called at orchard slope and heard the news.
but his congratulations died on his lips at sight of anne's face.
""why, anne, what is the matter?
i expected to find you radiant over winning rollings reliable prize.
good for you!"
""oh, gilbert, not you," implored anne, in an et-tu brute tone.
""i thought you would understand.
ca n't you see how awful it is?"
""i must confess i ca n't.
what is wrong?"
""everything," moaned anne.
""i feel as if i were disgraced forever.
what do you think a mother would feel like if she found her child tattooed over with a baking powder advertisement?
i feel just the same.
i loved my poor little story, and i wrote it out of the best that was in me.
and it is sacrilege to have it degraded to the level of a baking powder advertisement.
do n't you remember what professor hamilton used to tell us in the literature class at queen's?
he said we were never to write a word for a low or unworthy motive, but always to cling to the very highest ideals.
what will he think when he hears i've written a story to advertise rollings reliable?
and, oh, when it gets out at redmond!
think how i'll be teased and laughed at!"
""that you wo n't," said gilbert, wondering uneasily if it were that confounded junior's opinion in particular over which anne was worried.
""the reds will think just as i thought -- that you, being like nine out of ten of us, not overburdened with worldly wealth, had taken this way of earning an honest penny to help yourself through the year.
i do n't see that there's anything low or unworthy about that, or anything ridiculous either.
one would rather write masterpieces of literature no doubt -- but meanwhile board and tuition fees have to be paid."
this commonsense, matter-of-fact view of the case cheered anne a little.
at least it removed her dread of being laughed at, though the deeper hurt of an outraged ideal remained.
chapter xvi adjusted relationships "it's the homiest spot i ever saw -- it's homier than home," avowed philippa gordon, looking about her with delighted eyes.
they were all assembled at twilight in the big living-room at patty's place -- anne and priscilla, phil and stella, aunt jamesina, rusty, joseph, the sarah-cat, and gog and magog.
the firelight shadows were dancing over the walls; the cats were purring; and a huge bowl of hothouse chrysanthemums, sent to phil by one of the victims, shone through the golden gloom like creamy moons.
it was three weeks since they had considered themselves settled, and already all believed the experiment would be a success.
the first fortnight after their return had been a pleasantly exciting one; they had been busy setting up their household goods, organizing their little establishment, and adjusting different opinions.
anne was not over-sorry to leave avonlea when the time came to return to college.
the last few days of her vacation had not been pleasant.
her prize story had been published in the island papers; and mr. william blair had, upon the counter of his store, a huge pile of pink, green and yellow pamphlets, containing it, one of which he gave to every customer.
he sent a complimentary bundle to anne, who promptly dropped them all in the kitchen stove.
her humiliation was the consequence of her own ideals only, for avonlea folks thought it quite splendid that she should have won the prize.
her many friends regarded her with honest admiration; her few foes with scornful envy.
josie pye said she believed anne shirley had just copied the story; she was sure she remembered reading it in a paper years before.
the sloanes, who had found out or guessed that charlie had been "turned down," said they did n't think it was much to be proud of; almost any one could have done it, if she tried.
aunt atossa told anne she was very sorry to hear she had taken to writing novels; nobody born and bred in avonlea would do it; that was what came of adopting orphans from goodness knew where, with goodness knew what kind of parents.
even mrs. rachel lynde was darkly dubious about the propriety of writing fiction, though she was almost reconciled to it by that twenty-five dollar check.
""it is perfectly amazing, the price they pay for such lies, that's what," she said, half-proudly, half-severely.
all things considered, it was a relief when going-away time came.
and it was very jolly to be back at redmond, a wise, experienced soph with hosts of friends to greet on the merry opening day.
pris and stella and gilbert were there, charlie sloane, looking more important than ever a sophomore looked before, phil, with the alec-and-alonzo question still unsettled, and moody spurgeon macpherson.
moody spurgeon had been teaching school ever since leaving queen's, but his mother had concluded it was high time he gave it up and turned his attention to learning how to be a minister.
poor moody spurgeon fell on hard luck at the very beginning of his college career.
half a dozen ruthless sophs, who were among his fellow-boarders, swooped down upon him one night and shaved half of his head.
in this guise the luckless moody spurgeon had to go about until his hair grew again.
he told anne bitterly that there were times when he had his doubts as to whether he was really called to be a minister.
aunt jamesina did not come until the girls had patty's place ready for her.
miss patty had sent the key to anne, with a letter in which she said gog and magog were packed in a box under the spare-room bed, but might be taken out when wanted; in a postscript she added that she hoped the girls would be careful about putting up pictures.
the living room had been newly papered five years before and she and miss maria did not want any more holes made in that new paper than was absolutely necessary.
for the rest she trusted everything to anne.
how those girls enjoyed putting their nest in order!
as phil said, it was almost as good as getting married.
you had the fun of homemaking without the bother of a husband.
all brought something with them to adorn or make comfortable the little house.
pris and phil and stella had knick-knacks and pictures galore, which latter they proceeded to hang according to taste, in reckless disregard of miss patty's new paper.
""we'll putty the holes up when we leave, dear -- she'll never know," they said to protesting anne.
diana had given anne a pine needle cushion and miss ada had given both her and priscilla a fearfully and wonderfully embroidered one.
marilla had sent a big box of preserves, and darkly hinted at a hamper for thanksgiving, and mrs. lynde gave anne a patchwork quilt and loaned her five more.
""you take them," she said authoritatively.
""they might as well be in use as packed away in that trunk in the garret for moths to gnaw."
no moths would ever have ventured near those quilts, for they reeked of mothballs to such an extent that they had to be hung in the orchard of patty's place a full fortnight before they could be endured indoors.
verily, aristocratic spofford avenue had rarely beheld such a display.
the gruff old millionaire who lived "next door" came over and wanted to buy the gorgeous red and yellow "tulip-pattern" one which mrs. rachel had given anne.
he said his mother used to make quilts like that, and by jove, he wanted one to remind him of her.
anne would not sell it, much to his disappointment, but she wrote all about it to mrs. lynde.
that highly-gratified lady sent word back that she had one just like it to spare, so the tobacco king got his quilt after all, and insisted on having it spread on his bed, to the disgust of his fashionable wife.
mrs. lynde's quilts served a very useful purpose that winter.
patty's place for all its many virtues, had its faults also.
it was really a rather cold house; and when the frosty nights came the girls were very glad to snuggle down under mrs. lynde's quilts, and hoped that the loan of them might be accounted unto her for righteousness.
anne had the blue room she had coveted at sight.
priscilla and stella had the large one.
phil was blissfully content with the little one over the kitchen; and aunt jamesina was to have the downstairs one off the living-room.
rusty at first slept on the doorstep.
anne, walking home from redmond a few days after her return, became aware that the people that she met surveyed her with a covert, indulgent smile.
anne wondered uneasily what was the matter with her.
was her hat crooked?
was her belt loose?
craning her head to investigate, anne, for the first time, saw rusty.
trotting along behind her, close to her heels, was quite the most forlorn specimen of the cat tribe she had ever beheld.
the animal was well past kitten-hood, lank, thin, disreputable looking.
pieces of both ears were lacking, one eye was temporarily out of repair, and one jowl ludicrously swollen.
as for color, if a once black cat had been well and thoroughly singed the result would have resembled the hue of this waif's thin, draggled, unsightly fur.
anne "shooed," but the cat would not "shoo."
as long as she stood he sat back on his haunches and gazed at her reproachfully out of his one good eye; when she resumed her walk he followed.
anne resigned herself to his company until she reached the gate of patty's place, which she coldly shut in his face, fondly supposing she had seen the last of him.
but when, fifteen minutes later, phil opened the door, there sat the rusty-brown cat on the step.
more, he promptly darted in and sprang upon anne's lap with a half-pleading, half-triumphant "miaow."
""anne," said stella severely, "do you own that animal?"
""no, i do not," protested disgusted anne.
""the creature followed me home from somewhere.
i could n't get rid of him.
ugh, get down.
i like decent cats reasonably well; but i do n't like beasties of your complexion."
pussy, however, refused to get down.
he coolly curled up in anne's lap and began to purr.
""he has evidently adopted you," laughed priscilla.
""i wo n't be adopted," said anne stubbornly.
""the poor creature is starving," said phil pityingly.
""why, his bones are almost coming through his skin."
""well, i'll give him a square meal and then he must return to whence he came," said anne resolutely.
the cat was fed and put out.
in the morning he was still on the doorstep.
on the doorstep he continued to sit, bolting in whenever the door was opened.
no coolness of welcome had the least effect on him; of nobody save anne did he take the least notice.
out of compassion the girls fed him; but when a week had passed they decided that something must be done.
the cat's appearance had improved.
his eye and cheek had resumed their normal appearance; he was not quite so thin; and he had been seen washing his face.
""but for all that we ca n't keep him," said stella.
""aunt jimsie is coming next week and she will bring the sarah-cat with her.
we ca n't keep two cats; and if we did this rusty coat would fight all the time with the sarah-cat.
he's a fighter by nature.
he had a pitched battle last evening with the tobacco-king's cat and routed him, horse, foot and artillery."
""we must get rid of him," agreed anne, looking darkly at the subject of their discussion, who was purring on the hearth rug with an air of lamb-like meekness.
""but the question is -- how?
how can four unprotected females get rid of a cat who wo n't be got rid of?"
""we must chloroform him," said phil briskly.
""that is the most humane way."
""who of us knows anything about chloroforming a cat?"
demanded anne gloomily.
""i do, honey.
it's one of my few -- sadly few -- useful accomplishments.
i've disposed of several at home.
you take the cat in the morning and give him a good breakfast.
then you take an old burlap bag -- there's one in the back porch -- put the cat on it and turn over him a wooden box.
then take a two-ounce bottle of chloroform, uncork it, and slip it under the edge of the box.
put a heavy weight on top of the box and leave it till evening.
the cat will be dead, curled up peacefully as if he were asleep.
no pain -- no struggle."
""it sounds easy," said anne dubiously.
""it is easy.
just leave it to me.
i'll see to it," said phil reassuringly.
accordingly the chloroform was procured, and the next morning rusty was lured to his doom.
he ate his breakfast, licked his chops, and climbed into anne's lap.
anne's heart misgave her.
this poor creature loved her -- trusted her.
how could she be a party to this destruction?
""here, take him," she said hastily to phil.
""i feel like a murderess."
""he wo n't suffer, you know," comforted phil, but anne had fled.
the fatal deed was done in the back porch.
nobody went near it that day.
but at dusk phil declared that rusty must be buried.
""pris and stella must dig his grave in the orchard," declared phil, "and anne must come with me to lift the box off.
that's the part i always hate."
the two conspirators tip-toed reluctantly to the back porch.
phil gingerly lifted the stone she had put on the box.
suddenly, faint but distinct, sounded an unmistakable mew under the box.
""he -- he is n't dead," gasped anne, sitting blankly down on the kitchen doorstep.
""he must be," said phil incredulously.
another tiny mew proved that he was n't.
the two girls stared at each other.
""what will we do?"
questioned anne.
""why in the world do n't you come?"
demanded stella, appearing in the doorway.
""we've got the grave ready.
"what silent still and silent all?""
she quoted teasingly."
"oh, no, the voices of the dead sound like the distant torrent's fall,"" promptly counter-quoted anne, pointing solemnly to the box.
a burst of laughter broke the tension.
""we must leave him here till morning," said phil, replacing the stone.
""he has n't mewed for five minutes.
perhaps the mews we heard were his dying groan.
or perhaps we merely imagined them, under the strain of our guilty consciences."
but, when the box was lifted in the morning, rusty bounded at one gay leap to anne's shoulder where he began to lick her face affectionately.
never was there a cat more decidedly alive.
""here's a knot hole in the box," groaned phil.
""i never saw it.
that's why he did n't die.
now, we've got to do it all over again."
""no, we have n't," declared anne suddenly.
""rusty is n't going to be killed again.
he's my cat -- and you've just got to make the best of it."
""oh, well, if you'll settle with aunt jimsie and the sarah-cat," said stella, with the air of one washing her hands of the whole affair.
from that time rusty was one of the family.
he slept o'nights on the scrubbing cushion in the back porch and lived on the fat of the land.
by the time aunt jamesina came he was plump and glossy and tolerably respectable.
but, like kipling's cat, he "walked by himself."
his paw was against every cat, and every cat's paw against him.
one by one he vanquished the aristocratic felines of spofford avenue.
as for human beings, he loved anne and anne alone.
nobody else even dared stroke him.
an angry spit and something that sounded much like very improper language greeted any one who did.
""the airs that cat puts on are perfectly intolerable," declared stella.
""him was a nice old pussens, him was," vowed anne, cuddling her pet defiantly.
""well, i do n't know how he and the sarah-cat will ever make out to live together," said stella pesimistically.
""cat-fights in the orchard o'nights are bad enough.
but cat-fights here in the livingroom are unthinkable."
in due time aunt jamesina arrived.
anne and priscilla and phil had awaited her advent rather dubiously; but when aunt jamesina was enthroned in the rocking chair before the open fire they figuratively bowed down and worshipped her.
aunt jamesina was a tiny old woman with a little, softly-triangular face, and large, soft blue eyes that were alight with unquenchable youth, and as full of hopes as a girl's.
she had pink cheeks and snow-white hair which she wore in quaint little puffs over her ears.
""it's a very old-fashioned way," she said, knitting industriously at something as dainty and pink as a sunset cloud.
""but i am old-fashioned.
my clothes are, and it stands to reason my opinions are, too.
i do n't say they're any the better of that, mind you.
in fact, i daresay they're a good deal the worse.
but they've worn nice and easy.
new shoes are smarter than old ones, but the old ones are more comfortable.
i'm old enough to indulge myself in the matter of shoes and opinions.
i mean to take it real easy here.
i know you expect me to look after you and keep you proper, but i'm not going to do it.
you're old enough to know how to behave if you're ever going to be.
so, as far as i am concerned," concluded aunt jamesina, with a twinkle in her young eyes, "you can all go to destruction in your own way."
""oh, will somebody separate those cats?"
pleaded stella, shudderingly.
aunt jamesina had brought with her not only the sarah-cat but joseph.
joseph, she explained, had belonged to a dear friend of hers who had gone to live in vancouver.
""she could n't take joseph with her so she begged me to take him.
i really could n't refuse.
he's a beautiful cat -- that is, his disposition is beautiful.
she called him joseph because his coat is of many colors."
it certainly was.
joseph, as the disgusted stella said, looked like a walking rag-bag.
it was impossible to say what his ground color was.
his legs were white with black spots on them.
his back was gray with a huge patch of yellow on one side and a black patch on the other.
his tail was yellow with a gray tip.
one ear was black and one yellow.
a black patch over one eye gave him a fearfully rakish look.
in reality he was meek and inoffensive, of a sociable disposition.
in one respect, if in no other, joseph was like a lily of the field.
he toiled not neither did he spin or catch mice.
yet solomon in all his glory slept not on softer cushions, or feasted more fully on fat things.
joseph and the sarah-cat arrived by express in separate boxes.
after they had been released and fed, joseph selected the cushion and corner which appealed to him, and the sarah-cat gravely sat herself down before the fire and proceeded to wash her face.
she was a large, sleek, gray-and-white cat, with an enormous dignity which was not at all impaired by any consciousness of her plebian origin.
she had been given to aunt jamesina by her washerwoman.
""her name was sarah, so my husband always called puss the sarah-cat," explained aunt jamesina.
""she is eight years old, and a remarkable mouser.
do n't worry, stella.
the sarah-cat never fights and joseph rarely."
""they'll have to fight here in self-defense," said stella.
at this juncture rusty arrived on the scene.
he bounded joyously half way across the room before he saw the intruders.
then he stopped short; his tail expanded until it was as big as three tails.
the fur on his back rose up in a defiant arch; rusty lowered his head, uttered a fearful shriek of hatred and defiance, and launched himself at the sarah-cat.
the stately animal had stopped washing her face and was looking at him curiously.
she met his onslaught with one contemptuous sweep of her capable paw.
rusty went rolling helplessly over on the rug; he picked himself up dazedly.
what sort of a cat was this who had boxed his ears?
he looked dubiously at the sarah-cat.
would he or would he not?
the sarah-cat deliberately turned her back on him and resumed her toilet operations.
rusty decided that he would not.
he never did.
from that time on the sarah-cat ruled the roost.
rusty never again interfered with her.
but joseph rashly sat up and yawned.
rusty, burning to avenge his disgrace, swooped down upon him.
joseph, pacific by nature, could fight upon occasion and fight well.
the result was a series of drawn battles.
every day rusty and joseph fought at sight.
anne took rusty's part and detested joseph.
stella was in despair.
but aunt jamesina only laughed.
""let them fight it out," she said tolerantly.
""they'll make friends after a bit.
joseph needs some exercise -- he was getting too fat.
and rusty has to learn he is n't the only cat in the world."
eventually joseph and rusty accepted the situation and from sworn enemies became sworn friends.
they slept on the same cushion with their paws about each other, and gravely washed each other's faces.
""we've all got used to each other," said phil.
""and i've learned how to wash dishes and sweep a floor."
""but you need n't try to make us believe you can chloroform a cat," laughed anne.
""it was all the fault of the knothole," protested phil.
""it was a good thing the knothole was there," said aunt jamesina rather severely.
""kittens have to be drowned, i admit, or the world would be overrun.
but no decent, grown-up cat should be done to death -- unless he sucks eggs."
""you would n't have thought rusty very decent if you'd seen him when he came here," said stella.
""he positively looked like the old nick."
""i do n't believe old nick can be so very, ugly" said aunt jamesina reflectively.
""he would n't do so much harm if he was.
i always think of him as a rather handsome gentleman."
chapter xvii a letter from davy "it's beginning to snow, girls," said phil, coming in one november evening, "and there are the loveliest little stars and crosses all over the garden walk.
i never noticed before what exquisite things snowflakes really are.
one has time to notice things like that in the simple life.
bless you all for permitting me to live it.
it's really delightful to feel worried because butter has gone up five cents a pound."
""has it?"
demanded stella, who kept the household accounts.
""it has -- and here's your butter.
i'm getting quite expert at marketing.
it's better fun than flirting," concluded phil gravely.
""everything is going up scandalously," sighed stella.
""never mind.
thank goodness air and salvation are still free," said aunt jamesina.
""and so is laughter," added anne.
""there's no tax on it yet and that is well, because you're all going to laugh presently.
i'm going to read you davy's letter.
his spelling has improved immensely this past year, though he is not strong on apostrophes, and he certainly possesses the gift of writing an interesting letter.
listen and laugh, before we settle down to the evening's study-grind."
""dear anne," ran davy's letter, "i take my pen to tell you that we are all pretty well and hope this will find you the same.
it's snowing some today and marilla says the old woman in the sky is shaking her feather beds.
is the old woman in the sky god's wife, anne?
i want to know.
""mrs. lynde has been real sick but she is better now.
she fell down the cellar stairs last week.
when she fell she grabbed hold of the shelf with all the milk pails and stewpans on it, and it gave way and went down with her and made a splendid crash.
marilla thought it was an earthquake at first.
""one of the stewpans was all dinged up and mrs. lynde straned her ribs.
the doctor came and gave her medicine to rub on her ribs but she did n't under stand him and took it all inside instead.
the doctor said it was a wonder it dident kill her but it dident and it cured her ribs and mrs. lynde says doctors dont know much anyhow.
but we couldent fix up the stewpan.
marilla had to throw it out.
thanksgiving was last week.
there was no school and we had a great dinner.
i et mince pie and rost turkey and frut cake and donuts and cheese and jam and choklut cake.
marilla said i'd die but i dident.
dora had earake after it, only it wasent in her ears it was in her stummick.
i dident have earake anywhere.
""our new teacher is a man.
he does things for jokes.
last week he made all us third-class boys write a composishun on what kind of a wife we'd like to have and the girls on what kind of a husband.
he laughed fit to kill when he read them.
this was mine.
i thought youd like to see it."
"the kind of a wife i'd like to have."
"she must have good manners and get my meals on time and do what i tell her and always be very polite to me.
she must be fifteen yers old.
she must be good to the poor and keep her house tidy and be good tempered and go to church regularly.
she must be very handsome and have curly hair.
if i get a wife that is just what i like ill be an awful good husband to her.
i think a woman ought to be awful good to her husband.
some poor women have n't any husbands."
"the end.""
""i was at mrs. isaac wrights funeral at white sands last week.
the husband of the corpse felt real sorry.
mrs. lynde says mrs. wrights grandfather stole a sheep but marilla says we mustent speak ill of the dead.
why mustent we, anne?
i want to know.
it's pretty safe, ai n't it?
""mrs. lynde was awful mad the other day because i asked her if she was alive in noah's time.
i dident mean to hurt her feelings.
i just wanted to know.
was she, anne?
""mr. harrison wanted to get rid of his dog.
so he hunged him once but he come to life and scooted for the barn while mr. harrison was digging the grave, so he hunged him again and he stayed dead that time.
mr. harrison has a new man working for him.
he's awful okward.
mr. harrison says he is left handed in both his feet.
mr. barry's hired man is lazy.
mrs. barry says that but mr. barry says he aint lazy exactly only he thinks it easier to pray for things than to work for them.
""mrs. harmon andrews prize pig that she talked so much of died in a fit.
mrs. lynde says it was a judgment on her for pride.
but i think it was hard on the pig.
milty boulter has been sick.
the doctor gave him medicine and it tasted horrid.
i offered to take it for him for a quarter but the boulters are so mean.
milty says he'd rather take it himself and save his money.
i asked mrs. boulter how a person would go about catching a man and she got awful mad and said she dident know, shed never chased men.
""the a.v.i.s. is going to paint the hall again.
they're tired of having it blue.
""the new minister was here to tea last night.
he took three pieces of pie.
if i did that mrs. lynde would call me piggy.
and he et fast and took big bites and marilla is always telling me not to do that.
why can ministers do what boys ca n't?
i want to know.
""i have n't any more news.
here are six kisses.
xxxxxx.
dora sends one.
heres hers.
x. "your loving friend david keith" "p.s. anne, who was the devils father?
i want to know."
chapter xviii miss josepine remembers the anne-girl when christmas holidays came the girls of patty's place scattered to their respective homes, but aunt jamesina elected to stay where she was.
""i could n't go to any of the places i've been invited and take those three cats," she said.
""and i'm not going to leave the poor creatures here alone for nearly three weeks.
if we had any decent neighbors who would feed them i might, but there's nothing except millionaires on this street.
so i'll stay here and keep patty's place warm for you."
anne went home with the usual joyous anticipations -- which were not wholly fulfilled.
she found avonlea in the grip of such an early, cold, and stormy winter as even the "oldest inhabitant" could not recall.
green gables was literally hemmed in by huge drifts.
almost every day of that ill-starred vacation it stormed fiercely; and even on fine days it drifted unceasingly.
no sooner were the roads broken than they filled in again.
it was almost impossible to stir out.
the a.v.i.s. tried, on three evenings, to have a party in honor of the college students, and on each evening the storm was so wild that nobody could go, so they gave up the attempt in despair.
anne, despite her love of and loyalty to green gables, could not help thinking longingly of patty's place, its cosy open fire, aunt jamesina's mirthful eyes, the three cats, the merry chatter of the girls, the pleasantness of friday evenings when college friends dropped in to talk of grave and gay.
anne was lonely; diana, during the whole of the holidays, was imprisoned at home with a bad attack of bronchitis.
she could not come to green gables and it was rarely anne could get to orchard slope, for the old way through the haunted wood was impassable with drifts, and the long way over the frozen lake of shining waters was almost as bad.
ruby gillis was sleeping in the white-heaped graveyard; jane andrews was teaching a school on western prairies.
gilbert, to be sure, was still faithful, and waded up to green gables every possible evening.
but gilbert's visits were not what they once were.
anne almost dreaded them.
it was very disconcerting to look up in the midst of a sudden silence and find gilbert's hazel eyes fixed upon her with a quite unmistakable expression in their grave depths; and it was still more disconcerting to find herself blushing hotly and uncomfortably under his gaze, just as if -- just as if -- well, it was very embarrassing.
anne wished herself back at patty's place, where there was always somebody else about to take the edge off a delicate situation.
at green gables marilla went promptly to mrs. lynde's domain when gilbert came and insisted on taking the twins with her.
the significance of this was unmistakable and anne was in a helpless fury over it.
davy, however, was perfectly happy.
he reveled in getting out in the morning and shoveling out the paths to the well and henhouse.
he gloried in the christmas-tide delicacies which marilla and mrs. lynde vied with each other in preparing for anne, and he was reading an enthralling tale, in a school library book, of a wonderful hero who seemed blessed with a miraculous faculty for getting into scrapes from which he was usually delivered by an earthquake or a volcanic explosion, which blew him high and dry out of his troubles, landed him in a fortune, and closed the story with proper eclat.
""i tell you it's a bully story, anne," he said ecstatically.
""i'd ever so much rather read it than the bible."
""would you?"
smiled anne.
davy peered curiously at her.
""you do n't seem a bit shocked, anne.
mrs. lynde was awful shocked when i said it to her."
""no, i'm not shocked, davy.
i think it's quite natural that a nine-year-old boy would sooner read an adventure story than the bible.
but when you are older i hope and think that you will realize what a wonderful book the bible is."
""oh, i think some parts of it are fine," conceded davy.
""that story about joseph now -- it's bully.
but if i'd been joseph i would n't have forgive the brothers.
no, siree, anne.
i'd have cut all their heads off.
mrs. lynde was awful mad when i said that and shut the bible up and said she'd never read me any more of it if i talked like that.
so i do n't talk now when she reads it sunday afternoons; i just think things and say them to milty boulter next day in school.
i told milty the story about elisha and the bears and it scared him so he's never made fun of mr. harrison's bald head once.
are there any bears on p.e. island, anne?
i want to know."
""not nowadays," said anne, absently, as the wind blew a scud of snow against the window.
""oh, dear, will it ever stop storming."
""god knows," said davy airily, preparing to resume his reading.
anne was shocked this time.
""davy!"
she exclaimed reproachfully.
""mrs. lynde says that," protested davy.
""one night last week marilla said "will ludovic speed and theodora dix ever get married?"
and mrs. lynde said," "god knows" -- just like that."
""well, it was n't right for her to say it," said anne, promptly deciding upon which horn of this dilemma to empale herself.
""it is n't right for anybody to take that name in vain or speak it lightly, davy.
do n't ever do it again."
""not if i say it slow and solemn, like the minister?"
queried davy gravely.
""no, not even then."
""well, i wo n't.
ludovic speed and theodora dix live in middle grafton and mrs. rachel says he has been courting her for a hundred years.
wo n't they soon be too old to get married, anne?
i hope gilbert wo n't court you that long.
when are you going to be married, anne?
mrs. lynde says it's a sure thing."
""mrs. lynde is a --" began anne hotly; then stopped.
""awful old gossip," completed davy calmly.
""that's what every one calls her.
but is it a sure thing, anne?
i want to know."
""you're a very silly little boy, davy," said anne, stalking haughtily out of the room.
the kitchen was deserted and she sat down by the window in the fast falling wintry twilight.
the sun had set and the wind had died down.
a pale chilly moon looked out behind a bank of purple clouds in the west.
the sky faded out, but the strip of yellow along the western horizon grew brighter and fiercer, as if all the stray gleams of light were concentrating in one spot; the distant hills, rimmed with priest-like firs, stood out in dark distinctness against it.
anne looked across the still, white fields, cold and lifeless in the harsh light of that grim sunset, and sighed.
she was very lonely; and she was sad at heart; for she was wondering if she would be able to return to redmond next year.
it did not seem likely.
the only scholarship possible in the sophomore year was a very small affair.
she would not take marilla's money; and there seemed little prospect of being able to earn enough in the summer vacation.
""i suppose i'll just have to drop out next year," she thought drearily, "and teach a district school again until i earn enough to finish my course.
and by that time all my old class will have graduated and patty's place will be out of the question.
but there!
i'm not going to be a coward.
i'm thankful i can earn my way through if necessary."
""here's mr. harrison wading up the lane," announced davy, running out.
""i hope he's brought the mail.
it's three days since we got it.
i want to see what them pesky grits are doing.
i'm a conservative, anne.
and i tell you, you have to keep your eye on them grits."
mr. harrison had brought the mail, and merry letters from stella and priscilla and phil soon dissipated anne's blues.
aunt jamesina, too, had written, saying that she was keeping the hearth-fire alight, and that the cats were all well, and the house plants doing fine.
""the weather has been real cold," she wrote, "so i let the cats sleep in the house -- rusty and joseph on the sofa in the living-room, and the sarah-cat on the foot of my bed.
it's real company to hear her purring when i wake up in the night and think of my poor daughter in the foreign field.
if it was anywhere but in india i would n't worry, but they say the snakes out there are terrible.
it takes all the sarah-cats's purring to drive away the thought of those snakes.
i have enough faith for everything but the snakes.
i ca n't think why providence ever made them.
sometimes i do n't think he did.
i'm inclined to believe the old harry had a hand in making them."
anne had left a thin, typewritten communication till the last, thinking it unimportant.
when she had read it she sat very still, with tears in her eyes.
""what is the matter, anne?"
asked marilla.
""miss josephine barry is dead," said anne, in a low tone.
""so she has gone at last," said marilla.
""well, she has been sick for over a year, and the barrys have been expecting to hear of her death any time.
it is well she is at rest for she has suffered dreadfully, anne.
she was always kind to you."
""she has been kind to the last, marilla.
this letter is from her lawyer.
she has left me a thousand dollars in her will."
""gracious, ai n't that an awful lot of money," exclaimed davy.
""she's the woman you and diana lit on when you jumped into the spare room bed, ai n't she?
diana told me that story.
is that why she left you so much?"
""hush, davy," said anne gently.
she slipped away to the porch gable with a full heart, leaving marilla and mrs. lynde to talk over the news to their hearts" content.
""do you s "pose anne will ever get married now?"
speculated davy anxiously.
""when dorcas sloane got married last summer she said if she'd had enough money to live on she'd never have been bothered with a man, but even a widower with eight children was better'n living with a sister-in-law."
""davy keith, do hold your tongue," said mrs. rachel severely.
""the way you talk is scandalous for a small boy, that's what."
chapter xix an interlude "to think that this is my twentieth birthday, and that i've left my teens behind me forever," said anne, who was curled up on the hearth-rug with rusty in her lap, to aunt jamesina who was reading in her pet chair.
they were alone in the living room.
stella and priscilla had gone to a committee meeting and phil was upstairs adorning herself for a party.
""i suppose you feel kind of, sorry" said aunt jamesina.
""the teens are such a nice part of life.
i'm glad i've never gone out of them myself."
anne laughed.
""you never will, aunty.
you'll be eighteen when you should be a hundred.
yes, i'm sorry, and a little dissatisfied as well.
miss stacy told me long ago that by the time i was twenty my character would be formed, for good or evil.
i do n't feel that it's what it should be.
it's full of flaws."
""so's everybody's," said aunt jamesina cheerfully.
""mine's cracked in a hundred places.
your miss stacy likely meant that when you are twenty your character would have got its permanent bent in one direction or "tother, and would go on developing in that line.
do n't worry over it, anne.
do your duty by god and your neighbor and yourself, and have a good time.
that's my philosophy and it's always worked pretty well.
where's phil off to tonight?"
""she's going to a dance, and she's got the sweetest dress for it -- creamy yellow silk and cobwebby lace.
it just suits those brown tints of hers."
""there's magic in the words "silk" and "lace," is n't there?"
said aunt jamesina.
""the very sound of them makes me feel like skipping off to a dance.
and yellow silk.
it makes one think of a dress of sunshine.
i always wanted a yellow silk dress, but first my mother and then my husband would n't hear of it.
the very first thing i'm going to do when i get to heaven is to get a yellow silk dress."
amid anne's peal of laughter phil came downstairs, trailing clouds of glory, and surveyed herself in the long oval mirror on the wall.
""a flattering looking glass is a promoter of amiability," she said.
""the one in my room does certainly make me green.
do i look pretty nice, anne?"
""do you really know how pretty you are, phil?"
asked anne, in honest admiration.
""of course i do.
what are looking glasses and men for?
that was n't what i meant.
are all my ends tucked in?
is my skirt straight?
and would this rose look better lower down?
i'm afraid it's too high -- it will make me look lop-sided.
but i hate things tickling my ears."
""everything is just right, and that southwest dimple of yours is lovely."
""anne, there's one thing in particular i like about you -- you're so ungrudging.
there is n't a particle of envy in you."
""why should she be envious?"
demanded aunt jamesina.
""she's not quite as goodlooking as you, maybe, but she's got a far handsomer nose."
""i know it," conceded phil.
""my nose always has been a great comfort to me," confessed anne.
""and i love the way your hair grows on your forehead, anne.
and that one wee curl, always looking as if it were going to drop, but never dropping, is delicious.
but as for noses, mine is a dreadful worry to me.
i know by the time i'm forty it will be byrney.
what do you think i'll look like when i'm forty, anne?"
""like an old, matronly, married woman," teased anne.
""i wo n't," said phil, sitting down comfortably to wait for her escort.
""joseph, you calico beastie, do n't you dare jump on my lap.
i wo n't go to a dance all over cat hairs.
no, anne, i wo n't look matronly.
but no doubt i'll be married."
""to alec or alonzo?"
asked anne.
""to one of them, i suppose," sighed phil, "if i can ever decide which."
""it should n't be hard to decide," scolded aunt jamesina.
""i was born a see-saw aunty, and nothing can ever prevent me from teetering."
""you ought to be more levelheaded, philippa."
""it's best to be levelheaded, of course," agreed philippa, "but you miss lots of fun.
as for alec and alonzo, if you knew them you'd understand why it's difficult to choose between them.
they're equally nice."
""then take somebody who is nicer" suggested aunt jamesina.
""there's that senior who is so devoted to you -- will leslie.
he has such nice, large, mild eyes."
""they're a little bit too large and too mild -- like a cow's," said phil cruelly.
""what do you say about george parker?"
""there's nothing to say about him except that he always looks as if he had just been starched and ironed."
""marr holworthy then.
you ca n't find a fault with him."
""no, he would do if he was n't poor.
i must marry a rich man, aunt jamesina.
that -- and good looks -- is an indispensable qualification.
i'd marry gilbert blythe if he were rich."
""oh, would you?"
said anne, rather viciously.
""we do n't like that idea a little bit, although we do n't want gilbert ourselves, oh, no," mocked phil.
""but do n't let's talk of disagreeable subjects.
i'll have to marry sometime, i suppose, but i shall put off the evil day as long as i can."
""you must n't marry anybody you do n't love, phil, when all's said and done," said aunt jamesina."
"oh, hearts that loved in the good old way have been out o" the fashion this many a day.""
trilled phil mockingly.
""there's the carriage.
i fly -- bi-bi, you two old-fashioned darlings."
when phil had gone aunt jamesina looked solemnly at anne.
""that girl is pretty and sweet and goodhearted, but do you think she is quite right in her mind, by spells, anne?"
""oh, i do n't think there's anything the matter with phil's mind," said anne, hiding a smile.
""it's just her way of talking."
aunt jamesina shook her head.
""well, i hope so, anne.
i do hope so, because i love her.
but i ca n't understand her -- she beats me.
she is n't like any of the girls i ever knew, or any of the girls i was myself."
""how many girls were you, aunt jimsie?"
""about half a dozen, my dear."
chapter xx gilbert speaks "this has been a dull, prosy day," yawned phil, stretching herself idly on the sofa, having previously dispossessed two exceedingly indignant cats.
anne looked up from pickwick papers.
now that spring examinations were over she was treating herself to dickens.
""it has been a prosy day for us," she said thoughtfully, "but to some people it has been a wonderful day.
some one has been rapturously happy in it.
perhaps a great deed has been done somewhere today -- or a great poem written -- or a great man born.
and some heart has been broken, phil."
""why did you spoil your pretty thought by tagging that last sentence on, honey?"
grumbled phil.
""i do n't like to think of broken hearts -- or anything unpleasant."
""do you think you'll be able to shirk unpleasant things all your life, phil?"
""dear me, no.
am i not up against them now?
you do n't call alec and alonzo pleasant things, do you, when they simply plague my life out?"
""you never take anything seriously, phil."
""why should i?
there are enough folks who do.
the world needs people like me, anne, just to amuse it.
it would be a terrible place if everybody were intellectual and serious and in deep, deadly earnest.
my mission is, as josiah allen says, "to charm and allure."
confess now.
has n't life at patty's place been really much brighter and pleasanter this past winter because i've been here to leaven you?"
""yes, it has," owned anne.
""and you all love me -- even aunt jamesina, who thinks i'm stark mad.
so why should i try to be different?
oh, dear, i'm so sleepy.
i was awake until one last night, reading a harrowing ghost story.
i read it in bed, and after i had finished it do you suppose i could get out of bed to put the light out?
no!
and if stella had not fortunately come in late that lamp would have burned good and bright till morning.
when i heard stella i called her in, explained my predicament, and got her to put out the light.
if i had got out myself to do it i knew something would grab me by the feet when i was getting in again.
by the way, anne, has aunt jamesina decided what to do this summer?"
""yes, she's going to stay here.
i know she's doing it for the sake of those blessed cats, although she says it's too much trouble to open her own house, and she hates visiting."
""what are you reading?"
""pickwick."
""that's a book that always makes me hungry," said phil.
""there's so much good eating in it.
the characters seem always to be reveling on ham and eggs and milk punch.
i generally go on a cupboard rummage after reading pickwick.
the mere thought reminds me that i'm starving.
is there any tidbit in the pantry, queen anne?"
""i made a lemon pie this morning.
you may have a piece of it."
phil dashed out to the pantry and anne betook herself to the orchard in company with rusty.
it was a moist, pleasantly-odorous night in early spring.
the snow was not quite all gone from the park; a little dingy bank of it yet lay under the pines of the harbor road, screened from the influence of april suns.
it kept the harbor road muddy, and chilled the evening air.
but grass was growing green in sheltered spots and gilbert had found some pale, sweet arbutus in a hidden corner.
he came up from the park, his hands full of it.
anne was sitting on the big gray boulder in the orchard looking at the poem of a bare, birchen bough hanging against the pale red sunset with the very perfection of grace.
she was building a castle in air -- a wondrous mansion whose sunlit courts and stately halls were steeped in araby's perfume, and where she reigned queen and chatelaine.
she frowned as she saw gilbert coming through the orchard.
of late she had managed not to be left alone with gilbert.
but he had caught her fairly now; and even rusty had deserted her.
gilbert sat down beside her on the boulder and held out his mayflowers.
""do n't these remind you of home and our old schoolday picnics, anne?"
anne took them and buried her face in them.
""i'm in mr. silas sloane's barrens this very minute," she said rapturously.
""i suppose you will be there in reality in a few days?"
""no, not for a fortnight.
i'm going to visit with phil in bolingbroke before i go home.
you'll be in avonlea before i will."
""no, i shall not be in avonlea at all this summer, anne.
i've been offered a job in the daily news office and i'm going to take it."
""oh," said anne vaguely.
she wondered what a whole avonlea summer would be like without gilbert.
somehow she did not like the prospect.
""well," she concluded flatly, "it is a good thing for you, of course."
""yes, i've been hoping i would get it.
it will help me out next year."
""you must n't work too hard," said anne, without any very clear idea of what she was saying.
she wished desperately that phil would come out.
""you've studied very constantly this winter.
is n't this a delightful evening?
do you know, i found a cluster of white violets under that old twisted tree over there today?
i felt as if i had discovered a gold mine."
""you are always discovering gold mines," said gilbert -- also absently.
""let us go and see if we can find some more," suggested anne eagerly.
""i'll call phil and --" "never mind phil and the violets just now, anne," said gilbert quietly, taking her hand in a clasp from which she could not free it.
""there is something i want to say to you."
""oh, do n't say it," cried anne, pleadingly.
""do n't -- please, gilbert."
""i must.
things ca n't go on like this any longer.
anne, i love you.
you know i do.
i -- i ca n't tell you how much.
will you promise me that some day you'll be my wife?"
""i -- i ca n't," said anne miserably.
""oh, gilbert -- you -- you've spoiled everything."
""do n't you care for me at all?"
gilbert asked after a very dreadful pause, during which anne had not dared to look up.
""not -- not in that way.
i do care a great deal for you as a friend.
but i do n't love you, gilbert."
""but ca n't you give me some hope that you will -- yet?"
""no, i ca n't," exclaimed anne desperately.
""i never, never can love you -- in that way -- gilbert.
you must never speak of this to me again."
there was another pause -- so long and so dreadful that anne was driven at last to look up.
gilbert's face was white to the lips.
and his eyes -- but anne shuddered and looked away.
there was nothing romantic about this.
must proposals be either grotesque or -- horrible?
could she ever forget gilbert's face?
""is there anybody else?"
he asked at last in a low voice.
""no -- no," said anne eagerly.
""i do n't care for any one like that -- and i like you better than anybody else in the world, gilbert.
and we must -- we must go on being friends, gilbert."
gilbert gave a bitter little laugh.
""friends!
your friendship ca n't satisfy me, anne.
i want your love -- and you tell me i can never have that."
""i'm sorry.
forgive me, gilbert," was all anne could say.
where, oh, where were all the gracious and graceful speeches wherewith, in imagination, she had been wont to dismiss rejected suitors?
gilbert released her hand gently.
""there is n't anything to forgive.
there have been times when i thought you did care.
i've deceived myself, that's all.
goodbye, anne."
anne got herself to her room, sat down on her window seat behind the pines, and cried bitterly.
she felt as if something incalculably precious had gone out of her life.
it was gilbert's friendship, of course.
oh, why must she lose it after this fashion?
""what is the matter, honey?"
asked phil, coming in through the moonlit gloom.
anne did not answer.
at that moment she wished phil were a thousand miles away.
""i suppose you've gone and refused gilbert blythe.
you are an idiot, anne shirley!"
""do you call it idiotic to refuse to marry a man i do n't love?"
said anne coldly, goaded to reply.
""you do n't know love when you see it.
you've tricked something out with your imagination that you think love, and you expect the real thing to look like that.
there, that's the first sensible thing i've ever said in my life.
i wonder how i managed it?"
""phil," pleaded anne, "please go away and leave me alone for a little while.
my world has tumbled into pieces.
i want to reconstruct it."
""without any gilbert in it?"
said phil, going.
a world without any gilbert in it!
anne repeated the words drearily.
would it not be a very lonely, forlorn place?
well, it was all gilbert's fault.
he had spoiled their beautiful comradeship.
she must just learn to live without it.
chapter xxi roses of yesterday the fortnight anne spent in bolingbroke was a very pleasant one, with a little under current of vague pain and dissatisfaction running through it whenever she thought about gilbert.
there was not, however, much time to think about him.
""mount holly," the beautiful old gordon homestead, was a very gay place, overrun by phil's friends of both sexes.
there was quite a bewildering succession of drives, dances, picnics and boating parties, all expressively lumped together by phil under the head of "jamborees"; alec and alonzo were so constantly on hand that anne wondered if they ever did anything but dance attendance on that will-o" - the-wisp of a phil.
they were both nice, manly fellows, but anne would not be drawn into any opinion as to which was the nicer.
""and i depended so on you to help me make up my mind which of them i should promise to marry," mourned phil.
""you must do that for yourself.
you are quite expert at making up your mind as to whom other people should marry," retorted anne, rather caustically.
""oh, that's a very different thing," said phil, truly.
but the sweetest incident of anne's sojourn in bolingbroke was the visit to her birthplace -- the little shabby yellow house in an out-of-the-way street she had so often dreamed about.
she looked at it with delighted eyes, as she and phil turned in at the gate.
""it's almost exactly as i've pictured it," she said.
""there is no honeysuckle over the windows, but there is a lilac tree by the gate, and -- yes, there are the muslin curtains in the windows.
how glad i am it is still painted yellow."
a very tall, very thin woman opened the door.
""yes, the shirleys lived here twenty years ago," she said, in answer to anne's question.
""they had it rented.
i remember'em.
they both died of fever at onct.
it was turrible sad.
they left a baby.
i guess it's dead long ago.
it was a sickly thing.
old thomas and his wife took it -- as if they had n't enough of their own."
""it did n't die," said anne, smiling.
""i was that baby."
""you do n't say so!
why, you have grown," exclaimed the woman, as if she were much surprised that anne was not still a baby.
""come to look at you, i see the resemblance.
you're complected like your pa.
he had red hair.
but you favor your ma in your eyes and mouth.
she was a nice little thing.
my darter went to school to her and was nigh crazy about her.
they was buried in the one grave and the school board put up a tombstone to them as a reward for faithful service.
will you come in?"
""will you let me go all over the house?"
asked anne eagerly.
""laws, yes, you can if you like.
"two n't take you long -- there ai n't much of it.
i keep at my man to build a new kitchen, but he ai n't one of your hustlers.
the parlor's in there and there's two rooms upstairs.
just prowl about yourselves.
i've got to see to the baby.
the east room was the one you were born in.
i remember your ma saying she loved to see the sunrise; and i mind hearing that you was born just as the sun was rising and its light on your face was the first thing your ma saw."
anne went up the narrow stairs and into that little east room with a full heart.
it was as a shrine to her.
here her mother had dreamed the exquisite, happy dreams of anticipated motherhood; here that red sunrise light had fallen over them both in the sacred hour of birth; here her mother had died.
anne looked about her reverently, her eyes with tears.
it was for her one of the jeweled hours of life that gleam out radiantly forever in memory.
""just to think of it -- mother was younger than i am now when i was born," she whispered.
when anne went downstairs the lady of the house met her in the hall.
she held out a dusty little packet tied with faded blue ribbon.
""here's a bundle of old letters i found in that closet upstairs when i came here," she said.
""i dunno what they are -- i never bothered to look in'em, but the address on the top one is "miss bertha willis," and that was your ma's maiden name.
you can take'em if you'd keer to have'em."
""oh, thank you -- thank you," cried anne, clasping the packet rapturously.
""that was all that was in the house," said her hostess.
""the furniture was all sold to pay the doctor bills, and mrs. thomas got your ma's clothes and little things.
i reckon they did n't last long among that drove of thomas youngsters.
they was destructive young animals, as i mind'em."
""i have n't one thing that belonged to my mother," said anne, chokily.
""i -- i can never thank you enough for these letters."
""you're quite welcome.
laws, but your eyes is like your ma's.
she could just about talk with hers.
your father was sorter homely but awful nice.
i mind hearing folks say when they was married that there never was two people more in love with each other -- pore creatures, they did n't live much longer; but they was awful happy while they was alive, and i s "pose that counts for a good deal."
anne longed to get home to read her precious letters; but she made one little pilgrimage first.
she went alone to the green corner of the "old" bolingbroke cemetery where her father and mother were buried, and left on their grave the white flowers she carried.
then she hastened back to mount holly, shut herself up in her room, and read the letters.
some were written by her father, some by her mother.
there were not many -- only a dozen in all -- for walter and bertha shirley had not been often separated during their courtship.
the letters were yellow and faded and dim, blurred with the touch of passing years.
no profound words of wisdom were traced on the stained and wrinkled pages, but only lines of love and trust.
the sweetness of forgotten things clung to them -- the far-off, fond imaginings of those long-dead lovers.
bertha shirley had possessed the gift of writing letters which embodied the charming personality of the writer in words and thoughts that retained their beauty and fragrance after the lapse of time.
the letters were tender, intimate, sacred.
to anne, the sweetest of all was the one written after her birth to the father on a brief absence.
it was full of a proud young mother's accounts of "baby" -- her cleverness, her brightness, her thousand sweetnesses.
""i love her best when she is asleep and better still when she is awake," bertha shirley had written in the postscript.
probably it was the last sentence she had ever penned.
the end was very near for her.
""this has been the most beautiful day of my life," anne said to phil that night.
""i've found my father and mother.
those letters have made them real to me.
i'm not an orphan any longer.
i feel as if i had opened a book and found roses of yesterday, sweet and beloved, between its leaves."
chapter xxii spring and anne return to green gables the firelight shadows were dancing over the kitchen walls at green gables, for the spring evening was chilly; through the open east window drifted in the subtly sweet voices of the night.
marilla was sitting by the fire -- at least, in body.
in spirit she was roaming olden ways, with feet grown young.
of late marilla had thus spent many an hour, when she thought she should have been knitting for the twins.
""i suppose i'm growing old," she said.
yet marilla had changed but little in the past nine years, save to grow something thinner, and even more angular; there was a little more gray in the hair that was still twisted up in the same hard knot, with two hairpins -- were they the same hairpins?
-- still stuck through it.
but her expression was very different; the something about the mouth which had hinted at a sense of humor had developed wonderfully; her eyes were gentler and milder, her smile more frequent and tender.
marilla was thinking of her whole past life, her cramped but not unhappy childhood, the jealously hidden dreams and the blighted hopes of her girlhood, the long, gray, narrow, monotonous years of dull middle life that followed.
and the coming of anne -- the vivid, imaginative, impetuous child with her heart of love, and her world of fancy, bringing with her color and warmth and radiance, until the wilderness of existence had blossomed like the rose.
marilla felt that out of her sixty years she had lived only the nine that had followed the advent of anne.
and anne would be home tomorrow night.
the kitchen door opened.
marilla looked up expecting to see mrs. lynde.
anne stood before her, tall and starry-eyed, with her hands full of mayflowers and violets.
""anne shirley!"
exclaimed marilla.
for once in her life she was surprised out of her reserve; she caught her girl in her arms and crushed her and her flowers against her heart, kissing the bright hair and sweet face warmly.
""i never looked for you till tomorrow night.
how did you get from carmody?"
""walked, dearest of marillas.
have n't i done it a score of times in the queen's days?
the mailman is to bring my trunk tomorrow; i just got homesick all at once, and came a day earlier.
and oh!
i've had such a lovely walk in the may twilight; i stopped by the barrens and picked these mayflowers; i came through violet-vale; it's just a big bowlful of violets now -- the dear, sky-tinted things.
smell them, marilla -- drink them in."
marilla sniffed obligingly, but she was more interested in anne than in drinking violets.
""sit down, child.
you must be real tired.
i'm going to get you some supper."
""there's a darling moonrise behind the hills tonight, marilla, and oh, how the frogs sang me home from carmody!
i do love the music of the frogs.
it seems bound up with all my happiest recollections of old spring evenings.
and it always reminds me of the night i came here first.
do you remember it, marilla?"
""well, yes," said marilla with emphasis.
""i'm not likely to forget it ever."
""they used to sing so madly in the marsh and brook that year.
i would listen to them at my window in the dusk, and wonder how they could seem so glad and so sad at the same time.
oh, but it's good to be home again!
redmond was splendid and bolingbroke delightful -- but green gables is home."
""gilbert is n't coming home this summer, i hear," said marilla.
""no."
something in anne's tone made marilla glance at her sharply, but anne was apparently absorbed in arranging her violets in a bowl.
""see, are n't they sweet?"
she went on hurriedly.
""the year is a book, is n't it, marilla?
spring's pages are written in mayflowers and violets, summer's in roses, autumn's in red maple leaves, and winter in holly and evergreen."
""did gilbert do well in his examinations?"
persisted marilla.
""excellently well.
he led his class.
but where are the twins and mrs. lynde?"
""rachel and dora are over at mr. harrison's.
davy is down at boulters".
i think i hear him coming now."
davy burst in, saw anne, stopped, and then hurled himself upon her with a joyful yell.
""oh, anne, ai n't i glad to see you!
say, anne, i've grown two inches since last fall.
mrs. lynde measured me with her tape today, and say, anne, see my front tooth.
it's gone.
mrs. lynde tied one end of a string to it and the other end to the door, and then shut the door.
i sold it to milty for two cents.
milty's collecting teeth."
""what in the world does he want teeth for?"
asked marilla.
""to make a necklace for playing indian chief," explained davy, climbing upon anne's lap.
""he's got fifteen already, and everybody's else's promised, so there's no use in the rest of us starting to collect, too.
i tell you the boulters are great business people."
""were you a good boy at mrs. boulter's?"
asked marilla severely.
""yes; but say, marilla, i'm tired of being good."
""you'd get tired of being bad much sooner, davy-boy," said anne.
""well, it'd be fun while it lasted, would n't it?"
persisted davy.
""i could be sorry for it afterwards, could n't i?"
""being sorry would n't do away with the consequences of being bad, davy.
do n't you remember the sunday last summer when you ran away from sunday school?
you told me then that being bad was n't worth while.
what were you and milty doing today?"
""oh, we fished and chased the cat, and hunted for eggs, and yelled at the echo.
there's a great echo in the bush behind the boulter barn.
say, what is echo, anne; i want to know."
""echo is a beautiful nymph, davy, living far away in the woods, and laughing at the world from among the hills."
""what does she look like?"
""her hair and eyes are dark, but her neck and arms are white as snow.
no mortal can ever see how fair she is.
she is fleeter than a deer, and that mocking voice of hers is all we can know of her.
you can hear her calling at night; you can hear her laughing under the stars.
but you can never see her.
she flies afar if you follow her, and laughs at you always just over the next hill."
""is that true, anne?
or is it a whopper?"
demanded davy staring.
""davy," said anne despairingly, "have n't you sense enough to distinguish between a fairytale and a falsehood?"
""then what is it that sasses back from the boulter bush?
i want to know," insisted davy.
""when you are a little older, davy, i'll explain it all to you."
the mention of age evidently gave a new turn to davy's thoughts for after a few moments of reflection, he whispered solemnly: "anne, i'm going to be married."
""when?"
asked anne with equal solemnity.
""oh, not until i'm grown-up, of course."
""well, that's a relief, davy.
who is the lady?"
""stella fletcher; she's in my class at school.
and say, anne, she's the prettiest girl you ever saw.
if i die before i grow up you'll keep an eye on her, wo n't you?"
""davy keith, do stop talking such nonsense," said marilla severely."
't is n't nonsense," protested davy in an injured tone.
""she's my promised wife, and if i was to die she'd be my promised widow, would n't she?
and she has n't got a soul to look after her except her old grandmother."
""come and have your supper, anne," said marilla, "and do n't encourage that child in his absurd talk."
chapter xxiii paul can not find the rock people life was very pleasant in avonlea that summer, although anne, amid all her vacation joys, was haunted by a sense of "something gone which should be there."
she would not admit, even in her inmost reflections, that this was caused by gilbert's absence.
but when she had to walk home alone from prayer meetings and a.v.i.s. pow-wows, while diana and fred, and many other gay couples, loitered along the dusky, starlit country roads, there was a queer, lonely ache in her heart which she could not explain away.
gilbert did not even write to her, as she thought he might have done.
she knew he wrote to diana occasionally, but she would not inquire about him; and diana, supposing that anne heard from him, volunteered no information.
gilbert's mother, who was a gay, frank, light-hearted lady, but not overburdened with tact, had a very embarrassing habit of asking anne, always in a painfully distinct voice and always in the presence of a crowd, if she had heard from gilbert lately.
poor anne could only blush horribly and murmur, "not very lately," which was taken by all, mrs. blythe included, to be merely a maidenly evasion.
apart from this, anne enjoyed her summer.
priscilla came for a merry visit in june; and, when she had gone, mr. and mrs. irving, paul and charlotta the fourth came "home" for july and august.
echo lodge was the scene of gaieties once more, and the echoes over the river were kept busy mimicking the laughter that rang in the old garden behind the spruces.
""miss lavendar" had not changed, except to grow even sweeter and prettier.
paul adored her, and the companionship between them was beautiful to see.
""but i do n't call her "mother" just by itself," he explained to anne.
""you see, that name belongs just to my own little mother, and i ca n't give it to any one else.
you know, teacher.
but i call her "mother lavendar" and i love her next best to father.
i -- i even love her a little better than you, teacher."
""which is just as it ought to be," answered anne.
paul was thirteen now and very tall for his years.
his face and eyes were as beautiful as ever, and his fancy was still like a prism, separating everything that fell upon it into rainbows.
he and anne had delightful rambles to wood and field and shore.
never were there two more thoroughly "kindred spirits."
charlotta the fourth had blossomed out into young ladyhood.
she wore her hair now in an enormous pompador and had discarded the blue ribbon bows of auld lang syne, but her face was as freckled, her nose as snubbed, and her mouth and smiles as wide as ever.
""you do n't think i talk with a yankee accent, do you, miss shirley, ma'am?"
she demanded anxiously.
""i do n't notice it, charlotta."
""i'm real glad of that.
they said i did at home, but i thought likely they just wanted to aggravate me.
i do n't want no yankee accent.
not that i've a word to say against the yankees, miss shirley, ma'am.
they're real civilized.
but give me old p.e. island every time."
paul spent his first fortnight with his grandmother irving in avonlea.
anne was there to meet him when he came, and found him wild with eagerness to get to the shore -- nora and the golden lady and the twin sailors would be there.
he could hardly wait to eat his supper.
could he not see nora's elfin face peering around the point, watching for him wistfully?
but it was a very sober paul who came back from the shore in the twilight.
""did n't you find your rock people?"
asked anne.
paul shook his chestnut curls sorrowfully.
""the twin sailors and the golden lady never came at all," he said.
""nora was there -- but nora is not the same, teacher.
she is changed."
""oh, paul, it is you who are changed," said anne.
""you have grown too old for the rock people.
they like only children for playfellows.
i am afraid the twin sailors will never again come to you in the pearly, enchanted boat with the sail of moonshine; and the golden lady will play no more for you on her golden harp.
even nora will not meet you much longer.
you must pay the penalty of growing-up, paul.
you must leave fairyland behind you."
""you two talk as much foolishness as ever you did," said old mrs. irving, half-indulgently, half-reprovingly.
""oh, no, we do n't," said anne, shaking her head gravely.
""we are getting very, very wise, and it is such a pity.
we are never half so interesting when we have learned that language is given us to enable us to conceal our thoughts."
""but it is n't -- it is given us to exchange our thoughts," said mrs. irving seriously.
she had never heard of tallyrand and did not understand epigrams.
anne spent a fortnight of halcyon days at echo lodge in the golden prime of august.
while there she incidentally contrived to hurry ludovic speed in his leisurely courting of theodora dix, as related duly in another chronicle of her history.
-lrb- 1 -rrb- arnold sherman, an elderly friend of the irvings, was there at the same time, and added not a little to the general pleasantness of life.
-lrb- 1 chronicles of avonlea. -rrb-
""what a nice play-time this has been," said anne.
""i feel like a giant refreshed.
and it's only a fortnight more till i go back to kingsport, and redmond and patty's place.
patty's place is the dearest spot, miss lavendar.
i feel as if i had two homes -- one at green gables and one at patty's place.
but where has the summer gone?
it does n't seem a day since i came home that spring evening with the mayflowers.
when i was little i could n't see from one end of the summer to the other.
it stretched before me like an unending season.
now," tis a handbreadth,'t is a tale.""
""anne, are you and gilbert blythe as good friends as you used to be?"
asked miss lavendar quietly.
""i am just as much gilbert's friend as ever i was, miss lavendar."
miss lavendar shook her head.
""i see something's gone wrong, anne.
i'm going to be impertinent and ask what.
have you quarrelled?"
""no; it's only that gilbert wants more than friendship and i ca n't give him more."
""are you sure of that, anne?"
""perfectly sure."
""i'm very, very sorry."
""i wonder why everybody seems to think i ought to marry gilbert blythe," said anne petulantly.
""because you were made and meant for each other, anne -- that is why.
you need n't toss that young head of yours.
it's a fact."
chapter xxiv enter jonas "prospect point, "august 20th.
""dear anne -- spelled -- with -- an -- e," wrote phil, "i must prop my eyelids open long enough to write you.
i've neglected you shamefully this summer, honey, but all my other correspondents have been neglected, too.
i have a huge pile of letters to answer, so i must gird up the loins of my mind and hoe in.
excuse my mixed metaphors.
i'm fearfully sleepy.
last night cousin emily and i were calling at a neighbor's.
there were several other callers there, and as soon as those unfortunate creatures left, our hostess and her three daughters picked them all to pieces.
i knew they would begin on cousin emily and me as soon as the door shut behind us.
when we came home mrs. lilly informed us that the aforesaid neighbor's hired boy was supposed to be down with scarlet fever.
you can always trust mrs. lilly to tell you cheerful things like that.
i have a horror of scarlet fever.
i could n't sleep when i went to bed for thinking of it.
i tossed and tumbled about, dreaming fearful dreams when i did snooze for a minute; and at three i wakened up with a high fever, a sore throat, and a raging headache.
i knew i had scarlet fever; i got up in a panic and hunted up cousin emily's "doctor book" to read up the symptoms.
anne, i had them all.
so i went back to bed, and knowing the worst, slept like a top the rest of the night.
though why a top should sleep sounder than anything else i never could understand.
but this morning i was quite well, so it could n't have been the fever.
i suppose if i did catch it last night it could n't have developed so soon.
i can remember that in daytime, but at three o'clock at night i never can be logical.
""i suppose you wonder what i'm doing at prospect point.
well, i always like to spend a month of summer at the shore, and father insists that i come to his second-cousin emily's "select boardinghouse" at prospect point.
so a fortnight ago i came as usual.
and as usual old "uncle mark miller" brought me from the station with his ancient buggy and what he calls his "generous purpose" horse.
he is a nice old man and gave me a handful of pink peppermints.
peppermints always seem to me such a religious sort of candy -- i suppose because when i was a little girl grandmother gordon always gave them to me in church.
once i asked, referring to the smell of peppermints, "is that the odor of sanctity?"
i did n't like to eat uncle mark's peppermints because he just fished them loose out of his pocket, and had to pick some rusty nails and other things from among them before he gave them to me.
but i would n't hurt his dear old feelings for anything, so i carefully sowed them along the road at intervals.
when the last one was gone, uncle mark said, a little rebukingly, "ye should n't a "et all them candies to onct, miss phil.
you'll likely have the stummick-ache."
""cousin emily has only five boarders besides myself -- four old ladies and one young man.
my right-hand neighbor is mrs. lilly.
she is one of those people who seem to take a gruesome pleasure in detailing all their many aches and pains and sicknesses.
you can not mention any ailment but she says, shaking her head, "ah, i know too well what that is" -- and then you get all the details.
jonas declares he once spoke of locomotor ataxia in hearing and she said she knew too well what that was.
she suffered from it for ten years and was finally cured by a traveling doctor.
""who is jonas?
just wait, anne shirley.
you'll hear all about jonas in the proper time and place.
he is not to be mixed up with estimable old ladies.
""my left-hand neighbor at the table is mrs. phinney.
she always speaks with a wailing, dolorous voice -- you are nervously expecting her to burst into tears every moment.
she gives you the impression that life to her is indeed a vale of tears, and that a smile, never to speak of a laugh, is a frivolity truly reprehensible.
she has a worse opinion of me than aunt jamesina, and she does n't love me hard to atone for it, as aunty j. does, either.
""miss maria grimsby sits cati-corner from me.
the first day i came i remarked to miss maria that it looked a little like rain -- and miss maria laughed.
i said the road from the station was very pretty -- and miss maria laughed.
i said there seemed to be a few mosquitoes left yet -- and miss maria laughed.
i said that prospect point was as beautiful as ever -- and miss maria laughed.
if i were to say to miss maria, "my father has hanged himself, my mother has taken poison, my brother is in the penitentiary, and i am in the last stages of consumption," miss maria would laugh.
she ca n't help it -- she was born so; but is very sad and awful.
""the fifth old lady is mrs. grant.
she is a sweet old thing; but she never says anything but good of anybody and so she is a very uninteresting conversationalist.
""and now for jonas, anne.
""that first day i came i saw a young man sitting opposite me at the table, smiling at me as if he had known me from my cradle.
i knew, for uncle mark had told me, that his name was jonas blake, that he was a theological student from st. columbia, and that he had taken charge of the point prospect mission church for the summer.
""he is a very ugly young man -- really, the ugliest young man i've ever seen.
he has a big, loose-jointed figure with absurdly long legs.
his hair is tow-color and lank, his eyes are green, and his mouth is big, and his ears -- but i never think about his ears if i can help it.
""he has a lovely voice -- if you shut your eyes he is adorable -- and he certainly has a beautiful soul and disposition.
""we were good chums right way.
of course he is a graduate of redmond, and that is a link between us.
we fished and boated together; and we walked on the sands by moonlight.
he did n't look so homely by moonlight and oh, he was nice.
niceness fairly exhaled from him.
the old ladies -- except mrs. grant -- do n't approve of jonas, because he laughs and jokes -- and because he evidently likes the society of frivolous me better than theirs.
""somehow, anne, i do n't want him to think me frivolous.
this is ridiculous.
why should i care what a tow-haired person called jonas, whom i never saw before thinks of me?
""last sunday jonas preached in the village church.
i went, of course, but i could n't realize that jonas was going to preach.
the fact that he was a minister -- or going to be one -- persisted in seeming a huge joke to me.
""well, jonas preached.
and, by the time he had preached ten minutes, i felt so small and insignificant that i thought i must be invisible to the naked eye.
jonas never said a word about women and he never looked at me.
but i realized then and there what a pitiful, frivolous, small-souled little butterfly i was, and how horribly different i must be from jonas" ideal woman.
she would be grand and strong and noble.
he was so earnest and tender and true.
he was everything a minister ought to be.
i wondered how i could ever have thought him ugly -- but he really is!
-- with those inspired eyes and that intellectual brow which the roughly-falling hair hid on week days.
""it was a splendid sermon and i could have listened to it forever, and it made me feel utterly wretched.
oh, i wish i was like you, anne.
""he caught up with me on the road home, and grinned as cheerfully as usual.
but his grin could never deceive me again.
i had seen the real jonas.
i wondered if he could ever see the real phil -- whom nobody, not even you, anne, has ever seen yet."
"jonas," i said -- i forgot to call him mr. blake.
was n't it dreadful?
but there are times when things like that do n't matter -- "jonas, you were born to be a minister.
you could n't be anything else.""
"no, i could n't," he said soberly."
i tried to be something else for a long time -- i did n't want to be a minister.
but i came to see at last that it was the work given me to do -- and god helping me, i shall try to do it."
""his voice was low and reverent.
i thought that he would do his work and do it well and nobly; and happy the woman fitted by nature and training to help him do it.
she would be no feather, blown about by every fickle wind of fancy.
she would always know what hat to put on.
probably she would have only one.
ministers never have much money.
but she would n't mind having one hat or none at all, because she would have jonas.
""anne shirley, do n't you dare to say or hint or think that i've fallen in love with mr. blake.
could i care for a lank, poor, ugly theologue -- named jonas?
as uncle mark says, "it's impossible, and what's more it's improbable."
""good night, phil."
""p.s..
it is impossible -- but i am horribly afraid it's true.
i'm happy and wretched and scared.
he can never care for me, i know.
do you think i could ever develop into a passable minister's wife, anne?
and would they expect me to lead in prayer?
p g." chapter xxv enter prince charming "i'm contrasting the claims of indoors and out," said anne, looking from the window of patty's place to the distant pines of the park.
""i've an afternoon to spend in sweet doing nothing, aunt jimsie.
shall i spend it here where there is a cosy fire, a plateful of delicious russets, three purring and harmonious cats, and two impeccable china dogs with green noses?
or shall i go to the park, where there is the lure of gray woods and of gray water lapping on the harbor rocks?"
""if i was as young as you, i'd decide in favor of the park," said aunt jamesina, tickling joseph's yellow ear with a knitting needle.
""i thought that you claimed to be as young as any of us, aunty," teased anne.
""yes, in my soul.
but i'll admit my legs are n't as young as yours.
you go and get some fresh air, anne.
you look pale lately."
""i think i'll go to the park," said anne restlessly.
""i do n't feel like tame domestic joys today.
i want to feel alone and free and wild.
the park will be empty, for every one will be at the football match."
""why did n't you go to it?""
"nobody axed me, sir, she said" -- at least, nobody but that horrid little dan ranger.
i would n't go anywhere with him; but rather than hurt his poor little tender feelings i said i was n't going to the game at all.
i do n't mind.
i'm not in the mood for football today somehow."
""you go and get some fresh air," repeated aunt jamesina, "but take your umbrella, for i believe it's going to rain.
i've rheumatism in my leg."
""only old people should have rheumatism, aunty."
""anybody is liable to rheumatism in her legs, anne.
it's only old people who should have rheumatism in their souls, though.
thank goodness, i never have.
when you get rheumatism in your soul you might as well go and pick out your coffin."
it was november -- the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines.
anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and, as she said, let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul.
anne was not wont to be troubled with soul fog.
but, somehow, since her return to redmond for this third year, life had not mirrored her spirit back to her with its old, perfect, sparkling clearness.
outwardly, existence at patty's place was the same pleasant round of work and study and recreation that it had always been.
on friday evenings the big, fire-lighted livingroom was crowded by callers and echoed to endless jest and laughter, while aunt jamesina smiled beamingly on them all.
the "jonas" of phil's letter came often, running up from st. columbia on the early train and departing on the late.
he was a general favorite at patty's place, though aunt jamesina shook her head and opined that divinity students were not what they used to be.
""he's very nice, my dear," she told phil, "but ministers ought to be graver and more dignified."
""ca n't a man laugh and laugh and be a christian still?"
demanded phil.
""oh, men -- yes.
but i was speaking of ministers, my dear," said aunt jamesina rebukingly.
""and you should n't flirt so with mr. blake -- you really should n't."
""i'm not flirting with him," protested phil.
nobody believed her, except anne.
the others thought she was amusing herself as usual, and told her roundly that she was behaving very badly.
""mr. blake is n't of the alec-and-alonzo type, phil," said stella severely.
""he takes things seriously.
you may break his heart."
""do you really think i could?"
asked phil.
""i'd love to think so."
""philippa gordon!
i never thought you were utterly unfeeling.
the idea of you saying you'd love to break a man's heart!"
""i did n't say so, honey.
quote me correctly.
i said i'd like to think i could break it.
i would like to know i had the power to do it."
""i do n't understand you, phil.
you are leading that man on deliberately -- and you know you do n't mean anything by it."
""i mean to make him ask me to marry him if i can," said phil calmly.
""i give you up," said stella hopelessly.
gilbert came occasionally on friday evenings.
he seemed always in good spirits, and held his own in the jests and repartee that flew about.
he neither sought nor avoided anne.
when circumstances brought them in contact he talked to her pleasantly and courteously, as to any newly-made acquaintance.
the old camaraderie was gone entirely.
anne felt it keenly; but she told herself she was very glad and thankful that gilbert had got so completely over his disappointment in regard to her.
she had really been afraid, that april evening in the orchard, that she had hurt him terribly and that the wound would be long in healing.
now she saw that she need not have worried.
men have died and the worms have eaten them but not for love.
gilbert evidently was in no danger of immediate dissolution.
he was enjoying life, and he was full of ambition and zest.
for him there was to be no wasting in despair because a woman was fair and cold.
anne, as she listened to the ceaseless badinage that went on between him and phil, wondered if she had only imagined that look in his eyes when she had told him she could never care for him.
there were not lacking those who would gladly have stepped into gilbert's vacant place.
but anne snubbed them without fear and without reproach.
if the real prince charming was never to come she would have none of a substitute.
so she sternly told herself that gray day in the windy park.
suddenly the rain of aunt jamesina's prophecy came with a swish and rush.
anne put up her umbrella and hurried down the slope.
as she turned out on the harbor road a savage gust of wind tore along it.
instantly her umbrella turned wrong side out.
anne clutched at it in despair.
and then -- there came a voice close to her.
""pardon me -- may i offer you the shelter of my umbrella?"
anne looked up.
tall and handsome and distinguished-looking -- dark, melancholy, inscrutable eyes -- melting, musical, sympathetic voice -- yes, the very hero of her dreams stood before her in the flesh.
he could not have more closely resembled her ideal if he had been made to order.
""thank you," she said confusedly.
""we'd better hurry over to that little pavillion on the point," suggested the unknown.
""we can wait there until this shower is over.
it is not likely to rain so heavily very long."
the words were very commonplace, but oh, the tone!
and the smile which accompanied them!
anne felt her heart beating strangely.
together they scurried to the pavilion and sat breathlessly down under its friendly roof.
anne laughingly held up her false umbrella.
""it is when my umbrella turns inside out that i am convinced of the total depravity of inanimate things," she said gaily.
the raindrops sparkled on her shining hair; its loosened rings curled around her neck and forehead.
her cheeks were flushed, her eyes big and starry.
her companion looked down at her admiringly.
she felt herself blushing under his gaze.
who could he be?
why, there was a bit of the redmond white and scarlet pinned to his coat lapel.
yet she had thought she knew, by sight at least, all the redmond students except the freshmen.
and this courtly youth surely was no freshman.
""we are schoolmates, i see," he said, smiling at anne's colors.
""that ought to be sufficient introduction.
my name is royal gardner.
and you are the miss shirley who read the tennyson paper at the philomathic the other evening, are n't you?"
""yes; but i can not place you at all," said anne, frankly.
""please, where do you belong?"
""i feel as if i did n't belong anywhere yet.
i put in my freshman and sophomore years at redmond two years ago.
i've been in europe ever since.
now i've come back to finish my arts course."
""this is my junior year, too," said anne.
""so we are classmates as well as collegemates.
i am reconciled to the loss of the years that the locust has eaten," said her companion, with a world of meaning in those wonderful eyes of his.
the rain came steadily down for the best part of an hour.
but the time seemed really very short.
when the clouds parted and a burst of pale november sunshine fell athwart the harbor and the pines anne and her companion walked home together.
by the time they had reached the gate of patty's place he had asked permission to call, and had received it.
anne went in with cheeks of flame and her heart beating to her fingertips.
rusty, who climbed into her lap and tried to kiss her, found a very absent welcome.
anne, with her soul full of romantic thrills, had no attention to spare just then for a crop-eared pussy cat.
that evening a parcel was left at patty's place for miss shirley.
it was a box containing a dozen magnificent roses.
phil pounced impertinently on the card that fell from it, read the name and the poetical quotation written on the back.
""royal gardner!"
she exclaimed.
""why, anne, i did n't know you were acquainted with roy gardner!"
""i met him in the park this afternoon in the rain," explained anne hurriedly.
""my umbrella turned inside out and he came to my rescue with his."
""oh!"
phil peered curiously at anne.
""and is that exceedingly commonplace incident any reason why he should send us longstemmed roses by the dozen, with a very sentimental rhyme?
or why we should blush divinest rosy-red when we look at his card?
anne, thy face betrayeth thee."
""do n't talk nonsense, phil.
do you know mr. gardner?"
""i've met his two sisters, and i know of him.
so does everybody worthwhile in kingsport.
the gardners are among the richest, bluest, of bluenoses.
roy is adorably handsome and clever.
two years ago his mother's health failed and he had to leave college and go abroad with her -- his father is dead.
he must have been greatly disappointed to have to give up his class, but they say he was perfectly sweet about it.
fee -- fi -- fo -- fum, anne.
i smell romance.
almost do i envy you, but not quite.
after all, roy gardner is n't jonas."
""you goose!"
said anne loftily.
but she lay long awake that night, nor did she wish for sleep.
her waking fancies were more alluring than any vision of dreamland.
had the real prince come at last?
recalling those glorious dark eyes which had gazed so deeply into her own, anne was very strongly inclined to think he had.
chapter xxvi enter christine the girls at patty's place were dressing for the reception which the juniors were giving for the seniors in february.
anne surveyed herself in the mirror of the blue room with girlish satisfaction.
she had a particularly pretty gown on.
originally it had been only a simple little slip of cream silk with a chiffon overdress.
but phil had insisted on taking it home with her in the christmas holidays and embroidering tiny rosebuds all over the chiffon.
phil's fingers were deft, and the result was a dress which was the envy of every redmond girl.
even allie boone, whose frocks came from paris, was wont to look with longing eyes on that rosebud concoction as anne trailed up the main staircase at redmond in it.
anne was trying the effect of a white orchid in her hair.
roy gardner had sent her white orchids for the reception, and she knew no other redmond girl would have them that night -- when phil came in with admiring gaze.
""anne, this is certainly your night for looking handsome.
nine nights out of ten i can easily outshine you.
the tenth you blossom out suddenly into something that eclipses me altogether.
how do you manage it?"
""it's the dress, dear.
fine feathers.""
't is n't.
the last evening you flamed out into beauty you wore your old blue flannel shirtwaist that mrs. lynde made you.
if roy had n't already lost head and heart about you he certainly would tonight.
but i do n't like orchids on you, anne.
no; it is n't jealousy.
orchids do n't seem to belong to you.
they're too exotic -- too tropical -- too insolent.
do n't put them in your hair, anyway."
""well, i wo n't.
i admit i'm not fond of orchids myself.
i do n't think they're related to me.
roy does n't often send them -- he knows i like flowers i can live with.
orchids are only things you can visit with."
""jonas sent me some dear pink rosebuds for the evening -- but -- he is n't coming himself.
he said he had to lead a prayer-meeting in the slums!
i do n't believe he wanted to come.
anne, i'm horribly afraid jonas does n't really care anything about me.
and i'm trying to decide whether i'll pine away and die, or go on and get my b.a. and be sensible and useful."
""you could n't possibly be sensible and useful, phil, so you'd better pine away and die," said anne cruelly.
""heartless anne!"
""silly phil!
you know quite well that jonas loves you."
""but -- he wo n't tell me so.
and i ca n't make him.
he looks it, i'll admit.
but speak-to-me-only-with-thine-eyes is n't a really reliable reason for embroidering doilies and hemstitching tablecloths.
i do n't want to begin such work until i'm really engaged.
it would be tempting fate."
""mr. blake is afraid to ask you to marry him, phil.
he is poor and ca n't offer you a home such as you've always had.
you know that is the only reason he has n't spoken long ago."
""i suppose so," agreed phil dolefully.
""well" -- brightening up -- "if he wo n't ask me to marry him i'll ask him, that's all.
so it's bound to come right.
i wo n't worry.
by the way, gilbert blythe is going about constantly with christine stuart.
did you know?"
anne was trying to fasten a little gold chain about her throat.
she suddenly found the clasp difficult to manage.
what was the matter with it -- or with her fingers?
""no," she said carelessly.
""who is christine stuart?"
""ronald stuart's sister.
she's in kingsport this winter studying music.
i have n't seen her, but they say she's very pretty and that gilbert is quite crazy over her.
how angry i was when you refused gilbert, anne.
but roy gardner was foreordained for you.
i can see that now.
you were right, after all."
anne did not blush, as she usually did when the girls assumed that her eventual marriage to roy gardner was a settled thing.
all at once she felt rather dull.
phil's chatter seemed trivial and the reception a bore.
she boxed poor rusty's ears.
""get off that cushion instantly, you cat, you!
why do n't you stay down where you belong?"
anne picked up her orchids and went downstairs, where aunt jamesina was presiding over a row of coats hung before the fire to warm.
roy gardner was waiting for anne and teasing the sarah-cat while he waited.
the sarah-cat did not approve of him.
she always turned her back on him.
but everybody else at patty's place liked him very much.
aunt jamesina, carried away by his unfailing and deferential courtesy, and the pleading tones of his delightful voice, declared he was the nicest young man she ever knew, and that anne was a very fortunate girl.
such remarks made anne restive.
roy's wooing had certainly been as romantic as girlish heart could desire, but -- she wished aunt jamesina and the girls would not take things so for granted.
when roy murmured a poetical compliment as he helped her on with her coat, she did not blush and thrill as usual; and he found her rather silent in their brief walk to redmond.
he thought she looked a little pale when she came out of the coeds" dressing room; but as they entered the reception room her color and sparkle suddenly returned to her.
she turned to roy with her gayest expression.
he smiled back at her with what phil called "his deep, black, velvety smile."
yet she really did not see roy at all.
she was acutely conscious that gilbert was standing under the palms just across the room talking to a girl who must be christine stuart.
she was very handsome, in the stately style destined to become rather massive in middle life.
a tall girl, with large dark-blue eyes, ivory outlines, and a gloss of darkness on her smooth hair.
""she looks just as i've always wanted to look," thought anne miserably.
""rose-leaf complexion -- starry violet eyes -- raven hair -- yes, she has them all.
it's a wonder her name is n't cordelia fitzgerald into the bargain!
but i do n't believe her figure is as good as mine, and her nose certainly is n't."
anne felt a little comforted by this conclusion.
chapter xxvii mutual confidences march came in that winter like the meekest and mildest of lambs, bringing days that were crisp and golden and tingling, each followed by a frosty pink twilight which gradually lost itself in an elfland of moonshine.
over the girls at patty's place was falling the shadow of april examinations.
they were studying hard; even phil had settled down to text and notebooks with a doggedness not to be expected of her.
""i'm going to take the johnson scholarship in mathematics," she announced calmly.
""i could take the one in greek easily, but i'd rather take the mathematical one because i want to prove to jonas that i'm really enormously clever."
""jonas likes you better for your big brown eyes and your crooked smile than for all the brains you carry under your curls," said anne.
""when i was a girl it was n't considered lady-like to know anything about mathematics," said aunt jamesina.
""but times have changed.
i do n't know that it's all for the better.
can you cook, phil?"
""no, i never cooked anything in my life except a gingerbread and it was a failure -- flat in the middle and hilly round the edges.
you know the kind.
but, aunty, when i begin in good earnest to learn to cook do n't you think the brains that enable me to win a mathematical scholarship will also enable me to learn cooking just as well?"
""maybe," said aunt jamesina cautiously.
""i am not decrying the higher education of women.
my daughter is an m.a..
she can cook, too.
but i taught her to cook before i let a college professor teach her mathematics."
in mid-march came a letter from miss patty spofford, saying that she and miss maria had decided to remain abroad for another year.
""so you may have patty's place next winter, too," she wrote.
""maria and i are going to run over egypt.
i want to see the sphinx once before i die."
""fancy those two dames "running over egypt"!
i wonder if they'll look up at the sphinx and knit," laughed priscilla.
""i'm so glad we can keep patty's place for another year," said stella.
""i was afraid they'd come back.
and then our jolly little nest here would be broken up -- and we poor callow nestlings thrown out on the cruel world of boardinghouses again."
""i'm off for a tramp in the park," announced phil, tossing her book aside.
""i think when i am eighty i'll be glad i went for a walk in the park tonight."
""what do you mean?"
asked anne.
""come with me and i'll tell you, honey."
they captured in their ramble all the mysteries and magics of a march evening.
very still and mild it was, wrapped in a great, white, brooding silence -- a silence which was yet threaded through with many little silvery sounds which you could hear if you hearkened as much with your soul as your ears.
the girls wandered down a long pineland aisle that seemed to lead right out into the heart of a deep-red, overflowing winter sunset.
""i'd go home and write a poem this blessed minute if i only knew how," declared phil, pausing in an open space where a rosy light was staining the green tips of the pines.
""it's all so wonderful here -- this great, white stillness, and those dark trees that always seem to be thinking.""
"the woods were god's first temples,"" quoted anne softly.
""one ca n't help feeling reverent and adoring in such a place.
i always feel so near him when i walk among the pines."
""anne, i'm the happiest girl in the world," confessed phil suddenly.
""so mr. blake has asked you to marry him at last?"
said anne calmly.
""yes.
and i sneezed three times while he was asking me.
was n't that horrid?
but i said "yes" almost before he finished -- i was so afraid he might change his mind and stop.
i'm besottedly happy.
i could n't really believe before that jonas would ever care for frivolous me."
""phil, you're not really frivolous," said anne gravely."
"way down underneath that frivolous exterior of yours you've got a dear, loyal, womanly little soul.
why do you hide it so?"
""i ca n't help it, queen anne.
you are right -- i'm not frivolous at heart.
but there's a sort of frivolous skin over my soul and i ca n't take it off.
as mrs. poyser says, i'd have to be hatched over again and hatched different before i could change it.
but jonas knows the real me and loves me, frivolity and all.
and i love him.
i never was so surprised in my life as i was when i found out i loved him.
i'd never thought it possible to fall in love with an ugly man.
fancy me coming down to one solitary beau.
and one named jonas!
but i mean to call him jo.
that's such a nice, crisp little name.
i could n't nickname alonzo."
""what about alec and alonzo?"
""oh, i told them at christmas that i never could marry either of them.
it seems so funny now to remember that i ever thought it possible that i might.
they felt so badly i just cried over both of them -- howled.
but i knew there was only one man in the world i could ever marry.
i had made up my own mind for once and it was real easy, too.
it's very delightful to feel so sure, and know it's your own sureness and not somebody else's."
""do you suppose you'll be able to keep it up?"
""making up my mind, you mean?
i do n't know, but jo has given me a splendid rule.
he says, when i'm perplexed, just to do what i would wish i had done when i shall be eighty.
anyhow, jo can make up his mind quickly enough, and it would be uncomfortable to have too much mind in the same house."
""what will your father and mother say?"
""father wo n't say much.
he thinks everything i do right.
but mother will talk.
oh, her tongue will be as byrney as her nose.
but in the end it will be all right."
""you'll have to give up a good many things you've always had, when you marry mr. blake, phil."
""but i'll have him.
i wo n't miss the other things.
we're to be married a year from next june.
jo graduates from st. columbia this spring, you know.
then he's going to take a little mission church down on patterson street in the slums.
fancy me in the slums!
but i'd go there or to greenland's icy mountains with him."
""and this is the girl who would never marry a man who was n't rich," commented anne to a young pine tree.
""oh, do n't cast up the follies of my youth to me.
i shall be poor as gaily as i've been rich.
you'll see.
i'm going to learn how to cook and make over dresses.
i've learned how to market since i've lived at patty's place; and once i taught a sunday school class for a whole summer.
aunt jamesina says i'll ruin jo's career if i marry him.
but i wo n't.
i know i have n't much sense or sobriety, but i've got what is ever so much better -- the knack of making people like me.
there is a man in bolingbroke who lisps and always testifies in prayer-meeting.
he says, "if you ca n't thine like an electric thtar thine like a candlethtick."
i'll be jo's little candlestick."
""phil, you're incorrigible.
well, i love you so much that i ca n't make nice, light, congratulatory little speeches.
but i'm heart-glad of your happiness."
""i know.
those big gray eyes of yours are brimming over with real friendship, anne.
some day i'll look the same way at you.
you're going to marry roy, are n't you, anne?"
""my dear philippa, did you ever hear of the famous betty baxter, who "refused a man before he'd axed her"?
i am not going to emulate that celebrated lady by either refusing or accepting any one before he "axes" me."
""all redmond knows that roy is crazy about you," said phil candidly.
""and you do love him, do n't you, anne?"
""i -- i suppose so," said anne reluctantly.
she felt that she ought to be blushing while making such a confession; but she was not; on the other hand, she always blushed hotly when any one said anything about gilbert blythe or christine stuart in her hearing.
gilbert blythe and christine stuart were nothing to her -- absolutely nothing.
but anne had given up trying to analyze the reason of her blushes.
as for roy, of course she was in love with him -- madly so.
how could she help it?
was he not her ideal?
who could resist those glorious dark eyes, and that pleading voice?
were not half the redmond girls wildly envious?
and what a charming sonnet he had sent her, with a box of violets, on her birthday!
anne knew every word of it by heart.
it was very good stuff of its kind, too.
not exactly up to the level of keats or shakespeare -- even anne was not so deeply in love as to think that.
but it was very tolerable magazine verse.
and it was addressed to her -- not to laura or beatrice or the maid of athens, but to her, anne shirley.
to be told in rhythmical cadences that her eyes were stars of the morning -- that her cheek had the flush it stole from the sunrise -- that her lips were redder than the roses of paradise, was thrillingly romantic.
gilbert would never have dreamed of writing a sonnet to her eyebrows.
but then, gilbert could see a joke.
she had once told roy a funny story -- and he had not seen the point of it.
she recalled the chummy laugh she and gilbert had had together over it, and wondered uneasily if life with a man who had no sense of humor might not be somewhat uninteresting in the long run.
but who could expect a melancholy, inscrutable hero to see the humorous side of things?
it would be flatly unreasonable.
chapter xxviii a june evening "i wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always june," said anne, as she came through the spice and bloom of the twilit orchard to the front door steps, where marilla and mrs. rachel were sitting, talking over mrs. samson coates" funeral, which they had attended that day.
dora sat between them, diligently studying her lessons; but davy was sitting tailor-fashion on the grass, looking as gloomy and depressed as his single dimple would let him.
""you'd get tired of it," said marilla, with a sigh.
""i daresay; but just now i feel that it would take me a long time to get tired of it, if it were all as charming as today.
everything loves june.
davy-boy, why this melancholy november face in blossom-time?"
""i'm just sick and tired of living," said the youthful pessimist.
""at ten years?
dear me, how sad!"
""i'm not making fun," said davy with dignity.
""i'm dis -- dis -- discouraged" -- bringing out the big word with a valiant effort.
""why and wherefore?"
asked anne, sitting down beside him."
'cause the new teacher that come when mr. holmes got sick give me ten sums to do for monday.
it'll take me all day tomorrow to do them.
it is n't fair to have to work saturdays.
milty boulter said he would n't do them, but marilla says i've got to.
i do n't like miss carson a bit."
""do n't talk like that about your teacher, davy keith," said mrs. rachel severely.
""miss carson is a very fine girl.
there is no nonsense about her."
""that does n't sound very attractive," laughed anne.
""i like people to have a little nonsense about them.
but i'm inclined to have a better opinion of miss carson than you have.
i saw her in prayer-meeting last night, and she has a pair of eyes that ca n't always look sensible.
now, davy-boy, take heart of grace.
"tomorrow will bring another day" and i'll help you with the sums as far as in me lies.
do n't waste this lovely hour "twixt light and dark worrying over arithmetic."
""well, i wo n't," said davy, brightening up.
""if you help me with the sums i'll have'em done in time to go fishing with milty.
i wish old aunt atossa's funeral was tomorrow instead of today.
i wanted to go to it'cause milty said his mother said aunt atossa would be sure to rise up in her coffin and say sarcastic things to the folks that come to see her buried.
but marilla said she did n't."
""poor atossa laid in her coffin peaceful enough," said mrs. lynde solemnly.
""i never saw her look so pleasant before, that's what.
well, there were n't many tears shed over her, poor old soul.
the elisha wrights are thankful to be rid of her, and i ca n't say i blame them a mite."
""it seems to me a most dreadful thing to go out of the world and not leave one person behind you who is sorry you are gone," said anne, shuddering.
""nobody except her parents ever loved poor atossa, that's certain, not even her husband," averred mrs. lynde.
""she was his fourth wife.
he'd sort of got into the habit of marrying.
he only lived a few years after he married her.
the doctor said he died of dyspepsia, but i shall always maintain that he died of atossa's tongue, that's what.
poor soul, she always knew everything about her neighbors, but she never was very well acquainted with herself.
well, she's gone anyhow; and i suppose the next excitement will be diana's wedding."
""it seems funny and horrible to think of diana's being married," sighed anne, hugging her knees and looking through the gap in the haunted wood to the light that was shining in diana's room.
""i do n't see what's horrible about it, when she's doing so well," said mrs. lynde emphatically.
""fred wright has a fine farm and he is a model young man."
""he certainly is n't the wild, dashing, wicked, young man diana once wanted to marry," smiled anne.
""fred is extremely good."
""that's just what he ought to be.
would you want diana to marry a wicked man?
or marry one yourself?"
""oh, no.
i would n't want to marry anybody who was wicked, but i think i'd like it if he could be wicked and would n't.
now, fred is hopelessly good."
""you'll have more sense some day, i hope," said marilla.
marilla spoke rather bitterly.
she was grievously disappointed.
she knew anne had refused gilbert blythe.
avonlea gossip buzzed over the fact, which had leaked out, nobody knew how.
perhaps charlie sloane had guessed and told his guesses for truth.
perhaps diana had betrayed it to fred and fred had been indiscreet.
at all events it was known; mrs. blythe no longer asked anne, in public or private, if she had heard lately from gilbert, but passed her by with a frosty bow.
anne, who had always liked gilbert's merry, young-hearted mother, was grieved in secret over this.
marilla said nothing; but mrs. lynde gave anne many exasperated digs about it, until fresh gossip reached that worthy lady, through the medium of moody spurgeon macpherson's mother, that anne had another "beau" at college, who was rich and handsome and good all in one.
after that mrs. rachel held her tongue, though she still wished in her inmost heart that anne had accepted gilbert.
riches were all very well; but even mrs. rachel, practical soul though she was, did not consider them the one essential.
if anne "liked" the handsome unknown better than gilbert there was nothing more to be said; but mrs. rachel was dreadfully afraid that anne was going to make the mistake of marrying for money.
marilla knew anne too well to fear this; but she felt that something in the universal scheme of things had gone sadly awry.
""what is to be, will be," said mrs. rachel gloomily, "and what is n't to be happens sometimes.
i ca n't help believing it's going to happen in anne's case, if providence does n't interfere, that's what."
mrs. rachel sighed.
she was afraid providence would n't interfere; and she did n't dare to.
anne had wandered down to the dryad's bubble and was curled up among the ferns at the root of the big white birch where she and gilbert had so often sat in summers gone by.
he had gone into the newspaper office again when college closed, and avonlea seemed very dull without him.
he never wrote to her, and anne missed the letters that never came.
to be sure, roy wrote twice a week; his letters were exquisite compositions which would have read beautifully in a memoir or biography.
anne felt herself more deeply in love with him than ever when she read them; but her heart never gave the queer, quick, painful bound at sight of his letters which it had given one day when mrs. hiram sloane had handed her out an envelope addressed in gilbert's black, upright handwriting.
anne had hurried home to the east gable and opened it eagerly -- to find a typewritten copy of some college society report -- "only that and nothing more."
anne flung the harmless screed across her room and sat down to write an especially nice epistle to roy.
diana was to be married in five more days.
the gray house at orchard slope was in a turmoil of baking and brewing and boiling and stewing, for there was to be a big, old-timey wedding.
anne, of course, was to be bridesmaid, as had been arranged when they were twelve years old, and gilbert was coming from kingsport to be best man.
anne was enjoying the excitement of the various preparations, but under it all she carried a little heartache.
she was, in a sense, losing her dear old chum; diana's new home would be two miles from green gables, and the old constant companionship could never be theirs again.
anne looked up at diana's light and thought how it had beaconed to her for many years; but soon it would shine through the summer twilights no more.
two big, painful tears welled up in her gray eyes.
""oh," she thought, "how horrible it is that people have to grow up -- and marry -- and change!"
chapter xxix diana's wedding "after all, the only real roses are the pink ones," said anne, as she tied white ribbon around diana's bouquet in the westward-looking gable at orchard slope.
""they are the flowers of love and faith."
diana was standing nervously in the middle of the room, arrayed in her bridal white, her black curls frosted over with the film of her wedding veil.
anne had draped that veil, in accordance with the sentimental compact of years before.
""it's all pretty much as i used to imagine it long ago, when i wept over your inevitable marriage and our consequent parting," she laughed.
""you are the bride of my dreams, diana, with the "lovely misty veil"; and i am your bridesmaid.
but, alas!
i have n't the puffed sleeves -- though these short lace ones are even prettier.
neither is my heart wholly breaking nor do i exactly hate fred."
""we are not really parting, anne," protested diana.
""i'm not going far away.
we'll love each other just as much as ever.
we've always kept that "oath" of friendship we swore long ago, have n't we?"
""yes.
we've kept it faithfully.
we've had a beautiful friendship, diana.
we've never marred it by one quarrel or coolness or unkind word; and i hope it will always be so.
but things ca n't be quite the same after this.
you'll have other interests.
i'll just be on the outside.
but "such is life" as mrs. rachel says.
mrs. rachel has given you one of her beloved knitted quilts of the "tobacco stripe" pattern, and she says when i am married she'll give me one, too."
""the mean thing about your getting married is that i wo n't be able to be your bridesmaid," lamented diana.
""i'm to be phil's bridesmaid next june, when she marries mr. blake, and then i must stop, for you know the proverb "three times a bridesmaid, never a bride,"" said anne, peeping through the window over the pink and snow of the blossoming orchard beneath.
""here comes the minister, diana."
""oh, anne," gasped diana, suddenly turning very pale and beginning to tremble.
""oh, anne -- i'm so nervous -- i ca n't go through with it -- anne, i know i'm going to faint."
""if you do i'll drag you down to the rainwater hogshed and drop you in," said anne unsympathetically.
""cheer up, dearest.
getting married ca n't be so very terrible when so many people survive the ceremony.
see how cool and composed i am, and take courage."
""wait till your turn comes, miss anne.
oh, anne, i hear father coming upstairs.
give me my bouquet.
is my veil right?
am i very pale?"
""you look just lovely.
di, darling, kiss me good-bye for the last time.
diana barry will never kiss me again."
""diana wright will, though.
there, mother's calling.
come."
following the simple, old-fashioned way in vogue then, anne went down to the parlor on gilbert's arm.
they met at the top of the stairs for the first time since they had left kingsport, for gilbert had arrived only that day.
gilbert shook hands courteously.
he was looking very well, though, as anne instantly noted, rather thin.
he was not pale; there was a flush on his cheek that had burned into it as anne came along the hall towards him, in her soft, white dress with lilies-of-the-valley in the shining masses of her hair.
as they entered the crowded parlor together a little murmur of admiration ran around the room.
""what a fine-looking pair they are," whispered the impressible mrs. rachel to marilla.
fred ambled in alone, with a very red face, and then diana swept in on her father's arm.
she did not faint, and nothing untoward occurred to interrupt the ceremony.
feasting and merry-making followed; then, as the evening waned, fred and diana drove away through the moonlight to their new home, and gilbert walked with anne to green gables.
something of their old comradeship had returned during the informal mirth of the evening.
oh, it was nice to be walking over that well-known road with gilbert again!
the night was so very still that one should have been able to hear the whisper of roses in blossom -- the laughter of daisies -- the piping of grasses -- many sweet sounds, all tangled up together.
the beauty of moonlight on familiar fields irradiated the world.
""ca n't we take a ramble up lovers" lane before you go in?"
asked gilbert as they crossed the bridge over the lake of shining waters, in which the moon lay like a great, drowned blossom of gold.
anne assented readily.
lovers" lane was a veritable path in a fairyland that night -- a shimmering, mysterious place, full of wizardry in the white-woven enchantment of moonlight.
there had been a time when such a walk with gilbert through lovers" lane would have been far too dangerous.
but roy and christine had made it very safe now.
anne found herself thinking a good deal about christine as she chatted lightly to gilbert.
she had met her several times before leaving kingsport, and had been charmingly sweet to her.
christine had also been charmingly sweet.
indeed, they were a most cordial pair.
but for all that, their acquaintance had not ripened into friendship.
evidently christine was not a kindred spirit.
""are you going to be in avonlea all summer?"
asked gilbert.
""no.
i'm going down east to valley road next week.
esther haythorne wants me to teach for her through july and august.
they have a summer term in that school, and esther is n't feeling well.
so i'm going to substitute for her.
in one way i do n't mind.
do you know, i'm beginning to feel a little bit like a stranger in avonlea now?
it makes me sorry -- but it's true.
it's quite appalling to see the number of children who have shot up into big boys and girls -- really young men and women -- these past two years.
half of my pupils are grown up.
it makes me feel awfully old to see them in the places you and i and our mates used to fill."
anne laughed and sighed.
she felt very old and mature and wise -- which showed how young she was.
she told herself that she longed greatly to go back to those dear merry days when life was seen through a rosy mist of hope and illusion, and possessed an indefinable something that had passed away forever.
where was it now -- the glory and the dream?"
"so wags the world away,"" quoted gilbert practically, and a trifle absently.
anne wondered if he were thinking of christine.
oh, avonlea was going to be so lonely now -- with diana gone!
chapter xxx mrs. skinner's romance anne stepped off the train at valley road station and looked about to see if any one had come to meet her.
she was to board with a certain miss janet sweet, but she saw no one who answered in the least to her preconception of that lady, as formed from esther's letter.
the only person in sight was an elderly woman, sitting in a wagon with mail bags piled around her.
two hundred would have been a charitable guess at her weight; her face was as round and red as a harvest-moon and almost as featureless.
she wore a tight, black, cashmere dress, made in the fashion of ten years ago, a little dusty black straw hat trimmed with bows of yellow ribbon, and faded black lace mits.
""here, you," she called, waving her whip at anne.
""are you the new valley road schoolma'am?"
""yes."
""well, i thought so.
valley road is noted for its good-looking schoolma'ams, just as millersville is noted for its humly ones.
janet sweet asked me this morning if i could bring you out.
i said, "sartin i kin, if she do n't mind being scrunched up some.
this rig of mine's kinder small for the mail bags and i'm some heftier than thomas!"
just wait, miss, till i shift these bags a bit and i'll tuck you in somehow.
it's only two miles to janet's.
her next-door neighbor's hired boy is coming for your trunk tonight.
my name is skinner -- amelia skinner."
anne was eventually tucked in, exchanging amused smiles with herself during the process.
""jog along, black mare," commanded mrs. skinner, gathering up the reins in her pudgy hands.
""this is my first trip on the mail rowte.
thomas wanted to hoe his turnips today so he asked me to come.
so i jest sot down and took a standing-up snack and started.
i sorter like it.
o" course it's rather tejus.
part of the time i sits and thinks and the rest i jest sits.
jog along, black mare.
i want to git home airly.
thomas is terrible lonesome when i'm away.
you see, we have n't been married very long."
""oh!"
said anne politely.
""just a month.
thomas courted me for quite a spell, though.
it was real romantic."
anne tried to picture mrs. skinner on speaking terms with romance and failed.
""oh?"
she said again.
""yes.
y "see, there was another man after me.
jog along, black mare.
i'd been a widder so long folks had given up expecting me to marry again.
but when my darter -- she's a schoolma'am like you -- went out west to teach i felt real lonesome and was n't nowise sot against the idea.
bime-by thomas began to come up and so did the other feller -- william obadiah seaman, his name was.
for a long time i could n't make up my mind which of them to take, and they kep" coming and coming, and i kep" worrying.
y "see, w.o. was rich -- he had a fine place and carried considerable style.
he was by far the best match.
jog along, black mare."
""why did n't you marry him?"
asked anne.
""well, y "see, he did n't love me," answered mrs. skinner, solemnly.
anne opened her eyes widely and looked at mrs. skinner.
but there was not a glint of humor on that lady's face.
evidently mrs. skinner saw nothing amusing in her own case.
""he'd been a widder-man for three yers, and his sister kept house for him.
then she got married and he just wanted some one to look after his house.
it was worth looking after, too, mind you that.
it's a handsome house.
jog along, black mare.
as for thomas, he was poor, and if his house did n't leak in dry weather it was about all that could be said for it, though it looks kind of pictureaskew.
but, y "see, i loved thomas, and i did n't care one red cent for w.o..
so i argued it out with myself.
"sarah crowe," say i -- my first was a crowe -- "you can marry your rich man if you like but you wo n't be happy.
folks ca n't get along together in this world without a little bit of love.
you'd just better tie up to thomas, for he loves you and you love him and nothing else ai n't going to do you."
jog along, black mare.
so i told thomas i'd take him.
all the time i was getting ready i never dared drive past w.o.'s place for fear the sight of that fine house of his would put me in the swithers again.
but now i never think of it at all, and i'm just that comfortable and happy with thomas.
jog along, black mare."
""how did william obadiah take it?"
queried anne.
""oh, he rumpussed a bit.
but he's going to see a skinny old maid in millersville now, and i guess she'll take him fast enough.
she'll make him a better wife than his first did.
w.o. never wanted to marry her.
he just asked her to marry him'cause his father wanted him to, never dreaming but that she'd say "no."
but mind you, she said "yes."
there was a predicament for you.
jog along, black mare.
she was a great housekeeper, but most awful mean.
she wore the same bonnet for eighteen years.
then she got a new one and w.o. met her on the road and did n't know her.
jog along, black mare.
i feel that i'd a narrer escape.
i might have married him and been most awful miserable, like my poor cousin, jane ann.
jane ann married a rich man she did n't care anything about, and she has n't the life of a dog.
she come to see me last week and says, says she, "sarah skinner, i envy you.
i'd rather live in a little hut on the side of the road with a man i was fond of than in my big house with the one i've got."
jane ann's man ai n't such a bad sort, nuther, though he's so contrary that he wears his fur coat when the thermometer's at ninety.
the only way to git him to do anything is to coax him to do the opposite.
but there ai n't any love to smooth things down and it's a poor way of living.
jog along, black mare.
there's janet's place in the hollow -- "wayside," she calls it.
quite pictureaskew, ai n't it?
i guess you'll be glad to git out of this, with all them mail bags jamming round you."
""yes, but i have enjoyed my drive with you very much," said anne sincerely.
""git away now!"
said mrs. skinner, highly flattered.
""wait till i tell thomas that.
he always feels dretful tickled when i git a compliment.
jog along, black mare.
well, here we are.
i hope you'll git on well in the school, miss.
there's a short cut to it through the ma "sh back of janet's.
if you take that way be awful keerful.
if you once got stuck in that black mud you'd be sucked right down and never seen or heard tell of again till the day of judgment, like adam palmer's cow.
jog along, black mare."
chapter xxxi anne to philippa "anne shirley to philippa gordon, greeting.
""well-beloved, it's high time i was writing you.
here am i, installed once more as a country "schoolma'am" at valley road, boarding at "wayside," the home of miss janet sweet.
janet is a dear soul and very nicelooking; tall, but not over-tall; stoutish, yet with a certain restraint of outline suggestive of a thrifty soul who is not going to be overlavish even in the matter of avoirdupois.
she has a knot of soft, crimpy, brown hair with a thread of gray in it, a sunny face with rosy cheeks, and big, kind eyes as blue as forget-me-nots.
moreover, she is one of those delightful, old-fashioned cooks who do n't care a bit if they ruin your digestion as long as they can give you feasts of fat things.
""i like her; and she likes me -- principally, it seems, because she had a sister named anne who died young."
"i'm real glad to see you," she said briskly, when i landed in her yard.
"my, you do n't look a mite like i expected.
i was sure you'd be dark -- my sister anne was dark.
and here you're redheaded!"
""for a few minutes i thought i was n't going to like janet as much as i had expected at first sight.
then i reminded myself that i really must be more sensible than to be prejudiced against any one simply because she called my hair red.
probably the word "auburn" was not in janet's vocabulary at all."
"wayside" is a dear sort of little spot.
the house is small and white, set down in a delightful little hollow that drops away from the road.
between road and house is an orchard and flower-garden all mixed up together.
the front door walk is bordered with quahog clam-shells -- "cow-hawks," janet calls them; there is virginia creeper over the porch and moss on the roof.
my room is a neat little spot "off the parlor" -- just big enough for the bed and me.
over the head of my bed there is a picture of robby burns standing at highland mary's grave, shadowed by an enormous weeping willow tree.
robby's face is so lugubrious that it is no wonder i have bad dreams.
why, the first night i was here i dreamed i could n't laugh.
""the parlor is tiny and neat.
its one window is so shaded by a huge willow that the room has a grotto-like effect of emerald gloom.
there are wonderful tidies on the chairs, and gay mats on the floor, and books and cards carefully arranged on a round table, and vases of dried grass on the mantel-piece.
between the vases is a cheerful decoration of preserved coffin plates -- five in all, pertaining respectively to janet's father and mother, a brother, her sister anne, and a hired man who died here once!
if i go suddenly insane some of these days "know all men by these presents" that those coffin-plates have caused it.
""but it's all delightful and i said so.
janet loved me for it, just as she detested poor esther because esther had said so much shade was unhygienic and had objected to sleeping on a feather bed.
now, i glory in feather-beds, and the more unhygienic and feathery they are the more i glory.
janet says it is such a comfort to see me eat; she had been so afraid i would be like miss haythorne, who would n't eat anything but fruit and hot water for breakfast and tried to make janet give up frying things.
esther is really a dear girl, but she is rather given to fads.
the trouble is that she has n't enough imagination and has a tendency to indigestion.
""janet told me i could have the use of the parlor when any young men called!
i do n't think there are many to call.
i have n't seen a young man in valley road yet, except the next-door hired boy -- sam toliver, a very tall, lank, tow-haired youth.
he came over one evening recently and sat for an hour on the garden fence, near the front porch where janet and i were doing fancy-work.
the only remarks he volunteered in all that time were, "hev a peppermint, miss!
dew now-fine thing for cararrh, peppermints," and, "powerful lot o" jump-grasses round here ternight.
yep."
""but there is a love affair going on here.
it seems to be my fortune to be mixed up, more or less actively, with elderly love affairs.
mr. and mrs. irving always say that i brought about their marriage.
mrs. stephen clark of carmody persists in being most grateful to me for a suggestion which somebody else would probably have made if i had n't.
i do really think, though, that ludovic speed would never have got any further along than placid courtship if i had not helped him and theodora dix out.
""in the present affair i am only a passive spectator.
i've tried once to help things along and made an awful mess of it.
so i shall not meddle again.
i'll tell you all about it when we meet."
chapter xxxii tea with mrs. douglas on the first thursday night of anne's sojourn in valley road janet asked her to go to prayer-meeting.
janet blossomed out like a rose to attend that prayer-meeting.
she wore a pale-blue, pansy-sprinkled muslin dress with more ruffles than one would ever have supposed economical janet could be guilty of, and a white leghorn hat with pink roses and three ostrich feathers on it.
anne felt quite amazed.
later on, she found out janet's motive in so arraying herself -- a motive as old as eden.
valley road prayer-meetings seemed to be essentially feminine.
there were thirty-two women present, two half-grown boys, and one solitary man, beside the minister.
anne found herself studying this man.
he was not handsome or young or graceful; he had remarkably long legs -- so long that he had to keep them coiled up under his chair to dispose of them -- and he was stoop-shouldered.
his hands were big, his hair wanted barbering, and his moustache was unkempt.
but anne thought she liked his face; it was kind and honest and tender; there was something else in it, too -- just what, anne found it hard to define.
she finally concluded that this man had suffered and been strong, and it had been made manifest in his face.
there was a sort of patient, humorous endurance in his expression which indicated that he would go to the stake if need be, but would keep on looking pleasant until he really had to begin squirming.
when prayer-meeting was over this man came up to janet and said, "may i see you home, janet?"
janet took his arm -- "as primly and shyly as if she were no more than sixteen, having her first escort home," anne told the girls at patty's place later on.
""miss shirley, permit me to introduce mr. douglas," she said stiffly.
mr. douglas nodded and said, "i was looking at you in prayer-meeting, miss, and thinking what a nice little girl you were."
such a speech from ninety-nine people out of a hundred would have annoyed anne bitterly; but the way in which mr. douglas said it made her feel that she had received a very real and pleasing compliment.
she smiled appreciatively at him and dropped obligingly behind on the moonlit road.
so janet had a beau!
anne was delighted.
janet would make a paragon of a wife -- cheery, economical, tolerant, and a very queen of cooks.
it would be a flagrant waste on nature's part to keep her a permanent old maid.
""john douglas asked me to take you up to see his mother," said janet the next day.
""she's bed-rid a lot of the time and never goes out of the house.
but she's powerful fond of company and always wants to see my boarders.
can you go up this evening?"
anne assented; but later in the day mr. douglas called on his mother's behalf to invite them up to tea on saturday evening.
""oh, why did n't you put on your pretty pansy dress?"
asked anne, when they left home.
it was a hot day, and poor janet, between her excitement and her heavy black cashmere dress, looked as if she were being broiled alive.
""old mrs. douglas would think it terrible frivolous and unsuitable, i'm afraid.
john likes that dress, though," she added wistfully.
the old douglas homestead was half a mile from "wayside" cresting a windy hill.
the house itself was large and comfortable, old enough to be dignified, and girdled with maple groves and orchards.
there were big, trim barns behind it, and everything bespoke prosperity.
whatever the patient endurance in mr. douglas" face had meant it had n't, so anne reflected, meant debts and duns.
john douglas met them at the door and took them into the sitting-room, where his mother was enthroned in an armchair.
anne had expected old mrs. douglas to be tall and thin, because mr. douglas was.
instead, she was a tiny scrap of a woman, with soft pink cheeks, mild blue eyes, and a mouth like a baby's.
dressed in a beautiful, fashionably-made black silk dress, with a fluffy white shawl over her shoulders, and her snowy hair surmounted by a dainty lace cap, she might have posed as a grandmother doll.
""how do you do, janet dear?"
she said sweetly.
""i am so glad to see you again, dear."
she put up her pretty old face to be kissed.
""and this is our new teacher.
i'm delighted to meet you.
my son has been singing your praises until i'm half jealous, and i'm sure janet ought to be wholly so."
poor janet blushed, anne said something polite and conventional, and then everybody sat down and made talk.
it was hard work, even for anne, for nobody seemed at ease except old mrs. douglas, who certainly did not find any difficulty in talking.
she made janet sit by her and stroked her hand occasionally.
janet sat and smiled, looking horribly uncomfortable in her hideous dress, and john douglas sat without smiling.
at the tea table mrs. douglas gracefully asked janet to pour the tea.
janet turned redder than ever but did it.
anne wrote a description of that meal to stella.
""we had cold tongue and chicken and strawberry preserves, lemon pie and tarts and chocolate cake and raisin cookies and pound cake and fruit cake -- and a few other things, including more pie -- caramel pie, i think it was.
after i had eaten twice as much as was good for me, mrs. douglas sighed and said she feared she had nothing to tempt my appetite."
"i'm afraid dear janet's cooking has spoiled you for any other," she said sweetly.
"of course nobody in valley road aspires to rival her.
wo n't you have another piece of pie, miss shirley?
you have n't eaten anything."
""stella, i had eaten a helping of tongue and one of chicken, three biscuits, a generous allowance of preserves, a piece of pie, a tart, and a square of chocolate cake!"
after tea mrs. douglas smiled benevolently and told john to take "dear janet" out into the garden and get her some roses.
""miss shirley will keep me company while you are out -- wo n't you?"
she said plaintively.
she settled down in her armchair with a sigh.
""i am a very frail old woman, miss shirley.
for over twenty years i've been a great sufferer.
for twenty long, weary years i've been dying by inches."
""how painful!"
said anne, trying to be sympathetic and succeeding only in feeling idiotic.
""there have been scores of nights when they've thought i could never live to see the dawn," went on mrs. douglas solemnly.
""nobody knows what i've gone through -- nobody can know but myself.
well, it ca n't last very much longer now.
my weary pilgrimage will soon be over, miss shirley.
it is a great comfort to me that john will have such a good wife to look after him when his mother is gone -- a great comfort, miss shirley."
""janet is a lovely woman," said anne warmly.
""lovely!
a beautiful character," assented mrs. douglas.
""and a perfect housekeeper -- something i never was.
my health would not permit it, miss shirley.
i am indeed thankful that john has made such a wise choice.
i hope and believe that he will be happy.
he is my only son, miss shirley, and his happiness lies very near my heart."
""of course," said anne stupidly.
for the first time in her life she was stupid.
yet she could not imagine why.
she seemed to have absolutely nothing to say to this sweet, smiling, angelic old lady who was patting her hand so kindly.
""come and see me soon again, dear janet," said mrs. douglas lovingly, when they left.
""you do n't come half often enough.
but then i suppose john will be bringing you here to stay all the time one of these days."
anne, happening to glance at john douglas, as his mother spoke, gave a positive start of dismay.
he looked as a tortured man might look when his tormentors gave the rack the last turn of possible endurance.
she felt sure he must be ill and hurried poor blushing janet away.
""is n't old mrs. douglas a sweet woman?"
asked janet, as they went down the road.
""m -- m," answered anne absently.
she was wondering why john douglas had looked so.
""she's been a terrible sufferer," said janet feelingly.
""she takes terrible spells.
it keeps john all worried up.
he's scared to leave home for fear his mother will take a spell and nobody there but the hired girl."
chapter xxxiii "he just kept coming and coming" three days later anne came home from school and found janet crying.
tears and janet seemed so incongruous that anne was honestly alarmed.
""oh, what is the matter?"
she cried anxiously.
""i'm -- i'm forty today," sobbed janet.
""well, you were nearly that yesterday and it did n't hurt," comforted anne, trying not to smile.
""but -- but," went on janet with a big gulp, "john douglas wo n't ask me to marry him."
""oh, but he will," said anne lamely.
""you must give him time, janet "time!"
said janet with indescribable scorn.
""he has had twenty years.
how much time does he want?"
""do you mean that john douglas has been coming to see you for twenty years?"
""he has.
and he has never so much as mentioned marriage to me.
and i do n't believe he ever will now.
i've never said a word to a mortal about it, but it seems to me i've just got to talk it out with some one at last or go crazy.
john douglas begun to go with me twenty years ago, before mother died.
well, he kept coming and coming, and after a spell i begun making quilts and things; but he never said anything about getting married, only just kept coming and coming.
there was n't anything i could do.
mother died when we'd been going together for eight years.
i thought he maybe would speak out then, seeing as i was left alone in the world.
he was real kind and feeling, and did everything he could for me, but he never said marry.
and that's the way it has been going on ever since.
people blame me for it.
they say i wo n't marry him because his mother is so sickly and i do n't want the bother of waiting on her.
why, i'd love to wait on john's mother!
but i let them think so.
i'd rather they'd blame me than pity me!
it's so dreadful humiliating that john wo n't ask me.
and why wo n't he?
seems to me if i only knew his reason i would n't mind it so much."
""perhaps his mother does n't want him to marry anybody," suggested anne.
""oh, she does.
she's told me time and again that she'd love to see john settled before her time comes.
she's always giving him hints -- you heard her yourself the other day.
i thought i'd ha" gone through the floor."
""it's beyond me," said anne helplessly.
she thought of ludovic speed.
but the cases were not parallel.
john douglas was not a man of ludovic's type.
""you should show more spirit, janet," she went on resolutely.
""why did n't you send him about his business long ago?"
""i could n't," said poor janet pathetically.
""you see, anne, i've always been awful fond of john.
he might just as well keep coming as not, for there was never anybody else i'd want, so it did n't matter."
""but it might have made him speak out like a man," urged anne.
janet shook her head.
""no, i guess not.
i was afraid to try, anyway, for fear he'd think i meant it and just go.
i suppose i'm a poor-spirited creature, but that is how i feel.
and i ca n't help it."
""oh, you could help it, janet.
it is n't too late yet.
take a firm stand.
let that man know you are not going to endure his shillyshallying any longer.
i'll back you up."
""i dunno," said janet hopelessly.
""i dunno if i could ever get up enough spunk.
things have drifted so long.
but i'll think it over."
anne felt that she was disappointed in john douglas.
she had liked him so well, and she had not thought him the sort of man who would play fast and loose with a woman's feelings for twenty years.
he certainly should be taught a lesson, and anne felt vindictively that she would enjoy seeing the process.
therefore she was delighted when janet told her, as they were going to prayer-meeting the next night, that she meant to show some "sperrit."
""i'll let john douglas see i'm not going to be trodden on any longer."
""you are perfectly right," said anne emphatically.
when prayer-meeting was over john douglas came up with his usual request.
janet looked frightened but resolute.
""no, thank you," she said icily.
""i know the road home pretty well alone.
i ought to, seeing i've been traveling it for forty years.
so you need n't trouble yourself, mr. douglas."
anne was looking at john douglas; and, in that brilliant moonlight, she saw the last twist of the rack again.
without a word he turned and strode down the road.
""stop!
stop!"
anne called wildly after him, not caring in the least for the other dumbfounded onlookers.
""mr. douglas, stop!
come back."
john douglas stopped but he did not come back.
anne flew down the road, caught his arm and fairly dragged him back to janet.
""you must come back," she said imploringly.
""it's all a mistake, mr. douglas -- all my fault.
i made janet do it.
she did n't want to -- but it's all right now, is n't it, janet?"
without a word janet took his arm and walked away.
anne followed them meekly home and slipped in by the back door.
""well, you are a nice person to back me up," said janet sarcastically.
""i could n't help it, janet," said anne repentantly.
""i just felt as if i had stood by and seen murder done.
i had to run after him."
""oh, i'm just as glad you did.
when i saw john douglas making off down that road i just felt as if every little bit of joy and happiness that was left in my life was going with him.
it was an awful feeling."
""did he ask you why you did it?"
asked anne.
""no, he never said a word about it," replied janet dully.
chapter xxxiv john douglas speaks at last anne was not without a feeble hope that something might come of it after all.
but nothing did.
john douglas came and took janet driving, and walked home from prayer-meeting with her, as he had been doing for twenty years, and as he seemed likely to do for twenty years more.
the summer waned.
anne taught her school and wrote letters and studied a little.
her walks to and from school were pleasant.
she always went by way of the swamp; it was a lovely place -- a boggy soil, green with the greenest of mossy hillocks; a silvery brook meandered through it and spruces stood erectly, their boughs a-trail with gray-green mosses, their roots overgrown with all sorts of woodland lovelinesses.
nevertheless, anne found life in valley road a little monotonous.
to be sure, there was one diverting incident.
she had not seen the lank, tow-headed samuel of the peppermints since the evening of his call, save for chance meetings on the road.
but one warm august night he appeared, and solemnly seated himself on the rustic bench by the porch.
he wore his usual working habiliments, consisting of varipatched trousers, a blue jean shirt, out at the elbows, and a ragged straw hat.
he was chewing a straw and he kept on chewing it while he looked solemnly at anne.
anne laid her book aside with a sigh and took up her doily.
conversation with sam was really out of the question.
after a long silence sam suddenly spoke.
""i'm leaving over there," he said abruptly, waving his straw in the direction of the neighboring house.
""oh, are you?"
said anne politely.
""yep."
""and where are you going now?"
""wall, i've been thinking some of gitting a place of my own.
there's one that'd suit me over at millersville.
but ef i rents it i'll want a woman."
""i suppose so," said anne vaguely.
""yep."
there was another long silence.
finally sam removed his straw again and said, "will yeh hev me?"
""wh -- a -- t!"
gasped anne.
""will yeh hev me?"
""do you mean -- marry you?"
queried poor anne feebly.
""yep."
""why, i'm hardly acquainted with you," cried anne indignantly.
""but yeh'd git acquainted with me after we was married," said sam.
anne gathered up her poor dignity.
""certainly i wo n't marry you," she said haughtily.
""wall, yeh might do worse," expostulated sam.
""i'm a good worker and i've got some money in the bank."
""do n't speak of this to me again.
whatever put such an idea into your head?"
said anne, her sense of humor getting the better of her wrath.
it was such an absurd situation.
""yeh're a likely-looking girl and hev a right-smart way o" stepping," said sam.
""i do n't want no lazy woman.
think it over.
i wo n't change my mind yit awhile.
wall, i must be gitting.
gotter milk the cows."
anne's illusions concerning proposals had suffered so much of late years that there were few of them left.
so she could laugh wholeheartedly over this one, not feeling any secret sting.
she mimicked poor sam to janet that night, and both of them laughed immoderately over his plunge into sentiment.
one afternoon, when anne's sojourn in valley road was drawing to a close, alec ward came driving down to "wayside" in hot haste for janet.
""they want you at the douglas place quick," he said.
""i really believe old mrs. douglas is going to die at last, after pretending to do it for twenty years."
janet ran to get her hat.
anne asked if mrs. douglas was worse than usual.
""she's not half as bad," said alec solemnly, "and that's what makes me think it's serious.
other times she'd be screaming and throwing herself all over the place.
this time she's lying still and mum.
when mrs. douglas is mum she is pretty sick, you bet."
""you do n't like old mrs. douglas?"
said anne curiously.
""i like cats as is cats.
i do n't like cats as is women," was alec's cryptic reply.
janet came home in the twilight.
""mrs. douglas is dead," she said wearily.
""she died soon after i got there.
she just spoke to me once --" i suppose you'll marry john now?"
she said.
it cut me to the heart, anne.
to think john's own mother thought i would n't marry him because of her!
i could n't say a word either -- there were other women there.
i was thankful john had gone out."
janet began to cry drearily.
but anne brewed her a hot drink of ginger tea to her comforting.
to be sure, anne discovered later on that she had used white pepper instead of ginger; but janet never knew the difference.
the evening after the funeral janet and anne were sitting on the front porch steps at sunset.
the wind had fallen asleep in the pinelands and lurid sheets of heat-lightning flickered across the northern skies.
janet wore her ugly black dress and looked her very worst, her eyes and nose red from crying.
they talked little, for janet seemed faintly to resent anne's efforts to cheer her up.
she plainly preferred to be miserable.
suddenly the gate-latch clicked and john douglas strode into the garden.
he walked towards them straight over the geranium bed.
janet stood up.
so did anne.
anne was a tall girl and wore a white dress; but john douglas did not see her.
""janet," he said, "will you marry me?"
the words burst out as if they had been wanting to be said for twenty years and must be uttered now, before anything else.
janet's face was so red from crying that it could n't turn any redder, so it turned a most unbecoming purple.
""why did n't you ask me before?"
she said slowly.
""i could n't.
she made me promise not to -- mother made me promise not to.
nineteen years ago she took a terrible spell.
we thought she could n't live through it.
she implored me to promise not to ask you to marry me while she was alive.
i did n't want to promise such a thing, even though we all thought she could n't live very long -- the doctor only gave her six months.
but she begged it on her knees, sick and suffering.
i had to promise."
""what had your mother against me?"
cried janet.
""nothing -- nothing.
she just did n't want another woman -- any woman -- there while she was living.
she said if i did n't promise she'd die right there and i'd have killed her.
so i promised.
and she's held me to that promise ever since, though i've gone on my knees to her in my turn to beg her to let me off."
""why did n't you tell me this?"
asked janet chokingly.
""if i'd only known!
why did n't you just tell me?"
""she made me promise i would n't tell a soul," said john hoarsely.
""she swore me to it on the bible; janet, i'd never have done it if i'd dreamed it was to be for so long.
janet, you'll never know what i've suffered these nineteen years.
i know i've made you suffer, too, but you'll marry me for all, wo n't you, janet?
oh, janet, wo n't you?
i've come as soon as i could to ask you."
at this moment the stupefied anne came to her senses and realized that she had no business to be there.
she slipped away and did not see janet until the next morning, when the latter told her the rest of the story.
""that cruel, relentless, deceitful old woman!"
cried anne.
""hush -- she's dead," said janet solemnly.
""if she was n't -- but she is.
so we must n't speak evil of her.
but i'm happy at last, anne.
and i would n't have minded waiting so long a bit if i'd only known why."
""when are you to be married?"
""next month.
of course it will be very quiet.
i suppose people will talk terrible.
they'll say i made enough haste to snap john up as soon as his poor mother was out of the way.
john wanted to let them know the truth but i said, "no, john; after all she was your mother, and we'll keep the secret between us, and not cast any shadow on her memory.
i do n't mind what people say, now that i know the truth myself.
it do n't matter a mite.
let it all be buried with the dead" says i to him.
so i coaxed him round to agree with me."
""you're much more forgiving than i could ever be," anne said, rather crossly.
""you'll feel differently about a good many things when you get to be my age," said janet tolerantly.
""that's one of the things we learn as we grow older -- how to forgive.
it comes easier at forty than it did at twenty."
chapter xxxv the last redmond year opens "here we are, all back again, nicely sunburned and rejoicing as a strong man to run a race," said phil, sitting down on a suitcase with a sigh of pleasure.
""is n't it jolly to see this dear old patty's place again -- and aunty -- and the cats?
rusty has lost another piece of ear, has n't he?"
""rusty would be the nicest cat in the world if he had no ears at all," declared anne loyally from her trunk, while rusty writhed about her lap in a frenzy of welcome.
""are n't you glad to see us back, aunty?"
demanded phil.
""yes.
but i wish you'd tidy things up," said aunt jamesina plaintively, looking at the wilderness of trunks and suitcases by which the four laughing, chattering girls were surrounded.
""you can talk just as well later on.
work first and then play used to be my motto when i was a girl."
""oh, we've just reversed that in this generation, aunty.
our motto is play your play and then dig in.
you can do your work so much better if you've had a good bout of play first."
""if you are going to marry a minister," said aunt jamesina, picking up joseph and her knitting and resigning herself to the inevitable with the charming grace that made her the queen of housemothers, "you will have to give up such expressions as "dig in.""
""why?"
moaned phil.
""oh, why must a minister's wife be supposed to utter only prunes and prisms?
i sha n't.
everybody on patterson street uses slang -- that is to say, metaphorical language -- and if i did n't they would think me insufferably proud and stuck up."
""have you broken the news to your family?"
asked priscilla, feeding the sarah-cat bits from her lunchbasket.
phil nodded.
""how did they take it?"
""oh, mother rampaged.
but i stood rockfirm -- even i, philippa gordon, who never before could hold fast to anything.
father was calmer.
father's own daddy was a minister, so you see he has a soft spot in his heart for the cloth.
i had jo up to mount holly, after mother grew calm, and they both loved him.
but mother gave him some frightful hints in every conversation regarding what she had hoped for me.
oh, my vacation pathway has n't been exactly strewn with roses, girls dear.
but -- i've won out and i've got jo.
nothing else matters."
""to you," said aunt jamesina darkly.
""nor to jo, either," retorted phil.
""you keep on pitying him.
why, pray?
i think he's to be envied.
he's getting brains, beauty, and a heart of gold in me."
""it's well we know how to take your speeches," said aunt jamesina patiently.
""i hope you do n't talk like that before strangers.
what would they think?"
""oh, i do n't want to know what they think.
i do n't want to see myself as others see me.
i'm sure it would be horribly uncomfortable most of the time.
i do n't believe burns was really sincere in that prayer, either."
""oh, i daresay we all pray for some things that we really do n't want, if we were only honest enough to look into our hearts," owned aunt jamesina candidly.
""i've a notion that such prayers do n't rise very far.
i used to pray that i might be enabled to forgive a certain person, but i know now i really did n't want to forgive her.
when i finally got that i did want to i forgave her without having to pray about it."
""i ca n't picture you as being unforgiving for long," said stella.
""oh, i used to be.
but holding spite does n't seem worth while when you get along in years."
""that reminds me," said anne, and told the tale of john and janet.
""and now tell us about that romantic scene you hinted so darkly at in one of your letters," demanded phil.
anne acted out samuel's proposal with great spirit.
the girls shrieked with laughter and aunt jamesina smiled.
""it is n't in good taste to make fun of your beaux," she said severely; "but," she added calmly, "i always did it myself."
""tell us about your beaux, aunty," entreated phil.
""you must have had any number of them."
""they're not in the past tense," retorted aunt jamesina.
""i've got them yet.
there are three old widowers at home who have been casting sheep's eyes at me for some time.
you children need n't think you own all the romance in the world."
""widowers and sheep's eyes do n't sound very romantic, aunty."
""well, no; but young folks are n't always romantic either.
some of my beaux certainly were n't.
i used to laugh at them scandalous, poor boys.
there was jim elwood -- he was always in a sort of day-dream -- never seemed to sense what was going on.
he did n't wake up to the fact that i'd said "no" till a year after i'd said it.
when he did get married his wife fell out of the sleigh one night when they were driving home from church and he never missed her.
then there was dan winston.
he knew too much.
he knew everything in this world and most of what is in the next.
he could give you an answer to any question, even if you asked him when the judgment day was to be.
milton edwards was real nice and i liked him but i did n't marry him.
for one thing, he took a week to get a joke through his head, and for another he never asked me.
horatio reeve was the most interesting beau i ever had.
but when he told a story he dressed it up so that you could n't see it for frills.
i never could decide whether he was lying or just letting his imagination run loose."
""and what about the others, aunty?"
""go away and unpack," said aunt jamesina, waving joseph at them by mistake for a needle.
""the others were too nice to make fun of.
i shall respect their memory.
there's a box of flowers in your room, anne.
they came about an hour ago."
after the first week the girls of patty's place settled down to a steady grind of study; for this was their last year at redmond and graduation honors must be fought for persistently.
anne devoted herself to english, priscilla pored over classics, and philippa pounded away at mathematics.
sometimes they grew tired, sometimes they felt discouraged, sometimes nothing seemed worth the struggle for it.
in one such mood stella wandered up to the blue room one rainy november evening.
anne sat on the floor in a little circle of light cast by the lamp beside her, amid a surrounding snow of crumpled manuscript.
""what in the world are you doing?"
""just looking over some old story club yarns.
i wanted something to cheer and inebriate.
i'd studied until the world seemed azure.
so i came up here and dug these out of my trunk.
they are so drenched in tears and tragedy that they are excruciatingly funny."
""i'm blue and discouraged myself," said stella, throwing herself on the couch.
""nothing seems worthwhile.
my very thoughts are old.
i've thought them all before.
what is the use of living after all, anne?"
""honey, it's just brain fag that makes us feel that way, and the weather.
a pouring rainy night like this, coming after a hard day's grind, would squelch any one but a mark tapley.
you know it is worthwhile to live."
""oh, i suppose so.
but i ca n't prove it to myself just now."
""just think of all the great and noble souls who have lived and worked in the world," said anne dreamily.
""is n't it worthwhile to come after them and inherit what they won and taught?
is n't it worthwhile to think we can share their inspiration?
and then, all the great souls that will come in the future?
is n't it worthwhile to work a little and prepare the way for them -- make just one step in their path easier?"
""oh, my mind agrees with you, anne.
but my soul remains doleful and uninspired.
i'm always grubby and dingy on rainy nights."
""some nights i like the rain -- i like to lie in bed and hear it pattering on the roof and drifting through the pines."
""i like it when it stays on the roof," said stella.
""it does n't always.
i spent a gruesome night in an old country farmhouse last summer.
the roof leaked and the rain came pattering down on my bed.
there was no poetry in that.
i had to get up in the "mirk midnight" and chivy round to pull the bedstead out of the drip -- and it was one of those solid, old-fashioned beds that weigh a ton -- more or less.
and then that drip-drop, drip-drop kept up all night until my nerves just went to pieces.
you've no idea what an eerie noise a great drop of rain falling with a mushy thud on a bare floor makes in the night.
it sounds like ghostly footsteps and all that sort of thing.
what are you laughing over, anne?"
""these stories.
as phil would say they are killing -- in more senses than one, for everybody died in them.
what dazzlingly lovely heroines we had -- and how we dressed them!
""silks -- satins -- velvets -- jewels -- laces -- they never wore anything else.
here is one of jane andrews" stories depicting her heroine as sleeping in a beautiful white satin nightdress trimmed with seed pearls."
""go on," said stella.
""i begin to feel that life is worth living as long as there's a laugh in it."
""here's one i wrote.
my heroine is disporting herself at a ball "glittering from head to foot with large diamonds of the first water."
but what booted beauty or rich attire?
"the paths of glory lead but to the grave."
they must either be murdered or die of a broken heart.
there was no escape for them."
""let me read some of your stories."
""well, here's my masterpiece.
note its cheerful title -- "my graves."
i shed quarts of tears while writing it, and the other girls shed gallons while i read it.
jane andrews" mother scolded her frightfully because she had so many handkerchiefs in the wash that week.
it's a harrowing tale of the wanderings of a methodist minister's wife.
i made her a methodist because it was necessary that she should wander.
she buried a child every place she lived in.
there were nine of them and their graves were severed far apart, ranging from newfoundland to vancouver.
i described the children, pictured their several death beds, and detailed their tombstones and epitaphs.
i had intended to bury the whole nine but when i had disposed of eight my invention of horrors gave out and i permitted the ninth to live as a hopeless cripple."
while stella read my graves, punctuating its tragic paragraphs with chuckles, and rusty slept the sleep of a just cat who has been out all night curled up on a jane andrews tale of a beautiful maiden of fifteen who went to nurse in a leper colony -- of course dying of the loathsome disease finally -- anne glanced over the other manuscripts and recalled the old days at avonlea school when the members of the story club, sitting under the spruce trees or down among the ferns by the brook, had written them.
what fun they had had!
how the sunshine and mirth of those olden summers returned as she read.
not all the glory that was greece or the grandeur that was rome could weave such wizardry as those funny, tearful tales of the story club.
among the manuscripts anne found one written on sheets of wrapping paper.
a wave of laughter filled her gray eyes as she recalled the time and place of its genesis.
it was the sketch she had written the day she fell through the roof of the cobb duckhouse on the tory road.
anne glanced over it, then fell to reading it intently.
it was a little dialogue between asters and sweet-peas, wild canaries in the lilac bush, and the guardian spirit of the garden.
after she had read it, she sat, staring into space; and when stella had gone she smoothed out the crumpled manuscript.
""i believe i will," she said resolutely.
chapter xxxvi the gardners "call "here is a letter with an indian stamp for you, aunt jimsie," said phil.
""here are three for stella, and two for pris, and a glorious fat one for me from jo.
there's nothing for you, anne, except a circular."
nobody noticed anne's flush as she took the thin letter phil tossed her carelessly.
but a few minutes later phil looked up to see a transfigured anne.
""honey, what good thing has happened?"
""the youth's friend has accepted a little sketch i sent them a fortnight ago," said anne, trying hard to speak as if she were accustomed to having sketches accepted every mail, but not quite succeeding.
""anne shirley!
how glorious!
what was it?
when is it to be published?
did they pay you for it?"
""yes; they've sent a check for ten dollars, and the editor writes that he would like to see more of my work.
dear man, he shall.
it was an old sketch i found in my box.
i re-wrote it and sent it in -- but i never really thought it could be accepted because it had no plot," said anne, recalling the bitter experience of averil's atonement.
""what are you going to do with that ten dollars, anne?
let's all go up town and get drunk," suggested phil.
""i am going to squander it in a wild soulless revel of some sort," declared anne gaily.
""at all events it is n't tainted money -- like the check i got for that horrible reliable baking powder story.
i spent it usefully for clothes and hated them every time i put them on."
""think of having a real live author at patty's place," said priscilla.
""it's a great responsibility," said aunt jamesina solemnly.
""indeed it is," agreed pris with equal solemnity.
""authors are kittle cattle.
you never know when or how they will break out.
anne may make copy of us."
""i meant that the ability to write for the press was a great responsibility," said aunt jamesina severely, "and i hope anne realizes, it.
my daughter used to write stories before she went to the foreign field, but now she has turned her attention to higher things.
she used to say her motto was "never write a line you would be ashamed to read at your own funeral."
you'd better take that for yours, anne, if you are going to embark in literature.
though, to be sure," added aunt jamesina perplexedly, "elizabeth always used to laugh when she said it.
she always laughed so much that i do n't know how she ever came to decide on being a missionary.
i'm thankful she did -- i prayed that she might -- but -- i wish she had n't."
then aunt jamesina wondered why those giddy girls all laughed.
anne's eyes shone all that day; literary ambitions sprouted and budded in her brain; their exhilaration accompanied her to jennie cooper's walking party, and not even the sight of gilbert and christine, walking just ahead of her and roy, could quite subdue the sparkle of her starry hopes.
nevertheless, she was not so rapt from things of earth as to be unable to notice that christine's walk was decidedly ungraceful.
""but i suppose gilbert looks only at her face.
so like a man," thought anne scornfully.
""shall you be home saturday afternoon?"
asked roy.
""yes."
""my mother and sisters are coming to call on you," said roy quietly.
something went over anne which might be described as a thrill, but it was hardly a pleasant one.
she had never met any of roy's family; she realized the significance of his statement; and it had, somehow, an irrevocableness about it that chilled her.
""i shall be glad to see them," she said flatly; and then wondered if she really would be glad.
she ought to be, of course.
but would it not be something of an ordeal?
gossip had filtered to anne regarding the light in which the gardners viewed the "infatuation" of son and brother.
roy must have brought pressure to bear in the matter of this call.
anne knew she would be weighed in the balance.
from the fact that they had consented to call she understood that, willingly or unwillingly, they regarded her as a possible member of their clan.
""i shall just be myself.
i shall not try to make a good impression," thought anne loftily.
but she was wondering what dress she would better wear saturday afternoon, and if the new style of high hair-dressing would suit her better than the old; and the walking party was rather spoiled for her.
by night she had decided that she would wear her brown chiffon on saturday, but would do her hair low.
friday afternoon none of the girls had classes at redmond.
stella took the opportunity to write a paper for the philomathic society, and was sitting at the table in the corner of the living-room with an untidy litter of notes and manuscript on the floor around her.
stella always vowed she never could write anything unless she threw each sheet down as she completed it.
anne, in her flannel blouse and serge skirt, with her hair rather blown from her windy walk home, was sitting squarely in the middle of the floor, teasing the sarah-cat with a wishbone.
joseph and rusty were both curled up in her lap.
a warm plummy odor filled the whole house, for priscilla was cooking in the kitchen.
presently she came in, enshrouded in a huge work-apron, with a smudge of flour on her nose, to show aunt jamesina the chocolate cake she had just iced.
at this auspicious moment the knocker sounded.
nobody paid any attention to it save phil, who sprang up and opened it, expecting a boy with the hat she had bought that morning.
on the doorstep stood mrs. gardner and her daughters.
anne scrambled to her feet somehow, emptying two indignant cats out of her lap as she did so, and mechanically shifting her wishbone from her right hand to her left.
priscilla, who would have had to cross the room to reach the kitchen door, lost her head, wildly plunged the chocolate cake under a cushion on the inglenook sofa, and dashed upstairs.
stella began feverishly gathering up her manuscript.
only aunt jamesina and phil remained normal.
thanks to them, everybody was soon sitting at ease, even anne.
priscilla came down, apronless and smudgeless, stella reduced her corner to decency, and phil saved the situation by a stream of ready small talk.
mrs. gardner was tall and thin and handsome, exquisitely gowned, cordial with a cordiality that seemed a trifle forced.
aline gardner was a younger edition of her mother, lacking the cordiality.
she endeavored to be nice, but succeeded only in being haughty and patronizing.
dorothy gardner was slim and jolly and rather tomboyish.
anne knew she was roy's favorite sister and warmed to her.
she would have looked very much like roy if she had had dreamy dark eyes instead of roguish hazel ones.
thanks to her and phil, the call really went off very well, except for a slight sense of strain in the atmosphere and two rather untoward incidents.
rusty and joseph, left to themselves, began a game of chase, and sprang madly into mrs. gardner's silken lap and out of it in their wild career.
mrs. gardner lifted her lorgnette and gazed after their flying forms as if she had never seen cats before, and anne, choking back slightly nervous laughter, apologized as best she could.
""you are fond of cats?"
said mrs. gardner, with a slight intonation of tolerant wonder.
anne, despite her affection for rusty, was not especially fond of cats, but mrs. gardner's tone annoyed her.
inconsequently she remembered that mrs. john blythe was so fond of cats that she kept as many as her husband would allow.
""they are adorable animals, are n't they?"
she said wickedly.
""i have never liked cats," said mrs. gardner remotely.
""i love them," said dorothy.
""they are so nice and selfish.
dogs are too good and unselfish.
they make me feel uncomfortable.
but cats are gloriously human."
""you have two delightful old china dogs there.
may i look at them closely?"
said aline, crossing the room towards the fireplace and thereby becoming the unconscious cause of the other accident.
picking up magog, she sat down on the cushion under which was secreted priscilla's chocolate cake.
priscilla and anne exchanged agonized glances but could do nothing.
the stately aline continued to sit on the cushion and discuss china dogs until the time of departure.
dorothy lingered behind a moment to squeeze anne's hand and whisper impulsively.
""i know you and i are going to be chums.
oh, roy has told me all about you.
i'm the only one of the family he tells things to, poor boy -- nobody could confide in mamma and aline, you know.
what glorious times you girls must have here!
wo n't you let me come often and have a share in them?"
""come as often as you like," anne responded heartily, thankful that one of roy's sisters was likable.
she would never like aline, so much was certain; and aline would never like her, though mrs. gardner might be won.
altogether, anne sighed with relief when the ordeal was over."
"of all sad words of tongue or pen the saddest are it might have been,"" quoted priscilla tragically, lifting the cushion.
""this cake is now what you might call a flat failure.
and the cushion is likewise ruined.
never tell me that friday is n't unlucky."
""people who send word they are coming on saturday should n't come on friday," said aunt jamesina.
""i fancy it was roy's mistake," said phil.
""that boy is n't really responsible for what he says when he talks to anne.
where is anne?"
anne had gone upstairs.
she felt oddly like crying.
but she made herself laugh instead.
rusty and joseph had been too awful!
and dorothy was a dear.
chapter xxxvii full-fledged b.a.'s "i wish i were dead, or that it were tomorrow night," groaned phil.
""if you live long enough both wishes will come true," said anne calmly.
""it's easy for you to be serene.
you're at home in philosophy.
i'm not -- and when i think of that horrible paper tomorrow i quail.
if i should fail in it what would jo say?"
""you wo n't fail.
how did you get on in greek today?"
""i do n't know.
perhaps it was a good paper and perhaps it was bad enough to make homer turn over in his grave.
i've studied and mulled over notebooks until i'm incapable of forming an opinion of anything.
how thankful little phil will be when all this examinating is over."
""examinating?
i never heard such a word."
""well, have n't i as good a right to make a word as any one else?"
demanded phil.
""words are n't made -- they grow," said anne.
""never mind -- i begin faintly to discern clear water ahead where no examination breakers loom.
girls, do you -- can you realize that our redmond life is almost over?"
""i ca n't," said anne, sorrowfully.
""it seems just yesterday that pris and i were alone in that crowd of freshmen at redmond.
and now we are seniors in our final examinations.""
"potent, wise, and reverend seniors,"" quoted phil.
""do you suppose we really are any wiser than when we came to redmond?"
""you do n't act as if you were by times," said aunt jamesina severely.
""oh, aunt jimsie, have n't we been pretty good girls, take us by and large, these three winters you've mothered us?"
pleaded phil.
""you've been four of the dearest, sweetest, goodest girls that ever went together through college," averred aunt jamesina, who never spoiled a compliment by misplaced economy.
""but i mistrust you have n't any too much sense yet.
it's not to be expected, of course.
experience teaches sense.
you ca n't learn it in a college course.
you've been to college four years and i never was, but i know heaps more than you do, young ladies.""
"there are lots of things that never go by rule, there's a powerful pile o" knowledge that you never get at college, there are heaps of things you never learn at school,"" quoted stella.
""have you learned anything at redmond except dead languages and geometry and such trash?"
queried aunt jamesina.
""oh, yes.
i think we have, aunty," protested anne.
""we've learned the truth of what professor woodleigh told us last philomathic," said phil.
""he said, "humor is the spiciest condiment in the feast of existence.
laugh at your mistakes but learn from them, joke over your troubles but gather strength from them, make a jest of your difficulties but overcome them."
is n't that worth learning, aunt jimsie?"
""yes, it is, dearie.
when you've learned to laugh at the things that should be laughed at, and not to laugh at those that should n't, you've got wisdom and understanding."
""what have you got out of your redmond course, anne?"
murmured priscilla aside.
""i think," said anne slowly, "that i really have learned to look upon each little hindrance as a jest and each great one as the foreshadowing of victory.
summing up, i think that is what redmond has given me."
""i shall have to fall back on another professor woodleigh quotation to express what it has done for me," said priscilla.
""you remember that he said in his address, "there is so much in the world for us all if we only have the eyes to see it, and the heart to love it, and the hand to gather it to ourselves -- so much in men and women, so much in art and literature, so much everywhere in which to delight, and for which to be thankful."
i think redmond has taught me that in some measure, anne."
""judging from what you all, say" remarked aunt jamesina, "the sum and substance is that you can learn -- if you've got natural gumption enough -- in four years at college what it would take about twenty years of living to teach you.
well, that justifies higher education in my opinion.
it's a matter i was always dubious about before."
""but what about people who have n't natural gumption, aunt jimsie?"
""people who have n't natural gumption never learn," retorted aunt jamesina, "neither in college nor life.
if they live to be a hundred they really do n't know anything more than when they were born.
it's their misfortune not their fault, poor souls.
but those of us who have some gumption should duly thank the lord for it."
""will you please define what gumption is, aunt jimsie?"
asked phil.
""no, i wo n't, young woman.
any one who has gumption knows what it is, and any one who has n't can never know what it is.
so there is no need of defining it."
the busy days flew by and examinations were over.
anne took high honors in english.
priscilla took honors in classics, and phil in mathematics.
stella obtained a good all-round showing.
then came convocation.
""this is what i would once have called an epoch in my life," said anne, as she took roy's violets out of their box and gazed at them thoughtfully.
she meant to carry them, of course, but her eyes wandered to another box on her table.
it was filled with lilies-of-the-valley, as fresh and fragrant as those which bloomed in the green gables yard when june came to avonlea.
gilbert blythe's card lay beside it.
anne wondered why gilbert should have sent her flowers for convocation.
she had seen very little of him during the past winter.
he had come to patty's place only one friday evening since the christmas holidays, and they rarely met elsewhere.
she knew he was studying very hard, aiming at high honors and the cooper prize, and he took little part in the social doings of redmond.
anne's own winter had been quite gay socially.
she had seen a good deal of the gardners; she and dorothy were very intimate; college circles expected the announcement of her engagement to roy any day.
anne expected it herself.
yet just before she left patty's place for convocation she flung roy's violets aside and put gilbert's lilies-of-the-valley in their place.
she could not have told why she did it.
somehow, old avonlea days and dreams and friendships seemed very close to her in this attainment of her long-cherished ambitions.
she and gilbert had once picturedout merrily the day on which they should be capped and gowned graduates in arts.
the wonderful day had come and roy's violets had no place in it.
only her old friend's flowers seemed to belong to this fruition of old-blossoming hopes which he had once shared.
for years this day had beckoned and allured to her; but when it came the one single, keen, abiding memory it left with her was not that of the breathless moment when the stately president of redmond gave her cap and diploma and hailed her b.a.; it was not of the flash in gilbert's eyes when he saw her lilies, nor the puzzled pained glance roy gave her as he passed her on the platform.
it was not of aline gardner's condescending congratulations, or dorothy's ardent, impulsive good wishes.
it was of one strange, unaccountable pang that spoiled this long-expected day for her and left in it a certain faint but enduring flavor of bitterness.
the arts graduates gave a graduation dance that night.
when anne dressed for it she tossed aside the pearl beads she usually wore and took from her trunk the small box that had come to green gables on christmas day.
in it was a thread-like gold chain with a tiny pink enamel heart as a pendant.
on the accompanying card was written, "with all good wishes from your old chum, gilbert."
anne, laughing over the memory the enamel heart conjured up the fatal day when gilbert had called her "carrots" and vainly tried to make his peace with a pink candy heart, had written him a nice little note of thanks.
but she had never worn the trinket.
tonight she fastened it about her white throat with a dreamy smile.
she and phil walked to redmond together.
anne walked in silence; phil chattered of many things.
suddenly she said, "i heard today that gilbert blythe's engagement to christine stuart was to be announced as soon as convocation was over.
did you hear anything of it?"
""no," said anne.
""i think it's true," said phil lightly.
anne did not speak.
in the darkness she felt her face burning.
she slipped her hand inside her collar and caught at the gold chain.
one energetic twist and it gave way.
anne thrust the broken trinket into her pocket.
her hands were trembling and her eyes were smarting.
but she was the gayest of all the gay revellers that night, and told gilbert unregretfully that her card was full when he came to ask her for a dance.
afterwards, when she sat with the girls before the dying embers at patty's place, removing the spring chilliness from their satin skins, none chatted more blithely than she of the day's events.
""moody spurgeon macpherson called here tonight after you left," said aunt jamesina, who had sat up to keep the fire on.
""he did n't know about the graduation dance.
that boy ought to sleep with a rubber band around his head to train his ears not to stick out.
i had a beau once who did that and it improved him immensely.
it was i who suggested it to him and he took my advice, but he never forgave me for it."
""moody spurgeon is a very serious young man," yawned priscilla.
""he is concerned with graver matters than his ears.
he is going to be a minister, you know."
""well, i suppose the lord does n't regard the ears of a man," said aunt jamesina gravely, dropping all further criticism of moody spurgeon.
aunt jamesina had a proper respect for the cloth even in the case of an unfledged parson.
chapter xxxviii false dawn "just imagine -- this night week i'll be in avonlea -- delightful thought!"
said anne, bending over the box in which she was packing mrs. rachel lynde's quilts.
""but just imagine -- this night week i'll be gone forever from patty's place -- horrible thought!"
""i wonder if the ghost of all our laughter will echo through the maiden dreams of miss patty and miss maria," speculated phil.
miss patty and miss maria were coming home, after having trotted over most of the habitable globe.
""we'll be back the second week in may" wrote miss patty.
""i expect patty's place will seem rather small after the hall of the kings at karnak, but i never did like big places to live in.
and i'll be glad enough to be home again.
when you start traveling late in life you're apt to do too much of it because you know you have n't much time left, and it's a thing that grows on you.
i'm afraid maria will never be contented again."
""i shall leave here my fancies and dreams to bless the next comer," said anne, looking around the blue room wistfully -- her pretty blue room where she had spent three such happy years.
she had knelt at its window to pray and had bent from it to watch the sunset behind the pines.
she had heard the autumn raindrops beating against it and had welcomed the spring robins at its sill.
she wondered if old dreams could haunt rooms -- if, when one left forever the room where she had joyed and suffered and laughed and wept, something of her, intangible and invisible, yet nonetheless real, did not remain behind like a voiceful memory.
""i think," said phil, "that a room where one dreams and grieves and rejoices and lives becomes inseparably connected with those processes and acquires a personality of its own.
i am sure if i came into this room fifty years from now it would say "anne, anne" to me.
what nice times we've had here, honey!
what chats and jokes and good chummy jamborees!
oh, dear me!
i'm to marry jo in june and i know i will be rapturously happy.
but just now i feel as if i wanted this lovely redmond life to go on forever."
""i'm unreasonable enough just now to wish that, too," admitted anne.
""no matter what deeper joys may come to us later on we'll never again have just the same delightful, irresponsible existence we've had here.
it's over forever, phil."
""what are you going to do with rusty?"
asked phil, as that privileged pussy padded into the room.
""i am going to take him home with me and joseph and the sarah-cat," announced aunt jamesina, following rusty.
""it would be a shame to separate those cats now that they have learned to live together.
it's a hard lesson for cats and humans to learn."
""i'm sorry to part with rusty," said anne regretfully, "but it would be no use to take him to green gables.
marilla detests cats, and davy would tease his life out.
besides, i do n't suppose i'll be home very long.
i've been offered the principalship of the summerside high school."
""are you going to accept it?"
asked phil.
""i -- i have n't decided yet," answered anne, with a confused flush.
phil nodded understandingly.
naturally anne's plans could not be settled until roy had spoken.
he would soon -- there was no doubt of that.
and there was no doubt that anne would say "yes" when he said "will you please?"
anne herself regarded the state of affairs with a seldom-ruffled complacency.
she was deeply in love with roy.
true, it was not just what she had imagined love to be.
but was anything in life, anne asked herself wearily, like one's imagination of it?
it was the old diamond disillusion of childhood repeated -- the same disappointment she had felt when she had first seen the chill sparkle instead of the purple splendor she had anticipated.
""that's not my idea of a diamond," she had said.
but roy was a dear fellow and they would be very happy together, even if some indefinable zest was missing out of life.
when roy came down that evening and asked anne to walk in the park every one at patty's place knew what he had come to say; and every one knew, or thought they knew, what anne's answer would be.
""anne is a very fortunate girl," said aunt jamesina.
""i suppose so," said stella, shrugging her shoulders.
""roy is a nice fellow and all that.
but there's really nothing in him."
""that sounds very like a jealous remark, stella maynard," said aunt jamesina rebukingly.
""it does -- but i am not jealous," said stella calmly.
""i love anne and i like roy.
everybody says she is making a brilliant match, and even mrs. gardner thinks her charming now.
it all sounds as if it were made in heaven, but i have my doubts.
make the most of that, aunt jamesina."
roy asked anne to marry him in the little pavilion on the harbor shore where they had talked on the rainy day of their first meeting.
anne thought it very romantic that he should have chosen that spot.
and his proposal was as beautifully worded as if he had copied it, as one of ruby gillis" lovers had done, out of a deportment of courtship and marriage.
the whole effect was quite flawless.
and it was also sincere.
there was no doubt that roy meant what he said.
there was no false note to jar the symphony.
anne felt that she ought to be thrilling from head to foot.
but she was n't; she was horribly cool.
when roy paused for his answer she opened her lips to say her fateful yes.
and then -- she found herself trembling as if she were reeling back from a precipice.
to her came one of those moments when we realize, as by a blinding flash of illumination, more than all our previous years have taught us.
she pulled her hand from roy's.
""oh, i ca n't marry you -- i ca n't -- i ca n't," she cried, wildly.
roy turned pale -- and also looked rather foolish.
he had -- small blame to him -- felt very sure.
""what do you mean?"
he stammered.
""i mean that i ca n't marry you," repeated anne desperately.
""i thought i could -- but i ca n't."
""why ca n't you?"
roy asked more calmly.
""because -- i do n't care enough for you."
a crimson streak came into roy's face.
""so you've just been amusing yourself these two years?"
he said slowly.
""no, no, i have n't," gasped poor anne.
oh, how could she explain?
she could n't explain.
there are some things that can not be explained.
""i did think i cared -- truly i did -- but i know now i do n't."
""you have ruined my life," said roy bitterly.
""forgive me," pleaded anne miserably, with hot cheeks and stinging eyes.
roy turned away and stood for a few minutes looking out seaward.
when he came back to anne, he was very pale again.
""you can give me no hope?"
he said.
anne shook her head mutely.
""then -- good-bye," said roy.
""i ca n't understand it -- i ca n't believe you are not the woman i've believed you to be.
but reproaches are idle between us.
you are the only woman i can ever love.
i thank you for your friendship, at least.
good-bye, anne."
""good-bye," faltered anne.
when roy had gone she sat for a long time in the pavilion, watching a white mist creeping subtly and remorselessly landward up the harbor.
it was her hour of humiliation and self-contempt and shame.
their waves went over her.
and yet, underneath it all, was a queer sense of recovered freedom.
she slipped into patty's place in the dusk and escaped to her room.
but phil was there on the window seat.
""wait," said anne, flushing to anticipate the scene.
""wait til you hear what i have to say.
phil, roy asked me to marry him-and i refused."
""you -- you refused him?"
said phil blankly.
""yes."
""anne shirley, are you in your senses?"
""i think so," said anne wearily.
""oh, phil, do n't scold me.
you do n't understand."
""i certainly do n't understand.
you've encouraged roy gardner in every way for two years -- and now you tell me you've refused him.
then you've just been flirting scandalously with him.
anne, i could n't have believed it of you."
""i was n't flirting with him -- i honestly thought i cared up to the last minute -- and then -- well, i just knew i never could marry him."
""i suppose," said phil cruelly, "that you intended to marry him for his money, and then your better self rose up and prevented you."
""i did n't.
i never thought about his money.
oh, i ca n't explain it to you any more than i could to him."
""well, i certainly think you have treated roy shamefully," said phil in exasperation.
""he's handsome and clever and rich and good.
what more do you want?"
""i want some one who belongs in my life.
he does n't.
i was swept off my feet at first by his good looks and knack of paying romantic compliments; and later on i thought i must be in love because he was my dark-eyed ideal."
""i am bad enough for not knowing my own mind, but you are worse," said phil."
i do know my own mind," protested anne.
""the trouble is, my mind changes and then i have to get acquainted with it all over again."
""well, i suppose there is no use in saying anything to you."
""there is no need, phil.
i'm in the dust.
this has spoiled everything backwards.
i can never think of redmond days without recalling the humiliation of this evening.
roy despises me -- and you despise me -- and i despise myself."
""you poor darling," said phil, melting.
""just come here and let me comfort you.
i've no right to scold you.
i'd have married alec or alonzo if i had n't met jo.
oh, anne, things are so mixed-up in real life.
they are n't clear-cut and trimmed off, as they are in novels."
""i hope that no one will ever again ask me to marry him as long as i live," sobbed poor anne, devoutly believing that she meant it.
chapter xxxix deals with weddings anne felt that life partook of the nature of an anticlimax during the first few weeks after her return to green gables.
she missed the merry comradeship of patty's place.
she had dreamed some brilliant dreams during the past winter and now they lay in the dust around her.
in her present mood of self-disgust, she could not immediately begin dreaming again.
and she discovered that, while solitude with dreams is glorious, solitude without them has few charms.
she had not seen roy again after their painful parting in the park pavilion; but dorothy came to see her before she left kingsport.
""i'm awfully sorry you wo n't marry roy," she said.
""i did want you for a sister.
but you are quite right.
he would bore you to death.
i love him, and he is a dear sweet boy, but really he is n't a bit interesting.
he looks as if he ought to be, but he is n't."
""this wo n't spoil our friendship, will it, dorothy?"
anne had asked wistfully.
""no, indeed.
you're too good to lose.
if i ca n't have you for a sister i mean to keep you as a chum anyway.
and do n't fret over roy.
he is feeling terribly just now -- i have to listen to his outpourings every day -- but he'll get over it.
he always does."
""oh -- always?"
said anne with a slight change of voice.
""so he has "got over it" before?"
""dear me, yes," said dorothy frankly.
""twice before.
and he raved to me just the same both times.
not that the others actually refused him -- they simply announced their engagements to some one else.
of course, when he met you he vowed to me that he had never really loved before -- that the previous affairs had been merely boyish fancies.
but i do n't think you need worry."
anne decided not to worry.
her feelings were a mixture of relief and resentment.
roy had certainly told her she was the only one he had ever loved.
no doubt he believed it.
but it was a comfort to feel that she had not, in all likelihood, ruined his life.
there were other goddesses, and roy, according to dorothy, must needs be worshipping at some shrine.
nevertheless, life was stripped of several more illusions, and anne began to think drearily that it seemed rather bare.
she came down from the porch gable on the evening of her return with a sorrowful face.
""what has happened to the old snow queen, marilla?"
""oh, i knew you'd feel bad over that," said marilla.
""i felt bad myself.
that tree was there ever since i was a young girl.
it blew down in the big gale we had in march.
it was rotten at the core."
""i'll miss it so," grieved anne.
""the porch gable does n't seem the same room without it.
i'll never look from its window again without a sense of loss.
and oh, i never came home to green gables before that diana was n't here to welcome me."
""diana has something else to think of just now," said mrs. lynde significantly.
""well, tell me all the avonlea news," said anne, sitting down on the porch steps, where the evening sunshine fell over her hair in a fine golden rain.
""there is n't much news except what we've wrote you," said mrs. lynde.
""i suppose you have n't heard that simon fletcher broke his leg last week.
it's a great thing for his family.
they're getting a hundred things done that they've always wanted to do but could n't as long as he was about, the old crank."
""he came of an aggravating family," remarked marilla.
""aggravating?
well, rather!
his mother used to get up in prayer-meeting and tell all her children's shortcomings and ask prayers for them.
"course it made them mad, and worse than ever."
""you have n't told anne the news about jane," suggested marilla.
""oh, jane," sniffed mrs. lynde.
""well," she conceded grudgingly, "jane andrews is home from the west -- came last week -- and she's going to be married to a winnipeg millionaire.
you may be sure mrs. harmon lost no time in telling it far and wide."
""dear old jane -- i'm so glad," said anne heartily.
""she deserves the good things of life."
""oh, i ai n't saying anything against jane.
she's a nice enough girl.
but she is n't in the millionaire class, and you'll find there's not much to recommend that man but his money, that's what.
mrs. harmon says he's an englishman who has made money in mines but i believe he'll turn out to be a yankee.
he certainly must have money, for he has just showered jane with jewelry.
her engagement ring is a diamond cluster so big that it looks like a plaster on jane's fat paw."
mrs. lynde could not keep some bitterness out of her tone.
here was jane andrews, that plain little plodder, engaged to a millionaire, while anne, it seemed, was not yet bespoken by any one, rich or poor.
and mrs. harmon andrews did brag insufferably.
""what has gilbert blythe been doing to at college?"
asked marilla.
""i saw him when he came home last week, and he is so pale and thin i hardly knew him."
""he studied very hard last winter," said anne.
""you know he took high honors in classics and the cooper prize.
it has n't been taken for five years!
so i think he's rather run down.
we're all a little tired."
""anyhow, you're a b.a. and jane andrews is n't and never will be," said mrs. lynde, with gloomy satisfaction.
a few evenings later anne went down to see jane, but the latter was away in charlottetown -- "getting sewing done," mrs. harmon informed anne proudly.
""of course an avonlea dressmaker would n't do for jane under the circumstances."
""i've heard something very nice about jane," said anne.
""yes, jane has done pretty well, even if she is n't a b.a.," said mrs. harmon, with a slight toss of her head.
""mr. inglis is worth millions, and they're going to europe on their wedding tour.
when they come back they'll live in a perfect mansion of marble in winnipeg.
jane has only one trouble -- she can cook so well and her husband wo n't let her cook.
he is so rich he hires his cooking done.
they're going to keep a cook and two other maids and a coachman and a man-of-all-work.
but what about you, anne?
i do n't hear anything of your being married, after all your college-going."
""oh," laughed anne, "i am going to be an old maid.
i really ca n't find any one to suit me."
it was rather wicked of her.
she deliberately meant to remind mrs. andrews that if she became an old maid it was not because she had not had at least one chance of marriage.
but mrs. harmon took swift revenge.
""well, the over-particular girls generally get left, i notice.
and what's this i hear about gilbert blythe being engaged to a miss stuart?
charlie sloane tells me she is perfectly beautiful.
is it true?"
""i do n't know if it is true that he is engaged to miss stuart," replied anne, with spartan composure, "but it is certainly true that she is very lovely."
""i once thought you and gilbert would have made a match of it," said mrs. harmon.
""if you do n't take care, anne, all of your beaux will slip through your fingers."
anne decided not to continue her duel with mrs. harmon.
you could not fence with an antagonist who met rapier thrust with blow of battle axe.
""since jane is away," she said, rising haughtily, "i do n't think i can stay longer this morning.
i'll come down when she comes home."
""do," said mrs. harmon effusively.
""jane is n't a bit proud.
she just means to associate with her old friends the same as ever.
she'll be real glad to see you."
jane's millionaire arrived the last of may and carried her off in a blaze of splendor.
mrs. lynde was spitefully gratified to find that mr. inglis was every day of forty, and short and thin and grayish.
mrs. lynde did not spare him in her enumeration of his shortcomings, you may be sure.
""it will take all his gold to gild a pill like him, that's what," said mrs. rachel solemnly.
""he looks kind and good-hearted," said anne loyally, "and i'm sure he thinks the world of jane."
""humph!"
said mrs. rachel.
phil gordon was married the next week and anne went over to bolingbroke to be her bridesmaid.
phil made a dainty fairy of a bride, and the rev. jo was so radiant in his happiness that nobody thought him plain.
""we're going for a lovers" saunter through the land of evangeline," said phil, "and then we'll settle down on patterson street.
mother thinks it is terrible -- she thinks jo might at least take a church in a decent place.
but the wilderness of the patterson slums will blossom like the rose for me if jo is there.
oh, anne, i'm so happy my heart aches with it."
anne was always glad in the happiness of her friends; but it is sometimes a little lonely to be surrounded everywhere by a happiness that is not your own.
and it was just the same when she went back to avonlea.
this time it was diana who was bathed in the wonderful glory that comes to a woman when her first-born is laid beside her.
anne looked at the white young mother with a certain awe that had never entered into her feelings for diana before.
could this pale woman with the rapture in her eyes be the little black-curled, rosy-cheeked diana she had played with in vanished schooldays?
it gave her a queer desolate feeling that she herself somehow belonged only in those past years and had no business in the present at all.
""is n't he perfectly beautiful?"
said diana proudly.
the little fat fellow was absurdly like fred -- just as round, just as red.
anne really could not say conscientiously that she thought him beautiful, but she vowed sincerely that he was sweet and kissable and altogether delightful.
""before he came i wanted a girl, so that i could call her anne," said diana.
""but now that little fred is here i would n't exchange him for a million girls.
he just could n't have been anything but his own precious self.""
"every little baby is the sweetest and the best,"" quoted mrs. allan gaily.
""if little anne had come you'd have felt just the same about her."
mrs. allan was visiting in avonlea, for the first time since leaving it.
she was as gay and sweet and sympathetic as ever.
her old girl friends had welcomed her back rapturously.
the reigning minister's wife was an estimable lady, but she was not exactly a kindred spirit.
""i can hardly wait till he gets old enough to talk," sighed diana.
""i just long to hear him say "mother."
and oh, i'm determined that his first memory of me shall be a nice one.
the first memory i have of my mother is of her slapping me for something i had done.
i am sure i deserved it, and mother was always a good mother and i love her dearly.
but i do wish my first memory of her was nicer."
""i have just one memory of my mother and it is the sweetest of all my memories," said mrs. allan.
""i was five years old, and i had been allowed to go to school one day with my two older sisters.
when school came out my sisters went home in different groups, each supposing i was with the other.
instead i had run off with a little girl i had played with at recess.
we went to her home, which was near the school, and began making mud pies.
we were having a glorious time when my older sister arrived, breathless and angry."
"you naughty girl" she cried, snatching my reluctant hand and dragging me along with her.
"come home this minute.
oh, you're going to catch it!
mother is awful cross.
she is going to give you a good whipping."
""i had never been whipped.
dread and terror filled my poor little heart.
i have never been so miserable in my life as i was on that walk home.
i had not meant to be naughty.
phemy cameron had asked me to go home with her and i had not known it was wrong to go.
and now i was to be whipped for it.
when we got home my sister dragged me into the kitchen where mother was sitting by the fire in the twilight.
my poor wee legs were trembling so that i could hardly stand.
and mother -- mother just took me up in her arms, without one word of rebuke or harshness, kissed me and held me close to her heart."
i was so frightened you were lost, darling," she said tenderly.
i could see the love shining in her eyes as she looked down on me.
she never scolded or reproached me for what i had done -- only told me i must never go away again without asking permission.
she died very soon afterwards.
that is the only memory i have of her.
is n't it a beautiful one?"
anne felt lonelier than ever as she walked home, going by way of the birch path and willowmere.
she had not walked that way for many moons.
it was a darkly-purple bloomy night.
the air was heavy with blossom fragrance -- almost too heavy.
the cloyed senses recoiled from it as from an overfull cup.
the birches of the path had grown from the fairy saplings of old to big trees.
everything had changed.
anne felt that she would be glad when the summer was over and she was away at work again.
perhaps life would not seem so empty then."
"i've tried the world -- it wears no more the coloring of romance it wore,"" sighed anne -- and was straightway much comforted by the romance in the idea of the world being denuded of romance!
chapter xl a book of revelation the irvings came back to echo lodge for the summer, and anne spent a happy three weeks there in july.
miss lavendar had not changed; charlotta the fourth was a very grown-up young lady now, but still adored anne sincerely.
""when all's said and done, miss shirley, ma'am, i have n't seen any one in boston that's equal to you," she said frankly.
paul was almost grown up, too.
he was sixteen, his chestnut curls had given place to close-cropped brown locks, and he was more interested in football than fairies.
but the bond between him and his old teacher still held.
kindred spirits alone do not change with changing years.
it was a wet, bleak, cruel evening in july when anne came back to green gables.
one of the fierce summer storms which sometimes sweep over the gulf was ravaging the sea.
as anne came in the first raindrops dashed against the panes.
""was that paul who brought you home?"
asked marilla.
""why did n't you make him stay all night.
it's going to be a wild evening."
""he'll reach echo lodge before the rain gets very heavy, i think.
anyway, he wanted to go back tonight.
well, i've had a splendid visit, but i'm glad to see you dear folks again.
"east, west, hame's best."
davy, have you been growing again lately?"
""i've growed a whole inch since you left," said davy proudly.
""i'm as tall as milty boulter now.
ai n't i glad.
he'll have to stop crowing about being bigger.
say, anne, did you know that gilbert blythe is dying?"
anne stood quite silent and motionless, looking at davy.
her face had gone so white that marilla thought she was going to faint.
""davy, hold your tongue," said mrs. rachel angrily.
""anne, do n't look like that -- do n't look like that!
we did n't mean to tell you so suddenly."
""is -- it -- true?"
asked anne in a voice that was not hers.
""gilbert is very ill," said mrs. lynde gravely.
""he took down with typhoid fever just after you left for echo lodge.
did you never hear of it?"
""no," said that unknown voice.
""it was a very bad case from the start.
the doctor said he'd been terribly run down.
they've a trained nurse and everything's been done.
do n't look like that, anne.
while there's life there's hope."
""mr. harrison was here this evening and he said they had no hope of him," reiterated davy.
marilla, looking old and worn and tired, got up and marched davy grimly out of the kitchen.
""oh, do n't look so, dear," said mrs. rachel, putting her kind old arms about the pallid girl.
""i have n't given up hope, indeed i have n't.
he's got the blythe constitution in his favor, that's what."
anne gently put mrs. lynde's arms away from her, walked blindly across the kitchen, through the hall, up the stairs to her old room.
at its window she knelt down, staring out unseeingly.
it was very dark.
the rain was beating down over the shivering fields.
the haunted woods was full of the groans of mighty trees wrung in the tempest, and the air throbbed with the thunderous crash of billows on the distant shore.
and gilbert was dying!
there is a book of revelation in every one's life, as there is in the bible.
anne read hers that bitter night, as she kept her agonized vigil through the hours of storm and darkness.
she loved gilbert -- had always loved him!
she knew that now.
she knew that she could no more cast him out of her life without agony than she could have cut off her right hand and cast it from her.
and the knowledge had come too late -- too late even for the bitter solace of being with him at the last.
if she had not been so blind -- so foolish -- she would have had the right to go to him now.
but he would never know that she loved him -- he would go away from this life thinking that she did not care.
oh, the black years of emptiness stretching before her!
she could not live through them -- she could not!
she cowered down by her window and wished, for the first time in her gay young life, that she could die, too.
if gilbert went away from her, without one word or sign or message, she could not live.
nothing was of any value without him.
she belonged to him and he to her.
in her hour of supreme agony she had no doubt of that.
he did not love christine stuart -- never had loved christine stuart.
oh, what a fool she had been not to realize what the bond was that had held her to gilbert -- to think that the flattered fancy she had felt for roy gardner had been love.
and now she must pay for her folly as for a crime.
mrs. lynde and marilla crept to her door before they went to bed, shook their heads doubtfully at each other over the silence, and went away.
the storm raged all night, but when the dawn came it was spent.
anne saw a fairy fringe of light on the skirts of darkness.
soon the eastern hilltops had a fire-shot ruby rim.
the clouds rolled themselves away into great, soft, white masses on the horizon; the sky gleamed blue and silvery.
a hush fell over the world.
anne rose from her knees and crept downstairs.
the freshness of the rain-wind blew against her white face as she went out into the yard, and cooled her dry, burning eyes.
a merry rollicking whistle was lilting up the lane.
a moment later pacifique buote came in sight.
anne's physical strength suddenly failed her.
if she had not clutched at a low willow bough she would have fallen.
pacifique was george fletcher's hired man, and george fletcher lived next door to the blythes.
mrs. fletcher was gilbert's aunt.
pacifique would know if -- if -- pacifique would know what there was to be known.
pacifique strode sturdily on along the red lane, whistling.
he did not see anne.
she made three futile attempts to call him.
he was almost past before she succeeded in making her quivering lips call, "pacifique!"
pacifique turned with a grin and a cheerful good morning.
""pacifique," said anne faintly, "did you come from george fletcher's this morning?"
""sure," said pacifique amiably.
""i got de word las" night dat my fader, he was seeck.
it was so stormy dat i could n't go den, so i start vair early dis mornin".
i'm goin" troo de woods for short cut."
""did you hear how gilbert blythe was this morning?"
anne's desperation drove her to the question.
even the worst would be more endurable than this hideous suspense.
""he's better," said pacifique.
""he got de turn las" night.
de doctor say he'll be all right now dis soon while.
had close shave, dough!
dat boy, he jus" keel himself at college.
well, i mus" hurry.
de old man, he'll be in hurry to see me."
pacifique resumed his walk and his whistle.
anne gazed after him with eyes where joy was driving out the strained anguish of the night.
he was a very lank, very ragged, very homely youth.
but in her sight he was as beautiful as those who bring good tidings on the mountains.
never, as long as she lived, would anne see pacifique's brown, round, black-eyed face without a warm remembrance of the moment when he had given to her the oil of joy for mourning.
long after pacifique's gay whistle had faded into the phantom of music and then into silence far up under the maples of lover's lane anne stood under the willows, tasting the poignant sweetness of life when some great dread has been removed from it.
the morning was a cup filled with mist and glamor.
in the corner near her was a rich surprise of new-blown, crystal-dewed roses.
the trills and trickles of song from the birds in the big tree above her seemed in perfect accord with her mood.
a sentence from a very old, very true, very wonderful book came to her lips, "weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning."
xli love takes up the glass of time "i've come up to ask you to go for one of our old-time rambles through september woods and "over hills where spices grow," this afternoon," said gilbert, coming suddenly around the porch corner.
""suppose we visit hester gray's garden."
anne, sitting on the stone step with her lap full of a pale, filmy, green stuff, looked up rather blankly.
""oh, i wish i could," she said slowly, "but i really ca n't, gilbert.
i'm going to alice penhallow's wedding this evening, you know.
i've got to do something to this dress, and by the time it's finished i'll have to get ready.
i'm so sorry.
i'd love to go."
""well, can you go tomorrow afternoon, then?"
asked gilbert, apparently not much disappointed.
""yes, i think so."
""in that case i shall hie me home at once to do something i should otherwise have to do tomorrow.
so alice penhallow is to be married tonight.
three weddings for you in one summer, anne -- phil's, alice's, and jane's.
i'll never forgive jane for not inviting me to her wedding."
""you really ca n't blame her when you think of the tremendous andrews connection who had to be invited.
the house could hardly hold them all.
i was only bidden by grace of being jane's old chum -- at least on jane's part.
i think mrs. harmon's motive for inviting me was to let me see jane's surpassing gorgeousness."
""is it true that she wore so many diamonds that you could n't tell where the diamonds left off and jane began?"
anne laughed.
""she certainly wore a good many.
what with all the diamonds and white satin and tulle and lace and roses and orange blossoms, prim little jane was almost lost to sight.
but she was very happy, and so was mr. inglis -- and so was mrs. harmon."
""is that the dress you're going to wear tonight?"
asked gilbert, looking down at the fluffs and frills.
""yes.
is n't it pretty?
and i shall wear starflowers in my hair.
the haunted wood is full of them this summer."
gilbert had a sudden vision of anne, arrayed in a frilly green gown, with the virginal curves of arms and throat slipping out of it, and white stars shining against the coils of her ruddy hair.
the vision made him catch his breath.
but he turned lightly away.
""well, i'll be up tomorrow.
hope you'll have a nice time tonight."
anne looked after him as he strode away, and sighed.
gilbert was friendly -- very friendly -- far too friendly.
he had come quite often to green gables after his recovery, and something of their old comradeship had returned.
but anne no longer found it satisfying.
the rose of love made the blossom of friendship pale and scentless by contrast.
and anne had again begun to doubt if gilbert now felt anything for her but friendship.
in the common light of common day her radiant certainty of that rapt morning had faded.
she was haunted by a miserable fear that her mistake could never be rectified.
it was quite likely that it was christine whom gilbert loved after all.
perhaps he was even engaged to her.
anne tried to put all unsettling hopes out of her heart, and reconcile herself to a future where work and ambition must take the place of love.
she could do good, if not noble, work as a teacher; and the success her little sketches were beginning to meet with in certain editorial sanctums augured well for her budding literary dreams.
but -- but -- anne picked up her green dress and sighed again.
when gilbert came the next afternoon he found anne waiting for him, fresh as the dawn and fair as a star, after all the gaiety of the preceding night.
she wore a green dress -- not the one she had worn to the wedding, but an old one which gilbert had told her at a redmond reception he liked especially.
it was just the shade of green that brought out the rich tints of her hair, and the starry gray of her eyes and the iris-like delicacy of her skin.
gilbert, glancing at her sideways as they walked along a shadowy woodpath, thought she had never looked so lovely.
anne, glancing sideways at gilbert, now and then, thought how much older he looked since his illness.
it was as if he had put boyhood behind him forever.
the day was beautiful and the way was beautiful.
anne was almost sorry when they reached hester gray's garden, and sat down on the old bench.
but it was beautiful there, too -- as beautiful as it had been on the faraway day of the golden picnic, when diana and jane and priscilla and she had found it.
then it had been lovely with narcissus and violets; now golden rod had kindled its fairy torches in the corners and asters dotted it bluely.
the call of the brook came up through the woods from the valley of birches with all its old allurement; the mellow air was full of the purr of the sea; beyond were fields rimmed by fences bleached silvery gray in the suns of many summers, and long hills scarfed with the shadows of autumnal clouds; with the blowing of the west wind old dreams returned.
""i think," said anne softly, "that "the land where dreams come true" is in the blue haze yonder, over that little valley."
""have you any unfulfilled dreams, anne?"
asked gilbert.
something in his tone -- something she had not heard since that miserable evening in the orchard at patty's place -- made anne's heart beat wildly.
but she made answer lightly.
""of course.
everybody has.
it would n't do for us to have all our dreams fulfilled.
we would be as good as dead if we had nothing left to dream about.
what a delicious aroma that low-descending sun is extracting from the asters and ferns.
i wish we could see perfumes as well as smell them.
i'm sure they would be very beautiful."
gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked.
""i have a dream," he said slowly.
""i persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true.
i dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends -- and you!"
anne wanted to speak but she could find no words.
happiness was breaking over her like a wave.
it almost frightened her.
""i asked you a question over two years ago, anne.
if i ask it again today will you give me a different answer?"
still anne could not speak.
but she lifted her eyes, shining with all the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment.
he wanted no other answer.
they lingered in the old garden until twilight, sweet as dusk in eden must have been, crept over it.
there was so much to talk over and recall -- things said and done and heard and thought and felt and misunderstood.
""i thought you loved christine stuart," anne told him, as reproachfully as if she had not given him every reason to suppose that she loved roy gardner.
gilbert laughed boyishly.
""christine was engaged to somebody in her home town.
i knew it and she knew i knew it.
when her brother graduated he told me his sister was coming to kingsport the next winter to take music, and asked me if i would look after her a bit, as she knew no one and would be very lonely.
so i did.
and then i liked christine for her own sake.
she is one of the nicest girls i've ever known.
i knew college gossip credited us with being in love with each other.
i did n't care.
nothing mattered much to me for a time there, after you told me you could never love me, anne.
there was nobody else -- there never could be anybody else for me but you.
i've loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head in school."
""i do n't see how you could keep on loving me when i was such a little fool," said anne.
""well, i tried to stop," said gilbert frankly, "not because i thought you what you call yourself, but because i felt sure there was no chance for me after gardner came on the scene.
but i could n't -- and i ca n't tell you, either, what it's meant to me these two years to believe you were going to marry him, and be told every week by some busybody that your engagement was on the point of being announced.
i believed it until one blessed day when i was sitting up after the fever.
i got a letter from phil gordon -- phil blake, rather -- in which she told me there was really nothing between you and roy, and advised me to "try again."
well, the doctor was amazed at my rapid recovery after that."
anne laughed -- then shivered.
""i can never forget the night i thought you were dying, gilbert.
oh, i knew -- i knew then -- and i thought it was too late."
""but it was n't, sweetheart.
oh, anne, this makes up for everything, does n't it?
let's resolve to keep this day sacred to perfect beauty all our lives for the gift it has given us."
""it's the birthday of our happiness," said anne softly.
""i've always loved this old garden of hester gray's, and now it will be dearer than ever."
""but i'll have to ask you to wait a long time, anne," said gilbert sadly.
""it will be three years before i'll finish my medical course.
and even then there will be no diamond sunbursts and marble halls."
anne laughed.
""i do n't want sunbursts and marble halls.
i just want you.
you see i'm quite as shameless as phil about it.
sunbursts and marble halls may be all very well, but there is more "scope for imagination" without them.
and as for the waiting, that does n't matter.
we'll just be happy, waiting and working for each other -- and dreaming.
oh, dreams will be very sweet now."
gilbert drew her close to him and kissed her.
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___chronicles_of_avonlea.txt.out
i.
the hurrying of ludovic anne shirley was curled up on the window-seat of theodora dix's sitting-room one saturday evening, looking dreamily afar at some fair starland beyond the hills of sunset.
anne was visiting for a fortnight of her vacation at echo lodge, where mr. and mrs. stephen irving were spending the summer, and she often ran over to the old dix homestead to chat for awhile with theodora.
they had had their chat out, on this particular evening, and anne was giving herself over to the delight of building an air-castle.
she leaned her shapely head, with its braided coronet of dark red hair, against the window-casing, and her gray eyes were like the moonlight gleam of shadowy pools.
then she saw ludovic speed coming down the lane.
he was yet far from the house, for the dix lane was a long one, but ludovic could be recognized as far as he could be seen.
no one else in middle grafton had such a tall, gently-stooping, placidly-moving figure.
in every kink and turn of it there was an individuality all ludovic's own.
anne roused herself from her dreams, thinking it would only be tactful to take her departure.
ludovic was courting theodora.
everyone in grafton knew that, or, if anyone were in ignorance of the fact, it was not because he had not had time to find out.
ludovic had been coming down that lane to see theodora, in the same ruminating, unhastening fashion, for fifteen years!
when anne, who was slim and girlish and romantic, rose to go, theodora, who was plump and middle-aged and practical, said, with a twinkle in her eye: "there is n't any hurry, child.
sit down and have your call out.
you've seen ludovic coming down the lane, and, i suppose, you think you'll be a crowd.
but you wo n't.
ludovic rather likes a third person around, and so do i.
it spurs up the conversation as it were.
when a man has been coming to see you straight along, twice a week for fifteen years, you get rather talked out by spells."
theodora never pretended to bashfulness where ludovic was concerned.
she was not at all shy of referring to him and his dilatory courtship.
indeed, it seemed to amuse her.
anne sat down again and together they watched ludovic coming down the lane, gazing calmly about him at the lush clover fields and the blue loops of the river winding in and out of the misty valley below.
anne looked at theodora's placid, finely-moulded face and tried to imagine what she herself would feel like if she were sitting there, waiting for an elderly lover who had, seemingly, taken so long to make up his mind.
but even anne's imagination failed her for this.
""anyway," she thought, impatiently, "if i wanted him i think i'd find some way of hurrying him up.
ludovic speed!
was there ever such a misfit of a name?
such a name for such a man is a delusion and a snare."
presently ludovic got to the house, but stood so long on the doorstep in a brown study, gazing into the tangled green boskage of the cherry orchard, that theodora finally went and opened the door before he knocked.
as she brought him into the sitting-room she made a comical grimace at anne over his shoulder.
ludovic smiled pleasantly at anne.
he liked her; she was the only young girl he knew, for he generally avoided young girls -- they made him feel awkward and out of place.
but anne did not affect him in this fashion.
she had a way of getting on with all sorts of people, and, although they had not known her very long, both ludovic and theodora looked upon her as an old friend.
ludovic was tall and somewhat ungainly, but his unhesitating placidity gave him the appearance of a dignity that did not otherwise pertain to him.
he had a drooping, silky, brown moustache, and a little curly tuft of imperial, -- a fashion which was regarded as eccentric in grafton, where men had clean-shaven chins or went full-bearded.
his eyes were dreamy and pleasant, with a touch of melancholy in their blue depths.
he sat down in the big bulgy old armchair that had belonged to theodora's father.
ludovic always sat there, and anne declared that the chair had come to look like him.
the conversation soon grew animated enough.
ludovic was a good talker when he had somebody to draw him out.
he was well read, and frequently surprised anne by his shrewd comments on men and matters out in the world, of which only the faint echoes reached deland river.
he had also a liking for religious arguments with theodora, who did not care much for politics or the making of history, but was avid of doctrines, and read everything pertaining thereto.
when the conversation drifted into an eddy of friendly wrangling between ludovic and theodora over christian science, anne understood that her usefulness was ended for the time being, and that she would not be missed.
""it's star time and good-night time," she said, and went away quietly.
but she had to stop to laugh when she was well out of sight of the house, in a green meadow bestarred with the white and gold of daisies.
a wind, odour-freighted, blew daintily across it.
anne leaned against a white birch tree in the corner and laughed heartily, as she was apt to do whenever she thought of ludovic and theodora.
to her eager youth, this courtship of theirs seemed a very amusing thing.
she liked ludovic, but allowed herself to be provoked with him.
""the dear, big, irritating goose!"
she said aloud.
""there never was such a lovable idiot before.
he's just like the alligator in the old rhyme, who would n't go along, and would n't keep still, but just kept bobbing up and down."
two evenings later, when anne went over to the dix place, she and theodora drifted into a conversation about ludovic.
theodora, who was the most industrious soul alive, and had a mania for fancy work into the bargain, was busying her smooth, plump fingers with a very elaborate battenburg lace centre-piece.
anne was lying back in a little rocker, with her slim hands folded in her lap, watching theodora.
she realized that theodora was very handsome, in a stately, juno-like fashion of firm, white flesh, large, clearly-chiselled outlines, and great, cowey, brown eyes.
when theodora was not smiling, she looked very imposing.
anne thought it likely that ludovic held her in awe.
""did you and ludovic talk about christian science all saturday evening?"
she asked.
theodora overflowed into a smile.
""yes, and we even quarrelled over it.
at least i did.
ludovic would n't quarrel with anyone.
you have to fight air when you spar with him.
i hate to square up to a person who wo n't hit back."
""theodora," said anne coaxingly, "i am going to be curious and impertinent.
you can snub me if you like.
why do n't you and ludovic get married?"
theodora laughed comfortably.
""that's the question grafton folks have been asking for quite a while, i reckon, anne.
well, i'd have no objection to marrying ludovic.
that's frank enough for you, is n't it?
but it's not easy to marry a man unless he asks you.
and ludovic has never asked me."
""is he too shy?"
persisted anne.
since theodora was in the mood, she meant to sift this puzzling affair to the bottom.
theodora dropped her work and looked meditatively out over the green slopes of the summer world.
""no, i do n't think it is that.
ludovic is n't shy.
it's just his way -- the speed way.
the speeds are all dreadfully deliberate.
they spend years thinking over a thing before they make up their minds to do it.
sometimes they get so much in the habit of thinking about it that they never get over it -- like old alder speed, who was always talking of going to england to see his brother, but never went, though there was no earthly reason why he should n't.
they're not lazy, you know, but they love to take their time."
""and ludovic is just an aggravated case of speedism," suggested anne.
""exactly.
he never hurried in his life.
why, he has been thinking for the last six years of getting his house painted.
he talks it over with me every little while, and picks out the colour, and there the matter stays.
he's fond of me, and he means to ask me to have him sometime.
the only question is -- will the time ever come?"
""why do n't you hurry him up?"
asked anne impatiently.
theodora went back to her stitches with another laugh.
""if ludovic could be hurried up, i'm not the one to do it.
i'm too shy.
it sounds ridiculous to hear a woman of my age and inches say that, but it is true.
of course, i know it's the only way any speed ever did make out to get married.
for instance, there's a cousin of mine married to ludovic's brother.
i do n't say she proposed to him out and out, but, mind you, anne, it was n't far from it.
i could n't do anything like that.
i did try once.
when i realized that i was getting sere and mellow, and all the girls of my generation were going off on either hand, i tried to give ludovic a hint.
but it stuck in my throat.
and now i do n't mind.
if i do n't change dix to speed until i take the initiative, it will be dix to the end of life.
ludovic does n't realize that we are growing old, you know.
he thinks we are giddy young folks yet, with plenty of time before us.
that's the speed failing.
they never find out they're alive until they're dead."
""you're fond of ludovic, are n't you?"
asked anne, detecting a note of real bitterness among theodora's paradoxes.
""laws, yes," said theodora candidly.
she did not think it worth while to blush over so settled a fact.
""i think the world and all of ludovic.
and he certainly does need somebody to look after him.
he's neglected -- he looks frayed.
you can see that for yourself.
that old aunt of his looks after his house in some fashion, but she does n't look after him.
and he's coming now to the age when a man needs to be looked after and coddled a bit.
i'm lonesome here, and ludovic is lonesome up there, and it does seem ridiculous, does n't it?
i do n't wonder that we're the standing joke of grafton.
goodness knows, i laugh at it enough myself.
i've sometimes thought that if ludovic could be made jealous it might spur him along.
but i never could flirt and there's nobody to flirt with if i could.
everybody hereabouts looks upon me as ludovic's property and nobody would dream of interfering with him."
""theodora," cried anne, "i have a plan!"
""now, what are you going to do?"
exclaimed theodora.
anne told her.
at first theodora laughed and protested.
in the end, she yielded somewhat doubtfully, overborne by anne's enthusiasm.
""well, try it, then," she said, resignedly.
""if ludovic gets mad and leaves me, i'll be worse off than ever.
but nothing venture, nothing win.
and there is a fighting chance, i suppose.
besides, i must admit i'm tired of his dilly-dallying."
anne went back to echo lodge tingling with delight in her plot.
she hunted up arnold sherman, and told him what was required of him.
arnold sherman listened and laughed.
he was an elderly widower, an intimate friend of stephen irving, and had come down to spend part of the summer with him and his wife in prince edward island.
he was handsome in a mature style, and he had a dash of mischief in him still, so that he entered readily enough into anne's plan.
it amused him to think of hurrying ludovic speed, and he knew that theodora dix could be depended on to do her part.
the comedy would not be dull, whatever its outcome.
the curtain rose on the first act after prayer meeting on the next thursday night.
it was bright moonlight when the people came out of church, and everybody saw it plainly.
arnold sherman stood upon the steps close to the door, and ludovic speed leaned up against a corner of the graveyard fence, as he had done for years.
the boys said he had worn the paint off that particular place.
ludovic knew of no reason why he should paste himself up against the church door.
theodora would come out as usual, and he would join her as she went past the corner.
this was what happened, theodora came down the steps, her stately figure outlined in its darkness against the gush of lamplight from the porch.
arnold sherman asked her if he might see her home.
theodora took his arm calmly, and together they swept past the stupefied ludovic, who stood helplessly gazing after them as if unable to believe his eyes.
for a few moments he stood there limply; then he started down the road after his fickle lady and her new admirer.
the boys and irresponsible young men crowded after, expecting some excitement, but they were disappointed.
ludovic strode on until he overtook theodora and arnold sherman, and then fell meekly in behind them.
theodora hardly enjoyed her walk home, although arnold sherman laid himself out to be especially entertaining.
her heart yearned after ludovic, whose shuffling footsteps she heard behind her.
she feared that she had been very cruel, but she was in for it now.
she steeled herself by the reflection that it was all for his own good, and she talked to arnold sherman as if he were the one man in the world.
poor, deserted ludovic, following humbly behind, heard her, and if theodora had known how bitter the cup she was holding to his lips really was, she would never have been resolute enough to present it, no matter for what ultimate good.
when she and arnold turned in at her gate, ludovic had to stop.
theodora looked over her shoulder and saw him standing still on the road.
his forlorn figure haunted her thoughts all night.
if anne had not run over the next day and bolstered up her convictions, she might have spoiled everything by prematurely relenting.
ludovic, meanwhile, stood still on the road, quite oblivious to the hoots and comments of the vastly amused small boy contingent, until theodora and his rival disappeared from his view under the firs in the hollow of her lane.
then he turned about and went home, not with his usual leisurely amble, but with a perturbed stride which proclaimed his inward disquiet.
he felt bewildered.
if the world had come suddenly to an end or if the lazy, meandering grafton river had turned about and flowed up hill, ludovic could not have been more astonished.
for fifteen years he had walked home from meetings with theodora; and now this elderly stranger, with all the glamour of "the states" hanging about him, had coolly walked off with her under ludovic's very nose.
worse -- most unkindest cut of all -- theodora had gone with him willingly; nay, she had evidently enjoyed his company.
ludovic felt the stirring of a righteous anger in his easy-going soul.
when he reached the end of his lane, he paused at his gate, and looked at his house, set back from the lane in a crescent of birches.
even in the moonlight, its weather-worn aspect was plainly visible.
he thought of the "palatial residence" rumour ascribed to arnold sherman in boston, and stroked his chin nervously with his sunburnt fingers.
then he doubled up his fist and struck it smartly on the gate-post.
""theodora need n't think she is going to jilt me in this fashion, after keeping company with me for fifteen years," he said.
""i'll have something to say to it, arnold sherman or no arnold sherman.
the impudence of the puppy!"
the next morning ludovic drove to carmody and engaged joshua pye to come and paint his house, and that evening, although he was not due till saturday night, he went down to see theodora.
arnold sherman was there before him, and was actually sitting in ludovic's own prescriptive chair.
ludovic had to deposit himself in theodora's new wicker rocker, where he looked and felt lamentably out of place.
if theodora felt the situation to be awkward, she carried it off superbly.
she had never looked handsomer, and ludovic perceived that she wore her second best silk dress.
he wondered miserably if she had donned it in expectation of his rival's call.
she had never put on silk dresses for him.
ludovic had always been the meekest and mildest of mortals, but he felt quite murderous as he sat mutely there and listened to arnold sherman's polished conversation.
""you should just have been here to see him glowering," theodora told the delighted anne the next day.
""it may be wicked of me, but i felt real glad.
i was afraid he might stay away and sulk.
so long as he comes here and sulks i do n't worry.
but he is feeling badly enough, poor soul, and i'm really eaten up by remorse.
he tried to outstay mr. sherman last night, but he did n't manage it.
you never saw a more depressed-looking creature than he was as he hurried down the lane.
yes, he actually hurried."
the following sunday evening arnold sherman walked to church with theodora, and sat with her.
when they came in ludovic speed suddenly stood up in his pew under the gallery.
he sat down again at once, but everybody in view had seen him, and that night folks in all the length and breadth of grafton river discussed the dramatic occurrence with keen enjoyment.
""yes, he jumped right up as if he was pulled on his feet, while the minister was reading the chapter," said his cousin, lorella speed, who had been in church, to her sister, who had not.
""his face was as white as a sheet, and his eyes were just glaring out of his head.
i never felt so thrilled, i declare!
i almost expected him to fly at them then and there.
but he just gave a sort of gasp and set down again.
i do n't know whether theodora dix saw him or not.
she looked as cool and unconcerned as you please."
theodora had not seen ludovic, but if she looked cool and unconcerned, her appearance belied her, for she felt miserably flustered.
she could not prevent arnold sherman coming to church with her, but it seemed to her like going too far.
people did not go to church and sit together in grafton unless they were the next thing to being engaged.
what if this filled ludovic with the narcotic of despair instead of wakening him up!
she sat through the service in misery and heard not one word of the sermon.
but ludovic's spectacular performances were not yet over.
the speeds might be hard to get started, but once they were started their momentum was irresistible.
when theodora and mr. sherman came out, ludovic was waiting on the steps.
he stood up straight and stern, with his head thrown back and his shoulders squared.
there was open defiance in the look he cast on his rival, and masterfulness in the mere touch of the hand he laid on theodora's arm.
""may i see you home, miss dix?"
his words said.
his tone said, "i am going to see you home whether or no."
theodora, with a deprecating look at arnold sherman, took his arm, and ludovic marched her across the green amid a silence which the very horses tied to the storm fence seemed to share.
for ludovic't was a crowded hour of glorious life.
anne walked all the way over from avonlea the next day to hear the news.
theodora smiled consciously.
""yes, it is really settled at last, anne.
coming home last night ludovic asked me plump and plain to marry him, -- sunday and all as it was.
it's to be right away -- for ludovic wo n't be put off a week longer than necessary."
""so ludovic speed has been hurried up to some purpose at last," said mr. sherman, when anne called in at echo lodge, brimful with her news.
""and you are delighted, of course, and my poor pride must be the scapegoat.
i shall always be remembered in grafton as the man from boston who wanted theodora dix and could n't get her."
""but that wo n't be true, you know," said anne comfortingly.
arnold sherman thought of theodora's ripe beauty, and the mellow companionableness she had revealed in their brief intercourse.
""i'm not perfectly sure of that," he said, with a half sigh.
ii.
old lady lloyd i.
the may chapter spencervale gossip always said that "old lady lloyd" was rich and mean and proud.
gossip, as usual, was one-third right and two-thirds wrong.
old lady lloyd was neither rich nor mean; in reality she was pitifully poor -- so poor that "crooked jack" spencer, who dug her garden and chopped her wood for her, was opulent by contrast, for he, at least, never lacked three meals a day, and the old lady could sometimes achieve no more than one.
but she was very proud -- so proud that she would have died rather than let the spencervale people, among whom she had queened it in her youth, suspect how poor she was and to what straits was sometimes reduced.
she much preferred to have them think her miserly and odd -- a queer old recluse who never went anywhere, even to church, and who paid the smallest subscription to the minister's salary of anyone in the congregation.
""and her just rolling in wealth!"
they said indignantly.
""well, she did n't get her miserly ways from her parents.
they were real generous and neighbourly.
there never was a finer gentleman than old doctor lloyd.
he was always doing kindnesses to everybody; and he had a way of doing them that made you feel as if you was doing the favour, not him.
well, well, let old lady lloyd keep herself and her money to herself if she wants to.
if she does n't want our company, she does n't have to suffer it, that's all.
reckon she is n't none too happy for all her money and pride."
no, the old lady was none too happy, that was unfortunately true.
it is not easy to be happy when your life is eaten up with loneliness and emptiness on the spiritual side, and when, on the material side, all you have between you and starvation is the little money your hens bring you in.
the old lady lived "away back at the old lloyd place," as it was always called.
it was a quaint, low-eaved house, with big chimneys and square windows and with spruces growing thickly all around it.
the old lady lived there all alone and there were weeks at a time when she never saw a human being except crooked jack.
what the old lady did with herself and how she put in her time was a puzzle the spencervale people could not solve.
the children believed she amused herself counting the gold in the big black box under her bed.
spencervale children held the old lady in mortal terror; some of them -- the "spencer road" fry -- believed she was a witch; all of them would run if, when wandering about the woods in search of berries or spruce gum, they saw at a distance the spare, upright form of the old lady, gathering sticks for her fire.
mary moore was the only one who was quite sure she was not a witch.
""witches are always ugly," she said decisively, "and old lady lloyd is n't ugly.
she's real pretty -- she's got such a soft white hair and big black eyes and a little white face.
those road children do n't know what they're talking of.
mother says they're a very ignorant crowd."
""well, she does n't ever go to church, and she mutters and talks to herself all the time she's picking up sticks," maintained jimmy kimball stoutly.
the old lady talked to herself because she was really very fond of company and conversation.
to be sure, when you have talked to nobody but yourself for nearly twenty years, it is apt to grow somewhat monotonous; and there were times when the old lady would have sacrificed everything but her pride for a little human companionship.
at such times she felt very bitter and resentful toward fate for having taken everything from her.
she had nothing to love, and that is about as unwholesome a condition as is possible to anyone.
it was always hardest in the spring.
once upon a time the old lady -- when she had not been the old lady, but pretty, wilful, high-spirited margaret lloyd -- had loved springs; now she hated them because they hurt her; and this particular spring of this particular may chapter hurt her more than any that had gone before.
the old lady felt as if she could not endure the ache of it.
everything hurt her -- the new green tips on the firs, the fairy mists down in the little beech hollow below the house, the fresh smell of the red earth crooked jack spaded up in her garden.
the old lady lay awake all one moonlit night and cried for very heartache.
she even forgot her body hunger in her soul hunger; and the old lady had been hungry, more or less, all that week.
she was living on store biscuits and water, so that she might be able to pay crooked jack for digging her garden.
when the pale, lovely dawn-colour came stealing up the sky behind the spruces, the old lady buried her face in her pillow and refused to look at it.
""i hate the new day," she said rebelliously.
""it will be just like all the other hard, common days.
i do n't want to get up and live it.
and, oh, to think that long ago i reached out my hands joyfully to every new day, as to a friend who was bringing me good tidings!
i loved the mornings then -- sunny or gray, they were as delightful as an unread book -- and now i hate them -- hate them -- hate them!"
but the old lady got up nevertheless, for she knew crooked jack would be coming early to finish the garden.
she arranged her beautiful, thick, white hair very carefully, and put on her purple silk dress with the little gold spots in it.
the old lady always wore silk from motives of economy.
it was much cheaper to wear a silk dress that had belonged to her mother than to buy new print at the store.
the old lady had plenty of silk dresses which had belonged to her mother.
she wore them morning, noon, and night, and spencervale people considered it an additional evidence of her pride.
as for the fashion of them, it was, of course, just because she was too mean to have them made over.
they did not dream that the old lady never put on one of the silk dresses without agonizing over its unfashionableness, and that even the eyes of crooked jack cast on her antique flounces and overskirts was almost more than her feminine vanity could endure.
in spite of the fact that the old lady had not welcomed the new day, its beauty charmed her when she went out for a walk after her dinner -- or, rather, after her mid-day biscuit.
it was so fresh, so sweet, so virgin; and the spruce woods around the old lloyd place were athrill with busy spring doings and all sprinkled through with young lights and shadows.
some of their delight found its way into the old lady's bitter heart as she wandered through them, and when she came out at the little plank bridge over the brook down under the beeches, she felt almost gentle and tender once more.
there was one big beech there, in particular, which the old lady loved for reasons best known to herself -- a great, tall beech with a trunk like the shaft of a gray marble column and a leafy spread of branches over the still, golden-brown pool made beneath it by the brook.
it had been a young sapling in the days that were haloed by the vanished glory of the old lady's life.
the old lady heard childish voices and laughter afar up the lane which led to william spencer's place just above the woods.
william spencer's front lane ran out to the main road in a different direction, but this "back lane" furnished a short cut and his children always went to school that way.
the old lady shrank hastily back behind a clump of young spruces.
she did not like the spencer children because they always seemed so afraid of her.
through the spruce screen she could see them coming gaily down the lane -- the two older ones in front, the twins behind, clinging to the hands of a tall, slim, young girl -- the new music teacher, probably.
the old lady had heard from the egg pedlar that she was going to board at william spencer's, but she had not heard her name.
she looked at her with some curiosity as they drew near -- and then, all at once, the old lady's heart gave a great bound and began to beat as it had not beaten for years, while her breath came quickly and she trembled violently.
who -- who could this girl be?
under the new music teacher's straw hat were masses of fine chestnut hair of the very shade and wave that the old lady remembered on another head in vanished years; from under those waves looked large, violet-blue eyes with very black lashes and brows -- and the old lady knew those eyes as well as she knew her own; and the new music teacher's face, with all its beauty of delicate outline and dainty colouring and glad, buoyant youth, was a face from the old lady's past -- a perfect resemblance in every respect save one; the face which the old lady remembered had been weak, with all its charm; but this girl's face possessed a fine, dominant strength compact of sweetness and womanliness.
as she passed by the old lady's hiding place she laughed at something one of the children said; and oh, but the old lady knew that laughter well.
she had heard it before under that very beech tree.
she watched them until they disappeared over the wooded hill beyond the bridge; and then she went back home as if she walked in a dream.
crooked jack was delving vigorously in the garden; ordinarily the old lady did not talk much with crooked jack, for she disliked his weakness for gossip; but now she went into the garden, a stately old figure in her purple, gold-spotted silk, with the sunshine gleaming on her white hair.
crooked jack had seen her go out and had remarked to himself that the old lady was losing ground; she was pale and peaked-looking.
he now concluded that he had been mistaken.
the old lady's cheeks were pink and her eyes shining.
somewhere in her walk she had shed ten years at least.
crooked jack leaned on his spade and decided that there were n't many finer looking women anywhere than old lady lloyd.
pity she was such an old miser!
""mr. spencer," said the old lady graciously -- she always spoke very graciously to her inferiors when she talked to them at all -- "can you tell me the name of the new music teacher who is boarding at mr. william spencer's?"
""sylvia gray," said crooked jack.
the old lady's heart gave another great bound.
but she had known it -- she had known that girl with leslie gray's hair and eyes and laugh must be leslie gray's daughter.
crooked jack spat on his hand and resumed his work, but his tongue went faster than his spade, and the old lady listened greedily.
for the first time she enjoyed and blessed crooked jack's garrulity and gossip.
every word he uttered was as an apple of gold in a picture of silver to her.
he had been working at william spencer's the day the new music teacher had come, and what crooked jack could n't find out about any person in one whole day -- at least as far as outward life went -- was hardly worth finding out.
next to discovering things did he love telling them, and it would be hard to say which enjoyed that ensuing half-hour more -- crooked jack or the old lady.
crooked jack's account, boiled down, amounted to this; both miss gray's parents had died when she was a baby, she had been brought up by an aunt, she was very poor and very ambitious.
""wants a moosical eddication," finished up crooked jack, "and, by jingo, she orter have it, for anything like the voice of her i never heerd.
she sung for us that evening after supper and i thought't was an angel singing.
it just went through me like a shaft o" light.
the spencer young ones are crazy over her already.
she's got twenty pupils around here and in grafton and avonlea."
when the old lady had found out everything crooked jack could tell her, she went into the house and sat down by the window of her little sitting-room to think it all over.
she was tingling from head to foot with excitement.
leslie's daughter!
this old lady had had her romance once.
long ago -- forty years ago -- she had been engaged to leslie gray, a young college student who taught in spencervale for the summer term one year -- the golden summer of margaret lloyd's life.
leslie had been a shy, dreamy, handsome fellow with literary ambitions, which, as he and margaret both firmly believed, would one day bring him fame and fortune.
then there had been a foolish, bitter quarrel at the end of that golden summer.
leslie had gone away in anger, afterwards he had written, but margaret lloyd, still in the grasp of her pride and resentment, had sent a harsh answer.
no more letters came; leslie gray never returned; and one day margaret wakened to the realization that she had put love out of her life for ever.
she knew it would never be hers again; and from that moment her feet were turned from youth to walk down the valley of shadow to a lonely, eccentric age.
many years later she heard of leslie's marriage; then came news of his death, after a life that had not fulfilled his dreams for him.
nothing more she had heard or known -- nothing to this day, when she had seen his daughter pass her by unseeing in the beech hollow.
""his daughter!
and she might have been my daughter," murmured the old lady.
""oh, if i could only know her and love her -- and perhaps win her love in return!
but i can not.
i could not have leslie gray's daughter know how poor i am -- how low i have been brought.
i could not bear that.
and to think she is living so near me, the darling -- just up the lane and over the hill.
i can see her go by every day -- i can have that dear pleasure, at least.
but oh, if i could only do something for her -- give her some little pleasure!
it would be such a delight."
when the old lady happened to go into her spare room that evening, she saw from it a light shining through a gap in the trees on the hill.
she knew that it shone from the spencers" spare room.
so it was sylvia's light.
the old lady stood in the darkness and watched it until it went out -- watched it with a great sweetness breathing in her heart, such as risen from old rose-leaves when they are stirred.
she fancied sylvia moving about her room, brushing and braiding her long, glistening hair -- laying aside her little trinkets and girlish adornments -- making her simple preparations for sleep.
when the light went out the old lady pictured a slight white figure kneeling by the window in the soft starshine, and the old lady knelt down then and there and said her own prayers in fellowship.
she said the simple form of words she had always used; but a new spirit seemed to inspire them; and she finished with a new petition -- "let me think of something i can do for her, dear father -- some little, little thing that i can do for her."
the old lady had slept in the same room all her life -- the one looking north into the spruces -- and loved it; but the next day she moved into the spare room without a regret.
it was to be her room after this; she must be where she could see sylvia's light, she put the bed where she could lie in it and look at that earth star which had suddenly shone across the twilight shadows of her heart.
she felt very happy, she had not felt happy for many years; but now a strange, new, dream-like interest, remote from the harsh realities of her existence, but none the less comforting and alluring, had entered into her life.
besides, she had thought of something she could do for sylvia -- "a little, little thing" that might give her pleasure.
spencervale people were wont to say regretfully that there were no mayflowers in spencervale; the spencervale young fry, when they wanted mayflowers, thought they had to go over to the barrens at avonlea, six miles away, for them.
old lady lloyd knew better.
in her many long, solitary rambles, she had discovered a little clearing far back in the woods -- a southward-sloping, sandy hill on a tract of woodland belonging to a man who lived in town -- which in spring was starred over with the pink and white of arbutus.
to this clearing the old lady betook herself that afternoon, walking through wood lanes and under dim spruce arches like a woman with a glad purpose.
all at once the spring was dear and beautiful to her once more; for love had entered again into her heart, and her starved soul was feasting on its divine nourishment.
old lady lloyd found a wealth of mayflowers on the sandy hill.
she filled her basket with them, gloating over the loveliness which was to give pleasure to sylvia.
when she got home she wrote on a slip of paper, "for sylvia."
it was not likely anyone in spencervale would know her handwriting, but, to make sure, she disguised it, writing in round, big letters like a child's.
she carried her mayflowers down to the hollow and heaped them in a recess between the big roots of the old beech, with the little note thrust through a stem on top.
then the old lady deliberately hid behind the spruce clump.
she had put on her dark green silk on purpose for hiding.
she had not long to wait.
soon sylvia gray came down the hill with mattie spencer.
when she reached the bridge she saw the mayflowers and gave an exclamation of delight.
then she saw her name and her expression changed to wonder.
the old lady, peering through the boughs, could have laughed for very pleasure over the success of her little plot.
""for me!"
said sylvia, lifting the flowers.
""can they really be for me, mattie?
who could have left them here?"
mattie giggled.
""i believe it was chris stewart," she said.
""i know he was over at avonlea last night.
and ma says he's taken a notion to you -- she knows by the way he looked at you when you were singing night before last.
it would be just like him to do something queer like this -- he's such a shy fellow with the girls."
sylvia frowned a little.
she did not like mattie's expressions, but she did like mayflowers, and she did not dislike chris stewart, who had seemed to her merely a nice, modest, country boy.
she lifted the flowers and buried her face in them.
""anyway, i'm much obliged to the giver, whoever he or she is," she said merrily.
""there's nothing i love like mayflowers.
oh, how sweet they are!"
when they had passed the old lady emerged from her lurking place, flushed with triumph.
it did not vex her that sylvia should think chris stewart had given her the flowers; nay, it was all the better, since she would be the less likely to suspect the real donor.
the main thing was that sylvia should have the delight of them.
that quite satisfied the old lady, who went back to her lonely house with the cockles of her heart all in a glow.
it soon was a matter of gossip in spencervale that chris stewart was leaving mayflowers at the beech hollow for the music teacher every other day.
chris himself denied it, but he was not believed.
firstly, there were no mayflowers in spencervale; secondly, chris had to go to carmody every other day to haul milk to the butter factory, and mayflowers grew in carmody, and, thirdly, the stewarts always had a romantic streak in them.
was not that enough circumstantial evidence for anybody?
as for sylvia, she did not mind if chris had a boyish admiration for her and expressed it thus delicately.
she thought it very nice of him, indeed, when he did not vex her with any other advances, and she was quite content to enjoy his mayflowers.
old lady lloyd heard all the gossip about it from the egg pedlar, and listened to him with laughter glimmering far down in her eyes.
the egg pedlar went away and vowed he'd never seen the old lady so spry as she was this spring; she seemed real interested in the young folk's doings.
the old lady kept her secret and grew young in it.
she walked back to the mayflower hill as long as the mayflowers lasted; and she always hid in the spruces to see sylvia gray go by.
every day she loved her more, and yearned after her more deeply.
all the long repressed tenderness of her nature overflowed to this girl who was unconscious of it.
she was proud of sylvia's grace and beauty, and sweetness of voice and laughter.
she began to like the spencer children because they worshipped sylvia; she envied mrs. spencer because the latter could minister to sylvia's needs.
even the egg pedlar seemed a delightful person because he brought news of sylvia -- her social popularity, her professional success, the love and admiration she had won already.
the old lady never dreamed of revealing herself to sylvia.
that, in her poverty, was not to be thought of for a moment.
it would have been very sweet to know her -- sweet to have her come to the old house -- sweet to talk to her -- to enter into her life.
but it might not be.
the old lady's pride was still far stronger than her love.
it was the one thing she had never sacrificed and never -- so she believed -- could sacrifice.
ii.
the june chapter there were no mayflowers in june; but now the old lady's garden was full of blossoms and every morning sylvia found a bouquet of them by the beech -- the perfumed ivory of white narcissus, the flame of tulips, the fairy branches of bleeding-heart, the pink-and-snow of little, thorny, single, sweetbreathed early roses.
the old lady had no fear of discovery, for the flowers that grew in her garden grew in every other spencervale garden as well, including the stewart garden.
chris stewart, when he was teased about the music teacher, merely smiled and held his peace.
chris knew perfectly well who was the real giver of those flowers.
he had made it his business to find out when the mayflower gossip started.
but since it was evident old lady lloyd did not wish it to be known, chris told no one.
chris had always liked old lady lloyd ever since the day, ten years before, when she had found him crying in the woods with a cut foot and had taken him into her house, and bathed and bound the wound, and given him ten cents to buy candy at the store.
the old lady went without supper that night because of it, but chris never knew that.
the old lady thought it a most beautiful june.
she no longer hated the new days; on the contrary, she welcomed them.
""every day is an uncommon day now," she said jubilantly to herself -- for did not almost every day bring her a glimpse of sylvia?
even on rainy days the old lady gallantly braved rheumatism to hide behind her clump of dripping spruces and watch sylvia pass.
the only days she could not see her were sundays; and no sundays had ever seemed so long to old lady lloyd as those june sundays did.
one day the egg pedlar had news for her.
""the music teacher is going to sing a solo for a collection piece to-morrow," he told her.
the old lady's black eyes flashed with interest.
""i did n't know miss gray was a member of the choir," she said.
""jined two sundays ago.
i tell you, our music is something worth listening to now.
the church'll be packed to-morrow, i reckon -- her name's gone all over the country for singing.
you ought to come and hear it, miss lloyd."
the pedlar said this out of bravado, merely to show he was n't scared of the old lady, for all her grand airs.
the old lady made no answer, and he thought he had offended her.
he went away, wishing he had n't said it.
had he but known it, the old lady had forgotten the existence of all and any egg pedlars.
he had blotted himself and his insignificance out of her consciousness by his last sentence.
all her thoughts, feelings, and wishes were submerged in a very whirlpool of desire to hear sylvia sing that solo.
she went into the house in a tumult and tried to conquer that desire.
she could not do it, even thought she summoned all her pride to her aid.
pride said: "you will have to go to church to hear her.
you have n't fit clothes to go to church in.
think what a figure you will make before them all."
but, for the first time, a more insistent voice than pride spoke to her soul -- and, for the first time, the old lady listened to it.
it was too true that she had never gone to church since the day on which she had to begin wearing her mother's silk dresses.
the old lady herself thought that this was very wicked; and she tried to atone by keeping sunday very strictly, and always having a little service of her own, morning and evening.
she sang three hymns in her cracked voice, prayed aloud, and read a sermon.
but she could not bring herself to go to church in her out-of-date clothes -- she, who had once set the fashions in spencervale, and the longer she stayed away, the more impossible it seemed that she should ever again go.
now the impossible had become, not only possible, but insistent.
she must go to church and hear sylvia sing, no matter how ridiculous she appeared, no matter how people talked and laughed at her.
spencervale congregation had a mild sensation the next afternoon.
just before the opening of service old lady lloyd walked up the aisle and sat down in the long-unoccupied lloyd pew, in front of the pulpit.
the old lady's very soul was writhing within her.
she recalled the reflection she had seen in her mirror before she left -- the old black silk in the mode of thirty years agone and the queer little bonnet of shirred black satin.
she thought how absurd she must look in the eyes of her world.
as a matter of fact, she did not look in the least absurd.
some women might have; but the old lady's stately distinction of carriage and figure was so subtly commanding that it did away with the consideration of garmenting altogether.
the old lady did not know this.
but she did know that mrs. kimball, the storekeeper's wife, presently rustled into the next pew in the very latest fashion of fabric and mode; she and mrs. kimball were the same age, and there had been a time when the latter had been content to imitate margaret lloyd's costumes at a humble distance.
but the storekeeper had proposed, and things were changed now; and there sat poor old lady lloyd, feeling the change bitterly, and half wishing she had not come to church at all.
then all at once the angel of love touched there foolish thoughts, born of vanity and morbid pride, and they melted away as if they had never been.
sylvia gray had come into the choir, and was sitting just where the afternoon sunshine fell over her beautiful hair like a halo.
the old lady looked at her in a rapture of satisfied longing and thenceforth the service was blessed to her, as anything is blessed which comes through the medium of unselfish love, whether human or divine.
nay, are they not one and the same, differing in degree only, not in kind?
the old lady had never had such a good, satisfying look at sylvia before.
all her former glimpses had been stolen and fleeting.
now she sat and gazed upon her to her hungry heart's content, lingering delightedly over every little charm and loveliness -- the way sylvia's shining hair rippled back from her forehead, the sweet little trick she had of dropping quickly her long-lashed eyelids when she encountered too bold or curious a glance, and the slender, beautifully modelled hands -- so like leslie gray's hands -- that held her hymn book.
she was dressed very plainly in a black skirt and a white shirtwaist; but none of the other girls in the choir, with all their fine feathers, could hold a candle to her -- as the egg pedlar said to his wife, going home from church.
the old lady listened to the opening hymns with keen pleasure.
sylvia's voice thrilled through and dominated them all.
but when the ushers got up to take the collection, an undercurrent of subdued excitement flowed over the congregation.
sylvia rose and came forward to janet moore's side at the organ.
the next moment her beautiful voice soared through the building like the very soul of melody -- true, clear, powerful, sweet.
nobody in spencervale had ever listened to such a voice, except old lady lloyd herself, who, in her youth, had heard enough good singing to enable her to be a tolerable judge of it.
she realized instantly that this girl of her heart had a great gift -- a gift that would some day bring her fame and fortune, if it could be duly trained and developed.
""oh, i'm so glad i came to church," thought old lady lloyd.
when the solo was ended, the old lady's conscience compelled her to drag her eyes and thoughts from sylvia, and fasten them on the minister, who had been flattering himself all through the opening portion of the service that old lady lloyd had come to church on his account.
he was newly settled, having been in charge of the spencervale congregation only a few months; he was a clever little fellow and he honestly thought it was the fame of his preaching that had brought old lady lloyd out to church.
when the service was over all the old lady's neighbours came to speak to her, with kindly smile and handshake.
they thought they ought to encourage her, now that she had made a start in the right direction; the old lady liked their cordiality, and liked it none the less because she detected in it the same unconscious respect and deference she had been wont to receive in the old days -- a respect and deference which her personality compelled from all who approached her.
the old lady was surprised to find that she could command it still, in defiance of unfashionable bonnet and ancient attire.
janet moore and sylvia gray walked home from church together.
""did you see old lady lloyd out to-day?"
asked janet.
""i was amazed when she walked in.
she has never been to church in my recollection.
what a quaint old figure she is!
she's very rich, you know, but she wears her mother's old clothes and never gets a new thing.
some people think she is mean; but," concluded janet charitably, "i believe it is simply eccentricity."
""i felt that was miss lloyd as soon as i saw her, although i had never seen her before," said sylvia dreamily.
""i have been wishing to see her -- for a certain reason.
she has a very striking face.
i should like to meet her -- to know her."
""i do n't think it's likely you ever will," said janet carelessly.
""she does n't like young people and she never goes anywhere.
i do n't think i'd like to know her.
i'd be afraid of her -- she has such stately ways and such strange, piercing eyes.""
i should n't be afraid of her," said sylvia to herself, as she turned into the spencer lane.
""but i do n't expect i'll ever become acquainted with her.
if she knew who i am i suppose she would dislike me.
i suppose she never suspects that i am leslie gray's daughter."
the minister, thinking it well to strike while the iron was hot, went up to call on old lady lloyd the very next afternoon.
he went in fear and trembling, for he had heard things about old lady lloyd; but she made herself so agreeable in her high-bred fashion that he was delighted, and told his wife when he went home that spencervale people did n't understand miss lloyd.
this was perfectly true; but it is by no means certain that the minister understood her either.
he made only one mistake in tact, but, as the old lady did not snub him for it, he never knew he made it.
when he was leaving he said, "i hope we shall see you at church next sunday, miss lloyd."
""indeed, you will," said the old lady emphatically.
iii.
the july chapter the first day of july sylvia found a little birch bark boat full of strawberries at the beech in the hollow.
they were the earliest of the season; the old lady had found them in one of her secret haunts.
they would have been a toothsome addition to the old lady's own slender bill of fare; but she never thought of eating them.
she got far more pleasure out of the thought of sylvia's enjoying them for her tea.
thereafter the strawberries alternated with the flowers as long as they lasted, and then came blueberries and raspberries.
the blueberries grew far away and the old lady had many a tramp after them.
sometimes her bones ached at night because of it; but what cared the old lady for that?
bone ache is easier to endure than soul ache; and the old lady's soul had stopped aching for the first time in many year.
it was being nourished with heavenly manna.
one evening crooked jack came up to fix something that had gone wrong with the old lady's well.
the old lady wandered affably out to him; for she knew he had been working at the spencers" all day, and there might be crumbs of information about sylvia to be picked up.
""i reckon the music teacher's feeling pretty blue this evening," crooked jack remarked, after straining the old lady's patience to the last verge of human endurance by expatiating on william spencer's new pump, and mrs. spencer's new washing-machine, and amelia spencer's new young man.
""why?"
asked the old lady, turning very pale.
had anything happened to sylvia?
""well, she's been invited to a big party at mrs. moore's brother's in town, and she has n't got a dress to go in," said crooked jack.
""they're great swells and everybody will be got up regardless.
mrs. spencer was telling me about it.
she says miss gray ca n't afford a new dress because she's helping to pay her aunt's doctor's bills.
she says she's sure miss gray feels awful disappointed over it, though she does n't let on.
but mrs. spencer says she knows she was crying after she went to bed last night."
the old lady turned and went into the house abruptly.
this was dreadful.
sylvia must go to that party -- she must.
but how was it to be managed?
through the old lady's brain passed wild thoughts of her mother's silk dresses.
but none of them would be suitable, even if there were time to make one over.
never had the old lady so bitterly regretted her vanished wealth.
""i've only two dollars in the house," she said, "and i've got to live on that till the next day the egg pedlar comes round.
is there anything i can sell -- anything?
yes, yes, the grape jug!"
up to this time, the old lady would as soon have thought of trying to sell her head as the grape jug.
the grape jug was two hundred years old and had been in the lloyd family ever since it was a jug at all.
it was a big, pot-bellied affair, festooned with pink-gilt grapes, and with a verse of poetry printed on one side, and it had been given as a wedding present to the old lady's great-grandmother.
as long as the old lady could remember it had sat on the top shelf in the cupboard in the sitting-room wall, far too precious ever to be used.
two years before, a woman who collected old china had explored spencervale, and, getting word of the grape jug, had boldly invaded the old lloyd place and offered to buy it.
she never, to her dying day, forgot the reception the old lady gave her; but, being wise in her day and generation, she left her card, saying that if miss lloyd ever changed her mind about selling the jug, she would find that she, the aforesaid collector, had not changed hers about buying it.
people who make a hobby of heirloom china must meekly overlook snubs, and this particular person had never seen anything she coveted so much as that grape jug.
the old lady had torn the card to pieces; but she remembered the name and address.
she went to the cupboard and took down the beloved jug.
""i never thought to part with it," she said wistfully, "but sylvia must have a dress, and there is no other way.
and, after all, when i'm gone, who would there be to have it?
strangers would get it then -- it might as well go to them now.
i'll have to go to town to-morrow morning, for there's no time to lose if the party is friday night.
i have n't been to town for ten years.
i dread the thought of going, more than parting with the jug.
but for sylvia's sake!"
it was all over spencervale by the next morning that old lady lloyd had gone to town, carrying a carefully guarded box.
everybody wondered why she went; most people supposed she had become too frightened to keep her money in a black box below her bed, when there had been two burglaries over at carmody, and had taken it to the bank.
the old lady sought out the address of the china collector, trembling with fear that she might be dead or gone.
but the collector was there, very much alive, and as keenly anxious to possess the grape jug as ever.
the old lady, pallid with the pain of her trampled pride, sold the grape jug and went away, believing that her great-grandmother must have turned over in her grave at the moment of the transaction.
old lady lloyd felt like a traitor to her traditions.
but she went unflinchingly to a big store and, guided by that special providence which looks after simple-minded old souls in their dangerous excursions into the world, found a sympathetic clerk who knew just what she wanted and got it for her.
the old lady selected a very dainty muslin gown, with gloves and slippers in keeping; and she ordered it sent at once, expressage prepaid, to miss sylvia gray, in care of william spencer, spencervale.
then she paid down the money -- the whole price of the jug, minus a dollar and a half for railroad fare -- with a grand, careless air and departed.
as she marched erectly down the aisle of the store, she encountered a sleek, portly, prosperous man coming in.
as their eyes met, the man started and his bland face flushed crimson; he lifted his hat and bowed confusedly.
but the old lady looked through him as if he was n't there, and passed on with not a sign of recognition about her.
he took one step after her, then stopped and turned away, with a rather disagreeable smile and a shrug of his shoulders.
nobody would have guessed, as the old lady swept out, how her heart was seething with abhorrence and scorn.
she would not have had the courage to come to town, even for sylvia's sake, if she had thought she would meet andrew cameron.
the mere sight of him opened up anew a sealed fountain of bitterness in her soul; but the thought of sylvia somehow stemmed the torrent, and presently the old lady was smiling rather triumphantly, thinking rightly that she had come off best in that unwelcome encounter.
she, at any rate, had not faltered and coloured, and lost her presence of mind.
""it is little wonder he did," thought the old lady vindictively.
it pleased her that andrew cameron should lose, before her, the front of adamant he presented to the world.
he was her cousin and the only living creature old lady lloyd hated, and she hated and despised him with all the intensity of her intense nature.
she and hers had sustained grievous wrong at his hands, and the old lady was convinced that she would rather die than take any notice of his existence.
presently, she resolutely put andrew cameron out of her mind.
it was desecration to think of him and sylvia together.
when she laid her weary head on her pillow that night she was so happy that even the thought of the vacant shelf in the room below, where the grape jug had always been, gave her only a momentary pang.
""it's sweet to sacrifice for one we love -- it's sweet to have someone to sacrifice for," thought the old lady.
desire grows by what it feeds on.
the old lady thought she was content; but friday evening came and found her in a perfect fever to see sylvia in her party dress.
it was not enough to fancy her in it; nothing would do the old lady but seeing her.
""and i shall see her," said the old lady resolutely, looking out from her window at sylvia's light gleaming through the firs.
she wrapped herself in a dark shawl and crept out, slipping down to the hollow and up the wood lane.
it was a misty, moonlight night, and a wind, fragrant with the aroma of clover fields, blew down the lane to meet her.
""i wish i could take your perfume -- the soul of you -- and pour it into her life," said the old lady aloud to that wind.
sylvia gray was standing in her room, ready for the party.
before her stood mrs. spencer and amelia spencer and all the little spencer girls, in an admiring semi-circle.
there was another spectator.
outside, under the lilac bush, old lady lloyd was standing.
she could see sylvia plainly, in her dainty dress, with the pale pink roses old lady lloyd had left at the beech that day for her in her hair.
pink as they were, they were not so pink as her cheeks, and her eyes shone like stars.
amelia spencer put up her hand to push back a rose that had fallen a little out of place, and the old lady envied her fiercely.
""that dress could n't have fitted better if it had been made for you," said mrs. spencer admiringly.
""ai n't she lovely, amelia?
who could have sent it?"
""oh, i feel sure that mrs. moore was the fairy godmother," said sylvia.
""there is nobody else who would.
it was dear of her -- she knew i wished so much to go to the party with janet.
i wish aunty could see me now."
sylvia gave a little sigh in spite of her joy.
""there's nobody else to care very much."
ah, sylvia, you were wrong!
there was somebody else -- somebody who cared very much -- an old lady, with eager, devouring eyes, who was standing under the lilac bush and who presently stole away through the moonlit orchard to the woods like a shadow, going home with a vision of you in your girlish beauty to companion her through the watches of that summer night.
iv.
the august chapter one day the minister's wife rushed in where spencervale people had feared to tread, went boldly to old lady lloyd, and asked her if she would n't come to their sewing circle, which met fortnightly on saturday afternoons.
""we are filling a box to send to our trinidad missionary," said the minister's wife, "and we should be so pleased to have you come, miss lloyd."
the old lady was on the point of refusing rather haughtily.
not that she was opposed to missions -- or sewing circles either -- quite the contrary, but she knew that each member of the circle was expected to pay ten cents a week for the purpose of procuring sewing materials; and the poor old lady really did not see how she could afford it.
but a sudden thought checked her refusal before it reached her lips.
""i suppose some of the young girls go to the circle?"
she said craftily.
""oh, they all go," said the minister's wife.
""janet moore and miss gray are our most enthusiastic members.
it is very lovely of miss gray to give her saturday afternoons -- the only ones she has free from pupils -- to our work.
but she really has the sweetest disposition."
""i'll join your circle," said the old lady promptly.
she was determined she would do it, if she had to live on two meals a day to save the necessary fee.
she went to the sewing circle at james martin's the next saturday, and did the most beautiful hand sewing for them.
she was so expert at it that she did n't need to think about it at all, which was rather fortunate, for all her thoughts were taken up with sylvia, who sat in the opposite corner with janet moore, her graceful hands busy with a little boy's coarse gingham shirt.
nobody thought of introducing sylvia to old lady lloyd, and the old lady was glad of it.
she sewed finely away, and listened with all her ears to the girlish chatter which went on in the opposite corner.
one thing she found out -- sylvia's birthday was the twentieth of august.
and the old lady was straightway fired with a consuming wish to give sylvia a birthday present.
she lay awake most of the night wondering if she could do it, and most sorrowfully concluded that it was utterly out of the question, no matter how she might pinch and contrive.
old lady lloyd worried quite absurdly over this, and it haunted her like a spectre until the next sewing circle day.
it met at mrs. moore's and mrs. moore was especially gracious to old lady lloyd, and insisted on her taking the wicker rocker in the parlour.
the old lady would rather have been in the sitting-room with the young girls, but she submitted for courtesy's sake -- and she had her reward.
her chair was just behind the parlour door, and presently janet moore and sylvia gray came and sat on the stairs in the hall outside, where a cool breeze blew in through the maples before the front door.
they were talking of their favourite poets.
janet, it appeared, adored byron and scott.
sylvia leaned to tennyson and browning.
""do you know," said sylvia softly, "my father was a poet?
he published a little volume of verse once; and, janet, i've never seen a copy of it, and oh, how i would love to!
it was published when he was at college -- just a small, private edition to give his friends.
he never published any more -- poor father!
i think life disappointed him.
but i have such a longing to see that little book of his verse.
i have n't a scrap of his writings.
if i had it would seem as if i possessed something of him -- of his heart, his soul, his inner life.
he would be something more than a mere name to me."
""did n't he have a copy of his own -- did n't your mother have one?"
asked janet.
""mother had n't.
she died when i was born, you know, but aunty says there was no copy of father's poems among mother's books.
mother did n't care for poetry, aunty says -- aunty does n't either.
father went to europe after mother died, and he died there the next year.
nothing that he had with him was ever sent home to us.
he had sold most of his books before he went, but he gave a few of his favourite ones to aunty to keep for me.
his book was n't among them.
i do n't suppose i shall ever find a copy, but i should be so delighted if i only could."
when the old lady got home she took from her top bureau drawer an inlaid box of sandalwood.
it held a little, slim, limp volume, wrapped in tissue paper -- the old lady's most treasured possession.
on the fly-leaf was written, "to margaret, with the author's love."
the old lady turned the yellow leaves with trembling fingers and, through eyes brimming with tears, read the verses, although she had known them all by heart for years.
she meant to give the book to sylvia for a birthday present -- one of the most precious gifts ever given, if the value of gifts is gauged by the measure of self-sacrifice involved.
in that little book was immortal love -- old laughter -- old tears -- old beauty which had bloomed like a rose years ago, holding still its sweetness like old rose leaves.
she removed the telltale fly-leaf; and late on the night before sylvia's birthday, the old lady crept, under cover of the darkness, through byways and across fields, as if bent on some nefarious expedition, to the little spencervale store where the post-office was kept.
she slipped the thin parcel through the slit in the door, and then stole home again, feeling a strange sense of loss and loneliness.
it was as if she had given away the last link between herself and her youth.
but she did not regret it.
it would give sylvia pleasure, and that had come to be the overmastering passion of the old lady's heart.
the next night the light in sylvia's room burned very late, and the old lady watched it triumphantly, knowing the meaning of it.
sylvia was reading her father's poems, and the old lady in her darkness read them too, murmuring the lines over and over to herself.
after all, giving away the book had not mattered so very much.
she had the soul of it still -- and the fly-leaf with the name, in leslie's writing, by which nobody ever called her now.
the old lady was sitting on the marshall sofa the next sewing circle afternoon when sylvia gray came and sat down beside her.
the old lady's hands trembled a little, and one side of a handkerchief, which was afterwards given as a christmas present to a little olive-skinned coolie in trinidad, was not quite so exquisitely done as the other three sides.
sylvia at first talked of the circle, and mrs. marshall's dahlias, and the old lady was in the seventh heaven of delight, though she took care not to show it, and was even a little more stately and finely mannered than usual.
when she asked sylvia how she liked living in spencervale, sylvia said, "very much.
everybody is so kind to me.
besides" -- sylvia lowered her voice so that nobody but the old lady could hear it -- "i have a fairy godmother here who does the most beautiful and wonderful things for me."
sylvia, being a girl of fine instincts, did not look at old lady lloyd as she said this.
but she would not have seen anything if she had looked.
the old lady was not a lloyd for nothing.
""how very interesting," she said, indifferently.
""is n't it?
i am so grateful to her and i have wished so much she might know how much pleasure she has given me.
i have found lovely flowers and delicious berries on my path all summer; i feel sure she sent me my party dress.
but the dearest gift came last week on my birthday -- a little volume of my father's poems.
i ca n't express what i felt on receiving them.
but i longed to meet my fairy godmother and thank her."
""quite a fascinating mystery, is n't it?
have you really no idea who she is?"
the old lady asked this dangerous question with marked success.
she would not have been so successful if she had not been so sure that sylvia had no idea of the old romance between her and leslie gray.
as it was, she had a comfortable conviction that she herself was the very last person sylvia would be likely to suspect.
sylvia hesitated for an almost unnoticeable moment.
then she said, "i have n't tried to find out, because i do n't think she wants me to know.
at first, of course, in the matter of the flowers and dress, i did try to solve the mystery; but, since i received the book, i became convinced that it was my fairy godmother who was doing it all, and i have respected her wish for concealment and always shall.
perhaps some day she will reveal herself to me.
i hope so, at least."
""i would n't hope it," said the old lady discouragingly.
""fairy godmothers -- at least, in all the fairy tales i ever read -- are somewhat apt to be queer, crochety people, much more agreeable when wrapped up in mystery than when met face to face."
""i'm convinced that mine is the very opposite, and that the better i became acquainted with her, the more charming a personage i should find her," said sylvia gaily.
mrs. marshall came up at this juncture and entreated miss gray to sing for them.
miss gray consenting sweetly, the old lady was left alone and was rather glad of it.
she enjoyed her conversation with sylvia much more in thinking it over after she got home than while it was taking place.
when an old lady has a guilty conscience, it is apt to make her nervous and distract her thoughts from immediate pleasure.
she wondered a little uneasily if sylvia really did suspect her.
then she concluded that it was out of the question.
who would suspect a mean, unsociable old lady, who had no friends, and who gave only five cents to the sewing circle when everyone else gave ten or fifteen, to be a fairy godmother, the donor of beautiful party dresses, and the recipient of gifts from romantic, aspiring young poets?
v.
the september chapter in september the old lady looked back on the summer and owned to herself that it had been a strangely happy one, with sundays and sewing circle days standing out like golden punctuation marks in a poem of life.
she felt like an utterly different woman; and other people thought her different also.
the sewing circle women found her so pleasant, and even friendly, that they began to think they had misjudged her, and that perhaps it was eccentricity after all, and not meanness, which accounted for her peculiar mode of living.
sylvia gray always came and talked to her on circle afternoons now, and the old lady treasured every word she said in her heart and repeated them over and over to her lonely self in the watches of the night.
sylvia never talked of herself or her plans, unless asked about them; and the old lady's self-consciousness prevented her from asking any personal questions: so their conversation kept to the surface of things, and it was not from sylvia, but from the minister's wife that the old lady finally discovered what her darling's dearest ambition was.
the minister's wife had dropped in at the old lloyd place one evening late in september, when a chilly wind was blowing up from the northeast and moaning about the eaves of the house, as if the burden of its lay were "harvest is ended and summer is gone."
the old lady had been listening to it, as she plaited a little basket of sweet grass for sylvia.
she had walked all the way to avonlea sand-hills for it the day before, and she was very tired.
and her heart was sad.
this summer, which had so enriched her life, was almost over; and she knew that sylvia gray talked of leaving spencervale at the end of october.
the old lady's heart felt like very lead within her at the thought, and she almost welcomed the advent of the minister's wife as a distraction, although she was desperately afraid that the minister's wife had called to ask for a subscription for the new vestry carpet, and the old lady simply could not afford to give one cent.
but the minister's wife had merely dropped in on her way home from the spencers" and she did not make any embarrassing requests.
instead, she talked about sylvia gray, and her words fell on the old lady's ears like separate pearl notes of unutterably sweet music.
the minister's wife had nothing but praise for sylvia -- she was so sweet and beautiful and winning.
""and with such a voice," said the minister's wife enthusiastically, adding with a sigh, "it's such a shame she ca n't have it properly trained.
she would certainly become a great singer -- competent critics have told her so.
but she is so poor she does n't think she can ever possibly manage it -- unless she can get one of the cameron scholarships, as they are called; and she has very little hope of that, although the professor of music who taught her has sent her name in."
""what are the cameron scholarships?"
asked the old lady.
""well, i suppose you have heard of andrew cameron, the millionaire?"
said the minister's wife, serenely unconscious that she was causing the very bones of the old lady's family skeleton to jangle in their closet.
into the old lady's white face came a sudden faint stain of colour, as if a rough hand had struck her cheek.
""yes, i've heard of him," she said.
""well, it seems that he had a daughter, who was a very beautiful girl, and whom he idolized.
she had a fine voice, and he was going to send her abroad to have it trained.
and she died.
it nearly broke his heart, i understand.
but ever since, he sends one young girl away to europe every year for a thorough musical education under the best teachers -- in memory of his daughter.
he has sent nine or ten already; but i fear there is n't much chance for sylvia gray, and she does n't think there is herself."
""why not?"
asked the old lady spiritedly.
""i am sure that there can be few voices equal to miss gray's."
""very true.
but you see, these so-called scholarships are private affairs, dependent solely on the whim and choice of andrew cameron himself.
of course, when a girl has friends who use their influence with him, he will often send her on their recommendation.
they say he sent a girl last year who had n't much of a voice at all just because her father had been an old business crony of his.
but sylvia does n't know anyone at all who would, to use a slang term, have any "pull" with andrew cameron, and she is not acquainted with him herself.
well, i must be going; we'll see you at the manse on saturday, i hope, miss lloyd.
the circle meets there, you know."
""yes, i know," said the old lady absently.
when the minister's wife had gone, she dropped her sweetgrass basket and sat for a long, long time with her hands lying idly in her lap, and her big black eyes staring unseeingly at the wall before her.
old lady lloyd, so pitifully poor that she had to eat six crackers the less a week to pay her fee to the sewing circle, knew that it was in her power -- hers -- to send leslie gray's daughter to europe for her musical education!
if she chose to use her "pull" with andrew cameron -- if she went to him and asked him to send sylvia gray abroad the next year -- she had no doubt whatever that it would be done.
it all lay with her -- if -- if -- if she could so far crush and conquer her pride as to stoop to ask a favour of the man who had wronged her and hers so bitterly.
years ago, her father, acting under the advice and urgency of andrew cameron, had invested all his little fortune in an enterprise that had turned out a failure.
abraham lloyd lost every dollar he possessed, and his family were reduced to utter poverty.
andrew cameron might have been forgiven for a mistake; but there was a strong suspicion, amounting to almost certainty, that he had been guilty of something far worse than a mistake in regard to his uncle's investment.
nothing could be legally proved; but it was certain that andrew cameron, already noted for his "sharp practices," emerged with improved finances from an entanglement that had ruined many better men; and old doctor lloyd had died brokenhearted, believing that his nephew had deliberately victimized him.
andrew cameron had not quite done this; he had meant well enough by his uncle at first, and what he had finally done he tried to justify to himself by the doctrine that a man must look out for number one.
margaret lloyd made no such excuses for him; she held him responsible, not only for her lost fortune, but for her father's death, and never forgave him for it.
when abraham lloyd had died, andrew cameron, perhaps pricked by his conscience, had come to her, sleekly and smoothly, to offer her financial aid.
he would see, he told her, that she never suffered want.
margaret lloyd flung his offer back in his face after a fashion that left nothing to be desired in the way of plain speaking.
she would die, she told him passionately, before she would accept a penny or a favour from him.
he had preserved an unbroken show of good temper, expressed his heartfelt regret that she should cherish such an unjust opinion of him, and had left her with an oily assurance that he would always be her friend, and would always be delighted to render her any assistance in his power whenever she should choose to ask for it.
the old lady had lived for twenty years in the firm conviction that she would die in the poorhouse -- as, indeed, seemed not unlikely -- before she would ask a favour of andrew cameron.
and so, in truth, she would have, had it been for herself.
but for sylvia!
could she so far humble herself for sylvia's sake?
the question was not easily or speedily settled, as had been the case in the matters of the grape jug and the book of poems.
for a whole week the old lady fought her pride and bitterness.
sometimes, in the hours of sleepless night, when all human resentments and rancours seemed petty and contemptible, she thought she had conquered it.
but in the daytime, with the picture of her father looking down at her from the wall, and the rustle of her unfashionable dresses, worn because of andrew cameron's double dealing, in her ears, it got the better of her again.
but the old lady's love for sylvia had grown so strong and deep and tender that no other feeling could endure finally against it.
love is a great miracle worker; and never had its power been more strongly made manifest than on the cold, dull autumn morning when the old lady walked to bright river railway station and took the train to charlottetown, bent on an errand the very thought of which turned her soul sick within her.
the station master who sold her her ticket thought old lady lloyd looked uncommonly white and peaked -- "as if she had n't slept a wink or eaten a bite for a week," he told his wife at dinner time.
""guess there's something wrong in her business affairs.
this is the second time she's gone to town this summer."
when the old lady reached the town, she ate her slender little lunch and then walked out to the suburb where the cameron factories and warehouses were.
it was a long walk for her, but she could not afford to drive.
she felt very tired when she was shown into the shining, luxurious office where andrew cameron sat at his desk.
after the first startled glance of surprise, he came forward beamingly, with outstretched hand.
""why, cousin margaret!
this is a pleasant surprise.
sit down -- allow me, this is a much more comfortable chair.
did you come in this morning?
and how is everybody out in spencervale?"
the old lady had flushed at his first words.
to hear the name by which her father and mother and lover had called her on andrew cameron's lips seemed like profanation.
but, she told herself, the time was past for squeamishness.
if she could ask a favour of andrew cameron, she could bear lesser pangs.
for sylvia's sake she shook hands with him, for sylvia's sake she sat down in the chair he offered.
but for no living human being's sake could this determined old lady infuse any cordiality into her manner or her words.
she went straight to the point with lloyd simplicity.
""i have come to ask a favour of you," she said, looking him in the eye, not at all humbly or meekly, as became a suppliant, but challengingly and defiantly, as if she dared him to refuse.
""de-lighted to hear it, cousin margaret."
never was anything so bland and gracious as his tone.
""anything i can do for you i shall be only too pleased to do.
i am afraid you have looked upon me as an enemy, margaret, and i assure you i have felt your injustice keenly.
i realize that some appearances were against me, but --" the old lady lifted her hand and stemmed his eloquence by that one gesture.
""i did not come here to discuss that matter," she said.
""we will not refer to the past, if you please.
i came to ask a favour, not for myself, but for a very dear young friend of mine -- a miss gray, who has a remarkably fine voice which she wishes to have trained.
she is poor, so i came to ask you if you would give her one of your musical scholarships.
i understand her name has already been suggested to you, with a recommendation from her teacher.
i do not know what he has said of her voice, but i do know he could hardly overrate it.
if you send her abroad for training, you will not make any mistake."
the old lady stopped talking.
she felt sure andrew cameron would grant her request, but she did hope he would grant it rather rudely or unwillingly.
she could accept the favour so much more easily if it were flung to her like a bone to a dog.
but not a bit of it.
andrew cameron was suaver than ever.
nothing could give him greater pleasure than to grant his dear cousin margaret's request -- he only wished it involved more trouble on his part.
her little protege should have her musical education assuredly -- she should go abroad next year -- and he was de-lighted -- "thank you," said the old lady, cutting him short again.
""i am much obliged to you -- and i ask you not to let miss gray know anything of my interference.
and i shall not take up any more of your valuable time.
good afternoon."
""oh, you must n't go so soon," he said, with some real kindness or clannishness permeating the hateful cordiality of his voice -- for andrew cameron was not entirely without the homely virtues of the average man.
he had been a good husband and father; he had once been very fond of his cousin margaret; and he was really very sorry that "circumstances" had "compelled" him to act as he had done in that old affair of her father's investment.
""you must be my guest to-night."
""thank you.
i must return home to-night," said the old lady firmly, and there was that in her tone which told andrew cameron that it would be useless to urge her.
but he insisted on telephoning for his carriage to drive her to the station.
the old lady submitted to this, because she was secretly afraid her own legs would not suffice to carry her there; she even shook hands with him at parting, and thanked him a second time for granting her request.
""not at all," he said.
""please try to think a little more kindly of me, cousin margaret."
when the old lady reached the station she found, to her dismay, that her train had just gone and that she would have to wait two hours for the evening one.
she went into the waiting-room and sat down.
she was very tired.
all the excitement that had sustained her was gone, and she felt weak and old.
she had nothing to eat, having expected to get home in time for tea; the waiting-room was chilly, and she shivered in her thin, old, silk mantilla.
her head ached and her heart likewise.
she had won sylvia's desire for her; but sylvia would go out of her life, and the old lady did not see how she was to go on living after that.
yet she sat there unflinchingly for two hours, an upright, indomitable old figure, silently fighting her losing battle with the forces of physical and mental pain, while happy people came and went, and laughed and talked before her.
at eight o'clock the old lady got off the train at bright river station, and slipped off unnoticed into the darkness of the wet night.
she had two miles to walk, and a cold rain was falling.
soon the old lady was wet to the skin and chilled to the marrow.
she felt as if she were walking in a bad dream.
blind instinct alone guided her over the last mile and up the lane to her own house.
as she fumbled at her door, she realized that a burning heat had suddenly taken the place of her chilliness.
she stumbled in over her threshold and closed the door.
vi.
the october chapter on the second morning after old lady lloyd's journey to town, sylvia gray was walking blithely down the wood lane.
it was a beautiful autumn morning, clear and crisp and sunny; the frosted ferns, drenched and battered with the rain of yesterday, gave out a delicious fragrance; here and there in the woods a maple waved a gay crimson banner, or a branch of birch showed pale golden against the dark, unchanging spruces.
the air was very pure and exhilarating.
sylvia walked with a joyous lightness of step and uplift of brow.
at the beech in the hollow she paused for an expectant moment, but there was nothing among the gray old roots for her.
she was just turning away when little teddy kimball, who lived next door to the manse, came running down the slope from the direction of the old lloyd place.
teddy's freckled face was very pale.
""oh, miss gray!"
he gasped.
""i guess old lady lloyd has gone clean crazy at last.
the minister's wife asked me to run up to the old lady, with a message about the sewing circle -- and i knocked -- and knocked -- and nobody came -- so i thought i'd just step in and leave the letter on the table.
but when i opened the door, i heard an awful queer laugh in the sitting-room, and next minute, the old lady came to the sitting-room door.
oh, miss gray, she looked awful.
her face was red and her eyes awful wild -- and she was muttering and talking to herself and laughing like mad.
i was so scared i just turned and run."
sylvia, without stopping for reflection, caught teddy's hand and ran up the slope.
it did not occur to her to be frightened, although she thought with teddy that the poor, lonely, eccentric old lady had really gone out of her mind at last.
the old lady was sitting on the kitchen sofa when sylvia entered.
teddy, too frightened to go in, lurked on the step outside.
the old lady still wore the damp black silk dress in which she had walked from the station.
her face was flushed, her eyes wild, her voice hoarse.
but she knew sylvia and cowered down.
""do n't look at me," she moaned.
""please go away -- i ca n't bear that you should know how poor i am.
you're to go to europe -- andrew cameron is going to send you -- i asked him -- he could n't refuse me.
but please go away."
sylvia did not go away.
at a glance she had seen that this was sickness and delirium, not insanity.
she sent teddy off in hot haste for mrs. spencer and when mrs. spencer came they induced the old lady to go to bed, and sent for the doctor.
by night everybody in spencervale knew that old lady lloyd had pneumonia.
mrs. spencer announced that she meant to stay and nurse the old lady.
several other women offered assistance.
everybody was kind and thoughtful.
but the old lady did not know it.
she did not even know sylvia gray, who came and sat by her every minute she could spare.
sylvia gray now knew all that she had suspected -- the old lady was her fairy godmother.
the old lady babbled of sylvia incessantly, revealing all her love for her, betraying all the sacrifices she had made.
sylvia's heart ached with love and tenderness, and she prayed earnestly that the old lady might recover.
""i want her to know that i give her love for love," she murmured.
everybody knew now how poor the old lady really was.
she let slip all the jealously guarded secrets of her existence, except her old love for leslie gray.
even in delirium something sealed her lips as to that.
but all else came out -- her anguish over her unfashionable attire, her pitiful makeshifts and contrivances, her humiliation over wearing unfashionable dresses and paying only five cents where every other sewing circle member paid ten.
the kindly women who waited on her listened to her with tear-filled eyes, and repented of their harsh judgments in the past.
""but who would have thought it?"
said mrs. spencer to the minister's wife.
""nobody ever dreamed that her father had lost all his money, though folks supposed he had lost some in that old affair of the silver mine out west.
it's shocking to think of the way she has lived all these years, often with not enough to eat -- and going to bed in winter days to save fuel.
though i suppose if we had known we could n't have done much for her, she's so desperate proud.
but if she lives, and will let us help her, things will be different after this.
crooked jack says he'll never forgive himself for taking pay for the few little jobs he did for her.
he says, if she'll only let him, he'll do everything she wants done for her after this for nothing.
ai n't it strange what a fancy she's took to miss gray?
think of her doing all those things for her all summer, and selling the grape jug and all.
well, the old lady certainly is n't mean, but nobody made a mistake in calling her queer.
it all does seem desperate pitiful.
miss gray's taking it awful hard.
she seems to think about as much of the old lady as the old lady thinks of her.
she's so worked up she do n't even seem to care about going to europe next year.
she's really going -- she's had word from andrew cameron.
i'm awful glad, for there never was a sweeter girl in the world; but she says it will cost too much if the old lady's life is to pay for it."
andrew cameron heard of the old lady's illness and came out to spencervale himself.
he was not allowed to see the old lady, of course; but he told all concerned that no expense or trouble was to be spared, and the spencervale doctor was instructed to send his bill to andrew cameron and hold his peace about it.
moreover, when andrew cameron went back home, he sent a trained nurse out to wait on the old lady, a capable, kindly woman who contrived to take charge of the case without offending mrs. spencer -- than which no higher tribute could be paid to her tact!
the old lady did not die -- the lloyd constitution brought her through.
one day, when sylvia came in, the old lady smiled up at her, with a weak, faint, sensible smile, and murmured her name, and the nurse said that the crisis was past.
the old lady made a marvellously patient and tractable invalid.
she did just as she was told, and accepted the presence of the nurse as a matter of course.
but one day, when she was strong enough to talk a little, she said to sylvia, "i suppose andrew cameron sent miss hayes here, did he?"
""yes," said sylvia, rather timidly.
the old lady noticed the timidity and smiled, with something of her old humour and spirit in her black eyes.
""time has been when i'd have packed off unceremoniously any person andrew cameron sent here," she said.
""but, sylvia, i have gone through the valley of the shadow of death, and i have left pride and resentment behind me for ever, i hope.
i no longer feel as i felt towards andrew.
i can even accept a personal favour from him now.
at last i can forgive him for the wrong he did me and mine.
sylvia, i find that i have been letting no ends of cats out of bags in my illness.
everybody knows now how poor i am -- but i do n't seem to mind it a bit.
i'm only sorry that i ever shut my neighbours out of my life because of my foolish pride.
everyone has been so kind to me, sylvia.
in the future, if my life is spared, it is going to be a very different sort of life.
i'm going to open it to all the kindness and companionship i can find in young and old.
i'm going to help them all i can and let them help me.
i can help people -- i've learned that money is n't the only power for helping people.
anyone who has sympathy and understanding to give has a treasure that is without money and without price.
and oh, sylvia, you've found out what i never meant you to know.
but i do n't mind that now, either."
sylvia took the old lady's thin white hand and kissed it.
""i can never thank you enough for what you have done for me, dearest miss lloyd," she said earnestly.
""and i am so glad that all mystery is done away with between us, and i can love you as much and as openly as i have longed to do.
i am so glad and so thankful that you love me, dear fairy godmother."
""do you know why i love you so?"
said the old lady wistfully.
""did i let that out in my raving, too?"
""no, but i think i know.
it is because i am leslie gray's daughter, is n't it?
i know that father loved you -- his brother, uncle willis, told me all about it."
""i spoiled my own life because of my wicked pride," said the old lady sadly.
""but you will love me in spite of it all, wo n't you, sylvia?
and you will come to see me sometimes?
and write me after you go away?"
""i am coming to see you every day," said sylvia.
""i am going to stay in spencervale for a whole year yet, just to be near you.
and next year when i go to europe -- thanks to you, fairy godmother -- i'll write you every day.
we are going to be the best of chums, and we are going to have a most beautiful year of comradeship!"
the old lady smiled contentedly.
out in the kitchen, the minister's wife, who had brought up a dish of jelly, was talking to mrs. spencer about the sewing circle.
through the open window, where the red vines hung, came the pungent, sun-warm october air.
the sunshine fell over sylvia's chestnut hair like a crown of glory and youth.
""i do feel so perfectly happy," said the old lady, with a long, rapturous breath.
iii.
each in his own tongue the honey-tinted autumn sunshine was falling thickly over the crimson and amber maples around old abel blair's door.
there was only one outer door in old abel's house, and it almost always stood wide open.
a little black dog, with one ear missing and a lame forepaw, almost always slept on the worn red sandstone slab which served old abel for a doorstep; and on the still more worn sill above it a large gray cat almost always slept.
just inside the door, on a bandy-legged chair of elder days, old abel almost always sat.
he was sitting there this afternoon -- a little old man, sadly twisted with rheumatism; his head was abnormally large, thatched with long, wiry black hair; his face was heavily lined and swarthily sunburned; his eyes were deep-set and black, with occasional peculiar golden flashes in them.
a strange looking man was old abel blair; and as strange was he as he looked.
lower carmody people would have told you.
old abel was almost always sober in these, his later years.
he was sober to-day.
he liked to bask in that ripe sunlight as well as his dog and cat did; and in such baskings he almost always looked out of his doorway at the far, fine blue sky over the tops of the crowding maples.
but to-day he was not looking at the sky, instead, he was staring at the black, dusty rafters of his kitchen, where hung dried meats and strings of onions and bunches of herbs and fishing tackle and guns and skins.
but old abel saw not these things; his face was the face of a man who beholds visions, compact of heavenly pleasure and hellish pain, for old abel was seeing what he might have been -- and what he was; as he always saw when felix moore played to him on the violin.
and the awful joy of dreaming that he was young again, with unspoiled life before him, was so great and compelling that it counterbalanced the agony in the realization of a dishonoured old age, following years in which he had squandered the wealth of his soul in ways where wisdom lifted not her voice.
felix moore was standing opposite to him, before an untidy stove, where the noon fire had died down into pallid, scattered ashes.
under his chin he held old abel's brown, battered fiddle; his eyes, too, were fixed on the ceiling; and he, too, saw things not lawful to be uttered in any language save that of music; and of all music, only that given forth by the anguished, enraptured spirit of the violin.
and yet this felix was little more than twelve years old, and his face was still the face of a child who knows nothing of either sorrow or sin or failure or remorse.
only in his large, gray-black eyes was there something not of the child -- something that spoke of an inheritance from many hearts, now ashes, which had aforetime grieved and joyed, and struggled and failed, and succeeded and grovelled.
the inarticulate cries of their longings had passed into this child's soul, and transmuted themselves into the expression of his music.
felix was a beautiful child.
carmody people, who stayed at home, thought so; and old abel blair, who had roamed afar in many lands, thought so; and even the rev. stephen leonard, who taught, and tried to believe, that favour is deceitful and beauty is vain, thought so.
he was a slight lad, with sloping shoulders, a slim brown neck, and a head set on it with stag-like grace and uplift.
his hair, cut straight across his brow and falling over his ears, after some caprice of janet andrews, the minister's housekeeper, was a glossy blue-black.
the skin of his face and hands was like ivory; his eyes were large and beautifully tinted -- gray, with dilating pupils; his features had the outlines of a cameo.
carmody mothers considered him delicate, and had long foretold that the minister would never bring him up; but old abel pulled his grizzled moustache when he heard such forebodings and smiled.
""felix moore will live," he said positively.
""you ca n't kill that kind until their work is done.
he's got a work to do -- if the minister'll let him do it.
and if the minister do n't let him do it, then i would n't be in that minister's shoes when he comes to the judgment -- no, i'd rather be in my own.
it's an awful thing to cross the purposes of the almighty, either in your own life or anybody else's.
sometimes i think it's what's meant by the unpardonable sin -- ay, that i do!"
carmody people never asked what old abel meant.
they had long ago given up such vain questioning.
when a man had lived as old abel had lived for the greater part of his life, was it any wonder he said crazy things?
and as for hinting that mr. leonard, a man who was really almost too good to live, was guilty of any sin, much less an unpardonable one -- well, there now!
what use was it to be taking any account of old abel's queer speeches?
though, to be sure, there was no great harm in a fiddle, and maybe mr. leonard was a mite too strict that way with the child.
but then, could you wonder at it?
there was his father, you see.
felix finally lowered the violin, and came back to old abel's kitchen with a long sigh.
old abel smiled drearily at him -- the smile of a man who has been in the hands of the tormentors.
""it's awful the way you play -- it's awful," he said with a shudder.
""i never heard anything like it -- and you that never had any teaching since you were nine years old, and not much practice, except what you could get here now and then on my old, battered fiddle.
and to think you make it up yourself as you go along!
i suppose your grandfather would never hear to your studying music -- would he now?"
felix shook his head.
""i know he would n't, abel.
he wants me to be a minister.
ministers are good things to be, but i'm afraid i ca n't be a minister."
""not a pulpit minister.
there's different kinds of ministers, and each must talk to men in his own tongue if he's going to do'em any real good," said old abel meditatively.
""your tongue is music.
strange that your grandfather ca n't see that for himself, and him such a broad-minded man!
he's the only minister i ever had much use for.
he's god's own if ever a man was.
and he loves you -- yes, sir, he loves you like the apple of his eye."
""and i love him," said felix warmly.
""i love him so much that i'll even try to be a minister for his sake, though i do n't want to be."
""what do you want to be?"
""a great violinist," answered the child, his ivory-hued face suddenly warming into living rose.
""i want to play to thousands -- and see their eyes look as yours do when i play.
sometimes your eyes frighten me, but oh, it's a splendid fright!
if i had father's violin i could do better.
i remember that he once said it had a soul that was doing purgatory for its sins when it had lived on earth.
i do n't know what he meant, but it did seem to me that his violin was alive.
he taught me to play on it as soon as i was big enough to hold it."
""did you love your father?"
asked old abel, with a keen look.
again felix crimsoned; but he looked straightly and steadily into his old friend's face.
""no," he said, "i did n't; but," he added, gravely and deliberately, "i do n't think you should have asked me such a question."
it was old abel's turn to blush.
carmody people would not have believed he could blush; and perhaps no living being could have called that deepening hue into his weather-beaten cheek save only this gray-eyed child of the rebuking face.
""no, i guess i should n't," he said.
""but i'm always making mistakes.
i've never made anything else.
that's why i'm nothing more than "old abel" to the carmody people.
nobody but you and your grandfather ever calls me "mr. blair."
yet william blair at the store up there, rich and respected as he is, was n't half as clever a man as i was when we started in life: you may n't believe that, but it's true.
and the worst of it is, young felix, that most of the time i do n't care whether i'm mr. blair of old abel.
only when you play i care.
it makes me feel just as a look i saw in a little girl's eyes some years ago made me feel.
her name was anne shirley and she lived with the cuthberts down at avonlea.
we got into a conversation at blair's store.
she could talk a blue streak to anyone, that girl could.
i happened to say about something that it did n't matter to a battered old hulk of sixty odd like me.
she looked at me with her big, innocent eyes, a little reproachful like, as if i'd said something awful heretical.
"do n't you think, mr. blair," she says, "that the older we get the more things ought to matter to us?"
-- as grave as if she'd been a hundred instead of eleven.
"things matter so much to me now," she says, clasping her hands thisaway, "and i'm sure that when i'm sixty they'll matter just five times as much to me."
well, the way she looked and the way she spoke made me feel downright ashamed of myself because things had stopped mattering with me.
but never mind all that.
my miserable old feelings do n't count for much.
what come of your father's fiddle?"
""grandfather took it away when i came here.
i think he burned it.
and i long for it so often."
""well, you've always got my old brown fiddle to come to when you must."
""yes, i know.
and i'm glad for that.
but i'm hungry for a violin all the time.
and i only come here when the hunger gets too much to bear.
i feel as if i ought n't to come even then -- i'm always saying i wo n't do it again, because i know grandfather would n't like it, if he knew."
""he has never forbidden it, has he?"
""no, but that is because he does n't know i come here for that.
he never thinks of such a thing.
i feel sure he would forbid it, if he knew.
and that makes me very wretched.
and yet i have to come.
mr. blair, do you know why grandfather ca n't bear to have me play on the violin?
he loves music, and he does n't mind my playing on the organ, if i do n't neglect other things.
i ca n't understand it, can you?"
""i have a pretty good idea, but i ca n't tell you.
it is n't my secret.
maybe he'll tell you himself some day.
but, mark you, young felix, he has got good reasons for it all.
knowing what i know, i ca n't blame him over much, though i think he's mistaken.
come now, play something more for me before you go -- something that's bright and happy this time, so as to leave me with a good taste in my mouth.
that last thing you played took me straight to heaven, -- but heaven's awful near to hell, and at the last you tipped me in."
""i do n't understand you," said felix, drawing his fine, narrow black brows together in a perplexed frown.
""no -- and i would n't want you to.
you could n't understand unless you was an old man who had it in him once to do something and be a man, and just went and made himself a devilish fool.
but there must be something in you that understands things -- all kinds of things -- or you could n't put it all into music the way you do.
how do you do it?
how in -- how do you do it, young felix?"
""i do n't know.
but i play differently to different people.
i do n't know how that is.
when i'm alone with you i have to play one way; and when janet comes over here to listen i feel quite another way -- not so thrilling, but happier and lonelier.
and that day when jessie blair was here listening i felt as if i wanted to laugh and sing -- as if the violin wanted to laugh and sing all the time."
the strange, golden gleam flashed through old abel's sunken eyes.
""god," he muttered under his breath, "i believe the boy can get into other folk's souls somehow, and play out what his soul sees there."
""what's that you say?"
inquired felix, petting his fiddle.
""nothing -- never mind -- go on.
something lively now, young felix.
stop probing into my soul, where you have n't no business to be, you infant, and play me something out of your own -- something sweet and happy and pure."
""i'll play the way i feel on sunshiny mornings, when the birds are singing and i forget i have to be a minister," said felix simply.
a witching, gurgling, mirthful strain, like mingled bird and brook song, floated out on the still air, along the path where the red and golden maple leaves were falling very softly, one by one.
the reverend stephen leonard heard it, as he came along the way, and the reverend stephen leonard smiled.
now, when stephen leonard smiled, children ran to him, and grown people felt as if they looked from pisgah over to some fair land of promise beyond the fret and worry of their care-dimmed earthly lives.
mr. leonard loved music, as he loved all things beautiful, whether in the material or the spiritual world, though he did not realize how much he loved them for their beauty alone, or he would have been shocked and remorseful.
he himself was beautiful.
his figure was erect and youthful, despite seventy years.
his face was as mobile and charming as a woman's, yet with all a man's tried strength and firmness in it, and his dark blue eyes flashed with the brilliance of one and twenty; even his silken silvery hair could not make an old man of him.
he was worshipped by everyone who knew him, and he was, in so far as mortal man may be, worthy of that worship.
""old abel is amusing himself with his violin again," he thought.
""what a delicious thing he is playing!
he has quite a gift for the violin.
but how can he play such a thing as that, -- a battered old hulk of a man who has, at one time or another, wallowed in almost every sin to which human nature can sink?
he was on one of his sprees three days ago -- the first one for over a year -- lying dead-drunk in the market square in charlottetown among the dogs; and now he is playing something that only a young archangel on the hills of heaven ought to be able to play.
well, it will make my task all the easier.
abel is always repentant by the time he is able to play on his fiddle."
mr. leonard was on the door-stone.
the little black dog had frisked down to meet him, and the gray cat rubbed her head against his leg.
old abel did not notice him; he was beating time with uplifted hand and smiling face to felix's music, and his eyes were young again, glowing with laughter and sheer happiness.
""felix!
what does this mean?"
the violin bow clattered from felix's hand upon the floor; he swung around and faced his grandfather.
as he met the passion of grief and hurt in the old man's eyes, his own clouded with an agony of repentance.
""grandfather -- i'm sorry," he cried brokenly.
""now, now!"
old abel had risen deprecatingly.
""it's all my fault, mr. leonard.
do n't you blame the boy.
i coaxed him to play a bit for me.
i did n't feel fit to touch the fiddle yet myself -- too soon after friday, you see.
so i coaxed him on -- would n't give him no peace till he played.
it's all my fault."
""no," said felix, throwing back his head.
his face was as white as marble, yet it seemed ablaze with desperate truth and scorn of old abel's shielding lie.
""no, grandfather, it is n't abel's fault.
i came over here on purpose to play, because i thought you had gone to the harbour.
i have come here often, ever since i have lived with you."
""ever since you have lived with me you have been deceiving me like this, felix?"
there was no anger in mr. leonard's tone -- only measureless sorrow.
the boy's sensitive lips quivered.
""forgive me, grandfather," he whispered beseechingly.
""you never forbid him to come," old abel broke in angrily.
""be just, mr. leonard -- be just."
""i am just.
felix knows that he has disobeyed me, in the spirit if not in the letter.
do you not know it, felix?"
""yes, grandfather, i have done wrong -- i've known that i was doing wrong every time i came.
forgive me, grandfather."
""felix, i forgive you, but i ask you to promise me, here and now, that you will never again, as long as you live, touch a violin."
dusky crimson rushed madly over the boy's face.
he gave a cry as if he had been lashed with a whip.
old abel sprang to his feet.
""do n't you ask such a promise of him, mr. leonard," he cried furiously.
""it's a sin, that's what it is.
man, man, what blinds you?
you are blind.
ca n't you see what is in the boy?
his soul is full of music.
it'll torture him to death -- or to worse -- if you do n't let it have way."
""there is a devil in such music," said mr. leonard hotly.
""ay, there may be, but do n't forget that there's a christ in it, too," retorted old abel in a low tense tone.
mr. leonard looked shocked; he considered that old abel had uttered blasphemy.
he turned away from him rebukingly.
""felix, promise me."
there was no relenting in his face or tone.
he was merciless in the use of the power he possessed over that young, loving spirit.
felix understood that there was no escape; but his lips were very white as he said, "i promise, grandfather."
mr. leonard drew a long breath of relief.
he knew that promise would be kept.
so did old abel.
the latter crossed the floor and sullenly took the violin from felix's relaxed hand.
without a word or look he went into the little bedroom off the kitchen and shut the door with a slam of righteous indignation.
but from its window he stealthily watched his visitors go away.
just as they entered on the maple path mr. leonard laid his hand on felix's head and looked down at him.
instantly the boy flung his arm up over the old man's shoulder and smiled at him.
in the look they exchanged there was boundless love and trust -- ay, and good-fellowship.
old abel's scornful eyes again held the golden flash.
""how those two love each other!"
he muttered enviously.
""and how they torture each other!"
mr. leonard went to his study to pray when he got home.
he knew that felix had run for comforting to janet andrews, the little, thin, sweet-faced, rigid-lipped woman who kept house for them.
mr. leonard knew that janet would disapprove of his action as deeply as old abel had done.
she would say nothing, she would only look at him with reproachful eyes over the teacups at suppertime.
but mr. leonard believed he had done what was best and his conscience did not trouble him, though his heart did.
thirteen years before this, his daughter margaret had almost broken that heart by marrying a man of whom he could not approve.
martin moore was a professional violinist.
he was a popular performer, though not in any sense a great one.
he met the slim, golden-haired daughter of the manse at the house of a college friend she was visiting in toronto, and fell straightway in love with her.
margaret had loved him with all her virginal heart in return, and married him, despite her father's disapproval.
it was not to martin moore's profession that mr. leonard objected, but to the man himself.
he knew that the violinist's past life had not been such as became a suitor for margaret leonard; and his insight into character warned him that martin moore could never make any woman lastingly happy.
margaret leonard did not believe this.
she married martin moore and lived one year in paradise.
perhaps that atoned for the three bitter years which followed -- that, and her child.
at all events, she died as she had lived, loyal and uncomplaining.
she died alone, for her husband was away on a concert tour, and her illness was so brief that her father had not time to reach her before the end.
her body was taken home to be buried beside her mother in the little carmody churchyard.
mr. leonard wished to take the child, but martin moore refused to give him up.
six years later moore, too, died, and at last mr. leonard had his heart's desire -- the possession of margaret's son.
the grandfather awaited the child's coming with mingled feelings.
his heart yearned for him, yet he dreaded to meet a second edition of martin moore.
suppose margaret's son resembled his handsome vagabond of a father!
or, worse still, suppose he were cursed with his father's lack of principle, his instability, his bohemian instincts.
thus mr. leonard tortured himself wretchedly before the coming of felix.
the child did not look like either father or mother.
instead, mr. leonard found himself looking into a face which he had put away under the grasses thirty years before -- the face of his girl bride, who had died at margaret's birth.
here again were her lustrous gray-black eyes, her ivory outlines, her fine-traced arch of brow; and here, looking out of those eyes, seemed her very spirit again.
from that moment the soul of the old man was knit to the soul of the child, and they loved each other with a love surpassing that of women.
felix's only inheritance from his father was his love of music.
but the child had genius, where his father had possessed only talent.
to martin moore's outward mastery of the violin was added the mystery and intensity of his mother's nature, with some more subtle quality still, which had perhaps come to him from the grandmother he so strongly resembled.
moore had understood what a career was naturally before the child, and he had trained him in the technique of his art from the time the slight fingers could first grasp the bow.
when nine-year-old felix came to the carmody manse, he had mastered as much of the science of the violin as nine out of ten musicians acquire in a lifetime; and he brought with him his father's violin; it was all martin moore had to leave his son -- but it was an amati, the commercial value of which nobody in carmody suspected.
mr. leonard had taken possession of it and felix had never seen it since.
he cried himself to sleep many a night for the loss of it.
mr. leonard did not know this, and if janet andrews suspected it she held her tongue -- an art in which she excelled.
she "saw no harm in a fiddle," herself, and thought mr. leonard absurdly strict in the matter, though it would not have been well for the luckless outsider who might have ventured to say as much to her.
she had connived at felix's visits to old abel blair, squaring the matter with her presbyterian conscience by some peculiar process known only to herself.
when janet heard of the promise which mr. leonard had exacted from felix she seethed with indignation; and, though she "knew her place" better than to say anything to mr. leonard about it, she made her disapproval so plainly manifest in her bearing that the stern, gentle old man found the atmosphere of his hitherto peaceful manse unpleasantly chill and hostile for a time.
it was the wish of his heart that felix should be a minister, as he would have wished his own son to be, had one been born to him.
mr. leonard thought rightly that the highest work to which any man could be called was a life of service to his fellows; but he made the mistake of supposing the field of service much narrower than it is -- of failing to see that a man may minister to the needs of humanity in many different but equally effective ways.
janet hoped that mr. leonard might not exact the fulfilment of felix's promise; but felix himself, with the instinctive understanding of perfect love, knew that it was vain to hope for any change of viewpoint in his grandfather.
he addressed himself to the keeping of his promise in letter and in spirit.
he never went again to old abel's; he did not even play on the organ, though this was not forbidden, because any music wakened in him a passion of longing and ecstasy which demanded expression with an intensity not to be borne.
he flung himself grimly into his studies and conned latin and greek verbs with a persistency which soon placed him at the head of all competitors.
only once in the long winter did he come near to breaking his promise.
one evening, when march was melting into april, and the pulses of spring were stirring under the lingering snow, he was walking home from school alone.
as he descended into the little hollow below the manse a lively lilt of music drifted up to meet him.
it was only the product of a mouth-organ, manipulated by a little black-eyed, french-canadian hired boy, sitting on the fence by the brook; but there was music in the ragged urchin and it came out through his simple toy.
it tingled over felix from head to foot; and, when leon held out the mouth-organ with a fraternal grin of invitation, he snatched at it as a famished creature might snatch at food.
then, with it half-way to his lips, he paused.
true, it was only the violin he had promised never to touch; but he felt that if he gave way ever so little to the desire that was in him, it would sweep everything before it.
if he played on leon buote's mouth-organ, there in that misty spring dale, he would go to old abel's that evening; he knew he would go.
to leon's amazement, felix threw the mouth-organ back at him and ran up the hill as if he were pursued.
there was something in his boyish face that frightened leon; and it frightened janet andrews as felix rushed past her in the hall of the manse.
""child, what's the matter with you?"
she cried.
""are you sick?
have you been scared?"
""no, no.
leave me alone, janet," said felix chokingly, dashing up the stairs to his own room.
he was quite composed when he came down to tea, an hour later, though he was unusually pale and had purple shadows under his large eyes.
mr. leonard scrutinized him somewhat anxiously; it suddenly occurred to the old minister that felix was looking more delicate than his wont this spring.
well, he had studied hard all winter, and he was certainly growing very fast.
when vacation came he must be sent away for a visit.
""they tell me naomi clark is real sick," said janet.
""she has been ailing all winter, and now she's fast to her bed.
mrs. murphy says she believes the woman is dying, but nobody dares tell her so.
she wo n't give in she's sick, nor take medicine.
and there's nobody to wait on her except that simple creature, maggie peterson."
""i wonder if i ought to go and see her," said mr. leonard uneasily.
""what use would it be to bother yourself?
you know she would n't see you -- she'd shut the door in your face like she did before.
she's an awful wicked woman -- but it's kind of terrible to think of her lying there sick, with no responsible person to tend her."
""naomi clark is a bad woman and she lived a life of shame, but i like her, for all that," remarked felix, in the grave, meditative tone in which he occasionally said rather startling things.
mr. leonard looked somewhat reproachfully at janet andrews, as if to ask her why felix should have attained to this dubious knowledge of good and evil under her care; and janet shot a dour look back which, being interpreted, meant that if felix went to the district school she could not and would not be held responsible if he learned more there than arithmetic and latin.
""what do you know of naomi clark to like or dislike?"
she asked curiously.
""did you ever see her?"
""oh, yes," felix replied, addressing himself to his cherry preserve with considerable gusto.
""i was down at spruce cove one night last summer when a big thunderstorm came up.
i went to naomi's house for shelter.
the door was open, so i walked right in, because nobody answered my knock.
naomi clark was at the window, watching the cloud coming up over the sea.
she just looked at me once, but did n't say anything, and then went on watching the cloud.
i did n't like to sit down because she had n't asked me to, so i went to the window by her and watched it, too.
it was a dreadful sight -- the cloud was so black and the water so green, and there was such a strange light between the cloud and the water; yet there was something splendid in it, too.
part of the time i watched the storm, and the other part i watched naomi's face.
it was dreadful to see, like the storm, and yet i liked to see it.
""after the thunder was over it rained a while longer, and naomi sat down and talked to me.
she asked me who i was, and when i told her she asked me to play something for her on her violin," -- felix shot a deprecating glance at mr. leonard -- "because, she said, she'd heard i was a great hand at it.
she wanted something lively, and i tried just as hard as i could to play something like that.
but i could n't.
i played something that was terrible -- it just played itself -- it seemed as if something was lost that could never be found again.
and before i got through, naomi came at me, and tore the violin from me, and -- swore.
and she said, "you big-eyed brat, how did you know that?"
then she took me by the arm -- and she hurt me, too, i can tell you -- and she put me right out in the rain and slammed the door."
""the rude, unmannerly creature!"
said janet indignantly.
""oh, no, she was quite in the right," said felix composedly.
""it served me right for what i played.
you see, she did n't know i could n't help playing it.
i suppose she thought i did it on purpose."
""what on earth did you play, child?"
""i do n't know."
felix shivered.
""it was awful -- it was dreadful.
it was fit to break you heart.
but it had to be played, if i played anything at all."
""i do n't understand what you mean -- i declare i do n't," said janet in bewilderment.
""i think we'll change the subject of conversation," said mr. leonard.
it was a month later when "the simple creature, maggie" appeared at the manse door one evening and asked for the preached.
""naomi wants ter see yer," she mumbled.
""naomi sent maggie ter tell yer ter come at onct."
""i shall go, certainly," said mr. leonard gently.
""is she very ill?"
""her's dying," said maggie with a broad grin.
""and her's awful skeered of hell.
her just knew ter-day her was dying.
maggie told her -- her would n't believe the harbour women, but her believed maggie.
her yelled awful."
maggie chuckled to herself over the gruesome remembrance.
mr. leonard, his heart filled with pity, called janet and told her to give the poor creature some refreshment.
but maggie shook her head.
""no, no, preacher, maggie must get right back to naomi.
maggie'll tell her the preacher's coming ter save her from hell."
she uttered an eerie cry, and ran at full speed shoreward through the spruce woods.
""the lord save us!"
said janet in an awed tone.
""i knew the poor girl was simple, but i did n't know she was like that.
and are you going, sir?"
""yes, of course.
i pray god i may be able to help the poor soul," said mr. leonard sincerely.
he was a man who never shirked what he believed to be his duty; but duty had sometimes presented itself to him in pleasanter guise than this summons to naomi clark's death-bed.
the woman had been the plague spot of lower carmody and carmody harbour for a generation.
in the earlier days of his ministry to the congregation he had tried to reclaim her, and naomi had mocked and flouted him to his face.
then, for the sake of those to whom she was a snare or a heart-break, he had endeavoured to set the law in motion against her, and naomi had laughed the law to scorn.
finally, he had been compelled to let her alone.
yet naomi had not always been an outcast.
her girlhood had been innocent; but she was the possessor of a dangerous beauty, and her mother was dead.
her father was a man notorious for his harshness and violence of temper.
when naomi made the fatal mistake of trusting to a false love that betrayed and deserted, he drove her from his door with taunts and curses.
naomi took up her quarters in a little deserted house at spruce cove.
had her child lived it might have saved her.
but it died at birth, and with its little life went her last chance of worldly redemption.
from that time forth, her feet were set in the way that takes hold on hell.
for the past five years, however, naomi had lived a tolerably respectable life.
when janet peterson had died, her idiot daughter, maggie, had been left with no kin in the world.
nobody knew what was to be done with her, for nobody wanted to be bothered with her.
naomi clark went to the girl and offered her a home.
people said she was no fit person to have charge of maggie, but everybody shirked the unpleasant task of interfering in the matter, except mr. leonard, who went to expostulate with naomi, and, as janet said, for his pains got her door shut in his face.
but from the day when maggie peterson went to live with her, naomi ceased to be the harbour magdalen.
the sun had set when mr. leonard reached spruce cove, and the harbour was veiling itself in a wondrous twilight splendour.
afar out, the sea lay throbbing and purple, and the moan of the bar came through the sweet, chill spring air with its burden of hopeless, endless longing and seeking.
the sky was blossoming into stars above the afterglow; out to the east the moon was rising, and the sea beneath it was a thing of radiance and silver and glamour; and a little harbour boat that went sailing across it was transmuted into an elfin shallop from the coast of fairyland.
mr. leonard sighed as he turned from the sinless beauty of the sea and sky to the threshold of naomi clark's house.
it was very small -- one room below, and a sleeping-loft above; but a bed had been made up for the sick woman by the down-stairs window looking out on the harbour; and naomi lay on it, with a lamp burning at her head and another at her side, although it was not yet dark.
a great dread of darkness had always been one of naomi's peculiarities.
she was tossing restlessly on her poor couch, while maggie crouched on a box at the foot.
mr. leonard had not seen her for five years, and he was shocked at the change in her.
she was much wasted; her clear-cut, aquiline features had been of the type which becomes indescribably witch-like in old age, and, though naomi clark was barely sixty, she looked as if she might be a hundred.
her hair streamed over the pillow in white, uncared-for tresses, and the hands that plucked at the bed-clothes were like wrinkled claws.
only her eyes were unchanged; they were as blue and brilliant as ever, but now filled with such agonized terror and appeal that mr. leonard's gentle heart almost stood still with the horror of them.
they were the eyes of a creature driven wild with torture, hounded by furies, clutched by unutterable fear.
naomi sat up and dragged at his arm.
""can you help me?
can you help me?"
she gasped imploringly.
""oh, i thought you'd never come!
i was skeered i'd die before you got here -- die and go to hell.
i did n't know before today that i was dying.
none of those cowards would tell me.
can you help me?"
""if i can not, god can," said mr. leonard gently.
he felt himself very helpless and inefficient before this awful terror and frenzy.
he had seen sad death-beds -- troubled death-beds -- ay, and despairing death-beds, but never anything like this.
""god!"
naomi's voice shrilled terribly as she uttered the name.
""i ca n't go to god for help.
oh, i'm skeered of hell, but i'm skeereder still of god.
i'd rather go to hell a thousand times over than face god after the life i've lived.
i tell you, i'm sorry for living wicked -- i was always sorry for it all the time.
there ai n't never been a moment i was n't sorry, though nobody would believe it.
i was driven on by fiends of hell.
oh, you do n't understand -- you ca n't understand -- but i was always sorry!"
""if you repent, that is all that is necessary.
god will forgive you if you ask him."
""no, he ca n't!
sins like mine ca n't be forgiven.
he ca n't -- and he wo n't."
""he can and he will.
he is a god of love, naomi."
""no," said naomi with stubborn conviction.
""he is n't a god of love at all.
that's why i'm skeered of him.
no, no.
he's a god of wrath and justice and punishment.
love!
there ai n't no such thing as love!
i've never found it on earth, and i do n't believe it's to be found in god."
""naomi, god loves us like a father."
""like my father?"
naomi's shrill laughter, pealing through the still room, was hideous to hear.
the old minister shuddered.
""no -- no!
as a kind, tender, all-wise father, naomi -- as you would have loved your little child if it had lived."
naomi cowered and moaned.
""oh, i wish i could believe that.
i would n't be frightened if i could believe that.
make me believe it.
surely you can make me believe that there's love and forgiveness in god if you believe it yourself."
""jesus christ forgave and loved the magdalen, naomi."
""jesus christ?
oh, i ai n't afraid of him.
yes, he could understand and forgive.
he was half human.
i tell you, it's god i'm skeered of."
""they are one and the same," said mr. leonard helplessly.
he knew he could not make naomi realize it.
this anguished death-bed was no place for a theological exposition on the mysteries of the trinity.
""christ died for you, naomi.
he bore your sins in his own body on the cross."
""we bear our own sins," said naomi fiercely.
""i've borne mine all my life -- and i'll bear them for all eternity.
i ca n't believe anything else.
i ca n't believe god can forgive me.
i've ruined people body and soul -- i've broken hearts and poisoned homes -- i'm worse than a murderess.
no -- no -- no, there's no hope for me."
her voice rose again into that shrill, intolerable shriek.
""i've got to go to hell.
it ai n't so much the fire i'm skeered of as the outer darkness.
i've always been so skeered of darkness -- it's so full of awful things and thoughts.
oh, there ai n't nobody to help me!
man ai n't no good and i'm too skeered of god."
she wrung her hands.
mr. leonard walked up and down the room in the keenest anguish of spirit he had ever known.
what could he do?
what could he say?
there was healing and peace in his religion for this woman as for all others, but he could express it in no language which this tortured soul could understand.
he looked at her writhing face; he looked at the idiot girl chuckling to herself at the foot of the bed; he looked through the open door to the remote, starlit night -- and a horrible sense of utter helplessness overcame him.
he could do nothing -- nothing!
in all his life he had never known such bitterness of soul as the realization brought home to him.
""what is the good of you if you ca n't help me?"
moaned the dying woman.
""pray -- pray -- pray!"
she shrilled suddenly.
mr. leonard dropped on his knees by the bed.
he did not know what to say.
no prayer that he had ever prayed was of use here.
the old, beautiful formulas, which had soothed and helped the passing of many a soul, were naught save idle, empty words to naomi clark.
in his anguish of mind stephen leonard gasped out the briefest and sincerest prayer his lips had ever uttered.
""o, god, our father!
help this woman.
speak to her in a tongue which she can understand."
a beautiful, white face appeared for a moment in the light that streamed out of the doorway into the darkness of the night.
no one noticed it, and it quickly drew back into the shadow.
suddenly, naomi fell back on her pillow, her lips blue, her face horribly pinched, her eyes rolled up in her head.
maggie started up, pushed mr. leonard aside, and proceeded to administer some remedy with surprising skill and deftness.
mr. leonard, believing naomi to be dying, went to the door, feeling sick and bruised in soul.
presently a figure stole out into the light.
""felix, is that you?"
said mr. leonard in a startled tone.
""yes, sir."
felix came up to the stone step.
""janet got frightened what you might fall on that rough road after dark, so she made me come after you with a lantern.
i've been waiting behind the point, but at last i thought i'd better come and see if you would be staying much longer.
if you will be, i'll go back to janet and leave the lantern here with you."
""yes, that will be the best thing to do.
i may not be ready to go home for some time yet," said mr. leonard, thinking that the death-bed of sin behind him was no sight for felix's young eyes.
""is that your grandson you're talking to?"
naomi spoke clearly and strongly.
the spasm had passed.
""if it is, bring him in.
i want to see him."
reluctantly, mr. leonard signed felix to enter.
the boy stood by naomi's bed and looked down at her with sympathetic eyes.
but at first she did not look at him -- she looked past him at the minister.
""i might have died in that spell," she said, with sullen reproach in her voice, "and if i had, i'd been in hell now.
you ca n't help me -- i'm done with you.
there ai n't any hope for me, and i know it now."
she turned to felix.
""take down that fiddle on the wall and play something for me," she said imperiously.
""i'm dying -- and i'm going to hell -- and i do n't want to think of it.
play me something to take my thoughts off it -- i do n't care what you play.
i was always fond of music -- there was always something in it for me i never found anywhere else."
felix looked at his grandfather.
the old man nodded, he felt too ashamed to speak; he sat with his fine silver head in his hands, while felix took down and tuned the old violin, on which so many godless lilts had been played in many a wild revel.
mr. leonard felt that he had failed his religion.
he could not give naomi the help that was in it for her.
felix drew the bow softly, perplexedly over the strings.
he had no idea what he should play.
then his eyes were caught and held by naomi's burning, mesmeric, blue gaze as she lay on her crumpled pillow.
a strange, inspired look came over the boy's face.
he began to play as if it were not he who played, but some mightier power, of which he was but the passive instrument.
sweet and soft and wonderful was the music that stole through the room.
mr. leonard forgot his heartbreak and listened to it in puzzled amazement.
he had never heard anything like it before.
how could the child play like that?
he looked at naomi and marvelled at the change in her face.
the fear and frenzy were going out of it; she listened breathlessly, never taking her eyes from felix.
at the foot of the bed the idiot girl sat with tears on her cheeks.
in that strange music was the joy of the innocent, mirthful childhood, blent with the laughter of waves and the call of glad winds.
then it held the wild, wayward dreams of youth, sweet and pure in all their wildness and waywardness.
they were followed by a rapture of young love -- all-surrendering, all-sacrificing love.
the music changed.
it held the torture of unshed tears, the anguish of a heart deceived and desolate.
mr. leonard almost put his hands over his ears to shut out its intolerable poignancy.
but on the dying woman's face was only a strange relief, as if some dumb, long-hidden pain had at last won to the healing of utterance.
the sullen indifference of despair came next, the bitterness of smouldering revolt and misery, the reckless casting away of all good.
there was something indescribably evil in the music now -- so evil that mr. leonard's white soul shuddered away in loathing, and maggie cowered and whined like a frightened animal.
again the music changed.
and in it now there was agony and fear -- and repentance and a cry for pardon.
to mr. leonard there was something strangely familiar in it.
he struggled to recall where he had heard it before; then he suddenly knew -- he had heard it before felix came in naomi's terrible words!
he looked at his grandson with something like awe.
here was a power of which he knew nothing -- a strange and dreadful power.
was it of god?
or of satan?
for the last time the music changed.
and now it was not music at all -- it was a great, infinite forgiveness, an all-comprehending love.
it was healing for a sick soul; it was light and hope and peace.
a bible text, seemingly incongruous, came into mr. leonard's mind -- "this is the house of god; this is the gate of heaven."
felix lowered the violin and dropped wearily on a chair by the bed.
the inspired light faded from his face; once more he was only a tired boy.
but stephen leonard was on his knees, sobbing like a child; and naomi clark was lying still, with her hands clasped over her breast.
""i understand now," she said very softly.
""i could n't see it before -- and now it's so plain.
i just feel it.
god is a god of love.
he can forgive anybody -- even me -- even me.
he knows all about it.
i ai n't skeered any more.
he just loves me and forgives me as i'd have loved and forgiven my baby if she'd lived, no matter how bad she was, or what she did.
the minister told me that but i could n't believe it.
i know it now.
and he sent you here to-night, boy, to tell it to me in a way that i could feel it."
naomi clark died just as the dawn came up over the sea.
mr. leonard rose from his watch at her bedside and went to the door.
before him spread the harbour, gray and austere in the faint light, but afar out the sun was rending asunder the milk-white mists in which the sea was scarfed, and under it was a virgin glow of sparkling water.
the fir trees on the point moved softly and whispered together.
the whole world sang of spring and resurrection and life; and behind him naomi clark's dead face took on the peace that passes understanding.
the old minister and his grandson walked home together in a silence that neither wished to break.
janet andrews gave them a good scolding and an excellent breakfast.
then she ordered them both to bed; but mr. leonard, smiling at her, said: "presently, janet, presently.
but now, take this key, go up to the black chest in the garret, and bring me what you will find there."
when janet had gone, he turned to felix.
""felix, would you like to study music as your life-work?"
felix looked up, with a transfiguring flush on his wan face.
""oh, grandfather!
oh, grandfather!"
""you may do so, my child.
after this night i dare not hinder you.
go with my blessing, and may god guide and keep you, and make you strong to do his work and tell his message to humanity in you own appointed way.
it is not the way i desired for you -- but i see that i was mistaken.
old abel spoke truly when he said there was a christ in your violin as well as a devil.
i understand what he meant now."
he turned to meet janet, who came into the study with a violin.
felix's heart throbbed; he recognized it.
mr. leonard took it from janet and held it out to the boy.
""this is your father's violin, felix.
see to it that you never make your music the servant of the power of evil -- never debase it to unworthy ends.
for your responsibility is as your gift, and god will exact the accounting of it from you.
speak to the world in your own tongue through it, with truth and sincerity; and all i have hoped for you will be abundantly fulfilled."
iv.
little joscelyn "it simply is n't to be thought of, aunty nan," said mrs. william morrison decisively.
mrs. william morrison was one of those people who always speak decisively.
if they merely announce that they are going to peel the potatoes for dinner their hearers realize that there is no possible escape for the potatoes.
moreover, these people are always given their full title by everybody.
william morrison was called billy oftener than not; but, if you had asked for mrs. billy morrison, nobody in avonlea would have known what you meant at first guess.
""you must see that for yourself, aunty," went on mrs. william, hulling strawberries nimbly with her large, firm, white fingers as she talked.
mrs. william always improved every shining moment.
""it is ten miles to kensington, and just think how late you would be getting back.
you are not able for such a drive.
you would n't get over it for a month.
you know you are anything but strong this summer."
aunty nan sighed, and patted the tiny, furry, gray morsel of a kitten in her lap with trembling fingers.
she knew, better than anyone else could know it, that she was not strong that summer.
in her secret soul, aunty nan, sweet and frail and timid under the burden of her seventy years, felt with mysterious unmistakable prescience that it was to be her last summer at the gull point farm.
but that was only the more reason why she should go to hear little joscelyn sing; she would never have another chance.
and oh, to hear little joscelyn sing just once -- joscelyn, whose voice was delighting thousands out in the big world, just as in the years gone by it had delighted aunty nan and the dwellers at the gull point farm for a whole golden summer with carols at dawn and dusk about the old place!
""oh, i know i'm not very strong, maria."
said aunty nan pleadingly, "but i am strong enough for that.
indeed i am.
i could stay at kensington over night with george's folks, you know, and so it would n't tire me much.
i do so want to hear joscelyn sing.
oh, how i love little joscelyn."
""it passes my understanding, the way you hanker after that child," cried mrs. william impatiently.
""why, she was a perfect stranger to you when she came here, and she was here only one summer!"
""but oh, such a summer!"
said aunty nan softly.
""we all loved little joscelyn.
she just seemed like one of our own.
she was one of god's children, carrying love with them everywhere.
in some ways that little anne shirley the cuthberts have got up there at green gables reminds me of her, though in other ways they're not a bit alike.
joscelyn was a beauty."
""well, that shirley snippet certainly is n't that," said mrs. william sarcastically.
""and if joscelyn's tongue was one third as long as anne shirley's the wonder to me is that she did n't talk you all to death out of hand."
""little joscelyn was n't much of a talker," said aunty nan dreamily.
""she was kind of a quiet child.
but you remember what she did say.
and i've never forgotten little joscelyn."
mrs. william shrugged her plump, shapely shoulders.
""well, it was fifteen years ago, aunty nan, and joscelyn ca n't be very "little" now.
she is a famous woman, and she has forgotten all about you, you can be sure of that."
""joscelyn was n't the kind that forgets," said aunty nan loyally.
""and, anyway, the point is, i have n't forgotten her.
oh, maria, i've longed for years and years just to hear her sing once more.
it seems as if i must hear my little joscelyn sing once again before i die.
i've never had the chance before and i never will have it again.
do please ask william to take me to kensington."
""dear me, aunty nan, this is really childish," said mrs. william, whisking her bowlful of berries into the pantry.
""you must let other folks be the judge of what is best for you now.
you are n't strong enough to drive to kensington, and, even if you were, you know well enough that william could n't go to kensington to-morrow night.
he has got to attend that political meeting at newbridge.
they ca n't do without him."
""jordan could take me to kensington," pleaded aunty nan, with very unusual persistence.
""nonsense!
you could n't go to kensington with the hired man.
now, aunty nan, do be reasonable.
are n't william and i kind to you?
do n't we do everything for your comfort?"
""yes, oh, yes," admitted aunty nan deprecatingly.
""well, then, you ought to be guided by our opinion.
and you must just give up thinking about the kensington concert, aunty, and not worry yourself and me about it any more.
i am going down to the shore field now to call william to tea.
just keep an eye on the baby in chance he wakes up, and see that the teapot does n't boil over."
mrs. william whisked out of the kitchen, pretending not to see the tears that were falling over aunty nan's withered pink cheeks.
aunty nan was really getting very childish, mrs. william reflected, as she marched down to the shore field.
why, she cried now about every little thing!
and such a notion -- to want to go to the old timers" concert at kensington and be so set on it!
really, it was hard to put up with her whims.
mrs. william sighed virtuously.
as for aunty nan, she sat alone in the kitchen, and cried bitterly, as only lonely old age can cry.
it seemed to her that she could not bear it, that she must go to kensington.
but she knew that it was not to be, since mrs. william had decided otherwise.
mrs. william's word was law at gull point farm.
""what's the matter with my old aunty nan?"
cried a hearty young voice from the doorway.
jordan sloane stood there, his round, freckled face looking as anxious and sympathetic as it was possible for such a very round, very freckled face to look.
jordan was the morrisons" hired boy that summer, and he worshipped aunty nan.
""oh, jordan," sobbed aunty nan, who was not above telling her troubles to the hired help, although mrs. william thought she ought to be, "i ca n't go to kensington to-morrow night to hear little joscelyn sing at the old timers" concert.
maria says i ca n't."
""that's too bad," said jordan.
""old cat," he muttered after the retreating and serenely unconscious mrs. william.
then he shambled in and sat down on the sofa beside aunty nan.
""there, there, do n't cry," he said, patting her thin little shoulder with his big, sunburned paw.
""you'll make yourself sick if you go on crying, and we ca n't get along without you at gull point farm."
aunty nan smiled wanly.
""i'm afraid you'll soon have to get on without me, jordan.
i'm not going to be here very long now.
no, i'm not, jordan, i know it.
something tells me so very plainly.
but i would be willing to go -- glad to go, for i'm very tired, jordan -- if i could only have heard little joscelyn sing once more."
""why are you so set on hearing her?"
asked jordan.
""she ai n't no kin to you, is she?"
""no, but dearer to me -- dearer to me than many of my own.
maria thinks that is silly, but you would n't if you'd known her, jordan.
even maria herself would n't, if she had known her.
it is fifteen years since she came here one summer to board.
she was a child of thirteen then, and had n't any relations except an old uncle who sent her to school in winter and boarded her out in summer, and did n't care a rap about her.
the child was just starving for love, jordan, and she got it here.
william and his brothers were just children then, and they had n't any sister.
we all just worshipped her.
she was so sweet, jordan.
and pretty, oh my!
like a little girl in a picture, with great long curls, all black and purply and fine as spun silk, and big dark eyes, and such pink cheeks -- real wild rose cheeks.
and sing!
my land!
but could n't she sing!
always singing, every hour of the day that voice was ringing round the old place.
i used to hold my breath to hear it.
she always said that she meant to be a famous singer some day, and i never doubted it a mite.
it was born in her.
sunday evening she used to sing hymns for us.
oh, jordan, it makes my old heart young again to remember it.
a sweet child she was, my little joscelyn!
she used to write me for three or four years after she went away, but i have n't heard a word from her for long and long.
i daresay she has forgotten me, as maria says.
"twould n't be any wonder.
but i have n't forgotten her, and oh, i want to see and hear her terrible much.
she is to sing at the old timers" concert to-morrow night at kensington.
the folks who are getting the concert up are friends of hers, or, of course, she'd never have come to a little country village.
only sixteen miles away -- and i ca n't go."
jordan could n't think of anything to say.
he reflected savagely that if he had a horse of his own he would take aunty nan to kensington, mrs. william or no mrs. william.
though, to be sure, it was a long drive for her; and she was looking very frail this summer.
""ai n't going to last long," muttered jordan, making his escape by the porch door as mrs. william puffed in by the other.
""the sweetest old creetur that ever was created'll go when she goes.
yah, ye old madam, i'd like to give you a piece of my mind, that i would!"
this last was for mrs. william, but was delivered in a prudent undertone.
jordan detested mrs. william, but she was a power to be reckoned with, all the same.
meek, easy-going billy morrison did just what his wife told him to.
so aunty nan did not get to kensington to hear little joscelyn sing.
she said nothing more about it but after that night she seemed to fail very rapidly.
mrs. william said it was the hot weather, and that aunty nan gave way too easily.
but aunty nan could not help giving way now; she was very, very tired.
even her knitting wearied her.
she would sit for hours in her rocking chair with the gray kitten in her lap, looking out of the window with dreamy, unseeing eyes.
she talked to herself a good deal, generally about little joscelyn.
mrs. william told avonlea folk that aunty nan had got terribly childish and always accompanied the remark with a sigh that intimated how much she, mrs. william, had to contend with.
justice must be done to mrs. william, however.
she was not unkind to aunty nan; on the contrary, she was very kind to her in the letter.
her comfort was scrupulously attended to, and mrs. william had the grace to utter none of her complaints in the old woman's hearing.
if aunty nan felt the absence of the spirit she never murmured at it.
one day, when the avonlea slopes were golden-hued with the ripened harvest, aunty nan did not get up.
she complained of nothing but great weariness.
mrs. william remarked to her husband that if she lay in bed every day she felt tired, there would n't be much done at gull point farm.
but she prepared an excellent breakfast and carried it patiently up to aunty nan, who ate little of it.
after dinner jordan crept up by way of the back stairs to see her.
aunty nan was lying with her eyes fixed on the pale pink climbing roses that nodded about the window.
when she saw jordan she smiled.
""them roses put me so much in mind of little joscelyn," she said softly.
""she loved them so.
if i could only see her!
oh, jordan, if i could only see her!
maria says it's terrible childish to be always harping on that string, and mebbe it is.
but -- oh, jordan, there's such a hunger in my heart for her, such a hunger!"
jordan felt a queer sensation in his throat, and twisted his ragged straw hat about in his big hands.
just then a vague idea which had hovered in his brain all day crystallized into decision.
but all he said was: "i hope you'll feel better soon, aunty nan."
""oh, yes, jordan dear, i'll be better soon," said aunty nan with her own sweet smile."
"the inhabitant shall not say i am sick," you know.
but if i could only see little joscelyn first!"
jordan went out and hurried down-stairs.
billy morrison was in the stable, when jordan stuck his head over the half-door.
""say, can i have the rest of the day off, sir?
i want to go to kensington."
""well, i do n't mind," said billy morrison amiably.
""may's well get you jaunting done "fore harvest comes on.
and here, jord; take this quarter and get some oranges for aunty nan.
need n't mention it to headquarters."
billy morrison's face was solemn, but jordan winked as he pocketed the money.
""if i've any luck, i'll bring her something that'll do her more good than the oranges," he muttered, as he hurried off to the pasture.
jordan had a horse of his own now, a rather bony nag, answering to the name of dan.
billy morrison had agreed to pasture the animal if jordan used him in the farm work, an arrangement scoffed at by mrs. william in no measured terms.
jordan hitched dan into the second best buggy, dressed himself in his sunday clothes, and drove off.
on the road he re-read a paragraph he had clipped from the charlottetown daily enterprise of the previous day.
""joscelyn burnett, the famous contralto, is spending a few days in kensington on her return from her maritime concert tour.
she is the guest of mr. and mrs. bromley, of the beeches."
""now if i can get there in time," said jordan emphatically.
jordan got to kensington, put dan up in a livery stable, and inquired the way to the beeches.
he felt rather nervous when he found it, it was such a stately, imposing place, set back from the street in an emerald green seclusion of beautiful grounds.
""fancy me stalking up to that front door and asking for miss joscelyn burnett," grinned jordan sheepishly.
""mebbe they'll tell me to go around to the back and inquire for the cook.
but you're going just the same, jordan sloane, and no skulking.
march right up now.
think of aunty nan and do n't let style down you."
a pert-looking maid answered jordan's ring, and stared at him when he asked for miss burnett.
""i do n't think you can see her," she said shortly, scanning his country cut of hair and clothes rather superciliously.
""what is your business with her?"
the maid's scorn roused jordan's "dander," as he would have expressed it.
""i'll tell her that when i see her," he retorted coolly.
""just you tell her that i've a message for her from aunty nan morrison of gull point farm, avonlea.
if she hai n't forgot, that'll fetch her.
you might as well hurry up, if you please, i've not overly too much time."
the pert maid decided to be civil at least, and invited jordan to enter.
but she left him standing in the hall while she went in search of miss burnett.
jordan gazed about him in amazement.
he had never been in any place like this before.
the hall was wonderful enough, and through the open doors on either hand stretched vistas of lovely rooms that, to jordan's eyes, looked like those of a palace.
""gee whiz!
how do they ever move around without knocking things over?"
then joscelyn burnett came, and jordan forgot everything else.
this tall, beautiful woman, in her silken draperies, with a face like nothing jordan had ever seen, or even dreamed about, -- could this be aunty nan's little joscelyn?
jordan's round, freckled countenance grew crimson.
he felt horribly tonguetied and embarrassed.
what could he say to her?
how could he say it?
joscelyn burnett looked at him with her large, dark eyes, -- the eyes of a woman who had suffered much, and learned much, and won through struggle to victory.
""you have come from aunty nan?"
she said.
""oh, i am so glad to hear from her.
is she well?
come in here and tell me all about her."
she turned toward one of those fairy-like rooms, but jordan interrupted her desperately.
""oh, not in there, ma'am.
i'd never get it out.
just let me blunder through it out here someways.
yes'm, aunty nan, she ai n't very well.
she's -- she's dying, i guess.
and she's longing for you night and day.
seems as if she could n't die in peace without seeing you.
she wanted to get to kensington to hear you sing, but that old cat of a mrs. william -- begging you pardon, ma'am -- would n't let her come.
she's always talking of you.
if you can come out to gull point farm and see her, i'll be most awful obliged to you, ma'am."
joscelyn burnett looked troubled.
she had not forgotten gull point farm, nor aunty nan; but for years the memory had been dim, crowded into the background of consciousness by the more exciting events of her busy life.
now it came back with a rush.
she recalled it all tenderly -- the peace and beauty and love of that olden summer, and sweet aunty nan, so very wise in the lore of all things simple and good and true.
for the moment joscelyn burnett was a lonely, hungry-hearted little girl again, seeking for love and finding it not, until aunty nan had taken her into her great mother-heart and taught her its meaning.
""oh, i do n't know," she said perplexedly.
""if you had come sooner -- i leave on the 11:30 train tonight.
i must leave by then or i shall not reach montreal in time to fill a very important engagement.
and yet i must see aunty nan, too.
i have been careless and neglectful.
i might have gone to see her before.
how can we manage it?"
""i'll bring you back to kensington in time to catch that train," said jordan eagerly.
""there's nothing i would n't do for aunty nan -- me and dan.
yes, sir, you'll get back in time.
just think of aunty nan's face when she sees you!"
""i will come," said the great singer, gently.
it was sunset when they reached gull point farm.
an arc of warm gold was over the spruces behind the house.
mrs. william was out in the barn-yard, milking, and the house was deserted, save for the sleeping baby in the kitchen and the little old woman with the watchful eyes in the up-stairs room.
""this way, ma'am," said jordan, inwardly congratulating himself that the coast was clear.
""i'll take you right up to her room."
up-stairs, joscelyn tapped at the half-open door and went in.
before it closed behind her, jordan heard aunty nan say, "joscelyn!
little joscelyn!"
in a tone that made him choke again.
he stumbled thankfully down-stairs, to be pounced upon by mrs. william in the kitchen.
""jordan sloane, who was that stylish woman you drove into the yard with?
and what have you done with her?"
""that was miss joscelyn burnett," said jordan, expanding himself.
this was his hour of triumph over mrs. william.
""i went to kensington and brung her out to see aunty nan.
she's up with her now."
""dear me," said mrs. william helplessly.
""and me in my milking rig!
jordan, for pity's sake, hold the baby while i go and put on my black silk.
you might have given a body some warning.
i declare i do n't know which is the greatest idiot, you or aunty nan!"
as mrs. william flounced out of the kitchen, jordan took his satisfaction in a quiet laugh.
up-stairs in the little room was a great glory of sunset and gladness of human hearts.
joscelyn was kneeling by the bed, with her arms about aunty nan; and aunty nan, with her face all irradiated, was stroking joscelyn's dark hair fondly.
""o, little joscelyn," she murmured, "it seems too good to be true.
it seems like a beautiful dream.
i knew you the minute you opened the door, my dearie.
you have n't changed a bit.
and you're a famous singer now, little joscelyn!
i always knew you would be.
oh, i want you to sing a piece for me -- just one, wo n't you, dearie?
sing that piece people like to hear you sing best.
i forget the name, but i've read about it in the papers.
sing it for me, little joscelyn."
and joscelyn, standing by aunty nan's bed, in the sunset light, sang the song she had sung to many a brilliant audience on many a noted concert-platform -- sang it as even she had never sung before, while aunty nan lay and listened beatifically, and downstairs even mrs. william held her breath, entranced by the exquisite melody that floated through the old farmhouse.
""o, little joscelyn!"
breathed aunty nan in rapture, when the song ended.
joscelyn knelt by her again and they had a long talk of old days.
one by one they recalled the memories of that vanished summer.
the past gave up its tears and its laughter.
heart and fancy alike went roaming through the ways of the long ago.
aunty nan was perfectly happy.
and then joscelyn told her all the story of her struggles and triumphs since they had parted.
when the moonlight began to creep in through the low window, aunty nan put out her hand and touched joscelyn's bowed head.
""little joscelyn," she whispered, "if it ai n't asking too much, i want you to sing just one other piece.
do you remember when you were here how we sung hymns in the parlour every sunday night, and my favourite always was "the sands of time are sinking?"
i ai n't never forgot how you used to sing that, and i want to hear it just once again, dearie.
sing it for me, little joscelyn."
joscelyn rose and went to the window.
lifting back the curtain, she stood in the splendour of the moonlight, and sang the grand old hymn.
at first aunty nan beat time to it feebly on the counterpane; but when joscelyn came to the verse, "with mercy and with judgment," she folded her hands over her breast and smiled.
when the hymn ended, joscelyn came over to the bed.
""i am afraid i must say good-bye now, aunty nan," she said.
then she saw that aunty nan had fallen asleep.
she would not waken her, but she took from her breast the cluster of crimson roses she wore and slipped them gently between the toil-worn fingers.
""good-bye, dear, sweet mother-heart," she murmured.
down-stairs she met mrs. william splendid in rustling black silk, her broad, rubicund face smiling, overflowing with apologies and welcomes, which joscelyn cut short coldly.
""thank you, mrs. morrison, but i can not possibly stay longer.
no, thank you, i do n't care for any refreshments.
jordan is going to take me back to kensington at once.
i came out to see aunty nan."
""i'm certain she'd be delighted," said mrs. william effusively.
""she's been talking about you for weeks."
""yes, it has made her very happy," said joscelyn gravely.
""and it has made me happy, too.
i love aunty nan, mrs. morrison, and i owe her much.
in all my life i have never met a woman so purely, unselfishly good and noble and true."
""fancy now," said mrs. william, rather overcome at hearing this great singer pronounce such an encomium on quiet, timid old aunty nan.
jordan drove joscelyn back to kensington; and up-stairs in her room aunty nan slept, with that rapt smile on her face and joscelyn's red roses in her hands.
thus it was that mrs. william found her, going in the next morning with her breakfast.
the sunlight crept over the pillow, lighting up the sweet old face and silver hair, and stealing downward to the faded red roses on her breast.
smiling and peaceful and happy lay aunty nan, for she had fallen on the sleep that knows no earthy wakening, while little joscelyn sang.
v.
the winning of lucinda the marriage of a penhallow was always the signal for a gathering of the penhallows.
from the uttermost parts of the earth they would come -- penhallows by birth, and penhallows by marriage and penhallows by ancestry.
east grafton was the ancient habitat of the race, and penhallow grange, where "old" john penhallow lived, was a mecca to them.
as for the family itself, the exact kinship of all its various branches and ramifications was a hard thing to define.
old uncle julius penhallow was looked upon as a veritable wonder because he carried it all in his head and could tell on sight just what relation any one penhallow was to any other penhallow.
the rest made a blind guess at it, for the most part, and the younger penhallows let it go at loose cousinship.
in this instance it was alice penhallow, daughter of "young" john penhallow, who was to be married.
alice was a nice girl, but she and her wedding only pertain to this story in so far as they furnish a background for lucinda; hence nothing more need be said of her.
on the afternoon of her wedding day -- the penhallows held to the good, old-fashioned custom of evening weddings with a rousing dance afterwards -- penhallow grange was filled to overflowing with guests who had come there to have tea and rest themselves before going down to "young" john's.
many of them had driven fifty miles.
in the big autumnal orchard the younger fry foregathered and chatted and coquetted.
up-stairs, in "old" mrs. john's bedroom, she and her married daughters held high conclave.
""old" john had established himself with his sons and sons-in-law in the parlour, and the three daughters-in-law were making themselves at home in the blue sitting-room, ear-deep in harmless family gossip.
lucinda and romney penhallow were also there.
thin mrs. nathaniel penhallow sat in a rocking chair and toasted her toes at the grate, for the brilliant autumn afternoon was slightly chilly and lucinda, as usual, had the window open.
she and plump mrs. frederick penhallow did most of the talking.
mrs. george penhallow being rather out of it by reason of her newness.
she was george penhallow's second wife, married only a year.
hence, her contributions to the conversation were rather spasmodic, hurled in, as it were, by dead reckoning, being sometimes appropriate and sometimes savouring of a point of view not strictly penhallowesque.
romney penhallow was sitting in a corner, listening to the chatter of the women, with the inscrutable smile that always vexed mrs. frederick.
mrs. george wondered within herself what he did there among the women.
she also wondered just where he belonged on the family tree.
he was not one of the uncles, yet he could not be much younger than george.
""forty, if he is a day," was mrs. george's mental dictum, "but a very handsome and fascinating man.
i never saw such a splendid chin and dimple."
lucinda, with bronze-colored hair and the whitest of skins, defiant of merciless sunlight and revelling in the crisp air, sat on the sill of the open window behind the crimson vine leaves, looking out into the garden, where dahlias flamed and asters broke into waves of purple and snow.
the ruddy light of the autumn afternoon gave a sheen to the waves of her hair and brought out the exceeding purity of her greek outlines.
mrs. george knew who lucinda was -- a cousin of the second generation, and, in spite of her thirty-five years, the acknowledged beauty of the whole penhallow connection.
she was one of those rare women who keep their loveliness unmarred by the passage of years.
she had ripened and matured, but she had not grown old.
the older penhallows were still inclined, from sheer force of habit, to look upon her as a girl, and the younger penhallows hailed her as one of themselves.
yet lucinda never aped girlishness; good taste and a strong sense of humour preserved her amid many temptations thereto.
she was simply a beautiful, fully developed woman, with whom time had declared a truce, young with a mellow youth which had nothing to do with years.
mrs. george liked and admired lucinda.
now, when mrs. george liked and admired any person, it was a matter of necessity with her to impart her opinions to the most convenient confidant.
in this case it was romney penhallow to whom mrs. george remarked sweetly: "really, do n't you think our lucinda is looking remarkably well this fall?"
it seemed a very harmless, inane, well-meant question.
poor mrs. george might well be excused for feeling bewildered over the effect.
romney gathered his long legs together, stood up, and swept the unfortunate speaker a crushing penhallow bow of state.
""far be it from me to disagree with the opinion of a lady -- especially when it concerns another lady," he said, as he left the blue room.
overcome by the mordant satire in his tone, mrs. george glanced speechlessly at lucinda.
behold, lucinda had squarely turned her back on the party and was gazing out into the garden, with a very decided flush on the snowy curves of her neck and cheek.
then mrs. george looked at her sisters-in-law.
they were regarding her with the tolerant amusement they might bestow on a blundering child.
mrs. george experienced that subtle prescience whereby it is given us to know that we have put our foot in it.
she felt herself turning an uncomfortable brick-red.
what penhallow skeleton had she unwittingly jangled?
why, oh, why, was it such an evident breach of the proprieties to praise lucinda?
mrs. george was devoutly thankful that a summons to the tea-table rescued her from her mire of embarrassment.
the meal was spoiled for her, however; the mortifying recollection of her mysterious blunder conspired with her curiosity to banish appetite.
as soon as possible after tea she decoyed mrs. frederick out into the garden and in the dahlia walk solemnly demanded the reason of it all.
mrs. frederick indulged in a laugh which put the mettle of her festal brown silk seams to the test.
""my dear cecilia, it was so amusing," she said, a little patronizingly.
""but why!"
cried mrs. george, resenting the patronage and the mystery.
""what was so dreadful in what i said?
or so funny?
and who is this romney penhallow who must n't be spoken to?"
""oh, romney is one of the charlottetown penhallows," explained mrs. frederick.
""he is a lawyer there.
he is a first cousin of lucinda's and a second of george's -- or is he?
oh, bother!
you must go to uncle john if you want the genealogy.
i'm in a chronic muddle concerning penhallow relationship.
and, as for romney, of course you can speak to him about anything you like except lucinda.
oh, you innocent!
to ask him if he did n't think lucinda was looking well!
and right before her, too!
of course he thought you did it on purpose to tease him.
that was what made him so savage and sarcastic."
""but why?"
persisted mrs. george, sticking tenaciously to her point.
""has n't george told you?"
""no," said george's wife in mild exasperation.
""george has spent most of his time since we were married telling me odd things about the penhallows, but he has n't got to that yet, evidently."
""why, my dear, it is our family romance.
lucinda and romney are in love with each other.
they have been in love with each other for fifteen years and in all that time they have never spoken to each other once!"
""dear me!"
murmured mrs. george, feeling the inadequacy of mere language.
was this a penhallow method of courtship?
""but why?"
""they had a quarrel fifteen years ago," said mrs. frederick patiently.
""nobody knows how it originated or anything about it except that lucinda herself admitted it to us afterwards.
but, in the first flush of her rage, she told romney that she would never speak to him again as long as she lived.
and he said he would never speak to her until she spoke first -- because, you see, as she was in the wrong she ought to make the first advance.
and they never have spoken.
everybody in the connection, i suppose, has taken turns trying to reconcile them, but nobody has succeeded.
i do n't believe that romney has ever so much as thought of any other woman in his whole life, and certainly lucinda has never thought of any other man.
you will notice she still wears romney's ring.
they're practically engaged still, of course.
and romney said once that if lucinda would just say one word, no matter what it was, even if it were something insulting, he would speak, too, and beg her pardon for his share in the quarrel -- because then, you see, he would not be breaking his word.
he has n't referred to the matter for years, but i presume that he is of the same mind still.
and they are just as much in love with each other as they ever were.
he's always hanging about where she is -- when other people are there, too, that is.
he avoids her like a plague when she is alone.
that was why he was stuck out in the blue room with us to-day.
there does n't seem to be a particle of resentment between them.
if lucinda would only speak!
but that lucinda will not do."
""do n't you think she will yet?"
said mrs. george.
mrs. frederick shook her crimped head sagely.
""not now.
the whole thing has hardened too long.
her pride will never let her speak.
we used to hope she would be tricked into it by forgetfulness or accident -- we used to lay traps for her -- but all to no effect.
it is such a shame, too.
they were made for each other.
do you know, i get cross when i begin to thrash the whole silly affair over like this.
does n't it sound as if we were talking of the quarrel of two school-children?
of late years we have learned that it does not do to speak of lucinda to romney, even in the most commonplace way.
he seems to resent it."
""he ought to speak," cried mrs. george warmly.
""even if she were in the wrong ten times over, he ought to overlook it and speak first."
""but he wo n't.
and she wo n't.
you never saw two such determined mortals.
they get it from their grandfather on the mother's side -- old absalom gordon.
there is no such stubbornness on the penhallow side.
his obstinacy was a proverb, my dear -- actually a proverb.
what ever he said, he would stick to if the skies fell.
he was a terrible old man to swear, too," added mrs. frederick, dropping into irrelevant reminiscence.
""he spent a long while in a mining camp in his younger days and he never got over it -- the habit of swearing, i mean.
it would have made your blood run cold, my dear, to have heard him go on at times.
and yet he was a real good old man every other way.
he could n't help it someway.
he tried to, but he used to say that profanity came as natural to him as breathing.
it used to mortify his family terribly.
fortunately, none of them took after him in that respect.
but he's dead -- and one should n't speak ill of the dead.
i must go and get mattie penhallow to do my hair.
i would burst these sleeves clean out if i tried to do it myself and i do n't want to dress over again.
you wo n't be likely to talk to romney about lucinda again, my dear cecilia?"
""fifteen years!"
murmured mrs. george helplessly to the dahlias.
""engaged for fifteen years and never speaking to each other!
dear heart and soul, think of it!
oh, these penhallows!"
meanwhile, lucinda, serenely unconscious that her love story was being mouthed over by mrs. frederick in the dahlia garden, was dressing for the wedding.
lucinda still enjoyed dressing for a festivity, since the mirror still dealt gently with her.
moreover, she had a new dress.
now, a new dress -- and especially one as nice as this -- was a rarity with lucinda, who belonged to a branch of the penhallows noted for being chronically hard up.
indeed, lucinda and her widowed mother were positively poor, and hence a new dress was an event in lucinda's existence.
an uncle had given her this one -- a beautiful, perishable thing, such as lucinda would never have dared to choose for herself, but in which she revelled with feminine delight.
it was of pale green voile -- a colour which brought out admirably the ruddy gloss of her hair and the clear brilliance of her skin.
when she had finished dressing she looked at herself in the mirror with frank delight.
lucinda was not vain, but she was quite well aware of the fact of her beauty and took an impersonal pleasure in it, as if she were looking at some finely painted picture by a master hand.
the form and face reflected in the glass satisfied her.
the puffs and draperies of the green voile displayed to perfection the full, but not over-full, curves of her fine figure.
lucinda lifted her arm and touched a red rose to her lips with the hand upon which shone the frosty glitter of romney's diamond, looking at the graceful slope of her shoulder and the splendid line of chin and throat with critical approval.
she noted, too, how well the gown became her eyes, bringing out all the deeper colour in them.
lucinda had magnificent eyes.
once romney had written a sonnet to them in which he compared their colour to ripe blueberries.
this may not sound poetical to you unless you know or remember just what the tints of ripe blueberries are -- dusky purple in some lights, clear slate in others, and yet again in others the misty hue of early meadow violets.
""you really look very well," remarked the real lucinda to the mirrored lucinda.
""nobody would think you were an old maid.
but you are.
alice penhallow, who is to be married to-night, was a child of five when you thought of being married fifteen years ago.
that makes you an old maid, my dear.
well, it is your own fault, and it will continue to be your own fault, you stubborn offshoot of a stubborn breed!"
she flung her train out straight and pulled on her gloves.
""i do hope i wo n't get any spots on this dress to-night," she reflected.
""it will have to do me for a gala dress for a year at least -- and i have a creepy conviction that it is fearfully spottable.
bless uncle mark's good, uncalculating heart!
how i would have detested it if he had given me something sensible and useful and ugly -- as aunt emilia would have done."
they all went to "young" john penhallow's at early moonrise.
lucinda drove over the two miles of hill and dale with a youthful second cousin, by name, carey penhallow.
the wedding was quite a brilliant affair.
lucinda seemed to pervade the social atmosphere, and everywhere she went a little ripple of admiration trailed after her like a wave.
she was undeniably a belle, yet she found herself feeling faintly bored and was rather glad than otherwise when the guests began to fray off.
""i'm afraid i'm losing my capacity for enjoyment," she thought, a little drearily.
""yes, i must be growing old.
that is what it means when social functions begin to bore you."
it was that unlucky mrs. george who blundered again.
she was standing on the veranda when carey penhallow dashed up.
""tell lucinda that i ca n't take her back to the grange.
i have to drive mark and cissy penhallow to bright river to catch the two o'clock express.
there will be plenty of chances for her with the others."
at this moment george penhallow, holding his rearing horse with difficulty, shouted for his wife.
mrs. george, all in a flurry, dashed back into the still crowded hall.
exactly to whom she gave her message was never known to any of the penhallows.
but a tall, ruddy-haired girl, dressed in pale green organdy -- anne shirley from avonlea -- told marilla cuthbert and rachel lynde as a joke the next morning how a chubby little woman in a bright pink fascinator had clutched her by the arm, and gasped out: "carey penhallow ca n't take you -- he says you're to look out for someone else," and was gone before she could answer or turn around.
thus it was that lucinda, when she came out to the veranda step, found herself unaccountably deserted.
all the grange penhallows were gone; lucinda realized this after a few moments of bewildered seeking, and she understood that if she were to get to the grange that night she must walk.
plainly there was nobody to take her.
lucinda was angry.
it is not pleasant to find yourself forgotten and neglected.
it is still less pleasant to walk home alone along a country road, at one o'clock in the morning, wearing a pale green voile.
lucinda was not prepared for such a walk.
she had nothing on her feet save thin-soled shoes, and her only wraps were a flimsy fascinator and a short coat.
""what a guy i shall look, stalking home alone in this rig," she thought crossly.
there was no help for it, unless she confessed her plight to some of the stranger guests and begged a drive home.
lucinda's pride scorned such a request and the admission of neglect it involved.
no, she would walk, since that was all there was to it; but she would not go by the main road to be stared at by all and sundry who might pass her.
there was a short cut by way of a lane across the fields; she knew every inch of it, although she had not traversed it for years.
she gathered up the green voile as trimly as possible, slipped around the house in the kindly shadows, picked her way across the side lawn, and found a gate which opened into a birch-bordered lane where the frosted trees shone with silvery-golden radiance in the moonlight.
lucinda flitted down the lane, growing angrier at every step as the realization of how shamefully she seemed to have been treated came home to her.
she believed that nobody had thought about her at all, which was tenfold worse than premeditated neglect.
as she came to the gate at the lower end of the lane a man who was leaning over it started, with a quick intake of his breath, which, in any other man than romney penhallow, or for any other woman than lucinda penhallow, would have been an exclamation of surprise.
lucinda recognized him with a great deal of annoyance and a little relief.
she would not have to walk home alone.
but with romney penhallow!
would he think she had contrived it so purposely?
romney silently opened the gate for her, silently latched it behind her, and silently fell into step beside her.
down across a velvety sweep of field they went; the air was frosty, calm and still; over the world lay a haze of moonshine and mist that converted east grafton's prosaic hills and fields into a shimmering fairyland.
at first lucinda felt angrier than ever.
what a ridiculous situation!
how the penhallows would laugh over it!
as for romney, he, too, was angry with the trick impish chance had played him.
he liked being the butt of an awkward situation as little as most men; and certainly to be obliged to walk home over moonlit fields at one o'clock in the morning with the woman he had loved and never spoken to for fifteen years was the irony of fate with a vengeance.
would she think he had schemed for it?
and how the deuce did she come to be walking home from the wedding at all?
by the time they had crossed the field and reached the wild cherry lane beyond it, lucinda's anger was mastered by her saving sense of humour.
she was even smiling a little maliciously under her fascinator.
the lane was a place of enchantment -- a long, moonlit colonnade adown which beguiling wood nymphs might have footed it featly.
the moonshine fell through the arching boughs and made a mosaic of silver light and clear-cut shadow for the unfriendly lovers to walk in.
on either side was the hovering gloom of the woods, and around them was a great silence unstirred by wind or murmur.
midway in the lane lucinda was attacked by a sentimental recollection.
she thought of the last time romney and she had walked home together through this very lane, from a party at "young" john's.
it had been moonlight then too, and -- lucinda checked a sigh -- they had walked hand in hand.
just here, by the big gray beech, he had stopped her and kissed her.
lucinda wondered if he were thinking of it, too, and stole a look at him from under the lace border of her fascinator.
but he was striding moodily along with his hands in his pockets, and his hat pulled down over his eyes, passing the old beech without a glance at it.
lucinda checked another sigh, gathered up an escaped flutter of voile, and marched on.
past the lane a range of three silvery harvest fields sloped down to peter penhallow's brook -- a wide, shallow stream bridged over in the olden days by the mossy trunk of an ancient fallen tree.
when lucinda and romney arrived at the brook they gazed at the brawling water blankly.
lucinda remembered that she must not speak to romney just in time to prevent an exclamation of dismay.
there was no tree!
there was no bridge of any kind over the brook!
here was a predicament!
but before lucinda could do more than despairingly ask herself what was to be done now, romney answered -- not in words, but in deeds.
he coolly picked lucinda up in his arms, as if she had been a child instead of a full grown woman of no mean avoirdupois, and began to wade with her through the water.
lucinda gasped helplessly.
she could not forbid him and she was so choked with rage over his presumption that she could not have spoken in any case.
then came the catastrophe.
romney's foot slipped on a treacherous round stone -- there was a tremendous splash -- and romney and lucinda penhallow were sitting down in the middle of peter penhallow's brook.
lucinda was the first to regain her feet.
about her clung in heart-breaking limpness the ruined voile.
the remembrance of all her wrongs that night rushed over her soul, and her eyes blazed in the moonlight.
lucinda penhallow had never been so angry in her life.
""you d -- d idiot!"
she said, in a voice that literally shook with rage.
romney meekly scrambled up the bank after her.
""i'm awfully sorry, lucinda," he said, striving with uncertain success to keep a suspicious quiver of laughter out of his tone.
""it was wretchedly clumsy of me, but that pebble turned right under my foot.
please forgive me -- for that -- and for other things."
lucinda deigned no answer.
she stood on a flat stone and wrung the water from the poor green voile.
romney surveyed her apprehensively.
""hurry, lucinda," he entreated.
""you will catch your death of cold."
""i never take cold," answered lucinda, with chattering teeth.
""and it is my dress i am thinking of -- was thinking of.
you have more need to hurry.
you are sopping wet yourself and you know you are subject to colds.
there -- come."
lucinda picked up the stringy train, which had been so brave and buoyant five minutes before, and started up the field at a brisk rate.
romney came up to her and slipped his arm through hers in the old way.
for a time they walked along in silence.
then lucinda began to shake with inward laughter.
she laughed silently for the whole length of the field; and at the line fence between peter penhallow's land and the grange acres she paused, threw back the fascinator from her face, and looked at romney defiantly.
""you are thinking of -- that," she cried, "and i am thinking of it.
and we will go on, thinking of it at intervals for the rest of our lives.
but if you ever mention it to me i'll never forgive you, romney penhallow!"
""i never will," romney promised.
there was more than a suspicion of laughter in his voice this time, but lucinda did not choose to resent it.
she did not speak again until they reached the grange gate.
then she faced him solemnly.
""it was a case of atavism," she said.
""old grandfather gordon was to blame for it."
at the grange almost everybody was in bed.
what with the guests straggling home at intervals and hurrying sleepily off to their rooms, nobody had missed lucinda, each set supposing she was with some other set.
mrs. frederick, mrs. nathaniel and mrs. george alone were up.
the perennially chilly mrs. nathaniel had kindled a fire of chips in the blue room grate to warm her feet before retiring, and the three women were discussing the wedding in subdued tones when the door opened and the stately form of lucinda, stately even in the dragged voile, appeared, with the damp romney behind her.
""lucinda penhallow!"
gasped they, one and all.
""i was left to walk home," said lucinda coolly.
""so romney and i came across the fields.
there was no bridge over the brook, and when he was carrying me over he slipped and we fell in.
that is all.
no, cecilia, i never take cold, so do n't worry.
yes, my dress is ruined, but that is of no consequence.
no, thank you, cecilia, i do not care for a hot drink.
romney, do go and take off those wet clothes of yours immediately.
no, cecilia, i will not take a hot footbath.
i am going straight to bed.
good night."
when the door closed on the pair the three sisters-in-law stared at each other.
mrs. frederick, feeling herself incapable of expressing her sensations originally, took refuge in a quotation:" "do i sleep, do i dream, do i wonder and doubt?
is things what they seem, or is visions about?""
""there will be another penhallow wedding soon," said mrs. nathaniel, with a long breath.
""lucinda has spoken to romney at last."
""oh, what do you suppose she said to him?"
cried mrs. george.
""my dear cecilia," said mrs. frederick, "we shall never know."
they never did know.
vi.
old man shaw's girl "day after to-morrow -- day after to-morrow," said old man shaw, rubbing his long slender hands together gleefully.
""i have to keep saying it over and over, so as to really believe it.
it seems far too good to be true that i'm to have blossom again.
and everything is ready.
yes, i think everything is ready, except a bit of cooking.
and wo n't this orchard be a surprise to her!
i'm just going to bring her out here as soon as i can, never saying a word.
i'll fetch her through the spruce lane, and when we come to the end of the path i'll step back casual-like, and let her go out from under the trees alone, never suspecting.
it'll be worth ten times the trouble to see her big, brown eyes open wide and hear her say, "oh, daddy!
why, daddy!""
he rubbed his hands again and laughed softly to himself.
he was a tall, bent old man, whose hair was snow white, but whose face was fresh and rosy.
his eyes were a boy's eyes, large, blue and merry, and his mouth had never got over a youthful trick of smiling at any provocation -- and, oft-times, at no provocation at all.
to be sure, white sands people would not have given you the most favourable opinion in the world of old man shaw.
first and foremost, they would have told you that he was "shiftless," and had let his bit of a farm run out while he pottered with flowers and bugs, or rambled aimlessly about in the woods, or read books along the shore.
perhaps it was true; but the old farm yielded him a living, and further than that old man shaw had no ambition.
he was as blithe as a pilgrim on a pathway climbing to the west.
he had learned the rare secret that you must take happiness when you find it -- that there is no use in marking the place and coming back to it at a more convenient season, because it will not be there then.
and it is very easy to be happy if you know, as old man shaw most thoroughly knew, how to find pleasure in little things.
he enjoyed life, he had always enjoyed life and helped others to enjoy it; consequently his life was a success, whatever white sands people might think of it.
what if he had not "improved" his farm?
there are some people to whom life will never be anything more than a kitchen garden; and there are others to whom it will always be a royal palace with domes and minarets of rainbow fancy.
the orchard of which he was so proud was as yet little more than the substance of things hoped for -- a flourishing plantation of young trees which would amount to something later on.
old man shaw's house was on the crest of a bare, sunny hill, with a few staunch old firs and spruces behind it -- the only trees that could resist the full sweep of the winds that blew bitterly up from the sea at times.
fruit trees would never grow near it, and this had been a great grief to sara.
""oh, daddy, if we could just have an orchard!"
she had been wont to say wistfully, when other farmhouses in white sands were smothered whitely in apple bloom.
and when she had gone away, and her father had nothing to look forward to save her return, he was determined she should find an orchard when she came back.
over the southward hill, warmly sheltered by spruce woods and sloping to the sunshine, was a little field, so fertile that all the slack management of a life-time had not availed to exhaust it.
here old man shaw set out his orchard and saw it flourish, watching and tending it until he came to know each tree as a child and loved it.
his neighbours laughed at him, and said that the fruit of an orchard so far away from the house would all be stolen.
but as yet there was no fruit, and when the time came for bearing there would be enough and to spare.
""blossom and me'll get all we want, and the boys can have the rest, if they want'em worse'n they want a good conscience," said that unworldly, unbusinesslike old man shaw.
on his way back home from his darling orchard he found a rare fern in the woods and dug it up for sara -- she had loved ferns.
he planted it at the shady, sheltered side of the house and then sat down on the old bench by the garden gate to read her last letter -- the letter that was only a note, because she was coming home soon.
he knew every word of it by heart, but that did not spoil the pleasure of re-reading it every half-hour.
old man shaw had not married until late in life, and had, so white sands people said, selected a wife with his usual judgment -- which, being interpreted, meant no judgment at all; otherwise, he would never have married sara glover, a mere slip of a girl, with big brown eyes like a frightened wood creature's, and the delicate, fleeting bloom of a spring mayflower.
""the last woman in the world for a farmer's wife -- no strength or get-up about her."
neither could white sands folk understand what on earth sara glover had married him for.
""well, the fool crop was the only one that never failed."
old man shaw -- he was old man shaw even then, although he was only forty -- and his girl bride had troubled themselves not at all about white sands opinions.
they had one year of perfect happiness, which is always worth living for, even if the rest of life be a dreary pilgrimage, and then old man shaw found himself alone again, except for little blossom.
she was christened sara, after her dead mother, but she was always blossom to her father -- the precious little blossom whose plucking had cost the mother her life.
sara glover's people, especially a wealthy aunt in montreal, had wanted to take the child, but old man shaw grew almost fierce over the suggestion.
he would give his baby to no one.
a woman was hired to look after the house, but it was the father who cared for the baby in the main.
he was as tender and faithful and deft as a woman.
sara never missed a mother's care, and she grew up into a creature of life and light and beauty, a constant delight to all who knew her.
she had a way of embroidering life with stars.
she was dowered with all the charming characteristics of both parents, with a resilient vitality and activity which had pertained to neither of them.
when she was ten years old she had packed all hirelings off, and kept house for her father for six delightful years -- years in which they were father and daughter, brother and sister, and "chums."
sara never went to school, but her father saw to her education after a fashion of his own.
when their work was done they lived in the woods and fields, in the little garden they had made on the sheltered side of the house, or on the shore, where sunshine and storm were to them equally lovely and beloved.
never was comradeship more perfect or more wholly satisfactory.
""just wrapped up in each other," said white sands folk, half-enviously, half-disapprovingly.
when sara was sixteen mrs. adair, the wealthy aunt aforesaid, pounced down on white sands in a glamour of fashion and culture and outer worldliness.
she bombarded old man shaw with such arguments that he had to succumb.
it was a shame that a girl like sara should grow up in a place like white sands, "with no advantages and no education," said mrs. adair scornfully, not understanding that wisdom and knowledge are two entirely different things.
""at least let me give my dear sister's child what i would have given my own daughter if i had had one," she pleaded tearfully.
""let me take her with me and send her to a good school for a few years.
then, if she wishes, she may come back to you, of course."
privately, mrs. adair did not for a moment believe that sara would want to come back to white sands, and her queer old father, after three years of the life she would give her.
old man shaw yielded, influenced thereto not at all by mrs. adair's readily flowing tears, but greatly by his conviction that justice to sara demanded it.
sara herself did not want to go; she protested and pleaded; but her father, having become convinced that it was best for her to go, was inexorable.
everything, even her own feelings, must give way to that.
but she was to come back to him without let or hindrance when her "schooling" was done.
it was only on having this most clearly understood that sara would consent to go at all.
her last words, called back to her father through her tears as she and her aunt drove down the lane, were, "i'll be back, daddy.
in three years i'll be back.
do n't cry, but just look forward to that."
he had looked forward to it through the three long, lonely years that followed, in all of which he never saw his darling.
half a continent was between them and mrs. adair had vetoed vacation visits, under some specious pretense.
but every week brought its letter from sara.
old man shaw had every one of them, tied up with one of her old blue hair ribbons, and kept in her mother's little rose-wood work-box in the parlour.
he spent every sunday afternoon re-reading them, with her photograph before him.
he lived alone, refusing to be pestered with kind help, but he kept the house in beautiful order.
""a better housekeeper than farmer," said white sands people.
he would have nothing altered.
when sara came back she was not to be hurt by changes.
it never occurred to him that she might be changed herself.
and now those three interminable years were gone, and sara was coming home.
she wrote him nothing of her aunt's pleadings and reproaches and ready, futile tears; she wrote only that she would graduate in june and start for home a week later.
thenceforth old man shaw went about in a state of beatitude, making ready for her homecoming.
as he sat on the bench in the sunshine, with the blue sea sparkling and crinkling down at the foot of the green slope, he reflected with satisfaction that all was in perfect order.
there was nothing left to do save count the hours until that beautiful, longed-for day after to-morrow.
he gave himself over to a reverie, as sweet as a day-dream in a haunted valley.
the red roses were out in bloom.
sara had always loved those red roses -- they were as vivid as herself, with all her own fullness of life and joy of living.
and, besides these, a miracle had happened in old man shaw's garden.
in one corner was a rose-bush which had never bloomed, despite all the coaxing they had given it -- "the sulky rose-bush," sara had been wont to call it.
lo!
this summer had flung the hoarded sweetness of years into plentiful white blossoms, like shallow ivory cups with a haunting, spicy fragrance.
it was in honour of sara's home-coming -- so old man shaw liked to fancy.
all things, even the sulky rose-bush, knew she was coming back, and were making glad because of it.
he was gloating over sara's letter when mrs. peter blewett came.
she told him she had run up to see how he was getting on, and if he wanted anything seen to before sara came.
""no'm, thank you, ma'am.
everything is attended to.
i could n't let anyone else prepare for blossom.
only to think, ma'am, she'll be home the day after to-morrow.
i'm just filled clear through, body, soul, and spirit, with joy to think of having my little blossom at home again."
mrs. blewett smiled sourly.
when mrs. blewett smiled it foretokened trouble, and wise people had learned to have sudden business elsewhere before the smile could be translated into words.
but old man shaw had never learned to be wise where mrs. blewett was concerned, although she had been his nearest neighbour for years, and had pestered his life out with advice and "neighbourly turns."
mrs. blewett was one with whom life had gone awry.
the effect on her was to render happiness to other people a personal insult.
she resented old man shaw's beaming delight in his daughter's return, and she "considered it her duty" to rub the bloom off straightway.
""do you think sary'll be contented in white sands now?"
she asked.
old man shaw looked slightly bewildered.
""of course she'll be contented," he said slowly.
""is n't it her home?
and ai n't i here?"
mrs. blewett smiled again, with double distilled contempt for such simplicity.
""well, it's a good thing you're so sure of it, i suppose.
if't was my daughter that was coming back to white sands, after three years of fashionable life among rich, stylish folks, and at a swell school, i would n't have a minute's peace of mind.
i'd know perfectly well that she'd look down on everything here, and be discontented and miserable."
""your daughter might," said old man shaw, with more sarcasm than he had supposed he had possessed, "but blossom wo n't."
mrs. blewett shrugged her sharp shoulders.
""maybe not.
it's to be hoped not, for both your sakes, i'm sure.
but i'd be worried if't was me.
sary's been living among fine folks, and having a gay, exciting time, and it stands to reason she'll think white sands fearful lonesome and dull.
look at lauretta bradley.
she was up in boston for just a month last winter and she's never been able to endure white sands since."
""lauretta bradley and sara shaw are two different people," said sara's father, trying to smile.
""and your house, too," pursued mrs. blewett ruthlessly.
""it's such a queer, little, old place.
what'll she think of it after her aunt's?
i've heard tell mrs. adair lives in a perfect palace.
i'll just warn you kindly that sary'll probably look down on you, and you might as well be prepared for it.
of course, i suppose she kind of thinks she has to come back, seeing she promised you so solemn she would.
but i'm certain she does n't want to, and i do n't blame her either."
even mrs. blewett had to stop for breath, and old man shaw found his opportunity.
he had listened, dazed and shrinking, as if she were dealing him physical blows, but now a swift change swept over him.
his blue eyes flashed ominously, straight into mrs. blewett's straggling, ferrety gray orbs.
""if you're said your say, martha blewett, you can go," he said passionately.
""i'm not going to listen to another such word.
take yourself out of my sight, and your malicious tongue out of my hearing!"
mrs. blewett went, too dumfounded by such an unheard-of outburst in mild old man shaw to say a word of defence or attack.
when she had gone old man shaw, the fire all faded from his eyes, sank back on his bench.
his delight was dead; his heart was full of pain and bitterness.
martha blewett was a warped and ill-natured woman, but he feared there was altogether too much truth in what she said.
why had he never thought of it before?
of course white sands would seem dull and lonely to blossom; of course the little gray house where she was born would seem a poor abode after the splendours of her aunt's home.
old man shaw walked through his garden and looked at everything with new eyes.
how poor and simple everything was!
how sagging and weather-beaten the old house!
he went in, and up-stairs to sara's room.
it was neat and clean, just as she had left it three years ago.
but it was small and dark; the ceiling was discoloured, the furniture old-fashioned and shabby; she would think it a poor, mean place.
even the orchard over the hill brought him no comfort now.
blossom would not care for orchards.
she would be ashamed of her stupid old father and the barren farm.
she would hate white sands, and chafe at the dull existence, and look down on everything that went to make up his uneventful life.
old man shaw was unhappy enough that night to have satisfied even mrs. blewett had she known.
he saw himself as he thought white sands folk must see him -- a poor, shiftless, foolish old man, who had only one thing in the world worthwhile, his little girl, and had not been of enough account to keep her.
""oh, blossom, blossom!"
he said, and when he spoke her name it sounded as if he spoke the name of one dead.
after a little the worst sting passed away.
he refused to believe long that blossom would be ashamed of him; he knew she would not.
three years could not so alter her loyal nature -- no, nor ten times three years.
but she would be changed -- she would have grown away from him in those three busy, brilliant years.
his companionship could no longer satisfy her.
how simple and childish he had been to expect it!
she would be sweet and kind -- blossom could never be anything else.
she would not show open discontent or dissatisfaction; she would not be like lauretta bradley; but it would be there, and he would divine it, and it would break his heart.
mrs. blewett was right.
when he had given blossom up he should not have made a half-hearted thing of his sacrifice -- he should not have bound her to come back to him.
he walked about in his little garden until late at night, under the stars, with the sea crooning and calling to him down the slope.
when he finally went to bed he did not sleep, but lay until morning with tear-wet eyes and despair in his heart.
all the forenoon he went about his usual daily work absently.
frequently he fell into long reveries, standing motionless wherever he happened to be, and looking dully before him.
only once did he show any animation.
when he saw mrs. blewett coming up the lane he darted into the house, locked the door, and listened to her knocking in grim silence.
after she had gone he went out, and found a plate of fresh doughnuts, covered with a napkin, placed on the bench at the door.
mrs. blewett meant to indicate thus that she bore him no malice for her curt dismissal the day before; possibly her conscience gave her some twinges also.
but her doughnuts could not minister to the mind she had diseased.
old man shaw took them up; carried them to the pig-pen, and fed them to the pigs.
it was the first spiteful thing he had done in his life, and he felt a most immoral satisfaction in it.
in mid-afternoon he went out to the garden, finding the new loneliness of the little house unbearable.
the old bench was warm in the sunshine.
old man shaw sat down with a long sigh, and dropped his white head wearily on his breast.
he had decided what he must do.
he would tell blossom that she might go back to her aunt and never mind about him -- he would do very well by himself and he did not blame her in the least.
he was still sitting broodingly there when a girl came up the lane.
she was tall and straight, and walked with a kind of uplift in her motion, as if it would be rather easier to fly than not.
she was dark, with a rich dusky sort of darkness, suggestive of the bloom on purple plums, or the glow of deep red apples among bronze leaves.
her big brown eyes lingered on everything in sight, and little gurgles of sound now and again came through her parted lips, as if inarticulate joy were thus expressing itself.
at the garden gate she saw the bent figure on the old bench, and the next minute she was flying along the rose walk.
""daddy!"
she called, "daddy!"
old man shaw stood up in hasty bewilderment; then a pair of girlish arms were about his neck, and a pair of warm red lips were on his; girlish eyes, full of love, were looking up into his, and a never-forgotten voice, tingling with laughter and tears blended into one delicious chord, was crying, "oh, daddy, is it really you?
oh, i ca n't tell you how good it is to see you again!"
old man shaw held her tightly in a silence of amazement and joy too deep for wonder.
why, this was his blossom -- the very blossom who had gone away three years ago!
a little taller, a little more womanly, but his own dear blossom, and no stranger.
there was a new heaven and a new earth for him in the realization.
""oh, baby blossom!"
he murmured, "little baby blossom!"
sara rubbed her cheek against the faded coat sleeve.
""daddy darling, this moment makes up for everything, does n't it?"
""but -- but -- where did you come from?"
he asked, his senses beginning to struggle out of their bewilderment of surprise.
""i did n't expect you till to-morrow.
you did n't have to walk from the station, did you?
and your old daddy not there to welcome you!"
sara laughed, swung herself back by the tips of her fingers and danced around him in the childish fashion of long ago.
""i found i could make an earlier connection with the c.p.a. yesterday and get to the island last night.
i was in such a fever to get home that i jumped at the chance.
of course i walked from the station -- it's only two miles and every step was a benediction.
my trunks are over there.
we'll go after them to-morrow, daddy, but just now i want to go straight to every one of the dear old nooks and spots at once."
""you must get something to eat first," he urged fondly.
""and there ai n't much in the house, i'm afraid.
i was going to bake to-morrow morning.
but i guess i can forage you out something, darling."
he was sorely repenting having given mrs. blewett's doughnuts to the pigs, but sara brushed all such considerations aside with a wave of her hand.
""i do n't want anything to eat just now.
by and by we'll have a snack; just as we used to get up for ourselves whenever we felt hungry.
do n't you remember how scandalized white sands folks used to be at our irregular hours?
i'm hungry; but it's soul hunger, for a glimpse of all the dear old rooms and places.
come -- there are four hours yet before sunset, and i want to cram into them all i've missed out of these three years.
let us begin right here with the garden.
oh, daddy, by what witchcraft have you coaxed that sulky rose-bush into bloom?"
""no witchcraft at all -- it just bloomed because you were coming home, baby," said her father.
they had a glorious afternoon of it, those two children.
they explored the garden and then the house.
sara danced through every room, and then up to her own, holding fast to her father's hand.
""oh, it's lovely to see my little room again, daddy.
i'm sure all my old hopes and dreams are waiting here for me."
she ran to the window and threw it open, leaning out.
""daddy, there's no view in the world so beautiful as that curve of sea between the headlands.
i've looked at magnificent scenery -- and then i'd shut my eyes and conjure up that picture.
oh, listen to the wind keening in the trees!
how i've longed for that music!"
he took her to the orchard and followed out his crafty plan of surprise perfectly.
she rewarded him by doing exactly what he had dreamed of her doing, clapping her hands and crying out: "oh, daddy!
why, daddy!"
they finished up with the shore, and then at sunset they came back and sat down on the old garden bench.
before them a sea of splendour, burning like a great jewel, stretched to the gateways of the west.
the long headlands on either side were darkly purple, and the sun left behind him a vast, cloudless arc of fiery daffodil and elusive rose.
back over the orchard in a cool, green sky glimmered a crystal planet, and the night poured over them a clear wine of dew from her airy chalice.
the spruces were rejoicing in the wind, and even the battered firs were singing of the sea.
old memories trooped into their hearts like shining spirits.
""baby blossom," said old man shaw falteringly, "are you quite sure you'll be contented here?
out there" -- with a vague sweep of his hand towards horizons that shut out a world far removed from white sands -- "there's pleasure and excitement and all that.
wo n't you miss it?
wo n't you get tired of your old father and white sands?"
sara patted his hand gently.
""the world out there is a good place," she said thoughtfully, "i've had three splendid years and i hope they'll enrich my whole life.
there are wonderful things out there to see and learn, fine, noble people to meet, beautiful deeds to admire; but," she wound her arm about his neck and laid her cheek against his -- "there is no daddy!"
and old man shaw looked silently at the sunset -- or, rather, through the sunset to still grander and more radiant splendours beyond, of which the things seen were only the pale reflections, not worthy of attention from those who had the gift of further sight.
vii.
aunt olivia's beau aunt olivia told peggy and me about him on the afternoon we went over to help her gather her late roses for pot-pourri.
we found her strangely quiet and preoccupied.
as a rule she was fond of mild fun, alert to hear east grafton gossip, and given to sudden little trills of almost girlish laughter, which for the time being dispelled the atmosphere of gentle old-maidishness which seemed to hang about her as a garment.
at such moments we did not find it hard to believe -- as we did at other times -- that aunt olivia had once been a girl herself.
this day she picked the roses absently, and shook the fairy petals into her little sweet-grass basket with the air of a woman whose thoughts were far away.
we said nothing, knowing that aunt olivia's secrets always came our way in time.
when the rose-leaves were picked, we carried them in and upstairs in single file, aunt olivia bringing up the rear to pick up any stray rose-leaf we might drop.
in the south-west room, where there was no carpet to fade, we spread them on newspapers on the floor.
then we put our sweet-grass baskets back in the proper place in the proper closet in the proper room.
what would have happened to us, or to the sweet-grass baskets, if this had not been done i do not know.
nothing was ever permitted to remain an instant out of place in aunt olivia's house.
when we went downstairs, aunt olivia asked us to go into the parlour.
she had something to tell us, she said, and as she opened the door a delicate pink flush spread over her face.
i noted it, with surprise, but no inkling of the truth came to me -- for nobody ever connected the idea of possible lovers or marriage with this prim little old maid, olivia sterling.
aunt olivia's parlour was much like herself -- painfully neat.
every article of furniture stood in exactly the same place it had always stood.
nothing was ever suffered to be disturbed.
the tassels of the crazy cushion lay just so over the arm of the sofa, and the crochet antimacassar was always spread at precisely the same angel over the horsehair rocking chair.
no speck of dust was ever visible; no fly ever invaded that sacred apartment.
aunt olivia pulled up a blind, to let in what light could sift finely through the vine leaves, and sat down in a high-backed old chair that had appertained to her great-grandmother.
she folded her hands in her lap, and looked at us with shy appeal in her blue-gray eyes.
plainly she found it hard to tell us her secret, yet all the time there was an air of pride and exultation about her; somewhat, also, of a new dignity.
aunt olivia could never be self-assertive, but if it had been possible that would have been her time for it.
""have you ever heard me speak of mr. malcolm macpherson?"
asked aunt olivia.
we had never heard her, or anybody else, speak of mr. malcolm macpherson; but volumes of explanation could not have told us more about him than did aunt olivia's voice when she pronounced his name.
we knew, as if it had been proclaimed to us in trumpet tones, that mr. malcolm macpherson must be aunt olivia's beau, and the knowledge took away our breath.
we even forgot to be curious, so astonished were we.
and there sat aunt olivia, proud and shy and exulting and shamefaced, all at once!
""he is a brother of mrs. john seaman's across the bridge," explained aunt olivia with a little simper.
""of course you do n't remember him.
he went out to british columbia twenty years ago.
but he is coming home now -- and -- and -- tell your father, wo n't you -- i -- i -- do n't like to tell him -- mr. malcolm macpherson and i are going to be married."
""married!"
gasped peggy.
and "married!"
i echoed stupidly.
aunt olivia bridled a little.
""there is nothing unsuitable in that, is there?"
she asked, rather crisply.
""oh, no, no," i hastened to assure her, giving peggy a surreptitious kick to divert her thoughts from laughter.
""only you must realize, aunt olivia, that this is a very great surprise to us."
""i thought it would be so," said aunt olivia complacently.
""but your father will know -- he will remember.
i do hope he wo n't think me foolish.
he did not think mr. malcolm macpherson was a fit person for me to marry once.
but that was long ago, when mr. malcolm macpherson was very poor.
he is in very comfortable circumstances now."
""tell us about it, aunt olivia," said peggy.
she did not look at me, which was my salvation.
had i caught peggy's eye when aunt olivia said "mr. malcolm macpherson" in that tone i must have laughed, willy-nilly.
""when i was a girl the macphersons used to live across the road from here.
mr. malcolm macpherson was my beau then.
but my family -- and your father especially -- dear me, i do hope he wo n't be very cross -- were opposed to his attentions and were very cool to him.
i think that was why he never said anything to me about getting married then.
and after a time he went away, as i have said, and i never heard anything from him directly for many a year.
of course, his sister sometimes gave me news of him.
but last june i had a letter from him.
he said he was coming home to settle down for good on the old island, and he asked me if i would marry him.
i wrote back and said i would.
perhaps i ought to have consulted your father, but i was afraid he would think i ought to refuse mr. malcolm macpherson."
""oh, i do n't think father will mind," said peggy reassuringly.
""i hope not, because, of course, i would consider it my duty in any case to fulfil the promise i have given to mr. malcolm macpherson.
he will be in grafton next week, the guest of his sister, mrs. john seaman, across the bridge."
aunt olivia said that exactly as if she were reading it from the personal column of the daily enterprise.
""when is the wedding to be?"
i asked.
""oh!"
aunt olivia blushed distressfully.
""i do not know the exact date.
nothing can be definitely settled until mr. malcolm macpherson comes.
but it will not be before september, at the earliest.
there will be so much to do.
you will tell your father, wo n't you?"
we promised that we would, and aunt olivia arose with an air of relief.
peggy and i hurried over home, stopping, when we were safely out of earshot, to laugh.
the romances of the middle-aged may be to them as tender and sweet as those of youth, but they are apt to possess a good deal of humour for onlookers.
only youth can be sentimental without being mirth-provoking.
we loved aunt olivia and were glad for her late, new-blossoming happiness; but we felt amused over it also.
the recollection of her "mr. malcolm macpherson" was too much for us every time we thought of it.
father pooh-poohed incredulously at first, and, when we had convinced him, guffawed with laughter.
aunt olivia need not have dreaded any more opposition from her cruel family.
""macpherson was a good fellow enough, but horribly poor," said father.
""i hear he has done very well out west, and if he and olivia have a notion of each other they are welcome to marry as far as i am concerned.
tell olivia she must n't take a spasm if he tracks some mud into her house once in a while."
thus it was all arranged, and, before we realized it at all, aunt olivia was mid-deep in marriage preparations, in all of which peggy and i were quite indispensable.
she consulted us in regard to everything, and we almost lived at her place in those days preceding the arrival of mr. malcolm macpherson.
aunt olivia plainly felt very happy and important.
she had always wished to be married; she was not in the least strong-minded and her old-maidenhood had always been a sore point with her.
i think she looked upon it as somewhat of a disgrace.
and yet she was a born old maid; looking at her, and taking all her primness and little set ways into consideration, it was quite impossible to picture her as the wife of mr. malcolm macpherson, or anybody else.
we soon discovered that, to aunt olivia, mr. malcolm macpherson represented a merely abstract proposition -- the man who was to confer on her the long-withheld dignity of matronhood.
her romance began and ended there, although she was quite unconscious of this herself, and believed that she was deeply in love with him.
""what will be the result, mary, when he arrives in the flesh and she is compelled to deal with "mr. malcolm macpherson" as a real, live man, instead of a nebulous "party of the second part" in the marriage ceremony?"
queried peggy, as she hemmed table-napkins for aunt olivia, sitting on her well-scoured sandstone steps, and carefully putting all thread-clippings and ravellings into the little basket which aunt olivia had placed there for that purpose.
""it may transform her from a self-centered old maid into a woman for whom marriage does not seem such an incongruous thing," i said.
the day on which mr. malcolm macpherson was expected peggy and i went over.
we had planned to remain away, thinking that the lovers would prefer their first meeting to be unwitnessed, but aunt olivia insisted on our being present.
she was plainly nervous; the abstract was becoming concrete.
her little house was in spotless, speckless order from top to bottom.
aunt olivia had herself scrubbed the garret floor and swept the cellar steps that very morning with as much painstaking care as if she expected that mr. malcolm macpherson would hasten to inspect each at once and she must stand or fall by his opinion of them.
peggy and i helped her to dress.
she insisted on wearing her best black silk, in which she looked unnaturally fine.
her soft muslin became her much better, but we could not induce her to wear it.
anything more prim and bandboxy than aunt olivia when her toilet was finished it has never been my lot to see.
peggy and i watched her as she went downstairs, her skirt held stiffly up all around her that it might not brush the floor."
"mr. malcolm macpherson" will be inspired with such awe that he will only be able to sit back and gaze at her," whispered peggy.
""i wish he would come and have it over.
this is getting on my nerves."
aunt olivia went into the parlour, settled herself in the old carved chair, and folded her hands.
peggy and i sat down on the stairs to await his coming in a crisping suspense.
aunt olivia's kitten, a fat, bewhiskered creature, looking as if it were cut out of black velvet, shared our vigil and purred in maddening peace of mind.
we could see the garden path and gate through the hall window, and therefore supposed we should have full warning of the approach of mr. malcolm macpherson.
it was no wonder, therefore, that we positively jumped when a thunderous knock crashed against the front door and re-echoed through the house.
had mr. malcolm macpherson dropped from the skies?
we afterwards discovered that he had come across lots and around the house from the back, but just then his sudden advent was almost uncanny.
i ran downstairs and opened the door.
on the step stood a man about six feet two in height, and proportionately broad and sinewy.
he had splendid shoulders, a great crop of curly black hair, big, twinkling blue eyes, and a tremendous crinkly black beard that fell over his breast in shining waves.
in brief, mr. malcolm macpherson was what one would call instinctively, if somewhat tritely, "a magnificent specimen of manhood."
in one hand he carried a bunch of early goldenrod and smoke-blue asters.
""good afternoon," he said in a resonant voice which seemed to take possession of the drowsy summer afternoon.
""is miss olivia sterling in?
and will you please tell her that malcolm macpherson is here?"
i showed him into the parlour.
then peggy and i peeped through the crack of the door.
anyone would have done it.
we would have scorned to excuse ourselves.
and, indeed, what we saw would have been worth several conscience spasms if we had felt any.
aunt olivia arose and advanced primly, with outstretched hand.
""mr. macpherson, i am very glad to see you," she said formally.
""it's yourself, nillie!"
mr. malcolm macpherson gave two strides.
he dropped his flowers on the floor, knocked over a small table, and sent the ottoman spinning against the wall.
then he caught aunt olivia in his arms and -- smack, smack, smack!
peggy sank back upon the stair-step with her handkerchief stuffed in her mouth.
aunt olivia was being kissed!
presently, mr. malcolm macpherson held her back at arm's length in his big paws and looked her over.
i saw aunt olivia's eyes roam over his arm to the inverted table and the litter of asters and goldenrod.
her sleek crimps were all ruffled up, and her lace fichu twisted half around her neck.
she looked distressed.
""it's not a bit changed you are, nillie," said mr. malcolm macpherson admiringly.
""and it's good i'm feeling to see you again.
are you glad to see me, nillie?"
""oh, of course," said aunt olivia.
she twisted herself free and went to set up the table.
then she turned to the flowers, but mr. malcolm macpherson had already gathered them up, leaving a goodly sprinkling of leaves and stalks on the carpet.
""i picked these for you in the river field, nillie," he said.
""where will i be getting something to stick them in?
here, this will do."
he grasped a frail, painted vase on the mantel, stuffed the flowers in it, and set it on the table.
the look on aunt olivia's face was too much for me at last.
i turned, caught peggy by the shoulder and dragged her out of the house.
""he will horrify the very soul out of aunt olivia's body if he goes on like this," i gasped.
""but he's splendid -- and he thinks the world of her -- and, oh, peggy, did you ever hear such kisses?
fancy aunt olivia!"
it did not take us long to get well acquainted with mr. malcolm macpherson.
he almost haunted aunt olivia's house, and aunt olivia insisted on our staying with her most of the time.
she seemed to be very shy of finding herself alone with him.
he horrified her a dozen times in an hour; nevertheless, she was very proud of him, and liked to be teased about him, too.
she was delighted that we admired him.
""though, to be sure, he is very different in his looks from what he used to be," she said.
""he is so dreadfully big!
and i do not like a beard, but i have not the courage to ask him to shave it off.
he might be offended.
he has bought the old lynde place in avonlea and wants to be married in a month.
but, dear me, that is too soon.
it -- it would be hardly proper."
peggy and i liked mr. malcolm macpherson very much.
so did father.
we were glad that he seemed to think aunt olivia perfection.
he was as happy as the day was long; but poor aunt olivia, under all her surface pride and importance, was not.
amid all the humour of the circumstances peggy and i snuffed tragedy compounded with the humour.
mr. malcolm macpherson could never be trained to old-maidishness, and even aunt olivia seemed to realize this.
he never stopped to clear his boots when he came in, although she had an ostentatiously new scraper put at each door for his benefit.
he seldom moved in the house without knocking some of aunt olivia's treasures over.
he smoked cigars in her parlour and scattered the ashes over the floor.
he brought her flowers every day and stuck them into whatever receptacle came handiest.
he sat on her cushions and rolled her antimacassars up into balls.
he put his feet on her chair rungs -- and all with the most distracting unconsciousness of doing anything out of the way.
he never noticed aunt olivia's fluttering nervousness at all.
peggy and i laughed more than was good for us those days.
it was so funny to see aunt olivia hovering anxiously around, picking up flower stems, and smoothing out tidies, and generally following him about to straighten out things.
once she even got a wing and dustpan and swept the cigar ashes under his very eyes.
""now do n't be worrying yourself over that, nillie," he protested.
""why, i do n't mind a litter, bless you!"
how good and jolly he was, that mr. malcolm macpherson!
such songs as he sang, such stories as he told, such a breezy, unconventional atmosphere as he brought into that prim little house, where stagnant dullness had reigned for years!
he worshipped aunt olivia, and his worship took the concrete form of presents galore.
he brought her a present almost every visit -- generally some article of jewelry.
bracelets, rings, chains, ear-drops, lockets, bangles, were showered upon our precise little aunt; she accepted them deprecatingly, but never wore them.
this hurt him a little, but she assured him she would wear them all sometimes.
""i am not used to jewelry, mr. macpherson," she would tell him.
her engagement ring she did wear -- it was a rather "loud" combination of engraved gold and opals.
sometimes we caught her turning it on her finger with a very troubled face.
""i would be sorry for mr. malcolm macpherson if he were not so much in love with her," said peggy.
""but as he thinks that she is perfection he does n't need sympathy."
""i am sorry for aunt olivia," i said.
""yes, peggy, i am.
mr. macpherson is a splendid man, but aunt olivia is a born old maid, and it is outraging her very nature to be anything else.
do n't you see how it's hurting her?
his big, splendid man-ways are harrowing her very soul up -- she ca n't get out of her little, narrow groove, and it is killing her to be pulled out."
""nonsense!"
said peggy.
then she added with a laugh, "mary, did you ever see anything so funny as aunt olivia sitting on "mr. malcolm macpherson's" knee?"
it was funny.
aunt olivia thought it very unbecoming to sit there before us, but he made her do it.
he would say, with his big, jolly laugh, "do n't be minding the little girls," and pull her down on his knee and hold her there.
to my dying day i shall never forget the expression on the poor little woman's face.
but, as the days went by and mr. malcolm macpherson began to insist on a date being set for the wedding, aunt olivia grew to have a strangely disturbed look.
she became very quiet, and never laughed except under protest.
also, she showed signs of petulance when any of us, but especially father, teased her about her beau.
i pitied her, for i think i understood better than the others what her feelings really were.
but even i was not prepared for what did happen.
i would not have believed that aunt olivia could do it.
i thought that her desire for marriage in the abstract would outweigh the disadvantages of the concrete.
but one can never reckon with real, bred-in-the-bone old-maidism.
one morning mr. malcolm macpherson told us all that he was coming up that evening to make aunt olivia set the day.
peggy and i laughingly approved, telling him that it was high time for him to assert his authority, and he went off in great good humour across the river field, whistling a highland strathspey.
but aunt olivia looked like a martyr.
she had a fierce attack of housecleaning that day, and put everything in flawless order, even to the corners.
""as if there was going to be a funeral in the house," sniffed peggy.
peggy and i were up in the south-west room at dusk that evening, piecing a quilt, when we heard mr. malcolm macpherson shouting out in the hall below to know if anyone was home.
i ran out to the landing, but as i did so aunt olivia came out of her room, brushed past me, and flitted downstairs.
""mr. macpherson," i heard her say with double-distilled primness, "will you please come into the parlour?
i have something to say to you."
they went in, and i returned to the south-west room.
""peg, there's trouble brewing," i said.
""i'm sure of it by aunt olivia's face, it was gray.
and she has gone down alone -- and shut the door."
""i am going to hear what she says to him," said peggy resolutely.
""it is her own fault -- she has spoiled us by always insisting that we should be present at their interviews.
that poor man has had to do his courting under our very eyes.
come on, mary."
the south-west room was directly over the parlour and there was an open stovepipe-hole leading up therefrom.
peggy removed the hat box that was on it, and we both deliberately and shamelessly crouched down and listened with all our might.
it was easy enough to hear what mr. malcolm macpherson was saying.
""i've come up to get the date settled, nillie, as i told you.
come now, little woman, name the day."
smack!
""do n't, mr. macpherson," said aunt olivia.
she spoke as a woman who has keyed herself up to the doing of some very distasteful task and is anxious to have it over and done with as soon as possible.
""there is something i must say to you.
i can not marry you, mr. macpherson."
there was a pause.
i would have given much to have seen the pair of them.
when mr. malcolm macpherson spoke his voice was that of blank, uncomprehending amazement.
""nillie, what is it you are meaning?"
he said.
""i can not marry you, mr. macpherson," repeated aunt olivia.
""why not?"
surprise was giving way to dismay.
""i do n't think you will understand, mr. macpherson," said aunt olivia, faintly.
""you do n't realize what it means for a woman to give up everything -- her own home and friends and all her past life, so to speak, and go far away with a stranger."
""why, i suppose it will be rather hard.
but, nillie, avonlea is n't very far away -- not more than twelve miles, if it will be that."
""twelve miles!
it might as well be at the other side of the world to all intents and purposes," said aunt olivia obstinately.
""i do n't know a living soul there, except rachel lynde."
""why did n't you say so before i bought the place, then?
but it's not too late.
i can be selling it and buying right here in east grafton if that will please you -- though there is n't half as nice a place to be had.
but i'll fix it up somehow!"
""no, mr. macpherson," said aunt olivia firmly, "that does n't cover the difficulty.
i knew you would not understand.
my ways are not your ways and i can not make them over.
for -- you track mud in -- and -- and -- you do n't care whether things are tidy or not."
poor aunt olivia had to be aunt olivia; if she were being burned at the stake i verily believe she would have dragged some grotesqueness into the tragedy of the moment.
""the devil!"
said mr. malcolm macpherson -- not profanely or angrily, but as in sheer bewilderment.
then he added, "nillie, you must be joking.
it's careless enough i am -- the west is n't a good place to learn finicky ways -- but you can teach me.
you're not going to throw me over because i track mud in!"
""i can not marry you, mr. macpherson," said aunt olivia again.
""you ca n't be meaning it!"
he exclaimed, because he was beginning to understand that she did mean it, although it was impossible for his man mind to understand anything else about the puzzle.
""nillie, it's breaking my heart you are!
i'll do anything -- go anywhere -- be anything you want -- only do n't be going back on me like this."
""i can not marry you, mr. macpherson," said aunt olivia for the fourth time.
""nillie!"
exclaimed mr. malcolm macpherson.
there was such real agony in his tone that peggy and i were suddenly stricken with contrition.
what were we doing?
we had no right to be listening to this pitiful interview.
the pain and protest in his voice had suddenly banished all the humour from it, and left naught but the bare, stark tragedy.
we rose and tiptoed out of the room, wholesomely ashamed of ourselves.
when mr. malcolm macpherson had gone, after an hour of useless pleading, aunt olivia came up to us, pale and prim and determined, and told us that there was to be no wedding.
we could not pretend surprise, but peggy ventured a faint protest.
""oh, aunt olivia, do you think you have done right?"
""it was the only thing i could do," said aunt olivia stonily.
""i could not marry mr. malcolm macpherson and i told him so.
please tell your father -- and kindly say nothing more to me about the matter."
then aunt olivia went downstairs, got a broom, and swept up the mud mr. malcolm macpherson had tracked over the steps.
peggy and i went home and told father.
we felt very flat, but there was nothing to be done or said.
father laughed at the whole thing, but i could not laugh.
i was sorry for mr. malcolm macpherson and, though i was angry with her, i was sorry for aunt olivia, too.
plainly she felt badly enough over her vanished hopes and plans, but she had developed a strange and baffling reserve which nothing could pierce.
""it's nothing but a chronic case of old-maidism," said father impatiently.
things were very dull for a week.
we saw no more of mr. malcolm macpherson and we missed him dreadfully.
aunt olivia was inscrutable, and worked with fierceness at superfluous tasks.
one evening father came home with some news.
""malcolm macpherson is leaving on the 7:30 train for the west," he said.
""he has rented the avonlea place and he's off.
they say he is mad as a hatter at the trick olivia played on him."
after tea peggy and i went over to see aunt olivia, who had asked our advice about a wrapper.
she was sewing as for dear life, and her face was primmer and colder than ever.
i wondered if she knew of mr. malcolm macpherson's departure.
delicacy forbade me to mention it but peggy had no such scruples.
""well, aunt olivia, your beau is off," she announced cheerfully.
""you wo n't be bothered with him again.
he is leaving on the mail train for the west."
aunt olivia dropped her sewing and stood up.
i have never seen anything like the transformation that came over her.
it was so thorough and sudden as to be almost uncanny.
the old maid vanished completely, and in her place was a woman, full to the lips with primitive emotion and pain.
""what shall i do?"
she cried in a terrible voice.
""mary -- peggy -- what shall i do?"
it was almost a shriek.
peggy turned pale.
""do you care?"
she said stupidly.
""care!
girls, i shall die if malcolm macpherson goes away!
i have been mad -- i must have been mad.
i have almost died of loneliness since i sent him away.
but i thought he would come back!
i must see him -- there is time to reach the station before the train goes if i go by the fields."
she took a wild step towards the door, but i caught her back with a sudden mind-vision of aunt olivia flying bareheaded and distraught across the fields.
""wait a moment, aunt olivia.
peggy, run home and get father to harness dick in the buggy as quickly as he can.
we'll drive aunt olivia to the station.
we'll get you there in time, aunty."
peggy flew, and aunt olivia dashed upstairs.
i lingered behind to pick up her sewing, and when i got to her room she had her hat and cape on.
spread out on the bed were all the boxes of gifts which mr. malcolm macpherson had brought her, and aunt olivia was stringing their contents feverishly about her person.
rings, three brooches, a locket, three chains and a watch all went on -- anyway and anyhow.
a wonderful sight it was to see aunt olivia bedizened like that!
""i would never wear them before -- but i'll put them all on now to show him i'm sorry," she gasped, with trembling lips.
when the three of us crowded into the buggy, aunt olivia grasped the whip before we could prevent her and, leaning out, gave poor dick such a lash as he had never felt in his life before.
he went tearing down the steep, stony, fast-darkening road in a fashion which made peggy and me cry out in alarm.
aunt olivia was usually the most timid of women, but now she did n't seem to know what fear was.
she kept whipping and urging poor dick the whole way to the station, quite oblivious to our assurances that there was plenty of time.
the people who met us that night must have thought we were quite mad.
i held on the reins, peggy gripped the swaying side of the buggy, and aunt olivia bent forward, hat and hair blowing back from her set face with its strangely crimson cheeks, and plied the whip.
in such a guise did we whirl through the village and over the two-mile station road.
when we drove up to the station, where the train was shunting amid the shadows, aunt olivia made a flying leap from the buggy and ran along the platform, with her cape streaming behind her and all her brooches and chains glittering in the lights.
i tossed the reins to a boy standing near and we followed.
just under the glare of the station lamp we saw mr. malcolm macpherson, grip in hand.
fortunately no one else was very near, but it would have been all the same had they been the centre of a crowd.
aunt olivia fairly flung herself against him.
""malcolm," she cried, "do n't go -- do n't go -- i'll marry you -- i'll go anywhere -- and i do n't care how much mud you bring in!"
that truly aunt olivia touch relieved the tension of the situation a little.
mr. macpherson put his arm about her and drew her back into the shadows.
""there, there," he soothed.
""of course i wo n't be going.
do n't cry, nillie-girl."
""and you'll come right back with me now?"
implored aunt olivia, clinging to him as if she feared he would be whisked away from her yet if she let go for a moment.
""of course, of course," he said.
peggy got a chance home with a friend, and aunt olivia and mr. malcolm macpherson and i drove back in the buggy.
mr. macpherson held aunt olivia on his knee because there was no room, but she would have sat there, i think, had there been a dozen vacant seats.
she clung to him in the most barefaced fashion, and all her former primness and reserve were swept away completely.
she kissed him a dozen times or more and told him she loved him -- and i did not even smile, nor did i want to.
somehow, it did not seem in the least funny to me then, nor does it now, although it doubtless will to others.
there was too much real intensity of feeling in it all to leave any room for the ridiculous.
so wrapped up in each other were they that i did not even feel superfluous.
i set them safely down in aunt olivia's yard and turned homeward, completely forgotten by the pair.
but in the moonlight, which flooded the front of the house, i saw something that testified eloquently to the transformation in aunt olivia.
it had rained that afternoon and the yard was muddy.
nevertheless, she went in at her front door and took mr. malcolm macpherson in with her without even a glance at the scraper!
viii.
the quarantine at alexander abraham's i refused to take that class in sunday school the first time i was asked.
it was not that i objected to teaching in the sunday school.
on the contrary i rather liked the idea; but it was the rev. mr. allan who asked me, and it had always been a matter of principle with me never to do anything a man asked me to do if i could help it.
i was noted for that.
it saves a great deal of trouble and it simplifies everything beautifully.
i had always disliked men.
it must have been born in me, because, as far back as i can remember, an antipathy to men and dogs was one of my strongest characteristics.
i was noted for that.
my experiences through life only served to deepen it.
the more i saw of men, the more i liked cats.
so, of course, when the rev. allan asked me if i would consent to take a class in sunday school, i said no in a fashion calculated to chasten him wholesomely.
if he had sent his wife the first time, as he did the second, it would have been wiser.
people generally do what mrs. allan asks them to do because they know it saves time.
mrs. allan talked smoothly for half an hour before she mentioned the sunday school, and paid me several compliments.
mrs. allan is famous for her tact.
tact is a faculty for meandering around to a given point instead of making a bee-line.
i have no tact.
i am noted for that.
as soon as mrs. allan's conversation came in sight of the sunday school, i, who knew all along whither it was tending, said, straight out, "what class do you want me to teach?"
mrs. allan was so surprised that she forgot to be tactful, and answered plainly for once in her life, "there are two classes -- one of boys and one of girls -- needing a teacher.
i have been teaching the girls" class, but i shall have to give it up for a little time on account of the baby's health.
you may have your choice, miss macpherson."
""then i shall take the boys," i said decidedly.
i am noted for my decision.
""since they have to grow up to be men it's well to train them properly betimes.
nuisances they are bound to become under any circumstances; but if they are taken in hand young enough they may not grow up to be such nuisances as they otherwise would and that will be some unfortunate woman's gain."
mrs. allan looked dubious.
i knew she had expected me to choose the girls.
""they are a very wild set of boys," she said.
""i never knew boys who were n't," i retorted.
""i -- i -- think perhaps you would like the girls best," said mrs. allan hesitatingly.
if it had not been for one thing -- which i would never in this world have admitted to mrs. allan -- i might have liked the girls" class best myself.
but the truth was, anne shirley was in that class; and anne shirley was the one living human being that i was afraid of.
not that i disliked her.
but she had such a habit of asking weird, unexpected questions, which a philadelphia lawyer could n't answer.
miss rogerson had that class once and anne routed her, horse, foot and artillery.
i was n't going to undertake a class with a walking interrogation point in it like that.
besides, i thought mrs. allan required a slight snub.
ministers" wives are rather apt to think they can run everything and everybody, if they are not wholesomely corrected now and again.
""it is not what i like best that must be considered, mrs. allan," i said rebukingly.
""it is what is best for those boys.
i feel that i shall be best for them."
""oh, i've no doubt of that, miss macpherson," said mrs. allan amiably.
it was a fib for her, minister's wife though she was.
she had doubt.
she thought i would be a dismal failure as teacher of a boys" class.
but i was not.
i am not often a dismal failure when i make up my mind to do a thing.
i am noted for that.
""it is wonderful what a reformation you have worked in that class, miss macpherson -- wonderful," said the rev. mr. allan some weeks later.
he did n't mean to show how amazing a thing he thought it that an old maid noted for being a man hater should have managed it, but his face betrayed him.
""where does jimmy spencer live?"
i asked him crisply.
""he came one sunday three weeks ago and has n't been back since.
i mean to find out why."
mr. allan coughed.
""i believe he is hired as handy boy with alexander abraham bennett, out on the white sands road," he said.
""then i am going out to alexander abraham bennett's on the white sands road to see why jimmy spencer does n't come to sunday school," i said firmly.
mr. allan's eyes twinkled ever so slightly.
i have always insisted that if that man were not a minister he would have a sense of humour.
""possibly mr. bennett will not appreciate your kind interest!
he has -- ah -- a singular aversion to your sex, i understand.
no woman has ever been known to get inside of mr. bennett's house since his sister died twenty years ago."
""oh, he is the one, is he?"
i said, remembering.
""he is the woman hater who threatens that if a woman comes into his yard he'll chase her out with a pitch-fork.
well, he will not chase me out!"
mr. allan gave a chuckle -- a ministerial chuckle, but still a chuckle.
it irritated me slightly, because it seemed to imply that he thought alexander abraham bennett would be one too many for me.
but i did not show mr. allan that he annoyed me.
it is always a great mistake to let a man see that he can vex you.
the next afternoon i harnessed my sorrel pony to the buggy and drove down to alexander abraham bennett's.
as usual, i took william adolphus with me for company.
william adolphus is my favourite among my six cats.
he is black, with a white dicky and beautiful white paws.
he sat up on the seat beside me and looked far more like a gentleman than many a man i've seen in a similar position.
alexander abraham's place was about three miles along the white sands road.
i knew the house as soon as i came to it by its neglected appearance.
it needed paint badly; the blinds were crooked and torn; weeds grew up to the very door.
plainly, there was no woman about that place.
still, it was a nice house, and the barns were splendid.
my father always said that when a man's barns were bigger than his house it was a sign that his income exceeded his expenditure.
so it was all right that they should be bigger; but it was all wrong that they should be trimmer and better painted.
still, thought i, what else could you expect of a woman hater?
""but alexander abraham evidently knows how to run a farm, even it he is a woman hater," i remarked to william adolphus as i got out and tied the pony to the railing.
i had driven up to the house from the back way and now i was opposite a side door opening on the veranda.
i thought i might as well go to it, so i tucked william adolphus under my arm and marched up the path.
just as i was half-way up, a dog swooped around the front corner and made straight for me.
he was the ugliest dog i had ever seen; and he did n't even bark -- just came silently and speedily on, with a business-like eye.
i never stop to argue matters with a dog that does n't bark.
i know when discretion is the better part of valour.
firmly clasping william adolphus, i ran -- not to the door, because the dog was between me and it, but to a big, low-branching cherry tree at the back corner of the house.
i reached it in time and no more.
first thrusting william adolphus on to a limb above my head, i scrambled up into that blessed tree without stopping to think how it might look to alexander abraham if he happened to be watching.
my time for reflection came when i found myself perched half way up the tree with william adolphus beside me.
william adolphus was quite calm and unruffled.
i can hardly say with truthfulness what i was.
on the contrary, i admit that i felt considerably upset.
the dog was sitting on his haunches on the ground below, watching us, and it was quite plain to be seen, from his leisurely manner, that it was not his busy day.
he bared his teeth and growled when he caught my eye.
""you look like a woman hater's dog," i told him.
i meant it for an insult; but the beast took it for a compliment.
then i set myself to solving the question, "how am i to get out of this predicament?"
it did not seem easy to solve it.
""shall i scream, william adolphus?"
i demanded of that intelligent animal.
william adolphus shook his head.
this is a fact.
and i agreed with him.
""no, i shall not scream, william adolphus," i said.
""there is probably no one to hear me except alexander abraham, and i have my painful doubts about his tender mercies.
now, it is impossible to go down.
is it, then, william adolphus, possible to go up?"
i looked up.
just above my head was an open window with a tolerably stout branch extending right across it.
""shall we try that way, william adolphus?"
i asked.
william adolphus, wasting no words, began to climb the tree.
i followed his example.
the dog ran in circles about the tree and looked things not lawful to be uttered.
it probably would have been a relief to him to bark if it had n't been so against his principles.
i got in by the window easily enough, and found myself in a bedroom the like of which for disorder and dust and general awfulness i had never seen in all my life.
but i did not pause to take in details.
with william adolphus under my arm i marched downstairs, fervently hoping i should meet no one on the way.
i did not.
the hall below was empty and dusty.
i opened the first door i came to and walked boldly in.
a man was sitting by the window, looking moodily out.
i should have known him for alexander abraham anywhere.
he had just the same uncared-for, ragged appearance that the house had; and yet, like the house, it seemed that he would not be bad looking if he were trimmed up a little.
his hair looked as if it had never been combed, and his whiskers were wild in the extreme.
he looked at me with blank amazement in his countenance.
""where is jimmy spencer?"
i demanded.
""i have come to see him."
""how did he ever let you in?"
asked the man, staring at me.
""he did n't let me in," i retorted.
""he chased me all over the lawn, and i only saved myself from being torn piecemeal by scrambling up a tree.
you ought to be prosecuted for keeping such a dog!
where is jimmy?"
instead of answering alexander abraham began to laugh in a most unpleasant fashion.
""trust a woman for getting into a man's house if she has made up her mind to," he said disagreeably.
seeing that it was his intention to vex me i remained cool and collected.
""oh, i was n't particular about getting into your house, mr. bennett," i said calmly.
""i had but little choice in the matter.
it was get in lest a worse fate befall me.
it was not you or your house i wanted to see -- although i admit that it is worth seeing if a person is anxious to find out how dirty a place can be.
it was jimmy.
for the third and last time -- where is jimmy?"
""jimmy is not here," said mr. bennett gruffly -- but not quite so assuredly.
""he left last week and hired with a man over at newbridge."
""in that case," i said, picking up william adolphus, who had been exploring the room with a disdainful air, "i wo n't disturb you any longer.
i shall go."
""yes, i think it would be the wisest thing," said alexander abraham -- not disagreeably this time, but reflectively, as if there was some doubt about the matter.
""i'll let you out by the back door.
then the -- ahem!
-- the dog will not interfere with you.
please go away quietly and quickly."
i wondered if alexander abraham thought i would go away with a whoop.
but i said nothing, thinking this the most dignified course of conduct, and i followed him out to the kitchen as quickly and quietly as he could have wished.
such a kitchen!
alexander abraham opened the door -- which was locked -- just as a buggy containing two men drove into the yard.
""too late!"
he exclaimed in a tragic tone.
i understood that something dreadful must have happened, but i did not care, since, as i fondly supposed, it did not concern me.
i pushed out past alexander abraham -- who was looking as guilty as if he had been caught burglarizing -- and came face to face with the man who had sprung from the buggy.
it was old dr. blair, from carmody, and he was looking at me as if he had found me shoplifting.
""my dear peter," he said gravely, "i am very sorry to see you here -- very sorry indeed."
i admit that this exasperated me.
besides, no man on earth, not even my own family doctor, has any right to "my dear peter" me!
""there is no loud call for sorrow, doctor," i said loftily.
""if a woman, forty-eight years of age, a member of the presbyterian church in good and regular standing, can not call upon one of her sunday school scholars without wrecking all the proprieties, how old must she be before she can?"
the doctor did not answer my question.
instead, he looked reproachfully at alexander abraham.
""is this how you keep your word, mr. bennett?"
he said.
""i thought that you promised me that you would not let anyone into the house."
""i did n't let her in," growled mr. bennett.
""good heavens, man, she climbed in at an upstairs window, despite the presence on my grounds of a policeman and a dog!
what is to be done with a woman like that?"
""i do not understand what all this means," i said addressing myself to the doctor and ignoring alexander abraham entirely, "but if my presence here is so extremely inconvenient to all concerned, you can soon be relieved of it.
i am going at once."
""i am very sorry, my dear peter," said the doctor impressively, "but that is just what i can not allow you to do.
this house is under quarantine for smallpox.
you will have to stay here."
smallpox!
for the first and last time in my life, i openly lost my temper with a man.
i wheeled furiously upon alexander abraham.
""why did n't you tell me?"
i cried.
""tell you!"
he said, glaring at me.
""when i first saw you it was too late to tell you.
i thought the kindest thing i could do was to hold my tongue and let you get away in happy ignorance.
this will teach you to take a man's house by storm, madam!"
""now, now, do n't quarrel, my good people," interposed the doctor seriously -- but i saw a twinkle in his eye.
""you'll have to spend some time together under the same roof and you wo n't improve the situation by disagreeing.
you see, peter, it was this way.
mr. bennett was in town yesterday -- where, as you are aware, there is a bad outbreak of smallpox -- and took dinner in a boarding-house where one of the maids was ill.
last night she developed unmistakable symptoms of smallpox.
the board of health at once got after all the people who were in the house yesterday, so far as they could locate them, and put them under quarantine.
i came down here this morning and explained the matter to mr. bennett.
i brought jeremiah jeffries to guard the front of the house and mr. bennett gave me his word of honour that he would not let anyone in by the back way while i went to get another policeman and make all the necessary arrangements.
i have brought thomas wright and have secured the services of another man to attend to mr. bennett's barn work and bring provisions to the house.
jacob green and cleophas lee will watch at night.
i do n't think there is much danger of mr. bennett's taking the smallpox, but until we are sure you must remain here, peter."
while listening to the doctor i had been thinking.
it was the most distressing predicament i had ever got into in my life, but there was no sense in making it worse.
""very well, doctor," i said calmly.
""yes, i was vaccinated a month ago, when the news of the smallpox first came.
when you go back through avonlea kindly go to sarah pye and ask her to live in my house during my absence and look after things, especially the cats.
tell her to give them new milk twice a day and a square inch of butter apiece once a week.
get her to put my two dark print wrappers, some aprons, and some changes of underclothing in my third best valise and have it sent down to me.
my pony is tied out there to the fence.
please take him home.
that is all, i think."
""no, it is n't all," said alexander abraham grumpily.
""send that cat home, too.
i wo n't have a cat around the place -- i'd rather have smallpox."
i looked alexander abraham over gradually, in a way i have, beginning at his feet and traveling up to his head.
i took my time over it; and then i said, very quietly.
""you may have both.
anyway, you'll have to have william adolphus.
he is under quarantine as well as you and i. do you suppose i am going to have my cat ranging at large through avonlea, scattering smallpox germs among innocent people?
i'll have to put up with that dog of yours.
you will have to endure william adolphus."
alexander abraham groaned, but i could see that the way i had looked him over had chastened him considerably.
the doctor drove away, and i went into the house, not choosing to linger outside and be grinned at by thomas wright.
i hung my coat up in the hall and laid my bonnet carefully on the sitting-room table, having first dusted a clean place for it with my handkerchief.
i longed to fall upon that house at once and clean it up, but i had to wait until the doctor came back with my wrapper.
i could not clean house in my new suit and a silk shirtwaist.
alexander abraham was sitting on a chair looking at me.
presently he said, "i am not curious -- but will you kindly tell me why the doctor called you peter?"
""because that is my name, i suppose," i answered, shaking up a cushion for william adolphus and thereby disturbing the dust of years.
alexander abraham coughed gently.
""is n't that -- ahem!
-- rather a peculiar name for a woman?"
""it is," i said, wondering how much soap, if any, there was in the house.
""i am not curious," said alexander abraham, "but would you mind telling me how you came to be called peter?"
""if i had been a boy my parents intended to call me peter in honour of a rich uncle.
when i -- fortunately -- turned out to be a girl my mother insisted that i should be called angelina.
they gave me both names and called me angelina, but as soon as i grew old enough i decided to be called peter.
it was bad enough, but not so bad as angelina."
""i should say it was more appropriate," said alexander abraham, intending, as i perceived, to be disagreeable.
""precisely," i agreed calmly.
""my last name is macpherson, and i live in avonlea.
as you are not curious, that will be all the information you will need about me."
""oh!"
alexander abraham looked as if a light had broken in on him.
""i've heard of you.
you -- ah -- pretend to dislike men."
pretend!
goodness only knows what would have happened to alexander abraham just then if a diversion had not taken place.
but the door opened and a dog came in -- the dog.
i suppose he had got tired waiting under the cherry tree for william adolphus and me to come down.
he was even uglier indoors than out.
""oh, mr. riley, mr. riley, see what you have let me in for," said alexander abraham reproachfully.
but mr. riley -- since that was the brute's name -- paid no attention to alexander abraham.
he had caught sight of william adolphus curled up on the cushion, and he started across the room to investigate him.
william adolphus sat up and began to take notice.
""call off that dog," i said warningly to alexander abraham.
""call him off yourself," he retorted.
""since you've brought that cat here you can protect him."
""oh, it was n't for william adolphus" sake i spoke," i said pleasantly.
""william adolphus can protect himself."
william adolphus could and did.
he humped his back, flattened his ears, swore once, and then made a flying leap for mr. riley.
william adolphus landed squarely on mr. riley's brindled back and promptly took fast hold, spitting and clawing and caterwauling.
you never saw a more astonished dog than mr. riley.
with a yell of terror he bolted out to the kitchen, out of the kitchen into the hall, through the hall into the room, and so into the kitchen and round again.
with each circuit he went faster and faster, until he looked like a brindled streak with a dash of black and white on top.
such a racket and commotion i never heard, and i laughed until the tears came into my eyes.
mr. riley flew around and around, and william adolphus held on grimly and clawed.
alexander abraham turned purple with rage.
""woman, call off that infernal cat before he kills my dog," he shouted above the din of yelps and yowls.
""oh, he wo n't kill min," i said reassuringly, "and he's going too fast to hear me if i did call him.
if you can stop the dog, mr. bennett, i'll guarantee to make william adolphus listen to reason, but there's no use trying to argue with a lightning flash."
alexander abraham made a frantic lunge at the brindled streak as it whirled past him, with the result that he overbalanced himself and went sprawling on the floor with a crash.
i ran to help him up, which only seemed to enrage him further.
""woman," he spluttered viciously, "i wish you and your fiend of a cat were in -- in --" "in avonlea," i finished quickly, to save alexander abraham from committing profanity.
""so do i, mr. bennett, with all my heart.
but since we are not, let us make the best of it like sensible people.
and in future you will kindly remember that my name is miss macpherson, not woman!"
with this the end came and i was thankful, for the noise those two animals made was so terrific that i expected the policeman would be rushing in, smallpox or no smallpox, to see if alexander abraham and i were trying to murder each other.
mr. riley suddenly veered in his mad career and bolted into a dark corner between the stove and the wood-box, william adolphus let go just in time.
there never was any more trouble with mr. riley after that.
a meeker, more thoroughly chastened dog you could not find.
william adolphus had the best of it and he kept it.
seeing that things had calmed down and that it was five o'clock i decided to get tea.
i told alexander abraham that i would prepare it, if he would show me where the eatables were.
""you need n't mind," said alexander abraham.
""i've been in the habit of getting my own tea for twenty years."
""i daresay.
but you have n't been in the habit of getting mine," i said firmly.
""i would n't eat anything you cooked if i starved to death.
if you want some occupation, you'd better get some salve and anoint the scratches on that poor dog's back."
alexander abraham said something that i prudently did not hear.
seeing that he had no information to hand out i went on an exploring expedition into the pantry.
the place was awful beyond description, and for the first time a vague sentiment of pity for alexander abraham glimmered in my breast.
when a man had to live in such surroundings the wonder was, not that he hated women, but that he did n't hate the whole human race.
but i got up a supper somehow.
i am noted for getting up suppers.
the bread was from the carmody bakery and i made good tea and excellent toast; besides, i found a can of peaches in the pantry which, as they were bought, i was n't afraid to eat.
that tea and toast mellowed alexander abraham in spite of himself.
he ate the last crust, and did n't growl when i gave william adolphus all the cream that was left.
mr. riley did not seem to want anything.
he had no appetite.
by this time the doctor's boy had arrived with my valise.
alexander abraham gave me quite civilly to understand that there was a spare room across the hall and that i might take possession of it.
i went to it and put on a wrapper.
there was a set of fine furniture in the room, and a comfortable bed.
but the dust!
william adolphus had followed me in and his paws left marks everywhere he walked.
""now," i said briskly, returning to the kitchen, "i'm going to clean up and i shall begin with this kitchen.
you'd better betake yourself to the sitting-room, mr. bennett, so as to be out of the way."
alexander abraham glared at me.
""i'm not going to have my house meddled with," he snapped.
""it suits me.
if you do n't like it you can leave it."
""no, i ca n't.
that is just the trouble," i said pleasantly.
""if i could leave it i should n't be here for a minute.
since i ca n't, it simply has to be cleaned.
i can tolerate men and dogs when i am compelled to, but i can not and will not tolerate dirt and disorder.
go into the sitting-room."
alexander abraham went.
as he closed the door, i heard him say, in capitals, "what an awful woman!"
i cleared that kitchen and the pantry adjoining.
it was ten o'clock when i got through, and alexander abraham had gone to bed without deigning further speech.
i locked mr. riley in one room and william adolphus in another and went to bed, too.
i had never felt so dead tired in my life before.
it had been a hard day.
but i got up bright and early the next morning and got a tiptop breakfast, which alexander abraham condescended to eat.
when the provision man came into the yard i called to him from the window to bring me a box of soap in the afternoon, and then i tackled the sitting-room.
it took me the best part of a week to get that house in order, but i did it thoroughly.
i am noted for doing things thoroughly.
at the end of the time it was clean from garret to cellar.
alexander abraham made no comments on my operations, though he groaned loud and often, and said caustic things to poor mr. riley, who had n't the spirit to answer back after his drubbing by william adolphus.
i made allowances for alexander abraham because his vaccination had taken and his arm was real sore; and i cooked elegant meals, not having much else to do, once i had got things scoured up.
the house was full of provisions -- alexander abraham was n't mean about such things, i will say that for him.
altogether, i was more comfortable than i had expected to be.
when alexander abraham would n't talk i let him alone; and when he would i just said as sarcastic things as he did, only i said them smiling and pleasant.
i could see he had a wholesome awe for me.
but now and then he seemed to forget his disposition and talked like a human being.
we had one or two real interesting conversations.
alexander abraham was an intelligent man, though he had got terribly warped.
i told him once i thought he must have been nice when he was a boy.
one day he astonished me by appearing at the dinner table with his hair brushed and a white collar on.
we had a tiptop dinner that day, and i had made a pudding that was far too good for a woman hater.
when alexander abraham had disposed of two large platefuls of it, he sighed and said, "you can certainly cook.
it's a pity you are such a detestable crank in other respects."
""it's kind of convenient being a crank," i said.
""people are careful how they meddle with you.
have n't you found that out in your own experience?"
""i am not a crank," growled alexander abraham resentfully.
""all i ask is to be let alone."
""that's the very crankiest kind of crank," i said.
""a person who wants to be let alone flies in the face of providence, who decreed that folks for their own good were not to be let alone.
but cheer up, mr. bennett.
the quarantine will be up on tuesday and then you'll certainly be let alone for the rest of your natural life, as far as william adolphus and i are concerned.
you may then return to your wallowing in the mire and be as dirty and comfortable as of yore."
alexander abraham growled again.
the prospect did n't seem to cheer him up as much as i should have expected.
then he did an amazing thing.
he poured some cream into a saucer and set it down before william adolphus.
william adolphus lapped it up, keeping one eye on alexander abraham lest the latter should change his mind.
not to be outdone, i handed mr. riley a bone.
neither alexander abraham nor i had worried much about the smallpox.
we did n't believe he would take it, for he had n't even seen the girl who was sick.
but the very next morning i heard him calling me from the upstairs landing.
""miss macpherson," he said in a voice so uncommonly mild that it gave me an uncanny feeling, "what are the symptoms of smallpox?"
""chills and flushes, pain in the limbs and back, nausea and vomiting," i answered promptly, for i had been reading them up in a patent medicine almanac.
""i've got them all," said alexander abraham hollowly.
i did n't feel as much scared as i should have expected.
after enduring a woman hater and a brindled dog and the early disorder of that house -- and coming off best with all three -- smallpox seemed rather insignificant.
i went to the window and called to thomas wright to send for the doctor.
the doctor came down from alexander abraham's room looking grave.
""it's impossible to pronounce on the disease yet," he said.
""there is no certainty until the eruption appears.
but, of course, there is every likelihood that it is the smallpox.
it is very unfortunate.
i am afraid that it will be difficult to get a nurse.
all the nurses in town who will take smallpox cases are overbusy now, for the epidemic is still raging there.
however, i'll go into town to-night and do my best.
meanwhile, at present, you must not go near him, peter."
i was n't going to take orders from any man, and as soon as the doctor had gone i marched straight up to alexander abraham's room with some dinner for him on a tray.
there was a lemon cream i thought he could eat even if he had the smallpox.
""you should n't come near me," he growled.
""you are risking your life."
""i am not going to see a fellow creature starve to death, even if he is a man," i retorted.
""the worst of it all," groaned alexander abraham, between mouthfuls of lemon cream, "is that the doctor says i've got to have a nurse.
i've got so kind of used to you being in the house that i do n't mind you, but the thought of another woman coming here is too much.
did you give my poor dog anything to eat?"
""he has had a better dinner than many a christian," i said severely.
alexander abraham need not have worried about another woman coming in.
the doctor came back that night with care on his brow.
""i do n't know what is to be done," he said.
""i ca n't get a soul to come here.""
i shall nurse mr. bennett," i said with dignity.
""it is my duty and i never shirk my duty.
i am noted for that.
he is a man, and he has smallpox, and he keeps a vile dog; but i am not going to see him die for lack of care for all that."
""you're a good soul, peter," said the doctor, looking relieved, manlike, as soon as he found a woman to shoulder the responsibility.
i nursed alexander abraham through the smallpox, and i did n't mind it much.
he was much more amiable sick than well, and he had the disease in a very mild form.
below stairs i reigned supreme and mr. riley and william adolphus lay down together like the lion and the lamb.
i fed mr. riley regularly, and once, seeing him looking lonesome, i patted him gingerly.
it was nicer than i thought it would be.
mr. riley lifted his head and looked at me with an expression in his eyes which cured me of wondering why on earth alexander abraham was so fond of the beast.
when alexander abraham was able to sit up, he began to make up for the time he'd lost being pleasant.
anything more sarcastic than that man in his convalescence you could n't imagine.
i just laughed at him, having found out that that could be depended on to irritate him.
to irritate him still further i cleaned the house all over again.
but what vexed him most of all was that mr. riley took to following me about and wagging what he had of a tail at me.
""it was n't enough that you should come into my peaceful home and turn it upside down, but you have to alienate the affections of my dog," complained alexander abraham.
""he'll get fond of you again when i go home," i said comfortingly.
""dogs are n't very particular that way.
what they want is bones.
cats now, they love disinterestedly.
william adolphus has never swerved in his allegiance to me, although you do give him cream in the pantry on the sly."
alexander abraham looked foolish.
he had n't thought i knew that.
i did n't take the smallpox and in another week the doctor came out and sent the policeman home.
i was disinfected and william adolphus was fumigated, and then we were free to go.
""good-bye, mr. bennett," i said, offering to shake hands in a forgiving spirit.
""i've no doubt that you are glad to be rid of me, but you are no gladder than i am to go.
i suppose this house will be dirtier than ever in a month's time, and mr. riley will have discarded the little polish his manners have taken on.
reformation with men and dogs never goes very deep."
with this parthian shaft i walked out of the house, supposing that i had seen the last of it and alexander abraham.
i was glad to get back home, of course; but it did seem queer and lonesome.
the cats hardly knew me, and william adolphus roamed about forlornly and appeared to feel like an exile.
i did n't take as much pleasure in cooking as usual, for it seemed kind of foolish to be fussing over oneself.
the sight of a bone made me think of poor mr. riley.
the neighbours avoided me pointedly, for they could n't get rid of the fear that i might erupt into smallpox at any moment.
my sunday school class had been given to another woman, and altogether i felt as if i did n't belong anywhere.
i had existed like this for a fortnight when alexander abraham suddenly appeared.
he walked in one evening at dusk, but at first sight i did n't know him he was so spruced and barbered up.
but william adolphus knew him.
will you believe it, william adolphus, my own william adolphus, rubbed up against that man's trouser leg with an undisguised purr of satisfaction.
""i had to come, angelina," said alexander abraham.
""i could n't stand it any longer."
""my name is peter," i said coldly, although i was feeling ridiculously glad about something.
""it is n't," said alexander abraham stubbornly.
""it is angelina for me, and always will be.
i shall never call you peter.
angelina just suits you exactly; and angelina bennett would suit you still better.
you must come back, angelina.
mr. riley is moping for you, and i ca n't get along without somebody to appreciate my sarcasms, now that you have accustomed me to the luxury."
""what about the other five cats?"
i demanded.
alexander abraham sighed.
""i suppose they'll have to come too," he sighed, "though no doubt they'll chase poor mr. riley clean off the premises.
but i can live without him, and i ca n't without you.
how soon can you be ready to marry me?"
""i have n't said that i was going to marry you at all, have i?"
i said tartly, just to be consistent.
for i was n't feeling tart.
""no, but you will, wo n't you?"
said alexander abraham anxiously.
""because if you wo n't, i wish you'd let me die of the smallpox.
do, dear angelina."
to think that a man should dare to call me his "dear angelina!"
and to think that i should n't mind!
""where i go, william adolphus goes," i said, "but i shall give away the other five cats for -- for the sake of mr. riley."
ix.
pa sloane's purchase "i guess the molasses is getting low, ai n't it?"
said pa sloane insinuatingly.
""s'pose i'd better drive up to carmody this afternoon and get some more."
""there's a good half-gallon of molasses in the jug yet," said ma sloane ruthlessly.
""that so?
well, i noticed the kerosene demijohn was n't very hefty the last time i filled the can.
reckon it needs replenishing."
""we have kerosene enough to do for a fortnight yet."
ma continued to eat her dinner with an impassive face, but a twinkle made itself apparent in her eye.
lest pa should see it, and feel encouraged thereby, she looked immovably at her plate.
pa sloane sighed.
his invention was giving out.
""did n't i hear you say day before yesterday that you were out of nutmegs?"
he queried, after a few moments" severe reflection.
""i got a supply of them from the egg-pedlar yesterday," responded ma, by a great effort preventing the twinkle from spreading over her entire face.
she wondered if this third failure would squelch pa..
but pa was not to be squelched.
""well, anyway," he said, brightening up under the influence of a sudden saving inspiration.
""i'll have to go up to get the sorrel mare shod.
so, if you've any little errands you want done at the store, ma, just make a memo of them while i hitch up."
the matter of shoeing the sorrel mare was beyond ma's province, although she had her own suspicions about the sorrel mare's need of shoes.
""why ca n't you give up beating about the bush, pa?"
she demanded, with contemptuous pity.
""you might as well own up what's taking you to carmody.
i can see through your design.
you want to get away to the garland auction.
that is what is troubling you, pa sloane."
""i dunno but what i might step over, seeing it's so handy.
but the sorrel mare really does need shoeing, ma," protested pa..
""there's always something needing to be done if it's convenient," retorted ma.
""your mania for auctions will be the ruin of you yet, pa..
a man of fifty-five ought to have grown out of such a hankering.
but the older you get the worse you get.
anyway, if i wanted to go to auctions, i'd select them as was something like, and not waste my time on little one-horse affairs like this of garland's."
""one might pick up something real cheap at garland's," said pa defensively.
""well, you are not going to pick up anything, cheap or otherwise, pa sloane, because i'm going with you to see that you do n't.
i know i ca n't stop you from going.
i might as well try to stop the wind from blowing.
but i shall go, too, out of self-defence.
this house is so full now of old clutter and truck that you've brought home from auctions that i feel as if i was made up out of pieces and left overs."
pa sloane sighed again.
it was not exhilarating to attend an auction with ma.
she would never let him bid on anything.
but he realized that ma's mind was made up beyond the power of mortal man's persuasion to alter it, so he went out to hitch up.
pa sloane's dissipation was going to auctions and buying things that nobody else would buy.
ma sloane's patient endeavours of over thirty years had been able to effect only a partial reform.
sometimes pa heroically refrained from going to an auction for six months at a time; then he would break out worse than ever, go to all that took place for miles around, and come home with a wagonful of misfits.
his last exploit had been to bid on an old dasher churn for five dollars -- the boys "ran things up" on pa sloane for the fun of it -- and bring it home to outraged ma, who had made her butter for fifteen years in the very latest, most up-to-date barrel churn.
to add insult to injury this was the second dasher churn pa had bought at auction.
that settled it.
ma decreed that henceforth she would chaperon pa when he went to auctions.
but this was the day of pa's good angel.
when he drove up to the door where ma was waiting, a breathless, hatless imp of ten flew into the yard, and hurled himself between ma and the wagon-step.
""oh, mrs. sloane, wo n't you come over to our house at once?"
he gasped.
""the baby, he's got colic, and ma's just wild, and he's all black in the face."
ma went, feeling that the stars in their courses fought against a woman who was trying to do her duty by her husband.
but first she admonished pa..
""i shall have to let you go alone.
but i charge you, pa, not to bid on anything -- on anything, do you hear?"
pa heard and promised to heed, with every intention of keeping his promise.
then he drove away joyfully.
on any other occasion ma would have been a welcome companion.
but she certainly spoiled the flavour of an auction.
when pa arrived at the carmody store, he saw that the little yard of the garland place below the hill was already full of people.
the auction had evidently begun; so, not to miss any more of it, pa hurried down.
the sorrel mare could wait for her shoes until afterwards.
ma had been within bounds when she called the garland auction a "one-horse affair."
it certainly was very paltry, especially when compared to the big donaldson auction of a month ago, which pa still lived over in happy dreams.
horace garland and his wife had been poor.
when they died within six weeks of each other, one of consumption and one of pneumonia, they left nothing but debts and a little furniture.
the house had been a rented one.
the bidding on the various poor articles of household gear put up for sale was not brisk, but had an element of resigned determination.
carmody people knew that these things had to be sold to pay the debts, and they could not be sold unless they were bought.
still, it was a very tame affair.
a woman came out of the house carrying a baby of about eighteen months in her arms, and sat down on the bench beneath the window.
""there's marthy blair with the garland baby," said robert lawson to pa..
""i'd like to know what's to become of that poor young one!"
""ai n't there any of the father's or mother's folks to take him?"
asked pa..
""no.
horace had no relatives that anybody ever heard of.
mrs. horace had a brother; but he went to mantioba years ago, and nobody knows where he is now.
somebody'll have to take the baby and nobody seems anxious to.
i've got eight myself, or i'd think about it.
he's a fine little chap."
pa, with ma's parting admonition ringing in his ears, did not bid on anything, although it will never be known how great was the heroic self-restraint he put on himself, until just at the last, when he did bid on a collection of flower-pots, thinking he might indulge himself to that small extent.
but josiah sloane had been commissioned by his wife to bring those flower-pots home to her; so pa lost them.
""there, that's all," said the auctioneer, wiping his face, for the day was very warm for october.
""there's nothing more unless we sell the baby."
a laugh went through the crowd.
the sale had been a dull affair, and they were ready for some fun.
someone called out, "put him up, jacob."
the joke found favour and the call was repeated hilariously.
jacob blair took little teddy garland out of martha's arms and stood him up on the table by the door, steadying the small chap with one big brown hand.
the baby had a mop of yellow curls, and a pink and white face, and big blue eyes.
he laughed out at the men before him and waved his hands in delight.
pa sloane thought he had never seen so pretty a baby.
""here's a baby for sale," shouted the auctioneer.
""a genuine article, pretty near as good as brand-new.
a real live baby, warranted to walk and talk a little.
who bids?
a dollar?
did i hear anyone mean enough to bid a dollar?
no, sir, babies do n't come as cheap as that, especially the curly-headed brand."
the crowd laughed again.
pa sloane, by way of keeping on the joke, cried, "four dollars!"
everybody looked at him.
the impression flashed through the crowd that pa was in earnest, and meant thus to signify his intention of giving the baby a home.
he was well-to-do, and his only son was grown up and married.
""six," cried out john clarke from the other side of the yard.
john clarke lived at white sands and he and his wife were childless.
that bid of john clarke's was pa's undoing.
pa sloane could not have an enemy; but a rival he had, and that rival was john clarke.
everywhere at auctions john clarke was wont to bid against pa..
at the last auction he had outbid pa in everything, not having the fear of his wife before his eyes.
pa's fighting blood was up in a moment; he forgot ma sloane; he forgot what he was bidding for; he forgot everything except a determination that john clarke should not be victor again.
""ten," he called shrilly.
""fifteen," shouted clarke.
""twenty," vociferated pa..
""twenty-five," bellowed clarke.
""thirty," shrieked pa..
he nearly bust a blood-vessel in his shrieking, but he had won.
clarke turned off with a laugh and a shrug, and the baby was knocked down to pa sloane by the auctioneer, who had meanwhile been keeping the crowd in roars of laughter by a quick fire of witticisms.
there had not been such fun at an auction in carmody for many a long day.
pa sloane came, or was pushed, forward.
the baby was put into his arms; he realized that he was expected to keep it, and he was too dazed to refuse; besides, his heart went out to the child.
the auctioneer looked doubtfully at the money which pa laid mutely down.
""i s "pose that part was only a joke," he said.
""not a bit of it," said robert lawson.
""all the money wo n't bee too much to pay the debts.
there's a doctor's bill, and this will just about pay it."
pa sloane drove back home, with the sorrel mare still unshod, the baby, and the baby's meager bundle of clothes.
the baby did not trouble him much; it had become well used to strangers in the past two months, and promptly fell asleep on his arm; but pa sloane did not enjoy that drive; at the end of it; he mentally saw ma sloane.
ma was there, too, waiting for him on the back door-step as he drove into the yard at sunset.
her face, when she saw the baby, expressed the last degree of amazement.
""pa sloane," she demanded, "whose is that young one, and there did you get it?"
""i -- i -- bought it at the auction, ma," said pa feebly.
then he waited for the explosion.
none came.
this last exploit of pa's was too much for ma.
with a gasp she snatched the baby from pa's arms, and ordered him to go out and put the mare in.
when pa returned to the kitchen ma had set the baby on the sofa, fenced him around with chairs so that he could n't fall off and given him a molassed cooky.
""now, pa sloane, you can explain," she said.
pa explained.
ma listened in grim silence until he had finished.
then she said sternly: "do you reckon we're going to keep this baby?"
""i -- i -- dunno," said pa..
and he did n't.
""well, we're not.
i brought up one boy and that's enough.
i do n't calculate to be pestered with any more.
i never was much struck on children as children, anyhow.
you say that mary garland had a brother out in mantioba?
well, we shall just write to him and tell him he's got to look out for his nephew."
""but how can you do that, ma, when nobody knows his address?"
objected pa, with a wistful look at that delicious, laughing baby.
""i'll find out his address if i have to advertise in the papers for him," retorted ma.
""as for you, pa sloane, you're not fit to be out of a lunatic asylum.
the next auction you'll be buying a wife, i s "pose?"
pa, quite crushed by ma's sarcasm, pulled his chair in to supper.
ma picked up the baby and sat down at the head of the table.
little teddy laughed and pinched her face -- ma's face!
ma looked very grim, but she fed him his supper as skilfully as if it had not been thirty years since she had done such a thing.
but then, the woman who once learns the mother knack never forgets it.
after tea ma despatched pa over to william alexander's to borrow a high chair.
when pa returned in the twilight, the baby was fenced in on the sofa again, and ma was stepping briskly about the garret.
she was bringing down the little cot bed her own boy had once occupied, and setting it up in their room for teddy.
then she undressed the baby and rocked him to sleep, crooning an old lullaby over him.
pa sloane sat quietly and listened, with very sweet memories of the long ago, when he and ma had been young and proud, and the bewhiskered william alexander had been a curly-headed little fellow like this one.
ma was not driven to advertising for mrs. garland's brother.
that personage saw the notice of his sister's death in a home paper and wrote to the carmody postmaster for full information.
the letter was referred to ma and ma answered it.
she wrote that they had taken in the baby, pending further arrangements, but had no intention of keeping it; and she calmly demanded of its uncle what was to be done with it.
then she sealed and addressed the letter with an unfaltering hand; but, when it was done, she looked across the table at pa sloane, who was sitting in the armchair with the baby on his knee.
they were having a royal good time together.
pa had always been dreadfully foolish about babies.
he looked ten years younger.
ma's keen eyes softened a little as she watched them.
a prompt answer came to her letter.
teddy's uncle wrote that he had six children of his own, but was nevertheless willing and glad to give his little nephew a home.
but he could not come after him.
josiah spencer, of white sands, was going out to manitoba in the spring.
if mr. and mrs. sloane could only keep the baby till then he could be sent out with the spencers.
perhaps they would see a chance sooner.
""there'll be no chance sooner," said pa sloane in a tone of satisfaction.
""no, worse luck!"
retorted ma crisply.
the winter passed by.
little teddy grew and throve, and pa sloane worshipped him.
ma was very good to him, too, and teddy was just as fond of her as of pa..
nevertheless, as the spring drew near, pa became depressed.
sometimes he sighed heavily, especially when he heard casual references to the josiah spencer emigration.
one warm afternoon in early may josiah spencer arrived.
he found ma knitting placidly in the kitchen, while pa nodded over his newspaper and the baby played with the cat on the floor.
""good afternoon, mrs. sloane," said josiah with a flourish.
""i just dropped in to see about this young man here.
we are going to leave next wednesday; so you'd better send him down to our place monday or tuesday, so that he can get used to us, and --" "oh, ma," began pa, rising imploringly to his feet.
ma transfixed him with her eye.
""sit down, pa," she commanded.
unhappy pa sat.
then ma glared at the smiling josiah, who instantly felt as guilty as if he had been caught stealing sheep red-handed.
""we are much obliged to you, mr. spencer," said ma icily, "but this baby is ours.
we bought him, and we paid for him.
a bargain is a bargain.
when i pay cash down for babies, i propose to get my money's worth.
we are going to keep this baby in spite of any number of uncles in manitoba.
have i made this sufficiently clear to your understanding, mr. spencer?"
""certainly, certainly," stammered the unfortunate man, feeling guiltier than ever, "but i thought you did n't want him -- i thought you'd written to his uncle -- i thought --" "i really would n't think quite so much if i were you," said ma kindly.
""it must be hard on you.
wo n't you stay and have tea with us?"
but, no, josiah would not stay.
he was thankful to make his escape with such rags of self-respect as remained to him.
pa sloane arose and came around to ma's chair.
he laid a trembling hand on her shoulder.
""ma, you're a good woman," he said softly.
""go "long, pa," said ma.
x.
the courting of prissy strong i was n't able to go to prayer meeting that evening because i had neuralgia in my face; but thomas went, and the minute he came home i knew by the twinkle in his eye that he had some news.
""who do you s "pose stephen clark went home with from meeting to-night?"
he said, chuckling.
""jane miranda blair," i said promptly.
stephen clark's wife had been dead for two years and he had n't taken much notice of anybody, so far as was known.
but carmody had jane miranda all ready for him, and really i do n't know why she did n't suit him, except for the reason that a man never does what he is expected to do when it comes to marrying.
thomas chuckled again.
""wrong.
he stepped up to prissy strong and walked off with her.
cold soup warmed over."
""prissy strong!"
i just held up my hands.
then i laughed.
""he need n't try for prissy," i said.
""emmeline nipped that in the bud twenty years ago, and she'll do it again."
""em "line is an old crank," growled thomas.
he detested emmeline strong, and always did.
""she's that, all right," i agreed, "and that is just the reason she can turn poor prissy any way she likes.
you mark my words, she'll put her foot right down on this as soon as she finds it out."
thomas said that i was probably right.
i lay awake for a long time after i went to bed that night, thinking of prissy and stephen.
as a general rule, i do n't concern my head about other people's affairs, but prissy was such a helpless creature i could n't get her off my mind.
twenty years ago stephen clark had tried to go with prissy strong.
that was pretty soon after prissy's father had died.
she and emmeline were living alone together.
emmeline was thirty, ten years older than prissy, and if ever there were two sisters totally different from each other in every way, those two were emmeline and prissy strong.
emmeline took after her father; she was big and dark and homely, and she was the most domineering creature that ever stepped on shoe leather.
she simply ruled poor prissy with a rod of iron.
prissy herself was a pretty girl -- at least most people thought so.
i ca n't honestly say i ever admired her style much myself.
i like something with more vim and snap to it.
prissy was slim and pink, with soft, appealing blue eyes, and pale gold hair all clinging in baby rings around her face.
she was just as meek and timid as she looked and there was n't a bit of harm in her.
i always liked prissy, even if i did n't admire her looks as much as some people did.
anyway, it was plain her style suited stephen clark.
he began to drive her, and there was n't a speck of doubt that prissy liked him.
then emmeline just put a stopper on the affair.
it was pure cantankerousness in her.
stephen was a good match and nothing could be said against him.
but emmeline was just determined that prissy should n't marry.
she could n't get married herself, and she was sore enough about it.
of course, if prissy had had a spark of spirit she would n't have given in.
but she had n't a mite; i believe she would have cut off her nose if emmeline had ordered her to do it.
she was just her mother over again.
if ever a girl belied her name, prissy strong did.
there was n't anything strong about her.
one night, when prayer meeting came out, stephen stepped up to prissy as usual and asked if he might see her home.
thomas and i were just behind -- we were n't married ourselves then -- and we heard it all.
prissy gave one scared, appealing look at emmeline and then said, "no, thank you, not to-night."
stephen just turned on his heel and went.
he was a high-spirited fellow and i knew he would never overlook a public slight like that.
if he had had as much sense as he ought to have had he would have known that emmeline was at the bottom of it; but he did n't, and he began going to see althea gillis, and they were married the next year.
althea was a rather nice girl, though giddy, and i think she and stephen were happy enough together.
in real life things are often like that.
nobody ever tried to go with prissy again.
i suppose they were afraid of emmeline.
prissy's beauty soon faded.
she was always kind of sweet looking, but her bloom went, and she got shyer and limper every year of her life.
she would n't have dared put on her second best dress without asking emmeline's permission.
she was real fond of cats and emmeline would n't let her keep one.
emmeline even cut the serial out of the religious weekly she took before she would give it to prissy, because she did n't believe in reading novels.
it used to make me furious to see it all.
they were my next door neighbours after i married thomas, and i was often in and out.
sometimes i'd feel real vexed at prissy for giving in the way she did; but, after all, she could n't help it -- she was born that way.
and now stephen was going to try his luck again.
it certainly did seem funny.
stephen walked home with prissy from prayer meeting four nights before emmeline found it out.
emmeline had n't been going to prayer meeting all that summer because she was mad at mr. leonard.
she had expressed her disapproval to him because he had buried old naomi clark at the harbour "just as if she was a christian," and mr. leonard had said something to her she could n't get over for a while.
i do n't know what it was, but i know that when mr. leonard was roused to rebuke anyone the person so rebuked remembered it for a spell.
all at once i knew she must have discovered about stephen and prissy, for prissy stopped going to prayer meeting.
i felt real worried about it, someway, and although thomas said for goodness" sake not to go poking my fingers into other people's pies, i felt as if i ought to do something.
stephen clark was a good man and prissy would have a beautiful home; and those two little boys of althea's needed a mother if ever boys did.
besides, i knew quite well that prissy, in her secret soul, was hankering to be married.
so was emmeline, too -- but nobody wanted to help her to a husband.
the upshot of my meditations was that i asked stephen down to dinner with us from church one day.
i had heard a rumour that he was going to see lizzie pye over at avonlea, and i knew it was time to be stirring, if anything were to be done.
if it had been jane miranda i do n't know that i'd have bothered; but lizzie pye would n't have done for a stepmother for althea's boys at all.
she was too bad-tempered, and as mean as second skimmings besides.
stephen came.
he seemed dull and moody, and not much inclined to talk.
after dinner i gave thomas a hint.
i said, "you go to bed and have your nap.
i want to talk to stephen."
thomas shrugged his shoulders and went.
he probably thought i was brewing up lots of trouble for myself, but he did n't say anything.
as soon as he was out of the way i casually remarked to stephen that i understood that he was going to take one of my neighbours away and that i could n't be sorry, though she was an excellent neighbour and i would miss her a great deal.
""you wo n't have to miss her much, i reckon," said stephen grimly.
""i've been told i'm not wanted there."
i was surprised to hear stephen come out so plump and plain about it, for i had n't expected to get at the root of the matter so easily.
stephen was n't the confidential kind.
but it really seemed to be a relief to him to talk about it; i never saw a man feeling so sore about anything.
he told me the whole story.
prissy had written him a letter -- he fished it out of his pocket and gave it to me to read.
it was in prissy's prim, pretty little writing, sure enough, and it just said that his attentions were "unwelcome," and would he be "kind enough to refrain from offering them."
not much wonder the poor man went to see lizzie pye!
""stephen, i'm surprised at you for thinking that prissy strong wrote that letter," i said.
""it's in her handwriting," he said stubbornly.
""of course it is.
"the hand is the hand of esau, but the voice is the voice of jacob,"" i said, though i was n't sure whether the quotation was exactly appropriate.
""emmeline composed that letter and made prissy copy it out.
i know that as well as if i'd seen her do it, and you ought to have known it, too."
""if i thought that i'd show emmeline i could get prissy in spite of her," said stephen savagely.
""but if prissy does n't want me i'm not going to force my attentions on her."
well, we talked it over a bit, and in the end i agreed to sound prissy, and find out what she really thought about it.
i did n't think it would be hard to do; and it was n't.
i went over the very next day because i saw emmeline driving off to the store.
i found prissy alone, sewing carpet rags.
emmeline kept her constantly at that -- because prissy hated it i suppose.
prissy was crying when i went in, and in a few minutes i had the whole story.
prissy wanted to get married -- and she wanted to get married to stephen -- and emmeline would n't let her.
""prissy strong," i said in exasperation, "you have n't the spirit of a mouse!
why on earth did you write him such a letter?"
""why, emmeline made me," said prissy, as if there could n't be any appeal from that; and i knew there could n't -- for prissy.
i also knew that if stephen wanted to see prissy again emmeline must know nothing of it, and i told him so when he came down the next evening -- to borrow a hoe, he said.
it was a long way to come for a hoe.
""then what am i to do?"
he said.
""it would n't be any use to write, for it would likely fall into emmeline's hands.
she wo n't let prissy go anywhere alone after this, and how am i to know when the old cat is away?"
""please do n't insult cats," i said.
""i'll tell you what we'll do.
you can see the ventilator on our barn from your place, ca n't you?
you'd be able to make out a flag or something tied to it, would n't you, through that spy-glass of yours?"
stephen thought he could.
""well, you take a squint at it every now and then," i said.
""just as soon as emmeline leaves prissy alone i'll hoist the signal."
the chance did n't come for a whole fortnight.
then, one evening, i saw emmeline striding over the field below our house.
as soon as she was out of sight i ran through the birch grove to prissy.
""yes, em "line's gone to sit up with jane lawson to-night," said prissy, all fluttered and trembling.
""then you put on your muslin dress and fix your hair," i said.
""i'm going home to get thomas to tie something to that ventilator."
but do you think thomas would do it?
not he.
he said he owed something to his position as elder in the church.
in the end i had to do it myself, though i do n't like climbing ladders.
i tied thomas" long red woollen scarf to the ventilator, and prayed that stephen would see it.
he did, for in less than an hour he drove down our lane and put his horse in our barn.
he was all spruced up, and as nervous and excited as a schoolboy.
he went right over to prissy, and i began to tuft my new comfort with a clear conscience.
i shall never know why it suddenly came into my head to go up to the garret and make sure that the moths had n't got into my box of blankets; but i always believed that it was a special interposition of providence.
i went up and happened to look out of the east window; and there i saw emmeline strong coming home across our pond field.
i just flew down those garret stairs and out through the birches.
i burst into the strong kitchen, where stephen and prissy were sitting as cozy as you please.
""stephen, come quick!
emmeline's nearly here," i cried.
prissy looked out of the window and wrung her hands.
""oh, she's in the lane now," she gasped.
""he ca n't get out of the house without her seeing him.
oh, rosanna, what shall we do?"
i really do n't know what would have become of those two people if i had n't been in existence to find ideas for them.
""take stephen up to the garret and hide him there, prissy," i said firmly, "and take him quick."
prissy took him quick, but she had barely time to get back to the kitchen before emmeline marched in -- mad as a wet hen because somebody had been ahead of her offering to sit up with jane lawson, and so she lost the chance of poking and prying into things while jane was asleep.
the minute she clapped eyes on prissy she suspected something.
it was n't any wonder, for there was prissy, all dressed up, with flushed cheeks and shining eyes.
she was all in a quiver of excitement, and looked ten years younger.
""priscilla strong, you've been expecting stephen clark here this evening!"
burst out emmeline.
""you wicked, deceitful, underhanded, ungrateful creature!"
and she went on storming at prissy, who began to cry, and looked so weak and babyish that i was frightened she would betray the whole thing.
""this is between you and prissy, emmeline," i struck in, "and i'm not going to interfere.
but i want to get you to come over and show me how to tuft my comfort that new pattern you learned in avonlea, and as it had better be done before dark i wish you'd come right away."
""i s "pose i'll go," said emmeline ungraciously, "but priscilla shall come, too, for i see that she is n't to be trusted out of my sight after this."
i hoped stephen would see us from the garret window and make good his escape.
but i did n't dare trust to chance, so when i got emmeline safely to work on my comfort i excused myself and slipped out.
luckily my kitchen was on the off side of the house, but i was a nervous woman as i rushed across to the strong place and dashed up emmeline's garret stairs to stephen.
it was fortunate i had come, for he did n't know we had gone.
prissy had hidden him behind the loom and he did n't dare move for fear emmeline would hear him on that creaky floor.
he was a sight with cobwebs.
i got him down and smuggled him into our barn, and he stayed there until it was dark and the strong girls had gone home.
emmeline began to rage at prissy the moment they were outside my door.
then stephen came in and we talked things over.
he and prissy had made good use of their time, short as it had been.
prissy had promised to marry him, and all that remained was to get the ceremony performed.
""and that will be no easy matter," i warned him.
""now that emmeline's suspicions are aroused she'll never let prissy out of her sight until you're married to another woman, if it's years.
i know emmeline strong.
and i know prissy.
if it was any other girl in the world she'd run away, or manage it somehow, but prissy never will.
she's too much in the habit of obeying emmeline.
you'll have an obedient wife, stephen -- if you ever get her."
stephen looked as if he thought that would n't be any drawback.
gossip said that althea had been pretty bossy.
i do n't know.
maybe it was so.
""ca n't you suggest something, rosanna?"
he implored.
""you've helped us so far, and i'll never forget it."
""the only thing i can think of is for you to have the license ready, and speak to mr. leonard, and keep an eye on our ventilator," i said.
""i'll watch here and signal whenever there's an opening."
well, i watched and stephen watched, and mr. leonard was in the plot, too.
prissy was always a favourite of his, and he would have been more than human, saint as he is, if he'd had any love for emmeline, after the way she was always trying to brew up strife in the church.
but emmeline was a match for us all.
she never let prissy out of her sight.
everywhere she went she toted prissy, too.
when a month had gone by, i was almost in despair.
mr. leonard had to leave for the assembly in another week and stephen's neighbours were beginning to talk about him.
they said that a man who spent all his time hanging around the yard with a spyglass, and trusting everything to a hired boy, could n't be altogether right in his mind.
i could hardly believe my eyes when i saw emmeline driving away one day alone.
as soon as she was out of sight i whisked over, and anne shirley and diana barry went with me.
they were visiting me that afternoon.
diana's mother was my second cousin, and, as we visited back and forth frequently, i'd often seen diana.
but i'd never seen her chum, anne shirley, although i'd heard enough about her to drive anyone frantic with curiosity.
so when she came home from redmond college that summer i asked diana to take pity on me and bring her over some afternoon.
i was n't disappointed in her.
i considered her a beauty, though some people could n't see it.
she had the most magnificent red hair and the biggest, shiningest eyes i ever saw in a girl's head.
as for her laugh, it made me feel young again to hear it.
she and diana both laughed enough that afternoon, for i told them, under solemn promise of secrecy, all about poor prissy's love affair.
so nothing would do them but they must go over with me.
the appearance of the house amazed me.
all the shutters were closed and the door locked.
i knocked and knocked, but there was no answer.
then i walked around the house to the only window that had n't shutters -- a tiny one upstairs.
i knew it was the window in the closet off the room where the girls slept.
i stopped under it and called prissy.
before long prissy came and opened it.
she was so pale and woe-begone looking that i pitied her with all my heart.
""prissy, where has emmeline gone?"
i asked.
""down to avonlea to see the roger pyes.
they're sick with measles, and emmeline could n't take me because i've never had measles."
poor prissy!
she had never had anything a body ought to have.
""then you just come and unfasten a shutter, and come right over to my house," i said exultantly.
""we'll have stephen and the minister here in no time."
""i ca n't -- em "line has locked me in here," said prissy woefully.
i was posed.
no living mortal bigger than a baby could have got in or out of that closet window.
""well," i said finally, "i'll put the signal up for stephen anyhow, and we'll see what can be done when he gets here."
i did n't know how i was ever to get the signal up on that ventilator, for it was one of the days i take dizzy spells; and if i took one up on the ladder there'd probably be a funeral instead of a wedding.
but anne shirley said she'd put it up for me, and she did.
i had never seen that girl before, and i've never seen her since, but it's my opinion that there was n't much she could n't do if she made up her mind to do it.
stephen was n't long in getting there and he brought the minister with him.
then we all, including thomas -- who was beginning to get interested in the affair in spite of himself -- went over and held council of war beneath the closet window.
thomas suggested breaking in doors and carrying prissy off boldly, but i could see that mr. leonard looked very dubious over that, and even stephen said he thought it could only be done as a last resort.
i agreed with him.
i knew emmeline strong would bring an action against him for housebreaking as likely as not.
she'd be so furious she'd stick at nothing if we gave her any excuse.
then anne shirley, who could n't have been more excited if she was getting married herself, came to the rescue again.
""could n't you put a ladder up to the closet window," she said, "and mr. clark can go up it and they can be married there.
ca n't they, mr. leonard?"
mr. leonard agreed that they could.
he was always the most saintly looking man, but i know i saw a twinkle in his eye.
""thomas, go over and bring our little ladder over here," i said.
thomas forgot he was an elder, and he brought the ladder as quick as it was possible for a fat man to do it.
after all it was too short to reach the window, but there was no time to go for another.
stephen went up to the top of it, and he reached up and prissy reached down, and they could just barely clasp hands so.
i shall never forget the look of prissy.
the window was so small she could only get her head and one arm out of it.
besides, she was almost frightened to death.
mr. leonard stood at the foot of the ladder and married them.
as a rule, he makes a very long and solemn thing of the marriage ceremony, but this time he cut out everything that was n't absolutely necessary; and it was well that he did, for just as he pronounced them man and wife, emmeline drove into the lane.
she knew perfectly well what had happened when she saw the minister with his blue book in his hand.
never a word said she.
she marched to the front door, unlocked it, and strode upstairs.
i've always been convinced it was a mercy that closet window was so small, or i believe that she would have thrown prissy out of it.
as it was, she walked her downstairs by the arm and actually flung her at stephen.
""there, take your wife," she said, "and i'll pack up every stitch she owns and send it after her; and i never want to see her or you again as long as i live."
then she turned to me and thomas.
""as for you that have aided and abetted that weakminded fool in this, take yourselves out of my yard and never darken my door again."
""goodness, who wants to, you old spitfire?"
said thomas.
it was n't just the thing for him to say, perhaps, but we are all human, even elders.
the girls did n't escape.
emmeline looked daggers at them.
""this will be something for you to carry back to avonlea," she said.
""you gossips down there will have enough to talk about for a spell.
that's all you ever go out of avonlea for -- just to fetch and carry tales."
finally she finished up with the minister.
""i'm going to the baptist church in spencervale after this," she said.
her tone and look said a hundred other things.
she whirled into the house and slammed the door.
mr. leonard looked around on us with a pitying smile as stephen put poor, half-fainting prissy into the buggy.
""i am very sorry," he said in that gently, saintly way of his, "for the baptists."
xi.
the miracle at carmody salome looked out of the kitchen window, and a pucker of distress appeared on her smooth forehead.
""dear, dear, what has lionel hezekiah been doing now?"
she murmured anxiously.
involuntarily she reached out for her crutch; but it was a little beyond her reach, having fallen on the floor, and without it salome could not move a step.
""well, anyway, judith is bringing him in as fast as she can," she reflected.
""he must have been up to something terrible this time; for she looks very cross, and she never walks like that unless she is angry clear through.
dear me, i am sometimes tempted to think that judith and i made a mistake in adopting the child.
i suppose two old maids do n't know much about bringing up a boy properly.
but he is not a bad child, and it really seems to me that there must be some way of making him behave better if we only knew what it was."
salome's monologue was cut short by the entrance of her sister judith, holding lionel hezekiah by his chubby wrist with a determined grip.
judith marsh was ten years older than salome, and the two women were as different in appearance as night and day.
salome, in spite of her thirty-five years, looked almost girlish.
she was small and pink and flower-like, with little rings of pale golden hair clustering all over her head in a most unspinster-like fashion, and her eyes were big and blue, and mild as a dove's.
her face was perhaps a weak one, but it was very sweet and appealing.
judith marsh was tall and dark, with a plain, tragic face and iron-gray hair.
her eyes were black and sombre, and every feature bespoke unyielding will and determination.
just now she looked, as salome had said, "angry clear through," and the baleful glances she cast on the small mortal she held would have withered a more hardened criminal than six happy-go-lucky years had made of lionel hezekiah.
lionel hezekiah, whatever his shortcomings, did not look bad.
indeed, he was as engaging an urchin as ever beamed out on a jolly good world through a pair of big, velvet-brown eyes.
he was chubby and firm-limbed, with a mop of beautiful golden curls, which were the despair of his heart and the pride and joy of salome's; and his round face was usually a lurking-place for dimples and smiles and sunshine.
but just now lionel hezekiah was under a blight; he had been caught red-handed in guilt, and was feeling much ashamed of himself.
he hung his head and squirmed his toes under the mournful reproach in salome's eyes.
when salome looked at him like that, lionel hezekiah always felt that he was paying more for his fun than it was worth.
""what do you suppose i caught him doing this time?"
demanded judith.
""i -- i do n't know," faltered salome.
""firing -- at -- a -- mark -- on -- the -- henhouse -- door -- with -- new-laid -- eggs," said judith with measured distinctness.
""he has broken every egg that was laid to-day except three.
and as for the state of that henhouse door --" judith paused, with an indignant gesture meant to convey that the state of the henhouse door must be left to salome's imagination, since the english language was not capable of depicting it.
""o lionel hezekiah, why will you do such things?"
said salome miserably.
""i -- did n't know it was wrong," said lionel hezekiah, bursting into prompt tears.
""i -- i thought it would be bully fun.
seems's if everything what's fun's wrong."
salome's heart was not proof against tears, as lionel hezekiah very well knew.
she put her arm about the sobbing culprit, and drew him to her side.
""he did n't know it was wrong," she said defiantly to judith.
""he's got to be taught, then," was judith's retort.
""no, you need n't try to beg him off, salome.
he shall go right to bed without supper, and stay there till to-morrow morning."
""oh!
not without his supper," entreated salome.
""you -- you wo n't improve the child's morals by injuring his stomach, judith."
""without his supper, i say," repeated judith inexorably.
""lionel hezekiah, go up-stairs to the south room, and go to bed at once."
lionel hezekiah went up-stairs, and went to bed at once.
he was never sulky or disobedient.
salome listened to him as he stumped patiently up-stairs with a sob at every step, and her own eyes filled with tears.
""now do n't for pity's sake go crying, salome," said judith irritably.
""i think i've let him off very easily.
he is enough to try the patience of a saint, and i never was that," she added with entire truth.
""but he is n't bad," pleaded salome.
""you know he never does anything the second time after he has been told it was wrong, never."
""what good does that do when he is certain to do something new and twice as bad?
i never saw anything like him for originating ideas of mischief.
just look at what he has done in the past fortnight -- in one fortnight, salome.
he brought in a live snake, and nearly frightened you into fits; he drank up a bottle of liniment, and almost poisoned himself; he took three toads to bed with him; he climbed into the henhouse loft, and fell through on a hen and killed her; he painted his face all over with your water-colours; and now comes this exploit.
and eggs at twenty-eight cents a dozen!
i tell you, salome, lionel hezekiah is an expensive luxury."
""but we could n't do without him," protested salome."
i could.
but as you ca n't, or think you ca n't, we'll have to keep him, i suppose.
but the only way to secure any peace of mind for ourselves, as far as i can see, is to tether him in the yard, and hire somebody to watch him."
""there must be some way of managing him," said salome desperately.
she thought judith was in earnest about the tethering.
judith was generally so terribly in earnest in all she said.
""perhaps it is because he has no other employment that he invents so many unheard-of things.
if he had anything to occupy himself with -- perhaps if we sent him to school --" "he's too young to go to school.
father always said that no child should go to school until it was seven, and i do n't mean lionel hezekiah shall.
well, i'm going to take a pail of hot water and a brush, and see what i can do to that henhouse door.
i've got my afternoon's work cut out for me."
judith stood salome's crutch up beside her, and departed to purify the henhouse door.
as soon as she was safely out of the way, salome took her crutch, and limped slowly and painfully to the foot of the stairs.
she could not go up and comfort lionel hezekiah as she yearned to do, which was the reason judith had sent him up-stairs.
salome had not been up-stairs for fifteen years.
neither did she dare to call him out on the landing, lest judith return.
besides, of course he must be punished; he had been very naughty.
""but i wish i could smuggle a bit of supper up to him," she mused, sitting down on the lowest step and listening.
""i do n't hear a sound.
i suppose he has cried himself to sleep, poor, dear baby.
he certainly is dreadfully mischievous; but it seems to me that it shows an investigating turn of mind, and if it could only be directed into the proper channels -- i wish judith would let me have a talk with mr. leonard about lionel hezekiah.
i wish judith did n't hate ministers so.
i do n't mind so much her not letting me go to church, because i'm so lame that it would be painful anyhow; but i'd like to talk with mr. leonard now and then about some things.
i can never believe that judith and father were right; i am sure they were not.
there is a god, and i'm afraid it's terribly wicked not to go to church.
but there, nothing short of a miracle would convince judith; so there is no use in thinking about it.
yes, lionel hezekiah must have gone to sleep."
salome pictured him so, with his long, curling lashes brushing his rosy, tear-stained cheek and his chubby fists clasped tightly over his breast as was his habit; her heart grew warm and thrilling with the maternity the picture provoked.
a year previously lionel hezekiah's parents, abner and martha smith, had died, leaving a houseful of children and very little else.
the children were adopted into various carmody families, and salome marsh had amazed judith by asking to be allowed to take the five-year-old "baby."
at first judith had laughed at the idea; but, when she found that salome was in earnest, she yielded.
judith always gave salome her own way except on one point.
""if you want the child, i suppose you must have him," she said finally.
""i wish he had a civilized name, though.
hezekiah is bad, and lionel is worse; but the two in combination, and tacked on to smith at that, is something that only martha smith could have invented.
her judgment was the same clear through, from selecting husbands to names."
so lionel hezekiah came into judith's home and salome's heart.
the latter was permitted to love him all she pleased, but judith overlooked his training with a critical eye.
possibly it was just as well, for salome might otherwise have ruined him with indulgence.
salome, who always adopted judith's opinions, no matter how ill they fitted her, deferred to the former's decrees meekly, and suffered far more than lionel hezekiah when he was punished.
she sat on the stairs until she fell asleep herself, her head pillowed on her arm.
judith found her there when she came in, severe and triumphant, from her bout with the henhouse door.
her face softened into marvelous tenderness as she looked at salome.
""she's nothing but a child herself in spite of her age," she thought pityingly.
""a child that's had her whole life thwarted and spoiled through no fault of her own.
and yet folks say there is a god who is kind and good!
if there is a god, he is a cruel, jealous tyrant, and i hate him!"
judith's eyes were bitter and vindictive.
she thought she had many grievances against the great power that rules the universe, but the most intense was salome's helplessness -- salome, who fifteen years before had been the brightest, happiest of maidens, light of heart and foot, bubbling over with harmless, sparkling mirth and life.
if salome could only walk like other women, judith told herself that she would not hate the great tyrannical power.
lionel hezekiah was subdued and angelic for four days after that affair of the henhouse door.
then he broke out in a new place.
one afternoon he came in sobbing, with his golden curls full of burrs.
judith was not in, but salome dropped her crochet-work and gazed at him in dismay.
""oh, lionel hezekiah, what have you gone and done now?"
""i -- i just stuck the burrs in'cause i was playing i was a heathen chief," sobbed lionel hezekiah.
""it was great fun while it lasted; but, when i tried to take them out, it hurt awful."
neither salome nor lionel hezekiah ever forgot the harrowing hour that followed.
with the aid of comb and scissors, salome eventually got the burrs out of lionel hezekiah's crop of curls.
it would be impossible to decide which of them suffered more in the process.
salome cried as hard as lionel hezekiah did, and every snip of the scissors or tug at the silken floss cut into her heart.
she was almost exhausted when the performance was over; but she took the tired lionel hezekiah on her knee, and laid her wet cheek against his shining head.
""oh, lionel hezekiah, what does make you get into mischief so constantly?"
she sighed.
lionel hezekiah frowned reflectively.
""i do n't know," he finally announced, "unless it's because you do n't send me to sunday school."
salome started as if an electric shock had passed through her frail body.
""why, lionel hezekiah," she stammered, "what put such and idea into your head?"
""well, all the other boys go," said lionel hezekiah defiantly; "and they're all better'n me; so i guess that must be the reason.
teddy markham says that all little boys should go to sunday school, and that if they do n't they're sure to go to the bad place.
i do n't see how you can "spect me to behave well when you wo n't send me to sunday school.
""would you like to go?"
asked salome, almost in a whisper.
""i'd like it bully," said lionel hezekiah frankly and succinctly.
""oh, do n't use such dreadful words," sighed salome helplessly.
""i'll see what can be done.
perhaps you can go.
i'll ask your aunt judith."
""oh, aunt judith wo n't let me go," said lionel hezekiah despondingly.
""aunt judith does n't believe there is any god or any bad place.
teddy markham says she does n't.
he says she's an awful wicked woman'cause she never goes to church.
so you must be wicked too, aunt salome,'cause you never go.
why do n't you?"
""your -- your aunt judith wo n't let me go," faltered salome, more perplexed than she had ever been before in her life.
""well, it does n't seem to me that you have much fun on sundays," remarked lionel hezekiah ponderingly.
""i'd have more if i was you.
but i s "pose you ca n't'cause you're ladies.
i'm glad i'm a man.
look at abel blair, what splendid times he has on sundays.
he never goes to church, but he goes fishing, and has cock-fights, and gets drunk.
when i grow up, i'm going to do that on sundays too, since i wo n't be going to church.
i do n't want to go to church, but i'd like to go to sunday school."
salome listened in agony.
every word of lionel hezekiah's stung her conscience unbearably.
so this was the result of her weak yielding to judith; this innocent child looked upon her as a wicked woman, and, worse still, regarded old, depraved abel blair as a model to be imitated.
oh!
was it too late to undo the evil?
when judith returned, salome blurted out the whole story.
""lionel hezekiah must go to sunday school," she concluded appealingly.
judith's face hardened until it was as if cut in stone.
""no, he shall not," she said stubbornly.
""no one living in my household shall ever go to church or sunday school.
i gave in to you when you wanted to teach him to say his prayers, though i knew it was only foolish superstition, but i sha'n' t yield another inch.
you know exactly how i feel on this subject, salome; i believe just as father did.
you know he hated churches and churchgoing.
and was there ever a better, kinder, more lovable man?"
""mother believed in god; mother always went to church," pleaded salome.
""mother was weak and superstitious, just as you are," retorted judith inflexibly.
""i tell you, salome, i do n't believe there is a god.
but, if there is, he is cruel and unjust, and i hate him."
""judith!"
gasped salome, aghast at the impiety.
she half expected to see her sister struck dead at her feet.
""do n't "judith" me!"
said judith passionately, in the strange anger that any discussion of the subject always roused in her.
""i mean every word i say.
before you got lame i did n't feel much about it one way or another; i'd just as soon have gone with mother as with father.
but, when you were struck down like that, i knew father was right."
for a moment salome quailed.
she felt that she could not, dare not, stand out against judith.
for her own sake she could not have done so, but the thought of lionel hezekiah nerved her to desperation.
she struck her thin, bleached little hands wildly together.
""judith, i'm going to church to-morrow," she cried.
""i tell you i am, i wo n't set lionel hezekiah a bad example one day longer.
i'll not take him; i wo n't go against you in that, for it is your bounty feeds and clothes him; but i'm going myself."
""if you do, salome marsh, i'll never forgive you," said judith, her harsh face dark with anger; and then, not trusting herself to discuss the subject any longer, she went out.
salome dissolved into her ready tears, and cried most of the night.
but her resolution did not fail.
go to church she would, for that dear baby's sake.
judith would not speak to her at breakfast, and this almost broke salome's heart; but she dared not yield.
after breakfast, she limped painfully into her room, and still more painfully dressed herself.
when she was ready, she took a little old worn bible out of her box.
it had been her mother's, and salome read a chapter in it every night, although she never dared to let judith see her doing it.
when she limped out into the kitchen, judith looked up with a hard face.
a flame of sullen anger glowed in her dark eyes, and she went into the sitting-room and shut the door, as if by that act she were shutting her sister for evermore out of her heart and life.
salome, strung up to the last pitch of nervous tension, felt intuitively the significance of that closed door.
for a moment she wavered -- oh, she could not go against judith!
she was all but turning back to her room when lionel hezekiah came running in, and paused to look at her admiringly.
""you look just bully, aunt salome," he said.
""where are you going?"
""do n't use that word, lionel hezekiah," pleaded salome.
""i'm going to church."
""take me with you," said lionel hezekiah promptly.
salome shook her head.
""i ca n't, dear.
your aunt judith would n't like it.
perhaps she will let you go after a while.
now do be a good boy while i am away, wo n't you?
do n't do any naughty things."
""i wo n't do them if i know they're naughty," conceded lionel hezekiah.
""but that's just the trouble; i do n't know what's naughty and what ai n't.
prob "ly if i went to sunday school i'd find out."
salome limped out of the yard and down the lane bordered by its asters and goldenrod.
fortunately the church was just outside the lane, across the main road; but salome found it hard to cover even that short distance.
she felt almost exhausted when she reached the church and toiled painfully up the aisle to her mother's old pew.
she laid her crutch on the seat, and sank into the corner by the window with a sigh of relief.
she had elected to come early so that she might get there before the rest of the people.
the church was as yet empty, save for a class of sunday school children and their teacher in a remote corner, who paused midway in their lesson to stare with amazement at the astonishing sigh of salome marsh limping into church.
the big building, shadowy from the great elms around it, was very still.
a faint murmur came from the closed room behind the pulpit where the rest of the sunday school was assembled.
in front of the pulpit was a stand bearing tall white geraniums in luxuriant blossom.
the light fell through the stained-glass window in a soft tangle of hues upon the floor.
salome felt a sense of peace and happiness fill her heart.
even judith's anger lost its importance.
she leaned her head against the window-sill, and gave herself up to the flood of tender old recollections that swept over her.
memory went back to the years of her childhood when she had sat in this pew every sunday with her mother.
judith had come then, too, always seeming grown up to salome by reason of her ten years" seniority.
her tall, dark, reserved father never came.
salome knew that the carmody people called him an infidel, and looked upon him as a very wicked man.
but he had not been wicked; he had been good and kind in his own odd way.
the gently little mother had died when salome was ten years old, but so loving and tender was judith's care that the child did not miss anything out of her life.
judith marsh loved her little sister with an intensity that was maternal.
she herself was a plain, repellent girl, liked by few, sought after by no man; but she was determined that salome should have everything that she had missed -- admiration, friendship, love.
she would have a vicarious youth in salome's.
all went according to judith's planning until salome was eighteen, and then trouble after trouble came.
their father, whom judith had understood and passionately loved, died; salome's young lover was killed in a railroad accident; and finally salome herself developed symptoms of the hip-disease which, springing from a trifling injury, eventually left her a cripple.
everything possible was done for her.
judith, falling heir to a snug little fortune by the death of the old aunt for whom she was named, spared nothing to obtain the best medical skill, and in vain.
one and all, the great doctors failed.
judith had borne her father's death bravely enough in spite of her agony of grief; she had watched her sister pining and fading with the pain of her broken heart without growing bitter; but when she knew at last that salome would never walk again save as she hobbled painfully about on her crutch, the smouldering revolt in her soul broke its bounds, and overflowed her nature in a passionate rebellion against the being who had sent, or had failed to prevent, these calamities.
she did not rave or denounce wildly; that was not judith's way; but she never went to church again, and it soon became an accepted fact in carmody that judith marsh was as rank an infidel as her father had been before her; nay, worse, since she would not even allow salome to go to church, and shut the door in the minister's face when he went to see her.
""i should have stood out against her for conscience" sake," reflected salome in her pew self-reproachfully.
""but, o dear, i'm afraid she'll never forgive me, and how can i live if she does n't?
but i must endure it for lionel hezekiah's sake; my weakness has perhaps done him great harm already.
they say that what a child learns in the first seven years never leaves him; so lionel hezekiah has only another year to get set right about these things.
oh, if i've left it till too late!"
when the people began to come in, salome felt painfully the curious glances directed at her.
look where she would, she met them, unless she looked out of the window; so out of the window she did look unswervingly, her delicate little face burning crimson with self-consciousness.
she could see her home and its back yard plainly, with lionel hezekiah making mud-pies joyfully in the corner.
presently she saw judith come out of the house and stride away to the pine wood behind it.
judith always betook herself to the pines in time of mental stress and strain.
salome could see the sunlight shining on lionel hezekiah's bare head as he mixed his pies.
in the pleasure of watching him she forgot where she was and the curious eyes turned on her.
suddenly lionel hezekiah ceased concocting pies, and betook himself to the corner of the summer kitchen, where he proceeded to climb up to the top of the storm-fence and from there to mount the sloping kitchen roof.
salome clasped her hands in agony.
what if the child should fall?
oh!
why had judith gone away and left him alone?
what if -- what if -- and then, while her brain with lightning-like rapidity pictured forth a dozen possible catastrophes, something really did happen.
lionel hezekiah slipped, sprawled wildly, slid down, and fell off the roof, in a bewildering whirl of arms and legs, plump into the big rain-water hogshead under the spout, which was generally full to the brim with rain-water, a hogshead big and deep enough to swallow up half a dozen small boys who went climbing kitchen roofs on a sunday.
then something took place that is talked of in carmody to this day, and even fiercely wrangled over, so many and conflicting are the opinions on the subject.
salome marsh, who had not walked a step without assistance for fifteen years, suddenly sprang to her feet with a shriek, ran down the aisle, and out of the door!
every man, woman, and child in the carmody church followed her, even to the minister, who had just announced his text.
when they got out, salome was already half-way up her lane, running wildly.
in her heart was room for but one agonized thought.
would lionel hezekiah be drowned before she reached him?
she opened the gate of the yard, and panted across it just as a tall, grim-faced woman came around the corner of the house and stood rooted to the ground in astonishment at the sight that met her eyes.
but salome saw nobody.
she flung herself against the hogshead and looked in, sick with terror at what she might see.
what she did see was lionel hezekiah sitting on the bottom of the hogshead in water that came only to his waist.
he was looking rather dazed and bewildered, but was apparently quite uninjured.
the yard was full of people, but nobody had as yet said a word; awe and wonder held everybody in spellbound silence.
judith was the first to speak.
she pushed through the crowd to salome.
her face was blanched to a deadly whiteness; and her eyes, as mrs. william blair afterwards declared, were enough to give a body the creeps.
""salome," she said in a high, shrill, unnatural voice, "where is your crutch?"
salome came to herself at the question.
for the first time, she realized that she had walked, nay, run, all that distance from the church alone and unaided.
she turned pale, swayed, and would have fallen if judith had not caught her.
old dr. blair came forward briskly.
""carry her in," he said, "and do n't all of you come crowding in, either.
she wants quiet and rest for a spell."
most of the people obediently returned to the church, their sudden loosened tongues clattering in voluble excitement.
a few women assisted judith to carry salome in and lay her on the kitchen lounge, followed by the doctor and the dripping lionel hezekiah, whom the minister had lifted out of the hogshead and to whom nobody now paid the slightest attention.
salome faltered out her story, and her hearers listened with varying emotions.
""it's a miracle," said sam lawson in an awed voice.
dr. blair shrugged his shoulders.
""there is no miracle about it," he said bluntly.
""it's all perfectly natural.
the disease in the hip has evidently been quite well for a long time; nature does sometimes work cures like that when she is let alone.
the trouble was that the muscles were paralyzed by long disuse.
that paralysis was overcome by the force of a strong and instinctive effort.
salome, get up and walk across the kitchen."
salome obeyed.
she walked across the kitchen and back, slowly, stiffly, falteringly, now that the stimulus of frantic fear was spent; but still she walked.
the doctor nodded his satisfaction.
""keep that up every day.
walk as much as you can without tiring yourself, and you'll soon be as spry as ever.
no more need of crutches for you, but there's no miracle in the case."
judith marsh turned to him.
she had not spoken a word since her question concerning salome's crutch.
now she said passionately: "it was a miracle.
god has worked it to prove his existence for me, and i accept the proof."
the old doctor shrugged his shoulders again.
being a wise man, he knew when to hold his tongue.
""well, put salome to bed, and let her sleep the rest of the day.
she's worn out.
and for pity's sake let some one take that poor child and put some dry clothes on him before he catches his death of cold."
that evening, as salome marsh lay in her bed in a glory of sunset light, her heart filled with unutterable gratitude and happiness, judith came into the room.
she wore her best hat and dress, and she held lionel hezekiah by the hand.
lionel hezekiah's beaming face was scrubbed clean, and his curls fell in beautiful sleekness over the lace collar of his velvet suit.
""how do you feel now, salome?"
asked judith gently.
""better.
i've had a lovely sleep.
but where are you going, judith?"
""i am going to church," said judith firmly, "and i am going to take lionel hezekiah with me."
xii.
the end of a quarrel nancy rogerson sat down on louisa shaw's front doorstep and looked about her, drawing a long breath of delight that seemed tinged with pain.
everything was very much the same; the square garden was as charming bodge-podge of fruit and flowers, and goose-berry bushes and tiger lilies, a gnarled old apple tree sticking up here and there, and a thick cherry copse at the foot.
behind was a row of pointed firs, coming out darkly against the swimming pink sunset sky, not looking a day older than they had looked twenty years ago, when nancy had been a young girl walking and dreaming in their shadows.
the old willow to the left was as big and sweeping and, nancy thought with a little shudder, probably as caterpillary, as ever.
nancy had learned many things in her twenty years of exile from avonlea, but she had never learned to conquer her dread of caterpillars.
""nothing is much changed, louisa," she said, propping her chin on her plump white hands, and sniffing at the delectable odour of the bruised mint upon which louisa was trampling.
""i'm glad; i was afraid to come back for fear you would have improved the old garden out of existence, or else into some prim, orderly lawn, which would have been worse.
it's as magnificently untidy as ever, and the fence still wobbles.
it ca n't be the same fence, but it looks exactly like it.
no, nothing is much changed.
thank you, louisa."
louisa had not the faintest idea what nancy was thanking her for, but then she had never been able to fathom nancy, much as she had always liked her in the old girlhood days that now seemed much further away to louisa than they did to nancy.
louisa was separated from them by the fulness of wifehood and motherhood, while nancy looked back only over the narrow gap that empty years make.
""you have n't changed much yourself, nancy," she said, looking admiringly at nancy's trim figure, in the nurse's uniform she had donned to show louisa what it was like, her firm, pink-and-white face and the the glossy waves of her golden brown hair.
""you've held your own wonderfully well."
""have n't i?"
said nancy complacently.
""modern methods of massage and cold cream have kept away the crowsfeet, and fortunately i had the rogerson complexion to start with.
you would n't think i was really thirty-eight, would you?
thirty-eight!
twenty years ago i thought anybody who was thirty-eight was a perfect female methuselah.
and now i feel so horribly, ridiculously young, louisa.
every morning when i get up i have to say solemnly to myself three times, "you're an old maid, nancy rogerson," to tone myself down to anything like a becoming attitude for the day."
""i guess you do n't mind being an old maid much," said louisa, shrugging her shoulders.
she would not have been an old maid herself for anything; yet she inconsistently envied nancy her freedom, her wide life in the world, her unlined brow, and care-free lightness of spirit.
""oh, but i do mind," said nancy frankly.
""i hate being an old maid."
""why do n't you get married, then?"
asked louisa, paying an unconscious tribute to nancy's perennial chance by her use of the present tense.
nancy shook her head.
""no, that would n't suit me either.
i do n't want to be married.
do you remember that story anne shirley used to tell long ago of the pupil who wanted to be a widow because "if you were married your husband bossed you and if you were n't married people called you an old maid?"
well, that is precisely my opinion.
i'd like to be a widow.
then i'd have the freedom of the unmarried, with the kudos of the married.
i could eat my cake and have it, too.
oh, to be a widow!"
""nancy!"
said louisa in a shocked tone.
nancy laughed, a mellow gurgle that rippled through the garden like a brook.
""oh, louisa, i can shock you yet.
that was just how you used to say "nancy" long ago, as if i'd broken all the commandments at once."
""you do say such queer things," protested louisa, "and half the time i do n't know what you mean."
""bless you, dear coz, half the time i do n't myself.
perhaps the joy of coming back to the old spot has slightly turned my brain, i've found my lost girlhood here.
i'm not thirty-eight in this garden -- it is a flat impossibility.
i'm sweet eighteen, with a waist line two inches smaller.
look, the sun is just setting.
i see he has still his old trick of throwing his last beams over the wright farmhouse.
by the way, louisa, is peter wright still living there?"
""yes."
louisa threw a sudden interested glance at the apparently placid nancy.
""married, i suppose, with half a dozen children?"
said nancy indifferently, pulling up some more sprigs of mint and pinning them on her breast.
perhaps the exertion of leaning over to do it flushed her face.
there was more than the rogerson colour in it, anyhow, and louisa, slow though her mental processes might be in some respects, thought she understood the meaning of a blush as well as the next one.
all the instinct of the matchmaker flamed up in her.
""indeed he is n't," she said promptly.
""peter wright has never married.
he has been faithful to your memory, nancy."
""ugh!
you make me feel as if i were buried up there in the avonlea cemetery and had a monument over me with a weeping willow carved on it," shivered nancy.
""when it is said that a man has been faithful to a woman's memory it generally means that he could n't get anyone else to take him."
""that is n't the case with peter," protested louisa.
""he is a good match, and many a woman would have been glad to take him, and would yet.
he's only forty-three.
but he's never taken the slightest interest in anyone since you threw him over, nancy."
""but i did n't.
he threw me over," said nancy, plaintively, looking afar over the low-lying fields and a feathery young spruce valley to the white buildings of the wright farm, glowing rosily in the sunset light when all the rest of avonlea was scarfing itself in shadows.
there was laughter in her eyes.
louisa could not pierce beneath that laughter to find if there were anything under it.
""fudge!"
said louisa.
""what on earth did you and peter quarrel about?"
she added, curiously.
""i've often wondered," parried nancy.
""and you've never seen him since?"
reflected louisa.
""no.
has he changed much?"
""well, some.
he is gray and kind of tired-looking.
but it is n't to be wondered at -- living the life he does.
he has n't had a housekeeper for two years -- not since his old aunt died.
he just lives there alone and cooks his own meals.
i've never been in the house, but folks say the disorder is something awful."
""yes, i should n't think peter was cut out for a tidy housekeeper," said nancy lightly, dragging up more mint.
""just think, louisa, if it had n't been for that old quarrel i might be mrs. peter wright at this very moment, mother to the aforesaid supposed half dozen, and vexing my soul over peter's meals and socks and cows."
""i guess you are better off as you are," said louisa.
""oh, i do n't know."
nancy looked up at the white house on the hill again.
""i have an awfully good time out of life, but it does n't seem to satisfy, somehow.
to be candid -- and oh, louisa, candour is a rare thing among women when it comes to talking of the men -- i believe i'd rather be cooking peter's meals and dusting his house.
i would n't mind his bad grammar now.
i've learned one or two valuable little things out yonder, and one is that it does n't matter if a man's grammar is askew, so long as he does n't swear at you.
by the way, is peter as ungrammatical as ever?"
""i -- i do n't know," said louisa helplessly.
""i never knew he was ungrammatical."
""does he still say," i seen," and "them things"?"
demanded nancy.
""i never noticed," confessed louisa.
""enviable louisa!
would that i had been born with that blessed faculty of never noticing!
it stands a woman in better stead than beauty or brains.
i used to notice peter's mistakes.
when he said" i seen," it jarred on me in my salad days.
i tried, oh, so tactfully, to reform him in that respect.
peter did n't like being reformed -- the wrights always had a fairly good opinion of themselves, you know.
it was really over a question of syntax we quarrelled.
peter told me i'd have to take him as he was, grammar and all, or go without him.
i went without him -- and ever since i've been wondering if i were really sorry, or if it were merely a pleasantly sentimental regret i was hugging to my heart.
i daresay it's the latter.
now, louisa, i see the beginning of the plot far down in those placid eyes of yours.
strangle it at birth, dear louisa.
there is no use in your trying to make up a match between peter and me now -- no, nor in slyly inviting him up here to tea some evening, as you are even this moment thinking of doing."
""well, i must go and milk the cows," gasped louisa, rather glad to make her escape.
nancy's power of thought-reading struck her as uncanny.
she felt afraid to remain with her cousin any longer, lest nancy should drag to light all the secrets of her being.
nancy sat long on the steps after louisa had gone -- sat until the night came down, darkly and sweetly, over the garden, and the stars twinkled out above the firs.
this had been her home in girlhood.
here she had lived and kept house for her father.
when he died, curtis shaw, newly married to her cousin louisa, bought the farm from her and moved in.
nancy stayed on with them, expecting soon to go to a home of her own.
she and peter wright were engaged.
then came their mysterious quarrel, concerning the cause of which kith and kin on both sides were left in annoying ignorance.
of the results they were not ignorant.
nancy promptly packed up and left avonlea seven hundred miles behind her.
she went to a hospital in montreal and studied nursing.
in the twenty years that followed she had never even revisited avonlea.
her sudden descent on it this summer was a whim born of a moment's homesick longing for this same old garden.
she had not thought about peter.
in very truth, she had thought little about peter for the last fifteen years.
she supposed that she had forgotten him.
but now, sitting on the old doorstep, where she had often sat in her courting days, with peter lounging on a broad stone at her feet, something tugged at her heartstrings.
she looked over the valley to the light in the kitchen of the wright farmhouse, and pictured peter sitting there, lonely and uncared for, with naught but the cold comfort of his own providing.
""well, he should have got married," she said snappishly.
""i am not going to worry because he is a lonely old bachelor when all these years i have supposed him a comfy benedict.
why does n't he hire him a housekeeper, at least?
he can afford it; the place looks prosperous.
ugh!
i've a fat bank account, and i've seen almost everything in the world worth seeing; but i've got several carefully hidden gray hairs and a horrible conviction that grammar is n't one of the essential things in life after all.
well, i'm not going to moon out here in the dew any longer.
i'm going in to read the smartest, frilliest, frothiest society novel in my trunk."
in the week that followed nancy enjoyed herself after her own fashion.
she read and swung in the garden, having a hammock hung under the firs.
she went far afield, in rambles to woods and lonely uplands.
""i like it much better than meeting people," she said, when louisa suggested going to see this one and that one, "especially the avonlea people.
all my old chums are gone, or hopelessly married and changed, and the young set who have come up know not joseph, and make me feel uncomfortably middle-aged.
it's far worse to feel middle-aged than old, you know.
away there in the woods i feel as eternally young as nature herself.
and oh, it's so nice not having to fuss with thermometers and temperatures and other people's whims.
let me indulge my own whims, louisa dear, and punish me with a cold bite when i come in late for meals.
i'm not even going to church again.
it was horrible there yesterday.
the church is so offensively spick-and-span brand new and modern."
""it's thought to be the prettiest church in these parts," protested louisa, a little sorely.
""churches should n't be pretty -- they should at least be fifty years old and mellowed into beauty.
new churches are an abomination."
""did you see peter wright in church?"
asked louisa.
she had been bursting to ask it.
nancy nodded.
""verily, yes.
he sat right across from me in the corner pew.
i did n't think him painfully changed.
iron-gray hair becomes him.
but i was horribly disappointed in myself.
i had expected to feel at least a romantic thrill, but all i felt was a comfortable interest, such as i might have taken in any old friend.
do my utmost, louisa, i could n't compass a thrill."
""did he come to speak to you?"
asked louisa, who had n't any idea what nancy meant by her thrills.
""alas, no.
it was n't my fault.
i stood at the door outside with the most amiable expression i could assume, but peter merely sauntered away without a glance in my direction.
it would be some comfort to my vanity if i could believe it was on account of rankling spite or pride.
but the honest truth, dear weezy, is that it looked to me exactly as if he never thought of it.
he was more interested in talking about the hay crop with oliver sloane -- who, by the way, is more oliver sloaneish than ever."
""if you feel as you said you did the other night, why did n't you go and speak to him?"
louisa wanted to know.
""but i do n't feel that way now.
that was just a mood.
you do n't know anything about moods, dearie.
you do n't know what it is to yearn desperately one hour for something you would n't take if it were offered you the next."
""but that is foolishness," protested louisa.
""to be sure it is -- rank foolishness.
but oh, it is so delightful to be foolish after being compelled to be unbrokenly sensible for twenty years.
well, i'm going picking strawberries this afternoon, lou.
do n't wait tea for me.
i probably wo n't be back till dark.
i've only four more days to stay and i want to make the most of them."
nancy wandered far and wide in her rambles that afternoon.
when she had filled her jug she still roamed about with delicious aimlessness.
once she found herself in a wood lane skirting a field wherein a man was mowing hay.
the man was peter wright.
nancy walked faster when she discovered this, with never a roving glance, and presently the green, ferny depths of the maple woods swallowed her up.
from old recollections, she knew that she was on peter morrison's land, and calculated that if she kept straight on she would come out where the old morrison house used to be.
her calculations proved correct, with a trifling variation.
she came out fifty yards south of the old deserted morrison house, and found herself in the yard of the wright farm!
passing the house -- the house where she had once dreamed of reigning as mistress -- nancy's curiosity overcame her.
the place was not in view of any other near house.
she deliberately went up to it intending -- low be it spoken -- to peep in at the kitchen window.
but, seeing the door wide open, she went to it instead and halted on the step, looking about her keenly.
the kitchen was certainly pitiful in its disorder.
the floor had apparently not been swept for a fortnight.
on the bare deal table were the remnants of peter's dinner, a meal that could not have been very tempting at its best.
""what a miserable place for a human being to live in!"
groaned nancy.
""look at the ashes on that stove!
and that table!
is it any wonder that peter has got gray?
he'll work hard haymaking all the afternoon -- and then come home to this!"
an idea suddenly darted into nancy's brain.
at first she looked aghast.
then she laughed and glanced at her watch.
""i'll do it -- just for fun and a little pity.
it's half-past two, and peter wo n't be home till four at the earliest.
i'll have a good hour to do it in, and still make my escape in good time.
nobody will ever know; nobody can see me here."
nancy went in, threw off her hat, and seized a broom.
the first thing she did was to give the kitchen a thorough sweeping.
then she kindled a fire, put a kettle full of water on to heat, and attacked the dishes.
from the number of them she rightly concluded that peter had n't washed any for at least a week.
""i suppose he just uses the clean ones as long as they hold out, and then has a grand wash-up," she laughed.
""i wonder where he keeps his dish-towels, if he has any."
evidently peter had n't any.
at least, nancy could n't find any.
she marched boldly into the dusty sitting-room and explored the drawers of an old-fashioned sideboard, confiscating a towel she found there.
as she worked, she hummed a song; her steps were light and her eyes bright with excitement.
nancy was enjoying herself thoroughly, there was no doubt of that.
the spice of mischief in the adventure pleased her mightily.
the dishes washed, she hunted up a clean, but yellow and evidently long unused tablecloth out of the sideboard, and proceeded to set the table and get peter's tea.
she found bread and butter in the pantry, a trip to the cellar furnished a pitcher of cream, and nancy recklessly heaped the contents of her strawberry jug on peter's plate.
the tea was made and set back to keep warm.
and, as a finishing touch, nancy ravaged the old neglected garden and set a huge bowl of crimson roses in the centre of the table.
""now i must go," she said aloud.
""would n't it be fun to see peter's face when he comes in, though?
ha-hum!
i've enjoyed doing this -- but why?
nancy rogerson, do n't be asking yourself conundrums.
put on your hat and proceed homeward, constructing on your way some reliable fib to account to louisa for the absence of your strawberries."
nancy paused a moment and looked around wistfully.
she had made the place look cheery and neat and homelike.
she felt that queer tugging at her heart-strings again.
suppose she belonged here, and was waiting for peter to come home to tea.
suppose -- nancy whirled around with a sudden horrible prescience of what she was going to see!
peter wright was standing in the doorway.
nancy's face went crimson.
for the first time in her life she had not a word to say for herself.
peter looked at her and then at the table, with its fruit and flowers.
""thank you," he said politely.
nancy recovered herself.
with a shame-faced laugh, she held out her hand.
""do n't have me arrested for trespass, peter.
i came and looked in at your kitchen out of impertinent curiosity, and just for fun i thought i'd come in and get your tea.
i thought you'd be so surprised -- and i meant to go before you came home, of course."
""i would n't have been surprised," said peter, shaking hands.
""i saw you go past the field and i tied the horses and followed you down through the woods.
i've been sitting on the fence back yonder, watching your comings and goings."
""why did n't you come and speak to me at church yesterday, peter?"
demanded nancy boldly.
""i was afraid i would say something ungrammatical," answered peter drily.
the crimson flamed over nancy's face again.
she pulled her hand away.
""that's cruel of you, peter."
peter suddenly laughed.
there was a note of boyishness in the laughter.
""so it is," he said, "but i had to get rid of the accumulated malice and spite of twenty years somehow.
it's all gone now, and i'll be as amiable as i know how.
but since you have gone to the trouble of getting my supper for me, nancy, you must stay and help me eat it.
them strawberries look good.
i have n't had any this summer -- been too busy to pick them."
nancy stayed.
she sat at the head of peter's table and poured his tea for him.
she talked to him wittily of the avonlea people and the changes in their old set.
peter followed her lead with an apparent absence of self-consciousness, eating his supper like a man whose heart and mind were alike on good terms with him.
nancy felt wretched -- and, at the same time, ridiculously happy.
it seemed the most grotesque thing in the world that she should be presiding there at peter's table, and yet the most natural.
there were moments when she felt like crying -- other moments when her laughter was as ready and spontaneous as a girl's.
sentiment and humour had always waged an equal contest in nancy's nature.
when peter had finished his strawberries he folded his arms on the table and looked admiringly at nancy.
""you look well at the head of a table, nancy," he said critically.
""how is it that you have n't been presiding at one of your own long before this?
i thought you'd meet a lots of men out in the world that you'd like -- men who talked good grammar."
""peter, do n't!"
said nancy, wincing.
""i was a goose."
""no, you were quite right.
i was a tetchy fool.
if i'd had any sense, i'd have felt thankful you thought enough of me to want to improve me, and i'd have tried to kerrect my mistakes instead of getting mad.
it's too late now, i suppose."
""too late for what?"
said nancy, plucking up heart of grace at something in peter's tone and look.
""for -- kerrecting mistakes."
""grammatical ones?"
""not exactly.
i guess them mistakes are past kerrecting in an old fellow like me.
worse mistakes, nancy.
i wonder what you would say if i asked you to forgive me, and have me after all."
""i'd snap you up before you'd have time to change your mind," said nancy brazenly.
she tried to look peter in the face, but her blue eyes, where tears and mirth were blending, faltered down before his gray ones.
peter stood up, knocking over his chair, and strode around the table to her.
""nancy, my girl!"
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___further_chronicles_of_avonlea.txt.out
introduction it is no exaggeration to say that what longfellow did for acadia, miss montgomery has done for prince edward island.
more than a million readers, young people as well as their parents and uncles and aunts, possess in the picture-galleries of their memories the exquisite landscapes of avonlea, limned with as poetic a pencil as longfellow wielded when he told the ever-moving story of grand pre.
only genius of the first water has the ability to conjure up such a character as anne shirley, the heroine of miss montgomery's first novel, "anne of green gables," and to surround her with people so distinctive, so real, so true to psychology.
anne is as lovable a child as lives in all fiction.
natasha in count tolstoi's great novel, "war and peace," dances into our ken, with something of the same buoyancy and naturalness; but into what a commonplace young woman she develops!
anne, whether as the gay little orphan in her conquest of the master and mistress of green gables, or as the maturing and self-forgetful maiden of avonlea, keeps up to concert-pitch in her charm and her winsomeness.
there is nothing in her to disappoint hope or imagination.
part of the power of miss montgomery -- and the largest part -- is due to her skill in compounding humor and pathos.
the humor is honest and golden; it never wearies the reader; the pathos is never sentimentalized, never degenerates into bathos, is never morbid.
this combination holds throughout all her works, longer or shorter, and is particularly manifest in the present collection of fifteen short stories, which, together with those in the first volume of the chronicles of avonlea, present a series of piquant and fascinating pictures of life in prince edward island.
the humor is shown not only in the presentation of quaint and unique characters, but also in the words which fall from their mouths.
aunt cynthia "always gave you the impression of a full-rigged ship coming gallantly on before a favorable wind;" no further description is needed -- only one such personage could be found in avonlea.
you would recognize her at sight.
ismay meade's disposition is summed up when we are told that she is "good at having presentiments -- after things happen."
what cleverer embodiment of innate obstinacy than in isabella spencer -- "a wisp of a woman who looked as if a breath would sway her but was so set in her ways that a tornado would hardly have caused her to swerve an inch from her chosen path;" or than in mrs. eben andrews -lrb- in "sara's way" -rrb- who "looked like a woman whose opinions were always very decided and warranted to wear!"
this gift of characterization in a few words is lavished also on material objects, as, for instance; what more is needed to describe the forlornness of the home from which anne was rescued than the statement that even the trees around it "looked like orphans"?
the poetic touch, too, never fails in the right place and is never too frequently introduced in her descriptions.
they throw a glamor over that northern land which otherwise you might imagine as rather cold and barren.
what charming springs they must have there!
one sees all the fruit-trees clad in bridal garments of pink and white; and what a translucent sky smiles down on the ponds and the reaches of bay and cove!
""the eastern sky was a great arc of crystal, smitten through with auroral crimsonings."
""she was as slim and lithe as a young white-stemmed birch-tree; her hair was like a soft dusky cloud, and her eyes were as blue as avonlea harbor in a fair twilight, when all the sky is a-bloom over it."
sentiment with a humorous touch to it prevails in the first two stories of the present book.
the one relates to the disappearance of a valuable white persian cat with a blue spot in its tail.
""fatima" is like the apple of her eye to the rich old aunt who leaves her with two nieces, with a stern injunction not to let her out of the house.
of course both sue and ismay detest cats; ismay hates them, sue loathes them; but aunt cynthia's favor is worth preserving.
you become as much interested in fatima's fate as if she were your own pet, and the climax is no less unexpected than it is natural, especially when it is made also the last act of a pretty comedy of love.
miss montgomery delights in depicting the romantic episodes hidden in the hearts of elderly spinsters as, for instance, in the case of charlotte holmes, whose maid nancy would have sent for the doctor and subjected her to a porous plaster while waiting for him, had she known that up stairs there was a note-book full of original poems.
rather than bear the stigma of never having had a love-affair, this sentimental lady invents one to tell her mocking young friends.
the dramatic and unexpected denouement is delightful fun.
another note-book reveals a deeper romance in the case of miss emily; this is related by anne of green gables, who once or twice flashes across the scene, though for the most part her friends and neighbors at white sands or newbridge or grafton as well as at avonlea are the persons involved.
in one story, the last, "tannis of the flats," the secret of elinor blair's spinsterhood is revealed in an episode which carries the reader from avonlea to saskatchewan and shows the unselfish devotion of a half-breed indian girl.
the story is both poignant and dramatic.
its one touch of humor is where jerome carey curses his fate in being compelled to live in that desolate land in "the picturesque language permissible in the far northwest."
self-sacrifice, as the real basis of happiness, is a favorite theme in miss montgomery's fiction.
it is raised to the nth power in the story entitled, "in her selfless mood," where an ugly, misshapen girl devotes her life and renounces marriage for the sake of looking after her weak and selfish half-brother.
the same spirit is found in "only a common fellow," who is haloed with a certain splendor by renouncing the girl he was to marry in favor of his old rival, supposed to have been killed in france, but happily delivered from that tragic fate.
miss montgomery loves to introduce a little child or a baby as a solvent of old feuds or domestic quarrels.
in "the dream child," a foundling boy, drifting in through a storm in a dory, saves a heart-broken mother from insanity.
in "jane's baby," a baby-cousin brings reconciliation between the two sisters, rosetta and carlotta, who had not spoken for twenty years because "the slack-twisted" jacob married the younger of the two.
happiness generally lights up the end of her stories, however tragic they may set out to be.
in "the son of his mother," thyra is a stern woman, as "immovable as a stone image."
she had only one son, whom she worshipped; "she never wanted a daughter, but she pitied and despised all sonless women."
she demanded absolute obedience from chester -- not only obedience, but also utter affection, and she hated his dog because the boy loved him: "she could not share her love even with a dumb brute."
when chester falls in love, she is relentless toward the beautiful young girl and forces chester to give her up.
but a terrible sorrow brings the old woman and the young girl into sympathy, and unspeakable joy is born of the trial.
happiness also comes to "the brother who failed."
the monroes had all been successful in the eyes of the world except robert: one is a millionaire, another a college president, another a famous singer.
robert overhears the old aunt, isabel, call him a total failure, but, at the family dinner, one after another stands up and tells how robert's quiet influence and unselfish aid had started them in their brilliant careers, and the old aunt, wiping the tears from her eyes, exclaims: "i guess there's a kind of failure that's the best success."
in one story there is an element of the supernatural, when hester, the hard older sister, comes between margaret and her lover and, dying, makes her promise never to become hugh blair's wife, but she comes back and unites them.
in this, margaret, just like the delightful anne, lives up to the dictum that "nothing matters in all god's universe except love."
the story of the revival at avonlea has also a good moral.
there is something in these continued chronicles of avonlea, like the delicate art which has made "cranford" a classic: the characters are so homely and homelike and yet tinged with beautiful romance!
you feel that you are made familiar with a real town and its real inhabitants; you learn to love them and sympathize with them.
further chronicles of avonlea is a book to read; and to know.
nathan haskell dole.
contents i. aunt cynthia's persian cat ii.
the materializing of cecil iii.
her father's daughter iv.
jane's baby v.
the dream-child vi.
the brother who failed vii.
the return of hester viii.
the little brown book of miss emily ix.
sara's way x.
the son of his mother xi.
the education of betty xii.
in her selfless mood xiii.
the conscience case of david bell xiv.
only a common fellow xv.
tannis of the flats further chronicles of avonlea i. aunt cynthia's persian cat max always blesses the animal when it is referred to; and i do n't deny that things have worked together for good after all.
but when i think of the anguish of mind which ismay and i underwent on account of that abominable cat, it is not a blessing that arises uppermost in my thoughts.
i never was fond of cats, although i admit they are well enough in their place, and i can worry along comfortably with a nice, matronly old tabby who can take care of herself and be of some use in the world.
as for ismay, she hates cats and always did.
but aunt cynthia, who adored them, never could bring herself to understand that any one could possibly dislike them.
she firmly believed that ismay and i really liked cats deep down in our hearts, but that, owing to some perverse twist in our moral natures, we would not own up to it, but willfully persisted in declaring we did n't.
of all cats i loathed that white persian cat of aunt cynthia's.
and, indeed, as we always suspected and finally proved, aunt herself looked upon the creature with more pride than affection.
she would have taken ten times the comfort in a good, common puss that she did in that spoiled beauty.
but a persian cat with a recorded pedigree and a market value of one hundred dollars tickled aunt cynthia's pride of possession to such an extent that she deluded herself into believing that the animal was really the apple of her eye.
it had been presented to her when a kitten by a missionary nephew who had brought it all the way home from persia; and for the next three years aunt cynthia's household existed to wait on that cat, hand and foot.
it was snow-white, with a bluish-gray spot on the tip of its tail; and it was blue-eyed and deaf and delicate.
aunt cynthia was always worrying lest it should take cold and die.
ismay and i used to wish that it would -- we were so tired of hearing about it and its whims.
but we did not say so to aunt cynthia.
she would probably never have spoken to us again and there was no wisdom in offending aunt cynthia.
when you have an unencumbered aunt, with a fat bank account, it is just as well to keep on good terms with her, if you can.
besides, we really liked aunt cynthia very much -- at times.
aunt cynthia was one of those rather exasperating people who nag at and find fault with you until you think you are justified in hating them, and who then turn round and do something so really nice and kind for you that you feel as if you were compelled to love them dutifully instead.
so we listened meekly when she discoursed on fatima -- the cat's name was fatima -- and, if it was wicked of us to wish for the latter's decease, we were well punished for it later on.
one day, in november, aunt cynthia came sailing out to spencervale.
she really came in a phaeton, drawn by a fat gray pony, but somehow aunt cynthia always gave you the impression of a full rigged ship coming gallantly on before a favorable wind.
that was a jonah day for us all through.
everything had gone wrong.
ismay had spilled grease on her velvet coat, and the fit of the new blouse i was making was hopelessly askew, and the kitchen stove smoked and the bread was sour.
moreover, huldah jane keyson, our tried and trusty old family nurse and cook and general "boss," had what she called the "realagy" in her shoulder; and, though huldah jane is as good an old creature as ever lived, when she has the "realagy" other people who are in the house want to get out of it and, if they ca n't, feel about as comfortable as st. lawrence on his gridiron.
and on top of this came aunt cynthia's call and request.
""dear me," said aunt cynthia, sniffing, "do n't i smell smoke?
you girls must manage your range very badly.
mine never smokes.
but it is no more than one might expect when two girls try to keep house without a man about the place."
""we get along very well without a man about the place," i said loftily.
max had n't been in for four whole days and, though nobody wanted to see him particularly, i could n't help wondering why.
""men are nuisances."
""i dare say you would like to pretend you think so," said aunt cynthia, aggravatingly.
""but no woman ever does really think so, you know.
i imagine that pretty anne shirley, who is visiting ella kimball, does n't.
i saw her and dr. irving out walking this afternoon, looking very well satisfied with themselves.
if you dilly-dally much longer, sue, you will let max slip through your fingers yet."
that was a tactful thing to say to me, who had refused max irving so often that i had lost count.
i was furious, and so i smiled most sweetly on my maddening aunt.
""dear aunt, how amusing of you," i said, smoothly.
""you talk as if i wanted max."
""so you do," said aunt cynthia.
""if so, why should i have refused him time and again?"
i asked, smilingly.
right well aunt cynthia knew i had.
max always told her.
""goodness alone knows why," said aunt cynthia, "but you may do it once too often and find yourself taken at your word.
there is something very fascinating about this anne shirley."
""indeed there is," i assented.
""she has the loveliest eyes i ever saw.
she would be just the wife for max, and i hope he will marry her."
""humph," said aunt cynthia.
""well, i wo n't entice you into telling any more fibs.
and i did n't drive out here to-day in all this wind to talk sense into you concerning max.
i'm going to halifax for two months and i want you to take charge of fatima for me, while i am away."
""fatima!"
i exclaimed.
""yes.
i do n't dare to trust her with the servants.
mind you always warm her milk before you give it to her, and do n't on any account let her run out of doors."
i looked at ismay and ismay looked at me.
we knew we were in for it.
to refuse would mortally offend aunt cynthia.
besides, if i betrayed any unwillingness, aunt cynthia would be sure to put it down to grumpiness over what she had said about max, and rub it in for years.
but i ventured to ask, "what if anything happens to her while you are away?"
""it is to prevent that, i'm leaving her with you," said aunt cynthia.
""you simply must not let anything happen to her.
it will do you good to have a little responsibility.
and you will have a chance to find out what an adorable creature fatima really is.
well, that is all settled.
i'll send fatima out to-morrow."
""you can take care of that horrid fatima beast yourself," said ismay, when the door closed behind aunt cynthia.
""i wo n't touch her with a yard-stick.
you had no business to say we'd take her."
""did i say we would take her?"
i demanded, crossly.
""aunt cynthia took our consent for granted.
and you know, as well as i do, we could n't have refused.
so what is the use of being grouchy?"
""if anything happens to her aunt cynthia will hold us responsible," said ismay darkly.
""do you think anne shirley is really engaged to gilbert blythe?"
i asked curiously.
""i've heard that she was," said ismay, absently.
""does she eat anything but milk?
will it do to give her mice?"
""oh, i guess so.
but do you think max has really fallen in love with her?"
""i dare say.
what a relief it will be for you if he has."
""oh, of course," i said, frostily.
""anne shirley or anne anybody else, is perfectly welcome to max if she wants him.
i certainly do not.
ismay meade, if that stove does n't stop smoking i shall fly into bits.
this is a detestable day.
i hate that creature!"
""oh, you should n't talk like that, when you do n't even know her," protested ismay.
""every one says anne shirley is lovely --" "i was talking about fatima," i cried in a rage.
""oh!"
said ismay.
ismay is stupid at times.
i thought the way she said "oh" was inexcusably stupid.
fatima arrived the next day.
max brought her out in a covered basket, lined with padded crimson satin.
max likes cats and aunt cynthia.
he explained how we were to treat fatima and when ismay had gone out of the room -- ismay always went out of the room when she knew i particularly wanted her to remain -- he proposed to me again.
of course i said no, as usual, but i was rather pleased.
max had been proposing to me about every two months for two years.
sometimes, as in this case, he went three months, and then i always wondered why.
i concluded that he could not be really interested in anne shirley, and i was relieved.
i did n't want to marry max but it was pleasant and convenient to have him around, and we would miss him dreadfully if any other girl snapped him up.
he was so useful and always willing to do anything for us -- nail a shingle on the roof, drive us to town, put down carpets -- in short, a very present help in all our troubles.
so i just beamed on him when i said no.
max began counting on his fingers.
when he got as far as eight he shook his head and began over again.
""what is it?"
i asked.
""i'm trying to count up how many times i have proposed to you," he said.
""but i ca n't remember whether i asked you to marry me that day we dug up the garden or not.
if i did it makes --" "no, you did n't," i interrupted.
""well, that makes it eleven," said max reflectively.
""pretty near the limit, is n't it?
my manly pride will not allow me to propose to the same girl more than twelve times.
so the next time will be the last, sue darling."
""oh," i said, a trifle flatly.
i forgot to resent his calling me darling.
i wondered if things would n't be rather dull when max gave up proposing to me.
it was the only excitement i had.
but of course it would be best -- and he could n't go on at it forever, so, by the way of gracefully dismissing the subject, i asked him what miss shirley was like.
""very sweet girl," said max.
""you know i always admired those gray-eyed girls with that splendid titian hair."
i am dark, with brown eyes.
just then i detested max.
i got up and said i was going to get some milk for fatima.
i found ismay in a rage in the kitchen.
she had been up in the garret, and a mouse had run across her foot.
mice always get on ismay's nerves.
""we need a cat badly enough," she fumed, "but not a useless, pampered thing, like fatima.
that garret is literally swarming with mice.
you'll not catch me going up there again."
fatima did not prove such a nuisance as we had feared.
huldah jane liked her, and ismay, in spite of her declaration that she would have nothing to do with her, looked after her comfort scrupulously.
she even used to get up in the middle of the night and go out to see if fatima was warm.
max came in every day and, being around, gave us good advice.
then one day, about three weeks after aunt cynthia's departure, fatima disappeared -- just simply disappeared as if she had been dissolved into thin air.
we left her one afternoon, curled up asleep in her basket by the fire, under huldah jane's eye, while we went out to make a call.
when we came home fatima was gone.
huldah jane wept and was as one whom the gods had made mad.
she vowed that she had never let fatima out of her sight the whole time, save once for three minutes when she ran up to the garret for some summer savory.
when she came back the kitchen door had blown open and fatima had vanished.
ismay and i were frantic.
we ran about the garden and through the out-houses, and the woods behind the house, like wild creatures, calling fatima, but in vain.
then ismay sat down on the front doorsteps and cried.
""she has got out and she'll catch her death of cold and aunt cynthia will never forgive us."
""i'm going for max," i declared.
so i did, through the spruce woods and over the field as fast as my feet could carry me, thanking my stars that there was a max to go to in such a predicament.
max came over and we had another search, but without result.
days passed, but we did not find fatima.
i would certainly have gone crazy had it not been for max.
he was worth his weight in gold during the awful week that followed.
we did not dare advertise, lest aunt cynthia should see it; but we inquired far and wide for a white persian cat with a blue spot on its tail, and offered a reward for it; but nobody had seen it, although people kept coming to the house, night and day, with every kind of a cat in baskets, wanting to know if it was the one we had lost.
""we shall never see fatima again," i said hopelessly to max and ismay one afternoon.
i had just turned away an old woman with a big, yellow tommy which she insisted must be ours -- "cause it kem to our place, mem, a-yowling fearful, mem, and it do n't belong to nobody not down grafton way, mem."
""i'm afraid you wo n't," said max.
""she must have perished from exposure long ere this."
""aunt cynthia will never forgive us," said ismay, dismally.
""i had a presentiment of trouble the moment that cat came to this house."
we had never heard of this presentiment before, but ismay is good at having presentiments -- after things happen.
""what shall we do?"
i demanded, helplessly.
""max, ca n't you find some way out of this scrape for us?"
""advertise in the charlottetown papers for a white persian cat," suggested max.
""some one may have one for sale.
if so, you must buy it, and palm it off on your good aunt as fatima.
she's very short-sighted, so it will be quite possible."
""but fatima has a blue spot on her tail," i said.
""you must advertise for a cat with a blue spot on its tail," said max.
""it will cost a pretty penny," said ismay dolefully.
""fatima was valued at one hundred dollars."
""we must take the money we have been saving for our new furs," i said sorrowfully.
""there is no other way out of it.
it will cost us a good deal more if we lose aunt cynthia's favor.
she is quite capable of believing that we have made away with fatima deliberately and with malice aforethought."
so we advertised.
max went to town and had the notice inserted in the most important daily.
we asked any one who had a white persian cat, with a blue spot on the tip of its tail, to dispose of, to communicate with m. i., care of the enterprise.
we really did not have much hope that anything would come of it, so we were surprised and delighted over the letter max brought home from town four days later.
it was a type-written screed from halifax stating that the writer had for sale a white persian cat answering to our description.
the price was a hundred and ten dollars, and, if m. i. cared to go to halifax and inspect the animal, it would be found at 110 hollis street, by inquiring for "persian."
""temper your joy, my friends," said ismay, gloomily.
""the cat may not suit.
the blue spot may be too big or too small or not in the right place.
i consistently refuse to believe that any good thing can come out of this deplorable affair."
just at this moment there was a knock at the door and i hurried out.
the postmaster's boy was there with a telegram.
i tore it open, glanced at it, and dashed back into the room.
""what is it now?"
cried ismay, beholding my face.
i held out the telegram.
it was from aunt cynthia.
she had wired us to send fatima to halifax by express immediately.
for the first time max did not seem ready to rush into the breach with a suggestion.
it was i who spoke first.
""max," i said, imploringly, "you'll see us through this, wo n't you?
neither ismay nor i can rush off to halifax at once.
you must go to-morrow morning.
go right to 110 hollis street and ask for "persian."
if the cat looks enough like fatima, buy it and take it to aunt cynthia.
if it does n't -- but it must!
you'll go, wo n't you?"
""that depends," said max.
i stared at him.
this was so unlike max.
""you are sending me on a nasty errand," he said, coolly.
""how do i know that aunt cynthia will be deceived after all, even if she be short-sighted.
buying a cat in a joke is a huge risk.
and if she should see through the scheme i shall be in a pretty mess."
""oh, max," i said, on the verge of tears.
""of course," said max, looking meditatively into the fire, "if i were really one of the family, or had any reasonable prospect of being so, i would not mind so much.
it would be all in the day's work then.
but as it is --" ismay got up and went out of the room.
""oh, max, please," i said.
""will you marry me, sue?"
demanded max sternly.
""if you will agree, i'll go to halifax and beard the lion in his den unflinchingly.
if necessary, i will take a black street cat to aunt cynthia, and swear that it is fatima.
i'll get you out of the scrape, if i have to prove that you never had fatima, that she is safe in your possession at the present time, and that there never was such an animal as fatima anyhow.
i'll do anything, say anything -- but it must be for my future wife."
""will nothing else content you?"
i said helplessly.
""nothing."
i thought hard.
of course max was acting abominably -- but -- but -- he was really a dear fellow -- and this was the twelfth time -- and there was anne shirley!
i knew in my secret soul that life would be a dreadfully dismal thing if max were not around somewhere.
besides, i would have married him long ago had not aunt cynthia thrown us so pointedly at each other's heads ever since he came to spencervale.
""very well," i said crossly.
max left for halifax in the morning.
next day we got a wire saying it was all right.
the evening of the following day he was back in spencervale.
ismay and i put him in a chair and glared at him impatiently.
max began to laugh and laughed until he turned blue.
""i am glad it is so amusing," said ismay severely.
""if sue and i could see the joke it might be more so."
""dear little girls, have patience with me," implored max.
""if you knew what it cost me to keep a straight face in halifax you would forgive me for breaking out now."
""we forgive you -- but for pity's sake tell us all about it," i cried.
""well, as soon as i arrived in halifax i hurried to 110 hollis street, but -- see here!
did n't you tell me your aunt's address was 10 pleasant street?"
""so it is."""
t is n't.
you look at the address on a telegram next time you get one.
she went a week ago to visit another friend who lives at 110 hollis."
""max!"
""it's a fact.
i rang the bell, and was just going to ask the maid for "persian" when your aunt cynthia herself came through the hall and pounced on me.""
"max," she said, "have you brought fatima?""
"no," i answered, trying to adjust my wits to this new development as she towed me into the library.
"no, i -- i -- just came to halifax on a little matter of business.""
"dear me," said aunt cynthia, crossly," i do n't know what those girls mean.
i wired them to send fatima at once.
and she has not come yet and i am expecting a call every minute from some one who wants to buy her.""
"oh!"
i murmured, mining deeper every minute."
"yes," went on your aunt, "there is an advertisement in the charlottetown enterprise for a persian cat, and i answered it.
fatima is really quite a charge, you know -- and so apt to die and be a dead loss," -- did your aunt mean a pun, girls?
-- "and so, although i am considerably attached to her, i have decided to part with her."
""by this time i had got my second wind, and i promptly decided that a judicious mixture of the truth was the thing required."
"well, of all the curious coincidences," i exclaimed.
"why, miss ridley, it was i who advertised for a persian cat -- on sue's behalf.
she and ismay have decided that they want a cat like fatima for themselves."
""you should have seen how she beamed.
she said she knew you always really liked cats, only you would never own up to it.
we clinched the dicker then and there.
i passed her over your hundred and ten dollars -- she took the money without turning a hair -- and now you are the joint owners of fatima.
good luck to your bargain!"
""mean old thing," sniffed ismay.
she meant aunt cynthia, and, remembering our shabby furs, i did n't disagree with her.
""but there is no fatima," i said, dubiously.
""how shall we account for her when aunt cynthia comes home?"
""well, your aunt is n't coming home for a month yet.
when she comes you will have to tell her that the cat -- is lost -- but you need n't say when it happened.
as for the rest, fatima is your property now, so aunt cynthia ca n't grumble.
but she will have a poorer opinion than ever of your fitness to run a house alone."
when max left i went to the window to watch him down the path.
he was really a handsome fellow, and i was proud of him.
at the gate he turned to wave me good-by, and, as he did, he glanced upward.
even at that distance i saw the look of amazement on his face.
then he came bolting back.
""ismay, the house is on fire!"
i shrieked, as i flew to the door.
""sue," cried max, "i saw fatima, or her ghost, at the garret window a moment ago!"
""nonsense!"
i cried.
but ismay was already half way up the stairs and we followed.
straight to the garret we rushed.
there sat fatima, sleek and complacent, sunning herself in the window.
max laughed until the rafters rang.
""she ca n't have been up here all this time," i protested, half tearfully.
""we would have heard her meowing."
""but you did n't," said max.
""she would have died of the cold," declared ismay.
""but she has n't," said max.
""or starved," i cried.
""the place is alive with mice," said max.
""no, girls, there is no doubt the cat has been here the whole fortnight.
she must have followed huldah jane up here, unobserved, that day.
it's a wonder you did n't hear her crying -- if she did cry.
but perhaps she did n't, and, of course, you sleep downstairs.
to think you never thought of looking here for her!"
""it has cost us over a hundred dollars," said ismay, with a malevolent glance at the sleek fatima.
""it has cost me more than that," i said, as i turned to the stairway.
max held me back for an instant, while ismay and fatima pattered down.
""do you think it has cost too much, sue?"
he whispered.
i looked at him sideways.
he was really a dear.
niceness fairly exhaled from him.
""no-o-o," i said, "but when we are married you will have to take care of fatima, i wo n't."
""dear fatima," said max gratefully.
ii.
the materalizing of cecil it had never worried me in the least that i was n't married, although everybody in avonlea pitied old maids; but it did worry me, and i frankly confess it, that i had never had a chance to be.
even nancy, my old nurse and servant, knew that, and pitied me for it.
nancy is an old maid herself, but she has had two proposals.
she did not accept either of them because one was a widower with seven children, and the other a very shiftless, good-for-nothing fellow; but, if anybody twitted nancy on her single condition, she could point triumphantly to those two as evidence that "she could an she would."
if i had not lived all my life in avonlea i might have had the benefit of the doubt; but i had, and everybody knew everything about me -- or thought they did.
i had really often wondered why nobody had ever fallen in love with me.
i was not at all homely; indeed, years ago, george adoniram maybrick had written a poem addressed to me, in which he praised my beauty quite extravagantly; that did n't mean anything because george adoniram wrote poetry to all the good-looking girls and never went with anybody but flora king, who was cross-eyed and red-haired, but it proves that it was not my appearance that put me out of the running.
neither was it the fact that i wrote poetry myself -- although not of george adoniram's kind -- because nobody ever knew that.
when i felt it coming on i shut myself up in my room and wrote it out in a little blank book i kept locked up.
it is nearly full now, because i have been writing poetry all my life.
it is the only thing i have ever been able to keep a secret from nancy.
nancy, in any case, has not a very high opinion of my ability to take care of myself; but i tremble to imagine what she would think if she ever found out about that little book.
i am convinced she would send for the doctor post-haste and insist on mustard plasters while waiting for him.
nevertheless, i kept on at it, and what with my flowers and my cats and my magazines and my little book, i was really very happy and contented.
but it did sting that adella gilbert, across the road, who has a drunken husband, should pity "poor charlotte" because nobody had ever wanted her.
poor charlotte indeed!
if i had thrown myself at a man's head the way adella gilbert did at -- but there, there, i must refrain from such thoughts.
i must not be uncharitable.
the sewing circle met at mary gillespie's on my fortieth birthday.
i have given up talking about my birthdays, although that little scheme is not much good in avonlea where everybody knows your age -- or if they make a mistake it is never on the side of youth.
but nancy, who grew accustomed to celebrating my birthdays when i was a little girl, never gets over the habit, and i do n't try to cure her, because, after all, it's nice to have some one make a fuss over you.
she brought me up my breakfast before i got up out of bed -- a concession to my laziness that nancy would scorn to make on any other day of the year.
she had cooked everything i like best, and had decorated the tray with roses from the garden and ferns from the woods behind the house.
i enjoyed every bit of that breakfast, and then i got up and dressed, putting on my second best muslin gown.
i would have put on my really best if i had not had the fear of nancy before my eyes; but i knew she would never condone that, even on a birthday.
i watered my flowers and fed my cats, and then i locked myself up and wrote a poem on june.
i had given up writing birthday odes after i was thirty.
in the afternoon i went to the sewing circle.
when i was ready for it i looked in my glass and wondered if i could really be forty.
i was quite sure i did n't look it.
my hair was brown and wavy, my cheeks were pink, and the lines could hardly be seen at all, though possibly that was because of the dim light.
i always have my mirror hung in the darkest corner of my room.
nancy can not imagine why.
i know the lines are there, of course; but when they do n't show very plain i forget that they are there.
we had a large sewing circle, young and old alike attending.
i really can not say i ever enjoyed the meetings -- at least not up to that time -- although i went religiously because i thought it my duty to go.
the married women talked so much of their husbands and children, and of course i had to be quiet on those topics; and the young girls talked in corner groups about their beaux, and stopped it when i joined them, as if they felt sure that an old maid who had never had a beau could n't understand at all.
as for the other old maids, they talked gossip about every one, and i did not like that either.
i knew the minute my back was turned they would fasten into me and hint that i used hair-dye and declare it was perfectly ridiculous for a woman of fifty to wear a pink muslin dress with lace-trimmed frills.
there was a full attendance that day, for we were getting ready for a sale of fancy work in aid of parsonage repairs.
the young girls were merrier and noisier than usual.
wilhelmina mercer was there, and she kept them going.
the mercers were quite new to avonlea, having come here only two months previously.
i was sitting by the window and wilhelmina mercer, maggie henderson, susette cross and georgie hall were in a little group just before me.
i was n't listening to their chatter at all, but presently georgie exclaimed teasingly: "miss charlotte is laughing at us.
i suppose she thinks we are awfully silly to be talking about beaux."
the truth was that i was simply smiling over some very pretty thoughts that had come to me about the roses which were climbing over mary gillespie's sill.
i meant to inscribe them in the little blank book when i went home.
georgie's speech brought me back to harsh realities with a jolt.
it hurt me, as such speeches always did.
""did n't you ever have a beau, miss holmes?"
said wilhelmina laughingly.
just as it happened, a silence had fallen over the room for a moment, and everybody in it heard wilhelmina's question.
i really do not know what got into me and possessed me.
i have never been able to account for what i said and did, because i am naturally a truthful person and hate all deceit.
it seemed to me that i simply could not say "no" to wilhelmina before that whole roomful of women.
it was too humiliating.
i suppose all the prickles and stings and slurs i had endured for fifteen years on account of never having had a lover had what the new doctor calls "a cumulative effect" and came to a head then and there.
""yes, i had one once, my dear," i said calmly.
for once in my life i made a sensation.
every woman in that room stopped sewing and stared at me.
most of them, i saw, did n't believe me, but wilhelmina did.
her pretty face lighted up with interest.
""oh, wo n't you tell us about him, miss holmes?"
she coaxed, "and why did n't you marry him?"
""that is right, miss mercer," said josephine cameron, with a nasty little laugh.
""make her tell.
we're all interested.
it's news to us that charlotte ever had a beau."
if josephine had not said that, i might not have gone on.
but she did say it, and, moreover, i caught mary gillespie and adella gilbert exchanging significant smiles.
that settled it, and made me quite reckless.
""in for a penny, in for a pound," thought i, and i said with a pensive smile: "nobody here knew anything about him, and it was all long, long ago."
""what was his name?"
asked wilhelmina.
""cecil fenwick," i answered promptly.
cecil had always been my favorite name for a man; it figured quite frequently in the blank book.
as for the fenwick part of it, i had a bit of newspaper in my hand, measuring a hem, with "try fenwick's porous plasters" printed across it, and i simply joined the two in sudden and irrevocable matrimony.
""where did you meet him?"
asked georgie.
i hastily reviewed my past.
there was only one place to locate cecil fenwick.
the only time i had ever been far enough away from avonlea in my life was when i was eighteen and had gone to visit an aunt in new brunswick.
""in blakely, new brunswick," i said, almost believing that i had when i saw how they all took it in unsuspectingly.
""i was just eighteen and he was twenty-three."
""what did he look like?"
susette wanted to know.
""oh, he was very handsome."
i proceeded glibly to sketch my ideal.
to tell the dreadful truth, i was enjoying myself; i could see respect dawning in those girls" eyes, and i knew that i had forever thrown off my reproach.
henceforth i should be a woman with a romantic past, faithful to the one love of her life -- a very, very different thing from an old maid who had never had a lover.
""he was tall and dark, with lovely, curly black hair and brilliant, piercing eyes.
he had a splendid chin, and a fine nose, and the most fascinating smile!"
""what was he?"
asked maggie.
""a young lawyer," i said, my choice of profession decided by an enlarged crayon portrait of mary gillespie's deceased brother on an easel before me.
he had been a lawyer.
""why did n't you marry him?"
demanded susette.
""we quarreled," i answered sadly.
""a terribly bitter quarrel.
oh, we were both so young and so foolish.
it was my fault.
i vexed cecil by flirting with another man" -- was n't i coming on!
-- "and he was jealous and angry.
he went out west and never came back.
i have never seen him since, and i do not even know if he is alive.
but -- but -- i could never care for any other man."
""oh, how interesting!"
sighed wilhelmina.
""i do so love sad love stories.
but perhaps he will come back some day yet, miss holmes."
""oh, no, never now," i said, shaking my head.
""he has forgotten all about me, i dare say.
or if he has n't, he has never forgiven me."
mary gillespie's susan jane announced tea at this moment, and i was thankful, for my imagination was giving out, and i did n't know what question those girls would ask next.
but i felt already a change in the mental atmosphere surrounding me, and all through supper i was thrilled with a secret exultation.
repentant?
ashamed?
not a bit of it!
i'd have done the same thing over again, and all i felt sorry for was that i had n't done it long ago.
when i got home that night nancy looked at me wonderingly, and said: "you look like a girl to-night, miss charlotte."
""i feel like one," i said laughing; and i ran to my room and did what i had never done before -- wrote a second poem in the same day.
i had to have some outlet for my feelings.
i called it "in summer days of long ago," and i worked mary gillespie's roses and cecil fenwick's eyes into it, and made it so sad and reminiscent and minor-musicky that i felt perfectly happy.
for the next two months all went well and merrily.
nobody ever said anything more to me about cecil fenwick, but the girls all chattered freely to me of their little love affairs, and i became a sort of general confidant for them.
it just warmed up the cockles of my heart, and i began to enjoy the sewing circle famously.
i got a lot of pretty new dresses and the dearest hat, and i went everywhere i was asked and had a good time.
but there is one thing you can be perfectly sure of.
if you do wrong you are going to be punished for it sometime, somehow and somewhere.
my punishment was delayed for two months, and then it descended on my head and i was crushed to the very dust.
another new family besides the mercers had come to avonlea in the spring -- the maxwells.
there were just mr. and mrs. maxwell; they were a middle-aged couple and very well off.
mr. maxwell had bought the lumber mills, and they lived up at the old spencer place which had always been "the" place of avonlea.
they lived quietly, and mrs. maxwell hardly ever went anywhere because she was delicate.
she was out when i called and i was out when she returned my call, so that i had never met her.
it was the sewing circle day again -- at sarah gardiner's this time.
i was late; everybody else was there when i arrived, and the minute i entered the room i knew something had happened, although i could n't imagine what.
everybody looked at me in the strangest way.
of course, wilhelmina mercer was the first to set her tongue going.
""oh, miss holmes, have you seen him yet?"
she exclaimed.
""seen whom?"
i said non-excitedly, getting out my thimble and patterns.
""why, cecil fenwick.
he's here -- in avonlea -- visiting his sister, mrs. maxwell."
i suppose i did what they expected me to do.
i dropped everything i held, and josephine cameron said afterwards that charlotte holmes would never be paler when she was in her coffin.
if they had just known why i turned so pale!
""it's impossible!"
i said blankly.
""it's really true," said wilhelmina, delighted at this development, as she supposed it, of my romance.
""i was up to see mrs. maxwell last night, and i met him."
""it -- ca n't be -- the same -- cecil fenwick," i said faintly, because i had to say something.
""oh, yes, it is.
he belongs in blakely, new brunswick, and he's a lawyer, and he's been out west twenty-two years.
he's oh!
so handsome, and just as you described him, except that his hair is quite gray.
he has never married -- i asked mrs. maxwell -- so you see he has never forgotten you, miss holmes.
and, oh, i believe everything is going to come out all right."
i could n't exactly share her cheerful belief.
everything seemed to me to be coming out most horribly wrong.
i was so mixed up i did n't know what to do or say.
i felt as if i were in a bad dream -- it must be a dream -- there could n't really be a cecil fenwick!
my feelings were simply indescribable.
fortunately every one put my agitation down to quite a different cause, and they very kindly left me alone to recover myself.
i shall never forget that awful afternoon.
right after tea i excused myself and went home as fast as i could go.
there i shut myself up in my room, but not to write poetry in my blank book.
no, indeed!
i felt in no poetical mood.
i tried to look the facts squarely in the face.
there was a cecil fenwick, extraordinary as the coincidence was, and he was here in avonlea.
all my friends -- and foes -- believed that he was the estranged lover of my youth.
if he stayed long in avonlea, one of two things was bound to happen.
he would hear the story i had told about him and deny it, and i would be held up to shame and derision for the rest of my natural life; or else he would simply go away in ignorance, and everybody would suppose he had forgotten me and would pity me maddeningly.
the latter possibility was bad enough, but it was n't to be compared to the former; and oh, how i prayed -- yes, i did pray about it -- that he would go right away.
but providence had other views for me.
cecil fenwick did n't go away.
he stayed right on in avonlea, and the maxwells blossomed out socially in his honor and tried to give him a good time.
mrs. maxwell gave a party for him.
i got a card -- but you may be very sure i did n't go, although nancy thought i was crazy not to.
then every one else gave parties in honor of mr. fenwick and i was invited and never went.
wilhelmina mercer came and pleaded and scolded and told me if i avoided mr. fenwick like that he would think i still cherished bitterness against him, and he would n't make any advances towards a reconciliation.
wilhelmina means well, but she has n't a great deal of sense.
cecil fenwick seemed to be a great favorite with everybody, young and old.
he was very rich, too, and wilhelmina declared that half the girls were after him.
""if it was n't for you, miss holmes, i believe i'd have a try for him myself, in spite of his gray hair and quick temper -- for mrs. maxwell says he has a pretty quick temper, but it's all over in a minute," said wilhelmina, half in jest and wholly in earnest.
as for me, i gave up going out at all, even to church.
i fretted and pined and lost my appetite and never wrote a line in my blank book.
nancy was half frantic and insisted on dosing me with her favorite patent pills.
i took them meekly, because it is a waste of time and energy to oppose nancy, but, of course, they did n't do me any good.
my trouble was too deep-seated for pills to cure.
if ever a woman was punished for telling a lie i was that woman.
i stopped my subscription to the weekly advocate because it still carried that wretched porous plaster advertisement, and i could n't bear to see it.
if it had n't been for that i would never have thought of fenwick for a name, and all this trouble would have been averted.
one evening, when i was moping in my room, nancy came up.
""there's a gentleman in the parlor asking for you, miss charlotte."
my heart gave just one horrible bounce.
""what -- sort of a gentleman, nancy?"
i faltered.
""i think it's that fenwick man that there's been such a time about," said nancy, who did n't know anything about my imaginary escapades, "and he looks to be mad clean through about something, for such a scowl i never seen."
""tell him i'll be down directly, nancy," i said quite calmly.
as soon as nancy had clumped downstairs again i put on my lace fichu and put two hankies in my belt, for i thought i'd probably need more than one.
then i hunted up an old advocate for proof, and down i went to the parlor.
i know exactly how a criminal feels going to execution, and i've been opposed to capital punishment ever since.
i opened the parlor door and went in, carefully closing it behind me, for nancy has a deplorable habit of listening in the hall.
then my legs gave out completely, and i could n't have walked another step to save my life.
i just stood there, my hand on the knob, trembling like a leaf.
a man was standing by the south window looking out; he wheeled around as i went in, and, as nancy said, he had a scowl on and looked angry clear through.
he was very handsome, and his gray hair gave him such a distinguished look.
i recalled this afterward, but just at the moment you may be quite sure i was n't thinking about it at all.
then all at once a strange thing happened.
the scowl went right off his face and the anger out of his eyes.
he looked astonished, and then foolish.
i saw the color creeping up into his cheeks.
as for me, i still stood there staring at him, not able to say a single word.
""miss holmes, i presume," he said at last, in a deep, thrilling voice.
""i -- i -- oh, confound it!
i have called -- i heard some foolish stories and i came here in a rage.
i've been a fool -- i know now they were n't true.
just excuse me and i'll go away and kick myself."
""no," i said, finding my voice with a gasp, "you must n't go until you've heard the truth.
it's dreadful enough, but not as dreadful as you might otherwise think.
those -- those stories -- i have a confession to make.
i did tell them, but i did n't know there was such a person as cecil fenwick in existence."
he looked puzzled, as well he might.
then he smiled, took my hand and led me away from the door -- to the knob of which i was still holding with all my might -- to the sofa.
""let's sit down and talk it over "comfy,"" he said.
i just confessed the whole shameful business.
it was terribly humiliating, but it served me right.
i told him how people were always twitting me for never having had a beau, and how i had told them i had; and then i showed him the porous plaster advertisement.
he heard me right through without a word, and then he threw back his big, curly, gray head and laughed.
""this clears up a great many mysterious hints i've been receiving ever since i came to avonlea," he said, "and finally a mrs. gilbert came to my sister this afternoon with a long farrago of nonsense about the love affair i had once had with some charlotte holmes here.
she declared you had told her about it yourself.
i confess i flamed up.
i'm a peppery chap, and i thought -- i thought -- oh, confound it, it might as well out: i thought you were some lank old maid who was amusing herself telling ridiculous stories about me.
when you came into the room i knew that, whoever was to blame, you were not."
""but i was," i said ruefully.
""it was n't right of me to tell such a story -- and it was very silly, too.
but who would ever have supposed that there could be real cecil fenwick who had lived in blakely?
i never heard of such a coincidence."
""it's more than a coincidence," said mr. fenwick decidedly.
""it's predestination; that is what it is.
and now let's forget it and talk of something else."
we talked of something else -- or at least mr. fenwick did, for i was too ashamed to say much -- so long that nancy got restive and clumped through the hall every five minutes; but mr. fenwick never took the hint.
when he finally went away he asked if he might come again.
""it's time we made up that old quarrel, you know," he said, laughing.
and i, an old maid of forty, caught myself blushing like a girl.
but i felt like a girl, for it was such a relief to have that explanation all over.
i could n't even feel angry with adella gilbert.
she was always a mischief maker, and when a woman is born that way she is more to be pitied than blamed.
i wrote a poem in the blank book before i went to sleep; i had n't written anything for a month, and it was lovely to be at it once more.
mr. fenwick did come again -- the very next evening, but one.
and he came so often after that that even nancy got resigned to him.
one day i had to tell her something.
i shrank from doing it, for i feared it would make her feel badly.
""oh, i've been expecting to hear it," she said grimly.
""i felt the minute that man came into the house he brought trouble with him.
well, miss charlotte, i wish you happiness.
i do n't know how the climate of california will agree with me, but i suppose i'll have to put up with it."
""but, nancy," i said, "i ca n't expect you to go away out there with me.
it's too much to ask of you."
""and where else would i be going?"
demanded nancy in genuine astonishment.
""how under the canopy could you keep house without me?
i'm not going to trust you to the mercies of a yellow chinee with a pig-tail.
where you go i go, miss charlotte, and there's an end of it."
i was very glad, for i hated to think of parting with nancy even to go with cecil.
as for the blank book, i have n't told my husband about it yet, but i mean to some day.
and i've subscribed for the weekly advocate again.
iii.
her father's daughter "we must invite your aunt jane, of course," said mrs. spencer.
rachel made a protesting movement with her large, white, shapely hands -- hands which were so different from the thin, dark, twisted ones folded on the table opposite her.
the difference was not caused by hard work or the lack of it; rachel had worked hard all her life.
it was a difference inherent in temperament.
the spencers, no matter what they did, or how hard they labored, all had plump, smooth, white hands, with firm, supple fingers; the chiswicks, even those who toiled not, neither did they spin, had hard, knotted, twisted ones.
moreover, the contrast went deeper than externals, and twined itself with the innermost fibers of life, and thought, and action.
""i do n't see why we must invite aunt jane," said rachel, with as much impatience as her soft, throaty voice could express.
""aunt jane does n't like me, and i do n't like aunt jane."
""i'm sure i do n't see why you do n't like her," said mrs. spencer.
""it's ungrateful of you.
she has always been very kind to you."
""she has always been very kind with one hand," smiled rachel.
""i remember the first time i ever saw aunt jane.
i was six years old.
she held out to me a small velvet pincushion with beads on it.
and then, because i did not, in my shyness, thank her quite as promptly as i should have done, she rapped my head with her bethimbled finger to "teach me better manners."
it hurt horribly -- i've always had a tender head.
and that has been aunt jane's way ever since.
when i grew too big for the thimble treatment she used her tongue instead -- and that hurt worse.
and you know, mother, how she used to talk about my engagement.
she is able to spoil the whole atmosphere if she happens to come in a bad humor.
i do n't want her."
""she must be invited.
people would talk so if she was n't."
""i do n't see why they should.
she's only my great-aunt by marriage.
i would n't mind in the least if people did talk.
they'll talk anyway -- you know that, mother."
""oh, we must have her," said mrs. spencer, with the indifferent finality that marked all her words and decisions -- a finality against which it was seldom of any avail to struggle.
people, who knew, rarely attempted it; strangers occasionally did, misled by the deceit of appearances.
isabella spencer was a wisp of a woman, with a pale, pretty face, uncertainly-colored, long-lashed grayish eyes, and great masses of dull, soft, silky brown hair.
she had delicate aquiline features and a small, babyish red mouth.
she looked as if a breath would sway her.
the truth was that a tornado would hardly have caused her to swerve an inch from her chosen path.
for a moment rachel looked rebellious; then she yielded, as she generally did in all differences of opinion with her mother.
it was not worth while to quarrel over the comparatively unimportant matter of aunt jane's invitation.
a quarrel might be inevitable later on; rachel wanted to save all her resources for that.
she gave her shoulders a shrug, and wrote aunt jane's name down on the wedding list in her large, somewhat untidy handwriting -- a handwriting which always seemed to irritate her mother.
rachel never could understand this irritation.
she could never guess that it was because her writing looked so much like that in a certain packet of faded letters which mrs. spencer kept at the bottom of an old horsehair trunk in her bedroom.
they were postmarked from seaports all over the world.
mrs. spencer never read them or looked at them; but she remembered every dash and curve of the handwriting.
isabella spencer had overcome many things in her life by the sheer force and persistency of her will.
but she could not get the better of heredity.
rachel was her father's daughter at all points, and isabella spencer escaped hating her for it only by loving her the more fiercely because of it.
even so, there were many times when she had to avert her eyes from rachel's face because of the pang of the more subtle remembrances; and never, since her child was born, could isabella spencer bear to gaze on that child's face in sleep.
rachel was to be married to frank bell in a fortnight's time.
mrs. spencer was pleased with the match.
she was very fond of frank, and his farm was so near to her own that she would not lose rachel altogether.
rachel fondly believed that her mother would not lose her at all; but isabella spencer, wiser by olden experience, knew what her daughter's marriage must mean to her, and steeled her heart to bear it with what fortitude she might.
they were in the sitting-room, deciding on the wedding guests and other details.
the september sunshine was coming in through the waving boughs of the apple tree that grew close up to the low window.
the glints wavered over rachel's face, as white as a wood lily, with only a faint dream of rose in the cheeks.
she wore her sleek, golden hair in a quaint arch around it.
her forehead was very broad and white.
she was fresh and young and hopeful.
the mother's heart contracted in a spasm of pain as she looked at her.
how like the girl was to -- to -- to the spencers!
those easy, curving outlines, those large, mirthful blue eyes, that finely molded chin!
isabella spencer shut her lips firmly and crushed down some unbidden, unwelcome memories.
""there will be about sixty guests, all told," she said, as if she were thinking of nothing else.
""we must move the furniture out of this room and set the supper-table here.
the dining-room is too small.
we must borrow mrs. bell's forks and spoons.
she offered to lend them.
i'd never have been willing to ask her.
the damask table cloths with the ribbon pattern must be bleached to-morrow.
nobody else in avonlea has such tablecloths.
and we'll put the little dining-room table on the hall landing, upstairs, for the presents."
rachel was not thinking about the presents, or the housewifely details of the wedding.
her breath was coming quicker, and the faint blush on her smooth cheeks had deepened to crimson.
she knew that a critical moment was approaching.
with a steady hand she wrote the last name on her list and drew a line under it.
""well, have you finished?"
asked her mother impatiently.
""hand it here and let me look over it to make sure that you have n't left anybody out that should be in."
rachel passed the paper across the table in silence.
the room seemed to her to have grown very still.
she could hear the flies buzzing on the panes, the soft purr of the wind about the low eaves and through the apple boughs, the jerky beating of her own heart.
she felt frightened and nervous, but resolute.
mrs. spencer glanced down the list, murmuring the names aloud and nodding approval at each.
but when she came to the last name, she did not utter it.
she cast a black glance at rachel, and a spark leaped up in the depths of the pale eyes.
on her face were anger, amazement, incredulity, the last predominating.
the final name on the list of wedding guests was the name of david spencer.
david spencer lived alone in a little cottage down at the cove.
he was a combination of sailor and fisherman.
he was also isabella spencer's husband and rachel's father.
""rachel spencer, have you taken leave of your senses?
what do you mean by such nonsense as this?"
""i simply mean that i am going to invite my father to my wedding," answered rachel quietly.
""not in my house," cried mrs. spencer, her lips as white as if her fiery tone had scathed them.
rachel leaned forward, folded her large, capable hands deliberately on the table, and gazed unflinchingly into her mother's bitter face.
her fright and nervousness were gone.
now that the conflict was actually on she found herself rather enjoying it.
she wondered a little at herself, and thought that she must be wicked.
she was not given to self-analysis, or she might have concluded that it was the sudden assertion of her own personality, so long dominated by her mother's, which she was finding so agreeable.
""then there will be no wedding, mother," she said.
""frank and i will simply go to the manse, be married, and go home.
if i can not invite my father to see me married, no one else shall be invited."
her lips narrowed tightly.
for the first time in her life isabella spencer saw a reflection of herself looking back at her from her daughter's face -- a strange, indefinable resemblance that was more of soul and spirit than of flesh and blood.
in spite of her anger her heart thrilled to it.
as never before, she realized that this girl was her own and her husband's child, a living bond between them wherein their conflicting natures mingled and were reconciled.
she realized too, that rachel, so long sweetly meek and obedient, meant to have her own way in this case -- and would have it.
""i must say that i ca n't see why you are so set on having your father see you married," she said with a bitter sneer.
""he has never remembered that he is your father.
he cares nothing about you -- never did care."
rachel took no notice of this taunt.
it had no power to hurt her, its venom being neutralized by a secret knowledge of her own in which her mother had no share.
""either i shall invite my father to my wedding, or i shall not have a wedding," she repeated steadily, adopting her mother's own effective tactics of repetition undistracted by argument.
""invite him then," snapped mrs. spencer, with the ungraceful anger of a woman, long accustomed to having her own way, compelled for once to yield.
""it'll be like chips in porridge anyhow -- neither good nor harm.
he wo n't come."
rachel made no response.
now that the battle was over, and the victory won, she found herself tremulously on the verge of tears.
she rose quickly and went upstairs to her own room, a dim little place shadowed by the white birches growing thickly outside -- a virginal room, where everything bespoke the maiden.
she lay down on the blue and white patchwork quilt on her bed, and cried softly and bitterly.
her heart, at this crisis in her life, yearned for her father, who was almost a stranger to her.
she knew that her mother had probably spoken the truth when she said that he would not come.
rachel felt that her marriage vows would be lacking in some indefinable sacredness if her father were not by to hear them spoken.
twenty-five years before this, david spencer and isabella chiswick had been married.
spiteful people said there could be no doubt that isabella had married david for love, since he had neither lands nor money to tempt her into a match of bargain and sale.
david was a handsome fellow, with the blood of a seafaring race in his veins.
he had been a sailor, like his father and grandfather before him; but, when he married isabella, she induced him to give up the sea and settle down with her on a snug farm her father had left her.
isabella liked farming, and loved her fertile acres and opulent orchards.
she abhorred the sea and all that pertained to it, less from any dread of its dangers than from an inbred conviction that sailors were "low" in the social scale -- a species of necessary vagabonds.
in her eyes there was a taint of disgrace in such a calling.
david must be transformed into a respectable, home-abiding tiller of broad lands.
for five years all went well enough.
if, at times, david's longing for the sea troubled him, he stifled it, and listened not to its luring voice.
he and isabella were very happy; the only drawback to their happiness lay in the regretted fact that they were childless.
then, in the sixth year, came a crisis and a change.
captain barrett, an old crony of david's, wanted him to go with him on a voyage as mate.
at the suggestion all david's long-repressed craving for the wide blue wastes of the ocean, and the wind whistling through the spars with the salt foam in its breath, broke forth with a passion all the more intense for that very repression.
he must go on that voyage with james barrett -- he must!
that over, he would be contented again; but go he must.
his soul struggled within him like a fettered thing.
isabella opposed the scheme vehemently and unwisely, with mordant sarcasm and unjust reproaches.
the latent obstinacy of david's character came to the support of his longing -- a longing which isabella, with five generations of land-loving ancestry behind her, could not understand at all.
he was determined to go, and he told isabella so.
""i'm sick of plowing and milking cows," he said hotly.
""you mean that you are sick of a respectable life," sneered isabella.
""perhaps," said david, with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders.
""anyway, i'm going."
""if you go on this voyage, david spencer, you need never come back here," said isabella resolutely.
david had gone; he did not believe that she meant it.
isabella believed that he did not care whether she meant it or not.
david spencer left behind him a woman, calm outwardly, inwardly a seething volcano of anger, wounded pride, and thwarted will.
he found precisely the same woman when he came home, tanned, joyous, tamed for a while of his wanderlust, ready, with something of real affection, to go back to the farm fields and the stock-yard.
isabella met him at the door, smileless, cold-eyed, set-lipped.
""what do you want here?"
she said, in the tone she was accustomed to use to tramps and syrian peddlers.
""want!"
david's surprise left him at a loss for words.
""want!
why, i -- i -- want my wife.
i've come home."
""this is not your home.
i'm no wife of yours.
you made your choice when you went away," isabella had replied.
then she had gone in, shut the door, and locked it in his face.
david had stood there for a few minutes like a man stunned.
then he had turned and walked away up the lane under the birches.
he said nothing -- then or at any other time.
from that day no reference to his wife or her concerns ever crossed his lips.
he went directly to the harbor, and shipped with captain barrett for another voyage.
when he came back from that in a month's time, he bought a small house and had it hauled to the "cove," a lonely inlet from which no other human habitation was visible.
between his sea voyages he lived there the life of a recluse; fishing and playing his violin were his only employments.
he went nowhere and encouraged no visitors.
isabella spencer also had adopted the tactics of silence.
when the scandalized chiswicks, aunt jane at their head, tried to patch up the matter with argument and entreaty, isabella met them stonily, seeming not to hear what they said, and making no response.
she worsted them totally.
as aunt jane said in disgust, "what can you do with a woman who wo n't even talk?"
five months after david spencer had been turned from his wife's door, rachel was born.
perhaps, if david had come to them then, with due penitence and humility, isabella's heart, softened by the pain and joy of her long and ardently desired motherhood might have cast out the rankling venom of resentment that had poisoned it and taken him back into it.
but david had not come; he gave no sign of knowing or caring that his once longed-for child had been born.
when isabella was able to be about again, her pale face was harder than ever; and, had there been about her any one discerning enough to notice it, there was a subtle change in her bearing and manner.
a certain nervous expectancy, a fluttering restlessness was gone.
isabella had ceased to hope secretly that her husband would yet come back.
she had in her secret soul thought he would; and she had meant to forgive him when she had humbled him sufficiently, and when he had abased himself as she considered he should.
but now she knew that he did not mean to sue for her forgiveness; and the hate that sprang out of her old love was a rank and speedy and persistent growth.
rachel, from her earliest recollection, had been vaguely conscious of a difference between her own life and the lives of her playmates.
for a long time it puzzled her childish brain.
finally, she reasoned it out that the difference consisted in the fact that they had fathers and she, rachel spencer, had none -- not even in the graveyard, as carrie bell and lilian boulter had.
why was this?
rachel went straight to her mother, put one little dimpled hand on isabella spencer's knee, looked up with great searching blue eyes, and said gravely, "mother, why have n't i got a father like the other little girls?"
isabella spencer laid aside her work, took the seven year old child on her lap, and told her the whole story in a few direct and bitter words that imprinted themselves indelibly on rachel's remembrance.
she understood clearly and hopelessly that she could never have a father -- that, in this respect, she must always be unlike other people.
""your father cares nothing for you," said isabella spencer in conclusion.
""he never did care.
you must never speak of him to anybody again."
rachel slipped silently from her mother's knee and ran out to the springtime garden with a full heart.
there she cried passionately over her mother's last words.
it seemed to her a terrible thing that her father should not love her, and a cruel thing that she must never talk of him.
oddly enough, rachel's sympathies were all with her father, in as far as she could understand the old quarrel.
she did not dream of disobeying her mother and she did not disobey her.
never again did the child speak of her father; but isabella had not forbidden her to think of him, and thenceforth rachel thought of him constantly -- so constantly that, in some strange way, he seemed to become an unguessed-of part of her inner life -- the unseen, ever-present companion in all her experiences.
she was an imaginative child, and in fancy she made the acquaintance of her father.
she had never seen him, but he was more real to her than most of the people she had seen.
he played and talked with her as her mother never did; he walked with her in the orchard and field and garden; he sat by her pillow in the twilight; to him she whispered secrets she told to none other.
once her mother asked her impatiently why she talked so much to herself.
""i am not talking to myself.
i am talking to a very dear friend of mine," rachel answered gravely.
""silly child," laughed her mother, half tolerantly, half disapprovingly.
two years later something wonderful had happened to rachel.
one summer afternoon she had gone to the harbor with several of her little playmates.
such a jaunt was a rare treat to the child, for isabella spencer seldom allowed her to go from home with anybody but herself.
and isabella was not an entertaining companion.
rachel never particularly enjoyed an outing with her mother.
the children wandered far along the shore; at last they came to a place that rachel had never seen before.
it was a shallow cove where the waters purred on the yellow sands.
beyond it, the sea was laughing and flashing and preening and alluring, like a beautiful, coquettish woman.
outside, the wind was boisterous and rollicking; here, it was reverent and gentle.
a white boat was hauled up on the skids, and there was a queer little house close down to the sands, like a big shell tossed up by the waves.
rachel looked on it all with secret delight; she, too, loved the lonely places of sea and shore, as her father had done.
she wanted to linger awhile in this dear spot and revel in it.
""i'm tired, girls," she announced.
""i'm going to stay here and rest for a spell.
i do n't want to go to gull point.
you go on yourselves; i'll wait for you here."
""all alone?"
asked carrie bell, wonderingly.
""i'm not so afraid of being alone as some people are," said rachel, with dignity.
the other girls went on, leaving rachel sitting on the skids, in the shadow of the big white boat.
she sat there for a time dreaming happily, with her blue eyes on the far, pearly horizon, and her golden head leaning against the boat.
suddenly she heard a step behind her.
when she turned her head a man was standing beside her, looking down at her with big, merry, blue eyes.
rachel was quite sure that she had never seen him before; yet those eyes seemed to her to have a strangely familiar look.
she liked him.
she felt no shyness nor timidity, such as usually afflicted her in the presence of strangers.
he was a tall, stout man, dressed in a rough fishing suit, and wearing an oilskin cap on his head.
his hair was very thick and curly and fair; his cheeks were tanned and red; his teeth, when he smiled, were very even and white.
rachel thought he must be quite old, because there was a good deal of gray mixed with his fair hair.
""are you watching for the mermaids?"
he said.
rachel nodded gravely.
from any one else she would have scrupulously hidden such a thought.
""yes, i am," she said.
""mother says there is no such thing as a mermaid, but i like to think there is.
have you ever seen one?"
the big man sat down on a bleached log of driftwood and smiled at her.
""no, i'm sorry to say that i have n't.
but i have seen many other very wonderful things.
i might tell you about some of them, if you would come over here and sit by me."
rachel went unhesitatingly.
when she reached him he pulled her down on his knee, and she liked it.
""what a nice little craft you are," he said.
""do you suppose, now, that you could give me a kiss?"
as a rule, rachel hated kissing.
she could seldom be prevailed upon to kiss even her uncles -- who knew it and liked to tease her for kisses until they aggravated her so terribly that she told them she could n't bear men.
but now she promptly put her arms about this strange man's neck and gave him a hearty smack.
""i like you," she said frankly.
she felt his arms tighten suddenly about her.
the blue eyes looking into hers grew misty and very tender.
then, all at once, rachel knew who he was.
he was her father.
she did not say anything, but she laid her curly head down on his shoulder and felt a great happiness, as of one who had come into some longed-for haven.
if david spencer realized that she understood he said nothing.
instead, he began to tell her fascinating stories of far lands he had visited, and strange things he had seen.
rachel listened entranced, as if she were hearkening to a fairy tale.
yes, he was just as she had dreamed him.
she had always been sure he could tell beautiful stories.
""come up to the house and i'll show you some pretty things," he said finally.
then followed a wonderful hour.
the little low-ceilinged room, with its square window, into which he took her, was filled with the flotsam and jetsam of his roving life -- things beautiful and odd and strange beyond all telling.
the things that pleased rachel most were two huge shells on the chimney piece -- pale pink shells with big crimson and purple spots.
""oh, i did n't know there could be such pretty things in the world," she exclaimed.
""if you would like," began the big man; then he paused for a moment.
""i'll show you something prettier still."
rachel felt vaguely that he meant to say something else when he began; but she forgot to wonder what it was when she saw what he brought out of a little corner cupboard.
it was a teapot of some fine, glistening purple ware, coiled over by golden dragons with gilded claws and scales.
the lid looked like a beautiful golden flower and the handle was a coil of a dragon's tail.
rachel sat and looked at it rapt-eyed.
""that's the only thing of any value i have in the world -- now," he said.
rachel knew there was something very sad in his eyes and voice.
she longed to kiss him again and comfort him.
but suddenly he began to laugh, and then he rummaged out some goodies for her to eat, sweetmeats more delicious than she had ever imagined.
while she nibbled them he took down an old violin and played music that made her want to dance and sing.
rachel was perfectly happy.
she wished she might stay forever in that low, dim room with all its treasures.
""i see your little friends coming around the point," he said, finally.
""i suppose you must go.
put the rest of the goodies in your pocket."
he took her up in his arms and held her tightly against his breast for a single moment.
she felt him kissing her hair.
""there, run along, little girl.
good-by," he said gently.
""why do n't you ask me to come and see you again?"
cried rachel, half in tears.
""i'm coming anyhow."
""if you can come, come," he said.
""if you do n't come, i shall know it is because you ca n't -- and that is much to know.
i'm very, very, very glad, little woman, that you have come once."
rachel was sitting demurely on the skids when her companions came back.
they had not seen her leaving the house, and she said not a word to them of her experiences.
she only smiled mysteriously when they asked her if she had been lonesome.
that night, for the first time, she mentioned her father's name in her prayers.
she never forgot to do so afterwards.
she always said, "bless mother -- and father," with an instinctive pause between the two names -- a pause which indicated new realization of the tragedy which had sundered them.
and the tone in which she said "father" was softer and more tender than the one which voiced "mother."
rachel never visited the cove again.
isabella spencer discovered that the children had been there, and, although she knew nothing of rachel's interview with her father, she told the child that she must never again go to that part of the shore.
rachel shed many a bitter tear in secret over this command; but she obeyed it.
thenceforth there had been no communication between her and her father, save the unworded messages of soul to soul across whatever may divide them.
david spencer's invitation to his daughter's wedding was sent with the others, and the remaining days of rachel's maidenhood slipped away in a whirl of preparation and excitement in which her mother reveled, but which was distasteful to the girl.
the wedding day came at last, breaking softly and fairly over the great sea in a sheen of silver and pearl and rose, a september day, as mild and beautiful as june.
the ceremony was to be performed at eight o'clock in the evening.
at seven rachel stood in her room, fully dressed and alone.
she had no bridesmaid, and she had asked her cousins to leave her to herself in this last solemn hour of girlhood.
she looked very fair and sweet in the sunset-light that showered through the birches.
her wedding gown was a fine, sheer organdie, simply and daintily made.
in the loose waves of her bright hair she wore her bridegroom's flowers, roses as white as a virgin's dream.
she was very happy; but her happiness was faintly threaded with the sorrow inseparable from all change.
presently her mother came in, carrying a small basket.
""here is something for you, rachel.
one of the boys from the harbor brought it up.
he was bound to give it into your own hands -- said that was his orders.
i just took it and sent him to the right-about -- told him i'd give it to you at once, and that that was all that was necessary."
she spoke coldly.
she knew quite well who had sent the basket, and she resented it; but her resentment was not quite strong enough to overcome her curiosity.
she stood silently by while rachel unpacked the basket.
rachel's hands trembled as she took off the cover.
two huge pink-spotted shells came first.
how well she remembered them!
beneath them, carefully wrapped up in a square of foreign-looking, strangely scented silk, was the dragon teapot.
she held it in her hands and gazed at it with tears gathering thickly in her eyes.
""your father sent that," said isabella spencer with an odd sound in her voice.
""i remember it well.
it was among the things i packed up and sent after him.
his father had brought it home from china fifty years ago, and he prized it beyond anything.
they used to say it was worth a lot of money."
""mother, please leave me alone for a little while," said rachel, imploringly.
she had caught sight of a little note at the bottom of the basket, and she felt that she could not read it under her mother's eyes.
mrs. spencer went out with unaccustomed acquiescence, and rachel went quickly to the window, where she read her letter by the fading gleams of twilight.
it was very brief, and the writing was that of a man who holds a pen but seldom.
""my dear little girl," it ran, "i'm sorry i ca n't go to your wedding.
it was like you to ask me -- for i know it was your doing.
i wish i could see you married, but i ca n't go to the house i was turned out of.
i hope you will be very happy.
i am sending you the shells and teapot you liked so much.
do you remember that day we had such a good time?
i would liked to have seen you again before you were married, but it ca n't be.
""your loving father, "david spencer."
rachel resolutely blinked away the tears that filled her eyes.
a fierce desire for her father sprang up in her heart -- an insistent hunger that would not be denied.
she must see her father; she must have his blessing on her new life.
a sudden determination took possession of her whole being -- a determination to sweep aside all conventionalities and objections as if they had not been.
it was now almost dark.
the guests would not be coming for half an hour yet.
it was only fifteen minutes" walk over the hill to the cove.
hastily rachel shrouded herself in her new raincoat, and drew a dark, protecting hood over her gay head.
she opened the door and slipped noiselessly downstairs.
mrs. spencer and her assistants were all busy in the back part of the house.
in a moment rachel was out in the dewy garden.
she would go straight over the fields.
nobody would see her.
it was quite dark when she reached the cove.
in the crystal cup of the sky over her the stars were blinking.
flying flakes of foam were scurrying over the sand like elfin things.
a soft little wind was crooning about the eaves of the little gray house where david spencer was sitting, alone in the twilight, his violin on his knee.
he had been trying to play, but could not.
his heart yearned after his daughter -- yes, and after a long-estranged bride of his youth.
his love of the sea was sated forever; his love for wife and child still cried for its own under all his old anger and stubbornness.
the door opened suddenly and the very rachel of whom he was dreaming came suddenly in, flinging off her wraps and standing forth in her young beauty and bridal adornments, a splendid creature, almost lighting up the gloom with her radiance.
""father," she cried, brokenly, and her father's eager arms closed around her.
back in the house she had left, the guests were coming to the wedding.
there were jests and laughter and friendly greeting.
the bridegroom came, too, a slim, dark-eyed lad who tiptoed bashfully upstairs to the spare room, from which he presently emerged to confront mrs. spencer on the landing.
""i want to see rachel before we go down," he said, blushing.
mrs. spencer deposited a wedding present of linen on the table which was already laden with gifts, opening the door of rachel's room, and called her.
there was no reply; the room was dark and still.
in sudden alarm, isabella spencer snatched the lamp from the hall table and held it up.
the little white room was empty.
no blushing, white-clad bride tenanted it.
but david spencer's letter was lying on the stand.
she caught it up and read it.
""rachel is gone," she gasped.
a flash of intuition had revealed to her where and why the girl had gone.
""gone!"
echoed frank, his face blanching.
his pallid dismay recalled mrs. spencer to herself.
she gave a bitter, ugly little laugh.
""oh, you need n't look so scared, frank.
she has n't run away from you.
hush; come in here -- shut the door.
nobody must know of this.
nice gossip it would make!
that little fool has gone to the cove to see her -- her father.
i know she has.
it's just like what she would do.
he sent her those presents -- look -- and this letter.
read it.
she has gone to coax him to come and see her married.
she was crazy about it.
and the minister is here and it is half-past seven.
she'll ruin her dress and shoes in the dust and dew.
and what if some one has seen her!
was there ever such a little fool?"
frank's presence of mind had returned to him.
he knew all about rachel and her father.
she had told him everything.
""i'll go after her," he said gently.
""get me my hat and coat.
i'll slip down the back stairs and over to the cove."
""you must get out of the pantry window, then," said mrs. spencer firmly, mingling comedy and tragedy after her characteristic fashion.
""the kitchen is full of women.
i wo n't have this known and talked about if it can possibly be helped."
the bridegroom, wise beyond his years in the knowledge that it was well to yield to women in little things, crawled obediently out of the pantry window and darted through the birch wood.
mrs. spencer had stood quakingly on guard until he had disappeared.
so rachel had gone to her father!
like had broken the fetters of years and fled to like.
""it is n't much use fighting against nature, i guess," she thought grimly.
""i'm beat.
he must have thought something of her, after all, when he sent her that teapot and letter.
and what does he mean about the "day they had such a good time"?
well, it just means that she's been to see him before, sometime, i suppose, and kept me in ignorance of it all."
mrs. spencer shut down the pantry window with a vicious thud.
""if only she'll come quietly back with frank in time to prevent gossip i'll forgive her," she said, as she turned to the kitchen.
rachel was sitting on her father's knee, with both her white arms around his neck, when frank came in.
she sprang up, her face flushed and appealing, her eyes bright and dewy with tears.
frank thought he had never seen her look so lovely.
""oh, frank, is it very late?
oh, are you angry?"
she exclaimed timidly.
""no, no, dear.
of course i'm not angry.
but do n't you think you'd better come back now?
it's nearly eight and everybody is waiting."
""i've been trying to coax father to come up and see me married," said rachel.
""help me, frank."
""you'd better come, sir," said frank, heartily, "i'd like it as much as rachel would."
david spencer shook his head stubbornly.
""no, i ca n't go to that house.
i was locked out of it.
never mind me.
i've had my happiness in this half hour with my little girl.
i'd like to see her married, but it is n't to be."
""yes, it is to be -- it shall be," said rachel resolutely.
""you shall see me married.
frank, i'm going to be married here in my father's house!
that is the right place for a girl to be married.
go back and tell the guests so, and bring them all down."
frank looked rather dismayed.
david spencer said deprecatingly: "little girl, do n't you think it would be --" "i'm going to have my own way in this," said rachel, with a sort of tender finality.
""go, frank.
i'll obey you all my life after, but you must do this for me.
try to understand," she added beseechingly.
""oh, i understand," frank reassured her.
""besides, i think you are right.
but i was thinking of your mother.
she wo n't come."
""then you tell her that if she does n't come i sha n't be married at all," said rachel.
she was betraying unsuspected ability to manage people.
she knew that ultimatum would urge frank to his best endeavors.
frank, much to mrs. spencer's dismay, marched boldly in at the front door upon his return.
she pounced on him and whisked him out of sight into the supper room.
""where's rachel?
what made you come that way?
everybody saw you!"
""it makes no difference.
they will all have to know, anyway.
rachel says she is going to be married from her father's house, or not at all.
i've come back to tell you so."
isabella's face turned crimson.
""rachel has gone crazy.
i wash my hands of this affair.
do as you please.
take the guests -- the supper, too, if you can carry it."
""we'll all come back here for supper," said frank, ignoring the sarcasm.
""come, mrs. spencer, let's make the best of it."
""do you suppose that i am going to david spencer's house?"
said isabella spencer violently.
""oh you must come, mrs. spencer," cried poor frank desperately.
he began to fear that he would lose his bride past all finding in this maze of triple stubbornness.
""rachel says she wo n't be married at all if you do n't go, too.
think what a talk it will make.
you know she will keep her word."
isabella spencer knew it.
amid all the conflict of anger and revolt in her soul was a strong desire not to make a worse scandal than must of necessity be made.
the desire subdued and tamed her, as nothing else could have done.
""i will go, since i have to," she said icily.
""what ca n't be cured must be endured.
go and tell them."
five minutes later the sixty wedding guests were all walking over the fields to the cove, with the minister and the bridegroom in the front of the procession.
they were too amazed even to talk about the strange happening.
isabella spencer walked behind, fiercely alone.
they all crowded into the little room of the house at the cove, and a solemn hush fell over it, broken only by the purr of the sea-wind around it and the croon of the waves on the shore.
david spencer gave his daughter away; but, when the ceremony was concluded, isabella was the first to take the girl in her arms.
she clasped her and kissed her, with tears streaming down her pale face, all her nature melted in a mother's tenderness.
""rachel!
rachel!
my child, i hope and pray that you may be happy," she said brokenly.
in the surge of the suddenly merry crowd of well-wishers around the bride and groom, isabella was pushed back into a shadowy corner behind a heap of sails and ropes.
looking up, she found herself crushed against david spencer.
for the first time in twenty years the eyes of husband and wife met.
a strange thrill shot to isabella's heart; she felt herself trembling.
""isabella."
it was david's voice in her ear -- a voice full of tenderness and pleading -- the voice of the young wooer of her girlhood -- "is it too late to ask you to forgive me?
i've been a stubborn fool -- but there has n't been an hour in all these years that i have n't thought about you and our baby and longed for you."
isabella spencer had hated this man; yet her hate had been but a parasite growth on a nobler stem, with no abiding roots of its own.
it withered under his words, and lo, there was the old love, fair and strong and beautiful as ever.
""oh -- david -- i -- was -- all -- to -- blame," she murmured brokenly.
further words were lost on her husband's lips.
when the hubbub of handshaking and congratulating had subsided, isabella spencer stepped out before the company.
she looked almost girlish and bridal herself, with her flushed cheeks and bright eyes.
""let's go back now and have supper, and be sensible," she said crisply.
""rachel, your father is coming, too.
he is coming to stay," -- with a defiant glance around the circle.
""come, everybody."
they went back with laughter and raillery over the quiet autumn fields, faintly silvered now by the moon that was rising over the hills.
the young bride and groom lagged behind; they were very happy, but they were not so happy, after all, as the old bride and groom who walked swiftly in front.
isabella's hand was in her husband's and sometimes she could not see the moonlit hills for a mist of glorified tears.
""david," she whispered, as he helped her over the fence, "how can you ever forgive me?"
""there's nothing to forgive," he said.
""we're only just married.
who ever heard of a bridegroom talking of forgiveness?
everything is beginning over new for us, my girl."
iv.
jane's baby miss rosetta ellis, with her front hair in curl-papers, and her back hair bound with a checked apron, was out in her breezy side yard under the firs, shaking her parlor rugs, when mr. nathan patterson drove in.
miss rosetta had seen him coming down the long red hill, but she had not supposed he would be calling at that time of the morning.
so she had not run.
miss rosetta always ran if anybody called and her front hair was in curl-papers; and, though the errand of the said caller might be life or death, he or she had to wait until miss rosetta had taken her hair out.
everybody in avonlea knew this, because everybody in avonlea knew everything about everybody else.
but mr. patterson had wheeled into the lane so quickly and unexpectedly that miss rosetta had had no time to run; so, twitching off the checked apron, she stood her ground as calmly as might be under the disagreeable consciousness of curl-papers.
""good morning, miss ellis," said mr. patterson, so somberly that miss rosetta instantly felt that he was the bearer of bad news.
usually mr. patterson's face was as broad and beaming as a harvest moon.
now his expression was very melancholy and his voice positively sepulchral.
""good morning," returned miss rosetta, crisply and cheerfully.
she, at any rate, would not go into eclipse until she knew the reason therefor.
""it is a fine day."
""a very fine day," assented mr. patterson, solemnly.
""i have just come from the wheeler place, miss ellis, and i regret to say --" "charlotte is sick!"
cried miss rosetta, rapidly.
""charlotte has got another spell with her heart!
i knew it!
i've been expecting to hear it!
any woman that drives about the country as much as she does is liable to heart disease at any moment.
i never go outside of my gate but i meet her gadding off somewhere.
goodness knows who looks after her place.
i should n't like to trust as much to a hired man as she does.
well, it is very kind of you, mr. patterson, to put yourself out to the extent of calling to tell me that charlotte is sick, but i do n't really see why you should take so much trouble -- i really do n't.
it does n't matter to me whether charlotte is sick or whether she is n't.
you know that perfectly well, mr. patterson, if anybody does.
when charlotte went and got married, on the sly, to that good-for-nothing jacob wheeler --" "mrs. wheeler is quite well," interrupted mr. patterson desperately.
""quite well.
nothing at all the matter with her, in fact.
i only --" "then what do you mean by coming here and telling me she was n't, and frightening me half to death?"
demanded miss rosetta, indignantly.
""my own heart is n't very strong -- it runs in our family -- and my doctor warned me to avoid all shocks and excitement.
i do n't want to be excited, mr. patterson.
i wo n't be excited, not even if charlotte has another spell.
it's perfectly useless for you to try to excite me, mr. patterson."
""bless the woman, i'm not trying to excite anybody!"
declared mr. patterson in exasperation.
""i merely called to tell you --" "to tell me what?"
said miss rosetta.
""how much longer do you mean to keep me in suspense, mr. patterson.
no doubt you have abundance of spare time, but -- i -- have not.""
-- that your sister, mrs. wheeler, has had a letter from a cousin of yours, and she's in charlottetown.
mrs. roberts, i think her name is --" "jane roberts," broke in miss rosetta.
""jane ellis she was, before she was married.
what was she writing to charlotte about?
not that i want to know, of course.
i'm not interested in charlotte's correspondence, goodness knows.
but if jane had anything in particular to write about she should have written to me.
i am the oldest.
charlotte had no business to get a letter from jane roberts without consulting me.
it's just like her underhanded ways.
she got married the same way.
never said a word to me about it, but just sneaked off with that unprincipled jacob wheeler --" "mrs. roberts is very ill.
i understand," persisted mr. patterson, nobly resolved to do what he had come to do, "dying, in fact, and --" "jane ill!
jane dying!"
exclaimed miss rosetta.
""why, she was the healthiest girl i ever knew!
but then i've never seen her, nor heard from her, since she got married fifteen years ago.
i dare say her husband was a brute and neglected her, and she's pined away by slow degrees.
i've no faith in husbands.
look at charlotte!
everybody knows how jacob wheeler used her.
to be sure, she deserved it, but --" "mrs. roberts" husband is dead," said mr. patterson.
""died about two months ago, i understand, and she has a little baby six months old, and she thought perhaps mrs. wheeler would take it for old times" sake --" "did charlotte ask you to call and tell me this?"
demanded miss rosetta eagerly.
""no; she just told me what was in the letter.
she did n't mention you; but i thought, perhaps, you ought to be told --" "i knew it," said miss rosetta in a tone of bitter assurance.
""i could have told you so.
charlotte would n't even let me know that jane was ill.
charlotte would be afraid i would want to get the baby, seeing that jane and i were such intimate friends long ago.
and who has a better right to it than me, i should like to know?
ai n't i the oldest?
and have n't i had experience in bringing up babies?
charlotte need n't think she is going to run the affairs of our family just because she happened to get married.
jacob wheeler --" "i must be going," said mr. patterson, gathering up his reins thankfully.
""i am much obliged to you for coming to tell me about jane," said miss rosetta, "even though you have wasted a lot of precious time getting it out.
if it had n't been for you i suppose i should never have known it at all.
as it is, i shall start for town just as soon as i can get ready."
""you'll have to hurry if you want to get ahead of mrs. wheeler," advised mr. patterson.
""she's packing her trunk and going on the morning train."
""i'll pack a valise and go on the afternoon train," retorted miss rosetta triumphantly.
""i'll show charlotte she is n't running the ellis affairs.
she married out of them into the wheelers.
she can attend to them.
jacob wheeler was the most --" but mr. patterson had driven away.
he felt that he had done his duty in the face of fearful odds, and he did not want to hear anything more about jacob wheeler.
rosetta ellis and charlotte wheeler had not exchanged a word for ten years.
before that time they had been devoted to each other, living together in the little ellis cottage on the white sands road, as they had done ever since their parents" death.
the trouble began when jacob wheeler had commenced to pay attention to charlotte, the younger and prettier of two women who had both ceased to be either very young or very pretty.
rosetta had been bitterly opposed to the match from the first.
she vowed she had no use for jacob wheeler.
there were not lacking malicious people to hint that this was because the aforesaid jacob wheeler had selected the wrong sister upon whom to bestow his affections.
be that as it might, miss rosetta certainly continued to render the course of jacob wheeler's true love exceedingly rough and tumultuous.
the end of it was that charlotte had gone quietly away one morning and married jacob wheeler without miss rosetta's knowing anything about it.
miss rosetta had never forgiven her for it, and charlotte had never forgiven the things rosetta had said to her when she and jacob returned to the ellis cottage.
since then the sisters had been avowed and open foes, the only difference being that miss rosetta aired her grievances publicly, in season and out of season, while charlotte was never heard to mention rosetta's name.
even the death of jacob wheeler, five years after the marriage, had not healed the breach.
miss rosetta took out her curl-papers, packed her valise, and caught the late afternoon train for charlottetown, as she had threatened.
all the way there she sat rigidly upright in her seat and held imaginary dialogues with charlotte in her mind, running something like this on her part: -- "no, charlotte wheeler, you are not going to have jane's baby, and you're very much mistaken if you think so.
oh, all right -- we'll see!
you do n't know anything about babies, even if you are married.
i do.
did n't i take william ellis's baby, when his wife died?
tell me that, charlotte wheeler!
and did n't the little thing thrive with me, and grow strong and healthy?
yes, even you have to admit that it did, charlotte wheeler.
and yet you have the presumption to think that you ought to have jane's baby!
yes, it is presumption, charlotte wheeler.
and when william ellis got married again, and took the baby, did n't the child cling to me and cry as if i was its real mother?
you know it did, charlotte wheeler.
i'm going to get and keep jane's baby in spite of you, charlotte wheeler, and i'd like to see you try to prevent me -- you that went and got married and never so much as let your own sister know of it!
if i had got married in such a fashion, charlotte wheeler, i'd be ashamed to look anybody in the face for the rest of my natural life!"
miss rosetta was so interested in thus laying down the law to charlotte, and in planning out the future life of jane's baby, that she did n't find the journey to charlottetown so long or tedious as might have been expected, considering her haste.
she soon found her way to the house where her cousin lived.
there, to her dismay and real sorrow, she learned that mrs. roberts had died at four o'clock that afternoon.
""she seemed dreadful anxious to live until she heard from some of her folks out in avonlea," said the woman who gave miss rosetta the information.
""she had written to them about her little girl.
she was my sister-in-law, and she lived with me ever since her husband died.
i've done my best for her; but i've a big family of my own and i ca n't see how i'm to keep the child.
poor jane looked and longed for some one to come from avonlea, but she could n't hold out.
a patient, suffering creature she was!"
""i'm her cousin," said miss rosetta, wiping her eyes, "and i have come for the baby.
i'll take it home with me after the funeral; and, if you please, mrs. gordon, let me see it right away, so it can get accustomed to me.
poor jane!
i wish i could have got here in time to see her, she and i were such friends long ago.
we were far more intimate and confidential than ever her and charlotte was.
charlotte knows that, too!"
the vim with which miss rosetta snapped this out rather amazed mrs. gordon, who could n't understand it at all.
but she took miss rosetta upstairs to the room where the baby was sleeping.
""oh, the little darling," cried miss rosetta, all her old maidishness and oddity falling away from her like a garment, and all her innate and denied motherhood shining out in her face like a transforming illumination.
""oh, the sweet, dear, pretty little thing!"
the baby was a darling -- a six-months" old beauty with little golden ringlets curling and glistening all over its tiny head.
as miss rosetta hung over it, it opened its eyes and then held out its tiny hands to her with a gurgle of confidence.
""oh, you sweetest!"
said miss rosetta rapturously, gathering it up in her arms.
""you belong to me, darling -- never, never, to that under-handed charlotte!
what is its name, mrs. gordon?"
""it was n't named," said mrs. gordon.
""guess you'll have to name it yourself, miss ellis."
""camilla jane," said miss rosetta without a moment's hesitation.
""jane after its mother, of course; and i have always thought camilla the prettiest name in the world.
charlotte would be sure to give it some perfectly heathenish name.
i would n't put it past her calling the poor innocent mehitable."
miss rosetta decided to stay in charlottetown until after the funeral.
that night she lay with the baby on her arm, listening with joy to its soft little breathing.
she did not sleep or wish to sleep.
her waking fancies were more alluring than any visions of dreamland.
moreover, she gave a spice to them by occasionally snapping some vicious sentences out loud at charlotte.
miss rosetta fully expected charlotte along on the following morning and girded herself for the fray; but no charlotte appeared.
night came; no charlotte.
another morning and no charlotte.
miss rosetta was hopelessly puzzled.
what had happened?
dear, dear, had charlotte taken a bad heart spell, on hearing that she, rosetta, had stolen a march on her to charlottetown?
it was quite likely.
you never knew what to expect of a woman who had married jacob wheeler!
the truth was, that the very evening miss rosetta had left avonlea mrs. jacob wheeler's hired man had broken his leg and had had to be conveyed to his distant home on a feather bed in an express wagon.
mrs. wheeler could not leave home until she had obtained another hired man.
consequently, it was the evening after the funeral when mrs. wheeler whisked up the steps of the gordon house and met miss rosetta coming out with a big white bundle in her arms.
the eyes of the two women met defiantly.
miss rosetta's face wore an air of triumph, chastened by a remembrance of the funeral that afternoon.
mrs. wheeler's face, except for eyes, was as expressionless as it usually was.
unlike the tall, fair, fat miss rosetta, mrs. wheeler was small and dark and thin, with an eager, careworn face.
""how is jane?"
she said abruptly, breaking the silence of ten years in saying it.
""jane is dead and buried, poor thing," said miss rosetta calmly.
""i am taking her baby, little camilla jane, home with me."
""the baby belongs to me," cried mrs. wheeler passionately.
""jane wrote to me about her.
jane meant that i should have her.
i've come for her."
""you'll go back without her then," said miss rosetta, serene in the possession that is nine points of the law.
""the child is mine, and she is going to stay mine.
you can make up your mind to that, charlotte wheeler.
a woman who eloped to get married is n't fit to be trusted with a baby, anyhow.
jacob wheeler --" but mrs. wheeler had rushed past into the house.
miss rosetta composedly stepped into the cab and drove to the station.
she fairly bridled with triumph; and underneath the triumph ran a queer undercurrent of satisfaction over the fact that charlotte had spoken to her at last.
miss rosetta would not look at this satisfaction, or give it a name, but it was there.
miss rosetta arrived safely back in avonlea with camilla jane and within ten hours everybody in the settlement knew the whole story, and every woman who could stand on her feet had been up to the ellis cottage to see the baby.
mrs. wheeler arrived home twenty-four hours later, and silently betook herself to her farm.
when her avonlea neighbors sympathized with her in her disappointment, she said nothing, but looked all the more darkly determined.
also, a week later, mr. william j. blair, the carmody storekeeper, had an odd tale to tell.
mrs. wheeler had come to the store and bought a lot of fine flannel and muslin and valenciennes.
now, what in the name of time, did mrs. wheeler want with such stuff?
mr. william j. blair could n't make head or tail of it, and it worried him.
mr. blair was so accustomed to know what everybody bought anything for that such a mystery quite upset him.
miss rosetta had exulted in the possession of little camilla jane for a month, and had been so happy that she had almost given up inveighing against charlotte.
her conversations, instead of tending always to jacob wheeler, now ran camilla janeward; and this, folks thought, was an improvement.
one afternoon, miss rosetta, leaving camilla jane snugly sleeping in her cradle in the kitchen, had slipped down to the bottom of the garden to pick her currants.
the house was hidden from her sight by the copse of cherry trees, but she had left the kitchen window open, so that she could hear the baby if it awakened and cried.
miss rosetta sang happily as she picked her currants.
for the first time since charlotte had married jacob wheeler miss rosetta felt really happy -- so happy that at there was no room in her heart for bitterness.
in fancy she looked forward to the coming years, and saw camilla jane growing up into girlhood, fair and lovable.
""she'll be a beauty," reflected miss rosetta complacently.
""jane was a handsome girl.
she shall always be dressed as nice as i can manage it, and i'll get her an organ, and have her take painting and music lessons.
parties, too!
i'll give her a real coming-out party when she's eighteen and the very prettiest dress that's to be had.
dear me, i can hardly wait for her to grow up, though she's sweet enough now to make one wish she could stay a baby forever."
when miss rosetta returned to the kitchen, her eyes fell on an empty cradle.
camilla jane was gone!
miss rosetta promptly screamed.
she understood at a glance what had happened.
six months" old babies do not get out of their cradles and disappear through closed doors without any assistance.
""charlotte has been here," gasped miss rosetta.
""charlotte has stolen camilla jane!
i might have expected it.
i might have known when i heard that story about her buying muslin and flannel.
it's just like charlotte to do such an underhand trick.
but i'll go after her!
i'll show her!
she'll find out she has got rosetta ellis to deal with and no wheeler!"
like a frantic creature and wholly forgetting that her hair was in curl-papers, miss rosetta hurried up the hill and down the shore road to the wheeler farm -- a place she had never visited in her life before.
the wind was off-shore and only broke the bay's surface into long silvery ripples, and sent sheeny shadows flying out across it from every point and headland, like transparent wings.
the little gray house, so close to the purring waves that in storms their spray splashed over its very doorstep, seemed deserted.
miss rosetta pounded lustily on the front door.
this producing no result, she marched around to the back door and knocked.
no answer.
miss rosetta tried the door.
it was locked.
""guilty conscience," sniffed miss rosetta.
""well, i shall stay here until i see that perfidious charlotte, if i have to camp in the yard all night."
miss rosetta was quite capable of doing this, but she was spared the necessity; walking boldly up to the kitchen window, and peering through it, she felt her heart swell with anger as she beheld charlotte sitting calmly by the table with camilla jane on her knee.
beside her was a befrilled and bemuslined cradle, and on a chair lay the garments in which miss rosetta had dressed the baby.
it was clad in an entirely new outfit, and seemed quite at home with its new possessor.
it was laughing and cooing, and making little dabs at her with its dimpled hands.
""charlotte wheeler," cried miss rosetta, rapping sharply on the window-pane.
""i've come for that child!
bring her out to me at once -- at once, i say!
how dare you come to my house and steal a baby?
you're no better than a common burglar.
give me camilla jane, i say!"
charlotte came over to the window with the baby in her arms and triumph glittering in her eyes.
""there is no such child as camilla jane here," she said.
""this is barbara jane.
she belongs to me."
with that mrs. wheeler pulled down the shade.
miss rosetta had to go home.
there was nothing else for her to do.
on her way she met mr. patterson and told him in full the story of her wrongs.
it was all over avonlea by night, and created quite a sensation.
avonlea had not had such a toothsome bit of gossip for a long time.
mrs. wheeler exulted in the possession of barbara jane for six weeks, during which miss rosetta broke her heart with loneliness and longing, and meditated futile plots for the recovery of the baby.
it was hopeless to think of stealing it back or she would have tried to.
the hired man at the wheeler place reported that mrs. wheeler never left it night or day for a single moment.
she even carried it with her when she went to milk the cows.
""but my turn will come," said miss rosetta grimly.
""camilla jane is mine, and if she was called barbara for a century it would n't alter that fact!
barbara, indeed!
why not have called her methusaleh and have done with it?"
one afternoon in october, when miss rosetta was picking her apples and thinking drearily about lost camilla jane, a woman came running breathlessly down the hill and into the yard.
miss rosetta gave an exclamation of amazement and dropped her basket of apples.
of all incredible things!
the woman was charlotte -- charlotte who had never set foot on the grounds of the ellis cottage since her marriage ten years ago, charlotte, bare-headed, wild-eyed, distraught, wringing her hands and sobbing.
miss rosetta flew to meet her.
""you've scalded camilla jane to death!"
she exclaimed.
""i always knew you would -- always expected it!"
""oh, for heaven's sake, come quick, rosetta!"
gasped charlotte.
""barbara jane is in convulsions and i do n't know what to do.
the hired man has gone for the doctor.
you were the nearest, so i came to you.
jenny white was there when they came on, so i left her and ran.
oh, rosetta, come, come, if you have a spark of humanity in you!
you know what to do for convulsions -- you saved the ellis baby when it had them.
oh, come and save barbara jane!"
""you mean camilla jane, i presume?"
said miss rosetta firmly, in spite of her agitation.
for a second charlotte wheeler hesitated.
then she said passionately: "yes, yes, camilla jane -- any name you like!
only come."
miss rosetta went, and not a moment too soon, either.
the doctor lived eight miles away and the baby was very bad.
the two women and jenny white worked over her for hours.
it was not until dark, when the baby was sleeping soundly and the doctor had gone, after telling miss rosetta that she had saved the child's life, that a realization of the situation came home to them.
""well," said miss rosetta, dropping into an armchair with a long sigh of weariness, "i guess you'll admit now, charlotte wheeler, that you are hardly a fit person to have charge of a baby, even if you had to go and steal it from me.
i should think your conscience would reproach you -- that is, if any woman who would marry jacob wheeler in such an underhanded fashion has a --" "i -- i wanted the baby," sobbed charlotte, tremulously.
""i was so lonely here.
i did n't think it was any harm to take her, because jane gave her to me in her letter.
but you have saved her life, rosetta, and you -- you can have her back, although it will break my heart to give her up.
but, oh, rosetta, wo n't you let me come and see her sometimes?
i love her so i ca n't bear to give her up entirely."
""charlotte," said miss rosetta firmly, "the most sensible thing for you to do is just to come back with the baby.
you are worried to death trying to run this farm with the debt jacob wheeler left on it for you.
sell it, and come home with me.
and we'll both have the baby then."
""oh, rosetta, i'd love to," faltered charlotte.
""i've -- i've wanted to be good friends with you again so much.
but i thought you were so hard and bitter you'd never make up."
""maybe i've talked too much," conceded miss rosetta, "but you ought to know me well enough to know i did n't mean a word of it.
it was your never saying anything, no matter what i said, that riled me up so bad.
let bygones be bygones, and come home, charlotte."
""i will," said charlotte resolutely, wiping away her tears.
""i'm sick of living here and putting up with hired men.
i'll be real glad to go home, rosetta, and that's the truth.
i've had a hard enough time.
i s "pose you'll say i deserved it; but i was fond of jacob, and --" "of course, of course.
why should n't you be?"
said miss rosetta briskly.
""i'm sure jacob wheeler was a good enough soul, if he was a little slack-twisted.
i'd like to hear anybody say a word against him in my presence.
look at that blessed child, charlotte.
is n't she the sweetest thing?
i'm desperate glad you are coming back home, charlotte.
i've never been able to put up a decent mess of mustard pickles since you went away, and you were always such a hand with them!
we'll be real snug and cozy again -- you and me and little camilla barbara jane."
v.
the dream-child a man's heart -- aye, and a woman's, too -- should be light in the spring.
the spirit of resurrection is abroad, calling the life of the world out of its wintry grave, knocking with radiant fingers at the gates of its tomb.
it stirs in human hearts, and makes them glad with the old primal gladness they felt in childhood.
it quickens human souls, and brings them, if so they will, so close to god that they may clasp hands with him.
it is a time of wonder and renewed life, and a great outward and inward rapture, as of a young angel softly clapping his hands for creation's joy.
at least, so it should be; and so it always had been with me until the spring when the dream-child first came into our lives.
that year i hated the spring -- i, who had always loved it so.
as boy i had loved it, and as man.
all the happiness that had ever been mine, and it was much, had come to blossom in the springtime.
it was in the spring that josephine and i had first loved each other, or, at least, had first come into the full knowledge that we loved.
i think that we must have loved each other all our lives, and that each succeeding spring was a word in the revelation of that love, not to be understood until, in the fullness of time, the whole sentence was written out in that most beautiful of all beautiful springs.
how beautiful it was!
and how beautiful she was!
i suppose every lover thinks that of his lass; otherwise he is a poor sort of lover.
but it was not only my eyes of love that made my dear lovely.
she was slim and lithe as a young, white-stemmed birch tree; her hair was like a soft, dusky cloud; and her eyes were as blue as avonlea harbor on a fair twilight, when all the sky is abloom over it.
she had dark lashes, and a little red mouth that quivered when she was very sad or very happy, or when she loved very much -- quivered like a crimson rose too rudely shaken by the wind.
at such times what was a man to do save kiss it?
the next spring we were married, and i brought her home to my gray old homestead on the gray old harbor shore.
a lonely place for a young bride, said avonlea people.
nay, it was not so.
she was happy here, even in my absences.
she loved the great, restless harbor and the vast, misty sea beyond; she loved the tides, keeping their world-old tryst with the shore, and the gulls, and the croon of the waves, and the call of the winds in the fir woods at noon and even; she loved the moonrises and the sunsets, and the clear, calm nights when the stars seemed to have fallen into the water and to be a little dizzy from such a fall.
she loved these things, even as i did.
no, she was never lonely here then.
the third spring came, and our boy was born.
we thought we had been happy before; now we knew that we had only dreamed a pleasant dream of happiness, and had awakened to this exquisite reality.
we thought we had loved each other before; now, as i looked into my wife's pale face, blanched with its baptism of pain, and met the uplifted gaze of her blue eyes, aglow with the holy passion of motherhood, i knew we had only imagined what love might be.
the imagination had been sweet, as the thought of the rose is sweet before the bud is open; but as the rose to the thought, so was love to the imagination of it.
""all my thoughts are poetry since baby came," my wife said once, rapturously.
our boy lived for twenty months.
he was a sturdy, toddling rogue, so full of life and laughter and mischief that, when he died, one day, after the illness of an hour, it seemed a most absurd thing that he should be dead -- a thing i could have laughed at, until belief forced itself into my soul like a burning, searing iron.
i think i grieved over my little son's death as deeply and sincerely as ever man did, or could.
but the heart of the father is not as the heart of the mother.
time brought no healing to josephine; she fretted and pined; her cheeks lost their pretty oval, and her red mouth grew pale and drooping.
i hoped that spring might work its miracle upon her.
when the buds swelled, and the old earth grew green in the sun, and the gulls came back to the gray harbor, whose very grayness grew golden and mellow, i thought i should see her smile again.
but, when the spring came, came the dream-child, and the fear that was to be my companion, at bed and board, from sunsetting to sunsetting.
one night i awakened from sleep, realizing in the moment of awakening that i was alone.
i listened to hear whether my wife were moving about the house.
i heard nothing but the little splash of waves on the shore below and the low moan of the distant ocean.
i rose and searched the house.
she was not in it.
i did not know where to seek her; but, at a venture, i started along the shore.
it was pale, fainting moonlight.
the harbor looked like a phantom harbor, and the night was as still and cold and calm as the face of a dead man.
at last i saw my wife coming to me along the shore.
when i saw her, i knew what i had feared and how great my fear had been.
as she drew near, i saw that she had been crying; her face was stained with tears, and her dark hair hung loose over her shoulders in little, glossy ringlets like a child's.
she seemed to be very tired, and at intervals she wrung her small hands together.
she showed no surprise when she met me, but only held out her hands to me as if glad to see me.
""i followed him -- but i could not overtake him," she said with a sob.
""i did my best -- i hurried so; but he was always a little way ahead.
and then i lost him -- and so i came back.
but i did my best -- indeed i did.
and oh, i am so tired!"
""josie, dearest, what do you mean, and where have you been?"
i said, drawing her close to me.
""why did you go out so -- alone in the night?"
she looked at me wonderingly.
""how could i help it, david?
he called me.
i had to go."
""who called you?"
""the child," she answered in a whisper.
""our child, david -- our pretty boy.
i awakened in the darkness and heard him calling to me down on the shore.
such a sad, little wailing cry, david, as if he were cold and lonely and wanted his mother.
i hurried out to him, but i could not find him.
i could only hear the call, and i followed it on and on, far down the shore.
oh, i tried so hard to overtake it, but i could not.
once i saw a little white hand beckoning to me far ahead in the moonlight.
but still i could not go fast enough.
and then the cry ceased, and i was there all alone on that terrible, cold, gray shore.
i was so tired and i came home.
but i wish i could have found him.
perhaps he does not know that i tried to.
perhaps he thinks his mother never listened to his call.
oh, i would not have him think that."
""you have had a bad dream, dear," i said.
i tried to say it naturally; but it is hard for a man to speak naturally when he feels a mortal dread striking into his very vitals with its deadly chill.
""it was no dream," she answered reproachfully.
""i tell you i heard him calling me -- me, his mother.
what could i do but go to him?
you can not understand -- you are only his father.
it was not you who gave him birth.
it was not you who paid the price of his dear life in pain.
he would not call to you -- he wanted his mother."
i got her back to the house and to her bed, whither she went obediently enough, and soon fell into the sleep of exhaustion.
but there was no more sleep for me that night.
i kept a grim vigil with dread.
when i had married josephine, one of those officious relatives that are apt to buzz about a man's marriage told me that her grandmother had been insane all the latter part of her life.
she had grieved over the death of a favorite child until she lost her mind, and, as the first indication of it, she had sought by nights a white dream-child which always called her, so she said, and led her afar with a little, pale, beckoning hand.
i had smiled at the story then.
what had that grim old bygone to do with springtime and love and josephine?
but it came back to me now, hand in hand with my fear.
was this fate coming on my dear wife?
it was too horrible for belief.
she was so young, so fair, so sweet, this girl-wife of mine.
it had been only a bad dream, with a frightened, bewildered waking.
so i tried to comfort myself.
when she awakened in the morning she did not speak of what had happened and i did not dare to.
she seemed more cheerful that day than she had been, and went about her household duties briskly and skillfully.
my fear lifted.
i was sure now that she had only dreamed.
and i was confirmed in my hopeful belief when two nights had passed away uneventfully.
then, on the third night, he dream-child called to her again.
i wakened from a troubled doze to find her dressing herself with feverish haste.
""he is calling me," she cried.
""oh, do n't you hear him?
ca n't you hear him?
listen -- listen -- the little, lonely cry!
yes, yes, my precious, mother is coming.
wait for me.
mother is coming to her pretty boy!"
i caught her hand and let her lead me where she would.
hand in hand we followed the dream-child down the harbor shore in that ghostly, clouded moonlight.
ever, she said, the little cry sounded before her.
she entreated the dream-child to wait for her; she cried and implored and uttered tender mother-talk.
but, at last, she ceased to hear the cry; and then, weeping, wearied, she let me lead her home again.
what a horror brooded over that spring -- that so beautiful spring!
it was a time of wonder and marvel; of the soft touch of silver rain on greening fields; of the incredible delicacy of young leaves; of blossom on the land and blossom in the sunset.
the whole world bloomed in a flush and tremor of maiden loveliness, instinct with all the evasive, fleeting charm of spring and girlhood and young morning.
and almost every night of this wonderful time the dream-child called his mother, and we roved the gray shore in quest of him.
in the day she was herself; but, when the night fell, she was restless and uneasy until she heard the call.
then follow it she would, even through storm and darkness.
it was then, she said, that the cry sounded loudest and nearest, as if her pretty boy were frightened by the tempest.
what wild, terrible rovings we had, she straining forward, eager to overtake the dream-child; i, sick at heart, following, guiding, protecting, as best i could; then afterwards leading her gently home, heart-broken because she could not reach the child.
i bore my burden in secret, determining that gossip should not busy itself with my wife's condition so long as i could keep it from becoming known.
we had no near relatives -- none with any right to share any trouble -- and whoso accepteth human love must bind it to his soul with pain.
i thought, however, that i should have medical advice, and i took our old doctor into my confidence.
he looked grave when he heard my story.
i did not like his expression nor his few guarded remarks.
he said he thought human aid would avail little; she might come all right in time; humor her, as far as possible, watch over her, protect her.
he needed not to tell me that.
the spring went out and summer came in -- and the horror deepened and darkened.
i knew that suspicions were being whispered from lip to lip.
we had been seen on our nightly quests.
men and women began to look at us pityingly when we went abroad.
one day, on a dull, drowsy afternoon, the dream-child called.
i knew then that the end was near; the end had been near in the old grandmother's case sixty years before when the dream-child called in the day.
the doctor looked graver than ever when i told him, and said that the time had come when i must have help in my task.
i could not watch by day and night.
unless i had assistance i would break down.
i did not think that i should.
love is stronger than that.
and on one thing i was determined -- they should never take my wife from me.
no restraint sterner than a husband's loving hand should ever be put upon her, my pretty, piteous darling.
i never spoke of the dream-child to her.
the doctor advised against it.
it would, he said, only serve to deepen the delusion.
when he hinted at an asylum i gave him a look that would have been a fierce word for another man.
he never spoke of it again.
one night in august there was a dull, murky sunset after a dead, breathless day of heat, with not a wind stirring.
the sea was not blue as a sea should be, but pink -- all pink -- a ghastly, staring, painted pink.
i lingered on the harbor shore below the house until dark.
the evening bells were ringing faintly and mournfully in a church across the harbor.
behind me, in the kitchen, i heard my wife singing.
sometimes now her spirits were fitfully high, and then she would sing the old songs of her girlhood.
but even in her singing was something strange, as if a wailing, unearthly cry rang through it.
nothing about her was sadder than that strange singing.
when i went back to the house the rain was beginning to fall; but there was no wind or sound in the air -- only that dismal stillness, as if the world were holding its breath in expectation of a calamity.
josie was standing by the window, looking out and listening.
i tried to induce her to go to bed, but she only shook her head.
""i might fall asleep and not hear him when he called," she said.
""i am always afraid to sleep now, for fear he should call and his mother fail to hear him."
knowing it was of no use to entreat, i sat down by the table and tried to read.
three hours passed on.
when the clock struck midnight she started up, with the wild light in her sunken blue eyes.
""he is calling," she cried, "calling out there in the storm.
yes, yes, sweet, i am coming!"
she opened the door and fled down the path to the shore.
i snatched a lantern from the wall, lighted it, and followed.
it was the blackest night i was ever out in, dark with the very darkness of death.
the rain fell thickly and heavily.
i overtook josie, caught her hand, and stumbled along in her wake, for she went with the speed and recklessness of a distraught woman.
we moved in the little flitting circle of light shed by the lantern.
all around us and above us was a horrible, voiceless darkness, held, as it were, at bay by the friendly light.
""if i could only overtake him once," moaned josie.
""if i could just kiss him once, and hold him close against my aching heart.
this pain, that never leaves me, would leave me than.
oh, my pretty boy, wait for mother!
i am coming to you.
listen, david; he cries -- he cries so pitifully; listen!
ca n't you hear it?"
i did hear it!
clear and distinct, out of the deadly still darkness before us, came a faint, wailing cry.
what was it?
was i, too, going mad, or was there something out there -- something that cried and moaned -- longing for human love, yet ever retreating from human footsteps?
i am not a superstitious man; but my nerve had been shaken by my long trial, and i was weaker than i thought.
terror took possession of me -- terror unnameable.
i trembled in every limb; clammy perspiration oozed from my forehead; i was possessed by a wild impulse to turn and flee -- anywhere, away from that unearthly cry.
but josephine's cold hand gripped mine firmly, and led me on.
that strange cry still rang in my ears.
but it did not recede; it sounded clearer and stronger; it was a wail; but a loud, insistent wail; it was nearer -- nearer; it was in the darkness just beyond us.
then we came to it; a little dory had been beached on the pebbles and left there by the receding tide.
there was a child in it -- a boy, of perhaps two years old, who crouched in the bottom of the dory in water to his waist, his big, blue eyes wild and wide with terror, his face white and tear-stained.
he wailed again when he saw us, and held out his little hands.
my horror fell away from me like a discarded garment.
this child was living.
how he had come there, whence and why, i did not know and, in my state of mind, did not question.
it was no cry of parted spirit i had heard -- that was enough for me.
""oh, the poor darling!"
cried my wife.
she stooped over the dory and lifted the baby in her arms.
his long, fair curls fell on her shoulder; she laid her face against his and wrapped her shawl around him.
""let me carry him, dear," i said.
""he is very wet, and too heavy for you."
""no, no, i must carry him.
my arms have been so empty -- they are full now.
oh, david, the pain at my heart has gone.
he has come to me to take the place of my own.
god has sent him to me out of the sea.
he is wet and cold and tired.
hush, sweet one, we will go home."
silently i followed her home.
the wind was rising, coming in sudden, angry gusts; the storm was at hand, but we reached shelter before it broke.
just as i shut our door behind us it smote the house with the roar of a baffled beast.
i thanked god that we were not out in it, following the dream-child.
""you are very wet, josie," i said.
""go and put on dry clothes at once."
""the child must be looked to first," she said firmly.
""see how chilled and exhausted he is, the pretty dear.
light a fire quickly, david, while i get dry things for him."
i let her have her way.
she brought out the clothes our own child had worn and dressed the waif in them, rubbing his chilled limbs, brushing his wet hair, laughing over him, mothering him.
she seemed like her old self.
for my own part, i was bewildered.
all the questions i had not asked before came crowding to my mind how.
whose child was this?
whence had he come?
what was the meaning of it all?
he was a pretty baby, fair and plump and rosy.
when he was dried and fed, he fell asleep in josie's arms.
she hung over him in a passion of delight.
it was with difficulty i persuaded her to leave him long enough to change her wet clothes.
she never asked whose he might be or from where he might have come.
he had been sent to her from the sea; the dream-child had led her to him; that was what she believed, and i dared not throw any doubt on that belief.
she slept that night with the baby on her arm, and in her sleep her face was the face of a girl in her youth, untroubled and unworn.
i expected that the morrow would bring some one seeking the baby.
i had come to the conclusion that he must belong to the "cove" across the harbor, where the fishing hamlet was; and all day, while josie laughed and played with him, i waited and listened for the footsteps of those who would come seeking him.
but they did not come.
day after day passed, and still they did not come.
i was in a maze of perplexity.
what should i do?
i shrank from the thought of the boy being taken away from us.
since we had found him the dream-child had never called.
my wife seemed to have turned back from the dark borderland, where her feet had strayed to walk again with me in our own homely paths.
day and night she was her old, bright self, happy and serene in the new motherhood that had come to her.
the only thing strange in her was her calm acceptance of the event.
she never wondered who or whose the child might be -- never seemed to fear that he would be taken from her; and she gave him our dream-child's name.
at last, when a full week had passed, i went, in my bewilderment, to our old doctor.
""a most extraordinary thing," he said thoughtfully.
""the child, as you say, must belong to the spruce cove people.
yet it is an almost unbelievable thing that there has been no search or inquiry after him.
probably there is some simple explanation of the mystery, however.
i advise you to go over to the cove and inquire.
when you find the parents or guardians of the child, ask them to allow you to keep it for a time.
it may prove your wife's salvation.
i have known such cases.
evidently on that night the crisis of her mental disorder was reached.
a little thing might have sufficed to turn her feet either way -- back to reason and sanity, or into deeper darkness.
it is my belief that the former has occurred, and that, if she is left in undisturbed possession of this child for a time, she will recover completely."
i drove around the harbor that day with a lighter heart than i had hoped ever to possess again.
when i reached spruce cove the first person i met was old abel blair.
i asked him if any child were missing from the cove or along shore.
he looked at me in surprise, shook his head, and said he had not heard of any.
i told him as much of the tale as was necessary, leaving him to think that my wife and i had found the dory and its small passenger during an ordinary walk along the shore.
""a green dory!"
he exclaimed.
""ben forbes" old green dory has been missing for a week, but it was so rotten and leaky he did n't bother looking for it.
but this child, sir -- it beats me.
what might he be like?"
i described the child as closely as possible.
""that fits little harry martin to a hair," said old abel, perplexedly, "but, sir, it ca n't be.
or, if it is, there's been foul work somewhere.
james martin's wife died last winter, sir, and he died the next month.
they left a baby and not much else.
there were n't nobody to take the child but jim's half-sister, maggie fleming.
she lived here at the cove, and, i'm sorry to say, sir, she had n't too good a name.
she did n't want to be bothered with the baby, and folks say she neglected him scandalous.
well, last spring she begun talking of going away to the states.
she said a friend of hers had got her a good place in boston, and she was going to go and take little harry.
we supposed it was all right.
last saturday she went, sir.
she was going to walk to the station, and the last seen of her she was trudging along the road, carrying the baby.
it has n't been thought of since.
but, sir, d'ye suppose she set that innocent child adrift in that old leaky dory to send him to his death?
i knew maggie was no better than she should be, but i ca n't believe she was as bad as that."
""you must come over with me and see if you can identify the child," i said.
""if he is harry martin i shall keep him.
my wife has been very lonely since our baby died, and she has taken a fancy to this little chap."
when we reached my home old abel recognized the child as harry martin.
he is with us still.
his baby hands led my dear wife back to health and happiness.
other children have come to us, she loves them all dearly; but the boy who bears her dead son's name is to her -- aye, and to me -- as dear as if she had given him birth.
he came from the sea, and at his coming the ghostly dream-child fled, nevermore to lure my wife away from me with its exciting cry.
therefore i look upon him and love him as my first-born.
vi.
the brother who failed the monroe family were holding a christmas reunion at the old prince edward island homestead at white sands.
it was the first time they had all been together under one roof since the death of their mother, thirty years before.
the idea of this christmas reunion had originated with edith monroe the preceding spring, during her tedious convalescence from a bad attack of pneumonia among strangers in an american city, where she had not been able to fill her concert engagements, and had more spare time in which to feel the tug of old ties and the homesick longing for her own people than she had had for years.
as a result, when she recovered, she wrote to her second brother, james monroe, who lived on the homestead; and the consequence was this gathering of the monroes under the old roof-tree.
ralph monroe for once laid aside the cares of his railroads, and the deceitfulness of his millions, in toronto and took the long-promised, long-deferred trip to the homeland.
malcolm monroe journeyed from the far western university of which he was president.
edith came, flushed with the triumph of her latest and most successful concert tour.
mrs. woodburn, who had been margaret monroe, came from the nova scotia town where she lived a busy, happy life as the wife of a rising young lawyer.
james, prosperous and hearty, greeted them warmly at the old homestead whose fertile acres had well repaid his skillful management.
they were a merry party, casting aside their cares and years, and harking back to joyous boyhood and girlhood once more.
james had a family of rosy lads and lasses; margaret brought her two blue-eyed little girls; ralph's dark, clever-looking son accompanied him, and malcolm brought his, a young man with a resolute face, in which there was less of boyishness than in his father's, and the eyes of a keen, perhaps a hard bargainer.
the two cousins were the same age to a day, and it was a family joke among the monroes that the stork must have mixed the babies, since ralph's son was like malcolm in face and brain, while malcolm's boy was a second edition of his uncle ralph.
to crown all, aunt isabel came, too -- a talkative, clever, shrewd old lady, as young at eighty-five as she had been at thirty, thinking the monroe stock the best in the world, and beamingly proud of her nephews and nieces, who had gone out from this humble, little farm to destinies of such brilliance and influence in the world beyond.
i have forgotten robert.
robert monroe was apt to be forgotten.
although he was the oldest of the family, white sands people, in naming over the various members of the monroe family, would add, "and robert," in a tone of surprise over the remembrance of his existence.
he lived on a poor, sandy little farm down by the shore, but he had come up to james" place on the evening when the guests arrived; they had all greeted him warmly and joyously, and then did not think about him again in their laughter and conversation.
robert sat back in a corner and listened with a smile, but he never spoke.
afterwards he had slipped noiselessly away and gone home, and nobody noticed his going.
they were all gayly busy recalling what had happened in the old times and telling what had happened in the new.
edith recounted the successes of her concert tours; malcolm expatiated proudly on his plans for developing his beloved college; ralph described the country through which his new railroad ran, and the difficulties he had had to overcome in connection with it.
james, aside, discussed his orchard and his crops with margaret, who had not been long enough away from the farm to lose touch with its interests.
aunt isabel knitted and smiled complacently on all, talking now with one, now with the other, secretly quite proud of herself that she, an old woman of eighty-five, who had seldom been out of white sands in her life, could discuss high finance with ralph, and higher education with malcolm, and hold her own with james in an argument on drainage.
the white sands school teacher, an arch-eyed, red-mouthed bit a girl -- a bell from avonlea -- who boarded with the james monroes, amused herself with the boys.
all were enjoying themselves hugely, so it is not to be wondered at that they did not miss robert, who had gone home early because his old housekeeper was nervous if left alone at night.
he came again the next afternoon.
from james, in the barnyard, he learned that malcolm and ralph had driven to the harbor, that margaret and mrs. james had gone to call on friends in avonlea, and that edith was walking somewhere in the woods on the hill.
there was nobody in the house except aunt isabel and the teacher.
""you'd better wait and stay the evening," said james, indifferently.
""they'll all be back soon."
robert went across the yard and sat down on the rustic bench in the angle of the front porch.
it was a fine december evening, as mild as autumn; there had been no snow, and the long fields, sloping down from the homestead, were brown and mellow.
a weird, dreamy stillness had fallen upon the purple earth, the windless woods, the rain of the valleys, the sere meadows.
nature seemed to have folded satisfied hands to rest, knowing that her long, wintry slumber was coming upon her.
out to sea, a dull, red sunset faded out into somber clouds, and the ceaseless voice of many waters came up from the tawny shore.
robert rested his chin on his hand and looked across the vales and hills, where the feathery gray of leafless hardwoods was mingled with the sturdy, unfailing green of the conebearers.
he was a tall, bent man, with thin, gray hair, a lined face, and deeply-set, gentle brown eyes -- the eyes of one who, looking through pain, sees rapture beyond.
he felt very happy.
he loved his family clannishly, and he was rejoiced that they were all again near to him.
he was proud of their success and fame.
he was glad that james had prospered so well of late years.
there was no canker of envy or discontent in his soul.
he heard absently indistinct voices at the open hall window above the porch, where aunt isabel was talking to kathleen bell.
presently aunt isabel moved nearer to the window, and her words came down to robert with startling clearness.
""yes, i can assure you, miss bell, that i'm real proud of my nephews and nieces.
they're a smart family.
they've almost all done well, and they had n't any of them much to begin with.
ralph had absolutely nothing and to-day he is a millionaire.
their father met with so many losses, what with his ill-health and the bank failing, that he could n't help them any.
but they've all succeeded, except poor robert -- and i must admit that he's a total failure."
""oh, no, no," said the little teacher deprecatingly.
""a total failure!"
aunt isabel repeated her words emphatically.
she was not going to be contradicted by anybody, least of all a bell from avonlea.
""he has been a failure since the time he was born.
he is the first monroe to disgrace the old stock that way.
i'm sure his brothers and sisters must be dreadfully ashamed of him.
he has lived sixty years and he has n't done a thing worth while.
he ca n't even make his farm pay.
if he's kept out of debt it's as much as he's ever managed to do."
""some men ca n't even do that," murmured the little school teacher.
she was really so much in awe of this imperious, clever old aunt isabel that it was positive heroism on her part to venture even this faint protest.
""more is expected of a monroe," said aunt isabel majestically.
""robert monroe is a failure, and that is the only name for him."
robert monroe stood up below the window in a dizzy, uncertain fashion.
aunt isabel had been speaking of him!
he, robert, was a failure, a disgrace to his blood, of whom his nearest and dearest were ashamed!
yes, it was true; he had never realized it before; he had known that he could never win power or accumulate riches, but he had not thought that mattered much.
now, through aunt isabel's scornful eyes, he saw himself as the world saw him -- as his brothers and sisters must see him.
there lay the sting.
what the world thought of him did not matter; but that his own should think him a failure and disgrace was agony.
he moaned as he started to walk across the yard, only anxious to hide his pain and shame away from all human sight, and in his eyes was the look of a gentle animal which had been stricken by a cruel and unexpected blow.
edith monroe, who, unaware of robert's proximity, had been standing on the other side of the porch, saw that look, as he hurried past her, unseeing.
a moment before her dark eyes had been flashing with anger at aunt isabel's words; now the anger was drowned in a sudden rush of tears.
she took a quick step after robert, but checked the impulse.
not then -- and not by her alone -- could that deadly hurt be healed.
nay, more, robert must never suspect that she knew of any hurt.
she stood and watched him through her tears as he went away across the low-lying shore fields to hide his broken heart under his own humble roof.
she yearned to hurry after him and comfort him, but she knew that comfort was not what robert needed now.
justice, and justice only, could pluck out the sting, which otherwise must rankle to the death.
ralph and malcolm were driving into the yard.
edith went over to them.
""boys," she said resolutely, "i want to have a talk with you."
the christmas dinner at the old homestead was a merry one.
mrs. james spread a feast that was fit for the halls of lucullus.
laughter, jest, and repartee flew from lip to lip.
nobody appeared to notice that robert ate little, said nothing, and sat with his form shrinking in his shabby "best" suit, his gray head bent even lower than usual, as if desirous of avoiding all observation.
when the others spoke to him he answered deprecatingly, and shrank still further into himself.
finally all had eaten all they could, and the remainder of the plum pudding was carried out.
robert gave a low sigh of relief.
it was almost over.
soon he would be able to escape and hide himself and his shame away from the mirthful eyes of these men and women who had earned the right to laugh at the world in which their success gave them power and influence.
he -- he -- only -- was a failure.
he wondered impatiently why mrs. james did not rise.
mrs. james merely leaned comfortably back in her chair, with the righteous expression of one who has done her duty by her fellow creatures" palates, and looked at malcolm.
malcolm rose in his place.
silence fell on the company; everybody looked suddenly alert and expectant, except robert.
he still sat with bowed head, wrapped in his own bitterness.
""i have been told that i must lead off," said malcolm, "because i am supposed to possess the gift of gab.
but, if i do, i am not going to use it for any rhetorical effect to-day.
simple, earnest words must express the deepest feelings of the heart in doing justice to its own.
brothers and sisters, we meet to-day under our own roof-tree, surrounded by the benedictions of the past years.
perhaps invisible guests are here -- the spirits of those who founded this home and whose work on earth has long been finished.
it is not amiss to hope that this is so and our family circle made indeed complete.
to each one of us who are here in visible bodily presence some measure of success has fallen; but only one of us has been supremely successful in the only things that really count -- the things that count for eternity as well as time -- sympathy and unselfishness and self-sacrifice.
""i shall tell you my own story for the benefit of those who have not heard it.
when i was a lad of sixteen i started to work out my own education.
some of you will remember that old mr. blair of avonlea offered me a place in his store for the summer, at wages which would go far towards paying my expenses at the country academy the next winter.
i went to work, eager and hopeful.
all summer i tried to do my faithful best for my employer.
in september the blow fell.
a sum of money was missing from mr. blair's till.
i was suspected and discharged in disgrace.
all my neighbors believed me guilty; even some of my own family looked upon me with suspicion -- nor could i blame them, for the circumstantial evidence was strongly against me."
ralph and james looked ashamed; edith and margaret, who had not been born at the time referred to, lifted their faces innocently.
robert did not move or glance up.
he hardly seemed to be listening.
""i was crushed in an agony of shame and despair," continued malcolm.
""i believed my career was ruined.
i was bent on casting all my ambitions behind me, and going west to some place where nobody knew me or my disgrace.
but there was one person who believed in my innocence, who said to me, "you shall not give up -- you shall not behave as if you were guilty.
you are innocent, and in time your innocence will be proved.
meanwhile show yourself a man.
you have nearly enough to pay your way next winter at the academy.
i have a little i can give to help you out.
do n't give in -- never give in when you have done no wrong."
""i listened and took his advice.
i went to the academy.
my story was there as soon as i was, and i found myself sneered at and shunned.
many a time i would have given up in despair, had it not been for the encouragement of my counselor.
he furnished the backbone for me.
i was determined that his belief in me should be justified.
i studied hard and came out at the head of my class.
then there seemed to be no chance of my earning any more money that summer.
but a farmer at newbridge, who cared nothing about the character of his help, if he could get the work out of them, offered to hire me.
the prospect was distasteful but, urged by the man who believed in me, i took the place and endured the hardships.
another winter of lonely work passed at the academy.
i won the farrell scholarship the last year it was offered, and that meant an arts course for me.
i went to redmond college.
my story was not openly known there, but something of it got abroad, enough to taint my life there also with its suspicion.
but the year i graduated, mr. blair's nephew, who, as you know, was the real culprit, confessed his guilt, and i was cleared before the world.
since then my career has been what is called a brilliant one.
but" -- malcolm turned and laid his hand on robert's thin shoulder -- "all of my success i owe to my brother robert.
it is his success -- not mine -- and here to-day, since we have agreed to say what is too often left to be said over a coffin lid, i thank him for all he did for me, and tell him that there is nothing i am more proud of and thankful for than such a brother."
robert had looked up at last, amazed, bewildered, incredulous.
his face crimsoned as malcolm sat down.
but now ralph was getting up.
""i am no orator as malcolm is," he quoted gayly, "but i've got a story to tell, too, which only one of you knows.
forty years ago, when i started in life as a business man, money was n't so plentiful with me as it may be to-day.
and i needed it badly.
a chance came my way to make a pile of it.
it was n't a clean chance.
it was a dirty chance.
it looked square on the surface; but, underneath, it meant trickery and roguery.
i had n't enough perception to see that, though -- i was fool enough to think it was all right.
i told robert what i meant to do.
and robert saw clear through the outward sham to the real, hideous thing underneath.
he showed me what it meant and he gave me a preachment about a few monroe traditions of truth and honor.
i saw what i had been about to do as he saw it -- as all good men and true must see it.
and i vowed then and there that i'd never go into anything that i was n't sure was fair and square and clean through and through.
i've kept that vow.
i am a rich man, and not a dollar of my money is "tainted" money.
but i did n't make it.
robert really made every cent of my money.
if it had n't been for him i'd have been a poor man to-day, or behind prison bars, as are the other men who went into that deal when i backed out.
i've got a son here.
i hope he'll be as clever as his uncle malcolm; but i hope, still more earnestly, that he'll be as good and honorable a man as his uncle robert."
by this time robert's head was bent again, and his face buried in his hands.
""my turn next," said james.
""i have n't much to say -- only this.
after mother died i took typhoid fever.
here i was with no one to wait on me.
robert came and nursed me.
he was the most faithful, tender, gentle nurse ever a man had.
the doctor said robert saved my life.
i do n't suppose any of the rest of us here can say we have saved a life."
edith wiped away her tears and sprang up impulsively.
""years ago," she said, "there was a poor, ambitious girl who had a voice.
she wanted a musical education and her only apparent chance of obtaining it was to get a teacher's certificate and earn money enough to have her voice trained.
she studied hard, but her brains, in mathematics at least, were n't as good as her voice, and the time was short.
she failed.
she was lost in disappointment and despair, for that was the last year in which it was possible to obtain a teacher's certificate without attending queen's academy, and she could not afford that.
then her oldest brother came to her and told her he could spare enough money to send her to the conservatory of music in halifax for a year.
he made her take it.
she never knew till long afterwards that he had sold the beautiful horse which he loved like a human creature, to get the money.
she went to the halifax conservatory.
she won a musical scholarship.
she has had a happy life and a successful career.
and she owes it all to her brother robert --" but edith could go no further.
her voice failed her and she sat down in tears.
margaret did not try to stand up.
""i was only five when my mother died," she sobbed.
""robert was both father and mother to me.
never had child or girl so wise and loving a guardian as he was to me.
i have never forgotten the lessons he taught me.
whatever there is of good in my life or character i owe to him.
i was often headstrong and willful, but he never lost patience with me.
i owe everything to robert."
suddenly the little teacher rose with wet eyes and crimson cheeks.
""i have something to say, too," she said resolutely.
""you have spoken for yourselves.
i speak for the people of white sands.
there is a man in this settlement whom everybody loves.
i shall tell you some of the things he has done."
""last fall, in an october storm, the harbor lighthouse flew a flag of distress.
only one man was brave enough to face the danger of sailing to the lighthouse to find out what the trouble was.
that was robert monroe.
he found the keeper alone with a broken leg; and he sailed back and made -- yes, made the unwilling and terrified doctor go with him to the lighthouse.
i saw him when he told the doctor he must go; and i tell you that no man living could have set his will against robert monroe's at that moment.
""four years ago old sarah cooper was to be taken to the poorhouse.
she was broken-hearted.
one man took the poor, bed-ridden, fretful old creature into his home, paid for medical attendance, and waited on her himself, when his housekeeper could n't endure her tantrums and temper.
sarah cooper died two years afterwards, and her latest breath was a benediction on robert monroe -- the best man god ever made.
""eight years ago jack blewitt wanted a place.
nobody would hire him, because his father was in the penitentiary, and some people thought jack ought to be there, too.
robert monroe hired him -- and helped him, and kept him straight, and got him started right -- and jack blewitt is a hard-working, respected young man to-day, with every prospect of a useful and honorable life.
there is hardly a man, woman, or child in white sands who does n't owe something to robert monroe!"
as kathleen bell sat down, malcolm sprang up and held out his hands.
""every one of us stand up and sing auld lang syne," he cried.
everybody stood up and joined hands, but one did not sing.
robert monroe stood erect, with a great radiance on his face and in his eyes.
his reproach had been taken away; he was crowned among his kindred with the beauty and blessing of sacred yesterdays.
when the singing ceased malcolm's stern-faced son reached over and shook robert's hands.
""uncle rob," he said heartily, "i hope that when i'm sixty i'll be as successful a man as you."
""i guess," said aunt isabel, aside to the little school teacher, as she wiped the tears from her keen old eyes, "that there's a kind of failure that's the best success."
vii.
the return of hester just at dusk, that evening, i had gone upstairs and put on my muslin gown.
i had been busy all day attending to the strawberry preserving -- for mary sloane could not be trusted with that -- and i was a little tired, and thought it was hardly worth while to change my dress, especially since there was nobody to see or care, since hester was gone.
mary sloane did not count.
but i did it because hester would have cared if she had been here.
she always liked to see me neat and dainty.
so, although i was tired and sick at heart, i put on my pale blue muslin and dressed my hair.
at first i did my hair up in a way i had always liked; but had seldom worn, because hester had disapproved of it.
it became me; but i suddenly felt as if it were disloyal to her, so i took the puffs down again and arranged my hair in the plain, old-fashioned way she had liked.
my hair, though it had a good many gray threads in it, was thick and long and brown still; but that did not matter -- nothing mattered since hester was dead and i had sent hugh blair away for the second time.
the newbridge people all wondered why i had not put on mourning for hester.
i did not tell them it was because hester had asked me not to.
hester had never approved of mourning; she said that if the heart did not mourn crape would not mend matters; and if it did there was no need of the external trappings of woe.
she told me calmly, the night before she died, to go on wearing my pretty dresses just as i had always worn them, and to make no difference in my outward life because of her going.
""i know there will be a difference in your inward life," she said wistfully.
and oh, there was!
but sometimes i wondered uneasily, feeling almost conscience-stricken, whether it were wholly because hester had left me -- whether it were no partly because, for a second time, i had shut the door of my heart in the face of love at her bidding.
when i had dressed i went downstairs to the front door, and sat on the sandstone steps under the arch of the virginia creeper.
i was all alone, for mary sloane had gone to avonlea.
it was a beautiful night; the full moon was just rising over the wooded hills, and her light fell through the poplars into the garden before me.
through an open corner on the western side i saw the sky all silvery blue in the afterlight.
the garden was very beautiful just then, for it was the time of the roses, and ours were all out -- so many of them -- great pink, and red, and white, and yellow roses.
hester had loved roses and could never have enough of them.
her favorite bush was growing by the steps, all gloried over with blossoms -- white, with pale pink hearts.
i gathered a cluster and pinned it loosely on my breast.
but my eyes filled as i did so -- i felt so very, very desolate.
i was all alone, and it was bitter.
the roses, much as i loved them, could not give me sufficient companionship.
i wanted the clasp of a human hand, and the love-light in human eyes.
and then i fell to thinking of hugh, though i tried not to.
i had always lived alone with hester.
i did not remember our parents, who had died in my babyhood.
hester was fifteen years older than i, and she had always seemed more like a mother than a sister.
she had been very good to me and had never denied me anything i wanted, save the one thing that mattered.
i was twenty-five before i ever had a lover.
this was not, i think, because i was more unattractive than other women.
the merediths had always been the "big" family of newbridge.
the rest of the people looked up to us, because we were the granddaughters of old squire meredith.
the newbridge young men would have thought it no use to try to woo a meredith.
i had not a great deal of family pride, as perhaps i should be ashamed to confess.
i found our exalted position very lonely, and cared more for the simple joys of friendship and companionship which other girls had.
but hester possessed it in a double measure; she never allowed me to associate on a level of equality with the young people of newbridge.
we must be very nice and kind and affable to them -- noblesse oblige, as it were -- but we must never forget that we were merediths.
when i was twenty-five, hugh blair came to newbridge, having bought a farm near the village.
he was a stranger, from lower carmody, and so was not imbued with any preconceptions of meredith superiority.
in his eyes i was just a girl like others -- a girl to be wooed and won by any man of clean life and honest heart.
i met him at a little sunday-school picnic over at avonlea, which i attended because of my class.
i thought him very handsome and manly.
he talked to me a great deal, and at last he drove me home.
the next sunday evening he walked up from church with me.
hester was away, or, of course, this would never have happened.
she had gone for a month's visit to distant friends.
in that month i lived a lifetime.
hugh blair courted me as the other girls in newbridge were courted.
he took me out driving and came to see me in the evenings, which we spent for the most part in the garden.
i did not like the stately gloom and formality of our old meredith parlor, and hugh never seemed to feel at ease there.
his broad shoulders and hearty laughter were oddly out of place among our faded, old-maidish furnishings.
mary sloane was very much pleased at hugh's visit.
she had always resented the fact that i had never had a "beau," seeming to think it reflected some slight or disparagement upon me.
she did all she could to encourage him.
but when hester returned and found out about hugh she was very angry -- and grieved, which hurt me far more.
she told me that i had forgotten myself and that hugh's visits must cease.
i had never been afraid of hester before, but i was afraid of her then.
i yielded.
perhaps it was very weak of me, but then i was always weak.
i think that was why hugh's strength had appealed so to me.
i needed love and protection.
hester, strong and self-sufficient, had never felt such a need.
she could not understand.
oh, how contemptuous she was.
i told hugh timidly that hester did not approve of our friendship and that it must end.
he took it quietly enough, and went away.
i thought he did not care much, and the thought selfishly made my own heartache worse.
i was very unhappy for a long time, but i tried not to let hester see it, and i do n't think she did.
she was not very discerning in some things.
after a time i got over it; that is, the heartache ceased to ache all the time.
but things were never quite the same again.
life always seemed rather dreary and empty, in spite of hester and my roses and my sunday-school.
i supposed that hugh blair would find him a wife elsewhere, but he did not.
the years went by and we never met, although i saw him often at church.
at such times hester always watched me very closely, but there was no need of her to do so.
hugh made no attempt to meet me, or speak with me, and i would not have permitted it if he had.
but my heart always yearned after him.
i was selfishly glad he had not married, because if he had i could not have thought and dreamed of him -- it would have been wrong.
perhaps, as it was, it was foolish; but it seemed to me that i must have something, if only foolish dreams, to fill my life.
at first there was only pain in the thought of him, but afterwards a faint, misty little pleasure crept in, like a mirage from a land of lost delight.
ten years slipped away thus.
and then hester died.
her illness was sudden and short; but, before she died, she asked me to promise that i would never marry hugh blair.
she had not mentioned his name for years.
i thought she had forgotten all about him.
""oh, dear sister, is there any need of such a promise?"
i asked, weeping.
""hugh blair does not want to marry me now.
he never will again."
""he has never married -- he has not forgotten you," she said fiercely.
""i could not rest in my grave if i thought you would disgrace your family by marrying beneath you.
promise me, margaret."
i promised.
i would have promised anything in my power to make her dying pillow easier.
besides, what did it matter?
i was sure that hugh would never think of me again.
she smiled when she heard me, and pressed my hand.
""good little sister -- that is right.
you were always a good girl, margaret -- good and obedient, though a little sentimental and foolish in some ways.
you are like our mother -- she was always weak and loving.
i took after the merediths."
she did, indeed.
even in her coffin her dark, handsome features preserved their expression of pride and determination.
somehow, that last look of her dead face remained in my memory, blotting out the real affection and gentleness which her living face had almost always shown me.
this distressed me, but i could not help it.
i wished to think of her as kind and loving, but i could remember only the pride and coldness with which she had crushed out my new-born happiness.
yet i felt no anger or resentment towards her for what she had done.
i knew she had meant it for the best -- my best.
it was only that she was mistaken.
and then, a month after she had died, hugh blair came to me and asked me to be his wife.
he said he had always loved me, and could never love any other woman.
all my old love for him reawakened.
i wanted to say yes -- to feel his strong arms about me, and the warmth of his love enfolding and guarding me.
in my weakness i yearned for his strength.
but there was my promise to hester -- that promise give by her deathbed.
i could not break it, and i told him so.
it was the hardest thing i had ever done.
he did not go away quietly this time.
he pleaded and reasoned and reproached.
every word of his hurt me like a knife-thrust.
but i could not break my promise to the dead.
if hester had been living i would have braved her wrath and her estrangement and gone to him.
but she was dead and i could not do it.
finally he went away in grief and anger.
that was three weeks ago -- and now i sat alone in the moonlit rose-garden and wept for him.
but after a time my tears dried and a very strange feeling came over me.
i felt calm and happy, as if some wonderful love and tenderness were very near me.
and now comes the strange part of my story -- the part which will not, i suppose, be believed.
if it were not for one thing i think i should hardly believe it myself.
i should feel tempted to think i had dreamed it.
but because of that one thing i know it was real.
the night was very calm and still.
not a breath of wind stirred.
the moonshine was the brightest i had ever seen.
in the middle of the garden, where the shadow of the poplars did not fall, it was almost as bright as day.
one could have read fine print.
there was still a little rose glow in the west, and over the airy boughs of the tall poplars one or two large, bright stars were shining.
the air was sweet with a hush of dreams, and the world was so lovely that i held my breath over its beauty.
then, all at once, down at the far end of the garden, i saw a woman walking.
i thought at first that it must be mary sloane; but, as she crossed a moonlit path, i saw it was not our old servant's stout, homely figure.
this woman was tall and erect.
although no suspicion of the truth came to me, something about her reminded me of hester.
even so had hester liked to wander about the garden in the twilight.
i had seen her thus a thousand times.
i wondered who the woman could be.
some neighbor, of course.
but what a strange way for her to come!
she walked up the garden slowly in the poplar shade.
now and then she stooped, as if to caress a flower, but she plucked none.
half way up she out in to the moonlight and walked across the plot of grass in the center of the garden.
my heart gave a great throb and i stood up.
she was quite near to me now -- and i saw that it was hester.
i can hardly say just what my feelings were at this moment.
i know that i was not surprised.
i was frightened and yet i was not frightened.
something in me shrank back in a sickening terror; but i, the real i, was not frightened.
i knew that this was my sister, and that there could be no reason why i should be frightened of her, because she loved me still, as she had always done.
further than this i was not conscious of any coherent thought, either of wonder or attempt at reasoning.
hester paused when she came to within a few steps of me.
in the moonlight i saw her face quite plainly.
it wore an expression i had never before seen on it -- a humble, wistful, tender look.
often in life hester had looked lovingly, even tenderly, upon me; but always, as it were, through a mask of pride and sternness.
this was gone now, and i felt nearer to her than ever before.
i knew suddenly that she understood me.
and then the half-conscious awe and terror some part of me had felt vanished, and i only realized that hester was here, and that there was no terrible gulf of change between us.
hester beckoned to me and said, "come."
i stood up and followed her out of the garden.
we walked side by side down our lane, under the willows and out to the road, which lay long and still in that bright, calm moonshine.
i felt as if i were in a dream, moving at the bidding of a will not my own, which i could not have disputed even if i had wished to do so.
but i did not wish it; i had only the feeling of a strange, boundless content.
we went down the road between the growths of young fir that bordered it.
i smelled their balsam as we passed, and noticed how clearly and darkly their pointed tops came out against the sky.
i heard the tread of my own feet on little twigs and plants in our way, and the trail of my dress over the grass; but hester moved noiselessly.
then we went through the avenue -- that stretch of road under the apple trees that anne shirley, over at avonlea, calls "the white way of delight."
it was almost dark here; and yet i could see hester's face just as plainly as if the moon were shining on it; and whenever i looked at her she was always looking at me with that strangely gentle smile on her lips.
just as we passed out of the avenue, james trent overtook us, driving.
it seems to me that our feelings at a given moment are seldom what we would expect them to be.
i simply felt annoyed that james trent, the most notorious gossip in newbridge, should have seen me walking with hester.
in a flash i anticipated all the annoyance of it; he would talk of the matter far and wide.
but james trent merely nodded and called out, "howdy, miss margaret.
taking a moonlight stroll by yourself?
lovely night, ai n't it?"
just then his horse suddenly swerved, as if startled, and broke into a gallop.
they whirled around the curve of the road in an instant.
i felt relieved, but puzzled.
james trent had not seen hester.
down over the hill was hugh blair's place.
when we came to it, hester turned in at the gate.
then, for the first time, i understood why she had come back, and a blinding flash of joy broke over my soul.
i stopped and looked at her.
her deep eyes gazed into mine, but she did not speak.
we went on.
hugh's house lay before us in the moonlight, grown over by a tangle of vines.
his garden was on our right, a quaint spot, full of old-fashioned flowers growing in a sort of disorderly sweetness.
i trod on a bed of mint, and the spice of it floated up to me like the incense of some strange, sacred, solemn ceremonial.
i felt unspeakably happy and blessed.
when we came to the door hester said, "knock, margaret."
i rapped gently.
in a moment, hugh opened it.
then that happened by which, in after days, i was to know that this strange thing was no dream or fancy of mine.
hugh looked not at me, but past me.
""hester!"
he exclaimed, with human fear and horror in his voice.
he leaned against the door-post, the big, strong fellow, trembling from head to foot.
""i have learned," said hester, "that nothing matters in all god's universe, except love.
there is no pride where i have been, and no false ideals."
hugh and i looked into each other's eyes, wondering, and then we knew that we were alone.
viii.
the little brown book of miss emily the first summer mr. irving and miss lavendar -- diana and i could never call her anything else, even after she was married -- were at echo lodge after their marriage, both diana and i spent a great deal of time with them.
we became acquainted with many of the grafton people whom we had not known before, and among others, the family of mr. mack leith.
we often went up to the leiths in the evening to play croquet.
millie and margaret leith were very nice girls, and the boys were nice, too.
indeed, we liked every one in the family, except poor old miss emily leith.
we tried hard enough to like her, because she seemed to like diana and me very much, and always wanted to sit with us and talk to us, when we would much rather have been somewhere else.
we often felt a good deal of impatience at these times, but i am very glad to think now that we never showed it.
in a way, we felt sorry for miss emily.
she was mr. leith's old-maid sister and she was not of much importance in the household.
but, though we felt sorry for her, we could n't like her.
she really was fussy and meddlesome; she liked to poke a finger into every one's pie, and she was not at all tactful.
then, too, she had a sarcastic tongue, and seemed to feel bitter towards all the young folks and their love affairs.
diana and i thought this was because she had never had a lover of her own.
somehow, it seemed impossible to think of lovers in connection with miss emily.
she was short and stout and pudgy, with a face so round and fat and red that it seemed quite featureless; and her hair was scanty and gray.
she walked with a waddle, just like mrs. rachel lynde, and she was always rather short of breath.
it was hard to believe miss emily had ever been young; yet old mr. murray, who lived next door to the leiths, not only expected us to believe it, but assured us that she had been very pretty.
""that, at least, is impossible," said diana to me.
and then, one day, miss emily died.
i'm afraid no one was very sorry.
it seems to me a most dreadful thing to go out of the world and leave not one person behind to be sorry because you have gone.
miss emily was dead and buried before diana and i heard of it at all.
the first i knew of it was when i came home from orchard slope one day and found a queer, shabby little black horsehair trunk, all studded with brass nails, on the floor of my room at green gables.
marilla told me that jack leith had brought it over, and said that it had belonged to miss emily and that, when she was dying, she asked them to send it to me.
""but what is in it?
and what am i to do with it?"
i asked in bewilderment.
""there was nothing said about what you were to do with it.
jack said they did n't know what was in it, and had n't looked into it, seeing that it was your property.
it seems a rather queer proceeding -- but you're always getting mixed up in queer proceedings, anne.
as for what is in it, the easiest way to find out, i reckon, is to open it and see.
the key is tied to it.
jack said miss emily said she wanted you to have it because she loved you and saw her lost youth in you.
i guess she was a bit delirious at the last and wandered a good deal.
she said she wanted you "to understand her.""
i ran over to orchard slope and asked diana to come over and examine the trunk with me.
i had n't received any instructions about keeping its contents secret and i knew miss emily would n't mind diana knowing about them, whatever they were.
it was a cool, gray afternoon and we got back to green gables just as the rain was beginning to fall.
when we went up to my room the wind was rising and whistling through the boughs of the big old snow queen outside of my window.
diana was excited, and, i really believe, a little bit frightened.
we opened the old trunk.
it was very small, and there was nothing in it but a big cardboard box.
the box was tied up and the knots sealed with wax.
we lifted it out and untied it.
i touched diana's fingers as we did it, and both of us exclaimed at once, "how cold your hand is!"
in the box was a quaint, pretty, old-fashioned gown, not at all faded, made of blue muslin, with a little darker blue flower in it.
under it we found a sash, a yellowed feather fan, and an envelope full of withered flowers.
at the bottom of the box was a little brown book.
it was small and thin, like a girl's exercise book, with leaves that had once been blue and pink, but were now quite faded, and stained in places.
on the fly leaf was written, in a very delicate hand, "emily margaret leith," and the same writing covered the first few pages of the book.
the rest were not written on at all.
we sat there on the floor, diana and i, and read the little book together, while the rain thudded against the window panes.
june 19, 18 -- i came to-day to spend a while with aunt margaret in charlottetown.
it is so pretty here, where she lives -- and ever so much nicer than on the farm at home.
i have no cows to milk here or pigs to feed.
aunt margaret has given me such a lovely blue muslin dress, and i am to have it made to wear at a garden party out at brighton next week.
i never had a muslin dress before -- nothing but ugly prints and dark woolens.
i wish we were rich, like aunt margaret.
aunt margaret laughed when i said this, and declared she would give all her wealth for my youth and beauty and light-heartedness.
i am only eighteen and i know i am very merry but i wonder if i am really pretty.
it seems to me that i am when i look in aunt margaret's beautiful mirrors.
they make me look very different from the old cracked one in my room at home which always twisted my face and turned me green.
but aunt margaret spoiled her compliment by telling me i look exactly as she did at my age.
if i thought i'd ever look as aunt margaret does now, i do n't know what i'd do.
she is so fat and red.
june 29.
last week i went to the garden party and i met a young man called paul osborne.
he is a young artist from montreal who is boarding over at heppoch.
he is the handsomest man i have ever seen -- very tall and slender, with dreamy, dark eyes and a pale, clever face.
i have not been able to keep from thinking about him ever since, and to-day he came over here and asked if he could paint me.
i felt very much flattered and so pleased when aunt margaret gave him permission.
he says he wants to paint me as "spring," standing under the poplars where a fine rain of sunshine falls through.
i am to wear my blue muslin gown and a wreath of flowers on my hair.
he says i have such beautiful hair.
he has never seen any of such a real pale gold.
somehow it seems even prettier than ever to me since he praised it.
i had a letter from home to-day.
ma says the blue hen stole her nest and came off with fourteen chickens, and that pa has sold the little spotted calf.
somehow those things do n't interest me like they once did.
july 9.
the picture is coming on very well, mr. osborne says.
i know he is making me look far too pretty in it, although her persists in saying he ca n't do me justice.
he is going to send it to some great exhibition when finished, but he says he will make a little water-color copy for me.
he comes every day to paint and we talk a great deal and he reads me lovely things out of his books.
i do n't understand them all, but i try to, and he explains them so nicely and is so patient with my stupidity.
and he says any one with my eyes and hair and coloring does not need to be clever.
he says i have the sweetest, merriest laugh in the world.
but i will not write down all the compliments he has paid me.
i dare say he does not mean them at all.
in the evening we stroll among the spruces or sit on the bench under the acacia tree.
sometimes we do n't talk at all, but i never find the time long.
indeed, the minutes just seem to fly -- and then the moon will come up, round and red, over the harbor and mr. osborne will sigh and say he supposes it is time for him to go.
july 24.
i am so happy.
i am frightened at my happiness.
oh, i did n't think life could ever be so beautiful for me as it is!
paul loves me!
he told me so to-night as we walked by the harbor and watched the sunset, and he asked me to be his wife.
i have cared for him ever since i met him, but i am afraid i am not clever and well-educated enough for a wife for paul.
because, of course, i'm only an ignorant little country girl and have lived all my life on a farm.
why, my hands are quite rough yet from the work i've done.
but paul just laughed when i said so, and took my hands and kissed them.
then he looked into my eyes and laughed again, because i could n't hide from him how much i loved him.
we are to be married next spring and paul says he will take me to europe.
that will be very nice, but nothing matters so long as i am with him.
paul's people are very wealthy and his mother and sisters are very fashionable.
i am frightened of them, but i did not tell paul so because i think it would hurt him and oh, i would n't do that for the world.
there is nothing i would n't suffer if it would do him any good.
i never thought any one could feel so.
i used to think if i loved anybody i would want him to do everything for me and wait on me as if i were a princess.
but that is not the way at all.
love makes you very humble and you want to do everything yourself for the one you love.
august 10.
paul went home to-day.
oh, it is so terrible!
i do n't know how i can bear to live even for a little while without him.
but this is silly of me, because i know he has to go and he will write often and come to me often.
but, still, it is so lonesome.
i did n't cry when he left me because i wanted him to remember me smiling in the way he liked best, but i have been crying ever since and i ca n't stop, no matter how hard i try.
we have had such a beautiful fortnight.
every day seemed dearer and happier than the last, and now it is ended and i feel as if it could never be the same again.
oh, i am very foolish -- but i love him so dearly and if i were to lose his love i know i would die.
august 17.
i think my heart is dead.
but no, it ca n't be, for it aches too much.
paul's mother came here to see me to-day.
she was not angry or disagreeable.
i would n't have been so frightened of her if she had been.
as it was, i felt that i could n't say a word.
she is very beautiful and stately and wonderful, with a low, cold voice and proud, dark eyes.
her face is like paul's but without the loveableness of his.
she talked to me for a long time and she said terrible things -- terrible, because i knew they were all true.
i seemed to see everything through her eyes.
she said that paul was infatuated with my youth and beauty but that it would not last and what else i to give him?
she said paul must marry a woman of his own class, who could do honor to his fame and position.
she said that he was very talented and had a great career before him, but that if he married me it would ruin his life.
i saw it all, just as she explained it out, and i told her at last that i would not marry paul, and she might tell him so.
but she smiled and said i must tell him myself, because he would not believe any one else.
i could have begged her to spare me that, but i knew it would be of no use.
i do not think she has any pity or mercy for any one.
besides, what she said was quite true.
when she thanked me for being so reasonable i told her i was not doing it to please her, but for paul's sake, because i would not spoil his life, and that i would always hate her.
she smiled again and went away.
oh, how can i bear it?
i did not know any one could suffer like this!
august 18.
i have done it.
i wrote to paul to-day.
i knew i must tell him by letter, because i could never make him believe it face to face.
i was afraid i could not even do it by letter.
i suppose a clever woman easily could, but i am so stupid.
i wrote a great many letters and tore them up, because i felt sure they would n't convince paul.
at last i got one that i thought would do.
i knew i must make it seems as if i were very frivolous and heartless, or he would never believe.
i spelled some words wrong and put in some mistakes of grammar on purpose.
i told him i had just been flirting with him, and that i had another fellow at home i liked better.
i said fellow because i knew it would disgust him.
i said that it was only because he was rich that i was tempted to marry him.
i thought would my heart would break while i was writing those dreadful falsehoods.
but it was for his sake, because i must not spoil his life.
his mother told me i would be a millstone around his neck.
i love paul so much that i would do anything rather than be that.
it would be easy to die for him, but i do n't see how i can go on living.
i think my letter will convince paul.
i suppose it convinced paul, because there was no further entry in the little brown book.
when we had finished it the tears were running down both our faces.
""oh, poor, dear miss emily," sobbed diana.
""i'm so sorry i ever thought her funny and meddlesome."
""she was good and strong and brave," i said.
""i could never have been as unselfish as she was."
i thought of whittier's lines, "the outward, wayward life we see the hidden springs we may not know."
at the back of the little brown book we found a faded water-color sketch of a young girl -- such a slim, pretty little thing, with big blue eyes and lovely, long, rippling golden hair.
paul osborne's name was written in faded ink across the corner.
we put everything back in the box.
then we sat for a long time by my window in silence and thought of many things, until the rainy twilight came down and blotted out the world.
ix.
sara's way the warm june sunshine was coming down through the trees, white with the virginal bloom of apple-blossoms, and through the shining panes, making a tremulous mosaic upon mrs. eben andrews" spotless kitchen floor.
through the open door, a wind, fragrant from long wanderings over orchards and clover meadows, drifted in, and, from the window, mrs. eben and her guest could look down over a long, misty valley sloping to a sparkling sea.
mrs. jonas andrews was spending the afternoon with her sister-in-law.
she was a big, sonsy woman, with full-blown peony cheeks and large, dreamy, brown eyes.
when she had been a slim, pink-and-white girl those eyes had been very romantic.
now they were so out of keeping with the rest of her appearance as to be ludicrous.
mrs. eben, sitting at the other end of the small tea-table that was drawn up against the window, was a thin little woman, with a very sharp nose and light, faded blue eyes.
she looked like a woman whose opinions were always very decided and warranted to wear.
""how does sara like teaching at newbridge?"
asked mrs. jonas, helping herself a second time to mrs. eben's matchless black fruit cake, and thereby bestowing a subtle compliment which mrs. eben did not fail to appreciate.
""well, i guess she likes it pretty well -- better than down at white sands, anyway," answered mrs. eben.
""yes, i may say it suits her.
of course it's a long walk there and back.
i think it would have been wiser for her to keep on boarding at morrison's, as she did all winter, but sara is bound to be home all she can.
and i must say the walk seems to agree with her."
""i was down to see jonas" aunt at newbridge last night," said mrs. jonas, "and she said she'd heard that sara had made up her mind to take lige baxter at last, and that they were to be married in the fall.
she asked me if it was true.
i said i did n't know, but i hoped to mercy it was.
now, is it, louisa?"
""not a word of it," said mrs. eben sorrowfully.
""sara has n't any more notion of taking lige than ever she had.
i'm sure it's not my fault.
i've talked and argued till i'm tired.
i declare to you, amelia, i am terribly disappointed.
i'd set my heart on sara's marrying lige -- and now to think she wo n't!"
""she is a very foolish girl," said mrs. jonas, judicially.
""if lige baxter is n't good enough for her, who is?"
""and he's so well off," said mrs. eben, "and does such a good business, and is well spoken of by every one.
and that lovely new house of his at newbridge, with bay windows and hardwood floors!
i've dreamed and dreamed of seeing sara there as mistress."
""maybe you'll see her there yet," said mrs. jonas, who always took a hopeful view of everything, even of sara's contrariness.
but she felt discouraged, too.
well, she had done her best.
if lige baxter's broth was spoiled it was not for lack of cooks.
every andrews in avonlea had been trying for two years to bring about a match between him and sara, and mrs. jonas had borne her part valiantly.
mrs. eben's despondent reply was cut short by the appearance of sara herself.
the girl stood for a moment in the doorway and looked with a faintly amused air at her aunts.
she knew quite well that they had been discussing her, for mrs. jonas, who carried her conscience in her face, looked guilty, and mrs. eben had not been able wholly to banish her aggrieved expression.
sara put away her books, kissed mrs. jonas" rosy cheek, and sat down at the table.
mrs. eben brought her some fresh tea, some hot rolls, and a little jelly-pot of the apricot preserves sara liked, and she cut some more fruit cake for her in moist plummy slices.
she might be out of patience with sara's "contrariness," but she spoiled and petted her for all that, for the girl was the very core of her childless heart.
sara andrews was not, strictly speaking, pretty; but there was that about her which made people look at her twice.
she was very dark, with a rich, dusky sort of darkness, her deep eyes were velvety brown, and her lips and cheeks were crimson.
she ate her rolls and preserves with a healthy appetite, sharpened by her long walk from newbridge, and told amusing little stories of her day's work that made the two older women shake with laughter, and exchange shy glances of pride over her cleverness.
when tea was over she poured the remaining contents of the cream jug into a saucer.
""i must feed my pussy," she said as she left the room.
""that girl beats me," said mrs. eben with a sigh of perplexity.
""you know that black cat we've had for two years?
eben and i have always made a lot of him, but sara seemed to have a dislike to him.
never a peaceful nap under the stove could he have when sara was home -- out he must go.
well, a little spell ago he got his leg broke accidentally and we thought he'd have to be killed.
but sara would n't hear of it.
she got splints and set his leg just as knacky, and bandaged it up, and she has tended him like a sick baby ever since.
he's just about well now, and he lives in clover, that cat does.
it's just her way.
there's them sick chickens she's been doctoring for a week, giving them pills and things!
""and she thinks more of that wretched-looking calf that got poisoned with paris green than of all the other stock on the place."
as the summer wore away, mrs. eben tried to reconcile herself to the destruction of her air castles.
but she scolded sara considerably.
""sara, why do n't you like lige?
i'm sure he is a model young man."
""i do n't like model young men," answered sara impatiently.
""and i really think i hate lige baxter.
he has always been held up to me as such a paragon.
i'm tired of hearing about all his perfections.
i know them all off by heart.
he does n't drink, he does n't smoke, he does n't steal, he does n't tell fibs, he never loses his temper, he does n't swear, and he goes to church regularly.
such a faultless creature as that would certainly get on my nerves.
no, no, you'll have to pick out another mistress for your new house at the bridge, aunt louisa."
when the apple trees, that had been pink and white in june, were russet and bronze in october, mrs. eben had a quilting.
the quilt was of the "rising star" pattern, which was considered in avonlea to be very handsome.
mrs. eben had intended it for part of sara's "setting out," and, while she sewed the red-and-white diamonds together, she had regaled her fancy by imagining she saw it spread out on the spare-room bed of the house at newbridge, with herself laying her bonnet and shawl on it when she went to see sara.
those bright visions had faded with the apple blossoms, and mrs. eben hardly had the heart to finish the quilt at all.
the quilting came off on saturday afternoon, when sara could be home from school.
all mrs. eben's particular friends were ranged around the quilt, and tongues and fingers flew.
sara flitted about, helping her aunt with the supper preparations.
she was in the room, getting the custard dishes out of the cupboard, when mrs. george pye arrived.
mrs. george had a genius for being late.
she was later than usual to-day, and she looked excited.
every woman around the "rising star" felt that mrs. george had some news worth listening to, and there was an expectant silence while she pulled out her chair and settled herself at the quilt.
she was a tall, thin woman with a long pale face and liquid green eyes.
as she looked around the circle she had the air of a cat daintily licking its chops over some titbit.
""i suppose," she said, "that you have heard the news?"
she knew perfectly well that they had not.
every other woman at the frame stopped quilting.
mrs. eben came to the door with a pan of puffy, smoking-hot soda biscuits in her hand.
sara stopped counting the custard dishes, and turned her ripely-colored face over her shoulder.
even the black cat, at her feet, ceased preening his fur.
mrs. george felt that the undivided attention of her audience was hers.
""baxter brothers have failed," she said, her green eyes shooting out flashes of light.
""failed disgracefully!"
she paused for a moment; but, since her hearers were as yet speechless from surprise, she went on.
""george came home from newbridge, just before i left, with the news.
you could have knocked me down with a feather.
i should have thought that firm was as steady as the rock of gibraltar!
but they're ruined -- absolutely ruined.
louisa, dear, can you find me a good needle?"
""louisa, dear," had set her biscuits down with a sharp thud, reckless of results.
a sharp, metallic tinkle sounded at the closet where sara had struck the edge of her tray against a shelf.
the sound seemed to loosen the paralyzed tongues, and everybody began talking and exclaiming at once.
clear and shrill above the confusion rose mrs. george pye's voice.
""yes, indeed, you may well say so.
it is disgraceful.
and to think how everybody trusted them!
george will lose considerable by the crash, and so will a good many folks.
everything will have to go -- peter baxter's farm and lige's grand new house.
mrs. peter wo n't carry her head so high after this, i'll be bound.
george saw lige at the bridge, and he said he looked dreadful cut up and ashamed."
""who, or what's to blame for the failure?"
asked mrs. rachel lynde sharply.
she did not like mrs. george pye.
""there are a dozen different stories on the go," was the reply.
""as far as george could make out, peter baxter has been speculating with other folks" money, and this is the result.
everybody always suspected that peter was crooked; but you'd have thought that lige would have kept him straight.
he had always such a reputation for saintliness."
""i do n't suppose lige knew anything about it," said mrs. rachel indignantly.
""well, he'd ought to, then.
if he is n't a knave he's a fool," said mrs. harmon andrews, who had formerly been among his warmest partisans.
""he should have kept watch on peter and found out how the business was being run.
well, sara, you were the level-headest of us all -- i'll admit that now.
a nice mess it would be if you were married or engaged to lige, and him left without a cent -- even if he can clear his character!"
""there is a good deal of talk about peter, and swindling, and a lawsuit," said mrs. george pye, quilting industriously.
""most of the newbridge folks think it's all peter's fault, and that lige is n't to blame.
but you ca n't tell.
i dare say lige is as deep in the mire as peter.
he was always a little too good to be wholesome, i thought."
there was a clink of glass at the cupboard, as sara set the tray down.
she came forward and stood behind mrs. rachel lynde's chair, resting her shapely hands on that lady's broad shoulders.
her face was very pale, but her flashing eyes sought and faced defiantly mrs. george pye's cat-like orbs.
her voice quivered with passion and contempt.
""you'll all have a fling at lige baxter, now that he's down.
you could n't say enough in his praise, once.
i'll not stand by and hear it hinted that lige baxter is a swindler.
you all know perfectly well that lige is as honest as the day, if he is so unfortunate as to have an unprincipled brother.
you, mrs. pye, know it better than any one, yet you come here and run him down the minute he's in trouble.
if there's another word said here against lige baxter i'll leave the room and the house till you're gone, every one of you."
she flashed a glance around the quilt that cowed the gossips.
even mrs. george pye's eyes flickered and waned and quailed.
nothing more was said until sara had picked up her glasses and marched from the room.
even then they dared not speak above a whisper.
mrs. pye, alone, smarting from snub, ventured to ejaculate, "pity save us!"
as sara slammed the door.
for the next fortnight gossip and rumor held high carnival in avonlea and newbridge, and mrs. eben grew to dread the sight of a visitor.
""they're bound to talk about the baxter failure and criticize lige," she deplored to mrs. jonas.
""and it riles sara up so terrible.
she used to declare that she hated lige, and now she wo n't listen to a word against him.
not that i say any, myself.
i'm sorry for him, and i believe he's done his best.
but i ca n't stop other people from talking."
one evening harmon andrews came in with a fresh budget of news.
""the baxter business is pretty near wound up at last," he said, as he lighted his pipe.
""peter has got his lawsuits settled and has hushed up the talk about swindling, somehow.
trust him for slipping out of a scrape clean and clever.
he do n't seem to worry any, but lige looks like a walking skeleton.
some folks pity him, but i say he should have kept the run of things better and not have trusted everything to peter.
i hear he's going out west in the spring, to take up land in alberta and try his hand at farming.
best thing he can do, i guess.
folks hereabouts have had enough of the baxter breed.
newbridge will be well rid of them."
sara, who had been sitting in the dark corner by the stove, suddenly stood up, letting the black cat slip from her lap to the floor.
mrs. eben glanced at her apprehensively, for she was afraid the girl was going to break out in a tirade against the complacent harmon.
but sara only walked fiercely out of the kitchen, with a sound as if she were struggling for breath.
in the hall she snatched a scarf from the wall, flung open the front door, and rushed down the lane in the chill, pure air of the autumn twilight.
her heart was throbbing with the pity she always felt for bruised and baited creatures.
on and on she went heedlessly, intent only on walking away her pain, over gray, brooding fields and winding slopes, and along the skirts of ruinous, dusky pine woods, curtained with fine spun purple gloom.
her dress brushed against the brittle grasses and sere ferns, and the moist night wind, loosed from wild places far away, blew her hair about her face.
at last she came to a little rustic gate, leading into a shadowy wood-lane.
the gate was bound with willow withes, and, as sara fumbled vainly at them with her chilled hands, a man's firm step came up behind her, and lige baxter's hand closed over her's.
""oh, lige!"
she said, with something like a sob.
he opened the gate and drew her through.
she left her hand in his, as they walked through the lane where lissome boughs of young saplings flicked against their heads, and the air was wildly sweet with the woodsy odors.
""it's a long while since i've seen you, lige," sara said at last.
lige looked wistfully down at her through the gloom.
""yes, it seems very long to me, sara.
but i did n't think you'd care to see me, after what you said last spring.
and you know things have been going against me.
people have said hard things.
i've been unfortunate, sara, and may be too easy-going, but i've been honest.
do n't believe folks if they tell you i was n't."
""indeed, i never did -- not for a minute!"
fired sara.
""i'm glad of that.
i'm going away, later on.
i felt bad enough when you refused to marry me, sara; but it's well that you did n't.
i'm man enough to be thankful my troubles do n't fall on you."
sara stopped and turned to him.
beyond them the lane opened into a field and a clear lake of crocus sky cast a dim light into the shadow where they stood.
above it was a new moon, like a gleaming silver scimitar.
sara saw it was over her left shoulder, and she saw lige's face above her, tender and troubled.
""lige," she said softly, "do you love me still?"
""you know i do," said lige sadly.
that was all sara wanted.
with a quick movement she nestled into his arms, and laid her warm, tear-wet cheek against his cold one.
when the amazing rumor that sara was going to marry lige baxter, and go out west with him, circulated through the andrews clan, hands were lifted and heads were shaken.
mrs. jonas puffed and panted up the hill to learn if it were true.
she found mrs. eben stitching for dear life on an "irish chain" quilt, while sara was sewing the diamonds on another "rising star" with a martyr-like expression on her face.
sara hated patchwork above everything else, but mrs. eben was mistress up to a certain point.
""you'll have to make that quilt, sara andrews.
if you're going to live out on those prairies, you'll need piles of quilts, and you shall have them if i sew my fingers to the bone.
but you'll have to help make them."
and sara had to.
when mrs. jonas came, mrs. eben sent sara off to the post-office to get her out of the way.
""i suppose it's true, this time?"
said mrs. jonas.
""yes, indeed," said mrs. eben briskly.
""sara is set on it.
there is no use trying to move her -- you know that -- so i've just concluded to make the best of it.
i'm no turn-coat.
lige baxter is lige baxter still, neither more nor less.
i've always said he's a fine young man, and i say so still.
after all, he and sara wo n't be any poorer than eben and i were when we started out."
mrs. jonas heaved a sigh of relief.
""i'm real glad you take that view of it, louisa.
i'm not displeased, either, although mrs. harmon would take my head off if she heard me say so.
i always liked lige.
but i must say i'm amazed, too, after the way sara used to rail at him."
""well, we might have expected it," said mrs. eben sagely.
""it was always sara's way.
when any creature got sick or unfortunate she seemed to take it right into her heart.
so you may say lige baxter's failure was a success after all."
x.
the son of his mother thyra carewe was waiting for chester to come home.
she sat by the west window of the kitchen, looking out into the gathering of the shadows with the expectant immovability that characterized her.
she never twitched or fidgeted.
into whatever she did she put the whole force of her nature.
if it was sitting still, she sat still.
""a stone image would be twitchedly beside thyra," said mrs. cynthia white, her neighbor across the lane.
""it gets on my nerves, the way she sits at that window sometimes, with no more motion than a statue and her great eyes burning down the lane.
when i read the commandment, "thou shalt have no other gods before me," i declare i always think of thyra.
she worships that son of hers far ahead of her creator.
she'll be punished for it yet."
mrs. white was watching thyra now, knitting furiously, as she watched, in order to lose no time.
thyra's hands were folded idly in her lap.
she had not moved a muscle since she sat down.
mrs. white complained it gave her the weeps.
""it does n't seem natural to see a woman sit so still," she said.
""sometimes the thought comes to me, "what if she's had a stroke, like her old uncle horatio, and is sitting there stone dead!""
the evening was cold and autumnal.
there was a fiery red spot out at sea, where the sun had set, and, above it, over a chill, clear, saffron sky, were reefs of purple-black clouds.
the river, below the carewe homestead, was livid.
beyond it, the sea was dark and brooding.
it was an evening to make most people shiver and forebode an early winter; but thyra loved it, as she loved all stern, harshly beautiful things.
she would not light a lamp because it would blot out the savage grandeur of sea and sky.
it was better to wait in the darkness until chester came home.
he was late to-night.
she thought he had been detained over-time at the harbor, but she was not anxious.
he would come straight home to her as soon as his business was completed -- of that she felt sure.
her thoughts went out along the bleak harbor road to meet him.
she could see him plainly, coming with his free stride through the sandy hollows and over the windy hills, in the harsh, cold light of that forbidding sunset, strong and handsome in his comely youth, with her own deeply cleft chin and his father's dark gray, straightforward eyes.
no other woman in avonlea had a son like hers -- her only one.
in his brief absences she yearned after him with a maternal passion that had in it something of physical pain, so intense was it.
she thought of cynthia white, knitting across the road, with contemptuous pity.
that woman had no son -- nothing but pale-faced girls.
thyra had never wanted a daughter, but she pitied and despised all sonless women.
chester's dog whined suddenly and piercingly on the doorstep outside.
he was tired of the cold stone and wanted his warm corner behind the stove.
thyra smiled grimly when she heard him.
she had no intention of letting him in.
she said she had always disliked dogs, but the truth, although she would not glance at it, was that she hated the animal because chester loved him.
she could not share his love with even a dumb brute.
she loved no living creature in the world but her son, and fiercely demanded a like concentrated affection from him.
hence it pleased her to hear his dog whine.
it was now quite dark; the stars had begun to shine out over the shorn harvest fields, and chester had not come.
across the lane cynthia white had pulled down her blind, in despair of out-watching thyra, and had lighted a lamp.
lively shadows of little girl-shapes passed and repassed on the pale oblong of light.
they made thyra conscious of her exceeding loneliness.
she had just decided that she would walk down the lane and wait for chester on the bridge, when a thunderous knock came at the east kitchen door.
she recognized august vorst's knock and lighted a lamp in no great haste, for she did not like him.
he was a gossip and thyra hated gossip, in man or woman.
but august was privileged.
she carried the lamp in her hand, when she went to the door, and its upward-striking light gave her face a ghastly appearance.
she did not mean to ask august in, but he pushed past her cheerfully, not waiting to be invited.
he was a midget of a man, lame of foot and hunched of back, with a white, boyish face, despite his middle age and deep-set, malicious black eyes.
he pulled a crumpled newspaper from his pocket and handed it to thyra.
he was the unofficial mail-carrier of avonlea.
most of the people gave him a trifle for bringing their letters and papers from the office.
he earned small sums in various other ways, and so contrived to keep the life in his stunted body.
there was always venom in august's gossip.
it was said that he made more mischief in avonlea in a day than was made otherwise in a year, but people tolerated him by reason of his infirmity.
to be sure, it was the tolerance they gave to inferior creatures, and august felt this.
perhaps it accounted for a good deal of his malignity.
he hated most those who were kindest to him, and, of these, thyra carewe above all.
he hated chester, too, as he hated strong, shapely creatures.
his time had come at last to wound them both, and his exultation shone through his crooked body and pinched features like an illuminating lamp.
thyra perceived it and vaguely felt something antagonistic in it.
she pointed to the rocking-chair, as she might have pointed out a mat to a dog.
august crawled into it and smiled.
he was going to make her writhe presently, this woman who looked down upon him as some venomous creeping thing she disdained to crush with her foot.
""did you see anything of chester on the road?"
asked thyra, giving august the very opening he desired.
""he went to the harbor after tea to see joe raymond about the loan of his boat, but it's the time he should be back.
i ca n't think what keeps the boy."
""just what keeps most men -- leaving out creatures like me -- at some time or other in their lives.
a girl -- a pretty girl, thyra.
it pleases me to look at her.
even a hunchback can use his eyes, eh?
oh, she's a rare one!"
""what is the man talking about?"
said thyra wonderingly.
""damaris garland, to be sure.
chester's down at tom blair's now, talking to her -- and looking more than his tongue says, too, of that you may be sure.
well, well, we were all young once, thyra -- all young once, even crooked little august vorst.
eh, now?"
""what do you mean?"
said thyra.
she had sat down in a chair before him, with her hands folded in her lap.
her face, always pale, had not changed; but her lips were curiously white.
august vorst saw this and it pleased him.
also, her eyes were worth looking at, if you liked to hurt people -- and that was the only pleasure august took in life.
he would drink this delightful cup of revenge for her long years of disdainful kindness -- ah, he would drink it slowly to prolong its sweetness.
sip by sip -- he rubbed his long, thin, white hands together -- sip by sip, tasting each mouthful.
""eh, now?
you know well enough, thyra."
""i know nothing of what you would be at, august vorst.
you speak of my son and damaris -- was that the name?
-- damaris garland as if they were something to each other.
i ask you what you mean by it?"
""tut, tut, thyra, nothing very terrible.
there's no need to look like that about it.
young men will be young men to the end of time, and there's no harm in chester's liking to look at a lass, eh, now?
or in talking to her either?
the little baggage, with the red lips of her!
she and chester will make a pretty pair.
he's not so ill-looking for a man, thyra."
""i am not a very patient woman, august," said thyra coldly.
""i have asked you what you mean, and i want a straight answer.
is chester down at tom blair's while i have been sitting here, alone, waiting for him?"
august nodded.
he saw that it would not be wise to trifle longer with thyra.
""that he is.
i was there before i came here.
he and damaris were sitting in a corner by themselves, and very well-satisfied they seemed to be with each other.
tut, tut, thyra, do n't take the news so.
i thought you knew.
it's no secret that chester has been going after damaris ever since she came here.
but what then?
you ca n't tie him to your apron strings forever, woman.
he'll be finding a mate for himself, as he should.
seeing that he's straight and well-shaped, no doubt damaris will look with favor on him.
old martha blair declares the girl loves him better than her eyes."
thyra made a sound like a strangled moan in the middle of august's speech.
she heard the rest of it immovably.
when it came to an end she stood and looked down upon him in a way that silenced him.
""you've told the news you came to tell, and gloated over it, and now get you gone," she said slowly.
""now, thyra," he began, but she interrupted him threateningly.
""get you gone, i say!
and you need not bring my mail here any longer.
i want no more of your misshapen body and lying tongue!"
august went, but at the door he turned for a parting stab.
""my tongue is not a lying one, mrs. carewe.
i've told you the truth, as all avonlea knows it.
chester is mad about damaris garland.
it's no wonder i thought you knew what all the settlement can see.
but you're such a jealous, odd body, i suppose the boy hid it from you for fear you'd go into a tantrum.
as for me, i'll not forget that you've turned me from your door because i chanced to bring you news you'd no fancy for."
thyra did not answer him.
when the door closed behind him she locked it and blew out the light.
then she threw herself face downward on the sofa and burst into wild tears.
her very soul ached.
she wept as tempestuously and unreasoningly as youth weeps, although she was not young.
it seemed as if she was afraid to stop weeping lest she should go mad thinking.
but, after a time, tears failed her, and she began bitterly to go over, word by word, what august vorst had said.
that her son should ever cast eyes of love on any girl was something thyra had never thought about.
she would not believe it possible that he should love any one but herself, who loved him so much.
and now the possibility invaded her mind as subtly and coldly and remorselessly as a sea-fog stealing landward.
chester had been born to her at an age when most women are letting their children slip from them into the world, with some natural tears and heartaches, but content to let them go, after enjoying their sweetest years.
thyra's late-come motherhood was all the more intense and passionate because of its very lateness.
she had been very ill when her son was born, and had lain helpless for long weeks, during which other women had tended her baby for her.
she had never been able to forgive them for this.
her husband had died before chester was a year old.
she had laid their son in his dying arms and received him back again with a last benediction.
to thyra that moment had something of a sacrament in it.
it was as if the child had been doubly given to her, with a right to him solely that nothing could take away or transcend.
marrying!
she had never thought of it in connection with him.
he did not come of a marrying race.
his father had been sixty when he had married her, thyra lincoln, likewise well on in life.
few of the lincolns or carewes had married young, many not at all.
and, to her, chester was her baby still.
he belonged solely to her.
and now another woman had dared to look upon him with eyes of love.
damaris garland!
thyra now remembered seeing her.
she was a new-comer in avonlea, having come to live with her uncle and aunt after the death of her mother.
thyra had met her on the bridge one day a month previously.
yes, a man might think she was pretty -- a low-browed girl, with a wave of reddish-gold hair, and crimson lips blossoming out against the strange, milk-whiteness of her skin.
her eyes, too -- thyra recalled them -- hazel in tint, deep, and laughter-brimmed.
the girl had gone past her with a smile that brought out many dimples.
there was a certain insolent quality in her beauty, as if it flaunted itself somewhat too defiantly in the beholder's eye.
thyra had turned and looked after the lithe, young creature, wondering who she might be.
and to-night, while she, his mother, waited for him in darkness and loneliness, he was down at blair's, talking to this girl!
he loved her; and it was past doubt that she loved him.
the thought was more bitter than death to thyra.
that she should dare!
her anger was all against the girl.
she had laid a snare to get chester and he, like a fool, was entangled in it, thinking, man-fashion, only of her great eyes and red lips.
thyra thought savagely of damaris" beauty.
""she shall not have him," she said, with slow emphasis.
""i will never give him up to any other woman, and, least of all, to her.
she would leave me no place in his heart at all -- me, his mother, who almost died to give him life.
he belongs to me!
let her look for the son of some other woman -- some woman who has many sons.
she shall not have my only one!"
she got up, wrapped a shawl about her head, and went out into the darkly golden evening.
the clouds had cleared away, and the moon was shining.
the air was chill, with a bell-like clearness.
the alders by the river rustled eerily as she walked by them and out upon the bridge.
here she paced up and down, peering with troubled eyes along the road beyond, or leaning over the rail, looking at the sparkling silver ribbon of moonlight that garlanded the waters.
late travelers passed her, and wondered at her presence and mien.
carl white saw her, and told his wife about her when he got home.
""striding to and fro over the bridge like mad!
at first i thought it was old, crazy may blair.
what do you suppose she was doing down there at this hour of the night?"
""watching for ches, no doubt," said cynthia.
""he ai n't home yet.
likely he's snug at blairs".
i do wonder if thyra suspicions that he goes after damaris.
i've never dared to hint it to her.
she'd be as liable to fly at me, tooth and claw, as not."
""well, she picks out a precious queer night for moon-gazing," said carl, who was a jolly soul and took life as he found it.
""it's bitter cold -- there'll be a hard frost.
it's a pity she ca n't get it grained into her that the boy is grown up and must have his fling like the other lads.
she'll go out of her mind yet, like her old grandmother lincoln, if she does n't ease up.
i've a notion to go down to the bridge and reason a bit with her."
""indeed, and you'll do no such thing!"
cried cynthia.
""thyra carewe is best left alone, if she is in a tantrum.
she's like no other woman in avonlea -- or out of it.
i'd as soon meddle with a tiger as her, if she's rampaging about chester.
i do n't envy damaris garland her life if she goes in there.
thyra'd sooner strangle her than not, i guess."
""you women are all terrible hard on thyra," said carl, good-naturedly.
he had been in love with thyra, himself, long ago, and he still liked her in a friendly fashion.
he always stood up for her when the avonlea women ran her down.
he felt troubled about her all night, recalling her as she paced the bridge.
he wished he had gone back, in spite of cynthia.
when chester came home he met his mother on the bridge.
in the faint, yet penetrating, moonlight they looked curiously alike, but chester had the milder face.
he was very handsome.
even in the seething of her pain and jealousy thyra yearned over his beauty.
she would have liked to put up her hands and caress his face, but her voice was very hard when she asked him where he had been so late.
""i called in at tom blair's on my way home from the harbor," he answered, trying to walk on.
but she held him back by his arm.
""did you go there to see damaris?"
she demanded fiercely.
chester was uncomfortable.
much as he loved his mother, he felt, and always had felt, an awe of her and an impatient dislike of her dramatic ways of speaking and acting.
he reflected, resentfully, that no other young man in avonlea, who had been paying a friendly call, would be met by his mother at midnight and held up in such tragic fashion to account for himself.
he tried vainly to loosen her hold upon his arm, but he understood quite well that he must give her an answer.
being strictly straight-forward by nature and upbringing, he told the truth, albeit with more anger in his tone than he had ever shown to his mother before.
""yes," he said shortly.
thyra released his arm, and struck her hands together with a sharp cry.
there was a savage note in it.
she could have slain damaris garland at that moment.
""do n't go on so, mother," said chester, impatiently.
""come in out of the cold.
it is n't fit for you to be here.
who has been tampering with you?
what if i did go to see damaris?"
""oh -- oh -- oh!"
cried thyra.
""i was waiting for you -- alone -- and you were thinking only of her!
chester, answer me -- do you love her?"
the blood rolled rapidly over the boy's face.
he muttered something and tried to pass on, but she caught him again.
he forced himself to speak gently.
""what if i do, mother?"
it would n't be such a dreadful thing, would it?"
""and me?
and me?"
cried thyra.
""what am i to you, then?"
""you are my mother.
i would n't love you any the less because i cared for another, too."
""i wo n't have you love another," she cried.
""i want all your love -- all!
what's that baby-face to you, compared to your mother?
i have the best right to you.
i wo n't give you up."
chester realized that there was no arguing with such a mood.
he walked on, resolved to set the matter aside until she might be more reasonable.
but thyra would not have it so.
she followed on after him, under the alders that crowded over the lane.
""promise me that you'll not go there again," she entreated.
""promise me that you'll give her up."
""i ca n't promise such a thing," he cried angrily.
his anger hurt her worse than a blow, but she did not flinch.
""you're not engaged to her?"
she cried out.
""now, mother, be quiet.
all the settlement will hear you.
why do you object to damaris?
you do n't know how sweet she is.
when you know her --" "i will never know her!"
cried thyra furiously.
""and she shall not have you!
she shall not, chester!"
he made no answer.
she suddenly broke into tears and loud sobs.
touched with remorse, he stopped and put his arms about her.
""mother, mother, do n't!
i ca n't bear to see you cry so.
but, indeed, you are unreasonable.
did n't you ever think the time would come when i would want to marry, like other men?"
""no, no!
and i will not have it -- i can not bear it, chester.
you must promise not to go to see her again.
i wo n't go into the house this night until you do.
i'll stay out here in the bitter cold until you promise to put her out of your thoughts."
""that's beyond my power, mother.
oh, mother, you're making it hard for me.
come in, come in!
you're shivering with cold now.
you'll be sick."
""not a step will i stir till you promise.
say you wo n't go to see that girl any more, and there's nothing i wo n't do for you.
but if you put her before me, i'll not go in -- i never will go in."
with most women this would have been an empty threat; but it was not so with thyra, and chester knew it.
he knew she would keep her word.
and he feared more than that.
in this frenzy of hers what might she not do?
she came of a strange breed, as had been said disapprovingly when luke carewe married her.
there was a strain of insanity in the lincolns.
a lincoln woman had drowned herself once.
chester thought of the river, and grew sick with fright.
for a moment even his passion for damaris weakened before the older tie.
""mother, calm yourself.
oh, surely there's no need of all this!
let us wait until to-morrow, and talk it over then.
i'll hear all you have to say.
come in, dear."
thyra loosened her arms from about him, and stepped back into a moon-lit space.
looking at him tragically, she extended her arms and spoke slowly and solemnly.
""chester, choose between us.
if you choose her, i shall go from you to-night, and you will never see me again!"
""mother!"
""choose!"
she reiterated, fiercely.
he felt her long ascendancy.
its influence was not to be shaken off in a moment.
in all his life he had never disobeyed her.
besides, with it all, he loved her more deeply and understandingly than most sons love their mothers.
he realized that, since she would have it so, his choice was already made -- or, rather that he had no choice.
""have your way," he said sullenly.
she ran to him and caught him to her heart.
in the reaction of her feeling she was half laughing, half crying.
all was well again -- all would be well; she never doubted this, for she knew he would keep his ungracious promise sacredly.
""oh, my son, my son," she murmured, "you'd have sent me to my death if you had chosen otherwise.
but now you are mine again!"
she did not heed that he was sullen -- that he resented her unjustice with all her own intensity.
she did not heed his silence as they went into the house together.
strangely enough, she slept well and soundly that night.
not until many days had passed did she understand that, though chester might keep his promise in the letter, it was beyond his power to keep it in the spirit.
she had taken him from damaris garland; but she had not won him back to herself.
he could never be wholly her son again.
there was a barrier between them which not all her passionate love could break down.
chester was gravely kind to her, for it was not in his nature to remain sullen long, or visit his own unhappiness upon another's head; besides, he understood her exacting affection, even in its injustice, and it has been well-said that to understand is to forgive.
but he avoided her, and she knew it.
the flame of her anger burned bitterly towards damaris.
""he thinks of her all the time," she moaned to herself.
""he'll come to hate me yet, i fear, because it's i who made him give her up.
but i'd rather even that than share him with another woman.
oh, my son, my son!"
she knew that damaris was suffering, too.
the girl's wan face told that when she met her.
but this pleased thyra.
it eased the ache in her bitter heart to know that pain was gnawing at damaris" also.
chester was absent from home very often now.
he spent much of his spare time at the harbor, consorting with joe raymond and others of that ilk, who were but sorry associates for him, avonlea people thought.
in late november he and joe started for a trip down the coast in the latter's boat.
thyra protested against it, but chester laughed at her alarm.
thyra saw him go with a heart sick from fear.
she hated the sea, and was afraid of it at any time; but, most of all, in this treacherous month, with its sudden, wild gales.
chester had been fond of the sea from boyhood.
she had always tried to stifle this fondness and break off his associations with the harbor fishermen, who liked to lure the high-spirited boy out with them on fishing expeditions.
but her power over him was gone now.
after chester's departure she was restless and miserable, wandering from window to window to scan the dour, unsmiling sky.
carl white, dropping in to pay a call, was alarmed when he heard that chester had gone with joe, and had not tact enough to conceal his alarm from thyra.""
t is n't safe this time of year," he said.
""folks expect no better from that reckless, harum-scarum joe raymond.
he'll drown himself some day, there's nothing surer.
this mad freak of starting off down the shore in november is just of a piece with his usual performances.
but you should n't have let chester go, thyra."
""i could n't prevent him.
say what i could, he would go.
he laughed when i spoke of danger.
oh, he's changed from what he was!
i know who has wrought the change, and i hate her for it!"
carl shrugged his fat shoulders.
he knew quite well that thyra was at the bottom of the sudden coldness between chester carewe and damaris garland, about which avonlea gossip was busying itself.
he pitied thyra, too.
she had aged rapidly the past month.
""you're too hard on chester, thyra.
he's out of leading-strings now, or should be.
you must just let me take an old friend's privilege, and tell you that you're taking the wrong way with him.
you're too jealous and exacting, thyra."
""you do n't know anything about it.
you have never had a son," said thyra, cruelly enough, for she knew that carl's sonlessness was a rankling thorn in his mind.
""you do n't know what it is to pour out your love on one human being, and have it flung back in your face!"
carl could not cope with thyra's moods.
he had never understood her, even in his youth.
now he went home, still shrugging his shoulders, and thinking that it was a good thing thyra had not looked on him with favor in the old days.
cynthia was much easier to get along with.
more than thyra looked anxiously to sea and sky that night in avonlea.
damaris garland listened to the smothered roar of the atlantic in the murky northeast with a prescience of coming disaster.
friendly longshoremen shook their heads and said that ches and joe would better have kept to good, dry land.
""it's sorry work joking with a november gale," said abel blair.
he was an old man and, in his life, had seen some sad things along the shore.
thyra could not sleep that night.
when the gale came shrieking up the river, and struck the house, she got out of bed and dressed herself.
the wind screamed like a ravening beast at her window.
all night she wandered to and fro in the house, going from room to room, now wringing her hands with loud outcries, now praying below her breath with white lips, now listening in dumb misery to the fury of the storm.
the wind raged all the next day; but spent itself in the following night, and the second morning was calm and fair.
the eastern sky was a great arc of crystal, smitten through with auroral crimsonings.
thyra, looking from her kitchen window, saw a group of men on the bridge.
they were talking to carl white, with looks and gestures directed towards the carewe house.
she went out and down to them.
none of these who saw her white, rigid face that day ever forgot the sight.
""you have news for me," she said.
they looked at each other, each man mutely imploring his neighbor to speak.
""you need not fear to tell me," said thyra calmly.
""i know what you have come to say.
my son is drowned."
""we do n't know that, mrs. carewe," said abel blair quickly.
""we have n't got the worst to tell you -- there's hope yet.
but joe raymond's boat was found last night, stranded bottom up, on the blue point sand shore, forty miles down the coast."
""do n't look like that, thyra," said carl white pityingly.
""they may have escaped -- they may have been picked up."
thyra looked at him with dull eyes.
""you know they have not.
not one of you has any hope.
i have no son.
the sea has taken him from me -- my bonny baby!"
she turned and went back to her desolate home.
none dared to follow her.
carl white went home and sent his wife over to her.
cynthia found thyra sitting in her accustomed chair.
her hands lay, palms upward, on her lap.
her eyes were dry and burning.
she met cynthia's compassionate look with a fearful smile.
""long ago, cynthia white," she said slowly, "you were vexed with me one day, and you told me that god would punish me yet, because i made an idol of my son, and set it up in his place.
do you remember?
your word was a true one.
god saw that i loved chester too much, and he meant to take him from me.
i thwarted one way when i made him give up damaris.
but one ca n't fight against the almighty.
it was decreed that i must lose him -- if not in one way, then in another.
he has been taken from me utterly.
i shall not even have his grave to tend, cynthia."
""as near to a mad woman as anything you ever saw, with her awful eyes," cynthia told carl, afterwards.
but she did not say so there.
although she was a shallow, commonplace soul, she had her share of womanly sympathy, and her own life had not been free from suffering.
it taught her the right thing to do now.
she sat down by the stricken creature and put her arms about her, while she gathered the cold hands in her own warm clasp.
the tears filled her big, blue eyes and her voice trembled as she said: "thyra, i'm sorry for you.
i -- i -- lost a child once -- my little first-born.
and chester was a dear, good lad."
for a moment thyra strained her small, tense body away from cynthia's embrace.
then she shuddered and cried out.
the tears came, and she wept her agony out on the other woman's breast.
as the ill news spread, other avonlea women kept dropping in all through the day to condole with thyra.
many of them came in real sympathy, but some out of mere curiosity to see how she took it.
thyra knew this, but she did not resent it, as she would once have done.
she listened very quietly to all the halting efforts at consolation, and the little platitudes with which they strove to cover the nakedness of bereavement.
when darkness came cynthia said she must go home, but would send one of her girls over for the night.
""you wo n't feel like staying alone," she said.
thyra looked up steadily.
""no.
but i want you to send for damaris garland."
""damaris garland!"
cynthia repeated the name as if disbelieving her own ears.
there was never any knowing what whim thyra might take, but cynthia had not expected this.
""yes.
tell her i want her -- tell her she must come.
she must hate me bitterly; but i am punished enough to satisfy even her hate.
tell her to come to me for chester's sake."
cynthia did as she was bid, she sent her daughter, jeanette, for damaris.
then she waited.
no matter what duties were calling for her at home she must see the interview between thyra and damaris.
her curiosity would be the last thing to fail cynthia white.
she had done very well all day; but it would be asking too much of her to expect that she would consider the meeting of these two women sacred from her eyes.
she half believed that damaris would refuse to come.
but damaris came.
jeanette brought her in amid the fiery glow of a november sunset.
thyra stood up, and for a moment they looked at each other.
the insolence of damaris" beauty was gone.
her eyes were dull and heavy with weeping, her lips were pale, and her face had lost its laughter and dimples.
only her hair, escaping from the shawl she had cast around it, gushed forth in warm splendor in the sunset light, and framed her wan face like the aureole of a madonna.
thyra looked upon her with a shock of remorse.
this was not the radiant creature she had met on the bridge that summer afternoon.
this -- this -- was her work.
she held out her arms.
""oh, damaris, forgive me.
we both loved him -- that must be a bond between us for life."
damaris came forward and threw her arms about the older woman, lifting her face.
as their lips met even cynthia white realized that she had no business there.
she vented the irritation of her embarrassment on the innocent jeanette.
""come away," she whispered crossly.
""ca n't you see we're not wanted here?"
she drew jeanette out, leaving thyra rocking damaris in her arms, and crooning over her like a mother over her child.
when december had grown old damaris was still with thyra.
it was understood that she was to remain there for the winter, at least.
thyra could not bear her to be out of her sight.
they talked constantly about chester; thyra confessed all her anger and hatred.
damaris had forgiven her; but thyra could never forgive herself.
she was greatly changed, and had grown very gentle and tender.
she even sent for august vorst and begged him to pardon her for the way she had spoken to him.
winter came late that year, and the season was a very open one.
there was no snow on the ground and, a month after joe raymond's boat had been cast up on the blue point sand shore, thyra, wandering about in her garden, found some pansies blooming under their tangled leaves.
she was picking them for damaris when she heard a buggy rumble over the bridge and drive up the white lane, hidden from her sight by the alders and firs.
a few minutes later carl and cynthia came hastily across their yard under the huge balm-of-gileads.
carl's face was flushed, and his big body quivered with excitement.
cynthia ran behind him, with tears rolling down her face.
thyra felt herself growing sick with fear.
had anything happened to damaris?
a glimpse of the girl, sewing by an upper window of the house, reassured her.
""oh, thyra, thyra!"
gasped cynthia.
""can you stand some good news, thyra?"
asked carl, in a trembling voice.
""very, very good news!"
thyra looked wildly from one to the other.
""there's but one thing you would dare to call good news to me," she cried.
""is it about -- about --" "chester!
yes, it's about chester!
thyra, he is alive -- he's safe -- he and joe, both of them, thank god!
cynthia, catch her!"
""no, i am not going to faint," said thyra, steadying herself by cynthia's shoulder.
""my son alive!
how did you hear?
how did it happen?
where has he been?"
""i heard it down at the harbor, thyra.
mike mccready's vessel, the nora lee, was just in from the magdalens.
ches and joe got capsized the night of the storm, but they hung on to their boat somehow, and at daybreak they were picked up by the nora lee, bound for quebec.
but she was damaged by the storm and blown clear out of her course.
had to put into the magdalens for repairs, and has been there ever since.
the cable to the islands was out of order, and no vessels call there this time of year for mails.
if it had n't been an extra open season the nora lee would n't have got away, but would have had to stay there till spring.
you never saw such rejoicing as there was this morning at the harbor, when the nora lee came in, flying flags at the mast head."
""and chester -- where is he?"
demanded thyra.
carl and cynthia looked at each other.
""well, thyra," said the latter, "the fact is, he's over there in our yard this blessed minute.
carl brought him home from the harbor, but i would n't let him come over until we had prepared you for it.
he's waiting for you there."
thyra made a quick step in the direction of the gate.
then she turned, with a little of the glow dying out of her face.
""no, there's one has a better right to go to him first.
i can atone to him -- thank god, i can atone to him!"
she went into the house and called damaris.
as the girl came down the stairs thyra held out her hands with a wonderful light of joy and renunciation on her face.
""damaris," she said, "chester has come back to us -- the sea has given him back to us.
he is over at carl white's house.
go to him, my daughter, and bring him to me!"
xi.
the education of betty when sara currie married jack churchill i was broken-hearted... or believed myself to be so, which, in a boy of twenty-two, amounts to pretty much the same thing.
not that i took the world into my confidence; that was never the douglas way, and i held myself in honor bound to live up to the family traditions.
i thought, then, that nobody but sara knew; but i dare say, now, that jack knew it also, for i do n't think sara could have helped telling him.
if he did know, however, he did not let me see that he did, and never insulted me by any implied sympathy; on the contrary, he asked me to be his best man.
jack was always a thoroughbred.
i was best man.
jack and i had always been bosom friends, and, although i had lost my sweetheart, i did not intend to lose my friend into the bargain.
sara had made a wise choice, for jack was twice the man i was; he had had to work for his living, which perhaps accounts for it.
so i danced at sara's wedding as if my heart were as light as my heels; but, after she and jack had settled down at glenby i closed the maples and went abroad... being, as i have hinted, one of those unfortunate mortals who need consult nothing but their own whims in the matter of time and money.
i stayed away for ten years, during which the maples was given over to moths and rust, while i enjoyed life elsewhere.
i did enjoy it hugely, but always under protest, for i felt that a broken-hearted man ought not to enjoy himself as i did.
it jarred on my sense of fitness, and i tried to moderate my zest, and think more of the past than i did.
it was no use; the present insisted on being intrusive and pleasant; as for the future... well, there was no future.
then jack churchill, poor fellow, died.
a year after his death, i went home and again asked sara to marry me, as in duty bound.
sara again declined, alleging that her heart was buried in jack's grave, or words to that effect.
i found that it did not much matter... of course, at thirty-two one does not take these things to heart as at twenty-two.
i had enough to occupy me in getting the maples into working order, and beginning to educate betty.
betty was sara's ten year-old daughter, and she had been thoroughly spoiled.
that is to say, she had been allowed her own way in everything and, having inherited her father's outdoor tastes, had simply run wild.
she was a thorough tomboy, a thin, scrawny little thing with a trace of sara's beauty.
betty took after her father's dark, tall race and, on the occasion of my first introduction to her, seemed to be all legs and neck.
there were points about her, though, which i considered promising.
she had fine, almond-shaped, hazel eyes, the smallest and most shapely hands and feet i ever saw, and two enormous braids of thick, nut-brown hair.
for jack's sake i decided to bring his daughter up properly.
sara could n't do it, and did n't try.
i saw that, if somebody did n't take betty in hand, wisely and firmly, she would certainly be ruined.
there seemed to be nobody except myself at all interested in the matter, so i determined to see what an old bachelor could do as regards bringing up a girl in the way she should go.
i might have been her father; as it was, her father had been my best friend.
who had a better right to watch over his daughter?
i determined to be a father to betty, and do all for her that the most devoted parent could do.
it was, self-evidently, my duty.
i told sara i was going to take betty in hand.
sara sighed one of the plaintive little sighs which i had once thought so charming, but now, to my surprise, found faintly irritating, and said that she would be very much obliged if i would.
""i feel that i am not able to cope with the problem of betty's education, stephen," she admitted, "betty is a strange child... all churchill.
her poor father indulged her in everything, and she has a will of her own, i assure you.
i have really no control over her, whatever.
she does as she pleases, and is ruining her complexion by running and galloping out of doors the whole time.
not that she had much complexion to start with.
the churchills never had, you know."
... sara cast a complacent glance at her delicately tinted reflection in the mirror... "i tried to make betty wear a sunbonnet this summer, but i might as well have talked to the wind."
a vision of betty in a sunbonnet presented itself to my mind, and afforded me so much amusement that i was grateful to sara for having furnished it.
i rewarded her with a compliment.
""it is to be regretted that betty has not inherited her mother's charming color," i said, "but we must do the best we can for her under her limitations.
she may have improved vastly by the time she has grown up.
and, at least, we must make a lady of her; she is a most alarming tomboy at present, but there is good material to work upon... there must be, in the churchill and currie blend.
but even the best material may be spoiled by unwise handling.
i think i can promise you that i will not spoil it.
i feel that betty is my vocation; and i shall set myself up as a rival of wordsworth's "nature," of whose methods i have always had a decided distrust, in spite of his insidious verses."
sara did not understand me in the least; but, then, she did not pretend to.
""i confide betty's education entirely to you, stephen," she said, with another plaintive sigh.
""i feel sure i could not put it into better hands.
you have always been a person who could be thoroughly depended on."
well, that was something by way of reward for a life-long devotion.
i felt that i was satisfied with my position as unofficial advisor-in-chief to sara and self-appointed guardian of betty.
i also felt that, for the furtherance of the cause i had taken to heart, it was a good thing that sara had again refused to marry me.
i had a sixth sense which informed me that a staid old family friend might succeed with betty where a stepfather would have signally failed.
betty's loyalty to her father's memory was passionate, and vehement; she would view his supplanter with resentment and distrust; but his old familiar comrade was a person to be taken to her heart.
fortunately for the success of my enterprise, betty liked me.
she told me this with the same engaging candor she would have used in informing me that she hated me, if she had happened to take a bias in that direction, saying frankly: "you are one of the very nicest old folks i know, stephen.
yes, you are a ripping good fellow!"
this made my task a comparatively easy one; i sometimes shudder to think what it might have been if betty had not thought i was a "ripping good fellow."
i should have stuck to it, because that is my way; but betty would have made my life a misery to me.
she had startling capacities for tormenting people when she chose to exert them; i certainly should not have liked to be numbered among betty's foes.
i rode over to glenby the next morning after my paternal interview with sara, intending to have a frank talk with betty and lay the foundations of a good understanding on both sides.
betty was a sharp child, with a disconcerting knack of seeing straight through grindstones; she would certainly perceive and probably resent any underhanded management.
i thought it best to tell her plainly that i was going to look after her.
when, however, i encountered betty, tearing madly down the beech avenue with a couple of dogs, her loosened hair streaming behind her like a banner of independence, and had lifted her, hatless and breathless, up before me on my mare, i found that sara had saved me the trouble of an explanation.
""mother says you are going to take charge of my education, stephen," said betty, as soon as she could speak.
""i'm glad, because i think that, for an old person, you have a good deal of sense.
i suppose my education has to be seen to, some time or other, and i'd rather you'd do it than anybody else i know."
""thank you, betty," i said gravely.
""i hope i shall deserve your good opinion of my sense.
i shall expect you to do as i tell you, and be guided by my advice in everything."
""yes, i will," said betty, "because i'm sure you wo n't tell me to do anything i'd really hate to do.
you wo n't shut me up in a room and make me sew, will you?
because i wo n't do it."
i assured her i would not.
""nor send me to a boarding-school," pursued betty.
""mother's always threatening to send me to one.
i suppose she would have done it before this, only she knew i'd run away.
you wo n't send me to a boarding-school, will you, stephen?
because i wo n't go."
""no," i said obligingly.
""i wo n't.
i should never dream of cooping a wild little thing, like you, up in a boarding-school.
you'd fret your heart out like a caged skylark."
""i know you and i are going to get along together splendidly, stephen," said betty, rubbing her brown cheek chummily against my shoulder.
""you are so good at understanding.
very few people are.
even dad darling did n't understand.
he let me do just as i wanted to, just because i wanted to, not because he really understood that i could n't be tame and play with dolls.
i hate dolls!
real live babies are jolly; but dogs and horses are ever so much nicer than dolls."
""but you must have lessons, betty.
i shall select your teachers and superintend your studies, and i shall expect you to do me credit along that line, as well as along all others."
""i'll try, honest and true, stephen," declared betty.
and she kept her word.
at first i looked upon betty's education as a duty; in a very short time it had become a pleasure... the deepest and most abiding interest of my life.
as i had premised, betty was good material, and responded to my training with gratifying plasticity.
day by day, week by week, month by month, her character and temperament unfolded naturally under my watchful eye.
it was like beholding the gradual development of some rare flower in one's garden.
a little checking and pruning here, a careful training of shoot and tendril there, and, lo, the reward of grace and symmetry!
betty grew up as i would have wished jack churchill's girl to grow -- spirited and proud, with the fine spirit and gracious pride of pure womanhood, loyal and loving, with the loyalty and love of a frank and unspoiled nature; true to her heart's core, hating falsehood and sham -- as crystal-clear a mirror of maidenhood as ever man looked into and saw himself reflected back in such a halo as made him ashamed of not being more worthy of it.
betty was kind enough to say that i had taught her everything she knew.
but what had she not taught me?
if there were a debt between us, it was on my side.
sara was fairly well satisfied.
it was not my fault that betty was not better looking, she said.
i had certainly done everything for her mind and character that could be done.
sara's manner implied that these unimportant details did not count for much, balanced against the lack of a pink-and-white skin and dimpled elbows; but she was generous enough not to blame me.
""when betty is twenty-five," i said patiently -- i had grown used to speaking patiently to sara -- "she will be a magnificent woman -- far handsomer than you ever were, sara, in your pinkest and whitest prime.
where are your eyes, my dear lady, that you ca n't see the promise of loveliness in betty?"
""betty is seventeen, and she is as lanky and brown as ever she was," sighed sara.
""when i was seventeen i was the belle of the county and had had five proposals.
i do n't believe the thought of a lover has ever entered betty's head."
""i hope not," i said shortly.
somehow, i did not like the suggestion.
""betty is a child yet.
for pity's sake, sara, do n't go putting nonsensical ideas into her head."
""i'm afraid i ca n't," mourned sara, as if it were something to be regretted.
""you have filled it too full of books and things like that.
i've every confidence in your judgment, stephen -- and really you've done wonders with betty.
but do n't you think you've made her rather too clever?
men do n't like women who are too clever.
her poor father, now -- he always said that a woman who liked books better than beaux was an unnatural creature."
i did n't believe jack had ever said anything so foolish.
sara imagined things.
but i resented the aspersion of blue-stockingness cast on betty.
""when the time comes for betty to be interested in beaux," i said severely, "she will probably give them all due attention.
just at present her head is a great deal better filled with books than with silly premature fancies and sentimentalities.
i'm a critical old fellow -- but i'm satisfied with betty, sara -- perfectly satisfied."
sara sighed.
""oh, i dare say she is all right, stephen.
and i'm really grateful to you.
i'm sure i could have done nothing at all with her.
it's not your fault, of course, -- but i ca n't help wishing she were a little more like other girls."
i galloped away from glenby in a rage.
what a blessing sara had not married me in my absurd youth!
she would have driven me wild with her sighs and her obtuseness and her everlasting pink-and-whiteness.
but there -- there -- there -- gently!
she was a sweet, good-hearted little woman; she had made jack happy; and she had contrived, heaven only knew how, to bring a rare creature like betty into the world.
for that, much might be forgiven her.
by the time i reached the maples and had flung myself down in an old, kinky, comfortable chair in my library i had forgiven her and was even paying her the compliment of thinking seriously over what she had said.
was betty really unlike other girls?
that is to say, unlike them in any respect wherein she should resemble them?
i did not wish this; although i was a crusty old bachelor i approved of girls, holding them the sweetest things the good god has made.
i wanted betty to have her full complement of girlhood in all its best and highest manifestation.
was there anything lacking?
i observed betty very closely during the next week or so, riding over to glenby every day and riding back at night, meditating upon my observations.
eventually i concluded to do what i had never thought myself in the least likely to do.
i would send betty to a boarding-school for a year.
it was necessary that she should learn how to live with other girls.
i went over to glenby the next day and found betty under the beeches on the lawn, just back from a canter.
she was sitting on the dappled mare i had given her on her last birthday, and was laughing at the antics of her rejoicing dogs around her.
i looked at her with much pleasure; it gladdened me to see how much, nay, how totally a child she still was, despite her churchill height.
her hair, under her velvet cap, still hung over her shoulders in the same thick plaits; her face had the firm leanness of early youth, but its curves were very fine and delicate.
the brown skin, that worried sara so, was flushed through with dusky color from her gallop; her long, dark eyes were filled with the beautiful unconsciousness of childhood.
more than all, the soul in her was still the soul of a child.
i found myself wishing that it could always remain so.
but i knew it could not; the woman must blossom out some day; it was my duty to see that the flower fulfilled the promise of the bud.
when i told betty that she must go away to a school for a year, she shrugged, frowned and consented.
betty had learned that she must consent to what i decreed, even when my decrees were opposed to her likings, as she had once fondly believed they never would be.
but betty had acquired confidence in me to the beautiful extent of acquiescing in everything i commanded.
""i'll go, of course, since you wish it, stephen," she said.
""but why do you want me to go?
you must have a reason -- you always have a reason for anything you do.
what is it?"
""that is for you to find out, betty," i said.
""by the time you come back you will have discovered it, i think.
if not, it will not have proved itself a good reason and shall be forgotten."
when betty went away i bade her good-by without burdening her with any useless words of advice.
""write to me every week, and remember that you are betty churchill," i said.
betty was standing on the steps above, among her dogs.
she came down a step and put her arms about my neck.
""i'll remember that you are my friend and that i must live up to you," she said.
""good-by, stephen."
she kissed me two or three times -- good, hearty smacks!
did i not say she was still a child?
-- and stood waving her hand to me as i rode away.
i looked back at the end of the avenue and saw her standing there, short-skirted and hatless, fronting the lowering sun with those fearless eyes of hers.
so i looked my last on the child betty.
that was a lonely year.
my occupation was gone and i began to fear that i had outlived my usefulness.
life seemed flat, stale, and unprofitable.
betty's weekly letters were all that lent it any savor.
they were spicy and piquant enough.
betty was discovered to have unsuspected talents in the epistolary line.
at first she was dolefully homesick, and begged me to let her come home.
when i refused -- it was amazingly hard to refuse -- she sulked through three letters, then cheered up and began to enjoy herself.
but it was nearly the end of the year when she wrote: "i've found out why you sent me here, stephen -- and i'm glad you did."
i had to be away from home on unavoidable business the day betty returned to glenby.
but the next afternoon i went over.
i found betty out and sara in.
the latter was beaming.
betty was so much improved, she declared delightedly.
i would hardly know "the dear child."
this alarmed me terribly.
what on earth had they done to betty?
i found that she had gone up to the pineland for a walk, and thither i betook myself speedily.
when i saw her coming down a long, golden-brown alley i stepped behind a tree to watch her -- i wished to see her, myself unseen.
as she drew near i gazed at her with pride, and admiration and amazement -- and, under it all, a strange, dreadful, heart-sinking, which i could not understand and which i had never in all my life experienced before -- no, not even when sara had refused me.
betty was a woman!
not by virtue of the simple white dress that clung to her tall, slender figure, revealing lines of exquisite grace and litheness; not by virtue of the glossy masses of dark brown hair heaped high on her head and held there in wonderful shining coils; not by virtue of added softness of curve and daintiness of outline; not because of all these, but because of the dream and wonder and seeking in her eyes.
she was a woman, looking, all unconscious of her quest, for love.
the understanding of the change in her came home to me with a shock that must have left me, i think, something white about the lips.
i was glad.
she was what i had wished her to become.
but i wanted the child betty back; this womanly betty seemed far away from me.
i stepped out into the path and she saw me, with a brightening of her whole face.
she did not rush forward and fling herself into my arms as she would have done a year ago; but she came towards me swiftly, holding out her hand.
i had thought her slightly pale when i had first seen her; but now i concluded i had been mistaken, for there was a wonderful sunrise of color in her face.
i took her hand -- there were no kisses this time.
""welcome home, betty," i said.
""oh, stephen, it is so good to be back," she breathed, her eyes shining.
she did not say it was good to see me again, as i had hoped she would do.
indeed, after the first minute of greeting, she seemed a trifle cool and distant.
we walked for an hour in the pine wood and talked.
betty was brilliant, witty, self-possessed, altogether charming.
i thought her perfect and yet my heart ached.
what a glorious young thing she was, in that splendid youth of hers!
what a prize for some lucky man -- confound the obtrusive thought!
no doubt we should soon be overrun at glenby with lovers.
i should stumble over some forlorn youth at every step!
well, what of it?
betty would marry, of course.
it would be my duty to see that she got a good husband, worthy of her as men go.
i thought i preferred the old duty of superintending her studies.
but there, it was all the same thing -- merely a post-graduate course in applied knowledge.
when she began to learn life's greatest lesson of love, i, the tried and true old family friend and mentor, must be on hand to see that the teacher was what i would have him be, even as i had formerly selected her instructor in french and botany.
then, and not until then, would betty's education be complete.
i rode home very soberly.
when i reached the maples i did what i had not done for years... looked critically at myself in the mirror.
the realization that i had grown older came home to me with a new and unpleasant force.
there were marked lines on my lean face, and silver glints in the dark hair over my temples.
when betty was ten she had thought me "an old person."
now, at eighteen, she probably thought me a veritable ancient of days.
pshaw, what did it matter?
and yet... i thought of her as i had seen her, standing under the pines, and something cold and painful laid its hand on my heart.
my premonitions as to lovers proved correct.
glenby was soon infested with them.
heaven knows where they all came from.
i had not supposed there was a quarter as many young men in the whole county; but there they were.
sara was in the seventh heaven of delight.
was not betty at last a belle?
as for the proposals... well, betty never counted her scalps in public; but every once in a while a visiting youth dropped out and was seen no more at glenby.
one could guess what that meant.
betty apparently enjoyed all this.
i grieve to say that she was a bit of a coquette.
i tried to cure her of this serious defect, but for once i found that i had undertaken something i could not accomplish.
in vain i lectured, betty only laughed; in vain i gravely rebuked, betty only flirted more vivaciously than before.
men might come and men might go, but betty went on forever.
i endured this sort of thing for a year and then i decided that it was time to interfere seriously.
i must find a husband for betty... my fatherly duty would not be fulfilled until i had... nor, indeed, my duty to society.
she was not a safe person to have running at large.
none of the men who haunted glenby was good enough for her.
i decided that my nephew, frank, would do very well.
he was a capital young fellow, handsome, clean-souled, and whole-hearted.
from a worldly point of view he was what sara would have termed an excellent match; he had money, social standing and a rising reputation as a clever young lawyer.
yes, he should have betty, confound him!
they had never met.
i set the wheels going at once.
the sooner all the fuss was over the better.
i hated fuss and there was bound to be a good deal of it.
but i went about the business like an accomplished matchmaker.
i invited frank to visit the maples and, before he came, i talked much... but not too much... of him to betty, mingling judicious praise and still more judicious blame together.
women never like a paragon.
betty heard me with more gravity than she usually accorded to my dissertations on young men.
she even condescended to ask several questions about him.
this i thought a good sign.
to frank i had said not a word about betty; when he came to the maples i took him over to glenby and, coming upon betty wandering about among the beeches in the sunset, i introduced him without any warning.
he would have been more than mortal if he had not fallen in love with her upon the spot.
it was not in the heart of man to resist her... that dainty, alluring bit of womanhood.
she was all in white, with flowers in her hair, and, for a moment, i could have murdered frank or any other man who dared to commit the sacrilege of loving her.
then i pulled myself together and left them alone.
i might have gone in and talked to sara... two old folks gently reviewing their youth while the young folks courted outside... but i did not.
i prowled about the pine wood, and tried to forget how blithe and handsome that curly-headed boy, frank, was, and what a flash had sprung into his eyes when he had seen betty.
well, what of it?
was not that what i had brought him there for?
and was i not pleased at the success of my scheme?
certainly i was!
delighted!
next day frank went to glenby without even making the poor pretense of asking me to accompany him.
i spent the time of his absence overseeing the construction of a new greenhouse i was having built.
i was conscientious in my supervision; but i felt no interest in it.
the place was intended for roses, and roses made me think of the pale yellow ones betty had worn at her breast one evening the week before, when, all lovers being unaccountably absent, we had wandered together under the pines and talked as in the old days before her young womanhood and my gray hairs had risen up to divide us.
she had dropped a rose on the brown floor, and i had sneaked back, after i had left her the house, to get it, before i went home.
i had it now in my pocket-book.
confound it, might n't a future uncle cherish a family affection for his prospective niece?
frank's wooing seemed to prosper.
the other young sparks, who had haunted glenby, faded away after his advent.
betty treated him with most encouraging sweetness; sara smiled on him; i stood in the background, like a benevolent god of the machine, and flattered myself that i pulled the strings.
at the end of a month something went wrong.
frank came home from glenby one day in the dumps, and moped for two whole days.
i rode down myself on the third.
i had not gone much to glenby that month; but, if there were trouble bettyward, it was my duty to make smooth the rough places.
as usual, i found betty in the pineland.
i thought she looked rather pale and dull... fretting about frank no doubt.
she brightened up when she saw me, evidently expecting that i had come to straighten matters out; but she pretended to be haughty and indifferent.
""i am glad you have n't forgotten us altogether, stephen," she said coolly.
""you have n't been down for a week."
""i'm flattered that you noticed it," i said, sitting down on a fallen tree and looking up at her as she stood, tall and lithe, against an old pine, with her eyes averted.
""i should n't have supposed you'd want an old fogy like myself poking about and spoiling the idyllic moments of love's young dream."
""why do you always speak of yourself as old?"
said betty, crossly, ignoring my reference to frank.
""because i am old, my dear.
witness these gray hairs."
i pushed up my hat to show them the more recklessly.
betty barely glanced at them.
""you have just enough to give you a distinguished look," she said, "and you are only forty.
a man is in his prime at forty.
he never has any sense until he is forty -- and sometimes he does n't seem to have any even then," she concluded impertinently.
my heart beat.
did betty suspect?
was that last sentence meant to inform me that she was aware of my secret folly, and laughed at it?
""i came over to see what has gone wrong between you and frank," i said gravely.
betty bit her lips.
""nothing," she said.
""betty," i said reproachfully, "i brought you up... or endeavored to bring you up... to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
do n't tell me i have failed.
i'll give you another chance.
have you quarreled with frank?"
""no," said the maddening betty, "he quarreled with me.
he went away in a temper and i do not care if he never comes back!"
i shook my head.
""this wo n't do, betty.
as your old family friend i still claim the right to scold you until you have a husband to do the scolding.
you must n't torment frank.
he is too fine a fellow.
you must marry him, betty."
""must i?"
said betty, a dusky red flaming out on her cheek.
she turned her eyes on me in a most disconcerting fashion.
""do you wish me to marry frank, stephen?"
betty had a wretched habit of emphasizing pronouns in a fashion calculated to rattle anybody.
""yes, i do wish it, because i think it will be best for you," i replied, without looking at her.
""you must marry some time, betty, and frank is the only man i know to whom i could trust you.
as your guardian, i have an interest in seeing you well and wisely settled for life.
you have always taken my advice and obeyed my wishes; and you've always found my way the best, in the long run, have n't you, betty?
you wo n't prove rebellious now, i'm sure.
you know quite well that i am advising you for your own good.
frank is a splendid young fellow, who loves you with all his heart.
marry him, betty.
mind, i do n't command.
i have no right to do that, and you are too old to be ordered about, if i had.
but i wish and advise it.
is n't that enough, betty?"
i had been looking away from her all the time i was talking, gazing determinedly down a sunlit vista of pines.
every word i said seemed to tear my heart, and come from my lips stained with life-blood.
yes, betty should marry frank!
but, good god, what would become of me!
betty left her station under the pine tree, and walked around me until she got right in front of my face.
i could n't help looking at her, for if i moved my eyes she moved too.
there was nothing meek or submissive about her; her head was held high, her eyes were blazing, and her cheeks were crimson.
but her words were meek enough.
""i will marry frank if you wish it, stephen," she said.
""you are my friend.
i have never crossed your wishes, and, as you say, i have never regretted being guided by them.
i will do exactly as you wish in this case also, i promise you that.
but, in so solemn a question, i must be very certain what you do wish.
there must be no doubt in my mind or heart.
look me squarely in the eyes, stephen -- as you have n't done once to-day, no, nor once since i came home from school -- and, so looking, tell me that you wish me to marry frank douglas and i will do it!
do you, stephen?"
i had to look her in the eyes, since nothing else would do her; and, as i did so, all the might of manhood in me rose up in hot revolt against the lie i would have told her.
that unfaltering, impelling gaze of hers drew the truth from my lips in spite of myself.
""no, i do n't wish you to marry frank douglas, a thousand times no!"
i said passionately.
""i do n't wish you to marry any man on earth but myself.
i love you -- i love you, betty.
you are dearer to me than life -- dearer to me than my own happiness.
it was your happiness i thought of -- and so i asked you to marry frank because i believed he would make you a happy woman.
that is all!"
betty's defiance went from her like a flame blown out.
she turned away and drooped her proud head.
""it could not have made me a happy woman to marry one man, loving another," she said, in a whisper.
i got up and went over to her.
""betty, whom do you love?"
i asked, also in a whisper.
""you," she murmured meekly -- oh, so meekly, my proud little girl!
""betty," i said brokenly, "i'm old -- too old for you -- i'm more than twenty years your senior -- i'm --" "oh!"
betty wheeled around on me and stamped her foot.
""do n't mention your age to me again.
i do n't care if you're as old as methuselah.
but i'm not going to coax you to marry me, sir!
if you wo n't, i'll never marry anybody -- i'll live and die an old maid.
you can please yourself, of course!"
she turned away, half-laughing, half-crying; but i caught her in my arms and crushed her sweet lips against mine.
""betty, i'm the happiest man in the world -- and i was the most miserable when i came here."
""you deserved to be," said betty cruelly.
""i'm glad you were.
any man as stupid as you deserves to be unhappy.
what do you think i felt like, loving you with all my heart, and seeing you simply throwing me at another man's head.
why, i've always loved you, stephen; but i did n't know it until i went to that detestable school.
then i found out -- and i thought that was why you had sent me.
but, when i came home, you almost broke my heart.
that was why i flirted so with all those poor, nice boys -- i wanted to hurt you but i never thought i succeeded.
you just went on being fatherly.
then, when you brought frank here, i almost gave up hope; and i tried to make up my mind to marry him; i should have done it if you had insisted.
but i had to have one more try for happiness first.
i had just one little hope to inspire me with sufficient boldness.
i saw you, that night, when you came back here and picked up my rose!
i had come back, myself, to be alone and unhappy."
""it is the most wonderful thing that ever happened -- that you should love me," i said.
""it's not -- i could n't help it," said betty, nestling her brown head on my shoulder.
""you taught me everything else, stephen, so nobody but you could teach me how to love.
you've made a thorough thing of educating me."
""when will you marry me, betty?"
i asked.
""as soon as i can fully forgive you for trying to make me marry somebody else," said betty.
it was rather hard lines on frank, when you come to think of it.
but, such is the selfishness of human nature that we did n't think much about frank.
the young fellow behaved like the douglas he was.
went a little white about the lips when i told him, wished me all happiness, and went quietly away, "gentleman unafraid."
he has since married and is, i understand, very happy.
not as happy as i am, of course; that is impossible, because there is only one betty in the world, and she is my wife.
xii.
in her selfless mood the raw wind of an early may evening was puffing in and out the curtains of the room where naomi holland lay dying.
the air was moist and chill, but the sick woman would not have the window closed.
""i ca n't get my breath if you shut everything up so tight," she said.
""whatever comes, i ai n't going to be smothered to death, car "line holland."
outside of the window grew a cherry tree, powdered with moist buds with the promise of blossoms she would not live to see.
between its boughs she saw a crystal cup of sky over hills that were growing dim and purple.
the outside air was full of sweet, wholesome springtime sounds that drifted in fitfully.
there were voices and whistles in the barnyard, and now and then faint laughter.
a bird alighted for a moment on a cherry bough, and twittered restlessly.
naomi knew that white mists were hovering in the silent hollows, that the maple at the gate wore a misty blossom red, and that violet stars were shining bluely on the brooklands.
the room was a small, plain one.
the floor was bare, save for a couple of braided rugs, the plaster discolored, the walls dingy and glaring.
there had never been much beauty in naomi holland's environment, and, now that she was dying, there was even less.
at the open window a boy of about ten years was leaning out over the sill and whistling.
he was tall for his age, and beautiful -- the hair a rich auburn with a glistening curl in it, skin very white and warm-tinted, eyes small and of a greenish blue, with dilated pupils and long lashes.
he had a weak chin, and a full, sullen mouth.
the bed was in the corner farthest from the window; on it the sick woman, in spite of the pain that was her portion continually, was lying as quiet and motionless as she had done ever since she had lain down upon it for the last time.
naomi holland never complained; when the agony was at its worst, she shut her teeth more firmly over her bloodless lip, and her great black eyes glared at the blank wall before in a way that gave her attendants what they called "the creeps," but no word or moan escaped her.
between the paroxysms she kept up her keen interest in the life that went on about her.
nothing escaped her sharp, alert eyes and ears.
this evening she lay spent on the crumpled pillows; she had had a bad spell in the afternoon and it had left her very weak.
in the dim light her extremely long face looked corpse-like already.
her black hair lay in a heavy braid over the pillow and down the counterpane.
it was all that was left of her beauty, and she took a fierce joy in it.
those long, glistening, sinuous tresses must be combed and braided every day, no matter what came.
a girl of fourteen was curled up on a chair at the head of the bed, with her head resting on the pillow.
the boy at the window was her half-brother; but, between christopher holland and eunice carr, not the slightest resemblance existed.
presently the sibilant silence was broken by a low, half-strangled sob.
the sick woman, who had been watching a white evening star through the cherry boughs, turned impatiently at the sound.
""i wish you'd get over that, eunice," she said sharply.
""i do n't want any one crying over me until i'm dead; and then you'll have plenty else to do, most likely.
if it was n't for christopher i would n't be anyways unwilling to die.
when one has had such a life as i've had, there is n't much in death to be afraid of.
only, a body would like to go right off, and not die by inches, like this.
"tai n't fair!"
she snapped out the last sentence as if addressing some unseen, tyrannical presence; her voice, at least, had not weakened, but was as clear and incisive as ever.
the boy at the window stopped whistling, and the girl silently wiped her eyes on her faded gingham apron.
naomi drew her own hair over her lips, and kissed it.
""you'll never have hair like that, eunice," she said.
""it does seem most too pretty to bury, does n't it?
mind you see that it is fixed nice when i'm laid out.
comb it right up on my head and braid it there."
a sound, such as might be wrung from a suffering animal, came from the girl, but at the same moment the door opened and a woman entered.
""chris," she said sharply, "you get right off for the cows, you lazy little scamp!
you knew right well you had to go for them, and here you've been idling, and me looking high and low for you.
make haste now; it's ridiculous late."
the boy pulled in his head and scowled at his aunt, but he dared not disobey, and went out slowly with a sulky mutter.
his aunt subdued a movement, that might have developed into a sound box on his ears, with a rather frightened glance at the bed.
naomi holland was spent and dying, but her temper was still a thing to hold in dread, and her sister-in-law did not choose to rouse it by slapping christopher.
to her and her co-nurse the spasms of rage, which the sick woman sometimes had, seemed to partake of the nature of devil possession.
the last one, only three days before, had been provoked by christopher's complaint of some real or fancied ill-treatment from his aunt, and the latter had no mind to bring on another.
she went over to the bed, and straightened the clothes.
""sarah and i are going out to milk, naomi, eunice will stay with you.
she can run for us if you feel another spell coming on."
naomi holland looked up at her sister-in-law with something like malicious enjoyment.
""i ai n't going to have any more spells, car "line anne.
i'm going to die to-night.
but you need n't hurry milking for that, at all.
i'll take my time."
she liked to see the alarm that came over the other woman's face.
it was richly worth while to scare caroline holland like that.
""are you feeling worse, naomi?"
asked the latter shakily.
""if you are i'll send for charles to go for the doctor."
""no, you wo n't.
what good can the doctor do me?
i do n't want either his or charles" permission to die.
you can go and milk at your ease.
i wo n't die till you're done -- i wo n't deprive you of the pleasure of seeing me."
mrs. holland shut her lips and went out of the room with a martyr-like expression.
in some ways naomi holland was not an exacting patient, but she took her satisfaction out in the biting, malicious speeches she never failed to make.
even on her death-bed her hostility to her sister-in-law had to find vent.
outside, at the steps, sarah spencer was waiting, with the milk pails over her arm.
sarah spencer had no fixed abiding place, but was always to be found where there was illness.
her experience, and an utter lack of nerves, made her a good nurse.
she was a tall, homely woman with iron gray hair and a lined face.
beside her, the trim little caroline anne, with her light step and round, apple-red face, looked almost girlish.
the two women walked to the barnyard, discussing naomi in undertones as they went.
the house they had left behind grew very still.
in naomi holland's room the shadows were gathering.
eunice timidly bent over her mother.
""ma, do you want the light lit?"
""no, i'm watching that star just below the big cherry bough.
i'll see it set behind the hill.
i've seen it there, off and on, for twelve years, and now i'm taking a good-by look at it.
i want you to keep still, too.
i've got a few things to think over, and i do n't want to be disturbed."
the girl lifted herself about noiselessly and locked her hands over the bed-post.
then she laid her face down on them, biting at them silently until the marks of her teeth showed white against their red roughness.
naomi holland did not notice her.
she was looking steadfastly at the great, pearl-like sparkle in the faint-hued sky.
when it finally disappeared from her vision she struck her long, thin hands together twice, and a terrible expression came over her face for a moment.
but, when she spoke, her voice was quite calm.
""you can light the candle now, eunice.
put it up on the shelf here, where it wo n't shine in my eyes.
and then sit down on the foot of the bed where i can see you.
i've got something to say to you."
eunice obeyed her noiselessly.
as the pallid light shot up, it revealed the child plainly.
she was thin and ill-formed -- one shoulder being slightly higher than the other.
she was dark, like her mother, but her features were irregular, and her hair fell in straggling, dim locks about her face.
her eyes were a dark brown, and over one was the slanting red scar of a birth mark.
naomi holland looked at her with the contempt she had never made any pretense of concealing.
the girl was bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh, but she had never loved her; all the mother love in her had been lavished on her son.
when eunice had placed the candle on the shelf and drawn down the ugly blue paper blinds, shutting out the strips of violet sky where a score of glimmering points were now visible, she sat down on the foot of the bed, facing her mother.
""the door is shut, is it, eunice?"
eunice nodded.
""because i do n't want car "line or any one else peeking and harking to what i've got to say.
she's out milking now, and i must make the most of the chance.
eunice, i'm going to die, and..." "ma!"
""there now, no taking on!
you knew it had to come sometime soon.
i have n't the strength to talk much, so i want you just to be quiet and listen.
i ai n't feeling any pain now, so i can think and talk pretty clear.
are you listening, eunice?"
""yes, ma."
""mind you are.
it's about christopher.
it has n't been out of my mind since i laid down here.
i've fought for a year to live, on his account, and it ai n't any use.
i must just die and leave him, and i do n't know what he'll do.
it's dreadful to think of."
she paused, and struck her shrunken hand sharply against the table.
""if he was bigger and could look out for himself it would n't be so bad.
but he is only a little fellow, and car "line hates him.
you'll both have to live with her until you're grown up.
she'll put on him and abuse him.
he's like his father in some ways; he's got a temper and he is stubborn.
he'll never get on with car "line.
now, eunice, i'm going to get you to promise to take my place with christopher when i'm dead, as far as you can.
you've got to; it's your duty.
but i want you to promise."
""i will, ma," whispered the girl solemnly.
""you have n't much force -- you never had.
if you was smart, you could do a lot for him.
but you'll have to do your best.
i want you to promise me faithfully that you'll stand by him and protect him -- that you wo n't let people impose on him; that you'll never desert him as long as he needs you, no matter what comes.
eunice, promise me this!"
in her excitement the sick woman raised herself up in the bed, and clutched the girl's thin arm.
her eyes were blazing and two scarlet spots glowed in her thin cheeks.
eunice's face was white and tense.
she clasped her hands as one in prayer.
""mother, i promise it!"
naomi relaxed her grip on the girl's arm and sank back exhausted on the pillow.
a death-like look came over her face as the excitement faded.
""my mind is easier now.
but if i could only have lived another year or two!
and i hate car "line -- hate her!
eunice, do n't you ever let her abuse my boy!
if she did, or if you neglected him, i'd come back from my grave to you!
as for the property, things will be pretty straight.
i've seen to that.
there'll be no squabbling and doing christopher out of his rights.
he's to have the farm as soon as he's old enough to work it, and he's to provide for you.
and, eunice, remember what you've promised!"
outside, in the thickly gathering dusk, caroline holland and sarah spencer were at the dairy, straining the milk into creamers, for which christopher was sullenly pumping water.
the house was far from the road, up to which a long red lane led; across the field was the old holland homestead where caroline lived; her unmarried sister-in-law, electa holland, kept house for her while she waited on naomi.
it was her night to go home and sleep, but naomi's words haunted her, although she believed they were born of pure "cantankerousness."
""you'd better go in and look at her, sarah," she said, as she rinsed out the pails.
""if you think i'd better stay here to-night, i will.
if the woman was like anybody else a body would know what to do; but, if she thought she could scare us by saying she was going to die, she'd say it."
when sarah went in, the sick room was very quiet.
in her opinion, naomi was no worse than usual, and she told caroline so; but the latter felt vaguely uneasy and concluded to stay.
naomi was as cool and defiant as customary.
she made them bring christopher in to say good-night and had him lifted up on the bed to kiss her.
then she held him back and looked at him admiringly -- at the bright curls and rosy cheeks and round, firm limbs.
the boy was uncomfortable under her gaze and squirmed hastily down.
her eyes followed him greedily, as he went out.
when the door closed behind him, she groaned.
sarah spencer was startled.
she had never heard naomi holland groan since she had come to wait on her.
""are you feeling any worse, naomi?
is the pain coming back?"
""no.
go and tell car "line to give christopher some of that grape jelly on his bread before he goes to bed.
she'll find it in the cupboard under the stairs."
presently the house grew very still.
caroline had dropped asleep on the sitting-room lounge, across the hall.
sarah spencer nodded over her knitting by the table in the sick room.
she had told eunice to go to bed, but the child refused.
she still sat huddled up on the foot of the bed, watching her mother's face intently.
naomi appeared to sleep.
the candle burned long, and the wick was crowned by a little cap of fiery red that seemed to watch eunice like some impish goblin.
the wavering light cast grotesque shadows of sarah spencer's head on the wall.
the thin curtains at the window wavered to and fro, as if shaken by ghostly hands.
at midnight naomi holland opened her eyes.
the child she had never loved was the only one to go with her to the brink of the unseen.
""eunice -- remember!"
it was the faintest whisper.
the soul, passing over the threshold of another life, strained back to its only earthly tie.
a quiver passed over the long, pallid face.
a horrible scream rang through the silent house.
sarah spencer sprang out of her doze in consternation, and gazed blankly at the shrieking child.
caroline came hurrying in with distended eyes.
on the bed naomi holland lay dead.
in the room where she had died naomi holland lay in her coffin.
it was dim and hushed; but, in the rest of the house, the preparations for the funeral were being hurried on.
through it all eunice moved, calm and silent.
since her one wild spasm of screaming by her mother's death-bed she had shed no tear, given no sign of grief.
perhaps, as her mother had said, she had no time.
there was christopher to be looked after.
the boy's grief was stormy and uncontrolled.
he had cried until he was utterly exhausted.
it was eunice who soothed him, coaxed him to eat, kept him constantly by her.
at night she took him to her own room and watched over him while he slept.
when the funeral was over the household furniture was packed away or sold.
the house was locked up and the farm rented.
there was nowhere for the children to go, save to their uncle's.
caroline holland did not want them, but, having to take them, she grimly made up her mind to do what she considered her duty by them.
she had five children of her own and between them and christopher a standing feud had existed from the time he could walk.
she had never liked naomi.
few people did.
benjamin holland had not married until late in life, and his wife had declared war on his family at sight.
she was a stranger in avonlea, -- a widow, with a three year-old child.
she made few friends, as some people always asserted that she was not in her right mind.
within a year of her second marriage christopher was born, and from the hour of his birth his mother had worshiped him blindly.
he was her only solace.
for him she toiled and pinched and saved.
benjamin holland had not been "fore-handed" when she married him; but, when he died, six years after his marriage, he was a well-to-do man.
naomi made no pretense of mourning for him.
it was an open secret that they had quarreled like the proverbial cat and dog.
charles holland and his wife had naturally sided with benjamin, and naomi fought her battles single-handed.
after her husband's death, she managed to farm alone, and made it pay.
when the mysterious malady which was to end her life first seized on her she fought against it with all the strength and stubbornness of her strong and stubborn nature.
her will won for her an added year of life, and then she had to yield.
she tasted all the bitterness of death the day on which she lay down on her bed, and saw her enemy come in to rule her house.
but caroline holland was not a bad or unkind woman.
true, she did not love naomi or her children; but the woman was dying and must be looked after for the sake of common humanity.
caroline thought she had done well by her sister-in-law.
when the red clay was heaped over naomi's grave in the avonlea burying ground, caroline took eunice and christopher home with her.
christopher did not want to go; it was eunice who reconciled him.
he clung to her with an exacting affection born of loneliness and grief.
in the days that followed caroline holland was obliged to confess to herself that there would have been no doing anything with christopher had it not been for eunice.
the boy was sullen and obstinate, but his sister had an unfailing influence over him.
in charles holland's household no one was allowed to eat the bread of idleness.
his own children were all girls, and christopher came in handy as a chore boy.
he was made to work -- perhaps too hard.
but eunice helped him, and did half his work for him when nobody knew.
when he quarreled with his cousins, she took his part; whenever possible she took on herself the blame and punishment of his misdeeds.
electa holland was charles" unmarried sister.
she had kept house for benjamin until he married; then naomi had bundled her out.
electa had never forgiven her for it.
her hatred passed on to naomi's children.
in a hundred petty ways she revenged herself on them.
for herself, eunice bore it patiently; but it was a different matter when it touched christopher.
once electa boxed christopher's ears.
eunice, who was knitting by the table, stood up.
a resemblance to her mother, never before visible, came out in her face like a brand.
she lifted her hand and slapped electa's cheek deliberately twice, leaving a dull red mark where she struck.
""if you ever strike my brother again," she said, slowly and vindictively, "i will slap your face every time you do.
you have no right to touch him."
""my patience, what a fury!"
said electa.
""naomi holland'll never be dead as long as you're alive!"
she told charles of the affair and eunice was severely punished.
but electa never interfered with christopher again.
all the discordant elements in the holland household could not prevent the children from growing up.
it was a consummation which the harrassed caroline devoutly wished.
when christopher holland was seventeen he was a man grown -- a big, strapping fellow.
his childish beauty had coarsened, but he was thought handsome by many.
he took charge of his mother's farm then, and the brother and sister began their new life together in the long-unoccupied house.
there were few regrets on either side when they left charles holland's roof.
in her secret heart eunice felt an unspeakable relief.
christopher had been "hard to manage," as his uncle said, in the last year.
he was getting into the habit of keeping late hours and doubtful company.
this always provoked an explosion of wrath from charles holland, and the conflicts between him and his nephew were frequent and bitter.
for four years after their return home eunice had a hard and anxious life.
christopher was idle and dissipated.
most people regarded him as a worthless fellow, and his uncle washed his hands of him utterly.
only eunice never failed him; she never reproached or railed; she worked like a slave to keep things together.
eventually her patience prevailed.
christopher, to a great extent, reformed and worked harder.
he was never unkind to eunice, even in his rages.
it was not in him to appreciate or return her devotion; but his tolerant acceptance of it was her solace.
when eunice was twenty-eight, edward bell wanted to marry her.
he was a plain, middle-aged widower with four children; but, as caroline did not fail to remind her, eunice herself was not for every market, and the former did her best to make the match.
she might have succeeded had it not been for christopher.
when he, in spite of caroline's skillful management, got an inkling of what was going on, he flew into a true holland rage.
if eunice married and left him -- he would sell the farm and go to the devil by way of the klondike.
he could not, and would not, do without her.
no arrangement suggested by caroline availed to pacify him, and, in the end, eunice refused to marry edward bell.
she could not leave christopher, she said simply, and in this she stood rock-firm.
caroline could not budge her an inch.
""you're a fool, eunice," she said, when she was obliged to give up in despair.
""it's not likely you'll ever have another chance.
as for chris, in a year or two he'll be marrying himself, and where will you be then?
you'll find your nose nicely out of joint when he brings a wife in here."
the shaft went home.
eunice's lips turned white.
but she said, faintly, "the house is big enough for us both, if he does."
caroline sniffed.
""maybe so.
you'll find out.
however, there's no use talking.
you're as set as your mother was, and nothing would ever budge her an inch.
i only hope you wo n't be sorry for it."
when three more years had passed christopher began to court victoria pye.
the affair went on for some time before either eunice or the hollands go wind of it.
when they did there was an explosion.
between the hollands and the pyes, root and branch, existed a feud that dated back for three generations.
that the original cause of the quarrel was totally forgotten did not matter; it was matter of family pride that a holland should have no dealings with a pye.
when christopher flew so openly in the face of this cherished hatred, there could be nothing less than consternation.
charles holland broke through his determination to have nothing to do with christopher, to remonstrate.
caroline went to eunice in as much of a splutter as if christopher had been her own brother.
eunice did not care a row of pins for the holland-pye feud.
victoria was to her what any other girl, upon whom christopher cast eyes of love, would have been -- a supplanter.
for the first time in her life she was torn with passionate jealousy; existence became a nightmare to her.
urged on by caroline, and her own pain, she ventured to remonstrate with christopher, also.
she had expected a burst of rage, but he was surprisingly good-natured.
he seemed even amused.
""what have you got against victoria?"
he asked, tolerantly.
eunice had no answer ready.
it was true that nothing could be said against the girl.
she felt helpless and baffled.
christopher laughed at her silence.
""i guess you're a little jealous," he said.
""you must have expected i would get married some time.
this house is big enough for us all.
you'd better look at the matter sensibly, eunice.
do n't let charles and caroline put nonsense into your head.
a man must marry to please himself."
christopher was out late that night.
eunice waited up for him, as she always did.
it was a chilly spring evening, reminding her of the night her mother had died.
the kitchen was in spotless order, and she sat down on a stiff-backed chair by the window to wait for her brother.
she did not want a light.
the moonlight fell in with faint illumination.
outside, the wind was blowing over a bed of new-sprung mint in the garden, and was suggestively fragrant.
it was a very old-fashioned garden, full of perennials naomi holland had planted long ago.
eunice always kept it primly neat.
she had been working in it that day, and felt tired.
she was all alone in the house and the loneliness filled her with a faint dread.
she had tried all that day to reconcile herself to christopher's marriage, and had partially succeeded.
she told herself that she could still watch over him and care for his comfort.
she would even try to love victoria; after all, it might be pleasant to have another woman in the house.
so, sitting there, she fed her hungry soul with these husks of comfort.
when she heard christopher's step she moved about quickly to get a light.
he frowned when he saw her; he had always resented her sitting up for him.
he sat down by the stove and took off his boots, while eunice got a lunch for him.
after he had eaten it in silence he made no move to go to bed.
a chill, premonitory fear crept over eunice.
it did not surprise her at all when christopher finally said, abruptly, "eunice, i've a notion to get married this spring."
eunice clasped her hands together under the table.
it was what she had been expecting.
she said so, in a monotonous voice.
""we must make some arrangement for -- for you, eunice," christopher went on, in a hurried, hesitant way, keeping his eyes riveted doggedly on his plate.
""victoria does n't exactly like -- well, she thinks it's better for young married folks to begin life by themselves, and i guess she's about right.
you would n't find it comfortable, anyhow, having to step back to second place after being mistress here so long."
eunice tried to speak, but only an indistinct murmur came from her bloodless lips.
the sound made christopher look up.
something in her face irritated him.
he pushed back his chair impatiently.
""now, eunice, do n't go taking on.
it wo n't be any use.
look at this business in a sensible way.
i'm fond of you, and all that, but a man is bound to consider his wife first.
i'll provide for you comfortably."
""do you mean to say that your wife is going to turn me out?"
eunice gasped, rather than spoke, the words.
christopher drew his reddish brows together.
""i just mean that victoria says she wo n't marry me if she has to live with you.
she's afraid of you.
i told her you would n't interfere with her, but she was n't satisfied.
it's your own fault, eunice.
you've always been so queer and close that people think you're an awful crank.
victoria's young and lively, and you and she would n't get on at all.
there is n't any question of turning you out.
i'll build a little house for you somewhere, and you'll be a great deal better off there than you would be here.
so do n't make a fuss."
eunice did not look as if she were going to make a fuss.
she sat as if turned to stone, her hands lying palm upward in her lap.
christopher got up, hugely relieved that the dreaded explanation was over.
""guess i'll go to bed.
you'd better have gone long ago.
it's all nonsense, this waiting up for me."
when he had gone eunice drew a long, sobbing breath and looked about her like a dazed soul.
all the sorrow of her life was as nothing to the desolation that assailed her now.
she rose and, with uncertain footsteps, passed out through the hall and into the room where her mother died.
she had always kept it locked and undisturbed; it was arranged just as naomi holland had left it.
eunice tottered to the bed and sat down on it.
she recalled the promise she had made to her mother in that very room.
was the power to keep it to be wrested from her?
was she to be driven from her home and parted from the only creature she had on earth to love?
and would christopher allow it, after all her sacrifices for him?
aye, that he would!
he cared more for that black-eyed, waxen-faced girl at the old pye place than for his own kin.
eunice put her hands over her dry, burning eyes and groaned aloud.
caroline holland had her hour of triumph over eunice when she heard it all.
to one of her nature there was no pleasure so sweet as that of saying, "i told you so."
having said it, however, she offered eunice a home.
electa holland was dead, and eunice might fill her place very acceptably, if she would.
""you ca n't go off and live by yourself," caroline told her.
""it's all nonsense to talk of such a thing.
we will give you a home, if christopher is going to turn you out.
you were always a fool, eunice, to pet and pamper him as you've done.
this is the thanks you get for it -- turned out like a dog for his fine wife's whim!
i only wish your mother was alive!"
it was probably the first time caroline had ever wished this.
she had flown at christopher like a fury about the matter, and had been rudely insulted for her pains.
christopher had told her to mind her own business.
when caroline cooled down she made some arrangements with him, to all of which eunice listlessly assented.
she did not care what became of her.
when christopher holland brought victoria as mistress to the house where his mother had toiled, and suffered, and ruled with her rod of iron, eunice was gone.
in charles holland's household she took electa's place -- an unpaid upper servant.
charles and caroline were kind enough to her, and there was plenty to do.
for five years her dull, colorless life went on, during which time she never crossed the threshold of the house where victoria holland ruled with a sway as absolute as naomi's had been.
caroline's curiosity led her, after her first anger had cooled, to make occasional calls, the observations of which she faithfully reported to eunice.
the latter never betrayed any interest in them, save once.
this was when caroline came home full of the news that victoria had had the room where naomi died opened up, and showily furnished as a parlor.
then eunice's sallow face crimsoned, and her eyes flashed, over the desecration.
but no word of comment or complaint ever crossed her lips.
she knew, as every one else knew, that the glamor soon went from christopher holland's married life.
the marriage proved an unhappy one.
not unnaturally, although unjustly, eunice blamed victoria for this, and hated her more than ever for it.
christopher seldom came to charles" house.
possibly he felt ashamed.
he had grown into a morose, silent man, at home and abroad.
it was said he had gone back to his old drinking habits.
one fall victoria holland went to town to visit her married sister.
she took their only child with her.
in her absence christopher kept house for himself.
it was a fall long remembered in avonlea.
with the dropping of the leaves, and the shortening of the dreary days, the shadow of a fear fell over the land.
charles holland brought the fateful news home one night.
""there's smallpox in charlottetown -- five or six cases.
came in one of the vessels.
there was a concert, and a sailor from one of the ships was there, and took sick the next day."
this was alarming enough.
charlottetown was not so very far away and considerable traffic went on between it and the north shore districts.
when caroline recounted the concert story to christopher the next morning his ruddy face turned quite pale.
he opened his lips as if to speak, then closed them again.
they were sitting in the kitchen; caroline had run over to return some tea she had borrowed, and, incidentally, to see what she could of victoria's housekeeping in her absence.
her eyes had been busy while her tongue ran on, so she did not notice the man's pallor and silence.
""how long does it take for smallpox to develop after one has been exposed to it?"
he asked abruptly, when caroline rose to go.
""ten to fourteen days, i calc "late," was her answer.
""i must see about having the girls vaccinated right off.
it'll likely spread.
when do you expect victoria home?"
""when she's ready to come, whenever that will be," was the gruff response.
a week later caroline said to eunice, "whatever's got christopher?
he has n't been out anywhere for ages -- just hangs round home the whole time.
it's something new for him.
i s "pose the place is so quiet, now madam victoria's away, that he can find some rest for his soul.
i believe i'll run over after milking and see how he's getting on.
you might as well come, too, eunice."
eunice shook her head.
she had all her mother's obstinacy, and darken victoria's door she would not.
she went on patiently darning socks, sitting at the west window, which was her favorite position -- perhaps because she could look from it across the sloping field and past the crescent curve of maple grove to her lost home.
after milking, caroline threw a shawl over her head and ran across the field.
the house looked lonely and deserted.
as she fumbled at the latch of the gate the kitchen door opened, and christopher holland appeared on the threshold.
""do n't come any farther," he called.
caroline fell back in blank astonishment.
was this some more of victoria's work?
""i ai n't an agent for the smallpox," she called back viciously.
christopher did not heed her.
""will you go home and ask uncle if he'll go, or send for doctor spencer?
he's the smallpox doctor.
i'm sick."
caroline felt a thrill of dismay and fear.
she faltered a few steps backward.
""sick?
what's the matter with you?"
""i was in charlottetown that night, and went to the concert.
that sailor sat right beside me.
i thought at the time he looked sick.
it was just twelve days ago.
i've felt bad all day yesterday and to-day.
send for the doctor.
do n't come near the house, or let any one else come near."
he went in and shut the door.
caroline stood for a few moments in an almost ludicrous panic.
then she turned and ran, as if for her life, across the field.
eunice saw her coming and met her at the door.
""mercy on us!"
gasped caroline.
""christopher's sick and he thinks he's got the smallpox.
where's charles?"
eunice tottered back against the door.
her hand went up to her side in a way that had been getting very common with her of late.
even in the midst of her excitement caroline noticed it.
""eunice, what makes you do that every time anything startles you?"
she asked sharply.
""is it anything about your heart?"
""i do n't -- know.
a little pain -- it's gone now.
did you say that christopher has -- the smallpox?"
""well, he says so himself, and it's more than likely, considering the circumstances.
i declare, i never got such a turn in my life.
it's a dreadful thing.
i must find charles at once -- there'll be a hundred things to do."
eunice hardly heard her.
her mind was centered upon one idea.
christopher was ill -- alone -- she must go to him.
it did not matter what his disease was.
when caroline came in from her breathless expedition to the barn, she found eunice standing by the table, with her hat and shawl on, tying up a parcel.
""eunice!
where on earth are you going?"
""over home," said eunice.
""if christopher is going to be ill he must be nursed, and i'm the one to do it.
he ought to be seen to right away."
""eunice carr!
have you gone clean out of your senses?
it's the smallpox -- the smallpox!
if he's got it he'll have to be taken to the smallpox hospital in town.
you sha n't stir a step to go to that house!"
""i will."
eunice faced her excited aunt quietly.
the odd resemblance to her mother, which only came out in moments of great tension, was plainly visible.
""he sha n't go to the hospital -- they never get proper attention there.
you need n't try to stop me.
it wo n't put you or your family in any danger."
caroline fell helplessly into a chair.
she felt that it would be of no use to argue with a woman so determined.
she wished charles was there.
but charles had already gone, post-haste, for the doctor.
with a firm step, eunice went across the field foot-path she had not trodden for so long.
she felt no fear -- rather a sort of elation.
christopher needed her once more; the interloper who had come between them was not there.
as she walked through the frosty twilight she thought of the promise made to naomi holland, years ago.
christopher saw her coming and waved her back.
""do n't come any nearer, eunice.
did n't caroline tell you?
i'm taking smallpox."
eunice did not pause.
she went boldly through the yard and up the porch steps.
he retreated before her and held the door.
""eunice, you're crazy, girl!
go home, before it's too late."
eunice pushed open the door resolutely and went in.
""it's too late now.
i'm here, and i mean to stay and nurse you, if it's the smallpox you've got.
maybe it's not.
just now, when a person has a finger-ache, he thinks it's smallpox.
anyhow, whatever it is, you ought to be in bed and looked after.
you'll catch cold.
let me get a light and have a look at you."
christopher had sunk into a chair.
his natural selfishness reasserted itself, and he made no further effort to dissuade eunice.
she got a lamp and set it on the table by him, while she scrutinized his face closely.
""you look feverish.
what do you feel like?
when did you take sick?"
""yesterday afternoon.
i have chills and hot spells and pains in my back.
eunice, do you think it's really smallpox?
and will i die?"
he caught her hands, and looked imploringly up at her, as a child might have done.
eunice felt a wave of love and tenderness sweep warmly over her starved heart.
""do n't worry.
lots of people recover from smallpox if they're properly nursed, and you'll be that, for i'll see to it.
charles has gone for the doctor, and we'll know when he comes.
you must go straight to bed."
she took off her hat and shawl, and hung them up.
she felt as much at home as if she had never been away.
she had got back to her kingdom, and there was none to dispute it with her.
when dr. spencer and old giles blewett, who had had smallpox in his youth, came, two hours later, they found eunice in serene charge.
the house was in order and reeking of disinfectants.
victoria's fine furniture and fixings were being bundled out of the parlor.
there was no bedroom downstairs, and, if christopher was going to be ill, he must be installed there.
the doctor looked grave.
""i do n't like it," he said, "but i'm not quite sure yet.
if it is smallpox the eruption will probably by out by morning.
i must admit he has most of the symptoms.
will you have him taken to the hospital?"
""no," said eunice, decisively.
""i'll nurse him myself.
i'm not afraid and i'm well and strong."
""very well.
you've been vaccinated lately?"
""yes."
""well, nothing more can be done at present.
you may as well lie down for a while and save your strength."
but eunice could not do that.
there was too much to attend to.
she went out to the hall and threw up the window.
down below, at a safe distance, charles holland was waiting.
the cold wind blew up to eunice the odor of the disinfectants with which he had steeped himself.
""what does the doctor say?"
he shouted.
""he thinks it's the smallpox.
have you sent word to victoria?"
""yes, jim blewett drove into town and told her.
she'll stay with her sister till it is over.
of course it's the best thing for her to do.
she's terribly frightened."
eunice's lip curled contemptuously.
to her, a wife who could desert her husband, no matter what disease he had, was an incomprehensible creature.
but it was better so; she would have christopher all to herself.
the night was long and wearisome, but the morning came all too soon for the dread certainty it brought.
the doctor pronounced the case smallpox.
eunice had hoped against hope, but now, knowing the worst, she was very calm and resolute.
by noon the fateful yellow flag was flying over the house, and all arrangements had been made.
caroline was to do the necessary cooking, and charles was to bring the food and leave it in the yard.
old giles blewett was to come every day and attend to the stock, as well as help eunice with the sick man; and the long, hard fight with death began.
it was a hard fight, indeed.
christopher holland, in the clutches of the loathsome disease, was an object from which his nearest and dearest might have been pardoned for shrinking.
but eunice never faltered; she never left her post.
sometimes she dozed in a chair by the bed, but she never lay down.
her endurance was something wonderful, her patience and tenderness almost superhuman.
to and fro she went, in noiseless ministry, as the long, dreadful days wore away, with a quiet smile on her lips, and in her dark, sorrowful eyes the rapt look of a pictured saint in some dim cathedral niche.
for her there was no world outside the bare room where lay the repulsive object she loved.
one day the doctor looked very grave.
he had grown well-hardened to pitiful scenes in his life-time; but he shrunk from telling eunice that her brother could not live.
he had never seen such devotion as hers.
it seemed brutal to tell her that it had been in vain.
but eunice had seen it for herself.
she took it very calmly, the doctor thought.
and she had her reward at last -- such as it was.
she thought it amply sufficient.
one night christopher holland opened his swollen eyes as she bent over him.
they were alone in the old house.
it was raining outside, and the drops rattled noisily on the panes.
christopher smiled at his sister with parched lips, and put out a feeble hand toward her.
""eunice," he said faintly, "you've been the best sister ever a man had.
i have n't treated you right; but you've stood by me to the last.
tell victoria -- tell her -- to be good to you --" his voice died away into an inarticulate murmur.
eunice carr was alone with her dead.
they buried christopher holland in haste and privacy the next day.
the doctor disinfected the house, and eunice was to stay there alone until it might be safe to make other arrangements.
she had not shed a tear; the doctor thought she was a rather odd person, but he had a great admiration for her.
he told her she was the best nurse he had ever seen.
to eunice, praise or blame mattered nothing.
something in her life had snapped -- some vital interest had departed.
she wondered how she could live through the dreary, coming years.
late that night she went into the room where her mother and brother had died.
the window was open and the cold, pure air was grateful to her after the drug-laden atmosphere she had breathed so long.
she knelt down by the stripped bed.
""mother," she said aloud, "i have kept my promise."
when she tried to rise, long after, she staggered and fell across the bed, with her hand pressed on her heart.
old giles blewett found her there in the morning.
there was a smile on her face.
xiii.
the conscience case of david bell eben bell came in with an armful of wood and banged it cheerfully down in the box behind the glowing waterloo stove, which was coloring the heart of the little kitchen's gloom with tremulous, rose-red whirls of light.
""there, sis, that's the last chore on my list.
bob's milking.
nothing more for me to do but put on my white collar for meeting.
avonlea is more than lively since the evangelist came, ai n't it, though!"
mollie bell nodded.
she was curling her hair before the tiny mirror that hung on the whitewashed wall and distorted her round, pink-and-white face into a grotesque caricature.
""wonder who'll stand up to-night," said eben reflectively, sitting down on the edge of the wood-box.
""there ai n't many sinners left in avonlea -- only a few hardened chaps like myself."
""you should n't talk like that," said mollie rebukingly.
""what if father heard you?"
""father would n't hear me if i shouted it in his ear," returned eben.
""he goes around, these days, like a man in a dream and a mighty bad dream at that.
father has always been a good man.
what's the matter with him?"
""i do n't know," said mollie, dropping her voice.
""mother is dreadfully worried over him.
and everybody is talking, eb.
it just makes me squirm.
flora jane fletcher asked me last night why father never testified, and him one of the elders.
she said the minister was perplexed about it.
i felt my face getting red."
""why did n't you tell her it was no business of hers?"
said eben angrily.
""old flora jane had better mind her own business."
""but all the folks are talking about it, eb.
and mother is fretting her heart out over it.
father has never acted like himself since these meetings began.
he just goes there night after night, and sits like a mummy, with his head down.
and almost everybody else in avonlea has testified."
""oh, no, there's lots have n't," said eben.
""matthew cuthbert never has, nor uncle elisha, nor any of the whites."
""but everybody knows they do n't believe in getting up and testifying, so nobody wonders when they do n't.
besides," mollie laughed -- "matthew could never get a word out in public, if he did believe in it.
he'd be too shy.
but," she added with a sigh, "it is n't that way with father.
he believes in testimony, so people wonder why he does n't get up.
why, even old josiah sloane gets up every night."
""with his whiskers sticking out every which way, and his hair ditto," interjected the graceless eben.
""when the minister calls for testimonials and all the folks look at our pew, i feel ready to sink through the floor for shame," sighed mollie.
""if father would get up just once!"
miriam bell entered the kitchen.
she was ready for the meeting, to which major spencer was to take her.
she was a tall, pale girl, with a serious face, and dark, thoughtful eyes, totally unlike mollie.
she had "come under conviction" during the meetings, and had stood up for prayer and testimony several times.
the evangelist thought her very spiritual.
she heard mollie's concluding sentence and spoke reprovingly.
""you should n't criticize your father, mollie.
it is n't for you to judge him."
eben had hastily slipped out.
he was afraid miriam would begin talking religion to him if he stayed.
he had with difficulty escaped from an exhortation by robert in the cow-stable.
there was no peace in avonlea for the unregenerate, he reflected.
robert and miriam had both "come out," and mollie was hovering on the brink.
""dad and i are the black sheep of the family," he said, with a laugh, for which he at once felt guilty.
eben had been brought up with a strict reverence for all religious matters.
on the surface he might sometimes laugh at them, but the deeps troubled him whenever he did so.
indoors, miriam touched her younger sister's shoulder and looked at her affectionately.
""wo n't you decide to-night, mollie?"
she asked, in a voice tremulous with emotion.
mollie crimsoned and turned her face away uncomfortably.
she did not know what answer to make, and was glad that a jingle of bells outside saved her the necessity of replying.
""there's your beau, miriam," she said, as she darted into the sitting room.
soon after, eben brought the family pung and his chubby red mare to the door for mollie.
he had not as yet attained to the dignity of a cutter of his own.
that was for his elder brother, robert, who presently came out in his new fur coat and drove dashingly away with bells and glitter.
""thinks he's the people," remarked eben, with a fraternal grin.
the rich winter twilight was purpling over the white world as they drove down the lane under the over-arching wild cherry trees that glittered with gemmy hoar-frost.
the snow creaked and crisped under the runners.
a shrill wind was keening in the leafless dogwoods.
over the trees the sky was a dome of silver, with a lucent star or two on the slope of the west.
earth-stars gleamed warmly out here and there, where homesteads were tucked snugly away in their orchards or groves of birch.
""the church will be jammed to-night," said eben.
""it's so fine that folks will come from near and far.
guess it'll be exciting."
""if only father would testify!"
sighed mollie, from the bottom of the pung, where she was snuggled amid furs and straw.
""miriam can say what she likes, but i do feels as if we were all disgraced.
it sends a creep all over me to hear mr. bentley say, "now, is n't there one more to say a word for jesus?"
and look right over at father."
eben flicked his mare with his whip, and she broke into a trot.
the silence was filled with a faint, fairy-like melody from afar down the road where a pungful of young folks from white sands were singing hymns on their way to meeting.
""look here, mollie," said eben awkwardly at last, "are you going to stand up for prayers to-night?"
""i -- i ca n't as long as father acts this way," answered mollie, in a choked voice.
""i -- i want to, eb, and mirry and bob want me to, but i ca n't.
i do hope that the evangelist wo n't come and talk to me special to-night.
i always feels as if i was being pulled two different ways, when he does."
back in the kitchen at home mrs. bell was waiting for her husband to bring the horse to the door.
she was a slight, dark-eyed little woman, with thin, vivid-red cheeks.
from out of the swathings in which she had wrapped her bonnet, her face gleamed sad and troubled.
now and then she sighed heavily.
the cat came to her from under the stove, languidly stretching himself, and yawning until all the red cavern of his mouth and throat was revealed.
at the moment he had an uncanny resemblance to elder joseph blewett of white sands -- roaring joe, the irreverent boys called him -- when he grew excited and shouted.
mrs. bell saw it -- and then reproached herself for the sacrilege.
""but it's no wonder i've wicked thoughts," she said, wearily.
""i'm that worried i ai n't rightly myself.
if he would only tell me what the trouble is, maybe i could help him.
at any rate, i'd know.
it hurts me so to see him going about, day after day, with his head hanging and that look on his face, as if he had something fearful on his conscience -- him that never harmed a living soul.
and then the way he groans and mutters in his sleep!
he has always lived a just, upright life.
he has n't no right to go on like this, disgracing his family."
mrs. bell's angry sob was cut short by the sleigh at the door.
her husband poked in his busy, iron-gray head and said, "now, mother."
he helped her into the sleigh, tucked the rugs warmly around her, and put a hot brick at her feet.
his solicitude hurt her.
it was all for her material comfort.
it did not matter to him what mental agony she might suffer over his strange attitude.
for the first time in their married life mary bell felt resentment against her husband.
they drove along in silence, past the snow-powdered hedges of spruce, and under the arches of the forest roadways.
they were late, and a great stillness was over all the land.
david bell never spoke.
all his usual cheerful talkativeness had disappeared since the revival meetings had begun in avonlea.
from the first he had gone about as a man over whom some strange doom is impending, seemingly oblivious to all that might be said or thought of him in his own family or in the church.
mary bell thought she would go out of her mind if her husband continued to act in this way.
her reflections were bitter and rebellious as they sped along through the glittering night of the winter's prime.
""i do n't get one bit of good out of the meetings," she thought resentfully.
""there ai n't any peace or joy for me, not even in testifying myself, when david sits there like a stick or stone.
if he'd been opposed to the revivalist coming here, like old uncle jerry, or if he did n't believe in public testimony, i would n't mind.
i'd understand.
but, as it is, i feel dreadful humiliated."
revival meetings had never been held in avonlea before.
""uncle" jerry macpherson, who was the supreme local authority in church matters, taking precedence of even the minister, had been uncompromisingly opposed to them.
he was a stern, deeply religious scotchman, with a horror of the emotional form of religion.
as long as uncle jerry's spare, ascetic form and deeply-graved square-jawed face filled his accustomed corner by the northwest window of avonlea church no revivalist might venture therein, although the majority of the congregation, including the minister, would have welcomed one warmly.
but now uncle jerry was sleeping peacefully under the tangled grasses and white snows of the burying ground, and, if dead people ever do turn in their graves, uncle jerry might well have turned in his when the revivalist came to avonlea church, and there followed the emotional services, public testimonies, and religious excitement which the old man's sturdy soul had always abhorred.
avonlea was a good field for an evangelist.
the rev. geoffrey mountain, who came to assist the avonlea minister in revivifying the dry bones thereof, knew this and reveled in the knowledge.
it was not often that such a virgin parish could be found nowadays, with scores of impressionable, unspoiled souls on which fervid oratory could play skillfully, as a master on a mighty organ, until every note in them thrilled to life and utterance.
the rev. geoffrey mountain was a good man; of the earth, earthy, to be sure, but with an unquestionable sincerity of belief and purpose which went far to counterbalance the sensationalism of some of his methods.
he was large and handsome, with a marvelously sweet and winning voice -- a voice that could melt into irresistible tenderness, or swell into sonorous appeal and condemnation, or ring like a trumpet calling to battle.
his frequent grammatical errors, and lapses into vulgarity, counted for nothing against its charm, and the most commonplace words in the world would have borrowed much of the power of real oratory from its magic.
he knew its value and used it effectively -- perhaps even ostentatiously.
geoffrey mountain's religion and methods, like the man himself, were showy, but, of their kind, sincere, and, though the good he accomplished might not be unmixed, it was a quantity to be reckoned with.
so the rev. geoffrey mountain came to avonlea, conquering and to conquer.
night after night the church was crowded with eager listeners, who hung breathlessly on his words and wept and thrilled and exulted as he willed.
into many young souls his appeals and warnings burned their way, and each night they rose for prayer in response to his invitation.
older christians, too, took on a new lease of intensity, and even the unregenerate and the scoffers found a certain fascination in the meetings.
threading through it all, for old and young, converted and unconverted, was an unacknowledged feeling for religious dissipation.
avonlea was a quiet place, -- and the revival meetings were lively.
when david and mary bell reached the church the services had begun, and they heard the refrain of a hallelujah hymn as they were crossing harmon andrews" field.
david bell left his wife at the platform and drove to the horse-shed.
mrs. bell unwound the scarf from her bonnet and shook the frost crystals from it.
in the porch flora jane fletcher and her sister, mrs. harmon andrews, were talking in low whispers.
presently flora jane put out her lank, cashmere-gloved hand and plucked mrs. bell's shawl.
""mary, is the elder going to testify to-night?"
she asked, in a shrill whisper.
mrs. bell winced.
she would have given much to be able to answer "yes," but she had to say stiffly, "i do n't know."
flora jane lifted her chin.
""well, mrs. bell, i only asked because every one thinks it is strange he does n't -- and an elder, of all people.
it looks as if he did n't think himself a christian, you know.
of course, we all know better, but it looks that way.
if i was you, i'd tell him folks was talking about it.
mr. bentley says it is hindering the full success of the meetings."
mrs. bell turned on her tormentor in swift anger.
she might resent her husband's strange behavior herself, but nobody else should dare to criticize him to her.
""i do n't think you need to worry yourself about the elder, flora jane," she said bitingly.
""maybe't is n't the best christians that do the most talking about it always.
i guess, as far as living up to his profession goes, the elder will compare pretty favorably with levi boulter, who gets up and testifies every night, and cheats the very eye-teeth out of people in the daytime."
levi boulter was a middle-aged widower, with a large family, who was supposed to have cast a matrimonial eye flora janeward.
the use of his name was an effective thrust on mrs. bell's part, and silenced flora jane.
too angry for speech she seized her sister's arm and hurried her into church.
but her victory could not remove from mary bell's soul the sting implanted there by flora jane's words.
when her husband came up to the platform she put her hand on his snowy arm appealingly.
""oh, david, wo n't you get up to-night?
i do feel so dreadful bad -- folks are talking so -- i just feel humiliated."
david bell hung his head like a shamed schoolboy.
""i ca n't, mary," he said huskily."
"tai n't no use to pester me."
""you do n't care for my feelings," said his wife bitterly.
""and mollie wo n't come out because you're acting so.
you're keeping her back from salvation.
and you're hindering the success of the revival -- mr. bentley says so."
david bell groaned.
this sign of suffering wrung his wife's heart.
with quick contrition she whispered, "there, never mind, david.
i ought n't to have spoken to you so.
you know your duty best.
let's go in."
""wait."
his voice was imploring.
""mary, is it true that mollie wo n't come out because of me?
am i standing in my child's light?"
""i -- do n't -- know.
i guess not.
mollie's just a foolish young girl yet.
never mind -- come in."
he followed her dejectedly in, and up the aisle to their pew in the center of the church.
the building was warm and crowded.
the pastor was reading the bible lesson for the evening.
in the choir, behind him, david bell saw mollie's girlish face, tinged with a troubled seriousness.
his own wind-ruddy face and bushy gray eyebrows worked convulsively with his inward throes.
a sigh that was almost a groan burst from him.
""i'll have to do it," he said to himself in agony.
when several more hymns had been sung, and late arrivals began to pack the aisles, the evangelist arose.
his style for the evening was the tender, the pleading, the solemn.
he modulated his tones to marvelous sweetness, and sent them thrillingly over the breathless pews, entangling the hearts and souls of his listeners in a mesh of subtle emotion.
many of the women began to cry softly.
fervent amens broke from some of the members.
when the evangelist sat down, after a closing appeal which, in its way, was a masterpiece, an audible sigh of relieved tension passed like a wave over the audience.
after prayer the pastor made the usual request that, if any of those present wished to come out on the side of christ, they would signify the wish by rising for a moment in their places.
after a brief interval, a pale boy under the gallery rose, followed by an old man at the top of the church.
a frightened, sweet-faced child of twelve got tremblingly upon her feet, and a dramatic thrill passed over the congregation when her mother suddenly stood up beside her.
the evangelist's "thank god" was hearty and insistent.
david bell looked almost imploringly at mollie; but she kept her seat, with downcast eyes.
over in the big square "stone pew" he saw eben bending forward, with his elbows on his knees, gazing frowningly at the floor.
""i'm a stumbling block to them both," he thought bitterly.
a hymn was sung and prayer offered for those under conviction.
then testimonies were called for.
the evangelist asked for them in tones which made it seem a personal request to every one in that building.
many testimonies followed, each infused with the personality of the giver.
most of them were brief and stereotyped.
finally a pause ensued.
the evangelist swept the pews with his kindling eyes and exclaimed, appealingly, "has every christian in this church to-night spoken a word for his master?"
there were many who had not testified, but every eye in the building followed the pastor's accusing glance to the bell pew.
mollie crimsoned with shame.
mrs. bell cowered visibly.
although everybody looked thus at david bell, nobody now expected him to testify.
when he rose to his feet, a murmur of surprise passed over the audience, followed by a silence so complete as to be terrible.
to david bell it seemed to possess the awe of final judgment.
twice he opened his lips, and tried vainly to speak.
the third time he succeeded; but his voice sounded strangely in his own ears.
he gripped the back of the pew before him with his knotty hands, and fixed his eyes unseeingly on the christian endeavor pledge that hung over the heads of the choir.
""brethren and sisters," he said hoarsely, "before i can say a word of christian testimony here to-night i've got something to confess.
it's been lying hard and heavy on my conscience ever since these meetings begun.
as long as i kept silence about it i could n't get up and bear witness for christ.
many of you have expected me to do it.
maybe i've been a stumbling block to some of you.
this season of revival has brought no blessing to me because of my sin, which i repented of, but tried to conceal.
there has been a spiritual darkness over me.
""friends and neighbors, i have always been held by you as an honest man.
it was the shame of having you know i was not which has kept me back from open confession and testimony.
just afore these meetings commenced i come home from town one night and found that somebody had passed a counterfeit ten-dollar bill on me.
then satan entered into me and possessed me.
when mrs. rachel lynde come next day, collecting for foreign missions, i give her that ten dollar bill.
she never knowed the difference, and sent it away with the rest.
but i knew i'd done a mean and sinful thing.
i could n't drive it out of my thoughts.
a few days afterwards i went down to mrs. rachel's and give her ten good dollars for the fund.
i told her i had come to the conclusion i ought to give more than ten dollars, out of my abundance, to the lord.
that was a lie.
mrs. lynde thought i was a generous man, and i felt ashamed to look her in the face.
but i'd done what i could to right the wrong, and i thought it would be all right.
but it was n't.
i've never known a minute's peace of mind or conscience since.
i tried to cheat the lord, and then tried to patch it up by doing something that redounded to my worldly credit.
when these meetings begun, and everybody expected me to testify, i could n't do it.
it would have seemed like blasphemy.
and i could n't endure the thought of telling what i'd done, either.
i argued it all out a thousand times that i had n't done any real harm after all, but it was no use.
i've been so wrapped up in my own brooding and misery that i did n't realize i was inflicting suffering on those dear to me by my conduct, and, maybe, holding some of them back from the paths of salvation.
but my eyes have been opened to this to-night, and the lord has given me strength to confess my sin and glorify his holy name."
the broken tones ceased, and david bell sat down, wiping the great drops of perspiration from his brow.
to a man of his training, and cast of thought, no ordeal could be more terrible than that through which he had just passed.
but underneath the turmoil of his emotion he felt a great calm and peace, threaded with the exultation of a hard-won spiritual victory.
over the church was a solemn hush.
the evangelist's "amen" was not spoken with his usual unctuous fervor, but very gently and reverently.
in spite of his coarse fiber, he could appreciate the nobility behind such a confession as this, and the deeps of stern suffering it sounded.
before the last prayer the pastor paused and looked around.
""is there yet one," he asked gently, "who wishes to be especially remembered in our concluding prayer?"
for a moment nobody moved.
then mollie bell stood up in the choir seat, and, down by the stove, eben, his flushed, boyish face held high, rose sturdily to his feet in the midst of his companions.
""thank god," whispered mary bell.
""amen," said her husband huskily.
""let us pray," said mr. bentley.
xiv.
only a common fellow on my dearie's wedding morning i wakened early and went to her room.
long and long ago she had made me promise that i would be the one to wake her on the morning of her wedding day.
""you were the first to take me in your arms when i came into the world, aunt rachel," she had said, "and i want you to be the first to greet me on that wonderful day."
but that was long ago, and now my heart foreboded that there would be no need of wakening her.
and there was not.
she was lying there awake, very quiet, with her hand under her cheek, and her big blue eyes fixed on the window, through which a pale, dull light was creeping in -- a joyless light it was, and enough to make a body shiver.
i felt more like weeping than rejoicing, and my heart took to aching when i saw her there so white and patient, more like a girl who was waiting for a winding-sheet than for a bridal veil.
but she smiled brave-like, when i sat down on her bed and took her hand.
""you look as if you have n't slept all night, dearie," i said.
""i did n't -- not a great deal," she answered me.
""but the night did n't seem long; no, it seemed too short.
i was thinking of a great many things.
what time is it, aunt rachel?"
""five o'clock."
""then in six hours more --" she suddenly sat up in her bed, her great, thick rope of brown hair falling over her white shoulders, and flung her arms about me, and burst into tears on my old breast.
i petted and soothed her, and said not a word; and, after a while, she stopped crying; but she still sat with her head so that i could n't see her face.
""we did n't think it would be like this once, did we, aunt rachel?"
she said, very softly.
""it should n't be like this, now," i said.
i had to say it.
i never could hide the thought of that marriage, and i could n't pretend to.
it was all her stepmother's doings -- right well i knew that.
my dearie would never have taken mark foster else.
""do n't let us talk of that," she said, soft and beseeching, just the same way she used to speak when she was a baby-child and wanted to coax me into something.
""let us talk about the old days -- and him."
""i do n't see much use in talking of him, when you're going to marry mark foster to-day," i said.
but she put her hand on my mouth.
""it's for the last time, aunt rachel.
after to-day i can never talk of him, or even think of him.
it's four years since he went away.
do you remember how he looked, aunt rachel?"
""i mind well enough, i reckon," i said, kind of curt-like.
and i did.
owen blair had n't a face a body could forget -- that long face of his with its clean color and its eyes made to look love into a woman's.
when i thought of mark foster's sallow skin and lank jaws i felt sick-like.
not that mark was ugly -- he was just a common-looking fellow.
""he was so handsome, was n't he, aunt rachel?"
my dearie went on, in that patient voice of hers.
""so tall and strong and handsome.
i wish we had n't parted in anger.
it was so foolish of us to quarrel.
but it would have been all right if he had lived to come back.
i know it would have been all right.
i know he did n't carry any bitterness against me to his death.
i thought once, aunt rachel, that i would go through life true to him, and then, over on the other side, i'd meet him just as before, all his and his only.
but it is n't to be."
""thanks to your stepma's wheedling and mark foster's scheming," said i. "no, mark did n't scheme," she said patiently.
""do n't be unjust to mark, aunt rachel.
he has been very good and kind."
""he's as stupid as an owlet and as stubborn as solomon's mule," i said, for i would say it.
""he's just a common fellow, and yet he thinks he's good enough for my beauty."
""do n't talk about mark," she pleaded again.
""i mean to be a good, faithful wife to him.
but i'm my own woman yet -- yet -- for just a few more sweet hours, and i want to give them to him.
the last hours of my maidenhood -- they must belong to him."
so she talked of him, me sitting there and holding her, with her lovely hair hanging down over my arm, and my heart aching so for her that it hurt bitter.
she did n't feel as bad as i did, because she'd made up her mind what to do and was resigned.
she was going to marry mark foster, but her heart was in france, in that grave nobody knew of, where the huns had buried owen blair -- if they had buried him at all.
and she went over all they had been to each other, since they were mites of babies, going to school together and meaning, even then, to be married when they grew up; and the first words of love he'd said to her, and what she'd dreamed and hoped for.
the only thing she did n't bring up was the time he thrashed mark foster for bringing her apples.
she never mentioned mark's name; it was all owen -- owen -- and how he looked, and what might have been, if he had n't gone off to the awful war and got shot.
and there was me, holding her and listening to it all, and her stepma sleeping sound and triumphant in the next room.
when she had talked it all out she lay down on her pillow again.
i got up and went downstairs to light the fire.
i felt terrible old and tired.
my feet seemed to drag, and the tears kept coming to my eyes, though i tried to keep them away, for well i knew it was a bad omen to be weeping on a wedding day.
before long isabella clark came down; bright and pleased-looking enough, she was.
i'd never liked isabella, from the day phillippa's father brought her here; and i liked her less than ever this morning.
she was one of your sly, deep women, always smiling smooth, and scheming underneath it.
i'll say it for her, though, she had been good to phillippa; but it was her doings that my dearie was to marry mark foster that day.
""up betimes, rachel," she said, smiling and speaking me fair, as she always did, and hating me in her heart, as i well knew.
""that is right, for we'll have plenty to do to-day.
a wedding makes lots of work."
""not this sort of a wedding," i said, sour-like.
""i do n't call it a wedding when two people get married and sneak off as if they were ashamed of it -- as well they might be in this case."
""it was phillippa's own wish that all should be very quiet," said isabella, as smooth as cream.
""you know i'd have given her a big wedding, if she'd wanted it."
""oh, it's better quiet," i said.
""the fewer to see phillippa marry a man like mark foster the better."
""mark foster is a good man, rachel."
""no good man would be content to buy a girl as he's bought phillippa," i said, determined to give it in to her.
""he's a common fellow, not fit for my dearie to wipe her feet on.
it's well that her mother did n't live to see this day; but this day would never have come, if she'd lived."
""i dare say phillippa's mother would have remembered that mark foster is very well off, quite as readily as worse people," said isabella, a little spitefully.
i liked her better when she was spiteful than when she was smooth.
i did n't feel so scared of her then.
the marriage was to be at eleven o'clock, and, at nine, i went up to help phillippa dress.
she was no fussy bride, caring much what she looked like.
if owen had been the bridegroom it would have been different.
nothing would have pleased her then; but now it was only just "that will do very well, aunt rachel," without even glancing at it.
still, nothing could prevent her from looking lovely when she was dressed.
my dearie would have been a beauty in a beggarmaid's rags.
in her white dress and veil she was as fair as a queen.
and she was as good as she was pretty.
it was the right sort of goodness, too, with just enough spice of original sin in it to keep it from spoiling by reason of over-sweetness.
then she sent me out.
""i want to be alone my last hour," she said.
""kiss me, aunt rachel -- mother rachel."
when i'd gone down, crying like the old fool i was, i heard a rap at the door.
my first thought was to go out and send isabella to it, for i supposed it was mark foster, come ahead of time, and small stomach i had for seeing him.
i fall trembling, even yet, when i think, "what if i had sent isabella to that door?"
but go i did, and opened it, defiant-like, kind of hoping it was mark foster to see the tears on my face.
i opened it -- and staggered back like i'd got a blow.
""owen!
lord ha" mercy on us!
owen!"
i said, just like that, going cold all over, for it's the truth that i thought it was his spirit come back to forbid that unholy marriage.
but he sprang right in, and caught my wrinkled old hands in a grasp that was of flesh and blood.
""aunt rachel, i'm not too late?"
he said, savage-like.
""tell me i'm in time."
i looked up at him, standing over me there, tall and handsome, no change in him except he was so brown and had a little white scar on his forehead; and, though i could n't understand at all, being all bewildered-like, i felt a great deep thankfulness.
""no, you're not too late," i said.
""thank god," said he, under his breath.
and then he pulled me into the parlor and shut the door.
""they told me at the station that phillippa was to be married to mark foster to-day.
i could n't believe it, but i came here as fast as horse-flesh could bring me.
aunt rachel, it ca n't be true!
she ca n't care for mark foster, even if she had forgotten me!"
""it's true enough that she is to marry mark," i said, half-laughing, half-crying, "but she does n't care for him.
every beat of her heart is for you.
it's all her stepma's doings.
mark has got a mortgage on the place, and he told isabella clark that, if phillippa would marry him, he'd burn the mortgage, and, if she would n't, he'd foreclose.
phillippa is sacrificing herself to save her stepma for her dead father's sake.
it's all your fault," i cried, getting over my bewilderment.
""we thought you were dead.
why did n't you come home when you were alive?
why did n't you write?"
""i did write, after i got out of the hospital, several times," he said, "and never a word in answer, aunt rachel.
what was i to think when phillippa would n't answer my letters?"
""she never got one," i cried.
""she wept her sweet eyes out over you.
somebody must have got those letters."
and i knew then, and i know now, though never a shadow of proof have i, that isabella clark had got them -- and kept them.
that woman would stick at nothing.
""well, we'll sift that matter some other time," said owen impatiently.
""there are other things to think of now.
i must see phillippa."
""i'll manage it for you," i said eagerly; but, just as i spoke, the door opened and isabella and mark came in.
never shall i forget the look on isabella's face.
i almost felt sorry for her.
she turned sickly yellow and her eyes went wild; they were looking at the downfall of all her schemes and hopes.
i did n't look at mark foster, at first, and, when i did, there was n't anything to see.
his face was just as sallow and wooden as ever; he looked undersized and common beside owen.
nobody'd ever have picked him out for a bridegroom.
owen spoke first.
""i want to see phillippa," he said, as if it were but yesterday that he had gone away.
all isabella's smoothness and policy had dropped away from her, and the real woman stood there, plotting and unscrupulous, as i'd always know her.
""you ca n't see her," she said desperate-like.
""she does n't want to see you.
you went and left her and never wrote, and she knew you were n't worth fretting over, and she has learned to care for a better man."
""i did write and i think you know that better than most folks," said owen, trying hard to speak quiet.
""as for the rest, i'm not going to discuss it with you.
when i hear from phillippa's own lips that she cares for another man i'll believe it -- and not before."
""you'll never hear it from her lips," said i. isabella gave me a venomous look.
""you'll not see phillippa until she is a better man's wife," she said stubbornly, "and i order you to leave my house, owen blair!"
""no!"
it was mark foster who spoke.
he had n't said a word; but he came forward now, and stood before owen.
such a difference as there was between them!
but he looked owen right in the face, quiet-like, and owen glared back in fury.
""will it satisfy you, owen, if phillippa comes down here and chooses between us?"
""yes, it will," said owen.
mark foster turned to me.
""go and bring her down," said he.
isabella, judging phillippa by herself, gave a little moan of despair, and owen, blinded by love and hope, thought his cause was won.
but i knew my dearie too well to be glad, and mark foster did, too, and i hated him for it.
i went up to my dearie's room, all pale and shaking.
when i went in she came to meet me, like a girl going to meet death.
""is -- it -- time?"
she said, with her hands locked tight together.
i said not a word, hoping that the unlooked-for sight of owen would break down her resolution.
i just held out my hand to her, and led her downstairs.
she clung to me and her hands were as cold as snow.
when i opened the parlor door i stood back, and pushed her in before me.
she just cried, "owen!"
and shook so that i put my arms about her to steady her.
owen made a step towards her, his face and eyes all aflame with his love and longing, but mark barred his way.
""wait till she has made her choice," he said, and then he turned to phillippa.
i could n't see my dearie's face, but i could see mark's, and there was n't a spark of feeling in it.
behind it was isabella's, all pinched and gray.
""phillippa," said mark, "owen blair has come back.
he says he has never forgotten you, and that he wrote to you several times.
i have told him that you have promised me, but i leave you freedom of choice.
which of us will you marry, phillippa?"
my dearie stood straight up and the trembling left her.
she stepped back, and i could see her face, white as the dead, but calm and resolved.
""i have promised to marry you, mark, and i will keep my word," she said.
the color came back to isabella clark's face; but mark's did not change.
""phillippa," said owen, and the pain in his voice made my old heart ache bitterer than ever, "have you ceased to love me?"
my dearie would have been more than human, if she could have resisted the pleading in his tone.
she said no word, but just looked at him for a moment.
we all saw the look; her whole soul, full of love for owen, showed out in it.
then she turned and stood by mark.
owen never said a word.
he went as white as death, and started for the door.
but again mark foster put himself in the way.
""wait," he said.
""she has made her choice, as i knew she would; but i have yet to make mine.
and i choose to marry no woman whose love belongs to another living man.
phillippa, i thought owen blair was dead, and i believed that, when you were my wife, i could win your love.
but i love you too well to make you miserable.
go to the man you love -- you are free!"
""and what is to become of me?"
wailed isabella.
""oh, you!
-- i had forgotten about you," said mark, kind of weary-like.
he took a paper from his pocket, and dropped it in the grate.
""there is the mortgage.
that is all you care about, i think.
good-morning."
he went out.
he was only a common fellow, but, somehow, just then he looked every inch the gentleman.
i would have gone after him and said something but -- the look on his face -- no, it was no time for my foolish old words!
phillippa was crying, with her head on owen's shoulder.
isabella clark waited to see the mortgage burned up, and then she came to me in the hall, all smooth and smiling again.
""really, it's all very romantic, is n't it?
i suppose it's better as it is, all things considered.
mark behaved splendidly, did n't he?
not many men would have done as he did."
for once in my life i agreed with isabella.
but i felt like having a good cry over it all -- and i had it.
i was glad for my dearie's sake and owen's; but mark foster had paid the price of their joy, and i knew it had beggared him of happiness for life.
xv.
tannis of the flats few people in avonlea could understand why elinor blair had never married.
she had been one of the most beautiful girls in our part of the island and, as a woman of fifty, she was still very attractive.
in her youth she had had ever so many beaux, as we of our generation well remembered; but, after her return from visiting her brother tom in the canadian northwest, more than twenty-five years ago, she had seemed to withdraw within herself, keeping all men at a safe, though friendly, distance.
she had been a gay, laughing girl when she went west; she came back quiet and serious, with a shadowed look in her eyes which time could not quite succeed in blotting out.
elinor had never talked much about her visit, except to describe the scenery and the life, which in that day was rough indeed.
not even to me, who had grown up next door to her and who had always seemed more a sister than a friend, did she speak of other than the merest commonplaces.
but when tom blair made a flying trip back home, some ten years later, there were one or two of us to whom he related the story of jerome carey, -- a story revealing only too well the reason for elinor's sad eyes and utter indifference to masculine attentions.
i can recall almost his exact words and the inflections of his voice, and i remember, too, that it seemed to me a far cry from the tranquil, pleasant scene before us, on that lovely summer day, to the elemental life of the flats.
the flats was a forlorn little trading station fifteen miles up the river from prince albert, with a scanty population of half-breeds and three white men.
when jerome carey was sent to take charge of the telegraph office there, he cursed his fate in the picturesque language permissible in the far northwest.
not that carey was a profane man, even as men go in the west.
he was an english gentleman, and he kept both his life and his vocabulary pretty clean.
but -- the flats!
outside of the ragged cluster of log shacks, which comprised the settlement, there was always a shifting fringe of teepees where the indians, who drifted down from the reservation, camped with their dogs and squaws and papooses.
there are standpoints from which indians are interesting, but they can not be said to offer congenial social attractions.
for three weeks after carey went to the flats he was lonelier than he had ever imagined it possible to be, even in the great lone land.
if it had not been for teaching paul dumont the telegraphic code, carey believed he would have been driven to suicide in self-defense.
the telegraphic importance of the flats consisted in the fact that it was the starting point of three telegraph lines to remote trading posts up north.
not many messages came therefrom, but the few that did come generally amounted to something worth while.
days and even weeks would pass without a single one being clicked to the flats.
carey was debarred from talking over the wires to the prince albert man for the reason that they were on officially bad terms.
he blamed the latter for his transfer to the flats.
carey slept in a loft over the office, and got his meals as joe esquint's, across the "street."
joe esquint's wife was a good cook, as cooks go among the breeds, and carey soon became a great pet of hers.
carey had a habit of becoming a pet with women.
he had the "way" that has to be born in a man and can never be acquired.
besides, he was as handsome as clean-cut features, deep-set, dark-blue eyes, fair curls and six feet of muscle could make him.
mrs. joe esquint thought that his mustache was the most wonderfully beautiful thing, in its line, that she had ever seen.
fortunately, mrs. joe was so old and fat and ugly that even the malicious and inveterate gossip of skulking breeds and indians, squatting over teepee fires, could not hint at anything questionable in the relations between her and carey.
but it was a different matter with tannis dumont.
tannis came home from the academy at prince albert early in july, when carey had been at the flats a month and had exhausted all the few novelties of his position.
paul dumont had already become so expert at the code that his mistakes no longer afforded carey any fun, and the latter was getting desperate.
he had serious intentions of throwing up the business altogether, and betaking himself to an alberta ranch, where at least one would have the excitement of roping horses.
when he saw tannis dumont he thought he would hang on awhile longer, anyway.
tannis was the daughter of old auguste dumont, who kept the one small store at the flats, lived in the one frame house that the place boasted, and was reputed to be worth an amount of money which, in half-breed eyes, was a colossal fortune.
old auguste was black and ugly and notoriously bad-tempered.
but tannis was a beauty.
tannis" great-grandmother had been a cree squaw who married a french trapper.
the son of this union became in due time the father of auguste dumont.
auguste married a woman whose mother was a french half-breed and whose father was a pure-bred highland scotchman.
the result of this atrocious mixture was its justification -- tannis of the flats -- who looked as if all the blood of all the howards might be running in her veins.
but, after all, the dominant current in those same veins was from the race of plain and prairie.
the practiced eye detected it in the slender stateliness of carriage, in the graceful, yet voluptuous, curves of the lithe body, in the smallness and delicacy of hand and foot, in the purple sheen on straight-falling masses of blue-black hair, and, more than all else, in the long, dark eye, full and soft, yet alight with a slumbering fire.
france, too, was responsible for somewhat in tannis.
it gave her a light step in place of the stealthy half-breed shuffle, it arched her red upper lip into a more tremulous bow, it lent a note of laughter to her voice and a sprightlier wit to her tongue.
as for her red-headed scotch grandfather, he had bequeathed her a somewhat whiter skin and ruddier bloom than is usually found in the breeds.
old auguste was mightily proud of tannis.
he sent her to school for four years in prince albert, bound that his girl should have the best.
a high school course and considerable mingling in the social life of the town -- for old auguste was a man to be conciliated by astute politicians, since he controlled some two or three hundred half-breed votes -- sent tannis home to the flats with a very thin, but very deceptive, veneer of culture and civilization overlying the primitive passions and ideas of her nature.
carey saw only the beauty and the veneer.
he made the mistake of thinking that tannis was what she seemed to be -- a fairly well-educated, up-to-date young woman with whom a friendly flirtation was just what it was with white womankind -- the pleasant amusement of an hour or season.
it was a mistake -- a very big mistake.
tannis understood something of piano playing, something less of grammar and latin, and something less still of social prevarications.
but she understood absolutely nothing of flirtation.
you can never get an indian to see the sense of platonics.
carey found the flats quite tolerable after the homecoming of tannis.
he soon fell into the habit of dropping into the dumont house to spend the evening, talking with tannis in the parlor -- which apartment was amazingly well done for a place like the flats -- tannis had not studied prince albert parlors four years for nothing -- or playing violin and piano duets with her.
when music and conversation palled, they went for long gallops over the prairies together.
tannis rode to perfection, and managed her bad-tempered brute of a pony with a skill and grace that made carey applaud her.
she was glorious on horseback.
sometimes he grew tired of the prairies and then he and tannis paddled themselves over the river in nitchie joe's dug-out, and landed on the old trail that struck straight into the wooded belt of the saskatchewan valley, leading north to trading posts on the frontier of civilization.
there they rambled under huge pines, hoary with the age of centuries, and carey talked to tannis about england and quoted poetry to her.
tannis liked poetry; she had studied it at school, and understood it fairly well.
but once she told carey that she thought it a long, round-about way of saying what you could say just as well in about a dozen plain words.
carey laughed.
he liked to evoke those little speeches of hers.
they sounded very clever, dropping from such arched, ripely-tinted lips.
if you had told carey that he was playing with fire he would have laughed at you.
in the first place he was not in the slightest degree in love with tannis -- he merely admired and liked her.
in the second place, it never occurred to him that tannis might be in love with him.
why, he had never attempted any love-making with her!
and, above all, he was obsessed with that aforesaid fatal idea that tannis was like the women he had associated with all his life, in reality as well as in appearance.
he did not know enough of the racial characteristics to understand.
but, if carey thought his relationship with tannis was that of friendship merely, he was the only one at the flats who did think so.
all the half-breeds and quarter-breeds and any-fractional breeds there believed that he meant to marry tannis.
there would have been nothing surprising to them in that.
they did not know that carey's second cousin was a baronet, and they would not have understood that it need make any difference, if they had.
they thought that rich old auguste's heiress, who had been to school for four years in prince albert, was a catch for anybody.
old auguste himself shrugged his shoulders over it and was well-pleased enough.
an englishman was a prize by way of a husband for a half-breed girl, even if he were only a telegraph operator.
young paul dumont worshipped carey, and the half-scotch mother, who might have understood, was dead.
in all the flats there were but two people who disapproved of the match they thought an assured thing.
one of these was the little priest, father gabriel.
he liked tannis, and he liked carey; but he shook his head dubiously when he heard the gossip of the shacks and teepees.
religions might mingle, but the different bloods -- ah, it was not the right thing!
tannis was a good girl, and a beautiful one; but she was no fit mate for the fair, thorough-bred englishman.
father gabriel wished fervently that jerome carey might soon be transferred elsewhere.
he even went to prince albert and did a little wire-pulling on his own account, but nothing came of it.
he was on the wrong side of politics.
the other malcontent was lazarre mérimée, a lazy, besotted french half-breed, who was, after his fashion, in love with tannis.
he could never have got her, and he knew it -- old auguste and young paul would have incontinently riddled him with bullets had he ventured near the house as a suitor, -- but he hated carey none the less, and watched for a chance to do him an ill-turn.
there is no worse enemy in all the world than a half-breed.
your true indian is bad enough, but his diluted descendant is ten times worse.
as for tannis, she loved carey with all her heart, and that was all there was about it.
if elinor blair had never gone to prince albert there is no knowing what might have happened, after all.
carey, so powerful in propinquity, might even have ended by learning to love tannis and marrying her, to his own worldly undoing.
but elinor did go to prince albert, and her going ended all things for tannis of the flats.
carey met her one evening in september, when he had ridden into town to attend a dance, leaving paul dumont in charge of the telegraph office.
elinor had just arrived in prince albert on a visit to tom, to which she had been looking forward during the five years since he had married and moved out west from avonlea.
as i have already said, she was very beautiful at that time, and carey fell in love with her at the first moment of their meeting.
during the next three weeks he went to town nine times and called at the dumonts" only once.
there were no more rides and walks with tannis.
this was not intentional neglect on his part.
he had simply forgotten all about her.
the breeds surmised a lover's quarrel, but tannis understood.
there was another woman back there in town.
it would be quite impossible to put on paper any adequate idea of her emotions at this stage.
one night, she followed carey when he went to prince albert, riding out of earshot, behind him on her plains pony, but keeping him in sight.
lazarre, in a fit of jealousy, had followed tannis, spying on her until she started back to the flats.
after that he watched both carey and tannis incessantly, and months later had told tom all he had learned through his low sneaking.
tannis trailed carey to the blair house, on the bluffs above the town, and saw him tie his horse at the gate and enter.
she, too, tied her pony to a poplar, lower down, and then crept stealthily through the willows at the side of the house until she was close to the windows.
through one of them she could see carey and elinor.
the half-breed girl crouched down in the shadow and glared at her rival.
she saw the pretty, fair-tinted face, the fluffy coronal of golden hair, the blue, laughing eyes of the woman whom jerome carey loved, and she realized very plainly that there was nothing left to hope for.
she, tannis of the flats, could never compete with that other.
it was well to know so much, at least.
after a time, she crept softly away, loosed her pony, and lashed him mercilessly with her whip through the streets of the town and out the long, dusty river trail.
a man turned and looked after her as she tore past a brightly lighted store on water street.
""that was tannis of the flats," he said to a companion.
""she was in town last winter, going to school -- a beauty and a bit of the devil, like all those breed girls.
what in thunder is she riding like that for?"
one day, a fortnight later, carey went over the river alone for a ramble up the northern trail, and an undisturbed dream of elinor.
when he came back tannis was standing at the canoe landing, under a pine tree, in a rain of finely sifted sunlight.
she was waiting for him and she said, with any preface: "mr. carey, why do you never come to see me, now?"
carey flushed like any girl.
her tone and look made him feel very uncomfortable.
he remembered, self-reproachfully, that he must have seemed very neglectful, and he stammered something about having been busy.
""not very busy," said tannis, with her terrible directness.
""it is not that.
it is because you are going to prince albert to see a white woman!"
even in his embarrassment carey noted that this was the first time he had ever heard tannis use the expression, "a white woman," or any other that would indicate her sense of a difference between herself and the dominant race.
he understood, at the same moment, that this girl was not to be trifled with -- that she would have the truth out of him, first or last.
but he felt indescribably foolish.
""i suppose so," he answered lamely.
""and what about me?"
asked tannis.
when you come to think of it, this was an embarrassing question, especially for carey, who had believed that tannis understood the game, and played it for its own sake, as he did.
""i do n't understand you, tannis," he said hurriedly.
""you have made me love you," said tannis.
the words sound flat enough on paper.
they did not sound flat to tom, as repeated by lazarre, and they sounded anything but flat to carey, hurled at him as they were by a woman trembling with all the passions of her savage ancestry.
tannis had justified her criticism of poetry.
she had said her half-dozen words, instinct with all the despair and pain and wild appeal that all the poetry in the world had ever expressed.
they made carey feel like a scoundrel.
all at once he realized how impossible it would be to explain matters to tannis, and that he would make a still bigger fool of himself, if he tried.
""i am very sorry," he stammered, like a whipped schoolboy.
""it is no matter," interrupted tannis violently.
""what difference does it make about me -- a half-breed girl?
we breed girls are only born to amuse the white men.
that is so -- is it not?
then, when they are tired of us, they push us aside and go back to their own kind.
oh, it is very well.
but i will not forget -- my father and brother will not forget.
they will make you sorry to some purpose!"
she turned, and stalked away to her canoe.
he waited under the pines until she crossed the river; then he, too, went miserably home.
what a mess he had contrived to make of things!
poor tannis!
how handsome she had looked in her fury -- and how much like a squaw!
the racial marks always come out plainly under the stress of emotion, as tom noted later.
her threat did not disturb him.
if young paul and old auguste made things unpleasant for him, he thought himself more than a match for them.
it was the thought of the suffering he had brought upon tannis that worried him.
he had not, to be sure, been a villain; but he had been a fool, and that is almost as bad, under some circumstances.
the dumonts, however, did not trouble him.
after all, tannis" four years in prince albert had not been altogether wasted.
she knew that white girls did not mix their male relatives up in a vendetta when a man ceased calling on them -- and she had nothing else to complain of that could be put in words.
after some reflection she concluded to hold her tongue.
she even laughed when old auguste asked her what was up between her and her fellow, and said she had grown tired of him.
old auguste shrugged his shoulders resignedly.
it was just as well, maybe.
those english sons-in-law sometimes gave themselves too many airs.
so carey rode often to town and tannis bided her time, and plotted futile schemes of revenge, and lazarre merimee scowled and got drunk -- and life went on at the flats as usual, until the last week in october, when a big wind and rainstorm swept over the northland.
it was a bad night.
the wires were down between the flats and prince albert and all communication with the outside world was cut off.
over at joe esquint's the breeds were having a carouse in honor of joe's birthday.
paul dumont had gone over, and carey was alone in the office, smoking lazily and dreaming of elinor.
suddenly, above the plash of rain and whistle of wind, he heard outcries in the street.
running to the door he was met by mrs. joe esquint, who grasped him breathlessly.
""meestair carey -- come quick!
lazarre, he kill paul -- they fight!"
carey, with a smothered oath, rushed across the street.
he had been afraid of something of the sort, and had advised paul not to go, for those half-breed carouses almost always ended in a free fight.
he burst into the kitchen at joe esquint's, to find a circle of mute spectators ranged around the room and paul and lazarre in a clinch in the center.
carey was relieved to find it was only an affair of fists.
he promptly hurled himself at the combatants and dragged paul away, while mrs. joe esquint -- joe himself being dead-drunk in a corner -- flung her fat arms about lazarre and held him back.
""stop this," said carey sternly.
""let me get at him," foamed paul.
""he insulted my sister.
he said that you -- let me get at him!"
he could not writhe free from carey's iron grip.
lazarre, with a snarl like a wolf, sent mrs. joe spinning, and rushed at paul.
carey struck out as best he could, and lazarre went reeling back against the table.
it went over with a crash and the light went out!
mrs. joe's shrieks might have brought the roof down.
in the confusion that ensued, two pistol shots rang out sharply.
there was a cry, a groan, a fall -- then a rush for the door.
when mrs. joe esquint's sister-in-law, marie, dashed in with another lamp, mrs. joe was still shrieking, paul dumont was leaning sickly against the wall with a dangling arm, and carey lay face downward on the floor, with blood trickling from under him.
marie esquint was a woman of nerve.
she told mrs. joe to shut up, and she turned carey over.
he was conscious, but seemed dazed and could not help himself.
marie put a coat under his head, told paul to lie down on the bench, ordered mrs. joe to get a bed ready, and went for the doctor.
it happened that there was a doctor at the flats that night -- a prince albert man who had been up at the reservation, fixing up some sick indians, and had been stormstaid at old auguste's on his way back.
marie soon returned with the doctor, old auguste, and tannis.
carey was carried in and laid on mrs. esquint's bed.
the doctor made a brief examination, while mrs. joe sat on the floor and howled at the top of her lungs.
then he shook his head.
""shot in the back," he said briefly.
""how long?"
asked carey, understanding.
""perhaps till morning," answered the doctor.
mrs. joe gave a louder howl than ever at this, and tannis came and stood by the bed.
the doctor, knowing that he could do nothing for carey, hurried into the kitchen to attend to paul, who had a badly shattered arm, and marie went with him.
carey looked stupidly at tannis.
""send for her," he said.
tannis smiled cruelly.
""there is no way.
the wires are down, and there is no man at the flats who will go to town to-night," she answered.
""my god, i must see her before i die," burst out carey pleadingly.
""where is father gabriel?
he will go."
""the priest went to town last night and has not come back," said tannis.
carey groaned and shut his eyes.
if father gabriel was away, there was indeed no one to go.
old auguste and the doctor could not leave paul and he knew well that no breed of them all at the flats would turn out on such a night, even if they were not, one and all, mortally scared of being mixed up in the law and justice that would be sure to follow the affair.
he must die without seeing elinor.
tannis looked inscrutably down on the pale face on mrs. joe esquint's dirty pillows.
her immobile features gave no sign of the conflict raging within her.
after a short space she turned and went out, shutting the door softly on the wounded man and mrs. joe, whose howls had now simmered down to whines.
in the next room, paul was crying out with pain as the doctor worked on his arm, but tannis did not go to him.
instead, she slipped out and hurried down the stormy street to old auguste's stable.
five minutes later she was galloping down the black, wind-lashed river trail, on her way to town, to bring elinor blair to her lover's deathbed.
i hold that no woman ever did anything more unselfish than this deed of tannis!
for the sake of love she put under her feet the jealousy and hatred that had clamored at her heart.
she held, not only revenge, but the dearer joy of watching by carey to the last, in the hollow of her hand, and she cast both away that the man she loved might draw his dying breath somewhat easier.
in a white woman the deed would have been merely commendable.
in tannis of the flats, with her ancestry and tradition, it was lofty self-sacrifice.
it was eight o'clock when tannis left the flats; it was ten when she drew bridle before the house on the bluff.
elinor was regaling tom and his wife with avonlea gossip when the maid came to the door.
""pleas'm, there's a breed girl out on the verandah and she's asking for miss blair."
elinor went out wonderingly, followed by tom.
tannis, whip in hand, stood by the open door, with the stormy night behind her, and the warm ruby light of the hall lamp showering over her white face and the long rope of drenched hair that fell from her bare head.
she looked wild enough.
""jerome carey was shot in a quarrel at joe esquint's to-night," she said.
""he is dying -- he wants you -- i have come for you."
elinor gave a little cry, and steadied herself on tom's shoulder.
tom said he knew he made some exclamation of horror.
he had never approved of carey's attentions to elinor, but such news was enough to shock anybody.
he was determined, however, that elinor should not go out in such a night and to such a scene, and told tannis so in no uncertain terms.
""i came through the storm," said tannis, contemptuously.
""can not she do as much for him as i can?"
the good, old island blood in elinor's veins showed to some purpose.
""yes," she answered firmly.
""no, tom, do n't object -- i must go.
get my horse -- and your own."
ten minutes later three riders galloped down the bluff road and took the river trail.
fortunately the wind was at their backs and the worst of the storm was over.
still, it was a wild, black ride enough.
tom rode, cursing softly under his breath.
he did not like the whole thing -- carey done to death in some low half-breed shack, this handsome, sullen girl coming as his messenger, this nightmare ride, through wind and rain.
it all savored too much of melodrama, even for the northland, where people still did things in a primitive way.
he heartily wished elinor had never left avonlea.
it was past twelve when they reached the flats.
tannis was the only one who seemed to be able to think coherently.
it was she who told tom where to take the horses and then led elinor to the room where carey was dying.
the doctor was sitting by the bedside and mrs. joe was curled up in a corner, sniffling to herself.
tannis took her by the shoulder and turned her, none too gently, out of the room.
the doctor, understanding, left at once.
as tannis shut the door she saw elinor sink on her knees by the bed, and carey's trembling hand go out to her head.
tannis sat down on the floor outside of the door and wrapped herself up in a shawl marie esquint had dropped.
in that attitude she looked exactly like a squaw, and all comers and goers, even old auguste, who was hunting for her, thought she was one, and left her undisturbed.
she watched there until dawn came whitely up over the prairies and jerome carey died.
she knew when it happened by elinor's cry.
tannis sprang up and rushed in.
she was too late for even a parting look.
the girl took carey's hand in hers, and turned to the weeping elinor with a cold dignity.
""now go," she said.
""you had him in life to the very last.
he is mine now."
""there must be some arrangements made," faltered elinor.
""my father and brother will make all arrangements, as you call them," said tannis steadily.
""he had no near relatives in the world -- none at all in canada -- he told me so.
you may send out a protestant minister from town, if you like; but he will be buried here at the flats and his grave with be mine -- all mine!
go!"
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___kilmeny_of_the_orchard.txt.out
kilmeny of the orchard chapter i.
the thoughts of youth the sunshine of a day in early spring, honey pale and honey sweet, was showering over the red brick buildings of queenslea college and the grounds about them, throwing through the bare, budding maples and elms, delicate, evasive etchings of gold and brown on the paths, and coaxing into life the daffodils that were peering greenly and perkily up under the windows of the co-eds" dressing-room.
a young april wind, as fresh and sweet as if it had been blowing over the fields of memory instead of through dingy streets, was purring in the tree-tops and whipping the loose tendrils of the ivy network which covered the front of the main building.
it was a wind that sang of many things, but what it sang to each listener was only what was in that listener's heart.
to the college students who had just been capped and diplomad by "old charlie," the grave president of queenslea, in the presence of an admiring throng of parents and sisters, sweethearts and friends, it sang, perchance, of glad hope and shining success and high achievement.
it sang of the dreams of youth that may never be quite fulfilled, but are well worth the dreaming for all that.
god help the man who has never known such dreams -- who, as he leaves his alma mater, is not already rich in aerial castles, the proprietor of many a spacious estate in spain.
he has missed his birthright.
the crowd streamed out of the entrance hall and scattered over the campus, fraying off into the many streets beyond.
eric marshall and david baker walked away together.
the former had graduated in arts that day at the head of his class; the latter had come to see the graduation, nearly bursting with pride in eric's success.
between these two was an old and tried and enduring friendship, although david was ten years older than eric, as the mere tale of years goes, and a hundred years older in knowledge of the struggles and difficulties of life which age a man far more quickly and effectually than the passing of time.
physically the two men bore no resemblance to one another, although they were second cousins.
eric marshall, tall, broad-shouldered, sinewy, walking with a free, easy stride, which was somehow suggestive of reserve strength and power, was one of those men regarding whom less-favoured mortals are tempted seriously to wonder why all the gifts of fortune should be showered on one individual.
he was not only clever and good to look upon, but he possessed that indefinable charm of personality which is quite independent of physical beauty or mental ability.
he had steady, grayish-blue eyes, dark chestnut hair with a glint of gold in its waves when the sunlight struck it, and a chin that gave the world assurance of a chin.
he was a rich man's son, with a clean young manhood behind him and splendid prospects before him.
he was considered a practical sort of fellow, utterly guiltless of romantic dreams and visions of any sort.
""i am afraid eric marshall will never do one quixotic thing," said a queenslea professor, who had a habit of uttering rather mysterious epigrams, "but if he ever does it will supply the one thing lacking in him."
david baker was a short, stocky fellow with an ugly, irregular, charming face; his eyes were brown and keen and secretive; his mouth had a comical twist which became sarcastic, or teasing, or winning, as he willed.
his voice was generally as soft and musical as a woman's; but some few who had seen david baker righteously angry and heard the tones which then issued from his lips were in no hurry to have the experience repeated.
he was a doctor -- a specialist in troubles of the throat and voice -- and he was beginning to have a national reputation.
he was on the staff of the queenslea medical college and it was whispered that before long he would be called to fill an important vacancy at mcgill.
he had won his way to success through difficulties and drawbacks which would have daunted most men.
in the year eric was born david baker was an errand boy in the big department store of marshall & company.
thirteen years later he graduated with high honors from queenslea medical college.
mr. marshall had given him all the help which david's sturdy pride could be induced to accept, and now he insisted on sending the young man abroad for a post-graduate course in london and germany.
david baker had eventually repaid every cent mr. marshall had expended on him; but he never ceased to cherish a passionate gratitude to the kind and generous man; and he loved that man's son with a love surpassing that of brothers.
he had followed eric's college course with keen, watchful interest.
it was his wish that eric should take up the study of law or medicine now that he was through arts; and he was greatly disappointed that eric should have finally made up his mind to go into business with his father.
""it's a clean waste of your talents," he grumbled, as they walked home from the college.
""you'd win fame and distinction in law -- that glib tongue of yours was meant for a lawyer and it is sheer flying in the face of providence to devote it to commercial uses -- a flat crossing of the purposes of destiny.
where is your ambition, man?"
""in the right place," answered eric, with his ready laugh.
""it is not your kind, perhaps, but there is room and need for all kinds in this lusty young country of ours.
yes, i am going into the business.
in the first place, it has been father's cherished desire ever since i was born, and it would hurt him pretty badly if i backed out now.
he wished me to take an arts course because he believed that every man should have as liberal an education as he can afford to get, but now that i have had it he wants me in the firm."
""he would n't oppose you if he thought you really wanted to go in for something else."
""not he.
but i do n't really want to -- that's the point, david, man.
you hate a business life so much yourself that you ca n't get it into your blessed noddle that another man might like it.
there are many lawyers in the world -- too many, perhaps -- but there are never too many good honest men of business, ready to do clean big things for the betterment of humanity and the upbuilding of their country, to plan great enterprises and carry them through with brain and courage, to manage and control, to aim high and strike one's aim.
there, i'm waxing eloquent, so i'd better stop.
but ambition, man!
why, i'm full of it -- it's bubbling in every pore of me.
i mean to make the department store of marshall & company famous from ocean to ocean.
father started in life as a poor boy from a nova scotian farm.
he has built up a business that has a provincial reputation.
i mean to carry it on.
in five years it shall have a maritime reputation, in ten, a canadian.
i want to make the firm of marshall & company stand for something big in the commercial interests of canada.
is n't that as honourable an ambition as trying to make black seem white in a court of law, or discovering some new disease with a harrowing name to torment poor creatures who might otherwise die peacefully in blissful ignorance of what ailed them?"
""when you begin to make poor jokes it is time to stop arguing with you," said david, with a shrug of his fat shoulders.
""go your own gait and dree your own weird.
i'd as soon expect success in trying to storm the citadel single-handed as in trying to turn you from any course about which you had once made up your mind.
whew, this street takes it out of a fellow!
what could have possessed our ancestors to run a town up the side of a hill?
i'm not so slim and active as i was on my graduation day ten years ago.
by the way, what a lot of co-eds were in your class -- twenty, if i counted right.
when i graduated there were only two ladies in our class and they were the pioneers of their sex at queenslea.
they were well past their first youth, very grim and angular and serious; and they could never have been on speaking terms with a mirror in their best days.
but mark you, they were excellent females -- oh, very excellent.
times have changed with a vengeance, judging from the line-up of co-eds to-day.
there was one girl there who ca n't be a day over eighteen -- and she looked as if she were made out of gold and roseleaves and dewdrops."
""the oracle speaks in poetry," laughed eric.
""that was florence percival, who led the class in mathematics, as i'm a living man.
by many she is considered the beauty of her class.
i ca n't say that such is my opinion.
i do n't greatly care for that blonde, babyish style of loveliness -- i prefer agnes campion.
did you notice her -- the tall, dark girl with the ropes of hair and a sort of crimson, velvety bloom on her face, who took honours in philosophy?"
""i did notice her," said david emphatically, darting a keen side glance at his friend.
""i noticed her most particularly and critically -- for someone whispered her name behind me and coupled it with the exceedingly interesting information that miss campion was supposed to be the future mrs. eric marshall.
whereupon i stared at her with all my eyes."
""there is no truth in that report," said eric in a tone of annoyance.
""agnes and i are the best of friends and nothing more.
i like and admire her more than any woman i know; but if the future mrs. eric marshall exists in the flesh i have n't met her yet.
i have n't even started out to look for her -- and do n't intend to for some years to come.
i have something else to think of," he concluded, in a tone of contempt, for which anyone might have known he would be punished sometime if cupid were not deaf as well as blind.
""you'll meet the lady of the future some day," said david dryly.
""and in spite of your scorn i venture to predict that if fate does n't bring her before long you'll very soon start out to look for her.
a word of advice, oh, son of your mother.
when you go courting take your common sense with you."
""do you think i shall be likely to leave it behind?"
asked eric amusedly.
""well, i mistrust you," said david, sagely wagging his head.
""the lowland scotch part of you is all right, but there's a celtic streak in you, from that little highland grandmother of yours, and when a man has that there's never any knowing where it will break out, or what dance it will lead him, especially when it comes to this love-making business.
you are just as likely as not to lose your head over some little fool or shrew for the sake of her outward favour and make yourself miserable for life.
when you pick you a wife please remember that i shall reserve the right to pass a candid opinion on her."
""pass all the opinions you like, but it is my opinion, and mine only, which will matter in the long run," retorted eric.
""confound you, yes, you stubborn offshoot of a stubborn breed," growled david, looking at him affectionately.
""i know that, and that is why i'll never feel at ease about you until i see you married to the right sort of a girl.
she's not hard to find.
nine out of ten girls in this country of ours are fit for kings" palaces.
but the tenth always has to be reckoned with."
""you are as bad as clever alice in the fairy tale who worried over the future of her unborn children," protested eric."
clever alice has been very unjustly laughed at," said david gravely.
""we doctors know that.
perhaps she overdid the worrying business a little, but she was perfectly right in principle.
if people worried a little more about their unborn children -- at least, to the extent of providing a proper heritage, physically, mentally, and morally, for them -- and then stopped worrying about them after they are born, this world would be a very much pleasanter place to live in, and the human race would make more progress in a generation than it has done in recorded history."
""oh, if you are going to mount your dearly beloved hobby of heredity i am not going to argue with you, david, man.
but as for the matter of urging me to hasten and marry me a wife, why do n't you" -- it was on eric's lips to say, "why do n't you get married to a girl of the right sort yourself and set me a good example?"
but he checked himself.
he knew that there was an old sorrow in david baker's life which was not to be unduly jarred by the jests even of privileged friendship.
he changed his question to, "why do n't you leave this on the knees of the gods where it properly belongs?
i thought you were a firm believer in predestination, david."
""well, so i am, to a certain extent," said david cautiously.
""i believe, as an excellent old aunt of mine used to say, that what is to be will be and what is n't to be happens sometimes.
and it is precisely such unchancy happenings that make the scheme of things go wrong.
i dare say you think me an old fogy, eric; but i know something more of the world than you do, and i believe, with tennyson's arthur, that "there's no more subtle master under heaven than is the maiden passion for a maid."
i want to see you safely anchored to the love of some good woman as soon as may be, that's all.
i'm rather sorry miss campion is n't your lady of the future.
i liked her looks, that i did.
she is good and strong and true -- and has the eyes of a woman who could love in a way that would be worth while.
moreover, she's well-born, well-bred, and well-educated -- three very indispensable things when it comes to choosing a woman to fill your mother's place, friend of mine!"
""i agree with you," said eric carelessly.
""i could not marry any woman who did not fulfill those conditions.
but, as i have said, i am not in love with agnes campion -- and it would n't be of any use if i were.
she is as good as engaged to larry west.
you remember west?"
""that thin, leggy fellow you chummed with so much your first two years in queenslea?
yes, what has become of him?"
""he had to drop out after his second year for financial reasons.
he is working his own way through college, you know.
for the past two years he has been teaching school in some out-of-the-way place over in prince edward island.
he is n't any too well, poor fellow -- never was very strong and has studied remorselessly.
i have n't heard from him since february.
he said then that he was afraid he was n't going to be able to stick it out till the end of the school year.
i hope larry wo n't break down.
he is a fine fellow and worthy even of agnes campion.
well, here we are.
coming in, david?"
""not this afternoon -- have n't got time.
i must mosey up to the north end to see a man who has got a lovely throat.
nobody can find out what is the matter.
he has puzzled all the doctors.
he has puzzled me, but i'll find out what is wrong with him if he'll only live long enough."
chapter ii.
a letter of destiny eric, finding that his father had not yet returned from the college, went into the library and sat down to read a letter he had picked up from the hall table.
it was from larry west, and after the first few lines eric's face lost the absent look it had worn and assumed an expression of interest.
""i am writing to ask a favour of you, marshall," wrote west.
""the fact is, i've fallen into the hands of the philistines -- that is to say, the doctors.
i've not been feeling very fit all winter but i've held on, hoping to finish out the year.
""last week my landlady -- who is a saint in spectacles and calico -- looked at me one morning at the breakfast table and said, very gently, "you must go to town to-morrow, master, and see a doctor about yourself."
""i went and did not stand upon the order of my going.
mrs. williamson is she-who-must-be-obeyed.
she has an inconvenient habit of making you realize that she is exactly right, and that you would be all kinds of a fool if you did n't take her advice.
you feel that what she thinks to-day you will think to-morrow.
""in charlottetown i consulted a doctor.
he punched and pounded me, and poked things at me and listened at the other end of them; and finally he said i must stop work "immejutly and to onct" and hie me straightway to a climate not afflicted with the north-east winds of prince edward island in the spring.
i am not to be allowed to do any work until the fall.
such was his dictum and mrs. williamson enforces it.
""i shall teach this week out and then the spring vacation of three weeks begins.
i want you to come over and take my place as pedagogue in the lindsay school for the last week in may and the month of june.
the school year ends then and there will be plenty of teachers looking for the place, but just now i can not get a suitable substitute.
i have a couple of pupils who are preparing to try the queen's academy entrance examinations, and i do n't like to leave them in the lurch or hand them over to the tender mercies of some third-class teacher who knows little latin and less greek.
come over and take the school till the end of the term, you petted son of luxury.
it will do you a world of good to learn how rich a man feels when he is earning twenty-five dollars a month by his own unaided efforts!
""seriously, marshall, i hope you can come, for i do n't know any other fellow i can ask.
the work is n't hard, though you'll likely find it monotonous.
of course, this little north-shore farming settlement is n't a very lively place.
the rising and setting of the sun are the most exciting events of the average day.
but the people are very kind and hospitable; and prince edward island in the month of june is such a thing as you do n't often see except in happy dreams.
there are some trout in the pond and you'll always find an old salt at the harbour ready and willing to take you out cod-fishing or lobstering.
""i'll bequeath you my boarding house.
you'll find it comfortable and not further from the school than a good constitutional.
mrs. williamson is the dearest soul alive; and she is one of those old-fashioned cooks who feed you on feasts of fat things and whose price is above rubies.
""her husband, robert, or bob, as he is commonly called despite his sixty years, is quite a character in his way.
he is an amusing old gossip, with a turn for racy comment and a finger in everybody's pie.
he knows everything about everybody in lindsay for three generations back.
""they have no living children, but old bob has a black cat which is his especial pride and darling.
the name of this animal is timothy and as such he must always be called and referred to.
never, as you value robert's good opinion, let him hear you speaking of his pet as "the cat," or even as "tim."
you will never be forgiven and he will not consider you a fit person to have charge of the school.
""you shall have my room, a little place over the kitchen, with a ceiling that follows the slant of the roof down one side, against which you will bump your head times innumerable until you learn to remember that it is there, and a looking glass which will make one of your eyes as small as a pea and the other as big as an orange.
""but to compensate for these disadvantages the supply of towels is generous and unexceptionable; and there is a window whence you will daily behold an occidental view over lindsay harbour and the gulf beyond which is an unspeakable miracle of beauty.
the sun is setting over it as i write and i see such a sea of glass mingled with fire as might have figured in the visions of the patmian seer.
a vessel is sailing away into the gold and crimson and pearl of the horizon; the big revolving light on the tip of the headland beyond the harbour has just been lighted and is winking and flashing like a beacon," "o'er the foam of perilous seas in faerie lands forlorn.""
""wire me if you can come; and if you can, report for duty on the twenty-third of may."
mr. marshall, senior, came in, just as eric was thoughtfully folding up his letter.
the former looked more like a benevolent old clergyman or philanthropist than the keen, shrewd, somewhat hard, although just and honest, man of business that he really was.
he had a round, rosy face, fringed with white whiskers, a fine head of long white hair, and a pursed-up mouth.
only in his blue eyes was a twinkle that would have made any man who designed getting the better of him in a bargain think twice before he made the attempt.
it was easily seen that eric must have inherited his personal beauty and distinction of form from his mother, whose picture hung on the dark wall between the windows.
she had died while still young, when eric was a boy of ten.
during her lifetime she had been the object of the passionate devotion of both her husband and son; and the fine, strong, sweet face of the picture was a testimony that she had been worthy of their love and reverence.
the same face, cast in a masculine mold, was repeated in eric; the chestnut hair grew off his forehead in the same way; his eyes were like hers, and in his grave moods they held a similar expression, half brooding, half tender, in their depths.
mr. marshall was very proud of his son's success in college, but he had no intention of letting him see it.
he loved this boy of his, with the dead mother's eyes, better than anything on earth, and all his hopes and ambitions were bound up in him.
""well, that fuss is over, thank goodness," he said testily, as he dropped into his favourite chair.
""did n't you find the programme interesting?"
asked eric absently.
""most of it was tommyrot," said his father.
""the only things i liked were charlie's latin prayer and those pretty little girls trotting up to get their diplomas.
latin is the language for praying in, i do believe, -- at least, when a man has a voice like old charlie's.
there was such a sonorous roll to the words that the mere sound of them made me feel like getting down on my marrow bones.
and then those girls were as pretty as pinks, now were n't they?
agnes was the finest-looking of the lot in my opinion.
i hope it's true that you're courting her, eric?"
""confound it, father," said eric, half irritably, half laughingly, "have you and david baker entered into a conspiracy to hound me into matrimony whether i will or no?"
""i've never said a word to david baker on such a subject," protested mr. marshall.
""well, you are just as bad as he is.
he hectored me all the way home from the college on the subject.
but why are you in such a hurry to have me married, dad?"
""because i want a homemaker in this house as soon as may be.
there has never been one since your mother died.
i am tired of housekeepers.
and i want to see your children at my knees before i die, eric, and i'm an old man now."
""well, your wish is natural, father," said eric gently, with a glance at his mother's picture.
""but i ca n't rush out and marry somebody off-hand, can i?
and i fear it would n't exactly do to advertise for a wife, even in these days of commercial enterprise."
""is n't there anybody you're fond of?"
queried mr. marshall, with the patient air of a man who overlooks the frivolous jests of youth.
""no.
i never yet saw the woman who could make my heart beat any faster."
""i do n't know what you young men are made of nowadays," growled his father.
""i was in love half a dozen times before i was your age."
""you might have been "in love."
but you never loved any woman until you met my mother.
i know that, father.
and it did n't happen till you were pretty well on in life either."
""you're too hard to please.
that's what's the matter, that's what's the matter!"
""perhaps i am.
when a man has had a mother like mine his standard of womanly sweetness is apt to be pitched pretty high.
let's drop the subject, father.
here, i want you to read this letter -- it's from larry."
""humph!"
grunted mr. marshall, when he had finished with it.
""so larry's knocked out at last -- always thought he would be -- always expected it.
sorry, too.
he was a decent fellow.
well, are you going?"
""yes, i think so, if you do n't object."
""you'll have a pretty monotonous time of it, judging from his account of lindsay."
""probably.
but i am not going over in search of excitement.
i'm going to oblige larry and have a look at the island."
""well, it's worth looking at, some parts of the year," conceded mr. marshall.
""when i'm on prince edward island in the summer i always understand an old scotch islander i met once in winnipeg.
he was always talking of "the island."
somebody once asked him, "what island do you mean?"
he simply looked at that ignorant man.
then he said, "why, prince edward island, mon..
what other island is there?"
go if you'd like to.
you need a rest after the grind of examinations before settling down to business.
and mind you do n't get into any mischief, young sir."
""not much likelihood of that in a place like lindsay, i fancy," laughed eric.
""probably the devil finds as much mischief for idle hands in lindsay as anywhere else.
the worst tragedy i ever heard of happened on a backwoods farm, fifteen miles from a railroad and five from a store.
however, i expect your mother's son to behave himself in the fear of god and man.
in all likelihood the worst thing that will happen to you over there will be that some misguided woman will put you to sleep in a spare room bed.
and if that does happen may the lord have mercy on your soul!"
chapter iii.
the master of lindsay school one evening, a month later, eric marshall came out of the old, white-washed schoolhouse at lindsay, and locked the door -- which was carved over with initials innumerable, and built of double plank in order that it might withstand all the assaults and batteries to which it might be subjected.
eric's pupils had gone home an hour before, but he had stayed to solve some algebra problems, and correct some latin exercises for his advanced students.
the sun was slanting in warm yellow lines through the thick grove of maples to the west of the building, and the dim green air beneath them burst into golden bloom.
a couple of sheep were nibbling the lush grass in a far corner of the play-ground; a cow-bell, somewhere in the maple woods, tinkled faintly and musically, on the still crystal air, which, in spite of its blandness, still retained a touch of the wholesome austerity and poignancy of a canadian spring.
the whole world seemed to have fallen, for the time being, into a pleasant untroubled dream.
the scene was very peaceful and pastoral -- almost too much so, the young man thought, with a shrug of his shoulders, as he stood in the worn steps and gazed about him.
how was he going to put in a whole month here, he wondered, with a little smile at his own expense.
""father would chuckle if he knew i was sick of it already," he thought, as he walked across the play-ground to the long red road that ran past the school.
""well, one week is ended, at any rate.
i've earned my own living for five whole days, and that is something i could never say before in all my twenty-four years of existence.
it is an exhilarating thought.
but teaching the lindsay district school is distinctly not exhilarating -- at least in such a well-behaved school as this, where the pupils are so painfully good that i have n't even the traditional excitement of thrashing obstreperous bad boys.
everything seems to go by clock work in lindsay educational institution.
larry must certainly have possessed a marked gift for organizing and drilling.
i feel as if i were merely a big cog in an orderly machine that ran itself.
however, i understand that there are some pupils who have n't shown up yet, and who, according to all reports, have not yet had the old adam totally drilled out of them.
they may make things more interesting.
also a few more compositions, such as john reid's, would furnish some spice to professional life."
eric's laughter wakened the echoes as he swung into the road down the long sloping hill.
he had given his fourth grade pupils their own choice of subjects in the composition class that morning, and john reid, a sober, matter-of-fact little urchin, with not the slightest embryonic development of a sense of humour, had, acting upon the whispered suggestion of a roguish desk-mate, elected to write upon "courting."
his opening sentence made eric's face twitch mutinously whenever he recalled it during the day.
""courting is a very pleasant thing which a great many people go too far with."
the distant hills and wooded uplands were tremulous and aerial in delicate spring-time gauzes of pearl and purple.
the young, green-leafed maples crowded thickly to the very edge of the road on either side, but beyond them were emerald fields basking in sunshine, over which cloud shadows rolled, broadened, and vanished.
far below the fields a calm ocean slept bluely, and sighed in its sleep, with the murmur that rings for ever in the ear of those whose good fortune it is to have been born within the sound of it.
now and then eric met some callow, check-shirted, bare-legged lad on horseback, or a shrewd-faced farmer in a cart, who nodded and called out cheerily, "howdy, master?"
a young girl, with a rosy, oval face, dimpled cheeks, and pretty dark eyes filled with shy coquetry, passed him, looking as if she would not be at all averse to a better acquaintance with the new teacher.
half way down the hill eric met a shambling, old gray horse drawing an express wagon which had seen better days.
the driver was a woman: she appeared to be one of those drab-tinted individuals who can never have felt a rosy emotion in all their lives.
she stopped her horse, and beckoned eric over to her with the knobby handle of a faded and bony umbrella.
""reckon you're the new master, ai n't you?"
she asked.
eric admitted that he was.
""well, i'm glad to see you," she said, offering him a hand in a much darned cotton glove that had once been black.
""i was right sorry to see mr. west go, for he was a right good teacher, and as harmless, inoffensive a creetur as ever lived.
but i always told him every time i laid eyes on him that he was in consumption, if ever a man was.
you look real healthy -- though you ca n't aways tell by looks, either.
i had a brother complected like you, but he was killed in a railroad accident out west when he was real young.
""i've got a boy i'll be sending to school to you next week.
he'd oughter gone this week, but i had to keep him home to help me put the pertaters in; for his father wo n't work and does n't work and ca n't be made to work.
""sandy -- his full name is edward alexander -- called after both his grandfathers -- hates the idee of going to school worse'n pisen -- always did.
but go he shall, for i'm determined he's got to have more larning hammered into his head yet.
i reckon you'll have trouble with him, master, for he's as stupid as an owl, and as stubborn as solomon's mule.
but mind this, master, i'll back you up.
you just lick sandy good and plenty when he needs it, and send me a scrape of the pen home with him, and i'll give him another dose.
""there's people that always sides in with their young ones when there's any rumpus kicked up in the school, but i do n't hold to that, and never did.
you can depend on rebecca reid every time, master."
""thank you.
i am sure i can," said eric, in his most winning tones.
he kept his face straight until it was safe to relax, and mrs. reid drove on with a soft feeling in her leathery old heart, which had been so toughened by long endurance of poverty and toil, and a husband who would n't work and could n't be made to work, that it was no longer a very susceptible organ where members of the opposite sex were concerned.
mrs. reid reflected that this young man had a way with him.
eric already knew most of the lindsay folks by sight; but at the foot of the hill he met two people, a man and a boy, whom he did not know.
they were sitting in a shabby, old-fashioned wagon, and were watering their horse at the brook, which gurgled limpidly under the little plank bridge in the hollow.
eric surveyed them with some curiosity.
they did not look in the least like the ordinary run of lindsay people.
the boy, in particular, had a distinctly foreign appearance, in spite of the gingham shirt and homespun trousers, which seemed to be the regulation, work-a-day outfit for the lindsay farmer lads.
he had a lithe, supple body, with sloping shoulders, and a lean, satiny brown throat above his open shirt collar.
his head was covered with thick, silky, black curls, and the hand that hung down by the side of the wagon was unusually long and slender.
his face was richly, though somewhat heavily featured, olive tinted, save for the cheeks, which had a dusky crimson bloom.
his mouth was as red and beguiling as a girl's, and his eyes were large, bold and black.
all in all, he was a strikingly handsome fellow; but the expression of his face was sullen, and he somehow gave eric the impression of a sinuous, feline creature basking in lazy grace, but ever ready for an unexpected spring.
the other occupant of the wagon was a man between sixty-five and seventy, with iron-gray hair, a long, full, gray beard, a harsh-featured face, and deep-set hazel eyes under bushy, bristling brows.
he was evidently tall, with a spare, ungainly figure, and stooping shoulders.
his mouth was close-lipped and relentless, and did not look as if it had ever smiled.
indeed, the idea of smiling could not be connected with this man -- it was utterly incongruous.
yet there was nothing repellent about his face; and there was something in it that compelled eric's attention.
he rather prided himself on being a student of physiognomy, and he felt quite sure that this man was no ordinary lindsay farmer of the genial, garrulous type with which he was familiar.
long after the old wagon, with its oddly assorted pair, had gone lumbering up the hill, eric found himself thinking of the stern, heavy browed man and the black-eyed, red-lipped boy.
chapter iv.
a tea table conversation the williamson place, where eric boarded, was on the crest of the succeeding hill.
he liked it as well as larry west had prophesied that he would.
the williamsons, as well as the rest of the lindsay people, took it for granted that he was a poor college student working his way through as larry west had been doing.
eric did not disturb this belief, although he said nothing to contribute to it.
the williamsons were at tea in the kitchen when eric went in.
mrs. williamson was the "saint in spectacles and calico" which larry west had termed her.
eric liked her greatly.
she was a slight, gray-haired woman, with a thin, sweet, high-bred face, deeply lined with the records of outlived pain.
she talked little as a rule; but, in the pungent country phrase she never spoke but she said something.
the one thing that constantly puzzled eric was how such a woman ever came to marry robert williamson.
she smiled in a motherly fashion at eric, as he hung his hat on the white-washed wall and took his place at the table.
outside of the window behind him was a birch grove which, in the westering sun, was a tremulous splendour, with a sea of undergrowth wavered into golden billows by every passing wind.
old robert williamson sat opposite him, on a bench.
he was a small, lean old man, half lost in loose clothes that seemed far too large for him.
when he spoke his voice was as thin and squeaky as he appeared to be himself.
the other end of the bench was occupied by timothy, sleek and complacent, with a snowy breast and white paws.
after old robert had taken a mouthful of anything he gave a piece to timothy, who ate it daintily and purred resonant gratitude.
""you see we're busy waiting for you, master," said old robert.
""you're late this evening.
keep any of the youngsters in?
that's a foolish way of punishing them, as hard on yourself as on them.
one teacher we had four years ago used to lock them in and go home.
then he'd go back in an hour and let them out -- if they were there.
they were n't always.
tom ferguson kicked the panels out of the old door once and got out that way.
we put a new door of double plank in that they could n't kick out."
""i stayed in the schoolroom to do some work," said eric briefly.
""well, you've missed alexander tracy.
he was here to find out if you could play checkers, and, when i told him you could, he left word for you to go up and have a game some evening soon.
do n't beat him too often, even if you can.
you'll need to stand in with him, i tell you, master, for he's got a son that may brew trouble for you when he starts in to go to school.
seth tracy's a young imp, and he'd far sooner be in mischief than eat.
he tries to run on every new teacher and he's run two clean out of the school.
but he met his match in mr. west.
william tracy's boys now -- you wo n't have a scrap of bother with them.
they're always good because their mother tells them every sunday that they'll go straight to hell if they do n't behave in school.
it's effective.
take some preserve, master.
you know we do n't help things here the way mrs. adam scott does when she has boarders," i s "pose you do n't want any of this -- nor you -- nor you?"
mother, aleck says old george wright is having the time of his life.
his wife has gone to charlottetown to visit her sister and he is his own boss for the first time since he was married, forty years ago.
he's on a regular orgy, aleck says.
he smokes in the parlour and sits up till eleven o'clock reading dime novels."
""perhaps i met mr. tracy," said eric.
""is he a tall man, with gray hair and a dark, stern face?"
""no, he's a round, jolly fellow, is aleck, and he stopped growing pretty much before he'd ever begun.
i reckon the man you mean is thomas gordon.
i seen him driving down the road too.
he wo n't be troubling you with invitations up, small fear of it.
the gordons ai n't sociable, to say the least of it.
no, sir!
mother, pass the biscuits to the master."
""who was the young fellow he had with him?"
asked eric curiously.
""neil -- neil gordon."
""that is a scotchy name for such a face and eyes.
i should rather have expected guiseppe or angelo.
the boy looks like an italian."
""well, now, you know, master, i reckon it's likely he does, seeing that that's exactly what he is.
you've hit the nail square on the head.
italyun, yes, sir!
rather too much so, i'm thinking, for decent folks" taste."
""how has it happened that an italian boy with a scotch name is living in a place like lindsay?"
""well, master, it was this way.
about twenty-two years ago -- was it twenty-two, mother or twenty-four?
yes, it was twenty-two --'t was the same year our jim was born and he'd have been twenty-two if he'd lived, poor little fellow.
well, master, twenty-two years ago a couple of italian pack peddlers came along and called at the gordon place.
the country was swarming with them then.
i useter set the dog on one every day on an average.
""well, these peddlers were man and wife, and the woman took sick up there at the gordon place, and janet gordon took her in and nursed her.
a baby was born the next day, and the woman died.
then the first thing anybody knew the father skipped clean out, pack and all, and was never seen or heard tell of afterwards.
the gordons were left with the fine youngster to their hands.
folks advised them to send him to the orphan asylum, and "twould have been the wisest plan, but the gordons were never fond of taking advice.
old james gordon was living then, thomas and janet's father, and he said he would never turn a child out of his door.
he was a masterful old man and liked to be boss.
folks used to say he had a grudge against the sun'cause it rose and set without his say so.
anyhow, they kept the baby.
they called him neil and had him baptized same as any christian child.
he's always lived there.
they did well enough by him.
he was sent to school and taken to church and treated like one of themselves.
some folks think they made too much of him.
it does n't always do with that kind, for "what's bred in bone is mighty apt to come out in flesh," if "taint kept down pretty well.
neil's smart and a great worker, they tell me.
but folks hereabouts do n't like him.
they say he ai n't to be trusted further'n you can see him, if as far.
it's certain he's awful hot tempered, and one time when he was going to school he near about killed a boy he'd took a spite to -- choked him till he was black in the face and neil had to be dragged off."
""well now, father, you know they teased him terrible," protested mrs. williamson.
""the poor boy had a real hard time when he went to school, master.
the other children were always casting things up to him and calling him names."
""oh, i daresay they tormented him a lot," admitted her husband.
""he's a great hand at the fiddle and likes company.
he goes to the harbour a good deal.
but they say he takes sulky spells when he has n't a word to throw to a dog.
"twould n't be any wonder, living with the gordons.
they're all as queer as dick's hat-band."
""father, you should n't talk so about your neighbours," said his wife rebukingly.
""well now, mother, you know they are, if you'd only speak up honest.
but you're like old aunt nancy scott, you never say anything uncharitable except in the way of business.
you know the gordons ai n't like other people and never were and never will be.
they're about the only queer folks we have in lindsay, master, except old peter cook, who keeps twenty-five cats.
lord, master, think of it!
what chanct would a poor mouse have?
none of the rest of us are queer, leastwise, we hai n't found it out if we are.
but, then, we're mighty uninteresting, i'm bound to admit that."
""where do the gordons live?"
asked eric, who had grown used to holding fast to a given point of inquiry through all the bewildering mazes of old robert's conversation.
""away up yander, half a mile in from radnor road, with a thick spruce wood atween them and all the rest of the world.
they never go away anywheres, except to church -- they never miss that -- and nobody goes there.
there's just old thomas, and his sister janet, and a niece of theirs, and this here neil we've been talking about.
they're a queer, dour, cranky lot, and i will say it, mother.
there, give your old man a cup of tea and never mind the way his tongue runs on.
speaking of tea, do you know mrs. adam palmer and mrs. jim martin took tea together at foster reid's last wednesday afternoon?"
""no, why, i thought they were on bad terms," said mrs. williamson, betraying a little feminine curiosity.
""so they are, so they are.
but they both happened to visit mrs. foster the same afternoon and neither would leave because that would be knuckling down to the other.
so they stuck it out, on opposite sides of the parlour.
mrs. foster says she never spent such an uncomfortable afternoon in all her life before.
she would talk a spell to one and then t "other.
and they kept talking to mrs. foster and at each other.
mrs. foster says she really thought she'd have to keep them all night, for neither would start to go home afore the other.
finally jim martin came in to look for his wife,'cause he thought she must have got stuck in the marsh, and that solved the problem.
master, you ai n't eating anything.
do n't mind my stopping; i was at it half an hour afore you come, and anyway i'm in a hurry.
my hired boy went home to-day.
he heard the rooster crow at twelve last night and he's gone home to see which of his family is dead.
he knows one of'em is.
he heard a rooster crow in the middle of the night onct afore and the next day he got word that his second cousin down at souris was dead.
mother, if the master do n't want any more tea, ai n't there some cream for timothy?"
chapter v.
a phantom of delight shortly before sunset that evening eric went for a walk.
when he did not go to the shore he liked to indulge in long tramps through the lindsay fields and woods, in the mellowness of "the sweet" o the year."
most of the lindsay houses were built along the main road, which ran parallel to the shore, or about the stores at "the corner."
the farms ran back from them into solitudes of woods and pasture lands.
eric struck southwest from the williamson homestead, in a direction he had not hitherto explored, and walked briskly along, enjoying the witchery of the season all about him in earth and air and sky.
he felt it and loved it and yielded to it, as anyone of clean life and sane pulses must do.
the spruce wood in which he presently found himself was smitten through with arrows of ruby light from the setting sun.
he went through it, walking up a long, purple aisle where the wood-floor was brown and elastic under his feet, and came out beyond it on a scene which surprised him.
no house was in sight, but he found himself looking into an orchard; an old orchard, evidently long neglected and forsaken.
but an orchard dies hard; and this one, which must have been a very delightful spot once, was delightful still, none the less so for the air of gentle melancholy which seemed to pervade it, the melancholy which invests all places that have once been the scenes of joy and pleasure and young life, and are so no longer, places where hearts have throbbed, and pulses thrilled, and eyes brightened, and merry voices echoed.
the ghosts of these things seem to linger in their old haunts through many empty years.
the orchard was large and long, enclosed in a tumbledown old fence of longers bleached to a silvery gray in the suns of many lost summers.
at regular intervals along the fence were tall, gnarled fir trees, and an evening wind, sweeter than that which blew over the beds of spice from lebanon, was singing in their tops, an earth-old song with power to carry the soul back to the dawn of time.
eastward, a thick fir wood grew, beginning with tiny treelets just feathering from the grass, and grading up therefrom to the tall veterans of the mid-grove, unbrokenly and evenly, giving the effect of a solid, sloping green wall, so beautifully compact that it looked as if it had been clipped into its velvet surface by art.
most of the orchard was grown over lushly with grass; but at the end where eric stood there was a square, treeless place which had evidently once served as a homestead garden.
old paths were still visible, bordered by stones and large pebbles.
there were two clumps of lilac trees; one blossoming in royal purple, the other in white.
between them was a bed ablow with the starry spikes of june lilies.
their penetrating, haunting fragrance distilled on the dewy air in every soft puff of wind.
along the fence rosebushes grew, but it was as yet too early in the season for roses.
beyond was the orchard proper, three long rows of trees with green avenues between, each tree standing in a wonderful blow of pink and white.
the charm of the place took sudden possession of eric as nothing had ever done before.
he was not given to romantic fancies; but the orchard laid hold of him subtly and drew him to itself, and he was never to be quite his own man again.
he went into it over one of the broken panels of fence, and so, unknowing, went forward to meet all that life held for him.
he walked the length of the orchard's middle avenue between long, sinuous boughs picked out with delicate, rose-hearted bloom.
when he reached its southern boundary he flung himself down in a grassy corner of the fence where another lilac bush grew, with ferns and wild blue violets at its roots.
from where he now was he got a glimpse of a house about a quarter of a mile away, its gray gable peering out from a dark spruce wood.
it seemed a dull, gloomy, remote place, and he did not know who lived there.
he had a wide outlook to the west, over far hazy fields and misty blue intervales.
the sun had just set, and the whole world of green meadows beyond swam in golden light.
across a long valley brimmed with shadow were uplands of sunset, and great sky lakes of saffron and rose where a soul might lose itself in colour.
the air was very fragrant with the baptism of the dew, and the odours of a bed of wild mint upon which he had trampled.
robins were whistling, clear and sweet and sudden, in the woods all about him.
""this is a veritable "haunt of ancient peace,"" quoted eric, looking around with delighted eyes.
""i could fall asleep here, dream dreams and see visions.
what a sky!
could anything be diviner than that fine crystal eastern blue, and those frail white clouds that look like woven lace?
what a dizzying, intoxicating fragrance lilacs have!
i wonder if perfume could set a man drunk.
those apple trees now -- why, what is that?"
eric started up and listened.
across the mellow stillness, mingled with the croon of the wind in the trees and the flute-like calls of the robins, came a strain of delicious music, so beautiful and fantastic that eric held his breath in astonishment and delight.
was he dreaming?
no, it was real music, the music of a violin played by some hand inspired with the very spirit of harmony.
he had never heard anything like it; and, somehow, he felt quite sure that nothing exactly like it ever had been heard before; he believed that that wonderful music was coming straight from the soul of the unseen violinist, and translating itself into those most airy and delicate and exquisite sounds for the first time; the very soul of music, with all sense and earthliness refined away.
it was an elusive, haunting melody, strangely suited to the time and place; it had in it the sigh of the wind in the woods, the eerie whispering of the grasses at dewfall, the white thoughts of the june lilies, the rejoicing of the apple blossoms; all the soul of all the old laughter and song and tears and gladness and sobs the orchard had ever known in the lost years; and besides all this, there was in it a pitiful, plaintive cry as of some imprisoned thing calling for freedom and utterance.
at first eric listened as a man spellbound, mutely and motionlessly, lost in wonderment.
then a very natural curiosity overcame him.
who in lindsay could play a violin like that?
and who was playing so here, in this deserted old orchard, of all places in the world?
he rose and walked up the long white avenue, going as slowly and silently as possible, for he did not wish to interrupt the player.
when he reached the open space of the garden he stopped short in new amazement and was again tempted into thinking he must certainly be dreaming.
under the big branching white lilac tree was an old, sagging, wooden bench; and on this bench a girl was sitting, playing on an old brown violin.
her eyes were on the faraway horizon and she did not see eric.
for a few moments he stood there and looked at her.
the pictures she made photographed itself on his vision to the finest detail, never to be blotted from his book of remembrance.
to his latest day eric marshall will be able to recall vividly that scene as he saw it then -- the velvet darkness of the spruce woods, the overarching sky of soft brilliance, the swaying lilac blossoms, and amid it all the girl on the old bench with the violin under her chin.
he had, in his twenty-four years of life, met hundreds of pretty women, scores of handsome women, a scant half dozen of really beautiful women.
but he knew at once, beyond all possibility of question or doubt, that he had never seen or imagined anything so exquisite as this girl of the orchard.
her loveliness was so perfect that his breath almost went from him in his first delight of it.
her face was oval, marked in every cameo-like line and feature with that expression of absolute, flawless purity, found in the angels and madonnas of old paintings, a purity that held in it no faintest strain of earthliness.
her head was bare, and her thick, jet-black hair was parted above her forehead and hung in two heavy lustrous braids over her shoulders.
her eyes were of such a blue as eric had never seen in eyes before, the tint of the sea in the still, calm light that follows after a fine sunset; they were as luminous as the stars that came out over lindsay harbour in the afterglow, and were fringed about with very long, soot-black lashes, and arched over by most delicately pencilled dark eyebrows.
her skin was as fine and purely tinted as the heart of a white rose.
the collarless dress of pale blue print she wore revealed her smooth, slender throat; her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows and the hand which guided the bow of her violin was perhaps the most beautiful thing about her, perfect in shape and texture, firm and white, with rosy-nailed taper fingers.
one long, drooping plume of lilac blossom lightly touched her hair and cast a wavering shadow over the flower-like face beneath it.
there was something very child-like about her, and yet at least eighteen sweet years must have gone to the making of her.
she seemed to be playing half unconsciously, as if her thoughts were far away in some fair dreamland of the skies.
but presently she looked away from "the bourne of sunset," and her lovely eyes fell on eric, standing motionless before her in the shadow of the apple tree.
the sudden change that swept over her was startling.
she sprang to her feet, the music breaking in mid-strain and the bow slipping from her hand to the grass.
every hint of colour fled from her face and she trembled like one of the wind-stirred june lilies.
""i beg your pardon," said eric hastily.
""i am sorry that i have alarmed you.
but your music was so beautiful that i did not remember you were not aware of my presence here.
please forgive me."
he stopped in dismay, for he suddenly realized that the expression on the girl's face was one of terror -- not merely the startled alarm of a shy, childlike creature who had thought herself alone, but absolute terror.
it was betrayed in her blanched and quivering lips and in the widely distended blue eyes that stared back into his with the expression of some trapped wild thing.
it hurt him that any woman should look at him in such a fashion, at him who had always held womanhood in such reverence.
""do n't look so frightened," he said gently, thinking only of calming her fear, and speaking as he would to a child.
""i will not hurt you.
you are safe, quite safe."
in his eagerness to reassure her he took an unconscious step forward.
instantly she turned, and, without a sound, fled across the orchard, through a gap in the northern fence and along what seemed to be a lane bordering the fir wood beyond and arched over with wild cherry trees misty white in the gathering gloom.
before eric could recover his wits she had vanished from his sight among the firs.
he stooped and picked up the violin bow, feeling slightly foolish and very much annoyed.
""well, this is a most mysterious thing," he said, somewhat impatiently.
""am i bewitched?
who was she?
what was she?
can it be possible that she is a lindsay girl?
and why in the name of all that's provoking should she be so frightened at the mere sight of me?
i have never thought i was a particularly hideous person, but certainly this adventure has not increased my vanity to any perceptible extent.
perhaps i have wandered into an enchanted orchard, and been outwardly transformed into an ogre.
now that i have come to think of it, there is something quite uncanny about the place.
anything might happen here.
it is no common orchard for the production of marketable apples, that is plain to be seen.
no, it's a most unwholesome locality; and the sooner i make my escape from it the better."
he glanced about it with a whimsical smile.
the light was fading rapidly and the orchard was full of soft, creeping shadows and silences.
it seemed to wink sleepy eyes of impish enjoyment at his perplexity.
he laid the violin bow down on the old bench.
""well, there is no use in my following her, and i have no right to do so even if it were of use.
but i certainly wish she had n't fled in such evident terror.
eyes like hers were never meant to express anything but tenderness and trust.
why -- why -- why was she so frightened?
and who -- who -- who -- can she be?"
all the way home, over fields and pastures that were beginning to be moonlight silvered he pondered the mystery.
""let me see," he reflected.
""mr. williamson was describing the lindsay girls for my benefit the other evening.
if i remember rightly he said that there were four handsome ones in the district.
what were their names?
florrie woods, melissa foster -- no, melissa palmer -- emma scott, and jennie may ferguson.
can she be one of them?
no, it is a flagrant waste of time and gray matter supposing it.
that girl could n't be a florrie or a melissa or an emma, while jennie may is completely out of the question.
well, there is some bewitchment in the affair.
of that i'm convinced.
so i'd better forget all about it."
but eric found that it was impossible to forget all about it.
the more he tried to forget, the more keenly and insistently he remembered.
the girl's exquisite face haunted him and the mystery of her tantalized him.
true, he knew that, in all likelihood, he might easily solve the problem by asking the williamsons about her.
but somehow, to his own surprise, he found that he shrank from doing this.
he felt that it was impossible to ask robert williamson and probably have the girl's name overflowed in a stream of petty gossip concerning her and all her antecedents and collaterals to the third and fourth generation.
if he had to ask any one it should be mrs. williamson; but he meant to find out the secret for himself if it were at all possible.
he had planned to go to the harbour the next evening.
one of the lobstermen had promised to take him out cod-fishing.
but instead he wandered southwest over the fields again.
he found the orchard easily -- he had half expected not to find it.
it was still the same fragrant, grassy, wind-haunted spot.
but it had no occupant and the violin bow was gone from the old bench.
""perhaps she tiptoed back here for it by the light o" the moon," thought eric, pleasing his fancy by the vision of a lithe, girlish figure stealing with a beating heart through mingled shadow and moonshine.
""i wonder if she will possibly come this evening, or if i have frightened her away for ever.
i'll hide me behind this spruce copse and wait."
eric waited until dark, but no music sounded through the orchard and no one came to it.
the keenness of his disappointment surprised him, nay more, it vexed him.
what nonsense to be so worked up because a little girl he had seen for five minutes failed to appear!
where was his common sense, his "gumption," as old robert williamson would have said?
naturally a man liked to look at a pretty face.
but was that any reason why he should feel as if life were flat, stale, and unprofitable simply because he could not look at it?
he called himself a fool and went home in a petulant mood.
arriving there, he plunged fiercely into solving algebraical equations and working out geometry exercises, determined to put out of his head forthwith all vain imaginings of an enchanted orchard, white in the moonshine, with lilts of elfin music echoing down its long arcades.
the next day was sunday and eric went to church twice.
the williamson pew was one of the side ones at the top of the church and its occupants practically faced the congregation.
eric looked at every girl and woman in the audience, but he saw nothing of the face which, setting will power and common sense flatly at defiance, haunted his memory like a star.
thomas gordon was there, sitting alone in his long, empty pew near the top of the building; and neil gordon sang in the choir which occupied the front pew of the gallery.
he had a powerful and melodious, though untrained voice, which dominated the singing and took the colour out of the weaker, more commonplace tones of the other singers.
he was well-dressed in a suit of dark blue serge, with a white collar and tie.
but eric idly thought it did not become him so well as the working clothes in which he had first seen him.
he was too obviously dressed up, and he looked coarser and more out of harmony with his surroundings.
for two days eric refused to let himself think of the orchard.
monday evening he went cod-fishing, and tuesday evening he went up to play checkers with alexander tracy.
alexander won all the games so easily that he never had any respect for eric marshall again.
""played like a feller whose thoughts were wool gathering," he complained to his wife.
""he'll never make a checker player -- never in this world."
chapter vi.
the story of kilmeny wednesday evening eric went to the orchard again; and again he was disappointed.
he went home, determined to solve the mystery by open inquiry.
fortune favoured him, for he found mrs. williamson alone, sitting by the west window of her kitchen and knitting at a long gray sock.
she hummed softly to herself as she knitted, and timothy slept blackly at her feet.
she looked at eric with quiet affection in her large, candid eyes.
she had liked mr. west.
but eric had found his way into the inner chamber of her heart, by reason that his eyes were so like those of the little son she had buried in the lindsay churchyard many years before.
""mrs. williamson," said eric, with an affectation of carelessness, "i chanced on an old deserted orchard back behind the woods over there last week, a charming bit of wilderness.
do you know whose it is?"
""i suppose it must be the old connors orchard," answered mrs. williamson after a moment's reflection.
""i had forgotten all about it.
it must be all of thirty years since mr. and mrs. connors moved away.
their house and barns were burned down and they sold the land to thomas gordon and went to live in town.
they're both dead now.
mr. connors used to be very proud of his orchard.
there were n't many orchards in lindsay then, though almost everybody has one now."
""there was a young girl in it, playing on a violin," said eric, annoyed to find that it cost him an effort to speak of her, and that the blood mounted to his face as he did so.
""she ran away in great alarm as soon as she saw me, although i do not think i did or said anything to frighten or vex her.
i have no idea who she was.
do you know?"
mrs. williamson did not make an immediate reply.
she laid down her knitting and gazed out of the window as if pondering seriously some question in her own mind.
finally she said, with an intonation of keen interest in her voice, "i suppose it must have been kilmeny gordon, master."
""kilmeny gordon?
do you mean the niece of thomas gordon of whom your husband spoke?"
""yes."
""i can hardly believe that the girl i saw can be a member of thomas gordon's family."
""well, if it was n't kilmeny gordon i do n't know who it could have been.
there is no other house near that orchard and i've heard she plays the violin.
if it was kilmeny you've seen what very few people in lindsay have ever seen, master.
and those few have never seen her close by.
i have never laid eyes on her myself.
it's no wonder she ran away, poor girl.
she is n't used to seeing strangers."
""i'm rather glad if that was the sole reason of her flight," said eric.
""i admit i did n't like to see any girl so frightened of me as she appeared to be.
she was as white as paper, and so terrified that she never uttered a word, but fled like a deer to cover."
""well, she could n't have spoken a word in any case," said mrs. williamson quietly.
""kilmeny gordon is dumb."
eric sat in dismayed silence for a moment.
that beautiful creature afflicted in such a fashion -- why, it was horrible!
mingled with his dismay was a strange pang of personal regret and disappointment.
""it could n't have been kilmeny gordon, then," he protested at last, remembering.
""the girl i saw played on the violin exquisitely.
i never heard anything like it.
it is impossible that a deaf mute could play like that."
""oh, she is n't deaf, master," responded mrs. williamson, looking at eric keenly through her spectacles.
she picked up her knitting and fell to work again.
""that is the strange part of it, if anything about her can be stranger than another.
she can hear as well as anybody and understands everything that is said to her.
but she ca n't speak a word and never could, at least, so they say.
the truth is, nobody knows much about her.
janet and thomas never speak of her, and neil wo n't either.
he has been well questioned, too, you can depend on that; but he wo n't ever say a word about kilmeny and he gets mad if folks persist."
""why is n't she to be spoken of?"
queried eric impatiently.
""what is the mystery about her?"
""it's a sad story, master.
i suppose the gordons look on her existence as a sort of disgrace.
for my own part, i think it's terrible, the way she's been brought up.
but the gordons are very strange people, mr. marshall.
i kind of reproved father for saying so, you remember, but it is true.
they have very strange ways.
and you've really seen kilmeny?
what does she look like?
i've heard that she was handsome.
is it true?"
""i thought her very beautiful," said eric rather curtly.
""but how has she been brought up, mrs. williamson?
and why?"
""well, i might as well tell you the whole story, master.
kilmeny is the niece of thomas and janet gordon.
her mother was margaret gordon, their younger sister.
old james gordon came out from scotland.
janet and thomas were born in the old country and were small children when they came here.
they were never very sociable folks, but still they used to visit out some then, and people used to go there.
they were kind and honest people, even if they were a little peculiar.
""mrs. gordon died a few years after they came out, and four years later james gordon went home to scotland and brought a new wife back with him.
she was a great deal younger than he was and a very pretty woman, as my mother often told me.
she was friendly and gay and liked social life.
the gordon place was a very different sort of place after she came there, and even janet and thomas got thawed out and softened down a good bit.
they were real fond of their stepmother, i've heard.
then, six years after she was married, the second mrs. gordon died too.
she died when margaret was born.
they say james gordon almost broke his heart over it.
""janet brought margaret up.
she and thomas just worshipped the child and so did their father.
i knew margaret gordon well once.
we were just the same age and we set together in school.
we were always good friends until she turned against all the world.
""she was a strange girl in some ways even then, but i always liked her, though a great many people did n't.
she had some bitter enemies, but she had some devoted friends too.
that was her way.
she made folks either hate or love her.
those who did love her would have gone through fire and water for her.
""when she grew up she was very pretty -- tall and splendid, like a queen, with great thick braids of black hair and red, red cheeks and lips.
everybody who saw her looked at her a second time.
she was a little vain of her beauty, i think, master.
and she was proud, oh, she was very proud.
she liked to be first in everything, and she could n't bear not to show to good advantage.
she was dreadful determined, too.
you could n't budge her an inch, master, when she once had made up her mind on any point.
but she was warm-hearted and generous.
she could sing like an angel and she was very clever.
she could learn anything with just one look at it and she was terrible fond of reading.
""when i'm talking about her like this it all comes back to me, just what she was like and how she looked and spoke and acted, and little ways she had of moving her hands and head.
i declare it almost seems as if she was right here in this room instead of being over there in the churchyard.
i wish you'd light the lamp, master.
i feel kind of nervous."
eric rose and lighted the lamp, rather wondering at mrs. williamson's unusual exhibition of nerves.
she was generally so calm and composed.
""thank you, master.
that's better.
i wo n't be fancying now that margaret gordon's here listening to what i'm saying.
i had the feeling so strong a moment ago.
""i suppose you think i'm a long while getting to kilmeny, but i'm coming to that.
i did n't mean to talk so much about margaret, but somehow my thoughts got taken up with her.
""well, margaret passed the board and went to queen's academy and got a teacher's license.
she passed pretty well up when she came out, but janet told me she cried all night after the pass list came out because there were some ahead of her.
""she went to teach school over at radnor.
it was there she met a man named ronald fraser.
margaret had never had a beau before.
she could have had any young man in lindsay if she had wanted him, but she would n't look at one of them.
they said it was because she thought nobody was good enough for her, but that was n't the way of it at all, master.
i knew, because margaret and i used to talk of those matters, as girls do.
she did n't believe in going with anybody unless it was somebody she thought everything of.
and there was nobody in lindsay she cared that much for.
""this ronald fraser was a stranger from nova scotia and nobody knew much about him.
he was a widower, although he was only a young man.
he had set up store-keeping in radnor and was doing well.
he was real handsome and had taking ways women like.
it was said that all the radnor girls were in love with him, but i do n't think his worst enemy could have said he flirted with them.
he never took any notice of them; but the very first time he saw margaret gordon he fell in love with her and she with him.
""they came over to church in lindsay together the next sunday and everybody said it would be a match.
margaret looked lovely that day, so gentle and womanly.
she had been used to hold her head pretty high, but that day she held it drooping a little and her black eyes cast down.
ronald fraser was very tall and fair, with blue eyes.
they made as handsome a couple as i ever saw.
""but old james gordon and thomas and janet did n't much approve of him.
i saw that plain enough one time i was there and he brought margaret home from radnor friday night.
i guess they would n't have liked anybody, though, who come after margaret.
they thought nobody was good enough for her.
""but margaret coaxed them all round in time.
she could do pretty near anything with them, they were so fond and proud of her.
her father held out the longest, but finally he give in and consented for her to marry ronald fraser.
""they had a big wedding, too -- all the neighbours were asked.
margaret always liked to make a display.
i was her bridesmaid, master.
i helped her dress and nothing would please her; she wanted to look that nice for ronald's sake.
she was a handsome bride; dressed in white, with red roses in her hair and at her breast.
she would n't wear white flowers; she said they looked too much like funeral flowers.
she looked like a picture.
i can see her this minute, as plain as plain, just as she was that night, blushing and turning pale by turns, and looking at ronald with her eyes of love.
if ever a girl loved a man with all her heart margaret gordon did.
it almost made me feel frightened.
she gave him the worship it is n't right to give anybody but god, master, and i think that is always punished.
""they went to live at radnor and for a little while everything went well.
margaret had a nice house, and was gay and happy.
she dressed beautiful and entertained a good deal.
then -- well, ronald fraser's first wife turned up looking for him!
she was n't dead after all.
""oh, there was terrible scandal, master.
the talk and gossip was something dreadful.
every one you met had a different story, and it was hard to get at the truth.
some said ronald fraser had known all the time that his wife was n't dead, and had deceived margaret.
but i do n't think he did.
he swore he did n't.
they had n't been very happy together, it seems.
her mother made trouble between them.
then she went to visit her mother in montreal, and died in the hospital there, so the word came to ronald.
perhaps he believed it a little too readily, but that he did believe it i never had a doubt.
her story was that it was another woman of the same name.
when she found out ronald thought her dead she and her mother agreed to let him think so.
but when she heard he had got married again she thought she'd better let him know the truth.
""it all sounded like a queer story and i suppose you could n't blame people for not believing it too readily.
but i've always felt it was true.
margaret did n't think so, though.
she believed that ronald fraser had deceived her, knowing all the time that he could n't make her his lawful wife.
she turned against him and hated him just as much as she had loved him before.
""ronald fraser went away with his real wife, and in less than a year word came of his death.
they said he just died of a broken heart, nothing more nor less.
""margaret came home to her father's house.
from the day that she went over its threshold, she never came out until she was carried out in her coffin three years ago.
not a soul outside of her own family ever saw her again.
i went to see her, but janet told me she would n't see me.
it was foolish of margaret to act so.
she had n't done anything real wrong; and everybody was sorry for her and would have helped her all they could.
but i reckon pity cut her as deep as blame could have done, and deeper, because you see, master, she was so proud she could n't bear it.
""they say her father was hard on her, too; and that was unjust if it was true.
janet and thomas felt the disgrace, too.
the people that had been in the habit of going to the gordon place soon stopped going, for they could see they were not welcome.
""old james gordon died that winter.
he never held his head up again after the scandal.
he had been an elder in the church, but he handed in his resignation right away and nobody could persuade him to withdraw it.
""kilmeny was born in the spring, but nobody ever saw her, except the minister who baptized her.
she was never taken to church or sent to school.
of course, i suppose there would n't have been any use in her going to school when she could n't speak, and it's likely margaret taught her all she could be taught herself.
but it was dreadful that she was never taken to church, or let go among the children and young folks.
and it was a real shame that nothing was ever done to find out why she could n't talk, or if she could be cured.
""margaret gordon died three years ago, and everybody in lindsay went to the funeral.
but they did n't see her.
the coffin lid was screwed down.
and they did n't see kilmeny either.
i would have loved to see her for margaret's sake, but i did n't want to see poor margaret.
i had never seen her since the night she was a bride, for i had left lindsay on a visit just after that, and what i came home the scandal had just broken out.
i remembered margaret in all her pride and beauty, and i could n't have borne to look at her dead face and see the awful changes i knew must be there.
""it was thought perhaps janet and thomas would take kilmeny out after her mother was gone, but they never did, so i suppose they must have agreed with margaret about the way she had been brought up.
i've often felt sorry for the poor girl, and i do n't think her people did right by her, even if she was mysteriously afflicted.
she must have had a very sad, lonely life.
""that is the story, master, and i've been a long time telling it, as i dare say you think.
but the past just seemed to be living again for me as i talked.
if you do n't want to be pestered with questions about kilmeny gordon, master, you'd better not let on you've seen her."
eric was not likely to.
he had heard all he wanted to know and more.
""so this girl is at to core of a tragedy," he reflected, as he went to his room.
""and she is dumb!
the pity of it!
kilmeny!
the name suits her.
she is as lovely and innocent as the heroine of the old ballad.
"and oh, kilmeny was fair to see."
but the next line is certainly not so appropriate, for her eyes were anything but "still and steadfast" -- after she had seen me, at all events."
he tried to put her out of his thoughts, but he could not.
the memory of her beautiful face drew him with a power he could not resist.
the next evening he went again to the orchard.
chapter vii.
a rose of womanhood when he emerged from the spruce wood and entered the orchard his heart gave a sudden leap, and he felt that the blood rushed madly to his face.
she was there, bending over the bed of june lilies in the centre of the garden plot.
he could only see her profile, virginal and white.
he stopped, not wishing to startle her again.
when she lifted her head he expected to see her shrink and flee, but she did not do so; she only grew a little paler and stood motionless, watching him intently.
seeing this, he walked slowly towards her, and when he was so close to her that he could hear the nervous flutter of her breath over her parted, trembling lips, he said very gently, "do not be afraid of me.
i am a friend, and i do not wish to disturb or annoy you in any way."
she seemed to hesitate a moment.
then she lifted a little slate that hung at her belt, wrote something on it rapidly, and held it out to him.
he read, in a small distinctive handwriting, "i am not afraid of you now.
mother told me that all strange men were very wicked and dangerous, but i do not think you can be.
i have thought a great deal about you, and i am sorry i ran away the other night."
he realized her entire innocence and simplicity.
looking earnestly into her still troubled eyes he said, "i would not do you any harm for the world.
all men are not wicked, although it is too true that some are so.
my name is eric marshall and i am teaching in the lindsay school.
you, i think, are kilmeny gordon.
i thought your music so very lovely the other evening that i have been wishing ever since that i might hear it again.
wo n't you play for me?"
the vague fear had all gone from her eyes by this time, and suddenly she smiled -- a merry, girlish, wholly irresistible smile, which broke through the calm of her face like a gleam of sunlight rippling over a placid sea.
then she wrote, "i am very sorry that i can not play this evening.
i did not bring my violin with me.
but i will bring it to-morrow evening and play for you if you would like to hear me.
i should like to please you."
again that note of innocent frankness!
what a child she was -- what a beautiful, ignorant child, utterly unskilled in the art of hiding her feelings!
but why should she hide them?
they were as pure and beautiful as herself.
eric smiled back at her with equal frankness.
""i should like it more than i can say, and i shall be sure to come to-morrow evening if it is fine.
but if it is at all damp or unpleasant you must not come.
in that case another evening will do.
and now wo n't you give me some flowers?"
she nodded, with another little smile, and began to pick some of the june lilies, carefully selecting the most perfect among them.
he watched her lithe, graceful motions with delight; every movement seemed poetry itself.
she looked like a very incarnation of spring -- as if all the shimmer of young leaves and glow of young mornings and evanescent sweetness of young blossoms in a thousand springs had been embodied in her.
when she came to him, radiant, her hands full of the lilies, a couplet from a favourite poem darted into his head -- "a blossom vermeil white that lightly breaks a faded flower sheath, here, by god's rood, is the one maid for me."
the next moment he was angry with himself for his folly.
she was, after all, nothing but a child -- and a child set apart from her fellow creatures by her sad defect.
he must not let himself think nonsense.
""thank you.
these june lilies are the sweetest flowers the spring brings us.
do you know that their real name is the white narcissus?"
she looked pleased and interested.
""no, i did not know," she wrote.
""i have often read of the white narcissus and wondered what it was like.
i never thought of it being the same as my dear june lilies.
i am glad you told me.
i love flowers very much.
they are my very good friends."
""you could n't help being friends with the lilies.
like always takes to like," said eric.
""come and sit down on the old bench -- here, where you were sitting that night i frightened you so badly.
i could not imagine who or what you were.
sometimes i thought i had dreamed you -- only," he added under his breath and unheard by her, "i could never have dreamed anything half so lovely."
she sat down beside him on the old bench and looked unshrinkingly in his face.
there was no boldness in her glance -- nothing but the most perfect, childlike trust and confidence.
if there had been any evil in his heart -- any skulking thought, he was afraid to acknowledge -- those eyes must have searched it out and shamed it.
but he could meet them unafraid.
then she wrote, "i was very much frightened.
you must have thought me very silly, but i had never seen any man except uncle thomas and neil and the egg peddler.
and you are different from them -- oh, very, very different.
i was afraid to come back here the next evening.
and yet, somehow, i wanted to come.
i did not want you to think i did not know how to behave.
i sent neil back for my bow in the morning.
i could not do without it.
i can not speak, you know.
are you sorry?"
""i am very sorry for your sake."
""yes, but what i mean is, would you like me better if i could speak like other people?"
""no, it does not make any difference in that way, kilmeny.
by the way, do you mind my calling you kilmeny?"
she looked puzzled and wrote, "what else should you call me?
that is my name.
everybody calls me that."
""but i am such a stranger to you that perhaps you would wish me to call you miss gordon."
""oh, no, i would not like that," she wrote quickly, with a distressed look on her face.
""nobody ever calls me that.
it would make me feel as if i were not myself but somebody else.
and you do not seem like a stranger to me.
is there any reason why you should not call me kilmeny?"
""no reason whatever, if you will allow me the privilege.
you have a very lovely name -- the very name you ought to have."
""i am glad you like it.
do you know that i was called after my grandmother and she was called after a girl in a poem?
aunt janet has never liked my name, although she liked my grandmother.
but i am glad you like both my name and me.
i was afraid you would not like me because i can not speak."
""you can speak through your music, kilmeny."
she looked pleased.
""how well you understand," she wrote.
""yes, i can not speak or sing as other people can, but i can make my violin say things for me."
""do you compose your own music?"
he asked.
but he saw she did not understand him.
""i mean, did any one ever teach you the music you played here that evening?"
""oh, no.
it just came as i thought.
it has always been that way.
when i was very little neil taught me to hold the violin and the bow, and the rest all came of itself.
my violin once belonged to neil, but he gave it to me.
neil is very good and kind to me, but i like you better.
tell me about yourself."
the wonder of her grew upon him with every passing moment.
how lovely she was!
what dear little ways and gestures she had -- ways and gestures as artless and unstudied as they were effective.
and how strangely little her dumbness seemed to matter after all!
she wrote so quickly and easily, her eyes and smile gave such expression to her mobile face, that voice was hardly missed.
they lingered in the orchard until the long, languid shadows of the trees crept to their feet.
it was just after sunset and the distant hills were purple against the melting saffron of the sky in the west and the crystalline blue of the sky in the south.
eastward, just over the fir woods, were clouds, white and high heaped like snow mountains, and the westernmost of them shone with a rosy glow as of sunset on an alpine height.
the higher worlds of air were still full of light -- perfect, stainless light, unmarred of earth shadow; but down in the orchard and under the spruces the light had almost gone, giving place to a green, dewy dusk, made passionately sweet with the breath of the apple blossoms and mint, and the balsamic odours that rained down upon them from the firs.
eric told her of his life, and the life in the great outer world, in which she was girlishly and eagerly interested.
she asked him many questions about it -- direct and incisive questions which showed that she had already formed decided opinions and views about it.
yet it was plain to be seen that she did not regard it as anything she might ever share herself.
hers was the dispassionate interest with which she might have listened to a tale of the land of fairy or of some great empire long passed away from earth.
eric discovered that she had read a great deal of poetry and history, and a few books of biography and travel.
she did not know what a novel meant and had never heard of one.
curiously enough, she was well informed regarding politics and current events, from the weekly paper for which her uncle subscribed.
""i never read the newspaper while mother was alive," she wrote, "nor any poetry either.
she taught me to read and write and i read the bible all through many times and some of the histories.
after mother died aunt janet gave me all her books.
she had a great many.
most of them had been given to her as prizes when she was a girl at school, and some of them had been given to her by my father.
do you know the story of my father and mother?"
eric nodded.
""yes, mrs. williamson told me all about it.
she was a friend of your mother."
""i am glad you have heard it.
it is so sad that i would not like to tell it, but you will understand everything better because you know.
i never heard it until just before mother died.
then she told me all.
i think she had thought father was to blame for the trouble; but before she died she told me she believed that she had been unjust to him and that he had not known.
she said that when people were dying they saw things more clearly and she saw she had made a mistake about father.
she said she had many more things she wanted to tell me, but she did not have time to tell them because she died that night.
it was a long while before i had the heart to read her books.
but when i did i thought them so beautiful.
they were poetry and it was like music put into words."
""i will bring you some books to read, if you would like them," said eric.
her great blue eyes gleamed with interest and delight.
""oh, thank you, i would like it very much.
i have read mine over so often that i know them nearly all by heart.
one can not get tired of really beautiful things, but sometimes i feel that i would like some new books."
""are you never lonely, kilmeny?"
""oh, no, how could i be?
there is always plenty for me to do, helping aunt janet about the house.
i can do a great many things" -- she glanced up at him with a pretty pride as her flying pencil traced the words.
""i can cook and sew.
aunt janet says i am a very good housekeeper, and she does not praise people very often or very much.
and then, when i am not helping her, i have my dear, dear violin.
that is all the company i want.
but i like to read and hear of the big world so far away and the people who live there and the things that are done.
it must be a very wonderful place."
""would n't you like to go out into it and see its wonders and meet those people yourself?"
he asked, smiling at her.
at once he saw that, in some way he could not understand, he had hurt her.
she snatched her pencil and wrote, with such swiftness of motion and energy of expression that it almost seemed as if she had passionately exclaimed the words aloud, "no, no, no.
i do not want to go anywhere away from home.
i do not want ever to see strangers or have them see me.
i could not bear it."
he thought that possibly the consciousness of her defect accounted for this.
yet she did not seem sensitive about her dumbness and made frequent casual references to it in her written remarks.
or perhaps it was the shadow on her birth.
yet she was so innocent that it seemed unlikely she could realize or understand the existence of such a shadow.
eric finally decided that it was merely the rather morbid shrinking of a sensitive child who had been brought up in an unwholesome and unnatural way.
at last the lengthening shadows warned him that it was time to go.
""you wo n't forget to come to-morrow evening and play for me," he said, rising reluctantly.
she answered by a quick little shake of her sleek, dark head, and a smile that was eloquent.
he watched her as she walked across the orchard, "with the moon's beauty and the moon's soft pace," and along the wild cherry lane.
at the corner of the firs she paused and waved her hand to him before turning it.
when eric reached home old robert williamson was having a lunch of bread and milk in the kitchen.
he looked up, with a friendly grin, as eric strode in, whistling.
""been having a walk, master?"
he queried.
""yes," said eric.
unconsciously and involuntarily he infused so much triumph into the simple monosyllable that even old robert felt it.
mrs. williamson, who was cutting bread at the end of the table, laid down her knife and loaf, and looked at the young man with a softly troubled expression in her eyes.
she wondered if he had been back to the connors orchard -- and if he could have seen kilmeny gordon again.
""you did n't discover a gold mine, i s "pose?"
said old robert dryly.
""you look as if you might have."
chapter viii.
at the gate of eden when eric went to the old connors orchard the next evening he found kilmeny waiting for him on the bench under the white lilac tree, with the violin in her lap.
as soon as she saw him she caught it up and began to play an airy delicate little melody that sounded like the laughter of daisies.
when it was finished she dropped her bow, and looked up at him with flushed cheeks and questioning eyes.
""what did that say to you?"
she wrote.
""it said something like this," answered eric, falling into her humour smilingly.
""welcome, my friend.
it is a very beautiful evening.
the sky is so blue and the apple blossoms so sweet.
the wind and i have been here alone together and the wind is a good companion, but still i am glad to see you.
it is an evening on which it is good to be alive and to wander in an orchard that is fine and white.
welcome, my friend."
she clapped her hands, looking like a pleased child.
""you are very quick to understand," she wrote.
""that was just what i meant.
of course i did not think it in just those words, but that was the feeling of it.
i felt that i was so glad i was alive, and that the apple blossoms and the white lilacs and the trees and i were all pleased together to see you come.
you are quicker than neil.
he is almost always puzzled to understand my music, and i am puzzled to understand his.
sometimes it frightens me.
it seems as if there were something in it trying to take hold of me -- something i do not like and want to run away from."
somehow eric did not like her references to neil.
the idea of that handsome, low-born boy seeing kilmeny every day, talking to her, sitting at the same table with her, dwelling under the same roof, meeting her in the hundred intimacies of daily life, was distasteful to him.
he put the thought away from him, and flung himself down on the long grass at her feet.
""now play for me, please," he said.
""i want to lie here and listen to you."
""and look at you," he might have added.
he could not tell which was the greater pleasure.
her beauty, more wonderful than any pictured loveliness he had ever seen, delighted him.
every tint and curve and outline of her face was flawless.
her music enthralled him.
this child, he told himself as he listened, had genius.
but it was being wholly wasted.
he found himself thinking resentfully of the people who were her guardians, and who were responsible for her strange life.
they had done her a great and irremediable wrong.
how dared they doom her to such an existence?
if her defect of utterance had been attended to in time, who knew but that it might have been cured?
now it was probably too late.
nature had given her a royal birthright of beauty and talent, but their selfish and unpardonable neglect had made it of no account.
what divine music she lured out of the old violin -- merry and sad, gay and sorrowful by turns, music such as the stars of morning might have made singing together, music that the fairies might have danced to in their revels among the green hills or on yellow sands, music that might have mourned over the grave of a dead hope.
then she drifted into a still sweeter strain.
as he listened to it he realized that the whole soul and nature of the girl were revealing themselves to him through her music -- the beauty and purity of her thoughts, her childhood dreams and her maiden reveries.
there was no thought of concealment about her; she could not help the revelation she was unconscious of making.
at last she laid her violin aside and wrote, "i have done my best to give you pleasure.
it is your turn now.
do you remember a promise you made me last night?
have you kept it?"
he gave her the two books he had brought for her -- a modern novel and a volume of poetry unknown to her.
he had hesitated a little over the former; but the book was so fine and full of beauty that he thought it could not bruise the bloom of her innocence ever so slightly.
he had no doubts about the poetry.
it was the utterance of one of those great inspired souls whose passing tread has made the kingdom of their birth and labour a veritable holy land.
he read her some of the poems.
then he talked to her of his college days and friends.
the minutes passed very swiftly.
there was just then no world for him outside of that old orchard with its falling blossoms and its shadows and its crooning winds.
once, when he told her the story of some college pranks wherein the endless feuds of freshmen and sophomores figured, she clapped her hands together according to her habit, and laughed aloud -- a clear, musical, silvery peal.
it fell on eric's ear with a shock of surprise.
he thought it strange that she could laugh like that when she could not speak.
wherein lay the defect that closed for her the gates of speech?
was it possible that it could be removed?
""kilmeny," he said gravely after a moment's reflection, during which he had looked up as she sat with the ruddy sunlight falling through the lilac branches on her bare, silky head like a shower of red jewels, "do you mind if i ask you something about your inability to speak?
will it hurt you to talk of the matter with me?"
she shook her head.
""oh, no," she wrote, "i do not mind at all.
of course i am sorry i can not speak, but i am quite used to the thought and it never hurts me at all."
""then, kilmeny, tell me this.
do you know why it is that you are unable to speak, when all your other faculties are so perfect?"
""no, i do not know at all why i can not speak.
i asked mother once and she told me it was a judgment on her for a great sin she had committed, and she looked so strangely that i was frightened, and i never spoke of it to her or anyone else again."
""were you ever taken to a doctor to have your tongue and organs of speech examined?"
""no.
i remember when i was a very little girl that uncle thomas wanted to take me to a doctor in charlottetown and see if anything could be done for me, but mother would not let him.
she said it would be no use.
and i do not think uncle thomas thought it would be, either."
""you can laugh very naturally.
can you make any other sound?"
""yes, sometimes.
when i am pleased or frightened i have made little cries.
but it is only when i am not thinking of it at all that i can do that.
if i try to make a sound i can not do it at all."
this seemed to eric more mysterious than ever.
""do you ever try to speak -- to utter words?"
he persisted.
""oh yes, very often.
all the time i am saying the words in my head, just as i hear other people saying them, but i never can make my tongue say them.
do not look so sorry, my friend.
i am very happy and i do not mind so very much not being able to speak -- only sometimes when i have so many thoughts and it seems so slow to write them out, some of them get away from me.
i must play to you again.
you look too sober."
she laughed again, picked up her violin, and played a tinkling, roguish little melody as if she were trying to tease him, looking at eric over her violin with luminous eyes that dared him to be merry.
eric smiled; but the puzzled look returned to his face many times that evening.
he walked home in a brown study.
kilmeny's case certainly seemed a strange one, and the more he thought of it the stranger it seemed.
""it strikes me as something very peculiar that she should be able to make sounds only when she is not thinking about it," he reflected.
""i wish david baker could examine her.
but i suppose that is out of the question.
that grim pair who have charge of her would never consent."
chapter ix.
the straight simplicity of eve for the next three weeks eric marshall seemed to himself to be living two lives, as distinct from each other as if he possessed a double personality.
in one, he taught the lindsay district school diligently and painstakingly; solved problems; argued on theology with robert williamson; called at the homes of his pupils and took tea in state with their parents; went to a rustic dance or two and played havoc, all unwittingly, with the hearts of the lindsay maidens.
but this life was a dream of workaday.
he only lived in the other, which was spent in an old orchard, grassy and overgrown, where the minutes seemed to lag for sheer love of the spot and the june winds made wild harping in the old spruces.
here every evening he met kilmeny; in that old orchard they garnered hours of quiet happiness together; together they went wandering in the fair fields of old romance; together they read many books and talked of many things; and, when they were tired of all else, kilmeny played to him and the old orchard echoed with her lovely, fantastic melodies.
at every meeting her beauty came home afresh to him with the old thrill of glad surprise.
in the intervals of absence it seemed to him that she could not possibly be as beautiful as he remembered her; and then when they met she seemed even more so.
he learned to watch for the undisguised light of welcome that always leaped into her eyes at the sound of his footsteps.
she was nearly always there before him and she always showed that she was glad to see him with the frank delight of a child watching for a dear comrade.
she was never in the same mood twice.
now she was grave, now gay, now stately, now pensive.
but she was always charming.
thrawn and twisted the old gordon stock might be, but it had at least this one offshoot of perfect grace and symmetry.
her mind and heart, utterly unspoiled of the world, were as beautiful as her face.
all the ugliness of existence had passed her by, shrined in her double solitude of upbringing and muteness.
she was naturally quick and clever.
delightful little flashes of wit and humour sparkled out occasionally.
she could be whimsical -- even charmingly capricious.
sometimes innocent mischief glimmered out in the unfathomable deeps of her blue eyes.
sarcasm, even, was not unknown to her.
now and then she punctured some harmless bubble of a young man's conceit or masculine superiority with a biting little line of daintily written script.
she assimilated the ideas in the books they read, speedily, eagerly, and thoroughly, always seizing on the best and truest, and rejecting the false and spurious and weak with an unfailing intuition at which eric marvelled.
hers was the spear of ithuriel, trying out the dross of everything and leaving only the pure gold.
in manner and outlook she was still a child.
yet now and again she was as old as eve.
an expression would leap into her laughing face, a subtle meaning reveal itself in her smile, that held all the lore of womanhood and all the wisdom of the ages.
her way of smiling enchanted him.
the smile always began far down in her eyes and flowed outward to her face like a sparkling brook stealing out of shadow into sunshine.
he knew everything about her life.
she told him her simple history freely.
she often mentioned her uncle and aunt and seemed to regard them with deep affection.
she rarely spoke of her mother.
eric came somehow to understand, less from what she said than from what she did not say, that kilmeny, though she had loved her mother, had always been rather afraid of her.
there had not been between them the natural beautiful confidence of mother and child.
of neil, she wrote frequently at first, and seemed very fond of him.
later she ceased to mention him.
perhaps -- for she was marvellously quick to catch and interpret every fleeting change of expression in his voice and face -- she discerned what eric did not know himself -- that his eyes clouded and grew moody at the mention of neil's name.
once she asked him naively, "are there many people like you out in the world?"
""thousands of them," said eric, laughing.
she looked gravely at him.
then she gave her head a quick decided little shake.
""i do not think so," she wrote.
""i do not know much of the world, but i do not think there are many people like you in it."
one evening, when the far-away hills and fields were scarfed in gauzy purples, and the intervales were brimming with golden mists, eric carried to the old orchard a little limp, worn volume that held a love story.
it was the first thing of the kind he had ever read to her, for in the first novel he had lent her the love interest had been very slight and subordinate.
this was a beautiful, passionate idyl exquisitely told.
he read it to her, lying in the grass at her feet; she listened with her hands clasped over her knee and her eyes cast down.
it was not a long story; and when he had finished it he shut the book and looked up at her questioningly.
""do you like it, kilmeny?"
he asked.
very slowly she took her slate and wrote, "yes, i like it.
but it hurt me, too.
i did not know that a person could like anything that hurt her.
i do not know why it hurt me.
i felt as if i had lost something that i never had.
that was a very silly feeling, was it not?
but i did not understand the book very well, you see.
it is about love and i do not know anything about love.
mother told me once that love is a curse, and that i must pray that it would never enter into my life.
she said it very earnestly, and so i believed her.
but your book teaches that it is a blessing.
it says that it is the most splendid and wonderful thing in life.
which am i to believe?"
""love -- real love -- is never a curse, kilmeny," said eric gravely.
""there is a false love which is a curse.
perhaps your mother believed it was that which had entered her life and ruined it; and so she made the mistake.
there is nothing in the world -- or in heaven either, as i believe -- so truly beautiful and wonderful and blessed as love."
""have you ever loved?"
asked kilmeny, with the directness of phrasing necessitated by her mode of communication which was sometimes a little terrible.
she asked the question simply and without embarrassment.
she knew of no reason why love might not be discussed with eric as other matters -- music and books and travel -- might be.
""no," said eric -- honestly, as he thought, "but every one has an ideal of love whom he hopes to meet some day -- "the ideal woman of a young man's dream."
i suppose i have mine, in some sealed, secret chamber of my heart."
""i suppose your ideal woman would be beautiful, like the woman in your book?"
""oh, yes, i am sure i could never care for an ugly woman," said eric, laughing a little as he sat up.
""our ideals are always beautiful, whether they so translate themselves into realities or not.
but the sun is going down.
time does certainly fly in this enchanted orchard.
i believe you bewitch the moments away, kilmeny.
your namesake of the poem was a somewhat uncanny maid, if i recollect aright, and thought as little of seven years in elfland as ordinary folk do of half an hour on upper earth.
some day i shall waken from a supposed hour's lingering here and find myself an old man with white hair and ragged coat, as in that fairy tale we read the other night.
will you let me give you this book?
i should never commit the sacrilege of reading it in any other place than this.
it is an old book, kilmeny.
a new book, savouring of the shop and market-place, however beautiful it might be, would not do for you.
this was one of my mother's books.
she read it and loved it.
see -- the faded rose leaves she placed in it one day are there still.
i'll write your name in it -- that quaint, pretty name of yours which always sounds as if it had been specially invented for you -- "kilmeny of the orchard" -- and the date of this perfect june day on which we read it together.
then when you look at it you will always remember me, and the white buds opening on that rosebush beside you, and the rush and murmur of the wind in the tops of those old spruces."
he held out the book to her, but, to his surprise, she shook her head, with a deeper flush on her face.
""wo n't you take the book, kilmeny?
why not?"
she took her pencil and wrote slowly, unlike her usual quick movement.
""do not be offended with me.
i shall not need anything to make me remember you because i can never forget you.
but i would rather not take the book.
i do not want to read it again.
it is about love, and there is no use in my learning about love, even if it is all you say.
nobody will ever love me.
i am too ugly."
""you!
ugly!"
exclaimed eric.
he was on the point of going off into a peal of laughter at the idea when a glimpse of her half averted face sobered him.
on it was a hurt, bitter look, such as he remembered seeing once before, when he had asked her if she would not like to see the world for herself.
""kilmeny," he said in astonishment, "you do n't really think yourself ugly, do you?"
she nodded, without looking at him, and then wrote, "oh, yes, i know that i am.
i have known it for a long time.
mother told me that i was very ugly and that nobody would ever like to look at me.
i am sorry.
it hurts me much worse to know i am ugly than it does to know i can not speak.
i suppose you will think that is very foolish of me, but it is true.
that was why i did not come back to the orchard for such a long time, even after i had got over my fright.
i hated to think that you would think me ugly.
and that is why i do not want to go out into the world and meet people.
they would look at me as the egg peddler did one day when i went out with aunt janet to his wagon the spring after mother died.
he stared at me so.
i knew it was because he thought me so ugly, and i have always hidden when he came ever since."
eric's lips twitched.
in spite of his pity for the real suffering displayed in her eyes, he could not help feeling amused over the absurd idea of this beautiful girl believing herself in all seriousness to be ugly.
""but, kilmeny, do you think yourself ugly when you look in a mirror?"
he asked smiling.
""i have never looked in a mirror," she wrote.
""i never knew there was such a thing until after mother died, and i read about it in a book.
then i asked aunt janet and she said mother had broken all the looking glasses in the house when i was a baby.
but i have seen my face reflected in the spoons, and in a little silver sugar bowl aunt janet has.
and it is ugly -- very ugly."
eric's face went down into the grass.
for his life he could not help laughing; and for his life he would not let kilmeny see him laughing.
a certain little whimsical wish took possession of him and he did not hasten to tell her the truth, as had been his first impulse.
instead, when he dared to look up he said slowly, "i do n't think you are ugly, kilmeny."
""oh, but i am sure you must," she wrote protestingly.
""even neil does.
he tells me i am kind and nice, but one day i asked him if he thought me very ugly, and he looked away and would not speak, so i knew what he thought about it, too.
do not let us speak of this again.
it makes me feel sorry and spoils everything.
i forget it at other times.
let me play you some good-bye music, and do not feel vexed because i would not take your book.
it would only make me unhappy to read it."
""i am not vexed," said eric, "and i think you will take it some day yet -- after i have shown you something i want you to see.
never mind about your looks, kilmeny.
beauty is n't everything."
""oh, it is a great deal," she wrote naively.
""but you do like me, even though i am so ugly, do n't you?
you like me because of my beautiful music, do n't you?"
""i like you very much, kilmeny," answered eric, laughing a little; but there was in his voice a tender note of which he was unconscious.
kilmeny was aware of it, however, and she picked up her violin with a pleased smile.
he left her playing there, and all the way through the dim resinous spruce wood her music followed him like an invisible guardian spirit.
""kilmeny the beautiful!"
he murmured, "and yet, good heavens, the child thinks she is ugly -- she with a face more lovely than ever an artist dreamed of!
a girl of eighteen who has never looked in a mirror!
i wonder if there is another such in any civilized country in the world.
what could have possessed her mother to tell her such a falsehood?
i wonder if margaret gordon could have been quite sane.
it is strange that neil has never told her the truth.
perhaps he does n't want her to find out."
eric had met neil gordon a few evenings before this, at a country dance where neil had played the violin for the dancers.
influenced by curiosity he had sought the lad's acquaintance.
neil was friendly and talkative at first; but at the first hint concerning the gordons which eric threw out skilfully his face and manner changed.
he looked secretive and suspicious, almost sinister.
a sullen look crept into his big black eyes and he drew his bow across the violin strings with a discordant screech, as if to terminate the conversation.
plainly nothing was to be found out from him about kilmeny and her grim guardians.
chapter x.
a troubling of the waters one evening in late june mrs. williamson was sitting by her kitchen window.
her knitting lay unheeded in her lap, and timothy, though he nestled ingratiatingly against her foot as he lay on the rug and purred his loudest, was unregarded.
she rested her face on her hand and looked out of the window, across the distant harbour, with troubled eyes.
""i guess i must speak," she thought wistfully.
""i hate to do it.
i always did hate meddling.
my mother always used to say that ninety-nine times out of a hundred the last state of a meddler and them she meddled with was worse than the first.
but i guess it's my duty.
i was margaret's friend, and it is my duty to protect her child any way i can.
if the master does go back across there to meet her i must tell him what i think about it."
overhead in his room, eric was walking about whistling.
presently he came downstairs, thinking of the orchard, and the girl who would be waiting for him there.
as he crossed the little front entry he heard mrs. williamson's voice calling to him.
""mr. marshall, will you please come here a moment?"
he went out to the kitchen.
mrs. williamson looked at him deprecatingly.
there was a flush on her faded cheek and her voice trembled.
""mr. marshall, i want to ask you a question.
perhaps you will think it is n't any of my business.
but it is n't because i want to meddle.
no, no.
it is only because i think i ought to speak.
i have thought it over for a long time, and it seems to me that i ought to speak.
i hope you wo n't be angry, but even if you are i must say what i have to say.
are you going back to the old connors orchard to meet kilmeny gordon?"
for a moment an angry flush burned in eric's face.
it was more mrs. williamson's tone than her words which startled and annoyed him.
""yes, i am, mrs. williamson," he said coldly.
""what of it?"
""then, sir," said mrs. williamson with more firmness, "i have got to tell you that i do n't think you are doing right.
i have been suspecting all along that that was where you went every evening, but i have n't said a word to any one about it.
even my husband does n't know.
but tell me this, master.
do kilmeny's uncle and aunt know that you are meeting her there?"
""why," said eric, in some confusion, "i -- i do not know whether they do or not.
but mrs. williamson, surely you do not suspect me of meaning any harm or wrong to kilmeny gordon?"
""no, i do n't, master.
i might think it of some men, but never of you.
i do n't for a minute think that you would do her or any woman any wilful wrong.
but you may do her great harm for all that.
i want you to stop and think about it.
i guess you have n't thought.
kilmeny ca n't know anything about the world or about men, and she may get to thinking too much of you.
that might break her heart, because you could n't ever marry a dumb girl like her.
so i do n't think you ought to be meeting her so often in this fashion.
it is n't right, master.
do n't go to the orchard again."
without a word eric turned away, and went upstairs to his room.
mrs. williamson picked up her knitting with a sigh.
""that's done, timothy, and i'm real thankful," she said.
""i guess there'll be no need of saying anything more.
mr. marshall is a fine young man, only a little thoughtless.
now that he's got his eyes opened i'm sure he'll do what is right.
i do n't want margaret's child made unhappy."
her husband came to the kitchen door and sat down on the steps to enjoy his evening smoke, talking between whiffs to his wife of elder tracy's church row, and mary alice martin's beau, the price jake crosby was giving for eggs, the quantity of hay yielded by the hill meadow, the trouble he was having with old molly's calf, and the respective merits of plymouth rock and brahma roosters.
mrs. williamson answered at random, and heard not one word in ten.
""what's got the master, mother?"
inquired old robert, presently.
""i hear him striding up and down in his room "sif he was caged.
sure you did n't lock him in by mistake?"
""maybe he's worried over the way seth tracy's acting in school," suggested mrs. williamson, who did not choose that her gossipy husband should suspect the truth about eric and kilmeny gordon.
""shucks, he need n't worry a morsel over that.
seth'll quiet down as soon as he finds he ca n't run the master.
he's a rare good teacher -- better'n mr. west was even, and that's saying something.
the trustees are hoping he'll stay for another term.
they're going to ask him at the school meeting to-morrow, and offer him a raise of supplement."
upstairs, in his little room under the eaves, eric marshall was in the grip of the most intense and overwhelming emotion he had ever experienced.
up and down, to and fro, he walked, with set lips and clenched hands.
when he was wearied out he flung himself on a chair by the window and wrestled with the flood of feeling.
mrs. williamson's words had torn away the delusive veil with which he had bound his eyes.
he was face to face with the knowledge that he loved kilmeny gordon with the love that comes but once, and is for all time.
he wondered how he could have been so long blind to it.
he knew that he must have loved her ever since their first meeting that may evening in the old orchard.
and he knew that he must choose between two alternatives -- either he must never go to the orchard again, or he must go as an avowed lover to woo him a wife.
worldly prudence, his inheritance from a long line of thrifty, cool-headed ancestors, was strong in eric, and he did not yield easily or speedily to the dictates of his passion.
all night he struggled against the new emotions that threatened to sweep away the "common sense" which david baker had bade him take with him when he went a-wooing.
would not a marriage with kilmeny gordon be an unwise thing from any standpoint?
then something stronger and greater and more vital than wisdom or unwisdom rose up in him and mastered him.
kilmeny, beautiful, dumb kilmeny was, as he had once involuntarily thought, "the one maid" for him.
nothing should part them.
the mere idea of never seeing her again was so unbearable that he laughed at himself for having counted it a possible alternative.
""if i can win kilmeny's love i shall ask her to be my wife," he said, looking out of the window to the dark, southwestern hill beyond which lay his orchard.
the velvet sky over it was still starry; but the water of the harbour was beginning to grow silvery in the reflection of the dawn that was breaking in the east.
""her misfortune will only make her dearer to me.
i can not realize that a month ago i did not know her.
it seems to me that she has been a part of my life for ever.
i wonder if she was grieved that i did not go to the orchard last night -- if she waited for me.
if she does, she does not know it herself yet.
it will be my sweet task to teach her what love means, and no man has ever had a lovelier, purer, pupil."
at the annual school meeting, the next afternoon, the trustees asked eric to take the lindsay school for the following year.
he consented unhesitatingly.
that evening he went to mrs. williamson, as she washed her tea dishes in the kitchen.
""mrs. williamson, i am going back to the old connors orchard to see kilmeny again to-night."
she looked at him reproachfully.
""well, master, i have no more to say.
i suppose it would n't be of any use if i had.
but you know what i think of it."
""i intend to marry kilmeny gordon if i can win her."
an expression of amazement came into the good woman's face.
she looked scrutinizingly at the firm mouth and steady gray eyes for a moment.
then she said in a troubled voice, "do you think that is wise, master?
i suppose kilmeny is pretty; the egg peddler told me she was; and no doubt she is a good, nice girl.
but she would n't be a suitable wife for you -- a girl that ca n't speak."
""that does n't make any difference to me."
""but what will your people say?"
""i have no "people" except my father.
when he sees kilmeny he will understand.
she is all the world to me, mrs. williamson."
""as long as you believe that there is nothing more to be said," was the quiet answer, "i'd be a little bit afraid if i was you, though.
but young people never think of those things."
""my only fear is that she wo n't care for me," said eric soberly.
mrs. williamson surveyed the handsome, broad-shouldered young man shrewdly.
""i do n't think there are many women would say you "no", master.
i wish you well in your wooing, though i ca n't help thinking you're doing a daft-like thing.
i hope you wo n't have any trouble with thomas and janet.
they are so different from other folks there is no knowing.
but take my advice, master, and go and see them about it right off.
do n't go on meeting kilmeny unbeknownst to them."
""i shall certainly take your advice," said eric, gravely.
""i should have gone to them before.
it was merely thoughtlessness on my part.
possibly they do know already.
kilmeny may have told them."
mrs. williamson shook her head decidedly.
""no, no, master, she has n't.
they'd never have let her go on meeting you there if they had known.
i know them too well to think of that for a moment.
go you straight to them and say to them just what you have said to me.
that is your best plan, master.
and take care of neil.
people say he has a notion of kilmeny himself.
he'll do you a bad turn if he can, i've no doubt.
them foreigners ca n't be trusted -- and he's just as much a foreigner as his parents before him -- though he has been brought up on oatmeal and the shorter catechism, as the old saying has it.
i feel that somehow -- i always feel it when i look at him singing in the choir."
""oh, i am not afraid of neil," said eric carelessly.
""he could n't help loving kilmeny -- nobody could."
""i suppose every young man thinks that about his girl -- if he's the right sort of young man," said mrs. williamson with a little sigh.
she watched eric out of sight anxiously.
""i hope it'll all come out right," she thought.
""i hope he ai n't making an awful mistake -- but -- i'm afraid.
kilmeny must be very pretty to have bewitched him so.
well, i suppose there is no use in my worrying over it.
but i do wish he had never gone back to that old orchard and seen her."
chapter xi.
a lover and his lass kilmeny was in the orchard when eric reached it, and he lingered for a moment in the shadow of the spruce wood to dream over her beauty.
the orchard had lately overflowed in waves of old-fashioned caraway, and she was standing in the midst of its sea of bloom, with the lace-like blossoms swaying around her in the wind.
she wore the simple dress of pale blue print in which he had first seen her; silk attire could not better have become her loveliness.
she had woven herself a chaplet of half open white rosebuds and placed it on her dark hair, where the delicate blossoms seemed less wonderful than her face.
when eric stepped through the gap she ran to meet him with outstretched hands, smiling.
he took her hands and looked into her eyes with an expression before which hers for the first time faltered.
she looked down, and a warm blush strained the ivory curves of her cheek and throat.
his heart bounded, for in that blush he recognized the banner of love's vanguard.
""are you glad to see me, kilmeny?"
he asked, in a low significant tone.
she nodded, and wrote in a somewhat embarrassed fashion, "yes.
why do you ask?
you know i am always glad to see you.
i was afraid you would not come.
you did not come last night and i was so sorry.
nothing in the orchard seemed nice any longer.
i could n't even play.
i tried to, and my violin only cried.
i waited until it was dark and then i went home."
""i am sorry you were disappointed, kilmeny.
i could n't come last night.
some day i shall tell you why.
i stayed home to learn a new lesson.
i am sorry you missed me -- no, i am glad.
can you understand how a person may be glad and sorry for the same thing?"
she nodded again, with a return of her usual sweet composure.
""yes, i could not have understood once, but i can now.
did you learn your new lesson?"
""yes, very thoroughly.
it was a delightful lesson when i once understood it.
i must try to teach it to you some day.
come over to the old bench, kilmeny.
there is something i want to say to you.
but first, will you give me a rose?"
she ran to the bush, and, after careful deliberation, selected a perfect half-open bud and brought it to him -- a white bud with a faint, sunrise flush about its golden heart.
""thank you.
it is as beautiful as -- as a woman i know," eric said.
a wistful look came into her face at his words, and she walked with a drooping head across the orchard to the bench.
""kilmeny," he said, seriously, "i am going to ask you to do something for me.
i want you to take me home with you and introduce me to your uncle and aunt."
she lifted her head and stared at him incredulously, as if he had asked her to do something wildly impossible.
understanding from his grave face that he meant what he said, a look of dismay dawned in her eyes.
she shook her head almost violently and seemed to be making a passionate, instinctive effort to speak.
then she caught up her pencil and wrote with feverish haste: "i can not do that.
do not ask me to.
you do not understand.
they would be very angry.
they do not want to see any one coming to the house.
and they would never let me come here again.
oh, you do not mean it?"
he pitied her for the pain and bewilderment in her eyes; but he took her slender hands in his and said firmly, "yes, kilmeny, i do mean it.
it is not quite right for us to be meeting each other here as we have been doing, without the knowledge and consent of your friends.
you can not now understand this, but -- believe me -- it is so."
she looked questioningly, pityingly into his eyes.
what she read there seemed to convince her, for she turned very pale and an expression of hopelessness came into her face.
releasing her hands, she wrote slowly, "if you say it is wrong i must believe it.
i did not know anything so pleasant could be wrong.
but if it is wrong we must not meet here any more.
mother told me i must never do anything that was wrong.
but i did not know this was wrong."
""it was not wrong for you, kilmeny.
but it was a little wrong for me, because i knew better -- or rather, should have known better.
i did n't stop to think, as the children say.
some day you will understand fully.
now, you will take me to your uncle and aunt, and after i have said to them what i want to say it will be all right for us to meet here or anywhere."
she shook her head.
""no," she wrote, "uncle thomas and aunt janet will tell you to go away and never come back.
and they will never let me come here any more.
since it is not right to meet you i will not come, but it is no use to think of going to them.
i did not tell them about you because i knew that they would forbid me to see you, but i am sorry, since it is so wrong."
""you must take me to them," said eric firmly.
""i am quite sure that things will not be as you fear when they hear what i have to say."
uncomforted, she wrote forlornly, "i must do it, since you insist, but i am sure it will be no use.
i can not take you to-night because they are away.
they went to the store at radnor.
but i will take you to-morrow night; and after that i shall not see you any more."
two great tears brimmed over in her big blue eyes and splashed down on her slate.
her lips quivered like a hurt child's.
eric put his arm impulsively about her and drew her head down upon his shoulder.
as she cried there, softly, miserably, he pressed his lips to the silky black hair with its coronal of rosebuds.
he did not see two burning eyes which were looking at him over the old fence behind him with hatred and mad passion blazing in their depths.
neil gordon was crouched there, with clenched hands and heaving breast, watching them.
""kilmeny, dear, do n't cry," said eric tenderly.
""you shall see me again.
i promise you that, whatever happens.
i do not think your uncle and aunt will be as unreasonable as you fear, but even if they are they shall not prevent me from meeting you somehow."
kilmeny lifted her head, and wiped the tears from her eyes.
""you do not know what they are like," she wrote.
""they will lock me into my room.
that is the way they always punished me when i was a little girl.
and once, not so very long ago, when i was a big girl, they did it."
""if they do i'll get you out somehow," said eric, laughing a little.
she allowed herself to smile, but it was a rather forlorn little effort.
she did not cry any more, but her spirits did not come back to her.
eric talked gaily, but she only listened in a pensive, absent way, as if she scarcely heard him.
when he asked her to play she shook her head.
""i can not think any music to-night," she wrote, "i must go home, for my head aches and i feel very stupid."
""very well, kilmeny.
now, do n't worry, little girl.
it will all come out all right."
evidently she did not share his confidence, for her head drooped again as they walked together across the orchard.
at the entrance of the wild cherry lane she paused and looked at him half reproachfully, her eyes filling again.
she seemed to be bidding him a mute farewell.
with an impulse of tenderness which he could not control, eric put his arm about her and kissed her red, trembling mouth.
she started back with a little cry.
a burning colour swept over her face, and the next moment she fled swiftly up the darkening lane.
the sweetness of that involuntary kiss clung to eric's lips as he went homeward, half-intoxicating him.
he knew that it had opened the gates of womanhood to kilmeny.
never again, he felt, would her eyes meet his with their old unclouded frankness.
when next he looked into them he knew that he should see there the consciousness of his kiss.
behind her in the orchard that night kilmeny had left her childhood.
chapter xii.
a prisoner of love when eric betook himself to the orchard the next evening he had to admit that he felt rather nervous.
he did not know how the gordons would receive him and certainly the reports he had heard of them were not encouraging, to say the least of it.
even mrs. williamson, when he had told her where he was going, seemed to look upon him as one bent on bearding a lion in his den.
""i do hope they wo n't be very uncivil to you, master," was the best she could say.
he expected kilmeny to be in the orchard before him, for he had been delayed by a call from one of the trustees; but she was nowhere to be seen.
he walked across it to the wild cherry lane; but at its entrance he stopped short in sudden dismay.
neil gordon had stepped from behind the trees and stood confronting him, with blazing eyes, and lips which writhed in emotion so great that at first it prevented him from speaking.
with a thrill of dismay eric instantly understood what must have taken place.
neil had discovered that he and kilmeny had been meeting in the orchard, and beyond doubt had carried that tale to janet and thomas gordon.
he realized how unfortunate it was that this should have happened before he had had time to make his own explanation.
it would probably prejudice kilmeny's guardians still further against him.
at this point in his thoughts neil's pent up passion suddenly found vent in a burst of wild words.
""so you've come to meet her again.
but she is n't here -- you'll never see her again!
i hate you -- i hate you -- i hate you!"
his voice rose to a shrill scream.
he took a furious step nearer eric as if he would attack him.
eric looked steadily in his eyes with a calm defiance, before which his wild passion broke like foam on a rock.
""so you have been making trouble for kilmeny, neil, have you?"
said eric contemptuously.
""i suppose you have been playing the spy.
and i suppose that you have told her uncle and aunt that she has been meeting me here.
well, you have saved me the trouble of doing it, that is all.
i was going to tell them myself, tonight.
i do n't know what your motive in doing this has been.
was it jealousy of me?
or have you done it out of malice to kilmeny?"
his contempt cowed neil more effectually than any display of anger could have done.
""never you mind why i did it," he muttered sullenly.
""what i did or why i did it is no business of yours.
and you have no business to come sneaking around here either.
kilmeny wo n't meet you here again."
""she will meet me in her own home then," said eric sternly.
""neil, in behaving as you have done you have shown yourself to be a very foolish, undisciplined boy.
i am going straightway to kilmeny's uncle and aunt to explain everything."
neil sprang forward in his path.
""no -- no -- go away," he implored wildly.
""oh, sir -- oh, mr. marshall, please go away.
i'll do anything for you if you will.
i love kilmeny.
i've loved her all my life.
i'd give my life for her.
i ca n't have you coming here to steal her from me.
if you do -- i'll kill you!
i wanted to kill you last night when i saw you kiss her.
oh, yes, i saw you.
i was watching -- spying, if you like.
i do n't care what you call it.
i had followed her -- i suspected something.
she was so different -- so changed.
she never would wear the flowers i picked for her any more.
she seemed to forget i was there.
i knew something had come between us.
and it was you, curse you!
oh, i'll make you sorry for it."
he was working himself up into a fury again -- the untamed fury of the italian peasant thwarted in his heart's desire.
it overrode all the restraint of his training and environment.
eric, amid all his anger and annoyance, felt a thrill of pity for him.
neil gordon was only a boy still; and he was miserable and beside himself.
""neil, listen to me," he said quietly.
""you are talking very foolishly.
it is not for you to say who shall or shall not be kilmeny's friend.
now, you may just as well control yourself and go home like a decent fellow.
i am not at all frightened by your threats, and i shall know how to deal with you if you persist in interfering with me or persecuting kilmeny.
i am not the sort of person to put up with that, my lad."
the restrained power in his tone and look cowed neil.
the latter turned sullenly away, with another muttered curse, and plunged into the shadow of the firs.
eric, not a little ruffled under all his external composure by this most unexpected and unpleasant encounter, pursued his way along the lane which wound on by the belt of woodland in twist and curve to the gordon homestead.
his heart beat as he thought of kilmeny.
what might she not be suffering?
doubtless neil had given a very exaggerated and distorted account of what he had seen, and probably her dour relations were very angry with her, poor child.
anxious to avert their wrath as soon as might be, he hurried on, almost forgetting his meeting with neil.
the threats of the latter did not trouble him at all.
he thought the angry outburst of a jealous boy mattered but little.
what did matter was that kilmeny was in trouble which his heedlessness had brought upon her.
presently he found himself before the gordon house.
it was an old building with sharp eaves and dormer windows, its shingles stained a dark gray by long exposure to wind and weather.
faded green shutters hung on the windows of the lower story.
behind it grew a thick wood of spruces.
the little yard in front of it was grassy and prim and flowerless; but over the low front door a luxuriant early-flowering rose vine clambered, in a riot of blood-red blossom which contrasted strangely with the general bareness of its surroundings.
it seemed to fling itself over the grim old house as if intent on bombarding it with an alien life and joyousness.
eric knocked at the door, wondering if it might be possible that kilmeny should come to it.
but a moment later it was opened by an elderly woman -- a woman of rigid lines from the hem of her lank, dark print dress to the crown of her head, covered with black hair which, despite its few gray threads, was still thick and luxuriant.
she had a long, pale face somewhat worn and wrinkled, but possessing a certain harsh comeliness of feature which neither age nor wrinkles had quite destroyed; and her deep-set, light gray eyes were not devoid of suggested kindliness, although they now surveyed eric with an unconcealed hostility.
her figure, in its merciless dress, was very angular; yet there was about her a dignity of carriage and manner which eric liked.
in any case, he preferred her unsmiling dourness to vulgar garrulity.
he lifted his hat.
""have i the honour of speaking to miss gordon?"
he asked.
""i am janet gordon," said the woman stiffly.
""then i wish to talk with you and your brother."
""come in."
she stepped aside and motioned him to a low brown door opening on the right.
""go in and sit down.
i'll call thomas," she said coldly, as she walked out through the hall.
eric walked into the parlour and sat down as bidden.
he found himself in the most old-fashioned room he had ever seen.
the solidly made chairs and tables, of some wood grown dark and polished with age, made even mrs. williamson's "parlour set" of horsehair seem extravagantly modern by contrast.
the painted floor was covered with round braided rugs.
on the centre table was a lamp, a bible and some theological volumes contemporary with the square-runged furniture.
the walls, wainscoted half way up in wood and covered for the rest with a dark, diamond - patterned paper, were hung with faded engravings, mostly of clerical-looking, bewigged personages in gowns and bands.
but over the high, undecorated black mantel-piece, in a ruddy glow of sunset light striking through the window, hung one which caught and held eric's attention to the exclusion of everything else.
it was the enlarged "crayon" photograph of a young girl, and, in spite of the crudity of execution, it was easily the center of interest in the room.
eric at once guessed that this must be the picture of margaret gordon, for, although quite unlike kilmeny's sensitive, spirited face in general, there was a subtle, unmistakable resemblance about brow and chin.
the pictured face was a very handsome one, suggestive of velvety dark eyes and vivid colouring; but it was its expression rather than its beauty which fascinated eric.
never had he seen a countenance indicative of more intense and stubborn will power.
margaret gordon was dead and buried; the picture was a cheap and inartistic production in an impossible frame of gilt and plush; yet the vitality in that face dominated its surroundings still.
what then must have been the power of such a personality in life?
eric realized that this woman could and would have done whatsoever she willed, unflinchingly and unrelentingly.
she could stamp her desire on everything and everybody about her, moulding them to her wish and will, in their own despite and in defiance of all the resistance they might make.
many things in kilmeny's upbringing and temperament became clear to him.
""if that woman had told me i was ugly i should have believed her," he thought.
""ay, even though i had a mirror to contradict her.
i should never have dreamed of disputing or questioning anything she might have said.
the strange power in her face is almost uncanny, peering out as it does from a mask of beauty and youthful curves.
pride and stubbornness are its salient characteristics.
well, kilmeny does not at all resemble her mother in expression and only very slightly in feature."
his reflections were interrupted by the entrance of thomas and janet gordon.
the latter had evidently been called from his work.
he nodded without speaking, and the two sat gravely down before eric.
""i have come to see you with regard to your niece, mr. gordon," he said abruptly, realizing that there would be small use in beating about the bush with this grim pair.
""i met your -- i met neil gordon in the connors orchard, and i found that he has told you that i have been meeting kilmeny there."
he paused.
thomas gordon nodded again; but he did not speak, and he did not remove his steady, piercing eyes from the young man's flushed countenance.
janet still sat in a sort of expectant immovability.
""i fear that you have formed an unfavourable opinion of me on this account, mr. gordon," eric went on.
""but i hardly think i deserve it.
i can explain the matter if you will allow me.
i met your niece accidentally in the orchard three weeks ago and heard her play.
i thought her music very wonderful and i fell into the habit of coming to the orchard in the evenings to hear it.
i had no thought of harming her in any way, mr. gordon.
i thought of her as a mere child, and a child who was doubly sacred because of her affliction.
but recently i -- i -- it occurred to me that i was not behaving quite honourably in encouraging her to meet me thus.
yesterday evening i asked her to bring me here and introduce me to you and her aunt.
we would have come then if you had been at home.
as you were not we arranged to come tonight."
""i hope you will not refuse me the privilege of seeing your niece, mr. gordon," said eric eagerly.
""i ask you to allow me to visit her here.
but i do not ask you to receive me as a friend on my own recommendations only.
i will give you references -- men of standing in charlottetown and queenslea.
if you refer to them --" "i do n't need to do that," said thomas gordon, quietly.
""i know more of you than you think, master.
i know your father well by reputation and i have seen him.
i know you are a rich man's son, whatever your whim in teaching a country school may be.
since you have kept your own counsel about your affairs i supposed you did n't want your true position generally known, and so i have held my tongue about you.
i know no ill of you, master, and i think none, now that i believe you were not beguiling kilmeny to meet you unknown to her friends of set purpose.
but all this does n't make you a suitable friend for her, sir -- it makes you all the more unsuitable.
the less she sees of you the better."
eric almost started to his feet in an indignant protest; but he swiftly remembered that his only hope of winning kilmeny lay in bringing thomas gordon to another way of thinking.
he had got on better than he had expected so far; he must not now jeopardize what he had gained by rashness or impatience.
""why do you think so, mr. gordon?"
he asked, regaining his self-control with an effort.
""well, plain speaking is best, master.
if you were to come here and see kilmeny often she'd most likely come to think too much of you.
i mistrust there's some mischief done in that direction already.
then when you went away she might break her heart -- for she is one of those who feel things deeply.
she has been happy enough.
i know folks condemn us for the way she has been brought up, but they do n't know everything.
it was the best way for her, all things considered.
and we do n't want her made unhappy, master."
""but i love your niece and i want to marry her if i can win her love," said eric steadily.
he surprised them out of their self possession at last.
both started, and looked at him as if they could not believe the evidence of their ears.
""marry her!
marry kilmeny!"
exclaimed thomas gordon incredulously.
""you ca n't mean it, sir.
why, she is dumb -- kilmeny is dumb."
""that makes no difference in my love for her, although i deeply regret it for her own sake," answered eric.
""i can only repeat what i have already said, mr. gordon.
i want kilmeny for my wife."
the older man leaned forward and looked at the floor in a troubled fashion, drawing his bushy eyebrows down and tapping the calloused tips of his fingers together uneasily.
he was evidently puzzled by this unexpected turn of the conversation, and in grave doubt what to say.
""what would your father say to all this, master?"
he queried at last.
""i have often heard my father say that a man must marry to please himself," said eric, with a smile.
""if he felt tempted to go back on that opinion i think the sight of kilmeny would convert him.
but, after all, it is what i say that matters in this case, is n't it, mr. gordon?
i am well educated and not afraid of work.
i can make a home for kilmeny in a few years even if i have to depend entirely on my own resources.
only give me the chance to win her -- that is all i ask."
""i do n't think it would do, master," said thomas gordon, shaking his head.
""of course, i dare say you -- you" -- he tried to say "love," but scotch reserve balked stubbornly at the terrible word -- "you think you like kilmeny now, but you are only a lad -- and lads" fancies change."
""mine will not," eric broke in vehemently.
""it is not a fancy, mr. gordon.
it is the love that comes once in a lifetime and once only.
i may be but a lad, but i know that kilmeny is the one woman in the world for me.
there can never be any other.
oh, i'm not speaking rashly or inconsiderately.
i have weighed the matter well and looked at it from every aspect.
and it all comes to this -- i love kilmeny and i want what any decent man who loves a woman truly has the right to have -- the chance to win her love in return."
""well!"
thomas gordon drew a long breath that was almost a sigh.
""maybe -- if you feel like that, master -- i do n't know -- there are some things it is n't right to cross.
perhaps we ought n't -- janet, woman, what shall we say to him?"
janet gordon had hitherto spoken no word.
she had sat rigidly upright on one of the old chairs under margaret gordon's insistent picture, with her knotted, toil-worn hands grasping the carved arms tightly, and her eyes fastened on eric's face.
at first their expression had been guarded and hostile, but as the conversation proceeded they lost this gradually and became almost kindly.
now, when her brother appealed to her, she leaned forward and said eagerly, "do you know that there is a stain on kilmeny's birth, master?"
""i know that her mother was the innocent victim of a very sad mistake, miss gordon.
i admit no real stain where there was no conscious wrong doing.
though, for that matter, even if there were, it would be no fault of kilmeny's and would make no difference to me as far as she is concerned."
a sudden change swept over janet gordon's face, quite marvelous in the transformation it wrought.
her grim mouth softened and a flood of repressed tenderness glorified her cold gray eyes.
""well, then."
she said almost triumphantly, "since neither that nor her dumbness seems to be any drawback in your eyes i do n't see why you should not have the chance you want.
perhaps your world will say she is not good enough for you, but she is -- she is" -- this half defiantly.
""she is a sweet and innocent and true-hearted lassie.
she is bright and clever and she is not ill looking.
thomas, i say let the young man have his will."
thomas gordon stood up, as if he considered the responsibility off his shoulders and the interview at an end.
""very well, janet, woman, since you think it is wise.
and may god deal with him as he deals with her.
good evening, master.
i'll see you again, and you are free to come and go as suits you.
but i must go to my work now.
i left my horses standing in the field."
""i will go up and send kilmeny down," said janet quietly.
she lighted the lamp on the table and left the room.
a few minutes later kilmeny came down.
eric rose and went to meet her eagerly, but she only put out her right hand with a pretty dignity and, while she looked into his face, she did not look into his eyes.
""you see i was right after all, kilmeny," he said, smiling.
""your uncle and aunt have n't driven me away.
on the contrary they have been very kind to me, and they say i may see you whenever and wherever i like."
she smiled, and went over to the table to write on her slate.
""but they were very angry last night, and said dreadful things to me.
i felt very frightened and unhappy.
they seemed to think i had done something terribly wrong.
uncle thomas said he would never trust me out of his sight again.
i could hardly believe it when aunt janet came up and told me you were here and that i might come down.
she looked at me very strangely as she spoke, but i could see that all the anger had gone out of her face.
she seemed pleased and yet sad.
but i am glad they have forgiven us."
she did not tell him how glad she was, and how unhappy she had been over the thought that she was never to see him again.
yesterday she would have told him all frankly and fully; but for her yesterday was a lifetime away -- a lifetime in which she had come into her heritage of womanly dignity and reserve.
the kiss which eric had left on her lips, the words her uncle and aunt had said to her, the tears she had shed for the first time on a sleepless pillow -- all had conspired to reveal her to herself.
she did not yet dream that she loved eric marshall, or that he loved her.
but she was no longer the child to be made a dear comrade of.
she was, though quite unconsciously, the woman to be wooed and won, exacting, with sweet, innate pride, her dues of allegiance.
chapter xiii.
a sweeter woman ne'er drew breath thenceforward eric marshall was a constant visitor at the gordon homestead.
he soon became a favourite with thomas and janet, especially the latter.
he liked them both, discovering under all their outward peculiarities sterling worth and fitness of character.
thomas gordon was surprisingly well read and could floor eric any time in argument, once he became sufficiently warmed up to attain fluency of words.
eric hardly recognized him the first time he saw him thus animated.
his bent form straightened, his sunken eyes flashed, his face flushed, his voice rang like a trumpet, and he poured out a flood of eloquence which swept eric's smart, up-to-date arguments away like straws in the rush of a mountain torrent.
eric enjoyed his own defeat enormously, but thomas gordon was ashamed of being thus drawn out of himself, and for a week afterwards confined his remarks to "yes" and "no," or, at the outside, to a brief statement that a change in the weather was brewing.
janet never talked on matters of church and state; such she plainly considered to be far beyond a woman's province.
but she listened with lurking interest in her eyes while thomas and eric pelted on each other with facts and statistics and opinions, and on the rare occasions when eric scored a point she permitted herself a sly little smile at her brother's expense.
of neil, eric saw but little.
the italian boy avoided him, or if they chanced to meet passed him by with sullen, downcast eyes.
eric did not trouble himself greatly about neil; but thomas gordon, understanding the motive which had led neil to betray his discovery of the orchard trysts, bluntly told kilmeny that she must not make such an equal of neil as she had done.
""you have been too kind to the lad, lassie, and he's got presumptuous.
he must be taught his place.
i mistrust we have all made more of him than we should."
but most of the idyllic hours of eric's wooing were spent in the old orchard; the garden end of it was now a wilderness of roses -- roses red as the heart of a sunset, roses pink as the early flush of dawn, roses white as the snows on mountain peaks, roses full blown, and roses in buds that were sweeter than anything on earth except kilmeny's face.
their petals fell in silken heaps along the old paths or clung to the lush grasses among which eric lay and dreamed, while kilmeny played to him on her violin.
eric promised himself that when she was his wife her wonderful gift for music should be cultivated to the utmost.
her powers of expression seemed to deepen and develop every day, growing as her soul grew, taking on new colour and richness from her ripening heart.
to eric, the days were all pages in an inspired idyl.
he had never dreamed that love could be so mighty or the world so beautiful.
he wondered if the universe were big enough to hold his joy or eternity long enough to live it out.
his whole existence was, for the time being, bounded by that orchard where he wooed his sweetheart.
all other ambitions and plans and hopes were set aside in the pursuit of this one aim, the attainment of which would enhance all others a thousand-fold, the loss of which would rob all others of their reason for existence.
his own world seemed very far away and the things of that world forgotten.
his father, on hearing that he had taken the lindsay school for a year, had written him a testy, amazed letter, asking him if he were demented.
""or is there a girl in the case?"
he wrote.
""there must be, to tie you down to a place like lindsay for a year.
take care, master eric; you've been too sensible all your life.
a man is bound to make a fool of himself at least once, and when you did n't get through with that in your teens it may be attacking you now."
david also wrote, expostulating more gravely; but he did not express the suspicions eric knew he must entertain.
""good old david!
he is quaking with fear that i am up to something he ca n't approve of, but he wo n't say a word by way of attempting to force my confidence."
it could not long remain a secret in lindsay that "the master" was going to the gordon place on courting thoughts intent.
mrs. williamson kept her own and eric's counsel; the gordons said nothing; but the secret leaked out and great was the surprise and gossip and wonder.
one or two incautious people ventured to express their opinion of the master's wisdom to the master himself; but they never repeated the experiment.
curiosity was rife.
a hundred stories were circulated about kilmeny, all greatly exaggerated in the circulation.
wise heads were shaken and the majority opined that it was a great pity.
the master was a likely young fellow; he could have his pick of almost anybody, you might think; it was too bad that he should go and take up with that queer, dumb niece of the gordons who had been brought up in such a heathenish way.
but then you never could guess what way a man's fancy would jump when he set out to pick him a wife.
they guessed neil gordon did n't like it much.
he seemed to have got dreadful moody and sulky of late and would n't sing in the choir any more.
thus the buzz of comment and gossip ran.
to those two in the old orchard it mattered not a whit.
kilmeny knew nothing of gossip.
to her, lindsay was as much of an unknown world as the city of eric's home.
her thoughts strayed far and wide in the realm of her fancy, but they never wandered out to the little realities that hedged her strange life around.
in that life she had blossomed out, a fair, unique thing.
there were times when eric almost regretted that one day he must take her out of her white solitude to a world that, in the last analysis, was only lindsay on a larger scale, with just the same pettiness of thought and feeling and opinion at the bottom of it.
he wished he might keep her to himself for ever, in that old, spruce-hidden orchard where the roses fell.
one day he indulged himself in the fulfillment of the whim he had formed when kilmeny had told him she thought herself ugly.
he went to janet and asked her permission to bring a mirror to the house that he might have the privilege of being the first to reveal kilmeny to herself exteriorly.
janet was somewhat dubious at first.
""there has n't been such a thing in the house for sixteen years, master.
there never was but three -- one in the spare room, and a little one in the kitchen, and margaret's own.
she broke them all the day it first struck her that kilmeny was going to be bonny.
i might have got one after she died maybe.
but i did n't think of it; and there's no need of lasses to be always prinking at their looking glasses."
but eric pleaded and argued skilfully, and finally janet said, "well, well, have your own way.
you'd have it anyway i think, lad.
you are one of those men who always get their own way.
but that is different from the men who take their own way -- and that's a mercy," she added under her breath.
eric went to town the next saturday and picked out a mirror that pleased him.
he had it shipped to radnor and thomas gordon brought it home, not knowing what it was, for janet had thought it just as well he should not know.
""it's a present the master is making kilmeny," she told him.
she sent kilmeny off to the orchard after tea, and eric slipped around to the house by way of the main road and lane.
he and janet together unpacked the mirror and hung it on the parlour wall.
""i never saw such a big one, master," said janet rather doubtfully, as if, after all, she distrusted its gleaming, pearly depth and richly ornamented frame.
""i hope it wo n't make her vain.
she is very bonny, but it may not do her any good to know it."
""it wo n't harm her," said eric confidently.
""when a belief in her ugliness has n't spoiled a girl a belief in her beauty wo n't."
but janet did not understand epigrams.
she carefully removed a little dust from the polished surface, and frowned meditatively at the by no means beautiful reflection she saw therein.
""i can not think what made kilmeny suppose she was ugly, master."
""her mother told her she was," said eric, rather bitterly.
""ah!"
janet shot a quick glance at the picture of her sister.
""was that it?
margaret was a strange woman, master.
i suppose she thought her own beauty had been a snare to her.
she was bonny.
that picture does n't do her justice.
i never liked it.
it was taken before she was -- before she met ronald fraser.
we none of us thought it very like her at the time.
but, master, three years later it was like her -- oh, it was like her then!
that very look came in her face."
""kilmeny does n't resemble her mother," remarked eric, glancing at the picture with the same feeling of mingled fascination and distaste with which he always regarded it.
""does she look like her father?"
""no, not a great deal, though some of her ways are very like his.
she looks like her grandmother -- margaret's mother, master.
her name was kilmeny too, and she was a handsome, sweet woman.
i was very fond of my stepmother, master.
when she died she gave her baby to me, and asked me to be a mother to it.
ah well, i tried; but i could n't fence the sorrow out of margaret's life, and it sometimes comes to my mind that maybe i'll not be able to fence it out of kilmeny's either."
""that will be my task," said eric.
""you'll do your best, i do not doubt.
but maybe it will be through you that sorrow will come to her after all."
""not through any fault of mine, aunt janet."
""no, no, i'm not saying it will be your fault.
but my heart misgives me at times.
oh, i dare say i am only a foolish old woman, master.
go your ways and bring your lass here to look at your plaything when you like.
i'll not make or meddle with it."
janet betook herself to the kitchen and eric went to look for kilmeny.
she was not in the orchard and it was not until he had searched for some time that he found her.
she was standing under a beech tree in a field beyond the orchard, leaning on the longer fence, with her hands clasped against her cheek.
in them she held a white mary-lily from the orchard.
she did not run to meet him while he was crossing the pasture, as she would once have done.
she waited motionless until he was close to her.
eric began, half laughingly, half tenderly, to quote some lines from her namesake ballad:" "kilmeny, kilmeny, where have you been?
long hae we sought baith holt and den, -- by linn, by ford, and greenwood tree!
yet you are halesome and fair to see.
where got you that joup o" the lily sheen?
that bonny snood o" the birk sae green, and those roses, the fairest that ever was seen?
kilmeny, kilmeny, where have you been?"
""only it's a lily and not a rose you are carrying.
i might go on and quote the next couplet too --" "kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, but there was nae smile on kilmeny's face."
""why are you looking so sober?"
kilmeny did not have her slate with her and could not answer; but eric guessed from something in her eyes that she was bitterly contrasting the beauty of the ballad's heroine with her own supposed ugliness.
""come down to the house, kilmeny.
i have something there to show you -- something lovelier than you have ever seen before," he said, with boyish pleasure shining in his eyes.
""i want you to go and put on that muslin dress you wore last sunday evening, and pin up your hair the same way you did then.
run along -- do n't wait for me.
but you are not to go into the parlour until i come.
i want to pick some of those mary-lilies up in the orchard."
when eric returned to the house with an armful of the long stemmed, white madonna lilies that bloomed in the orchard kilmeny was just coming down the steep, narrow staircase with its striped carpeting of homespun drugget.
her marvelous loveliness was brought out into brilliant relief by the dark wood work and shadows of the dim old hall.
she wore a trailing, clinging dress of some creamy tinted fabric that had been her mother's.
it had not been altered in any respect, for fashion held no sway at the gordon homestead, and kilmeny thought that the dress left nothing to be desired.
its quaint style suited her admirably; the neck was slightly cut away to show the round white throat, and the sleeves were long, full "bishops," out of which her beautiful, slender hands slipped like flowers from their sheaths.
she had crossed her long braids at the back and pinned them about her head like a coronet; a late white rose was fastened low down on the left side.""
a man had given all other bliss and all his worldly wealth for this -- to waste his whole heart in one kiss upon her perfect lips,"" quoted eric in a whisper as he watched her descend.
aloud he said, "take these lilies on your arm, letting their bloom fall against your shoulder -- so.
now, give me your hand and shut your eyes.
do n't open them until i say you may."
he led her into the parlour and up to the mirror.
""look," he cried, gaily.
kilmeny opened her eyes and looked straight into the mirror where, like a lovely picture in a golden frame, she saw herself reflected.
for a moment she was bewildered.
then she realized what it meant.
the lilies fell from her arm to the floor and she turned pale.
with a little low, involuntary cry she put her hands over her face.
eric pulled them boyishly away.
""kilmeny, do you think you are ugly now?
this is a truer mirror than aunt janet's silver sugar bowl!
look -- look -- look!
did you ever imagine anything fairer than yourself, dainty kilmeny?"
she was blushing now, and stealing shy radiant glances at the mirror.
with a smile she took her slate and wrote naively, "i think i am pleasant to look upon.
i can not tell you how glad i am.
it is so dreadful to believe one is ugly.
you can get used to everything else, but you never get used to that.
it hurts just the same every time you remember it.
but why did mother tell me i was ugly?
could she really have thought so?
perhaps i have become better looking since i grew up."
""i think perhaps your mother had found that beauty is not always a blessing, kilmeny, and thought it wiser not to let you know you possessed it.
come, let us go back to the orchard now.
we must n't waste this rare evening in the house.
there is going to be a sunset that we shall remember all our lives.
the mirror will hang here.
it is yours.
do n't look into it too often, though, or aunt janet will disapprove.
she is afraid it will make you vain."
kilmeny gave one of her rare, musical laughs, which eric never heard without a recurrence of the old wonder that she could laugh so when she could not speak.
she blew an airy little kiss at her mirrored face and turned from it, smiling happily.
on their way to the orchard they met neil.
he went by them with an averted face, but kilmeny shivered and involuntarily drew nearer to eric.
""i do n't understand neil at all now," she wrote nervously.
""he is not nice, as he used to be, and sometimes he will not answer when i speak to him.
and he looks so strangely at me, too.
besides, he is surly and impertinent to uncle and aunt."
""do n't mind neil," said eric lightly.
""he is probably sulky because of some things i said to him when i found he had spied on us."
that night before she went up stairs kilmeny stole into the parlour for another glimpse of herself in that wonderful mirror by the light of a dim little candle she carried.
she was still lingering there dreamily when aunt janet's grim face appeared in the shadows of the doorway.
""are you thinking about your own good looks, lassie?
ay, but remember that handsome is as handsome does," she said, with grudging admiration -- for the girl with her flushed cheeks and shining eyes was something that even dour janet gordon could not look upon unmoved.
kilmeny smiled softly.
""i'll try to remember," she wrote, "but oh, aunt janet, i am so glad i am not ugly.
it is not wrong to be glad of that, is it?"
the older woman's face softened.
""no, i do n't suppose it is, lassie," she conceded.
""a comely face is something to be thankful for -- as none know better than those who have never possessed it.
i remember well when i was a girl -- but that is neither here nor there.
the master thinks you are wonderful bonny, kilmeny," she added, looking keenly at the girl.
kilmeny started and a scarlet blush scorched her face.
that, and the expression that flashed into her eyes, told janet gordon all she wished to know.
with a stifled sigh she bade her niece good night and went away.
kilmeny ran fleetly up the stairs to her dim little room, that looked out into the spruces, and flung herself on her bed, burying her burning face in the pillow.
her aunt's words had revealed to her the hidden secret of her heart.
she knew that she loved eric marshall -- and the knowledge brought with it a strange anguish.
for was she not dumb?
all night she lay staring wide-eyed through the darkness till the dawn.
chapter xiv.
in her selfless mood eric noticed a change in kilmeny at their next meeting -- a change that troubled him.
she seemed aloof, abstracted, almost ill at ease.
when he proposed an excursion to the orchard he thought she was reluctant to go.
the days that followed convinced him of the change.
something had come between them.
kilmeny seemed as far away from him as if she had in truth, like her namesake of the ballad, sojourned for seven years in the land "where the rain never fell and the wind never blew," and had come back washed clean from all the affections of earth.
eric had a bad week of it; but he determined to put an end to it by plain speaking.
one evening in the orchard he told her of his love.
it was an evening in august, with wheat fields ripening to their harvestry -- a soft violet night made for love, with the distant murmur of an unquiet sea on a rocky shore sounding through it.
kilmeny was sitting on the old bench where he had first seen her.
she had been playing for him, but her music did not please her and she laid aside the violin with a little frown.
it might be that she was afraid to play -- afraid that her new emotions might escape her and reveal themselves in music.
it was difficult to prevent this, so long had she been accustomed to pour out all her feelings in harmony.
the necessity for restraint irked her and made of her bow a clumsy thing which no longer obeyed her wishes.
more than ever at that instant did she long for speech -- speech that would conceal and protect where dangerous silence might betray.
in a low voice that trembled with earnestness eric told her that he loved her -- that he had loved her from the first time he had seen her in that old orchard.
he spoke humbly but not fearfully, for he believed that she loved him, and he had little expectation of any rebuff.
""kilmeny, will you be my wife?"
he asked finally, taking her hands in his.
kilmeny had listened with averted face.
at first she had blushed painfully but now she had grown very pale.
when he had finished speaking and was waiting for her answer, she suddenly pulled her hands away, and, putting them over her face, burst into tears and noiseless sobs.
""kilmeny, dearest, have i alarmed you?
surely you knew before that i loved you.
do n't you care for me?"
eric said, putting his arm about her and trying to draw her to him.
but she shook her head sorrowfully, and wrote with compressed lips, "yes, i do love you, but i will never marry you, because i can not speak."
""oh, kilmeny," said eric smiling, for he believed his victory won, "that does n't make any difference to me -- you know it does n't, sweetest.
if you love me that is enough."
but kilmeny only shook her head again.
there was a very determined look on her pale face.
she wrote, "no, it is not enough.
it would be doing you a great wrong to marry you when i can not speak, and i will not do it because i love you too much to do anything that would harm you.
your world would think you had done a very foolish thing and it would be right.
i have thought it all over many times since something aunt janet said made me understand, and i know i am doing right.
i am sorry i did not understand sooner, before you had learned to care so much."
""kilmeny, darling, you have taken a very absurd fancy into that dear black head of yours.
do n't you know that you will make me miserably unhappy all my life if you will not be my wife?"
""no, you think so now; and i know you will feel very badly for a time.
then you will go away and after awhile you will forget me; and then you will see that i was right.
i shall be very unhappy, too, but that is better than spoiling your life.
do not plead or coax because i shall not change my mind."
eric did plead and coax, however -- at first patiently and smilingly, as one might argue with a dear foolish child; then with vehement and distracted earnestness, as he began to realize that kilmeny meant what she said.
it was all in vain.
kilmeny grew paler and paler, and her eyes revealed how keenly she was suffering.
she did not even try to argue with him, but only listened patiently and sadly, and shook her head.
say what he would, entreat and implore as he might, he could not move her resolution a hairs-breadth.
yet he did not despair; he could not believe that she would adhere to such a resolution; he felt sure that her love for him would eventually conquer, and he went home not unhappily after all.
he did not understand that it was the very intensity of her love which gave her the strength to resist his pleading, where a more shallow affection might have yielded.
it held her back unflinchingly from doing him what she believed to be a wrong.
chapter xv.
an old, unhappy, far-off thing the next day eric sought kilmeny again and renewed his pleadings, but again in vain.
nothing he could say, no argument which he could advance, was of any avail against her sad determination.
when he was finally compelled to realize that her resolution was not to be shaken, he went in his despair to janet gordon.
janet listened to his story with concern and disappointment plainly visible on her face.
when he had finished she shook her head.
""i'm sorry, master.
i ca n't tell you how sorry i am.
i had hoped for something very different.
hoped!
i have prayed for it.
thomas and i are getting old and it has weighed on my mind for years -- what was to become of kilmeny when we would be gone.
since you came i had hoped she would have a protector in you.
but if kilmeny says she will not marry you i am afraid she'll stick to it."
""but she loves me," cried the young man, "and if you and her uncle speak to her -- urge her -- perhaps you can influence her --" "no, master, it would n't be any use.
oh, we will, of course, but it will not be any use.
kilmeny is as determined as her mother when once she makes up her mind.
she has always been good and obedient for the most part, but once or twice we have found out that there is no moving her if she does resolve upon anything.
when her mother died thomas and i wanted to take her to church.
we could not prevail on her to go.
we did not know why then, but now i suppose it was because she believed she was so very ugly.
it is because she thinks so much of you that she will not marry you.
she is afraid you would come to repent having married a dumb girl.
maybe she is right -- maybe she is right."
""i can not give her up," said eric stubbornly.
""something must be done.
perhaps her defect can be remedied even yet.
have you ever thought of that?
you have never had her examined by a doctor qualified to pronounce on her case, have you?"
""no, master, we never took her to anyone.
when we first began to fear that she was never going to talk thomas wanted to take her to charlottetown and have her looked to.
he thought so much of the child and he felt terrible about it.
but her mother would n't hear of it being done.
there was no use trying to argue with her.
she said that it would be no use -- that it was her sin that was visited on her child and it could never be taken away."
""and did you give in meekly to a morbid whim like that?"
asked eric impatiently.
""master, you did n't know my sister.
we had to give in -- nobody could hold out against her.
she was a strange woman -- and a terrible woman in many ways -- after her trouble.
we were afraid to cross her for fear she would go out of her mind."
""but, could you not have taken kilmeny to a doctor unknown to her mother?"
""no, that was not possible.
margaret never let her out of her sight, not even when she was grown up.
besides, to tell you the whole truth, master, we did n't think ourselves that it would be much use to try to cure kilmeny.
it was a sin that made her as she is."
""aunt janet, how can you talk such nonsense?
where was there any sin?
your sister thought herself a lawful wife.
if ronald fraser thought otherwise -- and there is no proof that he did -- he committed a sin, but you surely do not believe that it was visited in this fashion on his innocent child!"
""no, i am not meaning that, master.
that was n't where margaret did wrong; and though i never liked ronald fraser over much, i must say this in his defence -- i believe he thought himself a free man when he married margaret.
no, it's something else -- something far worse.
it gives me a shiver whenever i think of it.
oh, master, the good book is right when it says the sins of the parents are visited on the children.
there is n't a truer word in it than that from cover to cover."
""what, in heaven's name, is the meaning of all this?"
exclaimed eric.
""tell me what it is.
i must know the whole truth about kilmeny.
do not torment me."
""i am going to tell you the story, master, though it will be like opening an old wound.
no living person knows it but thomas and me.
when you hear it you will understand why kilmeny ca n't speak, and why it is n't likely that there can ever be anything done for her.
she does n't know the truth and you must never tell her.
it is n't a fit story for her ears, especially when it is about her mother.
promise me that you will never tell her, no matter what may happen."
""i promise.
go on -- go on," said the young man feverishly.
janet gordon locked her hands together in her lap, like a woman who nerves herself to some hateful task.
she looked very old; the lines on her face seemed doubly deep and harsh.
""my sister margaret was a very proud, high-spirited girl, master.
but i would not have you think she was unlovable.
no, no, that would be doing a great injustice to her memory.
she had her faults as we all have; but she was bright and merry and warm-hearted.
we all loved her.
she was the light and life of this house.
yes, master, before the trouble that came on her margaret was a winsome lass, singing like a lark from morning till night.
maybe we spoiled her a little -- maybe we gave her too much of her own way.
""well, master, you have heard the story of her marriage to ronald fraser and what came after, so i need not go into that.
i know, or used to know elizabeth williamson well, and i know that whatever she told you would be the truth and nothing more or less than the truth.
""our father was a very proud man.
oh, master, if margaret was too proud she got it from no stranger.
and her misfortune cut him to the heart.
he never spoke a word to us here for more than three days after he heard of it.
he sat in the corner there with bowed head and would not touch bite or sup.
he had not been very willing for her to marry ronald fraser; and when she came home in disgrace she had not set foot over the threshold before he broke out railing at her.
oh, i can see her there at the door this very minute, master, pale and trembling, clinging to thomas's arm, her great eyes changing from sorrow and shame to wrath.
it was just at sunset and a red ray came in at the window and fell right across her breast like a stain of blood.
""father called her a hard name, master.
oh, he was too hard -- even though he was my father i must say he was too hard on her, broken-hearted as she was, and guilty of nothing more after all than a little willfulness in the matter of her marriage.
""and father was sorry for it -- oh, master, the word was n't out of his mouth before he was sorry for it.
but the mischief was done.
oh, i'll never forget margaret's face, master!
it haunts me yet in the black of the night.
it was full of anger and rebellion and defiance.
but she never answered him back.
she clenched her hands and went up to her old room without saying a word, all those mad feelings surging in her soul, and being held back from speech by her sheer, stubborn will.
and, master, never a word did margaret say from that day until after kilmeny was born -- not one word, master.
nothing we could do for her softened her.
and we were kind to her, master, and gentle with her, and never reproached her by so much as a look.
but she would not speak to anyone.
she just sat in her room most of the time and stared at the wall with such awful eyes.
father implored her to speak and forgive him, but she never gave any sign that she heard him.
""i have n't come to the worst yet, master.
father sickened and took to his bed.
margaret would not go in to see him.
then one night thomas and i were watching by him; it was about eleven o'clock.
all at once he said," "janet, go up and tell the lass" -- he always called margaret that -- it was a kind of pet name he had for her -- "that i'm deein" and ask her to come down and speak to me afore i'm gone."
""master, i went.
margaret was sitting in her room all alone in the cold and dark, staring at the wall.
i told her what our father had said.
she never let on she heard me.
i pleaded and wept, master.
i did what i had never done to any human creature -- i kneeled to her and begged her, as she hoped for mercy herself, to come down and see our dying father.
master, she would n't!
she never moved or looked at me.
i had to get up and go downstairs and tell that old man she would not come."
janet gordon lifted her hands and struck them together in her agony of remembrance.
""when i told father he only said, oh, so gently," "poor lass, i was too hard on her.
she isna to blame.
but i canna go to meet her mother till our little lass has forgie'n me for the name i called her.
thomas, help me up.
since she winna come to me i must e "en go to her."
""there was no crossing him -- we saw that.
he got up from his deathbed and thomas helped him out into the hall and up the stair.
i walked behind with the candle.
oh, master, i'll never forget it -- the awful shadows and the storm wind wailing outside, and father's gasping breath.
but we got him to margaret's room and he stood before her, trembling, with his white hairs falling about his sunken face.
and he prayed margaret to forgive him -- to forgive him and speak just one word to him before he went to meet her mother.
master" -- janet's voice rose almost to a shriek -- "she would not -- she would not!
and yet she wanted to speak -- afterwards she confessed to me that she wanted to speak.
but her stubbornness would n't let her.
it was like some evil power that had gripped hold of her and would n't let go.
father might as well have pleaded with a graven image.
oh, it was hard and dreadful!
she saw her father die and she never spoke the word he prayed for to him.
that was her sin, master, -- and for that sin the curse fell on her unborn child.
when father understood that she would not speak he closed his eyes and was like to have fallen if thomas had not caught him."
"oh, lass, you're a hard woman," was all he said.
and they were his last words.
thomas and i carried him back to his room, but the breath was gone from him before we ever got him there.
""well, master, kilmeny was born a month afterwards, and when margaret felt her baby at her breast the evil thing that had held her soul in its bondage lost its power.
she spoke and wept and was herself again.
oh, how she wept!
she implored us to forgive her and we did freely and fully.
but the one against whom she had sinned most grievously was gone, and no word of forgiveness could come to her from the grave.
my poor sister never knew peace of conscience again, master.
but she was gentle and kind and humble until -- until she began to fear that kilmeny was never going to speak.
we thought then that she would go out of her mind.
indeed, master, she never was quite right again.
""but that is the story and it's a thankful woman i am that the telling of it is done.
kilmeny ca n't speak because her mother would n't."
eric had listened with a gray horror on his face to the gruesome tale.
the black tragedy of it appalled him -- the tragedy of that merciless law, the most cruel and mysterious thing in god's universe, which ordains that the sin of the guilty shall be visited on the innocent.
fight against it as he would, the miserable conviction stole into his heart that kilmeny's case was indeed beyond the reach of any human skill.
""it is a dreadful tale," he said moodily, getting up and walking restlessly to and fro in the dim spruce-shadowed old kitchen where they were.
""and if it is true that her mother's willful silence caused kilmeny's dumbness, i fear, as you say, that we can not help her.
but you may be mistaken.
it may have been nothing more than a strange coincidence.
possibly something may be done for her.
at all events, we must try.
i have a friend in queenslea who is a physician.
his name is david baker, and he is a very skilful specialist in regard to the throat and voice.
i shall have him come here and see kilmeny."
""have your way," assented janet in the hopeless tone which she might have used in giving him permission to attempt any impossible thing.
""it will be necessary to tell dr. baker why kilmeny can not speak -- or why you think she can not."
janet's face twitched.
""must that be, master?
oh, it's a bitter tale to tell a stranger."
""do n't be afraid.
i shall tell him nothing that is not strictly necessary to his proper understanding of the case.
it will be quite enough to say that kilmeny may be dumb because for several months before her birth her mother's mind was in a very morbid condition, and she preserved a stubborn and unbroken silence because of a certain bitter personal resentment."
""well, do as you think best, master."
janet plainly had no faith in the possibility of anything being done for kilmeny.
but a rosy glow of hope flashed over kilmeny's face when eric told her what he meant to do.
""oh, do you think he can make me speak?"
she wrote eagerly.
""i do n't know, kilmeny.
i hope that he can, and i know he will do all that mortal skill can do.
if he can remove your defect will you promise to marry me, dearest?"
she nodded.
the grave little motion had the solemnity of a sacred promise.
""yes," she wrote, "when i can speak like other women i will marry you."
chapter xvi.
david baker's opinion the next week david baker came to lindsay.
he arrived in the afternoon when eric was in school.
when the latter came home he found that david had, in the space of an hour, captured mrs. williamson's heart, wormed himself into the good graces of timothy, and become hail-fellow-well-met with old robert.
but he looked curiously at eric when the two young men found themselves alone in the upstairs room.
""now, eric, i want to know what all this is about.
what scrape have you got into?
you write me a letter, entreating me in the name of friendship to come to you at once.
accordingly i come post haste.
you seem to be in excellent health yourself.
explain why you have inveigled me hither."
""i want you to do me a service which only you can do, david," said eric quietly.
""i did n't care to go into the details by letter.
i have met in lindsay a young girl whom i have learned to love.
i have asked her to marry me, but, although she cares for me, she refuses to do so because she is dumb.
i wish you to examine her and find out the cause of her defect, and if it can be cured.
she can hear perfectly and all her other faculties are entirely normal.
in order that you may better understand the case i must tell you the main facts of her history."
this eric proceeded to do.
david baker listened with grave attention, his eyes fastened on his friend's face.
he did not betray the surprise and dismay he felt at learning that eric had fallen in love with a dumb girl of doubtful antecedents; and the strange case enlisted his professional interest.
when he had heard the whole story he thrust his hands into his pockets and strode up and down the room several times in silence.
finally he halted before eric.
""so you have done what i foreboded all along you would do -- left your common sense behind you when you went courting."
""if i did," said eric quietly, "i took with me something better and nobler than common sense."
david shrugged his shoulders.
""you'll have hard work to convince me of that, eric."
""no, it will not be difficult at all.
i have one argument that will convince you speedily -- and that is kilmeny gordon herself.
but we will not discuss the matter of my wisdom or lack of it just now.
what i want to know is this -- what do you think of the case as i have stated it to you?"
david frowned thoughtfully.
""i hardly know what to think.
it is very curious and unusual, but it is not totally unprecedented.
there have been cases on record where pre-natal influences have produced a like result.
i can not just now remember whether any were ever cured.
well, i'll see if anything can be done for this girl.
i can not express any further opinion until i have examined her."
the next morning eric took david up to the gordon homestead.
as they approached the old orchard a strain of music came floating through the resinous morning arcades of the spruce wood -- a wild, sorrowful, appealing cry, full of indescribable pathos, yet marvelously sweet.
""what is that?"
exclaimed david, starting.
""that is kilmeny playing on her violin," answered eric.
""she has great talent in that respect and improvises wonderful melodies."
when they reached the orchard kilmeny rose from the old bench to meet them, her lovely luminous eyes distended, her face flushed with the excitement of mingled hope and fear.
""oh, ye gods!"
muttered david helplessly.
he could not hide his amazement and eric smiled to see it.
the latter had not failed to perceive that his friend had until now considered him as little better than a lunatic.
""kilmeny, this is my friend, dr. baker," he said.
kilmeny held out her hand with a smile.
her beauty, as she stood there in the fresh morning sunshine beside a clump of her sister lilies, was something to take away a man's breath.
david, who was by no means lacking in confidence and generally had a ready tongue where women were concerned, found himself as mute and awkward as a school boy, as he bowed over her hand.
but kilmeny was charmingly at ease.
there was not a trace of embarrassment in her manner, though there was a pretty shyness.
eric smiled as he recalled his first meeting with her.
he suddenly realized how far kilmeny had come since then and how much she had developed.
with a little gesture of invitation kilmeny led the way through the orchard to the wild cherry lane, and the two men followed.
""eric, she is simply unutterable!"
said david in an undertone.
""last night, to tell you the truth, i had a rather poor opinion of your sanity.
but now i am consumed with a fierce envy.
she is the loveliest creature i ever saw."
eric introduced david to the gordons and then hurried away to his school.
on his way down the gordon lane he met neil and was half startled by the glare of hatred in the italian boy's eyes.
pity succeeded the momentary alarm.
neil's face had grown thin and haggard; his eyes were sunken and feverishly bright; he looked years older than on the day when eric had first seen him in the brook hollow.
prompted by sudden compassionate impulse eric stopped and held out his hand.
""neil, ca n't we be friends?"
he said.
""i am sorry if i have been the cause of inflicting pain on you."
""friends!
never!"
said neil passionately.
""you have taken kilmeny from me.
i shall hate you always.
and i'll be even with you yet."
he strode fiercely up the lane, and eric, with a shrug of his shoulders, went on his way, dismissing the meeting from his mind.
the day seemed interminably long to him.
david had not returned when he went home to dinner; but when he went to his room in the evening he found his friend there, staring out of the window.
""well," he said, impatiently, as david wheeled around but still kept silence, "what have you to say to me?
do n't keep me in suspense any longer, david.
i have endured all i can.
to-day has seemed like a thousand years.
have you discovered what is the matter with kilmeny?"
""there is nothing the matter with her," answered david slowly, flinging himself into a chair by the window.
""what do you mean?"
""just exactly what i say.
her vocal organs are all perfect.
as far as they are concerned, there is absolutely no reason why she should not speak."
""then why ca n't she speak?
do you think -- do you think --" "i think that i can not express my conclusion in any better words than janet gordon used when she said that kilmeny can not speak because her mother would n't.
that is all there is to it.
the trouble is psychological, not physical.
medical skill is helpless before it.
there are greater men than i in my profession; but it is my honest belief, eric, that if you were to consult them they would tell you just what i have told you, neither more nor less."
""then there is no hope," said eric in a tone of despair.
""you can do nothing for her?"
david took from the back of his chair a crochet antimacassar with a lion rampant in the center and spread it over his knee.
""i can do nothing for her," he said, scowling at that work of art.
""i do not believe any living man can do anything for her.
but i do not say -- exactly -- that there is no hope."
""come, david, i am in no mood for guessing riddles.
speak plainly, man, and do n't torment me."
david frowned dubiously and poked his finger through the hole which represented the eye of the king of beasts.
""i do n't know that i can make it plain to you.
it is n't very plain to myself.
and it is only a vague theory of mine, of course.
i can not substantiate it by any facts.
in short, eric, i think it is possible that kilmeny may speak sometime -- if she ever wants it badly enough."
""wants to!
why, man, she wants to as badly as it is possible for any one to want anything.
she loves me with all her heart and she wo n't marry me because she ca n't speak.
do n't you suppose that a girl under such circumstances would "want" to speak as much as any one could?"
""yes, but i do not mean that sort of wanting, no matter how strong the wish may be.
what i do mean is -- a sudden, vehement, passionate inrush of desire, physical, psychical, mental, all in one, mighty enough to rend asunder the invisible fetters that hold her speech in bondage.
if any occasion should arise to evoke such a desire i believe that kilmeny would speak -- and having once spoken would thenceforth be normal in that respect -- ay, if she spoke but the one word."
""all this sounds like great nonsense to me," said eric restlessly.
""i suppose you have an idea what you are talking about, but i have n't.
and, in any case, it practically means that there is no hope for her -- or me.
even if your theory is correct it is not likely such an occasion as you speak of will ever arise.
and kilmeny will never marry me."
""do n't give up so easily, old fellow.
there have been cases on record where women have changed their minds."
""not women like kilmeny," said eric miserably.
""i tell you she has all her mother's unfaltering will and tenacity of purpose, although she is free from any taint of pride or selfishness.
i thank you for your sympathy and interest, david.
you have done all you could -- but, heavens, what it would have meant to me if you could have helped her!"
with a groan eric flung himself on a chair and buried his face in his hands.
it was a moment which held for him all the bitterness of death.
he had thought that he was prepared for disappointment; he had not known how strong his hope had really been until that hope was utterly taken from him.
david, with a sigh, returned the crochet antimacassar carefully to its place on the chair back.
""eric, last night, to be honest, i thought that, if i found i could not help this girl, it would be the best thing that could happen, as far as you were concerned.
but since i have seen her -- well, i would give my right hand if i could do anything for her.
she is the wife for you, if we could make her speak; yes, and by the memory of your mother" -- david brought his fist down on the window sill with a force that shook the casement, -- "she is the wife for you, speech or no speech, if we could only convince her of it."
""she can not be convinced of that.
no, david, i have lost her.
did you tell her what you have told me?"
""i told her i could not help her.
i did not say anything to her of my theory -- that would have done no good."
""how did she take it?"
""very bravely and quietly -- "like a winsome lady".
but the look in her eyes -- eric, i felt as if i had murdered something.
she bade me good-bye with a pitiful smile and went upstairs.
i did not see her again, although i stayed to dinner as her uncle's request.
those old gordons are a queer pair.
i liked them, though.
they are strong and staunch -- good friends, bitter enemies.
they were sorry that i could not help kilmeny, but i saw plainly that old thomas gordon thought that i had been meddling with predestination in attempting it."
eric smiled mechanically.
""i must go up and see kilmeny.
you'll excuse me, wo n't you, david?
my books are there -- help yourself."
but when eric reached the gordon house he saw only old janet, who told him that kilmeny was in her room and refused to see him.
""she thought you would come up, and she left this with me to give you, master."
janet handed him a little note.
it was very brief and blotted with tears.
""do not come any more, eric," it ran.
""i must not see you, because it would only make it harder for us both.
you must go away and forget me.
you will be thankful for this some day.
i shall always love and pray for you."
""kilmeny."
""i must see her," said eric desperately.
""aunt janet, be my friend.
tell her she must see me for a little while at least."
janet shook her head but went upstairs.
she soon returned.
""she says she can not come down.
you know she means it, master, and it is of no use to coax her.
and i must say i think she is right.
since she will not marry you it is better for her not to see you."
eric was compelled to go home with no better comfort than this.
in the morning, as it was sunday, he drove david baker to the station.
he had not slept and he looked so miserable and reckless that david felt anxious about him.
david would have stayed in lindsay for a few days, but a certain critical case in queenslea demanded his speedy return.
he shook hands with eric on the station platform.
""eric, give up that school and come home at once.
you can do no good in lindsay now, and you'll only eat your heart out here."
""i must see kilmeny once more before i leave," was all eric's answer.
that afternoon he went again to the gordon homestead.
but the result was the same; kilmeny refused to see him, and thomas gordon said gravely, "master, you know i like you and i am sorry kilmeny thinks as she does, though maybe she is right.
i would be glad to see you often for your own sake and i'll miss you much; but as things are i tell you plainly you'd better not come here any more.
it will do no good, and the sooner you and she get over thinking about each other the better for you both.
go now, lad, and god bless you."
""do you know what it is you are asking of me?"
said eric hoarsely.
""i know i am asking a hard thing for your own good, master.
it is not as if kilmeny would ever change her mind.
we have had some experience with a woman's will ere this.
tush, janet, woman, do n't be weeping.
you women are foolish creatures.
do you think tears can wash such things away?
no, they can not blot out sin, or the consequences of sin.
it's awful how one sin can spread out and broaden, till it eats into innocent lives, sometimes long after the sinner has gone to his own accounting.
master, if you take my advice, you'll give up the lindsay school and go back to your own world as soon as may be."
chapter xvii.
a broken fetter eric went home with a white, haggard face.
he had never thought it was possible for a man to suffer as he suffered then.
what was he to do?
it seemed impossible to go on with life -- there was no life apart from kilmeny.
anguish wrung his soul until his strength went from him and youth and hope turned to gall and bitterness in his heart.
he never afterwards could tell how he lived through the following sunday or how he taught school as usual on monday.
he found out how much a man may suffer and yet go on living and working.
his body seemed to him an automaton that moved and spoke mechanically, while his tortured spirit, pent-up within, endured pain that left its impress on him for ever.
out of that fiery furnace of agony eric marshall was to go forth a man who had put boyhood behind him for ever and looked out on life with eyes that saw into it and beyond.
on tuesday afternoon there was a funeral in the district and, according to custom, the school was closed.
eric went again to the old orchard.
he had no expectation of seeing kilmeny there, for he thought she would avoid the spot lest she might meet him.
but he could not keep away from it, although the thought of it was an added torment, and he vibrated between a wild wish that he might never see it again, and a sick wonder how he could possibly go away and leave it -- that strange old orchard where he had met and wooed his sweetheart, watching her develop and blossom under his eyes, like some rare flower, until in the space of three short months she had passed from exquisite childhood into still more exquisite womanhood.
as he crossed the pasture field before the spruce wood he came upon neil gordon, building a longer fence.
neil did not look up as eric passed, but sullenly went on driving poles.
before this eric had pitied neil; now he was conscious of feeling sympathy with him.
had neil suffered as he was suffering?
eric had entered into a new fellowship whereof the passport was pain.
the orchard was very silent and dreamy in the thick, deep tinted sunshine of the september afternoon, a sunshine which seemed to possess the power of extracting the very essence of all the odours which summer has stored up in wood and field.
there were few flowers now; most of the lilies, which had queened it so bravely along the central path a few days before, were withered.
the grass had become ragged and sere and unkempt.
but in the corners the torches of the goldenrod were kindling and a few misty purple asters nodded here and there.
the orchard kept its own strange attractiveness, as some women with youth long passed still preserve an atmosphere of remembered beauty and innate, indestructible charm.
eric walked drearily and carelessly about it, and finally sat down on a half fallen fence panel in the shadow of the overhanging spruce boughs.
there he gave himself up to a reverie, poignant and bitter sweet, in which he lived over again everything that had passed in the orchard since his first meeting there with kilmeny.
so deep was his abstraction that he was conscious of nothing around him.
he did not hear stealthy footsteps behind him in the dim spruce wood.
he did not even see kilmeny as she came slowly around the curve of the wild cherry lane.
kilmeny had sought the old orchard for the healing of her heartbreak, if healing were possible for her.
she had no fear of encountering eric there at that time of day, for she did not know that it was the district custom to close the school for a funeral.
she would never have gone to it in the evening, but she longed for it continually; it, and her memories, were all that was left her now.
years seemed to have passed over the girl in those few days.
she had drunk of pain and broken bread with sorrow.
her face was pale and strained, with bluish, transparent shadows under her large wistful eyes, out of which the dream and laughter of girlhood had gone, but into which had come the potent charm of grief and patience.
thomas gordon had shaken his head bodingly when he had looked at her that morning at the breakfast table.
""she wo n't stand it," he thought.
""she is n't long for this world.
maybe it is all for the best, poor lass.
but i wish that young master had never set foot in the connors orchard, or in this house.
margaret, margaret, it's hard that your child should have to be paying the reckoning of a sin that was sinned before her birth."
kilmeny walked through the lane slowly and absently like a woman in a dream.
when she came to the gap in the fence where the lane ran into the orchard she lifted her wan, drooping face and saw eric, sitting in the shadow of the wood at the other side of the orchard with his bowed head in his hands.
she stopped quickly and the blood rushed wildly over her face.
the next moment it ebbed, leaving her white as marble.
horror filled her eyes, -- blank, deadly horror, as the livid shadow of a cloud might fill two blue pools.
behind eric neil gordon was standing tense, crouched, murderous.
even at that distance kilmeny saw the look on his face, saw what he held in his hand, and realized in one agonized flash of comprehension what it meant.
all this photographed itself in her brain in an instant.
she knew that by the time she could run across the orchard to warn eric by a touch it would be too late.
yet she must warn him -- she must -- she must!
a mighty surge of desire seemed to rise up within her and overwhelm her like a wave of the sea, -- a surge that swept everything before it in an irresistible flood.
as neil gordon swiftly and vindictively, with the face of a demon, lifted the axe he held in his hand, kilmeny sprang forward through the gap.
""eric, eric, look behind you -- look behind you!"
eric started up, confused, bewildered, as the voice came shrieking across the orchard.
he did not in the least realize that it was kilmeny who had called to him, but he instinctively obeyed the command.
he wheeled around and saw neil gordon, who was looking, not at him, but past him at kilmeny.
the italian boy's face was ashen and his eyes were filled with terror and incredulity, as if he had been checked in his murderous purpose by some supernatural interposition.
the axe, lying at his feet where he had dropped it in his unutterable consternation on hearing kilmeny's cry told the whole tale.
but before eric could utter a word neil turned, with a cry more like that of an animal than a human being, and fled like a hunted creature into the shadow of the spruce wood.
a moment later kilmeny, her lovely face dewed with tears and sunned over with smiles, flung herself on eric's breast.
""oh, eric, i can speak, -- i can speak!
oh, it is so wonderful!
eric, i love you -- i love you!"
chapter xviii.
neil gordon solves his own problem "it is a miracle!"
said thomas gordon in an awed tone.
it was the first time he had spoken since eric and kilmeny had rushed in, hand in hand, like two children intoxicated with joy and wonder, and gasped out their story together to him and janet.
""oh, no, it is very wonderful, but it is not a miracle," said eric.
""david told me it might happen.
i had no hope that it would.
he could explain it all to you if he were here."
thomas gordon shook his head.
""i doubt if he could, master -- he, or any one else.
it is near enough to a miracle for me.
let us thank god reverently and humbly that he has seen fit to remove his curse from the innocent.
your doctors may explain it as they like, lad, but i'm thinking they wo n't get much nearer to it than that.
it is awesome, that is what it is.
janet, woman, i feel as if i were in a dream.
can kilmeny really speak?"
""indeed i can, uncle," said kilmeny, with a rapturous glance at eric.
""oh, i do n't know how it came to me -- i felt that i must speak -- and i did.
and it is so easy now -- it seems to me as if i could always have done it."
she spoke naturally and easily.
the only difficulty which she seemed to experience was in the proper modulation of her voice.
occasionally she pitched it too high -- again, too low.
but it was evident that she would soon acquire perfect control of it.
it was a beautiful voice -- very clear and soft and musical.
""oh, i am so glad that the first word i said was your name, dearest," she murmured to eric.
""what about neil?"
asked thomas gordon gravely, rousing himself with an effort from his abstraction of wonder.
""what are we to do with him when he returns?
in one way this is a sad business."
eric had almost forgotten about neil in his overwhelming amazement and joy.
the realization of his escape from sudden and violent death had not yet had any opportunity to take possession of his thoughts.
""we must forgive him, mr. gordon.
i know how i should feel towards a man who took kilmeny from me.
it was an evil impulse to which he gave way in his suffering -- and think of the good which has resulted from it."
""that is true, master, but it does not alter the terrible fact that the boy had murder in his heart, -- that he would have killed you.
an over-ruling providence has saved him from the actual commission of the crime and brought good out of evil; but he is guilty in thought and purpose.
and we have cared for him and instructed him as our own -- with all his faults we have loved him!
it is a hard thing, and i do not see what we are to do.
we can not act as if nothing had happened.
we can never trust him again."
but neil gordon solved the problem himself.
when eric returned that night he found old robert williamson in the pantry regaling himself with a lunch of bread and cheese after a trip to the station.
timothy sat on the dresser in black velvet state and gravely addressed himself to the disposal of various tid-bits that came his way.
""good night, master.
glad to see you're looking more like yourself.
i told the wife it was only a lover's quarrel most like.
she's been worrying about you; but she did n't like to ask you what was the trouble.
she ai n't one of them unfortunate folks who ca n't be happy athout they're everlasting poking their noses into other people's business.
but what kind of a rumpus was kicked up at the gordon place, to-night, master?"
eric looked amazed.
what could robert williamson have heard so soon?
""what do you mean?"
he asked.
""why, us folks at the station knew there must have been a to-do of some kind when neil gordon went off on the harvest excursion the way he did."
""neil gone!
on the harvest excursion!"
exclaimed eric.
""yes, sir.
you know this was the night the excursion train left.
they cross on the boat to-night -- special trip.
there was a dozen or so fellows from hereabouts went.
we was all standing around chatting when lincoln frame drove up full speed and neil jumped out of his rig.
just bolted into the office, got his ticket and out again, and on to the train without a word to any one, and as black looking as the old scratch himself.
we was all too surprised to speak till he was gone.
lincoln could n't give us much information.
he said neil had rushed up to their place about dark, looking as if the constable was after him, and offered to sell that black filly of his to lincoln for sixty dollars if lincoln would drive him to the station in time to catch the excursion train.
the filly was neil's own, and lincoln had been wanting to buy her but neil would never hear to it afore.
lincoln jumped at the chance.
neil had brought the filly with him, and lincoln hitched right up and took him to the station.
neil had n't no luggage of any kind and would n't open his mouth the whole way up, lincoln says.
we concluded him and old thomas must have had a row.
d'ye know anything about it?
or was you so wrapped up in sweethearting that you did n't hear or see nothing else?"
eric reflected rapidly.
he was greatly relieved to find that neil had gone.
he would never return and this was best for all concerned.
old robert must be told a part of the truth at least, since it would soon become known that kilmeny could speak.
""there was some trouble at the gordon place to-night, mr. williamson," he said quietly.
""neil gordon behaved rather badly and frightened kilmeny terribly, -- so terribly that a very surprising thing has happened.
she has found herself able to speak, and can speak perfectly."
old robert laid down the piece of cheese he was conveying to his mouth on the point of a knife and stared at eric in blank amazement.
""god bless my soul, master, what an extraordinary thing!"
he ejaculated.
""are you in earnest?
or are you trying to see how much of a fool you can make of the old man?"
""no, mr. williamson, i assure you it is no more than the simple truth.
dr. baker told me that a shock might cure her, -- and it has.
as for neil, he has gone, no doubt for good, and i think it well that he has."
not caring to discuss the matter further, eric left the kitchen.
but as he mounted the stairs to his room he heard old robert muttering, like a man in hopeless bewilderment, "well, i never heard anything like this in all my born days -- never -- never.
timothy, did you ever hear the like?
them gordons are an unaccountable lot and no mistake.
they could n't act like other people if they tried.
i must wake mother up and tell her about this, or i'll never be able to sleep."
chapter xix.
victor from vanquished issues now that everything was settled eric wished to give up teaching and go back to his own place.
true, he had "signed papers" to teach the school for a year; but he knew that the trustees would let him off if he procured a suitable substitute.
he resolved to teach until the fall vacation, which came in october, and then go.
kilmeny had promised that their marriage should take place in the following spring.
eric had pleaded for an earlier date, but kilmeny was sweetly resolute, and thomas and janet agreed with her.
""there are so many things that i must learn yet before i shall be ready to be married," kilmeny had said.
""and i want to get accustomed to seeing people.
i feel a little frightened yet whenever i see any one i do n't know, although i do n't think i show it.
i am going to church with uncle and aunt after this, and to the missionary society meetings.
and uncle thomas says that he will send me to a boarding school in town this winter if you think it advisable."
eric vetoed this promptly.
the idea of kilmeny in a boarding school was something that could not be thought about without laughter.
""i ca n't see why she ca n't learn all she needs to learn after she is married to me, just as well as before," he grumbled to her uncle and aunt.
""but we want to keep her with us for another winter yet," explained thomas gordon patiently.
""we are going to miss her terrible when she does go, master.
she has never been away from us for a day -- she is all the brightness there is in our lives.
it is very kind of you to say that she can come home whenever she likes, but there will be a great difference.
she will belong to your world and not to ours.
that is for the best -- and we would n't have it otherwise.
but let us keep her as our own for this one winter yet."
eric yielded with the best grace he could muster.
after all, he reflected, lindsay was not so far from queenslea, and there were such things as boats and trains.
""have you told your father about all this yet?"
asked janet anxiously.
no, he had not.
but he went home and wrote a full account of his summer to old mr. marshall that night.
mr. marshall, senior, answered the letter in person.
a few days later, eric, coming home from school, found his father sitting in mrs. williamson's prim, fleckless parlour.
nothing was said about eric's letter, however, until after tea.
when they found themselves alone, mr. marshall said abruptly, "eric, what about this girl?
i hope you have n't gone and made a fool of yourself.
it sounds remarkably like it.
a girl that has been dumb all her life -- a girl with no right to her father's name -- a country girl brought up in a place like lindsay!
your wife will have to fill your mother's place, -- and your mother was a pearl among women.
do you think this girl is worthy of it?
it is n't possible!
you've been led away by a pretty face and dairy maid freshness.
i expected some trouble out of this freak of yours coming over here to teach school."
""wait until you see kilmeny, father," said eric, smiling.
""humph!
that's just exactly what david baker said.
i went straight to him when i got your letter, for i knew that there was some connection between it and that mysterious visit of his over here, concerning which i never could drag a word out of him by hook or crook.
and all he said was, "wait until you see kilmeny gordon, sir."
well, i will wait till i see her, but i shall look at her with the eyes of sixty-five, mind you, not the eyes of twenty-four.
and if she is n't what your wife ought to be, sir, you give her up or paddle your own canoe.
i shall not aid or abet you in making a fool of yourself and spoiling your life."
eric bit his lip, but only said quietly, "come with me, father.
we will go to see her now."
they went around by way of the main road and the gordon lane.
kilmeny was not in when they reached the house.
""she is up in the old orchard, master," said janet.
""she loves that place so much she spends all her spare time there.
she likes to go there to study."
they sat down and talked awhile with thomas and janet.
when they left, mr. marshall said, "i like those people.
if thomas gordon had been a man like robert williamson i should n't have waited to see your kilmeny.
but they are all right -- rugged and grim, but of good stock and pith -- native refinement and strong character.
but i must say candidly that i hope your young lady has n't got her aunt's mouth."
""kilmeny's mouth is like a love-song made incarnate in sweet flesh," said eric enthusiastically.
""humph!"
said mr. marshall.
""well," he added more tolerantly, a moment later, "i was a poet, too, for six months in my life when i was courting your mother."
kilmeny was reading on the bench under the lilac trees when they reached the orchard.
she stood up and came shyly forward to meet them, guessing who the tall, white-haired old gentleman with eric must be.
as she approached eric saw with a thrill of exultation that she had never looked lovelier.
she wore a dress of her favourite blue, simply and quaintly made, as all her gowns were, revealing the perfect lines of her lithe, slender figure.
her glossy black hair was wound about her head in a braided coronet, against which a spray of wild asters shone like pale purple stars.
her face was flushed delicately with excitement.
she looked like a young princess, crowned with a ruddy splash of sunlight that fell through the old trees.
""father, this is kilmeny," said eric proudly.
kilmeny held out her hand with a shyly murmured greeting.
mr. marshall took it and held it in his, looking so steadily and piercingly into her face that even her frank gaze wavered before the intensity of his keen old eyes.
then he drew her to him and kissed her gravely and gently on her white forehead.
""my dear," he said, "i am glad and proud that you have consented to be my son's wife -- and my very dear and honoured daughter."
eric turned abruptly away to hide his emotion and on his face was a light as of one who sees a great glory widening and deepening down the vista of his future.
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___lucy_maud_montgomery_short_stories,_1896_to_1901.txt.out
a case of trespass it was the forenoon of a hazy, breathless day, and dan phillips was trouting up one of the back creeks of the carleton pond.
it was somewhat cooler up the creek than out on the main body of water, for the tall birches and willows, crowding down to the brim, threw cool, green shadows across it and shut out the scorching glare, while a stray breeze now and then rippled down the wooded slopes, rustling the beech leaves with an airy, pleasant sound.
out in the pond the glassy water creamed and shimmered in the hot sun, unrippled by the faintest breath of air.
across the soft, pearly tints of the horizon blurred the smoke of the big factory chimneys that were owned by mr. walters, to whom the pond and adjacent property also belonged.
mr. walters was a comparative stranger in carleton, having but recently purchased the factories from the heirs of the previous owner; but he had been in charge long enough to establish a reputation for sternness and inflexibility in all his business dealings.
one or two of his employees, who had been discharged by him on what they deemed insufficient grounds, helped to deepen the impression that he was an unjust and arbitrary man, merciless to all offenders, and intolerant of the slightest infringement of his cast-iron rules.
dan phillips had been on the pond ever since sunrise.
the trout had risen well in the early morning, but as the day wore on, growing hotter and hotter, they refused to bite, and for half an hour dan had not caught one.
he had a goodly string of them already, however, and he surveyed them with satisfaction as he rowed his leaky little skiff to the shore of the creek.
""pretty good catch," he soliloquized.
""best i've had this summer, so far.
that big spotted one must weigh near a pound.
he's a beauty.
they're a good price over at the hotels now, too.
i'll go home and get my dinner and go straight over with them.
that'll leave me time for another try at them about sunset.
whew, how hot it is!
i must take ella may home a bunch of them blue flags.
they're real handsome!"
he tied his skiff under the crowding alders, gathered a big bunch of the purple flag lilies with their silky petals, and started homeward, whistling cheerily as he stepped briskly along the fern-carpeted wood path that wound up the hill under the beeches and firs.
he was a freckled, sunburned lad of thirteen years.
his neighbours all said that danny was "as smart as a steel trap," and immediately added that they wondered where he got his smartness from -- certainly not from his father!
the elder phillips had been denominated "shiftless and slack-twisted" by all who ever had any dealings with him in his unlucky, aimless life -- one of those improvident, easygoing souls who sit contentedly down to breakfast with a very faint idea where their dinner is to come from.
when he had died, no one had missed him, unless it were his patient, sad-eyed wife, who bravely faced her hard lot, and toiled unremittingly to keep a home for her two children -- dan and a girl two years younger, who was a helpless cripple, suffering from some form of spinal disease.
dan, who was old and steady for his years, had gone manfully to work to assist his mother.
though he had been disappointed in all his efforts to obtain steady employment, he was active and obliging, and earned many a small amount by odd jobs around the village, and by helping the carleton farmers in planting and harvest.
for the last two years, however, his most profitable source of summer income had been the trout pond.
the former owner had allowed anyone who wished to fish in his pond, and dan made a regular business of it, selling his trout at the big hotels over at mosquito lake.
this, in spite of its unattractive name, was a popular summer resort, and dan always found a ready market for his catch.
when mr. walters purchased the property it somehow never occurred to dan that the new owner might not be so complaisant as his predecessor in the matter of the best trouting pond in the country.
to be sure, dan often wondered why it was the pond was so deserted this summer.
he could not recall having seen a single person on it save himself.
still, it did not cross his mind that there could be any particular reason for this.
he always fished up in the cool, dim creeks, which long experience had taught him were best for trout, and came and went by a convenient wood path; but he had no thought of concealment in so doing.
he would not have cared had all carleton seen him.
he had done very well with his fish so far, and prices for trout at the lake went up every day.
dan was an enterprising boy, and a general favourite with the hotel owners.
they knew that he could always be depended on.
mrs. phillips met him at the door when he reached home.
""see, mother," said dan exultantly, as he held up his fish.
""just look at that fellow, will you?
a pound if he's an ounce!
i ought to get a good price for these, i can tell you.
let me have my dinner now, and i'll go right over to the lake with them."
""it's a long walk for you, danny," replied his mother pityingly, "and it's too hot to go so far.
i'm afraid you'll get sun-struck or something.
you'd better wait till the cool of the evening.
you're looking real pale and thin this while back."
""oh, i'm all right, mother," assured dan cheerfully.
""i do n't mind the heat a bit.
a fellow must put up with some inconveniences.
wait till i bring home the money for these fish.
and i mean to have another catch tonight.
it's you that's looking tired.
i wish you did n't have to work so hard, mother.
if i could only get a good place you could take it easier.
sam french says that mr. walters wants a boy up there at the factory, but i know i would n't do.
i ai n't big enough.
perhaps something will turn up soon though.
when our ship comes in, mother, we'll have our good times."
he picked up his flags and went into the little room where his sister lay.
""see what i've brought you, ella may!"
he said, as he thrust the cool, moist clusters into her thin, eager hands.
""did you ever see such beauties?"
""oh, dan, how lovely they are!
thank you ever so much!
if you are going over to the lake this afternoon, will you please call at mrs. henny's and get those nutmeg geranium slips she promised me?
just look how nice my others are growing.
the pink one is going to bloom."
""i'll bring you all the geranium slips at the lake, if you like.
when i get rich, ella may, i'll build you a big conservatory, and i'll get every flower in the world in it for you.
you shall just live and sleep among posies.
is dinner ready, mother?
trouting's hungry work, i tell you.
what paper is this?"
he picked up a folded newspaper from the table.
""oh, that's only an old lake advertiser," answered mrs. phillips, as she placed the potatoes on the table and wiped her moist, hot face with the corner of her gingham apron.
""letty mills brought it in around a parcel this morning.
it's four weeks old, but i kept it to read if i ever get time.
it's so seldom we see a paper of any kind nowadays.
but i have n't looked at it yet.
why, danny, what on earth is the matter?"
for dan, who had opened the paper and glanced over the first page, suddenly gave a choked exclamation and turned pale, staring stupidly at the sheet before him.
""see, mother," he gasped, as she came up in alarm and looked over his shoulder.
this is what they read: notice anyone found fishing on my pond at carleton after date will be prosecuted according to law, without respect of persons.
june first.
h.c. walters.
""oh, danny, what does it mean?"
dan went and carefully closed the door of ella may's room before he replied.
his face was pale and his voice shaky.
""mean?
well, mother, it just means that i've been stealing mr. walters's trout all summer -- stealing them.
that's what it means."
""oh, danny!
but you did n't know."
""no, but i ought to have remembered that he was the new owner, and have asked him.
i never thought.
mother, what does "prosecuted according to law" mean?"
""i do n't know, i'm sure, danny.
but if this is so, there's only one thing to be done.
you must go straight to mr. walters and tell him all about it."
""mother, i do n't dare to.
he is a dreadfully hard man.
sam french's father says --" "i would n't believe a word sam french's father says about mr. walters!"
said mrs. phillips firmly.
""he's got a spite against him because he was dismissed.
besides, danny, it's the only right thing to do.
you know that.
we're poor, but we have never done anything underhand yet."
""yes, mother, i know," said dan, gulping his fear bravely down.
""i'll go, of course, right after dinner.
i was only scared at first.
i'll tell you what i'll do.
i'll clean these trout nicely and take them to mr. walters, and tell him that, if he'll only give me time, i'll pay him back every cent of money i got for all i sold this summer.
then maybe he'll let me off, seeing as i did n't know about the notice."
""i'll go with you, danny."
""no, i'll go alone, mother.
you need n't go with me," said dan heroically.
to himself he said that his mother had troubles enough.
he would never subject her to the added ordeal of an interview with the stern factory owner.
he would beard the lion in his den himself, if it had to be done.
""do n't tell ella may anything about it.
it would worry her.
and do n't cry, mother, i guess it'll be all right.
let me have my dinner now and i'll go straight off."
dan ate his dinner rapidly; then he carefully cleaned his trout, put them in a long basket, with rhubarb leaves over them, and started with an assumed cheerfulness very far from his real feelings.
he had barely passed the gate when another boy came shuffling along -- a tall, raw-boned lad, with an insinuating smile and shifty, cunning eyes.
the newcomer nodded familiarly to dan.
""hello, sonny.
going over to the lake with your catch, are you?
you'll fry up before you get there.
there'll be nothing left of you but a crisp."
""no, i'm not going to the lake.
i'm going up to the factory to see mr. walters."
sam french gave a long whistle of surprise.
""why, dan, what's taking you there?
you surely ai n't thinking of trying for that place, are you?
walters would n't look at you.
why, he would n't take me!
you have n't the ghost of a chance."
""no, i'm not going for that.
sam, did you know that mr. walters had a notice in the lake advertiser that nobody could fish in his pond this summer?"
""course i did -- the old skinflint!
he's too mean to live, that's what.
he never goes near the pond himself.
regular dog in the manger, he is.
dad says --" "sam, why did n't you tell me about that notice?"
""gracious, did n't you know?
i s "posed everybody did, and here i've been taking you for the cutest chap this side of sunset -- fishing away up in that creek where no one could see you, and cutting home through the woods on the sly.
you do n't mean to tell me you never saw that notice?"
""no, i did n't.
do you think i'd have gone near the pond if i had?
i never saw it till today, and i'm going straight to mr. walters now to tell him about it."
sam french stopped short in the dusty road and stared at dan in undisguised amazement.
""dan phillips," he ejaculated, "have you plum gone out of your mind?
boy alive, you need n't be afraid that i'd peach on you.
i'm too blamed glad to see anyone get the better of that old walters, smart as he thinks himself.
gee!
to dream of going to him and telling him you've been fishing in his pond!
why, he'll put you in jail.
you do n't know what sort of a man he is.
dad says --" "never mind what your dad says, sam.
my mind's made up."
""dan, you chump, listen to me.
that notice says "prosecuted according to law."
why, danny, he'll put you in prison, or fine you, or something dreadful."
""i ca n't help it if he does," said danny stoutly.
""you get out of here, sam french, and do n't be trying to scare me.
i mean to be honest, and how can i be if i do n't own up to mr. walters that i've been stealing his trout all summer?"
""stealing, fiddlesticks!
dan, i used to think you were a chap with some sense, but i see i was mistaken.
you ai n't done no harm.
walters will never miss them trout.
if you're so dreadful squeamish that you wo n't fish no more, why, you need n't.
but just let the matter drop and hold your tongue about it.
that's my advice."
""well, it is n't my mother's, then.
i mean to go by hers.
you need n't argue no more, sam.
i'm going."
""go, then!"
said sam, stopping short in disgust.
""you're a big fool, dan, and serve you right if walters lands you off to jail; but i do n't wish you no ill.
if i can do anything for your family after you're gone, i will, and i'll try and give your remains christian burial -- if there are any remains.
so long, danny!
give my love to old walters!"
dan was not greatly encouraged by this interview.
he shrank more than ever from the thought of facing the stern factory owner.
his courage had almost evaporated when he entered the office at the factory and asked shakily for mr. walters.
""he's in his office there," replied the clerk, "but he's very busy.
better leave your message with me."
""i must see mr. walters himself, please," said dan firmly, but with inward trepidation.
the clerk swung himself impatiently from his stool and ushered dan into mr. walters's private office.
""boy to see you, sir," he said briefly, as he closed the ground-glass door behind him.
dan, dizzy and trembling, stood in the dreaded presence.
mr. walters was writing at a table covered with a businesslike litter of papers.
he laid down his pen and looked up with a frown as the clerk vanished.
he was a stern-looking man with deep-set grey eyes and a square, clean-shaven chin.
there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his frame, and his voice and manner were those of the decided, resolute, masterful man of business.
he pointed to a capacious leather chair and said concisely, "what is your business with me, boy?"
dan had carefully thought out a statement of facts beforehand, but every word had vanished from his memory.
he had only a confused, desperate consciousness that he had a theft to confess and that it must be done as soon as possible.
he did not sit down.
""please, mr. walters," he began desperately, "i came to tell you -- your notice -- i never saw it before -- and i've been fishing on your pond all summer -- but i did n't know -- honest -- i've brought you all i caught today -- and i'll pay back for them all -- some time."
an amused, puzzled expression crossed mr. walters's noncommittal face.
he pushed the leather chair forward.
""sit down, my boy," he said kindly.
""i do n't quite understand this somewhat mixed-up statement of yours.
you've been fishing on my pond, you say.
did n't you see my notice in the advertiser?"
dan sat down more composedly.
the revelation was over and he was still alive.
""no, sir.
we hardly ever see an advertiser, and nobody told me.
i'd always been used to fishing there, and i never thought but what it was all right to keep on.
i know i ought to have remembered and asked you, but truly, sir, i did n't mean to steal your fish.
i used to sell them over at the hotels.
we saw the notice today, mother and me, and i came right up.
i've brought you the trout i caught this morning, and -- if only you wo n't prosecute me, sir, i'll pay back every cent i got for the others -- every cent, sir -- if you'll give me time."
mr. walters passed his hand across his mouth to conceal something like a smile.
""your name is dan phillips, is n't it?"
he said irrelevantly, "and you live with your mother, the widow phillips, down there at carleton corners, i understand."
""yes, sir," said dan, wondering how mr. walters knew so much about him, and if these were the preliminaries of prosecution.
mr. walters took up his pen and drew a blank sheet towards him.
""well, dan, i put that notice in because i found that many people who used to fish on my pond, irrespective of leave or licence, were accustomed to lunch or camp on my property, and did not a little damage.
i do n't care for trouting myself; i've no time for it.
however, i hardly think you'll do much damage.
you can keep on fishing there.
i'll give you a written permission, so that if any of my men see you they wo n't interfere with you.
as for these trout here, i'll buy them from you at mosquito lake prices, and will say no more about the matter.
how will that do?"
""thank you, sir," stammered dan.
he could hardly believe his ears.
he took the slip of paper mr. walters handed to him and rose to his feet.
""wait a minute, dan.
how was it you came to tell me this?
you might have stopped your depredations, and i should not have been any the wiser."
""that would n't have been honest, sir," said dan, looking squarely at him.
there was a brief silence.
mr. walters thrummed meditatively on the table.
dan waited wonderingly.
finally the factory owner said abruptly, "there's a vacant place for a boy down here.
i want it filled as soon as possible.
will you take it?"
""mr. walters!
me!
" dan thought the world must be turning upside down.
""yes, you.
you are rather young, but the duties are not hard or difficult to learn.
i think you'll do.
i was resolved not to fill that place until i could find a perfectly honest and trustworthy boy for it.
i believe i have found him.
i discharged the last boy because he lied to me about some trifling offence for which i would have forgiven him if he had told the truth.
i can bear with incompetency, but falsehood and deceit i can not and will not tolerate," he said, so sternly that dan's face paled.
""i am convinced that you are incapable of either.
will you take the place, dan?"
""i will if you think i can fill it, sir.
i will do my best."
""yes, i believe you will.
perhaps i know more about you than you think.
businessmen must keep their eyes open.
we'll regard this matter as settled then.
come up tomorrow at eight o'clock.
and one word more, dan.
you have perhaps heard that i am an unjust and hard master.
i am not the former, and you will never have occasion to find me the latter if you are always as truthful and straightforward as you have been today.
you might easily have deceived me in this matter.
that you did not do so is the best and only recommendation i require.
take those trout up to my house and leave them.
that will do.
good afternoon."
dan somehow got his dazed self through the glass door and out of the building.
the whole interview had been such a surprise to him that he was hardly sure whether or not he had dreamed it all.
""i feel as if i were some person else," he said to himself, as he started down the hot white road.
""but mother was right.
i'll stick to her motto.
i wonder what sam will say to this."
a christmas inspiration "well, i really think santa claus has been very good to us all," said jean lawrence, pulling the pins out of her heavy coil of fair hair and letting it ripple over her shoulders.
""so do i," said nellie preston as well as she could with a mouthful of chocolates.
""those blessed home folks of mine seem to have divined by instinct the very things i most wanted."
it was the dusk of christmas eve and they were all in jean lawrence's room at no. 16 chestnut terrace.
no. 16 was a boarding-house, and boarding-houses are not proverbially cheerful places in which to spend christmas, but jean's room, at least, was a pleasant spot, and all the girls had brought their christmas presents in to show each other.
christmas came on sunday that year and the saturday evening mail at chestnut terrace had been an exciting one.
jean had lighted the pink-globed lamp on her table and the mellow light fell over merry faces as the girls chatted about their gifts.
on the table was a big white box heaped with roses that betokened a bit of christmas extravagance on somebody's part.
jean's brother had sent them to her from montreal, and all the girls were enjoying them in common.
no. 16 chestnut terrace was overrun with girls generally.
but just now only five were left; all the others had gone home for christmas, but these five could not go and were bent on making the best of it.
belle and olive reynolds, who were sitting on the bed -- jean could never keep them off it -- were high school girls; they were said to be always laughing, and even the fact that they could not go home for christmas because a young brother had measles did not dampen their spirits.
beth hamilton, who was hovering over the roses, and nellie preston, who was eating candy, were art students, and their homes were too far away to visit.
as for jean lawrence, she was an orphan, and had no home of her own.
she worked on the staff of one of the big city newspapers and the other girls were a little in awe of her cleverness, but her nature was a "chummy" one and her room was a favourite rendezvous.
everybody liked frank, open-handed and hearted jean.
""it was so funny to see the postman when he came this evening," said olive.
""he just bulged with parcels.
they were sticking out in every direction."
""we all got our share of them," said jean with a sigh of content.
""even the cook got six -- i counted."
""miss allen did n't get a thing -- not even a letter," said beth quickly.
beth had a trick of seeing things that other girls did n't.
""i forgot miss allen.
no, i do n't believe she did," answered jean thoughtfully as she twisted up her pretty hair.
""how dismal it must be to be so forlorn as that on christmas eve of all times.
ugh!
i'm glad i have friends."
""i saw miss allen watching us as we opened our parcels and letters," beth went on.
""i happened to look up once, and such an expression as was on her face, girls!
it was pathetic and sad and envious all at once.
it really made me feel bad -- for five minutes," she concluded honestly.
""has n't miss allen any friends at all?"
asked beth.
""no, i do n't think she has," answered jean.
""she has lived here for fourteen years, so mrs. pickrell says.
think of that, girls!
fourteen years at chestnut terrace!
is it any wonder that she is thin and dried-up and snappy?"
""nobody ever comes to see her and she never goes anywhere," said beth.
""dear me!
she must feel lonely now when everybody else is being remembered by their friends.
i ca n't forget her face tonight; it actually haunts me.
girls, how would you feel if you had n't anyone belonging to you, and if nobody thought about you at christmas?"
""ow!"
said olive, as if the mere idea made her shiver.
a little silence followed.
to tell the truth, none of them liked miss allen.
they knew that she did not like them either, but considered them frivolous and pert, and complained when they made a racket.
""the skeleton at the feast," jean called her, and certainly the presence of the pale, silent, discontented-looking woman at the no. 16 table did not tend to heighten its festivity.
presently jean said with a dramatic flourish, "girls, i have an inspiration -- a christmas inspiration!"
""what is it?"
cried four voices.
""just this.
let us give miss allen a christmas surprise.
she has not received a single present and i'm sure she feels lonely.
just think how we would feel if we were in her place."
""that is true," said olive thoughtfully.
""do you know, girls, this evening i went to her room with a message from mrs. pickrell, and i do believe she had been crying.
her room looked dreadfully bare and cheerless, too.
i think she is very poor.
what are we to do, jean?"
""let us each give her something nice.
we can put the things just outside of her door so that she will see them whenever she opens it.
i'll give her some of fred's roses too, and i'll write a christmassy letter in my very best style to go with them," said jean, warming up to her ideas as she talked.
the other girls caught her spirit and entered into the plan with enthusiasm.
""splendid!"
cried beth.
""jean, it is an inspiration, sure enough.
have n't we been horribly selfish -- thinking of nothing but our own gifts and fun and pleasure?
i really feel ashamed."
""let us do the thing up the very best way we can," said nellie, forgetting even her beloved chocolates in her eagerness.
""the shops are open yet.
let us go up town and invest."
five minutes later five capped and jacketed figures were scurrying up the street in the frosty, starlit december dusk.
miss allen in her cold little room heard their gay voices and sighed.
she was crying by herself in the dark.
it was christmas for everybody but her, she thought drearily.
in an hour the girls came back with their purchases.
""now, let's hold a council of war," said jean jubilantly.
""i had n't the faintest idea what miss allen would like so i just guessed wildly.
i got her a lace handkerchief and a big bottle of perfume and a painted photograph frame -- and i'll stick my own photo in it for fun.
that was really all i could afford.
christmas purchases have left my purse dreadfully lean."
""i got her a glove-box and a pin tray," said belle, "and olive got her a calendar and whittier's poems.
and besides we are going to give her half of that big plummy fruit cake mother sent us from home.
i'm sure she has n't tasted anything so delicious for years, for fruit cakes do n't grow on chestnut terrace and she never goes anywhere else for a meal."
beth had bought a pretty cup and saucer and said she meant to give one of her pretty water-colours too.
nellie, true to her reputation, had invested in a big box of chocolate creams, a gorgeously striped candy cane, a bag of oranges, and a brilliant lampshade of rose-coloured crepe paper to top off with.
""it makes such a lot of show for the money," she explained.
""i am bankrupt, like jean."
""well, we've got a lot of pretty things," said jean in a tone of satisfaction.
""now we must do them up nicely.
will you wrap them in tissue paper, girls, and tie them with baby ribbon -- here's a box of it -- while i write that letter?"
while the others chatted over their parcels jean wrote her letter, and jean could write delightful letters.
she had a decided talent in that respect, and her correspondents all declared her letters to be things of beauty and joy forever.
she put her best into miss allen's christmas letter.
since then she has written many bright and clever things, but i do not believe she ever in her life wrote anything more genuinely original and delightful than that letter.
besides, it breathed the very spirit of christmas, and all the girls declared that it was splendid.
""you must all sign it now," said jean, "and i'll put it in one of those big envelopes; and, nellie, wo n't you write her name on it in fancy letters?"
which nellie proceeded to do, and furthermore embellished the envelope by a border of chubby cherubs, dancing hand in hand around it and a sketch of no. 16 chestnut terrace in the corner in lieu of a stamp.
not content with this she hunted out a huge sheet of drawing paper and drew upon it an original pen-and-ink design after her own heart.
a dudish cat -- miss allen was fond of the no. 16 cat if she could be said to be fond of anything -- was portrayed seated on a rocker arrayed in smoking jacket and cap with a cigar waved airily aloft in one paw while the other held out a placard bearing the legend "merry christmas."
a second cat in full street costume bowed politely, hat in paw, and waved a banner inscribed with "happy new year," while faintly suggested kittens gambolled around the border.
the girls laughed until they cried over it and voted it to be the best thing nellie had yet done in original work.
all this had taken time and it was past eleven o'clock.
miss allen had cried herself to sleep long ago and everybody else in chestnut terrace was abed when five figures cautiously crept down the hall, headed by jean with a dim lamp.
outside of miss allen's door the procession halted and the girls silently arranged their gifts on the floor.
""that's done," whispered jean in a tone of satisfaction as they tiptoed back.
""and now let us go to bed or mrs. pickrell, bless her heart, will be down on us for burning so much midnight oil.
oil has gone up, you know, girls."
it was in the early morning that miss allen opened her door.
but early as it was, another door down the hall was half open too and five rosy faces were peering cautiously out.
the girls had been up for an hour for fear they would miss the sight and were all in nellie's room, which commanded a view of miss allen's door.
that lady's face was a study.
amazement, incredulity, wonder, chased each other over it, succeeded by a glow of pleasure.
on the floor before her was a snug little pyramid of parcels topped by jean's letter.
on a chair behind it was a bowl of delicious hot-house roses and nellie's placard.
miss allen looked down the hall but saw nothing, for jean had slammed the door just in time.
half an hour later when they were going down to breakfast miss allen came along the hall with outstretched hands to meet them.
she had been crying again, but i think her tears were happy ones; and she was smiling now.
a cluster of jean's roses were pinned on her breast.
""oh, girls, girls," she said, with a little tremble in her voice, "i can never thank you enough.
it was so kind and sweet of you.
you do n't know how much good you have done me."
breakfast was an unusually cheerful affair at no. 16 that morning.
there was no skeleton at the feast and everybody was beaming.
miss allen laughed and talked like a girl herself.
""oh, how surprised i was!"
she said.
""the roses were like a bit of summer, and those cats of nellie's were so funny and delightful.
and your letter too, jean!
i cried and laughed over it.
i shall read it every day for a year."
after breakfast everyone went to christmas service.
the girls went uptown to the church they attended.
the city was very beautiful in the morning sunshine.
there had been a white frost in the night and the tree-lined avenues and public squares seemed like glimpses of fairyland.
""how lovely the world is," said jean.
""this is really the very happiest christmas morning i have ever known," declared nellie.
""i never felt so really christmassy in my inmost soul before."
""i suppose," said beth thoughtfully, "that it is because we have discovered for ourselves the old truth that it is more blessed to give than to receive.
i've always known it, in a way, but i never realized it before."
""blessing on jean's christmas inspiration," said nellie.
""but, girls, let us try to make it an all-the-year-round inspiration, i say.
we can bring a little of our own sunshine into miss allen's life as long as we live with her."
""amen to that!"
said jean heartily.
""oh, listen, girls -- the christmas chimes!"
and over all the beautiful city was wafted the grand old message of peace on earth and good will to all the world.
a christmas mistake "tomorrow is christmas," announced teddy grant exultantly, as he sat on the floor struggling manfully with a refractory bootlace that was knotted and tagless and stubbornly refused to go into the eyelets of teddy's patched boots.
""ai n't i glad, though.
hurrah!"
his mother was washing the breakfast dishes in a dreary, listless sort of way.
she looked tired and broken-spirited.
ted's enthusiasm seemed to grate on her, for she answered sharply: "christmas, indeed.
i ca n't see that it is anything for us to rejoice over.
other people may be glad enough, but what with winter coming on i'd sooner it was spring than christmas.
mary alice, do lift that child out of the ashes and put its shoes and stockings on.
everything seems to be at sixes and sevens here this morning."
keith, the oldest boy, was coiled up on the sofa calmly working out some algebra problems, quite oblivious to the noise around him.
but he looked up from his slate, with his pencil suspended above an obstinate equation, to declaim with a flourish: "christmas comes but once a year, and then mother wishes it was n't here."
""i do n't, then," said gordon, son number two, who was preparing his own noon lunch of bread and molasses at the table, and making an atrocious mess of crumbs and sugary syrup over everything.
""i know one thing to be thankful for, and that is that there'll be no school.
we'll have a whole week of holidays."
gordon was noted for his aversion to school and his affection for holidays.
""and we're going to have turkey for dinner," declared teddy, getting up off the floor and rushing to secure his share of bread and molasses, "and cranb "ry sauce and -- and -- pound cake!
ai n't we, ma?"
""no, you are not," said mrs. grant desperately, dropping the dishcloth and snatching the baby on her knee to wipe the crust of cinders and molasses from the chubby pink-and-white face.
""you may as well know it now, children, i've kept it from you so far in hopes that something would turn up, but nothing has.
we ca n't have any christmas dinner tomorrow -- we ca n't afford it.
i've pinched and saved every way i could for the last month, hoping that i'd be able to get a turkey for you anyhow, but you'll have to do without it.
there's that doctor's bill to pay and a dozen other bills coming in -- and people say they ca n't wait.
i suppose they ca n't, but it's kind of hard, i must say."
the little grants stood with open mouths and horrified eyes.
no turkey for christmas!
was the world coming to an end?
would n't the government interfere if anyone ventured to dispense with a christmas celebration?
the gluttonous teddy stuffed his fists into his eyes and lifted up his voice.
keith, who understood better than the others the look on his mother's face, took his blubbering young brother by the collar and marched him into the porch.
the twins, seeing the summary proceeding, swallowed the outcries they had intended to make, although they could n't keep a few big tears from running down their fat cheeks.
mrs. grant looked pityingly at the disappointed faces about her.
""do n't cry, children, you make me feel worse.
we are not the only ones who will have to do without a christmas turkey.
we ought to be very thankful that we have anything to eat at all.
i hate to disappoint you, but it ca n't be helped."
""never mind, mother," said keith, comfortingly, relaxing his hold upon the porch door, whereupon it suddenly flew open and precipitated teddy, who had been tugging at the handle, heels over head backwards.
""we know you've done your best.
it's been a hard year for you.
just wait, though.
i'll soon be grown up, and then you and these greedy youngsters shall feast on turkey every day of the year.
hello, teddy, have you got on your feet again?
mind, sir, no more blubbering!"
""when i'm a man," announced teddy with dignity, "i'd just like to see you put me in the porch.
and i mean to have turkey all the time and i wo n't give you any, either."
""all right, you greedy small boy.
only take yourself off to school now, and let us hear no more squeaks out of you.
tramp, all of you, and give mother a chance to get her work done."
mrs. grant got up and fell to work at her dishes with a brighter face.
""well, we must n't give in; perhaps things will be better after a while.
i'll make a famous bread pudding, and you can boil some molasses taffy and ask those little smithsons next door to help you pull it.
they wo n't whine for turkey, i'll be bound.
i do n't suppose they ever tasted such a thing in all their lives.
if i could afford it, i'd have had them all in to dinner with us.
that sermon mr. evans preached last sunday kind of stirred me up.
he said we ought always to try and share our christmas joy with some poor souls who had never learned the meaning of the word.
i ca n't do as much as i'd like to.
it was different when your father was alive."
the noisy group grew silent as they always did when their father was spoken of.
he had died the year before, and since his death the little family had had a hard time.
keith, to hide his feelings, began to hector the rest.
""mary alice, do hurry up.
here, you twin nuisances, get off to school.
if you do n't you'll be late and then the master will give you a whipping."
""he wo n't," answered the irrepressible teddy.
""he never whips us, he does n't.
he stands us on the floor sometimes, though," he added, remembering the many times his own chubby legs had been seen to better advantage on the school platform.
""that man," said mrs. grant, alluding to the teacher, "makes me nervous.
he is the most abstracted creature i ever saw in my life.
it is a wonder to me he does n't walk straight into the river some day.
you'll meet him meandering along the street, gazing into vacancy, and he'll never see you nor hear a word you say half the time."
""yesterday," said gordon, chuckling over the remembrance, "he came in with a big piece of paper he'd picked up on the entry floor in one hand and his hat in the other -- and he stuffed his hat into the coal-scuttle and hung up the paper on a nail as grave as you please.
never knew the difference till ned slocum went and told him.
he's always doing things like that."
keith had collected his books and now marched his brothers and sisters off to school.
left alone with the baby, mrs. grant betook herself to her work with a heavy heart.
but a second interruption broke the progress of her dish-washing.
""i declare," she said, with a surprised glance through the window, "if there is n't that absent-minded schoolteacher coming through the yard!
what can he want?
dear me, i do hope teddy has n't been cutting capers in school again."
for the teacher's last call had been in october and had been occasioned by the fact that the irrepressible teddy would persist in going to school with his pockets filled with live crickets and in driving them harnessed to strings up and down the aisle when the teacher's back was turned.
all mild methods of punishment having failed, the teacher had called to talk it over with mrs. grant, with the happy result that teddy's behaviour had improved -- in the matter of crickets at least.
but it was about time for another outbreak.
teddy had been unnaturally good for too long a time.
poor mrs. grant feared that it was the calm before a storm, and it was with nervous haste that she went to the door and greeted the young teacher.
he was a slight, pale, boyish-looking fellow, with an abstracted, musing look in his large dark eyes.
mrs. grant noticed with amusement that he wore a white straw hat in spite of the season.
his eyes were directed to her face with his usual unseeing gaze.
""just as though he was looking through me at something a thousand miles away," said mrs. grant afterwards.
""i believe he was, too.
his body was right there on the step before me, but where his soul was is more than you or i or anybody can tell."
""good morning," he said absently.
""i have just called on my way to school with a message from miss millar.
she wants you all to come up and have christmas dinner with her tomorrow."
""for the land's sake!"
said mrs. grant blankly.
""i do n't understand."
to herself she thought, "i wish i dared take him and shake him to find if he's walking in his sleep or not."
""you and all the children -- every one," went on the teacher dreamily, as if he were reciting a lesson learned beforehand.
""she told me to tell you to be sure and come.
shall i say that you will?"
""oh, yes, that is -- i suppose -- i do n't know," said mrs. grant incoherently.
""i never expected -- yes, you may tell her we'll come," she concluded abruptly.
""thank you," said the abstracted messenger, gravely lifting his hat and looking squarely through mrs. grant into unknown regions.
when he had gone mrs. grant went in and sat down, laughing in a sort of hysterical way.
""i wonder if it is all right.
could cornelia really have told him?
she must, i suppose, but it is enough to take one's breath."
mrs. grant and cornelia millar were cousins, and had once been the closest of friends, but that was years ago, before some spiteful reports and ill-natured gossip had come between them, making only a little rift at first that soon widened into a chasm of coldness and alienation.
therefore this invitation surprised mrs. grant greatly.
miss cornelia was a maiden lady of certain years, with a comfortable bank account and a handsome, old-fashioned house on the hill behind the village.
she always boarded the schoolteachers and looked after them maternally; she was an active church worker and a tower of strength to struggling ministers and their families.
""if cornelia has seen fit at last to hold out the hand of reconciliation i'm glad enough to take it.
dear knows, i've wanted to make up often enough, but i did n't think she ever would.
we've both of us got too much pride and stubbornness.
it's the turner blood in us that does it.
the turners were all so set.
but i mean to do my part now she has done hers."
and mrs. grant made a final attack on the dishes with a beaming face.
when the little grants came home and heard the news, teddy stood on his head to express his delight, the twins kissed each other, and mary alice and gordon danced around the kitchen.
keith thought himself too big to betray any joy over a christmas dinner, but he whistled while doing the chores until the bare welkin in the yard rang, and teddy, in spite of unheard of misdemeanours, was not collared off into the porch once.
when the young teacher got home from school that evening he found the yellow house full of all sorts of delectable odours.
miss cornelia herself was concocting mince pies after the famous family recipe, while her ancient and faithful handmaiden, hannah, was straining into moulds the cranberry jelly.
the open pantry door revealed a tempting array of christmas delicacies.
""did you call and invite the smithsons up to dinner as i told you?"
asked miss cornelia anxiously.
""yes," was the dreamy response as he glided through the kitchen and vanished into the hall.
miss cornelia crimped the edges of her pies delicately with a relieved air.
""i made certain he'd forget it," she said.
""you just have to watch him as if he were a mere child.
did n't i catch him yesterday starting off to school in his carpet slippers?
and in spite of me he got away today in that ridiculous summer hat.
you'd better set that jelly in the out-pantry to cool, hannah; it looks good.
we'll give those poor little smithsons a feast for once in their lives if they never get another."
at this juncture the hall door flew open and mr. palmer appeared on the threshold.
he seemed considerably agitated and for once his eyes had lost their look of space-searching.
""miss millar, i am afraid i did make a mistake this morning -- it has just dawned on me.
i am almost sure that i called at mrs. grant's and invited her and her family instead of the smithsons.
and she said they would come."
miss cornelia's face was a study.
""mr. palmer," she said, flourishing her crimping fork tragically, "do you mean to say you went and invited linda grant here tomorrow?
linda grant, of all women in this world!"
""i did," said the teacher with penitent wretchedness.
""it was very careless of me -- i am very sorry.
what can i do?
i'll go down and tell them i made a mistake if you like."
""you ca n't do that," groaned miss cornelia, sitting down and wrinkling up her forehead in dire perplexity.
""it would never do in the world.
for pity's sake, let me think for a minute."
miss cornelia did think -- to good purpose evidently, for her forehead smoothed out as her meditations proceeded and her face brightened.
then she got up briskly.
""well, you've done it and no mistake.
i do n't know that i'm sorry, either.
anyhow, we'll leave it as it is.
but you must go straight down now and invite the smithsons too.
and for pity's sake, do n't make any more mistakes."
when he had gone miss cornelia opened her heart to hannah.
""i never could have done it myself -- never; the turner is too strong in me.
but i'm glad it is done.
i've been wanting for years to make up with linda.
and now the chance has come, thanks to that blessed blundering boy, i mean to make the most of it.
mind, hannah, you never whisper a word about its being a mistake.
linda must never know.
poor linda!
she's had a hard time.
hannah, we must make some more pies, and i must go straight down to the store and get some more santa claus stuff; i've only got enough to go around the smithsons."
when mrs. grant and her family arrived at the yellow house next morning miss cornelia herself ran out bareheaded to meet them.
the two women shook hands a little stiffly and then a rill of long-repressed affection trickled out from some secret spring in miss cornelia's heart and she kissed her new-found old friend tenderly.
linda returned the kiss warmly, and both felt that the old-time friendship was theirs again.
the little smithsons all came and they and the little grants sat down on the long bright dining room to a dinner that made history in their small lives, and was eaten over again in happy dreams for months.
how those children did eat!
and how beaming miss cornelia and grim-faced, soft-hearted hannah and even the absent-minded teacher himself enjoyed watching them!
after dinner miss cornelia distributed among the delighted little souls the presents she had bought for them, and then turned them loose in the big shining kitchen to have a taffy pull -- and they had it to their hearts" content!
and as for the shocking, taffyfied state into which they got their own rosy faces and that once immaculate domain -- well, as miss cornelia and hannah never said one word about it, neither will i.
the four women enjoyed the afternoon in their own way, and the schoolteacher buried himself in algebra to his own great satisfaction.
when her guests went home in the starlit december dusk, miss cornelia walked part of the way with them and had a long confidential talk with mrs. grant.
when she returned it was to find hannah groaning in and over the kitchen and the schoolteacher dreamily trying to clean some molasses off his boots with the kitchen hairbrush.
long-suffering miss cornelia rescued her property and despatched mr. palmer into the woodshed to find the shoe-brush.
then she sat down and laughed.
""hannah, what will become of that boy yet?
there's no counting on what he'll do next.
i do n't know how he'll ever get through the world, i'm sure, but i'll look after him while he's here at least.
i owe him a huge debt of gratitude for this christmas blunder.
what an awful mess this place is in!
but, hannah, did you ever in the world see anything so delightful as that little tommy smithson stuffing himself with plum cake, not to mention teddy grant?
it did me good just to see them."
a strayed allegiance "will you go to the cove with me this afternoon?"
it was marian lesley who asked the question.
esterbrook elliott unpinned with a masterful touch the delicate cluster of noisette rosebuds she wore at her throat and transferred them to his buttonhole as he answered courteously: "certainly.
my time, as you know, is entirely at your disposal."
they were standing in the garden under the creamy bloom of drooping acacia trees.
one long plume of blossoms touched lightly the soft, golden-brown coils of the girl's hair and cast a wavering shadow over the beautiful, flower-like face beneath it.
esterbrook elliott, standing before her, thought proudly that he had never seen a woman who might compare with her.
in every detail she satisfied his critical, fastidious taste.
there was not a discordant touch about her.
esterbrook elliott had always loved marian lesley -- or thought he had.
they had grown up together from childhood.
he was an only son and she an only daughter.
it had always been an understood thing between the two families that the boy and girl should marry.
but marian's father had decreed that no positive pledge should pass between them until marian was twenty-one.
esterbrook accepted his mapped-out destiny and selected bride with the conviction that he was an exceptionally lucky fellow.
out of all the women in the world marian was the very one whom he would have chosen as mistress of his fine, old home.
she had been his boyhood's ideal.
he believed that he loved her sincerely, but he was not too much in love to be blind to the worldly advantages of his marriage with his cousin.
his father had died two years previously, leaving him wealthy and independent.
marian had lost her mother in childhood; her father died when she was eighteen.
since then she had lived alone with her aunt.
her life was quiet and lonely.
esterbrook's companionship was all that brightened it, but it was enough.
marian lavished on him all the rich, womanly love of her heart.
on her twenty-first birthday they were formally betrothed.
they were to be married in the following autumn.
no shadow had drifted across the heaven of her happiness.
she believed herself secure in her lover's unfaltering devotion.
true, at times she thought his manner lacked a lover's passionate ardour.
he was always attentive and courteous.
she had only to utter a wish to find that it had been anticipated; he spent every spare minute at her side.
yet sometimes she half wished he would betray more lover-like impatience and intensity.
were all lovers as calm and undemonstrative?
she reproached herself for this incipient disloyalty as often as it vexingly intruded its unwelcome presence across her inner consciousness.
surely esterbrook was fond and devoted enough to satisfy the most exacting demands of affection.
marian herself was somewhat undemonstrative and reserved.
passing acquaintances called her cold and proud.
only the privileged few knew the rich depths of womanly tenderness in her nature.
esterbrook thought that he fully appreciated her.
as he had walked homeward the night of their betrothal, he had reviewed with unconscious criticism his mental catalogue of marian's graces and good qualities, admitting, with supreme satisfaction, that there was not one thing about her that he could wish changed.
this afternoon, under the acacias, they had been planning about their wedding.
there was no one to consult but themselves.
they were to be married early in september and then go abroad.
esterbrook mapped out the details of their bridal tour with careful thoughtfulness.
they would visit all the old-world places that marian wished to see.
afterwards they would come back home.
he discussed certain changes he wished to make in the old elliott mansion to fit it for a young and beautiful mistress.
he did most of the planning.
marian was content to listen in happy silence.
afterwards she had proposed this walk to the cove.
""what particular object of charity have you found at the cove now?"
asked esterbrook, with lazy interest, as they walked along.
""mrs. barrett's little bessie is very ill with fever," answered marian.
then, catching his anxious look, she hastened to add, "it is nothing infectious -- some kind of a slow, sapping variety.
there is no danger, esterbrook."
""i was not afraid for myself," he replied quietly.
""my alarm was for you.
you are too precious to me, marian, for me to permit you to risk health and life, if it were dangerous.
what a lady bountiful you are to those people at the cove.
when we are married you must take me in hand and teach me your creed of charity.
i'm afraid i've lived a rather selfish life.
you will change all that, dear.
you will make a good man of me."
""you are that now, esterbrook," she said softly.
""if you were not, i could not love you."
""it is a negative sort of goodness, i fear.
i have never been tried or tempted severely.
perhaps i should fail under the test."
""i am sure you would not," answered marian proudly.
esterbrook laughed; her faith in him was pleasant.
he had no thought but that he would prove worthy of it.
the cove, so-called, was a little fishing hamlet situated on the low, sandy shore of a small bay.
the houses, clustered in one spot, seemed like nothing so much as larger shells washed up by the sea, so grey and bleached were they from long exposure to sea winds and spray.
dozens of ragged children were playing about them, mingled with several disreputable yellow curs that yapped noisily at the strangers.
down on the sandy strip of beach below the houses groups of men were lounging about.
the mackerel, season had not yet set in; the spring herring netting was past.
it was holiday time among the sea folks.
they were enjoying it to the full, a happy, ragged colony, careless of what the morrows might bring forth.
out beyond, the boats were at anchor, floating as gracefully on the twinkling water as sea birds, their tall masts bowing landward on the swell.
a lazy, dreamful calm had fallen over the distant seas; the horizon blues were pale and dim; faint purple hazes blurred the outlines of far-off headlands and cliffs; the yellow sands sparkled in the sunshine as if powdered with jewels.
a murmurous babble of life buzzed about the hamlet, pierced through by the shrill undertones of the wrangling children, most of whom had paused in their play to scan the visitors with covert curiosity.
marian led the way to a house apart from the others at the very edge of the shelving rock.
the dooryard was scrupulously clean and unlittered; the little footpath through it was neatly bordered by white clam shells; several thrifty geraniums in bloom looked out from the muslin-curtained windows.
a weary-faced woman came forward to meet them.
""bessie's much the same, miss lesley," she said, in answer to marian's inquiry.
""the doctor you sent was here today and did all he could for her.
he seemed quite hopeful.
she do n't complain or nothing -- just lies there and moans.
sometimes she gets restless.
it's very kind of you to come so often, miss lesley.
here, magdalen, will you put this basket the lady's brought up there on the shelf?"
a girl, who had been sitting unnoticed with her back to the visitors, at the head of the child's cot in one corner of the room, stood up and slowly turned around.
marian and esterbrook elliott both started with involuntary surprise.
esterbrook caught his breath like a man suddenly awakened from sleep.
in the name of all that was wonderful, who or what could this girl be, so little in harmony with her surroundings?
standing in the crepuscular light of the corner, her marvellous beauty shone out with the vivid richness of some rare painting.
she was tall, and the magnificent proportions of her figure were enhanced rather than marred by the severely plain dress of dark print that she wore.
the heavy masses of her hair, a shining auburn dashed with golden foam, were coiled in a rich, glossy knot at the back of the classically modelled head and rippled back from a low brow whose waxen fairness even the breezes of the ocean had spared.
the girl's face was a full, perfect oval, with features of faultless regularity, and the large, full eyes were of tawny hazel, darkened into inscrutable gloom in the dimness of the corner.
not even marian lesley's face was more delicately tinted, but not a trace of colour appeared in the smooth, marble-like cheeks; yet the waxen pallor bore no trace of disease or weakness, and the large, curving mouth was of an intense crimson.
she stood quite motionless.
there was no trace of embarrassment or self-consciousness in her pose.
when mrs. barrett said, "this is my niece, magdalen crawford," she merely inclined her head in grave, silent acknowledgement.
as she moved forward to take marian's basket, she seemed oddly out of place in the low, crowded room.
her presence seemed to throw a strange restraint over the group.
marian rose and went over to the cot, laying her slender hand on the hot forehead of the little sufferer.
the child opened its brown eyes questioningly.
""how are you today, bessie?"
""mad "len -- i want mad "len," moaned the little plaintive voice.
magdalen came over and stood beside marian lesley.
""she wants me," she said in a low, thrilling voice; free from all harsh accent or intonation.
""i am the only one she seems to know always.
yes, darling, mad "len is here -- right beside you.
she will not leave you."
she knelt by the little cot and passed her arm under the child's neck, drawing the curly head close to her throat with a tender, soothing motion.
esterbrook elliott watched the two women intently -- the one standing by the cot, arrayed in simple yet costly apparel, with her beautiful, high-bred face, and the other, kneeling on the bare, sanded floor in her print dress, with her splendid head bent low over the child and the long fringe of burnished lashes sweeping the cold pallor of the oval cheek.
from the moment that magdalen crawford's haunting eyes had looked straight into his for one fleeting second, an unnamable thrill of pain and pleasure stirred his heart, a thrill so strong and sudden and passionate that his face paled with emotion; the room seemed to swim before his eyes in a mist out of which gleamed that wonderful face with its mesmeric, darkly radiant eyes, burning their way into deeps and abysses of his soul hitherto unknown to him.
when the mist cleared away and his head grew steadier, he wondered at himself.
yet he trembled in every limb and the only clear idea that struggled out of his confused thoughts was an overmastering desire to take that cold face between his hands and kiss it until its passionless marble glowed into warm and throbbing life.
""who is that girl?"
he said abruptly, when they had left the cottage.
""she is the most beautiful woman i have ever seen -- present company always excepted," he concluded, with a depreciatory laugh.
the delicate bloom on marian's face deepened slightly.
""you had much better to have omitted that last sentence," she said quietly, "it was so palpably an afterthought.
yes, she is wonderfully lovely -- a strange beauty, i fancied.
there seemed something odd and uncanny about it to me.
she must be mrs. barrett's niece.
i remember that when i was down here about a month ago mrs. barrett told me she expected a niece of hers to live with her -- for a time at least.
her parents were both dead, the father having died recently.
mrs. barrett seemed troubled about her.
she said that the girl had been well brought up and used to better things than the cove could give her, and she feared that she would be very discontented and unhappy.
i had forgotten all about it until i saw the girl today.
she certainly seems to be a very superior person; she will find the cove very lonely, i am sure.
it is not probable she will stay there long.
i must see what i can do for her, but her manner seemed rather repellent, do n't you think?"
""hardly," responded esterbrook curtly.
""she seemed surprisingly dignified and self-possessed, i fancied, for a girl in her position.
a princess could not have looked and bowed more royally.
there was not a shadow of embarrassment in her manner, in spite of the incongruity of her surroundings.
you had much better leave her alone, marian.
in all probability she would resent any condescension on your part.
what wonderful, deep, lovely eyes she has."
again the sensitive colour flushed marian's cheek as his voice lapsed unconsciously into a dreamy, retrospective tone, and a slight restraint came over her manner, which did not depart.
esterbrook went away at sunset.
marian asked him to remain for the evening, but he pleaded some excuse.
""i shall come tomorrow afternoon," he said, as he stooped to drop a careless good-bye kiss on her face.
marian watched him wistfully as he rode away, with an unaccountable pain in her heart.
she felt more acutely than ever that there were depths in her lover's nature that she was powerless to stir into responsive life.
had any other that power?
she thought of the girl at the cove, with her deep eyes and wonderful face.
a chill of premonitory fear seized upon her.
""i feel exactly as if esterbrook had gone away from me forever," she said slowly to herself, stooping to brush her cheek against a dew-cold, milk-white acacia bloom, "and would never come back to me again.
if that could happen, i wonder what there would be left to live for?"
* * * * * esterbrook elliott meant, or honestly thought he meant, to go home when he left marian.
nevertheless, when he reached the road branching off to the cove he turned his horse down it with a flush on his dark cheek.
he realized that the motive of the action was disloyal to marian and he felt ashamed of his weakness.
but the desire to see magdalen crawford once more and to look into the depths of her eyes was stronger than all else, and overpowered every throb of duty and resistance.
he saw nothing of her when he reached the cove.
he could think of no excuse for calling at the barrett cottage, so he rode slowly past the hamlet and along the shore.
the sun, red as a smouldering ember, was half buried in the silken violet rim of the sea; the west was a vast lake of saffron and rose and ethereal green, through which floated the curved shallop of a thin new moon, slowly deepening from lustreless white, through gleaming silver, into burnished gold, and attended by one solitary, pearl-white star.
the vast concave of sky above was of violet, infinite and flawless.
far out dusky amethystine islets clustered like gems on the shining breast of the bay.
the little pools of water along the low shores glowed like mirrors of polished jacinth.
the small, pine-fringed headlands ran out into the water, cutting its lustrous blue expanse like purple wedges.
as esterbrook turned one of them he saw magdalen standing out on the point of the next, a short distance away.
her back was towards him, and her splendid figure was outlined darkly against the vivid sky.
esterbrook sprang from his horse and left the animal standing by itself while he walked swiftly out to her.
his heart throbbed suffocatingly.
he was conscious of no direct purpose save merely to see her.
she turned when he reached her with a slight start of surprise.
his footsteps had made no sound on the tide-rippled sand.
for a few moments they faced each other so, eyes burning into eyes with mute soul-probing and questioning.
the sun had disappeared, leaving a stain of fiery red to mark his grave; the weird, radiant light was startlingly vivid and clear.
little crisp puffs and flakes of foam scurried over the point like elfin things.
the fresh wind, blowing up the bay, tossed the lustrous rings of hair about magdalen's pale face; all the routed shadows of the hour had found refuge in her eyes.
not a trace of colour appeared in her face under esterbrook elliott's burning gaze.
but when he said "magdalen!"
a single, hot scorch of crimson flamed up into her cheeks protestingly.
she lifted her hand with a splendid gesture, but no word passed her lips.
""magdalen, have you nothing to say to me?"
he asked, coming closer to her with an imploring passion in his face never seen by marian lesley's eyes.
he reached out his hand, but she stepped back from his touch.
""what should i have to say to you?"
""say that you are glad to see me."
""i am not glad to see you.
you have no right to come here.
but i knew you would come."
""you knew it?
how?"
""your eyes told me so today.
i am not blind -- i can see further than those dull fisher folks.
yes, i knew you would come.
that is why i came here tonight -- so that you would find me alone and i could tell you that you were not to come again."
""why must you tell me that, magdalen?"
""because, as i have told you, you have no right to come."
""but if i will not obey you?
if i will come in defiance of your prohibition?"
she turned her steady luminous eyes on his pale, set face.
""you would stamp yourself as a madman, then," she said coldly.
""i know that you are miss lesley's promised husband.
therefore, you are either false to her or insulting to me.
in either case the companionship of magdalen crawford is not what you must seek.
go!"
she turned away from him with an imperious gesture of dismissal.
esterbrook elliott stepped forward and caught one firm, white wrist.
""i shall not obey you," he said in a low, intense tone; his fine eyes burned into hers.
""you may send me away, but i will come back, again and yet again until you have learned to welcome me.
why should you meet me like an enemy?
why can we not be friends?"
the girl faced him once more.
""because," she said proudly, "i am not your equal.
there can be no friendship between us.
there ought not to be.
magdalen crawford, the fisherman's niece, is no companion for you.
you will be foolish, as well as disloyal, if you ever try to see me again.
go back to the beautiful, high-bred woman you love and forget me.
perhaps you think i am talking strangely.
perhaps you think me bold and unwomanly to speak so plainly to you, a stranger.
but there are some circumstances in life when plain-speaking is best.
i do not want to see you again.
now, go back to your own world."
esterbrook elliott slowly turned from her and walked in silence back to the shore.
in the shadows of the point he stopped to look back at her, standing out like some inspired prophetess against the fiery background of the sunset sky and silver-blue water.
the sky overhead was thick-sown with stars; the night breeze was blowing up from its lair in distant, echoing sea caves.
on his right the lights of the cove twinkled out through the dusk.
""i feel like a coward and a traitor," he said slowly.
""good god, what is this madness that has come over me?
is this my boasted strength of manhood?"
a moment later the hoof beats of his horse died away up the shore.
magdalen crawford lingered on the point until the last dull red faded out into the violet gloom of the june sea dusk, than which nothing can be rarer or diviner, and listened to the moan and murmur of the sea far out over the bay with sorrowful eyes and sternly set lips.
the next day, when the afternoon sun hung hot and heavy over the water, esterbrook elliott came again to the cove.
he found it deserted.
a rumour of mackerel had come, and every boat had sailed out in the rose-red dawn to the fishing grounds.
but down on a strip of sparkling yellow sand he saw magdalen crawford standing, her hand on the rope that fastened a small white dory to the fragment of a half-embedded wreck.
she was watching a huddle of gulls clustered on the tip of a narrow, sandy spit running out to the left.
she turned at the sound of his hurried foot-fall behind her.
her face paled slightly, and into the depths of her eyes leapt a passionate, mesmeric glow that faded as quickly as it came.
""you see i have come back in spite of your command, magdalen."
""i do see it," she answered in a gravely troubled voice.
""you are a madman who refuses to be warned."
""where are you going, magdalen?"
she had loosened the rope from the wreck.
""i am going to row over to chapel point for salt.
they think the boats will come in tonight loaded with mackerel -- look at them away out there by the score -- and salt will be needed."
""can you row so far alone?"
""easily.
i learned to row long ago -- for a pastime then.
since coming here i find it of great service to me."
she stepped lightly into the tiny shallop and picked up an oar.
the brilliant sunshine streamed about her, burnishing the rich tints of her hair into ruddy gold.
she balanced herself to the swaying of the dory with the grace of a sea bird.
the man looking at her felt his brain reel.
""good-bye, mr. elliott."
for answer he sprang into the dory and, snatching an oar, pushed against the old wreck with such energy that the dory shot out from the shore like a foam bell.
his sudden spring had set it rocking violently.
magdalen almost lost her footing and caught blindly at his arm.
as her fingers closed on his wrist a thrill as of fire shot through his every vein.
""why have you done this, mr. elliott?
you must go back."
""but i will not," he said masterfully, looking straight into her eyes with an imperiousness that sat well upon him.
""i am going to row you over to chapel point.
i have the oars -- i will be master this once, at least."
for an instant her eyes flashed defiant protest, then drooped before his.
a sudden, hot blush crimsoned her pale face.
his will had mastered hers; the girl trembled from head to foot, and the proud, sensitive, mouth quivered.
into the face of the man watching her breathlessly flashed a triumphant, passionate joy.
he put out his hand and gently pushed her down into the seat.
sitting opposite, he took up the oars and pulled out over the sheet of sparkling blue water, through which at first the bottom of white sand glimmered wavily but afterwards deepened to translucent, dim depths of greenness.
his heart throbbed tumultuously.
once the thought of marian drifted across his mind like a chill breath of wind, but it was forgotten when his eyes met magdalen's.
""tell me about yourself, magdalen," he said at last, breaking the tremulous, charmed, sparkling silence.
""there is nothing to tell," she answered with characteristic straightforwardness.
""my life has been a very uneventful one.
i have never been rich, or very well educated, but -- it used to be different from now.
i had some chance before -- before father died."
""you must have found it very lonely and strange when you came here first."
""yes.
at first i thought i should die -- but i do not mind it now.
i have made friends with the sea; it has taught me a great deal.
there is a kind of inspiration in the sea.
when one listens to its never-ceasing murmur afar out there, always sounding at midnight and midday, one's soul goes out to meet eternity.
sometimes it gives me so much pleasure that it is almost pain."
she stopped abruptly.
""i do n't know why i am talking to you like this."
""you are a strange girl, magdalen.
have you no other companion than the sea?"
""no.
why should i wish to have?
i shall not be here long."
elliott's face contracted with a spasm of pain.
""you are not going away, magdalen?"
""yes -- in the fall.
i have my own living to earn, you know.
i am very poor.
uncle and aunt are very kind, but i can not consent to burden them any longer than i can help."
a sigh that was almost a moan broke from esterbrook elliott's lips.
""you must not go away, magdalen.
you must stay here -- with me!"
""you forget yourself," she said proudly.
""how dare you speak to me so?
have you forgotten miss lesley?
or are you a traitor to us both?"
esterbrook made no answer.
he bowed his pale, miserable face before her, self-condemned.
the breast of the bay sparkled with its countless gems like the breast of a fair woman.
the shores were purple and amethystine in the distance.
far out, bluish, phantom-like sails clustered against the pallid horizon.
the dory danced like a feather over the ripples.
they were close under the shadow of chapel point.
* * * * * marian lesley waited in vain for her lover that afternoon.
when he came at last in the odorous dusk of the june night she met him on the acacia-shadowed verandah with cold sweetness.
perhaps some subtle woman-instinct whispered to her where and how he had spent the afternoon, for she offered him no kiss, nor did she ask him why he had failed to come sooner.
his eyes lingered on her in the dim light, taking in every detail of her sweet womanly refinement and loveliness, and with difficulty he choked back a groan.
again he asked himself what madness had come over him, and again for an answer rose up the vision of magdalen crawford's face as he had seen it that day, crimsoning beneath his gaze.
it was late when he left.
marian watched him out of sight, standing under the acacias.
she shivered as with a sudden chill.
""i feel as i think vashti must have felt," she murmured aloud, "when, discrowned and unqueened, she crept out of the gates of shushan to hide her broken heart.
i wonder if esther has already usurped my sceptre.
has that girl at the cove, with her pale, priestess-like face and mysterious eyes, stolen his heart from me?
perhaps not, for it may never have been mine.
i know that esterbrook elliott will be true to the letter of his vows to me, no matter what it may cost him.
but i want no pallid shadow of the love that belongs to another.
the hour of abdication is at hand, i fear.
and what will be left for throneless vashti then?"
esterbrook elliott, walking home through the mocking calm of the night, fought a hard battle with himself.
he was face to face with the truth at last -- the bitter knowledge that he had never loved marian lesley, save with a fond, brotherly affection, and that he did love magdalen crawford with a passion that threatened to sweep before it every vestige of his honour and loyalty.
he had seen her but three times -- and his throbbing heart lay in the hollow of her cold white hand.
he shut his eyes and groaned.
what madness.
what unutterable folly!
he was not free -- he was bound to another by every cord of honour and self-respect.
and, even were he free, magdalen crawford would be no fit wife for him -- in the eyes of the world, at least.
a girl from the cove -- a girl with little education and no social standing -- aye!
but he loved her.
he groaned again and again in his misery.
afar down the slope the bay waters lay like an inky strip and the distant, murmurous plaint of the sea came out of the stillness of the night; the lights at the cove glimmered faintly.
in the week that followed he went to the cove every day.
sometimes he did not see magdalen; at other times he did.
but at the end of the week he had conquered in the bitter, heart-crushing struggle with himself.
if he had weakly given way to the first mad sweep of a new passion, the strength of his manhood reasserted itself at last.
faltering and wavering were over, though there was passionate pain in his voice when he said at last, "i am not coming back again, magdalen."
they were standing in the shadow of the pine-fringed point that ran out to the left of the cove.
they had been walking together along the shore, watching the splendour of the sea sunset that flamed and glowed in the west, where there was a sea of mackerel clouds, crimson and amber tinted, with long, ribbon-like strips of apple-green sky between.
they had walked in silence, hand in hand, as children might have done, yet with the stir and throb of a mighty passion seething in their hearts.
magdalen turned as esterbrook spoke, and looked at him in a long silence.
the bay stretched out before them, tranced and shimmering; a few stars shone down through the gloom of dusk.
right across the translucent greens and roses and blues of the west hung a dark, unsightly cloud, like the blurred outline of a monstrous bat.
in the dim, reflected light the girl's mournful face took on a weird, unearthly beauty.
she turned her eyes from esterbrook elliott's set white face to the radiant gloom of the sea.
""that is best," she answered at last, slowly.
""best -- yes!
better that we had never met!
i love you -- you know it -- words are idle between us.
i never loved before -- i thought i did.
i made a mistake and i must pay the penalty of that mistake.
you understand me?"
""i understand," she answered simply.
""i do not excuse myself -- i have been weak and cowardly and disloyal.
but i have conquered myself -- i will be true to the woman to whom i am pledged.
you and i must not meet again.
i will crush this madness to death.
i think i have been delirious ever since that day i saw you first, magdalen.
my brain is clearer now.
i see my duty and i mean to do it at any cost.
i dare not trust myself to say more.
magdalen, i have much for which to ask your forgiveness."
""there is nothing to forgive," she said steadily.
""i have been as much to blame as you.
if i had been as resolute as i ought to have been -- if i had sent you away the second time as i did the first -- this would not have come to pass.
i have been weak too, and i deserve to atone for my weakness by suffering.
there is only one path open to us.
esterbrook, good-bye."
her voice quivered with an uncontrollable spasm of pain, but the misty, mournful eyes did not swerve from his.
the man stepped forward and caught her in his arms.
""magdalen, good-bye, my darling.
kiss me once -- only once -- before i go."
she loosened his arms and stepped back proudly.
""no!
no man kisses my lips unless he is to be my husband.
good-bye, dear."
he bowed his head silently and went away, looking back not once, else he might have seen her kneeling on the damp sand weeping noiselessly and passionately.
* * * * * marian lesley looked at his pale, determined face the next evening and read it like an open book.
she had grown paler herself; there were purple shadows under the sweet violet eyes that might have hinted of her own sleepless nights.
she greeted him calmly, holding out a steady, white hand of welcome.
she saw the traces of the struggle through which he had passed and knew that he had come off victor.
the knowledge made her task a little harder.
it would have been easier to let slip the straining cable than to cast it from her when it lay unresistingly in her hand.
for an instant her heart thrilled with an unutterably sweet hope.
might he not forget in time?
need she snap in twain the weakened bond between them after all?
perhaps she might win back her lost sceptre, yet if -- womanly pride throttled the struggling hope.
no divided allegiance, no hollow semblance of queenship for her!
her opportunity came when esterbrook asked with grave earnestness if their marriage might not be hastened a little -- could he not have his bride in august?
for a fleeting second marian closed her eyes and the slender hands, lying among the laces in her lap, clasped each other convulsively.
then she said quietly, "sometimes i have thought, esterbrook, that it might be better -- if we were never married at all."
esterbrook turned a startled face upon her.
""not married at all!
marian, what do you mean?"
""just what i say.
i do not think we are as well suited to each other after all as we have fancied.
we have loved each other as brother and sister might -- that is all.
i think it will be best to be brother and sister forever -- nothing more."
esterbrook sprang to his feet.
""marian, do you know what you are saying?
you surely can not have heard -- no one could have told you --" "i have heard nothing," she interrupted hurriedly.
""no one has told me anything.
i have only said what i have been thinking of late.
i am sure we have made a mistake.
it is not too late to remedy it.
you will not refuse my request, esterbrook?
you will set me free?"
""good heavens, marian!"
he said hoarsely.
""i can not realize that you are in earnest.
have you ceased to care for me?"
the rigidly locked hands were clasped a little tighter.
""no -- i shall always care for you as my friend if you will let me.
but i know we could not make each other happy -- the time for that has gone by.
i would never be satisfied, nor would you.
esterbrook, will you release me from a promise which has become an irksome fetter?"
he looked down on her upturned face mistily.
a great joy was surging up in his heart -- yet it was mingled with great regret.
he knew -- none better -- what was passing out of his life, what he was losing when he lost that pure, womanly nature.
""if you really mean this, marian," he said slowly, "if you really have come to feel that your truest love is not and never can be mine -- that i can not make you happy -- then there is nothing for me to do but to grant your request.
you are free."
""thank you, dear," she said gently, as she stood up.
she slipped his ring from her finger and held it out to him.
he took it mechanically.
he still felt dazed and unreal.
marian held out her hand.
""good-night, esterbrook," she said, a little wearily.
""i feel tired.
i am glad you see it all in the same light as i do."
""marian," he said earnestly, clasping the outstretched hand, "are you sure that you will be happy -- are you sure that you are doing a wise thing?"
""quite sure," she answered, with a faint smile.
""i am not acting rashly.
i have thought it all over carefully.
things are much better so, dear.
we will always be friends.
your joys and sorrows will be to me as my own.
when another love comes to bless your life, esterbrook, i will be glad.
and now, good-night.
i want to be alone now."
at the doorway he turned to look back at her, standing in all her sweet stateliness in the twilight duskness, and the keen realization of all he had lost made him bow his head with a quick pang of regret.
then he went out into the darkness of the summer night.
an hour later he stood alone on the little point where he had parted with magdalen the night before.
a restless night wind was moaning through the pines that fringed the bank behind him; the moon shone down radiantly, turning the calm expanse of the bay into a milk-white sheen.
he took marian's ring from his pocket and kissed it reverently.
then he threw it from him far out over the water.
for a second the diamond flashed in the moonlight; then, with a tiny splash, it fell among the ripples.
esterbrook turned his face to the cove, lying dark and silent in the curve between the crescent headlands.
a solitary light glimmered from the low eaves of the barrett cottage.
tomorrow, was his unspoken thought, i will be free; to go back to magdalen.
an invitation given on impulse it was a gloomy saturday morning.
the trees in the oaklawn grounds were tossing wildly in the gusts of wind, and sodden brown leaves were blown up against the windows of the library, where a score of girls were waiting for the principal to bring the mail in.
the big room echoed with the pleasant sound of girlish voices and low laughter, for in a fortnight school would close for the holidays, and they were all talking about their plans and anticipations.
only ruth mannering was, as usual, sitting by herself near one of the windows, looking out on the misty lawn.
she was a pale, slender girl, with a sad face, and was dressed in rather shabby black.
she had no special friend at oaklawn, and the other girls did not know much about her.
if they had thought about it at all, they would probably have decided that they did not like her; but for the most part they simply overlooked her.
this was not altogether their fault.
ruth was poor and apparently friendless, but it was not her poverty that was against her.
lou scott, who was "as poor as a church mouse," to quote her own frank admission, was the most popular girl in the seminary, the boon companion of the richest girls, and in demand with everybody.
but lou was jolly and frank and offhanded, while ruth was painfully shy and reserved, and that was the secret of the whole matter.
there was "no fun in her," the girls said, and so it came about that she was left out of their social life, and was almost as solitary at oaklawn as if she had been the only girl there.
she was there for the special purpose of studying music, and expected to earn her own living by teaching it when she left.
she believed that the girls looked down on her on this account; this was unjust, of course, but ruth had no idea how much her own coldness and reserve had worked against her.
across the room carol golden was, as usual, the centre of an animated group; golden carol as her particular friends sometimes called her, partly because of her beautiful voice, and partly because of her wonderful fleece of golden hair.
carol was one of the seminary pets, and seemed to ruth mannering to have everything that she had not.
presently the mail was brought in, and there was a rush to the table, followed by exclamations of satisfaction or disappointment.
in a few minutes the room was almost deserted.
only two girls remained: carol golden, who had dropped into a big chair to read her many letters; and ruth mannering, who had not received any and had gone silently back to her part of the window.
presently carol gave a little cry of delight.
her mother had written that she might invite any friend she wished home with her to spend the holidays.
carol had asked for this permission, and now that it had come was ready to dance for joy.
as to whom she would ask, there could be only one answer to that.
of course it must be her particular friend, maud russell, who was the cleverest and prettiest girl at oaklawn, at least so her admirers said.
she was undoubtedly the richest, and was the acknowledged "leader."
the girls affectionately called her "princess," and carol adored her with that romantic affection that is found only among school girls.
she knew, too, that maud would surely accept her invitation because she did not intend to go home.
her parents were travelling in europe, and she expected to spend her holidays with some cousins, who were almost strangers to her.
carol was so much pleased that she felt as if she must talk to somebody, so she turned to ruth.
""is n't it delightful to think that we'll all be going home in a fortnight?"
""yes, very -- for those that have homes to go to," said ruth drearily.
carol felt a quick pang of pity and self-reproach.
""have n't you?"
she asked.
ruth shook her head.
in spite of herself, the kindness of carol's tone brought the tears to her eyes.
""my mother died a year ago," she said in a trembling voice, "and since then i have had no real home.
we were quite alone in the world, mother and i, and now i have nobody."
""oh, i'm so sorry for you," cried carol impulsively.
she leaned forward and took ruth's hand in a gentle way.
""and do you mean to say that you'll have to stay here all through the holidays?
why, it will be horrid."
""oh, i shall not mind it much," said ruth quickly, "with study and practice most of the time.
only now, when everyone is talking about it, it makes me wish that i had some place to go."
carol dropped ruth's hand suddenly in the shock of a sudden idea that darted into her mind.
a stray girl passing through the hall called out, "ruth, miss siviter wishes to see you about something in room c." ruth got up quickly.
she was glad to get away, for it seemed to her that in another minute she would break down altogether.
carol golden hardly noticed her departure.
she gathered up her letters and went abstractedly to her room, unheeding a gay call for "golden carol" from a group of girls in the corridor.
maud russell was not in and carol was glad.
she wanted to be alone and fight down that sudden idea.
""it is ridiculous to think of it," she said aloud, with a petulance very unusual in golden carol, whose disposition was as sunny as her looks.
""why, i simply can not.
i have always been longing to ask maud to visit me, and now that the chance has come i am not going to throw it away.
i am very sorry for ruth, of course.
it must be dreadful to be all alone like that.
but it is n't my fault.
and she is so fearfully quiet and dowdy -- what would they all think of her at home?
frank and jack would make such fun of her.
i shall ask maud just as soon as she comes in."
maud did come in presently, but carol did not give her the invitation.
instead, she was almost snappish to her idol, and the princess soon went out again in something of a huff.
""oh, dear," cried carol, "now i've offended her.
what has got into me?
what a disagreeable thing a conscience is, although i'm sure i do n't know why mine should be prodding me so!
i do n't want to invite ruth mannering home with me for the holidays, but i feel exactly as if i should not have a minute's peace of mind all the time if i did n't.
mother would think it all right, of course.
she would not mind if ruth dressed in calico and never said anything but yes and no.
but how the boys would laugh!
i simply wo n't do it, conscience or no conscience."
in view of this decision it was rather strange that the next morning, carol golden went down to ruth mannering's lonely little room on corridor two and said, "ruth, will you go home with me for the holidays?
mother wrote me to invite anyone i wished to.
do n't say you ca n't come, dear, because you must."
carol never, as long as she lived, forgot ruth's face at that moment.
""it was absolutely transfigured," she said afterwards.
""i never saw anyone look so happy in my life."
* * * * * a fortnight later unwonted silence reigned at oaklawn.
the girls were scattered far and wide, and ruth mannering and carol golden were at the latter's home.
carol was a very much surprised girl.
under the influence of kindness and pleasure ruth seemed transformed into a different person.
her shyness and reserve melted away in the sunny atmosphere of the golden home.
mrs. golden took her into her motherly heart at once; and as for frank and jack, whose verdict carol had so dreaded, they voted ruth "splendid."
she certainly got along very well with them; and if she did not make the social sensation that pretty maud russell might have made, the goldens all liked her and carol was content.
""just four days more," sighed carol one afternoon, "and then we must go back to oaklawn.
can you realize it, ruth?"
ruth looked up from her book with a smile.
even in appearance she had changed.
there was a faint pink in her cheeks and a merry light in her eyes.
""i shall not be sorry to go back to work," she said.
""i feel just like it because i have had so pleasant a time here that it has heartened me up for next term.
i think it will be very different from last.
i begin to see that i kept to myself too much and brooded over fancied slights."
""and then you are to room with me since maud is not coming back," said carol.
""what fun we shall have.
did you ever toast marshmallows over the gas?
why, i declare, there is mr. swift coming up the walk.
look, ruth!
he is the richest man in westleigh."
ruth peeped out of the window over carol's shoulder.
""he reminds me of somebody," she said absently, "but i ca n't think who it is.
of course, i have never seen him before.
what a good face he has!"
""he is as good as he looks," said carol, enthusiastically.
""next to father, mr. swift is the nicest man in the world.
i have always been quite a pet of his.
his wife is dead, and so is his only daughter.
she was a lovely girl and died only two years ago.
it nearly broke mr. swift's heart.
and he has lived alone ever since in that great big house up at the head of warner street, the one you admired so, ruth, the last time we were uptown.
there's the bell for the second time, mary ca n't have heard it.
i'll go myself."
as carol showed the caller into the room, ruth rose to leave and thus came face to face with him.
mr. swift started perceptibly.
""mr. swift, this is my school friend, miss mannering," said carol.
mr. swift seemed strangely agitated as he took ruth's timidly offered hand.
""my dear young lady," he said hurriedly, "i am going to ask you what may seem a very strange question.
what was your mother's name?"
""agnes hastings," answered ruth in surprise.
and then carol really thought that mr. swift had gone crazy, for he drew ruth into his arms and kissed her.
""i knew it," he said.
""i was sure you were agnes" daughter, for you are the living image of what she was when i last saw her.
child, you do n't know me, but i am your uncle robert.
your mother was my half-sister."
""oh, mr. swift!"
cried carol, and then she ran for her mother.
ruth turned pale and dropped into a chair, and mr. swift sat down beside her.
""to think that i have found you at last, child.
how puzzled you look.
did your mother never speak of me?
how is she?
where is she?"
""mother died last year," said ruth.
""poor agnes!
and i never knew!
do n't cry, little girl.
i want you to tell me all about it.
she was much younger than i was, and when our mother died my stepfather went away and took her with him.
i remained with my father's people and eventually lost all trace of my sister.
i was a poor boy then, but things have looked up with me and i have often tried to find her."
by this time carol had returned with her father and mother, and there was a scene -- laughing, crying, explaining -- and i do n't really know which of the two girls was the more excited, carol or ruth.
as for mr. swift, he was overjoyed to find his niece and wanted to carry her off with him then and there, but mrs. golden insisted on her finishing her visit.
when the question of returning to oaklawn came up, mr. swift would not hear of it at first, but finally yielded to carol's entreaties and ruth's own desire.
""i shall graduate next year, uncle, and then i can come back to you for good."
that evening when ruth was alone in her room, trying to collect her thoughts and realize that the home and love that she had so craved were really to be hers at last, golden carol was with her mother in the room below, talking it all over.
""just think, mother, if i had not asked ruth to come here, this would not have happened.
and i did n't want to, i wanted to ask maud so much, and i was dreadfully disappointed when i could n't -- for i really could n't.
i could not help remembering the look in ruth's eyes when she said that she had no home to go to, and so i asked her instead of maud.
how dreadful it would have been if i had n't."
detected by the camera one summer i was attacked by the craze for amateur photography.
it became chronic afterwards, and i and my camera have never since been parted.
we have had some odd adventures together, and one of the most novel of our experiences was that in which we played the part of chief witness against ned brooke.
i may say that my name is amy clarke, and that i believe i am considered the best amateur photographer in our part of the country.
that is all i need tell you about myself.
mr. carroll had asked me to photograph his place for him when the apple orchards were in bloom.
he has a picturesque old-fashioned country house behind a lawn of the most delightful old trees and flanked on each side by the orchards.
so i went one june afternoon, with all my accoutrements, prepared to "take" the carroll establishment in my best style.
mr. carroll was away but was expected home soon, so we waited for him, as all the family wished to be photographed under the big maple at the front door.
i prowled around among the shrubbery at the lower end of the lawn and, after a great deal of squinting from various angles, i at last fixed upon the spot from which i thought the best view of the house might be obtained.
then gertie and lilian carroll and i got into the hammocks and swung at our leisure, enjoying the cool breeze sweeping through the maples.
ned brooke was hanging around as usual, watching us furtively.
ned was one of the hopeful members of a family that lived in a tumble-down shanty just across the road from the carrolls.
they were wretchedly poor, and old brooke, as he was called, and ned were employed a good deal by mr. carroll -- more out of charity than anything else, i fancy.
the brookes had a rather shady reputation.
they were notoriously lazy, and it was suspected that their line of distinction between their own and their neighbours" goods was not very clearly drawn.
many people censured mr. carroll for encouraging them at all, but he was too kind-hearted to let them suffer actual want and, as a consequence, one or the other of them was always dodging about his place.
ned was a lank, tow-headed youth of about fourteen, with shifty, twinkling eyes that could never look you straight in the face.
his appearance was anything but prepossessing, and i always felt, when i looked at him, that if anyone wanted to do a piece of shady work by proxy, ned brooke would be the very lad for the business.
mr. carroll came at last, and we all went down to meet him at the gate.
ned brooke also came shuffling along to take the horse, and mr. carroll tossed the reins to him and at the same time handed a pocketbook to his wife.
""just as well to be careful where you put that," he said laughingly.
""there's a sum in it not to be picked up on every gooseberry bush.
gilman harris paid me this morning for that bit of woodland i sold him last fall -- five hundred dollars.
i promised that you and the girls should have it to get a new piano, so there it is for you."
""thank you," said mrs. carroll delightedly.
""however, you'd better put it back in your pocket till we go in.
amy is in a hurry."
mr. carroll took back the pocketbook and dropped it carelessly into the inside pocket of the light overcoat that he wore.
i happened to glance at ned brooke just then, and i could not help noticing the sudden crafty, eager expression that flashed over his face.
he eyed the pocketbook in mr. carroll's hands furtively, after which he went off with the horse in a great hurry.
the girls were exclaiming and thanking their father, and nobody noticed ned brooke's behaviour but myself, and it soon passed out of my mind.
""come to take the place, are you, amy?"
said mr. carroll.
""well, everything is ready, i think.
i suppose we'd better proceed.
where shall we stand?
you had better group us as you think best."
whereupon i proceeded to arrange them in due order under the maple.
mrs. carroll sat in a chair, while her husband stood behind her.
gertie stood on the steps with a basket of flowers in her hand, and lilian was at one side.
the two little boys, teddy and jack, climbed up into the maple, and little dora, the dimpled six-year-old, stood gravely in the foreground with an enormous grey cat hugged in her chubby arms.
it was a pretty group in a pretty setting, and i thrilled with professional pride as i stepped back for a final, knowing squint at it all.
then i went to my camera, slipped in the plate, gave them due warning and took off the cap.
i took two plates to make sure and then the thing was over, but as i had another plate left i thought i might as well take a view of the house by itself, so i carried my camera to a new place and had just got everything ready to lift the cap when mr. carroll came down and said: "if you girls want to see something pretty, come to the back field with me.
that will wait till you come back, wo n't it, amy?"
so we all betook ourselves to the back field, a short distance away, where mr. carroll proudly displayed two of the prettiest little jersey cows i had ever seen.
we returned to the house by way of the back lane and, as we came in sight of the main road, my brother cecil drove up and said that if i were ready, i had better go home with him and save myself a hot, dusty walk.
the carrolls all went down to the fence to speak to cecil, but i dashed hurriedly down through the orchard, leaped over the fence into the lawn and ran to the somewhat remote corner where i had left my camera.
i was in a desperate hurry, for i knew cecil's horse did not like to be kept waiting, so i never even glanced at the house, but snatched off the cap, counted two and replaced it.
then i took out my plate, put it in the holder and gathered up my traps.
i suppose i was about five minutes at it all and i had my back to the house the whole time, and when i laid all my things ready and emerged from my retreat, there was nobody to be seen about the place.
as i hurried up through the lawn, i noticed ned brooke walking at a smart pace down the lane, but the fact did not make any particular impression on me at the time, and was not recalled until afterwards.
cecil was waiting for me, so i got in the buggy and we drove off.
on arriving home i shut myself up in my dark room and proceeded to develop the first two negatives of the carroll housestead.
they were both excellent, the first one being a trifle the better, so that i decided to finish from it.
i intended also to develop the third, but just as i finished the others, a half-dozen city cousins swooped down upon us and i had to put away my paraphernalia, emerge from my dark retreat and fly around to entertain them.
the next day cecil came in and said: "did you hear, amy, that mr. carroll has lost a pocketbook with five hundred dollars in it?"
""no!"
i exclaimed.
""how?
when?
where?"
""do n't overwhelm a fellow.
i can answer only one question -- last night.
as to the "how," they do n't know, and as to the "where" -- well, if they knew that, there might be some hope of finding it.
the girls are in a bad way.
the money was to get them their longed-for piano, it seems, and now it's gone."
""but how did it happen, cecil?"
""well, mr. carroll says that mrs. carroll handed the pocketbook back to him at the gate yesterday, and he dropped it in the inside pocket of his over-coat --" "i saw him do it," i cried.
""yes, and then, before he went to be photographed, he hung his coat up in the hall.
it hung there until the evening, and nobody seems to have thought about the money, each supposing that someone else had put it carefully away.
after tea mr. carroll put on the coat and went to see somebody over at netherby.
he says the thought of the pocketbook never crossed his mind; he had forgotten all about putting it in that coat pocket.
he came home across the fields about eleven o'clock and found that the cows had broken into the clover hay, and he had a great chase before he got them out.
when he went in, just as he entered the door, the remembrance of the money flashed over him.
he felt in his pocket, but there was no pocketbook there; he asked his wife if she had taken it out.
she had not, and nobody else had.
there was a hole in the pocket, but mr. carroll says it was too small for the pocketbook to have worked through.
however, it must have done so -- unless someone took it out of his pocket at netherby, and that is not possible, because he never had his coat off, and it was in an inside pocket.
it's not likely that they will ever see it again.
someone may pick it up, of course, but the chances are slim.
mr. carroll does n't know his exact path across the fields, and if he lost it while he was after the cows, it's a bluer show still.
they've been searching all day, of course.
the girls are awfully disappointed."
a sudden recollection came to me of ned brooke's face as i had seen it the day before at the gate, coupled with the remembrance of seeing him walking down the lane at a quick pace, so unlike his usual shambling gait, while i ran through the lawn.
""how do they know it was lost?"
i said.
""perhaps it was stolen before mr. carroll went to netherby."
""they think not," said cecil.
""who would have stolen it?"
""ned brooke.
i saw him hanging around.
and you never saw such a look as came over his face when he heard mr. carroll say there was five hundred dollars in that pocketbook."
""well, i did suggest to them that ned might know something about it, for i remembered having seen him go down the lane while i was waiting for you, but they wo n't hear of such a thing.
the brookes are kind of protégés of theirs, you know, and they wo n't believe anything bad of them.
if ned did take it, however, there's not a shadow of evidence against him."
""no, i suppose not," i answered thoughtfully, "but the more i think it over, the more i'm convinced that he took it.
you know, we all went to the back field to look at the jerseys, and all that time the coat was hanging there in the hall, and not a soul in the house.
and it was just after we came back that i saw ned scuttling down the lane so fast."
i mentioned my suspicions to the carrolls a few days afterwards, when i went down with the photographs, and found that they had discovered no trace of the lost pocketbook.
but they seemed positively angry when i hinted that ned brooke might know more about its whereabouts than anyone else.
they declared that they would as soon think of suspecting one of themselves as ned, and altogether they seemed so offended at my suggestion that i held my peace and did n't irritate them by any more suppositions.
afterwards, in the excitement of our cousins" visit, the matter passed out of my mind completely.
they stayed two weeks, and i was so busy the whole time that i never got a chance to develop that third plate and, in fact, i had forgotten all about it.
one morning soon after they went away, i remembered the plate and decided to go and develop it.
cecil went with me, and we shut ourselves up in our den, lit our ruby lantern and began operations.
i did not expect much of the plate, because it had been exposed and handled carelessly, and i thought that it might prove to be underexposed or light-struck.
so i left cecil to develop it while i prepared the fixing bath.
cecil was whistling away when suddenly he gave a tremendous "whew" of astonishment and sprang to his feet.
""amy, amy, look here!"
he cried.
i rushed to his side and looked at the plate as he held it up in the rosy light.
it was a splendid one, and the carroll house came out clear, with the front door and the steps in full view.
and there, just in the act of stepping from the threshold, was the figure of a boy with an old straw hat on his head and -- in his hand -- the pocketbook!
he was standing with his head turned towards the corner of the house as if listening, with one hand holding his ragged coat open and the other poised in mid-air with the pocketbook, as if he were just going to put it in his inside pocket.
the whole scene was as clear as noonday, and nobody with eyes in his head could have failed to recognize ned brooke.
""goodness!"
i gasped.
""in with it -- quick!"
and we doused the thing into the fixing bath and then sat down breathlessly and looked at each other.
""i say, amy," said cecil, "what a sell this will be on the carrolls!
ned brooke could n't do such a thing -- oh, no!
the poor injured boy at whom everyone has such an unlawful pick!
i wonder if this will convince them."
""do you think they can get it all back?"
i asked.
""it's not likely he would have dared to use any of it yet."
""i do n't know.
we'll have a try, anyhow.
how long before this plate will be dry enough to carry down to the carrolls as circumstantial evidence?"
""three hours or thereabouts," i answered, "but perhaps sooner.
i'll take two prints off when it is ready.
i wonder what the carrolls will say."
""it's a piece of pure luck that the plate should have turned out so well after the slap-dash way in which it was taken and used.
i say, amy, is n't this quite an adventure?"
at last the plate was dry, and i printed two proofs.
we wrapped them up carefully and marched down to mr. carroll's.
you never saw people so overcome with astonishment as the carrolls were when cecil, with the air of a statesman unfolding the evidence of some dreadful conspiracy against the peace and welfare of the nation, produced the plate and the proofs, and held them out before them.
mr. carroll and cecil took the proofs and went over to the brooke shanty.
they found only ned and his mother at home.
at first ned, when taxed with his guilt, denied it, but when mr. carroll confronted him with the proofs, he broke down in a spasm of terror and confessed all.
his mother produced the pocketbook and the money -- they had not dared to spend a single cent of it -- and mr. carroll went home in triumph.
perhaps ned brooke ought not to have been let off so easily as he was, but his mother cried and pleaded, and mr. carroll was too kind-hearted to resist.
so he did not punish them at all, save by utterly discarding the whole family and their concerns.
the place got too hot for them after the story came out, and in less than a month all moved away -- much to the benefit of mapleton.
in spite of myself my trunk was packed and i had arranged with my senior partner -- i was the junior member of a law firm -- for a month's vacation.
aunt lucy had written that her husband had gone on a sea trip and she wished me to superintend the business of his farm and mills in his absence, if i could arrange to do so.
she added that "gussie" thought it was a pity to trouble me, and wanted to do the overseeing herself, but that she -- aunt lucy -- preferred to have a man at the head of affairs.
i had never seen my step-cousin, augusta ashley, but i knew, from aunt lucy's remarks concerning her, pretty much what sort of person she was -- just the precise kind i disliked immeasurably.
i had no idea what her age was, but doubtless she was over thirty, tall, determined, aggressive, with a "faculty" for managing, a sharp, probing nose, and a y-formation between her eyebrows.
i knew the type, and i was assured that the period of sojourn with my respected aunt would be one of strife between miss ashley and myself.
i wrote to aunt lucy to expect me, made all necessary arrangements, and went to bid nellie goodbye.
i had made up my mind to marry nellie.
i had never openly avowed myself her suitor, but we were cousins, and had grown up together, so that i knew her well enough to be sure of my ground.
i liked her so well that it was easy to persuade myself that i was in love with her.
she more nearly fulfilled the requirements of my ideal wife than anyone i knew.
she was pleasant to look upon, without being distractingly pretty; small and fair and womanly.
she dressed nicely, sang and played agreeably, danced well, and had a cheerful, affectionate disposition.
she was not alarmingly clever, had no "hobbies," and looked up to me as heir to all the wisdom of the ages -- what man does not like to be thought clever and brilliant?
i had no formidable rival, and our families were anxious for the match.
i considered myself a lucky fellow.
i felt that i would be very lonely without nellie when i was away, and she admitted frankly that she would miss me awfully.
she looked so sweet that i was on the point of asking her then and there to marry me.
well, fate interfered in the guise of a small brother, so i said goodbye and left, mentally comparing her to my idea of miss augusta ashley, much to the latter's disadvantage.
when i stepped from the train at a sleepy country station next day i was promptly waylaid by a black-eyed urchin who informed me that mrs. ashley had sent him with an express wagon for my luggage, and that "miss gussie" was waiting with the carriage at the store, pointing down to a small building before whose door a girl was trying to soothe her frightened horse.
as i went down the slope towards her i noticed she was tall -- quite too tall for my taste.
i dislike women who can look into my eyes on a level -- but i had to admit that her form was remarkably symmetrical and graceful.
she put out her hand -- it was ungloved and large, but white and firm, with a cool, pleasant touch -- and said, with a composure akin to indifference, "mr. carslake, i presume.
mother could not come to meet you, so she sent me.
will you be kind enough to hold my horse for a few minutes?
i want to get something in the store."
whereupon she calmly transferred the reins to me and disappeared.
at the time she certainly did not impress me as pretty, yet neither could i call her plain.
taken separately, her features were good.
her nose was large and straight, the mouth also a trifle large but firm and red, the brow wide and white, shadowed by a straying dash of brown curl or two.
she had a certain cool, statuesque paleness, accentuated by straight, fine, black brows, and her eyes were a bluish grey; but the pupils, as i afterward found out, had a trick of dilating into wells of blackness which, added to a long fringe of very dark lashes, made her eyes quite the most striking feature of her face.
her expression was open and frank, and her voice clear and musical without being sweet.
she looked about twenty-two.
at the time i did not fancy her appearance and made a mental note to the effect that i would never like miss ashley.
i had no use for cool, businesslike women -- women should have no concern with business.
nellie would never have troubled her dear, curly head over it.
miss ashley came out with her arms full of packages, stowed them away in the carriage, got in, told me which road to take, and did not again speak till we were out of the village and driving along a pretty country lane, arched over with crimson maples and golden-brown beeches.
the purplish haze of a sunny autumn day mellowed over the fields, and the bunch of golden rod at my companion's belt was akin to the plumed ranks along the fences.
i hazarded the remark that it was a fine day; miss ashley gravely admitted that it was.
then a deep smile seemed to rise somewhere in her eyes and creep over her face, discovering a dimple here and there as it proceeded.
""do n't let's talk about the weather -- the subject is rather stale," she said.
""i suppose you are wondering why on earth mother had to drag you away out here.
i tried to show her how foolish it was, but i did n't succeed.
mother thinks there must be a man at the head of affairs or they'll never go right.
i could have taken full charge easily enough; i have n't been father's "boy" all my life for nothing.
there was no need to take you away from your business."
i protested.
i said i was going to take a vacation anyway, and business was not pressing just then.
i also hinted that, while i had no doubt of her capacity, she might have found the duties of superintendent rather arduous.
""not at all," she said, with a serenity that made me groan inwardly.
""i like it.
father always said i was a born business manager.
you'll find ashley's mills very quiet, i'm afraid.
it's a sort of charmed sleepy hollow.
see, there's home," as we turned a maple-blazoned corner and looked from the crest of one hill across to that of another.
""home" was a big, white, green-shuttered house buried amid a riot of autumn colour, with a big grove of dark green spruces at the back.
below them was a glimpse of a dark blue mill pond and beyond it long sweeps of golden-brown meadow land, sloping up till they dimmed in horizon mists of pearl and purple.
""how pretty," i exclaimed admiringly.
""is n't it?"
said gussie proudly.
""i love it."
her pupils dilated into dark pools, and i rather unwillingly admitted that miss ashley was a fine-looking girl.
as we drove up aunt lucy was standing on the steps of the verandah, over whose white roof trailed a luxuriant creeper, its leaves tinged by october frosts into lovely wine reds and tawny yellows.
gussie sprang out, barely touching my offered hand with her fingertips.
""there's mother waiting to pounce on you and hear all the family news," she said, "so go and greet her like a dutiful nephew."
""i must take out your horse for you first," i said politely.
""not at all," said miss ashley, taking the reins from my hands in a way not to be disputed.
""i always unharness charley myself.
no one understands him half so well.
besides, i'm used to it.
did n't i tell you i'd always been father's boy?"
""i well believe it," i thought in disgust, as she led the horse over to the well and i went up to aunt lucy.
through the sitting-room windows i kept a watchful eye on miss ashley as she watered and deftly unharnessed charley and led him into his stable with sundry pats on his nose.
then i saw no more of her till she came in to tell us tea was ready, and led the way out to the dining room.
it was evident miss gussie held the reins of household government, and no doubt worthily.
those firm, capable white hands of hers looked as though they might be equal to a good many emergencies.
she talked little, leaving the conversation to aunt lucy and myself, though she occasionally dropped in an apt word.
toward the end of the meal, however, she caught hold of an unfortunate opinion i had incautiously advanced and tore it into tatters.
the result was a spirited argument, in which miss gussie held her own with such ability that i was utterly routed and found another grievance against her.
it was very humiliating to be worsted by a girl -- a country girl at that, who had passed most of her life on a farm!
no doubt she was strong-minded and wanted to vote.
i was quite prepared to believe anything of her.
after tea miss ashley proposed a walk around the premises, in order to initiate me into my duties.
apart from his farm, mr. ashley owned large grist-and saw-mills and did a flourishing business, with the details of which miss gussie seemed so conversant that i lost all doubt of her ability to run the whole thing as she had claimed.
i felt quite ignorant in the light of her superior knowledge, and our walk was enlivened by some rather too lively discussions between us.
we walked about together, however, till the shadows of the firs by the mills stretched nearly across the pond and the white moon began to put on a silvery burnish.
then we wound up by a bitter dispute, during which gussie's eyes were very black and each cheek had a round, red stain on it.
she had a little air of triumph at having defeated me.
""i have to go now and see about putting away the milk, and i dare say you're not sorry to be rid of me," she said, with a demureness i had not credited her with, "but if you come to the verandah in half an hour i'll bring you out a glass of new milk and some pound cake i made today by a recipe that's been in the family for one hundred years, and i hope it will choke you for all the snubs you've been giving me."
she walked away after this amiable wish, and i stood by the pond till the salmon tints faded from its waters and stars began to mirror themselves brokenly in its ripples.
the mellow air was full of sweet, mingled eventide sounds as i walked back to the house.
aunt lucy was knitting on the verandah.
gussie brought out cake and milk and chatted to us while we ate, in an inconsequent girlish way, or fed bits of cake to a green-eyed goblin in the likeness of a black cat.
she appeared in such an amiable light that i was half inclined to reconsider my opinion of her.
when i went to my room the vase full of crimson leaves on my table suggested gussie, and i repented of my unfriendliness for a moment -- and only for a moment.
gussie and her mother passed through the hall below, and aunt lucy's soft voice floated up through my half-open door.
""well, how do you like your cousin, my dear?"
whereat that decided young lady promptly answered, "i think he is the most conceited youth i've met for some time."
pleasant, was n't it?
i thought of nellie's meek admiration of all my words and ways, and got her photo out to soothe my vanity.
for the first time it struck me that her features were somewhat insipid.
the thought seemed like disloyalty, so i banished it and went to bed.
i expected to dream of that disagreeable gussie, but i did not, and i slept so soundly that it was ten o'clock the next morning before i woke.
i sprang out of bed in dismay, dressed hastily, and ran down, not a little provoked at myself.
through the window i saw gussie in the garden digging up some geraniums.
she was enveloped in a clay-stained brown apron, a big flapping straw hat half hid her face, and she wore a pair of muddy old kid gloves.
her whole appearance was disreputable, and the face she turned to me as i said "good morning" had a diagonal streak of clay across it.
i added slovenliness to my already long list of her demerits.
""good afternoon, rather.
do n't you know what time it is?
the men were here three hours ago for their orders.
i thought it a pity to disturb your peaceful dreams, so i gave them myself and sent them off."
i was angrier than ever.
a nice beginning i had made.
and was that girl laughing at me?
""i expected to be called in time, certainly," i said stiffly.
""i am not accustomed to oversleep myself.
i promise it will not occur again."
my dignity was quite lost on gussie.
she peeled off her gloves cheerfully and said, "i suppose you'd like some breakfast.
just wait till i wash my hands and i'll get you some.
then if you're pining to be useful you can help me take up these geraniums."
there was no help for it.
after i had breakfasted i went, with many misgivings.
we got on fairly well, however.
gussie was particularly lively and kept me too busy for argument.
i quite enjoyed the time and we did not quarrel until nearly the last, when we fell out bitterly over some horticultural problem and went in to dinner in sulky silence.
gussie disappeared after dinner and i saw no more of her.
i was glad of this, but after a time i began to find it a little dull.
even a dispute would have been livelier.
i visited the mills, looked over the farm, and then carelessly asked aunt lucy where miss ashley was.
aunt lucy replied that she had gone to visit a friend and would not be back till the next day.
this was satisfactory, of course, highly so.
what a relief it was to be rid of that girl with her self-assertiveness and independence.
i said to myself that i hoped her friend would keep her for a week.
i forgot to be disappointed that she had not when, next afternoon, i saw gussie coming in at the gate with a tolerably large satchel and an armful of golden rod.
i sauntered down to relieve her, and we had a sharp argument under way before we were halfway up the lane.
as usual gussie refused to give in that she was wrong.
her walk had brought a faint, clear tint to her cheeks and her rippling dusky hair had half slipped down on her neck.
she said she had to make some cookies for tea and if i had nothing better to do i might go and talk to her while she mixed them.
it was not a gracious invitation but i went, rather than be left to my own company.
by the end of the week i was as much at home at ashley mills as if i had lived there all my life.
gussie and i were thrown together a good deal, for lack of other companions, and i saw no reason to change my opinion of her.
she could be lively and entertaining when she chose, and at times she might be called beautiful.
still, i did not approve of her -- at least i thought so, most of the time.
once in a while came a state of feeling which i did not quite understand.
one evening i went to prayer meeting with aunt lucy and gussie.
i had not seen the minister of ashley mills before, though gussie and her mother seemed to know him intimately.
i had an idea that he was old and silvery-haired and benevolent-looking.
so i was rather surprised to find him as young as myself -- a tall, pale, intellectual-looking man, with a high, white brow and dark, earnest eyes -- decidedly attractive.
i was still more surprised when, after the service, he joined gussie at the door and went down the steps with her.
i felt distinctly ill-treated as i fell back with aunt lucy.
there was no reason why i should -- none; it ought to have been a relief.
rev. carroll martin had every right to see miss ashley home if he chose.
doubtless a girl who knew all there was to be known about business, farming, and milling, to say nothing of housekeeping and gardening, could discuss theology also.
it was none of my business.
i do n't know what kept me awake so late that night.
as a consequence i overslept myself.
i had managed to redeem my reputation on this point, but here it was lost again.
i felt cross and foolish and cantankerous when i went out.
there was some unusual commotion at the well.
it was an old-fashioned open one, with a chain and windlass.
aunt lucy was peering anxiously down its mouth, from which a ladder was sticking.
just as i got there gussie emerged from its depths with a triumphant face.
her skirt was muddy and draggled, her hair had tumbled down, and she held a dripping black cat.
""coco must have fallen into the well last night," she explained, as i helped her to the ground.
""i missed him at milking-time, and when i came to the well this morning i heard the most ear-splitting yowls coming up from it.
i could n't think where he could possibly be, for the water was quite calm, until i saw he had crept into a little crevice in the stones on the side.
so i got a ladder and went down after him."
""you should have called me," i said sourly.
""you might have killed yourself, going down there."
""and coco might have tumbled in and drowned while you were getting up," retorted gussie.
""besides, what was the need?
i could go down as well as you."
""no doubt," i said, more sharply than i had any business to.
""i do n't dream of disputing your ability to do anything you may take it into your head to do.
most young ladies are not in the habit of going down wells, however."
""perhaps not," she rejoined, with freezing calmness.
""but, as you may have discovered, i am not "most young ladies."
i am myself, augusta ashley, and accountable to nobody but myself if i choose to go down the well every day for pure love of it."
she walked off in her wet dress with her muddy cat.
gussie ashley was the only girl i ever saw who could be dignified under such circumstances.
i was in a very bad humour with myself as i went off to see about having the well cleaned out.
i had offended gussie and i knew she would not be easily appeased.
nor was she.
for a week she kept me politely, studiously, at a distance, in spite of my most humble advances.
rev. carroll was a frequent caller, ostensibly to make arrangements about a sunday school they were organizing in a poor part of the community.
gussie and he held long conversations on this enthralling subject.
then gussie went on another visit to her friend, and when she came back so did rev. carroll.
one calm, hazy afternoon i was coming slowly up from the mills.
happening to glance at the kitchen roof, i gasped.
it was on fire in one place.
evidently the dry shingles had caught fire from a spark.
there was not a soul about save gussie, aunt lucy, and myself.
i dashed wildly into the kitchen, where gussie was peeling apples.
""the house is on fire," i exclaimed.
gussie dropped her knife and turned pale.
""do n't wake mother," was all she said, as she snatched a bucket of water from the table.
the ladder was still lying by the well.
in a second i had raised it to the roof and, while gussie went up it like a squirrel and dashed the water on the flames, i had two more buckets ready for her.
fortunately the fire had made little headway, though a few minutes more would have given it a dangerous start.
the flames hissed and died out as gussie threw on the water, and in a few seconds only a small black hole in the shingles remained.
gussie slid down the ladder.
she trembled in every limb, but she put out her wet hand to me with a faint, triumphant smile.
we shook hands across the ladder with a cordiality never before expressed.
for the next week, in spite of rev. carroll, i was happy when i thought of gussie and miserable when i thought of nellie.
i held myself in some way bound to her and -- was she not my ideal?
undoubtedly!
one day i got a letter from my sister.
it was long and newsy, and the eighth page was most interesting.
""if you do n't come home and look after nellie," wrote kate, "you'll soon not have her to look after.
you remember that old lover of hers, rod allen?
well, he's home from the west now, immensely rich, they say, and his attentions to nellie are the town talk.
i think she likes him too.
if you bury yourself any longer at ashley mills i wo n't be responsible for the consequences."
this lifted an immense weight from my mind, but the ninth page hurled it back again.
""you never say anything of miss ashley in your letters.
what is she like -- young or old, ugly or pretty, clever or dull?
i met a lady recently who knows her and thinks she is charming.
she also said miss ashley was to be married soon to rev. something-or-other.
is it true?"
aye, was it?
quite likely.
kate's letter made a very miserable man of me.
gussie found me a dull companion that day.
after several vain attempts to rouse me to interest she gave it up.
""there's no use talking to you," she said impatiently.
""i believe you are homesick.
that letter you got this morning looked suspicious.
anyhow, i hope you'll get over it before i get back."
""are you going away again?"
i asked.
""yes.
i am going to stay a few days with flossie."
flossie was that inseparable chum of hers.
""you seem to spend a good deal of your time with her," i remarked discontentedly.
gussie opened her eyes at my tone.
""why, of course," she said.
""flossie and i have always been chums.
and she needs me more than ever just now, for she is awfully busy.
she is to be married next month."
""oh, i see -- and you --" "i'm to be bridesmaid, of course, and we've heaps to do.
flossie wanted to wait until christmas, but mr. martin is in a --" "mr. martin," i interrupted.
""is mr. martin going to marry your friend?"
""why, yes.
did n't you know?
they just suit each other.
there he comes now.
he's going to drive me over, and i'm not ready.
talk to him, for pity's sake, while i go and dress."
i never enjoyed a conversation more.
rev. carroll martin was a remarkably interesting man.
nellie married rod allen at christmas and i was best man.
nellie made a charming little bride, and rod fairly worshipped her.
my own wedding did not come off until spring, as gussie said she could not get ready before that.
kismet the fifth heat in the free-for-all was just over.
""lu-lu" had won, and the crowd on the grand stand and the hangers-on around the track were cheering themselves hoarse.
clear through the noisy clamour shrilled a woman's cry.
""ah -- i have dropped my scorecard."
a man in front of her turned.
""i have an extra one, madame.
will you accept it?"
her small, modishly-gloved hand closed eagerly on it before she lifted her eyes to his face.
both started convulsively.
the man turned very pale, but the woman's ripe-tinted face coloured darkly.
""you?"
she faltered.
his lips parted in the coldly-grave smile she remembered and hated.
""you are not glad to see me," he said calmly, "but that, i suppose, was not to be expected.
i did not come here to annoy you.
this meeting is as unexpected to me as to you.
i had no suspicion that for the last half-hour i had been standing next to my --" she interrupted him by an imperious gesture.
still clutching the scorecard she half-turned from him.
again he smiled, this time with a tinge of scorn, and shifted his eyes to the track.
none of the people around them had noticed the little by-play.
all eyes were on the track, which was being cleared for the first heat of another race.
the free-for-all horses were being led away blanketed.
the crowd cheered "lu-lu" as she went past, a shapeless oddity.
the backers of "mascot", the rival favourite, looked gloomy.
the woman noticed nothing of all this.
she was small, very pretty, still young, and gowned in a quite unmistakable way.
she studied the man's profile furtively.
he looked older than when she had seen him last -- there were some silver threads gleaming in his close-clipped dark hair and short, pointed beard.
otherwise there was little change in the quiet features and somewhat stern grey eyes.
she wondered if he had cared at all.
they had not met for five years.
she shut her eyes and looked in on her past.
it all came back very vividly.
she had been eighteen when they were married -- a gay, high-spirited girl and the season's beauty.
he was much older and a quiet, serious student.
her friends had wondered why she married him -- sometimes she wondered herself, but she had loved him, or thought so.
the marriage had been an unhappy one.
she was fond of society and gaiety, he wanted quiet and seclusion.
she was impulsive and impatient, he deliberate and grave.
the strong wills clashed.
after two years of an unbearable sort of life they had separated -- quietly, and without scandal of any sort.
she had wanted a divorce, but he would not agree to that, so she had taken her own independent fortune and gone back to her own way of life.
in the following five years she had succeeded in burying all remembrance well out of sight.
no one knew if she were satisfied or not; her world was charitable to her and she lived a gay and quite irreproachable life.
she wished that she had not come to the races.
it was such an irritating encounter.
she opened her eyes wearily; the dusty track, the flying horses, the gay dresses of the women on the grandstand, the cloudless blue sky, the brilliant september sunshine, the purple distances all commingled in a glare that made her head ache.
before it all she saw the tall figure by her side, his face turned from her, watching the track intently.
she wondered with a vague curiosity what induced him to come to the races.
such things were not greatly in his line.
evidently their chance meeting had not disturbed him.
it was a sign that he did not care.
she sighed a little wearily and closed her eyes.
when the heat was over he turned to her.
""may i ask how you have been since -- since we met last?
you are looking extremely well.
has vanity fair palled in any degree?"
she was angry at herself and him.
where had her careless society manner and well-bred composure gone?
she felt weak and hysterical.
what if she should burst into tears before the whole crowd -- before those coldly critical grey eyes?
she almost hated him.
""no -- why should it?
i have found it very pleasant -- and i have been well -- very well.
and you?"
he jotted down the score carefully before he replied.
""i?
oh, a book-worm and recluse always leads a placid life.
i never cared for excitement, you know.
i came down here to attend a sale of some rare editions, and a well-meaning friend dragged me out to see the races.
i find it rather interesting, i must confess, much more so than i should have fancied.
sorry i ca n't stay until the end.
i must go as soon as the free-for-all is over, if not before.
i have backed "mascot"; you?""
"lu-lu"" she answered quickly -- it almost seemed defiantly.
how horribly unreal it was -- this carrying on of small talk, as if they were the merest of chance-met acquaintances!
""she belongs to a friend of mine, so i am naturally interested."
""she and "mascot" are ties now -- both have won two heats.
one more for either will decide it.
this is a good day for the races.
excuse me."
he leaned over and brushed a scrap of paper from her grey cloak.
she shivered slightly.
""you are cold!
this stand is draughty."
""i am not at all cold, thank you.
what race is this?
-- oh!
the three-minute one."
she bent forward with assumed interest to watch the scoring.
she was breathing heavily.
there were tears in her eyes -- she bit her lips savagely and glared at the track until they were gone.
presently he spoke again, in the low, even tone demanded by circumstances.
""this is a curious meeting, is it not?
-- quite a flavor of romance!
by-the-way, do you read as many novels as ever?"
she fancied there was mockery in his tone.
she remembered how very frivolous he used to consider her novel-reading.
besides, she resented the personal tinge.
what right had he?
""almost as many," she answered carelessly.
""i was very intolerant, was n't i?"
he said after a pause.
""you thought so -- you were right.
you have been happier since you -- left me?"
""yes," she said defiantly, looking straight into his eyes.
""and you do not regret it?"
he bent down a little.
his sleeve brushed against her shoulder.
something in his face arrested the answer she meant to make.
""i -- i -- did not say that," she murmured faintly.
there was a burst of cheering.
the free-for-all horses were being brought out for the sixth heat.
she turned away to watch them.
the scoring began, and seemed likely to have no end.
she was tired of it all.
it did n't matter a pin to her whether "lu-lu" or "mascot" won.
what did matter!
had vanity fair after all been a satisfying exchange for love?
he had loved her once, and they had been happy at first.
she had never before said, even in her own heart: "i am sorry," but -- suddenly, she felt his hand on her shoulder, and looked up.
their eyes met.
he stooped and said almost in a whisper: "will you come back to me?"
""i do n't know," she whispered breathlessly, as one half-fascinated.
""we were both to blame -- but i the most.
i was too hard on you -- i ought to have made more allowance.
we are wiser now both of us.
come back to me -- my wife."
his tone was cold and his face expressionless.
it was on her lips to cry out "no," passionately.
but the slender, scholarly hand on her shoulder was trembling with the intensity of his repressed emotion.
he did care, then.
a wild caprice flashed into her brain.
she sprang up.
""see," she cried, "they're off now.
this heat will probably decide the race.
if "lu-lu" wins i will not go back to you, if "mascot" does i will.
that is my decision."
he turned paler, but bowed in assent.
he knew by bitter experience how unchangeable her whims were, how obstinately she clung to even the most absurd.
she leaned forward breathlessly.
the crowd hung silently on the track.
""lu-lu" and "mascot" were neck and neck, getting in splendid work.
half-way round the course "lu-lu" forged half a neck ahead, and her backers went mad.
but one woman dropped her head in her hands and dared look no more.
one man with white face and set lips watched the track unswervingly.
again "mascot" crawled up, inch by inch.
they were on the home stretch, they were equal, the cheering broke out, then silence, then another terrific burst, shouts, yells and clappings -- "mascot" had won the free-for-all.
in the front row a woman stood up, swayed and shaken as a leaf in the wind.
she straightened her scarlet hat and readjusted her veil unsteadily.
there was a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes.
no one noticed her.
a man beside her drew her hand through his arm in a quiet proprietary fashion.
they left the grand stand together.
lilian's business venture lilian mitchell turned into the dry-goods store on randall street, just as esther miller and ella taylor came out.
they responded coldly to her greeting and exchanged significant glances as they walked away.
lilian's pale face crimsoned.
she was a tall, slender girl of about seventeen, and dressed in mourning.
these girls had been her close friends once.
but that was before the mitchells had lost their money.
since then lilian had been cut by many of her old chums and she felt it keenly.
the clerks in the store were busy and lilian sat down to wait her turn.
near to her two ladies were also waiting and chatting.
""helen wants me to let her have a birthday party," mrs. saunders was saying wearily.
""she has been promised it so long and i hate to disappoint the child, but our girl left last week, and i can not possibly make all the cakes and things myself.
i have n't the time or strength, so helen must do without her party."
""talking of girls," said mrs. reeves impatiently, "i am almost discouraged.
it is so hard to get a good all-round one.
the last one i had was so saucy i had to discharge her, and the one i have now can not make decent bread.
i never had good luck with bread myself either."
""that is mrs. porter's great grievance too.
it is no light task to bake bread for all those boarders.
have you made your jelly yet?"
""no.
maria can not make it, she says, and i detest messing with jelly.
but i really must see to it soon."
at this point a saleswoman came up to lilian, who made her small purchases and went out.
""there goes lilian mitchell," said mrs. reeves in an undertone.
""she looks very pale.
they say they are dreadfully poor since henry mitchell died.
his affairs were in a bad condition, i am told."
""i am sorry for mrs. mitchell," responded mrs. saunders.
""she is such a sweet woman.
lilian will have to do something, i suppose, and there is so little chance for a girl here."
lilian, walking down the street, was wearily turning over in her mind the problems of her young existence.
her father had died the preceding spring.
he had been a supposedly prosperous merchant; the mitchells had always lived well, and lilian was a petted and only child.
then came the shock of henry mitchell's sudden death and of financial ruin.
his affairs were found to be hopelessly involved; when all the debts were paid there was left only the merest pittance -- barely enough for house-rent -- for lilian and her mother to live upon.
they had moved into a tiny cottage in an unfashionable locality, and during the summer lilian had tried hard to think of something to do.
mrs. mitchell was a delicate woman, and the burden of their situation fell on lilian's young shoulders.
there seemed to be no place for her.
she could not teach and had no particular talent in any line.
there was no opening for her in willington, which was a rather sleepy little place, and lilian was almost in despair.
""there really does n't seem to be any real place in the world for me, mother," she said rather dolefully at the supper table.
""i've no talent at all; it is dreadful to have been born without one.
and yet i must do something, and do it soon."
and lilian, after she had washed up the tea dishes, went upstairs and had a good cry.
but the darkest hour, so the proverb goes, is just before the dawn, and after lilian had had her cry out and was sitting at her window in the dusk, watching a thin new moon shining over the trees down the street, her inspiration came to her.
a minute later she whirled into the tiny sitting-room where her mother was sewing.
""mother, our fortune is made!
i have an idea!"
""do n't lose it, then," said mrs. mitchell with a smile.
""what is it, my dear?"
lilian sobered herself, sat down by her mother's side, and proceeded to recount the conversation she had heard in the store that afternoon.
""now, mother, this is where my brilliant idea comes in.
you have often told me i am a born cook and i always have good luck.
now, tomorrow morning i shall go to mrs. saunders and offer to furnish all the good things for helen's birthday party, and then i'll ask mrs. reeves and mrs. porter if i may make their bread for them.
that will do for a beginning, i like cooking, you know, and i believe that in time i can work up a good business."
""it seems to be a good idea," said mrs. mitchell thoughtfully, "and i am willing that you should try.
but have you thought it all out carefully?
there will be many difficulties."
""i know.
i do n't expect smooth sailing right along, and perhaps i'll fail altogether; but somehow i do n't believe i will."
""a great many of your old friends will think --" "oh, yes; i know that too, but i am not going to mind it, mother.
i do n't think there is any disgrace in working for my living.
i'm going to do my best and not care what people say."
early next morning lilian started out.
she had carefully thought over the details of her small venture, considered ways and means, and decided on the most advisable course.
she would not attempt too much, and she felt sure of success.
to secure competent servants was one of the problems of willington people.
at drayton, a large neighbouring town, were several factories, and into these all the working girls from willington had crowded, leaving very few who were willing to go out to service.
many of those who did were poor cooks, and lilian shrewdly suspected that many a harassed housekeeper in the village would be glad to avail herself of the new enterprise.
lilian was, as she had said of herself, "a born cook."
this was her capital, and she meant to make the most of it.
mrs. saunders listened to her businesslike details with surprise and delight.
""it is the very thing," she said.
""helen is so eager for that party, but i could not undertake it myself.
her birthday is friday.
can you have everything ready by then?"
""yes, i think so," said lilian briskly, producing her notebook.
""please give me the list of what you want and i will do my best."
from mrs. saunders she went to mrs. reeves and found a customer as soon as she had told the reason of her call.
""i'll furnish all the bread and rolls you need," she said, "and they will be good, too.
now, about your jelly.
i can make good jelly, and i'll be very glad to make yours."
when she left, lilian had an order for two dozen glasses of apple jelly, as well as a standing one for bread and rolls.
mrs. porter was next visited and grasped eagerly at the opportunity.
""i know your bread will be good," she said, "and you may count on me as a regular customer."
lilian thought she had enough on hand for a first attempt and went home satisfied.
on her way she called at the grocery store with an order that surprised mr. hooper.
when she told him of her plan he opened his eyes.
""i must tell my wife about that.
she is n't strong and she does n't like cooking."
after dinner lilian went to work, enveloped in a big apron, and whipped eggs, stoned raisins, stirred, concocted, and baked until dark.
when bedtime came she was so tired that she could hardly crawl upstairs; but she felt happy too, for the day had been a successful one.
and so also were the days and weeks and months that followed.
it was hard and constant work, but it brought its reward.
lilian had not promised more than she could perform, and her customers were satisfied.
in a short time she found herself with a regular and growing business on her hands, for new customers were gradually added and always came to stay.
people who gave parties found it very convenient to follow mrs. saunders's example and order their supplies from lilian.
she had a very busy winter and, of course, it was not all plain sailing.
she had many difficulties to contend with.
sometimes days came on which everything seemed to go wrong -- when the stove smoked or the oven would n't heat properly, when cakes fell flat and bread was sour and pies behaved as only totally depraved pies can, when she burned her fingers and felt like giving up in despair.
then, again, she found herself cut by several of her old acquaintances.
but she was too sensible to worry much over this.
the friends really worth having were still hers, her mother's face had lost its look of care, and her business was prospering.
she was hopeful and wide awake, kept her wits about her and looked out for hints, and learned to laugh over her failures.
during the winter she and her mother had managed to do most of the work themselves, hiring little mary robinson next door on especially busy days, and now and then calling in the assistance of jimmy bowen and his hand sled to carry orders to customers.
but when spring came lilian prepared to open up her summer campaign on a much larger scale.
mary robinson was hired for the season, and john perkins was engaged to act as carrier with his express wagon.
a summer kitchen was boarded in in the backyard, and a new range bought; lilian began operations with a striking advertisement in the willington news and an attractive circular sent around to all her patrons.
picnics and summer weddings were frequent.
in bread and rolls her trade was brisk and constant.
she also took orders for pickles, preserves, and jellies, and this became such a flourishing branch that a second assistant had to be hired.
it was a cardinal rule with lilian never to send out any article that was not up to her standard.
she bore the loss of her failures, and sometimes stayed up half of the night to fill an order on time.
""prompt and perfect" was her motto.
the long hot summer days were very trying, and sometimes she got very tired of it all.
but when on the anniversary of her first venture she made up her accounts she was well pleased.
to be sure, she had not made a fortune; but she had paid all their expenses, had a hundred dollars clear, and had laid the solid foundations of a profitable business.
""mother," she said jubilantly, as she wiped a dab of flour from her nose and proceeded to concoct the icing for blanche remington's wedding cake, "do n't you think my business venture has been a decided success?"
mrs. mitchell surveyed her busy daughter with a motherly smile.
""yes, i think it has," she said.
miriam's lover i had been reading a ghost story to mrs. sefton, and i laid it down at the end with a little shrug of contempt.
""what utter nonsense!"
i said.
mrs. sefton nodded abstractedly above her fancywork.
""that is.
it is a very commonplace story indeed.
i do n't believe the spirits of the departed trouble themselves to revisit the glimpses of the moon for the purpose of frightening honest mortals -- or even for the sake of hanging around the favourite haunts of their existence in the flesh.
if they ever appear, it must be for a better reason than that."
""you do n't surely think that they ever do appear?"
i said incredulously.
""we have no proof that they do not, my dear."
""surely, mary," i exclaimed, "you do n't mean to say that you believe people ever do or can see spirits -- ghosts, as the word goes?"
""i did n't say i believed it.
i never saw anything of the sort.
i neither believe nor disbelieve.
but you know queer things do happen at times -- things you ca n't account for.
at least, people who you know would n't lie say so.
of course, they may be mistaken.
and i do n't think that everybody can see spirits either, provided they are to be seen.
it requires people of a certain organization -- with a spiritual eye, as it were.
we have n't all got that -- in fact, i think very few of us have.
i dare say you think i'm talking nonsense."
""well, yes, i think you are.
you really surprise me, mary.
i always thought you the least likely person in the world to take up with such ideas.
something must have come under your observation to develop such theories in your practical head.
tell me what it was."
""to what purpose?
you would remain as sceptical as ever."
""possibly not.
try me; i may be convinced."
""no," returned mrs. sefton calmly.
""nobody ever is convinced by hearsay.
when a person has once seen a spirit -- or thinks he has -- he thenceforth believes it.
and when somebody else is intimately associated with that person and knows all the circumstances -- well, he admits the possibility, at least.
that is my position.
but by the time it gets to the third person -- the outsider -- it loses power.
besides, in this particular instance the story is n't very exciting.
but then -- it's true."
""you have excited my curiosity.
you must tell me the story."
""well, first tell me what you think of this.
suppose two people, both sensitively organized individuals, loved each other with a love stronger than life.
if they were apart, do you think it might be possible for their souls to communicate with each other in some inexplicable way?
and if anything happened to one, do n't you think that that one could and would let the spirit of the other know?"
""you're getting into too deep waters for me, mary," i said, shaking my head.
""i'm not an authority on telepathy, or whatever you call it.
but i've no belief in such theories.
in fact, i think they are all nonsense.
i'm sure you must think so too in your rational moments."
""i dare say it is all nonsense," said mrs. sefton slowly, "but if you had lived a whole year in the same house with miriam gordon, you would have been tainted too.
not that she had "theories" -- at least, she never aired them if she had.
but there was simply something about the girl herself that gave a person strange impressions.
when i first met her i had the most uncanny feeling that she was all spirit -- soul -- what you will!
no flesh, anyhow.
that feeling wore off after a while, but she never seemed like other people to me.
""she was mr. sefton's niece.
her father had died when she was a child.
when miriam was twenty her mother had married a second time and went to europe with her husband.
miriam came to live with us while they were away.
upon their return she was herself to be married.
""i had never seen miriam before.
her arrival was unexpected, and i was absent from home when she came.
i returned in the evening, and when i saw her first she was standing under the chandelier in the drawing room.
talk about spirits!
for five seconds i thought i had seen one.
""miriam was a beauty.
i had known that before, though i think i hardly expected to see such wonderful loveliness.
she was tall and extremely graceful, dark -- at least her hair was dark, but her skin was wonderfully fair and clear.
her hair was gathered away from her face, and she had a high, pure, white forehead, and the straightest, finest, blackest brows.
her face was oval, with very large and dark eyes.
""i soon realized that miriam was in some mysterious fashion different from other people.
i think everyone who met her felt the same way.
yet it was a feeling hard to define.
for my own part i simply felt as if she belonged to another world, and that part of the time she -- her soul, you know -- was back there again.
""you must not suppose that miriam was a disagreeable person to have in the house.
on the contrary, it was the very reverse.
everybody liked her.
she was one of the sweetest, most winsome girls i ever knew, and i soon grew to love her dearly.
as for what dick called her "little queernesses" -- well, we got used to them in time.
""miriam was engaged, as i have told you, to a young harvard man named sidney claxton.
i knew she loved him very deeply.
when she showed me his photograph, i liked his appearance and said so.
then i made some teasing remark about her love-letters -- just for a joke, you know.
miriam looked at me with an odd little smile and said quickly:" "sidney and i never write to each other.""
"why, miriam!"
i exclaimed in astonishment.
"do you mean to tell me you never hear from him at all?""
"no, i did not say that.
i hear from him every day -- every hour.
we do not need to write letters.
there are better means of communication between two souls that are in perfect accord with each other.""
"miriam, you uncanny creature, what do you mean?"
i asked.
""but miriam only gave another queer smile and made no answer at all.
whatever her beliefs or theories were, she would never discuss them.
""she had a habit of dropping into abstracted reveries at any time or place.
no matter where she was, this, whatever it was, would come over her.
she would sit there, perhaps in the centre of a gay crowd, and gaze right out into space, not hearing or seeing a single thing that went on around her.
""i remember one day in particular; we were sewing in my room.
i looked up and saw that miriam's work had dropped on her knee and she was leaning forward, her lips apart, her eyes gazing upward with an unearthly expression."
"do n't look like that, miriam!"
i said, with a little shiver.
"you seem to be looking at something a thousand miles away!"
""miriam came out of her trance or reverie and said, with a little laugh:" "how do you know but that i was?"
""she bent her head for a minute or two.
then she lifted it again and looked at me with a sudden contraction of her level brows that betokened vexation.""
i wish you had n't spoken to me just then," she said.
"you interrupted the message i was receiving.
i shall not get it at all now.""
"miriam," i implored."
i so wish my dear girl, that you would n't talk so.
it makes people think there is something queer about you.
who in the world was sending you a message, as you call it?""
"sidney," said miriam simply."
"nonsense!""
"you think it is nonsense because you do n't understand it," was her calm response.
""i recall another event was when some caller dropped in and we had drifted into a discussion about ghosts and the like -- and i've no doubt we all talked some delicious nonsense.
miriam said nothing at the time, but when we were alone i asked her what she thought of it.""
i thought you were all merely talking against time," she retorted evasively."
"but, miriam, do you really think it is possible for ghosts --""" i detest that word!""
"well, spirits then -- to return after death, or to appear to anyone apart from the flesh?"""
i will tell you what i know.
if anything were to happen to sidney -- if he were to die or be killed -- he would come to me himself and tell me."
""one day miriam came down to lunch looking pale and worried.
after dick went out, i asked her if anything were wrong."
"something has happened to sidney," she replied, "some painful accident -- i do n't know what.""
"how do you know?"
i cried.
then, as she looked at me strangely, i added hastily, "you have n't been receiving any more unearthly messages, have you?
surely, miriam, you are not so foolish as to really believe in that!"""
i know," she answered quickly.
"belief or disbelief has nothing to do with it.
yes, i have had a message.
i know that some accident has happened to sidney -- painful and inconvenient but not particularly dangerous.
i do not know what it is.
sidney will write me that.
he writes when it is absolutely necessary.""
"aerial communication is n't perfected yet then?"
i said mischievously.
but, observing how really worried she seemed, i added, "do n't fret, miriam.
you may be mistaken."
""well, two days afterwards she got a note from her lover -- the first i had ever known her to receive -- in which he said he had been thrown from his horse and had broken his left arm.
it had happened the very morning miriam received her message.
""miriam had been with us about eight months when one day she came into my room hurriedly.
she was very pale."
"sidney is ill -- dangerously ill.
what shall i do?"
""i knew she must have had another of those abominable messages -- or thought she had -- and really, remembering the incident of the broken arm, i could n't feel as sceptical as i pretended to.
i tried to cheer her, but did not succeed.
two hours later she had a telegram from her lover's college chum, saying that mr. claxton was dangerously ill with typhoid fever.
""i was quite alarmed about miriam in the days that followed.
she grieved and fretted continually.
one of her troubles was that she received no more messages; she said it was because sidney was too ill to send them.
anyhow, she had to content herself with the means of communication used by ordinary mortals.
""sidney's mother, who had gone to nurse him, wrote every day, and at last good news came.
the crisis was over and the doctor in attendance thought sidney would recover.
miriam seemed like a new creature then, and rapidly recovered her spirits.
""for a week reports continued favourable.
one night we went to the opera to hear a celebrated prima donna.
when we returned home miriam and i were sitting in her room, chatting over the events of the evening.
""suddenly she sat straight up with a sort of convulsive shudder, and at the same time -- you may laugh if you like -- the most horrible feeling came over me.
i did n't see anything, but i just felt that there was something or someone in the room besides ourselves.
""miriam was gazing straight before her.
she rose to her feet and held out her hands."
"sidney!"
she said.
""then she fell to the floor in a dead faint.
""i screamed for dick, rang the bell and rushed to her.
""in a few minutes the whole household was aroused, and dick was off posthaste for the doctor, for we could not revive miriam from her death-like swoon.
she seemed as one dead.
we worked over her for hours.
she would come out of her faint for a moment, give us an unknowing stare and go shudderingly off again.
""the doctor talked of some fearful shock, but i kept my own counsel.
at dawn miriam came back to life at last.
when she and i were left alone, she turned to me."
"sidney is dead," she said quietly."
i saw him -- just before i fainted.
i looked up, and he was standing between me and you.
he had come to say farewell."
""what could i say?
almost while we were talking a telegram came.
he was dead -- he had died at the very hour at which miriam had seen him."
mrs. sefton paused, and the lunch bell rang.
""what do you think of it?"
she queried as we rose.
""honestly, i do n't know what i think of it," i answered frankly.
miss calista's peppermint bottle miss calista was perplexed.
her nephew, caleb cramp, who had been her right-hand man for years and whom she had got well broken into her ways, had gone to the klondike, leaving her to fill his place with the next best man; but the next best man was slow to appear, and meanwhile miss calista was looking about her warily.
she could afford to wait a while, for the crop was all in and the fall ploughing done, so that the need of a successor to caleb was not as pressing as it might otherwise have been.
there was no lack of applicants, such as they were.
miss calista was known to be a kind and generous mistress, although she had her "ways," and insisted calmly and immovably upon wholehearted compliance with them.
she had a small, well-cultivated farm and a comfortable house, and her hired men lived in clover.
caleb cramp had been perfection after his kind, and miss calista did not expect to find his equal.
nevertheless, she set up a certain standard of requirements; and although three weeks, during which miss calista had been obliged to put up with the immature services of a neighbour's boy, had elapsed since caleb's departure, no one had as yet stepped into his vacant and coveted shoes.
certainly miss calista was somewhat hard to please, but she was not thinking of herself as she sat by her front window in the chilly november twilight.
instead, she was musing on the degeneration of hired men, and reflecting that it was high time the wheat was thrashed, the house banked, and sundry other duties attended to.
ches maybin had been up that afternoon to negotiate for the vacant place, and had offered to give satisfaction for smaller wages than miss calista had ever paid.
but he had met with a brusque refusal, scarcely as civil as miss calista had bestowed on drunken jake stinson from the morrisvale road.
not that miss calista had any particular prejudice against ches maybin, or knew anything positively to his discredit.
she was simply unconsciously following the example of a world that exerts itself to keep a man down when he is down and prevent all chance of his rising.
nothing succeeds like success, and the converse of this is likewise true -- that nothing fails like failure.
there was not a person in cooperstown who would not have heartily endorsed miss calista's refusal.
ches maybin was only eighteen, although he looked several years older, and although no flagrant misdoing had ever been proved against him, suspicion of such was not wanting.
he came of a bad stock, people said sagely, adding that what was bred in the bone was bound to come out in the flesh.
his father, old sam maybin, had been a shiftless and tricky rascal, as everybody knew, and had ended his days in the poorhouse.
ches's mother had died when he was a baby, and he had come up somehow, in a hand-to-mouth fashion, with all the cloud of heredity hanging over him.
he was always looked at askance, and when any mischief came to light in the village, it was generally fastened on him as a convenient and handy scapegoat.
he was considered sulky and lazy, and the local prophets united in predicting a bad end for him sooner or later; and, moreover, diligently endeavoured by their general treatment of him to put him in a fair way to fulfil their predictions.
miss calista, when she had shut chester maybin out into the chill gloom of the november dusk, dismissed him from her thoughts.
there were other things of more moment to her just then than old sam maybin's hopeful son.
there was nobody in the house but herself, and although this was neither alarming nor unusual, it was unusual -- and miss calista considered it alarming -- that the sum of five hundred dollars should at that very moment be in the upper right-hand drawer of the sideboard, which sum had been up to the previous day safe in the coffers of the millageville bank.
but certain unfavourable rumours were in course of circulation about that same institution, and miss calista, who was nothing if not prudent, had gone to the bank that very morning and withdrawn her deposit.
she intended to go over to kerrytown the very next day and deposit it in the savings bank there.
not another day would she keep it in the house, and, indeed, it worried her to think she must keep it even for the night, as she had told mrs. galloway that afternoon during a neighbourly back-yard chat.
""not but what it's safe enough," she said, "for not a soul but you knows i've got it.
but i'm not used to have so much by me, and there are always tramps going round.
it worries me somehow.
i would n't give it a thought if caleb was here.
i s "pose being all alone makes me nervous."
miss calista was still rather nervous when she went to bed that night, but she was a woman of sound sense and was determined not to give way to foolish fears.
she locked doors and windows carefully, as was her habit, and saw that the fastenings were good and secure.
the one on the dining-room window, looking out on the back yard, was n't; in fact, it was broken altogether; but, as miss calista told herself, it had been broken just so for the last six years, and nobody had ever tried to get in at it yet, and it was n't likely anyone would begin tonight.
miss calista went to bed and, despite her worry, slept soon and soundly.
it was well on past midnight when she suddenly wakened and sat bolt upright in bed.
she was not accustomed to waken in the night, and she had the impression of having been awakened by some noise.
she listened breathlessly.
her room was directly over the dining-room, and an empty stovepipe hole opened up through the ceiling of the latter at the head of her bed.
there was no mistake about it.
something or some person was moving about stealthily in the room below.
it was n't the cat -- miss calista had shut him in the woodshed before she went to bed, and he could n't possibly get out.
it must certainly be a beggar or tramp of some description.
miss calista might be given over to nervousness in regard to imaginary thieves, but in the presence of real danger she was cool and self-reliant.
as noiselessly and swiftly as any burglar himself, miss calista slipped out of bed and into her clothes.
then she tip-toed out into the hall.
the late moonlight, streaming in through the hall windows, was quite enough illumination for her purpose, and she got downstairs and was fairly in the open doorway of the dining-room before a sound betrayed her presence.
standing at the sideboard, hastily ransacking the neat contents of an open drawer, stood a man's figure, dimly visible in the moonlight gloom.
as miss calista's grim form appeared in the doorway, the midnight marauder turned with a start and then, with an inarticulate cry, sprang, not at the courageous lady, but at the open window behind him.
miss calista, realizing with a flash of comprehension that he was escaping her, had a woman-like impulse to get a blow in anyhow; she grasped and hurled at her unceremonious caller the first thing that came to hand -- a bottle of peppermint essence that was standing on the sideboard.
the missile hit the escaping thief squarely on the shoulder as he sprang out of the window, and the fragments of glass came clattering down on the sill.
the next moment miss calista found herself alone, standing by the sideboard in a half-dazed fashion, for the whole thing had passed with such lightning-like rapidity that it almost seemed as if it were the dissolving end of a bad dream.
but the open drawer and the window, where the bits of glass were glistening in the moonlight, were no dream.
miss calista recovered herself speedily, closed the window, lit the lamp, gathered up the broken glass, and set up the chairs which the would-be thief had upset in his exit.
an examination of the sideboard showed the precious five hundred safe and sound in an undisturbed drawer.
miss calista kept grim watch and ward there until morning, and thought the matter over exhaustively.
in the end she resolved to keep her own counsel.
she had no clue whatever to the thief's whereabouts or identity, and no good would come of making a fuss, which might only end in throwing suspicion on someone who might be quite innocent.
when the morning came miss calista lost no time in setting out for kerrytown, where the money was soon safely deposited in the bank.
she heaved a sigh of relief when she left the building.
i feel as if i could enjoy life once more, she said to herself.
goodness me, if i'd had to keep that money by me for a week itself, i'd have been a raving lunatic by the end of it.
miss calista had shopping to do and friends to visit in town, so that the dull autumn day was well nigh spent when she finally got back to cooperstown and paused at the corner store to get a bundle of matches.
the store was full of men, smoking and chatting around the fire, and miss calista, whose pet abomination was tobacco smoke, was not at all minded to wait any longer than she could help.
but abiram fell was attending to a previous customer, and miss calista sat grimly down by the counter to wait her turn.
the door opened, letting in a swirl of raw november evening wind and ches maybin.
he nodded sullenly to mr. fell and passed down the store to mutter a message to a man at the further end.
miss calista lifted her head as he passed and sniffed the air as a charger who scents battle.
the smell of tobacco was strong, and so was that of the open boxes of dried herring on the counter, but plainly, above all the commingled odours of a country grocery, miss calista caught a whiff of peppermint, so strong as to leave no doubt of its origin.
there had been no hint of it before ches maybin's entrance.
the latter did not wait long.
he was out and striding along the shadowy road when miss calista left the store and drove smartly after him.
it never took miss calista long to make up her mind about anything, and she had weighed and passed judgement on ches maybin's case while mr. fell was doing up her matches.
the lad glanced up furtively as she checked her fat grey pony beside him.
""good evening, chester," she said with brisk kindness.
""i can give you a lift, if you are going my way.
jump in, quick -- dapple is a little restless."
a wave of crimson, duskily perceptible under his sunburned skin, surged over ches maybin's face.
it almost seemed as if he were going to blurt out a blunt refusal.
but miss calista's face was so guileless and her tone so friendly, that he thought better of it and sprang in beside her, and dapple broke into an impatient trot down the long hill lined with its bare, wind-writhen maples.
after a few minutes" silence miss calista turned to her moody companion.
""chester," she said, as tranquilly as if about to ask him the most ordinary question in the world, "why did you climb into my house last night and try to steal my money?"
ches maybin started convulsively, as if he meant to spring from the buggy at once, but miss calista's hand was on his arm in a grasp none the less firm because of its gentleness, and there was a warning gleam in her grey eyes.
""it wo n't mend matters trying to get clear of me, chester.
i know it was you and i want an answer -- a truthful one, mind you -- to my question.
i am your friend, and i am not going to harm you if you tell me the truth."
her clear and incisive gaze met and held irresistibly the boy's wavering one.
the sullen obstinacy of his face relaxed.
""well," he muttered finally, "i was just desperate, that's why.
i've never done anything real bad in my life before, but people have always been down on me.
i'm blamed for everything, and nobody wants anything to do with me.
i'm willing to work, but i ca n't get a thing to do.
i'm in rags and i have n't a cent, and winter's coming on.
i heard you telling mrs. galloway yesterday about the money.
i was behind the fir hedge and you did n't see me.
i went away and planned it all out.
i'd get in some way -- and i meant to use the money to get away out west as far from here as i could, and begin life there, where nobody knew me, and where i'd have some sort of a chance.
i've never had any here.
you can put me in jail now, if you like -- they'll feed and clothe me there, anyhow, and i'll be on a level with the rest."
the boy had blurted it all out sullenly and half-chokingly.
a world of rebellion and protest against the fate that had always dragged him down was couched in his voice.
miss calista drew dapple to a standstill before her gate.
""i'm not going to send you to jail, chester.
i believe you've told me the truth.
yesterday you wanted me to give you caleb's place and i refused.
well, i offer it to you now.
if you'll come, i'll hire you, and give you as good wages as i gave him."
ches maybin looked incredulous.
""miss calista, you ca n't mean it."
""i do mean it, every word.
you say you have never had a chance.
well, i am going to give you one -- a chance to get on the right road and make a man of yourself.
nobody shall ever know about last night's doings from me, and i'll make it my business to forget them if you deserve it.
what do you say?"
ches lifted his head and looked her squarely in the face.
""i'll come," he said huskily.
""it ai n't no use to try and thank you, miss calista.
but i'll live my thanks."
and he did.
the good people of cooperstown held up their hands in horror when they heard that miss calista had hired ches maybin, and prophesied that the deluded woman would live to repent her rash step.
but not all prophecies come true.
miss calista smiled serenely and kept on her own misguided way.
and ches maybin proved so efficient and steady that the arrangement was continued, and in due time people outlived their old suspicions and came to regard him as a thoroughly smart and trustworthy young man.
""miss calista has made a man of ches maybin," said the oracles.
""he ought to be very grateful to her."
and he was.
but only he and miss calista and the peppermint bottle ever knew the precise extent of his gratitude, and they never told.
the jest that failed "i think it is simply a disgrace to have a person like that in our class," said edna hayden in an injured tone.
""and she does n't seem a bit ashamed of it, either," said agnes walters.
""rather proud of it, i should say," returned her roommate, spitefully.
""it seems to me that if i were so poor that i had to "room" myself and dress as dowdily as she does that i really could n't look anybody in the face.
what must the boys think of her?
and if it was n't for her being in it, our class would be the smartest and dressiest in the college -- even those top-lofty senior girls admit that."
""it's a shame," said agnes, conclusively.
""but she need n't expect to associate with our set.
i, for one, wo n't have anything to do with her."
""nor i. i think it is time she should be taught her place.
if we could only manage to inflict some decided snub on her, she might take the hint and give up trying to poke herself in where she does n't belong.
the idea of her consenting to be elected on the freshmen executive!
but she seems impervious to snubs."
""edna, let's play a joke on her.
it will serve her right.
let us send an invitation in somebody's name to the senior "prom.""
""the very thing!
and sign sidney hill's name to it.
he's the handsomest and richest fellows at payzant, and belongs to one of the best families in town, and he's awfully fastidious besides.
no doubt she will feel immensely flattered and, of course, she'll accept.
just think how silly she'll feel when she finds out he never sent it.
let's write it now, and send it at once.
there is no time to lose, for the "prom" is on thursday night."
the freshmen co-eds at payzant college did not like grace seeley -- that is to say, the majority of them.
they were a decidedly snobbish class that year.
no one could deny that grace was clever, but she was poor, dressed very plainly -- "dowdily," the girls said -- and "roomed" herself, that phrase meaning that she rented a little unfurnished room and cooked her own meals over an oil stove.
the "senior prom," as it was called, was the annual reception which the senior class gave in the middle of every autumn term.
it was the smartest and gayest of all the college functions, and a payzant co-ed who received an invitation to it counted herself fortunate.
the senior girls were included as a matter of course, but a junior, soph, or freshie could not go unless one of the senior boys invited her.
grace seeley was studying greek in her tiny room that afternoon when the invitation was brought to her.
it was scrupulously orthodox in appearance and form, and grace never doubted that it was genuine, although she felt much surprised that sidney hill, the leader of his class and the foremost figure in all college sports and societies, should have asked her to go with him to the senior prom.
but she was girlishly pleased at the prospect.
she was as fond of a good time as any other girl, and she had secretly wished very much that she could go to the brilliant and much talked about senior prom.
grace was quite unaware of her own unpopularity among her class co-eds, although she thought it was very hard to get acquainted with them.
without any false pride herself, and of a frank, independent nature, it never occurred to her that the other payzant freshies could look down on her because she was poor, or resent her presence among them because she dressed plainly.
she straightway wrote a note of acceptance to sidney hill, and that young man naturally felt much mystified when he opened and read it in the college library next morning.
""grace seeley," he pondered.
""that's the jolly girl with the brown eyes that i met at the philomathic the other night.
she thanks me for my invitation to the senior prom, and accepts with pleasure.
why, i certainly never invited her or anyone else to go with me to the senior prom.
there must be some mistake."
grace passed him at this moment on her way to the latin classroom.
she bowed and smiled in a friendly fashion and sidney hill felt decidedly uncomfortable.
what was he to do?
he did not like to think of putting miss seeley in a false position because somebody had sent her an invitation in his name.
""i suppose it is some cad who has a spite at me that has done it," he reflected, "but if so i'll spoil his game.
i'll take miss seeley to the prom as if i had never intended doing anything else.
she sha n't be humiliated just because there is someone at payzant who would stoop to that sort of thing."
so he walked up the hall with grace and expressed his pleasure at her acceptance, and on the evening of the prom he sent her a bouquet of white carnations, whose spicy fragrance reminded her of her own little garden at home.
grace thought it extremely nice of him, and dressed in a flutter of pleasant anticipation.
her gown was a very simple one of sheer white organdie, and was the only evening dress she had.
she knew there would be many smarter dresses at the reception, but the knowledge did not disturb her sensible head in the least.
she fingered the dainty white frills lovingly as she remembered the sunny summer days at home in the little sewing-room, where cherry boughs poked their blossoms in at the window, when her mother and sisters had helped her to make it, with laughing prophesies and speculations as to its first appearance.
into seam and puff and frill many girlish hopes and dreams had been sewn, and they all came back to grace as she put it on, and helped to surround her with an atmosphere of happiness.
when she was ready she picked up her bouquet and looked herself over in the mirror, from the top of her curly head to the tips of her white shoes, with a little nod of satisfaction.
grace was not exactly pretty, but she had such a bright, happy face and such merry brown eyes and such a friendly smile that she was very pleasant to look upon, and a great many people thought so that night.
grace had never in all her life before had so good a time as she had at that senior prom.
the seniors were quick to discover her unaffected originality and charm, and everywhere she went she was the centre of a merry group.
in short, grace, as much to her own surprise as anyone's, found herself a social success.
presently sidney brought his brother up to be introduced, and the latter said: "miss seeley, will you excuse my asking if you have a brother or any relative named max seeley?"
grace nodded.
""oh, yes, my brother max.
he is a doctor out west."
""i was sure of it," said murray hill triumphantly.
""you resemble him so strongly.
please do n't consider me as a stranger a minute longer, for max and i are like brothers.
indeed, i owe my life to him.
last summer i was out there on a surveying expedition, and i took typhoid in a little out-of-the-way place where good nursing was not to be had for love or money.
your brother attended me and he managed to pull me through.
he never left me day or night until i was out of danger, and he worked like a trojan for me."
""dear old max," said grace, her brown eyes shining with pride and pleasure.
""that is so like him.
he is such a dear brother and i have n't seen him for four years.
to see somebody who knows him so well is next best thing to seeing himself."
""he is an awfully fine fellow," said mr. hill heartily, "and i'm delighted to have met the "little sister" he used to talk so much about.
i want you to come ever and meet my mother and sister.
they have heard me talk so much about max that they think almost as much of him as i do, and they will be glad to meet his sister."
mrs. hill, a handsome, dignified lady who was one of the chaperones of the prom, received grace warmly, while beatrice hill, an extremely pretty, smartly gowned girl, made her feel at home immediately.
""you came with sid, did n't you?"
she whispered.
""sid is so sly -- he never tells us whom he is going to take anywhere.
but when i saw you come in with him i knew i was going to like you, you looked so jolly.
and you're really the sister of that splendid dr. seeley who saved murray's life last summer?
and to think you've been at payzant nearly a whole term and we never knew it!"
""well, how have you enjoyed our prom, miss seeley?"
asked sid, as they walked home together under the arching elms of the college campus.
""oh!
it was splendid," said grace enthusiastically.
""everybody was so nice.
and then to meet someone who could tell me so much about max!
i must write them home all about it before i sleep, just to calm my head a bit.
mother and the girls will be so interested, and i must send lou and mab a carnation apiece for their scrapbooks."
""give me one back, please," said sid.
and grace with a little blush, did so.
that night, while grace was slipping the stems of her carnations and putting them into water, three little bits of conversation were being carried on which it is necessary to report in order to round up this story neatly and properly, as all stories should be rounded up.
in the first place, beatrice hill was saying to sidney, "oh, sid, that miss seeley you had at the prom is a lovely girl.
i do n't know when i've met anyone i liked so much.
she was so jolly and friendly and she did n't put on learned airs at all, as so many of those payzant girls do.
i asked her all about herself and she told me, and all about her mother and sisters and home and the lovely times they had together, and how hard they worked to send her to college too, and how she taught school in vacations and "roomed" herself to help along.
is n't it so brave and plucky of her!
i know we are going to be great friends."
""i hope so," said sidney briefly, "because i have an idea that she and i are going to be very good friends too."
and sidney went upstairs and put away a single white carnation very carefully.
in the second place, mrs. hill was saying to her eldest son, "i liked that miss seeley very much.
she seemed a very sweet girl."
and, finally, agnes walters and edna hayden were discussing the matter in great mystification in their room.
""i ca n't understand it at all," said agnes slowly.
""sid hill took her to the prom and he must have sent her those carnations too.
she could never have afforded them herself.
and did you see the fuss his people made over her?
i heard beatrice telling her that she was coming to call on her tomorrow, and mrs. hill said she must look upon "beechlawn" as her second home while she was at payzant.
if the hills are going to take her up we'll have to be nice to her."
""i suppose," said edna conclusively, "the truth of the matter is that sid hill meant to ask her anyway.
i dare say he asked her long ago, and she would know our invitation was a fraud.
so the joke is on ourselves, after all."
but, as you and i know, that, with the exception of the last sentence, was not the truth of the matter at all.
the penningtons" girl winslow had been fishing -- or pretending to -- all the morning, and he was desperately thirsty.
he boarded with the beckwiths on the riverside east shore, but he was nearer riverside west, and he knew the penningtons well.
he had often been there for bait and milk and had listened times out of mind to mrs. pennington's dismal tales of her tribulations with hired girls.
she never could get along with them, and they left, on an average, after a fortnight's trial.
she was on the lookout for one now, he knew, and would likely be cross, but he thought she would give him a drink.
he rowed his skiff into the shore and tied it to a fir that hung out from the bank.
a winding little footpath led up to the pennington farmhouse, which crested the hill about three hundred yards from the shore.
winslow made for the kitchen door and came face to face with a girl carrying a pail of water -- mrs. pennington's latest thing in hired girls, of course.
winslow's first bewildered thought was "what a goddess!"
and he wondered, as he politely asked for a drink, where on earth mrs. pennington had picked her up.
she handed him a shining dipper half full and stood, pail in hand, while he drank it.
she was rather tall, and wore a somewhat limp, faded print gown, and a big sunhat, beneath which a glossy knot of chestnut showed itself.
her skin was very fair, somewhat freckled, and her mouth was delicious.
as for her eyes, they were grey, but beyond that simply defied description.
""will you have some more?"
she asked in a soft, drawling voice.
""no, thank you.
that was delicious.
is mrs. pennington home?"
""no.
she has gone away for the day."
""well, i suppose i can sit down here and rest a while.
you've no serious objections, have you?"
""oh, no."
she carried her pail into the kitchen and came out again presently with a knife and a pan of apples.
sitting down on a bench under the poplars she proceeded to peel them with a disregard of his presence that piqued winslow, who was not used to being ignored in this fashion.
besides, as a general rule, he had been quite good friends with mrs. pennington's hired girls.
she had had three strapping damsels during his sojourn in riverside, and he used to sit on this very doorstep and chaff them.
they had all been saucy and talkative.
this girl was evidently a new species.
""do you think you'll get along with mrs. pennington?"
he asked finally.
""as a rule she fights with her help, although she is a most estimable woman."
the girl smiled quite broadly.
""i guess p "r "aps she's rather hard to suit," was the answer, "but i like her pretty well so far.
i think we'll get along with each other.
if we do n't i can leave -- like the others did."
""what is your name?"
""nelly ray."
""well, nelly, i hope you'll be able to keep your place.
let me give you a bit of friendly advice.
do n't let the cats get into the pantry.
that is what mrs. pennington has quarrelled with nearly every one of her girls about."
""it is quite a bother to keep them out, ai n't it?"
said nelly calmly.
""there's dozens of cats about the place.
what on earth makes them keep so many?"
""mr. pennington has a mania for cats.
he and mrs. pennington have a standing disagreement about it.
the last girl left here because she could n't stand the cats; they affected her nerves, she said.
i hope you do n't mind them."
""oh, no; i kind of like cats.
i've been tryin" to count them.
has anyone ever done that?"
""not that i know of.
i tried but i had to give up in despair -- never could tell when i was counting the same cat over again.
look at that black goblin sunning himself on the woodpile.
i say, nelly, you're not going, are you?"
""i must.
it's time to get dinner.
mr. pennington will be in from the fields soon."
the next minute he heard her stepping briskly about the kitchen, shooing out intruding cats, and humming a darky air to herself.
he went reluctantly back to the shore and rowed across the river in a brown study.
i do n't know whether winslow was afflicted with chronic thirst or not, or whether the east side water was n't so good as that of the west side; but i do know that he fairly haunted the pennington farmhouse after that.
mrs. pennington was home the next time he went, and he asked her about her new girl.
to his surprise the good lady was unusually reticent.
she could n't really say very much about nelly.
no, she did n't belong anywhere near riverside.
in fact, she -- mrs. pennington -- did n't think she had any settled home at present.
her father was travelling over the country somewhere.
nelly was a good little girl, and very obliging.
beyond this winslow could get no more information, so he went around and talked to nelly, who was sitting on the bench under the poplars and seemed absorbed in watching the sunset.
she dropped her g's badly and made some grammatical errors that caused winslow's flesh to creep on his bones.
but any man could have forgiven mistakes from such dimpled lips in such a sweet voice.
he asked her to go for a row up the river in the twilight and she assented; she handled an oar very well, he found out, and the exercise became her.
winslow tried to get her to talk about herself, but failed signally and had to content himself with mrs. pennington's meagre information.
he told her about himself frankly enough -- how he had had fever in the spring and had been ordered to spend the summer in the country and do nothing useful until his health was fully restored, and how lonesome it was in riverside in general and at the beckwith farm in particular.
he made out quite a dismal case for himself and if nelly was n't sorry for him, she should have been.
* * * * * at the end of a fortnight riverside folks began to talk about winslow and the penningtons" hired girl.
he was reported to be "dead gone" on her; he took her out rowing every evening, drove her to preaching up the bend on sunday nights, and haunted the pennington farmhouse.
wise folks shook their heads over it and wondered that mrs. pennington allowed it.
winslow was a gentleman, and that nelly ray, whom nobody knew anything about, not even where she came from, was only a common hired girl, and he had no business to be hanging about her.
she was pretty, to be sure; but she was absurdly stuck-up and would n't associate with other riverside "help" at all.
well, pride must have a fall; there must be something queer about her when she was so awful sly as to her past life.
winslow and nelly did not trouble themselves in the least over all this gossip; in fact, they never even heard it.
winslow was hopelessly in love, when he found this out he was aghast.
he thought of his father, the ambitious railroad magnate; of his mother, the brilliant society leader; of his sisters, the beautiful and proud; he was honestly frightened.
it would never do; he must not go to see nelly again.
he kept this prudent resolution for twenty-four hours and then rowed over to the west shore.
he found nelly sitting on the bank in her old faded print dress and he straightway forgot everything he ought to have remembered.
nelly herself never seemed to be conscious of the social gulf between them.
at least she never alluded to it in any way, and accepted winslow's attentions as if she had a perfect right to them.
she had broken the record by staying with mrs. pennington four weeks, and even the cats were in subjection.
winslow was well enough to have gone back to the city and, in fact, his father was writing for him.
but he could n't leave beckwiths", apparently.
at any rate he stayed on and met nelly every day and cursed himself for a cad and a cur and a weak-brained idiot.
one day he took nelly for a row up the river.
they went further than usual around the bend.
winslow did n't want to go too far, for he knew that a party of his city friends, chaperoned by mrs. keyton-wells, were having a picnic somewhere up along the river shore that day.
but nelly insisted on going on and on, and of course she had her way.
when they reached a little pine-fringed headland they came upon the picnickers, within a stone's throw.
everybody recognized winslow.
""why, there is burton!"
he heard mrs. keyton-wells exclaim, and he knew she was putting up her glasses.
will evans, who was an especial chum of his, ran down to the water's edge.
""bless me, win, where did you come from?
come right in.
we have n't had tea yet.
bring your friend too," he added, becoming conscious that winslow's friend was a mighty pretty girl.
winslow's face was crimson.
he avoided nelly's eye.
""are them people friends of yours?"
she asked in a low tone.
""yes," he muttered.
""well, let us go ashore if they want us to," she said calmly.
""i do n't mind."
for three seconds winslow hesitated.
then he pulled ashore and helped nelly to alight on a jutting rock.
there was a curious, set expression about his fine mouth as he marched nelly up to mrs. keyton-wells and introduced her.
mrs. keyton-wells's greeting was slightly cool, but very polite.
she supposed miss ray was some little country girl with whom burton winslow was carrying on a summer flirtation; respectable enough, no doubt, and must be treated civilly, but of course would n't expect to be made an equal of exactly.
the other women took their cue from her, but the men were more cordial.
miss ray might be shabby, but she was distinctly fetching, and winslow looked savage.
nelly was not a whit abashed, seemingly, by the fashionable circle in which she found herself, and she talked away to will evans and the others in her soft drawl as if she had known them all her life.
all might have gone passably well, had not a little riverside imp, by name of rufus hent, who had been picked up by the picnickers to run their errands, come up just then with a pail of water.
""golly!"
he ejaculated in very audible tones.
""if there ai n't mrs. pennington's hired girl!"
mrs. keyton-wells stiffened with horror.
winslow darted a furious glance at the tell-tale that would have annihilated anything except a small boy.
will evans grinned and went on talking to nelly, who had failed to hear, or at least to heed, the exclamation.
the mischief was done, the social thermometer went down to zero in nelly's neighbourhood.
the women ignored her altogether.
winslow set his teeth together and registered a mental vow to wring rufus hent's sunburned neck at the first opportunity.
he escorted nelly to the table and waited on her with ostentatious deference, while mrs. keyton-wells glanced at him stonily and made up her mind to tell his mother when she went home.
nelly's social ostracism did not affect her appetite.
but after lunch was over, she walked down to the skiff.
winslow followed her.
""do you want to go home?"
he asked.
""yes, it's time i went, for the cats may be raidin" the pantry.
but you must not come; your friends here want you."
""nonsense!"
said winslow sulkily.
""if you are going i am too."
but nelly was too quick for him; she sprang into the skiff, unwound the rope, and pushed off before he guessed her intention.
""i can row myself home and i mean to," she announced, taking up the oars defiantly.
""nelly," he implored.
nelly looked at him wickedly.
""you'd better go back to your friends.
that old woman with the eyeglasses is watchin" you."
winslow said something strong under his breath as he went back to the others.
will evans and his chums began to chaff him about nelly, but he looked so dangerous that they concluded to stop.
there is no denying that winslow was in a fearful temper just then with mrs. keyton-wells, evans, himself, nelly -- in fact, with all the world.
his friends drove him home in the evening on their way to the station and dropped him at the beckwith farm.
at dusk he went moodily down to the shore.
far up the bend was dim and shadowy and stars were shining above the wooded shores.
over the river the pennington farmhouse lights twinkled out alluringly.
winslow watched them until he could stand it no longer.
nelly had made off with his skiff, but perry beckwith's dory was ready to hand.
in five minutes, winslow was grounding her on the west shore.
nelly was sitting on a rock at the landing place.
he went over and sat down silently beside her.
a full moon was rising above the dark hills up the bend and in the faint light the girl was wonderfully lovely.
""i thought you were n't comin" over at all tonight," she said, smiling up at him, "and i was sorry, because i wanted to say goodbye to you."
""goodbye?
nelly, you're not going away?"
""yes.
the cats were in the pantry when i got home."
""nelly!"
""well, to be serious.
i'm not goin" for that, but i really am goin".
i had a letter from dad this evenin".
did you have a good time after i left this afternoon?
did mrs. keyton-wells thaw out?"
""hang mrs. keyton-wells!
nelly, where are you going?"
""to dad, of course.
we used to live down south together, but two months ago we broke up housekeepin" and come north.
we thought we could do better up here, you know.
dad started out to look for a place to settle down and i came here while he was prospectin".
he's got a house now, he says, and wants me to go right off.
i'm goin" tomorrow."
""nelly, you must n't go -- you must n't, i tell you," exclaimed winslow in despair.
""i love you -- i love you -- you must stay with me forever."
""you do n't know what you're sayin", mr. winslow," said nelly coldly.
""why, you ca n't marry me -- a common servant girl."
""i can and i will, if you'll have me," answered winslow recklessly.
""i ca n't ever let you go.
i've loved you ever since i first saw you.
nelly, wo n't you be my wife?
do n't you love me?"
""well, yes, i do," confessed nelly suddenly; and then it was fully five minutes before winslow gave her a chance to say anything else.
""oh, what will your people say?"
she contrived to ask at last.
""wo n't they be in a dreadful state?
oh, it will never do for you to marry me."
""wo n't it?"
said winslow in a tone of satisfaction.
""i rather think it will.
of course, my family will rampage a bit at first.
i daresay father'll turn me out.
do n't worry over that, nelly.
i'm not afraid of work.
i'm not afraid of anything except losing you."
""you'll have to see what dad says," remarked nelly, after another eloquent interlude.
""he wo n't object, will he?
i'll write to him or go and see him.
where is he?"
""he is in town at the arlington."
""the arlington!"
winslow was amazed.
the arlington was the most exclusive and expensive hotel in town.
""what is he doing there?"
""transacting a real estate or railroad deal with your father, i believe, or something of that sort."
""nelly!"
""well?"
""what do you mean?"
""just what i say."
winslow got up and looked at her.
""nelly, who are you?"
""helen ray scott, at your service, sir."
""not helen ray scott, the daughter of the railroad king?"
""the same.
are you sorry that you're engaged to her?
if you are, she'll stay nelly ray."
winslow dropped back on the seat with a long breath.
""nelly, i do n't understand.
why did you deceive me?
i feel stunned."
""oh, do forgive me," she said merrily.
""i should n't have, i suppose -- but you know you took me for the hired girl the very first time you saw me, and you patronized me and called me nelly; so i let you think so just for fun.
i never thought it would come to this.
when father and i came north i took a fancy to come here and stay with mrs. pennington -- who is an old nurse of mine -- until father decided where to take up our abode.
i got here the night before we met.
my trunk was delayed so i put on an old cotton dress her niece had left here -- and you came and saw me.
i made mrs. pennington keep the secret -- she thought it great fun; and i really was a great hand to do little chores and keep the cats in subjection too.
i made mistakes in grammar and dropped my g's on purpose -- it was such fun to see you wince when i did it.
it was cruel to tease you so, i suppose, but it was so sweet just to be loved for myself -- not because i was an heiress and a belle -- i could n't bear to tell you the truth.
did you think i could n't read your thoughts this afternoon, when i insisted on going ashore?
you were a little ashamed of me -- you know you were.
i did n't blame you for that, but if you had n't gone ashore and taken me as you did i would never have spoken to you again.
mrs. keyton-wells wo n't snub me next time we meet.
and some way i do n't think your father will turn you out, either.
have you forgiven me yet, burton?"
""i shall never call you anything but nelly," said winslow irrelevantly.
the red room you would have me tell you the story, grandchild?
't is a sad one and best forgotten -- few remember it now.
there are always sad and dark stories in old families such as ours.
yet i have promised and must keep my word.
so sit down here at my feet and rest your bright head on my lap, that i may not see in your young eyes the shadows my story will bring across their bonny blue.
i was a mere child when it all happened, yet i remember it but too well, and i can recall how pleased i was when my father's stepmother, mrs. montressor -- she not liking to be called grandmother, seeing she was but turned of fifty and a handsome woman still -- wrote to my mother that she must send little beatrice up to montressor place for the christmas holidays.
so i went joyfully though my mother grieved to part with me; she had little to love save me, my father, conrad montressor, having been lost at sea when but three months wed..
my aunts were wont to tell me how much i resembled him, being, so they said, a montressor to the backbone; and this i took to mean commendation, for the montressors were a well-descended and well-thought-of family, and the women were noted for their beauty.
this i could well believe, since of all my aunts there was not one but was counted a pretty woman.
therefore i took heart of grace when i thought of my dark face and spindling shape, hoping that when i should be grown up i might be counted not unworthy of my race.
the place was an old-fashioned, mysterious house, such as i delighted in, and mrs. montressor was ever kind to me, albeit a little stern, for she was a proud woman and cared but little for children, having none of her own.
but there were books there to pore over without let or hindrance -- for nobody questioned of my whereabouts if i but kept out of the way -- and strange, dim family portraits on the walls to gaze upon, until i knew each proud old face well, and had visioned a history for it in my own mind -- for i was given to dreaming and was older and wiser than my years, having no childish companions to keep me still a child.
there were always some of my aunts at the place to kiss and make much of me for my father's sake -- for he had been their favourite brother.
my aunts -- there were eight of them -- had all married well, so said people who knew, and lived not far away, coming home often to take tea with mrs. montressor, who had always gotten on well with her step-daughters, or to help prepare for some festivity or other -- for they were notable housekeepers, every one.
they were all at montressor place for christmas, and i got more petting than i deserved, albeit they looked after me somewhat more strictly than did mrs. montressor, and saw to it that i did not read too many fairy tales or sit up later at nights than became my years.
but it was not for fairy tales and sugarplums nor yet for petting that i rejoiced to be at the place at that time.
though i spoke not of it to anyone, i had a great longing to see my uncle hugh's wife, concerning whom i had heard much, both good and bad.
my uncle hugh, albeit the oldest of the family, had never married until now, and all the countryside rang with talk of his young wife.
i did not hear as much as i wished, for the gossips took heed to my presence when i drew anear and turned to other matters.
yet, being somewhat keener of comprehension than they knew, i heard and understood not a little of their talk.
and so i came to know that neither proud mrs. montressor nor my good aunts, nor even my gentle mother, looked with overmuch favour on what my uncle hugh had done.
and i did hear that mrs. montressor had chosen a wife for her stepson, of good family and some beauty, but that my uncle hugh would have none of her -- a thing mrs. montressor found hard to pardon, yet might so have done had not my uncle, on his last voyage to the indies -- for he went often in his own vessels -- married and brought home a foreign bride, of whom no one knew aught save that her beauty was a thing to dazzle the day and that she was of some strange alien blood such as ran not in the blue veins of the montressors.
some had much to say of her pride and insolence, and wondered if mrs. montressor would tamely yield her mistress-ship to the stranger.
but others, who were taken with her loveliness and grace, said that the tales told were born of envy and malice, and that alicia montressor was well worthy of her name and station.
so i halted between two opinions and thought to judge for myself, but when i went to the place my uncle hugh and his bride were gone for a time, and i had even to swallow my disappointment and bide their return with all my small patience.
but my aunts and their stepmother talked much of alicia, and they spoke slightingly of her, saying that she was but a light woman and that no good would come of my uncle hugh's having wed her, with other things of a like nature.
also they spoke of the company she gathered around her, thinking her to have strange and unbecoming companions for a montressor.
all this i heard and pondered much over, although my good aunts supposed that such a chit as i would take no heed to their whisperings.
when i was not with them, helping to whip eggs and stone raisins, and being watched to see that i ate not more than one out of five, i was surely to be found in the wing hall, poring over my book and grieving that i was no more allowed to go into the red room.
the wing hall was a narrow one and dim, connecting the main rooms of the place with an older wing, built in a curious way.
the hall was lighted by small, square-paned windows, and at its end a little flight of steps led up to the red room.
whenever i had been at the place before -- and this was often -- i had passed much of my time in this same red room.
it was mrs. montressor's sitting-room then, where she wrote her letters and examined household accounts, and sometimes had an old gossip in to tea.
the room was low-ceilinged and dim, hung with red damask, and with odd, square windows high up under the eaves and a dark wainscoting all around it.
and there i loved to sit quietly on the red sofa and read my fairy tales, or talk dreamily to the swallows fluttering crazily against the tiny panes.
when i had gone this christmas to the place i soon bethought myself of the red room -- for i had a great love for it.
but i had got no further than the steps when mrs. montressor came sweeping down the hall in haste and, catching me by the arm, pulled me back as roughly as if it had been bluebeard's chamber itself into which i was venturing.
then, seeing my face, which i doubt not was startled enough, she seemed to repent of her haste and patted me gently on the head.
""there, there, little beatrice!
did i frighten you, child?
forgive an old woman's thoughtlessness.
but be not too ready to go where you are not bidden, and never venture foot in the red room now, for it belongs to your uncle hugh's wife, and let me tell you she is not over fond of intruders."
i felt sorry overmuch to hear this, nor could i see why my new aunt should care if i went in once in a while, as had been my habit, to talk to the swallows and misplace nothing.
but mrs. montressor saw to it that i obeyed her, and i went no more to the red room, but busied myself with other matters.
for there were great doings at the place and much coming and going.
my aunts were never idle; there was to be much festivity christmas week and a ball on christmas eve.
and my aunts had promised me -- though not till i had wearied them of my coaxing -- that i should stay up that night and see as much of the gaiety as was good for me.
so i did their errands and went early to bed every night without complaint -- though i did this the more readily for that, when they thought me safely asleep, they would come in and talk around my bedroom fire, saying that of alicia which i should not have heard.
at last came the day when my uncle hugh and his wife were expected home -- though not until my scanty patience was well nigh wearied out -- and we were all assembled to meet them in the great hall, where a ruddy firelight was gleaming.
my aunt frances had dressed me in my best white frock and my crimson sash, with much lamenting over my skinny neck and arms, and bade me behave prettily, as became my bringing up.
so i slipped in a corner, my hands and feet cold with excitement, for i think every drop of blood in my body had gone to my head, and my heart beat so hardly that it even pained me.
then the door opened and alicia -- for so i was used to hearing her called, nor did i ever think of her as my aunt in my own mind -- came in, and a little in the rear my tall, dark uncle.
she came proudly forward to the fire and stood there superbly while she loosened her cloak, nor did she see me at all at first, but nodded, a little disdainfully, it seemed, to mrs. montressor and my aunts, who were grouped about the drawing-room door, very ladylike and quiet.
but i neither saw nor heard aught at the time save her only, for her beauty, when she came forth from her crimson cloak and hood, was something so wonderful that i forgot my manners and stared at her as one fascinated -- as indeed i was, for never had i seen such loveliness and hardly dreamed it.
pretty women i had seen in plenty, for my aunts and my mother were counted fair, but my uncle's wife was as little like to them as a sunset glow to pale moonshine or a crimson rose to white day-lilies.
nor can i paint her to you in words as i saw her then, with the long tongues of firelight licking her white neck and wavering over the rich masses of her red-gold hair.
she was tall -- so tall that my aunts looked but insignificant beside her, and they were of no mean height, as became their race; yet no queen could have carried herself more royally, and all the passion and fire of her foreign nature burned in her splendid eyes, that might have been dark or light for aught that i could ever tell, but which seemed always like pools of warm flame, now tender, now fierce.
her skin was like a delicate white rose leaf, and when she spoke i told my foolish self that never had i heard music before; nor do i ever again think to hear a voice so sweet, so liquid, as that which rippled over her ripe lips.
i had often in my own mind pictured this, my first meeting with alicia, now in one way, now in another, but never had i dreamed of her speaking to me at all, so that it came to me as a great surprise when she turned and, holding out her lovely hands, said very graciously: "and is this the little beatrice?
i have heard much of you -- come, kiss me, child."
and i went, despite my aunt elizabeth's black frown, for the glamour of her loveliness was upon me, and i no longer wondered that my uncle hugh should have loved her.
very proud of her was he too; yet i felt, rather than saw -- for i was sensitive and quick of perception, as old-young children ever are -- that there was something other than pride and love in his face when he looked on her, and more in his manner than the fond lover -- as it were, a sort of lurking mistrust.
nor could i think, though to me the thought seemed as treason, that she loved her husband overmuch, for she seemed half condescending and half disdainful to him; yet one thought not of this in her presence, but only remembered it when she had gone.
when she went out it seemed to me that nothing was left, so i crept lonesomely away to the wing hall and sat down by a window to dream of her; and she filled my thoughts so fully that it was no surprise when i raised my eyes and saw her coming down the hall alone, her bright head shining against the dark old walls.
when she paused by me and asked me lightly of what i was dreaming, since i had such a sober face, i answered her truly that it was of her -- whereat she laughed, as one not ill pleased, and said half mockingly: "waste not your thoughts so, little beatrice.
but come with me, child, if you will, for i have taken a strange fancy to your solemn eyes.
perchance the warmth of your young life may thaw out the ice that has frozen around my heart ever since i came among these cold montressors."
and, though i understood not her meaning, i went, glad to see the red room once more.
so she made me sit down and talk to her, which i did, for shyness was no failing of mine; and she asked me many questions, and some that i thought she should not have asked, but i could not answer them, so "twere little harm.
after that i spent a part of every day with her in the red room.
and my uncle hugh was there often, and he would kiss her and praise her loveliness, not heeding my presence -- for i was but a child.
yet it ever seemed to me that she endured rather than welcomed his caresses, and at times the ever-burning flame in her eyes glowed so luridly that a chill dread would creep over me, and i would remember what my aunt elizabeth had said, she being a bitter-tongued woman, though kind at heart -- that this strange creature would bring on us all some evil fortune yet.
then would i strive to banish such thoughts and chide myself for doubting one so kind to me.
when christmas eve drew nigh my silly head was full of the ball day and night.
but a grievous disappointment befell me, for i awakened that day very ill with a most severe cold; and though i bore me bravely, my aunts discovered it soon, when, despite my piteous pleadings, i was put to bed, where i cried bitterly and would not be comforted.
for i thought i should not see the fine folk and, more than all, alicia.
but that disappointment, at least, was spared me, for at night she came into my room, knowing of my longing -- she was ever indulgent to my little wishes.
and when i saw her i forgot my aching limbs and burning brow, and even the ball i was not to see, for never was mortal creature so lovely as she, standing there by my bed.
her gown was of white, and there was nothing i could liken the stuff to save moonshine falling athwart a frosted pane, and out from it swelled her gleaming breast and arms, so bare that it seemed to me a shame to look upon them.
yet it could not be denied they were of wondrous beauty, white as polished marble.
and all about her snowy throat and rounded arms, and in the masses of her splendid hair, were sparkling, gleaming stones, with hearts of pure light, which i know now to have been diamonds, but knew not then, for never had i seen aught of their like.
and i gazed at her, drinking in her beauty until my soul was filled, as she stood like some goddess before her worshipper.
i think she read my thought in my face and liked it -- for she was a vain woman, and to such even the admiration of a child is sweet.
then she leaned down to me until her splendid eyes looked straight into my dazzled ones.
""tell me, little beatrice -- for they say the word of a child is to be believed -- tell me, do you think me beautiful?"
i found my voice and told her truly that i thought her beautiful beyond my dreams of angels -- as indeed she was.
whereat she smiled as one well pleased.
then my uncle hugh came in, and though i thought that his face darkened as he looked on the naked splendour of her breast and arms, as if he liked not that the eyes of other men should gloat on it, yet he kissed her with all a lover's fond pride, while she looked at him half mockingly.
then said he, "sweet, will you grant me a favour?"
and she answered, "it may be that i will."
and he said, "do not dance with that man tonight, alicia.
i mistrust him much."
his voice had more of a husband's command than a lover's entreaty.
she looked at him with some scorn, but when she saw his face grow black -- for the montressors brooked scant disregard of their authority, as i had good reason to know -- she seemed to change, and a smile came to her lips, though her eyes glowed balefully.
then she laid her arms about his neck and -- though it seemed to me that she had as soon strangled as embraced him -- her voice was wondrous sweet and caressing as she murmured in his ear.
he laughed and his brow cleared, though he said still sternly, "do not try me too far, alicia."
then they went out, she a little in advance and very stately.
after that my aunts also came in, very beautifully and modestly dressed, but they seemed to me as nothing after alicia.
for i was caught in the snare of her beauty, and the longing to see her again so grew upon me that after a time i did an undutiful and disobedient thing.
i had been straitly charged to stay in bed, which i did not, but got up and put on a gown.
for it was in my mind to go quietly down, if by chance i might again see alicia, myself unseen.
but when i reached the great hall i heard steps approaching and, having a guilty conscience, i slipped aside into the blue parlour and hid me behind the curtains lest my aunts should see me.
then alicia came in, and with her a man whom i had never before seen.
yet i instantly bethought myself of a lean black snake, with a glittering and evil eye, which i had seen in mrs. montressor's garden two summers agone, and which was like to have bitten me.
john, the gardener, had killed it, and i verily thought that if it had a soul, it must have gotten into this man.
alicia sat down and he beside her, and when he had put his arms about her, he kissed her face and lips.
nor did she shrink from his embrace, but even smiled and leaned nearer to him with a little smooth motion, as they talked to each other in some strange, foreign tongue.
i was but a child and innocent, nor knew i aught of honour and dishonour.
yet it seemed to me that no man should kiss her save only my uncle hugh, and from that hour i mistrusted alicia, though i understood not then what i afterwards did.
and as i watched them -- not thinking of playing the spy -- i saw her face grow suddenly cold, and she straightened herself up and pushed away her lover's arms.
then i followed her guilty eyes to the door, where stood my uncle hugh, and all the pride and passion of the montressors sat on his lowering brow.
yet he came forward quietly as alicia and the snake drew apart and stood up.
at first he looked not at his guilty wife but at her lover, and smote him heavily in the face.
whereat he, being a coward at heart, as are all villains, turned white and slunk from the room with a muttered oath, nor was he stayed.
my uncle turned to alicia, and very calmly and terribly he said, "from this hour you are no longer wife of mine!"
and there was that in his tone which told that his forgiveness and love should be hers nevermore.
then he motioned her out and she went, like a proud queen, with her glorious head erect and no shame on her brow.
as for me, when they were gone i crept away, dazed and bewildered enough, and went back to my bed, having seen and heard more than i had a mind for, as disobedient people and eavesdroppers ever do.
but my uncle hugh kept his word, and alicia was no more wife to him, save only in name.
yet of gossip or scandal there was none, for the pride of his race kept secret his dishonour, nor did he ever seem other than a courteous and respectful husband.
nor did mrs. montressor and my aunts, though they wondered much among themselves, learn aught, for they dared question neither their brother nor alicia, who carried herself as loftily as ever, and seemed to pine for neither lover nor husband.
as for me, no one dreamed i knew aught of it, and i kept my own counsel as to what i had seen in the blue parlour on the night of the christmas ball.
after the new year i went home, but ere long mrs. montressor sent for me again, saying that the house was lonely without little beatrice.
so i went again and found all unchanged, though the place was very quiet, and alicia went out but little from the red room.
of my uncle hugh i saw little, save when he went and came on the business of his estate, somewhat more gravely and silently than of yore, or brought to me books and sweetmeats from town.
but every day i was with alicia in the red room, where she would talk to me, oftentimes wildly and strangely, but always kindly.
and though i think mrs. montressor liked our intimacy none too well, she said no word, and i came and went as i listed with alicia, though never quite liking her strange ways and the restless fire in her eyes.
nor would i ever kiss her, after i had seen her lips pressed by the snake's, though she sometimes coaxed me, and grew pettish and vexed when i would not; but she guessed not my reason.
march came in that year like a lion, exceedingly hungry and fierce, and my uncle hugh had ridden away through the storm nor thought to be back for some days.
in the afternoon i was sitting in the wing hall, dreaming wondrous day-dreams, when alicia called me to the red room.
and as i went, i marvelled anew at her loveliness, for the blood was leaping in her face and her jewels were dim before the lustre of her eyes.
her hand, when she took mine, was burning hot, and her voice had a strange ring.
""come, little beatrice," she said, "come talk to me, for i know not what to do with my lone self today.
time hangs heavily in this gloomy house.
i do verily think this red room has an evil influence over me.
see if your childish prattle can drive away the ghosts that riot in these dark old corners -- ghosts of a ruined and shamed life!
nay, shrink not -- do i talk wildly?
i mean not all i say -- my brain seems on fire, little beatrice.
come; it may be you know some grim old legend of this room -- it must surely have one.
never was place fitter for a dark deed!
tush!
never be so frightened, child -- forget my vagaries.
tell me now and i will listen."
whereat she cast herself lithely on the satin couch and turned her lovely face on me.
so i gathered up my small wits and told her what i was not supposed to know -- how that, generations agone, a montressor had disgraced himself and his name, and that, when he came home to his mother, she had met him in that same red room and flung at him taunts and reproaches, forgetting whose breast had nourished him; and that he, frantic with shame and despair, turned his sword against his own heart and so died.
but his mother went mad with her remorse, and was kept a prisoner in the red room until her death.
so lamely told i the tale, as i had heard my aunt elizabeth tell it, when she knew not i listened or understood.
alicia heard me through and said nothing, save that it was a tale worthy of the montressors.
whereat i bridled, for i too was a montressor, and proud of it.
but she took my hand soothingly in hers and said, "little beatrice, if tomorrow or the next day they should tell you, those cold, proud women, that alicia was unworthy of your love, tell me, would you believe them?"
and i, remembering what i had seen in the blue parlour, was silent -- for i could not lie.
so she flung my hand away with a bitter laugh, and picked lightly from the table anear a small dagger with a jewelled handle.
it seemed to me a cruel-looking toy and i said so -- whereat she smiled and drew her white fingers down the thin, shining blade in a fashion that made me cold.
""such a little blow with this," she said, "such a little blow -- and the heart beats no longer, the weary brain rests, the lips and eyes smile never again!
"twere a short path out of all difficulties, my beatrice."
and i, understanding her not, yet shivering, begged her to cast it aside, which she did carelessly and, putting a hand under my chin, she turned up my face to hers.
""little, grave-eyed beatrice, tell me truly, would it grieve you much if you were never again to sit here with alicia in this same red room?"
and i made answer earnestly that it would, glad that i could say so much truly.
then her face grew tender and she sighed deeply.
presently she opened a quaint, inlaid box and took from it a shining gold chain of rare workmanship and exquisite design, and this she hung around my neck, nor would suffer me to thank her but laid her hand gently on my lips.
""now go," she said.
""but ere you leave me, little beatrice, grant me but the one favour -- it may be that i shall never ask another of you.
your people, i know -- those cold montressors -- care little for me, but with all my faults, i have ever been kind to you.
so, when the morrow's come, and they tell you that alicia is as one worse than dead, think not of me with scorn only but grant me a little pity -- for i was not always what i am now, and might never have become so had a little child like you been always anear me, to keep me pure and innocent.
and i would have you but the once lay your arms about my neck and kiss me."
and i did so, wondering much at her manner -- for it had in it a strange tenderness and some sort of hopeless longing.
then she gently put me from the room, and i sat musing by the hall window until night fell darkly -- and a fearsome night it was, of storm and blackness.
and i thought how well it was that my uncle hugh had not to return in such a tempest.
yet, ere the thought had grown cold, the door opened and he strode down the hall, his cloak drenched and wind-twisted, in one hand a whip, as though he had but then sprung from his horse, in the other what seemed like a crumpled letter.
nor was the night blacker than his face, and he took no heed of me as i ran after him, thinking selfishly of the sweetmeats he had promised to bring me -- but i thought no more of them when i got to the door of the red room.
alicia stood by the table, hooded and cloaked as for a journey, but her hood had slipped back, and her face rose from it marble-white, save where her wrathful eyes burned out, with dread and guilt and hatred in their depths, while she had one arm raised as if to thrust him back.
as for my uncle, he stood before her and i saw not his face, but his voice was low and terrible, speaking words i understood not then, though long afterwards i came to know their meaning.
and he cast foul scorn at her that she should have thought to fly with her lover, and swore that naught should again thwart his vengeance, with other threats, wild and dreadful enough.
yet she said no word until he had done, and then she spoke, but what she said i know not, save that it was full of hatred and defiance and wild accusation, such as a mad woman might have uttered.
and she defied him even then to stop her flight, though he told her to cross that threshold would mean her death; for he was a wronged and desperate man and thought of nothing save his own dishonour.
then she made as if to pass him, but he caught her by her white wrist; she turned on him with fury, and i saw her right hand reach stealthily out over the table behind her, where lay the dagger.
""let me go!"
she hissed.
and he said, "i will not."
then she turned herself about and struck at him with the dagger -- and never saw i such a face as was hers at the moment.
he fell heavily, yet held her even in death, so that she had to wrench herself free, with a shriek that rings yet in my ears on a night when the wind wails over the rainy moors.
she rushed past me unheeding, and fled down the hall like a hunted creature, and i heard the heavy door clang hollowly behind her.
as for me, i stood there looking at the dead man, for i could neither move nor speak and was like to have died of horror.
and presently i knew nothing, nor did i come to my recollection for many a day, when i lay abed, sick of a fever and more like to die than live.
so that when at last i came out from the shadow of death, my uncle hugh had been long cold in his grave, and the hue and cry for his guilty wife was well nigh over, since naught had been seen or heard of her since she fled the country with her foreign lover.
when i came rightly to my remembrance, they questioned me as to what i had seen and heard in the red room.
and i told them as best i could, though much aggrieved that to my questions they would answer nothing save to bid me to stay still and think not of the matter.
then my mother, sorely vexed over my adventures -- which in truth were but sorry ones for a child -- took me home.
nor would she let me keep alicia's chain, but made away with it, how i knew not and little cared, for the sight of it was loathsome to me.
it was many years ere i went again to montressor place, and i never saw the red room more, for mrs. montressor had the old wing torn down, deeming its sorrowful memories dark heritage enough for the next montressor.
so, grandchild, the sad tale is ended, and you will not see the red room when you go next month to montressor place.
the swallows still build under the eaves, though -- i know not if you will understand their speech as i did.
the setness of theodosia when theodosia ford married wesley brooke after a courtship of three years, everybody concerned was satisfied.
there was nothing particularly romantic in either the courtship or marriage.
wesley was a steady, well-meaning, rather slow fellow, comfortably off.
he was not at all handsome.
but theodosia was a very pretty girl with the milky colouring of an auburn blonde and large china-blue eyes.
she looked mild and madonna-like and was known to be sweet-tempered.
wesley's older brother, irving brooke, had married a woman who kept him in hot water all the time, so heatherton folks said, but they thought there was no fear of that with wesley and theodosia.
they would get along together all right.
only old jim parmelee shook his head and said, "they might, and then again they might n't"; he knew the stock they came of and it was a kind you could never predict about.
wesley and theodosia were third cousins; this meant that old henry ford had been the great-great-grandfather of them both.
jim parmelee, who was ninety, had been a small boy when this remote ancestor was still alive.
""i mind him well," said old jim on the morning of theodosia's wedding day.
there was a little group about the blacksmith's forge.
old jim was in the centre.
he was a fat, twinkling-eyed old man, fresh and ruddy in spite of his ninety years.
""and," he went on, "he was about the settest man you'd ever see or want to see.
when old henry ford made up his mind on any p "int a cyclone would n't turn him a hairsbreadth -- no, nor an earthquake neither.
did n't matter a mite how much he suffered for it -- he'd stick to it if it broke his heart.
there was always some story or other going round about old henry's setness.
the family were n't quite so bad -- only tom.
he was dosia's great-grandfather, and a regular chip of the old block.
since then it's cropped out now and again all through the different branches of the family.
i mistrust if dosia has n't got a spice of it, and wes brooke too, but mebbe not."
old jim was the only croaker.
wesley and theodosia were married, in the golden prime of the indian summer, and settled down on their snug little farm.
dosia was a beautiful bride, and wesley's pride in her was amusingly apparent.
he thought nothing too good for her, the heatherton people said.
it was a sight to make an old heart young to see him march up the aisle of the church on sunday in all the glossy splendour of his wedding suit, his curly black head held high and his round boyish face shining with happiness, stopping and turning proudly at his pew to show theodosia in.
they always sat alone together in the big pew, and alma spencer, who sat behind them, declared that they held each other's hands all through the service.
this lasted until spring; then came a sensation and scandal, such as decorous heatherton had not known since the time isaac allen got drunk at centreville fair and came home and kicked his wife.
one evening in early april wesley came home from the store at "the corner," where he had lingered to talk over politics and farming methods with his cronies.
this evening he was later than usual, and theodosia had his supper kept warm for him.
she met him on the porch and kissed him.
he kissed her in return, and held her to him for a minute, with her bright head on his shoulder.
the frogs were singing down in the south meadow swamp, and there was a splendour of silvery moonrise over the wooded heatherton hills.
theodosia always remembered that moment.
when they went in, wesley, full of excitement, began to talk of what he had heard at the store.
ogden greene and tom cary were going to sell out and go to manitoba.
there were better chances for a man out there, he said; in heatherton he might slave all his life and never make more than a bare living.
out west he might make a fortune.
wesley talked on in this strain for some time, rehashing all the arguments he had heard greene and cary use.
he had always been rather disposed to grumble at his limited chances in heatherton, and now the great west seemed to stretch before him, full of alluring prospects and visions.
ogden and tom wanted him to go too, he said.
he had half a notion to.
heatherton was a stick-in-the-mud sort of place anyhow.
""what say, dosia?"
he looked across the table at her, his eyes bright and questioning.
theodosia had listened in silence, as she poured his tea and passed him her hot, flaky biscuits.
there was a little perpendicular wrinkle between her straight eyebrows.
""i think ogden and tom are fools," she said crisply.
""they have good farms here.
what do they want to go west for, or you, either?
do n't get silly notions in your head, wes."
wesley flushed.
""would n't you go with me, dosia?"
he said, trying to speak lightly.
""no, i would n't," said theodosia, in her calm, sweet voice.
her face was serene, but the little wrinkle had grown deeper.
old jim parmelee would have known what it meant.
he had seen the same expression on old henry ford's face many a time.
wesley laughed good-humouredly, as if at a child.
his heart was suddenly set on going west, and he was sure he could soon bring theodosia around.
he did not say anything more about it just then.
wesley thought he knew how to manage women.
when he broached the subject again, two days later, theodosia told him plainly that it was no use.
she would never consent to leave heatherton and all her friends and go out to the prairies.
the idea was just rank foolishness, and he would soon see that himself.
all this theodosia said calmly and sweetly, without any trace of temper or irritation.
wesley still believed that he could persuade her and he tried perseveringly for a fortnight.
by the end of that time he discovered that theodosia was not a great-great-granddaughter of old henry ford for nothing.
not that theodosia ever got angry.
neither did she laugh at him.
she met his arguments and pleadings seriously enough, but she never wavered.
""if you go to manitoba, wes, you'll go alone," she said.
""i'll never go, so there is no use in any more talking."
wesley was a descendant of old henry ford too.
theodosia's unexpected opposition roused all the latent stubbornness of his nature.
he went over to centreville oftener, and kept his blood at fever heat talking to greene and cary, who wanted him to go with them and spared no pains at inducement.
the matter was gossiped about in heatherton, of course.
people knew that wesley brooke had caught "the western fever," and wanted to sell out and go to manitoba, while theodosia was opposed to it.
they thought dosia would have to give in in the end, but said it was a pity wes brooke could n't be contented to stay where he was well off.
theodosia's family naturally sided with her and tried to dissuade wesley.
but he was mastered by that resentful irritation, roused in a man by opposition where he thinks he should be master, which will drive him into any cause.
one day he told theodosia that he was going.
she was working her butter in her little, snowy-clean dairy under the great willows by the well.
wesley was standing in the doorway, his stout, broad-shouldered figure filling up the sunlit space.
he was frowning and sullen.
""i'm going west in two weeks" time with the boys, dosia," he said stubbornly.
""you can come with me or stay here -- just exactly as you please.
but i'm going."
theodosia went on spatting her balls of golden butter on the print in silence.
she was looking very neat and pretty in her big white apron, her sleeves rolled up high above her plump, dimpled elbows, and her ruddy hair curling about her face and her white throat.
she looked as pliable as her butter.
her silence angered her husband.
he shuffled impatiently.
""well, what have you to say, dosia?"
""nothing," said theodosia.
""if you have made up your mind to go, go you will, i suppose.
but i will not.
there is no use in talking.
we've been over the ground often enough, wes.
the matter is settled."
up to that moment wesley had always believed that his wife would yield at last, when she saw that he was determined.
now he realized that she never would.
under that exterior of milky, dimpled flesh and calm blue eyes was all the iron will of old dead and forgotten henry ford.
this mildest and meekest of girls and wives was not to be moved a hairsbreadth by all argument or entreaty, or insistence on a husband's rights.
a great, sudden anger came over the man.
he lifted his hand and for one moment it seemed to theodosia as if he meant to strike her.
then he dropped it with the first oath that had ever crossed his lips.
""you listen to me," he said thickly.
""if you wo n't go with me i'll never come back here -- never.
when you want to do your duty as a wife you can come to me.
but i'll never come back."
he turned on his heel and strode away.
theodosia kept on spatting her butter.
the little perpendicular wrinkle had come between her brows again.
at that moment an odd, almost uncanny resemblance to the old portrait of her great-great-grandfather, which hung on the parlour wall at home, came out on her girlish face.
the fortnight passed by.
wesley was silent and sullen, never speaking to his wife when he could avoid it.
theodosia was as sweet and serene as ever.
she made an extra supply of shirts and socks for him, put up his lunch basket, and packed his trunk carefully.
but she never spoke of his journey.
he did not sell his farm.
irving brooke rented it.
theodosia was to live in the house.
the business arrangements were simple and soon concluded.
heatherton folks gossiped a great deal.
they all condemned theodosia.
even her own people sided against her now.
they hated to be mixed up in a local scandal, and since wes was bound to go they told theodosia that it was her duty to go with him, no matter how much she disliked it.
it would be disgraceful not to.
they might as well have talked to the four winds.
theodosia was immoveable.
they coaxed and argued and blamed -- it all came to the same thing.
even those of them who could be "set" enough themselves on occasion could not understand theodosia, who had always been so tractable.
they finally gave up, as wesley had done, baffled.
time would bring her to her senses, they said; you just had to leave that still, stubborn kind alone.
on the morning of wesley's departure theodosia arose at sunrise and prepared a tempting breakfast.
irving brooke's oldest son, stanley, who was to drive wesley to the station, came over early with his express wagon.
wesley's trunk, corded and labelled, stood on the back platform.
the breakfast was a very silent meal.
when it was over wesley put on his hat and overcoat and went to the door, around which theodosia's morning-glory vines were beginning to twine.
the sun was not yet above the trees and the long shadows lay on the dewy grass.
the wet leaves were flickering on the old maples that grew along the fence between the yard and the clover field beyond.
the skies were all pearly blue, cleanswept of clouds.
from the little farmhouse the green meadows sloped down to the valley, where a blue haze wound in and out like a glistening ribbon.
theodosia went out and stood looking inscrutably on, while wesley and irving hoisted the trunk into the wagon and tied it.
then wesley came up the porch steps and looked at her.
""dosia," he said a little huskily, "i said i would n't ask you to go again, but i will.
will you come with me yet?"
""no," said theodosia gently.
he held out his hand.
he did not offer to kiss her.
""goodbye, dosia."
""goodbye, wes."
there was no tremor of an eyelash with her.
wesley smiled bitterly and turned away.
when the wagon reached the end of the little lane he turned and looked back for the last time.
through all the years that followed he carried with him the picture of his wife as he saw her then, standing amid the airy shadows and wavering golden lights of the morning, the wind blowing the skirt of her pale blue wrapper about her feet and ruffling the locks of her bright hair into a delicate golden cloud.
then the wagon disappeared around a curve in the road, and theodosia turned and went back into her desolate home.
for a time there was a great buzz of gossip over the affair.
people wondered over it.
old jim parmelee understood better than the others.
when he met theodosia he looked at her with a curious twinkle in his keen old eyes.
""looks as if a man could bend her any way he'd a mind to, does n't she?"
he said.
""looks is deceiving.
it'll come out in her face by and by -- she's too young yet, but it's there.
it does seem unnatteral to see a woman so stubborn -- you'd kinder look for it more in a man."
wesley wrote a brief letter to theodosia when he reached his destination.
he said he was well and was looking about for the best place to settle.
he liked the country fine.
he was at a place called red butte and guessed he'd locate there.
two weeks later he wrote again.
he had taken up a claim of three hundred acres.
greene and cary had done the same.
they were his nearest neighbours and were three miles away.
he had knocked up a little shack, was learning to cook his own meals, and was very busy.
he thought the country was a grand one and the prospects good.
theodosia answered his letter and told him all the heatherton news.
she signed herself "theodosia brooke," but otherwise there was nothing in the letter to indicate that it was written by a wife to her husband.
at the end of a year wesley wrote and once more asked her to go out to him.
he was getting on well, and was sure she would like the place.
it was a little rough, to be sure, but time would improve that.
""wo n't you let bygones be bygones, dosia?"
he wrote, "and come out to me.
do, my dear wife."
theodosia wrote back, refusing to go.
she never got any reply, nor did she write again.
people had given up talking about the matter and asking theodosia when she was going out to wes.
heatherton had grown used to the chronic scandal within its decorous borders.
theodosia never spoke of her husband to anyone, and it was known that they did not correspond.
she took her youngest sister to live with her.
she had her garden and hens and a cow.
the farm brought her enough to live on, and she was always busy.
* * * * * when fifteen years had gone by there were naturally some changes in heatherton, sleepy and; unprogressive as it was.
most of the old people were in the little hillside burying-ground that fronted the sunrise.
old jim parmelee was there with his recollections of four generations.
men and women who had been in their prime when wesley went away were old now and the children were grown up and married.
theodosia was thirty-five and was nothing like!
the slim, dimpled girl who had stood on the porch steps and watched her husband drive away that morning fifteen years ago.
she was stout and comely; the auburn hair was darker and arched away from her face in smooth, shining waves instead of the old-time curls.
her face was unlined and fresh-coloured, but no woman could live in subjection to her own unbending will for so many years and not show it.
nobody, looking at theodosia now, would have found it hard to believe that a woman with such a determined, immoveable face could stick to a course of conduct in defiance of circumstances.
wesley brooke was almost forgotten.
people knew, through correspondents of greene and cary, that he had prospered and grown rich.
the curious old story had crystallized into accepted history.
a life may go on without ripple or disturbance for so many years that it may seem to have settled into a lasting calm; then a sudden wind of passion may sweep over it and leave behind a wake of tempestuous waters.
such a time came at last to theodosia.
one day in august mrs. emory merritt dropped in.
emory merritt's sister was ogden greene's wife, and the merritts kept up an occasional correspondence with her.
hence, cecilia merritt always knew what was to be known about wesley brooke, and always told theodosia because she had never been expressly forbidden to do so.
today she looked slightly excited.
secretly she was wondering if the news she brought would have any effect whatever on theodosia's impassive calm.
""do you know, dosia, wesley's real sick?
in fact, phoebe greene says they have very poor hopes of him.
he was kind of ailing all the spring, it seems, and about a month ago he was took down with some kind of slow fever they have out there.
phoebe says they have a hired nurse from the nearest town and a good doctor, but she reckons he wo n't get over it.
that fever goes awful hard with a man of his years."
cecilia merritt, who was the fastest talker in heatherton, had got this out before she was brought up by a queer sound, half gasp, half cry, from theodosia.
the latter looked as if someone had struck her a physical blow.
""mercy, dosia, you ai n't going to faint!
i did n't suppose you'd care.
you never seemed to care."
""did you say," asked theodosia thickly, "that wesley was sick -- dying?"
""well, that's what phoebe said.
she may be mistaken.
dosia brooke, you're a queer woman.
i never could make you out and i never expect to.
i guess only the lord who made you can translate you."
theodosia stood up.
the sun was getting low, and the valley beneath them, ripening to harvest, was like a river of gold.
she folded up her sewing with a steady hand.
""it's five o'clock, so i'll ask you to excuse me, cecilia.
i have a good deal to attend to.
you can ask emory if he'll drive me to the station in the morning.
i'm going out to wes."
""well, for the land's sake," said cecilia merritt feebly, as she tied on her gingham sunbonnet.
she got up and went home in a daze.
theodosia packed her trunk and worked all night, dry-eyed, with agony and fear tearing at her heart.
the iron will had snapped at last, like a broken reed, and fierce self-condemnation seized on her.
""i've been a wicked woman," she moaned.
a week from that day theodosia climbed down from the dusty stage that had brought her from the station over the prairies to the unpretentious little house where wesley brooke lived.
a young girl, so like what ogden greene's wife had been fifteen years before that theodosia involuntarily exclaimed, "phoebe," came to the door.
beyond her, theodosia saw the white-capped nurse.
her voice trembled.
""does -- does wesley brooke live here?"
she asked.
the girl nodded.
""yes.
but he is very ill at present.
nobody is allowed to see him."
theodosia put up her hand and loosened her bonnet strings as if they were choking her.
she had been sick with the fear that wesley would be dead before she got to him.
the relief was almost overwhelming.
""but i must see him," she cried hysterically -- she, the calm, easy-going dosia, hysterical -- "i am his wife -- and oh, if he had died before i got here!"
the nurse came forward.
""in that case i suppose you must," she conceded.
""but he does not expect you.
i must prepare him for the surprise."
she turned to the door of a room opening off the kitchen, but theodosia, who had hardly heard her, was before her.
she was inside the room before the nurse could prevent her.
then she stood, afraid and trembling, her eyes searching the dim apartment hungrily.
when they fell on the occupant of the bed theodosia started in bitter surprise.
all unconsciously she had been expecting to find wesley as he had been when they parted.
could this gaunt, haggard creature, with the unkempt beard and prematurely grey hair and the hollow, beseeching eyes, be the ruddy, boyish-faced husband of her youth?
she gave a choking cry of pain and shame, and the sick man turned his head.
their eyes met.
amazement, incredulity, hope, dread, all flashed in succession over wesley brooke's lined face.
he raised himself feebly up.
""dosia," he murmured.
theodosia staggered across the room and fell on her knees by the bed.
she clasped his head to her breast and kissed him again and again.
""oh, wes, wes, can you forgive me?
i've been a wicked, stubborn woman -- and i've spoiled our lives.
forgive me."
he held his thin trembling arms around her and devoured her face with his eyes.
""dosia, when did you come?
did you know i was sick?"
""wes, i ca n't talk till you say you've forgiven me."
""oh, dosia, you have just as much to forgive.
we were both too set.
i should have been more considerate."
""just say, i forgive you, dosia,"" she entreated.
""i forgive you, dosia," he said gently, "and oh, it's so good to see you once more, darling.
there has n't been an hour since i left you that i have n't longed for your sweet face.
if i had thought you really cared i'd have gone back.
but i thought you did n't.
it broke my heart.
you did though, did n't you?"
""oh, yes, yes, yes," she said, holding him more closely, with her tears falling.
when the young doctor from red butte came that evening he found a great improvement in his patient.
joy and happiness, those world-old physicians, had done what drugs and medicines had failed to do.
""i'm going to get better, doc," said wesley.
""my wife has come and she's going to stay.
you did n't know i was married, did you?
i'll tell you the story some day.
i proposed going back east, but dosia says she'd rather stay here.
i'm the happiest man in red butte, doc."
he squeezed theodosia's hand as he had used to do long ago in heatherton church, and dosia smiled down at him.
there were no dimples now, but her smile was very sweet.
the ghostly finger of old henry ford, pointing down through the generations, had lost its power to brand with its malediction the life of these, his descendants.
wesley and theodosia had joined hands with their long-lost happiness.
the story of an invitation bertha sutherland hurried home from the post office and climbed the stairs of her boarding-house to her room on the third floor.
her roommate, grace maxwell, was sitting on the divan by the window, looking out into the twilight.
a year ago bertha and grace had come to dartmouth to attend the academy, and found themselves roommates.
bertha was bright, pretty and popular, the favourite of her classmates and teachers; grace was a grave, quiet girl, dressed in mourning.
she was quite alone in the world, the aunt who had brought her up having recently died.
at first she had felt shy with bright and brilliant bertha; but they soon became friends, and the year that followed was a very pleasant one.
it was almost ended now, for the terminal exams had begun, and in a week's time the school would close for the holidays.
""have some chocolates, grace," said bertha gaily.
""i got such good news in my letter tonight that i felt i must celebrate it fittingly.
so i went into carter's and invested all my spare cash in caramels.
it's really fortunate the term is almost out, for i'm nearly bankrupt.
i have just enough left to furnish a "tuck-out" for commencement night, and no more."
""what is your good news, may i ask?"
said grace.
""you know i have an aunt margaret -- commonly called aunt meg -- out at riversdale, do n't you?
there never was such a dear, sweet, jolly aunty in the world.
i had a letter from her tonight.
listen, i'll read you what she says."
i want you to spend your holidays with me, my dear.
mary fairweather and louise fyshe and lily dennis are coming, too.
so there is just room for one more, and that one must be yourself.
come to riversdale when school closes, and i'll feed you on strawberries and cream and pound cake and doughnuts and mince pies, and all the delicious, indigestible things that school girls love and careful mothers condemn.
mary and lou and lil are girls after your own heart, i know, and you shall all do just as you like, and we'll have picnics and parties and merry doings galore.
""there," said bertha, looking up with a laugh.
""is n't that lovely?"
""how delightful it must be to have friends like that to love you and plan for you," said grace wistfully.
""i am sure you will have a pleasant vacation, bertie.
as for me, i am going into clarkman's bookstore until school reopens.
i saw mr. clarkman today and he agreed to take me."
bertha looked surprised.
she had not known what grace's vacation plans were.
""i do n't think you ought to do that, grace," she said thoughtfully.
""you are not strong, and you need a good rest.
it will be awfully trying to work at clarkman's all summer."
""there is nothing else for me to do," said grace, trying to speak cheerfully.
""you know i'm as poor as the proverbial church mouse, bertie, and the simple truth is that i ca n't afford to pay my board all summer and get my winter outfit unless i do something to earn it.
i shall be too busy to be lonesome, and i shall expect long, newsy letters from you, telling me all your fun -- passing your vacation on to me at second-hand, you see.
well, i must set to work at those algebra problems.
i tried them before dark, but i could n't solve them.
my head ached and i felt so stupid.
how glad i shall be when exams are over."
""i suppose i must revise that senior english this evening," said bertha absently.
but she made no move to do so.
she was studying her friend's face.
how very pale and thin grace looked -- surely much paler and thinner than when she had come to the academy, and she had not by any means been plump and rosy then.
i believe she could not stand two months at clarkman's, thought bertha.
if i were not going to aunt meg's, i would ask her to go home with me.
or even if aunt meg had room for another guest, i'd just write her all about grace and ask if i could bring her with me.
aunt meg would understand -- she always understands.
but she has n't, so it ca n't be.
just then a thought darted into bertha's brain.
""what nonsense!"
she said aloud so suddenly and forcibly that grace fairly jumped.
""what is?"
""oh, nothing much," said bertha, getting up briskly.
""see here, i'm going to get to work.
i've wasted enough time."
she curled herself up on the divan and tried to study her senior english.
but her thoughts wandered hopelessly, and finally she gave it up in despair and went to bed.
there she could not sleep; she lay awake and wrestled with herself.
it was after midnight when she sat up in bed and said solemnly, "i will do it."
next day bertha wrote a confidential letter to aunt meg.
she thanked her for her invitation and then told her all about grace.
""and what i want to ask, aunt meg, is that you will let me transfer my invitation to grace, and ask her to go to riversdale this summer in my place.
do n't think me ungrateful.
no, i'm sure you wo n't, you always understand things.
but you ca n't have us both, and i'd rather grace should go.
it will do her so much good, and i have a lovely home of my own to go to, and she has none."
aunt meg understood, as usual, and was perfectly willing.
so she wrote to bertha and enclosed a note of invitation for grace.
i shall have to manage this affair very carefully, reflected bertha.
grace must never suspect that i did it on purpose.
i will tell her that circumstances have prevented me from accepting aunt meg's invitation.
that is true enough -- no need to say that the circumstances are hers, not mine.
and i'll say i just asked aunt meg to invite her in my place and that she has done so.
when grace came home from her history examination that day, bertha told her story and gave her aunt meg's cordial note.
""you must come to me in bertha's place," wrote the latter.
""i feel as if i knew you from her letters, and i will consider you as a sort of honorary niece, and i'll treat you as if you were bertha herself."
""is n't it splendid of aunt meg?"
said bertha diplomatically.
""of course you'll go, gracie."
""oh, i do n't know," said grace in bewilderment.
""are you sure you do n't want to go, bertha?"
""indeed, i do want to go, dreadfully," said bertha frankly.
""but as i've told you, it is impossible.
but if i am disappointed, aunt meg mus n't be.
you must go, grace, and that is all there is about it."
in the end, grace did go, a little puzzled and doubtful still, but thankful beyond words to escape the drudgery of the counter and the noise and heat of the city.
bertha went home, feeling a little bit blue in secret, it can not be denied, but also feeling quite sure that if she had to do it all over again, she would do just the same.
the summer slipped quickly by, and finally two letters came to bertha, one from aunt meg and one from grace.
""i've had a lovely time," wrote the latter, "and, oh, bertie, what do you think?
i am to stay here always.
oh, of course i am going back to school next month, but this is to be my home after this.
aunt meg -- she makes me call her that -- says i must stay with her for good."
in aunt meg's letter was this paragraph: grace is writing to you, and will have told you that i intend to keep her here.
you know i have always wanted a daughter of my own, but my greedy brothers and sisters would never give me one of theirs.
so i intend to adopt grace.
she is the sweetest girl in the world, and i am very grateful to you for sending her here.
you will not know her when you see her.
she has grown plump and rosy.
bertha folded her letters up with a smile.
""i have a vague, delightful feeling that i am the good angel in a storybook," she said.
the touch of fate mrs. major hill was in her element.
this did not often happen, for in the remote prairie town of the canadian northwest, where her husband was stationed, there were few opportunities for match-making.
and mrs. hill was -- or believed herself to be -- a born matchmaker.
major hill was in command of the detachment of northwest mounted police at dufferin bluff.
mrs. hill was wont to declare that it was the most forsaken place to be found in canada or out of it; but she did her very best to brighten it up, and it is only fair to say that the n.w.m.p., officers and men, seconded her efforts.
when violet thayer came west to pay a long-promised visit to her old schoolfellow, mrs. hill's cup of happiness bubbled over.
in her secret soul she vowed that violet should never go back east unless it were post-haste to prepare a wedding trousseau.
there were at least half a dozen eligibles among the m.p.s, and mrs. hill, after some reflection, settled on ned madison as the flower of the flock.
""he and violet are simply made for each other," she told major hill the evening before miss thayer's arrival.
""he has enough money and he is handsome and fascinating.
and violet is a beauty and a clever woman into the bargain.
they ca n't help falling in love, i'm sure; it's fate!"
""perhaps miss thayer may be booked elsewhere already," suggested major hill.
he had seen more than one of his wife's card castles fall into heartbreaking ruin.
""oh, no; violet would have told me if that were the case.
it's really quite time for her to think of settling down.
she is twenty-five, you know.
the men all go crazy over her, but she's dreadfully hard to please.
however, she ca n't help liking ned.
he has n't a single fault.
i firmly believe it is foreordained."
and in this belief mrs. hill rested securely, but nevertheless did not fail to concoct several feminine artifices for the helping on of foreordination.
it was a working belief with her that it was always well to have the gods in your debt.
violet thayer came, saw, and conquered.
within thirty-six hours of her arrival at dufferin bluff she had every one of the half-dozen eligibles at her feet, not to mention a score or more ineligibles.
she would have been surprised indeed had it been otherwise.
miss thayer knew her power, and was somewhat unduly fond of exercising it.
but she was a very nice girl into the bargain, and so thought one and all of the young men who frequented mrs. hill's drawing-room and counted it richly worth while merely to look at miss thayer after having seen nothing for weeks except flabby half-breed girls and blue-haired squaws.
madison was foremost in the field, of course.
madison was really a nice fellow, and quite deserved all mrs. hill's encomiums.
he was good-looking and well groomed -- could sing and dance divinely and play the violin to perfection.
the other m.p.s were all jealous of him, and more so than ever when violet thayer came.
they did not consider that any one of them had the ghost of a chance if madison entered the lists against them.
violet liked madison, and was very chummy with him after her own fashion.
she thought all the m.p.s were nice boys, and they amused her, for which she was grateful.
she had expected dufferin bluff to be very dull, and doubtless it would pall after a time, but for a change it was delightful.
the sixth evening after her arrival found mrs. hill's room crowded, as usual, with m.p.s. violet was looking her best in a distracting new gown -- sergeant fox afterwards described it to a brother officer as a "stunning sort of rig between a cream and a blue and a brown"; she flirted impartially with all the members of her circle at first, but gradually narrowed down to ned madison, much to the delight of mrs. hill, who was hovering around like a small, brilliant butterfly.
violet was talking to madison and watching john spencer out of the tail of her eye.
spencer was not an m.p..
he had some government post at dufferin bluff, and this was his first call at lone poplar villa since miss thayer's arrival.
he did not seem to be dazzled by her at all, and after his introduction had promptly retired to a corner with major hill, where they talked the whole evening about the trouble on the indian reservation at loon lake.
possibly this indifference piqued miss thayer.
possibly she considered it refreshing after the servile adulation of the m.p.s..
at any rate, when all the latter were gathered about the piano singing a chorus with gusto, she shook madison off and went over to the corner where spencer, deserted by the major, whose bass was wanted, was sitting in solitary state.
he looked up indifferently as violet shimmered down on the divan beside him.
sergeant robinson, who was watching them jealously from the corner beyond the palms, and would have given his eyes, or at least one of them, for such a favour, mentally vowed that spencer was the dullest fellow he had ever put those useful members on.
""do n't you sing, mr. spencer?"
asked violet by way of beginning a conversation, as she turned her splendid eyes full upon him.
robinson would have lost his head under them, but spencer kept his heroically.
""no," was his calmly brief reply, given without any bluntness, but with no evident intention of saying anything more.
in spite of her social experience violet felt disconcerted.
""if he does n't want to talk to me i wo n't try to make him," she thought crossly.
no man had ever snubbed her so before.
spencer listened immovably to the music for a time.
then he turned to his companion with a palpable effort to be civilly sociable.
""how do you like the west, miss thayer?"
he said.
violet smiled -- the smile most men found dangerous.
""very much, so far as i have seen it.
there is a flavour about the life here that i like, but i dare say it would soon pall.
it must be horribly lonesome here most of the time, especially in winter."
""the m.p.s are always growling that it is," returned spencer with a slight smile.
""for my own part i never find it so."
violet decided that his smile was very becoming to him and that she liked the way his dark hair grew over his forehead.
""i do n't think i've seen you at lone poplar villa before?"
she said.
""no.
i have n't been here for some time.
i came up tonight to see the major about the loon lake trouble."
""otherwise you would n't have come," thought violet.
""flattering -- very!"
aloud she said, "is it serious?"
""oh, no.
a mere squabble among the indians.
have you ever visited the reservation, miss thayer?
no?
well, you should get some of your m.p. friends to take you out.
it would be worth while."
""why do n't you ask me to go yourself?"
said violet audaciously.
spencer smiled again.
""have i failed in politeness by not doing so?
i fear you would find me an insufferably dull companion."
so he was not going to ask her after all.
violet felt piqued.
she was also conscious of a sensation very near akin to disappointment.
she looked across at madison.
how trim and dapper he was!
""i hate a bandbox man," she said to herself.
spencer meanwhile had picked up one of mrs. hill's novels from the stand beside him."
fools of habit," he said, glancing at the cover.
""i see it is making quite a sensation down east.
i suppose you've read it?"
""yes.
it is very frivolous and clever -- all froth but delightful froth.
did you like it?"
spencer balanced the novel reflectively on his slender brown hand.
""well, yes, rather.
but i do n't care for novels as a rule.
i do n't understand them.
the hero of this book, now -- do you believe that a man in love would act as he did?"
""i do n't know," said violet amusedly.
""you ought to be a better judge than i.
you are a man."
""i have never loved anybody, so i am in no position to decide," said spencer.
there was as little self-consciousness in his voice as if he were telling her a fact concerning the loon lake trouble.
violet rose to the occasion.
""you have an interesting experience to look forward to," she said.
spencer turned his deep-set grey eyes squarely upon her.
""i do n't know that.
when i said i had never loved, i meant more than the love of a man for some particular woman.
i meant love in every sense.
i do not know what it is to have an affection for any human being.
my parents died before i can remember.
my only living relative was a penurious old uncle who brought me up for shame's sake and kicked me out on the world as soon as he could.
i do n't make friends easily.
i have a few acquaintances whom i like, but there is not a soul on earth for whom i care, or who cares for me."
""what a revelation love will be to you when it comes," said violet softly.
again he looked into her eyes.
""do you think it will come?"
he asked.
before she could reply mrs. hill pounced upon them.
violet was wanted to sing.
mr. spencer would excuse her, would n't he?
mr. spencer did so obligingly.
moreover, he got up and bade his hostess good night.
violet gave him her hand.
""you will call again?"
she said.
spencer looked across at madison -- perhaps it was accidental.
""i think not," he said.
""if, as you say, love will come some time, it would be a very unpleasant revelation if it came in hopeless guise, and one never knows what may happen."
miss thayer was conscious of a distinct fluttering of her heart as she went across to the piano.
this was a new sensation for her, and worthy of being analyzed.
after the m.p.s had gone she asked mrs. hill who mr. spencer was.
""oh, john spencer," said mrs. hill carelessly.
""he's at the head of the land office here.
that's really all i know about him.
jack says he is a downright good fellow and all that, you know.
but he's no earthly good in a social way; he ca n't talk or he wo n't.
he's flat.
so different from mr. madison, is n't he?"
""very," said violet emphatically.
after mrs. hill had gone out violet walked to the nearest mirror and looked at herself with her forefinger in the dimple of her chin.
""it is very odd," she said.
she did not mean the dimple.
* * * * * spencer had told her he was not coming back.
she did not believe this, but she did not expect him for a few days.
consequently, when he appeared the very next evening she was surprised.
madison, to whom she was talking when spencer entered, does not know to this day what she had started to say to him, for she never finished her sentence.
""i wonder if it is the loon lake affair again?"
she thought nervously.
mrs. hill came up at this point and whisked madison off for a waltz.
spencer, seeing his chance, came straight across the room to her.
sergeant robinson, who was watching them as usual, is willing to make affidavit that miss thayer changed colour.
after his greeting spencer said nothing.
he sat beside her, and they watched mrs. hill and madison dancing.
violet wondered why she did not feel bored.
when she saw madison coming back to her she was conscious of an unreasonable anger with him.
she got up abruptly.
""let us go out on the verandah," she said imperiously.
""it is absolutely stifling in here."
they went out.
it was very cool and dusky.
the lights of the town twinkled out below them, and the prairie bluffs behind them were dark and sibilant.
""i am going to drive over to loon lake tomorrow afternoon to look into affairs there," said spencer.
""will you go with me?"
violet reflected a moment.
""you did n't ask me as if you really wanted me to go," she said.
spencer put his hand over the white fingers that rested on the railing.
he bent forward until his breath stirred the tendrils of hair on her forehead.
""yes, i do," he said distinctly.
""i want you to go with me to loon lake tomorrow more than i ever wanted any thing in my life before."
later on, when everybody had gone, violet had her bad quarter of an hour with mrs. hill.
that lady felt herself aggrieved.
""i think you treated poor ned very badly tonight, vi.
he felt really blue over it.
and it was awfully bad form to go out with spencer as you did and stay there so long.
and you ought n't to flirt with him -- he does n't understand the game."
""i'm not going to flirt with him," said miss thayer calmly.
""oh, i suppose it's just your way.
only do n't turn the poor fellow's head.
by the way, ned is coming up with his camera tomorrow afternoon to take us all."
""i'm afraid he wo n't find me at home," said violet sweetly.
""i am going out to loon lake with mr. spencer."
mrs. hill flounced off to bed in a pet.
she was disgusted with everything, she declared to the major.
things had been going so nicely, and now they were all muddled.
""is n't madison coming up to time?"
queried the major sleepily.
""madison!
it's violet.
she is behaving abominably.
she treated poor ned shamefully tonight.
you saw yourself how she acted with spencer, and she's going to loon lake with him tomorrow, she says.
i'm sure i do n't know what she can see in him.
he's the dullest, pokiest fellow alive -- so different from her in every way."
""perhaps that is why she likes him," suggested the major.
""the attraction of opposites and all that, you know."
but mrs. hill crossly told him he did n't know anything about it, so, being a wise man, he held his tongue.
* * * * * during the next two weeks mrs. hill was the most dissatisfied woman in the four districts, and every m.p. down to the rawest recruit anathemized spencer in secret a dozen times a day.
violet simply dropped everyone else, including madison, in the coolest, most unmistakable way.
one night spencer did not come to lone poplar villa.
violet looked for him to the last.
when she realized that he was not coming she went to the verandah to have it out with herself.
as she sat huddled up in a dim corner beneath a silkily rustling western maple two m.p.s came out and, not seeing her, went on with their conversation.
""heard about spencer?"
questioned one.
""no.
what of him?"
""well, they say miss thayer's thrown him over.
yesterday i was passing here about four in the afternoon and i saw spencer coming in.
i went down to the land office and was chatting to cribson when the door opened about half an hour later and spencer burst in.
he was pale as the dead, and looked wild.
"has fyshe gone to rainy river about those crown lands yet?"
he jerked out.
cribson said, "no."
then tell him he need n't; i'm going myself," said spencer and out he bolted.
he posted off to rainy river today, and wo n't be back for a fortnight.
she'll be gone then."
""rather rough on spencer after the way she encouraged him," returned the other as they passed out of earshot.
violet got up.
all the callers were gone, and she swept in to mrs. hill dramatically.
""edith," she said in the cold, steady voice that, to those who knew her, meant breakers ahead for somebody, "mr. spencer was here yesterday when i was riding with the major, was he not?
what did you tell him about me?"
mrs. hill looked at violet's blazing eyes and wilted.
""i -- did n't tell him anything -- much."
""what was it?"
mrs. hill began to sob.
""do n't look at me like that, violet!
he just dropped in and we were talking about you -- at least i was -- and i had heard that harry st. maur was paying you marked attention before you came west -- and -- and that some people thought you were engaged -- and so -- and so --" "you told mr. spencer that i was engaged to harry st. maur?"
""no-o-o -- i just hinted.
i did n't mean an-any harm.
i never dreamed you'd really c-care.
i thought you were just amusing yourself -- and so did everybody -- and i wanted ned madison --" violet had turned very pale.
""i love him," she said hoarsely, "and you've sent him away.
he's gone to rainy river.
i shall never see him again!"
""oh, yes, you will," gasped mrs. hill faintly.
""he'll come back when he knows -- you c-can write and tell him --" "do you suppose i am going to write and ask him to come back?"
said violet wildly.
""i've enough pride left yet to keep me from doing that for a man at whose head i've thrown myself openly -- yes, openly, and who has never, in words at least, told me he cared anything about me.
i will never forgive you, edith!"
then mrs. hill found herself alone with her lacerated feelings.
after soothing them with a good cry, she set to work thinking seriously.
there was no doubt she had muddled things badly, but there was no use leaving them in a muddle when a word or two fitly spoken might set them straight.
mrs. hill sat down and wrote a very diplomatic letter before she went to bed, and the next morning she waylaid sergeant fox and asked him if he would ride down to rainy river with a very important message for mr. spencer.
sergeant fox wondered what it could be, but it was not his to reason why; it was his only to mount and ride with all due speed, for mrs. hill's whims and wishes were as stringent and binding as the rules of the force.
that evening when mrs. hill and violet -- the latter very silent and regal -- were sitting on the verandah, a horseman came galloping up the rainy river trail.
mrs. hill excused herself and went in.
five minutes later john spencer, covered with the alkali dust of his twenty miles" ride, dismounted at violet's side.
* * * * * the m.p.s gave a concert at the barracks that night and mrs. hill and her major went to it, as well as everyone else of any importance in town except violet and spencer.
they sat on major hill's verandah and watched the moon rising over the bluffs and making milk-white reflections in the prairie lakes.
""it seems a year of misery since last night," sighed violet happily.
""you could n't have been quite as miserable as i was," said spencer earnestly.
""you were everything -- absolutely everything to me.
other men have little rills and driblets of affection for sisters and cousins and aunts, but everything in me went out to you.
do you remember you told me the first time we met that love would be a revelation to me?
it has been more.
it has been a new gospel.
i hardly dared hope you could care for me.
even yet i do n't know why you do."
""i love you," said violet gravely, "because you are you."
than which, of course, there could be no better reason.
the waking of helen robert reeves looked somewhat curiously at the girl who was waiting on him at his solitary breakfast.
he had not seen her before, arriving at his summer boarding house only the preceding night.
it was a shabby farmhouse on the inland shore of a large bay that was noted for its tides, and had wonderful possibilities of light and shade for an impressionist.
reeves was an enthusiastic artist.
it mattered little to him that the boarding accommodations were most primitive, the people uncultured and dull, the place itself utterly isolated, as long as he could revel in those transcendent sunsets and sunrises, those marvellous moonlights, those wonderful purple shores and sweeps of shimmering blue water.
the owner of the farm was angus fraser, and he and his wife seemed to be a reserved, uncouth pair, with no apparent interest in life save to scratch a bare living out of their few stony acres.
he had an impression that they were childless and was at a loss to place this girl who poured his tea and brought in his toast.
she did not resemble either fraser or his wife.
she was certainly not beautiful, being very tall and rather awkward, and dressed in a particularly unbecoming dark print wrapper.
her luxuriant hair was thick and black, and was coiled in a heavy knot at the nape of her neck.
her features were delicate but irregular, and her skin was very brown.
her eyes attracted reeves's notice especially; they were large and dark and full of a half-unconscious, wistful longing, as if a prisoned soul behind them were vainly trying to reveal itself.
reeves could find out nothing of her from herself, for she responded to his tentative questions about the place in the briefest fashion.
afterwards he interviewed mrs. fraser cautiously, and ascertained that the girl's name was helen fraser, and that she was angus's niece.
""her father and mother are dead and we've brought her up.
helen's a good girl in most ways -- a little obstinate and sulky now and then -- but generally she's steady enough, and as for work, there ai n't a girl in bay beach can come up to her in house or field.
angus calculates she saves him a man's wages clear.
no, i ai n't got nothing to say against helen."
nevertheless, reeves felt somehow that mrs. fraser did not like her husband's niece.
he often heard her scolding or nagging helen at her work, and noticed that the latter never answered back.
but once, after mrs. angus's tongue had been especially bitter, he met the girl hurrying along the hall from the kitchen with her eyes full of tears.
reeves felt as if someone had struck him a blow.
he went to angus and his wife that afternoon.
he wished to paint a shore picture, he said, and wanted a model.
would they allow miss fraser to pose for him?
he would pay liberally for her time.
angus and his wife had no objection.
they would pocket the money, and helen could be spared a spell every day as well as not.
reeves told helen of his plan himself, meeting her in the evening as she was bringing the cows home from the low shore pastures beyond the marsh.
he was surprised at the sudden illumination of her face.
it almost transfigured her from a plain, sulky-looking girl into a beautiful woman.
but the glow passed quickly.
she assented to his plan quietly, almost lifelessly.
he walked home with her behind the cows and talked of the sunset and the mysterious beauty of the bay and the purple splendour of the distant coasts.
she listened in silence.
only once, when he spoke of the distant murmur of the open sea, she lifted her head and looked at him.
""what does it say to you?"
she asked.
""it speaks of eternity.
and to you?"
""it calls me," she answered simply, "and then i want to go out and meet it -- and it hurts me too.
i ca n't tell how or why.
sometimes it makes me feel as if i were asleep and wanted to wake and did n't know how."
she turned and looked out over the bay.
a dying gleam of sunset broke through a cloud and fell across her hair.
for a moment she seemed the spirit of the shore personified -- all its mystery, all its uncertainty, all its elusive charm.
she has possibilities, thought reeves.
next day he began his picture.
at first he had thought of painting her as the incarnation of a sea spirit, but decided that her moods were too fitful.
so he began to sketch her as "waiting" -- a woman looking out across the bay with a world of hopeless longing in her eyes.
the subject suited her well, and the picture grew apace.
when he was tired of work he made her walk around the shore with him, or row up the head of the bay in her own boat.
he tried to draw her out, at first with indifferent success.
she seemed to be frightened of him.
he talked to her of many things -- the far outer world whose echoes never reached her, foreign lands where he had travelled, famous men and women whom he had met, music, art and books.
when he spoke of books he touched the right chord.
one of those transfiguring flashes he delighted to evoke now passed over her plain face.
""that is what i've always wanted," she said hungrily, "and i never get them.
aunt hates to see me reading.
she says it is a waste of time.
and i love it so.
i read every scrap of paper i can get hold of, but i hardly ever see a book."
the next day reeves took his tennyson to the shore and began to read the idylls of the king to her.
""it is beautiful," was her sole verbal comment, but her rapt eyes said everything.
after that he never went out with her without a book -- now one of the poets, now some prose classic.
he was surprised by her quick appreciation of and sympathy with the finest passages.
gradually, too, she forgot her shyness and began to talk.
she knew nothing of his world, but her own world she knew and knew well.
she was a mine of traditional history about the bay.
she knew the rocky coast by heart, and every old legend that clung to it.
they drifted into making excursions along the shore and explored its wildest retreats.
the girl had an artist's eye for scenery and colour effect.
""you should have been an artist," reeves told her one day when she had pointed out to him the exquisite loveliness of a shaft of light falling through a cleft in the rocks across a dark-green pool at their base.
""i would rather be a writer," she said slowly, "if i could only write something like those books you have read to me.
what a glorious destiny it must be to have something to say that the whole world is listening for, and to be able to say it in words that will live forever!
it must be the noblest human lot."
""yet some of those men and women were neither good nor noble," said reeves gently, "and many of them were unhappy."
helen dismissed the subject as abruptly as she always did when the conversation touched too nearly on the sensitive edge of her soul dreams.
""do you know where i am taking you today?"
she said.
""no -- where?"
""to what the people here call the kelpy's cave.
i hate to go there.
i believe there is something uncanny about it, but i think you will like to see it.
it is a dark little cave in the curve of a small cove, and on each side the headlands of rock run far out.
at low tide we can walk right around, but when the tide comes in it fills the kelpy's cave.
if you were there and let the tide come past the points, you would be drowned unless you could swim, for the rocks are so steep and high it is impossible to climb them."
reeves was interested.
""was anyone ever caught by the tide?"
""yes," returned helen, with a shudder.
""once, long ago, before i was born, a girl went around the shore to the cave and fell asleep there -- and the tide came in and she was drowned.
she was young and very pretty, and was to have been married the next week.
i've been afraid of the place ever since."
the treacherous cave proved to be a picturesque and innocent-looking spot, with the beach of glittering sand before it and the high gloomy walls of rock on either hand.
""i must come here some day and sketch it," said reeves enthusiastically, "and you must be the kelpy, helen, and sit in the cave with your hair wrapped about you and seaweed clinging to it."
""do you think a kelpy would look like that?"
said the girl dreamily.
""i do n't.
i think it is a wild, wicked little sea imp, malicious and mocking and cruel, and it sits here and watches for victims."
""well, never mind your sea kelpies," reeves said, fishing out his longfellow.
""they are a tricky folk, if all tales be true, and it is supposed to be a very rash thing to talk about them in their own haunts.
i want to read you "the building of the ship."
you will like it, i'm sure."
when the tide turned they went home.
""we have n't seen the kelpy, after all," said reeves.
""i think i shall see him some day," said helen gravely.
""i think he is waiting for me there in that gloomy cave of his, and some time or other he will get me."
reeves smiled at the gloomy fancy, and helen smiled back at him with one of her sudden radiances.
the tide was creeping swiftly up over the white sands.
the sun was low and the bay was swimming in a pale blue glory.
they parted at clam point, helen to go for the cows and reeves to wander on up the shore.
he thought of helen at first, and the wonderful change that had come over her of late; then he began to think of another face -- a marvellously lovely one with blue eyes as tender as the waters before him.
then helen was forgotten.
the summer waned swiftly.
one afternoon reeves took a fancy to revisit the kelpy's cave.
helen could not go.
it was harvest time, and she was needed in the field.
""do n't let the kelpy catch you," she said to him half seriously.
""the tide will turn early this afternoon, and you are given to day-dreaming."
""i'll be careful," he promised laughingly, and he meant to be careful.
but somehow when he reached the cave its unwholesome charm overcame him, and he sat down on the boulder at its mouth.
""an hour yet before tide time," he said.
""just enough time to read that article on impressionists in my review and then stroll home by the sandshore."
from reading he passed to day-dreaming, and day-dreaming drifted into sleep, with his head pillowed on the rocky walls of the cave.
how long he had slept he did not know, but he woke with a start of horror.
he sprang to his feet, realizing his position instantly.
the tide was in -- far in past the headlands already.
above and beyond him towered the pitiless unscalable rocks.
there was no way of escape.
reeves was no coward, but life was sweet to him, and to die like that -- like a drowned rat in a hole -- to be able to do nothing but wait for that swift and sure oncoming death!
he reeled against the damp rock wall, and for a moment sea and sky and prisoning headlands and white-lined tide whirled before his eyes.
then his head grew clearer.
he tried to think.
how long had he?
not more than twenty minutes at the outside.
well, death was sure and he would meet it bravely.
but to wait -- to wait helplessly!
he should go; mad with the horror of it before those endless minutes would have passed!
he took something from his pocket and bent his, head over it, pressing his lips to it repeatedly.
and then, when he raised his face again, a dory was coming around the headland on his right, and helen fraser was in it.
reeves was dizzy again with the shock of joy and thankfulness.
he ran down over the little stretch of sand still uncovered by the tide and around to the rocks of the headlands against which the dory was already grating.
he sprang forward impulsively and caught the girl's cold hands in his as she dropped the oars and stood up.
""helen, you have saved me!
how can i ever thank you?
i --" he broke off abruptly, for she was looking up at him, breathlessly and voicelessly, with her whole soul in her eyes.
he saw in them a revelation that amazed him; he dropped her hands and stepped back as if she had struck him in the face.
helen did not notice the change in him.
she clasped her hands together and her voice trembled.
""oh, i was afraid i should be too late!
when i came in from the field aunt hannah said you had not come back -- and i knew it was tide time -- and i felt somehow that it had caught you in the cave.
i ran down over the marsh and took joe simmon's dory.
if i had not got here in time --" she broke off shiveringly.
reeves stepped into the dory and took up the oars.
""the kelpy would have been sure of its victim then," he said, trying to speak lightly.
""it would have almost served me right for neglecting your warning.
i was very careless.
you must let me row back.
i am afraid you have overtasked your strength trying to cheat the kelpy."
reeves rowed homeward in an absolute silence.
helen did not speak and he could not.
when they reached the dory anchorage he helped her out.
""i think i'll go out to the point for a walk," he said.
""i want to steady my nerves.
you must go right home and rest.
do n't be anxious -- i wo n't take any more chances with sea kelpies."
helen went away without a word, and reeves walked slowly out to the point.
he was grieved beyond measure at the discovery he believed he had made.
he had never dreamed of such a thing.
he was not a vain man, and was utterly free from all tendency to flirtation.
it had never occurred to him that the waking of the girl's deep nature might be attended with disastrous consequences.
he had honestly meant to help her, and what had he done?
he felt very uncomfortable; he could not conscientiously blame himself, but he saw that he had acted foolishly.
and of course he must go away at once.
and he must also tell her something she ought to know.
he wished he had told her long ago.
the following afternoon was a perfect one.
reeves was sketching on the sandshore when helen came.
she sat down on a camp stool a little to one side and did not speak.
after a few moments reeves pushed away his paraphernalia impatiently.
""i do n't feel in a mood for work," he said.
""it is too dreamy a day -- one ought to do nothing to be in keeping.
besides, i'm getting lazy now that my vacation is nearly over.
i must go in a few days."
he avoided looking at her, so he did not see the sudden pallor of her face.
""so soon?"
she said in a voice expressive of no particular feeling.
""yes.
i ought not to have lingered so long.
my world will be forgetting me and that will not do.
it has been a very pleasant summer and i shall be sorry to leave bay beach."
""but you will come back next summer?"
asked helen quickly.
""you said you would."
reeves nerved himself for his very distasteful task.
""perhaps," he said, with an attempt at carelessness, "but if i do so, i shall not come alone.
somebody who is very dear to me will come with me -- as my wife.
i have never told you about her, helen, but you and i are such good friends that i do not mind doing so now.
i am engaged to a very sweet girl, and we expect to be married next spring."
there was a brief silence.
reeves had been vaguely afraid of a scene and was immensely relieved to find his fear unrealized.
helen sat very still.
he could not see her face.
did she care, after all?
was he mistaken?
when she spoke her voice was perfectly calm.
""thank you, it is very kind of you to tell me about her.
i suppose she is very beautiful."
""yes, here is her picture.
you can judge for yourself."
helen took the portrait from his hand and looked at it steadily.
it was a miniature painted on ivory, and the face looking out from it was certainly lovely.
""it is no wonder you love her," said the girl in a low tone as she handed it back.
""it must be strange to be so beautiful as that."
reeves picked up his tennyson.
""shall i read you something?
what will you have?"
""read "elaine," please.
i want to hear that once more."
reeves felt a sudden dislike to her choice.
""would n't you prefer something else?"
he asked, hurriedly turning over the leaves."
"elaine" is rather sad.
sha n't i read "guinevere" instead?"
""no," said helen in the same lifeless tone.
""i have no sympathy for guinevere.
she suffered and her love was unlawful, but she was loved in return -- she did not waste her love on someone who did not want or care for it.
elaine did, and her life went with it.
read me the story."
reeves obeyed.
when he had finished he held the book out to her.
""helen, will you take this tennyson from me in remembrance of our friendship and of the kelpy's cave?
i shall never forget that i owe my life to you."
""thank you."
she took the book and placed a little thread of crimson seaweed that had been caught in the sand between the pages of "elaine."
then she rose.
""i must go back now.
aunt will need me.
thank you again for the book, mr. reeves, and for all your kindness to me."
reeves was relieved when the interview was over.
her calmness had reassured him.
she did not care very much, after all; it was only a passing fancy, and when he was gone she would soon forget him.
he went away a few days later, and helen bade him an impassive good-bye.
when the afternoon was far spent she stole away from the house to the shore, with her tennyson in her hand, and took her way to the kelpy's cave.
the tide was just beginning to come in.
she sat down on the big boulder where reeves had fallen asleep.
beyond stretched the gleaming blue waters, mellowing into a hundred fairy shades horizonward.
the shadows of the rocks were around her.
in front was the white line of the incoming tide; it had almost reached the headlands.
a few minutes more and escape would be cut off -- yet she did not move.
when the dark green water reached her, and the lapping wavelets swished up over the hem of her dress, she lifted her head and a sudden strange smile flashed over her face.
perhaps the kelpy understood it.
the way of the winning of anne jerome irving had been courting anne stockard for fifteen years.
he had begun when she was twenty and he was twenty-five, and now that jerome was forty, and anne, in a village where everybody knew everybody else's age, had to own to being thirty-five, the courtship did not seem any nearer a climax than it had at the beginning.
but that was not jerome's fault, poor fellow!
at the end of the first year he had asked anne to marry him, and anne had refused.
jerome was disappointed, but he kept his head and went on courting anne just the same; that is he went over to esek stockard's house every saturday night and spent the evening, he walked home with anne from prayer meeting and singing school and parties when she would let him, and asked her to go to all the concerts and socials and quilting frolics that came off.
anne never would go, of course, but jerome faithfully gave her the chance.
old esek rather favoured jerome's suit, for anne was the plainest of his many daughters, and no other fellow seemed at all anxious to run jerome off the track; but she took her own way with true stockard firmness, and matters were allowed to drift on at the will of time or chance.
three years later jerome tried his luck again, with precisely the same result, and after that he had asked anne regularly once a year to marry him, and just as regularly anne said no a little more brusquely and a little more decidedly every year.
now, in the mellowness of a fifteen-year-old courtship, jerome did not mind it at all.
he knew that everything comes to the man who has patience to wait.
time, of course, had not stood still with anne and jerome, or with the history of deep meadows.
at the stockard homestead the changes had been many and marked.
every year or two there had been a wedding in the big brick farmhouse, and one of old esek's girls had been the bride each time.
julia and grace and celia and betty and theodosia and clementina stockard were all married and gone.
but anne had never had another lover.
there had to be an old maid in every big family she said, and she was not going to marry jerome irving just for the sake of having mrs. on her tombstone.
old esek and his wife had been put away in the deep meadows burying-ground.
the broad, fertile stockard acres passed into anne's possession.
she was a good business-woman, and the farm continued to be the best in the district.
she kept two hired men and a servant girl, and the sixteen-year-old of her oldest sister lived with her.
there were few visitors at the stockard place now, but jerome "dropped in" every saturday night with clockwork regularity and talked to anne about her stock and advised her regarding the rotation of her crops and the setting out of her orchards.
and at ten o'clock he would take his hat and cane and tell anne to be good to herself, and go home.
anne had long since given up trying to discourage him; she even accepted attentions from him now that she had used to refuse.
he always walked home with her from evening meetings and was her partner in the games at quilting parties.
it was great fun for the young folks.
""old jerome and anne" were a standing joke in deep meadows.
but the older people had ceased to expect anything to come of it.
anne laughed at jerome as she had always done, and would not have owned for the world that she could have missed him.
jerome was useful, she admitted, and a comfortable friend; and she would have liked him well enough if he would only omit that ridiculous yearly ceremony of proposal.
it was jerome's fortieth birthday when anne refused him again.
he realized this as he went down the road in the moonlight, and doubt and dismay began to creep into his heart.
anne and he were both getting old -- there was no disputing that fact.
it was high time that he brought her to terms if he was ever going to.
jerome was an easy-going mortal and always took things placidly, but he did not mean to have all those fifteen years of patient courting go for nothing he had thought anne would get tired of saying no, sooner or later, and say yes, if for no other reason than to have a change; but getting tired did not seem to run in the stockard blood.
she had said no that night just as coolly and decidedly and unsentimentally as she said it fifteen years before.
jerome had the sensation of going around in a circle and never getting any further on.
he made up his mind that something must be done, and just as he got to the brook that divides deep meadows west from deep meadows central an idea struck him; it was a good idea and amused him.
he laughed aloud and slapped his thigh, much to the amusement of two boys who were sitting unnoticed on the railing of the bridge.
""there's old jerome going home from seeing anne stockard," said one.
""wonder what on earth he's laughing at.
seems to me if i could n't get a wife without hoeing a fifteen-year row, i'd give up trying."
but, then, the speaker was a hamilton, and the hamiltons never had any perseverance.
jerome, although a well-to-do man, owning a good farm, had, so to speak, no home of his own.
the old irving homestead belonged to his older brother, who had a wife and family.
jerome lived with them and was so used to it he did n't mind.
at forty a lover must not waste time.
jerome thought out the details that night, and next day he opened the campaign.
but it was not until the evening after that that anne stockard heard the news.
it was her niece, octavia, who told her.
the latter had been having a chat up the lane with sam mitchell, and came in with a broad smile on her round, rosy face and a twinkle in her eyes.
""i guess you've lost your beau this time, aunt anne.
it looks as if he meant to take you at your word at last."
""what on earth do you mean?"
asked anne, a little sharply.
she was in the pantry counting eggs, and octavia's interruption made her lose her count.
""now i ca n't remember whether it was six or seven dozen i said last.
i shall have to count them all over again.
i wish, octavia, that you could think of something besides beaus all the time."
""well, but listen," persisted octavia wickedly.
""jerome irving was at the social at the cherry valley parsonage last night, and he had harriet warren there -- took her there, and drove her home again."
""i do n't believe it," cried anne, before she thought.
she dropped an egg into the basket so abruptly that the shell broke.
""oh, it's true enough.
sam mitchell told me; he was there and saw him.
sam says he looked quite beaming, and was dressed to kill, and followed harriet around like her shadow.
i guess you wo n't have any more bother with him, aunt anne."
in the process of picking the broken egg out of the whole ones anne had recovered her equanimity.
she gave a careful little laugh.
""well, it's to be hoped so.
goodness knows it's time he tried somebody else.
go and change your dress for milking, octavia, and do n't spend quite so much time gossiping up the lane with sam mitchell.
he always was a fetch-and-carry.
young girls ought n't to be so pert."
when the subdued octavia had gone, anne tossed the broken eggshell out of the pantry window viciously enough.
""there's no fool like an old fool.
jerome irving always was an idiot.
the idea of his going after harriet warren!
he's old enough to be her father.
and a warren, too!
i've seen the time an irving would n't be seen on the same side of the road with a warren.
well, anyhow, i do n't care, and he need n't suppose i will.
it will be a relief not to have him hanging around any longer."
it might have been a relief, but anne felt strangely lonely as she walked home alone from prayer meeting the next night.
jerome had not been there.
the warrens were methodists and anne rightly guessed that he had gone to the methodist prayer meeting at cherry valley.
""dancing attendance on harriet," she said to herself scornfully.
when she got home she looked at her face in the glass more critically than she had done for years.
anne stockard at her best had never been pretty.
when young she had been called "gawky."
she was very tall and her figure was lank and angular.
she had a long, pale face and dusky hair.
her eyes had been good -- a glimmering hazel, large and long-lashed.
they were pretty yet, but the crow's feet about them were plainly visible.
there were brackets around her mouth too, and her cheeks were hollow.
anne suddenly realized, as she had never realized before, that she had grown old -- that her youth was left far behind.
she was an old maid, and harriet warren was young, and pretty.
anne's long, thin lips suddenly quivered.
""i declare, i'm a worse fool than jerome," she said angrily.
when saturday night came jerome did not.
the corner of the big, old-fashioned porch where he usually sat looked bare and lonely.
anne was short with octavia and boxed the cat's ears and raged at herself.
what did she care if jerome irving never came again?
she could have married him years ago if she had wanted to -- everybody knew that!
at sunset she saw a buggy drive past her gate.
even at that distance she recognized harriet warren's handsome, high-coloured profile.
it was jerome's new buggy and jerome was driving.
the wheel spokes flashed in the sunlight as they crept up the hill.
perhaps they dazzled anne's eyes a little; at least, for that or some other reason she dabbed her hand viciously over them as she turned sharply about and went upstairs.
octavia was practising her music lesson in the parlour below and singing in a sweet shrill voice.
the hired men were laughing and talking in the yard.
anne slammed down her window and banged her door and then lay down on her bed; she said her head ached.
the deep meadows people were amused and made joking remarks to anne, which she had to take amiably because she had no excuse for resenting them.
in reality they stung her pride unendurably.
when jerome had gone she realized that she had no other intimate friend and that she was a very lonely woman whom nobody cared about.
one night -- it was three weeks afterward -- she met jerome and harriet squarely.
she was walking to church with octavia, and they were driving in the opposite direction.
jerome had his new buggy and crimson lap robe.
his horse's coat shone like satin and had rosettes of crimson on his bridle.
jerome was dressed extremely well and looked quite young, with his round, ruddy, clean-shaven face and clear blue eyes.
harriet was sitting primly and consciously by his side; she was a very handsome girl with bold eyes and was somewhat overdressed.
she wore a big flowery hat and a white lace veil and looked at anne with a supercilious smile.
anne felt dowdy and old; she was very pale.
jerome lifted his hat and bowed pleasantly as they drove past.
suddenly harriet laughed out.
anne did not look back, but her face crimsoned darkly.
was that girl laughing at her?
she trembled with anger and a sharp, hurt feeling.
when she got home that night she sat a long while by her window.
jerome was gone -- and he let harriet warren laugh at her and he would never come back to her.
well, it did not matter, but she had been a fool.
only it had never occurred to her that jerome could act so.
""if i'd thought he would i might n't have been so sharp with him," was as far as she would let herself go even in thought.
when four weeks had elapsed jerome came over one saturday night.
he was fluttered and anxious, but hid it in a masterly manner.
anne was taken by surprise.
she had not thought he would ever come again, and was off her guard.
he had come around the porch corner abruptly as she stood there in the dusk, and she started very perceptibly.
""good evening, anne," he said, easily and unblushingly.
anne choked up.
she was very angry, or thought she was.
jerome appeared not to notice her lack of welcome.
he sat coolly down in his old place.
his heart was beating like a hammer, but anne did not know that.
""i suppose," she said cuttingly, "that you're on your way down to the bridge.
it's almost a pity for you to waste time stopping here at all, any more than you have of late.
no doubt harriet'll be expecting you."
a gleam of satisfaction flashed over jerome's face.
he looked shrewdly at anne, who was not looking at him, but was staring uncompromisingly out over the poppy beds.
a jealous woman always gives herself away.
if anne had been indifferent she would not have given him that slap in the face.
""i dunno's she will," he replied coolly.
""i did n't say for sure whether i'd be down tonight or not.
it's so long since i had a chat with you i thought i'd drop in for a spell.
but of course if i'm not wanted i can go where i will be."
anne could not get back her self-control.
her nerves were "all strung up," as she would have said.
she had a feeling that she was right on the brink of a "scene," but she could not help herself.
""i guess it does n't matter much what i want," she said stonily.
""at any rate, it has n't seemed that way lately.
you do n't care, of course.
oh, no!
harriet warren is all you care about.
well, i wish you joy of her."
jerome looked puzzled, or pretended to.
in reality he was hugging himself with delight.
""i do n't just understand you, anne," he said hesitatingly "you appear to be vexed about something."
""i?
oh, no, i'm not, mr. irving.
of course old friends do n't count now.
well, i've no doubt new ones will wear just as well."
""if it's about my going to see harriet," said jerome easily "i do n't see as how it can matter much to you.
goodness knows, you took enough pains to show me you did n't want me.
i do n't blame you.
a woman has a right to please herself, and a man ought to have sense to take his answer and go.
i had n't, and that's where i made my mistake.
i do n't mean to pester you any more, but we can be real good friends, ca n't we?
i'm sure i'm as much your friend as ever i was."
now, i hold that this speech of jerome's, delivered in a cool, matter-of-fact tone, as of a man stating a case with dispassionate fairness, was a masterpiece.
it was the last cleverly executed movement of the campaign.
if it failed to effect a capitulation, he was a defeated man.
but it did not fail.
anne had got to that point where an excited woman must go mad or cry.
anne cried.
she sat flatly down on a chair and burst into tears.
jerome's hat went one way and his cane another.
jerome himself sprang across the intervening space and dropped into the chair beside anne.
he caught her hand in his and threw his arm boldly around her waist.
""goodness gracious, anne!
do you care after all?
tell me that!"
""i do n't suppose it matters to you if i do," sobbed anne.
""it has n't seemed to matter, anyhow."
""anne, look here!
did n't i come after you for fifteen years?
it's you i always have wanted and want yet, if i can get you.
i do n't care a rap for harriet warren or anyone but you.
now that's the truth right out, anne."
no doubt it was, and anne was convinced of it.
but she had to have her cry out -- on jerome's shoulder -- and it soothed her nerves wonderfully.
later on octavia, slipping noiselessly up the steps in the dusk, saw a sight that transfixed her with astonishment.
when she recovered herself she turned and fled wildly around the house, running bump into sam mitchell, who was coming across the yard from a twilight conference with the hired men.
""goodness, tavy, what's the matter?
y" look "sif y'd seen a ghost."
octavia leaned up against the wall in spasms of mirth.
""oh, sam," she gasped, "old jerome irving and aunt anne are sitting round there in the dark on the front porch and he had his arms around her, kissing her!
and they never saw nor heard me, no more'n if they were deaf and blind!"
sam gave a tremendous whistle and then went off into a shout of laughter whose echoes reached even to the gloom of the front porch and the ears of the lovers.
but they did not know he was laughing at them and would not have cared if they had.
they were too happy for that.
there was a wedding that fall and anne stockard was the bride.
when she was safely his, jerome confessed all and was graciously forgiven.
""but it was kind of mean to harriet," said anne rebukingly, "to go with her and get her talked about and then drop her as you did.
do n't you think so yourself, jerome?"
her husband's eyes twinkled.
""well, hardly that.
you see, harriet's engaged to that johnson fellow out west.
"tai n't generally known, but i knew it and that's why i picked on her.
i thought it probable that she'd be willing enough to flirt with me for a little diversion, even if i was old.
harriet's that sort of a girl.
and i made up my mind that if that did n't fetch it nothing would and i'd give up for good and all.
but it did, did n't it, anne?"
""i should say so.
it was horrid of you, jerome -- but i daresay it's just as well you did or i'd likely never have found out that i could n't get along without you.
i did feel dreadful.
poor octavia could tell you i was as cross as x.
how did you come to think of it, jerome?"
""a fellow had to do something," said jerome oracularly, "and i'd have done most anything to get you, anne, that's a fact.
and there it was -- courting fifteen years and nothing to show for it.
i dunno, though, how i did come to think of it.
guess it was a sort of inspiration.
anyhow, i've got you and that's what i set out to do in the beginning."
young si mr. bentley had just driven into the yard with the new summer boarder.
mrs. bentley and agnes were peeping at her from behind the parlour curtains with the keen interest that they -- shut in by their restricted farm life -- always felt in any visitor from the outside world lying beyond their boundary of purple misted hills.
mrs. bentley was a plump, rosy-cheeked woman with a motherly smile.
agnes was a fair, slim schoolgirl, as tall as her mother, with a sweet face and a promise of peach blossom prettiness in the years to come.
the arrival of a summer boarder was a great event in her quiet life.
""ai n't she pretty?"
whispered mrs. bentley admiringly, as the girl came slowly up the green slope before the house.
""i do hope she's nice.
you can generally calculate on men boarders, but girls are doubtful.
preserve me from a cranky boarder!
i've had enough of them.
i kinder like her looks, though."
ethel lennox had paused at the front door as mrs. bentley and agnes came into the hall.
agnes gazed at the stranger with shy, unenvious admiration; the latter stood on the stone step just where the big chestnut by the door cast flickering gleams and shadows over her dress and shining hair.
she was tall, and gowned in some simple white material that fell about her in graceful folds.
she wore a cluster of pale pink roses at her belt, and a big, picturesque white hat shaded her face and the glossy, clinging masses of her red hair -- hair that was neither auburn nor chestnut but simply red.
nor would anyone have wished it otherwise, having once seen that glorious mass, with all its wonderful possibilities of rippling luxuriance.
her complexion was of that perfect, waxen whiteness that goes with burnished red hair and the darkest of dilated violet eyes.
her delicately chiselled features wore what might have been a somewhat too decided impress of spirit and independence, had it not been for the sweet mouth, red and dimpled and curving, that parted in a slow, charming smile as mrs. bentley came forward with her kindly welcome.
""you must be real tired, miss lennox.
it's a long drive from the train down here.
agnes, show miss lennox up to her room, and tea will be ready when you come down."
agnes came forward with the shy grace that always won friends for her, and the two girls went slowly up the broad, old-fashioned staircase, while mrs. bentley bustled away to bring in the tea and put a goblet of damask roses on the table.
""she looks like a picture, does n't she, john?"
she said to her husband.
""i never saw such a face -- and that hair too.
would you have believed red hair could be so handsome?
she seems real friendly -- none of your stuck-up fine ladies!
i've had all i want of them, i can tell you!"
""sh -- sh -- sh!"
said mr. bentley warningly, as ethel lennox came in with her arm about agnes.
she looked even more lovely without her hat, with the soft red tendrils of hair lying on her forehead.
mrs. bentley sent a telegraphic message of admiration across the table to her husband, who was helping the cold tongue and feeling his way to a conversation.
""you'll find it pretty quiet here, miss lennox.
we're plain folks and there ai n't much going and coming.
maybe you do n't mind that, though?"
""i like it.
when one has been teaching school all the year in a noisy city, quiet seems the one thing to be desired.
besides, i like to fancy myself something of an artist.
i paint and sketch a little when i have time, and miss courtland, who was here last summer, said i could not find a more suitable spot.
so i came because i knew that mackerel fishing was carried on along the shore, and i would have a chance to study character among the fishermen."
""well, the shore ai n't far away, and it's pretty -- though maybe us folks here do n't appreciate it rightly, being as we're so used to it.
strangers are always going crazy over its "picturesqueness," as they call it.
as for "character," i reckon you'll find all you want of that among the pointers; anyway, i never seed such critters as they be.
when you get tired of painting, maybe you can amuse yourself trying to get to the bottom of our mystery."
""oh, have you a mystery?
how interesting!"
""yes, a mystery -- a mystery," repeated mr. bentley solemnly, "that nobody hai n't been able to solve so far.
i've give it up -- so has everyone else.
maybe you'll have better luck."
""but what is it?"
""the mystery," said mr. bentley dramatically, "is -- young si.
he's the mystery.
last spring, just when the herring struck in, a young chap suddenly appeared at the point.
he appeared -- from what corner of the globe nobody hai n't ever been able to make out.
he bought a boat and a shanty down at my shore and went into a sort of mackerel partnership with snuffy curtis -- snuffy supplying the experience and this young fellow the cash, i reckon.
snuffy's as poor as job's turkey; it was a windfall for him.
and there he's fished all summer."
""but his name -- young si?"
""well, of course, that is n't it.
he did give himself out as brown, but nobody believes that's his handle -- sounds unnatteral here.
he bought his establishment from "old si," who used to fish down there and was a mysterious old critter in a way too.
so when this young fellow stepped in from goodness knows where, some of the pointers christened him young si for a joke, and he never gets anything else.
does n't seem to mind it.
he's a moody, keep-to-himself sort of chap.
yet he ai n't unpopular along shore, i believe.
snuffy was telling me they like him real well, considering his unsociableness.
anyways, he's as handsome a chap as i ever seed, and well eddicated too.
he ai n't none of your ordinary fishermen.
some of us kind of think he's a runaway -- got into some scrape or another, maybe, and is skulking around here to keep out of jail.
but wife here wo n't give in to that."
""no, i never will," said mrs. bentley firmly.
""young si comes here often for milk and butter, and he's a perfect gentleman.
nobody'll ever convince me that he has done anything to be ashamed of, whatever's his reason for wasting his life down there at that shore."
""he ai n't wasting his life," chuckled mr. bentley.
""he's making money, young si is, though he do n't seem to care about that a mite.
this has been a big year for mackerel, and he's smart.
if he did n't know much when he begun, he's ahead of snuffy now.
and as for work, i never saw his beat.
he seems possessed.
up afore sunrise every blessed morning and never in bed till midnight, and just slaving away all between time.
i said to him t "other day, says i: "young si, you'll have to let up on this sort of thing and take a rest.
you ca n't stand it.
you're not a pointer.
pointers can stand anything, but it'll kill you."
""he give one of them bitter laughs of his.
says he: "it's no difference if it does.
nobody'll care," and off he walks, sulky like.
there's something about young si i ca n't understand," concluded mr. bentley.
ethel lennox was interested.
a melancholy, mysterious hero in a setting of silver-rimmed sand hills and wide blue sweeps of ocean was something that ought to lend piquancy to her vacation.
""i should like to see this prince in disguise," she said.
""it all sounds very romantic."
""i'll take you to the shore after tea if you'd like," said agnes eagerly.
""si's just splendid," she continued in a confidential aside as they rose from the table.
""pa does n't half like him because he thinks there's something queer about him.
but i do.
he's a gentleman, as ma says.
i do n't believe he's done anything wrong."
* * * * * ethel lennox sauntered out into the orchard to wait for agnes.
she sat down under an apple tree and began to read, but soon the book slipped from her hands and the beautiful head leaned back against the grey, lichened trunk of the old tree.
the sweet mouth drooped wistfully.
there was a sad, far-away look in the violet eyes.
the face was not that of a happy girl, so thought agnes as she came down the apple tree avenue.
but how pretty she is!
she thought.
wo n't the folks around here stare at her!
they always do at our boarders, but we've never had one like her.
ethel sprang up.
""i had no idea you would be here so soon," she said brightly.
""just wait till i get my hat."
when she came out they started off, and presently found themselves walking down a grassy, deep-rutted lane that ran through mown hay fields, green with their rich aftergrowth, and sheets of pale ripening oats and golden-green wheat, until it lost itself in the rolling sand hills at the foot of the slope.
beyond the sand hills stretched the shining expanse of the ocean, of the faint, bleached blue of hot august seas, and reaching out into a horizon laced with long trails of pinkish cloud.
numberless fishing boats dotted the shimmering reaches.
""that furthest-off boat is young si's," said agnes.
""he always goes to that particular spot."
""is he really all your father says?"
asked miss lennox curiously.
""indeed, he is.
he is n't any more like the rest of the shore men than you are.
he's queer, of course.
i do n't believe he's happy.
it seems to me he's worrying over something, but i'm sure it is nothing wrong.
here we are," she added, as they passed the sand hills and came out on the long, level beach.
to their left the shore curved around in a semi-circle of dazzling whiteness; at their right stood a small grey fish-house.
""that's young si's place," said agnes.
""he lives there night and day.
would n't it make anyone melancholy?
no wonder he's mysterious.
i'm going to get his spyglass.
he told me i might always use it."
she pushed open the door and entered, followed by ethel.
the interior was rough but clean.
it was a small room, lighted by one tiny window looking out on the water.
in one corner a rough ladder led up to the loft above.
the bare lathed walls were hung with fishing jackets, nets, mackerel lines and other shore appurtenances.
a little stove bore a kettle and a frying pan.
a low board table was strewn with dishes and the cold remnants of a hasty repast; benches were placed along the walls.
a fat, bewhiskered kitten, looking as if it were cut out of black velvet, was dozing on the window sill.
""this is young si's cat," explained agnes, patting the creature, which purred joyously and opened its sleepy green eyes.
""it's the only thing he cares for, i believe.
witch!
witch!
how are you, witch?
well, here's the spyglass.
let's go out and have a look.
si's catching mackerel," announced agnes a few minutes later, after she had scrutinized each boat in turn, "and he wo n't be in for an hour yet.
if you like, we have time for a walk up the shore."
the sun slipped lower and lower in the creamy sky, leaving a trail of sparkles that ran across the water and lost itself in the west.
sea gulls soared and dipped, and tiny "sand peeps" flitted along the beach.
just as the red rim of the sun dipped in the purpling sea, the boats began to come in.
""most of them will go around to the point," explained agnes, with a contemptuous sweep of her hand towards a long headland running out before them.
""they belong there and they're a rough crowd.
you do n't catch young si associating with the pointers.
there, he's getting up sail.
we'll just have time to get back before he comes in."
they hurried back across the dampening sand as the sun disappeared, leaving a fiery spot behind him.
the shore was no longer quiet and deserted.
the little spot where the fishing house stood had suddenly started into life.
roughly clad boys were running hither and thither, carrying fish or water.
the boats were hauled up on the skids.
a couple of shaggy old tars, who had strolled over from the point to hear about young si's catch, were smoking their pipes at the corner of his shanty.
a mellow afterlight was shining over sea and shore.
the whole scene delighted ethel's artist eyes.
agnes nudged her companion.
""there!
if you want to see young si," she whispered, pointing to the skids, where a busy figure was discernible in a large boat, "that's him, with his back to us, in the cream-coloured boat.
he's counting out mackerel.
if you go over to that platform behind him, you'll get a good look when he turns around.
i'm going to coax a mackerel out of that stingy old snuffy, if i can."
she tripped off, and ethel walked slowly over to the boats.
the men stared at her in open-mouthed admiration as she passed them and walked out on the platform behind young si.
there was no one near the two.
the others were all assembled around snuffy's boat.
young si was throwing out the mackerel with marvellous rapidity, but at the sound of a footstep behind him he turned and straightened up his tall form.
they stood face to face.
""miles!"
""ethel!"
young si staggered back against the mast, letting two silvery bloaters slip through his hands overboard.
his handsome, sunburned face was very white.
ethel lennox turned abruptly and silently and walked swiftly across the sand.
agnes felt her arm touched, and turned to see ethel standing, pale and erect, beside her.
""let us go home," said the latter unsteadily.
""it is very damp here -- i feel chilled."
""oh, dear!"
exclaimed agnes penitently.
""i ought to have told you to bring a shawl.
it is always damp on the shore after sunset.
here, snuffy, give me my mackerel.
thank you.
i'm ready now, miss lennox."
they reached the lane before agnes remembered to ask the question ethel dreaded.
""oh, did you see young si?
and what do you think of him?"
ethel turned her face away and answered with studied carelessness.
""he seems to be quite a superior fisherman so far as i could see in the dim light.
it was very dusky there, you know.
let us walk a little faster.
my shoes are quite wet."
when they reached home, miss lennox excused herself on the plea of weariness and went straight to her room.
* * * * * back at the shore young si had recovered himself and stooped again to his work.
his face was set and expressionless.
a dull red burned in each bronzed cheek.
he threw out the mackerel mechanically, but his hands trembled.
snuffy strolled over to the boat.
""see that handsome girl, si?"
he asked lazily.
""one of the bentleys" boarders, i hear.
looks as if she might have stepped out of a picture frame, do n't she?"
""we've no time to waste, curtis," said young si harshly, "with all these fish to clean before bedtime.
stop talking and get to work."
snuffy shrugged his shoulders and obeyed in silence.
young si was not a person to be trifled with.
the catch was large and it was late before they finished.
snuffy surveyed the full barrels complacently.
""good day's work," he muttered, "but hard -- i'm dead beat out.
"low i'll go to bed.
in the name o" goodness, si, whar be you a-goin" to?"
young si had got into a dory and untied it.
he made no answer, but rowed out from the shore.
snuffy stared at the dory blankly until it was lost in the gloom.
""ef that do n't beat all!"
he ejaculated.
""i wonder if si is in his right senses?
he's been actin" quar right along, and now to start off, lord knows whar, at this hour o" night!
i really do n't believe it's safe to stay here alone with him."
snuffy shook his unkempt head dubiously.
young si rowed steadily out over the dark waves.
an eastern breeze was bringing in a damp sea fog that blurred darkly over the outlines of horizon and shore.
the young fisherman found himself alone in a world of water and grey mist.
he stopped rowing and leaned forward on his oars.
""to see her here, of all places!"
he muttered.
""not a word, scarcely a look, after all this long heartbreak!
well, perhaps it is better so.
and yet to know she is so near!
how beautiful she is!
and i love her more than ever.
that is where the sting lies.
i thought that in this rough life, amid all these rude associations, where nothing could remind me of her, i might forget.
and now --" he clenched his hands.
the mist was all around and about him, creeping, impalpable, phantom-like.
the dory rocked gently on the swell.
from afar came the low persistent murmur of the ocean.
* * * * * the next day ethel lennox declined to visit si's shore.
instead she went to the point and sketched all day.
she went again the next day and the next.
the point was the most picturesque part of the shore, she averred, and the "types" among its inhabitants most interesting.
agnes bentley ceased to suggest another visit to si's shore.
she had a vague perception that her companion did not care to discuss the subject.
at the end of a week mrs. bentley remarked: "what in the world can have happened to young si?
it's a whole week since he was here for milk or butter.
he ai n't sick, is he?"
mr. bentley chuckled amusedly.
""i "low i can tell you the reason of that.
si's getting his stuff at walden's now.
i saw him going there twice this week.
"liza walden's got ahead of you at last, mary."
""well, i never did!"
said mrs. bentley.
""well, young si is the first that ever preferred "liza walden's butter to mine.
everyone knows what hers is like.
she never works her salt half in.
well, young si's welcome to it, i'm sure; i wish him joy of his exchange."
mrs. bentley rattled her dishes ominously.
it was plain her faith in young si had received a severe shock.
upstairs in her room, ethel lennox, with a few undried tears glistening on her cheeks, was writing a letter.
her lips were compressed and her hand trembled: "i have discovered that it is no use to run away from fate," she wrote.
""no matter how hard we try to elude it, and how sure we are that we have succeeded, it will rise and meet us where we least expect it.
i came down here tired and worn out, looking for peace and rest -- and lo!
the most disquieting element of my life is here to confront me.
""i'm going to confess, helen.
"open confession is good for the soul," you know, and i shall treat myself to a good dose while the mood is on.
""you know, of course, that i was once engaged to miles lesley.
you also know that that engagement was broken last autumn for unexplained reasons.
well, i will tell you all about it and then mail this letter speedily, before i change my mind.
""it is over a year now since miles and i first became engaged.
as you are aware, his family is wealthy, and noted for its exclusiveness.
i was a poor school teacher, and you may imagine with what horror his relatives received the news of miles's attentions to one whom they considered his inferior.
now that i have thought the whole matter over calmly, i scarcely blame them.
it must be hard for aristocratic parents who have lavished every care upon a son, and cherished for him the highest hopes, when he turns from the women of his own order to one considered beneath him in station.
but i did not view the subject in this light then; and instead of declining his attentions, as i perhaps should have done, i encouraged them -- i loved him so dearly, nell!
-- and in spite of family opposition, miles soon openly declared his attachment.
""when his parents found they could not change his purpose, their affection for him forced them into outward acquiescence, but their reluctant condescension was gall and wormwood to me.
i saw things only from my own point of view, and was keenly sensitive to their politely concealed disapprobation, and my offended vanity found its victim in miles.
i belonged to the class who admit and resent slights, instead of ignoring them, as do the higher bred, and i thought he would not see those offered to me.
i grew cold and formal to him.
he was very patient, but his ways were not mine, and my manner puzzled and annoyed him.
our relations soon became strained, and the trifle necessary for an open quarrel was easily supplied.
""one evening i went to a large at home given by his mother.
i knew but few and, as miles was necessarily busy with his social duties to her guests, i was, after the first hurried greeting, left unattended for a time.
not being accustomed to such functions, i resented this as a covert insult and, in a fit of jealous pique, i blush to own that i took the revenge of a peasant maid and entered into a marked flirtation with fred currie, who had paid me some attention before my engagement.
when miles was at liberty to seek me, he found me, to all appearances, quite absorbed in my companion and oblivious of his approach.
he turned on his heel and went away, nor did he come near me the rest of the evening.
""i went home angry enough, but so miserable and repentant that if miles had been his usual patient self when he called the following evening i would have begged his forgiveness.
but i had gone too far; his mother was shocked by my gaucherie, and he was humiliated and justly exasperated.
we had a short, bitter quarrel.
i said a great many foolish, unpardonable things, and finally i threw his ring at him.
he gave me a startled look then, in which there was something of contempt, and went away without another word.
""after my anger had passed, i was wretchedly unhappy.
i realized how unworthily i had acted, how deeply i loved miles, and how lonely and empty my life would be without him.
but he did not come back, and soon after i learned he had gone away -- whither no one knew, but it was supposed abroad.
well, i buried my hopes and tears in secret and went on with my life as people have to do -- a life in which i have learned to think, and which, i hope, has made me nobler and better.
""this summer i came here.
i heard much about a certain mysterious stranger known as "young si" who was fishing mackerel at this shore.
i was very curious.
the story sounded romantic, and one evening i went down to see him.
i met him face to face and, helen, it was miles lesley!
""for one minute earth, sky and sea reeled around me.
the next, i remembered all, and turned and walked away.
he did not follow.
""you may be sure that i now religiously avoid that part of the shore.
we have never met since, and he has made no effort to see me.
he clearly shows that he despises me.
well, i despise myself.
i am very unhappy, nell, and not only on my own account, for i feel that if miles had never met me, his mother would not now be breaking her heart for her absent boy.
my sorrow has taught me to understand hers, and i no longer resent her pride.
""you need hardly be told after this that i leave here in another week.
i can not fabricate a decent excuse to go sooner, or i would."
in the cool twilight ethel went with agnes bentley to mail her letter.
as they stopped at the door of the little country store, a young man came around the corner.
it was young si.
he was in his rough fishing suit, with a big herring net trailing over his shoulder, but no disguise could effectually conceal his splendid figure.
agnes sprang forward eagerly.
""si, where have you been?
why have you never i been up to see us for so long?"
young si made no verbal reply.
he merely lifted his cap with formal politeness and turned on his heel.
""well, i never!"
exclaimed agnes, as soon as she recovered her powers of speech.
""if that is how young si is going to treat his friends!
he must have got offended at something.
i wonder what it is," she added, her curiosity getting the better of her indignation.
when they came out they saw the solitary figure of young si far adown, crossing the dim, lonely shore fields.
in the dusk agnes failed to notice the pallor of her companion's face and the unshed tears in her eyes.
* * * * * "i've just been down to the point," said agnes, coming in one sultry afternoon about a week later, "and little ev said as there was no fishing today he'd take us out for that sail tonight if you wanted to go."
ethel lennox put her drawing away listlessly.
she looked pale and tired.
she was going away the next day, and this was to be her last visit to the shore.
about an hour before sunset a boat glided out from the shadow of the point.
in it were ethel lennox and agnes, together with little ev, the sandy-haired, undersized pointer who owned the boat.
the evening was fine, and an off-shore breeze was freshening up rapidly.
they did not notice the long, dark bank of livid cloud low in the northwest.
""is n't this glorious!"
exclaimed ethel.
her hat was straining back from her head and the red rings of her hair were blowing about her face.
agnes looked about her more anxiously.
wiser in matters of sea and shore than her companion, there were some indications she did not like.
young si, who was standing with snuffy their skids, lowered his spyglass with a start.
""it is agnes bentley and -- and -- that boarder of theirs," he said anxiously, "and they've gone out with little ev in that wretched, leaky tub of his.
where are their eyes that they ca n't see a squall coming up?"
""an" little ev do n't know as much about managing a boat as a cat!"
exclaimed snuffy excitedly.
""sign'em to come back."
si shook his head.
""they're too far out.
i do n't know that the squall will amount to very much.
in a good boat, with someone who knew how to manage it, they'd be all right.
but with little ev --" he began walking restlessly up and down the narrow platform.
the boat was now some distance out.
the breeze had stiffened to a slow strong wind and the dull-grey level of the sea was whipped into white-caps.
agnes bent towards ethel.
""it's getting too rough.
i think we'd better go back.
i'm afraid we're in for a thunder squall.
look at the clouds."
a long, sullen muttering verified her words.
""little ev," she shouted, "we want to go in."
little ev, thus recalled to things about him, looked around in alarm.
the girls questioned each other with glances of dismay.
the sky had grown very black, and the peals of thunder came louder and more continuously.
a jagged bolt of lightning hurtled over the horizon.
over land and sea was "the green, malignant light of coming storm."
little ev brought the boat's head abruptly round as a few heavy drops of rain fell.
""ev, the boat is leaking!"
shrieked agnes, above the wind.
""the water's coming in!"
""bail her out then," shouted ev, struggling with the sail.
""there's two cans under the seat.
i've got to lower this sail.
bail her out."
""i'll help you," said ethel.
she was very pale, but her manner was calm.
both girls bailed energetically.
young si, watching through the glass, saw them.
he dropped it and ran to his boat, white and resolute.
""they've sprung a leak.
here, curtis, launch the boat.
we've got to go out or ev will drown them."
they shot out from the shore just as the downpour came, blotting out sea and land in one driving sheet of white rain.
""young si is coming off for us," said agnes.
""we'll be all right if he gets here in time.
this boat is going to sink, sure."
little ev was completely demoralized by fear.
the girls bailed unceasingly, but the water gained every minute.
young si was none too soon.
""jump, ev!"
he shouted as his boat shot alongside.
""jump for your life!"
he dragged ethel lennox in as he spoke.
agnes sprang from one boat to the other like a cat, and little ev jumped just as a thunderous crash seemed to burst above them and air and sky were filled with blue flame.
the danger was past, for the squall had few difficulties for si and snuffy.
when they reached the shore, agnes, who had quite recovered from her fright, tucked her dripping skirts about her and announced her determination to go straight home with snuffy.
""i ca n't get any wetter than i am," she said cheerfully.
""i'll send pa down in the buggy for miss lennox.
light the fire in your shanty, si, and let her get dry.
i'll be as quick as i can."
si picked ethel up in his strong arms and carried her into the fish-house.
he placed her on one of the low benches and hurriedly began to kindle a fire.
ethel sat up dazedly and pushed back the dripping masses of her bright hair.
young si turned and looked down at her with a passionate light in his eyes.
she put out her cold, wet hands wistfully.
""oh, miles!"
she whispered.
outside, the wind shook the frail building and tore the shuddering sea to pieces.
the rain poured down.
it was already settling in for a night of storm.
but, inside, young si's fire was casting cheery flames over the rude room, and young si himself was kneeling by ethel lennox with his arm about her and her head on his broad shoulder.
there were happy tears in her eyes and her voice quivered as she said, "miles, can you forgive me?
if you knew how bitterly i have repented --" "never speak of the past again, my sweet.
in my lonely days and nights down here by the sea, i have forgotten all but my love."
""miles, how did you come here?
i thought you were in europe."
""i did travel at first.
i came down here by chance, and resolved to cut myself utterly adrift from my old life and see if i could not forget you.
i was not very successful."
he smiled down into her eyes.
""and you were going away tomorrow.
how perilously near we have been to not meeting!
but how are we going to explain all this to our friends along shore?"
""i think we had better not explain it at all.
i will go away tomorrow, as i intended, and you can quietly follow soon.
let "young si" remain the mystery he has always been."
""that will be best -- decidedly so.
they would never understand if we did tell them.
and i daresay they would be very much disappointed to find i was not a murderer or a forger or something of that sort.
they have always credited me with an evil past.
and you and i will go back to our own world, ethel.
you will be welcome there now, sweet -- my family, too, have learned a lesson, and will do anything to promote my happiness."
agnes drove ethel lennox to the station next day.
the fierce wind that had swept over land and sea seemed to have blown away all the hazy vapours and oppressive heats in the air, and the morning dawned as clear and fresh as if the sad old earth with all her passionate tears had cleansed herself from sin and stain and come forth radiantly pure and sweet.
ethel bubbled over with joyousness.
agnes wondered at the change in her.
""good-bye, miss lennox," she said wistfully.
""you'll come back to see us some time again, wo n't you?"
""perhaps," smiled ethel, "and if not, agnes, you must come and see me.
some day i may tell you a secret."
about a week later young si suddenly vanished, and his disappearance was a nine-day's talk along shore.
his departure was as mysterious as his advent.
it leaked out that he had quietly disposed of his boat and shanty to snuffy curtis, sent his mackerel off and, that done, slipped from the pointers" lives, never more to re-enter them.
little ev was the last of the pointers to see him tramping along the road to the station in the dusk of the autumn twilight.
and the next morning agnes bentley, going out of doors before the others, found on the doorstep a basket containing a small, vociferous black kitten with a card attached to its neck.
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___lucy_maud_montgomery_short_stories,_1904.txt.out
a fortunate mistake "oh, dear!
oh, dear!"
fretted nan wallace, twisting herself about uneasily on the sofa in her pretty room.
""i never thought before that the days could be so long as they are now."
""poor you!"
said her sister maude sympathetically.
maude was moving briskly about the room, putting it into the beautiful order that mother insisted on.
it was nan's week to care for their room, but nan had sprained her ankle three days ago and could do nothing but lie on the sofa ever since.
and very tired of it, too, was wide-awake, active nan.
""and the picnic this afternoon, too!"
she sighed.
""i've looked forward to it all summer.
and it's a perfect day -- and i've got to stay here and nurse this foot."
nan looked vindictively at the bandaged member, while maude leaned out of the window to pull a pink climbing rose.
as she did so she nodded to someone in the village street below.
""who is passing?"
asked nan.
""florrie hamilton."
""is she going to the picnic?"
asked nan indifferently.
""no.
she was n't asked.
of course, i do n't suppose she expected to be.
she knows she is n't in our set.
she must feel horribly out of place at school.
a lot of the girls say it is ridiculous of her father to send her to miss braxton's private school -- a factory overseer's daughter."
""she ought to have been asked to the picnic all the same," said nan shortly.
""she is in our class if she is n't in our set.
of course i do n't suppose she would have enjoyed herself -- or even gone at all, for that matter.
she certainly does n't push herself in among us.
one would think she had n't a tongue in her head."
""she is the best student in the class," admitted maude, arranging her roses in a vase and putting them on the table at nan's elbow.
""but patty morrison and wilhelmina patterson had the most to say about the invitations, and they would n't have her.
there, nannie dear, are n't those lovely?
i'll leave them here to be company for you."
""i'm going to have more company than that," said nan, thumping her pillow energetically.
""i'm not going to mope here alone all the afternoon, with you off having a jolly time at the picnic.
write a little note for me to florrie hastings, will you?
i'll do as much for you when you sprain your foot."
""what shall i put in it?"
said maude, rummaging out her portfolio obligingly.
""oh, just ask her if she will come down and cheer a poor invalid up this afternoon.
she'll come, i know.
and she is such good company.
get dickie to run right out and mail it."
""i do wonder if florrie hamilton will feel hurt over not being asked to the picnic," speculated maude absently as she slipped her note into an envelope and addressed it.
florrie hamilton herself could best have answered that question as she walked along the street in the fresh morning sunshine.
she did feel hurt -- much more keenly than she would acknowledge even to herself.
it was not that she cared about the picnic itself: as nan wallace had said, she would not have been likely to enjoy herself if she had gone among a crowd of girls many of whom looked down on her and ignored her.
but to be left out when every other girl in the school was invited!
florrie's lip quivered as she thought of it.
""i'll get father to let me to go to the public school after vacation," she murmured.
""i hate going to miss braxton's."
florrie was a newcomer in winboro.
her father had recently come to take a position in the largest factory of the small town.
for this reason florrie was slighted at school by some of the ruder girls and severely left alone by most of the others.
some, it is true, tried at the start to be friends, but florrie, too keenly sensitive to the atmosphere around her to respond, was believed to be decidedly dull and mopy.
she retreated further and further into herself and was almost as solitary at miss braxton's as if she had been on a desert island.
""they do n't like me because i am plainly dressed and because my father is not a wealthy man," thought florrie bitterly.
and there was enough truth in this in regard to many of miss braxton's girls to make a very uncomfortable state of affairs.
""here's a letter for you, flo," said her brother jack at noon.
""got it at the office on my way home.
who is your swell correspondent?"
florrie opened the dainty, perfumed note and read it with a face that, puzzled at first, suddenly grew radiant.
""listen, jack," she said excitedly.
""dear florrie: "nan is confined to house, room, and sofa with a sprained foot.
as she will be all alone this afternoon, wo n't you come down and spend it with her?
she very much wants you to come -- she is so lonesome and thinks you will be just the one to cheer her up.
""yours cordially, "maude wallace."
""are you going?"
asked jack.
""yes -- i do n't know -- i'll think about it," said florrie absently.
then she hurried upstairs to her room.
""shall i go?"
she thought.
""yes, i will.
i dare say nan has asked me just out of pity because i was not invited to the picnic.
but even so it was sweet of her.
i've always thought i would like those wallace girls if i could get really acquainted with them.
they've always been nice to me, too -- i do n't know why i am always so tongue-tied and stupid with them.
but i'll go anyway."
that afternoon mrs. wallace came into nan's room.
""nan, dear, florrie hamilton is downstairs asking for you."
""florrie -- hamilton?"
""yes.
she said something about a note you sent her this morning.
shall i ask her to come up?"
""yes, of course," said nan lamely.
when her mother had gone out she fell back on her pillows and thought rapidly.
""florrie hamilton!
maude must have addressed that note to her by mistake.
but she must n't know it was a mistake -- must n't suspect it.
oh, dear!
what shall i ever find to talk to her about?
she is so quiet and shy."
further reflections were cut short by florrie's entrance.
nan held out her hand with a chummy smile.
""it's good of you to give your afternoon up to visiting a cranky invalid," she said heartily.
""you do n't know how lonesome i've been since maude went away.
take off your hat and pick out the nicest chair you can find, and let's be comfy."
somehow, nan's frank greeting did away with florrie's embarrassment and made her feel at home.
she sat down in maude's rocker, then, glancing over to a vase filled with roses, her eyes kindled with pleasure.
seeing this, nan said, "are n't they lovely?
we wallaces are very fond of our climbing roses.
our great-grandmother brought the roots out from england with her sixty years ago, and they grow nowhere else in this country."
""i know," said florrie, with a smile.
""i recognized them as soon as i came into the room.
they are the same kind of roses as those which grow about grandmother hamilton's house in england.
i used to love them so."
""in england!
were you ever in england?"
""oh, yes," laughed florrie.
""and i've been in pretty nearly every other country upon earth -- every one that a ship could get to, at least."
""why, florrie hamilton!
are you in earnest?"
""indeed, yes.
perhaps you do n't know that our "now-mother," as jack says sometimes, is father's second wife.
my own mother died when i was a baby, and my aunt, who had no children of her own, took me to bring up.
her husband was a sea-captain, and she always went on his sea-voyages with him.
so i went too.
i almost grew up on shipboard.
we had delightful times.
i never went to school.
auntie had been a teacher before her marriage, and she taught me.
two years ago, when i was fourteen, father married again, and then he wanted me to go home to him and jack and our new mother.
so i did, although at first i was very sorry to leave auntie and the dear old ship and all our lovely wanderings."
""oh, tell me all about them," demanded nan.
""why, florrie hamilton, to think you've never said a word about your wonderful experiences!
i love to hear about foreign countries from people who have really been there.
please just talk -- and i'll listen and ask questions."
florrie did talk.
i'm not sure whether she or nan was the more surprised to find that she could talk so well and describe her travels so brightly and humorously.
the afternoon passed quickly, and when florrie went away at dusk, after a dainty tea served up in nan's room, it was with a cordial invitation to come again soon.
""i've enjoyed your visit so much," said nan sincerely.
""i'm going down to see you as soon as i can walk.
but do n't wait for that.
let us be good, chummy friends without any ceremony."
when florrie, with a light heart and a happy smile, had gone, came maude, sunburned and glowing from her picnic.
""such a nice time as we had!"
she exclaimed.
""was n't i sorry to think of you cooped up here!
did florrie come?"
""one florrie did.
maude, you addressed that note to florrie hamilton today instead of florrie hastings."
""nan, surely not!
i'm sure --" "yes, you did.
and she came here.
was i not taken aback at first, maude!"
""i was thinking about her when i addressed it, and i must have put her name down by mistake.
i'm so sorry --" "you need n't be.
i have n't been entertained so charmingly for a long while.
why, maude, she has travelled almost everywhere -- and is so bright and witty when she thaws out.
she did n't seem like the same girl at all.
she is just perfectly lovely!"
""well, i'm glad you had such a nice time together.
do you know, some of the girls were very much vexed because she was n't asked to the picnic.
they said that it was sheer rudeness not to ask her, and that it reflected on us all, even if patty and wilhelmina were responsible for it.
i'm afraid we girls at miss braxton's have been getting snobbish, and some of us are beginning to find it out and be ashamed of it."
""just wait until school opens," said nan -- vaguely enough, it would seem.
but maude understood.
however, they did not have to wait until school opened.
long before that time winboro girlhood discovered that the wallace girls were taking florrie hamilton into their lives.
if the wallace girls liked her, there must be something in the girl more than was at first thought -- thus more than one of miss braxton's girls reasoned.
and gradually the other girls found, as nan had found, that florrie was full of fun and an all-round good companion when drawn out of her diffidence.
when miss braxton's school reopened florrie was the class favourite.
between her and nan wallace a beautiful and helpful friendship had been formed which was to grow and deepen through their whole lives.
""and all because maude in a fit of abstraction wrote "hamilton" for "hastings,"" said nan to herself one day.
but that is something florrie hamilton will never know.
an unpremeditated ceremony selwyn grant sauntered in upon the assembled family at the homestead as if he were returning from an hour's absence instead of a western sojourn of ten years.
guided by the sound of voices on the still, pungent autumnal air, he went around to the door of the dining room which opened directly on the poppy walk in the garden.
nobody noticed him for a moment and he stood in the doorway looking at them with a smile, wondering what was the reason of the festal air that hung about them all as visibly as a garment.
his mother sat by the table, industriously polishing the best silver spoons, which, as he remembered, were only brought forth upon some great occasion.
her eyes were as bright, her form as erect, her nose -- the carston nose -- as pronounced and aristocratic as of yore.
selwyn saw little change in her.
but was it possible that the tall, handsome young lady with the sleek brown pompadour and a nose unmistakably and plebeianly grant, who sat by the window doing something to a heap of lace and organdy in her lap, was the little curly-headed, sunburned sister of thirteen whom he remembered?
the young man leaning against the sideboard must be leo, of course; a fine-looking, broad-shouldered young fellow who made selwyn think suddenly that he must be growing old.
and there was the little, thin, grey father in the corner, peering at his newspaper with nearsighted eyes.
selwyn's heart gave a bound at the sight of him which not even his mother had caused.
dear old dad!
the years had been kind to him.
mrs. grant held up a glistening spoon and surveyed it complacently.
""there, i think that is bright enough even to suit margaret graham.
i shall take over the whole two dozen teas and one dozen desserts.
i wish, bertha, that you would tie a red cord around each of the handles for me.
the carmody spoons are the same pattern and i shall always be convinced that mrs. carmody carried off two of ours the time that jenny graham was married.
i do n't mean to take any more risks.
and, father --" something made the mother look around, and she saw her first-born!
when the commotion was over selwyn asked why the family spoons were being rubbed up.
""for the wedding, of course," said mrs. grant, polishing her gold-bowed spectacles and deciding that there was no more time for tears and sentiment just then.
""and there, they're not half done -- and we'll have to dress in another hour.
bertha is no earthly use -- she is so taken up with her bridesmaid finery."
""wedding?
whose wedding?"
demanded selwyn, in bewilderment.
""why, leo's, of course.
leo is to be married tonight.
did n't you get your invitation?
was n't that what brought you home?"
""hand me a chair, quick," implored selwyn.
""leo, are you going to commit matrimony in this headlong fashion?
are you sure you're grown up?"
""six feet is a pretty good imitation of it, is n't it?"
grinned leo.
""brace up, old fellow.
it's not so bad as it might be.
she's quite a respectable girl.
we wrote you all about it three weeks ago and broke the news as gently as possible."
""i left for the east a month ago and have been wandering around preying on old college chums ever since.
have n't seen a letter.
there, i'm better now.
no, you need n't fan me, sis.
well, no family can get through the world without its seasons of tribulations.
who is the party of the second part, little brother?"
""alice graham," replied mrs. grant, who had a habit of speaking for her children, none of whom had the carston nose.
""alice graham!
that child!"
exclaimed selwyn in astonishment.
leo roared.
""come, come, sel, perhaps we're not very progressive here in croyden, but we do n't actually stand still.
girls are apt to stretch out some between ten and twenty, you know.
you old bachelors think nobody ever grows up.
why, sel, you're grey around your temples."
""too well i know it, but a man's own brother should n't be the first to cast such things up to him.
i'll admit, since i come to think of it, that alice has probably grown bigger.
is she any better-looking than she used to be?"
""alice is a charming girl," said mrs. grant impressively.
""she is a beauty and she is also sweet and sensible, which beauties are not always.
we are all very much pleased with leo's choice.
but we have really no more time to spare just now.
the wedding is at seven o'clock and it is four already."
""is there anybody you can send to the station for my luggage?"
asked selwyn.
""luckily i have a new suit, otherwise i should n't have the face to go."
""well, i must be off," said mrs. grant.
""father, take selwyn away so that i sha n't be tempted to waste time talking to him."
in the library father and son looked at each other affectionately.
""dad, it's a blessing to see you just the same.
i'm a little dizzy with all these changes.
bertha grown up and leo within an inch of being married!
to alice graham at that, whom i ca n't think of yet as anything else than the long-legged, black-eyed imp of mischief she was when a kiddy.
to tell you the truth, dad, i do n't feel in a mood for going to a wedding at wish-ton-wish tonight.
i'm sure you do n't either.
you've always hated fusses.
ca n't we shirk it?"
they smiled at each other with chummy remembrance of many a family festival they had "shirked" together in the old days.
but mr. grant shook his head.
""not this time, sonny.
there are some things a decent man ca n't shirk and one of them is his own boy's wedding.
it's a nuisance, but i must go through with it.
you'll understand how it is when you're a family man yourself.
by the way, why are n't you a family man by this time?
why have n't i been put to the bother and inconvenience of attending your wedding before now, son?"
selwyn laughed, with a little vibrant note of bitterness in the laughter, which the father's quick ears detected.
""i've been too busy with law books, dad, to find me a wife."
mr. grant shook his bushy grey head.
""that's not the real reason, son.
the world has a wife for every man; if he has n't found her by the time he's thirty-five, there's some real reason for it.
well, i do n't want to pry into yours, but i hope it's a sound one and not a mean, sneaking, selfish sort of reason.
perhaps you'll choose a madam selwyn some day yet.
in case you should i'm going to give you a small bit of good advice.
your mother -- now, she's a splendid woman, selwyn, a splendid woman.
she ca n't be matched as a housekeeper and she has improved my finances until i do n't know them when i meet them.
she's been a good wife and a good mother.
if i were a young man i'd court her and marry her over again, that i would.
but, son, when you pick a wife pick one with a nice little commonplace nose, not a family nose.
never marry a woman with a family nose, son."
a woman with a family nose came into the library at this juncture and beamed maternally upon them both.
""there's a bite for you in the dining room.
after you've eaten it you must dress.
mind you brush your hair well down, father.
the green room is ready for you, selwyn.
tomorrow i'll have a good talk with you, but tonight i'll be too busy to remember you're around.
how are we all going to get over to wish-ton-wish?
leo and bertha are going in the pony carriage.
it wo n't hold a third passenger.
you'll have to squeeze in with father and me in the buggy, selwyn."
""by no means," replied selwyn briskly.
""i'll walk over to wish-ton-wish.
ifs only half a mile across lots.
i suppose the old way is still open?"
""it ought to be," answered mr. grant drily; "leo has kept it well trodden.
if you've forgotten how it runs he can tell you."
""i have n't forgotten," said selwyn, a little brusquely.
he had his own reasons for remembering the wood path.
leo had not been the first grant to go courting to wish-ton-wish.
when he started, the moon was rising round and red and hazy in an eastern hill-gap.
the autumn air was mild and spicy.
long shadows stretched across the fields on his right and silvery mosaics patterned the floor of the old beechwood lane.
selwyn walked slowly.
he was thinking of esme graham or, rather, of the girl who had been esme graham, and wondering if he would see her at the wedding.
it was probable, and he did not want to see her.
in spite of ten years" effort, he did not think he could yet look upon tom st. clair's wife with the proper calm indifference.
at the best, it would taint his own memory of her; he would never again be able to think of her as esme graham but only as esme st. clair.
the grahams had come to wish-ton-wish eleven years before.
there was a big family of girls of whom the tall, brown-haired esme was the oldest.
there was one summer during which selwyn grant had haunted wish-ton-wish, the merry comrade of the younger girls, the boyishly, silently devoted lover of esme.
tom st. clair had always been there too, in his right as second cousin, selwyn had supposed.
one day he found out that tom and esme had been engaged ever since she was sixteen; one of her sisters told him.
that had been all.
he had gone away soon after, and some time later a letter from home made casual mention of tom st. clair's marriage.
he narrowly missed being late for the wedding ceremony.
the bridal party entered the parlour at wish-ton-wish at the same moment as he slipped in by another door.
selwyn almost whistled with amazement at sight of the bride.
that alice graham, that tall, stately, blushing young woman, with her masses of dead-black hair, frosted over by the film of wedding veil!
could that be the scrawny little tomboy of ten years ago?
she looked not unlike esme, with that subtle family resemblance that is quite independent of feature and colouring.
where was esme?
selwyn cast his eyes furtively over the assembled guests while the minister read the marriage ceremony.
he recognized several of the graham girls but he did not see esme, although tom st. clair, stout and florid and prosperous-looking, was standing on a chair in a faraway corner, peering over the heads of the women.
after the turmoil of handshakings and congratulations, selwyn fled to the cool, still outdoors, where the rosy glow of chinese lanterns mingled with the waves of moonshine to make fairyland.
and there he met her, as she came out of the house by a side door, a tall, slender woman in some glistening, clinging garment, with white flowers shining like stars in the coils of her brown hair.
in the soft glow she looked even more beautiful than in the days of her girlhood, and selwyn's heart throbbed dangerously at sight of her.
""esme!"
he said involuntarily.
she started, and he had an idea that she changed colour, although it was too dim to be sure.
""selwyn!"
she exclaimed, putting out her hands.
""why, selwyn grant!
is it really you?
or are you such stuff as dreams are made of?
i did not know you were here.
i did not know you were home."
he caught her hands and held them tightly, drawing her a little closer to him, forgetting that she was tom st. clair's wife, remembering only that she was the woman to whom he had given all his love and life's devotion, to the entire beggaring of his heart.
""i reached home only four hours ago, and was haled straightway here to leo's wedding.
i'm dizzy, esme.
i ca n't adjust my old conceptions to this new state of affairs all at once.
it seems ridiculous to think that leo and alice are married.
i'm sure they ca n't be really grown up."
esme laughed as she drew away her hands.
""we are all ten years older," she said lightly.
""not you.
you are more beautiful than ever, esme.
that sunflower compliment is permissible in an old friend, is n't it?"
""this mellow glow is kinder to me than sunlight now.
i am thirty, you know, selwyn."
""and i have some grey hairs," he confessed.
""i knew i had them but i had a sneaking hope that other folks did n't until leo destroyed it today.
these young brothers and sisters who wo n't stay children are nuisances.
you'll be telling me next thing that "baby" is grown up.""
"baby" is eighteen and has a beau," laughed esme.
""and i give you fair warning that she insists on being called laura now.
do you want to come for a walk with me -- down under the beeches to the old lane gate?
i came out to see if the fresh air would do my bit of a headache good.
i shall have to help with the supper later on."
they went slowly across the lawn and turned into a dim, moonlight lane beyond, their old favourite ramble.
selwyn felt like a man in a dream, a pleasant dream from which he dreads to awaken.
the voices and laughter echoing out from the house died away behind them and the great silence of the night fell about them as they came to the old gate, beyond which was a range of shining, moonlight-misted fields.
for a little while neither of them spoke.
the woman looked out across the white spaces and the man watched the glimmering curve of her neck and the soft darkness of her rich hair.
how virginal, how sacred, she looked!
the thought of tom st. clair was a sacrilege.
""it's nice to see you again, selwyn," said esme frankly at last.
""there are so few of our old set left, and so many of the babies grown up.
sometimes i do n't know my own world, it has changed so.
it's an uncomfortable feeling.
you give me a pleasant sensation of really belonging here.
i'd be lonesome tonight if i dared.
i'm going to miss alice so much.
there will be only mother and baby and i left now.
our family circle has dwindled woefully."
""mother and baby and you!"
selwyn felt his head whirling again.
""why, where is tom?"
he felt that it was an idiotic question, but it slipped from his tongue before he could catch it.
esme turned her head and looked at him wonderingly.
he knew that in the sunlight her eyes were as mistily blue as early meadow violets, but here they looked dark and unfathomably tender.
""tom?"
she said perplexedly.
""do you mean tom st. clair?
he is here, of course, he and his wife.
did n't you see her?
that pretty woman in pale pink, lil meredith.
why, you used to know lil, did n't you?
one of the uxbridge merediths?"
to the day of his death selwyn grant will firmly believe that if he had not clutched fast hold of the top bar of the gate he would have tumbled down on the moss under the beeches in speechless astonishment.
all the surprises of that surprising evening were as nothing to this.
he had a swift conviction that there were no words in the english language that could fully express his feelings and that it would be a waste of time to try to find any.
therefore he laid hold of the first baldly commonplace ones that came handy and said tamely, "i thought you were married to tom."
""you -- thought -- i -- was -- married -- to -- tom!"
repeated esme slowly.
""and have you thought that all these years, selwyn grant?"
""yes, i have.
is it any wonder?
you were engaged to tom when i went away, jenny told me you were.
and a year later bertha wrote me a letter in which she made some reference to tom's marriage.
she did n't say to whom, but had n't i the right to suppose it was to you?"
""oh!"
the word was partly a sigh and partly a little cry of long-concealed, long-denied pain.
""it's been all a funny misunderstanding.
tom and i were engaged once -- a boy-and-girl affair in the beginning.
then we both found out that we had made a mistake -- that what we had thought was love was merely the affection of good comrades.
we broke our engagement shortly before you went away.
all the older girls knew it was broken but i suppose nobody mentioned the matter to jen.
she was such a child, we never thought about her.
and you've thought i was tom's wife all this time?
it's -- funny."
""funny.
you mean tragic!
look here, esme, i'm not going to risk any more misunderstanding.
there's nothing for it but plain talk when matters get to such a state as this.
i love you -- and i've loved you ever since i met you.
i went away because i could not stay here and see you married to another man.
i've stayed away for the same reason.
esme, is it too late?
did you ever care anything for me?"
""yes, i did," she said slowly.
""do you care still?"
he asked.
she hid her face against his shoulder.
""yes," she whispered.
""then we'll go back to the house and be married," he said joyfully.
esme broke away and stared at him.
""married!"
""yes, married.
we've wasted ten years and we're not going to waste another minute.
we're not, i say."
""selwyn!
it's impossible."
""i have expurgated that word from my dictionary.
it's the very simplest thing when you look at it in an unprejudiced way.
here is a ready-made wedding and decorations and assembled guests, a minister on the spot and a state where no licence is required.
you have a very pretty new dress on and you love me.
i have a plain gold ring on my little finger that will fit you.
are n't all the conditions fulfilled?
where is the sense of waiting and having another family upheaval in a few weeks" time?"
""i understand why you have made such a success of the law," said esme, "but --" "there are no buts.
come with me, esme.
i'm going to hunt up your mother and mine and talk to them."
half an hour later an astonishing whisper went circulating among the guests.
before they could grasp its significance tom st. clair and jen's husband, broadly smiling, were hustling scattered folk into the parlour again and making clear a passage in the hall.
the minister came in with his blue book, and then selwyn grant and esme graham walked in hand in hand.
when the second ceremony was over, mr. grant shook his son's hand vigorously.
""there's no need to wish you happiness, son; you've got it.
and you've made one fuss and bother do for both weddings, that's what i call genius.
and" -- this in a careful whisper, while esme was temporarily obliterated in mrs. grant's capacious embrace -- "she's got the right sort of a nose.
but your mother is a grand woman, son, a grand woman."
at the bay shore farm the newburys were agog with excitement over the governor's picnic.
as they talked it over on the verandah at sunset, they felt that life could not be worth living to those unfortunate people who had not been invited to it.
not that there were many of the latter in claymont, for it was the governor's native village, and the claymonters were getting up the picnic for him during his political visit to the city fifteen miles away.
each of the newburys had a special reason for wishing to attend the governor's picnic.
ralph and elliott wanted to see the governor himself.
he was a pet hero of theirs.
had he not once been a claymont lad just like themselves?
had he not risen to the highest office in the state by dint of sheer hard work and persistency?
had he not won a national reputation by his prompt and decisive measures during the big strike at campden?
and was he not a man, personally and politically, whom any boy might be proud to imitate?
yes, to all of these questions.
hence to the newbury boys the interest of the picnic centred in the governor.
""i shall feel two inches taller just to get a look at him," said ralph enthusiastically.
""he is n't much to look at," said frances, rather patronizingly.
""i saw him once at campden -- he came to the school when his daughter was graduated.
he is bald and fat.
oh, of course, he is famous and all that!
but i want to go to the picnic to see sara beaumont.
she's to be there with the chandlers from campden, and mary spearman, who knows her by sight, is going to point her out to me.
i suppose it would be too much to expect to be introduced to her.
i shall probably have to content myself with just looking at her."
ralph resented hearing the governor called bald and fat.
somehow it seemed as if his hero were being reduced to the level of common clay.
""that's like a girl," he said loftily; "thinking more about a woman who writes books than about a man like the governor!"
""i'd rather see sara beaumont than forty governors," retorted frances.
""why, she's famous -- and her books are perfect!
if i could ever hope to write anything like them!
it's been the dream of my life just to see her ever since i read the story of idlewild.
and now to think that it is to be fulfilled!
it seems too good to be true that tomorrow -- tomorrow, newburys, -- i shall see sara beaumont!"
""well," said cecilia gently -- cecilia was always gentle even in her enthusiasm -- "i shall like to see the governor and sara beaumont too.
but i'm going to the picnic more for the sake of seeing nan harris than anything else.
it's three years since she went away, you know, and i've never had another chum whom i love so dearly.
i'm just looking forward to meeting her and talking over all our dear, good old times.
i do wonder if she has changed much.
but i am sure i shall know her."
""by her red hair and her freckles?"
questioned elliott teasingly.
""they'll be the same as ever, i'll be bound."
cecilia flushed and looked as angry as she could -- which is n't saying much, after all.
she did n't mind when elliott teased her about her pug nose and her big mouth, but it always hurt her when he made fun of nan.
nan's family had once lived across the street from the newburys.
nan and cecilia had been playmates all through childhood, but when both girls were fourteen the harrises had moved out west.
cecilia had never seen nan since.
but now the latter had come east for a visit, and was with her relatives in campden.
she was to be at the picnic, and cecilia's cup of delight brimmed over.
mrs. newbury came briskly into the middle of their sunset plans.
she had been down to the post office, and she carried an open letter in her hand.
""mother," said frances, straightening up anxiously, "you have a pitying expression on your face.
which of us is it for -- speak out -- do n't keep us in suspense.
has mary spearman told you that sara beaumont is n't going to be at the picnic?"
""or that the governor is n't going to be there?"
""or that nan harris is n't coming?"
""or that something's happened to put off the affair altogether?"
cried ralph and cecilia and elliott all at once.
mrs. newbury laughed.
""no, it's none of those things.
and i do n't know just whom i do pity, but it is one of you girls.
this is a letter from grandmother newbury.
tomorrow is her birthday, and she wants either frances or cecilia to go out to ashland on the early morning train and spend the day at the bay shore farm."
there was silence on the verandah of the newburys for the space of ten seconds.
then frances burst out with: "mother, you know neither of us can go tomorrow.
if it were any other day!
but the day of the picnic!"
""i'm sorry, but one of you must go," said mrs. newbury firmly.
""your father said so when i called at the store to show him the letter.
grandmother newbury would be very much hurt and displeased if her invitation were disregarded -- you know that.
but we leave it to yourselves to decide which one shall go."
""do n't do that," implored frances miserably.
""pick one of us yourself -- pull straws -- anything to shorten the agony."
""no; you must settle it for yourselves," said mrs. newbury.
but in spite of herself she looked at cecilia.
cecilia was apt to be looked at, someway, when things were to be given up.
mostly it was cecilia who gave them up.
the family had come to expect it of her; they all said that cecilia was very unselfish.
cecilia knew that her mother looked at her, but did not turn her face.
she could n't, just then; she looked away out over the hills and tried to swallow something that came up in her throat.
""glad i'm not a girl," said ralph, when mrs. newbury had gone into the house.
""whew!
nothing could induce me to give up that picnic -- not if a dozen grandmother newburys were offended.
where's your sparkle gone now, fran?"
""it's too bad of grandmother newbury," declared frances angrily.
""oh, fran, she did n't know about the picnic," said cecilia -- but still without turning round.
""well, she need n't always be so annoyed if we do n't go when we are invited.
another day would do just as well," said frances shortly.
something in her voice sounded choked too.
she rose and walked to the other end of the verandah, where she stood and scowled down the road; ralph and elliott, feeling uncomfortable, went away.
the verandah was very still for a little while.
the sun had quite set, and it was growing dark when frances came back to the steps.
""well, what are you going to do about it?"
she said shortly.
""which of us is to go to the bay shore?"
""i suppose i had better go," said cecilia slowly -- very slowly indeed.
frances kicked her slippered toe against the fern jardinière.
""you may see nan harris somewhere else before she goes back," she said consolingly.
""yes, i may," said cecilia.
she knew quite well that she would not.
nan would return to campden on the special train, and she was going back west in three days.
it was hard to give the picnic up, but cecilia was used to giving things up.
nobody ever expected frances to give things up; she was so brilliant and popular that the good things of life came her way naturally.
it never seemed to matter so much about quiet cecilia.
* * * * * cecilia cried herself to sleep that night.
she felt that it was horribly selfish of her to do so, but she could n't help it.
she awoke in the morning with a confused idea that it was very late.
why had n't mary called her, as she had been told to do?
through the open door between her room and frances's she could see that the latter's bed was empty.
then she saw a little note, addressed to her, pinned on the pillow.
dear saint cecilia -lsb- it ran -rsb-, when you read this i shall be on the train to ashland to spend the day with grandmother newbury.
you've been giving up things so often and so long that i suppose you think you have a monopoly of it; but you see you have n't.
i did n't tell you this last night because i had n't quite made up my mind.
but after you went upstairs, i fought it out to a finish and came to a decision.
sara beaumont would keep, but nan harris would n't, so you must go to the picnic.
i told mary to call me instead of you this morning, and now i'm off.
you need n't spoil your fun pitying me.
now that the wrench is over, i feel a most delightful glow of virtuous satisfaction!
fran.
if by running after frances cecilia could have brought her back, cecilia would have run.
but a glance at her watch told her that frances must already be halfway to ashland.
so she could only accept the situation.
""well, anyway," she thought, "i'll get mary to point sara beaumont out to me, and i'll store up a description of her in my mind to tell fran tonight.
i must remember to take notice of the colour of her eyes.
fran has always been exercised about that."
it was mid-forenoon when frances arrived at ashland station.
grandmother newbury's man, hiram, was waiting for her with the pony carriage, and frances heartily enjoyed the three-mile drive to the bay shore farm.
grandmother newbury came to the door to meet her granddaughter.
she was a tall, handsome old lady with piercing black eyes and thick white hair.
there was no savour of the traditional grandmother of caps and knitting about her.
she was like a stately old princess and, much as her grandchildren admired her, they were decidedly in awe of her.
""so it is frances," she said, bending her head graciously that frances might kiss her still rosy cheek.
""i expected it would be cecilia.
i heard after i had written you that there was to be a gubernatorial picnic in claymont today, so i was quite sure it would be cecilia.
why is n't it cecilia?"
frances flushed a little.
there was a meaning tone in grandmother newbury's voice.
""cecilia was very anxious to go to the picnic today to see an old friend of hers," she answered.
""she was willing to come here, but you know, grandmother, that cecilia is always willing to do the things somebody else ought to do, so i decided i would stand on my rights as "miss newbury" for once and come to the bay shore."
grandmother newbury smiled.
she understood.
frances had always been her favourite granddaughter, but she had never been blind, clear-sighted old lady that she was, to the little leaven of easy-going selfishness in the girl's nature.
she was pleased to see that frances had conquered it this time.
""i'm glad it is you who have come -- principally because you are cleverer than cecilia," she said brusquely.
""or at least you are the better talker.
and i want a clever girl and a good talker to help me entertain a guest today.
she's clever herself, and she likes young girls.
she is a particular friend of your uncle robert's family down south, and that is why i have asked her to spend a few days with me.
you'll like her."
here grandmother newbury led frances into the sitting-room.
""mrs. kennedy, this is my granddaughter, frances newbury.
i told you about her and her ambitions last night.
you see, frances, we have talked you over."
mrs. kennedy was a much younger woman than grandmother newbury.
she was certainly no more than fifty and, in spite of her grey hair, looked almost girlish, so bright were her dark eyes, so clear-cut and fresh her delicate face, and so smart her general appearance.
frances, although not given to sudden likings, took one for mrs. kennedy.
she thought she had never seen so charming a face.
she found herself enjoying the day immensely.
in fact, she forgot the governor's picnic and sara beaumont altogether.
mrs. kennedy proved to be a delightful companion.
she had travelled extensively and was an excellent raconteur.
she had seen much of men and women and crystallized her experiences into sparkling little sentences and epigrams which made frances feel as if she were listening to one of the witty people in clever books.
but under all her sparkling wit there was a strongly felt undercurrent of true womanly sympathy and kind-heartedness which won affection as speedily as her brilliance won admiration.
frances listened and laughed and enjoyed.
once she found time to think that she would have missed a great deal if she had not come to bay shore farm that day.
surely talking to a woman like mrs. kennedy was better than looking at sara beaumont from a distance.
""i've been "rewarded" in the most approved storybook style," she thought with amusement.
in the afternoon, grandmother newbury packed mrs. kennedy and frances off for a walk.
""the old woman wants to have her regular nap," she told them.
""frances, take mrs. kennedy to the fern walk and show her the famous "newbury bubble" among the rocks.
i want to be rid of you both until tea-time."
frances and mrs. kennedy went to the fern walk and the beautiful "bubble" -- a clear, round spring of amber-hued water set down in a cup of rock overhung with ferns and beeches.
it was a spot frances had always loved.
she found herself talking freely to mrs. kennedy of her hopes and plans.
the older woman drew the girl out with tactful sympathy until she found that frances's dearest ambition was some day to be a writer of books like sara beaumont.
""not that i expect ever to write books like hers," she said hurriedly, "and i know it must be a long while before i can write anything worth while at all.
but do you think -- if i try hard and work hard -- that i might do something in this line some day?"
""i think so," said mrs. kennedy, smiling, "if, as you say, you are willing to work hard and study hard.
there will be a great deal of both and many disappointments.
sara beaumont herself had a hard time at first -- and for a very long first too.
her family was poor, you know, and sara earned enough money to send away her first manuscripts by making a pot of jelly for a neighbour.
the manuscripts came back, and sara made more jelly and wrote more stories.
still they came back.
once she thought she had better give up writing stories and stick to the jelly alone.
there did seem some little demand for the one and none at all for the other.
but she determined to keep on until she either succeeded or proved to her own satisfaction that she could make better jelly than stories.
and you see she did succeed.
but it means perseverance and patience and much hard work.
prepare yourself for that, frances, and one day you will win your place.
then you will look back to the "newbury bubble," and you will tell me what a good prophetess i was."
they talked longer -- an earnest, helpful talk that went far to inspire frances's hazy ambition with a definite purpose.
she understood that she must not write merely to win fame for herself or even for the higher motive of pure pleasure in her work.
she must aim, however humbly, to help her readers to higher planes of thought and endeavour.
then and only then would it be worth while.
""mrs. kennedy is going to drive you to the station," said grandmother newbury after tea.
""i am much obliged to you, frances, for giving up the picnic today and coming to the bay shore to gratify an old woman's inconvenient whim.
but i shall not burden you with too much gratitude, for i think you have enjoyed yourself."
""indeed, i have," said frances heartily.
then she added with a laugh, "i think i would feel much more meritorious if it had not been so pleasant.
it has robbed me of all the self-sacrificing complacency i felt this morning.
you see, i wanted to go to that picnic to see sara beaumont, and i felt quite like a martyr at giving it up."
grandmother newbury's eyes twinkled.
""you would have been beautifully disappointed had you gone.
sara beaumont was not there.
mrs. kennedy, i see you have n't told our secret.
frances, my dear, let me introduce you two over again.
this lady is mrs. sara beaumont kennedy, the writer of the story of idlewild and all those other books you so much admire."
* * * * * the newburys were sitting on the verandah at dusk, too tired and too happy to talk.
ralph and elliott had seen the governor; more than that, they had been introduced to him, and he had shaken hands with them both and told them that their father and he had been chums when just their size.
and cecilia had spent a whole day with nan harris, who had not changed at all except to grow taller.
but there was one little cloud on her content.
""i wanted to see sara beaumont to tell frances about her, but i could n't get a glimpse of her.
i do n't even know if she was there."
""there comes fran up the station road now," said ralph.
""my eyes, has n't she a step!"
frances came smiling over the lawn and up the steps.
""so you are all home safe," she said gaily.
""i hope you feasted your eyes on your beloved governor, boys.
i can tell that cecilia forgathered with nan by the beatific look on her face."
""oh, fran, it was lovely!"
cried cecilia.
""but i felt so sorry -- why did n't you let me go to ashland?
it was too bad you missed it -- and sara beaumont."
""sara beaumont was at the bay shore farm," said frances.
""i'll tell you all about it when i get my breath -- i've been breathless ever since grandmother newbury told me of it.
there's only one drawback to my supreme bliss -- the remembrance of how complacently self-sacrificing i felt this morning.
it humiliates me wholesomely to remember it!"
elizabeth's child the ingelows, of ingelow grange, were not a marrying family.
only one of them, elizabeth, had married, and perhaps it was her "poor match" that discouraged the others.
at any rate, ellen and charlotte and george ingelow at the grange were single, and so was paul down at greenwood farm.
it was seventeen years since elizabeth had married james sheldon in the face of the most decided opposition on the part of her family.
sheldon was a handsome, shiftless ne'er - do-well, without any violent bad habits, but also "without any backbone," as the ingelows declared.
""there is sometimes hope of a man who is actively bad," charlotte ingelow had said sententiously, "but who ever heard of reforming a jellyfish?"
elizabeth and her husband had gone west and settled on a prairie farm in manitoba.
she had never been home since.
perhaps her pride kept her away, for she had the ingelow share of that, and she soon discovered that her family's estimate of james sheldon had been the true one.
there was no active resentment on either side, and once in a long while letters were exchanged.
still, ever since her marriage, elizabeth had been practically an outsider and an alien.
as the years came and went the ingelows at home remembered only at long intervals that they had a sister on the western prairies.
one of these remembrances came to charlotte ingelow on a spring afternoon when the great orchards about the grange were pink and white with apple and cherry blossoms, and over every hill and field was a delicate, flower-starred green.
a soft breeze was blowing loose petals from the august sweeting through the open door of the wide hall when charlotte came through it.
ellen and george were standing on the steps outside.
""this kind of a day always makes me think of elizabeth," said charlotte dreamily.
""it was in apple-blossom time she went away."
the ingelows always spoke of elizabeth's going away, never of her marrying.
""seventeen years ago," said ellen.
""why, elizabeth's oldest child must be quite a young woman now!
i -- i --" a sudden idea swept over and left her a little breathless.
""i would really like to see her."
""then why do n't you write and ask her to come east and visit us?"
asked george, who did not often speak, but who always spoke to some purpose when he did.
ellen and charlotte looked at each other.
""i would like to see elizabeth's child," repeated ellen firmly.
""do you think she would come?"
asked charlotte.
""you know when james sheldon died five years ago, we wrote to elizabeth and asked her to come home and live with us, and she seemed almost resentful in the letter she wrote back.
i've never said so before, but i've often thought it."
""yes, she did," said ellen, who had often thought so too, but never said so.
""elizabeth was always very independent," remarked george.
""perhaps she thought your letter savoured of charity or pity.
no ingelow would endure that."
""at any rate, you know she refused to come, even for a visit.
she said she could not leave the farm.
she may refuse to let her child come."
""it wo n't do any harm to ask her," said george.
in the end, charlotte wrote to elizabeth and asked her to let her daughter visit the old homestead.
the letter was written and mailed in much perplexity and distrust when once the glow of momentary enthusiasm in the new idea had passed.
""what if elizabeth's child is like her father?"
queried charlotte in a half-whisper.
""let us hope she wo n't be!"
cried ellen fervently.
indeed, she felt that a feminine edition of james sheldon would be more than she could endure.
""she may not like us, or our ways," sighed charlotte.
""we do n't know how she has been brought up.
she will seem like a stranger after all.
i really long to see elizabeth's child, but i ca n't help fearing we have done a rash thing, ellen."
""perhaps she may not come," suggested ellen, wondering whether she hoped it or feared it.
but worth sheldon did come.
elizabeth wrote back a prompt acceptance, with no trace of the proud bitterness that had permeated her answer to the former invitation.
the ingelows at the grange were thrown into a flutter when the letter came.
in another week elizabeth's child would be with them.
""if only she is n't like her father," said charlotte with foreboding, as she aired and swept the southeast spare room for their expected guest.
they had three spare rooms at the grange, but the aunts had selected the southeast one for their niece because it was done in white, "and white seems the most appropriate for a young girl," ellen said, as she arranged a pitcher of wild roses on the table.
""i think everything is ready," announced charlotte.
""i put the very finest sheets on the bed, they smell deliciously of lavender, and we had very good luck doing up the muslin curtains.
it is pleasant to be expecting a guest, is n't it, ellen?
i have often thought, although i have never said so before, that our lives were too self-centred.
we seemed to have no interests outside of ourselves.
even elizabeth has been really nothing to us, you know.
she seemed to have become a stranger.
i hope her child will be the means of bringing us nearer together again."
""if she has james sheldon's round face and big blue eyes and curly yellow hair i shall never really like her, no matter how ingelowish she may be inside," said ellen decidedly.
when worth sheldon came, each of her aunts drew a long breath of relief.
worth was not in the least like her father in appearance.
neither did she resemble her mother, who had been a sprightly, black-haired and black-eyed girl.
worth was tall and straight, with a long braid of thick, wavy brown hair, large, level-gazing grey eyes, a square jaw, and an excellent chin with a dimple in it.
""she is the very image of mother's sister, aunt alice, who died so long ago," said charlotte.
""you do n't remember her, ellen, but i do very well.
she was the sweetest woman that ever drew breath.
she was paul's favourite aunt, too," charlotte added with a sigh.
paul's antagonistic attitude was the only drawback to the joy of this meeting.
how delightful it would have been if he had not refused to be there too, to welcome elizabeth's child.
worth came to hearts prepared to love her, but they must have loved her in any case.
in a day aunt charlotte and aunt ellen and shy, quiet uncle george had yielded wholly to her charm.
she was girlishly bright and merry, frankly delighted with the old homestead and the quaint, old-fashioned, daintily kept rooms.
yet there was no suggestion of gush about her; she did not go into raptures, but her pleasure shone out in eyes and tones.
there was so much to tell and ask and remember the first day that it was not until the second morning after her arrival that worth asked the question her aunts had been dreading.
she asked it out in the orchard, in the emerald gloom of a long arcade of stout old trees that grandfather ingelow had planted fifty years ago.
""aunt charlotte, when is uncle paul coming up to see me?
i long to see him; mother has talked so much to me about him.
she was his favourite sister, was n't she?"
charlotte and ellen looked at each other.
ellen nodded slyly.
it would be better to tell worth the whole truth at once.
she would certainly find it out soon.
""i do not think, my dear," said aunt charlotte quietly, "that your uncle paul will be up to see you at all."
""why not?"
asked worth, her serious grey eyes looking straight into aunt charlotte's troubled dark ones.
aunt charlotte understood that elizabeth had never told worth anything about her family's resentment of her marriage.
it was not a pleasant thing to have to explain it all to elizabeth's child, but it must be done.
""i think, my dear," she said gently, "that i will have to tell you a little bit of our family history that may not be very pleasant to hear or tell.
perhaps you do n't know that when your mother married we -- we -- did not exactly approve of her marriage.
perhaps we were mistaken; at any rate it was wrong and foolish to let it come between us and her as we have done.
but that is how it was.
none of us approved, as i have said, but none of us was so bitter as your uncle paul.
your mother was his favourite sister, and he was very deeply attached to her.
she was only a year younger than he.
when he bought the greenwood farm she went and kept house for him for three years before her marriage.
when she married, paul was terribly angry.
he was always a strange man, very determined and unyielding.
he said he would never forgive her, and he never has.
he has never married, and he has lived so long alone at greenwood with only deaf old mrs. bree to keep house for him that he has grown odder than ever.
one of us wanted to go and keep house for him, but he would not let us.
and -- i must tell you this although i hate to -- he was very angry when he heard we had invited you to visit us, and he said he would not come near the grange as long as you were here.
oh, you ca n't realize how bitter and obstinate he is.
we pleaded with him, but i think that only made him worse.
we have felt so bad over it, your aunt ellen and your uncle george and i, but we can do nothing at all."
worth had listened gravely.
the story was all new to her, but she had long thought there must be a something at the root of her mother's indifferent relations with her old home and friends.
when aunt charlotte, flushed and half-tearful, finished speaking, a little glimmer of fun came into worth's grey eyes, and her dimple was very pronounced as she said, "then, if uncle paul will not come to see me, i must go to see him."
""my dear!"
cried both her aunts together in dismay.
aunt ellen got her breath first.
""oh, my dear child, you must not think of such a thing," she cried nervously.
""it would never do.
he would -- i do n't know what he would do -- order you off the premises, or say something dreadful.
no!
no!
wait.
perhaps he will come after all -- we will see.
you must have patience."
worth shook her head and the smile in her eyes deepened.
""i do n't think he will come," she said.
""mother has told me something about the ingelow stubbornness.
she says i have it in full measure, but i like to call it determination, it sounds so much better.
no, the mountain will not come to mohammed, so mohammed will go to the mountain.
i think i will walk down to greenwood this afternoon.
there, dear aunties, do n't look so troubled.
uncle paul wo n't run at me with a pitchfork, will he?
he ca n't do worse than order me off his premises, as you say."
aunt charlotte shook her head.
she understood that no argument would turn the girl from her purpose if she had the ingelow will, so she said nothing more.
in the afternoon worth set out for greenwood, a mile away.
""oh, what will paul say?"
exclaimed the aunts, with dismal forebodings.
worth met her uncle paul at the garden gate.
he was standing there when she came up the slope of the long lane, a tall, massive figure of a man, with deep-set black eyes, a long, prematurely white beard, and a hooked nose.
handsome and stubborn enough paul ingelow looked.
it was not without reason that his neighbours called him the oddest ingelow of them all.
behind him was a fine old farmhouse in beautiful grounds.
worth felt almost as much interested in greenwood as in the grange.
it had been her mother's home for three years, and elizabeth ingelow had loved it and talked much to her daughter of it.
paul ingelow did not move or speak, although he probably guessed who his visitor was.
worth held out her hand.
""how do you do, uncle paul?"
she said.
paul ignored the outstretched hand.
""who are you?"
he asked gruffly.
""i am worth sheldon, your sister elizabeth's daughter," she answered.
""wo n't you shake hands with me, uncle paul?"
""i have no sister elizabeth," he answered unbendingly.
worth folded her hands on the gatepost and met his frowning gaze unshrinkingly.
""oh, yes, you have," she said calmly.
""you ca n't do away with natural ties by simply ignoring them, uncle paul.
they go on existing.
i never knew until this morning that you were at enmity with my mother.
she never told me.
but she has talked a great deal of you to me.
she has told me often how much you and she loved each other and how good you always were to her.
she sent her love to you."
""years ago i had a sister elizabeth," said paul ingelow harshly.
""i loved her very tenderly, but she married against my will a shiftless scamp who --" worth lifted her hand slightly.
""he was my father, uncle paul, and he was always kind to me; whatever his faults may have been i can not listen to a word against him."
""you should n't have come here, then," he said, but he said it less harshly.
there was even a certain reluctant approval of this composed, independent niece in his eyes.
""did n't they tell you at the grange that i did n't want to see you?"
""yes, they told me this morning, but i wanted to see you, so i came.
why can not we be friends, uncle paul, not because we are uncle and niece, but simply because you are you and i am i?
let us leave my father and mother out of the question and start fair on our own account."
for a moment uncle paul looked at her.
she met his gaze frankly and firmly, with a merry smile lurking in her eyes.
then he threw back his head and laughed a hearty laugh that was good to hear.
""very well," he said.
""it is a bargain."
he put his hand over the gate and shook hers.
then he opened the gate and invited her into the house.
worth stayed to tea, and uncle paul showed her all over greenwood.
""you are to come here as often as you like," he told her.
""when a young lady and i make a compact of friendship i am going to live up to it.
but you are not to talk to me about your mother.
remember, we are friends because i am i and you are you, and there is no question of anybody else."
the grange ingelows were amazed to see paul bringing worth home in his buggy that evening.
when worth had gone into the house charlotte told him that she was glad to see that he had relented towards elizabeth's child.
""i have not," he made stern answer.
""i do n't know whom you mean by elizabeth's child.
that young woman and i have taken a liking for each other which we mean to cultivate on our own account.
do n't call her elizabeth's child to me again."
as the days and weeks went by worth grew dearer and dearer to the grange folk.
the aunts often wondered to themselves how they had existed before worth came and, oftener yet, how they could do without her when the time came for her to go home.
meanwhile, the odd friendship between her and uncle paul deepened and grew.
they read and drove and walked together.
worth spent half her time at greenwood.
once uncle paul said to her, as if speaking half to himself, "to think that james sheldon could have a daughter like you!"
up went worth's head.
worth's grey eyes flashed.
""i thought we were not to speak of my parents?"
she said.
""you ought not to have been the first to break the compact, uncle paul."
""i accept the rebuke and beg your pardon," he said.
he liked her all the better for those little flashes of spirit across her girlish composure.
one day in september they were together in the garden at greenwood.
worth, looking lovingly and regretfully down the sun-flecked avenue of box, said with a sigh, "next month i must go home.
how sorry i shall be to leave the grange and greenwood.
i have had such a delightful summer, and i have learned to love all the old nooks and corners as well as if i had lived here all my life."
""stay here!"
said uncle paul abruptly.
""stay here with me.
i want you, worth.
let greenwood be your home henceforth and adopt your crusty old bachelor uncle for a father."
""oh, uncle paul," cried worth, "i do n't know -- i do n't think -- oh, you surprise me!"
""i surprise myself, perhaps.
but i mean it, worth.
i am a rich, lonely old man and i want to keep this new interest you have brought into my life.
stay with me.
i will try to give you a very happy life, my child, and all i have shall be yours."
seeing her troubled face, he added, "there, i do n't ask you to decide right here.
i suppose you have other claims to adjust.
take time to think it over."
""thank you," said worth.
she went back to the grange as one in a dream and shut herself up in the white southeast room to think.
she knew that she wanted to accept this unexpected offer of uncle paul's.
worth's loyal tongue had never betrayed, even to the loving aunts, any discontent in the prairie farm life that had always been hers.
but it had been a hard life for the girl, narrow and poverty-bounded.
she longed to put forth her hand and take this other life which opened so temptingly before her.
she knew, too, that her mother, ambitious for her child, would not be likely to interpose any objections.
she had only to go to uncle paul and all that she longed for would be given her, together with the faithful, protecting fatherly love and care that in all its strength and sweetness had never been hers.
she must decide for herself.
not even of aunt charlotte or aunt ellen could she ask advice.
she knew they would entreat her to accept, and she needed no such incentive to her own wishes.
far on into the night worth sat at the white-curtained dormer window, looking at the stars over the apple trees, and fighting her battle between inclination and duty.
it was a hard and stubbornly contested battle, but with that square chin and those unfaltering grey eyes it could end in only one way.
next day worth went down to greenwood.
""well, what is it to be?"
said uncle paul without preface, as he met her in the garden.
""i can not come, uncle paul," said worth steadily.
""i can not give up my mother."
""i do n't ask you to give her up," he said gruffly.
""you can write to her and visit her.
i do n't want to come between parent and child."
""that is n't the point exactly, uncle paul.
i hope you will not be angry with me for not accepting your offer.
i wanted to -- you do n't know how much i wanted to -- but i can not.
mother and i are so much to each other, uncle paul, more, i am sure, than even most mothers and daughters.
you have never let me speak of her, but i must tell you this.
mother has often told me that when i came to her things were going very hard with her and that i was heaven's own gift to comfort and encourage her.
then, in the ten years that followed, the three other babies that came to her all died before they were two years old.
and with each loss mother said i grew dearer to her.
do n't you see, uncle paul, i'm not merely just one child to her but i'm all those children?
six years ago the twins were born, and they are dear, bright little lads, but they are very small yet, so mother has really nobody but me.
i know she would consent to let me stay here, because she would think it best for me, but it would n't be really best for me; it could n't be best for a girl to do what was n't right.
i love you, uncle paul, and i love greenwood, and i want to stay so much, but i can not.
i have thought it all over and i must go back to mother."
uncle paul did not say one word.
he turned his back on worth and walked the full length of the box alley twice.
worth watched him wistfully.
was he very angry?
would he forgive her?
""you are an ingelow, worth," he said when he came back.
that was all, but worth understood that her decision was not to cause any estrangement between them.
a month later worth's last day at the grange came.
she was to leave for the west the next morning.
they were all out in grandfather ingelow's arcade, uncle george and aunt charlotte and aunt ellen and worth, enjoying the ripe mellow sunshine of the october day, when paul ingelow came up the slope.
worth went to meet him with outstretched hands.
he took them both in his and looked at her very gravely.
""i have not come to say goodbye, worth.
i will not say it.
you are coming back to me."
worth shook her brown head sadly.
""oh, i can not, uncle paul.
you know -- i told you --" "yes, i know," he interrupted.
""i have been thinking it all over every day since.
you know yourself what the ingelow determination is.
it's a good thing in a good cause but a bad thing in a bad one.
and it is no easy thing to conquer when you've let it rule you for years as i have done.
but i have conquered it, or you have conquered it for me.
child, here is a letter.
it is to your mother -- my sister elizabeth.
in it i have asked her to forgive me, and to forget our long estrangement.
i have asked her to come back to me with you and her boys.
i want you all -- all -- at greenwood and i will do the best i can for you all."
""oh, uncle paul," cried worth, her face aglow and quivering with smiles and tears and sunshine.
""do you think she will forgive me and come?"
""i know she will," cried worth.
""i know how she has longed for you and home.
oh, i am so happy, uncle paul!"
he smiled at her and put his arm over her shoulder.
together they walked up the golden arcade to tell the others.
that night charlotte and ellen cried with happiness as they talked it over in the twilight.
""how beautiful!"
murmured charlotte softly.
""we shall not lose worth after all.
ellen, i could not have borne it to see that girl go utterly out of our lives again."
""i always hoped and believed that elizabeth's child would somehow bring us all together again," said ellen happily.
freda's adopted grave north point, where freda lived, was the bleakest settlement in the world.
even its inhabitants, who loved it, had to admit that.
the northeast winds swept whistling up the bay and blew rawly over the long hill that sloped down to it, blighting everything that was in their way.
only the sturdy firs and spruces could hold their own against it.
so there were no orchards or groves or flower gardens in north point.
just over the hill, in a sheltered southwest valley, was the north point church with the graveyard behind it, and this graveyard was the most beautiful spot in north point or near it.
the north point folk loved flowers.
they could not have them about their homes, so they had them in their graveyard.
it was a matter of pride with each family to keep the separate plot neatly trimmed and weeded and adorned with beautiful blossoms.
it was one of the unwritten laws of the little community that on some selected day in may everybody would repair to the graveyard to plant, trim and clip.
it was not an unpleasant duty, even to those whose sorrow was fresh.
it seemed as if they were still doing something for the friends who had gone when they made their earthly resting places beautiful.
as for the children, they looked forward to "graveyard day" as a very delightful anniversary, and it divided its spring honours with the amount of the herring catch.
""tomorrow is graveyard day," said minnie hutchinson at school recess, when all the little girls were sitting on the fence.
""ai n't i glad!
i've got the loveliest big white rosebush to plant by grandma hutchinson's grave.
uncle robert sent it out from town."
""my mother has ten tuberoses to set out," said nan gray proudly.
""we're going to plant a row of lilies right around our plot," said katie morris.
every little girl had some boast to make, that is, every little girl but freda.
freda sat in a corner all by herself and felt miserably outside of everything.
she had no part or lot in graveyard day.
""are you going to plant anything, freda?"
asked nan, with a wink at the others.
freda shook her head mutely.
""freda ca n't plant anything," said winnie bell cruelly, although she did not mean to be cruel.
""she has n't got a grave."
just then freda felt as if her gravelessness were a positive disgrace and crime, as if not to have an interest in a single grave in north point cemetery branded you as an outcast forever and ever.
it very nearly did in north point.
the other little girls pitied freda, but at the same time they rather looked down upon her for it with the complacency of those who had been born into a good heritage of family graves and had an undisputed right to celebrate graveyard day.
freda felt that her cup of wretchedness was full.
she sat miserably on the fence while the other girls ran off to play, and she walked home alone at night.
it seemed to her that she could not bear it any longer.
freda was ten years old.
four years ago mrs. wilson had taken her from the orphan asylum in town.
mrs. wilson lived just this side of the hill from the graveyard, and everybody in north point called her a "crank."
they pitied any child she took, they said.
it would be worked to death and treated like a slave.
at first they tried to pump freda concerning mrs. wilson's treatment of her, but freda was not to be pumped.
she was a quiet little mite, with big, wistful dark eyes that had a disconcerting fashion of looking the gossips out of countenance.
but if freda had been disposed to complain, the north point people would have found out that they had been only too correct in their predictions.
""mrs. wilson," freda said timidly that night, "why have n't we got a grave?"
mrs. wilson averred that such a question gave her the "creeps."
""you ought to be very thankful that we have n't," she said severely.
""that graveyard day is a heathenish custom, anyhow.
they make a regular picnic of it, and it makes me sick to hear those school girls chattering about what they mean to plant, each one trying to outblow the other.
if i had a grave there, i would n't make a flower garden of it!"
freda did not go to the graveyard the next day, although it was a holiday.
but in the evening, when everybody had gone home, she crept over the hill and through the beech grove to see what had been done.
the plots were all very neat and prettily set out with plants and bulbs.
some perennials were already in bud.
the grave of katie morris" great-uncle, who had been dead for forty years, was covered with blossoming purple pansies.
every grave, no matter how small or old, had its share of promise -- every grave except one.
freda came across it with a feeling of surprise.
it was away down in the lower corner where there were no plots.
it was shut off from the others by a growth of young poplars and was sunken and overgrown with blueberry shrubs.
there was no headstone, and it looked dismally neglected.
freda felt a sympathy for it.
she had no grave, and this grave had nobody to tend it or care for it.
when she went home she asked mrs. wilson whose it was.
""humph!"
said mrs. wilson.
""if you have so much spare time lying round loose, you'd better put it into your sewing instead of prowling about graveyards.
do you expect me to work my fingers to the bone making clothes for you?
i wish i'd left you in the asylum.
that grave is jordan slade's, i suppose.
he died twenty years ago, and a worthless, drunken scamp he was.
he served a term in the penitentiary for breaking into andrew messervey's store, and after it he had the face to come back to north point.
but respectable people would have nothing to do with him, and he went to the dogs altogether -- had to be buried on charity when he died.
he has n't any relations here.
there was a sister, a little girl of ten, who used to live with the cogswells over at east point.
after jord died, some rich folks saw her and was so struck with her good looks that they took her away with them.
i do n't know what become of her, and i do n't care.
go and bring the cows up."
when freda went to bed that night her mind was made up.
she would adopt jordan slade's grave.
thereafter, freda spent her few precious spare-time moments in the graveyard.
she clipped the blueberry shrubs and long, tangled grasses from the grave with a pair of rusty old shears that blistered her little brown hands badly.
she brought ferns from the woods to plant about it.
she begged a root of heliotrope from nan gray, a clump of day lilies from katie morris, a rosebush slip from nellie bell, some pansy seed from old mrs. bennett, and a geranium shoot from minnie hutchinson's big sister.
she planted, weeded and watered faithfully, and her efforts were rewarded.
""her" grave soon looked as nice as any in the graveyard.
nobody but freda knew about it.
the poplar growth concealed the corner from sight, and everybody had quite forgotten poor, disreputable jordan slade's grave.
at least, it seemed as if everybody had.
but one evening, when freda slipped down to the graveyard with a little can of water and rounded the corner of the poplars, she saw a lady standing by the grave -- a strange lady dressed in black, with the loveliest face freda had ever seen, and tears in her eyes.
the lady gave a little start when she saw freda with her can of water.
""can you tell me who has been looking after this grave?"
she said.
""it -- it was i," faltered freda, wondering if the lady would be angry with her.
""pleas'm, it was i, but i did n't mean any harm.
all the other little girls had a grave, and i had n't any, so i just adopted this one."
""did you know whose it was?"
asked the lady gently.
""yes'm -- jordan slade's.
mrs. wilson told me."
""jordan slade was my brother," said the lady.
""he went sadly astray, but he was not all bad.
he was weak and too easily influenced.
but whatever his faults, he was good and kind -- oh!
so good and kind -- to me when i was a child.
i loved him with all my heart.
it has always been my wish to come back and visit his grave, but i have never been able to come, my home has been so far away.
i expected to find it neglected.
i can not tell you how pleased and touched i am to find it kept so beautifully.
thank you over and over again, my dear child!"
""then you're not cross, ma'am?"
said freda eagerly.
""and i may go on looking after it, may i?
oh, it just seems as if i could n't bear not to!"
""you may look after it as long as you want to, my dear.
i will help you, too.
i am to be at east point all summer.
this will be our grave -- yours and mine."
that summer was a wonderful one for freda.
she had found a firm friend in mrs. halliday.
the latter was a wealthy woman.
her husband had died a short time previously and she had no children.
when she went away in the fall, freda went with her "to be her own little girl for always."
mrs. wilson consented grudgingly to give freda up, although she grumbled a great deal about ingratitude.
before they went they paid a farewell visit to their grave.
mrs. halliday had arranged with some of the north point people to keep it well attended to, but freda cried at leaving it.
""do n't feel badly about it, dear," comforted mrs. halliday.
""we are coming back every summer to see it.
it will always be our grave."
freda slipped her hand into mrs. halliday's and smiled up at her.
""i'd never have found you, aunty, if it had n't been for this grave," she said happily.
""i'm so glad i adopted it."
how don was saved will barrie went whistling down the lane of the locksley farm, took a short cut over a field of clover aftermath and through a sloping orchard where the trees were laden with apples, and emerged into the farmhouse yard where curtis locksley was sitting on a pile of logs, idly whittling at a stick.
""you look as if you had a corner in time, curt," said will.
""i call that luck, for i want you to go chestnutting up to grier's hill with me.
i met old tom grier on the road yesterday, and he told me i might go any day.
nice old man, tom grier."
""good!"
said curtis heartily, as he sprang up.
""if i have n't exactly a corner in time, i have a day off, at least.
uncle does n't need me today.
wait till i whistle for don.
may as well take him with us."
curtis whistled accordingly, but don, his handsome newfoundland dog, did not appear.
after calling and whistling about the yard and barns for several minutes, curtis turned away disappointedly.
""he ca n't be anywhere around.
it is very strange.
don never used to go away from home without me, but lately he has been missing several times, and twice last week he was n't here in the morning and did n't turn up until midday."
""i'd keep him shut up until i broke him of the habit of playing truant, if i were you," said will, as they turned into the lane.
""don hates to be shut up, howls all the time so mournfully that i ca n't stand it," responded curtis.
""well," said will, hesitatingly, "maybe that would be better after all than letting him stray away with other dogs who may teach him bad habits.
i saw don myself one evening last week ambling down the harbour road with that big brown dog of sam ventnor's.
ventnor's dog is beginning to have a bad reputation, you know.
there have been several sheep worried lately, and --" "don would n't touch a sheep!"
interrupted curtis hotly.
""i daresay not, not yet.
but ventnor's dog is under suspicion, and if don runs with him he'll learn the trick sure as preaching.
the farmers are growling a good bit already, and if they hear of don and ventnor's dog going about in company, they'll put it on them both.
better keep don shut up awhile, let him howl as he likes."
""i believe i will," said curtis soberly.
""i do n't want don to fall under suspicion of sheep-worrying, though i'm sure he would never do it.
anyhow, i do n't want him to run with ventnor's dog.
i'll chain him up in the barn when i go home.
i could n't stand it if anything happened to don.
after you, he's the only chum i've got -- and he's a good one."
will agreed.
he was almost as fond of don as curtis was.
but he did not feel so sure that the dog would not worry a sheep.
will knew that don was suspected already, but he did not like to tell curtis so.
and of course there was as yet no positive proof -- merely mutterings and suggestions among the bayside farmers who had lost sheep and were anxious to locate their slayer.
there were many other dogs in bayside and the surrounding districts who were just as likely to be the guilty animals, and will hoped that if don were shut up for a time, suspicion might be averted from him, especially if the worryings still went on.
he had felt a little doubtful about hinting the truth to curtis, who was a high-spirited lad and always resented any slur cast upon don much more bitterly than if it were meant for himself.
but he knew that curtis would take it better from him than from the other bayside boys, one or the other of whom would be sure soon to cast something up to curtis about his dog.
will felt decidedly relieved to find that curtis took his advice in the spirit in which it was offered.
""who have lost sheep lately?"
queried curtis, as they left the main road and struck into a wood path through the ranks of beeches on tom grier's land.
""nearly everybody on the hollow farms," answered will.
""until last week nobody on the hill farms had lost any.
but tuesday night old paul stockton had six fine sheep killed in his upland pasture behind the fir woods.
he is furious about it, i believe, and vows he'll find out what dog did it and have him shot."
curtis looked grave.
paul stockton's farm was only about a quarter of a mile from the locksley homestead, and he knew that paul had an old family grudge against his uncle arnold, which included his nephew and all belonging to him.
moreover, curtis remembered with a sinking heart that wednesday morning had been one of the mornings upon which don was missing.
""but i do n't care!"
he thought miserably.
""i know don did n't kill those sheep."
""talking of old paul," said will, who thought it advisable to turn the conversation, "reminds me that they are getting anxious at the harbour about george finley's schooner, the amy reade.
she was due three days ago and there's no sign of her yet.
and there have been two bad gales since she left morro.
oscar stockton is on board of her, you know, and his father is worried about him.
there are five other men on her, all from the harbour, and their folks down there are pretty wild about the schooner."
nothing more was said about the sheep, and soon, in the pleasures of chestnutting, curtis forgot his anxiety.
old tom grier had called to the boys as they passed his house to come back and have dinner there when the time came.
this they did, and it was late in the afternoon when curtis, with his bag of chestnuts over his shoulder, walked into the locksley yard.
his uncle was standing before the open barn doors, talking to an elderly, grizzled man with a thin, shrewd face.
curtis's heart sank as he recognized old paul stockton.
what could have brought him over?
""curtis," called his uncle, "come here."
as curtis crossed the yard, don came bounding down the slope from the house to meet him.
he put his hand on the dog's big head and the two of them walked slowly to the barn.
old paul included them both in a vindictive scowl.
""curtis," said his uncle gravely, "here's a bad business.
mr. stockton tells me that your dog has been worrying his sheep."
""it's a --" began curtis angrily.
then he checked himself and went on more calmly.
""that ca n't be so, mr. stockton.
my dog would not harm anything."
""he killed or helped to kill six of the finest sheep in my flock!"
retorted old paul.
""what proof have you of it?"
demanded curtis, trying to keep his anger within bounds.
""abner peck saw your dog and ventnor's running together through my sheep pasture at sundown on tuesday evening," answered old paul.
""wednesday morning i found this in the corner of the pasture where the sheep were worried.
your uncle admits that it was tied around your dog's neck on tuesday."
and old paul held out triumphantly a faded red ribbon.
curtis recognized it at a glance.
it was the ribbon his little cousin, lena, had tied around don's neck tuesday afternoon.
he remembered how they had laughed at the effect of that frivolous red collar and bow on don's massive body.
""i'm sure don is n't guilty!"
he cried passionately.
mr. locksley shook his head.
""i'm afraid he is, curtis.
the case looks very black against him, and sheep-stealing is a serious offence."
""the dog must be shot," said old paul decidedly.
""i leave the matter in your hands, mr. locksley.
i've got enough proof to convict the dog and, if you do n't have him killed, i'll make you pay for the sheep he worried."
as old paul strode away, curtis looked beseechingly at his uncle.
""don must n't be shot, uncle!"
he said desperately.
""i'll chain him up all the time."
""and have him howling night and day as if we had a brood of banshees about the place?"
said mr. locksley sarcastically.
he was a stern man with little sentiment in his nature and no understanding whatever of curtis's affection for don.
the bayside people said that arnold locksley had always been very severe with his nephew.
""no, no, curtis, you must look at the matter sensibly.
the dog is a nuisance and must be shot.
you ca n't keep him shut up forever, and, if he has once learned the trick of sheep-worrying, he will never forget it.
you can get another dog if you must have one.
i'll get charles pippey to come and shoot don tomorrow.
no sulking now, curtis.
you are too big a boy for that.
tie the dog up for the night and then go and put the calves in.
there is a storm coming.
the wind is blowing hard from the northeast now."
his uncle walked away, leaving the boy white and miserable in the yard.
he looked at don, who sat on his haunches and returned his gaze frankly and open-heartedly.
he did not look like a guilty dog.
could it be possible that he had really worried those sheep?
""i'll never believe it of you, old fellow!"
curtis said, as he led the dog into a corner of the carriage house and tied him up there.
then he flung himself down on a pile of sacks beside him and buried his face in don's curly black fur.
the boy felt sullen, rebellious and wretched.
he lay there until dark, thinking his own bitter thoughts and listening to the rapidly increasing gale.
finally he got up and flung off after the calves, with don's melancholy howls at finding himself deserted ringing in his ears.
he'll be quiet enough tomorrow night, thought curtis wretchedly, as he went upstairs to bed after housing the calves.
for a long while he lay awake, but finally dropped into a heavy slumber which lasted until his aunt called him for milking.
the wind was blowing more furiously than ever.
up over the fields came the roar and crash of the surges on the outside shore.
the harbour to the east of bayside was rough and stormy.
they were just rising from breakfast when will barrie burst into the kitchen.
""the amy reade is ashore on gleeson's rocks!"
he shouted.
""struck there at daylight this morning!
come on, curt!"
curtis sprang for his cap, his uncle following suit more deliberately.
as the two boys ran through the yard, curtis heard don howling.
""i'll take him with me!"
he muttered.
""wait a minute, will."
the harbour road was thronged with people hurrying to the outside shore, for the news of the amy readers disaster had spread rapidly.
as the boys, with the rejoicing don at their heels, pelted along, sam morrow overtook them in a cart and told them to jump in.
sam had already been down to the shore and had gone back to tell his father.
as they jolted along, he screamed information at them over the shriek of the gale.
""bad business, this!
she's pounding on a reef "bout a quarter of a mile out.
they're sure she's going to break up -- old tub, you know -- leaky -- rotten.
the sea's tremenjus high, and the surfs going dean over her.
there ca n't be no boat launched for hours yet -- they'll all be drowned.
old paul's down there like a madman -- offering everything he's got to the man who'll save oscar, but it ca n't be done."
by this time they had reached the shore, which was black with excited people.
out on gleeson's reef the ill-fated little schooner was visible amid the flying spray.
a grizzled old harbour fisherman, to whom sam shouted a question, shook his head.
""no, ca n't do nothin"!
no boat c'd live in that surf f" r a moment.
the schooner'll go to pieces mighty soon, i'm feared.
it's turrible!
turrible!
to stan" by an" watch yer neighbours drown like this!"
curtis and will elbowed their way down to the water's edge.
the relatives of the crew were all there in various stages of despair, but old paul stockton seemed like a man demented.
he ran up and down the beach, crying and praying.
his only son was on the amy reade, and he could do nothing to save him!
""what are they doing?"
asked will of martin clark.
""trying to get a line ashore by throwing out a small rope with a stick tied to it," answered martin.
""it's young stockton that's trying now.
but it is n't any use.
the cross-currents on that reef are too powerful."
""why, don will bring that line ashore!"
exclaimed curtis.
""here, don!
don, i say!"
the dog bounded back along the shore with a quick bark.
curtis grasped him by the collar and pointed to the stick which young stockton had just hurled again into the water.
don, with another bark of comprehension, dashed into the sea.
the onlookers, grasping the situation, gave a cheer and then relapsed into silence.
only the shriek of the gale and the crash of the waves could be heard as they watched the magnificent dog swimming out through the breakers, his big black head now rising on the crest of a wave and now disappearing in the hollow behind it.
when don finally reached the tossing stick, grasped it in his mouth and turned shoreward, another great shout went up from the beach.
a woman behind curtis, whose husband was on the schooner, dropped on her knees on the pebbles, sobbing and thanking god.
curtis himself felt the stinging tears start to his eyes.
when don reached the shore he dropped the stick at curtis's feet and gave himself a tremendous shake.
curtis caught at the stick, while a dozen men and women threw themselves bodily on don, hugging him and kissing his wet fur like distracted creatures.
old paul stockton was among them.
over his shoulder don's big black head looked up, his eyes asking as plainly as speech what all this fuss was about.
meanwhile some of the men had already pulled a big hawser ashore and made it fast.
in half an hour the crew of the amy reade were safe on shore, chilled and dripping.
before they were hurried away to warmth and shelter, old paul stockton caught curtis's hand.
the tears were running freely down his hard, old face.
""tell your uncle he is not to lay a finger on that dog!"
he said.
""he never killed a sheep of mine -- he could n't!
and if he did i do n't care!
he's welcome to kill them all, if nothing but mutton'll serve his turn."
curtis walked home with a glad heart.
mr. locksley heard old paul's message with a smile.
he, too, had been touched by don's splendid feat.
""well, curtis, i'm very glad that it has turned old paul in his favour.
but we must shut don up for a week or so, no matter how hard he takes it.
you can see that for yourself.
after all, he might have worried the sheep.
and, anyway, he must be broken of his intimacy with ventnor's dog."
curtis acknowledged the justice of this and poor don was tied up again.
his captivity was not long, however, for ventnor's dog was soon shot.
when don was released, curtis had an anxious time for a week or two.
but no more sheep were worried, and don's innocence was triumphantly established.
as for old paul stockton, it seemed as if he could not do enough for curtis and don.
his ancient grudge against the locksleys was completely forgotten, and from that date he was a firm friend of curtis.
in regard to don, old paul would say: "why, there never was such a dog before, sir, never!
he just talks with his eyes, that dog does.
and if you'd just "a" seen him swimming out to that schooner!
bones?
yes, sir!
every time that dog comes here he's to get the best bones we've got for him -- and more'n bones, too.
that dog's a hero, sir, that's what he is!"
miss madeline's proposal "auntie, i have something to tell you," said lina, with a blush that made her look more than ever like one of the climbing roses that nodded about the windows of the "old churchill place," as it was always called in lower wentworth.
miss madeline, sitting in the low rocker by the parlour window, seemed like the presiding genius of the place.
everything about her matched her sweet old-fashionedness, from the crown of her soft brown hair, dressed in the style of her long ago girlhood, to the toes of her daintily slippered feet.
outside of the old churchill place, in the busy streets of the up-to-date little town, miss madeline might have seemed out of harmony with her surroundings.
but here, in this dim room, faintly scented with whiffs from the rose garden outside, she was like a note in some sweet, perfect melody of old time.
lina, sitting on a little stool at miss madeline's feet with her curly head in her aunt's lap, was as pretty as miss madeline herself had once been.
she was also very happy, and her happiness seemed to envelop her as in an atmosphere and lend her a new radiance and charm.
miss madeline loved her pretty niece very dearly and patted the curly head tenderly with her slender white hands.
""what is it, my dear?"
""i'm -- i'm engaged," whispered lina, hiding her face in miss madeline's flowered muslin lap.
""engaged!"
miss madeline's tone was one of surprise and awe.
she blushed as she said the word as deeply as lina had done.
then she went on, with a little quiver of excitement in her voice, "to whom, my dear?"
""oh, you do n't know him, auntie, but i hope you will soon.
his name is ralph wylde.
is n't it pretty?
i met him last winter, and we became very good friends.
but we had a quarrel before i came down here and, oh, i have been so unhappy over it.
three weeks ago he wrote me and begged my pardon -- so nice of him, because i was really all to blame, you know.
and he said he loved me and -- all that, you know."
""no, i do n't know," said miss madeline gently.
""but -- but -- i can imagine."
""oh, i was so happy.
i wrote back and i had this letter from him today.
he is coming down tomorrow.
you'll be glad to see him, wo n't you, auntie?"
""oh, yes, my dear, and i am glad for your sake -- very glad.
you are sure you love him?"
""yes, indeed," said lina, with a little laugh, as if wondering how anyone could doubt it.
presently, miss madeline said in a shy voice, "lina, did -- did you ever receive a proposal of marriage from anybody besides mr. wylde?"
lina laughed roguishly.
""why, yes, auntie, ever so many.
a dozen, at least."
""oh, my dear!"
cried miss madeline in a slightly shocked tone.
""but i did, really.
sometimes it was horrid and sometimes it was funny.
it all depended on the man.
dear me, how red and uncomfortable most of them looked -- all but the fifth.
he was so cool and business like that he almost surprised me into accepting him."
""and -- and what did you feel like, lina?"
""oh, frightened, mostly -- but i always wanted to laugh too.
you must know how it is yourself, auntie.
what did you feel like when somebody proposed to you?"
miss madeline flushed from chin to brow.
""oh, lina," she faltered as if she were confessing something very disgraceful, yet to which she was impelled by her strict truthfulness, "i -- i -- never had a proposal in my life -- not one."
lina opened her big brown eyes in amazement.
""why, aunt madeline!
and you so pretty!
what was the reason?"
""i've often wondered," said miss madeline faintly.
""i was pretty, as you say -- it's so long ago i can say that now.
and i had many gentlemen friends.
but nobody ever wanted to marry me.
i sometimes wish that -- that i could have had just one proposal.
not that i wanted to marry, you know, i do not mean that, but just so that it would n't have seemed that i was different from anybody else.
it is very foolish of me to wish it, i know, and even wicked -- for if i had not cared for the person it would have made him very unhappy.
but then, he would have forgotten and i would have remembered.
it would always have been something to be a little proud of."
""yes," said lina absently; her thoughts had gone back to ralph.
that evening a letter was left at the front door of the old churchill place.
it was addressed in a scholarly hand to miss madeline churchill, and amelia kent took it in.
amelia had been miss madeline's "help" for years and had grown grey in her service.
in amelia's loyal eyes miss madeline was still young and beautiful; she never doubted that the letter was for her mistress.
nobody else there was ever addressed as "miss madeline."
miss madeline was sitting by the window of her own room watching the sunset through the elms and reading her evening portion of thomas à kempis.
she never liked to be disturbed when so employed but she read her letter after amelia had gone out.
when she came to a certain paragraph, she turned very pale and thomas à kempis fell to the floor unheeded.
when she had finished the letter she laid it on her lap, clasped her hands, and said, "oh, oh, oh," in a faint, tremulous voice.
her cheeks were very pink and her eyes very bright.
she did not even pick up thomas à kempis but went to the door and called lina.
""what is it, auntie?"
asked lina curiously, noticing the signs of unusual excitement about miss madeline.
miss madeline held out her letter with a trembling hand.
""lina, dear, this is a letter from the rev. cecil thorne.
it -- it is -- a proposal of marriage.
i feel terribly upset.
how very strange that it should come so soon after our talk this morning!
i want you to read it!
perhaps i ought not to show it to anyone -- but i would like you to see it."
lina took the letter and read it through.
it was unmistakably a proposal of marriage and was, moreover, a very charming epistle of its kind, albeit a little stiff and old-fashioned.
""how funny!"
said lina when she came to the end.
""funny!"
exclaimed miss madeline, with a trace of indignation in her gentle voice.
""oh, i did n't mean that the letter was funny," lina hastened to explain, "only that, as you said, it is odd to think of it coming so soon after our talk."
but this was a little fib on lina's part.
she had thought that the letter or, rather, the fact that it had been written to miss madeline, funny.
the rev. cecil thorne was miss madeline's pastor.
he was a handsome, scholarly man of middle age, and lina had seen a good deal of him during her summer in lower wentworth.
she had taught the infant class in sunday school and sometimes she had thought that the minister was in love with her.
but she must have been mistaken, she reflected; it must have been her aunt after all, and the rev. cecil thorne's shyly displayed interest in her must have been purely professional.
""what a goose i was to be afraid he was in love with me!"
she thought.
aloud she said, "he says he will call tomorrow evening to receive your answer."
""and, oh, what can i say to him?"
murmured miss madeline in dismay.
she wished she had a little of lina's experience.
""you are going to -- you will accept him, wo n't you?"
asked lina curiously.
""oh, my dear, no!"
cried miss madeline almost vehemently.
""i could n't think of such a thing.
i am very sorry; do you think he will feel badly?"
""judging from his letter i feel sure he will," said lina decidedly.
miss madeline sighed.
""oh, dear me!
it is very unpleasant.
but of course i must refuse him.
what a beautiful letter he writes too.
i feel very much disturbed by this."
miss madeline picked up thomas à kempis, smoothed him out repentantly, and placed the letter between his leaves.
* * * * * when the rev. cecil thorne called at the old churchill place next evening at sunset and asked for miss madeline churchill, amelia showed him into the parlour and went to call her mistress.
mr. thorne sat down by the window that looked out on the lawn.
his heart gave a bound as he caught a glimpse of an airy white muslin among the trees and a ripple of distant laughter.
the next minute lina appeared, strolling down the secluded path that curved about the birches.
a young man was walking beside her with his arm around her.
they crossed the green square before the house and disappeared in the rose garden.
mr. thorne leaned back in his chair and put his hand over his eyes.
he felt that he had received his answer, and it was a very bitter moment for him.
he had hardly dared hope that this bright, beautiful child could care for him, yet the realization came home to him none the less keenly.
when miss madeline, paling and flushing by turns, came shyly in he had recovered his self-control sufficiently to be able to say "good evening" in a calm voice.
miss madeline sat down opposite to him.
at that moment she was devoutly thankful that she had never had any other proposal to refuse.
it was a dreadful ordeal.
if he would only help her out!
but he did not speak and every moment of silence made it worse.
""i -- received your letter, mr. thorne," she faltered at last, looking distressfully down at the floor.
""my letter!"
mr. thorne turned towards her.
in her agitation miss madeline did not notice the surprise in his face and tone.
""yes," she said, gaining a little courage since the ice was broken.
""it -- it -- was a very great surprise to me.
i never thought you -- you cared for me as -- as you said.
and i am very sorry because -- because i can not return your affection.
and so, of course, i can not marry you."
mr. thorne put his hand over his eyes again.
he understood now that there had been some mistake and that miss madeline had received the letter he had written to her niece.
well, it did not matter -- the appearance of the young man in the garden had settled that.
would he tell miss madeline of her mistake?
no, it would only humiliate her and it made no difference, since she had refused him.
""i suppose it is of no use to ask you to reconsider your decision?"
he said.
""oh, no," cried miss madeline almost aghast.
she was afraid he might ask it after all.
""not in the least use.
i am sorry -- so very sorry -- but i could not answer differently.
we -- i hope -- this will make no difference in our friendly relations, mr. thorne?"
""not at all," said mr. thorne gravely.
""we will try to forget that it has happened."
he bowed sadly and went out.
miss madeline watched him guiltily as he walked across the lawn.
he looked heart-broken.
how dreadful it had been!
and lina had refused twelve men!
how could she have lived through it?
""perhaps one gets accustomed to doing it," reflected miss madeline.
""but i am sure i never could."
""did mr. thorne feel very badly?"
whispered lina that night.
""i'm afraid he did," confessed miss madeline sorrowfully.
""he looked so pale and sad, lina, that my heart ached for him.
i am very thankful that i have never had any other proposals to decline.
it is a very unpleasant experience.
but," she added, with a little tinge of satisfaction in her sweet voice, "i am glad i had one.
it -- it has made me feel more like other people, you know, dear."
miss sally's company "how beautiful!"
said mary seymour delightedly, as they dismounted from their wheels on the crest of the hill.
""ida, who could have supposed that such a view would be our reward for climbing that long, tedious hill with its ruts and stones?
do n't you feel repaid?"
""yes, but i am dreadfully thirsty," said ida, who was always practical and never as enthusiastic over anything as mary was.
yet she, too, felt a keen pleasure in the beauty of the scene before them.
almost at their feet lay the sea, creaming and shimmering in the mellow sunshine.
beyond, on either hand, stretched rugged brown cliffs and rocks, here running out to sea in misty purple headlands, there curving into bays and coves that seemed filled up with sunlight and glamour and pearly hazes; a beautiful shore and, seemingly, a lonely one.
the only house visible from where the girls stood was a tiny grey one, with odd, low eaves and big chimneys, that stood down in the little valley on their right, where the cliffs broke away to let a brook run out to sea and formed a small cove, on whose sandy shore the waves lapped and crooned within a stone's throw of the house.
on either side of the cove a headland made out to sea, curving around to enclose the sparkling water as in a cup.
""what a picturesque spot!"
said mary.
""but what a lonely one!"
protested ida.
""why, there is n't another house in sight.
i wonder who lives in it.
anyway, i'm going down to ask them for a drink of water."
""i'd like to ask for a square meal, too," said mary, laughing.
""i am discovering that i am hungry.
fine scenery is very satisfying to the soul, to be sure, but it does n't still the cravings of the inner girl.
and we've wheeled ten miles this afternoon.
i'm getting hungrier every minute."
they reached the little grey house by way of a sloping, grassy lane.
everything about it was very neat and trim.
in front a white-washed paling shut in the garden which, sheltered as it was by the house, was ablaze with poppies and hollyhocks and geraniums.
a path, bordered by big white clam shells, led through it to the front door, whose steps were slabs of smooth red sandstone from the beach.
""no children here, certainly," whispered ida.
""every one of those clam shells is placed just so.
and this walk is swept every day.
no, we shall never dare to ask for anything to eat here.
they would be afraid of our scattering crumbs."
ida lifted her hand to knock, but before she could do so, the door was thrown open and a breathless little lady appeared on the threshold.
she was very small, with an eager, delicately featured face and dark eyes twinkling behind gold-rimmed glasses.
she was dressed immaculately in an old-fashioned gown of grey silk with a white muslin fichu crossed over her shoulders, and her silvery hair fell on each side of her face in long, smooth curls that just touched her shoulders and bobbed and fluttered with her every motion; behind, it was caught up in a knot on her head and surmounted by a tiny lace cap.
she looks as if she had just stepped out of a bandbox of last century, thought mary.
""are you cousin abner's girls?"
demanded the little lady eagerly.
there was such excitement and expectation in her face and voice that both the seymour girls felt uncomfortably that they ought to be "cousin abner's girls."
""no," said mary reluctantly, "we're not.
we are only -- martin seymour's girls."
all the light went out of the little lady's face, as if some illuminating lamp had suddenly been quenched behind it.
she seemed fairly to droop under her disappointment.
as for the rest, the name of martin seymour evidently conveyed no especial meaning to her ears.
how could she know that he was a multi-millionaire who was popularly supposed to breakfast on railroads and lunch on small corporations, and that his daughters were girls whom all people delighted to honour?
""no, of course you are not cousin abner's girls," she said sorrowfully.
""i'd have known you could n't be if i had just stopped to think.
because you are dark and they would be fair, of course; cousin abner and his wife were both fair.
but when i saw you coming down the lane -- i was peeking through the hall window upstairs, you know, i and juliana -- i was sure you were helen and beatrice at last.
and i ca n't help wishing you were!"
""i wish we were, too, since you expected them," said mary, smiling.
""but --" "oh, i was n't really expecting them," broke in the little lady.
""only i am always hoping that they will come.
they never have yet, but trenton is n't so very far away, and it is so lonely here.
i just long for company -- i and juliana -- and i thought i was going to have it today.
cousin abner came to see me once since i moved here and he said the girls would come, too, but that was six months ago and they have n't come yet.
but perhaps they will soon.
it is always something to look forward to, you know."
she talked in a sweet, chirpy voice like a bird's.
there were pathetic notes in it, too, as the girls instinctively felt.
how very quaint and sweet and unworldly she was!
mary found herself feeling indignant at cousin abner's girls, whoever they were, for their neglect.
""we are out for a spin on our wheels," said ida, "and we are very thirsty.
we thought perhaps you would be kind enough to give us a drink of water."
""oh, my dear, anything -- anything i have is at your service," said the little lady delightedly.
""if you will come in, i will get you some lemonade."
""i am afraid it is too much trouble," began mary.
""oh, no, no," cried the little lady.
""it is a pleasure.
i love doing things for people, i wish more of them would come to give me the chance.
i never have any company, and i do so long for it.
it's very lonesome here at golden gate.
oh, if you would only stay to tea with me, it would make me so happy.
i am all prepared.
i prepare every saturday morning, in particular, so that if cousin abner's girls did come, i would be all ready.
and when nobody comes, juliana and i have to eat everything up ourselves.
and that is bad for us -- it gives juliana indigestion.
if you would only stay!"
""we will," agreed ida promptly.
""and we're glad of the chance.
we are both terribly hungry, and it is very good of you to ask us."
""oh, indeed, it is n't!
it's just selfishness in me, that's what it is, pure selfishness!
i want company so much.
come in, my dears, and i suppose i must introduce myself because you do n't know me, do you now?
i'm miss sally temple, and this is golden gate cottage.
dear me, this is something like living.
you are special providences, that you are, indeed!"
she whisked them through a quaint little parlour, where everything was as dainty and neat and old-fashioned as herself, and into a spare bedroom beyond it, to put off their hats.
""now, just excuse me a minute while i run out and tell juliana that we are going to have company to tea.
she will be so glad, juliana will.
make yourselves at home, my dears."
""is n't she delicious?"
said mary, when miss sally had tripped out.
""i'd like to shake cousin abner's girls.
this is what dot halliday would call an adventure, ida."
""is n't it!
miss sally and this quaint old spot both seem like a chapter out of the novels our grandmothers cried over.
look here, mary, she is lonely and our visit seems like a treat to her.
let us try to make it one.
let's just chum with her and tell her all about ourselves and our amusements and our dresses.
that sounds frivolous, but you know what i mean.
she'll like it.
let's be company in real earnest for her."
when miss sally came back, she was attended by juliana carrying a tray of lemonade glasses.
juliana proved to be a diminutive lass of about fourteen whose cheerful, freckled face wore an expansive grin of pleasure.
evidently juliana was as fond of "company" as her mistress was.
afterwards, the girls overheard a subdued colloquy between miss sally and juliana out in the hall.
""go set the table, juliana, and put on grandmother temple's wedding china -- be sure you dust it carefully -- and the best tablecloth -- and be sure you get the crease straight -- and put some sweet peas in the centre -- and be sure they are fresh.
i want everything extra nice, juliana."
""yes'm, miss sally, i'll see to it.
is n't it great to have company, miss sally?"
whispered juliana.
the seymour girls long remembered that tea table and the delicacies with which it was heaped.
privately, they did not wonder that juliana had indigestion when she had to eat many such unaided.
being hungry, they did full justice to miss sally's good things, much to that little lady's delight.
she told them all about herself.
she had lived at golden gate cottage only a year.
""before that, i lived away down the country at millbridge with a cousin.
my uncle ephraim owned golden gate cottage, and when he died he left it to me and i came here to live.
it is a pretty place, is n't it?
you see those two headlands out there?
in the morning, when the sun rises, the water between them is just a sea of gold, and that is why uncle ephraim had a fancy to call his place golden gate.
i love it here.
it is so nice to have a home of my own.
i would be quite content if i had more company.
but i have you today, and perhaps beatrice and helen will come next week.
so i've really a great deal to be thankful for."
""what is your cousin abner's other name?"
asked mary, with a vague recollection of hearing of beatrice and helen -- somebody -- in trenton.
""reed -- abner abimelech reed," answered miss sally promptly.
""a.a. reed, he signs himself now.
he is very well-to-do, i am told, and he carries on business in town.
he was a very fine young man, my cousin abner.
i do n't know his wife."
mary and ida exchanged glances.
beatrice and helen reed!
they knew them slightly as the daughters of a new-rich family who were hangers-on of the fashionable society in trenton.
they were regarded as decidedly vulgar, and so far their efforts to gain an entry into the exclusive circle where the seymours and their like revolved had not been very successful.
""i'm afraid miss sally will wait a long while before she sees cousin abner's girls," said mary, when they had gone back to the parlour and miss sally had excused herself to superintend the washing of grandmother temple's wedding china.
""they probably look on her as a poor relation to be ignored altogether; whereas, if they were only like her, trenton society would have made a place for them long ago."
the seymour girls enjoyed that visit as much as miss sally did.
she was eager to hear all about their girlish lives and amusements.
they told her of their travels, of famous men and women they had seen, of parties they had attended, the dresses they wore, the little fads and hobbies of their set -- all jumbled up together and all listened to eagerly by miss sally and also by juliana, who was permitted to sit on the stairs out in the hall and so gather in the crumbs of this intellectual feast.
""oh, you've been such pleasant company," said miss sally when the girls went away.
mary took the little lady's hands in hers and looked affectionately down into her face.
""would you like it -- you and juliana -- if we came out to see you often?
and perhaps brought some of our friends with us?"
""oh, if you only would!"
breathed miss sally.
mary laughed and, obeying a sudden impulse, bent and kissed miss sally's cheek.
""we'll come then," she promised.
""please look upon us as your "steady company" henceforth."
the girls kept their word.
thereafter, nearly every saturday of the summer found them taking tea with miss sally at golden gate.
sometimes they came alone; sometimes they brought other girls.
it soon became a decided "fad" in their set to go to see miss sally.
everybody who met her loved her at sight.
it was considered a special treat to be taken by the seymours to golden gate.
as for miss sally, her cup of happiness was almost full.
she had "company" to her heart's content and of the very kind she loved -- bright, merry, fun-loving girls who devoured her dainties with a frank zest that delighted her, filled the quaint old rooms with laughter and life, and chattered to her of all their plans and frolics and hopes.
there was just one little cloud on miss sally's fair sky.
""if only cousin abner's girls would come!"
she once said wistfully to mary.
""nobody can quite take the place of one's own, you know.
my heart yearns after them."
mary was very silent and thoughtful as she drove back to trenton that night.
two days afterwards, she went to mrs. gardiner's lawn party.
the reed girls were there.
they were tall, fair, handsome girls, somewhat too lavishly and pronouncedly dressed in expensive gowns and hats, and looking, as they felt, very much on the outside of things.
they brightened and bridled, however, when mrs. gardiner brought mary seymour up and introduced her.
if there was one thing on earth that the reed girls longed for more than another it was to "get in" with the seymour girls.
after mary had chatted with them for a few minutes in a friendly way, she said, "i think we have a mutual friend in miss sally temple of golden gate, have n't we?
i'm sure i've heard her speak of you."
the reed girls flushed.
they did not care to have the rich seymour girls know of their connection with that queer old cousin of their father's who lived in that out-of-the-world spot up-country.
""she is a distant cousin of ours," said beatrice carelessly, "but we've never met her."
""oh, how much you have missed!"
said mary frankly.
""she is the sweetest and most charming little lady i have ever met, and i am proud to number her among my friends.
golden gate is such an idyllic little spot, too.
we go there so often that i fear miss sally will think we mean to outwear our welcome.
we hope to have her visit us in town this winter.
well, good-by for now.
i'll tell miss sally i've met you.
she will be pleased to hear about you."
when mary had gone, the reed girls looked at each other.
""i suppose we ought to have gone to see cousin sally before," said beatrice.
""father said we ought to."
""how on earth did the seymours pick her up?"
said helen.
""of course we must go and see her."
go they did.
the very next day miss sally's cup of happiness brimmed right over, for cousin abner's girls came to golden gate at last.
they were very nice to her, too.
indeed, in spite of a good deal of snobbishness and false views of life, they were good-hearted girls under it all; and some plain common sense they had inherited from their father came to the surface and taught them to see that miss sally was a relative of whom anyone might be proud.
they succumbed to her charm, as the others had done, and thoroughly enjoyed their visit to golden gate.
they went away promising to come often again; and i may say right here that they kept their promise, and a real friendship grew up between miss sally and "cousin abner's girls" that was destined to work wonders for the latter, not only socially and mentally but spiritually as well, for it taught them that sincerity and honest kindliness of heart and manner are the best passports everywhere, and that pretence of any kind is a vulgarity not to be tolerated.
this took time, of course.
the reed girls could not discard their snobbishness all at once.
but in the end it was pretty well taken out of them.
miss sally never dreamed of this or the need for it.
she loved cousin abner's girls from the first and always admired them exceedingly.
""and then it is so good to have your own folks coming as company," she told the seymour girls.
""oh, i'm just in the seventh heaven of happiness.
but, dearies, i think you will always be my favourites -- mine and juliana's.
i've plenty of company now and it's all thanks to you."
""oh, no," said mary quickly.
""miss sally, your company comes to you for just your own sake.
you've made golden gate a veritable mecca for us all.
you do n't know and you never will know how much good you have done us.
you are so good and true and sweet that we girls all feel as if we were bound to live up to you, do n't you see?
and we all love you, miss sally."
""i'm so glad," breathed miss sally with shining eyes, "and so is juliana."
mrs. march's revenge "i declare, it is a real fall day," said mrs. stapp, dropping into a chair with a sigh of relief as mrs. march ushered her into the cosy little sitting-room.
""the wind would chill the marrow in your bones; winter'll be here before you know it."
""that's so," assented mrs. march, bustling about to stir up the fire.
""but i do n't know as i mind it at all.
winter is real pleasant when it does come, but i must say, i do n't fancy these betwixt-and-between days much.
sit up to the fire, theodosia.
you look real blue."
""i feel so too.
lawful heart, but this is comfort.
this chimney-corner of yours, anna, is the cosiest spot in the world."
""when did you get home from maitland?"
asked mrs. march.
""did you have a pleasant time?
and how did you leave emily and the children?"
mrs. stapp took this trio of interrogations in calm detail.
""i came home saturday," she said, as she unrolled her knitting.
""nice wet day it was too!
and as for my visit, yes, i enjoyed myself pretty, well, not but what i worried over peter's rheumatism a good deal.
emily is well, and the children ought to be, for such rampageous young ones i never saw!
emily ca n't do no more with them than an old hen with a brood of ducks.
but, lawful heart, anna, do n't mind about my little affairs!
the news peter had for me about you when i got home fairly took my breath.
he came down to the garden gate to shout it before i was out of the wagon.
i could n't believe but what he was joking at first.
you should have seen peter.
he had an old red shawl tied round his rheumatic shoulder, and he was waving his arms like a crazy man.
i declare, i thought the chimney was afire!
theodosia, theodosia!"
he shouted.
"anna march has had a fortune left her by her brother in australy, and she's bought the old carroll place, and is going to move up there!"
that was his salute when i got home.
i'd have been over before this to hear all about it, but things were at such sixes and sevens in the house that i could n't go visiting until i'd straightened them out a bit.
peter's real neat, as men go, but, lawful heart, such a mess as he makes of housekeeping!
i did n't know you had a brother living."
""no more did i, theodosia.
i thought, as everyone else did, that poor charles was at the bottom of the sea forty years ago.
it's that long since he ran away from home.
he had a quarrel with father, and he was always dreadful high-spirited.
he went to sea, and we heard that he had sailed for england in the helen ray.
she was never heard of after, and we all supposed that my poor brother had perished with her.
and four weeks ago i got a letter from a firm of lawyers in melbourne, australia, saying that my brother, charles bennett, had died and left all his fortune to me.
i could n't believe it at first, but they sent me some things of his that he had when he left home, and there was an old picture of myself among them with my name written on it in my own hand, so then i knew there was no mistake.
but whether charles did sail in the helen ray, or if he did, how he escaped from her and got to australia, i do n't know, and it is n't likely i ever will."
""well, of all wonderful things!"
commented mrs. stapp.
""i was glad to hear that i was heir to so much money," said mrs. march firmly.
""at first i felt as if it were awful of me to be glad when it came to me by my brother's death.
but i mourned for poor charles forty years ago, and i ca n't sense that he has only just died.
not but what i'd rather have seen him come home alive than have all the money in the world, but it has come about otherwise, and as the money is lawfully mine, i may as well feel pleased about it."
""and you've bought the carroll place," said mrs. stapp, with the freedom of a privileged friend.
""whatever made you do it?
i'm sure you are as cosy here as need be, and nobody but yourself.
is n't this house big enough for you?"
""no, it is n't.
all my life i've been hankering for a good, big, roomy house, and all my life i've had to put up with little boxes of places, not big enough to turn round in.
i've been contented, and made the best of what i had, but now that i can afford it, i mean to have a house that will suit me.
the carroll house is just what i want, for all it is a little old-fashioned.
i've always had a notion of that house, although i never expected to own it any more than the moon."
""it's a real handsome place," admitted mrs. stapp, "but i expect it will need a lot of fixing up.
nobody has lived in it for six years.
when are you going to move in?"
""in about three weeks, if all goes well.
i'm having it all painted and done over inside.
the outside can wait until the spring."
""it's queer how things come about," said mrs. stapp meditatively.
""i guess old mrs. carroll never imagined her home was going to pass into other folks" hands as it has.
when you and i were girls, and louise carroll was giving herself such airs over us, you did n't much expect to ever stand in her shoes, did you?
do you remember lou?"
""yes, i do," said mrs. march sharply.
a change came over her sonsy, smiling face.
it actually looked hard and revengeful, and a cruel light flickered in her dark brown eyes.
""i'll not forget lou carroll as long as i live.
she is the only person in this world i ever hated.
i suppose it is sinful to say it, but i hate her still, and always will."
""i never liked her myself," admitted mrs. stapp.
""she thought herself above us all.
well, for that matter i suppose she was -- but she need n't have rubbed it in so."
""well, she might have been above me," said mrs. march bitterly, "but she was n't above twitting and snubbing me every chance she got.
she always had a spite at me from the time we were children together at school.
when we grew up it was worse.
i could n't begin to tell you all the times that girl insulted me.
but there was once in particular -- i'll never forgive her for it.
i was at a party, and she was there too, and so was that young trenham manning, who was visiting the ashleys.
do you remember him, dosia?
he was a handsome young fellow, and lou had a liking for him, so all the girls said.
but he never looked at her that night, and he kept by me the whole time.
it made lou furious, and at last she came up to me with a sneer on her face, and her black eyes just snapping, and said, "miss bennett, mother told me to tell you to tell your ma that if that plain sewing is n't done by tomorrow night she'll send for it and give it to somebody else; if people engage to have work done by a certain time and do n't keep their word, they need n't expect to get it."
oh, how badly i felt!
mother and i were poor, and had to work hard, but we had feelings just like other people, and to be insulted like that before trenham manning!
i just burst out crying then and there, and ran away and hid.
it was very silly of me, but i could n't help it.
that stings me yet.
if i was ever to get a chance to pay lou carroll out for that, i'd take it without any compunction."
""oh, but that is unchristian!"
protested mrs. stapp feebly.
""perhaps so, but it's the way i feel.
old parson jones used to say that people were marbled good and bad pretty even, but that in everybody there were one or two streaks just pure wicked.
i guess lou carroll is my wicked streak.
i have n't seen or heard of her for years -- ever since she married that worthless dency baxter and went away.
she may be dead for all i know.
i do n't expect ever to have a chance to pay her out.
but mark what i say, theodosia, if i ever have, i will."
mrs. march snipped off her thread, as if she challenged the world.
mrs. stapp felt uncomfortable over the unusual display of feeling she had evoked, and hastened to change the subject.
in three weeks" time mrs. march was established in her new home, and the "old carroll house" blossomed out into renewed splendour.
theodosia stapp, who had dropped in to see it, was in a rapture of admiration.
""you have a lovely home now, anna.
i used to think it fine enough in the carrolls" time, but it was n't as grand as this.
and that reminds me, i have something to tell you, but i do n't want you to get as excited as you did the last time i mentioned her name.
you remember the last day i was to see you we were talking of lou carroll?
well, next day i was downtown in a store, and who should sail in but mrs. joel kent, from oriental.
you know mrs. joel -- sarah chapple that was?
she and her man keep a little hotel up at oriental.
they're not very well off.
she is a cousin of old mrs. carroll, but, lawful heart, the carrolls did n't used to make much of the relationship!
well, mrs. joel and i had a chat.
she told me all her troubles -- she always has lots of them.
sarah was always of a grumbling turn, and she had a brand-new stock of them this time.
what do you think, anna march?
lou carroll -- or mrs. baxter, i suppose i should say -- is up there at joel kent's at oriental, dying of consumption; leastwise, mrs. joel says she is."
""lou carroll dying at oriental!"
cried mrs. march.
""yes.
she came there from goodness knows where, about a month ago -- might as well have dropped from the clouds, mrs. joel says, for all she expected of it.
her husband is dead, and i guess he led her a life of it when he was alive, and she's as poor as second skimmings.
she was aiming to come here, mrs. joel says, but when she got to oriental she was n't fit to stir a step further, and the kents had to keep her.
i gather from what mrs. joel said that she's rather touched in her mind too, and has an awful hankering to get home here -- to this very house.
she appears to have the idea that it is hers, and all just the same as it used to be.
i guess she is a sight of trouble, and mrs. joel ai n't the woman to like that.
but there!
she has to work most awful hard, and i suppose a sick person does n't come handy in a hotel.
i guess you've got your revenge, anna, without lifting a finger to get it.
think of lou carroll coming to that!"
the next day was cold and raw.
the ragged, bare trees in the old carroll grounds shook and writhed in the gusts of wind.
now and then a drifting scud of rain dashed across the windows.
mrs. march looked out with a shiver, and turned thankfully to her own cosy fireside again.
presently she thought she heard a low knock at the front door, and went to see.
as she opened it a savage swirl of damp wind rushed in, and the shrinking figure leaning against one of the fluted columns of the grecian porch seemed to cower before its fury.
it was a woman who stood there, a woman whose emaciated face wore a piteous expression, as she lifted it to mrs. march.
""you do n't know me, of course," she said, with a feeble attempt at dignity.
""i am mrs. baxter.
i -- i used to live here long ago.
i thought i'd walk over today and see my old home."
a fit of coughing interrupted her words, and she trembled like a leaf.
""gracious me!"
exclaimed mrs. march blankly.
""you do n't mean to tell me that you have walked over from oriental today -- and you a sick woman!
for pity's sake, come in, quick.
and if you're not wet to the skin!"
she fairly pulled her visitor into the hall, and led her to the sitting-room.
""sit down.
take this big easy-chair right up to the fire -- so.
let me take your bonnet and shawl.
i must run right out to tell hannah to get you a hot drink."
""you are very kind," whispered the other.
""i do n't know you, but you look like a woman i used to know when i was a girl.
she was a mrs. bennett, and she had a daughter, anna.
do you know what became of her?
i forget.
i forget everything now."
""my name is march," said mrs. march briefly, ignoring the question.
""i do n't suppose you ever heard it before."
she wrapped her own warm shawl about the other woman's thin shoulders.
then she hastened to the kitchen and soon returned, carrying a tray of food and a steaming hot drink.
she wheeled a small table up to her visitor's side and said, very kindly, "now, take a bite, my dear, and this raspberry vinegar will warm you right up.
it is a dreadful day for you to be out.
why on earth did n't joel kent drive you over?"
""they did n't know i was coming," whispered mrs. baxter anxiously.
""i -- i ran away.
sarah would n't have let me come if she had known.
but i wanted to come so much.
it is so nice to be home again."
mrs. march watched her guest as she ate and drank.
it was plain enough that her mind, or rather her memory, was affected.
she did not realize that this was no longer her home.
at moments she seemed to fancy herself back in the past again.
once or twice she called mrs. march "mother."
presently a sharp knock was heard at the hall door.
mrs. march excused herself and went out.
in the porch stood theodosia stapp and a woman whom mrs. march did not at first glance recognize -- a tall, aggressive-looking person, whose sharp black eyes darted in past mrs. march and searched every corner of the hall before anyone had time to speak.
""lawful heart!"
puffed mrs. stapp, as she stepped in out of the biting wind.
""i'm right out of breath.
mrs. march, allow me to introduce mrs. kent.
we're looking for mrs. baxter.
she has run away, and we thought perhaps she came here.
did she?"
""she is in my sitting-room now," said mrs. march quietly.
""did n't i say so?"
demanded mrs. kent, turning to mrs. stapp.
she spoke in a sharp, high-pitched tone that grated on mrs. march's nerves.
""does n't she beat all!
she slipped away this morning when i was busy in the kitchen.
and to think of her walking six miles over here in this wind!
i dunno how she did it.
i do n't believe she's half as sick as she pretends.
well, i've got my wagon out here, mrs. march, and i'll be much obliged if you'll tell her i'm here to take her home.
i s "pose we'll have a fearful scene."
""i do n't see that there is any call for a scene," said mrs. march firmly.
""the poor woman has just got here, and she thinks she has got home.
she might as well think so if it is of any comfort to her.
you'd better leave her here."
theodosia gave a stifled gasp of amazement, but mrs. march went serenely on.
""i'll take care of the poor soul as long as she needs it -- and that will not be very long in my opinion, for if ever i saw death in a woman's face, it is looking out of hers.
i've plenty of time to look after her and make her comfortable."
mrs. joel kent was voluble in her thanks.
it was evident that she was delighted to get the sick woman off her hands.
mrs. march cut her short with an invitation to stay to tea, but mrs. kent declined.
""i've got to hurry home straight off and get the men's suppers.
such a scamper to have over that woman!
i'm sure i'm thankful you're willing to let her stay, for she'd never be contented anywhere else.
i'll send over what few things she has tomorrow."
when mrs. kent had gone, mrs. march and mrs. stapp looked at each other.
""and so this is your revenge, anna march?"
said the latter solemnly.
""do you remember what you said to me about her?"
""yes, i do, theodosia, and i thought i meant every word of it.
but i guess my wicked streak ran out just when i needed it to depend on.
besides, you see, i've thought of lou carroll all these years as she was when i knew her -- handsome and saucy and proud.
but that poor creature in there is n't any more like the lou carroll i knew than you are -- not a mite.
the old lou carroll is dead already, and my spite is dead with her.
will you come in and see her?"
""well, no, not just now.
she would n't know me, and mrs. joel says strangers kind of excite her -- a pretty bad place the hotel would be for her at that rate, i should think.
i must go and tell peter about it, and i'll send up some of my black currant jam for her."
when mrs. stapp had gone, mrs. march went back to her guest.
lou baxter had fallen asleep with her head pillowed on the soft plush back of her chair.
mrs. march looked at the hollow, hectic cheeks and the changed, wasted features, and her bright brown eyes softened with tears.
""poor lou," she said softly, as she brushed a loose lock of grey hair back from the sleeping woman's brow.
nan nan was polishing the tumblers at the pantry window, outside of which john osborne was leaning among the vines.
his arms were folded on the sill and his straw hat was pushed back from his flushed, eager face as he watched nan's deft movements.
beyond them, old abe stewart was mowing the grass in the orchard with a scythe and casting uneasy glances at the pair.
old abe did not approve of john osborne as a suitor for nan.
john was poor; and old abe, although he was the wealthiest farmer in granville, was bent on nan's making a good match.
he looked upon john osborne as a mere fortune-hunter, and it was a thorn in the flesh to see him talking to nan while he, old abe, was too far away to hear what they were saying.
he had a good deal of confidence in nan, she was a sensible, level-headed girl.
still, there was no knowing what freak even a sensible girl might take into her head, and nan was so determined when she did make up her mind.
she was his own daughter in that.
however, old abe need not have worried himself.
it could not be said that nan was helping john osborne on in his wooing at all.
instead, she was teasing and snubbing him by turns.
nan was very pretty.
moreover, nan was well aware of the fact.
she knew that the way her dark hair curled around her ears and forehead was bewitching; that her complexion was the envy of every girl in granville; that her long lashes had a trick of drooping over very soft, dark eyes in a fashion calculated to turn masculine heads hopelessly.
john osborne knew all this too, to his cost.
he had called to ask nan to go with him to the lone lake picnic the next day.
at this request nan dropped her eyes and murmured that she was sorry, but he was too late -- she had promised to go with somebody else.
there was no need of nan's making such a mystery about it.
the somebody else was her only cousin, ned bennett, who had had a quarrel with his own girl; the latter lived at lone lake, and ned had coaxed nan to go over with him and try her hand at patching matters up between him and his offended lady-love.
and nan, who was an amiable creature and tender-hearted where anybody's lover except her own was concerned, had agreed to go.
but john osborne at once jumped to the conclusion -- as nan had very possibly meant him to do -- that the mysterious somebody was bryan lee, and the thought was gall and wormwood to him.
""whom are you going with?"
he asked.
""that would be telling," nan said, with maddening indifference.
""is it bryan lee?"
demanded john.
""it might be," said nan reflectively, "and then again, you know, it might n't."
john was silent; he was no match for nan when it came to a war of words.
he scowled moodily at the shining tumblers.
""nan, i'm going out west," he said finally.
nan stared at him with her last tumbler poised in mid-air, very much as if he had announced his intention of going to the north pole or equatorial africa.
""john osborne, are you crazy?"
""not quite.
and i'm in earnest, i can tell you that."
nan set the glass down with a decided thud.
john's curtness displeased her.
he need n't suppose that it made any difference to her if he took it into his stupid head to go to afghanistan.
""oh!"
she remarked carelessly.
""well, i suppose if you've got the western fever your case is hopeless.
would it be impertinent to inquire why you are going?"
""there's nothing else for me to do, nan," said john, "bryan lee is going to foreclose the mortgage next month and i'll have to clear out.
he says he ca n't wait any longer.
i've worked hard enough and done my best to keep the old place, but it's been uphill work and i'm beaten at last."
nan sat blankly down on the stool by the window.
her face was a study which john osborne, watching old abe's movements, missed.
""well, i never!"
she gasped.
""john osborne, do you mean to tell me that bryan lee is going to do that?
how did he come to get your mortgage?"
""bought it from old townsend," answered john briefly.
""oh, he's within his rights, i'll admit.
i've even got behind with the interest this past year.
i'll go out west and begin over again."
""it's a burning shame!"
said nan violently.
john looked around in time to see two very red spots on her cheeks.
""you do n't care though, nan."
""i do n't like to see anyone unjustly treated," declared nan, "and that is what you've been.
you've never had half a chance.
and after the way you've slaved, too!"
""if lee would wait a little i might do something yet, now that aunt alice is gone," said john bitterly.
""i'm not afraid of work.
but he wo n't; he means to take his spite out at last."
nan hesitated.
""surely bryan is n't so mean as that," she stammered.
""perhaps he'll change his mind if -- if --" osborne wheeled about with face aflame.
""do n't you say a word to him about it, nan!"
he cried.
""do n't you go interceding with him for me.
i've got some pride left.
he can take the farm from me, and he can take you maybe, but he ca n't take my self-respect.
i wo n't beg him for mercy.
do n't you dare to say a word to him about it."
nan's eyes flashed.
she was offended to find her sympathy flung back in her face.
""do n't be alarmed," she said tartly.
""i sha n't bother myself about your concerns.
i've no doubt you're able to look out for them yourself."
osborne turned away.
as he did so he saw bryan lee driving up the lane.
perhaps nan saw it too.
at any rate, she leaned out of the window.
""john!
john!"
osborne half turned.
""you'll be up again soon, wo n't you?"
his face hardened.
""i'll come to say goodbye before i go, of course," he answered shortly.
he came face to face with lee at the gate, where the latter was tying his sleek chestnut to a poplar.
he acknowledged his rival's condescending nod with a scowl.
lee looked after him with a satisfied smile.
""poor beggar!"
he muttered.
""he feels pretty cheap i reckon.
i've spoiled his chances in this quarter.
old abe does n't want any poverty-stricken hangers-on about his place and nan wo n't dream of taking him when she knows he has n't a roof over his head."
he stopped for a chat with old abe.
old abe approved of bryan lee.
he was a son-in-law after old abe's heart.
meanwhile, nan had seated herself at the pantry window and was ostentatiously hemming towels in apparent oblivion of suitor no. 2.
nevertheless, when bryan came up she greeted him with an unusually sweet smile and at once plunged into an animated conversation.
bryan had not come to ask her to go to the picnic -- business prevented him from going.
but he meant to find out if she were going with john osborne.
as nan was serenely impervious to all hints, he was finally forced to ask her bluntly if she was going to the picnic.
well, yes, she expected to.
oh!
might he ask with whom?
nan did n't know that it was a question of public interest at all.
""it is n't with that osborne fellow, is it?"
demanded bryan incautiously.
nan tossed her head.
""well, why not?"
she asked.
""look here, nan," said lee angrily, "if you're going to the picnic with john osborne i'm surprised at you.
what do you mean by encouraging him so?
he's as poor as job's turkey.
i suppose you've heard that i've been compelled to foreclose the mortgage on his farm."
nan kept her temper sweetly -- a dangerous sign, had bryan but known it.
""yes; he was telling me so this morning," she answered slowly.
""oh, was he?
i suppose he gave me my character?"
""no; he did n't say very much about it at all.
he said of course you were within your rights.
but do you really mean to do it, bryan?"
""of course i do," said bryan promptly.
""i ca n't wait any longer for my money, and i'd never get it if i did.
osborne ca n't even pay the interest."
""it is n't because he has n't worked hard enough, then," said nan.
""he has just slaved on that place ever since he grew up."
""well, yes, he has worked hard in a way.
but he's kind of shiftless, for all that -- no manager, as you might say.
some folks would have been clear by now, but osborne is one of those men that are bound to get behind.
he has n't got any business faculty."
""he is n't shiftless," said nan quickly, "and it is n't his fault if he has got behind.
it's all because of his care for his aunt.
he has had to spend more on her doctor's bills than would have raised the mortgage.
and now that she is dead and he might have a chance to pull up, you go and foreclose."
""a man must look out for number one," said bryan easily, admiring nan's downcast eyes and rosy cheeks.
""i have n't any spite against osborne, but business is business, you know."
nan opened her lips to say something but, remembering osborne's parting injunction, she shut them again.
she shot a scornful glance at lee as he stood with his arms folded on the sill beside her.
bryan lingered, talking small talk, until nan announced that she must see about getting tea.
""and you wo n't tell me who is going to take you to the picnic?"
he coaxed.
""oh, it's ned bennett," said nan indifferently.
bryan felt relieved.
he unpinned the huge cluster of violets on his coat and laid them down on the sill beside her before he went.
nan flicked them off with her fingers as she watched him cross the lawn, his own self-satisfied smile upon his face.
* * * * * a week later the osborne homestead had passed into bryan lee's hands and john osborne was staying with his cousin at thornhope, pending his departure for the west.
he had never been to see nan since that last afternoon, but bryan lee haunted the stewart place.
one day he suddenly stopped coming and, although nan was discreetly silent, in due time it came to old abe's ears by various driblets of gossip that nan had refused him.
old abe marched straightway home to nan in a fury and demanded if this were true.
nan curtly admitted that it was.
old abe was so much taken aback by her coolness that he asked almost meekly what was her reason for doing such a fool trick.
""because he turned john osborne out of house and home," returned nan composedly.
""if he had n't done that there is no telling what might have happened.
i might even have married him, because i liked him very well and it would have pleased you.
at any rate, i would n't have married john when you were against him.
now i mean to."
old abe stormed furiously at this, but nan kept so provokingly cool that he was conscious of wasting breath.
he went off in a rage, but nan did not feel particularly anxious now that the announcement was over.
he would cool down, she knew.
john osborne worried her more.
she did n't see clearly how she was to marry him unless he asked her, and he had studiously avoided her since the foreclosure.
but nan did not mean to be baffled or to let her lover slip through her fingers for want of a little courage.
she was not old abe stewart's daughter for nothing.
one day ned bennett dropped in and said that john osborne would start for the west in three days.
that evening nan went up to her room and dressed herself in the prettiest dress she owned, combed her hair around her sparkling face in bewitching curls, pinned a cluster of apple blossoms at her belt, and, thus equipped, marched down in the golden sunset light to the mill creek bridge.
john osborne, on his return from thornhope half an hour later, found her there, leaning over the rail among the willows.
nan started in well-assumed surprise and then asked him why he had not been to see her.
john blushed -- stammered -- did n't know -- had been busy.
nan cut short his halting excuses by demanding to know if he were really going away, and what he intended to do.
""i'll go out on the prairies and take up a claim," said osborne sturdily.
""begin life over again free of debt.
it'll be hard work, but i'm not afraid of that.
i will succeed if it takes me years."
they walked on in silence.
nan came to the conclusion that osborne meant to hold his peace.
""john," she said tremulously, "wo n't -- wo n't you find it very lonely out there?"
""of course -- i expect that.
i shall have to get used to it."
nan grew nervous.
proposing to a man was really very dreadful.
""would n't it be -- nicer for you" -- she faltered -- "that is -- it would n't be so lonely for you -- would it -- if -- if you had me out there with you?"
john osborne stopped squarely in the dusty road and looked at her.
""nan!"
he exclaimed.
""oh, if you ca n't take a hint!"
said nan in despair.
it was all of an hour later that a man drove past them as they loitered up the hill road in the twilight.
it was bryan lee; he had taken from osborne his house and land, but he had not been able to take nan stewart, after all.
natty of blue point natty miller strolled down to the wharf where bliss ford was tying up the cockawee.
bliss was scowling darkly at the boat, a trim new one, painted white, whose furled sails seemed unaccountably wet and whose glistening interior likewise dripped with moisture.
a group of fishermen on the wharf were shaking their heads sagely as natty drew near.
""might as well split her up for kindlings, bliss," said jake mclaren.
""you'll never get men to sail in her.
it passed the first time, seeing as only young johnson was skipper, but when a boat turns turtle with captain frank in command, there's something serious wrong with her."
""what's up?"
asked natty.
""the cockawee upset out in the bay again this morning," answered will scott.
""that's the second time.
the grey gull picked up the men and towed her in.
it's no use trying to sail her.
lobstermen ai n't going to risk their lives in a boat like that.
how's things over at blue point, natty?"
""pretty well," responded natty laconically.
natty never wasted words.
he had not talked a great deal in his fourteen years of life, but he was much given to thinking.
he was rather undersized and insignificant looking, but there were a few boys of his own age on the mainland who knew that natty had muscles.
""has everett heard anything from ottawa about the lighthouse business yet?"
asked will.
natty shook his head.
""think he's any chance of getting the app "intment?"
queried adam lewis.
""not the ghost of a chance," said cooper creasy decidedly.
""he's on the wrong side of politics, that's what.
er rather his father was.
a tory's son ai n't going to get an app "intment from a lib "ral government, that's what."
""mr. barr says that everett is too young to be trusted in such a responsible position," quoted natty gravely.
cooper shrugged his shoulders.
""mebbe -- mebbe.
eighteen is kind of green, but everybody knows that ev's been the real lighthouse keeper for two years, since your father took sick.
irving elliott wants that light -- has wanted it for years -- and he's a pretty strong pull at headquarters, that's what.
barr owes him something for years of hard work at elections.
i ai n't saying anything against elliott, either.
he's a good man, but your father's son ought to have that light as sure as he wo n't get it, that's what."
""any of you going to take in the sports tomorrow down at summerside?"
asked will scott, in order to switch cooper away from politics, which were apt to excite him.
""i'm going, for one," said adam.
""there's to be a yacht race atween the summerside and charlottetown boat clubs.
yes, i am going.
give you a chance down to the station, natty, if you want one."
natty shook his head.
""not going," he said briefly.
""you should celebrate victoria day," said adam, patriotically."
"twenty-fourth o" may's the queen's birthday, ef we do n't get a holiday we'll all run away," as we used to say at school.
the good old queen is dead, but the day's been app "inted a national holiday in honour of her memory and you should celebrate it becoming, natty-boy."
""ev and i ca n't both go, and he's going," explained natty.
""prue and i'll stay home to light up.
must be getting back now.
looks squally."
""i misdoubt if we'll have queen's weather tomorrow," said cooper, squinting critically at the sky.
""looks like a northeast blow, that's what.
there goes bliss, striding off and looking pretty mad.
the cockawee's a dead loss to him, that's what.
nat's off -- he knows how to handle a boat middling well, too.
pity he's such a puny youngster.
not much to him, i reckon."
natty had cast loose in his boat, the merry maid, and hoisted his sail.
in a few minutes he was skimming gaily down the bay.
the wind was fair and piping and the merry maid went like a bird.
natty, at the rudder, steered for blue point island, a reflective frown on his face.
he was feeling in no mood for victoria day sports.
in a very short time he and ev and prue must leave blue point lighthouse, where they had lived all their lives.
to natty it seemed as if the end of all things would come then.
where would life be worth living away from lonely, windy blue point island?
david miller had died the preceding winter after a long illness.
he had been lighthouse keeper at blue point for thirty years.
his three children had been born and brought up there, and there, four years ago, the mother had died.
but womanly little prue had taken her place well, and the boys were devoted to their sister.
when their father died, everett had applied for the position of lighthouse keeper.
the matter was not yet publicly decided, but old cooper creasy had sized the situation up accurately.
the millers had no real hope that everett would be appointed.
victoria day, while not absolutely stormy, proved to be rather unpleasant.
a choppy northeast wind blew up the bay, and the water was rough enough.
the sky was overcast with clouds, and the may air was raw and chilly.
at blue point the millers were early astir, for if everett wanted to sail over to the mainland in time to catch the excursion train, no morning naps were permissible.
he was going alone.
since only one of the boys could go, natty had insisted that it should be everett, and prue had elected to stay home with natty.
prue had small heart for victoria day that year.
she did not feel even a thrill of enthusiasm when natty hoisted a flag and wreathed the queen's picture with creeping spruce.
prue felt as badly about leaving blue point island as the boys did.
the day passed slowly.
in the afternoon the wind fell away to a dead calm, but there was still a heavy swell on, and shortly before sunset a fog came creeping up from the east and spread over the bay and islands, so thick and white that prue and natty could not even see little bear island on the right.
""i'm glad everett is n't coming back tonight," said prue.
""he could never find his way cross the harbour in that fog."
""is n't it thick, though," said natty.
""the light wo n't show far tonight."
at sunset they lighted the great lamps and then settled down to an evening of reading.
but it was not long before natty looked up from his book to say, "hello, prue, what was that?
thought i heard a noise."
""so did i," said prue.
""i sounded like someone calling."
they hurried to the door, which looked out on the harbour.
the night, owing to the fog, was dark with a darkness that seemed almost tangible.
from somewhere out of that darkness came a muffled shouting, like that of a person in distress.
""prue, there's somebody in trouble out there!"
exclaimed natty.
""oh, it's surely never ev!"
cried prue.
natty shook his head.
""do n't think so.
ev had no intention of coming back tonight.
get that lantern, prue.
i must go and see what and who it is."
""oh, natty, you must n't," cried prue in distress.
""there's a heavy swell on yet -- and the fog -- oh, if you get lost --" "i'll not get lost, and i must go, prue.
maybe somebody is drowning out there.
it's not ev, of course, but suppose it were!
that's a good girl."
prue, with set face, had brought the lantern, resolutely choking back the words of fear and protest that rushed to her lips.
they hurried down to the shore and natty sprang into the little skiff he used for rowing.
he hastily lashed the lantern in the stern, cast loose the painter, and lifted the oars.
""i'll be back as soon as possible," he called to prue.
""wait here for me."
in a minute the shore was out of sight, and natty found himself alone in the black fog, with no guide but the cries for help, which already were becoming fainter.
they seemed to come from the direction of little bear, and thither natty rowed.
it was a tough pull, and the water was rough enough for the little dory.
but natty had been at home with the oars from babyhood, and his long training and tough sinews stood him in good stead now.
steadily and intrepidly he rowed along.
the water grew rougher as he passed out from the shelter of blue point into the channel between the latter and little bear.
the cries were becoming very faint.
what if he should be too late?
he bent to the oars with all his energy.
presently, by the smoother water, he knew he must be in the lea of little bear.
the cries sounded nearer.
he must already have rowed nearly a mile.
the next minute he shot around a small headland and right before him, dimly visible in the faint light cast by the lantern through the fog, was an upturned boat with two men clinging to it, one on each side, evidently almost exhausted.
natty rowed cautiously up to the one nearest him, knowing that he must be wary lest the grip of the drowning man overturn his own light skiff.
""let go when i say," he shouted, "and do n't -- grab -- anything, do you hear?
do n't -- grab.
now, let go."
the next minute the man lay in the dory, dragged over the stern by netty's grip on his collar.
""lie still," ordered natty, clutching the oars.
to row around the overturned boat, amid the swirl of water about her, was a task that taxed netty's skill and strength to the utmost.
the other man was dragged in over the bow, and with a gasp of relief natty pulled away from the sinking boat.
once clear of her he could not row for a few minutes; he was shaking from head to foot with the reaction from tremendous effort and strain.
""this'll never do," he muttered.
""i'm not going to be a baby now.
but will i ever be able to row back?"
presently, however, he was able to grip his oars again and pull for the lighthouse, whose beacon loomed dimly through the fog like a great blur of whiter mist.
the men, obedient to his orders, lay quietly where he had placed them, and before long natty was back again at the lighthouse landing, where prue was waiting, wild with anxiety.
the men were helped out and assisted up to the lighthouse, where natty went to hunt up dry clothes for them, and prue flew about to prepare hot drinks.
""to think that that child saved us!"
exclaimed one of the men.
""why, i did n't think a grown man had the strength to do what he did.
he is your brother, i suppose, miss miller.
you have another brother, i think?"
""oh, yes -- everett -- but he is away," explained prue.
""we heard your shouts and natty insisted on going at once to your rescue."
""well, he came just in time.
i could n't have held on another minute -- was so done up i could n't have moved or spoken all the way here even if he had n't commanded me to keep perfectly still."
natty returned at this moment and exclaimed, "why, it is mr. barr.
i did n't recognize you before."
""barr it is, young man.
this gentleman is my friend, mr. blackmore.
we have been celebrating victoria day by a shooting tramp over little bear.
we hired a boat from ford at the harbour head this morning -- the cockawee, he called her -- and sailed over.
i do n't know much about running a boat, but blackmore here thinks he does.
we were at the other side of the island when the fog came up.
we hurried across it, but it was almost dark when we reached our boat.
we sailed around the point and then the boat just simply upset -- do n't know why --" "but i know why," interrupted natty indignantly.
""that cockawee does nothing but upset.
she has turned turtle twice out in the harbour in fine weather.
ford was a rascal to let her to you.
he might have known what would happen.
why -- why -- it was almost murder to let you go!"
""i thought there must be something queer about her," declared mr. blackmore.
""i do know how to handle a boat despite my friend's gibe, and there was no reason why she should have upset like that.
that ford ought to be horsewhipped."
thanks to prue's stinging hot decoctions of black currant drink, the two gentlemen were no worse for their drenching and exposure, and the next morning natty took them to the mainland in the merry maid.
when he parted with them, mr. barr shook his hand heartily and said: "thank you, my boy.
you're a plucky youngster and a skilful one, too.
tell your brother that if i can get the blue point lighthouse berth for him i will, and as for yourself, you will always find a friend in me, and if i can ever do anything for you i will."
two weeks later everett received an official document formally appointing him keeper of blue point island light.
natty carried the news to the mainland, where it was joyfully received among the fishermen.
""only right and fair," said cooper creasy.
""blue point without a miller to light up would n't seem the thing at all, that's what.
and it's nothing but ev's doo."
""guess natty had more to do with it than ev," said adam, perpetrating a very poor pun and being immensely applauded therefor.
it keyed will scott up to rival adam.
""you said that irving had a pull and the millers had n't," he said jocularly.
""but it looks as if't was natty's pull did the business after all -- his pull over to bear island and back."
""it was about a miracle that a boy could do what he did on such a night," said charles macey.
""where's ford?"
asked natty uncomfortably.
he hated to have his exploit talked about.
""ford has cleared out," said cooper, "gone down to summerside to go into tobe meekins's factory there.
best thing he could do, that's what.
folks here had n't no use for him after letting that death trap to them two men -- even if they was lib "rals.
the cockawee druv ashore on little bear, and there she's going to remain, i guess.
d'ye want a berth in my mackerel boat this summer, natty?"
""i do," said natty, "but i thought you said you were full."
""i guess i can make room for you," said cooper.
""a boy with such grit and muscle ai n't to be allowed to go to seed on blue point, that's what.
yesser, we'll make room for you."
and natty's cup of happiness was full.
penelope's party waist "it's perfectly horrid to be so poor," grumbled penelope.
penelope did not often grumble, but just now, as she sat tapping with one pink-tipped finger her invitation to blanche anderson's party, she felt that grumbling was the only relief she had.
penelope was seventeen, and when one is seventeen and can not go to a party because one has n't a suitable dress to wear, the world is very apt to seem a howling wilderness.
""i wish i could think of some way to get you a new waist," said doris, with what these sisters called "the poverty pucker" coming in the centre of her pretty forehead.
""if your black skirt were sponged and pressed and re-hung, it would do very well."
penelope saw the poverty pucker and immediately repented with all her impetuous heart having grumbled.
that pucker came often enough without being brought there by extra worries.
""well, there is no use sitting here sighing for the unattainable," she said, jumping up briskly.
""i'd better be putting my grey matter into that algebra instead of wasting it plotting for a party dress that i certainly ca n't get.
it's a sad thing for a body to lack brains when she wants to be a teacher, is n't it?
if i could only absorb algebra and history as i can music, what a blessing it would be!
come now, dorrie dear, smooth that pucker out.
next year i shall be earning a princely salary, which we can squander on party gowns at will -- if people have n't given up inviting us by that time, in sheer despair of ever being able to conquer our exclusiveness."
penelope went off to her detested algebra with a laugh, but the pucker did not go out of doris" forehead.
she wanted penelope to go to that party.
penelope has studied so hard all winter and she has n't gone anywhere, thought the older sister wistfully.
she is getting discouraged over those examinations and she needs just a good, jolly time to hearten her up.
if it could only be managed!
but doris did not see how it could.
it took every cent of her small salary as typewriter in an uptown office to run their tiny establishment and keep penelope in school dresses and books.
indeed, she could not have done even that much if they had not owned their little cottage.
next year it would be easier if penelope got through her examinations successfully, but just now there was absolutely not a spare penny.
""it is hard to be poor.
we are a pair of misfits," said doris, with a patient little smile, thinking of penelope's uncultivated talent for music and her own housewifely gifts, which had small chance of flowering out in her business life.
doris dreamed of pretty dresses all that night and thought about them all the next day.
so, it must be confessed, did penelope, though she would not have admitted it for the world.
when doris reached home the next evening, she found penelope hovering over a bulky parcel on the sitting-room table.
""i'm so glad you've come," she said with an exaggerated gasp of relief.
""i really do n't think my curiosity could have borne the strain for another five minutes.
the expressman brought this parcel an hour ago, and there's a letter for you from aunt adella on the clock shelf, and i think they belong to each other.
hurry up and find out.
dorrie, darling, what if it should be a -- a -- present of some sort or other!"
""i suppose it ca n't be anything else," smiled doris.
she knew that penelope had started out to say "a new dress."
she cut the strings and removed the wrappings.
both girls stared.
""is it -- it is n't -- yes, it is!
doris hunter, i believe it's an old quilt!"
doris unfolded the odd present with a queer feeling of disappointment.
she did not know just what she had expected the package to contain, but certainly not this.
she laughed a little shakily.
""well, we ca n't say after this that aunt adella never gave us anything," she said, when she had opened her letter.
""listen, penelope."
my dear doris: i have decided to give up housekeeping and go out west to live with robert.
so i am disposing of such of the family heirlooms as i do not wish to take with me.
i am sending you by express your grandmother hunter's silk quilt.
it is a handsome article still and i hope you will prize it as you should.
it took your grandmother five years to make it.
there is a bit of the wedding dress of every member of the family in it.
love to penelope and yourself.
your affectionate aunt, adella hunter.
""i do n't see its beauty," said penelope with a grimace.
""it may have been pretty once, but it is all faded now.
it is a monument of patience, though.
the pattern is what they call "little thousands," is n't it?
tell me, dorrie, does it argue a lack of proper respect for my ancestors that i ca n't feel very enthusiastic over this heirloom -- especially when grandmother hunter died years before i was born?"
""it was very kind of aunt adella to send it," said doris dutifully.
""oh, very," agreed penelope drolly.
""only do n't ever ask me to sleep under it.
it would give me the nightmare.
o-o-h!"
this last was a little squeal of admiration as doris turned the quilt over and brought to view the shimmering lining.
""why, the wrong side is ever so much prettier than the right!"
exclaimed penelope.
""what lovely, old-timey stuff!
and not a bit faded."
the lining was certainly very pretty.
it was a soft, creamy yellow silk, with a design of brocaded pink rosebuds all over it.
""that was a dress grandmother hunter had when she was a girl," said doris absently.
""i remember hearing aunt adella speak of it.
when it became old-fashioned, grandmother used it to line her quilt.
i declare, it is as good as new."
""well, let us go and have tea," said penelope.
""i'm decidedly hungry.
besides, i see the poverty pucker coming.
put the quilt in the spare room.
it is something to possess an heirloom, after all.
it gives one a nice, important-family feeling."
after tea, when penelope was patiently grinding away at her studies and thinking dolefully enough of the near-approaching examinations, which she dreaded, and of teaching, which she confidently expected to hate, doris went up to the tiny spare room to look at the wrong side of the quilt again.
""it would make the loveliest party waist," she said under her breath.
""creamy yellow is penelope's colour, and i could use that bit of old black lace and those knots of velvet ribbon that i have to trim it.
i wonder if grandmother hunter's reproachful spirit will forever haunt me if i do it."
doris knew very well that she would do it -- had known it ever since she had looked at that lovely lining and a vision of penelope's vivid face and red-brown hair rising above a waist of the quaint old silk had flashed before her mental sight.
that night, after penelope had gone to bed, doris ripped the lining out of grandmother hunter's silk quilt.
""if aunt adella saw me now!"
she laughed softly to herself as she worked.
in the three following evenings doris made the waist.
she thought it a wonderful bit of good luck that penelope went out each of the evenings to study some especially difficult problems with a school chum.
""it will be such a nice surprise for her," the sister mused jubilantly.
penelope was surprised as much as the tender, sisterly heart could wish when doris flashed out upon her triumphantly on the evening of the party with the black skirt nicely pressed and re-hung, and the prettiest waist imaginable -- a waist that was a positive "creation" of dainty rose-besprinkled silk, with a girdle and knots of black velvet.
""doris hunter, you are a veritable little witch!
do you mean to tell me that you conjured that perfectly lovely thing for me out of the lining of grandmother hunter's quilt?"
so penelope went to blanche's party and her dress was the admiration of every girl there.
mrs. fairweather, who was visiting mrs. anderson, looked closely at it also.
she was a very sweet old lady, with silver hair, which she wore in delightful, old-fashioned puffs, and she had very bright, dark eyes.
penelope thought her altogether charming.
""she looks as if she had just stepped out of the frame of some lovely old picture," she said to herself.
""i wish she belonged to me.
i'd just love to have a grandmother like her.
and i do wonder who it is i've seen who looks so much like her."
a little later on the knowledge came to her suddenly, and she thought with inward surprise: why, it is doris, of course.
if my sister doris lives to be seventy years old and wears her hair in pretty white puffs, she will look exactly as mrs. fairweather does now.
mrs. fairweather asked to have penelope introduced to her, and when they found themselves alone together she said gently, "my dear, i am going to ask a very impertinent question.
will you tell me where you got the silk of which your waist is made?"
poor penelope's pretty young face turned crimson.
she was not troubled with false pride by any means, but she simply could not bring herself to tell mrs. fairweather that her waist was made out of the lining of an old heirloom quilt.
""my aunt adella gave me -- gave us -- the material," she stammered.
""and my elder sister doris made the waist for me.
i think the silk once belonged to my grandmother hunter."
""what was your grandmother's maiden name?"
asked mrs. fairweather eagerly.
""penelope saverne.
i am named after her."
mrs. fairweather suddenly put her arm about penelope and drew the young girl to her, her lovely old face aglow with delight and tenderness.
""then you are my grandniece," she said.
""your grandmother was my half-sister.
when i saw your dress, i felt sure you were related to her.
i should recognize that rosebud silk if i came across it in thibet.
penelope saverne was the daughter of my mother by her first husband.
penelope was four years older than i was, but we were devoted to each other.
oddly enough, our birthdays fell on the same day, and when penelope was twenty and i sixteen, my father gave us each a silk dress of this very material.
i have mine yet.
""soon after this our mother died and our household was broken up.
penelope went to live with her aunt and i went west with father.
this was long ago, you know, when travelling and correspondence were not the easy, matter-of-course things they are now.
after a few years i lost touch with my half-sister.
i married out west and have lived there all my life.
i never knew what had become of penelope.
but tonight, when i saw you come in in that waist made of the rosebud silk, the whole past rose before me and i felt like a girl again.
my dear, i am a very lonely old woman, with nobody belonging to me.
you do n't know how delighted i am to find that i have two grandnieces."
penelope had listened silently, like a girl in a dream.
now she patted mrs. fairweather's soft old hand affectionately.
""it sounds like a storybook," she said gaily.
""you must come and see doris.
she is such a darling sister.
i would n't have had this waist if it had n't been for her.
i will tell you the whole truth -- i do n't mind it now.
doris made my party waist for me out of the lining of an old silk quilt of grandmother hunter's that aunt adella sent us."
mrs. fairweather did go to see doris the very next day, and quite wonderful things came to pass from that interview.
doris and penelope found their lives and plans changed in the twinkling of an eye.
they were both to go and live with aunt esther -- as mrs. fairweather had said they must call her.
penelope was to have, at last, her longed-for musical education and doris was to be the home girl.
""you must take the place of my own dear little granddaughter," said aunt esther.
""she died six years ago, and i have been so lonely since."
when mrs. fairweather had gone, doris and penelope looked at each other.
""pinch me, please," said penelope.
""i'm half afraid i'll wake up and find i have been dreaming.
is n't it all wonderful, doris hunter?"
doris nodded radiantly.
""oh, penelope, think of it!
music for you -- somebody to pet and fuss over for me -- and such a dear, sweet aunty for us both!"
""and no more contriving party waists out of old silk linings," laughed penelope.
""but it was very fortunate that you did it for once, sister mine.
and no more poverty puckers," she concluded.
the girl and the wild race "if judith would only get married," mrs. theodora whitney was wont to sigh dolorously.
now, there was no valid reason why judith ought to get married unless she wanted to.
but judith was twenty-seven and mrs. theodora thought it was a terrible disgrace to be an old maid.
""there has never been an old maid in our family so far back as we know of," she lamented.
""and to think that there should be one now!
it just drags us down to the level of the mcgregors.
they have always been noted for their old maids."
judith took all her aunt's lamentations good-naturedly.
sometimes she argued the subject placidly.
""why are you in such a hurry to be rid of me, aunt theo?
i'm sure we're very comfortable here together and you know you would miss me terribly if i went away."
""if you took the right one you would n't go so very far," said mrs. theodora, darkly significant.
""and, anyhow, i'd put up with any amount of lonesomeness rather than have an old maid in the family.
it's all very fine now, when you're still young enough and good looking, with lots of beaus at your beck and call.
but that wo n't last much longer and if you go on with your dilly-dallying you'll wake up some fine day to find that your time for choosing has gone by.
your mother used to be dreadful proud of your good looks when you was a baby.
i told her she need n't be.
nine times out of ten a beauty do n't marry as well as an ordinary girl."
""i'm not much set on marrying at all," declared judith sharply.
any reference to the "right one" always disturbed her placidity.
the real root of the trouble was that mrs. theodora's "right one" and judith's "right one" were two different people.
the ramble valley young men were very fond of dancing attendance on judith, even if she were verging on old maidenhood.
her prettiness was undeniable; the stewarts came to maturity late and at twenty-seven judith's dower of milky-white flesh, dimpled red lips and shining bronze hair was at its fullest splendor.
besides, she was "jolly," and jollity went a long way in ramble valley popularity.
of all judith's admirers eben king alone found favor in mrs. theodora's eyes.
he owned the adjoining farm, was well off and homely -- so homely that judith declared it made her eyes ache to look at him.
bruce marshall, judith's "right one" was handsome, but mrs. theodora looked upon him with sour disapproval.
he owned a stony little farm at the remote end of ramble valley and was reputed to be fonder of many things than of work.
to be sure, judith had enough capability and energy for two; but mrs. theodora detested a lazy man.
she ordered judith not to encourage him and judith obeyed.
judith generally obeyed her aunt; but, though she renounced bruce marshall, she would have nothing to do with eben king or anybody else and all mrs. theodora's grumblings did not mend matters.
the afternoon that mrs. tony mack came in mrs. theodora felt more aggrieved than ever.
ellie mcgregor had been married the previous week -- ellie, who was the same age as judith and not half so good looking.
mrs. theodora had been nagging judith ever since.
""but i might as well talk to the trees down there in that hollow," she complained to mrs. tony.
""that girl is so set and contrary minded.
she does n't care a bit for my feelings."
this was not said behind judith's back.
the girl herself was standing at the open door, drinking in all the delicate, evasive beauty of the spring afternoon.
the whitney house crested a bare hill that looked down on misty intervals, feathered with young firs that were golden green in the pale sunlight.
the fields were bare and smoking, although the lanes and shadowy places were full of moist snow.
judith's face was aglow with the delight of mere life and she bent out to front the brisk, dancing wind that blew up from the valley, resinous with the odors of firs and damp mosses.
at her aunt's words the glow went out of her face.
she listened with her eyes brooding on the hollow and a glowing flame of temper smouldering in them.
judith's long patience was giving way.
she had been flicked on the raw too often of late.
and now her aunt was confiding her grievances to mrs. tony mack -- the most notorious gossip in ramble valley or out of it!
""i ca n't sleep at nights for worrying over what will become of her when i'm gone," went on mrs. theodora dismally.
""she'll just have to live on alone here -- a lonesome, withered-up old maid.
and her that might have had her pick, mrs. tony, though i do say it as should n't.
you must feel real thankful to have all your girls married off -- especially when none of them was extry good-looking.
some people have all the luck.
i'm tired of talking to judith.
folks'll be saying soon that nobody ever really wanted her, for all her flirting.
but she just wo n't marry."
""i will!"
judith whirled about on the sun warm door step and came in.
her black eyes were flashing and her round cheeks were crimson.
""such a temper you never saw!"
reported mrs. tony afterwards.
""though "twere n't to be wondered at.
theodora was most awful aggravating."
""i will," repeated judith stormily.
""i'm tired of being nagged day in and day out.
i'll marry -- and what is more i'll marry the very first man that asks me -- that i will, if it is old widower delane himself!
how does that suit you, aunt theodora?"
mrs. theodora's mental processes were never slow.
she dropped her knitting ball and stooped for it.
in that time she had decided what to do.
she knew that judith would stick to her word, stewart-like, and she must trim her sails to catch this new wind.
""it suits me real well, judith," she said calmly, "you can marry the first man that asks you and i'll say no word to hinder."
the color went out of judith's face, leaving it pale as ashes.
her hasty assertion had no sooner been uttered than it was repented of, but she must stand by it now.
she went out of the kitchen without another glance at her aunt or the delighted mrs. tony and dashed up the stairs to her own little room which looked out over the whole of ramble valley.
it was warm with the march sunshine and the leafless boughs of the creeper that covered the end of the house were tapping a gay tattoo on the window panes to the music of the wind.
judith sat down in her little rocker and dropped her pointed chin in her hands.
far down the valley, over the firs on the mcgregor hill and the blue mirror of the cranston pond, bruce marshall's little gray house peeped out from a semicircle of white-stemmed birches.
she had not seen bruce since before christmas.
he had been angry at her then because she had refused to let him drive her home from prayer meeting.
since then she had heard a rumor that he was going to see kitty leigh at the upper valley.
judith looked sombrely down at the marshall homestead.
she had always loved the quaint, picturesque old place, so different from all the commonplace spick and span new houses of the prosperous valley.
judith had never been able to decide whether she really cared very much for bruce marshall or not, but she knew that she loved that rambling, cornery house of his, with the gable festooned with the real ivy that bruce marshall's great-grandmother had brought with her from england.
judith thought contrastingly of eben king's staring, primrose-colored house in all its bare, intrusive grandeur.
she gave a little shrug of distaste.
""i wish bruce knew of this," she thought, flushing even in her solitude at the idea.
""although if it is true that he is going to see kitty leigh i do n't suppose he'd care.
and aunt theo will be sure to send word to eben by hook or crook.
whatever possessed me to say such a mad thing?
there goes mrs. tony now, all agog to spread such a delectable bit of gossip."
mrs. tony had indeed gone, refusing mrs. theodora's invitation to stay to tea, so eager was she to tell her story.
and mrs. theodora, at that very minute, was out in her kitchen yard, giving her instructions to potter vane, the twelve year old urchin who cut her wood and did sundry other chores for her.
""potter," she said, excitedly, "run over to the kings" and tell eben to come over here immediately -- no matter what he's at.
tell him i want to see him about something of the greatest importance."
mrs. theodora thought that this was a master stroke.
""that match is as good as made," she thought triumphantly as she picked up chips to start the tea fire.
""if judith suspects that eben is here she is quite likely to stay in her room and refuse to come down.
but if she does i'll march him upstairs to her door and make him ask her through the keyhole.
you ca n't stump theodora whitney."
alas!
ten minutes later potter returned with the unwelcome news that eben was away from home.
""he went to wexbridge about half an hour ago, his ma said.
she said she'd tell him to come right over as soon as he kem home."
mrs. theodora had to content herself with this, but she felt troubled.
she knew mrs. tony mack's capabilities for spreading news.
what if bruce marshall should hear it before eben?
that evening jacob plowden's store at wexbridge was full of men, sitting about on kegs and counters or huddling around the stove, for the march air had grown sharp as the sun lowered in the creamy sky over the ramble valley hills.
eben king had a keg in the corner.
he was in no hurry to go home for he loved gossip dearly and the wexbridge stores abounded with it.
he had exhausted the news of peter stanley's store across the bridge and now he meant to hear what was saying at plowden's.
bruce marshall was there, too, buying groceries and being waited on by nora plowden, who was by no means averse to the service, although as a rule her father's customers received scanty tolerance at her hands.
""what are the valley roads like, marshall?"
asked a wexbridge man, between two squirts of tobacco juice.
""bad," said bruce briefly.
""another warm day will finish the sleighing."
""are they crossing at malley's creek yet?"
asked plowden.
""no, jack carr got in there day before yesterday.
nearly lost his mare.
i came round by the main road," responded bruce.
the door opened at this point and tony mack came in.
as soon as he closed the door he doubled up in a fit of chuckles, which lasted until he was purple in the face.
""is the man crazy?"
demanded plowden, who had never seen lean little tony visited like this before.
""crazy nothin"," retorted tony.
""you'll laugh too, when you hear it.
such a joke!
hee-tee-tee-hee-e.
theodora whitney has been badgering judith stewart so much about bein" an old maid that judith's got mad and vowed she'll marry the first man that asks her.
hee-tee-tee-hee-e-e-e!
my old woman was there and heard her.
she'll keep her word, too.
she ai n't old joshua stewart's daughter for nothin".
if he said he'd do a thing he did it if it tuck the hair off.
if i was a young feller now!
hee-tee-tee-hee-e-e-e!"
bruce marshall swung round on one foot.
his face was crimson and if looks could kill, tony mack would have fallen dead in the middle of his sniggers.
""you need n't mind doing up that parcel for me," he said to nora.
""i'll not wait for it."
on his way to the door eben king brushed past him.
a shout of laughter from the assembled men followed them.
the others streamed out in their wake, realizing that a race was afoot.
tony alone remained inside, helpless with chuckling.
eben king's horse was tied at the door.
he had nothing to do but step in and drive off.
bruce had put his mare in at billy bender's across the bridge, intending to spend the evening there.
he knew that this would handicap him seriously, but he strode down the road with a determined expression on his handsome face.
fifteen minutes later he drove past the store, his gray mare going at a sharp gait.
the crowd in front of plowden's cheered him, their sympathies were with him for king was not popular.
tony had come out and shouted, "here's luck to you, brother," after which he doubled up with renewed laughter.
such a lark!
and he, tony, had set it afoot!
it would be a story to tell for years.
marshall, with his lips set and his dreamy gray eyes for once glittering with a steely light, urged lady jane up the wexbridge hill.
from its top it was five miles to ramble valley by the main road.
a full mile ahead of him he saw eben king, getting along through mud and slush, and occasional big slumpy drifts of old snow, as fast as his clean-limbed trotter could carry him.
as a rule eben was exceedingly careful of his horses, but now he was sending bay billy along for all that was in him.
for a second bruce hesitated.
then he turned his mare down the field cut to malley's creek.
it was taking lady jane's life and possibly his own in his hand, but it was his only chance.
he could never have overtaken bay billy on the main road.
""do your best, lady jane," he muttered, and lady jane plunged down the steep hillside, through the glutinous mud of a ploughed field as if she meant to do it.
beyond the field was a ravine full of firs, through which malley's creek ran.
to cross it meant a four-mile cut to ramble valley.
the ice looked black and rotten.
to the left was the ragged hole where jack carr's mare had struggled for her life.
bruce headed lady jane higher up.
if a crossing could be made at all it was only between malley's spring-hole and the old ice road.
lady jane swerved at the bank and whickered.
""on, old girl," said bruce, in a tense voice.
unwillingly she advanced, picking her steps with cat-like sagacity.
once her foot went through, bruce pulled her up with hands that did not tremble.
the next moment she was scrambling up the opposite bank.
glancing back, bruce saw the ice parting in her footprints and the black water gurgling up.
but the race was not yet decided.
by crossing the creek he had won no more than an equal chance with eben king.
and the field road before him was much worse than the main road.
there was little snow on it and some bad sloughs.
but lady jane was good for it.
for once she should not be spared.
just as the red ball of the sun touched the wooded hills of the valley, mrs. theodora, looking from the cowstable door, saw two sleighs approaching, the horses of which were going at a gallop.
one was trundling down the main road, headlong through old drifts and slumpy snow, where a false step might send the horse floundering to the bottom.
the other was coming up from the direction of the creek, full tilt through tony mack's stump land, where not a vestige of snow coated the huge roots over which the runners bumped.
for a moment mrs. theodora stood at a gaze.
then she recognized both drivers.
she dropped her milking pail and ran to the house, thinking as she ran.
she knew that judith was alone in the kitchen.
if eben king got there first, well and good, but if bruce marshall won the race he must encounter her, mrs. theodora.
""he wo n't propose to judith as long as i'm round," she panted.
""i know him -- he's too shy.
but eben wo n't mind -- i'll tip him the wink."
potter vane was chopping wood before the door.
mrs. theodora recognizing in him a further obstacle to marshall's wooing, caught him unceremoniously by the arm and hauled him, axe and all, over the doorstone and into the kitchen, just as bruce marshall and eben king drove into the yard with not a second to spare between them.
there was a woeful cut on bay billy's slender foreleg and the reeking lady jane was trembling like a leaf.
the staunch little mare had brought her master over that stretch of sticky field road in time, but she was almost exhausted.
both men sprang from their sleighs and ran to the door.
bruce marshall won it by foot-room and burst into the kitchen with his rival hot on his heels.
mrs. theodora stood defiantly in the middle of the room, still grasping the dazed and dismayed potter.
in a corner judith turned from the window whence she had been watching the finish of the race.
she was pale and tense from excitement.
in those few gasping moments she had looked on her heart as on an open book; she knew at last that she loved bruce marshall and her eyes met his fiery gray ones as he sprang over the threshold.
""judith, will you marry me?"
gasped bruce, before eben, who had first looked at mrs. theodora and the squirming potter, had located the girl.
""yes," said judith.
she burst into hysterical tears as she said it and sat limply down in a chair.
mrs. theodora loosed her grip on potter.
""you can go back to your work," she said dully.
she followed him out and eben king followed her.
on the step she reached behind him and closed the door.
""trust a king for being too late!"
she said bitterly and unjustly.
eben went home with bay billy.
potter gazed after him until mrs. theodora ordered him to put marshall's mare in the stable and rub her down.
""anyway, judith wo n't be an old maid," she comforted herself.
the promise of lucy ellen cecily foster came down the sloping, fir-fringed road from the village at a leisurely pace.
usually she walked with a long, determined stride, but to-day the drowsy, mellowing influence of the autumn afternoon was strong upon her and filled her with placid content.
without being actively conscious of it, she was satisfied with the existing circumstances of her life.
it was half over now.
the half of it yet to be lived stretched before her, tranquil, pleasant and uneventful, like the afternoon, filled with unhurried duties and calmly interesting days, cecily liked the prospect.
when she came to her own lane she paused, folding her hands on the top of the whitewashed gate, while she basked for a moment in the warmth that seemed cupped in the little grassy hollow hedged about with young fir-trees.
before her lay sere, brooding fields sloping down to a sandy shore, where long foamy ripples were lapping with a murmur that threaded the hushed air like a faint minor melody.
on the crest of the little hill to her right was her home -- hers and lucy ellen's.
the house was an old-fashioned, weather-gray one, low in the eaves, with gables and porches overgrown with vines that had turned to wine-reds and rich bronzes in the october frosts.
on three sides it was closed in by tall old spruces, their outer sides bared and grim from long wrestling with the atlantic winds, but their inner green and feathery.
on the fourth side a trim white paling shut in the flower garden before the front door.
cecily could see the beds of purple and scarlet asters, making rich whorls of color under the parlor and sitting-room windows.
lucy ellen's bed was gayer and larger than cecily's.
lucy ellen had always had better luck with flowers.
she could see old boxer asleep on the front porch step and lucy ellen's white cat stretched out on the parlor window-sill.
there was no other sign of life about the place.
cecily drew a long, leisurely breath of satisfaction.
""after tea i'll dig up those dahlia roots," she said aloud.
""they'd ought to be up.
my, how blue and soft that sea is!
i never saw such a lovely day.
i've been gone longer than i expected.
i wonder if lucy ellen's been lonesome?"
when cecily looked back from the misty ocean to the house, she was surprised to see a man coming with a jaunty step down the lane under the gnarled spruces.
she looked at him perplexedly.
he must be a stranger, for she was sure no man in oriental walked like that.
""some agent has been pestering lucy ellen, i suppose," she muttered vexedly.
the stranger came on with an airy briskness utterly foreign to orientalites.
cecily opened the gate and went through.
they met under the amber-tinted sugar maple in the heart of the hollow.
as he passed, the man lifted his hat and bowed with an ingratiating smile.
he was about forty-five, well, although somewhat loudly dressed, and with an air of self-satisfied prosperity pervading his whole personality.
he had a heavy gold watch chain and a large seal ring on the hand that lifted his hat.
he was bald, with a high, shaksperian forehead and a halo of sandy curls.
his face was ruddy and weak, but good-natured: his eyes were large and blue, and he had a little straw-colored moustache, with a juvenile twist and curl in it.
cecily did not recognize him, yet there was something vaguely familiar about him.
she walked rapidly up to the house.
in the sitting-room she found lucy ellen peering out between the muslin window curtains.
when the latter turned there was an air of repressed excitement about her.
""who was that man, lucy ellen?"
cecily asked.
to cecily's amazement, lucy ellen blushed -- a warm, spring-like flood of color that rolled over her delicate little face like a miracle of rejuvenescence.
""did n't you know him?
that was cromwell biron," she simpered.
although lucy ellen was forty and, in most respects, sensible, she could not help simpering upon occasion.
""cromwell biron," repeated cecily, in an emotionless voice.
she took off her bonnet mechanically, brushed the dust from its ribbons and bows and went to put it carefully away in its white box in the spare bedroom.
she felt as if she had had a severe shock, and she dared not ask anything more just then.
lucy ellen's blush had frightened her.
it seemed to open up dizzying possibilities of change.
""but she promised -- she promised," said cecily fiercely, under her breath.
while cecily was changing her dress, lucy ellen was getting the tea ready in the little kitchen.
now and then she broke out into singing, but always checked herself guiltily.
cecily heard her and set her firm mouth a little firmer.
""if a man had jilted me twenty years ago, i would n't be so overwhelmingly glad to see him when he came back -- especially if he had got fat and bald-headed," she added, her face involuntarily twitching into a smile.
cecily, in spite of her serious expression and intense way of looking at life, had an irrepressible sense of humor.
tea that evening was not the pleasant meal it usually was.
the two women were wont to talk animatedly to each other, and cecily had many things to tell lucy ellen.
she did not tell them.
neither did lucy ellen ask any questions, her ill-concealed excitement hanging around her like a festal garment.
cecily's heart was on fire with alarm and jealousy.
she smiled a little cruelly as she buttered and ate her toast.
""and so that was cromwell biron," she said with studied carelessness.
""i thought there was something familiar about him.
when did he come home?"
""he got to oriental yesterday," fluttered back lucy ellen.
""he's going to be home for two months.
we -- we had such an interesting talk this afternoon.
he -- he's as full of jokes as ever.
i wished you'd been here."
this was a fib.
cecily knew it.
""i do n't, then," she said contemptuously.
""you know i never had much use for cromwell biron.
i think he had a face of his own to come down here to see you uninvited, after the way he treated you."
lucy ellen blushed scorchingly and was miserably silent.
""he's changed terrible in his looks," went on cecily relentlessly.
""how bald he's got -- and fat!
to think of the spruce cromwell biron got to be bald and fat!
to be sure, he still has the same sheepish expression.
will you pass me the currant jell, lucy ellen?"
""i do n't think he's so very fat," she said resentfully, when cecily had left the table.
""and i do n't care if he is."
twenty years before this, biron had jilted lucy ellen foster.
she was the prettiest girl in oriental then, but the new school teacher over at the crossways was prettier, with a dash of piquancy, which lucy ellen lacked, into the bargain.
cromwell and the school teacher had run away and been married, and lucy ellen was left to pick up the tattered shreds of her poor romance as best she could.
she never had another lover.
she told herself that she would always be faithful to the one love of her life.
this sounded romantic, and she found a certain comfort in it.
she had been brought up by her uncle and aunt.
when they died she and her cousin, cecily foster, found themselves, except for each other, alone in the world.
cecily loved lucy ellen as a sister.
but she believed that lucy ellen would yet marry, and her heart sank at the prospect of being left without a soul to love and care for.
it was lucy ellen that had first proposed their mutual promise, but cecily had grasped at it eagerly.
the two women, verging on decisive old maidenhood, solemnly promised each other that they would never marry, and would always live together.
from that time cecily's mind had been at ease.
in her eyes a promise was a sacred thing.
the next evening at prayer-meeting cromwell biron received quite an ovation from old friends and neighbors.
cromwell had been a favorite in his boyhood.
he had now the additional glamour of novelty and reputed wealth.
he was beaming and expansive.
he went into the choir to help sing.
lucy ellen sat beside him, and they sang from the same book.
two red spots burned on her thin cheeks, and she had a cluster of lavender chrysanthemums pinned on her jacket.
she looked almost girlish, and cromwell biron gazed at her with sidelong admiration, while cecily watched them both fiercely from her pew.
she knew that cromwell biron had come home, wooing his old love.
""but he sha'n' t get her," cecily whispered into her hymnbook.
somehow it was a comfort to articulate the words, "she promised."
on the church steps cromwell offered his arm to lucy ellen with a flourish.
she took it shyly, and they started down the road in the crisp autumn moonlight.
for the first time in ten years cecily walked home from prayer-meeting alone.
she went up-stairs and flung herself on her bed, reckless for once, of her second best hat and gown.
lucy ellen did not venture to ask cromwell in.
she was too much in awe of cecily for that.
but she loitered with him at the gate until the grandfather's clock in the hall struck eleven.
then cromwell went away, whistling gaily, with lucy ellen's chrysanthemum in his buttonhole, and lucy ellen went in and cried half the night.
but cecily did not cry.
she lay savagely awake until morning.
""cromwell biron is courting you again," she said bluntly to lucy ellen at the breakfast table.
lucy ellen blushed nervously.
""oh, nonsense, cecily," she protested with a simper.
""it is n't nonsense," said cecily calmly.
""he is.
there is no fool like an old fool, and cromwell biron never had much sense.
the presumption of him!"
lucy ellen's hands trembled as she put her teacup down.
""he's not so very old," she said faintly, "and everybody but you likes him -- and he's well-to-do.
i do n't see that there's any presumption."
""maybe not -- if you look at it so.
you're very forgiving, lucy ellen.
you've forgotten how he treated you once."
""no -- o -- o, i have n't," faltered lucy ellen.
""anyway," said cecily coldly, "you should n't encourage his attentions, lucy ellen; you know you could n't marry him even if he asked you.
you promised."
all the fitful color went out of lucy ellen's face.
under cecily's pitiless eyes she wilted and drooped.
""i know," she said deprecatingly, "i have n't forgotten.
you are talking nonsense, cecily.
i like to see cromwell, and he likes to see me because i'm almost the only one of his old set that is left.
he feels lonesome in oriental now."
lucy ellen lifted her fawn-colored little head more erectly at the last of her protest.
she had saved her self-respect.
in the month that followed cromwell biron pressed his suit persistently, unintimidated by cecily's antagonism.
october drifted into november and the chill, drear days came.
to cecily the whole outer world seemed the dismal reflex of her pain-bitten heart.
yet she constantly laughed at herself, too, and her laughter was real if bitter.
one evening she came home late from a neighbor's.
cromwell biron passed her in the hollow under the bare boughs of the maple that were outlined against the silvery moonlit sky.
when cecily went into the house, lucy ellen opened the parlor door.
she was very pale, but her eyes burned in her face and her hands were clasped before her.
""i wish you'd come in here for a few minutes, cecily," she said feverishly.
cecily followed silently into the room.
""cecily," she said faintly, "cromwell was here to-night.
he asked me to marry him.
i told him to come to-morrow night for his answer."
she paused and looked imploringly at cecily.
cecily did not speak.
she stood tall and unrelenting by the table.
the rigidity of her face and figure smote lucy ellen like a blow.
she threw out her bleached little hands and spoke with a sudden passion utterly foreign to her.
""cecily, i want to marry him.
i -- i -- love him.
i always have.
i never thought of this when i promised.
oh, cecily, you'll let me off my promise, wo n't you?"
""no," said cecily.
it was all she said.
lucy ellen's hands fell to her sides, and the light went out of her face.
""you wo n't?"
she said hopelessly.
cecily went out.
at the door she turned.
""when john edwards asked me to marry him six years ago, i said no for your sake.
to my mind a promise is a promise.
but you were always weak and romantic, lucy ellen."
lucy ellen made no response.
she stood limply on the hearth-rug like a faded blossom bitten by frost.
after cromwell biron had gone away the next evening, with all his brisk jauntiness shorn from him for the time, lucy ellen went up to cecily's room.
she stood for a moment in the narrow doorway, with the lamplight striking upward with a gruesome effect on her wan face.
""i've sent him away," she said lifelessly.
""i've kept my promise, cecily."
there was silence for a moment.
cecily did not know what to say.
suddenly lucy ellen burst out bitterly.
""i wish i was dead!"
then she turned swiftly and ran across the hall to her own room.
cecily gave a little moan of pain.
this was her reward for all the love she had lavished on lucy ellen.
""anyway, it is all over," she said, looking dourly into the moonlit boughs of the firs; "lucy ellen'll get over it.
when cromwell is gone she'll forget all about him.
i'm not going to fret.
she promised, and she wanted the promise first."
during the next fortnight tragedy held grim sway in the little weather-gray house among the firs -- a tragedy tempered with grim comedy for cecily, who, amid all her agony, could not help being amused at lucy ellen's romantic way of sorrowing.
lucy ellen did her mornings" work listlessly and drooped through the afternoons.
cecily would have felt it as a relief if lucy ellen had upbraided her, but after her outburst on the night she sent cromwell away, lucy ellen never uttered a word of reproach or complaint.
one evening cecily made a neighborly call in the village.
cromwell biron happened to be there and gallantly insisted upon seeing her home.
she understood from cromwell's unaltered manner that lucy ellen had not told him why she had refused him.
she felt a sudden admiration for her cousin.
when they reached the house cromwell halted suddenly in the banner of light that streamed from the sitting-room window.
they saw lucy ellen sitting alone before the fire, her arms folded on the table, and her head bowed on them.
her white cat sat unnoticed at the table beside her.
cecily gave a gasp of surrender.
""you'd better come in," she said, harshly.
""lucy ellen looks lonesome."
cromwell muttered sheepishly, "i'm afraid i would n't be company for her.
lucy ellen does n't like me much --" "oh, does n't she!"
said cecily, bitterly.
""she likes you better than she likes me for all i've -- but it's no matter.
it's been all my fault -- she'll explain.
tell her i said she could.
come in, i say."
she caught the still reluctant cromwell by the arm and fairly dragged him over the geranium beds and through the front door.
she opened the sitting-room door and pushed him in.
lucy ellen rose in amazement.
over cromwell's bald head loomed cecily's dark face, tragic and determined.
""here's your beau, lucy ellen," she said, "and i give you back your promise."
she shut the door upon the sudden illumination of lucy ellen's face and went up-stairs with the tears rolling down her cheeks.
""it's my turn to wish i was dead," she muttered.
then she laughed hysterically.
""that goose of a cromwell!
how queer he did look standing there, frightened to death of lucy ellen.
poor little lucy ellen!
well, i hope he'll be good to her."
the pursuit of the ideal freda's snuggery was aglow with the rose-red splendour of an open fire which was triumphantly warding off the stealthy approaches of the dull grey autumn twilight.
roger st. clair stretched himself out luxuriously in an easy-chair with a sigh of pleasure.
""freda, your armchairs are the most comfy in the world.
how do you get them to fit into a fellow's kinks so splendidly?"
freda smiled at him out of big, owlish eyes that were the same tint as the coppery grey sea upon which the north window of the snuggery looked.
""any armchair will fit a lazy fellow's kinks," she said.
""i'm not lazy," protested roger.
""that you should say so, freda, when i have wheeled all the way out of town this dismal afternoon over the worst bicycle road in three kingdoms to see you, bonnie maid!"
""i like lazy people," said freda softly, tilting her spoon on a cup of chocolate with a slender brown hand.
roger smiled at her chummily.
""you are such a comfortable girl," he said.
""i like to talk to you and tell you things."
""you have something to tell me today.
it has been fairly sticking out of your eyes ever since you came.
now, "fess."
freda put away her cup and saucer, got up, and stood by the fireplace, with one arm outstretched along the quaintly carved old mantel.
she laid her head down on its curve and looked expectantly at roger.
""i have seen my ideal, freda," said roger gravely.
freda lifted her head and then laid it down again.
she did not speak.
roger was glad of it.
even at the moment he found himself thinking that freda had a genius for silence.
any other girl he knew would have broken in at once with surprised exclamations and questions and spoiled his story.
""you have not forgotten what my ideal woman is like?"
he said.
freda shook her head.
she was not likely to forget.
she remembered only too keenly the afternoon he had told her.
they had been sitting in the snuggery, herself in the inglenook, and roger coiled up in his big pet chair that nobody else ever sat in."
"what must my lady be that i must love her?""
he had quoted.
""well, i will paint my dream-love for you, freda.
she must be tall and slender, with chestnut hair of wonderful gloss, with just the suggestion of a ripple in it.
she must have an oval face, colourless ivory in hue, with the expression of a madonna; and her eyes must be "passionless, peaceful blue," deep and tender as a twilight sky."
freda, looking at herself along her arm in the mirror, recalled this description and smiled faintly.
she was short and plump, with a piquant, irregular little face, vivid tinting, curly, unmanageable hair of ruddy brown, and big grey eyes.
certainly, she was not his ideal.
""when and where did you meet your lady of the madonna face and twilight eyes?"
she asked.
roger frowned.
freda's face was solemn enough but her eyes looked as if she might be laughing at him.
""i have n't met her yet.
i have only seen her.
it was in the park yesterday.
she was in a carriage with the mandersons.
so beautiful, freda!
our eyes met as she drove past and i realized that i had found my long-sought ideal.
i rushed back to town and hunted up pete manderson at the club.
pete is a donkey but he has his ways of being useful.
he told me who she was.
her name is stephanie gardiner; she is his cousin from the south and is visiting his mother.
and, freda, i am to dine at the mandersons" tonight.
i shall meet her."
""do goddesses and ideals and madonnas eat?"
said freda in an awed whisper.
her eyes were certainly laughing now.
roger got up stiffly.
""i must confess i did not expect that you would ridicule my confidence, freda," he said frigidly.
""it is very unlike you.
but if you are not interested i will not bore you with any further details.
and it is time i was getting back to town anyhow."
when he had gone freda ran to the west window and flung it open.
she leaned out and waved both hands at him over the spruce hedge.
""roger, roger, i was a horrid little beast.
forget it immediately, please.
and come out tomorrow and tell me all about her."
roger came.
he bored freda terribly with his raptures but she never betrayed it.
she was all sympathy -- or, at least, as much sympathy as a woman can be who must listen while the man of men sings another woman's praises to her.
she sent roger away in perfect good humour with himself and all the world, then she curled herself up in the snuggery, pulled a rug over her head, and cried.
roger came out to lowlands oftener than ever after that.
he had to talk to somebody about stephanie gardiner and freda was the safest vent.
the "pursuit of the ideal," as she called it, went on with vim and fervour.
sometimes roger would be on the heights of hope and elation; the next visit he would be in the depths of despair and humility.
freda had learned to tell which it was by the way he opened the snuggery door.
one day when roger came he found six feet of young man reposing at ease in his particular chair.
freda was sipping chocolate in her corner and looking over the rim of her cup at the intruder just as she had been wont to look at roger.
she had on a new dark red gown and looked vivid and rose-hued.
she introduced the stranger as mr. grayson and called him tim.
they seemed to be excellent friends.
roger sat bolt upright on the edge of a fragile, gilded chair which freda kept to hide a shabby spot in the carpet, and glared at tim until the latter said goodbye and lounged out.
""you'll be over tomorrow?"
said freda.
""ca n't i come this evening?"
he pleaded.
freda nodded.
""yes -- and we'll make taffy.
you used to make such delicious stuff, tim."
""who is that fellow, freda?"
roger inquired crossly, as soon as the door closed.
freda began to make a fresh pot of chocolate.
she smiled dreamily as if thinking of something pleasant.
""why, that was tim grayson -- dear old tim.
he used to live next door to us when we were children.
and we were such chums -- always together, making mud pies, and getting into scrapes.
he is just the same old tim, and is home from the west for a long visit.
i was so glad to see him again."
""so it would appear," said roger grumpily.
""well, now that "dear old tim" is gone, i suppose i can have my own chair, can i?
and do give me some chocolate.
i did n't know you made taffy."
""oh, i do n't.
it's tim.
he can do everything.
he used to make it long ago, and i washed up after him and helped him eat it.
how is the pursuit of the ideal coming on, roger-boy?"
roger did not feel as if he wanted to talk about the ideal.
he noticed how vivid freda's smile was and how lovable were the curves of her neck where the dusky curls were caught up from it.
he had also an inner vision of freda making taffy with tim and he did not approve of it.
he refused to talk about the ideal.
on his way back to town he found himself thinking that freda had the most charming, glad little laugh of any girl he knew.
he suddenly remembered that he had never heard the ideal laugh.
she smiled placidly -- he had raved to freda about that smile -- but she did not laugh.
roger began to wonder what an ideal without any sense of humour would be like when translated into the real.
he went to lowlands the next afternoon and found tim there -- in his chair again.
he detested the fellow but he could not deny that he was good-looking and had charming manners.
freda was very nice to tim.
on his way back to town roger decided that tim was in love with freda.
he was furious at the idea.
the presumption of the man!
he also remembered that he had not said a word to freda about the ideal.
and he never did say much more -- perhaps because he could not get the chance.
tim was always there before him and generally outstayed him.
one day when he went out he did not find freda at home.
her aunt told him that she was out riding with mr. grayson.
on his way back he met them.
as they cantered by, freda waved her riding whip at him.
her face was full of warm, ripe, kissable tints, her loose lovelocks were blowing about it, and her eyes shone like grey pools mirroring stars.
roger turned and watched them out of sight behind the firs that cupped lowlands.
that night at mrs. crandall's dinner table somebody began to talk about freda.
roger strained his ears to listen.
mrs. kitty carr was speaking -- mrs. kitty knew everything and everybody.
""she is simply the most charming girl in the world when you get really acquainted with her," said mrs. kitty, with the air of having discovered and patented freda.
""she is so vivid and unconventional and lovable -- "spirit and fire and dew," you know.
tim grayson is a very lucky fellow."
""are they engaged?"
someone asked.
""not yet, i fancy.
but of course it is only a question of time.
tim simply adores her.
he is a good soul and has lots of money, so he'll do.
but really, you know, i think a prince would n't be good enough for freda."
roger suddenly became conscious that the ideal was asking him a question of which he had not heard a word.
he apologized and was forgiven.
but he went home a very miserable man.
he did not go to lowlands for two weeks.
they were the longest, most wretched two weeks he had ever lived through.
one afternoon he heard that tim grayson had gone back west.
mrs. kitty told it mournfully.
""of course, this means that freda has refused him," she said.
""she is such an odd girl."
roger went straight out to lowlands.
he found freda in the snuggery and held out his hands to her.
""freda, will you marry me?
it will take a lifetime to tell you how much i love you."
""but the ideal?"
questioned freda.
""i have just discovered what my ideal is," said roger.
""she is a dear, loyal, companionable little girl, with the jolliest laugh and the warmest, truest heart in the world.
she has starry grey eyes, two dimples, and a mouth i must and will kiss -- there -- there -- there!
freda, tell me you love me a little bit, although i've been such a besotted idiot."
""i will not let you call my husband-that-is-to-be names," said freda, snuggling down into the curve of his shoulder.
""but indeed, roger-boy, you will have to make me very, very happy to square matters up.
you have made me so unutterably unhappy for two months."
""the pursuit of the ideal is ended," declared roger.
the softening of miss cynthia "i wonder if i'd better flavour this cake with lemon or vanilla.
it's the most perplexing thing i ever heard of in my life."
miss cynthia put down the bottles with a vexed frown; her perplexity had nothing whatever to do with flavouring the golden mixture in her cake bowl.
mrs. john joe knew that; the latter had dropped in in a flurry of curiosity concerning the little boy whom she had seen about miss cynthia's place for the last two days.
her daughter kitty was with her; they both sat close together on the kitchen sofa.
""it is too bad," said mrs. john joe sympathetically.
""i do n't wonder you are mixed up.
so unexpected, too!
when did he come?"
""tuesday night," said miss cynthia.
she had decided on the vanilla and was whipping it briskly in.
""i saw an express wagon drive into the yard with a boy and a trunk in it and i went out just as he got down.
"are you my aunt cynthia?"
he said.
"who in the world are you?"
i asked.
and he says, "i'm wilbur merrivale, and my father was john merrivale.
he died three weeks ago and he said i was to come to you, because you were his sister."
well, you could just have knocked me down with a feather!"
""i'm sure," said mrs. john joe.
""but i did n't know you had a brother.
and his name -- merrivale?"
""well, he was n't any relation really.
i was about six years old when my father married his mother, the widow merrivale.
john was just my age, and we were brought up together just like brother and sister.
he was a real nice fellow, i must say.
but he went out to californy years ago, and i have n't heard a word of him for fifteen years -- did n't know if he was alive or dead.
but it seems from what i can make out from the boy, that his mother died when he was a baby, and him and john roughed it along together -- pretty poor, too, i guess -- till john took a fever and died.
and he told some of his friends to send the boy to me, for he'd no relations there and not a cent in the world.
and the child came all the way from californy, and here he is.
i've been just distracted ever since.
i've never been used to children, and to have the house kept in perpetual uproar is more than i can stand.
he's about twelve and a born mischief.
he'll tear through the rooms with his dirty feet, and he's smashed one of my blue vases and torn down a curtain and set towser on the cat half a dozen times already -- i never was so worried.
i've got him out on the verandah shelling peas now, to keep him quiet for a little spell."
""i'm really sorry for you," said mrs. john joe.
""but, poor child, i suppose he's never had anyone to look after him.
and come all the way from californy alone, too -- he must be real smart."
""too smart, i guess.
he must take after his mother, whoever she was, for there ai n't a bit of merrivale in him.
and he's been brought up pretty rough."
""well, it'll be a great responsibility for you, cynthia, of course.
but he'll be company, too, and he'll be real handy to run errands and --"" i'm not going to keep him," said miss cynthia determinedly.
her thin lips set themselves firmly and her voice had a hard ring.
""not going to keep him?"
said mrs. john joe blankly.
""you ca n't send him back to californy!"
""i do n't intend to.
but as for having him here to worry my life out and keep me in a perpetual stew, i just wo n't do it.
d'ye think i'm going to trouble myself about children at my age?
and all he'd cost for clothes and schooling, too!
i ca n't afford it.
i do n't suppose his father expected it either.
i suppose he expected me to look after him a bit -- and of course i will.
a boy of his age ought to be able to earn his keep, anyway.
if i look out a place for him somewhere where he can do odd jobs and go to school in the winter, i think it's all anyone can expect of me, when he ai n't really no blood relation."
miss cynthia flung the last sentence at mrs. john joe rather defiantly, not liking the expression on that lady's face.
""i suppose nobody could expect more, cynthy," said mrs. john joe deprecatingly.
""he would be an awful bother, i've no doubt, and you've lived alone so long with no one to worry you that you would n't know what to do with him.
boys are always getting into mischief -- my four just keep me on the dead jump.
still, it's a pity for him, poor little fellow!
no mother or father -- it seems hard."
miss cynthia's face grew grimmer than ever as she went to the door with her callers and watched them down the garden path.
as soon as mrs. john joe saw that the door was shut, she unburdened her mind to her daughter.
""did you ever hear tell of the like?
i thought i knew cynthia henderson well, if anybody in wilmot did, but this beats me.
just think, kitty -- there she is, no one knows how rich, and not a soul in the world belonging to her, and she wo n't even take in her brother's child.
she must be a hard woman.
but it's just meanness, pure and simple; she grudges him what he'd eat and wear.
the poor mite does n't look as if he'd need much.
cynthia did n't used to be like that, but it's growing on her every day.
she's got hard as rocks."
that afternoon miss cynthia harnessed her fat grey pony into the phaeton herself -- she kept neither man nor maid, but lived in her big, immaculate house in solitary state -- and drove away down the dusty, buttercup-bordered road, leaving wilbur sitting on the verandah.
she returned in an hour's time and drove into the yard, shutting the gate behind her with a vigorous snap.
wilbur was not in sight and, fearful lest he should be in mischief, she hurriedly tied the pony to the railing and went in search of him.
she found him sitting by the well, his chin in his hands; he was pale and his eyes were red.
miss cynthia hardened her heart and took him into the house.
""i've been down to see mr. robins this afternoon, wilbur," she said, pretending to brush some invisible dust from the bottom of her nice black cashmere skirt for an excuse to avoid looking at him, "and he's agreed to take you on trial.
it's a real good chance -- better than you could expect.
he says he'll board and clothe you and let you go to school in the winter."
the boy seemed to shrink.
""daddy said that i would stay with you," he said wistfully.
""he said you were so good and kind and would love me for his sake."
for a moment miss cynthia softened.
she had been very fond of her stepbrother; it seemed that his voice appealed to her across the grave in behalf of his child.
but the crust of years was not to be so easily broken.
""your father meant that i would look after you," she said, "and i mean to, but i ca n't afford to keep you here.
you'll have a good place at mr. robins", if you behave yourself.
i'm going to take you down now, before i unharness the pony, so go and wash your face while i put up your things.
do n't look so woebegone, for pity's sake!
i'm not taking you to prison."
wilbur turned and went silently to the kitchen.
miss cynthia thought she heard a sob.
she went with a firm step into the little bedroom off the hall and took a purse out of a drawer.
""i s "pose i ought," she said doubtfully.
""i do n't s "pose he has a cent.
i daresay he'll lose or waste it."
she counted out seventy-five cents carefully.
when she came out, wilbur was at the door.
she put the money awkwardly into his hand.
""there, see that you do n't spend it on any foolishness."
* * * * * miss cynthia's action made a good deal of talk in wilmot.
the women, headed by mrs. john joe -- who said behind cynthia's back what she did not dare say to her face -- condemned her.
the men laughed and said that cynthia was a shrewd one; there was no getting round her.
miss cynthia herself was far from easy.
she could not forget wilbur's wistful eyes, and she had heard that robins was a hard master.
a week after the boy had gone she saw him one day at the store.
he was lifting heavy bags from a cart.
the work was beyond his strength, and he was flushed and panting.
miss cynthia's conscience gave her a hard stab.
she bought a roll of peppermints and took them over to him.
he thanked her timidly and drove quickly away.
""robins has n't any business putting such work on a child," she said to herself indignantly.
""i'll speak to him about it."
and she did -- and got an answer that made her ears tingle.
mr. robins bluntly told her he guessed he knew what was what about his hands.
he were n't no nigger driver.
if she was n't satisfied, she might take the boy away as soon as she liked.
miss cynthia did not get much comfort out of life that summer.
almost everywhere she went she was sure to meet wilbur, engaged in some hard task.
she could not help seeing how miserably pale and thin he had become.
the worry had its effect on her.
the neighbours said that cynthy was sharper than ever.
even her church-going was embittered.
she had always enjoyed walking up the aisle with her rich silk skirt rustling over the carpet, her cashmere shawl folded correctly over her shoulders, and her lace bonnet set precisely on her thin shining crimps.
but she could take no pleasure in that or in the sermon now, when wilbur sat right across from her pew, between hard-featured robins and his sulky-looking wife.
the boy's eyes had grown too large for his thin face.
the softening of miss cynthia was a very gradual process, but it reached a climax one september morning, when mrs. john joe came into the former's kitchen with an important face.
miss cynthia was preserving her plums.
""no, thank you, i'll not sit down -- i only run in -- i suppose you've heard it.
that little merrivale boy has took awful sick with fever, they say.
he's been worked half to death this summer -- everyone knows what robins is with his help -- and they say he has fretted a good deal for his father and been homesick, and he's run down, i s "pose.
anyway, robins took him over to the hospital at stanford last night -- good gracious, cynthy, are you sick?"
miss cynthia had staggered to a seat by the table; her face was pallid.
""no, it's only your news gave me a turn -- it came so suddenly -- i did n't know."
""i must hurry back and see to the men's dinners.
i thought i'd come and tell you, though i did n't know as you'd care."
this parting shot was unheeded by miss cynthia.
she laid her face in her hands.
""it's a judgement on me," she moaned.
""he's going to die, and i'm his murderess.
this is the account i'll have to give john merrivale of his boy.
i've been a wicked, selfish woman, and i'm justly punished."
it was a humbled miss cynthia who met the doctor at the hospital that afternoon.
he shook his head at her eager questions.
""it's a pretty bad case.
the boy seems run down every way.
no, it is impossible to think of moving him again.
bringing him here last night did him a great deal of harm.
yes, you may see him, but he will not know you, i fear -- he is delirious and raves of his father and california."
miss cynthia followed the doctor down the long ward.
when he paused by a cot, she pushed past him.
wilbur lay tossing restlessly on his pillow.
he was thin to emaciation, but his cheeks were crimson and his eyes burning bright.
miss cynthia stooped and took the hot, dry hands in hers.
""wilbur," she sobbed, "do n't you know me -- aunt cynthia?"
""you are not my aunt cynthia," said wilbur.
""daddy said aunt cynthia was good and kind -- you are a cross, bad woman.
i want daddy.
why does n't he come?
why does n't he come to little wilbur?"
miss cynthia got up and faced the doctor.
""he's got to get better," she said stubbornly.
""spare no expense or trouble.
if he dies, i will be a murderess.
he must live and give me a chance to make it up for him."
and he did live; but for a long time it was a hard fight, and there were days when it seemed that death must win.
miss cynthia got so thin and wan that even mrs. john joe pitied her.
the earth seemed to miss cynthia to laugh out in prodigal joyousness on the afternoon she drove home when wilbur had been pronounced out of danger.
how tranquil the hills looked, with warm october sunshine sleeping on their sides and faint blue hazes on their brows!
how gallantly the maples flaunted their crimson flags!
how kind and friendly was every face she met!
afterwards, miss cynthia said she began to live that day.
wilbur's recovery was slow.
every day miss cynthia drove over with some dainty, and her loving gentleness sat none the less gracefully on her because of its newness.
wilbur grew to look for and welcome her coming.
when it was thought safe to remove him, miss cynthia went to the hospital with a phaeton-load of shawls and pillows.
""i have come to take you away," she said.
wilbur shrank back.
""not to mr. robins," he said piteously.
""oh, not there, aunt cynthia!"
them notorious pigs john harrington was a woman-hater, or thought that he was, which amounts to the same thing.
he was forty-five and, having been handsome in his youth, was a fine-looking man still.
he had a remarkably good farm and was a remarkably good farmer.
he also had a garden which was the pride and delight of his heart or, at least, it was before mrs. hayden's pigs got into it.
sarah king, harrington's aunt and housekeeper, was deaf and crabbed, and very few visitors ever came to the house.
this suited harrington.
he was a good citizen and did his duty by the community, but his bump of sociability was undeveloped.
he was also a contented man, looking after his farm, improving his stock, and experimenting with new bulbs in undisturbed serenity.
this, however, was all too good to last.
a man is bound to have some troubles in this life, and harrington's were near their beginning when perry hayden bought the adjoining farm from the heirs of shakespeare ely, deceased, and moved in.
to be sure, perry hayden, poor fellow, did not bother harrington much, for he died of pneumonia a month after he came there, but his widow carried on the farm with the assistance of a lank hired boy.
her own children, charles and theodore, commonly known as bobbles and ted, were as yet little more than babies.
the real trouble began when mary hayden's pigs, fourteen in number and of half-grown voracity, got into harrington's garden.
a railing, a fir grove, and an apple orchard separated the two establishments, but these failed to keep the pigs within bounds.
harrington had just got his garden planted for the season, and to go out one morning and find a horde of enterprising porkers rooting about in it was, to put it mildly, trying.
he was angry, but as it was a first offence he drove the pigs out with tolerable calmness, mended the fence, and spent the rest of the day repairing damages.
three days later the pigs got in again.
harrington relieved his mind by some scathing reflections on women who tried to run farms.
then he sent mordecai, his hired man, over to the hayden place to ask mrs. hayden if she would be kind enough to keep her pigs out of his garden.
mrs. hayden sent back word that she was very sorry and would not let it occur again.
nobody, not even john harrington, could doubt that she meant what she said.
but she had reckoned without the pigs.
they had not forgotten the flavour of egyptian fleshpots as represented by the succulent young shoots in the harrington domains.
a week later mordecai came in and told harrington that "them notorious pigs" were in his garden again.
there is a limit to everyone's patience.
harrington left mordecai to drive them out, while he put on his hat and stalked over to the haydens" place.
ted and bobbles were playing at marbles in the lane and ran when they saw him coming.
he got close up to the little low house among the apple trees before mordecai appeared in the yard, driving the pigs around the barn.
mrs. hayden was sitting on her doorstep, paring her dinner potatoes, and stood up hastily when she saw her visitor.
harrington had never seen his neighbour at close quarters before.
now he could not help seeing that she was a very pretty little woman, with wistful, dark blue eyes and an appealing expression.
mary hayden had been next to a beauty in her girlhood, and she had a good deal of her bloom left yet, although hard work and worry were doing their best to rob her of it.
but john harrington was an angry man and did not care whether the woman in question was pretty or not.
her pigs had rooted up his garden -- that fact filled his mind.
""mrs. hayden, those pigs of yours have been in my garden again.
i simply ca n't put up with this any longer.
why in the name of reason do n't you look after your animals better?
if i find them in again i'll set my dog on them, i give you fair warning."
a faint colour had crept into mary hayden's soft, milky-white cheeks during this tirade, and her voice trembled as she said, "i'm very sorry, mr. harrington.
i suppose bobbles forgot to shut the gate of their pen again this morning.
he is so forgetful."
""i'd lengthen his memory, then, if i were you," returned harrington grimly, supposing that bobbles was the hired man.
""i'm not going to have my garden ruined just because he happens to be forgetful.
i am speaking my mind plainly, madam.
if you ca n't keep your stock from being a nuisance to other people you ought not to try to run a farm at all."
then did mrs. hayden sit down upon the doorstep and burst into tears.
harrington felt, as sarah king would have expressed it, "every which way at once."
here was a nice mess!
what a nuisance women were -- worse than the pigs!
""oh, do n't cry, mrs. hayden," he said awkwardly.
""i did n't mean -- well, i suppose i spoke too strongly.
of course i know you did n't mean to let the pigs in.
there, do stop crying!
i beg your pardon if i've hurt your feelings."
""oh, it is n't that," sobbed mrs. hayden, wiping away her tears.
""it's only -- i've tried so hard -- and everything seems to go wrong.
i make such mistakes.
as for your garden, sir.
i'll pay for the damage my pigs have done if you'll let me know what it comes to."
she sobbed again and caught her breath like a grieved child.
harrington felt like a brute.
he had a queer notion that if he put his arm around her and told her not to worry over things women were not created to attend to he would be expressing his feelings better than in any other way.
but of course he could n't do that.
instead, he muttered that the damage did n't amount to much after all, and he hoped she would n't mind what he said, and then he got himself away and strode through the orchard like a man in a desperate hurry.
mordecai had gone home and the pigs were not to be seen, but a chubby little face peeped at him from between two scrub, bloom-white cherry trees.
""g'way, you bad man!"
said bobbles vindictively.
""g'way!
you made my mommer cry -- i saw you.
i'm only bobbles now, but when i grow up i'll be charles henry hayden and you wo n't dare to make my mommer cry then."
harrington smiled grimly.
""so you're the lad who forgets to shut the pigpen gate, are you?
come out here and let me see you.
who is in there with you?"
""ted is.
he's littler than me.
but i wo n't come out.
i do n't like you.
g'way home."
harrington obeyed.
he went home and to work in his garden.
but work as hard as he would, he could not forget mary hayden's grieved face.
""i was a brute!"
he thought.
""why could n't i have mentioned the matter gently?
i daresay she has enough to trouble her.
confound those pigs!"
* * * * * after that there was a time of calm.
evidently something had been done to bobbles" memory or perhaps mrs. hayden attended to the gate herself.
at all events the pigs were not seen and harrington's garden blossomed like the rose.
but harrington himself was in a bad state.
for one thing, wherever he looked he saw the mental picture of his neighbour's tired, sweet face and the tears in her blue eyes.
the original he never saw, which only made matters worse.
he wondered what opinion she had of him and decided that she must think him a cross old bear.
this worried him.
he wished the pigs would break in again so that he might have a chance to show how forbearing he could be.
one day he gathered a nice mess of tender young greens and sent them over to mrs. hayden by mordecai.
at first he had thought of sending her some flowers, but that seemed silly, and besides, mordecai and flowers were incongruous.
mrs. hayden sent back a very pretty message of thanks, whereat harrington looked radiant and mordecai, who could see through a stone wall as well as most people, went out to the barn and chuckled.
""ef the little widder hai n't caught him!
who'd a-thought it?"
the next day one adventurous pig found its way alone into the harrington garden.
harrington saw it get in and at the same moment he saw mrs. hayden running through her orchard.
she was in his yard by the time he got out.
her sunbonnet had fallen back and some loose tendrils of her auburn hair were curling around her forehead.
her cheeks were so pink and her eyes so bright from running that she looked almost girlish.
""oh, mr. harrington," she said breathlessly, "that pet pig of bobbles" is in your garden again.
he only got in this minute.
i saw him coming and i ran right after him."
""he's there, all right," said harrington cheerfully, "but i'll get him out in a jiffy.
do n't tire yourself.
wo n't you go into the house and rest while i drive him around?"
mrs. hayden, however, was determined to help and they both went around to the garden, set the gate open, and tried to drive the pig out.
but harrington was not thinking about pigs, and mrs. hayden did not know quite so much about driving them as mordecai did; as a consequence they did not make much headway.
in her excitement mrs. hayden ran over beds and whatever came in her way, and harrington, in order to keep near her, ran after her.
between them they spoiled things about as much as a whole drove of pigs would have done.
but at last the pig grew tired of the fun, bolted out of the gate, and ran across the yard to his own place.
mrs. hayden followed slowly and harrington walked beside her.
""those pigs are all to be shut up tomorrow," she said.
""hiram has been fixing up a place for them in his spare moments and it is ready at last."
""oh, i would n't," said harrington hastily.
""it is n't good for pigs to be shut up so young.
you'd better let them run a while yet."
""no," said mrs. hayden decidedly.
""they have almost worried me to death already.
in they go tomorrow."
they were at the lane gate now, and harrington had to open it and let her pass through.
he felt quite desperate as he watched her trip up through the rows of apple trees, her blue gingham skirt brushing the lush grasses where a lacy tangle of sunbeams and shadows lay.
bobbles and ted came running to meet her and the three, hand in hand, disappeared from sight.
harrington went back to the house, feeling that life was flat, stale, and unprofitable.
that evening at the tea table he caught himself wondering what it would be like to see mary hayden sitting at his table in place of sarah king, with bobbles and ted on either hand.
then he found out what was the matter with him.
he was in love, fathoms deep, with the blue-eyed widow!
presumably the pigs were shut up the next day, for harrington's garden was invaded no more.
he stood it for a week and then surrendered at discretion.
he filled a basket with early strawberries and went across to the hayden place, boldly enough to all appearance, but with his heart thumping like any schoolboy's.
the front door stood hospitably open, flanked by rows of defiant red and yellow hollyhocks.
harrington paused on the step, with his hand outstretched to knock.
somewhere inside he heard a low sobbing.
forgetting all about knocking, he stepped softly in and walked to the door of the little sitting-room.
bobbles was standing behind him in the middle of the kitchen but harrington did not see him.
he was looking at mary hayden, who was sitting by the table in the room with her arms flung out over it and her head bowed on them.
she was crying softly in a hopeless fashion.
harrington put down his strawberries.
""mary!"
he exclaimed.
mrs. hayden straightened herself up with a start and looked at him, her lips quivering and her eyes full of tears.
""what is the matter?"
said harrington anxiously.
""is anything wrong?"
""oh, nothing much," said mrs. hayden, trying to recover herself.
""yes, there is too.
but it is very foolish of me to be going on like this.
i did n't know anyone was near.
and i was feeling so discouraged.
the colt broke his leg in the swamp pasture today and hiram had to shoot him.
it was ted's colt.
but there, there is no use in crying over it."
and by way of proving this, the poor, tired, overburdened little woman began to cry again.
she was past caring whether harrington saw her or not.
the woman-hater was so distressed that he forgot to be nervous.
he sat down and put his arm around her and spoke out what was in his mind without further parley.
""do n't cry, mary.
listen to me.
you were never meant to run a farm and be killed with worry.
you ought to be looked after and petted.
i want you to marry me and then everything will be all right.
i've loved you ever since that day i came over here and made you cry.
do you think you can like me a little, mary?"
it may be that mrs. hayden was not very much surprised, because harrington's face had been like an open book the day they chased the pig out of the garden together.
as for what she said, perhaps bobbles, who was surreptitiously gorging himself on harrington's strawberries, may tell you, but i certainly shall not.
the little brown house among the apple trees is shut up now and the boundary fence belongs to ancient history.
sarah king has gone also and mrs. john harrington reigns royally in her place.
bobbles and ted have a small, blue-eyed, much-spoiled sister, and there is a pig on the estate who may die of old age, but will never meet his doom otherwise.
it is bobbles" pig and one of the famous fourteen.
mordecai still shambles around and worships mrs. harrington.
the garden is the same as of yore, but the house is a different place and harrington is a different man.
and mordecai will tell you with a chuckle, "it was them notorious pigs as did it all."
why not ask miss price?
frances allen came in from the post office and laid an open letter on the table beside her mother, who was making mincemeat.
alma allen looked up from the cake she was frosting to ask, "what is the matter?
you look as if your letter contained unwelcome news, fan."
""so it does.
it is from aunt clara, to say she can not come.
she has received a telegram that her sister-in-law is very ill and she must go to her at once."
mrs. allen looked regretful, and alma cast her spoon away with a tragic air.
""that is too bad.
i feel as if our celebration were spoiled.
but i suppose it ca n't be helped."
""no," agreed frances, sitting down and beginning to peel apples.
""so there is no use in lamenting, or i would certainly sit down and cry, i feel so disappointed."
""is uncle frank coming?"
""yes, aunt clara says he will come down from stellarton if mrs. king does not get worse.
so that will leave just one vacant place.
we must invite someone to fill it up.
who shall it be?"
both girls looked rather puzzled.
mrs. allen smiled a quiet little smile all to herself and went on chopping suet.
she had handed the thanksgiving dinner over to frances and alma this year.
they were to attend to all the preparations and invite all the guests.
but although they had made or planned several innovations in the dinner itself, they had made no change in the usual list of guests.
""it must just be the time-honoured family affair," frances had declared.
""if we begin inviting other folks, there is no knowing when to draw the line.
we ca n't have more than fourteen, and some of our friends would be sure to feel slighted."
so the same old list it was.
but now aunt clara -- dear, jolly aunt clara, whom everybody in the connection loved and admired -- could not come, and her place must be filled.
""we ca n't invite the new minister, because we would have to have his sister, too," said frances.
""and there is no reason for asking any one of our girl chums more than another."
""mother, you will have to help us out," said alma.
""ca n't you suggest a substitute guest?"
mrs. allen looked down at the two bright, girlish faces turned up to her and said slowly, "i think i can, but i am not sure my choice will please you.
why not ask miss price?"
miss price!
they had never thought of her!
she was the pale, timid-looking little teacher in the primary department of the hazelwood school.
""miss price?"
repeated frances slowly.
""why, mother, we hardly know her.
she is dreadfully dull and quiet, i think."
""and so shy," said alma.
""why, at the wards" party the other night she looked startled to death if anyone spoke to her.
i believe she would be frightened to come here for thanksgiving."
""she is a very lonely little creature," said mrs. allen gently, "and does n't seem to have anyone belonging to her.
i think she would be very glad to get an invitation to spend thanksgiving elsewhere than in that cheerless little boarding-house where she lives."
""of course, if you would like to have her, mother, we will ask her," said frances.
""no, girls," said mrs. allen seriously.
""you must not ask miss price on my account, if you do not feel prepared to make her welcome for her own sake.
i had hoped that your own kind hearts might have prompted you to extend a little thanksgiving cheer in a truly thanksgiving spirit to a lonely, hard-working girl whose life i do not think is a happy one.
but there, i shall not preach.
this is your dinner, and you must please yourselves as to your guests."
frances and alma had both flushed, and they now remained silent for a few minutes.
then frances sprang up and threw her arms around her mother.
""you're right, mother dear, as you always are, and we are very selfish girls.
we will ask miss price and try to give her a nice time.
i'll go down this very evening and see her."
* * * * * in the grey twilight of the chilly autumn evening bertha price walked home to her boarding-house, her pale little face paler, and her grey eyes sadder than ever, in the fading light.
only two days until thanksgiving -- but there would be no real thanksgiving for her.
why, she asked herself rebelliously, when there seemed so much love in the world, was she denied her share?
her landlady met her in the hall.
""miss allen is in the parlour, miss price.
she wants to see you."
bertha went into the parlour somewhat reluctantly.
she had met frances allen only once or twice and she was secretly almost afraid of the handsome, vivacious girl who was so different from herself.
""i am sorry you have had to wait, miss allen," she said shyly.
""i went to see a pupil of mine who is ill and i was kept later than i expected."
""my errand wo n't take very long," said frances brightly.
""mother wants you to spend thanksgiving day with us, miss price, if you have no other engagement.
we will have a few other guests, but nobody outside our own family except mr. seeley, who is the law partner and intimate friend of my brother ernest in town.
you'll come, wo n't you?"
""oh, thank you, yes," said bertha, in pleased surprise.
""i shall be very glad to go.
why, it is so nice to think of it.
i expected my thanksgiving day to be lonely and sad -- not a bit thanksgivingy."
""we shall expect you then," said frances, with a cordial little hand-squeeze.
""come early in the morning, and we will have a real friendly, pleasant day."
that night frances said to her mother and sister, "you never saw such a transfigured face as miss price's when i asked her up.
she looked positively pretty -- such a lovely pink came out on her cheeks and her eyes shone like stars.
she reminded me so much of somebody i've seen, but i ca n't think who it is.
i'm so glad we've asked her here for thanksgiving!"
* * * * * thanksgiving came, as bright and beautiful as a day could be, and the allens" guests came with it.
bertha price was among them, paler and shyer than ever.
ernest allen and his friend, maxwell seeley, came out from town on the morning train.
after all the necessary introductions had been made, frances flew to the kitchen.
""i've found out who it is miss price reminds me of," she said, as she bustled about the range.
""it's max seeley.
you need n't laugh, al..
it's a fact.
i noticed it the minute i introduced them.
he's plump and prosperous and she's pinched and pale, but there's a resemblance nevertheless.
look for yourself and see if it is n't so."
back in the big, cheery parlour the thanksgiving guests were amusing themselves in various ways.
max seeley had given an odd little start when he was introduced to miss price, and as soon as possible he followed her to the corner where she had taken refuge.
ernest allen was out in the kitchen talking to his sisters, the "uncles and cousins and aunts" were all chattering to each other, and mr. seeley and miss price were quite unnoticed.
""you will excuse me, wo n't you, miss price, if i ask you something about yourself?"
he said eagerly.
""the truth is, you look so strikingly like someone i used to know that i feel sure you must be related to her.
i do not think i have any relatives of your name.
have you any of mine?"
bertha flushed, hesitated for an instant, then said frankly, "no, i do not think so.
but i may as well tell you that price is not my real name and i do not know what it is, although i think it begins with s. i believe that my parents died when i was about three years old, and i was then taken to an orphan asylum.
the next year i was taken from there and adopted by mrs. price.
she was very kind to me and treated me as her own daughter.
i had a happy home with her, although we were poor.
mrs. price wished me to bear her name, and i did so.
she never told me my true surname, perhaps she did not know it.
she died when i was sixteen, and since then i have been quite alone in the world.
that is all i know about myself."
max seeley was plainly excited.
""why do you think your real name begins with s?"
he asked.
""i have a watch which belonged to my mother, with the monogram "b.s." on the case.
it was left with the matron of the asylum and she gave it to mrs. price for me.
here it is."
max seeley almost snatched the old-fashioned little silver watch, from her hand and opened the case.
an exclamation escaped him as he pointed to some scratches on the inner side.
they looked like the initials m.a.s. "let me tell my story now," he said.
""my name is maxwell seeley.
my father died when i was seven years old, and my mother a year later.
my little sister, bertha, then three years old, and i were left quite alone and very poor.
we had no relatives.
i was adopted by a well-to-do old bachelor, who had known my father.
my sister was taken to an orphan asylum in a city some distance away.
i was very much attached to her and grieved bitterly over our parting.
my adopted father was very kind to me and gave me a good education.
i did not forget my sister, and as soon as i could i went to the asylum.
i found that she had been taken away long before, and i could not even discover who had adopted her, for the original building, with all its records, had been destroyed by fire two years previous to my visit.
i never could find any clue to her whereabouts, and long since gave up all hope of finding her.
but i have found her at last.
you are bertha seeley, my little sister!"
""oh -- can it be possible!"
""more than possible -- it is certain.
you are the image of my mother, as i remember her, and as an old daguerreotype i have pictures her.
and this is her watch -- see, i scratched my own initials on the case one day.
there is no doubt in the world.
oh, bertha, are you half as glad as i am?"
""glad!"
bertha's eyes were shining like stars.
she tried to smile, but burst into tears instead and her head went down on her brother's shoulder.
by this time everybody in the room was staring at the extraordinary tableau, and ernest, coming through the hall, gave a whistle of astonishment that brought the two in the corner back to a sense of their surroundings.
""i have n't suddenly gone crazy, ernest, old fellow," smiled max.
""ladies and gentlemen all, this little school-ma "am was introduced to you as miss price, but that was a mistake.
let me introduce her again as miss bertha seeley, my long-lost and newly-found sister."
well they had an amazing time then, of course.
they laughed and questioned and explained until the dinner was in imminent danger of getting stone-cold on the dining-room table.
luckily, alma and frances remembered it just in the nick of time, and they all got out, somehow, and into their places.
it was a splendid dinner, but i believe that maxwell and bertha seeley did n't know what they were eating, any more than if it had been sawdust.
however, the rest of the guests made up for that, and did full justice to the girls" cookery.
in the afternoon they all went to church, and at least two hearts were truly and devoutly thankful that day.
when the dusk came, ernest and maxwell had to catch the last train for town, and the other guests went home, with the exception of bertha, who was to stay all night.
just as soon as her resignation could be effected, she was to join her brother.
""meanwhile, i'll see about getting a house to put you in," said max.
""no more boarding out for me, ernest.
you may consider me as a family man henceforth."
frances and alma talked it all over before they went to sleep that night.
""just think," said frances, "if we had n't asked her here today she might never have found her brother!
it's all mother's doing, bless her!
things do happen like a storybook sometimes, do n't they, al?
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___lucy_maud_montgomery_short_stories,_1905_to_1906.txt.out
a correspondence and a climax at sunset sidney hurried to her room to take off the soiled and faded cotton dress she had worn while milking.
she had milked eight cows and pumped water for the milk-cans afterward in the fag-end of a hot summer day.
she did that every night, but tonight she had hurried more than usual because she wanted to get her letter written before the early farm bedtime.
she had been thinking it out while she milked the cows in the stuffy little pen behind the barn.
this monthly letter was the only pleasure and stimulant in her life.
existence would have been, so sidney thought, a dreary, unbearable blank without it.
she cast aside her milking-dress with a thrill of distaste that tingled to her rosy fingertips.
as she slipped into her blue-print afternoon dress her aunt called to her from below.
sidney ran out to the dark little entry and leaned over the stair railing.
below in the kitchen there was a hubbub of laughing, crying, quarrelling children, and a reek of bad tobacco smoke drifted up to the girl's disgusted nostrils.
aunt jane was standing at the foot of the stairs with a lamp in one hand and a year-old baby clinging to the other.
she was a big shapeless woman with a round good-natured face -- cheerful and vulgar as a sunflower was aunt jane at all times and occasions.
""i want to run over and see how mrs. brixby is this evening, siddy, and you must take care of the baby till i get back."
sidney sighed and went downstairs for the baby.
it never would have occurred to her to protest or be petulant about it.
she had all her aunt's sweetness of disposition, if she resembled her in nothing else.
she had not grumbled because she had to rise at four that morning, get breakfast, milk the cows, bake bread, prepare seven children for school, get dinner, preserve twenty quarts of strawberries, get tea, and milk the cows again.
all her days were alike as far as hard work and dullness went, but she accepted them cheerfully and uncomplainingly.
but she did resent having to look after the baby when she wanted to write her letter.
she carried the baby to her room, spread a quilt on the floor for him to sit on, and gave him a box of empty spools to play with.
fortunately he was a phlegmatic infant, fond of staying in one place, and not given to roaming about in search of adventures; but sidney knew she would have to keep an eye on him, and it would be distracting to literary effort.
she got out her box of paper and sat down by the little table at the window with a small kerosene lamp at her elbow.
the room was small -- a mere box above the kitchen which sidney shared with two small cousins.
her bed and the cot where the little girls slept filled up almost all the available space.
the furniture was poor, but everything was neat -- it was the only neat room in the house, indeed, for tidiness was no besetting virtue of aunt jane's.
opposite sidney was a small muslined and befrilled toilet-table, above which hung an eight-by-six-inch mirror, in which sidney saw herself reflected as she devoutly hoped other people did not see her.
just at that particular angle one eye appeared to be as large as an orange, while the other was the size of a pea, and the mouth zigzagged from ear to ear.
sidney hated that mirror as virulently as she could hate anything.
it seemed to her to typify all that was unlovely in her life.
the mirror of existence into which her fresh young soul had looked for twenty years gave back to her wistful gaze just such distortions of fair hopes and ideals.
half of the little table by which she sat was piled high with books -- old books, evidently well read and well-bred books, classics of fiction and verse every one of them, and all bearing on the flyleaf the name of sidney richmond, thereby meaning not the girl at the table, but her college-bred young father who had died the day before she was born.
her mother had died the day after, and sidney thereupon had come into the hands of good aunt jane, with those books for her dowry, since nothing else was left after the expenses of the double funeral had been paid.
one of the books had sidney richmond's name printed on the title-page instead of written on the flyleaf.
it was a thick little volume of poems, published in his college days -- musical, unsubstantial, pretty little poems, every one of which the girl sidney loved and knew by heart.
sidney dropped her pointed chin in her hands and looked dreamily out into the moonlit night, while she thought her letter out a little more fully before beginning to write.
her big brown eyes were full of wistfulness and romance; for sidney was romantic, albeit a faithful and understanding acquaintance with her father's books had given to her romance refinement and reason, and the delicacy of her own nature had imparted to it a self-respecting bias.
presently she began to write, with a flush of real excitement on her face.
in the middle of things the baby choked on a small twist spool and sidney had to catch him up by the heels and hold him head downward until the trouble was ejected.
then she had to soothe him, and finally write the rest of her letter holding him on one arm and protecting the epistle from the grabs of his sticky little fingers.
it was certainly letter-writing under difficulties, but sidney seemed to deal with them mechanically.
her soul and understanding were elsewhere.
four years before, when sidney was sixteen, still calling herself a schoolgirl by reason of the fact that she could be spared to attend school four months in the winter when work was slack, she had been much interested in the "maple leaf" department of the montreal weekly her uncle took.
it was a page given over to youthful canadians and filled with their contributions in the way of letters, verses, and prize essays.
noms de plume were signed to these, badges were sent to those who joined the maple leaf club, and a general delightful sense of mystery pervaded the department.
often a letter concluded with a request to the club members to correspond with the writer.
one such request went from sidney under the pen-name of "ellen douglas."
the girl was lonely in plainfield; she had no companions or associates such as she cared for; the maple leaf club represented all that her life held of outward interest, and she longed for something more.
only one answer came to "ellen douglas," and that was forwarded to her by the long-suffering editor of "the maple leaf."
it was from john lincoln of the bar n ranch, alberta.
he wrote that, although his age debarred him from membership in the club -lrb- he was twenty, and the limit was eighteen -rrb-, he read the letters of the department with much interest, and often had thought of answering some of the requests for correspondents.
he never had done so, but "ellen douglas's" letter was so interesting that he had decided to write to her.
would she be kind enough to correspond with him?
life on the bar n, ten miles from the outposts of civilization, was lonely.
he was two years out from the east, and had not yet forgotten to be homesick at times.
sidney liked the letter and answered it.
since then they had written to each other regularly.
there was nothing sentimental, hinted at or implied, in the correspondence.
whatever the faults of sidney's romantic visions were, they did not tend to precocious flirtation.
the plainfield boys, attracted by her beauty and repelled by her indifference and aloofness, could have told that.
she never expected to meet john lincoln, nor did she wish to do so.
in the correspondence itself she found her pleasure.
john lincoln wrote breezy accounts of ranch life and adventures on the far western plains, so alien and remote from snug, humdrum plainfield life that sidney always had the sensation of crossing a gulf when she opened a letter from the bar n.
as for sidney's own letter, this is the way it read as she wrote it: "the evergreens," plainfield.
dear mr. lincoln: the very best letter i can write in the half-hour before the carriage will be at the door to take me to mrs. braddon's dance shall be yours tonight.
i am sitting here in the library arrayed in my smartest, newest, whitest, silkiest gown, with a string of pearls which uncle james gave me today about my throat -- the dear, glistening, sheeny things!
and i am looking forward to the "dances and delight" of the evening with keen anticipation.
you asked me in your last letter if i did not sometimes grow weary of my endless round of dances and dinners and social functions.
no, no, never!
i enjoy every one of them, every minute of them.
i love life and its bloom and brilliancy; i love meeting new people; i love the ripple of music, the hum of laughter and conversation.
every morning when i awaken the new day seems to me to be a good fairy who will bring me some beautiful gift of joy.
the gift she gave me today was my sunset gallop on my grey mare lady.
the thrill of it is in my veins yet.
i distanced the others who rode with me and led the homeward canter alone, rocking along a dark, gleaming road, shadowy with tall firs and pines, whose balsam made all the air resinous around me.
before me was a long valley filled with purple dusk, and beyond it meadows of sunset and great lakes of saffron and rose where a soul might lose itself in colour.
on my right was the harbour, silvered over with a rising moon.
oh, it was all glorious -- the clear air with its salt-sea tang, the aroma of the pines, the laughter of my friends behind me, the spring and rhythm of lady's grey satin body beneath me!
i wanted to ride on so forever, straight into the heart of the sunset.
then home and to dinner.
we have a houseful of guests at present -- one of them an old statesman with a massive silver head, and eyes that have looked into people's thoughts so long that you have an uncanny feeling that they can see right through your soul and read motives you dare not avow even to yourself.
i was terribly in awe of him at first, but when i got acquainted with him i found him charming.
he is not above talking delightful nonsense even to a girl.
i sat by him at dinner, and he talked to me -- not nonsense, either, this time.
he told me of his political contests and diplomatic battles; he was wise and witty and whimsical.
i felt as if i were drinking some rare, stimulating mental wine.
what a privilege it is to meet such men and take a peep through their wise eyes at the fascinating game of empire-building!
i met another clever man a few evenings ago.
a lot of us went for a sail on the harbour.
mrs. braddon's house party came too.
we had three big white boats that skimmed down the moonlit channel like great white sea birds.
there was another boat far across the harbour, and the people in it were singing.
the music drifted over the water to us, so sad and sweet and beguiling that i could have cried for very pleasure.
one of mrs. braddon's guests said to me: "that is the soul of music with all its sense and earthliness refined away."
i had n't thought about him before -- i had n't even caught his name in the general introduction.
he was a tall, slight man, with a worn, sensitive face and iron-grey hair -- a quiet man who had n't laughed or talked.
but he began to talk to me then, and i forgot all about the others.
i never had listened to anybody in the least like him.
he talked of books and music, of art and travel.
he had been all over the world, and had seen everything everybody else had seen and everything they had n't too, i think.
i seemed to be looking into an enchanted mirror where all my own dreams and ideals were reflected back to me, but made, oh, so much more beautiful!
on my way home after the braddon people had left us somebody asked me how i liked paul moore!
the man i had been talking with was paul moore, the great novelist!
i was almost glad i had n't known it while he was talking to me -- i should have been too awed and reverential to have really enjoyed his conversation.
as it was, i had contradicted him twice, and he had laughed and liked it.
but his books will always have a new meaning to me henceforth, through the insight he himself has given me.
it is such meetings as these that give life its sparkle for me.
but much of its abiding sweetness comes from my friendship with margaret raleigh.
you will be weary of my rhapsodies over her.
but she is such a rare and wonderful woman; much older then i am, but so young in heart and soul and freshness of feeling!
she is to me mother and sister and wise, clear-sighted friend.
to her i go with all my perplexities and hopes and triumphs.
she has sympathy and understanding for my every mood.
i love life so much for giving me such a friendship!
this morning i wakened at dawn and stole away to the shore before anyone else was up.
i had a delightful run-away.
the long, low-lying meadows between "the evergreens" and the shore were dewy and fresh in that first light, that was as fine and purely tinted as the heart of one of my white roses.
on the beach the water was purring in little blue ripples, and, oh, the sunrise out there beyond the harbour!
all the eastern heaven was abloom with it.
and there was a wind that came dancing and whistling up the channel to replace the beautiful silence with a music more beautiful still.
the rest of the folks were just coming downstairs when i got back to breakfast.
they were all yawny, and some were grumpy, but i had washed my being in the sunrise and felt as blithesome as the day.
oh, life is so good to live!
tomorrow uncle james's new vessel, the white lady, is to be launched.
we are going to make a festive occasion of it, and i am to christen her with a bottle of cobwebby old wine.
but i hear the carriage, and aunt jane is calling me.
i had a great deal more to say -- about your letter, your big "round-up" and your tribulations with your chinese cook -- but i've only time now to say goodbye.
you wish me a lovely time at the dance and a full programme, do n't you?
yours sincerely, sidney richmond.
aunt jane came home presently and carried away her sleeping baby.
sidney said her prayers, went to bed, and slept soundly and serenely.
she mailed her letter the next day, and a month later an answer came.
sidney read it as soon as she left the post office, and walked the rest of the way home as in a nightmare, staring straight ahead of her with wide-open, unseeing brown eyes.
john lincoln's letter was short, but the pertinent paragraph of it burned itself into sidney's brain.
he wrote: i am going east for a visit.
it is six years since i was home, and it seems like three times six.
i shall go by the c.p.r., which passes through plainfield, and i mean to stop off for a day.
you will let me call and see you, wo n't you?
i shall have to take your permission for granted, as i shall be gone before a letter from you can reach the bar n. i leave for the east in five days, and shall look forward to our meeting with all possible interest and pleasure.
sidney did not sleep that night, but tossed restlessly about or cried in her pillow.
she was so pallid and hollow-eyed the next morning that aunt jane noticed it, and asked her what the matter was.
""nothing," said sidney sharply.
sidney had never spoken sharply to her aunt before.
the good woman shook her head.
she was afraid the child was "taking something."
""do n't do much today, siddy," she said kindly.
""just lie around and take it easy till you get rested up.
i'll fix you a dose of quinine."
sidney refused to lie around and take it easy.
she swallowed the quinine meekly enough, but she worked fiercely all day, hunting out superfluous tasks to do.
that night she slept the sleep of exhaustion, but her dreams were unenviable and the awakening was terrible.
any day, any hour, might bring john lincoln to plainfield.
what should she do?
hide from him?
refuse to see him?
but he would find out the truth just the same; she would lose his friendships and respect just as surely.
sidney trod the way of the transgressor, and found that its thorns pierced to bone and marrow.
everything had come to an end -- nothing was left to her!
in the untried recklessness of twenty untempered years she wished she could die before john lincoln came to plainfield.
the eyes of youth could not see how she could possibly live afterward.
* * * * * some days later a young man stepped from the c.p.r. train at plainfield station and found his way to the one small hotel the place boasted.
after getting his supper he asked the proprietor if he could direct him to "the evergreens."
caleb williams looked at his guest in bewilderment.
""never heerd o" such a place," he said.
""it is the name of mr. conway's estate -- mr. james conway," explained john lincoln.
""oh, jim conway's place!"
said caleb.
""did n't know that was what he called it.
sartin i kin tell you whar" to find it.
you see that road out thar"?
well, just follow it straight along for a mile and a half till you come to a blacksmith's forge.
jim conway's house is just this side of it on the right -- back from the road a smart piece and no other handy.
you ca n't mistake it."
john lincoln did not expect to mistake it, once he found it; he knew by heart what it appeared like from sidney's description: an old stately mansion of mellowed brick, covered with ivy and set back from the highway amid fine ancestral trees, with a pine-grove behind it, a river to the left, and a harbour beyond.
he strode along the road in the warm, ruddy sunshine of early evening.
it was not a bad-looking road at all; the farmsteads sprinkled along it were for the most part snug and wholesome enough; yet somehow it was different from what he had expected it to be.
and there was no harbour or glimpse of distant sea visible.
had the hotel-keeper made a mistake?
perhaps he had meant some other james conway.
presently he found himself before the blacksmith's forge.
beside it was a rickety, unpainted gate opening into a snake-fenced lane feathered here and there with scrubby little spruces.
it ran down a bare hill, crossed a little ravine full of young white-stemmed birches, and up another bare hill to an equally bare crest where a farmhouse was perched -- a farmhouse painted a stark, staring yellow and the ugliest thing in farmhouses that john lincoln had ever seen, even among the log shacks of the west.
he knew now that he had been misdirected, but as there seemed to be nobody about the forge he concluded that he had better go to the yellow house and inquire within.
he passed down the lane and over the little rustic bridge that spanned the brook.
just beyond was another home-made gate of poles.
lincoln opened it, or rather he had his hand on the hasp of twisted withes which secured it, when he was suddenly arrested by the apparition of a girl, who flashed around the curve of young birch beyond and stood before him with panting breath and quivering lips.
""i beg your pardon," said john lincoln courteously, dropping the gate and lifting his hat.
""i am looking for the house of mr. james conway -- "the evergreens."
can you direct me to it?"
""that is mr. james conway's house," said the girl, with the tragic air and tone of one driven to desperation and an impatient gesture of her hand toward the yellow nightmare above them.
""i do n't think he can be the one i mean," said lincoln perplexedly.
""the man i am thinking of has a niece, miss richmond."
""there is no other james conway in plainfield," said the girl.
""this is his place -- nobody calls it "the evergreens" but myself.
i am sidney richmond."
for a moment they looked at each other across the gate, sheer amazement and bewilderment holding john lincoln mute.
sidney, burning with shame, saw that this stranger was exceedingly good to look upon -- tall, clean-limbed, broad-shouldered, with clear-cut bronzed features and a chin and eyes that would have done honour to any man.
john lincoln, among all his confused sensations, was aware that this slim, agitated young creature before him was the loveliest thing he ever had seen, so lithe was her figure, so glossy and dark and silken her bare, wind-ruffled hair, so big and brown and appealing her eyes, so delicately oval her flushed cheeks.
he felt that she was frightened and in trouble, and he wanted to comfort and reassure her.
but how could she be sidney richmond?
""i do n't understand," he said perplexedly.
""oh!"
sidney threw out her hands in a burst of passionate protest.
""no, and you never will understand -- i ca n't make you understand."
""i do n't understand," said john lincoln again.
""can you be sidney richmond -- the sidney richmond who has written to me for four years?"
""i am."
""then, those letters --" "were all lies," said sidney bluntly and desperately.
""there was nothing true in them -- nothing at all.
this is my home.
we are poor.
everything i told you about it and my life was just imagination."
""then why did you write them?"
he asked blankly.
""why did you deceive me?"
""oh, i did n't mean to deceive you!
i never thought of such a thing.
when you asked me to write to you i wanted to, but i did n't know what to write about to a stranger.
i just could n't write you about my life here, not because it was hard, but it was so ugly and empty.
so i wrote instead of the life i wanted to live -- the life i did live in imagination.
and when once i had begun, i had to keep it up.
i found it so fascinating, too!
those letters made that other life seem real to me.
i never expected to meet you.
these last four days since your letter came have been dreadful to me.
oh, please go away and forgive me if you can!
i know i can never make you understand how it came about."
sidney turned away and hid her burning face against the cool white bark of the birch tree behind her.
it was worse than she had even thought it would be.
he was so handsome, so manly, so earnest-eyed!
oh, what a friend to lose!
john lincoln opened the gate and went up to her.
there was a great tenderness in his face, mingled with a little kindly, friendly amusement.
""please do n't distress yourself so, sidney," he said, unconsciously using her christian name.
""i think i do understand.
i'm not such a dull fellow as you take me for.
after all, those letters were true -- or, rather, there was truth in them.
you revealed yourself more faithfully in them than if you had written truly about your narrow outward life."
sidney turned her flushed face and wet eyes slowly toward him, a little smile struggling out amid the clouds of woe.
this young man was certainly good at understanding.
""you -- you'll forgive me then?"
she stammered.
""yes, if there is anything to forgive.
and for my own part, i am glad you are not what i have always thought you were.
if i had come here and found you what i expected, living in such a home as i expected, i never could have told you or even thought of telling you what you have come to mean to me in these lonely years during which your letters have been the things most eagerly looked forward to.
i should have come this evening and spent an hour or so with you, and then have gone away on the train tomorrow morning, and that would have been all.
""but i find instead just a dreamy romantic little girl, much like my sisters at home, except that she is a great deal cleverer.
and as a result i mean to stay a week at plainfield and come to see you every day, if you will let me.
and on my way back to the bar n i mean to stop off at plainfield again for another week, and then i shall tell you something more -- something it would be a little too bold to say now, perhaps, although i could say it just as well and truly.
all this if i may.
may i, sidney?"
he bent forward and looked earnestly into her face.
sidney felt a new, curious, inexplicable thrill at her heart.
""oh, yes.
-- i suppose so," she said shyly.
""now, take me up to the house and introduce me to your aunt jane," said john lincoln in satisfied tone.
an adventure on island rock "who was the man i saw talking to you in the hayfield?"
asked aunt kate, as uncle richard came to dinner.
""bob marks," said uncle richard briefly.
""i've sold laddie to him."
ernest hughes, the twelve-year-old orphan boy whom uncle "boarded and kept" for the chores he did, suddenly stopped eating.
""oh, mr. lawson, you're not going to sell laddie?"
he cried chokily.
uncle richard stared at him.
never before, in the five years that ernest had lived with him, had the quiet little fellow spoken without being spoken to, much less ventured to protest against anything uncle richard might do.
""certainly i am," answered the latter curtly.
""bob offered me twenty dollars for the dog, and he's coming after him next week."
""oh, mr. lawson," said ernest, rising to his feet, his small, freckled face crimson.
""oh, do n't sell laddie!
please, mr. lawson, do n't sell him!"
""what nonsense is this?"
said uncle richard sharply.
he was a man who brooked no opposition from anybody, and who never changed his mind when it was once made up.
""do n't sell laddie!"
pleaded ernest miserably.
""he is the only friend i've got.
i ca n't live if laddie goes away.
oh, do n't sell him, mr. lawson!"
""sit down and hold your tongue," said uncle richard sternly.
""the dog is mine, and i shall do with him as i think fit.
he is sold, and that is all there is about it.
go on with your dinner."
but ernest for the first time did not obey.
he snatched his cap from the back of his chair, dashed it down over his eyes, and ran from the kitchen with a sob choking his breath.
uncle richard looked angry, but aunt kate hastened to soothe him.
""do n't be vexed with the boy, richard," she said.
""you know he is very fond of laddie.
he's had to do with him ever since he was a pup, and no doubt he feels badly at the thought of losing him.
i'm rather sorry myself that you have sold the dog."
""well, he is sold and there's an end of it.
i do n't say but that the dog is a good dog.
but he is of no use to us, and twenty dollars will come in mighty handy just now.
he's worth that to bob, for he is a good watch dog, so we've both made a fair bargain."
nothing more was said about ernest or laddie.
i had taken no part in the discussion, for i felt no great interest in the matter.
laddie was a nice dog; ernest was a quiet, inoffensive little fellow, five years younger than myself; that was all i thought about either of them.
i was spending my vacation at uncle richard's farm on the nova scotian bay of fundy shore.
i was a great favourite with uncle richard, partly because he had been much attached to my mother, his only sister, partly because of my strong resemblance to his only son, who had died several years before.
uncle richard was a stern, undemonstrative man, but i knew that he entertained a deep and real affection for me, and i always enjoyed my vacation sojourns at his place.
""what are you going to do this afternoon, ned?"
he asked, after the disturbance caused by ernest's outbreak had quieted down.
""i think i'll row out to island rock," i replied.
""i want to take some views of the shore from it."
uncle richard nodded.
he was much interested in my new camera.
""if you're on it about four o'clock, you'll get a fine view of the "hole in the wall" when the sun begins to shine on the water through it," he said.
""i've often thought it would make a handsome picture."
""after i've finished taking the pictures, i think i'll go down shore to uncle adam's and stay all night," i said.
""jim's dark room is more convenient than mine, and he has some pictures he is going to develop tonight, too."
i started for the shore about two o'clock.
ernest was sitting on the woodpile as i passed through the yard, with his arms about laddie's neck and his face buried in laddie's curly hair.
laddie was a handsome and intelligent black-and-white newfoundland, with a magnificent coat.
he and ernest were great chums.
i felt sorry for the boy who was to lose his pet.
""do n't take it so hard, ern," i said, trying to comfort him.
""uncle will likely get another pup."
""i do n't want any other pup!"
ernest blurted out.
""oh, ned, wo n't you try and coax your uncle not to sell him?
perhaps he'd listen to you."
i shook my head.
i knew uncle richard too well to hope that.
""not in this case, ern," i said.
""he would say it did not concern me, and you know nothing moves him when he determines on a thing.
you'll have to reconcile yourself to losing laddie, i'm afraid."
ernest's tow-coloured head went down on laddie's neck again, and i, deciding that there was no use in saying anything more, proceeded towards the shore, which was about a mile from uncle richard's house.
the beach along his farm and for several farms along shore was a lonely, untenanted one, for the fisher-folk all lived two miles further down, at rowley's cove.
about three hundred yards from the shore was the peculiar formation known as island rock.
this was a large rock that stood abruptly up out of the water.
below, about the usual water-line, it was seamed and fissured, but its summit rose up in a narrow, flat-topped peak.
at low tide twenty feet of it was above water, but at high tide it was six feet and often more under water.
i pushed uncle richard's small flat down the rough path and rowed out to island rock.
arriving there, i thrust the painter deep into a narrow cleft.
this was the usual way of mooring it, and no doubt of its safety occurred to me.
i scrambled up the rock and around to the eastern end, where there was a broader space for standing and from which some capital views could be obtained.
the sea about the rock was calm, but there was quite a swell on and an off-shore breeze was blowing.
there were no boats visible.
the tide was low, leaving bare the curious caves and headlands along shore, and i secured a number of excellent snapshots.
it was now three o'clock.
i must wait another hour yet before i could get the best view of the "hole in the wall" -- a huge, arch-like opening through a jutting headland to the west of me.
i went around to look at it, when i saw a sight that made me stop short in dismay.
this was nothing less than the flat, drifting outward around the point.
the swell and suction of the water around the rock must have pulled her loose -- and i was a prisoner!
at first my only feeling was one of annoyance.
then a thought flashed into my mind that made me dizzy with fear.
the tide would be high that night.
if i could not escape from island rock i would inevitably be drowned.
i sat down limply on a ledge and tried to look matters fairly in the face.
i could not swim; calls for help could not reach anybody; my only hope lay in the chance of somebody passing down the shore or of some boat appearing.
i looked at my watch.
it was a quarter past three.
the tide would begin to turn about five, but it would be at least ten before the rock would be covered.
i had, then, little more than six hours to live unless rescued.
the flat was by this time out of sight around the point.
i hoped that the sight of an empty flat drifting down shore might attract someone's attention and lead to investigation.
that seemed to be my only hope.
no alarm would be felt at uncle richard's because of my non-appearance.
they would suppose i had gone to uncle adam's.
i have heard of time seeming long to a person in my predicament, but to me it seemed fairly to fly, for every moment decreased my chance of rescue.
i determined i would not give way to cowardly fear, so, with a murmured prayer for help, i set myself to the task of waiting for death as bravely as possible.
at intervals i shouted as loudly as i could and, when the sun came to the proper angle for the best view of the "hole in the wall," i took the picture.
it afterwards turned out to be a great success, but i have never been able to look at it without a shudder.
at five the tide began to come in.
very, very slowly the water rose around island rock.
up, up, up it came, while i watched it with fascinated eyes, feeling like a rat in a trap.
the sun fell lower and lower; at eight o'clock the moon rose large and bright; at nine it was a lovely night, dear, calm, bright as day, and the water was swishing over the highest ledge of the rock.
with some difficulty i climbed to the top and sat there to await the end.
i had no longer any hope of rescue but, by a great effort, i preserved self-control.
if i had to die, i would at least face death staunchly.
but when i thought of my mother at home, it tasked all my energies to keep from breaking down utterly.
suddenly i heard a whistle.
never was sound so sweet.
i stood up and peered eagerly shoreward.
coming around the "hole in the wall" headland, on top of the cliffs, i saw a boy and a dog.
i sent a wild halloo ringing shoreward.
the boy started, stopped and looked out towards island rock.
the next moment he hailed me.
it was ernest's voice, and it was laddie who was barking beside him.
""ernest," i shouted wildly, "run for help -- quick!
quick!
the tide will be over the rock in half an hour!
hurry, or you will be too late!"
instead of starting off at full speed, as i expected him to do, ernest stood still for a moment, and then began to pick his steps down a narrow path over the cliff, followed by laddie.
""ernest," i shouted frantically, "what are you doing?
why do n't you go for help?"
ernest had by this time reached a narrow ledge of rock just above the water-line.
i noticed that he was carrying something over his arm.
""it would take too long," he shouted.
""by the time i got to the cove and a boat could row back here, you'd be drowned.
laddie and i will save you.
is there anything there you can tie a rope to?
i've a coil of rope here that i think will be long enough to reach you.
i've been down to the cove and alec martin sent it up to your uncle."
i looked about me; a smooth, round hole had been worn clean through a thin part of the apex of the rock.
""i could fasten the rope if i had it!"
i called.
""but how can you get it to me?"
for answer ernest tied a bit of driftwood to the rope and put it into laddie's mouth.
the next minute the dog was swimming out to me.
as soon as he came close i caught the rope.
it was just long enough to stretch from shore to rock, allowing for a couple of hitches which ernest gave around a small boulder on the ledge.
i tied my camera case on my head by means of some string i found in my pocket, then i slipped into the water and, holding to the rope, went hand over hand to the shore with laddie swimming beside me.
ernest held on to the shoreward end of the rope like grim death, a task that was no light one for his small arms.
when i finally scrambled up beside him, his face was dripping with perspiration and he trembled like a leaf.
""ern, you are a brick!"
i exclaimed.
""you've saved my life!"
""no, it was laddie," said ernest, refusing to take any credit at all.
we hurried home and arrived at uncle richard's about ten, just as they were going to bed.
when uncle richard heard what had happened, he turned very pale, and murmured, "thank god!"
aunt kate got me out of my wet clothes as quickly as possible, put me away to bed in hot blankets and dosed me with ginger tea.
i slept like a top and felt none the worse for my experience the next morning.
at the breakfast table uncle richard scarcely spoke.
but, just as we finished, he said abruptly to ernest, "i'm not going to sell laddie.
you and the dog saved ned's life between you, and no dog who helped do that is ever going to be sold by me.
henceforth he belongs to you.
i give him to you for your very own."
""oh, mr. lawson!"
said ernest, with shining eyes.
i never saw a boy look so happy.
as for laddie, who was sitting beside him with his shaggy head on ernest's knee, i really believe the dog understood, too.
the look in his eyes was almost human.
uncle richard leaned over and patted him.
""good dog!"
he said.
""good dog!"
at five o'clock in the morning fate, in the guise of mrs. emory dropping a milk-can on the platform under his open window, awakened murray that morning.
had not mrs. emory dropped that can, he would have slumbered peacefully until his usual hour for rising -- a late one, be it admitted, for of all the boarders at sweetbriar cottage murray was the most irregular in his habits.
""when a young man," mrs. emory was wont to remark sagely and a trifle severely, "prowls about that pond half of the night, a-chasing of things what he calls "moonlight effecks," it ai n't to be wondered at that he's sleepy in the morning.
and it ai n't the convenientest thing, nuther and noways, to keep the breakfast table set till the farm folks are thinking of dinner.
but them artist men are not like other people, say what you will, and allowance has to be made for them.
and i must say that i likes him real well and approves of him every other way."
if murray had slept late that morning -- well, he shudders yet over that "if."
but aforesaid fate saw to it that he woke when the hour of destiny and the milk-can struck, and having awakened he found he could not go to sleep again.
it suddenly occurred to him that he had never seen a sunrise on the pond.
doubtless it would be very lovely down there in those dewy meadows at such a primitive hour; he decided to get up and see what the world looked like in the young daylight.
he scowled at a letter lying on his dressing table and thrust it into his pocket that it might be out of sight.
he had written it the night before and the writing of it was going to cost him several things -- a prospective million among others.
so it is hardly to be wondered at if the sight of it did not reconcile him to the joys of early rising.
""dear life and heart!"
exclaimed mrs. emory, pausing in the act of scalding a milk-can when murray emerged from a side door.
""what on earth is the matter, mr. murray?
you ai n't sick now, surely?
i told you them pond fogs was p "isen after night!
if you've gone and got --" "nothing is the matter, dear lady," interrupted murray, "and i have n't gone and got anything except an acute attack of early rising which is not in the least likely to become chronic.
but at what hour of the night do you get up, you wonderful woman?
or rather do you ever go to bed at all?
here is the sun only beginning to rise and -- positively yes, you have all your cows milked."
mrs. emory purred with delight.
""folks as has fourteen cows to milk has to rise betimes," she answered with proud humility.
""laws, i do n't complain -- i've lots of help with the milking.
how mrs. palmer manages, i really can not comperhend -- or rather, how she has managed.
i suppose she'll be all right now since her niece came last night.
i saw her posting to the pond pasture not ten minutes ago.
she'll have to milk all them seven cows herself.
but dear life and heart!
here i be palavering away and not a bite of breakfast ready for you!"
""i do n't want any breakfast until the regular time for it," assured murray.
""i'm going down to the pond to see the sun rise."
""now do n't you go and get caught in the ma "sh," anxiously called mrs. emory, as she never failed to do when she saw him starting for the pond.
nobody ever had got caught in the marsh, but mrs. emory lived in a chronic state of fear lest someone should.
""and if you once got stuck in that black mud you'd be sucked right down and never seen or heard tell of again till the day of judgment, like adam palmer's cow," she was wont to warn her boarders.
murray sought his favourite spot for pond dreaming -- a bloomy corner of the pasture that ran down into the blue water, with a dump of leafy maples on the left.
he was very glad he had risen early.
a miracle was being worked before his very eyes.
the world was in a flush and tremor of maiden loveliness, instinct with all the marvellous fleeting charm of girlhood and spring and young morning.
overhead the sky was a vast high-sprung arch of unstained crystal.
down over the sand dunes, where the pond ran out into the sea, was a great arc of primrose smitten through with auroral crimsonings.
beneath it the pond waters shimmered with a hundred fairy hues, but just before him they were clear as a flawless mirror.
the fields around him glistened with dews, and a little wandering wind, blowing lightly from some bourne in the hills, strayed down over the slopes, bringing with it an unimaginable odour and freshness, and fluttered over the pond, leaving a little path of dancing silver ripples across the mirror-glory of the water.
birds were singing in the beech woods over on orchard knob farm, answering to each other from shore to shore, until the very air was tremulous with the elfin music of this wonderful midsummer dawn.
""i will get up at sunrise every morning of my life hereafter," exclaimed murray rapturously, not meaning a syllable of it, but devoutly believing he did.
just as the fiery disc of the sun peered over the sand dunes murray heard music that was not of the birds.
it was a girl's voice singing beyond the maples to his left -- a clear sweet voice, blithely trilling out the old-fashioned song, "five o'clock in the morning."
""mrs. palmer's niece!"
murray sprang to his feet and tiptoed cautiously through the maples.
he had heard so much from mrs. palmer about her niece that he felt reasonably well acquainted with her.
moreover, mrs. palmer had assured him that mollie was a very pretty girl.
now a pretty girl milking cows at sunrise in the meadows sounded well.
mrs. palmer had not over-rated her niece's beauty.
murray said so to himself with a little whistle of amazement as he leaned unseen on the pasture fence and looked at the girl who was milking a placid jersey less than ten yards away from him.
murray's artistic instinct responded to the whole scene with a thrill of satisfaction.
he could see only her profile, but that was perfect, and the colouring of the oval cheek and the beautiful curve of the chin were something to adore.
her hair, ruffled into lovable little ringlets by the morning wind, was coiled in glistening chestnut masses high on her bare head, and her arms, bare to the elbow, were as white as marble.
presently she began to sing again, and this time murray joined in.
she half rose from her milking stool and cast a startled glance at the maples.
then she dropped back again and began to milk determinedly, but murray could have sworn that he saw a demure smile hovering about her lips.
that, and the revelation of her full face, decided him.
he sprang over the fence and sauntered across the intervening space of lush clover blossoms.
""good morning," he said coolly.
he had forgotten her other name, and it did not matter; at five o'clock in the morning people who met in dewy clover fields might disregard the conventionalities.
""is n't it rather a large contract for you to be milking seven cows all alone?
may i help you?"
mollie looked up at him over her shoulder.
she had glorious grey eyes.
her face was serene and undisturbed.
""can you milk?"
she asked.
""unlikely as it may seem, i can," said murray.
""i have never confessed it to mrs. emory, because i was afraid she would inveigle me into milking her fourteen cows.
but i do n't mind helping you.
i learned to milk when i was a shaver on my vacations at a grandfatherly farm.
may i have that extra pail?"
murray captured a milking stool and rounded up another jersey.
before sitting down he seemed struck with an idea.
""my name is arnold murray.
i board at sweetbriar cottage, next farm to orchard knob.
that makes us near neighbours."
""i suppose it does," said mollie.
murray mentally decided that her voice was the sweetest he had ever heard.
he was glad he had arranged his cow at such an angle that he could study her profile.
it was amazing that mrs. palmer's niece should have such a profile.
it looked as if centuries of fine breeding were responsible for it.
""what a morning!"
he said enthusiastically.
""it harks back to the days when earth was young.
they must have had just such mornings as this in eden."
""do you always get up so early?"
asked mollie practically.
""always," said murray without a blush.
then -- "but no, that is a fib, and i can not tell fibs to you.
the truth is your tribute.
i never get up early.
it was fate that roused me and brought me here this morning.
the morning is a miracle -- and you, i might suppose you were born of the sunrise, if mrs. palmer had n't told me all about you."
""what did she tell you about me?"
asked mollie, changing cows.
murray discovered that she was tall and that the big blue print apron shrouded a singularly graceful figure.
""she said you were the best-looking girl in bruce county.
i have seen very few of the girls in bruce county, but i know she is right."
""that compliment is not nearly so pretty as the sunrise one," said mollie reflectively.
""mrs. palmer has told me things about you," she added.
""curiosity knows no gender," hinted murray.
""she said you were good-looking and lazy and different from other people."
""all compliments," said murray in a gratified tone.
""lazy?"
""certainly.
laziness is a virtue in these strenuous days, i was not born with it, but i have painstakingly acquired it, and i am proud of my success.
i have time to enjoy life."
""i think that i like you," said mollie.
""you have the merit of being able to enter into a situation," he assured her.
when the last jersey was milked they carried the pails down to the spring where the creamers were sunk and strained the milk into them.
murray washed the pails and mollie wiped them and set them in a gleaming row on the shelf under a big maple.
""thank you," she said.
""you are not going yet," said murray resolutely.
""the time i saved you in milking three cows belongs to me.
we will spend it in a walk along the pond shore.
i will show you a path i have discovered under the beeches.
it is just wide enough for two.
come."
he took her hand and drew her through the copse into a green lane, where the ferns grew thickly on either side and the pond waters plashed dreamily below them.
he kept her hand in his as they went down the path, and she did not try to withdraw it.
about them was the great, pure silence of the morning, faintly threaded with caressing sounds -- croon of birds, gurgle of waters, sough of wind.
the spirit of youth and love hovered over them and they spoke no word.
when they finally came out on a little green nook swimming in early sunshine and arched over by maples, with the wide shimmer of the pond before it and the gold dust of blossoms over the grass, the girl drew a long breath of delight.
""it is a morning left over from eden, is n't it?"
said murray.
""yes," said mollie softly.
murray bent toward her.
""you are eve," he said.
""you are the only woman in the world -- for me.
adam must have told eve just what he thought about her the first time he saw her.
there were no conventionalities in eden -- and people could not have taken long to make up their minds.
we are in eden just now.
one can say what he thinks in eden without being ridiculous.
you are divinely fair, eve.
your eyes are stars of the morning -- your cheek has the flush it stole from the sunrise-your lips are redder than the roses of paradise.
and i love you, eve."
mollie lowered her eyes and the long fringe of her lashes lay in a burnished semi-circle on her cheek.
""i think," she said slowly, "that it must have been very delightful in eden.
but we are not really there, you know -- we are only playing that we are.
and it is time for me to go back.
i must get the breakfast -- that sounds too prosaic for paradise."
murray bent still closer.
""before we remember that we are only playing at paradise, will you kiss me, dear eve?"
""you are very audacious," said mollie coldly.
""we are in eden yet," he urged.
""that makes all the difference."
""well," said mollie.
and murray kissed her.
they had passed back over the fern path and were in the pasture before either spoke again.
then murray said, "we have left eden behind -- but we can always return there when we will.
and although we were only playing at paradise, i was not playing at love.
i meant all i said, mollie."
""have you meant it often?"
asked mollie significantly.
""i never meant it -- or even played at it -- before," he answered.
""i did -- at one time -- contemplate the possibility of playing at it.
but that was long ago -- as long ago as last night.
i am glad to the core of my soul that i decided against it before i met you, dear eve.
i have the letter of decision in my coat pocket this moment.
i mean to mail it this afternoon.""
"curiosity knows no gender,"" quoted mollie.
""then, to satisfy your curiosity, i must bore you with some personal history.
my parents died when i was a little chap, and my uncle brought me up.
he has been immensely good to me, but he is a bit of a tyrant.
recently he picked out a wife for me -- the daughter of an old sweetheart of his.
i have never even seen her.
but she has arrived in town on a visit to some relatives there.
uncle dick wrote to me to return home at once and pay my court to the lady; i protested.
he wrote again -- a letter, short and the reverse of sweet.
if i refused to do my best to win miss mannering he would disown me -- never speak to me again -- cut me off with a quarter.
uncle always means what he says -- that is one of our family traits, you understand.
i spent some miserable, undecided days.
it was not the threat of disinheritance that worried me, although when you have been brought up to regard yourself as a prospective millionaire it is rather difficult to adjust your vision to a pauper focus.
but it was the thought of alienating uncle dick.
i love the dear, determined old chap like a father.
but last night my guardian angel was with me and i decided to remain my own man.
so i wrote to uncle dick, respectfully but firmly declining to become a candidate for miss mannering's hand."
""but you have never seen her," said mollie.
""she may be -- almost -- charming.""
"if she be not fair to me, what care i how fair she be?""
quoted murray.
""as you say, she may be -- almost charming; but she is not eve.
she is merely one of a million other women, as far as i am concerned.
do n't let's talk of her.
let us talk only of ourselves -- there is nothing else that is half so interesting."
""and will your uncle really cast you off?"
asked mollie.
""not a doubt of it."
""what will you do?"
""work, dear eve.
my carefully acquired laziness must be thrown to the winds and i shall work.
that is the rule outside of eden.
do n't worry.
i've painted pictures that have actually been sold.
i'll make a living for us somehow."
""us?"
""of course.
you are engaged to me."
""i am not," said mollie indignantly.
""mollie!
mollie!
after that kiss!
fie, fie!"
""you are very absurd," said mollie, "but your absurdity has been amusing.
i have -- yes, positively -- i have enjoyed your eden comedy.
but now you must not come any further with me.
my aunt might not approve.
here is my path to orchard knob farmhouse.
there, i presume, is yours to sweetbriar cottage.
good morning."
""i am coming over to see you this afternoon," said murray coolly.
""but you need n't be afraid.
i will not tell tales out of eden.
i will be a hypocrite and pretend to mrs. palmer that we have never met before.
but you and i will know and remember.
now, you may go.
i reserve to myself the privilege of standing here and watching you out of sight."
* * * * * that afternoon murray strolled over to orchard knob, going into the kitchen without knocking as was the habit in that free and easy world.
mrs. palmer was lying on the lounge with a pungent handkerchief bound about her head, but keeping a vigilant eye on a very pretty, very plump brown-eyed girl who was stirring a kettleful of cherry preserve on the range.
""good afternoon, mrs. palmer," said murray, wondering where mollie was.
""i'm sorry to see that you look something like an invalid."
""i've a raging, ramping headache," said mrs. palmer solemnly.
""i had it all night and i'm good for nothing.
mollie, you'd better take them cherries off.
mr. murray, this is my niece, mollie booth."
""what?"
said murray explosively.
""miss mollie booth," repeated mrs. palmer in a louder tone.
murray regained outward self-control and bowed to the blushing mollie.
""and what about eve?"
he thought helplessly.
""who -- what was she?
did i dream her?
was she a phantom of delight?
no, no, phantoms do n't milk cows.
she was flesh and blood.
no chilly nymph exhaling from the mists of the marsh could have given a kiss like that."
""mollie has come to stay the rest of the summer with me," said mrs. palmer.
""i hope to goodness my tribulations with hired girls is over at last.
they have made a wreck of me."
murray rapidly reflected.
this development, he decided, released him from his promise to tell no tales.
""i met a young lady down in the pond pasture this morning," he said deliberately.
""i talked with her for a few minutes.
i supposed her to be your niece.
who was she?"
""oh, that was miss mannering," said mrs. palmer.
""what?"
said murray again.
""mannering -- dora mannering," said mrs. palmer loudly, wondering if mr. murray were losing his hearing.
""she came here last night just to see me.
i have n't seen her since she was a child of twelve.
i used to be her nurse before i was married.
i was that proud to think she thought it worth her while to look me up.
and, mind you, this morning, when she found me crippled with headache and not able to do a hand's turn, that girl, mr. murray, went and milked seven cows" -- "only four," murmured murray, but mrs. palmer did not hear him -- "for me.
could n't prevent her.
she said she had learned to milk for fun one summer when she was in the country, and she did it.
and then she got breakfast for the men -- mollie did n't come till the ten o'clock train.
miss mannering is as capable as if she had been riz on a farm."
""where is she now?"
demanded murray.
""oh, she's gone."
""what?"
""gone," shouted mrs. palmer, "gone.
she left on the train mollie come on.
gracious me, has the man gone crazy?
he has n't seemed like himself at all this afternoon."
murray had bolted madly out of the house and was striding down the lane.
blind fool -- unspeakable idiot that he had been!
to take her for mrs. palmer's niece -- that peerless creature with the calm acceptance of any situation, which marked the woman of the world, with the fine appreciation and quickness of repartee that spoke of generations of culture -- to imagine that she could be mollie booth!
he had been blind, besottedly blind.
and now he had lost her!
she would never forgive him; she had gone without a word or sign.
as he reached the last curve of the lane where it looped about the apple trees, a plump figure came flying down the orchard slope.
""mr. murray, mr. murray," mollie booth called breathlessly.
""will you please come here just a minute?"
murray crossed over to the paling rather grumpily.
he did not want to talk with mollie booth just then.
confound it, what did the girl want?
why was she looking so mysterious?
mollie produced a little square grey envelope from some feminine hiding place and handed it over the paling.
""she give me this at the station -- miss mannering did," she gasped, "and asked me to give it to you without letting aunt emily jane see.
i could n't get a chanst when you was in, but as soon as you went i slipped out by the porch door and followed you.
you went so fast i near died trying to head you off."
""you dear little soul," said murray, suddenly radiant.
""it is too bad you have had to put yourself so out of breath on my account.
but i am immensely obliged to you.
the next time your young man wants a trusty private messenger just refer him to me."
""git away with you," giggled mollie.
""i must hurry back "fore aunt emily jane gits wind i'm gone.
i hope there's good news in your girl's letter.
my, but did n't you look flat when aunt said she'd went!"
murray beamed at her idiotically.
when she had vanished among the trees he opened his letter.
""dear mr. murray," it ran, "your unblushing audacity of the morning deserves some punishment.
i hereby punish you by prompt departure from orchard knob.
yet i do not dislike audacity, at some times, in some places, in some people.
it is only from a sense of duty that i punish it in this case.
and it was really pleasant in eden.
if you do not mail that letter, and if you still persist in your very absurd interpretation of the meaning of eve's kiss, we may meet again in town.
until then i remain, "very sincerely yours, "dora lynne mannering."
murray kissed the grey letter and put it tenderly away in his pocket.
then he took his letter to his uncle and tore it into tiny fragments.
finally he looked at his watch.
""if i hurry, i can catch the afternoon train to town," he said.
aunt susanna's birthday celebration good afternoon, nora may.
i'm real glad to see you.
i've been watching you coming down the hill and i hoping you'd turn in at our gate.
going to visit with me this afternoon?
that's good.
i'm feeling so happy and delighted and i've been hankering for someone to tell it all to.
tell you about it?
well, i guess i might as well.
it ai n't any breach of confidence.
you did n't know anne douglas?
she taught school here three years ago, afore your folks moved over from talcott.
she belonged up montrose way and she was only eighteen when she came here to teach.
she boarded with us and her and me were the greatest chums.
she was just a sweet girl.
she was the prettiest teacher we ever had, and that's saying a good deal, for springdale has always been noted for getting good-looking schoolmarms, just as miller's road is noted for its humly ones.
anne had yards of brown wavy hair and big, dark blue eyes.
her face was kind o" pale, but when she smiled you would have to smile too, if you'd been chief mourner at your own funeral.
she was a well-spring of joy in the house, and we all loved her.
gilbert martin began to drive her the very first week she was here.
gilbert is my sister julia's son, and a fine young fellow he is.
it ai n't good manners to brag of your own relations, but i'm always forgetting and doing it.
gil was a great pet of mine.
he was so bright and nice-mannered everybody liked him.
him and anne were a fine-looking couple, nora may.
not but what they had their shortcomings.
anne's nose was a mite too long and gil had a crooked mouth.
besides, they was both pretty proud and sperrited and high-strung.
but they thought an awful lot of each other.
it made me feel young again to see'em.
anne was n't a mossel vain, but nights she expected gil she'd prink for hours afore her glass, fixing her hair this way and that, and trying on all her good clothes to see which become her most.
i used to love her for it.
and i used to love to see the way gil's face would light up when she came into a room or place where he was.
amanda perkins, she says to me once, "anne douglas and gil martin are most terrible struck on each other."
and she said it in a tone that indicated that it was a dreadful disgraceful and unbecoming state of affairs.
amanda had a disappointment once and it soured her.
i immediately responded, "yes, they are most terrible struck on each other," and i said it in a tone that indicated i thought it a most beautiful and lovely thing that they should be so.
and so it was.
you're rather too young to be thinking of such things, nora may, but you'll remember my words when the time comes.
another nephew of mine, james ebenezer lawson -- he calls himself james e. back there in town, and i do n't blame him, for i never could stand ebenezer for a name myself; but that's neither here nor there.
well, he said their love was idyllic, i ai n't very sure what that means.
i looked it up in the dictionary after james ebenezer left -- i would n't display my ignorance afore him -- but i ca n't say that i was much the wiser for it.
anyway, it meant something real nice; i was sure of that by the way james ebenezer spoke and the wistful look in his eyes.
james ebenezer is n't married; he was to have been, and she died a month afore the wedding day.
he was never the same man again.
well, to get back to gilbert and anne.
when anne's school year ended in june she resigned and went home to get ready to be married.
the wedding was to be in september, and i promised anne faithful i'd go over to montrose in august for two weeks and help her to get her quilts ready.
anne thought that nobody could quilt like me.
i was as tickled as a girl at the thought of visiting with anne for two weeks, but i never went; things happened before august.
i do n't know rightly how the trouble began.
other folks -- jealous folks -- made mischief.
anne was thirty miles away and gilbert could n't see her every day to keep matters clear and fair.
besides, as i've said, they were both proud and high-sperrited.
the upshot of it was they had a terrible quarrel and the engagement was broken.
when two people do n't care overly much for each other, nora may, a quarrel never amounts to much between them, and it's soon made up.
but when they love each other better than life it cuts so deep and hurts so much that nine times out of ten they wo n't ever forgive each other.
the more you love anybody, nora may, the more he can hurt you.
to be sure, you're too young to be thinking of such things.
it all came like a thunderclap on gil's friends here at greendale, because we had n't ever suspected things were going wrong.
the first thing we knew was that anne had gone up west to teach school again at st. mary's, eighty miles away, and gilbert, he went out to manitoba on a harvest excursion and stayed there.
it just about broke his parents" hearts.
he was their only child and they just worshipped him.
gil and anne both wrote to me off and on, but never a word, not so much as a name, did they say of each other.
i'd "a" writ and asked'em the rights of the fuss if i could, in hopes of patching it up, but i ca n't write now -- my hand is too shaky -- and mebbe it was just as well, for meddling is terribly risky work in a love trouble, nora may.
ninety-nine times out of a hundred the last state of a meddler and them she meddles with is worse than the first.
so i just set tight and said nothing, while everybody else in the clan was talking anne and gil sixty words to the minute.
well, last birthday morning i was feeling terrible disperrited.
i had made up my mind that my birthday was always to be a good thing for other people, and there did n't seem one blessed thing i could do to make anybody glad.
emma matilda and george and the children were all well and happy and wanted for nothing that i could give them.
i begun to be afraid i'd lived long enough, nora may.
when a woman gets to the point where she ca n't give a gift of joy to anyone, there ai n't much use in her living.
i felt real old and worn out and useless.
i was sitting here under these very trees -- they was just budding out in leaf then, as young and cheerful as if they was n't a hundred years old.
and i sighed right out loud and said, "oh, grandpa holland, it's time i was put away up on the hill there with you."
and with that the gate banged and there was nancy jane whitmore's boy, sam, with two letters for me.
one was from anne up at st. mary's and the other was from gil out in manitoba.
i read anne's first.
she just struck right into things in the first paragraph.
she said her year at st. mary's was nearly up, and when it was she meant to quit teaching and go away to new york and learn to be a trained nurse.
she said she was just broken-hearted about gilbert, and would always love him to the day of her death.
but she knew he did n't care anything more about her after the way he had acted, and there was nothing left for her in life but to do something for other people, and so on and so on, for twelve mortal pages.
anne is a fine writer, and i just cried like a babe over that letter, it was so touching, although i was enjoying myself hugely all the time, i was so delighted to find out that anne loved gilbert still.
i was getting skeered she did n't, her letters all winter had been so kind of jokey and frivolous, all about the good times she was having, and the parties she went to, and the new dresses she got.
new dresses!
when i read that letter of anne's, i knew that all the purple and fine linen in the world was just like so much sackcloth and ashes to her as long as gilbert was sulking out on a prairie farm.
well, i wiped my eyes and polished up my specs, but i might have spared myself the trouble, for in five minutes, nora may, there was i sobbing again; over gilbert's letter.
by the most curious coincidence he had opened his heart to me too.
being a man, he was n't so discursive as anne; he said his say in four pages, but i could read the heartache between the lines.
he wrote that he was going to klondike and would start in a month's time.
he was sick of living now that he'd lost anne.
he said he loved her better than his life and always would, and could never forget her, but he knew she did n't care anything about him now after the way she'd acted, and he wanted to get as far away from her and the torturing thought of her as he could.
so he was going to klondike -- going to klondike, nora may, when his mother was writing to him to come home every week and anne was breaking her heart for him at st. mary's.
well, i folded up them letters and, says i, "grandpa holland, i guess my birthday celebration is here ready to hand."
i thought real hard.
i could n't write myself to explain to those two people that they each thought the world of each other still -- my hands are too stiff; and i could n't get anyone else to write because i could n't let out what they'd told me in confidence.
so i did a mean, dishonourable thing, nora may.
i sent anne's letter to gilbert and gilbert's to anne.
i asked emma matilda to address them, and emma matilda did it and asked no questions.
i brought her up that way.
then i settled down to wait.
in less than a month gilbert's mother had a letter from him saying that he was coming home to settle down and marry anne.
he arrived home yesterday and last night anne came to springdale on her way home from st. mary's.
they came to see me this morning and said things to me i ai n't going to repeat because they would sound fearful vain.
they were so happy that they made me feel as if it was a good thing to have lived eighty years in a world where folks could be so happy.
they said their new joy was my birthday gift to them.
the wedding is to be in september and i'm going to montrose in august to help anne with her quilts.
i do n't think anything will happen to prevent this time -- no quarrelling, anyhow.
those two young creatures have learned their lesson.
you'd better take it to heart too, nora may.
it's less trouble to learn it at second hand.
do n't you ever quarrel with your real beau -- it do n't matter about the sham ones, of course.
do n't take offence at trifles or listen to what other people tell you about him -- outsiders, that is, that want to make mischief.
what you think about him is of more importance than what they do.
to be sure, you're too young yet to be thinking of such things at all.
but just mind what old aunt susanna told you when your time comes.
bertie's new year he stood on the sagging doorstep and looked out on the snowy world.
his hands were clasped behind him, and his thin face wore a thoughtful, puzzled look.
the door behind him opened jerkingly, and a scowling woman came out with a pan of dishwater in her hand.
""ai n't you gone yet, bert?"
she said sharply.
""what in the world are you hanging round for?"
""it's early yet," said bertie cheerfully.
""i thought maybe george fraser'd be along and i'd get a lift as far as the store."
""well, i never saw such laziness!
no wonder old sampson wo n't keep you longer than the holidays if you're no smarter than that.
goodness, if i do n't settle that boy!"
-- as the sound of fretful crying came from the kitchen behind her.
""what is wrong with william john?"
asked bertie.
""why, he wants to go out coasting with those robinson boys, but he ca n't.
he has n't got any mittens and he would catch his death of cold again."
her voice seemed to imply that william john had died of cold several times already.
bertie looked soberly down at his old, well-darned mittens.
it was very cold, and he would have a great many errands to run.
he shivered, and looked up at his aunt's hard face as she stood wiping her dish-pan with a grim frown which boded no good to the discontented william john.
then he suddenly pulled off his mittens and held them out.
""here -- he can have mine.
i'll get on without them well enough."
""nonsense!"
said mrs. ross, but less unkindly.
""the fingers would freeze off you.
do n't be a goose."
""it's all right," persisted bertie.
""i do n't need them -- much.
and william john does n't hardly ever get out."
he thrust them into her hand and ran quickly down the street, as though he feared that the keen air might make him change his mind in spite of himself.
he had to stop a great many times that day to breathe on his purple hands.
still, he did not regret having lent his mittens to william john -- poor, pale, sickly little william john, who had so few pleasures.
it was sunset when bertie laid an armful of parcels down on the steps of doctor forbes's handsome house.
his back was turned towards the big bay window at one side, and he was busy trying to warm his hands, so he did not see the two small faces looking at him through the frosty panes.
""just look at that poor little boy, amy," said the taller of the two.
""he is almost frozen, i believe.
why does n't caroline hurry and open the door?"
""there she goes now," said amy.
""edie, could n't we coax her to let him come in and get warm?
he looks so cold."
and she drew her sister out into the hall, where the housekeeper was taking bertie's parcels.
""caroline," whispered edith timidly, "please tell that poor little fellow to come in and get warm -- he looks very cold."
""he's used to the cold, i warrant you," said the housekeeper rather impatiently.
""it wo n't hurt him."
""but it is christmas week," said edith gravely, "and you know, caroline, when mamma was here she used to say that we ought to be particularly thoughtful of others who were not so happy or well-off as we were at this time."
perhaps edith's reference to her mother softened caroline, for she turned to bertie and said cordially enough, "come in, and warm yourself before you go.
it's a cold day."
bertie shyly followed her to the kitchen.
""sit up to the fire," said caroline, placing a chair for him, while edith and amy came round to the other side of the stove and watched him with friendly interest.
""what's your name?"
asked caroline.
""robert ross, ma'am."
""oh, you're mrs. ross's nephew then," said caroline, breaking eggs into her cake-bowl, and whisking them deftly round.
""and you're sampson's errand boy just now?
my goodness," as the boy spread his blue hands over the fire, "where are your mittens, child?
you're never out without mittens a day like this!"
""i lent them to william john -- he had n't any," faltered bertie.
he did not know but that the lady might consider it a grave crime to be mittenless.
""no mittens!"
exclaimed amy in dismay.
""why, i have three pairs.
and who is william john?"
""he is my cousin," said bertie.
""and he's awful sickly.
he wanted to go out to play, and he had n't any mittens, so i lent him mine.
i did n't miss them -- much."
""what kind of a christmas did you have?"
""we did n't have any."
""no christmas!"
said amy, quite overcome.
""oh, well, i suppose you are going to have a good time on new year's instead."
bertie shook his head.
""no'm, i guess not.
we never have it different from other times."
amy was silent from sheer amazement.
edith understood better, and she changed the subject.
""have you any brothers or sisters, bertie?"
""no'm," returned bertie cheerfully.
""i guess there's enough of us without that.
i must be going now.
i'm very much obliged to you."
edith slipped from the room as he spoke, and met him again at the door.
she held out a pair of warm-looking mittens.
""these are for william john," she said simply, "so that you can have your own.
they are a pair of mine which are too big for me.
i know papa will say it is all right.
goodbye, bertie."
""goodbye -- and thank you," stammered bertie, as the door closed.
then he hastened home to william john.
that evening doctor forbes noticed a peculiarly thoughtful look on edith's face as she sat gazing into the glowing coal fire after dinner.
he laid his hand on her dark curls inquiringly.
""what are you musing over?"
""there was a little boy here today," began edith.
""oh, such a dear little boy," broke in amy eagerly from the corner, where she was playing with her kitten.
""his name was bertie ross.
he brought up the parcels, and we asked him in to get warm.
he had no mittens, and his hands were almost frozen.
and, oh, papa, just think!
-- he said he never had any christmas or new year at all."
""poor little fellow!"
said the doctor.
""i've heard of him; a pretty hard time he has of it, i think."
""he was so pretty, papa.
and edie gave him her blue mittens for william john."
""the plot deepens.
who is william john?"
""oh, a cousin or something, did n't he say edie?
anyway, he is sick, and he wanted to go coasting, and bertie gave him his mittens.
and i suppose he never had any christmas either."
""there are plenty who have n't," said the doctor, taking up his paper with a sigh.
""well, girlies, you seem interested in this little fellow so, if you like, you may invite him and his cousin to take dinner with you on new year's night."
""oh, papa!"
said edith, her eyes shining like stars.
the doctor laughed.
""write him a nice little note of invitation -- you are the lady of the house, you know -- and i'll see that he gets it tomorrow."
and this was how it came to pass that bertie received the next day his first invitation to dine out.
he read the little note through three times in order fully to take in its contents, and then went around the rest of the day in deep abstraction as though he was trying to decide some very important question.
it was with the same expression that he opened the door at home in the evening.
his aunt was stirring some oatmeal mush on the stove.
""is that you, bert?"
she spoke sharply.
she always spoke sharply, even when not intending it; it had grown to be a habit.
""yes'm," said bertie meekly, as he hung up his cap.
""i s "pose you've only got one day more at the store," said mrs. ross.
""sampson did n't say anything about keeping you longer, did he?"
""no.
he said he could n't -- i asked him."
""well, i did n't expect he would.
you'll have a holiday on new year's anyhow; whether you'll have anything to eat or not is a different question."
""i've an invitation to dinner," said bertie timidly, "me and william john.
it's from doctor forbes's little girls -- the ones that gave me the mittens."
he handed her the little note, and mrs. ross stooped down and read it by the fitful gleam of light which came from the cracked stove.
""well, you can please yourself," she said as she handed it back, "but william john could n't go if he had ten invitations.
he caught cold coasting yesterday.
i told him he would, but he was bound to go, and now he's laid up for a week.
listen to him barking in the bedroom there."
""well, then, i wo n't go either," said bertie with a sigh, it might be of relief, or it might be of disappointment.
""i would n't go there all alone."
""you're a goose!"
said his aunt.
""they would n't eat you.
but as i said, please yourself.
anyhow, hold your tongue about it to william john, or you'll have him crying and bawling to go too."
the caution came too late.
william john had already heard it, and when his mother went in to rub his chest with liniment, she found him with the ragged quilt over his head crying.
""come, william john, i want to rub you."
""i do n't want to be rubbed -- g "way," sobbed william john.
""i heard you out there -- you need n't think i did n't.
bertie's going to doctor forbes's to dinner and i ca n't go."
""well, you've only yourself to thank for it," returned his mother.
""if you had n't persisted in going out coasting yesterday when i wanted you to stay in, you'd have been able to go to doctor forbes's.
little boys who wo n't do as they're told always get into trouble.
stop crying, now.
i dare say if bertie goes they'll send you some candy, or something."
but william john refused to be comforted.
he cried himself to sleep that night, and when bertie went in to see him next morning, he found him sitting up in bed with his eyes red and swollen and the faded quilt drawn up around his pinched face.
""well, william john, how are you?"
""i ai n't any better," replied william john mournfully.
""i s "pose you'll have a great time tomorrow night, bertie?"
""oh, i'm not going since you ca n't," said bertie cheerily.
he thought this would comfort william john, but it had exactly the opposite effect.
william john had cried until he could cry no more, but he turned around and sobbed.
""there now!"
he said in tearless despair.
""that's just what i expected.
i did s "pose if i could n't go you would, and tell me about it.
you're mean as mean can be."
""come now, william john, do n't be so cross.
i thought you'd rather have me home, but i'll go, if you want me to."
""honest, now?"
""yes, honest.
i'll go anywhere to please you.
i must be off to the store now.
goodbye."
thus committed, bertie took his courage in both hands and went.
the next evening at dusk found him standing at doctor forbes's door with a very violently beating heart.
he was carefully dressed in his well-worn best suit and a neat white collar.
the frosty air had crimsoned his cheeks and his hair was curling round his face.
caroline opened the door and showed him into the parlour, where edith and amy were eagerly awaiting him.
""happy new year, bertie," cried amy.
""and -- but, why, where is william john?"
""he could n't come," answered bertie anxiously -- he was afraid he might not be welcome without william john.
""he's real sick.
he caught cold and has to stay in bed; but he wanted to come awful bad."
""oh, dear me!
poor william john!"
said amy in a disappointed tone.
but all further remarks were cut short by the entrance of doctor forbes.
""how do you do?"
he said, giving bertie's hand a hearty shake.
""but where is the other little fellow my girls were expecting?"
bertie patiently reaccounted for william john's non-appearance.
""it's a bad time for colds," said the doctor, sitting down and attacking the fire.
""i dare say, though, you have to run so fast these days that a cold could n't catch you.
i suppose you'll soon be leaving sampson's.
he told me he did n't need you after the holiday season was over.
what are you going at next?
have you anything in view?"
bertie shook his head sorrowfully.
""no, sir; but," he added more cheerfully, "i guess i'll find something if i hunt around lively.
i almost always do."
he forgot his shyness; his face flushed hopefully, and he looked straight at the doctor with his bright, earnest eyes.
the doctor poked the fire energetically and looked very wise.
but just then the girls came up and carried bertie off to display their holiday gifts.
and there was a fur cap and a pair of mittens for him!
he wondered whether he was dreaming.
""and here's a picture-book for william john," said amy, "and there is a sled out in the kitchen for him.
oh, there's the dinner-bell.
i'm awfully hungry.
papa says that is my "normal condition," but i do n't know what that means."
as for that dinner -- bertie might sometimes have seen such a repast in delightful dreams, but certainly never out of them.
it was a feast to be dated from.
when the plum pudding came on, the doctor, who had been notably silent, leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and looked critically at bertie.
""so mr. sampson ca n't keep you?"
bertie's face sobered at once.
he had almost forgotten his responsibilities.
""no, sir.
he says i'm too small for the heavy work."
""well, you are rather small -- but no doubt you will grow.
boys have a queer habit of doing that.
i think you know how to make yourself useful.
i need a boy here to run errands and look after my horse.
if you like, i'll try you.
you can live here, and go to school.
i sometimes hear of places for boys in my rounds, and the first good one that will suit you, i'll bespeak for you.
how will that do?"
""oh, sir, you are too good," said bertie with a choke in his voice.
""well, that is settled," said the doctor genially.
""come on monday then.
and perhaps we can do something for that other little chap, william, or john, or whatever his name is.
will you have some more pudding, bertie?"
""no, thank you," said bertie.
pudding, indeed!
he could not have eaten another mouthful after such wonderful and unexpected good fortune.
after dinner they played games, and cracked nuts, and roasted apples, until the clock struck nine; then bertie got up to go.
""off, are you?"
said the doctor, looking up from his paper.
""well, i'll expect you on monday, remember."
""yes, sir," said bertie happily.
he was not likely to forget.
as he went out amy came through the hall with a red sled.
""here is william john's present.
i've tied all the other things on so that they ca n't fall off."
edith was at the door-with a parcel.
""here are some nuts and candies for william john," she said.
""and tell him we all wish him a "happy new year.""
""thank you," said bertie.
""i've had a splendid time.
i'll tell william john.
goodnight."
he stepped out.
it was frostier than ever.
the snow crackled and snapped, the stars were keen and bright, but to bertie, running down the street with william john's sled thumping merrily behind him, the world was aglow with rosy hope and promise.
he was quite sure he could never forget this wonderful new year.
between the hill and the valley it was one of the moist, pleasantly odorous nights of early spring.
there was a chill in the evening air, but the grass was growing green in sheltered spots, and jeffrey miller had found purple-petalled violets and pink arbutus on the hill that day.
across a valley filled with beech and fir, there was a sunset afterglow, creamy yellow and pale red, with a new moon swung above it.
it was a night for a man to walk alone and dream of his love, which was perhaps why jeffrey miller came so loiteringly across the springy hill pasture, with his hands full of the mayflowers.
he was a tall, broad-shouldered man of forty, and looking no younger, with dark grey eyes and a tanned, clean-cut face, clean-shaven save for a drooping moustache.
jeffrey miller was considered a handsome man, and bayside people had periodical fits of wondering why he had never married.
they pitied him for the lonely life he must lead alone there at the valley farm, with only a deaf old housekeeper as a companion, for it did not occur to the bayside people in general that a couple of shaggy dogs could be called companions, and they did not know that books make very excellent comrades for people who know how to treat them.
one of jeffrey's dogs was with him now -- the oldest one, with white breast and paws and a tawny coat.
he was so old that he was half-blind and rather deaf, but, with one exception, he was the dearest of living creatures to jeffrey miller, for sara stuart had given him the sprawly, chubby little pup years ago.
they came down the hill together.
a group of men were standing on the bridge in the hollow, discussing colonel stuart's funeral of the day before.
jeffrey caught sara's name and paused on the outskirts of the group to listen.
sometimes he thought that if he were lying dead under six feet of turf and sara stuart's name were pronounced above him, his heart would give a bound of life.
""yes, the old kunnel's gone at last," christopher jackson was saying.
""he took his time dyin", that's sartain.
must be a kind of relief for sara -- she's had to wait on him, hand and foot, for years.
but no doubt she'll feel pretty lonesome.
wonder what she'll do?"
""is there any particular reason for her to do anything?"
asked alec churchill.
""well, she'll have to leave pinehurst.
the estate's entailed and goes to her cousin, charles stuart."
there were exclamations of surprise from the other men on hearing this.
jeffrey drew nearer, absently patting his dog's head.
he had not known it either.
""oh, yes," said christopher, enjoying all the importance of exclusive information.
""i thought everybody knew that.
pinehurst goes to the oldest male heir.
the old kunnel felt it keen that he had n't a son.
of course, there's plenty of money and sara'll get that.
but i guess she'll feel pretty bad at leaving her old home.
sara ai n't as young as she used to be, neither.
let me see -- she must be thirty-eight.
well, she's left pretty lonesome."
""maybe she'll stay on at pinehurst," said job crowe.
""it'd only be right for her cousin to give her a home there."
christopher shook his head.
""no, i understand they're not on very good terms.
sara do n't like charles stuart or his wife -- and i do n't blame her.
she wo n't stay there, not likely.
probably she'll go and live in town.
strange she never married.
she was reckoned handsome, and had plenty of beaus at one time."
jeffrey swung out of the group and started homeward with his dog.
to stand by and hear sara stuart discussed after this fashion was more than he could endure.
the men idly watched his tall, erect figure as he went along the valley.
""queer chap, jeff," said alec churchill reflectively.
""jeff's all right," said christopher in a patronizing way.
""there ai n't a better man or neighbour alive.
i've lived next farm to him for thirty years, so i ought to know.
but he's queer sartainly -- not like other people -- kind of unsociable.
he do n't care for a thing "cept dogs and reading and mooning round woods and fields.
that ai n't natural, you know.
but i must say he's a good farmer.
he's got the best farm in bayside, and that's a real nice house he put up on it.
ai n't it an odd thing he never married?
never seemed to have no notion of it.
i ca n't recollect of jeff miller's ever courting anybody.
that's another unnatural thing about him."
""i've always thought that jeff thought himself a cut or two above the rest of us," said tom scovel with a sneer.
""maybe he thinks the bayside girls ai n't good enough for him."
""there ai n't no such dirty pride about jeff," pronounced christopher conclusively.
""and the millers are the best family hereabouts, leaving the kunnel's out.
and jeff's well off -- nobody knows how well, i reckon, but i can guess, being his land neighbour.
jeff ai n't no fool nor loafer, if he is a bit queer."
meanwhile, the object of these remarks was striding homeward and thinking, not of the men behind him, but of sara stuart.
he must go to her at once.
he had not intruded on her since her father's death, thinking her sorrow too great for him to meddle with.
but this was different.
perhaps she needed the advice or assistance only he could give.
to whom else in bayside could she turn for it but to him, her old friend?
was it possible that she must leave pinehurst?
the thought struck cold dismay to his soul.
how could he bear his life if she went away?
he had loved sara stuart from childhood.
he remembered vividly the day he had first seen her -- a spring day, much like this one had been; he, a boy of eight, had gone with his father to the big, sunshiny hill field and he had searched for birds" nests in the little fir copses along the crest while his father plowed.
he had so come upon her, sitting on the fence under the pines at the back of pinehurst -- a child of six in a dress of purple cloth.
her long, light brown curls fell over her shoulders and rippled sleekly back from her calm little brow; her eyes were large and greyish blue, straight-gazing and steadfast.
to the end of his life the boy was to carry in his heart the picture she made there under the pines.
""little boy," she had said, with a friendly smile, "will you show me where the mayflowers grow?"
shyly enough he had assented, and they set out together for the barrens beyond the field, where the arbutus trailed its stars of sweetness under the dusty dead grasses and withered leaves of the old year.
the boy was thrilled with delight.
she was a fairy queen who thus graciously smiled on him and chattered blithely as they searched for mayflowers in the fresh spring sunshine.
he thought it a wonderful thing that it had so chanced.
it overjoyed him to give the choicest dusters he found into her slim, waxen little fingers, and watch her eyes grow round with pleasure in them.
when the sun began to lower over the beeches she had gone home with her arms full of arbutus, but she had turned at the edge of the pineland and waved her hand at him.
that night, when he told his mother of the little girl he had met on the hill, she had hoped anxiously that he had been "very polite," for the little girl was a daughter of colonel stuart, newly come to pinehurst.
jeffrey, reflecting, had not been certain that he had been polite; "but i am sure she liked me," he said gravely.
a few days later a message came from mrs. stuart on the hill to mrs. miller in the valley.
would she let her little boy go up now and then to play with sara?
sara was very lonely because she had no playmates.
so jeff, overjoyed, had gone to his divinity's very home, where the two children played together many a day.
all through their childhood they had been fast friends.
sara's parents placed no bar to their intimacy.
they had soon concluded that little jeff miller was a very good playmate for sara.
he was gentle, well-behaved, and manly.
sara never went to the district school which jeff attended; she had her governess at home.
with no other boy or girl in bayside did she form any friendship, but her loyalty to jeff never wavered.
as for jeff, he worshipped her and would have done anything she commanded.
he belonged to her from the day they had hunted arbutus on the hill.
when sara was fifteen she had gone away to school.
jeff had missed her sorely.
for four years he saw her only in the summers, and each year she had seemed taller, statelier, further from him.
when she graduated her father took her abroad for two years; then she came home, a lovely, high-bred girl, dimpling on the threshold of womanhood; and jeffrey miller was face to face with two bitter facts.
one was that he loved her -- not with the boy-and-girl love of long ago, but with the love of a man for the one woman in the world; and the other was that she was as far beyond his reach as one of those sunset stars of which she had always reminded him in her pure, clear-shining loveliness.
he looked these facts unflinchingly in the face until he had grown used to them, and then he laid down his course for himself.
he loved sara -- and he did not wish to conquer his love, even if it had been possible.
it were better to love her, whom he could never win, than to love and be loved by any other woman.
his great office in life was to be her friend, humble and unexpectant; to be at hand if she should need him for ever so trifling a service; never to presume, always to be faithful.
sara had not forgotten her old friend.
but their former comradeship was now impossible; they could be friends, but never again companions.
sara's life was full and gay; she had interests in which he had no share; her social world was utterly apart from his; she was of the hill and its traditions, he was of the valley and its people.
the democracy of childhood past, there was no common ground on which they might meet.
only one thing jeffrey had found it impossible to contemplate calmly.
some day sara would marry -- a man who was her equal, who sat at her father's table as a guest.
in spite of himself, jeffrey's heart filled with hot rebellion at the thought; it was like a desecration and a robbery.
but, as the years went by, this thing he dreaded did not happen.
sara did not marry, although gossip assigned her many suitors not unworthy of her.
she and jeffrey were always friends, although they met but seldom.
sometimes she sent him a book; it was his custom to search for the earliest mayflowers and take them to her; once in a long while they met and talked of many things.
jeffrey's calendar from year to year was red-lettered by these small happenings, of which nobody knew, or, knowing, would have cared.
so he and sara drifted out of youth, together yet apart.
her mother had died, and sara was the gracious, stately mistress of pinehurst, which grew quieter as the time went on; the lovers ceased to come, and holiday friends grew few; with the old colonel's failing health the gaieties and lavish entertaining ceased.
jeffrey thought that sara must often be lonely, but she never said so; she remained sweet, serene, calm-eyed, like the child he had met on the hill.
only, now and then, jeffrey fancied he saw a shadow on her face -- a shadow so faint and fleeting that only the eye of an unselfish, abiding love, made clear-sighted by patient years, could have seen it.
it hurt him, that shadow; he would have given anything in his power to have banished it.
and now this long friendship was to be broken.
sara was going away.
at first he had thought only of her pain, but now his own filled his heart.
how could he live without her?
how could he dwell in the valley knowing that she had gone from the hill?
never to see her light shine down on him through the northern gap in the pines at night!
never to feel that perhaps her eyes rested on him now and then as he went about his work in the valley fields!
never to stoop with a glad thrill over the first spring flowers because it was his privilege to take them to her!
jeffrey groaned aloud.
no, he could not go up to see her that night; he must wait -- he must strengthen himself.
then his heart rebuked him.
this was selfishness; this was putting his own feelings before hers -- a thing he had sworn never to do.
perhaps she needed him -- perhaps she had wondered why he had not come to offer her such poor service as might be in his power.
he turned and went down through the orchard lane, taking the old field-path across the valley and up the hill, which he had traversed so often and so joyfully in boyhood.
it was dark now, and a few stars were shining in the silvery sky.
the wind sighed among the pines as he walked under them.
sometimes he felt that he must turn back -- that his pain was going to master him; then he forced himself to go on.
the old grey house where sara lived seemed bleak and stricken in the dull light, with its leafless vines clinging to it.
there were no lights in it.
it looked like a home left soulless.
jeffrey went around to the garden door and knocked.
he had expected the maid to open it, put sara herself came.
""why, jeff," she said, with pleasure in her tones.
""i am so glad to see you.
i have been wondering why you had not come before."
""i did not think you would want to see me yet," he said hurriedly.
""i have thought about you every hour -- but i feared to intrude.""
you could n't intrude," she said gently.
""yes, i have wanted to see you, jeff.
come into the library."
he followed her into the room where they had always sat in his rare calls.
sara lighted the lamp on the table.
as the light shot up she stood clearly revealed in it -- a tall, slender woman in a trailing gown of grey.
even a stranger, not knowing her age, would have guessed it to be what it was, yet it would have been hard to say what gave the impression of maturity.
her face was quite unlined -- a little pale, perhaps, with more finely cut outlines than those of youth.
her eyes were clear and bright; her abundant brown hair waved back from her face in the same curves that jeffrey had noted in the purple-gowned child of six, under the pines.
perhaps it was the fine patience and serenity in her face that told her tale of years.
youth can never acquire it.
her eyes brightened when she saw the mayflowers he carried.
she came and took them from him, and her hands touched his, sending a little thrill of joy through him.
""how lovely they are!
and the first i have seen this spring.
you always bring me the first, do n't you, jeff?
do you remember the first day we spent picking mayflowers together?"
jeff smiled.
could he forget?
but something held him back from speech.
sara put the flowers in a vase on the table, but slipped one starry pink cluster into the lace on her breast.
she came and sat down beside jeffrey; he saw that her beautiful eyes had been weeping, and that there were lines of pain around her lips.
some impulse that would not be denied made him lean over and take her hand.
she left it unresistingly in his clasp.
""i am very lonely now, jeff," she said sadly.
""father has gone.
i have no friends left."
""you have me," said jeffrey quietly.
""yes.
i should n't have said that.
you are my friend, i know, jeff.
but, but -- i must leave pinehurst, you know."
""i learned that tonight for the first time," he answered.
""did you ever come to a place where everything seemed ended -- where it seemed that there was nothing -- simply nothing -- left, jeff?"
she said wistfully.
""but, no, it could n't seem so to a man.
only a woman could fully understand what i mean.
that is how i feel now.
while i had father to live for it was n't so hard.
but now there is nothing.
and i must go away."
""is there anything i can do?"
muttered jeffrey miserably.
he knew now that he had made a mistake in coming tonight; he could not help her.
his own pain had unmanned him.
presently he would say something foolish or selfish in spite of himself.
sara turned her eyes on him.
""there is nothing anybody can do, jeff," she said piteously.
her eyes, those clear child-eyes, filled with tears.
""i shall be braver -- stronger -- after a while.
but just now i have no strength left.
i feel like a lost, helpless child.
oh, jeff!"
she put her slender hands over her face and sobbed.
every sob cut jeffrey to the heart.
""do n't -- do n't, sara," he said huskily.
""i ca n't bear to see you suffer so.
i'd die for you if it would do you any good.
i love you -- i love you!
i never meant to tell you so, but it is the truth.
i ought n't to tell you now.
do n't think that i'm trying to take any advantage of your loneliness and sorrow.
i know -- i have always known -- that you are far above me.
but that could n't prevent my loving you -- just humbly loving you, asking nothing else.
you may be angry with my presumption, but i ca n't help telling you that i love you.
that's all.
i just want you to know it."
sara had turned away her head.
jeffrey was overcome with contrition.
ah, he had no business to speak so -- he had spoiled the devotion of years.
who was he that he should have dared to love her?
silence alone had justified his love, and now he had lost that justification.
she would despise him.
he had forfeited her friendship for ever.
""are you angry, sara?"
he questioned sadly, after a silence.
""i think i am," said sara.
she kept her stately head averted.
""if -- if you have loved me, jeff, why did you never tell me so before?"
""how could i dare?"
he said gravely.
""i knew i could never win you -- that i had no right to dream of you so.
oh, sara, do n't be angry!
my love has been reverent and humble.
i have asked nothing.
i ask nothing now but your friendship.
do n't take that from me, sara.
do n't be angry with me."
""i am angry," repeated sara, "and i think i have a right to be."
""perhaps so," he said simply, "but not because i have loved you.
such love as mine ought to anger no woman, sara.
but you have a right to be angry with me for presuming to put it into words.
i should not have done so -- but i could not help it.
it rushed to my lips in spite of me.
forgive me."
""i do n't know whether i can forgive you for not telling me before," said sara steadily."
that is what i have to forgive -- not your speaking at last, even if it was dragged from you against your will.
did you think i would make you such a very poor wife, jeff, that you would not ask me to marry you?"
""sara!"
he said, aghast.
""i -- i -- you were as far above me as a star in the sky -- i never dreamed -- i never hoped --" "that i could care for you?"
said sara, looking round at last.
""then you were more modest than a man ought to be, jeff.
i did not know that you loved me, or i should have found some way to make you speak out long ago.
i should not have let you waste all these years.
i've loved you -- ever since we picked mayflowers on the hill, i think -- ever since i came home from school, i know.
i never cared for anyone else -- although i tried to, when i thought you did n't care for me.
it mattered nothing to me that the world may have thought there was some social difference between us.
there, jeff, you can not accuse me of not making my meaning plain."
""sara," he whispered, wondering, bewildered, half-afraid to believe this unbelievable joy.
""i'm not half worthy of you -- but -- but" -- he bent forward and put his arm around her, looking straight into her clear, unshrinking eyes.
""sara, will you be my wife?"
""yes."
she said the word clearly and truly.
""and i will think myself a proud and happy and honoured woman to be so, jeff.
oh, i do n't shrink from telling you the truth, you see.
you mean too much to me for me to dissemble it.
i've hidden it for eighteen years because i did n't think you wanted to hear it, but i'll give myself the delight of saying it frankly now."
she lifted her delicate, high-bred face, fearless love shining in every lineament, to his, and they exchanged their first kiss.
clorinda's gifts "it is a dreadful thing to be poor a fortnight before christmas," said clorinda, with the mournful sigh of seventeen years.
aunt emmy smiled.
aunt emmy was sixty, and spent the hours she did n't spend in a bed, on a sofa or in a wheel chair; but aunt emmy was never heard to sigh.
""i suppose it is worse then than at any other time," she admitted.
that was one of the nice things about aunt emmy.
she always sympathized and understood.
""i'm worse than poor this christmas... i'm stony broke," said clorinda dolefully.
""my spell of fever in the summer and the consequent doctor's bills have cleaned out my coffers completely.
not a single christmas present can i give.
and i did so want to give some little thing to each of my dearest people.
but i simply ca n't afford it... that's the hateful, ugly truth."
clorinda sighed again.
""the gifts which money can purchase are not the only ones we can give," said aunt emmy gently, "nor the best, either."
""oh, i know it's nicer to give something of your own work," agreed clorinda, "but materials for fancy work cost too.
that kind of gift is just as much out of the question for me as any other."
""that was not what i meant," said aunt emmy.
""what did you mean, then?"
asked clorinda, looking puzzled.
aunt emmy smiled.
""suppose you think out my meaning for yourself," she said.
""that would be better than if i explained it.
besides, i do n't think i could explain it.
take the beautiful line of a beautiful poem to help you in your thinking out: "the gift without the giver is bare.""
""i'd put it the other way and say, "the giver without the gift is bare,"" said clorinda, with a grimace.
""that is my predicament exactly.
well, i hope by next christmas i'll not be quite bankrupt.
i'm going into mr. callender's store down at murraybridge in february.
he has offered me the place, you know."
""wo n't your aunt miss you terribly?"
said aunt emmy gravely.
clorinda flushed.
there was a note in aunt emmy's voice that disturbed her.
""oh, yes, i suppose she will," she answered hurriedly.
""but she'll get used to it very soon.
and i will be home every saturday night, you know.
i'm dreadfully tired of being poor, aunt emmy, and now that i have a chance to earn something for myself i mean to take it.
i can help aunt mary, too.
i'm to get four dollars a week."
""i think she would rather have your companionship than a part of your salary, clorinda," said aunt emmy.
""but of course you must decide for yourself, dear.
it is hard to be poor.
i know it.
i am poor."
""you poor!"
said clorinda, kissing her.
""why, you are the richest woman i know, aunt emmy -- rich in love and goodness and contentment."
""and so are you, dearie... rich in youth and health and happiness and ambition.
are n't they all worth while?"
""of course they are," laughed clorinda.
""only, unfortunately, christmas gifts ca n't be coined out of them."
""did you ever try?"
asked aunt emmy.
""think out that question, too, in your thinking out, clorinda."
""well, i must say bye-bye and run home.
i feel cheered up -- you always cheer people up, aunt emmy.
how grey it is outdoors.
i do hope we'll have snow soon.
would n't it be jolly to have a white christmas?
we always have such faded brown decembers."
clorinda lived just across the road from aunt emmy in a tiny white house behind some huge willows.
but aunt mary lived there too -- the only relative clorinda had, for aunt emmy was n't really her aunt at all.
clorinda had always lived with aunt mary ever since she could remember.
clorinda went home and upstairs to her little room under the eaves, where the great bare willow boughs were branching athwart her windows.
she was thinking over what aunt emmy had said about christmas gifts and giving.
""i'm sure i do n't know what she could have meant," pondered clorinda.
""i do wish i could find out if it would help me any.
i'd love to remember a few of my friends at least.
there's miss mitchell... she's been so good to me all this year and helped me so much with my studies.
and there's mrs. martin out in manitoba.
if i could only send her something!
she must be so lonely out there.
and aunt emmy herself, of course; and poor old aunt kitty down the lane; and aunt mary and, yes -- florence too, although she did treat me so meanly.
i shall never feel the same to her again.
but she gave me a present last christmas, and so out of mere politeness i ought to give her something."
clorinda stopped short suddenly.
she had just remembered that she would not have liked to say that last sentence to aunt emmy.
therefore, there was something wrong about it.
clorinda had long ago learned that there was sure to be something wrong in anything that could not be said to aunt emmy.
so she stopped to think it over.
clorinda puzzled over aunt emmy's meaning for four days and part of three nights.
then all at once it came to her.
or if it was n't aunt emmy's meaning it was a very good meaning in itself, and it grew clearer and expanded in meaning during the days that followed, although at first clorinda shrank a little from some of the conclusions to which it led her.
""i've solved the problem of my christmas giving for this year," she told aunt emmy.
""i have some things to give after all.
some of them quite costly, too; that is, they will cost me something, but i know i'll be better off and richer after i've paid the price.
that is what mr. grierson would call a paradox, is n't it?
i'll explain all about it to you on christmas day."
on christmas day, clorinda went over to aunt emmy's.
it was a faded brown christmas after all, for the snow had not come.
but clorinda did not mind; there was such joy in her heart that she thought it the most delightful christmas day that ever dawned.
she put the queer cornery armful she carried down on the kitchen floor before she went into the sitting room.
aunt emmy was lying on the sofa before the fire, and clorinda sat down beside her.
""i've come to tell you all about it," she said.
aunt emmy patted the hand that was in her own.
""from your face, dear girl, it will be pleasant hearing and telling," she said.
clorinda nodded.
""aunt emmy, i thought for days over your meaning... thought until i was dizzy.
and then one evening it just came to me, without any thinking at all, and i knew that i could give some gifts after all.
i thought of something new every day for a week.
at first i did n't think i could give some of them, and then i thought how selfish i was.
i would have been willing to pay any amount of money for gifts if i had had it, but i was n't willing to pay what i had.
i got over that, though, aunt emmy.
now i'm going to tell you what i did give.
""first, there was my teacher, miss mitchell.
i gave her one of father's books.
i have so many of his, you know, so that i would n't miss one; but still it was one i loved very much, and so i felt that that love made it worth while.
that is, i felt that on second thought.
at first, aunt emmy, i thought i would be ashamed to offer miss mitchell a shabby old book, worn with much reading and all marked over with father's notes and pencillings.
i was afraid she would think it queer of me to give her such a present.
and yet somehow it seemed to me that it was better than something brand new and unmellowed -- that old book which father had loved and which i loved.
so i gave it to her, and she understood.
i think it pleased her so much, the real meaning in it.
she said it was like being given something out of another's heart and life.
""then you know mrs. martin... last year she was miss hope, my dear sunday school teacher.
she married a home missionary, and they are in a lonely part of the west.
well, i wrote her a letter.
not just an ordinary letter; dear me, no.
i took a whole day to write it, and you should have seen the postmistress's eyes stick out when i mailed it.
i just told her everything that had happened in greenvale since she went away.
i made it as newsy and cheerful and loving as i possibly could.
everything bright and funny i could think of went into it.
""the next was old aunt kitty.
you know she was my nurse when i was a baby, and she's very fond of me.
but, well, you know, aunt emmy, i'm ashamed to confess it, but really i've never found aunt kitty very entertaining, to put it mildly.
she is always glad when i go to see her, but i've never gone except when i could n't help it.
she is very deaf, and rather dull and stupid, you know.
well, i gave her a whole day.
i took my knitting yesterday, and sat with her the whole time and just talked and talked.
i told her all the greenvale news and gossip and everything else i thought she'd like to hear.
she was so pleased and proud; she told me when i came away that she had n't had such a nice time for years.
""then there was... florence.
you know, aunt emmy, we were always intimate friends until last year.
then florence once told rose watson something i had told her in confidence.
i found it out and i was so hurt.
i could n't forgive florence, and i told her plainly i could never be a real friend to her again.
florence felt badly, because she really did love me, and she asked me to forgive her, but it seemed as if i could n't.
well, aunt emmy, that was my christmas gift to her... my forgiveness.
i went down last night and just put my arms around her and told her that i loved her as much as ever and wanted to be real close friends again.
""i gave aunt mary her gift this morning.
i told her i was n't going to murraybridge, that i just meant to stay home with her.
she was so glad -- and i'm glad, too, now that i've decided so."
""your gifts have been real gifts, clorinda," said aunt emmy.
""something of you -- the best of you -- went into each of them."
clorinda went out and brought her cornery armful in.
""i did n't forget you, aunt emmy," she said, as she unpinned the paper.
there was a rosebush -- clorinda's own pet rosebush -- all snowed over with fragrant blossoms.
aunt emmy loved flowers.
she put her finger under one of the roses and kissed it.
""it's as sweet as yourself, dear child," she said tenderly.
""and it will be a joy to me all through the lonely winter days.
you've found out the best meaning of christmas giving, have n't you, dear?"
""yes, thanks to you, aunt emmy," said clorinda softly.
cyrilla's inspiration it was a rainy saturday afternoon and all the boarders at mrs. plunkett's were feeling dull and stupid, especially the normal school girls on the third floor, cyrilla blair and carol hart and mary newton, who were known as the trio, and shared the big front room together.
they were sitting in that front room, scowling out at the weather.
at least, carol and mary were scowling.
cyrilla never scowled; she was sitting curled up on her bed with her greek grammar, and she smiled at the rain and her grumbling chums as cheerfully as possible.
""for pity's sake, cyrilla, put that grammar away," moaned mary.
""there is something positively uncanny about a girl who can study greek on saturday afternoons -- at least, this early in the term."
""i'm not really studying," said cyrilla, tossing the book away.
""i'm only pretending to.
i'm really just as bored and lonesome as you are.
but what else is there to do?
we ca n't stir outside the door; we've nothing to read; we ca n't make candy since mrs. plunkett has forbidden us to use the oil stove in our room; we'll probably quarrel all round if we sit here in idleness; so i've been trying to brush up my greek verbs by way of keeping out of mischief.
have you any better employment to offer me?"
""if it were only a mild drizzle we might go around and see the patterson girls," sighed carol.
""but there is no venturing out in such a downpour.
cyrilla, you are supposed to be the brainiest one of us.
prove your claim to such pre-eminence by thinking of some brand-new amusement, especially suited to rainy afternoons.
that will be putting your grey matter to better use than squandering it on greek verbs out of study limits."
""if only i'd got a letter from home today," said mary, who seemed determined to persist in gloom.
""i would n't mind the weather.
letters are such cheery things: -- especially the letters my sister writes.
they're so full of fun and nice little news.
the reading of one cheers me up for the day.
cyrilla blair, what is the matter?
you nearly frightened me to death!"
cyrilla had bounded from her bed to the centre of the floor, waving her greek grammar wildly in the air.
""girls, i have an inspiration!"
she exclaimed.
""good!
let's hear it," said carol.
""let's write letters -- rainy-day letters -- to everyone in the house," said cyrilla.
""you may depend all the rest of the folks under mrs. plunkett's hospitable roof are feeling more or less blue and lonely too, as well as ourselves.
let's write them the jolliest, nicest letters we can compose and get nora jane to take them to their rooms.
there's that pale little sewing girl, i do n't believe she ever gets letters from anybody, and miss marshall, i'm sure she does n't, and poor old mrs. johnson, whose only son died last month, and the new music teacher who came yesterday, a letter of welcome to her -- and old mr. grant, yes, and mrs. plunkett too, thanking her for all her kindness to us.
you knew she has been awfully nice to us in spite of the oil stove ukase.
that's six -- two apiece.
let's do it, girls."
cyrilla's sudden enthusiasm for her plan infected the others.
""it's a nice idea," said mary, brightening up.
""but who's to write to whom?
i'm willing to take anybody but miss marshall.
i could n't write a line to her to save my life.
she'd be horrified at anything funny or jokey and our letters will have to be mainly nonsense -- nonsense of the best brand, to be sure, but still nonsense."
""better leave miss marshall out," suggested carol.
""you know she disapproves of us anyhow.
she'd probably resent a letter of the sort, thinking we were trying to play some kind of joke on her."
""it would never do to leave her out," said cyrilla decisively.
""of course, she's a bit queer and unamiable, but, girls, think of thirty years of boarding-house life, even with the best of plunketts.
would n't that sour anybody?
you know it would.
you'd be cranky and grumbly and disagreeable too, i dare say.
i'm really sorry for miss marshall.
she's had a very hard life.
mrs. plunkett told me all about her one day.
i do n't think we should mind her biting little speeches and sharp looks.
and anyway, even if she is really as disagreeable as she sometimes seems to be, why, it must make it all the harder for her, do n't you think?
so she needs a letter most of all.
i'll write to her, since it's my suggestion.
we'll draw lots for the others."
besides miss marshall, the new music teacher fell to cyrilla's share.
mary drew mrs. plunkett and the dressmaker, and carol drew mrs. johnson and old mr. grant.
for the next two hours the girls wrote busily, forgetting all about the rainy day, and enjoying their epistolary labours to the full.
it was dusk when all the letters were finished.
""why, has n't the afternoon gone quickly after all!"
exclaimed carol.
""i just let my pen run on and jotted down any good working idea that came into my head.
cyrilla blair, that big fat letter is never for miss marshall!
what on earth did you find to write her?"
""it was n't so hard when i got fairly started," said cyrilla, smiling.
""now, let's hunt up nora jane and send the letters around so that everybody can read his or hers before tea-time.
we should have a choice assortment of smiles at the table instead of all those frowns and sighs we had at dinner."
miss emily marshall was at that moment sitting in her little back room, all alone in the dusk, with the rain splashing drearily against the windowpanes outside.
miss marshall was feeling as lonely and dreary as she looked -- and as she had often felt in her life of sixty years.
she told herself bitterly that she had n't a friend in the world -- not even one who cared enough for her to come and see her or write her a letter now and then.
she thought her boarding-house acquaintances disliked her and she resented their dislike, without admitting to herself that her ungracious ways were responsible for it.
she smiled sourly when little ripples of laughter came faintly down the hall from the front room where the trio were writing their letters and laughing over the fun they were putting into them.
""if they were old and lonesome and friendless they would n't see much in life to laugh at, i guess," said miss marshall bitterly, drawing her shawl closer about her sharp shoulders.
""they never think of anything but themselves and if a day passes that they do n't have "some fun" they think it's a fearful thing to put up with.
i'm sick and tired of their giggling and whispering."
in the midst of these amiable reflections miss marshall heard a knock at her door.
when she opened it there stood nora jane, her broad red face beaming with smiles.
""please, miss, here's a letter for you," she said.
""a letter for me!"
miss marshall shut her door and stared at the fat envelope in amazement.
who could have written it?
the postman came only in the morning.
was it some joke, perhaps?
those giggling girls?
miss marshall's face grew harder as she lighted her lamp and opened the letter suspiciously.
""dear miss marshall," it ran in cyrilla's pretty girlish writing, "we girls are so lonesome and dull that we have decided to write rainy-day letters to everybody in the house just to cheer ourselves up.
so i'm going to write to you just a letter of friendly nonsense."
pages of "nonsense" followed, and very delightful nonsense it was, for cyrilla possessed the happy gift of bright and easy letter-writing.
she commented wittily on all the amusing episodes of the boarding-house life for the past month; she described a cat-fight she had witnessed from her window that morning and illustrated it by a pen-and-ink sketch of the belligerent felines; she described a lovely new dress her mother had sent her from home and told all about the class party to which she had worn it; she gave an account of her vacation camping trip to the mountains and pasted on one page a number of small snapshots taken during the outing; she copied a joke she had read in the paper that morning and discussed the serial story in the boarding-house magazine which all the boarders were reading; she wrote out the directions for a new crocheted tidy her sister had made -- miss marshall had a mania for crocheting; and she finally wound up with "all the good will and good wishes that nora jane will consent to carry from your friend, cyrilla blair."
before miss marshall had finished reading that letter she had cried three times and laughed times past counting.
more tears came at the end -- happy, tender tears such as miss marshall had not shed for years.
something warm and sweet and gentle seemed to thrill to life within her heart.
so those girls were not such selfish, heedless young creatures as she had supposed!
how kind it had been in cyrilla blair to think of her and write so to her.
she no longer felt lonely and neglected.
her whole sombre world had been brightened to sunshine by that merry friendly letter.
mrs. plunkett's table was surrounded by a ring of smiling faces that night.
everybody seemed in good spirits in spite of the weather.
the pale little dressmaker, who had hardly uttered a word since her arrival a week before, talked and laughed quite merrily and girlishly, thanking cyrilla unreservedly for her "jolly letter."
old mr. grant did not grumble once about the rain or the food or his rheumatism and he told carol that she might be a good letter writer in time if she looked after her grammar more carefully -- which, from mr. grant, was high praise.
all the others declared that they were delighted with their letters -- all except miss marshall.
she said nothing but later on, when cyrilla was going upstairs, she met miss marshall in the shadows of the second landing.
""my dear," said miss marshall gently, "i want to thank you for your letter, i do n't think you can realize just what it has meant to me.
i was so -- so lonely and tired and discouraged.
it heartened me right up.
i -- i know you have thought me a cross and disagreeable person.
i'm afraid i have been, too.
but -- but -- i shall try to be less so in future.
if i ca n't succeed all at once do n't mind me because, under it all, i shall always be your friend.
and i mean to keep your letter and read it over every time i feel myself getting bitter and hard again."
""dear miss marshall, i'm so glad you liked it," said cyrilla frankly.
""we're all your friends and would be glad to be chummy with you.
only we thought perhaps we bothered you with our nonsense."
""come and see me sometimes," said miss marshall with a smile.
""i'll try to be "chummy" -- perhaps i'm not yet too old to learn the secret of friendliness.
your letter has made me think that i have missed much in shutting all young life out from mine as i have done.
i want to reform in this respect if i can."
when cyrilla reached the front room she found mrs. plunkett there.
""i've just dropped in, miss blair," said that worthy woman, "to say that i dunno as i mind your making candy once in a while if you want to.
only do be careful not to set the place on fire.
please be particularly careful not to set it on fire."
""we'll try," promised cyrilla with dancing eyes.
when the door closed behind mrs. plunkett the three girls looked at each other.
""cyrilla, that idea of yours was a really truly inspiration," said carol solemnly.
""i believe it was," said cyrilla, thinking of miss marshall.
dorinda's desperate deed dorinda had been home for a whole wonderful week and the little pages were beginning to feel acquainted with her.
when a girl goes away when she is ten and does n't come back until she is fifteen, it is only to be expected that her family should regard her as somewhat of a stranger, especially when she is really a page, and they are really all carters except for the name.
dorinda had been only ten when her aunt mary -- on the carter side -- had written to mrs. page, asking her to let dorinda come to her for the winter.
mrs. page, albeit she was poor -- nobody but herself knew how poor -- and a widow with five children besides dorinda, hesitated at first.
she was afraid, with good reason, that the winter might stretch into other seasons; but mary had lost her own only little girl in the summer, and mrs. page shuddered at the thought of what her loneliness must be.
so, to comfort her, mrs. page had let dorinda go, stipulating that she must come home in the spring.
in the spring, when dorinda's bed of violets was growing purple under the lilac bush, aunt mary wrote again.
dorinda was contented and happy, she said.
would not emily let her stay for the summer?
mrs. page cried bitterly over that letter and took sad counsel with herself.
to let dorinda stay with her aunt for the summer really meant, she knew, to let her stay altogether.
mrs. page was finding it harder and harder to get along; there was so little and the children needed so much; dorinda would have a good home with her aunt mary if she could only prevail on her rebellious mother heart to give her up.
in the end she agreed to let dorinda stay for the summer -- and dorinda had never been home since.
but now dorinda had come back to the little white house on the hill at willowdale, set back from the road in a smother of apple trees and vines.
aunt mary had died very suddenly and her only son, dorinda's cousin, had gone to japan.
there was nothing for dorinda to do save to come home, to enter again into her old unfilled place in her mother's heart, and win a new place in the hearts of the brothers and sisters who barely remembered her at all.
leicester had been nine and jean seven when dorinda went away; now they were respectively fourteen and twelve.
at first they were a little shy with this big, practically brand-new sister, but this soon wore off.
nobody could be shy long with dorinda; nobody could help liking her.
she was so brisk and jolly and sympathetic -- a real page, so everybody said -- while the brothers and sisters were carter to their marrow; carters with fair hair and blue eyes, and small, fine, wistful features; but dorinda had merry black eyes, plump, dusky-red cheeks, and a long braid of glossy dark hair, which was perpetually being twitched from one shoulder to another as dorinda whisked about the house on domestic duties intent.
in a week dorinda felt herself one of the family again, with all the cares and responsibilities thereof resting on her strong young shoulders.
dorinda and her mother talked matters out fully one afternoon over their sewing, in the sunny south room where the winds got lost among the vines halfway through the open window.
mrs. page sighed and said she really did not know what to do.
dorinda did not sigh; she did not know just what to do either, but there must be something that could be done -- there is always something that can be done, if one can only find it.
dorinda sewed hard and pursed up her red lips determinedly.
""do n't you worry, mother page," she said briskly.
""we'll be like that glorious old roman who found a way or made it.
i like overcoming difficulties.
i've lots of old admiral page's fighting blood in me, you know.
the first step is to tabulate just exactly what difficulties among our many difficulties must be ravelled out first -- the capital difficulties, as it were.
most important of all comes --" "leicester," said mrs. page.
dorinda winked her eyes as she always did when she was doubtful.
""well, i knew he was one of them, but i was n't going to put him the very first.
however, we will.
leicester's case stands thus.
he is a pretty smart boy -- if he was n't my brother, i'd say he was a very smart boy.
he has gone as far in his studies as willowdale school can take him, has qualified for entrance into the blue hill academy, wants to go there this fall and begin the beginnings of a college course.
well, of course, mother page, we ca n't send leicester to blue hill any more than we can send him to the moon."
""no," mourned mrs. page, "and the poor boy feels so badly over it.
his heart is set on going to college and being a doctor like his father.
he believes he could work his way through, if he could only get a start.
but there is n't any chance.
and i ca n't afford to keep him at school any longer.
he is going into mr. churchill's store at willow centre in the fall.
mr. churchill has very kindly offered him a place.
leicester hates the thought of it -- i know he does, although he never says so."
""next to leicester's college course we want --" "music lessons for jean."
dorinda winked again.
""are music lessons for jean really a difficulty?"
she said.
""that is, one spelled with a capital?"
""oh, yes, dorinda dear.
at least, i'm worried over it.
jean loves music so, and she has never had anything, poor child, not even as much school as she ought to have had.
i've had to keep her home so much to help me with the work.
she has been such a good, patient little girl too, and her heart is set on music lessons."
""well, she must have them then -- after we get leicester's year at the academy for him.
that's two.
the third is a new --" "the roof must be shingled this fall," said mrs. page anxiously.
""it really must, dorinda.
it is no better than a sieve.
we are nearly drowned every time it rains.
but i do n't know where the money to do it is going to come from."
""shingles for the roof, three," said dorinda, as if she were carefully jotting down something in a mental memorandum.
""and fourth -- now, mother page, i will have my say this time -- fourthly, biggest capital of all, a nice, new dress and a warm fur coat for mother page this winter.
yes, yes, you must have them, dearest.
it's absolutely necessary.
we can wait a year or so for college courses and music lessons to grow; we can set basins under the leaks and borrow some more if we have n't enough.
but a new dress and coat for you we must, shall, and will have, however it is to be brought about."
""i would n't mind if i never got another new stitch, if i could only manage the other things," said mrs. page stoutly.
""if your uncle eugene would only help us a little, until leicester got through!
he really ought to.
but of course he never will."
""have you ever asked him?"
said dorinda.
""oh, my dear, no; of course not," said mrs. page in a horrified tone, as if dorinda had asked if she had ever stolen a neighbour's spoons.
""i do n't see why you should n't," said dorinda seriously.
""oh, dorinda, uncle eugene hates us all.
he is terribly bitter against us.
he would never, never listen to any request for help, even if i could bring myself to make it."
""mother, what was the trouble between us and uncle eugene?
i have never known the rights of it.
i was too small to understand when i was home before.
all i remember is that uncle eugene never came to see us or spoke to us when he met us anywhere, and we were all afraid of him somehow.
i used to think of him as an ogre who would come creeping up the back stairs after dark and carry me off bodily if i was n't good.
what made him our enemy?
and how did he come to get all of grandfather page's property when father got nothing?"
""well, you know, dorinda, that your grandfather page was married twice.
eugene was his first wife's son, and your father the second wife's.
eugene was a great deal older than your father -- he was twenty-five when your father was born.
he was always an odd man, even in his youth, and he had been much displeased at his father's second marriage.
but he was very fond of your father -- whose mother, as you know, died at his birth -- and they were good friends and comrades until just before your father went to college.
they then quarrelled; the cause of the quarrel was insignificant; with anyone else than eugene a reconciliation would soon have been effected.
but eugene never was friendly with your father from that time.
i think he was jealous of old grandfather's affection; thought the old man loved your father best.
and then, as i have said, he was very eccentric and stubborn.
well, your father went away to college and graduated, and then -- we were married.
grandfather page was very angry with him for marrying me.
he wanted him to marry somebody else.
he told him he would disinherit him if he married me.
i did not know this until we were married.
but grandfather page kept his word.
he sent for a lawyer and had a new will made, leaving everything to eugene.
i think, nay, i am sure, that he would have relented in time, but he died the very next week; they found him dead in his bed one morning, so eugene got everything; and that is all there is of the story, dorinda."
""and uncle eugene has been our enemy ever since?"
""yes, ever since.
so you see, dorinda dear, that i can not ask any favours of uncle eugene."
""yes, i see," said dorinda understandingly.
to herself she added, "but i do n't see why i should n't."
dorinda thought hard and long for the next few days about the capital difficulties.
she could think of only one thing to do and, despite old admiral page's fighting blood, she shrank from doing it.
but one night she found leicester with his head down on his books and -- no, it could n't be tears in his eyes, because leicester laughed scornfully at the insinuation.
""i would n't cry over it, dorinda; i hope i'm more of a man than that.
but i do really feel rather cut up because i've no chance of getting to college.
and i hate the thought of going into a store.
but i know i must for mother's sake, and i mean to pitch in and like it in spite of myself when the time comes.
only -- only --" and then leicester got up and whistled and went to the window and stood with his back to dorinda.
""that settles it," said dorinda out loud, as she brushed her hair before the glass that night.
""i'll do it."
""do what?"
asked jean from the bed.
""a desperate deed," said dorinda solemnly, and that was all she would say.
next day mrs. page and leicester went to town on business.
in the afternoon dorinda put on her best dress and hat and started out.
admiral page's fighting blood was glowing in her cheeks as she walked briskly up the hill road, but her heart beat in an odd fashion.
""i wonder if i am a little scared, "way down deep," said dorinda.
""i believe i am.
but i'm going to do it for all that, and the scareder i get the more i'll do it."
oaklawn, where uncle eugene lived, was two miles away.
it was a fine old place in beautiful grounds.
but dorinda did not quail before its splendours; nor did her heart fail her, even after she had rung the bell and had been shown by a maid into a very handsome parlour, but it still continued to beat in that queer fashion halfway up her throat.
presently uncle eugene came in, a tall, black-eyed old man, with a fine head of silver hair that should have framed a ruddy, benevolent face, instead of uncle eugene's hard-lipped, bushy-browed countenance.
dorinda stood up, dusky and crimson, with brave, glowing eyes.
uncle eugene looked at her sharply.
""who are you?"
he said bluntly.
""i am your niece, dorinda page," said dorinda steadily.
""and what does my niece, dorinda page, want with me?"
demanded uncle eugene, motioning to her to sit down and sitting down himself.
but dorinda remained standing.
it is easier to fight on your feet.
""i want you to do four things, uncle eugene," she said, as calmly as if she were making the most natural and ordinary request in the world.
""i want you to lend us the money to send leicester to blue hill academy; he will pay it back to you when he gets through college.
i want you to lend jean the money for music lessons; she will pay you back when she gets far enough along to give lessons herself.
and i want you to lend me the money to shingle our house and get mother a new dress and fur coat for the winter.
i'll pay you back sometime for that, because i am going to set up as a dressmaker pretty soon."
""anything more?"
said uncle eugene, when dorinda stopped.
""nothing more just now, i think," said dorinda reflectively.
""why do n't you ask for something for yourself?"
said uncle eugene.
""i do n't want anything for myself," said dorinda promptly.
""or -- yes, i do, too.
i want your friendship, uncle eugene."
""be kind enough to sit down," said uncle eugene.
dorinda sat.
""you are a page," said uncle eugene.
""i saw that as soon as i came in.
i will send leicester to college and i shall not ask or expect to be paid back.
jean shall have her music lessons, and a piano to practise them on as well.
the house shall be shingled, and the money for the new dress and coat shall be forthcoming.
you and i will be friends."
""thank you," gasped dorinda, wondering if, after all, it was n't a dream.
""i would have gladly assisted your mother before," said uncle eugene, "if she had asked me.
i had determined that she must ask me first.
i knew that half the money should have been your father's by rights.
i was prepared to hand it over to him or his family, if i were asked for it.
but i wished to humble his pride, and the carter pride, to the point of asking for it.
not a very amiable temper, you will say?
i admit it.
i am not amiable and i never have been amiable.
you must be prepared to find me very unamiable.
i see that you are waiting for a chance to say something polite and pleasant on that score, but you may save yourself the trouble.
i shall hope and expect to have you visit me often.
if your mother and your brothers and sisters see fit to come with you, i shall welcome them also.
i think that this is all it is necessary to say just now.
will you stay to tea with me this evening?"
dorinda stayed to tea, since she knew that jean was at home to attend to matters there.
she and uncle eugene got on famously.
when she left, uncle eugene, grim and hard-lipped as ever, saw her to the door.
""good evening, niece dorinda.
you are a page and i am proud of you.
tell your mother that many things in this life are lost through not asking for them.
i do n't think you are in need of the information for yourself."
her own people the taunton school had closed for the summer holidays.
constance foster and miss channing went down the long, elm-shaded street together, as they generally did, because they happened to board on the same block downtown.
constance was the youngest teacher on the staff, and had charge of the primary department.
she had taught in taunton school a year, and at its close she was as much of a stranger in the little corps of teachers as she had been at the beginning.
the others thought her stiff and unapproachable; she was unpopular in a negative way with all except miss channing, who made it a profession to like everybody, the more so if other people disliked them.
miss channing was the oldest teacher on the staff, and taught the fifth grade.
she was short and stout and jolly; nothing, not even the iciest reserve, ever daunted miss channing.
""is n't it good to think of two whole blessed months of freedom?"
she said jubilantly.
""two months to dream, to be lazy, to go where one pleases, no exercises to correct, no reports to make, no pupils to keep in order.
to be sure, i love them every one, but i'll love them all the more for a bit of a rest from them.
is n't it good?"
a little satirical smile crossed constance foster's dark, discontented face, looking just then all the more discontented in contrast to miss channing's rosy, beaming countenance.
""it's very good, if you have anywhere to go, or anybody who cares where you go," she said bitterly.
""for my own part, i'm sorry school is closed.
i'd rather go on teaching all summer."
""heresy!"
said miss channing.
""rank heresy!
what are your vacation plans?"
""i have n't any," said constance wearily.
""i've put off thinking about vacation as long as i possibly could.
you'll call that heresy, too, miss channing."
""it's worse than heresy," said miss channing briskly.
""it's a crying necessity for blue pills, that's what it is.
your whole mental and moral and physical and spiritual system must be out of kilter, my child.
no vacation plans!
you must have vacation plans.
you must be going somewhere."
""oh, i suppose i'll hunt up a boarding place somewhere in the country, and go there and mope until september."
""have you no friends, constance?"
""no -- no, i have n't anybody in the world.
that is why i hate vacation, that is why i've hated to hear you and the others discussing your vacation plans.
you all have somebody to go to.
it has just filled me up with hatred of my life."
miss channing swallowed her honest horror at such a state of feeling.
""constance, tell me about yourself.
i've often wanted to ask you, but i was always a little afraid to.
you seem so reserved and -- and, as if you did n't want to be asked about yourself."
""i know it.
i know i'm stiff and hateful, and that nobody likes me, and that it is all my own fault.
no, never mind trying to smooth it over, miss channing.
it's the truth, and it hurts me, but i ca n't help it.
i'm getting more bitter and pessimistic and unwholesome every day of my life.
sometimes it seems as if i hated all the world because i'm so lonely in it.
i'm nobody.
my mother died when i was born -- and father -- oh, i do n't know.
one ca n't say anything against one's father, miss channing.
but i had a hard childhood -- or rather, i did n't have any childhood at all.
we were always moving about.
we did n't seem to have any friends at all.
my mother might have had relatives somewhere, but i never heard of any.
i do n't even know where her home was.
father never would talk of her.
he died two years ago, and since then i've been absolutely alone."
""oh, you poor girl," said miss channing softly.
""i want friends," went on constance, seeming to take a pleasure in open confession now that her tongue was loosed.
""i've always just longed for somebody belonging to me to love.
i do n't love anybody, miss channing, and when a girl is in that state, she is all wrong.
she gets hard and bitter and resentful -- i have, anyway.
i struggled against it at first, but it has been too much for me.
it poisons everything.
there is nobody to care anything about me, whether i live or die."
""oh, yes, there is one," said miss channing gently.
""god cares, constance."
constance gave a disagreeable little laugh.
""that sounds like miss williams -- she is so religious.
god does n't mean anything to me, miss channing.
i've just the same resentful feeling toward him that i have for all the world, if he exists at all.
there, i've shocked you in good earnest now.
you should have left me alone, miss channing."
""god means nothing to you because you've never had him translated to you through human love, constance," said miss channing seriously.
""no, you have n't shocked me -- at least, not in the way you mean.
i'm only terribly sorry."
""oh, never mind me," said constance, freezing up into her reserve again as if she regretted her confidences.
""i'll get along all right.
this is one of my off days, when everything looks black."
miss channing walked on in silence.
she must help constance, but constance was not easily helped.
when school reopened, she might be able to do something worthwhile for the girl, but just now the only thing to do was to put her in the way of a pleasant vacation.
""you spoke of boarding," she said, when constance paused at the door of her boarding-house.
""have you any particular place in view?
no?
well, i know a place which i am sure you would like.
i was there two summers ago.
it is a country place about a hundred miles from here.
pine valley is its name.
it's restful and homey, and the people are so nice.
if you like, i'll give you the address of the family i boarded with."
""thank you," said constance indifferently.
""i might as well go there as anywhere else."
""yes, but listen to me, dear.
do n't take your morbidness with you.
open your heart to the summer, and let its sunshine in, and when you come back in the fall, come prepared to let us all be your friends.
we'd like to be, and while friendship does n't take the place of the love of one's own people, still it is a good and beautiful thing.
besides, there are other unhappy people in the world -- try to help them when you meet them, and you'll forget about yourself.
good-by for now, and i hope you'll have a pleasant vacation in spite of yourself."
constance went to pine valley, but she took her evil spirit with her.
not even the beauty of the valley, with its great balmy pines, and the cheerful friendliness of its people could exorcise it.
nevertheless, she liked the place and found a wholesome pleasure in the long tramps she took along the piney roads.
""i saw such a pretty spot in my ramble this afternoon," she told her landlady one evening.
""it is about three miles from here at the end of the valley.
such a picturesque, low-eaved little house, all covered over with honeysuckle.
it was set between a big orchard and an old-fashioned flower garden with great pines at the back."
""heartsease farm," said mrs. hewitt promptly.
""bless you, there's only one place around here of that description.
mr. and mrs. bruce, uncle charles and aunt flora, as we all call them, live there.
they are the dearest old couple alive.
you ought to go and see them, they'd be delighted.
aunt flora just loves company.
they're real lonesome by times."
""have n't they any children?"
asked constance indifferently.
her interest was in the place, not in the people.
""no.
they had a niece once, though.
they brought her up and they just worshipped her.
she ran away with a worthless fellow -- i forget his name, if i ever knew it.
he was handsome and smooth-tongued, but he was a scamp.
she died soon after and it just broke their hearts.
they do n't even know where she was buried, and they never heard anything more about her husband.
i've heard that aunt flora's hair turned snow-white in a month.
i'll take you up to see her some day when i find time."
mrs. hewitt did not find time, but thereafter constance ordered her rambles that she might frequently pass heartsease farm.
the quaint old spot had a strange attraction for her.
she found herself learning to love it, and so unused was this unfortunate girl to loving anything that she laughed at herself for her foolishness.
one evening a fortnight later constance, with her arms full of ferns and wood-lilies, came out of the pine woods above heartsease farm just as heavy raindrops began to fall.
she had prolonged her ramble unseasonably, and it was now nearly night, and very certainly a rainy night at that.
she was three miles from home and without even an extra wrap.
she hurried down the lane, but by the time she reached the main road, the few drops had become a downpour.
she must seek shelter somewhere, and heartsease farm was the nearest.
she pushed open the gate and ran up the slope of the yard between the hedges of sweetbriar.
she was spared the trouble of knocking, for as she came to a breathless halt on the big red sandstone doorstep, the door was flung open, and the white-haired, happy-faced little woman standing on the threshold had seized her hand and drawn her in bodily before she could speak a word.
""i saw you coming from upstairs," said aunt flora gleefully, "and i just ran down as fast as i could.
dear, dear, you are a little wet.
but we'll soon dry you.
come right in -- i've a bit of a fire in the grate, for the evening is chilly.
they laughed at me for loving a fire so, but there's nothing like its snap and sparkle.
you're rained in for the night, and i'm as glad as i can be.
i know who you are -- you are miss foster.
i'm aunt flora, and this is uncle charles."
constance let herself be put into a cushiony chair and fussed over with an unaccustomed sense of pleasure.
the rain was coming down in torrents, and she certainly was domiciled at heartsease farm for the night.
somehow, she felt glad of it.
mrs. hewitt was right in calling aunt flora sweet, and uncle charles was a big, jolly, ruddy-faced old man with a hearty manner.
he shook constance's hand until it ached, threw more pine knots in the fire and told her he wished it would rain every night if it rained down a nice little girl like her.
she found herself strangely attracted to the old couple.
the name of their farm was in perfect keeping with their atmosphere.
constance's frozen soul expanded in it.
she chatted merrily and girlishly, feeling as if she had known them all her life.
when bedtime came, aunt flora took her upstairs to a little gable room.
""my spare room is all in disorder just now, dearie, we have been painting its floor.
so i'm going to put you here in jeannie's room.
someway you remind me of her, and you are just about the age she was when she left us.
if it was n't for that, i do n't think i could put you in her room, not even if every other floor in the house were being painted.
it is so sacred to me.
i keep it just as she left it, not a thing is changed.
good night dearie, and i hope you'll have pleasant dreams."
when constance found herself alone in the room, she looked about her with curiosity.
it was a very dainty, old-fashioned little room.
the floor was covered with braided mats; the two square, small-paned windows were draped with snowy muslin.
in one corner was a little white bed with white curtains and daintily ruffled pillows, and in the other a dressing table with a gilt-framed mirror and the various knick-knacks of a girlish toilet.
there was a little blue rocker and an ottoman with a work-basket on it.
in the work-basket was a bit of unfinished, yellowed lace with a needle sticking in it.
a small bookcase under the sloping ceiling was filled with books.
constance picked up one and opened it at the yellowing title-page.
she gave a little cry of surprise.
the name written across the page in a fine, dainty script was "jean constance irving," her mother's name!
for a moment constance stood motionless.
then she turned impulsively and hurried downstairs again.
mr. and mrs. bruce were still in the sitting room talking to each other in the firelight.
""oh," cried constance excitedly.
""i must know, i must ask you.
this is my mother's name, jean constance irving, can it be possible she was your little jeannie?"
* * * * * a fortnight later miss channing received a letter from constance.
""i am so happy," she wrote.
""oh, miss channing, i have found "mine own people," and heartsease farm is to be my own, own dear home for always.
""it was such a strange coincidence, no, aunt flora says it was providence, and i believe it was, too.
i came here one rainy night, and aunty put me in my mother's room, think of it!
my own dear mother's room, and i found her name in a book.
and now the mystery is all cleared up, and we are so happy.
""everything is dear and beautiful, and almost the dearest and most beautiful thing is that i am getting acquainted with my mother, the mother i never knew before.
she no longer seems dead to me.
i feel that she lives and loves me, and i am learning to know her better every day.
i have her room and her books and all her little girlish possessions.
when i read her books, with their passages underlined by her hand, i feel as if she were speaking to me.
she was very good and sweet, in spite of her one foolish, bitter mistake, and i want to be as much like her as i can.
""i said that this was almost the dearest and most beautiful thing.
the very dearest and most beautiful is this -- god means something to me now.
he means so much!
i remember that you said to me that he meant nothing to me because i had no human love in my heart to translate the divine.
but i have now, and it has led me to him.
""i am not going back to taunton.
i have sent in my resignation.
i am going to stay home with aunty and uncle.
it is so sweet to say home and know what it means.
""aunty says you must come and spend all your next vacation with us.
you see, i have lots of vacation plans now, even for a year ahead.
after all, there is no need of the blue pills!
""i feel like a new creature, made over from the heart and soul out.
i look back with shame and contrition on the old constance.
i want you to forget her and only remember your grateful friend, the new constance."
ida's new year cake mary craig and sara reid and josie pye had all flocked into ida mitchell's room at their boarding-house to condole with each other because none of them was able to go home for new year's.
mary and josie had been home for christmas, so they did n't really feel so badly off.
but ida and sara had n't even that consolation.
ida was a third-year student at the clifton academy; she had holidays, and nowhere, so she mournfully affirmed, to spend them.
at home three brothers and a sister were down with the measles, and, as ida had never had them, she could not go there; and the news had come too late for her to make any other arrangements.
mary and josie were clerks in a clifton bookstore, and sara was stenographer in a clifton lawyer's office.
and they were all jolly and thoughtless and very fond of one another.
""this will be the first new year's i have ever spent away from home," sighed sara, nibbling chocolate fudge.
""it does make me so blue to think of it.
and not even a holiday -- i'll have to go to work just the same.
now ida here, she does n't really need sympathy.
she has holidays -- a whole fortnight -- and nothing to do but enjoy them."
""holidays are dismal things when you've nowhere to holiday," said ida mournfully.
""the time drags horribly.
but never mind, girls, i've a plummy bit of news for you.
i'd a letter from mother today and, bless the dear woman, she is sending me a cake -- a new year's cake -- a great big, spicy, mellow, delicious fruit cake.
it will be along tomorrow and, girls, we'll celebrate when it comes.
i've asked everybody in the house up to my room for new year's eve, and we'll have a royal good time."
""how splendid!"
said mary.
""there's nothing i like more than a slice of real countrified home-made fruit cake, where they do n't scrimp on eggs or butter or raisins.
you'll give me a good big piece, wo n't you, ida?"
""as much as you can eat," promised ida.
""i can warrant mother's fruit cake.
yes, we'll have a jamboree.
miss monroe has promised to come in too.
she says she has a weakness for fruit cake."
""oh!"
breathed all the girls.
miss monroe was their idol, whom they had to be content to worship at a distance as a general thing.
she was a clever journalist, who worked on a paper, and was reputed to be writing a book.
the girls felt they were highly privileged to be boarding in the same house, and counted that day lost on which they did not receive a businesslike nod or an absent-minded smile from miss monroe.
if she ever had time to speak to one of them about the weather, that fortunate one put on airs for a week.
and now to think that she had actually promised to drop into ida's room on new year's eve and eat fruit cake!
""there goes that funny little namesake of yours, ida," said josie, who was sitting by the window.
""she seems to be staying in town over the holidays too.
wonder why.
perhaps she does n't belong anywhere.
she really is a most forlorn-appearing little mortal."
there were two ida mitchells attending the clifton academy.
the other ida was a plain, quiet, pale-faced little girl of fifteen who was in the second year.
beyond that, none of the third-year ida mitchell's set knew anything about her, or tried to find out.
""she must be very poor," said ida carelessly.
""she dresses so shabbily, and she always looks so pinched and subdued.
she boards in a little house out on marlboro road, and i pity her if she has to spend her holidays there, for a more dismal place i never saw.
i was there once on the trail of a book i had lost.
going, girls?
well, do n't forget tomorrow night."
ida spent the next day decorating her room and watching for the arrival of her cake.
it had n't come by tea-time, and she concluded to go down to the express office and investigate.
it would be dreadful if that cake did n't turn up in time, with all the girls and miss monroe coming in.
ida felt that she would be mortified to death.
inquiry at the express office discovered two things.
a box had come in for miss ida mitchell, clifton; and said box had been delivered to miss ida mitchell, clifton.
""one of our clerks said he knew you personally -- boarded next door to you -- and he'd take it round himself," the manager informed her.
""there must be some mistake," said ida in perplexity.
""i do n't know any of the clerks here.
oh -- why -- there's another ida mitchell in town!
can it be possible my cake has gone to her?"
the manager thought it very possible, and offered to send around and see.
but ida said it was on her way home and she would call herself.
at the dismal little house on marlboro road she was sent up three flights of stairs to the other ida mitchell's small hall bedroom.
the other ida mitchell opened the door for her.
behind her, on the table, was the cake -- such a fine, big, brown cake, with raisins sticking out all over it!
""why, how do you do, miss mitchell!"
exclaimed the other ida with shy pleasure.
""come in.
i did n't know you were in town.
it's real good of you to come and see me.
and just see what i've had sent to me!
is n't it a beauty?
i was so surprised when it came -- and, oh, so glad!
i was feeling so blue and lonesome -- as if i had n't a friend in the world.
i -- i -- yes, i was crying when that cake came.
it has just made the world over for me.
do sit down and i'll cut you a piece.
i'm sure you're as fond of fruit cake as i am."
ida sat down in a chair, feeling bewildered and awkward.
this was a nice predicament!
how could she tell that other ida that the cake did n't belong to her?
the poor thing was so delighted.
and, oh, what a bare, lonely little room!
the big, luxurious cake seemed to emphasize the bareness and loneliness.
""who -- who sent it to you?"
she asked lamely.
""it must have been mrs. henderson, because there is nobody else who would," answered the other ida.
""two years ago i was going to school in trenton and i boarded with her.
when i left her to come to clifton she told me she would send me a cake for christmas.
well, i expected that cake last year -- and it did n't come.
i ca n't tell you how disappointed i was.
you'll think me very childish.
but i was so lonely, with no home to go to like the other girls.
but she sent it this year, you see.
it is so nice to think that somebody has remembered me at new year's.
it is n't the cake itself -- it's the thought behind it.
it has just made all the difference in the world.
there -- just sample it, miss mitchell."
the other ida cut a generous slice from the cake and passed it to her guest.
her eyes were shining and her cheeks were flushed.
she was really a very sweet-looking little thing -- not a bit like her usual pale, timid self.
ida ate the cake slowly.
what was she to do?
she could n't tell the other ida the truth about the cake.
but the girls she had asked in to help eat it that very evening!
and miss monroe!
oh, dear, it was too bad.
but it could n't be helped.
she would n't blot out that light on the other ida's face for anything!
of course, she would find out the truth in time -- probably after she had written to thank mrs. henderson for the cake; but meanwhile she would have enjoyed the cake, and the supposed kindness back of it would tide her over her new year loneliness.
""it's delicious," said ida heartily, swallowing her own disappointment with the cake.
""i'm -- i'm glad i happened to drop in as i was passing."
ida hoped that speech did n't come under the head of a fib.
""so am i," said the other ida brightly.
""oh, i've been so lonesome and downhearted this week.
i'm so alone, you see -- there is n't anybody to care.
father died three years ago, and i do n't remember my mother at all.
there is nobody but myself, and it is dreadfully lonely at times.
when the academy is open and i have my lessons to study, i do n't mind so much.
but the holidays take all the courage out of me."
""we should have fraternized more this week," smiled ida, regretting that she had n't thought of it before.
""i could n't go home because of the measles, and i've moped a lot.
we might have spent the time together and had a real nice, jolly holiday."
the other ida blushed with delight.
""i'd love to be friends with you," she said slowly.
""i've often thought i'd like to know you.
is n't it odd that we have the same name?
it was so nice of you to come and see me.
i -- i'd love to have you come often."
""i will," said ida heartily.
""perhaps you will stay the evening," suggested the other ida.
""i've asked some of the girls who board here in to have some cake, i'm so glad to be able to give them something -- they've all been so good to me.
they are all clerks in stores and some of them are so tired and lonely.
it's so nice to have a pleasure to share with them.
wo n't you stay?"
""i'd like to," laughed ida, "but i have some guests of my own invited in for tonight.
i must hurry home, for they will most surely be waiting for me."
she laughed again as she thought what else the guests would be waiting for.
but her face was sober enough as she walked home.
""but i'm glad i left the cake with her," she said resolutely.
""poor little thing!
it means so much to her.
it meant only" a good feed," as josie says, to me.
i'm simply going to make it my business next term to be good friends with the other ida mitchell.
i'm afraid we third-year girls are very self-centred and selfish.
and i know what i'll do!
i'll write to abby morton in trenton to send me mrs. henderson's address, and i'll write her a letter and ask her not to let ida know she did n't send the cake."
ida went into a confectionery store and invested in what josie pye was wont to call "ready-to-wear eatables" -- fancy cakes, fruit, and candies.
when she reached her room she found it full of expectant girls, with miss monroe enthroned in the midst of them -- miss monroe in a wonderful evening dress of black lace and yellow silk, with roses in her hair and pearls on her neck -- all donned in honour of ida's little celebration.
i wo n't say that, just for a moment, ida did n't regret that she had given up her cake.
""good evening, miss mitchell," cried mary craig gaily.
""walk right in and make yourself at home in your own room, do!
we all met in the hall, and knocked and knocked.
finally miss monroe came, so we made bold to walk right in.
where is the only and original fruit cake, ida?
my mouth has been watering all day."
""the other ida mitchell is probably entertaining her friends at this moment with my fruit cake," said ida, with a little laugh.
then she told the whole story.
""i'm so sorry to disappoint you," she concluded, "but i simply could n't tell that poor, lonely child that the cake was n't intended for her.
i've brought all the goodies home with me that i could buy, and we'll have to do the best we can without the fruit cake."
their "best" proved to be a very good thing.
they had a jolly new year's eve, and miss monroe sparkled and entertained most brilliantly.
they kept their celebration up until twelve to welcome the new year in, and then they bade ida good night.
but miss monroe lingered for a moment behind the others to say softly: "i want to tell you how good and sweet i think it was of you to give up your cake to the other ida.
that little bit of unselfishness was a good guerdon for your new year."
and ida, radiant-faced at this praise from her idol, answered heartily: "i'm afraid i'm anything but unselfish, miss monroe.
but i mean to try to be more this coming year and think a little about the girls outside of my own little set who may be lonely or discouraged.
the other ida mitchell is n't going to have to depend on that fruit cake alone for comfort and encouragement for the next twelve months."
in the old valley the man halted on the crest of the hill and looked sombrely down into the long valley below.
it was evening, and although the hills around him were still in the light the valley was already filled with kindly, placid shadows.
a wind that blew across it from the misty blue sea beyond was making wild music in the rugged firs above his head as he stood in an angle of the weather-grey longer fence, knee-deep in bracken.
it had been by these firs he had halted twenty years ago, turning for one last glance at the valley below, the home valley which he had never seen since.
but then the firs had been little more than vigorous young saplings; they were tall, gnarled trees now, with lichened trunks, and their lower boughs were dead.
but high up their tops were green and caught the saffron light of the west.
he remembered that when a boy he had thought there was nothing more beautiful than the evening sunshine falling athwart the dark green fir boughs on the hills.
as he listened to the swish and murmur of the wind, the earth-old tune with the power to carry the soul back to the dawn of time, the years fell away from him and he forgot much, remembering more.
he knew now that there had always been a longing in his heart to hear the wind-chant in the firs.
he had called that longing by other names, but he knew it now for what it was when, hearing, he was satisfied.
he was a tall man with iron-grey hair and the face of a conqueror -- strong, pitiless, unswerving.
eagle eyes, quick to discern and unfaltering to pursue; jaw square and intrepid; mouth formed to keep secrets and cajole men to his will -- a face that hid much and revealed little.
it told of power and intellect, but the soul of the man was a hidden thing.
not in the arena where he had fought and triumphed, giving fierce blow for blow, was it to be shown; but here, looking down on the homeland, with the strength of the hills about him, it rose dominantly and claimed its own.
the old bond held.
yonder below him was home -- the old house that had sheltered him, the graves of his kin, the wide fields where his boyhood dreams had been dreamed.
should he go down to it?
this was the question he asked himself.
he had come back to it, heartsick of his idols of the marketplace.
for years they had satisfied him, the buying and selling and getting gain, the pitting of strength and craft against strength and craft, the tireless struggle, the exultation of victory.
then, suddenly, they had failed their worshipper; they ceased to satisfy; the sacrifices he had heaped on their altars availed him nothing in this new need and hunger of his being.
his gods mocked him and he wearied of their service.
were there not better things than these, things he had once known and loved and forgotten?
where were the ideals of his youth, the lofty aspirations that had upborne him then?
where was the eagerness and zest of new dawns, the earnestness of well-filled, purposeful hours of labour, the satisfaction of a good day worthily lived, at eventide the unbroken rest of long, starry nights?
where might he find them again?
were they yet to be had for the seeking in the old valley?
with the thought came a great yearning for home.
he had had many habitations, but he realized now that he had never thought of any of these places as home.
that name had all unconsciously been kept sacred to the long, green, seaward-looking glen where he had been born.
so he had come back to it, drawn by a longing not to be resisted.
but at the last he felt afraid.
there had been many changes, of that he felt sure.
would it still be home?
and if not, would not the loss be most irreparable and bitter?
would it not be better to go away, having looked at it from the hill and having heard the saga of the firs, keeping his memory of it unblurred, than risk the probable disillusion of a return to the places that had forgotten him and friends whom the varying years must certainly have changed as he had changed himself?
no, he would not go down.
it had been a foolish whim to come at all -- foolish, because the object of his quest was not to be found there or elsewhere.
he could not enter again into the heritage of boyhood and the heart of youth.
he could not find there the old dreams and hopes that had made life sweet.
he understood that he could not bring back to the old valley what he had taken from it.
he had lost that intangible, all-real wealth of faith and idealism and zest; he had bartered it away for the hard, yellow gold of the marketplace, and he realized at last how much poorer he was than when he had left that home valley.
his was a name that stood for millions, but he was beggared of hope and purpose.
no, he would not go down.
there was no one left there, unchanged and unchanging, to welcome him.
he would be a stranger there, even among his kin.
he would stay awhile on the hill, until the night came down over it, and then he would go back to his own place.
down below him, on the crest of a little upland, he saw his old home, a weather-grey house, almost hidden among white birch and apple trees, with a thick fir grove to the north of it.
he had been born in that old house; his earliest memory was of standing on its threshold and looking afar up to the long green hills.
""what is over the hills?"
he had asked of his mother.
with a smile she had made answer, "many things, laddie.
wonderful things, beautiful things, heart-breaking things."
""some day i shall go over the hills and find them all, mother," he had said stoutly.
she had laughed and sighed and caught him to her heart.
he had no recollection of his father, who had died soon after his son's birth, but how well he remembered his mother, his little, brown-eyed, girlish-faced mother!
he had lived on the homestead until he was twenty.
he had tilled the broad fields and gone in and out among the people, and their life had been his life.
but his heart was not in his work.
he wanted to go beyond the hills and seek what he knew must be there.
the valley was too narrow, too placid.
he longed for conflict and accomplishment.
he felt power and desire and the lust of endeavour stirring in him.
oh, to go over the hills to a world where men lived!
such had been the goal of all his dreams.
when his mother died he sold the farm to his cousin, stephen marshall.
he supposed it still belonged to him.
stephen had been a good sort of a fellow, a bit slow and plodding, perhaps, bovinely content to dwell within the hills, never hearkening or responding to the lure of the beyond.
yet it might be he had chosen the better part, to dwell thus on the land of his fathers, with a wife won in youth, and children to grow up around him.
the childless, wifeless man looking down from the hill wondered if it might have been so with him had he been content to stay in the valley.
perhaps so.
there had been joyce.
he wondered where joyce was now and whom she had married, for of course she had married.
did she too live somewhere down there in the valley, the matronly, contented mother of lads and lassies?
he could see her old home also, not so far from his own, just across a green meadow by way of a footpath and stile and through the firs beyond it.
how often he had traversed that path in the old days, knowing that joyce would be waiting at the end of it among the firs -- joyce, the playmate of childhood, the sweet confidante and companion of youth!
they had never been avowed lovers, but he had loved her then, as a boy loves, although he had never said a word of love to her.
joyce alone knew of his longings and his ambitions and his dreams; he had told them all to her freely, sure of the understanding and sympathy no other soul in the valley could give him.
how true and strong and womanly and gentle she had always been!
when he left home he had meant to go back to her some day.
they had parted without pledge or kiss, yet he knew she loved him and that he loved her.
at first they corresponded, then the letters began to grow fewer.
it was his fault; he had gradually forgotten.
the new, fierce, burning interests that came into his life crowded the old ones out.
boyhood's love was scorched up in that hot flame of ambition and contest.
he had not heard from or of joyce for many years.
now, again, he remembered as he looked down on the homeland fields.
the old places had changed little, whatever he might fear of the people who lived in them.
there was the school he had attended, a small, low-eaved, white-washed building set back from the main road among green spruces.
beyond it, amid tall elms, was the old church with its square tower hung with ivy.
he felt glad to see it; he had expected to see a new church, offensively spick-and-span and modern, for this church had been old when he was a boy.
he recalled the many times he had walked to it on the peaceful sunday afternoons, sometimes with his mother, sometimes with joyce.
the sun set far out to sea and sucked down with it all the light out of the winnowed dome of sky.
the stars came out singly and crystal clear over the far purple curves of the hills.
suddenly, glancing over his shoulder, he saw through an arch of black fir boughs a young moon swung low in a lake of palely tinted saffron sky.
he smiled a little, remembering that in boyhood it had been held a good omen to see the new moon over the right shoulder.
down in the valley the lights began to twinkle out here and there like earth-stars.
he would wait until he saw the kitchen light from the window of his old home.
then he would go.
he waited until the whole valley was zoned with a glittering girdle, but no light glimmered out through his native trees.
why was it lacking, that light he had so often hailed at dark, coming home from boyish rambles on the hills?
he felt anxious and dissatisfied, as if he could not go away until he had seen it.
when it was quite dark he descended the hill resolutely.
he must know why the homelight had failed him.
when he found himself in the old garden his heart grew sick and sore with disappointment and a bitter homesickness.
it needed but a glance, even in the dimness of the summer night, to see that the old house was deserted and falling to decay.
the kitchen door swung open on rusty hinges; the windows were broken and lifeless; weeds grew thickly over the yard and crowded wantonly up to the very threshold through the chinks of the rotten platform.
cuthbert marshall sat down on the old red sandstone step of the door and bowed his head in his hands.
this was what he had come back to -- this ghost and wreck of his past!
oh, bitterness!
from where he sat he saw the new house that stephen had built beyond the fir grove, with a cheerful light shining from its window.
after a long time he went over to it and knocked at the door.
stephen came to it, a stout grizzled farmer, with a chubby boy on his shoulder.
he was not much changed; cuthbert easily recognized him, but to stephen marshall no recognition came of this man with whom he had played and worked for years.
cuthbert was obliged to tell who he was.
he was made instantly and warmly welcome.
stephen was unfeignedly glad to see him, and stephen's comely wife, whom he remembered as a slim, fresh-cheeked valley girl, extended a kind and graceful hospitality.
the boys and girls, too, soon made friends with him.
yet he felt himself the stranger and the alien, whom the long, swift-passing years had shut forever from his old place.
he and stephen talked late that night, and in the morning he yielded to their entreaties to stay another day with them.
he spent it wandering about the farm and the old haunts of wood and stream.
yet he could not find himself.
this valley had his past in its keeping, but it could not give it back to him; he had lost the master word that might have compelled it.
he asked stephen fully about all his old friends and neighbours with one exception.
he could not ask him what had become of joyce cameron.
the question was on his lips a dozen times, but he shrank from uttering it.
he had a vague, secret dread that the answer, whatever it might be, would hurt him.
in the evening he yielded to a whim and went across to the cameron homestead, by the old footpath which was still kept open.
he walked slowly and dreamily, with his eyes on the far hills scarfed in the splendour of sunset.
so he had walked in the old days, but he had no dreams now of what lay beyond the hills, and joyce would not be waiting among the firs.
the stile he remembered was gone, replaced by a little rustic gate.
as he passed through it he lifted his eyes and there before him he saw her, standing tall and gracious among the grey trees, with the light from the west falling over her face.
so she had stood, so she had looked many an evening of the long-ago.
she had not changed; he realized that in the first amazed, incredulous glance.
perhaps there were lines on her face, a thread or two of silver in the soft brown hair, but those splendid steady blue eyes were the same, and the soul of her looked out through them, true to itself, the staunch, brave, sweet soul of the maiden ripened to womanhood.
""joyce!"
he said, stupidly, unbelievingly.
she smiled and put out her hand.
""i am glad to see you, cuthbert," she said simply.
""stephen's mary told me you had come.
and i thought you would be over to see us this evening."
she had offered him only one hand but he took both and held her so, looking hungrily down at her as a man looks at something he knows must be his salvation if salvation exists for him.
""is it possible you are here still, joyce?"
he said slowly.
""and you have not changed at all."
she coloured slightly and pulled away her hands, laughing.
""oh, indeed i have.
i have grown old.
the twilight is so kind it hides that, but it is true.
come into the house, cuthbert.
father and mother will be glad to see you."
""after a little," he said imploringly.
""let us stay here awhile first, joyce.
i want to make sure that this is no dream.
last night i stood on those hills yonder and looked down, but i meant to go away because i thought there would be no one left to welcome me.
if i had known you were here!
you have lived here in the old valley all these years?"
""all these years," she said gently, "i suppose you think it must have been a very meagre life?"
""no.
i am much wiser now than i was once, joyce.
i have learned wisdom beyond the hills.
one learns there -- in time -- but sometimes the lesson is learned too late.
shall i tell you what i have learned, joyce?
the gist of the lesson is that i left happiness behind me in the old valley, when i went away from it, happiness and peace and the joy of living.
i did not miss these things for a long while; i did not even know i had lost them.
but i have discovered my loss."
""yet you have been a very successful man," she said wonderingly.
""as the world calls success," he answered bitterly.
""i have place and wealth and power.
but that is not success, joyce.
i am tired of these things; they are the toys of grown-up children; they do not satisfy the man's soul.
i have come back to the old valley seeking for what might satisfy, but i have little hope of finding it, unless -- unless --" he was silent, remembering that he had forfeited all right to her help in the quest.
yet he realized clearly that only she could help him, only she could guide him back to the path he had missed.
it seemed to him that she held in her keeping all the good of his life, all the beauty of his past, all the possibilities of his future.
hers was the master word, but how should he dare ask her to utter it?
they walked among the firs until the stars came out, and they talked of many things.
she had kept her freshness of soul and her ideals untarnished.
in the peace of the old valley she had lived a life, narrow outwardly, wondrously deep and wide in thought and aspiration.
her native hills bounded the vision of her eyes, but the outlook of the soul was far and unhindered.
in the quiet places and the green ways she had found what he had failed to find -- the secret of happiness and content.
he knew that if this woman had walked hand in hand with him through the years, life, even in the glare and tumult of that world beyond the hills, would never have lost its meaning for him.
oh, fool and blind that he had been!
while he had sought and toiled afar, the best that god had meant for him had been here in the home of youth.
when darkness came down through the firs he told her all this, haltingly, blunderingly, yearningly.
""joyce, is it too late?
can you forgive my mistake, my long blindness?
can you care for me again -- a little?"
she turned her face upward to the sky between the swaying fir tops and he saw the reflection of a star in her eyes.
""i have never ceased to care," she said in a low tone.
""i never really wanted to cease.
it would have left life too empty.
if my love means so much to you it is yours, cuthbert -- it always has been yours."
he drew her close into his arms, and as he felt her heart beating against his he understood that he had found the way back to simple happiness and true wisdom, the wisdom of loving and the happiness of being loved.
jane lavinia jane lavinia put her precious portfolio down on the table in her room, carefully, as if its contents were fine gold, and proceeded to unpin and take off her second-best hat.
when she had gone over to the whittaker place that afternoon, she had wanted to wear her best hat, but aunt rebecca had vetoed that uncompromisingly.
""next thing you'll be wanting to wear your best muslin to go for the cows," said aunt rebecca sarcastically.
""you go right back upstairs and take off that chiffon hat.
if i was fool enough to be coaxed into buying it for you, i ai n't going to have you spoil it by traipsing hither and yon with it in the dust and sun.
your last summer's sailor is plenty good enough to go to the whittakers" in, jane lavinia."
""but mr. stephens and his wife are from new york," pleaded jane lavinia, "and she's so stylish."
""well, it's likely they're used to seeing chiffon hats," aunt rebecca responded, more sarcastically than ever.
""it is n't probable that yours would make much of a sensation.
mr. stephens did n't send for you to show him your chiffon hat, did he?
if he did, i do n't see what you're lugging that big portfolio along with you for.
go and put on your sailor hat, jane lavinia."
jane lavinia obeyed.
she always obeyed aunt rebecca.
but she took off the chiffon hat and pinned on the sailor with bitterness of heart.
she had always hated that sailor.
anything ugly hurt jane lavinia with an intensity that aunt rebecca could never understand; and the sailor hat was ugly, with its stiff little black bows and impossible blue roses.
it jarred on jane lavinia's artistic instincts.
besides, it was very unbecoming.
i look horrid in it, jane lavinia had thought sorrowfully; and then she had gone out and down the velvet-green springtime valley and over the sunny birch hill beyond with a lagging step and a rebellious heart.
but jane lavinia came home walking as if on the clear air of the crystal afternoon, her small, delicate face aglow and every fibre of her body and spirit thrilling with excitement and delight.
she forgot to fling the sailor hat into its box with her usual energy of dislike.
just then jane lavinia had a soul above hats.
she looked at herself in the glass and nodded with friendliness.
""you'll do something yet," she said.
""mr. stephens said you would.
oh, i like you, jane lavinia, you dear thing!
sometimes i have n't liked you because you're nothing to look at, and i did n't suppose you could really do anything worthwhile.
but i do like you now after what mr. stephens said about your drawings."
jane lavinia smiled radiantly into the little cracked glass.
just then she was pretty, with the glow on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes.
her uncertainly tinted hair and an all-too-certain little tilt of her nose no longer troubled her.
such things did not matter; nobody would mind them in a successful artist.
and mr. stephens had said that she had talent enough to win success.
jane lavinia sat down by her window, which looked west into a grove of firs.
they grew thickly, close up to the house, and she could touch their wide, fan-like branches with her hand.
jane lavinia loved those fir trees, with their whispers and sighs and beckonings, and she also loved her little shadowy, low-ceilinged room, despite its plainness, because it was gorgeous for her with visions and peopled with rainbow fancies.
the stained walls were covered with jane lavinia's pictures -- most of them pen-and-ink sketches, with a few flights into water colour.
aunt rebecca sniffed at them and deplored the driving of tacks into the plaster.
aunt rebecca thought jane lavinia's artistic labours a flat waste of time, which would have been much better put into rugs and crochet tidies and afghans.
all the other girls in chestercote made rugs and tidies and afghans.
why must jane lavinia keep messing with ink and crayons and water colours?
jane lavinia only knew that she must -- she could not help it.
there was something in her that demanded expression thus.
when mr. stephens, who was a well-known artist and magazine illustrator, came to chestercote because his wife's father, nathan whittaker, was ill, jane lavinia's heart had bounded with a shy hope.
she indulged in some harmless manoeuvring which, with the aid of good-natured mrs. whittaker, was crowned with success.
one day, when mr. whittaker was getting better, mr. stephens had asked her to show him some of her work.
jane lavinia, wearing the despised sailor hat, had gone over to the whittaker place with some of her best sketches.
she came home again feeling as if all the world and herself were transfigured.
she looked out from the window of her little room with great dreamy brown eyes, seeing through the fir boughs the golden western sky beyond, serving as a canvas whereon her fancy painted glittering visions of her future.
she would go to new york -- and study -- and work, oh, so hard -- and go abroad -- and work harder -- and win success -- and be great and admired and famous -- if only aunt rebecca -- ah!
if only aunt rebecca!
jane lavinia sighed.
there was spring in the world and spring in jane lavinia's heart; but a chill came with the thought of aunt rebecca, who considered tidies and afghans nicer than her pictures.
""but i'm going, anyway," said jane lavinia decidedly.
""if aunt rebecca wo n't give me the money, i'll find some other way.
i'm not afraid of any amount of work.
after what mr. stephens said, i believe i could work twenty hours out of the twenty-four.
i'd be content to live on a crust and sleep in a garret -- yes, and wear sailor hats with stiff bows and blue roses the year round."
jane lavinia sighed in luxurious renunciation.
oh, it was good to be alive -- to be a girl of seventeen, with wonderful ambitions and all the world before her!
the years of the future sparkled and gleamed alluringly.
jane lavinia, with her head on the window sill, looked out into the sunset splendour and dreamed.
athwart her dreams, rending in twain their frail, rose-tinted fabric, came aunt rebecca's voice from the kitchen below, "jane lavinia!
jane lavinia!
ai n't you going for the cows tonight?"
jane lavinia started up guiltily; she had forgotten all about the cows.
she slipped off her muslin dress and hurried into her print; but with all her haste it took time, and aunt rebecca was grimmer than ever when jane lavinia ran downstairs.
""it'll be dark before we get the cows milked.
i s "pose you've been day-dreaming again up there.
i do wish, jane lavinia, that you had more sense."
jane lavinia made no response.
at any other time she would have gone out with a lump in her throat; but now, after what mr. stephens had said, aunt rebecca's words had no power to hurt her.
""after milking i'll ask her about it," she said to herself, as she went blithely down the sloping yard, across the little mossy bridge over the brook, and up the lane on the hill beyond, where the ferns grew thickly and the grass was beset with tiny blue-eyes like purple stars.
the air was moist and sweet.
at the top of the lane a wild plum tree hung out its branches of feathery bloom against the crimson sky.
jane lavinia lingered, in spite of aunt rebecca's hurry, to look at it.
it satisfied her artistic instinct and made her glad to be alive in the world where wild plums blossomed against springtime skies.
the pleasure of it went with her through the pasture and back to the milking yard; and stayed with her while she helped aunt rebecca milk the cows.
when the milk was strained into the creamers down at the spring, and the pails washed and set in a shining row on their bench, jane lavinia tried to summon up her courage to speak to aunt rebecca.
they were out on the back verandah; the spring twilight was purpling down over the woods and fields; down in the swamp the frogs were singing a silvery, haunting chorus; a little baby moon was floating in the clear sky above the white-blossoming orchard on the slope.
jane lavinia tried to speak and could n't.
for a wonder, aunt rebecca spared her the trouble.
""well, what did mr. stephens think of your pictures?"
she asked shortly.
""oh!"
everything that jane lavinia wanted to say came rushing at once and together to her tongue's end.
""oh, aunt rebecca, he was delighted with them!
and he said i had remarkable talent, and he wants me to go to new york and study in an art school there.
he says mrs. stephens finds it hard to get good help, and if i'd be willing to work for her in the mornings, i could live with them and have my afternoons off.
so it wo n't cost much.
and he said he would help me -- and, oh, aunt rebecca, ca n't i go?"
jane lavinia's breath gave out with a gasp of suspense.
aunt rebecca was silent for so long a space that jane lavinia had time to pass through the phases of hope and fear and despair and resignation before she said, more grimly than ever, "if your mind is set on going, go you will, i suppose.
it does n't seem to me that i have anything to say in the matter, jane lavinia."
""but, oh, aunt rebecca," said jane lavinia tremulously.
""i ca n't go unless you'll help me.
i'll have to pay for my lessons at the art school, you know."
""so that's it, is it?
and do you expect me to give you the money to pay for them, jane lavinia?"
""not give -- exactly," stammered jane lavinia.
""i'll pay it back some time, aunt rebecca.
oh, indeed, i will -- when i'm able to earn money by my pictures!"
""the security is hardly satisfactory," said aunt rebecca immovably.
""you know well enough i have n't much money, jane lavinia.
i thought when i was coaxed into giving you two quarters" lessons with miss claxton that it was as much as you could expect me to do for you.
i did n't suppose the next thing would be that you'd be for betaking yourself to new york and expecting me to pay your bills there."
aunt rebecca turned and went into the house.
jane lavinia, feeling sore and bruised in spirit; fled to her own room and cried herself to sleep.
her eyes were swollen the next morning, but she was not sulky.
jane lavinia never sulked.
she did her morning's work faithfully, although there was no spring in her step.
that afternoon, when she was out in the orchard trying to patch up her tattered dreams, aunt rebecca came down the blossomy avenue, a tall, gaunt figure, with an uncompromising face.
""you'd better go down to the store and get ten yards of white cotton, jane lavinia," she said.
""if you're going to new york, you'll have to get a supply of underclothing made."
jane lavinia opened her eyes.
""oh, aunt rebecca, am i going?"
""you can go if you want to.
i'll give you all the money i can spare.
it ai n't much, but perhaps it'll be enough for a start."
""oh, aunt rebecca, thank you!"
exclaimed jane lavinia, crimson with conflicting feelings.
""but perhaps i ought n't to take it -- perhaps i ought n't to leave you alone --" if aunt rebecca had shown any regret at the thought of jane lavinia's departure, jane lavinia would have foregone new york on the spot.
but aunt rebecca only said coldly, "i guess you need n't worry over that.
i can get along well enough."
and with that it was settled.
jane lavinia lived in a whirl of delight for the next week.
she felt few regrets at leaving chestercote.
aunt rebecca would not miss her; jane lavinia thought that aunt rebecca regarded her as a nuisance -- a foolish girl who wasted her time making pictures instead of doing something useful.
jane lavinia had never thought that aunt rebecca had any affection for her.
she had been a very little girl when her parents had died, and aunt rebecca had taken her to bring up.
accordingly she had been "brought up," and she was grateful to aunt rebecca, but there was no closer bond between them.
jane lavinia would have given love for love unstintedly, but she never supposed that aunt rebecca loved her.
on the morning of departure jane lavinia was up and ready early.
her trunk had been taken over to mr. whittaker's the night before, and she was to walk over in the morning and go with mr. and mrs. stephens to the station.
she put on her chiffon hat to travel in, and aunt rebecca did not say a word of protest.
jane lavinia cried when she said good-by, but aunt rebecca did not cry.
she shook hands and said stiffly, "write when you get to new york.
you need n't let mrs. stephens work you to death either."
jane lavinia went slowly over the bridge and up the lane.
if only aunt rebecca had been a little sorry!
but the morning was perfect and the air clear as crystal, and she was going to new york, and fame and fortune were to be hers for the working.
jane lavinia's spirits rose and bubbled over in a little trill of song.
then she stopped in dismay.
she had forgotten her watch -- her mother's little gold watch; she had left it on her dressing table.
jane lavinia hurried down the lane and back to the house.
in the open kitchen doorway she paused, standing on a mosaic of gold and shadow where the sunshine fell through the morning-glory vines.
nobody was in the kitchen, but aunt rebecca was in the little bedroom that opened off it, crying bitterly and talking aloud between her sobs, "oh, she's gone and left me all alone -- my girl has gone!
oh, what shall i do?
and she did n't care -- she was glad to go -- glad to get away.
well, it ai n't any wonder.
i've always been too cranky with her.
but i loved her so much all the time, and i was so proud of her!
i liked her picture-making real well, even if i did complain of her wasting her time.
oh, i do n't know how i'm ever going to keep on living now she's gone!"
jane lavinia listened with a face from which all the sparkle and excitement had gone.
yet amid all the wreck and ruin of her tumbling castles in air, a glad little thrill made itself felt.
aunt rebecca was sorry -- aunt rebecca did love her after all!
jane lavinia turned and walked noiselessly away.
as she went swiftly up the wild plum lane, some tears brimmed up in her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips and a song in her heart.
after all, it was nicer to be loved than to be rich and admired and famous.
when she reached mr. whittaker's, everybody was out in the yard ready to start.
""hurry up, jane lavinia," said mr. whittaker.
""blest if we had n't begun to think you were n't coming at all.
lively now."
""i am not going," said jane lavinia calmly.
""not going?"
they all exclaimed.
""no.
i'm very sorry, and very grateful to you, mr. stephens, but i ca n't leave aunt rebecca.
she'd miss me too much."
""well, you little goose!"
said mrs. whittaker.
mrs. stephens said nothing, but frowned coldly.
perhaps her thoughts were less of the loss to the world of art than of the difficulty of hunting up another housemaid.
mr. stephens looked honestly regretful.
""i'm sorry, very sorry, miss slade," he said.
""you have exceptional talent, and i think you ought to cultivate it."
""i am going to cultivate aunt rebecca," said jane lavinia.
nobody knew just what she meant, but they all understood the firmness of her tone.
her trunk was taken down out of the express wagon, and mr. and mrs. stephens drove away.
then jane lavinia went home.
she found aunt rebecca washing the breakfast dishes, with the big tears rolling down her face.
""goodness me!"
she cried, when jane lavinia walked in.
""what's the matter?
you ai n't gone and been too late!"
""no, i've just changed my mind, aunt rebecca.
they've gone without me.
i am not going to new york -- i do n't want to go.
i'd rather stay at home with you."
for a moment aunt rebecca stared at her.
then she stepped forward and flung her arms about the girl.
""oh, jane lavinia," she said with a sob, "i'm so glad!
i could n't see how i was going to get along without you, but i thought you did n't care.
you can wear that chiffon hat everywhere you want to, and i'll get you a pink organdy dress for sundays."
-lsb- illustration: she eyed chester sourly. -rsb-
mackereling out in the gulf the mackerel boats were all at anchor on the fishing grounds; the sea was glassy calm -- a pallid blue, save for a chance streak of deeper azure where some stray sea breeze ruffled it.
it was about the middle of the afternoon, and intensely warm and breathless.
the headlands and coves were blurred by a purple heat haze.
the long sweep of the sandshore was so glaringly brilliant that the pained eye sought relief among the rough rocks, where shadows were cast by the big red sandstone boulders.
the little cluster of fishing houses nearby were bleached to a silvery grey by long exposure to wind and rain.
far off were several "yankee" fishing schooners, their sails dimly visible against the white horizon.
two boats were hauled upon the "skids" that ran from the rocks out into the water.
a couple of dories floated below them.
now and then a white gull, flashing silver where its plumage caught the sun, soared landward.
a young man was standing by the skids, watching the fishing boats through a spyglass.
he was tall, with a straight, muscular figure clad in a rough fishing suit.
his face was deeply browned by the gulf breezes and was attractive rather than handsome, while his eyes, as blue and clear as the gulf waters, were peculiarly honest and frank.
two wiry, dark-faced french-canadian boys were perched on one of the boats, watching the fishing fleet with lazy interest in their inky-black eyes, and wondering if the "yanks" had seined many mackerel that day.
presently three people came down the steep path from the fish-houses.
one of them, a girl, ran lightly forward and touched benjamin selby's arm.
he lowered his glass with a start and looked around.
a flash of undisguised delight transfigured his face.
""why, mary stella!
i did n't expect you'd be down this hot day.
you have n't been much at the shore lately," he added reproachfully.
""i really have n't had time, benjamin," she answered carelessly, as she took the glass from his hand and tried to focus it on the fishing fleet.
benjamin steadied it for her; the flush of pleasure was still glowing on his bronzed cheek, "are the mackerel biting now?"
""not just now.
who is that stranger with your father, mary stella?"
""that is a cousin of ours -- a mr. braithwaite.
are you very busy, benjamin?"
""not busy at all -- idle as you see me.
why?"
""will you take me out for a little row in the dory?
i have n't been out for so long."
""of course.
come -- here's the dory -- your namesake, you know.
i had her fresh painted last week.
she's as clean as an eggshell."
the girl stepped daintily off the rocks into the little cream-coloured skiff, and benjamin untied the rope and pushed off.
""where would you like to go, mary stella?"
""oh, just upshore a little way -- not far.
and do n't go out into very deep water, please, it makes me feel frightened and dizzy."
benjamin smiled and promised.
he was rowing along with the easy grace of one used to the oar.
he had been born and brought up in sound of the gulf's waves; its never-ceasing murmur had been his first lullaby.
he knew it and loved it in every mood, in every varying tint and smile, in every change of wind and tide.
there was no better skipper alongshore than benjamin selby.
mary stella waved her hand gaily to the two men on the rocks.
benjamin looked back darkly.
""who is that young fellow?"
he asked again.
""where does he belong?"
""he is the son of father's sister -- his favourite sister, although he has never seen her since she married an american years ago and went to live in the states.
she made frank come down here this summer and hunt us up.
he is splendid, i think.
he is a new york lawyer and very clever."
benjamin made no response.
he pulled in his oars and let the dory float amid the ripples.
the bottom of white sand, patterned over with coloured pebbles, was clear and distinct through the dark-green water.
mary stella leaned over to watch the distorted reflection of her face by the dory's side.
""have you had pretty good luck this week, benjamin?
father could n't go out much -- he has been so busy with his hay, and leon is such a poor fisherman."
""we've had some of the best hauls of the summer this week.
some of the rustler boats caught six hundred to a line yesterday.
we had four hundred to the line in our boat."
mary stella began absently to dabble her slender brown hand in the water.
a silence fell between them, with which benjamin was well content, since it gave him a chance to feast his eyes on the beautiful face before him.
he could not recall the time when he had not loved mary stella.
it seemed to him that she had always been a part of his inmost life.
he loved her with the whole strength and fidelity of a naturally intense nature.
he hoped that she loved him, and he had no rival that he feared.
in secret he exalted and deified her as something almost too holy for him to aspire to.
she was his ideal of all that was beautiful and good; he was jealously careful over all his words and thoughts and actions that not one might make him more unworthy of her.
in all the hardship and toil of his life his love was as his guardian angel, turning his feet from every dim and crooked byway; he trod in no path where he would not have the girl he loved to follow.
the roughest labour was glorified if it lifted him a step nearer the altar of his worship.
but today he felt faintly disturbed.
in some strange, indefinable way it seemed to him that mary stella was different from her usual self.
the impression was vague and evanescent -- gone before he could decide wherein the difference lay.
he told himself that he was foolish, yet the vexing, transient feeling continued to come and go.
presently mary stella said it was time to go back.
benjamin was in no hurry, but he never disputed her lightest inclination.
he turned the dory about and rowed shoreward.
back on the rocks, mosey louis and xavier, the french canadians, were looking through the spyglass by turns and making characteristic comments on the fleet.
mr. murray and braithwaite were standing by the skids, watching the dory.
""who is that young fellow?"
asked the latter.
""what a splendid physique he has!
it's a pleasure to watch him rowing."
""that," said the older man, with a certain proprietary pride in his tone, "is benjamin selby -- the best mackerel fisherman on the island.
he's been high line all along the gulf shore for years.
i do n't know a finer man every way you take him.
maybe you'll think i'm partial," he continued with a smile.
""you see, he and mary stella think a good deal of each other.
i expect to have benjamin for a son-in-law some day if all goes well."
braithwaite's expression changed slightly.
he walked over to the dory and helped mary stella out of it while benjamin made the painter fast.
when the latter turned, mary stella was walking across the rocks with her cousin.
benjamin's blue eyes darkened, and he strode moodily over to the boats.
""you were n't out this morning, mr. murray?"
""no, that hay had to be took in.
reckon i missed it -- pretty good catch, they tell me.
are they getting any now?"
""no.
it's not likely the fish will begin to bite again for another hour."
""i see someone standing up in that off boat, do n't i?"
said mr. murray, reaching for the spyglass.
""no, that's only rob leslie's crew trying to fool us.
they've tried it before this afternoon.
they think it would be a joke to coax us out there to broil like themselves."
""frank," shouted mr. murray, "come here, i want you."
aside to benjamin he said, "he's my nephew -- a fine young chap.
you'll like him, i know."
braithwaite came over, and mr. murray put one hand on his shoulder and one on benjamin's.
""boys, i want you to know each other.
benjamin, this is frank braithwaite.
frank, this is benjamin selby, the high line of the gulf shore, as i told you."
while mr. murray was speaking, the two men looked steadily at each other.
the few seconds seemed very long; when they had passed, benjamin knew that the other man was his rival.
braithwaite was the first to speak.
he put out his hand with easy cordiality.
""i am glad to meet you, mr. selby," he said heartily, "although i am afraid i should feel very green in the presence of such a veteran fisherman as yourself."
his frank courtesy compelled some return.
benjamin took the proffered hand with restraint.
""i'm sorry there's no mackerel going this afternoon," continued the american.
""i wanted to have a chance at them.
i never saw mackerel caught before.
i suppose i'll be very awkward at first."
""it's not a very hard thing to do," said benjamin stiffly, speaking for the first time since their meeting.
""most anybody could catch mackerel for a while -- it's the sticking to it that counts."
he turned abruptly and went back to his boat.
he could not force himself to talk civilly to the stranger, with that newly born demon of distrust gnawing at his heart.
""i think i'll go out," he said.
""it's freshening up.
i should n't wonder if the mackerel schooled soon."
""i'll go, too, then," said mr. murray.
""hi, up there!
leon and pete!
hi, i say!"
two more french canadians came running down from the murray fish-house, where they had been enjoying a siesta.
they fished in the murray boat.
a good deal of friendly rivalry as to catch went on between the two boats, while leon and mosey louis were bitter enemies on their own personal account.
""think you'll try it, frank?"
shouted mr. murray.
""well, not this afternoon," was the answer.
""it's rather hot.
i'll see what it is like tomorrow."
the boats were quickly launched and glided out from the shadow of the cliffs.
benjamin stood at his mast.
mary stella came down to the water's edge and waved her hand gaily.
""good luck to you and the best catch of the season," she called out.
benjamin waved his hat in response.
his jealousy was forgotten for the moment and he felt that he had been churlish to braithwaite.
""you'll wish you'd come," he shouted to him.
""it's going to be a great evening for fish."
when the boats reached the fishing grounds, they came to and anchored, their masts coming out in slender silhouette against the sky.
a row of dark figures was standing up in every boat; the gulfs shining expanse was darkened by odd black streaks -- the mackerel had begun to school.
frank braithwaite went out fishing the next day and caught 30 mackerel.
he was boyishly proud of it.
he visited the shore daily after that and soon became very popular.
he developed into quite an expert fisherman; nor, when the boats came in, did he shirk work, but manfully rolled up his trousers and helped carry water and "gib" mackerel as if he enjoyed it.
he never put on any "airs," and he stoutly took leon's part against the aggressive mosey louis.
even the french canadians, those merciless critics, admitted that the "yankee" was a good fellow.
benjamin selby alone held stubbornly aloof.
one evening the loaded boats came in at sunset.
benjamin sprang from his as it bumped against the skids, and ran up the path.
at the corner of his fish-house he stopped and stood quite still, looking at braithwaite and mary stella, who were standing by the rough picket fence of the pasture land.
braithwaite's back was to benjamin; he held the girl's hand in his and was talking earnestly.
mary stella was looking up at him, her delicate face thrown back a little.
there was a look in her eyes that benjamin had never seen there before -- but he knew what it meant.
his face grew pale and rigid; he clenched his hands and a whirlpool of agony and bitterness surged up in his heart.
all the great blossoms of the hope that had shed beauty and fragrance over his rough life seemed suddenly to shrivel up into black unsightliness.
he turned and went swiftly and noiselessly down the road to his boat.
the murmur of the sea sounded very far off.
mosey louis was busy counting out the mackerel, xavier was dipping up buckets of water and pouring it over the silvery fish.
the sun was setting in a bank of purple cloud, and the long black headland to the west cut the golden seas like a wedge of ebony.
it was all real and yet unreal.
benjamin went to work mechanically.
presently mary stella came down to her father's boat.
braithwaite followed slowly, pausing a moment to exchange some banter with saucy mosey louis.
benjamin bent lower over his table; now and then he caught the dear tones of mary stella's voice or her laughter at some sally of pete or leon.
he knew when she went up the road with braithwaite; he caught the last glimpse of her light dress as she passed out of sight on the cliffs above, but he worked steadily on and gave no sign.
it was late when they finished.
the tired french canadians went quickly off to their beds in the fish-house loft.
benjamin stood by the skids until all was quiet, then he walked down the cove to a rocky point that jutted out into the water.
he leaned against a huge boulder and laid his head on his arm, looking up into the dark sky.
the stars shone calmly down on his misery; the throbbing sea stretched out before him; its low, murmuring moan seemed to be the inarticulate voice of his pain.
the air was close and oppressive; fitful flashes of heat lightning shimmered here and there over the heavy banks of cloud on the horizon; little wavelets sobbed at the base of the rocks.
when benjamin lifted his head he saw frank braithwaite standing between him and the luminous water.
he took a step forward, and they came face to face as braithwaite turned with a start.
benjamin clenched his hands and fought down a hideous temptation to thrust his rival off the rock.
""i saw you today," he said in a low, intense tone.
""what do you think of yourself, coming down here to steal the girl i loved from me?
were n't there enough girls where you came from to choose among?
i hate you.
i'd kill you --" "selby, stop!
you do n't know what you are saying.
if i have wronged you, i swear i did it unintentionally.
i loved stella from the first -- who could help it?
but i thought she was virtually bound to you, and i did not try to win her away.
you do n't know what it cost me to remain passive.
i know that you have always distrusted me, but hitherto you have had no reason to.
but today i found that she was free -- that she did not care for you!
and i found -- or thought i found -- that there was a chance for me.
i took it.
i forgot everything else then."
""so she loves you?"
said benjamin dully.
""yes," said braithwaite softly.
benjamin turned on him with sudden passion.
""i hate you -- and i am the most miserable wretch alive, but if she is happy, it is no matter about me.
you've won easily what i've slaved and toiled all my life for.
you wo n't value it as i'd have done -- but if you make her happy, nothing else matters.
i've only one favour to ask of you.
do n't let her come to the shore after this.
i ca n't stand it."
august throbbed and burned itself out.
affairs along shore continued as usual.
benjamin shut his sorrow up in himself and gave no outward sign of suffering.
as if to mock him, the season was one of phenomenal prosperity; it was a "mackerel year" to be dated from.
he worked hard and unceasingly, sparing himself in no way.
braithwaite seldom came to the shore now.
mary stella never.
mr. murray had tried to speak of the matter, but benjamin would not let him.
""it's best that nothing be said," he told him with simple dignity.
he was so calm that mr. murray thought he did not care greatly, and was glad of it.
the older man regretted the turn of affairs.
braithwaite would take his daughter far away from him, as his sister had been taken, and he loved benjamin as his own son.
one afternoon benjamin stood by his boat and looked anxiously at sea and sky.
the french canadians were eager to go out, for the other boats were catching.
""i do n't know about it," said benjamin doubtfully.
""i do n't half like the look of things.
i believe we're in for a squall before long.
it was just such a day three years ago when that terrible squall came up that joe otway got drowned in."
the sky was dun and smoky, the glassy water was copper-hued, the air was heavy and breathless.
the sea purred upon the shore, lapping it caressingly like some huge feline creature biding its time to seize and crunch its victim.
""i reckon i'll try it," said benjamin after a final scrutiny.
""if a squall does come up, we'll have to run for the shore mighty quick, that's all."
they launched the boat speedily; as there was no wind, they had to row.
as they pulled out, braithwaite and leon came down the road and began to launch the murray boat.
""if dem two gits caught in a squall dey'll hav a tam," grinned mosey louis.
""dat leon, he do n't know de fust ting "bout a boat, no more dan a cat!"
benjamin came to anchor close in, but braithwaite and leon kept on until they were further out than any other boat.
""reckon dey's after cod," suggested xavier.
the mackerel bit well, but benjamin kept a close watch on the sky.
suddenly he saw a dark streak advancing over the water from the northwest.
he wheeled around.
""boys, the squall's coming!
up with the anchor -- quick!"
""dere's plenty tam," grumbled mosey louis, who hated to leave the fish.
""none of de oder boats is goin" in yit."
the squall struck the boat as he spoke.
she lurched and staggered.
the water was tossing choppily.
there was a sudden commotion all through the fleet and sails went rapidly up.
mosey louis turned pale and scrambled about without delay.
benjamin was halfway to the shore before the sail went up in the murray boat.
""don" know what dey're tinkin" of," growled mosey louis.
""dey'll be drown fust ting!"
benjamin looked back anxiously.
every boat was making for the shore.
the gale was steadily increasing.
he had his doubts about making a landing himself, and braithwaite would be twenty minutes later.
""but it is n't my lookout," he muttered.
benjamin had landed and was hauling up his boat when mr. murray came running down the road.
""frank?"
he gasped.
""him and leon went out, the foolish boys!
they neither of them know anything about a time like this."
""i guess they'll be all right," said benjamin reassuringly.
""they were late starting.
they may find it rather hard to land."
the other boats had all got in with more or less difficulty.
the murray boat alone was out.
men came scurrying along the shore in frightened groups of two and three.
the boat came swiftly in before the wind.
mr. murray was half beside himself.
""it'll be all right, sir," said one of the men.
""if they ca n't land here, they can beach her on the sandshore."
""if they only knew enough to do that," wailed the old man.
""but they do n't -- they'll come right on to the rocks."
""why do n't they lower their sail?"
said another.
""they will upset if they do n't."
""they're lowering it now," said benjamin.
the boat was now about 300 yards from the shore.
the sail did not go all the way down -- it seemed to be stuck.
""good god, what's wrong?"
exclaimed mr. murray.
as he spoke, the boat capsized.
a yell of horror rose i from the beach.
mr. murray sprang toward benjamin's boat, but one of the men held him back.
""you ca n't do it, sir.
i do n't know that anybody can."
braithwaite and leon were clinging to the boat.
benjamin selby, standing in the background, his lips set, his hands clenched, was fighting the hardest battle of his life.
he knew that he alone, out of all the men there, possessed the necessary skill and nerve to reach the boat if she could be reached at all.
there was a bare chance and a great risk.
this man whom he hated was drowning before his eyes.
let him drown, then!
why should he risk -- ay, and perchance lose -- his life for his enemy?
no one could blame him for refusing -- and if braithwaite were out of the way, mary stella might yet be his!
the temptation and victory passed in a few brief seconds.
he stepped forward, cool and self-possessed.
""i'm going out.
i want one man with me.
no one with child or wife.
who'll go?"
""i will," shouted mosey louis.
""i haf some spat wid dat leon, but i not lak to see him drown for all dat!"
benjamin offered no objection.
the french canadian's arm was strong and he possessed skill and experience.
mr. murray caught benjamin's arm.
""no, no, benjamin -- not you -- i ca n't see both my boys drowned."
benjamin gently loosed the old man's hold.
""it's for mary stella's sake," he said hoarsely.
""if i do n't come back, tell her that."
they launched the large dory with difficulty and pulled out into the surf.
benjamin did not lose his nerve.
his quick arm, his steady eye did not fail.
a dozen times the wild-eyed watchers thought the boat was doomed, but as often she righted triumphantly.
at last the drowning men were reached and somehow or other hauled on board benjamin's craft.
it was easier to come back, for they beached the boat on the sand.
with a wild cheer the men on the shore rushed into the surf and helped to carry the half-unconscious braithwaite and leon ashore and up to the murray fish-house.
benjamin went home before anyone knew he had gone.
mosey louis was left behind to reap the honours; he sat in a circle of admiring lads and gave all the details of the rescue.
""dat leon, he not tink he know so much now!"
he said.
braithwaite came to the shore next day somewhat pale and shaky.
he went straight to benjamin and held out his hand.
""thank you," he said simply.
benjamin bent lower over his work.
""you need n't thank me," he said gruffly.
""i wanted to let you drown.
but i went out for mary stella's sake.
tell me one thing -- i could n't bring myself to ask it of anyone else.
when are you to be -- married?"
""the 12th of september."
benjamin did not wince.
he turned away and looked out across the sea for a few moments.
the last agony of his great renunciation was upon him.
then he turned and held out his hand.
""for her sake," he said earnestly.
frank braithwaite put his slender white hand into the fisherman's hard brown palm.
there were tears in both men's eyes.
they parted in silence.
on the morning of the 12th of september benjamin selby went out to the fishing grounds as usual.
the catch was good, although the season was almost over.
in the afternoon the french canadians went to sleep.
benjamin intended to row down the shore for salt.
he stood by his dory, ready to start, but he seemed to be waiting for something.
at last it came: a faint train whistle blew, a puff of white smoke floated across a distant gap in the sandhills.
mary stella was gone at last -- gone forever from his life.
the honest blue eyes looking out over the sea did not falter; bravely he faced his desolate future.
the white gulls soared over the water, little swishing ripples lapped on the sand, and through all the gentle, dreamy noises of the shore came the soft, unceasing murmur of the gulf.
millicent's double -lsb- illustration:" "nonsense," said millicent, pointing to their reflected faces" -rsb- when millicent moore and worth gordon met each other on the first day of the term in the entrance hall of the kinglake high school, both girls stopped short, startled.
millicent moore had never seen worth gordon before, but worth gordon's face she had seen every day of her life, looking at her out of her own mirror!
they were total strangers, but when two girls look enough alike to be twins, it is not necessary to stand on ceremony.
after the first blank stare of amazement, both laughed outright.
millicent held out her hand.
""we ought to know each other right away," she said frankly.
""my name is millicent moore, and yours is --?"
""worth gordon," responded worth, taking the proffered hand with dancing eyes.
""you actually frightened me when you came around that corner.
for a moment i had an uncanny feeling that i was a disembodied spirit looking at my own outward shape.
i know now what it feels like to have a twin."
""is n't it odd that we should look so much alike?"
said millicent.
""do you suppose we can be any relation?
i never heard of any relations named gordon."
worth shook her head.
""i'm quite sure we're not," she said.
""i have n't any relatives except my father's stepsister with whom i've lived ever since the death of my parents when i was a baby."
""well, you'll really have to count me as a relative after this," laughed millicent.
""i'm sure a girl who looks as much like you as i do must be at least as much relation as a stepaunt."
from that moment they were firm friends, and their friendship was still further cemented by the fact that worth found it necessary to change her boarding-house and became millicent's roommate.
their odd likeness was the wonder of the school and occasioned no end of amusing mistakes, for all the students found it hard to distinguish between them.
seen apart it was impossible to tell which was which except by their clothes and style of hairdressing.
seen together there were, of course, many minor differences which served to distinguish them.
both girls were slight, with dark-brown hair, blue eyes and fair complexions.
but millicent had more colour than worth.
even in repose, millicent's face expressed mirth and fun; when worth was not laughing or talking, her face was rather serious.
worth's eyes were darker, and her nose in profile slightly more aquiline.
but still, the resemblance between them was very striking.
in disposition they were also very similar.
both were merry, fun-loving girls, fond of larks and jokes.
millicent was the more heedless, but both were impulsive and too apt to do or say anything that came into their heads without counting the cost.
one late october evening millicent came in, her cheeks crimson after her walk in the keen autumn air, and tossed two letters on the study table.
""it's a perfect evening, worth.
we had the jolliest tramp.
you should have come with us instead of staying in moping over your books."
worth smiled ruefully.
""i simply had to prepare those problems for tomorrow," she said.
""you see, millie dear, there is a big difference between us in some things at least.
i'm poor.
i simply have to pass my exams and get a teacher's licence.
so i ca n't afford to take any chances.
you're just attending high school for the sake of education alone, so you do n't really have to grind as i do."
""i'd like to do pretty well in the exams, though, for dad's sake," answered millicent, throwing aside her wraps.
""but i do n't mean to kill myself studying, just the same.
time enough for that when exams draw nigh.
they're comfortably far off yet.
but i'm in a bit of a predicament, worth, and i do n't know what to do.
here are two invitations for saturday afternoon and i simply must accept them both.
now, how can i do it?
you're a marvel at mathematics -- so work out that problem for me.
""see, here's a note from mrs. kirby inviting me to tea at beechwood.
she called on me soon after the term opened and invited me to tea the next week.
but i had another engagement for that afternoon, so could n't go.
mr. kirby is a business friend of dad's, and they are very nice people.
the other invitation is to the annual autumn picnic of the alpha gammas.
now, worth gordon, i simply must go to that.
i would n't miss it for anything.
but i do n't want to offend mrs. kirby, and i'm afraid i shall if i plead another engagement a second time.
mother will be fearfully annoyed at me in that case.
dear me, i wish there were two of me, one to go to the alpha gammas and one to beechwood -- worth gordon!"
""what's the matter?"
""there are two of me!
what's the use of a double if not for a quandary like this!
worth, you must go to tea at beechwood saturday afternoon in my place.
they'll think you are my very self.
they'll never know the difference.
go and keep my place warm for me, there's a dear."
""impossible," cried worth.
""i'd never dare!
they'd know there was something wrong."
""they would n't -- they could n't.
none of the kirbys have ever seen me except mrs. kirby, and she only for a few minutes one evening at dusk.
they do n't know i have a double and they ca n't possibly suspect.
do go, worth.
why, it'll be a regular lark, the best little joke ever!
and you'll oblige me immensely besides.
worthie, please."
worth did not consent all at once; but the idea rather appealed to her for its daring and excitement.
it would be a lark -- just at that time worth did not see it in any other light.
besides, she wanted to oblige millicent, who coaxed vehemently.
finally, worth yielded and promised millicent that she would go to beechwood in her place.
""you darling!"
said millicent emphatically, flying to her table to write acceptances of both invitations.
saturday afternoon worth got ready to keep millicent's engagement.
""suppose i am found out and expelled from beechwood in disgrace," she suggested laughingly, as she arranged her lace bertha before the glass.
""nonsense," said millicent, pointing to their reflected faces.
""the kirbys can never suspect.
why, if it were n't for the hair and the dresses, i'd hardly know myself which of those reflections belonged to which."
""what if they begin asking me about the welfare of the various members of your family?"
""they wo n't ask any but the most superficial questions.
we're not intimate enough for anything else.
i've coached you pretty thoroughly, and i think you'll get on all right."
worth's courage carried her successfully through the ordeal of arriving at beechwood and meeting mrs. kirby.
she was unsuspectingly accepted as millicent moore, and found her impersonation of that young lady not at all difficult.
no dangerous subject of conversation was introduced and nothing personal was said until mr. kirby came in.
he looked so scrutinizingly at worth as he shook hands with her that the latter felt her heart beating very fast.
did he suspect?
""upon my word, miss moore," he said genially, "you gave me quite a start at first.
you are very like what a half-sister of mine used to be when a girl long ago.
of course the resemblance must be quite accidental."
""of course," said worth, without any very clear sense of what she was saying.
her face was uncomfortably flushed and she was glad when tea was announced.
as nothing more of an embarrassing nature was said, worth soon recovered her self-possession and was able to enter into the conversation.
she liked the kirbys; still, under her enjoyment, she was conscious of a strange, disagreeable feeling that deepened as the evening wore on.
it was not fear -- she was not at all afraid of betraying herself now.
it had even been easier than she had expected.
then what was it?
suddenly worth flushed again.
she knew now -- it was shame.
she was a guest in that house as an impostor!
what she had done seemed no longer a mere joke.
what would her host and hostess say if they knew?
that they would never know made no difference.
she herself could not forget it, and her realization of the baseness of the deception grew stronger under mrs. kirby's cordial kindness.
worth never forgot that evening.
she compelled herself to chat as brightly as possible, but under it all was that miserable consciousness of falsehood, deepening every instant.
she was thankful when the time came to leave.
""you must come up often, miss moore," said mrs. kirby kindly.
""look upon beechwood as a second home while you are in kinglake.
we have no daughter of our own, so we make a hobby of cultivating other people's."
when millicent returned home from the alpha gamma outing, she found worth in their room, looking soberly at the mirror.
something in her chum's expression alarmed her.
""worth, what is it?
did they suspect?"
""no," said worth slowly.
""they never suspected.
they think i am what i pretended to be -- millicent moore.
but, but, i wish i'd never gone to beechwood, millie.
it was n't right.
it was mean and wrong.
it was acting a lie.
i ca n't tell you how ashamed i felt when i realized that."
""nonsense," said millicent, looking rather sober, nevertheless.
""no harm was done.
it's only a good joke, worth."
""yes, harm has been done.
i've done harm to myself, for one thing.
i've lost my self-respect.
i do n't blame you, millie.
it's all my own fault.
i've done a dishonourable thing, dishonourable."
millicent sighed.
""the alpha gamma picnic was horribly slow," she said.
""i did n't enjoy myself a bit.
i wish i had gone to beechwood.
i did n't think about it's being a practical falsehood before.
i suppose it was.
and i've always prided myself on my strict truthfulness!
it was n't your fault, worth!
it was mine.
but it ca n't be undone now."
""no, it ca n't be undone," said worth slowly, "but it might be confessed.
we might tell mrs. kirby the truth and ask her to forgive us."
""i could n't do such a thing," cried millicent.
""it is n't to be thought of!"
nevertheless, millicent did think of it several times that night and all through the following sunday.
she could n't help thinking of it.
a dishonourable trick!
that thought stung millicent.
monday evening millicent flung down the book from which she was vainly trying to study.
""worthie, it's no use.
you were right.
there's nothing to do but go and "fess up to mrs. kirby.
i ca n't respect millicent moore again until i do.
i'm going right up now."
""i'll go with you," said worth quietly.
""i was equally to blame and i must take my share of the humiliation."
when the girls reached beechwood, they were shown into the library where the family were sitting.
mrs. kirby came smilingly forward to greet millicent when her eyes fell upon worth.
""why!
why!"
she said.
""i did n't know you had a twin sister, miss moore."
""neither i have," said millicent, laughing nervously.
""this is my chum, worth gordon, but she is no relation whatever."
at the mention of worth's name, mr. kirby started slightly, but nobody noticed it.
millicent went on in a trembling voice.
""we've come up to confess something, mrs. kirby.
i'm sure you'll think it dreadful, but we did n't mean any harm.
we just did n't realize, until afterwards."
then millicent, with burning cheeks, told the whole story and asked to be forgiven.
""i, too, must apologize," said worth, when millicent had finished.
""can you pardon me, mrs. kirby?"
mrs. kirby had listened in amazed silence, but now she laughed.
""certainly," she said kindly.
""i do n't suppose it was altogether right for you girls to play such a trick on anybody.
but i can make allowances for schoolgirl pranks.
i was a school girl once myself, and far from a model one.
you have atoned for your mistake by coming so frankly and confessing, and now we'll forget all about it.
i think you have learned your lesson.
both of you must just sit down and spend the evening with us.
dear me, but you are bewilderingly alike!"
""i've something i want to say," interposed mr. kirby suddenly.
""you say your name is worth gordon," he added, turning to worth.
""may i ask what your mother's name was?"
""worth mowbray," answered worth wonderingly.
""i was sure of it," said mr. kirby triumphantly, "when i heard miss moore mention your name.
your mother was my half-sister, and you are my niece."
everybody exclaimed and for a few moments they all talked and questioned together.
then mr. kirby explained fully.
""i was born on a farm up-country.
my mother was a widow when she married my father, and she had one daughter, worth mowbray, five years older than myself.
when i was three years old, my mother died.
worth went to live with our mother's only living relative, an aunt.
my father and i removed to another section of the country.
he, too, died soon after, and i was brought up with an uncle's family.
my sister came to see me once when she was a girl of seventeen and, as i remember her, very like you are now.
i never saw her again and eventually lost trace of her.
many years later i endeavoured to find out her whereabouts.
our aunt was dead, and the people in the village where she had lived informed me that my sister was also dead.
she had married a man named gordon and had gone away, both she and her husband had died, and i was informed that they left no children, so i made no further inquiries.
there is no doubt that you are her daughter.
well, well, this is a pleasant surprise, to find a little niece in this fashion!"
it was a pleasant surprise to worth, too, who had thought herself all alone in the world and had felt her loneliness keenly.
they had a wonderful evening, talking and questioning and explaining.
mr. kirby declared that worth must come and live with them.
""we have no daughter," he said.
""you must come to us in the place of one, worth."
mrs. kirby seconded this with a cordiality that won worth's affection at once.
the girl felt almost bewildered by her happiness.
""i feel as if i were in a dream," she said to millicent as they walked to their boarding-house.
""it's really all too wonderful to grasp at once.
you do n't know, millie, how lonely i've felt often under all my nonsense and fun.
aunt delia was kind to me, but she was really no relation, she had a large family of her own, and i have always felt that she looked upon me as a rather inconvenient duty.
but now i'm so happy!"
""i'm so glad for you, worth," said millicent warmly, "although your gain will certainly be my loss, for i shall miss my roommate terribly when she goes to live at beechwood.
has n't it all turned out strangely?
if you had never gone to beechwood in my place, this would never have happened."
""say rather that if we had n't gone to confess our fault, it would never have happened," said worth gently.
""i'm very, very glad that i have found uncle george and such a loving welcome to his home.
but i'm gladder still that i've got my self-respect back.
i feel that i can look worth gordon in the face again."
""i've learned a wholesome lesson, too," admitted millicent.
the blue north room "this," said sara, laying aunt josephina's letter down on the kitchen table with such energy that in anybody but sara it must have been said she threw it down, "this is positively the last straw!
i have endured all the rest.
i have given up my chance of a musical education, when aunt nan offered it, that i might stay home and help willard pay the mortgage off -- if it does n't pay us off first -- and i have, which was much harder, accepted the fact that we ca n't possibly afford to send ray to the valley academy, even if i wore the same hat and coat for four winters.
i did not grumble when uncle joel came here to live because he wanted to be "near his dear nephew's children."
i felt it my christian duty to look pleasant when we had to give cousin caroline a home to save her from the poorhouse.
but my endurance and philosophy, and worst of all, my furniture, has reached a limit.
i can not have aunt josephina come here to spend the winter, because i have no room to put her in."
""hello, sally, what's the matter?"
asked ray, coming in with a book.
it would have been hard to catch ray without a book; he generally took one even to bed with him.
ray had a headful of brains, and sara thought it was a burning shame that there seemed to be no chance for his going to college.
""you look all rumpled up in your conscience, beloved sis," the boy went on, chaffingly.
""my conscience is all right," said sara severely.
""it's worse than that.
if you please, here's a letter from aunt josephina!
she writes that she is very lonesome.
her son has gone to south america, and wo n't be back until spring, and she wants to come and spend the winter with us."
""well, why not?"
asked ray serenely.
nothing ever bothered ray.
""the more the merrier."
""ray sheldon!
where are we to put her?
we have no spare room, as you well know."
""ca n't she room with cousin caroline?"
""cousin caroline's room is too small for two.
it's full to overflowing with her belongings now, and aunt josephina will bring two trunks at least.
try again, bright boy."
""what's the matter with the blue north room?"
""there is nothing the matter with it -- oh, nothing at all!
we could put aunt josephina there, but where will she sleep?
where will she wash her face?
will it not seem slightly inhospitable to invite her to sit on a bare floor?
have you forgotten that there is n't a stick of furniture in the blue north room and, worse still, that we have n't a spare cent to buy any, not even the cheapest kind?"
""i'll give it up," said ray.
""i might have a try at squaring the circle if you asked me, but the solution of the aunt josephina problem is beyond me."
""the solution is simply that we must write to aunt josephina, politely but firmly, that we ca n't have her come, owing to lack of accommodation.
you must write the letter, ray.
make it as polite as you can, but above all make it firm."
""oh, but sally, dear," protested ray, who did n't relish having to write such a letter, "is n't this rather hasty, rather inhospitable?
poor aunt josephina must really be rather lonely, and it's only natural she should want to visit her relations."
""we're not her relations," cried sara.
""we're not a speck of relation really.
she's only the half-sister of mother's half-brother.
that sounds nice and relationy, does n't it?
and she's fussy and interfering, and she will fight with cousin caroline, everybody fights with cousin caroline --" "except sara," interrupted ray, but sara went on with a rush, "and we wo n't have a minute's peace all winter.
anyhow, where could we put her even if we wanted her to come?
no, we ca n't have her!"
""mother was always very fond of aunt josephina," said ray reflectively.
sara had her lips open, all ready to answer whatever ray might say, but she shut them suddenly and the boy went on.
""aunt josephina thought a lot of mother, too.
she used to say she knew there was always a welcome for her at maple hollow.
it does seem a pity, sally dear, for your mother's daughter to send word to aunt josephina, per my mother's son, that there is n't room for her any longer at maple hollow."
""i shall leave it to willard," said sara abruptly.
""if he says to let her come, come she shall, even if dorothy and i have to camp in the barn."
""i'm going to have a prowl around the garret," said ray, apropos of nothing.
""and i shall get the tea ready," answered sara briskly.
""dorothy will be home from school very soon, and i hear uncle joel stirring.
willard wo n't be back till dark, so there is no use waiting for him."
at twilight sara decided to walk up the lane and meet willard.
she always liked to meet him thus when he had been away for a whole day.
sara thought there was nobody in the world as good and dear as willard.
it was a dull grey november twilight; the maples in the hollow were all leafless, and the hawthorn hedge along the lane was sere and frosted; a little snow had fallen in the afternoon, and lay in broad patches on the brown fields.
the world looked very dull and dispirited, and sara sighed.
she could not help thinking of the dark side of things just then.
""everything is wrong," said poor sara dolefully.
""willard has to work like a slave, and yet with all his efforts he can barely pay the interest on the mortgage.
and ray ought to go to college.
but i do n't see how we can ever manage.
to be sure, he wo n't be ready until next fall, but we wo n't have the money then any more than now.
it would take every bit of a hundred and fifty dollars to fit him out with books and clothes, and pay for board and tuition at the academy.
if he could just have a year there he could teach and earn his own way through college.
but we might as well hope for the moon as one hundred and fifty dollars."
sara sighed again.
she was only eighteen, but she felt very old.
willard was nineteen, and willard had never had a chance to be young.
his father had died when he was twelve, and he had run the farm since then, he and sara together indeed, for sara was a capital planner and manager and worker.
the little mother had died two years ago, and the household cares had all fallen on sara's shoulders since.
sometimes, as now, they pressed very heavily, but a talk with willard always heartened her up.
willard had his blue spells too, but sara thought it a special providence that their blue turns never came together.
when one got downhearted the other was always ready to do the cheering up.
sara was glad to hear willard whistling when he drove into the lane; it was a sign he was in good spirits.
he pulled up, and sara climbed into the wagon.
""things go all right today, sally?"
he asked cheerfully.
""there was a letter from aunt josephina," answered sara, anxious to get the worst over, "and she wants to come to maple hollow for the winter.
i thought at first we just could n't have her, but i decided to leave it to you."
""well, we've got a pretty good houseful already," said willard thoughtfully.
""but i suppose if aunt josephina wants to come we'd better have her.
i always liked aunt josephina, and so did mother, you know."
""i do n't know where we can put her.
we have n't any spare room, will."
""ray and i can sleep in the kitchen loft.
you and dolly take our room, and let aunt josephina take yours."
""the kitchen loft is n't really fit to sleep in," said sara pessimistically.
""it's awfully cold, and there're mice and rats -- ugh!
you and ray will get nibbled in spots.
but it's the only thing to do if we must have aunt josephina.
i'll get ray to write to her tomorrow.
i could n't put enough cordiality into the letter if i wrote it myself."
ray came in while willard was at supper.
there were cobwebs all over him from his head to his heels.
""i've solved the aunt j. problem," he announced cheerfully.
""we will furnish the blue north room."
""with what?"
asked sara disbelievingly.
""i've been poking about in the garret and in the carriage house loft," said ray, "and i've found furniture galore.
it's very old and cobwebby -- witness my appearance -- and very much in want of scrubbing and a few nails.
but it will do."
""i'd forgotten about those old things," said sara slowly.
""they've never been used since i can remember, and long before.
they were discarded before mother came here.
but i thought they were all broken and quite useless."
""not at all.
i believe we can furbish them up sufficiently to make the room habitable.
it will be rather old-fashioned, but then it's hobson's choice.
there are the pieces of an old bed out in the loft, and they can be put together.
there's an old corner cupboard out there too, with leaded glass doors, two old solid wooden armchairs, and a funny old chest of drawers with a writing desk in place of the top drawer, all full of yellow old letters and trash.
i found it under a pile of old carpet.
then there's a washstand, and also a towel rack up in the garret, and the funniest old table with three claw legs, and a tippy top.
one leg is broken off, but i hunted around and found it, and i guess we can fix it on.
and there are two more old chairs and a queer little oval table with a cracked swing mirror on it."
""i have it," exclaimed sara, with a burst of inspiration, "let us fix up a real old-fashioned room for aunt josephina.
it wo n't do to put anything modern with those old things.
one would kill the other.
i'll put mother's rag carpet down in it, and the four braided mats grandma sheldon gave me, and the old brass candlestick and the irish chain coverlet.
oh, i believe it will be lots of fun."
it was.
for a week the sheldons hammered and glued and washed and consulted.
the north room was already papered with a blue paper of an old-fashioned stripe-and-diamond pattern.
the rag carpet was put down, and the braided rugs laid on it.
the old bedstead was set up in one corner and, having been well cleaned and polished with beeswax and turpentine, was really a handsome piece of furniture.
on the washstand sara placed a quaint old basin and ewer which had been grandma sheldon's.
ray had fixed up the table as good as new; sara had polished the brass claws, and on the table she put the brass tray, two candlesticks, and snuffers which had been long stowed away in the kitchen loft.
the dressing table and swing mirror, with its scroll frame of tarnished gilt, was in the window corner, and opposite it was the old chest of drawers.
the cupboard was set up in a corner, and beside it stood the spinning-wheel from the kitchen loft.
the big grandfather clock, which had always stood in the hall below was carried up, and two platters of blue willow-ware were set up over the mantel.
above them was hung the faded sampler that grandma sheldon had worked ninety years ago when she was a little girl.
""do you know," said sara, when they stood in the middle of the room and surveyed the result, "i expected to have a good laugh over this, but it does n't look funny after all.
the things all seem to suit each other, some way, and they look good, do n't they?
i mean they look real, clear through.
i believe that table and those drawers are solid mahogany.
and look at the carving on those bedposts.
cleaning them has made such a difference.
i do hope aunt josephina wo n't mind their being so old."
aunt josephina did n't.
she was very philosophical about it when sara explained that cousin caroline had the spare room, and the blue north room was all they had left.
""oh, it will be all right," she said, plainly determined to make the best of things.
""those old things are thought a lot of now, anyhow.
i ca n't say i fancy them much myself -- i like something a little brighter.
but the rich folks have gone cracked over them.
i know a woman in boston that's got her whole house furnished with old truck, and as soon as she hears of any old furniture anywhere she's not contented till she's got it.
she says it's her hobby, and she spends a heap on it.
she'd be in raptures if she saw this old room of yours, sary."
""do you mean," said sara slowly, "that there are people who would buy old things like these?"
""yes, and pay more for them than would buy a real nice set with a marble-topped burey.
you may well say there's lots of fools in the world, sary."
sara was not saying or thinking any such thing.
it was a new idea to her that any value was attached to old furniture, for sara lived very much out of the world of fads and collectors.
but she did not forget what aunt josephina had said.
the winter passed away.
aunt josephina plainly enjoyed her visit, whatever the sheldons felt about it.
in march her son returned, and aunt josephina went home to him.
before she left, sara asked her for the address of the woman whose hobby was old furniture, and the very afternoon after aunt josephina had gone sara wrote and mailed a letter.
for a week she looked so mysterious that willard and ray could not guess what she was plotting.
at the end of that time mrs. stanton came.
mrs. stanton always declared afterwards that the mere sight of that blue north room gave her raptures.
such a find!
such a discovery!
a bedstead with carved posts, a claw-footed table, real old willow-ware plates with the birds" bills meeting!
here was luck, if you like!
when willard and ray came home to tea sara was sitting on the stairs counting her wealth.
""sally, where did you discover all that long-lost treasure?"
demanded ray.
""mrs. stanton of boston was here today," said sara, enjoying the moment of revelation hugely.
""she makes a hobby of collecting old furniture.
i sold her every blessed thing in the blue north room except mother's carpet and grandma's mats and sampler.
she wanted those too, but i could n't part with them.
she bought everything else and," sara lifted her hands, full of bills, dramatically, "here are two hundred and fifty dollars to take you to the valley academy next fall, ray."
""it would n't be fair to take it for that," said ray, flushing.
""you and will --" "will and i say you must take it," said sara.
""do n't we, will?
there is nothing we want so much as to give you a college start.
it is an enormous burden off my mind to think it is so nicely provided for.
besides, most of those old things were yours by the right of rediscovery, and you voted first of all to have aunt josephina come."
""you must take it, of course, ray," said willard.
""nothing else would give sara and me so much pleasure.
a blessing on aunt josephina."
""amen," said sara and ray.
the christmas surprise at enderly road "phil, i'm getting fearfully hungry.
when are we going to strike civilization?"
the speaker was my chum, frank ward.
we were home from our academy for the christmas holidays and had been amusing ourselves on this sunshiny december afternoon by a tramp through the "back lands," as the barrens that swept away south behind the village were called.
they were grown over with scrub maple and spruce, and were quite pathless save for meandering sheep tracks that crossed and recrossed, but led apparently nowhere.
frank and i did not know exactly where we were, but the back lands were not so extensive but that we would come out somewhere if we kept on.
it was getting late and we wished to go home.
""i have an idea that we ought to strike civilization somewhere up the enderly road pretty soon," i answered.
""do you call that civilization?"
said frank, with a laugh.
no blackburn hill boy was ever known to miss an opportunity of flinging a slur at enderly road, even if no enderly roader were by to feel the sting.
enderly road was a miserable little settlement straggling back from blackburn hill.
it was a forsaken looking place, and the people, as a rule, were poor and shiftless.
between blackburn hill and enderly road very little social intercourse existed and, as the road people resented what they called the pride of blackburn hill, there was a good deal of bad feeling between the two districts.
presently frank and i came out on the enderly road.
we sat on the fence a few minutes to rest and discuss our route home.
""if we go by the road it's three miles," said frank.
""is n't there a short cut?"
""there ought to be one by the wood-lane that comes out by jacob hart's," i answered, "but i do n't know where to strike it."
""here is someone coming now; we'll inquire," said frank, looking up the curve of the hard-frozen road.
the "someone" was a little girl of about ten years old, who was trotting along with a basketful of school books on her arm.
she was a pale, pinched little thing, and her jacket and red hood seemed very old and thin.
""hello, missy," i said, as she came up, and then i stopped, for i saw she had been crying.
""what is the matter?"
asked frank, who was much more at ease with children than i was, and had always a warm spot in his heart for their small troubles.
""has your teacher kept you in for being naughty?"
the mite dashed her little red knuckles across her eyes and answered indignantly, "no, indeed.
i stayed after school with minnie lawler to sweep the floor."
""and did you and minnie quarrel, and is that why you are crying?"
asked frank solemnly.
""minnie and i never quarrel.
i am crying because we ca n't have the school decorated on monday for the examination, after all.
the dickeys have gone back on us... after promising, too," and the tears began to swell up in the blue eyes again.
""very bad behaviour on the part of the dickeys," commented frank.
""but ca n't you decorate the school without them?"
""why, of course not.
they are the only big boys in the school.
they said they would cut the boughs, and bring a ladder tomorrow and help us nail the wreaths up, and now they wo n't... and everything is spoiled... and miss davis will be so disappointed."
by dint of questioning frank soon found out the whole story.
the semi-annual public examination was to be held on monday afternoon, the day before christmas.
miss davis had been drilling her little flock for the occasion; and a program of recitations, speeches, and dialogues had been prepared.
our small informant, whose name was maggie bates, together with minnie lawler and several other little girls, had conceived the idea that it would be a fine thing to decorate the schoolroom with greens.
for this it was necessary to ask the help of the boys.
boys were scarce at enderly school, but the dickeys, three in number, had promised to see that the thing was done.
""and now they wo n't," sobbed maggie.
""matt dickey is mad at miss davis'cause she stood him on the floor today for not learning his lesson, and he says he wo n't do a thing nor let any of the other boys help us.
matt just makes all the boys do as he says.
i feel dreadful bad, and so does minnie."
""well, i would n't cry any more about it," said frank consolingly.
""crying wo n't do any good, you know.
can you tell us where to find the wood-lane that cuts across to blackburn hill?"
maggie could, and gave us minute directions.
so, having thanked her, we left her to pursue her disconsolate way and betook ourselves homeward.
""i would like to spoil matt dickey's little game," said frank.
""he is evidently trying to run things at enderly road school and revenge himself on the teacher.
let us put a spoke in his wheel and do maggie a good turn as well."
""agreed.
but how?"
frank had a plan ready to hand and, when we reached home, we took his sisters, carrie and mabel, into our confidence; and the four of us worked to such good purpose all the next day, which was saturday, that by night everything was in readiness.
at dusk frank and i set out for the enderly road, carrying a basket, a small step-ladder, an unlit lantern, a hammer, and a box of tacks.
it was dark when we reached the enderly road schoolhouse.
fortunately, it was quite out of sight of any inhabited spot, being surrounded by woods.
hence, mysterious lights in it at strange hours would not be likely to attract attention.
the door was locked, but we easily got in by a window, lighted our lantern, and went to work.
the schoolroom was small, and the old-fashioned furniture bore marks of hard usage; but everything was very snug, and the carefully swept floor and dusted desks bore testimony to the neatness of our small friend maggie and her chum minnie.
our basket was full of mottoes made from letters cut out of cardboard and covered with lissome sprays of fir.
they were, moreover, adorned with gorgeous pink and red tissue roses, which carrie and mabel had contributed.
we had considerable trouble in getting them tacked up properly, but when we had succeeded, and had furthermore surmounted doors, windows, and blackboard with wreaths of green, the little enderly road schoolroom was quite transformed.
""it looks nice," said frank in a tone of satisfaction.
""hope maggie will like it."
we swept up the litter we had made, and then scrambled out of the window.
""i'd like to see matt dickey's face when he comes monday morning," i laughed, as we struck into the back lands.
""i'd like to see that midget of a maggie's," said frank.
""see here, phil, let's attend the examination monday afternoon.
i'd like to see our decorations in daylight."
we decided to do so, and also thought of something else.
snow fell all day sunday, so that, on monday morning, sleighs had to be brought out.
frank and i drove down to the store and invested a considerable share of our spare cash in a varied assortment of knick-knacks.
after dinner we drove through to the enderly road schoolhouse, tied our horse in a quiet spot, and went in.
our arrival created quite a sensation for, as a rule, blackburn hillites did not patronize enderly road functions.
miss davis, the pale, tired-looking little teacher, was evidently pleased, and we were given seats of honour next to the minister on the platform.
our decorations really looked very well, and were further enhanced by two large red geraniums in full bloom which, it appeared, maggie had brought from home to adorn the teacher's desk.
the side benches were lined with enderly road parents, and all the pupils were in their best attire.
our friend maggie was there, of course, and she smiled and nodded towards the wreaths when she caught our eyes.
the examination was a decided success, and the program which followed was very creditable indeed.
maggie and minnie, in particular, covered themselves with glory, both in class and on the platform.
at its close, while the minister was making his speech, frank slipped out; when the minister sat down the door opened and santa claus himself, with big fur coat, ruddy mask, and long white beard, strode into the room with a huge basket on his arm, amid a chorus of surprised "ohs" from old and young.
wonderful things came out of that basket.
there was some little present for every child there -- tops, knives, and whistles for the boys, dolls and ribbons for the girls, and a "prize" box of candy for everybody, all of which santa claus presented with appropriate remarks.
it was an exciting time, and it would have been hard to decide which were the most pleased, parents, pupils, or teacher.
in the confusion santa claus discreetly disappeared, and school was dismissed.
frank, having tucked his toggery away in the sleigh, was waiting for us outside, and we were promptly pounced upon by maggie and minnie, whose long braids were already adorned with the pink silk ribbons which had been their gifts."
you decorated the school," cried maggie excitedly.
""i know you did.
i told minnie it was you the minute i saw it."
""you're dreaming, child," said frank.
""oh, no, i'm not," retorted maggie shrewdly, "and was n't matt dickey mad this morning!
oh, it was such fun.
i think you are two real nice boys and so does minnie -- do n't you minnie?"
minnie nodded gravely.
evidently maggie did the talking in their partnership.
""this has been a splendid examination," said maggie, drawing a long breath.
""real christmassy, you know.
we never had such a good time before."
""well, it has paid, do n't you think?"
asked frank, as we drove home.
""rather," i answered.
it did "pay" in other ways than the mere pleasure of it.
there was always a better feeling between the roaders and the hillites thereafter.
the big brothers of the little girls, to whom our christmas surprise had been such a treat, thought it worthwhile to bury the hatchet, and quarrels between the two villages became things of the past.
the dissipation of miss ponsonby we had n't been very long in glenboro before we managed to get acquainted with miss ponsonby.
it did not come about in the ordinary course of receiving and returning calls, for miss ponsonby never called on anybody; neither did we meet her at any of the glenboro social functions, for miss ponsonby never went anywhere except to church, and very seldom there.
her father would n't let her.
no, it simply happened because her window was right across the alleyway from ours.
the ponsonby house was next to us, on the right, and between us were only a fence, a hedge of box, and a sprawly acacia tree that shaded miss ponsonby's window, where she always sat sewing -- patchwork, as i'm alive -- when she was n't working around the house.
patchwork seemed to be miss ponsonby's sole and only dissipation of any kind.
we guessed her age to be forty-five at least, but we found out afterward that we were mistaken.
she was only thirty-five.
she was tall and thin and pale, one of those drab-tinted persons who look as if they had never felt a rosy emotion in their lives.
she had any amount of silky, fawn-coloured hair, always combed straight back from her face, and pinned in a big, tight bun just above her neck -- the last style in the world for any woman with miss ponsonby's nose to adopt.
but then i doubt if miss ponsonby had any idea what her nose was really like.
i do n't believe she ever looked at herself critically in a mirror in her life.
her features were rather nice, and her expression tamely sweet; her eyes were big, timid, china-blue orbs that looked as if she had been badly scared when she was little and had never got over it; she never wore anything but black, and, to crown all, her first name was alicia.
miss ponsonby sat and sewed at her window for hours at a time, but she never looked our way, partly, i suppose, from habit induced by modesty, since the former occupants of our room had been two gay young bachelors, whose names jerry and i found out all over our window-panes with a diamond.
jerry and i sat a great deal at ours, laughing and talking, but miss ponsonby never lifted her head or eyes.
jerry could n't stand it long; she declared it got on her nerves; besides, she felt sorry to see a fellow creature wasting so many precious moments of a fleeting lifetime at patchwork.
so one afternoon she hailed miss ponsonby with a cheerful "hello," and miss ponsonby actually looked over and said "good afternoon," as prim as an eighteen-hundred-and-forty fashion plate.
then jerry, whose name is geraldine only in the family bible, talked to her about the weather.
jerry can talk interestingly about anything.
in five minutes she had performed a miracle -- she had made miss ponsonby laugh.
in five minutes more she was leaning half out of the window showing miss ponsonby a new, white, fluffy, frivolous, chiffony waist of hers, and miss ponsonby was leaning halfway out of hers looking at it eagerly.
at the end of a quarter of an hour they were exchanging confidences about their favourite books.
jerry was a confirmed kiplingomaniac, but miss ponsonby adored laura jean libbey.
she said sorrowfully she supposed she ought not to read novels at all since her father disapproved.
we found out later on that mr. ponsonby's way of expressing disapproval was to burn any he got hold of, and storm at his daughter about them like the confirmed old crank he was.
poor miss ponsonby had to keep her laura jeans locked up in her trunk, and it was n't often she got a new one.
from that day dated our friendship with miss ponsonby, a curious friendship, only carried on from window to window.
we never saw miss ponsonby anywhere else; we asked her to come over but she said her father did n't allow her to visit anybody.
miss ponsonby was one of those meek women who are ruled by whomsoever happens to be nearest them, and woe be unto them if that nearest happen to be a tyrant.
her meekness fairly infuriated jerry.
but we liked miss ponsonby and we pitied her.
she confided to us that she was very lonely and that she wrote poetry.
we never asked to see the poetry, although i think she would have liked to show it.
but, as jerry says, there are limits.
we told miss ponsonby all about our dances and picnics and beaus and pretty dresses; she was never tired of hearing of them; we smuggled new library novels -- jerry got our cook to buy them -- and boxes of chocolates, from our window to hers; we sat there on moonlit nights and communed with her while other girls down the street were entertaining callers on their verandahs; we did everything we could for her except to call her alicia, although she begged us to do so.
but it never came easily to our tongues; we thought she must have been born and christened miss ponsonby; "alicia" was something her mother could only have dreamed about her.
we thought we knew all about miss ponsonby's past; but even pale, drab, china-blue women can have their secrets and keep them.
it was a full half year before we discovered miss ponsonby's.
* * * * * in october, stephen shaw came home from the west to visit his father and mother after an absence of fifteen years.
jerry and i met him at a party at his brother-in-law's.
we knew he was a bachelor of forty-five or so and had made heaps of money in the lumber business, so we expected to find him short and round and bald, with bulgy blue eyes and a double chin.
on the contrary, he was a tall, handsome man with clear-cut features, laughing black eyes like a boy's, and iron-grey hair.
that iron-grey hair nearly finished jerry; she thinks there is nothing so distinguished and she had the escape of her life from falling in love with stephen shaw.
he was as gay as the youngest, danced splendidly, went everywhere, and took all the glenboro girls about impartially.
it was rumoured that he had come east to look for a wife but he did n't seem to be in any particular hurry to find her.
one evening he called on jerry; that is to say, he did ask for both of us, but within ten minutes jerry had him mewed up in the cosy corner to the exclusion of all the rest of the world.
i felt that i was a huge crowd, so i obligingly decamped upstairs and sat down by my window to "muse," as miss ponsonby would have said.
it was a glorious moonlight night, with just a hint of october frost in the air -- enough to give sparkle and tang.
after a few moments i became aware that miss ponsonby was also "musing" at her window in the shadow of the acacia tree.
in that dim light she looked quite pretty.
it was suddenly borne in upon me for the first time that, when miss ponsonby was young, she must have been very pretty, with that delicate elusive fashion of beauty which fades so early if the life is not kept in it by love and tenderness.
it seemed odd, somehow, to think of miss ponsonby as young and pretty.
she seemed so essentially middle-aged and faded.
""lovely night, miss ponsonby," i said brilliantly.
""a very beautiful night, dear elizabeth," answered miss ponsonby in that tired little voice of hers that always seemed as drab-coloured as the rest of her.
""i'm mopy," i said frankly.
""jerry has concentrated herself on stephen shaw for the evening and i'm left on the fringe of things."
miss ponsonby did n't say anything for a few moments.
when she spoke some strange and curious note had come into her voice, as if a chord, long unswept and silent, had been suddenly thrilled by a passing hand.
""did i understand you to say that geraldine was -- entertaining stephen shaw?"
""yes.
he's home from the west and he's delightful," i replied.
""all the glenboro girls are quite crazy over him.
jerry and i are as bad as the rest.
he is n't at all young but he's very fascinating."
""stephen shaw!"
repeated miss ponsonby faintly.
""so stephen shaw is home again!"
""why, i suppose you would know him long ago," i said, remembering that stephen shaw's youth must have been contemporaneous with miss ponsonby's.
""yes, i used to know him," said miss ponsonby very slowly.
she did not say anything more, which i thought a little odd, for she was generally full of mild curiosity about all strangers and sojourners in glenboro.
presently she got up and went away from her window.
deserted even by miss ponsonby, i went grumpily to bed.
then mrs. george hubbard gave a big dance.
jerry and i were pleasantly excited.
the hubbards were the smartest of the glenboro smart set and their entertainments were always quite brilliant affairs for a small country village like ours.
this party was professedly given in honour of stephen shaw, who was to leave for the west again in a week's time.
on the evening of the party jerry and i went to our room to dress.
and there, across at her window in the twilight, sat miss ponsonby, crying.
i had never seen miss ponsonby cry before.
""what is the matter?"
i called out softly and anxiously.
""oh, nothing," sobbed miss ponsonby, "only -- only -- i'm invited to the party tonight -- susan hubbard is my cousin, you know -- and i would like so much to go."
""then why do n't you?"
said jerry briskly.
""my father wo n't let me," said miss ponsonby, swallowing a sob as if she were a little girl of ten years old.
jerry had to dodge behind the curtain to hide a smile.
""it's too bad," i said sympathetically, but wondering a little why miss ponsonby seemed so worked up about it.
i knew she had sometimes been invited out before and had not been allowed to go, but she had never cared apparently.
""well, what is to be done?"
i whispered to jerry.
""take miss ponsonby to the party with us, of course," said jerry, popping out from behind the curtain.
i did n't ask her if she expected to fly through the air with miss ponsonby, although short of that i could n't see how the latter was to be got out of the house without her father knowing.
the old gentleman had a den off the hall where he always sat in the evening and smoked fiercely, after having locked all the doors to keep the servants in.
he was a delightful sort of person, that old mr. ponsonby.
jerry poked her head as far as she could out of the window.
""miss ponsonby, you are going to the dance," she said in a cautious undertone, "so do n't cry any more or your eyes will be dreadfully red."
""it is impossible," said miss ponsonby resignedly.
""nothing is impossible when i make up my mind," said jerry firmly.
""you must get dressed, climb down that acacia tree, and join us in our yard.
it will be pitch dark in a few minutes and your father will never know."
i had a frantic vision of miss ponsonby scrambling down that acacia tree like an eloping damsel.
but jerry was in dead earnest, and really it was quite possible if miss ponsonby only thought so.
i did not believe she would think so, but i was mistaken.
her thorough course in libbey heroines and their marvellous escapades had quite prepared her to contemplate such an adventure calmly -- in the abstract at least.
but another obstacle presented itself.
""it's impossible," she said again, after her first flash hope.
""i have n't a fit dress to wear -- i've nothing at all but my black cashmere and it is three years old."
but the more hindrances in jerry's way when she sets out to accomplish something the more determined and enthusiastic she becomes.
i listened to her with amazement.
""i have a dress i'll lend you," she said resolutely.
""and i'll go over and fix you up as soon as it's a little darker.
go now and bathe your eyes and just trust to me."
miss ponsonby's long habit of obedience to whatever she was told stood her in good stead now.
she obeyed jerry without another word.
jerry seized me by the waist and waltzed me around the room in an ecstasy.
""jerry elliott, how are you going to carry this thing through?"
i demanded sternly.
""easily enough," responded jerry.
""you know that black lace dress of mine -- the one with the apricot slip.
i've never worn it since i came to glenboro, so nobody will know it's mine, and i never mean to wear it again for it's got too tight.
it's a trifle old-fashioned, but that wo n't matter for glenboro, and it will fit miss ponsonby all right.
she's about my height and figure.
i'm determined that poor soul shall have a dissipation for once in her life since she hankers for it.
come on now, elizabeth.
it will be a lark."
i caught jerry's enthusiasm, and while she hunted out the box containing the black lace dress, i hastily gathered together some other odds and ends i thought might be useful -- a black aigrette, a pair of black silk gloves, a spangled gauze fan, and a pair of slippers.
they would n't have stood daylight, but they looked all right after night.
as we left the room i caught up some pale pink roses on my table.
we pushed through a little gap in the privet hedge and found ourselves under the acacia tree with miss ponsonby peering anxiously at us from above.
i wanted to shriek with laughter, the whole thing seemed so funny and unreal.
jerry, although she has n't climbed trees since she was twelve, went up that acacia as nimbly as a pussy-cat, took the box and things from me, passed them to miss ponsonby, and got in at the window while i went back to my own room to dress, hoping old mr. ponsonby would n't be running out to ring the fire alarm.
in a very short time i heard miss ponsonby and jerry at the opposite window, and i rushed to mine to see the sight.
but miss ponsonby, with a red fascinator over her head and a big cape wrapped round her, slipped out of the window and down that blessed acacia tree as neatly and nimbly as if she had been accustomed to doing it for exercise every day of her life.
there were possibilities in miss ponsonby.
in two more minutes they were both safe in our room.
then jerry threw off miss ponsonby's wraps and stepped back.
i know i stared until my eyes stuck out of my head.
was that miss ponsonby -- that!
the black lace dress, with the pinkish sheen of its slip beneath, suited her slim shape to perfection and clung around her in lovely, filmy curves that made her look willowy and girlish.
it was high-necked, just cut away slightly at the throat, and had great, loose, hanging frilly sleeves of lace.
jerry had shaken out her hair and piled it high on her head in satiny twists and loops, with a pompadour such as miss ponsonby could never have thought about.
it suited her tremendously and seemed to alter the whole character of her face, giving verve and piquancy to her delicate little features.
the excitement had flushed her cheeks into positive pinkness and her eyes were starry.
the roses were pinned on her shoulder.
miss ponsonby, as she stood there, was a pretty woman, with fifteen apparent birthdays the less.
""oh, alicia, you look just lovely!"
i gasped.
the name slipped out quite naturally.
i never thought about it at all.
""my dear elizabeth," she said, "it's like a dream of lost youth."
we got jerry ready and then we started for the hubbards", out by our back door and through our neighbour-on-the-left's lane to avoid all observation.
miss ponsonby was breathless with terror.
she was sure every footstep she heard behind her was her father's in pursuit.
she almost fainted on the spot when a belated man came tearing along the street.
jerry and i breathed a sigh of devout thanksgiving when we found ourselves safely in the hubbard parlour.
we were early, but stephen shaw was there before us.
he came up to us at once, and just then miss ponsonby turned around.
""alicia!"
he said.
""how do you do, stephen?"
she said tremulously.
and there he was looking down at her with an expression on his face that none of the glenboro girls he had been calling on had ever seen.
jerry and i just simply melted away.
we can see through grindstones when there are holes in them!
we went out and sat down on the stairs.
""there's a mystery here," said jerry, "but miss ponsonby shall explain it to us before we let her climb up that acacia tree tonight.
now that i come to think of it, the first night he called he asked me about her.
wanted to know if her father were the same old blustering tyrant he always was, and if we knew her at all.
i'm afraid i made a little mild fun of her, and he did n't say anything more.
well, i'm awfully glad now that i did n't fall in love with him.
i could have, but i would n't."
miss ponsonby's appearance at the hubbards" party was the biggest sensation glenboro had had for years.
and in her way, she was a positive belle.
she did n't dance, but all the middle-aged men, widowers, wedded, and bachelors, who had known her in her girlhood crowded around her, and she laughed and chatted as i had n't even imagined miss ponsonby could laugh and chat.
jerry and i revelled in her triumph, for did we not feel that it was due to us?
at last miss ponsonby disappeared; shortly after jerry and i blundered into the library to fix some obstreperous hairpins, and there we found her and stephen shaw in the cosy corner.
there were no explanations on the road home, for miss ponsonby walked behind us with stephen shaw in the pale, late-risen october moonshine.
but when we had sneaked through the neighbour-to-the-left's lane and reached our side verandah we waited for her, and as soon as stephen shaw had gone we laid violent hands on miss ponsonby and made her "fess up there on the dark, chilly verandah, at one o'clock in the morning.
""miss ponsonby," said jerry, "before we assist you in returning to those ancestral halls of yours you've simply got to tell us what all this means."
miss ponsonby gave a little, shy, nervous laugh.
""stephen shaw and i were engaged to be married long ago," she said simply.
""but father disapproved.
stephen was poor then.
and so -- and so -- i sent him away.
what else could i do?"
-- for jerry had snorted -- "father had to be obeyed.
but it broke my heart.
stephen went away -- he was very angry -- and i have never seen him since.
when susan hubbard invited me to the party i felt as if i must go -- i must see stephen once more.
i never thought for a minute that he remembered me -- or cared still..." "but he does?"
said jerry breathlessly.
jerry never scruples to ask anything right out that she wants to know.
""yes," said miss ponsonby softly.
""is n't it wonderful?
i could hardly believe it -- i am so changed.
but he said tonight he had never thought of any other woman.
he -- he came home to see me.
but when i never went anywhere, even when i must know he was home, he thought i did n't want to see him.
if i had n't gone tonight -- oh, i owe it all to you two dear girls!"
""when are you to be married?"
demanded that terrible jerry.
""as soon as possible," said miss ponsonby.
""stephen was going away next week, but he says he will wait until i can get ready."
""do you think your father will object this time?"
i queried.
""no, i do n't think so.
stephen is a rich man now, you know.
that would n't make any difference with me -- but father is very -- practical.
stephen is going to see him tomorrow."
""but what if he does object?"
i persisted anxiously.
""the acacia tree will still be there," said miss ponsonby firmly.
the falsoms" christmas dinner "well, so it's all settled," said stephen falsom.
""yes," assented alexina.
""yes, it is," she repeated, as if somebody had questioned it.
then alexina sighed.
whatever "it" was, the fact of its being settled did not seem to bring alexina any great peace of mind -- nor stephen either, judging from his face, which wore a sort of "suffer and be strong" expression just then.
""when do you go?"
said alexina, after a pause, during which she had frowned out of the window and across the tracy yard.
josephine tracy and her brother duncan were strolling about the yard in the pleasant december sunshine, arm in arm, laughing and talking.
they appeared to be a nice, harmless pair of people, but the sight of them did not seem to please alexina.
""just as soon as we can sell the furniture and move away," said stephen moodily.
""heigh-ho!
so this is what all our fine ambitions have come to, lexy, your music and my m.d..
a place in a department store for you, and one in a lumber mill for me."
""i do n't dare to complain," said alexina slowly.
""we ought to be so thankful to get the positions.
i am thankful.
and i do n't mind so very much about my music.
but i do wish you could have gone to college, stephen."
""never mind me," said stephen, brightening up determinedly.
""i'm going to go into the lumber business enthusiastically.
you do n't know what unsuspected talents i may develop along that line.
the worst of it is that we ca n't be together.
but i'll keep my eyes open, and perhaps i'll find a place for you in lessing."
alexina said nothing.
her separation from stephen was the one point in their fortunes she could not bear to discuss.
there were times when alexina did not see how she was going to exist without stephen.
but she never said so to him.
she thought he had enough to worry him without her making matters worse.
""well," said stephen, getting up, "i'll run down to the office.
and see here, lexy.
day after tomorrow is christmas.
are we going to celebrate it at all?
if so i'd better order the turkey."
alexina looked thoughtful.
""i do n't know, stephen.
we're short of money, you know, and the fund is dwindling every day.
do n't you think it's a little extravagant to have a turkey for two people?
and somehow i do n't feel a bit christmassy.
i think i'd rather spend it just like any other day and try to forget that it is christmas.
everything would be so different."
""that's true, lexy.
and we must look after the bawbees closely, i'll admit."
when stephen had gone out alexina cried a little, not very much, because she did n't want her eyes to be red against stephen's return.
but she had to cry a little.
as she had said, everything was so different from what it had been a year ago.
their father had been alive then and they had been very cosy and happy in the little house at the end of the street.
there had been no mother there since alexina's birth sixteen years ago.
alexina had kept house for her father and stephen since she was ten.
stephen was a clever boy and intended to study medicine.
alexina had a good voice, and something was to be done about training it.
the tracys lived next door to them.
duncan tracy was stephen's particular chum, and josephine tracy was alexina's dearest friend.
alexina was never lonely when josie was near by to laugh and chat and plan with.
then, all at once, troubles came.
in june the firm of which mr. falsom was a member failed.
there was some stigma attached to the failure, too, although the blame did not rest upon mr. falsom, but with his partner.
worry and anxiety aggravated the heart trouble from which he had suffered for some time, and a month later he died.
alexina and stephen were left alone to face the knowledge that they were penniless, and must look about for some way of supporting themselves.
at first they hoped to be able to get something to do in thorndale, so that they might keep their home.
this proved impossible.
after much discouragement and disappointment stephen had secured a position in the lumber mill at lessing, and alexina was promised a place in a departmental store in the city.
to make matters worse, duncan tracy and stephen had quarrelled in october.
it was only a boyish disagreement over some trifle, but bitter words had passed.
duncan, who was a quick-tempered lad, had twitted stephen with his father's failure, and stephen had resented it hotly.
duncan was sorry for and ashamed of his words as soon as they were uttered, but he would not humble himself to say so.
alexina had taken stephen's part and her manner to josie assumed a tinge of coldness.
josie quickly noticed and resented it, and the breach between the two girls widened almost insensibly, until they barely spoke when they met.
each blamed the other and cherished bitterness in her heart.
when stephen came home from the post office he looked excited.
""were there any letters?"
asked alexina.
""well, rather!
one from uncle james!"
""uncle james," exclaimed alexina, incredulously.
""yes, beloved sis.
oh, you need n't try to look as surprised as i did.
and i ordered the turkey after all.
uncle james has invited himself here to dinner on christmas day.
you'll have a chance to show your culinary skill, for you know we've always been told that uncle james was a gourmand."
alexina read the letter in a maze.
it was a brief epistle, stating that the writer wished to make the acquaintance of his niece and nephew, and would visit them on christmas day.
that was all.
but alexina instantly saw a future of rosy possibilities.
for uncle james, who lived in the city and was really a great-uncle, had never taken the slightest notice of their family since his quarrel with their father twenty years ago; but this looked as if uncle james were disposed to hold out the olive branch.
""oh, stephen, if he likes you, and if he offers to educate you!"
breathed alexina.
""perhaps he will if he is favourably impressed.
but we'll have to be so careful, he is so whimsical and odd, at least everybody has always said so.
a little thing may turn the scale either way.
anyway, we must have a good dinner for him.
i'll have plum pudding and mince pie."
for the next thirty-six hours alexina lived in a whirl.
there was so much to do.
the little house was put in apple pie order from top to bottom, and stephen was set to stoning raisins and chopping meat and beating eggs.
alexina was perfectly reckless; no matter how big a hole it made in their finances uncle james must have a proper christmas dinner.
a favourable impression must be made.
stephen's whole future -- alexina did not think about her own at all just then -- might depend on it.
christmas morning came, fine and bright and warm.
it was more like a morning in early spring than in december, for there was no snow or frost, and the air was moist and balmy.
alexina was up at daybreak, cleaning and decorating at a furious rate.
by eleven o'clock everything was finished or going forward briskly.
the plum pudding was bubbling in the pot, the turkey -- burton's plumpest -- was sizzling in the oven.
the shelf in the pantry bore two mince pies upon which alexina was willing to stake her culinary reputation.
and stephen had gone to the train to meet uncle james.
from her kitchen window alexina could see brisk preparations going on in the tracy kitchen.
she knew josie and duncan were all alone; their parents had gone to spend christmas with friends in lessing.
in spite of her hurry and excitement alexina found time to sigh.
last christmas josie and duncan had come over and eaten their dinner with them.
but now last christmas seemed very far away.
and josie had behaved horridly.
alexina was quite clear on that point.
then stephen came with uncle james.
uncle james was a rather pompous, fussy old man with red cheeks and bushy eyebrows.
""h'm!
smells nice in here," was his salutation to alexina.
""i hope it will taste as good as it smells.
i'm hungry."
alexina soon left uncle james and stephen talking in the parlour and betook herself anxiously to the kitchen.
she set the table in the little dining room, now and then pausing to listen with a delighted nod to the murmur of voices and laughter in the parlour.
she felt sure that stephen was making a favourable impression.
she lifted the plum pudding and put it on a plate on the kitchen table; then she took out the turkey, beautifully done, and put it on a platter; finally, she popped the two mince pies into the oven.
just at this moment stephen stuck his head in at the hall door.
""lexy, do you know where that letter of governor howland's to father is?
uncle james wants to see it."
alexina, not waiting to shut the oven door -- for delay might impress uncle james unfavourably -- rushed upstairs to get the letter.
she was ten minutes finding it.
then, remembering her pies, she flew back to the kitchen.
in the middle of the floor she stopped as if transfixed, staring at the table.
the turkey was gone.
and the plum pudding was gone!
and the mince pies were gone!
nothing was left but the platters!
for a moment alexina refused to believe her eyes.
then she saw a trail of greasy drops on the floor to the open door, out over the doorstep, and along the boards of the walk to the back fence.
alexina did not make a fuss.
even at that horrible moment she remembered the importance of making a favourable impression.
but she could not quite keep the alarm and excitement out of her voice as she called stephen, and stephen knew that something had gone wrong as he came quickly through the hall.
""is the turkey burned, lexy?"
he cried.
""burned!
no, it's ten times worse," gasped alexina.
""it's gone -- gone, stephen.
and the pudding and the mince pies, too.
oh, what shall we do?
who can have taken them?"
it may be stated right here and now that the falsoms never really knew anything more about the disappearance of their christmas dinner than they did at that moment.
but the only reasonable explanation of the mystery was that a tramp had entered the kitchen and made off with the good things.
the falsom house was right at the end of the street.
the narrow backyard opened on a lonely road.
across the road was a stretch of pine woods.
there was no house very near except the tracy one.
stephen reached this conclusion with a bound.
he ran out to the yard gate followed by the distracted alexina.
the only person visible was a man some distance down the road.
stephen leaped over the gate and tore down the road in pursuit of him.
alexina went back to the doorstep, sat down upon it, and began to cry.
she could n't help it.
her hopes were all in ruins around her.
there was no dinner for uncle james.
josephine tracy saw her crying.
now, josie honestly thought that she had a grievance against alexina.
but an alexina walking unconcernedly by with a cool little nod and her head held high was a very different person from an alexina sitting on a back doorstep, on christmas morning, crying.
for a moment josie hesitated.
then she slowly went out and across the yard to the fence.
""what is the trouble?"
she asked.
alexina forgot that there was such a thing as dignity to be kept up; or, if she remembered it, she was past caring for such a trifle.
""our dinner is gone," she sobbed.
""and there is nothing to give uncle james to eat except vegetables -- and i do so want to make a favourable impression!"
this was not particularly lucid, but josie, with a flying mental leap, arrived at the conclusion that it was very important that uncle james, whoever he was, should have a dinner, and she knew where one was to be had.
but before she could speak stephen returned, looking rueful.
""no use, lexy.
that man was only old mr. byers, and he had seen no signs of a tramp.
there is a trail of grease right across the road.
the tramp must have taken directly to the woods.
we'll simply have to do without our christmas dinner."
""by no means," said josie quickly, with a little red spot on either cheek.
""our dinner is all ready -- turkey, pudding and all.
let us lend it to you.
do n't say a word to your uncle about the accident."
alexina flushed and hesitated.
""it's very kind of you," she stammered, "but i'm afraid -- it would be too much --" "not a bit of it," josie interrupted warmly.
""did n't duncan and i have christmas dinner at your house last year?
just come and help us carry it over."
""if you lend us your dinner you and duncan must come and help us eat it," said alexina, resolutely.
""i'll come of course," said josie, "and i think that duncan will too if -- if --" she looked at stephen, the scarlet spots deepening.
stephen coloured too.
""duncan must come," he said quietly.
""i'll go and ask him."
two minutes later a peculiar procession marched out of the tracy kitchen door, across the two yards, and into the falsom house.
josie headed it, carrying a turkey on a platter.
alexina came next with a plum pudding.
stephen and duncan followed with a hot mince pie apiece.
and in a few more minutes alexina gravely announced to uncle james that dinner was ready.
the dinner was a pronounced success, marked by much suppressed hilarity among the younger members of the party.
uncle james ate very heartily and seemed to enjoy everything, especially the mince pie.
""this is the best mince pie i have ever sampled," he told alexina.
""i am glad to know that i have a niece who can make such a mince pie."
alexina cast an agonized look at josie, and was on the point of explaining that she was n't the maker of the pie.
but josie frowned her into silence.
""i felt so guilty to sit there and take the credit -- your credit," she told josie afterwards, as they washed up the dishes.
""nonsense," said josie.
""it was n't as if you could n't make mince pies.
your mince pies are better than mine, if it comes to that.
it might have spoiled everything if you'd said a word.
i must go home now.
wo n't you and stephen come over after your uncle goes, and spend the evening with us?
we'll have a candy pull."
when josie and duncan had gone, uncle james called his nephew and niece into the parlour, and sat down before them with approving eyes.
""i want to have a little talk with you two.
i'm sorry i've let so many years go by without making your acquaintance, because you seem worth getting acquainted with.
now, what are your plans for the future?"
""i'm going into a lumber mill at lessing and alexina is going into the t. morson store," said stephen quietly.
""tut, tut, no, you're not.
and she's not.
you're coming to live with me, both of you.
if you have a fancy for cutting and carving people up, young man, you must be trained to cut and carve them scientifically, anyhow.
as for you, alexina, stephen tells me you can sing.
well, there's a good conservatory of music in town.
would n't you rather go there instead of behind a counter?"
""oh, uncle james!"
exclaimed alexina with shining eyes.
she jumped up, put her arms about uncle james" neck and kissed him.
uncle james said, "tut, tut," again, but he liked it.
when stephen had seen his uncle off on the six o'clock train he returned home and looked at the radiant alexina.
""well, you made your favourable impression, all right, did n't you?"
he said gaily.
""but we owe it to josie tracy.
is n't she a brick?
i suppose you're going over this evening?"
""yes, i am.
i'm so tired that i feel as if i could n't crawl across the yard, but if i ca n't you'll have to carry me.
go i will.
i ca n't begin to tell you how glad i am about everything, but really the fact that you and duncan and josie and i are good friends again seems the best of all.
i'm glad that tramp stole the dinner and i hope he enjoyed it.
i do n't grudge him one single bite!"
the fraser scholarship elliot campbell came down the main staircase of marwood college and found himself caught up with a whoop into a crowd of sophs who were struggling around the bulletin board.
he was thumped on the back and shaken hands with amid a hurricane of shouts and congratulations.
""good for you, campbell!
you've won the fraser.
see your little name tacked up there at the top of the list, bracketed off all by itself for the winner?
"elliott h. campbell, ninety-two per cent."
a class yell for campbell, boys!"
while the yell was being given with a heartiness that might have endangered the roof, elliott, with flushed face and sparkling eyes, pushed nearer to the important typewritten announcement on the bulletin board.
yes, he had won the fraser scholarship.
his name headed the list of seven competitors.
roger brooks, who was at his side, read over the list aloud:" "elliott h. campbell, ninety-two."
i said you'd do it, my boy.
"edward stone, ninety-one" -- old ned ran you close, did n't he?
but of course with that name he'd no show.
"kay milton, eighty-eight."
who'd have thought slow-going old kay would have pulled up so well?
"seddon brown, eighty-seven; oliver field, eighty-four; arthur mcintyre, eighty-two" -- a very respectable little trio.
and "carl mclean, seventy."
whew!
what a drop!
just saved his distance.
it was only his name took him in, of course.
he knew you were n't supposed to be strong in mathematics."
before elliott could say anything, a professor emerged from the president's private room, bearing the report of a freshman examination, which he proceeded to post on the freshman bulletin board, and the rush of the students in that direction left elliott and roger free of the crowd.
they seized the opportunity to escape.
elliott drew a long breath as they crossed the campus in the fresh april sunshine, where the buds were swelling on the fine old chestnuts and elms that surrounded marwood's red brick walls.
""that has lifted a great weight off my mind," he said frankly.
""a good deal depended on my winning the fraser.
i could n't have come back next year if i had n't got it.
that four hundred will put me through the rest of my course."
""that's good," said roger brooks heartily.
he liked elliott campbell, and so did all the sophomores.
yet none of them was at all intimate with him.
he had no chums, as the other boys had.
he boarded alone, "dug" persistently, and took no part in the social life of the college.
roger brooks came nearest to being his friend of any, yet even roger knew very little about him.
elliott had never before said so much about his personal affairs as in the speech just recorded.
""i'm poor -- woefully poor," went on elliott gaily.
his success seemed to have thawed his reserve for the time being.
""i had just enough money to bring me through the fresh and soph years by dint of careful management.
now i'm stone broke, and the hope of the fraser was all that stood between me and the dismal certainty of having to teach next year, dropping out of my class and coming back in two or three years" time, a complete, rusty stranger again.
whew!
i made faces over the prospect."
""no wonder," commented roger.
""the class would have been sorry if you had had to drop out, campbell.
we want to keep all our stars with us to make a shining coruscation at the finish.
besides, you know we all like you for yourself.
it would have been an everlasting shame if that little cad of a mclean had won out.
nobody likes him."
""oh, i had no fear of him," answered elliott.
""i do n't see what induced him to go in, anyhow.
he must have known he'd no chance.
but i was afraid of stone -- he's a born dabster at mathematics, you know, and i only hold my own in them by hard digging."
""why, stone could n't have taken the fraser over you in any case, if you made over seventy," said roger with a puzzled look.
""you must have known that.
mclean was the only competitor you had to fear."
""i do n't understand you," said elliott blankly.
""you must know the conditions of the fraser!"
exclaimed roger.
""certainly," responded elliott."
"the fraser scholarship, amounting to four hundred dollars, will be offered annually in the sophomore class.
the competitors will be expected to take a special examination in mathematics, and the winner will be awarded two hundred dollars for two years, payable in four annual instalments, the payment of any instalment to be conditional on the winner's attending the required classes for undergraduates and making satisfactory progress therein."
is n't that correct?"
""so far as it goes, old man.
you forget the most important part of all.
"preference is to be given to competitors of the name fraser, campbell or mclean, provided that such competitor makes at least seventy per cent in his examination."
you do n't mean to tell me that you did n't know that!"
""are you joking?"
demanded elliott with a pale face.
""not a joke.
why, man, it's in the calendar."
""i did n't know it," said elliott slowly.
""i read the calendar announcement only once, and i certainly did n't notice that condition."
""well, that's curious.
but how on earth did you escape hearing it talked about?
it's always discussed extensively among the boys, especially when there are two competitors of the favoured names, which does n't often happen."
""i'm not a very sociable fellow," said elliott with a faint smile.
""you know they call me "the hermit."
as it happened, i never talked the matter over with anyone or heard it referred to.
i -- i wish i had known this before."
""why, what difference does it make?
it's all right, anyway.
but it is odd to think that if your name had n't been campbell, the fraser would have gone to mclean over the heads of stone and all the rest.
their only hope was that you would both fall below seventy.
it's an absurd condition, but there it is in old professor fraser's will.
he was rich and had no family.
so he left a number of bequests to the college on ordinary conditions.
i suppose he thought he might humour his whim in one.
his widow is a dear old soul, and always makes a special pet of the boy who wins the fraser.
well, here's my street.
so long, campbell."
elliott responded almost curtly and walked onward to his boarding-house with a face from which all the light had gone.
when he reached his room he took down the marwood calendar and whirled over the leaves until he came to the announcement of bursaries and scholarships.
the fraser announcement, as far as he had read it, ended at the foot of the page.
he turned the leaf and, sure enough, at the top of the next page, in a paragraph by itself, was the condition: "preference shall be given to candidates of the name fraser, campbell or mclean, provided that said competitor makes at least seventy per cent in his examination."
elliott flung himself into a chair by his table and bowed his head on his hands.
he had no right to the fraser scholarship.
his name was not campbell, although perhaps nobody in the world knew it save himself, and he remembered it only by an effort of memory.
he had been born in a rough mining camp in british columbia, and when he was a month old his father, john hanselpakker, had been killed in a mine explosion, leaving his wife and child quite penniless and almost friendless.
one of the miners, an honest, kindly scotchman named alexander campbell, had befriended mrs. hanselpakker and her little son in many ways, and two years later she had married him.
they returned to their native province of nova scotia and settled in a small country village.
here elliott had grown up, bearing the name of the man who was a kind and loving father to him, and whom he loved as a father.
his mother had died when he was ten years old and his stepfather when he was fifteen.
on his deathbed he asked elliott to retain his name.
""i've cared for you and loved you since the time you were born, lad," he said.
""you seem like my own son, and i've a fancy to leave you my name.
it's all i can leave you, for i'm a poor man, but it's an honest name, lad, and i've kept it free from stain.
see that you do likewise, and you'll have your mother's blessing and mine."
elliott fought a hard battle that spring evening.
""hold your tongue and keep the fraser," whispered the tempter.
""campbell is your name.
you've borne it all your life.
and the condition itself is a ridiculous one -- no fairness about it.
you made the highest marks and you ought to be the winner.
it is n't as if you were wronging stone or any of the others who worked hard and made good marks.
if you throw away what you've won by your own hard labour, the fraser goes to mclean, who made only seventy.
besides, you need the money and he does n't.
his father is a rich man."
""but i'll be a cheat and a cad if i keep it," elliott muttered miserably.
""campbell is n't my legal name, and i'd never again feel as if i had even the right of love to it if i stained it by a dishonest act.
for it would be stained, even though nobody but myself knew it.
father said it was a clean name when he left it, and i can not soil it."
the tempter was not silenced so easily as that.
elliott passed a sleepless night of indecision.
but next day he went to marwood and asked for a private interview with the president.
as a result, an official announcement was posted that afternoon on the bulletin board to the effect that, owing to a misunderstanding, the fraser scholarship had been wrongly awarded.
carl mclean was posted as winner.
the story soon got around the campus, and elliott found himself rather overwhelmed with sympathy, but he did not feel as if he were very much in need of it after all.
it was good to have done the right thing and be able to look your conscience in the face.
he was young and strong and could work his own way through marwood in time.
""no condolences, please," he said to roger brooks with a smile.
""i'm sorry i lost the fraser, of course, but i've my hands and brains left.
i'm going straight to my boarding-house to dig with double vim, for i've got to take an examination next week for a provincial school certificate.
next winter i'll be a flourishing pedagogue in some up-country district."
he was not, however.
the next afternoon he received a summons to the president's office.
the president was there, and with him was a plump, motherly-looking woman of about sixty.
""mrs. fraser, this is elliott hanselpakker, or campbell, as i understand he prefers to be called.
elliott, i told your story to mrs. fraser last evening, and she was greatly interested when she heard your rather peculiar name.
she will tell you why herself."
""i had a young half-sister once," said mrs. fraser eagerly.
""she married a man named john hanselpakker and went west, and somehow i lost all trace of her.
there was, i regret to say, a coolness between us over her marriage.
i disapproved of it because she married a very poor man.
when i heard your name, it struck me that you might be her son, or at least know something about her.
her name was mary helen rodney, and i loved her very dearly in spite of our foolish quarrel."
there was a tremour in mrs. fraser's voice and an answering one in elliott's as he replied: "mary helen rodney was my dear mother's name, and my father was john hanselpakker."
""then you are my nephew," exclaimed mrs. fraser.
""i am your aunt alice.
my boy, you do n't know how much it means to a lonely old woman to have found you.
i'm the happiest person in the world!"
she slipped her arm through elliott's and turned to the sympathetic president with shining eyes.
""he is my boy forever, if he will be.
blessings on the fraser scholarship!"
""blessings rather on the manly boy who would n't keep it under false colours," said the president with a smile.
""i think you are fortunate in your nephew, mrs. fraser."
so elliott hanselpakker campbell came back to marwood the next year after all.
the girl at the gate something very strange happened the night old mr. lawrence died.
i have never been able to explain it and i have never spoken of it except to one person and she said that i dreamed it.
i did not dream it... i saw and heard, waking.
we had not expected mr. lawrence to die then.
he did not seem very ill... not nearly so ill as he had been during his previous attack.
when we heard of his illness i went over to woodlands to see him, for i had always been a great favourite with him.
the big house was quiet, the servants going about their work as usual, without any appearance of excitement.
i was told that i could not see mr. lawrence for a little while, as the doctor was with him.
mrs. yeats, the housekeeper, said the attack was not serious and asked me to wait in the blue parlour, but i preferred to sit down on the steps of the big, arched front door.
it was an evening in june.
woodlands was very lovely; to my right was the garden, and before me was a little valley abrim with the sunset.
in places under the big trees it was quite dark even then.
there was something unusually still in the evening... a stillness as of waiting.
it set me thinking of the last time mr. lawrence had been ill... nearly a year ago in august.
one night during his convalescence i had watched by him to relieve the nurse.
he had been sleepless and talkative, telling me many things about his life.
finally he told me of margaret.
i knew a little about her... that she had been his sweetheart and had died very young.
mr. lawrence had remained true to her memory ever since, but i had never heard him speak of her before.
""she was very beautiful," he said dreamily, "and she was only eighteen when she died, jeanette.
she had wonderful pale-golden hair and dark-brown eyes.
i have a little ivory miniature of her.
when i die it is to be given to you, jeanette.
i have waited a long while for her.
you know she promised she would come."
i did not understand his meaning and kept silence, thinking that he might be wandering a little in his mind.
""she promised she would come and she will keep her word," he went on.
""i was with her when she died.
i held her in my arms.
she said to me, "herbert, i promise that i will be true to you forever, through as many years of lonely heaven as i must know before you come.
and when your time is at hand i will come to make your deathbed easy as you have made mine.
i will come, herbert."
she solemnly promised, jeanette.
we made a death-tryst of it.
and i know she will come."
he had fallen asleep then and after his recovery he had not alluded to the matter again.
i had forgotten it, but i recalled it now as i sat on the steps among the geraniums that june evening.
i liked to think of margaret... the lovely girl who had died so long ago, taking her lover's heart with her to the grave.
she had been a sister of my grandfather, and people told me that i resembled her slightly.
perhaps that was why old mr. lawrence had always made such a pet of me.
presently the doctor came out and nodded to me cheerily.
i asked him how mr. lawrence was.
""better... better," he said briskly.
""he will be all right tomorrow.
the attack was very slight.
yes, of course you may go in.
do n't stay longer than half an hour."
mrs. stewart, mr. lawrence's sister, was in the sickroom when i went in.
she took advantage of my presence to lie down on the sofa a little while, for she had been up all the preceding night.
mr. lawrence turned his fine old silver head on the pillow and smiled a greeting.
he was a very handsome old man; neither age nor illness had marred his finely modelled face or impaired the flash of his keen, steel-blue eyes.
he seemed quite well and talked naturally and easily of many commonplace things.
at the end of the doctor's half-hour i rose to go.
mrs. stewart had fallen asleep and he would not let me wake her, saying he needed nothing and felt like sleeping himself.
i promised to come up again on the morrow and went out.
it was dark in the hall, where no lamp had been lighted, but outside on the lawn the moonlight was bright as day.
it was the clearest, whitest night i ever saw.
i turned aside into the garden, meaning to cross it, and take the short way over the west meadow home.
there was a long walk of rose bushes leading across the garden to a little gate on the further side... the way mr. lawrence had been wont to take long ago when he went over the fields to woo margaret.
i went along it, enjoying the night.
the bushes were white with roses, and the ground under my feet was all snowed over with their petals.
the air was still and breezeless; again i felt that sensation of waiting... of expectancy.
as i came up to the little gate i saw a young girl standing on the other side of it.
she stood in the full moonlight and i saw her distinctly.
she was tall and slight and her head was bare.
i saw that her hair was a pale gold, shining somewhat strangely about her head as if catching the moonbeams.
her face was very lovely and her eyes large and dark.
she was dressed in something white and softly shimmering, and in her hand she held a white rose... a very large and perfect one.
even at the time i found myself wondering where she could have picked it.
it was not a woodlands rose.
all the woodlands roses were smaller and less double.
she was a stranger to me, yet i felt that i had seen her or someone very like her before.
possibly she was one of mr. lawrence's many nieces who might have come up to woodlands upon hearing of his illness.
as i opened the gate i felt an odd chill of positive fear.
then she smiled as if i had spoken my thought.
""do not be frightened," she said.
""there is no reason you should be frightened.
i have only come to keep a tryst."
the words reminded me of something, but i could not recall what it was.
the strange fear that was on me deepened.
i could not speak.
she came through the gateway and stood for a moment at my side.
""it is strange that you should have seen me," she said, "but now behold how strong and beautiful a thing is faithful love -- strong enough to conquer death.
we who have loved truly love always -- and this makes our heaven."
she walked on after she had spoken, down the long rose path.
i watched her until she reached the house and went up the steps.
in truth i thought the girl was someone not quite in her right mind.
when i reached home i did not speak of the matter to anyone, not even to inquire who the girl might possibly be.
there seemed to be something in that strange meeting that demanded my silence.
the next morning word came that old mr. lawrence was dead.
when i hurried down to woodlands i found all in confusion, but mrs. yeats took me into the blue parlour and told me what little there was to tell.
""he must have died soon after you left him, miss jeanette," she sobbed, "for mrs. stewart wakened at ten o'clock and he was gone.
he lay there, smiling, with such a strange look on his face as if he had just seen something that made him wonderfully happy.
i never saw such a look on a dead face before."
""who is here besides mrs. stewart?"
i asked.
""nobody," said mrs. yeats.
""we have sent word to all his friends but they have not had time to arrive here yet."
""i met a young girl in the garden last night," i said slowly.
""she came into the house.
i did not know her but i thought she must be a relative of mr. lawrence's."
mrs. yeats shook her head.
""no.
it must have been somebody from the village, although i did n't know of anyone calling after you went away."
i said nothing more to her about it.
after the funeral mrs. stewart gave me margaret's miniature.
i had never seen it or any picture of margaret before.
the face was very lovely -- also strangely like my own, although i am not beautiful.
it was the face of the young girl i had met at the gate!
the light on the big dipper "do n't let nellie run out of doors, mary margaret, and be careful of the fire, mary margaret.
i expect we'll be back pretty soon after dark, so do n't be lonesome, mary margaret."
mary margaret laughed and switched her long, thick braid of black hair from one shoulder to the other.
""no fear of my being lonesome, mother campbell.
i'll be just as careful as can be and there are so many things to be done that i'll be as busy and happy as a bee all day long.
nellie and i will have just the nicest kind of a time.
i wo n't get lonesome, but if i should feel just tempted to, i'll think, father is on his way home.
he will soon be here."
and that would drive the lonesomeness away before it dared to show its face.
do n't you worry, mother campbell."
mother campbell smiled.
she knew she could trust mary margaret -- careful, steady, prudent little mary margaret.
little!
ah, that was just the trouble.
careful and steady and prudent as mary margaret might be, she was only twelve years old, after all, and there would not be another soul besides her and nellie on the little dipper that whole day.
mrs. campbell felt that she hardly dared to go away under such circumstances.
and yet she must dare it.
oscar bryan had sailed over from the mainland the evening before with word that her sister nan -- her only sister, who lived in cartonville -- was ill and about to undergo a serious operation.
she must go to see her, and uncle martin was waiting with his boat to take her over to the mainland to catch the morning train for cartonville.
if five-year-old nellie had been quite well mrs. campbell would have taken both her and mary margaret and locked up the house.
but nellie had a very bad cold and was quite unfit to go sailing across the harbour on a raw, chilly november day.
so there was nothing to do but leave mary margaret in charge, and mary margaret was quite pleased at the prospect.
""you know, mother campbell, i'm not afraid of anything except tramps.
and no tramps ever come to the dippers.
you see what an advantage it is to live on an island!
there, uncle martin is waving.
run along, little mother."
mary margaret watched the boat out of sight from the window and then betook herself to the doing of her tasks, singing blithely all the while.
it was rather nice to be left in sole charge like this -- it made you feel so important and grown-up.
she would do everything very nicely and mother would see when she came back what a good housekeeper her daughter was.
mary margaret and nellie and mrs. campbell had been living on the little dipper ever since the preceding april.
before that they had always lived in their own cosy home at the harbour head.
but in april captain campbell had sailed in the two sisters for a long voyage and, before he went, mrs. campbell's brother, martin clowe, had come to them with a proposition.
he ran a lobster cannery on the little dipper, and he wanted his sister to go and keep house for him while her husband was away.
after some discussion it was so arranged, and mrs. campbell and her two girls moved to the little dipper.
it was not a lonesome place then, for the lobstermen and their families lived on it, and boats were constantly sailing to and fro between it and the mainland.
mary margaret enjoyed her summer greatly; she bathed and sailed and roamed over the rocks, and on fine days her uncle george, who kept the lighthouse on the big dipper, and lived there all alone, often came over and took her across to the big dipper.
mary margaret thought the lighthouse was a wonderful place.
uncle george taught her how to light the lamps and manage the light.
when the lobster season dosed, the men took up codfishing and carried this on till october, when they all moved back to the mainland.
but uncle martin was building a house for himself at harbour head and did not wish to move until the ice formed over the bay because it would then be so much easier to transport his goods and chattels; so the campbells stayed with him until the captain should return.
mary margaret found plenty to do that day and was n't a bit lonesome.
but when evening came she did n't feel quite so cheerful.
nellie had fallen asleep, and there was n't another living creature except the cat on the little dipper.
besides, it looked like a storm.
the harbour was glassy calm, but the sky was very black and dour in the northeast -- like snow, thought weather-wise mary margaret.
she hoped her mother would get home before it began, and she wished the lighthouse star would gleam out on the big dipper.
it would seem like the bright eye of a steady old friend.
mary margaret always watched for it every night; just as soon as the sun went down the big lighthouse star would flash goldenly out in the northeastern sky.
""i'll sit down by the window and watch for it," said mary margaret to herself.
""then, when it is lighted, i'll get up a nice warm supper for mother and uncle martin."
mary margaret sat down by the kitchen window to watch.
minute after minute passed, but no light flashed out on the big dipper.
what was the matter?
mary margaret began to feel uneasy.
it was too cloudy to tell just when the sun had set, but she was sure it must be down, for it was quite dark in the house.
she lighted a lamp, got the almanac, and hunted out the exact time of sunsetting.
the sun had been down fifteen minutes!
and there was no light on the big dipper!
mary margaret felt alarmed and anxious.
what was wrong at the big dipper?
was uncle george away?
or had something happened to him?
mary margaret was sure he had never forgotten!
fifteen minutes longer did mary margaret watch restlessly at the window.
then she concluded that something was desperately wrong somewhere.
it was half an hour after sunset and the big dipper light, the most important one along the whole coast, was not lighted.
what would she do?
what could she do?
the answer came swift and dear into mary margaret's steady, sensible little mind.
she must go to the big dipper and light the lamps!
but could she?
difficulties came crowding thick and fast into her thoughts.
it was going to snow; the soft broad flakes were falling already.
could she row the two miles to the big dipper in the darkness and the snow?
if she could, dare she leave nellie all alone in the house?
oh, she could n't!
somebody at the harbour head would surely notice that the big dipper light was unlighted and would go over to investigate the cause.
but suppose they should n't?
if the snow came thicker they might never notice the absence of the light.
and suppose there was a ship away out there, as there nearly always was, with the dangerous rocks and shoals of the outer harbour to pass, with precious lives on board and no guiding beacon on the big dipper.
mary margaret hesitated no longer.
she must go.
bravely, briskly and thoughtfully she made her preparations.
first, the fire was banked and the draughts dosed; then she wrote a little note for her mother and laid it on the table.
finally she wakened nellie.
""nellie," said mary margaret, speaking very kindly and determinedly, "there is no light on the big dipper and i've got to row over and see about it.
i'll be back as quickly as i can, and mother and uncle martin will soon be here.
you wo n't be afraid to stay alone, will you, dearie?
you must n't be afraid, because i have to go.
and, nellie, i'm going to tie you in your chair; it's necessary, because i ca n't lock the door, so you must n't cry; nothing will hurt you, and i want you to be a brave little girl and help sister all you can."
nellie, too sleepy and dazed to understand very clearly what mary margaret was about, submitted to be wrapped up in quilts and bound securely in her chair.
then mary margaret tied the chair fast to the wall so that nellie could n't upset it.
that's safe, she thought.
nellie ca n't run out now or fall on the stove or set herself afire.
mary margaret put on her jacket, hood and mittens, and took uncle martin's lantern.
as she went out and closed the door, a little wail from nellie sounded on her ear.
for a moment she hesitated, then the blackness of the big dipper confirmed her resolution.
she must go.
nellie was really quite safe and comfortable.
it would not hurt her to cry a little, and it might hurt somebody a great deal if the big dipper light failed.
setting her lips firmly, mary margaret ran down to the shore.
like all the harbour girls, mary margaret could row a boat from the time she was nine years old.
nevertheless, her heart almost failed her as she got into the little dory and rowed out.
the snow was getting thick.
could she pull across those black two miles between the dippers before it got so much thicker that she would lose her way?
well, she must risk it.
she had set the light in the kitchen window; she must keep it fair behind her and then she would land on the lighthouse beach.
with a murmured prayer for help and guidance she pulled staunchly away.
it was a long, hard row for the little twelve-year-old arms.
fortunately there was no wind.
but thicker and thicker came the snow; finally the kitchen light was hidden in it.
for a moment mary margaret's heart sank in despair; the next it gave a joyful bound, for, turning, she saw the dark tower of the lighthouse directly behind her.
by the aid of her lantern she rowed to the landing, sprang out and made her boat fast.
a minute later she was in the lighthouse kitchen.
the door leading to the tower stairs was open and at the foot of the stairs lay uncle george, limp and white.
""oh, uncle george," gasped mary margaret, "what is the matter?
what has happened?"
""mary margaret!
thank god!
i was just praying to him to send somebody to "tend the light.
who's with you?"
""nobody... i got frightened because there was no light and i rowed over.
mother and uncle martin are away."
""you do n't mean to say you rowed yourself over here alone in the dark and snow!
well, you are the pluckiest little girl about this harbour!
it's a mercy i've showed you how to manage the light.
run up and start it at once.
do n't mind about me.
i tumbled down those pesky stairs like the awkward old fool i am and i've broke my leg and hurt my back so bad i ca n't crawl an inch.
i've been lying here for three mortal hours and they've seemed like three years.
hurry with the light, mary margaret."
mary margaret hurried.
soon the big dipper light was once more gleaming cheerfully athwart the stormy harbour.
then she ran back to her uncle.
there was not much she could do for him beyond covering him warmly with quilts, placing a pillow under his head, and brewing him a hot drink of tea.
""i left a note for mother telling her where i'd gone, uncle george, so i'm sure uncle martin will come right over as soon as they get home."
""he'll have to hurry.
it's blowing up now... hear it... and snowing thick.
if your mother and martin have n't left the harbour head before this, they wo n't leave it tonight.
but, anyhow, the light is lit.
i do n't mind my getting smashed up compared to that.
i thought i'd go crazy lying here picturing to myself a vessel out on the reefs."
that night was a very long and anxious one.
the storm grew rapidly worse, and snow and wind howled around the lighthouse.
uncle george soon grew feverish and delirious, and mary margaret, between her anxiety for him and her dismal thoughts of poor nellie tied in her chair over at the little dipper, and the dark possibility of her mother and uncle martin being out in the storm, felt almost distracted.
but the morning came at last, as mornings blessedly will, be the nights never so long and anxious, and it dawned fine and clear over a white world.
mary margaret ran to the shore and gazed eagerly across at the little dipper.
no smoke was visible from uncle martin's house!
she could not leave uncle george, who was raving wildly, and yet it was necessary to obtain assistance somehow.
suddenly she remembered the distress signal.
she must hoist it.
how fortunate that uncle george had once shown her how!
ten minutes later there was a commotion over at harbour head where the signal was promptly observed, and very soon -- although it seemed long enough to mary margaret -- a boat came sailing over to the big dipper.
when the men landed they were met by a very white-faced little girl who gasped out a rather disjointed story of a light that had n't been lighted and an uncle with a broken leg and a sister tied in her chair, and would they please see to uncle george at once, for she must go straight over to the other dipper?
one of the men rowed her over, but before they were halfway there another boat went sailing across the harbour, and mary margaret saw a woman and two men land from it and hurry up to the house.
that is mother and uncle martin, but who can the other man be?
wondered mary margaret.
when she reached the cottage her mother and uncle martin were reading her note, and nellie, just untied from the chair where she had been found fast asleep, was in the arms of a great, big, brown, bewhiskered man.
mary margaret just gave one look at the man.
then she flew across the room with a cry of delight.
""father!"
for ten minutes not one intelligible word was said, what with laughing and crying and kissing.
mary margaret was the first to recover herself and say briskly, "now, do explain, somebody.
tell me how it all happened."
""martin and i got back to harbour head too late last night to cross over," said her mother.
""it would have been madness to try to cross in the storm, although i was nearly wild thinking of you two children.
it's well i did n't know the whole truth or i'd have been simply frantic.
we stayed at the head all night, and first thing this morning came your father."
""we came in last night," said captain campbell, "and it was pitch dark, not a light to be seen and beginning to snow.
we did n't know where we were and i was terribly worried, when all at once the big dipper light i'd been looking for so vainly flashed out, and everything was all right in a moment.
but, mary margaret, if that light had n't appeared, we'd never have got in past the reefs.
you've saved your father's ship and all the lives in her, my brave little girl."
""oh!"
mary margaret drew a long breath and her eyes were starry with tears of happiness.
""oh, i'm so thankful i went over.
and i had to tie nellie in her chair, mother, there was no other way.
uncle george broke his leg and is very sick this morning, and there's no breakfast ready for anyone and the fire black out... but that does n't matter when father is safe... and oh, i'm so tired!"
and then mary margaret sat down just for a moment, intending to get right up and help her mother light the fire, laid her head on her father's shoulder, and fell sound asleep before she ever suspected it.
the prodigal brother miss hannah was cutting asters in her garden.
it was a very small garden, for nothing would grow beyond the shelter of the little, grey, low-eaved house which alone kept the northeast winds from blighting everything with salt spray; but small as it was, it was a miracle of blossoms and a marvel of neatness.
the trim brown paths were swept clean of every leaf or fallen petal, each of the little square beds had its border of big white quahog clamshells, and not even a sweet-pea vine would have dared to straggle from its appointed course under miss hannah's eye.
miss hannah had always lived in the little grey house down by the shore, so far away from all the other houses in prospect and so shut away from them by a circle of hills that it had a seeming isolation.
not another house could miss hannah see from her own doorstone; she often declared she could not have borne it if it had not been for the lighthouse beacon at night flaming over the northwest hill behind the house like a great unwinking, friendly star that never failed even on the darkest night.
behind the house a little tongue of the st. lawrence gulf ran up between the headlands until the wavelets of its tip almost lapped against miss hannah's kitchen doorstep.
beyond, to the north, was the great crescent of the gulf, whose murmur had been miss hannah's lullaby all her life.
when people wondered to her how she could endure living in such a lonely place, she retorted that the loneliness was what she loved it for, and that the lighthouse star and the far-away call of the gulf had always been company enough for her and always would be... until ralph came back.
when ralph came home, of course, he might like a livelier place and they might move to town or up-country as he wished.
""of course," said miss hannah with a proud smile, "a rich man might n't fancy living away down here in a little grey house by the shore.
he'll be for building me a mansion, i expect, and i'd like it fine.
but until he comes i must be contented with things as they are."
people always smiled to each other when miss hannah talked like this.
but they took care not to let her see the smile.
miss hannah snipped her white and purple asters off ungrudgingly and sang, as she snipped, an old-fashioned song she had learned long ago in her youth.
the day was one of october's rarest, and miss hannah loved fine days.
the air was clear as golden-hued crystal, and all the slopes around her were mellow and hazy in the autumn sunshine.
she knew that beyond those sunny slopes were woods glorying in crimson and gold, and she would have the delight of a walk through them later on when she went to carry the asters to sick millie starr at the bridge.
flowers were all miss hannah had to give, for she was very poor, but she gave them with a great wealth of friendliness and goodwill.
presently a wagon drove down her lane and pulled up outside of her white garden paling.
jacob delancey was in it, with a pretty young niece of his who was a visitor from the city, and miss hannah, her sheaf of asters in her arms, went over to the paling with a sparkle of interest in her faded blue eyes.
she had heard a great deal of the beauty of this strange girl.
prospect people had been talking of nothing else for a week, and miss hannah was filled with a harmless curiosity concerning her.
she always liked to look at pretty people, she said; they did her as much good as her flowers.
""good afternoon, miss hannah," said jacob delancey.
""busy with your flowers, as usual, i see."
""oh, yes," said miss hannah, managing to stare with unobtrusive delight at the girl while she talked.
""the frost will soon be coming now, you know; so i want to live among them as much as i can while they're here."
""that's right," assented jacob, who made a profession of cordial agreement with everybody and would have said the same words in the same tone had miss hannah announced a predilection for living in the cellar.
""well, miss hannah, it's flowers i'm after myself just now.
we're having a bit of a party at our house tonight, for the young folks, and my wife told me to call and ask you if you could let us have a few for decoration."
""of course," said miss hannah, "you can have these.
i meant them for millie, but i can cut the west bed for her."
she opened the gate and carried the asters over to the buggy.
miss delancey took them with a smile that made miss hannah remember the date forever.
""lovely day," commented jacob genially.
""yes," said miss hannah dreamily.
""it reminds me of the day ralph went away twenty years ago.
it does n't seem so long.
do n't you think he'll be coming back soon, jacob?"
""oh, sure," said jacob, who thought the very opposite.
""i have a feeling that he's coming very soon," said miss hannah brightly.
""it will be a great day for me, wo n't it, jacob?
i've been poor all my life, but when ralph comes back everything will be so different.
he will be a rich man and he will give me everything i've always wanted.
he said he would.
a fine house and a carriage and a silk dress.
oh, and we will travel and see the world.
you do n't know how i look forward to it all.
i've got it all planned out, all i'm going to do and have.
and i believe he will be here very soon.
a man ought to be able to make a fortune in twenty years, do n't you think, jacob?"
""oh, sure," said jacob.
but he said it a little uncomfortably.
he did not like the job of throwing cold water, but it seemed to him that he ought not to encourage miss hannah's hopes.
""of course, you should n't think too much about it, miss hannah.
he might n't ever come back, or he might be poor."
""how can you say such things, jacob?"
interrupted miss hannah indignantly, with a little crimson spot flaming out in each of her pale cheeks.
""you know quite well he will come back.
i'm as sure of it as that i'm standing here.
and he will be rich, too.
people are always trying to hint just as you've done to me, but i do n't mind them.
i know."
she turned and went back into her garden with her head held high.
but her sudden anger floated away in a whiff of sweet-pea perfume that struck her in the face; she waved her hand in farewell to her callers and watched the buggy down the lane with a smile.
""of course, jacob does n't know, and i should n't have snapped him up so quick.
it'll be my turn to crow when ralph does come.
my, but is n't that girl pretty.
i feel as if i'd been looking at some lovely picture.
it just makes a good day of this.
something pleasant happens to me most every day and that girl is today's pleasant thing.
i just feel real happy and thankful that there are such beautiful creatures in the world and that we can look at them."
""well, of all the queer delusions!"
jacob delancey was ejaculating as he and his niece drove down the lane.
""what is it all about?"
asked miss delancey curiously.
""well, it's this way, dorothy.
long ago miss hannah had a brother who ran away from home.
it was before their father and mother died.
ralph walworth was as wild a young scamp as ever was in prospect and a spendthrift in the bargain.
nobody but hannah had any use for him, and she just worshipped him.
i must admit he was real fond of her too, but he and his father could n't get on at all.
so finally he ups and runs away; it was generally supposed he went to the mining country.
he left a note for hannah bidding her goodbye and telling her that he was going to make his fortune and would come back to her a rich man.
there's never been a word heard tell of him since, and in my opinion it's doubtful if he's still alive.
but miss hannah, as you saw, is sure and certain he'll come back yet with gold dropping out of his pockets.
she's as sane as anyone everyway else, but there is no doubt she's a little cracked on that p "int.
if he never turns up she'll go on hoping quite happy to her death.
but if he should turn up and be poor, as is ten times likelier than anything else, i believe it'd most kill miss hannah.
she's terrible proud for all she's so sweet, and you saw yourself how mad she got when i kind of hinted he might n't be rich.
if he came back poor, after all her boasting about him, i do n't fancy he'd get much of a welcome from her.
and she'd never hold up her head again, that's certain.
so it's to be hoped, say i, that ralph walworth never will turn up, unless he comes in a carriage and four, which is about as likely, in my opinion, as that he'll come in a pumpkin drawn by mice."
when october had passed and the grey november days came, the glory of miss hannah's garden was over.
she was very lonely without her flowers.
she missed them more this year than ever.
on fine days she paced up and down the walks and looked sadly at the drooping, unsightly stalks and vines.
she was there one afternoon when the northeast wind was up and doing, whipping the gulf waters into whitecaps and whistling up the inlet and around the grey eaves.
miss hannah was mournfully patting a frosted chrysanthemum under its golden chin when she saw a man limping slowly down the lane.
""now, who can that be?"
she murmured.
""it is n't any prospect man, for there's nobody lame around here."
she went to the garden gate to meet him.
he came haltingly up the slope and paused before her, gazing at her wistfully.
he looked old and bent and broken, and his clothes were poor and worn.
who was he?
miss hannah felt that she ought to know him, and her memory went groping back amongst all her recollections.
yet she could think of nobody but her father, who had died fifteen years before.
""do n't ye know me, hannah?"
said the man wistfully.
""have i changed so much as all that?"
""ralph!"
it was between a cry and a laugh.
miss hannah flew through the gate and caught him in her arms.
""ralph, my own dear brother!
oh, i always knew you'd come back.
if you knew how i've looked forward to this day!"
she was both laughing and crying now.
her face shone with a soft gladness.
ralph walworth shook his head sadly.
""it's a poor wreck of a man i am come back to you, hannah," he said.
""i've never accomplished anything and my health's broken and i'm a cripple as ye see.
for a time i thought i'd never show my face back here, such a failure as i be, but the longing to see you got too strong.
it's naught but a wreck i am, hannah."
""you're my own dear brother," cried miss hannah.
""do you think i care how poor you are?
and if your health is poor i'm the one to nurse you up, who else than your only sister, i'd like to know!
come right in.
you're shivering in this wind.
i'll mix you a good hot currant drink.
i knew them black currants did n't bear so plentiful for nothing last summer.
oh, this is a good day and no mistake!"
in twenty-four hours" time everybody in prospect knew that ralph walworth had come home, crippled and poor.
jacob delancey shook his head as he drove away from the station with ralph's shabby little trunk standing on end in his buggy.
the station master had asked him to take it down to miss hannah's, and jacob did not fancy the errand.
he was afraid miss hannah would be in a bad way and he did not know what to say to her.
she was in her garden, covering her pansies with seaweed, when he drove up, and she came to the garden gate to meet him, all smiles.
""so you've brought ralph's trunk, mr. delancey.
now, that was real good of you.
he was going over to the station to see about it himself, but he had such a cold i persuaded him to wait till tomorrow.
he's lying down asleep now.
he's just real tired.
he brought this seaweed up from the shore for me this morning and it played him out.
he ai n't strong.
but did n't i tell you he was coming back soon?
you only laughed at me, but i knew."
""he is n't very rich, though," said jacob jokingly.
he was relieved to find that miss hannah did not seem to be worrying over this.
""that does n't matter," cried miss hannah.
""why, he's my brother!
is n't that enough?
i'm rich if he is n't, rich in love and happiness.
and i'm better pleased in a way than if he had come back rich.
he might have wanted to take me away or build a fine house, and i'm too old to be making changes.
and then he would n't have needed me.
i'd have been of no use to him.
as it is, it's just me he needs to look after him and coddle him.
oh, it's fine to have somebody to do things for, somebody that belongs to you.
i was just dreading the loneliness of the winter, and now it's going to be such a happy winter.
i declare last night ralph and i sat up till morning talking over everything.
he's had a hard life of it.
bad luck and illness right along.
and last winter in the lumber woods he got his leg broke.
but now he's come home and we're never going to be parted again as long as we live.
i could sing for joy, jacob."
""oh, sure," assented jacob cordially.
he felt a little dazed.
miss hannah's nimble change of base was hard for him to follow, and he had an injured sense of having wasted a great deal of commiseration on her when she did n't need it at all.
""only i kind of thought, we all thought, you had such plans."
""well, they served their turn," interrupted miss hannah briskly.
""they amused me and kept me interested till something real would come in their place.
if i'd had to carry them out i dare say they'd have bothered me a lot.
things are more comfortable as they are.
i'm happy as a bird, jacob."
""oh, sure," said jacob.
he pondered the business deeply all the way back home, but could make nothing of it.
""but i ai n't obliged to," he concluded sensibly.
""miss hannah's satisfied and happy and it's nobody else's concern.
however, i call it a curious thing."
the redemption of john churchill john churchill walked slowly, not as a man walks who is tired, or content to saunter for the pleasure of it, but as one in no haste to reach his destination through dread of it.
the day was well on to late afternoon in mid-spring, and the world was abloom.
before him and behind him wound a road that ran like a red ribbon through fields of lush clovery green.
the orchards scattered along it were white and fragrant, giving of their incense to a merry south-west wind; fence-corner nooks were purple with patches of violets or golden-green with the curly heads of young ferns.
the roadside was sprinkled over with the gold dust of dandelions and the pale stars of wild strawberry blossoms.
it seemed a day through which a man should walk lightly and blithely, looking the world and his fellows frankly in the face, and opening his heart to let the springtime in.
but john churchill walked laggingly, with bent head.
when he met other wayfarers or was passed by them, he did not lift his face, but only glanced up under his eyebrows with a furtive look that was replaced by a sort of shamed relief when they had passed on without recognizing him.
some of them he knew for friends of the old time.
ten years had not changed them as he had been changed.
they had spent those ten years in freedom and good repute, under god's blue sky, in his glad air and sunshine.
he, john churchill, had spent them behind the walls of a prison.
his close-clipped hair was grey; his figure, encased in an ill-fitting suit of coarse cloth, was stooped and shrunken; his face was deeply lined; yet he was not an old man in years.
he was only forty; he was thirty when he had been convicted of embezzling the bank funds for purposes of speculation and had been sent to prison, leaving behind a wife and father who were broken-hearted and a sister whose pride had suffered more than her heart.
he had never seen them since, but he knew what had happened in his absence.
his wife had died two months later, leaving behind her a baby boy; his father had died within the year.
he had killed them; he, john churchill, who loved them, had killed them as surely as though his hand had struck them down in cold blood.
his sister had taken the baby, his little son whom he had never seen, but for whom he had prepared such a birthright of dishonour.
she had never forgiven her brother and she never wrote to him.
he knew that she would have brought the boy up either in ignorance of his father's crime or in utter detestation of it.
when he came back to the world after his imprisonment, there was not a single friendly hand to clasp his and help him struggle up again.
the best his friends had been able to do for him was to forget him.
he was filled with bitterness and despair and a gnawing hatred of the world of brightness around him.
he had no place in it; he was an ugly blot on it.
he was a friendless, wifeless, homeless man who could not so much as look his fellow men in the face, who must henceforth consort with outcasts.
in his extremity he hated god and man, burning with futile resentment against both.
only one feeling of tenderness yet remained in his heart; it centred around the thought of his little son.
when he left the prison he had made up his mind what to do.
he had a little money which his father had left him, enough to take him west.
he would go there, under a new name.
there would be novelty and adventure to blot out the memories of the old years.
he did not care what became of him, since there was no one else to care.
he knew in his heart that his future career would probably lead him still further and further downward, but that did not matter.
if there had been anybody to care, he might have thought it worthwhile to struggle back to respectability and trample his shame under feet that should henceforth walk only in the ways of honour and honesty.
but there was nobody to care.
so he would go to his own place.
but first he must see little joey, who must be quite a big boy now, nearly ten years old.
he would go home and see him just once, even although he dreaded meeting aversion in the child's eyes.
then, when he had bade him good-bye, and, with him, good-bye to all that remained to make for good in his desolated existence, he would go out of his life forever.
""i'll go straight to the devil then," he said sullenly.
""that's where i belong, a jail-bird at whom everybody except other jail-birds looks askance.
to think what i was once, and what i am now!
it's enough to drive a man mad!
as for repenting, bah!
who'd believe that i really repented, who'd give me a second chance on the faith of it?
not a soul.
repentance wo n't blot out the past.
it wo n't give me back my wife whom i loved above everything on earth and whose heart i broke.
it wo n't restore me my unstained name and my right to a place among honourable men.
there's no chance for a man who has fallen as low as i have.
if emily were living, i could struggle for her sake.
but who'd be fool enough to attempt such a fight with no motive and not one chance of success in a hundred.
not i. i'm down and i'll stay down.
there's no climbing up again."
he celebrated his first day of freedom by getting drunk, although he had never before been an intemperate man.
then, when the effects of the debauch wore off, he took the train for alliston; he would go home and see little joey once.
nobody at the station where he alighted recognized him or paid any attention to him.
he was as a dead man who had come back to life to find himself effaced from recollection and his place knowing him no more.
it was three miles from the station to where his sister lived, and he resolved to walk the distance.
now that the critical moment drew near, he shrank from it and wished to put it off as long as he could.
when he reached his sister's home he halted on the road and surveyed the place over its snug respectability of iron fence.
his courage failed him at the thought of walking over that trim lawn and knocking at that closed front door.
he would slip around by the back way; perhaps, who knew, he might come upon joey without running the gauntlet of his sister's cold, offended eyes.
if he might only find the boy and talk to him for a little while without betraying his identity, meet his son's clear gaze without the danger of finding scorn or fear in it -- his heart beat high at the thought.
he walked furtively up the back way between high, screening hedges of spruce.
when he came to the gate of the yard, he paused.
he heard voices just beyond the thick hedge, children's voices, and he crept as near as he could to the sound and peered through the hedge, with a choking sensation in his throat and a smart in his eyes.
was that joey, could that be his little son?
yes, it was; he would have known him anywhere by his likeness to emily.
their boy had her curly brown hair, her sensitive mouth, above all, her clear-gazing, truthful grey eyes, eyes in which there was never a shadow of falsehood or faltering.
joey churchill was sitting on a stone bench in his aunt's kitchen yard, holding one of his black-stockinged knees between his small, brown hands.
jimmy morris was standing opposite to him, his back braced against the trunk of a big, pink-blossomed apple tree, his hands in his pockets, and a scowl on his freckled face.
jimmy lived next door to joey and as a rule they were very good friends, but this afternoon they had quarrelled over the right and proper way to construct an indian ambush in the fir grove behind the pig-house.
the argument was long and warm and finally culminated in personalities.
just as john churchill dropped on one knee behind the hedge, the better to see joey's face, jimmy morris said scornfully: "i do n't care what you say.
nobody believes you.
your father is in the penitentiary."
the taunt struck home as it always did.
it was not the first time that joey had been twitted with his father by his boyish companions.
but never before by jimmy!
it always hurt him, and he had never before made any response to it.
his face would flush crimson, his lips would quiver, and his big grey eyes darken miserably with the shadow that was on his life; he would turn away in silence.
but that jimmy, his best beloved chum, should say such a thing to him; oh, it hurt terribly.
there is nothing so merciless as a small boy.
jimmy saw his advantage and vindictively pursued it.
""your father stole money, that's what he did!
you know he did.
i'm pretty glad my father is n't a thief.
your father is.
and when he gets out of prison, he'll go on stealing again.
my father says he will.
nobody'll have anything to do with him, my father says.
his own sister wo n't have anything to do with him.
so there, joey churchill!"
""there will somebody have something to do with him!"
cried joey hotly.
he slid off the bench and faced jimmy proudly and confidently.
the unseen watcher on the other side of the hedge saw his face grow white and intense and set-lipped, as if it had been the face of a man.
the grey eyes were alight with a steady, fearless glow."
i'll have something to do with him.
he is my father and i love him.
i do n't care what he did, i love him just as well as if he was the best man in the world.
i love him better than if he was as good as your father, because he needs it more.
i've always loved him ever since i found out about him.
i'd write to him and tell him so, if aunt beatrice would tell me where to send the letter.
aunt beatrice wo n't ever talk about him or let me talk about him, but i think about him all the time.
and he's going to be a good man yet, yes, he is, just as good as your father, jimmy morris.
i'm going to make him good.
i made up my mind years ago what i would do and i'm going to do it, so there, jimmy."
""i do n't see what you can do," muttered jimmy, already ashamed of what he had said and wishing he had let joey's father alone.
""i'll tell you what i can do!"
joey was confronting all the world now, with his head thrown back and his face flushed with his earnestness.
""i can love him and stand by him, and i will.
when he gets out of -- of prison, he'll come to see me, i know he will.
and i'm just going to hug him and kiss him and say, "never mind, father.
i know you're sorry for what you've done, and you're never going to do it any more.
you're going to be a good man and i'm going to stand by you."
yes, sir, that's just what i'm going to say to him.
i'm all the children he has and there's nobody else to love him, because i know aunt beatrice does n't.
and i'm going with him wherever he goes."
""you ca n't," said jimmy in a scared tone.
""your aunt beatrice wo n't let you."
""yes, she will.
she'll have to.
i belong to my father.
and i think he'll be coming pretty soon some way.
i'm pretty sure the time must be "most up.
i wish he would come.
i want to see him as much as can be,'cause i know he'll need me.
and i'll be proud of him yet, jimmy morris, yes, i'll be just as proud as you are of your father.
when i get bigger, nobody will call my father names, i can tell you.
i'll fight them if they do, yes, sir, i will.
my father and i are going to stand by each other like bricks.
aunt beatrice has lots of children of her own and i do n't believe she'll be a bit sorry when i go away.
she's ashamed of my father'cause he did a bad thing.
but i'm not, no, sir.
i'm going to love him so much that i'll make up to him for everything else.
and you can just go home, jimmy morris, so there!"
jimmy morris went home, and when he had gone, joey flung himself face downward in the grass and fallen apple blossoms and lay very still.
on the other side of the spruce hedge knelt john churchill with bowed head.
the tears were running freely down his face, but there was a new, tender light in his eyes.
the bitterness and despair had fallen out of his heart, leaving a great peace and a dawning hope in their place.
bless that loyal little soul!
there was something to live for after all -- there was a motive to make the struggle worthwhile.
he must justify his son's faith in him; he must strive to make himself worthy of this sweet, pure, unselfish love that was offered to him, as a divine draught is offered to the parched lips of a man perishing from thirst.
aye, and, god helping him, he would.
he would redeem the past.
he would go west, but under his own name.
his little son should go with him; he would work hard; he would pay back the money he had embezzled, as much of it as he could, if it took the rest of his life to do so.
for his boy's sake he must cleanse his name from the dishonour he had brought on it.
oh, thank god, there was somebody to care, somebody to love him, somebody to believe him when he said humbly, "i repent."
under his breath he said, looking heavenward: "god be merciful to me, a sinner."
then he stood up erectly, went through the gate and over the grass to the motionless little figure with its face buried in its arms.
""joey boy," he said huskily.
""joey boy."
joey sprang to his feet with tears still glistening in his eyes.
he saw before him a bent, grey-headed man looking at him lovingly and wistfully.
joey knew who it was -- the father he had never seen.
with a glad cry of welcome he sprang into the outstretched arms of the man whom his love had already won back to god.
the schoolmaster's letters at sunset the schoolmaster went up to his room to write a letter to her.
he always wrote to her at the same time -- when the red wave of the sunset, flaming over the sea, surged in at the little curtainless window and flowed over the pages he wrote on.
the light was rose-red and imperial and spiritual, like his love for her, and seemed almost to dye the words of the letters in its own splendid hues -- the letters to her which she never was to see, whose words her eyes never were to read, and whose love and golden fancy and rainbow dreams never were to be so much as known by her.
and it was because she never was to see them that he dared to write them, straight out of his full heart, taking the exquisite pleasure of telling her what he never could permit himself to tell her face to face.
every evening he wrote thus to her, and the hour so spent glorified the entire day.
the rest of the hours -- all the other hours of the commonplace day -- he was merely a poor schoolmaster with a long struggle before him, one who might not lift his eyes to gaze on a star.
but at this hour he was her equal, meeting her soul to soul, telling out as a man might all his great love for her, and wearing the jewel of it on his brow.
what wonder indeed that the precious hour which made him a king, crowned with a mighty and unselfish passion, was above all things sacred to him?
and doubly sacred when, as tonight, it followed upon an hour spent with her?
its mingled delight and pain were almost more than he could bear.
he went through the kitchen and the hall and up the narrow staircase with a glory in his eyes that thus were held from seeing his sordid surroundings.
link houseman, sprawled out on the platform before the kitchen door, saw him pass with that rapt face, and chuckled.
link was ill enough to look at any time, with his sharp, freckled features and foxy eyes.
when he chuckled his face was that of an unholy imp.
but the schoolmaster took no heed of him.
neither did he heed the girl whom he met in the hall.
her handsome, sullen face flushed crimson under the sting of his utter disregard, and her black eyes followed him up the stairs with a look that was not good to see.
""sis," whispered link piercingly, "come out here!
i've got a joke to tell you, something about the master and his girl.
you ai n't to let on to him you know, though.
i found it out last night when he was off to the shore.
that old key of uncle jim's was just the thing.
he's a softy, and no mistake."
* * * * * upstairs in his little room, the schoolmaster was writing his letter.
the room was as bare and graceless as all the other rooms of the farmhouse where he had boarded during his term of teaching; but it looked out on the sea, and was hung with such priceless tapestry of his iris dreams and visions that it was to him an apartment in a royal palace.
from it he gazed afar on bays that were like great cups of sapphire brimming over with ruby wine for gods to drain, on headlands that were like amethyst, on wide sweeps of sea that were blue and far and mysterious; and ever the moan and call of the ocean's heart came up to his heart as of one great, hopeless love and longing crying out to another love and longing, as great and hopeless.
and here, in the rose-radiance of the sunset, with the sea-music in the dim air, he wrote his letter to her.
my lady: how beautiful it is to think that there is nothing to prevent my loving you!
there is much -- everything -- to prevent me from telling you that i love you.
but nothing has any right to come between my heart and its own; it is permitted to love you forever and ever and serve and reverence you in secret and silence.
for so much, dear, i thank life, even though the price of the permission must always be the secret and the silence.
i have just come from you, my lady.
your voice is still in my ears; your eyes are still looking into mine, gravely yet half smilingly, sweetly yet half provokingly.
oh, how dear and human and girlish and queenly you are -- half saint and half very womanly woman!
and how i love you with all there is of me to love -- heart and soul and brain, every fibre of body and spirit thrilling to the wonder and marvel and miracle of it!
you do not know it, my sweet, and you must never know it.
you would not even wish to know it, for i am nothing to you but one of many friends, coming into your life briefly and passing out of it, of no more account to you than a sunshiny hour, a bird's song, a bursting bud in your garden.
but the hour and the bird and the flower gave you a little delight in their turn, and when you remembered them once before forgetting, that was their reward and blessing.
that is all i ask, dear lady, and i ask that only in my own heart.
i am content to love you and be forgotten.
it is sweeter to love you and be forgotten than it would be to love any other woman and live in her lifelong remembrance: so humble has love made me, sweet, so great is my sense of my own unworthiness.
yet love must find expression in some fashion, dear, else it is only pain, and hence these letters to you which you will never read.
i put all my heart into them; they are the best and highest of me, the buds of a love that can never bloom openly in the sunshine of your life.
i weave a chaplet of them, dear, and crown you with it.
they will never fade, for such love is eternal.
it is a whole summer since i first met you.
i had been waiting for you all my life before and did not know it.
but i knew it when you came and brought with you a sense of completion and fulfilment.
this has been the precious year of my life, the turning-point to which all things past tended and all things future must look back.
oh, my dear, i thank you for this year!
it has been your royal gift to me, and i shall be rich and great forever because of it.
nothing can ever take it from me, nothing can mar it.
it were well to have lived a lifetime of loneliness for such a boon -- the price would not be too high.
i would not give my one perfect summer for a generation of other men's happiness.
there are those in the world who would laugh at me, who would pity me, una.
they would say that the love i have poured out in secret at your feet has been wasted, that i am a poor weak fool to squander all my treasure of affection on a woman who does not care for me and who is as far above me as that great white star that is shining over the sea.
oh, my dear, they do not know, they can not understand.
the love i have given you has not left me poorer.
it has enriched my life unspeakably; it has opened my eyes and given me the gift of clear vision for those things that matter; it has been a lamp held before my stumbling feet whereby i have avoided snares and pitfalls of baser passions and unworthy dreams.
for all this i thank you, dear, and for all this surely the utmost that i can give of love and reverence and service is not too much.
i could not have helped loving you.
but if i could have helped it, knowing with just what measure of pain and joy it would brim my cup, i would have chosen to love you, una.
there are those who strive to forget a hopeless love.
to me, the greatest misfortune that life could bring would be that i should forget you.
i want to remember you always and love you and long for you.
that would be unspeakably better than any happiness that could come to me through forgetting.
dear lady, good night.
the sun has set; there is now but one fiery dimple on the horizon, as if a golden finger had dented it -- now it is gone; the mists are coming up over the sea.
a kiss on each of your white hands, dear.
tonight i am too humble to lift my thoughts to your lips.
the schoolmaster folded up his letter and held it against his cheek for a little space while he gazed out on the silver-shining sea with his dark eyes full of dreams.
then he took from his shabby trunk a little inlaid box and unlocked it with a twisted silver key.
it was full of letters -- his letters to una.
the first had been written months ago, in the early promise of a northern spring.
they linked together the golden weeks of the summer.
now, in the purple autumn, the box was full, and the schoolmaster's term was nearly ended.
he took out the letters reverently and looked over them, now and then murmuring below his breath some passages scattered through the written pages.
he had laid bare his heart in those letters, writing out what he never could have told her, even if his love had been known and returned, for dead and gone generations of stern and repressed forefathers laid their unyielding fingers of reserve on his lips, and the shyness of dreamy, book-bred youth stemmed the language of eye and tone.
i will love you forever and ever.
and even though you know it not, surely such love will hover around you all your life.
like an invisible benediction, not understood but dimly felt, guarding you from ill and keeping far from you all things and thoughts of harm and evil!
* * * * * sometimes i let myself dream.
and in those dreams you love me, and we go out to meet life together.
i have dreamed that you kissed me -- dreamed it so reverently that the dream did your womanhood no wrong.
i have dreamed that you put your hands in mine and said, "i love you."
oh, the rapture of it!
* * * * * we may give all we will if we do not ask for a return.
there should be no barter in love.
if, by reason of the greatness of my love for you, i were to ask your love in return, i should be a base creature.
it is only because i am content to love and serve for the sake of loving and serving that i have the right to love you.
* * * * * i have a memory of a blush of yours -- a rose of the years that will bloom forever in my garden of remembrance.
tonight you blushed when i came upon you suddenly among the flowers.
you were startled -- perhaps i had broken too rudely on some girlish musing; and straightway your round, pale curve of cheek and your white arch of brow were made rosy as with the dawn of beautiful sunrise.
i shall see you forever as you looked at that time.
in my mad moments i shall dream, knowing all the while that it is only a dream, that you blushed with delight at my coming.
i shall be able to picture forevermore how you would look at one you loved.
* * * * * tonight the moon was low in the west.
it hung over the sea like a shallop of ruddy gold moored to a star in the harbour of the night.
i lingered long and watched it, for i knew that you, too, were watching it from your window that looks on the sea.
you told me once that you always watched the moon set.
it has been a bond between us ever since.
* * * * * this morning i rose at dawn and walked on the shore to think of you, because it seemed the most fitting time.
it was before sunrise, and the world was virgin.
all the east was a shimmer of silver and the morning star floated in it like a dissolving pearl.
the sea was a great miracle.
i walked up and down by it and said your name over and over again.
the hour was sacred to you.
it was as pure and unspoiled as your own soul.
una, who will bring into your life the sunrise splendour and colour of love?
* * * * * do you know how beautiful you are, una?
let me tell you, dear.
you are tall, yet you have to lift your eyes a little to meet mine.
such dear eyes, una!
they are dark blue, and when you smile they are like wet violets in sunshine.
but when you are pensive they are more lovely still -- the spirit and enchantment of the sea at twilight passes into them then.
your hair has the gloss and brownness of ripe nuts, and your face is always pale.
your lips have a trick of falling apart in a half-smile when you listen.
they told me before i knew you that you were pretty.
pretty!
the word is cheap and tawdry.
you are beautiful, with the beauty of a pearl or a star or a white flower.
* * * * * do you remember our first meeting?
it was one evening last spring.
you were in your garden.
the snow had not all gone, but your hands were full of pale, early flowers.
you wore a white shawl over your shoulders and head.
your face was turned upward a little, listening to a robin's call in the leafless trees above you.
i thought god had never made anything so lovely and love-deserving.
i loved you from that moment, una.
* * * * * this is your birthday.
the world has been glad of you for twenty years.
it is fitting that there have been bird songs and sunshine and blossom today, a great light and fragrance over land and sea.
this morning i went far afield to a long, lonely valley lying to the west, girt round about with dim old pines, where feet of men seldom tread, and there i searched until i found some rare flowers meet to offer you.
i sent them to you with a little book, an old book.
a new book, savouring of the shop and marketplace, however beautiful it might be, would not do for you.
so i sent the book that was my mother's.
she read it and loved it -- the faded rose-leaves she placed in it are there still.
at first, dear, i almost feared to send it.
would you miss its meaning?
would you laugh a little at the shabby volume with its pencil marks and its rose-leaves?
but i knew you would not; i knew you would understand.
* * * * * today i saw you with the child of your sister in your arms.
i felt as the old painters must have felt when they painted their madonnas.
you bent over his shining golden head, and on your face was the mother passion and tenderness that is god's finishing touch to the beauty of womanhood.
the next moment you were laughing with him -- two children playing together.
but i had looked upon you in that brief space.
oh, the pain and joy of it!
* * * * * it is so sweet, dear, to serve you a little, though it be only in opening a door for you to pass through, or handing you a book or a sheet of music!
love wishes to do so much for the beloved!
i can do so little for you, but that little is sweet.
* * * * * this evening i read to you the poem which you had asked me to read.
you sat before me with your brown head leaning on your hands and your eyes cast down.
i stole dear glances at you between the lines.
when i finished i put a red, red rose from your garden between the pages and crushed the book close on it.
that poem will always be dear to me, stained with the life-blood of a rose-like hour.
* * * * * i do not know which is the sweeter, your laughter or your sadness.
when you laugh you make me glad, but when you are sad i want to share in your sadness and soothe it.
i think i am nearer to you in your sorrowful moods.
* * * * * today i met you by accident at the turn of the lane.
nothing told me that you were coming -- not even the wind, that should have known.
i was sad, and then all at once i saw you, and wondered how i could have been sad.
you walked past me with a smile, as if you had tossed me a rose.
i stood and watched you out of sight.
that meeting was the purple gift the day gave me.
* * * * * today i tried to write a poem to you, una, but i could not find words fine enough, as a lover could find no raiment dainty enough for his bride.
the old words other men have used in singing to their loves seemed too worn and common for you.
i wanted only new words, crystal clear or coloured only by the iris of the light, not words that have been steeped and stained with all the hues of other men's thoughts.
so i burned the verses that were so unworthy of you.
* * * * * una, some day you will love.
you will watch for him; you will blush at his coming, be sad at his going.
oh, i can not think of it!
* * * * * today i saw you when you did not see me.
i was walking on the shore, and as i came around a rock you were sitting on the other side.
i drew back a little and looked at you.
your hands were clasped over your knees; your hat had fallen back, and the sea wind was ruffling your hair.
your face was lifted to the sky, your lips were parted, your eyes were full of light.
you seemed to be listening to something that made you happy.
i crept gently away, that i might not mar your dream.
of what were you thinking, una?
* * * * * i must leave you soon.
sometimes i think i can not bear it.
oh, una, how selfish it is of me to wish that you might love me!
yet i do wish it, although i have nothing to offer you but a great love and all my willing work of hand and brain.
if you loved me, i fear i should be weak enough to do you the wrong of wooing you.
i want you so much, dear!
the schoolmaster added the last letter to the others and locked the box.
when he unlocked it again, two days later, the letters were gone.
he gazed at the empty box with dilated eyes.
at first he could not realize what had happened.
the letters could not be gone!
he must have made a mistake, have put them in some other place!
with trembling fingers he ransacked his trunk.
there was no trace of the letters.
with a groan he dropped his face in his hands and tried to think.
his letters were gone -- those precious letters, held almost too sacred for his own eyes to read after they were written -- had been stolen from him!
the inmost secrets of his soul had been betrayed.
who had done this hideous thing?
he rose and went downstairs.
in the farmyard he found link tormenting his dog.
link was happy only when he was tormenting something.
he never had been afraid of anything in his life before, but now absolute terror took possession of him at sight of the schoolmaster's face.
physical strength and force had no power to frighten the sullen lad, but all the irresistible might of a fine soul roused to frenzy looked out in the young man's blazing eyes, dilated nostrils, and tense white mouth.
it cowed the boy, because it was something he could not understand.
he only realized that he was in the presence of a force that was not to be trifled with.
""link, where are my letters?"
said the schoolmaster.
""i did n't take'em, master!"
cried link, crumpling up visibly in his sheer terror.
""i did n't.
i never teched'em!
it was sis.
i told her not to -- i told her you'd be awful mad, but she would n't tend to me.
it was sis took'em.
ask her, if you do n't believe me."
the schoolmaster believed him.
nothing was too horrible to believe just then.
""what has she done with them?"
he said hoarsely.
""she -- she sent'em to una clifford," whimpered link.
""i told her not to.
she's mad at you, cause you went to see una and would n't go with her.
she thought una would be mad at you for writing'em, cause the cliffords are so proud and think themselves above everybody else.
so she sent'em.
i -- i told her not to."
the schoolmaster said not another word.
he turned his back on the whining boy and went to his room.
he felt sick with shame.
the indecency of the whole thing revolted him.
it was as if his naked heart had been torn from his breast and held up to the jeers of a vulgar world by the merciless hand of a scorned and jealous woman.
he felt stunned as if by a physical blow.
after a time his fierce anger and shame died into a calm desperation.
the deed was done beyond recall.
it only remained for him to go to una, tell her the truth, and implore her pardon.
then he must go from her sight and presence forever.
* * * * * it was dusk when he went to her home.
they told him that she was in the garden, and he found her there, standing at the curve of the box walk, among the last late-blooming flowers of the summer.
have you thought from his letters that she was a wonderful woman of marvellous beauty?
not so.
she was a sweet and slender slip of girlhood, with girlhood's own charm and freshness.
there were thousands like her in the world -- thank god for it!
-- but only one like her in one man's eyes.
he stood before her mute with shame, his boyish face white and haggard.
she had blushed crimson all over her dainty paleness at sight of him, and laid her hand quickly on the breast of her white gown.
her eyes were downcast and her breath came shortly.
he thought her silence the silence of anger and scorn.
he wished that he might fling himself in the dust at her feet.
""una -- miss clifford -- forgive me!"
he stammered miserably.
""i -- i did not send them.
i never meant that you should see them.
a shameful trick has been played upon me.
forgive me!"
""for what am i to forgive you?"
she asked gravely.
she did not look up, but her lips parted in the little half-smile he loved.
the blush was still on her face.
""for my presumption," he whispered.
""i -- i could not help loving you, una.
if you have read the letters you know all the rest."
""i have read the letters, every word," she answered, pressing her hand a little more closely to her breast.
""perhaps i should not have done so, for i soon discovered that they were not meant for me to read.
i thought at first you had sent them, although the writing of the address on the packet did not look like yours; but even when i knew you did not i could not help reading them all.
i do not know who sent them, but i am very grateful to the sender."
""grateful?"
he said wonderingly.
""yes.
i have something to forgive you, but not -- not your presumption.
it is your blindness, i think -- and -- and your cruel resolution to go away and never tell me of your -- your love for me.
if it had not been for the sending of these letters i might never have known.
how can i forgive you for that?"
""una!"
he said.
he had been very blind, but he was beginning to see.
he took a step nearer and took her hands.
she threw up her head and gazed, blushingly, steadfastly, into his eyes.
from the folds of her gown she drew forth the little packet of letters and kissed it.
""your dear letters!"
she said bravely.
""they have given me the right to speak out.
i will speak out!
i love you, dear!
i will be content to wait through long years until you can claim me.
i -- i have been so happy since your letters came!"
he put his arms around her and drew her head close to his.
their lips met.
the story of uncle dick i had two schools offered me that summer, one at rocky valley and one at bayside.
at first i inclined to rocky valley; it possessed a railway station and was nearer the centres of business and educational activity.
but eventually i chose bayside, thinking that its country quietude would be a good thing for a student who was making school-teaching the stepping-stone to a college course.
i had reason to be glad of my choice, for in bayside i met uncle dick.
ever since it has seemed to me that not to have known uncle dick would have been to miss a great sweetness and inspiration from my life.
he was one of those rare souls whose friendship is at once a pleasure and a benediction, showering light from their own crystal clearness into all the dark corners in the souls of others until, for the time being at least, they reflected his own simplicity and purity.
uncle dick could no more help bringing delight into the lives of his associates than could the sunshine or the west wind or any other of the best boons of nature.
i had been in bayside three weeks before i met him, although his farm adjoined the one where i boarded and i passed at a little distance from his house every day in my short cut across the fields to school.
i even passed his garden unsuspectingly for a week, never dreaming that behind that rank of leafy, rustling poplars lay a veritable "god's acre" of loveliness and fragrance.
but one day as i went by, a whiff of something sweeter than the odours of araby brushed my face and, following the wind that had blown it through the poplars, i went up to the white paling and found there a trellis of honeysuckle, and beyond it uncle dick's garden.
thereafter i daily passed close by the fence that i might have the privilege of looking over it.
it would be hard to define the charm of that garden.
it did not consist in order or system, for there was no trace of either, except, perhaps, in that prim row of poplars growing about the whole domain and shutting it away from all idle and curious eyes.
for the rest, i think the real charm must have been in its unexpectedness.
at every turn and in every nook you stumbled on some miracle of which you had never dreamed.
or perhaps the charm was simply that the whole garden was an expression of uncle dick's personality.
in one corner a little green dory, filled with earth, overflowed in a wave of gay annuals.
in the centre of the garden an old birch-bark canoe seemed sailing through a sea of blossoms, with a many-coloured freight of geraniums.
paths twisted and turned among flowering shrubs, and clumps of old-fashioned perennials were mingled with the latest fads of the floral catalogues.
the mid-garden was a pool of sunshine, with finely sifted winds purring over it, but under the poplars there were shadows and growing things that loved the shadows, crowding about the old stone benches at each side.
somehow, my daily glimpse of uncle dick's garden soon came to symbolize for me a meaning easier to translate into life and soul than into words.
it was a power for good within me, making its influence felt in many ways.
finally i caught uncle dick in his garden.
on my way home one evening i found him on his knees among the rosebushes, and as soon as he saw me he sprang up and came forward with outstretched hand.
he was a tall man of about fifty, with grizzled hair, but not a thread of silver yet showed itself in the ripples of his long brown beard.
later i discovered that his splendid beard was uncle dick's only vanity.
so fine and silky was it that it did not hide the candid, sensitive curves of his mouth, around which a mellow smile, tinged with kindly, quizzical humour, always lingered.
his face was tanned even more deeply than is usual among farmers, for he had an inveterate habit of going about hatless in the most merciless sunshine; but the line of forehead under his hair was white as milk, and his eyes were darkly blue and as tender as a woman's.
""how do you do, master?"
he said heartily.
-lrb- the bayside pedagogue was invariably addressed as "master" by young and old. -rrb-
""i'm glad to see you.
here i am, trying to save my rosebushes.
there are green bugs on'em, master -- green bugs, and they're worrying the life out of me."
i smiled, for uncle dick looked very unlike a worrying man, even over such a serious accident as green bugs.
""your roses do n't seem to mind, mr. oliver," i said.
""they are the finest i have ever seen."
the compliment to his roses, well-deserved as it was, did not at first engage his attention.
he pretended to frown at me.
""do n't get into any bad habit of mistering me, master," he said.
""you'd better begin by calling me uncle dick from the start and then you wo n't have the trouble of changing.
because it would come to that -- it always does.
but come in, come in!
there's a gate round here.
i want to get acquainted with you.
i have a taste for schoolmasters.
i did n't possess it when i was a boy" -lrb- a glint of fun appeared in his blue eyes -rrb-.
""it's an acquired taste."
i accepted his invitation and went, not only into his garden but, as was proved later, into his confidence and affection.
he linked his arm with mine and piloted me about to show me his pets.
""i potter about this garden considerable," he said.
""it pleases the women folks to have lots of posies."
i laughed, for uncle dick was a bachelor and considered to be a hopeless one.
""do n't laugh, master," he said, pressing my arm.
""i've no woman folk of my own about me now,'t is true.
but all the girls in the district come to uncle dick when they want flowers for their little diversions.
besides -- perhaps -- sometimes --" uncle dick broke off and stood in a brown study, looking at an old stump aflame with nasturtiums for fully three minutes.
later on i was to learn the significance of that pause and reverie.
i spent the whole evening with uncle dick.
after we had explored the garden he took me into his house and into his "den."
the house was a small white one and wonderfully neat inside, considering the fact that uncle dick was his own housekeeper.
his "den" was a comfortable place, its one window so shadowed by a huge poplar that the room had a grotto-like effect of emerald gloom.
i came to know it well, for, at uncle dick's invitation, i did my studying there and browsed at will among his classics.
we soon became close friends.
uncle dick had always "chummed with the masters," as he said, but our friendship went deeper.
for my own part, i preferred his company to that of any young man i knew.
there was a perennial spring of youth in uncle dick's soul that yet had all the fascinating flavour of ripe experience.
he was clever, kindly, humorous and, withal, so crystal clear of mind and heart that an atmosphere partaking of childhood hung around him.
i knew uncle dick's outward history as the bayside people knew it.
it was not a very eventful one.
he had lost his father in boyhood; before that there had been some idea of dick's going to college.
after his father's death he seemed quietly to have put all such hopes away and settled down to look after the farm and take care of his invalid stepmother.
this woman, as i learned from others, but never from uncle dick, had been a peevish, fretful, exacting creature, and for nearly thirty years uncle dick had been a very slave to her whims and caprices.
""nobody knows what he had to put up with, for he never complained," mrs. lindsay, my landlady, told me.
""she was out of her mind once and she was liable to go out of it again if she was crossed in anything.
he was that good and patient with her.
she was dreadful fond of him too, for all she did almost worry his life out.
no doubt she was the reason he never married.
he could n't leave her and he knew no woman would go in there.
uncle dick never courted anyone, unless it was rose lawrence.
she was a cousin of my man's.
i've heard he had a kindness for her; it was years ago, before i came to bayside.
but anyway, nothing came of it.
her father's health failed and he had to go out to california.
rose had to go with him, her mother being dead, and that was the end of uncle dick's love affair."
but that was not the end of it, as i discovered when uncle dick gave me his confidence.
one evening i went over and, piloted by the sound of shrieks and laughter, found uncle dick careering about the garden, pursued by half a dozen schoolgirls who were pelting him with overblown roses.
at sight of the master my pupils instantly became prim and demure and, gathering up their flowery spoil, they beat a hasty retreat down the lane.
""those little girls are very sweet," said uncle dick abruptly.
""little blossoms of life!
have you ever wondered, master, why i have n't some of my own blooming about the old place instead of just looking over the fence of other men's gardens, coveting their human roses?"
""yes, i have," i answered frankly.
""it has been a puzzle to me why you, uncle dick, who seem to me fitted above all men i have ever known for love and husbandhood and fatherhood, should have elected to live your life alone."
""it has not been a matter of choice," said uncle dick gently.
""we ca n't always order our lives as we would, master.
i loved a woman once and she loved me.
and we love each other still.
do you think i could bear life else?
i've an interest in it that the bayside folk know nothing of.
it has kept youth in my heart and joy in my soul through long, lonely years.
and it's not ended yet, master -- it's not ended yet!
some day i hope to bring a wife here to my old house -- my wife, my rose of joy!"
he was silent for a space, gazing at the stars.
i too kept silence, fearing to intrude into the holy places of his thought, although i was tingling with interest in this unsuspected outflowering of romance in uncle dick's life.
after a time he said gently, "shall i tell you about it, master?
i mean, do you care to know?"
""yes," i answered, "i do care to know.
and i shall respect your confidence, uncle dick."
""i know that.
i could n't tell you, otherwise," he said.
""i do n't want the bayside folk to know -- it would be a kind of desecration.
they would laugh and joke me about it, as they tease other people, and i could n't bear that.
nobody in bayside knows or suspects, unless it's old joe hammond at the post office.
and he has kept my secret, or what he knows of it, well.
but somehow i feel that i'd like to tell you, master.
""twenty-five years ago i loved rose lawrence.
the lawrences lived where you are boarding now.
there was just the father, a sickly man, and rose, my "rose of joy," as i called her, for i knew my emerson pretty well even then.
she was sweet and fair, like a white rose with just a hint of pink in its cup.
we loved each other, but we could n't marry then.
my mother was an invalid, and one time, before i had learned to care for rose, she, the mother, had asked me to promise her that i'd never marry as long as she lived.
she did n't think then that she would live long, but she lived for twenty years, master, and she held me to my promise all the time.
yes, it was hard" -- for i had given an indignant exclamation -- "but you see, master, i had promised and i had to keep my word.
rose said i was right in doing it.
she said she was willing to wait for me, but she did n't know, poor girl, how long the waiting was to be.
then her father's health failed completely, and the doctor ordered him to another climate.
they went to california.
that was a hard parting, master.
but we promised each other that we would be true, and we have been.
i've never seen my rose of joy since then, but i've had a letter from her every week.
when the mother died, five years ago, i wanted to move to california and marry rose.
but she wrote that her father was so poorly she could n't marry me yet.
she has to wait on him every minute, and he's restless, and they move here and there -- a hard life for my poor girl.
so i had to take a new lease of patience, master.
one learns how to wait in twenty years.
but i shall have her some day, god willing.
our love will be crowned yet.
so i wait, master, and try to keep my life and soul clean and wholesome and young for her.
""that's my story, master, and we'll not say anything more about it just now, for i dare say you do n't exactly know what to say.
but at times i'll talk of her to you and that will be a rare pleasure to me; i think that was why i wanted you to know about her."
he did talk often to me of her, and i soon came to realize what this far-away woman meant in his life.
she was for him the centre of everything.
his love was strong, pure, and idyllic -- the ideal love of which the loftiest poets sing.
it glorified his whole inner life with a strange, unfailing radiance.
i found that everything he did was done with an eye single to what she would think of it when she came.
especially did he put his love into his garden.
""every flower in it stands for a thought of her, master," he said.
""it is a great joy to think that she will walk in this garden with me some day.
it will be complete then -- my rose of joy will be here to crown it."
that summer and winter passed away, and when spring came again, lettering her footsteps with violets in the meadows and waking all the sleeping loveliness of old homestead gardens, uncle dick's long deferred happiness came with her.
one evening when i was in our "den," mid-deep in study of old things that seemed musty and unattractive enough in contrast with the vivid, newborn, out-of-doors, uncle dick came home from the post office with an open letter in his hand.
his big voice trembled as he said, "master, she's coming home.
her father is dead and she has nobody in the world now but me.
in a month she will be here.
do n't talk to me of it yet -- i want to taste the joy of it in silence for a while."
he hastened away to his garden and walked there until darkness fell, with his face uplifted to the sky, and the love rapture of countless generations shining in his eyes.
later on, we sat on one of the old stone benches and uncle dick tried to talk practically.
bayside people soon found out that rose lawrence was coming home to marry uncle dick.
uncle dick was much teased, and suffered under it; it seemed, as he had said, desecration.
but the real goodwill and kindly feeling in the banter redeemed it.
he went to the station to meet rose lawrence the day she came.
when i went home from school mrs. lindsay told me she was in the parlour and took me in to be introduced.
i was bitterly disappointed.
somehow, i had expected to meet, not indeed a young girl palpitating with youthful bloom, but a woman of ripe maturity, dowered with the beauty of harmonious middle-age -- the feminine counterpart of uncle dick.
instead, i found in rose lawrence a small, faded woman of forty-five, gowned in shabby black.
she had evidently been very pretty once, but bloom and grace were gone.
her face had a sweet and gentle expression, but was tired and worn, and her fair hair was plentifully streaked with grey.
alas, i thought compassionately, for uncle dick's dreams!
what a shock the change to her must have given him!
could this be the woman on whom he had lavished such a life-wealth of love and reverence?
i tried to talk to her, but i found her shy and timid.
she seemed to me uninteresting and commonplace.
and this was uncle dick's rose of joy!
i was so sorry for uncle dick that i shrank from meeting him.
nevertheless, i went over after tea, fearing that he might misunderstand, nay, rather, understand, my absence.
he was in the garden, and he came down the path where the buds were just showing.
there was a smile on his face and the glory in his eyes was quite undimmed.
""master, she's come.
and she's not a bit changed.
i feared she would be, but she is just the same -- my sweet little rose of joy!"
i looked at uncle dick in some amazement.
he was thoroughly sincere, there was no doubt of that, and i felt a great throb of relief.
he had found no disillusioning change.
i saw rose lawrence merely with the cold eyes of the stranger.
he saw her through the transfiguring medium of a love that made her truly his rose of joy.
and all was well.
they were married the next morning and walked together over the clover meadow to their home.
in the evening i went over, as i had promised uncle dick to do.
they were in the garden, with a great saffron sky over them and a glory of sunset behind the poplars.
i paused unseen at the gate.
uncle dick was big and splendid in his fine new wedding suit, and his faded little bride was hanging on his arm.
her face was upturned to him; it was a glorified face, so transformed by the tender radiance of love shining through it that i saw her then as uncle dick must always see her, and no longer found it hard to understand how she could be his rose of joy.
happiness clothed them as a garment; they were crowned king and queen in the bridal realm of the springtime.
the understanding of sister sara june first.
i began this journal last new year's -- wrote two entries in it and then forgot all about it.
i came across it today in a rummage -- sara insists on my cleaning things out thoroughly every once in so long -- and i'm going to keep it up.
i feel the need of a confidant of some kind, even if it is only an inanimate journal.
i have no other.
and i can not talk my thoughts over with sara -- she is so unsympathetic.
sara is a dear good soul and i love her as much as she will let me.
i am also very grateful to her.
she brought me up when our mother died.
no doubt she had a hard time of it, poor dear, for i never was easily brought up, perversely preferring to come up in my own way.
but sara did her duty unflinchingly and -- well, it's not for me to say that the result does her credit.
but it really does, considering the material she had to work with.
i'm a bundle of faults as it is, but i tremble to think what i would have been if there had been no sara.
yes, i love sara, and i'm grateful to her.
but she does n't understand me in the least.
perhaps it is because she is so much older than i am, but it does n't seem to me that sara could really ever have been young.
she laughs at things i consider the most sacred and calls me a romantic girl, in a tone of humorous toleration.
i am chilled and thrown back on myself, and the dreams and confidences i am bubbling over with have no outlet.
sara could n't understand -- she is so practical.
when i go to her with some beautiful thought i have found in a book or poem she is quite likely to say, "yes, yes, but i noticed this morning that the braid was loose on your skirt, beatrice.
better go and sew it on before you forget again."
a stitch in time saves nine.""
when i come home from a concert or lecture, yearning to talk over the divine music or the wonderful new ideas with her, she will say, "yes, yes, but are you sure you did n't get your feet damp?
better go and change your stockings, my dear.
"an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.""
so i have given up trying to talk things over with sara.
this old journal will be better.
last night sara and i went to mrs. trent's musicale.
i had to sing and i had the loveliest new gown for the occasion.
at first sara thought my old blue dress would do.
she said we must economize this summer and told me i was entirely too extravagant in the matter of clothes.
i cried about it after i went to bed.
sara looked at me very sharply the next morning without saying anything.
in the afternoon she went uptown and bought some lovely pale yellow silk organdie.
she made it up herself -- sara is a genius at dressmaking -- and it was the prettiest gown at the musicale.
sara wore her old grey silk made over.
sara does n't care anything about dress, but then she is forty.
walter shirley was at the trents".
the shirleys are a new family here; they moved to atwater two months ago.
walter is the oldest son and has been at college in marlboro all winter so that nobody here knew him until he came home a fortnight ago.
he is very handsome and distinguished-looking and everybody says he is so clever.
he plays the violin just beautifully and has such a melting, sympathetic voice and the loveliest deep, dark, inscrutable eyes.
i asked sara when we came home if she did n't think he was splendid.
""he'd be a nice boy if he was n't rather conceited," said sara.
after that it was impossible to say anything more about mr. shirley.
i am glad he is going to be in atwater all summer.
we have so few really nice young men here; they go away just as soon as they grow up and those who stay are just the muffs.
i wonder if i shall see mr. shirley soon again.
june thirtieth.
it does not seem possible that it is only a month since my last entry.
it seems more like a year -- a delightful year.
i ca n't believe that i am the same beatrice mason who wrote then.
and i am not, either.
she was just a simple little girl, knowing nothing but romantic dreams.
i feel that i am very much changed.
life seems so grand and high and beautiful.
i want to be a true noble woman.
only such a woman could be worthy of -- of -- a fine, noble man.
but when i tried to say something like this to sara she replied calmly: "my dear child, the average woman is quite good enough for the average man.
if she can cook his meals decently and keep his buttons sewed on and does n't nag him he will think that life is a pretty comfortable affair.
and that reminds me, i saw holes in your black lace stockings yesterday.
better go and darn them at once.
"procrastination is the thief of time.""
sara can not understand.
blanche lawrence was married yesterday to ted martin.
i thought it the most solemn and sacred thing i had ever listened to -- the marriage ceremony, i mean.
i had never thought much about it before.
i do n't see how blanche could care anything for ted -- he is so stout and dumpy; with shallow blue eyes and a little pale moustache.
i must say i do not like fair men.
but there is no doubt that he and blanche love each other devotedly and that fact sufficed to make the service very beautiful to me -- those two people pledging each other to go through life together, meeting its storm and sunshine hand in hand, thinking joy the sweeter because they shared it, finding sorrow sacred because it came to them both.
when sara and i walked home from the church sara said, "well, considering the chances she has had, blanche lawrence has n't done so well after all."
""oh, sara," i cried, "she has married the man she loves and who loves her.
what better is there to do?
i thought it beautiful."
""they should have waited another year at least," said sara severely.
""ted martin has only been practising law for a year, and he had nothing to begin with.
he ca n't have made enough in one year in atwater to justify him in setting up housekeeping.
i think a man ought to be ashamed of himself to take a girl from a good home to an uncertainty like that."
""not if she loved him and was willing to share the uncertainty," i said softly.
""love wo n't pay the butcher's bill," said sara with a sniff, "and landlords have an unfeeling preference for money over affection.
besides, blanche is a mere child, far too young to be burdened with the responsibilities of life."
blanche is twenty -- two years older than i am.
but sara talks as if i were a mere infant.
july thirtieth.
oh, i am so happy!
i wonder if there is another girl in the world as happy as i am tonight.
no, of course there can not be, because there is only one walter!
walter and i are engaged.
it happened last night when we were sitting out in the moonlight under the silver maple on the lawn.
i can not write down what he said -- the words are too sacred and beautiful to be kept anywhere but in my own heart forever and ever as long as i live.
and i do n't remember just what i said.
but we understood each other perfectly at last.
of course sara had to do her best to spoil things.
just as walter had taken my hand in his and bent forward with his splendid earnest eyes just burning into mine, and my heart was beating so furiously, sara came to the front door and called out, "beatrice!
beatrice!
have you your rubbers on?
and do n't you think it is too damp out there for you in that heavy dew?
better come into the house, both of you.
walter has a cold now."
""oh, we'll be in soon, sara," i said impatiently.
but we did n't go in for an hour, and when we did sara was cross, and after walter had gone she told me i was a very silly girl to be so reckless of my health and risk getting pneumonia loitering out in the dew with a sentimental boy.
i had had some vague thoughts of telling sara all about my new happiness, for it was so great i wanted to talk it over with somebody, but i could n't after that.
oh, i wish i had a mother!
she could understand.
but sara can not.
walter and i have decided to keep our engagement a secret for a month -- just our own beautiful secret unshared by anyone.
then before he goes back to college he is going to tell sara and ask her consent.
i do n't think sara will refuse it exactly.
she really likes walter very well.
but i know she will be horrid and i just dread it.
she will say i am too young and that a boy like walter has no business to get engaged until he is through college and that we have n't known each other long enough to know anything about each other and that we are only a pair of romantic children.
and after she has said all this and given a disapproving consent she will begin to train me up in the way a good housekeeper should go, and talk to me about table linen and the best way to manage a range and how to tell if a chicken is really a chicken or only an old hen.
oh, i know sara!
she will set the teeth of my spirit on edge a dozen times a day and rub all the bloom off my dear, only, little romance with her horrible practicalities.
i know one must learn about those things of course and i do want to make walter's home the best and dearest and most comfortable spot on earth for him and be the very best little wife and housekeeper i can be when the time comes.
but i want to dream my dreams first and sara will wake me up so early to realities.
this is why we determined to keep one month sacred to ourselves.
walter will graduate next spring -- he is to be a doctor -- and then he intends to settle down in atwater and work up a practice.
i am sure he will succeed for everyone likes him so much.
but we are to be married as soon as he is through college because he has a little money of his own -- enough to set up housekeeping in a modest way with care and economy.
i know sara will talk about risk and waiting and all that just as she did in ted martin's case.
but then sara does not understand.
oh, i am so happy!
it almost frightens me -- i do n't see how anything so wonderful can last.
but it will last, for nothing can ever separate walter and me, and as long as we are together and love each other this great happiness will be mine.
oh, i want to be so good and noble for his sake.
i want to make life "one grand sweet song."
i have gone about the house today feeling like a woman consecrated and set apart from other women by walter's love.
nothing could spoil it, not even when sara scolded me for letting the preserves burn in the kettle because i forgot to stir them while i was planning out our life together.
sara said she really did not know what would happen to me some day if i was so careless and forgetful.
but then, sara does not understand.
august twentieth.
it is all over.
life is ended for me and i do not know how i can face the desolate future.
walter and i have quarrelled and our engagement is broken.
he is gone and my heart is breaking.
i hardly know how it began.
i'm sure i never meant to flirt with jack ray.
i never did flirt with him either, in spite of walter's unmanly accusations.
but walter has been jealous of jack all summer, although he knew perfectly well he need n't be, and two nights ago at the morley dance poor jack seemed so dull and unhappy that i tried to cheer him up a little and be kind to him.
i danced with him three times and sat out another dance just to talk with him in a real sisterly fashion.
but walter was furious and last night when he came up he said horrid things -- things no girl of any spirit could endure, and things he could never have said to me if he had really cared one bit for me.
we had a frightful quarrel and when i saw plainly that walter no longer loved me i told him that he was free and that i never wanted to see him again and that i hated him.
he glared at me and said that i should have my wish -- i never should see him again and he hoped he would never again meet such a faithless, fickle girl.
then he went away and slammed the front door.
i cried all night, but today i went about the house singing.
i would not for the world let other people know how walter has treated me.
i will hide my broken heart under a smiling face bravely.
but, oh, i am so miserable!
just as soon as i am old enough i mean to go away and be a trained nurse.
there is nothing else left in life for me.
sara does not suspect that anything is wrong and i am so thankful she does not.
she would not understand.
september sixth.
today i read this journal over and thought i would burn it, it is so silly.
but on second thought i concluded to keep it as a reminder of how blind and selfish i was and how good sara is.
for i am happy again and everything is all right, thanks to sara.
the very day after our quarrel walter left atwater.
he did not have to return to college for three weeks, but he went to visit some friends down in charlotteville and i heard -- mollie roach told me -- mollie roach was always wild about walter herself -- that he was not coming back again, but would go right on to marlboro from charlotteville.
i smiled squarely at mollie as if i did n't care a particle, but i ca n't describe how i felt.
i knew then that i had really been hoping that something would happen in three weeks to make our quarrel up.
in a small place like atwater people in the same set ca n't help meeting.
but walter had gone and i should never see him again, and what was worse i knew he did n't care or he would n't have gone.
i bore it in silence for three weeks, but i will shudder to the end of my life when i remember those three weeks.
night before last sara came up to my room where i was lying on my bed with my face in the pillow.
i was n't crying -- i could n't cry.
there was just a dreadful dull ache in everything.
sara sat down on the rocker in front of the window and the sunset light came in behind her and made a sort of nimbus round her head, like a motherly saint's in a cathedral.
""beatrice," she said gently, "i want to know what the trouble is.
you ca n't hide it from me that something is wrong.
i've noticed it for some time.
you do n't eat anything and you cry all night -- oh, yes, i know you do.
what is it, dear?"
""oh, sara!"
i just gave a little cry, slipped from the bed to the floor, laid my head in her lap, and told her everything.
it was such a relief, and such a relief to feel those good motherly arms around me and to realize that here was a love that would never fail me no matter what i did or how foolish i was.
sara heard me out and then she said, without a word of reproach or contempt, "it will all come out right yet, dear.
write to walter and tell him you are sorry."
""sara, i never could!
he does n't love me any longer -- he said he hoped he'd never see me again."
""did n't you say the same to him, child?
he meant it as little as you did.
do n't let your foolish pride keep you miserable."
""if walter wo n't come back to me without my asking him he'll never come, sara," i said stubbornly.
sara did n't scold or coax any more.
she patted my head and kissed me and made me bathe my face and go to bed.
then she tucked me in just as she used to do when i was a little girl.
""now, do n't cry, dear," she said, "it will come right yet."
somehow, i began to hope it would when sara thought so, and anyhow it was such a comfort to have talked it all over with her.
i slept better than i had for a long time, and it was seven o'clock yesterday morning when i woke to find that it was a dull grey day outside and that sara was standing by my bed with her hat and jacket on.
""i'm going down to junction falls on the 7:30 train to see mr. conway about coming to fix the back kitchen floor," she said, "and i have some other business that may keep me for some time, so do n't be anxious if i'm not back till late.
give the bread a good kneading in an hour's time and be careful not to bake it too much."
that was a dismal day.
it began to rain soon after sara left and it just poured.
i never saw a soul all day except the milkman, and i was really frantic by night.
i never was so glad of anything as when i heard sara's step on the verandah.
i flew to the front door to let her in -- and there was walter all dripping wet -- and his arms were about me and i was crying on the shoulder of his mackintosh.
i only guessed then what i knew later on.
sara had heard from mrs. shirley that walter was going to marlboro that day without coming back to atwater.
sara knew that he must change trains at junction falls and she went there to meet him.
she did n't know what train he would come on so she went to meet the earliest and had to wait till the last, hanging around the dirty little station at the falls all day while it poured rain, and she had n't a thing to eat except some fancy biscuits she had bought on the train.
but walter came at last on the 7:50 train and there was sara to pounce on him.
he told me afterwards that no angel could have been so beautiful a vision to him as sara was, standing there on the wet platform with her tweed skirt held up and a streaming umbrella over her head, telling him he must come back to atwater because beatrice wanted him to.
but just at the moment of his coming i did n't care how he had come or who had brought him.
i just realized that he was there and that was enough.
sara came in behind him.
walter's wet arms were about me and i was standing there with my thin-slippered feet in a little pool of water that dripped from his umbrella.
but sara never said a word about colds and dampness.
she just smiled, went on into the sitting-room, and shut the door.
sara understood.
the unforgotten one it was christmas eve, but there was no frost, or snow, or sparkle.
it was a green christmas, and the night was mild and dim, with hazy starlight.
a little wind was laughing freakishly among the firs around ingleside and rustling among the sere grasses along the garden walks.
it was more like a night in early spring or late fall than in december; but it was christmas eve, and there was a light in every window of ingleside, the glow breaking out through the whispering darkness like a flame-red blossom swung against the background of the evergreens; for the children were coming home for the christmas reunion, as they always came -- fritz and margaret and laddie and nora, and robert's two boys in the place of robert, who had died fourteen years ago -- and the old house must put forth its best of light and good cheer to welcome them.
doctor fritz and his brood were the last to arrive, driving up to the hall door amid a chorus of welcoming barks from the old dogs and a hail of merry calls from the group in the open doorway.
""we're all here now," said the little mother, as she put her arms about the neck of her stalwart firstborn and kissed his bearded face.
there were handshakings and greetings and laughter.
only nanny, far back in the shadows of the firelit hall, swallowed a resentful sob, and wiped two bitter tears from her eyes with her little red hand.
""we're not all here," she murmured under her breath.
""miss avis is n't here.
oh, how can they be so glad?
how can they have forgotten?"
but nobody heard or heeded nanny -- she was only the little orphan "help" girl at ingleside.
they were all very good to her, and they were all very fond of her, but at the times of family reunion nanny was unconsciously counted out.
there was no bond of blood to unite her to them, and she was left on the fringe of things.
nanny never resented this -- it was all a matter of course to her; but on this christmas eve her heart was broken because she thought that nobody remembered miss avis.
after supper they all gathered around the open fireplace of the hall, hung with its berries and evergreens in honour of the morrow.
it was their unwritten law to form a fireside circle on christmas eve and tell each other what the year had brought them of good and ill, sorrow and joy.
the circle was smaller by one than it had been the year before, but none spoke of that.
there was a smile on every face and happiness in every voice.
the father and mother sat in the centre, grey-haired and placid, their fine old faces written over with the history of gracious lives.
beside the mother, doctor fritz sat like a boy, on the floor, with his massive head, grey as his father's, on her lap, and one of his smooth, muscular hands, that were as tender as a woman's at the operating table, clasped in hers.
next to him sat sweet nora, the twenty-year-old "baby," who taught in a city school; the rosy firelight gleamed lovingly over her girlish beauty of burnished brown hair, dreamy blue eyes, and soft, virginal curves of cheek and throat.
doctor fritz's spare arm was about her, but nora's own hands were clasped over her knee, and on one of them sparkled a diamond that had not been there at the last christmas reunion.
laddie, who figured as archibald only in the family bible, sat close to the inglenook -- a handsome young fellow with a daring brow and rollicking eyes.
on the other side sat margaret, hand in hand with her father, a woman whose gracious sweetness of nature enveloped her as a garment; and robert's two laughing boys filled up the circle, looking so much alike that it was hard to say which was cecil and which was sid.
margaret's husband and fritz's wife were playing games with the children in the parlour, whence shrieks of merriment drifted out into the hall.
nanny might have been with them had she chosen, but she preferred to sit alone in the darkest corner of the hall and gaze with jealous, unhappy eyes at the mirthful group about the fire, listening to their story and jest and laughter with unavailing protest in her heart.
oh, how could they have forgotten so soon?
it was not yet a full year since miss avis had gone.
last christmas eve she had sat there, a sweet and saintly presence, in the inglenook, more, so it had almost seemed, the centre of the home circle than the father and mother; and now the december stars were shining over her grave, and not one of that heedless group remembered her; not once was her name spoken; even her old dog had forgotten her -- he sat with his nose in margaret's lap, blinking with drowsy, aged contentment at the fire.
""oh, i ca n't bear it!"
whispered nanny, under cover of the hearty laughter which greeted a story doctor fritz had been telling.
she slipped out into the kitchen, put on her hood and cloak, and took from a box under the table a little wreath of holly.
she had made it out of the bits left over from the decorations.
miss avis had loved holly; miss avis had loved every green, growing thing.
as nanny opened the kitchen door something cold touched her hand, and there stood the old dog, wagging his tail and looking up at her with wistful eyes, mutely pleading to be taken, too.
""so you do remember her, gyppy," said nanny, patting his head.
""come along then.
we'll go together."
they slipped out into the night.
it was quite dark, but it was not far to the graveyard -- just out through the evergreens and along a field by-path and across the road.
the old church was there, with its square tower, and the white stones gleaming all around it.
nanny went straight to a shadowy corner and knelt on the sere grasses while she placed her holly wreath on miss avis's grave.
the tears in her eyes brimmed over.
""oh, miss avis!
miss avis!"
she sobbed.
""i miss you so -- i miss you so!
it ca n't ever seem like christmas to me without you.
you were always so sweet and kind to me.
there ai n't a day passes but i think of you and all the things you used to say to me, and i try to be good like you'd want me to be.
but i hate them for forgetting you -- yes, i do!
i'll never forget you, darling miss avis!
i'd rather be here alone with you in the dark than back there with them."
nanny sat down by the grave.
the old dog lay down by her side with his forepaws on the turf and his eyes fixed on the tall white marble shaft.
it was too dark for nanny to read the inscription but she knew every word of it: "in loving remembrance of avis maywood, died january 20, 1902, aged 45."
and underneath the lines of her own choosing: "say not good night, but in some brighter clime bid me good morning."
but they had forgotten her -- oh, they had forgotten her already!
when half an hour had passed, nanny was startled by approaching footsteps.
not wishing to be seen, she crept softly behind the headstones into the shadow of the willow on the farther side, and the old dog followed.
doctor fritz, coming to the grave, thought himself alone with the dead.
he knelt down by the headstone and pressed his face against it.
""avis," he said gently, "dear avis, i have come to visit your grave tonight because you seem nearer to me here than elsewhere.
and i want to talk to you, avis, as i have always talked to you every christmastide since we were children together.
i have missed you so tonight, dear friend and sympathizer -- no words can tell how i have missed you -- your welcoming handclasp and your sweet face in the firelight shadows.
i could not bear to speak your name, the aching sense of loss was so bitter.
amid all the christmas mirth and good fellowship i felt the sorrow of your vacant chair.
avis, i wanted to tell you what the year had brought to me.
my theory has been proved; it has made me a famous man.
last christmas, avis, i told you of it, and you listened and understood and believed in it.
dear avis, once again i thank you for all you have been to me -- all you are yet.
i have brought you your roses; they are as white and pure and fragrant as your life."
other footsteps came so quickly on doctor fritz" retreating ones that nanny could not rise.
it was laddie this time -- gay, careless, thoughtless laddie.
""roses?
so fritz has been here!
i have brought you lilies, avis.
oh, avis, i miss you so!
you were so jolly and good -- you understood a fellow so well.
i had to come here tonight to tell you how much i miss you.
it does n't seem half home without you.
avis, i'm trying to be a better chap -- more the sort of man you'd have me be.
i've given the old set the go-by -- i'm trying to live up to your standard.
it would be easier if you were here to help me.
when i was a kid it was always easier to be good for awhile after i'd talked things over with you.
i've got the best mother a fellow ever had, but you and i were such chums, were n't we, avis?
i thought i'd just break down in there tonight and put a damper on everything by crying like a baby.
if anybody had spoken about you, i should have.
hello!"
laddie wheeled around with a start, but it was only robert's two boys, who came shyly up to the grave, half hanging back to find anyone else there.
""hello, boys," said laddie huskily.
""so you've come to see her grave too?"
""yes," said cecil solemnly.
""we -- we just had to.
we could n't go to bed without coming.
oh, is n't it lonesome without cousin avis?"
""she was always so good to us," said sid.
""she used to talk to us so nice," said cecil chokily.
""but she liked fun, too."
""boys," said laddie gravely, "never forget what cousin avis used to say to you.
never forget that you have got to grow up into men she'd be proud of."
they went away then, the boys and their boyish uncle; and when they had gone nora came, stealing timidly through the shadows, starting at the rustle of the wind in the trees.
""oh, avis," she whispered.
""i want to see you so much!
i want to tell you all about it -- about him.
you would understand so well.
he is the best and dearest lover ever a girl had.
you would think so too.
oh, avis, i miss you so much!
there's a little shadow even on my happiness because i ca n't talk it over with you in the old way.
oh, avis, it was dreadful to sit around the fire tonight and not see you.
perhaps you were there in spirit.
i love to think you were, but i wanted to see you.
you were always there to come home to before, avis, dear."
sobbing, she went away; and then came margaret, the grave, strong margaret.
""dear cousin, dear to me as a sister, it seemed to me that i must come to you here tonight.
i can not tell you how much i miss your wise, clear-sighted advice and judgment, your wholesome companionship.
a little son was born to me this past year, avis.
how glad you would have been, for you knew, as none other did, the bitterness of my childless heart.
how we would have delighted to talk over my baby together, and teach him wisely between us!
avis, avis, your going made a blank that can never be filled for me!"
margaret was still standing there when the old people came.
""father!
mother!
is n't it too late and chilly for you to be here?"
""no, margaret, no," said the mother.
""i could n't go to my bed without coming to see avis's grave.
i brought her up from a baby -- her dying mother gave her to me.
she was as much my own child as any of you.
and oh!
i miss her so.
you only miss her when you come home, but i miss her all the time -- every day!"
""we all miss her, mother," said the old father, tremulously.
""she was a good girl -- avis was a good girl.
good night, avis!""
"say not good night, but in some brighter clime bid her good morning,"" quoted margaret softly.
""that was her own wish, you know.
let us go back now.
it is getting late."
when they had gone nanny crept out from the shadows.
it had not occurred to her that perhaps she should not have listened -- she had been too shy to make her presence known to those who came to avis's grave.
but her heart was full of joy.
""oh, miss avis, i'm so glad, i'm so glad!
they have n't forgotten you after all, miss avis, dear, not one of them.
i'm sorry i was so cross at them; and i'm so glad they have n't forgotten you.
i love them for it."
then the old dog and nanny went home together.
the wooing of bessy when lawrence eastman began going to see bessy houghton the lynnfield people shrugged their shoulders and said he might have picked out somebody a little younger and prettier -- but then, of course, bessy was well off.
a two-hundred-acre farm and a substantial bank account were worth going in for.
trust an eastman for knowing upon which side his bread was buttered.
lawrence was only twenty, and looked even younger, owing to his smooth, boyish face, curly hair, and half-girlish bloom.
bessy houghton was in reality no more than twenty-five, but lynnfield people had the impression that she was past thirty.
she had always been older than her years -- a quiet, reserved girl who dressed plainly and never went about with other young people.
her mother had died when bessy was very young, and she had always kept house for her father.
the responsibility made her grave and mature.
when she was twenty her father died and bessy was his sole heir.
she kept the farm and took the reins of government in her own capable hands.
she made a success of it too, which was more than many a man in lynnfield had done.
bessy had never had a lover.
she had never seemed like other girls, and passed for an old maid when her contemporaries were in the flush of social success and bloom.
mrs. eastman, lawrence's mother, was a widow with two sons.
george, the older, was the mother's favourite, and the property had been willed to him by his father.
to lawrence had been left the few hundreds in the bank.
he stayed at home and hired himself to george, thereby adding slowly to his small hoard.
he had his eye on a farm in lynnfield, but he was as yet a mere boy, and his plans for the future were very vague until he fell in love with bessy houghton.
in reality nobody was more surprised over this than lawrence himself.
it had certainly been the last thing in his thoughts on the dark, damp night when he had overtaken bessy walking home alone from prayer meeting and had offered to drive her the rest of the way.
bessy assented and got into his buggy.
at first she was very silent, and lawrence, who was a bashful lad at the best of times, felt tongue-tied and uncomfortable.
but presently bessy, pitying his evident embarrassment, began to talk to him.
she could talk well, and lawrence found himself entering easily into the spirit of her piquant speeches.
he had an odd feeling that he had never known bessy houghton before; he had certainly never guessed that she could be such good company.
she was very different from the other girls he knew, but he decided that he liked the difference.
""are you going to the party at baileys" tomorrow night?"
he asked, as he helped her to alight at her door.
""i do n't know," she answered.
""i'm invited -- but i'm all alone -- and parties have never been very much in my line."
there was a wistful note in her voice, and lawrence detecting it, said hurriedly, not giving himself time to get frightened: "oh, you'd better go to this one.
and if you like, i'll call around and take you."
he wondered if she would think him very presumptuous.
he thought her voice sounded colder as she said: "i am afraid that it would be too much trouble for you."
""it would n't be any trouble at all," he stammered.
""i'll be very pleased to take you."
in the end bessy had consented to go, and the next evening lawrence called for her in the rose-red autumn dusk.
bessy was ready and waiting.
she was dressed in what was for her unusual elegance, and lawrence wondered why people called bessy houghton so plain.
her figure was strikingly symmetrical and softly curved.
her abundant, dark-brown hair, instead of being parted plainly and drawn back into a prim coil as usual, was dressed high on her head, and a creamy rose nestled amid the becoming puffs and waves.
she wore black, as she usually did, but it was a lustrous black silk, simply and fashionably made, with frost-like frills of lace at her firm round throat and dainty wrists.
her cheeks were delicately flushed, and her wood-brown eyes were sparkling under her long lashes.
she offered him a half-opened bud for his coat and pinned it on for him.
as he looked down at her he noticed what a sweet mouth she had -- full and red, with a half child-like curve.
the fact that lawrence eastman took bessy houghton to the baileys" party made quite a sensation at that festal scene.
people nodded and winked and wondered.
""an old maid and her money," said milly fiske spitefully.
milly, as was well known, had a liking for lawrence herself.
lawrence began to "go with" bessy houghton regularly after that.
in his single-mindedness he never feared that bessy would misjudge his motives or imagine him to be prompted by mercenary designs.
he never thought of her riches himself, and it never occurred to him that she would suppose he did.
he soon realized that he loved her, and he ventured to hope timidly that she loved him in return.
she was always rather reserved, but the few favours that meant nothing from other girls meant a great deal from bessy.
the evenings he spent with her in her pretty sitting-room, their moonlight drives over long, satin-smooth stretches of snowy roads, and their walks home from church and prayer meeting under the winter stars, were all so many moments of supreme happiness to lawrence.
* * * * * matters had gone thus far before mrs. eastman got her eyes opened.
at mrs. tom bailey's quilting party an officious gossip took care to inform her that lawrence was supposed to be crazy over bessy houghton, who was, of course, encouraging him simply for the sake of having someone to beau her round, and who would certainly throw him over in the end since she knew perfectly well that it was her money he was after.
mrs. eastman was a proud woman and a determined one.
she had always disliked bessy houghton, and she went home from the quilting resolved to put an instant stop to "all such nonsense" on her son's part.
""where is lawrie?"
she asked abruptly; as she entered the small kitchen where george eastman was lounging by the fire.
""out in the stable grooming up lady grey," responded her older son sulkily.
""i suppose he's gadding off to see bessy houghton again, the young fool that he is!
why do n't you put a stop to it?"
""i am going to put a stop to it," said mrs. eastman grimly.
""i'd have done it before if i'd known.
you should have told me of it if you knew.
i'm going out to see lawrence right now."
george eastman muttered something inaudible as the door closed behind her.
he was a short, thickset man, not in the least like lawrence, who was ten years his junior.
two years previously he had made a furtive attempt to pay court to bessy houghton for the sake of her wealth, and her decided repulse of his advances was a remembrance that made him grit his teeth yet.
he had hated her bitterly ever since.
lawrence was brushing his pet mare's coat until it shone like satin, and whistling "annie laurie" until the rafters rang.
bessy had sung it for him the night before.
he could see her plainly still as she had looked then, in her gown of vivid red -- a colour peculiarly becoming to her -- with her favourite laces at wrist and throat and a white rose in her hair, which was dressed in the high, becoming knot she had always worn since the night he had shyly told her he liked it so.
she had played and sung many of the sweet old scotch ballads for him, and when she had gone to the door with him he had taken both her hands in his and, emboldened by the look in her brown eyes, he had stooped and kissed her.
then he had stepped back, filled with dismay at his own audacity.
but bessy had said no word of rebuke, and only blushed hotly crimson.
she must care for him, he thought happily, or else she would have been angry.
when his mother came in at the stable door her face was hard and uncompromising.
""lawrie," she said sharply, "where are you going again tonight?
you were out last night."
""well, mother, i promise you i was n't in any bad company.
come now, do n't quiz a fellow too close."
""you are going to dangle after bessy houghton again.
it's time you were told what a fool you were making of yourself.
she's old enough to be your mother.
the whole settlement is laughing at you."
lawrence looked as if his mother had struck him a blow in the face.
a dull, purplish flush crept over his brow.
""this is some of george's work," he broke out fiercely.
""he's been setting you on me, has he?
yes, he's jealous -- he wanted bessy himself, but she would not look at him.
he thinks nobody knows it, but i do.
bessy marry him?
it's very likely!"
""lawrie eastman, you are daft.
george has n't said anything to me.
you surely do n't imagine bessy houghton would marry you.
and if she would, she is too old for you.
now, do n't you hang around her any longer."
""i will," said lawrence flatly.
""i do n't care what anybody says.
you need n't worry over me.
i can take care of myself."
mrs. eastman looked blankly at her son.
he had never defied or disobeyed her in his life before.
she had supposed her word would be law.
rebellion was something she had not dreamed of.
her lips tightened ominously and her eyes narrowed.
""you're a bigger fool than i took you for," she said in a voice that trembled with anger.
""bessy houghton laughs at you everywhere.
she knows you're just after her money, and she makes fun --" "prove it," interrupted lawrence undauntedly, "i'm not going to put any faith in lynnfield gossip.
prove it if you can."
""i can prove it.
maggie hatfield told me what bessy houghton said to her about you.
she said you were a lovesick fool, and she only went with you for a little amusement, and that if you thought you had nothing to do but marry her and hang up your hat there you'd find yourself vastly mistaken."
possibly in her calmer moments mrs. eastman might have shrunk from such a deliberate falsehood, although it was said of her in lynnfield that she was not one to stick at a lie when the truth would not serve her purpose.
moreover, she felt quite sure that lawrence would never ask maggie hatfield anything about it.
lawrence turned white to the lips, "is that true, mother?"
he asked huskily.
""i've warned you," replied his mother, not choosing to repeat her statement.
""if you go after bessy any more you can take the consequences."
she drew her shawl about her pale, malicious face and left him with a parting glance of contempt.
""i guess that'll settle him," she thought grimly.
""bessy houghton turned up her nose at george, but she sha n't make a fool of lawrence too."
alone in the stable lawrence stood staring out at the dull red ball of the winter sun with unseeing eyes.
he had implicit faith in his mother, and the stab had gone straight to his heart.
bessy houghton listened in vain that night for his well-known footfall on the verandah.
the next night lawrence went home with milly fiske from prayer meeting, taking her out from a crowd of other girls under bessy houghton's very eyes as she came down the steps of the little church.
bessy walked home alone.
the light burned low in her sitting-room, and in the mirror over the mantel she saw her own pale face, with its tragic, pain-stricken eyes.
annie hillis, her "help," was out.
she was alone in the big house with her misery and despair.
she went dizzily upstairs to her own room and flung herself on the bed in the chill moonlight.
""it is all over," she said dully.
all night she lay there, fighting with her pain.
in the wan, grey morning she looked at her mirrored self with pitying scorn -- at the pallid face, the lifeless features, the dispirited eyes with their bluish circles.
""what a fool i have been to imagine he could care for me!"
she said bitterly.
""he has only been amusing himself with my folly.
and to think that i let him kiss me the other night!"
she thought of that kiss with a pitiful shame.
she hated herself for the weakness that could not check her tears.
her lonely life had been brightened by the companionship of her young lover.
the youth and girlhood of which fate had cheated her had come to her with love; the future had looked rosy with promise; now it had darkened with dourness and greyness.
maggie hatfield came that day to sew.
bessy had intended to have a dark-blue silk made up and an evening waist of pale pink cashmere.
she had expected to wear the latter at a party which was to come off a fortnight later, and she had got it to please lawrence, because he had told her that pink was his favourite colour.
she would have neither it nor the silk made up now.
she put them both away and instead brought out an ugly pattern of snuff-brown stuff, bought years before and never used.
""but where is your lovely pink, bessy?"
asked the dressmaker.
""are n't you going to have it for the party?"
""no, i'm not going to have it made up at all," said bessy listlessly.
""it's too gay for me.
i was foolish to think it would ever suit me.
this brown will do for a spring suit.
it does n't make much difference what i wear."
maggie hatfield, who had not been at prayer meeting the night beforehand knew nothing of what had occurred, looked at her curiously, wondering what lawrence eastman could see in her to be as crazy about her as some people said he was.
bessy was looking her oldest and plainest just then, with her hair combed severely back from her pale, dispirited face.
""it must be her money he is after," thought the dressmaker.
""she looks over thirty, and she ca n't pretend to be pretty.
i believe she thinks a lot of him, though."
for the most part, lynnfield people believed that bessy had thrown lawrence over.
this opinion was borne out by his woebegone appearance.
he was thin and pale; his face had lost its youthful curves and looked hard and mature.
he was moody and taciturn and his speech and manner were marked by a new cynicism.
* * * * * in april a well-to-do storekeeper from an adjacent village began to court bessy houghton.
he was over fifty, and had never been a handsome man in his best days, but lynnfield oracles opined that bessy would take him.
she could n't expect to do any better, they said, and she was looking terribly old and dowdy all at once.
in june maggie hatfield went to the eastmans" to sew.
the first bit of news she imparted to mrs. eastman was that bessy houghton had refused jabez lea -- at least, he did n't come to see her any more.
mrs. eastman twitched her thread viciously.
""bessy houghton was born an old maid," she said sharply.
""she thinks nobody is good enough for her, that is what's the matter.
lawrence got some silly boy-notion into his head last winter, but i soon put a stop to that."
""i always had an idea that bessy thought a good deal of lawrence," said maggie.
""she has never been the same since he left off going with her.
i was up there the morning after that prayer-meeting night people talked so much of, and she looked positively dreadful, as if she had n't slept a wink the whole night."
""nonsense!"
said mrs. eastman decisively.
""she would never think of taking a boy like him when she'd turned up her nose at better men.
and i did n't want her for a daughter-in-law anyhow.
i ca n't bear her.
so i put my foot down in time.
lawrence sulked for a spell, of course -- boy-fashion -- and he's been as fractious as a spoiled baby ever since."
""well, i dare say you're right," assented the dressmaker.
""but i must say i had always imagined that bessy had a great notion of lawrence.
of course, she's so quiet it is hard to tell.
she never says a word about herself."
there was an unsuspected listener to this conversation.
lawrence had come in from the field for a drink, and was standing in the open kitchen doorway, within easy earshot of the women's shrill tones.
he had never doubted his mother's word at any time in his life, but now he knew beyond doubt that there had been crooked work somewhere.
he shrank from believing his mother untrue, yet where else could the crookedness come in?
when mrs. eastman had gone to the kitchen to prepare dinner, maggie hatfield was startled by the appearance of lawrence at the low open window of the sitting-room.
""mercy me, how you scared me!"
she exclaimed nervously.
""maggie," said lawrence seriously, "i want to ask you a question.
did bessy houghton ever say anything to you about me or did you ever say that she did?
give me a straight answer."
the dressmaker peered at him curiously.
""no.
bessy never so much as mentioned your name to me," she said, "and i never heard that she did to anyone else.
why?"
""thank you.
that was all i wanted to know," said lawrence, ignoring her question, and disappearing as suddenly as he had come.
that evening at moonrise he passed through the kitchen dressed in his sunday best.
his mother met him at the door.
""where are you going?"
she asked querulously.
lawrence looked her squarely in the face with accusing eyes, before which her own quailed.
""i'm going to see bessy houghton, mother," he said sternly, "and to ask her pardon for believing the lie that has kept us apart so long."
mrs. eastman flushed crimson and opened her lips to speak.
but something in lawrence's grave, white face silenced her.
she turned away without a word, knowing in her secret soul that her youngest-born was lost to her forever.
lawrence found bessy in the orchard under apple trees that were pyramids of pearly bloom.
she looked at him through the twilight with reproach and aloofness in her eyes.
but he put out his hands and caught her reluctant ones in a masterful grasp.
""listen to me, bessy.
do n't condemn me before you've heard me.
i've been to blame for believing falsehoods about you, but i believe them no longer, and i've come to ask you to forgive me."
he told his story simply and straightforwardly.
in strict justice he could not keep his mother's name out of it, but he merely said she had been mistaken.
perhaps bessy understood none the less.
she knew what mrs. eastman's reputation in lynnfield was.
""you might have had a little more faith in me," she cried reproachfully.
""i know -- i know.
but i was beside myself with pain and wretchedness.
oh, bessy, wo n't you forgive me?
i love you so!
if you send me away i'll go to the dogs.
forgive me, bessy."
and she, being a woman, did forgive him.
""i've loved you from the first, lawrence," she said, yielding to his kiss.
their girl josie when paul morgan, a rising young lawyer with justifiable political aspirations, married elinor ashton, leading woman at the green square theatre, his old schoolmates and neighbours back in spring valley held up their hands in horror, and his father and mother up in the weather-grey morgan homestead were crushed in the depths of humiliation.
they had been too proud of paul... their only son and such a clever fellow... and this was their punishment!
he had married an actress!
to cyrus and deborah morgan, brought up and nourished all their lives on the strictest and straightest of old-fashioned beliefs both as regards this world and that which is to come, this was a tragedy.
they could not be brought to see it in any other light.
as their neighbours said, "cy morgan never hilt up his head again after paul married the play-acting woman."
but perhaps it was less his humiliation than his sorrow which bowed down his erect form and sprinkled grey in his thick black hair that fifty years had hitherto spared.
for paul, forgetting the sacrifices his mother and father had made for him, had bitterly resented the letter of protest his father had written concerning his marriage.
he wrote one angry, unfilial letter back and then came silence.
between grief and shame cyrus and deborah morgan grew old rapidly in the year that followed.
at the end of that time elinor morgan, the mother of an hour, died; three months later paul morgan was killed in a railroad collision.
after the funeral cyrus morgan brought home to his wife their son's little daughter, joscelyn morgan.
her aunt, annice ashton, had wanted the baby.
cyrus morgan had been almost rude in his refusal.
his son's daughter should never be brought up by an actress; it was bad enough that her mother had been one and had doubtless transmitted the taint to her child.
but in spring valley, if anywhere, it might be eradicated.
at first neither cyrus nor deborah cared much for joscelyn.
they resented her parentage, her strange, un-morgan-like name, and the pronounced resemblance she bore to the dark-haired, dark-eyed mother they had never seen.
all the morgans had been fair.
if joscelyn had had paul's blue eyes and golden curls her grandfather and grandmother would have loved her sooner.
but the love came... it had to.
no living mortal could have resisted joscelyn.
she was the most winsome and lovable little mite of babyhood that ever toddled.
her big dark eyes overflowed with laughter before she could speak, her puckered red mouth broke constantly into dimples and cooing sounds.
she had ways that no orthodox spring valley baby ever thought of having.
every smile was a caress, every gurgle of attempted speech a song.
her grandparents came to worship her and were stricter than ever with her by reason of their love.
because she was so dear to them she must be saved from her mother's blood.
joscelyn shot up through a roly-poly childhood into slim, bewitching girlhood in a chill repressive atmosphere.
cyrus and deborah were nothing if not thorough.
the name of joscelyn's mother was never mentioned to her; she was never called anything but josie, which sounded more "christian-like" than joscelyn; and all the flowering out of her alien beauty was repressed as far as might be in the plainest and dullest of dresses and the primmest arrangement possible to riotous ripe-brown curls.
the girl was never allowed to visit her aunt annice, although frequently invited.
miss ashton, however, wrote to her occasionally, and every christmas sent a box of presents which even cyrus and deborah morgan could not forbid her to accept, although they looked with disapproving eyes and ominously set lips at the dainty, frivolous trifles the actress woman sent.
they would have liked to cast those painted fans and lace frills and beflounced lingerie into the fire as if they had been infected rags from a pest-house.
the path thus set for joscelyn's dancing feet to walk in was indeed sedate and narrow.
she was seldom allowed to mingle with the young people of even quiet, harmless spring valley; she was never allowed to attend local concerts, much less take part in them; she was forbidden to read novels, and cyrus morgan burned an old copy of shakespeare which paul had given him years ago and which he had himself read and treasured, lest its perusal should awaken unlawful instincts in joscelyn's heart.
the girl's passion for reading was so marked that her grandparents felt that it was their duty to repress it as far as lay in their power.
but joscelyn's vitality was such that all her bonds and bands served but little to check or retard the growth of her rich nature.
do what they might they could not make a morgan of her.
her every step was a dance, her every word and gesture full of a grace and virility that filled the old folks with uneasy wonder.
she seemed to them charged with dangerous tendencies all the more potent from repression.
she was sweet-tempered and sunny, truthful and modest, but she was as little like the trim, simple spring valley girls as a crimson rose is like a field daisy, and her unlikeness bore heavily on her grandparents.
yet they loved her and were proud of her.
""our girl josie," as they called her, was more to them than they would have admitted even to themselves, and in the main they were satisfied with her, although the grandmother grumbled because josie did not take kindly to patchwork and rug-making and the grandfather would fain have toned down that exuberance of beauty and vivacity into the meeker pattern of maidenhood he had been accustomed to.
when joscelyn was seventeen deborah morgan noticed a change in her.
the girl became quieter and more brooding, falling at times into strange, idle reveries, with her hands clasped over her knee and her big eyes fixed unseeingly on space; or she would creep away for solitary rambles in the beech wood, going away droopingly and returning with dusky glowing cheeks and a nameless radiance, as of some newly discovered power, shining through every muscle and motion.
mrs. morgan thought the child needed a tonic and gave her sulphur and molasses.
one day the revelation came.
cyrus and deborah had driven across the valley to visit their married daughter.
not finding her at home they returned.
mrs. morgan went into the house while her husband went to the stable.
joscelyn was not in the kitchen, but the grandmother heard the sound of voices and laughter in the sitting room across the hall.
""what company has josie got?"
she wondered, as she opened the hall door and paused for a moment on the threshold to listen.
as she listened her old face grew grey and pinched; she turned noiselessly and left the house, and flew to her husband as one distracted.
""cyrus, josie is play-acting in the room... laughing and reciting and going on.
i heard her.
oh, i've always feared it would break out in her and it has!
come you and listen to her."
the old couple crept through the kitchen and across the hall to the open parlour door as if they were stalking a thief.
joscelyn's laugh rang out as they did so... a mocking, triumphant peal.
cyrus and deborah shivered as if they had heard sacrilege.
joscelyn had put on a trailing, clinging black skirt which her aunt had sent her a year ago and which she had never been permitted to wear.
it transformed her into a woman.
she had cast aside her waist of dark plum-coloured homespun and wrapped a silken shawl about herself until only her beautiful arms and shoulders were left bare.
her hair, glossy and brown, with burnished red lights where the rays of the dull autumn sun struck on it through the window, was heaped high on her head and held in place by a fillet of pearl beads.
her cheeks were crimson, her whole body from head to foot instinct and alive with a beauty that to cyrus and deborah, as they stood mute with horror in the open doorway, seemed akin to some devilish enchantment.
joscelyn, rapt away from her surroundings, did not perceive her grandparents.
her face was turned from them and she was addressing an unseen auditor in passionate denunciation.
she spoke, moved, posed, gesticulated, with an inborn genius shining through every motion and tone like an illuminating lamp.
""josie, what are you doing?"
it was cyrus who spoke, advancing into the room like a stern, hard impersonation of judgment.
joscelyn's outstretched arm fell to her side and she turned sharply around; fear came into her face and the light went out of it.
a moment before she had been a woman, splendid, unafraid; now she was again the schoolgirl, too confused and shamed to speak.
""what are you doing, josie?"
asked her grandfather again, "dressed up in that indecent manner and talking and twisting to yourself?"
joscelyn's face, that had grown pale, flamed scarlet again.
she lifted her head proudly.
""i was trying aunt annice's part in her new play," she answered.
""i have not been doing anything wrong, grandfather."
""wrong!
it's your mother's blood coming out in you, girl, in spite of all our care!
where did you get that play?"
""aunt annice sent it to me," answered joscelyn, casting a quick glance at the book on the table.
then, when her grandfather picked it up gingerly, as if he feared contamination, she added quickly, "oh, give it to me, please, grandfather.
do n't take it away."
""i am going to burn it," said cyrus morgan sternly.
""oh, do n't, grandfather," cried joscelyn, with a sob in her voice.
""do n't burn it, please.
i... i... wo n't practise out of it any more.
i'm sorry i've displeased you.
please give me my book."
""no," was the stern reply.
""go to your room, girl, and take off that rig.
there is to be no more play-acting in my house, remember that."
he flung the book into the fire that was burning in the grate.
for the first time in her life joscelyn flamed out into passionate defiance.
""you are cruel and unjust, grandfather.
i have done no wrong... it is not doing wrong to develop the one gift i have.
it's the only thing i can do... and i am going to do it.
my mother was an actress and a good woman.
so is aunt annice.
so i mean to be."
""oh, josie, josie," said her grandmother in a scared voice.
her grandfather only repeated sternly, "go, take that rig off, girl, and let us hear no more of this."
joscelyn went but she left consternation behind her.
cyrus and deborah could not have been more shocked if they had discovered the girl robbing her grandfather's desk.
they talked the matter over bitterly at the kitchen hearth that night.
""we have n't been strict enough with the girl, mother," said cyrus angrily.
""we'll have to be stricter if we do n't want to have her disgracing us.
did you hear how she defied me?
"so i mean to be," she says.
mother, we'll have trouble with that girl yet."
""do n't be too harsh with her, pa... it'll maybe only drive her to worse," sobbed deborah.
""i ai n't going to be harsh.
what i do is for her own good, you know that, mother.
josie is as dear to me as she is to you, but we've got to be stricter with her."
they were.
from that day josie was watched and distrusted.
she was never permitted to be alone.
there were no more solitary walks.
she felt herself under the surveillance of cold, unsympathetic eyes every moment and her very soul writhed.
joscelyn morgan, the high-spirited daughter of high-spirited parents, could not long submit to such treatment.
it might have passed with a child; to a woman, thrilling with life and conscious power to her very fingertips, it was galling beyond measure.
joscelyn rebelled, but she did nothing secretly... that was not her nature.
she wrote to her aunt annice, and when she received her reply she went straight and fearlessly to her grandparents with it.
""grandfather, this letter is from my aunt.
she wishes me to go and live with her and prepare for the stage.
i told her i wished to do so.
i am going."
cyrus and deborah looked at her in mute dismay.
""i know you despise the profession of an actress," the girl went on with heightened colour.
""i am sorry you think so about it because it is the only one open to me.
i must go... i must."
""yes, you must," said cyrus cruelly.
""it's in your blood... your bad blood, girl."
""my blood is n't bad," cried joscelyn proudly.
""my mother was a sweet, true, good woman.
you are unjust, grandfather.
but i do n't want you to be angry with me.
i love you both and i am very grateful indeed for all your kindness to me.
i wish that you could understand what..." "we understand enough," interrupted cyrus harshly.
""this is all i have to say.
go to your play-acting aunt if you want to.
your grandmother and me wo n't hinder you.
but you'll come back here no more.
we'll have nothing further to do with you.
you can choose your own way and walk in it."
with this dictum joscelyn went from spring valley.
she clung to deborah and wept at parting, but cyrus did not even say goodbye to her.
on the morning of her departure he went away on business and did not return until evening.
* * * * * joscelyn went on the stage.
her aunt's influence and her mother's fame helped her much.
she missed the hard experiences that come to the unassisted beginner.
but her own genius must have won in any case.
she had all her mother's gifts, deepened by her inheritance of morgan intensity and sincerity... much, too, of the morgan firmness of will.
when joscelyn morgan was twenty-two she was famous over two continents.
when cyrus morgan returned home on the evening after his granddaughter's departure he told his wife that she was never to mention the girl's name in his hearing again.
deborah obeyed.
she thought her husband was right, albeit she might in her own heart deplore the necessity of such a decree.
joscelyn had disgraced them; could that be forgiven?
nevertheless both the old people missed her terribly.
the house seemed to have lost its soul with that vivid, ripely tinted young life.
they got their married daughter's oldest girl, pauline, to come and stay with them.
pauline was a quiet, docile maiden, industrious and commonplace -- just such a girl as they had vainly striven to make of joscelyn, to whom pauline had always been held up as a model.
yet neither cyrus nor deborah took to her, and they let her go unregretfully when they found that she wished to return home.
""she has n't any of josie's gimp," was old cyrus's unspoken fault.
deborah spoke, but all she said was, "polly's a good girl, father, only she has n't any snap."
joscelyn wrote to deborah occasionally, telling her freely of her plans and doings.
if it hurt the girl that no notice was ever taken of her letters she still wrote them.
deborah read the letters grimly and then left them in cyrus's way.
cyrus would not read them at first; later on he read them stealthily when deborah was out of the house.
when joscelyn began to succeed she sent to the old farmhouse papers and magazines containing her photographs and criticisms of her plays and acting.
deborah cut them out and kept them in her upper bureau drawer with joscelyn's letters.
once she overlooked one and cyrus found it when he was kindling the fire.
he got the scissors and cut it out carefully.
a month later deborah discovered it between the leaves of the family bible.
but joscelyn's name was never mentioned between them, and when other people asked them concerning her their replies were cold and ungracious.
in a way they had relented towards her, but their shame of her remained.
they could never forget that she was an actress.
once, six years after joscelyn had left spring valley, cyrus, who was reading a paper by the table, got up with an angry exclamation and stuffed it into the stove, thumping the lid on over it with grim malignity.
""that fool dunno what he's talking about," was all he would say.
deborah had her share of curiosity.
the paper was the national gazette and she knew that their next-door neighbour, james pennan, took it.
she went over that evening and borrowed it, saying that their own had been burned before she had had time to read the serial in it.
with one exception she read all its columns carefully without finding anything to explain her husband's anger.
then she doubtfully plunged into the exception... a column of "stage notes."
halfway down she came upon an adverse criticism of joscelyn morgan and her new play.
it was malicious and vituperative.
deborah morgan's old eyes sparkled dangerously as she read it.
""i guess somebody is pretty jealous of josie," she muttered.
""i do n't wonder pa was riled up.
but i guess she can hold her own.
she's a morgan."
no long time after this cyrus took a notion he'd like a trip to the city.
he'd like to see the horse fair and look up cousin hiram morgan's folks.
""hiram and me used to be great chums, mother.
and we're getting kind of mossy, i guess, never stirring out of spring valley.
let's go and dissipate for a week -- what say?"
deborah agreed readily, albeit of late years she had been much averse to going far from home and had never at any time been very fond of cousin hiram's wife.
cyrus was as pleased as a child over their trip.
on the second day of their sojourn in the city he slipped away when deborah had gone shopping with mrs. hiram and hurried through the streets to the green square theatre with a hang-dog look.
he bought a ticket apologetically and sneaked in to his seat.
it was a matinee performance, and joscelyn morgan was starring in her famous new play.
cyrus waited for the curtain to rise, feeling as if every one of his spring valley neighbours must know where he was and revile him for it.
if deborah were ever to find out... but deborah must never find out!
for the first time in their married life the old man deliberately plotted to deceive his old wife.
he must see his girl josie just once; it was a terrible thing that she was an actress, but she was a successful one, nobody could deny that, except fools who yapped in the national gazette.
the curtain went up and cyrus rubbed his eyes.
he had certainly braced his nerves to behold some mystery of iniquity; instead he saw an old kitchen so like his own at home that it bewildered him; and there, sitting by the cheery wood stove, in homespun gown, with primly braided hair, was joscelyn -- his girl josie, as he had seen her a thousand times by his own ingle-side.
the building rang with applause; one old man pulled out a red bandanna and wiped tears of joy and pride from his eyes.
she had n't changed -- josie had n't changed.
play-acting had n't spoiled her -- could n't spoil her.
was n't she paul's daughter!
and all this applause was for her -- for josie.
joscelyn's new play was a homely, pleasant production with rollicking comedy and heart-moving pathos skilfully commingled.
joscelyn pervaded it all with a convincing simplicity that was really the triumph of art.
cyrus morgan listened and exulted in her; at every burst of applause his eyes gleamed with pride.
he wanted to go on the stage and box the ears of the villain who plotted against her; he wanted to shake hands with the good woman who stood by her; he wanted to pay off the mortgage and make josie happy.
he wiped tears from his eyes in the third act when josie was turned out of doors and, when the fourth left her a happy, blushing bride, hand in hand with her farmer lover, he could have wept again for joy.
cyrus morgan went out into the daylight feeling as if he had awakened from a dream.
at the outer door he came upon mrs. hiram and deborah.
deborah's face was stained with tears, and she caught at his hand.
""oh, pa, was n't it splendid -- was n't our girl josie splendid!
i'm so proud of her.
oh, i was bound to hear her.
i was afraid you'd be mad, so i did n't let on and when i saw you in the seat down there i could n't believe my eyes.
oh, i've just been crying the whole time.
was n't it splendid!
was n't our girl josie splendid?"
the crowd around looked at the old pair with amused, indulgent curiosity, but they were quite oblivious to their surroundings, even to mrs. hiram's anxiety to decoy them away.
cyrus morgan cleared his throat and said, "it was great, mother, great.
she took the shine off the other play-actors all right.
i knew that national gazette man did n't know what he was talking about.
mother, let us go and see josie right off.
she's stopping with her aunt at the maberly hotel -- i saw it in the paper this morning.
i'm going to tell her she was right and we were wrong.
josie's beat them all, and i'm going to tell her so!"
when jack and jill took a hand jack's side of it jill says i have to begin this story because it was me -- i mean it was i -- who made all the trouble in the first place.
that is so like jill.
she is such a good hand at forgetting.
why, it was she who suggested the plot to me.
i should never have thought of it myself -- not that jill is any smarter than i am, either, but girls are such creatures for planning up mischief and leading other folks into it and then laying the blame on them when things go wrong.
how could i tell dick would act so like a mule?
i thought grown-up folks had more sense.
aunt tommy was down on me for weeks, while she thought jill a regular heroine.
but there!
girls do n't know anything about being fair, and i am determined i will never have anything more to do with them and their love affairs as long as i live.
jill says i will change my mind when i grow up, but i wo n't.
still, jill is a pretty good sort of girl.
i have to scold her sometimes, but if any other chap tried to i would punch his head for him.
i suppose it is time i explained who dick and aunt tommy are.
dick is our minister.
he has n't been it very long.
he only came a year ago.
i shall never forget how surprised jill and i were that first sunday we went to church and saw him.
we had always thought that ministers had to be old.
all the ministers we knew were.
mr. grinnell, the one before dick came, must have been as old as methuselah.
but dick was young -- and good-looking.
jill said she thought it a positive sin for a minister to be so good-looking, it did n't seem christian; but that was just because all the ministers we knew happened to be homely so that it did n't appear natural.
dick was tall and pale and looked as if he had heaps of brains.
he had thick curly brown hair and big dark blue eyes -- jill said his eyes were like an archangel's, but how could she tell?
she never saw an archangel.
i liked his nose.
it was so straight and finished-looking.
mr. grinnell had the worst-looking nose you ever saw.
jill and i used to make poetry about it in church to keep from falling asleep when he preached such awful long sermons.
dick preached great sermons.
they were so nice and short.
it was such fun to hear him thump the pulpit when he got excited; and when he got more excited still he would lean over the pulpit, his face all white, and talk so low and solemn that it would just send the most gorgeous thrills through you.
dick came to owlwood -- that's our place; i hate these explanations -- quite a lot, even before aunt tommy came.
he and father were chums; they had been in college together and father said dick was the best football player he ever knew.
jill and i soon got acquainted with him and this was another uncanny thing.
we had never thought it possible to get acquainted with a minister.
jill said she did n't think it proper for a real live minister to be so chummy.
but then jill was a little jealous because dick and i, being both men; were better friends than he and she could be.
he taught me to skate that winter and fence with canes and do long division.
i could never understand long division before dick came, although i was away on in fractions.
jill has just been in and says i ought to explain that dick's name was n't dick.
i do wish jill would mind her own business.
of course it was n't.
his real name was the reverend stephen richmond, but jill and i always called him dick behind his back; it seemed so jolly and venturesome, somehow, to speak of a minister like that.
only we had to be careful not to let father and mother hear us.
mother would n't even let father call dick "stephen"; she said it would set a bad example of familiarity to the children.
mother is an old darling.
she wo n't believe we're half as bad as we are.
well, early in may comes aunt tommy.
i must explain who aunt tommy is or jill will be at me again.
she is father's youngest sister and her real name is bertha gordon, but father has always called her tommy and she likes it.
jill and i had never seen aunt tommy before, but we took to her from the start because she was so pretty and because she talked to us just as if we were grown up.
she called jill elizabeth, and jill would adore a hottentot who called her elizabeth.
aunt tommy is the prettiest girl i ever saw.
if jill is half as good-looking when she gets to be twenty -- she's only ten now, same age as i am, we're twins -- i shall be proud of her for a sister.
aunt tommy is all white and dimpled.
she has curly red hair and big jolly brown eyes and scrumptious freckles.
i do like freckles in a girl, although jill goes wild if she thinks she has one on her nose.
when we talked of writing this story jill said i was n't to say that aunt tommy had freckles because it would n't sound romantic.
but i do n't care.
she has freckles and i think they are all right.
we went to church with aunt tommy the first sunday after she came, one on each side of her.
aunt tommy is the only girl in the world i'd walk hand in hand with before people.
she looked fine that day.
she had on a gorgeous dress, all frills and ruffles, and a big white floppy hat.
i was proud of her for an aunt, i can tell you, and i was anxious for dick to see her.
when he came up to speak to me and jill after church came out i said, "aunt tommy, this is mr. richmond," just like the grown-up people say.
aunt tommy and dick shook hands and dick got as red as anything.
it was funny to see him.
the very next evening he came down to owlwood.
we had n't expected him until tuesday, for he never came monday night before.
that is father's night for going to a lodge meeting.
mother was away this time too.
i met dick on the porch and took him into the parlour, thinking what a bully talk we could have all alone together, without jill bothering around.
but in a minute aunt tommy came in and she and dick began to talk, and i just could n't get a word in edgewise.
i got so disgusted i started out, but i do n't believe they ever noticed i was gone.
i liked aunt tommy very well, but i did n't think she had any business to monopolize dick like that when he and i were such old chums.
outside i came across jill.
she was sitting all alone in the dark, curled up on the edge of the verandah just where she could see into the parlour through the big glass door.
i sat down beside her, for i wanted sympathy.
""dick's in there talking to aunt tommy," i said.
""i do n't see what makes him want to talk to her."
""what a goose you are!"
said jill in that aggravatingly patronizing way of hers.
""why, dick has fallen in love with aunt tommy!"
honest, i jumped.
i never was so surprised.
""how do you know?"
i asked.
""because i do," said jill.
""i knew it yesterday at church and i think it is so romantic."
""i do n't see how you can tell," i said -- and i did n't.
""you'll understand better when you get older," said jill.
sometimes jill talks as if she were a hundred years older than i am, instead of being a twin.
and really, sometimes i think she is older.
""i did n't think ministers ever fell in love," i protested.
""some do," said jill sagely.
""mr. grinnell would n't ever, i suppose.
but dick is different.
i'd like him for a husband myself.
but he'd be too old for me by the time i grew up, so i suppose i'll have to let aunt tommy have him.
it will be all in the family anyhow -- that is one comfort.
i think aunt tommy ought to have me for a flower girl and i'll wear pink silk clouded over with white chiffon and carry a big bouquet of roses."
""jill, you take my breath away," i said, and she did.
my imagination could n't travel as fast as that.
but after i had thought the idea over a bit i liked it.
it was a good deal like a book; and, besides, a minister is a respectable thing to have in a family.
""we must help them all we can," said jill.
""what can we do?"
i asked.
""we must praise dick to aunt tommy and aunt tommy to dick and we must keep out of the way -- we must n't ever hang around when they want to be alone," said jill.
""i do n't want to give up being chums with dick," i grumbled.
""we must be self-sacrificing," said jill.
and that sounded so fine it reconciled me to the attempt.
we sat there and watched dick and aunt tommy for an hour.
i thought they were awfully prim and stiff.
if i'd been dick i'd have gone over and hugged her.
i said so to jill and jill was shocked.
she said it would n't be proper when they were n't even engaged.
when dick went away aunt tommy came out to the verandah and discovered us.
she sat down between us and put her arms about us.
aunt tommy has such cute ways.
""i like your minister very much," she said.
""he's bully," i said.
""he's as handsome as a prince," jill said.
""he preaches splendid sermons -- he makes people sit up in church, i can tell you," i said.
""he has a heavenly tenor voice," jill said.
""he's got a magnificent muscle," i said.
""he has the most poetical eyes," jill said.
""he swims like a duck," i said.
""he looks just like a greek god," jill said.
i'm sure jill could n't have known what a greek god looked like, but i suppose she got the comparison out of some novel.
jill is always reading novels.
she borrows them from the cook.
aunt tommy laughed and said, "you darlings."
for the next three months jill and i were wild.
it was just like reading a serial story to watch dick and aunt tommy.
one day when dick came aunt tommy was n't quite ready to come down, so jill and i went in to the parlour to help things along.
we knew we had n't much time, so we began right off.
""aunt tommy is the jolliest girl i know," i said.
""she is as beautiful as a dream," jill said.
""she can play games as good as a boy," i said.
""she does the most elegant fancy work," jill said.
""she never gets mad," i said.
""she plays and sings divinely," jill said.
""she can cook awfully good things," i said, for i was beginning to run short of compliments.
jill was horrified; she said afterwards that it was n't a bit romantic.
but i do n't care -- i believe dick liked it, for he smiled with his eyes i just as he always does when he's pleased.
girls do n't understand everything.
* * * * * but at the end of three months we began to get anxious.
things were going so slow.
dick and aunt tommy did n't seem a bit further ahead than at first.
jill said it was because aunt tommy did n't encourage dick enough.
""i do wish we could hurry them up a little," she said.
""at this rate they will never be married this year and by next i'll be too big to be a flower girl.
i'm stretching out horribly as it is.
mother has had to let down my frocks again."
""i wish they would get engaged and have done with it," i said.
""my mind would be at rest then.
it's all dick's fault.
why does n't he ask aunt tommy to marry him?
what's making him so slow about it?
if i wanted a girl to marry me -- but i would n't ever -- i'd tell her so right spang off."
""i suppose ministers have to be more dignified," said jill, "but three months ought to be enough time for anyone.
and aunt tommy is only going to be here another month.
if dick could be made a little jealous it would hurry him up.
and he could be made jealous if you had any spunk about you."
""i guess i've got more spunk than you have," i said.
""the trouble with dick is this," said jill.
""there is nobody else coming to see aunt tommy and he thinks he is sure of her.
if you could tell him something different it would stir him up."
""are you sure it would?"
i asked.
""it always does in novels," said jill.
and that settled it, of course.
jill and i fixed up what i was to say and jill made me say it over and over again to be sure i had it right.
i told her -- sarcastically -- that she'd better say it herself and then it would be done properly.
jill said she would if it were aunt tommy, but when it was dick it was better for a man to do it.
so of course i agreed.
i did n't know when i would have a chance to stir dick up, but providence -- so jill said -- favoured us.
aunt tommy did n't expect dick down the next night, so she and father and mother all went away somewhere.
dick came after all, and jill sent me into the parlour to tell him.
he was standing before the mantel looking at aunt tommy's picture.
there was such an adoring look in his eyes.
i could see it quite plain in the mirror before him.
i practised that look a lot before my own glass after that -- because i thought it might come in handy some time, you know -- but i guess i could n't have got it just right because when i tried it on jill she asked me if i had a pain.
""well, jack, old man," said dick, sitting down on the sofa.
i sat down before him.
""aunt tommy is out," i said, to get the worst over.
""i guess you like aunt tommy pretty well, do n't you, mr. richmond?"
""yes," said dick softly.
""so do other men," i said -- mysterious, as jill had ordered me.
dick thumped one of the sofa pillows.
""yes, i suppose so," he said.
""there's a man in new york who just worships aunt tommy," i said.
""he writes her most every day and sends her books and music and elegant presents.
i guess she's pretty fond of him too.
she keeps his photograph on her bedroom table and i've seen her kissing it."
i stopped there, not because i had said all i had to say, but because dick's face scared me -- honest, it did.
it had all gone white, like it does in the pulpit sometimes when he is tremendously in earnest, only ten times worse.
but all he said was, "is your aunt bertha engaged to this -- this man?"
""not exactly engaged," i said, "but i guess anybody else who wants to marry her will have to reckon with him."
dick got up.
""i think i wo n't wait this evening," he said.
""i wish you'd stay and have a talk with me," i said.
""i have n't had a talk with you for ages and i have a million things to tell you."
dick smiled as if it hurt him to smile.
""i ca n't tonight, jacky.
some other time we'll have a good powwow, old chap."
he took his hat and went out.
then jill came flying in to hear all about it.
i told her as well as i could, but she was n't satisfied.
if dick took it so quietly, she declared, i could n't have made it strong enough.
""if you had seen dick's face," i said, "you would have thought i made it plenty strong.
and i'd like to know what aunt tommy will say to all this when she finds out."
""well, you did n't tell a thing but what was true," said jill.
the next evening was dick's regular night for coming, but he did n't come, although jill and i went down the lane a dozen times to watch for him.
the night after that was prayer-meeting night.
dick had always walked home with aunt tommy and us, but that night he did n't.
he only just bowed and smiled as he passed us in the porch.
aunt tommy hardly spoke all the way home, only just held tight to jill's and my hands.
but after we got home she seemed in great spirits and laughed and chatted with father and mother.
""what does this mean?"
asked jill, grabbing me in the hall on our way to bed.
""you'd better get another novel from the cook and find out," i said grouchily.
i was disgusted with things in general and dick in particular.
the three weeks that followed were awful.
dick never came near owlwood.
jill and i fought every day, we were so cross and disappointed.
nothing had come out right, and jill blamed it all on me.
she said i must have made it too strong.
there was no fun in anything, not even in going to church.
dick hardly thumped the pulpit at all and when he did it was only a measly little thump.
but aunt tommy did n't seem to worry any.
she sang and laughed and joked from morning to night.
""she does n't mind dick's making an ass of himself, anyway, that's one consolation," i said to jill.
""she is breaking her heart about it," said jill, "and that's your consolation!"
""i do n't believe it," i said.
""what makes you think so?"
""she cries every night," said jill.
""i can tell by the look of her eyes in the morning."
""she does n't look half as woebegone over it as you do," i said.
""if i had her reason for looking woebegone i would n't look it either," said jill.
i asked her to explain her meaning, but she only said that little boys could n't understand those things.
things went on like this for another week.
then they reached -- so jill says -- a climax.
if jill knows what that means i do n't.
but pinky carewe was the climax.
pinky's name is james, but jill and i always called him pinky because we could n't bear him.
he took to calling at owlwood and one evening he took aunt tommy out driving.
then jill came to me.
""something has got to be done," she said resolutely.
""i am not going to have pinky carewe for an uncle tommy and that is all there is about it.
you must go straight to dick and tell him the truth about the new york man."
i looked at jill to see if she were in earnest.
when i saw that she was i said, "i would n't take all the gems of golconda and go and tell dick that i'd been hoaxing him.
you can do it yourself, jill gordon."
""you did n't tell him anything that was n't true," said jill.
""i do n't know how a minister might look upon it," i said.
""anyway, i wo n't go."
""then i suppose i've got to," said jill very dolefully.
""yes, you'll have to," i said.
and this finishes my part of the story, and jill is going to tell the rest.
but you need n't believe everything she says about me in it.
jill's side of it jacky has made a fearful muddle of his part, but i suppose i shall just have to let it go.
you could n't expect much better of a boy.
but i am determined to re-describe aunt tommy, for the way jacky has done it is just disgraceful.
i know exactly how to do it, the way it is always done in stories.
aunt tommy is divinely beautiful.
her magnificent wealth of burnished auburn hair flows back in amethystine waves from her sun-kissed brow.
her eyes are gloriously dark and deep, like midnight lakes mirroring the stars of heaven; her features are like sculptured marble and her mouth is like a trembling, curving cupid's bow -lrb- this is a classical allusion -rrb- luscious and glowing as a dewy rose.
her creamy skin is as fair and flawless as the inner petals of a white lily.
-lrb- she may have a weeny teeny freckle or two in summer, but you'd never notice. -rrb-
her slender form is matchless in its symmetry and her voice is like the ripple of a woodland brook.
there, i'm sure that's ever so much better than jacky's description, and now i can proceed with a clear conscience.
well, i did n't like the idea of going and explaining to dick very much, but it had to be done unless i wanted to run the risk of having pinky carewe in the family.
so i went the next morning.
i put on my very prettiest pink organdie dress and did my hair the new way, which is very becoming to me.
when you are going to have an important interview with a man it is always well to look your very best.
i put on my big hat with the wreath of pink roses that aunt tommy had brought me from new york and took my spandy ruffled parasol.
""with your shield or upon it, jill," said jacky when i started.
-lrb- this is another classical allusion. -rrb-
i went straight up the hill and down the road to the manse where dick lived with his old housekeeper, mrs. dodge.
she came to the door when i knocked and i said, very politely, "can i see the reverend stephen richmond, if you please?"
mrs. dodge went upstairs and came right back saying would i please go up to the study.
up i went, my heart in my mouth, i can tell you, and there was dick among his books, looking so pale and sorrowful and interesting, for all the world like lord algernon francis in the splendid serial in the paper cook took.
there was a madonna on his desk that looked just like aunt tommy.
""good evening, miss elizabeth," said dick, just as if i were grown up, you know.
""wo n't you sit down?
try that green velvet chair.
i am sure it was created for a pink dress and unfortunately neither mrs. dodge nor i possess one.
how are all your people?"
""we are all pretty well; thank you," i said, "except aunt tommy.
she --" i was going to say, "she cries every night after she goes to bed," but i remembered just in time that if i were in aunt tommy's place i would n't want a man to know i cried about him even if i did.
so i said instead" -- she has got a cold."
""ah, indeed, i am sorry to hear it," said dick, politely but coldly, as if it were part of his duty as a minister to be sorry for anybody who had a cold, but as if, apart from that, it was not a concern of his if aunt tommy had galloping consumption.
""and jack and i are terribly harrowed up in our minds," i went on.
""that is what i've come up to see you about."
""well, tell me all about it," said dick.
""i'm afraid to," i said.
""i know you'll be cross even if you are a minister.
it's about what jack told you about that man in new york and aunt tommy."
dick turned as red as fire.
""i'd rather not discuss your aunt bertha's affairs," he said stiffly.
""you must hear this," i cried, feeling thankful that jacky had n't come after all, for he'd never have got any further ahead after that snub.
""it's all a mistake.
there is a man in new york and he just worships aunt tommy and she just adores him.
but he's seventy years old and he's her uncle matthew who brought her up ever since her father died and you've heard her talking about him a hundred times.
that's all, cross my heart solemn and true."
you never saw anything like dick's face when i stopped.
it looked just like a sunrise.
but he said slowly, "why did jacky tell me such a -- tell me it in such a way?"
""we wanted to make you jealous," i said.
""i put jacky up to it."
""i did n't think it was in either of you to do such a thing," said dick reproachfully.
""oh, dick," i cried -- fancy my calling him dick right to his face!
jacky will never believe i really did it.
he says i would never have dared.
but it was n't daring at all, it was just forgetting.
""oh, dick, we did n't mean any harm.
we thought you were n't getting on fast enough and we wanted to stir you up like they do in books.
we thought if we made you jealous it would work all right.
we did n't mean any harm.
oh, please forgive us!"
i was just ready to cry.
but that dear dick leaned over the table and patted my hand.
""there, there, it's all right.
i understand and of course i forgive you.
do n't cry, sweetheart."
the way dick said "sweetheart" was perfectly lovely.
i envied aunt tommy, and i wanted to keep on crying so that he would go on comforting me.
""and you'll come back to see aunt tommy again?"
i said.
dick's face clouded over; he got up and walked around the room several times before he said a word.
then he came and sat down beside me and explained it all to me, just as if i were grown up.
""sweetheart, we'll talk this all out.
you see, it is this way.
your aunt bertha is the sweetest woman in the world.
but i'm only a poor minister and i have no right to ask her to share my life of hard work and self-denial.
and even if i dared i know she would n't do it.
she does n't care anything for me except as a friend.
i never meant to tell her i cared for her but i could n't help going to owlwood, even though i knew it was a weakness on my part.
so now that i'm out of the habit of going i think it would be wisest to stay out.
it hurts dreadfully, but it would hurt worse after a while.
do n't you agree with me, miss elizabeth?"
i thought hard and fast.
if i were in aunt tommy's place i might n't want a man to know i cried about him, but i was quite sure i'd rather have him know than have him stay away because he did n't know.
so i spoke right up.
""no, i do n't, mr. richmond; aunt tommy does care -- you just ask her.
she cries every blessed night because you never come to owlwood."
""oh, elizabeth!"
said dick.
he got up and stalked about the room again.
""you'll come back?"
i said.
""yes," he answered.
i drew a long breath.
it was such a responsibility off my mind.
""then you'd better come down with me right off," i said, "for pinky carewe had her out driving last night and i want a stop put to that as soon as possible.
even if he is rich he's a perfect pig."
dick got his hat and came.
we walked up the road in lovely creamy yellow twilight and i was, oh, so happy.
""is n't it just like a novel?"
i said.
""i am afraid, elizabeth," said dick preachily, "that you read too many novels, and not the right kind, either.
some of these days i am going to ask you to promise me that you will read no more books except those your mother and i pick out for you."
you do n't know how squelched i felt.
and i knew i would have to promise, too, for dick can make me do anything he likes.
when we got to owlwood i left dick in the parlour and flew up to aunt tommy's room.
i found her all scrunched up on her bed in the dark with her face in the pillows.
""aunt tommy, dick is down in the parlour and he wants to see you," i said.
did n't aunt tommy fly up, though!
""oh, jill -- but i'm not fit to be seen -- tell him i'll be down in a few minutes."
i knew aunt tommy wanted to fix her hair and dab rose-water on her eyes, so i trotted meekly down and told dick.
then i flew out to jacky and dragged him around to the glass door.
it was all hung over with vines and a wee bit ajar so that we could see and hear everything that went on.
jacky said it was only sneaks that listened -- but he did n't say it until next day.
at the time he listened just as hard as i did.
i did n't care if it was mean.
i just had to listen.
i was perfectly wild to hear how a man would propose and how a girl would accept and it was too good a chance to lose.
presently in sweeps aunt tommy, in an elegant dress, not a hair out of place.
she looked perfectly sweet, only her nose was a little red.
dick looked at her for just a moment, then he stepped forward and took her right into his arms.
aunt tommy drew back her head for just a second as if she were going to crush him in the dust, and then she just all kind of crumpled up and her face went down on his shoulder.
""oh -- bertha -- i -- love -- you -- i -- love you," he said, just like that, all quick and jerky.
""you -- you have taken a queer way of showing it," said aunt tommy, all muffled.
""i -- i -- was led to believe that there was another man -- whom you cared for -- and i thought you were only trifling with me.
so i sulked like a jealous fool.
bertha, darling, you do love me a little, do n't you?"
aunt tommy lifted her head and stuck up her mouth and he kissed her.
and there it was, all over, and they were engaged as quick as that, mind you.
he did n't even go down on his knees.
there was nothing romantic about it and i was never so disgusted in my life.
when i grow up and anybody proposes to me he will have to be a good deal more flowery and eloquent than that, i can tell you, if he wants me to listen to him.
i left jacky peeking still and i went to bed.
after a long time aunt tommy came up to my room and sat down on my bed in the moonlight.
""you dear blessed elizabeth!"
she said.
""it's all right then, is it?"
i asked.
""yes, it is all right, thanks to you, dearie.
we are to be married in october and somebody must be my little flower girl."
""i think dick will make a splendid husband," i said.
""but aunt tommy, you must n't be too hard on jacky.
he only wanted to help things along, and it was i who put him up it in the first place."
""you have atoned by going and confessing," said aunt tommy with a hug, "jacky had no business to put that off on you.
i'll forgive him, of course, but i'll punish him by not letting him know that i will for a little while.
then i'll ask him to be a page at my wedding."
well, the wedding came off last week.
it was a perfectly gorgeous affair.
aunt tommy's dress was a dream -- and so was mine, all pink silk and chiffon and carnations.
jacky made a magnificent page too, in a suit of white velvet.
the wedding cake was four stories high, and dick looked perfectly handsome.
he kissed me too, right after he kissed aunt tommy.
so everything turned out all right, and i believe dick would never have dared to speak up if we had n't helped things along.
but jacky and i have decided that we will never meddle in an affair of the kind again.
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___lucy_maud_montgomery_short_stories,_1907_to_1908.txt.out
a millionaire's proposal thrush hill, oct. 5, 18 --.
it is all settled at last, and in another week i shall have left thrush hill.
i am a little bit sorry and a great bit glad.
i am going to montreal to spend the winter with alicia.
alicia -- it used to be plain alice when she lived at thrush hill and made her own dresses and trimmed her own hats -- is my half-sister.
she is eight years older than i am.
we are both orphans, and aunt elizabeth brought us up here at thrush hill, the most delightful old country place in the world, half smothered in big willows and poplars, every one of which i have climbed in the early tomboy days of gingham pinafores and sun-bonnets.
when alicia was eighteen she married roger gresham, a man of forty.
the world said that she married him for his money.
i dare say she did.
alicia was tired of poverty.
i do n't blame her.
very likely i shall do the same thing one of these days, if i get the chance -- for i too am tired of poverty.
when alicia went to montreal she wanted to take me with her, but i wanted to be outdoors, romping in the hay or running wild in the woods with jack.
jack willoughby -- dr. john h. willoughby, it reads on his office door -- was the son of our nearest neighbour.
we were chums always, and when he went away to college i was heartbroken.
the vacations were the only joy of my life then.
i do n't know just when i began to notice a change in jack, but when he came home two years ago, a full-fledged m.d. -- a great, tall, broad-shouldered fellow, with the sweetest moustache, and lovely thick black hair, just made for poking one's fingers through -- i realized it to the full.
jack was grown up.
the dear old days of bird-nesting and nutting and coasting and fishing and general delightful goings-on were over forever.
i was sorry at first.
i wanted "jack."
""dr. willoughby" seemed too distinguished and far away.
i suppose he found a change in me, too.
i had put on long skirts and wore my hair up.
i had also found out that i had a complexion, and that sunburn was not becoming.
i honestly thought i looked pretty, but jack surveyed me with decided disapprobation.
""what have you done to yourself?
you do n't look like the same girl.
i'd never know you in that rig-out, with all those flippery-trippery curls all over your head.
why do n't you comb your hair straight back, and let it hang in a braided tail, like you used to?"
this did n't suit me at all.
when i expect a compliment and get something quite different i always get snippy.
so i said, with what i intended to be crushing dignity, "that i supposed i was n't the same girl; i had grown up, and if he did n't like my curls he need n't look at them.
for my part, i thought them infinitely preferable to that horrid, conceited-looking moustache he had grown."
""i'll shave it off if it does n't suit you," said jack amiably.
jack is always so provokingly good-humoured.
when you've taken pains and put yourself out -- even to the extent of fibbing about a moustache -- to exasperate a person, there is nothing more annoying than to have him keep perfectly angelic.
but after a while jack and i adjusted ourselves to the change in each other and became very good friends again.
it was quite a different friendship from the old, but it was very pleasant.
yes, it was; i will admit that much.
i was provoked at jack's determination to settle down for life in valleyfield, a horrible, humdrum, little country village.
""you'll never make your fortune there, jack," i said spitefully.
""you'll just be a poor, struggling country doctor all your life, and you'll be grey at forty."
""i do n't expect to make a fortune, kitty," said jack quietly.
""do you think that is the one desirable thing?
i shall never be a rich man.
but riches are not the only thing that makes life pleasant."
""well, i think they have a good deal to do with it, anyhow," i retorted.
""it's all very well to pretend to despise wealth, but it's generally a case of sour grapes.
i will own up honestly that i'd love to be rich."
it always seems to make jack blue and grumpy when i talk like that.
i suppose that is one reason why he never asked me to settle down in life as a country doctor's wife.
another was, no doubt, that i always nipped his sentimental sproutings religiously in the bud.
three weeks ago alicia wrote to me, asking me to spend the winter with her.
her letters always make me just gasp with longing for the life they describe.
jack's face, when i told him about it, was so woebegone that i felt a stab of remorse, even in the heyday of my delight.
""do you really mean it, kitty?
are you going away to leave me?"
""you wo n't miss me much," i said flippantly -- i had a creepy, crawly presentiment that a scene of some kind was threatening -- "and i'm awfully tired of thrush hill and country life, jack.
i suppose it is horribly ungrateful of me to say so, but it is the truth."
""i shall miss you," he said soberly.
somehow he had my hands in his.
how did he ever get them?
i was sure i had them safely tucked out of harm's way behind me.
""you know, kitty, that i love you.
i am a poor man -- perhaps i may never be anything else -- and this may seem to you very presumptuous.
but i can not let you go like this.
will you be my wife, dear?"
was n't it horribly straightforward and direct?
so like jack!
i tried to pull my hands away, but he held them fast.
there was nothing to do but answer him.
that "no" i had determined to say must be said, but, oh!
how woefully it did stick in my throat!
and i honestly believe that by the time i got it out it would have been transformed into a "yes," in spite of me, had it not been for a certain paragraph in alicia's letter which came providentially to my mind: not to flatter you, katherine, you are a beauty, my dear -- if your photo is to be trusted.
if you have not discovered that fact before -- how should you, indeed, in a place like thrush hill?
-- you soon will in montreal.
with your face and figure you will make a sensation.
there is to be a nephew of the sinclairs here this winter.
he is an american, immensely wealthy, and will be the catch of the season.
a word to the wise, etc..
do n't get into any foolish entanglement down there.
i have heard some gossip of you and our old playfellow, jack willoughby.
i hope it is nothing but gossip.
you can do better than that, katherine.
that settled jack's fate, if there ever had been any doubt.
""do n't talk like that, jack," i said hurriedly.
""it is all nonsense.
i think a great deal of you as a friend and -- and -- all that, you know.
but i can never marry you."
""are you sure, kitty?"
said jack earnestly.
""do n't you care for me at all?"
it was horrid of jack to ask that question!
""no," i said miserably, "not -- not in that way, jack.
oh, do n't ever say anything like this to me again."
he let go of my hands then, white to the lips.
""oh, do n't look like that, jack," i entreated.
""i ca n't help it," he said in a low voice.
""but i wo n't bother you again, dear.
it was foolish of me to expect -- to hope for anything of the sort.
you are a thousand times too good for me, i know."
""oh, indeed i'm not, jack," i protested.
""if you knew how horrid i am, really, you'd be glad and thankful for your escape.
oh, jack, i wish people never grew up."
jack smiled sadly.
""do n't feel badly over this, kitty.
it is n't your fault.
good night, dear."
he turned my face up and kissed me squarely on the mouth.
he had never kissed me since the summer before he went away to college.
somehow it did n't seem a bit the same as it used to; it was -- nicer now.
after he went away i came upstairs and had a good, comfortable howl.
then i buried the whole affair decently.
i am not going to think of it any more.
i shall always have the highest esteem for jack, and i hope he will soon find some nice girl who will make him happy.
mary carter would jump at him, i know.
to be sure, she is as homely as she can be and live.
but, then, jack is always telling me how little he cares for beauty, so i have no doubt she will suit him admirably.
as for myself -- well, i am ambitious.
i do n't suppose my ambition is a very lofty one, but such as it is i mean to hunt it down.
come.
let me put it down in black and white, once for all, and see how it looks: i mean to marry the rich nephew of the sinclairs.
there!
it is out, and i feel better.
how mercenary and awful it looks written out in cold blood like that.
i would n't have jack or aunt elizabeth -- dear, unworldly old soul -- see it for the world.
but i would n't mind alicia.
poor dear jack!
* * * * * montreal, dec. 16, 18 --.
this is a nice way to keep a journal.
but the days when i could write regularly are gone by.
that was when i was at thrush hill.
i am having a simply divine time.
how in the world did i ever contrive to live at thrush hill?
to be sure, i felt badly enough that day in october when i left it.
when the train left valleyfield i just cried like a baby.
alicia and roger welcomed me very heartily, and after the first week of homesickness -- i shiver yet when i think of it -- was over, i settled down to my new life as if i had been born to it.
alicia has a magnificent home and everything heart could wish for -- jewels, carriages, servants, opera boxes, and social position.
roger is a model husband apparently.
i must also admit that he is a model brother-in-law.
i could feel alicia looking me over critically the moment we met.
i trembled with suspense, but i was soon relieved.
""do you know, katherine, i am glad to see that your photograph did n't flatter you.
photographs so often do, i am positively surprised at the way you have developed, my dear; you used to be such a scrawny little brown thing.
by the way, i hope there is nothing between you and jack willoughby?"
""no, of course not," i answered hurriedly.
i had intended to tell alicia all about jack, but when it came to the point i could n't.
""i am glad of that," said alicia, with a relieved air.
""of course, i've no doubt jack is a good fellow enough.
he was a nice boy.
but he would not be a suitable husband for you, katherine."
i knew that very well.
that was just why i had refused him.
but it made me wince to hear alicia say it.
i instantly froze up -- alicia says dignity is becoming to me -- and jack's name has never been mentioned between us since.
i made my bow to society at an "at home" which alicia gave for that purpose.
she drilled me well beforehand, and i think i acquitted myself decently.
charlie vankleek, whose verdict makes or mars every debutante in his set, has approved of me.
he called me a beauty, and everybody now believes that i am one, and greets me accordingly.
i met gus sinclair at mrs. brompton's dinner.
alicia declares it was a case of love at first sight.
if so, i must confess that it was all on one side.
mr. sinclair is undeniably ugly -- even alicia has to admit that -- and ca n't hold a candle to jack in point of looks, for jack, poor boy, was handsome, if he were nothing else.
but, as alicia does not fail to remind me, mr. sinclair's homeliness is well gilded.
apart from his appearance, i really liked him very much.
he is a gentlemanly little fellow -- his head reaches about to my shoulder -- cultured and travelled, and can talk splendidly, which jack never could.
he took me into dinner at mrs. brompton's, and was very attentive.
you may imagine how many angelic glances i received from the other candidates for his favour.
since then i have been having the gayest time imaginable.
dances, dinners, luncheons, afternoon teas, "functions" to no end, and all delightful.
aunt elizabeth writes to me, but i have never heard a word from jack.
he seems to have forgotten my existence completely.
no doubt he has consoled himself with mary carter.
well, that is all for the best, but i must say i did not think jack could have forgotten me so soon or so absolutely.
of course it does not make the least difference to me.
the sinclairs and the bromptons and the curries are to dine here tonight.
i can see myself reflected in the long mirror before me, and i really think my appearance will satisfy even gus sinclair's critical eye.
i am pale, as usual, i never have any colour.
that used to be one of jack's grievances.
he likes pink and white milkmaidish girls.
my "magnificent pallor" did n't suit him at all.
but, what is more to the purpose, it suits gus sinclair.
he admires the statuesque style.
* * * * * montreal, jan. 20, 18 --.
here it is a whole month since my last entry.
i am sitting here decked out in "gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls" for mrs. currie's dance.
these few minutes, after i emerge from the hands of my maid and before the carriage is announced, are almost the only ones i ever have to myself.
i am having a good time still.
somehow, though, it is n't as exciting as it used to be.
i'm afraid i'm very changeable.
i believe i must be homesick.
i'd love to get a glimpse of dear old thrush hill and aunt elizabeth, and j -- but, no!
i will not write that.
mr. sinclair has not spoken yet, but there is no doubt that he soon will.
of course, i shall accept him when he does, and i coolly told alicia so when she just as coolly asked me what i meant to do.
""certainly, i shall marry him," i said crossly, for the subject always irritates me.
""have n't i been laying myself out all winter to catch him?
that is the bold, naked truth, and ugly enough it is.
my dearly beloved sister, i mean to accept mr. sinclair, without any hesitation, whenever i get the chance."
""i give you credit for more sense than to dream of doing anything else," said alicia in relieved tones.
""katherine, you are a very lucky girl."
""because i am going to marry a rich man for his money?"
i said coldly.
sometimes i get snippy with alicia these days.
""no," said my half-sister in an exasperated way.
""why will you persist in speaking in that way?
you are very provoking.
it is not likely i would wish to see you throw yourself away on a poor man, and i'm sure you must like gus."
""oh, yes, i like him well enough," i said listlessly.
""to be sure, i did think once, in my salad days, that liking was n't quite all in an affair of this kind.
i was absurd enough to imagine that love had something to do with it."
""do n't talk so nonsensically," said alicia sharply.
""love!
well, of course, you ought to love your husband, and you will.
he loves you enough, at all events."
""alicia," i said earnestly, looking her straight in the face and speaking bluntly enough to have satisfied even jack's love of straightforwardness, "you married for money and position, so people say.
are you happy?"
for the first time that i remembered, alicia blushed.
she was very angry.
""yes, i did marry for money," she said sharply, "and i do n't regret it.
thank heaven, i never was a fool."
""do n't be vexed, alicia," i entreated.
""i only asked because -- well, it is no matter."
* * * * * montreal, jan. 25, 18 --.
it is bedtime, but i am too excited and happy and miserable to sleep.
jack has been here -- dear old jack!
how glad i was to see him.
his coming was so unexpected.
i was sitting alone in my room this afternoon -- i believe i was moping -- when bessie brought up his card.
i gave it one rapturous look and tore downstairs, passing alicia in the hall like a whirlwind, and burst into the drawing-room in a most undignified way.
""jack!"
i cried, holding out both hands to him in welcome.
there he was, just the same old jack, with his splendid big shoulders and his lovely brown eyes.
and his necktie was crooked, too; as soon as i could get my hands free i put them up and straightened it out for him.
how nice and old-timey that was!
""so you are glad to see me, kitty?"
he said as he squeezed my hands in his big strong paws."
"deed and "deed i am, jack.
i thought you had forgotten me altogether.
and i've been so homesick and so -- so everything," i said incoherently.
""and, oh, jack, i've so many questions to ask i do n't know where to begin.
tell me all the thrush hill and valleyfield news, tell me everything that has happened since i left.
how many people have you killed off?
and, oh, why did n't you come to see me before?"
""i did n't think i should be wanted, kitty," jack answered quietly.
""you seemed to be so absorbed in your new life that old friends and interests were crowded out."
""so i was at first," i answered penitently.
""i was dazzled, you know.
the glare was too much for my thrush hill brown.
but it's different now.
how did you happen to come, jack?"
""i had to come to montreal on business, and i thought it would be too bad if i went back without coming to see what they had been doing in vanity fair to my little playmate."
""well, what do you think they have been doing?"
i asked saucily.
i had on a particularly fetching gown and knew i was looking my best.
jack, however, looked me over with his head on one side.
""well, i do n't know, kitty," he said slowly.
""that is a stunning sort of dress you have on -- not so pretty, though, as that old blue muslin you used to wear last summer -- and your hair is pretty good.
but you look rather disdainful and, after all, i believe i prefer thrush hill kitty."
how like jack that was.
he never thought me really pretty, and he is too honest to pretend he does.
but i did n't care.
i just laughed, and we sat down together and had a long, delightful, chummy talk.
jack told me all the valleyfield gossip, not forgetting to mention that mary carter was going to be married to a minister in june.
jack did n't seem to mind it a bit, so i guess he could n't have been particularly interested in mary.
in due time alicia sailed in.
i suppose she had found out from bessie who my caller was, and felt rather worried over the length of our tête-à-tête.
she greeted jack very graciously, but with a certain polite condescension of which she is past mistress.
i am sure jack felt it, for, as soon as he decently could, he got up to go.
alicia asked him to remain to dinner.
""we are having a few friends to dine with us, but it is quite an informal affair," she said sweetly.
i felt that jack glanced at me for the fraction of a second.
but i remembered that gus sinclair was coming too, and i did not look at him.
then he declined quietly.
he had a business engagement, he said.
i suppose alicia had noticed that look at me, for she showed her claws.
""do n't forget to call any time you are in montreal," she said more sweetly than ever.
""i am sure katherine will always be glad to see any of her old friends, although some of her new ones are proving very absorbing -- one, in especial.
do n't blush, katherine, i am sure mr. willoughby wo n't tell any tales out of school to your old valleyfield friends."
i was not blushing, and i was furious.
it was really too bad of alicia, although i do n't see why i need have cared.
alicia kept her eye on us both until jack was fairly gone.
then she remarked in the patronizing tone which i detest: "really, katherine, jack willoughby has developed into quite a passable-looking fellow, although he is rather shabby.
but i suppose he is poor."
""yes," i answered curtly, "he is poor, in everything except youth and manhood and goodness and truth!
but i suppose those do n't count for anything."
whereupon alicia lifted her eyebrows and looked me over.
just at dusk a box arrived with jack's compliments.
it was full of lovely white carnations, and must have cost the extravagant fellow more than he has any business to waste on flowers.
i was beast enough to put them on when i went down to listen to another man's love-making.
this evening i sparkled and scintillated with unusual brilliancy, for jack's visit and my consequent crossing of swords with alicia had produced a certain elation of spirits.
when gus sinclair was leaving he asked if he might see me alone tomorrow afternoon.
i knew what that meant, and a cold shiver went up and down my backbone.
but i looked down at him -- spick-and-span and glossy -- his neckties are never crooked -- and said, yes, he might come at three o'clock.
alicia had noticed our aside -- when did anything ever escape her?
-- and when he was gone she asked, significantly, what secret he had been telling me.
""he wants to see me alone tomorrow afternoon.
i suppose you know what that means, alicia?"
""ah," purred alicia, "i congratulate you, my dear."
""are n't your congratulations a little premature?"
i asked coldly.
""i have n't accepted him yet."
""but you will?"
""oh, certainly.
is n't it what we've schemed and angled for?
i'm very well satisfied."
and so i am.
but i wish it had n't come so soon after jack's visit, because i feel rather upset yet.
of course i like gus sinclair very much, and i am sure i shall be very fond of him.
well, i must go to bed now and get my beauty sleep.
i do n't want to be haggard and hollow-eyed at that important interview tomorrow -- an interview that will decide my destiny.
* * * * * thrush hill, may 6, 18 --.
well, it did decide it, but not exactly in the way i anticipated.
i can look back on the whole affair quite calmly now, but i would n't live it over again for all the wealth of ind..
that day when gus sinclair came i was all ready for him.
i had put on my very prettiest new gown to do honour to the occasion, and alicia smilingly assured me i was looking very well.
""and so cool and composed.
will you be able to keep that up?
do n't you really feel a little nervous, katherine?"
""not in the least," i said.
""i suppose i ought to be, according to traditions, but i never felt less flustered in my life."
when bessie brought up gus sinclair's card alicia dropped a pecky little kiss on my cheek, and pushed me toward the door.
i went down calmly, although i'll admit that my heart was beating wildly.
gus sinclair was plainly nervous, but i was composed enough for both.
you would really have thought that i was in the habit of being proposed to by a millionaire every day.
""i suppose you know what i have come to say," he said, standing before me, as i leaned gracefully back in a big chair, having taken care that the folds of my dress fell just as they should.
and then he proceeded to say it in a rather jumbled-up fashion, but very sincerely.
i remember thinking at the time that he must have composed the speech in his head the night before, and rehearsed it several times, but was forgetting it in spots.
when he ended with the self-same question that jack had asked me three months before at thrush hill he stopped and took my hands.
i looked up at him.
his good, homely face was close to mine, and in his eyes was an unmistakable look of love and tenderness.
i opened my mouth to say yes.
and then there came over me in one rush the most awful realization of the sacrilege i was going to commit.
i forgot everything except that i loved jack willoughby, and that i could never, never marry anybody in the world except him.
then i pulled my hands away and burst into hysterical, undignified tears.
""i beg your pardon," said mr. sinclair.
""i did not mean to startle you.
have i been too abrupt?
surely you must have known -- you must have expected --" "yes -- yes -- i knew," i cried miserably, "and i intended right up to this very minute to marry you.
i'm so sorry -- but i ca n't -- i ca n't."
""i do n't understand," he said in a bewildered tone.
""if you expected it, then why -- why -- do n't you care for me?"
""no, that's just it," i sobbed.
""i do n't love you at all -- and i do love somebody else.
but he is poor, and i hate poverty.
so i refused him, and i meant to marry you just because you are rich."
such a pained look came over his face.
""i did not think this of you," he said in a low tone.
""oh, i know i have acted shamefully," i said.
""you ca n't think any worse of me than i do of myself.
how you must despise me!"
""no," he said, with a grim smile, "if i did it would be easier for me.
i might not love you then.
do n't distress yourself, katherine.
i do not deny that i feel greatly hurt and disappointed, but i am glad you have been true to yourself at last.
do n't cry, dear."
""you're very good," i answered disconsolately, "but all the same the fact remains that i have behaved disgracefully to you, and i know you think so.
oh, mr. sinclair, please, please, go away.
i feel so miserably ashamed of myself that i can not look you in the face."
""i am going, dear," he said gently.
""i know all this must be very painful to you, but it is not easy for me, either."
""can you forgive me?"
i said wistfully.
""yes, my dear, completely.
do not let yourself be unhappy over this.
remember that i will always be your friend.
goodbye."
he held out his hand and gave mine an earnest clasp.
then he went away.
i remained in the drawing-room, partly because i wanted to finish out my cry, and partly because, miserable coward that i was, i did n't dare face alicia.
finally she came in, her face wreathed with anticipatory smiles.
but when her eyes fell on my forlorn, crumpled self she fairly jumped.
""katherine, what is the matter?"
she asked sharply.
""did n't mr. sinclair --" "yes, he did," i said desperately.
""and i've refused him.
there now, alicia!"
then i waited for the storm to burst.
it did n't all at once.
the shock was too great, and at first quite paralyzed my half-sister.
""katherine," she gasped, "are you crazy?
have you lost your senses?"
""no, i've just come to them.
it's true enough, alicia.
you can scold all you like.
i know i deserve it, and i wo n't flinch.
i did really intend to take him, but when it came to the point i could n't.
i did n't love him."
then, indeed, the storm burst.
i never saw alicia so angry before, and i never got so roundly abused.
but even alicia has her limits, and at last she grew calmer.
""you have behaved disgracefully," she concluded.
""i am disgusted with you.
you have encouraged gus sinclair markedly right along, and now you throw him over like this.
i never dreamed that you were capable of such unwomanly behaviour."
""that's a hard word, alicia," i protested feebly.
she dealt me a withering glance.
""it does not begin to be as hard as your shameful conduct merits.
to think of losing a fortune like that for the sake of sentimental folly!
i did n't think you were such a consummate fool."
""i suppose you absorbed all the sense of our family," i said drearily.
""there now, alicia, do leave me alone.
i'm down in the very depths already."
""what do you mean to do now?"
said alicia scornfully.
""go back to valleyfield and marry that starving country doctor of yours, i suppose?"
i flared up then; alicia might abuse me all she liked, but i was n't going to hear a word against jack.
""yes, i will, if he'll have me," i said, and i marched out of the room and upstairs, with my head very high.
of course i decided to leave montreal as soon as i could.
but i could n't get away within a week, and it was a very unpleasant one.
alicia treated me with icy indifference, and i knew i should never be reinstated in her good graces.
to my surprise, roger took my part.
""let the girl alone," he told alicia.
""if she does n't love sinclair, she was right in refusing him.
i, for one, am glad that she has got enough truth and womanliness in her to keep her from selling herself."
then he came to the library where i was moping, and laid his hand on my head.
""little girl," he said earnestly, "no matter what anyone says to you, never marry a man for his money or for any other reason on earth except because you love him."
this comforted me greatly, and i did not cry myself to sleep that night as usual.
at last i got away.
i had telegraphed to jack: "am coming home wednesday; meet me at train," and i knew he would be there.
how i longed to see him again -- dear, old, badly treated jack.
i got to valleyfield just at dusk.
it was a rainy evening, and everything was slush and fog and gloom.
but away up i saw the home light at thrush hill, and jack was waiting for me on the platform.
""oh, jack!"
i said, clinging to him, regardless of appearances.
""oh, i'm so glad to be back."
""that's right, kitty.
i knew you would n't forget us.
how well you are looking!"
""i suppose i ought to be looking wretched," i said penitently.
""i've been behaving very badly, jack.
wait till we get away from the crowd and i'll tell you all about it."
and i did.
i did n't gloss over anything, but just confessed the whole truth.
jack heard me through in silence, and then he kissed me.
""can you forgive me, jack, and take me back?"
i whispered, cuddling up to him.
and he said -- but, on second thought, i will not write down what he said.
we are to be married in june.
a substitute journalist clifford baxter came into the sitting-room where patty was darning stockings and reading a book at the same time.
patty could do things like that.
the stockings were well darned too, and patty understood and remembered what she read.
clifford flung himself into a chair with a sigh of weariness.
""tired?"
queried patty sympathetically.
""yes, rather.
i've been tramping about the wharves all day gathering longshore items.
but, patty, i've got a chance at last.
tonight as i was leaving the office mr. harmer gave me a real assignment for tomorrow -- two of them in fact, but only one of importance.
i'm to go and interview mr. keefe on this new railroad bill that's up before the legislature.
he's in town, visiting his old college friend, mr. reid, and he's quite big game.
i would n't have had the assignment, of course, if there'd been anyone else to send, but most of the staff will be away all day tomorrow to see about that mine explosion at midbury or the teamsters" strike at bainsville, and i'm the only one available.
harmer gave me a pretty broad hint that it was my chance to win my spurs, and that if i worked up a good article out of it i'd stand a fair show of being taken on permanently next month when alsop leaves.
there'll be a shuffle all round then, you know.
everybody on the staff will be pushed up a peg, and that will leave a vacant space at the foot."
patty threw down her darning needle and clapped her hands with delight.
clifford gazed at her admiringly, thinking that he had the prettiest sister in the world -- she was so bright, so eager, so rosy.
""oh, clifford, how splendid!"
she exclaimed.
""just as we'd begun to give up hope too.
oh, you must get the position!
you must hand in a good write-up.
think what it means to us."
""yes, i know."
clifford dropped his head on his hand and stared rather moodily at the lamp.
""but my joy is chastened, patty.
of course i want to get the permanency, since it seems to be the only possible thing, but you know my heart is n't really in newspaper work.
the plain truth is i do n't like it, although i do my best.
you know father always said i was a born mechanic.
if i only could get a position somewhere among machinery -- that would be my choice.
there's one vacant in the steel and iron works at bancroft -- but of course i've no chance of getting it."
""i know.
it's too bad," said patty, returning to her stockings with a sigh.
""i wish i were a boy with a foothold on the chronicle.
i firmly believe that i'd make a good newspaper woman, if such a thing had ever been heard of in aylmer."
""that you would.
you've twice as much knack in that line as i have.
you seem to know by instinct just what to leave out and put in.
i never do, and harmer has to blue-pencil my copy mercilessly.
well, i'll do my best with this, as it's very necessary i should get the permanency, for i fear our family purse is growing very slim.
mother's face has a new wrinkle of worry every day.
it hurts me to see it."
""and me," sighed patty.
""i do wish i could find something to do too.
if only we both could get positions, everything would be all right.
mother would n't have to worry so.
do n't say anything about this chance to her until you see what comes of it.
she'd only be doubly disappointed if nothing did.
what is your other assignment?"
""oh, i've got to go out to bancroft on the morning train and write up old mr. moreland's birthday celebration.
he is a hundred years old, and there's going to be a presentation and speeches and that sort of thing.
nothing very exciting about it.
i'll have to come back on the three o'clock train and hurry out to catch my politician before he leaves at five.
take a stroll down to meet my train, patty.
we can go out as far as mr. reid's house together, and the walk will do you good."
the baxters lived in aylmer, a lively little town with two newspapers, the chronicle and the ledger.
between these two was a sharp journalistic rivalry in the matter of "beats" and "scoops."
in the preceding spring clifford had been taken on the chronicle on trial, as a sort of general handyman.
there was no pay attached to the position, but he was getting training and there was the possibility of a permanency in september if he proved his mettle.
mr. baxter had died two years before, and the failure of the company in which mrs. baxter's money was invested had left the little family dependent on their own resources.
clifford, who had cherished dreams of a course in mechanical engineering, knew that he must give them up and go to the first work that offered itself, which he did staunchly and uncomplainingly.
patty, who hitherto had had no designs on a "career," but had been sunnily content to be a home girl and mother's right hand, also realized that it would be well to look about her for something to do.
she was not really needed so far as the work of the little house went, and the whole burden must not be allowed to fall on clifford's eighteen-year-old shoulders.
patty was his senior by a year, and ready to do her part unflinchingly.
the next afternoon patty went down to meet clifford's train.
when it came, no clifford appeared.
patty stared about her at the hurrying throngs in bewilderment.
where was clifford?
had n't he come on the train?
surely he must have, for there was no other until seven o'clock.
she must have missed him somehow.
patty waited until everybody had left the station, then she walked slowly homeward.
as the chronicle office was on her way, she dropped in to see if clifford had reported there.
she found nobody in the editorial offices except the office boy, larry brown, who promptly informed her that not only had clifford not arrived, but that there was a telegram from him saying that he had missed his train.
patty gasped in dismay.
it was dreadful!
""where is mr. harmer?"
she asked.
""he went home as soon as the afternoon edition came out.
he left before the telegram came.
he'll be furious when he finds out that nobody has gone to interview that foxy old politician," said larry, who knew all about clifford's assignment and its importance.
""is n't there anyone else here to go?"
queried patty desperately.
larry shook his head.
""no, there is n't a soul in.
we're mighty short-handed just now on account of the explosion and the strike."
patty went downstairs and stood for a moment in the hall, rapt in reflection.
if she had been at home, she verily believed she would have sat down and cried.
oh, it was too bad, too disappointing!
clifford would certainly lose all chance of the permanency, even if the irate news editor did not discharge him at once.
what could she do?
could she do anything?
she must do something.
""if i only could go in his place," moaned patty softly to herself.
then she started.
why not?
why not go and interview the big man herself?
to be sure, she did not know a great deal about interviewing, still less about railroad bills, and nothing at all about politics.
but if she did her best it might be better than nothing, and might at least save clifford his present hold.
with patty, to decide was to act.
she flew back to the reporters" room, pounced on a pencil and tablet, and hurried off, her breath coming quickly, and her eyes shining with excitement.
it was quite a long walk out to mr. reid's place and patty was tired when she got there, but her courage was not a whit abated.
she mounted the steps and rang the bell undauntedly.
""can i see mr. -- mr. -- mr. --" patty paused for a moment in dismay.
she had forgotten the name.
the maid who had come to the door looked her over so superciliously that patty flushed with indignation.
""the gentleman who is visiting mr. reid," she said crisply.
""i ca n't remember his name, but i've come to interview him on behalf of the chronicle.
is he in?"
""if you mean mr. reefer, he is," said the maid quite respectfully.
evidently the chronicle's name carried weight in the reid establishment.
""please come into the library.
i'll go and tell him."
patty had just time to seat herself at the table, spread out her paper imposingly, and assume a businesslike air when mr. reefer came in.
he was a tall, handsome old man with white hair, jet-black eyes, and a mouth that made patty hope she would n't stumble on any questions he would n't want to answer.
patty knew she would waste her breath if she did.
a man with a mouth like that would never tell anything he did n't want to tell.
""good afternoon.
what can i do for you, madam?"
inquired mr. reefer with the air and tone of a man who means to be courteous, but has no time or information to waste.
patty was almost overcome by the "madam."
for a moment, she quailed.
she could n't ask that masculine sphinx questions!
then the thought of her mother's pale, careworn face flashed across her mind, and all her courage came back with an inspiriting rush.
she bent forward to look eagerly into mr. reefer's carved, granite face, and said with a frank smile: "i have come to interview you on behalf of the chronicle about the railroad bill.
it was my brother who had the assignment, but he has missed his train and i have come in his place because, you see, it is so important to us.
so much depends on this assignment.
perhaps mr. harmer will give clifford a permanent place on the staff if he turns in a good article about you.
he is only handyman now.
i just could n't let him miss the chance -- he might never have another.
and it means so much to us and mother."
""are you a member of the chronicle staff yourself?"
inquired mr. reefer with a shade more geniality in his tone.
""oh, no!
i've nothing to do with it, so you wo n't mind my being inexperienced, will you?
i do n't know just what i should ask you, so wo n't you please just tell me everything about the bill, and mr. harmer can cut out what does n't matter?"
mr. reefer looked at patty for a few moments with a face about as expressive as a graven image.
perhaps he was thinking about the bill, and perhaps he was thinking what a bright, vivid, plucky little girl this was with her waiting pencil and her air that strove to be businesslike, and only succeeded in being eager and hopeful and anxious.
""i'm not used to being interviewed myself," he said slowly, "so i do n't know very much about it.
we're both green hands together, i imagine.
but i'd like to help you out, so i do n't mind telling you what i think about this bill, and its bearing on certain important interests."
mr. reefer proceeded to tell her, and patty's pencil flew as she scribbled down his terse, pithy sentences.
she found herself asking questions too, and enjoying it.
for the first time, patty thought she might rather like politics if she understood them -- and they did not seem so hard to understand when a man like mr. reefer explained them.
for half an hour he talked to her, and at the end of that time patty was in full possession of his opinion on the famous railroad bill in all its aspects.
""there now, i'm talked out," said mr. reefer.
""you can tell your news editor that you know as much about the railroad bill as andrew reefer knows.
i hope you'll succeed in pleasing him, and that your brother will get the position he wants.
but he should n't have missed that train.
you tell him that.
boys with important things to do must n't miss trains.
perhaps it's just as well he did in this case though, but tell him not to let it happen again."
patty went straight home, wrote up her interview in ship-shape form, and took it down to the chronicle office.
there she found mr. harmer, scowling blackly.
the little news editor looked to be in a rather bad temper, but he nodded not unkindly to patty.
mr. harmer knew the baxters well and liked them, although he would have sacrificed them all without a qualm for a "scoop."
""good evening, patty.
take a chair.
that brother of yours has n't turned up yet.
the next time i give him an assignment, he'll manage to be on hand in time to do it."
""oh," cried patty breathlessly, "please, mr. harmer, i have the interview here.
i thought perhaps i could do it in clifford's place, and i went out to mr. reid's and saw mr. reefer.
he was very kind and --" "mr. who?"
fairly shouted mr. harmer.
""mr. reefer -- mr. andrew reefer.
he told me to tell you that this article contained all he knew or thought about the railroad bill and --" but mr. harmer was no longer listening.
he had snatched the neatly written sheets of patty's report and was skimming over them with a practised eye.
then patty thought he must have gone crazy.
he danced around the office, waving the sheets in the air, and then he dashed frantically up the stairs to the composing room.
ten minutes later, he returned and shook the mystified patty by the hand.
""patty, it's the biggest beat we've ever had!
we've scooped not only the ledger, but every other newspaper in the country.
how did you do it?
how did you ever beguile or bewitch andrew reefer into giving you an interview?"
""why," said patty in utter bewilderment, "i just went out to mr. reid's and asked for the gentleman who was visiting there -- i'd forgotten his name -- and mr. reefer came down and i told him my brother had been detailed to interview him on behalf of the chronicle about the bill, and that clifford had missed his train, and would n't he let me interview him in his place and excuse my inexperience -- and he did."
""it was n't andrew reefer i told clifford to interview," laughed mr. harmer.
""it was john c. keefe.
i did n't know reefer was in town, but even if i had i would n't have thought it a particle of use to send a man to him.
he has never consented to be interviewed before on any known subject, and he's been especially close-mouthed about this bill, although men from all the big papers in the country have been after him.
he is notorious on that score.
why, patty, it's the biggest journalistic fish that has ever been landed in this office.
andrew reefer's opinion on the bill will have a tremendous influence.
we'll run the interview as a leader in a special edition that is under way already.
of course, he must have been ready to give the information to the public or nothing would have induced him to open his mouth.
but to think that we should be the first to get it!
patty, you're a brick!"
clifford came home on the seven o'clock train, and patty was there to meet him, brimful of her story.
but clifford also had a story to tell and got his word in first.
""now, patty, do n't scold until you hear why i missed the train.
i met mr. peabody of the steel and iron company at mr. moreland's and got into conversation with him.
when he found out who i was, he was greatly interested and said father had been one of his best friends when they were at college together.
i told him about wanting to get the position in the company, and he had me go right out to the works and see about it.
and, patty, i have the place.
goodbye to the grind of newspaper items and fillers.
i tried to get back to the station at bancroft in time to catch the train but i could n't, and it was just as well, for mr. keefe was suddenly summoned home this afternoon, and when the three-thirty train from town stopped at bancroft he was on it.
i found that out and i got on, going to the next station with him and getting my interview after all.
it's here in my notebook, and i must hurry up to the office and hand it in.
i suppose mr. harmer will be very much vexed until he finds that i have it."
""oh, no.
mr. harmer is in a very good humour," said patty with dancing eyes.
then she told her story.
the interview with mr. reefer came out with glaring headlines, and the chronicle had its hour of fame and glory.
the next day mr. harmer sent word to patty that he wanted to see her.
""so clifford is leaving," he said abruptly when she entered the office.
""well, do you want his place?"
""mr. harmer, are you joking?"
demanded patty in amazement.
""not i.
that stuff you handed in was splendidly written -- i did n't have to use the pencil more than once or twice.
you have the proper journalist instinct all right.
we need a lady on the staff anyhow, and if you'll take the place it's yours for saying so, and the permanency next month."
""i'll take it," said patty promptly and joyfully.
""good.
go down to the symphony club rehearsal this afternoon and report it.
you've just ten minutes to get there," and patty joyfully and promptly departed.
anna's love letters "are you going to answer gilbert's letter tonight, anna?"
asked alma williams, standing in the pantry doorway, tall, fair, and grey-eyed, with the sunset light coming down over the dark firs, through the window behind her, and making a primrose nimbus around her shapely head.
anna, dark, vivid, and slender, was perched on the edge of the table, idly swinging her slippered foot at the cat's head.
she smiled wickedly at alma before replying.
""i am not going to answer it tonight or any other night," she said, twisting her full, red lips in a way that alma had learned to dread.
mischief was ripening in anna's brain when that twist was out.
""what do you mean?"
asked alma anxiously.
""just what i say, dear," responded anna, with deceptive meekness.
""poor gilbert is gone, and i do n't intend to bother my head about him any longer.
he was amusing while he lasted, but of what use is a beau two thousand miles away, alma?"
alma was patient -- outwardly.
it was never of any avail to show impatience with anna.
""anna, you are talking foolishly.
of course you are going to answer his letter.
you are as good as engaged to him.
was n't that practically understood when he left?"
""no, no, dear," and anna shook her sleek black head with the air of explaining matters to an obtuse child."
i was the only one who understood.
gil mis_understood.
he thought that i would really wait for him until he should have made enough money to come home and pay off the mortgage.
i let him think so, because i hated to hurt his little feelings.
but now it's off with the old love and on with a new one for me."
""anna, you can not be in earnest!"
exclaimed alma.
but she was afraid that anna was in earnest.
anna had a wretched habit of being in earnest when she said flippant things.
""you do n't mean that you are not going to write to gilbert at all -- after all you promised?"
anna placed her elbows daintily on the top of the rocking chair, dropped her pointed chin in her hands, and looked at alma with black demure eyes.
""i -- do -- mean -- just -- that," she said slowly.
""i never mean to marry gilbert murray.
this is final, alma, and you need not scold or coax, because it would be a waste of breath.
gilbert is safely out of the way, and now i am going to have a good time with a few other delightful men creatures in exeter."
anna nodded decisively, flashed a smile at alma, picked up her cat, and went out.
at the door she turned and looked back, with the big black cat snuggled under her chin.
""if you think gilbert will feel very badly over his letter not being answered, you might answer it yourself, alma," she said teasingly.
""there it is" -- she took the letter from the pocket of her ruffled apron and threw it on a chair.
""you may read it if you want to; it is n't really a love letter.
i told gilbert he was n't to write silly letters.
come, pussy, i'm going to get ready for prayer meeting.
we've got a nice, new, young, good-looking minister in exeter, pussy, and that makes prayer meeting very interesting."
anna shut the door, her departing laugh rippling mockingly through the dusk.
alma picked up gilbert murray's letter and went to her room.
she wanted to cry, since she could not shake anna.
even if she could have shook her, it would only have made her more perverse.
anna was in earnest; alma knew that, even while she hoped and believed that it was but the earnestness of a freak that would pass in time.
anna had had one like it a year ago, when she had cast gilbert off for three months, driving him distracted by flirting with charlie moore.
then she had suddenly repented and taken him back.
alma thought that this whim would run its course likewise and leave a repentant anna.
but meanwhile everything might be spoiled.
gilbert might not prove forgiving a second time.
alma would have given much if she could only have induced anna to answer gilbert's letter, but coaxing anna to do anything was a very sure and effective way of preventing her from doing it.
* * * * * alma and anna had lived alone at the old williams homestead ever since their mother's death four years before.
exeter matrons thought this hardly proper, since alma, in spite of her grave ways, was only twenty-four.
the farm was rented, so that alma's only responsibilities were the post office which she kept, and that harum-scarum beauty of an anna.
the murray homestead adjoined theirs.
gilbert murray had grown up with alma; they had been friends ever since she could remember.
alma loved gilbert with a love which she herself believed to be purely sisterly, and which nobody else doubted could be, since she had been at pains to make a match -- exeter matrons" phrasing -- between gil and anna, and was manifestly delighted when gilbert obligingly fell in love with the latter.
there was a small mortgage on the murray place which mr. murray senior had not been able to pay off.
gilbert determined to get rid of it, and his thoughts turned to the west.
his father was an active, hale old man, quite capable of managing the farm in gilbert's absence.
alexander macnair had gone to the west two years previously and got work on a new railroad.
he wrote to gilbert to come too, promising him plenty of work and good pay.
gilbert went, but before going he had asked anna to marry him.
it was the first proposal anna had ever had, and she managed it quite cleverly, from her standpoint.
she told gilbert that he must wait until he came home again before settling that, meanwhile, they would be very good friends -- emphasized with a blush -- and that he might write to her.
she kissed him goodbye, and gilbert, honest fellow, was quite satisfied.
when an exeter girl had allowed so much to be inferred, it was understood to be equivalent to an engagement.
gilbert had never discerned that anna was not like the other exeter girls, but was a law unto herself.
alma sat down by her window and looked out over the lane where the slim wild cherry trees were bronzing under the autumn frosts.
her lips were very firmly set.
something must be done.
but what?
alma's heart was set on this marriage for two reasons.
firstly, if anna married gilbert she would be near her all her life.
she could not bear the thought that some day anna might leave her and go far away to live.
in the second and largest place, she desired the marriage because gilbert did.
she had always been desirous, even in the old, childish play-days, that gilbert should get just exactly what he wanted.
she had always taken a keen, strange delight in furthering his wishes.
anna's falseness would surely break his heart, and alma winced at the thought of his pain.
there was one thing she could do.
anna's tormenting suggestion had fallen on fertile soil.
alma balanced pros and cons, admitting the risk.
but she would have taken a tenfold larger risk in the hope of holding secure anna's place in gilbert's affections until anna herself should come to her senses.
when it grew quite dark and anna had gone lilting down the lane on her way to prayer meeting, alma lighted her lamp, read gilbert's letter -- and answered it.
her handwriting was much like anna's.
she signed the letter "a. williams," and there was nothing in it that might not have been written by her to gilbert; but she knew that gilbert would believe anna had written it, and she intended him so to believe.
alma never did a thing halfway when she did it at all.
at first she wrote rather constrainedly but, reflecting that in any case anna would have written a merely friendly letter, she allowed her thoughts to run freely, and the resulting epistle was an excellent one of its kind.
alma had the gift of expression and more brains than exeter people had ever imagined she possessed.
when gilbert read that letter a fortnight later he was surprised to find that anna was so clever.
he had always, with a secret regret, thought her much inferior to alma in this respect, but that delightful letter, witty, wise, fanciful, was the letter of a clever woman.
when a year had passed alma was still writing to gilbert the letters signed "a. williams."
she had ceased to fear being found out, and she took a strange pleasure in the correspondence for its own sake.
at first she had been quakingly afraid of discovery.
when she smuggled the letters addressed in gilbert's handwriting to miss anna williams out of the letter packet and hid them from anna's eyes, she felt as guilty as if she were breaking all the laws of the land at once.
to be sure, she knew that she would have to confess to anna some day, when the latter repented and began to wish she had written to gilbert, but that was a very different thing from premature disclosure.
but anna had as yet given no sign of such repentance, although alma looked for it anxiously.
anna was having the time of her life.
she was the acknowledged beauty of five settlements, and she went forward on her career of conquest quite undisturbed by the jealousies and heart-burnings she provoked on every side.
one moonlight night she went for a sleigh-drive with charlie moore of east exeter -- and returned to tell alma that they were married!
""i knew you would make a fuss, alma, because you do n't like charlie, so we just took matters into our own hands.
it was so much more romantic, too.
i'd always said i'd never be married in any of your dull, commonplace ways.
you might as well forgive me and be nice right off, alma, because you'd have to do it anyway, in time.
well, you do look surprised!"
* * * * * alma accepted the situation with an apathy that amazed anna.
the truth was that alma was stunned by a thought that had come to her even while anna was speaking.
""gilbert will find out about the letters now, and despise me."
nothing else, not even the fact that anna had married shiftless charlie moore, seemed worth while considering beside this.
the fear and shame of it haunted her like a nightmare; she shrank every morning from the thought of all the mail that was coming that day, fearing that there would be an angry, puzzled letter from gilbert.
he must certainly soon hear of anna's marriage; he would see it in the home paper, other correspondents in exeter would write him of it.
alma grew sick at heart thinking of the complications in front of her.
when gilbert's letter came she left it for a whole day before she could summon courage to open it.
but it was a harmless epistle after all; he had not yet heard of anna's marriage.
alma had at first no thought of answering it, yet her fingers ached to do so.
now that anna was gone, her loneliness was unbearable.
she realized how much gilbert's letters had meant to her, even when written to another woman.
she could bear her life well enough, she thought, if she only had his letters to look forward to.
no more letters came from gilbert for six weeks.
then came one, alarmed at anna's silence, anxiously asking the reason for it; gilbert had heard no word of the marriage.
he was working in a remote district where newspapers seldom penetrated.
he had no other correspondent in exeter now; except his mother, and she, not knowing that he supposed himself engaged to anna had forgotten to mention it.
alma answered that letter.
she told herself recklessly that she would keep on writing to him until he found out.
she would lose his friendship anyhow, when that occurred, but meanwhile she would have the letters a little longer.
she could not learn to live without them until she had to.
the correspondence slipped back into its old groove.
the harassed look which alma's face had worn, and which exeter people had attributed to worry over anna, disappeared.
she did not even feel lonely, and reproached herself for lack of proper feeling in missing anna so little.
besides, to her horror and dismay, she detected in herself a strange undercurrent of relief at the thought that gilbert could never marry anna now!
she could not understand it.
had not that marriage been her dearest wish for years?
why then should she feel this strange gladness at the impossibility of its fulfilment?
altogether, alma feared that her condition of mind and morals must be sadly askew.
perhaps, she thought mournfully, this perversion of proper feeling was her punishment for the deception she had practised.
she had deliberately done evil that good might come, and now the very imaginations of her heart were stained by that evil.
alma cried herself to sleep many a night in her repentance, but she kept on writing to gilbert, for all that.
the winter passed, and the spring and summer waned, and alma's outward life flowed as smoothly as the currents of the seasons, broken only by vivid eruptions from anna, who came over often from east exeter, glorying in her young matronhood, "to cheer alma up."
alma, so said exeter people, was becoming unsociable and old maidish.
she lost her liking for company, and seldom went anywhere among her neighbours.
her once frequent visits across the yard to chat with old mrs. murray became few and far between.
she could not bear to hear the old lady talking about gilbert, and she was afraid that some day she would be told that he was coming home.
gilbert's home-coming was the nightmare dread that darkened poor alma's whole horizon.
* * * * * one october day, two years after gilbert's departure, alma, standing at her window in the reflected glow of a red maple outside, looked down the lane and saw him striding up it!
she had had no warning of his coming.
his last letter, dated three weeks back, had not hinted at it.
yet there he was -- and with him alma's nemesis.
she was very calm.
now that the worst had come, she felt quite strong to meet it.
she would tell gilbert the truth, and he would go away in anger and never forgive her, but she deserved it.
as she went downstairs, the only thing that really worried her was the thought of the pain gilbert would suffer when she told him of anna's faithlessness.
she had seen his face as he passed under her window, and it was the face of a blithe man who had not heard any evil tidings.
it was left to her to tell him; surely, she thought apathetically, that was punishment enough for what she had done.
with her hand on the doorknob, she paused to wonder what she should say when he asked her why she had not told him of anna's marriage when it occurred -- why she had still continued the deception when it had no longer an end to serve.
well, she would tell him the truth -- that it was because she could not bear the thought of giving up writing to him.
it was a humiliating thing to confess, but that did not matter -- nothing mattered now.
she opened the door.
gilbert was standing on the big round door-stone under the red maple -- a tall, handsome young fellow with a bronzed face and laughing eyes.
his exile had improved him.
alma found time and ability to reflect that she had never known gilbert was so fine-looking.
he put his arm around her and kissed her cheek in his frank delight at seeing her again.
alma coldly asked him in.
her face was still as pale as when she came downstairs, but a curious little spot of fiery red blossomed out where gilbert's lips had touched it.
gilbert followed her into the sitting-room and looked about eagerly.
""when did you come home?"
she said slowly.
""i did not know you were expected."
""got homesick, and just came!
i wanted to surprise you all," he answered, laughing.
""i arrived only a few minutes ago.
just took time to hug my mother, and here i am.
where's anna?"
the pent-up retribution of two years descended on alma's head in the last question of gilbert's.
but she did not flinch.
she stood straight before him, tall and fair and pale, with the red maple light streaming in through the open door behind her, staining her light house-dress and mellowing the golden sheen of her hair.
gilbert reflected that alma williams was really a very handsome girl.
these two years had improved her.
what splendid big grey eyes she had!
he had always wished that anna's eyes had not been quite so black.
""anna is not here," said alma.
""she is married."
""married!"
gilbert sat down suddenly on a chair and looked at alma in bewilderment.
""she has been married for a year," said alma steadily.
""she married charlie moore of east exeter, and has been living there ever since."
""then," said gilbert, laying hold of the one solid fact that loomed out of the mist of his confused understanding, "why did she keep on writing letters to me after she was married?"
""she never wrote to you at all.
it was i that wrote the letters."
gilbert looked at alma doubtfully.
was she crazy?
there was something odd about her, now that he noticed, as she stood rigidly there, with that queer red spot on her face, a strange fire in her eyes, and that weird reflection from the maple enveloping her like an immaterial flame.
""i do n't understand," he said helplessly.
still standing there, alma told the whole story, giving full explanations, but no excuses.
she told it clearly and simply, for she had often pictured this scene to herself and thought out what she must say.
her memory worked automatically, and her tongue obeyed it promptly.
to herself she seemed like a machine, talking mechanically, while her soul stood on one side and listened.
when she had finished there was a silence lasting perhaps ten seconds.
to alma it seemed like hours.
would gilbert overwhelm her with angry reproaches, or would he simply rise up and leave her in unutterable contempt?
it was the most tragic moment of her life, and her whole personality was strung up to meet it and withstand it.
""well, they were good letters, anyhow," said gilbert finally; "interesting letters," he added, as if by way of a meditative afterthought.
it was so anti-climactic that alma broke into an hysterical giggle, cut short by a sob.
she dropped into a chair by the table and flung her hands over her face, laughing and sobbing softly to herself.
gilbert rose and walked to the door, where he stood with his back to her until she regained her self-control.
then he turned and looked down at her quizzically.
alma's hands lay limply in her lap, and her eyes were cast down, with tears glistening on the long fair lashes.
she felt his gaze on her.
""can you ever forgive me, gilbert?"
she said humbly.
""i do n't know that there is much to forgive," he answered.
""i have some explanations to make too and, since we're at it, we might as well get them all over and have done with them.
two years ago i did honestly think i was in love with anna -- at least when i was round where she was.
she had a taking way with her.
but, somehow, even then, when i was n't with her she seemed to kind of grow dim and not count for so awful much after all.
i used to wish she was more like you -- quieter, you know, and not so sparkling.
when i parted from her that last night before i went west, i did feel very bad, and she seemed very dear to me, but it was six weeks from that before her -- your -- letter came, and in that time she seemed to have faded out of my thoughts.
honestly, i was n't thinking much about her at all.
then came the letter -- and it was a splendid one, too.
i had never thought that anna could write a letter like that, and i was as pleased as punch about it.
the letters kept coming, and i kept on looking for them more and more all the time.
i fell in love all over again -- with the writer of those letters.
i thought it was anna, but since you wrote the letters, it must have been with you, alma.
i thought it was because she was growing more womanly that she could write such letters.
that was why i came home.
i wanted to get acquainted all over again, before she grew beyond me altogether -- i wanted to find the real anna the letters showed me.
i -- i -- did n't expect this.
but i do n't care if anna is married, so long as the girl who wrote those letters is n't.
it's you i love, alma."
he bent down and put his arm about her, laying his cheek against hers.
the little red spot where his kiss had fallen was now quite drowned out in the colour that rushed over her face.
""if you'll marry me, alma, i'll forgive you," he said.
a little smile escaped from the duress of alma's lips and twitched her dimples.
""i'm willing to do anything that will win your forgiveness, gilbert," she said meekly.
aunt caroline's silk dress patty came in from her walk to the post office with cheeks finely reddened by the crisp air.
carry surveyed her with pleasure.
of late patty's cheeks had been entirely too pale to please carry, and patty had not had a very good appetite.
once or twice she had even complained of a headache.
so carry had sent her to the office for a walk that night, although the post office trip was usually carry's own special constitutional, always very welcome to her after a weary day of sewing on other people's pretty dresses.
carry never sewed on pretty dresses for herself, for the simple reason that she never had any pretty dresses.
carry was twenty-two -- and feeling forty, her last pretty dress had been when she was a girl of twelve, before her father had died.
to be sure, there was the silk organdie aunt kathleen had sent her, but that was fit only for parties, and carry never went to any parties.
""did you get any mail, patty?"
she asked unexpectantly.
there was never much mail for the lea girls.
""yes'm," said patty briskly.
""here's the weekly advocate, and a patent medicine almanac with all your dreams expounded, and a letter for miss carry m. lea.
it's postmarked enfield, and has a suspiciously matrimonial look.
i'm sure it's an invitation to chris fairley's wedding.
hurry up and see, caddy."
carry, with a little flush of excitement on her face, opened her letter.
sure enough, it contained an invitation "to be present at the marriage of christine fairley."
""how jolly!"
exclaimed patty.
""of course you'll go, caddy.
you'll have a chance to wear that lovely organdie of yours at last."
""it was sweet of chris to invite me," said carry.
""i really did n't expect it."
""well, i did.
was n't she your most intimate friend when she lived in enderby?"
""oh, yes, but it is four years since she left, and some people might forget in four years.
but i might have known chris would n't.
of course i'll go."
""and you'll make up your organdie?"
""i shall have to," laughed carry, forgetting all her troubles for a moment, and feeling young and joyous over the prospect of a festivity.
""i have n't another thing that would do to wear to a wedding.
if i had n't that blessed organdie i could n't go, that's all."
""but you have it, and it will look lovely made up with a tucked skirt.
tucks are so fashionable now.
and there's that lace of mine you can have for a bertha.
i want you to look just right, you see.
enfield is a big place, and there will be lots of grandees at the wedding.
let's get the last fashion sheet and pick out a design right away.
here's one on the very first page that would be nice.
you could wear it to perfection, caddy you're so tall and slender.
it would n't suit a plump and podgy person like myself at all."
carry liked the pattern, and they had an animated discussion over it.
but, in the end, carry sighed, and pushed the sheet away from her, with all the brightness gone out of face.
""it's no use, patty.
i'd forgotten for a few minutes, but it's all come back now.
i ca n't think of weddings and new dresses, when the thought of that interest crowds everything else out.
it's due next month -- fifty dollars -- and i've only ten saved up.
i ca n't make forty dollars in a month, even if i had any amount of sewing, and you know hardly anyone wants sewing done just now.
i do n't know what we shall do.
oh, i suppose we can rent a couple of rooms in the village and exist in them.
but it breaks my heart to think of leaving our old home."
""perhaps mr. kerr will let us have more time," suggested patty, not very hopefully.
the sparkle had gone out of her face too.
patty loved their little home as much as carry did.
""you know he wo n't.
he has been only too anxious for an excuse to foreclose, this long time.
he wants the land the house is on.
oh, if i only had n't been sick so long in the summer -- just when everybody had sewing to do.
i've tried so hard to catch up, but i could n't."
carry's voice broke in a sob.
patty leaned over the table and patted her sister's glossy dark hair gently.
""you've worked too hard, dearie.
you've just gone to skin and bone.
oh, i know how hard it is!
i ca n't bear to think of leaving this dear old spot either.
if we could only induce mr. kerr to give us a year's grace!
i'd be teaching then, and we could easily pay the interest and some of the principal too.
perhaps he will if we both go to him and coax very hard.
anyway, do n't worry over it till after the wedding.
i want you to go and have a good time.
you never have good times, carry."
""neither do you," said carry rebelliously.
""you never have anything that other girls have, patty -- not even pretty clothes."
""deed, and i've lots of things to be thankful for," said patty cheerily.
""do n't you fret about me.
i'm vain enough to think i've got some brains anyway, and i'm a-meaning to do something with them too.
now i think i'll go upstairs and study this evening.
it will be warm enough there tonight, and the noise of the machine rather bothers me."
patty whisked out, and carry knew she should go to her sewing.
but she sat a long while at the table in dismal thought.
she was so tired, and so hopeless.
it had been such a hard struggle, and it seemed now as if it would all come to naught.
for five years, ever since her mother's death, carry had supported herself and patty by dressmaking.
they had been a hard five years of pinching and economizing and going without, for enderby was only a small place, and there were two other dressmakers.
then there was always the mortgage to devour everything.
carry had kept it at bay till now, but at last she was conquered.
she had had typhoid fever in the spring and had not been able to work for a long time.
indeed, she had gone to work before she should.
the doctor's bill was yet unpaid, but dr. hamilton had told her to take her time.
carry knew she would not be pressed for that, and next year patty would be able to help her.
but next year would be too late.
the dear little home would be lost then.
when carry roused herself from her sad reflections, she saw a crumpled note lying on the floor.
she picked it up and absently smoothed it out.
seeing patty's name at the top she was about to lay it aside without reading it, but the lines were few, and the sense of them flashed into carry's brain.
the note was an invitation to clare forbes's party!
the lea girls had known that the forbes girls were going to give a party, but they had not expected that patty would be invited.
of course, clare forbes was in patty's class at school and was always very nice and friendly with her.
but then the forbes set was not the lea set.
carry ran upstairs to patty's room.
""patty, you dropped this on the floor.
i could n't help seeing what it was.
why did n't you tell me clare had invited you?"
""because i knew i could n't go, and i thought you would feel badly over that.
caddy, i wish you had n't seen it."
""oh, patty, i do wish you could go to the party.
it was so sweet of clare to invite you, and perhaps she will be offended if you do n't go -- she wo n't understand.
clare forbes is n't a girl whose friendship is to be lightly thrown away when it is offered."
""i know that.
but, caddy dear, it is impossible.
i do n't think that i have any foolish pride about clothes, but you know it is out of the question to think of going to clare forbes's party in my last winter's plaid dress, which is a good two inches too short and skimpy in proportion.
putting my own feelings aside, it would be an insult to clare.
there, do n't think any more about it."
but carry did think about it.
she lay awake half the night wondering if there might not be some way for patty to go to that party.
she knew it was impossible, unless patty had a new dress, and how could a new dress be had?
yet she did so want patty to go.
patty never had any good times, and she was studying so hard.
then, all at once, carry thought of a way by which patty might have a new dress.
she had been tossing restlessly, but now she lay very still, staring with wide-open eyes at the moonlit window, with the big willow boughs branching darkly across it.
yes, it was a way, but could she?
could she?
yes, she could, and she would.
carry buried her face in her pillow with a sob and a gulp.
but she had decided what must be done, and how it must be done.
""are you going to begin on your organdie today?"
asked patty in the morning, before she started for school.
""i must finish mrs. pidgeon's suit first," carry answered.
""next week will be time enough to think about my wedding garments."
she tried to laugh and failed.
patty thought with a pang that carry looked horribly pale and tired -- probably she had worried most of the night over the interest.
""i'm so glad she's going to chris's wedding," thought patty, as she hurried down the street.
""it will take her out of herself and give her something nice to think of for ever so long."
nothing more was said that week about the organdie, or the wedding, or the forbes's party.
carry sewed fiercely, and sat at her machine for hours after patty had gone to bed.
the night before the party she said to patty, "braid your hair tonight, patty.
you'll want it nice and wavy to go to the forbes's tomorrow night."
patty thought that carry was actually trying to perpetrate a weak joke, and endeavoured to laugh.
but it was a rather dreary laugh.
patty, after a hard evening's study, felt tired and discouraged, and she was really dreadfully disappointed about the party, although she would n't have let carry suspect it for the world.
""you're going, you know," said carry, as serious as a judge, although there was a little twinkle in her eyes.
""in a faded plaid two inches too short?"
patty smiled as brightly as possible.
""oh, no.
i have a dress all ready for you."
carry opened the wardrobe door and took out -- the loveliest girlish dress of creamy organdie, with pale pink roses scattered over it, made with the daintiest of ruffles and tucks, with a bertha of soft creamy lace, and a girdle of white silk.
""this is for you," said carry.
patty gazed at the dress with horror-stricken eyes.
""caroline lea, that is your organdie!
and you've gone and made it up for me!
carry lea, what are you going to wear to the wedding?"
""nothing.
i'm not going."
""you are -- you must -- you shall.
i wo n't take the organdie."
""you'll have to now, because it's made to fit you.
come, patty dear, i've set my heart on your going to that party.
you must n't disappoint me -- you ca n't, for what good would it do?
i can never wear the dress now."
patty realized that.
she knew she might as well go to the party, but she did not feel much pleasure in the prospect.
nevertheless, when she was ready for it the next evening, she could n't help a little thrill of delight.
the dress was so pretty, and dainty, and becoming.
""you look sweet," exclaimed carry admiringly.
""there, i hear the browns" carriage.
patty, i want you to promise me this -- that you'll not let any thought of me, or my not going to the wedding, spoil your enjoyment this evening.
i gave you the dress that you might have a good time, so do n't make my gift of no effect."
""i'll try," promised patty, flying downstairs, where her next-door neighbours were waiting for her.
at two o'clock that night carry was awakened to see patty bending over her, flushed and radiant.
carry sat sleepily up.
""i hope you had a good time," she said.
""i had -- oh, i had -- but i did n't waken you out of your hard-earned slumbers at this wee sma" hour to tell you that.
carry, i've thought of a way for you to go to the wedding.
it just came to me at supper.
mrs. forbes was sitting opposite to me, and her dress suggested it.
you must make over aunt caroline's silk dress."
""nonsense," said carry, a little crossly; even sweet-tempered people are sometimes cross when they are wakened up for -- as it seemed -- nothing.
""it's good plain sense.
of course, you must make it over and --" "patty lea, you're crazy.
i would n't dream of wearing that hideous thing.
bright green silk, with huge yellow brocade flowers as big as cabbages all over it!
i think i see myself in it."
""caddy, listen to me.
you know there's enough of that black lace of mother's for the waist, and the big black lace shawl of grandmother lea's will do for the skirt.
make it over --" "a plain slip of the silk," gasped carry, her quick brain seizing on all the possibilities of the plan.
""why did n't i think of it before?
it will be just the thing, the greens and yellow will be toned down to a nice shimmer under the black lace.
and i'll make cuffs of black velvet with double puffs above -- and just cut out a wee bit at the throat with a frill of lace and a band of black velvet ribbon around my neck.
patty lea, it's an inspiration."
carry was out of bed by daylight the next morning and, while patty still slumbered, she mounted to the garret, and took aunt caroline's silk dress from the chest where it had lain forgotten for three years.
carry held it up at arm's length, and looked at it with amusement.
""it is certainly ugly, but with the lace over it it will look very different.
there's enough of it, anyway, and that skirt is stiff enough to stand alone.
poor aunt caroline, i'm afraid i was n't particularly grateful for her gift at the time, but i really am now."
aunt caroline, who had given the dress to carry three years before, was, an old lady of eighty, the aunt of carry's father.
she had once possessed a snug farm but in an evil hour she had been persuaded to deed it to her nephew, edward curry, whom she had brought up.
poor aunt caroline had lived to regret this step, for everyone in enderby knew that edward curry and his wife had repaid her with ingratitude and greed.
carry, who was named for her, was her favourite grandniece and often went to see her, though such visits were coldly received by the currys, who always took especial care never to leave aunt caroline alone with any of her relatives.
on one occasion, when carry was there, aunt caroline had brought out this silk dress.
""i'm going to give this to you, carry," she said timidly.
""it's a good silk, and not so very old.
mr. greenley gave it to me for a birthday present fifteen years ago.
maybe you can make it over for yourself."
mrs. edward, who was on duty at the time, sniffed disagreeably, but she said nothing.
the dress was of no value in her eyes, for the pattern was so ugly and old-fashioned that none of her smart daughters would have worn it.
had it been otherwise, aunt caroline would probably not have been allowed to give it away.
carry had thanked aunt caroline sincerely.
if she did not care much for the silk, she at least prized the kindly motive behind the gift.
perhaps she and patty laughed a little over it as they packed it away in the garret.
it was so very ugly, but carry thought it was sweet of aunt caroline to have given her something.
poor old aunt caroline had died soon after, and carry had not thought about the silk dress again.
she had too many other things to think of, this poor worried carry.
after breakfast carry began to rip the skirt breadths apart.
snip, snip, went her scissors, while her thoughts roamed far afield -- now looking forward with renewed pleasure to christine's wedding, now dwelling dolefully on the mortgage.
patty, who was washing the dishes, knew just what her thoughts were by the light and shadow on her expressive face.
""why!
-- what?"
exclaimed carry suddenly.
patty wheeled about to see carry staring at the silk dress like one bewitched.
between the silk and the lining which she had just ripped apart was a twenty-dollar bill, and beside it a sheet of letter paper covered with writing in a cramped angular hand, both secured very carefully to the silk.
""carry lea!"
gasped patty.
with trembling fingers carry snipped away the stitches that held the letter, and read it aloud.
""my dear caroline," it ran, "i do not know when you will find this letter and this money, but when you do it belongs to you.
i have a hundred dollars which i always meant to give you because you were named for me.
but edward and his wife do not know i have it, and i do n't want them to find out.
they would not let me give it to you if they knew, so i have thought of this way of getting it to you.
i have sewed five twenty-dollar bills under the lining of this skirt, and they are all yours, with your aunt caroline's best love.
you were always a good girl, carry, and you've worked hard, and i've given edward enough.
just take this money and use it as you like.
""aunt caroline greenley."
""carry lea, are we both dreaming?"
gasped patty.
with crimson cheeks carry ripped the other breadths apart, and there were the other four bills.
then she slipped down in a little heap on the sofa cushions and began to cry -- happy tears of relief and gladness.
""we can pay the interest," said patty, dancing around the room, "and get yourself a nice new dress for the wedding."
""indeed i wo n't," said carry, sitting up and laughing through her tears.
""i'll make over this dress and wear it out of gratitude to the memory of dear aunt caroline."
aunt susanna's thanksgiving dinner.
by l.m. montgomery "here's aunt susanna, girls," said laura who was sitting by the north window -- nothing but north light does for laura who is the artist of our talented family.
each of us has a little pet new-fledged talent which we are faithfully cultivating in the hope that it will amount to something and soar highly some day.
but it is difficult to cultivate four talents on our tiny income.
if laura was n't such a good manager we never could do it.
laura's words were a signal for kate to hang up her violin and for me to push my pen and portfolio out of sight.
laura had hidden her brushes and water colors as she spoke.
only margaret continued to bend serenely over her latin grammar.
aunt susanna frowns on musical and literary and artistic ambitions but she accords a faint approval to margaret's desire for an education.
a college course, with a tangible diploma at the end, and a sensible pedagogic aspiration is something aunt susanna can understand when she tries hard.
but she can not understand messing with paints, fiddling, or scribbling, and she has only unmeasured contempt for messers, fiddlers, and scribblers.
time was when we had paid no attention to aunt susanna's views on these points; but ever since she had, on one incautious day when she was in high good humor, dropped a pale, anemic little hint that she might send margaret to college if she were a good girl we had been bending all our energies towards securing aunt susanna's approval.
it was not enough that aunt susanna should approve of margaret; she must approve of the whole four of us or she would not help margaret.
that is aunt susanna's way.
of late we had been growing a little discouraged.
aunt susanna had recently read a magazine article which stated that the higher education of women was ruining our country and that a woman who was a b.a. could n't, in the very nature of things, ever be a housewifely, cookly creature.
consequently, margaret's chances looked a little foggy; but we had n't quite given up hope.
a very little thing might sway aunt susanna one way or the other, so that we walked very softly and tried to mingle serpents" wisdom and doves" harmlessness in practical portions.
when aunt susanna came in laura was crocheting, kate was sewing, and i was poring over a recipe book.
that was not deception at all, since we did all these things frequently -- much more frequently, in fact, than we painted or fiddled or wrote.
but aunt susanna would never believe it.
nor did she believe it now.
she threw back her lovely new sealskin cape, looked around the sitting-room and then smiled -- a truly aunt susannian smile.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- "what a pity you forgot to wipe that smudge of paint off your nose, laura," she said sarcastically.
""you do n't seem to get on very fast with your lace.
how long is it since you began it?
over three months, is n't it?"
""this is the third piece of the same pattern i've done in three months, aunt susanna," said laura presently.
laura is an old duck.
she never gets cross and snaps back.
i do; and it's so hard not to with aunt susanna sometimes.
but i generally manage it for i'd do anything for margaret.
laura did not tell aunt susanna that she sold her lace at the women's exchange in town and made enough to buy her new hats.
she makes enough out of her water colors to dress herself.
aunt susanna took a second breath and started in again.
""i notice your violin has n't quite as much dust on it as the rest of the things in this room, kate.
it's a pity you stopped playing just as i came in.
i do n't enjoy fiddling much but i'd prefer it to seeing anyone using a needle who is n't accustomed to it."
kate is really a most dainty needlewoman and does all the fine sewing in our family.
she colored and said nothing -- that being the highest pitch of virtue to which our katie, like myself, can attain.
""and there's margaret ruining her eyes over books," went on aunt susanna severely.
""will you kindly tell me, margaret thorne, what good you ever expect latin to do you?"
""well, you see, aunt susanna," said margaret gently -- magsie and laura are birds of a feather -- "i want to be a teacher if i can manage to get through, and i shall need latin for that."
all the girls except me had now got their accustomed rap, but i knew better than to hope i should escape.
""so you're reading a recipe book, agnes?
well, that's better than poring over a novel.
i'm afraid you have n't been at it very long though.
people generally do n't read recipes upside down -- and besides, you did n't quite cover up your portfolio.
i see a corner of it sticking out.
was genius burning before i came in?
it's too bad if i quenched the flame."
""a cookery book is n't such a novelty to me as you seem to think, aunt susanna," i said, as meekly as it was possible for me.
""why i'm a real good cook -- "if i do say it as had n't orter.""
i am, too.
""well, i'm glad to hear it," said aunt susanna skeptically, "because that has to do with my errand her to-day.
i'm in a peck of troubles.
firstly, miranda mary's mother has had to go and get sick and miranda mary must go home to wait on her.
secondly, i've just had a telegram from my sister-in-law who has been ordered west for her health, and i'll have to leave on to-night's train to see her before she goes.
i ca n't get back until the noon train thursday, and that is thanksgiving, and i've invited mr. and mrs. gilbert to dinner that day.
they'll come on the same train.
i'm dreadfully worried.
there does n't seem to be anything i can do except get on of you girls to go up to the pinery thursday morning and cook the dinner for us.
do you think you can manage it?"
we all felt rather dismayed, and nobody volunteered with a rush.
but as i had just boasted that i could cook it was plainly my duty to step into the breach, and i did it with fear and trembling.
""i'll go, aunt susanna," i said.
""and i'll help you," said kate.
""well, i suppose i'll have to try you," said aunt susanna with the air of a woman determined to make the best of a bad business.
""here is the key of the kitchen door.
you'll find everything in the pantry, turkey and all.
the mince pies are all ready made so you'll only have to warm them up.
i want dinner sharp at twelve for the train is due at 11:50.
mr. and mrs. gilbert are very particular and i do hope you will have things right.
oh, if i could only be home myself!
why will people get sick at such inconvenient times?"
""do n't worry, aunt susanna," i said comfortingly.
""kate and i will have your thanksgiving dinner ready for you in tiptop style."
""well i'm sure i hope so.
do n't get to mooning over a story, agnes.
i'll lock the library up and fortunately there are no fiddles at the pinery.
above all, do n't let any of the mcginnises in.
they'll be sure to be prowling around when i'm not home.
do n't give that dog of theirs any scraps either.
that is miranda mary's one fault.
she will feed that dog in spite of all i can do and i ca n't walk out of my own back door without falling over him."
we promise to eschew the mcginnises and all their works, including the dog, and when aunt susanna had gone we looked at each other with mingled hope and fear.
""girls, this is the chance of your lives," said laura.
""if you can only please aunt susanna with this dinner it will convince her that you are good cooks in spite of your nefarious bent for music and literature.
i consider the illness of miranda mary's mother a providential interposition -- that is, if she is n't too sick."
""it's all very well for you to be pleased, lolla," i said dolefully.
""but i do n't feel jubilant over the prospect at all.
something will probably go wrong.
and then there's our own nice little thanksgiving celebration we've planned, and pinched and economized for weeks to provide.
that is half spoiled now."
""oh, what is that compared to margaret's chance of going to college?"
exclaimed kate.
""cheer up, aggie.
you know we can cook.
i feel that it is now or never with aunt susanna."
i cheered up accordingly.
we are not given to pessimism which is fortunate.
ever since father died four years ago we have struggled on here, content to give up a good deal just to keep our home and be together.
this little gray house -- oh, how we do love it and its apple trees -- is ours and we have, as aforesaid, a tiny income and our ambitions; not very big ambitions but big enough to give zest to our lives and hope to the future.
we've been very happy as a rule.
aunt susanna has a big house and lots of money but she is n't as happy as we are.
she nags us a good deal -- just as she used to nag father -- but we do n't mind it very much after all.
indeed, i sometimes suspect that we really like aunt susanna tremendously if she'd only leave us alone long enough to find it out.
thursday morning was an ideal thanksgiving morning -- bright, crisp and sparkling.
there had been a white frost in the night, and the orchard and the white birch wood behind it looked like fairyland.
we were all up early.
none of us had slept well, and both kate and i had had the most fearful dreams of spoiling aunt susanna's thanksgiving dinner.
""never mind, dreams always go by contraries, you know," said laura cheerfully.
""you'd better go up to the pinery early and get the fires on, for the house will be cold.
remember the mcginnises and the dog.
weigh the turkey so that you'll know exactly how long to cook it.
put the pies in the oven in time to get piping hot -- lukewarm mince pies are an abomination.
be sure --" "laura, do n't confuse us with any more cautions," i groaned, "or we shall get hopelessly fuddled.
come on, kate, before she has time to."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- it was n't very far up to the pinery -- just ten minutes" walk, and such a delightful walk on that delightful morning.
we went through the orchard and then through the white birch wood where the loveliness of the frosted boughs awed us.
beyond that there was a lane between ranks of young, balsamy, white-misted firs and then an open pasture field, sere and crispy.
just across it was the pinery, a lovely old house with dormer windows in the roof, surrounded by pines that were dark and glorious against the silvery morning sky.
the mcginnis dog was sitting on the back-door steps when we arrived.
he wagged his tail ingratiatingly, but we ruthlessly pushed him off, went in and shut the door in his face.
all the little mcginnises were sitting in a row on their fence, and they whooped derisively.
the mcginnis manners are not those which appertain to the caste of vere de vere; but we rather like the urchins -- there are eight of them -- and we would probably have gone over to talk to them if we had not had the fear of aunt susanna before our eyes.
we kindled the fires, weighed the turkey, put it in the oven and prepared the vegetables.
then we set the dining-room table and decorated it with aunt susanna's potted ferns and dishes of lovely red apples.
everything went so smoothly that we soon forgot to be nervous.
when the turkey was done, we took it out, set it on the back of the range to keep warm and put the mince pies in.
the potatoes, cabbage and turnips were bubbling away cheerfully, and everything was going as merrily as a marriage bell.
then, all at once, things happened.
in an evil hour we went to the yard window and looked out.
we saw a quiet scene.
the mcginnis dog was still sitting on his haunches by the steps, just as he had been sitting all the morning.
down in the mcginnis yard everything wore an unusually peaceful aspect.
only one mcginnis was in sight -- tony, aged eight, who was perched up on the edge of the well box, swinging his legs and singing at the top of his melodious irish voice.
all at once, just as we were looking at him, tony went over backward and apparently tumbled head foremost down his father's well.
kate and i screamed simultaneously.
we tore across the kitchen, flung open the door, plunged down over aunt susanna's yard, scrambled over the fence and flew to the well.
just as we reached it, tony's red head appeared as he climbed serenely out over the box.
i do n't know whether i felt more relieved or furious.
he had merely fallen on the blank guard inside the box: and there are times when i am tempted to think he fell on purpose because he saw kate and me looking out at the window.
at least he did n't seem at all frightened, and grinned most impishly at us.
kate and i turned on our heels and marched back in as dignified a manner as was possible under the circumstances.
half way up aunt susanna's yard we forgot dignity and broke into a run.
we had left the door open and the mcginnis dog had disappeared.
never shall i forget the sight we saw or the smell we smelled when we burst into that kitchen.
there on the floor was the mcginnis dog and what was left of aunt susanna's thanksgiving turkey.
as for the smell, imagine a commingled odor of scorching turnips and burning mince pies, and you have it.
the dog fled out with a guilty yelp.
i groaned and snatched the turnips off.
kate threw open the oven door and dragged out the pies.
pies and turnips were ruined as irretrievably as the turkey.
""oh, what shall we do?"
i cried miserably.
i knew margaret's chance of college was gone forever.
""do!"
kate was superb.
she did n't lose her wits for a second.
""we'll go home and borrow the girls" dinner.
quick -- there's just ten minutes before train time.
throw those pies and turnips into this basket -- the turkey too -- we'll carry them with us to hide them."
i might not be able to evolve an idea like that on the spur of the moment, but i can at least act up to it when it is presented.
without a moment's delay we shut the door and ran.
as we went i saw the mcginnis dog licking his chops over in their yard.
i have been ashamed ever since of my feelings toward that dog.
they were murderous.
fortunately i had no time to indulge them.
it is ten minutes walk from the pinery to our house, but you can run it in five.
kate and i burst into the kitchen just as laura and margaret were sitting down to dinner.
we had neither time nor breath for explanations.
without a word i grasped the turkey platter and the turnip tureen.
kate caught one hot mince pie from the oven and whisked a cold one out of the pantry.
""we've -- got -- to have -- them," was all she said.
i've always said that laura and magsie would rise to any occasion.
they saw us carry their thanksgiving dinner off under their very eyes and they never interfered by word or motion.
they did n't even worry us with questions.
they realized that something desperate had happened and that the emergency called for deed not words.
""aggie," gasped kate behind me as we tore through the birch wood, "the border -- of these pies -- is crimped -- differently -- from aunt susanna's."
""she -- wo n't know -- the difference," i panted.
""miranda -- mary -- crimps them."
we got back to the pinery just as the train whistle blew.
we had ten minutes to transfer turkey and turnips to aunt susanna's dishes, hide our own, air the kitchen, and get back our breath.
we accomplished it.
when aunt susanna and her guests came we were prepared for them: we were calm -- outwardly -- and the second mince pie was getting hot in the oven.
it was ready by the time it was needed.
fortunately our turkey was the same size as aunt susanna's, and laura had cooked a double supply of turnips, intending to warm them up the next day.
still, all things considered, kate and i did n't enjoy that dinner much.
we kept thinking of poor laura and magsie at home, dining off potatoes on thanksgiving!
but at least aunt susanna was satisfied.
when kate and i were washing the dishes she came out quite beamingly.
""well, my dears, i must admit that you made a very good job of the dinner, indeed.
the turkey was done to perfection.
as for the mince pies -- well, of course miranda mary made them, but she must have had extra good luck with them, for they were excellent and heated to just the right degree.
you did n't give anything to the mcginnis dog, i hope?"
""no, we did n't give him anything," said kate.
aunt susanna did not notice the emphasis.
when we had finished the dishes we smuggled our platter and tureen out of the house and went home.
laura and margaret were busy painting and studying and were just as sweet-tempered as if we had n't robbed them of their dinner.
but we had to tell them the whole story before we even took off our hats.
""there is a special providence for children and idiots," said laura gently.
we did n't ask her whether she meant us or tony mcginnis or both.
there are some things better left in obscurity.
i'd have probably said something much sharper than that if anybody had made off with my thanksgiving turkey so unceremoniously.
aunt susanna came down the next day and told margaret that she would send her to college.
also she commissioned laura to paint her a water-color for her dining-room and said she'd pay her five dollars for it.
kate and i were rather left out in the cold in this distribution of favors, but when you come to reflect that laura and magsie had really cooked that dinner, it was only just.
anyway, aunt susanna has never since insinuated that we ca n't cook, and that is as much as we deserve.
by grace of julius caesar melissa sent word on monday evening that she thought we had better go round with the subscription list for cushioning the church pews on tuesday.
i sent back word that i thought we had better go on thursday.
i had no particular objection to tuesday, but melissa is rather fond of settling things without consulting anyone else, and i do n't believe in always letting her have her own way.
melissa is my cousin and we have always been good friends, and i am really very fond of her; but there's no sense in lying down and letting yourself be walked over.
we finally compromised on wednesday.
i always have a feeling of dread when i hear of any new church-project for which money will be needed, because i know perfectly well that melissa and i will be sent round to collect for it.
people say we seem to be able to get more than anybody else; and they appear to think that because melissa is an unencumbered old maid, and i am an unencumbered widow, we can spare the time without any inconvenience to ourselves.
well, we have been canvassing for building funds, and socials, and suppers for years, but it is needed now; at least, i have had enough of it, and i should think melissa has, too.
we started out bright and early on wednesday morning, for jersey cove is a big place and we knew we should need the whole day.
we had to walk because neither of us owned a horse, and anyway it's more nuisance getting out to open and shut gates than it is worth while.
it was a lovely day then, though promising to be hot, and our hearts were as light as could be expected, considering the disagreeable expedition we were on.
i was waiting at my gate for melissa when she came, and she looked me over with wonder and disapproval.
i could see she thought i was a fool to dress up in my second best flowered muslin and my very best hat with the pale pink roses in it to walk about in the heat and dust; but i was n't.
all my experience in canvassing goes to show that the better dressed and better looking you are the more money you'll get -- that is, when it's the men you have to tackle, as in this case.
if it had been the women, however, i would have put on the oldest and ugliest things, consistent with decency, i had.
this was what melissa had done, as it was, and she did look fearfully prim and dowdy, except for her front hair, which was as soft and fluffy and elaborate as usual.
i never could understand how melissa always got it arranged so beautifully.
nothing particular happened the first part of the day.
some few growled and would n't subscribe anything, but on the whole we did pretty well.
if it had been a missionary subscription we should have fared worse; but when it was something touching their own comfort, like cushioning the pews, they came down handsomely.
we reached daniel wilson's by noon, and had to have dinner there.
we did n't eat much, although we were hungry enough -- mary wilson's cooking is a by-word in jersey cove.
no wonder daniel is dyspeptic; but dyspeptic or not, he gave us a big subscription for our cushions and told us we looked younger than ever.
daniel is always very complimentary, and they say mary is jealous.
when we left the wilson's melissa said, with an air of a woman nerving herself to a disagreeable duty: "i suppose we might as well go to isaac appleby's now and get it over."
i agreed with her.
i had been dreading that call all day.
it is n't a very pleasant thing to go to a man you have recently refused to marry and ask him for money; and melissa and i were both in that predicament.
isaac was a well-to-do old bachelor who had never had any notion of getting married until his sister died in the winter.
and then, as soon as the spring planting was over, he began to look round for a wife.
he came to me first and i said "no" good and hard.
i liked isaac well enough; but i was snug and comfortable, and did n't feel like pulling up my roots and moving into another lot; besides, isaac's courting seemed to me a shade too business-like.
i ca n't get along without a little romance; it's my nature.
isaac was disappointed and said so, but intimated that it was n't crushing and that the next best would do very well.
the next best was melissa, and he proposed to her after the decent interval of a fortnight.
melissa also refused him.
i admit i was surprised at this, for i knew melissa was rather anxious to marry; but she has always been down on isaac appleby, from principle, because of a family feud on her mother's side; besides, an old beau of hers, a widower at kingsbridge, was just beginning to take notice again, and i suspected melissa had hopes concerning him.
finally, i imagine melissa did not fancy being second choice.
whatever her reasons were, she refused poor isaac, and that finished his matrimonial prospects as far as jersey cove was concerned, for there was n't another eligible woman in it -- that is, for a man of isaac's age.
i was the only widow, and the other old maids besides melissa were all hopelessly old-maiden.
this was all three months ago, and isaac had been keeping house for himself ever since.
nobody knew much about how he got along, for the appleby house is half a mile from anywhere, down near the shore at the end of a long lane -- the lonesomest place, as i did not fail to remember when i was considering isaac's offer.
""i heard jarvis aldrich say isaac had got a dog lately," said melissa, when we finally came in sight of the house -- a handsome new one, by the way, put up only ten years ago.
""jarvis said it was an imported breed.
i do hope it is n't cross."
i have a mortal horror of dogs, and i followed melissa into the big farmyard with fear and trembling.
we were halfway across the yard when melissa shrieked: "anne, there's the dog!"
there was the dog; and the trouble was that he did n't stay there, but came right down the slope at a steady, business-like trot.
he was a bull-dog and big enough to bite a body clean in two, and he was the ugliest thing in dogs i had ever seen.
melissa and i both lost our heads.
we screamed, dropped our parasols, and ran instinctively to the only refuge that was in sight -- a ladder leaning against the old appleby house.
i am forty-five and something more than plump, so that climbing ladders is not my favorite form of exercise.
but i went up that one with the agility and grace of sixteen.
melissa followed me, and we found ourselves on the roof -- fortunately it was a flat one -- panting and gasping, but safe, unless that diabolical dog could climb a ladder.
i crept cautiously to the edge and peered over.
the beast was sitting on his haunches at the foot of the ladder, and it was quite evident he was not short on time.
the gleam in his eye seemed to say: "i've got you two unprincipled subscription hunters beautifully treed and it's treed you're going to stay.
that is what i call satisfying."
i reported the state of the case to melissa.
""what shall we do?"
i asked.
""do?"
said melissa, snappishly.
""why, stay here till isaac appleby comes out and takes that brute away?
what else can we do?"
""what if he is n't at home?"
i suggested.
""we'll stay here till he comes home.
oh, this is a nice predicament.
this is what comes of cushioning churches!"
""it might be worse," i said comfortingly.
""suppose the roof had n't been flat?"
""call isaac," said melissa shortly.
i did n't fancy calling isaac, but call him i did, and when that failed to bring him melissa condescended to call, too; but scream as we might, no isaac appeared, and that dog sat there and smiled internally.
""it's no use," said melissa sulkily at last.
""isaac appleby is dead or away."
half an hour passed; it seemed as long as a day.
the sun just boiled down on that roof and we were nearly melted.
we were dreadfully thirsty, and the heat made our heads ache, and i could see my muslin dress fading before my very eyes.
as for the roses on my best hat -- but that was too harrowing to think about.
then we saw a welcome sight -- isaac appleby coming through the yard with a hoe over his shoulder.
he had probably been working in his field at the back of the house.
i never thought i should have been so glad to see him.
""isaac, oh, isaac!"
i called joyfully, leaning over as far as i dared.
isaac looked up in amazement at me and melissa craning our necks over the edge of the roof.
then he saw the dog and took in the situation.
the creature actually grinned.
""wo n't you call off your dog and let us get down, isaac?"
i said pleadingly.
isaac stood and reflected for a moment or two.
then he came slowly forward and, before we realized what he was going to do, he took that ladder down and laid it on the ground.
""isaac appleby, what do you mean?"
demanded melissa wrathfully.
isaac folded his arms and looked up.
it would be hard to say which face was the more determined, his or the dog's.
but isaac had the advantage in point of looks, i will say that for him.
""i mean that you two women will stay up on that roof until one of you agrees to marry me," said isaac solemnly.
i gasped.
""isaac appleby, you ca n't be in earnest?"
i cried incredulously.
""you could n't be so mean?"
""i am in earnest.
i want a wife, and i am going to have one.
you two will stay up there, and julius caesar here will watch you until one of you makes up her mind to take me.
you can settle it between yourselves, and let me know when you have come to a decision."
and with that isaac walked jauntily into his new house.
""the man ca n't mean it!"
said melissa.
""he is trying to play a joke on us."
""he does mean it," i said gloomily.
""an appleby never says anything he does n't mean.
he will keep us here until one of us consents to marry him."
""it wo n't be me, then," said melissa in a calm sort of rage.
""i wo n't marry him if i have to sit on this roof for the rest of my life.
you can take him.
it's really you he wants, anyway; he asked you first."
i always knew that rankled with melissa.
i thought the situation over before i said anything more.
we certainly could n't get off that roof, and if we could, there was julius caesar.
the place was out of sight of every other house in jersey cove, and nobody might come near it for a week.
to be sure, when melissa and i did n't turn up the covites might get out and search for us; but that would n't be for two or three days anyhow.
melissa had turned her back on me and was sitting with her elbows propped up on her knees, looking gloomily out to sea.
i was afraid i could n't coax her into marrying isaac.
as for me, i had n't any real objection to marrying him, after all, for if he was short of romance he was good-natured and has a fat bank account; but i hated to be driven into it that way.
""you'd better take him, melissa," i said entreatingly.
""i've had one husband and that is enough."
""more than enough for me, thank you," said melissa sarcastically.
""isaac is a fine man and has a lovely house; and you are n't sure the kingsbridge man really means anything," i went on.
""i would rather," said melissa, with the same awful calmness, "jump down from this roof and break my neck, or be devoured piecemeal by that fiend down there than marry isaac appleby."
it did n't seem worth while to say anything more after that.
we sat there in stony silence and the time dragged by.
i was hot, hungry, thirsty, cross; and besides, i felt that i was in a ridiculous position, which was worse than all the rest.
we could see isaac sitting in the shade of one of his apple trees in the front orchard comfortably reading a newspaper.
i think if he had n't aggravated me by doing that i'd have given in sooner.
but as it was, i was determined to be as stubborn as everybody else.
we were four obstinate creatures -- isaac and melissa and julius caesar and i.
at four o'clock isaac got up and went into the house; in a few minutes he came out again with a basket in one hand and a ball of cord in the other.
""i do n't intend to starve you, of course, ladies," he said politely, "i will throw this ball up to you and you can then draw up the basket."
i caught the ball, for melissa never turned her head.
i would have preferred to be scornful, too, and reject the food altogether; but i was so dreadfully thirsty that i put my pride in my pocket and hauled the basket up.
besides, i thought it might enable us to hold out until some loophole of escape presented itself.
isaac went back into the house and i unpacked the basket.
there was a bottle of milk, some bread and butter, and a pie.
melissa would n't take a morsel of the food, but she was so thirsty she had to take a drink of milk.
she tried to lift her veil -- and something caught; melissa gave it a savage twitch, and off came veil and hat -- and all her front hair!
you never saw such a sight.
i'd always suspected melissa wore a false front, but i'd never had any proof before.
melissa pinned on her hair again and put on her hat and drank the milk, all without a word; but she was purple.
i felt sorry for her.
and i felt sorry for isaac when i tried to eat that bread.
it was sour and dreadful.
as for the pie, it was hopeless.
i tasted it, and then threw it down to julius caesar.
julius caesar, not being over particular, ate it up.
i thought perhaps it would kill him, for anything might come of eating such a concoction.
that pie was a strong argument for isaac.
i thought a man who had to live on such cookery did indeed need a wife and might be pardoned for taking desperate measures to get one.
i was dreadfully tired of broiling on the roof anyhow.
but it was the thunderstorm that decided me.
when i saw it coming up, black and quick, from the northwest, i gave in at once.
i had endured a good deal and was prepared to endure more; but i had paid ten dollars for my hat and i was not going to have it ruined by a thunderstorm.
i called to isaac and out he came.
""if you will let us down and promise to dispose of that dog before i come here i will marry you, isaac," i said, "but i'll make you sorry for it afterwards, though."
""i'll take the risk of that, anne," he said; "and, of course, i'll sell the dog.
i wo n't need him when i have you."
isaac meant to be complimentary, though you might n't have thought so if you had seen the face of that dog.
isaac ordered julius caesar away and put up the ladder, and turned his back, real considerately, while we climbed down.
we had to go in his house and stay till the shower was over.
i did n't forget the object of our call and i produced our subscription list at once.
""how much have you got?"
asked isaac.
""seventy dollars and we want a hundred and fifty," i said.
""you may put me down for the remaining eighty, then," said isaac calmly.
the applebys are never mean where money is concerned, i must say.
isaac offered to drive us home when it cleared up, but i said "no."
i wanted to settle melissa before she got a chance to talk.
on the way home i said to her: "i hope you wo n't mention this to anyone, melissa.
i do n't mind marrying isaac, but i do n't want people to know how it came about."
""oh, i wo n't say anything about it," said melissa, laughing a little disagreeably.
""because," i said, to clinch the matter, looking significantly at her front hair as i said it, "i have something to tell, too."
melissa will hold her tongue.
by the rule of contrary "look here, burton," said old john ellis in an ominous tone of voice, "i want to know if what that old busybody of a mary keane came here today gossiping about is true.
if it is -- well, i've something to say about the matter!
have you been courting that niece of susan oliver's all summer on the sly?"
burton ellis's handsome, boyish face flushed darkly crimson to the roots of his curly black hair.
something in the father's tone roused anger and rebellion in the son.
he straightened himself up from the turnip row he was hoeing, looked his father squarely in the face, and said quietly, "not on the sly, sir, i never do things that way.
but i have been going to see madge oliver for some time, and we are engaged.
we are thinking of being married this fall, and we hope you will not object."
burton's frankness nearly took away his father's breath.
old john fairly choked with rage.
""you young fool," he spluttered, bringing down his hoe with such energy that he sliced off half a dozen of his finest young turnip plants, "have you gone clean crazy?
no, sir, i'll never consent to your marrying an oliver, and you need n't have any idea that i will."
""then i'll marry her without your consent," retorted burton angrily, losing the temper he had been trying to keep.
""oh, will you indeed!
well, if you do, out you go, and not a cent of my money or a rod of my land do you ever get."
""what have you got against madge?"
asked burton, forcing himself to speak calmly, for he knew his father too well to doubt for a minute that he meant and would do just what he said.
""she's an oliver," said old john crustily, "and that's enough."
and considering that he had settled the matter, john ellis threw down his hoe and left the field in a towering rage.
burton hoed away savagely until his anger had spent itself on the weeds.
give up madge -- dear, sweet little madge?
not he!
yet if his father remained of the same mind, their marriage was out of the question at present.
and burton knew quite well that his father would remain of the same mind.
old john ellis had the reputation of being the most contrary man in greenwood.
when burton had finished his row he left the turnip field and went straight across lots to see madge and tell her his dismal story.
an hour later miss susan oliver went up the stairs of her little brown house to madge's room and found her niece lying on the bed, her pretty curls tumbled, her soft cheeks flushed crimson, crying as if her heart would break.
miss susan was a tall, grim, angular spinster who looked like the last person in the world to whom a love affair might be confided.
but never were appearances more deceptive than in this case.
behind her unprepossessing exterior miss susan had a warm, sympathetic heart filled to the brim with kindly affection for her pretty niece.
she had seen burton ellis going moodily across the fields homeward and guessed that something had gone wrong.
""now, dearie, what is the matter?"
she said, tenderly patting the brown head.
madge sobbed out the whole story disconsolately.
burton's father would not let him marry her because she was an oliver.
and, oh, what would she do?
""do n't worry, madge," said miss susan comfortingly.
""i'll soon settle old john ellis."
""why, what can you do?"
asked madge forlornly.
miss susan squared her shoulders and looked amused.
""you'll see.
i know old john ellis better than he knows himself.
he is the most contrary man the lord ever made.
i went to school with him.
i learned how to manage him then, and i have n't forgotten how.
i'm going straight up to interview him."
""are you sure that will do any good?"
said madge doubtfully.
""if you go to him and take burton's and my part, wo n't it only make him worse?"
""madge, dear," said miss susan, busily twisting her scanty, iron-grey hair up into a hard little knob at the back of her head before madge's glass, "you just wait.
i'm not young, and i'm not pretty, and i'm not in love, but i've more gumption than you and burton have or ever will have.
you keep your eyes open and see if you can learn something.
you'll need it if you go up to live with old john ellis."
burton had returned to the turnip field, but old john ellis was taking his ease with a rampant political newspaper on the cool verandah of his house.
looking up from a bitter editorial to chuckle over a cutting sarcasm contained therein, he saw a tall, angular figure coming up the lane with aggressiveness written large in every fold and flutter of shawl and skirt.
""old susan oliver, as sure as a gun," said old john with another chuckle.
""she looks mad clean through.
i suppose she's coming here to blow me up for refusing to let burton take that girl of hers.
she's been angling and scheming for it for years, but she will find who she has to deal with.
come on, miss susan."
john ellis laid down his paper and stood up with a sarcastic smile.
miss susan reached the steps and skimmed undauntedly up them.
she did indeed look angry and disturbed.
without any preliminary greeting she burst out into a tirade that simply took away her complacent foe's breath.
""look here, john ellis, i want to know what this means.
i've discovered that that young upstart of a son of yours, who ought to be in short trousers yet, has been courting my niece, madge oliver, all summer.
he has had the impudence to tell me that he wants to marry her.
i wo n't have it, i tell you, and you can tell your son so.
marry my niece indeed!
a pretty pass the world is coming to!
i'll never consent to it."
perhaps if you had searched greenwood and all the adjacent districts thoroughly you might have found a man who was more astonished and taken aback than old john ellis was at that moment, but i doubt it.
the wind was completely taken out of his sails and every bit of the ellis contrariness was roused.
""what have you got to say against my son?"
he fairly shouted in his rage.
""is n't he good enough for your girl, susan oliver, i'd like to know?"
""no, he is n't," retorted miss susan deliberately and unflinchingly.
""he's well enough in his place, but you'll please to remember, john ellis, that my niece is an oliver, and the olivers do n't marry beneath them."
old john was furious.
""beneath them indeed!
why, woman, it is condescension in my son to so much as look at your niece -- condescension, that is what it is.
you are as poor as church mice."
""we come of good family, though," retorted miss susan.
""you ellises are nobodies.
your grandfather was a hired man!
and yet you have the presumption to think you're fit to marry into an old, respectable family like the olivers.
but talking does n't signify.
i simply wo n't allow this nonsense to go on.
i came here today to tell you so plump and plain.
it's your duty to stop it; if you do n't i will, that's all."
""oh, will you?"
john ellis was at a white heat of rage and stubbornness now.
""we'll see, miss susan, we'll see.
my son shall marry whatever girl he pleases, and i'll back him up in it -- do you hear that?
come here and tell me my son is n't good enough for your niece indeed!
i'll show you he can get her anyway."
""you've heard what i've said," was the answer, "and you'd better go by it, that's all.
i sha n't stay to bandy words with you, john ellis.
i'm going home to talk to my niece and tell her her duty plain, and what i want her to do, and she'll do it, i have n't a fear."
miss susan was halfway down the steps, but john ellis ran to the railing of the verandah to get the last word.
""i'll send burton down this evening to talk to her and tell her what he wants her to do, and we'll see whether she'll sooner listen to you than to him," he shouted.
miss susan deigned no reply.
old john strode out to the turnip field.
burton saw him coming and looked for another outburst of wrath, but his father's first words almost took away his breath.
""see here, burt, i take back all i said this afternoon.
i want you to marry madge oliver now, and the sooner, the better.
that old cat of a susan had the face to come up and tell me you were n't good enough for her niece.
i told her a few plain truths.
do n't you mind the old crosspatch.
i'll back you up."
by this time burton had begun hoeing vigorously, to hide the amused twinkle of comprehension in his eyes.
he admired miss susan's tactics, but he did not say so.
""all right, father," he answered dutifully.
when miss susan reached home she told madge to bathe her eyes and put on her new pink muslin, because she guessed burton would be down that evening.
""oh, auntie, how did you manage it?"
cried madge.
""madge," said miss susan solemnly, but with dancing eyes, "do you know how to drive a pig?
just try to make it go in the opposite direction and it will bolt the way you want it.
remember that, my dear."
fair exchange and no robbery katherine rangely was packing up.
her chum and roommate, edith wilmer, was sitting on the bed watching her in that calm disinterested fashion peculiarly maddening to a bewildered packer.
""it does seem too provoking," said katherine, as she tugged at an obstinate shawl strap, "that ned should be transferred here now, just when i'm going away.
the powers that be might have waited until vacation was over.
ned wo n't know a soul here and he'll be horribly lonesome."
""i'll do my best to befriend him, with your permission," said edith consolingly.
""oh, i know.
you're a special providence, ede.
ned will be up tonight first thing, of course, and i'll introduce him.
try to keep the poor fellow amused until i get back.
two months!
just fancy!
and aunt elizabeth wo n't abate one jot or tittle of the time i promised to stay with her.
harbour hill is so frightfully dull, too."
then the talk drifted around to edith's affairs.
she was engaged to a certain sidney keith, who was a professor in some college.
""i do n't expect to see much of sidney this summer," said edith.
""he's writing another book.
he is so terribly addicted to literature."
""how lovely," sighed katherine, who had aspirations in that line herself.
""if only ned were like him i should be perfectly happy.
but ned is so prosaic.
he does n't care a rap for poetry, and he laughs when i enthuse.
it makes him quite furious when i talk of taking up writing seriously.
he says women writers are an abomination on the face of the earth.
did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?"
""he is very handsome, though," said edith, with a glance at his photograph on katherine's dressing table.
""and that is what sid is not.
he is rather distinguished looking, but as plain as he can possibly be."
edith sighed.
she had a weakness for handsome men and thought it rather hard that fate should have allotted her so plain a lover.
""he has lovely eyes," said katherine comfortingly, "and handsome men are always vain.
even ned is.
i have to snub him regularly.
but i think you'll like him."
edith thought so too when ned ellison appeared that night.
he was a handsome off-handed young fellow, who seemed to admire katherine immensely, and be a little afraid of her into the bargain.
""edith will try to make riverton pleasant for you while i am away," she told him in their good-bye chat.
""she is a dear girl -- you'll like her, i know.
it's really too bad i have to go away now, but it ca n't be helped."
""i shall be awfully lonesome," grumbled ned.
""do n't you forget to write regularly, kitty."
""of course i'll write, but for pity's sake, ned, do n't call me kitty.
it sounds so childish.
well, bye-bye, dear boy.
i'll be back in two months and then we'll have a lovely time."
* * * * * when katherine had been at harbour hill for a week she wondered how upon earth she was going to put in the remaining seven.
harbour hill was noted for its beauty, but not every woman can live by scenery alone.
""aunt elizabeth," said katherine one day, "does anybody ever die in harbour hill?
because it does n't seem to me it would be any change for them if they did."
aunt elizabeth's only reply to this was a shocked look.
to pass the time katherine took to collecting seaweeds, and this involved long tramps along the shore.
on one of these occasions she met with an adventure.
the place was a remote spot far up the shore.
katherine had taken off her shoes and stockings, tucked up her skirt, rolled her sleeves high above her dimpled elbows, and was deep in the absorbing process of fishing up seaweeds off a craggy headland.
she looked anything but dignified while so employed, but under the circumstances dignity did not matter.
presently she heard a shout from the shore and, turning around in dismay, she beheld a man on the rocks behind her.
he was evidently shouting at her.
what on earth could the creature want?
""come in," he called, gesticulating wildly.
""you'll be in the bottomless pit in another moment if you do n't look out."
""he certainly must be a lunatic," said katherine to herself, "or else he's drunk.
what am i to do?"
""come in, i tell you," insisted the stranger.
""what in the world do you mean by wading out to such a place?
why, it's madness."
katherine's indignation got the better of her fear.
""i do not think i am trespassing," she called back as icily as possible.
the stranger did not seem to be snubbed at all.
he came down to the very edge of the rocks where katherine could see him plainly.
he was dressed in a somewhat well-worn grey suit and wore spectacles.
he did not look like a lunatic, and he did not seem to be drunk.
""i implore you to come in," he said earnestly.
""you must be standing on the very brink of the bottomless pit."
he is certainly off his balance, thought katherine.
he must be some revivalist who has gone insane on one point.
i suppose i'd better go in.
he looks quite capable of wading out here after me if i do n't.
she picked her steps carefully back with her precious specimens.
the stranger eyed her severely as she stepped on the rocks.
""i should think you would have more sense than to risk your life in that fashion for a handful of seaweeds," he said.
""i have n't the faintest idea what you mean," said miss rangely.
""you do n't look crazy, but you talk as if you were."
""do you mean to say you do n't know that what the people hereabouts call the bottomless pit is situated right off that point -- the most dangerous spot along the whole coast?"
""no, i did n't," said katherine, horrified.
she remembered now that aunt elizabeth had warned her to be careful of some bad hole along shore, but she had not been paying much attention and had supposed it to be in quite another direction.
""i am a stranger here."
""well, i hardly thought you'd be foolish enough to be out there if you knew," said the other in mollified accents.
""the place ought not to be left without warning, anyhow.
it is the most careless thing i ever heard of.
there is a big hole right off that point and nobody has ever been able to find the bottom of it.
a person who got into it would never be heard of again.
the rocks there form an eddy that sucks everything right down."
""i am very grateful to you for calling me in," said katherine humbly.
""i had no idea i was in such danger."
""you have a very fine bunch of seaweeds, i see," said the unknown.
but katherine was in no mood to converse on seaweeds.
she suddenly realized what she must look like -- bare feet, draggled skirts, dripping arms.
and this creature whom she had taken for a lunatic was undoubtedly a gentleman.
oh, if he would only go and give her a chance to put on her shoes and stockings!
nothing seemed further from his intentions.
when katherine had picked up the aforesaid articles and turned homeward, he walked beside her, still discoursing on seaweeds as eloquently as if he were commonly accustomed to walking with barefooted young women.
in spite of herself, katherine could n't help listening to him, for he managed to invest seaweeds with an absorbing interest.
she finally decided that as he did n't seem to mind her bare feet, she would n't either.
he knew so much about seaweeds that katherine felt decidedly amateurish beside him.
he looked over her specimens and pointed out the valuable ones.
he explained the best method of preserving and mounting them, and told her of other and less dangerous places along the shore where she might get some new varieties.
when they came in sight of harbour hill, katherine began to wonder what on earth she would do with him.
it was n't exactly permissible to snub a man who had practically saved your life, but, on the other hand, the prospect of walking through the principal street of harbour hill barefooted and escorted by a scholarly looking gentleman discoursing on seaweeds was not to be calmly contemplated.
the unknown cut the gordian knot himself.
he said that he must really go back or he would be late for dinner, lifted his hat politely, and departed.
katherine waited until he was out of sight, then sat down on the sand and put on her shoes and stockings.
""who on earth can he be?"
she said to herself.
""and where have i seen him before?
there was certainly something familiar about his appearance.
he is very nice, but he must have thought me crazy.
i wonder if he belongs to harbour hill."
the mystery was solved when she got home and found a letter from edith awaiting her.
""i see ned quite often," wrote the latter, "and i think he is perfectly splendid.
you are a lucky girl, kate.
but oh, do you know that sidney is actually at harbour hill, too, or at least quite near it?
i had a letter from him yesterday.
he has gone down there to spend his vacation, because it is so quiet, and to finish up some horrid scientific book he is working at.
he's boarding at some little farmhouse up the shore.
i've written to him today to hunt you up and consider himself introduced to you.
i think you'll like him, for he's just your style."
katherine smiled when sidney keith's card was brought up to her that evening and went down to meet him.
her companion of the morning rose to meet her.
""you!"
he said.
""yes, me," said miss rangely cheerfully and ungrammatically.
""you did n't expect it, did you?
i was sure i had seen you before -- only it was n't you but your photograph."
when professor keith went away it was with a cordial invitation to call again.
he did not fail to avail himself of it -- in fact, he became a constant visitor at sycamore villa.
katherine wrote all about it to edith and cultivated professor keith with a dear conscience.
they got on capitally together.
they went on long expeditions up shore after seaweeds, and when seaweeds were exhausted they began to make a collection of the harbour hill flora.
this involved more long, companionable expeditions.
katherine sometimes wondered when professor keith found time to work on his book, but as he made no reference to the subject, neither did she.
once in a while, when she had time to think of them, she wondered how ned and edith were getting on.
at first edith's letters had been full of ned, but in her last two or three she had said little about him.
katherine wrote and jokingly asked edith if she and ned had quarreled.
edith wrote back and said, "what nonsense."
she and ned were as good friends as ever, but he was getting acquainted in riverton now and was n't so dependent on her society, etc..
katherine sighed and went on a fern hunt with professor keith.
it was getting near the end of her vacation and she had only two weeks more.
they were sitting down to rest on the side of the road when she mentioned this fact inconsequently.
the professor prodded the harmless dust with his cane.
well, he supposed she would find a return to work pleasant and would doubtless be glad to see her riverton friends again.
""i'm dying to see edith," said katherine.
""and ned?"
suggested professor keith.
""oh yes.
ned, of course," assented katherine without enthusiasm.
there did n't seem to be anything more to say.
one can not talk everlastingly about ferns, so they got up and went home.
katherine wrote a particularly affectionate letter to ned that night.
then she went to bed and cried.
when professor keith came up to bid miss rangely good-bye on the eve of her departure from harbour hill, he looked like a man who was being led to execution without benefit of clergy.
but he kept himself well in hand and talked calmly on impersonal subjects.
after all, it was katherine who made the first break when she got up to say good-bye.
she was in the middle of some conventional sentence when she suddenly stopped short, and her voice trailed off in a babyish quiver.
the professor put out his arm and drew her close to him.
his hat dropped under their feet and was trampled on, but i doubt if professor keith knows the difference to this day, for he was fully absorbed in kissing katherine's hair.
when she became cognizant of this fact, she drew herself away.
""oh, sidney, do n't!
-- think of edith!
i feel like a traitor."
""do you think she would care very much if i -- if you -- if we --" hesitated the professor.
""oh, it would break her heart," cried katherine with convincing earnestness.
""i know it would -- and ned's too.
they must never know."
the professor stooped and began hunting for his maltreated hat.
he was a long time finding it, and when he did he went softly to the door.
with his hand on the knob, he paused and looked back.
""good-bye, miss rangely," he said softly.
but katherine, whose face was buried in the cushions of the lounge, did not hear him and when she looked up he was gone.
* * * * * katharine felt that life was stale, flat and unprofitable when she alighted at riverton station in the dusk of the next evening.
she was not expected until a later train and there was no one to meet her.
she walked drearily through the streets to her boarding house and entered her room unannounced.
edith, who was lying on the bed, sprang up with a surprised greeting.
it was too dark to be sure, but katherine had an uncomfortable suspicion that her friend had been crying, and her heart quaked guiltily.
could edith have suspected anything?
""why, we did n't think you'd be up till the 8:30 train, and ned and i were going to meet you."
""i found i could catch an earlier train, so i took it," said katherine, as she dropped listlessly into a chair.
""i am tired to death and i have such a headache.
i ca n't see anyone tonight, not even ned."
""you poor dear," said edith sympathetically, beginning a search for the cologne.
""lie down on the bed and i'll bathe your poor head.
did you have a good time at harbour hill?
and how did you leave sid?
did he say anything about coming up?"
""oh, he was quite well," said katherine wearily.
""i did n't hear him say if he intended to come up or not.
there, thanks -- that will do nicely."
after edith had gone down, katherine tossed about restlessly.
she knew ned had come and she did not want to see him.
but, after all, it was only putting off the evil day, and it was treating him rather shabbily.
she would go down for a minute.
there were two doors to the parlour, and katherine went by way of the library one, over which a portiere was hanging.
her hand was lifted to draw it back when she heard something that arrested the movement.
a woman was crying in the room beyond.
it was edith -- and what was she saying?
""oh, ned, it is all perfectly dreadful!
i could n't look catherine in the face when she came home.
i'm so ashamed of myself and i never meant to be so false.
we must never let her suspect for a minute."
""it's pretty rough on a fellow," said another voice -- ned's voice -- in a choked sort of a way.
""upon my word, edith, i do n't see how i'm going to keep it up."
""you must," sobbed edith.
""it would break her heart -- and sidney's too.
we must just make up our minds to forget each other, ned, and you must marry katherine."
just at this point katherine became aware that she was eavesdropping and she went away noiselessly.
she did not look in the least like a person who has received a mortal blow, and she had forgotten her headache altogether.
when edith came up half an hour later, she found the worn-out invalid sitting up and reading a novel.
""how is your headache, dear?"
she asked, carefully keeping her face turned away from katherine.
""oh, it's all gone," said miss rangely cheerfully.
""why did n't you come down then?
ned was here."
""well, ede, i did go down, but i thought i was n't particularly wanted, so i came back."
edith faced her friend in dismay, forgetful of swollen lids and tear-stained cheeks.
""katherine!"
""do n't look so conscience stricken, my dear child.
there is no harm done."
""you heard --" "some surprising speeches.
so you and ned have gone and fallen in love with one another?"
""oh, katherine," sobbed edith, "we -- we -- could n't help it -- but it's all over.
oh, do n't be angry with me!"
""angry?
my dear, i'm delighted."
""delighted?"
""yes, you dear goose.
ca n't you guess, or must i tell you?
sidney and i did the very same, and had just such a melancholy parting last night as i suspect you and ned had tonight."
""katherine!"
""yes, it's quite true.
and of course we made up our minds to sacrifice ourselves on the altar of duty and all that.
but now, thank goodness, there is no need of such wholesale immolation.
so just let's forgive each other."
""oh," sighed edith happily, "it is almost too good to be true."
""it is really providentially ordered, is n't it?"
said katherine.
""ned and i would never have got on together in the world, and you and sidney would have bored each other to death.
as it is, there will be four perfectly happy people instead of four miserable ones.
i'll tell ned so tomorrow."
four winds alan douglas threw down his pen with an impatient exclamation.
it was high time his next sunday's sermon was written, but he could not concentrate his thoughts on his chosen text.
for one thing he did not like it and had selected it only because elder trewin, in his call of the evening before, had hinted that it was time for a good stiff doctrinal discourse, such as his predecessor in rexton, the rev. jabez strong, had delighted in.
alan hated doctrines -- "the soul's staylaces," he called them -- but elder trewin was a man to be reckoned with and alan preached an occasional sermon to please him.
""it's no use," he said wearily.
""i could have written a sermon in keeping with that text in november or midwinter, but now, when the whole world is reawakening in a miracle of beauty and love, i ca n't do it.
if a northeast rainstorm does n't set in before next sunday, mr. trewin will not have his sermon.
i shall take as my text instead, "the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds has come.""
he rose and went to his study window, outside of which a young vine was glowing in soft tender green tints, its small dainty leaves casting quivering shadows on the opposite wall where the portrait of alan's mother hung.
she had a fine, strong, sweet face; the same face, cast in a masculine mould, was repeated in her son, and the resemblance was striking as he stood in the searching evening sunshine.
the black hair grew around his forehead in the same way; his eyes were steel blue, like hers, with a similar expression, half brooding, half tender, in their depths.
he had the mobile, smiling mouth of the picture, but his chin was deeper and squarer, dented with a dimple which, combined with a certain occasional whimsicality of opinion and glance, had caused elder trewin some qualms of doubt regarding the fitness of this young man for his high and holy vocation.
the rev. jabez strong had never indulged in dimples or jokes; but then, as elder trewin, being a just man, had to admit, the rev. jabez strong had preached many a time and oft to more empty pews than full ones, while now the church was crowded to its utmost capacity on sundays and people came to hear mr. douglas who had not darkened a church door for years.
all things considered, elder trewin decided to overlook the dimple.
there was sure to be some drawback in every minister.
alan from his study looked down on all the length of the rexton valley, at the head of which the manse was situated, and thought that eden might have looked so in its innocence, for all the orchards were abloom and the distant hills were tremulous and aerial in springtime gauzes of pale purple and pearl.
but in any garden, despite its beauty, is an element of tameness and domesticity, and alan's eyes, after a moment's delighted gazing, strayed wistfully off to the north where the hills broke away into a long sloping lowland of pine and fir.
beyond it stretched the wide expanse of the lake, flashing in the molten gold and crimson of evening.
its lure was irresistible.
alan had been born and bred beside a faraway sea and the love of it was strong in his heart -- so strong that he knew he must go back to it sometime.
meanwhile, the great lake, mimicking the sea in its vast expanse and the storms that often swept over it, was his comfort and solace.
as often as he could he stole away to its wild and lonely shore, leaving the snug bounds of cultivated home lands behind him with something like a sense of relief.
down there by the lake was a primitive wilderness where man was as naught and man-made doctrines had no place.
there one might walk hand in hand with nature and so come very close to god.
many of alan's best sermons were written after he had come home, rapt-eyed, from some long shore tramp where the wilderness had opened its heart to him and the pines had called to him in their soft, sibilant speech.
with a half guilty glance at the futile sermon, he took his hat and went out.
the sun of the cool spring evening was swinging low over the lake as he turned into the unfrequented, deep-rutted road leading to the shore.
it was two miles to the lake, but half way there alan came to where another road branched off and struck down through the pines in a northeasterly direction.
he had sometimes wondered where it led but he had never explored it.
now he had a sudden whim to do so and turned into it.
it was even rougher and lonelier than the other; between the ruts the grasses grew long and thickly; sometimes the pine boughs met overhead; again, the trees broke away to reveal wonderful glimpses of gleaming water, purple islets, dark feathery coasts.
still, the road seemed to lead nowhere and alan was half repenting the impulse which had led him to choose it when he suddenly came out from the shadow of the pines and found himself gazing on a sight which amazed him.
before him was a small peninsula running out into the lake and terminating in a long sandy point.
beyond it was a glorious sweep of sunset water.
the peninsula itself seemed barren and sandy, covered for the most part with scrub firs and spruces, through which the narrow road wound on to what was the astonishing; feature in the landscape -- a grey and weather-beaten house built almost at the extremity of the point and shadowed from the western light by a thick plantation of tall pines behind it.
it was the house which puzzled alan.
he had never known there was any house near the lake shore -- had never heard mention made of any; yet here was one, and one which was evidently occupied, for a slender spiral of smoke was curling upward from it on the chilly spring air.
it could not be a fisherman's dwelling, for it was large and built after a quaint tasteful design.
the longer alan looked at it the more his wonder grew.
the people living here were in the bounds of his congregation.
how then was it that he had never seen or heard of them?
he sauntered slowly down the road until he saw that it led directly to the house and ended in the yard.
then he turned off in a narrow path to the shore.
he was not far from the house now and he scanned it observantly as he went past.
the barrens swept almost up to its door in front but at the side, sheltered from the lake winds by the pines, was a garden where there was a fine show of gay tulips and golden daffodils.
no living creature was visible and, in spite of the blossoming geraniums and muslin curtains at the windows and the homely spiral of smoke, the place had a lonely, almost untenanted, look.
when alan reached the shore he found that it was of a much more open and less rocky nature than the part which he had been used to frequent.
the beach was of sand and the scrub barrens dwindled down to it almost insensibly.
to right and left fir-fringed points ran out into the lake, shaping a little cove with the house in its curve.
alan walked slowly towards the left headland, intending to follow the shore around to the other road.
as he passed the point he stopped short in astonishment.
the second surprise and mystery of the evening confronted him.
a little distance away a girl was standing -- a girl who turned a startled face at his unexpected appearance.
alan douglas had thought he knew all the girls in rexton, but this lithe, glorious creature was a stranger to him.
she stood with her hand on the head of a huge, tawny collie dog; another dog was sitting on his haunches beside her.
she was tall, with a great braid of shining chestnut hair, showing ruddy burnished tints where the sunlight struck it, hanging over her shoulder.
the plain dark dress she wore emphasized the grace and strength of her supple form.
her face was oval and pale, with straight black brows and a finely cut crimson mouth -- a face whose beauty bore the indefinable stamp of race and breeding mingled with a wild sweetness, as of a flower growing in some lonely and inaccessible place.
none of the rexton girls looked like that.
who, in the name of all that was amazing, could she be?
as the thought crossed alan's mind the girl turned, with an air of indifference that might have seemed slightly overdone to a calmer observer than was the young minister at that moment and, with a gesture of command to her dogs, walked quickly away into the scrub spruces.
she was so tall that her uncovered head was visible over them as she followed some winding footpath, and alan stood like a man rooted to the ground until he saw her enter the grey house.
then he went homeward in a maze, all thought of sermons, doctrinal or otherwise, for the moment knocked out of his head.
she is the most beautiful woman i ever saw, he thought.
how is it possible that i have lived in rexton for six months and never heard of her or of that house?
well, i daresay there's some simple explanation of it all.
the place may have been unoccupied until lately -- probably it is the summer residence of people who have only recently come to it.
i'll ask mrs. danby.
she'll know if anybody will.
that good woman knows everything about everybody in rexton for three generations back.
alan found isabel king with his housekeeper when he got home.
his greeting was tinged with a slight constraint.
he was not a vain man, but he could not help knowing that isabel looked upon him with a favour that had in it much more than professional interest.
isabel herself showed it with sufficient distinctness.
moreover, he felt a certain personal dislike of her and of her hard, insistent beauty, which seemed harder and more insistent than ever contrasted with his recollection of the girl of the lake shore.
isabel had a trick of coming to the manse on plausible errands to mrs. danby and lingering until it was so dark that alan was in courtesy bound to see her home.
the ruse was a little too patent and amused alan, although he carefully hid his amusement and treated isabel with the fine unvarying deference which his mother had engrained into him for womanhood -- a deference that flattered isabel even while it annoyed her with the sense of a barrier which she could not break down or pass.
she was the daughter of the richest man in rexton and inclined to give herself airs on that account, but alan's gentle indifference always brought home to her an unwelcome feeling of inferiority.
""you've been tiring yourself out again tramping that lake shore, i suppose," said mrs. danby, who had kept house for three bachelor ministers and consequently felt entitled to hector them in a somewhat maternal fashion.
""not tiring myself -- resting and refreshing myself rather," smiled alan.
""i was tired when i went out but now i feel like a strong man rejoicing to run a race.
by the way, mrs. danby, who lives in that quaint old house away down at the very shore?
i never knew of its existence before."
alan's "by the way" was not quite so indifferent as he tried to make it.
isabel king, leaning back posingly among the cushions of the lounge, sat quickly up as he asked his question.
""dear me, you do n't mean to say you've never heard of captain anthony -- captain anthony oliver?"
said mrs. danby.
""he lives down there at four winds, as they call it -- he and his daughter and an old cousin."
isabel king bent forward, her brown eyes on alan's face.
""did you see lynde oliver?"
she asked with suppressed eagerness.
alan ignored the question -- perhaps he did not hear it.
""have they lived there long?"
he asked.
""for eighteen years," said mrs. danby placidly.
""it's funny you have n't heard them mentioned.
but people do n't talk much about the captain now -- he's an old story -- and of course they never go anywhere, not even to church.
the captain is a rank infidel and they say his daughter is just as bad.
to be sure, nobody knows much about her, but it stands to reason that a girl who's had her bringing up must be odd, to say no worse of her.
it's not really her fault, i suppose -- her wicked old scalawag of a father is to blame for it.
she's never darkened a church or school door in her life and they say she's always been a regular tomboy -- running wild outdoors with dogs, and fishing and shooting like a man.
nobody ever goes there -- the captain does n't want visitors.
he must have done something dreadful in his time, if it was only known, when he's so set on living like a hermit away down on that jumping-off place.
did you see any of them?"
""i saw miss oliver, i suppose," said alan briefly.
""at least i met a young lady on the shore.
but where did these people come from?
surely more is known of them than this."
""precious little.
the truth is, mr. douglas, folks do n't think the olivers respectable and do n't want to have anything to do with them.
eighteen years ago captain anthony came from goodness knows where, bought the four winds point, and built that house.
he said he'd been a sailor all his life and could n't live away from the water.
he brought his wife and child and an old cousin of his with him.
this lynde was n't more than two years old then.
people went to call but they never saw any of the women and the captain let them see they were n't wanted.
some of the men who'd been working round the place saw his wife and said she was sickly but real handsome and like a lady, but she never seemed to want to see anyone or be seen herself.
there was a story that the captain had been a smuggler and that if he was caught he'd be sent to prison.
oh, there were all sorts of yarns, mostly coming from the men who worked there, for nobody else ever got inside the house.
well, four years ago his wife disappeared -- it was n't known how or when.
she just was n't ever seen again, that's all.
whether she died or was murdered or went away nobody ever knew.
there was some talk of an investigation but nothing came of it.
as for the girl, she's always lived there with her father.
she must be a perfect heathen.
he never goes anywhere, but there used to be talk of strangers visiting him -- queer sort of characters who came up the lake in vessels from the american side.
i have n't heard any reports of such these past few years, though -- not since his wife disappeared.
he keeps a yacht and goes sailing in it -- sometimes he cruises about for weeks -- that's about all he ever does.
and now you know as much about the olivers as i do, mr. douglas."
alan had listened to this gossipy narrative with an interest that did not escape isabel king's observant eyes.
much of it he mentally dismissed as improbable surmise, but the basic facts were probably as mrs. danby had reported them.
he had known that the girl of the shore could be no commonplace, primly nurtured young woman.
""has no effort ever been made to bring these people into touch with the church?"
he asked absently.
""bless you, yes.
every minister that's ever been in rexton has had a try at it.
the old cousin met every one of them at the door and told him nobody was at home.
mr. strong was the most persistent -- he did n't like being beaten.
he went again and again and finally the captain sent him word that when he wanted parsons or pill-dosers he'd send for them, and till he did he'd thank them to mind their own business.
they say mr. strong met lynde once along shore and wanted to know if she would n't come to church, and she laughed in his face and told him she knew more about god now than he did or ever would.
perhaps the story is n't true.
or if it was maybe he provoked her into saying it.
mr. strong was n't overly tactful.
i believe in judging the poor girl as charitably as possible and making allowances for her, seeing how she's been brought up.
you could n't expect her to know how to behave."
somehow, alan resented mrs. danby's charity.
then, his sense of humour being strongly developed, he smiled to think of this commonplace old lady "making allowances" for the splendid bit of femininity he had seen on the shore.
a plump barnyard fowl might as well have talked of making allowances for a seagull!
alan walked home with isabel king but he was very silent as they went together down the long, dark, sweet-smelling country road bordered by its white orchards.
isabel put her own construction on his absent replies to her remarks and presently she asked him, "did you think lynde oliver handsome?"
the question gave alan an annoyance out of all proportion to its significance.
he felt an instinctive reluctance to discuss lynde oliver with isabel king.
""i saw her only for a moment," he said coldly, "but she impressed me as being a beautiful woman."
""they tell queer stories about her -- but maybe they're not all true," said isabel, unable to keep the sneer of malice out of her voice.
at that moment alan's secret contempt for her crystallized into pronounced aversion.
he made no reply and they went the rest of the way in silence.
at her gate isabel said, "you have n't been over to see us very lately, mr. douglas."
""my congregation is a large one and i can not visit all my people as often as i might wish," alan answered, all the more coldly for the personal note in her tone.
""a minister's time is not his own, you know."
""shall you be going to see the olivers?"
asked isabel bluntly.
""i have not considered that question.
good-night, miss king."
on his way back to the manse alan did consider the question.
should he make any attempt to establish friendly relations with the residents of four winds?
it surprised him to find how much he wanted to, but he finally concluded that he would not.
they were not adherents of his church and he did not believe that even a minister had any right to force himself upon people who plainly wished to be let alone.
when he got home, although it was late, he went to his study and began work on a new text -- for elder trewin's seemed utterly out of the question.
even with the new one he did not get on very well.
at last in exasperation he leaned back in his chair.
why ca n't i stop thinking of those four winds people?
here, let me put these haunting thoughts into words and see if that will lay them.
that girl had a beautiful face but a cold one.
would i like to see it lighted up with the warmth of her soul set free?
yes, frankly, i would.
she looked upon me with indifference.
would i like to see her welcome me as a friend?
i have a conviction that i would, although no doubt everybody in my congregation would look upon her as a most unsuitable friend for me.
do i believe that she is wild, unwomanly, heathenish, as mrs. danby says?
no, i do not, most emphatically.
i believe she is a lady in the truest sense of that much abused word, though she is doubtless unconventional.
having said all this, i do not see what more there is to be said.
and -- i -- am -- going -- to -- write -- this -- sermon.
alan wrote it, putting all thought of lynde oliver sternly out of his mind for the time being.
he had no notion of falling in love with her.
he knew nothing of love and imagined that it counted for nothing in his life.
he admitted that his curiosity was aflame about the girl, but it never occurred to him that she meant or could mean anything to him but an attractive enigma which once solved would lose its attraction.
the young women he knew in rexton, whose simple, pleasant friendship he valued, had the placid, domestic charm of their own sweet-breathed, windless orchards.
lynde oliver had the fascination of the lake shore -- wild, remote, untamed -- the lure of the wilderness and the primitive.
there was nothing more personal in his thought of her, and yet when he recalled isabel king's sneer he felt an almost personal resentment.
* * * * * during the following fortnight alan made many trips to the shore -- and he always went by the branch road to the four winds point.
he did not attempt to conceal from himself that he hoped to meet lynde oliver again.
in this he was unsuccessful.
sometimes he saw her at a distance along the shore but she always disappeared as soon as seen.
occasionally as he crossed the point he saw her working in her garden but he never went very near the house, feeling that he had no right to spy on it or her in any way.
he soon became convinced that she avoided him purposely and the conviction piqued him.
he felt an odd masterful desire to meet her face to face and make her look at him.
sometimes he called himself a fool and vowed he would go no more to the four winds shore.
yet he inevitably went.
he did not find in the shore the comfort and inspiration he had formerly found.
something had come between his soul and the soul of the wilderness -- something he did not recognize or formulate -- a nameless, haunting longing that shaped itself about the memory of a cold sweet face and starry, indifferent eyes, grey as the lake at dawn.
of captain anthony he never got even a glimpse, but he saw the old cousin several times, going and coming about the yard and its environs.
finally one day he met her, coming up a path which led to a spring down in a firry hollow.
she was carrying two heavy pails of water and alan asked permission to help her.
he half expected a repulse, for the tall, grim old woman had a rather stern and forbidding look, but after gazing at him a moment in a somewhat scrutinizing manner she said briefly, "you may, if you like."
alan took the pails and followed her, the path not being wide enough for two.
she strode on before him at a rapid, vigorous pace until they came out into the yard by the house.
alan felt his heart beating foolishly.
would he see lynde oliver?
would -- "you may carry the water there," the old woman said, pointing to a little outhouse near the pines.
""i'm washing -- the spring water is softer than the well water.
thank you" -- as alan set the pails down on a bench -- "i'm not so young as i was and bringing the water so far tires me.
lynde always brings it for me when she's home."
she stood before him in the narrow doorway, blocking his exit, and looked at him with keen, deep-set dark eyes.
in spite of her withered aspect and wrinkled face, she was not an uncomely old woman and there was about her a dignity of carriage and manner that pleased alan.
it did not occur to him to wonder why it should please him.
if he had hunted that feeling down he might have been surprised to discover that it had its origin in a curious gratification over the thought that the woman who lived with lynde had a certain refinement about her.
he preferred her unsmiling dourness to vulgar garrulity.
""are you the young minister up at rexton?"
she asked bluntly.
""yes."
""i thought so.
lynde said she had seen you on the shore once.
well" -- she cast an uncertain glance over her shoulder at the house -- "i'm much obliged to you."
alan had an idea that that was not what she had thought of saying, but as she had turned aside and was busying herself with the pails, there seemed nothing for him to do but to go.
""wait a moment."
she faced him again, and if alan had been a vain man he might have thought that admiration looked from her piercing eyes.
""what do you think of us?
i suppose they've told you tales of us up there?"
-- with a scornful gesture of her hand in the direction of rexton.
""do you believe them?"
""i believe no ill of anyone until i have absolute proof of it," said alan, smiling -- he was quite unconscious what a winning smile he had, which was the best of it -- "and i never put faith in gossip.
of course you are gossipped about -- you know that."
""yes, i know it" -- grimly -- "and i do n't care what they say about the captain and me.
we are a queer pair -- just as queer as they make us out.
you can believe what you like about us, but do n't you believe a word they say against lynde.
she's sweet and good and beautiful.
it's not her fault that she never went to church -- it's her father's.
do n't you hold that against her."
the fierce yet repressed energy of her tone prevented alan from feeling any amusement over her simple defence of lynde.
moreover, it sounded unreasonably sweet in his ears.
""i wo n't," he promised, "but i do n't suppose it would matter much to miss oliver if i did.
she did not strike me as a young lady who would worry very much about other people's opinions."
if his object were to prolong the conversation about lynde, he was disappointed, for the old woman had turned abruptly to her work again and, though alan lingered for a few moments longer, she took no further notice of him.
but when he had gone she peered stealthily after him from the door until he was lost to sight among the pines.
""a well-looking man," she muttered.
""i wish lynde had been home.
i did n't dare ask him to the house for i knew anthony was in one of his moods.
but it's time something was done.
she's woman grown and this is no life for her.
and there's nobody to do anything but me and i'm not able, even if i knew what to do.
i wonder why she hates men so.
perhaps it's because she never knew any that were real gentlemen.
this man is -- but then he's a minister and that makes a wide gulf between them in another way.
i've seen the love of man and woman bridge some wider gulfs though.
but it ca n't with lynde, i'm fearing.
she's so bitter at the mere speaking of love and marriage.
i ca n't think why.
i'm sure her mother and anthony were happy together, and that was all she's ever seen of marriage.
but i thought when she told me of meeting this young man on the shore there was something in her look i'd never noticed before -- as if she'd found something in herself she'd never known was there.
but she'll never make friends with him and i ca n't.
if the captain was n't so queer --" she stopped abruptly, for a tall lithe figure was coming up from the shore.
lynde waved her hand as she drew near.
""oh, emily, i've had such a splendid sail.
it was glorious.
bad emily, you've been carrying water.
did n't i tell you never to do that when i was away?"
""i did n't have to do it.
that young minister up at rexton met me and brought it up.
he's nice, lynde."
lynde's brow darkened.
she turned and walked away to the house without a word.
on his way home that night alan met isabel king on the main shore road.
she carried an armful of pine boughs and said she wanted the needles for a cushion.
yet the thought came into alan's mind that she was spying on him and, although he tried to dismiss it as unworthy, it continued to lurk there.
for a week he avoided the shore, but there came a day when its inexplicable lure drew him to it again irresistibly.
it was a warm, windy evening and the air was sweet and resinous, the lake misty and blue.
there was no sign of life about four winds and the shore seemed as lonely and virgin as if human foot had never trodden it.
the captain's yacht was gone from the little harbour where it was generally anchored and, though every flutter of wind in the scrub firs made alan's heart beat expectantly, he saw nothing of lynde oliver.
he was on the point of turning homeward, with an unreasoning sense of disappointment, when one of lynde's dogs broke down through the hedge of spruces, barking loudly.
alan looked for lynde to follow, but she did not, and he speedily saw that there was something unusual about the dog's behaviour.
the animal circled around him, still barking excitedly, then ran off for a short distance, stopped, barked again, and returned, repeating the manoeuvre.
it was plain that he wanted alan to follow him, and it occurred to the young minister that the dog's mistress must be in danger of some kind.
instantly he set off after him; and the dog, with a final sharp bark of satisfaction, sprang up the low bank into the spruces.
alan followed him across the peninsula and then along the further shore, which rapidly grew steep and high.
half a mile down the cliffs were rocky and precipitous, while the beach beneath them was heaped with huge boulders.
alan followed the dog along one of the narrow paths with which the barrens abounded until nearly a mile from four winds.
then the animal halted, ran to the edge of the cliff and barked.
it was an ugly-looking place where a portion of the soil had evidently broken away recently, and alan stepped cautiously out to the brink and looked down.
he could not repress an exclamation of dismay and alarm.
a few feet below him lynde oliver was lying on a mass of mossy soil which was apparently on the verge of slipping over a sloping shelf of rock, below which was a sheer drop of thirty feet to the cruel boulders below.
the extreme danger of her position was manifest at a glance; the soil on which she lay was stationary, yet it seemed as if the slightest motion on her part would send it over the brink.
lynde lay movelessly; her face was white, and both fear and appeal were visible in her large dilated eyes.
yet she was quite calm and a faint smile crossed her pale lips as she saw the man and the dog.
""good faithful pat, so you did bring help," she said.
""but how can i help you, miss oliver?"
said alan hoarsely.
""i can not reach you -- and it looks as if the slightest touch or jar would send that broken earth over the brink."
""i fear it would.
you must go back to four winds and get a rope."
""and leave you here alone -- in such danger?"
""pat will stay with me.
besides, there is nothing else to do.
you will find a rope in that little house where you put the water for emily.
father and emily are away.
i think i am quite safe here if i do n't move at all."
alan's own common sense told him that, as she said, there was nothing else to do and, much as he hated to leave her alone thus, he realized that he must lose no time in doing it.
""i'll be back as quickly as possible," he said hurriedly.
alan had been a noted runner at college and his muscles had not forgotten their old training.
yet it seemed to him an age ere he reached four winds, secured the rope, and returned.
at every flying step he was haunted by the thought of the girl lying on the brink of the precipice and the fear that she might slip over it before he could rescue her.
when he reached the scene of the accident he dreaded to look over the broken edge, but she was lying there safely and she smiled when she saw him -- a brave smile that softened her tense white face into the likeness of a frightened child's.
""if i drop the rope down to you, are you strong enough to hold to it while the earth goes and then draw yourself up the slope hand over hand?"
asked alan anxiously.
""yes," she answered fearlessly.
alan passed down one end of the rope and then braced himself firmly to hold it, for there was no tree near enough to be of any assistance.
the next moment the full weight of her body swung from it, for at her first movement the soil beneath her slipped away.
alan's heart sickened; what if she went with it?
could she cling to the rope while he drew her up?
then he saw she was still safe on the sloping shelf.
carefully and painfully she drew herself to her knees and, dinging to the rope, crept up the rock hand over hand.
when she came within his reach he grasped her arms and lifted her up into safety beside him.
""thank god," he said, with whiter lips than her own.
for a few moments lynde sat silent on the sod, exhausted with fright and exertion, while her dog fawned on her in an ecstasy of joy.
finally she looked up into alan's anxious face and their eyes met.
it was something more than the physical reaction that suddenly flushed the girl's cheeks.
she sprang lithely to her feet.
""can you walk back home?"
alan asked.
""oh, yes, i am all right now.
it was very foolish of me to get into such a predicament.
father and emily went down the lake in the yacht this afternoon and i started out for a ramble.
when i came here i saw some junebells growing right out on the ledge and i crept out to gather them.
i should have known better.
it broke away under me and the more i tried to scramble back the faster it slid down, carrying me with it.
i thought it would go right over the brink" -- she gave a little involuntary shudder -- "but just at the very edge it stopped.
i knew i must lie very still or it would go right over.
it seemed like days.
pat was with me and i told him to go for help, but i knew there was no one at home -- and i was horribly afraid," she concluded with another shiver.
""i never was afraid in my life before -- at least not with that kind of fear."
""you have had a terrible experience and a narrow escape," said alan lamely.
he could think of nothing more to say; his usual readiness of utterance seemed to have failed him.
""you saved my life," she said, "you and pat -- for doggie must have his share of credit."
""a much larger share than mine," said alan, smiling.
""if pat had not come for me, i would not have known of your danger.
what a magnificent fellow he is!"
""is n't he?"
she agreed proudly.
""and so is laddie, my other dog.
he went with father today.
i love my dogs more than people."
she looked at him with a little defiance in her eyes.
""i suppose you think that terrible."
""i think many dogs are much more lovable -- and worthy of love -- than many people," said alan, laughing.
how childlike she was in some ways!
that trace of defiance -- it was so like a child who expected to be scolded for some wrong attitude of mind.
and yet there were moments when she looked the tall proud queen.
sometimes, when the path grew narrow, she walked before him, her hand on the dog's head.
alan liked this, since it left him free to watch admiringly the swinging grace of her step and the white curves of her neck beneath the thick braid of hair, which today was wound about her head.
when she dropped back beside him in the wider spaces, he could only have stolen glances at her profile, delicately, strongly cut, virginal in its soft curves, childlike in its purity.
once she looked around and caught his glance; again she flushed, and something strange and exultant stirred in alan's heart.
it was as if that maiden blush were the involuntary, unconscious admission of some power he had over her -- a power which her hitherto unfettered spirit had never before felt.
the cold indifference he had seen in her face at their first meeting was gone, and something told him it was gone forever.
when they came in sight of four winds they saw two people walking up the road from the harbour and a few further steps brought them face to face with captain anthony oliver and his old housekeeper.
the captain's appearance was a fresh surprise to alan.
he had expected to meet a rough, burly sailor, loud of voice and forbidding of manner.
instead, captain anthony was a tall, well-built man of perhaps fifty.
his face, beneath its shock of iron-grey hair, was handsome but wore a somewhat forbidding expression, and there was something in it, apart from line or feature, which did not please alan.
he had no time to analyze this impression, for lynde said hurriedly, "father, this is mr. douglas.
he has just done me a great service."
she briefly explained her accident; when she had finished, the captain turned to alan and held out his hand, a frank smile replacing the rather suspicious and contemptuous scowl which had previously overshadowed it.
""i am much obliged to you, mr. douglas," he said cordially.
""you must come up to the house and let me thank you at leisure.
as a rule i'm not very partial to the cloth, as you may have heard.
in this case it is the man, not the minister, i invite."
the front door of four winds opened directly into a wide, low-ceilinged living room, furnished with simplicity and good taste.
leaving the two men there, lynde and the old cousin vanished, and alan found himself talking freely with the captain who could, as it appeared, talk well on many subjects far removed from four winds.
he was evidently a clever, self-educated man, somewhat opinionated and given to sarcasm; he never made any references to his own past life or experiences, but alan discovered him to be surprisingly well read in politics and science.
sometimes in the pauses of the conversation alan found the older man looking at him in a furtive way he did not like, but the captain was such an improvement on what he had been led to expect that he was not inclined to be over critical.
at least, this was what he honestly thought.
he did not suspect that it was because this man was lynde's father that he wished to think as well as possible of him.
presently lynde came in.
she had changed her outdoor dress, stained with moss and soil in her fall, for a soft clinging garment of some pale yellow material, and her long, thick braid of hair hung over her shoulder.
she sat mutely down in a dim corner and took no part in the conversation except to answer briefly the remarks which alan addressed to her.
emily came in and lighted the lamp on the table.
she was as grim and unsmiling as ever, yet she cast a look of satisfaction on alan as she passed out.
one dog lay down at lynde's feet, the other sat on his haunches by her side and laid his head on her lap.
rexton and its quiet round of parish duties seemed thousands of miles away from alan, and he wondered a little if this were not all a dream.
when he went away the captain invited him back.
""if you like to come, that is," he said brusquely, "and always as the man, not the priest, remember.
i do n't want you by and by to be slyly slipping in the thin end of any professional wedges.
you'll waste your time if you do.
come as man to man and you'll be welcome, for i like you -- and it's few men i like.
but do n't try to talk religion to me."
""i never talk religion," said alan emphatically.
""i try to live it.
i'll not come to your house as a self-appointed missionary, sir, but i shall certainly act and speak at all times as my conscience and my reverence for my vocation demands.
if i respect your beliefs, whatever they may be, i shall expect you to respect mine, captain oliver."
""oh, i wo n't insult your god," said the captain with a faint sneer.
alan went home in a tumult of contending feelings.
he did not altogether like captain anthony -- that was very clear to him, and yet there was something about the man that attracted him.
intellectually he was a worthy foeman, and alan had often longed for such since coming to rexton.
he missed the keen, stimulating debates of his college days and, now there seemed a chance of renewing them, he was eager to grasp it.
and lynde -- how beautiful she was!
what though she shared -- as was not unlikely -- in her father's lack of belief?
she could not be essentially irreligious -- that were impossible in a true woman.
might not this be his opportunity to help her -- to lead her into dearer light?
alan douglas was a sincere man, with himself as well as with others, yet there are some motives that lie, in their first inception, too deep even for the probe of self-analysis.
he had not as yet the faintest suspicion as to the real source of his interest in lynde oliver -- in his sudden forceful desire to be of use and service to her -- to rescue her from spiritual peril as he had that day rescued her from bodily danger.
she must have a lonely, unsatisfying life, he thought.
it is my duty to help her if i can.
it did not then occur to him that duty in this instance wore a much more pleasing aspect than it had sometimes worn in his experience.
* * * * * alan did not mean to be oversoon in going back to four winds, but three days later a book came to him which captain anthony had expressed a wish to see.
it furnished an excuse for an earlier call.
after that he went often.
he always found the captain courteous and affable, old emily grimly cordial, lynde sometimes remote and demure, sometimes frankly friendly.
occasionally, when the captain was away in his yacht, he went for a walk with her and her dogs along the shore or through the sweet-smelling pinelands up the lake.
he found that she loved books and was avid for more of them than she could obtain; he was glad to take her several and discuss them with her.
she liked history and travels best.
with novels she had no patience, she said disdainfully.
she seldom spoke of herself or her past life and alan fancied she avoided any personal reference.
but once she said abruptly, "why do you never ask me to go to church?
i've always been afraid you would."
""because i do not think it would do you any good to go if you did n't want to," said alan gravely.
""souls should not be rudely handled any more than bodies."
she looked at him reflectively, her finger denting her chin in a meditative fashion she had.
""you are not at all like mr. strong.
he always scolded me, when he got a chance, for not going to church.
i would have hated him if it had been worthwhile.
i told him one day that i was nearer to god under these pines than i could be in any building fashioned by human hands.
he was very much shocked.
but i do n't want you to misunderstand me.
father does not go to church because he does not believe there is a god.
but i know there is.
mother taught me so.
i have never gone to church because father would not allow me, and i could not go now in rexton where the people talk about me so.
oh, i know they do -- you know it, too -- but i do not care for them.
i know i'm not like other girls.
i would like to be but i ca n't be -- i never can be -- now."
there was some strange passion in her voice that alan did not quite understand -- a bitterness and a revolt which he took to be against the circumstances that hedged her in.
""is not some other life possible for you if your present life does not content you?"
he said gently.
""but it does content me," said lynde imperiously.
""i want no other -- i wish this life to go on forever -- forever, do you understand?
if i were sure that it would -- if i were sure that no change would ever come to me, i would be perfectly content.
it is the fear that a change will come that makes me wretched.
oh!"
she shuddered and put her hands over her eyes.
alan thought she must mean that when her father died she would be alone in the world.
he wanted to comfort her -- reassure her -- but he did not know how.
one evening when he went to four winds he found the door open and, seeing the captain in the living room, he stepped in unannounced.
captain anthony was sitting by the table, his head in his hands; at alan's entrance he turned upon him a haggard face, blackened by a furious scowl beneath which blazed eyes full of malevolence.
""what do you want here?"
he said, following up the demand with a string of vile oaths.
before alan could summon his scattered wits, lynde glided in with a white, appealing face.
wordlessly she grasped alan's arm, drew him out, and shut the door.
""oh, i've been watching for you," she said breathlessly.
""i was afraid you might come tonight -- but i missed you."
""but your father?"
said alan in amazement.
""how have i angered him?"
""hush.
come into the garden.
i will explain there."
he followed her into the little enclosure where the red and white roses were now in full blow.
""father is n't angry with you," said lynde in a low shamed voice.
""it's just -- he takes strange moods sometimes.
then he seems to hate us all -- even me -- and he is like that for days.
he seems to suspect and dread everybody as if they were plotting against him.
you -- perhaps you think he has been drinking?
no, that is not the trouble.
these terrible moods come on without any cause that we know of.
even mother could not do anything with him when he was like that.
you must go away now -- and do not come back until his dark mood has passed.
he will be just as glad to see you as ever then, and this will not make any difference with him.
do n't come back for a week at least."
""i do not like to leave you in such trouble, miss oliver."
""oh, it does n't matter about me -- i have emily.
and there is nothing you could do.
please go at once.
father knows i am talking to you and that will vex him still more."
alan, realizing that he could not help her and that his presence only made matters worse, went away perplexedly.
the following week was a miserable one for him.
his duties were distasteful to him and meeting his people a positive torture.
sometimes mrs. danby looked dubiously at him and seemed on the point of saying something -- but never said it.
isabel king watched him when they met, with bold probing eyes.
in his abstraction he did not notice this any more than he noticed a certain subtle change which had come over the members of his congregation -- as if a breath of suspicion had blown across them and troubled their confidence and trust.
once alan would have been keenly and instantly conscious of this slight chill; now he was not even aware of it.
when he ventured to go back to four winds he found the captain on the point of starting off for a cruise in his yacht.
he was urbane and friendly, utterly ignoring the incident of alan's last visit and regretting that business compelled him to go down the lake.
alan saw him off with small regret and turned joyfully to lynde, who was walking under the pines with her dogs.
she looked pale and tired and her eyes were still troubled, but she smiled proudly and made no reference to what had happened.
""i'm going to put these flowers on mother's grave," she said, lifting her slender hands filled with late white roses.
""mother loved flowers and i always keep them near her when i can.
you may come with me if you like."
alan had known lynde's mother was buried under the pines but he had never visited the spot before.
the grave was at the westernmost end of the pine wood, where it gave out on the lake, a beautiful spot, given over to silence and shadow.
""mother wished to be buried here," lynde said, kneeling to arrange her flowers.
""father would have taken her anywhere but she said she wanted to be near us and near the lake she had loved so well.
father buried her himself.
he would n't have anyone else do anything for her.
i am so glad she is here.
it would have been terrible to have seen her taken far away -- my sweet little mother."
""a mother is the best thing in the world -- i realized that when i lost mine," said alan gently.
""how long is it since your mother died?"
""three years.
oh, i thought i should die too when she did.
she was very ill -- she was never strong, you know -- but i never thought she could die.
there was a year then -- part of the time i did n't believe in god at all and the rest i hated him.
i was very wicked but i was so unhappy.
father had so many dreadful moods and -- there was something else.
i used to wish to die."
she bowed her head on her hands and gazed moodily on the ground.
alan, leaning against a pine tree, looked down at her.
the sunlight fell through the swaying boughs on her glory of burnished hair and lighted up the curve of cheek and chin against the dark background of wood brown.
all the defiance and wildness had gone from her for the time and she seemed like a helpless, weary child.
he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her.
""you must resemble your mother," he said absently, as if thinking aloud.
""you do n't look at all like your father."
lynde shook her head.
""no, i do n't look like mother either.
she was tiny and dark -- she had a sweet little face and velvet-brown eyes and soft curly dark hair.
oh, i remember her look so well.
i wish i did resemble her.
i loved her so -- i would have done anything to save her suffering and trouble.
at least, she died in peace."
there was a curious note of fierce self-gratulation in the girl's voice as she spoke the last sentence.
again alan felt the unpleasant impression that there was much in her that he did not understand -- might never understand -- although such understanding was necessary to perfect friendship.
she had never spoken so freely of her past life to him before, yet he felt somehow that something was being kept back in jealous repression.
it must be something connected with her father, alan thought.
doubtless, captain anthony's past would not bear inspection, and his daughter knew it and dwelt in the shadow of her knowledge.
his heart filled with aching pity for her; he raged secretly because he was so powerless to help her.
her girlhood had been blighted, robbed of its meed of happiness and joy.
was she likewise to miss her womanhood?
alan's hands clenched involuntarily at the unuttered question.
on his way home that evening he again met isabel king.
she turned and walked back with him but she made no reference to four winds or its inhabitants.
if alan had troubled himself to look, he would have seen a malicious glow in her baleful brown eyes.
but the only eyes which had any meaning for him just then were the grey ones of lynde oliver.
* * * * * during alan's next three visits to four winds he saw nothing of lynde, either in the house or out of it.
this surprised and worried him.
there was no apparent difference in captain anthony, who continued to be suave and friendly.
alan always enjoyed his conversations with the captain, who was witty, incisive, and pungent; yet he disliked the man himself more at every visit.
if he had been compelled to define his impression, he would have said the captain was a charming scoundrel.
but it occurred to him that emily was disturbed about something.
sometimes he caught her glance, full of perplexity and -- it almost seemed -- distrust.
she looked as if she felt hostile towards him.
but alan dismissed the idea as absurd.
she had been friendly from the first and he had done nothing to excite her disapproval.
lynde's mysterious absence was a far more perplexing problem.
she had not gone away, for when alan asked the captain concerning her, he responded indifferently that she was out walking.
alan caught a glint of amusement in the older man's eyes as he spoke.
he could have sworn it was malicious amusement.
one evening he went to four winds around the shore.
as he turned the headland of the cove, he saw lynde and her dogs not a hundred feet away.
the moment she saw him she darted up the bank and disappeared among the firs.
alan was thunderstruck.
there was no room for doubt that she meant to avoid him.
he walked up to the house in a tumult of mingled feelings which he did not even then understand.
he only realized that he felt bitterly hurt and grieved -- puzzled as well.
what did it all mean?
he met emily in the yard of four winds on her way to the spring and stopped her resolutely.
""miss oliver," he said bluntly, "is miss lynde angry with me?
and why?"
emily looked at him piercingly.
""have you no idea why?"
she asked shortly.
""none in the world."
she looked at him through and through a moment longer.
then, seeming satisfied with her scrutiny, she picked up her pail.
""come down to the spring with me," she said.
as soon as they were out of sight of the house, emily began abruptly.
""if you do n't know why lynde is acting so, i ca n't tell you, for i do n't know either.
i do n't even know if she is angry.
i only thought perhaps she was -- that you had done or said something to vex her -- plaguing her to go to church maybe.
but if you did n't, it may not be anger at all.
i do n't understand that girl.
she's been different ever since her mother died.
she used to tell me everything before that.
you must go and ask her right out yourself what is wrong.
but maybe i can tell you something.
did you write her a letter a fortnight ago?"
""a letter?
no."
""well, she got one then.
i thought it came from you -- i did n't know who else would be writing to her.
a boy brought it and gave it to her at the door.
she's been acting strange ever since.
she cries at night -- something lynde never did before except when her mother died.
and in daytime she roams the shore and woods like one possessed.
you must find out what was in that letter, mr. douglas."
""have you any idea who the boy was?"
alan asked, feeling somewhat relieved.
the mystery was clearing up, he thought.
no doubt it was the old story of some cowardly anonymous letter.
his thoughts flew involuntarily to isabel king.
emily shook her head.
""no.
he was just a half-grown fellow with reddish hair and he limped a little."
""oh, that is the postmaster's son," said alan disappointedly.
""that puts us further off the scent than ever.
the letter was probably dropped in the box at the office and there will consequently be no way of tracing the writer."
""well, i ca n't tell you anything more," said emily.
""you'll have to ask lynde for the truth."
this alan was determined to do whenever he should meet her.
he did not go to the house with emily but wandered about the shore, watching for lynde and not seeing her.
at length he went home, a prey to stormy emotions.
he realized at last that he loved lynde oliver.
he wondered how he could have been so long blind to it.
he knew that he must have loved her ever since he had first seen her.
the discovery amazed but did not shock him.
there was no reason why he should not love her -- should not woo and win her for his wife if she cared for him.
she was good and sweet and true.
anything of doubt in her antecedents could not touch her.
probably the world would look upon captain anthony as a somewhat undesirable father-in-law for a minister, but that aspect of the question did not disturb alan.
as for the trouble of the letter, he felt sure he would easily be able to clear it away.
probably some malicious busybody had become aware of his frequent calls at four winds and chose to interfere in his private affairs thus.
for the first time it occurred to him that there had been a certain lack of cordiality among his people of late.
if it were really so, doubtless this was the reason.
at any other time this would have been of moment to him.
but now his thoughts were too wholly taken up with lynde and the estrangement on her part to attach much importance to anything else.
what she thought mattered incalculably more to alan than what all the people in rexton put together thought.
he had the right, like any other man, to woo the woman of his choice and he would certainly brook no outside interference in the matter.
after a sleepless night he went back to four winds in the morning.
lynde would not expect him at that time and he would have more chance of finding her.
the result justified his idea, for he met her by the spring.
alan felt shocked at the change in her appearance.
she looked as if years of suffering had passed over her.
her lips were pallid, and hollow circles under her eyes made them appear unnaturally large.
he had last left the girl in the bloom of her youth; he found her again a woman on whom life had laid its heavy hand.
a burning flood of colour swept over her face as they met, then receded as quickly, leaving her whiter than before.
without any waste of words, alan plunged abruptly into the subject.
""miss oliver, why have you avoided me so of late?
have i done anything to offend you?"
""no."
she spoke as if the word hurt her, her eyes persistently cast down.
""then what is the trouble?"
there was no answer.
she gave an unvoluntary glance around as if seeking some way of escape.
there was none, for the spring was set about with thick young firs and alan blocked the only path.
he leaned forward and took her hands in his.
""miss oliver, you must tell me what the trouble is," he said firmly.
she pulled her hands away and flung them up to her face, her form shaken by stormy sobs.
in distress he put his arm about her and drew her closer.
""tell me, lynde," he whispered tenderly.
she broke away from him, saying passionately, "you must not come to four winds any more.
you must not have anything more to do with us -- any of us.
we have done you enough harm already.
but i never thought it could hurt you -- oh, i am sorry, sorry!"
""miss oliver, i want to see that letter you received the other evening.
oh" -- as she started with surprise -- "i know about it -- emily told me.
who wrote it?"
""there was no name signed to it," she faltered.
""just as i thought.
well, you must let me see it."
""i can not -- i burned it."
""then tell me what was in it.
you must.
this matter must be cleared up -- i am not going to have our beautiful friendship spoiled by the malice of some coward.
what did that letter say?"
""it said that everybody in your congregation was talking about your frequent visits here -- that it had made a great scandal -- that it was doing you a great deal of injury and would probably end in your having to leave rexton."
""that would be a catastrophe indeed," said alan drily.
""well, what else?"
""nothing more -- at least, nothing about you.
the rest was about myself -- i did not mind it -- much.
but i was so sorry to think that i had done you harm.
it is not too late to undo it.
you must not come here any more.
then they will forget."
""perhaps -- but i should not forget.
it's a little too late for me.
lynde, you must not let this venomous letter come between us.
i love you, dear -- i've loved you ever since i met you and i want you for my wife."
alan had not intended to say that just then, but the words came to his lips in spite of himself.
she looked so sad and appealing and weary that he wanted to have the right to comfort and protect her.
she turned her eyes full upon him with no hint of maidenly shyness or shrinking in them.
instead, they were full of a blank, incredulous horror that swallowed up every other feeling.
there was no mistaking their expression and it struck an icy chill to alan's heart.
he had certainly not expected a too ready response on her part -- he knew that even if she cared for him he might find it a matter of time to win her avowal of it -- but he certainly had not expected to see such evident abject dismay as her blanched face betrayed.
she put up her hand as if warding a blow.
""do n't -- do n't," she gasped.
""you must not say that -- you must never say it.
oh, i never dreamed of this.
if i had thought it possible you could -- love me, i would never have been friends with you.
oh, i've made a terrible mistake."
she wrung her hands piteously together, looking like a soul in torment.
alan could not bear to see her pain.
""do n't feel such distress," he implored.
""i suppose i've spoken too abruptly -- but i'll be so patient, dear, if you'll only try to care for me a little.
ca n't you, dear?"
""i ca n't marry you," said lynde desperately.
she leaned against a slim white bole of a young birch behind her and looked at him wretchedly.
""wo n't you please go away and forget me?"
""i ca n't forget you," alan said, smiling a little in spite of his suffering.
""you are the only woman i can ever love -- and i ca n't give you up unless i have to.
wo n't you be frank with me, dear?
do you honestly think you can never learn to love me?"
""it is not that," said lynde in a hard, unnatural voice.
""i am married already."
alan stared at her, not in the least comprehending the meaning of her words.
everything -- pain, hope, fear, passion -- had slipped away from him for a moment, as if he had been stunned by a physical blow.
he could not have heard aright.
""married?"
he said dully.
""lynde, you can not mean it?"
""yes, i do.
i was married three years ago."
""why was i not told this?"
alan's voice was stern, although he did not mean it to be so, and she shrank and shivered.
then she began in a low monotonous tone from which all feeling of any sort seemed to have utterly faded.
""three years ago mother was very ill -- so ill that any shock would kill her, so the doctor father brought from the lake told us.
a man -- a young sea captain -- came here to see father.
his name was frank harmon and he had known father well in the past.
they had sailed together.
father seemed to be afraid of him -- i had never seen him afraid of anybody before.
i could not think much about anybody except mother then, but i knew i did not quite like captain harmon, although he was very polite to me and i suppose might have been called handsome.
one day father came to me and told me i must marry captain harmon.
i laughed at the idea at first but when i looked at father's face i did not laugh.
it was all white and drawn.
he implored me to marry captain harmon.
he said if i did not it would mean shame and disgrace for us all -- that captain harmon had some hold on him and would tell what he knew if i did not marry him.
i do n't know what it was but it must have been something dreadful.
and he said it would kill mother.
i knew it would, and that was what drove me to consent at last.
oh, i ca n't tell you what i suffered.
i was only seventeen and there was nobody to advise me.
one day father and captain harmon and i went down the lake to crosse harbour and we were married there.
as soon as the ceremony was over, captain harmon had to sail in his vessel.
he was going to china.
father and i came back home.
nobody knew -- not even emily.
he said we must not tell mother until she was better.
but she was never better.
she only lived three months more -- she lived them happily and at rest.
when i think of that, i am not sorry for what i did.
captain harmon said he would be back in the fall to claim me.
i waited, sick at heart.
but he did not come -- he has never come.
we have never heard a word of or about him since.
sometimes i feel sure he can not be still living.
but never a day dawns that i do n't say to myself, "perhaps he will come today" -- and, oh --" she broke down again, sobbing bitterly.
amid all the daze of his own pain alan realized that, at any cost, he must not make it harder for her by showing his suffering.
he tried to speak calmly, wisely, as a disinterested friend.
""could it not be discovered whether your -- this man -- is or is not living?
surely your father could find out."
lynde shook her head.
""no, he says he has no way of doing so.
we do not know if captain harmon had any relatives or even where his home was, and it was his own ship in which he sailed.
father would be glad to think that frank harmon was dead, but he does not think he is.
he says he was always a fickle-minded fellow, one fancy driving another out of his mind.
oh, i can bear my own misery -- but to think what i have brought on you!
i never dreamed that you could care for me.
i was so lonely and your friendship was so pleasant -- can you ever forgive me?"
""there is nothing to forgive, as far as you are concerned, lynde," said alan steadily.
""you have done me no wrong.
i have loved you sincerely and such love can be nothing but a blessing to me.
i only wish that i could help you.
it wrings my heart to think of your position.
but i can do nothing -- nothing.
i must not even come here any more.
you understand that?"
""yes."
there was an unconscious revelation in the girl's mournful eyes as she turned them on alan.
it thrilled him to the core of his being.
she loved him.
if it were not for that empty marriage form, he could win her, but the knowledge was only an added mocking torment.
alan had not known a man could endure such misery and live.
a score of wild questions rushed to his lips but he crushed them back for lynde's sake and held out his hand.
""good-bye, dear," he said almost steadily, daring to say no more lest he should say too much.
""good-bye," lynde answered faintly.
when he had gone she flung herself down on the moss by the spring and lay there in an utter abandonment of misery and desolation.
pain and indignation struggled for mastery in alan's stormy soul as he walked homeward.
so this was captain anthony's doings!
he had sacrificed his daughter to some crime of his dubious past.
alan never dreamed of blaming lynde for having kept her marriage a secret; he put the blame where it belonged -- on the captain's shoulders.
captain anthony had never warned him by so much as a hint that lynde was not free to be won.
it had all probably seemed a good joke to him.
alan thought the furtive amusement he had so often detected in the captain's eyes was explained now.
he found elder trewin in his study when he got home.
the good elder's face was stern and anxious; he had called on a distasteful errand -- to tell the young minister of the scandal his intimacy with the four winds people was making in the congregation and remonstrate with him concerning it.
alan listened absently, with none of the resentment he would have felt at the interference a day previously.
a man does not mind a pin-prick when a limb is being wrenched away.
""i can promise you that my objectionable calls at four winds will cease," he said sarcastically, when the elder had finished.
elder trewin got himself away, feeling snubbed but relieved.
""took it purty quiet," he reflected.
""do n't believe there was much in the yarns after all.
isabel king started them and probably she exaggerated a lot.
i suppose he's had some notion like as not of bringing the captain over to the church.
but that's foolish, for he'd never manage it, and meanwhile was giving occasion for gossip.
it's just as well to stop it.
he's a good pastor and he works hard -- too hard, mebbe.
he looked real careworn and worried today."
the rexton gossip soon ceased with the cessation of the young minister's visits to four winds.
a month later it suffered a brief revival when a tall grim-faced old woman, whom a few recognized as captain anthony's housekeeper, was seen to walk down the rexton road and enter the manse.
she did not stay there long -- watchers from a dozen different windows were agreed upon that -- and nobody, not even mrs. danby, who did her best to find out, ever knew why she had called.
emily looked at alan with grim reproach when she was shown into his study, and as soon as they were alone she began with her usual abruptness, "mr. douglas, why have you given up coming to four winds?"
alan flinched.
""you must ask lynde that, miss oliver," he said quietly.
""i have asked her -- and she says nothing."
""then i can not tell you."
anger glowed in emily's eyes.
""i thought you were a gentleman," she said bitterly.
""you are not.
you are breaking lynde's heart.
she's gone to a shadow of herself and she's fretting night and day.
you went there and made her like you -- oh, i've eyes -- and then you left her."
alan bent over his desk and looked the old woman in the face unflinchingly.
""you are mistaken, miss oliver," he said earnestly.
""i love lynde and would be only too happy if it were possible that i could marry her.
i am not to blame for what has come about -- she will tell you that herself if you ask her."
his look and tone convinced emily.
""who is to blame then?
lynde herself?"
""no, no."
""the captain then?"
""not in the sense you mean.
i can tell you nothing more."
a baffled expression crossed the old woman's face.
""there's a mystery here -- there always has been -- and i'm shut out of it.
lynde wo n't confide in me -- in me who'd give my life's blood to help her.
perhaps i can help her -- i could tell you something.
have you stopped coming to four winds -- has she made you stop coming -- because she's got such a wicked old scamp for a father?
is that the reason?"
alan shook his head.
""no, that has nothing to do with it."
""and you wo n't come back?"
""it is not a question of will.
i can not -- must not go."
""lynde will break her heart then," said emily in a tone of despair.
""i think not.
she is too strong and fine for that.
help her all you can with sympathy but do n't torment her with any questions.
you may tell her if you like that i advise her to confide the whole story to you, but if she can not do n't tease her to.
be very gentle with her."
""you do n't need to tell me that.
i'd rather die than hurt her.
i came here full of anger against you -- but i see now you are not to blame.
you are suffering too -- your face tells that.
all the same, i wish you'd never set foot in four winds.
she was n't happy before but she was n't so miserable as she is now.
oh, i know anthony is at the bottom of it all in some way but i wo n't ask you any more questions since you do n't feel free to answer them.
but are you sure that nothing can be done to clear up the trouble?"
""too sure," said alan's white lips.
* * * * * the autumn dragged away.
alan found out how much a man may suffer and yet go on living and working.
as for that, his work was all that made life possible for him now and he flung himself into it with feverish energy, growing so thin and hollow-eyed over it that even elder trewin remonstrated and suggested a vacation -- a suggestion at which alan merely smiled.
a vacation which would take him away from lynde's neighbourhood -- the thought was not to be entertained.
he never saw lynde, for he never went to any part of the shore now; yet he hungered constantly for the sight of her, the sound of her voice, the glance of her luminous eyes.
when he pictured her eating her heart out in the solitude of four winds, he clenched his hands in despair.
as for the possibility of harmon's return, alan could never face it for a moment.
when it thrust its ugly presence into his thoughts, he put it away desperately.
the man was dead -- or his fickle fancy had veered elsewhere.
nothing else could explain his absence.
but they could never know, and the uncertainty would forever stand between him and lynde like a spectre.
but he thought more of lynde's pain than his own.
he would have elected to bear any suffering if by so doing he could have freed her from the nightmare dread of harmon's returning to claim her.
that dread had always hung over her and now it must be intensified to agony by her love for another man.
and he could do nothing -- nothing.
he groaned aloud in his helplessness.
one evening in late november alan flung aside his pen and yielded to the impulse that urged him to the lake shore.
he did not mean to seek lynde -- he would go to a part of the shore where there would be no likelihood of meeting her.
but get away by himself he must.
a november storm was raging and there would be a certain satisfaction in breasting its buffets and fighting his way through it.
besides, he knew that isabel king was in the house and he dreaded meeting her.
since his conviction that she had written that letter to lynde, he could not tolerate the girl and it tasked his self-control to keep from showing his contempt openly.
perhaps isabel felt it beneath all his outward courtesy.
at least she did not seek his society as she had formerly done.
it was the second day of the storm; a wild northeast gale was blowing and cold rain and freezing sleet fell in frequent showers.
alan shivered as he came out into its full fury on the lake shore.
at first he could not see the water through the driving mist.
then it cleared away for a moment and he stopped short, aghast at the sight which met his eyes.
opposite him was a long low island known as philip's point, dwindling down at its northeastern side to two long narrow bars of quicksand.
alan's horrified eyes saw a small schooner sunk between the bars; her hull was entirely under water and in the rigging clung one solitary figure.
so much he saw before the point was blotted out in a renewed downpour of sleet.
without a moment's hesitation alan turned and ran for four winds, which was only about a quarter of a mile away around a headland.
with the captain's assistance, something might be done.
other help could not be obtained before darkness would fall and then it would be impossible to do anything.
he dashed up the steps of four winds and met emily, who had flung the door open.
behind her was lynde's pale face with its alarmed questioning eyes.
""where is the captain?"
gasped alan.
""there's a vessel on philip's point and one man at least on her."
""the captain's away on a cruise," said emily blankly.
""he went three days ago."
""then nothing can be done," said alan despairingly.
""it will be dark long before i can get to the village."
lynde stepped out, tying a shawl around her head.
""let us go around to the point," she said.
""have you matches?
no?
emily, get some.
we must light a bonfire at least.
and bring father's glass."
""it is not a fit night for you to be out," said alan anxiously.
""you are sheltered here -- you do n't feel it -- but it's a fearful storm down there."
""i am not afraid of the storm.
it will not hurt me.
let us hurry.
it is growing dark already."
in silence they breasted their way to the shore and around the headland.
arriving opposite philip's point, a lull in the sleet permitted them to see the sunken schooner and the clinging figure.
lynde waved her hand to him and they saw him wave back.
""it wo n't be necessary to light a fire now that he has seen us," said lynde.
""nothing can be done with village help till morning and that man can never cling there so long.
he will freeze to death, for it is growing colder every minute.
his only chance is to swim ashore if he can swim.
the danger will be when he comes near shore; the undertow of the backwater on the quicksand will sweep him away and in his probably exhausted condition he may not be able to make head against it."
""he knows that, doubtless, and that is why he has n't attempted to swim ashore before this," said alan.
""but i'll meet him in the backwater and drag him in."
""you -- you'll risk your own life," cried lynde.
""there is a little risk certainly, but i do n't think there is a great one.
anyhow, the attempt must be made," said alan quietly.
suddenly lynde's composure forsook her.
she wrung her hands.
""i ca n't let you do it," she cried wildly.
""you might be drowned -- there's every risk.
you do n't know the force of that backwater.
alan, alan, do n't think of it."
she caught his arm in her white wet hands and looked into his face with passionate pleading.
emily, who had said nothing, now spoke harshly.
""lynde is right, mr. douglas.
you have no right to risk your life for a stranger.
my advice is to go to the village for help, and lynde and i will make a fire and watch here.
that is all that can be expected of you or us."
alan paid no heed to emily.
very tenderly he loosened lynde's hold on his arm and looked into her quivering face.
""you know it is my duty, lynde," he said gently.
""if anything can be done for that poor man, i am the only one who can do it.
i will come back safe, please god.
be brave, dear."
lynde, with a little moan of resignation, turned away.
old emily looked on with a face of grim disapproval as alan waded out into the surf that boiled and swirled around him in a mad whirl of foam.
the shower of sleet had again slackened, and the wreck half a mile away, with its solitary figure, was dearly visible.
alan beckoned to the man to jump overboard and swim ashore, enforcing his appeal by gestures that commanded haste before the next shower should come.
for a few moments it seemed as if the seaman did not understand or lacked the courage or power to obey.
the next minute he had dropped from the rigging on the crest of a mighty wave and was being borne onward to the shore.
speedily the backwater was reached and the man, sucked down by the swirl of the wave, threw up his arms and disappeared.
alan dashed in, groping, swimming; it seemed an eternity before his hand clutched the drowning man and wrenched him from the undertow.
and, with the seaman in his arms, he staggered back through the foam and dropped his burden on the sand at lynde's feet.
alan was reeling from exhaustion and chilled to the marrow, but he thought only of the man he had rescued.
the latter was unconscious and, as alan bent over him, he heard lynde give a choking little cry.
""he is living still," said alan.
""we must get him up to the house as soon as possible.
how shall we manage it?"
""lynde and i can go and bring the captain's mattress down," said emily.
now that alan was safe she was eager to do all she could.
""then you and i can carry him up to the house."
""that will be best," said alan.
""go quickly."
he did not look at lynde or he would have been shocked by the agony on her face.
she cast one glance at the prostrate man and followed emily.
in a short time they returned with the mattress, and alan and emily carried the sailor on it to four winds.
lynde walked behind them, seemingly unconscious of both.
she watched the stranger's face as one fascinated.
at four winds they carried the man to a room where emily and alan worked over him, while lynde heated water and hunted out stimulants in a mechanical fashion.
when alan came down she asked no questions but looked at him with the same strained horror on her face which it had borne ever since alan had dropped his burden at her feet.
""is he -- conscious?"
asked lynde, as if she forced herself to ask the question.
""yes, he has come back to life.
but he is delirious and does n't realize his surroundings at all.
he thinks he is still on board the vessel.
he'll probably come round all right.
emily is going to watch him and i'll go up to rexton and send dr. ames down."
""do you know who that man you have saved is?"
asked lynde.
""no.
i asked him his name but could not get any sensible answer."
""i can tell you who he is -- he is frank harmon."
alan stared at her.
""frank harmon.
your -- your -- the man you married?
impossible!"
""it is he.
do you think i could be mistaken?"
* * * * * dr. ames came to four winds that night and again the next day.
he found harmon delirious in a high fever.
""it will be several days before he comes to his senses," he said.
""shall i send you help to nurse him?"
""it is n't necessary," said emily stiffly.
""i can look after him -- and the captain ought to be back tomorrow."
""you've no idea who he is, i suppose?"
asked the doctor.
""no."
emily was quite sincere.
lynde had not told her, and emily did not recognize him.
""well, mr. douglas did a brave thing in rescuing him," said dr. ames.
""i'll be back tomorrow."
harmon remained delirious for a week.
alan went every day to four winds, his interest in a man he had rescued explaining his visits to the rexton people.
the captain had returned and, though not absolutely uncivil, was taciturn and moody.
alan reflected grimly that captain anthony probably owed him a grudge for saving harmon's life.
he never saw lynde alone, but her strained, tortured face made his heart ache.
old emily only seemed her natural self.
she waited on harmon and dr. ames considered her a paragon of a nurse.
alan thought it was well that emily knew nothing more of harmon than that he was an old friend of captain anthony's.
he felt sure that she would have walked out of the sick room and never reentered it had she guessed that the patient was the man whom, above all others, lynde dreaded and feared.
one afternoon when alan went to four winds emily met him at the door.
""he's better," she announced.
""he had a good sleep this afternoon and when he woke he was quite himself.
you'd better go up and see him.
i told him all i could but he wants to see you.
anthony and lynde are away to crosse harbour.
go up and talk to him."
harmon turned his head as the minister approached and held out his hand with a smile.
""you're the preacher, i reckon.
they tell me you were the man who pulled me out of that hurly-burly.
i was n't hardly worth saving but i'm as grateful to you as if i was."
""i only -- did -- what any man would have done," said alan, taking the offered hand.
""i do n't know about that.
anyhow, it's not every man could have done it.
i'd been hanging in that rigging all day and most of the night before.
there were five more of us but they dropped off.
i knew it was no use to try to swim ashore alone -- the backwater would be too much for me.
i must have been a lot of trouble.
that old woman says i've been raving for a week.
and, by the way i feel, i fancy i'll be stretched out here another week before i'll be able to use my pins.
who are these olivers anyhow?
the old woman would n't talk about the family."
""do n't you know them?"
asked alan in astonishment.
""is n't your name harmon?"
""that's right -- harmon -- alfred harmon, first mate of the schooner, annie m." "alfred!
i thought your name was frank!"
""frank was my twin brother.
we were so much alike our own mammy could n't tell us apart.
did you know frank?"
""no.
this family did.
miss oliver thought you were frank when she saw you."
""i do n't feel much like myself but i'm not frank anyway.
he's dead, poor chap -- got shot in a spat with chinese pirates three years ago."
""dead!
man, are you speaking the truth?
are you certain?"
""pop sure.
his mate told me the whole story.
say, preacher, what's the matter?
you look as if you were going to keel over."
alan hastily drank a glass of water.
""i -- i am all right now.
i have n't been feeling well of late."
""guess you did n't do yourself any good going out into that freezing water and dragging me in."
""i shall thank god every day of my life that i did do it," said alan gravely, new light in his eyes, as emily entered the room.
""miss oliver, when will the captain and lynde be back?"
""they said they would be home by four."
she looked at alan curiously.
""i will go and meet her," he said quickly.
he came upon lynde, sitting on a grey boulder under the shadow of an overhanging fir coppice, with her dogs beside her.
she turned her head indifferently as alan's footsteps sounded on the pebbles, and then stood slowly up.
""are you looking for me?"
she asked.
""i have some news for you, lynde," alan said.
""has he -- has he come to himself?"
she whispered.
""yes, he has come to himself.
lynde, he is not frank harmon -- he is his twin brother.
he says frank harmon was killed three years ago in the china seas."
for a moment lynde's great grey eyes stared into alan's, questioning.
then, as the truth seized on her comprehension, she sat down on the boulder and put her hands over her face without a word.
alan walked down to the water's edge to give her time to recover herself.
when he came back he took her hands and said quietly, "lynde, do you realize what this means for us -- for us?
you are free -- free to love me -- to be my wife."
lynde shook her head.
""oh, that ca n't be.
i am not fit to be your wife."
""do n't talk nonsense, dear," he smiled.
""it is n't nonsense.
you are a minister and it would ruin you to marry a girl like me.
think what the rexton people would say of it."
""rexton is n't the world, dearest.
last week i had a letter from home asking me to go to a church there.
i did not think of accepting then -- now i will go -- we will both go -- and a new life will begin for you, clear of the shadows of the old."
""that is n't possible.
no, alan, listen -- i love you too well to do you the wrong of marrying you.
it would injure you.
there is father.
i love him and he has always been very kind to me.
but -- but -- there's something wrong -- you know it -- some crime in his past --" "the only man who knew that is dead."
""we do not know that he was the only man.
i am the daughter of a criminal and i am no fit wife for alan douglas.
no, alan, do n't plead, please.
i wo n't think differently -- i never can."
there was a ring of finality in her tone that struck dismay to alan's heart.
he prepared to entreat and argue, but before he could utter a word, the boughs behind them parted and captain anthony stepped down from the bank.
""i've been listening," he announced coolly, "and i think it high time i took a share in the conversation.
you seem to have run up against a snag, mr. douglas.
you say frank harmon is dead.
that's good riddance if it's true.
is it true?"
""his brother declares it is."
""well, then, i'll help you all i can.
i like you, mr. douglas, and i happen to be fond of lynde, too -- though you may n't believe it.
i'm fond of her for her mother's sake and i'd like to see her happy.
i did n't want to give her to harmon that time three years ago but i could n't help myself.
he had the upper hand, curse him.
it was n't for my own sake, though -- it was for my wife's.
however, that's all over and done with and i'll do the best i can to atone for it.
so you wo n't marry your minister because your father was not a good man, lynde?
well, i do n't suppose he was a very good man -- a man who makes his wife's life a hell, even in a refined way, is n't exactly a saint, to my way of thinking.
but that's the worst that could be said of him and it does n't entail any indelible disgrace on his family, i suppose.
i am not your father, lynde."
""not my father?"
lynde echoed the words blankly.
""no.
your father was your mother's first husband.
she never told you of him.
when i said he made her life a hell, i said the truth, no more, no less.
i had loved your mother ever since i was a boy, lynde.
but she was far above me in station and i never dreamed it was possible to win her love.
she married james ashley.
he was a gentleman, so called -- and he did n't kick or beat her.
oh no, he just tormented her refined womanhood to the verge of frenzy, that was all.
he died when you were a baby.
and a year later i found out your mother could love me, rough sailor and all as i was.
i married her and brought her here.
we had fifteen years of happiness together.
i'm not a good man -- but i made your mother happy in spite of her wrecked health and her dark memories.
it was her wish that you should be known as my daughter, but under the present circumstances i know she would wish that you should be told the truth.
marry your man, lynde, and go away with him.
emily will go with you if you like.
i'm going back to the sea.
i've been hankering for it ever since your mother died.
i'll go out of your life.
there, do n't cry -- i hate to see a woman cry.
mr. douglas, i'll leave you to dry her tears and i'll go up to the house and have a talk with harmon."
when captain anthony had disappeared behind the point, alan turned to lynde.
she was sobbing softly and her face was wet with tears.
alan drew her head down on his shoulder.
""sweetheart, the dark past is all put by.
our future begins with promise.
all is well with us, dear lynde."
like a child, she put her arms about his neck and their lips met.
marcella's reward dr. clark shook his head gravely.
""she is not improving as fast as i should like to see," he said.
""in fact -- er -- she seems to have gone backward the past week.
you must send her to the country, miss langley.
the heat here is too trying for her."
dr. clark might as well have said, "you must send her to the moon" -- or so marcella thought bitterly.
despair filled her heart as she looked at patty's white face and transparent hands and listened to the doctor's coolly professional advice.
patty's illness had already swept away the scant savings of three years.
marcella had nothing left with which to do anything more for her.
she did not make any answer to the doctor -- she could not.
besides, what could she say, with patty's big blue eyes, bigger and bluer than ever in her thin face, looking at her so wistfully?
she dared not say it was impossible.
but aunt emma had no such scruples.
with a great clatter and racket, that lady fell upon the dishes that held patty's almost untasted dinner and whisked them away while her tongue kept time to her jerky movements.
""goodness me, doctor, do you think you're talking to millionaires?
where do you suppose the money is to come from to send patty to the country?
i ca n't afford it, that is certain.
i think i do pretty well to give marcella and patty their board free, and i have to work my fingers to the bone to do that.
it's all nonsense about patty, anyhow.
what she ought to do is to make an effort to get better.
she does n't -- she just mopes and pines.
she wo n't eat a thing i cook for her.
how can anyone expect to get better if she does n't eat?"
aunt emma glared at the doctor as if she were triumphantly sure that she had propounded an unanswerable question.
a dull red flush rose to marcella's face.
""oh, aunt emma, i ca n't eat!"
said patty wearily.
""it is n't because i wo n't -- indeed, i ca n't."
""humph!
i suppose my cooking is n't fancy enough for you -- that's the trouble.
well, i have n't the time to put any frills on it.
i think i do pretty well to wait on you at all with all that work piling up before me.
but some people imagine that they were born to be waited on."
aunt emma whirled the last dish from the table and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
the doctor shrugged his shoulders.
he had become used to miss gibson's tirades during patty's illness.
but marcella had never got used to them -- never, in all the three years she had lived with her aunt.
they flicked on the raw as keenly as ever.
this morning it seemed unbearable.
it took every atom of marcella's self-control to keep her from voicing her resentful thoughts.
it was only for patty's sake that she was able to restrain herself.
it was only for patty's sake, too, that she did not, as soon as the doctor had gone, give way to tears.
instead, she smiled bravely into the little sister's eyes.
""let me brush your hair now, dear, and bathe your face."
""have you time?"
said patty anxiously.
""yes, i think so."
patty gave a sigh of content.
""i'm so glad!
aunt emma always hurts me when she brushes my hair -- she is in such a hurry.
you're so gentle, marcella, you do n't make my head ache at all.
but oh!
i'm so tired of being sick.
i wish i could get well faster.
marcy, do you think i can be sent to the country?"
""i -- i do n't know, dear.
i'll see if i can think of any way to manage it," said marcella, striving to speak hopefully.
patty drew a long breath.
""oh, marcy, it would be lovely to see the green fields again, and the woods and brooks, as we did that summer we spent in the country before father died.
i wish we could live in the country always.
i'm sure i would soon get better if i could go -- if it was only for a little while.
it's so hot here -- and the factory makes such a noise -- my head seems to go round and round all the time.
and aunt emma scolds so."
""you must n't mind aunt emma, dear," said marcella.
""you know she does n't really mean it -- it is just a habit she has got into.
she was really very good to you when you were so sick.
she sat up night after night with you, and made me go to bed.
there now, dearie, you're fresh and sweet, and i must hurry to the store, or i'll be late.
try and have a little nap, and i'll bring you home some oranges tonight."
marcella dropped a kiss on patty's cheek, put on her hat and went out.
as soon as she left the house, she quickened her steps almost to a run.
she feared she would be late, and that meant a ten-cent fine.
ten cents loomed as large as ten dollars now to marcella's eyes when every dime meant so much.
but fast as she went, her distracted thoughts went faster.
she could not send patty to the country.
there was no way, think, plan, worry as she might.
and if she could not!
marcella remembered patty's face and the doctor's look, and her heart sank like lead.
patty was growing weaker every day instead of stronger, and the weather was getting hotter.
oh, if patty were to -- to -- but marcella could not complete the sentence even in thought.
if they were not so desperately poor!
marcella's bitterness overflowed her soul at the thought.
everywhere around her were evidences of wealth -- wealth often lavishly and foolishly spent -- and she could not get money enough anywhere to save her sister's life!
she almost felt that she hated all those smiling, well-dressed people who thronged the streets.
by the time she reached the store, poor marcella's heart was seething with misery and resentment.
three years before, when marcella had been sixteen and patty nine, their parents had died, leaving them absolutely alone in the world except for their father's half-sister, miss gibson, who lived in canning and earned her livelihood washing and mending for the hands employed in the big factory nearby.
she had grudgingly offered the girls a home, which marcella had accepted because she must.
she obtained a position in one of the canning stores at three dollars a week, out of which she contrived to dress herself and patty and send the latter to school.
her life for three years was one of absolute drudgery, yet until now she had never lost courage, but had struggled bravely on, hoping for better times in the future when she should get promotion and patty would be old enough to teach school.
but now marcella's courage and hopefulness had gone out like a spent candle.
she was late at the store, and that meant a fine; her head ached, and her feet felt like lead as she climbed the stairs to her department -- a hot, dark, stuffy corner behind the shirtwaist counter.
it was warm and close at any time, but today it was stifling, and there was already a crowd of customers, for it was the day of a bargain sale.
the heat and noise and chatter got on marcella's tortured nerves.
she felt that she wanted to scream, but instead she turned calmly to a waiting customer -- a big, handsome, richly dressed woman.
marcella noted with an ever-increasing bitterness that the woman wore a lace collar the price of which would have kept patty in the country for a year.
she was mrs. liddell -- marcella knew her by sight -- and she was in a very bad temper because she had been kept waiting.
for the next half hour she badgered and worried marcella to the point of distraction.
nothing suited her.
pile after pile, box after box, of shirtwaists did marcella take down for her, only to have them flung aside with sarcastic remarks.
mrs. liddell seemed to hold marcella responsible for the lack of waists that suited her; her tongue grew sharper and sharper and her comments more trying.
then she mislaid her purse, and was disagreeable about that until it turned up.
marcella shut her lips so tightly that they turned white to keep back the impatient retort that rose momentarily to her lips.
the insolence of some customers was always trying to the sensitive, high-spirited girl, but today it seemed unbearable.
her head throbbed fiercely with the pain of the ever-increasing ache, and -- what was the lady on her right saying to a friend?
""yes, she had typhoid, you know -- a very bad form.
she rallied from it, but she was so exhausted that she could n't really recover, and the doctor said --" "really," interrupted mrs. liddell's sharp voice, "may i ask you to attend to me, if you please?
no doubt gossip may be very interesting to you, but i am accustomed to having a clerk pay some small attention to my requirements.
if you can not attend to your business, i shall go to the floor walker and ask him to direct me to somebody who can.
the laziness and disobligingness of the girls in this store is really getting beyond endurance."
a passionate answer was on the point of marcella's tongue.
all her bitterness and suffering and resentment flashed into her face and eyes.
for one moment she was determined to speak out, to repay mrs. liddell's insolence in kind.
a retort was ready to her hand.
everyone knew that mrs. liddell, before her marriage to a wealthy man, had been a working girl.
what could be easier than to say contemptuously: "you should be a judge of a clerk's courtesy and ability, madam.
you were a shop girl yourself once?"
but if she said it, what would follow?
prompt and instant dismissal.
and patty?
the thought of the little sister quelled the storm in marcella's soul.
for patty's sake she must control her temper -- and she did.
with an effort that left her white and tremulous she crushed back the hot words and said quietly: "i beg your pardon, mrs. liddell.
i did not mean to be inattentive.
let me show you some of our new lingerie waists, i think you will like them."
but mrs. liddell did not like the new lingerie waists which marcella brought to her in her trembling hands.
for another half hour she examined and found fault and sneered.
then she swept away with the scornful remark that she did n't see a thing there that was fit to wear, and she would go to markwell bros. and see if they had anything worth looking at.
when she had gone, marcella leaned against the counter, pale and exhausted.
she must have a breathing spell.
oh, how her head ached!
how hot and stifling and horrible everything was!
she longed for the country herself.
oh, if she and patty could only go away to some place where there were green clover meadows and cool breezes and great hills where the air was sweet and pure!
during all this time a middle-aged woman had been sitting on a stool beside the bargain counter.
when a clerk asked her if she wished to be waited on, she said, "no, i'm just waiting here for a friend who promised to meet me."
she was tall and gaunt and grey haired.
she had square jaws and cold grey eyes and an aggressive nose, but there was something attractive in her plain face, a mingling of common sense and kindliness.
she watched marcella and mrs. liddell closely and lost nothing of all that was said and done on both sides.
now and then she smiled grimly and nodded.
when mrs. liddell had gone, she rose and leaned over the counter.
marcella opened her burning eyes and pulled herself wearily together.
""what can i do for you?"
she said.
""nothing.
i ai n't looking for to have anything done for me.
you need to have something done for you, i guess, by the looks of you.
you seem dead beat out.
are n't you awful tired?
i've been listening to that woman jawing you till i felt like rising up and giving her a large and wholesome piece of my mind.
i do n't know how you kept your patience with her, but i can tell you i admired you for it, and i made up my mind i'd tell you so."
the kindness and sympathy in her tone broke marcella down.
tears rushed to her eyes.
she bowed her head on her hands and said sobbingly, "oh, i am tired!
but it's not that.
i'm -- i'm in such trouble."
""i knew you were," said the other, with a nod of her head.
""i could tell that right off by your face.
do you know what i said to myself?
i said, "that girl has got somebody at home awful sick."
that's what i said.
was i right?"
""yes, indeed you were," said marcella.
""i knew it" -- another triumphant nod.
""now, you just tell me all about it.
it'll do you good to talk it over with somebody.
here, i'll pretend i'm looking at shirtwaists, so that floor walker wo n't be coming down on you, and i'll be as hard to please as that other woman was, so's you can take your time.
who's sick -- and what's the matter?"
marcella told the whole story, choking back her sobs and forcing herself to speak calmly, having the fear of the floor walker before her eyes.
""and i ca n't afford to send patty to the country -- i ca n't -- and i know she wo n't get better if she does n't go," she concluded.
""dear, dear, but that's too bad!
something must be done.
let me see -- let me put on my thinking cap.
what is your name?"
""marcella langley."
the older woman dropped the lingerie waist she was pretending to examine and stared at marcella.
""you do n't say!
look here, what was your mother's name before she was married?"
""mary carvell."
""well, i have heard of coincidences, but this beats all!
mary carvell!
well, did you ever hear your mother speak of a girl friend of hers called josephine draper?"
""i should think i did!
you do n't mean --" "i do mean it.
i'm josephine draper.
your mother and i went to school together, and we were as much as sisters to each other until she got married.
then she went away, and after a few years i lost trace of her.
i did n't even know she was dead.
poor mary!
well, my duty is plain -- that's one comfort -- my duty and my pleasure, too.
your sister is coming out to dalesboro to stay with me.
yes, and you are too, for the whole summer.
you need n't say you're not, because you are.
i've said so.
there's room at fir cottage for you both.
yes, fir cottage -- i guess you've heard your mother speak of that.
there's her old room out there that we always slept in when she came to stay all night with me.
it's all ready for you.
what's that?
you ca n't afford to lose your place here?
bless your heart, child, you wo n't lose it!
the owner of this store is my nephew, and he'll do considerable to oblige me, as well he might, seeing as i brought him up.
to think that mary carvell's daughter has been in his store for three years, and me never suspecting it!
and i might never have found you out at all if you had n't been so patient with that woman.
if you'd sassed her back, i'd have thought she deserved it and would n't have blamed you a mite, but i would n't have bothered coming to talk to you either.
well, well well!
poor child, do n't cry.
you just pick up and go home.
i'll make it all right with tom.
you're pretty near played out yourself, i can see that.
but a summer in fir cottage, with plenty of cream and eggs and my cookery, will soon make another girl of you.
do n't you dare to thank me.
it's a privilege to be able to do something for mary carvell's girls.
i just loved mary."
the upshot of the whole matter was that marcella and patty went, two days later, to dalesboro, where miss draper gave them a hearty welcome to fir cottage -- a quaint, delightful little house circled by big scotch firs and overgrown with vines.
never were such delightful weeks as those that followed.
patty came rapidly back to health and strength.
as for marcella, miss draper's prophecy was also fulfilled; she soon looked and felt like another girl.
the dismal years of drudgery behind her were forgotten like a dream, and she lived wholly in the beautiful present, in the walks and drives, the flowers and grass slopes, and in the pleasant household duties which she shared with miss draper.
""i love housework," she exclaimed one september day.
""i do n't like the thought of going back to the store a bit."
""well, you're not going back," calmly said miss draper, who had a habit of arranging other people's business for them that might have been disconcerting had it not been for her keen insight and hearty good sense.
""you're going to stay here with me -- you and patty.
i do n't propose to die of lonesomeness losing you, and i need somebody to help me about the house.
i've thought it all out.
you are to call me aunt josephine, and patty is to go to school.
i had this scheme in mind from the first, but i thought i'd wait to see how we got along living in the same house, and how you liked it here, before i spoke out.
no, you need n't thank me this time either.
i'm doing this every bit as much for my sake as yours.
well, that's all settled.
patty wo n't object, bless her rosy cheeks!"
""oh!"
said marcella, with eyes shining through her tears.
""i'm so happy, dear miss draper -- i mean aunt josephine.
i'll love to stay here -- and i will thank you."
""fudge!"
remarked miss draper, who felt uncomfortably near crying herself.
""you might go out and pick a basket of golden gems.
i want to make some jelly for patty."
margaret's patient -lsb- illustration: "did dr. forbes think she ought to give up her trip?" -rsb-
margaret paused a moment at the gate and looked back at the quaint old house under its snowy firs with a thrill of proprietary affection.
it was her home; for the first time in her life she had a real home, and the long, weary years of poorly paid drudgery were all behind her.
before her was a prospect of independence and many of the delights she had always craved; in the immediate future was a trip to vancouver with mrs. boyd.
for i shall go, of course, thought margaret, as she walked briskly down the snowy road.
i've always wanted to see the rockies, and to go there with mrs. boyd will double the pleasure.
she is such a delightful companion.
margaret campbell had been an orphan ever since she could remember.
she had been brought up by a distant relative of her father's -- that is, she had been given board, lodging, some schooling and indifferent clothes for the privilege of working like a little drudge in the house of the grim cousin who sheltered her.
the death of this cousin flung margaret on her own resources.
a friend had procured her employment as the "companion" of a rich, eccentric old lady, infirm of health and temper.
margaret lived with her for five years, and to the young girl they seemed treble the time.
her employer was fault-finding, peevish, unreasonable, and many a time margaret's patience almost failed her -- almost, but not quite.
in the end it brought her a more tangible reward than sometimes falls to the lot of the toiler.
mrs. constance died, and in her will she left to margaret her little up-country cottage and enough money to provide her an income for the rest of her life.
margaret took immediate possession of her little house and, with the aid of a capable old servant, soon found herself very comfortable.
she realized that her days of drudgery were over, and that henceforth life would be a very different thing from what it had been.
margaret meant to have "a good time."
she had never had any pleasure and now she was resolved to garner in all she could of the joys of existence.
""i'm not going to do a single useful thing for a year," she had told mrs. boyd gaily.
""just think of it -- a whole delightful year of vacation, to go and come at will, to read, travel, dream, rest.
after that, i mean to see if i can find something to do for other folks, but i'm going to have this one golden year.
and the first thing in it is our trip to vancouver.
i'm so glad i have the chance to go with you.
it's a wee bit short notice, but i'll be ready when you want to start."
altogether, margaret felt pretty well satisfied with life as she tripped blithely down the country road between the ranks of snow-laden spruces, with the blue sky above and the crisp, exhilarating air all about.
there was only one drawback, but it was a pretty serious one.
it's so lonely by spells, margaret sometimes thought wistfully.
all the joys my good fortune has brought me ca n't quite fill my heart.
there's always one little empty, aching spot.
oh, if i had somebody of my very own to love and care for, a mother, a sister, even a cousin.
but there's nobody.
i have n't a relative in the world, and there are times when i'd give almost anything to have one.
well, i must try to be satisfied with friendship, instead.
margaret's meditations were interrupted by a brisk footstep behind her, and presently dr. forbes came up.
""good afternoon, miss campbell.
taking a constitutional?"
""yes.
is n't it a lovely day?
i suppose you are on your professional rounds.
how are all your patients?"
""most of them are doing well.
but i'm sorry to say i have a new one and am very much worried about her.
do you know freda martin?"
""the little teacher in the primary department who boards with the wayes?
yes, i've met her once or twice.
is she ill?"
""yes, seriously.
it's typhoid, and she has been going about longer than she should.
i do n't know what is to be done with her.
it seems she is like yourself in one respect, miss campbell; she is utterly alone in the world.
mrs. waye is crippled with rheumatism and ca n't nurse her, and i fear it will be impossible to get a nurse in blythefield.
she ought to be taken from the wayes".
the house is overrun with children, is right next door to that noisy factory, and in other respects is a poor place for a sick girl."
""it is too bad, i am very sorry," said margaret sympathetically.
dr. forbes shot a keen look at her from his deep-set eyes.
""are you willing to show your sympathy in a practical form, miss campbell?"
he said bluntly.
""you told me the other day you meant to begin work for others next year.
why not begin now?
here's a splendid chance to befriend a friendless girl.
will you take freda martin into your home during her illness?"
""oh, i could n't," cried margaret blankly.
""why, i'm going away next week.
i'm going with mrs. boyd to vancouver, and my house will be shut up."
""oh, i did not know.
that settles it, i suppose," said the doctor with a sigh of regret.
""well, i must see what else i can do for poor freda.
if i had a home of my own, the problem would be easily solved, but as i'm only a boarder myself, i'm helpless in that respect.
i'm very much afraid she will have a hard time to pull through, but i'll do the best i can for her.
well, i must run in here and have a look at tommy griggs" eyes.
good morning, miss campbell."
margaret responded rather absently and walked on with her eyes fixed on the road.
somehow all the joy had gone out of the day for her, and out of her prospective trip.
she stopped on the little bridge and gazed unseeingly at the ice-bound creek.
did dr. forbes really think she ought to give up her trip in order to take freda martin into her home and probably nurse her as well, since skilled nursing of any kind was almost unobtainable in blythefield?
no, of course, dr. forbes did not mean anything of the sort.
he had not known she intended to go away.
margaret tried to put the thought out of her mind, but it came insistently back.
she knew -- none better -- what it was to be alone and friendless.
once she had been ill, too, and left to the ministration of careless servants.
margaret shuddered whenever she thought of that time.
she was very, very sorry for freda martin, but she certainly could n't give up her plans for her.
""why, i'd never have the chance to go with mrs. boyd again," she argued with her troublesome inward promptings.
altogether, margaret's walk was spoiled.
but when she went to bed that night, she was firmly resolved to dismiss all thought of freda martin.
in the middle of the night she woke up.
it was calm and moonlight and frosty.
the world was very still, and margaret's heart and conscience spoke to her out of that silence, where all worldly motives were hushed and shamed.
she listened, and knew that in the morning she must send for dr. forbes and tell him to bring his patient to fir cottage.
the evening of the next day found freda in margaret's spare room and margaret herself installed as nurse, for as dr. forbes had feared, he had found it impossible to obtain anyone else.
margaret had a natural gift for nursing, and she had had a good deal of experience in sick rooms.
she was skilful, gentle and composed, and dr. forbes nodded his head with satisfaction as he watched her.
a week later mrs. boyd left for vancouver, and margaret, bending over her delirious patient, could not even go to the station to see her off.
but she thought little about it.
all her hopes were centred on pulling freda martin through; and when, after a long, doubtful fortnight, dr. forbes pronounced her on the way to recovery, margaret felt as if she had given the gift of life to a fellow creature.
""oh, i am so glad i stayed," she whispered to herself.
during freda's convalescence margaret learned to love her dearly.
she was such a sweet, brave little creature, full of a fine courage to face the loneliness and trials of her lot.
""i can never repay you for your kindness, miss campbell," she said wistfully.
""i am more than repaid already," said margaret sincerely.
""have n't i found a dear little friend?"
one day freda asked margaret to write a note for her to a certain school chum.
""she will like to know i am getting better.
you will find her address in my writing desk."
freda's modest trunk had been brought to fir cottage, and margaret went to it for the desk.
as she turned over the loose papers in search of the address, her eye was caught by a name signed to a faded and yellowed letter -- worth spencer.
her mother's name!
margaret gave a little exclamation of astonishment.
could her mother have written that letter?
it was not likely another woman would have that uncommon name.
margaret caught up the letter and ran to freda's room.
""freda, i could n't help seeing the name signed to this letter, it is my mother's.
to whom was it written?"
""that is one of my mother's old letters," said freda.
""she had a sister, my aunt worth.
she was a great deal older than mother.
their parents died when mother was a baby.
aunt worth went to her father's people, while mother's grandmother took her.
there was not very good feeling between the two families, i think.
mother said she lost trace of her sister after her sister married, and then, long after, she saw aunt worth's death in the papers."
""can you tell me where your mother and her sister lived before they were separated?"
asked margaret excitedly.
""ridgetown."
""then my mother must have been your mother's sister, and, oh, freda, freda, you are my cousin."
eventually this was proved to be the fact.
margaret investigated the matter and discovered beyond a doubt that she and freda were cousins.
it would be hard to say which of the two girls was the more delighted.
""anyhow, we'll never be parted again," said margaret happily.
""fir cottage is your home henceforth, freda.
oh, how rich i am.
i have got somebody who really belongs to me.
and i owe it all to dr. forbes.
if he had n't suggested you coming here, i should never have found out that we were cousins."
""and i do n't think i should ever have got better at all," whispered freda, slipping her hand into margaret's.
""i think we are going to be the two happiest girls in the world," said margaret.
""and freda, do you know what we are going to do when your summer vacation comes?
we are going to have a trip through the rockies, yes, indeedy.
it would have been nice going with mrs. boyd, but it will be ten times nicer to go with you."
matthew insists on puffed sleeves matthew was having a bad ten minutes of it.
he had come into the kitchen, in the twilight of a cold, grey december evening, and had sat down in the wood-box corner to take off his heavy boots, unconscious of the fact that anne and a bevy of her schoolmates were having a practice of "the fairy queen" in the sitting-room.
presently they came trooping through the hall and out into the kitchen, laughing and chattering gaily.
they did not see matthew, who shrank bashfully back into the shadows beyond the wood-box with a boot in one hand and a bootjack in the other, and he watched them shyly for the aforesaid ten minutes as they put on caps and jackets and talked about the dialogue and the concert.
anne stood among them, bright eyed and animated as they; but matthew suddenly became conscious that there was something about her different from her mates.
and what worried matthew was that the difference impressed him as being something that should not exist.
anne had a brighter face, and bigger, starrier eyes, and more delicate features than the others; even shy, unobservant matthew had learned to take note of these things; but the difference that disturbed him did not consist in any of these respects.
then in what did it consist?
matthew was haunted by this question long after the girls had gone, arm in arm, down the long, hard-frozen lane and anne had betaken herself to her books.
he could not refer it to marilla, who, he felt, would be quite sure to sniff scornfully and remark that the only difference she saw between anne and the other girls was that they sometimes kept their tongues quiet while anne never did.
this, matthew felt, would be no great help.
he had recourse to his pipe that evening to help him study it out, much to marilla's disgust.
after two hours of smoking and hard reflection matthew arrived at a solution of his problem.
anne was not dressed like the other girls!
the more matthew thought about the matter the more he was convinced that anne never had been dressed like the other girls -- never since she had come to green gables.
marilla kept her clothed in plain, dark dresses, all made after the same unvarying pattern.
if matthew knew there was such a thing as fashion in dress it is as much as he did; but he was quite sure that anne's sleeves did not look at all like the sleeves the other girls wore.
he recalled the cluster of little girls he had seen around her that evening -- all gay in waists of red and blue and pink and white -- and he wondered why marilla always kept her so plainly and soberly gowned.
of course, it must be all right.
marilla knew best and marilla was bringing her up.
probably some wise, inscrutable motive was to be served thereby.
but surely it would do no harm to let the child have one pretty dress -- something like diana barry always wore.
matthew decided that he would give her one; that surely could not be objected to as an unwarranted putting in of his oar.
christmas was only a fortnight off.
a nice new dress would be the very thing for a present.
matthew, with a sigh of satisfaction, put away his pipe and went to bed, while marilla opened all the doors and aired the house.
the very next evening matthew betook himself to carmody to buy the dress, determined to get the worst over and have done with it.
it would be, he felt assured, no trifling ordeal.
there were some things matthew could buy and prove himself no mean bargainer; but he knew he would be at the mercy of shopkeepers when it came to buying a girl's dress.
after much cogitation matthew resolved to go to samuel lawson's store instead of william blair's.
to be sure, the cuthberts always had gone to william blair's; it was almost as much a matter of conscience with them as to attend the presbyterian church and vote conservative.
but william blair's two daughters frequently waited on customers there and matthew held them in absolute dread.
he could contrive to deal with them when he knew exactly what he wanted and could point it out; but in such a matter as this, requiring explanation and consultation, matthew felt that he must be sure of a man behind the counter.
so he would go to lawson's, where samuel or his son would wait on him.
alas!
matthew did not know that samuel, in the recent expansion of his business, had set up a lady clerk also; she was a niece of his wife's and a very dashing young person indeed, with a huge, drooping pompadour, big, rolling brown eyes, and a most extensive and bewildering smile.
she was dressed with exceeding smartness and wore several bangle bracelets that glittered and rattled and tinkled with every movement of her hands.
matthew was covered with confusion at finding her there at all; and those bangles completely wrecked his wits at one fell swoop.
""what can i do for you this evening.
mr. cuthbert?"
miss lucilla harris inquired, briskly and ingratiatingly, tapping the counter with both hands.
""have you any -- any -- any -- well now, say any garden rakes?"
stammered matthew.
miss harris looked somewhat surprised, as well she might, to hear a man inquiring for garden rakes in the middle of december.
""i believe we have one or two left over," she said, "but they're upstairs in the lumber-room.
i'll go and see."
during her absence matthew collected his scattered senses for another effort.
when miss harris returned with the rake and cheerfully inquired: "anything else tonight, mr. cuthbert?"
matthew took his courage in both hands and replied: "well now, since you suggest it, i might as well -- take -- that is -- look at -- buy some -- some hayseed."
miss harris had heard matthew cuthbert called odd.
she now concluded that he was entirely crazy.
""we only keep hayseed in the spring," she explained loftily.
""we've none on hand just now."
""oh, certainly -- certainly -- just as you say," stammered unhappy matthew, seizing the rake and making for the door.
at the threshold he recollected that he had not paid for it and he turned miserably back.
while miss harris was counting out his change he rallied his powers for a final desperate attempt.
""well now -- if it is n't too much trouble -- i might as well -- that is -- i'd like to look at -- at -- some sugar."
""white or brown?"
queried miss harris patiently.
""oh -- well now -- brown," said matthew feebly.
""there's a barrel of it over there," said miss harris, shaking her bangles at it.
""it's the only kind we have."
""i'll -- i'll take twenty pounds of it," said matthew, with beads of perspiration standing on his forehead.
matthew had driven halfway home before he was his own man again.
it had been a gruesome experience, but it served him right, he thought, for committing the heresy of going to a strange store.
when he reached home he hid the rake in the tool-house, but the sugar he carried in to marilla.
""brown sugar!"
exclaimed marilla.
""whatever possessed you to get so much?
you know i never use it except for the hired man's porridge or black fruit-cake.
jerry's gone and i've made my cake long ago.
it's not good sugar, either -- it's coarse and dark -- william blair does n't usually keep sugar like that."
""i -- i thought it might come in handy sometime," said matthew, making good his escape.
when matthew came to think the matter over he decided that a woman was required to cope with the situation.
marilla was out of the question.
matthew felt sure she would throw cold water on his project at once.
remained only mrs. lynde; for of no other woman in avonlea would matthew have dared to ask advice.
to mrs. lynde he went accordingly, and that good lady promptly took the matter out of the harassed man's hands.
""pick out a dress for you to give anne?
to be sure i will.
i'm going to carmody tomorrow and i'll attend to it.
have you something particular in mind?
no?
well, i'll just go by my own judgment then.
i believe a nice rich brown would just suit anne, and william blair has some new gloria in that's real pretty.
perhaps you'd like me to make it up for her, too, seeing that if marilla was to make it anne would probably get wind of it before the time and spoil the surprise?
well, i'll do it.
no, it is n't a mite of trouble.
i like sewing.
i'll make it to fit my niece, jenny gillis, for she and anne are as like as two peas as far as figure goes."
""well now, i'm much obliged," said matthew, "and -- and -- i dunno -- but i'd like -- i think they make the sleeves different nowadays to what they used to be.
if it would n't be asking too much i -- i'd like them made in the new way."
""puffs?
of course.
you need n't worry a speck more about it, matthew.
i'll make it up in the very latest fashion," said mrs. lynde.
to herself she added when matthew had gone: "it'll be a real satisfaction to see that poor child wearing something decent for once.
the way marilla dresses her is positively ridiculous, that's what, and i've ached to tell her so plainly a dozen times.
i've held my tongue though, for i can see marilla does n't want advice and she thinks she knows more about bringing children up than i do for all she's an old maid.
but that's always the way.
folks that has brought up children know that there's no hard and fast method in the world that'll suit every child.
but them as never have think it's all as plain and easy as rule of three -- just set your three terms down so fashion, and the sum'll work out correct.
but flesh and blood do n't come under the head of arithmetic and that's where marilla cuthbert makes her mistake.
i suppose she's trying to cultivate a spirit of humility in anne by dressing her as she does: but it's more likely to cultivate envy and discontent.
i'm sure the child must feel the difference between her clothes and the other girls".
but to think of matthew taking notice of it!
that man is waking up after being asleep for over sixty years."
marilla knew all the following fortnight that matthew had something on his mind, but what it was she could not guess, until christmas eve, when mrs. lynde brought up the new dress.
marilla behaved pretty well on the whole, although it is very likely she distrusted mrs. lynde's diplomatic explanation that she had made the dress because matthew was afraid anne would find out about it too soon if marilla made it.
""so this is what matthew has been looking so mysterious over and grinning about to himself for two weeks, is it?"
she said a little stiffly but tolerantly.
""i knew he was up to some foolishness.
well, i must say i do n't think anne needed any more dresses.
i made her three good, warm, serviceable ones this fall, and anything more is sheer extravagance.
there's enough material in those sleeves alone to make a waist, i declare there is.
you'll just pamper anne's vanity, matthew, and she's as vain as a peacock now.
well, i hope she'll be satisfied at last, for i know she's been hankering after those silly sleeves ever since they came in, although she never said a word after the first.
the puffs have been getting bigger and more ridiculous right along; they're as big as balloons now.
next year anybody who wears them will have to go through a door sideways."
christmas morning broke on a beautiful white world.
it had been a very mild december and people had looked forward to a green christmas; but just enough snow fell softly in the night to transfigure avonlea.
anne peeped out from her frosted gable window with delighted eyes.
the firs in the haunted wood were all feathery and wonderful; the birches and wild cherry trees were outlined in pearl; the ploughed fields were stretches of snowy dimples; and there was a crisp tang in the air that was glorious.
anne ran downstairs singing until her voice re-echoed through green gables.
""merry christmas, marilla!
merry christmas, matthew!
is n't it a lovely christmas?
i'm so glad it's white.
any other kind of christmas does n't seem real, does it?
i do n't like green christmases.
they're not green -- they're just nasty faded browns and greys.
what makes people call them green?
why -- why -- matthew, is that for me?
oh, matthew!"
matthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings and held it out with a deprecatory glance at marilla, who feigned to be contemptuously filling the teapot, but nevertheless watched the scene out of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air.
anne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence.
oh, how pretty it was -- a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk; a skirt with dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately pin-tucked in the most fashionable way, with a little ruffle of filmy lace at the neck.
but the sleeves -- they were the crowning glory!
long elbow cuffs, and above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of shirring and bows of brown silk ribbon.
""that's a christmas present for you, anne," said matthew shyly.
""why -- why -- anne, do n't you like it?
well now -- well now."
for anne's eyes had suddenly filled with tears."
like it!
oh, matthew!"
anne laid the dress over a chair and clasped her hands.
""matthew, it's perfectly exquisite.
oh, i can never thank you enough.
look at those sleeves!
oh, it seems to me this must be a happy dream."
""well, well, let us have breakfast," interrupted marilla.
""i must say, anne, i do n't think you needed the dress; but since matthew has got it for you, see that you take good care of it.
there's a hair ribbon mrs. lynde left for you.
it's brown, to match the dress.
come now, sit in."
""i do n't see how i'm going to eat breakfast," said anne rapturously.
""breakfast seems so commonplace at such an exciting moment.
i'd rather feast my eyes on that dress.
i'm so glad that puffed sleeves are still fashionable.
it did seem to me that i'd never get over it if they went out before i had a dress with them.
i'd never have felt quite satisfied, you see.
it was lovely of mrs. lynde to give me the ribbon, too.
i feel that i ought to be a very good girl indeed.
it's at times like this i'm sorry i'm not a model little girl; and i always resolve that i will be in future.
but somehow it's hard to carry out your resolutions when irresistible temptations come.
still, i really will make an extra effort after this."
when the commonplace breakfast was over diana appeared, crossing the white log bridge in the hollow, a gay little figure in her crimson ulster.
anne flew down the slope to meet her.
""merry christmas, diana!
and oh, it's a wonderful christmas.
i've something splendid to show you.
matthew has given me the loveliest dress, with such sleeves.
i could n't even imagine any nicer."
""i've got something more for you," said diana breathlessly.
""here -- this box.
aunt josephine sent us out a big box with ever so many things in it -- and this is for you.
i'd have brought it over last night, but it did n't come until after dark, and i never feel very comfortable coming through the haunted wood in the dark now."
anne opened the box and peeped in.
first a card with "for the anne-girl and merry christmas," written on it; and then, a pair of the daintiest little kid slippers, with beaded toes and satin bows and glistening buckles.
""oh," said anne, "diana, this is too much, i must be dreaming.""
i call it providential," said diana.
""you wo n't have to borrow ruby's slippers now, and that's a blessing, for they're two sizes too big for you, and it would be awful to hear a fairy shuffling.
josie pye would be delighted.
mind you, rob wright went home with gertie pye from the practice night before last.
did you ever hear anything equal to that?"
all the avonlea scholars were in a fever of excitement that day, for the hall had to be decorated and a last grand rehearsal held.
the concert came off in the evening and was a pronounced success.
the little hall was crowded; all the performers did excellently well, but anne was the bright particular star of the occasion, as even envy, in the shape of josie pye, dared not deny.
""oh, has n't it been a brilliant evening?"
sighed anne, when it was all over and she and diana were walking home together under a dark, starry sky.
""everything went off very well," said diana practically.
""i guess we must have made as much as ten dollars.
mind you, mr. allan is going to send an account of it to the charlottetown papers."
""oh, diana, will we really see our names in print?
it makes me thrill to think of it.
your solo was perfectly elegant, diana.
i felt prouder than you did when it was encored.
i just said to myself, "it is my dear bosom friend who is so honoured.""
""well, your recitations just brought down the house, anne.
that sad one was simply splendid."
""oh, i was so nervous, diana.
when mr. allan called out my name i really can not tell how i ever got up on that platform.
i felt as if a million eyes were looking at me and through me, and for one dreadful moment i was sure i could n't begin at all.
then i thought of my lovely puffed sleeves and took courage.
i knew that i must live up to those sleeves, diana.
so i started in, and my voice seemed to be coming from ever so far away.
i just felt like a parrot.
it's providential that i practised those recitations so often up in the garret, or i'd never have been able to get through.
did i groan all right?"
""yes, indeed, you groaned lovely," assured diana.
""i saw old mrs. sloane wiping away tears when i sat down.
it was splendid to think i had touched somebody's heart.
it's so romantic to take part in a concert is n't it?
oh, it's been a very memorable occasion indeed."
""was n't the boys" dialogue fine?"
said diana.
""gilbert blythe was just splendid.
anne, i do think it's awful mean the way you treat gil.
wait till i tell you.
when you ran off the platform after the fairy dialogue one of your roses fell out of your hair.
i saw gil pick it up and put it in his breast pocket.
there now.
you're so romantic that i'm sure you ought to be pleased at that."
""it's nothing to me what that person does," said anne loftily.
""i simply never waste a thought on him, diana."
that night marilla and matthew, who had been out to a concert for the first time in twenty years, sat for awhile by the kitchen fire after anne had gone to bed.
""well now, i guess our anne did as well as any of them," said matthew proudly.
""yes, she did," admitted marilla.
""she's a bright child, matthew.
and she looked real nice, too.
i've been kind of opposed to this concert scheme, but i suppose there's no real harm in it after all.
anyhow, i was proud of anne tonight, although i'm not going to tell her so."
""well now, i was proud of her and i did tell her so "fore she went upstairs," said matthew.
""we must see what we can do for her some of these days, marilla.
i guess she'll need something more than avonlea school by and by."
""there's time enough to think of that," said marilla.
""she's only thirteen in march.
though tonight it struck me she was growing quite a big girl.
mrs. lynde made that dress a mite too long, and it makes anne look so tall.
she's quick to learn and i guess the best thing we can do for her will be to send her to queen's after a spell.
but nothing need be said about that for a year or two yet."
""well now, it'll do no harm to be thinking it over off and on," said matthew.
""things like that are all the better for lots of thinking over."
missy's room mrs. falconer and miss bailey walked home together through the fine blue summer afternoon from the ladies" aid meeting at mrs. robinson's.
they were talking earnestly; that is to say, miss bailey was talking earnestly and volubly, and mrs. falconer was listening.
mrs. falconer had reduced the practice of listening to a fine art.
she was a thin, wistful-faced mite of a woman, with sad brown eyes, and with snow-white hair that was a libel on her fifty-five years and girlish step.
nobody in lindsay ever felt very well acquainted with mrs. falconer, in spite of the fact that she had lived among them forty years.
she kept between her and her world a fine, baffling reserve which no one had ever been able to penetrate.
it was known that she had had a bitter sorrow in her life, but she never made any reference to it, and most people in lindsay had forgotten it.
some foolish ones even supposed that mrs. falconer had forgotten it.
""well, i do not know what on earth is to be done with camilla clark," said miss bailey, with a prodigious sigh.
""i suppose that we will simply have to trust the whole matter to providence."
miss bailey's tone and sigh really seemed to intimate to the world at large that providence was a last resort and a very dubious one.
not that miss bailey meant anything of the sort; her faith was as substantial as her works, which were many and praiseworthy and seasonable.
the case of camilla clark was agitating the ladies" aid of one of the lindsay churches.
they had talked about it through the whole of that afternoon session while they sewed for their missionary box -- talked about it, and come to no conclusion.
in the preceding spring james clark, one of the hands in the lumber mill at lindsay, had been killed in an accident.
the shock had proved nearly fatal to his young wife.
the next day camilla clark's baby was born dead, and the poor mother hovered for weeks between life and death.
slowly, very slowly, life won the battle, and camilla came back from the valley of the shadow.
but she was still an invalid, and would be so for a long time.
the clarks had come to lindsay only a short time before the accident.
they were boarding at mrs. barry's when it happened, and mrs. barry had shown every kindness and consideration to the unhappy young widow.
but now the barrys were very soon to leave lindsay for the west, and the question was, what was to be done with camilla clark?
she could not go west; she could not even do work of any sort yet in lindsay; she had no relatives or friends in the world; and she was absolutely penniless.
as she and her husband had joined the church to which the aforesaid ladies" aid belonged, the members thereof felt themselves bound to take up her case and see what could be done for her.
the obvious solution was for some of them to offer her a home until such time as she would be able to go to work.
but there did not seem to be anyone who could offer to do this -- unless it was mrs. falconer.
the church was small, and the ladies" aid smaller.
there were only twelve members in it; four of these were unmarried ladies who boarded, and so were helpless in the matter; of the remaining eight seven had large families, or sick husbands, or something else that prevented them from offering camilla clark an asylum.
their excuses were all valid; they were good, sincere women who would have taken her in if they could, but they could not see their way clear to do so.
however, it was probable they would eventually manage it in some way if mrs. falconer did not rise to the occasion.
nobody liked to ask mrs. falconer outright to take camilla clark in, yet everyone thought she might offer.
she was comfortably off, and though her house was small, there was nobody to live in it except herself and her husband.
but mrs. falconer sat silent through all the discussion of the ladies" aid, and never opened her lips on the subject of camilla clark despite the numerous hints which she received.
miss bailey made one more effort as aforesaid.
when her despairing reference to providence brought forth no results, she wished she dared ask mrs. falconer openly to take camilla clark, but somehow she did not dare.
there were not many things that could daunt miss bailey, but mrs. falconer's reserve and gentle aloofness always could.
when miss bailey had gone on down the village street, mrs. falconer paused for a few moments at her gate, apparently lost in deep thought.
she was perfectly well aware of all the hints that had been thrown out for her benefit that afternoon.
she knew that the aids, one and all, thought that she ought to take camilla clark.
but she had no room to give her -- for it was out of the question to think of putting her in missy's room.
""i could n't do such a thing," she said to herself piteously.
""they do n't understand -- they ca n't understand -- but i could n't give her missy's room.
i'm sorry for poor camilla, and i wish i could help her.
but i ca n't give her missy's room, and i have no other."
the little falconer cottage, set back from the road in the green seclusion of an apple orchard and thick, leafy maples, was a very tiny one.
there were just two rooms downstairs and two upstairs.
when mrs. falconer entered the kitchen an old-looking man with long white hair and mild blue eyes looked up with a smile from the bright-coloured blocks before him.
""have you been lonely, father?"
said mrs. falconer tenderly.
he shook his head, still smiling.
""no, not lonely.
these" -- pointing to the blocks -- "are so pretty.
see my house, mother."
this man was mrs. falconer's husband.
once he had been one of the smartest, most intelligent men in lindsay, and one of the most trusted employees of the railroad company.
then there had been a train collision.
malcolm falconer was taken out of the wreck fearfully injured.
he eventually recovered physical health, but he was from that time forth merely a child in intellect -- a harmless, kindly creature, docile and easily amused.
mrs. falconer tried to dismiss the thought of camilla clark from her mind, but it would not be dismissed.
her conscience reproached her continually.
she tried to compromise with it by saying that she would go down and see camilla that evening and take her some nice fresh irish moss jelly.
it was so good for delicate people.
she found camilla alone in the barry sitting-room, and noticed with a feeling that was almost like self-reproach how thin and frail and white the poor young creature looked.
why, she seemed little more than a child!
her great dark eyes were far too big for her wasted face, and her hands were almost transparent.
""i'm not much better yet," said camilla tremulously, in response to mrs. falconer's inquiries.
""oh, i'm so slow getting well!
and i know -- i feel that i'm a burden to everybody."
""but you must n't think that, dear," said mrs. falconer, feeling more uncomfortable than ever.
""we are all glad to do all we can for you."
mrs. falconer paused suddenly.
she was a very truthful woman and she instantly realized that that last sentence was not true.
she was not doing all she could for camilla -- she would not be glad, she feared, to do all she could.
""if i were only well enough to go to work," sighed camilla.
""mr. marks says i can have a place in the shoe factory whenever i'm able to.
but it will be so long yet.
oh, i'm so tired and discouraged!"
she put her hands over her face and sobbed.
mrs. falconer caught her breath.
what if missy were somewhere alone in the world -- ill, friendless, with never a soul to offer her a refuge or a shelter?
it was so very, very probable.
before she could check herself mrs. falconer spoke.
""my dear, do n't cry!
i want you to come and stay with me until you get perfectly well.
you wo n't be a speck of trouble, and i'll be glad to have you for company."
mrs. falconer's rubicon was crossed.
she could not draw back now if she wanted to.
but she was not at all sure that she did want to.
by the time she reached home she was sure she did n't want to.
and yet -- to give missy's room to camilla!
it seemed a great sacrifice to mrs. falconer.
she went up to it the next morning with firmly set lips to air and dust it.
it was just the same as when missy had left it long ago.
nothing had ever been moved or changed, but everything had always been kept beautifully neat and clean.
snow-white muslin curtains hung before the small square window.
in one corner was a little white bed.
missy's pictures hung on the walls; missy's books and work-basket were lying on the square stand; there was a bit of half-finished fancy work, yellow from age, lying in the basket.
on a small bureau before the gilt-framed mirror were several little girlish knick-knacks and boxes whose contents had never been disturbed since missy went away.
one of missy's gay pink ribbons -- missy had been so fond of pink ribbons -- hung over the top of the mirror.
on a chair lay missy's hat, bright with ribbons and roses, just as missy had laid it there on the night before she left her home.
mrs. falconer's lips quivered as she looked about the room, and tears came to her eyes.
oh, how could she put these things away and bring a stranger here -- here, where no one save herself had entered for fifteen years, here in this room, sacred to missy's memory, waiting for her return when she should be weary of wandering?
it almost seemed to the mother's vague fancy, distorted by long, silent brooding, that her daughter's innocent girlhood had been kept here for her and would be lost forever if the room were given to another.
""i suppose it's dreadful foolishness," said mrs. falconer, wiping her eyes.
""i know it is, but i ca n't help it.
it just goes to my heart to think of putting these things away.
but i must do it.
camilla is coming here today, and this room must be got ready for her.
oh, missy, my poor lost child, it's for your sake i'm doing this -- because you may be suffering somewhere as camilla is now, and i'd wish the same kindness to be shown to you."
she opened the window and put fresh linen on the bed.
one by one missy's little belongings were removed and packed carefully away.
on the gay, foolish little hat with its faded wreath of roses the mother's tears fell as she put it in a box.
she remembered so plainly the first time missy had worn it.
she could see the pretty, delicately tinted face, the big shining brown eyes, and the riotous golden curls under the drooping, lace-edged brim.
oh, where was missy now?
what roof sheltered her?
did she ever think of her mother and the little white cottage under the maples, and the low-ceilinged, dim room where she had knelt to say her childhood's prayer?
camilla clark came that afternoon.
""oh, it is lovely here," she said gratefully, looking out into the rustling shade of the maples.
""i'm sure i shall soon get well here.
mrs. barry was so kind to me -- i shall never forget her kindness -- but the house is so close to the factory, and there was such a whirring of wheels all the time, it seemed to get into my head and make me wild with nervousness.
i'm so weak that sounds like that worry me.
but it is so still and green and peaceful here.
it just rests me."
when bedtime came, mrs. falconer took camilla up to missy's room.
it was not as hard as she had expected it to be after all.
the wrench was over with the putting away of missy's things, and it did not hurt the mother to see the frail, girlish camilla in her daughter's place.
""what a dear little room!"
said camilla, glancing around.
""it is so white and sweet.
oh, i know i am going to sleep well here, and dream sweet dreams."
""it was my daughter's room," said mrs. falconer, sitting down on the chintz-covered seat by the open window.
camilla looked surprised.
""i did not know you had a daughter," she said.
""yes -- i had just the one child," said mrs. falconer dreamily.
for fifteen years she had never spoken of missy to a living soul except her husband.
but now she felt a sudden impulse to tell camilla about her, and about the room.
""her name was isabella, after her father's mother, but we never called her anything but missy.
that was the little name she gave herself when she began to talk.
oh, i've missed her so!"
""when did she die?"
asked camilla softly, sympathy shining, starlike, in her dark eyes.
""she -- she did n't die," said mrs. falconer.
""she went away.
she was a pretty girl and gay and fond of fun -- but such a good girl.
oh, missy was always a good girl!
her father and i were so proud of her -- too proud, i suppose.
she had her little faults -- she was too fond of dress and gaiety, but then she was so young, and we indulged her.
then bert williams came to lindsay to work in the factory.
he was a handsome fellow, with taking ways about him, but he was drunken and profane, and nobody knew anything about his past life.
he fascinated missy.
he kept coming to see her until her father forbade him the house.
then our poor, foolish child used to meet him elsewhere.
we found this out afterwards.
and at last she ran away with him, and they were married over at peterboro and went there to live, for bert had got work there.
we -- we were too hard on missy.
but her father was so dreadful hurt about it.
he'd been so fond and proud of her, and he felt that she had disgraced him.
he disowned her, and sent her word never to show her face here again, for he'd never forgive her.
and i was angry too.
i did n't send her any word at all.
oh, how i've wept over that!
if i had just sent her one little word of forgiveness, everything might have been different.
but father forbade me to.
""then in a little while there was a dreadful trouble.
a woman came to peterboro and claimed to be bert williams's wife -- and she was -- she proved it.
bert cleared out and was never seen again in these parts.
as soon as we heard about it father relented, and i went right down to peterboro to see missy and bring her home.
but she was n't there -- she had gone, nobody knew where.
i got a letter from her the next week.
she said her heart was broken, and she knew we would never forgive her, and she could n't face the disgrace, so she was going away where nobody would ever find her.
we did everything we could to trace her, but we never could.
we've never heard from her since, and it is fifteen years ago.
sometimes i am afraid she is dead, but then again i feel sure she is n't.
oh, camilla, if i could only find my poor child and bring her home!
""this was her room.
and when she went away i made up my mind i would keep it for her just as she left it, and i have up to now.
nobody has ever been inside the door but myself.
i've always hoped that missy would come home, and i would lead her up here and say, "missy, here is your room just as you left it, and here is your place in your mother's heart just as you left it," but she never came.
i'm afraid she never will."
mrs. falconer dropped her face in her hands and sobbed softly.
camilla came over to her and put her arms about her.
""i think she will," she said.
""i think -- i am sure your love and prayers will bring missy home yet.
and i understand how good you have been in giving me her room -- oh, i know what it must have cost you!
i will pray tonight that god will bring missy back to you."
when mrs. falconer returned to the kitchen to close the house for the night, her husband being already sound asleep; she heard a low, timid knock at the door.
wondering who it could be so late, she opened it.
the light fell on a shrinking, shabby figure on the step, and on a pale, pinched face in which only a mother could have recognized the features of her child.
mrs. falconer gave a cry.
""missy!
missy!
missy!"
she caught the poor wanderer to her heart and drew her in.
""oh, missy, missy, have you come back at last?
thank god!
oh, thank god!"
""i had to come back.
i was starving for a glimpse of your face and of the old home, mother," sobbed missy.
""but i did n't mean you should know -- i never meant to show myself to you.
i've been sick, and just as soon as i got better i came here.
i meant to creep home after dark and look at the dear old house, and perhaps get a glimpse of you and father through the window if you were still here.
i did n't know if you were.
and then i meant to go right away on the night train.
i was under the window and i heard you telling my story to someone.
oh, mother, when i knew that you had forgiven me, that you loved me still and had always kept my room for me, i made up my mind that i'd show myself to you."
the mother had got her child into a rocking-chair and removed the shabby hat and cloak.
how ill and worn and faded missy looked!
yet her face was pure and fine, and there was in it something sweeter than had ever been there in her beautiful girlhood.
""i'm terribly changed, am i not, mother?"
said missy, with a faint smile.
""i've had a hard life -- but an honest one, mother.
when i went away i was almost mad with the disgrace my wilfulness had brought on you and father and myself.
i went as far as i could get away from you, and i got work in a factory.
i've worked there ever since, just making enough to keep body and soul together.
oh, i've starved for a word from you -- the sight of your face!
but i thought father would spurn me from his door if i should ever dare to come back."
""oh, missy!"
sobbed the mother.
""your poor father is just like a child.
he got a terrible hurt ten years ago, and never got over it.
i do n't suppose he'll even know you -- he's clean forgot everything.
but he forgave you before it happened.
you poor child, you're done right out.
you're too weak to be travelling.
but never mind, you're home now, and i'll soon nurse you up.
i'll put on the kettle and get you a good cup of tea first thing.
and you're not to do any more talking till the morning.
but, oh, missy, i ca n't take you to your own room after all.
camilla clark has it, and she'll be asleep by now; we must n't disturb her, for she's been real sick.
i'll fix up a bed for you on the sofa, though.
missy, missy, let us kneel down here and thank god for his mercy!"
late that night, when missy had fallen asleep in her improvised bed, the wakeful mother crept in to gloat over her.
""just to think," she whispered, "if i had n't taken camilla clark in, missy would n't have heard me telling about the room, and she'd have gone away again and never have known.
oh, i do n't deserve such a blessing when i was so unwilling to take camilla!
but i know one thing: this is going to be camilla's home.
there'll be no leaving it even when she does get well.
she shall be my daughter, and i'll love her next to missy."
ted's afternoon off ted was up at five that morning, as usual.
he always had to rise early to kindle the fire and go for the cows, but on this particular morning there was no "had to" about it.
he had awakened at four o'clock and had sprung eagerly to the little garret window facing the east, to see what sort of a day was being born.
thrilling with excitement, he saw that it was going to be a glorious day.
the sky was all rosy and golden and clear beyond the sharp-pointed, dark firs on lee's hill.
out to the north the sea was shimmering and sparkling gaily, with little foam crests here and there ruffled up by the cool morning breeze.
oh, it would be a splendid day!
and he, ted melvin, was to have a half holiday for the first time since he had come to live in brookdale four years ago -- a whole afternoon off to go to the sunday school picnic at the beach beyond the big hotel.
it almost seemed too good to be true!
the jacksons, with whom he had lived ever since his mother had died, did not think holidays were necessities for boys.
hard work and cast-off clothes, and three grudgingly allowed months of school in the winter, made up ted's life year in and year out -- his outer life at least.
he had an inner life of dreams, but nobody knew or suspected anything about that.
to everybody in brookdale he was simply ted melvin, a shy, odd-looking little fellow with big dreamy black eyes and a head of thick tangled curls which could never be made to look tidy and always annoyed mrs. jackson exceedingly.
it was as yet too early to light the fire or go for the cows.
ted crept softly to a corner in the garret and took from the wall an old brown fiddle.
it had been his father's.
he loved to play on it, and his few rare spare moments were always spent in the garret corner or the hayloft, with his precious fiddle.
it was his one link with the old life he had lived in a little cottage far away, with a mother who had loved him and a merry young father who had made wonderful music on the old brown violin.
ted pushed open his garret window and, seating himself on the sill, began to play, with his eyes fixed on the glowing eastern sky.
he played very softly, since mrs. jackson had a pronounced dislike to being wakened by "fiddling at all unearthly hours."
the music he made was beautiful and would have astonished anybody who knew enough to know how wonderful it really was.
but there was nobody to hear this little neglected urchin of all work, and he fiddled away happily, the music floating out of the garret window, over the treetops and the dew-wet clover fields, until it mingled with the winds and was lost in the silver skies of the morning.
ted worked doubly hard all that forenoon, since there was a double share of work to do if, as mrs. jackson said, he was to be gadding to picnics in the afternoon.
but he did it all cheerily and whistled for joy as he worked.
after dinner mrs. ross came in.
mrs. ross lived down on the shore road and made a living for herself and her two children by washing and doing days" work out.
she was not a very cheerful person and generally spoke as if on the point of bursting into tears.
she looked more doleful than ever today, and lost no time in explaining why.
""i've just got word that my sister over at white sands is sick with pendikis" -- this was the nearest mrs. ross could get to appendicitis -- "and has to go to the hospital.
i've got to go right over and see her, mrs. jackson, and i've run in to ask if ted can go and stay with jimmy till i get back.
there's no one else i can get, and amelia is away.
i'll be back this evening.
i do n't like leaving jimmy alone."
""ted's been promised that he could go to the picnic this afternoon," said mrs. jackson shortly.
""mr. jackson said he could go, so he'll have to please himself.
if he's willing to stay with jimmy instead, he can.
i do n't care."
""oh, i've got to go to the picnic," cried ted impulsively.
""i'm awful sorry for jimmy -- but i must go to the picnic."
""i s "pose you feel so," said mrs. ross, sighing heavily.
""i dunno's i blame you.
picnics is more cheerful than staying with a poor little lame boy, i do n't doubt.
well, i s "pose i can put jimmy's supper on the table clost to him, and shut the cat in with him, and mebbe he'll worry through.
he was counting on having you to fiddle for him, though.
jimmy's crazy about music, and he do n't never hear much of it.
speaking of fiddling, there's a great fiddler stopping at the hotel now.
his name is blair milford, and he makes his living fiddling at concerts.
i knew him well when he was a child -- i was nurse in his father's family.
he was a taking little chap, and i was real fond of him.
well, i must be getting.
jimmy'll feel bad at staying alone, but i'll tell him he'll just have to put up with it."
mrs. ross sighed herself away, and ted flew up to his garret corner with a choking in his throat.
he could n't go to stay with jimmy -- he could n't give up the picnic!
why, he had never been at a picnic; and they were going to drive to the hotel beach in wagons, and have swings, and games, and ice cream, and a boat sail to curtain island!
he had been looking forward to it, waking and dreaming, for a fortnight.
he must go.
but poor little jimmy!
it was too bad for him to be left all alone.
""i would n't like it myself," said ted miserably, trying to swallow a lump that persisted in coming up in his throat.
""it must be dreadful to have to lie on the sofa all the time and never be able to run, climb trees or play, or do a single thing.
and jimmy does n't like reading much.
he'll be dreadful lonesome.
i'll be thinking of him all the time at the picnic -- i know i will.
i suppose i could go and stay with him, if i just made up my mind to it."
making up his mind to it was a slow and difficult process.
but when ted was finally dressed in his shabby, "skimpy" sunday best, he tucked his precious fiddle under his arm and slipped downstairs.
""please, i think i'll go and stay with jimmy," he said to mrs. jackson timidly, as he always spoke to her.
""well, if you're to waste the afternoon, i s "pose it's better to waste it that way than in going to a picnic and eating yourself sick," was mrs. jackson's ungracious response.
ted reached mrs. ross's little house just as that good lady was locking the door on jimmy and the cat.
""well, i'm real glad," she said, when ted told her he had come to stay.
""i'd have worried most awful if i'd had to leave jimmy all alone.
he's crying in there this minute.
come now, jimmy, dry up.
here's ted come to stop with you after all, and he's brought his fiddle, too."
jimmy's tears were soon dried, and he welcomed ted joyfully.
""i've been thinking awful long to hear you fiddling," said jimmy, with a sigh of content.
""seems like the ache ai n't never half so bad when i'm listening to music -- and when it's your music, i forget there's any ache at all."
ted took his violin and began to play.
after all, it was almost as good as a picnic to have a whole afternoon for his music.
the stuffy little room, with its dingy plaster and shabby furniture, was filled with wonderful harmonies.
once he began, ted could play for hours at a stretch and never be conscious of fatigue.
jimmy lay and listened in rapturous content while ted's violin sang and laughed and dreamed and rippled.
there was another listener besides jimmy.
outside, on the red sandstone doorstep, a man was sitting -- a tall, well-dressed man with a pale, beautiful face and long, supple white hands.
motionless, he sat there and listened to the music until at last it stopped.
then he rose and knocked at the door.
ted, violin in hand, opened it.
an expression of amazement flashed into the stranger's face, but he only said, "is mrs. ross at home?"
""no, sir," said ted shyly.
""she went over to white sands and she wo n't be back till night.
but jimmy is here -- jimmy is her little boy.
will you come in?"
""i'm sorry mrs. ross is away," said the stranger, entering.
""she was an old nurse of mine.
i must confess i've been sitting on the step out there for some time, listening to your music.
who taught you to play, my boy?"
""nobody," said ted simply.
""i've always been able to play."
""he makes it up himself out of his own head, sir," said jimmy eagerly.
""no, i do n't make it -- it makes itself -- it just comes," said ted, a dreamy gaze coming into his big black eyes.
the caller looked at him closely.
""i know a little about music myself," he said.
""my name is blair milford and i am a professional violinist.
your playing is wonderful.
what is your name?"
""ted melvin."
""well, ted, i think that you have a great talent, and it ought to be cultivated.
you should have competent instruction.
come, you must tell me all about yourself."
ted told what little he thought there was to tell.
blair milford listened and nodded, guessing much that ted did n't tell and, indeed, did n't know himself.
then he made ted play for him again.
""amazing!"
he said softly, under his breath.
finally he took the violin and played himself.
ted and jimmy listened breathlessly.
""oh, if i could only play like that!"
said ted wistfully.
blair milford smiled.
""you will play much better some day if you get the proper training," he said.
""you have a wonderful talent, my boy, and you should have it cultivated.
it will never in the world do to waste such genius.
yes, that is the right word," he went on musingly, as if talking to himself," "genius."
nature is always taking us by surprise.
this child has what i have never had and would make any sacrifice for.
and yet in him it may come to naught for lack of opportunity.
but it must not, ted.
you must have a musical training."
""i ca n't take lessons, if that is what you mean, sir," said ted wonderingly.
""mr. jackson would n't pay for them."
""i think we need n't worry about the question of payment if you can find time to practise," said blair milford.
""i am to be at the beach for two months yet.
for once i'll take a music pupil.
but will you have time to practise?"
""yes, sir, i'll make time," said ted, as soon as he could speak at all for the wonder of it.
""i'll get up at four in the morning and have an hour's practising before the time for the cows.
but i'm afraid it'll be too much trouble for you, sir, i'm afraid --" blair milford laughed and put his slim white hand on ted's curly head.
""it is n't much trouble to train an artist.
it is a privilege.
ah, ted, you have what i once hoped i had, what i know now i never can have.
you do n't understand me.
you will some day."
""ai n't he an awful nice man?"
said jimmy, when blair milford had gone.
""but what did he mean by all that talk?"
""i do n't know exactly," said ted dreamily.
""that is, i seem to feel what he meant but i ca n't quite put it into words.
but, oh, jimmy, i'm so happy.
i'm to have lessons -- i have always longed to have them."
""i guess you're glad you did n't go to the picnic?"
said jimmy.
""yes, but i was glad before, jimmy, honest i was."
blair milford kept his promise.
he interviewed mr. and mrs. jackson and, by means best known to himself, induced them to consent that ted should take music lessons every saturday afternoon.
he was a pupil to delight a teacher's heart and, after every lesson, blair milford looked at him with kindly eyes and murmured, "amazing," under his breath.
finally he went again to the jacksons, and the next day he said to ted, "ted, would you like to come away with me -- live with me -- be my boy and have your gift for music thoroughly cultivated?"
""what do you mean, sir?"
said ted tremblingly.
""i mean that i want you -- that i must have you, ted.
i've talked to mr. jackson, and he has consented to let you come.
you shall be educated, you shall have the best masters in your art that the world affords, you shall have the career i once dreamed of.
will you come, ted?"
ted drew a long breath.
""yes, sir," he said.
""but it is n't so much because of the music -- it's because i love you, mr. milford, and i'm so glad i'm to be always with you."
the doctor's sweetheart just because i am an old woman outwardly it does n't follow that i am one inwardly.
hearts do n't grow old -- or should n't.
mine has n't, i am thankful to say.
it bounded like a girl's with delight when i saw doctor john and marcella barry drive past this afternoon.
if the doctor had been my own son i could n't have felt more real pleasure in his happiness.
i'm only an old lady who can do little but sit by her window and knit, but eyes were made for seeing, and i use mine for that purpose.
when i see the good and beautiful things -- and a body need never look for the other kind, you know -- the things god planned from the beginning and brought about in spite of the counter plans and schemes of men, i feel such a deep joy that i'm glad, even at seventy-five, to be alive in a world where such things come to pass.
and if ever god meant and made two people for each other, those people were doctor john and marcella barry; and that is what i always tell folk who come here commenting on the difference in their ages.
""old enough to be her father," sniffed mrs. riddell to me the other day.
i did n't say anything to mrs. riddell.
i just looked at her.
i presume my face expressed what i felt pretty clearly.
how any woman can live for sixty years in the world, as mrs. riddell has, a wife and mother at that, and not get some realization of the beauty and general satisfactoriness of a real and abiding love, is something i can not understand and never shall be able to.
nobody in bridgeport believed that marcella would ever come back, except doctor john and me -- not even her aunt sara.
i've heard people laugh at me when i said i knew she would; but nobody minds being laughed at when she is sure of a thing and i was sure that marcella barry would come back as that the sun rose and set.
i had n't lived beside her for eight years to know so little about her as to doubt her.
neither had doctor john.
marcella was only eight years old when she came to live in bridgeport.
her father, chester barry, had just died.
her mother, who was a sister of miss sara bryant, my next door neighbor, had been dead for four years.
marcella's father left her to the guardianship of his brother, richard barry; but miss sara pleaded so hard to have the little girl that the barrys consented to let marcella live with her aunt until she was sixteen.
then, they said, she would have to go back to them, to be properly educated and take the place of her father's daughter in his world.
for, of course, it is a fact that miss sara bryant's world was and is a very different one from chester barry's world.
as to which side the difference favors, that is n't for me to say.
it all depends on your standard of what is really worth while, you know.
so marcella came to live with us in bridgeport.
i say "us" advisedly.
she slept and ate in her aunt's house, but every house in the village was a home to her; for, with all our little disagreements and diverse opinions, we are really all one big family, and everybody feels an interest in and a good working affection for everybody else.
besides, marcella was one of those children whom everybody loves at sight, and keeps on loving.
one long, steady gaze from those big grayish-blue black-lashed eyes of hers went right into your heart and stayed there.
she was a pretty child and as good as she was pretty.
it was the right sort of goodness, too, with just enough spice of original sin in it to keep it from spoiling by reason of over-sweetness.
she was a frank, loyal, brave little thing, even at eight, and would n't have said or done a mean or false thing to save her life.
she and i were right good friends from the beginning.
she loved me and she loved her aunt sara; but from the very first her best and deepest affection went out to doctor john haven, who lived in the big brick house on the other side of miss sara's.
doctor john was a bridgeport boy, and when he got through college he came right home and settled down here, with his widowed mother.
the bridgeport girls were fluttered, for eligible young men were scarce in our village; there was considerable setting of caps, i must say that, although i despise ill-natured gossip; but neither the caps nor the wearers thereof seemed to make any impression on doctor john.
mrs. riddell said that he was a born old bachelor; i suppose she based her opinion on the fact that doctor john was always a quiet, bookish fellow, who did n't care a button for society, and had never been guilty of a flirtation in his life.
i knew doctor john's heart far better than martha riddell could know anybody's; and i knew there was nothing of the old bachelor in his nature.
he just had to wait for the right woman, that was all, not being able to content himself with less as some men can and do.
if she never came doctor john would never marry; but he would n't be an old bachelor for all that.
he was thirty when marcella came to bridgeport -- a tall, broad-shouldered man with a mane of thick brown curls and level, dark hazel eyes.
he walked with a little stoop, his hands clasped behind him; and he had the sweetest, deepest voice.
spoken music, if ever a voice was.
he was kind and brave and gentle, but a little distant and reserved with most people.
everybody in bridgeport liked him, but only a very few ever passed the inner gates of his confidence or were admitted to any share in his real life.
i am proud to say i was one; i think it is something for an old woman to boast of.
doctor john was always fond of children, and they of him.
it was natural that he and little marcella should take to each other.
he had the most to do with bringing her up, for miss sara consulted him in everything.
marcella was not hard to manage for the most part; but she had a will of her own, and when she did set it up in opposition to the powers that were, nobody but the doctor could influence her at all; she never resisted him or disobeyed his wishes.
marcella was one of those girls who develop early.
i suppose her constant association with us elderly folks had something to do with it, too.
but, at fifteen, she was a woman, loving, beautiful, and spirited.
and doctor john loved her -- loved the woman, not the child.
i knew it before he did -- but not, as i think, before marcella did, for those young, straight-gazing eyes of hers were wonderfully quick to read into other people's hearts.
i watched them together and saw the love growing between them, like a strong, fair, perfect flower, whose fragrance was to endure for eternity.
miss sara saw it, too, and was half-pleased and half-worried; even miss sara thought the doctor too old for marcella; and besides, there were the barrys to be reckoned with.
those barrys were the nightmare dread of poor miss sara's life.
the time came when doctor john's eyes were opened.
he looked into his own heart and read there what life had written for him.
as he told me long afterwards, it came to him with a shock that left him white-lipped.
but he was a brave, sensible fellow and he looked the matter squarely in the face.
first of all, he put away to one side all that the world might say; the thing concerned solely him and marcella, and the world had nothing to do with it.
that disposed of, he asked himself soberly if he had a right to try to win marcella's love.
he decided that he had not; it would be taking an unfair advantage of her youth and inexperience.
he knew that she must soon go to her father's people -- she must not go bound by any ties of his making.
doctor john, for marcella's sake, gave the decision against his own heart.
so much did doctor john tell me, his old friend and confidant.
i said nothing and gave no advice, not having lived seventy-five years for nothing.
i knew that doctor john's decision was manly and right and fair; but i also knew it was all nullified by the fact that marcella already loved him.
so much i knew; the rest i was left to suppose.
the doctor and marcella told me much, but there were some things too sacred to be told, even to me.
so that to this day i do n't know how the doctor found out that marcella loved him.
all i know is that one day, just a month before her sixteenth birthday, the two came hand in hand to miss sara and me, as we sat on miss sara's veranda in the twilight, and told us simply that they had plighted their troth to each other.
i looked at them standing there with that wonderful sunrise of life and love on their faces -- the doctor, tall and serious, with a sprinkle of silver in his brown hair and the smile of a happy man on his lips -- marcella, such a slip of a girl, with her black hair in a long braid and her lovely face all dewed over with tears and sunned over with smiles -- i, an old woman, looked at them and thanked the good god for them and their delight.
miss sara laughed and cried and kissed -- and forboded what the barrys would do.
her forebodings proved only too true.
when the doctor wrote to richard barry, marcella's guardian, asking his consent to their engagement, richard barry promptly made trouble -- the very worst kind of trouble.
he descended on bridgeport and completely overwhelmed poor miss sara in his wrath.
he laughed at the idea of countenancing an engagement between a child like marcella and an obscure country doctor.
and he carried marcella off with him!
she had to go, of course.
he was her legal guardian and he would listen to no pleadings.
he did n't know anything about marcella's character, and he thought that a new life out in the great world would soon blot out her fancy.
after the first outburst of tears and prayers marcella took it very calmly, as far as outward eye could see.
she was as cool and dignified and stately as a young queen.
on the night before she went away she came over to say good-bye to me.
she did not even shed any tears, but the look in her eyes told of bitter hurt.
""it is goodbye for five years, miss tranquil," she said steadily.
""when i am twenty-one i will come back.
that is the only promise i can make.
they will not let me write to john or aunt sara and i will do nothing underhanded.
but i will not forget and i will come back."
richard barry would not even let her see doctor john alone again.
she had to bid him good-bye beneath the cold, contemptuous eyes of the man of the world.
so there was just a hand-clasp and one long deep look between them that was tenderer than any kiss and more eloquent than any words.
""i will come back when i am twenty-one," said marcella.
and i saw richard barry smile.
so marcella went away and in all bridgeport there were only two people who believed she would ever return.
there is no keeping a secret in bridgeport, and everybody knew all about the love affair between marcella and the doctor and about the promise she had made.
everybody sympathized with the doctor because everybody believed he had lost his sweetheart.
""for of course she'll never come back," said mrs. riddell to me.
""she's only a child and she'll soon forget him.
she's to be sent to school and taken abroad and between times she'll live with the richard barrys; and they move, as everyone knows, in the very highest and gayest circles.
i'm sorry for the doctor, though.
a man of his age does n't get over a thing like that in a hurry and he was perfectly silly over marcella.
but it really serves him right for falling in love with a child."
there are times when martha riddell gets on my nerves.
she's a good-hearted woman, and she means well; but she rasps -- rasps terribly.
even miss sara exasperated me.
but then she had her excuse.
the child she loved as her own had been torn from her and it almost broke her heart.
but even so, i thought she ought to have had a little more faith in marcella.
""oh, no, she'll never come back," sobbed miss sara.
""yes, i know she promised.
but they'll wean her away from me.
she'll have such a gay, splendid life she'll not want to come back.
five years is a lifetime at her age.
no, do n't try to comfort me, miss tranquil, because i wo n't be comforted!"
when a person has made up her mind to be miserable you just have to let her be miserable.
i almost dreaded to see doctor john for fear he would be in despair, too, without any confidence in marcella.
but when he came i saw i need n't have worried.
the light had all gone out of his eyes, but there was a calm, steady patience in them.
""she will come back to me, miss tranquil," he said.
""i know what people are saying, but that does not trouble me.
they do not know marcella as i do.
she promised and she will keep her word -- keep it joyously and gladly, too.
if i did not know that i would not wish its fulfilment.
when she is free she will turn her back on that brilliant world and all it offers her and come back to me.
my part is to wait and believe."
so doctor john waited and believed.
after a little while the excitement died away and people forgot marcella.
we never heard from or about her, except a paragraph now and then in the society columns of the city paper the doctor took.
we knew she was sent to school for three years; then the barrys took her abroad.
she was presented at court.
when the doctor read this -- he was with me at the time -- he put his hand over his eyes and sat very silent for a long time.
i wondered if at last some momentary doubt had crept into his mind -- if he did not fear that marcella must have forgotten him.
the paper told of her triumph and her beauty and hinted at a titled match.
was it probable or even possible that she would be faithful to him after all this?
the doctor must have guessed my thoughts, for at last he looked up with a smile.
""she will come back," was all he said.
but i saw that the doubt, if doubt it were, had gone.
i watched him as he went away, that tall, gentle, kindly-eyed man, and i prayed that his trust might not be misplaced; for if it should be it would break his heart.
five years seems a long time in looking forward.
but they pass quickly.
one day i remembered that it was marcella's twenty-first birthday.
only one other person thought of it.
even miss sara did not.
miss sara remembered marcella only as a child that had been loved and lost.
nobody else in bridgeport thought about her at all.
the doctor came in that evening.
he had a rose in his buttonhole and he walked with a step as light as a boy's.
""she is free to-day," he said.
""we shall soon have her again, miss tranquil."
""do you think she will be the same?"
i said.
i do n't know what made me say it.
i hate to be one of those people who throw cold water on other peoples" hopes.
but it slipped out before i thought.
i suppose the doubt had been vaguely troubling me always, under all my faith in marcella, and now made itself felt in spite of me.
but the doctor only laughed.
""how could she be changed?"
he said.
""some women might be -- most women would be -- but not marcella.
dear miss tranquil, do n't spoil your beautiful record of confidence by doubting her now.
we shall have her again soon -- how soon i do n't know, for i do n't even know where she is, whether in the old world or the new -- but just as soon as she can come to us."
we said nothing more -- neither of us.
but every day the light in the doctor's eyes grew brighter and deeper and tenderer.
he never spoke of marcella, but i knew she was in his thoughts every moment.
he was much calmer than i was.
i trembled when the postman knocked, jumped when the gate latch clicked, and fairly had a cold chill if i saw a telegraph boy running down the street.
one evening, a fortnight later, i went over to see miss sara.
she was out somewhere, so i sat down in her little sitting room to wait for her.
presently the doctor came in and we sat in the soft twilight, talking a little now and then, but silent when we wanted to be, as becomes real friendship.
it was such a beautiful evening.
outside in miss sara's garden the roses were white and red, and sweet with dew; the honeysuckle at the window sent in delicious breaths now and again; a few sleepy birds were twittering; between the trees the sky was all pink and silvery blue and there was an evening star over the elm in my front yard.
we heard somebody come through the door and down the hall.
i turned, expecting to see miss sara -- and i saw marcella!
she was standing in the doorway, tall and beautiful, with a ray of sunset light falling athwart her black hair under her travelling hat.
she was looking past me at doctor john and in her splendid eyes was the look of the exile who had come home to her own.
""marcella!"
said the doctor.
i went out by the dining-room door and shut it behind me, leaving them alone together.
the wedding is to be next month.
miss sara is beside herself with delight.
the excitement has been really terrible, and the way people have talked and wondered and exclaimed has almost worn my patience clean out.
i've snubbed more persons in the last ten days than i ever did in all my life before.
nothing of this worries doctor john or marcella.
they are too happy to care for gossip or outside curiosity.
the barrys are not coming to the wedding, i understand.
they refuse to forgive marcella or countenance her folly, as they call it, in any way.
folly!
when i see those two together and realize what they mean to each other i have some humble, reverent idea of what true wisdom is.
the end of the young family feud a week before christmas, aunt jean wrote to elizabeth, inviting her and alberta and me to eat our christmas dinner at monkshead.
we accepted with delight.
aunt jean and uncle norman were delightful people, and we knew we should have a jolly time at their house.
besides, we wanted to see monkshead, where father had lived in his boyhood, and the old young homestead where he had been born and brought up and where uncle william still lived.
father never said much about it, but we knew he loved it very dearly, and we had always greatly desired to get at least a glimpse of what alberta liked to call "our ancestral halls."
since monkshead was only sixty miles away, and uncle william lived there as aforesaid, it may be pertinently asked what there was to prevent us from visiting it and the homestead as often as we wished.
we answer promptly: the family feud.
father and uncle william were on bad terms, or rather on no terms at all, and had been ever since we could remember.
after grandfather young's death there had been a wretched quarrel over the property.
father always said that he had been as much to blame as uncle william, but great-aunt emily told us that uncle william had been by far the most to blame, and that he had behaved scandalously to father.
moreover, she said that father had gone to him when cooling-down time came, apologized for what he had said, and asked uncle william to be friends again; and that william, simply turned his back on father and walked into the house without saying a word, but, as great-aunt emily said, with the young temper sticking out of every kink and curve of his figure.
great-aunt emily is our aunt on mother's side, and she does not like any of the youngs except father and uncle norman.
this was why we had never visited monkshead.
we had never seen uncle william, and we always thought of him as a sort of ogre when we thought of him at all.
when we were children, our old nurse, margaret hannah, used to frighten us into good behaviour by saying ominously, "if you "uns aint good your uncle william'll cotch you."
what he would do to us when he "cotched" us she never specified, probably reasoning that the unknown was always more terrible than the known.
my private opinion in those days was that he would boil us in oil and pick our bones.
uncle norman and aunt jean had been living out west for years.
three months before this christmas they had come east, bought a house in monkshead, and settled there.
they had been down to see us, and father and mother and the boys had been up to see them, but we three girls had not; so we were pleasantly excited at the thought of spending christmas there.
christmas morning was fine, white as a pearl and clear as a diamond.
we had to go by the seven o'clock train, since there was no other before eleven, and we reached monkshead at eight-thirty.
when we stepped from the train the stationmaster asked us if we were the three miss youngs.
alberta pleaded guilty, and he said, "well, here's a letter for you then."
we took the letter and went into the waiting room with sundry misgivings.
what had happened?
were uncle norman and aunt jean quarantined for scarlet fever, or had burglars raided the pantry and carried off the christmas supplies?
elizabeth opened and read the letter aloud.
it was from aunt jean to the following effect: dear girls: i am so sorry to disappoint you, but i can not help it.
word has come from streatham that my sister has met with a serious accident and is in a very critical condition.
your uncle and i must go to streatham immediately and are leaving on the eight o'clock express.
i know you have started before this, so there is no use in telegraphing.
we want you to go right to the house and make yourself at home.
you will find the key under the kitchen doorstep, and the dinner in the pantry all ready to cook.
there are two mince pies on the third shelf, and the plum pudding only needs to be warmed up.
you will find a little christmas remembrance for each of you on the dining-room table.
i hope you will make as merry as you possibly can and we will have you down again as soon as we come back.
your hurried and affectionate, aunt jean we looked at each other somewhat dolefully.
but, as alberta pointed out, we might as well make the best of it, since there was no way of getting home before the five o'clock train.
so we trailed out to the stationmaster, and asked him limply if he could direct us to mr. norman young's house.
he was a rather grumpy individual, very busy with pencil and notebook over some freight; but he favoured us with his attention long enough to point with his pencil and say jerkily, "young's?
see that red house on the hill?
that's it."
the red house was about a quarter of a mile from the station, and we saw it plainly.
accordingly, to the red house we betook ourselves.
on nearer view it proved to be a trim, handsome place, with nice grounds and very fine old trees.
we found the key under the kitchen doorstep and went in.
the fire was black out, and somehow things wore a more cheerless look than i had expected to find.
i may as well admit that we marched into the dining room first of all, to find our presents.
there were three parcels, two very small and one pretty big, lying on the table, but when we came to look for names there were none.
""evidently aunt jean, in her hurry and excitement, forgot to label them," said elizabeth.
""let us open them.
we may be able to guess from the contents which belongs to whom."
i must say we were surprised when we opened those parcels.
""we had known that aunt jean's gifts would be nice, but we had not expected anything like this.
there was a magnificent stone marten collar, a dear little gold watch and pearl chatelaine, and a gold chain bracelet set with turquoises.
""the collar must be for you, elizabeth, because mary and i have one already, and aunt jean knows it," said alberta; "the watch must be for you, mary, because i have one; and by the process of exhaustion the bracelet must be for me.
well, they are all perfectly sweet."
elizabeth put on her collar and paraded in front of the sideboard mirror.
it was so dusty she had to take her handkerchief and wipe it before she could see herself properly.
everything in the room was equally dusty.
as for the lace curtains, they looked as if they had n't been washed for years, and one of them had a long ragged hole in it.
i could n't help feeling secretly surprised, for aunt jean had the reputation of being a perfect housekeeper.
however, i did n't say anything, and neither did the other girls.
mother had always impressed upon us that it was the height of bad manners to criticize anything we might not like in a house where we were guests.
""well, let's see about dinner," said alberta, practically, snapping her bracelet on her wrist and admiring the effect.
we went to the kitchen, where elizabeth proceeded to light the fire, that being one of her specialties, while alberta and i explored the pantry.
we found the dinner supplies laid out as aunt jean had explained.
there was a nice fat turkey all stuffed, and vegetables galore.
the mince pies were in their place, but they were almost the only things about which that could be truthfully said, for the disorder of that pantry was enough to give a tidy person nightmares for a month.
""i never in all my life saw --" began alberta, and then stopped short, evidently remembering mother's teaching.
""where is the plum pudding?"
said i, to turn the conversation into safer channels.
it was nowhere to be seen, so we concluded it must be in the cellar.
but we found the cellar door padlocked good and fast.
""never mind," said elizabeth.
""you know none of us really likes plum pudding.
we only eat it because it is the proper traditional dessert.
the mince pies will suit us better."
we hurried the turkey into the oven, and soon everything was going merrily.
we had lots of fun getting up that dinner, and we made ourselves perfectly at home, as aunt jean had commanded.
we kindled a fire in the dining room and dusted everything in sight.
we could n't find anything remotely resembling a duster, so we used our handkerchiefs.
when we got through, the room looked like something, for the furnishings were really very handsome, but our handkerchiefs -- well!
then we set the table with all the nice dishes we could find.
there was only one long tablecloth in the sideboard drawer, and there were three holes in it, but we covered them with dishes and put a little potted palm in the middle for a centrepiece.
at one o'clock dinner was ready for us and we for it.
very nice that table looked, too, as we sat down to it.
just as alberta was about to spear the turkey with a fork and begin carving, that being one of her specialties, the kitchen door opened and somebody walked in.
before we could move, a big, handsome, bewhiskered man in a fur coat appeared in the dining-room doorway.
i was n't frightened.
he seemed quite respectable, i thought, and i supposed he was some intimate friend of uncle norman's.
i rose politely and said, "good day."
you never saw such an expression of amazement as was on that poor man's face.
he looked from me to alberta and from alberta to elizabeth and from elizabeth to me again as if he doubted the evidence of his eyes.
""mr. and mrs. norman young are not at home," i explained, pitying him.
""they went to streatham this morning because mrs. young's sister is very ill."
""what does all this mean?"
said the big man gruffly.
""this is n't norman young's house... it is mine.
i'm william young.
who are you?
and what are you doing here?"
i fell back into my chair, speechless.
my very first impulse was to put up my hand and cover the gold watch.
alberta had dropped the carving knife and was trying desperately to get the gold bracelet off under the table.
in a flash we had realized our mistake and its awfulness.
as for me, i felt positively frightened; margaret hannah's warnings of old had left an ineffaceable impression.
elizabeth rose to the occasion.
rising to the occasion is another of elizabeth's specialties.
besides, she was not hampered by the tingling consciousness that she was wearing a gift that had not been intended for her.
""we have made a mistake, i fear," she said, with a dignity which i appreciated even in my panic, "and we are very sorry for it.
we were invited to spend christmas with mr. and mrs. norman young.
when we got off the train we were given a letter from them stating that they were summoned away but telling us to go to their house and make ourselves at home.
the stationmaster told us that this was the house, so we came here.
we have never been in monkshead, so we did not know the difference.
please pardon us."
i had got off the watch by this time and laid it on the table, unobserved, as i thought.
alberta, not having the key of the bracelet, had not been able to get it off, and she sat there crimson with shame.
as for uncle william, there was positively a twinkle in his eye.
he did not look in the least ogreish.
""well, it has been quite a fortunate mistake for me," he said.
""i came home expecting to find a cold house and a raw dinner, and i find this instead.
i'm very much obliged to you."
alberta rose, went to the mantel piece, took the key of the bracelet therefrom, and unlocked it.
then she faced uncle william.
""mrs. young told us in her letter that we would find our christmas gifts on the table, so we took it for granted that these things belonged to us," she said desperately.
""and now, if you will kindly tell us where mr. norman young does live, we wo n't intrude on you any longer.
come, girls."
elizabeth and i rose with a sigh.
there was nothing else to be done, of course, but we were fearfully hungry, and we did not feel enthusiastic over the prospect of going to another empty house and cooking another dinner.
""wait a bit," said uncle william.
""i think since you have gone to all the trouble of cooking the dinner it's only fair you should stay and help to eat it.
accidents seem to be rather fashionable just now.
my housekeeper's son broke his leg down at weston, and i had to take her there early this morning.
come, introduce yourselves.
to whom am i indebted for this pleasant surprise?"
""we are elizabeth, alberta, and mary young of green village," i said; and then i looked to see the ogre creep out if it were ever going to.
but uncle william merely looked amazed for the first moment, foolish for the second, and the third he was himself again.
""robert's daughters?"
he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that robert's daughters should be there in his house.
""so you are my nieces?
well, i'm very glad to make your acquaintance.
sit down and we'll have dinner as soon as i can get my coat off.
i want to see if you are as good cooks as your mother used to be long ago."
we sat down, and so did uncle william.
alberta had her chance to show what she could do at carving, for uncle william said it was something he never did; he kept a housekeeper just for that.
at first we felt a bit stiff and awkward; but that soon wore off, for uncle william was genial, witty, and entertaining.
soon, to our surprise, we found that we were enjoying ourselves.
uncle william seemed to be, too.
when we had finished he leaned back and looked at us.
""i suppose you've been brought up to abhor me and all my works?"
he said abruptly.
""not by father and mother," i said frankly.
""they never said anything against you.
margaret hannah did, though.
she brought us up in the way we should go through fear of you."
uncle william laughed.
""margaret hannah was a faithful old enemy of mine," he said.
""well, i acted like a fool -- and worse.
i've been sorry for it ever since.
i was in the wrong.
i could n't have said this to your father, but i do n't mind saying it to you, and you can tell him if you like."
""he'll be delighted to hear that you are no longer angry with him," said alberta.
""he has always longed to be friends with you again, uncle william.
but he thought you were still bitter against him."
""no -- no -- nothing but stubborn pride," said uncle william.
""now, girls, since you are my guests i must try to give you a good time.
we'll take the double sleigh and have a jolly drive this afternoon.
and about those trinkets there -- they are yours.
i did get them for some young friends of mine here, but i'll give them something else.
i want you to have these.
that watch looked very nice on your blouse, mary, and the bracelet became alberta's pretty wrist very well.
come and give your cranky old uncle a hug for them."
uncle william got his hugs heartily; then we washed up the dishes and went for our drive.
we got back just in time to catch the evening train home.
uncle william saw us off at the station, under promise to come back and stay a week with him when his housekeeper came home.
""one of you will have to come and stay with me altogether, pretty soon," he said.
""tell your father he must be prepared to hand over one of his girls to me as a token of his forgiveness.
i'll be down to talk it over with him shortly."
when we got home and told our story, father said, "thank god!"
very softly.
there were tears in his eyes.
he did not wait for uncle william to come down, but went to monkshead himself the next day.
in the spring alberta is to go and live with uncle william.
she is making a supply of dusters now.
and next christmas we are going to have a grand family reunion at the old homestead.
mistakes are not always bad.
the genesis of the doughnut club when john henry died there seemed to be nothing for me to do but pack up and go back east.
i did n't want to do it, but forty-five years of sojourning in this world have taught me that a body has to do a good many things she does n't want to do, and that most of them turn out to be for the best in the long run.
but i knew perfectly well that it was n't best for me or anybody else that i should go back to live with william and susanna, and i could n't think what providence was about when things seemed to point that way.
i wanted to stay in carleton.
i loved the big, straggling, bustling little town that always reminded me of a lanky, overgrown schoolboy, all arms and legs, but full to the brim with enthusiasm and splendid ideas.
i knew carleton was bound to grow into a magnificent city, and i wanted to be there and see it grow and watch it develop; and i loved the whole big, breezy golden west, with the rush and tingle of its young life.
and, more than all, i loved my boys, and what i was going to do without them or they without me was more than i knew, though i tried to think providence might know.
but there was no place in carleton for me; the only thing to do was to go back east, and i knew that all the time, even when i was desperately praying that i might find a way to remain.
there's not much comfort, or help either, praying one way and believing another.
i'd lived down east in northfield all my life -- until five years ago -- lived with my brother william and his wife.
northfield was a little pinched-up village where everybody knew more about you than you did about yourself, and you could n't turn around without being commented upon.
william and susanna were kind to me, but i was just the old maid sister, of no importance to anybody, and i never felt as if i were really living.
i was simply vegetating on, and would n't be missed by a single soul if i died.
it is a horrible feeling, but i did n't expect it would ever be any different, and i had made up my mind that when i died i would have the word "wasted" carved on my tombstone.
it would n't be conventional at all, but i'd been conventional all my life, and i was determined i'd have something done out of the common even if i had to wait until i was dead to have it.
then all at once the letter came from john henry, my brother out west.
he wrote that his wife had died and he wanted me to go out and keep house for him.
i sat right down and wrote him i'd go and in a week's time i started.
it made quite a commotion; i had that much satisfaction out of it to begin with.
susanna was n't any too well pleased.
i was only the old maid sister, but i was a good cook, and help was scarce in northfield.
all the neighbours shook their heads, and warned me i would n't like it.
i was too old to change my ways, and i'd be dreadfully homesick, and i'd find the west too rough and boisterous.
i just smiled and said nothing.
well, i came out here to carleton, and from the time i got here i was perfectly happy.
john henry had a little rented house, and he was as poor as a church mouse, being the ne'er - do-well of our family, and the best loved, as ne'er - do-wells are so apt to be.
he'd nearly died of lonesomeness since his wife's death, and he was so glad to see me.
that was delightful in itself, and i was just in my element getting that little house fixed up cosy and homelike, and cooking the most elegant meals.
there was n't much work to do, just for me and him, and i got a squaw in to wash and scrub.
i never thought about northfield except to thank goodness i'd escaped from it, and john henry and i were as happy as a king and queen.
then after awhile my activities began to sprout and branch out, and the direction they took was boys.
carleton was full of boys, like all the western towns, overflowing with them as you might say, young fellows just let loose from home and mother, some of them dying of homesickness and some of them beginning to run wild and get into risky ways, some of them smart and some of them lazy, some ugly and some handsome; but all of them boys, lovable, rollicking boys, with the makings of good men in them if there was anybody to take hold of them and cut the pattern right, but liable to be spoiled just because there was n't anybody.
well, i did what i could.
it began with john henry bringing home some of them that worked in his office to spend the evening now and again, and they told other fellows and asked leave to bring them in too.
and before long it got to be that there never was an evening there was n't some of them there, "aunt-pattying" me.
i told them from the start i would not be called miss..
when a woman has been miss for forty-five years she gets tired of it.
so aunt patty it was, and aunt patty it remained, and i loved all those dear boys as if they'd been my own.
they told me all their troubles, and i mothered them and cheered them up and scolded them, and finally topped off with a jolly good supper; for, talk as you like, you ca n't preach much good into a boy if he's got an aching void in his stomach.
fill that up with tasty victuals, and then you can do something with his spiritual nature.
if a boy is well stuffed with good things and then wo n't listen to advice, you might as well stop wasting your breath on him, because there is something radically wrong with him.
probably his grandfather had dyspepsia.
and a dyspeptic ancestor is worse for a boy than predestination, in my opinion.
anyway, most of my boys took to going to church and bible class of their own accord, after i'd been their aunt for awhile.
the young minister thought it was all his doings, and i let him think so to keep him cheered up.
he was a nice boy himself, and often dropped in of an evening too; but i never would let him talk theology until after supper.
his views always seemed so much mellower then, and did n't puzzle the other boys more than was wholesome for them.
this went on for five glorious years, the only years of my life i'd ever lived, and then came, as i thought, the end of everything.
john henry took typhoid and died.
at first that was all i could think of; and when i got so that i could think of other things, there was, as i have said, nothing for me to do but go back east.
the boys, who had been as good as gold to me all through my trouble, felt dreadfully bad over this, and coaxed me hard to stay.
they said if i'd start a boarding house i'd have all the boarders i could accommodate; but i knew it was no use to think of that, because i was n't strong enough, and help was so hard to get.
no, there was nothing for it but northfield and stagnation again, with not a stray boy anywhere to mother.
i looked the dismal prospect square in the face and made up my mind to it.
but i was determined to give my boys one good celebration before i went, anyway.
it was near thanksgiving, and i resolved they should have a dinner that would keep my memory green for awhile, a real old-fashioned thanksgiving dinner such as they used to have at home.
i knew it would cost more than i could really afford, but i shut my eyes to that aspect of the question.
i was going back to strict eastern economy for the rest of my days, and i meant to indulge in one wild, blissful riot of extravagance before i was cooped up again.
i counted up the boys i must have, and there were fifteen, including the minister.
i invited them a fortnight ahead to make sure of getting them, though i need n't have worried, for they all said they would have broken an engagement to dine with the king for one of my dinners.
the minister said he had been feeling so homesick he was afraid he would n't be able to preach a real thankful sermon, but now he was comfortably sure that his sermon would be overflowing with gratitude.
i just threw myself heart and soul into the preparations for that dinner.
i had three turkeys and two sucking pigs, and mince pies and pumpkin pies and apple pies, and doughnuts and fruit cake and cranberry sauce and brown bread, and ever so many other things to fill up the chinks.
the night before thanksgiving everything was ready, and i was so tired i could hardly talk to jimmy nelson when he dropped in.
jimmy had something on his mind, i saw that.
so i said," "fess up, jimmy, and then you'll be able to enjoy your call."
""i want to ask a favour of you, aunt patty," said jimmy.
i knew i should have to grant it; nobody could refuse jimmy anything, he looked so much like a nice, clean, pink-and-white little schoolboy whose mother had just scrubbed his face and told him to be good.
at the same time he was one of the wildest young scamps in carleton, or had been until a year ago.
i'd got him well set on the road to reformation, and i felt worse about leaving him than any of the rest of them.
i knew he was just at the critical point.
with somebody to tide him over the next half year he'd probably go straight for the rest of his life, but if he were left to himself he'd likely just slip back to his old set and ways.
""i want you to let me bring my uncle joe to dinner tomorrow," said jimmy.
""the poor old fellow is stranded here for thanksgiving, and he hates hotels.
may i?"
""of course," i said heartily, wondering why jimmy seemed to think i might n't want his uncle joe.
""bring him right along."
""thanks," said jimmy.
""he'll be more than pleased.
your sublime cookery will delight him.
he adores the west, but he ca n't endure its cooking.
he's always harping on his mother's pantry and the good old down-east dinners.
he's dyspeptic and pessimistic most of the time, and he's got half a dozen cronies just like himself.
all they think of is railroads and bills of fare."
""railroads!"
i cried.
and then an awful thought assailed me.
""jimmy nelson, your uncle is n't -- is n't -- he ca n't be joseph p. nelson, the rich joseph p. nelson!"
""oh, he's rich enough," said jimmy; getting up and reaching for his hat.
""in dollars, that is.
some ways he's poor enough.
well, i must be going.
thanks ever so much for letting me bring uncle joe."
and that rascal was gone, leaving me crushed.
joseph nelson was coming to my house to dinner -- joseph p. nelson, the millionaire railroad king, who kept his own chef and was accustomed to dining with the great ones of the earth!
i was afraid i should never be able to forgive jimmy.
i could n't sleep a wink that night, and i cooked that dinner next day in a terrible state of mind.
every ring that came at the door made my heart jump, -- but in the end jimmy did n't ring at all, but just walked in with his uncle in tow.
the minute i saw joseph p. i knew i need n't be scared of him; he just looked real common.
he was little and thin and kind of bored-looking, with grey hair and whiskers, and his clothes were next door to downright shabbiness.
if it had n't been for the thought of that chef, i would n't have felt a bit ashamed of my old-fashioned thanksgiving spread.
when joseph p. sat down to that table he stopped looking bored.
all the time the minister was saying grace that man simply stared at a big plate of doughnuts near my end of the table, as if he'd never seen anything like them before.
all the boys talked and laughed while they were eating, but joseph p. just ate, tucking away turkey and vegetables and keeping an anxious eye on those doughnuts, as if he was afraid somebody else would get hold of them before his turn came.
i wished i was sure it was etiquette to tell him not to worry because there were plenty more in the pantry.
by the time he'd been helped three times to mince pie i gave up feeling bad about the chef.
he finished off with the doughnuts, and i sha n't tell how many of them he devoured, because i would not be believed.
most of the boys had to go away soon after dinner.
joseph p. shook hands with me absently and merely said, "good afternoon, miss porter."
i did n't think he seemed at all grateful for his dinner, but that did n't worry me because it was for my boys i'd got it up, and not for dyspeptic millionaires whose digestion had been spoiled by private chefs.
and my boys had appreciated it, there was n't any doubt about that.
peter crockett and tommy gray stayed to help me wash the dishes, and we had the jolliest time ever.
afterward we picked the turkey bones.
but that night i realized that i was once more a useless, lonely old woman.
i cried myself to sleep, and next morning i had n't spunk enough to cook myself a dinner.
i dined off some crackers and the remnants of the apple pies, and i was sitting staring at the crumbs when the bell rang.
i wiped away my tears and went to the door.
joseph p. nelson was standing there, and he said, without wasting any words -- it was easy to see how that man managed to get railroads built where nobody else could manage it -- that he had called to see me on a little matter of business.
he took just ten minutes to make it clear to me, and when i saw the whole project i was the happiest woman in carleton or out of it.
he said he had never eaten such a thanksgiving dinner as mine, and that i was the woman he'd been looking for for years.
he said that he had a few business friends who had been brought up on a down-east farm like himself, and never got over their hankering for old-fashioned cookery.
""that is something we ca n't get here, with all our money," he said.
""now, miss porter, my nephew tells me that you wish to remain in carleton, if you can find some way of supporting yourself.
i have a proposition to make to you.
these aforesaid friends of mine and i expect to spend most of our time in carleton for the next few years.
in fact we shall probably make it our home eventually.
it's going to be the city of the west after awhile, and the centre of a dozen railroads.
well, we mean to equip a small private restaurant for ourselves and we want you to take charge of it.
you wo n't have to do much except oversee the business and arrange the bills of fare.
we want plain, substantial old-time meals and cookery.
when we have a hankering for doughnuts and apple pies and cranberry tarts, we want to know just where to get them and have them the right kind.
we're all horribly tired of hotel fare and fancy fol-de-rols with french names.
a place where we could get a dinner such as you served yesterday would be a boon to us.
we'd have started the restaurant long ago if we could have got a suitable person to take charge of it."
he named the salary the club would pay and the very sound of it made me feel rich.
you may be sure i did n't take long to decide.
that was a year ago, and today the doughnut club, as they call themselves, is a huge success, and the fame of it has gone abroad in the land, although they are pretty exclusive and keep all their good things close enough to themselves.
joseph p. took a scotch peer there to dinner one day last week.
jimmy nelson told me afterward that the man said it was the only satisfying meal he'd had since he left the old country.
as for me, i have my little house, my very own and no rented one, and all my dear boys, and i'm a happy old busybody.
you see, providence did answer my prayers in spite of my lack of faith; but of course he used means, and that thanksgiving dinner of mine was the earthly instrument of it all.
the girl who drove the cows "i wonder who that pleasant-looking girl who drives cows down the beech lane every morning and evening is," said pauline palmer, at the tea table of the country farmhouse where she and her aunt were spending the summer.
mrs. wallace had wanted to go to some fashionable watering place, but her husband had bluntly told her he could n't afford it.
stay in the city when all her set were out she would not, and the aforesaid farmhouse had been the compromise.
""i should n't suppose it could make any difference to you who she is," said mrs. wallace impatiently.
""i do wish, pauline, that you were more careful in your choice of associates.
you hobnob with everyone, even that old man who comes around buying eggs.
it is very bad form."
pauline hid a rather undutiful smile behind her napkin.
aunt olivia's snobbish opinions always amused her.
""you've no idea what an interesting old man he is," she said.
""he can talk more entertainingly than any other man i know.
what is the use of being so exclusive, aunt olivia?
you miss so much fun.
you would n't be so horribly bored as you are if you fraternized a little with the "natives," as you call them."
""no, thank you," said mrs. wallace disdainfully.
""well, i am going to try to get acquainted with that girl," said pauline resolutely.
""she looks nice and jolly."
""i do n't know where you get your low tastes from," groaned mrs. wallace.
""i'm sure it was n't from your poor mother.
what do you suppose the morgan knowles would think if they saw you taking up with some tomboy girl on a farm?"
""i do n't see why it should make a great deal of difference what they would think, since they do n't seem to be aware of my existence, or even of yours, aunty," said pauline, with twinkling eyes.
she knew it was her aunt's dearest desire to get in with the morgan knowles" "set" -- a desire that seemed as far from being realized as ever.
mrs. wallace could never understand why the morgan knowles shut her from their charmed circle.
they certainly associated with people much poorer and of more doubtful worldly station than hers -- the markhams, for instance, who lived on an unfashionable street and wore quite shabby clothes.
just before she had left colchester, mrs. wallace had seen mrs. knowles and mrs. markham together in the former's automobile.
james wallace and morgan knowles were associated in business dealings; but in spite of mrs. wallace's schemings and aspirations and heart burnings, the association remained a purely business one and never advanced an inch in the direction of friendship.
as for pauline, she was hopelessly devoid of social ambitions and she did not in the least mind the morgan knowles" remote attitude.
""besides," continued pauline, "she is n't a tomboy at all.
she looks like a very womanly, well-bred sort of girl.
why should you think her a tomboy because she drives cows?
cows are placid, useful animals -- witness this delicious cream which i am pouring over my blueberries.
and they have to be driven.
it's an honest occupation."
""i daresay she is someone's servant," said mrs. wallace contemptuously.
""but i suppose even that would n't matter to you, pauline?"
""not a mite," said pauline cheerfully.
""one of the very nicest girls i ever knew was a maid mother had the last year of her dear life.
i loved that girl, aunt olivia, and i correspond with her.
she writes letters that are ten times more clever and entertaining than those stupid epistles clarisse gray sends me -- and clarisse gray is a rich man's daughter and is being educated in paris."
""you are incorrigible, pauline," said mrs. wallace hopelessly.
""mrs. boyd," said pauline to their landlady, who now made her appearance, "who is that girl who drives the cows along the beech lane mornings and evenings?"
""ada cameron, i guess," was mrs. boyd's response.
""she lives with the embrees down on the old embree place just below here.
they're pasturing their cows on the upper farm this summer.
mrs. embree is her father's half-sister."
""is she as nice as she looks?"
""yes, ada's a real nice sensible girl," said mrs. boyd.
""there is no nonsense about her."
""that does n't sound very encouraging," murmured pauline, as mrs. boyd went out.
""i like people with a little nonsense about them.
but i hope better things of ada, mrs. boyd to the contrary notwithstanding.
she has a pair of grey eyes that ca n't possibly always look sensible.
i think they must mellow occasionally into fun and jollity and wholesome nonsense.
well, i'm off to the shore.
i want to get that photograph of the cove this evening, if possible.
i've set my heart on taking first prize at the amateur photographers" exhibition this fall, and if i can only get that cove with all its beautiful lights and shadows, it will be the gem of my collection."
pauline, on her return from the shore, reached the beech lane just as the embree cows were swinging down it.
behind them came a tall, brown-haired, brown-faced girl in a neat print dress.
her hat was hung over her arm, and the low evening sunlight shone redly over her smooth glossy head.
she carried herself with a pretty dignity, but when her eyes met pauline's, she looked as if she would smile on the slightest provocation.
pauline promptly gave her the provocation.
""good evening, miss cameron," she called blithely.
""wo n't you please stop a few moments and look me over?
i want to see if you think me a likely person for a summer chum."
ada cameron did more than smile.
she laughed outright and went over to the fence where pauline was sitting on a stump.
she looked down into the merry black eyes of the town girl she had been half envying for a week and said humorously: "yes, i think you very likely, indeed.
but it takes two to make a friendship -- like a bargain.
if i'm one, you'll have to be the other."
""i'm the other.
shake," said pauline, holding out her hand.
that was the beginning of a friendship that made poor mrs. wallace groan outwardly as well as inwardly.
pauline and ada found that they liked each other even more than they had expected to.
they walked, rowed, berried and picnicked together.
ada did not go to mrs. boyd's a great deal, for some instinct told her that mrs. wallace did not look favourably on her, but pauline spent half her time at the little, brown, orchard-embowered house at the end of the beech lane where the embrees lived.
she had never met any girl she thought so nice as ada.
""she is nice every way," she told the unconvinced aunt olivia.
""she's clever and well read.
she is sensible and frank.
she has a sense of humour and a great deal of insight into character -- witness her liking for your niece!
she can talk interestingly and she can also be silent when silence is becoming.
and she has the finest profile i ever saw.
aunt olivia, may i ask her to visit me next winter?"
""no, indeed," said mrs. wallace, with crushing emphasis.
""you surely do n't expect to continue this absurd intimacy past the summer, pauline?"
""i expect to be ada's friend all my life," said pauline laughingly, but with a little ring of purpose in her voice.
""oh, aunty, dear, ca n't you see that ada is just the same girl in cotton print that she would be in silk attire?
she is really far more distinguished looking than any girl in the knowles" set."
""pauline!"
said aunt olivia, looking as shocked as if pauline had committed blasphemy.
pauline laughed again, but she sighed as she went to her room.
aunt olivia has the kindest heart in the world, she thought.
what a pity she is n't able to see things as they really are!
my friendship with ada ca n't be perfect if i ca n't invite her to my home.
and she is such a dear girl -- the first real friend after my own heart that i've ever had.
the summer waned, and august burned itself out.
""i suppose you will be going back to town next week?
i shall miss you dreadfully," said ada.
the two girls were in the embree garden, where pauline was preparing to take a photograph of ada standing among the asters, with a great sheaf of them in her arms.
pauline wished she could have said: but you must come and visit me in the winter.
since she could not, she had to content herself with saying: "you wo n't miss me any more than i shall miss you.
but we'll correspond, and i hope aunt olivia will come to marwood again next summer."
""i do n't think i shall be here then," said ada with a sigh.
""you see, it is time i was doing something for myself, pauline.
aunt jane and uncle robert have always been very kind to me, but they have a large family and are not very well off.
so i think i'll try for a situation in one of the remington stores this fall."
""it's such a pity you could n't have gone to the academy and studied for a teacher's licence," said pauline, who knew what ada's ambitions were.
""i should have liked that better, of course," said ada quietly.
""but it is not possible, so i must do my best at the next best thing.
do n't let's talk of it.
it might make me feel blueish and i want to look especially pleasant if i'm going to have my photo taken."
""you could n't look anything else," laughed pauline.
""do n't smile too broadly -- i want you to be looking over the asters with a bit of a dream on your face and in your eyes.
if the picture turns out as beautiful as i fondly expect, i mean to put it in my exhibition collection under the title" a september dream."
there, that's the very expression.
when you look like that, you remind me of somebody i have seen, but i ca n't remember who it is.
all ready now -- do n't move -- there, dearie, it is all over."
when pauline went back to colchester, she was busy for a month preparing her photographs for the exhibition, while aunt olivia renewed her spinning of all the little social webs in which she fondly hoped to entangle the morgan knowles and other desirable flies.
when the exhibition was opened, pauline palmer's collection won first prize, and the prettiest picture in it was one called "a september dream" -- a tall girl with a wistful face, standing in an old-fashioned garden with her arms full of asters.
the very day after the exhibition was opened the morgan knowles" automobile stopped at the wallace door.
mrs. wallace was out, but it was pauline whom stately mrs. morgan knowles asked for.
pauline was at that moment buried in her darkroom developing photographs, and she ran down just as she was -- a fact which would have mortified mrs. wallace exceedingly if she had ever known it.
but mrs. morgan knowles did not seem to mind at all.
she liked pauline's simplicity of manner.
it was more than she had expected from the aunt's rather vulgar affectations.
""i have called to ask you who the original of the photograph" a september dream" in your exhibit was, miss palmer," she said graciously.
""the resemblance to a very dear childhood friend of mine is so startling that i am sure it can not be accidental."
""that is a photograph of ada cameron, a friend whom i met this summer up in marwood," said pauline.
""ada cameron!
she must be ada frame's daughter, then," exclaimed mrs. knowles in excitement.
then, seeing pauline's puzzled face, she explained: "years ago, when i was a child, i always spent my summers on the farm of my uncle, john frame.
my cousin, ada frame, was the dearest friend i ever had, but after we grew up we saw nothing of each other, for i went with my parents to europe for several years, and ada married a neighbour's son, alec cameron, and went out west.
her father, who was my only living relative other than my parents, died, and i never heard anything more of ada until about eight years ago, when somebody told me she was dead and had left no family.
that part of the report can not have been true if this girl is her daughter."
""i believe she is," said pauline quickly.
""ada was born out west and lived there until she was eight years old, when her parents died and she was sent east to her father's half-sister.
and ada looks like you -- she always reminded me of somebody i had seen, but i never could decide who it was before.
oh, i hope it is true, for ada is such a sweet girl, mrs. knowles."
""she could n't be anything else if she is ada frame's daughter," said mrs. knowles.
""my husband will investigate the matter at once, and if this girl is ada's child we shall hope to find a daughter in her, as we have none of our own."
""what will aunt olivia say!"
said pauline with wickedly dancing eyes when mrs. knowles had gone.
aunt olivia was too much overcome to say anything.
that good lady felt rather foolish when it was proved that the girl she had so despised was mrs. morgan knowles" cousin and was going to be adopted by her.
but to hear aunt olivia talk now, you would suppose that she and not pauline had discovered ada.
the latter sought pauline out as soon as she came to colchester, and the summer friendship proved a life-long one and was, for the wallaces, the open sesame to the enchanted ground of the knowles" "set."
""so everybody concerned is happy," said pauline.
""ada is going to college and so am i, and aunt olivia is on the same committee as mrs. knowles for the big church bazaar.
what about my "low tastes" now, aunt olivia?"
""well, who would ever have supposed that a girl who drove cows to pasture was connected with the morgan knowles?"
said poor aunt olivia piteously.
the growing up of cornelia january first.
aunt jemima gave me this diary for a christmas present.
it's just the sort of gift a person named jemima would be likely to make.
i ca n't imagine why aunt jemima thought i should like a diary.
probably she did n't think about it at all.
i suppose it happened to be the first thing she saw when she started out to do her christmas duty by me, and so she bought it.
i'm sure i'm the last girl in the world to keep a diary.
i'm not a bit sentimental and i never have time for soul outpourings.
it's jollier to be out skating or snowshoeing or just tramping around.
and besides, nothing ever happens to me worth writing in a diary.
still, since aunt jemima gave it to me, i'm going to get the good out of it.
i do n't believe in wasting even a diary.
father... it would be easier to write "dad," but dad sounds disrespectful in a diary... says i have a streak of old grandmother marshall's economical nature in me.
so i'm going to write in this book whenever i have anything that might, by any stretch of imagination, be supposed worth while.
jen and alice and sue would have plenty to write about, i dare say.
they certainly seem to have jolly times... and as for the men... but there!
people say men are interesting.
they may be.
but i shall never get well enough acquainted with any of them to find out.
mother says it is high time i gave up my tomboy ways and came "out" too, because i am eighteen.
i coaxed off this winter.
it was n't very hard, because no mother with three older unmarried girls on her hands would be very anxious to bring out a fourth.
the girls took my part and advised mother to let me be a child as long as possible.
mother yielded for this time, but said i must be brought out next winter or people would talk.
oh, i hate the thought of it!
people might talk about my not being brought out, but they will talk far more about the blunders i shall make.
the doleful fact is, i'm too wretchedly shy and awkward to live.
it fills my soul with terror to think of donning long dresses and putting my hair up and going into society.
i ca n't talk and men frighten me to death.
i fall over things as it is, and what will it be with long dresses?
as far back as i can remember it has been my one aim and object in life to escape company.
oh, if only one need never grow up!
if i could only go back four years and stay there!
mother laments over it muchly.
she says she does n't know what she has done to have such a shy, unpresentable daughter.
i know.
she married grandmother marshall's son, and grandmother marshall was as shy as she was economical.
mother triumphed over heredity with jen and sue and alice, but it came off best with me.
the other girls are noted for their grace and tact.
but i'm the black sheep and always will be.
it would n't worry me so much if they'd leave me alone and stop nagging me.
""oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness," where there were no men, no parties, no dinners... just quantities of dogs and horses and skating ponds and woods!
i need never put on long dresses then, but just be a jolly little girl forever.
however, i've got one beautiful year before me yet, and i mean to make the most of it.
* * * * * january tenth.
it is rather good to have a diary to pour out your woes in when you feel awfully bad and have no one to sympathize with you.
i've been used to shutting them all up in my soul and then they sometimes fermented and made trouble.
we had a lot of people here to dinner tonight, and that made me miserable to begin with.
i had to dress up in a stiff white dress with a sash, and jen tied two big white fly-away bows on my hair that kept rasping my neck and tickling my ears in a most exasperating way.
then an old lady whom i detest tried to make me talk before everybody, and all i could do was to turn as red as a beet and stammer: "yes, ma'am," "no, ma'am."
it made mother furious, because it is so old-fashioned to say "ma'am."
our old nurse taught me to say it when i was small, and though it has been pretty well governessed out of me since then, it's sure to pop up when i get confused and nervous.
sue... may it be accounted unto her for righteousness... contrived that i should go out to dinner with old mr. grant, because she knew he goes to dinners for the sake of eating and never talks or wants anybody else to.
but when we were crossing the hall i stepped on mrs. burnett's train and something tore.
mrs. burnett gave me a furious look and glowered all through dinner.
the meal was completely spoiled for me and i could find no comfort, even in the nesselrode pudding, which is my favourite dessert.
it was just when the pudding came on that i got the most unkindest cut of all.
mrs. allardyce remarked that sidney elliot was coming home to stillwater.
everybody exclaimed and questioned and seemed delighted.
i saw mother give one quick, involuntary look at jen, and then gaze steadfastly at mr. grant to atone for it.
jen is twenty-six, and stillwater is next door to our place!
as for me, i was so vexed that i might as well have been eating chips for all the good that nesselrode pudding was to me.
if sidney elliot were coming home everything would be spoiled.
there would be no more ramblings in the stillwater woods, no more delightful skating on the stillwater lake.
stillwater has been the only place in the world where i could find the full joy of solitude, and now this, too, was to be taken from me.
we had no woods, no lake.
i hated sidney elliot.
it is ten years since sidney elliot closed stillwater and went abroad.
he has stayed abroad ever since and nobody has missed him, i'm sure.
i remember him dimly as a tall dark man who used to lounge about alone in his garden and was always reading books.
sometimes he came into our garden and teased us children.
he is said to be a cynic and to detest society.
if this latter item be a fact i almost feel a grim pity for him.
he may detest it, but he will be dragged into it.
rich bachelors are few and far between in riverton, and the mammas will hunt him down.
i feel like crying.
if sidney elliot comes home i shall be debarred from stillwater.
i have roamed its demesnes for ten beautiful years, and i'm sure i love them a hundredfold better than he does, or can.
it is flagrantly unfair.
oh, i hate him!
* * * * * january twentieth.
no, i do n't.
i believe i like him.
yet it's almost unbelievable.
i've always thought men so detestable.
i'm tingling all over with the surprise and pleasure of a little unexpected adventure.
for the first time i have something really worth writing in a diary... and i'm glad i have a diary to write it in.
blessings on aunt jemima!
may her shadow never grow less.
this evening i started out for a last long lingering ramble in my beloved stillwater woods.
the last, i thought, because i knew sidney elliot was expected home next week, and after that i'd have to be cooped up on our lawn.
i dressed myself comfortably for climbing fences and skimming over snowy wastes.
that is, i put on the shortest old tweed skirt i have and a red jacket with sleeves three years behind the fashion, but jolly pockets to put your hands in, and a still redder tam.
thus accoutred, i sallied forth.
it was such a lovely evening that i could n't help enjoying myself in spite of my sorrows.
the sun was low and creamy, and the snow was so white and the shadows so slender and blue.
all through the lovely stillwater woods was a fine frosty stillness.
it was splendid to skim down those long wonderful avenues of crusted snow, with the mossy grey boles on either hand, and overhead the lacing, leafless boughs, i just drank in the air and the beauty until my very soul was thrilling, and i went on and on and on until i was most delightfully lost.
that is, i did n't know just where i was, but the woods were n't so big but that i'd be sure to come out safely somewhere; and, oh, it was so glorious to be there all alone and never a creature to worry me.
at last i turned into a long aisle that seemed to lead right out into the very heart of a deep-red overflowing winter sunset.
at its end i found a fence, and i climbed up on that fence and sat there, so comfortably, with my back against a big beech and my feet dangling.
then i saw him!
i knew it was sidney elliot in a moment.
he was just as tall and just as black-eyed; he was still given to lounging evidently, for he was leaning against the fence a panel away from me and looking at me with an amused smile.
after my first mad impulse to rush away and bury myself in the wilderness that smile put me at ease.
if he had looked grave or polite i would have been as miserably shy as i've always been in a man's presence.
but it was the smile of a grandfather for a child, and i just grinned cheerfully back at him.
he ploughed along through the thick drift that was soft and spongy by the fence and came close up to me.
""you must be little cornelia," he said with another aged smile.
""or rather, you were little cornelia.
i suppose you are big cornelia now and want to be treated like a young lady?"
""indeed, i do n't," i protested.
""i'm not grown up and i do n't want to be.
you are mr. elliot, i suppose.
nobody expected you till next week.
what made you come so soon?"
""a whim of mine," he said.
""i'm full of whims and crotchets.
old bachelors always are.
but why did you ask that question in a tone which seemed to imply that you resented my coming so soon, miss cornelia?"
""oh, do n't tack the miss on," i implored.
""call me cornelia... or better still, nic, as dad does.
i do resent your coming so soon.
i resent your coming at all.
and, oh, it is such a satisfaction to tell you so."
he smiled with his eyes... a deep, black, velvety smile.
but he shook his head sorrowfully.
""i must be getting very old," he said.
""it's a sign of age when a person finds himself unwelcome and superfluous."
""your age has nothing to do with it," i retorted.
""it is because stillwater is the only place i have to run wild in... and running wild is all i'm fit for.
it's so lovely and roomy i can lose myself in it.
i shall die or go mad if i'm cooped up on our little pocket handkerchief of a lawn."
""but why should you be?"
he inquired gravely.
i reflected... and was surprised.
""after all, i do n't know... now... why i should be," i admitted.
""i thought you would n't want me prowling about your domains.
besides, i was afraid i'd meet you... and i do n't like meeting men.
i hate to have them around... i'm so shy and awkward."
""do you find me very dreadful?"
he asked.
i reflected again... and was again surprised.
""no, i do n't.
i do n't mind you a bit... any more than if you were dad."
""then you must n't consider yourself an exile from stillwater.
the woods are yours to roam in at will, and if you want to roam them alone you may, and if you'd like a companion once in a while command me.
let's be good friends, little lass.
shake hands on it."
i slipped down from the fence and shook hands with him.
i did like him very much... he was so nice and unaffected and brotherly... just as if i'd known him all my life.
we walked down the long white avenue, where everything was growing dusky, and i had told him all my troubles before we got to the end of it.
he was so sympathetic and agreed with me that it was a pity people had to grow up.
he promised to come over tomorrow and look at don's leg.
don is one of my dogs, and he has got a bad leg.
i've been doctoring it myself, but it does n't get any better.
sidney thinks he can cure it.
he says i must call him sidney if i want him to call me nic.
when we got to the lake, there it lay all gleaming and smooth as glass... the most tempting thing.
""what a glorious possible slide," he said.
""let us have it, little lass."
he took my hand and we ran down the slope and went skimming over the ice.
it was glorious.
the house came in sight as we reached the other side.
it was big and dark and silent.
""so the old place is still standing," said sidney, looking up at it.
in the dusk i thought his face had a tender, reverent look instead of the rather mocking expression it had worn all along.
""have n't you been there yet?"
i asked quickly.
""no.
i'm stopping at the hotel over in croyden.
the house will need some fixing up before it's fit to live in.
i just came down tonight to look at it and took a short cut through the woods.
i'm glad i did.
it was worth while to see you come tramping down that long white avenue when you thought yourself alone with the silence.
i thought i had never seen a child so full of the pure joy of existence.
hold fast to that, little lass, as long as you can.
you'll never find anything to take its place after it goes.
you jolly little child!"
""i'm eighteen," i said suddenly.
i do n't know what made me say it.
he laughed and pulled his coat collar up around his ears.
""never," he mocked.
""you're about twelve... stay twelve, and always wear red caps and jackets, you vivid thing: good night."
he was off across the lake, and i came home.
yes, i do like him, even if he is a man.
* * * * * february twentieth.
i've found out what diaries are for... to work off blue moods in, moods that come on without any reason whatever and therefore ca n't be confided to any fellow creature.
you scribble away for a while... and then it's all gone... and your soul feels clear as crystal once more.
i always go to sidney now in a blue mood that has a real cause.
he can cheer me up in five minutes.
but in such a one as this, which is quite unaccountable, there's nothing for it but a diary.
sidney has been living at stillwater for a month.
it seems as if he must have lived there always.
he came to our place the next day after i met him in the woods.
everybody made a fuss over him, but he shook them off with an ease i envied and whisked me out to see don's leg.
he has fixed it up so that it is as good as new now, and the dogs like him almost better than they like me.
we have had splendid times since then.
we are just the jolliest chums and we tramp about everywhere together and go skating and snowshoeing and riding.
we read a lot of books together too, and sidney always explains everything i do n't understand.
i'm not a bit shy and i can always find plenty to say to him.
he is n't at all like any other man i know.
everybody likes him, but the women seem to be a little afraid of him.
they say he is so terribly cynical and satirical.
he goes into society a good bit, although he says it bores him.
he says he only goes because it would bore him worse to stay home alone.
there's only one thing about sidney that i hardly like.
i think he rather overdoes it in the matter of treating me as if i were a little girl.
of course, i do n't want him to look upon me as grown up.
but there is a medium in all things, and he really need n't talk as if he thought i was a child of ten and had no earthly interest in anything but sports and dogs.
these are the best things... i suppose... but i understand lots of other things too, only i ca n't convince sidney that i do.
i know he is laughing at me when i try to show him i'm not so childish as he thinks me.
he's indulgent and whimsical, just as he would be with a little girl who was making believe to be grown up.
perhaps next winter, when i put on long dresses and come out, he'll stop regarding me as a child.
but next winter is so horribly far off.
the day we were fussing with don's leg i told sidney that mother said i'd have to be grown up next winter and how i hated it, and i made him promise that when the time came he would use all his influence to beg me off for another year.
he said he would, because it was a shame to worry children about society.
but somehow i've concluded not to bother making a fuss.
i have to come out some time, and i might as well take the plunge and get it over.
mrs. burnett was here this evening fixing up some arrangements for a charity bazaar she and jen are interested in, and she talked most of the time about sidney... for jen's benefit, i suppose, although jen and sid do n't get on at all.
they fight every time they meet, so i do n't see why mrs. burnett should think things.
""i wonder what he'll do when mrs. rennie comes to the glasgows" next month," said mrs. burnett.
""why should he do anything?"
asked jen.
""oh, well, you know there was something between them... an understanding if not an engagement... before she married rennie.
they met abroad... my sister told me all about it... and mr. elliot was quite infatuated with her.
she was a very handsome and fascinating girl.
then she threw him over and married old jacob rennie... for his millions, of course, for he certainly had nothing else to recommend him.
amy says mr. elliot was never the same man again.
but jacob died obligingly two years ago and mrs. rennie is free now; so i dare say they'll make it up.
no doubt that is why she is coming to riverton.
well, it would be a very suitable match."
i'm so glad i never liked mrs. burnett.
i wonder if it is true that sidney did care for that horrid woman... of course she is horrid!
did n't she marry an old man for his money?
... and cares for her still.
it is no business of mine, of course, and it does n't matter to me at all.
but i rather hope he does n't... because it would spoil everything if he got married.
he would n't have time to be chums with me then.
i do n't know why i feel so dull tonight.
writing in this diary does n't seem to have helped me as much as i thought it would, either.
i dare say it's the weather.
it must be the weather.
it is a wet, windy night and the rain is thudding against the window.
i hate rainy nights.
i wonder if mrs. rennie is really as handsome as mrs. burnett says.
i wonder how old she is.
i wonder if she ever cared for sidney... no, she did n't.
no woman who cared for sidney could ever have thrown him over for an old moneybag.
i wonder if i shall like her.
no, i wo n't.
i'm sure i sha n't like her.
my head is aching and i'm going to bed.
* * * * * march tenth.
mrs. rennie was here to dinner tonight.
my head was aching again, and mother said i need n't go down to dinner if i'd rather not; but a dozen headaches could not have kept me back, or a dozen men either, even supposing i'd have to talk to them all.
i wanted to see mrs. rennie.
nothing has been talked of in riverton for the last fortnight but mrs. rennie.
i've heard of her beauty and charm and costumes until i'm sick of the subject.
today i spoke to sidney about her.
before i thought i said right out, "mrs. rennie is to dine with us tonight."
""yes?"
he said in a quiet voice.
""i'm dying to see her," i went on recklessly.
""i've heard so much about her.
they say she's so beautiful and fascinating.
is she?
you ought to know."
sidney swung the sled around and put it in position for another coast.
""yes, i know her," he admitted tranquilly.
""she is a very handsome woman, and i suppose most people would consider her fascinating.
come, nic, get on the sled.
we have just time for one more coast, and then you must go in."
""you were once a good friend... a very good friend... of mrs. rennie's, were n't you, sid?"
i said.
a little mocking gleam crept into his eyes, and i instantly realized that he was looking upon me as a rather impertinent child.
""you've been listening to gossip, nic," he said.
""it's a bad habit, child.
do n't let it grow on you.
come."
i went, feeling crushed and furious and ashamed.
i knew her at once when i went down to the drawing-room.
there were three other strange women there, but i knew she was the only one who could be mrs. rennie.
i felt such a horrible queer sinking feeling at my heart when i saw her.
oh, she was beautiful... i had never seen anyone so beautiful.
and sidney was standing beside her, talking to her, with a smile on his face, but none in his eyes... i noticed that at a glance.
she was so tall and slender and willowy.
her dress was wonderful, and her bare throat and shoulders were like pearls.
her hair was pale, pale gold, and her eyes long-lashed and sweet, and her mouth like a scarlet blossom against her creamy face.
i thought of how i must look beside her... an awkward little girl in a short skirt with my hair in a braid and too many hands and feet, and i would have given anything then to be tall and grown-up and graceful.
i watched her all the evening and the queer feeling in me somewhere grew worse and worse.
i could n't eat anything.
sidney took mrs. rennie in; they sat opposite to me and talked all the time.
i was so glad when the dinner was over and everybody gone.
the first thing i did when i escaped to my room was to go to the glass and look myself over just as critically and carefully as if i were somebody else.
i saw a great rope of dark brown hair... a brown skin with red cheeks... a big red mouth... a pair of grey eyes.
that was all.
and when i thought of that shimmering witch woman with her white skin and shining hair i wanted to put out the light and cry in the dark.
only i've never cried since i was a child and broke my last doll, and i've got so out of the habit that i do n't know how to go about it.
* * * * * april fifth.
aunt jemima would not think i was getting the good out of my diary.
a whole month and not a word!
but there was nothing to write, and i've felt too miserable to write if there had been.
i do n't know what is the matter with me.
i'm just cross and horrid to everyone, even to poor sidney.
mrs. rennie has been queening it in riverton society for the past month.
people rave over her and i admire her horribly, although i do n't like her.
mrs. burnett says that a match between her and sidney elliot is a foregone conclusion.
it's plain to be seen that mrs. rennie loves sidney.
even i can see that, and i do n't know much about such things.
but it puzzles me to know how sidney regards her.
i have never thought he showed any sign of really caring for her.
but then, he is n't the kind that would.
""nic, i wonder if you will ever grow up," he said to me today, laughing, when he caught me racing over the lawn with the dogs.
""i'm grown up now," i said crossly.
""why, i'm eighteen and a half and i'm two inches taller than any of the other girls."
sidney laughed, as if he were heartily amused at something.
""you're a blessed baby," he said, "and the dearest, truest, jolliest little chum ever a fellow had.
i do n't know what i'd do without you, nic.
you keep me sane and wholesome.
i'm a tenfold better man for knowing you, little girl."
i was rather pleased.
it was nice to think i was some good to sidney.
""are you going to the trents" dinner tonight?"
i asked.
""yes," he said briefly.
""mrs. rennie will be there," i said.
sidney nodded.
""do you think her so very handsome, sidney?"
i said.
i had never mentioned mrs. rennie to him since the day we were coasting, and i did n't mean to now.
the question just asked itself.
""yes, very; but not as handsome as you will be ten years from now, nic," said sidney lightly.
""do you think i'm handsome, sidney?"
i cried.
""you will be when you're grown up," he answered, looking at me critically.
""will you be going to mrs. greaves" reception after the dinner?"
i asked.
""yes, i suppose so," said sidney absently.
i could see he was n't thinking of me at all.
i wondered if he were thinking of mrs. rennie.
* * * * * april sixth.
oh, something so wonderful has happened.
i can hardly believe it.
there are moments when i quake with the fear that it is all a dream.
i wonder if i can really be the same cornelia marshall i was yesterday.
no, i'm not the same... and the difference is so blessed.
oh, i'm so happy!
my heart bubbles over with happiness and song.
it's so wonderful and lovely to be a woman and know it and know that other people know it.
you dear diary, you were made for this moment... i shall write all about it in you and so fulfil your destiny.
and then i shall put you away and never write anything more in you, because i shall not need you... i shall have sidney.
last night i was all alone in the house... and i was so lonely and miserable.
i put my chin on my hands and i thought... and thought... and thought.
i imagined sidney at the greaves", talking to mrs. rennie with that velvety smile in his eyes.
i could see her, graceful and white, in her trailing, clinging gown, with diamonds about her smooth neck and in her hair.
i suddenly wondered what i would look like in evening dress with my hair up.
i wondered if sidney would like me in it.
all at once i got up and rushed to sue's room.
i lighted the gas, rummaged, and went to work.
i piled my hair on top of my head, pinned it there, and thrust a long silver dagger through it to hold a couple of pale white roses she had left on her table.
then i put on her last winter's party dress.
it was such a pretty pale yellow thing, with touches of black lace, and it did n't matter about its being a little old-fashioned, since it fitted me like a glove.
finally i stepped back and looked at myself.
i saw a woman in that glass... a tall, straight creature with crimson cheeks and glowing eyes... and the thought in my mind was so insistent that it said itself aloud: "oh, i wish sidney could see me now!"
at that very moment the maid knocked at the door to tell me that mr. elliot was downstairs asking for me.
i did not hesitate a second.
with my heart beating wildly i trailed downstairs to sidney.
he was standing by the fireplace when i went in, and looked very tired.
when he heard me he turned his head and our eyes met.
all at once a terrible thing happened... at least, i thought it a terrible thing then.
i knew why i had wanted sidney to realize that i was no longer a child.
it was because i loved him!
i knew it the moment i saw that strange, new expression leap into his eyes.
""cornelia," he said in a stunned sort of voice.
""why... nic... why, little girl... you're a woman!
how blind i've been!
and now i've lost my little chum."
""oh, no, no," i said wildly.
i was so miserable and confused i did n't know what i said.
""never, sidney.
i'd rather be a little girl and have you for a friend... i'll always be a little girl!
it's all this hateful dress.
i'll go and take it off... i'll..." and then i just put my hands up to my burning face and the tears that would never come before came in a flood.
all at once i felt sidney's arms about me and felt my head drawn to his shoulder.
""do n't cry, dearest," i heard him say softly.
""you can never be a little girl to me again... my eyes are opened... but i did n't want you to be.
i want you to be my big girl... mine, all mine, forever."
what happened after that is n't to be written in a diary.
i wo n't even write down the things he said about how i looked, because it would seem so terribly vain, but i ca n't help thinking of them, for i am so happy.
the old fellow's letter ruggles and i were down on the old fellow.
it does n't matter why and, since in a story of this kind we must tell the truth no matter what happens -- or else where is the use of writing a story at all?
-- i'll have to confess that we had deserved all we got and that the old fellow did no more than his duty by us.
both ruggles and i see that now, since we have had time to cool off, but at the moment we were in a fearful wax at the old fellow and were bound to hatch up something to get even with him.
of course, the old fellow had another name, just as ruggles has another name.
he is principal of the frampton academy -- the old fellow, not ruggles -- and his name is george osborne.
we have to call him mr. osborne to his face, but he is the old fellow everywhere else.
he is quite old -- thirty-six if he's a day, and whatever possessed sylvia grant -- but there, i'm getting ahead of my story.
most of the cads like the old fellow.
even ruggles and i like him on the average.
the girls are always a little provoked at him because he is so shy and absent-minded, but when it comes to the point, they like him too.
i heard emma white say once that he was "so handsome"; i nearly whooped.
ruggles was mad because he's gone on em.
for the idea of calling a thin, pale, dark, dreamy-looking chap like the old fellow "handsome" was more than i could stand without guffawing.
em probably said it to provoke ruggles; she could n't really have thought it.
""micky," the english professor, now -- if she had called him handsome there would have been some sense in it.
he is splendid: big six-footer with magnificent muscles, red cheeks, and curly yellow hair.
i ca n't see how he can be contented to sit down and teach mushy english literature and poetry and that sort of thing.
it would have been more in keeping with the old fellow.
there was a rumour running at large in the academy that the old fellow wrote poetry, but he ran the mathematics and did n't make such a foozle of it as you might suppose, either.
ruggles and i meant to get square with the old fellow, if it took all the term; at least, we said so.
but if providence had n't sent sylvia grant walking down the street past our boarding house that afternoon, we should probably have cooled off before we thought of any working plan of revenge.
sylvia grant did go down the street, however.
ruggles, hanging halfway out of the window as usual, saw her, and called me to go and look.
of course i went.
sylvia grant was always worth looking at.
there was no girl in frampton who could hold a candle to her when it came to beauty.
as for brains, that is another thing altogether.
my private opinion is that sylvia had n't any, or she would never have preferred -- but there, i'm getting on too fast again.
ruggles should have written this story; he can concentrate better.
sylvia was the latin professor's daughter; she was n't a cad girl, of course.
she was over twenty and had graduated from it two years ago, but she was in all the social things that went on in the academy; and all the unmarried professors, except the old fellow, were in love with her.
micky had it the worst, and we had all made up our minds that sylvia would marry micky.
he was so handsome, we did n't see how she could help it.
i tell you, they made a dandy-looking couple when they were together.
well, as i said before, i toddled to the window to have a look at the fair sylvia.
she was all togged out in some new fall duds, and i guess she'd come out to show them off.
they were brownish, kind of, and she'd a spanking hat on with feathers and things in it.
her hair was shining under it, all purply-black, and she looked sweet enough to eat.
then she saw ruggles and me and she waved her hand and laughed, and her big blackish-blue eyes sparkled; but she had n't been laughing before, or sparkling either.
i'd thought she looked kind of glum, and i wondered if she and micky had had a falling out.
i rather suspected it, for at the senior prom, three nights before, she had hardly looked at micky, but had sat in a corner and talked to the old fellow.
he did n't do much talking; he was too shy, and he looked mighty uncomfortable.
i thought it kind of mean of sylvia to torment him so, when she knew he hated to have to talk to girls, but when i saw micky scowling at the corner, i knew she was doing it to make him jealous.
girls wo n't stick at anything when they want to provoke a chap; i know it to my cost, for jennie price -- but that has nothing to do with this story.
just across the square sylvia met the old fellow and bowed.
he lifted his hat and passed on, but after a few steps he turned and looked back; he caught sylvia doing the same thing, so he wheeled and came on, looking mighty foolish.
as he passed beneath our window ruggles chuckled fiendishly.
""i've thought of something, polly," he said -- my name is paul.
""bet you it will make the old fellow squirm.
let's write a letter to sylvia grant -- a love letter -- and sign the old fellow's name to it.
she'll give him a fearful snubbing, and we'll be revenged."
""but who'll write it?"
i said doubtfully.
""i ca n't.
you'll have to, ruggles.
you've had more practice."
ruggles turned red.
i know he writes to em white in vacations.
""i'll do my best," he said, quite meekly.
""that is, i'll compose it.
but you'll have to copy it.
you can imitate the old fellow's handwriting so well."
""but look here," i said, an uncomfortable idea striking me, "what about sylvia?
wo n't she feel kind of flattish when she finds out he did n't write it?
for of course he'll tell her.
we have n't anything against her, you know."
""oh, sylvia wo n't care," said ruggles serenely.
""she's the sort of girl who can take a joke.
i've seen her eyes shine over tricks we've played on the professors before now.
she'll just laugh.
besides, she does n't like the old fellow a bit.
i know from the way she acts with him.
she's always so cool and stiff when he's about, not a bit like she is with the other professors."
well, ruggles wrote the letter.
at first he tried to pass it off on me as his own composition.
but i know a few little things, and one of them is that ruggles could n't have made up that letter any more than he could have written a sonnet.
i told him so, and made him own up.
he had a copy of an old letter that had been written to his sister by her young man.
i suppose ruggles had stolen it, but there is no use inquiring too closely into these things.
anyhow, that letter just filled the bill.
it was beautifully expressed.
ruggles's sister's young man must have possessed lots of ability.
he was an english professor, something like micky, so i suppose he was extra good at it.
he started in by telling her how much he loved her, and what an angel of beauty and goodness he had always thought her; how unworthy he felt himself of her and how little hope he had that she could ever care for him; and he wound up by imploring her to tell him if she could possibly love him a little bit and all that sort of thing.
i copied the letter out on heliotrope paper in my best imitation of the old fellow's handwriting and signed it, "yours devotedly and imploringly, george osborne."
then we mailed it that very evening.
the next evening the cad girls gave a big reception in the assembly hall to an academy alumna who was visiting the greek professor's wife.
it was the smartest event of the term and everybody was there -- students and faculty and, of course, sylvia grant.
sylvia looked stunning.
she was all in white, with a string of pearls about her pretty round throat and a couple of little pink roses in her black hair.
i never saw her so smiling and bright; but she seemed quieter than usual, and avoided poor micky so skilfully that it was really a pleasure to watch her.
the old fellow came in late, with his tie all crooked, as it always was; i saw sylvia blush and nudged ruggles to look.
""she's thinking of the letter," he said.
ruggles and i never meant to listen, upon my word we did n't.
it was pure accident.
we were in behind the flags and palms in the modern languages room, fixing up a plan how to get em and jennie off for a moonlit stroll in the grounds -- these things require diplomacy i can tell you, for there are always so many other fellows hanging about -- when in came sylvia grant and the old fellow arm in arm.
the room was quite empty, or they thought it was, and they sat down just on the other side of the flags.
they could n't see us, but we could see them quite plainly.
sylvia still looked smiling and happy, not a bit mad as we had expected, but just kind of shy and radiant.
as for the old fellow, he looked, as em white would say, as sphinx-like as ever.
i'd defy any man alive to tell from the old fellow's expression what he was thinking about or what he felt like at any time.
then all at once sylvia said softly, with her eyes cast down, "i received your letter, mr. osborne."
any other man in the world would have jumped, or said, "my letter!!!"
or shown surprise in some way.
but the old fellow has a nerve.
he looked sideways at sylvia for a moment and then he said kind of drily, "ah, did you?"
""yes," said sylvia, not much above a whisper.
""it -- it surprised me very much.
i never supposed that you -- you cared for me in that way."
""can you tell me how i could help caring?"
said the old fellow in the strangest way.
his voice actually trembled.
""i -- i do n't think i would tell you if i knew," said sylvia, turning her head away.
""you see -- i do n't want you to help caring."
""sylvia!"
you never saw such a transformation as came over the old fellow.
his eyes just blazed, but his face went white.
he bent forward and took her hand.
""sylvia, do you mean that you -- you actually care a little for me, dearest?
oh, sylvia, do you mean that?"
""of course i do," said sylvia right out.
""i've always cared -- ever since i was a little girl coming here to school and breaking my heart over mathematics, although i hated them, just to be in your class.
why -- why -- i've treasured up old geometry exercises you wrote out for me just because you wrote them.
but i thought i could never make you care for me.
i was the happiest girl in the world when your letter came today."
""sylvia," said the old fellow, "i've loved you for years.
but i never dreamed that you could care for me.
i thought it quite useless to tell you of my love -- before.
will you -- can you be my wife, darling?"
at this point ruggles and i differ as to what came next.
he asserts that sylvia turned square around and kissed the old fellow.
but i'm sure she just turned her face and gave him a look and then he kissed her.
anyhow, there they both were, going on at the silliest rate about how much they loved each other and how the old fellow thought she loved micky and all that sort of thing.
it was awful.
i never thought the old fellow or sylvia either could be so spooney.
ruggles and i would have given anything on earth to be out of that.
we knew we'd no business to be there and we felt as foolish as flatfish.
it was a tremendous relief when the old fellow and sylvia got up at last and trailed away, both of them looking idiotically happy.
""well, did you ever?"
said ruggles.
it was a girl's exclamation, but nothing else would have expressed his feelings.
""no, i never," i said.
""to think that sylvia grant should be sweet on the old fellow when she could have micky!
it passes comprehension.
did she -- did she really promise to marry him, ruggles?"
""she did," said ruggles gloomily.
""but, i say, is n't that old fellow game?
tumbled to the trick in a jiff; never let on but what he wrote the letter, never will let on, i bet.
where does the joke come in, polly, my boy?"
""it's on us," i said, "but nobody will know of it if we hold our tongues.
we'll have to hold them anyhow, for sylvia's sake, since she's been goose enough to go and fall in love with the old fellow.
she'd go wild if she ever found out the letter was a hoax.
we have made that match, ruggles.
he'd never have got up enough spunk to tell her he wanted her, and she'd probably have married micky out of spite."
""well, you know the old fellow is n't a bad sort after all," said ruggles, "and he's really awfully gone on her.
so it's all right.
let's go and find the girls."
the parting of the ways mrs. longworth crossed the hotel piazza, descended the steps, and walked out of sight down the shore road with all the grace of motion that lent distinction to her slightest movement.
her eyes were very bright, and an unusual flush stained the pallor of her cheek.
two men who were lounging in one corner of the hotel piazza looked admiringly after her.
""she is a beautiful woman," said one.
""was n't there some talk about mrs. longworth and cunningham last winter?"
asked the other.
""yes.
they were much together.
still, there may have been nothing wrong.
she was old judge carmody's daughter, you know.
longworth got carmody under his thumb in money matters and put the screws on.
they say he made carmody's daughter the price of the old man's redemption.
the girl herself was a mere child, i shall never forget her face on her wedding day.
but she's been plucky since then, i must say.
if she has suffered, she has n't shown it.
i do n't suppose longworth ever ill-treats her.
he is n't that sort.
he's simply a grovelling cad -- that's all.
nobody would sympathise much with the poor devil if his wife did run off with cunningham."
meanwhile, beatrice longworth walked quickly down the shore road, her white skirt brushing over the crisp golden grasses by the way.
in a sunny hollow among the sandhills she came upon stephen gordon, sprawled out luxuriously in the warm, sea-smelling grasses.
the youth sprang to his feet at sight of her, and his big brown eyes kindled to a glow.
mrs. longworth smiled to him.
they had been great friends all summer.
he was a lanky, overgrown lad of fifteen or sixteen, odd and shy and dreamy, scarcely possessing a speaking acquaintance with others at the hotel.
but he and mrs. longworth had been congenial from their first meeting.
in many ways, he was far older than his years, but there was a certain inerradicable boyishness about him to which her heart warmed.
""you are the very person i was just going in search of.
i've news to tell.
sit down."
he spoke eagerly, patting the big gray boulder beside him with his slim, brown hand.
for a moment beatrice hesitated.
she wanted to be alone just then.
but his clever, homely face was so appealing that she yielded and sat down.
stephen flung himself down again contentedly in the grasses at her feet, pillowing his chin in his palms and looking up at her, adoringly.
""you are so beautiful, dear lady.
i love to look at you.
will you tilt that hat a little more over the left eye-brow?
yes -- so -- some day i shall paint you."
his tone and manner were all simplicity.
""when you are a great artist," said beatrice, indulgently.
he nodded.
""yes, i mean to be that.
i've told you all my dreams, you know.
now for my news.
i'm going away to-morrow.
i had a telegram from father to-day."
he drew the message from his pocket and flourished it up at her.
""i'm to join him in europe at once.
he is in rome.
think of it -- in rome!
i'm to go on with my art studies there.
and i leave to-morrow."
""i'm glad -- and i'm sorry -- and you know which is which," said beatrice, patting the shaggy brown head.
""i shall miss you dreadfully, stephen."
""we have been splendid chums, have n't we?"
he said, eagerly.
suddenly his face changed.
he crept nearer to her, and bowed his head until his lips almost touched the hem of her dress.
""i'm glad you came down to-day," he went on in a low, diffident voice.
""i want to tell you something, and i can tell it better here.
i could n't go away without thanking you.
i'll make a mess of it -- i can never explain things.
but you've been so much to me -- you mean so much to me.
you've made me believe in things i never believed in before.
you -- you -- i know now that there is such a thing as a good woman, a woman who could make a man better, just because he breathed the same air with her."
he paused for a moment; then went on in a still lower tone: "it's hard when a fellow ca n't speak of his mother because he ca n't say anything good of her, is n't it?
my mother was n't a good woman.
when i was eight years old she went away with a scoundrel.
it broke father's heart.
nobody thought i understood, i was such a little fellow.
but i did.
i heard them talking.
i knew she had brought shame and disgrace on herself and us.
and i had loved her so!
then, somehow, as i grew up, it was my misfortune that all the women i had to do with were mean and base.
they were hirelings, and i hated and feared them.
there was an aunt of mine -- she tried to be good to me in her way.
but she told me a lie, and i never cared for her after i found it out.
and then, father -- we loved each other and were good chums.
but he did n't believe in much either.
he was bitter, you know.
he said all women were alike.
i grew up with that notion.
i did n't care much for anything -- nothing seemed worth while.
then i came here and met you."
he paused again.
beatrice had listened with a gray look on her face.
it would have startled him had he glanced up, but he did not, and after a moment's silence the halting boyish voice went on: "you have changed everything for me.
i was nothing but a clod before.
you are not the mother of my body, but you are of my soul.
it was born of you.
i shall always love and reverence you for it.
you will always be my ideal.
if i ever do anything worth while it will be because of you.
in everything i shall ever attempt i shall try to do it as if you were to pass judgment upon it.
you will be a lifelong inspiration to me.
oh, i am bungling this!
i ca n't tell you what i feel -- you are so pure, so good, so noble!
i shall reverence all women for your sake henceforth."
""and if," said beatrice, in a very low voice, "if i were false to your ideal of me -- if i were to do anything that would destroy your faith in me -- something weak or wicked --" "but you could n't," he interrupted, flinging up his head and looking at her with his great dog-like eyes, "you could n't!"
""but if i could?"
she persisted, gently, "and if i did -- what then?"
""i should hate you," he said, passionately.
""you would be worse than a murderess.
you would kill every good impulse and belief in me.
i would never trust anything or anybody again -- but there," he added, his voice once more growing tender, "you will never fail me, i feel sure of that."
""thank you," said beatrice, almost in a whisper.
""thank you," she repeated, after a moment.
she stood up and held out her hand.
""i think i must go now.
good-bye, dear laddie.
write to me from rome.
i shall always be glad to hear from you wherever you are.
and -- and -- i shall always try to live up to your ideal of me, stephen."
he sprang to his feet and took her hand, lifting it to his lips with boyish reverence.
""i know that," he said, slowly.
""good-bye, my sweet lady."
when mrs. longworth found herself in her room again, she unlocked her desk and took out a letter.
it was addressed to mr. maurice cunningham.
she slowly tore it twice across, laid the fragments on a tray, and touched them with a lighted match.
as they blazed up one line came out in writhing redness across the page: "i will go away with you as you ask."
then it crumbled into gray ashes.
she drew a long breath and hid her face in her hands.
the promissory note ernest duncan swung himself off the platform of david white's store and walked whistling up the street.
life seemed good to ernest just then.
mr. white had given him a rise in salary that day, and had told him that he was satisfied with him.
mr. white was not easy to please in the matter of clerks, and it had been with fear and trembling that ernest had gone into his store six months before.
he had thought himself fortunate to secure such a chance.
his father had died the preceding year, leaving nothing in the way of worldly goods except the house he had lived in.
for several years before his death he had been unable to do much work, and the finances of the little family had dwindled steadily.
after his father's death ernest, who had been going to school and expecting to go to college, found that he must go to work at once instead to support himself and his mother.
if george duncan had not left much of worldly wealth behind him, he at least bequeathed to his son the interest of a fine, upright character and a reputation for honesty and integrity.
none knew this better than david white, and it was on this account that he took ernest as his clerk, over the heads of several other applicants who seemed to have a stronger "pull."
""i do n't know anything about you, ernest," he said bluntly.
""you're only sixteen, and you may not have an ounce of real grit or worth in you.
but it will be a queer thing if your father's son has n't.
i knew him all his life.
a better man never lived nor, before his accident, a smarter one.
i'll give his son a chance, anyhow.
if you take after your dad you'll get on all right."
ernest had not been in the store very long before mr. white concluded, with a gratified chuckle, that he did take after his father.
he was hard-working, conscientious, and obliging.
customers of all sorts, from the rough fishermen who came up from the harbour to the old irishwomen from the back country roads, liked him.
mr. white was satisfied.
he was beginning to grow old.
this lad had the makings of a good partner in him by and by.
no hurry; he must serves long apprenticeship first and prove his mettle; no use spoiling him by hinting at future partnerships before need was.
that would all come in due time.
david white was a shrewd man.
ernest was unconscious of his employer's plans regarding him; but he knew that he stood well with him and, much to his surprise, he found that he liked the work, and was beginning to take a personal interest and pleasure in the store.
hence, he went home to tea on this particular afternoon with buoyant step and smiling eyes.
it was a good world, and he was glad to be alive in it, glad to have work to do and a dear little mother to work for.
most of the folks who met him smiled in friendly fashion at the bright-eyed, frank-faced lad.
only old jacob patterson scowled grimly as he passed him, emitting merely a surly grunt in response to ernest's greeting.
but then, old jacob patterson was noted as much for his surliness as for his miserliness.
nobody had ever heard him speak pleasantly to anyone; therefore his unfriendliness did not at all dash ernest's high spirits.
""i'm sorry for him," the lad thought.
""he has no interest in life save accumulating money.
he has no other pleasure or affection or ambition.
when he dies i do n't suppose a single regret will follow him.
father died a poor man, but what love and respect went with him to his grave -- aye, and beyond it.
jacob patterson, i'm sorry for you.
you have chosen the poorer part, and you are a poor man in spite of your thousands."
ernest and his mother lived up on the hill, at the end of the straggling village street.
the house was a small, old-fashioned one, painted white, set in the middle of a small but beautiful lawn.
george duncan, during the last rather helpless years of his life, had devoted himself to the cultivation of flowers, shrubs, and trees and, as a result, his lawn was the prettiest in conway.
ernest worked hard in his spare moments to keep it looking as well as in his father's lifetime, for he loved his little home dearly, and was proud of its beauty.
he ran gaily into the sitting-room.
""tea ready, lady mother?
i'm hungry as a wolf.
good news gives one an appetite.
mr. white has raised my salary a couple of dollars per week.
we must celebrate the event somehow this evening.
what do you say to a sail on the river and an ice cream at taylor's afterwards?
when a little woman ca n't outlive her schoolgirl hankering for ice cream -- why, mother, what's the matter?
mother, dear!"
mrs. duncan had been standing before the window with her back to the room when ernest entered.
when she turned he saw that she had been crying.
""oh, ernest," she said brokenly, "jacob patterson has just been here -- and he says -- he says --" "what has that old miser been saying to trouble you?"
demanded ernest angrily, taking her hands in his.
""he says he holds your father's promissory note for nine hundred dollars, overdue for several years," answered mrs. duncan.
""yes -- and he showed me the note, ernest."
""father's promissory note for nine hundred!"
exclaimed ernest in bewilderment.
""but father paid that note to james patterson five years ago, mother -- just before his accident.
did n't you tell me he did?"
""yes, he did," said mrs. duncan, "but --" "then where is it?"
interrupted ernest.
""father would keep the receipted note, of course.
we must look among his papers."
""you wo n't find it there, ernest.
we -- we do n't know where the note is.
it -- it was lost."
""lost!
that is unfortunate.
but you say that jacob patterson showed you a promissory note of father's still in existence?
how can that be?
it ca n't possibly be the note he paid.
and there could n't have been another note we knew nothing of?"
""i understand how this note came to be in jacob patterson's possession," said mrs. duncan more firmly, "but he laughed in my face when i told him.
i must tell you the whole story, ernest.
but sit down and get your tea first."
""i have n't any appetite for tea now, mother," said ernest soberly.
""let me hear the whole truth about the matter."
""seven years ago your father gave his note to old james patterson, jacob's brother," said mrs. duncan.
""it was for nine hundred dollars.
two years afterwards the note fell due and he paid james patterson the full amount with interest.
i remember the day well.
i have only too good reason to.
he went up to the patterson place in the afternoon with the money.
it was a very hot day.
james patterson receipted the note and gave it to your father.
your father always remembered that much; he was also sure that he had the note with him when he left the house.
he then went over to see paul sinclair.
a thunderstorm came up while he was on the road.
then, as you know, ernest, just as he turned in at paul sinclair's gate the lightning flash struck and stunned him.
it was weeks before he came to himself at all.
he never did come completely to himself again.
when, weeks afterwards, i thought of the note and asked him about it, we could not find it; and, search as we did, we never found it.
your father could never remember what he did with it when he left james patterson's.
neither mr. sinclair nor his wife could recollect seeing anything of it at the time of the accident.
james patterson had left for california the very morning after, and he never came back.
we did not worry much about the loss of the note then; it did not seem of much moment, and your father was not in a condition to be troubled about the matter."
""but, mother, this note that jacob patterson holds -- i do n't understand about this."
""i'm coming to that.
i remember distinctly that on the evening when your father came home after signing the note he said that james patterson drew up a note and he signed it, but just as he did so the old man's pet cat, which was sitting on the table, upset an ink bottle and the ink ran all over the table and stained one end of the note.
old james patterson was the fussiest man who ever lived, and a stickler for neatness.
"tut, tut," he said, "this wo n't do.
here, i'll draw up another note and tear this blotted one up."
he did so and your father signed it.
he always supposed james patterson destroyed the first one, and certainly he must have intended to, for there never was an honester man.
but he must have neglected to do so for, ernest, it was that blotted note jacob patterson showed me today.
he said he found it among his brother's papers.
i suppose it has been in the desk up at the patterson place ever since james went to california.
he died last winter and jacob is his sole heir.
ernest, that note with the compound interest on it for seven years amounts to over eleven hundred dollars.
how can we pay it?"
""i'm afraid that this is a very serious business, mother," said ernest, rising and pacing the floor with agitated strides.
""we shall have to pay the note if we can not find the other -- and even if we could, perhaps.
your story of the drawing up of the second note would not be worth anything as evidence in a court of law -- and we have nothing to hope from jacob patterson's clemency.
no doubt he believes that he really holds father's unpaid note.
he is not a dishonest man; in fact, he rather prides himself on having made all his money honestly.
he will exact every penny of the debt.
the first thing to do is to have another thorough search for the lost note -- although i am afraid that it is a forlorn hope."
a forlorn hope it proved to be.
the note did not turn up.
old jacob patterson proved obdurate.
he laughed to scorn the tale of the blotted note and, indeed, ernest sadly admitted to himself that it was not a story anybody would be in a hurry to believe.
""there's nothing for it but to sell our house and pay the debt, mother," he said at last.
ernest had grown old in the days that had followed jacob patterson's demand.
his boyish face was pale and haggard.
""jacob patterson will take the case into the law courts if we do n't settle at once.
mr. white offered to lend me the money on a mortgage on the place, but i could never pay the interest out of my salary when we have nothing else to live on.
i would only get further and further behind.
i'm not afraid of hard work, but i dare not borrow money with so little prospect of ever being able to repay it.
we must sell the place and rent that little four-roomed cottage of mr. percy's down by the river to live in.
oh, mother, it half kills me to think of your being turned out of your home like this!"
it was a bitter thing for mrs. duncan also, but for ernest's sake she concealed her feelings and affected cheerfulness.
the house and lot were sold, mr. white being the purchaser thereof; and ernest and his mother removed to the little riverside cottage with such of their household belongings as had not also to be sold to make up the required sum.
even then, ernest had to borrow two hundred dollars from mr. white, and he foresaw that the repayal of this sum would cost him much self-denial and privation.
it would be necessary to cut their modest expenses down severely.
for himself ernest did not mind, but it hurt him keenly that his mother should lack the little luxuries and comforts to which she had been accustomed.
he saw too, in spite of her efforts to hide it, that leaving her old home was a terrible blow to her.
altogether, ernest felt bitter and disheartened; his step lacked spring and his face its smile.
he did his work with dogged faithfulness, but he no longer found pleasure in it.
he knew that his mother secretly pined after her lost home where she had gone as a bride, and the knowledge rendered him very unhappy.
* * * * * paul sinclair, his father's friend and cousin, died that winter, leaving two small children.
his wife had died the previous year.
when his business affairs came to be settled they were found to be sadly involved.
there were debts on all sides, and it was soon only too evident that nothing was left for the little boys.
they were homeless and penniless.
""what will become of them, poor little fellows?"
said mrs. duncan pityingly.
""we are their only relatives, ernest.
we must give them a home at least."
""mother, how can we!"
exclaimed ernest.
""we are so poor.
it's as much as we can do to get along now, and there is that two hundred to pay mr. white.
i'm sorry for danny and frank, but i do n't see how we can possibly do anything for them."
mrs. duncan sighed.
""i know it is n't right to ask you to add to your burden," she said wistfully.
""it is of you i am thinking, mother," said ernest tenderly.
""i ca n't have your burden added to.
you deny yourself too much and work too hard now.
what would it be if you took the care of those children upon yourself?"
""do n't think of me, ernest," said mrs. duncan eagerly.
""i would n't mind.
i'd be glad to do anything i could for them, poor little souls.
their father was your father's best friend, and i feel as if it were our duty to do all we can for them.
they're such little fellows.
who knows how they would be treated if they were taken by strangers?
and they'd most likely be separated, and that would be a shame.
but i leave it for you to decide, ernest.
it is your right, for the heaviest part will fall on you."
ernest did not decide at once.
for a week he thought the matter over, weighing pros and cons carefully.
to take the two sinclair boys meant a double portion of toil and self-denial.
had he not enough to bear now?
but, on the other side, was it not his duty, nay, his privilege, to help the children if he could?
in the end he said to his mother: "we'll take the little fellows, mother.
i'll do the best i can for them.
we'll manage a corner and a crust for them."
so danny and frank sinclair came to the little cottage.
frank was eight and danny six, and they were small and lively and mischievous.
they worshipped mrs. duncan, and thought ernest the finest fellow in the world.
when his birthday came around in march, the two little chaps put their heads together in a grave consultation as to what they could give him.
""you know he gave us presents on our birthdays," said frank.
""so we must give him something."
""i'll div him my pottet-knife," said danny, taking the somewhat battered and loose-jointed affair from his pocket, and gazing at it affectionately.
""i'll give him one of papa's books," said frank.
""that pretty one with the red covers and the gold letters."
a few of mr. sinclair's books had been saved for the boys, and were stored in a little box in their room.
the book frank referred to was an old history of the turks, and its gay cover was probably the best of it, since its contents were of no particular merit.
on ernest's birthday both boys gave him their offerings after breakfast.
""here's a pottet-knife for you," said danny graciously.
""it's a bully pottet-knife.
it'll cut real well if you hold it dust the wight way.
i'll show you."
""and here's a book for you," said frank.
""it's a real pretty book, and i guess it's pretty interesting reading too.
it's all about the turks."
ernest accepted both gifts gravely, and after the children had gone out he and his mother had a hearty laugh.
""the dear, kind-hearted little lads!"
said mrs. duncan.
""it must have been a real sacrifice on danny's part to give you his beloved "pottet-knife."
i was afraid you were going to refuse it at first, and that would have hurt his little feelings terribly.
i do n't think the history of the turks will keep you up burning the midnight oil.
i remember that book of old -- i could never forget that gorgeous cover.
mr. sinclair lent it to your father once, and he said it was absolute trash.
why, ernest, what's the matter?"
ernest had been turning the book's leaves over carelessly.
suddenly he sprang to his feet with an exclamation, his face turning white as marble.
""mother!"
he gasped, holding out a yellowed slip of paper.
""look!
it's the lost promissory note."
mother and son looked at each other for a moment.
then mrs. duncan began to laugh and cry together.
""your father took that book with him when he went to pay the note," she said.
""he intended to return it to mr. sinclair.
i remember seeing the gleam of the red binding in his hand as he went out of the gate.
he must have slipped the note into it and i suppose the book has never been opened since.
oh, ernest -- do you think -- will jacob patterson --" "i do n't know, mother.
i must see mr. white about this.
do n't be too sanguine.
this does n't prove that the note jacob patterson found was n't a genuine note also, you know -- that is, i do n't think it would serve as proof in law.
we'll have to leave it to his sense of justice.
if he refuses to refund the money i'm afraid we ca n't compel him to do so."
but jacob patterson did not any longer refuse belief to mrs. patterson's story of the blotted note.
he was a harsh, miserly man, but he prided himself on his strict honesty; he had been fairly well acquainted with his brother's business transactions, and knew that george duncan had given only one promissory note.
""i'll admit, ma'am, since the receipted note has turned up, that your story about the blotted one must be true," he said surlily.
""i'll pay your money back.
nobody can ever say jacob patterson cheated.
i took what i believed to be my due.
since i'm convinced it was n't i'll hand every penny over.
though, mind you, you could n't make me do it by law.
it's my honesty, ma'am, it's my honesty."
since jacob patterson was so well satisfied with the fibre of his honesty, neither mrs. duncan nor ernest was disposed to quarrel with it.
mr. white readily agreed to sell the old duncan place back to them, and by spring they were settled again in their beloved little home.
danny and frank were with them, of course.
""we ca n't be too good to them, mother," said ernest.
""we really owe all our happiness to them."
""yes, but, ernest, if you had not consented to take the homeless little lads in their time of need this would n't have come about."
""i've been well rewarded, mother," said ernest quietly, "but, even if nothing of the sort had happened, i would be glad that i did the best i could for frank and danny.
i'm ashamed to think that i was unwilling to do it at first.
if it had n't been for what you said, i would n't have.
so it is your unselfishness we have to thank for it all, mother dear."
the revolt of mary isabel "for a woman of forty, mary isabel, you have the least sense of any person i have ever known," said louisa irving.
louisa had said something similar in spirit to mary isabel almost every day of her life.
mary isabel had never resented it, even when it hurt her bitterly.
everybody in latimer knew that louisa irving ruled her meek little sister with a rod of iron and wondered why mary isabel never rebelled.
it simply never occurred to mary isabel to do so; all her life she had given in to louisa and the thought of refusing obedience to her sister's mede-and-persian decrees never crossed her mind.
mary isabel had only one secret from louisa and she lived in daily dread that louisa would discover it.
it was a very harmless little secret, but mary isabel felt rightly sure that louisa would not tolerate it for a moment.
they were sitting together in the dim living room of their quaint old cottage down by the shore.
the window was open and the sea-breeze blew in, stirring the prim white curtains fitfully, and ruffling the little rings of dark hair on mary isabel's forehead -- rings which always annoyed louisa.
she thought mary isabel ought to brush them straight back, and mary isabel did so faithfully a dozen times a day; and in ten minutes they crept down again, kinking defiance to louisa, who might make mary isabel submit to her in all things but had no power over naturally curly hair.
louisa had never had any trouble with her own hair; it was straight and sleek and mouse-coloured -- what there was of it.
mary isabel's face was flushed and her wood-brown eyes looked grieved and pleading.
mary isabel was still pretty, and vanity is the last thing to desert a properly constructed woman.
""i ca n't wear a bonnet yet, louisa," she protested.
""bonnets have gone out for everybody except really old ladies.
i want a hat: one of those pretty, floppy ones with pale blue forget-me-nots."
then it was that louisa made the remark quoted above.
""i wore a bonnet before i was forty," she went on ruthlessly, "and so should every decent woman.
it is absurd to be thinking so much of dress at your age, mary isabel.
i do n't know what sort of a way you'd bedizen yourself out if i'd let you, i'm sure.
it's fortunate you have somebody to keep you from making a fool of yourself.
i'm going to town tomorrow and i'll pick you out a suitable black bonnet.
you'd look nice starring round in leghorn and forget-me-nots, now, would n't you?"
mary isabel privately thought she would, but she gave in, of course, although she did hate bitterly that unbought, unescapable bonnet.
""well, do as you think best, louisa," she said with a sigh.
""i suppose it does n't matter much.
nobody cares how i look anyhow.
but ca n't i go to town with you?
i want to pick out my new silk."
""i'm as good a judge of black silk as you," said louisa shortly.
""it is n't safe to leave the house alone."
""but i do n't want a black silk," cried mary isabel.
""i've worn black so long; both my silk dresses have been black.
i want a pretty silver-grey, something like mrs. chester ford's."
""did anyone ever hear such nonsense?"
louisa wanted to know, in genuine amazement.
""silver-grey silk is the most unserviceable thing in the world.
there's nothing like black for wear and real elegance.
no, no, mary isabel, do n't be foolish.
you must let me choose for you; you know you never had any judgment.
mother told you so often enough.
now, get your sunbonnet and take a walk to the shore.
you look tired.
i'll get the tea."
louisa's tone was kind though firm.
she was really good to mary isabel as long as mary isabel gave her her own way peaceably.
but if she had known mary isabel's secret she would never have permitted those walks to the shore.
mary isabel sighed again, yielded, and went out.
across a green field from the irving cottage dr. donald hamilton's big house was hooding itself in the shadows of the thick fir grove that enabled the doctor to have a garden.
there was no shelter at the cottage, so the irving "girls" never tried to have a garden.
soon after dr. hamilton had come there to live he had sent a bouquet of early daffodils over by his housekeeper.
louisa had taken them gingerly in her extreme fingertips, carried them across the field to the lawn fence, and cast them over it, under the amused grey eyes of portly dr. hamilton, who was looking out of his office window.
then louisa had come back to the porch door and ostentatiously washed her hands.
""i guess that will settle donald hamilton," she told the secretly sorry mary isabel triumphantly, and it did settle him -- at least as far as any farther social advances were concerned.
dr. hamilton was an excellent physician and an equally excellent man.
louisa irving could not have picked a flaw in his history or character.
indeed, against dr. hamilton himself she had no grudge, but he was the brother of a man she hated and whose relatives were consequently taboo in louisa's eyes.
not that the brother was a bad man either; he had simply taken the opposite side to the irvings in a notable church feud of a dozen years ago, and louisa had never since held any intercourse with him or his fellow sinners.
mary isabel did not look at the hamilton house.
she kept her head resolutely turned away as she went down the shore lane with its wild sweet loneliness of salt-withered grasses and piping sea-winds.
only when she turned the corner of the fir-wood, which shut her out from view of the houses, did she look timidly over the line-fence.
dr. hamilton was standing there, where the fence ran out to the sandy shingle, smoking his little black pipe, which he took out and put away when mary isabel came around the firs.
men did things like that instinctively in mary isabel's company.
there was something so delicately virginal about her, in spite of her forty years, that they gave her the reverence they would have paid to a very young, pure girl.
dr. hamilton smiled at the little troubled face under the big sunbonnet.
mary isabel had to wear a sunbonnet.
she would never have done it from choice.
""what is the matter?"
asked the doctor, in his big, breezy, old-bachelor voice.
he had another voice for sick-beds and rooms of bereavement, but this one suited best with the purring of the waves and winds.
""how do you know that anything is the matter?"
mary isabel parried demurely.
""by your face.
come now, tell me what it is."
""it is really nothing.
i have just been foolish, that is all.
i wanted a hat with forget-me-nots and a grey silk, and louisa says i must have black and a bonnet."
the doctor looked indignant but held his peace.
he and mary isabel had tacitly agreed never to discuss louisa, because such discussion would not make for harmony.
mary isabel's conscience would not let the doctor say anything uncomplimentary of louisa, and the doctor's conscience would not let him say anything complimentary.
so they left her out of the question and talked about the sea and the boats and poetry and flowers and similar non-combustible subjects.
* * * * * these clandestine meetings had been going on for two months, ever since the day they had just happened to meet below the firs.
it never occurred to mary isabel that the doctor meant anything but friendship; and if it had occurred to the doctor, he did not think there would be much use in saying so.
mary isabel was too hopelessly under louisa's thumb.
she might keep tryst below the firs occasionally -- so long as louisa did n't know -- but to no farther lengths would she dare go.
besides, the doctor was n't quite sure that he really wanted anything more.
mary isabel was a sweet little woman, but dr. hamilton had been a bachelor so long that it would be very difficult for him to get out of the habit; so difficult that it was hardly worth while trying when such an obstacle as louisa irving's tyranny loomed in the way.
so he never tried to make love to mary isabel, though he probably would have if he had thought it of any use.
this does not sound very romantic, of course, but when a man is fifty, romance, while it may be present in the fruit, is assuredly absent in blossom.
""i suppose you wo n't be going to the induction of my nephew thursday week?"
said the doctor in the course of the conversation.
""no.
louisa will not permit it.
i had hoped," said mary isabel with a sigh, as she braided some silvery shore-grasses nervously together, "that when old mr. moody went away she would go back to the church here.
and i think she would if -- if --" "if jim had n't come in mr. moody's place," finished the doctor with his jolly laugh.
mary isabel coloured prettily.
""it is not because he is your nephew, doctor.
it is because -- because --" "because he is the nephew of my brother who was on the other side in that ancient church fracas?
bless you, i understand.
what a good hater your sister is!
such a tenacity in holding bitterness from one generation to another commands admiration of a certain sort.
as for jim, he's a nice little chap, and he is coming to live with me until the manse is repaired."
""i am sure you will find that pleasant," said mary isabel primly.
she wondered if the young minister's advent would make any difference in regard to these shore-meetings; then decided quickly that it would not; then more quickly still that it would n't matter if it did.
""he will be company," admitted the doctor, who liked company and found the shore road rather lonesome.
""i had a letter from him today saying that he'd come home with me from the induction.
by the way, they're tearing down the old post office today.
and that reminds me -- by jove, i'd all but forgotten.
i promised to go up and see mollie marr this evening; mollie's nerves are on the rampage again.
i must rush."
with a wave of his hand the doctor hurried off.
mary isabel lingered for some time longer, leaning against the fence, looking dreamily out to sea.
the doctor was a very pleasant companion.
if only louisa would allow neighbourliness!
mary isabel felt a faint, impotent resentment.
she had never had anything other girls had: friends, dresses, beaus, and it was all louisa's fault -- louisa who was going to make her wear a bonnet for the rest of her life.
the more mary isabel thought of that bonnet the more she hated it.
that evening warren marr rode down to the shore cottage on horseback and handed mary isabel a letter; a strange, scrumpled, soiled, yellow letter.
when mary isabel saw the handwriting on the envelope she trembled and turned as deadly pale as if she had seen a ghost: "here's a letter for you," said warren, grinning.
""it's been a long time on the way -- nigh fifteen years.
guess the news'll be rather stale.
we found it behind the old partition when we tore it down today."
""it is my brother tom's writing," said mary isabel faintly.
she went into the room trembling, holding the letter tightly in her clasped hands.
louisa had gone up to the village on an errand; mary isabel almost wished she were home; she hardly felt equal to the task of opening tom's letter alone.
tom had been dead for ten years and this letter gave her an uncanny sensation; as of a message from the spirit-land.
fifteen years, ago thomas irving had gone to california and five years later he had died there.
mary isabel, who had idolized her brother, almost grieved herself to death at the time.
finally she opened the letter with ice-cold fingers.
it had been written soon after tom reached california.
the first two pages were filled with descriptions of the country and his "job."
on the third tom began abruptly: look here, mary isabel, you are not to let louisa boss you about as she was doing when i was at home.
i was going to speak to you about it before i came away, but i forgot.
lou is a fine girl, but she is too domineering, and the more you give in to her the worse it makes her.
you're far too easy-going for your own welfare, mary isabel, and for your own sake i wish you had more spunk.
do n't let louisa live your life for you; just you live it yourself.
never mind if there is some friction at first; lou will give in when she finds she has to, and you'll both be the better for it, i want you to be real happy, mary isabel, but you wo n't be if you do n't assert your independence.
giving in the way you do is bad for both you and louisa.
it will make her a tyrant and you a poor-spirited creature of no account in the world.
just brace up and stand firm.
when she had read the letter through mary isabel took it to her own room and locked it in her bureau drawer.
then she sat by her window, looking out into a sea-sunset, and thought it over.
coming in the strange way it had, the letter seemed a message from the dead, and mary isabel had a superstitious conviction that she must obey it.
she had always had a great respect for tom's opinion.
he was right -- oh, she felt that he was right.
what a pity she had not received the letter long ago, before the shackles of habit had become so firmly riveted.
but it was not too late yet.
she would rebel at last and -- how had tom phrased it -- oh, yes, assert her independence.
she owed it to tom; it had been his wish -- and he was dead -- and she would do her best to fulfil it.
""i sha n't get a bonnet," thought mary isabel determinedly.
""tom would n't have liked me in a bonnet.
from this out i'm just going to do exactly as tom would have liked me to do, no matter how afraid i am of louisa.
and, oh, i am horribly afraid of her."
mary isabel was every whit as much afraid the next morning after breakfast but she did not look it, by reason of the flush on her cheeks and the glint in her brown eyes.
she had put tom's letter in the bosom of her dress and she pressed her fingertips on it that the crackle might give her courage.
""louisa," she said firmly, "i am going to town with you."
""nonsense," said louisa shortly.
""you may call it nonsense if you like, but i am going," said mary isabel unquailingly.
""i have made up my mind on that point, louisa, and nothing you can say will alter it."
louisa looked amazed.
never before had mary isabel set her decrees at naught.
""are you crazy, mary isabel?"
she demanded.
""no, i am not crazy.
but i am going to town and i am going to get a silver-grey silk for myself and a new hat.
i will not wear a bonnet and you need never mention it to me again, louisa."
""if you are going to town i shall stay home," said louisa in a cold, ominous tone that almost made mary isabel quake.
if it had not been for that reassuring crackle of tom's letter i fear mary isabel would have given in.
""this house ca n't be left alone.
if you go, i'll stay."
louisa honestly thought that would bring the rebel to terms.
mary isabel had never gone to town alone in her life.
louisa did not believe she would dare to go.
but mary isabel did not quail.
defiance was not so hard after all, once you had begun.
mary isabel went to town and she went alone.
she spent the whole delightful day in the shops, unhampered by louisa's scorn and criticism in her examination of all the pretty things displayed.
she selected a hat she felt sure tom would like -- a pretty crumpled grey straw with forget-me-nots and ribbons.
then she bought a grey silk of a lovely silvery shade.
when she got back home she unwrapped her packages and showed her purchases to louisa.
but louisa neither looked at them nor spoke to mary isabel.
mary isabel tossed her head and went to her own room.
her draught of freedom had stimulated her, and she did not mind louisa's attitude half as much as she would have expected.
she read tom's letter over again to fortify herself and then she dressed her hair in a fashion she had seen that day in town and pulled out all the little curls on her forehead.
the next day she took the silver-grey silk to the latimer dressmaker and picked out a fashionable design for it.
when the silk dress came home, louisa, who had thawed out somewhat in the meantime, unbent sufficiently to remark that it fitted very well.
""i am going to wear it to the induction tomorrow," mary isabel said, boldly to all appearances, quakingly in reality.
she knew that she was throwing down the gauntlet for good and all.
if she could assert and maintain her independence in this matter louisa's power would be broken forever.
* * * * * twelve years before this, the previously mentioned schism had broken out in the latimer church.
the minister had sided with the faction which louisa irving opposed.
she had promptly ceased going to his church and withdrew all financial support.
she paid to the marwood church, fifteen miles away, and occasionally she hired a team and drove over there to service.
but she never entered the latimer church again nor allowed mary isabel to do so.
for that matter, mary isabel did not wish to go.
she had resented the minister's attitude almost as bitterly as louisa.
but when mr. moody accepted a call elsewhere mary isabel hoped that she and louisa might return to their old church home.
possibly they might have done so had not the congregation called the young, newly fledged james anderson.
mary isabel would not have cared for this, but louisa sternly said that neither she nor any of hers should ever darken the doors of a church where the nephew of martin hamilton preached.
mary isabel had regretfully acquiesced at the time, but now she had made up her mind to go to church and she meant to begin with the induction service.
louisa stared at her sister incredulously.
""have you taken complete leave of your senses, mary isabel?"
""no.
i've just come to them," retorted mary isabel recklessly, gripping a chair-back desperately so that louisa should not see how she was trembling.
""it is all foolishness to keep away from church just because of an old grudge.
i'm tired of staying home sundays or driving fifteen miles to marwood to hear poor old mr. grattan.
everybody says mr. anderson is a splendid young man and an excellent preacher, and i'm going to attend his services regularly."
louisa had taken mary isabel's first defiance in icy disdain.
now she lost her temper and raged.
the storm of angry words beat on mary isabel like hail, but she fronted it staunchly.
she seemed to hear tom's voice saying, "live your own life, mary isabel; do n't let louisa live it for you," and she meant to obey him.
""if you go to that man's induction i'll never forgive you," louisa concluded.
mary isabel said nothing.
she just primmed up her lips very determinedly, picked up the silk dress, and carried it to her room.
the next day was fine and warm.
louisa said no word all the morning.
she worked fiercely and slammed things around noisily.
after dinner mary isabel went to her room and came down presently, fine and dainty in her grey silk, with the forget-me-not hat resting on the soft loose waves of her hair.
louisa was blacking the kitchen stove.
she shot one angry glance at mary isabel, then gave a short, contemptuous laugh, the laugh of an angry woman who finds herself robbed of all weapons except ridicule.
mary isabel flushed and walked with an unfaltering step out of the house and up the lane.
she resented louisa's laughter.
she was sure there was nothing so very ridiculous about her appearance.
women far older than she, even in latimer, wore light dresses and fashionable hats.
really, louisa was very disagreeable.
""i have put up with her ways too long," thought mary isabel, with a quick, unwonted rush of anger.
""but i never shall again -- no, never, let her be as vexed and scornful as she pleases."
the induction services were interesting, and mary isabel enjoyed them.
doctor hamilton was sitting across from her and once or twice she caught him looking at her admiringly.
the doctor noticed the hat and the grey silk and wondered how mary isabel had managed to get her own way concerning them.
what a pretty woman she was!
really, he had never realized before how very pretty she was.
but then, he had never seen her except in a sunbonnet or with her hair combed primly back.
but when the service was over mary isabel was dismayed to see that the sky had clouded over and looked very much like rain.
everybody hurried home, and mary isabel tripped along the shore road filled with anxious thoughts about her dress.
that kind of silk always spotted, and her hat would be ruined if it got wet.
how foolish she had been not to bring an umbrella!
she reached her own doorstep panting just as the first drop of rain fell.
""thank goodness," she breathed.
then she tried to open the door.
it would not open.
she could see louisa sitting by the kitchen window, calmly reading.
""louisa, open the door quick," she called impatiently.
louisa never moved a muscle, although mary isabel knew she must have heard.
""louisa, do you hear what i say?"
she cried, reaching over and tapping on the pane imperiously.
""open the door at once.
it is going to rain -- it is raining now.
be quick."
louisa might as well have been a graven image for all the response she gave.
then did mary isabel realize her position.
louisa had locked her out purposely, knowing the rain was coming.
louisa had no intention of letting her in; she meant to keep her out until the dress and hat of her rebellion were spoiled.
this was louisa's revenge.
mary isabel turned with a gasp.
what should she do?
the padlocked doors of hen-house and well-house and wood-house: revealed the thoroughness of louisa's vindictive design.
where should she go?
she would go somewhere.
she would not have her lovely new dress and hat spoiled!
she caught her ruffled skirts up in her hand and ran across the yard.
she climbed the fence into the field and ran across that.
another drop of rain struck her cheek.
she never glanced back or she would have seen a horrified face peering from the cottage kitchen window.
louisa had never dreamed that mary isabel would seek refuge over at dr. hamilton's.
dr. hamilton, who had driven home from church with the young minister, saw her coming and ran to open the door for her.
mary isabel dashed up the verandah steps, breathless, crimson-cheeked, trembling with pent-up indignation and sense of outrage.
""louisa locked me out, dr. hamilton," she cried almost hysterically.
""she locked me out on purpose to spoil my dress.
i'll never forgive her, i'll never go back to her, never, never, unless she asks me to.
i had to come here.
i was not going to have my dress ruined to please louisa."
""of course not -- of course not," said dr. hamilton soothingly, drawing her into his big cosy living room.
""you did perfectly right to come here, and you are just in time.
there is the rain now in good earnest."
mary isabel sank into a chair and looked at dr. hamilton with tears in her eyes.
""was n't it an unkind, unsisterly thing to do?"
she asked piteously.
""oh, i shall never feel the same towards louisa again.
tom was right -- i did n't tell you about tom's letter but i will by and by.
i shall not go back to louisa after her locking me out.
when it stops raining i'll go straight up to my cousin ella's and stay with her until i arrange my plans.
but one thing is certain, i shall not go back to louisa."
""i would n't," said the doctor recklessly.
""now, do n't cry and do n't worry.
take off your hat -- you can go to the spare room across the hall, if you like.
jim has gone upstairs to lie down; he has a bad headache and says he does n't want any tea.
so i was going to get up a bachelor's snack for myself.
my housekeeper is away.
she heard, at church that her mother was ill and went over to marwood."
when mary isabel came back from the spare room, a little calmer but with traces of tears on her pink cheeks, the doctor had as good a tea-table spread as any woman could have had.
mary isabel thought it was fortunate that the little errand boy, tommy brewster, was there, or she certainly would have been dreadfully embarrassed, now that the flame of her anger had blown out.
but later on, when tea was over and she and the doctor were left alone, she did not feel embarrassed after all.
instead, she felt delightfully happy and at home.
dr. hamilton put one so at ease.
she told him all about tom's letter and her subsequent revolt.
dr. hamilton never once made the mistake of smiling.
he listened and approved and sympathized.
""so i'm determined i wo n't go back," concluded mary isabel, "unless she asks me to -- and louisa will never do that.
ella will be glad enough to have me for a while; she has five children and ca n't get any help."
the doctor shrugged his shoulders.
he thought of mary isabel as unofficial drudge to ella kemble and her family.
then he looked at the little silvery figure by the window.
""i think i can suggest a better plan," he said gently and tenderly.
""suppose you stay here -- as my wife.
i've always wanted to ask you that but i feared it was no use because i knew louisa would oppose it and i did not think you would consent if she did not.
i think," the doctor leaned forward and took mary isabel's fluttering hand in his, "i think we can be very happy here, dear."
mary isabel flushed crimson and her heart beat wildly.
she knew now that she loved dr. hamilton -- and tom would have liked it -- yes, tom would.
she remembered how tom hated the thought of his sisters being old maids.
""i -- think -- so -- too," she faltered shyly.
""then," said the doctor briskly, "what is the matter with our being married right here and now?"
""married!"
""yes, of course.
here we are in a state where no licence is required, a minister in the house, and you all dressed in the most beautiful wedding silk imaginable.
you must see, if you just look at it calmly, how much better it will be than going up to mrs. kemble's and thereby publishing your difference with louisa to all the village.
i'll give you fifteen minutes to get used to the idea and then i'll call jim down."
mary isabel put her hands to her face.
""you -- you're like a whirlwind," she gasped.
""you take away my breath."
""think it over," said the doctor in a businesslike voice.
mary isabel thought -- thought very hard for a few moments.
what would tom have said?
was it probable that tom would have approved of such marrying in haste?
mary isabel came to the decision that he would have preferred it to having family jars bruited abroad.
moreover, mary isabel had never liked ella kemble very much.
going to her was only one degree better than going back to louisa.
at last mary isabel took her hands down from her face.
""well?"
said the doctor persuasively as she did so.
""i will consent on one condition," said mary isabel firmly.
""and that is, that you will let me send word over to louisa that i am going to be married and that she may come and see the ceremony if she will.
louisa has behaved very unkindly in this matter, but after all she is my sister -- and she has been good to me in some ways -- and i am not going to give her a chance to say that i got married in this -- this headlong-fashion and never let her know."
""tommy can take the word over," said the doctor.
mary isabel went to the doctor's desk and wrote a very brief note.
dear louisa: i am going to be married to dr. hamilton right away.
i've seen him often at the shore this summer.
i would like you to be present at the ceremony if you choose.
mary isabel.
tommy ran across the field with the note.
it had now ceased raining and the clouds were breaking.
mary isabel thought that a good omen.
she and the doctor watched tommy from the window.
they saw louisa come to the door, take the note, and shut the door in tommy's face.
ten minutes later she reappeared, habited in her mackintosh, with her second-best bonnet on.
""she's -- coming," said mary isabel, trembling.
the doctor put his arm protectingly about the little lady.
mary isabel tossed her head.
""oh, i'm not -- i'm only excited.
i shall never be afraid of louisa again."
louisa came grimly over the field, up the verandah steps, and into the room without knocking.
""mary isabel," she said, glaring at her sister and ignoring the doctor entirely, "did you mean what you said in that letter?"
""yes, i did," said mary isabel firmly.
""you are going to be married to that man in this shameless, indecent haste?"
""yes."
""and nothing i can say will have the least effect on you?"
""not the slightest."
""then," said louisa, more grimly than ever, "all i ask of you is to come home and be married from under your father's roof.
do have that much respect for your parents" memory, at least."
""of course i will," cried mary isabel impulsively, softening at once.
""of course we will -- wo n't we?"
she asked, turning prettily to the doctor.
""just as you say," he answered gallantly.
louisa snorted.
""i'll go home and air the parlour," she said.
""it's lucky i baked that fruitcake monday.
you can come when you're ready."
she stalked home across the field.
in a few minutes the doctor and mary isabel followed, and behind them came the young minister, carrying his blue book under his arm, and trying hard and not altogether successfully to look grave.
the twins and a wedding sometimes johnny and i wonder what would really have happened if we had never started for cousin pamelia's wedding.
i think that ted would have come back some time; but johnny says he does n't believe he ever would, and johnny ought to know, because johnny's a boy.
anyhow, he could n't have come back for four years.
however, we did start for the wedding and so things came out all right, and ted said we were a pair of twin special providences.
johnny and i fully expected to go to cousin pamelia's wedding because we had always been such chums with her.
and she did write to mother to be sure and bring us, but father and mother did n't want to be bothered with us.
that is the plain truth of the matter.
they are good parents, as parents go in this world; i do n't think we could have picked out much better, all things considered; but johnny and i have always known that they never want to take us with them anywhere if they can get out of it.
uncle fred says that it is no wonder, since we are a pair of holy terrors for getting into mischief and keeping everybody in hot water.
but i think we are pretty good, considering all the temptations we have to be otherwise.
and, of course, twins have just twice as many as ordinary children.
anyway, father and mother said we would have to stay home with hannah jane.
this decision came upon us, as johnny says, like a bolt from the blue.
at first we could n't believe they were not joking.
why, we felt that we simply had to go to pamelia's wedding.
we had never been to a wedding in our lives and we were just aching to see what it would be like.
besides, we had written a marriage ode to pamelia and we wanted to present it to her.
johnny was to recite it, and he had been practising it out behind the carriage house for a week.
i wrote the most of it.
i can write poetry as slick as anything.
johnny helped me hunt out the rhymes.
that is the hardest thing about writing poetry, it is so difficult to find rhymes.
johnny would find me a rhyme and then i would write a line to suit it, and we got on swimmingly.
when we realized that father and mother meant what they said we were just too miserable to live.
when i went to bed that night i simply pulled the clothes over my face and howled quietly.
i could n't help it when i thought of pamelia's white silk dress and tulle veil and flower girls and all the rest.
johnny said it was the wedding dinner he thought about.
boys are like that, you know.
father and mother went away on the early morning train, telling us to be good twins and not bother hannah jane.
it would have been more to the point if they had told hannah jane not to bother us.
she worries more about our bringing up than mother does.
i was sitting on the front doorstep after they had gone when johnny came around the corner, looking so mysterious and determined that i knew he had thought of something splendid.
""sue," said johnny impressively, "if you have any real sporting blood in you now is the time to show it.
if you've enough grit we'll get to pamelia's wedding after all."
""how?"
i said as soon as i was able to say anything.
""we'll just go.
we'll take the ten o'clock train.
it will get to marsden by eleven-thirty and that'll be in plenty of time.
the wedding is n't until twelve."
""but we've never been on the train alone, and we've never been to marsden at all!"
i gasped.
""oh, of course, if you're going to hatch up all sorts of difficulties!"
said johnny scornfully.
""i thought you had more spunk!"
""oh, i have, johnny," i said eagerly.
""i'm all spunk.
and i'll do anything you'll do.
but wo n't father and mother be perfectly savage?"
""of course.
but we'll be there and they ca n't send us home again, so we'll see the wedding.
we'll be punished afterwards all right, but we'll have had the fun, do n't you see?"
i saw.
i went right upstairs to dress, trusting everything blindly to johnny.
i put on my best pale blue shirred silk hat and my blue organdie dress and my high-heeled slippers.
johnny whistled when he saw me, but he never said a word; there are times when johnny is a duck.
we slipped away when hannah jane was feeding the hens.
""i'll buy the tickets," explained johnny.
""i've got enough money left out of my last month's allowance because i did n't waste it all on candy as you did.
you'll have to pay me back when you get your next month's jink, remember.
i'll ask the conductor to tell us when we get to marsden.
uncle fred's house is n't far from the station, and we'll be sure to know it by all the cherry trees round it."
it sounded easy, and it was easy.
we had a jolly ride, and finally the conductor came along and said, "here's your jumping-off place, kiddies."
johnny did n't like being called a kiddy, but i saw the conductor's eye resting admiringly on my blue silk hat and i forgave him.
marsden was a pretty little village, and away up the road we saw uncle fred's place, for it was fairly smothered in cherry trees all white with lovely bloom.
we started for it as fast as we could go, for we knew we had no time to lose.
it is perfectly dreadful trying to hurry when you have on high-heeled shoes, but i said nothing and just tore along, for i knew johnny would have no sympathy for me.
we finally reached the house and turned in at the open gate of the lawn.
i thought everything looked very peaceful and quiet for a wedding to be under way and i had a sickening idea that it was too late and it was all over.
""nonsense!"
said johnny, cross as a bear, because he was really afraid of it too.
""i suppose everybody is inside the house.
no, there are two people over there by that bench.
let us go and ask them if this is the right place, because if it is n't we have no time to lose."
we ran across the lawn to the two people.
one of them was a young lady, the very prettiest young lady i had ever seen.
she was tall and stately, just like the heroine in a book, and she had lovely curly brown hair and big blue eyes and the most dazzling complexion.
but she looked very cross and disdainful and i knew the minute i saw her that she had been quarrelling with the young man.
he was standing in front of her and he was as handsome as a prince.
but he looked angry too.
altogether, you never saw a crosser-looking couple.
just as we came up we heard the young lady say, "what you ask is ridiculous and impossible, ted.
i ca n't get married at two days" notice and i do n't mean to be."
and he said, "very well, una, i am sorry you think so.
you would not think so if you really cared anything for me.
it is just as well i have found out you do n't.
i am going away in two days" time and i shall not return in a hurry, una."
""i do not care if you never return," she said.
that was a fib and well i knew it.
but the young man did n't -- men are so stupid at times.
he swung around on one foot without replying and he would have gone in another second if he had not nearly fallen over johnny and me.
""please, sir," said johnny respectfully, but hurriedly.
""we're looking for mr. frederick murray's place.
is this it?"
""no," said the young man a little gruffly.
""this is mrs. franklin's place.
frederick murray lives at marsden, ten miles away."
my heart gave a jump and then stopped beating.
i know it did, although johnny says it is impossible.
""is n't this marsden?"
cried johnny chokily.
""no, this is harrowsdeane," said the young man, a little more mildly.
i could n't help it.
i was tired and warm and so disappointed.
i sat right down on the rustic seat behind me and burst into tears, as the story-books say.
""oh, do n't cry, dearie," said the young lady in a very different voice from the one she had used before.
she sat down beside me and put her arms around me.
""we'll take you over to marsden if you've got off at the wrong station."
""but it will be too late," i sobbed wildly.
""the wedding is to be at twelve -- and it's nearly that now -- and oh, johnny, i do think you might try to comfort me!"
for johnny had stuck his hands in his pockets and turned his back squarely on me.
i thought it so unkind of him.
i did n't know then that it was because he was afraid he was going to cry right there before everybody, and i felt deserted by all the world.
""tell me all about it," said the young lady.
so i told her as well as i could all about the wedding and how wild we were to see it and why we were running away to it.
""and now it's all no use," i wailed.
""and we'll be punished when they find out just the same.
i would n't mind being punished if we had n't missed the wedding.
we've never seen a wedding -- and pamelia was to wear a white silk dress -- and have flower girls -- and oh, my heart is just broken.
i shall never get over this -- never -- if i live to be as old as methuselah."
""what can we do for them?"
said the young lady, looking up at the young man and smiling a little.
she seemed to have forgotten that they had just quarrelled.
""i ca n't bear to see children disappointed.
i remember my own childhood too well."
""i really do n't know what we can do," said the young man, smiling back, "unless we get married right here and now for their sakes.
if it is a wedding they want to see and nothing else will do them, that is the only idea i can suggest."
""nonsense!"
said the young lady.
but she said it as if she would rather like to be persuaded it was n't nonsense.
i looked up at her.
""oh, if you have any notion of being married i wish you would right off," i said eagerly.
""any wedding would do just as well as pamelia's.
please do."
the young lady laughed.
""one might just as well be married at two hours" notice as two days"," she said.
""una," said the young man, bending towards her, "will you marry me here and now?
do n't send me away alone to the other side of the world, una."
""what on earth would auntie say?"
said una helplessly.
""mrs. franklin would n't object if you told her you were going to be married in a balloon."
""i do n't see how we could arrange -- oh, ted, it's absurd.""
't is n't.
it's highly sensible.
i'll go straight to town on my wheel for the licence and ring and i'll be back in an hour.
you can be ready by that time."
for a moment una hesitated.
then she said suddenly to me, "what is your name, dearie?"
""sue murray," i said, "and this is my brother, johnny.
we're twins.
we've been twins for ten years."
""well, sue, i'm going to let you decide for me.
this gentleman here, whose name is theodore prentice, has to start for japan in two days and will have to remain there for four years.
he received his orders only yesterday.
he wants me to marry him and go with him.
now, i shall leave it to you to consent or refuse for me.
shall i marry him or shall i not?"
""marry him, of course," said i promptly.
johnny says she knew i would say that when she left it to me.
""very well," said una calmly.
""ted, you may go for the necessaries.
sue, you must be my bridesmaid and johnny shall be best man.
come, we'll go into the house and break the news to auntie."
i never felt so interested and excited in my life.
it seemed too good to be true.
una and i went into the house and there we found the sweetest, pinkest, plumpest old lady asleep in an easy-chair.
una wakened her and said, "auntie, i'm going to be married to mr. prentice in an hour's time."
that was a most wonderful old lady!
all she said was, "dear me!"
you'd have thought una had simply told her she was going out for a walk.
""ted has gone for licence and ring and minister," una went on.
""we shall be married out under the cherry trees and i'll wear my new white organdie.
we shall leave for japan in two days.
these children are sue and johnny murray who have come out to see a wedding -- any wedding.
ted and i are getting married just to please them."
""dear me!"
said the old lady again.
""this is rather sudden.
still -- if you must.
well, i'll go and see what there is in the house to eat."
she toddled away, smiling, and una turned to me.
she was laughing, but there were tears in her eyes.
""you blessed accidents!"
she said, with a little tremble in her voice.
""if you had n't happened just then ted would have gone away in a rage and i might never have seen him again.
come now, sue, and help me dress."
johnny stayed in the hall and i went upstairs with una.
we had such an exciting time getting her dressed.
she had the sweetest white organdie you ever saw, all frills and laces.
i'm sure pamelia's silk could n't have been half so pretty.
but she had no veil, and i felt rather disappointed about that.
then there was a knock at the door and mrs. franklin came in, with her arms full of something all fine and misty like a lacy cobweb.
""i've brought you my wedding veil, dearie," she said.
""i wore it forty years ago.
and god bless you, dearie.
i ca n't stop a minute.
the boy is killing the chickens and bridget is getting ready to broil them.
mrs. jenner's son across the road has just gone down to the bakery for a wedding cake."
with that she toddled off again.
she was certainly a wonderful old lady.
i just thought of mother in her place.
well, mother would simply have gone wild entirely.
when una was dressed she looked as beautiful as a dream.
the boy had finished killing the chickens, and mrs. franklin had sent him up with a basket of roses for us, and we had each the loveliest bouquet.
before long ted came back with the minister, and the next thing we knew we were all standing out on the lawn under the cherry trees and una and ted were being married.
i was too happy to speak.
i had never thought of being a bridesmaid in my wildest dreams and here i was one.
how thankful i was that i had put on my blue organdie and my shirred hat!
i was n't a bit nervous and i do n't believe una was either.
mrs. franklin stood at one side with a smudge of flour on her nose, and she had forgotten to take off her apron.
bridget and the boy watched us from the kitchen garden.
it was all like a beautiful, bewildering dream.
but the ceremony was horribly solemn.
i am sure i shall never have the courage to go through with anything of the sort, but johnny says i will change my mind when i grow up.
when it was all over i nudged johnny and said "ode" in a fierce whisper.
johnny immediately stepped out before una and recited it.
pamelia's name was mentioned three times and of course he should have put una in place of it, but he forgot.
you ca n't remember everything.
""you dear funny darlings!"
said una, kissing us both.
johnny did n't like that, but he said he did n't mind it in a bride.
then we had dinner, and i thought mrs. franklin more wonderful than ever.
i could n't have believed any woman could have got up such a spread at two hours" notice.
of course, some credit must be given to bridget and the boy.
johnny and i were hungry enough by this time and we enjoyed that repast to the full.
we went home on the evening train.
ted and una came to the station with us, and una said she would write me when she got to japan, and ted said he would be obliged to us forever and ever.
when we got home we found hannah jane and father and mother -- who had arrived there an hour before us -- simply distracted.
they were so glad to see us safe and sound that they did n't even scold us, and when father heard our story he laughed until the tears came into his eyes.
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___lucy_maud_montgomery_short_stories,_1909_to_1922.txt.out
a golden wedding the land dropped abruptly down from the gate, and a thick, shrubby growth of young apple orchard almost hid the little weather-grey house from the road.
this was why the young man who opened the sagging gate could not see that it was boarded up, and did not cease his cheerful whistling until he had pressed through the crowding trees and found himself almost on the sunken stone doorstep over which in olden days honeysuckle had been wont to arch.
now only a few straggling, uncared-for vines clung forlornly to the shingles, and the windows were, as has been said, all boarded up.
the whistle died on the young man's lips and an expression of blank astonishment and dismay settled down on his face -- a good, kindly, honest face it was, although perhaps it did not betoken any pronounced mental gifts on the part of its owner.
""what can have happened?"
he said to himself.
""uncle tom and aunt sally ca n't be dead -- i'd have seen their deaths in the paper if they was.
and i'd a-thought if they'd moved away it'd been printed too.
they ca n't have been gone long -- that flower-bed must have been made up last spring.
well, this is a kind of setback for a fellow.
here i've been tramping all the way from the station, a-thinking how good it would be to see aunt sally's sweet old face again, and hear uncle tom's laugh, and all i find is a boarded-up house going to seed.
s'pose i might as well toddle over to stetsons" and inquire if they have n't disappeared, too."
he went through the old firs back of the lot and across the field to a rather shabby house beyond.
a cheery-faced woman answered his knock and looked at him in a puzzled fashion.
""have you forgot me, mrs. stetson?
do n't you remember lovell stevens and how you used to give him plum tarts when he'd bring your turkeys home?"
mrs. stetson caught both his hands in a hearty clasp.
""i guess i have n't forgotten!"
she declared.
""well, well, and you're lovell!
i think i ought to know your face, though you've changed a lot.
fifteen years have made a big difference in you.
come right in.
pa, this is lovell -- you mind lovell, the boy aunt sally and uncle tom had for years?"
""reckon i do," drawled jonah stetson with a friendly grin.
""ai n't likely to forget some of the capers you used to be cutting up.
you've filled out considerable.
where have you been for the last ten years?
aunt sally fretted a lot over you, thinking you was dead or gone to the bad."
lovell's face clouded.
""i know i ought to have written," he said repentantly, "but you know i'm a terrible poor scholar, and i'd do most anything than try to write a letter.
but where's uncle tom and aunt sally gone?
surely they ai n't dead?"
""no," said jonah stetson slowly, "no -- but i guess they'd rather be.
they're in the poorhouse."
""the poorhouse!
aunt sally in the poorhouse!"
exclaimed lovell.
""yes, and it's a burning shame," declared mrs. stetson.
""aunt sally's just breaking her heart from the disgrace of it.
but it did n't seem as if it could be helped.
uncle tom got so crippled with rheumatism he could n't work and aunt sally was too frail to do anything.
they had n't any relations and there was a mortgage on the house."
""there was n't any when i went away."
""no; they had to borrow money six years ago when uncle tom had his first spell of rheumatic fever.
this spring it was clear that there was nothing for them but the poorhouse.
they went three months ago and terrible hard they took it, especially aunt sally, i felt awful about it myself.
jonah and i would have took them if we could, but we just could n't -- we've nothing but jonah's wages and we have eight children and not a bit of spare room.
i go over to see aunt sally as often as i can and take her some little thing, but i dunno's she would n't rather not see anybody than see them in the poorhouse."
lovell weighed his hat in his hands and frowned over it reflectively.
""who owns the house now?"
""peter townley.
he held the mortgage.
and all the old furniture was sold too, and that most killed aunt sally.
but do you know what she's fretting over most of all?
she and uncle tom will have been married fifty years in a fortnight's time and aunt sally thinks it's awful to have to spend their golden wedding anniversary in the poorhouse.
she talks about it all the time.
you're not going, lovell" -- for lovell had risen -- "you must stop with us, since your old home is closed up.
we'll scare you up a shakedown to sleep on and you're welcome as welcome.
i have n't forgot the time you caught mary ellen just as she was tumbling into the well."
""thank you, i'll stay to tea," said lovell, sitting down again, "but i guess i'll make my headquarters up at the station hotel as long as i stay round here.
it's kind of more central."
""got on pretty well out west, hey?"
queried jonah.
""pretty well for a fellow who had nothing but his two hands to depend on when he went out," said lovell cautiously.
""i've only been a labouring man, of course, but i've saved up enough to start a little store when i go back.
that's why i came east for a trip now -- before i'd be tied down to business.
i was hankering to see aunt sally and uncle tom once more.
i'll never forget how kind and good they was to me.
there i was, when dad died, a little sinner of eleven, just heading for destruction.
they give me a home and all the schooling i ever had and all the love i ever got.
it was aunt sally's teachings made as much a man of me as i am.
i never forgot'em and i've tried to live up to'em."
after tea lovell said he thought he'd stroll up the road and pay peter townley a call.
jonah stetson and his wife looked at each other when he had gone.
""got something in his eye," nodded jonah.
""him and peter were n't never much of friends."
""maybe aunt sally's bread is coming back to her after all," said his wife.
""people used to be hard on lovell.
but i always liked him and i'm real glad he's turned out so well."
lovell came back to the stetsons" the next evening.
in the interval he had seen aunt sally and uncle tom.
the meeting had been both glad and sad.
lovell had also seen other people.
""i've bought uncle tom's old house from peter townley," he said quietly, "and i want you folks to help me out with my plans.
uncle tom and aunt sally ai n't going to spend their golden wedding in the poorhouse -- no, sir.
they'll spend it in their own home with their old friends about them.
but they're not to know anything about it till the very night.
do you s "pose any of the old furniture could be got back?"
""i believe every stick of it could," said mrs. stetson excitedly.
""most of it was bought by folks living handy and i do n't believe one of them would refuse to sell it back.
uncle tom's old chair is here to begin with -- aunt sally give me that herself.
she said she could n't bear to have it sold.
mrs. isaac appleby at the station bought the set of pink-sprigged china and james parker bought the grandfather's clock and the whatnot is at the stanton grays"."
for the next fortnight lovell and mrs. stetson did so much travelling round together that jonah said genially he might as well be a bachelor as far as meals and buttons went.
they visited every house where a bit of aunt sally's belongings could be found.
very successful they were too, and at the end of their jaunting the interior of the little house behind the apple trees looked very much as it had looked when aunt sally and uncle tom lived there.
meanwhile, mrs. stetson had been revolving a design in her mind, and one afternoon she did some canvassing on her own account.
the next time she saw lovell she said: "we ai n't going to let you do it all.
the women folks around here are going to furnish the refreshments for the golden wedding and the girls are going to decorate the house with golden rod."
the evening of the wedding anniversary came.
everybody in blair was in the plot, including the matron of the poorhouse.
that night aunt sally watched the sunset over the hills through bitter tears.
""i never thought i'd be celebrating my golden wedding in the poorhouse," she sobbed.
uncle tom put his twisted hand on her shaking old shoulder, but before he could utter any words of comfort lovell stevens stood before them.
""just get your bonnet on, aunt sally," he cried jovially, "and both of you come along with me.
i've got a buggy here for you... and you might as well say goodbye to this place, for you're not coming back to it any more."
""lovell, oh, what do you mean?"
said aunt sally tremulously.
""i'll explain what i mean as we drive along.
hurry up -- the folks are waiting."
when they reached the little old house, it was all aglow with light.
aunt sally gave a cry as she entered it.
all her old household goods were back in their places.
there were some new ones too, for lovell had supplied all that was lacking.
the house was full of their old friends and neighbours.
mrs. stetson welcomed them home again.
""oh, tom," whispered aunt sally, tears of happiness streaming down her old face, "oh, tom, is n't god good?"
they had a right royal celebration, and a supper such as the blair housewives could produce.
there were speeches and songs and tales.
lovell kept himself in the background and helped mrs. stetson cut cake in the pantry all the evening.
but when the guests had gone, he went to aunt sally and uncle tom, who were sitting by the fire.
""here's a little golden wedding present for you," he said awkwardly, putting a purse into aunt sally's hand.
""i reckon there's enough there to keep you from ever having to go to the poorhouse again and if not, there'll be more where that comes from when it's done."
there were twenty-five bright twenty-dollar gold pieces in the purse.
""we ca n't take it, lovell," protested aunt sally.
""you ca n't afford it."
""do n't you worry about that," laughed lovell.
""out west men do n't think much of a little wad like that.
i owe you far more than can be paid in cash, aunt sally.
you must take it -- i want to know there's a little home here for me and two kind hearts in it, no matter where i roam."
""god bless you, lovell," said uncle tom huskily.
""you do n't know what you've done for sally and me."
that night, when lovell went to the little bedroom off the parlour -- for aunt sally, rejoicing in the fact that she was again mistress of a spare room, would not hear of his going to the station hotel -- he gazed at his reflection in the gilt-framed mirror soberly.
""you've just got enough left to pay your passage back west, old fellow," he said, "and then it's begin all over again just where you begun before.
but aunt sally's face was worth it all -- yes, sir.
and you've got your two hands still and an old couple's prayers and blessings.
not such a bad capital, lovell, not such a bad capital."
a redeeming sacrifice the dance at byron lyall's was in full swing.
toff leclerc, the best fiddler in three counties, was enthroned on the kitchen table and from the glossy brown violin, which his grandfather brought from grand pré, was conjuring music which made even stiff old aunt phemy want to show her steps.
around the kitchen sat a row of young men and women, and the open sitting-room doorway was crowded with the faces of non-dancing guests who wanted to watch the sets.
an eight-hand reel had just been danced and the girls, giddy from the much swinging of the final figure, had been led back to their seats.
mattie lyall came out with a dipper of water and sprinkled the floor, from which a fine dust was rising.
toff's violin purred under his hands as he waited for the next set to form.
the dancers were slow about it.
there was not the rush for the floor that there had been earlier in the evening, for the supper table was now spread in the dining-room and most of the guests were hungry.
""fill up dere, boys," shouted the fiddler impatiently.
""bring out your gals for de nex" set."
after a moment paul king led out joan shelley from the shadowy corner where they had been sitting.
they had already danced several sets together; joan had not danced with anybody else that evening.
as they stood together under the light from the lamp on the shelf above them, many curious and disapproving eyes watched them.
connor mitchell, who had been standing in the open outer doorway with the moonlight behind him, turned abruptly on his heel and went out.
paul king leaned his head against the wall and watched the watchers with a smiling, defiant face as they waited for the set to form.
he was a handsome fellow, with the easy, winning ways that women love.
his hair curled in bronze masses about his head; his dark eyes were long and drowsy and laughing; there was a swarthy bloom on his round cheeks; and his lips were as red and beguiling as a girl's.
a bad egg was paul king, with a bad past and a bad future.
he was shiftless and drunken; ugly tales were told of him.
not a man in lyall's house that night but grudged him the privilege of standing up with joan shelley.
joan was a slight, blossom-like girl in white, looking much like the pale, sweet-scented house rose she wore in her dark hair.
her face was colourless and young, very pure and softly curved.
she had wonderfully sweet, dark blue eyes, generally dropped down, with notably long black lashes.
there were many showier girls in the groups around her, but none half so lovely.
she made all the rosy-cheeked beauties seem coarse and over-blown.
she left in paul's clasp the hand by which he had led her out on the floor.
now and then he shifted his gaze from the faces before him to hers.
when he did, she always looked up and they exchanged glances as if they had been utterly alone.
three other couples gradually took the floor and the reel began.
joan drifted through the figures with the grace of a wind-blown leaf.
paul danced with rollicking abandon, seldom taking his eyes from joan's face.
when the last mad whirl was over, joan's brother came up and told her in an angry tone to go into the next room and dance no more, since she would dance with only one man.
joan looked at paul.
that look meant that she would do as he, and none other, told her.
paul nodded easily -- he did not want any fuss just then -- and the girl went obediently into the room.
as she turned from him, paul coolly reached out his hand and took the rose from her hair; then, with a triumphant glance around the room, he went out.
the autumn night was very clear and chill, with a faint, moaning wind blowing up from the northwest over the sea that lay shimmering before the door.
out beyond the cove the boats were nodding and curtsying on the swell, and over the shore fields the great red star of the lighthouse flared out against the silvery sky.
paul, with a whistle, sauntered down the sandy lane, thinking of joan.
how mightily he loved her -- he, paul king, who had made a mock of so many women and had never loved before!
ah, and she loved him.
she had never said so in words, but eyes and tones had said it -- she, joan shelley, the pick and pride of the harbour girls, whom so many men had wooed, winning their trouble for their pains.
he had won her; she was his and his only, for the asking.
his heart was seething with pride and triumph and passion as he strode down to the shore and flung himself on the cold sand in the black shadow of michael brown's beached boat.
byron lyall, a grizzled, elderly man, half farmer, half fisherman, and maxwell holmes, the prospect schoolteacher, came up to the boat presently.
paul lay softly and listened to what they were saying.
he was not troubled by any sense of dishonour.
honour was something paul king could not lose since it was something he had never possessed.
they were talking of him and joan.
""what a shame that a girl like joan shelley should throw herself away on a man like that," holmes said.
byron lyall removed the pipe he was smoking and spat reflectively at his shadow.
""darned shame," he agreed.
""that girl's life will be ruined if she marries him, plum" ruined, and marry him she will.
he's bewitched her -- darned if i can understand it.
a dozen better men have wanted her -- connor mitchell for one.
and he's a honest, steady fellow with a good home to offer her.
if king had left her alone, she'd have taken connor.
she used to like him well enough.
but that's all over.
she's infatuated with king, the worthless scamp.
she'll marry him and be sorry for it to her last day.
he's bad clear through and always will be.
why, look you, teacher, most men pull up a bit when they're courting a girl, no matter how wild they've been and will be again.
paul has n't.
it has n't made any difference.
he was dead drunk night afore last at the harbour head, and he has n't done a stroke of work for a month.
and yet joan shelley'll take him."
""what are her people thinking of to let her go with him?"
asked holmes.
""she has n't any but her brother.
he's against paul, of course, but it wo n't matter.
the girl's fancy's caught and she'll go her own gait to ruin.
ruin, i tell ye.
if she marries that handsome ne'er - do-well, she'll be a wretched woman all her days and none to pity her."
the two moved away then, and paul lay motionless, face downward on the sand, his lips pressed against joan's sweet, crushed rose.
he felt no anger over byron lyall's unsparing condemnation.
he knew it was true, every word of it.
he was a worthless scamp and always would be.
he knew that perfectly well.
it was in his blood.
none of his race had ever been respectable and he was worse than them all.
he had no intention of trying to reform because he could not and because he did not even want to.
he was not fit to touch joan's hand.
yet he had meant to marry her!
but to spoil her life!
would it do that?
yes, it surely would.
and if he were out of the way, taking his baleful charm out of her life, connor mitchell might and doubtless would win her yet and give her all he could not.
the man suddenly felt his eyes wet with tears.
he had never shed a tear in his daredevil life before, but they came hot and stinging now.
something he had never known or thought of before entered into his passion and purified it.
he loved joan.
did he love her well enough to stand aside and let another take the sweetness and grace that was now his own?
did he love her well enough to save her from the poverty-stricken, shamed life she must lead with him?
did he love her better than himself?
""i ai n't fit to think of her," he groaned.
""i never did a decent thing in my life, as they say.
but how can i give her up -- god, how can i?"
he lay still a long time after that, until the moonlight crept around the boat and drove away the shadow.
then he got up and went slowly down to the water's edge with joan's rose, all wet with his unaccustomed tears, in his hands.
slowly and reverently he plucked off the petals and scattered them on the ripples, where they drifted lightly off like fairy shallops on moonshine.
when the last one had fluttered from his fingers, he went back to the house and hunted up captain alec matheson, who was smoking his pipe in a corner of the verandah and watching the young folks dancing through the open door.
the two men talked together for some time.
when the dance broke up and the guests straggled homeward, paul sought joan.
rob shelley had his own girl to see home and relinquished the guardianship of his sister with a scowl.
paul strode out of the kitchen and down the steps at the side of joan, smiling with his usual daredeviltry.
he whistled noisily all the way up the lane.
""great little dance," he said.
""my last in prospect for a spell, i guess."
""why?"
asked joan wonderingly.
""oh, i'm going to take a run down to south america in matheson's schooner.
lord knows when i'll come back.
this old place has got too deadly dull to suit me.
i'm going to look for something livelier."
joan's lips turned ashen under the fringes of her white fascinator.
she trembled violently and put one of her small brown hands up to her throat.
""you -- you are not coming back?"
she said faintly.
""not likely.
i'm pretty well tired of prospect and i have n't got anything to hold me here.
things'll be livelier down south."
joan said nothing more.
they walked along the spruce-fringed roads where the moonbeams laughed down through the thick, softly swaying boughs.
paul whistled one rollicking tune after another.
the girl bit her lips and clenched her hands.
he cared nothing for her -- he had been making a mock of her as of others.
hurt pride and wounded love fought each other in her soul.
pride conquered.
she would not let him, or anyone, see that she cared.
she would not care!
at her gate paul held out his hand.
""well, good-bye, joan.
i'm sailing tomorrow so i wo n't see you again -- not for years likely.
you will be some sober old married woman when i come back to prospect, if i ever do."
""good-bye," said joan steadily.
she gave him her cold hand and looked calmly into his face without quailing.
she had loved him with all her heart, but now a fatal scorn of him was already mingling with her love.
he was what they said he was, a scamp without principle or honour.
paul whistled himself out of the shelley lane and over the hill.
then he flung himself down under the spruces, crushed his face into the spicy frosted ferns, and had his black hour alone.
but when captain alec's schooner sailed out of the harbour the next day, paul king was on board of her, the wildest and most hilarious of a wild and hilarious crew.
prospect people nodded their satisfaction.
""good riddance," they said.
""paul king is black to the core.
he never did a decent thing in his life."
a soul that was not at home there was a very fine sunset on the night paul and miss trevor first met, and she had lingered on the headland beyond noel's cove to delight in it.
the west was splendid in daffodil and rose; away to the north there was a mackerel sky of little fiery golden clouds; and across the water straight from miss trevor's feet ran a sparkling path of light to the sun, whose rim had just touched the throbbing edge of the purple sea.
off to the left were softly swelling violet hills and beyond the sandshore, where little waves were crisping and silvering, there was a harbour where scores of slender masts were nodding against the gracious horizon.
miss trevor sighed with sheer happiness in all the wonderful, fleeting, elusive loveliness of sky and sea.
then she turned to look back at noel's cove, dim and shadowy in the gloom of the tall headlands, and she saw paul.
it did not occur to her that he could be a shore boy -- she knew the shore type too well.
she thought his coming mysterious, for she was sure he had not come along the sand, and the tide was too high for him to have come past the other headland.
yet there he was, sitting on a red sandstone boulder, with his bare, bronzed, shapely little legs crossed in front of him and his hands clasped around his knee.
he was not looking at miss trevor but at the sunset -- or, rather, it seemed as if he were looking through the sunset to still grander and more radiant splendours beyond, of which the things seen were only the pale reflections, not worthy of attention from those who had the gift of further sight.
miss trevor looked him over carefully with eyes that had seen a good many people in many parts of the world for more years than she found it altogether pleasant to acknowledge, and she concluded that he was quite the handsomest lad she had ever seen.
he had a lithe, supple body, with sloping shoulders and a brown, satin throat.
his hair was thick and wavy, of a fine reddish chestnut; his brows were very straight and much darker than his hair; and his eyes were large and grey and meditative.
the modelling of chin and jaw was perfect and his mouth was delicious, being full without pouting, the crimson lips just softly touching, and curving into finely finished little corners that narrowly escaped being dimpled.
his attire was a blue cotton shirt and a pair of scanty corduroy knickerbockers, but he wore it with such an unconscious air of purple and fine linen that miss trevor was tricked into believing him much better dressed than he really was.
presently he smiled dreamily, and the smile completed her subjugation.
it was not merely an affair of lip and eye, as are most smiles; it seemed an illumination of his whole body, as if some lamp had suddenly burst into flame inside of him, irradiating him from his chestnut crown to the tips of his unspoiled toes.
best of all, it was involuntary, born of no external effort or motive, but simply the outflashing of some wild, delicious thought that was as untrammelled and freakish as the wind of the sea.
miss trevor made up her mind that she must find out all about him, and she stepped out from the shadows of the rocks into the vivid, eerie light that was glowing all along the shore.
the boy turned his head and looked at her, first with surprise, then with inquiry, then with admiration.
miss trevor, in a white dress with a lace scarf on her dark, stately head, was well worth admiring.
she smiled at him and paul smiled back.
it was not quite up to his first smile, having more of the effect of being put on from the outside, but at least it conveyed the subtly flattering impression that it had been put on solely for her, and they were as good friends from that moment as if they had known each other for a hundred years.
miss trevor had enough discrimination to realize this and know that she need not waste time in becoming acquainted.
""i want to know your name and where you live and what you were looking at beyond the sunset," she said.
""my name is paul hubert.
i live over there.
and i ca n't tell just what i saw in the sunset, but when i go home i'm going to write it all in my foolscap book."
in her surprise over the second clause of his answer, miss trevor forgot, at first, to appreciate the last.
""over there," according to his gesture, was up at the head of noel's cove, where there was a little grey house perched on the rocks and looking like a large seashell cast up by the tide.
the house had a stovepipe coming out of its roof in lieu of a chimney, and two of its window panes were replaced by shingles.
could this boy, who looked as young princes should -- and seldom do -- live there?
then he was a shore boy after all.
""who lives there with you?"
she asked.
""you see" -- plaintively -- "i must ask questions about you.
i know we like each other, and that is all that really matters.
but there are some tiresome items which it would be convenient to know.
for example, have you a father -- a mother?
are there any more of you?
how long have you been yourself?"
paul did not reply immediately.
he clasped his hands behind him and looked at her affectionately.
""i like the way you talk," he said.
""i never knew anybody did talk like that except folks in books and my rock people."
""your rock people?"
""i'm eleven years old.
i have n't any father or mother, they're dead.
i live over there with stephen kane.
stephen is splendid.
he plays the violin and takes me fishing in his boat.
when i get bigger he's going shares with me.
i love him, and i love my rock people too."
""what do you mean by your rock people?"
asked miss trevor, enjoying herself hugely.
this was the only child she had ever met who talked as she wanted children to talk and who understood her remarks without having to have them translated.
""nora is one of them," said paul, "the best one of them.
i love her better than all the others because she came first.
she lives around that point and she has black eyes and black hair and she knows all about the mermaids and water kelpies.
you ought to hear the stories she can tell.
then there are the twin sailors.
they do n't live anywhere -- they sail all the time, but they often come ashore to talk to me.
they are a pair of jolly tars and they have seen everything in the world -- and more than what's in the world, if you only knew it.
do you know what happened to the youngest twin sailor once?
he was sailing and he sailed right into a moonglade.
a moonglade is the track the full moon makes on the water when it is rising from the sea, you know.
well, the youngest twin sailor sailed along the moonglade till he came right up to the moon, and there was a little golden door in the moon and he opened it and sailed right through.
he had some wonderful adventures inside the moon -- i've got them all written down in my foolscap book.
then there is the golden lady of the cave.
one day i found a big cave down the shore and i went in and in and in -- and after a while i found the golden lady.
she has golden hair right down to her feet, and her dress is all glittering and glistening like gold that is alive.
and she has a golden harp and she plays all day long on it -- you might hear the music if you'd listen carefully, but prob "bly you'd think it was only the wind among the rocks.
i've never told nora about the golden lady, because i think it would hurt her feelings.
it even hurts her feelings when i talk too long with the twin sailors.
and i hate to hurt nora's feelings, because i do love her best of all my rock people."
""paul!
how much of this is true?"
gasped miss trevor.
""why, none of it!"
said paul, opening his eyes widely and reproachfully.
""i thought you would know that.
if i'd s "posed you would n't i'd have warned you there was n't any of it true.
i thought you were one of the kind that would know."
""i am.
oh, i am!"
said miss trevor eagerly.
""i really would have known if i had stopped to think.
well, it's getting late now.
i must go back, although i do n't want to.
but i'm coming to see you again.
will you be here tomorrow afternoon?"
paul nodded.
""yes.
i promised to meet the youngest twin sailor down at the striped rocks tomorrow afternoon, but the day after will do just as well.
that is the beauty of the rock people, you know.
you can always depend on them to be there just when you want them.
the youngest twin sailor wo n't mind -- he's very good-tempered.
if it was the oldest twin i dare say he'd be cross.
i have my suspicions about that oldest twin sometimes.
i b "lieve he'd be a pirate if he dared.
you do n't know how fierce he can look at times.
there's really something very mysterious about him."
on her way back to the hotel miss trevor remembered the foolscap book.
""i must get him to show it to me," she mused, smiling.
""why, the boy is a born genius -- and to think he should be a shore boy!
i ca n't understand it.
and here i am loving him already.
well, a woman has to love something -- and you do n't have to know people for years before you can love them."
paul was waiting on the noel's cove rocks for miss trevor the next afternoon.
he was not alone; a tall man, with a lined, strong-featured face and a grey beard, was with him.
the man was clad in a rough suit and looked what he was, a "longshore fisherman.
but he had deep-set, kindly eyes, and miss trevor liked his face.
he moved off to one side when she came and stood there for a little, apparently gazing out to sea, while paul and miss trevor talked.
then he walked away up the cove and disappeared in his little grey house.
""stephen came down to see if you were a suitable person for me to talk to," said paul gravely.
""i hope he thinks i am," said miss trevor, amused.
""oh, he does!
he would n't have gone away and left us alone if he did n't.
stephen is very particular who he lets me "sociate with.
why, even the rock people now -- i had to promise i'd never let the twin sailors swear before he'd allow me to be friends with them.
sometimes i know by the look of the oldest twin that he's just dying to swear, but i never let him, because i promised stephen.
i'd do anything for stephen.
he's awful good to me.
stephen's bringing me up, you know, and he's bound to do it well.
we're just perfectly happy here, only i wish i'd more books to read.
we go fishing, and when we come home at night i help stephen clean the fish and then we sit outside the door and he plays the violin for me.
we sit there for hours sometimes.
we never talk much -- stephen is n't much of a hand for talking -- but we just sit and think.
there's not many men like stephen, i can tell you."
miss trevor did not get a glimpse of the foolscap book that day, nor for many days after.
paul blushed all over his beautiful face whenever she mentioned it.
""oh, i could n't show you that," he said uncomfortably.
""why, i've never even showed it to stephen -- or nora.
let me tell you something else instead, something that happened to me once long ago.
you'll find it more interesting than the foolscap book, only you must remember it is n't true!
you wo n't forget that, will you?"
""i'll try to remember," miss trevor agreed.
""well, i was sitting here one evening just like i was last night, and the sun was setting.
and an enchanted boat came sailing over the sea and i got into her.
the boat was all pearly like the inside of the mussel shells, and her sail was like moonshine.
well, i sailed right across to the sunset.
think of that -- i've been in the sunset!
and what do you suppose it is?
the sunset is a land all flowers, like a great garden, and the clouds are beds of flowers.
we sailed into a great big harbour, a thousand times bigger than the harbour over there at your hotel, and i stepped out of the boat on a "normous meadow all roses.
i stayed there for ever so long.
it seemed almost a year, but the youngest twin sailor says i was only away a few hours or so.
you see, in sunset land the time is ever so much longer than it is here.
but i was glad to come back too.
i'm always glad to come back to the cove and stephen.
now, you know this never really happened."
miss trevor would not give up the foolscap book so easily, but for a long time paul refused to show it to her.
she came to the cove every day, and every day paul seemed more delightful to her.
he was so quaint, so clever, so spontaneous.
yet there was nothing premature or unnatural about him.
he was wholly boy, fond of fun and frolic, not too good for little spurts of quick temper now and again, though, as he was careful to explain to miss trevor, he never showed them to a lady.
""i get real mad with the twin sailors sometimes, and even with stephen, for all he's so good to me.
but i could n't be mad with you or nora or the golden lady.
it would never do."
every day he had some new story to tell of a wonderful adventure on rock or sea, always taking the precaution of assuring her beforehand that it was n't true.
the boy's fancy was like a prism, separating every ray that fell upon it into rainbows.
he was passionately fond of the shore and water.
the only world for him beyond noel's cove was the world of his imagination.
he had no companions except stephen and the "rock people."
""and now you," he told miss trevor.
""i love you too, but i know you'll be going away before long, so i do n't let myself love you as much -- quite -- as stephen and the rock people."
""but you could, could n't you?"
pleaded miss trevor.
""if you and i were to go on being together every day, you could love me just as well as you love them, could n't you?"
paul considered in a charming way he had.
""of course i could love you better than the twin sailors and the golden lady," he announced finally.
""and i think perhaps i could love you as much as i love stephen.
but not as much as nora -- oh, no, i would n't love you quite as much as nora.
she was first, you see; she's always been there.
i feel sure i could n't ever love anybody as much as nora."
one day when stephen was out to the mackerel grounds, paul took miss trevor into the little grey house and showed her his treasures.
they climbed the ladder in one corner to the loft where paul slept.
the window of it, small and square-paned, looked seaward, and the moan of the sea and the pipe of the wind sounded there night and day.
paul had many rare shells and seaweeds, curious flotsam and jetsam of shore storms, and he had a small shelf full of books.
""they're splendid," he said enthusiastically.
""stephen brought me them all.
every time stephen goes to town to ship his mackerel he brings me home a new book."
""were you ever in town yourself?"
asked miss trevor.
""oh, yes, twice.
stephen took me.
it was a wonderful place.
i tell you, when i next met the twin sailors it was me did the talking then.
i had to tell them about all i saw and all that had happened.
and nora was ever so interested too.
the golden lady was n't, though -- she did n't hardly listen.
golden people are like that."
""would you like," said miss trevor, watching him closely, "to live always in a town and have all the books you wanted and play with real girls and boys -- and visit those strange lands your twin sailors tell you of?"
paul looked startled.
""i -- do n't -- know," he said doubtfully.
""i do n't think i'd like it very well if stephen and nora were n't there too."
but the new thought remained in his mind.
it came back to him at intervals, seeming less new and startling every time.
""and why not?"
miss trevor asked herself.
""the boy should have a chance.
i shall never have a son of my own -- he shall be to me in the place of one."
the day came when paul at last showed her the foolscap book.
he brought it to her as she sat on the rocks of the headland.
""i'm going to run around and talk to nora while you read it," he said.
""i'm afraid i've been neglecting her lately -- and i think she feels it."
miss trevor took the foolscap book.
it was made of several sheets of paper sewed together and encased in an oilcloth cover.
it was nearly filled with writing in a round childish hand and it was very neat, although the orthography was rather wild and the punctuation capricious.
miss trevor read it through in no very long time.
it was a curious medley of quaint thoughts and fancies.
conversations with the twin sailors filled many of the pages; accounts of paul's "adventures" occupied others.
sometimes it seemed impossible that a child of eleven should have written them, then would come an expression so boyish and naive that miss trevor laughed delightedly over it.
when she finished the book and closed it she found stephen kane at her elbow.
he removed his pipe and nodded at the foolscap book.
""what do you think of it?"
he said.
""i think it is wonderful.
paul is a very clever child."
""i've often thought so," said stephen laconically.
he thrust his hands into his pockets and gazed moodily out to sea.
miss trevor had never before had an opportunity to talk to him in paul's absence and she determined to make the most of it.
""i want to know something about paul," she said, "all about him.
is he any relation to you?"
""no.
i expected to marry his mother once, though," said stephen unemotionally.
his hand in his pocket was clutching his pipe fiercely, but miss trevor could not know that.
""she was a shore girl and very pretty.
well, she fell in love with a young fellow that came teaching up t" the harbour school and he with her.
they got married and she went away with him.
he was a good enough sort of chap.
i know that now, though once i was n't disposed to think much good of him.
but't was a mistake all the same; rachel could n't live away from the shore.
she fretted and pined and broke her heart for it away there in his world.
finally her husband died and she came back -- but it was too late for her.
she only lived a month -- and there was paul, a baby of two.
i took him.
there was nobody else.
rachel had no relatives nor her husband either.
i've done what i could for him -- not that it's been much, perhaps."
""i am sure you have done a great deal for him," said miss trevor rather patronizingly.
""but i think he should have more than you can give him now.
he should be sent to school."
stephen nodded.
""maybe.
he never went to school.
the harbour school was too far away.
i taught him to read and write and bought him all the books i could afford.
but i ca n't do any more for him."
""but i can," said miss trevor, "and i want to.
will you give paul to me, mr. kane?
i love him dearly and he shall have every advantage.
i'm rich -- i can do a great deal for him."
stephen continued to gaze out to sea with an expressionless face.
finally he said: "i've been expecting to hear you say something of the sort.
i do n't know.
if you took paul away, he'd grow to be a cleverer man and a richer man maybe, but would he be any better -- or happier?
he's his mother's son -- he loves the sea and its ways.
there's nothing of his father in him except his hankering after books.
but i wo n't choose for him -- he can go if he likes -- he can go if he likes."
in the end paul "liked," since stephen refused to influence him by so much as a word.
paul thought stephen did n't seem to care much whether he went or stayed, and he was dazzled by miss trevor's charm and the lure of books and knowledge she held out to him.
""i'll go, i guess," he said, with a long sigh.
miss trevor clasped him close to her and kissed him maternally.
paul kissed her cheek shyly in return.
he thought it very wonderful that he was to live with her always.
he felt happy and excited -- so happy and excited that the parting when it came slipped over him lightly.
miss trevor even thought he took it too easily and had a vague wish that he had shown more sorrow.
stephen said farewell to the boy he loved better than life with no visible emotion.
""good-bye, paul.
be a good boy and learn all you can."
he hesitated a moment and then said slowly, "if you do n't like it, come back."
""did you bid good-bye to your rock people?"
miss trevor asked him with a smile as they drove away.
""no.
i -- could n't -- i -- i -- did n't even tell them i was going away.
nora would break her heart.
i'd rather not talk of them anymore, if you please.
maybe i wo n't want them when i've plenty of books and lots of other boys and girls -- real ones -- to play with."
they drove the ten miles to the town where they were to take the train the next day.
paul enjoyed the drive and the sights of the busy streets at its end.
he was all excitement and animation.
after they had had tea at the house of the friend where miss trevor meant to spend the night, they went for a walk in the park.
paul was tired and very quiet when they came back.
he was put away to sleep in a bedroom whose splendours frightened him, and left alone.
at first paul lay very still on his luxurious perfumed pillows.
it was the first night he had ever spent away from the little seaward-looking loft where he could touch the rafters with his hands.
he thought of it now and a lump came into his throat and a strange, new, bitter longing came into his heart.
he missed the sea plashing on the rocks below him -- he could not sleep without that old lullaby.
he turned his face into the pillow, and the longing and loneliness grew worse and hurt him until he moaned.
oh, he wanted to be back home!
surely he had not left it -- he could never have meant to leave it.
out there the stars would be shining over the harbour.
stephen would be sitting at the door, all alone, with his violin.
but he would not be playing it -- all at once paul knew he would not be playing it.
he would be sitting there with his head bowed and the loneliness in his heart calling to the loneliness in paul's heart over all the miles between them.
oh, he could never have really meant to leave stephen.
and nora?
nora would be down on the rocks waiting for him -- for him, paul, who would never come to her more.
he could see her elfin little face peering around the point, watching for him wistfully.
paul sat up in bed, choking with tears.
oh, what were books and strange countries?
-- what was even miss trevor, the friend of a month?
-- to the call of the sea and stephen's kind, deep eyes and his dear rock people?
he could not stay away from them -- never -- never.
he slipped out of bed very softly and dressed in the dark.
then he lighted the lamp timidly and opened the little brown chest stephen had given him.
it held his books and his treasures, but he took out only a pencil, a bit of paper and the foolscap book.
with a hand shaking in his eagerness, he wrote: dear miss trever im going back home, dont be fritened about me because i know the way.
ive got to go.
something is calling me.
dont be cross.
i love you, but i cant stay.
im leaving my foolscap book for you, you can keep it always but i must go back to stephen and nora paul he put the note on the foolscap book and laid them on the table.
then he blew out the light, took his cap and went softly out.
the house was very still.
holding his breath, he tiptoed downstairs and opened the front door.
before it ran the street which went, he knew, straight out to the country road that led home.
paul closed the door and stole down the steps, his heart beating painfully, but when he reached the sidewalk he broke into a frantic run under the limes.
it was late and no one was out on that quiet street.
he ran until his breath gave out, then walked miserably until he recovered it, and then ran again.
he dared not stop running until he was out of that horrible town, which seemed like a prison closing around him, where the houses shut out the stars and the wind could only creep in a narrow space like a fettered, cringing thing, instead of sweeping grandly over great salt wastes of sea.
at last the houses grew few and scattered, and finally he left them behind.
he drew a long breath; this was better -- rather smothering yet, of course, with nothing but hills and fields and dark woods all about him, but at least his own sky was above him, looking just the same as it looked out home at noel's cove.
he recognized the stars as friends; how often stephen had pointed them out to him as they sat at night by the door of the little house.
he was not at all frightened now.
he knew the way home and the kind night was before him.
every step was bringing him nearer to stephen and nora and the twin sailors.
he whistled as he walked sturdily along.
the dawn was just breaking when he reached noel's cove.
the eastern sky was all pale rose and silver, and the sea was mottled over with dear grey ripples.
in the west over the harbour the sky was a very fine ethereal blue and the wind blew from there, salt and bracing.
paul was tired, but he ran lightly down the shelving rocks to the cove.
stephen was getting ready to launch his boat.
when he saw paul he started and a strange, vivid, exultant expression flashed across his face.
paul felt a sudden chill -- the upspringing fountain of his gladness was checked in mid-leap.
he had known no doubt on the way home -- all that long, weary walk he had known no doubt -- but now?
""stephen," he cried.
""i've come back!
i had to!
stephen, are you glad -- are you glad?"
stephen's face was as emotionless as ever.
the burst of feeling which had frightened paul by its unaccustomedness had passed like a fleeting outbreak of sunshine between dull clouds.
""i reckon i am," he said.
""yes, i reckon i am.
i kind of -- hoped -- you would come back.
you'd better go in and get some breakfast."
paul's eyes were as radiant as the deepening dawn.
he knew stephen was glad and he knew there was nothing more to be said about it.
they were back just where they were before miss trevor came -- back in their perfect, unmarred, sufficient comradeship.
""i must just run around and see nora first," said paul.
abel and his great adventure "come out of doors, master -- come out of doors.
i ca n't talk or think right with walls around me -- never could.
let's go out to the garden."
these were almost the first words i ever heard abel armstrong say.
he was a member of the board of school trustees in stillwater, and i had not met him before this late may evening, when i had gone down to confer with him upon some small matter of business.
for i was "the new schoolmaster" in stillwater, having taken the school for the summer term.
it was a rather lonely country district -- a fact of which i was glad, for life had been going somewhat awry with me and my heart was sore and rebellious over many things that have nothing to do with this narration.
stillwater offered time and opportunity for healing and counsel.
yet, looking back, i doubt if i should have found either had it not been for abel and his beloved garden.
abel armstrong -lrb- he was always called "old abel", though he was barely sixty -rrb- lived in a quaint, gray house close by the harbour shore.
i heard a good deal about him before i saw him.
he was called "queer", but stillwater folks seemed to be very fond of him.
he and his sister, tamzine, lived together; she, so my garrulous landlady informed me, had not been sound of mind at times for many years; but she was all right now, only odd and quiet.
abel had gone to college for a year when he was young, but had given it up when tamzine "went crazy".
there was no one else to look after her.
abel had settled down to it with apparent content: at least he had never complained.
""always took things easy, abel did," said mrs. campbell.
""never seemed to worry over disappointments and trials as most folks do.
seems to me that as long as abel armstrong can stride up and down in that garden of his, reciting poetry and speeches, or talking to that yaller cat of his as if it was a human, he does n't care much how the world wags on.
he never had much git-up-and-git.
his father was a hustler, but the family did n't take after him.
they all favoured the mother's people -- sorter shiftless and dreamy.
"taint the way to git on in this world."
no, good and worthy mrs. campbell.
it was not the way to get on in your world; but there are other worlds where getting on is estimated by different standards, and abel armstrong lived in one of these -- a world far beyond the ken of the thrifty stillwater farmers and fishers.
something of this i had sensed, even before i saw him; and that night in his garden, under a sky of smoky red, blossoming into stars above the harbour, i found a friend whose personality and philosophy were to calm and harmonize and enrich my whole existence.
this sketch is my grateful tribute to one of the rarest and finest souls god ever clothed with clay.
he was a tall man, somewhat ungainly of figure and homely of face.
but his large, deep eyes of velvety nut-brown were very beautiful and marvellously bright and clear for a man of his age.
he wore a little pointed, well-cared-for beard, innocent of gray; but his hair was grizzled, and altogether he had the appearance of a man who had passed through many sorrows which had marked his body as well as his soul.
looking at him, i doubted mrs. campbell's conclusion that he had not "minded" giving up college.
this man had given up much and felt it deeply; but he had outlived the pain and the blessing of sacrifice had come to him.
his voice was very melodious and beautiful, and the brown hand he held out to me was peculiarly long and shapely and flexible.
we went out to the garden in the scented moist air of a maritime spring evening.
behind the garden was a cloudy pine wood; the house closed it in on the left, while in front and on the right a row of tall lombardy poplars stood out in stately purple silhouette against the sunset sky.
""always liked lombardies," said abel, waving a long arm at them.
""they are the trees of princesses.
when i was a boy they were fashionable.
anyone who had any pretensions to gentility had a row of lombardies at the foot of his lawn or up his lane, or at any rate one on either side of his front door.
they're out of fashion now.
folks complain they die at the top and get ragged-looking.
so they do -- so they do, if you do n't risk your neck every spring climbing up a light ladder to trim them out as i do.
my neck is n't worth much to anyone, which, i suppose, is why i've never broken it; and my lombardies never look out-at-elbows.
my mother was especially fond of them.
she liked their dignity and their stand-offishness.
they do n't hobnob with every tom, dick and harry.
if it's pines for company, master, it's lombardies for society."
we stepped from the front doorstone into the garden.
there was another entrance -- a sagging gate flanked by two branching white lilacs.
from it a little dappled path led to a huge apple-tree in the centre, a great swelling cone of rosy blossom with a mossy circular seat around its trunk.
but abel's favourite seat, so he told me, was lower down the slope, under a little trellis overhung with the delicate emerald of young hop-vines.
he led me to it and pointed proudly to the fine view of the harbour visible from it.
the early sunset glow of rose and flame had faded out of the sky; the water was silvery and mirror-like; dim sails drifted along by the darkening shore.
a bell was ringing in a small catholic chapel across the harbour.
mellowly and dreamily sweet the chime floated through the dusk, blent with the moan of the sea.
the great revolving light at the channel trembled and flashed against the opal sky, and far out, beyond the golden sand-dunes of the bar, was the crinkled gray ribbon of a passing steamer's smoke.
""there, is n't that view worth looking at?"
said old abel, with a loving, proprietary pride.
""you do n't have to pay anything for it, either.
all that sea and sky free -- "without money and without price".
let's sit down here in the hop-vine arbour, master.
there'll be a moonrise presently.
i'm never tired of finding out what a moonrise sheen can be like over that sea.
there's a surprise in it every time.
now, master, you're getting your mouth in the proper shape to talk business -- but do n't you do it.
nobody should talk business when he's expecting a moonrise.
not that i like talking business at any time."
""unfortunately it has to be talked of sometimes, mr. armstrong," i said.
""yes, it seems to be a necessary evil, master," he acknowledged.
""but i know what business you've come upon, and we can settle it in five minutes after the moon's well up.
i'll just agree to everything you and the other two trustees want.
lord knows why they ever put me on the school board.
maybe it's because i'm so ornamental.
they wanted one good-looking man, i reckon."
his low chuckle, so full of mirth and so free from malice, was infectious.
i laughed also, as i sat down in the hop-vine arbour.
""now, you need n't talk if you do n't want to," he said.
""and i wo n't.
we'll just sit here, sociable like, and if we think of anything worth while to say we'll say it.
otherwise, not.
if you can sit in silence with a person for half an hour and feel comfortable, you and that person can be friends.
if you ca n't, friends you'll never be, and you need n't waste time in trying."
abel and i passed successfully the test of silence that evening in the hop-vine arbour.
i was strangely content to sit and think -- something i had not cared to do lately.
a peace, long unknown to my stormy soul, seemed hovering near it.
the garden was steeped in it; old abel's personality radiated it.
i looked about me and wondered whence came the charm of that tangled, unworldly spot.
""nice and far from the market-place is n't it?"
asked abel suddenly, as if he had heard my unasked question.
""no buying and selling and getting gain here.
nothing was ever sold out of this garden.
tamzine has her vegetable plot over yonder, but what we do n't eat we give away.
geordie marr down the harbour has a big garden like this and he sells heaps of flowers and fruit and vegetables to the hotel folks.
he thinks i'm an awful fool because i wo n't do the same.
well, he gets money out of his garden and i get happiness out of mine.
that's the difference.
s'posing i could make more money -- what then?
i'd only be taking it from people that needed it more.
there's enough for tamzine and me.
as for geordie marr, there is n't a more unhappy creature on god's earth -- he's always stewing in a broth of trouble, poor man.
o" course, he brews up most of it for himself, but i reckon that does n't make it any easier to bear.
ever sit in a hop-vine arbour before, master?"
i was to grow used to abel's abrupt change of subject.
i answered that i never had.
""great place for dreaming," said abel complacently.
""being young, no doubt, you dream a-plenty."
i answered hotly and bitterly that i had done with dreams.
""no, you have n't," said abel meditatively.
""you may think you have.
what then?
first thing you know you'll be dreaming again -- thank the lord for it.
i ai n't going to ask you what's soured you on dreaming just now.
after awhile you'll begin again, especially if you come to this garden as much as i hope you will.
it's chockful of dreams -- any kind of dreams.
you take your choice.
now, i favour dreams of adventures, if you'll believe it.
i'm sixty-one and i never do anything rasher than go out cod-fishing on a fine day, but i still lust after adventures.
then i dream i'm an awful fellow -- blood-thirsty."
i burst out laughing.
perhaps laughter was somewhat rare in that old garden.
tamzine, who was weeding at the far end, lifted her head in a startled fashion and walked past us into the house.
she did not look at us or speak to us.
she was reputed to be abnormally shy.
she was very stout and wore a dress of bright red-and-white striped material.
her face was round and blank, but her reddish hair was abundant and beautiful.
a huge, orange-coloured cat was at her heels; as she passed us he bounded over to the arbour and sprang up on abel's knee.
he was a gorgeous brute, with vivid green eyes, and immense white double paws.
""captain kidd, mr. woodley."
he introduced us as seriously as if the cat had been a human being.
neither captain kidd nor i responded very enthusiastically.
""you do n't like cats, i reckon, master," said abel, stroking the captain's velvet back.
""i do n't blame you.
i was never fond of them myself until i found the captain.
i saved his life and when you've saved a creature's life you're bound to love it.
it's next thing to giving it life.
there are some terrible thoughtless people in the world, master.
some of those city folks who have summer homes down the harbour are so thoughtless that they're cruel.
it's the worst kind of cruelty, i think -- the thoughtless kind.
you ca n't cope with it.
they keep cats there in the summer and feed them and pet them and doll them up with ribbons and collars; and then in the fall they go off and leave them to starve or freeze.
it makes my blood boil, master."
""one day last winter i found a poor old mother cat dead on the shore, lying against the skin and bone bodies of her three little kittens.
she had died trying to shelter them.
she had her poor stiff claws around them.
master, i cried.
then i swore.
then i carried those poor little kittens home and fed "hem up and found good homes for them.
i know the woman who left the cat.
when she comes back this summer i'm going to go down and tell her my opinion of her.
it'll be rank meddling, but, lord, how i love meddling in a good cause."
""was captain kidd one of the forsaken?"
i asked.
""yes.
i found him one bitter cold day in winter caught in the branches of a tree by his darn-fool ribbon collar.
he was almost starving.
lord, if you could have seen his eyes!
he was nothing but a kitten, and he'd got his living somehow since he'd been left till he got hung up.
when i loosed him he gave my hand a pitiful swipe with his little red tongue.
he was n't the prosperous free-booter you behold now.
he was meek as moses.
that was nine years ago.
his life has been long in the land for a cat.
he's a good old pal, the captain is."
""i should have expected you to have a dog," i said.
abel shook his head.
""i had a dog once.
i cared so much for him that when he died i could n't bear the thought of ever getting another in his place.
he was a friend -- you understand?
the captain's only a pal.
i'm fond of the captain -- all the fonder because of the spice of deviltry there is in all cats.
but i loved my dog.
there is n't any devil in a good dog.
that's why they're more lovable than cats -- but i'm darned if they're as interesting."
i laughed as i rose regretfully.
""must you go, master?
and we have n't talked any business after all.
i reckon it's that stove matter you've come about.
it's like those two fool trustees to start up a stove sputter in spring.
it's a wonder they did n't leave it till dog-days and begin then."
""they merely wished me to ask you if you approved of putting in a new stove."
""tell them to put in a new stove -- any kind of a new stove -- and be hanged to them," rejoined abel.
""as for you, master, you're welcome to this garden any time.
if you're tired or lonely, or too ambitious or angry, come here and sit awhile, master.
do you think any man could keep mad if he sat and looked into the heart of a pansy for ten minutes?
when you feel like talking, i'll talk, and when you feel like thinking, i'll let you.
i'm a great hand to leave folks alone."
""i think i'll come often," i said, "perhaps too often."
""not likely, master -- not likely -- not after we've watched a moonrise contentedly together.
it's as good a test of compatibility as any i know.
you're young and i'm old, but our souls are about the same age, i reckon, and we'll find lots to say to each other.
are you going straight home from here?"
""yes."
""then i'm going to bother you to stop for a moment at mary bascom's and give her a bouquet of my white lilacs.
she loves'em and i'm not going to wait till she's dead to send her flowers."
""she's very ill just now, is n't she?"
""she's got the bascom consumption.
that means she may die in a month, like her brother, or linger on for twenty years, like her father.
but long or short, white lilac in spring is sweet, and i'm sending her a fresh bunch every day while it lasts.
it's a rare night, master.
i envy you your walk home in the moonlight along that shore."
""better come part of the way with me," i suggested.
""no."
abel glanced at the house.
""tamzine never likes to be alone o" nights.
so i take my moonlight walks in the garden.
the moon's a great friend of mine, master.
i've loved her ever since i can remember.
when i was a little lad of eight i fell asleep in the garden one evening and was n't missed.
i woke up alone in the night and i was most scared to death, master.
lord, what shadows and queer noises there were!
i dars n't move.
i just sat there quaking, poor small mite.
then all at once i saw the moon looking down at me through the pine boughs, just like an old friend.
i was comforted right off.
got up and walked to the house as brave as a lion, looking at her.
goodnight, master.
tell mary the lilacs'll last another week yet."
from that night abel and i were cronies.
we walked and talked and kept silence and fished cod together.
stillwater people thought it very strange that i should prefer his society to that of the young fellows of my own age.
mrs. campbell was quite worried over it, and opined that there had always been something queer about me.
""birds of a feather."
i loved that old garden by the harbour shore.
even abel himself, i think, could hardly have felt a deeper affection for it.
when its gate closed behind me it shut out the world and my corroding memories and discontents.
in its peace my soul emptied itself of the bitterness which had been filling and spoiling it, and grew normal and healthy again, aided thereto by abel's wise words.
he never preached, but he radiated courage and endurance and a frank acceptance of the hard things of life, as well as a cordial welcome of its pleasant things.
he was the sanest soul i ever met.
he neither minimized ill nor exaggerated good, but he held that we should never be controlled by either.
pain should not depress us unduly, nor pleasure lure us into forgetfulness and sloth.
all unknowingly he made me realize that i had been a bit of a coward and a shirker.
i began to understand that my personal woes were not the most important things in the universe, even to myself.
in short, abel taught me to laugh again; and when a man can laugh wholesomely things are not going too badly with him.
that old garden was always such a cheery place.
even when the east wind sang in minor and the waves on the gray shore were sad, hints of sunshine seemed to be lurking all about it.
perhaps this was because there were so many yellow flowers in it.
tamzine liked yellow flowers.
captain kidd, too, always paraded it in panoply of gold.
he was so large and effulgent that one hardly missed the sun.
considering his presence i wondered that the garden was always so full of singing birds.
but the captain never meddled with them.
probably he understood that his master would not have tolerated it for a moment.
so there was always a song or a chirp somewhere.
overhead flew the gulls and the cranes.
the wind in the pines always made a glad salutation.
abel and i paced the walks, in high converse on matters beyond the ken of cat or king.
""i liked to ponder on all problems, though i can never solve them," abel used to say.
""my father held that we should never talk of things we could n't understand.
but, lord, master, if we did n't the subjects for conversation would be mighty few.
i reckon the gods laugh many a time to hear us, but what matter?
so long as we remember that we're only men, and do n't take to fancying ourselves gods, really knowing good and evil, i reckon our discussions wo n't do us or anyone much harm.
so we'll have another whack at the origin of evil this evening, master."
tamzine forgot to be shy with me at last, and gave me a broad smile of welcome every time i came.
but she rarely spoke to me.
she spent all her spare time weeding the garden, which she loved as well as abel did.
she was addicted to bright colours and always wore wrappers of very gorgeous print.
she worshipped abel and his word was a law unto her.
""i am very thankful tamzine is so well," said abel one evening as we watched the sunset.
the day had begun sombrely in gray cloud and mist, but it ended in a pomp of scarlet and gold.
""there was a time when she was n't, master -- you've heard?
but for years now she has been quite able to look after herself.
and so, if i fare forth on the last great adventure some of these days tamzine will not be left helpless."
""she is ten years older than you.
it is likely she will go before you," i said.
abel shook his head and stroked his smart beard.
i always suspected that beard of being abel's last surviving vanity.
it was always so carefully groomed, while i had no evidence that he ever combed his grizzled mop of hair.
""no, tamzine will outlive me.
she's got the armstrong heart.
i have the marwood heart -- my mother was a marwood.
we do n't live to be old, and we go quick and easy.
i'm glad of it.
i do n't think i'm a coward, master, but the thought of a lingering death gives me a queer sick feeling of horror.
there, i'm not going to say any more about it.
i just mentioned it so that some day when you hear that old abel armstrong has been found dead, you wo n't feel sorry.
you'll remember i wanted it that way.
not that i'm tired of life either.
it's very pleasant, what with my garden and captain kidd and the harbour out there.
but it's a trifle monotonous at times and death will be something of a change, master.
i'm real curious about it."
""i hate the thought of death," i said gloomily.
""oh, you're young.
the young always do.
death grows friendlier as we grow older.
not that one of us really wants to die, though, master.
tennyson spoke truth when he said that.
there's old mrs. warner at the channel head.
she's had heaps of trouble all her life, poor soul, and she's lost almost everyone she cared about.
she's always saying that she'll be glad when her time comes, and she does n't want to live any longer in this vale of tears.
but when she takes a sick spell, lord, what a fuss she makes, master!
doctors from town and a trained nurse and enough medicine to kill a dog!
life may be a vale of tears, all right, master, but there are some folks who enjoy weeping, i reckon."
summer passed through the garden with her procession of roses and lilies and hollyhocks and golden glow.
the golden glow was particularly fine that year.
there was a great bank of it at the lower end of the garden, like a huge billow of sunshine.
tamzine revelled in it, but abel liked more subtly-tinted flowers.
there was a certain dark wine-hued hollyhock which was a favourite with him.
he would sit for hours looking steadfastly into one of its shallow satin cups.
i found him so one afternoon in the hop-vine arbour.
""this colour always has a soothing effect on me," he explained.
""yellow excites me too much -- makes me restless -- makes me want to sail "beyond the bourne of sunset".
i looked at that surge of golden glow down there today till i got all worked up and thought my life had been an awful failure.
i found a dead butterfly and had a little funeral -- buried it in the fern corner.
and i thought i had n't been any more use in the world than that poor little butterfly.
oh, i was woeful, master.
then i got me this hollyhock and sat down here to look at it alone.
when a man's alone, master, he's most with god -- or with the devil.
the devil rampaged around me all the time i was looking at that golden glow; but god spoke to me through the hollyhock.
and it seemed to me that a man who's as happy as i am and has got such a garden has made a real success of living."
""i hope i'll be able to make as much of a success," i said sincerely.
""i want you to make a different kind of success, though, master," said abel, shaking his head.
""i want you to do things -- the things i'd have tried to do if i'd had the chance.
it's in you to do them -- if you set your teeth and go ahead."
""i believe i can set my teeth and go ahead now, thanks to you, mr. armstrong," i said.
""i was heading straight for failure when i came here last spring; but you've changed my course."
""given you a sort of compass to steer by, have n't i?"
queried abel with a smile.
""i ai n't too modest to take some credit for it.
i saw i could do you some good.
but my garden has done more than i did, if you'll believe it.
it's wonderful what a garden can do for a man when he lets it have its way.
come, sit down here and bask, master.
the sunshine may be gone to-morrow.
let's just sit and think."
we sat and thought for a long while.
presently abel said abruptly: "you do n't see the folks i see in this garden, master.
you do n't see anybody but me and old tamzine and captain kidd.
i see all who used to be here long ago.
it was a lively place then.
there were plenty of us and we were as gay a set of youngsters as you'd find anywhere.
we tossed laughter backwards and forwards here like a ball.
and now old tamzine and older abel are all that are left."
he was silent a moment, looking at the phantoms of memory that paced invisibly to me the dappled walks and peeped merrily through the swinging boughs.
then he went on: "of all the folks i see here there are two that are more vivid and real than all the rest, master.
one is my sister alice.
she died thirty years ago.
she was very beautiful.
you'd hardly believe that to look at tamzine and me, would you?
but it is true.
we always called her queen alice -- she was so stately and handsome.
she had brown eyes and red gold hair, just the colour of that nasturtium there.
she was father's favourite.
the night she was born they did n't think my mother would live.
father walked this garden all night.
and just under that old apple-tree he knelt at sunrise and thanked god when they came to tell him that all was well.
""alice was always a creature of joy.
this old garden rang with her laughter in those years.
she seldom walked -- she ran or danced.
she only lived twenty years, but nineteen of them were so happy i've never pitied her over much.
she had everything that makes life worth living -- laughter and love, and at the last sorrow.
james milburn was her lover.
it's thirty-one years since his ship sailed out of that harbour and alice waved him good-bye from this garden.
he never came back.
his ship was never heard of again.
""when alice gave up hope that it would be, she died of a broken heart.
they say there's no such thing; but nothing else ailed alice.
she stood at yonder gate day after day and watched the harbour; and when at last she gave up hope life went with it.
i remember the day: she had watched until sunset.
then she turned away from the gate.
all the unrest and despair had gone out of her eyes.
there was a terrible peace in them -- the peace of the dead.
"he will never come back now, abel," she said to me.
""in less than a week she was dead.
the others mourned her, but i did n't, master.
she had sounded the deeps of living and there was nothing else to linger through the years for.
my grief had spent itself earlier, when i walked this garden in agony because i could not help her.
but often, on these long warm summer afternoons, i seem to hear alice's laughter all over this garden; though she's been dead so long."
he lapsed into a reverie which i did not disturb, and it was not until another day that i learned of the other memory that he cherished.
he reverted to it suddenly as we sat again in the hop-vine arbour, looking at the glimmering radiance of the september sea.
""master, how many of us are sitting here?"
""two in the flesh.
how many in the spirit i know not," i answered, humouring his mood.
""there is one -- the other of the two i spoke of the day i told you about alice.
it's harder for me to speak of this one."
""do n't speak of it if it hurts you," i said.
""but i want to.
it's a whim of mine.
do you know why i told you of alice and why i'm going to tell you of mercedes?
it's because i want someone to remember them and think of them sometimes after i'm gone.
i ca n't bear that their names should be utterly forgotten by all living souls.
""my older brother, alec, was a sailor, and on his last voyage to the west indies he married and brought home a spanish girl.
my father and mother did n't like the match.
mercedes was a foreigner and a catholic, and differed from us in every way.
but i never blamed alec after i saw her.
it was n't that she was so very pretty.
she was slight and dark and ivory-coloured.
but she was very graceful, and there was a charm about her, master -- a mighty and potent charm.
the women could n't understand it.
they wondered at alec's infatuation for her.
i never did.
i -- i loved her, too, master, before i had known her a day.
nobody ever knew it.
mercedes never dreamed of it.
but it's lasted me all my life.
i never wanted to think of any other woman.
she spoiled a man for any other kind of woman -- that little pale, dark-eyed spanish girl.
to love her was like drinking some rare sparkling wine.
you'd never again have any taste for a commoner draught.
""i think she was very happy the year she spent here.
our thrifty women-folk in stillwater jeered at her because she was n't what they called capable.
they said she could n't do anything.
but she could do one thing well -- she could love.
she worshipped alec.
i used to hate him for it.
oh, my heart has been very full of black thoughts in its time, master.
but neither alec nor mercedes ever knew.
and i'm thankful now that they were so happy.
alec made this arbour for mercedes -- at least he made the trellis, and she planted the vines.
""she used to sit here most of the time in summer.
i suppose that's why i like to sit here.
her eyes would be dreamy and far-away until alec would flash his welcome.
how that used to torture me!
but now i like to remember it.
and her pretty soft foreign voice and little white hands.
she died after she had lived here a year.
they buried her and her baby in the graveyard of that little chapel over the harbour where the bell rings every evening.
she used to like sitting here and listening to it.
alec lived a long while after, but he never married again.
he's gone now, and nobody remembers mercedes but me."
abel lapsed into a reverie -- a tryst with the past which i would not disturb.
i thought he did not notice my departure, but as i opened the gate he stood up and waved his hand.
three days later i went again to the old garden by the harbour shore.
there was a red light on a distant sail.
in the far west a sunset city was built around a great deep harbour of twilight.
palaces were there and bannered towers of crimson and gold.
the air was full of music; there was one music of the wind and another of the waves, and still another of the distant bell from the chapel near which mercedes slept.
the garden was full of ripe odours and warm colours.
the lombardies around it were tall and sombre like the priestly forms of some mystic band.
abel was sitting in the hop-vine arbour; beside him captain kidd slept.
i thought abel was asleep, too; his head leaned against the trellis and his eyes were shut.
but when i reached the arbour i saw that he was not asleep.
there was a strange, wise little smile on his lips as if he had attained to the ultimate wisdom and were laughing in no unkindly fashion at our old blind suppositions and perplexities.
abel had gone on his great adventure.
akin to love david hartley had dropped in to pay a neighbourly call on josephine elliott.
it was well along in the afternoon, and outside, in the clear crispness of a canadian winter, the long blue shadows from the tall firs behind the house were falling over the snow.
it was a frosty day, and all the windows of every room where there was no fire were covered with silver palms.
but the big, bright kitchen was warm and cosy, and somehow seemed to david more tempting than ever before, and that is saying a good deal.
he had an uneasy feeling that he had stayed long enough and ought to go.
josephine was knitting at a long gray sock with doubly aggressive energy, and that was a sign that she was talked out.
as long as josephine had plenty to say, her plump white fingers, where her mother's wedding ring was lost in dimples, moved slowly among her needles.
when conversation flagged she fell to her work as furiously as if a husband and half a dozen sons were waiting for its completion.
david often wondered in his secret soul what josephine did with all the interminable gray socks she knitted.
sometimes he concluded that she put them in the home missionary barrels; again, that she sold them to her hired man.
at any rate, they were very warm and comfortable looking, and david sighed as he thought of the deplorable state his own socks were generally in.
when david sighed josephine took alarm.
she was afraid david was going to have one of his attacks of foolishness.
she must head him off someway, so she rolled up the gray sock, stabbed the big pudgy ball with her needles, and said she guessed she'd get the tea.
david got up.
""now, you're not going before tea?"
said josephine hospitably.
""i'll have it all ready in no time."
""i ought to go home, i s "pose," said david, with the air and tone of a man dallying with a great temptation.
""zillah'll be waiting tea for me; and there's the stock to tend to."
""i guess zillah wo n't wait long," said josephine.
she did not intend it at all, but there was a certain scornful ring in her voice.
""you must stay.
i've a fancy for company to tea."
david sat down again.
he looked so pleased that josephine went down on her knees behind the stove, ostensibly to get a stick of firewood, but really to hide her smile.
""i suppose he's tickled to death to think of getting a good square meal, after the starvation rations zillah puts him on," she thought.
but josephine misjudged david just as much as he misjudged her.
she had really asked him to stay to tea out of pity, but david thought it was because she was lonesome, and he hailed that as an encouraging sign.
and he was not thinking about getting a good meal either, although his dinner had been such a one as only zillah hartley could get up.
as he leaned back in his cushioned chair and watched josephine bustling about the kitchen, he was glorying in the fact that he could spend another hour with her, and sit opposite to her at the table while she poured his tea for him and passed him the biscuits, just as if -- just as if -- here josephine looked straight at him with such intent and stern brown eyes that david felt she must have read his thoughts, and he colored guiltily.
but josephine did not even notice that he was blushing.
she had only paused to wonder whether she would bring out cherry or strawberry preserve; and, having decided on the cherry, took her piercing gaze from david without having seen him at all.
but he allowed his thoughts no more vagaries.
josephine set the table with her mother's wedding china.
she used it because it was the anniversary of her mother's wedding day, but david thought it was out of compliment to him.
and, as he knew quite well that josephine prized that china beyond all her other earthly possessions, he stroked his smooth-shaven, dimpled chin with the air of a man to whom is offered a very subtly sweet homage.
josephine whisked in and out of the pantry, and up and down cellar, and with every whisk a new dainty was added to the table.
josephine, as everybody in meadowby admitted, was past mistress in the noble art of cookery.
once upon a time rash matrons and ambitious young wives had aspired to rival her, but they had long ago realised the vanity of such efforts and dropped comfortably back to second place.
josephine felt an artist's pride in her table when she set the teapot on its stand and invited david to sit in.
there were pink slices of cold tongue, and crisp green pickles and spiced gooseberry, the recipe for which josephine had invented herself, and which had taken first prize at the provincial exhibition for six successive years; there was a lemon pie which was a symphony in gold and silver, biscuits as light and white as snow, and moist, plummy cubes of fruit cake.
there was the ruby-tinted cherry preserve, a mound of amber jelly, and, to crown all, steaming cups of tea, in flavour and fragrance unequalled.
and josephine, too, sitting at the head of the table, with her smooth, glossy crimps of black hair and cheeks as rosy clear as they had been twenty years ago, when she had been a slender slip of girlhood and bashful young david hartley had looked at her over his hymn-book in prayer-meeting and tramped all the way home a few feet behind her, because he was too shy to go boldly up and ask if he might see her home.
all taken together, what wonder if david lost his head over that tea-table and determined to ask josephine the same old question once more?
it was eighteen years since he had asked it for the first time, and two years since the last.
he would try his luck again; josephine was certainly more gracious than he remembered her to ever have been before.
when the meal was over josephine cleared the table and washed the dishes.
when she had taken a dry towel and sat down by the window to polish her china david understood that his opportunity had come.
he moved over and sat down beside her on the sofa by the window.
outside the sun was setting in a magnificent arch of light and colour over the snow-clad hills and deep blue st. lawrence gulf.
david grasped at the sunset as an introductory factor.
""is n't that fine, josephine?"
he said admiringly.
""it makes me think of that piece of poetry that used to be in the old fifth reader when we went to school.
d'ye mind how the teacher used to drill us up in it on friday afternoons?
it begun "slow sinks more lovely ere his race is run along morea's hills the setting sun.""
then david declaimed the whole passage in a sing-song tone, accompanied by a few crude gestures recalled from long-ago school-boy elocution.
josephine knew what was coming.
every time david proposed to her he had begun by reciting poetry.
she twirled her towel around the last plate resignedly.
if it had to come, the sooner it was over the better.
josephine knew by experience that there was no heading david off, despite his shyness, when he had once got along as far as the poetry.
""but it's going to be for the last time," she said determinedly.
""i'm going to settle this question so decidedly to-night that there'll never be a repetition."
when david had finished his quotation he laid his hand on josephine's plump arm.
""josephine," he said huskily, "i s "pose you could n't -- could you now?
-- make up your mind to have me.
i wish you would, josephine -- i wish you would.
do n't you think you could, josephine?"
josephine folded up her towel, crossed her hands on it, and looked her wooer squarely in the eyes.
""david hartley," she said deliberately, "what makes you go on asking me to marry you every once in a while when i've told you times out of mind that i ca n't and wo n't?"
""because i ca n't help hoping that you'll change your mind through time," david replied meekly.
""well, you just listen to me.
i will not marry you.
that is in the first place.
and in the second, this is to be final.
it has to be.
you are never to ask me this again under any circumstances.
if you do i will not answer you -- i will not let on i hear you at all; but -lrb- and josephine spoke very slowly and impressively -rrb- i will never speak to you again -- never.
we are good friends now, and i like you real well, and like to have you drop in for a neighbourly chat as often as you wish to, but there'll be an end, short and sudden, to that, if you do n't mind what i say."
""oh, josephine, ai n't that rather hard?"
protested david feebly.
it seemed terrible to be cut off from all hope with such finality as this.
""i mean every word of it," returned josephine calmly.
""you'd better go home now, david.
i always feel as if i'd like to be alone for a spell after a disagreeable experience."
david obeyed sadly and put on his cap and overcoat.
josephine kindly warned him not to slip and break his legs on the porch, because the floor was as icy as anything; and she even lighted a candle and held it up at the kitchen door to guide him safely out.
david, as he trudged sorrowfully homeward across the fields, carried with him the mental picture of a plump, sonsy woman, in a trim dress of plum-coloured homespun and ruffled blue-check apron, haloed by candlelight.
it was not a very romantic vision, perhaps, but to david it was more beautiful than anything else in the world.
when david was gone josephine shut the door with a little shiver.
she blew out the candle, for it was not yet dark enough to justify artificial light to her thrifty mind.
she thought the big, empty house, in which she was the only living thing, was very lonely.
it was so still, except for the slow tick of the "grandfather's clock" and the soft purr and crackle of the wood in the stove.
josephine sat down by the window.
""i wish some of the sentners would run down," she said aloud.
""if david had n't been so ridiculous i'd have got him to stay the evening.
he can be good company when he likes -- he's real well-read and intelligent.
and he must have dismal times at home there with nobody but zillah."
she looked across the yard to the little house at the other side of it, where her french-canadian hired man lived, and watched the purple spiral of smoke from its chimney curling up against the crocus sky.
would she run over and see mrs. leon poirier and her little black-eyed, brown-skinned baby?
no, they never knew what to say to each other.
""if't was n't so cold i'd go up and see ida," she said.
""as it is, i guess i'd better fall back on my knitting, for i saw jimmy sentner's toes sticking through his socks the other day.
how setback poor david did look, to be sure!
but i think i've settled that marrying notion of his once for all and i'm glad of it."
she said the same thing next day to mrs. tom sentner, who had come down to help her pick her geese.
they were at work in the kitchen with a big tubful of feathers between them, and on the table a row of dead birds, which leon had killed and brought in.
josephine was enveloped in a shapeless print wrapper, and had an apron tied tightly around her head to keep the down out of her beautiful hair, of which she was rather proud.
""what do you think, ida?"
she said, with a hearty laugh at the recollection.
""david hartley was here to tea last night, and asked me to marry him again.
there's a persistent man for you.
i ca n't brag of ever having had many beaux, but i've certainly had my fair share of proposals."
mrs. tom did not laugh.
her thin little face, with its faded prettiness, looked as if she never laughed.
""why wo n't you marry him?"
she said fretfully.
""why should i?"
retorted josephine.
""tell me that, ida sentner."
""because it is high time you were married," said mrs. tom decisively.
""i do n't believe in women living single.
and i do n't see what better you can do than take david hartley."
josephine looked at her sister with the interested expression of a person who is trying to understand some mental attitude in another which is a standing puzzle to her.
ida's evident wish to see her married always amused josephine.
ida had married very young and for fifteen years her life had been one of drudgery and ill-health.
tom sentner was a lazy, shiftless fellow.
he neglected his family and was drunk half his time.
meadowby people said that he beat his wife when "on the spree," but josephine did not believe that, because she did not think that ida could keep from telling her if it were so.
ida sentner was not given to bearing her trials in silence.
had it not been for josephine's assistance, tom sentner's family would have stood an excellent chance of starvation.
josephine practically kept them, and her generosity never failed or stinted.
she fed and clothed her nephews and nieces, and all the gray socks whose destination puzzled david so much went to the sentners.
as for josephine herself, she had a good farm, a comfortable house, a plump bank account, and was an independent, unworried woman.
and yet, in the face of all this, mrs. tom sentner could bewail the fact that josephine had no husband to look out for her.
josephine shrugged her shoulders and gave up the conundrum, merely saying ironically, in reply to her sister's remark: "and go to live with zillah hartley?"
""you know very well you would n't have to do that.
ever since john hartley's wife at the creek died he's been wanting zillah to go and keep house for him, and if david got married zillah'd go quick.
catch her staying there if you were mistress!
and david has such a beautiful house!
it's ten times finer than yours, though i do n't deny yours is comfortable.
and his farm is the best in meadowby and joins yours.
think what a beautiful property they'd make together.
you're all right now, josephine, but what will you do when you get old and have nobody to take care of you?
i declare the thought worries me at night till i ca n't sleep."
""i should have thought you had enough worries of your own to keep you awake at nights without taking over any of mine," said josephine drily.
""as for old age, it's a good ways off for me yet.
when your jack gets old enough to have some sense he can come here and live with me.
but i'm not going to marry david hartley, you can depend on that, ida, my dear.
i wish you could have heard him rhyming off that poetry last night.
it does n't seem to matter much what piece he recites -- first thing that comes into his head, i reckon.
i remember one time he went clean through that hymn beginning, "hark from the tombs a doleful sound," and two years ago it was "to mary in heaven," as lackadaisical as you please.
i never had such a time to keep from laughing, but i managed it, for i would n't hurt his feelings for the world.
no, i have n't any intention of marrying anybody, but if i had it would n't be dear old sentimental, easy-going david."
mrs. tom thumped a plucked goose down on the bench with an expression which said that she, for one, was n't going to waste any more words on an idiot.
easy-going, indeed!
did josephine consider that a drawback?
mrs. tom sighed.
if josephine, she thought, had put up with tom sentner's tempers for fifteen years she would know how to appreciate a good-natured man at his real value.
the cold snap which had set in on the day of david's call lasted and deepened for a week.
on saturday evening, when mrs. tom came down for a jug of cream, the mercury of the little thermometer thumping against josephine's porch was below zero.
the gulf was no longer blue, but white with ice.
everything outdoors was crackling and snapping.
inside josephine had kept roaring fires all through the house but the only place really warm was the kitchen.
""wrap your head up well, ida," she said anxiously, when mrs. tom rose to go.
""you've got a bad cold."
""there's a cold going," said mrs. tom.
""everyone has it.
david hartley was up at our place to-day barking terrible -- a real churchyard cough, as i told him.
he never takes any care of himself.
he said zillah had a bad cold, too.
wo n't she be cranky while it lasts?"
josephine sat up late that night to keep fires on.
she finally went to bed in the little room opposite the big hall stove, and she slept at once, and dreamed that the thumps of the thermometer flapping in the wind against the wall outside grew louder and more insistent until they woke her up.
some one was pounding on the porch door.
josephine sprang out of bed and hurried on her wrapper and felt shoes.
she had no doubt that some of the sentners were sick.
they had a habit of getting sick about that time of night.
she hurried out and opened the door, expecting to see hulking tom sentner, or perhaps ida herself, big-eyed and hysterical.
but david hartley stood there, panting for breath.
the clear moonlight showed that he had no overcoat on, and he was coughing hard.
josephine, before she spoke a word, clutched him by the arm and pulled him in out of the wind.
""for pity's sake, david hartley, what is the matter?"
""zillah's awful sick," he gasped.
""i came here because't was nearest.
oh, wo n't you come over, josephine?
i've got to go for the doctor and i ca n't leave her alone.
she's suffering dreadful.
i know you and her ai n't on good terms, but you'll come, wo n't you?"
""of course i will," said josephine sharply.
""i'm not a barbarian, i hope, to refuse to go to the help of a sick person, if't was my worst enemy.
i'll go in and get ready and you go straight to the hall stove and warm yourself.
there's a good fire in it yet.
what on earth do you mean, starting out on a bitter night like this without an overcoat or even mittens, and you with a cold like that?"
""i never thought of them, i was so frightened," said david apologetically.
""i just lit up a fire in the kitchen stove as quick's i could and run.
it rattled me to hear zillah moaning so's you could hear her all over the house."
""you need someone to look after you as bad as zillah does," said josephine severely.
in a very few minutes she was ready, with a basket packed full of homely remedies, "for like as not there'll be no putting one's hand on anything there," she muttered.
she insisted on wrapping her big plaid shawl around david's head and neck, and made him put on a pair of mittens she had knitted for jack sentner.
then she locked the door and they started across the gleaming, crusted field.
it was so slippery that josephine had to cling to david's arm to keep her feet.
in the rapture of supporting her david almost forgot everything else.
in a few minutes they had passed under the bare, glistening boughs of the poplars on david's lawn, and for the first time josephine crossed the threshold of david hartley's house.
years ago, in her girlhood, when the hartley's lived in the old house and there were half a dozen girls at home, josephine had frequently visited there.
all the hartley girls liked her except zillah.
she and zillah never "got on" together.
when the other girls had married and gone, josephine gave up visiting there.
she had never been inside the new house, and she and zillah had not spoken to each other for years.
zillah was a sick woman -- too sick to be anything but civil to josephine.
david started at once for the doctor at the creek, and josephine saw that he was well wrapped up before she let him go.
then she mixed up a mustard plaster for zillah and sat down by the bedside to wait.
when mrs. tom sentner came down the next day she found josephine busy making flaxseed poultices, with her lips set in a line that betokened she had made up her mind to some disagreeable course of duty.
""zillah has got pneumonia bad," she said, in reply to mrs. tom's inquiries.
""the doctor is here and mary bell from the creek.
she'll wait on zillah, but there'll have to be another woman here to see to the work.
i reckon i'll stay.
i suppose it's my duty and i do n't see who else could be got.
you can send mamie and jack down to stay at my house until i can go back.
i'll run over every day and keep an eye on things."
at the end of a week zillah was out of danger.
saturday afternoon josephine went over home to see how mamie and jack were getting on.
she found mrs. tom there, and the latter promptly despatched jack and mamie to the post-office that she might have an opportunity to hear josephine's news.
""i've had an awful week of it, ida," said josephine solemnly, as she sat down by the stove and put her feet up on the glowing hearth.
""i suppose zillah is pretty cranky to wait on," said mrs. tom sympathetically.
""oh, it is n't zillah.
mary bell looks after her.
no, it's the house.
i never lived in such a place of dust and disorder in my born days.
i'm sorrier for david hartley than i ever was for anyone before."
""i suppose he's used to it," said mrs. tom with a shrug.
""i do n't see how anyone could ever get used to it," groaned josephine.
""and david used to be so particular when he was a boy.
the minute i went there the other night i took in that kitchen with a look.
i do n't believe the paint has even been washed since the house was built.
i honestly do n't.
and i would n't like to be called upon to swear when the floor was scrubbed either.
the corners were just full of rolls of dust -- you could have shovelled it out.
i swept it out next day and i thought i'd be choked.
as for the pantry -- well, the less said about that the better.
and it's the same all through the house.
you could write your name on everything.
i could n't so much as clean up.
zillah was so sick there could n't be a bit of noise made.
i did manage to sweep and dust, and i cleaned out the pantry.
and, of course, i saw that the meals were nice and well cooked.
you should have seen david's face.
he looked as if he could n't get used to having things clean and tasty.
i darned his socks -- he had n't a whole pair to his name -- and i've done everything i could to give him a little comfort.
not that i could do much.
if zillah heard me moving round she'd send mary bell out to ask what the matter was.
when i wanted to go upstairs i'd have to take off my shoes and tiptoe up on my stocking feet, so's she would n't know it.
and i'll have to stay there another fortnight yet.
zillah wo n't be able to sit up till then.
i do n't really know if i can stand it without falling to and scrubbing the house from garret to cellar in spite of her."
mrs. tom sentner did not say much to josephine.
to herself she said complacently: "she's sorry for david.
well, i've always heard that pity was akin to love.
we'll see what comes of this."
josephine did manage to live through that fortnight.
one morning she remarked to david at the breakfast table: "well, i think that mary bell will be able to attend to the work after today, david.
i guess i'll go home tonight."
david's face clouded over.
""well, i s "pose we ought n't to keep you any longer, josephine.
i'm sure it's been awful good of you to stay this long.
i do n't know what we'd have done without you."
""you're welcome," said josephine shortly.
""do n't go for to walk home," said david; "the snow is too deep.
i'll drive you over when you want to go."
""i'll not go before the evening," said josephine slowly.
david went out to his work gloomily.
for three weeks he had been living in comfort.
his wants were carefully attended to; his meals were well cooked and served, and everything was bright and clean.
and more than all, josephine had been there, with her cheerful smile and companionable ways.
well, it was all ended now.
josephine sat at the breakfast table long after david had gone out.
she scowled at the sugar-bowl and shook her head savagely at the tea-pot.
""i'll have to do it," she said at last.
""i'm so sorry for him that i ca n't do anything else."
she got up and went to the window, looking across the snowy field to her own home, nestled between the grove of firs and the orchard.
""it's awful snug and comfortable," she said regretfully, "and i've always felt set on being free and independent.
but it's no use.
i'd never have a minute's peace of mind again, thinking of david living here in dirt and disorder, and him so particular and tidy by nature.
no, it's my duty, plain and clear, to come here and make things pleasant for him -- the pointing of providence, as you might say.
the worst of it is, i'll have to tell him so myself.
he'll never dare to mention the subject again, after what i said to him that night he proposed last.
i wish i had n't been so dreadful emphatic.
now i've got to say it myself if it is ever said.
but i'll not begin by quoting poetry, that's one thing sure!"
josephine threw back her head, crowned with its shining braids of jet-black hair, and laughed heartily.
she bustled back to the stove and poked up the fire.
""i'll have a bit of corned beef and cabbage for dinner," she said, "and i'll make david that pudding he's so fond of.
after all, it's kind of nice to have someone to plan and think for.
it always did seem like a waste of energy to fuss over cooking things when there was nobody but myself to eat them."
josephine sang over her work all day, and david went about his with the face of a man who is going to the gallows without benefit of clergy.
when he came in to supper at sunset his expression was so woe-begone that josephine had to dodge into the pantry to keep from laughing outright.
she relieved her feelings by pounding the dresser with the potato masher, and then went primly out and took her place at the table.
the meal was not a success from a social point of view.
josephine was nervous and david glum.
mary bell gobbled down her food with her usual haste, and then went away to carry zillah hers.
then david said reluctantly: "if you want to go home now, josephine, i'll hitch up red rob and drive you over."
josephine began to plait the tablecloth.
she wished again that she had not been so emphatic on the occasion of his last proposal.
without replying to david's suggestion she said crossly -lrb- josephine always spoke crossly when she was especially in earnest -rrb-: "i want to tell you what i think about zillah.
she's getting better, but she's had a terrible shaking up, and it's my opinion that she wo n't be good for much all winter.
she wo n't be able to do any hard work, that's certain.
if you want my advice, i tell you fair and square that i think she'd better go off for a visit as soon as she's fit.
she thinks so herself.
clementine wants her to go and stay a spell with her in town.
"twould be just the thing for her."
""she can go if she wants to, of course," said david dully.
""i can get along by myself for a spell."
""there's no need of your getting along by yourself," said josephine, more crossly than ever.
""i'll -- i'll come here and keep house for you if you like."
david looked at her uncomprehendingly.
""would n't people kind of gossip?"
he asked hesitatingly.
""not but what --" "i do n't see what they'd have to gossip about," broke in josephine, "if we were -- married."
david sprang to his feet with such haste that he almost upset the table.
""josephine, do you mean that?"
he exclaimed.
""of course i mean it," she said, in a perfectly savage tone.
""now, for pity's sake, do n't say another word about it just now.
i ca n't discuss it for a spell.
go out to your work.
i want to be alone for awhile."
for the first and last time david disobeyed her.
instead of going out, he strode around the table, caught josephine masterfully in his arms, and kissed her.
and josephine, after a second's hesitation, kissed him in return.
aunt philippa and the men i knew quite well why father sent me to prince edward island to visit aunt philippa that summer.
he told me he was sending me there "to learn some sense"; and my stepmother, of whom i was very fond, told me she was sure the sea air would do me a world of good.
i did not want to learn sense or be done a world of good; i wanted to stay in montreal and go on being foolish -- and make up my quarrel with mark fenwick.
father and mother did not know anything about this quarrel; they thought i was still on good terms with him -- and that is why they sent me to prince edward island.
i was very miserable.
i did not want to go to aunt philippa's.
it was not because i feared it would be dull -- for without mark, montreal was just as much of a howling wilderness as any other place.
but it was so horribly far away.
when the time came for mark to want to make up -- as come i knew it would -- how could he do it if i were seven hundred miles away?
nevertheless, i went to prince edward island.
in all my eighteen years i had never once disobeyed father.
he is a very hard man to disobey.
i knew i should have to make a beginning some time if i wanted to marry mark, so i saved all my little courage up for that and did n't waste any of it opposing the visit to aunt philippa.
i could n't understand father's point of view.
of course, he hated old john fenwick, who had once sued him for libel and won the case.
father had written an indiscreet editorial in the excitement of a red-hot political contest -- and was made to understand that there are some things you ca n't say of another man even at election time.
but then, he need not have hated mark because of that; mark was not even born when it happened.
old john fenwick was not much better pleased about mark and me than father was, though he did n't go to the length of forbidding it; he just acted grumpily and disagreeably.
things were unpleasant enough all round without a quarrel between mark and me; yet quarrel we did -- and over next to nothing, too, you understand.
and now i had to set out for prince edward island without even seeing him, for he was away in toronto on business.
* * * * * when my train reached copely the next afternoon, aunt philippa was waiting for me.
there was nobody else in sight, but i would have known her had there been a thousand.
nobody but aunt philippa could have that determined mouth, those piercing grey eyes, and that pronounced, unmistakable goodwin nose.
and certainly nobody but aunt philippa would have come to meet me arrayed in a wrapper of chocolate print with huge yellow roses scattered over it, and a striped blue-and-white apron!
she welcomed me kindly but absent-mindedly, her thoughts evidently being concentrated on the problem of getting my trunk home.
i had only the one, and in montreal it had seemed to be of moderate size; but on the platform of copely station, sized up by aunt philippa's merciless eye, it certainly looked huge.
""i thought we could a-took it along tied on the back of the buggy," she said disapprovingly, "but i guess we'll have to leave it, and i'll send the hired boy over for it tonight.
you can get along without it till then, i s "pose?"
there was a fine irony in her tone.
i hastened to assure her meekly that i could, and that it did not matter if my trunk could not be taken up till next day.
""oh, jerry can come for it tonight as well as not," said aunt philippa, as we climbed into her buggy.
""i'd a good notion to send him to meet you, for he is n't doing much today, and i wanted to go to mrs. roderick macallister's funeral.
but my head was aching me so bad i thought i would n't enjoy the funeral if i did go.
my head is better now, so i kind of wish i had gone.
she was a hundred and four years old and i'd always promised myself that i'd go to her funeral."
aunt philippa's tone was melancholy.
she did not recover her good spirits until we were out on the pretty, grassy, elm-shaded country road, garlanded with its ribbon of buttercups.
then she suddenly turned around and looked me over scrutinizingly.
""you're not as good-looking as i expected from your picture, but them photographs always flatter.
that's the reason i never had any took.
you're rather thin and brown.
but you've good eyes and you look clever.
your father writ me you had n't much sense, though.
he wants me to teach you some, but it's a thankless business.
people would rather be fools."
aunt philippa struck her steed smartly with the whip and controlled his resultant friskiness with admirable skill.
""well, you know it's pleasanter," i said, wickedly.
""just think what a doleful world it would be if everybody were sensible."
aunt philippa looked at me out of the corner of her eye and disdained any skirmish of flippant epigram.
""so you want to get married?"
she said.
""you'd better wait till you're grown up."
""how old must a person be before she is grown up?"
i asked gravely.
""humph!
that depends.
some are grown up when they're born, and others ai n't grown up when they're eighty.
that same mrs. roderick i was speaking of never grew up.
she was as foolish when she was a hundred as when she was ten."
""perhaps that's why she lived so long," i suggested.
all thought of seeking sympathy in aunt philippa had vanished.
i resolved i would not even mention mark's name.
""mebbe't was," admitted aunt philippa with a grim smile."
i'd rather live fifty sensible years than a hundred foolish ones."
much to my relief, she made no further reference to my affairs.
as we rounded a curve in the road where two great over-arching elms met, a buggy wheeled by us, occupied by a young man in clerical costume.
he had a pleasant boyish face, and he touched his hat courteously.
aunt philippa nodded very frostily and gave her horse a quite undeserved cut.
""there's a man you do n't want to have much to do with," she said portentously.
""he's a methodist minister."
""why, auntie, the methodists are a very nice denomination," i protested.
""my stepmother is a methodist, you know."
""no, i did n't know, but i'd believe anything of a stepmother.
i've no use for methodists or their ministers.
this fellow just came last spring, and it's my opinion he smokes.
and he thinks every girl who looks at him falls in love with him -- as if a methodist minister was any prize!
do n't you take much notice of him, ursula."
""i'll not be likely to have the chance," i said, with an amused smile.
""oh, you'll see enough of him.
he boards at mrs. john callman's, just across the road from us, and he's always out sunning himself on her verandah.
never studies, of course.
last sunday they say he preached on the iron that floated.
if he'd confine himself to the bible and leave sensational subjects alone it would be better for him and his poor congregation, and so i told mrs. john callman to her face.
i should think she would have had enough of his sex by this time.
she married john callman against her father's will, and he had delirious trembles for years.
that's the men for you."
""they're not all like that, aunt philippa," i protested.
""most of'em are.
see that house over there?
mrs. jane harrison lives there.
her husband took tantrums every few days or so and would n't get out of bed.
she had to do all the barn work till he'd got over his spell.
that's men for you.
when he died, people writ her letters of condolence but i just sot down and writ her one of congratulation.
there's the presbyterian manse in the hollow.
mr. bentwell's our minister.
he's a good man and he'd be a rather nice one if he did n't think it was his duty to be a little miserable all the time.
he wo n't let his wife wear a fashionable hat, and his daughter ca n't fix her hair the way she wants to.
even being a minister ca n't prevent a man from being a crank.
here's ebenezer milgrave coming.
you take a good look at him.
he used to be insane for years.
he believed he was dead and used to rage at his wife because she would n't bury him.
i'd a-done it."
aunt philippa looked so determinedly grim that i could almost see her with a spade in her hand.
i laughed aloud at the picture summoned up.
""yes, it's funny, but i guess his poor wife did n't find it very humorsome.
he's been pretty sane for some years now, but you never can tell when he'll break out again.
he's got a brother, albert milgrave, who's been married twice.
they say he was courting his second wife while his first was dying.
let that be as it may, he used his first wife's wedding ring to marry the second.
that's the men for you."
""do n't you know any good husbands, aunt philippa?"
i asked desperately.
""oh, yes, lots of'em -- over there," said aunt philippa sardonically, waving her whip in the direction of a little country graveyard on a distant hill.
""yes, but living -- walking about in the flesh?"
""precious few.
now and again you'll come across a man whose wife wo n't put up with any nonsense and he has to be respectable.
but the most of'em are poor bargains -- poor bargains."
""and are all the wives saints?"
i persisted.
""laws, no, but they're too good for the men," retorted aunt philippa, as she turned in at her own gate.
her house was close to the road and was painted such a vivid green that the landscape looked faded by contrast.
across the gable end of it was the legend, "philippa's farm," emblazoned in huge black letters two feet long.
all its surroundings were very neat.
on the kitchen doorstep a patchwork cat was making a grave toilet.
the groundwork of the cat was white, and its spots were black, yellow, grey, and brown.
""there's joseph," said aunt philippa.
""i call him that because his coat is of many colours.
but i ai n't no lover of cats.
they're too much like the men to suit me."
""cats have always been supposed to be peculiarly feminine," i said, descending."
't was a man that supposed it, then," retorted aunt philippa, beckoning to her hired boy.
""here, jerry, put prince away.
jerry's a good sort of boy," she confided to me as we went into the house.
""i had jim spencer last summer and the only good thing about him was his appetite.
i put up with him till harvest was in, and then one day my patience give out.
he upsot a churnful of cream in the back yard -- and was just as cool as a cowcumber over it -- laughed and said it was good for the land.
i told him i was n't in the habit of fertilizing my back yard with cream.
but that's the men for you.
come in.
i'll have tea ready in no time.
i sot the table before i left.
there's lemon pie.
mrs. john cantwell sent it over.
i never make lemon pie myself.
ten years ago i took the prize for lemon pies at the county fair, and i've never made any since for fear i'd lose my reputation for them."
* * * * * the first month of my stay passed not unpleasantly.
the summer weather was delightful, and the sea air was certainly splendid.
aunt philippa's little farm ran right down to the shore, and i spent much of my time there.
there were also several families of cousins to be visited in the farmhouses that dotted the pretty, seaward-sloping valley, and they came back to see me at "philippa's farm."
i picked spruce gum and berries and ferns, and aunt philippa taught me to make butter.
it was all very idyllic -- or would have been if mark had written.
but mark did not write.
i supposed he must be very angry because i had run off to prince edward island without so much as a note of goodbye.
but i had been so sure he would understand!
aunt philippa never made any further reference to the reason father had sent me to her, but she allowed no day to pass without holding up to me some horrible example of matrimonial infelicity.
the number of unhappy wives who walked or drove past "philippa's farm" every afternoon, as we sat on the verandah, was truly pitiable.
we always sat on the verandah in the afternoon, when we were not visiting or being visited.
i made a pretence of fancy work, and aunt philippa spun diligently on a little old-fashioned spinning-wheel that had been her grandmother's.
she always sat before the wood stand which held her flowers, and the gorgeous blots of geranium blossom and big green leaves furnished a pretty background.
she always wore her shapeless but clean print wrappers, and her iron-grey hair was always combed neatly down over her ears.
joseph sat between us, sleeping or purring.
she spun so expertly that she could keep a close watch on the road as well, and i got the biography of every individual who went by.
as for the poor young methodist minister, who liked to read or walk on the verandah of our neighbour's house, aunt philippa never had a good word for him.
i had met him once or twice socially and had liked him.
i wanted to ask him to call but dared not -- aunt philippa had vowed he should never enter her house.
""if i was dead and he came to my funeral i'd rise up and order him out," she said.
""i thought he made a very nice prayer at mrs. seaman's funeral the other day," i said.
""oh, i've no doubt he can pray.
i never heard anyone make more beautiful prayers than old simon kennedy down at the harbour, who was always drunk or hoping to be -- and the drunker he was the better he prayed.
it ai n't no matter how well a man prays if his preaching is n't right.
that methodist man preaches a lot of things that ai n't true, and what's worse they ai n't sound doctrine.
at least, that's what i've heard.
i never was in a methodist church, thank goodness."
""do n't you think methodists go to heaven as well as presbyterians, aunt philippa?"
i asked gravely.
""that ai n't for us to decide," said aunt philippa solemnly.
""it's in higher hands than ours.
but i ai n't going to associate with them on earth, whatever i may have to do in heaven.
the folks round here mostly do n't make much difference and go to the methodist church quite often.
but i say if you are a presbyterian, be a presbyterian.
of course, if you ai n't, it do n't matter much what you do.
as for that minister man, he has a grand-uncle who was sent to the penitentiary for embezzlement.
i found out that much."
and evidently aunt philippa had taken an unholy joy in finding it out.
""i dare say some of our own ancestors deserved to go to the penitentiary, even if they never did," i remarked.
""who is that woman driving past, aunt philippa?
she must have been very pretty once."
""she was -- and that was all the good it did her.
"favour is deceitful and beauty is vain," ursula.
she was sarah pyatt and she married fred proctor.
he was one of your wicked, fascinating men.
after she married him he give up being fascinating but he kept on being wicked.
that's the men for you.
her sister flora were n't much luckier.
her man was that domineering she could n't call her soul her own.
finally he could n't get his own way over something and he just suicided by jumping into the well.
a good riddance -- but of course the well was spoiled.
flora could never abide the thought of using it again, poor thing.
that's men for you.
""and there's that old enoch allan on his way to the station.
he's ninety if he's a day.
you ca n't kill some folks with a meat axe.
his wife died twenty years ago.
he'd been married when he was twenty so they'd lived together for fifty years.
she was a faithful, hard-working creature and kept him out of the poorhouse, for he was a shiftless soul, not lazy, exactly, but just too fond of sitting.
but he were n't grateful.
she had a kind of bitter tongue and they did use to fight scandalous.
o" course it was all his fault.
well, she died, and old enoch and my father drove together to the graveyard.
old enoch was awful quiet all the way there and back, but just afore they got home, he says solemnly to father: "you may n't believe it, henry, but this is the happiest day of my life."
that's men for you.
his brother, scotty allan, was the meanest man ever lived in these parts.
when his wife died she was buried with a little gold brooch in her collar unbeknownst to him.
when he found it out he went one night to the graveyard and opened up the grave and the casket to get that brooch."
""oh, aunt philippa, that is a horrible story," i cried, recoiling with a shiver over the gruesomeness of it."
"course it is, but what would you expect of a man?"
retorted aunt philippa.
somehow, her stories began to affect me in spite of myself.
there were times when i felt very dreary.
perhaps aunt philippa was right.
perhaps men possessed neither truth nor constancy.
certainly mark had forgotten me.
i was ashamed of myself because this hurt me so much, but i could not help it.
i grew pale and listless.
aunt philippa sometimes peered at me sharply, but she held her peace.
i was grateful for this.
* * * * * but one day a letter did come from mark.
i dared not read it until i was safely in my own room.
then i opened it with trembling fingers.
the letter was a little stiff.
evidently mark was feeling sore enough over things.
he made no reference to our quarrel or to my sojourn in prince edward island.
he wrote that his firm was sending him to south africa to take charge of their interests there.
he would leave in three weeks" time and could not return for five years.
if i still cared anything for him, would i meet him in halifax, marry him, and go to south africa with him?
if i would not, he would understand that i had ceased to love him and that all was over between us.
that, boiled down, was the gist of mark's letter.
when i had read it i cast myself on the bed and wept out all the tears i had refused to let myself shed during my weeks of exile.
for i could not do what mark asked -- i could not.
i could n't run away to be married in that desolate, unbefriended fashion.
it would be a disgrace.
i would feel ashamed of it all my life and be unhappy over it.
i thought that mark was rather unreasonable.
he knew what my feelings about run-away marriages were.
and was it absolutely necessary for him to go to south africa?
of course his father was behind it somewhere, but surely he could have got out of it if he had really tried.
well, if he went to south africa he must go alone.
but my heart would break.
i cried the whole afternoon, cowering among my pillows.
i never wanted to go out of that room again.
i never wanted to see anybody again.
i hated the thought of facing aunt philippa with her cold eyes and her miserable stories that seemed to strip life of all beauty and love of all reality.
i could hear her scornful, "that's the men for you," if she heard what was in mark's letter.
""what is the matter, ursula?"
aunt philippa was standing by my bed.
i was too abject to resent her coming in without knocking.
""nothing," i said spiritlessly.
""if you've been crying for three mortal hours over nothing you want a good spanking and you'll get it," observed aunt philippa placidly, sitting down on my trunk.
""get right up off that bed this minute and tell me what the trouble is.
i'm bound to know, for i'm in your father's place at present."
""there, then!"
i flung her mark's letter.
there was n't anything in it that it was sacrilege to let another person see.
that was one reason why i had been crying.
aunt philippa read it over twice.
then she folded it up deliberately and put it back in the envelope.
""what are you going to do?"
she asked in a matter-of-fact tone.
""i'm not going to run away to be married," i answered sullenly.
""well, no, i would n't advise you to," said aunt philippa reflectively.
""it's a kind of low-down thing to do, though there's been a terrible lot of romantic nonsense talked and writ about eloping.
it may be a painful necessity sometimes, but it ai n't in this case.
you write to your young man and tell him to come here and be married respectable under my roof, same as a goodwin ought to."
i sat up and stared at aunt philippa.
i was so amazed that it is useless to try to express my amazement.
""aunt -- philippa," i gasped.
""i thought -- i thought --" "you thought i was a hard old customer, and so i am," said aunt philippa.
""but i do n't take my opinions from your father nor anybody else.
it did n't prejudice me any against your young man that your father did n't like him.
i knew your father of old.
i have some other friends in montreal and i writ to them and asked them what he was like.
from what they said i judged he was decent enough as men go.
you're too young to be married, but if you let him go off to south africa he'll slip through your fingers for sure, and i s "pose you're like some of the rest of us -- nobody'll do you but the one.
so tell him to come here and be married."
""i do n't see how i can," i gasped.
""i ca n't get ready to be married in three weeks.
i ca n't --" "i should think you have enough clothes in that trunk to do you for a spell," said aunt philippa sarcastically.
""you've more than my mother ever had in all her life.
we'll get you a wedding dress of some kind.
you can get it made in charlottetown, if country dressmakers are n't good enough for you, and i'll bake you a wedding cake that'll taste as good as anything you could get in montreal, even if it wo n't look so stylish."
""what will father say?"
i questioned.
""lots o" things," conceded aunt philippa grimly.
""but i do n't see as it matters when neither you nor me'll be there to have our feelings hurt.
i'll write a few things to your father.
he has n't got much sense.
he ought to be thankful to get a decent young man for his son-in-law in a world where most every man is a wolf in sheep's clothing.
but that's the men for you."
and that was aunt philippa for you.
for the next three weeks she was a blissfully excited, busy woman.
i was allowed to choose the material and fashion of my wedding suit and hat myself, but almost everything else was settled by aunt philippa.
i did n't mind; it was a relief to be rid of all responsibility; i did protest when she declared her intention of having a big wedding and asking all the cousins and semi-cousins on the island, but aunt philippa swept my objections lightly aside.
""i'm bound to have one good wedding in this house," she said.
""not likely i'll ever have another chance."
she found time amid all the baking and concocting to warn me frequently not to take it too much to heart if mark failed to come after all.
""i know a man who jilted a girl on her wedding day.
that's the men for you.
it's best to be prepared."
but mark did come, getting there the evening before our wedding day.
and then a severe blow fell on aunt philippa.
word came from the manse that mr. bentwell had been suddenly summoned to nova scotia to his mother's deathbed; he had started that night.
""that's the men for you," said aunt philippa bitterly.
""never can depend on one of them, not even on a minister.
what's to be done now?"
""get another minister," said mark easily.
""where'll you get him?"
demanded aunt philippa.
""the minister at cliftonville is away on his vacation, and mercer is vacant, and that leaves none nearer than town.
it wo n't do to depend on a town minister being able to come.
no, there's no help for it.
you'll have to have that methodist man."
aunt philippa's tone was tragic.
plainly she thought the ceremony would scarcely be legal if that methodist man married us.
but neither mark nor i cared.
we were too happy to be disturbed by any such trifles.
the young methodist minister married us the next day in the presence of many beaming guests.
aunt philippa, splendid in black silk and point-lace collar, neither of which lost a whit of dignity or lustre by being made ten years before, was composure itself while the ceremony was going on.
but no sooner had the minister pronounced us man and wife than she spoke up.
""now that's over i want someone to go right out and put out the fire on the kitchen roof.
it's been on fire for the last ten minutes."
minister and bridegroom headed the emergency brigade, and aunt philippa pumped the water for them.
in a short time the fire was out, all was safe, and we were receiving our deferred congratulations.
""now, young man," said aunt philippa solemnly as she shook hands with mark, "do n't you ever try to get out of this, even if a methodist minister did marry you."
she insisted on driving us to the train and said goodbye to us as we stood on the car steps.
she had caught more of the shower of rice than i had, and as the day was hot and sunny she had tied over her head, atop of that festal silk dress, a huge, home-made, untrimmed straw hat.
but she did not look ridiculous.
there was a certain dignity about aunt philippa in any costume and under any circumstance.
""aunt philippa," i said, "tell me this: why have you helped me to be married?"
the train began to move.
""i refused once to run away myself, and i've repented it ever since."
then, as the train gathered speed and the distance between us widened, she shouted after us, "but i s "pose if i had run away i'd have repented of that too."
bessie's doll tommy puffer, sauntering up the street, stopped to look at miss octavia's geraniums.
tommy never could help stopping to look at miss octavia's flowers, much as he hated miss octavia.
today they were certainly worth looking at.
miss octavia had set them all out on her verandah -- rows upon rows of them, overflowing down the steps in waves of blossom and colour.
miss octavia's geraniums were famous in arundel, and she was very proud of them.
but it was her garden which was really the delight of her heart.
miss octavia always had the prettiest garden in arundel, especially as far as annuals were concerned.
just now it was like faith -- the substance of things hoped for.
the poppies and nasturtiums and balsams and morning glories and sweet peas had been sown in the brown beds on the lawn, but they had not yet begun to come up.
tommy was still feasting his eyes on the geraniums when miss octavia herself came around the corner of the house.
her face darkened the minute she saw tommy.
most people's did.
tommy had the reputation of being a very bad, mischievous boy; he was certainly very poor and ragged, and miss octavia disapproved of poverty and rags on principle.
nobody, she argued, not even a boy of twelve, need be poor and ragged if he is willing to work.
""here, you, get away out of this," she said sharply.
""i'm not going to have you hanging over my palings."
""i ai n't hurting your old palings," retorted tommy sullenly.
""i was jist a-looking at the flowers."
""yes, and picking out the next one to throw a stone at," said miss octavia sarcastically.
""it was you who threw that stone and broke my big scarlet geranium clear off the other day."
""it was n't -- i never chucked a stone at your flowers," said tommy.
""do n't tell me any falsehoods, tommy puffer.
it was you.
did n't i catch you firing stones at my cat a dozen times?"
""i might have fired'em at an old cat, but i would n't tech a flower," avowed tommy boldly -- brazenly, miss octavia thought.
""you clear out of this or i'll make you," she said warningly.
tommy had had his ears boxed by miss octavia more than once.
he had no desire to have the performance repeated, so he stuck his tongue out at miss octavia and then marched up the street with his hands in his pockets, whistling jauntily.
""he's the most impudent brat i ever saw in my life," muttered miss octavia wrathfully.
there was a standing feud between her and all the arundel small boys, but tommy was her special object of dislike.
tommy's heart was full of wrath and bitterness as he marched away.
he hated miss octavia; he wished something would happen to every one of her flowers; he knew it was ned williams who had thrown that stone, and he hoped ned would throw some more and smash all the flowers.
so tommy raged along the street until he came to mr. blacklock's store, and in the window of it he saw something that put miss octavia and her disagreeable remarks quite out of his tow-coloured head.
this was nothing more or less than a doll.
now, tommy was not a judge of dolls and did not take much interest in them, but he felt quite sure that this was a very fine one.
it was so big; it was beautifully dressed in blue silk, with a ruffled blue silk hat; it had lovely long golden hair and big brown eyes and pink cheeks; and it stood right up in the showcase and held out its hands winningly.
""gee, ai n't it a beauty!"
said tommy admiringly.
""it looks "sif it was alive, and it's as big as a baby.
i must go an" bring bessie to see it."
tommy at once hurried away to the shabby little street where what he called "home" was.
tommy's home was a very homeless-looking sort of place.
it was the smallest, dingiest, most slatternly house on a street noted for its dingy and slatternly houses.
it was occupied by a slatternly mother and a drunken father, as well as by tommy; and neither the father nor the mother took much notice of tommy except to scold or nag him.
so it is hardly to be wondered at if tommy was the sort of boy who was frowned upon by respectable citizens.
but one little white blossom of pure affection bloomed in the arid desert of tommy's existence for all that.
in the preceding fall a new family had come to arundel and moved into the tiny house next to the puffers".
it was a small, dingy house, just like the others, but before long a great change took place in it.
the new family were thrifty, industrious folks, although they were very poor.
the little house was white-washed, the paling neatly mended, the bit of a yard cleaned of all its rubbish.
muslin curtains appeared in the windows, and rows of cans, with blossoming plants, adorned the sills.
there were just three people in the knox family -- a thin little mother, who went out scrubbing and took in washing, a boy of ten, who sold newspapers and ran errands -- and bessie.
bessie was eight years old and walked with a crutch, but she was a smart little lassie and kept the house wonderfully neat and tidy while her mother was away.
the very first time she had seen tommy she had smiled at him sweetly and said, "good morning."
from that moment tommy was her devoted slave.
nobody had ever spoken like that to him before; nobody had ever smiled so at him.
tommy would have given his useless little life for bessie, and thenceforth the time he was not devising mischief he spent in bringing little pleasures into her life.
it was tommy's delight to bring that smile to her pale little face and a look of pleasure into her big, patient blue eyes.
the other boys on the street tried to tease bessie at first and shouted "cripple!"
after her when she limped out.
but they soon stopped it.
tommy thrashed them all one after another for it, and bessie was left in peace.
she would have had a very lonely life if it had not been for tommy, for she could not play with the other children.
but tommy was as good as a dozen playmates, and bessie thought him the best boy in the world.
tommy, whatever he might be with others, was very careful to be good when he was with bessie.
he never said a rude word in her hearing, and he treated her as if she were a little princess.
miss octavia would have been amazed beyond measure if she had seen how tender and thoughtful and kind and chivalrous that neglected urchin of a tommy could be when he tried.
tommy found bessie sitting by the kitchen window, looking dreamily out of it.
for just a moment tommy thought uneasily that bessie was looking very pale and thin this spring.
""bessie, come for a walk up to mr. blacklock's store," he said eagerly.
""there is something there i want to show you."
""what is it?"
bessie wanted to know.
but tommy only winked mysteriously.
""ah, i ai n't going to tell you.
but it's something awful pretty.
just you wait."
bessie reached for her crutch and the two went up to the store, tommy carefully suiting his steps to bessie's slow ones.
just before they reached the store he made her shut her eyes and led her to the window.
""now -- look!"
he commanded dramatically.
bessie looked and tommy was rewarded.
she flushed pinkly with delight and clasped her hands in ecstasy.
""oh, tommy, is n't she perfectly beautiful?"
she breathed.
""oh, she's the very loveliest dolly i ever saw.
oh, tommy!"
""i thought you'd like her," said tommy exultantly.
""do n't you wish you had a doll like that of your very own, bessie?"
bessie looked almost rebuking, as if tommy had asked her if she would n't like a golden crown or a queen's palace.
""of course i could never have a dolly like that," she said.
""she must cost an awful lot.
but it's enough just to look at her.
tommy, will you bring me up here every day just to look at her?""
"course," said tommy.
bessie talked about the blue-silk doll all the way home and dreamed of her every night.
""i'm going to call her roselle geraldine," she said.
after that she went up to see roselle geraldine every day, gazing at her for long moments in silent rapture.
tommy almost grew jealous of her; he thought bessie liked the doll better than she did him.
""but it do n't matter a bit if she does," he thought loyally, crushing down the jealousy.
""if she likes to like it better than me, it's all right."
sometimes, though, tommy felt uneasy.
it was plain to be seen that bessie had set her heart on that doll.
and what would she do when the doll was sold, as would probably happen soon?
tommy thought bessie would feel awful sad, and he would be responsible for it.
what tommy feared came to pass.
one afternoon, when they went up to mr. blacklock's store, the doll was not in the window.
""oh," cried bessie, bursting into tears, "she's gone -- roselle geraldine is gone."
""perhaps she is n't sold," said tommy comfortingly.
""maybe they only took her out of the window'cause the blue silk would fade.
i'll go in and ask."
a minute later tommy came out looking sober.
""yes, she's sold, bessie," he said.
""mr. blacklock sold her to a lady yesterday.
do n't cry, bessie -- maybe they'll put another in the window "fore long."
""it wo n't be mine," sobbed bessie.
""it wo n't be roselle geraldine.
it wo n't have a blue silk hat and such cunning brown eyes."
bessie cried quietly all the way home, and tommy could not comfort her.
he wished he had never shown her the doll in the window.
from that day bessie drooped, and tommy watched her in agony.
she grew paler and thinner.
she was too tired to go out walking, and too tired to do the little household tasks she had delighted in.
she never spoke about roselle geraldine, but tommy knew she was fretting about her.
mrs. knox could not think what ailed the child.
""she do n't take a bit of interest in nothing," she complained to mrs. puffer.
""she do n't eat enough for a bird.
the doctor, he says there ai n't nothing the matter with her as he can find out, but she's just pining away."
tommy heard this, and a queer, big lump came up in his throat.
he had a horrible fear that he, tommy puffer, was going to cry.
to prevent it he began to whistle loudly.
but the whistle was a failure, very unlike the real tommy-whistle.
bessie was sick -- and it was all his fault, tommy believed.
if he had never taken her to see that hateful, blue-silk doll, she would never have got so fond of it as to be breaking her heart because it was sold.
""if i was only rich," said tommy miserably, "i'd buy her a cartload of dolls, all dressed in blue silk and all with brown eyes.
but i ca n't do nothing."
by this time tommy had reached the paling in front of miss octavia's lawn, and from force of habit he stopped to look over it.
but there was not much to see this time, only the little green rows and circles in the brown, well-weeded beds, and the long curves of dahlia plants, which miss octavia had set out a few days before.
all the geraniums were carried in, and the blinds were down.
tommy knew miss octavia was away.
he had seen her depart on the train that morning, and heard her tell a friend that she was going down to chelton to visit her brother's folks and would n't be back until the next day.
tommy was still leaning moodily against the paling when mrs. jenkins and mrs. reid came by, and they too paused to look at the garden.
""dear me, how cold it is!"
shivered mrs. reid.
""there's going to be a hard frost tonight.
octavia's flowers will be nipped as sure as anything.
it's a wonder she'd stay away from them overnight when her heart's so set on them."
""her brother's wife is sick," said mrs. jenkins.
""we have n't had any frost this spring, and i suppose octavia never thought of such a thing.
she'll feel awful bad if her flowers get frosted, especially them dahlias.
octavia sets such store by her dahlias."
mrs. jenkins and mrs. reid moved away, leaving tommy by the paling.
it was cold -- there was going to be a hard frost -- and miss octavia's plants and flowers would certainly be spoiled.
tommy thought he ought to be glad, but he was n't.
he was sorry -- not for miss octavia, but for her flowers.
tommy had a queer, passionate love for flowers in his twisted little soul.
it was a shame that they should be nipped -- that all the glory of crimson and purple and gold hidden away in those little green rows and circles should never have a chance to blossom out royally.
tommy could never have put this thought into words, but it was there in his heart.
he wished he could save the flowers.
and could n't he?
newspapers spread over the beds and tied around the dahlias would save them, tommy knew.
he had seen miss octavia doing it other springs.
and he knew there was a big box of newspapers in a little shed in her backyard.
ned williams had told him there was, and that the shed was never locked.
tommy hurried home as quickly as he could and got a ball of twine out of his few treasures.
then he went back to miss octavia's garden.
the next forenoon miss octavia got off the train at the arundel station with a very grim face.
there had been an unusually severe frost for the time of year.
all along the road miss octavia had seen gardens frosted and spoiled.
she knew what she should see when she got to her own -- the dahlia stalks drooping and black and limp, the nasturtiums and balsams and poppies and pansies all withered and ruined.
but she did n't.
instead she saw every dahlia carefully tied up in a newspaper, and over all the beds newspapers spread out and held neatly in place with pebbles.
miss octavia flew into her garden with a radiant face.
everything was safe -- nothing was spoiled.
but who could have done it?
miss octavia was puzzled.
on one side of her lived mrs. kennedy, who had just moved in and, being a total stranger, would not be likely to think of miss octavia's flowers.
on the other lived miss matheson, who was a "shut-in" and spent all her time on the sofa.
but to miss matheson miss octavia went.
""rachel, do you know who covered my plants up last night?"
miss matheson nodded.
""yes, it was tommy puffer.
i saw him working away there with papers and twine.
i thought you'd told him to do it."
""for the land's sake!"
ejaculated miss octavia.
""tommy puffer!
well, wonders will never cease."
miss octavia went back to her house feeling rather ashamed of herself when she remembered how she had always treated tommy puffer.
""but there must be some good in the child, or he would n't have done this," she said to herself.
""i've been real mean, but i'll make it up to him."
miss octavia did not see tommy that day, but when he passed the next morning she ran to the door and called him.
""tommy, tommy puffer, come in here!"
tommy came reluctantly.
he did n't like miss octavia any better than he had, and he did n't know what she wanted of him.
but miss octavia soon informed him without loss of words.
""tommy, miss matheson tells me that it was you who saved my flowers from the frost the other night.
i'm very much obliged to you indeed.
whatever made you think of doing it?"
""i hated to see the flowers spoiled," muttered tommy, who was feeling more uncomfortable than he had ever felt in his life.
""well, it was real thoughtful of you.
i'm sorry i've been so hard on you, tommy, and i believe now you did n't break my scarlet geranium.
is there anything i can do for you -- anything you'd like to have?
if it's in reason i'll get it for you, just to pay my debt."
tommy stared at miss octavia with a sudden hopeful inspiration.
""oh, miss octavia," he cried eagerly, "will you buy a doll and give it to me?"
""well, for the land's sake!"
ejaculated miss octavia, unable to believe her ears.
""a doll!
what on earth do you want of a doll?"
""it's for bessie," said tommy eagerly.
""you see, it's this way."
then tommy told miss octavia the whole story.
miss octavia listened silently, sometimes nodding her head.
when he had finished she went out of the room and soon returned, bringing with her the very identical doll that had been in mr. blacklock's window.
""i guess this is the doll," she said.
""i bought it to give to a small niece of mine, but i can get another for her.
you may take this to bessie."
it would be of no use to try to describe bessie's joy when tommy rushed in and put roselle geraldine in her arms with a breathless account of the wonderful story.
but from that moment bessie began to pick up again, and soon she was better than she had ever been and the happiest little lassie in arundel.
when a week had passed, miss octavia again called tommy in; tommy went more willingly this time.
he had begun to like miss octavia.
that lady looked him over sharply and somewhat dubiously.
he was certainly very ragged and unkempt.
but miss octavia saw what she had never noticed before -- that tommy's eyes were bright and frank, that tommy's chin was a good chin, and that tommy's smile had something very pleasant about it.
""you're fond of flowers, are n't you, tommy?"
she asked.
""you bet," was tommy's inelegant but heartfelt answer.
""well," said miss octavia slowly, "i have a brother down at chelton who is a florist.
he wants a boy of your age to do handy jobs and run errands about his establishment, and he wants one who is fond of flowers and would like to learn the business.
he asked me to recommend him one, and i promised to look out for a suitable boy.
would you like the place, tommy?
and will you promise to be a very good boy and learn to be respectable if i ask my brother to give you a trial and a chance to make something of yourself?"
""oh, miss octavia!"
gasped tommy.
he wondered if he were simply having a beautiful dream.
but it was no dream.
and it was all arranged later on.
no one rejoiced more heartily in tommy's success than bessie.
""but i'll miss you dreadfully, tommy," she said wistfully.
""oh, i'll be home every saturday night, and we'll have sunday together, except when i've got to go to sunday school.
'cause miss octavia says i must," said tommy comfortingly.
""and the rest of the time you'll have roselle geraldine."
""yes, i know," said bessie, giving the blue-silk doll a fond kiss, "and she's just lovely.
but she ai n't as nice as you, tommy, for all."
then was tommy's cup of happiness full.
charlotte's ladies just as soon as dinner was over at the asylum, charlotte sped away to the gap in the fence -- the northwest corner gap.
there was a gap in the southeast corner, too -- the asylum fence was in a rather poor condition -- but the southeast gap was interesting only after tea, and it was never at any time quite as interesting as the northwest gap.
charlotte ran as fast as her legs could carry her, for she did not want any of the other orphans to see her.
as a rule, charlotte liked the company of the other orphans and was a favourite with them.
but, somehow, she did not want them to know about the gaps.
she was sure they would not understand.
charlotte had discovered the gaps only a week before.
they had not been there in the autumn, but the snowdrifts had lain heavily against the fence all winter, and one spring day when charlotte was creeping through the shrubbery in the northwest corner in search of the little yellow daffodils that always grew there in spring, she found a delightful space where a board had fallen off, whence she could look out on a bit of woodsy road with a little footpath winding along by the fence under the widespreading boughs of the asylum trees.
charlotte felt a wild impulse to slip out and run fast and far down that lovely, sunny, tempting, fenceless road.
but that would have been wrong, for it was against the asylum rules, and charlotte, though she hated most of the asylum rules with all her heart, never disobeyed or broke them.
so she subdued the vagrant longing with a sigh and sat down among the daffodils to peer wistfully out of the gap and feast her eyes on this glimpse of a world where there were no brick walls and prim walks and never-varying rules.
then, as charlotte watched, the pretty lady with the blue eyes came along the footpath.
charlotte had never seen her before and had n't the slightest idea in the world who she was, but that was what she called her as soon as she saw her.
the lady was so pretty, with lovely blue eyes that were very sad, although somehow as you looked at them you felt that they ought to be laughing, merry eyes instead.
at least charlotte thought so and wished at once that she knew how to make them laugh.
besides, the lady had lovely golden hair and the most beautiful pink cheeks, and charlotte, who had mouse-coloured hair and any number of freckles, had an unbounded admiration for golden locks and roseleaf complexions.
the lady was dressed in black, which charlotte did n't like, principally because the matron of the asylum wore black and charlotte did n't -- exactly -- like the matron.
when the pretty lady with the blue eyes had gone by, charlotte drew a long breath.
""if i could pick out a mother i'd pick out one that looked just like her," she said.
nice things sometimes happen close together, even in an orphan asylum, and that very evening charlotte discovered the southeast gap and found herself peering into the most beautiful garden you could imagine, a garden where daffodils and tulips grew in great ribbon-like beds, and there were hedges of white and purple lilacs, and winding paths under blossoming trees.
it was such a garden as charlotte had pictured in happy dreams and never expected to see in real life.
and yet here it had been all the time, divided from her only by a high board fence.
""i would n't have s "posed there could be such a lovely place so near an orphan asylum," mused charlotte.
""it's the very loveliest place i ever saw.
oh, i do wish i could go and walk in it.
well, i do declare!
if there is n't a lady in it, too!"
sure enough, there was a lady, helping an unruly young vine to run in the way it should go over a little arbour.
charlotte instantly named her the tall lady with the black eyes.
she was not nearly so young or so pretty as the lady with the blue eyes, but she looked very kind and jolly.
i'd like her for an aunt, reflected charlotte.
not for a mother -- oh, no, not for a mother, but for an aunt.
i know she'd make a splendid aunt.
and, oh, just look at her cat!
charlotte looked at the cat with all her might and main.
she loved cats, but cats were not allowed in an orphan asylum, although charlotte sometimes wondered if there were no orphan kittens in the world which would be appropriate for such an institution.
the tall lady's cat was so big and furry, with a splendid tail and elegant stripes.
a very handsome cat, charlotte called him mentally, seeing the capitals as plainly as if they had been printed out.
charlotte's fingers tingled to stroke his glossy coat, but she folded them sternly together.
""you know you ca n't," she said to herself reproachfully, "so what is the use of wanting to, charlotte turner?
you ought to be thankful just to see the garden and the very handsome cat."
charlotte watched the tall lady and the cat until they went away into a fine, big house further up the garden, then she sighed and went back through the cherry trees to the asylum playground, where the other orphans were playing games.
but, somehow, games had lost their flavour compared with those fascinating gaps.
it did not take charlotte long to discover that the pretty lady always walked past the northwest gap about one o'clock every day and never at any other time -- at least at no other time when charlotte was free to watch her; and that the tall lady was almost always in her garden at five in the afternoon, accompanied by the very handsome cat, pruning and trimming some of her flowers.
charlotte never missed being at the gaps at the proper times, if she could possibly manage it, and her heart was full of dreams about her two ladies.
but the other orphans thought all the fun had gone out of her, and the matron noticed her absent-mindedness and dosed her with sulphur and molasses for it.
charlotte took the dose meekly, as she took everything else.
it was all part and parcel with being an orphan in an asylum.
""but if the pretty lady with the blue eyes was my mother, she would n't make me swallow such dreadful stuff," sighed charlotte.
""i do n't believe even the tall lady with the black eyes would -- though perhaps she might, aunts not being quite as good as mothers."
""do you know," said maggie brunt, coming up to charlotte at this moment, "that lizzie parker is going to be adopted?
a lady is going to adopt her."
""oh!"
cried charlotte breathlessly.
an adoption was always a wonderful event in the asylum, as well as a somewhat rare one.
""oh, how splendid!"
""yes, is n't it?"
said maggie enviously.
""she picked out lizzie because she was pretty and had curls.
i do n't think it is fair."
charlotte sighed.
""nobody will ever want to adopt me, because i've mousy hair and freckles," she said.
""but somebody may want you some day, maggie.
you have such lovely black hair."
""but it is n't curly," said maggie forlornly.
""and the matron wo n't let me put it up in curl papers at night.
i just wish i was lizzie."
charlotte shook her head.
""i do n't.
i'd love to be adopted, but i would n't really like to be anybody but myself, even if i am homely.
it's better to be yourself with mousy hair and freckles than somebody else who is ever so beautiful.
but i do envy lizzie, though the matron says it is wicked to envy anyone."
envy of the fortunate lizzie did not long possess charlotte's mind, however, for that very day a wonderful thing happened at noon hour by the northwest gap.
charlotte had always been very careful not to let the pretty lady see her, but today, after the pretty lady had gone past, charlotte leaned out of the gap to watch her as far as she could.
and just at that very moment the pretty lady looked back; and there, peering at her from the asylum fence, was a little scrap of a girl, with mouse-coloured hair and big freckles, and the sweetest, brightest, most winsome little face the pretty lady had ever seen.
the pretty lady smiled right down at charlotte and for just a moment her eyes looked as charlotte had always known they ought to look.
charlotte was feeling rather frightened down in her heart but she smiled bravely back.
""are you thinking of running away?"
said the pretty lady, and, oh, what a sweet voice she had -- sweet and tender, just like a mother's voice ought to be!
""no," said charlotte, shaking her head gravely.
""i should like to run away but it would be of no use, because there is no place to run to."
""why would you like to run away?"
asked the pretty lady, still smiling.
""do n't you like living here?"
charlotte opened her big eyes very widely.
""why, it's an orphan asylum!"
she exclaimed.
""nobody could like living in an orphan asylum.
but, of course, orphans should be very thankful to have any place to live in and i am thankful.
i'd be thankfuller still if the matron would n't make me take sulphur and molasses.
if you had a little girl, would you make her take sulphur and molasses?"
""i did n't when i had a little girl," said the pretty lady wistfully, and her eyes were sad again.
""oh, did you really have a little girl once?"
asked charlotte softly.
""yes, and she died," said the pretty lady in a trembling voice.
""oh, i am sorry," said charlotte, more softly still.
""did she -- did she have lovely golden hair and pink cheeks like yours?"
""no," the pretty lady smiled again, though it was a very sad smile.
""no, she had mouse-coloured hair and freckles."
""oh!
and were n't you sorry?"
""no, i was glad of it, because it made her look like her father.
i've always loved little girls with mouse-coloured hair and freckles ever since.
well, i must hurry along.
i'm late now, and schools have a dreadful habit of going in sharp on time.
if you should happen to be here tomorrow, i'm going to stop and ask your name."
of course charlotte was at the gap the next day and they had a lovely talk.
in a week they were the best of friends.
charlotte soon found out that she could make the pretty lady's eyes look as they ought to for a little while at least, and she spent all her spare time and lay awake at nights devising speeches to make the pretty lady laugh.
then another wonderful thing happened.
one evening when charlotte went to the southeast gap, the tall lady with the black eyes was not in the garden -- at least, charlotte thought she was n't.
but the very handsome cat was, sitting gravely under a syringa bush and looking quite proud of himself for being a cat.
""you very handsome cat," said charlotte, "wo n't you come here and let me stroke you?"
the very handsome cat did come, just as if he understood english, and he purred with delight when charlotte took him in her arms and buried her face in his fur.
then -- charlotte thought she would really sink into the ground, for the tall lady herself came around a lilac bush and stood before the gap.
""please, ma'am," stammered charlotte in an agony of embarrassment, "i was n't meaning to do any harm to your very handsome cat.
i just wanted to pat him.
i -- i am very fond of cats and they are not allowed in orphan asylums."
""i've always thought asylums were n't run on proper principles," said the tall lady briskly.
""bless your heart, child, do n't look so scared.
you're welcome to pat the cat all you like.
come in and i'll give you some flowers."
""thank you, but i am not allowed to go off the grounds," said charlotte firmly, "and i think i'd rather not have any flowers because the matron might want to know where i got them, and then she would have this gap closed up.
i live in mortal dread for fear it will be closed anyhow.
it's very uncomfortable -- living in mortal dread."
the tall lady laughed a very jolly laugh.
""yes, i should think it would be," she agreed.
""i have n't had that experience."
then they had a jolly talk, and every evening after that charlotte went to the gap and stroked the very handsome cat and chatted to the tall lady.
""do you live all alone in that big house?"
she asked wonderingly one day.
""all alone," said the tall lady.
""did you always live alone?"
""no.
i had a sister living with me once.
but i do n't want to talk about her.
you'll oblige me, charlotte, by not talking about her."
""i wo n't then," agreed charlotte.
""i can understand why people do n't like to have their sisters talked about sometimes.
lily mitchell has a big sister who was sent to jail for stealing.
of course lily does n't like to talk about her."
the tall lady laughed a little bitterly.
""my sister did n't steal.
she married a man i detested, that's all."
""did he drink?"
asked charlotte gravely.
""the matron's husband drank and that was why she left him and took to running an orphan asylum.
i think i'd rather put up with a drunken husband than live in an orphan asylum."
""my sister's husband did n't drink," said the tall lady grimly.
""he was beneath her, that was all.
i told her i'd never forgive her and i never shall.
he's dead now -- he died a year after she married him -- and she's working for her living.
i dare say she does n't find it very pleasant.
she was n't brought up to that.
here, charlotte, is a turnover for you.
i made it on purpose for you.
eat it and tell me if you do n't think i'm a good cook.
i'm dying for a compliment.
i never get any now that i've got old.
it's a dismal thing to get old and have nobody to love you except a cat, charlotte."
""i think it is just as bad to be young and have nobody to love you, not even a cat," sighed charlotte, enjoying the turnover, nevertheless.
""i dare say it is," agreed the tall lady, looking as if she had been struck by a new and rather startling idea.
* * * * * i like the tall lady with the black eyes ever so much, thought charlotte that night as she lay in bed, but i love the pretty lady.
i have more fun with the tall lady and the very handsome cat, but i always feel nicer with the pretty lady.
oh, i'm so glad her little girl had mouse-coloured hair.
then the most wonderful thing of all happened.
one day a week later the pretty lady said, "would you like to come and live with me, charlotte?"
charlotte looked at her.
""are you in earnest?"
she asked in a whisper.
""indeed i am.
i want you for my little girl, and if you'd like to come, you shall.
i'm poor, charlotte, really, i'm dreadfully poor, but i can make my salary stretch far enough for two, and we'll love each other enough to cover the thin spots.
will you come?"
""well, i should just think i will!"
said charlotte emphatically.
""oh, i wish i was sure i'm not dreaming.
i do love you so much, and it will be so delightful to be your little girl."
""very well, sweetheart.
i'll come tomorrow afternoon -- it is saturday, so i'll have the whole blessed day off -- and see the matron about it.
oh, we'll have lovely times together, dearest.
i only wish i'd discovered you long ago."
charlotte may have eaten and studied and played and kept rules the rest of that day and part of the next, but, if so, she has no recollection of it.
she went about like a girl in a dream, and the matron concluded that something more than sulphur and molasses was needed and decided to speak to the doctor about her.
but she never did, because a lady came that afternoon and told her she wanted to adopt charlotte.
charlotte obeyed the summons to the matron's room in a tingle of excitement.
but when she went in, she saw only the matron and the tall lady with the black eyes.
before charlotte could look around for the pretty lady the matron said, "charlotte, this lady, miss herbert, wishes to adopt you.
it is a splendid thing for you, and you ought to be a very thankful little girl."
charlotte's head fairly whirled.
she clasped her hands and the tears brimmed up in her eyes.
""oh, i like the tall lady," she gasped, "but i love the pretty lady and i promised her i'd be her little girl.
i ca n't break my promise."
""what on earth is the child talking about?"
said the mystified matron.
and just then the maid showed in the pretty lady.
charlotte flew to her and flung her arms about her.
""oh, tell them i am your little girl!"
she begged.
""tell them i promised you first.
i do n't want to hurt the tall lady's feelings because i truly do like her so very much.
but i want to be your little girl."
the pretty lady had given one glance at the tall lady and flushed red.
the tall lady, on the contrary, had grown very pale.
the matron felt uncomfortable.
everybody knew that miss herbert and mrs. bond had n't spoken to each other for years, even if they were sisters and alone in the world except for each other.
mrs. bond turned to the matron.
""i have come to ask permission to adopt this little girl," she said.
""oh, i'm very sorry," stammered the matron, "but miss herbert has just asked for her, and i have consented."
charlotte gave a great gulp of disappointment, but the pretty lady suddenly wheeled around to face the tall lady, with quivering lips and tearful eyes.
""do n't take her from me, alma," she pleaded humbly.
""she -- she is so like my own baby and i'm so lonely.
any other child will suit you as well."
""not at all," said the tall lady brusquely.
""not at all, anna.
no other child will suit me at all.
and may i ask what you intend to keep her on?
i know your salary is barely enough for yourself."
""that is my concern," said the pretty lady a little proudly.
""humph!"
the tall lady shrugged her shoulders.
""just as independent as ever, anna, i see.
well, child, what do you say?
which of us will you come with?
remember, i have the cat on my side, and anna ca n't make half as good turnovers as i can.
remember all this, charlotte."
""oh, i -- i like you so much," stammered charlotte, "and i wish i could live with you both.
but since i ca n't, i must go with the pretty lady, because i promised, and because i loved her first."
""and best?"
queried the tall lady.
""and best," admitted charlotte, bound to be truthful, even at the risk of hurting the tall lady's feelings.
""but i do like you, too -- next best.
and you really do n't need me as much as she does, for you have your very handsome cat and she has n't anything."
""a cat no longer satisfies the aching void in my soul," said the tall lady stubbornly.
""nothing will satisfy it but a little girl with mouse-coloured hair and freckles.
no, anna, i've got to have charlotte.
but i think that with her usual astuteness, she has already solved the problem for us by saying she'd like to live with us both.
why ca n't she?
you just come back home and we'll let bygones be bygones.
we both have something to forgive, but i was an obstinate old fool and i've known it for years, though i never confessed it to anybody but the cat."
the pretty lady softened, trembled, smiled.
she went right up to the tall lady and put her arms about her neck.
""oh, i've wanted so much to be friends with you again," she sobbed.
""but i thought you would never relent -- and -- and -- i've been so lonely --" "there, there," whispered the tall lady, "do n't cry under the matron's eye.
wait till we get home.
i may have some crying to do myself then.
charlotte, go and get your hat and come right over with us.
we can sign the necessary papers later on, but we must have you right off.
the cat is waiting for you on the back porch, and there is a turnover cooling on the pantry window that is just your size."
""i am so happy," remarked charlotte, "that i feel like crying myself."
christmas at red butte "of course santa claus will come," said jimmy martin confidently.
jimmy was ten, and at ten it is easy to be confident.
""why, he's got to come because it is christmas eve, and he always has come.
you know that, twins."
yes, the twins knew it and, cheered by jimmy's superior wisdom, their doubts passed away.
there had been one terrible moment when theodora had sighed and told them they must n't be too much disappointed if santa claus did not come this year because the crops had been poor, and he might n't have had enough presents to go around.
""that does n't make any difference to santa claus," scoffed jimmy.
""you know as well as i do, theodora prentice, that santa claus is rich whether the crops fail or not.
they failed three years ago, before father died, but santa claus came all the same.
prob "bly you do n't remember it, twins,'cause you were too little, but i do.
of course he'll come, so do n't you worry a mite.
and he'll bring my skates and your dolls.
he knows we're expecting them, theodora,'cause we wrote him a letter last week, and threw it up the chimney.
and there'll be candy and nuts, of course, and mother's gone to town to buy a turkey.
i tell you we're going to have a ripping christmas."
""well, do n't use such slangy words about it, jimmy-boy," sighed theodora.
she could n't bear to dampen their hopes any further, and perhaps aunt elizabeth might manage it if the colt sold well.
but theodora had her painful doubts, and she sighed again as she looked out of the window far down the trail that wound across the prairie, red-lighted by the declining sun of the short wintry afternoon.
""do people always sigh like that when they get to be sixteen?"
asked jimmy curiously.
""you did n't sigh like that when you were only fifteen, theodora.
i wish you would n't.
it makes me feel funny -- and it's not a nice kind of funniness either."
""it's a bad habit i've got into lately," said theodora, trying to laugh.
""old folks are dull sometimes, you know, jimmy-boy."
""sixteen is awful old, is n't it?"
said jimmy reflectively.
""i'll tell you what i'm going to do when i'm sixteen, theodora.
i'm going to pay off the mortgage, and buy mother a silk dress, and a piano for the twins.
wo n't that be elegant?
i'll be able to do that'cause i'm a man.
of course if i was only a girl i could n't."
""i hope you'll be a good kind brave man and a real help to your mother," said theodora softly, sitting down before the cosy fire and lifting the fat little twins into her lap.
""oh, i'll be good to her, never you fear," assured jimmy, squatting comfortably down on the little fur rug before the stove -- the skin of the coyote his father had killed four years ago.
""i believe in being good to your mother when you've only got the one.
now tell us a story, theodora -- a real jolly story, you know, with lots of fighting in it.
only please do n't kill anybody.
i like to hear about fighting, but i like to have all the people come out alive."
theodora laughed, and began a story about the riel rebellion of" 85 -- a story which had the double merit of being true and exciting at the same time.
it was quite dark when she finished, and the twins were nodding, but jimmy's eyes were wide open and sparkling.
""that was great," he said, drawing a long breath.
""tell us another."
""no, it's bedtime for you all," said theodora firmly.
""one story at a time is my rule, you know."
""but i want to sit up till mother comes home," objected jimmy.
""you ca n't.
she may be very late, for she would have to wait to see mr. porter.
besides, you do n't know what time santa claus might come -- if he comes at all.
if he were to drive along and see you children up instead of being sound asleep in bed, he might go right on and never call at all."
this argument was too much for jimmy.
""all right, we'll go.
but we have to hang up our stockings first.
twins, get yours."
the twins toddled off in great excitement, and brought back their sunday stockings, which jimmy proceeded to hang along the edge of the mantel shelf.
this done, they all trooped obediently off to bed.
theodora gave another sigh, and seated herself at the window, where she could watch the moonlit prairie for mrs. martin's homecoming and knit at the same time.
i am afraid that you will think from all the sighing theodora was doing that she was a very melancholy and despondent young lady.
you could n't think anything more unlike the real theodora.
she was the jolliest, bravest girl of sixteen in all saskatchewan, as her shining brown eyes and rosy, dimpled cheeks would have told you; and her sighs were not on her own account, but simply for fear the children were going to be disappointed.
she knew that they would be almost heartbroken if santa claus did not come, and that this would hurt the patient hardworking little mother more than all else.
five years before this, theodora had come to live with uncle george and aunt elizabeth in the little log house at red butte.
her own mother had just died, and theodora had only her big brother donald left, and donald had klondike fever.
the martins were poor, but they had gladly made room for their little niece, and theodora had lived there ever since, her aunt's right-hand girl and the beloved playmate of the children.
they had been very happy until uncle george's death two years before this christmas eve; but since then there had been hard times in the little log house, and though mrs. martin and theodora did their best, it was a woefully hard task to make both ends meet, especially this year when their crops had been poor.
theodora and her aunt had made every sacrifice possible for the children's sake, and at least jimmy and the twins had not felt the pinch very severely yet.
at seven mrs. martins bells jingled at the door and theodora flew out.
""go right in and get warm, auntie," she said briskly.
""i'll take ned away and unharness him."
""it's a bitterly cold night," said mrs. martin wearily.
there was a note of discouragement in her voice that struck dismay to theodora's heart.
""i'm afraid it means no christmas for the children tomorrow," she thought sadly, as she led ned away to the stable.
when she returned to the kitchen mrs. martin was sitting by the fire, her face in her chilled hand, sobbing convulsively.
""auntie -- oh, auntie, do n't!"
exclaimed theodora impulsively.
it was such a rare thing to see her plucky, resolute little aunt in tears.
""you're cold and tired -- i'll have a nice cup of tea for you in a trice."
""no, it is n't that," said mrs. martin brokenly "it was seeing those stockings hanging there.
theodora, i could n't get a thing for the children -- not a single thing.
mr. porter would only give forty dollars for the colt, and when all the bills were paid there was barely enough left for such necessaries as we must have.
i suppose i ought to feel thankful i could get those.
but the thought of the children's disappointment tomorrow is more than i can bear.
it would have been better to have told them long ago, but i kept building on getting more for the colt.
well, it's weak and foolish to give way like this.
we'd better both take a cup of tea and go to bed.
it will save fuel."
when theodora went up to her little room her face was very thoughtful.
she took a small box from her table and carried it to the window.
in it was a very pretty little gold locket hung on a narrow blue ribbon.
theodora held it tenderly in her fingers, and looked out over the moonlit prairie with a very sober face.
could she give up her dear locket -- the locket donald had given her just before he started for the klondike?
she had never thought she could do such a thing.
it was almost the only thing she had to remind her of donald -- handsome, merry, impulsive, warmhearted donald, who had gone away four years ago with a smile on his bonny face and splendid hope in his heart.
""here's a locket for you, gift o" god," he had said gaily -- he had such a dear loving habit of calling her by the beautiful meaning of her name.
a lump came into theodora's throat as she remembered it.
""i could n't afford a chain too, but when i come back i'll bring you a rope of klondike nuggets for it."
then he had gone away.
for two years letters had come from him regularly.
then he wrote that he had joined a prospecting party to a remote wilderness.
after that was silence, deepening into anguish of suspense that finally ended in hopelessness.
a rumour came that donald prentice was dead.
none had returned from the expedition he had joined.
theodora had long ago given up all hope of ever seeing donald again.
hence her locket was doubly dear to her.
but aunt elizabeth had always been so good and loving and kind to her.
could she not make the sacrifice for her sake?
yes, she could and would.
theodora flung up her head with a gesture that meant decision.
she took out of the locket the bits of hair -- her mother's and donald's -- which it contained -lrb- perhaps a tear or two fell as she did so -rrb- and then hastily donned her warmest cap and wraps.
it was only three miles to spencer; she could easily walk it in an hour and, as it was christmas eve, the shops would be open late.
she muse walk, for ned could not be taken out again, and the mare's foot was sore.
besides, aunt elizabeth must not know until it was done.
as stealthily as if she were bound on some nefarious errand, theodora slipped downstairs and out of the house.
the next minute she was hurrying along the trail in the moonlight.
the great dazzling prairie was around her, the mystery and splendour of the northern night all about her.
it was very calm and cold, but theodora walked so briskly that she kept warm.
the trail from red butte to spencer was a lonely one.
mr. lurgan's house, halfway to town, was the only dwelling on it.
when theodora reached spencer she made her way at once to the only jewellery store the little town contained.
mr. benson, its owner, had been a friend of her uncle's, and theodora felt sure that he would buy her locket.
nevertheless her heart beat quickly, and her breath came and went uncomfortably fast as she went in.
suppose he would n't buy it.
then there would be no christmas for the children at red butte.
""good evening, miss theodora," said mr. benson briskly.
""what can i do for you?"
""i'm afraid i'm not a very welcome sort of customer, mr. benson," said theodora, with an uncertain smile.
""i want to sell, not buy.
could you -- will you buy this locket?"
mr. benson pursed up his lips, took up the locket, and examined it.
""well, i do n't often buy second-hand stuff," he said, after some reflection, "but i do n't mind obliging you, miss theodora.
i'll give you four dollars for this trinket."
theodora knew the locket had cost a great deal more than that, but four dollars would get what she wanted, and she dared not ask for more.
in a few minutes the locket was in mr. benson's possession, and theodora, with four crisp new bills in her purse, was hurrying to the toy store.
half an hour later she was on her way back to red butte, with as many parcels as she could carry -- jimmy's skates, two lovely dolls for the twins, packages of nuts and candy, and a nice plump turkey.
theodora beguiled her lonely tramp by picturing the children's joy in the morning.
about a quarter of a mile past mr. lurgan's house the trail curved suddenly about a bluff of poplars.
as theodora rounded the turn she halted in amazement.
almost at her feet the body of a man was lying across the road.
he was clad in a big fur coat, and had a fur cap pulled well down over his forehead and ears.
almost all of him that could be seen was a full bushy beard.
theodora had no idea who he was, or where he had come from.
but she realized that he was unconscious, and that he would speedily freeze to death if help were not brought.
the footprints of a horse galloping across the prairie suggested a fall and a runaway, but theodora did not waste time in speculation.
she ran back at full speed to mr. lurgan's, and roused the household.
in a few minutes mr. lurgan and his son had hitched a horse to a wood-sleigh, and hurried down the trail to the unfortunate man.
theodora, knowing that her assistance was not needed, and that she ought to get home as quickly as possible, went on her way as soon as she had seen the stranger in safe keeping.
when she reached the little log house she crept in, cautiously put the children's gifts in their stockings, placed the turkey on the table where aunt elizabeth would see it the first thing in the morning, and then slipped off to bed, a very weary but very happy girl.
the joy that reigned in the little log house the next day more than repaid theodora for her sacrifice.
""whoopee, did n't i tell you that santa claus would come all right!"
shouted the delighted jimmy.
""oh, what splendid skates!"
the twins hugged their dolls in silent rapture, but aunt elizabeth's face was the best of all.
then the dinner had to be prepared, and everybody had a hand in that.
just as theodora, after a grave peep into the oven, had announced that the turkey was done, a sleigh dashed around the house.
theodora flew to answer the knock at the door, and there stood mr. lurgan and a big, bewhiskered, fur-coated fellow whom theodora recognized as the stranger she had found on the trail.
but -- was he a stranger?
there was something oddly familiar in those merry brown eyes.
theodora felt herself growing dizzy.
""donald!"
she gasped.
""oh, donald!"
and then she was in the big fellow's arms, laughing and crying at the same time.
donald it was indeed.
and then followed half an hour during which everybody talked at once, and the turkey would have been burned to a crisp had it not been for the presence of mind of mr. lurgan who, being the least excited of them all, took it out of the oven, and set it on the back of the stove.
""to think that it was you last night, and that i never dreamed it," exclaimed theodora.
""oh, donald, if i had n't gone to town!"
""i'd have frozen to death, i'm afraid," said donald soberly.
""i got into spencer on the last train last night.
i felt that i must come right out -- i could n't wait till morning.
but there was n't a team to be got for love or money -- it was christmas eve and all the livery rigs were out.
so i came on horseback.
just by that bluff something frightened my horse, and he shied violently.
i was half asleep and thinking of my little sister, and i went off like a shot.
i suppose i struck my head against a tree.
anyway, i knew nothing more until i came to in mr. lurgan's kitchen.
i was n't much hurt -- feel none the worse of it except for a sore head and shoulder.
but, oh, gift o" god, how you have grown!
i ca n't realize that you are the little sister i left four years ago.
i suppose you have been thinking i was dead?"
""yes, and, oh, donald, where have you been?"
""well, i went way up north with a prospecting party.
we had a tough time the first year, i can tell you, and some of us never came back.
we were n't in a country where post offices were lying round loose either, you see.
then at last, just as we were about giving up in despair, we struck it rich.
i've brought a snug little pile home with me, and things are going to look up in this log house, gift o" god.
there'll be no more worrying for you dear people over mortgages."
""i'm so glad -- for auntie's sake," said theodora, with shining eyes.
""but, oh, donald, it's best of all just to have you back.
i'm so perfectly happy that i do n't know what to do or say."
""well, i think you might have dinner," said jimmy in an injured tone.
""the turkey's getting stone cold, and i'm most starving.
i just ca n't stand it another minute."
so, with a laugh, they all sat down to the table and ate the merriest christmas dinner the little log house had ever known.
how we went to the wedding "if it were to clear up i would n't know how to behave, it would seem so unnatural," said kate.
""do you, by any chance, remember what the sun looks like, phil?"
""does the sun ever shine in saskatchewan anyhow?"
i asked with assumed sarcasm, just to make kate's big, bonny black eyes flash.
they did flash; but kate laughed immediately after, as she sat down on a chair in front of me and cradled her long, thin, spirited dark face in her palms.
""we have more sunny weather in saskatchewan than in all the rest of canada put together, in an average year," she said, clicking her strong, white teeth and snapping her eyes at me.
""but i ca n't blame you for feeling sceptical about it, phil.
if i went to a new country and it rained every day -- all day -- all night -- after i got there for three whole weeks i'd think things not lawful to be uttered about the climate too.
so, little cousin, i forgive you.
remember that "into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary."
oh, if you'd only come to visit me last fall.
we had such a bee-yew-tiful september last year.
we were drowned in sunshine.
this fall we're drowned in water.
old settlers tell of a similar visitation in" 72, though they claim even that was n't quite as bad as this."
i was sitting rather disconsolately by an upper window of uncle kenneth morrison's log house at arrow creek.
below was what in dry weather -- so, at least, i was told -- was merely a pretty, grassy little valley, but which was now a considerable creek of muddy yellow water, rising daily.
beyond was a cheerless prospect of sodden prairie and dripping "bluff."
""it would be a golden, mellow land, with purple hazes over the bluffs, in a normal fall," assured kate.
""even now if the sun were just to shine out for a day and a good "chinook" blow you'd see a surprising change.
i feel like chanting continually that old rhyme i learned in the first primer, "rain, rain, go away, come again some other day: -- some other day next summer -- phil and katie want to play."
philippa, dear girl, do n't look so dismal.
it's bound to clear up sometime."
""i wish the "sometime" would come soon, then," i said, rather grumpily.
""you know it has n't really rained for three days," protested kate.
""it's been damp and horrid and threatening, but it has n't rained.
i defy you to say that it has actually rained."
""when it's so wet underfoot that you ca n't stir out without rubber boots it might as well be wet overhead too," i said, still grumpily.
""i believe you're homesick, girl," said kate anxiously.
""no, i'm not," i answered, laughing, and feeling ashamed of my ungraciousness.
""nobody could be homesick with such a jolly good fellow as you around, kate.
it's only that this weather is getting on my nerves a bit.
i'm fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.
if your chinook does n't come soon, kitty, i'll do something quite desperate."
""i feel that way myself," admitted kate.
""real reckless, phil.
anyhow, let's put on our despised rubber boots and sally out for a wade."
""here's jim nash coming on horseback down the trail," i said.
""let's wait and see if he's got the mail."
we hurried down, kate humming, "somewhere the sun is shining," solely, i believe, because she knew it aggravated me.
at any other time i should probably have thrown a pillow at her, but just now i was too eager to see if jim nash had brought any mail.
i had come from ontario, the first of september, to visit uncle kenneth morrison's family.
i had been looking forward to the trip for several years.
my cousin kate and i had always corresponded since they had "gone west" ten years before; and kate, who revelled in the western life, had sung the praises of her adopted land rapturously and constantly.
it was quite a joke on her that, when i did finally come to visit her, i should have struck the wettest autumn ever recorded in the history of the west.
a wet september in saskatchewan is no joke, however.
the country was almost "flooded out."
the trails soon became nearly impassable.
all our plans for drives and picnics and inter-neighbour visiting -- at that time a neighbour meant a man who lived at least six miles away -- had to be given up.
yet i was not lonesome, and i enjoyed my visit in spite of everything.
kate was a host in herself.
she was twenty-eight years old -- eight years my senior -- but the difference in our ages had never been any barrier to our friendship.
she was a jolly, companionable, philosophical soul, with a jest for every situation, and a merry solution for every perplexity.
the only fault i had to find with her was her tendency to make parodies.
kate's parodies were perfectly awful and always got on my nerves.
she was dreadfully ashamed of the way the saskatchewan weather was behaving after all her boasting.
she was thin at the best of times, but now she grew positively scraggy with the worry of it.
i am afraid i took an unholy delight in teasing her, and abused the western weather even more than was necessary.
jim nash -- the lank youth who was hired to look after the place during uncle kenneth's absence on a prolonged threshing expedition -- had brought some mail.
kate's share was a letter, postmarked bothwell, a rising little town about one hundred and twenty miles from arrow creek.
kate had several friends there, and one of our plans had been to visit bothwell and spend a week with them.
we had meant to drive, of course, since there was no other way of getting there, and equally of course the plan had been abandoned because of the wet weather.
""mother," exclaimed kate, "mary taylor is going to be married in a fortnight's time!
she wants phil and me to go up to bothwell for the wedding."
""what a pity you ca n't go," remarked aunt jennie placidly.
aunt jennie was always a placid little soul, with a most enviable knack of taking everything easy.
nothing ever worried her greatly, and when she had decided that a thing was inevitable it did not worry her at all.
""but i am going," cried kate.
""i will go -- i must go.
i positively can not let mary taylor -- my own beloved molly -- go and perpetrate matrimony without my being on hand to see it.
yes, i'm going -- and if phil has a spark of the old blair pioneer spirit in her, she'll go too."
""of course i'll go if you go," i said.
aunt jennie did not think we were in earnest, so she merely laughed at first, and said, "how do you propose to go?
fly -- or swim?"
""we'll drive, as usual," said kate calmly.
""i'd feel more at home in that way of locomotion.
we'll borrow jim nash's father's democrat, and take the ponies.
we'll put on old clothes, raincoats, rubber caps and boots, and we'll start tomorrow.
in an ordinary time we could easily do it in six days or less, but this fall we'll probably need ten or twelve."
""you do n't really mean to go, kate!"
said aunt jennie, beginning to perceive that kate did mean it.
""i do," said kate, in a convincing tone.
aunt jennie felt a little worried -- as much as she could feel worried over anything -- and she tried her best to dissuade kate, although she plainly did not have much hope of doing so, having had enough experience with her determined daughter to realize that when kate said she was going to do a thing she did it.
it was rather funny to listen to the ensuing dialogue.
""kate, you ca n't do it.
it's a crazy idea!
the road is one hundred and twenty miles long."
""i've driven it twice, mother."
""yes, but not in such a wet year.
the trail is impassable in places."
""oh, there are always plenty of dry spots to be found if you only look hard for them."
""but you do n't know where to look for them, and goodness knows what you'll get into while you are looking."
""we'll call at the m.p. barracks and get an indian to guide us.
indians always know the dry spots."
""the stage driver has decided not to make another trip till the october frosts set in."
""but he always has such a heavy load.
it will be quite different with us, you must remember.
we'll travel light -- just our provisions and a valise containing our wedding garments."
""what will you do if you get mired twenty miles from a human being?"
""but we wo n't.
i'm a good driver and i have n't nerves -- but i have nerve.
besides, you forget that we'll have an indian guide with us."
""there was a company of hudson bay freighters ambushed and killed along that very trail by blackfoot indians in 1839," said aunt jennie dolefully.
""fifty years ago!
their ghosts must have ceased to haunt it by this time," said kate flippantly.
""well, you'll get wet through and catch your deaths of cold," protested aunt jennie.
""no fear of it.
we'll be cased in rubber.
and we'll borrow a good tight tent from the m.p.s. besides, i'm sure it's not going to rain much more.
i know the signs."
""at least wait for a day or two until you're sure that it has cleared up," implored aunt jennie.
""which being interpreted means, "wait for a day or two, because then your father may be home and he'll squelch your mad expedition,"" said kate, with a sly glance at me.
""no, no, my mother, your wiles are in vain.
we'll hit the trail tomorrow at sunrise.
so just be good, darling, and help us pack up some provisions.
i'll send jim for his father's democrat."
aunt jennie resigned herself to the inevitable and betook herself to the pantry with the air of a woman who washes her hands of the consequences.
i flew upstairs to pack some finery.
i was wild with delight over the proposed outing.
i did not realize what it actually meant, and i had perfect confidence in kate, who was an expert driver, an experienced camper out, and an excellent manager.
if i could have seen what was ahead of us i would certainly not have been quite so jubilant and reckless, but i would have gone all the same.
i would not miss the laughter-provoking memories of that trip out of my life for anything.
i have always been glad i went.
* * * * * we left at sunrise the next morning; there was a sunrise that morning, for a wonder.
the sun came up in a pinky-saffron sky and promised us a fine day.
aunt jennie bade us goodbye and, estimable woman that she was, did not trouble us with advice or forebodings.
mr. nash had sent over his "democrat," a light wagon with springs; and kate's "shaganappies," tom and jerry -- native ponies, the toughest horse flesh to be found in the world -- were hitched to it.
kate and i were properly accoutred for our trip and looked -- but i try to forget how we looked!
the memory is not flattering.
we drove off in the gayest of spirits.
our difficulties began at the start, for we had to drive a mile before we could find a place to ford the creek.
beyond that, however, we had a passable trail for three miles to the little outpost of the mounted police, where five or six men were stationed on detachment duty.
""sergeant baker is a friend of mine," said kate.
""he'll be only too glad to lend me all we require."
the sergeant was a friend of kate's, but he looked at her as if he thought she was crazy when she told him where we were going.
""you'd better take a canoe instead of a team," he said sarcastically.
""i've a good notion to arrest you both as horse thieves and prevent you from going on such a mad expedition."
""you know nothing short of arrest would stop me," said kate, nodding at him with laughing eyes, "and you really wo n't go to such an extreme, i know.
so please be nice, even if it comes hard, and lend us some things.
i've come a-borrying."
""i wo n't lend you a thing," declared the sergeant.
""i wo n't aid and abet you in any such freak as this.
go home now, like a good girl."
""i'm not going home," said kate.
""i'm not a "good girl" -- i'm a wicked old maid, and i'm going to bothwell.
if you wo n't lend us a tent we'll go without -- and sleep in the open -- and our deaths will lie forever at your door.
i'll come back and haunt you, if you do n't lend me a tent.
i'll camp on your very threshold and you wo n't be able to go out of your door without falling over my spook."
""i've more fear of being accountable for your death if i do let you go," said sergeant baker dubiously.
""however, i see that nothing but physical force will prevent you.
what do you want?"
""i want," said kate, "a cavalry tent, a sheet-iron camp stove, and a good indian guide -- old peter crow for choice.
he's such a respectable-looking old fellow, and his wife often works for us."
the sergeant gave us the tent and stove, and sent a man down to the reserve for peter crow.
moreover, he vindicated his title of friend by making us take a dozen prairie chickens and a large ham -- besides any quantity of advice.
we did n't want the advice but we hugely welcomed the ham.
presently our guide appeared -- quite a spruce old indian, as indians go.
i had never been able to shake off my childhood conviction that an indian was a fearsome creature, hopelessly addicted to scalping knives and tomahawks, and i secretly felt quite horrified at the idea of two defenceless females starting out on a lonely prairie trail with an indian for guide.
even old peter crow's meek appearance did not quite reassure me; but i kept my qualms to myself, for i knew kate would only laugh at me.
it was ten when we finally got away from the m.p. outpost.
sergeant baker bade us goodbye in a tone which seemed to intimate that he never expected to see either of us again.
what with his dismal predictions and my secret horror of indians, i was beginning to feel anything but jubilant over our expedition.
kate, however, was as blithe and buoyant as usual.
she knew no fear, being one of those enviable folk who can because they think they can.
one hundred and twenty miles of half-flooded prairie trail -- camping out at night in the solitude of the great lone land -- rain -- muskegs -- indian guides -- nothing had any terror for my dauntless cousin.
for the next three hours, however, we got on beautifully.
the trail was fair, though somewhat greasy; the sun shone, though with a somewhat watery gleam, through the mists; and peter crow, coiled up on the folded tent behind the seat, slept soundly and snored mellifluously.
that snore reassured me greatly.
i had never thought of indians as snoring.
surely one who did could n't be dreaded greatly.
we stopped at one o'clock and had a cold lunch, sitting in our wagon, while peter crow wakened up and watered the ponies.
we did not get on so well in the afternoon.
the trail descended into low-lying ground where travelling was very difficult.
i had to admit old peter crow was quite invaluable.
he knew, as kate had foretold, "all the dry spots" -- that is to say, spots less wet than others.
but, even so, we had to make so many detours that by sunset we were little more than six miles distant from our noon halting place.
""we'd better set camp now, before it gets any darker," said kate.
""there's a capital spot over there, by that bluff of dead poplar.
the ground seems pretty dry too.
peter, cut us a set of tent poles and kindle a fire."
""want my dollar first," said old peter stolidly.
we had agreed to pay him a dollar a day for the trip, but none of the money was to be paid until we got to bothwell.
kate told him this.
but all the reply she got was a stolid, "want dollar.
no make fire without dollar."
we were getting cold and it was getting dark, so finally kate, under the law of necessity, paid him his dollar.
then he carried out our orders at his own sweet leisure.
in course of time he got a fire lighted, and while we cooked supper he set up the tent and prepared our beds, by cutting piles of brush and covering them with rugs.
kate and i had a hilarious time cooking that supper.
it was my first experience of camping out and, as i had become pretty well convinced that peter crow was not the typical indian of old romance, i enjoyed it all hugely.
but we were both very tired, and as soon as we had finished eating we betook ourselves to our tent and found our brush beds much more comfortable than i had expected.
old peter coiled up on his blanket outside by the fire, and the great silence of a windless prairie enwrapped us.
in a few minutes we were sound asleep and never wakened until seven o'clock.
* * * * * when we arose and lifted the flap of the tent we saw a peculiar sight.
the little elevation on which we had pitched our camp seemed to be an island in a vast sea of white mist, dotted here and there with other islands.
on every hand to the far horizon stretched that strange, phantasmal ocean, and a hazy sun looked over the shifting billows.
i had never seen a western mist before and i thought it extremely beautiful; but kate, to whom it was no novelty, was more cumbered with breakfast cares.
""i'm ravenous," she said, as she bustled about among our stores.
""camping out always does give one such an appetite.
are n't you hungry, phil?"
""comfortably so," i admitted.
""but where are our ponies?
and where is peter crow?"
""probably the ponies have strayed away looking for pea vines.
they love and adore pea vines," said kate, stirring up the fire from under its blanket of grey ashes.
""and peter crow has gone to look for them, good old fellow.
when you do get a conscientious indian there is no better guide in the world, but they are rare.
now, philippa-girl, just pry out the sergeant's ham and shave a few slices off it for our breakfast.
some savoury fried ham always goes well on the prairie."
i went for the ham but could not find it.
a thorough search among our effects revealed it not.
""kate, i ca n't find the ham," i called out.
""it must have fallen out somewhere on the trail."
kate ceased wrestling with the fire and came to help in the search for the missing delicacy.
""it could n't have fallen out," she said incredulously.
""that is impossible.
the tent was fastened securely over everything.
nothing could have jolted out."
""well, then, where is the ham?"
i said.
that question was unanswerable, as kate discovered after another thorough search.
the ham was gone -- that much was certain.
""i believe peter crow has levanted with the ham," i said decidedly.
""i do n't believe peter crow could be so dishonest," said kate rather shortly.
""his wife has worked for us for years, and she's as honest as the sunlight."
""honesty is n't catching," i remarked, but i said nothing more just then, for kate's black eyes were snapping.
""anyway, we ca n't have ham for breakfast," she said, twitching out the frying pan rather viciously.
""we'll have to put up with canned chicken -- if the cans have n't disappeared too."
they had n't, and we soon produced a very tolerable breakfast.
but neither of us had much appetite.
""do you suppose peter crow has taken the horses as well as the ham?"
i asked.
""no," gloomily responded kate, who had evidently been compelled by the logic of hard facts to believe in peter's guilt, "he would hardly dare to do that, because he could n't dispose of them without being found out.
they've probably strayed away on their own account when peter decamped.
as soon as this mist lifts i'll have a look for them.
they ca n't have gone far."
we were spared this trouble, however, for when we were washing up the dishes the ponies returned of their own accord.
kate caught them and harnessed them.
""are we going on?"
i asked mildly.
""of course we're going on," said kate, her good humour entirely restored.
""do you suppose i'm going to be turned from my purpose by the defection of a miserable old indian?
oh, wait till he comes round in the winter, begging."
""will he come?"
i asked.
""will he?
yes, my dear, he will -- with a smooth, plausible story to account for his desertion and a bland denial of ever having seen our ham.
i shall know how to deal with him then, the old scamp."
""when you do get a conscientious indian there's no better guide in the world, but they are rare," i remarked with a far-away look.
kate laughed.
""do n't rub it in, phil.
come, help me to break camp.
we'll have to work harder and hustle for ourselves, that's all."
""but is it safe to go on without a guide?"
i inquired dubiously.
i had n't felt very safe with peter crow, but i felt still more unsafe without him.
""safe!
of course, it's safe -- perfectly safe.
i know the trail, and we'll just have to drive around the wet places.
it would have been easier with peter, and we'd have had less work to do, but we'll get along well enough without him.
i do n't think i'd have bothered with him at all, only i wanted to set mother's mind at rest.
she'll never know he is n't with us till the trip is over, so that is all right.
we're going to have a glorious day.
but, oh, for our lost ham!
"the ham that was never eaten."
there's a subject for a poem, phil.
you write one when we get back to civilization.
methinks i can sniff the savoury odour of that lost ham on all the prairie breezes."
""of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these -- it might have been," i quoted, beginning to wash the dishes.
""saw ye my wee ham, saw ye my ain ham, saw ye my pork ham down on yon lea?
crossed it the prairie last night in the darkness borne by an old and unprincipled cree?"
sang kate, loosening the tent ropes.
altogether, we got a great deal more fun out of that ham than if we had eaten it.
as kate had predicted, the day was glorious.
the mists rolled away and the sun shone brightly.
we drove all day without stopping, save for dinner -- when the lost ham figured largely in our conversation -- of course.
we said so many witty things about it -- at least, we thought them witty -- that we laughed continuously through the whole meal, which we ate with prodigious appetite.
but with all our driving we were not getting on very fast.
the country was exceedingly swampy and we had to make innumerable detours."
"the longest way round is the shortest way to bothwell,"" said kate, when we drove five miles out of our way to avoid a muskeg.
by evening we had driven fully twenty-five miles, but we were only ten miles nearer bothwell than when we had broken camp in the morning.
""we'll have to camp soon," sighed kate.
""i believe around this bluff will be a good place.
oh, phil, i'm tired -- dead tired!
my very thoughts are tired.
i ca n't even think anything funny about the ham.
and yet we've got to set up the tent ourselves, and attend to the horses; and we'll have to scrape some of the mud off this beautiful vehicle."
""we can leave that till the morning," i suggested.
""no, it will be too hard and dry then.
here we are -- and here are two tepees of indians also!"
there they were, right around the bluff.
the inmates were standing in a group before them, looking at us as composedly as if we were not at all an unusual sight.
""i'm going to stay here anyhow," said kate doggedly.
""oh, do n't," i said in alarm.
""they're such a villainous-looking lot -- so dirty -- and they've got so little clothing on.
i would n't sleep a wink near them.
look at that awful old squaw with only one eye.
they'd steal everything we've got left, kate.
remember the ham -- oh, pray remember the fate of our beautiful ham."
""i shall never forget that ham," said kate wearily, "but, phil, we ca n't drive far enough to be out of their reach if they really want to steal our provisions.
but i do n't believe they will.
i believe they have plenty of food -- indians in tepees mostly have.
the men hunt, you know.
their looks are probably the worst of them.
anyhow, you ca n't judge indians by appearances.
peter crow looked respectable -- and he was a whited sepulchre.
now, these indians look as bad as indians can look -- so they may turn out to be angels in disguise."
""very much disguised, certainly," i acquiesced satirically.
""they seem to me to belong to the class of a neighbour of ours down east.
her family is always in rags, because she says," a hole is an accident, a patch is a disgrace," set camp here if you like, kate.
but i'll not sleep a wink with such neighbours."
i cheerfully ate my words later on.
never were appearances more deceptive than in the case of those stoneys.
there is an old saying that many a kind heart beats behind a ragged coat.
the indians had no coats for their hearts to beat behind -- nothing but shirts -- some of them had n't even shirts!
but the shirts were certainly ragged enough, and their hearts were kind.
those indians were gentlemen.
they came forward and unhitched our horses, fed, and watered them; they pitched our tent, and built us a fire, and cut brush for our beds.
kate and i had simply nothing to do except sit on our rugs and tell them what we wanted done.
they would have cooked our supper for us if we had allowed it.
but, tired as we were, we drew the line at that.
their hearts were pure gold, but their hands!
no, kate and i dragged ourselves up and cooked our own suppers.
and while we ate it, those indians fell to and cleaned all the mud off our democrat for us.
to crown all -- it is almost unbelievable but it is true, i solemnly avow -- they would n't take a cent of payment for it all, urge them as we might and did.
""well," said kate, as we curled up on our brush beds that night, "there certainly is a special providence for unprotected females.
i'd forgive peter crow for deserting us for the sake of those indians, if he had n't stolen our lovely ham into the bargain.
that was altogether unpardonable."
in the morning the indians broke camp for us and harnessed our shaganappies.
we drove off, waving our hands to them, the delightful creatures.
we never saw any of them again.
i fear their kind is scarce, but as long as i live i shall remember those stoneys with gratitude.
we got on fairly well that third day, and made about fifteen miles before dinner time.
we ate three of the sergeant's prairie chickens for dinner, and enjoyed them.
""but only think how delicious the ham would have been," said kate.
our real troubles began that afternoon.
we had not been driving long when the trail swooped down suddenly into a broad depression -- a swamp, so full of mud-holes that there did n't seem to be anything but mud-holes.
we pulled through six of them -- but in the seventh we stuck, hard and fast.
pull as our ponies could and did, they could not pull us out.
""what are we to do?"
i said, becoming horribly frightened all at once.
it seemed to me that our predicament was a dreadful one.
""keep cool," said kate.
she calmly took off her shoes and stockings, tucked up her skirt, and waded to the horses" heads.
""ca n't i do anything?"
i implored.
""yes, take the whip and spare it not," said kate.
""i'll encourage them here with sundry tugs and inspiriting words.
you urge them behind with a good lambasting."
accordingly we encouraged and urged, tugged and lambasted, with a right good will, but all to no effect.
our ponies did their best, but they could not pull the democrat out of that slough.
""oh, what --" i began, and then i stopped.
i resolved that i would not ask that question again in that tone in that scrape.
i would be cheerful and courageous like kate -- splendid kate!
""i shall have to unhitch them, tie one of them to that stump, and ride off on the other for help," said kate.
""where to?"
i asked.
""till i find it," grinned kate, who seemed to think the whole disaster a capital joke.
""i may have to go clean back to the tepees -- and further.
for that matter, i do n't believe there were any tepees.
those indians were too good to be true -- they were phantoms of delight -- such stuff as dreams are made of.
but even if they were real they wo n't be there now -- they'll have folded their tents like the arabs and as silently stolen away.
but i'll find help somewhere."
""i ca n't stay here alone.
you may be gone for hours," i cried, forgetting all my resolutions of courage and cheerfulness in an access of panic.
""then ride the other pony and come with me," suggested kate.
""i ca n't ride bareback," i moaned.
""then you'll have to stay here," said kate decidedly.
""there's nothing to hurt you, phil.
sit in the wagon and keep dry.
eat something if you get hungry.
i may not be very long."
i realized that there was nothing else to do; and, rather ashamed of my panic, i resigned myself to the inevitable and saw kate off with a smile of encouragement.
then i waited.
i was tired and frightened -- horribly frightened.
i sat there and imagined scores of gruesome possibilities.
it was no use telling myself to be brave.
i could n't be brave.
i never was in such a blue funk before or since.
suppose kate got lost -- suppose she could n't find me again -- suppose something happened to her -- suppose she could n't get help -- suppose it came on night and i there all alone -- suppose indians -- not gentlemanly stoneys or even peter crows, but genuine, old-fashioned indians -- should come along -- suppose it began to pour rain!
it did begin to rain, the only one of my suppositions which came true.
i hoisted an umbrella and sat there grimly, in that horseless wagon in the mud-hole.
* * * * * many a time since have i laughed over the memory of the appearance i must have presented sitting in that mud-hole, but there was nothing in the least funny about it at the time.
the worst feature of it all was the uncertainty.
i could have waited patiently enough and conquered my fears if i had known that kate would find help and return within a reasonable time -- at least before dark.
but everything was doubtful.
i was not composed of the stuff out of which heroines are fashioned and i devoutly wished we had never left arrow creek.
shouts -- calls -- laughter -- kate's dear voice in an encouraging cry from the hill behind me!
""halloo, honey!
hold the fort a few minutes longer.
here we are.
bless her, has n't she been a brick to stay here all alone like this -- and a tenderfoot at that?"
i could have cried with joy.
but i saw that there were men with kate -- two men -- white men -- and i laughed instead.
i had not been brave -- i had been an arrant little coward, but i vowed that nobody, not even kate, should suspect it.
later on kate told me how she had fared in her search for assistance.
""when i left you, phil, i felt much more anxious than i wanted to let you see.
i had no idea where to go.
i knew there were no houses along our trail and i might have to go clean back to the tepees -- fifteen miles bareback.
i did n't dare try any other trail, for i knew nothing of them and was n't sure that there were even tepees on them.
but when i had gone about six miles i saw a welcome sight -- nothing less than a spiral of blue, homely-looking smoke curling up from the prairie far off to my right.
i decided to turn off and investigate.
i rode two miles and finally i came to a little log shack.
there was a bee-yew-tiful big horse in a corral close by.
my heart jumped with joy.
but suppose the inmates of the shack were half-breeds!
you ca n't realize how relieved i felt when the door opened and two white men came out.
in a few minutes everything was explained.
they knew who i was and what i wanted, and i knew that they were mr. lonsdale and mr. hopkins, owners of a big ranch over by deer run.
they were "shacking out" to put up some hay and mrs. hopkins was keeping house for them.
she wanted me to stop and have a cup of tea right off, but i thought of you, phil, and declined.
as soon as they heard of our predicament those lovely men got their two biggest horses and came right with me."
it was not long before our democrat was on solid ground once more, and then our rescuers insisted that we go back to the shack with them for the night.
accordingly we drove back to the shack, attended by our two gallant deliverers on white horses.
mrs. hopkins was waiting for us, a trim, dark-haired little lady in a very pretty gown, which she had donned in our honour.
kate and i felt like perfect tramps beside her in our muddy old raiment, with our hair dressed by dead reckoning -- for we had not included a mirror in our baggage.
there was a mirror in the shack, however -- small but good -- and we quickly made ourselves tidy at least, and kate even went to the length of curling her bangs -- bangs were in style then and kate had long, thick ones -- using the stem of a broken pipe of mr. hopkins's for a curler.
i was so tired that my vanity was completely crushed out -- for the time being -- and i simply pinned my bangs back.
later on, when i discovered that mr. lonsdale was really the younger son of an english earl, i wished i had curled them, but it was too late then.
he did n't look in the least like a scion of aristocracy.
he wore a cowboy rig and had a scrubby beard of a week's growth.
but he was very jolly and played the violin beautifully.
after tea -- and a lovely tea it was, although, as kate remarked to me later, there was no ham -- we had an impromptu concert.
mr. lonsdale played the violin; mrs. hopkins, who sang, was a graduate of a musical conservatory; mr. hopkins gave a comic recitation and did a cree war-dance; kate gave a spirited account of our adventures since leaving home and mother; and i described -- with trimmings -- how i felt sitting alone in the democrat in a mud-hole, in a pouring rain on a vast prairie.
mrs. hopkins, kate, and i slept in the one bed the shack boasted, screened off from public view by a calico curtain.
mr. lonsdale reposed in his accustomed bunk by the stove, but poor mr. hopkins had to sleep on the floor.
he must have been glad kate and i stayed only one night.
* * * * * the fourth morning found us blithely hitting the trail in renewed confidence and spirits.
we parted from our kind friends in the shack with mutual regret.
mr. hopkins gave us a haunch of jumping deer and mrs. hopkins gave us a box of home-made cookies.
mr. lonsdale at first thought he could n't give us anything, for he said all he had with him was his pipe and his fiddle; but later on he said he felt so badly to see us go without any token of his good will that he felt constrained to ask us to accept a piece of rope that he had tied his outfit together with.
the fourth day we got on so nicely that it was quite monotonous.
the sun shone, the chinook blew, our ponies trotted over the trail gallantly.
kate and i sang, told stories, and laughed immoderately over everything.
even a poor joke seems to have a subtle flavour on the prairie.
for the first time i began to think saskatchewan beautiful, with those far-reaching parklike meadows dotted with the white-stemmed poplars, the distant bluffs bannered with the airiest of purple hazes, and the little blue lakes that sparkled and shimmered in the sunlight on every hand.
the only thing approaching an adventure that day happened in the afternoon when we reached a creek which had to be crossed.
""we must investigate," said kate decidedly.
""it would never do to risk getting mired here, for this country is unsettled and we must be twenty miles from another human being."
kate again removed her shoes and stockings and puddled about that creek until she found a safe fording place.
i am afraid i must admit that i laughed most heartlessly at the spectacle she presented while so employed.
""oh, for a camera, kate!"
i said, between spasms.
kate grinned.
""i do n't care what i look like," she said, "but i feel wretchedly unpleasant.
this water is simply swarming with wigglers."
""goodness, what are they?"
i exclaimed.
""oh, they're tiny little things like leeches," responded kate.
""i believe they develop into mosquitoes later on, bad "cess to them.
what mr. nash would call my pedal extremities are simply being devoured by the brutes.
ugh!
i believe the bottom of this creek is all soft mud.
we may have to drive -- no, as i'm a living, wiggler-haunted human being, here's firm bottom.
hurrah, phil, we're all right!"
in a few minutes we were past the creek and bowling merrily on our way.
we had a beautiful camping ground that night -- a fairylike little slope of white poplars with a blue lake at its foot.
when the sun went down a milk-white mist hung over the prairie, with a young moon kissing it.
we boiled some slices of our jumping deer and ate them in the open around a cheery camp-fire.
then we sought our humble couches, where we slept the sleep of just people who had been driving over the prairie all day.
once in the night i wakened.
it was very dark.
the unearthly stillness of a great prairie was all around me.
in that vast silence kate's soft breathing at my side seemed an intrusion of sound where no sound should be.
""philippa blair, can you believe it's yourself?"
i said mentally.
""here you are, lying on a brush bed on a western prairie in the middle of the night, at least twenty miles from any human being except another frail creature of your own sex.
yet you're not even frightened.
you are very comfy and composed, and you're going right to sleep again."
and right to sleep again i went.
* * * * * our fifth day began ominously.
we had made an early start and had driven about six miles when the calamity occurred.
kate turned a corner too sharply, to avoid a big boulder; there was a heart-breaking sound.
""the tongue of the wagon is broken," cried kate in dismay.
all too surely it was.
we looked at each other blankly.
""what can we do?"
i said.
""i'm sure i do n't know," said kate helplessly.
when kate felt helpless i thought things must be desperate indeed.
we got out and investigated the damage.
""it's not a clean break," said kate.
""it's a long, slanting break.
if we had a piece of rope i believe i could fix it."
""mr. lonsdale's piece of rope!"
i cried.
""the very thing," said kate, brightening up.
the rope was found and we set to work.
with the aid of some willow withes and that providential rope we contrived to splice the tongue together in some shape.
although the trail was good we made only twelve miles the rest of the day, so slowly did we have to drive.
besides, we were continually expecting that tongue to give way again, and the strain was bad for our nerves.
when we came at sunset to the junction of the black river trail with ours, kate resolutely turned the shaganappies down it.
""we'll go and spend the night with the brewsters," she said.
""they live only ten miles down this trail.
i went to school in regina with hannah brewster, and though i have n't seen her for ten years i know she'll be glad to see us.
she's a lovely person, and her husband is a very nice man.
i visited them once after they were married."
we soon arrived at the brewster place.
it was a trim, white-washed little log house in a grove of poplars.
but all the blinds were down and we discovered the door was locked.
evidently the brewsters were not at home.
""never mind," said kate cheerfully, "we'll light a fire outside and cook our supper and then we'll spend the night in the barn.
a bed of prairie hay will be just the thing."
but the barn was locked too.
it was now dark and our plight was rather desperate.
""i'm going to get into the house if i have to break a window," said kate resolutely.
""hannah would want us to do that.
she'd never get over it, if she heard we came to her house and could n't get in."
fortunately we did not have to go to the length of breaking into hannah's house.
the kitchen window went up quite easily.
we turned the shaganappies loose to forage for themselves, grass and water being abundant.
then we climbed in at the window, lighted our lantern, and found ourselves in a very snug little kitchen.
opening off it on one side was a trim, nicely furnished parlour and on the other a well-stocked pantry.
""we'll light the fire in the stove in a jiffy and have a real good supper," said kate exultantly.
""here's cold roast beef -- and preserves and cookies and cheese and butter."
before long we had supper ready and we did full justice to the absent hannah's excellent cheer.
after all, it was quite nice to sit down once more to a well-appointed table and eat in civilized fashion.
then we washed up all the dishes and made everything snug and tidy.
i shall never be sufficiently thankful that we did so.
kate piloted me upstairs to the spare room.
""this is fixed up much nicer than it was when i was here before," she said, looking around.
""of course, hannah and ted were just starting out then and they had to be economical.
they must have prospered, to be able to afford such furniture as this.
well, turn in, phil.
wo n't it be rather jolly to sleep between sheets once more?"
we slept long and soundly until half-past eight the next morning; and dear knows if we would have wakened then of our own accord.
but i heard somebody saying in a very harsh, gruff voice, "here, you two, wake up!
i want to know what this means."
we two did wake up, promptly and effectually.
i never wakened up so thoroughly in my life before.
standing in our room were three people, one of them a man.
he was a big, grey-haired man with a bushy black beard and an angry scowl.
beside him was a woman -- a tall, thin, angular personage with red hair and an indescribable bonnet.
she looked even crosser and more amazed than the man, if that were possible.
in the background was another woman -- a tiny old lady who must have been at least eighty.
she was, in spite of her tininess, a very striking-looking personage; she was dressed all in black, and had snow-white hair, a dead-white face, and snapping, vivid, coal-black eyes.
she looked as amazed as the other two, but she did n't look cross.
i knew something must be wrong -- fearfully wrong -- but i did n't know what.
even in my confusion, i found time to think that if that disagreeable-looking red-haired woman was hannah brewster, kate must have had a queer taste in school friends.
then the man said, more gruffly than ever, "come now.
who are you and what business have you here?"
kate raised herself on one elbow.
she looked very wild.
i heard the old black-and-white lady in the background chuckle to herself.
""is n't this theodore brewster's place?"
gasped kate.
""no," said the big woman, speaking for the first time.
""this place belongs to us.
we bought it from the brewsters in the spring.
they moved over to black river forks.
our name is chapman."
poor kate fell back on the pillow, quite overcome.
""i -- i beg your pardon," she said.
""i -- i thought the brewsters lived here.
mrs. brewster is a friend of mine.
my cousin and i are on our way to bothwell and we called here to spend the night with hannah.
when we found everyone away we just came in and made ourselves at home."
""a likely story," said the red woman.
""we were n't born yesterday," said the man.
madam black-and-white did n't say anything, but when the other two had made their pretty speeches she doubled up in a silent convulsion of mirth, shaking her head from side to side and beating the air with her hands.
if they had been nice to us, kate would probably have gone on feeling confused and ashamed.
but when they were so disagreeable she quickly regained her self-possession.
she sat up again and said in her haughtiest voice, "i do not know when you were born, or where, but it must have been somewhere where very peculiar manners were taught.
if you will have the decency to leave our room -- this room -- until we can get up and dress we will not transgress upon your hospitality" -lrb- kate put a most satirical emphasis on that word -rrb- "any longer.
and we shall pay you amply for the food we have eaten and the night's lodging we have taken."
the black-and-white apparition went through the motion of clapping her hands, but not a sound did she make.
whether he was cowed by kate's tone, or appeased by the prospect of payment, i know not, but mr. chapman spoke more civilly.
""well, that's fair.
if you pay up it's all right."
""they shall do no such thing as pay you," said madam black-and-white in a surprisingly clear, resolute, authoritative voice.
""if you have n't any shame for yourself, robert chapman, you've got a mother-in-law who can be ashamed for you.
no strangers shall be charged for food or lodging in any house where mrs. matilda pitman lives.
remember that i've come down in the world, but i have n't forgot all decency for all that.
i knew you was a skinflint when amelia married you and you've made her as bad as yourself.
but i'm boss here yet.
here, you, robert chapman, take yourself out of here and let those girls get dressed.
and you, amelia, go downstairs and cook a breakfast for them."
i never, in all my life, saw anything like the abject meekness with which those two big people obeyed that mite.
they went, and stood not upon the order of their going.
as the door closed behind them, mrs. matilda pitman laughed silently, and rocked from side to side in her merriment.
""ai n't it funny?"
she said.
""i mostly lets them run the length of their tether but sometimes i has to pull them up, and then i does it with a jerk.
now, you can take your time about dressing, my dears, and i'll go down and keep them in order, the mean scalawags."
when we descended the stairs we found a smoking-hot breakfast on the table.
mr. chapman was nowhere to be seen, and mrs. chapman was cutting bread with a sulky air.
mrs. matilda pitman was sitting in an armchair, knitting.
she still wore her bonnet and her triumphant expression.
""set right in, dears, and make a good breakfast," she said.
""we are not hungry," said kate, almost pleadingly.
""i do n't think we can eat anything.
and it's time we were on the trail.
please excuse us and let us go on."
mrs. matilda pitman shook a knitting needle playfully at kate.
""sit down and take your breakfast," she commanded.
""mrs. matilda pitman commands you.
everybody obeys mrs. matilda pitman -- even robert and amelia.
you must obey her too."
we did obey her.
we sat down and, such was the influence of her mesmeric eyes, we ate a tolerable breakfast.
the obedient amelia never spoke; mrs. matilda pitman did not speak either, but she knitted furiously and chuckled.
when we had finished mrs. matilda pitman rolled up her knitting.
""now, you can go if you want to," she said, "but you do n't have to go.
you can stay here as long as you like, and i'll make them cook your meals for you."
i never saw kate so thoroughly cowed.
""thank you," she said faintly.
""you are very kind, but we must go."
""well, then," said mrs. matilda pitman, throwing open the door, "your team is ready for you.
i made robert catch your ponies and harness them.
and i made him fix that broken tongue properly.
i enjoy making robert do things.
it's almost the only sport i have left.
i'm eighty and most things have lost their flavour, except bossing robert."
our democrat and ponies were outside the door, but robert was nowhere to be seen; in fact, we never saw him again.
""i do wish," said kate, plucking up what little spirit she had left, "that you would let us -- ah -- uh" -- kate quailed before mrs. matilda pitman's eye -- "recompense you for our entertainment."
""mrs. matilda pitman said before -- and meant it -- that she does n't take pay for entertaining strangers, nor let other people where she lives do it, much as their meanness would like to do it."
we got away.
the sulky amelia had vanished, and there was nobody to see us off except mrs. matilda pitman.
""do n't forget to call the next time you come this way," she said cheerfully, waving her knitting at us.
""i hope you'll get safe to bothwell.
if i was ten years younger i vow i'd pack a grip and go along with you.
i like your spunk.
most of the girls nowadays is such timid, skeery critters.
when i was a girl i was n't afraid of nothing or nobody."
we said and did nothing until we had driven out of sight and earshot.
then kate laid down the reins and laughed until the tears came.
""oh, phil, phil, will you ever forget this adventure?"
she gasped.
""i shall never forget mrs. matilda pitman," i said emphatically.
we had no further adventures that day.
robert chapman had fixed the tongue so well -- probably under mrs. matilda pitman's watchful eyes -- that we could drive as fast as we liked; and we made good progress.
but when we pitched camp that night kate scanned the sky with an anxious expression.
""i do n't like the look of it," she said.
""i'm afraid we're going to have a bad day tomorrow."
* * * * * we had.
when we awakened in the morning rain was pouring down.
this in itself might not have prevented us from travelling, but the state of the trail did.
it had been raining the greater part of the night and the trail was little more than a ditch of slimy, greasy, sticky mud.
if we could have stayed in the tent the whole time it would not have been quite so bad.
but we had to go out twice to take the ponies to the nearest pond and water them; moreover, we had to collect pea vines for them, which was not an agreeable occupation in a pouring rain.
the day was very cold too, but fortunately there was plenty of dead poplar right by our camp.
we kept a good fire on in the camp stove and were quite dry and comfortable as long as we stayed inside.
even when we had to go out we did not get very wet, as we were well protected.
but it was a long dreary day.
finally when the dark came down and supper was over kate grew quite desperate.
""let's have a game of checkers," she suggested.
""where is your checkerboard?"
i asked.
""oh, i'll soon furnish that," said kate.
she cut out a square of brown paper, in which a biscuit box had been wrapped, and marked squares off on it with a pencil.
then she produced some red and white high-bush cranberries for men.
a cranberry split in two was a king.
we played nine games of checkers by the light of our smoky lantern.
our enjoyment of the game was heightened by the fact that it had ceased raining.
nevertheless, when morning came the trail was so drenched that it was impossible to travel on it.
""we must wait till noon," said kate.
""that trail wo n't be dry enough to travel on for a week," i said disconsolately.
""my dear; the chinook is blowing up," said kate.
""you do n't know how quickly a trail dries in a chinook.
it's like magic."
i did not believe a chinook or anything else could dry up that trail by noon sufficiently for us to travel on.
but it did.
as kate said, it seemed like magic.
by one o'clock we were on our way again, the chinook blowing merrily against our faces.
it was a wind that blew straight from the heart of the wilderness and had in it all the potent lure of the wild.
the yellow prairie laughed and glistened in the sun.
we made twenty-five miles that afternoon and, as we were again fortunate enough to find a bluff of dead poplar near which to camp, we built a royal camp-fire which sent its flaming light far and wide over the dark prairie.
we were in jubilant spirits.
if the next day were fine and nothing dreadful happened to us, we would reach bothwell before night.
but our ill luck was not yet at an end.
the next morning was beautiful.
the sun shone warm and bright; the chinook blew balmily and alluringly; the trail stretched before us dry and level.
but we sat moodily before our tent, not even having sufficient heart to play checkers.
tom had gone lame -- so lame that there was no use in thinking of trying to travel with him.
kate could not tell what was the matter.
""there is no injury that i can see," she said.
""he must have sprained his foot somehow."
wait we did, with all the patience we could command.
but the day was long and wearisome, and at night tom's foot did not seem a bit better.
we went to bed gloomily, but joy came with the morning.
tom's foot was so much improved that kate decided we could go on, though we would have to drive slowly.
""there's no chance of making bothwell today," she said, "but at least we shall be getting a little nearer to it."
""i do n't believe there is such a place as bothwell, or any other town," i said pessimistically.
""there's nothing in the world but prairie, and we'll go on driving over it forever, like a couple of female wandering jews.
it seems years since we left arrow creek."
""well, we've had lots of fun out of it all, you know," said kate.
""mrs. matilda pitman alone was worth it.
she will be an amusing memory all our lives.
are you sorry you came?"
""no, i'm not," i concluded, after honest, soul-searching reflection.
""no, i'm glad, kate.
but i think we were crazy to attempt it, as sergeant baker said.
think of all the might-have-beens."
""nothing else will happen," said kate.
""i feel in my bones that our troubles are over."
kate's bones proved true prophets.
nevertheless, that day was a weary one.
there was no scenery.
we had got into a barren, lakeless, treeless district where the world was one monotonous expanse of grey-brown prairie.
we just crawled along.
kate had her hands full driving those ponies.
jerry was in capital fettle and could n't understand why he might n't tear ahead at full speed.
he was so much disgusted over being compelled to walk that he was very fractious.
poor tom limped patiently along.
but by night his lameness had quite disappeared, and although we were still a good twenty-five miles from bothwell we could see it quite distinctly far ahead on the level prairie."
't is a sight for sore eyes, is n't it?"
said kate, as we pitched camp.
there is little more to be told.
next day at noon we rattled through the main and only street of bothwell.
curious sights are frequent in prairie towns, so we did not attract much attention.
when we drew up before mr. taylor's house mary taylor flew out and embraced kate publicly.
""you darling!
i knew you'd get here if anyone could.
they telegraphed us you were on the way.
you're a brick -- two bricks."
""no, i'm not a brick at all, miss taylor," i confessed frankly.
""i've been an arrant coward and a doubting thomas and a wet blanket all through the expedition.
but kate is a brick and a genius and an all-round, jolly good fellow."
""mary," said kate in a tragic whisper, "have -- you -- any -- ham -- in -- the -- house?"
jessamine when the vegetable-man knocked, jessamine went to the door wearily.
she felt quite well acquainted with him.
he had been coming all the spring, and his cheery greeting always left a pleasant afterglow behind him.
but it was not the vegetable-man after all -- at least, not the right one.
this one was considerably younger.
he was tall and sunburned, with a ruddy, smiling face, and keen, pleasant blue eyes; and he had a spray of honeysuckle pinned on his coat.
""want any garden stuff this morning?"
jessamine shook her head.
""we always get ours from mr. bell.
this is his day to come."
""well, i guess you wo n't see mr. bell for a spell.
he fell off a loft out at his place yesterday and broke his leg.
i'm his nephew, and i'm going to fill his place till he gets "round again."
""oh, i'm so sorry -- for mr. bell, i mean.
have you any green peas?"
""yes, heaps of them.
i'll bring them in.
anything else?"
""not today," said jessamine, with a wistful glance at the honeysuckle.
mr. bell, junior, saw it.
in an instant the honeysuckle was unpinned and handed to her.
""if you like posies, you're welcome to this.
i guess you're fond of flowers," he added, as he noted the flash of delight that passed over her pale face.
""yes, indeed; they put me so in mind of home -- of the country.
oh, how sweet this is!"
""you're country-bred, then?
been in the city long?"
""since last fall.
i was born and brought up in the country.
i wish i was back.
i ca n't get over being homesick.
this honeysuckle seems to bring it right back.
we had honeysuckles around our porch at home."
""you do n't like the city, then?"
""oh, no.
i sometimes feel as if i should smother here.
i shall never feel at home, i am afraid."
""where did you live before you came here?"
""up at middleton.
it was an old-fashioned place, but pretty -- our house was covered with vines, and there were trees all about it, and great green fields beyond.
but i do n't know what makes me tell you this.
i forgot i was talking to a stranger."
""pretty little woman," soliloquized andrew bell, as he drove away.
""she does n't look happy, though.
i suppose she's married some city chap and has to live in town.
i guess it do n't agree with her.
her eyes had a real hungry look in them over that honeysuckle.
she seemed near about crying when she talked of the country."
jessamine felt more like crying than ever when she went back to her work.
her head ached and she was very tired.
the tiny kitchen was hot and stifling.
how she longed for the great, roomy kitchen in her old home, with its spotless floors and floods of sunshine streaming in through the maples outside.
there was room to live and breathe there, and from the door one looked out over green wind-rippled meadows, under a glorious arch of pure blue sky, away to the purple hills in the distance.
* * * * * jessamine stacy had always lived in the country.
when her sister died and the old home had to go, jessamine could only accept the shelter offered by her brother, john stacy, who did business in the city.
of her stylish sister-in-law jessamine was absolutely in awe.
at first mrs. john was by no means pleased at the necessity of taking a country sister into her family circle.
but one day, when the servant girl took a tantrum and left, mrs. john found it very convenient to have in the house a person who could step into eliza's place as promptly and efficiently as jessamine could.
indeed, she found it so convenient that eliza never had a successor.
jessamine found herself in the position of maid-of-all-work and kitchen drudge for board and clothes.
she never complained, but she grew thinner and paler as the winter went by.
she had worked as hard on the farm, but it was the close confinement and weary routine that told on her.
mrs. john was exacting and querulous.
john was absorbed in his business worries and had no time to waste on his sister.
now, when the summer had come, her homesickness was almost unbearable.
the next day mr. bell came he handed her a big bunch of sweet-brier roses.
""here you are," he said heartily.
""i took the liberty to bring you these today, seeing you're so fond of posies.
the country roads are pink with them now.
why do n't you get your husband to bring you out for a drive some day?
you'd be as welcome as a lark at my farm."
""i will when he comes along, but i have n't seen him yet."
mr. bell gave a prolonged whistle.
""excuse me.
i thought you were mrs. something-or-other for sure.
are n't you mistress here?"
""oh, no.
my brother's wife is the mistress here.
i'm only jessamine."
she laughed again.
she was holding the roses against her face, and her eyes sparkled over them roguishly.
the vegetable-man looked at her admiringly.
""you're a country rose yourself, miss, and you ought to be blooming out in the fields, instead of wilting in here."
""i wish i was.
thank you so much for the roses, mr. -- mr. --" "bell -- andrew bell, that's my name.
i live out at pine pastures.
we're all bells out there -- ca n't throw a stone without hitting one.
glad you like the roses."
after that the vegetable-man brought jessamine a bouquet every trip.
now it was a big bunch of field-daisies or golden buttercups, now a green glory of spicy ferns, now a cluster of old-fashioned garden flowers.
""they keep life in me," jessamine told him.
they were great friends by this time.
true, she knew little about him but she felt instinctively that he was manly and kind-hearted.
one day when he came jessamine met him almost gleefully.
""no, nothing today.
there is no dinner to cook."
""you do n't say.
where are the folks?"
""gone on an excursion.
they wo n't be back until tonight."
""they wo n't?
well, i'll tell you what to do.
you get ready, and when i'm through my rounds we'll go for a drive up the country."
""oh, mr. bell!
but wo n't it be too much bother for you?"
""well, i reckon not!
you want an excursion as well as other folks, and you shall have it."
""oh, thank you so much.
yes, i'll be ready.
you do n't know how much it means to me."
""poor little creature," said mr. bell, as he drove away.
""it's downright cruelty, that's what it is, to keep her penned up like that.
you might as well coop up a lark in a hen-house and expect it to thrive and sing.
i'd like to give that brother of hers a piece of my mind."
when he lifted her up to the high seat of his express wagon that afternoon he said, "now, i want you to do something.
just shut your eyes and do n't open them again until i tell you to."
jessamine laughed and obeyed.
finally she heard him say, "look."
jessamine opened her eyes with a little cry.
they were on a remote country road, cool and dim and quiet, in the very heart of the beech woods.
long banners of light fell athwart the grey boles.
along the roadsides grew sheets of feathery ferns.
above the sky was gloriously blue.
the air was sweet with the wild woodsy smell of the forest.
jessamine lifted and clasped her hands in rapture.
""oh, how lovely!"
""do you know where we're going?"
said mr. bell delightedly.
""out to my farm at pine pastures.
my aunt keeps house for me, and she'll be real glad to see you.
you're just going to have a real good time this afternoon."
they had a delightful drive to begin with, and presently mr. bell turned into a wide lane.
""this is cloverside farm.
i'm proud of it, i'll admit.
there is n't a finer place in the county.
what do you think of it?"
""oh, it is lovely -- it is like home.
look at those great fields.
i'd like to go and lie down in that clover."
mr. bell lifted her from the wagon and marched her up a flowery garden path.
""you shall do it, and everything else you want to.
here, aunt, this is the young lady i spoke of.
make her at home while i tend to the horses."
miss bell was a pleasant-faced woman with silver hair and kind blue eyes.
she took jessamine's hand in a friendly fashion.
""come in, dear.
you're welcome as a june rose."
when mr. bell returned, he found jessamine standing on the porch with her hands full of honeysuckle and her cheeks pink with excitement.
""i declare, you've got roses already," he exclaimed.
""if they'd only stay now, and not bleach out again.
what's first now?"
""oh, i do n't know.
there are so many things i want to do.
those flowers in the garden are calling me -- and i want to go down to that hollow and pick buttercups -- and i want to stay right here and look at things."
mr. bell laughed.
""come with me to the pasture and see my jersey calves.
they're something worth seeing.
come, aunt.
this way, miss stacy."
he led the way down the lane, the two women following together.
jessamine thought she must be in a pleasant dream.
the whole afternoon was a feast of delight to her starved heart.
when sunset came she sat down, tired out, but radiant, on the porch steps.
her hat had slipped back and her hair was curling around her face.
her dark eyes were aglow; the roses still bloomed in her cheeks.
mr. bell looked at her admiringly.
""if a man could see that pretty sight every night!"
he thought.
""and, great scott, why ca n't he?
what's to prevent, i'd like to know?"
when the moon rose, mr. bell brought his team around and they drove back through the clear night, past the wonderful stillness of the great beech woods and the wide fields.
the farmer looked sideways at his companion.
""the little thing wants to be petted and looked after," he thought.
""she's just pining away for home and love.
and why ca n't she have it?
she's dying by inches in that hole back in town."
jessamine, quite unsuspecting the farmer's meditations, was living over again in fancy the joys of the afternoon: the ramble in the pasture, the drink of water from the spring under the hillside pines, the bountiful, old-fashioned country supper in the vine-shaded dining-room, the cup of new milk in the dairy at sunset, and all the glory of skies and meadows and trees.
how could she go back to her cage again?
the next week mr. bell, senior, resumed his visits, and the young farmer came no more to the side door of no. 49.
jessamine missed him greatly.
mr. bell, senior, never brought her clover or honeysuckle.
but one day his nephew suddenly reappeared.
jessamine opened the door for him, and her face lighted up, but mr. bell saw that she had been crying.
""did you think i had forgotten you?"
he asked.
""not a bit of it.
harvest was on and i could n't get clear before.
i've come to ask you when you intend to take another drive to cloverside farm.
what have you been up to?
you look as if you'd been working too hard."
""i -- i -- have n't felt very well.
i'm glad you came today, mr. bell.
perhaps i shall not see you again, and i wanted to say goodbye and thank you for all your kindness."
""goodbye?
why, where are you going?"
""my brother went west a week ago," faltered jessamine.
she could not bring herself to tell the clear-eyed farmer that john stacy had failed and had been obliged to start for the west without saying goodbye to his creditors.
""his wife and i -- are going too -- next week."
""oh, jessamine," exclaimed mr. bell in despair, "do n't go -- you must n't.
i want you at cloverside farm.
i came today on purpose to ask you.
i love you and i'll make you happy if you'll marry me.
what do you say, jessamine?"
jessamine, by way of answer, sat down on the nearest chair and began to cry.
""oh, do n't," said the wooer in distress.
""i did n't want to make you feel bad.
if you do n't like the idea, i wo n't mention it again."
""oh, it is n't that -- but i -- i thought nobody cared what became of me.
you are so kind -- i'm afraid i'd only be a bother to you..." "i'll risk that.
you shall have a happy home, little girl.
will you come to it?"
""ye-e-e-s."
it was very indistinct and faltering, but mr. bell heard it and considered it a most eloquent answer.
mrs. john fumed and sulked and chose to consider herself hoodwinked and injured.
but mr. bell was a resolute man, and a few days later he came for the last time to no. 49 and took his bride away with him.
as they drove through the beech woods he put his arm tenderly around the shy, smiling little woman beside him and said, "you'll never be sorry for this, my dear."
and she never was.
miss sally's letter miss sally peered sharply at willard stanley, first through her gold-rimmed glasses and then over them.
willard continued to look very innocent.
joyce got up abruptly and went out of the room.
""so you have bought that queer little house with the absurd name?"
said miss sally.
""you surely do n't call eden an absurd name," protested willard.
""i do -- for a house.
particularly such a house as that.
eden!
there are no edens on earth.
and what are you going to do with it?"
""live in it."
""alone?"
miss sally looked at him suspiciously.
""no.
the truth is, miss sally, i am hoping to be married in the fall and i want to fix up eden for my bride."
""oh!"
miss sally drew a long breath, partly it seemed of relief and partly of triumph, and looked at joyce, who had returned, with an expression that said, "i told you so"; but joyce, whose eyes were cast down, did not see it.
""and," went on willard calmly, "i want you to help me fix it up, miss sally.
i do n't know much about such things and you know everything.
you will be able to tell me just what to do to make eden habitable."
miss sally looked as pleased as she ever allowed herself to look over anything a man suggested.
it was the delight of her heart to plan and decorate and contrive.
her own house was a model of comfort and good taste, and miss sally was quite ready for new worlds to conquer.
instantly eden assumed importance in her eyes.
she might be sorry for the misguided bride who was rashly going to trust her life's keeping to a man, but she would see, at least, that the poor thing should have a decent place to begin her martyrdom in.
""i'll be pleased to help you all i can," she said graciously.
miss sally could speak very graciously when she chose, even to men.
you would not have thought she hated them, but she did.
in all sincerity, too.
also, she had brought her niece up to hate and distrust them.
or, she had tried to do so.
but at times miss sally was troubled with an uncomfortable suspicion that joyce did not hate and distrust men quite as thoroughly as she ought.
the suspicion had recurred several times this summer since willard stanley had come to take charge of the biological station at the harbour.
miss sally did not distrust willard on his own account.
she merely distrusted him on principle and on joyce's account.
nevertheless, she was rather nice to him.
miss sally, dear, trim, dainty miss sally, with her snow-white curls and her big girlish black eyes, could n't help being nice, even to a man.
willard had come a great deal to miss sally's.
if it were joyce he were after miss sally blocked his schemes with much enjoyment.
he never saw joyce alone -- that miss sally knew of, at least -- and he did not make much apparent headway.
but now all danger was removed, miss sally thought.
he was going to be married to somebody else, and joyce was safe.
""thank you," said willard.
""i'll come up tomorrow afternoon, and you and i will take a prowl about eden and see what must be done.
i'm ever so much obliged, miss sally."
""i wonder who he is going to marry," said miss sally, careless of grammar, after he had gone.
""poor, poor girl!"
""i do n't see why you should pity her," said joyce, not looking up from her embroidery.
there was just the merest tremor in her voice.
miss sally looked at her sharply.
""i pity any woman who is foolish enough to marry," she said solemnly.
""no man is to be trusted, joyce -- no man.
they are all ready to break a trusting woman's heart for the sport of it.
never you allow any man the chance to break yours, joyce.
i shall never consent to your marrying anybody, so mind you do n't take any such notion into your head.
there ought n't to be any danger, for i have instilled correct ideas on this subject into you from childhood.
but girls are such fools.
i know, because i was one myself once."
""of course, i would never marry without your consent, aunt sally," said joyce, smiling faintly but affectionately at her aunt.
joyce loved miss sally with her whole heart.
everybody did who knew her.
there never was a more lovable creature than this pretty little old maid who hated the men so bitterly.
""that's a good girl," said miss sally approvingly.
""i own that i have been a little afraid that this willard stanley was coming here to see you.
but my mind is set at rest on that point now, and i shall help him fix up his doll house with a clear conscience.
eden, indeed!"
miss sally sniffed and tripped out of the room to hunt up a furniture catalogue.
joyce sighed and let her embroidery slip to the floor.
""oh, i'm afraid willard's plan wo n't succeed," she murmured.
""i'm afraid aunt sally will never consent to our marriage.
and i ca n't and wo n't marry him unless she does, for she would never forgive me and i could n't bear that.
i wonder what makes her so bitter against men.
she is so sweet and loving, it seems simply unnatural that she should have such a feeling so deeply rooted in her.
oh, what will she say when she finds out -- dear little aunt sally?
i could n't bear to have her angry with me."
the next day willard came up from the harbour and took miss sally down to see eden.
eden was a tiny, cornery, gabled grey house just across the road and down a long, twisted windy lane, skirting the edge of a beech wood.
nobody had lived in it for four years, and it had a neglected, out-at-elbow appearance.
""it's rather a box of a place, is n't it?"
said willard slowly.
""i'm afraid she will think so.
but it is all i can afford just now.
i dream of giving her a palace some day, of course.
but we'll have to begin humbly.
do you think anything can be made of it?"
miss sally was busily engaged in sizing up the possibilities of the place.
""it is pretty small," she said meditatively.
""and the yard is small too -- and there are far too many trees and shrubs all messed up together.
they must be thinned out -- and that paling taken down.
i think a good deal can be done with it.
as for the house -- well, let us see the inside."
willard unlocked the door and showed miss sally over the place.
miss sally poked and pried and sniffed and wrinkled her forehead, and finally stood on the stairs and delivered her ultimatum.
""this house can be done up very nicely.
paint and paper will work wonders.
but i would n't paint it outside.
leave it that pretty silver weather-grey and plant vines to run over it.
oh, we'll see what we can do.
of course it is small -- a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, and two bedrooms.
you wo n't want anything stuffy.
you can do the painting yourself, and i'll help you hang the paper.
how much money can you spend on it?"
willard named the sum.
it was not a large one.
""but i think it will do," mused miss sally.
""we'll make it do.
there's such satisfaction getting as much as you possibly can out of a dollar, and twice as much as anybody else would get.
i enjoy that sort of thing.
this will be a game, and we'll play it with a right good will.
but i do wish you would give the place a sensible name."
""i think eden is the most appropriate name in the world," laughed willard.
""it will be eden for me when she comes."
""i suppose you tell her all that and she believes it," said miss sally sarcastically.
""you'll both find out that there is a good deal more prose than poetry in life."
""but we'll find it out together," said willard tenderly.
""wo n't that be worth something, miss sally?
prose, rightly written and read, is sometimes as beautiful as poetry."
miss sally deigned no reply.
she carefully gathered up her grey silken skirts from the dusty floor and walked out.
""get christina bowes to come up tomorrow and scrub this place out," she said practically.
""we can go to town and select paint and paper.
i should like the dining room done in pale green and the living room in creamy tones, ranging from white to almost golden brown.
but perhaps my taste wo n't be hers."
""oh, yes, it will," said willard with assurance.
""i am quite certain she will like everything you like.
i can never thank you enough for helping me.
if you had n't consented i should have had to put it into the hands of some outsider whom i could n't have helped at all.
and i wanted to help.
i wanted to have a finger in everything, because it is for her, you see, miss sally.
it will be such a delight to fix up this little house, knowing that she is coming to live in it."
""i wonder if you really mean it," said miss sally bitterly.
""oh, i dare say you think you do.
but do you?
perhaps you do.
perhaps you are the exception that proves the rule."
this was a great admission for miss sally to make.
for the next two months miss sally was happy.
even willard himself was not more keenly interested in eden and its development.
miss sally did wonders with his money.
she was an expert at bargain hunting, and her taste was excellent.
a score of times she mercilessly nipped willard's suggestions in the bud.
""lace curtains for the living room -- never!
they would be horribly out of place in such a house.
you do n't want curtains at all -- just a frill is all that quaint window needs, with a shelf above it for a few bits of pottery.
i picked up a love of a brass platter in town yesterday -- got it for next to nothing from that old jew who would really rather give you a thing than suffer you to escape without taking something.
oh, i know how to manage them."
""you certainly do," laughed willard.
""it amazes me to see how far you can stretch a dollar."
willard did the painting under miss sally's watchful eye, and they hung the paper together.
together they made trips to town or junketed over the country in search of furniture and dishes of which miss sally had heard.
day by day the little house blossomed into a home, and day by day miss sally's interest in it grew.
she began to have a personal affection for its quaint rooms and their adornments.
moreover, in spite of herself, she felt a growing interest in willard's bride.
he never told her the name of the girl he hoped to bring to eden, and miss sally never asked it.
but he talked of her a great deal, in a shy, reverent, tender way.
""he certainly seems to be very much in love with her," miss sally told joyce one evening when she returned from eden.
""i would believe in him if it were possible for me to believe in a man.
anyway, she will have a dear little home.
i've almost come to love that eden house.
why do n't you come down and see it, joyce?"
""oh, i'll come some day -- i hope," said joyce lightly.
""i think i'd rather not see it until it is finished."
""willard is a nice boy," said miss sally suddenly.
""i do n't think i ever did him justice before.
the finer qualities of his character come out in these simple, homely little doings and tasks.
he is certainly very thoughtful and kind.
oh, i suppose he'll make a good husband, as husbands go.
but he does n't know the first thing about managing.
if his wife is n't a good manager, i do n't know what they'll do.
and perhaps she wo n't like the way we've done up eden.
willard says she will, of course, because he thinks her perfection.
but she may have dreadful taste and want the lace curtains and that nightmare of a pink rug willard admired, and i dare say she'd rather have a new flaunting set of china with rosebuds on it than that dear old dull blue i picked up for a mere song down at the aldenbury auction.
i stood in the rain for two mortal hours to make sure of it, and it was really worth all that willard has spent on the dining room put together.
it will break my heart if she sets to work altering eden.
it's simply perfect as it is -- though i suppose i should n't say it."
* * * * * in another week eden was finished.
miss sally stood in the tiny hall and looked about her.
""well, it is done," she said with a sigh.
""i'm sorry.
i have enjoyed fixing it up tremendously, and now i feel that my occupation is gone.
i hope you are satisfied, willard."
""satisfied is too mild a word, miss sally.
i am delighted.
i knew you could accomplish wonders, but i never hoped for this.
eden is a dream -- the dearest, quaintest, sweetest little home that ever waited for a bride.
when i bring her here -- oh, miss sally, do you know what that thought means to me?"
miss sally looked curiously at the young man.
his face was flushed and his voice trembled a little.
there was a far-away shining look in his eyes as if he saw a vision.
""i hope you and she will be happy," said miss sally slowly.
""when will she be coming, willard?"
the flush went out of willard's face, leaving it pale and determined.
""that is for her -- and you -- to say," he answered steadily.
""me!"
exclaimed miss sally.
""what have i to do with it?"
""a great deal -- for unless you consent she will never come here at all."
""willard stanley," said miss sally, with ominous calm, "who is the girl you mean to marry?"
""the girl i hope to marry is joyce, miss sally.
wait -- do n't say anything till you hear me out."
he came close to her and caught her hands in a boyish grip.
""joyce and i have loved each other ever since we met.
but we despaired of winning your consent, and joyce will not marry me without it.
i thought if i could get you to help me fix up my little home that you might get so interested in it -- and so well acquainted with me -- that you would trust me with joyce.
please do, miss sally.
i love her so truly and i know i can make her happy.
if you do n't, eden shall never have a mistress.
i'll shut it up, just as it is, and leave it sacred to the dead hope of a bride that will never come to it."
""oh, you would n't," protested miss sally.
""it would be a shame -- such a dear little house -- and after all the trouble i've taken.
but you have tricked me -- oh, you men could n't be straightforward in anything --" "was n't it a fair device for a desperate lover, miss sally?"
interrupted willard.
""oh, you must n't hold spite because of it, dear; and you will give me joyce, wo n't you?
because if you do n't, i really will shut up eden forever."
miss sally looked wistfully around her.
through the open door on her left she saw the little living room with its quaint, comfortable furniture, its dainty pictures and adornments.
through the front door she saw the trim, velvet-swarded little lawn.
upstairs were two white rooms that only wanted a woman's living presence to make them jewels.
and the kitchen on which she had expended so much thought and ingenuity -- the kitchen furnished to the last detail, even to the kindling in the range and the match willard had laid ready to light it!
it gave miss sally a pang to think of that altar fire never being lighted.
it was really the thought of the kitchen that finished miss sally.
""you've tricked me," she said again reproachfully.
""you've tricked me into loving this house so much that i can not bear the thought of it never living.
you'll have to have joyce, i suppose.
and i believe i'm glad that it is n't a stranger who is to be the mistress of eden.
joyce wo n't hanker after pink rugs and lace curtains.
and her taste in china is the same as mine.
in one way it's a great relief to my mind.
but it's a fearful risk -- a fearful risk.
to think that you may make my dear child miserable!"
""you know you do n't think that i will, miss sally.
i'm not really such a bad fellow, now, am i?"
""you are a man -- and i have no confidence whatever in men," declared miss sally, wiping some very real tears from her eyes with a very unreal sort of handkerchief -- one of the cobwebby affairs of lace her daintiness demanded.
""miss sally, why have you such a rooted distrust of men?"
demanded willard curiously.
""somehow, it seems so foreign to your character."
""i suppose you think i am a perfect crank," said miss sally, sighing.
""well, i'll tell you why i do n't trust men.
i have a very good reason for it.
a man broke my heart and embittered my life.
i've never spoken about it to a living soul, but if you want to hear about it, you shall."
miss sally sat down on the second step of the stairs and tucked her wet handkerchief away.
she clasped her slender white hands over her knee.
in spite of her silvery hair and the little lines on her face she looked girlish and youthful.
there was a pink flush on her cheeks, and her big black eyes sparkled with the anger her memories aroused in her.
""i was a young girl of twenty when i met him," she said, "and i was just as foolish as all young girls are -- foolish and romantic and sentimental.
he was very handsome and i thought him -- but there, i wo n't go into that.
it vexes me to recall my folly.
but i loved him -- yes, i did, with all my heart -- with all there was of me to love.
he made me love him.
he deliberately set himself to win my love.
for a whole summer he flirted with me.
i did n't know he was flirting -- i thought him in earnest.
oh, i was such a little fool -- and so happy.
then -- he went away.
went away suddenly without even a word of goodbye.
but he had been summoned home by his father's serious illness, and i thought he would write -- i waited -- i hoped.
i never heard from him -- never saw him again.
he had tired of his plaything and flung it aside.
that is all," concluded miss sally passionately.
""i never trusted any man again.
when my sister died and gave me her baby, i determined to bring the dear child up safely, training her to avoid the danger i had fallen into.
well, i've failed.
but perhaps it will be all right -- perhaps there are some men who are true, though stephen merritt was false."
""stephen -- who?"
demanded willard abruptly.
miss sally coloured.
""i did n't mean to tell you his name," she said, getting up.
""it was a slip of the tongue.
never mind -- forget it and him.
he was not worthy of remembrance -- and yet i do remember him.
i ca n't forget him -- and i hate him all the more for it -- for having entered so deeply into my life that i could not cast him out when i knew him unworthy.
it is humiliating.
there -- let us lock up eden and go home.
i suppose you are dying to see joyce and tell her your precious plot has succeeded."
willard did not appear to be at all impatient.
he had relapsed into a brown study, during which he let miss sally lock up the house.
then he walked silently home with her.
miss sally was silent too.
perhaps she was repenting her confidence -- or perhaps she was thinking of her false lover.
there was a pathetic droop to her lips, and her black eyes were sad and dreamy.
""miss sally," said willard at last, as they neared her house, "had stephen merritt any sisters?"
miss sally threw him a puzzled glance.
""he had one -- jean merritt -- whom i disliked and who disliked me," she said crisply.
""i do n't want to talk of her -- she was the only woman i ever hated.
i never met any of the other members of his family -- his home was in a distant part of the state."
willard stayed with joyce so brief a time that miss sally viewed his departure with suspicion.
this was not very lover-like conduct.
""i dare say he's like all the rest -- when his aim is attained the prize loses its value," reflected miss sally pessimistically.
""poor joyce -- poor child!
but there -- there is n't a single inharmonious thing in his house -- that is one comfort.
i'm so thankful i did n't let willard buy those brocade chairs he wanted.
they would have given joyce the nightmare."
meanwhile, willard rushed down to the biological station and from there drove furiously to the station to catch the evening express.
he did not return until three days later, when he appeared at miss sally's, dusty and triumphant.
""joyce is out," said miss sally.
""i'm glad of it," said willard recklessly.
""it's you i want to see, miss sally.
i have something to show you.
i've been all the way home to get it."
from his pocketbook willard drew something folded and creased and yellow that looked like a letter.
he opened it carefully and, holding it in his fingers, looked over it at miss sally.
""my grandmother's maiden name was jean merritt," he said deliberately, "and stephen merritt was my great-uncle.
i never saw him -- he died when i was a child -- but i've heard my father speak of him often."
miss sally turned very pale.
she passed her cobwebby handkerchief across her lips and her hand trembled.
willard went on.
""my uncle never married.
he and his sister jean lived together until her late marriage.
i was not very fond of my grandmother.
she was a selfish, domineering woman -- very unlike the grandmother of tradition.
when she died everything she possessed came to me, as my father, her only child, was then dead.
in looking over a box of old papers i found a letter -- an old love letter.
i read it with some interest, wondering whose it could be and how it came among grandmother's private letters.
it was signed "stephen," so that i guessed my great-uncle had been the writer, but i had no idea who the sally was to whom it was written, until the other day.
then i knew it was you -- and i went home to bring you your letter -- the letter you should have received long ago.
why you did not receive it i can not explain.
i fear that my grandmother must have been to blame for that -- she must have intercepted and kept the letter in order to part her brother and you.
in so far as i can i wish to repair the wrong she has done you.
i know it can never be repaired -- but at least i think this letter will take the bitterness out of the memory of your lover."
he dropped the letter in miss sally's lap and went away.
pale, miss sally picked it up and read it.
it was from stephen merritt to "dearest sally," and contained a frank, manly avowal of love.
would she be his wife?
if she would, let her write and tell him so.
but if she did not and could not love him, let her silence reveal the bitter fact; he would wish to spare her the pain of putting her refusal into words, and if she did not write he would understand that she was not for him.
when willard and joyce came back into the twilight room they found miss sally still sitting by the table, her head leaning pensively on her hand.
she had been crying -- the cobwebby handkerchief lay beside her, wrecked and ruined forever -- but she looked very happy.
""i wonder if you know what you have done for me," she said to willard.
""but no -- you ca n't know -- you ca n't realize it fully.
it means everything to me.
you have taken away my humiliation and restored to me my pride of womanhood.
he really loved me -- he was not false -- he was what i believed him to be.
nothing else matters to me at all now.
oh, i am very happy -- but it would never have been if i had not consented to give you joyce."
she rose and took their hands in hers, joining them.
""god bless you, dears," she said softly.
""i believe you will be happy and that your love for each other will always be true and faithful and tender.
willard, i give you my dear child in perfect trust and confidence."
with her yellowed love letter clasped to her heart, and a raptured shining in her eyes, miss sally went out of the room.
my lady jane the boat got into broughton half an hour after the train had gone.
we had been delayed by some small accident to the machinery; hence that lost half-hour, which meant a night's sojourn for me in broughton.
i am ashamed of the things i thought and said.
when i think that fate might have taken me at my word and raised up a special train, or some such miracle, by which i might have got away from broughton that night, i experience a cold chill.
out of gratitude i have never sworn over missing connections since.
at the time, however, i felt thoroughly exasperated.
i was in a hurry to get on.
important business engagements would be unhinged by the delay.
i was a stranger in broughton.
it looked like a stupid, stuffy little town.
i went to a hotel in an atrocious humor.
after i had fumed until i wanted a change, it occurred to me that i might as well hunt up clark oliver by way of passing the time.
i had never been overly fond of clark oliver, although he was my cousin.
he was a bit of a cad, and stupider than anyone belonging to our family had a right to be.
moreover, he was in politics, and i detest politics.
but i rather wanted to see if he looked as much like me as he used to.
i had n't seen him for three years and i hoped that the time might have differentiated us to a saving degree.
it was over a year since i had last been blown up by some unknown, excited individual on the ground that i was that scoundrel oliver -- politically speaking.
i thought that was a good omen.
i went to clark's office, found he had left, and followed him to his rooms.
the minute i saw him i experienced the same nasty feeling of lost or bewildered individuality which always overcame me in his presence.
he was so absurdly like me.
i felt as if i were looking into a mirror where my reflection persisted in doing things i did n't do, thereby producing a most uncanny sensation.
clark pretended he was glad to see me.
he really could n't have been, because his great idea had n't struck him then, and we had always disliked each other.
""hello, elliott," he said, shaking me by the hand with a twist he had learned in election campaigns, whereby something like heartiness was simulated.
""glad to see you, old fellow.
gad, you're as like me as ever.
where did you drop from?"
i explained my predicament and we talked amiably and harmlessly for awhile about family gossip.
i abhor family gossip, but it is a shade better than politics, and those two subjects are the only ones on which clark can converse at all.
i described mary alice's wedding, and florence's new young man, and tom-and-kate's twins.
clark tried to be interested but i saw he had something on what serves him for a mind.
after awhile it came out.
he looked at his watch with a frown.
""i'm in a bit of a puzzle," he said.
""the mark kennedys are giving a dinner to-night.
you do n't know them, of course.
they're the big people of broughton.
kennedy runs the politics of the place, and mrs. k. makes or mars people socially.
it's my first invitation there and it's necessary i should accept it -- necessary every way.
mrs. k. would never forgive me if i disappointed her at the last moment.
not that i, personally, am of much account -- yet -- to her.
but it would leave a vacant place.
mrs. k. would never notice me again and, as she bosses kennedy, i ca n't afford to offend her.
besides, there's a girl who'll be there.
i've met her once.
i want to meet her again.
she's a beauty and no mistake.
toplofty as they make'em, though.
however, i think i've made an impression on her.
it was at the harvey's dance last week.
she was the handsomest woman there, and she never took her eyes off me.
i've given mrs. kennedy a pretty broad hint that i want to take her in to dinner.
if i do n't go i'll miss all round."
""well, what is there to prevent you from going?"
i asked, squiffily.
i never could endure the way clark talked about girls and hinted at his conquests.
""just this.
herbert bronson came to town this afternoon and is leaving on the 10.30 train to-night.
he's sent me word to meet him at his hotel this evening and talk over a mining deal i've been trying to pull off.
i simply must go.
it's my one chance to corral bronson.
if i lose him it'll be all up, and i'll be thousands out of pocket."
""well, you are in rather a predicament," i agreed, with the philosophical acceptance of the situation that marks the outsider.
i was n't hampered by the multiplicity of my business and social engagements that evening, so i could afford to pity clark.
it is always rather nice to be able to pity a person you dislike.
""i should say so.
i ca n't make up my mind what to do.
hang it.
i'll have to see bronson.
there's no question about that.
a man ought to keep an understood substitute on hand to send to dinners when he ca n't go.
by jove!
elliott!"
clark's great idea had arrived.
he bounced up eagerly.
""elliott, will you go to the kennedys" in my place?
they'll never know the difference.
do, now -- there's a good fellow!"
""nonsense!"
i said.
""it is n't nonsense.
the resemblance between us was foreordained for this hour.
i'll lend you my dress suit -- it'll fit you -- your figure is as much like mine as your face.
you've nothing to do with yourself this evening.
i offer you a good dinner and an agreeable partner.
come now, to oblige me.
you know you owe me a good turn for that mulhenen business."
the mulhenen business clinched the matter.
until he mentioned it i had no notion whatever of masquerading as clark oliver at the kennedys" dinner.
but, as clark so delicately put it, he had done me a good turn in that affair and the obligation had rankled ever since.
it is beastly to be indebted for a favor to a man you detest.
now was my chance to pay it off and i took it without more ado.
""but," i said doubtfully, "i do n't know the kennedys -- nor any of the social stunts that are doing in broughton; i wo n't dare to talk about anything, and i'll seem so stupid, even if i do n't actually make some irremediable blunder, that the kennedys will be disgusted with you.
it will probably do your prospects more harm than your absence would."
""not at all.
keep your mouth shut when you can and talk generalities when you ca n't, and you'll pass.
if you take that girl in she's a stranger in broughton and wo n't suspect your ignorance of what's going on.
nobody will suspect you.
nobody here knows i have a cousin so like me.
our own mothers have n't always been able to tell us apart.
our very voices are alike.
come now, get into my dinner togs.
you have n't much time and mrs. k. does n't like late comers."
there seemed to be a number of things that mrs. kennedy did not like.
i thought my chance of pleasing that critical lady extremely small, especially when i had to live up to clark oliver's personality.
however, i dressed as expeditiously as possible.
the novelty of the adventure rather pleased me.
i always liked doing unusual things.
anything was better than lounging away the evening at my hotel.
it could n't do any harm.
i owed clark oliver a good turn and i would save mrs. kennedy the annoyance of a vacant chair.
there was no disputing the fact that i looked most disgustingly like clark when i got into his clothes.
i actually felt a grudge against them for their excellent fit.
""you'll do," said clark.
""remember you're a conservative to-night and do n't let your rank liberal views crop out, or you'll queer me for all time with the great and only mark.
he does n't talk politics at his dinners, though, so you're not likely to have trouble on that score.
mrs. kennedy has a weakness for beer mugs.
her collection is considered very fine.
scandal whispers that miss harvey has a budding interest in settlement work --" "miss who?"
i said sharply.
""harvey.
christian name unknown.
that's the girl i mentioned.
you'll probably take her in.
be nice to her even if you have to make an effort.
she's the one i've picked out as your future cousin, you know, so i do n't want you to spoil her good opinion of me in any way."
the name had given me a jump.
once, in another world, i had known a jane harvey.
but clark's miss harvey could n't be jane.
a month before i had read a newspaper item to the effect that jane was on the pacific coast.
moreover, jane, when i knew her, had certainly no manifest vocation for settlement work.
i did n't think two years could have worked such a transformation.
two years!
was it only two years?
it seemed more like two centuries.
i went to the kennedys" in a pleasantly excited frame of mind and a cab.
i just missed being late by a hairbreadth.
the house was a big one, and everybody pertaining to it was big, except the host.
mark kennedy was a little, thin man with a bald head.
he did n't look like a political power, but that was all the more reason for his being one in a world where things are not what they seem.
mrs. kennedy greeted me cordially and told me significantly that she had granted my request.
this meant, as my card had already informed me, that i was to take miss harvey out.
of course there would be no introduction since clark oliver was already acquainted with the lady.
i was wondering how i was to locate her when i got a shock that made me dizzy.
jane was over in a corner looking at me.
there was no time to collect my wits.
the guests were moving out to the dining-room.
i took my nerve in my hand, crossed the room, bowed, and the next moment was walking through the hall with jane's hand on my arm.
the hall was a good long one; i blessed the architect who had planned it.
it gave me time to sort out my ideas.
jane here!
jane going out to dinner with me, believing me to be clark oliver!
jane -- but it was incredible!
the whole thing was a dream -- or i had gone crazy!
i looked at her sideways when we had got into our places at the table.
she was more beautiful than ever, that tall, brown-haired, disdainful jane.
the settlement work story i was inclined to dismiss as a myth.
settlement work in a beautiful woman generally means crowsfeet or a broken heart.
jane, according to my sight and belief, possessed neither.
once upon a time i had been engaged to jane.
i had been idiotically in love with her in those days and still more idiotically believed that she loved me.
the trouble was that, although i had been cured of the latter phase of my idiocy, the former had become chronic.
i had never been able to get over loving jane.
all through those two years i had hugged the fond hope that sometime i might stumble across her in a mild mood and make matters up.
there was no such thing as seeking her out or writing to her, since she had icily forbidden me to do so, and jane had a most detestable habit -- in a woman -- of meaning what she said.
but the deity i had invoked was the god of chance -- and this was how he had answered my prayers.
i was eating my dinner beside jane, who supposed me to be clark oliver!
what should i do?
confess the truth and plead my cause while she had to sit beside me?
that would never do.
someone might overhear us.
and, in any case, it would be no passport to jane's favor that i was a guest in the house under false pretences.
she would be certain to disapprove strongly.
it was a maddening situation.
jane, who was calmly eating soup -- she was the only woman i had ever seen who could eat soup and look like a goddess at the same time -- glanced around and caught me studying her profile.
i thought she blushed slightly and i raged inwardly to think that blush was meant for clark oliver -- clark oliver who had told me he thought jane was smitten on him!
jane!
on him!
""do you know, mr. oliver," said jane slowly, "that you are startlingly like a -- a person i used to know?
when i first saw you the other night i took you for him."
a person you used to know!
oh, jane, that was the most unkindest cut of all.
""my cousin, elliott cameron, i suppose?"
i answered as indifferently as i could.
""we resemble each other very closely.
you were acquainted with cameron, miss harvey?"
""slightly," said jane.
""a fine fellow," i said unblushingly.
""a-h," said jane.
""my favorite relative," i went on brazenly.
""he's a thoroughly good sort -- rather dull now to what he used to be, though.
he had an unfortunate love affair two years ago and has never got over it."
""indeed?"
said jane coldly, crumbling a bit of bread between her fingers.
her face was expressionless and her voice ditto; but i had heard her criticize nervous people who did things like that at table.
""i fear poor elliott's life has been completely spoiled," i said, with a sigh.
""it's a shame."
""did he confide the affair to you?"
asked jane, a little scornfully.
""well, after a fashion.
he said enough for me to guess the rest.
he never told me the lady's name.
she was very beautiful, i understand, and very heartless.
oh, she used him very badly."
""did he tell you that, too?"
asked jane.
""not he.
he wo n't listen to a word against her.
but a chap can draw his own conclusions, you know."
""what went wrong between them?"
asked jane.
she smiled at a lady across the table, as if she were merely asking questions to make conversation, but she went on crumbling bread.
""simply a very stiff quarrel, i believe.
elliott never went into details.
the lady was flirting with somebody else, i fancy."
""people have such different ideas about flirting," said jane, languidly.
""what one would call mere simple friendliness another construes into flirting.
possibly your friend -- or is it your cousin?
-- is one of those men who become insanely jealous over every trifle and attempt to exert authority before they have any to exert.
a woman of spirit would hardly fail to resent that."
""of course elliott was jealous," i admitted.
""but then, you know, miss harvey, that jealousy is said to be the measure of a man's love.
if he went beyond his rights i am sure he is bitterly sorry for it."
""does he really care about her still?"
asked jane, eating most industriously, although somehow the contents of her plate did hot grow noticeably less.
as for me, i did n't pretend to eat.
i simply pecked.
""he loves her with all his heart," i answered fervently.
""there never has been and never will be any other woman for elliott cameron."
""why does n't he go and tell her so?"
inquired jane, as if she felt rather bored over the whole subject.
""he does n't dare to.
she forbade him ever to cross her path again.
told him she hated him and always would hate him as long as she lived."
""she must have been an unpleasantly emphatic young woman," commented jane.
""i'd like to hear anyone say so to elliott," i responded.
""he considers her perfection.
i'm sorry for elliott.
his life is wrecked."
""do you know," said jane slowly, as if poking about in the recesses of her memory for something half forgotten.
""i believe i know the -- the girl in question."
""really?"
i said.
""yes, she is a friend of mine.
she -- she never told me his name, but putting two and two together, i believe it must have been your cousin.
but she -- she thinks she was the one to blame."
""does she?"
it was my turn to ask questions now, but my heart thumped so that i could hardly speak.
""yes, she says she was too hasty and unreasonable.
she did n't mean to flirt at all -- and she never cared for anyone but -- him.
but his jealousy irritated her.
i suppose she said things to him she did n't really mean.
she -- she never supposed he was going to take her at her word."
""do you think she cares for him still?"
considering what was at stake, i think i asked the question very well.
""i think she must," said jane languidly.
""she has never looked at any other man.
she devotes most of her time to charitable work, but i feel sure she is n't really happy."
so the settlement story was true.
oh, jane!
""what would you advise my cousin to do?"
i asked.
""do you think he should go boldly to her?
would she listen to him -- forgive him?"
""she might," said jane.
""have i your permission to tell elliott cameron this?"
i demanded.
jane selected and ate an olive with maddening deliberation.
""i suppose you may -- if you are really convinced that he wants to hear it," she said at last, as if barely recollecting that i had asked the question two minutes previously.
""i'll tell him as soon as i go home," i said.
i had the satisfaction of startling jane at last.
she turned her head and looked at me.
i got a good, square, satisfying gaze into her big, blackish-blue eyes.
""yes," i said, compelling myself to look away.
""he came in on the boat this afternoon too late for his train.
has to stay over till to-morrow night.
i left him in my rooms when i came away.
doubtless to-morrow will see him speeding recklessly to his dear divinity.
i wonder if he knows where she is at present."
""if he does n't," said jane, with the air of dismissing the subject once and forever from her mind, "i can give him the information.
you may tell him i'm staying with the duncan moores, and shall be leaving day after to-morrow.
by the way, have you seen mrs. kennedy's collection of steins?
it is a remarkably fine one."
clark oliver could n't come to our wedding -- or would n't.
jane has never met him since, but she can not understand why i have such an aversion to him, especially when he has such a good opinion of me.
she says she thought him charming, and one of the most interesting conversationalists she ever went out to dinner with.
robert turner's revenge when robert turner came to the green, ferny triangle where the station road forked to the right and left under the birches, he hesitated as to which direction he would take.
the left led out to the old turner homestead, where he had spent his boyhood and where his cousin still lived; the right led down to the cove shore where the jameson property was situated.
since he had stopped off at chiswick for the purpose of looking this property over before foreclosing the mortgage on it he concluded that he might as well take the cove road; he could go around by the shore afterward -- he had not forgotten the way even in forty years -- and so on up through the old spruce wood in alec martin's field -- if the spruces were there still and the field still alec martin's -- to his cousin's place.
he would just about have time to make the round before the early country supper hour.
then a brief visit with tom -- tom had always been a good sort of a fellow although woefully dull and slow-going -- and the evening express for montreal.
he swung with a businesslike stride into the cove road.
as he went on, however, the stride insensibly slackened into an unaccustomed saunter.
how well he remembered that old road, although it was forty years since he had last traversed it, a set-lipped boy of fifteen, cast on the world by the indifference of an uncle.
the years had made surprisingly little difference in it or in the surrounding scenery.
true, the hills and fields and lanes seemed lower and smaller and narrower than he remembered them; there were some new houses along the road, and the belt of woods along the back of the farms had become thinner in most places.
but that was all.
he had no difficulty in picking out the old familiar spots.
there was the big cherry orchard on the milligan place which had been so famous in his boyhood.
it was snow-white with blossoms, as if the trees were possessed of eternal youth; they had been in blossom the last time he had seen them.
well, time had not stood still with him as it had with luke milligan's cherry orchard, he reflected grimly.
his springtime had long gone by.
the few people he met on the road looked at him curiously, for strangers were not commonplace in chiswick.
he recognized some of the older among them but none of them knew him.
he had been an awkward, long-limbed lad with fresh boyish colour and crisp black curls when he had left chiswick.
he returned to it a somewhat portly figure of a man, with close-cropped, grizzled hair, and a face that looked as if it might be carved out of granite, so immobile and unyielding it was -- the face of a man who never faltered or wavered, who stuck at nothing that might advance his plans and purposes, a face known and dreaded in the business world where he reigned master.
it was a cold, hard, selfish face, but the face of the boy of forty years ago had been neither cold nor hard nor selfish.
presently the homesteads and orchard lands grew fewer and then ceased altogether.
the fields were long and low-lying, sloping down to the misty blue rim of sea.
a turn of the road brought him in sudden sight of the cove, and there below him was the old jameson homestead, built almost within wave-lap of the pebbly shore and shut away into a lonely grey world of its own by the sea and sands and those long slopes of tenantless fields.
he paused at the sagging gate that opened into the long, deep-rutted lane and, folding his arms on it, looked earnestly and scrutinizingly over the buildings.
they were grey and faded, lacking the prosperous appearance that had characterized them once.
there was an air of failure about the whole place as if the very land had become disheartened and discouraged.
long ago, neil jameson, senior, had been a well-to-do man.
the big cove farm had been one of the best in chiswick then.
as for neil jameson, junior, robert turner's face always grew something grimmer when he recalled him -- the one person, boy and man, whom he had really hated in the world.
they had been enemies from childhood, and once in a bout of wrestling at the chiswick school neil had thrown him by an unfair trick and taunted him continually thereafter on his defeat.
robert had made a compact with himself that some day he would pay neil jameson back.
he had not forgotten it -- he never forgot such things -- but he had never seen or heard of neil jameson after leaving chiswick.
he might have been dead for anything robert turner knew.
then, when john kesley failed and his effects turned over to his creditors, of whom robert turner was the chief, a mortgage on the cove farm at chiswick, owned by neil jameson, had been found among his assets.
inquiry revealed the fact that neil jameson was dead and that the farm was run by his widow.
turner felt a pang of disappointment.
what satisfaction was there in wreaking revenge on a dead man?
but at least his wife and children should suffer.
that debt of his to jameson for an ill-won victory and many a sneer must be paid in full, if not to him, why, then to his heirs.
his lawyers reported that mrs. jameson was two years behind with her interest.
turner instructed them to foreclose the mortgage promptly.
then he took it into his head to revisit chiswick and have a good look at the cove farm and other places he knew so well.
he had a notion that it might be a decent place to spend a summer month or two in.
his wife went to seaside and mountain resorts, but he liked something quieter.
there was good fishing at the cove and in chiswick pond, as he remembered.
if he liked the farm as well as his memory promised him he would do, he would bid it in himself.
it would make neil jameson turn in his grave if the penniless lad he had jeered at came into the possession of his old ancestral property that had been owned by a jameson for over one hundred years.
there was a flavour in such a revenge that pleased robert turner.
he smiled one of his occasional grim smiles over it.
when robert turner smiled, weather prophets of the business sky foretold squalls.
presently he opened the gate and went through.
halfway down the lane forked, one branch going over to the house, the other slanting across the field to the cove.
turner took the latter and soon found himself on the grey shore where the waves were tumbling in creamy foam just as he remembered them long ago.
nothing about the old cove had changed; he walked around a knobby headland, weather-worn with the wind and spray of years, which cut him off from sight of the jameson house, and sat down on a rock.
he thought himself alone and was annoyed to find a boy sitting on the opposite ledge with a book on his knee.
the lad lifted his eyes and looked turner over with a clear, direct gaze.
he was about twelve years old, tall for his age, slight, with a delicate, clear-cut face -- a face that was oddly familiar to turner, although he was sure he had never seen it before.
the boy had oval cheeks, finely tinted with colour, big, shy blue eyes quilled about with long black lashes, and silvery-golden hair lying over his head in soft ringlets like a girl's.
what girl's?
something far back in robert turner's dreamlike boyhood seemed to call to him like a note of a forgotten melody, sweet yet stirring like a pain.
the more he looked at the boy the stronger the impression of a resemblance grew in every feature but the mouth.
that was alien to his recollection of the face, yet there was something about it, when taken by itself, that seemed oddly familiar also -- yes, and unpleasantly familiar, although the mouth was a good one -- finely cut and possessing more firmness than was found in all the other features put together.
""it's a good place for reading, sonny, is n't it?"
he inquired, more genially than he had spoken to a child for years.
in fact, having no children of his own, he so seldom spoke to a child that his voice and manner when he did so were generally awkward and rusty.
the boy nodded a quick little nod.
somehow, turner had expected that nod and the glimmer of a smile that accompanied it.
""what book are you reading?"
he asked.
the boy held it out; it was an old robinson crusoe, that classic of boyhood.
""it's splendid," he said.
""billy martin lent it to me and i have to finish it today because ned josephs is to have it next and he's in a hurry for it."
""it's a good while since i read robinson crusoe," said turner reflectively.
""but when i did it was on this very shore a little further along below the miller place.
there was a martin and a josephs in the partnership then too -- the fathers, i dare say, of billy and ned.
what is your name, my boy?"
""paul jameson, sir."
the name was a shock to turner.
this boy a jameson -- neil jameson's son?
why, yes, he had neil's mouth.
strange he had nothing else in common with the black-browed, black-haired jamesons.
what business had a jameson with those blue eyes and silvery-golden curls?
it was flagrant forgery on nature's part to fashion such things and label them jameson by a mouth.
hated neil jameson's son!
robert turner's face grew so grey and hard that the boy involuntarily glanced upward to see if a cloud had crossed the sun.
""your father was neil jameson, i suppose?"
turner said abruptly.
paul nodded.
""yes, but he is dead.
he has been dead for eight years.
i do n't remember him."
""have you any brothers or sisters?"
""i have a little sister a year younger than i am.
the other four are dead.
they died long ago.
i'm the only boy mother had.
oh, i do so wish i was bigger and older!
if i was i could do something to save the place -- i'm sure i could.
it is breaking mother's heart to have to leave it."
""so she has to leave it, has she?"
said turner grimly, with the old hatred stirring in his heart.
""yes.
there is a mortgage on it and we're to be sold out very soon -- so the lawyers told us.
mother has tried so hard to make the farm pay but she could n't.
i could if i was bigger -- i know i could.
if they would only wait a few years!
but there is no use hoping for that.
mother cries all the time about it.
she has lived at the cove farm for over thirty years and she says she ca n't live away from it now.
elsie -- that's my sister -- and i do all we can to cheer her up, but we ca n't do much.
oh, if i was only a man!"
the lad shut his lips together -- how much his mouth was like his father's -- and looked out seaward with troubled blue eyes.
turner smiled another grim smile.
oh, neil jameson, your old score was being paid now!
yet something embittered the sweetness of revenge.
that boy's face -- he could not hate it as he had accustomed himself to hate the memory of neil jameson and all connected with him.
""what was your mother's name before she married your father?"
he demanded abruptly.
""lisbeth miller," answered the boy, still frowning seaward over his secret thoughts.
turner started again.
lisbeth miller!
he might have known it.
what woman in all the world save lisbeth miller could have given her son those eyes and curls?
so lisbeth had married neil jameson -- little lisbeth miller, his schoolboy sweetheart.
he had forgotten her -- or thought he had; certainly he had not thought of her for years.
but the memory of her came back now with a rush.
little lisbeth -- pretty little lisbeth -- merry little lisbeth!
how clearly he remembered her!
the old miller place had adjoined his uncle's farm.
lisbeth and he had played together from babyhood.
how he had worshipped her!
when they were six years old they had solemnly promised to marry each other when they grew up, and lisbeth had let him kiss her as earnest of their compact, made under a bloom-white apple tree in the miller orchard.
yet she would always blush furiously and deny it ever afterwards; it made her angry to be reminded of it.
he saw himself going to school, carrying her books for her, the envied of all the boys.
he remembered how he had fought tony josephs because tony had the presumption to bring her spice apples: he had thrashed him too, so soundly that from that time forth none of the schoolboys presumed to rival him in lisbeth's affections -- roguish little lisbeth!
who grew prettier and saucier every year.
he recalled the keen competition of the old days when to be "head of the class" seemed the highest honour within mortal reach, and was striven after with might and main.
he had seldom attained to it because he would never "go up past" lisbeth.
if she missed a word, he, robert, missed it too, no matter how well he knew it.
it was sweet to be thought a dunce for her dear sake.
it was all the reward he asked to see her holding her place at the head of the class, her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes starry with her pride of position.
and how sweetly she would lecture him on the way home from school about learning his spellings better, and wind up her sermon with the frank avowal, uttered with deliciously downcast lids, that she liked him better than any of the other boys after all, even if he could n't spell as well as they could.
nothing of success that he had won since had ever thrilled him as that admission of little lisbeth's!
she had been such a sympathetic little sweetheart too, never weary of listening to his dreams and ambitions, his plans for the future.
she had always assured him that she knew he would succeed.
well, he had succeeded -- and now one of the uses he was going to make of his success was to turn lisbeth and her children out of their home by way of squaring matters with a dead man!
lisbeth had been away from home on a long visit to an aunt when he had left chiswick.
she was growing up and the childish intimacy was fading.
perhaps, under other circumstances, it might have ripened into fruit, but he had gone away and forgotten her; the world had claimed him; he had lost all active remembrance of lisbeth and, before this late return to chiswick, he had not even known if she were living.
and she was neil jameson's widow!
he was silent for a long time, while the waves purred about the base of the big red sandstone rock and the boy returned to his crusoe.
finally robert turner roused himself from his reverie.
""i used to know your mother long ago when she was a little girl," he said.
""i wonder if she remembers me.
ask her when you go home if she remembers bobby turner."
""wo n't you come up to the house and see her, sir?"
asked paul politely.
""mother is always glad to see her old friends."
""no, i have n't time today."
robert turner was not going to tell neil jameson's son that he did not care to look for the little lisbeth of long ago in neil jameson's widow.
the name spoiled her for him, just as the jameson mouth spoiled her son for him.
""but you may tell her something else.
the mortgage will not be foreclosed.
i was the power behind the lawyers, but i did not know that the present owner of the cove farm was my little playmate, lisbeth miller.
you and she shall have all the time you want.
tell her bobby turner does this in return for what she gave him under the big sweeting apple tree on her sixth birthday.
i think she will remember and understand.
as for you, paul, be a good boy and good to your mother.
i hope you'll succeed in your ambition of making the farm pay when you are old enough to take it in hand.
at any rate, you'll not be disturbed in your possession of it."
""oh, sir!
oh, sir!"
stammered paul in an agony of embarrassed gratitude and delight.
""oh, it seems too good to be true.
do you really mean that we're not to be sold out?
oh, wo n't you come and tell mother yourself?
she'll be so happy -- so grateful.
do come and let her thank you."
""not today.
i have n't time.
give her my message, that's all.
there, run; the sooner she gets the news the better."
turner watched the boy as he bounded away, until the headland hid him from sight.
""there goes my revenge -- and a fine bit of property eminently suited for a summer residence -- all for a bit of old, rusty sentiment," he said with a shrug.
""i did n't suppose i was capable of such a mood.
but then -- little lisbeth.
there never was a sweeter girl.
i'm glad i did n't go with the boy to see her.
she's an old woman now -- and neil jameson's widow.
i prefer to keep my old memories of her undisturbed -- little lisbeth of the silvery-golden curls and the roguish blue eyes.
little lisbeth of the old time!
i'm glad to be able to have done you the small service of securing your home to you.
it is my thanks to you for the friendship and affection you gave my lonely boyhood -- my tribute to the memory of my first sweetheart."
he walked away with a smile, whose amusement presently softened to an expression that would have amazed his business cronies.
later on he hummed the air of an old love song as he climbed the steep spruce road to tom's.
the fillmore elderberries "i expected as much," said timothy robinson.
his tone brought the blood into ellis duncan's face.
the lad opened his lips quickly, as if for an angry retort, but as quickly closed them again with a set firmness oddly like timothy robinson's own.
""when i heard that lazy, worthless father of yours was dead, i expected you and your mother would be looking to me for help," timothy robinson went on harshly.
""but you're mistaken if you think i'll give it.
you've no claim on me, even if your father was my half-brother -- no claim at all.
and i'm not noted for charity."
timothy robinson smiled grimly.
it was very true that he was far from being noted for charity.
his neighbours called him "close" and "near."
some even went so far as to call him "a miserly skinflint."
but this was not true.
it was, however, undeniable that timothy robinson kept a tight clutch on his purse-strings, and although he sometimes gave liberally enough to any cause which really appealed to him, such causes were few and far between.
""i am not asking for charity, uncle timothy," said ellis quietly.
he passed over the slur at his father in silence, deeply as he felt it, for, alas, he knew that it was only too true.
""i expect to support my mother by hard and honest work.
and i am not asking you for work on the ground of our relationship.
i heard you wanted a hired man, and i have come to you, as i should have gone to any other man about whom i had heard it, to ask you to hire me."
""yes, i do want a man," said uncle timothy drily.
""a man -- not a half-grown boy of fourteen, not worth his salt.
i want somebody able and willing to work."
again ellis flushed deeply and again he controlled himself.
""i am willing to work, uncle timothy, and i think you would find me able also if you would try me.
i'd work for less than a man's wages at first, of course."
""you wo n't work for any sort of wages from me," interrupted timothy robinson decidedly.
""i tell you plainly that i wo n't hire you.
you're the wrong man's son for that.
your father was lazy and incompetent and, worst of all, untrustworthy.
i did try to help him once, and all i got was loss and ingratitude.
i want none of his kind around my place.
i do n't believe in you, so you may as well take yourself off, ellis.
i've no more time to waste."
ellis took himself off, his ears tingling.
as he walked homeward his thoughts were very bitter.
all uncle timothy had said about his father was true, and ellis realized what a count it was against him in his efforts to obtain employment.
nobody wanted to be bothered with "old sam duncan's son," though nobody had been so brutally outspoken as his uncle timothy.
sam duncan and timothy robinson had been half-brothers.
sam, the older, had been the son of mrs. robinson's former marriage.
never were two lads more dissimilar.
sam was a lazy, shiftless fellow, deserving all the hard things that came to be said of him.
he would not work and nobody could depend on him, but he was a handsome lad with rather taking ways in his youth, and at first people had liked him better than the close, blunt, industrious timothy.
their mother had died in their childhood, but mr. robinson had been fond of sam and the boy had a good home.
when he was twenty-two and timothy eighteen, mr. robinson had died very suddenly, leaving no will.
everything he possessed went to timothy.
sam immediately left.
he said he would not stay there to be "bossed" by timothy.
he rented a little house in the village, married a girl "far too good for him," and started in to support himself and his wife by days" work.
he had lounged, borrowed, and shirked through life.
once timothy robinson, perhaps moved by pity for sam's wife and baby, had hired him for a year at better wages than most hired men received in dalrymple.
sam idled through a month of it, then got offended and left in the middle of haying.
timothy robinson washed his hands of him after that.
when ellis was fourteen sam duncan died, after a lingering illness of a year.
during this time the family were kept by the charity of pitying neighbours, for ellis could not be spared from attendance on his father to make any attempt at earning money.
mrs. duncan was a fragile little woman, worn out with her hard life, and not strong enough to wait on her husband alone.
when sam duncan was dead and buried, ellis straightened his shoulders and took counsel with himself.
he must earn a livelihood for his mother and himself, and he must begin at once.
he was tall and strong for his age, and had a fairly good education, his mother having determinedly kept him at school when he had pleaded to be allowed to go to work.
he had always been a quiet fellow, and nobody in dalrymple knew much about him.
but they knew all about his father, and nobody would hire ellis unless he were willing to work for a pittance that would barely clothe him.
ellis had not gone to his uncle timothy until he had lost all hope of getting a place elsewhere.
now this hope too had gone.
it was nearly the end of june and everybody who wanted help had secured it.
look where he would, ellis could see no prospect of employment.
""if i could only get a chance!"
he thought miserably.
""i know i am not idle or lazy -- i know i can work -- if i could get a chance to prove it."
he was sitting on the fence of the fillmore elderberry pasture as he said it, having taken a short cut across the fields.
this pasture was rather noted in dalrymple.
originally a mellow and fertile field, it had been almost ruined by a persistent, luxuriant growth of elderberry bushes.
old thomas fillmore had at first tried to conquer them by mowing them down "in the dark of the moon."
but the elderberries did not seem to mind either moon or mowing, and flourished alike in all the quarters.
for the past two years old thomas had given up the contest, and the elderberries had it all their own sweet way.
thomas fillmore, a bent old man with a shrewd, nutcracker face, came through the bushes while ellis was sitting on the fence.
""howdy, ellis.
seen anything of my spotted calves?
i've been looking for'em for over an hour."
""no, i have n't seen any calves -- but a good many might be in this pasture without being visible to the naked eye," said ellis, with a smile.
old thomas shook his head ruefully.
""them elders have been too many for me," he said.
""did you ever see a worse-looking place?
you'd hardly believe that twenty years ago there was n't a better piece of land in dalrymple than this lot, would ye?
such grass as grew here!"
""the soil must be as good as ever if anything had a chance to grow on it," said ellis.
""could n't those elders be rooted out?"
""it'd be a back-breaking job, but i reckon it could be done if anyone had the muscle and patience and time to tackle it.
i have n't the first at my age, and my hired man has n't the last.
and nobody would do it for what i could afford to pay."
""what will you give me if i undertake to clean the elders out of this field for you, mr. fillmore?"
asked ellis quietly.
old thomas looked at him with a surprised face, which gradually reverted to its original shrewdness when he saw that ellis was in earnest.
""you must be hard up for a job," he said.
""i am," was ellis's laconic answer.
""well, lem me see."
old thomas calculated carefully.
he never paid a cent more for anything than he could help, and was noted for hard bargaining.
""i'll give ye sixteen dollars if you clean out the whole field," he said at length.
ellis looked at the pasture.
he knew something about cleaning out elderberry brush, and he also knew that sixteen dollars would be very poor pay for it.
most of the elders were higher than a man's head, with big roots, thicker than his wrist, running deep into the ground.
""it's worth more, mr. fillmore," he said.
""not to me," responded old thomas drily.
""i've plenty more land and i'm an old fellow without any sons.
i ai n't going to pay out money for the benefit of some stranger who'll come after me.
you can take it or leave it at sixteen dollars."
ellis shrugged his shoulders.
he had no prospect of anything else, and sixteen dollars were better than nothing.
""very well, i'll take it," he said.
""well, now, look here," said old thomas shrewdly, "i'll expect you to do the work thoroughly, young man.
them roots ai n't to be cut off, remember; they'll have to be dug out.
and i'll expect you to finish the job if you undertake it too, and not drop it halfway through if you get a chance for a better one."
""i'll finish with your elderberries before i leave them," promised ellis.
* * * * * ellis went to work the next day.
his first move was to chop down all the brush and cart it into heaps for burning.
this took two days and was comparatively easy work.
the third day ellis tackled the roots.
by the end of the forenoon he had discovered just what cleaning out an elderberry pasture meant, but he set his teeth and resolutely persevered.
during the afternoon timothy robinson, whose farm adjoined the fillmore place, wandered by and halted with a look of astonishment at the sight of ellis, busily engaged in digging and tearing out huge, tough, stubborn elder roots.
the boy did not see his uncle, but worked away with a vim and vigour that were not lost on the latter.
""he never got that muscle from sam," reflected timothy.
""sam would have fainted at the mere thought of stumping elders.
perhaps i've been mistaken in the boy.
well, well, we'll see if he holds out."
ellis did hold out.
the elderberries tried to hold out too, but they were no match for the lad's perseverance.
it was a hard piece of work, however, and ellis never forgot it.
week after week he toiled in the hot summer sun, digging, cutting, and dragging out roots.
the job seemed endless, and his progress each day was discouragingly slow.
he had expected to get through in a month, but he soon found it would take two.
frequently timothy robinson wandered by and looked at the increasing pile of roots and the slowly extending stretch of cleared land.
but he never spoke to ellis and made no comment on the matter to anybody.
one evening, when the field was about half done, ellis went home more than usually tired.
it had been a very hot day.
every bone and muscle in him ached.
he wondered dismally if he would ever get to the end of that wretched elderberry field.
when he reached home jacob green from westdale was there.
jacob lost no time in announcing his errand.
""my hired boy's broke his leg, and i must fill his place right off.
somebody referred me to you.
guess i'll try you.
twelve dollars a month, board, and lodging.
what say?"
for a moment ellis's face flushed with delight.
twelve dollars a month and permanent employment!
then he remembered his promise to mr. fillmore.
for a moment he struggled with the temptation.
then he mastered it.
perhaps the discipline of his many encounters with those elderberry roots helped him to do so.
""i'm sorry, mr. green," he said reluctantly.
""i'd like to go, but i ca n't.
i promised mr. fillmore that i'd finish cleaning up his elderberry pasture when i'd once begun it, and i sha n't be through for a month yet."
""well, i'd see myself turning down a good offer for old tom fillmore," said jacob green.
""it is n't for mr. fillmore -- it's for myself," said ellis steadily.
""i promised and i must keep my word."
jacob drove away grumblingly.
on the road he met timothy robinson and stopped to relate his grievances.
* * * * * it must be admitted that there were times during the next month when ellis was tempted to repent having refused jacob green's offer.
but at the end of the month the work was done and the fillmore elderberry pasture was an elderberry pasture no longer.
all that remained of the elders, root and branch, was piled into a huge heap ready for burning.
""and i'll come up and set fire to it when it's dry enough," ellis told mr. fillmore.
""i claim the satisfaction of that."
""you've done the job thoroughly," said old thomas.
""there's your sixteen dollars, and every cent of it was earned, if ever money was, i'll say that much for you.
there ai n't a lazy bone in your body.
if you ever want a recommendation just you come to me."
as ellis passed timothy robinson's place on the way home that worthy himself appeared, strolling down his lane.
""ah, ellis," he said, speaking to his nephew for the first time since their interview two months before, "so you've finished with your job?"
""yes, sir."
""got your sixteen dollars, i suppose?
it was worth four times that.
old tom cheated you.
you were foolish not to have gone to green when you had the chance."
""i'd promised mr. fillmore to finish with his pasture, sir!"
""humph!
well, what are you going to do now?"
""i do n't know.
harvest will be on next week.
i may get in somewhere as an extra hand for a spell."
""ellis," said his uncle abruptly, after a moment's silence, "i'm going to discharge my man.
he's no earthly good.
will you take his place?
i'll give you fifteen dollars a month and found."
ellis stared at timothy robinson.
""i thought you told me that you had no place for my father's son," he said slowly.
""i've changed my mind.
i've seen how you went at that elderberry job.
great snakes, there could n't be a better test for anybody than rooting out them things.
i know you can work.
when jacob green told me why you'd refused his offer i knew you could be depended on.
you come to me and i'll do well by you.
i've no kith or kin of my own except you.
and look here, ellis.
i'm tired of hired housekeepers.
will your mother come up and live with us and look after things a bit?
i've a good girl, and she wo n't have to work hard, but there must be somebody at the head of a household.
she must have a good headpiece -- for you have inherited good qualities from someone, and goodness knows it was n't from your father."
""uncle timothy," said ellis respectfully but firmly, "i'll accept your offer gratefully, and i am sure mother will too.
but there is one thing i must say.
perhaps my father deserves all you say of him -- but he is dead -- and if i come to you it must be with the understanding that nothing more is ever to be said against him."
timothy robinson smiled -- a queer, twisted smile that yet had a hint of affection and comprehension in it.
""very well," he said.
""i'll never cast his shortcomings up to you again.
come to me -- and if i find you always as industrious and reliable as you've proved yourself to be negotiating them elders, i'll most likely forget that you ai n't my own son some of these days."
the finished story she always sat in a corner of the west veranda at the hotel, knitting something white and fluffy, or pink and fluffy, or pale blue and fluffy -- always fluffy, at least, and always dainty.
shawls and scarfs and hoods the things were, i believe.
when she finished one she gave it to some girl and began another.
every girl at harbour light that summer wore some distracting thing that had been fashioned by miss sylvia's slim, tireless, white fingers.
she was old, with that beautiful, serene old age which is as beautiful in its way as youth.
her girlhood and womanhood must have been very lovely to have ripened into such a beauty of sixty years.
it was a surprise to everyone who heard her called miss sylvia.
she looked so like a woman who ought to have stalwart, grown sons and dimpled little grandchildren.
for the first two days after the arrival at the hotel she sat in her corner alone.
there was always a circle of young people around her; old folks and middle-aged people would have liked to join it, but miss sylvia, while she was gracious to all, let it be distinctly understood that her sympathies were with youth.
she sat among the boys and girls, young men and maidens, like a fine white queen.
her dress was always the same and somewhat old-fashioned, but nothing else would have suited her half so well; she wore a lace cap on her snowy hair and a heliotrope shawl over her black silk shoulders.
she knitted continually and talked a good deal, but listened more.
we sat around her at all hours of the day and told her everything.
when you were first introduced to her you called her miss stanleymain.
her endurance of that was limited to twenty-four hours.
then she begged you to call her miss sylvia, and as miss sylvia you spoke and thought of her forevermore.
miss sylvia liked us all, but i was her favourite.
she told us so frankly and let it be understood that when i was talking to her and her heliotrope shawl was allowed to slip under one arm it was a sign that we were not to be interrupted.
i was as vain of her favour as any lovelorn suitor whose lady had honoured him, not knowing, as i came to know later, the reason for it.
although miss sylvia had an unlimited capacity for receiving confidences, she never gave any.
we were all sure that there must be some romance in her life, but our efforts to discover it were unsuccessful.
miss sylvia parried tentative questions so skilfully that we knew she had something to defend.
but one evening, when i had known her a month, as time is reckoned, and long years as affection and understanding are computed, she told me her story -- at least, what there was to tell of it.
the last chapter was missing.
we were sitting together on the veranda at sunset.
most of the hotel people had gone for a harbour sail; a few forlorn mortals prowled about the grounds and eyed our corner wistfully, but by the sign of the heliotrope shawl knew it was not for them.
i was reading one of my stories to miss sylvia.
in my own excuse i must allege that she tempted me to do it.
i did not go around with manuscripts under my arm, inflicting them on defenceless females.
but miss sylvia had discovered that i was a magazine scribbler, and moreover, that i had shut myself up in my room that very morning and perpetrated a short story.
nothing would do but that i read it to her.
it was a rather sad little story.
the hero loved the heroine, and she loved him.
there was no reason why he should not love her, but there was a reason why he could not marry her.
when he found that he loved her he knew that he must go away.
but might he not, at least, tell her his love?
might he not, at least, find out for his consolation if she cared for him?
there was a struggle; he won, and went away without a word, believing it to be the more manly course.
when i began to read miss sylvia was knitting, a pale green something this time, of the tender hue of young leaves in may.
but after a little her knitting slipped unheeded to her lap and her hands folded idly above it.
it was the most subtle compliment i had ever received.
when i turned the last page of the manuscript and looked up, miss sylvia's soft brown eyes were full of tears.
she lifted her hands, clasped them together and said in an agitated voice: "oh, no, no; do n't let him go away without telling her -- just telling her.
do n't let him do it!"
""but, you see, miss sylvia," i explained, flattered beyond measure that my characters had seemed so real to her, "that would spoil the story.
it would have no reason for existence then.
its motif is simply his mastery over self.
he believes it to be the nobler course."
""no, no, it was n't -- if he loved her he should have told her.
think of her shame and humiliation -- she loved him, and he went without a word and she could never know he cared for her.
oh, you must change it -- you must, indeed!
i can not bear to think of her suffering what i have suffered."
miss sylvia broke down and sobbed.
to appease her, i promised that i would remodel the story, although i knew that the doing so would leave it absolutely pointless.
""oh, i'm so glad," said miss sylvia, her eyes shining through her tears.
""you see, i know it would make her happier -- i know it.
i'm going to tell you my poor little story to convince you.
but you -- you must not tell it to any of the others."
""i am sorry you think the admonition necessary," i said reproachfully.
""oh, i do not, indeed i do not," she hastened to assure me.
""i know i can trust you.
but it's such a poor little story.
you must n't laugh at it -- it is all the romance i had.
years ago -- forty years ago -- when i was a young girl of twenty, i -- learned to care very much for somebody.
i met him at a summer resort like this.
i was there with my aunt and he was there with his mother, who was delicate.
we saw a great deal of each other for a little while.
he was -- oh, he was like no other man i had ever seen.
you remind me of him somehow.
that is partly why i like you so much.
i noticed the resemblance the first time i saw you.
i do n't know in just what it consists -- in your expression and the way you carry your head, i think.
he was not strong -- he coughed a good deal.
then one day he went away -- suddenly.
i had thought he cared for me, but he never said so -- just went away.
oh, the shame of it!
after a time i heard that he had been ordered to california for his health.
and he died out there the next spring.
my heart broke then, i never cared for anybody again -- i could n't.
i have always loved him.
but it would have been so much easier to bear if i had only known that he loved me -- oh, it would have made all the difference in the world.
and the sting of it has been there all these years.
i ca n't even permit myself the joy of dwelling on his memory because of the thought that perhaps he did not care."
""he must have cared," i said warmly.
""he could n't have helped it, miss sylvia."
miss sylvia shook her head with a sad smile.
""i can not be sure.
sometimes i think he did.
but then the doubt creeps back again.
i would give almost anything to know that he did -- to know that i have not lavished all the love of my life on a man who did not want it.
and i never can know, never -- i can hope and almost believe, but i can never know.
oh, you do n't understand -- a man could n't fully understand what my pain has been over it.
you see now why i want you to change the story.
i am sorry for that poor girl, but if you only let her know that he really loves her she will not mind all the rest so very much; she will be able to bear the pain of even life-long separation if she only knows."
miss sylvia picked up her knitting and went away.
as for me, i thought savagely of the dead man she loved and called him a cad, or at best, a fool.
next day miss sylvia was her serene, smiling self once more, and she did not again make any reference to what she had told me.
a fortnight later she returned home and i went my way back to the world.
during the following winter i wrote several letters to miss sylvia and received replies from her.
her letters were very like herself.
when i sent her the third-rate magazine containing my story -- nothing but a third-rate magazine would take it in its rewritten form -- she wrote to say that she was so glad that i had let the poor girl know.
early in april i received a letter from an aunt of mine in the country, saying that she intended to sell her place and come to the city to live.
she asked me to go out to sweetwater for a few weeks and assist her in the business of settling up the estate and disposing of such things as she did not wish to take with her.
when i arrived at sweetwater i found it moist and chill with the sunny moisture and teasing chill of our canadian springs.
they are long and fickle and reluctant, these springs of ours, but, oh, the unnamable charm of them!
there was something even in the red buds of the maples at sweetwater and in the long, smoking stretches of hillside fields that sent a thrill through my veins, finer and subtler than any given by old wine.
a week after my arrival, when we had got the larger affairs pretty well straightened out, aunt mary suggested that i had better overhaul uncle alan's room.
""the things there have never been meddled with since he died," she said.
""in particular, there's an old trunk full of his letters and his papers.
it was brought home from california after his death.
i've never examined them.
i do n't suppose there is anything of any importance among them.
but i'm not going to carry all that old rubbish to town.
so i wish you would look over them and see if there is anything that should be kept.
the rest may be burned."
i felt no particular interest in the task.
my uncle alan blair was a mere name to me.
he was my mother's eldest brother and had died years before i was born.
i had heard that he had been very clever and that great things had been expected of him.
but i anticipated no pleasure from exploring musty old letters and papers of forty neglected years.
i went up to uncle alan's room at dusk that night.
we had been having a day of warm spring rain, but it had cleared away and the bare maple boughs outside the window were strung with glistening drops.
the room looked to the north and was always dim by reason of the close-growing sweetwater pines.
a gap had been cut through them to the northwest, and in it i had a glimpse of the sea uncle alan had loved, and above it a wondrous sunset sky fleeced over with little clouds, pale and pink and golden and green, that suddenly reminded me of miss sylvia and her fluffy knitting.
it was with the thought of her in my mind that i lighted a lamp and began the task of grubbing into uncle alan's trunkful of papers.
most of these were bundles of yellowed letters, of no present interest, from his family and college friends.
there were several college theses and essays, and a lot of loose miscellania pertaining to boyish school days.
i went through the collection rapidly, until at the bottom of the trunk, i came to a small book bound in dark-green leather.
it proved to be a sort of journal, and i began to glance over it with a languid interest.
it had been begun in the spring after he had graduated from college.
although suspected only by himself, the disease which was to end his life had already fastened upon him.
the entries were those of a doomed man, who, feeling the curse fall on him like a frost, blighting all the fair hopes and promises of life, seeks some help and consolation in the outward self-communing of a journal.
there was nothing morbid, nothing unmanly in the record.
as i read, i found myself liking uncle alan, wishing that he might have lived and been my friend.
his mother had not been well that summer and the doctor ordered her to the seashore.
alan accompanied her.
here occurred a hiatus in the journal.
no leaves had been torn out, but a quire or so of them had apparently become loosened from the threads that held them in place.
i found them later on in the trunk, but at the time i passed to the next page.
it began abruptly: this girl is the sweetest thing that god ever made.
i had not known a woman could be so fair and sweet.
her beauty awes me, the purity of her soul shines so clearly through it like an illuminating lamp.
i love her with all my power of loving and i am thankful that it is so.
it would have been hard to die without having known love.
i am glad that it has come to me, even if its price is unspeakable bitterness.
a man has not lived for nothing who has known and loved sylvia stanleymain.
i must not seek her love -- that is denied me.
if i were well and strong i should win it; yes, i believe i could win it, and nothing in the world would prevent me from trying, but, as things are, it would be the part of a coward to try.
yet i can not resist the delight of being with her, of talking to her, of watching her wonderful face.
she is in my thoughts day and night, she dwells in my dreams.
o, sylvia, i love you, my sweet!
a week later there was another entry: july seventeenth.
i am afraid.
to-day i met sylvia's eyes.
in them was a look which at first stirred my heart to its deeps with tumultuous delight, and then i remembered.
i must spare her that suffering, at whatever cost to myself.
i must not let myself dwell on the dangerous sweetness of the thought that her heart is turning to me.
what would be the crowning joy to another man could be only added sorrow to me.
then: july eighteenth.
this morning i took the train to the city.
i was determined to know the worst once for all.
the time had come when i must.
my doctor at home had put me off with vague hopes and perhapses.
so i went to a noted physician in the city.
i told him i wanted the whole truth -- i made him tell it.
stripped of all softening verbiage it is this: i have perhaps eight months or a year to live -- no more!
i had expected it, although not quite so soon.
yet the certainty was none the less bitter.
but this is no time for self-pity.
it is of sylvia i must think now.
i shall go away at once, before the sweet fancy which is possibly budding in her virgin heart shall have bloomed into a flower that might poison some of her fair years.
july nineteenth.
it is over.
i said good-bye to her to-day before others, for i dared not trust myself to see her alone.
she looked hurt and startled, as if someone had struck her.
but she will soon forget, even if i have not been mistaken in the reading of her eyes.
as for me, the bitterness of death is already over in that parting.
all that now remains is to play the man to the end.
from further entries in the journal i learned that alan blair had returned to sweetwater and later on had been ordered to california.
the entries during his sojourn there were few and far between.
in all of them he spoke of sylvia.
finally, after a long silence, he had written: i think the end is not far off now.
i am not sorry for my suffering has been great of late.
last night i was easier.
i slept and dreamed that i saw sylvia.
once or twice i thought that i would arrange to have this book sent to her after my death.
but i have decided that it would be unwise.
it would only pain her, so i shall destroy it when i feel the time has come.
it is sunset in this wonderful summer land.
at home in sweetwater it is only early spring as yet, with snow lingering along the edges of the woods.
the sunsets there will be creamy-yellow and pale red now.
if i could but see them once more!
and sylvia -- there was a little blot where the pen had fallen.
evidently the end had been nearer than alan blair had thought.
at least, there were no more entries, and the little green book had not been destroyed.
i was glad that it had not been; and i felt glad that it was thus put in my power to write the last chapter of miss sylvia's story for her.
as soon as i could leave sweetwater i went to the city, three hundred miles away, where miss sylvia lived.
i found her in her library, in her black silk dress and heliotrope shawl, knitting up cream wool, for all the world as if she had just been transplanted from the veranda corner of harbour light.
""my dear boy!"
she said.
""do you know why i have come?"
i asked.
""i am vain enough to think it was because you wanted to see me," she smiled.
""i did want to see you; but i would have waited until summer if it had not been that i wished to bring you the missing chapter of your story, dear lady."
""i -- i -- do n't understand," said miss sylvia, starting slightly.
""i had an uncle, alan blair, who died forty years ago in california," i said quietly.
""recently i have had occasion to examine some of his papers.
i found a journal among them and i have brought it to you because i think that you have the best right to it."
i dropped the parcel in her lap.
she was silent with surprise and bewilderment.
""and now," i added, "i am going away.
you wo n't want to see me or anyone for a while after you have read this book.
but i will come up to see you to-morrow."
when i went the next day miss sylvia herself met me at the door.
she caught my hand and drew me into the hall.
her eyes were softly radiant.
""oh, you have made me so happy!"
she said tremulously.
""oh, you can never know how happy!
nothing hurts now -- nothing ever can hurt, because i know he did care."
she laid her face down on my shoulder, as a girl might have nestled to her lover, and i bent and kissed her for uncle alan.
the garden of spices jims tried the door of the blue room.
yes, it was locked.
he had hoped aunt augusta might have forgotten to lock it; but when did aunt augusta forget anything?
except, perhaps, that little boys were not born grown-ups -- and that was something she never remembered.
to be sure, she was only a half-aunt.
whole aunts probably had more convenient memories.
jims turned and stood with his back against the door.
it was better that way; he could not imagine things behind him then.
and the blue room was so big and dim that a dreadful number of things could be imagined in it.
all the windows were shuttered but one, and that one was so darkened by a big pine tree branching right across it that it did not let in much light.
jims looked very small and lost and lonely as he shrank back against the door -- so small and lonely that one might have thought that even the sternest of half-aunts should have thought twice before shutting him up in that room and telling him he must stay there the whole afternoon instead of going out for a promised ride.
jims hated being shut up alone -- especially in the blue room.
its bigness and dimness and silence filled his sensitive little soul with vague horror.
sometimes he became almost sick with fear in it.
to do aunt augusta justice, she never suspected this.
if she had she would not have decreed this particular punishment, because she knew jims was delicate and must not be subjected to any great physical or mental strain.
that was why she shut him up instead of whipping him.
but how was she to know it?
aunt augusta was one of those people who never know anything unless it is told them in plain language and then hammered into their heads.
there was no one to tell her but jims, and jims would have died the death before he would have told aunt augusta, with her cold, spectacled eyes and thin, smileless mouth, that he was desperately frightened when he was shut in the blue room.
so he was always shut in it for punishment; and the punishments came very often, for jims was always doing things that aunt augusta considered naughty.
at first, this time, jims did not feel quite so frightened as usual because he was very angry.
as he put it, he was very mad at aunt augusta.
he had n't meant to spill his pudding over the floor and the tablecloth and his clothes; and how such a little bit of pudding -- aunt augusta was mean with desserts -- could ever have spread itself over so much territory jims could not understand.
but he had made a terrible mess and aunt augusta had been very angry and had said he must be cured of such carelessness.
she said he must spend the afternoon in the blue room instead of going for a ride with mrs. loring in her new car.
jims was bitterly disappointed.
if uncle walter had been home jims would have appealed to him -- for when uncle walter could be really wakened up to a realization of his small nephew's presence in his home, he was very kind and indulgent.
but it was so hard to waken him up that jims seldom attempted it.
he liked uncle walter, but as far as being acquainted with him went he might as well have been the inhabitant of a star in the milky way.
jims was just a lonely, solitary little creature, and sometimes he felt so friendless that his eyes smarted, and several sobs had to be swallowed.
there were no sobs just now, though -- jims was still too angry.
it was n't fair.
it was so seldom he got a car ride.
uncle walter was always too busy, attending to sick children all over the town, to take him.
it was only once in a blue moon mrs. loring asked him to go out with her.
but she always ended up with ice cream or a movie, and to-day jims had had strong hopes that both were on the programme.
""i hate aunt augusta," he said aloud; and then the sound of his voice in that huge, still room scared him so that he only thought the rest.
""i wo n't have any fun -- and she wo n't feed my gobbler, either."
jims had shrieked "feed my gobbler," to the old servant as he had been hauled upstairs.
but he did n't think nancy jane had heard him, and nobody, not even jims, could imagine aunt augusta feeding the gobbler.
it was always a wonder to him that she ate, herself.
it seemed really too human a thing for her to do.
""i wish i had spilled that pudding on purpose," jims said vindictively, and with the saying his anger evaporated -- jims never could stay angry long -- and left him merely a scared little fellow, with velvety, nut-brown eyes full of fear that should have no place in a child's eyes.
he looked so small and helpless as he crouched against the door that one might have wondered if even aunt augusta would not have relented had she seen him.
how that window at the far end of the room rattled!
it sounded terribly as if somebody -- or something -- were trying to get in.
jims looked desperately at the unshuttered window.
he must get to it; once there, he could curl up in the window seat, his back to the wall, and forget the shadows by looking out into the sunshine and loveliness of the garden over the wall.
jims would have likely have been found dead of fright in that blue room some time had it not been for the garden over the wall.
but to get to the window jims must cross the room and pass by the bed.
jims held that bed in special dread.
it was the oldest fashioned thing in the old-fashioned, old-furnitured house.
it was high and rigid, and hung with gloomy blue curtains.
anything might jump out of such a bed.
jims gave a gasp and ran madly across the room.
he reached the window and flung himself upon the seat.
with a sigh of relief he curled down in the corner.
outside, over the high brick wall, was a world where his imagination could roam, though his slender little body was pent a prisoner in the blue room.
jims had loved that garden from his first sight of it.
he called it the garden of spices and wove all sorts of yarns in fancy -- yarns gay and tragic -- about it.
he had only known it for a few weeks.
before that, they had lived in a much smaller house away at the other side of the town.
then uncle walter's uncle -- who had brought him up just as he was bringing up jims -- had died, and they had all come to live in uncle walter's old home.
somehow, jims had an idea that uncle walter was n't very glad to come back there.
but he had to, according to great-uncle's will.
jims himself did n't mind much.
he liked the smaller rooms in their former home better, but the garden of spices made up for all.
it was such a beautiful spot.
just inside the wall was a row of aspen poplars that always talked in silvery whispers and shook their dainty, heart-shaped leaves at him.
beyond them, under scattered pines, was a rockery where ferns and wild things grew.
it was almost as good as a bit of woods -- and jims loved the woods, though he scarcely ever saw them.
then, past the pines, were roses just breaking into june bloom -- roses in such profusion as jims had n't known existed, with dear little paths twisting about among the bushes.
it seemed to be a garden where no frost could blight or rough wind blow.
when rain fell it must fall very gently.
past the roses one saw a green lawn, sprinkled over now with the white ghosts of dandelions, and dotted with ornamental trees.
the trees grew so thickly that they almost hid the house to which the garden pertained.
it was a large one of grey-black stone, with stacks of huge chimneys.
jims had no idea who lived there.
he had asked aunt augusta and aunt augusta had frowned and told him it did not matter who lived there and that he must never, on any account, mention the next house or its occupant to uncle walter.
jims would never have thought of mentioning them to uncle walter.
but the prohibition filled him with an unholy and unsubduable curiosity.
he was devoured by the desire to find out who the folks in that tabooed house were.
and he longed to have the freedom of that garden.
jims loved gardens.
there had been a garden at the little house but there was none here -- nothing but an old lawn that had been fine once but was now badly run to seed.
jims had heard uncle walter say that he was going to have it attended to but nothing had been done yet.
and meanwhile here was a beautiful garden over the wall which looked as if it should be full of children.
but no children were ever in it -- or anybody else apparently.
and so, in spite of its beauty, it had a lonely look that hurt jims.
he wanted his garden of spices to be full of laughter.
he pictured himself running in it with imaginary playmates -- and there was a mother in it -- or a big sister -- or, at the least, a whole aunt who would let you hug her and would never dream of shutting you up in chilly, shadowy, horrible blue rooms.
""it seems to me," said jims, flattening his nose against the pane, "that i must get into that garden or bust."
aunt augusta would have said icily, "we do not use such expressions, james," but aunt augusta was not there to hear.
""i'm afraid the very handsome cat is n't coming to-day," sighed jims.
then he brightened up; the very handsome cat was coming across the lawn.
he was the only living thing, barring birds and butterflies, that jims ever saw in the garden.
jims worshipped that cat.
he was jet black, with white paws and dickey, and he had as much dignity as ten cats.
jims" fingers tingled to stroke him.
jims had never been allowed to have even a kitten because aunt augusta had a horror of cats.
and you can not stroke gobblers!
the very handsome cat came through the rose garden paths on his beautiful paws, ambled daintily around the rockery, and sat down in a shady spot under a pine tree, right where jims could see him, through a gap in the little poplars.
he looked straight up at jims and winked.
at least, jims always believed and declared he did.
and that wink said, or seemed to say, plainly: "be a sport.
come down here and play with me.
a fig for your aunt augusta!"
a wild, daring, absurd idea flashed into jims" brain.
could he?
he could!
he would!
he knew it would be easy.
he had thought it all out many times, although until now he had never dreamed of really doing it.
to unhook the window and swing it open, to step out on the pine bough and from it to another that hung over the wall and dropped nearly to the ground, to spring from it to the velvet sward under the poplars -- why, it was all the work of a minute.
with a careful, repressed whoop jims ran towards the very handsome cat.
the cat rose and retreated in deliberate haste; jims ran after him.
the cat dodged through the rose paths and eluded jims" eager hands, just keeping tantalizingly out of reach.
jims had forgotten everything except that he must catch the cat.
he was full of a fearful joy, with an elfin delight running through it.
he had escaped from the blue room and its ghosts; he was in his garden of spices; he had got the better of mean old aunt augusta.
but he must catch the cat.
the cat ran over the lawn and jims pursued it through the green gloom of the thickly clustering trees.
beyond them came a pool of sunshine in which the old stone house basked like a huge grey cat itself.
more garden was before it and beyond it, wonderful with blossom.
under a huge spreading beech tree in the centre of it was a little tea table; sitting by the table reading was a lady in a black dress.
the cat, having lured jims to where he wanted him, sat down and began to lick his paws.
he was quite willing to be caught now; but jims had no longer any idea of catching him.
he stood very still, looking at the lady.
she did not see him then and jims could only see her profile, which he thought very beautiful.
she had wonderful ropes of blue-black hair wound around her head.
she looked so sweet that jims" heart beat.
then she lifted her head and turned her face and saw him.
jims felt something of a shock.
she was not pretty after all.
one side of her face was marked by a dreadful red scar.
it quite spoilt her good looks, which jims thought a great pity; but nothing could spoil the sweetness of her face or the loveliness of her peculiar soft, grey-blue eyes.
jims could n't remember his mother and had no idea what she looked like, but the thought came into his head that he would have liked her to have eyes like that.
after the first moment jims did not mind the scar at all.
but perhaps that first moment had revealed itself in his face, for a look of pain came into the lady's eyes and, almost involuntarily it seemed, she put her hand up to hide the scar.
then she pulled it away again and sat looking at jims half defiantly, half piteously.
jims thought she must be angry because he had chased her cat.
""i beg your pardon," he said gravely, "i did n't mean to hurt your cat.
i just wanted to play with him.
he is such a very handsome cat."
""but where did you come from?"
said the lady.
""it is so long since i saw a child in this garden," she added, as if to herself.
her voice was as sweet as her face.
jims thought he was mistaken in thinking her angry and plucked up heart of grace.
shyness was no fault of jims.
""i came from the house over the wall," he said.
""my name is james brander churchill.
aunt augusta shut me up in the blue room because i spilled my pudding at dinner.
i hate to be shut up.
and i was to have had a ride this afternoon -- and ice cream -- and maybe a movie.
so i was mad.
and when your very handsome cat came and looked at me i just got out and climbed down."
he looked straight at her and smiled.
jims had a very dear little smile.
it seemed a pity there was no mother alive to revel in it.
the lady smiled back.
""i think you did right," she said."
you would n't shut a little boy up if you had one, would you?"
said jims.
""no -- no, dear heart, i would n't," said the lady.
she said it as if something hurt her horribly.
she smiled again gallantly.
""will you come here and sit down?"
she added, pulling a chair out from the table.
""thank you.
i'd rather sit here," said jims, plumping down on the grass at her feet.
""then maybe your cat will come to me."
the cat came over promptly and rubbed his head against jims" knee.
jims stroked him delightedly; how lovely his soft fur felt and his round velvety head.
""i like cats," explained jims, "and i have nothing but a gobbler.
this is such a very handsome cat.
what is his name, please?"
""black prince.
he loves me," said the lady.
""he always comes to my bed in the morning and wakes me by patting my face with his paw.
he does n't mind my being ugly."
she spoke with a bitterness jims could n't understand.
""but you are not ugly," he said.
""oh, i am ugly -- i am ugly," she cried.
""just look at me -- right at me.
does n't it hurt you to look at me?"
jims looked at her gravely and dispassionately.
""no, it does n't," he said.
""not a bit," he added, after some further exploration of his consciousness.
suddenly the lady laughed beautifully.
a faint rosy flush came into her unscarred cheek.
""james, i believe you mean it."
""of course i mean it.
and, if you do n't mind, please call me jims.
nobody calls me james but aunt augusta.
she is n't my whole aunt.
she is just uncle walter's half-sister.
he is my whole uncle."
""what does he call you?"
asked the lady.
she looked away as she asked it.
""oh, jims, when he thinks about me.
he does n't often think about me.
he has too many sick children to think about.
sick children are all uncle walter cares about.
he's the greatest children's doctor in the dominion, mr. burroughs says.
but he is a woman-hater."
""how do you know that?"
""oh, i heard mr. burroughs say it.
mr. burroughs is my tutor, you know.
i study with him from nine till one.
i'm not allowed to go to the public school.
i'd like to, but uncle walter thinks i'm not strong enough yet.
i'm going next year, though, when i'm ten.
i have holidays now.
mr. burroughs always goes away the first of june."
""how came he to tell you your uncle was a woman-hater?"
persisted the lady.
""oh, he did n't tell me.
he was talking to a friend of his.
he thought i was reading my book.
so i was -- but i heard it all.
it was more interesting than my book.
uncle walter was engaged to a lady, long, long ago, when he was a young man.
she was devilishly pretty."
""oh, jims!"
""mr. burroughs said so.
i'm only quoting," said jims easily.
""and uncle walter just worshipped her.
and all at once she just jilted him without a word of explanation, mr. burroughs said.
so that is why he hates women.
it is n't any wonder, is it?"
""i suppose not," said the lady with a sigh.
""jims, are you hungry?"
""yes, i am.
you see, the pudding was spilled.
but how did you know?"
""oh, boys always used to be hungry when i knew them long ago.
i thought they had n't changed.
i shall tell martha to bring out something to eat and we'll have it here under this tree.
you sit here -- i'll sit there.
jims, it's so long since i talked to a little boy that i'm not sure that i know how."
""you know how, all right," jims assured her.
""but what am i to call you, please?"
""my name is miss garland," said the lady a little hesitatingly.
but she saw the name meant nothing to jims.
""i would like you to call me miss avery.
avery is my first name and i never hear it nowadays.
now for a jamboree!
i ca n't offer you a movie -- and i'm afraid there is n't any ice cream either.
i could have had some if i'd known you were coming.
but i think martha will be able to find something good."
a very old woman, who looked at jims with great amazement, came out to set the table.
jims thought she must be as old as methusaleh.
but he did not mind her.
he ran races with black prince while tea was being prepared, and rolled the delighted cat over and over in the grass.
and he discovered a fragrant herb-garden in a far corner and was delighted.
now it was truly a garden of spices.
""oh, it is so beautiful here," he told miss avery, who sat and looked at his revels with a hungry expression in her lovely eyes.
""i wish i could come often."
""why ca n't you?"
said miss avery.
the two looked at each other with sly intelligence.
""i could come whenever aunt augusta shuts me up in the blue room," said jims.
""yes," said miss avery.
then she laughed and held out her arms.
jims flew into them.
he put his arms about her neck and kissed her scarred face.
""oh, i wish you were my aunt," he said.
miss avery suddenly pushed him away.
jims was horribly afraid he had offended her.
but she took his hand.
""we'll just be chums, jims," she said.
""that's really better than being relations, after all.
come and have tea."
over that glorious tea-table they became life-long friends.
they had always known each other and always would.
the black prince sat between them and was fed tit-bits.
there was such a lot of good things on the table and nobody to say "you have had enough, james."
james ate until he thought he had enough.
aunt augusta would have thought he was doomed, could she have seen him.
""i suppose i must go back," said jims with a sigh.
""it will be our supper time in half an hour and aunt augusta will come to take me out."
""but you'll come again?"
""yes, the first time she shuts me up.
and if she does n't shut me up pretty soon i'll be so bad she'll have to shut me up."
""i'll always set a place for you at the tea-table after this, jims.
and when you're not here i'll pretend you are.
and when you ca n't come here write me a letter and bring it when you do come."
""good-bye," said jims.
he took her hand and kissed it.
he had read of a young knight doing that and had always thought he would like to try it if he ever got a chance.
but who could dream of kissing aunt augusta's hands?
""you dear, funny thing," said miss avery.
""have you thought of how you are to get back?
can you reach that pine bough from the ground?"
""maybe i can jump," said jims dubiously.
""i'm afraid not.
i'll give you a stool and you can stand on it.
just leave it there for future use.
good-bye, jims.
jims, two hours ago i did n't know there was such a person in the world as you -- and now i love you -- i love you."
jims" heart filled with a great warm gush of gladness.
he had always wanted to be loved.
and no living creature, he felt sure, loved him, except his gobbler -- and a gobbler's love is not very satisfying, though it is better than nothing.
he was blissfully happy as he carried his stool across the lawn.
he climbed his pine and went in at the window and curled up on the seat in a maze of delight.
the blue room was more shadowy than ever but that did not matter.
over in the garden of spices was friendship and laughter and romance galore.
the whole world was transformed for jims.
from that time jims lived a shamelessly double life.
whenever he was shut in the blue room he escaped to the garden of spices -- and he was shut in very often, for, mr. burroughs being away, he got into a good deal of what aunt augusta called mischief.
besides, it is a sad truth that jims did n't try very hard to be good now.
he thought it paid better to be bad and be shut up.
to be sure there was always a fly in the ointment.
he was haunted by a vague fear that aunt augusta might relent and come to the blue room before supper time to let him out.
""and then the fat would be in the fire," said jims.
but he had a glorious summer and throve so well on his new diet of love and companionship that one day uncle walter, with fewer sick children to think about than usual, looked at him curiously and said: "augusta, that boy seems to be growing much stronger.
he has a good color and his eyes are getting to look more like a boy's eyes should.
we'll make a man of you yet, jims."
""he may be getting stronger but he's getting naughtier, too," said aunt augusta, grimly.
""i am sorry to say, walter, that he behaves very badly."
""we were all young once," said uncle walter indulgently.
""were you?"
asked jims in blank amazement.
uncle walter laughed.
""do you think me an antediluvian, jims?"
""i do n't know what that is.
but your hair is gray and your eyes are tired," said jims uncompromisingly.
uncle walter laughed again, tossed jims a quarter, and went out.
""your uncle is only forty-five and in his prime," said aunt augusta dourly.
jims deliberately ran across the room to the window and, under pretence of looking out, knocked down a flower pot.
so he was exiled to the blue room and got into his beloved garden of spices where miss avery's beautiful eyes looked love into his and the black prince was a jolly playmate and old martha petted and spoiled him to her heart's content.
jims never asked questions but he was a wide-awake chap, and, taking one thing with another, he found out a good deal about the occupants of the old stone house.
miss avery never went anywhere and no one ever went there.
she lived all alone with two old servants, man and maid.
except these two and jims nobody had ever seen her for twenty years.
jims did n't know why, but he thought it must be because of the scar on her face.
he never referred to it, but one day miss avery told him what caused it.
""i dropped a lamp and my dress caught fire and burned my face, jims.
it made me hideous.
i was beautiful before that -- very beautiful.
everybody said so.
come in and i will show you my picture."
she took him into her big parlor and showed him the picture hanging on the wall between the two high windows.
it was of a young girl in white.
she certainly was very lovely, with her rose-leaf skin and laughing eyes.
jims looked at the pictured face gravely, with his hands in his pockets and his head on one side.
then he looked at miss avery.
""you were prettier then -- yes," he said, judicially, "but i like your face ever so much better now."
""oh, jims, you ca n't," she protested.
""yes, i do," persisted jims.
""you look kinder and -- nicer now."
it was the nearest jims could get to expressing what he felt as he looked at the picture.
the young girl was beautiful, but her face was a little hard.
there was pride and vanity and something of the insolence of great beauty in it.
there was nothing of that in miss avery's face now -- nothing but sweetness and tenderness, and a motherly yearning to which every fibre of jims" small being responded.
how they loved each other, those two!
and how they understood each other!
to love is easy, and therefore common; but to understand -- how rare that is!
and oh!
such good times as they had!
they made taffy.
jims had always longed to make taffy, but aunt augusta's immaculate kitchen and saucepans might not be so desecrated.
they read fairy tales together.
mr. burroughs had disapproved of fairy tales.
they blew soap-bubbles out on the lawn and let them float away over the garden and the orchard like fairy balloons.
they had glorious afternoon teas under the beech tree.
they made ice cream themselves.
jims even slid down the bannisters when he wanted to.
and he could try out a slang word or two occasionally without anybody dying of horror.
miss avery did not seem to mind it a bit.
at first miss avery always wore dark sombre dresses.
but one day jims found her in a pretty gown of pale primrose silk.
it was very old and old-fashioned, but jims did not know that.
he capered round her in delight.
""you like me better in this?"
she asked, wistfully.
""i like you just as well, no matter what you wear," said jims, "but that dress is awfully pretty."
""would you like me to wear bright colors, jims?"
""you bet i would," said jims emphatically.
after that she always wore them -- pink and primrose and blue and white; and she let jims wreathe flowers in her splendid hair.
he had quite a knack of it.
she never wore any jewelry except, always, a little gold ring with a design of two clasped hands.
""a friend gave that to me long ago when we were boy and girl together at school," she told jims once.
""i never take it off, night or day.
when i die it is to be buried with me."
""you must n't die till i do," said jims in dismay.
""oh, jims, if we could only live together nothing else would matter," she said hungrily.
""jims -- jims -- i see so little of you really -- and some day soon you'll be going to school -- and i'll lose you."
""i've got to think of some way to prevent it," cried jims.
""i wo n't have it.
i wo n't -- i wo n't."
but his heart sank notwithstanding.
one day jims slipped from the blue room, down the pine and across the lawn with a tear-stained face.
""aunt augusta is going to kill my gobbler," he sobbed in miss avery's arms.
""she says she is n't going to bother with him any longer -- and he's getting old -- and he's to be killed.
and that gobbler is the only friend i have in the world except you.
oh, i ca n't stand it, miss avery."
next day aunt augusta told him the gobbler had been sold and taken away.
and jims flew into a passion of tears and protest about it and was promptly incarcerated in the blue room.
a few minutes later a sobbing boy plunged through the trees -- and stopped abruptly.
miss avery was reading under the beech and the black prince was snoozing on her knee -- and a big, magnificent, bronze turkey was parading about on the lawn, twisting his huge fan of a tail this way and that."
my gobbler!"
cried jims.
""yes.
martha went to your uncle's house and bought him.
oh, she did n't betray you.
she told nancy jane she wanted a gobbler and, having seen one over there, thought perhaps she could get him.
see, here's your pet, jims, and here he shall live till he dies of old age.
and i have something else for you -- edward and martha went across the river yesterday to the murray kennels and got it for you."
""not a dog?"
exclaimed jims.
""yes -- a dear little bull pup.
he shall be your very own, jims, and i only stipulate that you reconcile the black prince to him."
it was something of a task but jims succeeded.
then followed a month of perfect happiness.
at least three afternoons a week they contrived to be together.
it was all too good to be true, jims felt.
something would happen soon to spoil it.
just suppose aunt augusta grew tender-hearted and ceased to punish!
or suppose she suddenly discovered that he was growing too big to be shut up!
jims began to stint himself in eating lest he grew too fast.
and then aunt augusta worried about his loss of appetite and suggested to uncle walter that he should be sent to the country till the hot weather was over.
jims did n't want to go to the country now because his heart was elsewhere.
he must eat again, if he grew like a weed.
it was all very harassing.
uncle walter looked at him keenly.
""it seems to me you're looking pretty fit, jims.
do you want to go to the country?"
""no, please."
""are you happy, jims?"
""sometimes."
""a boy should be happy all the time, jims."
""if i had a mother and someone to play with i would be."
""i have tried to be a mother to you, jims," said aunt augusta, in an offended tone.
then she addressed uncle walter.
""a younger woman would probably understand him better.
and i feel that the care of this big place is too much for me.
i would prefer to go to my own old home.
if you had married long ago, as you should, walter, james would have had a mother and some cousins to play with.
i have always been of this opinion."
uncle walter frowned and got up.
""just because one woman played you false is no good reason for spoiling your life," went on aunt augusta severely.
""i have kept silence all these years but now i am going to speak -- and speak plainly.
you should marry, walter.
you are young enough yet and you owe it to your name."
""listen, augusta," said uncle walter sternly.
""i loved a woman once.
i believed she loved me.
she sent me back my ring one day and with it a message saying she had ceased to care for me and bidding me never to try to look upon her face again.
well, i have obeyed her, that is all."
""there was something strange about all that, walter.
the life she has since led proves that.
so you should not let it embitter you against all women."
""i have n't.
it's nonsense to say i'm a woman-hater, augusta.
but that experience has robbed me of the power to care for another woman."
""well, this is n't a proper conversation for a child to hear," said aunt augusta, recollecting herself.
""jims, go out."
jims would have given one of his ears to stay and listen with the other.
but he went obediently.
and then, the very next day, the dreaded something happened.
it was the first of august and very, very hot.
jims was late coming to dinner and aunt augusta reproved him and jims, deliberately, and with malice aforethought, told her he thought she was a nasty old woman.
he had never been saucy to aunt augusta before.
but it was three days since he had seen miss avery and the black prince and nip and he was desperate.
aunt augusta crimsoned with anger and doomed jims to an afternoon in the blue room for impertinence.
""and i shall tell your uncle when he comes home," she added.
that rankled, for jims did n't want uncle walter to think him impertinent.
but he forgot all his worries as he scampered through the garden of spices to the beech tree.
and there jims stopped as if he had been shot.
prone on the grass under the beech tree, white and cold and still, lay his miss avery -- dead, stone dead!
at least jims drought she was dead.
he flew into the house like a mad thing, shrieking for martha.
nobody answered.
jims recollected, with a rush of sickening dread, that miss avery had told him martha and edward were going away that day to visit a sister.
he rushed blindly across the lawn again, through the little side gate he had never passed before and down the street home.
uncle walter was just opening the door of his car.
""uncle walter -- come -- come," sobbed jims, clutching frantically at his hand.
""miss avery's dead -- dead -- oh, come quick.""
who is dead?"
""miss avery -- miss avery garland.
she's lying on the grass over there in her garden.
and i love her so -- and i'll die, too -- oh, uncle walter, come."
uncle walter looked as if he wanted to ask some questions, but he said nothing.
with a strange face he hurried after jims.
miss avery was still lying there.
as uncle walter bent over her he saw the broad red scar and started back with an exclamation.
""she is dead?"
gasped jims.
""no," said uncle walter, bending down again -- "no, she has only fainted, jims -- overcome by the heat, i suppose.
i want help.
go and call somebody."
""there's no one home here to-day," said jims, in a spasm of joy so great that it shook him like a leaf.
""then go home and telephone over to mr. loring's.
tell them i want the nurse who is there to come here for a few minutes."
jims did his errand.
uncle walter and the nurse carried miss avery into the house and then jims went back to the blue room.
he was so unhappy he did n't care where he went.
he wished something would jump at him out of the bed and put an end to him.
everything was discovered now and he would never see miss avery again.
jims lay very still on the window seat.
he did not even cry.
he had come to one of the griefs that lie too deep for tears.
""i think i must have been put under a curse at birth," thought poor jims.
* * * * * over at the stone house miss avery was lying on the couch in her room.
the nurse had gone away and dr. walter was sitting looking at her.
he leaned forward and pulled away the hand with which she was hiding the scar on her face.
he looked first at the little gold ring on the hand and then at the scar.
""do n't," she said piteously.
""avery -- why did you do it?
-- why did you do it?"
""oh, you know -- you must know now, walter."
""avery, did you break my heart and spoil my life -- and your own -- simply because your face was scarred?"
""i could n't bear to have you see me hideous," she moaned.
""you had been so proud of my beauty.
i -- i -- thought you could n't love me any more -- i could n't bear the thought of looking in your eyes and seeing aversion there."
walter grant leaned forward.
""look in my eyes, avery.
do you see any aversion?"
avery forced herself to look.
what she saw covered her face with a hot blush.
""did you think my love such a poor and superficial thing, avery," he said sternly, "that it must vanish because a blemish came on your fairness?
do you think that would change me?
was your own love for me so slight?"
""no -- no," she sobbed.
""i have loved you every moment of my life, walter.
oh, do n't look at me so sternly."
""if you had even told me," he said.
""you said i was never to try to look on your face again -- and they told me you had gone away.
you sent me back my ring."
""i kept the old one," she interrupted, holding out her hand, "the first one you ever gave me -- do you remember, walter?
when we were boy and girl."
""you robbed me of all that made life worth while, avery.
do you wonder that i've been a bitter man?"
""i was wrong -- i was wrong," she sobbed.
""i should have believed in you.
but do n't you think i've paid, too?
forgive me, walter -- it's too late to atone -- but forgive me.""
is it too late?"
he asked gravely.
she pointed to the scar.
""could you endure seeing this opposite to you every day at your table?"
she asked bitterly.
""yes -- if i could see your sweet eyes and your beloved smile with it, avery," he answered passionately.
""oh, avery, it was you i loved -- not your outward favor.
oh, how foolish you were -- foolish and morbid!
you always put too high a value on beauty, avery.
if i had dreamed of the true state of the case -- if i had known you were here all these years -- why i heard a rumor long ago that you had married, avery -- but if i had known i would have come to you and made you be -- sensible."
she gave a little laugh at his lame conclusion.
that was so like the old walter.
then her eyes filled with tears as he took her in his arms.
* * * * * the door of the blue room opened.
jims did not look up.
it was aunt augusta, of course -- and she had heard the whole story.
""jims, boy."
jims lifted his miserable eyes.
it was uncle walter -- but a different uncle walter -- an uncle walter with laughing eyes and a strange radiance of youth about him.
""poor, lonely little fellow," said uncle walter unexpectedly.
""jims, would you like miss avery to come here -- and live with us always -- and be your real aunt?"
""great snakes!"
said jims, transformed in a second.
""is there any chance of that?"
""there is a certainty, thanks to you," said uncle walter.
""you can go over to see her for a little while.
do n't talk her to death -- she's weak yet -- and attend to that menagerie of yours over there -- she's worrying because the bull dog and gobbler were n't fed -- and jims --" but jims had swung down through the pine and was tearing across the garden of spices.
the girl and the photograph when i heard that peter austin was in vancouver i hunted him up.
i had met peter ten years before when i had gone east to visit my father's people and had spent a few weeks with an uncle in croyden.
the austins lived across the street from uncle tom, and peter and i had struck up a friendship, although he was a hobbledehoy of awkward sixteen and i, at twenty-two, was older and wiser and more dignified than i've ever been since or ever expect to be again.
peter was a jolly little round freckled chap.
he was all right when no girls were around; when they were he retired within himself like a misanthropic oyster, and was about as interesting.
this was the one point upon which we always disagreed.
peter could n't endure girls; i was devoted to them by the wholesale.
the croyden girls were pretty and vivacious.
i had a score of flirtations during my brief sojourn among them.
but when i went away the face i carried in my memory was not that of any girl with whom i had walked and driven and played the game of hearts.
it was ten years ago, but i had never been quite able to forget that girl's face.
yet i had seen it but once and then only for a moment.
i had gone for a solitary ramble in the woods over the river and, in a lonely little valley dim with pines, where i thought myself alone, i had come suddenly upon her, standing ankle-deep in fern on the bank of a brook, the late evening sunshine falling yellowly on her uncovered dark hair.
she was very young -- no more than sixteen; yet the face and eyes were already those of a woman.
such a face!
beautiful?
yes, but i thought of that afterward, when i was alone.
with that face before my eyes i thought only of its purity and sweetness, of the lovely soul and rich mind looking out of the great, greyish-blue eyes which, in the dimness of the pine shadows, looked almost black.
there was something in the face of that child-woman i had never seen before and was destined never to see again in any other face.
careless boy though i was, it stirred me to the deeps.
i felt that she must have been waiting forever in that pine valley for me and that, in finding her, i had found all of good that life could offer me.
i would have spoken to her, but before i could shape my greeting into words that should not seem rude or presumptuous, she had turned and gone, stepping lightly across the brook and vanishing in the maple copse beyond.
for no more than ten seconds had i gazed into her face, and the soul of her, the real woman behind the fair outwardness, had looked back into my eyes; but i had never been able to forget it.
when i returned home i questioned my cousins diplomatically as to who she might be.
i felt strangely reluctant to do so -- it seemed in some way sacrilege; yet only by so doing could i hope to discover her.
they could tell me nothing; nor did i meet her again during the remainder of my stay in croyden, although i never went anywhere without looking for her, and haunted the pine valley daily, in the hope of seeing her again.
my disappointment was so bitter that i laughed at myself.
i thought i was a fool to feel thus about a girl i had met for a moment in a chance ramble -- a mere child at that, with her hair still hanging in its long glossy schoolgirl braid.
but when i remembered her eyes, my wisdom forgave me.
well, that was ten years ago; in those ten years the memory had, i must confess, grown dimmer.
in our busy western life a man had not much time for sentimental recollections.
yet i had never been able to care for another woman.
i wanted to; i wanted to marry and settle down.
i had come to the time of life when a man wearies of drifting and begins to hanker for a calm anchorage in some snug haven of his own.
but, somehow, i shirked the matter.
it seemed rather easier to let things slide.
at this stage peter came west.
he was something in a bank, and was as round and jolly as ever; but he had evidently changed his attitude towards girls, for his rooms were full of their photos.
they were stuck around everywhere and they were all pretty.
either peter had excellent taste, or the croyden photographers knew how to flatter.
but there was one on the mantel which attracted my attention especially.
if the photo were to be trusted the girl was quite the prettiest i had ever seen.
""peter, what pretty girl's picture is this on your mantel?"
i called out to peter, who was in his bedroom, donning evening dress for some function.
""that's my cousin, marian lindsay," he answered.
""she is rather nice-looking, is n't she.
lives in croyden now -- used to live up the river at chiselhurst.
did n't you ever chance across her when you were in croyden?"
""no," i said.
""if i had i would n't have forgotten her face."
""well, she'd be only a kid then, of course.
she's twenty-six now.
marian is a mighty nice girl, but she's bound to be an old maid.
she's got notions -- ideals, she calls'em.
all the croyden fellows have been in love with her at one time or another but they might as well have made up to a statue.
marian really has n't a spark of feeling or sentiment in her.
her looks are the best part of her, although she's confoundedly clever."
peter spoke rather squiffily.
i suspected that he had been one of the smitten swains himself.
i looked at the photo for a few minutes longer, admiring it more every minute and, when i heard peter coming out, i did an unjustifiable thing -- i took that photo and put it in my pocket.
i expected peter would make a fuss when he missed it, but that very night the house in which he lived was burned to the ground.
peter escaped with the most important of his goods and chattels, but all the counterfeit presentments of his dear divinities went up in smoke.
if he ever thought particularly of marian lindsay's photograph he must have supposed that it shared the fate of the others.
as for me, i propped my ill-gotten treasure up on my mantel and worshipped it for a fortnight.
at the end of that time i went boldly to peter and told him i wanted him to introduce me by letter to his dear cousin and ask her to agree to a friendly correspondence with me.
oddly enough, i did not do this without some reluctance, in spite of the fact that i was as much in love with marian lindsay as it was possible to be through the medium of a picture.
i thought of the girl i had seen in the pine wood and felt an inward shrinking from a step that might divide me from her forever.
but i rated myself for this nonsense.
it was in the highest degree unlikely that i should ever meet the girl of the pines again.
if she were still living she was probably some other man's wife.
i would think no more about it.
peter whistled when he heard what i had to say.
""of course i'll do it, old man," he said obligingly.
""but i warn you i do n't think it will be much use.
marian is n't the sort of girl to open up a correspondence in such a fashion.
however, i'll do the best i can for you."
""do.
tell her i'm a respectable fellow with no violent bad habits and all that.
i'm in earnest, peter.
i want to make that girl's acquaintance, and this seems the only way at present.
i ca n't get off just now for a trip east.
explain all this, and use your cousinly influence in my behalf if you possess any."
peter grinned.
""it's not the most graceful job in the world you are putting on me, curtis," he said.
""i do n't mind owning up now that i was pretty far gone on marian myself two years ago.
it's all over now, but it was bad while it lasted.
perhaps marian will consider your request more favourably if i put it in the light of a favour to myself.
she must feel that she owes me something for wrecking my life."
peter grinned again and looked at the one photo he had contrived to rescue from the fire.
it was a pretty, snub-nosed little girl.
she would never have consoled me for the loss of marian lindsay, but every man to his taste.
in due time peter sought me out to give me his cousin's answer.
""congratulations, curtis.
you've out-caesared caesar.
you've conquered without even going and seeing.
marian agrees to a friendly correspondence with you.
i am amazed, i admit -- even though i did paint you up as a sort of sir galahad and lancelot combined.
i'm not used to seeing proud marian do stunts like that, and it rather takes my breath."
i wrote to marian lindsay after one farewell dream of the girl under the pines.
when marian's letters began to come regularly i forgot the other one altogether.
such letters -- such witty, sparkling, clever, womanly, delightful letters!
they completed the conquest her picture had begun.
before we had corresponded six months i was besottedly in love with this woman whom i had never seen.
finally, i wrote and told her so, and i asked her to be my wife.
a fortnight later her answer came.
she said frankly that she believed she had learned to care for me during our correspondence, but that she thought we should meet in person, before coming to any definite understanding.
could i not arrange to visit croyden in the summer?
until then we would better continue on our present footing.
i agreed to this, but i considered myself practically engaged, with the personal meeting merely to be regarded as a sop to the cerberus of conventionality.
i permitted myself to use a decidedly lover-like tone in my letters henceforth, and i hailed it as a favourable omen that i was not rebuked for this, although marian's own letters still retained their pleasant, simple friendliness.
peter had at first tormented me mercilessly about the affair, but when he saw i did not like his chaff he stopped it.
peter was always a good fellow.
he realized that i regarded the matter seriously, and he saw me off when i left for the east with a grin tempered by honest sympathy and understanding.
""good luck to you," he said.
""if you win marian lindsay you'll win a pearl among women.
i have n't been able to grasp her taking to you in this fashion, though.
it's so unlike marian.
but, since she undoubtedly has, you are a lucky man."
i arrived in croyden at dusk and went to uncle tom's.
there i found them busy with preparations for a party to be given that night in honour of a girl friend who was visiting my cousin edna.
i was secretly annoyed, for i wanted to hasten at once to marian.
but i could n't decently get away, and on second thoughts i was consoled by the reflection that she would probably come to the party.
i knew she belonged to the same social set as uncle tom's girls.
i should, however, have preferred our meeting to have been under different circumstances.
from my stand behind the palms in a corner i eagerly scanned the guests as they arrived.
suddenly my heart gave a bound.
marian lindsay had just come in.
i recognized her at once from her photograph.
it had not flattered her in the least; indeed, it had not done her justice, for her exquisite colouring of hair and complexion were quite lost in it.
she was, moreover, gowned with a taste and smartness eminently admirable in the future mrs. eric curtis.
i felt a thrill of proprietary pride as i stepped out from behind the palms.
she was talking to aunt grace; but her eyes fell on me.
i expected a little start of recognition, for i had sent her an excellent photograph of myself; but her gaze was one of blankest unconsciousness.
i felt something like disappointment at her non-recognition, but i consoled myself by the reflection that people often fail to recognize other people whom they have seen only in photographs, no matter how good the likeness may be.
i waylaid edna, who was passing at that time, and said, "edna i want you to introduce me to the girl who is talking to your mother."
edna laughed.
""so you have succumbed at first sight to our croyden beauty?
of course i'll introduce you, but i warn you beforehand that she is the most incorrigible flirt in croyden or out of it.
so take care."
it jarred on me to hear marian called a flirt.
it seemed so out of keeping with her letters and the womanly delicacy and fineness revealed in them.
but i reflected that women sometimes find it hard to forgive another woman who absorbs more than her share of lovers, and generally take their revenge by dubbing her a flirt, whether she deserves the name or not.
we had crossed the room during this reflection.
marian turned and stood before us, smiling at edna, but evincing no recognition whatever of myself.
it is a piquant experience to find yourself awaiting an introduction to a girl to whom you are virtually engaged.
""dorothy dear," said edna, "this is my cousin, mr. curtis, from vancouver.
eric, this is miss armstrong."
i suppose i bowed.
habit carries us mechanically through many impossible situations.
i do n't know what i looked like or what i said, if i said anything.
i do n't suppose i betrayed my dire confusion, for edna went off unconcernedly without another glance at me.
dorothy armstrong!
gracious powers -- who -- where -- why?
if this girl was dorothy armstrong who was marian lindsay?
to whom was i engaged?
there was some awful mistake somewhere, for it could not be possible that there were two girls in croyden who looked exactly like the photograph reposing in my valise at that very moment.
i stammered like a schoolboy.
""i -- oh -- i -- your face seems familiar to me, miss armstrong.
i -- i -- think i must have seen your photograph somewhere."
""probably in peter austin's collection," smiled miss armstrong.
""he had one of mine before he was burned out.
how is he?"
""peter?
oh, he's well," i replied vaguely.
i was thinking a hundred words to the second, but my thoughts arrived nowhere.
i was staring at miss armstrong like a man bewitched.
she must have thought me a veritable booby.
""oh, by the way -- can you tell me -- do you know a miss lindsay in croyden?"
miss armstrong looked surprised and a little bored.
evidently she was not used to having newly introduced young men inquiring about another girl.
""marian lindsay?
oh, yes."
""is she here tonight?"
i said.
""no, marian is not going to parties just now, owing to the recent death of her aunt, who lived with them."
""does she -- oh -- does she look like you at all?"
i inquired idiotically.
amusement glimmered but over miss armstrong's boredom.
she probably concluded that i was some harmless lunatic.
""like me?
not at all.
there could n't be two people more dissimilar.
marian is quite dark.
i am fair.
and our features are altogether unlike.
why, good evening, jack.
yes, i believe i did promise you this dance."
she bowed to me and skimmed away with jack.
i saw aunt grace bearing down upon me and fled incontinently.
in my own room i flung myself on a chair and tried to think the matter out.
where did the mistake come in?
how had it happened?
i shut my eyes and conjured up the vision of peter's room that day.
i remembered vaguely that, when i had picked up dorothy armstrong's picture, i had noticed another photograph that had fallen face downward beside it.
that must have been marian lindsay's, and peter had thought i meant it.
and now what a position i was in!
i was conscious of bitter disappointment.
i had fallen in love with dorothy armstrong's photograph.
as far as external semblance goes it was she whom i loved.
i was practically engaged to another woman -- a woman who, in spite of our correspondence, seemed to me now, in the shock of this discovery, a stranger.
it was useless to tell myself that it was the mind and soul revealed in those letters that i loved, and that that mind and soul were marian lindsay's.
it was useless to remember that peter had said she was pretty.
exteriorly, she was a stranger to me; hers was not the face which had risen before me for nearly a year as the face of the woman i loved.
was ever unlucky wretch in such a predicament before?
well, there was only one thing to do.
i must stand by my word.
marian lindsay was the woman i had asked to marry me, whose answer i must shortly go to receive.
if that answer were "yes" i must accept the situation and banish all thought of dorothy armstrong's pretty face.
next evening at sunset i went to "glenwood," the lindsay place.
doubtless, an eager lover might have gone earlier, but an eager lover i certainly was not.
probably marian was expecting me and had given orders concerning me, for the maid who came to the door conveyed me to a little room behind the stairs -- a room which, as i felt as soon as i entered it, was a woman's pet domain.
in its books and pictures and flowers it spoke eloquently of dainty femininity.
somehow, it suited the letters.
i did not feel quite so much the stranger as i had felt.
nevertheless, when i heard a light footfall on the stairs my heart beat painfully.
i stood up and turned to the door, but i could not look up.
the footsteps came nearer; i knew that a white hand swept aside the portière at the entrance; i knew that she had entered the room and was standing before me.
with an effort i raised my eyes and looked at her.
she stood, tall and gracious, in a ruby splendour of sunset falling through the window beside her.
the light quivered like living radiance over a dark proud head, a white throat, and a face before whose perfect loveliness the memory of dorothy armstrong's laughing prettiness faded like a star in the sunrise, nevermore in the fullness of the day to be remembered.
yet it was not of her beauty i thought as i stood spellbound before her.
i seemed to see a dim little valley full of whispering pines, and a girl standing under their shadows, looking at me with the same great, greyish-blue eyes which gazed upon me now from marian lindsay's face -- the same face, matured into gracious womanhood, that i had seen ten years ago; and loved -- aye, loved -- ever since.
i took an unsteady step forward.
""marian?"
i said.
* * * * * when i got home that night i burned dorothy armstrong's photograph.
the next day i went to my cousin tom, who owns the fashionable studio of croyden and, binding him over to secrecy, sought one of marian's latest photographs from him.
it is the only secret i have ever kept from my wife.
before we were married marian told me something.
""i always remembered you as you looked that day under the pines," she said.
""i was only a child, but i think i loved you then and ever afterwards.
when i dreamed my girl's dream of love your face rose up before me.
i had the advantage of you that i knew your name -- i had heard of you.
when peter wrote about you i knew who you were.
that was why i agreed to correspond with you.
i was afraid it was a forward -- an unwomanly thing to do.
but it seemed my chance for happiness and i took it.
i am glad i did."
i did not answer in words, but lovers will know how i did answer.
the gossip of valley view it was the first of april, and julius barrett, aged fourteen, perched on his father's gatepost, watched ruefully the low descending sun, and counted that day lost.
he had not succeeded in "fooling" a single person, although he had tried repeatedly.
one and all, old and young, of his intended victims had been too wary for julius.
hence, julius was disgusted and ready for anything in the way of a stratagem or a spoil.
the barrett gatepost topped the highest hill in valley view.
julius could see the entire settlement, from "young" thomas everett's farm, a mile to the west, to adelia williams's weather-grey little house on a moonrise slope to the east.
he was gazing moodily down the muddy road when dan chester, homeward bound from the post office, came riding sloppily along on his grey mare and pulled up by the barrett gate to hand a paper to julius.
dan was a young man who took life and himself very seriously.
he seldom smiled, never joked, and had a washingtonian reputation for veracity.
dan had never told a conscious falsehood in his life; he never even exaggerated.
julius, beholding dan's solemn face, was seized with a perfectly irresistible desire to "fool" him.
at the same moment his eye caught the dazzling reflection of the setting sun on the windows of adelia williams's house, and he had an inspiration little short of diabolical.
""have you heard the news, dan?"
he asked.
""no, what is it?"
asked dan.
""i dunno's i ought to tell it," said julius reflectively.
""it's kind of a family affair, but then adelia did n't say not to, and anyway it'll be all over the place soon.
so i'll tell you, dan, if you'll promise never to tell who told you.
adelia williams and young thomas everett are going to be married."
julius delivered himself of this tremendous lie with a transparently earnest countenance.
yet dan, credulous as he was, could not believe it all at once.
""git out," he said.
""it's true, "pon my word," protested julius.
""adelia was up last night and told ma all about it.
ma's her cousin, you know.
the wedding is to be in june, and adelia asked ma to help her get her quilts and things ready."
julius reeled all this off so glibly that dan finally believed the story, despite the fact that the people thus coupled together in prospective matrimony were the very last people in valley view who could have been expected to marry each other.
young thomas was a confirmed bachelor of fifty, and adelia williams was forty; they were not supposed to be even well acquainted, as the everetts and the williamses had never been very friendly, although no open feud existed between them.
nevertheless, in view of julius's circumstantial statements, the amazing news must be true, and dan was instantly agog to carry it further.
julius watched dan and the grey mare out of sight, fairly writhing with ecstasy.
oh, but dan had been easy!
the story would be all over valley view in twenty-four hours.
julius laughed until he came near to falling off the gatepost.
at this point julius and danny drop out of our story, and young thomas enters.
it was two days later when young thomas heard that he was to be married to adelia williams in june.
eben clark, the blacksmith, told him when he went to the forge to get his horse shod.
young thomas laughed his big jolly laugh.
valley view gossip had been marrying him off for the last thirty years, although never before to adelia williams.
""it's news to me," he said tolerantly.
eben grinned broadly.
""ah, you ca n't bluff it off like that, tom," he said.
""the news came too straight this time.
well, i was glad to hear it, although i was mighty surprised.
i never thought of you and adelia.
but she's a fine little woman and will make you a capital wife."
young thomas grunted and drove away.
he had a good deal of business to do that day, involving calls at various places -- the store for molasses, the mill for flour, jim bentley's for seed grain, the doctor's for toothache drops for his housekeeper, the post office for mail -- and at each and every place he was joked about his approaching marriage.
in the end it rather annoyed young thomas, he drove home at last in what was for him something of a temper.
how on earth had that fool story started?
with such detailed circumstantiality of rugs and quilts, too?
adelia williams must be going to marry somebody, and the valley view gossips, unable to locate the man, had guessed young thomas.
when he reached home, tired, mud-bespattered, and hungry, his housekeeper, who was also his hired man's wife, asked him if it was true that he was going to be married.
young thomas, taking in at a glance the ill-prepared, half-cold supper on the table, felt more annoyed than ever, and said it was n't, with a strong expression -- not quite an oath -- for young thomas never swore, unless swearing be as much a matter of intonation as of words.
mrs. dunn sighed, patted her swelled face, and said she was sorry; she had hoped it was true, for her man had decided to go west.
they were to go in a month's time.
young thomas sat down to his supper with the prospect of having to look up another housekeeper and hired man before planting to destroy his appetite.
next day, three people who came to see young thomas on business congratulated him on his approaching marriage.
young thomas, who had recovered his usual good humour, merely laughed.
there was no use in being too earnest in denial, he thought.
he knew that his unusual fit of petulance with his housekeeper had only convinced her that the story was true.
it would die away in time, as other similar stories had died, he thought.
valley view gossip was imaginative.
young thomas looked rather serious, however, when the minister and his wife called that evening and referred to the report.
young thomas gravely said that it was unfounded.
the minister looked graver still and said he was sorry -- he had hoped it was true.
his wife glanced significantly about young thomas's big, untidy sitting-room, where there were cobwebs on the ceiling and fluff in the corners and dust on the mop-board, and said nothing, but looked volumes.
""dang it all," said young thomas, as they drove away, "they'll marry me yet in spite of myself."
the gossip made him think about adelia williams.
he had never thought about her before; he was barely acquainted with her.
now he remembered that she was a plump, jolly-looking little woman, noted for being a good housekeeper.
then young thomas groaned, remembering that he must start out looking for a housekeeper soon; and housekeepers were not easily found, as young thomas had discovered several times since his mother's death ten years before.
next sunday in church young thomas looked at adelia williams.
he caught adelia looking at him.
adelia blushed and looked guiltily away.
""dang it all," reflected young thomas, forgetting that he was in church.
""i suppose she has heard that fool story too.
i'd like to know the person who started it; man or woman, i'd punch their head."
nevertheless, young thomas went on looking at adelia by fits and starts, although he did not again catch adelia looking at him.
he noticed that she had round rosy cheeks and twinkling brown eyes.
she did not look like an old maid, and young thomas wondered that she had been allowed to become one.
sarah barnett, now, to whom report had married him a year ago, looked like a dried sour apple.
* * * * * for the next four weeks the story haunted young thomas like a spectre.
down it would not.
everywhere he went he was joked about it.
it gathered fresh detail every week.
adelia was getting her clothes ready; she was to be married in seal-brown cashmere; vinnie lawrence at valley centre was making it for her; she had got a new hat with a long ostrich plume; some said white, some said grey.
young thomas kept wondering who the man could be, for he was convinced that adelia was going to marry somebody.
more than that, once he caught himself wondering enviously.
adelia was a nice-looking woman, and he had not so far heard of any probable housekeeper.
""dang it all," said young thomas to himself in desperation.
""i would n't care if it was true."
his married sister from carlisle heard the story and came over to investigate.
young thomas denied it shortly, and his sister scolded.
she had devoutly hoped it was true, she said, and it would have been a great weight off her mind.
""this house is in a disgraceful condition, thomas," she said severely.
""it would break mother's heart if she could rise out of her grave to see it.
and adelia williams is a perfect housekeeper."
""you did n't use to think so much of the williams crowd," said young thomas drily.
""oh, some of them do n't amount to much," admitted maria, "but adelia is all right."
catching sight of an odd look on young thomas's face, she added hastily, "thomas everett, i believe it's true after all.
now, is it?
for mercy's sake do n't be so sly.
you might tell me, your own and only sister, if it is."
""oh, shut up," was young thomas's unfeeling reply to his own and only sister.
young thomas told himself that night that valley view gossip would drive him into an asylum yet if it did n't let up.
he also wondered if adelia was as much persecuted as himself.
no doubt she was.
he never could catch her eye in church now, but he would have been surprised had he realized how many times he tried to.
the climax came the third week in may, when young thomas, who had been keeping house for himself for three weeks, received a letter and an express box from his cousin, charles everett, out in manitoba.
charles and he had been chums in their boyhood.
they corresponded occasionally still, although it was twenty years since charles had gone west.
the letter was to congratulate young thomas on his approaching marriage.
charles had heard of it through some valley view correspondents of his wife.
he was much pleased; he had always liked adelia, he said -- had been an old beau of hers, in fact.
thomas might give her a kiss for him if he liked.
he forwarded a wedding present by express and hoped they would be very happy, etc..
the present was an elaborate hatrack of polished buffalo horns, mounted on red plush, with an inset mirror.
young thomas set it up on the kitchen table and scowled moodily at his reflection in the mirror.
if wedding presents were beginning to come, it was high time something was done.
the matter was past being a joke.
this affair of the present would certainly get out -- things always got out in valley view, dang it all -- and he would never hear the last of it.
""i'll marry," said young thomas decisively.
""if adelia williams wo n't have me, i'll marry the first woman who will, if it's sarah barnett herself."
young thomas shaved and put on his sunday suit.
as soon as it was safely dark, he hied him away to adelia williams.
he felt very doubtful about his reception, but the remembrance of the twinkle in adelia's brown eyes comforted him.
she looked like a woman who had a sense of humour; she might not take him, but she would not feel offended or insulted because he asked her.
""dang it all, though, i hope she will take me," said young thomas.
""i'm in for getting married now and no mistake.
and i ca n't get adelia out of my head.
i've been thinking of her steady ever since that confounded gossip began."
when he knocked at adelia's door he discovered that his face was wet with perspiration.
adelia opened the door and started when she saw him; then she turned very red and stiffly asked him in.
young thomas went in and sat down, wondering if all men felt so horribly uncomfortable when they went courting.
adelia stooped low over the woodbox to put a stick of wood in the stove, for the may evening was chilly.
her shoulders were shaking; the shaking grew worse; suddenly adelia laughed hysterically and, sitting down on the woodbox, continued to laugh.
young thomas eyed her with a friendly grin.
""oh, do excuse me," gasped poor adelia, wiping tears from her eyes.
""this is -- dreadful -- i did n't mean to laugh -- i do n't know why i'm laughing -- but -- i -- ca n't help it."
she laughed helplessly again.
young thomas laughed too.
his embarrassment vanished in the mellowness of that laughter.
presently adelia composed herself and removed from the woodbox to a chair, but there was still a suspicious twitching about the corners of her mouth.
""i suppose," said young thomas, determined to have it over with before the ice could form again, "i suppose, adelia, you've heard the story that's been going about you and me of late?"
adelia nodded.
""i've been persecuted to the verge of insanity with it," she said.
""every soul i've seen has tormented me about it, and people have written me about it.
i've denied it till i was black in the face, but nobody believed me.
i ca n't find out how it started.
i hope you believe, mr. everett, that it could n't possibly have arisen from anything i said.
i've felt dreadfully worried for fear you might think it did.
i heard that my cousin, lucilla barrett, said i told her, but lucilla vowed to me that she never said such a thing or even dreamed of it.
i've felt dreadful bad over the whole affair.
i even gave up the idea of making a quilt after a lovely new pattern i've got because they made such a talk about my brown dress."
""i've been kind of supposing that you must be going to marry somebody, and folks just guessed it was me," said young thomas -- he said it anxiously.
""no, i'm not going to be married to anybody," said adelia with a laugh, taking up her knitting.
""i'm glad of that," said young thomas gravely.
""i mean," he hastened to add, seeing the look of astonishment on adelia's face, "that i'm glad there is n't any other man because -- because i want you myself, adelia."
adelia laid down her knitting and blushed crimson.
but she looked at young thomas squarely and reproachfully.
""you need n't think you are bound to say that because of the gossip, mr. everett," she said quietly.
""oh, i do n't," said young thomas earnestly.
""but the truth is, the story set me to thinking about you, and from that i got to wishing it was true -- honest, i did -- i could n't get you out of my head, and at last i did n't want to.
it just seemed to me that you were the very woman for me if you'd only take me.
will you, adelia?
i've got a good farm and house, and i'll try to make you happy."
it was not a very romantic wooing, perhaps.
but adelia was forty and had never been a romantic little body even in the heyday of youth.
she was a practical woman, and young thomas was a fine looking man of his age with abundance of worldly goods.
besides, she liked him, and the gossip had made her think a good deal about him of late.
indeed, in a moment of candour she had owned to herself the very last sunday in church that she would n't mind if the story were true.
""i'll -- i'll think of it," she said.
this was practically an acceptance, and young thomas so understood it.
without loss of time he crossed the kitchen, sat down beside adelia, and put his arms about her plump waist.
""here's a kiss charlie sent me to give you," he said, giving it.
the letters just before the letter was brought to me that evening i was watching the red november sunset from the library window.
it was a stormy, unrestful sunset, gleaming angrily through the dark fir boughs that were now and again tossed suddenly and distressfully in a fitful gust of wind.
below, in the garden, it was quite dark, and i could only see dimly the dead leaves that were whirling and dancing uncannily over the roseless paths.
the poor dead leaves -- yet not quite dead!
there was still enough unquiet life left in them to make them restless and forlorn.
they hearkened yet to every call of the wind, who cared for them no longer but only played freakishly with them and broke their rest.
i felt sorry for the leaves as i watched them in that dull, weird twilight, and angry -- in a petulant fashion that almost made me laugh -- with the wind that would not leave them in peace.
why should they -- and i -- be vexed with these transient breaths of desire for a life that had passed us by?
i was in the grip of a bitter loneliness that evening -- so bitter and so insistent that i felt i could not face the future at all, even with such poor fragments of courage as i had gathered about me after father's death, hoping that they would, at least, suffice for my endurance, if not for my content.
but now they fell away from me at sight of the emptiness of life.
the emptiness!
ah, it was from that i shrank.
i could have faced pain and anxiety and heartbreak undauntedly, but i could not face that terrible, yawning, barren emptiness.
i put my hands over my eyes to shut it out, but it pressed in upon my consciousness insistently, and would not be ignored longer.
the moment when a woman realizes that she has nothing to live for -- neither love nor purpose nor duty -- holds for her the bitterness of death.
she is a brave woman indeed who can look upon such a prospect unquailingly, and i was not brave.
i was weak and timid.
had not father often laughed mockingly at me because of it?
it was three weeks since father had died -- my proud, handsome, unrelenting old father, whom i had loved so intensely and who had never loved me.
i had always accepted this fact unresentfully and unquestioningly, but it had steeped my whole life in its tincture of bitterness.
father had never forgiven me for two things.
i had cost my mother's life and i was not a son to perpetuate the old name and carry on the family feud with the frasers.
i was a very lonely child, with no playmates or companions of any sort, and my girlhood was lonelier still.
the only passion in my life was my love for my father.
i would have done and suffered anything to win his affection in return.
but all i ever did win was an amused tolerance -- and i was grateful for that -- almost content.
it was much to have something to love and be permitted to love it.
if i had been a beautiful and spirited girl i think father might have loved me, but i was neither.
at first i did not think or care about my lack of beauty; then one day i was alone in the beech wood; i was trying to disentangle my skirt which had caught on some thorny underbrush.
a young man came around the curve of the path and, seeing my predicament, bent with murmured apology to help me.
he had to kneel to do it, and i saw a ray of sunshine falling through the beeches above us strike like a lance of light athwart the thick brown hair that pushed out from under his cap.
before i thought i put out my hand and touched it softly, then i blushed crimson with shame over what i had done.
but he did not know -- he never knew.
when he had released my dress he rose and our eyes met for a moment as i timidly thanked him.
i saw that he was good to look upon -- tall and straight, with broad, stalwart shoulders and a dark, clean-cut face.
he had a firm, sensitive mouth and kindly, pleasant, dark blue eyes.
i never quite forgot the look in those eyes.
it made my heart beat strangely, but it was only for a moment, and the next he had lifted his cap and passed on.
as i went homeward i wondered who he might be.
he must be a stranger, i thought -- probably a visitor in some of our few neighbouring families.
i wondered too if i should meet him again, and found the thought very pleasant.
i knew few men and they were all old, like father, or at least elderly.
they were the only people who ever came to our house, and they either teased me or overlooked me.
none of them was at all like this young man i had met in the beech wood, nor ever could have been, i thought.
when i reached home i stopped before the big mirror that hung in the hall and did what i had never done before in my life -- looked at myself very scrutinizingly and wondered if i had any beauty.
i could only sorrowfully conclude that i had not -- i was so slight and pale, and the thick black hair and dark eyes that might have been pretty in another woman seemed only to accentuate the lack of spirit and regularity in my features.
i was still standing there, gazing wistfully at my mirrored face with a strange sinking of spirit, when father came through the hall, his riding whip in his hand.
seeing me, he laughed.
""do n't waste your time gazing into mirrors, isobel," he said carelessly.
""that might have been excusable in former ladies of shirley whose beauty might pardon and even adorn vanity, but with you it is only absurd.
the needle and the cookbook are all that you need concern yourself with."
i was accustomed to such speeches from him, but they had never hurt me so cruelly before.
at that moment i would have given all the world only to be beautiful.
the next sunday i looked across the church, and in the fraser pew i saw the young man i had met in the wood.
he was looking at me with his arms folded over his breast and on his brow a little frown that seemed somehow indicative of pain and surprise.
i felt a miserable sense of disappointment.
if he were the frasers" guest i could not expect to meet him again.
father hated the frasers, all the shirleys hated them; it was an old feud, bitter and lasting, that had been as much our inheritance for generations as land and money.
the only thing father had ever taken pains to teach me was detestation of the frasers and all their works.
i accepted this as i accepted all the other traditions of my race.
i thought it did not matter much.
the frasers were not likely to come my way, and hatred was a good satisfying passion in the lack of all else.
i think i rather took a pride in hating them as became my blood.
i did not look at the fraser pew again, but outside, under the elms, we met him, standing in the dappling light and shadow.
he looked very handsome and a little sad.
i could not help glancing back over my shoulder as father and i walked to the gate, and i saw him looking after us with that little frown which again made me think something had hurt him.
i liked better the smile he had worn in the beech wood, but i had an odd liking for the frown too, and i think i had a foolish longing to go back to him, put up my fingers and smooth it away.
""so alan fraser has come home," said my father.
""alan fraser?"
i repeated, with a strange, horrible feeling of coldness and chill coming over me like a shadow on a bright day.
alan fraser, the son of old malcolm fraser of glenellyn!
the son of our enemy!
he had been living since childhood with his dead mother's people, so much i knew.
and this was he!
something stung and smarted in my eyes.
i think the sting and smart might have turned to tears if father had not been looking down at me.
""yes.
did n't you see him in his father's pew?
but i forgot.
you are too demure to be looking at the young men in preaching -- or out of it, isobel.
you are a model young woman.
odd that the men never like the model young women!
curse old malcolm fraser!
what right has he to have a son like that when i have nothing but a puling girl?
remember, isobel, that if you ever meet that young man you are not to speak to or look at him, or even intimate that you are aware of his existence.
he is your enemy and the enemy of your race.
you will show him that you realize this."
of course that ended it all -- though just what there had been to end would have been hard to say.
not long afterwards i met alan fraser again, when i was out for a canter on my mare.
he was strolling through the beech wood with a couple of big collies, and he stopped short as i drew near.
i had to do it -- father had decreed -- my shirley pride demanded -- that i should do it.
i looked him unseeingly in the face, struck my mare a blow with my whip, and dashed past him.
i even felt angry, i think, that a fraser should have the power to make me feel so badly in doing my duty.
after that i had forgotten.
there was nothing to make me remember, for i never met alan fraser again.
the years slipped by, one by one, so like each other in their colourlessness that i forgot to take account of them.
i only knew that i grew older and that it did not matter since there was nobody to care.
one day they brought father in, white-lipped and groaning.
his mare had thrown him, and he was never to walk again, although he lived for five years.
those five years had been the happiest of my life.
for the first time i was necessary to someone -- there was something for me to do which nobody else could do so well.
i was father's nurse and companion; and i found my pleasure in tending him and amusing him, soothing his hours of pain and brightening his hours of ease.
people said i "did my duty" toward him.
i had never liked that word "duty," since the day i had ridden past alan fraser in the beech wood.
i could not connect it with what i did for father.
it was my delight because i loved him.
i did not mind the moods and the irritable outbursts that drove others from him.
but now he was dead, and i sat in the sullen dusk, wishing that i need not go on with life either.
the loneliness of the big echoing house weighed on my spirit.
i was solitary, without companionship.
i looked out on the outside world where the only sign of human habitation visible to my eyes was the light twinkling out from the library window of glenellyn on the dark fir hill two miles away.
by that light i knew alan fraser must have returned from his long sojourn abroad, for it only shone when he was at glenellyn.
he still lived there, something of a hermit, people said; he had never married, and he cared nothing for society.
his companions were books and dogs and horses; he was given to scientific researches and wrote much for the reviews; he travelled a great deal.
so much i knew in a vague way.
i even saw him occasionally in church, and never thought the years had changed him much, save that his face was sadder and sterner than of old and his hair had become iron-grey.
people said that he had inherited and cherished the old hatred of the shirleys -- that he was very bitter against us.
i believed it.
he had the face of a good hater -- or lover -- a man who could play with no emotion but must take it in all earnestness and intensity.
when it was quite dark the housekeeper brought in the lights and handed me a letter which, she said, a man had just brought up from the village post office.
i looked at it curiously before i opened it, wondering from whom it was.
it was postmarked from a city several miles away, and the firm, decided, rather peculiar handwriting was strange to me.
i had no correspondents.
after father's death i had received a few perfunctory notes of condolence from distant relatives and family friends.
they had hurt me cruelly, for they seemed to exhale a subtle spirit of congratulation on my being released from a long and unpleasant martyrdom of attendance on an invalid, that quite overrode the decorous phrases of conventional sympathy in which they were expressed.
i hated those letters for their implied injustice.
i was not thankful for my "release."
i missed father miserably and longed passionately for the very tasks and vigils that had evoked their pity.
this letter did not seem like one of those.
i opened it and took out some stiff, blackly written sheets.
they were undated and, turning to the last, i saw that they were unsigned.
with a not unpleasant tingling of interest i sat down by my desk to read.
the letter began abruptly: you will not know by whom this is written.
do not seek to know -- now or ever.
it is only from behind the veil of your ignorance of my identity that i can ever write to you fully and freely as i wish to write -- can say what i wish to say in words denied to a formal and conventional expression of sympathy.
dear lady, let me say to you thus what is in my heart.
i know what your sorrow is, and i think i know what your loneliness must be -- the sorrow of a broken tie, the loneliness of a life thrown emptily back on itself.
i know how you loved your father -- how you must have loved him if those eyes and brow and mouth speak truth, for they tell of a nature divinely rich and deep, giving of its wealth and tenderness ungrudgingly to those who are so happy as to be the objects of its affection.
to such a nature bereavement must bring a depth and an agony of grief unknown to shallower souls.
i know what your father's helplessness and need of you meant to you.
i know that now life must seem to you a broken and embittered thing and, knowing this, i venture to send this greeting across the gulf of strangerhood between us, telling you that my understanding sympathy is fully and freely yours, and bidding you take heart for the future, which now, it may be, looks so heartless and hopeless to you.
believe me, dear lady, it will be neither.
courage will come to you with the kind days.
you will find noble tasks to do, beautiful and gracious duties waiting along your path.
the pain and suffering of the world never dies, and while it lives there will be work for such as you to do, and in the doing of it you will find comfort and strength and the highest joy of living.
i believe in you.
i believe you will make of your life a beautiful and worthy thing.
i give you godspeed for the years to come.
out of my own loneliness i, an unknown friend, who has never clasped your hand, send this message to you.
i understand -- i have always understood -- and i say to you: "be of good cheer."
to say that this strange letter was a mystery to me seems an inadequate way of stating the matter.
i was completely bewildered, nor could i even guess who the writer might be, think and ponder as i might.
the letter itself implied that the writer was a stranger.
the handwriting was evidently that of a man, and i knew no man who could or would have sent such a letter to me.
the very mystery stung me to interest.
as for the letter itself, it brought me an uplift of hope and inspiration such as i would not have believed possible an hour earlier.
it rang so truly and sincerely, and the mere thought that somewhere i had a friend who cared enough to write it, even in such odd fashion, was so sweet that i was half ashamed of the difference it made in my outlook.
sitting there, i took courage and made a compact with myself that i would justify the writer's faith in me -- that i would take up my life as something to be worthily lived for all good, to the disregard of my own selfish sorrow and shrinking.
i would seek for something to do -- for interests which would bind me to my fellow-creatures -- for tasks which would lessen the pains and perils of humankind.
an hour before, this would not have seemed to me possible; now it seemed the right and natural thing to do.
a week later another letter came.
i welcomed it with an eagerness which i feared was almost childish.
it was a much longer letter than the first and was written in quite a different strain.
there was no apology for or explanation of the motive for writing.
it was as if the letter were merely one of a permitted and established correspondence between old friends.
it began with a witty, sparkling review of a new book the writer had just read, and passed from this to crisp comments on the great events, political, scientific, artistic, of the day.
the whole letter was pungent, interesting, delightful -- an impersonal essay on a dozen vital topics of life and thought.
only at the end was a personal note struck.
""are you interested in these things?"
ran the last paragraph.
""in what is being done and suffered and attained in the great busy world?
i think you must be -- for i have seen you and read what is written in your face.
i believe you care for these things as i do -- that your being thrills to the "still, sad music of humanity" -- that the songs of the poets i love find an echo in your spirit and the aspirations of all struggling souls a sympathy in your heart.
believing this, i have written freely to you, taking a keen pleasure in thus revealing my thoughts and visions to one who will understand.
for i too am friendless, in the sense of one standing alone, shut out from the sweet, intimate communion of feeling and opinion that may be held with the heart's friends.
shall you have read this as a friend, i wonder -- a candid, uncritical, understanding friend?
let me hope it, dear lady."
i was expecting the third letter when it came -- but not until it did come did i realize what my disappointment would have been if it had not.
after that every week brought me a letter; soon those letters were the greatest interest in my life.
i had given up all attempts to solve the mystery of their coming and was content to enjoy them for themselves alone.
from week to week i looked forward to them with an eagerness that i would hardly confess, even to myself.
and such letters as they were, growing longer and fuller and freer as time went on -- such wise, witty, brilliant, pungent letters, stimulating all my torpid life into tingling zest!
i had begun to look abroad in my small world for worthy work and found plenty to do.
my unknown friend evidently kept track of my expanding efforts, for he commented and criticized, encouraged and advised freely.
there was a humour in his letters that i liked; it leavened them with its sanity and reacted on me most wholesomely, counteracting many of the morbid tendencies and influences of my life.
i found myself striving to live up to the writer's ideal of philosophy and ambition, as pictured, often unconsciously, in his letters.
they were an intellectual stimulant as well.
to understand them fully i found it necessary to acquaint myself thoroughly with the literature and art, the science and the politics they touched upon.
after every letter there was something new for me to hunt out and learn and assimilate, until my old narrow mental attitude had so broadened and deepened, sweeping out into circles of thought i had never known or imagined, that i hardly knew myself.
they had been coming for a year before i began to reply to them.
i had often wished to do so -- there were so many things i wanted to say and discuss, but it seemed foolish to write letters that could not be sent.
one day a letter came that kindled my imagination and stirred my heart and soul so deeply that they insistently demanded answering expression.
i sat down at my desk and wrote a full reply to it.
safe in the belief that the mysterious friend to whom it was written would never see it, i wrote with a perfect freedom and a total lack of self-consciousness that i could never have attained otherwise.
the writing of that letter gave me a pleasure second only to that which the reading of his brought.
for the first time i discovered the delight of revealing my thought unhindered by the conventions.
also, i understood better why the writer of those letters had written them.
doubtless he had enjoyed doing so and was not impelled thereto simply by a purely philanthropic wish to help me.
when my letter was finished i sealed it up and locked it away in my desk with a smile at my middle-aged folly.
what, i wondered, would all my sedate, serious friends, my associates of mission and hospital committees think if they knew.
well, everybody has, or should have, a pet nonsense in her life.
i did not think mine was any sillier than some others i knew, and to myself i admitted that it was very sweet.
i knew if those letters ceased to come all savour would go out of my life.
after that i wrote a reply to every letter i received and kept them all locked up together.
it was delightful.
i wrote out all my doings and perplexities and hopes and plans and wishes -- yes, and my dreams.
the secret romance of it all made me look on existence with joyous, contented eyes.
gradually a change crept over the letters i received.
without ever affording the slightest clue to the identity of their writer they grew more intimate and personal.
a subtle, caressing note of tenderness breathed from them and thrilled my heart curiously.
i felt as if i were being drawn into the writer's life, admitted into the most sacred recesses of his thoughts and feelings.
yet it was all done so subtly, so delicately, that i was unconscious of the change until i discovered it in reading over the older letters and comparing them with the later ones.
finally a letter came -- my first love letter, and surely never was a love letter received under stranger circumstances.
it began abruptly as all the letters had begun, plunging into the middle of the writer's strain of thought without any preface.
the first words drove the blood to my heart and then sent it flying hotly all over my face.
i love you.
i must say it at last.
have you not guessed it before?
it has trembled on my pen in every line i have written to you -- yet i have never dared to shape it into words before.
i know not how i dare now.
i only know that i must.
what a delight to write it out and know that you will read it.
tonight the mood is on me to tell it to you recklessly and lavishly, never pausing to stint or weigh words.
sweetheart, i love you -- love you -- love you -- dear true, faithful woman soul, i love you with all the heart of a man.
ever since i first saw you i have loved you.
i can never come to tell you so in spoken words; i can only love you from afar and tell my love under the guise of impersonal friendship.
it matters not to you, but it matters more than all else in life to me.
i am glad that i love you, dear -- glad, glad, glad.
there was much more, for it was a long letter.
when i had read it i buried my burning face in my hands, trembling with happiness.
this strange confession of love meant so much to me; my heart leaped forth to meet it with answering love.
what mattered it that we could never meet -- that i could not even guess who my lover was?
somewhere in the world was a love that was mine alone and mine wholly and mine forever.
what mattered his name or his station, or the mysterious barrier between us?
spirit leaped to spirit unhindered over the fettering bounds of matter and time.
i loved and was beloved.
nothing else mattered.
i wrote my answer to his letter.
i wrote it fearlessly and unstintedly.
perhaps i could not have written so freely if the letter were to have been read by him; as it was, i poured out the riches of my love as fully as he had done.
i kept nothing back, and across the gulf between us i vowed a faithful and enduring love in response to his.
the next day i went to town on business with my lawyers.
neither of the members of the firm was in when i called, but i was an old client, and one of the clerks showed me into the private office to wait.
as i sat down my eyes fell on a folded letter lying on the table beside me.
with a shock of surprise i recognized the writing.
i could not be mistaken -- i should have recognized it anywhere.
the letter was lying by its envelope, so folded that only the middle third of the page was visible.
an irresistible impulse swept over me.
before i could reflect that i had no business to touch the letter, that perhaps it was unfair to my unknown friend to seek to discover his identity when he wished to hide it, i had turned the letter over and seen the signature.
i laid it down again and stood up, dizzy, breathless, unseeing.
like a woman in a dream i walked through the outer office and into the street.
i must have walked on for blocks before i became conscious of my surroundings.
the name i had seen signed to that letter was alan fraser!
no doubt the reader has long ago guessed it -- has wondered why i had not.
the fact remains that i had not.
out of the whole world alan fraser was the last man whom i should have suspected to be the writer of those letters -- alan fraser, my hereditary enemy, who, i had been told, cherished the old feud so faithfully and bitterly, and hated our very name.
and yet i now wondered at my long blindness.
no one else could have written those letters -- no one but him.
i read them over one by one when i reached home and, now that i possessed the key, he revealed himself in every line, expression, thought.
and he loved me!
i thought of the old feud and hatred; i thought of my pride and traditions.
they seemed like the dust and ashes of outworn things -- things to be smiled at and cast aside.
i took out all the letters i had written -- all except the last one -- sealed them up in a parcel and directed it to alan fraser.
then, summoning my groom, i bade him ride to glenellyn with it.
his look of amazement almost made me laugh, but after he was gone i felt dizzy and frightened at my own daring.
when the autumn darkness came down i went to my room and dressed as the woman dresses who awaits the one man of all the world.
i hardly knew what i hoped or expected, but i was all athrill with a nameless, inexplicable happiness.
i admit i looked very eagerly into the mirror when i was done, and i thought that the result was not unpleasing.
beauty had never been mine, but a faint reflection of it came over me in the tremulous flush and excitement of the moment.
then the maid came up to tell me that alan fraser was in the library.
i went down with my cold hands tightly clasped behind me.
he was standing by the library table, a tall, broad-shouldered man, with the light striking upward on his dark, sensitive face and iron-grey hair.
when he saw me he came quickly forward.
""so you know -- and you are not angry -- your letters told me so much.
i have loved you since that day in the beech wood, isobel -- isobel."
his eyes were kindling into mine.
he held my hands in a close, impetuous clasp.
his voice was infinitely caressing as he pronounced my name.
i had never heard it since father died -- i had never heard it at all so musically and tenderly uttered.
my ancestors might have turned in their graves just then -- but it mattered not.
living love had driven out dead hatred.
""isobel," he went on, "there was one letter unanswered -- the last."
i went to my desk, took out the last letter i had written and gave it to him in silence.
while he read it i stood in a shadowy corner and watched him, wondering if life could always be as sweet as this.
when he had finished he turned to me and held out his arms.
i went to them as a bird to her nest, and with his lips against mine the old feud was blotted out forever.
the life-book of uncle jesse uncle jesse!
the name calls up the vision of him as i saw him so often in those two enchanted summers at golden gate; as i saw him the first time, when he stood in the open doorway of the little low-eaved cottage on the harbour shore, welcoming us to our new domicile with the gentle, unconscious courtesy that became him so well.
a tall, ungainly figure, somewhat stooped, yet suggestive of great strength and endurance; a clean-shaven old face deeply lined and bronzed; a thick mane of iron-grey hair falling quite to his shoulders; and a pair of remarkably blue, deep-set eyes, which sometimes twinkled and sometimes dreamed, but oftener looked out seaward with a wistful question in them, as of one seeking something precious and lost.
i was to learn one day what it was for which uncle jesse looked.
it can not be denied that uncle jesse was a homely man.
his spare jaws, rugged mouth, and square brow were not fashioned on the lines of beauty, but though at first sight you thought him plain you never thought anything more about it -- the spirit shining through that rugged tenement beautified it so wholly.
uncle jesse was quite keenly aware of his lack of outward comeliness and lamented it, for he was a passionate worshipper of beauty in everything.
he told mother once that he'd rather like to be made over again and made handsome.
""folks say i'm good," he remarked whimsically, "but i sometimes wish the lord had made me only half as good and put the rest of it into looks.
but i reckon he knew what he was about, as a good captain should.
some of us have to be homely or the purty ones -- like miss mary there -- would n't show up so well."
i was not in the least pretty but uncle jesse was always telling me i was -- and i loved him for it.
he told the fib so prettily and sincerely that he almost made me believe it for the time being, and i really think he believed it himself.
all women were lovely and of good report in his eyes, because of one he had loved.
the only time i ever saw uncle jesse really angered was when someone in his hearing cast an aspersion on the character of a shore girl.
the wretched man who did it fairly cringed when uncle jesse turned on him with lightning of eye and thundercloud of brow.
at that moment i no longer found it hard to reconcile uncle jesse's simple, kindly personality with the wild, adventurous life he had lived.
we went to golden gate in the spring.
mother's health had not been good and her doctor recommended sea air and quiet.
uncle james, when he heard it, proposed that we take possession of a small cottage at golden gate, to which he had recently fallen heir by the death of an old aunt who had lived in it.
""i have n't been up to see it," he said, "but it is just as aunt elizabeth left it and she was the pink of neatness.
the key is in the possession of an old sailor living nearby -- jesse boyd is the name, i think.
i imagine you can be very comfortable in it.
it is built right on the harbour shore, inside the bar, and it is within five minutes" walk of the outside shore."
uncle james's offer fitted in very opportunely with our limp family purse, and we straightway betook ourselves to golden gate.
we telegraphed to jesse boyd to have the house opened for us and, one crisp spring day, when a rollicking wind was scudding over the harbour and the dunes, whipping the water into white caps and washing the sandshore with long lines of silvery breakers, we alighted at the little station and walked the half mile to our new home, leaving our goods and chattels to be carted over in the evening by an obliging station agent's boy.
* * * * * our first glimpse of aunt elizabeth's cottage was a delight to soul and sense; it looked so like a big grey seashell stranded on the shore.
between it and the harbour was only a narrow strip of shingle, and behind it was a gnarled and battered fir wood where the winds were in the habit of harping all sorts of weird and haunting music.
inside, it was to prove even yet more quaint and delightful, with its low, dark-beamed ceilings and square, deep-set windows by which, whether open or shut, sea breezes entered at their own sweet will.
the view from our door was magnificent, taking in the big harbour and sweeps of purple hills beyond.
the entrance of the harbour gave it its name -- a deep, narrow channel between the bar of sand dunes on the one side and a steep, high, frowning red sandstone cliff on the other.
we appreciated its significance the first time we saw a splendid golden sunrise flooding it, coming out of the wonderful sea and sky beyond and billowing through that narrow passage in waves of light.
truly, it was a golden gate through which one might sail to "faerie lands forlorn."
as we went along the path to our little house we were agreeably surprised to see a blue spiral of smoke curling up from its big, square chimney, and the next moment uncle jesse -lrb- we were calling him uncle jesse half an hour after we met him, so it seems scarcely worthwhile to begin with anything else -rrb- came to the door.
""welcome, ladies," he said, holding out a big, hard, but scrupulously clean hand.
""i thought you'd be feeling a bit tired and hungry, maybe, so when i came over to open up i put on a fire and brewed you up a cup of tea.
i just delight in being neighbourly and "tai n't often i have the chance."
we found that uncle jesse's "cup of tea" meant a veritable spread.
he had aired the little dining room, set out the table daintily with aunt elizabeth's china and linen -- "knowed jest where to put my hands on'em -- often and often helped old miss kennedy wash'em.
we were cronies, her and me.
i miss her terrible" -- and adorned it with mayflowers which, as we afterwards discovered, he had tramped several miles to gather.
there was good bread and butter, "store" biscuits, a dish of tea fit for the gods on high olympus, and a platter of the most delicious sea trout, done to a turn.
""thought they'd be tasty after travelling," said uncle jesse.
""they're fresh as trout can be, ma'am.
two hours ago they was swimming in johnson's pond yander.
i caught'em -- yes, ma'am.
it's about all i'm good for now, catching trout and cod occasional.
but "twere n't always so -- not by no manner of means.
i used to do other things, as you'd admit if you saw my life-book."
i was so hungry and tired that i did not then "rise to the bait" of uncle jesse's "life-book."
i simply wanted to begin on those trout.
mother insisted that uncle jesse sit down and help us eat the repast he had prepared, and he assented without undue coaxing.
""thank ye kindly.
"twill be a real treat.
i mostly has to eat my meals alone, with the reflection of my ugly old phiz in a looking glass opposite for company.
't is n't often i have the chance to sit down with two such sweet purty ladies."
uncle jesse's compliments look bald enough on paper, but he paid them with such gracious, gentle deference of tone and look that the woman who received them felt that she was being offered a queen's gift in kingly fashion.
he broke bread with us and from that moment we were all friends together and forever.
after we had eaten all we could, we sat at our table for an hour and listened to uncle jesse telling us stories of his life.
""if i talk too much you must jest check me," he said seriously, but with a twinkle in his eyes.
""when i do get a chance to talk to anyone i'm apt to run on terrible."
he had been a sailor from the time he was ten years old, and some of his adventures had such a marvellous edge that i secretly wondered if uncle jesse were not drawing a rather long bow at our credulous expense.
but in this, as i found later, i did him injustice.
his tales were all literally true, and uncle jesse had the gift of the born story-teller, whereby "unhappy, far-off things" can be brought vividly before the hearer and made to live again in all their pristine poignancy.
mother and i laughed and shivered over uncle jesse's tales, and once we found ourselves crying.
uncle jesse surveyed our tears with pleasure shining out through his face like an illuminating lamp.
""i like to make folks cry that way," he remarked.
""it's a compliment.
but i ca n't do justice to the things i've seen and helped do.
i've got'em all jotted down in my life-book but i have n't got the knack of writing them out properly.
if i had, i could make a great book, if i had the knack of hitting on just the right words and stringing everything together proper on paper.
but i ca n't.
it's in this poor human critter," uncle jesse patted his breast sorrowfully, "but he ca n't get it out."
when uncle jesse went home that evening mother asked him to come often to see us.
""i wonder if you'd give that invitation if you knew how likely i'd be to accept it," he remarked whimsically.
""which is another way of saying you wonder if i meant it," smiled mother.
""i do, most heartily and sincerely."
""then i'll come.
you'll likely be pestered with me at any hour.
and i'd be proud to have you drop over to visit me now and then too.
i live on that point yander.
neither me nor my house is worth coming to see.
it's only got one room and a loft and a stovepipe sticking out of the roof for a chimney.
but i've got a few little things lying around that i picked up in the queer corners i used to be poking my nose into.
mebbe they'd interest you."
uncle jesse's "few little things" turned out to be the most interesting collection of curios i had ever seen.
his one neat little living room was full of them -- beautiful, hideous or quaint as the case might be, and almost all having some weird or exciting story attached.
mother and i had a beautiful summer at golden gate.
we lived the life of two children with uncle jesse as a playmate.
our housekeeping was of the simplest description and we spent our hours rambling along the shores, reading on the rocks or sailing over the harbour in uncle jesse's trim little boat.
every day we loved the simple-souled, true, manly old sailor more and more.
he was as refreshing as a sea breeze, as interesting as some ancient chronicle.
we never tired of listening to his stories, and his quaint remarks and comments were a continual delight to us.
uncle jesse was one of those interesting and rare people who, in the picturesque phraseology of the shore folks, "never speak but they say something."
the milk of human kindness and the wisdom of the serpent were mingled in uncle jesse's composition in delightful proportions.
one day he was absent all day and returned at nightfall.
""took a tramp back yander."
""back yander" with uncle jesse might mean the station hamlet or the city a hundred miles away or any place between -- "to carry mr. kimball a mess of trout.
he likes one occasional and it's all i can do for a kindness he did me once.
i stayed all day to talk to him.
he likes to talk to me, though he's an eddicated man, because he's one of the folks that's got to talk or they're miserable, and he finds listeners scarce "round here.
the folks fight shy of him because they think he's an infidel.
he ai n't that far gone exactly -- few men is, i reckon -- but he's what you might call a heretic.
heretics are wicked but they're mighty interesting.
it's just that they've got sorter lost looking for god, being under the impression that he's hard to find -- which he ai n't, never.
most of'em blunder to him after a while i guess.
i do n't think listening to mr. kimball's arguments is likely to do me much harm.
mind you, i believe what i was brought up to believe.
it saves a vast of trouble -- and back of it all, god is good.
the trouble with mr. kimball is, he's a leetle too clever.
he thinks he's bound to live up to his cleverness and that it's smarter to thrash out some new way of getting to heaven than to go by the old track the common, ignorant folks is travelling.
but he'll get there sometime all right and then he'll laugh at himself."
* * * * * nothing ever seemed to put uncle jesse out or depress him in any way.
""i've kind of contracted a habit of enjoying things," he remarked once, when mother had commented on his invariable cheerfulness.
""it's got so chronic that i believe i even enjoy the disagreeable things.
it's great fun thinking they ca n't last.
"old rheumatiz," i says, when it grips me hard, "you've got to stop aching sometime.
the worse you are the sooner you'll stop, perhaps.
i'm bound to get the better of you in the long run, whether in the body or out of the body.""
uncle jesse seldom came to our house without bringing us something, even if it were only a bunch of sweet grass.
""i favour the smell of sweet grass," he said.
""it always makes me think of my mother."
""she was fond of it?"
""not that i knows on.
dunno's she ever saw any sweet grass.
no, it's because it has a kind of motherly perfume -- not too young, you understand -- something kind of seasoned and wholesome and dependable -- just like a mother."
uncle jesse was a very early riser.
he seldom missed a sunrise.
""i've seen all kinds of sunrises come in through that there gate," he said dreamily one morning when i myself had made a heroic effort at early rising and joined him on the rocks halfway between his house and ours.
""i've been all over the world and, take it all in all, i've never seen a finer sight than a summer sunrise out there beyant the gate.
a man ca n't pick his time for dying, mary -- jest got to go when the captain gives his sailing orders.
but if i could i'd go out when the morning comes in there at the gate.
i've watched it a many times and thought what a thing it would be to pass out through that great white glory to whatever was waiting beyant, on a sea that ai n't mapped out on any airthly chart.
i think, mary, i'd find lost margaret there."
he had already told me the story of "lost margaret," as he always called her.
he rarely spoke of her, but when he did his love for her trembled in every tone -- a love that had never grown faint or forgetful.
uncle jesse was seventy; it was fifty years since lost margaret had fallen asleep one day in her father's dory and drifted -- as was supposed, for nothing was ever known certainly of her fate -- across the harbour and out of the gate, to perish in the black thunder squall that had come up suddenly that long-ago afternoon.
but to uncle jesse those fifty years were but as yesterday when it is past.
""i walked the shore for months after that," he said sadly, "looking to find her dear, sweet little body, but the sea never gave her back to me.
but i'll find her sometime.
i wisht i could tell you just how she looked but i ca n't.
i've seen a fine silvery mist hanging over the gate at sunrise that seemed like her -- and then again i've seen a white birch in the woods back yander that made me think of her.
she had pale brown hair and a little white face, and long slender fingers like yours, mary, only browner, for she was a shore girl.
sometimes i wake up in the night and hear the sea calling to me in the old way and it seems as if lost margaret called in it.
and when there's a storm and the waves are sobbing and moaning i hear her lamenting among them.
and when they laugh on a gay day it's her laugh -- lost margaret's sweet little laugh.
the sea took her from me but some day i'll find her, mary.
it ca n't keep us apart forever."
i had not been long at golden gate before i saw uncle jesse's "life-book," as he quaintly called it.
he needed no coaxing to show it and he proudly gave it to me to read.
it was an old leather-bound book filled with the record of his voyages and adventures.
i thought what a veritable treasure trove it would be to a writer.
every sentence was a nugget.
in itself the book had no literary merit; uncle jesse's charm of story-telling failed him when he came to pen and ink; he could only jot down roughly the outlines of his famous tales, and both spelling and grammar were sadly askew.
but i felt that if anyone possessing the gift could take that simple record of a brave, adventurous life, reading between the bald lines the tale of dangers staunchly faced and duties manfully done, a wonderful story might be made from it.
pure comedy and thrilling tragedy were both lying hidden in uncle jesse's "life-book," waiting for the touch of the magician's hand to waken the laughter and grief and horror of thousands.
i thought of my cousin, robert kennedy, who juggled with words in a masterly fashion, but complained that he found it hard to create incidents or characters.
here were both ready to his hand, but robert was in japan in the interests of his paper.
in the fall, when the harbour lay black and sullen under november skies, mother and i went back to town, parting with uncle jesse regretfully.
we wanted him to visit us in town during the winter but he shook his head.
""it's too far away, mary.
if lost margaret called me i might n't hear her there.
i must be here when my time comes.
it ca n't be very far off now."
i wrote often to uncle jesse through the winter and sent him books and magazines.
he enjoyed them but he thought -- and truly enough -- that none of them came up to his life-book for real interest.
""if my life-book could be took and writ by someone that knowed how, it would beat them holler," he wrote in one of his few letters to me.
in the spring we returned joyfully to golden gate.
it was as golden as ever and the harbour as blue; the winds still rollicked as gaily and sweetly and the breakers boomed outside the bar as of yore.
all was unchanged save uncle jesse.
he had aged greatly and seemed frail and bent.
after he had gone home from his first call on us, mother cried.
""uncle jesse will soon be going to seek lost margaret," she said.
in june robert came.
i took him promptly over to see uncle jesse, who was very much excited when he found that robert was a "real writing man."
""robert wants to hear some of your stories, uncle jesse," i said.
""tell him the one about the captain who went crazy and imagined he was the flying dutchman."
this was uncle jesse's best story.
it was a compound of humour and horror, and though i had heard it several times, i laughed as heartily and shivered as fearsomely over it as robert did.
other tales followed; uncle jesse told how his vessel had been run down by a steamer, how he had been boarded by malay pirates, how his ship had caught fire, how he had helped a political prisoner escape from a south american republic.
he never said a boastful word, but it was impossible to help seeing what a hero the man had been -- brave, true, resourceful, unselfish, skilful.
he sat there in his poor little room and made those things live again for us.
by a lift of the eyebrow, a twist of the lip, a gesture, a word, he painted some whole scene or character so that we saw it as it was.
finally, he lent robert his life-book.
robert sat up all night reading it and came to the breakfast table in great excitement.
""mary, this is a wonderful book.
if i could take it and garb it properly -- work it up into a systematic whole and string it on the thread of uncle jesse's romance of lost margaret, it would be the novel of the year.
do you suppose he would let me do it?"
""let you!
i think he would be delighted," i answered.
and he was.
he was as excited as a schoolboy over it.
at last his cherished dream was to be realized and his life-book given to the world.
""we'll collaborate," said robert.
""you will give the soul and i the body.
oh, we'll write a famous book between us, uncle jesse.
and we'll get right to work."
uncle jesse was a happy man that summer.
he looked upon the little back room we gave up to robert for a study as a sacred shrine.
robert talked everything over with uncle jesse but would not let him see the manuscript.
""you must wait till it is published," he said.
""then you'll get it all at once in its best shape."
robert delved into the treasures of the life-book and used them freely.
he dreamed and brooded over lost margaret until she became a vivid reality to him and lived in his pages.
as the book progressed it took possession of him and he worked at it with feverish eagerness.
he let me read the manuscript and criticize it; and the concluding chapter of the book, which the critics later on were pleased to call idyllic, was modelled after my suggestions, so that i felt as if i had a share in it too.
it was autumn when the book was finished.
robert went back to town, but mother and i decided to stay at golden gate all winter.
we loved the spot and, besides, i wished to remain for uncle jesse's sake.
he was failing all the time, and after robert went and the excitement of the book-making was past, he failed still more rapidly.
his tramping expeditions were over and he seldom went out in his boat.
neither did he talk a great deal.
he liked to come over and sit silently for hours at our seaward window, looking out wistfully toward the gate with his swiftly whitening head leaning on his hand.
the only keen interest he still had was in robert's book.
he waited and watched impatiently for its publication.
""i want to live till i see it," he said, "just that long -- then i'll be ready to go.
he said it would be out in the spring -- i must hang on till it comes, mary."
there were times when i doubted sadly if he would "hang on."
as the winter wore away he grew frailer and frailer.
but ever he looked forward to the coming of spring and "the book," his book, transformed and glorified.
one day in young april the book came at last.
uncle jesse had gone to the post office faithfully every day for a month, expecting it, but this day he was too feeble to go and i went for him.
the book was there.
it was called simply, the life-book of jesse boyd, and on the title page the names of robert kennedy and jesse boyd were printed as collaborators.
i shall never forget uncle jesse's face as i handed it to him.
i came away and left him reading it, oblivious to all else.
all night the light burned in his window, and i looked out across the sands to it and pictured the delight of the old man poring over the printed pages whereon his own life was portrayed.
i wondered how he would like the ending -- the ending i had suggested.
i was never to know.
after breakfast i went over to uncle jesse's house, taking some little delicacy mother had cooked for him.
it was an exquisite morning, full of delicate spring tints and sounds.
the harbour was sparkling and dimpling like a girl, the winds were playing hide and seek roguishly among the stunted firs, and the silver-flashing gulls were soaring over the bar.
beyond the gate was a shining, wonderful sea.
when i reached the little house on the point i saw the lamp still burning wanly in the window.
a quick alarm struck at my heart.
without waiting to knock, i lifted the latch, and entered.
uncle jesse was lying on the old sofa by the window, with the book clasped to his heart.
his eyes were closed and on his face was a look of the most perfect peace and happiness -- the look of one who has long sought and found at last.
we could not know at what hour he had died, but somehow i think he had his wish and went out when the morning came in through the golden gate.
out on that shining tide his spirit drifted, over the sunrise sea of pearl and silver, to the haven where lost margaret waited beyond the storms and calms.
the little black doll everybody in the marshall household was excited on the evening of the concert at the harbour light hotel -- everybody, even to little joyce, who could n't go to the concert because there was n't anybody else to stay with denise.
perhaps denise was the most excited of them all -- denise, who was slowly dying of consumption in the marshall kitchen chamber because there was no other place in the world for her to die in, or anybody to trouble about her.
mrs. roderick marshall thought it very good of herself to do so much for denise.
to be sure, denise was not much bother, and little joyce did most of the waiting on her.
at the tea table nothing was talked of but the concert; for was not madame laurin, the great french canadian prima donna, at the hotel, and was she not going to sing?
it was the opportunity of a lifetime -- the marshalls would not have missed it for anything.
stately, handsome old grandmother marshall was going, and uncle roderick and aunt isabella, and of course chrissie, who was always taken everywhere because she was pretty and graceful, and everything that little joyce was not.
little joyce would have liked to go to the concert, for she was very fond of music; and, besides, she wanted to be able to tell denise all about it.
but when you are shy and homely and thin and awkward, your grandmother never takes you anywhere.
at least, such was little joyce's belief.
little joyce knew quite well that grandmother marshall did not like her.
she thought it was because she was so plain and awkward -- and in part it was.
grandmother marshall cared very little for granddaughters who did not do her credit.
but little joyce's mother had married a poor man in the face of her family's disapproval, and then both she and her husband had been inconsiderate enough to die and leave a small orphan without a penny to support her.
grandmother marshall fed and clothed the child, but who could make anything of such a shy creature with no gifts or graces whatever?
grandmother marshall had no intention of trying.
chrissie, the golden-haired and pink-cheeked, was grandmother marshall's pet.
little joyce knew this.
she did not envy chrissie but, oh, how she wished grandmother marshall would love her a little, too!
nobody loved her but denise and the little black doll.
and little joyce was beginning to understand that denise would not be in the kitchen chamber very much longer, and the little black doll could n't tell you she loved you -- although she did, of course.
little joyce had no doubt at all on this point.
little joyce sighed so deeply over this thought that uncle roderick smiled at her.
uncle roderick did smile at her sometimes.
""what is the matter, little joyce?"
he asked.
""i was thinking about my black doll," said little joyce timidly.
""ah, your black doll.
if madame laurin were to see it, she'd likely want it.
she makes a hobby of collecting dolls all over the world, but i doubt if she has in her collection a doll that served to amuse a little girl four thousand years ago in the court of the pharaohs."
""i think joyce's black doll is very ugly," said chrissie.
""my wax doll with the yellow hair is ever so much prettier."
""my black doll is n't ugly," cried little joyce indignantly.
she could endure to be called ugly herself, but she could not bear to have her darling black doll called ugly.
in her excitement she upset her cup of tea over the tablecloth.
aunt isabella looked angry, and grandmother marshall said sharply: "joyce, leave the table.
you grow more awkward and careless every day."
little joyce, on the verge of tears, crept away and went up the kitchen stairs to denise to be comforted.
but denise herself had been crying.
she lay on her little bed by the low window, where the glow of the sunset was coming in; her hollow cheeks were scarlet with fever.
""oh!
i want so much to hear madame laurin sing," she sobbed.
""i feel lak i could die easier if i hear her sing just one leetle song.
she is frenchwoman, too, and she sing all de ole french songs -- de ole songs my mudder sing long "go.
oh!
i so want to hear madame laurin sing."
""but you ca n't, dear denise," said little joyce very softly, stroking denise's hot forehead with her cool, slender hand.
little joyce had very pretty hands, only nobody had ever noticed them.
""you are not strong enough to go to the concert.
i'll sing for you, if you like.
of course, i ca n't sing very well, but i'll do my best."
""you sing lak a sweet bird, but you are not madame laurin," said denise restlessly.
""it is de great madame i want to hear.
i haf not long to live.
oh, i know, leetle joyce -- i know what de doctor look lak -- and i want to hear madame laurin sing "fore i die.
i know it is impossible -- but i long for it so -- just one leetle song."
denise put her thin hands over her face and sobbed again.
little joyce went and sat down by the window, looking out into the white birches.
her heart ached bitterly.
dear denise was going to die soon -- oh, very soon!
little joyce, wise and knowing beyond her years, saw that.
and denise wanted to hear madame laurin sing.
it seemed a foolish thing to think of, but little joyce thought hard about it; and when she had finished thinking, she got her little black doll and took it to bed with her, and there she cried herself to sleep.
at the breakfast table next morning the marshalls talked about the concert and the wonderful madame laurin.
little joyce listened in her usual silence; her crying the night before had not improved her looks any.
never, thought handsome grandmother marshall, had she appeared so sallow and homely.
really, grandmother marshall could not have the patience to look at her.
she decided that she would not take joyce driving with her and chrissie that afternoon, as she had thought of, after all.
in the forenoon it was discovered that denise was much worse, and the doctor was sent for.
he came, and shook his head, that being really all he could do under the circumstances.
when he went away, he was waylaid at the back door by a small gypsy with big, black, serious eyes and long black hair.
""is denise going to die?"
little joyce asked in the blunt, straightforward fashion grandmother marshall found so trying.
the doctor looked at her from under his shaggy brows and decided that here was one of the people to whom you might as well tell the truth first as last, because they are bound to have it.
""yes," he said.
""soon?"
""very soon, i'm afraid.
in a few days at most."
""thank you," said little joyce gravely.
she went to her room and did something with the black doll.
she did not cry, but if you could have seen her face you would have wished she would cry.
after dinner grandmother marshall and chrissie drove away, and uncle roderick and aunt isabella went away, too.
little joyce crept up to the kitchen chamber.
denise was lying in an uneasy sleep, with tear stains on her face.
then little joyce tiptoed down and sped away to the hotel.
she did not know just what she would say or do when she got there, but she thought hard all the way to the end of the shore road.
when she came out to the shore, a lady was sitting alone on a big rock -- a lady with a dark, beautiful face and wonderful eyes.
little joyce stopped before her and looked at her meditatively.
perhaps it would be well to ask advice of this lady.
""if you please," said little joyce, who was never shy with strangers, for whose opinion she did n't care at all, "i want to see madame laurin at the hotel and ask her to do me a very great favour.
will you tell me the best way to go about seeing her?
i shall be much obliged to you."
""what is the favour you want to ask of madame laurin?"
inquired the lady, smiling.
""i want to ask her if she will come and sing for denise before she dies -- before denise dies, i mean.
denise is our french girl, and the doctor says she can not live very long, and she wishes with all her heart to hear madame laurin sing.
it is very bitter, you know, to be dying and want something very much and not be able to get it."
""do you think madame laurin will go?"
asked the lady.
""i do n't know.
i am going to offer her my little black doll.
if she will not come for that, there is nothing else i can do."
a flash of interest lighted up the lady's brown eyes.
she bent forward.
""is it your doll you have in that box?
will you let me see it?"
little joyce nodded.
mutely she opened the box and took out the black doll.
the lady gave an exclamation of amazed delight and almost snatched it from little joyce.
it was a very peculiar little doll indeed, carved out of some black polished wood.
""child, where in the world did you get this?"
she cried.
""father got it out of a grave in egypt," said little joyce.
""it was buried with the mummy of a little girl who lived four thousand years ago, uncle roderick says.
she must have loved her doll very much to have had it buried with her, must n't she?
but she could not have loved it any more than i do."
""and yet you are going to give it away?"
said the lady, looking at her keenly.
""for denise's sake," explained little joyce.
""i would do anything for denise because i love her and she loves me.
when the only person in the world who loves you is going to die, there is nothing you would not do for her if you could.
denise was so good to me before she took sick.
she used to kiss me and play with me and make little cakes for me and tell me beautiful stories."
the lady put the little black doll back in the box.
then she stood up and held out her hand.
""come," she said.
""i am madame laurin, and i shall go and sing for denise."
little joyce piloted madame laurin home and into the kitchen and up the back stairs to the kitchen chamber -- a proceeding which would have filled aunt isabella with horror if she had known.
but madame laurin did not seem to mind, and little joyce never thought about it at all.
it was little joyce's awkward, unmarshall-like fashion to go to a place by the shortest way there, even if it was up the kitchen stairs.
madame laurin stood in the bare little room and looked pityingly at the wasted, wistful face on the pillow.
""this is madame laurin, and she is going to sing for you, denise," whispered little joyce.
denise's face lighted up, and she clasped her hands.
""if you please," she said faintly.
""a french song, madame -- de ole french song dey sing long "go."
then did madame laurin sing.
never had that kitchen chamber been so filled with glorious melody.
song after song she sang -- the old folklore songs of the habitant, the songs perhaps that evangeline listened to in her childhood.
little joyce knelt by the bed, her eyes on the singer like one entranced.
denise lay with her face full of joy and rapture -- such joy and rapture!
little joyce did not regret the sacrifice of her black doll -- never could regret it, as long as she remembered denise's look.
""t'ank you, madame," said denise brokenly, when madame ceased.
""dat was so beautiful -- de angel, dey can not sing more sweet.
i love music so much, madame.
leetle joyce, she sing to me often and often -- she sing sweet, but not lak you -- oh, not lak you."
""little joyce must sing for me," said madame, smiling, as she sat down by the window.
""i always like to hear fresh, childish voices.
will you, little joyce?"
""oh, yes."
little joyce was quite unembarrassed and perfectly willing to do anything she could for this wonderful woman who had brought that look to denise's face.
""i will sing as well as i can for you.
of course, i ca n't sing very well and i do n't know anything but hymns.
i always sing hymns for denise, although she is a catholic and the hymns are protestant.
but her priest told her it was all right, because all music was of god.
denise's priest is a very nice man, and i like him.
he thought my little black doll -- your little black doll -- was splendid.
i'll sing "lead, kindly light."
that is denise's favourite hymn."
then little joyce, slipping her hand into denise's, began to sing.
at the first note madame laurin, who had been gazing out of the window with a rather listless smile, turned quickly and looked at little joyce with amazed eyes.
delight followed amazement, and when little joyce had finished, the great madame rose impulsively, her face and eyes glowing, stepped swiftly to little joyce and took the thin dark face between her gemmed hands.
""child, do you know what a wonderful voice you have -- what a marvellous voice?
it is -- it is -- i never heard such a voice in a child of your age.
mine was nothing to it -- nothing at all.
you will be a great singer some day -- far greater than i -- yes.
but you must have the training.
where are your parents?
i must see them."
""i have no parents," said the bewildered little joyce.
""i belong to grandmother marshall, and she is out driving."
""then i shall wait until your grandmother marshall comes home from her drive," said madame laurin decidedly.
half an hour later a very much surprised old lady was listening to madame laurin's enthusiastic statements.
""how is it i have never heard you sing, if you can sing so well?"
asked grandmother marshall, looking at little joyce with something in her eyes that had never been in them before -- as little joyce instantly felt to the core of her sensitive soul.
but little joyce hung her head.
it had never occurred to her to sing in grandmother marshall's presence.
""this child must be trained by-and-by," said madame laurin.
""if you can not afford it, mrs. marshall, i will see to it.
such a voice must not be wasted."
""thank you, madame laurin," said grandmother marshall with a gracious dignity, "but i am quite able to give my granddaughter all the necessary advantages for the development of her gift.
and i thank you very much for telling me of it."
madame laurin bent and kissed little joyce's brown cheek.
""little gypsy, good-by.
but come every day to this hotel to see me.
and next summer i shall be back.
i like you -- because some day you will be a great singer and because today you are a loving, unselfish baby."
""you have forgotten the little black doll, madame," said little joyce gravely.
madame threw up her hands, laughing.
""no, no, i shall not take your little black doll of the four thousand years.
keep it for a mascot.
a great singer always needs a mascot.
but do not, i command you, take it out of the box till i am gone, for if i were to see it again, i might not be able to resist the temptation.
some day i shall show you my dolls, but there is not such a gem among them."
when madame laurin had gone, grandmother marshall looked at little joyce.
""come to my room, joyce.
i want to see if we can not find a more becoming way of arranging your hair.
it has grown so thick and long.
i had no idea how thick and long.
yes, we must certainly find a better way than that stiff braid.
come!"
little joyce, taking grandmother marshall's extended hand, felt very happy.
she realized that this strange, stately old lady, who never liked little girls unless they were pretty or graceful or clever, was beginning to love her at last.
the man on the train when the telegram came from william george, grandma sheldon was all alone with cyrus and louise.
and cyrus and louise, aged respectively twelve and eleven, were not very much good, grandma thought, when it came to advising what was to be done.
grandma was "all in a flutter, dear, oh dear," as she said.
the telegram said that delia, william george's wife, was seriously ill down at green village, and william george wanted samuel to bring grandma down immediately.
delia had always thought there was nobody like grandma when it came to nursing sick folks.
but samuel and his wife were both away -- had been away for two days and intended to be away for five more.
they had driven to sinclair, twenty miles away, to visit with mrs. samuel's folks for a week.
""dear, oh dear, what shall i do?"
said grandma.
""go right to green village on the evening train," said cyrus briskly.
""dear, oh dear, and leave you two alone!"
cried grandma.
""louise and i will do very well until tomorrow," said cyrus sturdily.
""we will send word to sinclair by today's mail, and father and mother will be home by tomorrow night."
""but i never was on the cars in my life," protested grandma nervously.
""i'm -- i'm so frightened to start alone.
and you never know what kind of people you may meet on the train."
""you'll be all right, grandma.
i'll drive you to the station, get you your ticket, and put you on the train.
then you'll have nothing to do until the train gets to green village.
i'll send a telegram to uncle william george to meet you."
""i shall fall and break my neck getting off the train," said grandma pessimistically.
but she was wondering at the same time whether she had better take the black valise or the yellow, and whether william george would be likely to have plenty of flaxseed in the house.
it was six miles to the station, and cyrus drove grandma over in time to catch a train that reached green village at nine o'clock.
""dear, oh dear," said grandma, "what if william george's folks ai n't there to meet me?
it's all very well, cyrus, to say that they will be there, but you do n't know.
and it's all very well to say not to be nervous because everything will be all right.
if you were seventy-five years old and had never set foot on the cars in your life you'd be nervous too, and you ca n't be sure that everything will be all right.
you never know what sort of people you'll meet on the train.
i may get on the wrong train or lose my ticket or get carried past green village or get my pocket picked.
well, no, i wo n't do that, for not one cent will i carry with me.
you shall take back home all the money you do n't need to get my ticket.
then i shall be easier in my mind.
dear, oh dear, if it was n't that delia is so seriously ill i would n't go one step."
""oh, you'll be all right, grandma," assured cyrus.
he got grandma's ticket for her and grandma tied it up in the corner of her handkerchief.
then the train came in and grandma, clinging closely to cyrus, was put on it.
cyrus found a comfortable seat for her and shook hands cheerily.
""good-bye, grandma.
do n't be frightened.
here's the weekly argus.
i got it at the store.
you may like to look over it."
then cyrus was gone, and in a minute the station house and platform began to glide away.
dear, oh dear, what has happened to it?
thought grandma in dismay.
the next moment she exclaimed aloud, "why, it's us that's moving, not it!"
some of the passengers smiled pleasantly at grandma.
she was the variety of old lady at which people do smile pleasantly; a grandma with round, pink cheeks, soft, brown eyes, and lovely snow-white curls is a nice person to look at wherever she is found.
after a while grandma, to her amazement, discovered that she liked riding on the cars.
it was not at all the disagreeable experience she had expected it to be.
why, she was just as comfortable as if she were in her own rocking chair at home!
and there was such a lot of people to look at, and many of the ladies had such beautiful dresses and hats.
after all, the people you met on a train, thought grandma, are surprisingly like the people you meet off it.
if it had not been for wondering how she would get off at green village, grandma would have enjoyed herself thoroughly.
four or five stations farther on the train halted at a lonely-looking place consisting of the station house and a barn, surrounded by scrub woods and blueberry barrens.
one passenger got on and, finding only one vacant seat in the crowded car, sat right down beside grandma sheldon.
grandma sheldon held her breath while she looked him over.
was he a pickpocket?
he did n't appear like one, but you can never be sure of the people you meet on the train.
grandma remembered with a sigh of thankfulness that she had no money.
besides, he seemed really very respectable and harmless.
he was quietly dressed in a suit of dark-blue serge with a black overcoat.
he wore his hat well down on his forehead and was clean shaven.
his hair was very black, but his eyes were blue -- nice eyes, grandma thought.
she always felt great confidence in a man who had bright, open, blue eyes.
grandpa sheldon, who had died so long ago, four years after their marriage, had had bright blue eyes.
to be sure, he had fair hair, reflected grandma.
it's real odd to see such black hair with such light blue eyes.
well, he's real nice looking, and i do n't believe there's a mite of harm in him.
the early autumn night had now fallen and grandma could not amuse herself by watching the scenery.
she bethought herself of the paper cyrus had given her and took it out of her basket.
it was an old weekly a fortnight back.
on the first page was a long account of a murder case with scare heads, and into this grandma plunged eagerly.
sweet old grandma sheldon, who would not have harmed a fly and hated to see even a mousetrap set, simply revelled in the newspaper accounts of murders.
and the more shocking and cold-blooded they were, the more eagerly did grandma read of them.
this murder story was particularly good from grandma's point of view; it was full of "thrills."
a man had been shot down, apparently in cold blood, and his supposed murderer was still at large and had eluded all the efforts of justice to capture him.
his name was mark hartwell, and he was described as a tall, fair man, with full auburn beard and curly, light hair.
""what a shocking thing!"
said grandma aloud.
her companion looked at her with a kindly, amused smile.
""what is it?"
he asked.
""why, this murder at charlotteville," answered grandma, forgetting, in her excitement, that it was not safe to talk to people you meet on the train.
""it just makes my blood run cold to read about it.
and to think that the man who did it is still around the country somewhere -- plotting other murders, i have n't a doubt.
what is the good of the police?"
""they're dull fellows," agreed the dark man.
""but i do n't envy that man his conscience," said grandma solemnly -- and somewhat inconsistently, in view of her statement about the other murders that were being plotted.
""what must a man feel like who has the blood of a fellow creature on his hands?
depend upon it, his punishment has begun already, caught or not."
""that is true," said the dark man quietly.
""such a good-looking man too," said grandma, looking wistfully at the murderer's picture.
""it does n't seem possible that he can have killed anybody.
but the paper says there is n't a doubt."
""he is probably guilty," said the dark man, "but nothing is known of his provocation.
the affair may not have been so cold-blooded as the accounts state.
those newspaper fellows never err on the side of undercolouring."
""i really think," said grandma slowly, "that i would like to see a murderer -- just one.
whenever i say anything like that, adelaide -- adelaide is samuel's wife -- looks at me as if she thought there was something wrong about me.
and perhaps there is, but i do, all the same.
when i was a little girl, there was a man in our settlement who was suspected of poisoning his wife.
she died very suddenly.
i used to look at him with such interest.
but it was n't satisfactory, because you could never be sure whether he was really guilty or not.
i never could believe that he was, because he was such a nice man in some ways and so good and kind to children.
i do n't believe a man who was bad enough to poison his wife could have any good in him."
""perhaps not," agreed the dark man.
he had absent-mindedly folded up grandma's old copy of the argus and put it in his pocket.
grandma did not like to ask him for it, although she would have liked to see if there were any more murder stories in it.
besides, just at that moment the conductor came around for tickets.
grandma looked in the basket for her handkerchief.
it was not there.
she looked on the floor and on the seat and under the seat.
it was not there.
she stood up and shook herself -- still no handkerchief.
""dear, oh dear," exclaimed grandma wildly, "i've lost my ticket -- i always knew i would -- i told cyrus i would!
oh, where can it be?"
the conductor scowled unsympathetically.
the dark man got up and helped grandma search, but no ticket was to be found.
""you'll have to pay the money then, and something extra," said the conductor gruffly.
""i ca n't -- i have n't a cent of money," wailed grandma.
""i gave it all to cyrus because i was afraid my pocket would be picked.
oh, what shall i do?"
""do n't worry.
i'll make it all right," said the dark man.
he took out his pocketbook and handed the conductor a bill.
that functionary grumblingly made the change and marched onward, while grandma, pale with excitement and relief, sank back into her seat.
""i ca n't tell you how much i am obliged to you, sir," she said tremulously.
""i do n't know what i should have done.
would he have put me off right here in the snow?"
""i hardly think he would have gone to such lengths," said the dark man with a smile.
""but he's a cranky, disobliging fellow enough -- i know him of old.
and you must not feel overly grateful to me.
i am glad of the opportunity to help you.
i had an old grandmother myself once," he added with a sigh.
""you must give me your name and address, of course," said grandma, "and my son -- samuel sheldon of midverne -- will see that the money is returned to you.
well, this is a lesson to me!
i'll never trust myself on a train again, and all i wish is that i was safely off this one.
this fuss has worked my nerves all up again."
""do n't worry, grandma.
i'll see you safely off the train when we get to green village."
""will you, though?
will you, now?"
said grandma eagerly.
""i'll be real easy in my mind, then," she added with a returning smile.
""i feel as if i could trust you for anything -- and i'm a real suspicious person too."
they had a long talk after that -- or, rather, grandma talked and the dark man listened and smiled.
she told him all about william george and delia and their baby and about samuel and adelaide and cyrus and louise and the three cats and the parrot.
he seemed to enjoy her accounts of them too.
when they reached green village station he gathered up grandma's parcels and helped her tenderly off the train.
""anybody here to meet mrs. sheldon?"
he asked of the station master.
the latter shook his head.
""do n't think so.
have n't seen anybody here to meet anybody tonight."
""dear, oh dear," said poor grandma.
""this is just what i expected.
they've never got cyrus's telegram.
well, i might have known it.
what shall i do?"
""how far is it to your son's?"
asked the dark man.
""only half a mile -- just over the hill there.
but i'll never get there alone this dark night."
""of course not.
but i'll go with you.
the road is good -- we'll do finely."
""but that train wo n't wait for you," gasped grandma, half in protest.
""it does n't matter.
the starmont freight passes here in half an hour and i'll go on her.
come along, grandma."
""oh, but you're good," said grandma.
""some woman is proud to have you for a son."
the man did not answer.
he had not answered any of the personal remarks grandma had made to him in her conversation.
they were not long in reaching william george sheldon's house, for the village road was good and grandma was smart on her feet.
she was welcomed with eagerness and surprise.
""to think that there was no one to meet you!"
exclaimed william george.
""but i never dreamed of your coming by train, knowing how you were set against it.
telegram?
no, i got no telegram.
s'pose cyrus forgot to send it.
i'm most heartily obliged to you, sir, for looking after my mother so kindly."
""it was a pleasure," said the dark man courteously.
he had taken off his hat, and they saw a curious scar, shaped like a large, red butterfly, high up on his forehead under his hair.
""i am delighted to have been of any assistance to her."
he would not wait for supper -- the next train would be in and he must not miss it.
""there are people looking for me," he said with his curious smile.
""they will be much disappointed if they do not find me."
he had gone, and the whistle of the starmont freight had blown before grandma remembered that he had not given her his name and address.
""dear, oh dear, how are we ever going to send that money to him?"
she exclaimed.
""and he so nice and goodhearted!"
grandma worried over this for a week in the intervals of looking after delia.
one day william george came in with a large city daily in his hands.
he looked curiously at grandma and then showed her the front-page picture of a man, clean-shaven, with an oddly shaped scar high up on his forehead.
""did you ever see that man, mother?"
he asked.
""of course i did," said grandma excitedly.
""why, it's the man i met on the train.
who is he?
what is his name?
now, we'll know where to send --" "that is mark hartwell, who shot amos gray at charlotteville three weeks ago," said william george quietly.
grandma looked at him blankly for a moment.
""it could n't be," she gasped at last.
""that man a murderer!
i'll never believe it!"
""it's true enough, mother.
the whole story is here.
he had shaved his beard and dyed his hair and came near getting clear out of the country.
they were on his trail the day he came down in the train with you and lost it because of his getting off to bring you here.
his disguise was so perfect that there was little fear of his being recognized so long as he hid that scar.
but it was seen in montreal and he was run to earth there.
he has made a full confession."
""i do n't care," cried grandma valiantly.
""i'll never believe he was all bad -- a man who would do what he did for a poor old woman like me, when he was flying for his life too.
no, no, there was good in him even if he did kill that man.
and i'm sure he must feel terrible over it."
in this view grandma persisted.
she never would say or listen to a word against mark hartwell, and she had only pity for him whom everyone else condemned.
with her own trembling hands she wrote him a letter to accompany the money samuel sent before hartwell was taken to the penitentiary for life.
she thanked him again for his kindness to her and assured him that she knew he was sorry for what he had done and that she would pray for him every night of her life.
mark hartwell had been hard and defiant enough, but the prison officials told that he cried like a child over grandma sheldon's little letter.
""there's nobody all bad," says grandma when she relates the story.
""i used to believe a murderer must be, but i know better now.
i think of that poor man often and often.
he was so kind and gentle to me -- he must have been a good boy once.
i write him a letter every christmas and i send him tracts and papers.
he's my own little charity.
but i've never been on the cars since and i never will be again.
you never can tell what will happen to you or what sort of people you'll meet if you trust yourself on a train."
the romance of jedediah jedediah was not a name that savoured of romance.
his last name was crane, which is little better.
and it would be no use to call this story "mattie adams's romance" because mattie adams is not a romantic name either.
but names have really nothing to do with romance.
the most exciting and tragic affair i ever knew was between a man named silas putdammer and a woman named kezia cullen -- which has nothing to do with the present story.
jedediah, to all outward seeming, did not appear to be any more romantic than his name.
he looked distinctly commonplace as he rode comfortably along the winding country road that was dreaming in the haze and sunshine of a midsummer afternoon.
he was perched on the seat of a bright red pedlar's wagon, above and behind a dusty, ambling, red pony of that peculiar gait and appearance pertaining to the ponies of country pedlars -- a certain placid, unhasting leanness, as of a nag that has encountered troubles of his own and has lived them down by sheer patience and staying power.
from the bright red wagon proceeded a certain metallic rumbling and clinking as it bowled along, and two or three nests of tin pans on its flat rope-encircled top flashed back the light so dazzlingly that jedediah seemed the beaming sun of a little planetary system all his own.
a new broom sticking up aggressively at each of the four corners gave the wagon a resemblance to a triumphal chariot.
jedediah himself had not been in the tin-peddling business long enough to acquire the apologetic, out-at-elbows appearance which distinguishes a tin pedlar from other kinds of pedlars.
in fact, this was his maiden venture in this line; hence he still looked plump and self-respecting.
he had a round red face under his plug hat, twinkling blue eyes, and a little pursed-up mouth, the shape of which was partly due to nature and partly to much whistling.
jedediah's pudgy body was clothed in a suit of large, light checks, and he wore a bright pink necktie and an amethyst pin.
will i still be believed when i assert that, in spite of all this, jedediah was full of, and bubbling over with, romance?
romance cares not for appearances and apparently delights in contradictions.
the homely shambling man you pass unnoticed on the street may have, tucked away in his past, a story more exciting and thrilling than anything you have ever read in fiction.
so it was, in a measure, with jedediah; poor, unknown to fame, afflicted with a double chin and bald spot, reduced to driving a tin-wagon for a living, he yet had his romance and he was still romantic.
as jedediah rode through amberley he looked about him with interest.
he knew it well, although it was fifteen years since he had seen it.
he had been born and brought up in amberley; he had left it at the age of twenty-five to make his fortune.
but amberley was amberley still.
jedediah found it hard to believe that it or himself was fifteen years older.
""there's the stanton place," he said.
""charlie has painted the house yellow -- it used to be white; and bob hollman has cut the trees down behind the blacksmith forge.
bob never had any poetry in his soul -- no romance, as you might say.
he was what you might call a plodder -- you might call him that.
get up, my nag, get up.
there's the old harkness place -- seems to be spruced up considerable.
folks used to say if ye wanted to see how the world looked the morning after the flood just go into george harkness's barn-yard on a rainy day.
the pond and the old hills ai n't changed any.
get up, my nag, get up.
there's the adams homestead.
do i really behold it again?"
jedediah thought the moment deliciously romantic.
he revelled in it and, to match his exhilarated mood, he touched the pony with his whip and went clinking and glittering down the hill under the poplars at a dashing rate.
he had not intended to offer his wares in amberley that day.
he meant to break the ice in occidental, the village beyond.
but he could not pass the adams place.
when he came to the open gate he turned in under the willows and drove down the wide, shady lane, girt on both sides with a trim white paling smothered in lavish sweetbriar bushes that were gay with bloom.
jedediah's heart was beating furiously under his checks.
""what a fool you are, jed crane," he told himself.
""you used to be a young fool, and now you're an old one.
sad, that!
get up, my nag, get up.
it's a poor lookout for a man of your years, jed.
do n't get excited.
it ai n't the least likely that mattie adams is here yet.
she's married and gone years ago, no doubt.
it's probable there's no adamses here at all now.
but it's romantic, yes, it's romantic.
it's splendid.
get up, my nag, get up."
the adams place itself was not unromantic.
the house was a large, old-fashioned white one, with green shutters and a front porch with grecian columns.
these were thought very elegant in amberley.
mrs. carmody said they gave a house such a classical air.
in this instance the classical effect was somewhat smothered in honeysuckle, which rioted over the whole porch and hung in pale yellow, fragrant festoons over the rows of potted scarlet geraniums that flanked the green steps.
beyond the house a low-boughed orchard covered the slope between it and the main road, and behind it there was a revel of colour betokening a flower garden.
jedediah climbed down from his lofty seat and walked dubiously to a side door that looked more friendly, despite its prim screen, than the classical front porch.
as he drew near he saw a woman sitting behind the screen -- a woman who rose as he approached and opened the door.
jedediah's heart had been beating a wild tattoo as he crossed the yard.
it now stopped altogether -- at least he declared in later years it did.
the woman was mattie adams -- mattie adams fifteen years older than when he had seen her last, plumper, rosier, somewhat broader-faced, but still unmistakably mattie adams.
jedediah felt that the situation was delicious.
""mattie," he said, holding out his hand.
""why, jed, how are you?"
said mattie, as if they had parted the week before.
it had always taken a great deal to disturb mattie.
whatever happened she was calm.
even an old lover, and the only one she had ever possessed at that, dropping, so to speak, from the skies, after fifteen years" disappearance, did not ruffle her placidity.
""i did n't suppose you'd know me, mattie," said jedediah, still holding her hand foolishly.
""i knew you the minute i set eyes on you," returned mattie.
""you're some fatter and older -- like myself -- but you're jed still.
where have you been all these years?"
""pretty near everywhere, mattie -- pretty near everywhere.
and ye see what it's come to -- here i be driving a tin-wagon for boone brothers.
business is business -- do n't you want to buy some new tinware?"
to himself, jed thought it was romantic, asking a woman whom he had loved all his life to buy tins on the occasion of their first meeting after fifteen years" separation.
""i do n't know but i do want a quart measure," said mattie, in her sweet, unchanged voice, "but all in good time.
you must stay and have tea with me, jed.
i'm all alone now -- mother and father have gone.
unhitch your horse and put him in the third stall in the stable."
jed hesitated.
""i ought to be getting on, i s "pose," he said wistfully.
""i hai n't done much today --" "you must stay to tea," interrupted mattie.
""why, jed, there's ever so much to tell and ask.
and we ca n't stand here in the yard and talk.
look at selena.
there she is, watching us from the kitchen window.
she'll watch as long as we stand here."
jed swung himself around.
over the little valley below the adams homestead was a steep, treeless hill, and on its crest was perched a bare farmhouse with windows stuck lavishly all over it.
at one of them a long, pale face was visible.
""has selena been pasted up at that window ever since the last time we stood here and talked, mattie?"
asked jed, half resentfully, half amusedly.
it was characteristic of mattie to laugh first at the question, and then blush over the memory it revived.
""most of the time, i guess," she said shortly.
""but come -- come in.
i never could talk under selena's eyes, even if they were four hundred yards away."
jed went in and stayed to tea.
the old adams pantry had not failed, nor apparently the adams skill in cooking.
after tea jed hung around till sunset and drove away with a warm invitation from mattie to call every time his rounds took him through amberley.
as he went, selena's face appeared at the window of the house over the valley.
when he had gone mattie went around to the classical porch and sat herself down under the honeysuckle festoons that dangled above her smooth braids of fawn-coloured hair.
she knew selena would be down posthaste presently, agog with curiosity to find out who the pedlar was whom mattie had delighted to honour with an invitation to tea.
mattie preferred to meet selena out of doors.
it was easier to thrust and parry there.
meanwhile, she wanted to think over things.
fifteen years before jedediah crane had been mattie adams's beau.
jedediah was romantic even then, but, as he was a slim young fellow at the time, with an abundance of fair, curly hair and innocent blue eyes, his romance was rather an attraction than not.
at least the then young and pretty mattie had found it so.
the adamses looked with no favour on the match.
they were a thrifty, well-to-do folk.
as for the cranes -- well, they were lazy and shiftless, for the most part.
it would be a mésalliance for an adams to marry a crane.
still, it would doubtless have happened -- for mattie, though a meek-looking damsel, had a mind of her own -- had it not been for selena ford, mattie's older sister.
selena, people said, had married james ford for no other reason than that his house commanded a view of nearly every dooryard in amberley.
this may or may not have been sheer malice.
certainly nothing that went on in the adams yard escaped selena.
she watched mattie and jed in the moonlight one night.
she saw jed kiss mattie.
it was the first time he had ever done so -- and the last, poor fellow.
for selena swooped down on her parents the next day.
such a storm did she brew up that mattie was forbidden to speak to jed again.
selena herself gave jed a piece of her mind.
jed usually was not afflicted with undue sensitiveness.
but he had some slumbering pride at the basis of his character and it was very stubborn when roused.
selena roused it.
jed vowed he would never creep and crawl at the feet of the adamses, and he went west forthwith, determined, as aforesaid, to make his fortune and hurl selena's scorn back in her face.
and now he had come home, driving a tin-wagon.
mattie smiled to think of it.
she bore jed no ill will for his failure.
she felt sorry for him and inclined to think that fate had used him hardly -- fate and selena together.
mattie had never had another beau.
people thought she was engaged to jed crane until her time for beaus went by.
mattie did not mind; she had never liked anybody so well as jed.
to be sure, she had not thought of him for years.
it was strange he should come back like this -- "romantic," as he said himself.
mattie's reverie was interrupted by selena.
angular, pale-eyed mrs. ford was as unlike the plump, rosy mattie as a sister could be.
perhaps her chronic curiosity, which would not let her rest, was accountable for her excessive leanness.
""who was that pedlar that was here this afternoon, mattie?"
she demanded as soon as she arrived.
mattie smiled.
""jed crane," she said.
""he's home from the west and driving a tin-wagon for the boones."
selena gave a little gasp.
she sat down on the lowest step and untied her bonnet strings.
""mattie adams!
and you kept him hanging about the whole afternoon."
""why not?"
said mattie wickedly.
she liked to alarm selena.
""jed and i were always beaus, you know."
""mattie adams!
you do n't mean to say you're going to make a fool of yourself over jed crane again?
a woman of your age!"
""do n't get excited, selena," implored mattie.
in the old days selena could cow her, but that time was past.
""i never saw the like of you for getting stirred up over nothing."
""i'm not excited.
i'm perfectly calm.
but i might well be excited over your folly, mattie adams.
the idea of your taking up again with old jed crane!"
""he's fifteen years younger than jim," said mattie, giving thrust for thrust.
when selena had come over mattie had not the slightest idea of resuming her former relationship with the romantic jedediah.
she had merely shown him kindness for old friendship's sake.
but so well did the unconscious selena work in jed's behalf that when she flounced off home in a pet mattie was resolved that she would take jed back if he wanted to come.
she was n't going to put up with selena's everlasting interference.
she would show her that she was independent.
when a week had passed jed came again.
he sold mattie a stew-pan and he would not go in to tea this time, but they stood and talked in the yard for the best part of an hour, while selena glared at them from her kitchen window.
their conversation was most innocent and harmless, being mainly gossip about what had come and gone during jed's exile.
but mattie knew that selena thought that she and jed were making love to each other in this shameless, public fashion.
when jed went, mattie, more for selena's benefit than his, broke off some sprays of honeysuckle and pinned them on his coat.
the fragrance went with jedediah as he drove through amberley, and pleasant thoughts were born of it.
""it's romantic," he told the pony.
""blessed if it ai n't romantic!
not that mattie cares anything about me now.
i know she do n't.
but it's just her kind way.
she wants to cheer me up and let me know i've a friend still.
get up, my nag, get up.
i ai n't one to persoom on her kindness neither; i know my place.
but still, say what you will, it's romantic -- this sitooation.
this is it.
here i be, loving the ground she walks on, as i've always done, and i ca n't let on that i do because i'm a poor ne'er - do-well as ai n't fit to look at her, an independent woman with property.
and she's a-showing kindness to me for old times" sake, and piercing my heart all the time, not knowing.
why, it's romance with a vengeance, that's what it is.
get up, my nag, get up."
thereafter jed called at the adams place every week.
generally he stayed to tea.
mattie always bought something of him to colour an excuse.
her kitchen fairly glittered with new tinware.
she gave selena the overflow by way of heaping coals of fire.
after every visit jedediah held stern counsel with himself and decided that he must not call to see mattie again -- at least, not for a long time; then he must not stay to tea.
he would struggle with himself all the way down the poplar hill -- not without a comforting sense of the romance of the struggle -- but it always ended the same way.
he turned in under the willows and clinked musically into mattie's yard.
at least, the rattle of the tin-wagon sounded musically to mattie.
meanwhile, selena watched from her window and raged.
amberley people shrugged their shoulders when gossip noised the matter abroad.
but, being good-humoured in the main, they forebore to do more than say that mattie adams was free to make a goose of herself if it pleased her, and that jed crane was n't such a fool as he looked.
the adams farm was one of the best in amberley, and it had not grown any poorer under mattie's management.
""if jed walks in there and hangs up his hat he'll have done well for himself after all."
this was selena's view of it also, barring the good nature.
she was furious at the whole affair, and she did her best to make mattie's life a burden to her with slurs and thrusts.
but they all misjudged jed.
he had no intention of "walking in and hanging up his hat" -- or trying to.
romantic as he was, it never occurred to him that mattie might be as romantic as himself.
she did not care for him, and anyhow he, jed, had a little too much pride to ask her, a rich woman, to marry him, a poor man who had lost all caste he ever possessed by taking up tin-peddling.
jed was determined not to "persoom."
and, oh, how deliciously romantic it all was!
he hugged himself with sorrowful delight over it.
as the summer waned and the long yellow leaves began to fall thickly from the willows in the adams lane jed began to talk of going out west again.
tin-peddling was not possible in winter, and he did n't think he would try it another summer.
mattie listened with dismay in her heart.
all summer she had made much of jed, by way of tormenting selena.
but now she realized what he really meant to her.
the old love had wakened to life in her heart; she could not let jed go out of her life again, leaving her to the old loneliness.
if jed went away everything would be flat, stale, and unprofitable.
she knew him to be at heart the kindest, most gentle of human beings, and the mere fact of his having been unsuccessful, even what some of his old neighbours might call stupid, did not change her feelings toward him in the least.
he was jed -- that was sufficient for her, and she had business capability enough for both, when it came to that.
mattie began to drop hints.
but jed would not take them.
true, once or twice he thought that perhaps mattie did care a little for him yet.
but it would not do for him to take advantage of that.
""no, i just could n't do that," he told the pony.
""i worship the ground that woman treads on, but it ai n't for the likes of me to tell her so, not now.
get up, my nag, get up.
this has been a mighty pleasant summer with that visit to look forward to every week.
but it's about over now and you must tramp, jed."
jed sighed.
he remembered that it was more romantic than ever, but all at once this failed to comfort him.
romance up to a certain point was food; beyond that it palled, so to speak.
jed's romance failed him just when he needed it most.
mattie, meanwhile, was forced to the dismal conclusion that her hints were thrown away.
jed was plainly determined not to speak.
mattie felt half angry with him.
she did not choose to make a martyr of herself to romance, and surely the man did n't expect her to ask him to marry her.
""i'm sure and certain he's as fond of me as ever he was," she mused.
""i suppose he's got some ridiculous notion about being too poor to aspire to me.
jed always had more pride than a crane could carry.
well, i've done all i can -- all i'm going to do.
if jed's determined to go, he must go, i s "pose."
mattie would not let herself cry, although she felt like it.
she went out and picked apples instead.
mattie might have remained so and jedediah's romance might never have reached a better ending, if it had not been for selena, who came over just then to help mattie pick the golden russets.
fate had evidently destined her as jed's best helper.
all summer she had been fairly goading mattie into love with jedediah and now she was moved to add the last spur.
""jed crane's going away, i hear," she said maliciously.
""seems to me you're bound to be jilted again, mattie."
mattie had no answer ready.
selena went on undauntedly.
""you've made a nice fool of yourself all summer, i vow.
throwing yourself at jed's head -- and he does n't want you, even with all your property."
""he does want me," said mattie calmly.
her lips were very firm and her cheeks scarlet.
""he is not going away.
we are to be married about christmas, and jed will take charge of the farm for me."
""matilda adams!"
said selena.
it was all she was capable of saying.
the rest of the golden russets were picked in a dead silence, mattie working with an unusually high colour in her cheeks, while selena's thin lips were pressed so closely together as to be little else than a hair line.
after selena had gone home, sulking, mattie picked on with a very determined face.
the die was cast; she could not bear selena's slurs and she would not.
and she had not told a lie either.
her words were true; she would make them true.
all the adams determination -- and that was not a little -- was roused in her.
""if jed jilts me, he'll do it to my face, clean and clever," she said viciously.
when jed came again he was very solemn.
he thought it would be his last visit, but mattie felt differently.
she had dressed herself with unusual care and crimped her hair.
her cheeks were scarlet and her eyes bright.
jed thought she looked younger and prettier than ever.
the thought that this was the last time he would see her for many a long day to come grew more and more unbearable, yet he firmly determined he would let no presuming word pass his lips.
mattie had been so kind to him.
it was only honourable of him in return not to let her throw herself away on a poor failure like himself.
""i suppose this is your last round with the wagon," she said.
she had taken him out into the garden to say it.
the garden was out of view from the ford place.
propose she must, but she drew the line at proposing under selena's eyes.
jed nodded dully.
""yes, and then i must toddle off and look for something else to do.
you see, i have n't much of a gift so to speak for business, mattie, and it takes me so long to get worked into an understanding of a business or trade that i'm generally asked to quit before you might say i've really commenced.
it's been a mighty happy summer for me, though i ca n't say i've done much in the selling line except to you, mattie.
what with your kindness and these little visits you've been good enough to let me make every week, i feel i may say it's been the happiest summer of my life, and i'm never going to forget it, but as i said, it's time for me to be moving on elsewhere and finding something else to do."
""there is something for you to do right here -- if you will do it," said mattie faintly.
for a moment she felt as if she could not go on; jed and the garden and the scarf of late asters whirled around her dizzily.
she held by the sweet-pea trellis to steady herself.
""i -- i said a terrible thing to selena the other day.
i -- i do n't know what i'll do about it if -- if -- you do n't help me out, jed."
""i'll do anything i can," said jed, with hearty sympathy.
""you know that, mattie.
what is the trouble?"
his kindly voice and the good will and affection beaming in his honest blue eyes gave mattie renewed courage to go on with her self-imposed and most embarrassing task, although before she ended her voice shook and dwindled away to such a low whisper that jed had to bend his head close to hers to hear what she was saying.
""i -- i said -- she goaded me into saying it, jed -- slighting and slurring -- jeering at me because you were going away.
i just got mad, jed -- and i told her you were n't going -- that you and i -- that we were to be -- married."
""mattie, did you mean that?"
he cried.
""if you did, i'm the happiest man alive.
i did n't dare persoom -- i did n't s "pose you thought anything of me.
but if you do -- and if you want me -- here's all there is of me, heart and soul and body, forever and ever, as i've been all my life."
thinking over this speech afterwards jed was dissatisfied with it.
he thought he might have made it much more eloquent and romantic than it was.
but it served the purpose very well.
it was convincing -- it came straight from his honest, stupid heart, and mattie knew it.
she held out her hands and jed gathered her into his arms.
it was certainly a most fortunate circumstance that the garden was well out of the range of selena's vision, or the sight of her sister and the remaining member of the despised crane family repeating their foolish performance, which many years previous had resulted in jed's long banishment, might have caused her to commit almost any unheard-of act of spite as an outlet for her jealous anger.
but only the few remaining garden flowers were witness to the lovers" indiscretion, and they kept their own counsel after the manner of flowers, so selena's feelings were mercifully spared this further outrage.
that evening jed drove slowly away through the twilight, mounted for the last time on the tin-wagon.
he was so happy that he bore no grudge against even selena ford.
as the pony climbed the poplar hill jed drew a long breath and freed his mind to the surrounding landscape and to his faithful and slow-plodding steed that had been one of the main factors in this love affair, having patiently carried him to and from the abode of his lady-love throughout the summer just passed.
jedediah was as brimful of happiness as mortal man could be, and his rosy thoughts flowed forth in a kind of triumphant chant which would have driven selena stark distracted had she been within hearing distance.
what he said too was but a poor expression of what he thought, but to the trees and fields and pony he chanted, "well, this is romance.
what else would you call it now?
me, poor, scared to speak -- and mattie ups and does it for me, bless her.
yes, i've been longing for romance all my life, and i've got it at last.
none of your commonplace courtships for me, i always said.
them was my very words.
and i guess this has been a little uncommon -- i guess it has.
anyhow, i'm uncommon happy.
i never felt so romantic before.
get up, my nag, get up."
the tryst of the white lady "i wisht ye'd git married, roger," said catherine ames.
""i'm gitting too old to work -- seventy last april -- and who's going to look after ye when i'm gone.
git married, b "y -- git married."
roger temple winced.
his aunt's harsh, disagreeable voice always jarred horribly on his sensitive nerves.
he was fond of her after a fashion, but always that voice made him wonder if there could be anything harder to endure.
then he gave a bitter little laugh.
""who'd have me, aunt catherine?"
he asked.
catherine ames looked at him critically across the supper table.
she loved him in her way, with all her heart, but she was not in the least blind to his defects.
she did not mince matters with herself or with other people.
roger was a sallow, plain-featured fellow, small and insignificant looking.
and, as if this were not bad enough, he walked with a slight limp and had one thin shoulder a little higher than the other -- "jarback" temple he had been called in school, and the name still clung to him.
to be sure, he had very fine grey eyes, but their dreamy brilliance gave his dull face an uncanny look which girls did not like, and so made matters rather worse than better.
of course looks did n't matter so much in the case of a man; steve millar was homely enough, and all marked up with smallpox to boot, yet he had got for wife the prettiest and smartest girl in south bay.
but steve was rich.
roger was poor and always would be.
he worked his stony little farm, from which his father and grandfather had wrested a fair living, after a fashion, but nature had not cut him out for a successful farmer.
he had n't the strength for it and his heart was n't in it.
he'd rather be hanging over a book.
catherine secretly thought roger's matrimonial chances very poor, but it would not do to discourage the b "y.
what he needed was spurring on.
""ye'll git someone if ye do n't fly too high," she announced loudly and cheerfully.
""thar's always a gal or two here and thar that's glad to marry for a home.
"tai n't no use for you to be settin" your thoughts on anyone young and pretty.
ye would n't git her and ye'd be worse off if ye did.
your grandfather married for looks, and a nice useless wife he got -- sick half her time.
git a good strong girl that ai n't afraid of work, that'll hold things together when ye're reading po "try -- that's as much as you kin expect.
and the sooner the better.
i'm done -- last winter's rheumatiz has about finished me.
an" we ca n't afford hired help."
roger felt as if his raw, quivering soul were being seared.
he looked at his aunt curiously -- at her broad, flat face with the mole on the end of her dumpy nose, the bristling hairs on her chin, the wrinkled yellow neck, the pale, protruding eyes, the coarse, good-humoured mouth.
she was so extremely ugly -- and he had seen her across the table all his life.
for twenty-five years he had looked at her so.
must he continue to go on looking at ugliness in the shape of a wife all the rest of his life -- he, who worshipped beauty in everything?
""did my mother look like you, aunt catherine?"
he asked abruptly.
his aunt stared -- and snorted.
her snort was meant to express kindly amusement, but it sounded like derision and contempt.
""yer ma was n't so humly as me," she said cheerfully, "but she wa n't no beauty either.
none of the temples was ever better lookin" than was necessary.
we was workers.
yer pa wa'n' t bad looking.
you're humlier than either of'em.
some ways ye take after yer grandma -- though she was counted pretty at one time.
she was yaller and spindlin" like you, and you've got her eyes.
what yer so int "rested in yer ma's looks all at once fer?"
""i was wondering," said roger coolly, "if father ever looked at her across the table and wished she were prettier."
catherine giggled.
her giggle was ugly and disagreeable like everything else about her -- everything except a certain odd, loving, loyal old heart buried deep in her bosom, for the sake of which roger endured the giggle and all the rest.
""dessay he did -- dessay he did.
men al "ays has a hankerin" for good looks.
but ye've got to cut yer coat "cording to yer cloth.
as for yer poor ma, she did n't live long enough to git as ugly as me.
when i come here to keep house for yer pa, folks said as it would n't be long "fore he married me.
i would n't a-minded.
but yer pa never hinted it.
s'pose he'd had enough of ugly women likely."
catherine snorted amiably again.
roger got up -- he could n't endure any more just then.
he must escape.
""now you think over what i've said," his aunt called after him.
""ye've gotter git a wife soon, however ye manage it.
"two n't be so hard if ye're reasonable.
do n't stay out as late as ye did last night.
ye coughed all night.
where was ye -- down at the shore?"
""no," said roger, who always answered her questions even when he hated to.
""i was down at aunt isabel's grave."
""till eleven o'clock!
ye ai n't wise!
i dunno what hankering ye have after that unchancy place.
i ai n't been near it for twenty year.
i wonder ye ai n't scairt.
what'd ye think ye'd do if ye saw her ghost?"
catherine looked curiously at roger.
she was very superstitious and she believed firmly in ghosts, and saw no absurdity in her question.
""i wish i could see it," said roger, his great eyes flashing.
he believed in ghosts too, at least in isabel temple's ghost.
his uncle had seen it; his grandfather had seen it; he believed he would see it -- the beautiful, bewitching, mocking, luring ghost of lovely isabel temple.
""do n't wish such stuff," said catherine.
""nobody ai n't never the same after they've seen her."
""was uncle different?"
roger had come back into the kitchen and was looking curiously at his aunt.
""diff "rent?
he was another man.
he did n't even look the same.
sich eyes!
al "ays looking past ye at something behind ye.
they'd give anyone creeps.
he never had any notion of flesh-and-blood women after that -- said a man would n't, after seeing isabel.
his life was plumb ruined.
lucky he died young.
i hated to be in the same room with him -- he wa'n' t canny, that was all there was to it.
you keep away from that grave -- you do n't want to look odder than ye are by nature.
and when ye git married, ye'll have to give up roamin" about half the night in graveyards.
a wife would n't put up with it, as i've done."
""i'll never get as good a wife as you, aunt catherine," said roger with a little whimsical smile that gave him the look of an amused gnome.
""dessay you wo n't.
but someone ye have to have.
why'n' t ye try "liza adams.
she might have ye -- she's gittin" on.""
"liza... adams!"
""that's what i said.
ye need n't repeat it -- "liza... adams --'s if i'd mentioned a hippopotamus.
i git out of patience with ye.
i b "lieve in my heart ye think ye ought to git a wife that'd look like a picter."
""i do, aunt catherine.
that's just the kind of wife i want -- grace and beauty and charm.
nothing less than that will ever content me."
* * * * * roger laughed bitterly again and went out.
it was sunset.
there was no work to do that night except to milk the cows, and his little home boy could do that.
he felt a glad freedom.
he put his hand in his pocket to see if his beloved wordsworth was there and then he took his way across the fields, under a sky of purple and amber, walking quickly despite his limp.
he wanted to get to some solitary place where he could forget aunt catherine and her abominable suggestions and escape into the world of dreams where he habitually lived and where he found the loveliness he had not found nor could hope to find in his real world.
roger's mother had died when he was three and his father when he was eight.
his little, old, bedridden grandmother had lived until he was twelve.
he had loved her passionately.
she had not been pretty in his remembrance -- a tiny, shrunken, wrinkled thing -- but she had beautiful grey eyes that never grew old and a soft, gentle voice -- the only woman's voice he had ever heard with pleasure.
he was very critical as regards women's voices and very sensitive to them.
nothing hurt him quite so much as an unlovely voice -- not even unloveliness of face.
her death had left him desolate.
she was the only human being who had ever understood him.
he could never, he thought, have got through his tortured school days without her.
after she died he would not go to school.
he was not in any sense educated.
his father and grandfather had been illiterate men and he had inherited their underdeveloped brain cells.
but he loved poetry and read all he could get of it.
it overlaid his primitive nature with a curious iridescence of fancy and furnished him with ideals and hungers his environment could never satisfy.
he loved beauty in everything.
moonrises hurt him with their loveliness and he could sit for hours gazing at a white narcissus -- much to his aunt's exasperation.
he was solitary by nature.
he felt horribly alone in a crowded building but never in the woods or in the wild places along the shore.
it was because of this that his aunt could not get him to go to church -- which was a horror to her orthodox soul.
he told her he would like to go to church if it were empty but he could not bear it when it was full -- full of smug, ugly people.
most people, he thought, were ugly -- though not so ugly as he was -- and ugliness made him sick with repulsion.
now and then he saw a pretty girl at whom he liked to look but he never saw one that wholly pleased him.
to him, the homely, crippled, poverty-stricken roger temple whom they all would have scorned, there was always a certain subtle something wanting, and the lack of it kept him heartwhole.
he knew that this probably saved him from much suffering, but for all that he regretted it.
he wanted to love, even vainly; he wanted to experience this passion of which the poets sang so much.
without it he felt he lacked the key to a world of wonder.
he even tried to fall in love; he went to church for several sundays and sat where he could see beautiful elsa carey.
she was lovely -- it gave him pleasure to look at her; the gold of her hair was so bright and living; the pink of her cheek so pure, the curve of her neck so flawless, the lashes of her eyes so dark and silken.
but he looked at her as at a picture.
when he tried to think and dream of her, it bored him.
besides, he knew she had a rather nasal voice.
he used to laugh sarcastically to himself over elsa's feelings if she had known how desperately he was trying to fall in love with her and failing -- elsa the queen of hearts, who believed she had only to look to reign.
he gave up trying at last, but he still longed to love.
he knew he would never marry; he could not marry plainness, and beauty would have longed to love.
he knew he would never marry; he could not marry plainness, and beauty would have none of him; but he did not want to miss everything and he had moments when he was very bitter and rebellious because he felt he must miss it forever.
he went straight to isabel temple's grave in the remote shore field of his farm.
isabel temple had lived and died eighty years ago.
she had been very lovely, very wilful, very fond of playing with the hearts of men.
she had married william temple, the brother of his great-grandfather, and as she stood in her white dress beside her bridegroom, at the conclusion of the wedding ceremony, a jilted lover, crazed by despair, had entered the house and shot her dead.
she had been buried in the shore field, where a square space had been dyked off in the centre for a burial lot because the church was then so far away.
with the passage of years the lot had grown up so thickly with fir and birch and wild cherry that it looked like a compact grove.
a winding path led through it to its heart where isabel temple's grave was, thickly overgrown with long, silken, pale green grass.
roger hurried along the path and sat down on the big grey boulder by the grave, looking about him with a long breath of delight.
how lovely -- and witching -- and unearthly it was here.
little ferns were growing in the hollows and cracks of the big boulder where clay had lodged.
over isabel temple's crooked, lichened gravestone hung a young wild cherry in its delicate bloom.
above it, in a little space of sky left by the slender tree tops, was a young moon.
it was too dark here after all to read wordsworth, but that did not matter.
the place, with its moist air, its tang of fir balsam, was like a perfumed room where a man might dream dreams and see visions.
there was a soft murmur of wind in the boughs over him, and the faraway moan of the sea on the bar crept in.
roger surrendered himself utterly to the charm of the place.
when he entered that grove, he had left behind the realm of daylight and things known and come into the realm of shadow and mystery and enchantment.
anything might happen -- anything might be true.
eighty long years had come and gone, but isabel temple, thus cruelly torn from life at the moment when it had promised her most, did not even yet rest calmly in her grave; such at least was the story, and roger believed it.
it was in his blood to believe it.
the temples were a superstitious family, and there was nothing in roger's upbringing to correct the tendency.
his was not a sceptical or scientific mind.
he was ignorant and poetical and credulous.
he had always accepted unquestioningly the tale that isabel temple had been seen on earth long after the red clay was heaped over her murdered body.
her bridegroom had seen her, when he went to visit her on the eve of his second and unhappy marriage; his grandfather had seen her.
his grandmother, who had told him isabel's story, had told him this too, and believed it.
she had added, with a bitterness foreign to his idea of her, that her husband had never been the same to her afterwards; his uncle had seen her -- and had lived and died a haunted man.
it was only to men the lovely, restless ghost appeared, and her appearance boded no good to him who saw.
roger knew this, but he had a curious longing to see her.
he had never avoided her grave as others of his tribe did.
he loved the spot, and he believed that some time he would see isabel temple there.
she came, so the story went, to one in each generation of the family.
he gazed down at her sunken grave; a little wind, that came stealing along the floor of the grove, raised and swayed the long, hair-like grass on it, giving the curious suggestion of something prisoned under it trying to draw a long breath and float upward.
then, when he lifted his eyes again, he saw her!
she was standing behind the gravestone, under the cherry tree, whose long white branches touched her head; standing there, with her head drooping a little, but looking steadily at him.
it was just between dusk and dark now, but he saw her very plainly.
she was dressed in white, with some filmy scarf over her head, and her hair hung in a dark heavy braid over her shoulder.
her face was small and ivory-white, and her eyes were very large and dark.
roger looked straight into them and they did something to him -- drew something out of him that was never to be his again -- his heart?
his soul?
he did not know.
he only knew that lovely isabel temple had now come to him and that he was hers forever.
for a few moments that seemed years he looked at her -- looked till the lure of her eyes drew him to his feet as a man rises in sleep-walking.
as he slowly stood up, the low-hanging bough of a fir tree pushed his cap down over his face and blinded him.
when he snatched it off, she was gone.
* * * * * roger temple did not go home that night till the spring dawn was in the sky.
catherine was sleepless with anxiety about him.
when she heard him come up the stairs, she opened her door and peeped out.
roger went along the hall without seeing her.
his brilliant eyes stared straight before him, and there was something in his face that made catherine steal back to her bed with a little shiver of fear.
he looked like his uncle.
she did not ask him, when they met at breakfast, where or how he had spent the night.
he had been dreading the question and was relieved beyond measure when it was not asked.
but, apart from that, he was hardly conscious of her presence.
he ate and drank mechanically and voicelessly.
when he had gone out, catherine wagged her uncomely grey head ominously.
""he's bewitched," she muttered.
""i know the signs.
he's seen her -- drat her!
it's time she gave up that kind of work.
well, i dunno what to do -- thar ai n't anything i can do, i reckon.
he'll never marry now -- i'm as sure of that as of any mortal thing.
he's in love with a ghost."
it had not yet occurred to roger that he was in love.
he thought of nothing but isabel temple -- her lovely, lovely face, sweeter than any picture he had ever seen or any ideal he had dreamed, her long dark hair, her slim form and, more than all, her compelling eyes.
he saw them wherever he looked -- they drew him -- he would have followed them to the end of the world, heedless of all else.
he longed for night, that he might again steal to the grave in the haunted grove.
she might come again -- who knew?
he felt no fear, nothing but a terrible hunger to see her again.
but she did not come that night -- nor the next -- nor the next.
two weeks went by and he had not seen her.
perhaps he would never see her again -- the thought filled him with anguish not to be borne.
he knew now that he loved her -- isabel temple, dead for eighty years.
this was love -- this searing, torturing, intolerably sweet thing -- this possession of body and soul and spirit.
the poets had sung but weakly of it.
he could tell them better if he could find words.
could other men have loved at all -- could any man love those blowzy, common girls of earth?
it seemed impossible -- absurd.
there was only one thing that could be loved -- that white spirit.
no wonder his uncle had died.
he, roger temple, would soon die too.
that would be well.
only the dead could woo isabel.
meanwhile he revelled in his torment and his happiness -- so madly commingled that he never knew whether he was in heaven or hell.
it was beautiful -- and dreadful -- and wonderful -- and exquisite -- oh, so exquisite.
mortal love could never be so exquisite.
he had never lived before -- now he lived in every fibre of his being.
he was glad aunt catherine did not worry him with questions.
he had feared she would.
but she never asked any questions now and she was afraid of roger, as she had been afraid of his uncle.
she dared not ask questions.
it was a thing that must not be tampered with.
who knew what she might hear if she asked him questions?
she was very unhappy.
something dreadful had happened to her poor boy -- he had been bewitched by that hussy -- he would die as his uncle had died.
""mebbe it's best," she muttered.
""he's the last of the temples, so mebbe she'll rest in her grave when she's killed'em all.
i dunno what she's sich a spite at them for -- there'd be more sense if she'd haunt the mortons, seein" as a morton killed her.
well, i'm mighty old and tired and worn out.
it do n't seem that it's been much use, the way i've slaved and fussed to bring that b" y up and keep things together for him -- and now the ghost's got him.
i might as well have let him die when he was a sickly baby."
if this had been said to roger he would have retorted that it was worthwhile to have lived long enough to feel what he was feeling now.
he would not have missed it for a score of other men's lives.
he had drunk of some immortal wine and was as a god.
even if she never came again, he had seen her once, and she had taught him life's great secret in that one unforgettable exchange of eyes.
she was his -- his in spite of his ugliness and his crooked shoulder.
no man could ever take her from him.
but she did come again.
one evening, when the darkening grove was full of magic in the light of the rising yellow moon shining across the level field, roger sat on the big boulder by the grave.
the evening was very still; there was no sound save the echoes of noisy laughter that seemed to come up from the bay shore -- drunken fishermen, likely as not.
roger resented the intrusion of such a sound in such a place -- it was a sacrilege.
when he came here to dream of her, only the loveliest of muted sounds should be heard -- the faintest whisper of trees, the half-heard, half-felt moan of surf, the airiest sigh of wind.
he never read wordsworth now or any other book.
he only sat there and thought of her, his great eyes alight, his pale face flushed with the wonder of his love.
she slipped through the dark boughs like a moonbeam and stood by the stone.
again he saw her quite plainly -- saw and drank her in with his eyes.
he did not feel surprise -- something in him had known she would come again.
he would not move a muscle lest he lose her as he had lost her before.
they looked at each other -- for how long?
he did not know; and then -- a horrible thing happened.
into that place of wonder and revelation and mystery reeled a hiccoughing, laughing creature, a drunken sailor from a harbour ship, with a leering face and desecrating breath.
""oh, you're here, my dear -- i thought i'd catch you yet," he said.
he caught hold of her.
she screamed.
roger sprang forward and struck him in the face.
in his fury of sudden rage the strength of ten seemed to animate his slender body and pass into his blow.
the sailor reeled back and put up his hands.
he was a coward -- and even a brave man might have been daunted by that terrible white face and those blazing eyes.
he backed down the path.
""shorry -- shorry," he muttered.
""did n't know she was your girl -- shorry i butted in.
shentlemans never butt in -- shorry -- shir -- shorry."
he kept repeating his ridiculous "shorry" until he was out of the grove.
then he turned and ran stumblingly across the field.
roger did not follow; he went back to isabel temple's grave.
the girl was lying across it; he thought she was unconscious.
he stooped and picked her up -- she was light and small, but she was warm flesh and blood; she clung uncertainly to him for a moment and he felt her breath on his face.
he did not speak -- he was too sick at heart.
she did not speak either.
he did not think this strange until afterwards.
he was incapable of thinking just then; he was dazed, wretched, lost.
presently he became aware that she was timidly pulling his arm.
it seemed that she wanted him to go with her -- she was evidently frightened of that brute -- he must take her to safety.
and then -- she moved on down the little path and he followed.
out in the moonlit field he saw her clearly.
with her drooping head, her flowing dark hair, her great brown eyes, she looked like the nymph of a wood-brook, a haunter of shadows, a creature sprung from the wild.
but she was mortal maid, and he -- what a fool he had been!
presently he would laugh at himself, when this dazed agony should clear away from his brain.
he followed her down the long field to the bay shore.
now and then she paused and looked back to see if he were coming, but she never spoke.
when she reached the shore road she turned and went along it until they came to an old grey house fronting the calm grey harbour.
at its gate she paused.
roger knew now who she was.
catherine had told him about her a month ago.
she was lilith barr, a girl of eighteen, who had come to live with her uncle and aunt.
her father had died some months before.
she was absolutely deaf as the result of some accident in childhood, and she was, as his own eyes told him, exquisitely lovely in her white, haunting style.
but she was not isabel temple; he had tricked himself -- he had lived in a fool's paradise -- oh, he must get away and laugh at himself.
he left her at her gate, disregarding the little hand she put timidly out -- but he did not laugh at himself.
he went back to isabel temple's grave and flung himself down on it and cried like a boy.
he wept his stormy, anguished soul out on it; and when he rose and went away, he believed it was forever.
he thought he could never, never go there again.
* * * * * catherine looked at him curiously the next morning.
he looked wretched -- haggard and hollow-eyed.
she knew he had not come in till the summer dawn.
but he had lost the rapt, uncanny look she hated; suddenly she no longer felt afraid of him.
with this, she began to ask questions again.
""what kept ye out so late again last night, b "y?"
she said reproachfully.
roger looked at her in her morning ugliness.
he had not really seen her for weeks.
now she smote on his tortured senses, so long drugged with beauty, like a physical blow.
he suddenly burst into a laughter that frightened her.
""preserve's, b "y, have ye gone mad?
or," she added, "have ye seen isabel temple's ghost?"
""no," said roger loudly and explosively.
""do n't talk any more about that damned ghost.
nobody ever saw it.
the whole story is balderdash."
he got up and went violently out, leaving catherine aghast.
was it possible roger had sworn?
what on earth had come over the b "y?
but come what had or come what would, he no longer looked fey -- there was that much to be thankful for.
even an occasional oath was better than that.
catherine went stiffly about her dish-washing, resolving to have "liza adams to supper some night.
for a week roger lived in agony -- an agony of shame and humiliation and self-contempt.
then, when the edge of his bitter disappointment wore away, he made another dreadful discovery.
he still loved her and longed for her just as keenly as before.
he wanted madly to see her -- her flower-like face, her great, asking eyes, the sleek, braided flow of her hair.
ghost or woman -- spirit or flesh -- it mattered not.
he could not live without her.
at last his hunger for her drew him to the old grey house on the bay shore.
he knew he was a fool -- she would never look at him; he was only feeding the flame that must consume him.
but go he must and did, seeking for his lost paradise.
he did not see her when he went in, but mrs. barr received him kindly and talked about her in a pleasant garrulous fashion which jarred on roger, yet he listened greedily.
lilith, her aunt told him, had been made deaf by the accidental explosion of a gun when she was eight years old.
she could not hear a sound but she could talk.
""a little, that is -- not much, but enough to get along with.
but she do n't like talking somehow -- dunno why.
she's shy -- and we think maybe she do n't like to talk much because she ca n't hear her own voice.
she do n't ever speak except just when she has to.
but she's been trained to lip-reading something wonderful -- she can understand anything that's said when she can see the person that's talking.
still, it's a terrible drawback for the poor child -- she's never had any real girl-life and she's dreadful sensitive and retiring.
we ca n't get her to go out anywhere, only for lonely walks along shore by herself.
we're much obliged for what you did the other night.
it ai n't safe for her to wander about alone as she does, but it ai n't often anybody from the harbour gets up this far.
she was dreadful upset about it -- has n't got over her scare yet."
when lilith came in, her ivory-white face went scarlet all over at the sight of roger.
she sat down in a shadowy corner.
mrs. barr got up and went out.
roger was mute; he could find nothing to say.
he could have talked glibly enough to isabel temple's ghost in some unearthly tryst by her grave, but he could not find a word to say to this slip of flesh and blood.
he felt very foolish and absurd, and very conscious of his twisted shoulder.
what a fool he had been to come!
then lilith looked up at him -- and smiled.
a little shy, friendly smile.
roger suddenly saw her not as the tantalizing, unreal, mystic thing of the twilit grove, but as a little human creature, exquisitely pretty in her young-moon beauty, longing for companionship.
he got up, forgetting his ugliness, and went across the room to her.
""will you come for a walk," he said eagerly.
he held out his hand like a child; as a child she stood up and took it; like two children they went out and down the sunset shore.
roger was again incredibly happy.
it was not the same happiness as had been his in that vanished fortnight; it was a homelier happiness with its feet on the earth.
the amazing thing was that he felt she was happy too -- happy because she was walking with him, "jarback" temple, whom no girl had even thought about.
a certain secret well-spring of fancy that had seemed dry welled up in him sparklingly again.
through the summer weeks the odd courtship went on.
roger talked to her as he had never talked to anyone.
he did not find it in the least hard to talk to her, though her necessity of watching his face so closely while he talked bothered him occasionally.
he felt that her intent gaze was reading his soul as well as his lips.
she never talked much herself; what she did say she spoke so low that it was hardly above a whisper, but she had a voice as lovely as her face -- sweet, cadenced, haunting.
roger was quite mad about her, and he was horribly afraid that he could never get up enough courage to ask her to marry him.
and he was afraid that if he did, she would never consent.
in spite of her shy, eager welcomes he could not believe she could care for him -- for him.
she liked him, she was sorry for him, but it was unthinkable that she, white, exquisite lilith, could marry him and sit at his table and his hearth.
he was a fool to dream of it.
to the existence of romance and glamour in which he lived, no gossip of the countryside penetrated.
yet much gossip there was, and at last it came blundering in on roger to destroy his fairy world a second time.
he came downstairs one night in the twilight, ready to go to lilith.
his aunt and an old crony were talking in the kitchen; the crony was old, and catherine, supposing roger was out of the house, was talking loudly in that horrible voice of hers with still more horrible zest and satisfaction.
""yes, i'm guessing it'll be a match as ye say.
oh the b "y's doing well.
he ai n't for every market, as i'm bound to admit.
ef she wa n't deaf she would n't look at him, no doubt.
but she has scads of money -- they wo n't need to do a tap of work unless they like -- and she's a good housekeeper too her aunt tells me.
she's pretty enough to suit him -- he's as particular as never was -- and he wa n't crooked and she wa n't deaf when they was born, so it's likely their children will be all right.
i'm that proud when i think of the match."
roger fled out of the house, white of face and sick of heart.
he went, not to the bay shore, but to isabel temple's grave.
he had never been there since the night when he had rescued lilith, but now he rushed to it in his new agony.
his aunt's horrible practicalities had filled him with disgust -- they dragged his love in the dust of sordid things.
and lilith was rich; he had never known that -- never suspected it.
he could never ask her to marry him now; he must never see her again.
for the second time he had lost her, and this second losing could not be borne.
he sat down on the big boulder by the grave and dropped his poor grey face in his hands, moaning in anguish.
nothing was left him, not even dreams.
he hoped he could soon die.
he did not know how long he sat there -- he did not know when she came.
but when he lifted his miserable eyes, he saw her, sitting just a little way from him on the big stone and looking at him with something in her face that made his heart beat madly.
he forgot aunt catherine's sacrilege -- he forgot that he was a presumptuous fool.
he bent forward and kissed her lips for the first time.
the wonder of it loosed his bound tongue.
""lilith," he gasped, "i love you."
she put her hand into his and nestled closer to him.
""i thought you would have told me that long ago," she said.
uncle richard's new year's dinner prissy baker was in oscar miller's store new year's morning, buying matches -- for new year's was not kept as a business holiday in quincy -- when her uncle, richard baker, came in.
he did not look at prissy, nor did she wish him a happy new year; she would not have dared.
uncle richard had not been on speaking terms with her or her father, his only brother, for eight years.
he was a big, ruddy, prosperous-looking man -- an uncle to be proud of, prissy thought wistfully, if only he were like other people's uncles, or, indeed, like what he used to be himself.
he was the only uncle prissy had, and when she had been a little girl they had been great friends; but that was before the quarrel, in which prissy had had no share, to be sure, although uncle richard seemed to include her in his rancour.
richard baker, so he informed mr. miller, was on his way to navarre with a load of pork.
""i did n't intend going over until the afternoon," he said, "but joe hemming sent word yesterday he would n't be buying pork after twelve today.
so i have to tote my hogs over at once.
i do n't care about doing business new year's morning."
""should think new year's would be pretty much the same as any other day to you," said mr. miller, for richard baker was a bachelor, with only old mrs. janeway to keep house for him.
""well, i always like a good dinner on new year's," said richard baker.
""it's about the only way i can celebrate.
mrs. janeway wanted to spend the day with her son's family over at oriental, so i was laying out to cook my own dinner.
i got everything ready in the pantry last night, "fore i got word about the pork.
i wo n't get back from navarre before one o'clock, so i reckon i'll have to put up with a cold bite."
after her uncle richard had driven away, prissy walked thoughtfully home.
she had planned to spend a nice, lazy holiday with the new book her father had given her at christmas and a box of candy.
she did not even mean to cook a dinner, for her father had had to go to town that morning to meet a friend and would be gone the whole day.
there was nobody else to cook dinner for.
prissy's mother had died when prissy was a baby.
she was her father's housekeeper, and they had jolly times together.
but as she walked home, she could not help thinking about uncle richard.
he would certainly have cold new year cheer, enough to chill the whole coming year.
she felt sorry for him, picturing him returning from navarre, cold and hungry, to find a fireless house and an uncooked dinner in the pantry.
suddenly an idea popped into prissy's head.
dared she?
oh, she never could!
but he would never know -- there would be plenty of time -- she would!
prissy hurried home, put her matches away, took a regretful peep at her unopened book, then locked the door and started up the road to uncle richard's house half a mile away.
she meant to go and cook uncle richard's dinner for him, get it all beautifully ready, then slip away before he came home.
he would never suspect her of it.
prissy would not have him suspect for the world; she thought he would be more likely to throw a dinner of her cooking out of doors than to eat it.
eight years before this, when prissy had been nine years old, richard and irving baker had quarrelled over the division of a piece of property.
the fault had been mainly on richard's side, and that very fact made him all the more unrelenting and stubborn.
he had never spoken to his brother since, and he declared he never would.
prissy and her father felt very badly over it, but uncle richard did not seem to feel badly at all.
to all appearance he had completely forgotten that there were such people in the world as his brother irving and his niece prissy.
prissy had no trouble in breaking into uncle richard's house, for the woodshed door was unfastened.
she tripped into the hostile kitchen with rosy cheeks and mischief sparkling in her eyes.
this was an adventure -- this was fun!
she would tell her father all about it when he came home at night and what a laugh they would have!
there was still a good fire in the stove, and in the pantry prissy found the dinner in its raw state -- a fine roast of fresh pork, potatoes, cabbage, turnips and the ingredients of a raisin pudding, for richard baker was fond of raisin puddings, and could make them as well as mrs. janeway could, if that was anything to boast of.
in a short time the kitchen was full of bubbling and hissings and appetizing odours.
prissy enjoyed herself hugely, and the raisin pudding, which she rather doubtfully mixed up, behaved itself beautifully.
""uncle richard said he'd be home by one," said prissy to herself, as the clock struck twelve, "so i'll set the table now, dish up the dinner, and leave it where it will keep warm until he gets here.
then i'll slip away home.
i'd like to see his face when he steps in.
i suppose he'll think one of the jenner girls across the street has cooked his dinner."
prissy soon had the table set, and she was just peppering the turnips when a gruff voice behind her said: "well, well, what does this mean?"
prissy whirled around as if she had been shot, and there stood uncle richard in the woodshed door!
poor prissy!
she could not have looked or felt more guilty if uncle richard had caught her robbing his desk.
she did not drop the turnips for a wonder; but she was too confused to set them down, so she stood there holding them, her face crimson, her heart thumping, and a horrible choking in her throat.
""i -- i -- came up to cook your dinner for you, uncle richard," she stammered.
""i heard you say -- in the store -- that mrs. janeway had gone home and that you had nobody to cook your new year's dinner for you.
so i thought i'd come and do it, but i meant to slip away before you came home."
poor prissy felt that she would never get to the end of her explanation.
would uncle richard be angry?
would he order her from the house?
""it was very kind of you," said uncle richard drily.
""it's a wonder your father let you come."
""father was not home, but i am sure he would not have prevented me if he had been.
father has no hard feelings against you, uncle richard."
""humph!"
said uncle richard.
""well, since you've cooked the dinner you must stop and help me eat it.
it smells good, i must say.
mrs. janeway always burns pork when she roasts it.
sit down, prissy.
i'm hungry."
they sat down.
prissy felt quite giddy and breathless, and could hardly eat for excitement; but uncle richard had evidently brought home a good appetite from navarre, and he did full justice to his new year's dinner.
he talked to prissy too, quite kindly and politely, and when the meal was over he said slowly: "i'm much obliged to you, prissy, and i do n't mind owning to you that i'm sorry for my share in the quarrel, and have wanted for a long time to be friends with your father again, but i was too ashamed and proud to make the first advance.
you can tell him so for me, if you like.
and if he's willing to let bygones be bygones, tell him i'd like him to come up here with you tonight when he gets home and spend the evening with me."
""oh, he will come, i know!"
cried prissy joyfully.
""he has felt so badly about not being friendly with you, uncle richard.
i'm as glad as can be."
prissy ran impulsively around the table and kissed uncle richard.
he looked up at his tall, girlish niece with a smile of pleasure.
""you're a good girl, prissy, and a kind-hearted one too, or you'd never have come up here to cook a dinner for a crabbed old uncle who deserved to eat cold dinners for his stubbornness.
it made me cross today when folks wished me a happy new year.
it seemed like mockery when i had n't a soul belonging to me to make it happy.
but it has brought me happiness already, and i believe it will be a happy year all the way through."
""indeed it will!"
laughed prissy.
""i'm so happy now i could sing.
i believe it was an inspiration -- my idea of coming up here to cook your dinner for you."
""you must promise to come and cook my new year's dinner for me every new year we live near enough together," said uncle richard.
and prissy promised.
white magic one september afternoon in the year of grace 1840 avery and janet sparhallow were picking apples in their uncle daniel sparhallow's big orchard.
it was an afternoon of mellow sunshine; about them, beyond the orchard, were old harvest fields, mellowly bright and serene, and beyond the fields the sapphire curve of the st. lawrence gulf was visible through the groves of spruce and birch.
there was a soft whisper of wind in the trees, and the pale purple asters that feathered the orchard grass swayed gently towards each other.
janet sparhallow, who loved the outdoor world and its beauty, was, for the time being at least, very happy, as her little brown face, with its fine, satiny skin, plainly showed.
avery sparhallow did not seem so happy.
she worked rather abstractedly and frowned oftener than she smiled.
avery sparhallow was conceded to be a beauty, and had no rival in burnley beach.
she was very pretty, with the obvious, indisputable prettiness of rich black hair, vivid, certain colour, and laughing, brilliant eyes.
nobody ever called janet a beauty, or even thought her pretty.
she was only seventeen -- five years younger than avery -- and was rather lanky and weedy, with a rope of straight dark-brown hair, long, narrow, shining brown eyes and very black lashes, and a crooked, clever little mouth.
she had visitations of beauty when excited, because then she flushed deeply, and colour made all the difference in the world to her; but she had never happened to look in the glass when excited, so that she had never seen herself beautiful; and hardly anybody else had ever seen her so, because she was always too shy and awkward and tongue-tied in company to feel excited over anything.
yet very little could bring that transforming flush to her face: a wind off the gulf, a sudden glimpse of blue upland, a flame-red poppy, a baby's laugh, a certain footstep.
as for avery sparhallow, she never got excited over anything -- not even her wedding dress, which had come from charlottetown that day, and was incomparably beyond anything that had ever been seen in burnley beach before.
for it was made of an apple-green silk, sprayed over with tiny rosebuds, which had been specially sent for to england, where aunt matilda sparhallow had a brother in the silk trade.
avery sparhallow's wedding dress was making far more of a sensation in burnley beach than her wedding itself was making.
for randall burnley had been dangling after her for three years, and everybody knew that there was nobody for a sparhallow to marry except a burnley and nobody for a burnley to marry except a sparhallow.
""only one silk dress -- and i want a dozen," avery had said scornfully.
""what would you do with a dozen silk dresses on a farm?"
janet asked wonderingly.
""oh -- what indeed?"
agreed avery, with an impatient laugh.
""randall will think just as much of you in drugget as in silk," said janet, meaning to comfort.
again avery laughed.
""that is true.
randall never notices what a woman has on.
i like a man who does notice -- and tells me about it.
i like a man who likes me better in silk than in drugget.
i will wear this rosebud silk when i'm married, and it will be supposed to last me the rest of my life and be worn on all state occasions, and in time become an heirloom like aunt matilda's hideous blue satin.
i want a new silk dress every month."
janet paid little attention to this kind of raving.
avery had always been more or less discontented.
she would be contented enough after she was married.
nobody could be discontented who was randall burnley's wife.
janet was sure of that.
janet liked picking apples; avery did not like it; but aunt matilda had decreed that the red apples should be picked that afternoon, and aunt matilda's word was law at the sparhallow farm, even for wilful avery.
so they worked and talked as they worked -- of avery's wedding, which was to be as soon as bruce gordon should arrive from scotland.
""i wonder what bruce will be like," said avery.
""it is eight years since he went home to scotland.
he was sixteen then -- he will be twenty-four now.
he went away a boy -- he will come back a man."
""i do n't remember much about him," said janet.
""i was only nine when he went away.
he used to tease me -- i do remember that."
there was a little resentment in her voice.
janet had never liked being teased.
avery laughed.
""you were so touchy, janet.
touchy people always get teased.
bruce was very handsome -- and as nice as he was handsome.
those two years he was here were the nicest, gayest time i ever had.
i wish he had stayed in canada.
but of course he would n't do that.
his father was a rich man and bruce was ambitious.
oh, janet, i wish i could live in the old land.
that would be life."
janet had heard all this before and could not understand it.
she had no hankering for either scotland or england.
she loved the new land and its wild, virgin beauty.
she yearned to the future, never to the past.
""i'm tired of burnley beach," avery went on passionately, shaking apples wildly off a laden bough by way of emphasis.
""i know all the people -- what they are -- what they can be.
it's like reading a book for the twentieth time.
i know where i was born and who i'll marry -- and where i'll be buried.
that's knowing too much.
all my days will be alike when i marry randall.
there will never be anything unexpected or surprising about them.
i tell you janet," avery seized another bough and shook it with a vengeance, "i hate the very thought of it."
""the thought of -- what?"
said janet in bewilderment.
""of marrying randall burnley -- or marrying anybody down here -- and settling down on a farm for life."
then avery sat down on the rung of her ladder and laughed at janet's face.
""you look stunned, janet.
did you really think i wanted to marry randall?"
janet was stunned, and she did think that.
how could any girl not want to marry randall burnley if she had the chance?
""do n't you love him?"
she asked stupidly.
avery bit into a nut-sweet apple.
""no," she said frankly.
""oh, i do n't hate him, of course.
i like him well enough.
i like him very well.
but we'll quarrel all our lives."
""then what are you marrying him for?"
asked janet.
""why, i'm getting on -- twenty-two -- all the girls of my age are married already.
i wo n't be an old maid, and there's nobody but randall.
nobody good enough for a sparhallow, that is.
you would n't want me to marry ned adams or john buchanan, would you?"
""no," said janet, who had her full share of the sparhallow pride.
""well, then, of course i must marry randall.
that's settled and there's no use making faces over the notion.
i'm not making faces, but i'm tired of hearing you talk as if you thought i adored him and must be in the seventh heaven because i was going to marry him, you romantic child."
""does randall know you feel like this?"
asked janet in a low tone.
""no.
randall is like all men -- vain and self-satisfied -- and believes i'm crazy about him.
it's just as well to let him think so, until we're safely married anyhow.
randall has some romantic notions too, and i'm not sure that he'd marry me if he knew, in spite of his three years" devotion.
and i have no intention of being jilted three weeks before my wedding day."
avery laughed again, and tossed away the core of her apple.
janet, who had been very pale, went crimson and lovely.
she could not endure hearing randall criticized.
""vain and self-satisfied" -- when there was never a man less so!
she was horrified to feel that she almost hated avery -- avery who did not love randall.
""what a pity randall did n't take a fancy to you instead of me, janet," said avery teasingly.
""would n't you like to marry him, janet?
would n't you now?"
""no," cried janet angrily.
""i just like randall, i've liked him ever since that day when i was a little thing and he came here and saved me from being shut up all day in that dreadful dark closet because i broke aunt matilda's blue cup -- when i had n't meant to break it.
he would n't let her shut me up!
he is like that -- he understands!
i want you to marry him because he wants you, and it is n't fair that you -- that you --" "nothing is fair in this world, child.
is it fair that i, who am so pretty -- you know i am pretty, janet -- and who love life and excitement, should have to be buried on a p.e. island farm all my days?
or else be an old maid because a sparhallow must n't marry beneath her?
come, janet, do n't look so woebegone.
i would n't have told you if i'd thought you'd take it so much to heart.
i'll be a good wife to randall, never fear, and i'll keep him up to the notch of prosperity much better than if i thought him a little lower than the angels.
it does n't do to think a man perfection, janet, because he thinks so too, and when he finds someone who agrees with him he is inclined to rest on his oars."
""at any rate, you do n't care for anyone else," said janet hopefully.
""not i. i like randall as well as i like anybody."
""randall wo n't be satisfied with that," muttered janet.
but avery did not hear her, having picked up her basket of apples and gone.
janet sat down on the lower rung of the ladder and gave herself up to an unpleasant reverie.
oh, how the world had changed in half an hour!
she had never been so worried in her life.
she was so fond of randall -- she had always been fond of him -- why, he was just like a brother to her!
she could n't possibly love a brother more.
and avery was going to hurt him; it would hurt him horribly when he found out she did not love him.
janet could not bear the thought of randall being hurt; it made her fairly savage.
he must not be hurt -- avery must love him.
janet could not understand why she did not.
surely everyone must love randall.
it had never occurred to janet to ask herself, as avery had asked, if she would like to marry randall.
randall could never fancy her -- a little plain, brown thing, only half grown.
nobody could think of her beside beautiful, rose-faced avery.
janet accepted this fact unquestioningly.
she had never been jealous.
she only felt that she wanted randall to have everything he wanted -- to be perfectly happy.
why, it would be dreadful if he did not marry avery -- if he went and married some other girl.
she would never see him then, never have any more delightful talks with him about all the things they both loved so much -- winds and delicate dawns, mysterious woods in moonlight and starry midnights, silver-white sails going out of the harbour in the magic of morning, and the grey of gulf storms.
there would be nothing in life; it would just be one great, unbearable emptiness; for she, herself, would never marry.
there was nobody for her to marry -- and she did n't care.
if she could have randall for a real brother, she would not mind a bit being an old maid.
and there was that beautiful new frame house randall had built for his bride, which she, janet, had helped him build, because avery would not condescend to details of pantry and linen closet and cupboards.
janet and randall had had such fun over the cupboards.
no stranger must ever come to be mistress of that house.
randall must marry avery, and she must love him.
could anything be done to make her love him?
""i believe i'll go and see granny thomas," said janet desperately.
she thought this was a silly idea, but it still haunted her and would not be shaken off.
granny thomas was a very old woman who lived at burnley cove and was reputed to be something of a witch.
that is, people who were not sparhallows or burnleys gave her that name.
sparhallows or burnleys, of course, were above believing in such nonsense.
janet was above believing it; but still -- the sailors along shore were careful to "keep on the good side" of granny thomas, lest she brew an unfavourable wind for them, and there was much talk of love potions.
janet knew that people said peggy buchanan would never have got jack mcleod if granny had not given her a love potion.
jack had never looked at peggy, though she was after him for years; and then, all at once, he was quite mad about her -- and married her -- and wore her life out with jealousy.
and peggy, the homeliest of all the buchanan girls!
there must be something in it.
janet made a sudden desperate resolve.
she would go to granny and ask her for a love potion to make avery love randall.
if granny could n't do any good, she could n't do any harm.
janet was a little afraid of her, and had never been near her house, but what would n't she do for randall?
* * * * * janet never lost much time in carrying out any resolution she made.
the next afternoon she slipped away to visit granny thomas.
she put on her longest dress and did her hair up for the first time.
granny must not think her a child.
she rowed herself down the long pond to the row of golden-brown sand dunes that parted it from the gulf.
it was a wonderful autumn day.
there were wild growths and colours and scents in sweet procession all around the pond.
every curve in it revealed some little whim of loveliness.
on the left bank, in a grove of birch, was randall's new house, waiting to be sanctified by love and joy and birth.
janet loved to be alone thus with the delightful day.
she was sorry when she had walked over the stretch of windy weedy sea fields and reached granny's little tumbledown house at the cove -- sorry and a little frightened as well.
but only a little; there was good stuff in janet; she lifted the latch boldly and walked in when granny bade.
granny was curled up on a stool by her fireplace, and if ever anybody did look like a witch, she did.
she waved her pipe at another stool, and janet sat down, gazing a little curiously at granny, whom she had never seen at such close quarters before.
will i look like that when i am very old?
she thought, beholding granny's wizened, marvellously wrinkled face.
i wonder if anybody will be sorry when you die.
""staring was n't thought good manners in my time," said granny.
then, as janet blushed crimson under the rebuke, she added, "keep red like that instead o" white, and you wo n't need no love ointment."
janet felt a little cold thrill.
how did granny know what she had come for?
was she a real witch after all?
for a moment she wished she had n't come.
perhaps it was not right to tamper with the powers of darkness.
peggy buchanan was notoriously unhappy.
if janet had known how to get herself away, she would have gone without asking for anything.
then a sound came from the lean-to behind the house.
""s-s-h.
i hear the devil grunting like a pig," muttered granny, looking very impish.
but janet smiled a little contemptuously.
she knew it was a pig and no devil.
granny thomas was only an old fraud.
her awe passed away and left her cool sparhallow.
""can you," she said with her own directness, "make a -- a person care for another person -- care -- very much?"
granny removed her pipe and chuckled.
""what you want is toad ointment," she said.
toad ointment!
janet shuddered.
that did not sound very nice.
granny noticed the shudder.
""nothing like it," she said, nodding her crone-like old grey head.
""there's other things, but noan so sure.
put a li'l bit -- oh, such a li'l bit -- on his eyelids, and he's yourn for life.
you need something powerful -- you're noan so pretty -- only when you're blushing."
janet was blushing again.
so granny thought she wanted the charm for herself!
well, what did it matter?
randall was the only one to be considered.
""is it very -- expensive?"
she faltered.
she had not much money.
money was no plentiful thing on a p.e.i. farm in 1840.
""oh, noa -- oh, noa," granny leered.
""i do n't sell it.
i gives it.
i like to see young folks happy.
you do n't need much, as i've said -- just a li'l smootch and you'll have your man, and send old granny a bite o" the wedding cake and fig o" baccy for luck, and a bid to the fir-r-st christening!
doa n't forget that, dearie."
janet was cold again with anger.
she hated old granny thomas.
she would never come near her again.
""i'd rather pay you its worth," she said coldly.
""you could n't, dearie.
what money could be eno" for such a treasure?
but that's the sparhallow pride.
well, go, see if the sparhallow pride and the sparhallow money will buy you your lad's love."
granny looked so angry that janet hastened to appease her.
""oh, please forgive me -- i meant no offence.
only -- it must have cost you much trouble to make it."
granny chuckled again.
she was vastly pleased to see a sparhallow suing to her -- a sparhallow!
""toads am cheap," she said.
""it's all in the knowing how and the time o" the moon.
here, take this li'l pill box -- there's eno" in it -- and put a li'l bit on his eyelids when you've getten the chance -- and when he looks at you, he'll love you.
mind you, though, that he looks at no other first -- it's the first one he sees that he'll love.
that's the way it works."
""thank you."
janet took the little box.
she wished she dared to go at once.
but perhaps this would anger granny.
granny looked at her with a twinkle in her little, incredibly old eyes.
""be off," she said.
""you're in a hurry to go -- you're as proud as any of the proud sparhallows.
but i bear you no grudge.
i likes proud people -- when they have to come to me to get help."
janet found herself outside with a relieved heart in her bosom and her little box in her hand.
for a moment she was tempted to throw it away.
but no -- randall would be so unhappy if he found out avery did n't love him!
she would try the ointment at least -- she would try to forget about the toads and not let herself think how it was made -- something might come of it.
* * * * * janet hurried home along the shore, where a silvery wave broke in a little lovely silvery curve on the sand.
she was so happy that her cheeks burned, and randall burnley, who was sitting on the edge of her flat when she reached the pond, looked at her with admiration.
janet dropped her box into her pocket stealthily when she saw him.
what with her guilty secret, she hardly knew whether she was glad or not when he said he was going to row her up the pond.
""i saw you go down an hour ago and i've been waiting ever since," he said.
""where have you been?"
""oh -- i just -- wanted a walk -- this lovely day," said janet miserably.
she felt that she was telling an untruth and this hurt her horribly -- especially when it was to randall.
this was what came of truck with witches -- you were led into falsehood and deception straightaway.
again janet was tempted to drop granny's pill box into the depths of burnley pond -- and again she decided not to because she saw randall burnley's deep-set, blue-grey eyes, that could look tender or sorrowful or passionate or whimsical as he willed, and thought how they would look when he found avery did not love him.
so janet drowned the voice of conscience and was brazenly happy -- happy because randall burnley rowed her up the pond -- happy because he walked halfway home with her over the autumnal fields -- happy because he talked of the day and the sea and the golden weather, as only randall could talk.
but she thought she was happy because she had in her pocket what might make avery love him.
randall went as far as the stile in the birch wood between the burnley and the sparhallow land -- and he kept her there talking for another half-hour -- and though he talked only of a book he had read and a new puppy he was training, janet listened with her soul in her ears.
she talked too -- quite freely; she was never in the least shy or tongue-tied or awkward in randall's company.
there she was always at her best, with a delightful feeling of being understood.
she wondered if he noticed she had her hair done up.
her eyes shone and her brown face was full of rosy, kissable hues.
when he finally turned away homeward, life went flat.
janet decided she was very tired after her long walk and her trying interview.
but it did not matter, since she had her love potion.
that was so much nicer a name than toad ointment.
that night janet rubbed mutton tallow on her hands.
she had never done that before -- she had thought it vain and foolish -- though avery did it every night.
but that afternoon on the pond randall had said something about the beautiful shape of her pretty slender hands.
he had never paid her a compliment before.
her hands were brown and a little hard -- not soft and white like avery's.
so janet resorted to the mutton tallow.
if one had a scrap of beauty, if only in one's hands, one might as well take care of it.
having got her ointment, the next thing was to make use of it.
this was not so easy -- because, in the first place, it must not be done when there was any danger of avery's seeing some other than randall first -- and it must be done without avery's knowing it.
the two problems combined were almost too much for janet.
she bided her chance like a watchful cat -- but it did not come.
two weeks went by and it had not come.
janet was getting very desperate.
the wedding day was only a week away.
the bride's cake was made and the turkeys fattened.
the invitations were sent out.
janet's own bridesmaid dress was ready.
and still the little pill box in the till of janet's blue chest was unopened.
she had never even opened it, lest virtue escape.
then her chance came at last, unexpectedly.
one evening at dusk, when janet was crossing the little dark upstairs hall, aunt matilda called up to her.
""janet, send avery down.
there is a young man wanting to see her."
aunt matilda was laughing a little -- as she always did when randall came.
it was a habit with her, hanging over from the early days of randall's courtship.
janet went on into their room to tell avery.
and lo, avery was lying asleep on her bed, tired out from her busy day.
janet, after one glance, flew to her chest.
she took out her pill box and opened it, a little fearfully.
the toad ointment was there, dark and unpleasant enough to view.
janet tiptoed breathlessly to the bed and gingerly scraped the tip of her finger in the ointment.
she said so little would be enough -- oh, i hope i'm not doing wrong.
trembling with excitement, she brushed lightly the white lids of avery's eyes.
avery stirred and opened them.
janet guiltily thrust her pill box behind her.
""randall is downstairs asking for you, avery."
avery sat up, looking annoyed.
she had not expected randall that evening and would greatly have preferred a continuance of her nap.
she went down crossly enough, but looking very lovely, flushed from sleep.
janet stood in their room, clasping her cold hands nervously over her breast.
would the charm work?
oh, she must know -- she must know.
she could not wait.
after a few moments that seemed like years she crept down the stairs and out into the dusk of the june-warm september night.
like a shadow she slipped up to the open parlour window and looked cautiously in between the white muslin curtains.
the next minute she had fallen on her knees in the mint bed.
she wished she could die then and there.
the young man in the parlour was not randall burnley.
he was dark and smart and handsome; he was sitting on the sofa by avery's side, holding her hands in his, smiling into her rosy, delighted, excited face.
and he was bruce gordon -- no doubt of that.
bruce gordon, the expected cousin from scotland!
""oh, what have i done?
what have i done?"
moaned poor janet, wringing her hands.
she had seen avery's face quite plainly -- had seen the look in her eyes.
avery had never looked at randall burnley like that.
granny thomas" abominable ointment had worked all right -- and avery had fallen in love with the wrong man.
janet, cold with horror and remorse, dragged herself up to the window again and listened.
she must know -- she must be sure.
she could hear only a word here and there, but that word was enough.
""i thought you promised to wait for me, avery," bruce said reproachfully.
""you were so long in coming back -- i thought you had forgotten me," cried avery.
""i think i did forget a little, avery.
i was such a boy.
but now -- well, thank heaven, i have n't come too late."
there was a silence, and shameless janet, peering above the window sill, saw what she saw.
it was enough.
she crept away upstairs to her room.
she was lying there across the bed when avery swept in -- a splendid, transfigured avery, flushed triumphant.
janet sat up, pallid, tear-stained, and looked at her.
""janet," said avery, "i am going to marry bruce gordon next wednesday night instead of randall burnley."
janet sprang forward and caught avery's hand.
""you must not," she cried wildly.
""it's all my fault -- oh, if i could only die -- i got the love ointment from granny thomas to rub on your eyes to make you love the first man you would see.
i meant it to be randall -- i thought it was randall -- oh, avery!"
avery had been listening, between amazement and anger.
now anger mastered amazement.
""janet sparhallow," she cried, "are you crazy?
or do you mean that you went to granny thomas -- you, a sparhallow!
-- and asked her for a love philtre to make me love randall burnley?"
""i did n't tell her it was for you -- she thought i wanted it for myself," moaned janet.
""oh, we must undo it -- i'll go to her again -- no doubt she knows of some way to undo the spell --" avery, whose rages never lasted long, threw back her dark head and laughed ringingly.
""janet sparhallow, you talk as if you lived in the dark ages!
the idea of supposing that horrid old woman could give you love philtres!
why, girl, i've always loved bruce -- always.
but i thought he'd forgotten me.
and tonight when he came i found he had n't.
there's the whole thing in a nutshell.
i'm going to marry him and go home with him to scotland."
""and what about randall?"
said janet, corpse-white.
""oh, randall -- pooh!
do you suppose i'm worrying about randall?
but you must go to him tomorrow and tell him for me, janet."
""i will not -- i will not."
""then i'll tell him myself -- and i'll tell him about you going to granny," said avery cruelly.
""janet, do n't stand there looking like that.
i've no patience with you.
i shall be perfectly happy with bruce -- i would have been miserable with randall.
i know i sha n't sleep a wink tonight -- i'm so excited.
why, janet, i'll be mrs. gordon of gordon brae -- and i'll have everything heart can desire and the man of my heart to boot.
what has lanky randall burnley with his little six-roomed house to set against that?"
if avery did not sleep, neither did janet.
she lay awake till dawn, suffering such misery as she had never endured in her life before.
she knew she must go to randall burnley tomorrow and break his heart.
if she did not, avery would tell him -- tell him what janet had done.
and he must not know that -- he must not.
janet could not bear that thought.
* * * * * it was a pallid, dull-eyed janet who went through the birch wood to the burnley farm next afternoon, leaving behind her an excited household where the sudden change of bridegrooms, as announced by avery, had rather upset everybody.
janet found randall working in the garden of his new house -- setting out rosebushes for avery -- avery, who was to jilt him at the very altar, so to speak.
he came over to open the gate for janet, smiling his dear smile.
it was a dear smile -- janet caught her breath over the dearness of it -- and she was going to blot it off his face.
she spoke out, with plainness and directness.
when you had to deal a mortal blow, why try to lighten it?
""avery sent me to tell you that she is going to marry bruce gordon instead of you.
he came last night -- and she says that she has always liked him best."
a very curious change came over randall's face -- but not the change janet had expected to see.
instead of turning pale randall flushed; and instead of a sharp cry of pain and incredulity, randall said in no uncertain tones, "thank god!"
janet wondered if she were dreaming.
granny thomas" love potion seemed to have turned the world upside down.
for randall's arms were about her and randall was pressing his lean bronzed cheek to hers and randall was saying: "now i can tell you, janet, how much i love you."
""me?
me!"
choked janet.
""you.
why, you're in the very core of my heart, girl.
do n't tell me you ca n't love me -- you can -- you must -- why, janet," for his eyes had caught and locked with hers for a minute, "you do!"
there were five minutes about which nobody can tell anything, for even randall and janet never knew clearly just what happened in those five minutes.
then janet, feeling somehow as if she had died and then come back to life, found her tongue.
""three years ago you came courting avery," she said reproachfully.
""three years ago you were a child.
i did not think about you.
i wanted a wife -- and avery was pretty.
i thought i was in love with her.
then you grew up all at once -- and we were such good friends -- i never could talk to avery -- she was n't interested in anything i said -- and you have eyes that catch a man -- i've always thought of your eyes.
but i was honour-bound to avery -- i did n't dream you cared.
you must marry me next wednesday, janet -- we'll have a double wedding.
you wo n't mind -- being married -- so soon?"
""oh, no -- i wo n't -- mind," said janet dazedly.
""only -- oh, randall -- i must tell you -- i did n't mean to tell you -- i'd have rather died -- but now -- i must tell you about it now -- because i ca n't bear anything hidden between us.
i went to old granny thomas -- and got a love ointment from her -- to make avery love you, because i knew she did n't -- and i wanted you to be happy -- randall, do n't -- i ca n't talk when you do that!
do you think granny's ointment could have made her care for bruce?"
randall laughed -- the little, low laugh of the triumphant lover.
""if it did, i'm glad of it.
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___rainbow_valley.txt.out
chapter i. home again it was a clear, apple-green evening in may, and four winds harbour was mirroring back the clouds of the golden west between its softly dark shores.
the sea moaned eerily on the sand-bar, sorrowful even in spring, but a sly, jovial wind came piping down the red harbour road along which miss cornelia's comfortable, matronly figure was making its way towards the village of glen st. mary.
miss cornelia was rightfully mrs. marshall elliott, and had been mrs. marshall elliott for thirteen years, but even yet more people referred to her as miss cornelia than as mrs. elliott.
the old name was dear to her old friends, only one of them contemptuously dropped it.
susan baker, the gray and grim and faithful handmaiden of the blythe family at ingleside, never lost an opportunity of calling her "mrs. marshall elliott," with the most killing and pointed emphasis, as if to say "you wanted to be mrs. and mrs. you shall be with a vengeance as far as i am concerned."
miss cornelia was going up to ingleside to see dr. and mrs. blythe, who were just home from europe.
they had been away for three months, having left in february to attend a famous medical congress in london; and certain things, which miss cornelia was anxious to discuss, had taken place in the glen during their absence.
for one thing, there was a new family in the manse.
and such a family!
miss cornelia shook her head over them several times as she walked briskly along.
susan baker and the anne shirley of other days saw her coming, as they sat on the big veranda at ingleside, enjoying the charm of the cat's light, the sweetness of sleepy robins whistling among the twilit maples, and the dance of a gusty group of daffodils blowing against the old, mellow, red brick wall of the lawn.
anne was sitting on the steps, her hands clasped over her knee, looking, in the kind dusk, as girlish as a mother of many has any right to be; and the beautiful gray-green eyes, gazing down the harbour road, were as full of unquenchable sparkle and dream as ever.
behind her, in the hammock, rilla blythe was curled up, a fat, roly-poly little creature of six years, the youngest of the ingleside children.
she had curly red hair and hazel eyes that were now buttoned up after the funny, wrinkled fashion in which rilla always went to sleep.
shirley, "the little brown boy," as he was known in the family "who's who," was asleep in susan's arms.
he was brown-haired, brown-eyed and brown-skinned, with very rosy cheeks, and he was susan's especial love.
after his birth anne had been very ill for a long time, and susan "mothered" the baby with a passionate tenderness which none of the other children, dear as they were to her, had ever called out.
dr. blythe had said that but for her he would never have lived.
""i gave him life just as much as you did, mrs. dr. dear," susan was wont to say.
""he is just as much my baby as he is yours."
and, indeed, it was always to susan that shirley ran, to be kissed for bumps, and rocked to sleep, and protected from well-deserved spankings.
susan had conscientiously spanked all the other blythe children when she thought they needed it for their souls" good, but she would not spank shirley nor allow his mother to do it.
once, dr. blythe had spanked him and susan had been stormily indignant.
""that man would spank an angel, mrs. dr. dear, that he would," she had declared bitterly; and she would not make the poor doctor a pie for weeks.
she had taken shirley with her to her brother's home during his parents" absence, while all the other children had gone to avonlea, and she had three blessed months of him all to herself.
nevertheless, susan was very glad to find herself back at ingleside, with all her darlings around her again.
ingleside was her world and in it she reigned supreme.
even anne seldom questioned her decisions, much to the disgust of mrs. rachel lynde of green gables, who gloomily told anne, whenever she visited four winds, that she was letting susan get to be entirely too much of a boss and would live to rue it.
""here is cornelia bryant coming up the harbour road, mrs. dr. dear," said susan.
""she will be coming up to unload three months" gossip on us."
""i hope so," said anne, hugging her knees.
""i'm starving for glen st. mary gossip, susan.
i hope miss cornelia can tell me everything that has happened while we've been away -- everything -- who has got born, or married, or drunk; who has died, or gone away, or come, or fought, or lost a cow, or found a beau.
it's so delightful to be home again with all the dear glen folks, and i want to know all about them.
why, i remember wondering, as i walked through westminster abbey which of her two especial beaux millicent drew would finally marry.
do you know, susan, i have a dreadful suspicion that i love gossip."
""well, of course, mrs. dr. dear," admitted susan, "every proper woman likes to hear the news.
i am rather interested in millicent drew's case myself.
i never had a beau, much less two, and i do not mind now, for being an old maid does not hurt when you get used to it.
millicent's hair always looks to me as if she had swept it up with a broom.
but the men do not seem to mind that."
""they see only her pretty, piquant, mocking, little face, susan."
""that may very well be, mrs. dr. dear.
the good book says that favour is deceitful and beauty is vain, but i should not have minded finding that out for myself, if it had been so ordained.
i have no doubt we will all be beautiful when we are angels, but what good will it do us then?
speaking of gossip, however, they do say that poor mrs. harrison miller over harbour tried to hang herself last week."
""oh, susan!"
""calm yourself, mrs. dr. dear.
she did not succeed.
but i really do not blame her for trying, for her husband is a terrible man.
but she was very foolish to think of hanging herself and leaving the way clear for him to marry some other woman.
if i had been in her shoes, mrs. dr. dear, i would have gone to work to worry him so that he would try to hang himself instead of me.
not that i hold with people hanging themselves under any circumstances, mrs. dr. dear."
""what is the matter with harrison miller, anyway?"
said anne impatiently.
""he is always driving some one to extremes."
""well, some people call it religion and some call it cussedness, begging your pardon, mrs. dr. dear, for using such a word.
it seems they can not make out which it is in harrison's case.
there are days when he growls at everybody because he thinks he is fore-ordained to eternal punishment.
and then there are days when he says he does not care and goes and gets drunk.
my own opinion is that he is not sound in his intellect, for none of that branch of the millers were.
his grandfather went out of his mind.
he thought he was surrounded by big black spiders.
they crawled over him and floated in the air about him.
i hope i shall never go insane, mrs. dr. dear, and i do not think i will, because it is not a habit of the bakers.
but, if an all-wise providence should decree it, i hope it will not take the form of big black spiders, for i loathe the animals.
as for mrs. miller, i do not know whether she really deserves pity or not.
there are some who say she just married harrison to spite richard taylor, which seems to me a very peculiar reason for getting married.
but then, of course, i am no judge of things matrimonial, mrs. dr. dear.
and there is cornelia bryant at the gate, so i will put this blessed brown baby on his bed and get my knitting."
chapter ii.
sheer gossip "where are the other children?"
asked miss cornelia, when the first greetings -- cordial on her side, rapturous on anne's, and dignified on susan's -- were over.
""shirley is in bed and jem and walter and the twins are down in their beloved rainbow valley," said anne.
""they just came home this afternoon, you know, and they could hardly wait until supper was over before rushing down to the valley.
they love it above every spot on earth.
even the maple grove does n't rival it in their affections."
""i am afraid they love it too well," said susan gloomily.
""little jem said once he would rather go to rainbow valley than to heaven when he died, and that was not a proper remark."
""i suppose they had a great time in avonlea?"
said miss cornelia.
""enormous.
marilla does spoil them terribly.
jem, in particular, can do no wrong in her eyes."
""miss cuthbert must be an old lady now," said miss cornelia, getting out her knitting, so that she could hold her own with susan.
miss cornelia held that the woman whose hands were employed always had the advantage over the woman whose hands were not.
""marilla is eighty-five," said anne with a sigh.
""her hair is snow-white.
but, strange to say, her eyesight is better than it was when she was sixty."
""well, dearie, i'm real glad you're all back.
i've been dreadful lonesome.
but we have n't been dull in the glen, believe me.
there has n't been such an exciting spring in my time, as far as church matters go.
we've got settled with a minister at last, anne dearie."
""the reverend john knox meredith, mrs. dr. dear," said susan, resolved not to let miss cornelia tell all the news.
""is he nice?"
asked anne interestedly.
miss cornelia sighed and susan groaned.
""yes, he's nice enough if that were all," said the former.
""he is very nice -- and very learned -- and very spiritual.
but, oh anne dearie, he has no common sense!
""how was it you called him, then?"
""well, there's no doubt he is by far the best preacher we ever had in glen st. mary church," said miss cornelia, veering a tack or two.
""i suppose it is because he is so moony and absent-minded that he never got a town call.
his trial sermon was simply wonderful, believe me.
every one went mad about it -- and his looks."
""he is very comely, mrs. dr. dear, and when all is said and done, i do like to see a well-looking man in the pulpit," broke in susan, thinking it was time she asserted herself again.
""besides," said miss cornelia, "we were anxious to get settled.
and mr. meredith was the first candidate we were all agreed on.
somebody had some objection to all the others.
there was some talk of calling mr. folsom.
he was a good preacher, too, but somehow people did n't care for his appearance.
he was too dark and sleek."
""he looked exactly like a great black tomcat, that he did, mrs. dr. dear," said susan.
""i never could abide such a man in the pulpit every sunday."
""then mr. rogers came and he was like a chip in porridge -- neither harm nor good," resumed miss cornelia.
""but if he had preached like peter and paul it would have profited him nothing, for that was the day old caleb ramsay's sheep strayed into church and gave a loud "ba-a-a" just as he announced his text.
everybody laughed, and poor rogers had no chance after that.
some thought we ought to call mr. stewart, because he was so well educated.
he could read the new testament in five languages."
""but i do not think he was any surer than other men of getting to heaven because of that," interjected susan.
""most of us did n't like his delivery," said miss cornelia, ignoring susan.
""he talked in grunts, so to speak.
and mr. arnett could n't preach at all.
and he picked about the worst candidating text there is in the bible -- "curse ye meroz.""
""whenever he got stuck for an idea, he would bang the bible and shout very bitterly, "curse ye meroz."
poor meroz got thoroughly cursed that day, whoever he was, mrs. dr. dear," said susan.
""the minister who is candidating ca n't be too careful what text he chooses," said miss cornelia solemnly.
""i believe mr. pierson would have got the call if he had picked a different text.
but when he announced" i will lift my eyes to the hills" he was done for.
every one grinned, for every one knew that those two hill girls from the harbour head have been setting their caps for every single minister who came to the glen for the last fifteen years.
and mr. newman had too large a family."
""he stayed with my brother-in-law, james clow," said susan."
"how many children have you got?"
i asked him.
"nine boys and a sister for each of them," he said.
"eighteen!"
said i. "dear me, what a family!"
and then he laughed and laughed.
but i do not know why, mrs. dr. dear, and i am certain that eighteen children would be too many for any manse."
""he had only ten children, susan," explained miss cornelia, with contemptuous patience.
""and ten good children would not be much worse for the manse and congregation than the four who are there now.
though i would n't say, anne dearie, that they are so bad, either.
i like them -- everybody likes them.
it's impossible to help liking them.
they would be real nice little souls if there was anyone to look after their manners and teach them what is right and proper.
for instance, at school the teacher says they are model children.
but at home they simply run wild."
""what about mrs. meredith?"
asked anne.
""there's no mrs. meredith.
that is just the trouble.
mr. meredith is a widower.
his wife died four years ago.
if we had known that i do n't suppose we would have called him, for a widower is even worse in a congregation than a single man.
but he was heard to speak of his children and we all supposed there was a mother, too.
and when they came there was nobody but old aunt martha, as they call her.
she's a cousin of mr. meredith's mother, i believe, and he took her in to save her from the poorhouse.
she is seventy-five years old, half blind, and very deaf and very cranky."
""and a very poor cook, mrs. dr. dear."
""the worst possible manager for a manse," said miss cornelia bitterly.
""mr. meredith wo n't get any other housekeeper because he says it would hurt aunt martha's feelings.
anne dearie, believe me, the state of that manse is something terrible.
everything is thick with dust and nothing is ever in its place.
and we had painted and papered it all so nice before they came."
""there are four children, you say?"
asked anne, beginning to mother them already in her heart.
""yes.
they run up just like the steps of a stair.
gerald's the oldest.
he's twelve and they call him jerry.
he's a clever boy.
faith is eleven.
she is a regular tomboy but pretty as a picture, i must say."
""she looks like an angel but she is a holy terror for mischief, mrs. dr. dear," said susan solemnly.
""i was at the manse one night last week and mrs. james millison was there, too.
she had brought them up a dozen eggs and a little pail of milk -- a very little pail, mrs. dr. dear.
faith took them and whisked down the cellar with them.
near the bottom of the stairs she caught her toe and fell the rest of the way, milk and eggs and all.
you can imagine the result, mrs. dr. dear.
but that child came up laughing."
i do n't know whether i'm myself or a custard pie," she said.
and mrs. james millison was very angry.
she said she would never take another thing to the manse if it was to be wasted and destroyed in that fashion."
""maria millison never hurt herself taking things to the manse," sniffed miss cornelia.
""she just took them that night as an excuse for curiosity.
but poor faith is always getting into scrapes.
she is so heedless and impulsive."
""just like me.
i'm going to like your faith," said anne decidedly.
""she is full of spunk -- and i do like spunk, mrs. dr. dear," admitted susan.
""there's something taking about her," conceded miss cornelia.
""you never see her but she's laughing, and somehow it always makes you want to laugh too.
she ca n't even keep a straight face in church.
una is ten -- she's a sweet little thing -- not pretty, but sweet.
and thomas carlyle is nine.
they call him carl, and he has a regular mania for collecting toads and bugs and frogs and bringing them into the house."
""i suppose he was responsible for the dead rat that was lying on a chair in the parlour the afternoon mrs. grant called.
it gave her a turn," said susan, "and i do not wonder, for manse parlours are no places for dead rats.
to be sure it may have been the cat who left it, there.
he is as full of the old nick as he can be stuffed, mrs. dr. dear.
a manse cat should at least look respectable, in my opinion, whatever he really is.
but i never saw such a rakish-looking beast.
and he walks along the ridgepole of the manse almost every evening at sunset, mrs. dr. dear, and waves his tail, and that is not becoming."
""the worst of it is, they are never decently dressed," sighed miss cornelia.
""and since the snow went they go to school barefooted.
now, you know anne dearie, that is n't the right thing for manse children -- especially when the methodist minister's little girl always wears such nice buttoned boots.
and i do wish they would n't play in the old methodist graveyard."
""it's very tempting, when it's right beside the manse," said anne.
""i've always thought graveyards must be delightful places to play in."
""oh, no, you did not, mrs. dr. dear," said loyal susan, determined to protect anne from herself.
""you have too much good sense and decorum."
""why did they ever build that manse beside the graveyard in the first place?"
asked anne.
""their lawn is so small there is no place for them to play except in the graveyard."
""it was a mistake," admitted miss cornelia.
""but they got the lot cheap.
and no other manse children ever thought of playing there.
mr. meredith should n't allow it.
but he has always got his nose buried in a book, when he is home.
he reads and reads, or walks about in his study in a day-dream.
so far he has n't forgotten to be in church on sundays, but twice he has forgotten about the prayer-meeting and one of the elders had to go over to the manse and remind him.
and he forgot about fanny cooper's wedding.
they rang him up on the "phone and then he rushed right over, just as he was, carpet slippers and all.
one would n't mind if the methodists did n't laugh so about it.
but there's one comfort -- they ca n't criticize his sermons.
he wakes up when he's in the pulpit, believe me.
and the methodist minister ca n't preach at all -- so they tell me.
i have never heard him, thank goodness."
miss cornelia's scorn of men had abated somewhat since her marriage, but her scorn of methodists remained untinged of charity.
susan smiled slyly.
""they do say, mrs. marshall elliott, that the methodists and presbyterians are talking of uniting," she said.
""well, all i hope is that i'll be under the sod if that ever comes to pass," retorted miss cornelia.
""i shall never have truck or trade with methodists, and mr. meredith will find that he'd better steer clear of them, too.
he is entirely too sociable with them, believe me.
why, he went to the jacob drews" silver-wedding supper and got into a nice scrape as a result."
""what was it?"
""mrs. drew asked him to carve the roast goose -- for jacob drew never did or could carve.
well, mr. meredith tackled it, and in the process he knocked it clean off the platter into mrs. reese's lap, who was sitting next him.
and he just said dreamily.
"mrs. reese, will you kindly return me that goose?"
mrs. reese "returned" it, as meek as moses, but she must have been furious, for she had on her new silk dress.
the worst of it is, she was a methodist."
""but i think that is better than if she was a presbyterian," interjected susan.
""if she had been a presbyterian she would mostly likely have left the church and we can not afford to lose our members.
and mrs. reese is not liked in her own church, because she gives herself such great airs, so that the methodists would be rather pleased that mr. meredith spoiled her dress."
""the point is, he made himself ridiculous, and i, for one, do not like to see my minister made ridiculous in the eyes of the methodists," said miss cornelia stiffly.
""if he had had a wife it would not have happened."
""i do not see if he had a dozen wives how they could have prevented mrs. drew from using up her tough old gander for the wedding-feast," said susan stubbornly.
""they say that was her husband's doing," said miss cornelia.
""jacob drew is a conceited, stingy, domineering creature."
""and they do say he and his wife detest each other -- which does not seem to me the proper way for married folks to get along.
but then, of course, i have had no experience along that line," said susan, tossing her head.
""and i am not one to blame everything on the men.
mrs. drew is mean enough herself.
they say that the only thing she was ever known to give away was a crock of butter made out of cream a rat had fell into.
she contributed it to a church social.
nobody found out about the rat until afterwards."
""fortunately, all the people the merediths have offended so far are methodists," said miss cornelia.
""that jerry went to the methodist prayer-meeting one night about a fortnight ago and sat beside old william marsh who got up as usual and testified with fearful groans.
"do you feel any better now?"
whispered jerry when william sat down.
poor jerry meant to be sympathetic, but mr. marsh thought he was impertinent and is furious at him.
of course, jerry had no business to be in a methodist prayer-meeting at all.
but they go where they like."
""i hope they will not offend mrs. alec davis of the harbour head," said susan.
""she is a very touchy woman, i understand, but she is very well off and pays the most of any one to the salary.
i have heard that she says the merediths are the worst brought up children she ever saw."
""every word you say convinces me more and more that the merediths belong to the race that knows joseph," said mistress anne decidedly.
""when all is said and done, they do," admitted miss cornelia.
""and that balances everything.
anyway, we've got them now and we must just do the best we can by them and stick up for them to the methodists.
well, i suppose i must be getting down harbour.
marshall will soon be home -- he went over-harbour to-day -- and wanting his super, man-like.
i'm sorry i have n't seen the other children.
and where's the doctor?"
""up at the harbour head.
we've only been home three days and in that time he has spent three hours in his own bed and eaten two meals in his own house."
""well, everybody who has been sick for the last six weeks has been waiting for him to come home -- and i do n't blame them.
when that over-harbour doctor married the undertaker's daughter at lowbridge people felt suspicious of him.
it did n't look well.
you and the doctor must come down soon and tell us all about your trip.
i suppose you've had a splendid time."
""we had," agreed anne.
""it was the fulfilment of years of dreams.
the old world is very lovely and very wonderful.
but we have come back very well satisfied with our own land.
canada is the finest country in the world, miss cornelia."
""nobody ever doubted that," said miss cornelia, complacently.
""and old p.e.i. is the loveliest province in it and four winds the loveliest spot in p.e.i.," laughed anne, looking adoringly out over the sunset splendour of glen and harbour and gulf.
she waved her hand at it.
""i saw nothing more beautiful than that in europe, miss cornelia.
must you go?
the children will be sorry to have missed you."
""they must come and see me soon.
tell them the doughnut jar is always full."
""oh, at supper they were planning a descent on you.
they'll go soon; but they must settle down to school again now.
and the twins are going to take music lessons."
""not from the methodist minister's wife, i hope?"
said miss cornelia anxiously.
""no -- from rosemary west.
i was up last evening to arrange it with her.
what a pretty girl she is!"
""rosemary holds her own well.
she is n't as young as she once was."
""i thought her very charming.
i've never had any real acquaintance with her, you know.
their house is so out of the way, and i've seldom ever seen her except at church."
""people always have liked rosemary west, though they do n't understand her," said miss cornelia, quite unconscious of the high tribute she was paying to rosemary's charm.
""ellen has always kept her down, so to speak.
she has tyrannized over her, and yet she has always indulged her in a good many ways.
rosemary was engaged once, you know -- to young martin crawford.
his ship was wrecked on the magdalens and all the crew were drowned.
rosemary was just a child -- only seventeen.
but she was never the same afterwards.
she and ellen have stayed very close at home since their mother's death.
they do n't often get to their own church at lowbridge and i understand ellen does n't approve of going too often to a presbyterian church.
to the methodist she never goes, i'll say that much for her.
that family of wests have always been strong episcopalians.
rosemary and ellen are pretty well off.
rosemary does n't really need to give music lessons.
she does it because she likes to.
they are distantly related to leslie, you know.
are the fords coming to the harbour this summer?"
""no.
they are going on a trip to japan and will probably be away for a year.
owen's new novel is to have a japanese setting.
this will be the first summer that the dear old house of dreams will be empty since we left it."
""i should think owen ford might find enough to write about in canada without dragging his wife and his innocent children off to a heathen country like japan," grumbled miss cornelia."
the life book was the best book he's ever written and he got the material for that right here in four winds."
""captain jim gave him the most of that, you know.
and he collected it all over the world.
but owen's books are all delightful, i think."
""oh, they're well enough as far as they go.
i make it a point to read every one he writes, though i've always held, anne dearie, that reading novels is a sinful waste of time.
i shall write and tell him my opinion of this japanese business, believe me.
does he want kenneth and persis to be converted into pagans?"
with which unanswerable conundrum miss cornelia took her departure.
susan proceeded to put rilla in bed and anne sat on the veranda steps under the early stars and dreamed her incorrigible dreams and learned all over again for the hundredth happy time what a moonrise splendour and sheen could be on four winds harbour.
chapter iii.
the ingleside children in daytime the blythe children liked very well to play in the rich, soft greens and glooms of the big maple grove between ingleside and the glen st. mary pond; but for evening revels there was no place like the little valley behind the maple grove.
it was a fairy realm of romance to them.
once, looking from the attic windows of ingleside, through the mist and aftermath of a summer thunderstorm, they had seen the beloved spot arched by a glorious rainbow, one end of which seemed to dip straight down to where a corner of the pond ran up into the lower end of the valley.
""let us call it rainbow valley," said walter delightedly, and rainbow valley thenceforth it was.
outside of rainbow valley the wind might be rollicking and boisterous.
here it always went gently.
little, winding, fairy paths ran here and there over spruce roots cushioned with moss.
wild cherry trees, that in blossom time would be misty white, were scattered all over the valley, mingling with the dark spruces.
a little brook with amber waters ran through it from the glen village.
the houses of the village were comfortably far away; only at the upper end of the valley was a little tumble-down, deserted cottage, referred to as "the old bailey house."
it had not been occupied for many years, but a grass-grown dyke surrounded it and inside was an ancient garden where the ingleside children could find violets and daisies and june lilies still blooming in season.
for the rest, the garden was overgrown with caraway that swayed and foamed in the moonshine of summer eves like seas of silver.
to the sought lay the pond and beyond it the ripened distance lost itself in purple woods, save where, on a high hill, a solitary old gray homestead looked down on glen and harbour.
there was a certain wild woodsiness and solitude about rainbow valley, in spite of its nearness to the village, which endeared it to the children of ingleside.
the valley was full of dear, friendly hollows and the largest of these was their favourite stamping ground.
here they were assembled on this particular evening.
there was a grove of young spruces in this hollow, with a tiny, grassy glade in its heart, opening on the bank of the brook.
by the brook grew a silver birch-tree, a young, incredibly straight thing which walter had named the "white lady."
in this glade, too, were the "tree lovers," as walter called a spruce and maple which grew so closely together that their boughs were inextricably intertwined.
jem had hung an old string of sleigh-bells, given him by the glen blacksmith, on the tree lovers, and every visitant breeze called out sudden fairy tinkles from it.
""how nice it is to be back!"
said nan.
""after all, none of the avonlea places are quite as nice as rainbow valley."
but they were very fond of the avonlea places for all that.
a visit to green gables was always considered a great treat.
aunt marilla was very good to them, and so was mrs. rachel lynde, who was spending the leisure of her old age in knitting cotton-warp quilts against the day when anne's daughters should need a "setting-out."
there were jolly playmates there, too -- "uncle" davy's children and "aunt" diana's children.
they knew all the spots their mother had loved so well in her girlhood at old green gables -- the long lover's lane, that was pink-hedged in wild-rose time, the always neat yard, with its willows and poplars, the dryad's bubble, lucent and lovely as of yore, the lake of shining waters, and willowmere.
the twins had their mother's old porch-gable room, and aunt marilla used to come in at night, when she thought they were asleep, to gloat over them.
but they all knew she loved jem the best.
jem was at present busily occupied in frying a mess of small trout which he had just caught in the pond.
his stove consisted of a circle of red stones, with a fire kindled in it, and his culinary utensils were an old tin can, hammered out flat, and a fork with only one tine left.
nevertheless, ripping good meals had before now been thus prepared.
jem was the child of the house of dreams.
all the others had been born at ingleside.
he had curly red hair, like his mother's, and frank hazel eyes, like his father's; he had his mother's fine nose and his father's steady, humorous mouth.
and he was the only one of the family who had ears nice enough to please susan.
but he had a standing feud with susan because she would not give up calling him little jem.
it was outrageous, thought thirteen-year-old jem.
mother had more sense.
""i'm not little any more, mother," he had cried indignantly, on his eighth birthday.
""i'm awful big."
mother had sighed and laughed and sighed again; and she never called him little jem again -- in his hearing at least.
he was and always had been a sturdy, reliable little chap.
he never broke a promise.
he was not a great talker.
his teachers did not think him brilliant, but he was a good, all-round student.
he never took things on faith; he always liked to investigate the truth of a statement for himself.
once susan had told him that if he touched his tongue to a frosty latch all the skin would tear off it.
jem had promptly done it, "just to see if it was so."
he found it was "so," at the cost of a very sore tongue for several days.
but jem did not grudge suffering in the interests of science.
by constant experiment and observation he learned a great deal and his brothers and sisters thought his extensive knowledge of their little world quite wonderful.
jem always knew where the first and ripest berries grew, where the first pale violets shyly wakened from their winter's sleep, and how many blue eggs were in a given robin's nest in the maple grove.
he could tell fortunes from daisy petals and suck honey from red clovers, and grub up all sorts of edible roots on the banks of the pond, while susan went in daily fear that they would all be poisoned.
he knew where the finest spruce-gum was to be found, in pale amber knots on the lichened bark, he knew where the nuts grew thickest in the beechwoods around the harbour head, and where the best trouting places up the brooks were.
he could mimic the call of any wild bird or beast in four winds and he knew the haunt of every wild flower from spring to autumn.
walter blythe was sitting under the white lady, with a volume of poems lying beside him, but he was not reading.
he was gazing now at the emerald-misted willows by the pond, and now at a flock of clouds, like little silver sheep, herded by the wind, that were drifting over rainbow valley, with rapture in his wide splendid eyes.
walter's eyes were very wonderful.
all the joy and sorrow and laughter and loyalty and aspiration of many generations lying under the sod looked out of their dark gray depths.
walter was a "hop out of kin," as far as looks went.
he did not resemble any known relative.
he was quite the handsomest of the ingleside children, with straight black hair and finely modelled features.
but he had all his mother's vivid imagination and passionate love of beauty.
frost of winter, invitation of spring, dream of summer and glamour of autumn, all meant much to walter.
in school, where jem was a chieftain, walter was not thought highly of.
he was supposed to be "girly" and milk-soppish, because he never fought and seldom joined in the school sports, preferring to herd by himself in out of the way corners and read books -- especially "po "try books."
walter loved the poets and pored over their pages from the time he could first read.
their music was woven into his growing soul -- the music of the immortals.
walter cherished the ambition to be a poet himself some day.
the thing could be done.
a certain uncle paul -- so called out of courtesy -- who lived now in that mysterious realm called "the states," was walter's model.
uncle paul had once been a little school boy in avonlea and now his poetry was read everywhere.
but the glen schoolboys did not know of walter's dreams and would not have been greatly impressed if they had.
in spite of his lack of physical prowess, however, he commanded a certain unwilling respect because of his power of "talking book talk."
nobody in glen st. mary school could talk like him.
he "sounded like a preacher," one boy said; and for this reason he was generally left alone and not persecuted, as most boys were who were suspected of disliking or fearing fisticuffs.
the ten year old ingleside twins violated twin tradition by not looking in the least alike.
anne, who was always called nan, was very pretty, with velvety nut-brown eyes and silky nut-brown hair.
she was a very blithe and dainty little maiden -- blythe by name and blithe by nature, one of her teachers had said.
her complexion was quite faultless, much to her mother's satisfaction.
""i'm so glad i have one daughter who can wear pink," mrs. blythe was wont to say jubilantly.
diana blythe, known as di, was very like her mother, with gray-green eyes that always shone with a peculiar lustre and brilliancy in the dusk, and red hair.
perhaps this was why she was her father's favourite.
she and walter were especial chums; di was the only one to whom he would ever read the verses he wrote himself -- the only one who knew that he was secretly hard at work on an epic, strikingly resembling "marmion" in some things, if not in others.
she kept all his secrets, even from nan, and told him all hers.
""wo n't you soon have those fish ready, jem?"
said nan, sniffing with her dainty nose.
""the smell makes me awfully hungry."
""they're nearly ready," said jem, giving one a dexterous turn.
""get out the bread and the plates, girls.
walter, wake up."
""how the air shines to-night," said walter dreamily.
not that he despised fried trout either, by any means; but with walter food for the soul always took first place.
""the flower angel has been walking over the world to-day, calling to the flowers.
i can see his blue wings on that hill by the woods."
""any angels" wings i ever saw were white," said nan.
""the flower angel's are n't.
they are a pale misty blue, just like the haze in the valley.
oh, how i wish i could fly.
it must be glorious."
""one does fly in dreams sometimes," said di.
""i never dream that i'm flying exactly," said walter.
""but i often dream that i just rise up from the ground and float over the fences and the trees.
it's delightful -- and i always think, "this is n't a dream like it's always been before.
this is real" -- and then i wake up after all, and it's heart-breaking."
""hurry up, nan," ordered jem.
nan had produced the banquet-board -- a board literally as well as figuratively -- from which many a feast, seasoned as no viands were elsewhere, had been eaten in rainbow valley.
it was converted into a table by propping it on two large, mossy stones.
newspapers served as tablecloth, and broken plates and handleless cups from susan's discard furnished the dishes.
from a tin box secreted at the root of a spruce tree nan brought forth bread and salt.
the brook gave adam's ale of unsurpassed crystal.
for the rest, there was a certain sauce, compounded of fresh air and appetite of youth, which gave to everything a divine flavour.
to sit in rainbow valley, steeped in a twilight half gold, half amethyst, rife with the odours of balsam-fir and woodsy growing things in their springtime prime, with the pale stars of wild strawberry blossoms all around you, and with the sough of the wind and tinkle of bells in the shaking tree tops, and eat fried trout and dry bread, was something which the mighty of earth might have envied them.
""sit in," invited nan, as jem placed his sizzling tin platter of trout on the table.
""it's your turn to say grace, jem."
""i've done my part frying the trout," protested jem, who hated saying grace.
""let walter say it.
he likes saying grace.
and cut it short, too, walt.
i'm starving."
but walter said no grace, short or long, just then.
an interruption occurred.
""who's coming down from the manse hill?"
said di.
chapter iv.
the manse children aunt martha might be, and was, a very poor housekeeper; the rev. john knox meredith might be, and was, a very absent-minded, indulgent man.
but it could not be denied that there was something very homelike and lovable about the glen st. mary manse in spite of its untidiness.
even the critical housewives of the glen felt it, and were unconsciously mellowed in judgment because of it.
perhaps its charm was in part due to accidental circumstances -- the luxuriant vines clustering over its gray, clap-boarded walls, the friendly acacias and balm-of-gileads that crowded about it with the freedom of old acquaintance, and the beautiful views of harbour and sand-dunes from its front windows.
but these things had been there in the reign of mr. meredith's predecessor, when the manse had been the primmest, neatest, and dreariest house in the glen.
so much of the credit must be given to the personality of its new inmates.
there was an atmosphere of laughter and comradeship about it; the doors were always open; and inner and outer worlds joined hands.
love was the only law in glen st. mary manse.
the people of his congregation said that mr. meredith spoiled his children.
very likely he did.
it is certain that he could not bear to scold them.
""they have no mother," he used to say to himself, with a sigh, when some unusually glaring peccadillo forced itself upon his notice.
but he did not know the half of their goings-on.
he belonged to the sect of dreamers.
the windows of his study looked out on the graveyard but, as he paced up and down the room, reflecting deeply on the immortality of the soul, he was quite unaware that jerry and carl were playing leap-frog hilariously over the flat stones in that abode of dead methodists.
mr. meredith had occasional acute realizations that his children were not so well looked after, physically or morally, as they had been before his wife died, and he had always a dim sub-consciousness that house and meals were very different under aunt martha's management from what they had been under cecilia's.
for the rest, he lived in a world of books and abstractions; and, therefore, although his clothes were seldom brushed, and although the glen housewives concluded, from the ivory-like pallor of his clear-cut features and slender hands, that he never got enough to eat, he was not an unhappy man.
if ever a graveyard could be called a cheerful place, the old methodist graveyard at glen st. mary might be so called.
the new graveyard, at the other side of the methodist church, was a neat and proper and doleful spot; but the old one had been left so long to nature's kindly and gracious ministries that it had become very pleasant.
it was surrounded on three sides by a dyke of stones and sod, topped by a gray and uncertain paling.
outside the dyke grew a row of tall fir trees with thick, balsamic boughs.
the dyke, which had been built by the first settlers of the glen, was old enough to be beautiful, with mosses and green things growing out of its crevices, violets purpling at its base in the early spring days, and asters and golden-rod making an autumnal glory in its corners.
little ferns clustered companionably between its stones, and here and there a big bracken grew.
on the eastern side there was neither fence nor dyke.
the graveyard there straggled off into a young fir plantation, ever pushing nearer to the graves and deepening eastward into a thick wood.
the air was always full of the harp-like voices of the sea, and the music of gray old trees, and in the spring mornings the choruses of birds in the elms around the two churches sang of life and not of death.
the meredith children loved the old graveyard.
blue-eyed ivy, "garden-spruce," and mint ran riot over the sunken graves.
blueberry bushes grew lavishly in the sandy corner next to the fir wood.
the varying fashions of tombstones for three generations were to be found there, from the flat, oblong, red sandstone slabs of old settlers, down through the days of weeping willows and clasped hands, to the latest monstrosities of tall "monuments" and draped urns.
one of the latter, the biggest and ugliest in the graveyard, was sacred to the memory of a certain alec davis who had been born a methodist but had taken to himself a presbyterian bride of the douglas clan.
she had made him turn presbyterian and kept him toeing the presbyterian mark all his life.
but when he died she did not dare to doom him to a lonely grave in the presbyterian graveyard over-harbour.
his people were all buried in the methodist cemetery; so alec davis went back to his own in death and his widow consoled herself by erecting a monument which cost more than any of the methodists could afford.
the meredith children hated it, without just knowing why, but they loved the old, flat, bench-like stones with the tall grasses growing rankly about them.
they made jolly seats for one thing.
they were all sitting on one now.
jerry, tired of leap frog, was playing on a jew's - harp.
carl was lovingly poring over a strange beetle he had found; una was trying to make a doll's dress, and faith, leaning back on her slender brown wrists, was swinging her bare feet in lively time to the jew's - harp.
jerry had his father's black hair and large black eyes, but in him the latter were flashing instead of dreamy.
faith, who came next to him, wore her beauty like a rose, careless and glowing.
she had golden-brown eyes, golden-brown curls and crimson cheeks.
she laughed too much to please her father's congregation and had shocked old mrs. taylor, the disconsolate spouse of several departed husbands, by saucily declaring -- in the church-porch at that -- "the world is n't a vale of tears, mrs. taylor.
it's a world of laughter."
little dreamy una was not given to laughter.
her braids of straight, dead-black hair betrayed no lawless kinks, and her almond-shaped, dark-blue eyes had something wistful and sorrowful in them.
her mouth had a trick of falling open over her tiny white teeth, and a shy, meditative smile occasionally crept over her small face.
she was much more sensitive to public opinion than faith, and had an uneasy consciousness that there was something askew in their way of living.
she longed to put it right, but did not know how.
now and then she dusted the furniture -- but it was so seldom she could find the duster because it was never in the same place twice.
and when the clothes-brush was to be found she tried to brush her father's best suit on saturdays, and once sewed on a missing button with coarse white thread.
when mr. meredith went to church next day every female eye saw that button and the peace of the ladies" aid was upset for weeks.
carl had the clear, bright, dark-blue eyes, fearless and direct, of his dead mother, and her brown hair with its glints of gold.
he knew the secrets of bugs and had a sort of freemasonry with bees and beetles.
una never liked to sit near him because she never knew what uncanny creature might be secreted about him.
jerry refused to sleep with him because carl had once taken a young garter snake to bed with him; so carl slept in his old cot, which was so short that he could never stretch out, and had strange bed-fellows.
perhaps it was just as well that aunt martha was half blind when she made that bed.
altogether they were a jolly, lovable little crew, and cecilia meredith's heart must have ached bitterly when she faced the knowledge that she must leave them.
""where would you like to be buried if you were a methodist?"
asked faith cheerfully.
this opened up an interesting field of speculation.
""there is n't much choice.
the place is full," said jerry.
""i'd like that corner near the road, i guess.
i could hear the teams going past and the people talking."
""i'd like that little hollow under the weeping birch," said una.
""that birch is such a place for birds and they sing like mad in the mornings."
""i'd take the porter lot where there's so many children buried.
i like lots of company," said faith.
""carl, where'd you?"
""i'd rather not be buried at all," said carl, "but if i had to be i'd like the ant-bed.
ants are awf "ly int "resting."
""how very good all the people who are buried here must have been," said una, who had been reading the laudatory old epitaphs.
""there does n't seem to be a single bad person in the whole graveyard.
methodists must be better than presbyterians after all."
""maybe the methodists bury their bad people just like they do cats," suggested carl.
""maybe they do n't bother bringing them to the graveyard at all."
""nonsense," said faith.
""the people that are buried here were n't any better than other folks, una.
but when anyone is dead you must n't say anything of him but good or he'll come back and ha "nt you.
aunt martha told me that.
i asked father if it was true and he just looked through me and muttered, "true?
true?
what is truth?
what is truth, o jesting pilate?"
i concluded from that it must be true."
""i wonder if mr. alec davis would come back and ha "nt me if i threw a stone at the urn on top of his tombstone," said jerry.
""mrs. davis would," giggled faith.
""she just watches us in church like a cat watching mice.
last sunday i made a face at her nephew and he made one back at me and you should have seen her glare.
i'll bet she boxed his ears when they got out.
mrs. marshall elliott told me we must n't offend her on any account or i'd have made a face at her, too!"
""they say jem blythe stuck out his tongue at her once and she would never have his father again, even when her husband was dying," said jerry.
""i wonder what the blythe gang will be like."
""i liked their looks," said faith.
the manse children had been at the station that afternoon when the blythe small fry had arrived.
""i liked jem's looks especially."
""they say in school that walter's a sissy," said jerry.
""i do n't believe it," said una, who had thought walter very handsome.
""well, he writes poetry, anyhow.
he won the prize the teacher offered last year for writing a poem, bertie shakespeare drew told me.
bertie's mother thought he should have got the prize because of his name, but bertie said he could n't write poetry to save his soul, name or no name."
""i suppose we'll get acquainted with them as soon as they begin going to school," mused faith.
""i hope the girls are nice.
i do n't like most of the girls round here.
even the nice ones are poky.
but the blythe twins look jolly.
i thought twins always looked alike, but they do n't.
i think the red-haired one is the nicest."
""i liked their mother's looks," said una with a little sigh.
una envied all children their mothers.
she had been only six when her mother died, but she had some very precious memories, treasured in her soul like jewels, of twilight cuddlings and morning frolics, of loving eyes, a tender voice, and the sweetest, gayest laugh.
""they say she is n't like other people," said jerry.
""mrs. elliot says that is because she never really grew up," said faith.
""she's taller than mrs. elliott."
""yes, yes, but it is inside -- mrs. elliot says mrs. blythe just stayed a little girl inside."
""what do i smell?"
interrupted carl, sniffing.
they all smelled it now.
a most delectable odour came floating up on the still evening air from the direction of the little woodsy dell below the manse hill.
""that makes me hungry," said jerry.
""we had only bread and molasses for supper and cold ditto for dinner," said una plaintively.
aunt martha's habit was to boil a large slab of mutton early in the week and serve it up every day, cold and greasy, as long as it lasted.
to this faith, in a moment of inspiration, had give the name of "ditto", and by this it was invariably known at the manse.
""let's go and see where that smell is coming from," said jerry.
they all sprang up, frolicked over the lawn with the abandon of young puppies, climbed a fence, and tore down the mossy slope, guided by the savory lure that ever grew stronger.
a few minutes later they arrived breathlessly in the sanctum sanctorum of rainbow valley where the blythe children were just about to give thanks and eat.
they halted shyly.
una wished they had not been so precipitate: but di blythe was equal to that and any occasion.
she stepped forward, with a comrade's smile.
""i guess i know who you are," she said.
""you belong to the manse, do n't you?"
faith nodded, her face creased by dimples.
""we smelled your trout cooking and wondered what it was."
""you must sit down and help us eat them," said di.
""maybe you have n't more than you want yourselves," said jerry, looking hungrily at the tin platter.
""we've heaps -- three apiece," said jem.
""sit down."
no more ceremony was necessary.
down they all sat on mossy stones.
merry was that feast and long.
nan and di would probably have died of horror had they known what faith and una knew perfectly well -- that carl had two young mice in his jacket pocket.
but they never knew it, so it never hurt them.
where can folks get better acquainted than over a meal table?
when the last trout had vanished, the manse children and the ingleside children were sworn friends and allies.
they had always known each other and always would.
the race of joseph recognized its own.
they poured out the history of their little pasts.
the manse children heard of avonlea and green gables, of rainbow valley traditions, and of the little house by the harbour shore where jem had been born.
the ingleside children heard of maywater, where the merediths had lived before coming to the glen, of una's beloved, one-eyed doll and faith's pet rooster.
faith was inclined to resent the fact that people laughed at her for petting a rooster.
she liked the blythes because they accepted it without question.
""a handsome rooster like adam is just as nice a pet as a dog or cat, i think," she said.
""if he was a canary nobody would wonder.
and i brought him up from a little, wee, yellow chicken.
mrs. johnson at maywater gave him to me.
a weasel had killed all his brothers and sisters.
i called him after her husband.
i never liked dolls or cats.
cats are too sneaky and dolls are dead."
""who lives in that house away up there?"
asked jerry.
""the miss wests -- rosemary and ellen," answered nan.
""di and i are going to take music lessons from miss rosemary this summer."
una gazed at the lucky twins with eyes whose longing was too gentle for envy.
oh, if she could only have music lessons!
it was one of the dreams of her little hidden life.
but nobody ever thought of such a thing.
""miss rosemary is so sweet and she always dresses so pretty," said di.
""her hair is just the colour of new molasses taffy," she added wistfully -- for di, like her mother before her, was not resigned to her own ruddy tresses.
""i like miss ellen, too," said nan.
""she always used to give me candies when she came to church.
but di is afraid of her."
""her brows are so black and she has such a great deep voice," said di.
""oh, how scared of her kenneth ford used to be when he was little!
mother says the first sunday mrs. ford brought him to church miss ellen happened to be there, sitting right behind them.
and the minute kenneth saw her he just screamed and screamed until mrs. ford had to carry him out."
""who is mrs. ford?"
asked una wonderingly.
""oh, the fords do n't live here.
they only come here in the summer.
and they're not coming this summer.
they live in that little house "way, "way down on the harbour shore where father and mother used to lie.
i wish you could see persis ford.
she is just like a picture."
""i've heard of mrs. ford," broke in faith.
""bertie shakespeare drew told me about her.
she was married fourteen years to a dead man and then he came to life."
""nonsense," said nan.
""that is n't the way it goes at all.
bertie shakespeare can never get anything straight.
i know the whole story and i'll tell it to you some time, but not now, for it's too long and it's time for us to go home.
mother does n't like us to be out late these damp evenings."
nobody cared whether the manse children were out in the damp or not.
aunt martha was already in bed and the minister was still too deeply lost in speculations concerning the immortality of the soul to remember the mortality of the body.
but they went home, too, with visions of good times coming in their heads.
""i think rainbow valley is even nicer than the graveyard," said una.
""and i just love those dear blythes.
it's so nice when you can love people because so often you ca n't.
father said in his sermon last sunday that we should love everybody.
but how can we?
how could we love mrs. alec davis?"
""oh, father only said that in the pulpit," said faith airily.
""he has more sense than to really think it outside."
the blythe children went up to ingleside, except jem, who slipped away for a few moments on a solitary expedition to a remote corner of rainbow valley.
mayflowers grew there and jem never forgot to take his mother a bouquet as long as they lasted.
chapter v.
the advent of mary vance "this is just the sort of day you feel as if things might happen," said faith, responsive to the lure of crystal air and blue hills.
she hugged herself with delight and danced a hornpipe on old hezekiah pollock's bench tombstone, much to the horror of two ancient maidens who happened to be driving past just as faith hopped on one foot around the stone, waving the other and her arms in the air.
""and that," groaned one ancient maiden, "is our minister's daughter."
""what else could you expect of a widower's family?"
groaned the other ancient maiden.
and then they both shook their heads.
it was early on saturday morning and the merediths were out in the dew-drenched world with a delightful consciousness of the holiday.
they had never had anything to do on a holiday.
even nan and di blythe had certain household tasks for saturday mornings, but the daughters of the manse were free to roam from blushing morn to dewy eve if so it pleased them.
it did please faith, but una felt a secret, bitter humiliation because they never learned to do anything.
the other girls in her class at school could cook and sew and knit; she only was a little ignoramus.
jerry suggested that they go exploring; so they went lingeringly through the fir grove, picking up carl on the way, who was on his knees in the dripping grass studying his darling ants.
beyond the grove they came out in mr. taylor's pasture field, sprinkled over with the white ghosts of dandelions; in a remote corner was an old tumbledown barn, where mr. taylor sometimes stored his surplus hay crop but which was never used for any other purpose.
thither the meredith children trooped, and prowled about the ground floor for several minutes.
""what was that?"
whispered una suddenly.
they all listened.
there was a faint but distinct rustle in the hayloft above.
the merediths looked at each other.
""there's something up there," breathed faith.
""i'm going up to see what it is," said jerry resolutely.
""oh, do n't," begged una, catching his arm.
""i'm going."
""we'll all go, too, then," said faith.
the whole four climbed the shaky ladder, jerry and faith quite dauntless, una pale from fright, and carl rather absent-mindedly speculating on the possibility of finding a bat up in the loft.
he longed to see a bat in daylight.
when they stepped off the ladder they saw what had made the rustle and the sight struck them dumb for a few moments.
in a little nest in the hay a girl was curled up, looking as if she had just wakened from sleep.
when she saw them she stood up, rather shakily, as it seemed, and in the bright sunlight that streamed through the cobwebbed window behind her, they saw that her thin, sunburned face was very pale under its tan.
she had two braids of lank, thick, tow-coloured hair and very odd eyes -- "white eyes," the manse children thought, as she stared at them half defiantly, half piteously.
they were really of so pale a blue that they did seem almost white, especially when contrasted with the narrow black ring that circled the iris.
she was barefooted and bareheaded, and was clad in a faded, ragged, old plaid dress, much too short and tight for her.
as for years, she might have been almost any age, judging from her wizened little face, but her height seemed to be somewhere in the neighbourhood of twelve.
""who are you?"
asked jerry.
the girl looked about her as if seeking a way of escape.
then she seemed to give in with a little shiver of despair.
""i'm mary vance," she said.
""where'd you come from?"
pursued jerry.
mary, instead of replying, suddenly sat, or fell, down on the hay and began to cry.
instantly faith had flung herself down beside her and put her arm around the thin, shaking shoulders.
""you stop bothering her," she commanded jerry.
then she hugged the waif.
""do n't cry, dear.
just tell us what's the matter.
we're friends."
""i'm so -- so -- hungry," wailed mary.
""i -- i hai n't had a thing to eat since thursday morning, "cept a little water from the brook out there."
the manse children gazed at each other in horror.
faith sprang up.
""you come right up to the manse and get something to eat before you say another word."
mary shrank.
""oh -- i ca n't.
what will your pa and ma say?
besides, they'd send me back."
""we've no mother, and father wo n't bother about you.
neither will aunt martha.
come, i say."
faith stamped her foot impatiently.
was this queer girl going to insist on starving to death almost at their very door?
mary yielded.
she was so weak that she could hardly climb down the ladder, but somehow they got her down and over the field and into the manse kitchen.
aunt martha, muddling through her saturday cooking, took no notice of her.
faith and una flew to the pantry and ransacked it for such eatables as it contained -- some "ditto," bread, butter, milk and a doubtful pie.
mary vance attacked the food ravenously and uncritically, while the manse children stood around and watched her.
jerry noticed that she had a pretty mouth and very nice, even, white teeth.
faith decided, with secret horror, that mary had not one stitch on her except that ragged, faded dress.
una was full of pure pity, carl of amused wonder, and all of them of curiosity.
""now come out to the graveyard and tell us about yourself," ordered faith, when mary's appetite showed signs of failing her.
mary was now nothing loath.
food had restored her natural vivacity and unloosed her by no means reluctant tongue.
""you wo n't tell your pa or anybody if i tell you?"
she stipulated, when she was enthroned on mr. pollock's tombstone.
opposite her the manse children lined up on another.
here was spice and mystery and adventure.
something had happened.
""no, we wo n't."
""cross your hearts?"
""cross our hearts."
""well, i've run away.
i was living with mrs. wiley over-harbour.
do you know mrs. wiley?"
""no."
""well, you do n't want to know her.
she's an awful woman.
my, how i hate her!
she worked me to death and would n't give me half enough to eat, and she used to larrup me "most every day.
look a-here."
mary rolled up her ragged sleeves, and held up her scrawny arms and thin hands, chapped almost to rawness.
they were black with bruises.
the manse children shivered.
faith flushed crimson with indignation.
una's blue eyes filled with tears.
""she licked me wednesday night with a stick," said mary, indifferently.
""it was'cause i let the cow kick over a pail of milk.
how'd i know the darn old cow was going to kick?"
a not unpleasant thrill ran over her listeners.
they would never dream of using such dubious words, but it was rather titivating to hear someone else use them -- and a girl, at that.
certainly this mary vance was an interesting creature.
""i do n't blame you for running away," said faith.
""oh, i did n't run away'cause she licked me.
a licking was all in the day's work with me.
i was darn well used to it.
nope, i'd meant to run away for a week'cause i'd found out that mrs. wiley was going to rent her farm and go to lowbridge to live and give me to a cousin of hers up charlottetown way.
i was n't going to stand for that.
she was a worse sort than mrs. wiley even.
mrs. wiley lent me to her for a month last summer and i'd rather live with the devil himself."
sensation number two.
but una looked doubtful.
""so i made up my mind i'd beat it.
i had seventy cents saved up that mrs. john crawford give me in the spring for planting potatoes for her.
mrs. wiley did n't know about it.
she was away visiting her cousin when i planted them.
i thought i'd sneak up here to the glen and buy a ticket to charlottetown and try to get work there.
i'm a hustler, let me tell you.
there ai n't a lazy bone in my body.
so i lit out thursday morning "fore mrs. wiley was up and walked to the glen -- six miles.
and when i got to the station i found i'd lost my money.
dunno how -- dunno where.
anyhow, it was gone.
i did n't know what to do.
if i went back to old lady wiley she'd take the hide off me.
so i went and hid in that old barn."
""and what will you do now?"
asked jerry.
""dunno.
i s "pose i'll have to go back and take my medicine.
now that i've got some grub in my stomach i guess i can stand it."
but there was fear behind the bravado in mary's eyes.
una suddenly slipped from the one tombstone to the other and put her arm about mary.
""do n't go back.
just stay here with us."
""oh, mrs. wiley'll hunt me up," said mary.
""it's likely she's on my trail before this.
i might stay here till she finds me, i s "pose, if your folks do n't mind.
i was a darn fool ever to think of skipping out.
she'd run a weasel to earth.
but i was so misrebul."
mary's voice quivered, but she was ashamed of showing her weakness.
""i hai n't had the life of a dog for these four years," she explained defiantly.
""you've been four years with mrs. wiley?"
""yip.
she took me out of the asylum over in hopetown when i was eight."
""that's the same place mrs. blythe came from," exclaimed faith.
""i was two years in the asylum.
i was put there when i was six.
my ma had hung herself and my pa had cut his throat."
""holy cats!
why?"
said jerry.
""booze," said mary laconically.
""and you've no relations?"
""not a darn one that i know of.
must have had some once, though.
i was called after half a dozen of them.
my full name is mary martha lucilla moore ball vance.
can you beat that?
my grandfather was a rich man.
i'll bet he was richer than your grandfather.
but pa drunk it all up and ma, she did her part.
they used to beat me, too.
laws, i've been licked so much i kind of like it."
mary tossed her head.
she divined that the manse children were pitying her for her many stripes and she did not want pity.
she wanted to be envied.
she looked gaily about her.
her strange eyes, now that the dullness of famine was removed from them, were brilliant.
she would show these youngsters what a personage she was.
""i've been sick an awful lot," she said proudly.
""there's not many kids could have come through what i have.
i've had scarlet fever and measles and ersipelas and mumps and whooping cough and pewmonia."
""were you ever fatally sick?"
asked una.
""i do n't know," said mary doubtfully.
""of course she was n't," scoffed jerry.
""if you're fatally sick you die."
""oh, well, i never died exactly," said mary, "but i come blamed near it once.
they thought i was dead and they were getting ready to lay me out when i up and come to."
""what is it like to be half dead?"
asked jerry curiously.
""like nothing.
i did n't know it for days afterwards.
it was when i had the pewmonia.
mrs. wiley would n't have the doctor -- said she was n't going to no such expense for a home girl.
old aunt christina macallister nursed me with poultices.
she brung me round.
but sometimes i wish i'd just died the other half and done with it.
i'd been better off."
""if you went to heaven i s "pose you would," said faith, rather doubtfully.
""well, what other place is there to go to?"
demanded mary in a puzzled voice.
""there's hell, you know," said una, dropping her voice and hugging mary to lessen the awfulness of the suggestion.
""hell?
what's that?"
""why, it's where the devil lives," said jerry.
""you've heard of him -- you spoke about him."
""oh, yes, but i did n't know he lived anywhere.
i thought he just roamed round.
mr. wiley used to mention hell when he was alive.
he was always telling folks to go there.
i thought it was some place over in new brunswick where he come from."
""hell is an awful place," said faith, with the dramatic enjoyment that is born of telling dreadful things.
""bad people go there when they die and burn in fire for ever and ever and ever."
""who told you that?"
demanded mary incredulously.
""it's in the bible.
and mr. isaac crothers at maywater told us, too, in sunday school.
he was an elder and a pillar in the church and knew all about it.
but you need n't worry.
if you're good you'll go to heaven and if you're bad i guess you'd rather go to hell."
""i would n't," said mary positively.
""no matter how bad i was i would n't want to be burned and burned.
i know what it's like.
i picked up a red hot poker once by accident.
what must you do to be good?"
""you must go to church and sunday school and read your bible and pray every night and give to missions," said una.
""it sounds like a large order," said mary.
""anything else?"
""you must ask god to forgive the sins you've committed.
""but i've never com -- committed any," said mary.
""what's a sin any way?"
""oh, mary, you must have.
everybody does.
did you never tell a lie?"
""heaps of'em," said mary.
""that's a dreadful sin," said una solemnly.
""do you mean to tell me," demanded mary, "that i'd be sent to hell for telling a lie now and then?
why, i had to.
mr. wiley would have broken every bone in my body one time if i had n't told him a lie.
lies have saved me many a whack, i can tell you."
una sighed.
here were too many difficulties for her to solve.
she shuddered as she thought of being cruelly whipped.
very likely she would have lied too.
she squeezed mary's little calloused hand.
""is that the only dress you've got?"
asked faith, whose joyous nature refused to dwell on disagreeable subjects.
""i just put on this dress because it was no good," cried mary flushing.
""mrs. wiley'd bought my clothes and i was n't going to be beholden to her for anything.
and i'm honest.
if i was going to run away i was n't going to take what belong to her that was worth anything.
when i grow up i'm going to have a blue sating dress.
your own clothes do n't look so stylish.
i thought ministers" children were always dressed up."
it was plain that mary had a temper and was sensitive on some points.
but there was a queer, wild charm about her which captivated them all.
she was taken to rainbow valley that afternoon and introduced to the blythes as "a friend of ours from over-harbour who is visiting us."
the blythes accepted her unquestioningly, perhaps because she was fairly respectable now.
after dinner -- through which aunt martha had mumbled and mr. meredith had been in a state of semi-unconsciousness while brooding his sunday sermon -- faith had prevailed on mary to put on one of her dresses, as well as certain other articles of clothing.
with her hair neatly braided mary passed muster tolerably well.
she was an acceptable playmate, for she knew several new and exciting games, and her conversation lacked not spice.
in fact, some of her expressions made nan and di look at her rather askance.
they were not quite sure what their mother would have thought of her, but they knew quite well what susan would.
however, she was a visitor at the manse, so she must be all right.
when bedtime came there was the problem of where mary should sleep.
""we ca n't put her in the spare room, you know," said faith perplexedly to una.
""i have n't got anything in my head," cried mary in an injured tone.
""oh, i did n't mean that," protested faith.
""the spare room is all torn up.
the mice have gnawed a big hole in the feather tick and made a nest in it.
we never found it out till aunt martha put the rev. mr. fisher from charlottetown there to sleep last week.
he soon found it out.
then father had to give him his bed and sleep on the study lounge.
aunt martha has n't had time to fix the spare room bed up yet, so she says; so nobody can sleep there, no matter how clean their heads are.
and our room is so small, and the bed so small you ca n't sleep with us."
""i can go back to the hay in the old barn for the night if you'll lend me a quilt," said mary philosophically.
""it was kind of chilly last night, but "cept for that i've had worse beds."
""oh, no, no, you must n't do that," said una.
""i've thought of a plan, faith.
you know that little trestle bed in the garret room, with the old mattress on it, that the last minister left there?
let's take up the spare room bedclothes and make mary a bed there.
you wo n't mind sleeping in the garret, will you, mary?
it's just above our room."
""any place'll do me.
laws, i never had a decent place to sleep in my life.
i slept in the loft over the kitchen at mrs. wiley's.
the roof leaked rain in the summer and the snow druv in in winter.
my bed was a straw tick on the floor.
you wo n't find me a mite huffy about where i sleep."
the manse garret was a long, low, shadowy place, with one gable end partitioned off.
here a bed was made up for mary of the dainty hemstitched sheets and embroidered spread which cecilia meredith had once so proudly made for her spare-room, and which still survived aunt martha's uncertain washings.
the good nights were said and silence fell over the manse.
una was just falling asleep when she heard a sound in the room just above that made her sit up suddenly.
""listen, faith -- mary's crying," she whispered.
faith replied not, being already asleep.
una slipped out of bed, and made her way in her little white gown down the hall and up the garret stairs.
the creaking floor gave ample notice of her coming, and when she reached the corner room all was moonlit silence and the trestle bed showed only a hump in the middle.
""mary," whispered una.
there was no response.
una crept close to the bed and pulled at the spread.
""mary, i know you are crying.
i heard you.
are you lonesome?"
mary suddenly appeared to view but said nothing.
""let me in beside you.
i'm cold," said una shivering in the chilly air, for the little garret window was open and the keen breath of the north shore at night blew in.
mary moved over and una snuggled down beside her.
""now you wo n't be lonesome.
we should n't have left you here alone the first night."
""i was n't lonesome," sniffed mary.
""what were you crying for then?"
""oh, i just got to thinking of things when i was here alone.
i thought of having to go back to mrs. wiley -- and of being licked for running away -- and -- and -- and of going to hell for telling lies.
it all worried me something scandalous."
""oh, mary," said poor una in distress.
""i do n't believe god will send you to hell for telling lies when you did n't know it was wrong.
he could n't.
why, he's kind and good.
of course, you must n't tell any more now that you know it's wrong."
""if i ca n't tell lies what's to become of me?"
said mary with a sob.
""you do n't understand.
you do n't know anything about it.
you've got a home and a kind father -- though it does seem to me that he is n't more'n about half there.
but anyway he does n't lick you, and you get enough to eat such as it is -- though that old aunt of yours does n't know anything about cooking.
why, this is the first day i ever remember of feeling "sif i'd enough to eat.
i've been knocked about all of my life, "cept for the two years i was at the asylum.
they did n't lick me there and it was n't too bad, though the matron was cross.
she always looked ready to bite my head off a nail.
but mrs. wiley is a holy terror, that's what she is, and i'm just scared stiff when i think of going back to her."
""perhaps you wo n't have to.
perhaps we'll be able to think of a way out.
let's both ask god to keep you from having to go back to mrs. wiley.
you say your prayers, do n't you mary?"
""oh, yes, i always go over an old rhyme "fore i get into bed," said mary indifferently.
""i never thought of asking for anything in particular though.
nobody in this world ever bothered themselves about me so i did n't s "pose god would.
he might take more trouble for you, seeing you're a minister's daughter."
""he'd take every bit as much trouble for you, mary, i'm sure," said una.
""it does n't matter whose child you are.
you just ask him -- and i will, too."
""all right," agreed mary.
""it wo n't do any harm if it does n't do much good.
if you knew mrs. wiley as well as i do you would n't think god would want to meddle with her.
anyhow, i wo n't cry any more about it.
this is a big sight better'n last night down in that old barn, with the mice running about.
look at the four winds light.
ai n't it pretty?"
""this is the only window we can see it from," said una.
""i love to watch it."
""do you?
so do i. i could see it from the wiley loft and it was the only comfort i had.
when i was all sore from being licked i'd watch it and forget about the places that hurt.
i'd think of the ships sailing away and away from it and wish i was on one of them sailing far away too -- away from everything.
on winter nights when it did n't shine, i just felt real lonesome.
say, una, what makes all you folks so kind to me when i'm just a stranger?"
""because it's right to be.
the bible tells us to be kind to everybody."
""does it?
well, i guess most folks do n't mind it much then.
i never remember of any one being kind to me before -- true's you live i do n't.
say, una, ai n't them shadows on the walls pretty?
they look just like a flock of little dancing birds.
and say, una, i like all you folks and them blythe boys and di, but i do n't like that nan.
she's a proud one."
""oh, no, mary, she is n't a bit proud," said una eagerly.
""not a single bit."
""do n't tell me.
any one that holds her head like that is proud.
i do n't like her."
""we all like her very much."
""oh, i s "pose you like her better'n me?"
said mary jealously.
""do you?"
""why, mary -- we've known her for weeks and we've only known you a few hours," stammered una.
""so you do like her better then?"
said mary in a rage.
""all right!
like her all you want to.
i do n't care.
i can get along without you."
she flung herself over against the wall of the garret with a slam.
""oh, mary," said una, pushing a tender arm over mary's uncompromising back, "do n't talk like that.
i do like you ever so much.
and you make me feel so bad."
no answer.
presently una gave a sob.
instantly mary squirmed around again and engulfed una in a bear's hug.
""hush up," she ordered.
""do n't go crying over what i said.
i was as mean as the devil to talk that way.
i orter to be skinned alive -- and you all so good to me.
i should think you would like any one better'n me.
i deserve every licking i ever got.
hush, now.
if you cry any more i'll go and walk right down to the harbour in this night-dress and drown myself."
this terrible threat made una choke back her sobs.
her tears were wiped away by mary with the lace frill of the spare-room pillow and forgiver and forgiven cuddled down together again, harmony restored, to watch the shadows of the vine leaves on the moonlit wall until they fell asleep.
and in the study below rev. john meredith walked the floor with rapt face and shining eyes, thinking out his message of the morrow, and knew not that under his own roof there was a little forlorn soul, stumbling in darkness and ignorance, beset by terror and compassed about with difficulties too great for it to grapple in its unequal struggle with a big indifferent world.
chapter vi.
mary stays at the manse the manse children took mary vance to church with them the next day.
at first mary objected to the idea.
""did n't you go to church over-harbour?"
asked una.
""you bet.
mrs. wiley never troubled church much, but i went every sunday i could get off.
i was mighty thankful to go to some place where i could sit down for a spell.
but i ca n't go to church in this old ragged dress."
this difficulty was removed by faith offering the loan of her second best dress.
""it's faded a little and two of the buttons are off, but i guess it'll do."
""i'll sew the buttons on in a jiffy," said mary.
""not on sunday," said una, shocked.
""sure.
the better the day the better the deed.
you just gim me a needle and thread and look the other way if you're squeamish."
faith's school boots, and an old black velvet cap that had once been cecilia meredith's, completed mary's costume, and to church she went.
her behaviour was quite conventional, and though some wondered who the shabby little girl with the manse children was she did not attract much attention.
she listened to the sermon with outward decorum and joined lustily in the singing.
she had, it appeared, a clear, strong voice and a good ear.
""his blood can make the violets clean," carolled mary blithely.
mrs. jimmy milgrave, whose pew was just in front of the manse pew, turned suddenly and looked the child over from top to toe.
mary, in a mere superfluity of naughtiness, stuck out her tongue at mrs. milgrave, much to una's horror.
""i could n't help it," she declared after church.
""what'd she want to stare at me like that for?
such manners!
i'm glad stuck my tongue out at her.
i wish i'd stuck it farther out.
say, i saw rob macallister from over-harbour there.
wonder if he'll tell mrs. wiley on me."
no mrs. wiley appeared, however, and in a few day the children forgot to look for her.
mary was apparently a fixture at the manse.
but she refused to go to school with the others.
""nope.
i've finished my education," she said, when faith urged her to go.
""i went to school four winters since i come to mrs. wiley's and i've had all i want of that.
i'm sick and tired of being everlastingly jawed at'cause i did n't get my home-lessons done.
i'd no time to do home-lessons."
""our teacher wo n't jaw you.
he is awfully nice," said faith.
""well, i ai n't going.
i can read and write and cipher up to fractions.
that's all i want.
you fellows go and i'll stay home.
you need n't be scared i'll steal anything.
i swear i'm honest."
mary employed herself while the others were at school in cleaning up the manse.
in a few days it was a different place.
floors were swept, furniture dusted, everything straightened out.
she mended the spare-room bed-tick, she sewed on missing buttons, she patched clothes neatly, she even invaded the study with broom and dustpan and ordered mr. meredith out while she put it to rights.
but there was one department with which aunt martha refused to let her interfere.
aunt martha might be deaf and half blind and very childish, but she was resolved to keep the commissariat in her own hands, in spite of all mary's wiles and stratagems.
""i can tell you if old martha'd let me cook you'd have some decent meals," she told the manse children indignantly.
""there'd be no more "ditto" -- and no more lumpy porridge and blue milk either.
what does she do with all the cream?"
""she gives it to the cat.
he's hers, you know," said faith.
""i'd like to cat her, "exclaimed mary bitterly.
""i've no use for cats anyhow.
they belong to the old nick.
you can tell that by their eyes.
well, if old martha wo n't, she wo n't, i s "pose.
but it gits on my nerves to see good vittles spoiled."
when school came out they always went to rainbow valley.
mary refused to play in the graveyard.
she declared she was afraid of ghosts.
""there's no such thing as ghosts," declared jem blythe.
""oh, ai n't there?"
""did you ever see any?"
""hundreds of'em," said mary promptly.
""what are they like?"
said carl.
""awful-looking.
dressed all in white with skellington hands and heads," said mary.
""what did you do?"
asked una.
""run like the devil," said mary.
then she caught walter's eyes and blushed.
mary was a good deal in awe of walter.
she declared to the manse girls that his eyes made her nervous.
""i think of all the lies i've ever told when i look into them," she said, "and i wish i had n't."
jem was mary's favourite.
when he took her to the attic at ingleside and showed her the museum of curios that captain jim boyd had bequeathed to him she was immensely pleased and flattered.
she also won carl's heart entirely by her interest in his beetles and ants.
it could not be denied that mary got on rather better with the boys than with the girls.
she quarrelled bitterly with nan blythe the second day.
""your mother is a witch," she told nan scornfully.
""red-haired women are always witches."
then she and faith fell out about the rooster.
mary said its tail was too short.
faith angrily retorted that she guessed god know what length to make a rooster's tail.
they did not "speak" for a day over this.
mary treated una's hairless, one-eyed doll with consideration; but when una showed her other prized treasure -- a picture of an angel carrying a baby, presumably to heaven, mary declared that it looked too much like a ghost for her.
una crept away to her room and cried over this, but mary hunted her out, hugged her repentantly and implored forgiveness.
no one could keep up a quarrel long with mary -- not even nan, who was rather prone to hold grudges and never quite forgave the insult to her mother.
mary was jolly.
she could and did tell the most thrilling ghost stories.
rainbow valley seances were undeniably more exciting after mary came.
she learned to play on the jew's - harp and soon eclipsed jerry.
""never struck anything yet i could n't do if i put my mind to it," she declared.
mary seldom lost a chance of tooting her own horn.
she taught them how to make "blow-bags" out of the thick leaves of the "live-forever" that flourished in the old bailey garden, she initiated them into the toothsome qualities of the "sours" that grew in the niches of the graveyard dyke, and she could make the most wonderful shadow pictures on the walls with her long, flexible fingers.
and when they all went picking gum in rainbow valley mary always got "the biggest chew" and bragged about it.
there were times when they hated her and times when they loved her.
but at all times they found her interesting.
so they submitted quite meekly to her bossing, and by the end of a fortnight had come to feel that she must always have been with them.
""it's the queerest thing that mrs. wiley hai n't been after me," said mary.
""i ca n't understand it."
""maybe she is n't going to bother about you at all," said una.
""then you can just go on staying here."
""this house ai n't hardly big enough for me and old martha," said mary darkly.
""it's a very fine thing to have enough to eat -- i've often wondered what it would be like -- but i'm p "ticler about my cooking.
and mrs. wiley'll be here yet.
she's got a rod in pickle for me all right.
i do n't think about it so much in daytime but say, girls, up there in that garret at night i git to thinking and thinking of it, till i just almost wish she'd come and have it over with.
i dunno's one real good whipping would be much worse'n all the dozen i've lived through in my mind ever since i run away.
were any of you ever licked?"
""no, of course not," said faith indignantly.
""father would never do such a thing."
""you do n't know you're alive," said mary with a sigh half of envy, half of superiority.
""you do n't know what i've come through.
and i s "pose the blythes were never licked either?"
""no-o-o, i guess not.
but i think they were sometimes spanked when they were small."
""a spanking does n't amount to anything," said mary contemptuously.
""if my folks had just spanked me i'd have thought they were petting me.
well, it ai n't a fair world.
i would n't mind taking my share of wallopings but i've had a darn sight too many."
""it is n't right to say that word, mary," said una reproachfully.
""you promised me you would n't say it."
""g'way," responded mary.
""if you knew some of the words i could say if i liked you would n't make such a fuss over darn.
and you know very well i hai n't ever told any lies since i come here."
""what about all those ghosts you said you saw?"
asked faith.
mary blushed.
""that was diff "runt," she said defiantly.
""i knew you would n't believe them yarns and i did n't intend you to.
and i really did see something queer one night when i was passing the over-harbour graveyard, true's you live.
i dunno whether't was a ghost or sandy crawford's old white nag, but it looked blamed queer and i tell you i scooted at the rate of no man's business."
chapter vii.
a fishy episode rilla blythe walked proudly, and perhaps a little primly, through the main "street" of the glen and up the manse hill, carefully carrying a small basketful of early strawberries, which susan had coaxed into lusciousness in one of the sunny nooks of ingleside.
susan had charged rilla to give the basket to nobody except aunt martha or mr. meredith, and rilla, very proud of being entrusted with such an errand, was resolved to carry out her instructions to the letter.
susan had dressed her daintily in a white, starched, and embroidered dress, with sash of blue and beaded slippers.
her long ruddy curls were sleek and round, and susan had let her put on her best hat, out of compliment to the manse.
it was a somewhat elaborate affair, wherein susan's taste had had more to say than anne's, and rilla's small soul gloried in its splendours of silk and lace and flowers.
she was very conscious of her hat, and i am afraid she strutted up the manse hill.
the strut, or the hat, or both, got on the nerves of mary vance, who was swinging on the lawn gate.
mary's temper was somewhat ruffled just then, into the bargain.
aunt martha had refused to let her peel the potatoes and had ordered her out of the kitchen.
""yah!
you'll bring the potatoes to the table with strips of skin hanging to them and half boiled as usual!
my, but it'll be nice to go to your funeral," shrieked mary.
she went out of the kitchen, giving the door such a bang that even aunt martha heard it, and mr. meredith in his study felt the vibration and thought absently that there must have been a slight earthquake shock.
then he went on with his sermon.
mary slipped from the gate and confronted the spick-and-span damsel of ingleside.
""what you got there?"
she demanded, trying to take the basket.
rilla resisted.
""it "th for mithter meredith," she lisped.
""give it to me.
i'll give it to him," said mary.
""no.
thuthan thaid that i wath n't to give it to anybody but mithter mer "dith or aunt martha," insisted rilla.
mary eyed her sourly.
""you think you're something, do n't you, all dressed up like a doll!
look at me.
my dress is all rags and i do n't care!
i'd rather be ragged than a doll baby.
go home and tell them to put you in a glass case.
look at me -- look at me -- look at me!"
mary executed a wild dance around the dismayed and bewildered rilla, flirting her ragged skirt and vociferating "look at me -- look at me" until poor rilla was dizzy.
but as the latter tried to edge away towards the gate mary pounced on her again.
""you give me that basket," she ordered with a grimace.
mary was past mistress in the art of "making faces."
she could give her countenance a most grotesque and unearthly appearance out of which her strange, brilliant, white eyes gleamed with weird effect.
""i wo n't," gasped rilla, frightened but staunch.
""you let me go, mary vanth."
mary let go for a minute and looked around here.
just inside the gate was a small "flake," on which a half a dozen large codfish were drying.
one of mr. meredith's parishioners had presented him with them one day, perhaps in lieu of the subscription he was supposed to pay to the stipend and never did.
mr. meredith had thanked him and then forgotten all about the fish, which would have promptly spoiled had not the indefatigable mary prepared them for drying and rigged up the "flake" herself on which to dry them.
mary had a diabolical inspiration.
she flew to the "flake" and seized the largest fish there -- a huge, flat thing, nearly as big as herself.
with a whoop she swooped down on the terrified rilla, brandishing her weird missile.
rilla's courage gave way.
to be lambasted with a dried codfish was such an unheard-of thing that rilla could not face it.
with a shriek she dropped her basket and fled.
the beautiful berries, which susan had so tenderly selected for the minister, rolled in a rosy torrent over the dusty road and were trodden on by the flying feet of pursuer and pursued.
the basket and contents were no longer in mary's mind.
she thought only of the delight of giving rilla blythe the scare of her life.
she would teach her to come giving herself airs because of her fine clothes.
rilla flew down the hill and along the street.
terror lent wings to her feet, and she just managed to keep ahead of mary, who was somewhat hampered by her own laughter, but who had breath enough to give occasional blood-curdling whoops as she ran, flourishing her codfish in the air.
through the glen street they swept, while everybody ran to the windows and gates to see them.
mary felt she was making a tremendous sensation and enjoyed it.
rilla, blind with terror and spent of breath, felt that she could run no longer.
in another instant that terrible girl would be on her with the codfish.
at this point the poor mite stumbled and fell into the mud-puddle at the end of the street just as miss cornelia came out of carter flagg's store.
miss cornelia took the whole situation in at a glance.
so did mary.
the latter stopped short in her mad career and before miss cornelia could speak she had whirled around and was running up as fast as she had run down.
miss cornelia's lips tightened ominously, but she knew it was no use to think of chasing her.
so she picked up poor, sobbing, dishevelled rilla instead and took her home.
rilla was heart-broken.
her dress and slippers and hat were ruined and her six year old pride had received terrible bruises.
susan, white with indignation, heard miss cornelia's story of mary vance's exploit.
""oh, the hussy -- oh, the littly hussy!"
she said, as she carried rilla away for purification and comfort.
""this thing has gone far enough, anne dearie," said miss cornelia resolutely.
""something must be done.
who is this creature who is staying at the manse and where does she come from?"
""i understood she was a little girl from over-harbour who was visiting at the manse," answered anne, who saw the comical side of the codfish chase and secretly thought rilla was rather vain and needed a lesson or two.
""i know all the over-harbour families who come to our church and that imp does n't belong to any of them," retorted miss cornelia.
""she is almost in rags and when she goes to church she wears faith meredith's old clothes.
there's some mystery here, and i'm going to investigate it, since it seems nobody else will.
i believe she was at the bottom of their goings-on in warren mead's spruce bush the other day.
did you hear of their frightening his mother into a fit?"
""no.
i knew gilbert had been called to see her, but i did not hear what the trouble was."
""well, you know she has a weak heart.
and one day last week, when she was all alone on the veranda, she heard the most awful shrieks of "murder" and "help" coming from the bush -- positively frightful sounds, anne dearie.
her heart gave out at once.
warren heard them himself at the barn, and went straight to the bush to investigate, and there he found all the manse children sitting on a fallen tree and screaming "murder" at the top of their lungs.
they told him they were only in fun and did n't think anyone would hear them.
they were just playing indian ambush.
warren went back to the house and found his poor mother unconscious on the veranda."
susan, who had returned, sniffed contemptuously.
""i think she was very far from being unconscious, mrs. marshall elliott, and that you may tie to.
i have been hearing of amelia warren's weak heart for forty years.
she had it when she was twenty.
she enjoys making a fuss and having the doctor, and any excuse will do."
""i do n't think gilbert thought her attack very serious," said anne.
""oh, that may very well be," said miss cornelia.
""but the matter has made an awful lot of talk and the meads being methodists makes it that much worse.
what is going to become of those children?
sometimes i ca n't sleep at nights for thinking about them, anne dearie.
i really do question if they get enough to eat, even, for their father is so lost in dreams that he does n't often remember he has a stomach, and that lazy old woman does n't bother cooking what she ought.
they are just running wild and now that school is closing they'll be worse than ever."
""they do have jolly times," said anne, laughing over the recollections of some rainbow valley happenings that had come to her ears.
""and they are all brave and frank and loyal and truthful."
""that's a true word, anne dearie, and when you come to think of all the trouble in the church those two tattling, deceitful youngsters of the last minister's made, i'm inclined to overlook a good deal in the merediths."
""when all is said and done, mrs. dr. dear, they are very nice children," said susan.
""they have got plenty of original sin in them and that i will admit, but maybe it is just as well, for if they had not they might spoil from over-sweetness.
only i do think it is not proper for them to play in a graveyard and that i will maintain."
""but they really play quite quietly there," excused anne.
""they do n't run and yell as they do elsewhere.
such howls as drift up here from rainbow valley sometimes!
though i fancy my own small fry bear a valiant part in them.
they had a sham battle there last night and had to "roar" themselves, because they had no artillery to do it, so jem says.
jem is passing through the stage where all boys hanker to be soldiers."
""well, thank goodness, he'll never be a soldier," said miss cornelia.
""i never approved of our boys going to that south african fracas.
but it's over, and not likely anything of the kind will ever happen again.
i think the world is getting more sensible.
as for the merediths, i've said many a time and i say it again, if mr. meredith had a wife all would be well."
""he called twice at the kirks" last week, so i am told," said susan.
""well," said miss cornelia thoughtfully, "as a rule, i do n't approve of a minister marrying in his congregation.
it generally spoils him.
but in this case it would do no harm, for every one likes elizabeth kirk and nobody else is hankering for the job of stepmothering those youngsters.
even the hill girls balk at that.
they have n't been found laying traps for mr. meredith.
elizabeth would make him a good wife if he only thought so.
but the trouble is, she really is homely and, anne dearie, mr. meredith, abstracted as he is, has an eye for a good-looking woman, man-like.
he is n't so other-worldly when it comes to that, believe me."
""elizabeth kirk is a very nice person, but they do say that people have nearly frozen to death in her mother's spare-room bed before now, mrs. dr. dear," said susan darkly.
""if i felt i had any right to express an opinion concerning such a solemn matter as a minister's marriage i would say that i think elizabeth's cousin sarah, over-harbour, would make mr. meredith a better wife."
""why, sarah kirk is a methodist," said miss cornelia, much as if susan had suggested a hottentot as a manse bride.
""she would likely turn presbyterian if she married mr. meredith," retorted susan.
miss cornelia shook her head.
evidently with her it was, once a methodist, always a methodist.
""sarah kirk is entirely out of the question," she said positively.
""and so is emmeline drew -- though the drews are all trying to make the match.
they are literally throwing poor emmeline at his head, and he has n't the least idea of it."
""emmeline drew has no gumption, i must allow," said susan.
""she is the kind of woman, mrs. dr. dear, who would put a hot-water bottle in your bed on a dog-night and then have her feelings hurt because you were not grateful.
and her mother was a very poor housekeeper.
did you ever hear the story of her dishcloth?
she lost her dishcloth one day.
but the next day she found it.
oh, yes, mrs. dr. dear, she found it, in the goose at the dinner-table, mixed up with the stuffing.
do you think a woman like that would do for a minister's mother-in-law?
i do not.
but no doubt i would be better employed in mending little jem's trousers than in talking gossip about my neighbours.
he tore them something scandalous last night in rainbow valley."
""where is walter?"
asked anne.
""he is up to no good, i fear, mrs. dr. dear.
he is in the attic writing something in an exercise book.
and he has not done as well in arithmetic this term as he should, so the teacher tells me.
too well i know the reason why.
he has been writing silly rhymes when he should have been doing his sums.
i am afraid that boy is going to be a poet, mrs. dr. dear."
""he is a poet now, susan."
""well, you take it real calm, mrs. dr. dear.
i suppose it is the best way, when a person has the strength.
i had an uncle who began by being a poet and ended up by being a tramp.
our family were dreadfully ashamed of him."
""you do n't seem to think very highly of poets, susan," said anne, laughing.
""who does, mrs. dr. dear?"
asked susan in genuine astonishment.
""what about milton and shakespeare?
and the poets of the bible?"
""they tell me milton could not get along with his wife, and shakespeare was no more than respectable by times.
as for the bible, of course things were different in those sacred days -- although i never had a high opinion of king david, say what you will.
i never knew any good to come of writing poetry, and i hope and pray that blessed boy will outgrow the tendency.
if he does not -- we must see what emulsion of cod-liver oil will do."
chapter viii.
miss cornelia intervenes miss cornelia descended upon the manse the next day and cross-questioned mary, who, being a young person of considerable discernment and astuteness, told her story simple and truthfully, with an entire absence of complaint or bravado.
miss cornelia was more favourably impressed than she had expected to be, but deemed it her duty to be severe.
""do you think," she said sternly, "that you showed your gratitude to this family, who have been far too kind to you, by insulting and chasing one of their little friends as you did yesterday?"
""say, it was rotten mean of me," admitted mary easily.
""i dunno what possessed me.
that old codfish seemed to come in so blamed handy.
but i was awful sorry -- i cried last night after i went to bed about it, honest i did.
you ask una if i did n't.
i would n't tell her what for'cause i was ashamed of it, and then she cried, too, because she was afraid someone had hurt my feelings.
laws, i ai n't got any feelings to hurt worth speaking of.
what worries me is why mrs. wiley hai n't been hunting for me.
it ai n't like her."
miss cornelia herself thought it rather peculiar, but she merely admonished mary sharply not to take any further liberties with the minister's codfish, and went to report progress at ingleside.
""if the child's story is true the matter ought to be looked into," she said.
""i know something about that wiley woman, believe me.
marshall used to be well acquainted with her when he lived over-harbour.
i heard him say something last summer about her and a home child she had -- likely this very mary-creature.
he said some one told him she was working the child to death and not half feeding and clothing it.
you know, anne dearie, it has always been my habit neither to make nor meddle with those over-harbour folks.
but i shall send marshall over to-morrow to find out the rights of this if he can.
and then i'll speak to the minister.
mind you, anne dearie, the merediths found this girl literally starving in james taylor's old hay barn.
she had been there all night, cold and hungry and alone.
and us sleeping warm in our beds after good suppers."
""the poor little thing," said anne, picturing one of her own dear babies, cold and hungry and alone in such circumstances.
""if she has been ill-used, miss cornelia, she must n't be taken back to such a place.
i was an orphan once in a very similar situation."
""we'll have to consult the hopetown asylum folks," said miss cornelia.
""anyway, she ca n't be left at the manse.
dear knows what those poor children might learn from her.
i understand that she has been known to swear.
but just think of her being there two whole weeks and mr meredith never waking up to it!
what business has a man like that to have a family?
why, anne dearie, he ought to be a monk."
two evenings later miss cornelia was back at ingleside.
""it's the most amazing thing!"
she said.
""mrs. wiley was found dead in her bed the very morning after this mary-creature ran away.
she has had a bad heart for years and the doctor had warned her it might happen at any time.
she had sent away her hired man and there was nobody in the house.
some neighbours found her the next day.
they missed the child, it seems, but supposed mrs. wiley had sent her to her cousin near charlottetown as she had said she was going to do.
the cousin did n't come to the funeral and so nobody ever knew that mary was n't with her.
the people marshall talked to told him some things about the way mrs. wiley used this mary that made his blood boil, so he declares.
you know, it puts marshall in a regular fury to hear of a child being ill-used.
they said she whipped her mercilessly for every little fault or mistake.
some folks talked of writing to the asylum authorities but everybody's business is nobody's business and it was never done."
""i am sorry that wiley person is dead," said susan fiercely.
""i should like to go over-harbour and give her a piece of my mind.
starving and beating a child, mrs. dr. dear!
as you know, i hold with lawful spanking, but i go no further.
and what is to become of this poor child now, mrs. marshall elliott?"
""i suppose she must be sent back to hopetown," said miss cornelia.
""i think every one hereabouts who wants a home child has one.
i'll see mr. meredith to-morrow and tell him my opinion of the whole affair."
""and no doubt she will, mrs. dr. dear," said susan, after miss cornelia had gone.
""she would stick at nothing, not even at shingling the church spire if she took it into her head.
but i can not understand how even cornelia bryant can talk to a minister as she does.
you would think he was just any common person."
when miss cornelia had gone, nan blythe uncurled herself from the hammock where she had been studying her lessons and slipped away to rainbow valley.
the others were already there.
jem and jerry were playing quoits with old horseshoes borrowed from the glen blacksmith.
carl was stalking ants on a sunny hillock.
walter, lying on his stomach among the fern, was reading aloud to mary and di and faith and una from a wonderful book of myths wherein were fascinating accounts of prester john and the wandering jew, divining rods and tailed men, of schamir, the worm that split rocks and opened the way to golden treasure, of fortunate isles and swan-maidens.
it was a great shock to walter to learn that william tell and gelert were myths also; and the story of bishop hatto was to keep him awake all that night; but best of all he loved the stories of the pied piper and the san greal.
he read them thrillingly, while the bells on the tree lovers tinkled in the summer wind and the coolness of the evening shadows crept across the valley.
""say, ai n't them in "resting lies?"
said mary admiringly when walter had closed the book.
""they are n't lies," said di indignantly.
""you do n't mean they're true?"
asked mary incredulously.
""no -- not exactly.
they're like those ghost-stories of yours.
they were n't true -- but you did n't expect us to believe them, so they were n't lies."
""that yarn about the divining rod is no lie, anyhow," said mary.
""old jake crawford over-harbour can work it.
they send for him from everywhere when they want to dig a well.
and i believe i know the wandering jew."
""oh, mary," said una, awe-struck.
""i do -- true's you're alive.
there was an old man at mrs. wiley's one day last fall.
he looked old enough to be anything.
she was asking him about cedar posts, if he thought they'd last well.
and he said, "last well?
they'll last a thousand years.
i know, for i've tried them twice."
now, if he was two thousand years old who was he but your wandering jew?"
""i do n't believe the wandering jew would associate with a person like mrs. wiley," said faith decidedly.
""i love the pied piper story," said di, "and so does mother.
i always feel so sorry for the poor little lame boy who could n't keep up with the others and got shut out of the mountain.
he must have been so disappointed.
i think all the rest of his life he'd be wondering what wonderful thing he had missed and wishing he could have got in with the others."
""but how glad his mother must have been," said una softly.
""i think she had been sorry all her life that he was lame.
perhaps she even used to cry about it.
but she would never be sorry again -- never.
she would be glad he was lame because that was why she had n't lost him."
""some day," said walter dreamily, looking afar into the sky, "the pied piper will come over the hill up there and down rainbow valley, piping merrily and sweetly.
and i will follow him -- follow him down to the shore -- down to the sea -- away from you all.
i do n't think i'll want to go -- jem will want to go -- it will be such an adventure -- but i wo n't.
only i'll have to -- the music will call and call and call me until i must follow."
""we'll all go," cried di, catching fire at the flame of walter's fancy, and half-believing she could see the mocking, retreating figure of the mystic piper in the far, dim end of the valley.
""no.
you'll sit here and wait," said walter, his great, splendid eyes full of strange glamour.
""you'll wait for us to come back.
and we may not come -- for we can not come as long as the piper plays.
he may pipe us round the world.
and still you'll sit here and wait -- and wait."
""oh, dry up," said mary, shivering.
""do n't look like that, walter blythe.
you give me the creeps.
do you want to set me bawling?
i could just see that horrid old piper going away on, and you boys following him, and us girls sitting here waiting all alone.
i dunno why it is -- i never was one of the blubbering kind -- but as soon as you start your spieling i always want to cry."
walter smiled in triumph.
he liked to exercise this power of his over his companions -- to play on their feelings, waken their fears, thrill their souls.
it satisfied some dramatic instinct in him.
but under his triumph was a queer little chill of some mysterious dread.
the pied piper had seemed very real to him -- as if the fluttering veil that hid the future had for a moment been blown aside in the starlit dusk of rainbow valley and some dim glimpse of coming years granted to him.
carl, coming up to their group with a report of the doings in ant-land, brought them all back to the realm of facts.
""ants are darned in "resting," exclaimed mary, glad to escape the shadowy piper's thrall.
""carl and me watched that bed in the graveyard all saturday afternoon.
i never thought there was so much in bugs.
say, but they're quarrelsome little cusses -- some of'em like to start a fight "thout any reason, far's we could see.
and some of'em are cowards.
they got so scared they just doubled theirselves up into a ball and let the other fellows bang'em.
they would n't put up a fight at all.
some of'em are lazy and wo n't work.
we watched'em shirking.
and there was one ant died of grief'cause another ant got killed -- would n't work -- would n't eat -- just died -- it did, honest to go -- oodness."
a shocked silence prevailed.
every one knew that mary had not started out to say "goodness."
faith and di exchanged glances that would have done credit to miss cornelia herself.
walter and carl looked uncomfortable and una's lip trembled.
mary squirmed uncomfortably.
""that slipped out "fore i thought -- it did, honest to -- i mean, true's you live, and i swallowed half of it.
you folks over here are mighty squeamish seems to me.
wish you could have heard the wileys when they had a fight."
""ladies do n't say such things," said faith, very primly for her.
""it is n't right," whispered una.
""i ai n't a lady," said mary.
""what chance've i ever had of being a lady?
but i wo n't say that again if i can help it.
i promise you."
""besides," said una, "you ca n't expect god to answer your prayers if you take his name in vain, mary."
""i do n't expect him to answer'em anyhow," said mary of little faith.
""i've been asking him for a week to clear up this wiley affair and he has n't done a thing.
i'm going to give up."
at this juncture nan arrived breathless.
""oh, mary, i've news for you.
mrs. elliott has been over-harbour and what do you think she found out?
mrs. wiley is dead -- she was found dead in bed the morning after you ran away.
so you'll never have to go back to her."
""dead!"
said mary stupefied.
then she shivered.
""do you s "pose my praying had anything to do with that?"
she cried imploringly to una.
""if it had i'll never pray again as long as i live.
why, she may come back and ha "nt me."
""no, no, mary," said una comfortingly, "it had n't.
why, mrs. wiley died long before you ever began to pray about it at all."
""that's so," said mary recovering from her panic.
""but i tell you it gave me a start.
i would n't like to think i'd prayed anybody to death.
i never thought of such a thing as her dying when i was praying.
she did n't seem much like the dying kind.
did mrs. elliott say anything about me?"
""she said you would likely have to go back to the asylum."
""i thought as much," said mary drearily.
""and then they'll give me out again -- likely to some one just like mrs. wiley.
well, i s "pose i can stand it.
i'm tough."
""i'm going to pray that you wo n't have to go back," whispered una, as she and mary walked home to the manse.
""you can do as you like," said mary decidedly, "but i vow i wo n't.
i'm good and scared of this praying business.
see what's come of it.
if mrs. wiley had died after i started praying it would have been my doings."
""oh, no, it would n't," said una.
""i wish i could explain things better -- father could, i know, if you'd talk to him, mary."
""catch me!
i do n't know what to make of your father, that's the long and short of it.
he goes by me and never sees me in broad daylight.
i ai n't proud -- but i ai n't a door-mat, neither!"
""oh, mary, it's just father's way.
most of the time he never sees us, either.
he is thinking deeply, that is all.
and i am going to pray that god will keep you in four winds -- because i like you, mary."
""all right.
only do n't let me hear of any more people dying on account of it," said mary.
""i'd like to stay in four winds fine.
i like it and i like the harbour and the light house -- and you and the blythes.
you're the only friends i ever had and i'd hate to leave you."
chapter ix.
una intervenes miss cornelia had an interview with mr. meredith which proved something of a shock to that abstracted gentleman.
she pointed out to him, none too respectfully, his dereliction of duty in allowing a waif like mary vance to come into his family and associate with his children without knowing or learning anything about her.
""i do n't say there is much harm done, of course," she concluded.
""this mary-creature is n't what you might call bad, when all is said and done.
i've been questioning your children and the blythes, and from what i can make out there's nothing much to be said against the child except that she's slangy and does n't use very refined language.
but think what might have happened if she'd been like some of those home children we know of.
you know yourself what that poor little creature the jim flaggs" had, taught and told the flagg children."
mr. meredith did know and was honestly shocked over his own carelessness in the matter.
""but what is to be done, mrs. elliott?"
he asked helplessly.
""we ca n't turn the poor child out.
she must be cared for."
""of course.
we'd better write to the hopetown authorities at once.
meanwhile, i suppose she might as well stay here for a few more days till we hear from them.
but keep your eyes and ears open, mr. meredith."
susan would have died of horror on the spot if she had heard miss cornelia so admonishing a minister.
but miss cornelia departed in a warm glow of satisfaction over duty done, and that night mr. meredith asked mary to come into his study with him.
mary obeyed, looking literally ghastly with fright.
but she got the surprise of her poor, battered little life.
this man, of whom she had stood so terribly in awe, was the kindest, gentlest soul she had ever met.
before she knew what happened mary found herself pouring all her troubles into his ear and receiving in return such sympathy and tender understanding as it had never occurred to her to imagine.
mary left the study with her face and eyes so softened that una hardly knew her.
""your father's all right, when he does wake up," she said with a sniff that just escaped being a sob.
""it's a pity he does n't wake up oftener.
he said i was n't to blame for mrs. wiley dying, but that i must try to think of her good points and not of her bad ones.
i dunno what good points she had, unless it was keeping her house clean and making first-class butter.
i know i "most wore my arms out scrubbing her old kitchen floor with the knots in it.
but anything your father says goes with me after this."
mary proved a rather dull companion in the following days, however.
she confided to una that the more she thought of going back to the asylum the more she hated it.
una racked her small brains for some way of averting it, but it was nan blythe who came to the rescue with a somewhat startling suggestion.
""mrs. elliott might take mary herself.
she has a great big house and mr. elliott is always wanting her to have help.
it would be just a splendid place for mary.
only she'd have to behave herself."
""oh, nan, do you think mrs. elliott would take her?"
""it would n't do any harm if you asked her," said nan.
at first una did not think she could.
she was so shy that to ask a favour of anybody was agony to her.
and she was very much in awe of the bustling, energetic mrs. elliott.
she liked her very much and always enjoyed a visit to her house; but to go and ask her to adopt mary vance seemed such a height of presumption that una's timid spirit quailed.
when the hopetown authorities wrote to mr. meredith to send mary to them without delay mary cried herself to sleep in the manse attic that night and una found a desperate courage.
the next evening she slipped away from the manse to the harbour road.
far down in rainbow valley she heard joyous laughter but her way lay not there.
she was terribly pale and terribly in earnest -- so much so that she took no notice of the people she met -- and old mrs. stanley flagg was quite huffed and said una meredith would be as absentminded as her father when she grew up.
miss cornelia lived half way between the glen and four winds point, in a house whose original glaring green hue had mellowed down to an agreeable greenish gray.
marshall elliott had planted trees about it and set out a rose garden and a spruce hedge.
it was quite a different place from what it had been in years agone.
the manse children and the ingleside children liked to go there.
it was a beautiful walk down the old harbour road, and there was always a well-filled cooky jar at the end.
the misty sea was lapping softly far down on the sands.
three big boats were skimming down the harbour like great white sea-birds.
a schooner was coming up the channel.
the world of four winds was steeped in glowing colour, and subtle music, and strange glamour, and everybody should have been happy in it.
but when una turned in at miss cornelia's gate her very legs had almost refused to carry her.
miss cornelia was alone on the veranda.
una had hoped mr. elliott would be there.
he was so big and hearty and twinkly that there would be encouragement in his presence.
she sat on the little stool miss cornelia brought out and tried to eat the doughnut miss cornelia gave her.
it stuck in her throat, but she swallowed desperately lest miss cornelia be offended.
she could not talk; she was still pale; and her big, dark-blue eyes looked so piteous that miss cornelia concluded the child was in some trouble.
""what's on your mind, dearie?"
she asked.
""there's something, that's plain to be seen."
una swallowed the last twist of doughnut with a desperate gulp.
""mrs. elliott, wo n't you take mary vance?"
she said beseechingly.
miss cornelia stared blankly.
""me!
take mary vance!
do you mean keep her?"
""yes -- keep her -- adopt her," said una eagerly, gaining courage now that the ice was broken.
""oh, mrs. elliott, please do.
she does n't want to go back to the asylum -- she cries every night about it.
she's so afraid of being sent to another hard place.
and she's so smart -- there is n't anything she ca n't do.
i know you would n't be sorry if you took her."
""i never thought of such a thing," said miss cornelia rather helplessly.
""wo n't you think of it?"
implored una.
""but, dearie, i do n't want help.
i'm quite able to do all the work here.
and i never thought i'd like to have a home girl if i did need help."
the light went out of una's eyes.
her lips trembled.
she sat down on her stool again, a pathetic little figure of disappointment, and began to cry.
""do n't -- dearie -- do n't," exclaimed miss cornelia in distress.
she could never bear to hurt a child.
""i do n't say i wo n't take her -- but the idea is so new it has just kerflummuxed me.
i must think it over."
""mary is so smart," said una again.
""humph!
so i've heard.
i've heard she swears, too.
is that true?"
""i've never heard her swear exactly," faltered una uncomfortably.
""but i'm afraid she could."
""i believe you!
does she always tell the truth?"
""i think she does, except when she's afraid of a whipping."
""and yet you want me to take her!"
""some one has to take her," sobbed una.
""some one has to look after her, mrs. elliott."
""that's true.
perhaps it is my duty to do it," said miss cornelia with a sigh.
""well, i'll have to talk it over with mr. elliott.
so do n't say anything about it just yet.
take another doughnut, dearie."
una took it and ate it with a better appetite.
""i'm very fond of doughnuts," she confessed "aunt martha never makes any.
but miss susan at ingleside does, and sometimes she lets us have a plateful in rainbow valley.
do you know what i do when i'm hungry for doughnuts and ca n't get any, mrs. elliott?"
""no, dearie.
what?"
""i get out mother's old cook book and read the doughnut recipe -- and the other recipes.
they sound so nice.
i always do that when i'm hungry -- especially after we've had ditto for dinner.
then i read the fried chicken and the roast goose recipes.
mother could make all those nice things."
""those manse children will starve to death yet if mr. meredith does n't get married," miss cornelia told her husband indignantly after una had gone.
""and he wo n't -- and what's to be done?
and shall we take this mary-creature, marshall?"
""yes, take her," said marshall laconically.
""just like a man," said his wife, despairingly."
"take her" -- as if that was all.
there are a hundred things to be considered, believe me."
""take her -- and we'll consider them afterwards, cornelia," said her husband.
in the end miss cornelia did take her and went up to announce her decision to the ingleside people first.
""splendid!"
said anne delightedly.
""i've been hoping you would do that very thing, miss cornelia.
i want that poor child to get a good home.
i was a homeless little orphan just like her once."
""i do n't think this mary-creature is or ever will be much like you," retorted miss cornelia gloomily.
""she's a cat of another colour.
but she's also a human being with an immortal soul to save.
i've got a shorter catechism and a small tooth comb and i'm going to do my duty by her, now that i've set my hand to the plough, believe me."
mary received the news with chastened satisfaction.
""it's better luck than i expected," she said.
""you'll have to mind your p's and q's with mrs. elliott," said nan.
""well, i can do that," flashed mary.
""i know how to behave when i want to just as well as you, nan blythe."
""you must n't use bad words, you know, mary," said una anxiously.
""i s "pose she'd die of horror if i did," grinned mary, her white eyes shining with unholy glee over the idea.
""but you need n't worry, una.
butter wo n't melt in my mouth after this.
i'll be all prunes and prisms."
""nor tell lies," added faith.
""not even to get off from a whipping?"
pleaded mary.
""mrs. elliott will never whip you -- never," exclaimed di.
""wo n't she?"
said mary skeptically.
""if i ever find myself in a place where i ai n't licked i'll think it's heaven all right.
no fear of me telling lies then.
i ai n't fond of telling'em -- i'd ruther not, if it comes to that."
the day before mary's departure from the manse they had a picnic in her honour in rainbow valley, and that evening all the manse children gave her something from their scanty store of treasured things for a keepsake.
carl gave her his noah's ark and jerry his second best jew's - harp.
faith gave her a little hairbrush with a mirror in the back of it, which mary had always considered very wonderful.
una hesitated between an old beaded purse and a gay picture of daniel in the lion's den, and finally offered mary her choice.
mary really hankered after the beaded purse, but she knew una loved it, so she said, "give me daniel.
i'd rusher have it'cause i'm partial to lions.
only i wish they'd et daniel up.
it would have been more exciting."
at bedtime mary coaxed una to sleep with her.
""it's for the last time," she said, "and it's raining tonight, and i hate sleeping up there alone when it's raining on account of that graveyard.
i do n't mind it on fine nights, but a night like this i ca n't see anything but the rain pouring down on them old white stones, and the wind round the window sounds as if them dead people were trying to get in and crying'cause they could n't."
""i like rainy nights," said una, when they were cuddled down together in the little attic room, "and so do the blythe girls."
""i do n't mind'em when i'm not handy to graveyards," said mary.
""if i was alone here i'd cry my eyes out i'd be so lonesome.
i feel awful bad to be leaving you all."
""mrs. elliott will let you come up and play in rainbow valley quite often i'm sure," said una.
""and you will be a good girl, wo n't you, mary?"
""oh, i'll try," sighed mary.
""but it wo n't be as easy for me to be good -- inside, i mean, as well as outside -- as it is for you.
you had n't such scalawags of relations as i had."
""but your people must have had some good qualities as well as bad ones," argued una.
""you must live up to them and never mind their bad ones."
""i do n't believe they had any good qualities," said mary gloomily.
""i never heard of any.
my grandfather had money, but they say he was a rascal.
no, i'll just have to start out on my own hook and do the best i can."
""and god will help you, you know, mary, if you ask him."
""i do n't know about that."
""oh, mary.
you know we asked god to get a home for you and he did."
""i do n't see what he had to do with it," retorted mary.
""it was you put it into mrs. elliott's head."
""but god put it into her heart to take you.
all my putting it into her head would n't have done any good if he had n't."
""well, there may be something in that," admitted mary.
""mind you, i have n't got anything against god, una.
i'm willing to give him a chance.
but, honest, i think he's an awful lot like your father -- just absent-minded and never taking any notice of a body most of the time, but sometimes waking up all of a suddent and being awful good and kind and sensible."
""oh, mary, no!"
exclaimed horrified una.
""god is n't a bit like father -- i mean he's a thousand times better and kinder."
""if he's as good as your father he'll do for me," said mary.
""when your father was talking to me i felt as if i never could be bad any more."
""i wish you'd talk to father about him," sighed una.
""he can explain it all so much better than i can."
""why, so i will, next time he wakes up," promised mary.
""that night he talked to me in the study he showed me real clear that my praying did n't kill mrs. wiley.
my mind's been easy since, but i'm real cautious about praying.
i guess the old rhyme is the safest.
say, una, it seems to me if one has to pray to anybody it'd be better to pray to the devil than to god.
god's good, anyhow so you say, so he wo n't do you any harm, but from all i can make out the devil needs to be pacified.
i think the sensible way would be to say to him, "good devil, please do n't tempt me.
just leave me alone, please."
now, do n't you?"
""oh, no, no, mary.
i'm sure it could n't be right to pray to the devil.
and it would n't do any good because he's bad.
it might aggravate him and he'd be worse than ever."
""well, as to this god-matter," said mary stubbornly, "since you and i ca n't settle it, there ai n't no use in talking more about it until we've a chanct to find out the rights of it.
i'll do the best i can alone till then."
""if mother was alive she could tell us everything," said una with a sigh.
""i wisht she was alive," said mary.
""i do n't know what's going to become of you youngsters when i'm gone.
anyhow, do try and keep the house a little tidy.
the way people talks about it is scandalous.
and the first thing you know your father will be getting married again and then your noses will be out of joint."
una was startled.
the idea of her father marrying again had never presented itself to her before.
she did not like it and she lay silent under the chill of it.
""stepmothers are awful creatures," mary went on.
""i could make your blood run cold if i was to tell you all i know about'em.
the wilson kids across the road from wiley's had a stepmother.
she was just as bad to'em as mrs. wiley was to me.
it'll be awful if you get a stepmother."
""i'm sure we wo n't," said una tremulously.
""father wo n't marry anybody else."
""he'll be hounded into it, i expect," said mary darkly.
""all the old maids in the settlement are after him.
there's no being up to them.
and the worst of stepmothers is, they always set your father against you.
he'd never care anything about you again.
he'd always take her part and her children's part.
you see, she'd make him believe you were all bad."
""i wish you had n't told me this, mary," cried una.
""it makes me feel so unhappy."
""i only wanted to warn you," said mary, rather repentantly.
""of course, your father's so absent-minded he might n't happen to think of getting married again.
but it's better to be prepared."
long after mary slept serenely little una lay awake, her eyes smarting with tears.
on, how dreadful it would be if her father should marry somebody who would make him hate her and jerry and faith and carl!
she could n't bear it -- she could n't!
mary had not instilled any poison of the kind miss cornelia had feared into the manse children's minds.
yet she had certainly contrived to do a little mischief with the best of intentions.
but she slept dreamlessly, while una lay awake and the rain fell and the wind wailed around the old gray manse.
and the rev. john meredith forgot to go to bed at all because he was absorbed in reading a life of st. augustine.
it was gray dawn when he finished it and went upstairs, wrestling with the problems of two thousand years ago.
the door of the girls" room was open and he saw faith lying asleep, rosy and beautiful.
he wondered where una was.
perhaps she had gone over to "stay all night" with the blythe girls.
she did this occasionally, deeming it a great treat.
john meredith sighed.
he felt that una's whereabouts ought not to be a mystery to him.
cecelia would have looked after her better than that.
if only cecelia were still with him!
how pretty and gay she had been!
how the old manse up at maywater had echoed to her songs!
and she had gone away so suddenly, taking her laughter and music and leaving silence -- so suddenly that he had never quite got over his feeling of amazement.
how could she, the beautiful and vivid, have died?
the idea of a second marriage had never presented itself seriously to john meredith.
he had loved his wife so deeply that he believed he could never care for any woman again.
he had a vague idea that before very long faith would be old enough to take her mother's place.
until then, he must do the best he could alone.
he sighed and went to his room, where the bed was still unmade.
aunt martha had forgotten it, and mary had not dared to make it because aunt martha had forbidden her to meddle with anything in the minister's room.
but mr. meredith did not notice that it was unmade.
his last thoughts were of st. augustine.
chapter x.
the manse girls clean house "ugh," said faith, sitting up in bed with a shiver.
""it's raining.
i do hate a rainy sunday.
sunday is dull enough even when it's fine."
""we ought n't to find sunday dull," said una sleepily, trying to pull her drowsy wits together with an uneasy conviction that they had overslept.
""but we do, you know," said faith candidly.
""mary vance says most sundays are so dull she could hang herself."
""we ought to like sunday better than mary vance," said una remorsefully.
""we're the minister's children."
""i wish we were a blacksmith's children," protested faith angrily, hunting for her stockings.
""then people would n't expect us to be better than other children.
just look at the holes in my heels.
mary darned them all up before she went away, but they're as bad as ever now.
una, get up.
i ca n't get the breakfast alone.
oh, dear.
i wish father and jerry were home.
you would n't think we'd miss father much -- we do n't see much of him when he is home.
and yet everything seems gone.
i must run in and see how aunt martha is."
""is she any better?"
asked una, when faith returned.
""no, she is n't.
she's groaning with the misery still.
maybe we ought to tell dr. blythe.
but she says not -- she never had a doctor in her life and she is n't going to begin now.
she says doctors just live by poisoning people.
do you suppose they do?"
""no, of course not," said una indignantly.
""i'm sure dr. blythe would n't poison anybody."
""well, we'll have to rub aunt martha's back again after breakfast.
we'd better not make the flannels as hot as we did yesterday."
faith giggled over the remembrance.
they had nearly scalded the skin off poor aunt martha's back.
una sighed.
mary vance would have known just what the precise temperature of flannels for a misery back should be.
mary knew everything.
they knew nothing.
and how could they learn, save by bitter experience for which, in this instance, unfortunate aunt martha had paid?
the preceding monday mr. meredith had left for nova scotia to spend his short vacation, taking jerry with him.
on wednesday aunt martha was suddenly seized with a recurring and mysterious ailment which she always called "the misery," and which was tolerably certain to attack her at the most inconvenient times.
she could not rise from her bed, any movement causing agony.
a doctor she flatly refused to have.
faith and una cooked the meals and waited on her.
the less said about the meals the better -- yet they were not much worse than aunt martha's had been.
there were many women in the village who would have been glad to come and help, but aunt martha refused to let her plight be known.
""you must worry on till i kin git around," she groaned.
""thank goodness, john is n't here.
there's a plenty o" cold biled meat and bread and you kin try your hand at making porridge."
the girls had tried their hand, but so far without much success.
the first day it had been too thin.
the next day so thick that you could cut it in slices.
and both days it had been burned.
""i hate porridge," said faith viciously.
""when i have a house of my own i'm never going to have a single bit of porridge in it."
""what'll your children do then?"
asked una.
""children have to have porridge or they wo n't grow.
everybody says so."
""they'll have to get along without it or stay runts," retorted faith stubbornly.
""here, una, you stir it while i set the table.
if i leave it for a minute the horrid stuff will burn.
it's half past nine.
we'll be late for sunday school."
""i have n't seen anyone going past yet," said una.
""there wo n't likely be many out.
just see how it's pouring.
and when there's no preaching the folks wo n't come from a distance to bring the children."
""go and call carl," said faith.
carl, it appeared, had a sore throat, induced by getting wet in the rainbow valley marsh the previous evening while pursuing dragon-flies.
he had come home with dripping stockings and boots and had sat out the evening in them.
he could not eat any breakfast and faith made him go back to bed again.
she and una left the table as it was and went to sunday school.
there was no one in the school room when they got there and no one came.
they waited until eleven and then went home.
""there does n't seem to be anybody at the methodist sunday school either," said una.
""i'm glad," said faith.
""i'd hate to think the methodists were better at going to sunday school on rainy sundays than the presbyterians.
but there's no preaching in their church to-day, either, so likely their sunday school is in the afternoon."
una washed the dishes, doing them quite nicely, for so much had she learned from mary vance.
faith swept the floor after a fashion and peeled the potatoes for dinner, cutting her finger in the process.
""i wish we had something for dinner besides ditto," sighed una.
""i'm so tired of it.
the blythe children do n't know what ditto is.
and we never have any pudding.
nan says susan would faint if they had no pudding on sundays.
why are n't we like other people, faith?"
""i do n't want to be like other people," laughed faith, tying up her bleeding finger.
""i like being myself.
it's more interesting.
jessie drew is as good a housekeeper as her mother, but would you want to be as stupid as she is?"
""but our house is n't right.
mary vance says so.
she says people talk about it being so untidy."
faith had an inspiration.
""we'll clean it all up," she cried.
""we'll go right to work to-morrow.
it's a real good chance when aunt martha is laid up and ca n't interfere with us.
we'll have it all lovely and clean when father comes home, just like it was when mary went away.
any one can sweep and dust and wash windows.
people wo n't be able to talk about us any more.
jem blythe says it's only old cats that talk, but their talk hurts just as much as anybody's."
""i hope it will be fine to-morrow," said una, fired with enthusiasm.
""oh, faith, it will be splendid to be all cleaned up and like other people."
""i hope aunt martha's misery will last over to-morrow," said faith.
""if it does n't we wo n't get a single thing done."
faith's amiable wish was fulfilled.
the next day found aunt martha still unable to rise.
carl, too, was still sick and easily prevailed on to stay in bed.
neither faith nor una had any idea how sick the boy really was; a watchful mother would have had a doctor without delay; but there was no mother, and poor little carl, with his sore throat and aching head and crimson cheeks, rolled himself up in his twisted bedclothes and suffered alone, somewhat comforted by the companionship of a small green lizard in the pocket of his ragged nighty.
the world was full of summer sunshine after the rain.
it was a peerless day for house-cleaning and faith and una went gaily to work.
""we'll clean the dining-room and the parlour," said faith.
""it would n't do to meddle with the study, and it does n't matter much about the upstairs.
the first thing is to take everything out."
accordingly, everything was taken out.
the furniture was piled on the veranda and lawn and the methodist graveyard fence was gaily draped with rugs.
an orgy of sweeping followed, with an attempt at dusting on una's part, while faith washed the windows of the dining-room, breaking one pane and cracking two in the process.
una surveyed the streaked result dubiously.
""they do n't look right, somehow," she said.
""mrs. elliott's and susan's windows just shine and sparkle."
""never mind.
they let the sunshine through just as well," said faith cheerfully.
""they must be clean after all the soap and water i've used, and that's the main thing.
now, it's past eleven, so i'll wipe up this mess on the floor and we'll go outside.
you dust the furniture and i'll shake the rugs.
i'm going to do it in the graveyard.
i do n't want to send dust flying all over the lawn.
faith enjoyed the rug shaking.
to stand on hezekiah pollock's tombstone, flapping and shaking rugs, was real fun.
to be sure, elder abraham clow and his wife, driving past in their capacious double-seated buggy, seemed to gaze at her in grim disapproval.
""is n't that a terrible sight?"
said elder abraham solemnly.
""i would never have believed it if i had n't seen it with my own eyes," said mrs. elder abraham, more solemnly still.
faith waved a door mat cheerily at the clow party.
it did not worry her that the elder and his wife did not return her greeting.
everybody knew that elder abraham had never been known to smile since he had been appointed superintendent of the sunday school fourteen years previously.
but it hurt her that minnie and adella clow did not wave back.
faith liked minnie and adella.
next to the blythes, they were her best friends in school and she always helped adella with her sums.
this was gratitude for you.
her friends cut her because she was shaking rugs in an old graveyard where, as mary vance said, not a living soul had been buried for years.
faith flounced around to the veranda, where she found una grieved in spirit because the clow girls had not waved to her, either.
""i suppose they're mad over something," said faith.
""perhaps they're jealous because we play so much in rainbow valley with the blythes.
well, just wait till school opens and adella wants me to show her how to do her sums!
we'll get square then.
come on, let's put the things back in.
i'm tired to death and i do n't believe the rooms will look much better than before we started -- though i shook out pecks of dust in the graveyard.
i hate house-cleaning."
it was two o'clock before the tired girls finished the two rooms.
they got a dreary bite in the kitchen and intended to wash the dishes at once.
but faith happened to pick up a new story-book di blythe had lent her and was lost to the world until sunset.
una took a cup of rank tea up to carl but found him asleep; so she curled herself up on jerry's bed and went to sleep too.
meanwhile, a weird story flew through glen st. mary and folks asked each other seriously what was to be done with those manse youngsters.
""that is past laughing at, believe me," said miss cornelia to her husband, with a heavy sigh.
""i could n't believe it at first.
miranda drew brought the story home from the methodist sunday school this afternoon and i simply scoffed at it.
but mrs. elder abraham says she and the elder saw it with their own eyes."
""saw what?"
asked marshall.
""faith and una meredith stayed home from sunday school this morning and cleaned house," said miss cornelia, in accents of despair.
""when elder abraham went home from the church -- he had stayed behind to straighten out the library books -- he saw them shaking rugs in the methodist graveyard.
i can never look a methodist in the face again.
just think what a scandal it will make!"
a scandal it assuredly did make, growing more scandalous as it spread, until the over-harbour people heard that the manse children had not only cleaned house and put out a washing on sunday, but had wound up with an afternoon picnic in the graveyard while the methodist sunday school was going on.
the only household which remained in blissful ignorance of the terrible thing was the manse itself; on what faith and una fondly believed to be tuesday it rained again; for the next three days it rained; nobody came near the manse; the manse folk went nowhere; they might have waded through the misty rainbow valley up to ingleside, but all the blythe family, save susan and the doctor, were away on a visit to avonlea.
""this is the last of our bread," said faith, "and the ditto is done.
if aunt martha does n't get better soon what will we do?"
""we can buy some bread in the village and there's the codfish mary dried," said una.
""but we do n't know how to cook it."
""oh, that's easy," laughed faith.
""you just boil it."
boil it they did; but as it did not occur to them to soak it beforehand it was too salty to eat.
that night they were very hungry; but by the following day their troubles were over.
sunshine returned to the world; carl was well and aunt martha's misery left her as suddenly as it had come; the butcher called at the manse and chased famine away.
to crown all, the blythes returned home, and that evening they and the manse children and mary vance kept sunset tryst once more in rainbow valley, where the daisies were floating upon the grass like spirits of the dew and the bells on the tree lovers rang like fairy chimes in the scented twilight.
chapter xi.
a dreadful discovery "well, you kids have gone and done it now," was mary's greeting, as she joined them in the valley.
miss cornelia was up at ingleside, holding agonized conclave with anne and susan, and mary hoped that the session might be a long one, for it was all of two weeks since she had been allowed to revel with her chums in the dear valley of rainbows.
""done what?"
demanded everybody but walter, who was day-dreaming as usual.
""it's you manse young ones, i mean," said mary.
""it was just awful of you.
i would n't have done such a thing for the world, and i were n't brought up in a manse -- were n't brought up anywhere -- just come up."
""what have we done?"
asked faith blankly.
""done!
you'd better ask!
the talk is something terrible.
i expect it's ruined your father in this congregation.
he'll never be able to live it down, poor man!
everybody blames him for it, and that is n't fair.
but nothing is fair in this world.
you ought to be ashamed of yourselves."
""what have we done?"
asked una again, despairingly.
faith said nothing, but her eyes flashed golden-brown scorn at mary.
""oh, do n't pretend innocence," said mary, witheringly.
""everybody knows what you have done.""
i do n't," interjected jem blythe indignantly.
""do n't let me catch you making una cry, mary vance.
what are you talking about?"
""i s "pose you do n't know, since you're just back from up west," said mary, somewhat subdued.
jem could always manage her.
""but everybody else knows, you'd better believe."
""knows what?"
""that faith and una stayed home from sunday school last sunday and cleaned house."
""we did n't," cried faith and una, in passionate denial.
mary looked haughtily at them.
""i did n't suppose you'd deny it, after the way you've combed me down for lying," she said.
""what's the good of saying you did n't?
everybody knows you did.
elder clow and his wife saw you.
some people say it will break up the church, but i do n't go that far.
you are nice ones."
nan blythe stood up and put her arms around the dazed faith and una.
""they were nice enough to take you in and feed you and clothe you when you were starving in mr. taylor's barn, mary vance," she said.
""you are very grateful, i must say."
""i am grateful," retorted mary.
""you'd know it if you'd heard me standing up for mr. meredith through thick and thin.
i've blistered my tongue talking for him this week.
i've said again and again that he is n't to blame if his young ones did clean house on sunday.
he was away -- and they knew better."
""but we did n't," protested una.
""it was monday we cleaned house.
was n't it, faith?"
""of course it was," said faith, with flashing eyes.
""we went to sunday school in spite of the rain -- and no one came -- not even elder abraham, for all his talk about fair-weather christians."
""it was saturday it rained," said mary.
""sunday was as fine as silk.
i was n't at sunday school because i had toothache, but every one else was and they saw all your stuff out on the lawn.
and elder abraham and mrs. elder abraham saw you shaking rugs in the graveyard."
una sat down among the daisies and began to cry.
""look here," said jem resolutely, "this thing must be cleared up.
somebody has made a mistake.
sunday was fine, faith.
how could you have thought saturday was sunday?"
""prayer-meeting was thursday night," cried faith, "and adam flew into the soup-pot on friday when aunt martha's cat chased him, and spoiled our dinner; and saturday there was a snake in the cellar and carl caught it with a forked stick and carried it out, and sunday it rained.
so there!"
""prayer-meeting was wednesday night," said mary.
""elder baxter was to lead and he could n't go thursday night and it was changed to wednesday.
you were just a day out, faith meredith, and you did work on sunday."
suddenly faith burst into a peal of laughter.
""i suppose we did.
what a joke!"
""it is n't much of a joke for your father," said mary sourly.
""it'll be all right when people find out it was just a mistake," said faith carelessly.
""we'll explain."
""you can explain till you're black in the face," said mary, "but a lie like that'll travel faster'n further than you ever will.
i've seen more of the world than you and i know.
besides, there are plenty of folks wo n't believe it was a mistake."
""they will if i tell them," said faith.
""you ca n't tell everybody," said mary.
""no, i tell you you've disgraced your father."
una's evening was spoiled by this dire reflection, but faith refused to be made uncomfortable.
besides, she had a plan that would put everything right.
so she put the past with its mistake behind her and gave herself over to enjoyment of the present.
jem went away to fish and walter came out of his reverie and proceeded to describe the woods of heaven.
mary pricked up her ears and listened respectfully.
despite her awe of walter she revelled in his "book talk."
it always gave her a delightful sensation.
walter had been reading his coleridge that day, and he pictured a heaven where "there were gardens bright with sinuous rills where blossomed many an incense bearing tree, and there were forests ancient as the hills enfolding sunny spots of greenery."
""i did n't know there was any woods in heaven," said mary, with a long breath.
""i thought it was all streets -- and streets -- and streets."
""of course there are woods," said nan.
""mother ca n't live without trees and i ca n't, so what would be the use of going to heaven if there were n't any trees?"
""there are cities, too," said the young dreamer, "splendid cities -- coloured just like the sunset, with sapphire towers and rainbow domes.
they are built of gold and diamonds -- whole streets of diamonds, flashing like the sun.
in the squares there are crystal fountains kissed by the light, and everywhere the asphodel blooms -- the flower of heaven."
""fancy!"
said mary.
""i saw the main street in charlottetown once and i thought it was real grand, but i s "pose it's nothing to heaven.
well, it all sounds gorgeous the way you tell it, but wo n't it be kind of dull, too?"
""oh, i guess we can have some fun when the angels" backs are turned," said faith comfortably.
""heaven is all fun," declared di.
""the bible does n't say so," cried mary, who had read so much of the bible on sunday afternoons under miss cornelia's eye that she now considered herself quite an authority on it.
""mother says the bible language is figurative," said nan.
""does that mean that it is n't true?"
asked mary hopefully.
""no -- not exactly -- but i think it means that heaven will be just like what you'd like it to be."
""i'd like it to be just like rainbow valley," said mary, "with all you kids to gas and play with.
that's good enough for me.
anyhow, we ca n't go to heaven till we're dead and maybe not then, so what's the use of worrying?
here's jem with a string of trout and it's my turn to fry them."
""we ought to know more about heaven than walter does when we're the minister's family," said una, as they walked home that night.
""we know just as much, but walter can imagine," said faith.
""mrs. elliott says he gets it from his mother."
""i do wish we had n't made that mistake about sunday," sighed una.
""do n't worry over that.
i've thought of a great plan to explain so that everybody will know," said faith.
""just wait till to-morrow night."
chapter xii.
an explanation and a dare the rev. dr. cooper preached in glen st. mary the next evening and the presbyterian church was crowded with people from near and far.
the reverend doctor was reputed to be a very eloquent speaker; and, bearing in mind the old dictum that a minister should take his best clothes to the city and his best sermons to the country, he delivered a very scholarly and impressive discourse.
but when the folks went home that night it was not of dr. cooper's sermon they talked.
they had completely forgotten all about it.
dr. cooper had concluded with a fervent appeal, had wiped the perspiration from his massive brow, had said "let us pray" as he was famed for saying it, and had duly prayed.
there was a slight pause.
in glen st. mary church the old fashion of taking the collection after the sermon instead of before still held -- mainly because the methodists had adopted the new fashion first, and miss cornelia and elder clow would not hear of following where methodists had led.
charles baxter and thomas douglas, whose duty it was to pass the plates, were on the point of rising to their feet.
the organist had got out the music of her anthem and the choir had cleared its throat.
suddenly faith meredith rose in the manse pew, walked up to the pulpit platform, and faced the amazed audience.
miss cornelia half rose in her seat and then sat down again.
her pew was far back and it occurred to her that whatever faith meant to do or say would be half done or said before she could reach her.
there was no use making the exhibition worse than it had to be.
with an anguished glance at mrs. dr. blythe, and another at deacon warren of the methodist church, miss cornelia resigned herself to another scandal.
""if the child was only dressed decently itself," she groaned in spirit.
faith, having spilled ink on her good dress, had serenely put on an old one of faded pink print.
a caticornered rent in the skirt had been darned with scarlet tracing cotton and the hem had been let down, showing a bright strip of unfaded pink around the skirt.
but faith was not thinking of her clothes at all.
she was feeling suddenly nervous.
what had seemed easy in imagination was rather hard in reality.
confronted by all those staring questioning eyes faith's courage almost failed her.
the lights were so bright, the silence so awesome.
she thought she could not speak after all.
but she must -- her father must be cleared of suspicion.
only -- the words would not come.
una's little pearl-pure face gleamed up at her beseechingly from the manse pew.
the blythe children were lost in amazement.
back under the gallery faith saw the sweet graciousness of miss rosemary west's smile and the amusement of miss ellen's.
but none of these helped her.
it was bertie shakespeare drew who saved the situation.
bertie shakespeare sat in the front seat of the gallery and he made a derisive face at faith.
faith promptly made a dreadful one back at him, and, in her anger over being grimaced at by bertie shakespeare, forgot her stage fright.
she found her voice and spoke out clearly and bravely.
""i want to explain something," she said, "and i want to do it now because everybody will hear it that heard the other.
people are saying that una and i stayed home last sunday and cleaned house instead of going to sunday school.
well, we did -- but we did n't mean to.
we got mixed up in the days of the week.
it was all elder baxter's fault" -- sensation in baxter's pew -- "because he went and changed the prayer-meeting to wednesday night and then we thought thursday was friday and so on till we thought saturday was sunday.
carl was laid up sick and so was aunt martha, so they could n't put us right.
we went to sunday school in all that rain on saturday and nobody came.
and then we thought we'd clean house on monday and stop old cats from talking about how dirty the manse was" -- general sensation all over the church -- "and we did.
i shook the rugs in the methodist graveyard because it was such a convenient place and not because i meant to be disrespectful of the dead.
it is n't the dead folks who have made the fuss over this -- it's the living folks.
and it is n't right for any of you to blame my father for this, because he was away and did n't know, and anyhow we thought it was monday.
he's just the best father that ever lived in the world and we love him with all our hearts."
faith's bravado ebbed out in a sob.
she ran down the steps and flashed out of the side door of the church.
there the friendly starlit, summer night comforted her and the ache went out of her eyes and throat.
she felt very happy.
the dreadful explanation was over and everybody knew now that her father was n't to blame and that she and una were not so wicked as to have cleaned house knowingly on sunday.
inside the church people gazed blankly at each other, but thomas douglas rose and walked up the aisle with a set face.
his duty was clear; the collection must be taken if the skies fell.
taken it was; the choir sang the anthem, with a dismal conviction that it fell terribly flat, and dr. cooper gave out the concluding hymn and pronounced the benediction with considerably less unction than usual.
the reverend doctor had a sense of humour and faith's performance tickled him.
besides, john meredith was well known in presbyterian circles.
mr. meredith returned home the next afternoon, but before his coming faith contrived to scandalize glen st. mary again.
in the reaction from sunday evening's intensity and strain she was especially full of what miss cornelia would have called "devilment" on monday.
this led her to dare walter blythe to ride through main street on a pig, while she rode another one.
the pigs in question were two tall, lank animals, supposed to belong to bertie shakespeare drew's father, which had been haunting the roadside by the manse for a couple of weeks.
walter did not want to ride a pig through glen st. mary, but whatever faith meredith dared him to do must be done.
they tore down the hill and through the village, faith bent double with laughter over her terrified courser, walter crimson with shame.
they tore past the minister himself, just coming home from the station; he, being a little less dreamy and abstracted than usual -- owing to having had a talk on the train with miss cornelia who always wakened him up temporarily -- noticed them, and thought he really must speak to faith about it and tell her that such conduct was not seemly.
but he had forgotten the trifling incident by the time he reached home.
they passed mrs. alec davis, who shrieked in horror, and they passed miss rosemary west who laughed and sighed.
finally, just before the pigs swooped into bertie shakespeare drew's back yard, never to emerge therefrom again, so great had been the shock to their nerves -- faith and walter jumped off, as dr. and mrs. blythe drove swiftly by.
""so that is how you bring up your boys," said gilbert with mock severity.
""perhaps i do spoil them a little," said anne contritely, "but, oh, gilbert, when i think of my own childhood before i came to green gables i have n't the heart to be very strict.
how hungry for love and fun i was -- an unloved little drudge with never a chance to play!
they do have such good times with the manse children."
""what about the poor pigs?"
asked gilbert.
anne tried to look sober and failed.
""do you really think it hurt them?"
she said.
""i do n't think anything could hurt those animals.
they've been the plague of the neighbourhood this summer and the drews wo n't shut them up.
but i'll talk to walter -- if i can keep from laughing when i do it."
miss cornelia came up to ingleside that evening to relieve her feelings over sunday night.
to her surprise she found that anne did not view faith's performance in quite the same light as she did.
""i thought there was something brave and pathetic in her getting up there before that churchful of people, to confess," she said.
""you could see she was frightened to death -- yet she was bound to clear her father.
i loved her for it."
""oh, of course, the poor child meant well," sighed miss cornelia, "but just the same it was a terrible thing to do, and is making more talk than the house-cleaning on sunday.
that had begun to die away, and this has started it all up again.
rosemary west is like you -- she said last night as she left the church that it was a plucky thing for faith to do, but it made her feel sorry for the child, too.
miss ellen thought it all a good joke, and said she had n't had as much fun in church for years.
of course they do n't care -- they are episcopalians.
but we presbyterians feel it.
and there were so many hotel people there that night and scores of methodists.
mrs. leander crawford cried, she felt so bad.
and mrs. alec davis said the little hussy ought to be spanked."
""mrs. leander crawford is always crying in church," said susan contemptuously.
""she cries over every affecting thing the minister says.
but you do not often see her name on a subscription list, mrs. dr. dear.
tears come cheaper.
she tried to talk to me one day about aunt martha being such a dirty housekeeper; and i wanted to say, "every one knows that you have been seen mixing up cakes in the kitchen wash-pan, mrs. leander crawford!"
but i did not say it, mrs. dr. dear, because i have too much respect for myself to condescend to argue with the likes of her.
but i could tell worse things than that of mrs. leander crawford, if i was disposed to gossip.
and as for mrs. alec davis, if she had said that to me, mrs. dr. dear, do you know what i would have said?
i would have said," i have no doubt you would like to spank faith, mrs. davis, but you will never have the chance to spank a minister's daughter either in this world or in that which is to come.""
""if poor faith had only been decently dressed," lamented miss cornelia again, "it would n't have been quite that bad.
but that dress looked dreadful, as she stood there upon the platform."
""it was clean, though, mrs. dr. dear," said susan.
""they are clean children.
they may be very heedless and reckless, mrs. dr. dear, and i am not saying they are not, but they never forget to wash behind their ears."
""the idea of faith forgetting what day was sunday," persisted miss cornelia.
""she will grow up just as careless and impractical as her father, believe me.
i suppose carl would have known better if he had n't been sick.
i do n't know what was wrong with him, but i think it very likely he had been eating those blueberries that grew in the graveyard.
no wonder they made him sick.
if i was a methodist i'd try to keep my graveyard cleaned up at least."
""i am of the opinion that carl only ate the sours that grow on the dyke," said susan hopefully.
""i do not think any minister's son would eat blueberries that grew on the graves of dead people.
you know it would not be so bad, mrs. dr. dear, to eat things that grew on the dyke."
""the worst of last night's performance was the face faith made made at somebody in the congregation before she started in," said miss cornelia.
""elder clow declares she made it at him.
and did you hear that she was seen riding on a pig to-day?"
""i saw her.
walter was with her.
i gave him a little -- a very little -- scolding about it.
he did not say much, but he gave me the impression that it had been his idea and that faith was not to blame."
""i do not not believe that, mrs. dr. dear," cried susan, up in arms.
""that is just walter's way -- to take the blame on himself.
but you know as well as i do, mrs. dr. dear, that that blessed child would never have thought of riding on a pig, even if he does write poetry."
""oh, there's no doubt the notion was hatched in faith meredith's brain," said miss cornelia.
""and i do n't say that i'm sorry that amos drew's old pigs did get their come-uppance for once.
but the minister's daughter!"
""and the doctor's son!"
said anne, mimicking miss cornelia's tone.
then she laughed.
""dear miss cornelia, they're only little children.
and you know they've never yet done anything bad -- they're just heedless and impulsive -- as i was myself once.
they'll grow sedate and sober -- as i've done."
miss cornelia laughed, too.
""there are times, anne dearie, when i know by your eyes that your soberness is put on like a garment and you're really aching to do something wild and young again.
well, i feel encouraged.
somehow, a talk with you always does have that effect on me.
now, when i go to see barbara samson, it's just the opposite.
she makes me feel that everything's wrong and always will be.
but of course living all your life with a man like joe samson would n't be exactly cheering."
""it is a very strange thing to think that she married joe samson after all her chances," remarked susan.
""she was much sought after when she was a girl.
she used to boast to me that she had twenty-one beaus and mr. pethick."
""what was mr. pethick?"
""well, he was a sort of hanger-on, mrs. dr. dear, but you could not exactly call him a beau.
he did not really have any intentions.
twenty-one beaus -- and me that never had one!
but barbara went through the woods and picked up the crooked stick after all.
and yet they say her husband can make better baking powder biscuits than she can, and she always gets him to make them when company comes to tea."
""which reminds me that i have company coming to tea to-morrow and i must go home and set my bread," said miss cornelia.
""mary said she could set it and no doubt she could.
but while i live and move and have my being i set my own bread, believe me."
""how is mary getting on?"
asked anne.
""i've no fault to find with mary," said miss cornelia rather gloomily.
""she's getting some flesh on her bones and she's clean and respectful -- though there's more in her than i can fathom.
she's a sly puss.
if you dug for a thousand years you could n't get to the bottom of that child's mind, believe me!
as for work, i never saw anything like her.
she eats it up.
mrs. wiley may have been cruel to her, but folks need n't say she made mary work.
mary's a born worker.
sometimes i wonder which will wear out first -- her legs or her tongue.
i do n't have enough to do to keep me out of mischief these days.
i'll be real glad when school opens, for then i'll have something to do again.
mary does n't want to go to school, but i put my foot down and said that go she must.
i shall not have the methodists saying that i kept her out of school while i lolled in idleness."
chapter xiii.
the house on the hill there was a little unfailing spring, always icy cold and crystal pure, in a certain birch-screened hollow of rainbow valley in the lower corner near the marsh.
not a great many people knew of its existence.
the manse and ingleside children knew, of course, as they knew everything else about the magic valley.
occasionally they went there to get a drink, and it figured in many of their plays as a fountain of old romance.
anne knew of it and loved it because it somehow reminded her of the beloved dryad's bubble at green gables.
rosemary west knew of it; it was her fountain of romance, too.
eighteen years ago she had sat behind it one spring twilight and heard young martin crawford stammer out a confession of fervent, boyish love.
she had whispered her own secret in return, and they had kissed and promised by the wild wood spring.
they had never stood together by it again -- martin had sailed on his fatal voyage soon after; but to rosemary west it was always a sacred spot, hallowed by that immortal hour of youth and love.
whenever she passed near it she turned aside to hold a secret tryst with an old dream -- a dream from which the pain had long gone, leaving only its unforgettable sweetness.
the spring was a hidden thing.
you might have passed within ten feet of it and never have suspected its existence.
two generations past a huge old pine had fallen almost across it.
nothing was left of the tree but its crumbling trunk out of which the ferns grew thickly, making a green roof and a lacy screen for the water.
a maple-tree grew beside it with a curiously gnarled and twisted trunk, creeping along the ground for a little way before shooting up into the air, and so forming a quaint seat; and september had flung a scarf of pale smoke-blue asters around the hollow.
john meredith, taking the cross-lots road through rainbow valley on his way home from some pastoral visitations around the harbour head one evening, turned aside to drink of the little spring.
walter blythe had shown it to him one afternoon only a few days before, and they had had a long talk together on the maple seat.
john meredith, under all his shyness and aloofness, had the heart of a boy.
he had been called jack in his youth, though nobody in glen st. mary would ever have believed it.
walter and he had taken to each other and had talked unreservedly.
mr. meredith found his way into some sealed and sacred chambers of the lad's soul wherein not even di had ever looked.
they were to be chums from that friendly hour and walter knew that he would never be frightened of the minister again.
""i never believed before that it was possible to get really acquainted with a minister," he told his mother that night.
john meredith drank from his slender white hand, whose grip of steel always surprised people who were unacquainted with it, and then sat down on the maple seat.
he was in no hurry to go home; this was a beautiful spot and he was mentally weary after a round of rather uninspiring conversations with many good and stupid people.
the moon was rising.
rainbow valley was wind-haunted and star-sentinelled only where he was, but afar from the upper end came the gay notes of children's laughter and voices.
the ethereal beauty of the asters in the moonlight, the glimmer of the little spring, the soft croon of the brook, the wavering grace of the brackens all wove a white magic round john meredith.
he forgot congregational worries and spiritual problems; the years slipped away from him; he was a young divinity student again and the roses of june were blooming red and fragrant on the dark, queenly head of his cecilia.
he sat there and dreamed like any boy.
and it was at this propitious moment that rosemary west stepped aside from the by-path and stood beside him in that dangerous, spell-weaving place.
john meredith stood up as she came in and saw her -- really saw her -- for the first time.
he had met her in his church once or twice and shaken hands with her abstractedly as he did with anyone he happened to encounter on his way down the aisle.
he had never met her elsewhere, for the wests were episcopalians, with church affinities in lowbridge, and no occasion for calling upon them had ever arisen.
before to-night, if anyone had asked john meredith what rosemary west looked like he would not have had the slightest notion.
but he was never to forget her, as she appeared to him in the glamour of kind moonlight by the spring.
she was certainly not in the least like cecilia, who had always been his ideal of womanly beauty.
cecilia had been small and dark and vivacious -- rosemary west was tall and fair and placid, yet john meredith thought he had never seen so beautiful a woman.
she was bareheaded and her golden hair -- hair of a warm gold, "molasses taffy" colour as di blythe had said -- was pinned in sleek, close coils over her head; she had large, tranquil, blue eyes that always seemed full of friendliness, a high white forehead and a finely shaped face.
rosemary west was always called a "sweet woman."
she was so sweet that even her high-bred, stately air had never gained for her the reputation of being "stuck-up," which it would inevitably have done in the case of anyone else in glen st. mary.
life had taught her to be brave, to be patient, to love, to forgive.
she had watched the ship on which her lover went sailing out of four winds harbour into the sunset.
but, though she watched long, she had never seen it coming sailing back.
that vigil had taken girlhood from her eyes, yet she kept her youth to a marvellous degree.
perhaps this was because she always seemed to preserve that attitude of delighted surprise towards life which most of us leave behind in childhood -- an attitude which not only made rosemary herself seem young, but flung a pleasing illusion of youth over the consciousness of every one who talked to her.
john meredith was startled by her loveliness and rosemary was startled by his presence.
she had never thought she would find anyone by that remote spring, least of all the recluse of glen st. mary manse.
she almost dropped the heavy armful of books she was carrying home from the glen lending library, and then, to cover her confusion, she told one of those small fibs which even the best of women do tell at times.
""i -- i came for a drink," she said, stammering a little, in answer to mr. meredith's grave "good evening, miss west."
she felt that she was an unpardonable goose and she longed to shake herself.
but john meredith was not a vain man and he knew she would likely have been as much startled had she met old elder clow in that unexpected fashion.
her confusion put him at ease and he forgot to be shy; besides, even the shyest of men can sometimes be quite audacious in moonlight.
""let me get you a cup," he said smiling.
there was a cup near by, if he had only known it, a cracked, handleless blue cup secreted under the maple by the rainbow valley children; but he did not know it, so he stepped out to one of the birch-trees and stripped a bit of its white skin away.
deftly he fashioned this into a three-cornered cup, filled it from the spring, and handed it to rosemary.
rosemary took it and drank every drop to punish herself for her fib, for she was not in the least thirsty, and to drink a fairly large cupful of water when you are not thirsty is somewhat of an ordeal.
yet the memory of that draught was to be very pleasant to rosemary.
in after years it seemed to her that there was something sacramental about it.
perhaps this was because of what the minister did when she handed him back the cup.
he stooped again and filled it and drank of it himself.
it was only by accident that he put his lips just where rosemary had put hers, and rosemary knew it.
nevertheless, it had a curious significance for her.
they two had drunk of the same cup.
she remembered idly that an old aunt of hers used to say that when two people did this their after-lives would be linked in some fashion, whether for good or ill.
john meredith held the cup uncertainly.
he did not know what to do with it.
the logical thing would have been to toss it away, but somehow he was disinclined to do this.
rosemary held out her hand for it.
""will you let me have it?"
she said.
""you made it so knackily.
i never saw anyone make a birch cup so since my little brother used to make them long ago -- before he died."
""i learned how to make them when i was a boy, camping out one summer.
an old hunter taught me," said mr. meredith.
""let me carry your books, miss west."
rosemary was startled into another fib and said oh, they were not heavy.
but the minister took them from her with quite a masterful air and they walked away together.
it was the first time rosemary had stood by the valley spring without thinking of martin crawford.
the mystic tryst had been broken.
the little by-path wound around the marsh and then struck up the long wooded hill on the top of which rosemary lived.
beyond, through the trees, they could see the moonlight shining across the level summer fields.
but the little path was shadowy and narrow.
trees crowded over it, and trees are never quite as friendly to human beings after nightfall as they are in daylight.
they wrap themselves away from us.
they whisper and plot furtively.
if they reach out a hand to us it has a hostile, tentative touch.
people walking amid trees after night always draw closer together instinctively and involuntarily, making an alliance, physical and mental, against certain alien powers around them.
rosemary's dress brushed against john meredith as they walked.
not even an absent-minded minister, who was after all a young man still, though he firmly believed he had outlived romance, could be insensible to the charm of the night and the path and the companion.
it is never quite safe to think we have done with life.
when we imagine we have finished our story fate has a trick of turning the page and showing us yet another chapter.
these two people each thought their hearts belonged irrevocably to the past; but they both found their walk up that hill very pleasant.
rosemary thought the glen minister was by no means as shy and tongue-tied as he had been represented.
he seemed to find no difficulty in talking easily and freely.
glen housewives would have been amazed had they heard him.
but then so many glen housewives talked only gossip and the price of eggs, and john meredith was not interested in either.
he talked to rosemary of books and music and wide-world doings and something of his own history, and found that she could understand and respond.
rosemary, it appeared, possessed a book which mr. meredith had not read and wished to read.
she offered to lend it to him and when they reached the old homestead on the hill he went in to get it.
the house itself was an old-fashioned gray one, hung with vines, through which the light in the sitting-room winked in friendly fashion.
it looked down the glen, over the harbour, silvered in the moonlight, to the sand-dunes and the moaning ocean.
they walked in through a garden that always seemed to smell of roses, even when no roses were in bloom.
there was a sisterhood of lilies at the gate and a ribbon of asters on either side of the broad walk, and a lacery of fir trees on the hill's edge beyond the house.
""you have the whole world at your doorstep here," said john meredith, with a long breath.
""what a view -- what an outlook!
at times i feel stifled down there in the glen.
you can breathe up here."
""it is calm to-night," said rosemary laughing.
""if there were a wind it would blow your breath away.
we get "a" the airts the wind can blow" up here.
this place should be called four winds instead of the harbour."
""i like wind," he said.
""a day when there is no wind seems to me dead.
a windy day wakes me up."
he gave a conscious laugh.
""on a calm day i fall into day dreams.
no doubt you know my reputation, miss west.
if i cut you dead the next time we meet do n't put it down to bad manners.
please understand that it is only abstraction and forgive me -- and speak to me."
they found ellen west in the sitting room when they went in.
she laid her glasses down on the book she had been reading and looked at them in amazement tinctured with something else.
but she shook hands amiably with mr. meredith and he sat down and talked to her, while rosemary hunted out his book.
ellen west was ten years older than rosemary, and so different from her that it was hard to believe they were sisters.
she was dark and massive, with black hair, thick, black eyebrows and eyes of the clear, slaty blue of the gulf water in a north wind.
she had a rather stern, forbidding look, but she was in reality very jolly, with a hearty, gurgling laugh and a deep, mellow, pleasant voice with a suggestion of masculinity about it.
she had once remarked to rosemary that she would really like to have a talk with that presbyterian minister at the glen, to see if he could find a word to say to a woman when he was cornered.
she had her chance now and she tackled him on world politics.
miss ellen, who was a great reader, had been devouring a book on the kaiser of germany, and she demanded mr. meredith's opinion of him.
""a dangerous man," was his answer.
""i believe you!"
miss ellen nodded.
""mark my words, mr. meredith, that man is going to fight somebody yet.
he's aching to.
he is going to set the world on fire."
""if you mean that he will wantonly precipitate a great war i hardly think so," said mr. meredith.
""the day has gone by for that sort of thing."
""bless you, it has n't," rumbled ellen.
""the day never goes by for men and nations to make asses of themselves and take to the fists.
the millenniun is n't that near, mr. meredith, and you do n't think it is any more than i do.
as for this kaiser, mark my words, he is going to make a heap of trouble" -- and miss ellen prodded her book emphatically with her long finger.
""yes, if he is n't nipped in the bud he's going to make trouble.
we'll live to see it -- you and i will live to see it, mr. meredith.
and who is going to nip him?
england should, but she wo n't.
who is going to nip him?
tell me that, mr. meredith."
mr. meredith could n't tell her, but they plunged into a discussion of german militarism that lasted long after rosemary had found the book.
rosemary said nothing, but sat in a little rocker behind ellen and stroked an important black cat meditatively.
john meredith hunted big game in europe with ellen, but he looked oftener at rosemary than at ellen, and ellen noticed it.
after rosemary had gone to the door with him and come back ellen rose and looked at her accusingly.
""rosemary west, that man has a notion of courting you."
rosemary quivered.
ellen's speech was like a blow to her.
it rubbed all the bloom off the pleasant evening.
but she would not let ellen see how it hurt her.
""nonsense," she said, and laughed, a little too carelessly.
""you see a beau for me in every bush, ellen.
why he told me all about his wife to-night -- how much she was to him -- how empty her death had left the world."
""well, that may be his way of courting," retorted ellen.
""men have all kinds of ways, i understand.
but do n't forget your promise, rosemary."
""there is no need of my either forgetting or remembering it," said rosemary, a little wearily.
""you forget that i'm an old maid, ellen.
it is only your sisterly delusion that i am still young and blooming and dangerous.
mr. meredith merely wants to be a friend -- if he wants that much itself.
he'll forget us both long before he gets back to the manse."
""i've no objection to your being friends with him," conceded ellen, "but it mus n't go beyond friendship, remember.
i'm always suspicious of widowers.
they are not given to romantic ideas about friendship.
they're apt to mean business.
as for this presbyterian man, what do they call him shy for?
he's not a bit shy, though he may be absent-minded -- so absent-minded that he forgot to say goodnight to me when you started to go to the door with him.
he's got brains, too.
there's so few men round here that can talk sense to a body.
i've enjoyed the evening.
i would n't mind seeing more of him.
but no philandering, rosemary, mind you -- no philandering."
rosemary was quite used to being warned by ellen from philandering if she so much as talked five minutes to any marriageable man under eighty or over eighteen.
she had always laughed at the warning with unfeigned amusement.
this time it did not amuse her -- it irritated her a little.
who wanted to philander?
""do n't be such a goose, ellen," she said with unaccustomed shortness as she took her lamp.
she went upstairs without saying goodnight.
ellen shook her head dubiously and looked at the black cat.
""what is she so cross about, st. george?"
she asked.
""when you howl you're hit, i've always heard, george.
but she promised, saint -- she promised, and we wests always keep our word.
so it wo n't matter if he does want to philander, george.
she promised.
i wo n't worry."
upstairs, in her room, rosemary sat for a long while looking out of the window across the moonlit garden to the distant, shining harbour.
she felt vaguely upset and unsettled.
she was suddenly tired of outworn dreams.
and in the garden the petals of the last red rose were scattered by a sudden little wind.
summer was over -- it was autumn.
chapter xiv.
mrs. alec davis makes a call john meredith walked slowly home.
at first he thought a little about rosemary, but by the time he reached rainbow valley he had forgotten all about her and was meditating on a point regarding german theology which ellen had raised.
he passed through rainbow valley and knew it not.
the charm of rainbow valley had no potency against german theology.
when he reached the manse he went to his study and took down a bulky volume in order to see which had been right, he or ellen.
he remained immersed in its mazes until dawn, struck a new trail of speculation and pursued it like a sleuth hound for the next week, utterly lost to the world, his parish and his family.
he read day and night; he forgot to go to his meals when una was not there to drag him to them; he never thought about rosemary or ellen again.
old mrs. marshall, over-harbour, was very ill and sent for him, but the message lay unheeded on his desk and gathered dust.
mrs. marshall recovered but never forgave him.
a young couple came to the manse to be married and mr. meredith, with unbrushed hair, in carpet slippers and faded dressing gown, married them.
to be sure, he began by reading the funeral service to them and got along as far as "ashes to ashes and dust to dust" before he vaguely suspected that something was wrong.
""dear me," he said absently, "that is strange -- very strange."
the bride, who was very nervous, began to cry.
the bridegroom, who was not in the least nervous, giggled.
""please, sir, i think you're burying us instead of marrying us," he said.
""excuse me," said mr. meredith, as it it did not matter much.
he turned up the marriage service and got through with it, but the bride never felt quite properly married for the rest of her life.
he forgot his prayer-meeting again -- but that did not matter, for it was a wet night and nobody came.
he might even have forgotten his sunday service if it had not been for mrs. alec davis.
aunt martha came in on saturday afternoon and told him that mrs. davis was in the parlour and wanted to see him.
mr. meredith sighed.
mrs. davis was the only woman in glen st. mary church whom he positively detested.
unfortunately, she was also the richest, and his board of managers had warned mr. meredith against offending her.
mr. meredith seldom thought of such a worldly matter as his stipend; but the managers were more practical.
also, they were astute.
without mentioning money, they contrived to instil into mr. meredith's mind a conviction that he should not offend mrs. davis.
otherwise, he would likely have forgotten all about her as soon as aunt martha had gone out.
as it was, he turned down his ewald with a feeling of annoyance and went across the hall to the parlour.
mrs. davis was sitting on the sofa, looking about her with an air of scornful disapproval.
what a scandalous room!
there were no curtains on the window.
mrs. davis did not know that faith and una had taken them down the day before to use as court trains in one of their plays and had forgotten to put them up again, but she could not have accused those windows more fiercely if she had known.
the blinds were cracked and torn.
the pictures on the walls were crooked; the rugs were awry; the vases were full of faded flowers; the dust lay in heaps -- literally in heaps.
""what are we coming to?"
mrs. davis asked herself, and then primmed up her unbeautiful mouth.
jerry and carl had been whooping and sliding down the banisters as she came through the hall.
they did not see her and continued whooping and sliding, and mrs. davis was convinced they did it on purpose.
faith's pet rooster ambled through the hall, stood in the parlour doorway and looked at her.
not liking her looks, he did not venture in.
mrs. davis gave a scornful sniff.
a pretty manse, indeed, where roosters paraded the halls and stared people out of countenance.
""shoo, there," commanded mrs. davis, poking her flounced, changeable-silk parasol at him.
adam shooed.
he was a wise rooster and mrs. davis had wrung the necks of so many roosters with her own fair hands in the course of her fifty years that an air of the executioner seemed to hang around her.
adam scuttled through the hall as the minister came in.
mr. meredith still wore slippers and dressing gown, and his dark hair still fell in uncared-for locks over his high brow.
but he looked the gentleman he was; and mrs. alec davis, in her silk dress and beplumed bonnet, and kid gloves and gold chain looked the vulgar, coarse-souled woman she was.
each felt the antagonisn of the other's personality.
mr. meredith shrank, but mrs. davis girded up her loins for the fray.
she had come to the manse to propose a certain thing to the minister and she meant to lose no time in proposing it.
she was going to do him a favour -- a great favour -- and the sooner he was made aware of it the better.
she had been thinking about it all summer and had come to a decision at last.
this was all that mattered, mrs. davis thought.
when she decided a thing it was decided.
nobody else had any say in the matter.
that had always been her attitude.
when she had made her mind up to marry alec davis she had married him and that was the end to it.
alec had never known how it happened, but what odds?
so in this case -- mrs. davis had arranged everything to her own satisfaction.
now it only remained to inform mr. meredith.
""will you please shut that door?"
said mrs. davis, unprimming her mouth slightly to say it, but speaking with asperity.
""i have something important to say, and i ca n't say it with that racket in the hall."
mr. meredith shut the door meekly.
then he sat down before mrs. davis.
he was not wholly aware of her yet.
his mind was still wrestling with ewald's arguments.
mrs. davis sensed this detachment and it annoyed her.
""i have come to tell you, mr. meredith," she said aggressively, "that i have decided to adopt una."
""to -- adopt -- una!"
mr. meredith gazed at her blankly, not understanding in the least.
""yes.
i've been thinking it over for some time.
i have often thought of adopting a child, since my husband's death.
but it seemed so hard to get a suitable one.
it is very few children i would want to take into my home.
i would n't think of taking a home child -- some outcast of the slums in all probability.
and there is hardly ever any other child to be got.
one of the fishermen down at the harbour died last fall and left six youngsters.
they tried to get me to take one, but i soon gave them to understand that i had no idea of adopting trash like that.
their grandfather stole a horse.
besides, they were all boys and i wanted a girl -- a quiet, obedient girl that i could train up to be a lady.
una will suit me exactly.
she would be a nice little thing if she was properly looked after -- so different from faith.
i would never dream of adopting faith.
but i'll take una and i'll give her a good home, and up-bringing, mr. meredith, and if she behaves herself i'll leave her all my money when i die.
not one of my own relatives shall have a cent of it in any case, i'm determined on that.
it was the idea of aggravating them that set me to thinking of adopting a child as much as anything in the first place.
una shall be well dressed and educated and trained, mr. meredith, and i shall give her music and painting lessons and treat her as if she was my own."
mr. meredith was wide enough awake by this time.
there was a faint flush in his pale cheek and a dangerous light in his fine dark eyes.
was this woman, whose vulgarity and consciousness of money oozed out of her at every pore, actually asking him to give her una -- his dear little wistful una with cecilia's own dark-blue eyes -- the child whom the dying mother had clasped to her heart after the other children had been led weeping from the room.
cecilia had clung to her baby until the gates of death had shut between them.
she had looked over the little dark head to her husband.
""take good care of her, john," she had entreated.
""she is so small -- and sensitive.
the others can fight their way -- but the world will hurt her.
oh, john, i do n't know what you and she are going to do.
you both need me so much.
but keep her close to you -- keep her close to you."
these had been almost her last words except a few unforgettable ones for him alone.
and it was this child whom mrs. davis had coolly announced her intention of taking from him.
he sat up straight and looked at mrs. davis.
in spite of the worn dressing gown and the frayed slippers there was something about him that made mrs. davis feel a little of the old reverence for "the cloth" in which she had been brought up.
after all, there was a certain divinity hedging a minister, even a poor, unworldly, abstracted one.
""i thank you for your kind intentions, mrs. davis," said mr. meredith with a gentle, final, quite awful courtesy, "but i can not give you my child."
mrs. davis looked blank.
she had never dreamed of his refusing.
""why, mr. meredith," she said in astonishment.
""you must be cr -- you ca n't mean it.
you must think it over -- think of all the advantages i can give her."
""there is no need to think it over, mrs. davis.
it is entirely out of the question.
all the worldly advantages it is in your power to bestow on her could not compensate for the loss of a father's love and care.
i thank you again -- but it is not to be thought of."
disappointment angered mrs. davis beyond the power of old habit to control.
her broad red face turned purple and her voice trembled.
""i thought you'd be only too glad to let me have her," she sneered.
""why did you think that?"
asked mr. meredith quietly.
""because nobody ever supposed you cared anything about any of your children," retorted mrs. davis contemptuously.
""you neglect them scandalously.
it is the talk of the place.
they are n't fed and dressed properly, and they're not trained at all.
they have no more manners than a pack of wild indians.
you never think of doing your duty as a father.
you let a stray child come here among them for a fortnight and never took any notice of her -- a child that swore like a trooper i'm told.
you would n't have cared if they'd caught small-pox from her.
and faith made an exhibition of herself getting up in preaching and making that speech!
and she rid a pig down the street -- under your very eyes i understand.
the way they act is past belief and you never lift a finger to stop them or try to teach them anything.
and now when i offer one of them a good home and good prospects you refuse it and insult me.
a pretty father you, to talk of loving and caring for your children!"
""that will do, woman!"
said mr. meredith.
he stood up and looked at mrs. davis with eyes that made her quail.
""that will do," he repeated.
""i desire to hear no more, mrs. davis.
you have said too much.
it may be that i have been remiss in some respects in my duty as a parent, but it is not for you to remind me of it in such terms as you have used.
let us say good afternoon."
mrs. davis did not say anything half so amiable as good afternoon, but she took her departure.
as she swept past the minister a large, plump toad, which carl had secreted under the lounge, hopped out almost under her feet.
mrs. davis gave a shriek and in trying to avoid treading on the awful thing, lost her balance and her parasol.
she did not exactly fall, but she staggered and reeled across the room in a very undignified fashion and brought up against the door with a thud that jarred her from head to foot.
mr. meredith, who had not seen the toad, wondered if she had been attacked with some kind of apoplectic or paralytic seizure, and ran in alarm to her assistance.
but mrs. davis, recovering her feet, waved him back furiously.
""do n't you dare to touch me," she almost shouted.
""this is some more of your children's doings, i suppose.
this is no fit place for a decent woman.
give me my umbrella and let me go.
i'll never darken the doors of your manse or your church again."
mr. meredith picked up the gorgeous parasol meekly enough and gave it to her.
mrs. davis seized it and marched out.
jerry and carl had given up banister sliding and were sitting on the edge of the veranda with faith.
unfortunately, all three were singing at the tops of their healthy young voices "there'll be a hot time in the old town to-night."
mrs. davis believed the song was meant for her and her only.
she stopped and shook her parasol at them.
""your father is a fool," she said, "and you are three young varmints that ought to be whipped within an inch of your lives."
""he is n't," cried faith.
""we're not," cried the boys.
but mrs. davis was gone.
""goodness, is n't she mad!"
said jerry.
""and what is a "varmint" anyhow?"
john meredith paced up and down the parlour for a few minutes; then he went back to his study and sat down.
but he did not return to his german theology.
he was too grievously disturbed for that.
mrs. davis had wakened him up with a vengeance.
was he such a remiss, careless father as she had accused him of being?
had he so scandalously neglected the bodily and spiritual welfare of the four little motherless creatures dependent on him?
were his people talking of it as harshly as mrs. davis had declared?
it must be so, since mrs. davis had come to ask for una in the full and confident belief that he would hand the child over to her as unconcernedly and gladly as one might hand over a strayed, unwelcome kitten.
and, if so, what then?
john meredith groaned and resumed his pacing up and down the dusty, disordered room.
what could he do?
he loved his children as deeply as any father could and he knew, past the power of mrs. davis or any of her ilk, to disturb his conviction, that they loved him devotedly.
but was he fit to have charge of them?
he knew -- none better -- his weaknesses and limitations.
what was needed was a good woman's presence and influence and common sense.
but how could that be arranged?
even were he able to get such a housekeeper it would cut aunt martha to the quick.
she believed she could still do all that was meet and necessary.
he could not so hurt and insult the poor old woman who had been so kind to him and his.
how devoted she had been to cecilia!
and cecilia had asked him to be very considerate of aunt martha.
to be sure, he suddenly remembered that aunt martha had once hinted that he ought to marry again.
he felt she would not resent a wife as she would a housekeeper.
but that was out of the question.
he did not wish to marry -- he did not and could not care for anyone.
then what could he do?
it suddenly occurred to him that he would go over to ingleside and talk over his difficulties with mrs. blythe.
mrs. blythe was one of the few women he never felt shy or tongue-tied with.
she was always so sympathetic and refreshing.
it might be that she could suggest some solution of his problems.
and even if she could not mr. meredith felt that he needed a little decent human companionship after his dose of mrs. davis -- something to take the taste of her out of his soul.
he dressed hurriedly and ate his supper less abstractedly than usual.
it occurred to him that it was a poor meal.
he looked at his children; they were rosy and healthy looking enough -- except una, and she had never been very strong even when her mother was alive.
they were all laughing and talking -- certainly they seemed happy.
carl was especially happy because he had two most beautiful spiders crawling around his supper plate.
their voices were pleasant, their manners did not seem bad, they were considerate of and gentle to one another.
yet mrs. davis had said their behaviour was the talk of the congregation.
as mr. meredith went through his gate dr. blythe and mrs. blythe drove past on the road that led to lowbridge.
the minister's face fell.
mrs. blythe was going away -- there was no use in going to ingleside.
and he craved a little companionship more than ever.
as he gazed rather hopelessly over the landscape the sunset light struck on a window of the old west homestead on the hill.
it flared out rosily like a beacon of good hope.
he suddenly remembered rosemary and ellen west.
he thought that he would relish some of ellen's pungent conversation.
he thought it would be pleasant to see rosemary's slow, sweet smile and calm, heavenly blue eyes again.
what did that old poem of sir philip sidney's say?
-- "continual comfort in a face" -- that just suited her.
and he needed comfort.
why not go and call?
he remembered that ellen had asked him to drop in sometimes and there was rosemary's book to take back -- he ought to take it back before he forgot.
he had an uneasy suspicion that there were a great many books in his library which he had borrowed at sundry times and in divers places and had forgotten to take back.
it was surely his duty to guard against that in this case.
he went back into his study, got the book, and plunged downward into rainbow valley.
chapter xv.
more gossip on the evening after mrs. myra murray of the over-harbour section had been buried miss cornelia and mary vance came up to ingleside.
there were several things concerning which miss cornelia wished to unburden her soul.
the funeral had to be all talked over, of course.
susan and miss cornelia thrashed this out between them; anne took no part or delight in such goulish conversations.
she sat a little apart and watched the autumnal flame of dahlias in the garden, and the dreaming, glamorous harbour of the september sunset.
mary vance sat beside her, knitting meekly.
mary's heart was down in the rainbow valley, whence came sweet, distance-softened sounds of children's laughter, but her fingers were under miss cornelia's eye.
she had to knit so many rounds of her stocking before she might go to the valley.
mary knit and held her tongue, but used her ears.
""i never saw a nicer looking corpse," said miss cornelia judicially.
""myra murray was always a pretty woman -- she was a corey from lowbridge and the coreys were noted for their good looks."
""i said to the corpse as i passed it, "poor woman.
i hope you are as happy as you look.""
sighed susan.
""she had not changed much.
that dress she wore was the black satin she got for her daughter's wedding fourteen years ago.
her aunt told her then to keep it for her funeral, but myra laughed and said," i may wear it to my funeral, aunty, but i will have a good time out of it first."
and i may say she did.
myra murray was not a woman to attend her own funeral before she died.
many a time afterwards when i saw her enjoying herself out in company i thought to myself, "you are a handsome woman, myra murray, and that dress becomes you, but it will likely be your shroud at last."
and you see my words have come true, mrs. marshall elliott."
susan sighed again heavily.
she was enjoying herself hugely.
a funeral was really a delightful subject of conversation.
""i always liked to meet myra," said miss cornelia.
""she was always so gay and cheerful -- she made you feel better just by her handshake.
myra always made the best of things."
""that is true," asserted susan.
""her sister-in-law told me that when the doctor told her at last that he could do nothing for her and she would never rise from that bed again, myra said quite cheerfully, "well, if that is so, i'm thankful the preserving is all done, and i will not have to face the fall house-cleaning.
i always liked house-cleaning in spring," she says, "but i always hated it in the fall.
i will get clear of it this year, thank goodness."
there are people who would call that levity, mrs. marshall elliott, and i think her sister-in-law was a little ashamed of it.
she said perhaps her sickness had made myra a little light-headed.
but i said, "no, mrs. murray, do not worry over it.
it was just myra's way of looking at the bright side.""
""her sister luella was just the opposite," said miss cornelia.
""there was no bright side for luella -- there was just black and shades of gray.
for years she used always to be declaring she was going to die in a week or so."
i wo n't be here to burden you long," she would tell her family with a groan.
and if any of them ventured to talk about their little future plans she'd groan also and say, "ah, i wo n't be here then."
when i went to see her i always agreed with her and it made her so mad that she was always quite a lot better for several days afterwards.
she has better health now but no more cheerfulness.
myra was so different.
she was always doing or saying something to make some one feel good.
perhaps the men they married had something to do with it.
luella's man was a tartar, believe me, while jim murray was decent, as men go.
he looked heart-broken to-day.
it is n't often i feel sorry for a man at his wife's funeral, but i did feel for jim murray."
""no wonder he looked sad.
he will not get a wife like myra again in a hurry," said susan.
""maybe he will not try, since his children are all grown up and mirabel is able to keep house.
but there is no predicting what a widower may or may not do and i, for one, will not try."
""we'll miss myra terrible in church," said miss cornelia.
""she was such a worker.
nothing ever stumped her.
if she could n't get over a difficulty she'd get around it, and if she could n't get around it she'd pretend it was n't there -- and generally it was n't.
"i'll keep a stiff upper lip to my journey's end," said she to me once.
well, she has ended her journey."
""do you think so?"
asked anne suddenly, coming back from dreamland.
""i ca n't picture her journey as being ended.
can you think of her sitting down and folding her hands -- that eager, asking spirit of hers, with its fine adventurous outlook?
no, i think in death she just opened a gate and went through -- on -- on -- to new, shining adventures."
""maybe -- maybe," assented miss cornelia.
""do you know, anne dearie, i never was much taken with this everlasting rest doctrine myself -- though i hope it is n't heresy to say so.
i want to bustle round in heaven the same as here.
and i hope there'll be a celestial substitute for pies and doughnuts -- something that has to be made.
of course, one does get awful tired at times -- and the older you are the tireder you get.
but the very tiredest could get rested in something short of eternity, you'd think -- except, perhaps, a lazy man."
""when i meet myra murray again," said anne, "i want to see her coming towards me, brisk and laughing, just as she always did here."
""oh, mrs. dr. dear," said susan, in a shocked tone, "you surely do not think that myra will be laughing in the world to come?"
""why not, susan?
do you think we will be crying there?"
""no, no, mrs. dr. dear, do not misunderstand me.
i do not think we shall be either crying or laughing."
""what then?"
""well," said susan, driven to it.
""it is my opinion, mrs. dr. dear, that we shall just look solemn and holy."
""and do you really think, susan," said anne, looking solemn enough, "that either myra murray or i could look solemn and holy all the time -- all the time, susan?"
""well," admitted susan reluctantly, "i might go so far as to say that you both would have to smile now and again, but i can never admit that there will be laughing in heaven.
the idea seems really irreverent, mrs. dr. dear."
""well, to come back to earth," said miss cornelia, "who can we get to take myra's class in sunday school?
julia clow has been teaching it since myra took ill, but she's going to town for the winter and we'll have to get somebody else."
""i heard that mrs. laurie jamieson wanted it," said anne.
""the jamiesons have come to church very regularly since they moved to the glen from lowbridge."
""new brooms!"
said miss cornelia dubiously.
""wait till they've gone regularly for a year."
""you can not depend on mrs. jamieson a bit, mrs. dr. dear," said susan solemnly.
""she died once and when they were measuring her for her coffin, after laying her out just beautiful, did she not go and come back to life!
now, mrs. dr. dear, you know you can not depend on a woman like that."
""she might turn methodist at any moment," said miss cornelia.
""they tell me they went to the methodist church at lowbridge quite as often as to the presbyterian.
i have n't caught them at it here yet, but i would not approve of taking mrs. jamieson into the sunday school.
yet we must not offend them.
we are losing too many people, by death or bad temper.
mrs. alec davis has left the church, no one knows why.
she told the managers that she would never pay another cent to mr. meredith's salary.
of course, most people say that the children offended her, but somehow i do n't think so.
i tried to pump faith, but all i could get out of her was that mrs. davis had come, seemingly in high good humour, to see her father, and had left in an awful rage, calling them all "varmints!""
""varmints, indeed!"
said susan furiously.
""does mrs. alec davis forget that her uncle on her mother's side was suspected of poisoning his wife?
not that it was ever proved, mrs. dr. dear, and it does not do to believe all you hear.
but if i had an uncle whose wife died without any satisfactory reason, i would not go about the country calling innocent children varmints."
""the point is," said miss cornelia, "that mrs. davis paid a large subscription, and how its loss is going to be made up is a problem.
and if she turns the other douglases against mr. meredith, as she will certainly try to do, he will just have to go."
""i do not think mrs. alec davis is very well liked by the rest of the clan," said susan.
""it is not likely she will be able to influence them."
""but those douglases all hang together so.
if you touch one, you touch all.
we ca n't do without them, so much is certain.
they pay half the salary.
they are not mean, whatever else may be said of them.
norman douglas used to give a hundred a year long ago before he left."
""what did he leave for?"
asked anne.
""he declared a member of the session cheated him in a cow deal.
he has n't come to church for twenty years.
his wife used to come regular while she was alive, poor thing, but he never would let her pay anything, except one red cent every sunday.
she felt dreadfully humiliated.
i do n't know that he was any too good a husband to her, though she was never heard to complain.
but she always had a cowed look.
norman douglas did n't get the woman he wanted thirty years ago and the douglases never liked to put up with second best."
""who was the woman he did want."
""ellen west.
they were n't engaged exactly, i believe, but they went about together for two years.
and then they just broke off -- nobody ever know why.
just some silly quarrel, i suppose.
and norman went and married hester reese before his temper had time to cool -- married her just to spite ellen, i have n't a doubt.
so like a man!
hester was a nice little thing, but she never had much spirit and he broke what little she had.
she was too meek for norman.
he needed a woman who could stand up to him.
ellen would have kept him in fine order and he would have liked her all the better for it.
he despised hester, that is the truth, just because she always gave in to him.
i used to hear him say many a time, long ago when he was a young fellow "give me a spunky woman -- spunk for me every time."
and then he went and married a girl who could n't say boo to a goose -- man-like.
that family of reeses were just vegetables.
they went through the motions of living, but they did n't live."
""russell reese used his first wife's wedding-ring to marry his second," said susan reminiscently.
""that was too economical in my opinion, mrs. dr. dear.
and his brother john has his own tombstone put up in the over-harbour graveyard, with everything on it but the date of death, and he goes and looks at it every sunday.
most folks would not consider that much fun, but it is plain he does.
people do have such different ideas of enjoyment.
as for norman douglas, he is a perfect heathen.
when the last minister asked him why he never went to church he said "too many ugly women there, parson -- too many ugly women!"
i should like to go to such a man, mrs. dr. dear, and say to him solemnly, "there is a hell!""
""oh, norman does n't believe there is such a place," said miss cornelia.
""i hope he'll find out his mistake when he comes to die.
there, mary, you've knit your three inches and you can go and play with the children for half an hour."
mary needed no second bidding.
she flew to rainbow valley with a heart as light as her heels, and in the course of conversation told faith meredith all about mrs. alec davis.
""and mrs. elliott says that she'll turn all the douglases against your father and then he'll have to leave the glen because his salary wo n't be paid," concluded mary."
i do n't know what is to be done, honest to goodness.
if only old norman douglas would come back to church and pay, it would n't be so bad.
but he wo n't -- and the douglases will leave -- and you all will have to go."
faith carried a heavy heart to bed with her that night.
the thought of leaving the glen was unbearable.
nowhere else in the world were there such chums as the blythes.
her little heart had been wrung when they had left maywater -- she had shed many bitter tears when she parted with maywater chums and the old manse there where her mother had lived and died.
she could not contemplate calmly the thought of such another and harder wrench.
she could n't leave glen st. mary and dear rainbow valley and that delicious graveyard.
""it's awful to be minister's family," groaned faith into her pillow.
""just as soon as you get fond of a place you are torn up by the roots.
i'll never, never, never marry a minister, no matter how nice he is."
faith sat up in bed and looked out of the little vine-hung window.
the night was very still, the silence broken only by una's soft breathing.
faith felt terribly alone in the world.
she could see glen st. mary lying under the starry blue meadows of the autumn night.
over the valley a light shone from the girls" room at ingleside, and another from walter's room.
faith wondered if poor walter had toothache again.
then she sighed, with a little passing sigh of envy of nan and di.
they had a mother and a settled home -- they were not at the mercy of people who got angry without any reason and called you a varmint.
away beyond the glen, amid fields that were very quiet with sleep, another light was burning.
faith knew it shone in the house where norman douglas lived.
he was reputed to sit up all hours of the night reading.
mary had said if he could only be induced to return to the church all would be well.
and why not?
faith looked at a big, low star hanging over the tall, pointed spruce at the gate of the methodist church and had an inspiration.
she knew what ought to be done and she, faith meredith, would do it.
she would make everything right.
with a sigh of satisfaction, she turned from the lonely, dark world and cuddled down beside una.
chapter xvi.
tit for tat with faith, to decide was to act.
she lost no time in carrying out the idea.
as soon as she came home from school the next day she left the manse and made her way down the glen.
walter blythe joined her as she passed the post office.
""i'm going to mrs. elliott's on an errand for mother," he said.
""where are you going, faith?"
""i am going somewhere on church business," said faith loftily.
she did not volunteer any further information and walter felt rather snubbed.
they walked on in silence for a little while.
it was a warm, windy evening with a sweet, resinous air.
beyond the sand dunes were gray seas, soft and beautiful.
the glen brook bore down a freight of gold and crimson leaves, like fairy shallops.
in mr. james reese's buckwheat stubble-land, with its beautiful tones of red and brown, a crow parliament was being held, whereat solemn deliberations regarding the welfare of crowland were in progress.
faith cruelly broke up the august assembly by climbing up on the fence and hurling a broken rail at it.
instantly the air was filled with flapping black wings and indignant caws.
""why did you do that?"
said walter reproachfully.
""they were having such a good time."
""oh, i hate crows," said faith airily.
""the are so black and sly i feel sure they're hypocrites.
they steal little birds" eggs out of their nests, you know.
i saw one do it on our lawn last spring.
walter, what makes you so pale to-day?
did you have the toothache again last night?"
walter shivered.
""yes -- a raging one.
i could n't sleep a wink -- so i just paced up and down the floor and imagined i was an early christian martyr being tortured at the command of nero.
that helped ever so much for a while -- and then i got so bad i could n't imagine anything."
""did you cry?"
asked faith anxiously.
""no -- but i lay down on the floor and groaned," admitted walter.
""then the girls came in and nan put cayenne pepper in it -- and that made it worse -- di made me hold a swallow of cold water in my mouth -- and i could n't stand it, so they called susan.
susan said it served me right for sitting up in the cold garret yesterday writing poetry trash.
but she started up the kitchen fire and got me a hot-water bottle and it stopped the toothache.
as soon as i felt better i told susan my poetry was n't trash and she was n't any judge.
and she said no, thank goodness she was not and she did not know anything about poetry except that it was mostly a lot of lies.
now you know, faith, that is n't so.
that is one reason why i like writing poetry -- you can say so many things in it that are true in poetry but would n't be true in prose.
i told susan so, but she said to stop my jawing and go to sleep before the water got cold, or she'd leave me to see if rhyming would cure toothache, and she hoped it would be a lesson to me."
""why do n't you go to the dentist at lowbridge and get the tooth out?"
walter shivered again.
""they want me to -- but i ca n't.
it would hurt so."
""are you afraid of a little pain?"
asked faith contemptuously.
walter flushed.
""it would be a big pain.
i hate being hurt.
father said he would n't insist on my going -- he'd wait until i'd made up my own mind to go."
""it would n't hurt as long as the toothache," argued faith, "you've had five spells of toothache.
if you'd just go and have it out there'd be no more bad nights.
i had a tooth out once.
i yelled for a moment, but it was all over then -- only the bleeding."
""the bleeding is worst of all -- it's so ugly," cried walter.
""it just made me sick when jem cut his foot last summer.
susan said i looked more like fainting than jem did.
but i could n't hear to see jem hurt, either.
somebody is always getting hurt, faith -- and it's awful.
i just ca n't bear to see things hurt.
it makes me just want to run -- and run -- and run -- till i ca n't hear or see them."
""there's no use making a fuss over anyone getting hurt," said faith, tossing her curls.
""of course, if you've hurt yourself very bad, you have to yell -- and blood is messy -- and i do n't like seeing other people hurt, either.
but i do n't want to run -- i want to go to work and help them.
your father has to hurt people lots of times to cure them.
what would they do if he ran away?"
""i did n't say i would run.
i said i wanted to run.
that's a different thing.
i want to help people, too.
but oh, i wish there were n't any ugly, dreadful things in the world.
i wish everything was glad and beautiful."
""well, do n't let's think of what is n't," said faith.
""after all, there's lots of fun in being alive.
you would n't have toothache if you were dead, but still, would n't you lots rather be alive than dead?
i would, a hundred times.
oh, here's dan reese.
he's been down to the harbour for fish."
""i hate dan reese," said walter.
""so do i. all us girls do.
i'm just going to walk past and never take the least notice of him.
you watch me!"
faith accordingly stalked past dan with her chin out and an expression of scorn that bit into his soul.
he turned and shouted after her.
""pig-girl!
pig-girl!!
pig-girl!!!"
in a crescendo of insult.
faith walked on, seemingly oblivious.
but her lip trembled slightly with a sense of outrage.
she knew she was no match for dan reese when it came to an exchange of epithets.
she wished jem blythe had been with her instead of walter.
if dan reese had dared to call her a pig-girl in jem's hearing, jem would have wiped up the dust with him.
but it never occurred to faith to expect walter to do it, or blame him for not doing it.
walter, she knew, never fought other boys.
neither did charlie clow of the north road.
the strange part was that, while she despised charlie for a coward, it never occurred to her to disdain walter.
it was simply that he seemed to her an inhabitant of a world of his own, where different traditions prevailed.
faith would as soon have expected a starry-eyed young angel to pummel dirty, freckled dan reese for her as walter blythe.
she would not have blamed the angel and she did not blame walter blythe.
but she wished that sturdy jem or jerry had been there and dan's insult continued to rankle in her soul.
walter was pale no longer.
he had flushed crimson and his beautiful eyes were clouded with shame and anger.
he knew that he ought to have avenged faith.
jem would have sailed right in and made dan eat his words with bitter sauce.
ritchie warren would have overwhelmed dan with worse "names" than dan had called faith.
but walter could not -- simply could not -- "call names."
he knew he would get the worst of it.
he could never conceive or utter the vulgar, ribald insults of which dan reese had unlimited command.
and as for the trial by fist, walter could n't fight.
he hated the idea.
it was rough and painful -- and, worst of all, it was ugly.
he never could understand jem's exultation in an occasional conflict.
but he wished he could fight dan reese.
he was horribly ashamed because faith meredith had been insulted in his presence and he had not tried to punish her insulter.
he felt sure she must despise him.
she had not even spoken to him since dan had called her pig-girl.
he was glad when they came to the parting of the ways.
faith, too, was relieved, though for a different reason.
she wanted to be alone because she suddenly felt rather nervous about her errand.
impulse had cooled, especially since dan had bruised her self-respect.
she must go through with it, but she no longer had enthusiasm to sustain her.
she was going to see norman douglas and ask him to come back to church, and she began to be afraid of him.
what had seemed so easy and simple up at the glen seemed very different down here.
she had heard a good deal about norman douglas, and she knew that even the biggest boys in school were afraid of him.
suppose he called her something nasty -- she had heard he was given to that.
faith could not endure being called names -- they subdued her far more quickly than a physical blow.
but she would go on -- faith meredith always went on.
if she did not her father might have to leave the glen.
at the end of the long lane faith came to the house -- a big, old-fashioned one with a row of soldierly lombardies marching past it.
on the back veranda norman douglas himself was sitting, reading a newspaper.
his big dog was beside him.
behind, in the kitchen, where his housekeeper, mrs. wilson, was getting supper, there was a clatter of dishes -- an angry clatter, for norman douglas had just had a quarrel with mrs. wilson, and both were in a very bad temper over it.
consequently, when faith stepped on the veranda and norman douglas lowered his newspaper she found herself looking into the choleric eyes of an irritated man.
norman douglas was rather a fine-looking personage in his way.
he had a sweep of long red beard over his broad chest and a mane of red hair, ungrizzled by the years, on his massive head.
his high, white forehead was unwrinkled and his blue eyes could flash still with all the fire of his tempestuous youth.
he could be very amiable when he liked, and he could be very terrible.
poor faith, so anxiously bent on retrieving the situation in regard to the church, had caught him in one of his terrible moods.
he did not know who she was and he gazed at her with disfavour.
norman douglas liked girls of spirit and flame and laughter.
at this moment faith was very pale.
she was of the type to which colour means everything.
lacking her crimson cheeks she seemed meek and even insignificant.
she looked apologetic and afraid, and the bully in norman douglas's heart stirred.
""who the dickens are you?
and what do you want here?"
he demanded in his great resounding voice, with a fierce scowl.
for once in her life faith had nothing to say.
she had never supposed norman douglas was like this.
she was paralyzed with terror of him.
he saw it and it made him worse.
""what's the matter with you?"
he boomed.
""you look as if you wanted to say something and was scared to say it.
what's troubling you?
confound it, speak up, ca n't you?"
no.
faith could not speak up.
no words would come.
but her lips began to tremble.
""for heaven's sake, do n't cry," shouted norman.
""i ca n't stand snivelling.
if you've anything to say, say it and have done.
great kitty, is the girl possessed of a dumb spirit?
do n't look at me like that -- i'm human -- i have n't got a tail!
who are you -- who are you, i say?"
norman's voice could have been heard at the harbour.
operations in the kitchen were suspended.
mrs. wilson was listening open-eared and eyed.
norman put his huge brown hands on his knees and leaned forward, staring into faith's pallid, shrinking face.
he seemed to loom over her like some evil giant out of a fairy tale.
she felt as if he would eat her up next thing, body and bones.
""i -- am -- faith -- meredith," she said, in little more than a whisper.
""meredith, hey?
one of the parson's youngsters, hey?
i've heard of you -- i've heard of you!
riding on pigs and breaking the sabbath!
a nice lot!
what do you want here, hey?
what do you want of the old pagan, hey?
i do n't ask favours of parsons -- and i do n't give any.
what do you want, i say?"
faith wished herself a thousand miles away.
she stammered out her thought in its naked simplicity.
""i came -- to ask you -- to go to church -- and pay -- to the salary."
norman glared at her.
then he burst forth again.
""you impudent hussy -- you!
who put you up to it, jade?
who put you up to it?"
""nobody," said poor faith.
""that's a lie.
do n't lie to me!
who sent you here?
it was n't your father -- he has n't the smeddum of a flea -- but he would n't send you to do what he dass n't do himself.
i suppose it was some of them confounded old maids at the glen, was it -- was it, hey?"
""no -- i -- i just came myself."
""do you take me for a fool?"
shouted norman.
""no -- i thought you were a gentleman," said faith faintly, and certainly without any thought of being sarcastic.
norman bounced up.
""mind your own business.
i do n't want to hear another word from you.
if you was n't such a kid i'd teach you to interfere in what does n't concern you.
when i want parsons or pill-dosers i'll send for them.
till i do i'll have no truck with them.
do you understand?
now, get out, cheese-face."
faith got out.
she stumbled blindly down the steps, out of the yard gate and into the lane.
half way up the lane her daze of fear passed away and a reaction of tingling anger possessed her.
by the time she reached the end of the lane she was in such a furious temper as she had never experienced before.
norman douglas" insults burned in her soul, kindling a scorching flame.
go home!
not she!
she would go straight back and tell that old ogre just what she thought of him -- she would show him -- oh, would n't she!
cheese-face, indeed!
unhesitatingly she turned and walked back.
the veranda was deserted and the kitchen door shut.
faith opened the door without knocking, and went in.
norman douglas had just sat down at the supper table, but he still held his newspaper.
faith walked inflexibly across the room, caught the paper from his hand, flung it on the floor and stamped on it.
then she faced him, with her flashing eyes and scarlet cheeks.
she was such a handsome young fury that norman douglas hardly recognized her.
""what's brought you back?"
he growled, but more in bewilderment than rage.
unquailingly she glared back into the angry eyes against which so few people could hold their own.
""i have come back to tell you exactly what i think of you," said faith in clear, ringing tones.
""i am not afraid of you.
you are a rude, unjust, tyrannical, disagreeable old man.
susan says you are sure to go to hell, and i was sorry for you, but i am not now.
your wife never had a new hat for ten years -- no wonder she died.
i am going to make faces at you whenever i see you after this.
every time i am behind you you will know what is happening.
father has a picture of the devil in a book in his study, and i mean to go home and write your name under it.
you are an old vampire and i hope you'll have the scotch fiddle!"
faith did not know what a vampire meant any more than she knew what the scotch fiddle was.
she had heard susan use the expressions and gathered from her tone that both were dire things.
but norman douglas knew what the latter meant at least.
he had listened in absolute silence to faith's tirade.
when she paused for breath, with a stamp of her foot, he suddenly burst into loud laughter.
with a mighty slap of hand on knee he exclaimed, "i vow you've got spunk, after all -- i like spunk.
come, sit down -- sit down!"
""i will not."
faith's eyes flashed more passionately.
she thought she was being made fun of -- treated contemptuously.
she would have enjoyed another explosion of rage, but this cut deep.
""i will not sit down in your house.
i am going home.
but i am glad i came back here and told you exactly what my opinion of you is."
""so am i -- so am i," chuckled norman.
""i like you -- you're fine -- you're great.
such roses -- such vim!
did i call her cheese-face?
why, she never smelt a cheese.
sit down.
if you'd looked like that at the first, girl!
so you'll write my name under the devil's picture, will you?
but he's black, girl, he's black -- and i'm red.
it wo n't do -- it wo n't do!
and you hope i'll have the scotch fiddle, do you?
lord love you, girl, i had it when i was a boy.
do n't wish it on me again.
sit down -- sit in.
we'll tak" a cup o" kindness."
""no, thank you," said faith haughtily.
""oh, yes, you will.
come, come now, i apologize, girl -- i apologize.
i made a fool of myself and i'm sorry.
man ca n't say fairer.
forget and forgive.
shake hands, girl -- shake hands.
she wo n't -- no, she wo n't!
but she must!
look-a-here, girl, if you'll shake hands and break bread with me i'll pay what i used to to the salary and i'll go to church the first sunday in every month and i'll make kitty alec hold her jaw.
i'm the only one in the clan can do it.
is it a bargain, girl?"
it seemed a bargain.
faith found herself shaking hands with the ogre and then sitting at his board.
her temper was over -- faith's tempers never lasted very long -- but its excitement still sparkled in her eyes and crimsoned her cheeks.
norman douglas looked at her admiringly.
""go, get some of your best preserves, wilson," he ordered, "and stop sulking, woman, stop sulking.
what if we did have a quarrel, woman?
a good squall clears the air and briskens things up.
but no drizzling and fogging afterwards -- no drizzling and fogging, woman.
i ca n't stand that.
temper in a woman but no tears for me.
here, girl, is some messed up meat and potatoes for you.
begin on that.
wilson has some fancy name for it, but i call lit macanaccady.
anything i ca n't analyze in the eating line i call macanaccady and anything wet that puzzles me i call shallamagouslem.
wilson's tea is shallamagouslem.
i swear she makes it out of burdocks.
do n't take any of the ungodly black liquid -- here's some milk for you.
what did you say your name was?"
""faith."
""no name that -- no name that!
i ca n't stomach such a name.
got any other?"
""no, sir."
""do n't like the name, do n't like it.
there's no smeddum to it.
besides, it makes me think of my aunt jinny.
she called her three girls faith, hope, and charity.
faith did n't believe in anything -- hope was a born pessimist -- and charity was a miser.
you ought to be called red rose -- you look like one when you're mad.
i'll call you red rose.
and you've roped me into promising to go to church?
but only once a month, remember -- only once a month.
come now, girl, will you let me off?
i used to pay a hundred to the salary every year and go to church.
if i promise to pay two hundred a year will you let me off going to church?
come now!"
""no, no, sir," said faith, dimpling roguishly.
""i want you to go to church, too."
""well, a bargain is a bargain.
i reckon i can stand it twelve times a year.
what a sensation it'll make the first sunday i go!
and old susan baker says i'm going to hell, hey?
do you believe i'll go there -- come, now, do you?"
""i hope not, sir," stammered faith in some confusion.
""why do you hope not?
come, now, why do you hope not?
give us a reason, girl -- give us a reason."
""it -- it must be a very -- uncomfortable place, sir."
""uncomfortable?
all depends on your taste in comfortable, girl.
i'd soon get tired of angels.
fancy old susan in a halo, now!"
faith did fancy it, and it tickled her so much that she had to laugh.
norman eyed her approvingly.
""see the fun of it, hey?
oh, i like you -- you're great.
about this church business, now -- can your father preach?"
""he is a splendid preacher," said loyal faith.
""he is, hey?
i'll see -- i'll watch out for flaws.
he'd better be careful what he says before me.
i'll catch him -- i'll trip him up -- i'll keep tabs on his arguments.
i'm bound to have some fun out of this church going business.
does he ever preach hell?"
""no -- o -- o -- i do n't think so."
""too bad.
i like sermons on that subject.
you tell him that if he wants to keep me in good humour to preach a good rip-roaring sermon on hell once every six months -- and the more brimstone the better.
i like'em smoking.
and think of all the pleasure he'd give the old maids, too.
they'd all keep looking at old norman douglas and thinking, "that's for you, you old reprobate.
that's what's in store for you!"
i'll give an extra ten dollars every time you get your father to preach on hell.
here's wilson and the jam.
like that, hey?
it is n't macanaccady.
taste!"
faith obediently swallowed the big spoonful norman held out to her.
luckily it was good.
""best plum jam in the world," said norman, filling a large saucer and plumping it down before her.
""glad you like it.
i'll give you a couple of jars to take home with you.
there's nothing mean about me -- never was.
the devil ca n't catch me at that corner, anyhow.
it was n't my fault that hester did n't have a new hat for ten years.
it was her own -- she pinched on hats to save money to give yellow fellows over in china.
i never gave a cent to missions in my life -- never will.
never you try to bamboozle me into that!
a hundred a year to the salary and church once a month -- but no spoiling good heathens to make poor christians!
why, girl, they would n't be fit for heaven or hell -- clean spoiled for either place -- clean spoiled.
hey, wilson, have n't you got a smile on yet?
beats all how you women can sulk!
i never sulked in my life -- it's just one big flash and crash with me and then -- pouf -- the squall's over and the sun is out and you could eat out of my hand."
norman insisted on driving faith home after supper and he filled the buggy up with apples, cabbages, potatoes and pumpkins and jars of jam.
""there's a nice little tom-pussy out in the barn.
i'll give you that too, if you'd like it.
say the word," he said.
""no, thank you," said faith decidedly.
""i do n't like cats, and besides, i have a rooster."
""listen to her.
you ca n't cuddle a rooster as you can a kitten.
who ever heard of petting a rooster?
better take little tom.
i want to find a good home for him."
""no.
aunt martha has a cat and he would kill a strange kitten."
norman yielded the point rather reluctantly.
he gave faith an exciting drive home, behind his wild two-year old, and when he had let her out at the kitchen door of the manse and dumped his cargo on the back veranda he drove away shouting, "it's only once a month -- only once a month, mind!"
faith went up to bed, feeling a little dizzy and breathless, as if she had just escaped from the grasp of a genial whirlwind.
she was happy and thankful.
no fear now that they would have to leave the glen and the graveyard and rainbow valley.
but she fell asleep troubled by a disagreeable subconsciousness that dan reese had called her pig-girl and that, having stumbled on such a congenial epithet, he would continue to call her so whenever opportunity offered.
chapter xvii.
a double victory norman douglas came to church the first sunday in november and made all the sensation he desired.
mr. meredith shook hands with him absently on the church steps and hoped dreamily that mrs. douglas was well.
""she was n't very well just before i buried her ten years ago, but i reckon she has better health now," boomed norman, to the horror and amusement of every one except mr. meredith, who was absorbed in wondering if he had made the last head of his sermon as clear as he might have, and had n't the least idea what norman had said to him or he to norman.
norman intercepted faith at the gate.
""kept my word, you see -- kept my word, red rose.
i'm free now till the first sunday in december.
fine sermon, girl -- fine sermon.
your father has more in his head than he carries on his face.
but he contradicted himself once -- tell him he contradicted himself.
and tell him i want that brimstone sermon in december.
great way to wind up the old year -- with a taste of hell, you know.
and what's the matter with a nice tasty discourse on heaven for new year's?
though it would n't be half as interesting as hell, girl -- not half.
only i'd like to know what your father thinks about heaven -- he can think -- rarest thing in the world -- a person who can think.
but he did contradict himself.
ha, ha!
here's a question you might ask him sometime when he's awake, girl.
"can god make a stone so big he could n't lift it himself?"
do n't forget now.
i want to hear his opinion on it.
i've stumped many a minister with that, girl."
faith was glad to escape him and run home.
dan reese, standing among the crowd of boys at the gate, looked at her and shaped his mouth into "pig-girl," but dared not utter it aloud just there.
next day in school was a different matter.
at noon recess faith encountered dan in the little spruce plantation behind the school and dan shouted once more, "pig-girl!
pig-girl!
rooster-girl!"
walter blythe suddenly rose from a mossy cushion behind a little clump of firs where he had been reading.
he was very pale, but his eyes blazed.
""you hold your tongue, dan reese!"
he said.
""oh, hello, miss walter," retorted dan, not at all abashed.
he vaulted airily to the top of the rail fence and chanted insultingly, "cowardy, cowardy-custard stole a pot of mustard, cowardy, cowardy-custard!"
""you are a coincidence!"
said walter scornfully, turning still whiter.
he had only a very hazy idea what a coincidence was, but dan had none at all and thought it must be something peculiarly opprobrious.
""yah!
cowardy!"
he yelled gain.
""your mother writes lies -- lies -- lies!
and faith meredith is a pig-girl -- a -- pig-girl -- a pig-girl!
and she's a rooster-girl -- a rooster-girl -- a rooster-girl!
yah!
cowardy -- cowardy -- cust --" dan got no further.
walter had hurled himself across the intervening space and knocked dan off the fence backward with one well-directed blow.
dan's sudden inglorious sprawl was greeted with a burst of laughter and a clapping of hands from faith.
dan sprang up, purple with rage, and began to climb the fence.
but just then the school-bell rang and dan knew what happened to boys who were late during mr. hazard's regime.
""we'll fight this out," he howled.
""cowardy!"
""any time you like," said walter.
""oh, no, no, walter," protested faith.
""do n't fight him.
i do n't mind what he says -- i would n't condescend to mind the like of him."
""he insulted you and he insulted my mother," said walter, with the same deadly calm.
""tonight after school, dan."
""i've got to go right home from school to pick taters after the harrows, dad says," answered dan sulkily.
""but to-morrow night'll do."
""all right -- here to-morrow night," agreed walter.
""and i'll smash your sissy-face for you," promised dan.
walter shuddered -- not so much from fear of the threat as from repulsion over the ugliness and vulgarity of it.
but he held his head high and marched into school.
faith followed in a conflict of emotions.
she hated to think of walter fighting that little sneak, but oh, he had been splendid!
and he was going to fight for her -- faith meredith -- to punish her insulter!
of course he would win -- such eyes spelled victory.
faith's confidence in her champion had dimmed a little by evening, however.
walter had seemed so very quiet and dull the rest of the day in school.
""if it were only jem," she sighed to una, as they sat on hezekiah pollock's tombstone in the graveyard.
""he is such a fighter -- he could finish dan off in no time.
but walter does n't know much about fighting."
""i'm so afraid he'll be hurt," sighed una, who hated fighting and could n't understand the subtle, secret exultation she divined in faith.
""he ought n't to be," said faith uncomfortably.
""he's every bit as big as dan."
""but dan's so much older," said una.
""why, he's nearly a year older."
""dan has n't done much fighting when you come to count up," said faith.
""i believe he's really a coward.
he did n't think walter would fight, or he would n't have called names before him.
oh, if you could just have seen walter's face when he looked at him, una!
it made me shiver -- with a nice shiver.
he looked just like sir galahad in that poem father read us on saturday."
""i hate the thought of them fighting and i wish it could be stopped," said una.
""oh, it's got to go on now," cried faith.
""it's a matter of honour.
do n't you dare tell anyone, una.
if you do i'll never tell you secrets again!"
""i wo n't tell," agreed una.
""but i wo n't stay to-morrow to watch the fight.
i'm coming right home."
""oh, all right.
i have to be there -- it would be mean not to, when walter is fighting for me.
i'm going to tie my colours on his arm -- that's the thing to do when he's my knight.
how lucky mrs. blythe gave me that pretty blue hair-ribbon for my birthday!
i've only worn it twice so it will be almost new.
but i wish i was sure walter would win.
it will be so -- so humiliating if he does n't."
faith would have been yet more dubious if she could have seen her champion just then.
walter had gone home from school with all his righteous anger at a low ebb and a very nasty feeling in its place.
he had to fight dan reese the next night -- and he did n't want to -- he hated the thought of it.
and he kept thinking of it all the time.
not for a minute could he get away from the thought.
would it hurt much?
he was terribly afraid that it would hurt.
and would he be defeated and shamed?
he could not eat any supper worth speaking of.
susan had made a big batch of his favourite monkey-faces, but he could choke only one down.
jem ate four.
walter wondered how he could.
how could anybody eat?
and how could they all talk gaily as they were doing?
there was mother, with her shining eyes and pink cheeks.
she did n't know her son had to fight next day.
would she be so gay if she knew, walter wondered darkly.
jem had taken susan's picture with his new camera and the result was passed around the table and susan was terribly indignant over it.
""i am no beauty, mrs. dr. dear, and well i know it, and have always known it," she said in an aggrieved tone, "but that i am as ugly as that picture makes me out i will never, no, never believe."
jem laughed over this and anne laughed again with him.
walter could n't endure it.
he got up and fled to his room.
""that child has got something on his mind, mrs. dr. dear," said susan.
""he has et next to nothing.
do you suppose he is plotting another poem?"
poor walter was very far removed in spirit from the starry realms of poesy just then.
he propped his elbow on his open window-sill and leaned his head drearily on his hands.
""come on down to the shore, walter," cried jem, busting in.
""the boys are going to burn the sand-hill grass to-night.
father says we can go.
come on."
at any other time walter would have been delighted.
he gloried in the burning of the sand-hill grass.
but now he flatly refused to go, and no arguments or entreaties could move him.
disappointed jem, who did not care for the long dark walk to four winds point alone, retreated to his museum in the garret and buried himself in a book.
he soon forgot his disappointment, revelling with the heroes of old romance, and pausing occasionally to picture himself a famous general, leading his troops to victory on some great battlefield.
walter sat at his window until bedtime.
di crept in, hoping to be told what was wrong, but walter could not talk of it, even to di.
talking of it seemed to give it a reality from which he shrank.
it was torture enough to think of it.
the crisp, withered leaves rustled on the maple trees outside his window.
the glow of rose and flame had died out of the hollow, silvery sky, and the full moon was rising gloriously over rainbow valley.
afar off, a ruddy woodfire was painting a page of glory on the horizon beyond the hills.
it was a sharp, clear evening when far-away sounds were heard distinctly.
a fox was barking across the pond; an engine was puffing down at the glen station; a blue-jay was screaming madly in the maple grove; there was laughter over on the manse lawn.
how could people laugh?
how could foxes and blue-jays and engines behave as if nothing were going to happen on the morrow?
""oh, i wish it was over," groaned walter.
he slept very little that night and had hard work choking down his porridge in the morning.
susan was rather lavish in her platefuls.
mr. hazard found him an unsatisfactory pupil that day.
faith meredith's wits seemed to be wool-gathering, too.
dan reese kept drawing surreptitious pictures of girls, with pig or rooster heads, on his slate and holding them up for all to see.
the news of the coming battle had leaked out and most of the boys and many of the girls were in the spruce plantation when dan and walter sought it after school.
una had gone home, but faith was there, having tied her blue ribbon around walter's arm.
walter was thankful that neither jem nor di nor nan were among the crowd of spectators.
somehow they had not heard of what was in the wind and had gone home, too.
walter faced dan quite undauntedly now.
at the last moment all his fear had vanished, but he still felt disgust at the idea of fighting.
dan, it was noted, was really paler under his freckles than walter was.
one of the older boys gave the word and dan struck walter in the face.
walter reeled a little.
the pain of the blow tingled through all his sensitive frame for a moment.
then he felt pain no longer.
something, such as he had never experienced before, seemed to roll over him like a flood.
his face flushed crimson, his eyes burned like flame.
the scholars of glen st. mary school had never dreamed that "miss walter" could look like that.
he hurled himself forward and closed with dan like a young wildcat.
there were no particular rules in the fights of the glen school boys.
it was catch-as-catch can, and get your blows in anyhow.
walter fought with a savage fury and a joy in the struggle against which dan could not hold his ground.
it was all over very speedily.
walter had no clear consciousness of what he was doing until suddenly the red mist cleared from his sight and he found himself kneeling on the body of the prostrate dan whose nose -- oh, horror!
-- was spouting blood.
""have you had enough?"
demanded walter through his clenched teeth.
dan sulkily admitted that he had.
""my mother does n't write lies?"
""no."
""faith meredith is n't a pig-girl?"
""no."
""nor a rooster-girl?"
""no."
""and i'm not a coward?"
""no."
walter had intended to ask, "and you are a liar?"
but pity intervened and he did not humiliate dan further.
besides, that blood was so horrible.
""you can go, then," he said contemptuously.
there was a loud clapping from the boys who were perched on the rail fence, but some of the girls were crying.
they were frightened.
they had seen schoolboy fights before, but nothing like walter as he had grappled with dan.
there had been something terrifying about him.
they thought he would kill dan.
now that all was over they sobbed hysterically -- except faith, who still stood tense and crimson cheeked.
walter did not stay for any conqueror's meed.
he sprang over the fence and rushed down the spruce hill to rainbow valley.
he felt none of the victor's joy, but he felt a certain calm satisfaction in duty done and honour avenged -- mingled with a sickish qualm when he thought of dan's gory nose.
it had been so ugly, and walter hated ugliness.
also, he began to realize that he himself was somewhat sore and battered up.
his lip was cut and swollen and one eye felt very strange.
in rainbow valley he encountered mr. meredith, who was coming home from an afternoon call on the miss wests.
that reverend gentleman looked gravely at him.
""it seems to me that you have been fighting, walter?"
""yes, sir," said walter, expecting a scolding.
""what was it about?"
""dan reese said my mother wrote lies and that that faith was a pig-girl," answered walter bluntly.
""oh -- h!
then you were certainly justified, walter."
""do you think it's right to fight, sir?"
asked walter curiously.
""not always -- and not often -- but sometimes -- yes, sometimes," said john meredith.
""when womenkind are insulted for instance -- as in your case.
my motto, walter, is, do n't fight till you're sure you ought to, and then put every ounce of you into it.
in spite of sundry discolorations i infer that you came off best."
""yes.
i made him take it all back."
""very good -- very good, indeed.
i did n't think you were such a fighter, walter."
""i never fought before -- and i did n't want to right up to the last -- and then," said walter, determined to make a clean breast of it, "i liked it while i was at it."
the rev. john's eyes twinkled.
""you were -- a little frightened -- at first?"
""i was a whole lot frightened," said honest walter.
""but i'm not going to be frightened any more, sir.
being frightened of things is worse than the things themselves.
i'm going to ask father to take me over to lowbridge to-morrow to get my tooth out."
""right again.
"fear is more pain than is the pain it fears."
do you know who wrote that, walter?
it was shakespeare.
was there any feeling or emotion or experience of the human heart that that wonderful man did not know?
when you go home tell your mother i am proud of you."
walter did not tell her that, however; but he told her all the rest, and she sympathized with him and told him she was glad he had stood up for her and faith, and she anointed his sore spots and rubbed cologne on his aching head.
""are all mothers as nice as you?"
asked walter, hugging her.
""you're worth standing up for."
miss cornelia and susan were in the living room when anne came downstairs, and listened to the story with much enjoyment.
susan in particular was highly gratified.
""i am real glad to hear he has had a good fight, mrs. dr. dear.
perhaps it may knock that poetry nonsense out of him.
and i never, no, never could bear that little viper of a dan reese.
will you not sit nearer to the fire, mrs. marshall elliott?
these november evenings are very chilly."
""thank you, susan, i'm not cold.
i called at the manse before i came here and got quite warm -- though i had to go to the kitchen to do it, for there was no fire anywhere else.
the kitchen looked as if it had been stirred up with a stick, believe me.
mr. meredith was n't home.
i could n't find out where he was, but i have an idea that he was up at the wests".
do you know, anne dearie, they say he has been going there frequently all the fall and people are beginning to think he is going to see rosemary."
""he would get a very charming wife if he married rosemary," said anne, piling driftwood on the fire.
""she is one of the most delightful girls i've ever known -- truly one of the race of joseph."
""ye -- s -- only she is an episcopalian," said miss cornelia doubtfully.
""of course, that is better than if she was a methodist -- but i do think mr. meredith could find a good enough wife in his own denomination.
however, very likely there is nothing in it.
it's only a month ago that i said to him, "you ought to marry again, mr. meredith."
he looked as shocked as if i had suggested something improper.
"my wife is in her grave, mrs. elliott," he said, in that gentle, saintly way of his."
i suppose so," i said, "or i would n't be advising you to marry again."
then he looked more shocked than ever.
so i doubt if there is much in this rosemary story.
if a single minister calls twice at a house where there is a single woman all the gossips have it he is courting her."
""it seems to me -- if i may presume to say so -- that mr. meredith is too shy to go courting a second wife," said susan solemnly.
""he is n't shy, believe me," retorted miss cornelia.
""absent-minded, -- yes -- but shy, no.
and for all he is so abstracted and dreamy he has a very good opinion of himself, man-like, and when he is really awake he would n't think it much of a chore to ask any woman to have him.
no, the trouble is, he's deluding himself into believing that his heart is buried, while all the time it's beating away inside of him just like anybody else's.
he may have a notion of rosemary west and he may not.
if he has, we must make the best of it.
she is a sweet girl and a fine housekeeper, and would make a good mother for those poor, neglected children.
and," concluded miss cornelia resignedly, "my own grandmother was an episcopalian."
chapter xviii.
mary brings evil tidings mary vance, whom mrs. elliott had sent up to the manse on an errand, came tripping down rainbow valley on her way to ingleside where she was to spend the afternoon with nan and di as a saturday treat.
nan and di had been picking spruce gum with faith and una in the manse woods and the four of them were now sitting on a fallen pine by the brook, all, it must be admitted, chewing rather vigorously.
the ingleside twins were not allowed to chew spruce gum anywhere but in the seclusion of rainbow valley, but faith and una were unrestricted by such rules of etiquette and cheerfully chewed it everywhere, at home and abroad, to the very proper horror of the glen.
faith had been chewing it in church one day; but jerry had realized the enormity of that, and had given her such an older-brotherly scolding that she never did it again.
""i was so hungry i just felt as if i had to chew something," she protested.
""you know well enough what breakfast was like, jerry meredith.
i could n't eat scorched porridge and my stomach just felt so queer and empty.
the gum helped a lot -- and i did n't chew very hard.
i did n't make any noise and i never cracked the gum once."
""you must n't chew gum in church, anyhow," insisted jerry.
""do n't let me catch you at it again."
""you chewed yourself in prayer-meeting last week," cried faith.
""that's different," said jerry loftily.
""prayer-meeting is n't on sunday.
besides, i sat away at the back in a dark seat and nobody saw me.
you were sitting right up front where every one saw you.
and i took the gum out of my mouth for the last hymn and stuck it on the back of the pew right up in front where every one saw you.
and i took the gum out of my mouth for the last hymn and stuck it on the back of the pew in front of me.
then i came away and forgot it.
i went back to get it next morning, but it was gone.
i suppose rod warren swiped it.
and it was a dandy chew."
mary vance walked down the valley with her head held high.
she had on a new blue velvet cap with a scarlet rosette in it, a coat of navy blue cloth and a little squirrel-fur muff.
she was very conscious of her new clothes and very well pleased with herself.
her hair was elaborately crimped, her face was quite plump, her cheeks rosy, her white eyes shining.
she did not look much like the forlorn and ragged waif the merediths had found in the old taylor barn.
una tried not to feel envious.
here was mary with a new velvet cap, but she and faith had to wear their shabby old gray tams again this winter.
nobody ever thought of getting them new ones and they were afraid to ask their father for them for fear that he might be short of money and then he would feel badly.
mary had told them once that ministers were always short of money, and found it "awful hard" to make ends meet.
since then faith and una would have gone in rags rather than ask their father for anything if they could help it.
they did not worry a great deal over their shabbiness; but it was rather trying to see mary vance coming out in such style and putting on such airs about it, too.
the new squirrel muff was really the last straw.
neither faith nor una had ever had a muff, counting themselves lucky if they could compass mittens without holes in them.
aunt martha could not see to darn holes and though una tried to, she made sad cobbling.
somehow, they could not make their greeting of mary very cordial.
but mary did not mind or notice that; she was not overly sensitive.
she vaulted lightly to a seat on the pine tree, and laid the offending muff on a bough.
una saw that it was lined with shirred red satin and had red tassels.
she looked down at her own rather purple, chapped, little hands and wondered if she would ever, ever be able to put them into a muff like that.
""give us a chew," said mary companionably.
nan, di and faith all produced an amber-hued knot or two from their pockets and passed them to mary.
una sat very still.
she had four lovely big knots in the pocket of her tight, thread-bare little jacket, but she was n't going to give one of them to mary vance -- not one let mary pick her own gum!
people with squirrel muffs need n't expect to get everything in the world.
""great day, is n't it?"
said mary, swinging her legs, the better, perhaps, to display new boots with very smart cloth tops.
una tucked her feet under her.
there was a hole in the toe of one of her boots and both laces were much knotted.
but they were the best she had.
oh, this mary vance!
why had n't they left her in the old barn?
una never felt badly because the ingleside twins were better dressed than she and faith were.
they wore their pretty clothes with careless grace and never seemed to think about them at all.
somehow, they did not make other people feel shabby.
but when mary vance was dressed up she seemed fairly to exude clothes -- to walk in an atmosphere of clothes -- to make everybody else feel and think clothes.
una, as she sat there in the honey-tinted sunshine of the gracious december afternoon, was acutely and miserably conscious of everything she had on -- the faded tam, which was yet her best, the skimpy jacket she had worn for three winters, the holes in her skirt and her boots, the shivering insufficiency of her poor little undergarments.
of course, mary was going out for a visit and she was not.
but even if she had been she had nothing better to put on and in this lay the sting.
""say, this is great gum.
listen to me cracking it.
there ai n't any gum spruces down at four winds," said mary.
""sometimes i just hanker after a chew.
mrs. elliott wo n't let me chew gum if she sees me.
she says it ai n't lady-like.
this lady-business puzzles me.
i ca n't get on to all its kinks.
say, una, what's the matter with you?
cat got your tongue?"
""no," said una, who could not drag her fascinated eyes from that squirrel muff.
mary leaned past her, picked it up and thrust it into una's hands.
""stick your paws in that for a while," she ordered.
""they look sorter pinched.
ai n't that a dandy muff?
mrs. elliott give it to me last week for a birthday present.
i'm to get the collar at christmas.
i heard her telling mr. elliott that."
""mrs. elliott is very good to you," said faith.
""you bet she is.
and i'm good to her, too," retorted mary.
""i work like a nigger to make it easy for her and have everything just as she likes it.
we was made for each other.
't is n't every one could get along with her as well as i do.
she's pizen neat, but so am i, and so we agree fine."
""i told you she would never whip you."
""so you did.
she's never tried to lay a finger on me and i ai n't never told a lie to her -- not one, true's you live.
she combs me down with her tongue sometimes though, but that just slips off me like water off a duck's back.
say, una, why did n't you hang on to the muff?"
una had put it back on the bough.
""my hands are n't cold, thank you," she said stiffly.
""well, if you're satisfied, i am.
say, old kitty alec has come back to church as meek as moses and nobody knows why.
but everybody is saying it was faith brought norman douglas out.
his housekeeper says you went there and gave him an awful tongue-lashing.
did you?"
""i went and asked him to come to church," said faith uncomfortably.
""fancy your spunk!"
said mary admiringly."
i would n't have dared do that and i'm not so slow.
mrs. wilson says the two of you jawed something scandalous, but you come off best and then he just turned round and like to eat you up.
say, is your father going to preach here to-morrow?"
""no.
he's going to exchange with mr. perry from charlottetown.
father went to town this morning and mr. perry is coming out to-night."
""i thought there was something in the wind, though old martha would n't give me any satisfaction.
but i felt sure she would n't have been killing that rooster for nothing."
""what rooster?
what do you mean?"
cried faith, turning pale."
i do n't know what rooster.
i did n't see it.
when she took the butter mrs. elliott sent up she said she'd been out to the barn killing a rooster for dinner tomorrow."
faith sprang down from the pine.
""it's adam -- we have no other rooster -- she has killed adam."
""now, do n't fly off the handle.
martha said the butcher at the glen had no meat this week and she had to have something and the hens were all laying and too poor."
""if she has killed adam --" faith began to run up the hill.
mary shrugged her shoulders.
""she'll go crazy now.
she was so fond of that adam.
he ought to have been in the pot long ago -- he'll be as tough as sole leather.
but i would n't like to be in martha's shoes.
faith's just white with rage; una, you'd better go after her and try to peacify her."
mary had gone a few steps with the blythe girls when una suddenly turned and ran after her.
""here's some gum for you, mary," she said, with a little repentant catch in her voice, thrusting all her four knots into mary's hands, "and i'm glad you have such a pretty muff."
""why, thanks," said mary, rather taken by surprise.
to the blythe girls, after una had gone, she said, "ai n't she a queer little mite?
but i've always said she had a good heart."
chapter xix.
poor adam!
when una got home faith was lying face downwards on her bed, utterly refusing to be comforted.
aunt martha had killed adam.
he was reposing on a platter in the pantry that very minute, trussed and dressed, encircled by his liver and heart and gizzard.
aunt martha heeded faith's passion of grief and anger not a whit.
""we had to have something for the strange minister's dinner," she said.
""you're too big a girl to make such a fuss over an old rooster.
you knew he'd have to be killed sometime."
""i'll tell father when he comes home what you've done," sobbed faith.
""do n't you go bothering your poor father.
he has troubles enough.
and i'm housekeeper here."
""adam was mine -- mrs. johnson gave him to me.
you had no business to touch him," stormed faith.
""do n't you get sassy now.
the rooster's killed and there's an end of it.
i ai n't going to set no strange minister down to a dinner of cold b "iled mutton.
i was brought up to know better than that, if i have come down in the world."
faith would not go down to supper that night and she would not go to church the next morning.
but at dinner time she went to the table, her eyes swollen with crying, her face sullen.
the rev. james perry was a sleek, rubicund man, with a bristling white moustache, bushy white eyebrows, and a shining bald head.
he was certainly not handsome and he was a very tiresome, pompous sort of person.
but if he had looked like the archangel michael and talked with the tongues of men and angels faith would still have utterly detested him.
he carved adam up dexterously, showing off his plump white hands and very handsome diamond ring.
also, he made jovial remarks all through the performance.
jerry and carl giggled, and even una smiled wanly, because she thought politeness demanded it.
but faith only scowled darkly.
the rev. james thought her manners shockingly bad.
once, when he was delivering himself of an unctuous remark to jerry, faith broke in rudely with a flat contradiction.
the rev. james drew his bushy eyebrows together at her.
""little girls should not interrupt," he said, "and they should not contradict people who know far more than they do."
this put faith in a worse temper than ever.
to be called "little girl" as if she were no bigger than chubby rilla blythe over at ingleside!
it was insufferable.
and how that abominable mr. perry did eat!
he even picked poor adam's bones.
neither faith nor una would touch a mouthful, and looked upon the boys as little better than cannibals.
faith felt that if that awful repast did not soon come to an end she would wind it up by throwing something at mr. perry's gleaming head.
fortunately, mr. perry found aunt martha's leathery apple pie too much even for his powers of mastication and the meal came to an end, after a long grace in which mr. perry offered up devout thanks for the food which a kind and beneficent providence had provided for sustenance and temperate pleasure.
""god had n't a single thing to do with providing adam for you," muttered faith rebelliously under her breath.
the boys gladly made their escape to outdoors, una went to help aunt martha with the dishes -- though that rather grumpy old dame never welcomed her timid assistance -- and faith betook herself to the study where a cheerful wood fire was burning in the grate.
she thought she would thereby escape from the hated mr. perry, who had announced his intention of taking a nap in his room during the afternoon.
but scarcely had faith settled herself in a corner, with a book, when he walked in and, standing before the fire, proceeded to survey the disorderly study with an air of disapproval.
""you father's books seem to be in somewhat deplorable confusion, my little girl," he said severely.
faith darkled in her corner and said not a word.
she would not talk to this -- this creature.
""you should try to put them in order," mr. perry went on, playing with his handsome watch chain and smiling patronizingly on faith.
""you are quite old enough to attend to such duties.
my little daughter at home is only ten and she is already an excellent little housekeeper and the greatest help and comfort to her mother.
she is a very sweet child.
i wish you had the privilege of her acquaintance.
she could help you in many ways.
of course, you have not had the inestimable privilege of a good mother's care and training.
a sad lack -- a very sad lack.
i have spoken more than once to your father in this connection and pointed out his duty to him faithfully, but so far with no effect.
i trust he may awaken to a realization of his responsibility before it is too late.
in the meantime, it is your duty and privilege to endeavour to take your sainted mother's place.
you might exercise a great influence over your brothers and your little sister -- you might be a true mother to them.
i fear that you do not think of these things as you should.
my dear child, allow me to open your eyes in regard to them."
mr. perry's oily, complacent voice trickled on.
he was in his element.
nothing suited him better than to lay down the law, patronize and exhort.
he had no idea of stopping, and he did not stop.
he stood before the fire, his feet planted firmly on the rug, and poured out a flood of pompous platitudes.
faith heard not a word.
she was really not listening to him at all.
but she was watching his long black coat-tails with impish delight growing in her brown eyes.
mr. perry was standing very near the fire.
his coat-tails began to scorch -- his coat-tails began to smoke.
he still prosed on, wrapped up in his own eloquence.
the coat-tails smoked worse.
a tiny spark flew up from the burning wood and alighted in the middle of one.
it clung and caught and spread into a smouldering flame.
faith could restrain herself no longer and broke into a stifled giggle.
mr. perry stopped short, angered over this impertinence.
suddenly he became conscious that a reek of burning cloth filled the room.
he whirled round and saw nothing.
then he clapped his hands to his coat-tails and brought them around in front of him.
there was already quite a hole in one of them -- and this was his new suit.
faith shook with helpless laughter over his pose and expression.
""did you see my coat-tails burning?"
he demanded angrily.
""yes, sir," said faith demurely.
""why did n't you tell me?"
he demanded, glaring at her.
""you said it was n't good manners to interrupt, sir," said faith, more demurely still.
""if -- if i was your father, i would give you a spanking that you would remember all your life, miss," said a very angry reverend gentleman, as he stalked out of the study.
the coat of mr. meredith's second best suit would not fit mr. perry, so he had to go to the evening service with his singed coat-tail.
but he did not walk up the aisle with his usual consciousness of the honour he was conferring on the building.
he never would agree to an exchange of pulpits with mr. meredith again, and he was barely civil to the latter when they met for a few minutes at the station the next morning.
but faith felt a certain gloomy satisfaction.
adam was partially avenged.
chapter xx.
faith makes a friend next day in school was a hard one for faith.
mary vance had told the tale of adam, and all the scholars, except the blythes, thought it quite a joke.
the girls told faith, between giggles, that it was too bad, and the boys wrote sardonic notes of condolence to her.
poor faith went home from school feeling her very soul raw and smarting within her.
""i'm going over to ingleside to have a talk with mrs. blythe," she sobbed.
""she wo n't laugh at me, as everybody else does.
i've just got to talk to somebody who understands how bad i feel."
she ran down through rainbow valley.
enchantment had been at work the night before.
a light snow had fallen and the powdered firs were dreaming of a spring to come and a joy to be.
the long hill beyond was richly purple with leafless beeches.
the rosy light of sunset lay over the world like a pink kiss.
of all the airy, fairy places, full of weird, elfin grace, rainbow valley that winter evening was the most beautiful.
but all its dreamlike loveliness was lost on poor, sore-hearted little faith.
by the brook she came suddenly upon rosemary west, who was sitting on the old pine tree.
she was on her way home from ingleside, where she had been giving the girls their music lesson.
she had been lingering in rainbow valley quite a little time, looking across its white beauty and roaming some by-ways of dream.
judging from the expression of her face, her thoughts were pleasant ones.
perhaps the faint, occasional tinkle from the bells on the tree lovers brought the little lurking smile to her lips.
or perhaps it was occasioned by the consciousness that john meredith seldom failed to spend monday evening in the gray house on the white wind-swept hill.
into rosemary's dreams burst faith meredith full of rebellious bitterness.
faith stopped abruptly when she saw miss west.
she did not know her very well -- just well enough to speak to when they met.
and she did not want to see any one just then -- except mrs. blythe.
she knew her eyes and nose were red and swollen and she hated to have a stranger know she had been crying.
""good evening, miss west," she said uncomfortably.
""what is the matter, faith?"
asked rosemary gently.
""nothing," said faith rather shortly.
""oh!"
rosemary smiled.
""you mean nothing that you can tell to outsiders, do n't you?"
faith looked at miss west with sudden interest.
here was a person who understood things.
and how pretty she was!
how golden her hair was under her plumy hat!
how pink her cheeks were over her velvet coat!
how blue and companionable her eyes were!
faith felt that miss west could be a lovely friend -- if only she were a friend instead of a stranger!
""i -- i'm going up to tell mrs. blythe," said faith.
""she always understands -- she never laughs at us.
i always talk things over with her.
it helps."
""dear girlie, i'm sorry to have to tell you that mrs. blythe is n't home," said miss west, sympathetically.
""she went to avonlea to-day and is n't coming back till the last of the week."
faith's lip quivered.
""then i might as well go home again," she said miserably.
""i suppose so -- unless you think you could bring yourself to talk it over with me instead," said miss rosemary gently.
""it is such a help to talk things over.
i know.
i do n't suppose i can be as good at understanding as mrs. blythe -- but i promise you that i wo n't laugh."
""you would n't laugh outside," hesitated faith.
""but you might -- inside."
""no, i would n't laugh inside, either.
why should i?
something has hurt you -- it never amuses me to see anybody hurt, no matter what hurts them.
if you feel that you'd like to tell me what has hurt you i'll be glad to listen.
but if you think you'd rather not -- that's all right, too, dear."
faith took another long, earnest look into miss west's eyes.
they were very serious -- there was no laughter in them, not even far, far back.
with a little sigh she sat down on the old pine beside her new friend and told her all about adam and his cruel fate.
rosemary did not laugh or feel like laughing.
she understood and sympathized -- really, she was almost as good as mrs. blythe -- yes, quite as good.
""mr. perry is a minister, but he should have been a butcher," said faith bitterly.
""he is so fond of carving things up.
he enjoyed cutting poor adam to pieces.
he just sliced into him as if he were any common rooster."
""between you and me, faith, i do n't like mr. perry very well myself," said rosemary, laughing a little -- but at mr. perry, not at adam, as faith clearly understood.
""i never did like him.
i went to school with him -- he was a glen boy, you know -- and he was a most detestable little prig even then.
oh, how we girls used to hate holding his fat, clammy hands in the ring-around games.
but we must remember, dear, that he did n't know that adam had been a pet of yours.
he thought he was just a common rooster.
we must be just, even when we are terribly hurt."
""i suppose so," admitted faith.
""but why does everybody seem to think it funny that i should have loved adam so much, miss west?
if it had been a horrid old cat nobody would have thought it queer.
when lottie warren's kitten had its legs cut off by the binder everybody was sorry for her.
she cried two days in school and nobody laughed at her, not even dan reese.
and all her chums went to the kitten's funeral and helped her bury it -- only they could n't bury its poor little paws with it, because they could n't find them.
it was a horrid thing to have happen, of course, but i do n't think it was as dreadful as seeing your pet eaten up.
yet everybody laughs at me."
""i think it is because the name "rooster" seems rather a funny one," said rosemary gravely.
""there is something in it that is comical.
now, "chicken" is different.
it does n't sound so funny to talk of loving a chicken."
""adam was the dearest little chicken, miss west.
he was just a little golden ball.
he would run up to me and peck out of my hand.
and he was handsome when he grew up, too -- white as snow, with such a beautiful curving white tail, though mary vance said it was too short.
he knew his name and always came when i called him -- he was a very intelligent rooster.
and aunt martha had no right to kill him.
he was mine.
it was n't fair, was it, miss west?"
""no, it was n't," said rosemary decidedly.
""not a bit fair.
i remember i had a pet hen when i was a little girl.
she was such a pretty little thing -- all golden brown and speckly.
i loved her as much as i ever loved any pet.
she was never killed -- she died of old age.
mother would n't have her killed because she was my pet."
""if my mother had been living she would n't have let adam be killed," said faith.
""for that matter, father would n't have either, if he'd been home and known of it.
i'm sure he would n't, miss west."
""i'm sure, too," said rosemary.
there was a little added flush on her face.
she looked rather conscious but faith noticed nothing.
""was it very wicked of me not to tell mr. perry his coat-tails were scorching?"
she asked anxiously.
""oh, terribly wicked," answered rosemary, with dancing eyes.
""but i would have been just as naughty, faith -- i would n't have told him they were scorching -- and i do n't believe i would ever have been a bit sorry for my wickedness, either."
""una thought i should have told him because he was a minister."
""dearest, if a minister does n't behave as a gentleman we are not bound to respect his coat-tails.
i know i would just have loved to see jimmy perry's coat-tails burning up.
it must have been fun."
both laughed; but faith ended with a bitter little sigh.
""well, anyway, adam is dead and i am never going to love anything again."
""do n't say that, dear.
we miss so much out of life if we do n't love.
the more we love the richer life is -- even if it is only some little furry or feathery pet.
would you like a canary, faith -- a little golden bit of a canary?
if you would i'll give you one.
we have two up home."
""oh, i would like that," cried faith.
""i love birds.
only -- would aunt martha's cat eat it?
it's so tragic to have your pets eaten.
i do n't think i could endure it a second time."
""if you hang the cage far enough from the wall i do n't think the cat could harm it.
i'll tell you just how to take care of it and i'll bring it to ingleside for you the next time i come down."
to herself, rosemary was thinking, "it will give every gossip in the glen something to talk of, but i will not care.
i want to comfort this poor little heart."
faith was comforted.
sympathy and understanding were very sweet.
she and miss rosemary sat on the old pine until the twilight crept softly down over the white valley and the evening star shone over the gray maple grove.
faith told rosemary all her small history and hopes, her likes and dislikes, the ins and outs of life at the manse, the ups and downs of school society.
finally they parted firm friends.
mr. meredith was, as usual, lost in dreams when supper began that evening, but presently a name pierced his abstraction and brought him back to reality.
faith was telling una of her meeting with rosemary.
""she is just lovely, i think," said faith.
""just as nice as mrs. blythe -- but different.
i felt as if i wanted to hug her.
she did hug me -- such a nice, velvety hug.
and she called me "dearest."
it thrilled me.
i could tell her anything."
""so you liked miss west, faith?"
mr. meredith asked, with a rather odd intonation.
""i love her," cried faith.
""ah!"
said mr. meredith.
""ah!"
chapter xxi.
the impossible word john meredith walked meditatively through the clear crispness of a winter night in rainbow valley.
the hills beyond glistened with the chill splendid lustre of moonlight on snow.
every little fir tree in the long valley sang its own wild song to the harp of wind and frost.
his children and the blythe lads and lasses were coasting down the eastern slope and whizzing over the glassy pond.
they were having a glorious time and their gay voices and gayer laughter echoed up and down the valley, dying away in elfin cadences among the trees.
on the right the lights of ingleside gleamed through the maple grove with the genial lure and invitation which seems always to glow in the beacons of a home where we know there is love and good-cheer and a welcome for all kin, whether of flesh or spirit.
mr. meredith liked very well on occasion to spend an evening arguing with the doctor by the drift wood fire, where the famous china dogs of ingleside kept ceaseless watch and ward, as became deities of the hearth, but to-night he did not look that way.
far on the western hill gleamed a paler but more alluring star.
mr. meredith was on his way to see rosemary west, and he meant to tell her something which had been slowly blossoming in his heart since their first meeting and had sprung into full flower on the evening when faith had so warmly voiced her admiration for rosemary.
he had come to realize that he had learned to care for rosemary.
not as he had cared for cecilia, of course.
that was entirely different.
that love of romance and dream and glamour could never, he thought, return.
but rosemary was beautiful and sweet and dear -- very dear.
she was the best of companions.
he was happier in her company than he had ever expected to be again.
she would be an ideal mistress for his home, a good mother to his children.
during the years of his widowhood mr. meredith had received innumerable hints from brother members of presbytery and from many parishioners who could not be suspected of any ulterior motive, as well as from some who could, that he ought to marry again: but these hints never made any impression on him.
it was commonly thought he was never aware of them.
but he was quite acutely aware of them.
and in his own occasional visitations of common sense he knew that the common sensible thing for him to do was to marry.
but common sense was not the strong point of john meredith, and to choose out, deliberately and cold-bloodedly, some "suitable" woman, as one might choose a housekeeper or a business partner, was something he was quite incapable of doing.
how he hated that word "suitable."
it reminded him so strongly of james perry.
""a suit able woman of suit able age," that unctuous brother of the cloth had said, in his far from subtle hint.
for the moment john meredith had had a perfectly unbelievable desire to rush madly away and propose marriage to the youngest, most unsuitable woman it was possible to discover.
mrs. marshall elliott was his good friend and he liked her.
but when she had bluntly told him he should marry again he felt as if she had torn away the veil that hung before some sacred shrine of his innermost life, and he had been more or less afraid of her ever since.
he knew there were women in his congregation "of suitable age" who would marry him quite readily.
that fact had seeped through all his abstraction very early in his ministry in glen st. mary.
they were good, substantial, uninteresting women, one or two fairly comely, the others not exactly so and john meredith would as soon have thought of marrying any one of them as of hanging himself.
he had some ideals to which no seeming necessity could make him false.
he could ask no woman to fill cecilia's place in his home unless he could offer her at least some of the affection and homage he had given to his girlish bride.
and where, in his limited feminine acquaintance, was such a woman to be found?
rosemary west had come into his life on that autumn evening bringing with her an atmosphere in which his spirit recognized native air.
across the gulf of strangerhood they clasped hands of friendship.
he knew her better in that ten minutes by the hidden spring than he knew emmeline drew or elizabeth kirk or amy annetta douglas in a year, or could know them, in a century.
he had fled to her for comfort when mrs. alec davis had outraged his mind and soul and had found it.
since then he had gone often to the house on the hill, slipping through the shadowy paths of night in rainbow valley so astutely that glen gossip could never be absolutely certain that he did go to see rosemary west.
once or twice he had been caught in the west living room by other visitors; that was all the ladies" aid had to go by.
but when elizabeth kirk heard it she put away a secret hope she had allowed herself to cherish, without a change of expression on her kind plain face, and emmeline drew resolved that the next time she saw a certain old bachelor of lowbridge she would not snub him as she had done at a previous meeting.
of course, if rosemary west was out to catch the minister she would catch him; she looked younger than she was and men thought her pretty; besides, the west girls had money!
""it is to be hoped that he wo n't be so absent-minded as to propose to ellen by mistake," was the only malicious thing she allowed herself to say to a sympathetic sister drew.
emmeline bore no further grudge towards rosemary.
when all was said and done, an unencumbered bachelor was far better than a widower with four children.
it had been only the glamour of the manse that had temporarily blinded emmeline's eyes to the better part.
a sled with three shrieking occupants sped past mr. meredith to the pond.
faith's long curls streamed in the wind and her laughter rang above that of the others.
john meredith looked after them kindly and longingly.
he was glad that his children had such chums as the blythes -- glad that they had so wise and gay and tender a friend as mrs. blythe.
but they needed something more, and that something would be supplied when he brought rosemary west as a bride to the old manse.
there was in her a quality essentially maternal.
it was saturday night and he did not often go calling on saturday night, which was supposed to be dedicated to a thoughtful revision of sunday's sermon.
but he had chosen this night because he had learned that ellen west was going to be away and rosemary would be alone.
often as he had spent pleasant evenings in the house on the hill he had never, since that first meeting at the spring, seen rosemary alone.
ellen had always been there.
he did not precisely object to ellen being there.
he liked ellen west very much and they were the best of friends.
ellen had an almost masculine understanding and a sense of humour which his own shy, hidden appreciation of fun found very agreeable.
he liked her interest in politics and world events.
there was no man in the glen, not even excepting dr. blythe, who had a better grasp of such things.
""i think it is just as well to be interested in things as long as you live," she had said.
""if you're not, it does n't seem to me that there's much difference between the quick and the dead."
he liked her pleasant, deep, rumbly voice; he liked the hearty laugh with which she always ended up some jolly and well-told story.
she never gave him digs about his children as other glen women did; she never bored him with local gossip; she had no malice and no pettiness.
she was always splendidly sincere.
mr. meredith, who had picked up miss cornelia's way of classifying people, considered that ellen belonged to the race of joseph.
altogether, an admirable woman for a sister-in-law.
nevertheless, a man did not want even the most admirable of women around when he was proposing to another woman.
and ellen was always around.
she did not insist on talking to mr. meredith herself all the time.
she let rosemary have a fair share of him.
many evenings, indeed, ellen effaced herself almost totally, sitting back in the corner with st. george in her lap, and letting mr. meredith and rosemary talk and sing and read books together.
sometimes they quite forgot her presence.
but if their conversation or choice of duets ever betrayed the least tendency to what ellen considered philandering, ellen promptly nipped that tendency in the bud and blotted rosemary out for the rest of the evening.
but not even the grimmest of amiable dragons can altogether prevent a certain subtle language of eye and smile and eloquent silence; and so the minister's courtship progressed after a fashion.
but if it was ever to reach a climax that climax must come when ellen was away.
and ellen was so seldom away, especially in winter.
she found her own fireside the pleasantest place in the world, she vowed.
gadding had no attraction for her.
she was fond of company but she wanted it at home.
mr. meredith had almost been driven to the conclusion that he must write to rosemary what he wanted to say, when ellen casually announced one evening that she was going to a silver wedding next saturday night.
she had been bridesmaid when the principals were married.
only old guests were invited, so rosemary was not included.
mr. meredith pricked up his ears a trifle and a gleam flashed into his dreamy dark eyes.
both ellen and rosemary saw it; and both ellen and rosemary felt, with a tingling shock, that mr. meredith would certainly come up the hill next saturday night.
""might as well have it over with, st. george," ellen sternly told the black cat, after mr. meredith had gone home and rosemary had silently gone upstairs.
""he means to ask her, st. george -- i'm perfectly sure of that.
so he might as well have his chance to do it and find out he ca n't get her, george.
she'd rather like to take him, saint.
i know that -- but she promised, and she's got to keep her promise.
i'm rather sorry in some ways, st. george.
i do n't know of a man i'd sooner have for a brother-in-law if a brother-in-law was convenient.
i have n't a thing against him, saint -- not a thing except that he wo n't see and ca n't be made to see that the kaiser is a menace to the peace of europe.
that's his blind spot.
but he's good company and i like him.
a woman can say anything she likes to a man with a mouth like john meredith's and be sure of not being misunderstood.
such a man is more precious than rubies, saint -- and much rarer, george.
but he ca n't have rosemary -- and i suppose when he finds out he ca n't have her he'll drop us both.
and we'll miss him, saint -- we'll miss him something scandalous, george.
but she promised, and i'll see that she keeps her promise!"
ellen's face looked almost ugly in its lowering resolution.
upstairs rosemary was crying into her pillow.
so mr. meredith found his lady alone and looking very beautiful.
rosemary had not made any special toilet for the occasion; she wanted to, but she thought it would be absurd to dress up for a man you meant to refuse.
so she wore her plain dark afternoon dress and looked like a queen in it.
her suppressed excitement coloured her face to brilliancy, her great blue eyes were pools of light less placid than usual.
she wished the interview were over.
she had looked forward to it all day with dread.
she felt quite sure that john meredith cared a great deal for her after a fashion -- and she felt just as sure that he did not care for her as he had cared for his first love.
she felt that her refusal would disappoint him considerably, but she did not think it would altogether overwhelm him.
yet she hated to make it; hated for his sake and -- rosemary was quite honest with herself -- for her own.
she knew she could have loved john meredith if -- if it had been permissible.
she knew that life would be a blank thing if, rejected as lover, he refused longer to be a friend.
she knew that she could be very happy with him and that she could make him happy.
but between her and happiness stood the prison gate of the promise she had made to ellen years ago.
rosemary could not remember her father.
he had died when she was only three years old.
ellen, who had been thirteen, remembered him, but with no special tenderness.
he had been a stern, reserved man many years older than his fair, pretty wife.
five years later their brother of twelve died also; since his death the two girls had always lived alone with their mother.
they had never mingled very freely in the social life of the glen or lowbridge, though where they went the wit and spirit of ellen and the sweetness and beauty of rosemary made them welcome guests.
both had what was called "a disappointment" in their girlhood.
the sea had not given up rosemary's lover; and norman douglas, then a handsome, red-haired young giant, noted for wild driving and noisy though harmless escapades, had quarrelled with ellen and left her in a fit of pique.
there were not lacking candidates for both martin's and norman's places, but none seemed to find favour in the eyes of the west girls, who drifted slowly out of youth and bellehood without any seeming regret.
they were devoted to their mother, who was a chronic invalid.
the three had a little circle of home interests -- books and pets and flowers -- which made them happy and contented.
mrs. west's death, which occurred on rosemary's twenty-fifth birthday, was a bitter grief to them.
at first they were intolerably lonely.
ellen, especially, continued to grieve and brood, her long, moody musings broken only by fits of stormy, passionate weeping.
the old lowbridge doctor told rosemary that he feared permanent melancholy or worse.
once, when ellen had sat all day, refusing either to speak or eat, rosemary had flung herself on her knees by her sister's side.
""oh, ellen, you have me yet," she said imploringly.
""am i nothing to you?
we have always loved each other so."
""i wo n't have you always," ellen had said, breaking her silence with harsh intensity.
""you will marry and leave me.
i shall be left all alone.
i can not bear the thought -- i can not.
i would rather die."
""i will never marry," said rosemary, "never, ellen."
ellen bent forward and looked searchingly into rosemary's eyes.
""will you promise me that solemnly?"
she said.
""promise it on mother's bible."
rosemary assented at once, quite willing to humour ellen.
what did it matter?
she knew quite well she would never want to marry any one.
her love had gone down with martin crawford to the deeps of the sea; and without love she could not marry any one.
so she promised readily, though ellen made rather a fearsome rite of it.
they clasped hands over the bible, in their mother's vacant room, and both vowed to each other that they would never marry and would always live together.
ellen's condition improved from that hour.
she soon regained her normal cheery poise.
for ten years she and rosemary lived in the old house happily, undisturbed by any thought of marrying or giving in marriage.
their promise sat very lightly on them.
ellen never failed to remind her sister of it whenever any eligible male creature crossed their paths, but she had never been really alarmed until john meredith came home that night with rosemary.
as for rosemary, ellen's obsession regarding that promise had always been a little matter of mirth to her -- until lately.
now, it was a merciless fetter, self-imposed but never to be shaken off.
because of it to-night she must turn her face from happiness.
it was true that the shy, sweet, rosebud love she had given to her boy-lover she could never give to another.
but she knew now that she could give to john meredith a love richer and more womanly.
she knew that he touched deeps in her nature that martin had never touched -- that had not, perhaps, been in the girl of seventeen to touch.
and she must send him away to-night -- send him back to his lonely hearth and his empty life and his heart-breaking problems, because she had promised ellen, ten years before, on their mother's bible, that she would never marry.
john meredith did not immediately grasp his opportunity.
on the contrary, he talked for two good hours on the least lover-like of subjects.
he even tried politics, though politics always bored rosemary.
the later began to think that she had been altogether mistaken, and her fears and expectations suddenly seemed to her grotesque.
she felt flat and foolish.
the glow went out of her face and the lustre out of her eyes.
john meredith had not the slightest intention of asking her to marry him.
and then, quite suddenly, he rose, came across the room, and standing by her chair, he asked it.
the room had grown terribly still.
even st. george ceased to purr.
rosemary heard her own heart beating and was sure john meredith must hear it too.
now was the time for her to say no, gently but firmly.
she had been ready for days with her stilted, regretful little formula.
and now the words of it had completely vanished from her mind.
she had to say no -- and she suddenly found she could not say it.
it was the impossible word.
she knew now that it was not that she could have loved john meredith, but that she did love him.
the thought of putting him from her life was agony.
she must say something; she lifted her bowed golden head and asked him stammeringly to give her a few days for -- for consideration.
john meredith was a little surprised.
he was not vainer than any man has a right to be, but he had expected that rosemary west would say yes.
he had been tolerably sure she cared for him.
then why this doubt -- this hesitation?
she was not a school girl to be uncertain as to her own mind.
he felt an ugly shock of disappointment and dismay.
but he assented to her request with his unfailing gentle courtesy and went away at once.
""i will tell you in a few days," said rosemary, with downcast eyes and burning face.
when the door shut behind him she went back into the room and wrung her hands.
chapter xxii.
st. george knows all about it at midnight ellen west was walking home from the pollock silver wedding.
she had stayed a little while after the other guests had gone, to help the gray-haired bride wash the dishes.
the distance between the two houses was not far and the road good, so that ellen was enjoying the walk back home in the moonlight.
the evening had been a pleasant one.
ellen, who had not been to a party for years, found it very pleasant.
all the guests had been members of her old set and there was no intrusive youth to spoil the flavour, for the only son of the bride and groom was far away at college and could not be present.
norman douglas had been there and they had met socially for the first time in years, though she had seen him once or twice in church that winter.
not the least sentiment was awakened in ellen's heart by their meeting.
she was accustomed to wonder, when she thought about it at all, how she could ever have fancied him or felt so badly over his sudden marriage.
but she had rather liked meeting him again.
she had forgotten how bracing and stimulating he could be.
no gathering was ever stagnant when norman douglas was present.
everybody had been surprised when norman came.
it was well known he never went anywhere.
the pollocks had invited him because he had been one of the original guests, but they never thought he would come.
he had taken his second cousin, amy annetta douglas, out to supper and seemed rather attentive to her.
but ellen sat across the table from him and had a spirited argument with him -- an argument during which all his shouting and banter could not fluster her and in which she came off best, flooring norman so composedly and so completely that he was silent for ten minutes.
at the end of which time he had muttered in his ruddy beard -- "spunky as ever -- spunky as ever" -- and began to hector amy annetta, who giggled foolishly over his sallies where ellen would have retorted bitingly.
ellen thought these things over as she walked home, tasting them with reminiscent relish.
the moonlit air sparkled with frost.
the snow crisped under her feet.
below her lay the glen with the white harbour beyond.
there was a light in the manse study.
so john meredith had gone home.
had he asked rosemary to marry him?
and after what fashion had she made her refusal known?
ellen felt that she would never know this, though she was quite curious.
she was sure rosemary would never tell her anything about it and she would not dare to ask.
she must just be content with the fact of the refusal.
after all, that was the only thing that really mattered.
""i hope he'll have sense enough to come back once in a while and be friendly," she said to herself.
she disliked so much to be alone that thinking aloud was one of her devices for circumventing unwelcome solitude.
""it's awful never to have a man-body with some brains to talk to once in a while.
and like as not he'll never come near the house again.
there's norman douglas, too -- i like that man, and i'd like to have a good rousing argument with him now and then.
but he'd never dare come up for fear people would think he was courting me again -- for fear i'd think it, too, most likely -- though he's more a stranger to me now than john meredith.
it seems like a dream that we could ever have been beaus.
but there it is -- there's only two men in the glen i'd ever want to talk to -- and what with gossip and this wretched love-making business it's not likely i'll ever see either of them again.
i could," said ellen, addressing the unmoved stars with a spiteful emphasis, "i could have made a better world myself."
she paused at her gate with a sudden vague feeling of alarm.
there was still a light in the living-room and to and fro across the window-shades went the shadow of a woman walking restlessly up and down.
what was rosemary doing up at this hour of the night?
and why was she striding about like a lunatic?
ellen went softly in.
as she opened the hall door rosemary came out of the room.
she was flushed and breathless.
an atmosphere of stress and passion hung about her like a garment.
""why are n't you in bed, rosemary?"
demanded ellen.
""come in here," said rosemary intensely.
""i want to tell you something."
ellen composedly removed her wraps and overshoes, and followed her sister into the warm, fire-lighted room.
she stood with her hand on the table and waited.
she was looking very handsome herself, in her own grim, black-browed style.
the new black velvet dress, with its train and v-neck, which she had made purposely for the party, became her stately, massive figure.
she wore coiled around her neck the rich heavy necklace of amber beads which was a family heirloom.
her walk in the frosty air had stung her cheeks into a glowing scarlet.
but her steel-blue eyes were as icy and unyielding as the sky of the winter night.
she stood waiting in a silence which rosemary could break only by a convulsive effort.
""ellen, mr. meredith was here this evening."
""yes?"
""and -- and -- he asked me to marry him."
""so i expected.
of course, you refused him?"
""no."
""rosemary."
ellen clenched her hands and took an involuntary step forward.
""do you mean to tell me that you accepted him?"
""no -- no."
ellen recovered her self-command.
""what did you do then?"
""i -- i asked him to give me a few days to think it over."
""i hardly see why that was necessary," said ellen, coldly contemptuous, "when there is only the one answer you can make him."
rosemary held out her hands beseechingly.
""ellen," she said desperately, "i love john meredith -- i want to be his wife.
will you set me free from that promise?"
""no," said ellen, merciless, because she was sick from fear.
""ellen -- ellen --" "listen," interrupted ellen.
""i did not ask you for that promise.
you offered it."
""i know -- i know.
but i did not think then that i could ever care for anyone again."
""you offered it," went on ellen unmovably.
""you promised it over our mother's bible.
it was more than a promise -- it was an oath.
now you want to break it."
""i only asked you to set me free from it, ellen."
""i will not do it.
a promise is a promise in my eyes.
i will not do it.
break your promise -- be forsworn if you will -- but it shall not be with any assent of mine."
""you are very hard on me, ellen."
""hard on you!
and what of me?
have you ever given a thought to what my loneliness would be here if you left me?
i could not bear it -- i would go crazy.
i can not live alone.
have n't i been a good sister to you?
have i ever opposed any wish of yours?
have n't i indulged you in everything?"
""yes -- yes."
""then why do you want to leave me for this man whom you had n't seen a year ago?"
""i love him, ellen."
""love!
you talk like a school miss instead of a middle-aged woman.
he does n't love you.
he wants a housekeeper and a governess.
you do n't love him.
you want to be "mrs." -- you are one of those weak-minded women who think it's a disgrace to be ranked as an old maid.
that's all there is to it."
rosemary quivered.
ellen could not, or would not, understand.
there was no use arguing with her.
""so you wo n't release me, ellen?"
""no, i wo n't.
and i wo n't talk of it again.
you promised and you've got to keep your word.
that's all.
go to bed.
look at the time!
you're all romantic and worked up.
to-morrow you'll be more sensible.
at any rate, do n't let me hear any more of this nonsense.
go."
rosemary went without another word, pale and spiritless.
ellen walked stormily about the room for a few minutes, then paused before the chair where st. george had been calmly sleeping through the whole evening.
a reluctant smile overspread her dark face.
there had been only one time in her life -- the time of her mother's death -- when ellen had not been able to temper tragedy with comedy.
even in that long ago bitterness, when norman douglas had, after a fashion, jilted her, she had laughed at herself quite as often as she had cried.
""i expect there'll be some sulking, st. george.
yes, saint, i expect we are in for a few unpleasant foggy days.
well, we'll weather them through, george.
we've dealt with foolish children before, saint.
rosemary'll sulk a while -- and then she'll get over it -- and all will be as before, george.
she promised -- and she's got to keep her promise.
and that's the last word on the subject i'll say to you or her or anyone, saint."
but ellen lay savagely awake till morning.
there was no sulking, however.
rosemary was pale and quiet the next day, but beyond that ellen could detect no difference in her.
certainly, she seemed to bear ellen no grudge.
it was stormy, so no mention was made of going to church.
in the afternoon rosemary shut herself in her room and wrote a note to john meredith.
she could not trust herself to say "no" in person.
she felt quite sure that if he suspected she was saying "no" reluctantly he would not take it for an answer, and she could not face pleading or entreaty.
she must make him think she cared nothing at all for him and she could do that only by letter.
she wrote him the stiffest, coolest little refusal imaginable.
it was barely courteous; it certainly left no loophole of hope for the boldest lover -- and john meredith was anything but that.
he shrank into himself, hurt and mortified, when he read rosemary's letter next day in his dusty study.
but under his mortification a dreadful realization presently made itself felt.
he had thought he did not love rosemary as deeply as he had loved cecilia.
now, when he had lost her, he knew that he did.
she was everything to him -- everything!
and he must put her out of his life completely.
even friendship was impossible now.
life stretched before him in intolerable dreariness.
he must go on -- there was his work -- his children -- but the heart had gone out of him.
he sat alone all that evening in his dark, cold, comfortless study with his head bowed on his hands.
up on the hill rosemary had a headache and went early to bed, while ellen remarked to st. george, purring his disdain of foolish humankind, who did not know that a soft cushion was the only thing that really mattered, "what would women do if headaches had never been invented, st. george?
but never mind, saint.
we'll just wink the other eye for a few weeks.
i admit i do n't feel comfortable myself, george.
i feel as if i had drowned a kitten.
but she promised, saint -- and she was the one to offer it, george.
bismillah!"
chapter xxiii.
the good-conduct club a light rain had been falling all day -- a little, delicate, beautiful spring rain, that somehow seemed to hint and whisper of mayflowers and wakening violets.
the harbour and the gulf and the low-lying shore fields had been dim with pearl-gray mists.
but now in the evening the rain had ceased and the mists had blown out to sea.
clouds sprinkled the sky over the harbour like little fiery roses.
beyond it the hills were dark against a spendthrift splendour of daffodil and crimson.
a great silvery evening star was watching over the bar.
a brisk, dancing, new-sprung wind was blowing up from rainbow valley, resinous with the odours of fir and damp mosses.
it crooned in the old spruces around the graveyard and ruffled faith's splendid curls as she sat on hezekiah pollock's tombstone with her arms round mary vance and una.
carl and jerry were sitting opposite them on another tombstone and all were rather full of mischief after being cooped up all day.
""the air just shines to-night, does n't it?
it's been washed so clean, you see," said faith happily.
mary vance eyed her gloomily.
knowing what she knew, or fancied she knew, mary considered that faith was far too light-hearted.
mary had something on her mind to say and she meant to say it before she went home.
mrs. elliott had sent her up to the manse with some new-laid eggs, and had told her not to stay longer than half an hour.
the half hour was nearly up, so mary uncurled her cramped legs from under her and said abruptly, "never mind about the air.
just you listen to me.
you manse young ones have just got to behave yourselves better than you've been doing this spring -- that's all there is to it.
i just come up to-night a-purpose to tell you so.
the way people are talking about you is awful."
""what have we been doing now?"
cried faith in amazement, pulling her arm away from mary.
una's lips trembled and her sensitive little soul shrank within her.
mary was always so brutally frank.
jerry began to whistle out of bravado.
he meant to let mary see he did n't care for her tirades.
their behaviour was no business of hers anyway.
what right had she to lecture them on their conduct?
""doing now!
you're doing all the time," retorted mary.
""just as soon as the talk about one of your didos fades away you do something else to start it up again.
it seems to me you have n't any idea of how manse children ought to behave!"
""maybe you can tell us," said jerry, killingly sarcastic.
sarcasm was quite thrown away on mary."
i can tell you what will happen if you do n't learn to behave yourselves.
the session will ask your father to resign.
there now, master jerry-know-it-all.
mrs. alec davis said so to mrs. elliott.
i heard her.
i always have my ears pricked up when mrs. alec davis comes to tea.
she said you were all going from bad to worse and that though it was only what was to be expected when you had nobody to bring you up, still the congregation could n't be expected to put up with it much longer, and something would have to be done.
the methodists just laugh and laugh at you, and that hurts the presbyterian feelings.
she says you all need a good dose of birch tonic.
lor", if that would make folks good i oughter be a young saint.
i'm not telling you this because i want to hurt your feelings.
i'm sorry for you" -- mary was past mistress of the gentle art of condescension."
i understand that you have n't much chance, the way things are.
but other people do n't make as much allowance as i do.
miss drew says carl had a frog in his pocket in sunday school last sunday and it hopped out while she was hearing the lesson.
she says she's going to give up the class.
why do n't you keep your insecks home?"
""i popped it right back in again," said carl.
""it did n't hurt anybody -- a poor little frog!
and i wish old jane drew would give up our class.
i hate her.
her own nephew had a dirty plug of tobacco in his pocket and offered us fellows a chew when elder clow was praying.
i guess that's worse than a frog."
""no,'cause frogs are more unexpected-like.
they make more of a sensation.
"sides, he was n't caught at it.
and then that praying competition you had last week has made a fearful scandal.
everybody is talking about it."
""why, the blythes were in that as well as us," cried faith, indignantly.
""it was nan blythe who suggested it in the first place.
and walter took the prize."
""well, you get the credit of it any way.
it would n't have been so bad if you had n't had it in the graveyard."
""i should think a graveyard was a very good place to pray in," retorted jerry.
""deacon hazard drove past when you were praying," said mary, "and he saw and heard you, with your hands folded over your stomach, and groaning after every sentence.
he thought you were making fun of him."
""so i was," declared unabashed jerry.
""only i did n't know he was going by, of course.
that was just a mean accident.
i was n't praying in real earnest -- i knew i had no chance of winning the prize.
so i was just getting what fun i could out of it.
walter blythe can pray bully.
why, he can pray as well as dad."
""una is the only one of us who really likes praying," said faith pensively.
""well, if praying scandalizes people so much we must n't do it any more," sighed una.
""shucks, you can pray all you want to, only not in the graveyard -- and do n't make a game of it.
that was what made it so bad -- that, and having a tea-party on the tombstones."
""we had n't."
""well, a soap-bubble party then.
you had something.
the over-harbour people swear you had a tea-party, but i'm willing to take your word.
and you used this tombstone as a table."
""well, martha would n't let us blow bubbles in the house.
she was awful cross that day," explained jerry.
""and this old slab made such a jolly table."
""were n't they pretty?"
cried faith, her eyes sparkling over the remembrance.
""they reflected the trees and the hills and the harbour like little fairy worlds, and when we shook them loose they floated away down to rainbow valley."
""all but one and it went over and bust up on the methodist spire," said carl.
""i'm glad we did it once, anyhow, before we found out it was wrong," said faith.
""it would n't have been wrong to blow them on the lawn," said mary impatiently.
""seems like i ca n't knock any sense into your heads.
you've been told often enough you should n't play in the graveyard.
the methodists are sensitive about it."
""we forget," said faith dolefully.
""and the lawn is so small -- and so caterpillary -- and so full of shrubs and things.
we ca n't be in rainbow valley all the time -- and where are we to go?"
""it's the things you do in the graveyard.
it would n't matter if you just sat here and talked quiet, same as we're doing now.
well, i do n't know what is going to come of it all, but i do know that elder warren is going to speak to your pa about it.
deacon hazard is his cousin."
""i wish they would n't bother father about us," said una.
""well, people think he ought to bother himself about you a little more.
i do n't -- i understand him.
he's a child in some ways himself -- that's what he is, and needs some one to look after him as bad as you do.
well, perhaps he'll have some one before long, if all tales is true."
""what do you mean?"
asked faith.
""have n't you got any idea -- honest?"
demanded mary.
""no, no.
what do you mean?"
""well, you are a lot of innocents, upon my word.
why, everybody is talking of it.
your pa goes to see rosemary west.
she is going to be your step-ma."
""i do n't believe it," cried una, flushing crimson.
""well, i dunno.
i just go by what folks say.
i do n't give it for a fact.
but it would be a good thing.
rosemary west'd make you toe the mark if she came here, i'll bet a cent, for all she's so sweet and smiley on the face of her.
they're always that way till they've caught them.
but you need some one to bring you up.
you're disgracing your pa and i feel for him.
i've always thought an awful lot of your pa ever since that night he talked to me so nice.
i've never said a single swear word since, or told a lie.
and i'd like to see him happy and comfortable, with his buttons on and his meals decent, and you young ones licked into shape, and that old cat of a martha put in her proper place.
the way she looked at the eggs i brought her to-night."
i hope they're fresh," says she.
i just wished they was rotten.
but you just mind that she gives you all one for breakfast, including your pa.
make a fuss if she does n't.
that was what they was sent up for -- but i do n't trust old martha.
she's quite capable of feeding'em to her cat."
mary's tongue being temporarily tired, a brief silence fell over the graveyard.
the manse children did not feel like talking.
they were digesting the new and not altogether palatable ideas mary had suggested to them.
jerry and carl were somewhat startled.
but, after all, what did it matter?
and it was n't likely there was a word of truth in it.
faith, on the whole, was pleased.
only una was seriously upset.
she felt that she would like to get away and cry.
""will there be any stars in my crown?"
sang the methodist choir, beginning to practise in the methodist church."
i want just three," said mary, whose theological knowledge had increased notably since her residence with mrs. elliott.
""just three -- setting up on my head, like a corownet, a big one in the middle and a small one each side."
""are there different sizes in souls?"
asked carl.
""of course.
why, little babies must have smaller ones than big men.
well, it's getting dark and i must scoot home.
mrs. elliott does n't like me to be out after dark.
laws, when i lived with mrs. wiley the dark was just the same as the daylight to me.
i did n't mind it no more'n a gray cat.
them days seem a hundred years ago.
now, you mind what i've said and try to behave yourselves, for you pa's sake.
i'll always back you up and defend you -- you can be dead sure of that.
mrs. elliott says she never saw the like of me for sticking up for my friends.
i was real sassy to mrs. alec davis about you and mrs. elliott combed me down for it afterwards.
the fair cornelia has a tongue of her own and no mistake.
but she was pleased underneath for all,'cause she hates old kitty alec and she's real fond of you.
i can see through folks."
mary sailed off, excellently well pleased with herself, leaving a rather depressed little group behind her.
""mary vance always says something that makes us feel bad when she comes up," said una resentfully.
""i wish we'd left her to starve in the old barn," said jerry vindictively.
""oh, that's wicked, jerry," rebuked una.
""may as well have the game as the name," retorted unrepentant jerry.
""if people say we're so bad let's be bad."
""but not if it hurts father," pleaded faith.
jerry squirmed uncomfortably.
he adored his father.
through the unshaded study window they could see mr. meredith at his desk.
he did not seem to be either reading or writing.
his head was in his hands and there was something in his whole attitude that spoke of weariness and dejection.
the children suddenly felt it.
""i dare say somebody's been worrying him about us to-day," said faith.
""i wish we could get along without making people talk.
oh -- jem blythe!
how you scared me!"
jem blythe had slipped into the graveyard and sat down beside the girls.
he had been prowling about rainbow valley and had succeeded in finding the first little star-white cluster of arbutus for his mother.
the manse children were rather silent after his coming.
jem was beginning to grow away from them somewhat this spring.
he was studying for the entrance examination of queen's academy and stayed after school with the older pupils for extra lessons.
also, his evenings were so full of work that he seldom joined the others in rainbow valley now.
he seemed to be drifting away into grown-up land.
""what is the matter with you all to-night?"
he asked.
""there's no fun in you."
""not much," agreed faith dolefully.
""there would n't be much fun in you either if you knew you were disgracing your father and making people talk about you."
""who's been talking about you now?"
""everybody -- so mary vance says."
and faith poured out her troubles to sympathetic jem.
""you see," she concluded dolefully, "we've nobody to bring us up.
and so we get into scrapes and people think we're bad."
""why do n't you bring yourselves up?"
suggested jem.
""i'll tell you what to do.
form a good-conduct club and punish yourselves every time you do anything that's not right."
""that's a good idea," said faith, struck by it.
""but," she added doubtfully, "things that do n't seem a bit of harm to us seem simply dreadful to other people.
how can we tell?
we ca n't be bothering father all the time -- and he has to be away a lot, anyhow."
""you could mostly tell if you stopped to think a thing over before doing it and ask yourselves what the congregation would say about it," said jem.
""the trouble is you just rush into things and do n't think them over at all.
mother says you're all too impulsive, just as she used to be.
the good-conduct club would help you to think, if you were fair and honest about punishing yourselves when you broke the rules.
you'd have to punish in some way that really hurt, or it would n't do any good."
""whip each other?"
""not exactly.
you'd have to think up different ways of punishment to suit the person.
you would n't punish each other -- you'd punish yourselves.
i read all about such a club in a story-book.
you try it and see how it works."
""let's," said faith; and when jem was gone they agreed they would.
""if things are n't right we've just got to make them right," said faith, resolutely.
""we've got to be fair and square, as jem says," said jerry.
""this is a club to bring ourselves up, seeing there's nobody else to do it.
there's no use in having many rules.
let's just have one and any of us that breaks it has got to be punished hard."
""but how."
""we'll think that up as we go along.
we'll hold a session of the club here in the graveyard every night and talk over what we've done through the day, and if we think we've done anything that is n't right or that would disgrace dad the one that does it, or is responsible for it, must be punished.
that's the rule.
we'll all decide on the kind of punishment -- it must be made to fit the crime, as mr. flagg says.
and the one that's, guilty will be bound to carry it out and no shirking.
there's going to be fun in this," concluded jerry, with a relish.
""you suggested the soap-bubble party," said faith.
""but that was before we'd formed the club," said jerry hastily.
""everything starts from to-night."
""but what if we ca n't agree on what's right, or what the punishment ought to be?
s'pose two of us thought of one thing and two another.
there ought to be five in a club like this."
""we can ask jem blythe to be umpire.
he is the squarest boy in glen st. mary.
but i guess we can settle our own affairs mostly.
we want to keep this as much of a secret as we can.
do n't breathe a word to mary vance.
she'd want to join and do the bringing up.""
i think," said faith, "that there's no use in spoiling every day by dragging punishments in.
let's have a punishment day."
""we'd better choose saturday because there is no school to interfere," suggested una.
""and spoil the one holiday in the week," cried faith.
""not much!
no, let's take friday.
that's fish day, anyhow, and we all hate fish.
we may as well have all the disagreeable things in one day.
then other days we can go ahead and have a good time."
""nonsense," said jerry authoritatively.
""such a scheme would n't work at all.
we'll just punish ourselves as we go along and keep a clear slate.
now, we all understand, do n't we?
this is a good-conduct club, for the purpose of bringing ourselves up.
we agree to punish ourselves for bad conduct, and always to stop before we do anything, no matter what, and ask ourselves if it is likely to hurt dad in any way, and any one who shirks is to be cast out of the club and never allowed to play with the rest of us in rainbow valley again.
jem blythe to be umpire in case of disputes.
no more taking bugs to sunday school, carl, and no more chewing gum in public, if you please, miss faith."
""no more making fun of elders praying or going to the methodist prayer meeting," retorted faith.
""why, it is n't any harm to go to the methodist prayer meeting," protested jerry in amazement.
""mrs. elliott says it is, she says manse children have no business to go anywhere but to presbyterian things."
""darn it, i wo n't give up going to the methodist prayer meeting," cried jerry.
""it's ten times more fun than ours is."
""you said a naughty word," cried faith.
""now, you've got to punish yourself."
""not till it's all down in black and white.
we're only talking the club over.
it is n't really formed until we've written it out and signed it.
there's got to be a constitution and by-laws.
and you know there's nothing wrong in going to a prayer meeting."
""but it's not only the wrong things we're to punish ourselves for, but anything that might hurt father."
""it wo n't hurt anybody.
you know mrs. elliott is cracked on the subject of methodists.
nobody else makes any fuss about my going.
i always behave myself.
you ask jem or mrs. blythe and see what they say.
i'll abide by their opinion.
i'm going for the paper now and i'll bring out the lantern and we'll all sign."
fifteen minutes later the document was solemnly signed on hezekiah pollock's tombstone, on the centre of which stood the smoky manse lantern, while the children knelt around it.
mrs. elder clow was going past at the moment and next day all the glen heard that the manse children had been having another praying competition and had wound it up by chasing each other all over the graves with a lantern.
this piece of embroidery was probably suggested by the fact that, after the signing and sealing was completed, carl had taken the lantern and had walked circumspectly to the little hollow to examine his ant-hill.
the others had gone quietly into the manse and to bed.
""do you think it is true that father is going to marry miss west?"
una had tremulously asked of faith, after their prayers had been said.
""i do n't know, but i'd like it," said faith.
""oh, i would n't," said una, chokingly.
""she is nice the way she is.
but mary vance says it changes people altogether to be made stepmothers.
they get horrid cross and mean and hateful then, and turn your father against you.
she says they're sure to do that.
she never knew it to fail in a single case."
""i do n't believe miss west would ever try to do that," cried faith.
""mary says anybody would.
she knows all about stepmothers, faith -- she says she's seen hundreds of them -- and you've never seen one.
oh, mary has told me blood-curdling things about them.
she says she knew of one who whipped her husband's little girls on their bare shoulders till they bled, and then shut them up in a cold, dark coal cellar all night.
she says they're all aching to do things like that."
""i do n't believe miss west would.
you do n't know her as well as i do, una.
just think of that sweet little bird she sent me.
i love it far more even than adam."
""it's just being a stepmother changes them.
mary says they ca n't help it.
i would n't mind the whippings so much as having father hate us."
""you know nothing could make father hate us.
do n't be silly, una.
i dare say there's nothing to worry over.
likely if we run our club right and bring ourselves up properly father wo n't think of marrying any one.
and if he does, i know miss west will be lovely to us."
but una had no such conviction and she cried herself to sleep.
chapter xxiv.
a charitable impulse for a fortnight things ran smoothly in the good-conduct club.
it seemed to work admirably.
not once was jem blythe called in as umpire.
not once did any of the manse children set the glen gossips by the ears.
as for their minor peccadilloes at home, they kept sharp tabs on each other and gamely underwent their self-imposed punishment -- generally a voluntary absence from some gay friday night frolic in rainbow valley, or a sojourn in bed on some spring evening when all young bones ached to be out and away.
faith, for whispering in sunday school, condemned herself to pass a whole day without speaking a single word, unless it was absolutely necessary, and accomplished it.
it was rather unfortunate that mr. baker from over-harbour should have chosen that evening for calling at the manse, and that faith should have happened to go to the door.
not one word did she reply to his genial greeting, but went silently away to call her father briefly.
mr. baker was slightly offended and told his wife when he went home that that the biggest meredith girl seemed a very shy, sulky little thing, without manners enough to speak when she was spoken to.
but nothing worse came of it, and generally their penances did no harm to themselves or anybody else.
all of them were beginning to feel quite cocksure that after all, it was a very easy matter to bring yourself up.
""i guess people will soon see that we can behave ourselves properly as well as anybody," said faith jubilantly.
""it is n't hard when we put our minds to it."
she and una were sitting on the pollock tombstone.
it had been a cold, raw, wet day of spring storm and rainbow valley was out of the question for girls, though the manse and the ingleside boys were down there fishing.
the rain had held up, but the east wind blew mercilessly in from the sea, cutting to bone and marrow.
spring was late in spite of its early promise, and there was even yet a hard drift of old snow and ice in the northern corner of the graveyard.
lida marsh, who had come up to bring the manse a mess of herring, slipped in through the gate shivering.
she belonged to the fishing village at the harbour mouth and her father had, for thirty years, made a practice of sending a mess from his first spring catch to the manse.
he never darkened a church door; he was a hard drinker and a reckless man, but as long as he sent those herring up to the manse every spring, as his father had done before him, he felt comfortably sure that his account with the powers that govern was squared for the year.
he would not have expected a good mackerel catch if he had not so sent the first fruits of the season.
lida was a mite of ten and looked younger, because she was such a small, wizened little creature.
to-night, as she sidled boldly enough up to the manse girls, she looked as if she had never been warm since she was born.
her face was purple and her pale-blue, bold little eyes were red and watery.
she wore a tattered print dress and a ragged woollen comforter, tied across her thin shoulders and under her arms.
she had walked the three miles from the harbour mouth barefooted, over a road where there was still snow and slush and mud.
her feet and legs were as purple as her face.
but lida did not mind this much.
she was used to being cold, and she had been going barefooted for a month already, like all the other swarming young fry of the fishing village.
there was no self-pity in her heart as she sat down on the tombstone and grinned cheerfully at faith and una.
faith and una grinned cheerfully back.
they knew lida slightly, having met her once or twice the preceding summer when they had gone down the harbour with the blythes.
""hello!"
said lida, "ai n't this a fierce kind of a night?
""t'ain" t fit for a dog to be out, is it?"
""then why are you out?"
asked faith.
""pa made me bring you up some herring," returned lida.
she shivered, coughed, and stuck out her bare feet.
lida was not thinking about herself or her feet, and was making no bid for sympathy.
she held her feet out instinctively to keep them from the wet grass around the tombstone.
but faith and una were instantly swamped with a wave of pity for her.
she looked so cold -- so miserable.
""oh, why are you barefooted on such a cold night?"
cried faith.
""your feet must be almost frozen."
""pretty near," said lida proudly.
""i tell you it was fierce walking up that harbour road."
""why did n't you put on your shoes and stockings?"
asked una.
""hai n't none to put on.
all i had was wore out by the time winter was over," said lida indifferently.
for a moment faith stated in horror.
this was terrible.
here was a little girl, almost a neighbour, half frozen because she had no shoes or stockings in this cruel spring weather.
impulsive faith thought of nothing but the dreadfulness of it.
in a moment she was pulling off her own shoes and stockings.
""here, take these and put them right on," she said, forcing them into the hands of the astonished lida.
""quick now.
you'll catch your death of cold.
i've got others.
put them right on."
lida, recovering her wits, snatched at the offered gift, with a sparkle in her dull eyes.
sure she would put them on, and that mighty quick, before any one appeared with authority to recall them.
in a minute she had pulled the stockings over her scrawny little legs and slipped faith's shoes over her thick little ankles.
""i'm obliged to you," she said, "but wo n't your folks be cross?"
""no -- and i do n't care if they are," said faith.
""do you think i could see any one freezing to death without helping them if i could?
it would n't be right, especially when my father's a minister."
""will you want them back?
it's awful cold down at the harbour mouth -- long after it's warm up here," said lida slyly.
""no, you're to keep them, of course.
that is what i meant when i gave them.
i have another pair of shoes and plenty of stockings."
lida had meant to stay awhile and talk to the girls about many things.
but now she thought she had better get away before somebody came and made her yield up her booty.
so she shuffled off through the bitter twilight, in the noiseless, shadowy way she had slipped in.
as soon as she was out of sight of the manse she sat down, took off the shoes and stockings, and put them in her herring basket.
she had no intention of keeping them on down that dirty harbour road.
they were to be kept good for gala occasions.
not another little girl down at the harbour mouth had such fine black cashmere stockings and such smart, almost new shoes.
lida was furnished forth for the summer.
she had no qualms in the matter.
in her eyes the manse people were quite fabulously rich, and no doubt those girls had slathers of shoes and stockings.
then lida ran down to the glen village and played for an hour with the boys before mr. flagg's store, splashing about in a pool of slush with the maddest of them, until mrs. elliott came along and bade her begone home.
""i do n't think, faith, that you should have done that," said una, a little reproachfully, after lida had gone.
""you'll have to wear your good boots every day now and they'll soon scuff out."
""i do n't care," cried faith, still in the fine glow of having done a kindness to a fellow creature.
""it is n't fair that i should have two pairs of shoes and poor little lida marsh not have any.
now we both have a pair.
you know perfectly well, una, that father said in his sermon last sunday that there was no real happiness in getting or having -- only in giving.
and it's true.
i feel far happier now than i ever did in my whole life before.
just think of lida walking home this very minute with her poor little feet all nice and warm and comfy."
""you know you have n't another pair of black cashmere stockings," said una.
""your other pair were so full of holes that aunt martha said she could n't darn them any more and she cut the legs up for stove dusters.
you've nothing but those two pairs of striped stockings you hate so."
all the glow and uplift went out of faith.
her gladness collapsed like a pricked balloon.
she sat for a few dismal minutes in silence, facing the consequences of her rash act.
""oh, una, i never thought of that," she said dolefully.
""i did n't stop to think at all."
the striped stockings were thick, heavy, coarse, ribbed stockings of blue and red which aunt martha had knit for faith in the winter.
they were undoubtedly hideous.
faith loathed them as she had never loathed anything before.
wear them she certainly would not.
they were still unworn in her bureau drawer.
""you'll have to wear the striped stockings after this," said una.
""just think how the boys in school will laugh at you.
you know how they laugh at mamie warren for her striped stockings and call her barber pole and yours are far worse."
""i wo n't wear them," said faith.
""i'll go barefooted first, cold as it is."
""you ca n't go barefooted to church to-morrow.
think what people would say."
""then i'll stay home."
""you ca n't.
you know very well aunt martha will make you go."
faith did know this.
the one thing on which aunt martha troubled herself to insist was that they must all go to church, rain or shine.
how they were dressed, or if they were dressed at all, never concerned her.
but go they must.
that was how aunt martha had been brought up seventy years ago, and that was how she meant to bring them up.
""have n't you got a pair you can lend me, una?"
said poor faith piteously.
una shook her head.
""no, you know i only have the one black pair.
and they're so tight i can hardly get them on.
they would n't go on you.
neither would my gray ones.
besides, the legs of them are all darned and darned."
""i wo n't wear those striped stockings," said faith stubbornly.
""the feel of them is even worse than the looks.
they make me feel as if my legs were as big as barrels and they're so scratchy."
""well, i do n't know what you're going to do."
""if father was home i'd go and ask him to get me a new pair before the store closes.
but he wo n't be home till too late.
i'll ask him monday -- and i wo n't go to church tomorrow.
i'll pretend i'm sick and aunt martha'll have to let me stay home."
""that would be acting a lie, faith," cried una.
""you ca n't do that.
you know it would be dreadful.
what would father say if he knew?
do n't you remember how he talked to us after mother died and told us we must always be true, no matter what else we failed in.
he said we must never tell or act a lie -- he said he'd trust us not to.
you ca n't do it, faith.
just wear the striped stockings.
it'll only be for once.
nobody will notice them in church.
it is n't like school.
and your new brown dress is so long they wo n't show much.
was n't it lucky aunt martha made it big, so you'd have room to grow in it, for all you hated it so when she finished it?"
""i wo n't wear those stockings," repeated faith.
she uncoiled her bare, white legs from the tombstone and deliberately walked through the wet, cold grass to the bank of snow.
setting her teeth, she stepped upon it and stood there.
""what are you doing?"
cried una aghast.
""you'll catch your death of cold, faith meredith."
""i'm trying to," answered faith.
""i hope i'll catch a fearful cold and be awful sick to-morrow.
then i wo n't be acting a lie.
i'm going to stand here as long as i can bear it."
""but, faith, you might really die.
you might get pneumonia.
please, faith do n't.
let's go into the house and get something for your feet.
oh, here's jerry.
i'm so thankful.
jerry, make faith get off that snow.
look at her feet."
""holy cats!
faith, what are you doing?"
demanded jerry.
""are you crazy?"
""no.
go away!"
snapped faith.
""then are you punishing yourself for something?
it is n't right, if you are.
you'll be sick."
""i want to be sick.
i'm not punishing myself.
go away."
""where's her shoes and stockings?"
asked jerry of una.
""she gave them to lida marsh."
""lida marsh?
what for?"
""because lida had none -- and her feet were so cold.
and now she wants to be sick so that she wo n't have to go to church to-morrow and wear her striped stockings.
but, jerry, she may die."
""faith," said jerry, "get off that ice-bank or i'll pull you off."
""pull away," dared faith.
jerry sprang at her and caught her arms.
he pulled one way and faith pulled another.
una ran behind faith and pushed.
faith stormed at jerry to leave her alone.
jerry stormed back at her not to be a dizzy idiot; and una cried.
they made no end of noise and they were close to the road fence of the graveyard.
henry warren and his wife drove by and heard and saw them.
very soon the glen heard that the manse children had been having an awful fight in the graveyard and using most improper language.
meanwhile, faith had allowed herself to be pulled off the ice because her feet were aching so sharply that she was ready to get off any way.
they all went in amiably and went to bed.
faith slept like a cherub and woke in the morning without a trace of a cold.
she felt that she could n't feign sickness and act a lie, after remembering that long-ago talk with her father.
but she was still as fully determined as ever that she would not wear those abominable stockings to church.
chapter xxv.
another scandal and another "explanation" faith went early to sunday school and was seated in the corner of her class pew before any one came.
therefore, the dreadful truth did not burst upon any one until faith left the class pew near the door to walk up to the manse pew after sunday school.
the church was already half filled and all who were sitting near the aisle saw that the minister's daughter had boots on but no stockings!
faith's new brown dress, which aunt martha had made from an ancient pattern, was absurdly long for her, but even so it did not meet her boot-tops.
two good inches of bare white leg showed plainly.
faith and carl sat alone in the manse pew.
jerry had gone into the gallery to sit with a chum and the blythe girls had taken una with them.
the meredith children were given to "sitting all over the church" in this fashion and a great many people thought it very improper.
the gallery especially, where irresponsible lads congregated and were known to whisper and suspected of chewing tobacco during service, was no place, for a son of the manse.
but jerry hated the manse pew at the very top of the church, under the eyes of elder clow and his family.
he escaped from it whenever he could.
carl, absorbed in watching a spider spinning its web at the window, did not notice faith's legs.
she walked home with her father after church and he never noticed them.
she got on the hated striped stockings before jerry and una arrived, so that for the time being none of the occupants of the manse knew what she had done.
but nobody else in glen st. mary was ignorant of it.
the few who had not seen soon heard.
nothing else was talked of on the way home from church.
mrs. alec davis said it was only what she expected, and the next thing you would see some of those young ones coming to church with no clothes on at all.
the president of the ladies" aid decided that she would bring the matter up at the next aid meeting, and suggest that they wait in a body on the minister and protest.
miss cornelia said that she, for her part, gave up.
there was no use worrying over the manse fry any longer.
even mrs. dr. blythe felt a little shocked, though she attributed the occurrence solely to faith's forgetfulness.
susan could not immediately begin knitting stockings for faith because it was sunday, but she had one set up before any one else was out of bed at ingleside the next morning.
""you need not tell me anything but that it was old martha's fault, mrs. dr. dear."
she told anne.
""i suppose that poor little child had no decent stockings to wear.
i suppose every stocking she had was in holes, as you know very well they generally are.
and i think, mrs. dr. dear, that the ladies" aid would be better employed in knitting some for them than in fighting over the new carpet for the pulpit platform.
i am not a ladies" aider, but i shall knit faith two pairs of stockings, out of this nice black yarn, as fast as my fingers can move and that you may tie to.
never shall i forget my sensations, mrs. dr. dear, when i saw a minister's child walking up the aisle of our church with no stockings on.
i really did not know what way to look."
""and the church was just full of methodists yesterday, too," groaned miss cornelia, who had come up to the glen to do some shopping and run into ingleside to talk the affair over.
""i do n't know how it is, but just as sure as those manse children do something especially awful the church is sure to be crowded with methodists.
i thought mrs. deacon hazard's eyes would drop out of her head.
when she came out of church she said, "well, that exhibition was no more than decent.
i do pity the presbyterians."
and we just had to take it.
there was nothing one could say."
""there was something i could have said, mrs. dr. dear, if i had heard her," said susan grimly.
""i would have said, for one thing, that in my opinion clean bare legs were quite as decent as holes.
and i would have said, for another, that the presbyterians did not feel greatly in need of pity seeing that they had a minister who could preach and the methodists had not.
i could have squelched mrs. deacon hazard, mrs. dr dear, and that you may tie to."
""i wish mr. meredith did n't preach quite so well and looked after his family a little better," retorted miss cornelia.
""he could at least glance over his children before they went to church and see that they were quite properly clothed.
i'm tired making excuses for him, believe me."
meanwhile, faith's soul was being harrowed up in rainbow valley.
mary vance was there and, as usual, in a lecturing mood.
she gave faith to understand that she had disgraced herself and her father beyond redemption and that she, mary vance, was done with her.
""everybody" was talking, and "everybody" said the same thing.
""i simply feel that i ca n't associate with you any longer," she concluded.
""we are going to associate with her then," cried nan blythe.
nan secretly thought faith had done a awful thing, but she was n't going to let mary vance run matters in this high-handed fashion.
""and if you are not you need n't come any more to rainbow valley, miss vance."
nan and di both put their arms around faith and glared defiance at mary.
the latter suddenly crumpled up, sat down on a stump and began to cry.
""it ai n't that i do n't want to," she wailed.
""but if i keep in with faith people'll be saying i put her up to doing things.
some are saying it now, true's you live.
i ca n't afford to have such things said of me, now that i'm in a respectable place and trying to be a lady.
and i never went bare-legged in church in my toughest days.
i'd never have thought of doing such a thing.
but that hateful old kitty alec says faith has never been the same girl since that time i stayed in the manse.
she says cornelia elliott will live to rue the day she took me in.
it hurts my feelings, i tell you.
but it's mr. meredith i'm really worried over."
""i think you need n't worry about him," said di scornfully.
""it is n't likely necessary.
now, faith darling, stop crying and tell us why you did it."
faith explained tearfully.
the blythe girls sympathized with her, and even mary vance agreed that it was a hard position to be in.
but jerry, on whom the thing came like a thunderbolt, refused to be placated.
so this was what some mysterious hints he had got in school that day meant!
he marched faith and una home without ceremony, and the good-conduct club held an immediate session in the graveyard to sit in judgment on faith's case.
""i do n't see that it was any harm," said faith defiantly.
""not much of my legs showed.
it was n't wrong and it did n't hurt anybody."
""it will hurt dad.
you know it will.
you know people blame him whenever we do anything queer."
""i did n't think of that," muttered faith.
""that's just the trouble.
you did n't think and you should have thought.
that's what our club is for -- to bring us up and make us think.
we promised we'd always stop and think before doing things.
you did n't and you've got to be punished, faith -- and real hard, too.
you'll wear those striped stockings to school for a week for punishment."
""oh, jerry, wo n't a day do -- two days?
not a whole week!"
""yes, a whole week," said inexorable jerry.
""it is fair -- ask jem blythe if it is n't."
faith felt she would rather submit then ask jem blythe about such a matter.
she was beginning to realize that her offence was a quite shameful one.
""i'll do it, then," she muttered, a little sulkily.
""you're getting off easy," said, jerry severely.
""and no matter how we punish you it wo n't help father.
people will always think you just did it for mischief, and they'll blame father for not stopping it.
we can never explain it to everybody."
this aspect of the case weighed on faith's mind.
her own condemnation she could bear, but it tortured her that her father should be blamed.
if people knew the true facts of the case they would not blame him.
but how could she make them known to all the world?
getting up in church, as she had once done, and explaining the matter was out of the question.
faith had heard from mary vance how the congregation had looked upon that performance and realized that she must not repeat it.
faith worried over the problem for half a week.
then she had an inspiration and promptly acted upon it.
she spent that evening in the garret, with a lamp and an exercise book, writing busily, with flushed cheeks and shining eyes.
it was the very thing!
how clever she was to have thought of it!
it would put everything right and explain everything and yet cause no scandal.
it was eleven o'clock when she had finished to her satisfaction and crept down to bed, dreadfully tired, but perfectly happy.
in a few days the little weekly published in the glen under the name of the journal came out as usual, and the glen had another sensation.
a letter signed "faith meredith" occupied a prominent place on the front page and ran as follows: -- "to whom it may concern: i want to explain to everybody how it was i came to go to church without stockings on, so that everybody will know that father was not to blame one bit for it, and the old gossips need not say he is, because it is not true.
i gave my only pair of black stockings to lida marsh, because she had n't any and her poor little feet were awful cold and i was so sorry for her.
no child ought to have to go without shoes and stockings in a christian community before the snow is all gone, and i think the w. f. m. s. ought to have given her stockings.
of course, i know they are sending things to the little heathen children, and that is all right and a kind thing to do.
but the little heathen children have lots more warm weather than we have, and i think the women of our church ought to look after lida and not leave it all to me.
when i gave her my stockings i forgot they were the only black pair i had without holes, but i am glad i did give them to her, because my conscience would have been uncomfortable if i had n't.
when she had gone away, looking so proud and happy, the poor little thing, i remembered that all i had to wear were the horrid red and blue things aunt martha knit last winter for me out of some yarn that mrs. joseph burr of upper glen sent us.
it was dreadfully coarse yarn and all knots, and i never saw any of mrs. burr's own children wearing things made of such yarn.
but mary vance says mrs. burr gives the minister stuff that she ca n't use or eat herself, and thinks it ought to go as part of the salary her husband signed to pay, but never does.
i just could n't bear to wear those hateful stockings.
they were so ugly and rough and felt so scratchy.
everybody would have made fun of me.
i thought at first i'd pretend to be sick and not go to church next day, but i decided i could n't do that, because it would be acting a lie, and father told us after mother died that was something we must never, never do.
it is just as bad to act a lie as to tell one, though i know some people, right here in the glen, who act them, and never seem to feel a bit bad about it.
i will not mention any names, but i know who they are and so does father.
then i tried my best to catch cold and really be sick by standing on the snowbank in the methodist graveyard with my bare feet until jerry pulled me off.
but it did n't hurt me a bit and so i could n't get out of going to church.
so i just decided i would put my boots on and go that way.
i ca n't see why it was so wrong and i was so careful to wash my legs just as clean as my face, but, anyway, father was n't to blame for it.
he was in the study thinking of his sermon and other heavenly things, and i kept out of his way before i went to sunday school.
father does not look at people's legs in church, so of course he did not notice mine, but all the gossips did and talked about it, and that is why i am writing this letter to the journal to explain.
i suppose i did very wrong, since everybody says so, and i am sorry and i am wearing those awful stockings to punish myself, although father bought me two nice new black pairs as soon as mr. flagg's store opened on monday morning.
but it was all my fault, and if people blame father for it after they read this they are not christians and so i do not mind what they say.
there is another thing i want to explain about before i stop.
mary vance told me that mr. evan boyd is blaming the lew baxters for stealing potatoes out of his field last fall.
they did not touch his potatoes.
they are very poor, but they are honest.
it was us did it -- jerry and carl and i. una was not with us at the time.
we never thought it was stealing.
we just wanted a few potatoes to cook over a fire in rainbow valley one evening to eat with our fried trout.
mr. boyd's field was the nearest, just between the valley and the village, so we climbed over his fence and pulled up some stalks.
the potatoes were awful small, because mr. boyd did not put enough fertilizer on them and we had to pull up a lot of stalks before we got enough, and then they were not much bigger than marbles.
walter and di blythe helped us eat them, but they did not come along until we had them cooked and did not know where we got them, so they were not to blame at all, only us.
we did n't mean any harm, but if it was stealing we are very sorry and we will pay mr. boyd for them if he will wait until we grow up.
we never have any money now because we are not big enough to earn any, and aunt martha says it takes every cent of poor father's salary, even when it is paid up regularly -- and it is n't often -- to run this house.
but mr. boyd must not blame the lew baxters any more, when they were quite innocent, and give them a bad name.
yours respectfully, faith meredith."
chapter xxvi.
miss cornelia gets a new point of view "susan, after i'm dead i'm going to come back to earth every time when the daffodils blow in this garden," said anne rapturously.
""nobody may see me, but i'll be here.
if anybody is in the garden at the time -- i think i'll come on an evening just like this, but it might be just at dawn -- a lovely, pale-pinky spring dawn -- they'll just see the daffodils nodding wildly as if an extra gust of wind had blown past them, but it will be i."
""indeed, mrs. dr. dear, you will not be thinking of flaunting worldly things like daffies after you are dead," said susan.
""and i do not believe in ghosts, seen or unseen."
""oh, susan, i shall not be a ghost!
that has such a horrible sound.
i shall just be me.
and i shall run around in the twilight, whether it is morn or eve, and see all the spots i love.
do you remember how badly i felt when i left our little house of dreams, susan?
i thought i could never love ingleside so well.
but i do.
i love every inch of the ground and every stick and stone on it."
""i am rather fond of the place myself," said susan, who would have died if she had been removed from it, "but we must not set our affections too much on earthly things, mrs. dr. dear.
there are such things as fires and earthquakes.
we should always be prepared.
the tom macallisters over-harbour were burned out three nights ago.
some say tom macallister set the house on fire himself to get the insurance.
that may or may not be.
but i advise the doctor to have our chimneys seen to at once.
an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
but i see mrs. marshall elliott coming in at the gate, looking as if she had been sent for and could n't go."
""anne dearie, have you seen the journal to-day?"
miss cornelia's voice was trembling, partly from emotion, partly from the fact that she had hurried up from the store too fast and lost her breath.
anne bent over the daffodils to hide a smile.
she and gilbert had laughed heartily and heartlessly over the front page of the journal that day, but she knew that to dear miss cornelia it was almost a tragedy, and she must not wound her feelings by any display of levity.
""is n't it dreadful?
what is to be done?"
asked miss cornelia despairingly.
miss cornelia had vowed that she was done with worrying over the pranks of the manse children, but she went on worrying just the same.
anne led the way to the veranda, where susan was knitting, with shirley and rilla conning their primers on either side.
susan was already on her second pair of stockings for faith.
susan never worried over poor humanity.
she did what in her lay for its betterment and serenely left the rest to the higher powers.
""cornelia elliott thinks she was born to run this world, mrs. dr. dear," she had once said to anne, "and so she is always in a stew over something.
i have never thought i was, and so i go calmly along.
not but what it has sometimes occurred to me that things might be run a little better than they are.
but it is not for us poor worms to nourish such thoughts.
they only make us uncomfortable and do not get us anywhere."
""i do n't see that anything can be done -- now --" said anne, pulling out a nice, cushiony chair for miss cornelia.
""but how in the world did mr. vickers allow that letter to be printed?
surely he should have known better."
""why, he's away, anne dearie -- he's been away to new brunswick for a week.
and that young scalawag of a joe vickers is editing the journal in his absence.
of course, mr. vickers would never have put it in, even if he is a methodist, but joe would just think it a good joke.
as you say, i do n't suppose there is anything to be done now, only live it down.
but if i ever get joe vickers cornered somewhere i'll give him a talking to he wo n't forget in a hurry.
i wanted marshall to stop our subscription to the journal instantly, but he only laughed and said that to-day's issue was the only one that had had anything readable in it for a year.
marshall never will take anything seriously -- just like a man.
fortunately, evan boyd is like that, too.
he takes it as a joke and is laughing all over the place about it.
and he's another methodist!
as for mrs. burr of upper glen, of course she will be furious and they will leave the church.
not that it will be a great loss from any point of view.
the methodists are quite welcome to them."
""it serves mrs. burr right," said susan, who had an old feud with the lady in question and had been hugely tickled over the reference to her in faith's letter.
""she will find that she will not be able to cheat the methodist parson out of his salary with bad yarn."
""the worst of it is, there's not much hope of things getting any better," said miss cornelia gloomily.
""as long as mr. meredith was going to see rosemary west i did hope the manse would soon have a proper mistress.
but that is all off.
i suppose she would n't have him on account of the children -- at least, everybody seems to think so."
""i do not believe that he ever asked her," said susan, who could not conceive of any one refusing a minister.
""well, nobody knows anything about that.
but one thing is certain, he does n't go there any longer.
and rosemary did n't look well all the spring.
i hope her visit to kingsport will do her good.
she's been gone for a month and will stay another month, i understand.
i ca n't remember when rosemary was away from home before.
she and ellen could never bear to be parted.
but i understand ellen insisted on her going this time.
and meanwhile ellen and norman douglas are warming up the old soup."
""is that really so?"
asked anne, laughing.
""i heard a rumour of it, but i hardly believed it."
""believe it!
you may believe it all right, anne, dearie.
nobody is in ignorance of it.
norman douglas never left anybody in doubt as to his intentions in regard to anything.
he always did his courting before the public.
he told marshall that he had n't thought about ellen for years, but the first time he went to church last fall he saw her and fell in love with her all over again.
he said he'd clean forgot how handsome she was.
he had n't seen her for twenty years, if you can believe it.
of course he never went to church, and ellen never went anywhere else round here.
oh, we all know what norman means, but what ellen means is a different matter.
i sha n't take it upon me to predict whether it will be a match or not."
""he jilted her once -- but it seems that does not count with some people, mrs. dr. dear," susan remarked rather acidly.
""he jilted her in a fit of temper and repented it all his life," said miss cornelia.
""that is different from a cold-blooded jilting.
for my part, i never detested norman as some folks do.
he could never over-crow me.
i do wonder what started him coming to church.
i have never been able to believe mrs. wilsons's story that faith meredith went there and bullied him into it.
i've always intended to ask faith herself, but i've never happened to think of it just when i saw her.
what influence could she have over norman douglas?
he was in the store when i left, bellowing with laughter over that scandalous letter.
you could have heard him at four winds point.
"the greatest girl in the world," he was shouting.
"she's that full of spunk she's bursting with it.
and all the old grannies want to tame her, darn them.
but they'll never be able to do it -- never!
they might as well try to drown a fish.
boyd, see that you put more fertilizer on your potatoes next year.
ho, ho, ho!"
and then he laughed till the roof shook."
""mr. douglas pays well to the salary, at least," remarked susan.
""oh, norman is n't mean in some ways.
he'd give a thousand without blinking a lash, and roar like a bull of bashan if he had to pay five cents too much for anything.
besides, he likes mr. meredith's sermons, and norman douglas was always willing to shell out if he got his brains tickled up.
there is no more christianity about him than there is about a black, naked heathen in africa and never will be.
but he's clever and well read and he judges sermons as he would lectures.
anyhow, it's well he backs up mr. meredith and the children as he does, for they'll need friends more than ever after this.
i am tired of making excuses for them, believe me."
""do you know, dear miss cornelia," said anne seriously, "i think we have all been making too many excuses.
it is very foolish and we ought to stop it.
i am going to tell you what i'd like to do.
i sha n't do it, of course" -- anne had noted a glint of alarm in susan's eye -- "it would be too unconventional, and we must be conventional or die, after we reach what is supposed to be a dignified age.
but i'd like to do it.
i'd like to call a meeting of the ladies aid and w.m.s. and the girls sewing society, and include in the audience all and any methodists who have been criticizing the merediths -- although i do think if we presbyterians stopped criticizing and excusing we would find that other denominations would trouble themselves very little about our manse folks.
i would say to them, "dear christian friends" -- with marked emphasis on "christian" -- i have something to say to you and i want to say it good and hard, that you may take it home and repeat it to your families.
you methodists need not pity us, and we presbyterians need not pity ourselves.
we are not going to do it any more.
and we are going to say, boldly and truthfully, to all critics and sympathizers, "we are proud of our minister and his family.
mr. meredith is the best preacher glen st. mary church ever had.
moreover, he is a sincere, earnest teacher of truth and christian charity.
he is a faithful friend, a judicious pastor in all essentials, and a refined, scholarly, well-bred man.
his family are worthy of him.
gerald meredith is the cleverest pupil in the glen school, and mr. hazard says that he is destined to a brilliant career.
he is a manly, honourable, truthful little fellow.
faith meredith is a beauty, and as inspiring and original as she is beautiful.
there is nothing commonplace about her.
all the other girls in the glen put together have n't the vim, and wit, and joyousness and "spunk" she has.
she has not an enemy in the world.
every one who knows her loves her.
of how many, children or grown-ups, can that be said?
una meredith is sweetness personified.
she will make a most lovable woman.
carl meredith, with his love for ants and frogs and spiders, will some day be a naturalist whom all canada -- nay, all the world, will delight to honour.
do you know of any other family in the glen, or out of it, of whom all these things can be said?
away with shamefaced excuses and apologies.
we rejoice in our minister and his splendid boys and girls!"
anne stopped, partly because she was out of breath after her vehement speech and partly because she could not trust herself to speak further in view of miss cornelia's face.
that good lady was staring helplessly at anne, apparently engulfed in billows of new ideas.
but she came up with a gasp and struck out for shore gallantly.
""anne blythe, i wish you would call that meeting and say just that!
you've made me ashamed of myself, for one, and far be it from me to refuse to admit it.
of course, that is how we should have talked -- especially to the methodists.
and it's every word of it true -- every word.
we've just been shutting our eyes to the big worth-while things and squinting them on the little things that do n't really matter a pin's worth.
oh, anne dearie, i can see a thing when it's hammered into my head.
no more apologizing for cornelia marshall!
i shall hold my head up after this, believe me -- though i may talk things over with you as usual just to relieve my feelings if the merediths do any more startling stunts.
even that letter i felt so bad about -- why, it's only a good joke after all, as norman says.
not many girls would have been cute enough to think of writing it -- and all punctuated so nicely and not one word misspelled.
just let me hear any methodist say one word about it -- though all the same i'll never forgive joe vickers -- believe me!
where are the rest of your small fry to-night?"
""walter and the twins are in rainbow valley.
jem is studying in the garret."
""they are all crazy about rainbow valley.
mary vance thinks it's the only place in the world.
she'd be off up here every evening if i'd let her.
but i do n't encourage her in gadding.
besides, i miss the creature when she is n't around, anne dearie.
i never thought i'd get so fond of her.
not but what i see her faults and try to correct them.
but she has never said one saucy word to me since she came to my house and she is a great help -- for when all is said and done, anne dearie, i am not so young as i once was, and there is no sense denying it.
i was fifty-nine my last birthday.
i do n't feel it, but there is no gainsaying the family bible."
chapter xxvii.
a sacred concert in spite of miss cornelia's new point of view she could not help feeling a little disturbed over the next performance of the manse children.
in public she carried off the situation splendidly, saying to all the gossips the substance of what anne had said in daffodil time, and saying it so pointedly and forcibly that her hearers found themselves feeling rather foolish and began to think that, after all, they were making too much of a childish prank.
but in private miss cornelia allowed herself the relief of bemoaning it to anne.
""anne dearie, they had a concert in the graveyard last thursday evening, while the methodist prayer meeting was going on.
there they sat, on hezekiah pollock's tombstone, and sang for a solid hour.
of course, i understand it was mostly hymns they sang, and it would n't have been quite so bad if they'd done nothing else.
but i'm told they finished up with polly wolly doodle at full length -- and that just when deacon baxter was praying."
""i was there that night," said susan," and, although i did not say anything about it to you, mrs. dr. dear, i could not help thinking that it was a great pity they picked that particular evening.
it was truly blood-curdling to hear them sitting there in that abode of the dead, shouting that frivolous song at the tops of their lungs."
""i do n't know what you were doing in a methodist prayer meeting," said miss cornelia acidly.
""i have never found that methodism was catching," retorted susan stiffly.
""and, as i was going to say when i was interrupted, badly as i felt, i did not give in to the methodists.
when mrs. deacon baxter said, as we came out, "what a disgraceful exhibition!"
i said, looking her fairly in the eye, "they are all beautiful singers, and none of your choir, mrs. baxter, ever bother themselves coming out to your prayer meeting, it seems.
their voices appear to be in tune only on sundays!"
she was quite meek and i felt that i had snubbed her properly.
but i could have done it much more thoroughly, mrs. dr. dear, if only they had left out polly wolly doodle.
it is truly terrible to think of that being sung in a graveyard."
""some of those dead folks sang polly wolly doodle when they were living, susan.
perhaps they like to hear it yet," suggested gilbert.
miss cornelia looked at him reproachfully and made up her mind that, on some future occasion, she would hint to anne that the doctor should be admonished not to say such things.
they might injure his practice.
people might get it into their heads that he was n't orthodox.
to be sure, marshall said even worse things habitually, but then he was not a public man.
""i understand that their father was in his study all the time, with his windows open, but never noticed them at all.
of course, he was lost in a book as usual.
but i spoke to him about it yesterday, when he called."
""how could you dare, mrs. marshall elliott?"
asked susan rebukingly.
""dare!
it's time somebody dared something.
why, they say he knows nothing about that letter of faith's to the journal because nobody liked to mention it to him.
he never looks at a journal of course.
but i thought he ought to know of this to prevent any such performances in future.
he said he would "discuss it with them."
but of course he'd never think of it again after he got out of our gate.
that man has no sense of humour, anne, believe me.
he preached last sunday on "how to bring up children."
a beautiful sermon it was, too -- and everybody in church thinking "what a pity you ca n't practise what you preach.""
miss cornelia did mr. meredith an injustice in thinking he would soon forget what she had told him.
he went home much disturbed and when the children came from rainbow valley that night, at a much later hour than they should have been prowling in it, he called them into his study.
they went in, somewhat awed.
it was such an unusual thing for their father to do.
what could he be going to say to them?
they racked their memories for any recent transgression of sufficient importance, but could not recall any.
carl had spilled a saucerful of jam on mrs. peter flagg's silk dress two evenings before, when, at aunt martha's invitation, she had stayed to supper.
but mr. meredith had not noticed it, and mrs. flagg, who was a kindly soul, had made no fuss.
besides, carl had been punished by having to wear una's dress all the rest of the evening.
una suddenly thought that perhaps her father meant to tell them that he was going to marry miss west.
her heart began to beat violently and her legs trembled.
then she saw that mr. meredith looked very stern and sorrowful.
no, it could not be that.
""children," said mr. meredith, "i have heard something that has pained me very much.
is it true that you sat out in the graveyard all last thursday evening and sang ribald songs while a prayer meeting was being held in the methodist church?"
""great caesar, dad, we forgot all about it being their prayer meeting night," exclaimed jerry in dismay.
""then it is true -- you did do this thing?"
""why, dad, i do n't know what you mean by ribald songs.
we sang hymns -- it was a sacred concert, you know.
what harm was that?
i tell you we never thought about it's being methodist prayer meeting night.
they used to have their meeting tuesday nights and since they've changed to thursdays it's hard to remember."
""did you sing nothing but hymns?"
""why," said jerry, turning red, "we did sing polly wolly doodle at the last.
faith said, "let's have something cheerful to wind up with."
but we did n't mean any harm, father -- truly we did n't."
""the concert was my idea, father," said faith, afraid that mr. meredith might blame jerry too much.
""you know the methodists themselves had a sacred concert in their church three sunday nights ago.
i thought it would be good fun to get one up in imitation of it.
only they had prayers at theirs, and we left that part out, because we heard that people thought it awful for us to pray in a graveyard.
you were sitting in here all the time," she added, "and never said a word to us."
""i did not notice what you were doing.
that is no excuse for me, of course.
i am more to blame than you -- i realize that.
but why did you sing that foolish song at the end?"
""we did n't think," muttered jerry, feeling that it was a very lame excuse, seeing that he had lectured faith so strongly in the good-conduct club sessions for her lack of thought.
""we're sorry, father -- truly, we are.
pitch into us hard -- we deserve a regular combing down."
but mr. meredith did no combing down or pitching into.
he sat down and gathered his small culprits close to him and talked a little to them, tenderly and wisely.
they were overcome with remorse and shame, and felt that they could never be so silly and thoughtless again.
""we've just got to punish ourselves good and hard for this," whispered jerry as they crept upstairs.
""we'll have a session of the club first thing tomorrow and decide how we'll do it.
i never saw father so cut up.
but i wish to goodness the methodists would stick to one night for their prayer meeting and not wander all over the week."
""anyhow, i'm glad it was n't what i was afraid it was," murmured una to herself.
behind them, in the study, mr. meredith had sat down at his desk and buried his face in his arms.
""god help me!"
he said.
""i'm a poor sort of father.
oh, rosemary!
if you had only cared!"
chapter xxviii.
a fast day the good-conduct club had a special session the next morning before school.
after various suggestions, it was decided that a fast day would be an appropriate punishment.
""we wo n't eat a single thing for a whole day," said jerry.
""i'm kind of curious to see what fasting is like, anyhow.
this will be a good chance to find out."
""what day will we choose for it?"
asked una, who thought it would he quite an easy punishment and rather wondered that jerry and faith had not devised something harder.
""let's pick monday," said faith.
""we mostly have a pretty filling dinner on sundays, and mondays meals never amount to much anyhow."
""but that's just the point," exclaimed jerry.
""we must n't take the easiest day to fast, but the hardest -- and that's sunday, because, as you say, we mostly have roast beef that day instead of cold ditto.
it would n't be much punishment to fast from ditto.
let's take next sunday.
it will be a good day, for father is going to exchange for the morning service with the upper lowbridge minister.
father will be away till evening.
if aunt martha wonders what's got into us, we'll tell her right up that we're fasting for the good of our souls, and it is in the bible and she is not to interfere, and i guess she wo n't."
aunt martha did not.
she merely said in her fretful mumbling way, "what foolishness are you young rips up to now?"
and thought no more about it.
mr. meredith had gone away early in the morning before any one was up.
he went without his breakfast, too, but that was, of course, of common occurrence.
half of the time he forgot it and there was no one to remind him of it.
breakfast -- aunt martha's breakfast -- was not a hard meal to miss.
even the hungry "young rips" did not feel it any great deprivation to abstain from the "lumpy porridge and blue milk" which had aroused the scorn of mary vance.
but it was different at dinner time.
they were furiously hungry then, and the odor of roast beef which pervaded the manse, and which was wholly delightful in spite of the fact that the roast beef was badly underdone, was almost more than they could stand.
in desperation they rushed to the graveyard where they could n't smell it.
but una could not keep her eyes from the dining room window, through which the upper lowbridge minister could be seen, placidly eating.
""if i could only have just a weeny, teeny piece," she sighed.
""now, you stop that," commanded jerry.
""of course it's hard -- but that's the punishment of it.
i could eat a graven image this very minute, but am i complaining?
let's think of something else.
we've just got to rise above our stomachs."
at supper time they did not feel the pangs of hunger which they had suffered earlier in the day.
""i suppose we're getting used to it," said faith.
""i feel an awfully queer all-gone sort of feeling, but i ca n't say i'm hungry."
""my head is funny," said una.
""it goes round and round sometimes."
but she went gamely to church with the others.
if mr. meredith had not been so wholly wrapped up in and carried away with his subject he might have noticed the pale little face and hollow eyes in the manse pew beneath.
but he noticed nothing and his sermon was something longer than usual.
then, just before be gave out the final hymn, una meredith tumbled off the seat of the manse pew and lay in a dead faint on the floor.
mrs. elder clow was the first to reach her.
she caught the thin little body from the arms of white-faced, terrified faith and carried it into the vestry.
mr. meredith forgot the hymn and everything else and rushed madly after her.
the congregation dismissed itself as best it could.
""oh, mrs. clow," gasped faith, "is una dead?
have we killed her?"
""what is the matter with my child?"
demanded the pale father.
""she has just fainted, i think," said mrs. clow.
""oh, here's the doctor, thank goodness."
gilbert did not find it a very easy thing to bring una back to consciousness.
he worked over her for a long time before her eyes opened.
then he carried her over to the manse, followed by faith, sobbing hysterically in her relief.
""she is just hungry, you know -- she did n't eat a thing to-day -- none of us did -- we were all fasting."
""fasting!"
said mr. meredith, and "fasting?"
said the doctor.
""yes -- to punish ourselves for singing polly wolly in the graveyard," said faith.
""my child, i do n't want you to punish yourselves for that," said mr. meredith in distress.
""i gave you your little scolding -- and you were all penitent -- and i forgave you."
""yes, but we had to be punished," explained faith.
""it's our rule -- in our good-conduct club, you know -- if we do anything wrong, or anything that is likely to hurt father in the congregation, we have to punish ourselves.
we are bringing ourselves up, you know, because there is nobody to do it."
mr. meredith groaned, but the doctor got up from una's side with an air of relief.
""then this child simply fainted from lack of food and all she needs is a good square meal," he said.
""mrs. clow, will you be kind enough to see she gets it?
and i think from faith's story that they all would be the better for something to eat, or we shall have more faintings."
""i suppose we should n't have made una fast," said faith remorsefully.
""when i think of it, only jerry and i should have been punished.
we got up the concert and we were the oldest."
""i sang polly wolly just the same as the rest of you," said una's weak little voice, "so i had to be punished, too."
mrs. clow came with a glass of milk, faith and jerry and carl sneaked off to the pantry, and john meredith went into his study, where he sat in the darkness for a long time, alone with his bitter thoughts.
so his children were bringing themselves up because there was "nobody to do it" -- struggling along amid their little perplexities without a hand to guide or a voice to counsel.
faith's innocently uttered phrase rankled in her father's mind like a barbed shaft.
there was "nobody" to look after them -- to comfort their little souls and care for their little bodies.
how frail una had looked, lying there on the vestry sofa in that long faint!
how thin were her tiny hands, how pallid her little face!
she looked as if she might slip away from him in a breath -- sweet little una, of whom cecilia had begged him to take such special care.
since his wife's death he had not felt such an agony of dread as when he had hung over his little girl in her unconsciousness.
he must do something -- but what?
should he ask elizabeth kirk to marry him?
she was a good woman -- she would be kind to his children.
he might bring himself to do it if it were not for his love for rosemary west.
but until he had crushed that out he could not seek another woman in marriage.
and he could not crush it out -- he had tried and he could not.
rosemary had been in church that evening, for the first time since her return from kingsport.
he had caught a glimpse of her face in the back of the crowded church, just as he had finished his sermon.
his heart had given a fierce throb.
he sat while the choir sang the "collection piece," with his bent head and tingling pulses.
he had not seen her since the evening upon which he had asked her to marry him.
when he had risen to give out the hymn his hands were trembling and his pale face was flushed.
then una's fainting spell had banished everything from his mind for a time.
now, in the darkness and solitude of the study it rushed back.
rosemary was the only woman in the world for him.
it was of no use for him to think of marrying any other.
he could not commit such a sacrilege even for his children's sake.
he must take up his burden alone -- he must try to be a better, a more watchful father -- he must tell his children not to be afraid to come to him with all their little problems.
then he lighted his lamp and took up a bulky new book which was setting the theological world by the ears.
he would read just one chapter to compose his mind.
five minutes later he was lost to the world and the troubles of the world.
chapter xxix.
a weird tale on an early june evening rainbow valley was an entirely delightful place and the children felt it to be so, as they sat in the open glade where the bells rang elfishly on the tree lovers, and the white lady shook her green tresses.
the wind was laughing and whistling about them like a leal, glad-hearted comrade.
the young ferns were spicy in the hollow.
the wild cherry trees scattered over the valley, among the dark firs, were mistily white.
the robins were whistling over in the maples behind ingleside.
beyond, on the slopes of the glen, were blossoming orchards, sweet and mystic and wonderful, veiled in dusk.
it was spring, and young things must be glad in spring.
everybody was glad in rainbow valley that evening -- until mary vance froze their blood with the story of henry warren's ghost.
jem was not there.
jem spent his evenings now studying for his entrance examination in the ingleside garret.
jerry was down near the pond, trouting.
walter had been reading longfellow's sea poems to the others and they were steeped in the beauty and mystery of the ships.
then they talked of what they would do when they were grown up -- where they would travel -- the far, fair shores they would see.
nan and di meant to go to europe.
walter longed for the nile moaning past its egyptian sands, and a glimpse of the sphinx.
faith opined rather dismally that she supposed she would have to be a missionary -- old mrs. taylor told her she ought to be -- and then she would at least see india or china, those mysterious lands of the orient.
carl's heart was set on african jungles.
una said nothing.
she thought she would just like to stay at home.
it was prettier here than anywhere else.
it would be dreadful when they were all grown up and had to scatter over the world.
the very idea made una feel lonesome and homesick.
but the others dreamed on delightedly until mary vance arrived and vanished poesy and dreams at one fell swoop.
""laws, but i'm out of puff," she exclaimed.
""i've run down that hill like sixty.
i got an awful scare up there at the old bailey place."
""what frightened you?"
asked di.
""i dunno.
i was poking about under them lilacs in the old garden, trying to see if there was any lilies-of-the-valley out yet.
it was dark as a pocket there -- and all at once i seen something stirring and rustling round at the other side of the garden, in those cherry bushes.
it was white.
i tell you i did n't stop for a second look.
i flew over the dyke quicker than quick.
i was sure it was henry warren's ghost."
""who was henry warren?"
asked di.
""and why should he have a ghost?"
asked nan.
""laws, did you never hear the story?
and you brought up in the glen.
well, wait a minute till i get by breath all back and i'll tell you."
walter shivered delightsomely.
he loved ghost stories.
their mystery, their dramatic climaxes, their eeriness gave him a fearful, exquisite pleasure.
longfellow instantly grew tame and commonplace.
he threw the book aside and stretched himself out, propped upon his elbows to listen whole-heartedly, fixing his great luminous eyes on mary's face.
mary wished he would n't look at her so.
she felt she could make a better job of the ghost story if walter were not looking at her.
she could put on several frills and invent a few artistic details to enhance the horror.
as it was, she had to stick to the bare truth -- or what had been told her for the truth.
""well," she began, "you know old tom bailey and his wife used to live in that house up there thirty years ago.
he was an awful old rip, they say, and his wife was n't much better.
they'd no children of their own, but a sister of old tom's died and left a little boy -- this henry warren -- and they took him.
he was about twelve when he came to them, and kind of undersized and delicate.
they say tom and his wife used him awful from the start -- whipped him and starved him.
folks said they wanted him to die so's they could get the little bit of money his mother had left for him.
henry did n't die right off, but he begun having fits -- epileps, they called'em -- and he grew up kind of simple, till he was about eighteen.
his uncle used to thrash him in that garden up there'cause it was back of the house where no one could see him.
but folks could hear, and they say it was awful sometimes hearing poor henry plead with his uncle not to kill him.
but nobody dared interfere'cause old tom was such a reprobate he'd have been sure to get square with'em some way.
he burned the barns of a man at harbour head who offended him.
at last henry died and his uncle and aunt give out he died in one of his fits and that was all anybody ever knowed, but everybody said tom had just up and killed him for keeps at last.
and it was n't long till it got around that henry walked.
that old garden was ha'nted.
he was heard there at nights, moaning and crying.
old tom and his wife got out -- went out west and never came back.
the place got such a bad name nobody'd buy or rent it.
that's why it's all gone to ruin.
that was thirty years ago, but henry warren's ghost ha "nts it yet."
""do you believe that?"
asked nan scornfully."
i do n't."
""well, good people have seen him -- and heard him."
retorted mary.
""they say he appears and grovels on the ground and holds you by the legs and gibbers and moans like he did when he was alive.
i thought of that as soon as i seen that white thing in the bushes and thought if it caught me like that and moaned i'd drop down dead on the spot.
so i cut and run.
it might n't have been his ghost, but i was n't going to take any chances with a ha "nt."
""it was likely old mrs. stimson's white calf," laughed di.
""it pastures in that garden -- i've seen it."
""maybe so.
but i'm not going home through the bailey garden any more.
here's jerry with a big string of trout and it's my turn to cook them.
jem and jerry both say i'm the best cook in the glen.
and cornelia told me i could bring up this batch of cookies.
i all but dropped them when i saw henry's ghost."
jerry hooted when he heard the ghost story -- which mary repeated as she fried the fish, touching it up a trifle or so, since walter had gone to help faith to set the table.
it made no impression on jerry, but faith and una and carl had been secretly much frightened, though they would never have given in to it.
it was all right as long as the others were with them in the valley: but when the feast was over and the shadows fell they quaked with remembrance.
jerry went up to ingleside with the blythes to see jem about something, and mary vance went around that way home.
so faith and una and carl had to go back to the manse alone.
they walked very close together and gave the old bailey garden a wide berth.
they did not believe that it was haunted, of course, but they would not go near it for all that.
chapter xxx.
the ghost on the dyke somehow, faith and carl and una could not shake off the hold which the story of henry warren's ghost had taken upon their imaginations.
they had never believed in ghosts.
ghost tales they had heard a-plenty -- mary vance had told some far more blood-curdling than this; but those tales were all of places and people and spooks far away and unknown.
after the first half-awful, half-pleasant thrill of awe and terror they thought of them no more.
but this story came home to them.
the old bailey garden was almost at their very door -- almost in their beloved rainbow valley.
they had passed and repassed it constantly; they had hunted for flowers in it; they had made short cuts through it when they wished to go straight from the village to the valley.
but never again!
after the night when mary vance told them its gruesome tale they would not have gone through or near it on pain of death.
death!
what was death compared to the unearthly possibility of falling into the clutches of henry warren's grovelling ghost?
one warm july evening the three of them were sitting under the tree lovers, feeling a little lonely.
nobody else had come near the valley that evening.
jem blythe was away in charlottetown, writing on his entrance examinations.
jerry and walter blythe were off for a sail on the harbour with old captain crawford.
nan and di and rilla and shirley had gone down the harbour road to visit kenneth and persis ford, who had come with their parents for a flying visit to the little old house of dreams.
nan had asked faith to go with them, but faith had declined.
she would never have admitted it, but she felt a little secret jealousy of persis ford, concerning whose wonderful beauty and city glamour she had heard a great deal.
no, she was n't going to go down there and play second fiddle to anybody.
she and una took their story books to rainbow valley and read, while carl investigated bugs along the banks of the brook, and all three were happy until they suddenly realized that it was twilight and that the old bailey garden was uncomfortably near by.
carl came and sat down close to the girls.
they all wished they had gone home a little sooner, but nobody said anything.
great, velvety, purple clouds heaped up in the west and spread over the valley.
there was no wind and everything was suddenly, strangely, dreadfully still.
the marsh was full of thousands of fire-flies.
surely some fairy parliament was being convened that night.
altogether, rainbow valley was not a canny place just then.
faith looked fearfully up the valley to the old bailey garden.
then, if anybody's blood ever did freeze, faith meredith's certainly froze at that moment.
the eyes of carl and una followed her entranced gaze and chills began gallopading up and down their spines also.
for there, under the big tamarack tree on the tumble-down, grass-grown dyke of the bailey garden, was something white -- shapelessly white in the gathering gloom.
the three merediths sat and gazed as if turned to stone.
""it's -- it's the -- calf," whispered una at last.
""it's -- too -- big -- for the calf," whispered faith.
her mouth and lips were so dry she could hardly articulate the words.
suddenly carl gasped, "it's coming here."
the girls gave one last agonized glance.
yes, it was creeping down over the dyke, as no calf ever did or could creep.
reason fled before sudden, over-mastering panic.
for the moment every one of the trio was firmly convinced that what they saw was henry warren's ghost.
carl sprang to his feet and bolted blindly.
with a simultaneous shriek the girls followed him.
like mad creatures they tore up the hill, across the road and into the manse.
they had left aunt martha sewing in the kitchen.
she was not there.
they rushed to the study.
it was dark and tenantless.
as with one impulse, they swung around and made for ingleside -- but not across rainbow valley.
down the hill and through the glen street they flew on the wings of their wild terror, carl in the lead, una bringing up the rear.
nobody tried to stop them, though everybody who saw them wondered what fresh devilment those manse youngsters were up to now.
but at the gate of ingleside they ran into rosemary west, who had just been in for a moment to return some borrowed books.
she saw their ghastly faces and staring eyes.
she realized that their poor little souls were wrung with some awful and real fear, whatever its cause.
she caught carl with one arm and faith with the other.
una stumbled against her and held on desperately.
""children, dear, what has happened?"
she said.
""what has frightened you?"
""henry warren's ghost," answered carl, through his chattering teeth.
""henry -- warren's -- ghost!"
said amazed rosemary, who had never heard the story.
""yes," sobbed faith hysterically.
""it's there -- on the bailey dyke -- we saw it -- and it started to -- chase us."
rosemary herded the three distracted creatures to the ingleside veranda.
gilbert and anne were both away, having also gone to the house of dreams, but susan appeared in the doorway, gaunt and practical and unghostlike.
""what is all this rumpus about?"
she inquired.
again the children gasped out their awful tale, while rosemary held them close to her and soothed them with wordless comfort.
""likely it was an owl," said susan, unstirred.
an owl!
the meredith children never had any opinion of susan's intelligence after that!
""it was bigger than a million owls," said carl, sobbing -- oh, how ashamed carl was of that sobbing in after days -- "and it -- it grovelled just as mary said -- and it was crawling down over the dyke to get at us.
do owls crawl?"
rosemary looked at susan.
""they must have seen something to frighten them so," she said.
""i will go and see," said susan coolly.
""now, children, calm yourselves.
whatever you have seen, it was not a ghost.
as for poor henry warren, i feel sure he would be only too glad to rest quietly in his peaceful grave once he got there.
no fear of him venturing back, and that you may tie to.
if you can make them see reason, miss west, i will find out the truth of the matter."
susan departed for rainbow valley, valiantly grasping a pitchfork which she found leaning against the back fence where the doctor had been working in his little hay-field.
a pitchfork might not be of much use against "ha "nts," but it was a comforting sort of weapon.
there was nothing to be seen in rainbow valley when susan reached it.
no white visitants appeared to be lurking in the shadowy, tangled old bailey garden.
susan marched boldly through it and beyond it, and rapped with her pitchfork on the door of the little cottage on the other side, where mrs. stimson lived with her two daughters.
back at ingleside rosemary had succeeded in calming the children.
they still sobbed a little from shock, but they were beginning to feel a lurking and salutary suspicion that they had made dreadful geese of themselves.
this suspicion became a certainty when susan finally returned.
""i have found out what your ghost was," she said, with a grim smile, sitting down on a rocker and fanning herself.
""old mrs. stimson has had a pair of factory cotton sheets bleaching in the bailey garden for a week.
she spread them on the dyke under the tamarack tree because the grass was clean and short there.
this evening she went out to take them in.
she had her knitting in her hands so she hung the sheets over her shoulders by way of carrying them.
and then she must have dropped one of her needles and find it she could not and has not yet.
but she went down on her knees and crept about to hunt for it, and she was at that when she heard awful yells down in the valley and saw the three children tearing up the hill past her.
she thought they had been bit by something and it gave her poor old heart such a turn that she could not move or speak, but just crouched there till they disappeared.
then she staggered back home and they have been applying stimulants to her ever since, and her heart is in a terrible condition and she says she will not get over this fright all summer."
the merediths sat, crimson with a shame that even rosemary's understanding sympathy could not remove.
they sneaked off home, met jerry at the manse gate and made remorseful confession.
a session of the good-conduct club was arranged for next morning.
""was n't miss west sweet to us to-night?"
whispered faith in bed.
""yes," admitted una.
""it is such a pity it changes people so much to be made stepmothers."
""i do n't believe it does," said faith loyally.
chapter xxxi.
carl does penance "i do n't see why we should be punished at all," said faith, rather sulkily.
""we did n't do anything wrong.
we could n't help being frightened.
and it wo n't do father any harm.
it was just an accident."
""you were cowards," said jerry with judicial scorn, "and you gave way to your cowardice.
that is why you should be punished.
everybody will laugh at you about this, and that is a disgrace to the family."
""if you knew how awful the whole thing was," said faith with a shiver, "you would think we had been punished enough already.
i would n't go through it again for anything in the whole world."
""i believe you'd have run yourself if you'd been there," muttered carl.
""from an old woman in a cotton sheet," mocked jerry.
""ho, ho, ho!"
""it did n't look a bit like an old woman," cried faith.
""it was just a great, big, white thing crawling about in the grass just as mary vance said henry warren did.
it's all very fine for you to laugh, jerry meredith, but you'd have laughed on the other side of your mouth if you'd been there.
and how are we to be punished?
i do n't think it's fair, but let's know what we have to do, judge meredith!"
""the way i look at it," said jerry, frowning, "is that carl was the most to blame.
he bolted first, as i understand it.
besides, he was a boy, so he should have stood his ground to protect you girls, whatever the danger was.
you know that, carl, do n't you?"
""i s "pose so," growled carl shamefacedly.
""very well.
this is to be your punishment.
to-night you'll sit on mr. hezekiah pollock's tombstone in the graveyard alone, until twelve o'clock."
carl gave a little shudder.
the graveyard was not so very far from the old bailey garden.
it would be a trying ordeal, but carl was anxious to wipe out his disgrace and prove that he was not a coward after all.
""all right," he said sturdily.
""but how'll i know when it is twelve?"
""the study windows are open and you'll hear the clock striking.
and mind you that you are not to budge out of that graveyard until the last stroke.
as for you girls, you've got to go without jam at supper for a week."
faith and una looked rather blank.
they were inclined to think that even carl's comparatively short though sharp agony was lighter punishment than this long drawn-out ordeal.
a whole week of soggy bread without the saving grace of jam!
but no shirking was permitted in the club.
the girls accepted their lot with such philosophy as they could summon up.
that night they all went to bed at nine, except carl, who was already keeping vigil on the tombstone.
una slipped in to bid him good night.
her tender heart was wrung with sympathy.
""oh, carl, are you much scared?"
she whispered.
""not a bit," said carl airily.
""i wo n't sleep a wink till after twelve," said una.
""if you get lonesome just look up at our window and remember that i'm inside, awake, and thinking about you.
that will be a little company, wo n't it?"
""i'll be all right.
do n't you worry about me," said carl.
but in spite of his dauntless words carl was a pretty lonely boy when the lights went out in the manse.
he had hoped his father would be in the study as he so often was.
he would not feel alone then.
but that night mr. meredith had been summoned to the fishing village at the harbour mouth to see a dying man.
he would not likely be back until after midnight.
carl must dree his weird alone.
a glen man went past carrying a lantern.
the mysterious shadows caused by the lantern-light went hurtling madly over the graveyard like a dance of demons or witches.
then they passed and darkness fell again.
one by one the lights in the glen went out.
it was a very dark night, with a cloudy sky, and a raw east wind that was cold in spite of the calendar.
far away on the horizon was the low dim lustre of the charlottetown lights.
the wind wailed and sighed in the old fir-trees.
mr. alec davis" tall monument gleamed whitely through the gloom.
the willow beside it tossed long, writhing arms spectrally.
at times, the gyrations of its boughs made it seem as if the monument were moving, too.
carl curled himself up on the tombstone with his legs tucked under him.
it was n't precisely pleasant to hang them over the edge of the stone.
just suppose -- just suppose -- bony hands should reach up out of mr. pollock's grave under it and clutch him by the ankles.
that had been one of mary vance's cheerful speculations one time when they had all been sitting there.
it returned to haunt carl now.
he did n't believe those things; he did n't even really believe in henry warren's ghost.
as for mr. pollock, he had been dead sixty years, so it was n't likely he cared who sat on his tombstone now.
but there is something very strange and terrible in being awake when all the rest of the world is asleep.
you are alone then with nothing but your own feeble personality to pit against the mighty principalities and powers of darkness.
carl was only ten and the dead were all around him -- and he wished, oh, he wished that the clock would strike twelve.
would it never strike twelve?
surely aunt martha must have forgotten to wind it.
and then it struck eleven -- only eleven!
he must stay yet another hour in that grim place.
if only there were a few friendly stars to be seen!
the darkness was so thick it seemed to press against his face.
there was a sound as of stealthy passing footsteps all over the graveyard.
carl shivered, partly with prickling terror, partly with real cold.
then it began to rain -- a chill, penetrating drizzle.
carl's thin little cotton blouse and shirt were soon wet through.
he felt chilled to the bone.
he forgot mental terrors in his physical discomfort.
but he must stay there till twelve -- he was punishing himself and he was on his honour.
nothing had been said about rain -- but it did not make any difference.
when the study clock finally struck twelve a drenched little figure crept stiffly down off mr. pollock's tombstone, made its way into the manse and upstairs to bed.
carl's teeth were chattering.
he thought he would never get warm again.
he was warm enough when morning came.
jerry gave one startled look at his crimson face and then rushed to call his father.
mr. meredith came hurriedly, his own face ivory white from the pallor of his long night vigil by a death bed.
he had not got home until daylight.
he bent over his little lad anxiously.
""carl, are you sick?"
he said.
""that -- tombstone -- over here," said carl, "it's -- moving -- about -- it's coming -- at -- me -- keep it -- away -- please."
mr. meredith rushed to the telephone.
in ten minutes dr. blythe was at the manse.
half an hour later a wire was sent to town for a trained nurse, and all the glen knew that carl meredith was very ill with pneumonia and that dr. blythe had been seen to shake his head.
gilbert shook his head more than once in the fortnight that followed.
carl developed double pneumonia.
there was one night when mr. meredith paced his study floor, and faith and una huddled in their bedroom and cried, and jerry, wild with remorse, refused to budge from the floor of the hall outside carl's door.
dr. blythe and the nurse never left the bedside.
they fought death gallantly until the red dawn and they won the victory.
carl rallied and passed the crisis in safety.
the news was phoned about the waiting glen and people found out how much they really loved their minister and his children.
""i have n't had one decent night's sleep since i heard the child was sick," miss cornelia told anne, "and mary vance has cried until those queer eyes of hers looked like burnt holes in a blanket.
is it true that carl got pneumonia from straying out in the graveyard that wet night for a dare?"
""no.
he was staying there to punish himself for cowardice in that affair of the warren ghost.
it seems they have a club for bringing themselves up, and they punish themselves when they do wrong.
jerry told mr. meredith all about it."
""the poor little souls," said miss cornelia.
carl got better rapidly, for the congregation took enough nourishing things to the manse to furnish forth a hospital.
norman douglas drove up every evening with a dozen fresh eggs and a jar of jersey cream.
sometimes he stayed an hour and bellowed arguments on predestination with mr. meredith in the study; oftener he drove on up to the hill that overlooked the glen.
when carl was able to go again to rainbow valley they had a special feast in his honour and the doctor came down and helped them with the fireworks.
mary vance was there, too, but she did not tell any ghost stories.
miss cornelia had given her a talking on that subject which mary would not forget in a hurry.
chapter xxxii.
two stubborn people rosemary west, on her way home from a music lesson at ingleside, turned aside to the hidden spring in rainbow valley.
she had not been there all summer; the beautiful little spot had no longer any allurement for her.
the spirit of her young lover never came to the tryst now; and the memories connected with john meredith were too painful and poignant.
but she had happened to glance backward up the valley and had seen norman douglas vaulting as airily as a stripling over the old stone dyke of the bailey garden and thought he was on his way up the hill.
if he overtook her she would have to walk home with him and she was not going to do that.
so she slipped at once behind the maples of the spring, hoping he had not seen her and would pass on.
but norman had seen her and, what was more, was in pursuit of her.
he had been wanting for some time to have talk with rosemary, but she had always, so it seemed, avoided him.
rosemary had never, at any time, liked norman douglas very well.
his bluster, his temper, his noisy hilarity, had always antagonized her.
long ago she had often wondered how ellen could possibly be attracted to him.
norman douglas was perfectly aware of her dislike and he chuckled over it.
it never worried norman if people did not like him.
it did not even make him dislike them in return, for he took it as a kind of extorted compliment.
he thought rosemary a fine girl, and he meant to be an excellent, generous brother-in-law to her.
but before he could be her brother-in-law he had to have a talk with her, so, having seen her leaving ingleside as he stood in the doorway of a glen store, he had straightway plunged into the valley to overtake her.
rosemary was sitting pensively on the maple seat where john meredith had been sitting on that evening nearly a year ago.
the tiny spring shimmered and dimpled under its fringe of ferns.
ruby-red gleams of sunset fell through the arching boughs.
a tall clump of perfect asters grew at her side.
the little spot was as dreamy and witching and evasive as any retreat of fairies and dryads in ancient forests.
into it norman douglas bounced, scattering and annihilating its charm in a moment.
his personality seemed to swallow the place up.
there was simply nothing there but norman douglas, big, red-bearded, complacent.
""good evening," said rosemary coldly, standing up."
"evening, girl.
sit down again -- sit down again.
i want to have a talk with you.
bless the girl, what's she looking at me like that for?
i do n't want to eat you -- i've had my supper.
sit down and be civil."
""i can hear what you have to say quite as well here," said rosemary.
""so you can, girl, if you use your ears.
i only wanted you to be comfortable.
you look so durned uncomfortable, standing there.
well, i'll sit anyway."
norman accordingly sat down in the very place john meredith had once sat.
the contrast was so ludicrous that rosemary was afraid she would go off into a peal of hysterical laughter over it.
norman cast his hat aside, placed his huge, red hands on his knees, and looked up at her with his eyes a-twinkle.
""come, girl, do n't be so stiff," he said, ingratiatingly.
when he liked he could be very ingratiating.
""let's have a reasonable, sensible, friendly chat.
there's something i want to ask you.
ellen says she wo n't, so it's up to me to do it."
rosemary looked down at the spring, which seemed to have shrunk to the size of a dewdrop.
norman gazed at her in despair.
""durn it all, you might help a fellow out a bit," he burst forth.
""what is it you want me to help you say?"
asked rosemary scornfully.
""you know as well as i do, girl.
do n't be putting on your tragedy airs.
no wonder ellen was scared to ask you.
look here, girl, ellen and i want to marry each other.
that's plain english, is n't it?
got that?
and ellen says she ca n't unless you give her back some tom-fool promise she made.
come now, will you do it?
will you do it?"
""yes," said rosemary.
norman bounced up and seized her reluctant hand.
""good!
i knew you would -- i told ellen you would.
i knew it would only take a minute.
now, girl, you go home and tell ellen, and we'll have a wedding in a fortnight and you'll come and live with us.
we sha n't leave you to roost on that hill-top like a lonely crow -- do n't you worry.
i know you hate me, but, lord, it'll be great fun living with some one that hates me.
life'll have some spice in it after this.
ellen will roast me and you'll freeze me.
i wo n't have a dull moment."
rosemary did not condescend to tell him that nothing would ever induce her to live in his house.
she let him go striding back to the glen, oozing delight and complacency, and she walked slowly up the hill home.
she had known this was coming ever since she had returned from kingsport, and found norman douglas established as a frequent evening caller.
his name was never mentioned between her and ellen, but the very avoidance of it was significant.
it was not in rosemary's nature to feel bitter, or she would have felt very bitter.
she was coldly civil to norman, and she made no difference in any way with ellen.
but ellen had not found much comfort in her second courtship.
she was in the garden, attended by st. george, when rosemary came home.
the two sisters met in the dahlia walk.
st. george sat down on the gravel walk between them and folded his glossy black tail gracefully around his white paws, with all the indifference of a well-fed, well-bred, well-groomed cat.
""did you ever see such dahlias?"
demanded ellen proudly.
""they are just the finest we've ever had."
rosemary had never cared for dahlias.
their presence in the garden was her concession to ellen's taste.
she noticed one huge mottled one of crimson and yellow that lorded it over all the others.
""that dahlia," she said, pointing to it, "is exactly like norman douglas.
it might easily be his twin brother."
ellen's dark-browed face flushed.
she admired the dahlia in question, but she knew rosemary did not, and that no compliment was intended.
but she dared not resent rosemary's speech -- poor ellen dared not resent anything just then.
and it was the first time rosemary had ever mentioned norman's name to her.
she felt that this portended something.
""i met norman douglas in the valley," said rosemary, looking straight at her sister, "and he told me you and he wanted to be married -- if i would give you permission."
""yes?
what did you say?"
asked ellen, trying to speak naturally and off-handedly, and failing completely.
she could not meet rosemary's eyes.
she looked down at st. george's sleek back and felt horribly afraid.
rosemary had either said she would or she would n't.
if she would ellen would feel so ashamed and remorseful that she would be a very uncomfortable bride-elect; and if she would n't -- well, ellen had once learned to live without norman douglas, but she had forgotten the lesson and felt that she could never learn it again.
""i said that as far as i was concerned you were at full liberty to marry each other as soon as you liked," said rosemary.
""thank you," said ellen, still looking at st. george.
rosemary's face softened.
""i hope you'll be happy, ellen," she said gently.
""oh, rosemary," ellen looked up in distress, "i'm so ashamed -- i do n't deserve it -- after all i said to you --" "we wo n't speak about that," said rosemary hurriedly and decidedly.
""but -- but," persisted ellen, "you are free now, too -- and it's not too late -- john meredith --" "ellen west!"
rosemary had a little spark of temper under all her sweetness and it flashed forth now in her blue eyes.
""have you quite lost your senses in every respect?
do you suppose for an instant that i am going to go to john meredith and say meekly, "please, sir, i've changed my mind and please, sir, i hope you have n't changed yours."
is that what you want me to do?"
""no -- no -- but a little -- encouragement -- he would come back --" "never.
he despises me -- and rightly.
no more of this, ellen.
i bear you no grudge -- marry whom you like.
but no meddling in my affairs."
""then you must come and live with me," said ellen.
""i shall not leave you here alone."
""do you really think that i would go and live in norman douglas's house?"
""why not?"
cried ellen, half angrily, despite her humiliation.
rosemary began to laugh.
""ellen, i thought you had a sense of humour.
can you see me doing it?"
""i do n't see why you would n't.
his house is big enough -- you'd have your share of it to yourself -- he would n't interfere."
""ellen, the thing is not to be thought of.
do n't bring this up again."
""then," said ellen coldly, and determinedly, "i shall not marry him.
i shall not leave you here alone.
that is all there is to be said about it."
""nonsense, ellen."
""it is not nonsense.
it is my firm decision.
it would be absurd for you to think of living here by yourself -- a mile from any other house.
if you wo n't come with me i'll stay with you.
now, we wo n't argue the matter, so do n't try" "i shall leave norman to do the arguing," said rosemary.
""i'll deal with norman.
i can manage him.
i would never have asked you to give me back my promise -- never -- but i had to tell norman why i could n't marry him and he said he would ask you.
i could n't prevent him.
you need not suppose you are the only person in the world who possesses self-respect.
i never dreamed of marrying and leaving you here alone.
and you'll find i can be as determined as yourself."
rosemary turned away and went into the house, with a shrug of her shoulders.
ellen looked down at st. george, who had never blinked an eyelash or stirred a whisker during the whole interview.
""st. george, this world would be a dull place without the men, i'll admit, but i'm almost tempted to wish there was n't one of'em in it.
look at the trouble and bother they've made right here, george -- torn our happy old life completely up by the roots, saint.
john meredith began it and norman douglas has finished it.
and now both of them have to go into limbo.
norman is the only man i ever met who agrees with me that the kaiser of germany is the most dangerous creature alive on this earth -- and i ca n't marry this sensible person because my sister is stubborn and i'm stubborner.
mark my words, st. george, the minister would come back if she raised her little finger.
but she wo n't george -- she'll never do it -- she wo n't even crook it -- and i do n't dare meddle, saint.
i wo n't sulk, george; rosemary did n't sulk, so i'm determined i wo n't either, saint; norman will tear up the turf, but the long and short of it is, st. george, that all of us old fools must just stop thinking of marrying.
well, well, "despair is a free man, hope is a slave," saint.
so now come into the house, george, and i'll solace you with a saucerful of cream.
then there will be one happy and contented creature on this hill at least."
chapter xxxiii.
carl is -- not -- whipped "there is something i think i ought to tell you," said mary vance mysteriously.
she and faith and una were walking arm in arm through the village, having foregathered at mr. flagg's store.
una and faith exchanged looks which said, "now something disagreeable is coming."
when mary vance thought she ought to tell them things there was seldom much pleasure in the hearing.
they often wondered why they kept on liking mary vance -- for like her they did, in spite of everything.
to be sure, she was generally a stimulating and agreeable companion.
if only she would not have those convictions that it was her duty to tell them things!
""do you know that rosemary west wo n't marry your pa because she thinks you are such a wild lot?
she's afraid she could n't bring you up right and so she turned him down."
una's heart thrilled with secret exultation.
she was very glad to hear that miss west would not marry her father.
but faith was rather disappointed.
""how do you know?"
she asked.
""oh, everybody's saying it.
i heard mrs. elliott talking it over with mrs. doctor.
they thought i was too far away to hear, but i've got ears like a cat's.
mrs. elliott said she had n't a doubt that rosemary was afraid to try stepmothering you because you'd got such a reputation.
your pa never goes up the hill now.
neither does norman douglas.
folks say ellen has jilted him just to get square with him for jilting her ages ago.
but norman is going about declaring he'll get her yet.
and i think you ought to know you've spoiled your pa's match and i think it's a pity, for he's bound to marry somebody before long, and rosemary west would have been the best wife i know of for him."
""you told me all stepmothers were cruel and wicked," said una.
""oh -- well," said mary rather confusedly, "they're mostly awful cranky, i know.
but rosemary west could n't be very mean to any one.
i tell you if your pa turns round and marries emmeline drew you'll wish you'd behaved yourselves better and not frightened rosemary out of it.
it's awful that you've got such a reputation that no decent woman'll marry your pa on account of you.
of course, i know that half the yarns that are told about you ai n't true.
but give a dog a bad name.
why, some folks are saying that it was jerry and carl that threw the stones through mrs. stimson's window the other night when it was really them two boyd boys.
but i'm afraid it was carl that put the eel in old mrs. carr's buggy, though i said at first i would n't believe it until i'd better proof than old kitty alec's word.
i told mrs. elliott so right to her face."
""what did carl do?"
cried faith.
""well, they say -- now, mind, i'm only telling you what people say -- so there's no use in your blaming me for it -- that carl and a lot of other boys were fishing eels over the bridge one evening last week.
mrs. carr drove past in that old rattletrap buggy of hers with the open back.
and carl he just up and threw a big eel into the back.
when poor old mrs. carr was driving up the hill by ingleside that eel came squirming out between her feet.
she thought it was a snake and she just give one awful screech and stood up and jumped clean over the wheels.
the horse bolted, but it went home and no damage was done.
but mrs. carr jarred her legs most terrible, and has had nervous spasms ever since whenever she thinks of the eel.
say, it was a rotten trick to play on the poor old soul.
she's a decent body, if she is as queer as dick's hat band."
faith and una looked at each other again.
this was a matter for the good-conduct club.
they would not talk it over with mary.
""there goes your pa," said mary as mr. meredith passed them, "and never seeing us no more'n if we were n't here.
well, i'm getting so's i do n't mind it.
but there are folks who do."
mr. meredith had not seen them, but he was not walking along in his usual dreamy and abstracted fashion.
he strode up the hill in agitation and distress.
mrs. alec davis had just told him the story of carl and the eel.
she had been very indignant about it.
old mrs. carr was her third cousin.
mr. meredith was more than indignant.
he was hurt and shocked.
he had not thought carl would do anything like this.
he was not inclined to be hard on pranks of heedlessness or forgetfulness, but this was different.
this had a nasty tang in it.
when he reached home he found carl on the lawn, patiently studying the habits and customs of a colony of wasps.
calling him into the study mr. meredith confronted him, with a sterner face than any of his children had ever seen before, and asked him if the story were true.
""yes," said carl, flushing, but meeting his father's eyes bravely.
mr. meredith groaned.
he had hoped that there had been at least exaggeration.
""tell me the whole matter," he said.
""the boys were fishing for eels over the bridge," said carl.
""link drew had caught a whopper -- i mean an awful big one -- the biggest eel i ever saw.
he caught it right at the start and it had been lying in his basket a long time, still as still.
i thought it was dead, honest i did.
then old mrs. carr drove over the bridge and she called us all young varmints and told us to go home.
and we had n't said a word to her, father, truly.
so when she drove back again, after going to the store, the boys dared me to put link's eel in her buggy.
i thought it was so dead it could n't hurt her and i threw it in.
then the eel came to life on the hill and we heard her scream and saw her jump out.
i was awful sorry.
that's all, father."
it was not quite as bad as mr. meredith had feared, but it was quite bad enough.
""i must punish you, carl," he said sorrowfully.
""yes, i know, father."
""i -- i must whip you."
carl winced.
he had never been whipped.
then, seeing how badly his father felt, he said cheerfully, "all right, father."
mr. meredith misunderstood his cheerfulness and thought him insensible.
he told carl to come to the study after supper, and when the boy had gone out he flung himself into his chair and groaned again.
he dreaded the evening sevenfold more than carl did.
the poor minister did not even know what he should whip his boy with.
what was used to whip boys?
rods?
canes?
no, that would be too brutal.
a timber switch, then?
and he, john meredith, must hie him to the woods and cut one.
it was an abominable thought.
then a picture presented itself unbidden to his mind.
he saw mrs. carr's wizened, nut-cracker little face at the appearance of that reviving eel -- he saw her sailing witch-like over the buggy wheels.
before he could prevent himself the minister laughed.
then he was angry with himself and angrier still with carl.
he would get that switch at once -- and it must not be too limber, after all.
carl was talking the matter over in the graveyard with faith and una, who had just come home.
they were horrified at the idea of his being whipped -- and by father, who had never done such a thing!
but they agreed soberly that it was just.
""you know it was a dreadful thing to do," sighed faith.
""and you never owned up in the club."
""i forgot," said carl.
""besides, i did n't think any harm came of it.
i did n't know she jarred her legs.
but i'm to be whipped and that will make things square."
""will it hurt -- very much?"
said una, slipping her hand into carl's.
""oh, not so much, i guess," said carl gamely.
""anyhow, i'm not going to cry, no matter how much it hurts.
it would make father feel so bad, if i did.
he's all cut up now.
i wish i could whip myself hard enough and save him doing it."
after supper, at which carl had eaten little and mr. meredith nothing at all, both went silently into the study.
the switch lay on the table.
mr. meredith had had a bad time getting a switch to suit him.
he cut one, then felt it was too slender.
carl had done a really indefensible thing.
then he cut another -- it was far too thick.
after all, carl had thought the eel was dead.
the third one suited him better; but as he picked it up from the table it seemed very thick and heavy -- more like a stick than a switch.
""hold out your hand," he said to carl.
carl threw back his head and held out his hand unflinchingly.
but he was not very old and he could not quite keep a little fear out of his eyes.
mr. meredith looked down into those eyes -- why, they were cecilia's eyes -- her very eyes -- and in them was the selfsame expression he had once seen in cecilia's eyes when she had come to him to tell him something she had been a little afraid to tell him.
here were her eyes in carl's little, white face -- and six weeks ago he had thought, through one endless, terrible night, that his little lad was dying.
john meredith threw down the switch.
""go," he said, "i can not whip you."
carl fled to the graveyard, feeling that the look on his father's face was worse than any whipping.
""is it over so soon?"
asked faith.
she and una had been holding hands and setting teeth on the pollock tombstone.
""he -- he did n't whip me at all," said carl with a sob, "and -- i wish he had -- and he's in there, feeling just awful."
una slipped away.
her heart yearned to comfort her father.
as noiselessly as a little gray mouse she opened the study door and crept in.
the room was dark with twilight.
her father was sitting at his desk.
his back was towards her -- his head was in his hands.
he was talking to himself -- broken, anguished words -- but una heard -- heard and understood, with the sudden illumination that comes to sensitive, unmothered children.
as silently as she had come in she slipped out and closed the door.
john meredith went on talking out his pain in what he deemed his undisturbed solitude.
chapter xxxiv.
una visits the hill una went upstairs.
carl and faith were already on their way through the early moonlight to rainbow valley, having heard therefrom the elfin lilt of jerry's jews-harp and having guessed that the blythes were there and fun afoot.
una had no wish to go.
she sought her own room first where she sat down on her bed and had a little cry.
she did not want anybody to come in her dear mother's place.
she did not want a stepmother who would hate her and make her father hate her.
but father was so desperately unhappy -- and if she could do any anything to make him happier she must do it.
there was only one thing she could do -- and she had known the moment she had left the study that she must do it.
but it was a very hard thing to do.
after una cried her heart out she wiped her eyes and went to the spare room.
it was dark and rather musty, for the blind had not been drawn up nor the window opened for a long time.
aunt martha was no fresh-air fiend.
but as nobody ever thought of shutting a door in the manse this did not matter so much, save when some unfortunate minister came to stay all night and was compelled to breathe the spare room atmosphere.
there was a closet in the spare room and far back in the closet a gray silk dress was hanging.
una went into the closet and shut the door, went down on her knees and pressed her face against the soft silken folds.
it had been her mother's wedding-dress.
it was still full of a sweet, faint, haunting perfume, like lingering love.
una always felt very close to her mother there -- as if she were kneeling at her feet with head in her lap.
she went there once in a long while when life was too hard.
""mother," she whispered to the gray silk gown," i will never forget you, mother, and i'll always love you best.
but i have to do it, mother, because father is so very unhappy.
i know you would n't want him to be unhappy.
and i will be very good to her, mother, and try to love her, even if she is like mary vance said stepmothers always were."
una carried some fine, spiritual strength away from her secret shrine.
she slept peacefully that night with the tear stains still glistening on her sweet, serious, little face.
the next afternoon she put on her best dress and hat.
they were shabby enough.
every other little girl in the glen had new clothes that summer except faith and una.
mary vance had a lovely dress of white embroidered lawn, with scarlet silk sash and shoulder bows.
but to-day una did not mind her shabbiness.
she only wanted to be very neat.
she washed her face carefully.
she brushed her black hair until it was as smooth as satin.
she tied her shoelaces carefully, having first sewed up two runs in her one pair of good stockings.
she would have liked to black her shoes, but she could not find any blacking.
finally, she slipped away from the manse, down through rainbow valley, up through the whispering woods, and out to the road that ran past the house on the hill.
it was quite a long walk and una was tired and warm when she got there.
she saw rosemary west sitting under a tree in the garden and stole past the dahlia beds to her.
rosemary had a book in her lap, but she was gazing afar across the harbour and her thoughts were sorrowful enough.
life had not been pleasant lately in the house on the hill.
ellen had not sulked -- ellen had been a brick.
but things can be felt that are never said and at times the silence between the two women was intolerably eloquent.
all the many familiar things that had once made life sweet had a flavour of bitterness now.
norman douglas made periodical irruptions also, bullying and coaxing ellen by turns.
it would end, rosemary believed, by his dragging ellen off with him some day, and rosemary felt that she would be almost glad when it happened.
existence would be horribly lonely then, but it would be no longer charged with dynamite.
she was roused from her unpleasant reverie by a timid little touch on her shoulder.
turning, she saw una meredith.
""why, una, dear, did you walk up here in all this heat?"
""yes," said una, "i came to -- i came to --" but she found it very hard to say what she had come to do.
her voice failed -- her eyes filled with tears.
""why, una, little girl, what is the trouble?
do n't be afraid to tell me."
rosemary put her arm around the thin little form and drew the child close to her.
her eyes were very beautiful -- her touch so tender that una found courage.
""i came -- to ask you -- to marry father," she gasped.
rosemary was silent for a moment from sheer dumbfounderment.
she stared at una blankly.
""oh, do n't be angry, please, dear miss west," said una, pleadingly.
""you see, everybody is saying that you would n't marry father because we are so bad.
he is very unhappy about it.
so i thought i would come and tell you that we are never bad on purpose.
and if you will only marry father we will all try to be good and do just what you tell us.
i'm sure you wo n't have any trouble with us.
please, miss west."
rosemary had been thinking rapidly.
gossiping surmise, she saw, had put this mistaken idea into una's mind.
she must be perfectly frank and sincere with the child.
""una, dear," she said softly.
""it is n't because of you poor little souls that i can not be your father's wife.
i never thought of such a thing.
you are not bad -- i never supposed you were.
there -- there was another reason altogether, una."
""do n't you like father?"
asked una, lifting reproachful eyes.
""oh, miss west, you do n't know how nice he is.
i'm sure he'd make you a good husband."
even in the midst of her perplexity and distress rosemary could n't help a twisted, little smile.
""oh, do n't laugh, miss west," una cried passionately.
""father feels dreadful about it."
""i think you're mistaken, dear," said rosemary.
""i'm not.
i'm sure i'm not.
oh, miss west, father was going to whip carl yesterday -- carl had been naughty -- and father could n't do it because you see he had no practice in whipping.
so when carl came out and told us father felt so bad, i slipped into the study to see if i could help him -- he likes me to comfort him, miss west -- and he did n't hear me come in and i heard what he was saying.
i'll tell you, miss west, if you'll let me whisper it in your ear."
una whispered earnestly.
rosemary's face turned crimson.
so john meredith still cared.
he had n't changed his mind.
and he must care intensely if he had said that -- care more than she had ever supposed he did.
she sat still for a moment, stroking una's hair.
then she said, "will you take a little letter from me to your father, una?"
""oh, are you going to marry him, miss west?"
asked una eagerly.
""perhaps -- if he really wants me to," said rosemary, blushing again.
""i'm glad -- i'm glad," said una bravely.
then she looked up, with quivering lips.
""oh, miss west, you wo n't turn father against us -- you wo n't make him hate us, will you?"
she said beseechingly.
rosemary stared again.
""una meredith!
do you think i would do such a thing?
whatever put such an idea into your head?"
""mary vance said stepmothers were all like that -- and that they all hated their stepchildren and made their father hate them -- she said they just could n't help it -- just being stepmothers made them like that" -- "you poor child!
and yet you came up here and asked me to marry your father because you wanted to make him happy?
you're a darling -- a heroine -- as ellen would say, you're a brick.
now listen to me, very closely, dearest.
mary vance is a silly little girl who does n't know very much and she is dreadfully mistaken about some things.
i would never dream of trying to turn your father against you.
i would love you all dearly.
i do n't want to take your own mother's place -- she must always have that in your hearts.
but neither have i any intention of being a stepmother.
i want to be your friend and helper and chum.
do n't you think that would be nice, una -- if you and faith and carl and jerry could just think of me as a good jolly chum -- a big older sister?"
""oh, it would be lovely," cried una, with a transfigured face.
she flung her arms impulsively round rosemary's neck.
she was so happy that she felt as if she could fly on wings.
""do the others -- do faith and the boys have the same idea you had about stepmothers?"
""no.
faith never believed mary vance.
i was dreadfully foolish to believe her, either.
faith loves you already -- she has loved you ever since poor adam was eaten.
and jerry and carl will think it is jolly.
oh, miss west, when you come to live with us, will you -- could you -- teach me to cook -- a little -- and sew -- and -- and -- and do things?
i do n't know anything.
i wo n't be much trouble -- i'll try to learn fast."
""darling, i'll teach you and help you all i can.
now, you wo n't say a word to anybody about this, will you -- not even to faith, until your father himself tells you you may?
and you'll stay and have tea with me?"
""oh, thank you -- but -- but -- i think i'd rather go right back and take the letter to father," faltered una.
""you see, he'll be glad that much sooner, miss west."
""i see," said rosemary.
she went to the house, wrote a note and gave it to una.
when that small damsel had run off, a palpitating bundle of happiness, rosemary went to ellen, who was shelling peas on the back porch.
""ellen," she said, "una meredith has just been here to ask me to marry her father."
ellen looked up and read her sister's face.
""and you're going to?"
she said.
""it's quite likely."
ellen went on shelling peas for a few minutes.
then she suddenly put her hands up to her own face.
there were tears in her black-browed eyes.
""i -- i hope we'll all be happy," she said between a sob and a laugh.
down at the manse una meredith, warm, rosy, triumphant, marched boldly into her father's study and laid a letter on the desk before him.
his pale face flushed as he saw the clear, fine handwriting he knew so well.
he opened the letter.
it was very short -- but he shed twenty years as he read it.
rosemary asked him if he could meet her that evening at sunset by the spring in rainbow valley.
chapter xxxv.
""let the piper come" "and so," said miss cornelia, "the double wedding is to be sometime about the middle of this month."
there was a faint chill in the air of the early september evening, so anne had lighted her ever ready fire of driftwood in the big living room, and she and miss cornelia basked in its fairy flicker.
""it is so delightful -- especially in regard to mr. meredith and rosemary," said anne.
""i'm as happy in the thought of it, as i was when i was getting married myself.
i felt exactly like a bride again last evening when i was up on the hill seeing rosemary's trousseau."
""they tell me her things are fine enough for a princess," said susan from a shadowy corner where she was cuddling her brown boy.
""i have been invited up to see them also and i intend to go some evening.
i understand that rosemary is to wear white silk and a veil, but ellen is to be married in navy blue.
i have no doubt, mrs. dr. dear, that that is very sensible of her, but for my own part i have always felt that if i were ever married i would prefer the white and the veil, as being more bride-like."
a vision of susan in "white and a veil" presented itself before anne's inner vision and was almost too much for her.
""as for mr. meredith," said miss cornelia, "even his engagement has made a different man of him.
he is n't half so dreamy and absent-minded, believe me.
i was so relieved when i heard that he had decided to close the manse and let the children visit round while he was away on his honeymoon.
if he had left them and old aunt martha there alone for a month i should have expected to wake every morning and see the place burned down."
""aunt martha and jerry are coming here," said anne.
""carl is going to elder clow's.
i have n't heard where the girls are going."
""oh, i'm going to take them," said miss cornelia.
""of course, i was glad to, but mary would have given me no peace till i asked them any way.
the ladies" aid is going to clean the manse from top to bottom before the bride and groom come back, and norman douglas has arranged to fill the cellar with vegetables.
nobody ever saw or heard anything quite like norman douglas these days, believe me.
he's so tickled that he's going to marry ellen west after wanting her all his life.
if i was ellen -- but then, i'm not, and if she is satisfied i can very well be.
i heard her say years ago when she was a schoolgirl that she did n't want a tame puppy for a husband.
there's nothing tame about norman, believe me."
the sun was setting over rainbow valley.
the pond was wearing a wonderful tissue of purple and gold and green and crimson.
a faint blue haze rested on the eastern hill, over which a great, pale, round moon was just floating up like a silver bubble.
they were all there, squatted in the little open glade -- faith and una, jerry and carl, jem and walter, nan and di, and mary vance.
they had been having a special celebration, for it would be jem's last evening in rainbow valley.
on the morrow he would leave for charlottetown to attend queen's academy.
their charmed circle would be broken; and, in spite of the jollity of their little festival, there was a hint of sorrow in every gay young heart.
""see -- there is a great golden palace over there in the sunset," said walter, pointing.
""look at the shining tower -- and the crimson banners streaming from them.
perhaps a conqueror is riding home from battle -- and they are hanging them out to do honour to him."
""oh, i wish we had the old days back again," exclaimed jem.
""i'd love to be a soldier -- a great, triumphant general.
i'd give everything to see a big battle."
well, jem was to be a soldier and see a greater battle than had ever been fought in the world; but that was as yet far in the future; and the mother, whose first-born son he was, was wont to look on her boys and thank god that the "brave days of old," which jem longed for, were gone for ever, and that never would it be necessary for the sons of canada to ride forth to battle "for the ashes of their fathers and the temples of their gods."
the shadow of the great conflict had not yet made felt any forerunner of its chill.
the lads who were to fight, and perhaps fall, on the fields of france and flanders, gallipoli and palestine, were still roguish schoolboys with a fair life in prospect before them: the girls whose hearts were to be wrung were yet fair little maidens a-star with hopes and dreams.
slowly the banners of the sunset city gave up their crimson and gold; slowly the conqueror's pageant faded out.
twilight crept over the valley and the little group grew silent.
walter had been reading again that day in his beloved book of myths and he remembered how he had once fancied the pied piper coming down the valley on an evening just like this.
he began to speak dreamily, partly because he wanted to thrill his companions a little, partly because something apart from him seemed to be speaking through his lips.
""the piper is coming nearer," he said, "he is nearer than he was that evening i saw him before.
his long, shadowy cloak is blowing around him.
he pipes -- he pipes -- and we must follow -- jem and carl and jerry and i -- round and round the world.
listen -- listen -- ca n't you hear his wild music?"
the girls shivered.
""you know you're only pretending," protested mary vance, "and i wish you would n't.
you make it too real.
i hate that old piper of yours."
but jem sprang up with a gay laugh.
he stood up on a little hillock, tall and splendid, with his open brow and his fearless eyes.
there were thousands like him all over the land of the maple.
""let the piper come and welcome," he cried, waving his hand.
""i'll follow him gladly round and round the world."
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___rilla_of_ingleside.txt.out
chapter i glen "notes" and other matters it was a warm, golden-cloudy, lovable afternoon.
in the big living-room at ingleside susan baker sat down with a certain grim satisfaction hovering about her like an aura; it was four o'clock and susan, who had been working incessantly since six that morning, felt that she had fairly earned an hour of repose and gossip.
susan just then was perfectly happy; everything had gone almost uncannily well in the kitchen that day.
dr. jekyll had not been mr. hyde and so had not grated on her nerves; from where she sat she could see the pride of her heart -- the bed of peonies of her own planting and culture, blooming as no other peony plot in glen st. mary ever did or could bloom, with peonies crimson, peonies silvery pink, peonies white as drifts of winter snow.
susan had on a new black silk blouse, quite as elaborate as anything mrs. marshall elliott ever wore, and a white starched apron, trimmed with complicated crocheted lace fully five inches wide, not to mention insertion to match.
therefore susan had all the comfortable consciousness of a well-dressed woman as she opened her copy of the daily enterprise and prepared to read the glen "notes" which, as miss cornelia had just informed her, filled half a column of it and mentioned almost everybody at ingleside.
there was a big, black headline on the front page of the enterprise, stating that some archduke ferdinand or other had been assassinated at a place bearing the weird name of sarajevo, but susan tarried not over uninteresting, immaterial stuff like that; she was in quest of something really vital.
oh, here it was -- "jottings from glen st. mary."
susan settled down keenly, reading each one over aloud to extract all possible gratification from it.
mrs. blythe and her visitor, miss cornelia -- alias mrs. marshall elliott -- were chatting together near the open door that led to the veranda, through which a cool, delicious breeze was blowing, bringing whiffs of phantom perfume from the garden, and charming gay echoes from the vine-hung corner where rilla and miss oliver and walter were laughing and talking.
wherever rilla blythe was, there was laughter.
there was another occupant of the living-room, curled up on a couch, who must not be overlooked, since he was a creature of marked individuality, and, moreover, had the distinction of being the only living thing whom susan really hated.
all cats are mysterious but dr. jekyll-and-mr.
hyde -- "doc" for short -- was trebly so.
he was a cat of double personality -- or else, as susan vowed, he was possessed by the devil.
to begin with, there had been something uncanny about the very dawn of his existence.
four years previously rilla blythe had had a treasured darling of a kitten, white as snow, with a saucy black tip to its tail, which she called jack frost.
susan disliked jack frost, though she could not or would not give any valid reason therefor.
""take my word for it, mrs. dr. dear," she was wont to say ominously, "that cat will come to no good."
""but why do you think so?"
mrs. blythe would ask.
""i do not think -- i know," was all the answer susan would vouchsafe.
with the rest of the ingleside folk jack frost was a favourite; he was so very clean and well groomed, and never allowed a spot or stain to be seen on his beautiful white suit; he had endearing ways of purring and snuggling; he was scrupulously honest.
and then a domestic tragedy took place at ingleside.
jack frost had kittens!
it would be vain to try to picture susan's triumph.
had she not always insisted that that cat would turn out to be a delusion and a snare?
now they could see for themselves!
rilla kept one of the kittens, a very pretty one, with peculiarly sleek glossy fur of a dark yellow crossed by orange stripes, and large, satiny, golden ears.
she called it goldie and the name seemed appropriate enough to the little frolicsome creature which, during its kittenhood, gave no indication of the sinister nature it really possessed.
susan, of course, warned the family that no good could be expected from any offspring of that diabolical jack frost; but susan's cassandra-like croakings were unheeded.
the blythes had been so accustomed to regard jack frost as a member of the male sex that they could not get out of the habit.
so they continually used the masculine pronoun, although the result was ludicrous.
visitors used to be quite electrified when rilla referred casually to "jack and his kitten," or told goldie sternly, "go to your mother and get him to wash your fur."
""it is not decent, mrs. dr. dear," poor susan would say bitterly.
she herself compromised by always referring to jack as "it" or "the white beast," and one heart at least did not ache when "it" was accidentally poisoned the following winter.
in a year's time "goldie" became so manifestly an inadequate name for the orange kitten that walter, who was just then reading stevenson's story, changed it to dr. jekyll-and-mr.
hyde.
in his dr. jekyll mood the cat was a drowsy, affectionate, domestic, cushion-loving puss, who liked petting and gloried in being nursed and patted.
especially did he love to lie on his back and have his sleek, cream-coloured throat stroked gently while he purred in somnolent satisfaction.
he was a notable purrer; never had there been an ingleside cat who purred so constantly and so ecstatically.
""the only thing i envy a cat is its purr," remarked dr. blythe once, listening to doc's resonant melody.
""it is the most contented sound in the world."
doc was very handsome; his every movement was grace; his poses magnificent.
when he folded his long, dusky-ringed tail about his feet and sat him down on the veranda to gaze steadily into space for long intervals the blythes felt that an egyptian sphinx could not have made a more fitting deity of the portal.
when the mr. hyde mood came upon him -- which it invariably did before rain, or wind -- he was a wild thing with changed eyes.
the transformation always came suddenly.
he would spring fiercely from a reverie with a savage snarl and bite at any restraining or caressing hand.
his fur seemed to grow darker and his eyes gleamed with a diabolical light.
there was really an unearthly beauty about him.
if the change happened in the twilight all the ingleside folk felt a certain terror of him.
at such times he was a fearsome beast and only rilla defended him, asserting that he was "such a nice prowly cat."
certainly he prowled.
dr. jekyll loved new milk; mr. hyde would not touch milk and growled over his meat.
dr. jekyll came down the stairs so silently that no one could hear him.
mr. hyde made his tread as heavy as a man's.
several evenings, when susan was alone in the house, he "scared her stiff," as she declared, by doing this.
he would sit in the middle of the kitchen floor, with his terrible eyes fixed unwinkingly upon hers for an hour at a time.
this played havoc with her nerves, but poor susan really held him in too much awe to try to drive him out.
once she had dared to throw a stick at him and he had promptly made a savage leap towards her.
susan rushed out of doors and never attempted to meddle with mr. hyde again -- though she visited his misdeeds upon the innocent dr. jekyll, chasing him ignominiously out of her domain whenever he dared to poke his nose in and denying him certain savoury tidbits for which he yearned."
"the many friends of miss faith meredith, gerald meredith and james blythe,"" read susan, rolling the names like sweet morsels under her tongue," "were very much pleased to welcome them home a few weeks ago from redmond college.
james blythe, who was graduated in arts in 1913, had just completed his first year in medicine.""
""faith meredith has really got to be the most handsomest creature i ever saw," commented miss cornelia above her filet crochet.
""it's amazing how those children came on after rosemary west went to the manse.
people have almost forgotten what imps of mischief they were once.
anne, dearie, will you ever forget the way they used to carry on?
it's really surprising how well rosemary got on with them.
she's more like a chum than a step-mother.
they all love her and una adores her.
as for that little bruce, una just makes a perfect slave of herself to him.
of course, he is a darling.
but did you ever see any child look as much like an aunt as he looks like his aunt ellen?
he's just as dark and just as emphatic.
i ca n't see a feature of rosemary in him.
norman douglas always vows at the top of his voice that the stork meant bruce for him and ellen and took him to the manse by mistake."
""bruce adores jem," said mrs blythe.
""when he comes over here he follows jem about silently like a faithful little dog, looking up at him from under his black brows.
he would do anything for jem, i verily believe."
""are jem and faith going to make a match of it?"
mrs. blythe smiled.
it was well known that miss cornelia, who had been such a virulent man-hater at one time, had actually taken to match-making in her declining years.
""they are only good friends yet, miss cornelia."
""very good friends, believe me," said miss cornelia emphatically.
""i hear all about the doings of the young fry."
""i have no doubt that mary vance sees that you do, mrs. marshall elliott," said susan significantly, "but i think it is a shame to talk about children making matches."
""children!
jem is twenty-one and faith is nineteen," retorted miss cornelia.
""you must not forget, susan, that we old folks are not the only grown-up people in the world."
outraged susan, who detested any reference to her age -- not from vanity but from a haunting dread that people might come to think her too old to work -- returned to her "notes.""
"carl meredith and shirley blythe came home last friday evening from queen's academy.
we understand that carl will be in charge of the school at harbour head next year and we are sure he will be a popular and successful teacher.""
""he will teach the children all there is to know about bugs, anyhow," said miss cornelia.
""he is through with queen's now and mr. meredith and rosemary wanted him to go right on to redmond in the fall, but carl has a very independent streak in him and means to earn part of his own way through college.
he'll be all the better for it.""
"walter blythe, who has been teaching for the past two years at lowbridge, has resigned,"" read susan."
"he intends going to redmond this fall.""
""is walter quite strong enough for redmond yet?"
queried miss cornelia anxiously.
""we hope that he will be by the fall," said mrs. blythe.
""an idle summer in the open air and sunshine will do a great deal for him."
""typhoid is a hard thing to get over," said miss cornelia emphatically, "especially when one has had such a close shave as walter had.
i think he'd do well to stay out of college another year.
but then he's so ambitious.
are di and nan going too?"
""yes.
they both wanted to teach another year but gilbert thinks they had better go to redmond this fall."
""i'm glad of that.
they'll keep an eye on walter and see that he does n't study too hard.
i suppose," continued miss cornelia, with a side glance at susan, "that after the snub i got a few minutes ago it will not be safe for me to suggest that jerry meredith is making sheep's eyes at nan."
susan ignored this and mrs. blythe laughed again.
""dear miss cornelia, i have my hands full, have n't i?
-- with all these boys and girls sweethearting around me?
if i took it seriously it would quite crush me.
but i do n't -- it is too hard yet to realize that they're grown up.
when i look at those two tall sons of mine i wonder if they can possibly be the fat, sweet, dimpled babies i kissed and cuddled and sang to slumber the other day -- only the other day, miss cornelia.
was n't jem the dearest baby in the old house of dreams?
and now he's a b.a. and accused of courting."
""we're all growing older," sighed miss cornelia.
""the only part of me that feels old," said mrs. blythe, "is the ankle i broke when josie pye dared me to walk the barry ridge-pole in the green gables days.
i have an ache in it when the wind is east.
i wo n't admit that it is rheumatism, but it does ache.
as for the children, they and the merediths are planning a gay summer before they have to go back to studies in the fall.
they are such a fun-loving little crowd.
they keep this house in a perpetual whirl of merriment."
""is rilla going to queen's when shirley goes back?"
""it is n't decided yet.
i rather fancy not.
her father thinks she is not quite strong enough -- she has rather outgrown her strength -- she's really absurdly tall for a girl not yet fifteen.
i am not anxious to have her go -- why, it would be terrible not to have a single one of my babies home with me next winter.
susan and i would fall to fighting with each other to break the monotony."
susan smiled at this pleasantry.
the idea of her fighting with "mrs. dr. dear!"
""does rilla herself want to go?"
asked miss cornelia.
""no.
the truth is, rilla is the only one of my flock who is n't ambitious.
i really wish she had a little more ambition.
she has no serious ideals at all -- her sole aspiration seems to be to have a good time."
""and why should she not have it, mrs. dr. dear?"
cried susan, who could not bear to hear a single word against anyone of the ingleside folk, even from one of themselves.
""a young girl should have a good time, and that i will maintain.
there will be time enough for her to think of latin and greek."
""i should like to see a little sense of responsibility in her, susan.
and you know yourself that she is abominably vain."
""she has something to be vain about," retorted susan.
""she is the prettiest girl in glen st. mary.
do you think that all those over-harbour macallisters and crawfords and elliotts could scare up a skin like rilla's in four generations?
they could not.
no, mrs. dr. dear, i know my place but i can not allow you to run down rilla.
listen to this, mrs. marshall elliott."
susan had found a chance to get square with miss cornelia for her digs at the children's love affairs.
she read the item with gusto."
"miller douglas has decided not to go west.
he says old p.e.i. is good enough for him and he will continue to farm for his aunt, mrs. alec davis.""
susan looked keenly at miss cornelia.
""i have heard, mrs. marshall elliott, that miller is courting mary vance."
this shot pierced miss cornelia's armour.
her sonsy face flushed.
""i wo n't have miller douglas hanging round mary," she said crisply.
""he comes of a low family.
his father was a sort of outcast from the douglases -- they never really counted him in -- and his mother was one of those terrible dillons from the harbour head."
""i think i have heard, mrs. marshall elliott, that mary vance's own parents were not what you could call aristocratic."
""mary vance has had a good bringing up and she is a smart, clever, capable girl," retorted miss cornelia.
""she is not going to throw herself away on miller douglas, believe me!
she knows my opinion on the matter and mary has never disobeyed me yet."
""well, i do not think you need worry, mrs. marshall elliott, for mrs. alec davis is as much against it as you could be, and says no nephew of hers is ever going to marry a nameless nobody like mary vance."
susan returned to her mutton, feeling that she had got the best of it in this passage of arms, and read another "note.""
"we are pleased to hear that miss oliver has been engaged as teacher for another year.
miss oliver will spend her well-earned vacation at her home in lowbridge.""
""i'm so glad gertrude is going to stay," said mrs. blythe.
""we would miss her horribly.
and she has an excellent influence over rilla who worships her.
they are chums, in spite of the difference in their ages."
""i thought i heard she was going to be married?"
""i believe it was talked of but i understand it is postponed for a year."
""who is the young man?"
""robert grant.
he is a young lawyer in charlottetown.
i hope gertrude will be happy.
she has had a sad life, with much bitterness in it, and she feels things with a terrible keenness.
her first youth is gone and she is practically alone in the world.
this new love that has come into her life seems such a wonderful thing to her that i think she hardly dares believe in its permanence.
when her marriage had to be put off she was quite in despair -- though it certainly was n't mr. grant's fault.
there were complications in the settlement of his father's estate -- his father died last winter -- and he could not marry till the tangles were unravelled.
but i think gertrude felt it was a bad omen and that her happiness would somehow elude her yet."
""it does not do, mrs. dr. dear, to set your affections too much on a man," remarked susan solemnly.
""mr. grant is quite as much in love with gertrude as she is with him, susan.
it is not he whom she distrusts -- it is fate.
she has a little mystic streak in her -- i suppose some people would call her superstitious.
she has an odd belief in dreams and we have not been able to laugh it out of her.
i must own, too, that some of her dreams -- but there, it would not do to let gilbert hear me hinting such heresy.
what have you found of much interest, susan?"
susan had given an exclamation.
""listen to this, mrs. dr. dear.
"mrs. sophia crawford has given up her house at lowbridge and will make her home in future with her niece, mrs. albert crawford."
why that is my own cousin sophia, mrs. dr. dear.
we quarrelled when we were children over who should get a sunday-school card with the words "god is love," wreathed in rosebuds, on it, and have never spoken to each other since.
and now she is coming to live right across the road from us."
""you will have to make up the old quarrel, susan.
it will never do to be at outs with your neighbours."
""cousin sophia began the quarrel, so she can begin the making up also, mrs. dr. dear," said susan loftily.
""if she does i hope i am a good enough christian to meet her half-way.
she is not a cheerful person and has been a wet blanket all her life.
the last time i saw her, her face had a thousand wrinkles -- maybe more, maybe less -- from worrying and foreboding.
she howled dreadful at her first husband's funeral but she married again in less than a year.
the next note, i see, describes the special service in our church last sunday night and says the decorations were very beautiful."
""speaking of that reminds me that mr. pryor strongly disapproves of flowers in church," said miss cornelia.
""i always said there would be trouble when that man moved here from lowbridge.
he should never have been put in as elder -- it was a mistake and we shall live to rue it, believe me!
i have heard that he has said that if the girls continue to "mess up the pulpit with weeds" that he will not go to church."
""the church got on very well before old whiskers-on-the-moon came to the glen and it is my opinion it will get on without him after he is gone," said susan.
""who in the world ever gave him that ridiculous nickname?"
asked mrs. blythe.
""why, the lowbridge boys have called him that ever since i can remember, mrs. dr. dear -- i suppose because his face is so round and red, with that fringe of sandy whisker about it.
it does not do for anyone to call him that in his hearing, though, and that you may tie to.
but worse than his whiskers, mrs. dr. dear, he is a very unreasonable man and has a great many queer ideas.
he is an elder now and they say he is very religious; but i can well remember the time, mrs. dr. dear, twenty years ago, when he was caught pasturing his cow in the lowbridge graveyard.
yes, indeed, i have not forgotten that, and i always think of it when he is praying in meeting.
well, that is all the notes and there is not much else in the paper of any importance.
i never take much interest in foreign parts.
who is this archduke man who has been murdered?"
""what does it matter to us?"
asked miss cornelia, unaware of the hideous answer to her question which destiny was even then preparing.
""somebody is always murdering or being murdered in those balkan states.
it's their normal condition and i do n't really think that our papers ought to print such shocking things.
the enterprise is getting far too sensational with its big headlines.
well, i must be getting home.
no, anne dearie, it's no use asking me to stay to supper.
marshall has got to thinking that if i'm not home for a meal it's not worth eating -- just like a man.
so off i go.
merciful goodness, anne dearie, what is the matter with that cat?
is he having a fit?"
-- this, as doc suddenly bounded to the rug at miss cornelia's feet, laid back his ears, swore at her, and then disappeared with one fierce leap through the window.
""oh, no.
he's merely turning into mr. hyde -- which means that we shall have rain or high wind before morning.
doc is as good as a barometer."
""well, i am thankful he has gone on the rampage outside this time and not into my kitchen," said susan.
""and i am going out to see about supper.
with such a crowd as we have at ingleside now it behooves us to think about our meals betimes."
chapter ii dew of morning outside, the ingleside lawn was full of golden pools of sunshine and plots of alluring shadows.
rilla blythe was swinging in the hammock under the big scotch pine, gertrude oliver sat at its roots beside her, and walter was stretched at full length on the grass, lost in a romance of chivalry wherein old heroes and beauties of dead and gone centuries lived vividly again for him.
rilla was the "baby" of the blythe family and was in a chronic state of secret indignation because nobody believed she was grown up.
she was so nearly fifteen that she called herself that, and she was quite as tall as di and nan; also, she was nearly as pretty as susan believed her to be.
she had great, dreamy, hazel eyes, a milky skin dappled with little golden freckles, and delicately arched eyebrows, giving her a demure, questioning look which made people, especially lads in their teens, want to answer it.
her hair was ripely, ruddily brown and a little dent in her upper lip looked as if some good fairy had pressed it in with her finger at rilla's christening.
rilla, whose best friends could not deny her share of vanity, thought her face would do very well, but worried over her figure, and wished her mother could be prevailed upon to let her wear longer dresses.
she, who had been so plump and roly-poly in the old rainbow valley days, was incredibly slim now, in the arms-and-legs period.
jem and shirley harrowed her soul by calling her "spider."
yet she somehow escaped awkwardness.
there was something in her movements that made you think she never walked but always danced.
she had been much petted and was a wee bit spoiled, but still the general opinion was that rilla blythe was a very sweet girl, even if she were not so clever as nan and di.
miss oliver, who was going home that night for vacation, had boarded for a year at ingleside.
the blythes had taken her to please rilla who was fathoms deep in love with her teacher and was even willing to share her room, since no other was available.
gertrude oliver was twenty-eight and life had been a struggle for her.
she was a striking-looking girl, with rather sad, almond-shaped brown eyes, a clever, rather mocking mouth, and enormous masses of black hair twisted about her head.
she was not pretty but there was a certain charm of interest and mystery in her face, and rilla found her fascinating.
even her occasional moods of gloom and cynicism had allurement for rilla.
these moods came only when miss oliver was tired.
at all other times she was a stimulating companion, and the gay set at ingleside never remembered that she was so much older than themselves.
walter and rilla were her favourites and she was the confidante of the secret wishes and aspirations of both.
she knew that rilla longed to be "out" -- to go to parties as nan and di did, and to have dainty evening dresses and -- yes, there is no mincing matters -- beaux!
in the plural, at that!
as for walter, miss oliver knew that he had written a sequence of sonnets "to rosamond" -- i.e., faith meredith -- and that he aimed at a professorship of english literature in some big college.
she knew his passionate love of beauty and his equally passionate hatred of ugliness; she knew his strength and his weakness.
walter was, as ever, the handsomest of the ingleside boys.
miss oliver found pleasure in looking at him for his good looks -- he was so exactly like what she would have liked her own son to be.
glossy black hair, brilliant dark grey eyes, faultless features.
and a poet to his fingertips!
that sonnet sequence was really a remarkable thing for a lad of twenty to write.
miss oliver was no partial critic and she knew that walter blythe had a wonderful gift.
rilla loved walter with all her heart.
he never teased her as jem and shirley did.
he never called her "spider."
his pet name for her was "rilla-my-rilla" -- a little pun on her real name, marilla.
she had been named after aunt marilla of green gables, but aunt marilla had died before rilla was old enough to know her very well, and rilla detested the name as being horribly old-fashioned and prim.
why could n't they have called her by her first name, bertha, which was beautiful and dignified, instead of that silly "rilla"?
she did not mind walter's version, but nobody else was allowed to call her that, except miss oliver now and then.
""rilla-my-rilla" in walter's musical voice sounded very beautiful to her -- like the lilt and ripple of some silvery brook.
she would have died for walter if it would have done him any good, so she told miss oliver.
rilla was as fond of italics as most girls of fifteen are -- and the bitterest drop in her cup was her suspicion that he told di more of his secrets than he told her.
""he thinks i'm not grown up enough to understand," she had once lamented rebelliously to miss oliver, "but i am!
and i would never tell them to a single soul -- not even to you, miss oliver.
i tell you all my own -- i just could n't be happy if i had any secret from you, dearest -- but i would never betray his.
i tell him everything -- i even show him my diary.
and it hurts me dreadfully when he does n't tell me things.
he shows me all his poems, though -- they are marvellous, miss oliver.
oh, i just live in the hope that some day i shall be to walter what wordsworth's sister dorothy was to him.
wordsworth never wrote anything like walter's poems -- nor tennyson, either."
""i would n't say just that.
both of them wrote a great deal of trash," said miss oliver dryly.
then, repenting, as she saw a hurt look in rilla's eye, she added hastily, "but i believe walter will be a great poet, too -- some day -- and you will have more of his confidence as you grow older."
""when walter was in the hospital with typhoid last year i was almost crazy," sighed rilla, a little importantly.
""they never told me how ill he really was until it was all over -- father would n't let them.
i'm glad i did n't know -- i could n't have borne it.
i cried myself to sleep every night as it was.
but sometimes," concluded rilla bitterly -- she liked to speak bitterly now and then in imitation of miss oliver -- "sometimes i think walter cares more for dog monday than he does for me."
dog monday was the ingleside dog, so called because he had come into the family on a monday when walter had been reading robinson crusoe.
he really belonged to jem but was much attached to walter also.
he was lying beside walter now with nose snuggled against his arm, thumping his tail rapturously whenever walter gave him an absent pat.
monday was not a collie or a setter or a hound or a newfoundland.
he was just, as jem said, "plain dog" -- very plain dog, uncharitable people added.
certainly, monday's looks were not his strong point.
black spots were scattered at random over his yellow carcass, one of them, apparently, blotting out an eye.
his ears were in tatters, for monday was never successful in affairs of honour.
but he possessed one talisman.
he knew that not all dogs could be handsome or eloquent or victorious, but that every dog could love.
inside his homely hide beat the most affectionate, loyal, faithful heart of any dog since dogs were; and something looked out of his brown eyes that was nearer akin to a soul than any theologian would allow.
everybody at ingleside was fond of him, even susan, although his one unfortunate propensity of sneaking into the spare room and going to sleep on the bed tried her affection sorely.
on this particular afternoon rilla had no quarrel on hand with existing conditions.
""has n't june been a delightful month?"
she asked, looking dreamily afar at the little quiet silvery clouds hanging so peacefully over rainbow valley.
""we've had such lovely times -- and such lovely weather.
it has just been perfect every way."
""i do n't half like that," said miss oliver, with a sigh.
""it's ominous -- somehow.
a perfect thing is a gift of the gods -- a sort of compensation for what is coming afterwards.
i've seen that so often that i do n't care to hear people say they've had a perfect time.
june has been delightful, though."
""of course, it has n't been very exciting," said rilla.
""the only exciting thing that has happened in the glen for a year was old miss mead fainting in church.
sometimes i wish something dramatic would happen once in a while."
""do n't wish it.
dramatic things always have a bitterness for some one.
what a nice summer all you gay creatures will have!
and me moping at lowbridge!"
""you'll be over often, wo n't you?
i think there's going to be lots of fun this summer, though i'll just be on the fringe of things as usual, i suppose.
is n't it horrid when people think you're a little girl when you're not?"
""there's plenty of time for you to be grown up, rilla.
do n't wish your youth away.
it goes too quickly.
you'll begin to taste life soon enough."
""taste life!
i want to eat it," cried rilla, laughing.
""i want everything -- everything a girl can have.
i'll be fifteen in another month, and then nobody can say i'm a child any longer.
i heard someone say once that the years from fifteen to nineteen are the best years in a girl's life.
i'm going to make them perfectly splendid -- just fill them with fun."
""there's no use thinking about what you're going to do -- you are tolerably sure not to do it."
""oh, but you do get a lot of fun out of the thinking," cried rilla.
""you think of nothing but fun, you monkey," said miss oliver indulgently, reflecting that rilla's chin was really the last word in chins.
""well, what else is fifteen for?
but have you any notion of going to college this fall?"
""no -- nor any other fall.
i do n't want to.
i never cared for all those ologies and isms nan and di are so crazy about.
and there's five of us going to college already.
surely that's enough.
there's bound to be one dunce in every family.
i'm quite willing to be a dunce if i can be a pretty, popular, delightful one.
i ca n't be clever.
i have no talent at all, and you ca n't imagine how comfortable it is.
nobody expects me to do anything so i'm never pestered to do it.
and i ca n't be a housewifely, cookly creature, either.
i hate sewing and dusting, and when susan could n't teach me to make biscuits nobody could.
father says i toil not neither do i spin.
therefore, i must be a lily of the field," concluded rilla, with another laugh.
""you are too young to give up your studies altogether, rilla."
""oh, mother will put me through a course of reading next winter.
it will polish up her b.a. degree.
luckily i like reading.
do n't look at me so sorrowfully and so disapprovingly, dearest.
i ca n't be sober and serious -- everything looks so rosy and rainbowy to me.
next month i'll be fifteen -- and next year sixteen -- and the year after that seventeen.
could anything be more enchanting?"
""rap wood," said gertrude oliver, half laughingly, half seriously.
""rap wood, rilla-my-rilla."
chapter iii moonlit mirth rilla, who still buttoned up her eyes when she went to sleep so that she always looked as if she were laughing in her slumber, yawned, stretched, and smiled at gertrude oliver.
the latter had come over from lowbridge the previous evening and had been prevailed upon to remain for the dance at the four winds lighthouse the next night.
""the new day is knocking at the window.
what will it bring us, i wonder."
miss oliver shivered a little.
she never greeted the days with rilla's enthusiasm.
she had lived long enough to know that a day may bring a terrible thing.
""i think the nicest thing about days is their unexpectedness," went on rilla.
""it's jolly to wake up like this on a golden-fine morning and wonder what surprise packet the day will hand you.
i always day-dream for ten minutes before i get up, imagining the heaps of splendid things that may happen before night."
""i hope something very unexpected will happen today," said gertrude.
""i hope the mail will bring us news that war has been averted between germany and france."
""oh -- yes," said rilla vaguely.
""it will be dreadful if it is n't, i suppose.
but it wo n't really matter much to us, will it?
i think a war would e so exciting.
the boer war was, they say, but i do n't remember anything about it, of course.
miss oliver, shall i wear my white dress tonight or my new green one?
the green one is by far the prettier, of course, but i'm almost afraid to wear it to a shore dance for fear something will happen to it.
and will you do my hair the new way?
none of the other girls in the glen wear it yet and it will make such a sensation."
""how did you induce your mother to let you go to the dance?"
""oh, walter coaxed her over.
he knew i would be heart-broken if i did n't go.
it's my first really-truly grown-up party, miss oliver, and i've just lain awake at nights for a week thinking it over.
when i saw the sun shining this morning i wanted to whoop for joy.
it would be simply terrible if it rained tonight.
i think i'll wear the green dress and risk it.
i want to look my nicest at my first party.
besides, it's an inch longer than my white one.
and i'll wear my silver slippers too.
mrs. ford sent them to me last christmas and i've never had a chance to wear them yet.
they're the dearest things.
oh, miss oliver, i do hope some of the boys will ask me to dance.
i shall die of mortification -- truly i will, if nobody does and i have to sit stuck up against the wall all the evening.
of course carl and jerry ca n't dance because they're the minister's sons, or else i could depend on them to save me from utter disgrace."
""you'll have plenty of partners -- all the over-harbour boys are coming -- there'll be far more boys than girls."
""i'm glad i'm not a minister's daughter," laughed rilla.
""poor faith is so furious because she wo n't dare to dance tonight.
una does n't care, of course.
she has never hankered after dancing.
somebody told faith there would be a taffy-pull in the kitchen for those who did n't dance and you should have seen the face she made.
she and jem will sit out on the rocks most of the evening, i suppose.
did you know that we are all to walk down as far as that little creek below the old house of dreams and then sail to the lighthouse?
wo n't it just be absolutely divine?"
""when i was fifteen i talked in italics and superlatives too," said miss oliver sarcastically.
""i think the party promises to be pleasant for young fry.
i expect to be bored.
none of those boys will bother dancing with an old maid like me.
jem and walter will take me out once out of charity.
so you ca n't expect me to look forward to it with your touching young rapture."
""did n't you have a good time at your first party, though, miss oliver?"
""no.
i had a hateful time.
i was shabby and homely and nobody asked me to dance except one boy, homelier and shabbier than myself.
he was so awkward i hated him -- and even he did n't ask me again.
i had no real girlhood, rilla.
it's a sad loss.
that's why i want you to have a splendid, happy girlhood.
and i hope your first party will be one you'll remember all your life with pleasure."
""i dreamed last night i was at the dance and right in the middle of things i discovered i was dressed in my kimono and bedroom shoes," sighed rilla.
""i woke up with a gasp of horror."
""speaking of dreams -- i had an odd one," said miss oliver absently.
""it was one of those vivid dreams i sometimes have -- they are not the vague jumble of ordinary dreams -- they are as clear cut and real as life."
""what was your dream?"
""i was standing on the veranda steps, here at ingleside, looking down over the fields of the glen.
all at once, far in the distance, i saw a long, silvery, glistening wave breaking over them.
it came nearer and nearer -- just a succession of little white waves like those that break on the sandshore sometimes.
the glen was being swallowed up.
i thought, "surely the waves will not come near ingleside" -- but they came nearer and nearer -- so rapidly -- before i could move or call they were breaking right at my feet -- and everything was gone -- there was nothing but a waste of stormy water where the glen had been.
i tried to draw back -- and i saw that the edge of my dress was wet with blood -- and i woke -- shivering.
i do n't like the dream.
there was some sinister significance in it.
that kind of vivid dream always "comes true" with me."
""i hope it does n't mean there's a storm coming up from the east to spoil the party," murmured rilla.
""incorrigible fifteen!"
said miss oliver dryly.
""no, rilla-my-rilla, i do n't think there is any danger that it foretells anything so awful as that."
there had been an undercurrent of tension in the ingleside existence for several days.
only rilla, absorbed in her own budding life, was unaware of it.
dr. blythe had taken to looking grave and saying little over the daily paper.
jem and walter were keenly interested in the news it brought.
jem sought walter out in excitement that evening.
""oh, boy, germany has declared war on france.
this means that england will fight too, probably -- and if she does -- well, the piper of your old fancy will have come at last."
""it was n't a fancy," said walter slowly.
""it was a presentiment -- a vision -- jem, i really saw him for a moment that evening long ago.
suppose england does fight?"
""why, we'll all have to turn in and help her," cried jem gaily.
""we could n't let the "old grey mother of the northern sea" fight it out alone, could we?
but you ca n't go -- the typhoid has done you out of that.
sort of a shame, eh?"
walter did not say whether it was a shame or not.
he looked silently over the glen to the dimpling blue harbour beyond.
""we're the cubs -- we've got to pitch in tooth and claw if it comes to a family row," jem went on cheerfully, rumpling up his red curls with a strong, lean, sensitive brown hand -- the hand of the born surgeon, his father often thought.
""what an adventure it would be!
but i suppose grey or some of those wary old chaps will patch matters up at the eleventh hour.
it'll be a rotten shame if they leave france in the lurch, though.
if they do n't, we'll see some fun.
well, i suppose it's time to get ready for the spree at the light."
jem departed whistling "wi" a hundred pipers and a" and a"," and walter stood for a long time where he was.
there was a little frown on his forehead.
this had all come up with the blackness and suddenness of a thundercloud.
a few days ago nobody had even thought of such a thing.
it was absurd to think of it now.
some way out would be found.
war was a hellish, horrible, hideous thing -- too horrible and hideous to happen in the twentieth century between civilized nations.
the mere thought of it was hideous, and made walter unhappy in its threat to the beauty of life.
he would not think of it -- he would resolutely put it out of his mind.
how beautiful the old glen was, in its august ripeness, with its chain of bowery old homesteads, tilled meadows and quiet gardens.
the western sky was like a great golden pearl.
far down the harbour was frosted with a dawning moonlight.
the air was full of exquisite sounds -- sleepy robin whistles, wonderful, mournful, soft murmurs of wind in the twilit trees, rustle of aspen poplars talking in silvery whispers and shaking their dainty, heart-shaped leaves, lilting young laughter from the windows of rooms where the girls were making ready for the dance.
the world was steeped in maddening loveliness of sound and colour.
he would think only of these things and of the deep, subtle joy they gave him.
""anyhow, no one will expect me to go," he thought.
""as jem says, typhoid has seen to that."
rilla was leaning out of her room window, dressed for the dance.
a yellow pansy slipped from her hair and fell out over the sill like a falling star of gold.
she caught at it vainly -- but there were enough left.
miss oliver had woven a little wreath of them for her pet's hair.
""it's so beautifully calm -- is n't that splendid?
we'll have a perfect night.
listen, miss oliver -- i can hear those old bells in rainbow valley quite clearly.
they've been hanging there for over ten years."
""their wind chime always makes me think of the aerial, celestial music adam and eve heard in milton's eden," responded miss oliver.
""we used to have such fun in rainbow valley when we were children," said rilla dreamily.
nobody ever played in rainbow valley now.
it was very silent on summer evenings.
walter liked to go there to read.
jem and faith trysted there considerably; jerry and nan went there to pursue uninterruptedly the ceaseless wrangles and arguments on profound subjects that seemed to be their preferred method of sweethearting.
and rilla had a beloved little sylvan dell of her own there where she liked to sit and dream.
""i must run down to the kitchen before i go and show myself off to susan.
she would never forgive me if i did n't."
rilla whirled into the shadowy kitchen at ingleside, where susan was prosaically darning socks, and lighted it up with her beauty.
she wore her green dress with its little pink daisy garlands, her silk stockings and silver slippers.
she had golden pansies in her hair and at her creamy throat.
she was so pretty and young and glowing that even cousin sophia crawford was compelled to admire her -- and cousin sophia crawford admired few transient earthly things.
cousin sophia and susan had made up, or ignored, their old feud since the former had come to live in the glen, and cousin sophia often came across in the evenings to make a neighbourly call.
susan did not always welcome her rapturously for cousin sophia was not what could be called an exhilarating companion.
""some calls are visits and some are visitations, mrs. dr. dear," susan said once, and left it to be inferred that cousin sophia's were the latter.
cousin sophia had a long, pale, wrinkled face, a long, thin nose, a long, thin mouth, and very long, thin, pale hands, generally folded resignedly on her black calico lap.
everything about her seemed long and thin and pale.
she looked mournfully upon rilla blythe and said sadly, "is your hair all your own?"
""of course it is," cried rilla indignantly.
""ah, well!"
cousin sophia sighed.
""it might be better for you if it was n't!
such a lot of hair takes from a person's strength.
it's a sign of consumption, i've heard, but i hope it wo n't turn out like that in your case.
i s "pose you'll all be dancing tonight -- even the minister's boys most likely.
i s "pose his girls wo n't go that far.
ah, well, i never held with dancing.
i knew a girl once who dropped dead while she was dancing.
how any one could ever dance aga" after a judgment like that i can not comprehend."
""did she ever dance again?"
asked rilla pertly.
""i told you she dropped dead.
of course she never danced again, poor creature.
she was a kirke from lowbridge.
you ai n't a-going off like that with nothing on your bare neck, are you?"
""it's a hot evening," protested rilla.
""but i'll put on a scarf when we go on the water."
""i knew of a boat load of young folks who went sailing on that harbour forty years ago just such a night as this -- just exactly such a night as this," said cousin sophia lugubriously, "and they were upset and drowned -- every last one of them.
i hope nothing like that'll happen to you tonight.
do you ever try anything for the freckles?
i used to find plantain juice real good."
""you certainly should be a judge of freckles, cousin sophia," said susan, rushing to rilla's defence.
""you were more speckled than any toad when you was a girl.
rilla's only come in summer but yours stayed put, season in and season out; and you had not a ground colour like hers behind them neither.
you look real nice, rilla, and that way of fixing your hair is becoming.
but you are not going to walk to the harbour in those slippers, are you?"
""oh, no.
we'll all wear our old shoes to the harbour and carry our slippers.
do you like my dress, susan?"
""it minds me of a dress i wore when i was a girl," sighed cousin sophia before susan could reply.
""it was green with pink posies on it, too, and it was flounced from the waist to the hem.
we did n't wear the skimpy things girls wear nowadays.
ah me, times has changed and not for the better i'm afraid.
i tore a big hole in it that night and someone spilled a cup of tea all over it.
ruined it completely.
but i hope nothing will happen to your dress.
it orter to be a bit longer i'm thinking -- your legs are so terrible long and thin."
""mrs. dr. blythe does not approve of little girls dressing like grown-up ones," said susan stiffly, intending merely a snub to cousin sophia.
but rilla felt insulted.
a little girl indeed!
she whisked out of the kitchen in high dudgeon.
another time she would n't go down to show herself off to susan -- susan, who thought nobody was grown up until she was sixty!
and that horrid cousin sophia with her digs about freckles and legs!
what business had an old -- an old beanpole like that to talk of anybody else being long and thin?
rilla felt all her pleasure in herself and her evening clouded and spoiled.
the very teeth of her soul were set on edge and she could have sat down and cried.
but later on her spirits rose again when she found herself one of the gay crowd bound for the four winds light.
the blythes left ingleside to the melancholy music of howls from dog monday, who was locked up in the barn lest he make an uninvited guest at the light.
they picked up the merediths in the village, and others joined them as they walked down the old harbour road.
mary vance, resplendent in blue crepe, with lace overdress, came out of miss cornelia's gate and attached herself to rilla and miss oliver who were walking together and who did not welcome her over-warmly.
rilla was not very fond of mary vance.
she had never forgotten the humiliating day when mary had chased her through the village with a dried codfish.
mary vance, to tell the truth, was not exactly popular with any of her set.
still, they enjoyed her society -- she had such a biting tongue that it was stimulating.
""mary vance is a habit of ours -- we ca n't do without her even when we are furious with her," di blythe had once said.
most of the little crowd were paired off after a fashion.
jem walked with faith meredith, of course, and jerry meredith with nan blythe.
di and walter were together, deep in confidential conversation which rilla envied.
carl meredith was walking with miranda pryor, more to torment joe milgrave than for any other reason.
joe was known to have a strong hankering for the said miranda, which shyness prevented him from indulging on all occasions.
joe might summon enough courage to amble up beside miranda if the night were dark, but here, in this moonlit dusk, he simply could not do it.
so he trailed along after the procession and thought things not lawful to be uttered of carl meredith.
miranda was the daughter of whiskers-on-the-moon; she did not share her father's unpopularity but she was not much run after, being a pale, neutral little creature, somewhat addicted to nervous giggling.
she had silvery blonde hair and her eyes were big china blue orbs that looked as if she had been badly frightened when she was little and had never got over it.
she would much rather have walked with joe than with carl, with whom she did not feel in the least at home.
yet it was something of an honour, too, to have a college boy beside her, and a son of the manse at that.
shirley blythe was with una meredith and both were rather silent because such was their nature.
shirley was a lad of sixteen, sedate, sensible, thoughtful, full of a quiet humour.
he was susan's "little brown boy" yet, with his brown hair, brown eyes, and clear brown skin.
he liked to walk with una meredith because she never tried to make him talk or badgered him with chatter.
una was as sweet and shy as she had been in the rainbow valley days, and her large, dark-blue eyes were as dreamy and wistful.
she had a secret, carefully-hidden fancy for walter blythe that nobody but rilla ever suspected.
rilla sympathized with it and wished walter would return it.
she liked una better than faith, whose beauty and aplomb rather overshadowed other girls -- and rilla did not enjoy being overshadowed.
but just now she was very happy.
it was so delightful to be tripping with her friends down that dark, gleaming road sprinkled with its little spruces and firs, whose balsam made all the air resinous around them.
meadows of sunset afterlight were behind the westerning hills.
before them was the shining harbour.
a bell was ringing in the little church over-harbour and the lingering dream-notes died around the dim, amethystine points.
the gulf beyond was still silvery blue in the afterlight.
oh, it was all glorious -- the clear air with its salt tang, the balsam of the firs, the laughter of her friends.
rilla loved life -- its bloom and brilliance; she loved the ripple of music, the hum of merry conversation; she wanted to walk on forever over this road of silver and shadow.
it was her first party and she was going to have a splendid time.
there was nothing in the world to worry about -- not even freckles and over-long legs -- nothing except one little haunting fear that nobody would ask her to dance.
it was beautiful and satisfying just to be alive -- to be fifteen -- to be pretty.
rilla drew a long breath of rapture -- and caught it midway rather sharply.
jem was telling some story to faith -- something that had happened in the balkan war.
""the doctor lost both his legs -- they were smashed to pulp -- and he was left on the field to die.
and he crawled about from man to man, to all the wounded men round him, as long as he could, and did everything possible to relieve their sufferings -- never thinking of himself -- he was tying a bit of bandage round another man's leg when he went under.
they found them there, the doctor's dead hands still held the bandage tight, the bleeding was stopped and the other man's life was saved.
some hero, was n't he, faith?
i tell you when i read that --" jem and faith moved on out of hearing.
gertrude oliver suddenly shivered.
rilla pressed her arm sympathetically.
""was n't it dreadful, miss oliver?
i do n't know why jem tells such gruesome things at a time like this when we're all out for fun."
""do you think it dreadful, rilla?
i thought it wonderful -- beautiful.
such a story makes one ashamed of ever doubting human nature.
that man's action was godlike.
and how humanity responds to the ideal of self-sacrifice.
as for my shiver, i do n't know what caused it.
the evening is certainly warm enough.
perhaps someone is walking over the dark, starshiny spot that is to be my grave.
that is the explanation the old superstition would give.
well, i wo n't think of that on this lovely night.
do you know, rilla, that when night-time comes i'm always glad i live in the country.
we know the real charm of night here as town dwellers never do.
every night is beautiful in the country -- even the stormy ones.
i love a wild night storm on this old gulf shore.
as for a night like this, it is almost too beautiful -- it belongs to youth and dreamland and i'm half afraid of it."
""i feel as if i were part of it," said rilla.
""ah yes, you're young enough not to be afraid of perfect things.
well, here we are at the house of dreams.
it seems lonely this summer.
the fords did n't come?"
""mr. and mrs. ford and persis did n't.
kenneth did -- but he stayed with his mother's people over-harbour.
we have n't seen a great deal of him this summer.
he's a little lame, so did n't go about very much."
""lame?
what happened to him?"
""he broke his ankle in a football game last fall and was laid up most of the winter.
he has limped a little ever since but it is getting better all the time and he expects it will be all right before long.
he has been up to ingleside only twice."
""ethel reese is simply crazy about him," said mary vance.
""she has n't got the sense she was born with where he is concerned.
he walked home with her from the over-harbour church last prayer-meeting night and the airs she has put on since would really make you weary of life.
as if a toronto boy like ken ford would ever really think of a country girl like ethel!"
rilla flushed.
it did not matter to her if kenneth ford walked home with ethel reese a dozen times -- it did not!
nothing that he did mattered to her.
he was ages older than she was.
he chummed with nan and di and faith, and looked upon her, rilla, as a child whom he never noticed except to tease.
and she detested ethel reese and ethel reese hated her -- always had hated her since walter had pummelled dan so notoriously in rainbow valley days; but why need she be thought beneath kenneth ford's notice because she was a country girl, pray?
as for mary vance, she was getting to be an out-and-out gossip and thought of nothing but who walked home with people!
there was a little pier on the harbour shore below the house of dreams, and two boats were moored there.
one boat was skippered by jem blythe, the other by joe milgrave, who knew all about boats and was nothing loth to let miranda pryor see it.
they raced down the harbour and joe's boat won.
more boats were coming down from the harbour head and across the harbour from the western side.
everywhere there was laughter.
the big white tower on four winds point was overflowing with light, while its revolving beacon flashed overhead.
a family from charlottetown, relatives of the light's keeper, were summering at the light, and they were giving the party to which all the young people of four winds and glen st. mary and over-harbour had been invited.
as jem's boat swung in below the lighthouse rilla desperately snatched off her shoes and donned her silver slippers behind miss oliver's screening back.
a glance had told her that the rock-cut steps climbing up to the light were lined with boys, and lighted by chinese lanterns, and she was determined she would not walk up those steps in the heavy shoes her mother had insisted on her wearing for the road.
the slippers pinched abominably, but nobody would have suspected it as rilla tripped smilingly up the steps, her soft dark eyes glowing and questioning, her colour deepening richly on her round, creamy cheeks.
the very minute she reached the top of the steps an over-harbour boy asked her to dance and the next moment they were in the pavilion that had been built seaward of the lighthouse for dances.
it was a delightful spot, roofed over with fir-boughs and hung with lanterns.
beyond was the sea in a radiance that glowed and shimmered, to the left the moonlit crests and hollows of the sand-dunes, to the right the rocky shore with its inky shadows and its crystalline coves.
rilla and her partner swung in among the dancers; she drew a long breath of delight; what witching music ned burr of the upper glen was coaxing from his fiddle -- it was really like the magical pipes of the old tale which compelled all who heard them to dance.
how cool and fresh the gulf breeze blew; how white and wonderful the moonlight was over everything!
this was life -- enchanting life.
rilla felt as if her feet and her soul both had wings.
chapter iv the piper pipes rilla's first party was a triumph -- or so it seemed at first.
she had so many partners that she had to split her dances.
her silver slippers seemed verily to dance of themselves and though they continued to pinch her toes and blister her heels that did not interfere with her enjoyment in the least.
ethel reese gave her a bad ten minutes by beckoning her mysteriously out of the pavilion and whispering, with a reese-like smirk, that her dress gaped behind and that there was a stain on the flounce.
rilla rushed miserably to the room in the lighthouse which was fitted up for a temporary ladies" dressing-room, and discovered that the stain was merely a tiny grass smear and that the gap was equally tiny where a hook had pulled loose.
irene howard fastened it up for her and gave her some over-sweet, condescending compliments.
rilla felt flattered by irene's condescension.
she was an upper glen girl of nineteen who seemed to like the society of the younger girls -- spiteful friends said because she could queen it over them without rivalry.
but rilla thought irene quite wonderful and loved her for her patronage.
irene was pretty and stylish; she sang divinely and spent every winter in charlottetown taking music lessons.
she had an aunt in montreal who sent her wonderful things to wear; she was reported to have had a sad love affair -- nobody knew just what, but its very mystery allured.
rilla felt that irene's compliments crowned her evening.
she ran gaily back to the pavilion and lingered for a moment in the glow of the lanterns at the entrance looking at the dancers.
a momentary break in the whirling throng gave her a glimpse of kenneth ford standing at the other side.
rilla's heart skipped a beat -- or, if that be a physiological impossibility, she thought it did.
so he was here, after all.
she had concluded he was not coming -- not that it mattered in the least.
would he see her?
would he take any notice of her?
of course, he would n't ask her to dance -- that could n't be hoped for.
he thought her just a mere child.
he had called her "spider" not three weeks ago when he had been at ingleside one evening.
she had cried about it upstairs afterwards and hated him.
but her heart skipped a beat when she saw that he was edging his way round the side of the pavilion towards her.
was he coming to her -- was he?
-- was he?
-- yes, he was!
he was looking for her -- he was here beside her -- he was gazing down at her with something in his dark grey eyes that rilla had never seen in them.
oh, it was almost too much to bear!
and everything was going on as before -- the dancers were spinning round, the boys who could n't get partners were hanging about the pavilion, canoodling couples were sitting out on the rocks -- nobody seemed to realize what a stupendous thing had happened.
kenneth was a tall lad, very good looking, with a certain careless grace of bearing that somehow made all the other boys seem stiff and awkward by contrast.
he was reported to be awesomely clever, with the glamour of a far-away city and a big university hanging around him.
he had also the reputation of being a bit of a lady-killer.
but that probably accrued to him from his possession of a laughing, velvety voice which no girl could hear without a heartbeat, and a dangerous way of listening as if she were saying something that he had longed all his life to hear.
""is this rilla-my-rilla?"
he asked in a low tone.
""yeth," said rilla, and immediately wished she could throw herself headlong down the lighthouse rock or otherwise vanish from a jeering world.
rilla had lisped in early childhood; but she had grown out of it.
only on occasions of stress and strain did the tendency re-assert itself.
she had n't lisped for a year; and now at this very moment, when she was so especially desirous of appearing grown up and sophisticated, she must go and lisp like a baby!
it was too mortifying; she felt as if tears were going to come into her eyes; the next minute she would be -- blubbering -- yes, just blubbering -- she wished kenneth would go away -- she wished he had never come.
the party was spoiled.
everything had turned to dust and ashes.
and he had called her "rilla-my-rilla" -- not "spider" or "kid" or "puss," as he had been used to call her when he took any notice whatever of her.
she did not at all resent his using walter's pet name for her; it sounded beautifully in his low caressing tones, with just the faintest suggestion of emphasis on the "my."
it would have been so nice if she had not made a fool of herself.
she dared not look up lest she should see laughter in his eyes.
so she looked down; and as her lashes were very long and dark and her lids very thick and creamy, the effect was quite charming and provocative, and kenneth reflected that rilla blythe was going to be the beauty of the ingleside girls after all.
he wanted to make her look up -- to catch again that little, demure, questioning glance.
she was the prettiest thing at the party, there was no doubt of that.
what was he saying?
rilla could hardly believe her ears.
""can we have a dance?"
""yes," said rilla.
she said it with such a fierce determination not to lisp that she fairly blurted the word out.
then she writhed in spirit again.
it sounded so bold -- so eager -- as if she were fairly jumping at him!
what would he think of her?
oh, why did dreadful things like this happen, just when a girl wanted to appear at her best?
kenneth drew her in among the dancers.
""i think this game ankle of mine is good for one hop around, at least," he said.
""how is your ankle?"
said rilla.
oh, why could n't she think of something else to say?
she knew he was sick of inquiries about his ankle.
she had heard him say so at ingleside -- heard him tell di he was going to wear a placard on his breast announcing to all and sundry that the ankle was improving, etc..
and now she must go and ask this stale question again.
kenneth was tired of inquiries about his ankle.
but then he had not often been asked about it by lips with such an adorable kissable dent just above them.
perhaps that was why he answered very patiently that it was getting on well and did n't trouble him much, if he did n't walk or stand too long at a time.
""they tell me it will be as strong as ever in time, but i'll have to cut football out this fall."
they danced together and rilla knew every girl in sight envied her.
after the dance they went down the rock steps and kenneth found a little flat and they rowed across the moonlit channel to the sand-shore; they walked on the sand till kenneth's ankle made protest and then they sat down among the dunes.
kenneth talked to her as he had talked to nan and di.
rilla, overcome with a shyness she did not understand, could not talk much, and thought he would think her frightfully stupid; but in spite of this it was all very wonderful -- the exquisite moonlit night, the shining sea, the tiny little wavelets swishing on the sand, the cool and freakish wind of night crooning in the stiff grasses on the crest of the dunes, the music sounding faintly and sweetly over the channel.""
a merry lilt o" moonlight for mermaiden revelry,"" quoted kenneth softly from one of walter's poems.
and just he and she alone together in the glamour of sound and sight!
if only her slippers did n't bite so!
and if only she could talk cleverly like miss oliver -- nay, if she could only talk as she did herself to other boys!
but words would not come, she could only listen and murmur little commonplace sentences now and again.
but perhaps her dreamy eyes and her dented lip and her slender throat talked eloquently for her.
at any rate kenneth seemed in no hurry to suggest going back and when they did go back supper was in progress.
he found a seat for her near the window of the lighthouse kitchen and sat on the sill beside her while she ate her ices and cake.
rilla looked about her and thought how lovely her first party had been.
she would never forget it.
the room re-echoed to laughter and jest.
beautiful young eyes sparkled and shone.
from the pavilion outside came the lilt of the fiddle and the rhythmic steps of the dancers.
there was a little disturbance among a group of boys crowded about the door; a young fellow pushed through and halted on the threshold, looking about him rather sombrely.
it was jack elliott from over-harbour -- a mcgill medical student, a quiet chap not much addicted to social doings.
he had been invited to the party but had not been expected to come since he had to go to charlottetown that day and could not be back until late.
yet here he was -- and he carried a folded paper in his hand.
gertrude oliver looked at him from her corner and shivered again.
she had enjoyed the party herself, after all, for she had foregathered with a charlottetown acquaintance who, being a stranger and much older than most of the guests, felt himself rather out of it, and had been glad to fall in with this clever girl who could talk of world doings and outside events with the zest and vigour of a man.
in the pleasure of his society she had forgotten some of her misgivings of the day.
now they suddenly returned to her.
what news did jack elliott bring?
lines from an old poem flashed unbidden into her mind -- "there was a sound of revelry by night" -- "hush!
hark!
a deep sound strikes like a rising knell" -- why should she think of that now?
why did n't jack elliott speak -- if he had anything to tell?
why did he just stand there, glowering importantly?
""ask him -- ask him," she said feverishly to allan daly.
but somebody else had already asked him.
the room grew very silent all at once.
outside the fiddler had stopped for a rest and there was silence there too.
afar off they heard the low moan of the gulf -- the presage of a storm already on its way up the atlantic.
a girl's laugh drifted up from the rocks and died away as if frightened out of existence by the sudden stillness.
""england declared war on germany today," said jack elliott slowly.
""the news came by wire just as i left town."
""god help us," whispered gertrude oliver under her breath.
""my dream -- my dream!
the first wave has broken."
she looked at allan daly and tried to smile.
""is this armageddon?"
she asked.
""i am afraid so," he said gravely.
a chorus of exclamations had arisen round them -- light surprise and idle interest for the most part.
few there realized the import of the message -- fewer still realized that it meant anything to them.
before long the dancing was on again and the hum of pleasure was as loud as ever.
gertrude and allan daly talked the news over in low, troubled tones.
walter blythe had turned pale and left the room.
outside he met jem, hurrying up the rock steps.
""have you heard the news, jem?"
""yes.
the piper has come.
hurrah!
i knew england would n't leave france in the lurch.
i've been trying to get captain josiah to hoist the flag but he says it is n't the proper caper till sunrise.
jack says they'll be calling for volunteers tomorrow."
""what a fuss to make over nothing," said mary vance disdainfully as jem dashed off.
she was sitting out with miller douglas on a lobster trap which was not only an unromantic but an uncomfortable seat.
but mary and miller were both supremely happy on it.
miller douglas was a big, strapping, uncouth lad, who thought mary vance's tongue uncommonly gifted and mary vance's white eyes stars of the first magnitude; and neither of them had the least inkling why jem blythe wanted to hoist the lighthouse flag.
""what does it matter if there's going to be a war over there in europe?
i'm sure it does n't concern us."
walter looked at her and had one of his odd visitations of prophecy.
""before this war is over," he said -- or something said through his lips -- "every man and woman and child in canada will feel it -- you, mary, will feel it -- feel it to your heart's core.
you will weep tears of blood over it.
the piper has come -- and he will pipe until every corner of the world has heard his awful and irresistible music.
it will be years before the dance of death is over -- years, mary.
and in those years millions of hearts will break."
""fancy now!"
said mary who always said that when she could n't think of anything else to say.
she did n't know what walter meant but she felt uncomfortable.
walter blythe was always saying odd things.
that old piper of his -- she had n't heard anything about him since their playdays in rainbow valley -- and now here he was bobbing up again.
she did n't like it, and that was the long and short of it.
""are n't you painting it rather strong, walter?"
asked harvey crawford, coming up just then.
""this war wo n't last for years -- it'll be over in a month or two.
england will just wipe germany off the map in no time."
""do you think a war for which germany has been preparing for twenty years will be over in a few weeks?"
said walter passionately.
""this is n't a paltry struggle in a balkan corner, harvey.
it is a death grapple.
germany comes to conquer or to die.
and do you know what will happen if she conquers?
canada will be a german colony."
""well, i guess a few things will happen before that," said harvey shrugging his shoulders.
""the british navy would have to be licked for one; and for another, miller here, now, and i, we'd raise a dust, would n't we, miller?
no germans need apply for this old country, eh?"
harvey ran down the steps laughing.
""i declare, i think all you boys talk the craziest stuff," said mary vance in disgust.
she got up and dragged miller off to the rock-shore.
it did n't happen often that they had a chance for a talk together; mary was determined that this one should n't be spoiled by walter blythe's silly blather about pipers and germans and such like absurd things.
they left walter standing alone on the rock steps, looking out over the beauty of four winds with brooding eyes that saw it not.
the best of the evening was over for rilla, too.
ever since jack elliott's announcement, she had sensed that kenneth was no longer thinking about her.
she felt suddenly lonely and unhappy.
it was worse than if he had never noticed her at all.
was life like this -- something delightful happening and then, just as you were revelling in it, slipping away from you?
rilla told herself pathetically that she felt years older than when she had left home that evening.
perhaps she did -- perhaps she was.
who knows?
it does not do to laugh at the pangs of youth.
they are very terrible because youth has not yet learned that "this, too, will pass away."
rilla sighed and wished she were home, in bed, crying into her pillow.
""tired?"
said kenneth, gently but absently -- oh, so absently.
he really did n't care a bit whether she were tired or not, she thought.
""kenneth," she ventured timidly, "you do n't think this war will matter much to us in canada, do you?"
""matter?
of course it will matter to the lucky fellows who will be able to take a hand.
i wo n't -- thanks to this confounded ankle.
rotten luck, i call it."
""i do n't see why we should fight england's battles," cried rilla.
""she's quite able to fight them herself."
""that is n't the point.
we are part of the british empire.
it's a family affair.
we've got to stand by each other.
the worst of it is, it will be over before i can be of any use."
""do you mean that you would really volunteer to go if it was n't for your ankle?
asked rilla incredulously.
""sure i would.
you see they'll go by thousands.
jem'll be off, i'll bet a cent -- walter wo n't be strong enough yet, i suppose.
and jerry meredith -- he'll go!
and i was worrying about being out of football this year!"
rilla was too startled to say anything.
jem -- and jerry!
nonsense!
why father and mr. meredith would n't allow it.
they were n't through college.
oh, why had n't jack elliott kept his horrid news to himself?
mark warren came up and asked her to dance.
rilla went, knowing kenneth did n't care whether she went or stayed.
an hour ago on the sand-shore he had been looking at her as if she were the only being of any importance in the world.
and now she was nobody.
his thoughts were full of this great game which was to be played out on bloodstained fields with empires for stakes -- a game in which womenkind could have no part.
women, thought rilla miserably, just had to sit and cry at home.
but all this was foolishness.
kenneth could n't go -- he admitted that himself -- and walter could n't -- thank goodness for that -- and jem and jerry would have more sense.
she would n't worry -- she would enjoy herself.
but how awkward mark warren was!
how he bungled his steps!
why, for mercy's sake, did boys try to dance who did n't know the first thing about dancing; and who had feet as big as boats?
there, he had bumped her into somebody!
she would never dance with him again!
she danced with others, though the zest was gone out of the performance and she had begun to realize that her slippers hurt her badly.
kenneth seemed to have gone -- at least nothing was to be seen of him.
her first party was spoiled, though it had seemed so beautiful at one time.
her head ached -- her toes burned.
and worse was yet to come.
she had gone down with some over-harbour friends to the rock-shore where they all lingered as dance after dance went on above them.
it was cool and pleasant and they were tired.
rilla sat silent, taking no part in the gay conversation.
she was glad when someone called down that the over-harbour boats were leaving.
a laughing scramble up the lighthouse rock followed.
a few couples still whirled about in the pavilion but the crowd had thinned out.
rilla looked about her for the glen group.
she could not see one of them.
she ran into the lighthouse.
still, no sign of anybody.
in dismay she ran to the rock steps, down which the over-harbour guests were hurrying.
she could see the boats below -- where was jem's -- where was joe's?
""why, rilla blythe, i thought you'd be gone home long ago," said mary vance, who was waving her scarf at a boat skimming up the channel, skippered by miller douglas.
""where are the rest?"
gasped rilla.
""why, they're gone -- jem went an hour ago -- una had a headache.
and the rest went with joe about fifteen minutes ago.
see -- they're just going around birch point.
i did n't go because it's getting rough and i knew i'd be seasick.
i do n't mind walking home from here.
it's only a mile and a half.
i s "posed you'd gone.
where were you?"
""down on the rocks with jem and mollie crawford.
oh, why did n't they look for me?"
""they did -- but you could n't be found.
then they concluded you must have gone in the other boat.
do n't worry.
you can stay all night with me and we'll "phone up to ingleside where you are."
rilla realized that there was nothing else to do.
her lips trembled and tears came into her eyes.
she blinked savagely -- she would not let mary vance see her crying.
but to be forgotten like this!
to think nobody had thought it worth while to make sure where she was -- not even walter.
then she had a sudden dismayed recollection.
""my shoes," she exclaimed.
""i left them in the boat."
""well, i never," said mary.
""you're the most thoughtless kid i ever saw.
you'll have to ask hazel lewison to lend you a pair of shoes."
""i wo n't."
cried rilla, who did n't like the said hazel.
""i'll go barefoot first."
mary shrugged her shoulders.
""just as you like.
pride must suffer pain.
it'll teach you to be more careful.
well, let's hike."
accordingly they hiked.
but to "hike" along a deep-rutted, pebbly lane in frail, silver-hued slippers with high french heels, is not an exhilarating performance.
rilla managed to limp and totter along until they reached the harbour road; but she could go no farther in those detestable slippers.
she took them and her dear silk stockings off and started barefoot.
that was not pleasant either; her feet were very tender and the pebbles and ruts of the road hurt them.
her blistered heels smarted.
but physical pain was almost forgotten in the sting of humiliation.
this was a nice predicament!
if kenneth ford could see her now, limping along like a little girl with a stone bruise!
oh, what a horrid way for her lovely party to end!
she just had to cry -- it was too terrible.
nobody cared for her -- nobody bothered about her at all.
well, if she caught cold from walking home barefoot on a dew-wet road and went into a decline perhaps they would be sorry.
she furtively wiped her tears away with her scarf -- handkerchiefs seemed to have vanished like shoes!
-- but she could not help sniffling.
worse and worse!
""you've got a cold, i see," said mary.
""you ought to have known you would, sitting down in the wind on those rocks.
your mother wo n't let you go out again in a hurry i can tell you.
it's certainly been something of a party.
the lewisons know how to do things, i'll say that for them, though hazel lewison is no choice of mine.
my, how black she looked when she saw you dancing with ken ford.
and so did that little hussy of an ethel reese.
what a flirt he is!"
""i do n't think he's a flirt," said rilla as defiantly as two desperate sniffs would let her.
""you'll know more about men when you're as old as i am," said mary patronizingly.
""mind you, it does n't do to believe all they tell you.
do n't let ken ford think that all he has to do to get you on a string is to drop his handkerchief.
have more spirit than that, child."
to be thus hectored and patronized by mary vance was unendurable!
and it was unendurable to walk on stony roads with blistered heels and bare feet!
and it was unendurable to be crying and have no handkerchief and not to be able to stop crying!
""i'm not thinking" -- sniff -- "about kenneth" -- sniff -- "ford" -- two sniffs -- "at all," cried tortured rilla.
""there's no need to fly off the handle, child.
you ought to be willing to take advice from older people.
i saw how you slipped over to the sands with ken and stayed there ever so long with him.
your mother would n't like it if she knew."
""i'll tell my mother all about it -- and miss oliver -- and walter," rilla gasped between sniffs.
""you sat for hours with miller douglas on that lobster trap, mary vance!
what would mrs. elliott say to that if she knew?"
""oh, i'm not going to quarrel with you," said mary, suddenly retreating to high and lofty ground.
""all i say is, you should wait until you're grown-up before you do things like that."
rilla gave up trying to hide the fact that she was crying.
everything was spoiled -- even that beautiful, dreamy, romantic, moonlit hour with kenneth on the sands was vulgarized and cheapened.
she loathed mary vance.
""why, whatever's wrong?"
cried mystified mary.
""what are you crying for?"
""my feet -- hurt so --" sobbed rilla clinging to the last shred of her pride.
it was less humiliating to admit crying because of your feet than because -- because somebody had been amusing himself with you, and your friends had forgotten you, and other people patronized you.
""i daresay they do," said mary, not unkindly.
""never mind.
i know where there's a pot of goose-grease in cornelia's tidy pantry and it beats all the fancy cold creams in the world.
i'll put some on your heels before you go to bed."
goose-grease on your heels!
so this was what your first party and your first beau and your first moonlit romance ended in!
rilla gave over crying in sheer disgust at the futility of tears and went to sleep in mary vance's bed in the calm of despair.
outside, the dawn came greyly in on wings of storm; captain josiah, true to his word, ran up the union jack at the four winds light and it streamed on the fierce wind against the clouded sky like a gallant unquenchable beacon.
chapter v "the sound of a going" rilla ran down through the sunlit glory of the maple grove behind ingleside, to her favourite nook in rainbow valley.
she sat down on a green-mossed stone among the fern, propped her chin on her hands and stared unseeingly at the dazzling blue sky of the august afternoon -- so blue, so peaceful, so unchanged, just as it had arched over the valley in the mellow days of late summer ever since she could remember.
she wanted to be alone -- to think things out -- to adjust herself, if it were possible, to the new world into which she seemed to have been transplanted with a suddenness and completeness that left her half bewildered as to her own identity.
was she -- could she be -- the same rilla blythe who had danced at four winds light six days ago -- only six days ago?
it seemed to rilla that she had lived as much in those six days as in all her previous life -- and if it be true that we should count time by heart-throbs she had.
that evening, with its hopes and fears and triumphs and humiliations, seemed like ancient history now.
could she really ever have cried just because she had been forgotten and had to walk home with mary vance?
ah, thought rilla sadly, how trivial and absurd such a cause of tears now appeared to her.
she could cry now with a right good will -- but she would not -- she must not.
what was it mother had said, looking, with her white lips and stricken eyes, as rilla had never seen her mother look before, "when our women fail in courage, shall our men be fearless still?"
yes, that was it.
she must be brave -- like mother -- and nan -- and faith -- faith, who had cried with flashing eyes, "oh, if i were only a man, to go too!"
only, when her eyes ached and her throat burned like this she had to hide herself in rainbow valley for a little, just to think things out and remember that she was n't a child any longer -- she was grown-up and women had to face things like this.
but it was -- nice -- to get away alone now and then, where nobody could see her and where she need n't feel that people thought her a little coward if some tears came in spite of her.
how sweet and woodsey the ferns smelled!
how softly the great feathery boughs of the firs waved and murmured over her!
how elfinly rang the bells of the "tree lovers" -- just a tinkle now and then as the breeze swept by!
how purple and elusive the haze where incense was being offered on many an altar of the hills!
how the maple leaves whitened in the wind until the grove seemed covered with pale silvery blossoms!
everything was just the same as she had seen it hundreds of times; and yet the whole face of the world seemed changed.
""how wicked i was to wish that something dramatic would happen!"
she thought.
""oh, if we could only have those dear, monotonous, pleasant days back again!
i would never, never grumble about them again."
rilla's world had tumbled to pieces the very day after the party.
as they lingered around the dinner table at ingleside, talking of the war, the telephone had rung.
it was a long-distance call from charlottetown for jem.
when he had finished talking he hung up the receiver and turned around, with a flushed face and glowing eyes.
before he had said a word his mother and nan and di had turned pale.
as for rilla, for the first time in her life she felt that every one must hear her heart beating and that something had clutched at her throat.
""they are calling for volunteers in town, father," said jem.
""scores have joined up already.
i'm going in tonight to enlist."
""oh -- little jem," cried mrs. blythe brokenly.
she had not called him that for many years -- not since the day he had rebelled against it.
""oh -- no -- no -- little jem."
""i must, mother.
i'm right -- am i not, father?"
said jem.
dr. blythe had risen.
he was very pale, too, and his voice was husky.
but he did not hesitate.
""yes, jem, yes -- if you feel that way, yes --" mrs. blythe covered her face.
walter stared moodily at his plate.
nan and di clasped each others" hands.
shirley tried to look unconcerned.
susan sat as if paralysed, her piece of pie half-eaten on her plate.
susan never did finish that piece of pie -- a fact which bore eloquent testimony to the upheaval in her inner woman for susan considered it a cardinal offence against civilized society to begin to eat anything and not finish it.
that was wilful waste, hens to the contrary notwithstanding.
jem turned to the phone again.
""i must ring the manse.
jerry will want to go, too."
at this nan had cried out "oh!"
as if a knife had been thrust into her, and rushed from the room.
di followed her.
rilla turned to walter for comfort but walter was lost to her in some reverie she could not share.
""all right," jem was saying, as coolly as if he were arranging the details of a picnic.
""i thought you would -- yes, tonight -- the seven o'clock -- meet me at the station.
so long."
""mrs. dr. dear," said susan.
""i wish you would wake me up.
am i dreaming -- or am i awake?
does that blessed boy realize what he is saying?
does he mean that he is going to enlist as a soldier?
you do not mean to tell me that they want children like him!
it is an outrage.
surely you and the doctor will not permit it."
""we ca n't stop him," said mrs. blythe, chokingly.
""oh, gilbert!"
dr. blythe came up behind his wife and took her hand gently, looking down into the sweet grey eyes that he had only once before seen filled with such imploring anguish as now.
they both thought of that other time -- the day years ago in the house of dreams when little joyce had died.
""would you have him stay, anne -- when the others are going -- when he thinks it his duty -- would you have him so selfish and small-souled?"
""no -- no!
but -- oh -- our first-born son -- he's only a lad -- gilbert -- i'll try to be brave after a while -- just now i ca n't.
it's all come so suddenly.
give me time."
the doctor and his wife went out of the room.
jem had gone -- walter had gone -- shirley got up to go.
rilla and susan remained staring at each other across the deserted table.
rilla had not yet cried -- she was too stunned for tears.
then she saw that susan was crying -- susan, whom she had never seen shed a tear before.
""oh, susan, will he really go?"
she asked.
""it -- it -- it is just ridiculous, that is what it is," said susan.
she wiped away her tears, gulped resolutely and got up.
""i am going to wash the dishes.
that has to be done, even if everybody has gone crazy.
there now, dearie, do not you cry.
jem will go, most likely -- but the war will be over long before he gets anywhere near it.
let us take a brace and not worry your poor mother."
""in the enterprise today it was reported that lord kitchener says the war will last three years," said rilla dubiously.
""i am not acquainted with lord kitchener," said susan, composedly, "but i dare say he makes mistakes as often as other people.
your father says it will be over in a few months and i have as much faith in his opinion as i have in lord anybody's.
so just let us be calm and trust in the almighty and get this place tidied up.
i am done with crying which is a waste of time and discourages everybody."
jem and jerry went to charlottetown that night and two days later they came back in khaki.
the glen hummed with excitement over it.
life at ingleside had suddenly become a tense, strained, thrilling thing.
mrs. blythe and nan were brave and smiling and wonderful.
already mrs. blythe and miss cornelia were organizing a red cross.
the doctor and mr. meredith were rounding up the men for a patriotic society.
rilla, after the first shock, reacted to the romance of it all, in spite of her heartache.
jem certainly looked magnificent in his uniform.
it was splendid to think of the lads of canada answering so speedily and fearlessly and uncalculatingly to the call of their country.
rilla carried her head high among the girls whose brothers had not so responded.
in her diary she wrote: "he goes to do what i had done had douglas's daughter been his son," and was sure she meant it.
if she were a boy of course she would go, too!
she had n't the least doubt of that.
she wondered if it was very dreadful of her to feel glad that walter had n't got strong as soon as they had wished after the fever.
""i could n't bear to have walter go," she wrote.
""i love jem ever so much but walter means more to me than anyone in the world and i would die if he had to go.
he seems so changed these days.
he hardly ever talks to me.
i suppose he wants to go, too, and feels badly because he ca n't.
he does n't go about with jem and jerry at all.
i shall never forget susan's face when jem came home in his khaki.
it worked and twisted as if she were going to cry, but all she said was, "you look almost like a man in that, jem."
jem laughed.
he never minds because susan thinks him just a child still.
everybody seems busy but me.
i wish there was something i could do but there does n't seem to be anything.
mother and nan and di are busy all the time and i just wander about like a lonely ghost.
what hurts me terribly, though, is that mother's smiles, and nan's, just seem put on from the outside.
mother's eyes never laugh now.
it makes me feel that i should n't laugh either -- that it's wicked to feel laughy.
and it's so hard for me to keep from laughing, even if jem is going to be a soldier.
but when i laugh i do n't enjoy it either, as i used to do.
there's something behind it all that keeps hurting me -- especially when i wake up in the night.
then i cry because i am afraid that kitchener of khartoum is right and the war will last for years and jem may be -- but no, i wo n't write it.
it would make me feel as if it were really going to happen.
the other day nan said, "nothing can ever be quite the same for any of us again."
it made me feel rebellious.
why should n't things be the same again -- when everything is over and jem and jerry are back?
we'll all be happy and jolly again and these days will seem just like a bad dream.
""the coming of the mail is the most exciting event of every day now.
father just snatches the paper -- i never saw father snatch before -- and the rest of us crowd round and look at the headlines over his shoulder.
susan vows she does not and will not believe a word the papers say but she always comes to the kitchen door, and listens and then goes back, shaking her head.
she is terribly indignant all the time, but she cooks up all the things jem likes especially, and she did not make a single bit of fuss when she found monday asleep on the spare-room bed yesterday right on top of mrs. rachel lynde's apple-leaf spread.
"the almighty only knows where your master will be having to sleep before long, you poor dumb beast," she said as she put him quite gently out.
but she never relents towards doc.
she says the minute he saw jem in khaki he turned into mr. hyde then and there and she thinks that ought to be proof enough of what he really is.
susan is funny, but she is an old dear.
shirley says she is one half angel and the other half good cook.
but then shirley is the only one of us she never scolds.
""faith meredith is wonderful.
i think she and jem are really engaged now.
she goes about with a shining light in her eyes, but her smiles are a little stiff and starched, just like mother's.
i wonder if i could be as brave as she is if i had a lover and he was going to the war.
it is bad enough when it is your brother.
bruce meredith cried all night, mrs. meredith says, when he heard jem and jerry were going.
and he wanted to know if the" k of k." his father talked about was the king of kings.
he is the dearest kiddy.
i just love him -- though i do n't really care much for children.
i do n't like babies one bit -- though when i say so people look at me as if i had said something perfectly shocking.
well, i do n't, and i've got to be honest about it.
i do n't mind looking at a nice clean baby if somebody else holds it -- but i would n't touch it for anything and i do n't feel a single real spark of interest in it.
gertrude oliver says she just feels the same.
-lrb- she is the most honest person i know.
she never pretends anything. -rrb-
she says babies bore her until they are old enough to talk and then she likes them -- but still a good ways off.
mother and nan and di all adore babies and seem to think i'm unnatural because i do n't.
""i have n't seen kenneth since the night of the party.
he was here one evening after jem came back but i happened to be away.
i do n't think he mentioned me at all -- at least nobody told me he did and i was determined i would n't ask -- but i do n't care in the least.
all that matters absolutely nothing to me now.
the only thing that does matter is that jem has volunteered for active service and will be going to valcartier in a few more days -- my big, splendid brother jem.
oh, i'm so proud of him!
""i suppose kenneth would enlist too if it were n't for his ankle.
i think that is quite providential.
he is his mother's only son and how dreadful she would feel if he went.
only sons should never think of going!"
walter came wandering through the valley as rilla sat there, with his head bent and his hands clasped behind him.
when he saw rilla he turned abruptly away; then as abruptly he turned and came back to her.
""rilla-my-rilla, what are you thinking of?"
""everything is so changed, walter," said rilla wistfully.
""even you -- you're changed.
a week ago we were all so happy -- and -- and -- now i just ca n't find myself at all.
i'm lost."
walter sat down on a neighbouring stone and took rilla's little appealing hand.
""i'm afraid our old world has come to an end, rilla.
we've got to face that fact."
""it's so terrible to think of jem," pleaded rilla.
""sometimes i forget for a little while what it really means and feel excited and proud -- and then it comes over me again like a cold wind."
""i envy jem!"
said walter moodily.
""envy jem!
oh, walter you -- you do n't want to go too."
""no," said walter, gazing straight before him down the emerald vistas of the valley, "no, i do n't want to go.
that's just the trouble.
rilla, i'm afraid to go.
i'm a coward."
""you're not!"
rilla burst out angrily.
""why, anybody would be afraid to go.
you might be -- why, you might be killed."
""i would n't mind that if it did n't hurt," muttered walter.
""i do n't think i'm afraid of death itself -- it's of the pain that might come before death -- it would n't be so bad to die and have it over -- but to keep on dying!
rilla, i've always been afraid of pain -- you know that.
i ca n't help it -- i shudder when i think of the possibility of being mangled or -- or blinded.
rilla, i can not face that thought.
to be blind -- never to see the beauty of the world again -- moonlight on four winds -- the stars twinkling through the fir-trees -- mist on the gulf.
i ought to go -- i ought to want to go -- but i do n't -- i hate the thought of it -- i'm ashamed -- ashamed."
""but, walter, you could n't go anyhow," said rilla piteously.
she was sick with a new terror that walter would go after all.
""you're not strong enough."
""i am.
i've felt as fit as ever i did this last month.
i'd pass any examination -- i know it.
everybody thinks i'm not strong yet -- and i'm skulking behind that belief.
i -- i should have been a girl," walter concluded in a burst of passionate bitterness.
""even if you were strong enough, you ought n't to go," sobbed rilla.
""what would mother do?
she's breaking her heart over jem.
it would kill her to see you both go."
""oh, i'm not going -- do n't worry.
i tell you i'm afraid to go -- afraid.
i do n't mince the matter to myself.
it's a relief to own up even to you, rilla.
i would n't confess it to anybody else -- nan and di would despise me.
but i hate the whole thing -- the horror, the pain, the ugliness.
war is n't a khaki uniform or a drill parade -- everything i've read in old histories haunts me.
i lie awake at night and see things that have happened -- see the blood and filth and misery of it all.
and a bayonet charge!
if i could face the other things i could never face that.
it turns me sick to think of it -- sicker even to think of giving it than receiving it -- to think of thrusting a bayonet through another man."
walter writhed and shuddered.
""i think of these things all the time -- and it does n't seem to me that jem and jerry ever think of them.
they laugh and talk about "potting huns"!
but it maddens me to see them in the khaki.
and they think i'm grumpy because i'm not fit to go."
walter laughed bitterly.
""it is not a nice thing to feel yourself a coward."
but rilla got her arms about him and cuddled her head on his shoulder.
she was so glad he did n't want to go -- for just one minute she had been horribly frightened.
and it was so nice to have walter confiding his troubles to her -- to her, not di.
she did n't feel so lonely and superfluous any longer.
""do n't you despise me, rilla-my-rilla?"
asked walter wistfully.
somehow, it hurt him to think rilla might despise him -- hurt him as much as if it had been di.
he realized suddenly how very fond he was of this adoring kid sister with her appealing eyes and troubled, girlish face.
""no, i do n't.
why, walter, hundreds of people feel just as you do.
you know what that verse of shakespeare in the old fifth reader says -- "the brave man is not he who feels no fear.""
""no -- but it is "he whose noble soul its fear subdues."
i do n't do that.
we ca n't gloss it over, rilla.
i'm a coward."
""you're not.
think of how you fought dan reese long ago."
""one spurt of courage is n't enough for a lifetime."
""walter, one time i heard father say that the trouble with you was a sensitive nature and a vivid imagination.
you feel things before they really come -- feel them all alone when there is n't anything to help you bear them -- to take away from them.
it is n't anything to be ashamed of.
when you and jem got your hands burned when the grass was fired on the sand-hills two years ago jem made twice the fuss over the pain that you did.
as for this horrid old war, there'll be plenty to go without you.
it wo n't last long."
""i wish i could believe it.
well, it's supper-time, rilla.
you'd better run.
i do n't want anything."
""neither do i. i could n't eat a mouthful.
let me stay here with you, walter.
it's such a comfort to talk things over with someone.
the rest all think that i'm too much of a baby to understand."
so they two sat there in the old valley until the evening star shone through a pale-grey, gauzy cloud over the maple grove, and a fragrant dewy darkness filled their little sylvan dell.
it was one of the evenings rilla was to treasure in remembrance all her life -- the first one on which walter had ever talked to her as if she were a woman and not a child.
they comforted and strengthened each other.
walter felt, for the time being at least, that it was not such a despicable thing after all to dread the horror of war; and rilla was glad to be made the confidante of his struggles -- to sympathize with and encourage him.
she was of importance to somebody.
when they went back to ingleside they found callers sitting on the veranda.
mr. and mrs. meredith had come over from the manse, and mr. and mrs. norman douglas had come up from the farm.
cousin sophia was there also, sitting with susan in the shadowy background.
mrs. blythe and nan and di were away, but dr. blythe was home and so was dr. jekyll, sitting in golden majesty on the top step.
and of course they were all talking of the war, except dr. jekyll who kept his own counsel and looked contempt as only a cat can.
when two people foregathered in those days they talked of the war; and old highland sandy of the harbour head talked of it when he was alone and hurled anathemas at the kaiser across all the acres of his farm.
walter slipped away, not caring to see or be seen, but rilla sat down on the steps, where the garden mint was dewy and pungent.
it was a very calm evening with a dim, golden afterlight irradiating the glen.
she felt happier than at any time in the dreadful week that had passed.
she was no longer haunted by the fear that walter would go.
""i'd go myself if i was twenty years younger," norman douglas was shouting.
norman always shouted when he was excited.
""i'd show the kaiser a thing or two!
did i ever say there was n't a hell?
of course there's a hell -- dozens of hells -- hundreds of hells -- where the kaiser and all his brood are bound for."
""i knew this war was coming," said mrs. norman triumphantly.
""i saw it coming right along.
i could have told all those stupid englishmen what was ahead of them.
i told you, john meredith, years ago what the kaiser was up to but you would n't believe it.
you said he would never plunge the world in war.
who was right about the kaiser, john?
you -- or i?
tell me that."
""you were, i admit," said mr. meredith.
""it's too late to admit it now," said mrs. norman, shaking her head, as if to intimate that if john meredith had admitted it sooner there might have been no war.
""thank god, england's navy is ready," said the doctor.
""amen to that," nodded mrs. norman.
""bat-blind as most of them were somebody had foresight enough to see to that."
""maybe england'll manage not to get into trouble over it," said cousin sophia plaintively.
""i dunno.
but i'm much afraid."
""one would suppose that england was in trouble over it already, up to her neck, sophia crawford," said susan.
""but your ways of thinking are beyond me and always were.
it is my opinion that the british navy will settle germany in a jiffy and that we are all getting worked up over nothing."
susan spat out the words as if she wanted to convince herself more than anybody else.
she had her little store of homely philosophies to guide her through life, but she had nothing to buckler her against the thunderbolts of the week that had just passed.
what had an honest, hard-working, presbyterian old maid of glen st. mary to do with a war thousands of miles away?
susan felt that it was indecent that she should have to be disturbed by it.
""the british army will settle germany," shouted norman.
""just wait till it gets into line and the kaiser will find that real war is a different thing from parading round berlin with your moustaches cocked up."
""britain has n't got an army," said mrs. norman emphatically.
""you need n't glare at me, norman.
glaring wo n't make soldiers out of timothy stalks.
a hundred thousand men will just be a mouthful for germany's millions."
""there'll be some tough chewing in the mouthful, i reckon," persisted norman valiantly.
""germany'll break her teeth on it.
do n't you tell me one britisher is n't a match for ten foreigners.
i could polish off a dozen of'em myself with both hands tied behind my back!"
""i am told," said susan, "that old mr. pryor does not believe in this war.
i am told that he says england went into it just because she was jealous of germany and that she did not really care in the least what happened to belgium."
""i believe he's been talking some such rot," said norman.
""i have n't heard him.
when i do, whiskers-on-the-moon wo n't know what happened to him.
that precious relative of mine, kitty alec, holds forth to the same effect, i understand.
not before me, though -- somehow, folks do n't indulge in that kind of conversation in my presence.
lord love you, they've a kind of presentiment, so to speak, that it would n't be healthy for their complaint."
""i am much afraid that this war has been sent as a punishment for our sins," said cousin sophia, unclasping her pale hands from her lap and reclasping them solemnly over her stomach."
"the world is very evil -- the times are waxing late.""
""parson here's got something of the same idea," chuckled norman.
""have n't you, parson?
that's why you preached t "other night on the text "without shedding of blood there is no remission of sins."
i did n't agree with you -- wanted to get up in the pew and shout out that there was n't a word of sense in what you were saying, but ellen, here, she held me down.
i never have any fun sassing parsons since i got married."
""without shedding of blood there is no anything," said mr. meredith, in the gentle dreamy way which had an unexpected trick of convincing his hearers.
""everything, it seems to me, has to be purchased by self-sacrifice.
our race has marked every step of its painful ascent with blood.
and now torrents of it must flow again.
no, mrs. crawford, i do n't think the war has been sent as a punishment for sin.
i think it is the price humanity must pay for some blessing -- some advance great enough to be worth the price -- which we may not live to see but which our children's children will inherit."
""if jerry is killed will you feel so fine about it?"
demanded norman, who had been saying things like that all his life and never could be made to see any reason why he should n't.
""now, never mind kicking me in the shins, ellen.
i want to see if parson meant what he said or if it was just a pulpit frill."
mr. meredith's face quivered.
he had had a terrible hour alone in his study on the night jem and jerry had gone to town.
but he answered quietly.
""whatever i felt, it could not alter my belief -- my assurance that a country whose sons are ready to lay down their lives in her defence will win a new vision because of their sacrifice."
""you do mean it, parson.
i can always tell when people mean what they say.
it's a gift that was born in me.
makes me a terror to most parsons, that!
but i've never caught you yet saying anything you did n't mean.
i'm always hoping i will -- that's what reconciles me to going to church.
it'd be such a comfort to me -- such a weapon to batter ellen here with when she tries to civilize me.
well, i'm off over the road to see ab.
crawford a minute.
the gods be good to you all."
""the old pagan!"
muttered susan, as norman strode away.
she did not care if ellen douglas did hear her.
susan could never understand why fire did not descend from heaven upon norman douglas when he insulted ministers the way he did.
but the astonishing thing was mr. meredith seemed really to like his brother-in-law.
rilla wished they would talk of something besides war.
she had heard nothing else for a week and she was really a little tired of it.
now that she was relieved from her haunting fear that walter would want to go it made her quite impatient.
but she supposed -- with a sigh -- that there would be three or four months of it yet.
chapter vi susan, rilla, and dog monday make a resolution the big living-room at ingleside was snowed over with drifts of white cotton.
word had come from red cross headquarters that sheets and bandages would be required.
nan and di and rilla were hard at work.
mrs. blythe and susan were upstairs in the boys" room, engaged in a more personal task.
with dry, anguished eyes they were packing up jem's belongings.
he must leave for valcartier the next morning.
they had been expecting the word but it was none the less dreadful when it came.
rilla was basting the hem of a sheet for the first time in her life.
when the word had come that jem must go she had her cry out among the pines in rainbow valley and then she had gone to her mother.
""mother, i want to do something.
i'm only a girl -- i ca n't do anything to win the war -- but i must do something to help at home."
""the cotton has come up for the sheets," said mrs. blythe.
""you can help nan and di make them up.
and rilla, do n't you think you could organize a junior red cross among the young girls?
i think they would like it better and do better work by themselves than if mixed up with the older people."
""but, mother -- i've never done anything like that."
""we will all have to do a great many things in the months ahead of us that we have never done before, rilla."
""well" -- rilla took the plunge -- "i'll try, mother -- if you'll tell me how to begin.
i have been thinking it all over and i have decided that i must be as brave and heroic and unselfish as i can possibly be."
mrs. blythe did not smile at rilla's italics.
perhaps she did not feel like smiling or perhaps she detected a real grain of serious purpose behind rilla's romantic pose.
so here was rilla hemming sheets and organizing a junior red cross in her thoughts as she hemmed; moreover, she was enjoying it -- the organizing that is, not the hemming.
it was interesting and rilla discovered a certain aptitude in herself for it that surprised her.
who would be president?
not she.
the older girls would not like that.
irene howard?
no, somehow irene was not quite as popular as she deserved to be.
marjorie drew?
no, marjorie had n't enough backbone.
she was too prone to agree with the last speaker.
betty mead -- calm, capable, tactful betty -- the very one!
and una meredith for treasurer; and, if they were very insistent, they might make her, rilla, secretary.
as for the various committees, they must be chosen after the juniors were organized, but rilla knew just who should be put on which.
they would meet around -- and there must be no eats -- rilla knew she would have a pitched battle with olive kirk over that -- and everything should be strictly business-like and constitutional.
her minute book should be covered in white with a red cross on the cover -- and would n't it be nice to have some kind of uniform which they could all wear at the concerts they would have to get up to raise money -- something simple but smart?
""you have basted the top hem of that sheet on one side and the bottom hem on the other," said di.
rilla picked out her stitches and reflected that she hated sewing.
running the junior reds would be much more interesting.
mrs. blythe was saying upstairs, "susan, do you remember that first day jem lifted up his little arms to me and called me "mo'er" -- the very first word he ever tried to say?"
""you could not mention anything about that blessed baby that i do not and will not remember till my dying day," said susan drearily.
""susan, i keep thinking today of once when he cried for me in the night.
he was just a few months old.
gilbert did n't want me to go to him -- he said the child was well and warm and that it would be fostering bad habits in him.
but i went -- and took him up -- i can feel that tight clinging of his little arms round my neck yet.
susan, if i had n't gone that night, twenty-one years ago, and taken my baby up when he cried for me i could n't face tomorrow morning."
""i do not know how we are going to face it anyhow, mrs. dr. dear.
but do not tell me that it will be the final farewell.
he will be back on leave before he goes overseas, will he not?"
""we hope so but we are not very sure.
i am making up my mind that he will not, so that there will be no disappointment to bear.
susan, i am determined that i will send my boy off tomorrow with a smile.
he shall not carry away with him the remembrance of a weak mother who had not the courage to send when he had the courage to go.
i hope none of us will cry."
""i am not going to cry, mrs. dr. dear, and that you may tie to, but whether i shall manage to smile or not will be as providence ordains and as the pit of my stomach feels.
have you room there for this fruit-cake?
and the shortbread?
and the mince-pie?
that blessed boy shall not starve, whether they have anything to eat in that quebec place or not.
everything seems to be changing all at once, does it not?
even the old cat at the manse has passed away.
he breathed his last at a quarter to ten last night and bruce is quite heart-broken, they tell me."
""it's time that pussy went where good cats go.
he must be at least fifteen years old.
he has seemed so lonely since aunt martha died."
""i should not have lamented, mrs. dr. dear, if that hyde-beast had died also.
he has been mr. hyde most of the time since jem came home in khaki, and that has a meaning i will maintain.
i do not know what monday will do when jem is gone.
the creature just goes about with a human look in his eyes that takes all the good out of me when i see it.
ellen west used to be always railing at the kaiser and we thought her crazy, but now i see that there was a method in her madness.
this tray is packed, mrs. dr. dear, and i will go down and put in my best licks preparing supper.
i wish i knew when i would cook another supper for jem but such things are hidden from our eyes."
jem blythe and jerry meredith left next morning.
it was a dull day, threatening rain, and the clouds lay in heavy grey rolls over the sky; but almost everybody in the glen and four winds and harbour head and upper glen and over-harbour -- except whiskers-on-the-moon -- was there to see them off.
the blythe family and the meredith family were all smiling.
even susan, as providence did ordain, wore a smile, though the effect was somewhat more painful than tears would have been.
faith and nan were very pale and very gallant.
rilla thought she would get on very well if something in her throat did n't choke her, and if her lips did n't take such spells of trembling.
dog monday was there, too.
jem had tried to say good-bye to him at ingleside but monday implored so eloquently that jem relented and let him go to the station.
he kept close to jem's legs and watched every movement of his beloved master.
""i ca n't bear that dog's eyes," said mrs. meredith.
""the beast has more sense than most humans," said mary vance.
""well, did we any of us ever think we'd live to see this day?
i bawled all night to think of jem and jerry going like this.
i think they're plumb deranged.
miller got a maggot in his head about going but i soon talked him out of it -- likewise his aunt said a few touching things.
for once in our lives kitty alec and i agree.
it's a miracle that is n't likely to happen again.
there's ken, rilla."
rilla knew kenneth was there.
she had been acutely conscious of it from the moment he had sprung from leo west's buggy.
now he came up to her smiling.
""doing the brave-smiling-sister-stunt, i see.
what a crowd for the glen to muster!
well, i'm off home in a few days myself."
a queer little wind of desolation that even jem's going had not caused blew over rilla's spirit.
""why?
you have another month of vacation."
""yes -- but i ca n't hang around four winds and enjoy myself when the world's on fire like this.
it's me for little old toronto where i'll find some way of helping in spite of this bally ankle.
i'm not looking at jem and jerry -- makes me too sick with envy.
you girls are great -- no crying, no grim endurance.
the boys'll go off with a good taste in their mouths.
i hope persis and mother will be as game when my turn comes."
""oh, kenneth -- the war will be over before your turn cometh."
there!
she had lisped again.
another great moment of life spoiled!
well, it was her fate.
and anyhow, nothing mattered.
kenneth was off already -- he was talking to ethel reese, who was dressed, at seven in the morning, in the gown she had worn to the dance, and was crying.
what on earth had ethel to cry about?
none of the reeses were in khaki.
rilla wanted to cry, too -- but she would not.
what was that horrid old mrs. drew saying to mother, in that melancholy whine of hers?
""i do n't know how you can stand this, mrs. blythe.
i could n't if it was my pore boy."
and mother -- oh, mother could always be depended on!
how her grey eyes flashed in her pale face.
""it might have been worse, mrs. drew.
i might have had to urge him to go."
mrs. drew did not understand but rilla did.
she flung up her head.
her brother did not have to be urged to go.
rilla found herself standing alone and listening to disconnected scraps of talk as people walked up and down past her.
""i told mark to wait and see if they asked for a second lot of men.
if they did i'd let him go -- but they wo n't," said mrs. palmer burr.
""i think i'll have it made with a crush girdle of velvet," said bessie clow.
""i'm frightened to look at my husband's face for fear i'll see in it that he wants to go too," said a little over-harbour bride.
""i'm scared stiff," said whimsical mrs. jim howard.
""i'm scared jim will enlist -- and i'm scared he wo n't."
""the war will be over by christmas," said joe vickers.
""let them european nations fight it out between them," said abner reese.
""when he was a boy i gave him many a good trouncing," shouted norman douglas, who seemed to be referring to some one high in military circles in charlottetown.
""yes, sir, i walloped him well, big gun as he is now."
""the existence of the british empire is at stake," said the methodist minister.
""there's certainly something about uniforms," sighed irene howard.
""it's a commercial war when all is said and done and not worth one drop of good canadian blood," said a stranger from the shore hotel.
""the blythe family are taking it easy," said kate drew.
""them young fools are just going for adventure," growled nathan crawford.
""i have absolute confidence in kitchener," said the over-harbour doctor.
in these ten minutes rilla passed through a dizzying succession of anger, laughter, contempt, depression and inspiration.
oh, people were -- funny!
how little they understood.
""taking it easy," indeed -- when even susan had n't slept a wink all night!
kate drew always was a minx.
rilla felt as if she were in some fantastic nightmare.
were these the people who, three weeks ago, were talking of crops and prices and local gossip?
there -- the train was coming -- mother was holding jem's hand -- dog monday was licking it -- everybody was saying good-bye -- the train was in!
jem kissed faith before everybody -- old mrs. drew whooped hysterically -- the men, led by kenneth, cheered -- rilla felt jem seize her hand -- "good-bye, spider" -- somebody kissed her cheek -- she believed it was jerry but never was sure -- they were off -- the train was pulling out -- jem and jerry were waving to everybody -- everybody was waving back -- mother and nan were smiling still, but as if they had just forgotten to take the smile off -- monday was howling dismally and being forcibly restrained by the methodist minister from tearing after the train -- susan was waving her best bonnet and hurrahing like a man -- had she gone crazy?
-- the train rounded a curve.
they had gone.
rilla came to herself with a gasp.
there was a sudden quiet.
nothing to do now but to go home -- and wait.
the doctor and mrs. blythe walked off together -- so did nan and faith -- so did john meredith and rosemary.
walter and una and shirley and di and carl and rilla went in a group.
susan had put her bonnet back on her head, hindside foremost, and stalked grimly off alone.
nobody missed dog monday at first.
when they did shirley went back for him.
he found dog monday curled up in one of the shipping-sheds near the station and tried to coax him home.
dog monday would not move.
he wagged his tail to show he had no hard feelings but no blandishments availed to budge him.
""guess monday has made up his mind to wait there till jem comes back," said shirley, trying to laugh as he rejoined the rest.
this was exactly what dog monday had done.
his dear master had gone -- he, monday, had been deliberately and of malice aforethought prevented from going with him by a demon disguised in the garb of a methodist minister.
wherefore, he, monday, would wait there until the smoking, snorting monster, which had carried his hero off, carried him back.
ay, wait there, little faithful dog with the soft, wistful, puzzled eyes.
but it will be many a long bitter day before your boyish comrade comes back to you.
the doctor was away on a case that night and susan stalked into mrs. blythe's room on her way to bed to see if her adored mrs. dr. dear were "comfortable and composed."
she paused solemnly at the foot of the bed and solemnly declared, "mrs. dr. dear, i have made up my mind to be a heroine."
""mrs. dr. dear" found herself violently inclined to laugh -- which was manifestly unfair, since she had not laughed when rilla had announced a similar heroic determination.
to be sure, rilla was a slim, white-robed thing, with a flower-like face and starry young eyes aglow with feeling; whereas susan was arrayed in a grey flannel nightgown of strait simplicity, and had a strip of red woollen worsted tied around her grey hair as a charm against neuralgia.
but that should not make any vital difference.
was it not the spirit that counted?
yet mrs. blythe was hard put to it not to laugh.
""i am not," proceeded susan firmly, "going to lament or whine or question the wisdom of the almighty any more as i have been doing lately.
whining and shirking and blaming providence do not get us anywhere.
we have just got to grapple with whatever we have to do whether it is weeding the onion patch, or running the government.
i shall grapple.
those blessed boys have gone to war; and we women, mrs. dr. dear, must tarry by the stuff and keep a stiff upper lip."
chapter vii a war-baby and a soup tureen "liege and namur -- and now brussels!"
the doctor shook his head.
""i do n't like it -- i do n't like it."
""do not you lose heart, dr. dear; they were just defended by foreigners," said susan superbly.
""wait you till the germans come against the british; there will be a very different story to tell and that you may tie to."
the doctor shook his head again, but a little less gravely; perhaps they all shared subconsciously in susan's belief that "the thin grey line" was unbreakable, even by the victorious rush of germany's ready millions.
at any rate, when the terrible day came -- the first of many terrible days -- with the news that the british army was driven back they stared at each other in blank dismay.
""it -- it ca n't be true," gasped nan, taking a brief refuge in temporary incredulity.
""i felt that there was to be bad news today," said susan, "for that cat-creature turned into mr. hyde this morning without rhyme or reason for it, and that was no good omen."""
a broken, a beaten, but not a demoralized, army,"" muttered the doctor, from a london dispatch.
""can it be england's army of which such a thing is said?"
""it will be a long time now before the war is ended," said mrs. blythe despairingly.
susan's faith, which had for a moment been temporarily submerged, now reappeared triumphantly.
""remember, mrs. dr. dear, that the british army is not the british navy.
never forget that.
and the russians are on their way, too, though russians are people i do not know much about and consequently will not tie to."
""the russians will not be in time to save paris," said walter gloomily.
""paris is the heart of france -- and the road to it is open.
oh, i wish" -- he stopped abruptly and went out.
after a paralysed day the ingleside folk found it was possible to "carry on" even in the face of ever-darkening bad news.
susan worked fiercely in her kitchen, the doctor went out on his round of visits, nan and di returned to their red cross activities; mrs. blythe went to charlottetown to attend a red cross convention; rilla after relieving her feelings by a stormy fit of tears in rainbow valley and an outburst in her diary, remembered that she had elected to be brave and heroic.
and, she thought, it really was heroic to volunteer to drive about the glen and four winds one day, collecting promised red cross supplies with abner crawford's old grey horse.
one of the ingleside horses was lame and the doctor needed the other, so there was nothing for it but the crawford nag, a placid, unhasting, thick-skinned creature with an amiable habit of stopping every few yards to kick a fly off one leg with the foot of the other.
rilla felt that this, coupled with the fact that the germans were only fifty miles from paris, was hardly to be endured.
but she started off gallantly on an errand fraught with amazing results.
late in the afternoon she found herself, with a buggy full of parcels, at the entrance to a grassy, deep-rutted lane leading to the harbour shore, wondering whether it was worth while to call down at the anderson house.
the andersons were desperately poor and it was not likely mrs. anderson had anything to give.
on the other hand, her husband, who was an englishman by birth and who had been working in kingsport when the war broke out, had promptly sailed for england to enlist there, without, it may be said, coming home or sending much hard cash to represent him.
so possibly mrs. anderson might feel hurt if she were overlooked.
rilla decided to call.
there were times afterwards when she wished she had n't, but in the long run she was very thankful that she did.
the anderson house was a small and tumbledown affair, crouching in a grove of battered spruces near the shore as if rather ashamed of itself and anxious to hide.
rilla tied her grey nag to the rickety fence and went to the door.
it was open; and the sight she saw bereft her temporarily of the power of speech or motion.
through the open door of the small bedroom opposite her, rilla saw mrs. anderson lying on the untidy bed; and mrs. anderson was dead.
there was no doubt of that; neither was there any doubt that the big, frowzy, red-headed, red-faced, over-fat woman sitting near the door-way, smoking a pipe quite comfortably, was very much alive.
she rocked idly back and forth amid her surroundings of squalid disorder, and paid no attention whatever to the piercing wails proceeding from a cradle in the middle of the room.
rilla knew the woman by sight and reputation.
her name was mrs. conover; she lived down at the fishing village; she was a great-aunt of mrs. anderson; and she drank as well as smoked.
rilla's first impulse was to turn and flee.
but that would never do.
perhaps this woman, repulsive as she was, needed help -- though she certainly did not look as if she were worrying over the lack of it.
""come in," said mrs. conover, removing her pipe and staring at rilla with her little, rat-like eyes.
""is -- is mrs. anderson really dead?"
asked rilla timidly, as she stepped over the sill.
""dead as a door nail," responded mrs. conover cheerfully.
""kicked the bucket half an hour ago.
i've sent jen conover to "phone for the undertaker and get some help up from the shore.
you're the doctor's miss, ai n't ye?
have a cheer?"
rilla did not see any chair which was not cluttered with something.
she remained standing.
""was n't it -- very sudden?"
""well, she's been a-pining ever since that worthless jim lit out for england -- which i say it's a pity as he ever left.
it's my belief she was took for death when she heard the news.
that young un there was born a fortnight ago and since then she's just gone down and today she up and died, without a soul expecting it."
""is there anything i can do to -- to help?"
hesitated rilla.
""bless yez, no -- unless ye've a knack with kids.
i have n't.
that young un there never lets up squalling, day or night.
i've just got that i take no notice of it."
rilla tiptoed gingerly over to the cradle and more gingerly still pulled down the dirty blanket.
she had no intention of touching the baby -- she had no "knack with kids" either.
she saw an ugly midget with a red, distorted little face, rolled up in a piece of dingy old flannel.
she had never seen an uglier baby.
yet a feeling of pity for the desolate, orphaned mite which had "come out of the everywhere" into such a dubious "here", took sudden possession of her.
""what is going to become of the baby?"
she asked.
""lord knows," said mrs. conover candidly.
""min worried awful over that before she died.
she kept on a-saying "oh, what will become of my pore baby" till it really got on my nerves.
i ai n't a-going to trouble myself with it, i can tell yez.
i brung up a boy that my sister left and he skinned out as soon as he got to be some good and wo n't give me a mite o" help in my old age, ungrateful whelp as he is.
i told min it'd have to be sent to an orphan asylum till we'd see if jim ever came back to look after it.
would yez believe it, she did n't relish the idee.
but that's the long and short of it."
""but who will look after it until it can be taken to the asylum?"
persisted rilla.
somehow the baby's fate worried her.
""s'pose i'll have to," grunted mrs. conover.
she put away her pipe and took an unblushing swig from a black bottle she produced from a shelf near her.
""it's my opinion the kid wo n't live long.
it's sickly.
min never had no gimp and i guess it hai n't either.
likely it wo n't trouble any one long and good riddance, sez i." rilla drew the blanket down a little farther.
""why, the baby is n't dressed!"
she exclaimed, in a shocked tone.
""who was to dress him i'd like to know," demanded mrs. conover truculently.
""i had n't time -- took me all the time there was looking after min.
"sides, as i told yez, i do n't know nithing about kids.
old mrs. billy crawford, she was here when it was born and she washed it and rolled it up in that flannel, and jen she's tended it a bit since.
the critter is warm enough.
this weather would melt a brass monkey."
rilla was silent, looking down at the crying baby.
she had never encountered any of the tragedies of life before and this one smote her to the core of her heart.
the thought of the poor mother going down into the valley of the shadow alone, fretting about her baby, with no one near but this abominable old woman, hurt her terribly.
if she had only come a little sooner!
yet what could she have done -- what could she do now?
she did n't know, but she must do something.
she hated babies -- but she simply could not go away and leave that poor little creature with mrs. conover -- who was applying herself again to her black bottle and would probably be helplessly drunk before anybody came.
""i ca n't stay," thought rilla.
""mr. crawford said i must be home by supper-time because he wanted the pony this evening himself.
oh, what can i do?"
she made a sudden, desperate, impulsive resolution.
""i'll take the baby home with me," she said.
""can i?"
""sure, if yez wants to," said mrs. conover amiably.
""i hai n't any objection.
take it and welcome."
""i -- i ca n't carry it," said rilla.
""i have to drive the horse and i'd be afraid i'd drop it.
is there a -- a basket anywhere that i could put it in?"
""not as i knows on.
there ai n't much here of anything, i kin tell yez.
min was pore and as shiftless as jim.
ef ye opens that drawer over there yez'll find a few baby clo'es.
best take them along."
rilla got the clothes -- the cheap, sleazy garments the poor mother had made ready as best she could.
but this did not solve the pressing problem of the baby's transportation.
rilla looked helplessly round.
oh, for mother -- or susan!
her eyes fell on an enormous blue soup tureen at the back of the dresser.
""may i have this to -- to lay him in?"
she asked.
""well, "tai n't mine but i guess yez kin take it.
do n't smash it if yez can help -- jim might make a fuss about it if he comes back alive -- which he sure will, seein" he ai n't any good.
he brung that old tureen out from england with him -- said it'd always been in the family.
him and min never used it -- never had enough soup to put in it -- but jim thought the world of it.
he was mighty perticuler about some things but did n't worry him none that there were n't much in the way o" eatables to put in the dishes."
for the first time in her life rilla blythe touched a baby -- lifted it -- rolled it in a blanket, trembling with nervousness lest she drop it or -- or -- break it.
then she put it in the soup tureen.
""is there any fear of it smothering?"
she asked anxiously.
""not much odds if it do," said mrs. conover.
horrified rilla loosened the blanket round the baby's face a little.
the mite had stopped crying and was blinking up at her.
it had big dark eyes in its ugly little face.
""better not let the wind blow on it," admonished mrs. conover.
""take its breath if it do."
rilla wrapped the tattered little quilt around the soup tureen.
""will you hand this to me after i get into the buggy, please?"
""sure i will," said mrs. conover, getting up with a grunt.
and so it was that rilla blythe, who had driven to the anderson house a self-confessed hater of babies, drove away from it carrying one in a soup tureen on her lap!
rilla thought she would never get to ingleside.
in the soup tureen there was an uncanny silence.
in one way she was thankful the baby did not cry but she wished it would give an occasional squeak to prove that it was alive.
suppose it were smothered!
rilla dared not unwrap it to see, lest the wind, which was now blowing a hurricane, should "take its breath," whatever dreadful thing that might be.
she was a thankful girl when at last she reached harbour at ingleside.
rilla carried the soup tureen to the kitchen, and set it on the table under susan's eyes.
susan looked into the tureen and for once in her life was so completely floored that she had not a word to say.
""what in the world is this?"
asked the doctor, coming in.
rilla poured out her story.
""i just had to bring it, father," she concluded.
""i could n't leave it there."
""what are you going to do with it?"
asked the doctor coolly.
rilla had n't exactly expected this kind of question.
""we -- we can keep it here for awhile -- ca n't we -- until something can be arranged?"
she stammered confusedly.
dr. blythe walked up and down the kitchen for a moment or two while the baby stared at the white walls of the soup tureen and susan showed signs of returning animation.
presently the doctor confronted rilla.
""a young baby means a great deal of additional work and trouble in a household, rilla.
nan and di are leaving for redmond next week and neither your mother nor susan is able to assume so much extra care under present conditions.
if you want to keep that baby here you must attend to it yourself."
""me!"
rilla was dismayed into being ungrammatical.
""why -- father -- i -- i could n't!"
""younger girls than you have had to look after babies.
my advice and susan's is at your disposal.
if you can not, then the baby must go back to meg conover.
its lease of life will be short if it does for it is evident that it is a delicate child and requires particular care.
i doubt if it would survive even if sent to an orphans" home.
but i can not have your mother and susan over-taxed."
the doctor walked out of the kitchen, looking very stern and immovable.
in his heart he knew quite well that the small inhabitant of the big soup tureen would remain at ingleside, but he meant to see if rilla could not be induced to rise to the occasion.
rilla sat looking blankly at the baby.
it was absurd to think she could take care of it.
but -- that poor little, frail, dead mother who had worried about it -- that dreadful old meg conover.
""susan, what must be done for a baby?"
she asked dolefully.
""you must keep it warm and dry and wash it every day, and be sure the water is neither too hot nor too cold, and feed it every two hours.
if it has colic, you put hot things on its stomach," said susan, rather feebly and flatly for her.
the baby began to cry again.
""it must be hungry -- it has to be fed anyhow," said rilla desperately.
""tell me what to get for it, susan, and i'll get it."
under susan's directions a ration of milk and water was prepared, and a bottle obtained from the doctor's office.
then rilla lifted the baby out of the soup tureen and fed it.
she brought down the old basket of her own infancy from the attic and laid the now sleeping baby in it.
she put the soup tureen away in the pantry.
then she sat down to think things over.
the result of her thinking things over was that she went to susan when the baby woke.
""i'm going to see what i can do, susan.
i ca n't let that poor little thing go back to mrs. conover.
tell me how to wash and dress it."
under susan's supervision rilla bathed the baby.
susan dared not help, other than by suggestion, for the doctor was in the living-room and might pop in at any moment.
susan had learned by experience that when dr. blythe put his foot down and said a thing must be, that thing was.
rilla set her teeth and went ahead.
in the name of goodness, how many wrinkles and kinks did a baby have?
why, there was n't enough of it to take hold of.
oh, suppose she let it slip into the water -- it was so wobbly!
if it would only stop howling like that!
how could such a tiny morsel make such an enormous noise.
its shrieks could be heard over ingleside from cellar to attic.
""am i really hurting it much, susan, do you suppose?"
she asked piteously.
""no, dearie.
most new babies hate like poison to be washed.
you are real knacky for a beginner.
keep your hand under its back, whatever you do, and keep cool."
keep cool!
rilla was oozing perspiration at every pore.
when the baby was dried and dressed and temporarily quieted with another bottle she was as limp as a rag.
""what must i do with it tonight, susan?"
a baby by day was dreadful enough; a baby by night was unthinkable.
""set the basket on a chair by your bed and keep it covered.
you will have to feed it once or twice in the night, so you would better take the oil heater upstairs.
if you can not manage it call me and i will go, doctor or no doctor."
""but, susan, if it cries?"
the baby, however, did not cry.
it was surprisingly good -- perhaps because its poor little stomach was filled with proper food.
it slept most of the night but rilla did not.
she was afraid to go to sleep for fear something would happen to the baby.
she prepared its three o'clock ration with a grim determination that she would not call susan.
oh, was she dreaming?
was it really she, rilla blythe, who had got into this absurd predicament?
she did not care if the germans were near paris -- she did not care if they were in paris -- if only the baby would n't cry or choke or smother or have convulsions.
babies did have convulsions, did n't they?
oh, why had she forgotten to ask susan what she must do if the baby had convulsions?
she reflected rather bitterly that father was very considerate of mother's and susan's health, but what about hers?
did he think she could continue to exist if she never got any sleep?
but she was not going to back down now -- not she.
she would look after this detestable little animal if it killed her.
she would get a book on baby hygiene and be beholden to nobody.
she would never go to father for advice -- she would n't bother mother -- and she would only condescend to susan in dire extremity.
they would all see!
thus it came about that mrs. blythe, when she returned home two nights later and asked susan where rilla was, was electrified by susan's composed reply.
""she's upstairs, mrs. dr. dear, putting her baby to bed."
chapter viii rilla decides families and individuals alike soon become used to new conditions and accept them unquestioningly.
by the time a week had elapsed it seemed as it the anderson baby had always been at ingleside.
after the first three distracted nights rilla began to sleep again, waking automatically to attend to her charge on schedule time.
she bathed and fed and dressed it as skilfully as if she had been doing it all her life.
she liked neither her job nor the baby any the better; she still handled it as gingerly as if it were some kind of a small lizard, and a breakable lizard at that; but she did her work thoroughly and there was not a cleaner, better-cared-for infant in glen st. mary.
she even took to weighing the creature every day and jotting the result down in her diary; but sometimes she asked herself pathetically why unkind destiny had ever led her down the anderson lane on that fatal day.
shirley, nan, and di did not tease her as much as she had expected.
they all seemed rather stunned by the mere fact of rilla adopting a war-baby; perhaps, too, the doctor had issued instructions.
walter, of course, never had teased her over anything; one day he told her she was a brick.
""it took more courage for you to tackle that five pounds of new infant, rilla-my-rilla, than it would be for jem to face a mile of germans.
i wish i had half your pluck," he said ruefully.
rilla was very proud of walter's approval; nevertheless, she wrote gloomily in her diary that night: -- "i wish i could like the baby a little bit.
it would make things easier.
but i do n't.
i've heard people say that when you took care of a baby you got fond of it -- but you do n't -- i do n't, anyway.
and it's a nuisance -- it interferes with everything.
it just ties me down -- and now of all times when i'm trying to get the junior reds started.
and i could n't go to alice clow's party last night and i was just dying to.
of course father is n't really unreasonable and i can always get an hour or two off in the evening when it's necessary; but i knew he would n't stand for my being out half the night and leaving susan or mother to see to the baby.
i suppose it was just as well, because the thing did take colic -- or something -- about one o'clock.
it did n't kick or stiffen out, so i knew that, according to morgan, it was n't crying for temper; and it was n't hungry and no pins were sticking in it.
it screamed till it was black in the face; i got up and heated water and put the hot-water bottle on its stomach, and it howled worse than ever and drew up its poor wee thin legs.
i was afraid i had burnt it but i do n't believe i did.
then i walked the floor with it although "morgan on infants" says that should never be done.
i walked miles, and oh, i was so tired and discouraged and mad -- yes, i was.
i could have shaken the creature if it had been big enough to shake, but it was n't.
father was out on a case, and mother had had a headache and susan is squiffy because when she and morgan differ i insist upon going by what morgan says, so i was determined i would n't call her unless i had to.
""finally, miss oliver came in.
she has rooms with nan now, not me, all because of the baby, and i am broken-hearted about it.
i miss our long talks after we went to bed, so much.
it was the only time i ever had her to myself.
i hated to think the baby's yells had wakened her up, for she has so much to bear now.
mr. grant is at valcartier, too, and miss oliver feels it dreadfully, though she is splendid about it.
she thinks he will never come back and her eyes just break my heart -- they are so tragic.
she said it was n't the baby that woke her -- she had n't been able to sleep because the germans are so near paris; she took the little wretch and laid it flat on its stomach across her knee and thumped its back gently a few times, and it stopped shrieking and went right off to sleep and slept like a lamb the rest of the night.
i did n't -- i was too worn out.
""i'm having a perfectly dreadful time getting the junior reds started.
i succeeded in getting betty mead as president, and i am secretary, but they put jen vickers in as treasurer and i despise her.
she is the sort of girl who calls any clever, handsome, or distinguished people she knows slightly by their first names -- behind their backs.
and she is sly and two-faced.
una does n't mind, of course.
she is willing to do anything that comes to hand and never minds whether she has an office or not.
she is just a perfect angel, while i am only angelic in spots and demonic in other spots.
i wish walter would take a fancy to her, but he never seems to think about her in that way, although i heard him say once she was like a tea rose.
she is too.
and she gets imposed upon, just because she is so sweet and willing; but i do n't allow people to impose on rilla blythe and "that you may tie to," as susan says.
""just as i expected, olive was determined we should have lunch served at our meetings.
we had a battle royal over it.
the majority was against eats and now the minority is sulking.
irene howard was on the eats side and she has been very cool to me ever since and it makes me feel miserable.
i wonder if mother and mrs. elliott have problems in the senior society too.
i suppose they have, but they just go on calmly in spite of everything.
i go on -- but not calmly -- i rage and cry -- but i do it all in private and blow off steam in this diary; and when it's over i vow i'll show them.
i never sulk.
i detest people who sulk.
anyhow, we've got the society started and we're to meet once a week, and we're all going to learn to knit.
""shirley and i went down to the station again to try to induce dog monday to come home but we failed.
all the family have tried and failed.
three days after jem had gone walter went down and brought monday home by main force in the buggy and shut him up for three days.
then monday went on a hunger strike and howled like a banshee night and day.
we had to let him out or he would have starved to death.
""so we have decided to let him alone and father has arranged with the butcher near the station to feed him with bones and scraps.
besides, one of us goes down nearly every day to take him something.
he just lies curled up in the shipping-shed, and every time a train comes in he will rush over to the platform, wagging his tail expectantly, and tear around to every one who comes off the train.
and then, when the train goes and he realizes that jem has not come, he creeps dejectedly back to his shed, with his disappointed eyes, and lies down patiently to wait for the next train.
mr. gray, the station master, says there are times when he can hardly help crying from sheer sympathy.
one day some boys threw stones at monday and old johnny mead, who never was known to take notice of anything before, snatched up a meat axe in the butcher's shop and chased them through the village.
nobody has molested monday since.
""kenneth ford has gone back to toronto.
he came up two evenings ago to say good-bye.
i was n't home -- some clothes had to be made for the baby and mrs. meredith offered to help me, so i was over at the manse, and i did n't see kenneth.
not that it matters; he told nan to say good-bye to spider for him and tell me not to forget him wholly in my absorbing maternal duties.
if he could leave such a frivolous, insulting message as that for me it shows plainly that our beautiful hour on the sandshore meant nothing to him and i am not going to think about him or it again.
""fred arnold was at the manse and walked home with me.
he is the new methodist minister's son and very nice and clever, and would be quite handsome if it were not for his nose.
it is a really dreadful nose.
when he talks of commonplace things it does not matter so much, but when he talks of poetry and ideals the contrast between his nose and his conversation is too much for me and i want to shriek with laughter.
it is really not fair, because everything he said was perfectly charming and if somebody like kenneth had said it i would have been enraptured.
when i listened to him with my eyes cast down i was quite fascinated; but as soon as i looked up and saw his nose the spell was broken.
he wants to enlist, too, but ca n't because he is only seventeen.
mrs. elliott met us as we were walking through the village and could not have looked more horrified if she caught me walking with the kaiser himself.
mrs. elliott detests the methodists and all their works.
father says it is an obsession with her."
about 1st september there was an exodus from ingleside and the manse.
faith, nan, di and walter left for redmond; carl betook himself to his harbour head school and shirley was off to queen's.
rilla was left alone at ingleside and would have been very lonely if she had had time to be.
she missed walter keenly; since their talk in rainbow valley they had grown very near together and rilla discussed problems with walter which she never mentioned to others.
but she was so busy with the junior reds and her baby that there was rarely a spare minute for loneliness; sometimes, after she went to bed, she cried a little in her pillow over walter's absence and jem at valcartier and kenneth's unromantic farewell message, but she was generally asleep before the tears got fairly started.
""shall i make arrangements to have the baby sent to hopetown?"
the doctor asked one day two weeks after the baby's arrival at ingleside.
for a moment rilla was tempted to say "yes."
the baby could be sent to hopetown -- it would be decently looked after -- she could have her free days and untrammelled nights back again.
but -- but -- that poor young mother who had n't wanted it to go to the asylum!
rilla could n't get that out of her thoughts.
and that very morning she discovered that the baby had gained eight ounces since its coming to ingleside.
rilla had felt such a thrill of pride over this.
""you -- you said it might n't live if it went to hopetown," she said.
""it might n't.
somehow, institutional care, no matter how good it may be, does n't always succeed with delicate babies.
but you know what it means if you want it kept here, rilla."
""i've taken care of it for a fortnight -- and it has gained half a pound," cried rilla.
""i think we'd better wait until we hear from its father anyhow.
he might n't want to have it sent to an orphan asylum, when he is fighting the battles of his country."
the doctor and mrs. blythe exchanged amused, satisfied smiles behind rilla's back; and nothing more was said about hopetown.
then the smile faded from the doctor's face; the germans were twenty miles from paris.
horrible tales were beginning to appear in the papers of deeds done in martyred belgium.
life was very tense at ingleside for the older people.
""we eat up the war news," gertrude oliver told mrs. meredith, trying to laugh and failing.
""we study the maps and nip the whole hun army in a few well-directed strategic moves.
but papa joffre has n't the benefit of our advice -- and so paris -- must -- fall."
""will they reach it -- will not some mighty hand yet intervene?"
murmured john meredith.
""i teach school like one in a dream," continued gertrude; "then i come home and shut myself in my room and walk the floor.
i am wearing a path right across nan's carpet.
we are so horribly near this war."
""them german men are at senlis.
nothing nor nobody can save paris now," wailed cousin sophia.
cousin sophia had taken to reading the newspapers and had learned more about the geography of northern france, if not about the pronunciation of french names, in her seventy-first year than she had ever known in her schooldays.
""i have not such a poor opinion of the almighty, or of kitchener," said susan stubbornly.
""i see there is a bernstoff man in the states who says that the war is over and germany has won -- and they tell me whiskers-on-the-moon says the same thing and is quite pleased about it, but i could tell them both that it is chancy work counting chickens even the day before they are hatched, and bears have been known to live long after their skins were sold."
""why ai n't the british navy doing more?"
persisted cousin sophia.
""even the british navy can not sail on dry land, sophia crawford.
i have not given up hope, and i shall not, tomascow and mobbage and all such barbarous names to the contrary notwithstanding.
mrs. dr. dear, can you tell me if r-h-e-i-m-s is rimes or reems or rames or rems?"
""i believe it's really more like "rhangs," susan."
""oh, those french names," groaned susan.
""they tell me the germans has about ruined the church there," sighed cousin sophia.
""i always thought the germans was christians."
""a church is bad enough but their doings in belgium are far worse," said susan grimly.
""when i heard the doctor reading about them bayonetting the babies, mrs. dr. dear, i just thought, "oh, what if it were our little jem!"
i was stirring the soup when that thought came to me and i just felt that if i could have lifted that saucepan full of that boiling soup and thrown it at the kaiser i would not have lived in vain."
""tomorrow -- tomorrow -- will bring the news that the germans are in paris," said gertrude oliver, through her tense lips.
she had one of those souls that are always tied to the stake, burning in the suffering of the world around them.
apart from her own personal interest in the war, she was racked by the thought of paris falling into the ruthless hands of the hordes who had burned louvain and ruined the wonder of rheims.
but on the morrow and the next morrow came the news of the miracle of the marne.
rilla rushed madly home from the office waving the enterprise with its big red headlines.
susan ran out with trembling hands to hoist the flag.
the doctor stalked about muttering "thank god."
mrs. blythe cried and laughed and cried again.
""god just put out his hand and touched them -- "thus far -- no farther"," said mr. meredith that evening.
rilla was singing upstairs as she put the baby to bed.
paris was saved -- the war was over -- germany had lost -- there would soon be an end now -- jem and jerry would be back.
the black clouds had rolled by.
""do n't you dare have colic this joyful night," she told the baby.
""if you do i'll clap you back into your soup tureen and ship you off to hopetown -- by freight -- on the early train.
you have got beautiful eyes -- and you're not quite as red and wrinkled as you were -- but you have n't a speck of hair -- and your hands are like little claws -- and i do n't like you a bit better than i ever did.
but i hope your poor little white mother knows that you're tucked in a soft basket with a bottle of milk as rich as morgan allows instead of perishing by inches with old meg conover.
and i hope she does n't know that i nearly drowned you that first morning when susan was n't there and i let you slip right out of my hands into the water.
why will you be so slippery?
no, i do n't like you and i never will but for all that i'm going to make a decent, upstanding infant of you.
you are going to get as fat as a self-respecting child should be, for one thing.
i am not going to have people saying "what a puny little thing that baby of rilla blythe's is" as old mrs. drew said at the senior red cross yesterday.
if i ca n't love you i mean to be proud of you at least."
chapter ix doc has a misadventure "the war will not be over before next spring now," said dr. blythe, when it became apparent that the long battle of the aisne had resulted in a stalemate.
rilla was murmuring "knit four, purl one" under her breath, and rocking the baby's cradle with one foot.
morgan disapproved of cradles for babies but susan did not, and it was worth while to make some slight sacrifice of principle to keep susan in good humour.
she laid down her knitting for a moment and said, "oh, how can we bear it so long?"
-- then picked up her sock and went on.
the rilla of two months before would have rushed off to rainbow valley and cried.
miss oliver sighed and mrs. blythe clasped her hands for a moment.
then susan said briskly, "well, we must just gird up our loins and pitch in.
business as usual is england's motto, they tell me, mrs. dr. dear, and i have taken it for mine, not thinking i could easily find a better.
i shall make the same kind of pudding today i always make on saturday.
it is a good deal of trouble to make, and that is well, for it will employ my thoughts.
i will remember that kitchener is at the helm and joffer is doing very well for a frenchman.
i shall get that box of cake off to little jem and finish that pair of socks today likewise.
a sock a day is my allowance.
old mrs. albert mead of harbour head manages a pair and a half a day but she has nothing to do but knit.
you know, mrs. dr. dear, she has been bed-rid for years and she has been worrying terrible because she was no good to anybody and a dreadful expense, and yet could not die and be out of the way.
and now they tell me she is quite chirked up and resigned to living because there is something she can do, and she knits for the soldiers from daylight to dark.
even cousin sophia has taken to knitting, mrs. dr. dear, and it is a good thing, for she can not think of quite so many doleful speeches to make when her hands are busy with her needles instead of being folded on her stomach.
she thinks we will all be germans this time next year but i tell her it will take more than a year to make a german out of me.
do you know that rick macallister has enlisted, mrs. dr. dear?
and they say joe milgrave would too, only he is afraid that if he does that whiskers-on-the-moon will not let him have miranda.
whiskers says that he will believe the stories of german atrocities when he sees them, and that it is a good thing that rangs cathedral has been destroyed because it was a roman catholic church.
now, i am not a roman catholic, mrs. dr. dear, being born and bred a good presbyterian and meaning to live and die one, but i maintain that the catholics have as good a right to their churches as we have to ours and that the huns had no kind of business to destroy them.
just think, mrs. dr. dear," concluded susan pathetically, "how we would feel if a german shell knocked down the spire of our church here in the glen, and i'm sure it is every bit as bad to think of rangs cathedral being hammered to pieces."
and, meanwhile, everywhere, the lads of the world rich and poor, low and high, white and brown, were following the piper's call.
""even billy andrews" boy is going -- and jane's only son -- and diana's little jack," said mrs. blythe.
""priscilla's son has gone from japan and stella's from vancouver -- and both the rev. jo's boys.
philippa writes that her boys "went right away, not being afflicted with her indecision.""
""jem says that he thinks they will be leaving very soon now, and that he will not be able to get leave to come so far before they go, as they will have to start at a few hours" notice," said the doctor, passing the letter to his wife.
""that is not fair," said susan indignantly.
""has sir sam hughes no regard for our feelings?
the idea of whisking that blessed boy away to europe without letting us even have a last glimpse of him!
if i were you, doctor dear, i would write to the papers about it."
""perhaps it is as well," said the disappointed mother.
""i do n't believe i could bear another parting from him -- now that i know the war will not be over as soon as we hoped when he left first.
oh, if only -- but no, i wo n't say it!
like susan and rilla," concluded mrs. blythe, achieving a laugh, "i am determined to be a heroine."
""you're all good stuff," said the doctor, "i'm proud of my women folk.
even rilla here, my "lily of the field," is running a red cross society full blast and saving a little life for canada.
that's a good piece of work.
rilla, daughter of anne, what are you going to call your war-baby?"
""i'm waiting to hear from jim anderson," said rilla.
""he may want to name his own child."
but as the autumn weeks went by no word came from jim anderson, who had never been heard from since he sailed from halifax, and to whom the fate of wife and child seemed a matter of indifference.
eventually rilla decided to call the baby james, and susan opined that kitchener should be added thereto.
so james kitchener anderson became the possessor of a name somewhat more imposing than himself.
the ingleside family promptly shortened it to jims, but susan obstinately called him "little kitchener" and nothing else.
""jims is no name for a christian child, mrs. dr. dear," she said disapprovingly.
""cousin sophia says it is too flippant, and for once i consider she utters sense, though i would not please her by openly agreeing with her.
as for the child, he is beginning to look something like a baby, and i must admit that rilla is wonderful with him, though i would not pamper pride by saying so to her face.
mrs. dr. dear, i shall never, no never, forget the first sight i had of that infant, lying in that big soup tureen, rolled up in dirty flannel.
it is not often that susan baker is flabbergasted, but flabbergasted i was then, and that you may tie to.
for one awful moment i thought my mind had given way and that i was seeing visions.
then thinks i, "no, i never heard of anyone having a vision of a soup tureen, so it must be real at least," and i plucked up confidence.
when i heard the doctor tell rilla that she must take care of the baby i thought he was joking, for i did not believe for a minute she would or could do it.
but you see what has happened and it is making a woman of her.
when we have to do a thing, mrs. dr. dear, we can do it."
susan added another proof to this concluding dictum of hers one day in october.
the doctor and his wife were away.
rilla was presiding over jims" afternoon siesta upstairs, purling four and knitting one with ceaseless vim.
susan was seated on the back veranda, shelling beans, and cousin sophia was helping her.
peace and tranquility brooded over the glen; the sky was fleeced over with silvery, shining clouds.
rainbow valley lay in a soft, autumnal haze of fairy purple.
the maple grove was a burning bush of colour and the hedge of sweet-briar around the kitchen yard was a thing of wonder in its subtle tintings.
it did not seem that strife could be in the world, and susan's faithful heart was lulled into a brief forgetfulness, although she had lain awake most of the preceding night thinking of little jem far out on the atlantic, where the great fleet was carrying canada's first army across the ocean.
even cousin sophia looked less melancholy than usual and admitted that there was not much fault to be found in the day, although there was no doubt it was a weather-breeder and there would be an awful storm on its heels.
""things is too calm to last," she said.
as if in confirmation of her assertion, a most unearthly din suddenly arose behind them.
it was quite impossible to describe the confused medley of bangs and rattles and muffled shrieks and yowls that proceeded from the kitchen, accompanied by occasional crashes.
susan and cousin sophia stared at each other in dismay.
""what upon airth has bruk loose in there?"
gasped cousin sophia.
""it must be that hyde-cat gone clean mad at last," muttered susan.
""i have always expected it."
rilla came flying out of the side door of the living-room.
""what has happened?"
she demanded.
""it is beyond me to say, but that possessed beast of yours is evidently at the bottom of it," said susan.
""do not go near him, at least.
i will open the door and peep in.
there goes some more of the crockery.
i have always said that the devil was in him and that i will tie to."
""it is my opinion that the cat has hydrophobia," said cousin sophia solemnly.
""i once heard of a cat that went mad and bit three people -- and they all died a most terrible death, and turned black as ink."
undismayed by this, susan opened the door and looked in.
the floor was littered with fragments of broken dishes, for it seemed that the fatal tragedy had taken place on the long dresser where susan's array of cooking bowls had been marshalled in shining state.
around the kitchen tore a frantic cat, with his head wedged tightly in an old salmon can.
blindly he careered about with shrieks and profanity commingled, now banging the can madly against anything he encountered, now trying vainly to wrench it off with his paws.
the sight was so funny that rilla doubled up with laughter.
susan looked at her reproachfully.
""i see nothing to laugh at.
that beast has broken your ma's big blue mixing-bowl that she brought from green gables when she was married.
that is no small calamity, in my opinion.
but the thing to consider now is how to get that can off hyde's head."
""do n't you dast go touching it," exclaimed cousin sophia, galvanized into animation.
""it might be your death.
shut the kitchen up and send for albert."
""i am not in the habit of sending for albert during family difficulties," said susan loftily.
""that beast is in torment, and whatever my opinion of him may be, i can not endure to see him suffering pain.
you keep away, rilla, for little kitchener's sake, and i will see what i can do."
susan stalked undauntedly into the kitchen, seized an old storm coat of the doctor's and after a wild pursuit and several fruitless dashes and pounces, managed to throw it over the cat and can.
then she proceeded to saw the can loose with a can-opener, while rilla held the squirming animal, rolled in the coat.
anything like doc's shrieks while the process was going on was never heard at ingleside.
susan was in mortal dread that the albert crawfords would hear it and conclude she was torturing the creature to death.
doc was a wrathful and indignant cat when he was freed.
evidently he thought the whole thing was a put-up job to bring him low.
he gave susan a baleful glance by way of gratitude and rushed out of the kitchen to take sanctuary in the jungle of the sweet-briar hedge, where he sulked for the rest of the day.
susan swept up her broken dishes grimly.
""the huns themselves could n't have worked more havoc here," she said bitterly.
""but when people will keep a satanic animal like that, in spite of all warnings, they can not complain when their wedding bowls get broken.
things have come to a pretty pass when an honest woman can not leave her kitchen for a few minutes without a fiend of a cat rampaging through it with his head in a salmon can."
chapter x the troubles of rilla october passed out and the dreary days of november and december dragged by.
the world shook with the thunder of contending armies; antwerp fell -- turkey declared war -- gallant little serbia gathered herself together and struck a deadly blow at her oppressor; and in quiet, hill-girdled glen st. mary, thousands of miles away, hearts beat with hope and fear over the varying dispatches from day to day.
""a few months ago," said miss oliver, "we thought and talked in terms of glen st. mary.
now, we think and talk in terms of military tactics and diplomatic intrigue."
there was just one great event every day -- the coming of the mail.
even susan admitted that from the time the mail-courier's buggy rumbled over the little bridge between the station and the village until the papers were brought home and read, she could not work properly.
""i must take up my knitting then and knit hard till the papers come, mrs. dr. dear.
knitting is something you can do, even when your heart is going like a trip-hammer and the pit of your stomach feels all gone and your thoughts are catawampus.
then when i see the headlines, be they good or be they bad, i calm down and am able to go about my business again.
it is an unfortunate thing that the mail comes in just when our dinner rush is on, and i think the government could arrange things better.
but the drive on calais has failed, as i felt perfectly sure it would, and the kaiser will not eat his christmas dinner in london this year.
do you know, mrs. dr. dear," -- susan's voice lowered as a token that she was going to impart a very shocking piece of information, -- "i have been told on good authority -- or else you may be sure i would not be repeating it when it concerns a minster -- that the rev. mr. arnold goes to charlottetown every week and takes a turkish bath for his rheumatism.
the idea of him doing that when we are at war with turkey?
one of his own deacons has always insisted that mr. arnold's theology was not sound and i am beginning to believe that there is some reason to fear it.
well, i must bestir myself this afternoon and get little jem's christmas cake packed up for him.
he will enjoy it, if the blessed boy is not drowned in mud before that time."
jem was in camp on salisbury plain and was writing gay, cheery letters home in spite of the mud.
walter was at redmond and his letters to rilla were anything but cheerful.
she never opened one without a dread tugging at her heart that it would tell her he had enlisted.
his unhappiness made her unhappy.
she wanted to put her arm round him and comfort him, as she had done that day in rainbow valley.
she hated everybody who was responsible for walter's unhappiness.
""he will go yet," she murmured miserably to herself one afternoon, as she sat alone in rainbow valley, reading a letter from him, "he will go yet -- and if he does i just ca n't bear it."
walter wrote that some one had sent him an envelope containing a white feather.
""i deserved it, rilla.
i felt that i ought to put it on and wear it -- proclaiming myself to all redmond the coward i know i am.
the boys of my year are going -- going.
every day two or three of them join up.
some days i almost make up my mind to do it -- and then i see myself thrusting a bayonet through another man -- some woman's husband or sweetheart or son -- perhaps the father of little children -- i see myself lying alone torn and mangled, burning with thirst on a cold, wet field, surrounded by dead and dying men -- and i know i never can.
i ca n't face even the thought of it.
how could i face the reality?
there are times when i wish i had never been born.
life has always seemed such a beautiful thing to me -- and now it is a hideous thing.
rilla-my-rilla, if it were n't for your letters -- your dear, bright, merry, funny, comical, believing letters -- i think i'd give up.
and una's!
una is really a little brick, is n't she?
there's a wonderful fineness and firmness under all that shy, wistful girlishness of her.
she has n't your knack of writing laugh-provoking epistles, but there's something in her letters -- i do n't know what -- that makes me feel at least while i'm reading them, that i could even go to the front.
not that she ever says a word about my going -- or hints that i ought to go -- she is n't that kind.
it's just the spirit of them -- the personality that is in them.
well, i ca n't go.
you have a brother and una has a friend who is a coward."
""oh, i wish walter would n't write such things," sighed rilla.
""it hurts me.
he is n't a coward -- he is n't -- he is n't!"
she looked wistfully about her -- at the little woodland valley and the grey, lonely fallows beyond.
how everything reminded her of walter!
the red leaves still clung to the wild sweet-briars that overhung a curve of the brook; their stems were gemmed with the pearls of the gentle rain that had fallen a little while before.
walter had once written a poem describing them.
the wind was sighing and rustling among the frosted brown bracken ferns, then lessening sorrowfully away down the brook.
walter had said once that he loved the melancholy of the autumn wind on a november day.
the old tree lovers still clasped each other in a faithful embrace, and the white lady, now a great white-branched tree, stood out beautifully fine, against the grey velvet sky.
walter had named them long ago; and last november, when he had walked with her and miss oliver in the valley, he had said, looking at the leafless lady, with a young silver moon hanging over her, "a white birch is a beautiful pagan maiden who has never lost the eden secret of being naked and unashamed."
miss oliver had said, "put that into a poem, walter," and he had done so, and read it to them the next day -- just a short thing with goblin imagination in every line of it.
oh, how happy they had been then!
well -- rilla scrambled to her feet -- time was up.
jims would soon be awake -- his lunch had to be prepared -- his little slips had to be ironed -- there was a committee meeting of the junior reds that night -- there was her new knitting bag to finish -- it would be the handsomest bag in the junior society -- handsomer even than irene howard's -- she must get home and get to work.
she was busy these days from morning till night.
that little monkey of a jims took so much time.
but he was growing -- he was certainly growing.
and there were times when rilla felt sure that it was not merely a pious hope but an absolute fact that he was getting decidedly better looking.
sometimes she felt quite proud of him; and sometimes she yearned to spank him.
but she never kissed him or wanted to kiss him.
""the germans captured lodz today," said miss oliver, one december evening, when she, mrs. blythe, and susan were busy sewing or knitting in the cosy living-room.
""this war is at least extending my knowledge of geography.
schoolma'am though i am, three months ago i did n't know there was such a place in the world such as lodz.
had i heard it mentioned i would have known nothing about it and cared as little.
i know all about it now -- its size, its standing, its military significance.
yesterday the news that the germans have captured it in their second rush to warsaw made my heart sink into my boots.
i woke up in the night and worried over it.
i do n't wonder babies always cry when they wake up in the night.
everything presses on my soul then and no cloud has a silver lining."
""when i wake up in the night and can not go to sleep again," remarked susan, who was knitting and reading at the same time, "i pass the moments by torturing the kaiser to death.
last night i fried him in boiling oil and a great comfort it was to me, remembering those belgian babies."
""if the kaiser were here and had a pain in his shoulder you'd be the first to run for the liniment bottle to rub him down," laughed miss oliver.
""would i?"
cried outraged susan.
""would i, miss oliver?
i would rub him down with coal oil, miss oliver -- and leave it to blister.
that is what i would do and that you may tie to.
a pain in his shoulder, indeed!
he will have pains all over him before he is through with what he has started."
""we are told to love our enemies, susan," said the doctor solemnly.
""yes, our enemies, but not king george's enemies, doctor dear," retorted susan crushingly.
she was so well pleased with herself over this flattening out of the doctor completely that she even smiled as she polished her glasses.
susan had never given in to glasses before, but she had done so at last in order to be able to read the war news -- and not a dispatch got by her.
""can you tell me, miss oliver, how to pronounce m-l-a-w-a and b-z-u-r-a and p-r-z-e-m-y-s-l?"
""that last is a conundrum which nobody seems to have solved yet, susan.
and i can make only a guess at the others."
""these foreign names are far from being decent, in my opinion," said disgusted susan.
""i dare say the austrians and russians would think saskatchewan and musquodoboit about as bad, susan," said miss oliver.
""the serbians have done wonderfully of late.
they have captured belgrade."
""and sent the austrian creatures packing across the danube with a flea in their ear," said susan with a relish, as she settled down to examine a map of eastern europe, prodding each locality with the knitting needle to brand it on her memory.
""cousin sophia said awhile ago that serbia was done for, but i told her there was still such a thing as an over-ruling providence, doubt it who might.
it says here that the slaughter was terrible.
for all they were foreigners it is awful to think of so many men being killed, mrs. dr. dear -- for they are scarce enough as it is."
rilla was upstairs relieving her over-charged feelings by writing in her diary.
""things have all "gone catawampus," as susan says, with me this week.
part of it was my own fault and part of it was n't, and i seem to be equally unhappy over both parts.
""i went to town the other day to buy a new winter hat.
it was the first time nobody insisted on coming with me to help me select it, and i felt that mother had really given up thinking of me as a child.
and i found the dearest hat -- it was simply bewitching.
it was a velvet hat, of the very shade of rich green that was made for me.
it just goes with my hair and complexion beautifully, bringing out the red-brown shades and what miss oliver calls my "creaminess" so well.
only once before in my life have i come across that precise shade of green.
when i was twelve i had a little beaver hat of it, and all the girls in school were wild over it.
well, as soon as i saw this hat i felt that i simply must have it -- and have it i did.
the price was dreadful.
i will not put it down here because i do n't want my descendants to know i was guilty of paying so much for a hat, in war-time, too, when everybody is -- or should be -- trying to be economical.
""when i got home and tried on the hat again in my room i was assailed by qualms.
of course, it was very becoming; but somehow it seemed too elaborate and fussy for church going and our quiet little doings in the glen -- too conspicuous, in short.
it had n't seemed so at the milliner's but here in my little white room it did.
and that dreadful price tag!
and the starving belgians!
when mother saw the hat and the tag she just looked at me.
mother is some expert at looking.
father says she looked him into love with her years ago in avonlea school and i can well believe it -- though i have heard a weird tale of her banging him over the head with a slate at the very beginning of their acquaintance.
mother was a limb when she was a little girl, i understand, and even up to the time when jem went away she was full of ginger.
but let me return to my mutton -- that is to say, my new green velvet hat."
"do you think, rilla," mother said quietly -- far too quietly -- "that it was right to spend so much for a hat, especially when the need of the world is so great?"""
i paid for it out of my own allowance, mother," i exclaimed."
"that is not the point.
your allowance is based on the principle of a reasonable amount for each thing you need.
if you pay too much for one thing you must cut off somewhere else and that is not satisfactory.
but if you think you did right, rilla, i have no more to say.
i leave it to your conscience."
""i wish mother would not leave things to my conscience!
and anyway, what was i to do?
i could n't take that hat back -- i had worn it to a concert in town -- i had to keep it!
i was so uncomfortable that i flew into a temper -- a cold, calm, deadly temper."
"mother," i said haughtily," i am sorry you disapprove of my hat --"" "not of the hat exactly," said mother, "though i consider it in doubtful taste for so young a girl -- but of the price you paid for it."
""being interrupted did n't improve my temper, so i went on, colder and calmer and deadlier than ever, just as if mother had not spoken.""
-- but i have to keep it now.
however, i promise you that i will not get another hat for three years or for the duration of the war, if it lasts longer than that.
even you" -- oh, the sarcasm i put into the "you" -- "can not say that what i paid was too much when spread over at least three years.""
"you will be very tired of that hat before three years, rilla," said mother, with a provoking grin, which, being interpreted, meant that i would n't stick it out."
"tired or not, i will wear it that long," i said: and then i marched upstairs and cried to think that i had been sarcastic to mother.
""i hate that hat already.
but three years or the duration of the war, i said, and three years or the duration of the war it shall be.
i vowed and i shall keep my vow, cost what it will.
""that is one of the "catawampus" things.
the other is that i have quarrelled with irene howard -- or she quarrelled with me -- or, no, we both quarrelled.
""the junior red cross met here yesterday.
the hour of meeting was half-past two but irene came at half-past one, because she got the chance of a drive down from the upper glen.
irene has n't been a bit nice to me since the fuss about the eats; and besides i feel sure she resents not being president.
but i have been determined that things should go smoothly, so i have never taken any notice, and when she came yesterday she seemed so nice and sweet again that i hoped she had got over her huffiness and we could be the chums we used to be.
""but as soon as we sat down irene began to rub me the wrong way.
i saw her cast a look at my new knitting-bag.
all the girls have always said irene was jealous-minded and i would never believe them before.
but now i feel that perhaps she is.
""the first thing she did was to pounce on jims -- irene pretends to adore babies -- pick him out of his cradle and kiss him all over his face.
now, irene knows perfectly well that i do n't like to have jims kissed like that.
it is not hygienic.
after she had worried him till he began to fuss, she looked at me and gave quite a nasty little laugh but she said, oh, so sweetly," "why, rilla, darling, you look as if you thought i was poisoning the baby.""
"oh, no, i do n't, irene," i said -- every bit as sweetly, "but you know morgan says that the only place a baby should be kissed is on its forehead, for fear of germs, and that is my rule with jims.""
"dear me, am i so full of germs?"
said irene plaintively.
i knew she was making fun of me and i began to boil inside -- but outside no sign of a simmer.
i was determined i would not scrap with irene.
""then she began to bounce jims.
now, morgan says bouncing is almost the worst thing that can be done to a baby.
i never allow jims to be bounced.
but irene bounced him and that exasperating child liked it.
he smiled -- for the very first time.
he is four months old and he has never smiled once before.
not even mother or susan have been able to coax that thing to smile, try as they would.
and here he was smiling because irene howard bounced him!
talk of gratitude!
""i admit that smile made a big difference in him.
two of the dearest dimples came out in his cheeks and his big brown eyes seemed full of laughter.
the way irene raved over those dimples was silly, i consider.
you would have supposed she thought she had really brought them into existence.
but i sewed steadily and did not enthuse, and soon irene got tired of bouncing jims and put him back in his cradle.
he did not like that after being played with, and he began to cry and was fussy the rest of the afternoon, whereas if irene had only left him alone he would not have been a bit of trouble.
""irene looked at him and said, "does he often cry like that?"
as if she had never heard a baby crying before.
""i explained patiently that children have to cry so many minutes per day in order to expand their lungs.
morgan says so."
"if jims did n't cry at all i'd have to make him cry for at least twenty minutes," i said."
"oh, indeed!"
said irene, laughing as if she did n't believe me.
"morgan on the care of infants" was upstairs or i would soon have convinced her.
then she said jims did n't have much hair -- she had never seen a four months" old baby so bald.
""of course, i knew jims had n't much hair -- yet; but irene said it in a tone that seemed to imply it was my fault that he had n't any hair.
i said i had seen dozens of babies every bit as bald as jims, and irene said, oh very well, she had n't meant to offend me -- when i was n't offended.
""it went on like that the rest of the hour -- irene kept giving me little digs all the time.
the girls have always said she was revengeful like that if she were peeved about anything; but i never believed it before; i used to think irene just perfect, and it hurt me dreadfully to find she could stoop to this.
but i corked up my feelings and sewed away for dear life on a belgian child's nightgown.
""then irene told me the meanest, most contemptible thing that someone had said about walter.
i wo n't write it down -- i ca n't.
of course, she said it made her furious to hear it and all that -- but there was no need for her to tell me such a thing even if she did hear it.
she simply did it to hurt me.
""i just exploded.
"how dare you come here and repeat such a thing about my brother, irene howard?"
i exclaimed."
i shall never forgive you -- never.
your brother has n't enlisted -- has n't any idea of enlisting.""
"why rilla, dear, i did n't say it," said irene."
i told you it was mrs. george burr.
and i told her --""" i do n't want to hear what you told her.
do n't you ever speak to me again, irene howard."
""oh course, i should n't have said that.
but it just seemed to say itself.
then the other girls all came in a bunch and i had to calm down and act the hostess" part as well as i could.
irene paired off with olive kirk all the rest of the afternoon and went away without so much as a look.
so i suppose she means to take me at my word and i do n't care, for i do not want to be friends with a girl who could repeat such a falsehood about walter.
but i feel unhappy over it for all that.
we've always been such good chums and until lately irene was lovely to me; and now another illusion has been stripped from my eyes and i feel as if there was n't such a thing as real true friendship in the world.
""father got old joe mead to build a kennel for dog monday in the corner of the shipping-shed today.
we thought perhaps monday would come home when the cold weather came but he would n't.
no earthly influence can coax monday away from that shed even for a few minutes.
there he stays and meets every train.
so we had to do something to make him comfortable.
joe built the kennel so that monday could lie in it and still see the platform, so we hope he will occupy it.
""monday has become quite famous.
a reporter of the enterprise came out from town and photographed him and wrote up the whole story of his faithful vigil.
it was published in the enterprise and copied all over canada.
but that does n't matter to poor little monday, jem has gone away -- monday does n't know where or why -- but he will wait until he comes back.
somehow it comforts me: it's foolish, i suppose, but it gives me a feeling that jem will come back or else monday would n't keep on waiting for him.
""jims is snoring beside me in his cradle.
it is just a cold that makes him snore -- not adenoids.
irene had a cold yesterday and i know she gave it to him, kissing him.
he is not quite such a nuisance as he was; he has got some backbone and can sit up quite nicely, and he loves his bath now and splashes unsmilingly in the water instead of twisting and shrieking.
oh, shall i ever forget those first two months!
i do n't know how i lived through them.
but here i am and here is jims and we both are going to "carry on."
i tickled him a little bit tonight when i undressed him -- i would n't bounce him but morgan does n't mention tickling -- just to see if he would smile for me as well as irene.
and he did -- and out popped the dimples.
what a pity his mother could n't have seen them!
""i finished my sixth pair of socks today.
with the first three i got susan to set the heel for me.
then i thought that was a bit of shirking, so i learned to do it myself.
i hate it -- but i have done so many things i hate since 4th of august that one more or less does n't matter.
i just think of jem joking about the mud on salisbury plain and i go at them."
chapter xi dark and bright at christmas the college boys and girls came home and for a little while ingleside was gay again.
but all were not there -- for the first time one was missing from the circle round the christmas table.
jem, of the steady lips and fearless eyes, was far away, and rilla felt that the sight of his vacant chair was more than she could endure.
susan had taken a stubborn freak and insisted on setting out jem's place for him as usual, with the twisted little napkin ring he had always had since a boy, and the odd, high green gables goblet that aunt marilla had once given him and from which he always insisted on drinking.
""that blessed boy shall have his place, mrs. dr. dear," said susan firmly, "and do not you feel over it, for you may be sure he is here in spirit and next christmas he will be here in the body.
wait you till the big push comes in the spring and the war will be over in a jiffy."
they tried to think so, but a shadow stalked in the background of their determined merrymaking.
walter, too, was quiet and dull, all through the holidays.
he showed rilla a cruel, anonymous letter he had received at redmond -- a letter far more conspicuous for malice than for patriotic indignation.
""nevertheless, all it says is true, rilla."
rilla had caught it from him and thrown it into the fire.
""there is n't one word of truth in it," she declared hotly.
""walter, you've got morbid -- as miss oliver says she gets when she broods too long over one thing."
""i ca n't get away from it at redmond, rilla.
the whole college is aflame over the war.
a perfectly fit fellow, of military age, who does n't join up is looked upon as a shirker and treated accordingly.
dr. milne, the english professor, who has always made a special pet of me, has two sons in khaki; and i can feel the change in his manner towards me."
""it's not fair -- you're not fit."
""physically i am.
sound as a bell.
the unfitness is in the soul and it's a taint and a disgrace.
there, do n't cry, rilla.
i'm not going if that's what you're afraid of.
the piper's music rings in my ears day and night -- but i can not follow."
""you would break mother's heart and mine if you did," sobbed rilla.
""oh, walter, one is enough for any family."
the holidays were an unhappy time for her.
still, having nan and di and walter and shirley home helped in the enduring of things.
a letter and book came for her from kenneth ford, too; some sentences in the letter made her cheeks burn and her heart beat -- until the last paragraph, which sent an icy chill over everything.
""my ankle is about as good as new.
i'll be fit to join up in a couple of months more, rilla-my-rilla.
it will be some feeling to get into khaki all right.
little ken will be able to look the whole world in the face then and owe not any man.
it's been rotten lately, since i've been able to walk without limping.
people who do n't know look at me as much as to say "slacker!"
well, they wo n't have the chance to look it much longer."
""i hate this war," said rilla bitterly, as she gazed out into the maple grove that was a chill glory of pink and gold in the winter sunset.
""nineteen-fourteen has gone," said dr. blythe on new year's day.
""its sun, which rose fairly, has set in blood.
what will nineteen-fifteen bring?"
""victory!"
said susan, for once laconic.
""do you really believe we'll win the war, susan?"
said miss oliver drearily.
she had come over from lowbridge to spend the day and see walter and the girls before they went back to redmond.
she was in a rather blue and cynical mood and inclined to look on the dark side."
"believe" we'll win the war!"
exclaimed susan.
""no, miss oliver, dear, i do not believe -- i know.
that does not worry me.
what does worry me is the trouble and expense of it all.
but then you can not make omelets without breaking eggs, so we must just trust in god and make big guns."
""sometimes i think the big guns are better to trust in than god," said miss oliver defiantly.
""no, no, dear, you do not.
the germans had the big guns at the marne, had they not?
but providence settled them.
do not ever forget that.
just hold on to that when you feel inclined to doubt.
clutch hold of the sides of your chair and sit tight and keep saying, "big guns are good but the almighty is better, and he is on our side, no matter what the kaiser says about it."
i would have gone crazy many a day lately, miss oliver, dear, if i had not sat tight and repeated that to myself.
my cousin sophia is, like you, somewhat inclined to despond.
"oh, dear me, what will we do if the germans ever get here," she wailed to me yesterday.
"bury them," said i, just as off-hand as that.
"there is plenty of room for the graves."
cousin sophia said that i was flippant but i was not flippant, miss oliver, dear, only calm and confident in the british navy and our canadian boys.
i am like old mr. william pollock of the harbour head.
he is very old and has been ill for a long time, and one night last week he was so low that his daughter-in-law whispered to some one that she thought he was dead.
"darn it, i ai n't," he called right out -- only, miss oliver, dear, he did not use so mild a word as "darn" -- "darn it, i ai n't, and i do n't mean to die until the kaiser is well licked."
now, that, miss oliver, dear," concluded susan, "is the kind of spirit i admire."
""i admire it but i ca n't emulate it," sighed gertrude.
""before this, i have always been able to escape from the hard things of life for a little while by going into dreamland, and coming back like a giant refreshed.
but i ca n't escape from this."
""nor i," said mrs. blythe.
""i hate going to bed now.
all my life i've liked going to bed, to have a gay, mad, splendid half-hour of imagining things before sleeping.
now i imagine them still.
but such different things."
""i am rather glad when the time comes to go to bed," said miss oliver.
""i like the darkness because i can be myself in it -- i need n't smile or talk bravely.
but sometimes my imagination gets out of hand, too, and i see what you do -- terrible things -- terrible years to come."
""i am very thankful that i never had any imagination to speak of," said susan.
""i have been spared that.
i see by this paper that the crown prince is killed again.
do you suppose there is any hope of his staying dead this time?
and i also see that woodrow wilson is going to write another note.
i wonder," concluded susan, with the bitter irony she had of late begun to use when referring to the poor president, "if that man's schoolmaster is alive."
in january jims was five months old and rilla celebrated the anniversary by shortening him.
""he weighs fourteen pounds," she announced jubilantly.
""just exactly what he should weigh at five months, according to morgan."
there was no longer any doubt in anybody's mind that jims was getting positively pretty.
his little cheeks were round and firm and faintly pink, his eyes were big and bright, his tiny paws had dimples at the root of every finger.
he had even begun to grow hair, much to rilla's unspoken relief.
there was a pale golden fuzz all over his head that was distinctly visible in some lights.
he was a good infant, generally sleeping and digesting as morgan decreed.
occasionally he smiled but he had never laughed, in spite of all efforts to make him.
this worried rilla also, because morgan said that babies usually laughed aloud from the third to the fifth month.
jims was five months and had no notion of laughing.
why had n't he?
was n't he normal?
one night rilla came home late from a recruiting meeting at the glen where she had been giving patriotic recitations.
rilla had never been willing to recite in public before.
she was afraid of her tendency to lisp, which had a habit of reviving if she were doing anything that made her nervous.
when she had first been asked to recite at the upper glen meeting she had refused.
then she began to worry over her refusal.
was it cowardly?
what would jem think if he knew?
after two days of worry rilla phoned to the president of the patriotic society that she would recite.
she did, and lisped several times, and lay awake most of the night in an agony of wounded vanity.
then two nights after she recited again at harbour head.
she had been at lowbridge and over-harbour since then and had become resigned to an occasional lisp.
nobody except herself seemed to mind it.
and she was so earnest and appealing and shining-eyed!
more than one recruit joined up because rilla's eyes seemed to look right at him when she passionately demanded how could men die better than fighting for the ashes of their fathers and the temples of their gods, or assured her audience with thrilling intensity that one crowded hour of glorious life was worth an age without a name.
even stolid miller douglas was so fired one night that it took mary vance a good hour to talk him back to sense.
mary vance said bitterly that if rilla blythe felt as bad as she had pretended to feel over jem's going to the front she would n't be urging other girls" brothers and friends to go.
on this particular night rilla was tired and cold and very thankful to creep into her warm nest and cuddle down between her blankets, though as usual with a sorrowful wonder how jem and jerry were faring.
she was just getting warm and drowsy when jims suddenly began to cry -- and kept on crying.
rilla curled herself up in her bed and determined she would let him cry.
she had morgan behind her for justification.
jims was warm, physically comfortable -- his cry was n't the cry of pain -- and had his little tummy as full as was good for him.
under such circumstances it would be simply spoiling him to fuss over him, and she was n't going to do it.
he could cry until he got good and tired and ready to go to sleep again.
then rilla's imagination began to torment her.
suppose, she thought, i was a tiny, helpless creature only five months old, with my father somewhere in france and my poor little mother, who had been so worried about me, in the graveyard.
suppose i was lying in a basket in a big, black room, without one speck of light, and nobody within miles of me, for all i could see or know.
suppose there was n't a human being anywhere who loved me -- for a father who had never seen me could n't love me very much, especially when he had never written a word to or about me.
would n't i cry, too?
would n't i feel just so lonely and forsaken and frightened that i'd have to cry?
rilla hopped out.
she picked jims out of his basket and took him into her own bed.
his hands were cold, poor mite.
but he had promptly ceased to cry.
and then, as she held him close to her in the darkness, suddenly jims laughed -- a real, gurgly, chuckly, delighted, delightful laugh.
""oh, you dear little thing!"
exclaimed rilla.
""are you so pleased at finding you're not all alone, lost in a huge, big, black room?"
then she knew she wanted to kiss him and she did.
she kissed his silky, scented little head, she kissed his chubby little cheek, she kissed his little cold hands.
she wanted to squeeze him -- to cuddle him, just as she used to squeeze and cuddle her kittens.
something delightful and yearning and brooding seemed to have taken possession of her.
she had never felt like this before.
in a few minutes jims was sound asleep; and, as rilla listened to his soft, regular breathing and felt the little body warm and contented against her, she realized that -- at last -- she loved her war-baby.
""he has got to be -- such -- a -- darling," she thought drowsily, as she drifted off to slumberland herself.
in february jem and jerry and robert grant were in the trenches and a little more tension and dread was added to the ingleside life.
in march "yiprez," as susan called it, had come to have a bitter significance.
the daily list of casualties had begun to appear in the papers and no one at ingleside ever answered the telephone without a horrible cold shrinking -- for it might be the station-master phoning up to say a telegram had come from overseas.
no one at ingleside ever got up in the morning without a sudden piercing wonder over what the day might bring.
""and i used to welcome the mornings so," thought rilla.
yet the round of life and duty went steadily on and every week or so one of the glen lads who had just the other day been a rollicking schoolboy went into khaki.
""it is bitter cold out tonight, mrs. dr. dear," said susan, coming in out of the clear starlit crispness of the canadian winter twilight.
""i wonder if the boys in the trenches are warm."
""how everything comes back to this war," cried gertrude oliver.
""we ca n't get away from it -- not even when we talk of the weather.
i never go out these dark cold nights myself without thinking of the men in the trenches -- not only our men but everybody's men.
i would feel the same if there were nobody i knew at the front.
when i snuggle down in my comfortable bed i am ashamed of being comfortable.
it seems as if it were wicked of me to be so when many are not."
""i saw mrs. meredith down at the store," said susan, "and she tells me that they are really troubled over bruce, he takes things so much to heart.
he has cried himself to sleep for a week, over the starving belgians.
"oh, mother," he will say to her, so beseeching-like, "surely the babies are never hungry -- oh, not the babies, mother!
just say the babies are not hungry, mother."
and she can not say it because it would not be true, and she is at her wits" end.
they try to keep such things from him but he finds them out and then they can not comfort him.
it breaks my heart to read about them myself, mrs. dr. dear, and i can not console myself with the thought that the tales are not true.
when i read a novel that makes me want to weep i just say severely to myself, "now, susan baker, you know that is all a pack of lies."
but we must carry on.
jack crawford says he is going to the war because he is tired of farming.
i hope he will find it a pleasant change.
and mrs. richard elliott over-harbour is worrying herself sick because she used to be always scolding her husband about smoking up the parlour curtains.
now that he has enlisted she wishes she had never said a word to him.
you know josiah cooper and william daley, mrs. dr. dear.
they used to be fast friends but they quarrelled twenty years ago and have never spoken since.
well, the other day josiah went to william and said right out, "let us be friends.
"tai n't any time to be holding grudges."
william was real glad and held out his hand, and they sat down for a good talk.
and in less than half an hour they had quarrelled again, over how the war ought to be fought, josiah holding that the dardanelles expedition was rank folly and william maintaining that it was the one sensible thing the allies had done.
and now they are madder at each other than ever and william says josiah is as bad a pro-german as whiskers-on-the-moon.
whiskers-on-the-moon vows he is no pro-german but calls himself a pacifist, whatever that may be.
it is nothing proper or whiskers would not be it and that you may tie to.
he says that the big british victory at new chapelle cost more than it was worth and he has forbid joe milgrave to come near the house because joe ran up his father's flag when the news came.
have you noticed, mrs. dr. dear, that the czar has changed that prish name to premysl, which proves that the man had good sense, russian though he is?
joe vickers told me in the store that he saw a very queer looking thing in the sky tonight over lowbridge way.
do you suppose it could have been a zeppelin, mrs. dr. dear?"
""i do not think it very likely, susan."
""well, i would feel easier about it if whiskers-on-the-moon were not living in the glen.
they say he was seen going through strange manoeuvres with a lantern in his back yard one night lately.
some people think he was signalling."
""to whom -- or what?"
""ah, that is the mystery, mrs. dr. dear.
in my opinion the government would do well to keep an eye on that man if it does not want us to be all murdered in our beds some night.
now i shall just look over the papers a minute before going to write a letter to little jem.
two things i never did, mrs. dr. dear, were write letters and read politics.
yet here i am doing both regular and i find there is something in politics after all.
whatever woodrow wilson means i can not fathom but i am hoping i will puzzle it out yet."
susan, in her pursuit of wilson and politics, presently came upon something that disturbed her and exclaimed in a tone of bitter disappointment, "that devilish kaiser has only a boil after all."
""do n't swear, susan," said dr. blythe, pulling a long face."
"devilish" is not swearing, doctor, dear.
i have always understood that swearing was taking the name of the almighty in vain?"
""well, it is n't -- ahem -- refined," said the doctor, winking at miss oliver.
""no, doctor, dear, the devil and the kaiser -- if so be that they are really two different people -- are not refined.
and you can not refer to them in a refined way.
so i abide by what i said, although you may notice that i am careful not to use such expressions when young rilla is about.
and i maintain that the papers have no right to say that the kaiser has pneumonia and raise people's hopes, and then come out and say he has nothing but a boil.
a boil, indeed!
i wish he was covered with them."
susan stalked out to the kitchen and settled down to write to jem; deeming him in need of some home comfort from certain passages in his letter that day.
""we're in an old wine cellar tonight, dad," he wrote, "in water to our knees.
rats everywhere -- no fire -- a drizzling rain coming down -- rather dismal.
but it might be worse.
i got susan's box today and everything was in tip-top order and we had a feast.
jerry is up the line somewhere and he says the rations are rather worse than aunt martha's ditto used to be.
but here they're not bad -- only monotonous.
tell susan i'd give a year's pay for a good batch of her monkey-faces; but do n't let that inspire her to send any for they would n't keep.
""we have been under fire since the last week in february.
one boy -- he was a nova scotian -- was killed right beside me yesterday.
a shell burst near us and when the mess cleared away he was lying dead -- not mangled at all -- he just looked a little startled.
it was the first time i'd been close to anything like that and it was a nasty sensation, but one soon gets used to horrors here.
we're in an absolutely different world.
the only things that are the same are the stars -- and they are never in their right places, somehow.
""tell mother not to worry -- i'm all right -- fit as a fiddle -- and glad i came.
there's something across from us here that has got to be wiped out of the world, that's all -- an emanation of evil that would otherwise poison life for ever.
it's got to be done, dad, however long it takes, and whatever it costs, and you tell the glen people this for me.
they do n't realize yet what it is has broken loose -- i did n't when i first joined up.
i thought it was fun.
well, it is n't!
but i'm in the right place all right -- make no mistake about that.
when i saw what had been done here to homes and gardens and people -- well, dad, i seemed to see a gang of huns marching through rainbow valley and the glen, and the garden at ingleside.
there were gardens over here -- beautiful gardens with the beauty of centuries -- and what are they now?
mangled, desecrated things!
we are fighting to make those dear old places where we had played as children, safe for other boys and girls -- fighting for the preservation and safety of all sweet, wholesome things.
""whenever any of you go to the station be sure to give dog monday a double pat for me.
fancy the faithful little beggar waiting there for me like that!
honestly, dad, on some of these dark cold nights in the trenches, it heartens and braces me up no end to think that thousands of miles away at the old glen station there is a small spotted dog sharing my vigil.
""tell rilla i'm glad her war-baby is turning out so well, and tell susan that i'm fighting a good fight against both huns and cooties."
""mrs. dr. dear," whispered susan solemnly, "what are cooties?"
mrs. blythe whispered back and then said in reply to susan's horrified ejaculations, "it's always like that in the trenches, susan."
susan shook her head and went away in grim silence to re-open a parcel she had sewed up for jem and slip in a fine tooth comb.
chapter xii in the days of langemarck "how can spring come and be beautiful in such a horror," wrote rilla in her diary.
""when the sun shines and the fluffy yellow catkins are coming out on the willow-trees down by the brook, and the garden is beginning to be beautiful i ca n't realize that such dreadful things are happening in flanders.
but they are!
""this past week has been terrible for us all, since the news came of the fighting around ypres and the battles of langemarck and st. julien.
our canadian boys have done splendidly -- general french says they "saved the situation," when the germans had all but broken through.
but i ca n't feel pride or exultation or anything but a gnawing anxiety over jem and jerry and mr. grant.
the casualty lists are coming out in the papers every day -- oh, there are so many of them.
i ca n't bear to read them for fear i'd find jem's name -- for there have been cases where people have seen their boys" names in the casualty lists before the official telegram came.
as for the telephone, for a day or two i just refused to answer it, because i thought i could not endure the horrible moment that came between saying "hello" and hearing the response.
that moment seemed a hundred years long, for i was always dreading to hear "there is a telegram for dr. blythe."
then, when i had shirked for a while, i was ashamed of leaving it all for mother or susan, and now i make myself go.
but it never gets any easier.
gertrude teaches school and reads compositions and sets examination papers just as she always has done, but i know her thoughts are over in flanders all the time.
her eyes haunt me.
""and kenneth is in khaki now, too.
he has got a lieutenant's commission and expects to go overseas in midsummer, so he wrote me.
there was n't much else in the letter -- he seemed to be thinking of nothing but going overseas.
i shall not see him again before he goes -- perhaps i will never see him again.
sometimes i ask myself if that evening at four winds was all a dream.
it might as well be -- it seems as if it happened in another life lived years ago -- and everybody has forgotten it but me.
""walter and nan and di came home last night from redmond.
when walter stepped off the train dog monday rushed to meet him, frantic with joy.
i suppose he thought jem would be there, too.
after the first moment, he paid no attention to walter and his pats, but just stood there, wagging his tail nervously and looking past walter at the other people coming out, with eyes that made me choke up, for i could n't help thinking that, for all we knew, monday might never see jem come off that train again.
then, when all the people were out, monday looked up at walter, gave his hand a little lick as if to say," i know it is n't your fault he did n't come -- excuse me for feeling disappointed," and then he trotted back to his shed, with that funny little sidelong waggle of his that always makes it seem that his hind legs are travelling directly away from the point at which his forelegs are aiming.
""we tried to coax him home with us -- di even got down and kissed him between the eyes and said, "monday, old duck, wo n't you come up with us just for the evening?"
and monday said -- he did!
--" i am very sorry but i ca n't.
i've got a date to meet jem here, you know, and there's a train goes through at eight."
""it's lovely to have walter back again though he seems quiet and sad, just as he was at christmas.
but i'm going to love him hard and cheer him up and make him laugh as he used to.
it seems to me that every day of my life walter means more to me.
""the other evening susan happened to say that the mayflowers were out in rainbow valley.
i chanced to be looking at mother when susan spoke.
her face changed and she gave a queer little choked cry.
most of the time mother is so spunky and gay you would never guess what she feels inside; but now and then some little thing is too much for her and we see under the surface.
"mayflowers!"
she said.
"jem brought me mayflowers last year!"
and she got up and went out of the room.
i would have rushed off to rainbow valley and brought her an armful of mayflowers, but i knew that was n't what she wanted.
and after walter got home last night he slipped away to the valley and brought mother home all the mayflowers he could find.
nobody had said a word to him about it -- he just remembered himself that jem used to bring mother the first mayflowers and so he brought them in jem's place.
it shows how tender and thoughtful he is.
and yet there are people who send him cruel letters!
""it seems strange that we can go in with ordinary life just as if nothing were happening overseas that concerned us, just as if any day might not bring us awful news.
but we can and do.
susan is putting in the garden, and mother and she are housecleaning, and we junior reds are getting up a concert in aid of the belgians.
we have been practising for a month and having no end of trouble and bother with cranky people.
miranda pryor promised to help with a dialogue and when she had her part all learnt her father put his foot down and refused to allow her to help at all.
i am not blaming miranda exactly, but i do think she might have a little more spunk sometimes.
if she put her foot down once in a while she might bring her father to terms, for she is all the housekeeper he has and what would he do if she "struck"?
if i were in miranda's shoes i'd find some way of managing whiskers-on-the-moon.
i would horse-whip him, or bite him, if nothing else would serve.
but miranda is a meek and obedient daughter whose days should be long in the land.
""i could n't get anyone else to take the part, because nobody liked it, so finally i had to take it myself.
olive kirk is on the concert committee and goes against me in every single thing.
but i got my way in asking mrs. channing to come out from town and sing for us, anyhow.
she is a beautiful singer and will draw such a crowd that we will make more than we will have to pay her.
olive kirk thought our local talent good enough and minnie clow wo n't sing at all now in the choruses because she would be so nervous before mrs. channing.
and minnie is the only good alto we have!
there are times when i am so exasperated that i feel tempted to wash my hands of the whole affair; but after i dance round my room a few times in sheer rage i cool down and have another whack at it.
just at present i am racked with worry for fear the isaac reeses are taking whooping-cough.
they have all got a dreadful cold and there are five of them who have important parts in the programme and if they go and develop whooping-cough what shall i do?
dick reese's violin solo is to be one of our titbits and kit reese is in every tableau and the three small girls have the cutest flag-drill.
i've been toiling for weeks to train them in it, and now it seems likely that all my trouble will go for nothing.
""jims cut his first tooth today.
i am very glad, for he is nearly nine months old and mary vance has been insinuating that he is awfully backward about cutting his teeth.
he has begun to creep but does n't crawl as most babies do.
he trots about on all fours and carries things in his mouth like a little dog.
nobody can say he is n't up to schedule time in the matter of creeping anyway -- away ahead of it indeed, since ten months is morgan's average for creeping.
he is so cute, it will be a shame if his dad never sees him.
his hair is coming on nicely too, and i am not without hope that it will be curly.
""just for a few minutes, while i've been writing of jims and the concert, i've forgotten ypres and the poison gas and the casualty lists.
now it all rushes back, worse than ever.
oh, if we could just know that jem is all right!
i used to be so furious with jem when he called me spider.
and now, if he would just come whistling through the hall and call out, "hello, spider," as he used to do, i would think it the loveliest name in the world."
rilla put away her diary and went out to the garden.
the spring evening was very lovely.
the long, green, seaward-looking glen was filled with dusk, and beyond it were meadows of sunset.
the harbour was radiant, purple here, azure there, opal elsewhere.
the maple grove was beginning to be misty green.
rilla looked about her with wistful eyes.
who said that spring was the joy of the year?
it was the heart-break of the year.
and the pale-purply mornings and the daffodil stars and the wind in the old pine were so many separate pangs of the heart-break.
would life ever be free from dread again?
""it's good to see p.e.i. twilight once more," said walter, joining her.
""i did n't really remember that the sea was so blue and the roads so red and the wood nooks so wild and fairy haunted.
yes, the fairies still abide here.
i vow i could find scores of them under the violets in rainbow valley."
rilla was momentarily happy.
this sounded like the walter of yore.
she hoped he was forgetting certain things that had troubled him.
""and is n't the sky blue over rainbow valley?"
she said, responding to his mood.
""blue -- blue -- you'd have to say "blue" a hundred times before you could express how blue it is."
susan wandered by, her head tied up with a shawl, her hands full of garden implements.
doc, stealthy and wild-eyed, was shadowing her steps among the spirea bushes.
""the sky may be blue," said susan, "but that cat has been hyde all day so we will likely have rain tonight and by the same token i have rheumatism in my shoulder."
""it may rain -- but do n't think rheumatism, susan -- think violets," said walter gaily -- rather too gaily, rilla thought.
susan considered him unsympathetic.
""indeed, walter dear, i do not know what you mean by thinking violets," she responded stiffly, "and rheumatism is not a thing to be joked about, as you may some day realize for yourself.
i hope i am not of the kind that is always complaining of their aches and pains, especially now when the news is so terrible.
rheumatism is bad enough but i realize, and none better, that it is not to be compared to being gassed by the huns."
""oh, my god, no!"
exclaimed walter passionately.
he turned and went back to the house.
susan shook her head.
she disapproved entirely of such ejaculations.
""i hope he will not let his mother hear him talking like that," she thought as she stacked the hoes and rake away.
rilla was standing among the budding daffodils with tear-filled eyes.
her evening was spoiled; she detested susan, who had somehow hurt walter; and jem -- had jem been gassed?
had he died in torture?
""i ca n't endure this suspense any longer," said rilla desperately.
but she endured it as the others did for another week.
then a letter came from jem.
he was all right.
""i've come through without a scratch, dad.
do n't know how i or any of us did it.
you'll have seen all about it in the papers -- i ca n't write of it.
but the huns have n't got through -- they wo n't get through.
jerry was knocked stiff by a shell one time, but it was only the shock.
he was all right in a few days.
grant is safe, too."
nan had a letter from jerry meredith.
""i came back to consciousness at dawn," he wrote.
""could n't tell what had happened to me but thought that i was done for.
i was all alone and afraid -- terribly afraid.
dead men were all around me, lying on the horrible grey, slimy fields.
i was woefully thirsty -- and i thought of david and the bethlehem water -- and of the old spring in rainbow valley under the maples.
i seemed to see it just before me -- and you standing laughing on the other side of it -- and i thought it was all over with me.
and i did n't care.
honestly, i did n't care.
i just felt a dreadful childish fear of loneliness and of those dead men around me, and a sort of wonder how this could have happened to me.
then they found me and carted me off and before long i discovered that there was n't really anything wrong with me.
i'm going back to the trenches tomorrow.
every man is needed there that can be got."
""laughter is gone out of the world," said faith meredith, who had come over to report on her letters.
""i remember telling old mrs. taylor long ago that the world was a world of laughter.
but it is n't so any longer."
""it's a shriek of anguish," said gertrude oliver.
""we must keep a little laughter, girls," said mrs. blythe.
""a good laugh is as good as a prayer sometimes -- only sometimes," she added under her breath.
she had found it very hard to laugh during the three weeks she had just lived through -- she, anne blythe, to whom laughter had always come so easily and freshly.
and what hurt most was that rilla's laughter had grown so rare -- rilla whom she used to think laughed over-much.
was all the child's girlhood to be so clouded?
yet how strong and clever and womanly she was growing!
how patiently she knitted and sewed and manipulated those uncertain junior reds!
and how wonderful she was with jims.
""she really could not do better for that child than if she had raised a baker's dozen, mrs. dr. dear," susan had avowed solemnly.
""little did i ever expect it of her on the day she landed here with that soup tureen."
chapter xiii a slice of humble pie "i am very much afraid, mrs. dr. dear," said susan, who had been on a pilgrimage to the station with some choice bones for dog monday, "that something terrible has happened.
whiskers-on-the-moon came off the train from charlottetown and he was looking pleased.
i do not remember that i ever saw him with a smile on in public before.
of course he may have just been getting the better of somebody in a cattle deal but i have an awful presentiment that the huns have broken through somewhere."
perhaps susan was unjust in connecting mr. pryor's smile with the sinking of the lusitania, news of which circulated an hour later when the mail was distributed.
but the glen boys turned out that night in a body and broke all his windows in a fine frenzy of indignation over the kaiser's doings.
""i do not say they did right and i do not say they did wrong," said susan, when she heard of it.
""but i will say that i would n't have minded throwing a few stones myself.
one thing is certain -- whiskers-on-the-moon said in the post office the day the news came, in the presence of witnesses, that folks who could not stay home after they had been warned deserved no better fate.
norman douglas is fairly foaming at the mouth over it all.
"if the devil does n't get those men who sunk the lusitania then there is no use in there being a devil," he was shouting in carter's store last night.
norman douglas always has believed that anybody who opposed him was on the side of the devil, but a man like that is bound to be right once in a while.
bruce meredith is worrying over the babies who were drowned.
and it seems he prayed for something very special last friday night and did n't get it, and was feeling quite disgruntled over it.
but when he heard about the lusitania he told his mother that he understood now why god did n't answer his prayer -- he was too busy attending to the souls of all the people who went down on the lusitania.
that child's brain is a hundred years older than his body, mrs. dr. dear.
as for the lusitania, it is an awful occurrence, whatever way you look at it.
but woodrow wilson is going to write a note about it, so why worry?
a pretty president!"
and susan banged her pots about wrathfully.
president wilson was rapidly becoming anathema in susan's kitchen.
mary vance dropped in one evening to tell the ingleside folks that she had withdrawn all opposition to miller douglas's enlisting.
""this lusitania business was too much for me," said mary brusquely.
""when the kaiser takes to drowning innocent babies it's high time somebody told him where he gets off at.
this thing must be fought to a finish.
it's been soaking into my mind slow but i'm on now.
so i up and told miller he could go as far as i was concerned.
old kitty alec wo n't be converted though.
if every ship in the world was submarined and every baby drowned, kitty would n't turn a hair.
but i flatter myself that it was me kept miller back all along and not the fair kitty.
i may have deceived myself -- but we shall see."
they did see.
the next sunday miller douglas walked into the glen church beside mary vance in khaki.
and mary was so proud of him that her white eyes fairly blazed.
joe milgrave, back under the gallery, looked at miller and mary and then at miranda pryor, and sighed so heavily that every one within a radius of three pews heard him and knew what his trouble was.
walter blythe did not sigh.
but rilla, scanning his face anxiously, saw a look that cut into her heart.
it haunted her for the next week and made an undercurrent of soreness in her soul, which was externally being harrowed up by the near approach of the red cross concert and the worries connected therewith.
the reese cold had not developed into whooping-cough, so that tangle was straightened out.
but other things were hanging in the balance; and on the very day before the concert came a regretful letter from mrs. channing saying that she could not come to sing.
her son, who was in kingsport with his regiment, was seriously ill with pneumonia, and she must go to him at once.
the members of the concert committee looked at each other in blank dismay.
what was to be done?
""this comes of depending on outside help," said olive kirk, disagreeably.
""we must do something," said rilla, too desperate to care for olive's manner.
""we've advertised the concert everywhere -- and crowds are coming -- there's even a big party coming out from town -- and we were short enough of music as it was.
we must get some one to sing in mrs. channing's place."
""i do n't know who you can get at this late date," said olive.
""irene howard could do it; but it is not likely she will after the way she was insulted by our society."
""how did our society insult her?"
asked rilla, in what she called her "cold-pale tone."
its coldness and pallor did not daunt olive.
""you insulted her," she answered sharply.
""irene told me all about it -- she was literally heart-broken.
you told her never to speak to you again -- and irene told me she simply could not imagine what she had said or done to deserve such treatment.
that was why she never came to our meetings again but joined in with the lowbridge red cross.
i do not blame her in the least, and i, for one, will not ask her to lower herself by helping us out of this scrape."
""you do n't expect me to ask her?"
giggled amy macallister, the other member of the committee.
""irene and i have n't spoken for a hundred years.
irene is always getting "insulted" by somebody.
but she is a lovely singer, i'll admit that, and people would just as soon hear her as mrs. channing."
""it would n't do any good if you did ask her," said olive significantly.
""soon after we began planning this concert, back in april, i met irene in town one day and asked her if she would n't help us out.
she said she'd love to but she really did n't see how she could when rilla blythe was running the programme, after the strange way rilla had behaved to her.
so there it is and here we are, and a nice failure our concert will be."
rilla went home and shut herself up in her room, her soul in a turmoil.
she would not humiliate herself by apologizing to irene howard!
irene had been as much in the wrong as she had been; and she had told such mean, distorted versions of their quarrel everywhere, posing as a puzzled, injured martyr.
rilla could never bring herself to tell her side of it.
the fact that a slur at walter was mixed up in it tied her tongue.
so most people believed that irene had been badly used, except a few girls who had never liked her and sided with rilla.
and yet -- the concert over which she had worked so hard was going to be a failure.
mrs. channing's four solos were the feature of the whole programme.
""miss oliver, what do you think about it?"
she asked in desperation.
""i think irene is the one who should apologize," said miss oliver.
""but unfortunately my opinion will not fill the blanks in your programme."
""if i went and apologized meekly to irene she would sing, i am sure," sighed rilla.
""she really loves to sing in public.
but i know she'll be nasty about it -- i feel i'd rather do anything than go.
i suppose i should go -- if jem and jerry can face the huns surely i can face irene howard, and swallow my pride to ask a favour of her for the good of the belgians.
just at present i feel that i can not do it but for all that i have a presentiment that after supper you'll see me meekly trotting through rainbow valley on my way to the upper glen road."
rilla's presentiment proved correct.
after supper she dressed herself carefully in her blue, beaded crepe -- for vanity is harder to quell than pride and irene always saw any flaw or shortcoming in another girl's appearance.
besides, as rilla had told her mother one day when she was nine years old, "it is easier to behave nicely when you have your good clothes on."
rilla did her hair very becomingly and donned a long raincoat for fear of a shower.
but all the while her thoughts were concerned with the coming distasteful interview, and she kept rehearsing mentally her part in it.
she wished it were over -- she wished she had never tried to get up a belgian relief concert -- she wished she had not quarreled with irene.
after all, disdainful silence would have been much more effective in meeting the slur upon walter.
it was foolish and childish to fly out as she had done -- well, she would be wiser in the future, but meanwhile a large and very unpalatable slice of humble pie had to be eaten, and rilla blythe was no fonder of that wholesome article of diet than the rest of us.
by sunset she was at the door of the howard house -- a pretentious abode, with white scroll-work round the eaves and an eruption of bay-windows on all its sides.
mrs. howard, a plump, voluble dame, met rilla gushingly and left her in the parlour while she went to call irene.
rilla threw off her rain-coat and looked at herself critically in the mirror over the mantel.
hair, hat, and dress were satisfactory -- nothing there for miss irene to make fun of.
rilla remembered how clever and amusing she used to think irene's biting little comments about other girls.
well, it had come home to her now.
presently, irene skimmed down, elegantly gowned, with her pale, straw-coloured hair done in the latest and most extreme fashion, and an over-luscious atmosphere of perfume enveloping her.
""why how do you do, miss blythe?"
she said sweetly.
""this is a very unexpected pleasure."
rilla had risen to take irene's chilly finger-tips and now, as she sat down again, she saw something that temporarily stunned her.
irene saw it too, as she sat down, and a little amused, impertinent smile appeared on her lips and hovered there during the rest of the interview.
on one of rilla's feet was a smart little steel-buckled shoe and a filmy blue silk stocking.
the other was clad in a stout and rather shabby boot and black lisle!
poor rilla!
she had changed, or begun to change her boots and stockings after she had put on her dress.
this was the result of doing one thing with your hands and another with your brain.
oh, what a ridiculous position to be in -- and before irene howard of all people -- irene, who was staring at rilla's feet as if she had never seen feet before!
and once she had thought irene's manner perfection!
everything that rilla had prepared to say vanished from her memory.
vainly trying to tuck her unlucky foot under her chair, she blurted out a blunt statement.
""i have come to athk a favour of you, irene."
there -- lisping!
oh, she had been prepared for humiliation but not to this extent!
really, there were limits!
""yes?"
said irene in a cool, questioning tone, lifting her shallowly-set, insolent eyes to rilla's crimson face for a moment and then dropping them again as if she could not tear them from their fascinated gaze at the shabby boot and the gallant shoe.
rilla gathered herself together.
she would not lisp -- she would be calm and composed.
""mrs. channing can not come because her son is ill in kingsport, and i have come on behalf of the committee to ask you if you will be so kind as to sing for us in her place."
rilla enunciated every word so precisely and carefully that she seemed to be reciting a lesson.
""it's something of a fiddler's invitation, is n't it?"
said irene, with one of her disagreeable smiles.
""olive kirk asked you to help when we first thought of the concert and you refused," said rilla.
""why, i could hardly help -- then -- could i?"
asked irene plaintively.
""after you ordered me never to speak to you again?
it would have been very awkward for us both, do n't you think?"
now for the humble pie.
""i want to apologize to you for saying that, irene."
said rilla steadily.
""i should not have said it and i have been very sorry ever since.
will you forgive me?"
""and sing at your concert?"
said irene sweetly and insultingly.
""if you mean," said rilla miserably, "that i would not be apologizing to you if it were not for the concert perhaps that is true.
but it is also true that i have felt ever since it happened that i should not have said what i did and that i have been sorry for it all winter.
that is all i can say.
if you feel you ca n't forgive me i suppose there is nothing more to be said."
""oh, rilla dear, do n't snap me up like that," pleaded irene.
""of course i'll forgive you -- though i did feel awfully about it -- how awfully i hope you'll never know.
i cried for weeks over it.
and i had n't said or done a thing!"
rilla choked back a retort.
after all, there was no use in arguing with irene, and the belgians were starving.
""do n't you think you can help us with the concert," she forced herself to say.
oh, if only irene would stop looking at that boot!
rilla could just hear her giving olive kirk an account of it.
""i do n't see how i really can at the last moment like this," protested irene.
""there is n't time to learn anything new."
""oh, you have lots of lovely songs that nobody in the glen ever heard before," said rilla, who knew irene had been going to town all winter for lessons and that this was only a pretext.
""they will all be new down there."
""but i have no accompanist," protested irene.
""una meredith can accompany you," said rilla.
""oh, i could n't ask her," sighed irene.
""we have n't spoken since last fall.
she was so hateful to me the time of our sunday-school concert that i simply had to give her up."
dear, dear, was irene at feud with everybody?
as for una meredith being hateful to anybody, the idea was so farcical that rilla had much ado to keep from laughing in irene's very face.
""miss oliver is a beautiful pianist and can play any accompaniment at sight," said rilla desperately.
""she will play for you and you could run over your songs easily tomorrow evening at ingleside before the concert."
""but i have n't anything to wear.
my new evening-dress is n't home from charlottetown yet, and i simply can not wear my old one at such a big affair.
it is too shabby and old-fashioned."
""our concert," said rilla slowly, "is in aid of belgian children who are starving to death.
do n't you think you could wear a shabby dress once for their sake, irene?"
""oh, do n't you think those accounts we get of the conditions of the belgians are very much exaggerated?"
said irene.
""i'm sure they ca n't be actually starving you know, in the twentieth century.
the newspapers always colour things so highly."
rilla concluded that she had humiliated herself enough.
there was such a thing as self-respect.
no more coaxing, concert or no concert.
she got up, boot and all.
""i am sorry you ca n't help us, irene, but since you can not we must do the best we can."
now this did not suit irene at all.
she desired exceedingly to sing at that concert, and all her hesitations were merely by way of enhancing the boon of her final consent.
besides, she really wanted to be friends with rilla again.
rilla's whole-hearted, ungrudging adoration had been very sweet incense to her.
and ingleside was a very charming house to visit, especially when a handsome college student like walter was home.
she stopped looking at rilla's feet.
""rilla, darling, do n't be so abrupt.
i really want to help you, if i can manage it.
just sit down and let's talk it over."
""i'm sorry, but i ca n't.
i have to be home soon -- jims has to be settled for the night, you know."
""oh, yes -- the baby you are bringing up by the book.
it's perfectly sweet of you to do it when you hate children so.
how cross you were just because i kissed him!
but we'll forget all that and be chums again, wo n't we?
now, about the concert -- i dare say i can run into town on the morning train after my dress, and out again on the afternoon one in plenty of time for the concert, if you'll ask miss oliver to play for me.
i could n't -- she's so dreadfully haughty and supercilious that she simply paralyses poor little me."
rilla did not waste time or breath defending miss oliver.
she coolly thanked irene, who had suddenly become very amiable and gushing, and got away.
she was very thankful the interview was over.
but she knew now that she and irene could never be the friends they had been.
friendly, yes -- but friends, no.
nor did she wish it.
all winter she had felt under her other and more serious worries, a little feeling of regret for her lost chum.
now it was suddenly gone.
irene was not as mrs. elliott would say, of the race that knew joseph.
rilla did not say or think that she had outgrown irene.
had the thought occurred to her she would have considered it absurd when she was not yet seventeen and irene was twenty.
but it was the truth.
irene was just what she had been a year ago -- just what she would always be.
rilla blythe's nature in that year had changed and matured and deepened.
she found herself seeing through irene with a disconcerting clearness -- discerning under all her superficial sweetness, her pettiness, her vindictiveness, her insincerity, her essential cheapness.
irene had lost for ever her faithful worshipper.
but not until rilla had traversed the upper glen road and found herself in the moon-dappled solitude of rainbow valley did she fully recover her composure of spirit.
then she stopped under a tall wild plum that was ghostly white and fair in its misty spring bloom and laughed.
""there is only one thing of importance just now -- and that is that the allies win the war," she said aloud.
""therefore, it follows without dispute that the fact that i went to see irene howard with odd shoes and stockings on is of no importance whatever.
nevertheless, i, bertha marilla blythe, swear solemnly with the moon as witness" -- rilla lifted her hand dramatically to the said moon -- "that i will never leave my room again without looking carefully at both my feet."
chapter xiv the valley of decision susan kept the flag flying at ingleside all the next day, in honour of italy's declaration of war.
""and not before it was time, mrs. dr. dear, considering the way things have begun to go on the russian front.
say what you will, those russians are kittle cattle, the grand duke nicholas to the contrary notwithstanding.
it is a fortunate thing for italy that she has come in on the right side, but whether it is as fortunate for the allies i will not predict until i know more about italians than i do now.
however, she will give that old reprobate of a francis joseph something to think about.
a pretty emperor indeed -- with one foot in the grave and yet plotting wholesale murder" -- and susan thumped and kneaded her bread with as much vicious energy as she could have expended in punching francis joseph himself if he had been so unlucky as to fall into her clutches.
walter had gone to town on the early train, and nan offered to look after jims for the day and so set rilla free.
rilla was wildly busy all day, helping to decorate the glen hall and seeing to a hundred last things.
the evening was beautiful, in spite of the fact that mr. pryor was reported to have said that he "hoped it would rain pitch forks points down," and to have wantonly kicked miranda's dog as he said it.
rilla, rushing home from the hall, dressed hurriedly.
everything had gone surprisingly well at the last; irene was even then downstairs practising her songs with miss oliver; rilla was excited and happy, forgetful even of the western front for the moment.
it gave her a sense of achievement and victory to have brought her efforts of weeks to such a successful conclusion.
she knew that there had not lacked people who thought and hinted that rilla blythe had not the tact or patience to engineer a concert programme.
she had shown them!
little snatches of song bubbled up from her lips as she dressed.
she thought she was looking very well.
excitement brought a faint, becoming pink into her round creamy cheeks, quite drowning out her few freckles, and her hair gleamed with red-brown lustre.
should she wear crab-apple blossoms in it, or her little fillet of pearls?
after some agonised wavering she decided on the crab-apple blossoms and tucked the white waxen cluster behind her left ear.
now for a final look at her feet.
yes, both slippers were on.
she gave the sleeping jims a kiss -- what a dear little warm, rosy, satin face he had -- and hurried down the hill to the hall.
already it was filling -- soon it was crowded.
her concert was going to be a brilliant success.
the first three numbers were successfully over.
rilla was in the little dressing-room behind the platform, looking out on the moonlit harbour and rehearsing her own recitations.
she was alone, the rest of the performers being in the larger room on the other side.
suddenly she felt two soft bare arms slipping round her waist, then irene howard dropped a light kiss on her cheek.
""rilla, you sweet thing, you're looking simply angelic to-night.
you have spunk -- i thought you would feel so badly over walter's enlisting that you'd hardly be able to bear up at all, and here you are as cool as a cucumber.
i wish i had half your nerve."
rilla stood perfectly still.
she felt no emotion whatever -- she felt nothing.
the world of feeling had just gone blank.
""walter -- enlisting" -- she heard herself saying -- then she heard irene's affected little laugh.
""why, did n't you know?
i thought you did of course, or i would n't have mentioned it.
i am always putting my foot in it, are n't i?
yes, that is what he went to town for to-day -- he told me coming out on the train to-night, i was the first person he told.
he is n't in khaki yet -- they were out of uniforms -- but he will be in a day or two.
i always said walter had as much pluck as anybody.
i assure you i felt proud of him, rilla, when he told me what he'd done.
oh, there's an end of rick macallister's reading.
i must fly.
i promised i'd play for the next chorus -- alice clow has such a headache."
she was gone -- oh, thank god, she was gone!
rilla was alone again, staring out at the unchanged, dream-like beauty of moonlit four winds.
feeling was coming back to her -- a pang of agony so acute as to be almost physical seemed to rend her apart.
""i can not bear it," she said.
and then came the awful thought that perhaps she could bear it and that there might be years of this hideous suffering before her.
she must get away -- she must rush home -- she must be alone.
she could not go out there and play for drills and give readings and take part in dialogues now.
it would spoil half the concert; but that did not matter -- nothing mattered.
was this she, rilla blythe -- this tortured thing, who had been quite happy a few minutes ago?
outside, a quartette was singing "we'll never let the old flag fall" -- the music seemed to be coming from some remote distance.
why could n't she cry, as she had cried when jem told them he must go?
if she could cry perhaps this horrible something that seemed to have seized on her very life might let go.
but no tears came!
where were her scarf and coat?
she must get away and hide herself like an animal hurt to the death.
was it a coward's part to run away like this?
the question came to her suddenly as if someone else had asked it.
she thought of the shambles of the flanders front -- she thought of her brother and her playmate helping to hold those fire-swept trenches.
what would they think of her if she shirked her little duty here -- the humble duty of carrying the programme through for her red cross?
but she could n't stay -- she could n't -- yet what was it mother had said when jem went: "when our women fail in courage shall our men be fearless still?"
but this -- this was unbearable.
still, she stopped half-way to the door and went back to the window.
irene was singing now; her beautiful voice -- the only real thing about her -- soared clear and sweet through the building.
rilla knew that the girls" fairy drill came next.
could she go out there and play for it?
her head was aching now -- her throat was burning.
oh, why had irene told her just then, when telling could do no good?
irene had been very cruel.
rilla remembered now that more than once that day she had caught her mother looking at her with an odd expression.
she had been too busy to wonder what it meant.
she understood now.
mother had known why walter went to town but would n't tell her until the concert was over.
what spirit and endurance mother had!
""i must stay here and see things through," said rilla, clasping her cold hands together.
the rest of the evening always seemed like a fevered dream to her.
her body was crowded by people but her soul was alone in a torture-chamber of its own.
yet she played steadily for the drills and gave her readings without faltering.
she even put on a grotesque old irish woman's costume and acted the part in the dialogue which miranda pryor had not taken.
but she did not give her "brogue" the inimitable twist she had given it in the practices, and her readings lacked their usual fire and appeal.
as she stood before the audience she saw one face only -- that of the handsome, dark-haired lad sitting beside her mother -- and she saw that same face in the trenches -- saw it lying cold and dead under the stars -- saw it pining in prison -- saw the light of its eyes blotted out -- saw a hundred horrible things as she stood there on the beflagged platform of the glen hall with her own face whiter than the milky crab-blossoms in her hair.
between her numbers she walked restlessly up and down the little dressing-room.
would the concert never end!
it ended at last.
olive kirk rushed up and told her exultantly that they had made a hundred dollars.
""that's good," rilla said mechanically.
then she was away from them all -- oh, thank god, she was away from them all -- walter was waiting for her at the door.
he put his arm through hers silently and they went together down the moonlit road.
the frogs were singing in the marshes, the dim, ensilvered fields of home lay all around them.
the spring night was lovely and appealing.
rilla felt that its beauty was an insult to her pain.
she would hate moonlight for ever.
""you know?"
said walter.
""yes.
irene told me," answered rilla chokingly.
""we did n't want you to know till the evening was over.
i knew when you came out for the drill that you had heard.
little sister, i had to do it.
i could n't live any longer on such terms with myself as i have been since the lusitania was sunk.
when i pictured those dead women and children floating about in that pitiless, ice-cold water -- well, at first i just felt a sort of nausea with life.
i wanted to get out of the world where such a thing could happen -- shake its accursed dust from my feet for ever.
then i knew i had to go."
""there are -- plenty -- without you."
""that is n't the point, rilla-my-rilla.
i'm going for my own sake -- to save my soul alive.
it will shrink to something small and mean and lifeless if i do n't go.
that would be worse than blindness or mutilation or any of the things i've feared."
""you may -- be -- killed," rilla hated herself for saying it -- she knew it was a weak and cowardly thing to say -- but she had rather gone to pieces after the tension of the evening."
"comes he slow or comes he fast it is but death who comes at last.""
quoted walter.
""it's not death i fear -- i told you that long ago.
one can pay too high a price for mere life, little sister.
there's so much hideousness in this war -- i've got to go and help wipe it out of the world.
i'm going to fight for the beauty of life, rilla-my-rilla -- that is my duty.
there may be a higher duty, perhaps -- but that is mine.
i owe life and canada that, and i've got to pay it.
rilla, tonight for the first time since jem left i've got back my self-respect.
i could write poetry," walter laughed.
""i've never been able to write a line since last august.
tonight i'm full of it.
little sister, be brave -- you were so plucky when jem went."
""this -- is -- different," rilla had to stop after every word to fight down a wild outburst of sobs.
""i loved -- jem -- of course -- but -- when -- he went -- away -- we thought -- the war -- would soon -- be over -- and you are -- everything to me, walter."
""you must be brave to help me, rilla-my-rilla.
i'm exalted tonight -- drunk with the excitement of victory over myself -- but there will be other times when it wo n't be like this -- i'll need your help then."
""when -- do -- you -- go?"
she must know the worst at once.
""not for a week -- then we go to kingsport for training.
i suppose we'll go overseas about the middle of july -- we do n't know."
one week -- only one week more with walter!
the eyes of youth did not see how she was to go on living.
when they turned in at the ingleside gate walter stopped in the shadows of the old pines and drew rilla close to him.
""rilla-my-rilla, there were girls as sweet and pure as you in belgium and flanders.
you -- even you -- know what their fate was.
we must make it impossible for such things to happen again while the world lasts.
you'll help me, wo n't you?"
""i'll try, walter," she said.
""oh, i will try."
as she clung to him with her face pressed against his shoulder she knew that it had to be.
she accepted the fact then and there.
he must go -- her beautiful walter with his beautiful soul and dreams and ideals.
and she had known all along that it would come sooner or later.
she had seen it coming to her -- coming -- coming -- as one sees the shadow of a cloud drawing near over a sunny field, swiftly and inescapably.
amid all her pain she was conscious of an odd feeling of relief in some hidden part of her soul, where a little dull, unacknowledged soreness had been lurking all winter.
no one -- no one could ever call walter a slacker now.
rilla did not sleep that night.
perhaps no one at ingleside did except jims.
the body grows slowly and steadily, but the soul grows by leaps and bounds.
it may come to its full stature in an hour.
from that night rilla blythe's soul was the soul of a woman in its capacity for suffering, for strength, for endurance.
when the bitter dawn came she rose and went to her window.
below her was a big apple-tree, a great swelling cone of rosy blossom.
walter had planted it years ago when he was a little boy.
beyond rainbow valley there was a cloudy shore of morning with little ripples of sunrise breaking over it.
the far, cold beauty of a lingering star shone above it.
why, in this world of springtime loveliness, must hearts break?
rilla felt arms go about her lovingly, protectingly.
it was mother -- pale, large-eyed mother.
""oh, mother, how can you bear it?"
she cried wildly.
""rilla, dear, i've known for several days that walter meant to go.
i've had time to -- to rebel and grow reconciled.
we must give him up.
there is a call greater and more insistent than the call of our love -- he has listened to it.
we must not add to the bitterness of his sacrifice."
""our sacrifice is greater than his," cried rilla passionately.
""our boys give only themselves.
we give them."
before mrs. blythe could reply susan stuck her head in at the door, never troubling over such frills of etiquette as knocking.
her eyes were suspiciously red but all she said was, "will i bring up your breakfast, mrs. dr. dear."
""no, no, susan.
we will all be down presently.
do you know -- that walter has joined up."
""yes, mrs. dr. dear.
the doctor told me last night.
i suppose the almighty has his own reasons for allowing such things.
we must submit and endeavour to look on the bright side.
it may cure him of being a poet, at least" -- susan still persisted in thinking that poets and tramps were tarred with the same brush -- "and that would be something.
but thank god," she muttered in a lower tone, "that shirley is not old enough to go."
""is n't that the same thing as thanking him that some other woman's son has to go in shirley's place?"
asked the doctor, pausing on the threshold.
""no, it is not, doctor dear," said susan defiantly, as she picked up jims, who was opening his big dark eyes and stretching up his dimpled paws.
""do not you put words in my mouth that i would never dream of uttering.
i am a plain woman and can not argue with you, but i do not thank god that anybody has to go.
i only know that it seems they do have to go, unless we all want to be kaiserised -- for i can assure you that the monroe doctrine, whatever it is, is nothing to tie to, with woodrow wilson behind it.
the huns, dr. dear, will never be brought to brook by notes.
and now," concluded susan, tucking jims in the crook of her gaunt arms and marching downstairs, "having cried my cry and said my say i shall take a brace, and if i can not look pleasant i will look as pleasant as i can."
chapter xv until the day break "the germans have recaptured premysl," said susan despairingly, looking up from her newspaper, "and now i suppose we will have to begin calling it by that uncivilised name again.
cousin sophia was in when the mail came and when she heard the news she hove a sigh up from the depths of her stomach, mrs. dr. dear, and said, "ah yes, and they will get petrograd next i have no doubt."
i said to her, "my knowledge of geography is not so profound as i wish it was but i have an idea that it is quite a walk from premysl to petrograd."
cousin sophia sighed again and said, "the grand duke nicholas is not the man i took him to be."
"do not let him know that," said i. "it might hurt his feelings and he has likely enough to worry him as it is.
but you can not cheer cousin sophia up, no matter how sarcastic you are, mrs. dr. dear.
she sighed for the third time and groaned out, "but the russians are retreating fast," and i said, "well, what of it?
they have plenty of room for retreating, have they not?"
but all the same, mrs. dr. dear, though i would never admit it to cousin sophia, i do not like the situation on the eastern front."
nobody else liked it either; but all summer the russian retreat went on -- a long-drawn-out agony.
""i wonder if i shall ever again be able to await the coming of the mail with feelings of composure -- never to speak of pleasure," said gertrude oliver.
""the thought that haunts me night and day is -- will the germans smash russia completely and then hurl their eastern army, flushed with victory, against the western front?"
""they will not, miss oliver dear," said susan, assuming the role of prophetess.
""in the first place, the almighty will not allow it, in the second, grand duke nicholas, though he may have been a disappointment to us in some respects, knows how to run away decently and in order, and that is a very useful knowledge when germans are chasing you.
norman douglas declares he is just luring them on and killing ten of them to one he loses.
but i am of the opinion he can not help himself and is just doing the best he can under the circumstances, the same as the rest of us.
so do not go so far afield to borrow trouble, miss oliver dear, when there is plenty of it already camping on our very doorstep."
walter had gone to kingsport the first of june.
nan, di and faith had gone also to do red cross work in their vacation.
in mid-july walter came home for a week's leave before going overseas.
rilla had lived through the days of his absence on the hope of that week, and now that it had come she drank every minute of it thirstily, hating even the hours she had to spend in sleep, they seemed such a waste of precious moments.
in spite of its sadness, it was a beautiful week, full of poignant, unforgettable hours, when she and walter had long walks and talks and silences together.
he was all her own and she knew that he found strength and comfort in her sympathy and understanding.
it was very wonderful to know she meant so much to him -- the knowledge helped her through moments that would otherwise have been unendurable, and gave her power to smile -- and even to laugh a little.
when walter had gone she might indulge in the comfort of tears, but not while he was here.
she would not even let herself cry at night, lest her eyes should betray her to him in the morning.
on his last evening at home they went together to rainbow valley and sat down on the bank of the brook, under the white lady, where the gay revels of olden days had been held in the cloudless years.
rainbow valley was roofed over with a sunset of unusual splendour that night; a wonderful grey dusk just touched with starlight followed it; and then came moonshine, hinting, hiding, revealing, lighting up little dells and hollows here, leaving others in dark, velvet shadow.
""when i am "somewhere in france,"" said walter, looking around him with eager eyes on all the beauty his soul loved, "i shall remember these still, dewy, moon-drenched places.
the balsam of the fir-trees; the peace of those white pools of moonshine; the "strength of the hills" -- what a beautiful old biblical phrase that is.
rilla!
look at those old hills around us -- the hills we looked up at as children, wondering what lay for us in the great world beyond them.
how calm and strong they are -- how patient and changeless -- like the heart of a good woman.
rilla-my-rilla, do you know what you have been to me the past year?
i want to tell you before i go.
i could not have lived through it if it had not been for you, little loving, believing heart."
rilla dared not try to speak.
she slipped her hand into walter's and pressed it hard.
""and when i'm over there, rilla, in that hell upon earth which men who have forgotten god have made, it will be the thought of you that will help me most.
i know you'll be as plucky and patient as you have shown yourself to be this past year -- i'm not afraid for you.
i know that no matter what happens, you'll be rilla-my-rilla -- no matter what happens."
rilla repressed tear and sigh, but she could not repress a little shiver, and walter knew that he had said enough.
after a moment of silence, in which each made an unworded promise to each other, he said, "now we wo n't be sober any more.
we'll look beyond the years -- to the time when the war will be over and jem and jerry and i will come marching home and we'll all be happy again."
""we wo n't be -- happy -- in the same way," said rilla.
""no, not in the same way.
nobody whom this war has touched will ever be happy again in quite the same way.
but it will be a better happiness, i think, little sister -- a happiness we've earned.
we were very happy before the war, were n't we?
with a home like ingleside, and a father and mother like ours we could n't help being happy.
but that happiness was a gift from life and love; it was n't really ours -- life could take it back at any time.
it can never take away the happiness we win for ourselves in the way of duty.
i've realised that since i went into khaki.
in spite of my occasional funks, when i fall to living over things beforehand, i've been happy since that night in may.
rilla, be awfully good to mother while i'm away.
it must be a horrible thing to be a mother in this war -- the mothers and sisters and wives and sweethearts have the hardest times.
rilla, you beautiful little thing, are you anybody's sweetheart?
if you are, tell me before i go."
""no," said rilla.
then, impelled by a wish to be absolutely frank with walter in this talk that might be the last they would ever have, she added, blushing wildly in the moonlight, "but if -- kenneth ford -- wanted me to be --" "i see," said walter.
""and ken's in khaki, too.
poor little girlie, it's a bit hard for you all round.
well, i'm not leaving any girl to break her heart about me -- thank god for that."
rilla glanced up at the manse on the hill.
she could see a light in una meredith's window.
she felt tempted to say something -- then she knew she must not.
it was not her secret: and, anyway, she did not know -- she only suspected.
walter looked about him lingeringly and lovingly.
this spot had always been so dear to him.
what fun they all had had here lang syne.
phantoms of memory seemed to pace the dappled paths and peep merrily through the swinging boughs -- jem and jerry, bare-legged, sunburned schoolboys, fishing in the brook and frying trout over the old stone fireplace; nan and di and faith, in their dimpled, fresh-eyed childish beauty; una the sweet and shy, carl, poring over ants and bugs, little slangy, sharp-tongued, good-hearted mary vance -- the old walter that had been himself lying on the grass reading poetry or wandering through palaces of fancy.
they were all there around him -- he could see them almost as plainly as he saw rilla -- as plainly as he had once seen the pied piper piping down the valley in a vanished twilight.
and they said to him, those gay little ghosts of other days, "we were the children of yesterday, walter -- fight a good fight for the children of to-day and to-morrow."
""where are you, walter," cried rilla, laughing a little.
""come back -- come back."
walter came back with a long breath.
he stood up and looked about him at the beautiful valley of moonlight, as if to impress on his mind and heart every charm it possessed -- the great dark plumes of the firs against the silvery sky, the stately white lady, the old magic of the dancing brook, the faithful tree lovers, the beckoning, tricksy paths.
""i shall see it so in my dreams," he said, as he turned away.
they went back to ingleside.
mr. and mrs. meredith were there, with gertrude oliver, who had come from lowbridge to say good-bye.
everybody was quite cheerful and bright, but nobody said much about the war being soon over, as they had said when jem went away.
they did not talk about the war at all -- and they thought of nothing else.
at last they gathered around the piano and sang the grand old hymn: "oh god, our help in ages past our hope for years to come.
our shelter from the stormy blast and our eternal home."
""we all come back to god in these days of soul-sifting," said gertrude to john meredith.
""there have been many days in the past when i did n't believe in god -- not as god -- only as the impersonal great first cause of the scientists.
i believe in him now -- i have to -- there's nothing else to fall back on but god -- humbly, starkly, unconditionally.""
"our help in ages past" -- "the same yesterday, to-day and for ever,"" said the minister gently.
""when we forget god -- he remembers us."
there was no crowd at the glen station the next morning to see walter off.
it was becoming a commonplace for a khaki clad boy to board that early morning train after his last leave.
besides his own, only the manse folk were there, and mary vance.
mary had sent her miller off the week before, with a determined grin, and now considered herself entitled to give expert opinion on how such partings should be conducted.
""the main thing is to smile and act as if nothing was happening," she informed the ingleside group.
""the boys all hate the sob act like poison.
miller told me i was n't to come near the station if i could n't keep from bawling.
so i got through with my crying beforehand, and at the last i said to him, "good luck, miller, and if you come back you'll find i have n't changed any, and if you do n't come back i'll always be proud you went, and in any case do n't fall in love with a french girl."
miller swore he would n't, but you never can tell about those fascinating foreign hussies.
anyhow, the last sight he had of me i was smiling to my limit.
gee, all the rest of the day my face felt as if it had been starched and ironed into a smile."
in spite of mary's advice and example mrs. blythe, who had sent jem off with a smile, could not quite manage one for walter.
but at least no one cried.
dog monday came out of his lair in the shipping-shed and sat down close to walter, thumping his tail vigorously on the boards of the platform whenever walter spoke to him, and looking up with confident eyes, as if to say, "i know you'll find jem and bring him back to me."
""so long, old fellow," said carl meredith cheerfully, when the good-byes had to be said.
""tell them over there to keep their spirits up -- i am coming along presently."
""me too," said shirley laconically, proffering a brown paw.
susan heard him and her face turned very grey.
una shook hands quietly, looking at him with wistful, sorrowful, dark-blue eyes.
but then una's eyes had always been wistful.
walter bent his handsome black head in its khaki cap and kissed her with the warm, comradely kiss of a brother.
he had never kissed her before, and for a fleeting moment una's face betrayed her, if anyone had noticed.
but nobody did; the conductor was shouting "all aboard"; everybody was trying to look very cheerful.
walter turned to rilla; she held his hands and looked up at him.
she would not see him again until the day broke and the shadows vanished -- and she knew not if that daybreak would be on this side of the grave or beyond it.
""good-bye," she said.
on her lips it lost all the bitterness it had won through the ages of parting and bore instead all the sweetness of the old loves of all the women who had ever loved and prayed for the beloved.
""write me often and bring jims up faithfully, according to the gospel of morgan," walter said lightly, having said all his serious things the night before in rainbow valley.
but at the last moment he took her face between his hands and looked deep into her gallant eyes.
""god bless you, rilla-my-rilla," he said softly and tenderly.
after all it was not a hard thing to fight for a land that bore daughters like this.
he stood on the rear platform and waved to them as the train pulled out.
rilla was standing by herself, but una meredith came to her and the two girls who loved him most stood together and held each other's cold hands as the train rounded the curve of the wooded hill.
rilla spent an hour in rainbow valley that morning about which she never said a word to anyone; she did not even write in her diary about it; when it was over she went home and made rompers for jims.
in the evening she went to a junior red cross committee meeting and was severely businesslike.
""you would never suppose," said irene howard to olive kirk afterwards, "that walter had left for the front only this morning.
but some people really have no depth of feeling.
i often wish i could take things as lightly as rilla blythe."
chapter xvi realism and romance "warsaw has fallen," said dr. blythe with a resigned air, as he brought the mail in one warm august day.
gertrude and mrs. blythe looked dismally at each other, and rilla, who was feeding jims a morganized diet from a carefully sterilized spoon, laid the said spoon down on his tray, utterly regardless of germs, and said, "oh, dear me," in as tragic a tone as if the news had come as a thunderbolt instead of being a foregone conclusion from the preceding week's dispatches.
they had thought they were quite resigned to warsaw's fall but now they knew they had, as always, hoped against hope.
""now, let us take a brace," said susan.
""it is not the terrible thing we have been thinking.
i read a dispatch three columns long in the montreal herald yesterday that proved that warsaw was not important from a military point of view at all.
so let us take the military point of view, doctor dear."
""i read that dispatch, too, and it has encouraged me immensely," said gertrude.
""i knew then and i know now that it was a lie from beginning to end.
but i am in that state of mind where even a lie is a comfort, providing it is a cheerful lie."
""in that case, miss oliver dear, the german official reports ought to be all you need," said susan sarcastically.
""i never read them now because they make me so mad i can not put my thoughts properly on my work after a dose of them.
even this news about warsaw has taken the edge off my afternoon's plans.
misfortunes never come singly.
i spoiled my baking of bread today -- and now warsaw has fallen -- and here is little kitchener bent on choking himself to death."
jims was evidently trying to swallow his spoon, germs and all.
rilla rescued him mechanically and was about to resume the operation of feeding him when a casual remark of her father's sent such a shock and thrill over her that for the second time she dropped that doomed spoon.
""kenneth ford is down at martin west's over-harbour," the doctor was saying.
""his regiment was on its way to the front but was held up in kingsport for some reason, and ken got leave of absence to come over to the island."
""i hope he will come up to see us," exclaimed mrs. blythe.
""he only has a day or two off, i believe," said the doctor absently.
nobody noticed rilla's flushed face and trembling hands.
even the most thoughtful and watchful of parents do not see everything that goes on under their very noses.
rilla made a third attempt to give the long-suffering jims his dinner, but all she could think of was the question -- would ken come to see her before he went away?
she had not heard from him for a long while.
had he forgotten her completely?
if he did not come she would know that he had.
perhaps there was even -- some other girl back there in toronto.
of course there was.
she was a little fool to be thinking about him at all.
she would not think about him.
if he came, well and good.
it would only be courteous of him to make a farewell call at ingleside where he had often been a guest.
if he did not come -- well and good, too.
it did not matter very much.
nobody was going to fret.
that was all settled comfortably -- she was quite indifferent -- but meanwhile jims was being fed with a haste and recklessness that would have filled the soul of morgan with horror.
jims himself did n't like it, being a methodical baby, accustomed to swallowing spoonfuls with a decent interval for breath between each.
he protested, but his protests availed him nothing.
rilla, as far as the care and feeding of infants was concerned, was utterly demoralized.
then the telephone-bell rang.
there was nothing unusual about the telephone ringing.
it rang on an average every ten minutes at ingleside.
but rilla dropped jims" spoon again -- on the carpet this time -- and flew to the "phone as if life depended on her getting there before anybody else.
jims, his patience exhausted, lifted up his voice and wept.
""hello, is this ingleside?"
""yes."
""that you, rilla?"
""yeth -- yeth."
oh, why could n't jims stop howling for just one little minute?
why did n't somebody come in and choke him?
""know who's speaking?"
oh, did n't she know!
would n't she know that voice anywhere -- at any time?
""it's ken -- is n't it?"
""sure thing.
i'm here for a look-in.
can i come up to ingleside tonight and see you?"
""of courthe."
had he used "you" in the singular or plural sense?
presently she would wring jims" neck -- oh, what was ken saying?
""see here, rilla, can you arrange that there wo n't be more than a few dozen people round?
understand?
i ca n't make my meaning clearer over this bally rural line.
there are a dozen receivers down."
did she understand!
yes, she understood.
""i'll try," she said.
""i'll be up about eight then.
by-by."
rilla hung up the "phone and flew to jims.
but she did not wring that injured infant's neck.
instead she snatched him bodily out of his chair, crushed him against her face, kissed him rapturously on his milky mouth, and danced wildly around the room with him in her arms.
after this jims was relieved to find that she returned to sanity, gave him the rest of his dinner properly, and tucked him away for his afternoon nap with the little lullaby he loved best of all.
she sewed at red cross shirts for the rest of the afternoon and built a crystal castle of dreams, all a-quiver with rainbows.
ken wanted to see her -- to see her alone.
that could be easily managed.
shirley would n't bother them, father and mother were going to the manse, miss oliver never played gooseberry, and jims always slept the clock round from seven to seven.
she would entertain ken on the veranda -- it would be moonlight -- she would wear her white georgette dress and do her hair up -- yes, she would -- at least in a low knot at the nape of her neck.
mother could n't object to that, surely.
oh, how wonderful and romantic it would be!
would ken say anything -- he must mean to say something or why should he be so particular about seeing her alone?
what if it rained -- susan had been complaining about mr. hyde that morning!
what if some officious junior red called to discuss belgians and shirts?
or, worst of all, what if fred arnold dropped in?
he did occasionally.
the evening came at last and was all that could be desired in an evening.
the doctor and his wife went to the manse, shirley and miss oliver went they alone knew where, susan went to the store for household supplies, and jims went to dreamland.
rilla put on her georgette gown, knotted up her hair and bound a little double string of pearls around it.
then she tucked a cluster of pale pink baby roses at her belt.
would ken ask her for a rose for a keepsake?
she knew that jem had carried to the trenches in flanders a faded rose that faith meredith had kissed and given him the night before he left.
rilla looked very sweet when she met ken in the mingled moonlight and vine shadows of the big veranda.
the hand she gave him was cold and she was so desperately anxious not to lisp that her greeting was prim and precise.
how handsome and tall kenneth looked in his lieutenant's uniform!
it made him seem older, too -- so much so that rilla felt rather foolish.
had n't it been the height of absurdity for her to suppose that this splendid young officer had anything special to say to her, little rilla blythe of glen st. mary?
likely she had n't understood him after all -- he had only meant that he did n't want a mob of folks around making a fuss over him and trying to lionize him, as they had probably done over-harbour.
yes, of course, that was all he meant -- and she, little idiot, had gone and vainly imagined that he did n't want anybody but her.
and he would think she had manoeuvred everybody away so that they could be alone together, and he would laugh to himself at her.
""this is better luck than i hoped for," said ken, leaning back in his chair and looking at her with very unconcealed admiration in his eloquent eyes.
""i was sure someone would be hanging about and it was just you i wanted to see, rilla-my-rilla."
rilla's dream castle flashed into the landscape again.
this was unmistakable enough certainly -- not much doubt as to his meaning here.
""there are n't -- so many of us -- to poke around as there used to be," she said softly.
""no, that's so," said ken gently.
""jem and walter and the girls away -- it makes a big blank, does n't it?
but --" he leaned forward until his dark curls almost brushed her hair -- "does n't fred arnold try to fill the blank occasionally.
i've been told so."
at this moment, before rilla could make any reply, jims began to cry at the top of his voice in the room whose open window was just above them -- jims, who hardly ever cried in the evening.
moreover, he was crying, as rilla knew from experience, with a vim and energy that betokened that he had been already whimpering softly unheard for some time and was thoroughly exasperated.
when jims started in crying like that he made a thorough job of it.
rilla knew that there was no use to sit still and pretend to ignore him.
he would n't stop; and conversation of any kind was out of the question when such shrieks and howls were floating over your head.
besides, she was afraid kenneth would think she was utterly unfeeling if she sat still and let a baby cry like that.
he was not likely acquainted with morgan's invaluable volume.
she got up.
""jims has had a nightmare, i think.
he sometimes has one and he is always badly frightened by it.
excuse me for a moment."
rilla flew upstairs, wishing quite frankly that soup tureens had never been invented.
but when jims, at sight of her, lifted his little arms entreatingly and swallowed several sobs, with tears rolling down his cheeks, resentment went out of her heart.
after all, the poor darling was frightened.
she picked him up gently and rocked him soothingly until his sobs ceased and his eyes closed.
then she essayed to lay him down in his crib.
jims opened his eyes and shrieked a protest.
this performance was repeated twice.
rilla grew desperate.
she could n't leave ken down there alone any longer -- she had been away nearly half an hour already.
with a resigned air she marched downstairs, carrying jims, and sat down on the veranda.
it was, no doubt, a ridiculous thing to sit and cuddle a contrary war-baby when your best young man was making his farewell call, but there was nothing else to be done.
jims was supremely happy.
he kicked his little pink-soled feet rapturously out under his white nighty and gave one of his rare laughs.
he was beginning to be a very pretty baby; his golden hair curled in silken ringlets all over his little round head and his eyes were beautiful.
""he's a decorative kiddy all right, is n't he?"
said ken.
""his looks are very well," said rilla, bitterly, as if to imply that they were much the best of him.
jims, being an astute infant, sensed trouble in the atmosphere and realized that it was up to him to clear it away.
he turned his face up to rilla, smiled adorably and said, clearly and beguilingly, "will -- will."
it was the very first time he had spoken a word or tried to speak.
rilla was so delighted that she forgot her grudge against him.
she forgave him with a hug and kiss.
jims, understanding that he was restored to favour, cuddled down against her just where a gleam of light from the lamp in the living-room struck across his hair and turned it into a halo of gold against her breast.
kenneth sat very still and silent, looking at rilla -- at the delicate, girlish silhouette of her, her long lashes, her dented lip, her adorable chin.
in the dim moonlight, as she sat with her head bent a little over jims, the lamplight glinting on her pearls until they glistened like a slender nimbus, he thought she looked exactly like the madonna that hung over his mother's desk at home.
he carried that picture of her in his heart to the horror of the battlefields of france.
he had had a strong fancy for rilla blythe ever since the night of the four winds dance; but it was when he saw her there, with little jims in her arms, that he loved her and realized it.
and all the while, poor rilla was sitting, disappointed and humiliated, feeling that her last evening with ken was spoiled and wondering why things always had to go so contrarily outside of books.
she felt too absurd to try to talk.
evidently ken was completely disgusted, too, since he was sitting there in such stony silence.
hope revived momentarily when jims went so thoroughly asleep that she thought it would be safe to lay him down on the couch in the living-room.
but when she came out again susan was sitting on the veranda, loosening her bonnet strings with the air of one who meant to stay where she was for some time.
""have you got your baby to sleep?"
she asked kindly.
your baby!
really, susan might have more tact.
""yes," said rilla shortly.
susan laid her parcels on the reed table, as one determined to do her duty.
she was very tired but she must help rilla out.
here was kenneth ford who had come to call on the family and they were all unfortunately out, and "the poor child" had had to entertain him alone.
but susan had come to her rescue -- susan would do her part no matter how tired she was.
""dear me, how you have grown up," she said, looking at ken's six feet of khaki uniform without the least awe.
susan had grown used to khaki now, and at sixty-four even a lieutenant's uniform is just clothes and nothing else.
""it is an amazing thing how fast children do grow up.
rilla here, now, is almost fifteen."
""i'm going on seventeen, susan," cried rilla almost passionately.
she was a whole month past sixteen.
it was intolerable of susan.
""it seems just the other day that you were all babies," said susan, ignoring rilla's protest.
""you were really the prettiest baby i ever saw, ken, though your mother had an awful time trying to cure you of sucking your thumb.
do you remember the day i spanked you?"
""no," said ken.
""oh well, i suppose you would be too young -- you were only about four and you were here with your mother and you insisted on teasing nan until she cried.
i had tried several ways of stopping you but none availed, and i saw that a spanking was the only thing that would serve.
so i picked you up and laid you across my knee and lambasted you well.
you howled at the top of your voice but you left nan alone after that."
rilla was writhing.
had n't susan any realization that she was addressing an officer of the canadian army?
apparently she had not.
oh, what would ken think?
""i suppose you do not remember the time your mother spanked you either," continued susan, who seemed to be bent on reviving tender reminiscences that evening.
""i shall never, no never, forget it.
she was up here one night with you when you were about three, and you and walter were playing out in the kitchen yard with a kitten.
i had a big puncheon of rainwater by the spout which i was reserving for making soap.
and you and walter began quarrelling over the kitten.
walter was at one side of the puncheon standing on a chair, holding the kitten, and you were standing on a chair at the other side.
you leaned across that puncheon and grabbed the kitten and pulled.
you were always a great hand for taking what you wanted without too much ceremony.
walter held on tight and the poor kitten yelled but you dragged walter and the kitten half over and then you both lost your balance and tumbled into that puncheon, kitten and all.
if i had not been on the spot you would both have been drowned.
i flew to the rescue and hauled you all three out before much harm was done, and your mother, who had seen it all from the upstairs window, came down and picked you up, dripping as you were, and gave you a beautiful spanking.
ah," said susan with a sigh, "those were happy old days at ingleside."
""must have been," said ken.
his voice sounded queer and stiff.
rilla supposed he was hopelessly enraged.
the truth was he dared not trust his voice lest it betray his frantic desire to laugh.
""rilla here, now," said susan, looking affectionately at that unhappy damsel, "never was much spanked.
she was a real well-behaved child for the most part.
but her father did spank her once.
she got two bottles of pills out of his office and dared alice clow to see which of them could swallow all the pills first, and if her father had not happened in the nick of time those two children would have been corpses by night.
as it was, they were both sick enough shortly after.
but the doctor spanked rilla then and there and he made such a thorough job of it that she never meddled with anything in his office afterwards.
we hear a great deal nowadays of something that is called "moral persuasion," but in my opinion a good spanking and no nagging afterwards is a much better thing."
rilla wondered viciously whether susan meant to relate all the family spankings.
but susan had finished with the subject and branched off to another cheerful one.
""i remember little tod macallister over-harbour killed himself that very way, eating up a whole box of fruitatives because he thought they were candy.
it was a very sad affair.
he was," said susan earnestly, "the very cutest little corpse i ever laid my eyes on.
it was very careless of his mother to leave the fruitatives where he could get them, but she was well-known to be a heedless creature.
one day she found a nest of five eggs as she was going across the fields to church with a brand new blue silk dress on.
so she put them in the pocket of her petticoat and when she got to church she forgot all about them and sat down on them and her dress was ruined, not to speak of the petticoat.
let me see -- would not tod be some relation of yours?
your great grandmother west was a macallister.
her brother amos was a macdonaldite in religion.
i am told he used to take the jerks something fearful.
but you look more like your great grandfather west than the macallisters.
he died of a paralytic stroke quite early in life."
""did you see anybody at the store?"
asked rilla desperately, in the faint hope of directing susan's conversation into more agreeable channels.
""nobody except mary vance," said susan, "and she was stepping round as brisk as the irishman's flea."
what terrible similes susan used!
would kenneth think she acquired them from the family!
""to hear mary talk about miller douglas you would think he was the only glen boy who had enlisted," susan went on.
""but of course she always did brag and she has some good qualities i am willing to admit, though i did not think so that time she chased rilla here through the village with a dried codfish till the poor child fell, heels over head, into the puddle before carter flagg's store."
rilla went cold all over with wrath and shame.
were there any more disgraceful scenes in her past that susan could rake up?
as for ken, he could have howled over susan's speeches, but he would not so insult the duenna of his lady, so he sat with a preternaturally solemn face which seemed to poor rilla a haughty and offended one.
""i paid eleven cents for a bottle of ink tonight," complained susan.
""ink is twice as high as it was last year.
perhaps it is because woodrow wilson has been writing so many notes.
it must cost him considerable.
my cousin sophia says woodrow wilson is not the man she expected him to be -- but then no man ever was.
being an old maid, i do not know much about men and have never pretended to, but my cousin sophia is very hard on them, although she married two of them, which you might think was a fair share.
albert crawford's chimney blew down in that big gale we had last week, and when sophia heard the bricks clattering on the roof she thought it was a zeppelin raid and went into hysterics.
and mrs. albert crawford says that of the two things she would have preferred the zeppelin raid."
rilla sat limply in her chair like one hypnotized.
she knew susan would stop talking when she was ready to stop and that no earthly power could make her stop any sooner.
as a rule, she was very fond of susan but just now she hated her with a deadly hatred.
it was ten o'clock.
ken would soon have to go -- the others would soon be home -- and she had not even had a chance to explain to ken that fred arnold filled no blank in her life nor ever could.
her rainbow castle lay in ruins round her.
kenneth got up at last.
he realized that susan was there to stay as long as he did, and it was a three mile walk to martin west's over-harbour.
he wondered if rilla had put susan up to this, not wanting to be left alone with him, lest he say something fred arnold's sweetheart did not want to hear.
rilla got up, too, and walked silently the length of the veranda with him.
they stood there for a moment, ken on the lower step.
the step was half sunk into the earth and mint grew thickly about and over its edge.
often crushed by so many passing feet it gave out its essence freely, and the spicy odour hung round them like a soundless, invisible benediction.
ken looked up at rilla, whose hair was shining in the moonlight and whose eyes were pools of allurement.
all at once he felt sure there was nothing in that gossip about fred arnold.
""rilla," he said in a sudden, intense whisper, "you are the sweetest thing."
rilla flushed and looked at susan.
ken looked, too, and saw that susan's back was turned.
he put his arm about rilla and kissed her.
it was the first time rilla had ever been kissed.
she thought perhaps she ought to resent it but she did n't.
instead, she glanced timidly into kenneth's seeking eyes and her glance was a kiss.
""rilla-my-rilla," said ken, "will you promise that you wo n't let anyone else kiss you until i come back?"
""yes," said rilla, trembling and thrilling.
susan was turning round.
ken loosened his hold and stepped to the walk.
""good-bye," he said casually.
rilla heard herself saying it just as casually.
she stood and watched him down the walk, out of the gate, and down the road.
when the fir wood hid him from her sight she suddenly said "oh," in a choked way and ran down to the gate, sweet blossomy things catching at her skirts as she ran.
leaning over the gate she saw kenneth walking briskly down the road, over the bars of tree shadows and moonlight, his tall, erect figure grey in the white radiance.
as he reached the turn he stopped and looked back and saw her standing amid the tall white lilies by the gate.
he waved his hand -- she waved hers -- he was gone around the turn.
rilla stood there for a little while, gazing across the fields of mist and silver.
she had heard her mother say that she loved turns in roads -- they were so provocative and alluring.
rilla thought she hated them.
she had seen jem and jerry vanish from her around a bend in the road -- then walter -- and now ken.
brothers and playmate and sweetheart -- they were all gone, never, it might be, to return.
yet still the piper piped and the dance of death went on.
when rilla walked slowly back to the house susan was still sitting by the veranda table and susan was sniffing suspiciously.
""i have been thinking, rilla dear, of the old days in the house of dreams, when kenneth's mother and father were courting and jem was a little baby and you were not born or thought of.
it was a very romantic affair and she and your mother were such chums.
to think i should have lived to see her son going to the front.
as if she had not had enough trouble in her early life without this coming upon her!
but we must take a brace and see it through."
all rilla's anger against susan had evaporated.
with ken's kiss still burning on her lips, and the wonderful significance of the promise he had asked thrilling heart and soul, she could not be angry with anyone.
she put her slim white hand into susan's brown, work-hardened one and gave it a squeeze.
susan was a faithful old dear and would lay down her life for any one of them.
""you are tired, rilla dear, and had better go to bed," susan said, patting her hand.
""i noticed you were too tired to talk tonight.
i am glad i came home in time to help you out.
it is very tiresome trying to entertain young men when you are not accustomed to it."
rilla carried jims upstairs and went to bed, but not before she had sat for a long time at her window reconstructing her rainbow castle, with several added domes and turrets.
""i wonder," she said to herself, "if i am, or am not, engaged to kenneth ford."
chapter xvii the weeks wear by rilla read her first love letter in her rainbow valley fir-shadowed nook, and a girl's first love letter, whatever blase, older people may think of it, is an event of tremendous importance in the teens.
after kenneth's regiment had left kingsport there came a fortnight of dully-aching anxiety and when the congregation sang in church on sunday evenings, "oh, hear us when we cry to thee for those in peril on the sea," rilla's voice always failed her; for with the words came a horribly vivid mind picture of a submarined ship sinking beneath pitiless waves amid the struggles and cries of drowning men.
then word came that kenneth's regiment had arrived safely in england; and now, at last, here was his letter.
it began with something that made rilla supremely happy for the moment and ended with a paragraph that crimsoned her cheeks with the wonder and thrill and delight of it.
between beginning and ending the letter was just such a jolly, newsy epistle as ken might have written to anyone; but for the sake of that beginning and ending rilla slept with the letter under her pillow for weeks, sometimes waking in the night to slip her fingers under and just touch it, and looked with secret pity on other girls whose sweethearts could never have written them anything half so wonderful and exquisite.
kenneth was not the son of a famous novelist for nothing.
he "had a way" of expressing things in a few poignant, significant words that seemed to suggest far more than they uttered, and never grew stale or flat or foolish with ever so many scores of readings.
rilla went home from rainbow valley as if she flew rather than walked.
but such moments of uplift were rare that autumn.
to be sure, there was one day in september when great news came of a big allied victory in the west and susan ran out to hoist the flag -- the first time she had hoisted it since the russian line broke and the last time she was to hoist it for many dismal moons.
""likely the big push has begun at last, mrs. dr. dear," she exclaimed, "and we will soon see the finish of the huns.
our boys will be home by christmas now.
hurrah!"
susan was ashamed of herself for hurrahing the minute she had done it, and apologized meekly for such an outburst of juvenility.
""but indeed, mrs. dr. dear, this good news has gone to my head after this awful summer of russian slumps and gallipoli setbacks."
""good news!"
said miss oliver bitterly.
""i wonder if the women whose men have been killed for it will call it good news.
just because our own men are not on that part of the front we are rejoicing as if the victory had cost no lives."
""now, miss oliver dear, do not take that view of it," deprecated susan.
""we have not had much to rejoice over of late and yet men were being killed just the same.
do not let yourself slump like poor cousin sophia.
she said, when the word came, "ah, it is nothing but a rift in the clouds.
we are up this week but we will be down the next."
"well, sophia crawford," said i, -- for i will never give in to her, mrs. dr. dear -- "god himself can not make two hills without a hollow between them, as i have heard it said, but that is no reason why we should not take the good of the hills when we are on them."
but cousin sophia moaned on.
"here is the gallipolly expedition a failure and the grand duke nicholas sent off, and everyone knows the czar of rooshia is a pro-german and the allies have no ammunition and bulgaria is going against us.
and the end is not yet, for england and france must be punished for their deadly sins until they repent in sackcloth and ashes.'"
i think myself," i said, "that they will do their repenting in khaki and trench mud, and it seems to me that the huns should have a few sins to repent of also."
"they are instruments in the hands of the almighty, to purge the garner," said sophia.
and then i got mad, mrs. dr. dear, and told her i did not and never would believe that the almighty ever took such dirty instruments in hand for any purpose whatever, and that i did not consider it decent for her to be using the words of holy writ as glibly as she was doing in ordinary conversation.
she was not, i told her, a minister or even an elder.
and for the time being i squelched her, mrs. dr. dear.
cousin sophia has no spirit.
she is very different from her niece, mrs. dean crawford over-harbour.
you know the dean crawfords had five boys and now the new baby is another boy.
all the connection and especially dean crawford were much disappointed because their hearts had been set on a girl; but mrs. dean just laughed and said, "everywhere i went this summer i saw the sign "men wanted" staring me in the face.
do you think i could go and have a girl under such circumstances?"
there is spirit for you, mrs. dr. dear.
but cousin sophia would say the child was just so much more cannon fodder."
cousin sophia had full range for her pessimism that gloomy autumn, and even susan, incorrigible old optimist as she was, was hard put to it for cheer.
when bulgaria lined up with germany susan only remarked scornfully, "one more nation anxious for a licking," but the greek tangle worried her beyond her powers of philosophy to endure calmly.
""constantine of greece has a german wife, mrs. dr. dear, and that fact squelches hope.
to think that i should have lived to care what kind of a wife constantine of greece had!
the miserable creature is under his wife's thumb and that is a bad place for any man to be.
i am an old maid and an old maid has to be independent or she will be squashed out.
but if i had been a married woman, mrs. dr. dear, i would have been meek and humble.
it is my opinion that this sophia of greece is a minx."
susan was furious when the news came that venizelos had met with defeat.
""i could spank constantine and skin him alive afterwards, that i could," she exclaimed bitterly.
""oh, susan, i'm surprised at you," said the doctor, pulling a long face.
""have you no regard for the proprieties?
skin him alive by all means but omit the spanking."
""if he had been well spanked in his younger days he might have more sense now," retorted susan.
""but i suppose princes are never spanked, more is the pity.
i see the allies have sent him an ultimatum.
i could tell them that it will take more than ultimatums to skin a snake like constantine.
perhaps the allied blockade will hammer sense into his head; but that will take some time i am thinking, and in the meantime what is to become of poor serbia?"
they saw what became of serbia, and during the process susan was hardly to be lived with.
in her exasperation she abused everything and everybody except kitchener, and she fell upon poor president wilson tooth and claw.
""if he had done his duty and gone into the war long ago we should not have seen this mess in serbia," she avowed.
""it would be a serious thing to plunge a great country like the united states, with its mixed population, into the war, susan," said the doctor, who sometimes came to the defence of the president, not because he thought wilson needed it especially, but from an unholy love of baiting susan.
""maybe, doctor dear -- maybe!
but that makes me think of the old story of the girl who told her grandmother she was going to be married.
"it is a solemn thing to be married," said the old lady.
"yes, but it is a solemner thing not to be," said the girl.
and i can testify to that out of my own experience, doctor dear.
and i think it is a solemner thing for the yankees that they have kept out of the war than it would have been if they had gone into it.
however, though i do not know much about them, i am of the opinion that we will see them starting something yet, woodrow wilson or no woodrow wilson, when they get it into their heads that this war is not a correspondence school.
they will not," said susan, energetically waving a saucepan with one hand and a soup ladle with the other, "be too proud to fight then."
on a pale-yellow, windy evening in october carl meredith went away.
he had enlisted on his eighteenth birthday.
john meredith saw him off with a set face.
his two boys were gone -- there was only little bruce left now.
he loved bruce and bruce's mother dearly; but jerry and carl were the sons of the bride of his youth and carl was the only one of all his children who had cecilia's very eyes.
as they looked lovingly out at him above carl's uniform the pale minister suddenly remembered the day when for the first and last time he had tried to whip carl for his prank with the eel.
that was the first time he had realised how much carl's eyes were like cecilia's.
now he realised it again once more.
would he ever again see his dead wife's eyes looking at him from his son's face?
what a bonny, clean, handsome lad he was!
it was -- hard -- to see him go.
john meredith seemed to be looking at a torn plain strewed with the bodies of "able-bodied men between the ages of eighteen and forty-five."
only the other day carl had been a little scrap of a boy, hunting bugs in rainbow valley, taking lizards to bed with him, and scandalizing the glen by carrying frogs to sunday school.
it seemed hardly -- right -- somehow that he should be an "able-bodied man" in khaki.
yet john meredith had said no word to dissuade him when carl had told him he must go.
rilla felt carl's going keenly.
they had always been cronies and playmates.
he was only a little older than she was and they had been children in rainbow valley together.
she recalled all their old pranks and escapades as she walked slowly home alone.
the full moon peeped through the scudding clouds with sudden floods of weird illumination, the telephone wires sang a shrill weird song in the wind, and the tall spikes of withered, grey-headed golden-rod in the fence corners swayed and beckoned wildly to her like groups of old witches weaving unholy spells.
on such a night as this, long ago, carl would come over to ingleside and whistle her out to the gate.
""let's go on a moon-spree, rilla," he would say, and the two of them would scamper off to rainbow valley.
rilla had never been afraid of his beetles and bugs, though she drew a hard and fast line at snakes.
they used to talk together of almost everything and were teased about each other at school; but one evening when they were about ten years of age they had solemnly promised, by the old spring in rainbow valley, that they would never marry each other.
alice clow had "crossed out" their names on her slate in school that day, and it came out that "both married."
they did not like the idea at all, hence the mutual vow in rainbow valley.
there was nothing like an ounce of prevention.
rilla laughed over the old memory -- and then sighed.
that very day a dispatch from some london paper had contained the cheerful announcement that "the present moment is the darkest since the war began."
it was dark enough, and rilla wished desperately that she could do something besides waiting and serving at home, as day after day the glen boys she had known went away.
if she were only a boy, speeding in khaki by carl's side to the western front!
she had wished that in a burst of romance when jem had gone, without, perhaps, really meaning it.
she meant it now.
there were moments when waiting at home, in safety and comfort, seemed an unendurable thing.
the moon burst triumphantly through an especially dark cloud and shadow and silver chased each other in waves over the glen.
rilla remembered one moonlit evening of childhood when she had said to her mother, "the moon just looks like a sorry, sorry face."
she thought it looked like that still -- an agonised, care-worn face, as though it looked down on dreadful sights.
what did it see on the western front?
in broken serbia?
on shell-swept gallipoli?
""i am tired," miss oliver had said that day, in a rare outburst of impatience, "of this horrible rack of strained emotions, when every day brings a new horror or the dread of it.
no, do n't look reproachfully at me, mrs. blythe.
there's nothing heroic about me today.
i've slumped.
i wish england had left belgium to her fate -- i wish canada had never sent a man -- i wish we'd tied our boys to our apron strings and not let one of them go.
oh -- i shall be ashamed of myself in half an hour -- but at this very minute i mean every word of it.
will the allies never strike?"
""patience is a tired mare but she jogs on," said susan.
""while the steeds of armageddon thunder, trampling over our hearts," retorted miss oliver.
""susan, tell me -- do n't you ever -- did n't you ever -- take spells of feeling that you must scream -- or swear -- or smash something -- just because your torture reaches a point when it becomes unbearable?"
""i have never sworn or desired to swear, miss oliver dear, but i will admit," said susan, with the air of one determined to make a clean breast of it once and for all, "that i have experienced occasions when it was a relief to do considerable banging."
""do n't you think that is a kind of swearing, susan?
what is the difference between slamming a door viciously and saying d --" "miss oliver dear," interrupted susan, desperately determined to save gertrude from herself, if human power could do it, "you are all tired out and unstrung -- and no wonder, teaching those obstreperous youngsters all day and coming home to bad war news.
but just you go upstairs and lie down and i will bring you up a cup of hot tea and a bite of toast and very soon you will not want to slam doors or swear."
""susan, you're a good soul -- a very pearl of susans!
but, susan, it would be such a relief -- to say just one soft, low, little tiny d --" "i will bring you a hot-water bottle for the soles of your feet, also," interposed susan resolutely, "and it would not be any relief to say that word you are thinking of, miss oliver, and that you may tie to."
""well, i'll try the hot-water bottle first," said miss oliver, repenting herself on teasing susan and vanishing upstairs, to susan's intense relief.
susan shook her head ominously as she filled the hot-water bottle.
the war was certainly relaxing the standards of behaviour woefully.
here was miss oliver admittedly on the point of profanity.
""we must draw the blood from her brain," said susan, "and if this bottle is not effective i will see what can be done with a mustard plaster."
gertrude rallied and carried on.
lord kitchener went to greece, whereat susan foretold that constantine would soon experience a change of heart.
lloyd george began to heckle the allies regarding equipment and guns and susan said you would hear more of lloyd george yet.
the gallant anzacs withdrew from gallipoli and susan approved the step, with reservations.
the siege of kut-el-amara began and susan pored over maps of mesopotamia and abused the turks.
henry ford started for europe and susan flayed him with sarcasm.
sir john french was superseded by sir douglas haig and susan dubiously opined that it was poor policy to swap horses crossing a stream, "though, to be sure, haig was a good name and french had a foreign sound, say what you might."
not a move on the great chess-board of king or bishop or pawn escaped susan, who had once read only glen st. mary notes.
""there was a time," she said sorrowfully, "when i did not care what happened outside of p.e. island, and now a king can not have a toothache in russia or china but it worries me.
it may be broadening to the mind, as the doctor said, but it is very painful to the feelings."
when christmas came again susan did not set any vacant places at the festive board.
two empty chairs were too much even for susan who had thought in september that there would not be one.
""this is the first christmas that walter was not home," rilla wrote in her diary that night.
""jem used to be away for christmases up in avonlea, but walter never was.
i had letters from ken and him today.
they are still in england but expect to be in the trenches very soon.
and then -- but i suppose we'll be able to endure it somehow.
to me, the strangest of all the strange things since 1914 is how we have all learned to accept things we never thought we could -- to go on with life as a matter of course.
i know that jem and jerry are in the trenches -- that ken and walter will be soon -- that if one of them does not come back my heart will break -- yet i go on and work and plan -- yes, and even enjoy life by times.
there are moments when we have real fun because, just for the moment, we do n't think about things and then -- we remember -- and the remembering is worse than thinking of it all the time would have been.
""today was dark and cloudy and tonight is wild enough, as gertrude says, to please any novelist in search of suitable matter for a murder or elopement.
the raindrops streaming over the panes look like tears running down a face, and the wind is shrieking through the maple grove.
""this has n't been a nice christmas day in any way.
nan had toothache and susan had red eyes, and assumed a weird and gruesome flippancy of manner to deceive us into thinking she had n't; and jims had a bad cold all day and i'm afraid of croup.
he has had croup twice since october.
the first time i was nearly frightened to death, for father and mother were both away -- father always is away, it seems to me, when any of this household gets sick.
but susan was cool as a fish and knew just what to do, and by morning jims was all right.
that child is a cross between a duck and an imp.
he's a year and four months old, trots about everywhere, and says quite a few words.
he has the cutest little way of calling me "willa-will."
it always brings back that dreadful, ridiculous, delightful night when ken came to say good-bye, and i was so furious and happy.
jims is pink and white and big-eyed and curly-haired and every now and then i discover a new dimple in him.
i can never quite believe he is really the same creature as that scrawny, yellow, ugly little changeling i brought home in the soup tureen.
nobody has ever heard a word from jim anderson.
if he never comes back i shall keep jims always.
everybody here worships and spoils him -- or would spoil him if morgan and i did n't stand remorselessly in the way.
susan says jims is the cleverest child she ever saw and can recognize old nick when he sees him -- this because jims threw poor doc out of an upstairs window one day.
doc turned into mr. hyde on his way down and landed in a currant bush, spitting and swearing.
i tried to console his inner cat with a saucer of milk but he would have none of it, and remained mr. hyde the rest of the day.
jims's latest exploit was to paint the cushion of the big arm-chair in the sun parlour with molasses; and before anybody found it out mrs. fred clow came in on red cross business and sat down on it.
her new silk dress was ruined and nobody could blame her for being vexed.
but she went into one of her tempers and said nasty things and gave me such slams about "spoiling" jims that i nearly boiled over, too.
but i kept the lid on till she had waddled away and then i exploded."
"the fat, clumsy, horrid old thing," i said -- and oh, what a satisfaction it was to say it."
"she has three sons at the front," mother said rebukingly.""
i suppose that covers all her shortcomings in manners," i retorted.
but i was ashamed -- for it is true that all her boys have gone and she was very plucky and loyal about it too; and she is a perfect tower of strength in the red cross.
it's a little hard to remember all the heroines.
just the same, it was her second new silk dress in one year and that when everybody is -- or should be -- trying to "save and serve."
""i had to bring out my green velvet hat again lately and begin wearing it.
i hung on to my blue straw sailor as long as i could.
how i hate the green velvet hat!
it is so elaborate and conspicuous.
i do n't see how i could ever have liked it.
but i vowed to wear it and wear it i will.
""shirley and i went down to the station this morning to take little dog monday a bang-up christmas dinner.
dog monday waits and watches there still, with just as much hope and confidence as ever.
sometimes he hangs around the station house and talks to people and the rest of his time he sits at his little kennel door and watches the track unwinkingly.
we never try to coax him home now: we know it is of no use.
when jem comes back, monday will come home with him; and if jem -- never comes back -- monday will wait there for him as long as his dear dog heart goes on beating.
""fred arnold was here last night.
he was eighteen in november and is going to enlist just as soon as his mother is over an operation she has to have.
he has been coming here very often lately and though i like him so much it makes me uncomfortable, because i am afraid he is thinking that perhaps i could care something for him.
i ca n't tell him about ken -- because, after all, what is there to tell?
and yet i do n't like to behave coldly and distantly when he will be going away so soon.
it is very perplexing.
i remember i used to think it would be such fun to have dozens of beaux -- and now i'm worried to death because two are too many.
""i am learning to cook.
susan is teaching me.
i tried to learn long ago -- but no, let me be honest -- susan tried to teach me, which is a very different thing.
i never seemed to succeed with anything and i got discouraged.
but since the boys have gone away i wanted to be able to make cake and things for them myself and so i started in again and this time i'm getting on surprisingly well.
susan says it is all in the way i hold my mouth and father says my subconscious mind is desirous of learning now, and i dare say they're both right.
anyhow, i can make dandy short-bread and fruitcake.
i got ambitious last week and attempted cream puffs, but made an awful failure of them.
they came out of the oven flat as flukes.
i thought maybe the cream would fill them up again and make them plump but it did n't.
i think susan was secretly pleased.
she is past mistress in the art of making cream puffs and it would break her heart if anyone else here could make them as well.
i wonder if susan tampered -- but no, i wo n't suspect her of such a thing.
""miranda pryor spent an afternoon here a few days ago, helping me cut out certain red cross garments known by the charming name of "vermin shirts."
susan thinks that name is not quite decent, so i suggested she call them "cootie sarks," which is old highland sandy's version of it.
but she shook her head and i heard her telling mother later that, in her opinion, "cooties" and "sarks" were not proper subjects for young girls to talk about.
she was especially horrified when jem wrote in his last letter to mother, "tell susan i had a fine cootie hunt this morning and caught fifty-three!"
susan positively turned pea-green.
"mrs. dr. dear," she said, "when i was young, if decent people were so unfortunate as to get -- those insects -- they kept it a secret if possible.
i do not want to be narrow-minded, mrs. dr. dear, but i still think it is better not to mention such things."
""miranda grew confidential over our vermin shirts and told me all her troubles.
she is desperately unhappy.
she is engaged to joe milgrave and joe joined up in october and has been training in charlottetown ever since.
her father was furious when he joined and forbade miranda ever to have any dealing or communication with him again.
poor joe expects to go overseas any day and wants miranda to marry him before he goes, which shows that there have been "communications" in spite of whiskers-on-the-moon.
miranda wants to marry him but can not, and she declares it will break her heart."
"why do n't you run away and marry him?"
i said.
it did n't go against my conscience in the least to give her such advice.
joe milgrave is a splendid fellow and mr. pryor fairly beamed on him until the war broke out and i know mr. pryor would forgive miranda very quickly, once it was over and he wanted his housekeeper back.
but miranda shook her silvery head dolefully."
"joe wants me to but i ca n't.
mother's last words to me, as she lay on her dying-bed, were, "never, never run away, miranda," and i promised."
""miranda's mother died two years ago, and it seems, according to miranda, that her mother and father actually ran away to be married themselves.
to picture whiskers-on-the-moon as the hero of an elopement is beyond my power.
but such was the case and mrs. pryor at least lived to repent it.
she had a hard life of it with mr. pryor, and she thought it was a punishment on her for running away.
so she made miranda promise she would never, for any reason whatever, do it.
""of course, you can not urge a girl to break a promise made to a dying mother, so i did not see what miranda could do unless she got joe to come to the house when her father was away and marry her there.
but miranda said that could n't be managed.
her father seemed to suspect she might be up to something of the sort and he never went away for long at a time, and, of course, joe could n't get leave of absence at an hour's notice."
"no, i shall just have to let joe go, and he will be killed -- i know he will be killed -- and my heart will break," said miranda, her tears running down and copiously bedewing the vermin shirts!
""i am not writing like this for lack of any real sympathy with poor miranda.
i've just got into the habit of giving things a comical twist if i can, when i'm writing to jem and walter and ken, to make them laugh.
i really felt sorry for miranda who is as much in love with joe as a china-blue girl can be with anyone and who is dreadfully ashamed of her father's pro-german sentiments.
i think she understood that i did, for she said she had wanted to tell me all about her worries because i had grown so sympathetic this past year.
i wonder if i have.
i know i used to be a selfish, thoughtless creature -- how selfish and thoughtless i am ashamed to remember now, so i ca n't be quite so bad as i was.
""i wish i could help miranda.
it would be very romantic to contrive a war-wedding and i should dearly love to get the better of whiskers-on-the-moon.
but at present the oracle has not spoken."
chapter xviii a war-wedding "i can tell you this dr. dear," said susan, pale with wrath, "that germany is getting to be perfectly ridiculous."
they were all in the big ingleside kitchen.
susan was mixing biscuits for supper.
mrs. blythe was making shortbread for jem, and rilla was compounding candy for ken and walter -- it had once been "walter and ken" in her thoughts but somehow, quite unconsciously, this had changed until ken's name came naturally first.
cousin sophia was also there, knitting.
all the boys were going to be killed in the long run, so cousin sophia felt in her bones, but they might better die with warm feet than cold ones, so cousin sophia knitted faithfully and gloomily.
into this peaceful scene erupted the doctor, wrathful and excited over the burning of the parliament buildings in ottawa.
and susan became automatically quite as wrathful and excited.
""what will those huns do next?"
she demanded.
""coming over here and burning our parliament building!
did anyone ever hear of such an outrage?"
""we do n't know that the germans are responsible for this," said the doctor -- much as if he felt quite sure they were.
""fires do start without their agency sometimes.
and uncle mark macallister's barn was burnt last week.
you can hardly accuse the germans of that, susan."
""indeed, dr. dear, i do not know."
susan nodded slowly and portentously.
""whiskers-on-the-moon was there that very day.
the fire broke out half an hour after he was gone.
so much is a fact -- but i shall not accuse a presbyterian elder of burning anybody's barn until i have proof.
however, everybody knows, dr. dear, that both uncle mark's boys have enlisted, and that uncle mark himself makes speeches at all the recruiting meetings.
so no doubt germany is anxious to get square with him."
""i could never speak at a recruiting meeting," said cousin sophia solemnly.
""i could never reconcile it to my conscience to ask another woman's son to go, to murder and be murdered."
""could you not?"
said susan.
""well, sophia crawford, i felt as if i could ask anyone to go when i read last night that there were no children under eight years of age left alive in poland.
think of that, sophia crawford" -- susan shook a floury finger at sophia -- "not -- one -- child -- under -- eight -- years -- of -- age!"
""i suppose the germans has et'em all," sighed cousin sophia.
""well, no-o-o," said susan reluctantly, as if she hated to admit that there was any crime the huns could n't be accused of.
""the germans have not turned cannibal yet -- as far as i know.
they have died of starvation and exposure, the poor little creatures.
there is murdering for you, cousin sophia crawford.
the thought of it poisons every bite and sup i take."
""i see that fred carson of lowbridge has been awarded a distinguished conduct medal," remarked the doctor, over his local paper.
""i heard that last week," said susan.
""he is a battalion runner and he did something extra brave and daring.
his letter, telling his folks about it, came when his old grandmother carson was on her dying-bed.
she had only a few minutes more to live and the episcopal minister, who was there, asked her if she would not like him to pray.
"oh yes, yes, you can pray," she said impatient-like -- she was a dean, dr. dear, and the deans were always high-spirited -- "you can pray, but for pity's sake pray low and do n't disturb me.
i want to think over this splendid news and i have not much time left to do it."
that was almira carson all over.
fred was the apple of her eye.
she was seventy-five years of age and had not a grey hair in her head, they tell me."
""by the way, that reminds me -- i found a grey hair this morning -- my very first," said mrs. blythe.
""i have noticed that grey hair for some time, mrs. dr. dear, but i did not speak of it.
thought i to myself, "she has enough to bear."
but now that you have discovered it let me remind you that grey hairs are honourable."
""i must be getting old, gilbert."
mrs. blythe laughed a trifle ruefully.
""people are beginning to tell me i look so young.
they never tell you that when you are young.
but i shall not worry over my silver thread.
i never liked red hair.
gilbert, did i ever tell you of that time, years ago at green gables, when i dyed my hair?
nobody but marilla and i knew about it."
""was that the reason you came out once with your hair shingled to the bone?"
""yes.
i bought a bottle of dye from a german jew pedlar.
i fondly expected it would turn my hair black -- and it turned it green.
so it had to be cut off."
""you had a narrow escape, mrs. dr. dear," exclaimed susan.
""of course you were too young then to know what a german was.
it was a special mercy of providence that it was only green dye and not poison."
""it seems hundreds of years since those green gables days," sighed mrs. blythe.
""they belonged to another world altogether.
life has been cut in two by the chasm of war.
what is ahead i do n't know -- but it ca n't be a bit like the past.
i wonder if those of us who have lived half our lives in the old world will ever feel wholly at home in the new."
""have you noticed," asked miss oliver, glancing up from her book, "how everything written before the war seems so far away now, too?
one feels as if one was reading something as ancient as the iliad.
this poem of wordsworth's -- the senior class have it in their entrance work -- i've been glancing over it.
its classic calm and repose and the beauty of the lines seem to belong to another planet, and to have as little to do with the present world-welter as the evening star."
""the only thing that i find much comfort in reading nowadays is the bible," remarked susan, whisking her biscuits into the oven.
""there are so many passages in it that seem to me exactly descriptive of the huns.
old highland sandy declares that there is no doubt that the kaiser is the anti-christ spoken of in revelations, but i do not go as far as that.
it would, in my humble opinion, mrs. dr. dear, be too great an honour for him."
early one morning, several days later, miranda pryor slipped up to ingleside, ostensibly to get some red cross sewing, but in reality to talk over with sympathetic rilla troubles that were past bearing alone.
she brought her dog with her -- an over-fed, bandy-legged little animal very dear to her heart because joe milgrave had given it to her when it was a puppy.
mr. pryor regarded all dogs with disfavour; but in those days he had looked kindly upon joe as a suitor for miranda's hand and so he had allowed her to keep the puppy.
miranda was so grateful that she endeavoured to please her father by naming her dog after his political idol, the great liberal chieftain, sir wilfrid laurier -- though his title was soon abbreviated to wilfy.
sir wilfrid grew and flourished and waxed fat; but miranda spoiled him absurdly and nobody else liked him.
rilla especially hated him because of his detestable trick of lying flat on his back and entreating you with waving paws to tickle his sleek stomach.
when she saw that miranda's pale eyes bore unmistakable testimony of her having cried all night, rilla asked her to come up to her room, knowing miranda had a tale of woe to tell, but she ordered sir wilfrid to remain below.
""oh, ca n't he come, too?"
said miranda wistfully.
""poor wilfy wo n't be any bother -- and i wiped his paws so carefully before i brought him in.
he is always so lonesome in a strange place without me -- and very soon he'll be -- all -- i'll have left -- to remind me -- of joe."
rilla yielded, and sir wilfrid, with his tail curled at a saucy angle over his brindled back, trotted triumphantly up the stairs before them.
""oh, rilla," sobbed miranda, when they had reached sanctuary.
""i'm so unhappy.
i ca n't begin to tell you how unhappy i am.
truly, my heart is breaking."
rilla sat down on the lounge beside her.
sir wilfrid squatted on his haunches before them, with his impertinent pink tongue stuck out, and listened.
""what is the trouble, miranda?"
""joe is coming home tonight on his last leave.
i had a letter from him on saturday -- he sends my letters in care of bob crawford, you know, because of father -- and, oh, rilla, he will only have four days -- he has to go away friday morning -- and i may never see him again."
""does he still want you to marry him?"
asked rilla.
""oh, yes.
he implored me in his letter to run away and be married.
but i can not do that, rilla, not even for joe.
my only comfort is that i will be able to see him for a little while tomorrow afternoon.
father has to go to charlottetown on business.
at least we will have one good farewell talk.
but oh -- afterwards -- why, rilla, i know father wo n't even let me go to the station friday morning to see joe off."
""why in the world do n't you and joe get married tomorrow afternoon at home?"
demanded rilla.
miranda swallowed a sob in such amazement that she almost choked.
""why -- why -- that is impossible, rilla."
""why?"
briefly demanded the organizer of the junior red cross and the transporter of babies in soup tureens.
""why -- why -- we never thought of such a thing -- joe has n't a license -- i have no dress -- i could n't be married in black -- i -- i -- we -- you -- you --" miranda lost herself altogether and sir wilfrid, seeing that she was in dire distress threw back his head and emitted a melancholy yelp.
rilla blythe thought hard and rapidly for a few minutes.
then she said, "miranda, if you will put yourself into my hands i'll have you married to joe before four o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
""oh, you could n't."
""i can and i will.
but you'll have to do exactly as i tell you."
""oh -- i -- do n't think -- oh, father will kill me --" "nonsense.
he'll be very angry i suppose.
but are you more afraid of your father's anger than you are of joe's never coming back to you?"
""no," said miranda, with sudden firmness, "i'm not."
""will you do as i tell you then?"
""yes, i will."
""then get joe on the long-distance at once and tell him to bring out a license and ring tonight."
""oh, i could n't," wailed the aghast miranda, "it -- it would be so -- so indelicate."
rilla shut her little white teeth together with a snap.
""heaven grant me patience," she said under her breath.
""i'll do it then," she said aloud, "and meanwhile, you go home and make what preparations you can.
when i "phone down to you to come up and help me sew come at once."
as soon as miranda, pallid, scared, but desperately resolved, had gone, rilla flew to the telephone and put in a long-distance call for charlottetown.
she got through with such surprising quickness that she was convinced providence approved of her undertaking, but it was a good hour before she could get in touch with joe milgrave at his camp.
meanwhile, she paced impatiently about, and prayed that when she did get joe there would be no listeners on the line to carry news to whiskers-on-the-moon.
""is that you, joe?
rilla blythe is speaking -- rilla -- rilla -- oh, never mind.
listen to this.
before you come home tonight get a marriage license -- a marriage license -- yes, a marriage license -- and a wedding-ring.
did you get that?
and will you do it?
very well, be sure you do it -- it is your only chance."
flushed with triumph -- for her only fear was that she might not be able to locate joe in time -- rilla rang the pryor ring.
this time she had not such good luck for she drew whiskers-on-the-moon.
""is that miranda?
oh -- mr. pryor!
well, mr. pryor, will you kindly ask miranda if she can come up this afternoon and help me with some sewing.
it is very important, or i would not trouble her.
oh -- thank you."
mr. pryor had consented somewhat grumpily, but he had consented -- he did not want to offend dr. blythe, and he knew that if he refused to allow miranda to do any red cross work public opinion would make the glen too hot for comfort.
rilla went out to the kitchen, shut all the doors with a mysterious expression which alarmed susan, and then said solemnly, "susan can you make a wedding-cake this afternoon?"
""a wedding-cake!"
susan stared.
rilla had, without any warning, brought her a war-baby once upon a time.
was she now, with equal suddenness, going to produce a husband?
""yes, a wedding-cake -- a scrumptious wedding-cake, susan -- a beautiful, plummy, eggy, citron-peely wedding-cake.
and we must make other things too.
i'll help you in the morning.
but i ca n't help you in the afternoon for i have to make a wedding-dress and time is the essence of the contract, susan."
susan felt that she was really too old to be subjected to such shocks.
""who are you going to marry, rilla?"
she asked feebly.
""susan, darling, i am not the happy bride.
miranda pryor is going to marry joe milgrave tomorrow afternoon while her father is away in town.
a war-wedding, susan -- is n't that thrilling and romantic?
i never was so excited in my life."
the excitement soon spread over ingleside, infecting even mrs. blythe and susan.
""i'll go to work on that cake at once," vowed susan, with a glance at the clock.
""mrs. dr. dear, will you pick over the fruit and beat up the eggs?
if you will i can have that cake ready for the oven by the evening.
tomorrow morning we can make salads and other things.
i will work all night if necessary to get the better of whiskers-on-the-moon."
miranda arrived, tearful and breathless.
""we must fix over my white dress for you to wear," said rilla.
""it will fit you very nicely with a little alteration."
to work went the two girls, ripping, fitting, basting, sewing for dear life.
by dint of unceasing effort they got the dress done by seven o'clock and miranda tried it on in rilla's room.
""it's very pretty -- but oh, if i could just have a veil," sighed miranda.
""i've always dreamed of being married in a lovely white veil."
some good fairy evidently waits on the wishes of war-brides.
the door opened and mrs. blythe came in, her arms full of a filmy burden.
""miranda dear," she said, "i want you to wear my wedding-veil tomorrow.
it is twenty-four years since i was a bride at old green gables -- the happiest bride that ever was -- and the wedding-veil of a happy bride brings good luck, they say."
""oh, how sweet of you, mrs. blythe," said miranda, the ready tears starting to her eyes.
the veil was tried on and draped.
susan dropped in to approve but dared not linger.
""i've got that cake in the oven," she said, "and i am pursuing a policy of watchful waiting.
the evening news is that the grand duke has captured erzerum.
that is a pill for the turks.
i wish i had a chance to tell the czar just what a mistake he made when he turned nicholas down."
susan disappeared downstairs to the kitchen, whence a dreadful thud and a piercing shriek presently sounded.
everybody rushed to the kitchen -- the doctor and miss oliver, mrs. blythe, rilla, miranda in her wedding-veil.
susan was sitting flatly in the middle of the kitchen floor with a dazed, bewildered look on her face, while doc, evidently in his hyde incarnation, was standing on the dresser, with his back up, his eyes blazing, and his tail the size of three tails.
""susan, what has happened?"
cried mrs. blythe in alarm.
""did you fall?
are you hurt?"
susan picked herself up.
""no," she said grimly, "i am not hurt, though i am jarred all over.
do not be alarmed.
as for what has happened -- i tried to kick that darned cat with both feet, that is what happened."
everybody shrieked with laughter.
the doctor was quite helpless.
""oh, susan, susan," he gasped.
""that i should live to hear you swear."
""i am sorry," said susan in real distress, "that i used such an expression before two young girls.
but i said that beast was darned, and darned it is.
it belongs to old nick."
""do you expect it will vanish some of these days with a bang and the odour of brimstone, susan?"
""it will go to its own place in due time and that you may tie to," said susan dourly, shaking out her raddled bones and going to her oven.
""i suppose my plunking down like that has shaken my cake so that it will be as heavy as lead."
but the cake was not heavy.
it was all a bride's cake should be, and susan iced it beautifully.
next day she and rilla worked all the forenoon, making delicacies for the wedding-feast, and as soon as miranda phoned up that her father was safely off everything was packed in a big hamper and taken down to the pryor house.
joe soon arrived in his uniform and a state of violent excitement, accompanied by his best man, sergeant malcolm crawford.
there were quite a few guests, for all the manse and ingleside folk were there, and a dozen or so of joe's relatives, including his mother, "mrs. dead angus milgrave," so called, cheerfully, to distinguish her from another lady whose angus was living.
mrs. dead angus wore a rather disapproving expression, not caring over-much for this alliance with the house of whiskers-on-the-moon.
so miranda pryor was married to private joseph milgrave on his last leave.
it should have been a romantic wedding but it was not.
there were too many factors working against romance, as even rilla had to admit.
in the first place, miranda, in spite of her dress and veil, was such a flat-faced, commonplace, uninteresting little bride.
in the second place, joe cried bitterly all through the ceremony, and this vexed miranda unreasonably.
long afterwards she told rilla, "i just felt like saying to him then and there, "if you feel so bad over having to marry me you do n't have to."
but it was just because he was thinking all the time of how soon he would have to leave me."
in the third place, jims, who was usually so well-behaved in public, took a fit of shyness and contrariness combined and began to cry at the top of his voice for "willa."
nobody wanted to take him out, because everybody wanted to see the marriage, so rilla who was a bridesmaid, had to take him and hold him during the ceremony.
in the fourth place, sir wilfrid laurier took a fit.
sir wilfrid was entrenched in a corner of the room behind miranda's piano.
during his seizure he made the weirdest, most unearthly noises.
he would begin with a series of choking, spasmodic sounds, continuing into a gruesome gurgle, and ending up with a strangled howl.
nobody could hear a word mr. meredith was saying, except now and then, when sir wilfrid stopped for breath.
nobody looked at the bride except susan, who never dragged her fascinated eyes from miranda's face -- all the others were gazing at the dog.
miranda had been trembling with nervousness but as soon as sir wilfrid began his performance she forgot it.
all that she could think of was that her dear dog was dying and she could not go to him.
she never remembered a word of the ceremony.
rilla, who in spite of jims, had been trying her best to look rapt and romantic, as beseemed a war bridesmaid, gave up the hopeless attempt, and devoted her energies to choking down untimely merriment.
she dared not look at anybody in the room, especially mrs. dead angus, for fear all her suppressed mirth should suddenly explode in a most un-young-ladylike yell of laughter.
but married they were, and then they had a wedding-supper in the dining-room which was so lavish and bountiful that you would have thought it was the product of a month's labour.
everybody had brought something.
mrs. dead angus had brought a large apple-pie, which she placed on a chair in the dining-room and then absently sat down on it.
neither her temper nor her black silk wedding garment was improved thereby, but the pie was never missed at the gay bridal feast.
mrs. dead angus eventually took it home with her again.
whiskers-on-the-moon's pacifist pig should not get it, anyhow.
that evening mr. and mrs. joe, accompanied by the recovered sir wilfrid, departed for the four winds lighthouse, which was kept by joe's uncle and in which they meant to spend their brief honeymoon.
una meredith and rilla and susan washed the dishes, tidied up, left a cold supper and miranda's pitiful little note on the table for mr. pryor, and walked home, while the mystic veil of dreamy, haunted winter twilight wrapped itself over the glen.
""i would really not have minded being a war-bride myself," remarked susan sentimentally.
but rilla felt rather flat -- perhaps as a reaction to all the excitement and rush of the past thirty-six hours.
she was disappointed somehow -- the whole affair had been so ludicrous, and miranda and joe so lachrymose and commonplace.
""if miranda had n't given that wretched dog such an enormous dinner he would n't have had that fit," she said crossly.
""i warned her -- but she said she could n't starve the poor dog -- he would soon be all she had left, etc..
i could have shaken her."
""the best man was more excited than joe was," said susan.
""he wished miranda many happy returns of the day.
she did not look very happy, but perhaps you could not expect that under the circumstances."
""anyhow," thought rilla, "i can write a perfectly killing account of it all to the boys.
how jem will howl over sir wilfrid's part in it!"
but if rilla was rather disappointed in the war wedding she found nothing lacking on friday morning when miranda said good-bye to her bridegroom at the glen station.
the dawn was white as a pearl, clear as a diamond.
behind the station the balsamy copse of young firs was frost-misted.
the cold moon of dawn hung over the westering snow fields but the golden fleeces of sunrise shone above the maples up at ingleside.
joe took his pale little bride in his arms and she lifted her face to his.
rilla choked suddenly.
it did not matter that miranda was insignificant and commonplace and flat-featured.
it did not matter that she was the daughter of whiskers-on-the-moon.
all that mattered was that rapt, sacrificial look in her eyes -- that ever-burning, sacred fire of devotion and loyalty and fine courage that she was mutely promising joe she and thousands of other women would keep alive at home while their men held the western front.
rilla walked away, realising that she must not spy on such a moment.
she went down to the end of the platform where sir wilfrid and dog monday were sitting, looking at each other.
sir wilfrid remarked condescendingly: "why do you haunt this old shed when you might lie on the hearthrug at ingleside and live on the fat of the land?
is it a pose?
or a fixed idea?"
whereat dog monday, laconically: "i have a tryst to keep."
when the train had gone rilla rejoined the little trembling miranda.
""well, he's gone," said miranda, "and he may never come back -- but i'm his wife, and i'm going to be worthy of him.
i'm going home."
""do n't you think you had better come with me now?"
asked rilla doubtfully.
nobody knew yet how mr. pryor had taken the matter.
""no.
if joe can face the huns i guess i can face father," said miranda daringly.
""a soldier's wife ca n't be a coward.
come on, wilfy.
i'll go straight home and meet the worst."
there was nothing very dreadful to face, however.
perhaps mr. pryor had reflected that housekeepers were hard to get and that there were many milgrave homes open to miranda -- also, that there was such a thing as a separation allowance.
at all events, though he told her grumpily that she had made a nice fool of herself, and would live to regret it, he said nothing worse, and mrs. joe put on her apron and went to work as usual, while sir wilfrid laurier, who had a poor opinion of lighthouses for winter residences, went to sleep in his pet nook behind the woodbox, a thankful dog that he was done with war-weddings.
chapter xix "they shall not pass" one cold grey morning in february gertrude oliver wakened with a shiver, slipped into rilla's room, and crept in beside her.
""rilla -- i'm frightened -- frightened as a baby -- i've had another of my strange dreams.
something terrible is before us -- i know."
""what was it?"
asked rilla.
""i was standing again on the veranda steps -- just as i stood in that dream on the night before the lighthouse dance, and in the sky a huge black, menacing thunder cloud rolled up from the east.
i could see its shadow racing before it and when it enveloped me i shivered with icy cold.
then the storm broke -- and it was a dreadful storm -- blinding flash after flash and deafening peal after peal, driving torrents of rain.
i turned in panic and tried to run for shelter, and as i did so a man -- a soldier in the uniform of a french army officer -- dashed up the steps and stood beside me on the threshold of the door.
his clothes were soaked with blood from a wound in his breast, he seemed spent and exhausted; but his white face was set and his eyes blazed in his hollow face.
"they shall not pass," he said, in low, passionate tones which i heard distinctly amid all the turmoil of the storm.
then i awakened.
rilla, i'm frightened -- the spring will not bring the big push we've all been hoping for -- instead it is going to bring some dreadful blow to france.
i am sure of it.
the germans will try to smash through somewhere."
""but he told you that they would not pass," said rilla, seriously.
she never laughed at gertrude's dreams as the doctor did.
""i do not know if that was prophecy or desperation, rilla, the horror of that dream holds me yet in an icy grip.
we shall need all our courage before long."
dr. blythe did laugh at the breakfast table -- but he never laughed at miss oliver's dreams again; for that day brought news of the opening of the verdun offensive, and thereafter through all the beautiful weeks of spring the ingleside family, one and all, lived in a trance of dread.
there were days when they waited in despair for the end as foot by foot the germans crept nearer and nearer to the grim barrier of desperate france.
susan's deeds were in her spotless kitchen at ingleside, but her thoughts were on the hills around verdun.
""mrs. dr. dear," she would stick her head in at mrs. blythe's door the last thing at night to remark, "i do hope the french have hung onto the crow's wood today," and she woke at dawn to wonder if dead man's hill -- surely named by some prophet -- was still held by the "poyloos."
susan could have drawn a map of the country around verdun that would have satisfied a chief of staff.
""if the germans capture verdun the spirit of france will be broken," miss oliver said bitterly.
""but they will not capture it," staunchly said susan, who could not eat her dinner that day for fear lest they do that very thing.
""in the first place, you dreamed they would not -- you dreamed the very thing the french are saying before they ever said it -- "they shall not pass."
i declare to you, miss oliver, dear, when i read that in the paper, and remembered your dream, i went cold all over with awe.
it seemed to me like biblical times when people dreamed things like that quite frequently.
""i know -- i know," said gertrude, walking restlessly about.
""i cling to a persistent faith in my dream, too -- but every time bad news comes it fails me.
then i tell myself "mere coincidence" -- "subconscious memory" and so forth."
""i do not see how any memory could remember a thing before it was ever said at all," persisted susan, "though of course i am not educated like you and the doctor.
i would rather not be, if it makes anything as simple as that so hard to believe.
but in any case we need not worry over verdun, even if the huns get it.
joffre says it has no military significance."
""that old sop of comfort has been served up too often already when reverses came," retorted gertrude.
""it has lost its power to charm."
""was there ever a battle like this in the world before?"
said mr. meredith, one evening in mid-april.
""it's such a titanic thing we ca n't grasp it," said the doctor.
""what were the scraps of a few homeric handfuls compared to this?
the whole trojan war might be fought around a verdun fort and a newspaper correspondent would give it no more than a sentence.
i am not in the confidence of the occult powers" -- the doctor threw gertrude a twinkle -- "but i have a hunch that the fate of the whole war hangs on the issue of verdun.
as susan and joffre say, it has no real military significance; but it has the tremendous significance of an idea.
if germany wins there she will win the war.
if she loses, the tide will set against her."
""lose she will," said mr. meredith: emphatically.
""the idea can not be conquered.
france is certainly very wonderful.
it seems to me that in her i see the white form of civilization making a determined stand against the black powers of barbarism.
i think our whole world realizes this and that is why we all await the issue so breathlessly.
it is n't merely the question of a few forts changing hands or a few miles of blood-soaked ground lost and won."
""i wonder," said gertrude dreamily, "if some great blessing, great enough for the price, will be the meed of all our pain?
is the agony in which the world is shuddering the birth-pang of some wondrous new era?
or is it merely a futile struggle of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?
we think very lightly, mr. meredith, of a calamity which destroys an ant-hill and half its inhabitants.
does the power that runs the universe think us of more importance than we think ants?"
""you forget," said mr. meredith, with a flash of his dark eyes, "that an infinite power must be infinitely little as well as infinitely great.
we are neither, therefore there are things too little as well as too great for us to apprehend.
to the infinitely little an ant is of as much importance as a mastodon.
we are witnessing the birth-pangs of a new era -- but it will be born a feeble, wailing life like everything else.
i am not one of those who expect a new heaven and a new earth as the immediate result of this war.
that is not the way god works.
but work he does, miss oliver, and in the end his purpose will be fulfilled."
""sound and orthodox -- sound and orthodox," muttered susan approvingly in the kitchen.
susan liked to see miss oliver sat upon by the minister now and then.
susan was very fond of her but she thought miss oliver liked saying heretical things to ministers far too well, and deserved an occasional reminder that these matters were quite beyond her province.
in may walter wrote home that he had been awarded a d.c. medal.
he did not say what for, but the other boys took care that the glen should know the brave thing walter had done.
""in any war but this," wrote jerry meredith, "it would have meant a v.c..
but they ca n't make v.c.'s as common as the brave things done every day here."
""he should have had the v.c.," said susan, and was very indignant over it.
she was not quite sure who was to blame for his not getting it, but if it were general haig she began for the first time to entertain serious doubts as to his fitness for being commander-in-chief.
rilla was beside herself with delight.
it was her dear walter who had done this thing -- walter, to whom someone had sent a white feather at redmond -- it was walter who had dashed back from the safety of the trench to drag in a wounded comrade who had fallen on no-man's - land.
oh, she could see his white beautiful face and wonderful eyes as he did it!
what a thing to be the sister of such a hero!
and he had n't thought it worth while writing about.
his letter was full of other things -- little intimate things that they two had known and loved together in the dear old cloudless days of a century ago.
""i've been thinking of the daffodils in the garden at ingleside," he wrote.
""by the time you get this they will be out, blowing there under that lovely rosy sky.
are they really as bright and golden as ever, rilla?
it seems to me that they must be dyed red with blood -- like our poppies here.
and every whisper of spring will be falling as a violet in rainbow valley.
""there is a young moon tonight -- a slender, silver, lovely thing hanging over these pits of torment.
will you see it tonight over the maple grove?
""i'm enclosing a little scrap of verse, rilla.
i wrote it one evening in my trench dug-out by the light of a bit of candle -- or rather it came to me there -- i did n't feel as if i were writing it -- something seemed to use me as an instrument.
i've had that feeling once or twice before, but very rarely and never so strongly as this time.
that was why i sent it over to the london spectator.
it printed it and the copy came today.
i hope you'll like it.
it's the only poem i've written since i came overseas."
the poem was a short, poignant little thing.
in a month it had carried walter's name to every corner of the globe.
everywhere it was copied -- in metropolitan dailies and little village weeklies -- in profound reviews and "agony columns," in red cross appeals and government recruiting propaganda.
mothers and sisters wept over it, young lads thrilled to it, the whole great heart of humanity caught it up as an epitome of all the pain and hope and pity and purpose of the mighty conflict, crystallized in three brief immortal verses.
a canadian lad in the flanders trenches had written the one great poem of the war.
""the piper," by pte..
walter blythe, was a classic from its first printing.
rilla copied it in her diary at the beginning of an entry in which she poured out the story of the hard week that had just passed.
""it has been such a dreadful week," she wrote, "and even though it is over and we know that it was all a mistake that does not seem to do away with the bruises left by it.
and yet it has in some ways been a very wonderful week and i have had some glimpses of things i never realized before -- of how fine and brave people can be even in the midst of horrible suffering.
i am sure i could never be as splendid as miss oliver was.
""just a week ago today she had a letter from mr. grant's mother in charlottetown.
and it told her that a cable had just come saying that major robert grant had been killed in action a few days before.
""oh, poor gertrude!
at first she was crushed.
then after just a day she pulled herself together and went back to her school.
she did not cry -- i never saw her shed a tear -- but oh, her face and her eyes!""
i must go on with my work," she said.
"that is my duty just now."
""i could never have risen to such a height.
""she never spoke bitterly except once, when susan said something about spring being here at last, and gertrude said," "can the spring really come this year?"
""then she laughed -- such a dreadful little laugh, just as one might laugh in the face of death, i think, and said," "observe my egotism.
because i, gertrude oliver, have lost a friend, it is incredible that the spring can come as usual.
the spring does not fail because of the million agonies of others -- but for mine -- oh, can the universe go on?""
"do n't feel bitter with yourself, dear," mother said gently.
"it is a very natural thing to feel as if things could n't go on just the same when some great blow has changed the world for us.
we all feel like that."
""then that horrid old cousin sophia of susan's piped up.
she was sitting there, knitting and croaking like an old "raven of bode and woe" as walter used to call her."
"you ai n't as bad off as some, miss oliver," she said, "and you should n't take it so hard.
there's some as has lost their husbands; that's a hard blow; and there's some as has lost their sons.
you have n't lost either husband or son.""
"no," said gertrude, more bitterly still.
"it's true i have n't lost a husband -- i have only lost the man who would have been my husband.
i have lost no son -- only the sons and daughters who might have been born to me -- who will never be born to me now.""
"it is n't ladylike to talk like that," said cousin sophia in a shocked tone; and then gertrude laughed right out, so wildly that cousin sophia was really frightened.
and when poor tortured gertrude, unable to endure it any longer, hurried out of the room, cousin sophia asked mother if the blow had n't affected miss oliver's mind.""
i suffered the loss of two good kind partners," she said, "but it did not affect me like that."
""i should think it would n't!
those poor men must have been thankful to die.
""i heard gertrude walking up and down her room most of the night.
she walked like that every night.
but never so long as that night.
and once i heard her give a dreadful sudden little cry as if she had been stabbed.
i could n't sleep for suffering with her; and i could n't help her.
i thought the night would never end.
but it did; and then "joy came in the morning" as the bible says.
only it did n't come exactly in the morning but well along in the afternoon.
the telephone rang and i answered it.
it was old mrs. grant speaking from charlottetown, and her news was that it was all a mistake -- robert was n't killed at all; he had only been slightly wounded in the arm and was safe in the hospital out of harm's way for a time anyhow.
they had n't learned yet how the mistake had happened but supposed there must have been another robert grant.
""i hung up the telephone and flew to rainbow valley.
i'm sure i did fly -- i ca n't remember my feet ever touching the ground.
i met gertrude on her way home from school in the glade of spruces where we used to play, and i just gasped out the news to her.
i ought to have had more sense, of course.
but i was so crazy with joy and excitement that i never stopped to think.
gertrude just dropped there among the golden young ferns as if she had been shot.
the fright it gave me ought to make me sensible -- in this respect at least -- for the rest of my life.
i thought i had killed her -- i remembered that her mother had died very suddenly from heart failure when quite a young woman.
it seemed years to me before i discovered that her heart was still beating.
a pretty time i had!
i never saw anybody faint before, and i knew there was nobody up at the house to help, because everybody else had gone to the station to meet di and nan coming home from redmond.
but i knew -- theoretically -- how people in a faint should be treated, and now i know it practically.
luckily the brook was handy, and after i had worked frantically over her for a while gertrude came back to life.
she never said one word about my news and i did n't dare to refer to it again.
i helped her walk up through the maple grove and up to her room, and then she said, "rob -- is -- living," as if the words were torn out of her, and flung herself on her bed and cried and cried and cried.
i never saw anyone cry so before.
all the tears that she had n't shed all that week came then.
she cried most of last night, i think, but her face this morning looked as if she had seen a vision of some kind, and we were all so happy that we were almost afraid.
""di and nan are home for a couple of weeks.
then they go back to red cross work in the training camp at kingsport.
i envy them.
father says i'm doing just as good work here, with jims and my junior reds.
but it lacks the romance theirs must have.
""kut has fallen.
it was almost a relief when it did fall, we had been dreading it so long.
it crushed us flat for a day and then we picked up and put it behind us.
cousin sophia was as gloomy as usual and came over and groaned that the british were losing everywhere."
"they're good losers," said susan grimly.
"when they lose a thing they keep on looking till they find it again!
anyhow, my king and country need me now to cut potato sets for the back garden, so get you a knife and help me, sophia crawford.
it will divert your thoughts and keep you from worrying over a campaign that you are not called upon to run."
""susan is an old brick, and the way she flattens out poor cousin sophia is beautiful to behold.
""as for verdun, the battle goes on and on, and we see-saw between hope and fear.
but i know that strange dream of miss oliver's foretold the victory of france.
"they shall not pass.""
chapter xx norman douglas speaks out in meeting "where are you wandering, anne o" mine?"
asked the doctor, who even yet, after twenty-four years of marriage, occasionally addressed his wife thus when nobody was about.
anne was sitting on the veranda steps, gazing absently over the wonderful bridal world of spring blossom, beyond the white orchard was a copse of dark young firs and creamy wild cherries, where the robins were whistling madly; for it was evening and the fire of early stars was burning over the maple grove.
anne came back with a little sigh.
""i was just taking relief from intolerable realities in a dream, gilbert -- a dream that all our children were home again -- and all small again -- playing in rainbow valley.
it is always so silent now -- but i was imagining i heard clear voices and gay, childish sounds coming up as i used to.
i could hear jem's whistle and walter's yodel, and the twins" laughter, and for just a few blessed minutes i forgot about the guns on the western front, and had a little false, sweet happiness."
the doctor did not answer.
sometimes his work tricked him into forgetting for a few moments the western front, but not often.
there was a good deal of grey now in his still thick curls that had not been there two years ago.
yet he smiled down into the starry eyes he loved -- the eyes that had once been so full of laughter, and now seemed always full of unshed tears.
susan wandered by with a hoe in her hand and her second best bonnet on her head.
""i have just finished reading a piece in the enterprise which told of a couple being married in an aeroplane.
do you think it would be legal, doctor dear?"
she inquired anxiously.
""i think so," said the doctor gravely.
""well," said susan dubiously, "it seems to me that a wedding is too solemn for anything so giddy as an aeroplane.
but nothing is the same as it used to be.
well, it is half an hour yet before prayer-meeting time, so i am going around to the kitchen garden to have a little evening hate with the weeds.
but all the time i am strafing them i will be thinking about this new worry in the trentino.
i do not like this austrian caper, mrs. dr. dear."
""nor i," said mrs. blythe ruefully.
""all the forenoon i preserved rhubarb with my hands and waited for the war news with my soul.
when it came i shrivelled.
well, i suppose i must go and get ready for the prayer-meeting, too."
every village has its own little unwritten history, handed down from lip to lip through the generations, of tragic, comic, and dramatic events.
they are told at weddings and festivals, and rehearsed around winter firesides.
and in these oral annals of glen st. mary the tale of the union prayer-meeting held that night in the methodist church was destined to fill an imperishable place.
the union prayer-meeting was mr. arnold's idea.
the county battalion, which had been training all winter in charlottetown, was to leave shortly for overseas.
the four winds harbour boys belonging to it from the glen and over-harbour and harbour head and upper glen were all home on their last leave, and mr. arnold thought, properly enough, that it would be a fitting thing to hold a union prayer-meeting for them before they went away.
mr. meredith having agreed, the meeting was announced to be held in the methodist church.
glen prayer-meetings were not apt to be too well attended, but on this particular evening the methodist church was crowded.
everybody who could go was there.
even miss cornelia came -- and it was the first time in her life that miss cornelia had ever set foot inside a methodist church.
it took no less than a world conflict to bring that about.
""i used to hate methodists," said miss cornelia calmly, when her husband expressed surprise over her going, "but i do n't hate them now.
there is no sense in hating methodists when there is a kaiser or a hindenburg in the world."
so miss cornelia went.
norman douglas and his wife went too.
and whiskers-on-the-moon strutted up the aisle to a front pew, as if he fully realized what a distinction he conferred upon the building.
people were somewhat surprised that he should be there, since he usually avoided all assemblages connected in any way with the war.
but mr. meredith had said that he hoped his session would be well represented, and mr. pryor had evidently taken the request to heart.
he wore his best black suit and white tie, his thick, tight, iron-grey curls were neatly arranged, and his broad, red round face looked, as susan most uncharitably thought, more "sanctimonious" than ever.
""the minute i saw that man coming into the church, looking like that, i felt that mischief was brewing, mrs. dr. dear," she said afterwards.
""what form it would take i could not tell, but i knew from face of him that he had come there for no good."
the prayer-meeting opened conventionally and continued quietly.
mr. meredith spoke first with his usual eloquence and feeling.
mr. arnold followed with an address which even miss cornelia had to confess was irreproachable in taste and subject-matter.
and then mr. arnold asked mr. pryor to lead in prayer.
miss cornelia had always averred that mr. arnold had no gumption.
miss cornelia was not apt to err on the side of charity in her judgment of methodist ministers, but in this case she did not greatly overshoot the mark.
the rev. mr. arnold certainly did not have much of that desirable, indefinable quality known as gumption, or he would never have asked whiskers-on-the-moon to lead in prayer at a khaki prayer-meeting.
he thought he was returning the compliment to mr. meredith, who, at the conclusion of his address, had asked a methodist deacon to lead.
some people expected mr. pryor to refuse grumpily -- and that would have made enough scandal.
but mr. pryor bounded briskly to his feet, unctuously said, "let us pray," and forthwith prayed.
in a sonorous voice which penetrated to every corner of the crowded building mr. pryor poured forth a flood of fluent words, and was well on in his prayer before his dazed and horrified audience awakened to the fact that they were listening to a pacifist appeal of the rankest sort.
mr. pryor had at least the courage of his convictions; or perhaps, as people afterwards said, he thought he was safe in a church and that it was an excellent chance to air certain opinions he dared not voice elsewhere, for fear of being mobbed.
he prayed that the unholy war might cease -- that the deluded armies being driven to slaughter on the western front might have their eyes opened to their iniquity and repent while yet there was time -- that the poor young men present in khaki, who had been hounded into a path of murder and militarism, should yet be rescued -- mr. pryor had got this far without let or hindrance; and so paralysed were his hearers, and so deeply imbued with their born-and-bred conviction that no disturbance must ever be made in a church, no matter what the provocation, that it seemed likely that he would continue unchecked to the end.
but one man at least in that audience was not hampered by inherited or acquired reverence for the sacred edifice.
norman douglas was, as susan had often vowed crisply, nothing more or less than a "pagan."
but he was a rampantly patriotic pagan, and when the significance of what mr. pryor was saying fully dawned on him, norman douglas suddenly went berserk.
with a positive roar he bounded to his feet in his side pew, facing the audience, and shouted in tones of thunder: "stop -- stop -- stop that abominable prayer!
what an abominable prayer!"
every head in the church flew up.
a boy in khaki at the back gave a faint cheer.
mr. meredith raised a deprecating hand, but norman was past caring for anything like that.
eluding his wife's restraining grasp, he gave one mad spring over the front of the pew and caught the unfortunate whiskers-on-the-moon by his coat collar.
mr. pryor had not "stopped" when so bidden, but he stopped now, perforce, for norman, his long red beard literally bristling with fury, was shaking him until his bones fairly rattled, and punctuating his shakes with a lurid assortment of abusive epithets.
""you blatant beast!"
-- shake -- "you malignant carrion" -- shake -- "you pig-headed varmint!"
-- shake -- "you putrid pup" -- shake -- "you pestilential parasite" -- shake -- "you -- hunnish scum" -- shake -- "you indecent reptile -- you -- you --" norman choked for a moment.
everybody believed that the next thing he would say, church or no church, would be something that would have to be spelt with asterisks; but at that moment norman encountered his wife's eye and he fell back with a thud on holy writ.
""you whited sepulchre!"
he bellowed, with a final shake, and cast whiskers-on-the-moon from him with a vigour which impelled that unhappy pacifist to the very verge of the choir entrance door.
mr. pryor's once ruddy face was ashen.
but he turned at bay.
""i'll have the law on you for this," he gasped.
""do -- do," roared norman, making another rush.
but mr. pryor was gone.
he had no desire to fall a second time into the hands of an avenging militarist.
norman turned to the platform for one graceless, triumphant moment.
""do n't look so flabbergasted, parsons," he boomed.
""you could n't do it -- nobody would expect it of the cloth -- but somebody had to do it.
you know you're glad i threw him out -- he could n't be let go on yammering and yodelling and yawping sedition and treason.
sedition and treason -- somebody had to deal with it.
i was born for this hour -- i've had my innings in church at last.
i can sit quiet for another sixty years now!
go ahead with your meeting, parsons.
i reckon you wo n't be troubled with any more pacifist prayers."
but the spirit of devotion and reverence had fled.
both ministers realized it and realized that the only thing to do was to close the meeting quietly and let the excited people go.
mr. meredith addressed a few earnest words to the boys in khaki -- which probably saved mr. pryor's windows from a second onslaught -- and mr. arnold pronounced an incongruous benediction, at least he felt it was incongruous, for he could not at once banish from his memory the sight of gigantic norman douglas shaking the fat, pompous little whiskers-on-the-moon as a huge mastiff might shake an overgrown puppy.
and he knew that the same picture was in everybody's mind.
altogether the union prayer-meeting could hardly be called an unqualified success.
but it was remembered in glen st. mary when scores of orthodox and undisturbed assemblies were totally forgotten.
""you will never, no, never, mrs. dr. dear, hear me call norman douglas a pagan again," said susan when she reached home.
""if ellen douglas is not a proud woman this night she should be."
""norman douglas did a wholly indefensible thing," said the doctor.
""pryor should have been let severely alone until the meeting was over.
then later on, his own minister and session should deal with him.
that would have been the proper procedure.
norman's performance was utterly improper and scandalous and outrageous; but, by george," -- the doctor threw back his head and chuckled, "by george, anne-girl, it was satisfying."
chapter xxi "love affairs are horrible" ingleside 20th june 1916 "we have been so busy, and day after day has brought such exciting news, good and bad, that i have n't had time and composure to write in my diary for weeks.
i like to keep it up regularly, for father says a diary of the years of the war should be a very interesting thing to hand down to one's children.
the trouble is, i like to write a few personal things in this blessed old book that might not be exactly what i'd want my children to read.
i feel that i shall be a far greater stickler for propriety in regard to them than i am for myself!
""the first week in june was another dreadful one.
the austrians seemed just on the point of overrunning italy: and then came the first awful news of the battle of jutland, which the germans claimed as a great victory.
susan was the only one who carried on.
"you need never tell me that the kaiser has defeated the british navy," she said, with a contemptuous sniff.
"it is all a german lie and that you may tie to."
and when a couple of days later we found out that she was right and that it had been a british victory instead of a british defeat, we had to put up with a great many" i told you so's," but we endured them very comfortably.
""it took kitchener's death to finish susan.
for the first time i saw her down and out.
we all felt the shock of it but susan plumbed the depths of despair.
the news came at night by "phone but susan would n't believe it until she saw the enterprise headline the next day.
she did not cry or faint or go into hysterics; but she forgot to put salt in the soup, and that is something susan never did in my recollection.
mother and miss oliver and i cried but susan looked at us in stony sarcasm and said, "the kaiser and his six sons are all alive and thriving.
so the world is not left wholly desolate.
why cry, mrs. dr. dear?"
susan continued in this stony, hopeless condition for twenty-four hours, and then cousin sophia appeared and began to condole with her."
"this is terrible news, ai n't it, susan?
we might as well prepare for the worst for it is bound to come.
you said once -- and well do i remember the words, susan baker -- that you had complete confidence in god and kitchener.
ah well, susan baker, there is only god left now."
""whereat cousin sophia put her handkerchief to her eyes pathetically as if the world were indeed in terrible straits.
as for susan, cousin sophia was the salvation of her.
she came to life with a jerk."
"sophia crawford, hold your peace!"
she said sternly.
"you may be an idiot but you need not be an irreverent idiot.
it is no more than decent to be weeping and wailing because the almighty is the sole stay of the allies now.
as for kitchener, his death is a great loss and i do not dispute it.
but the outcome of this war does not depend on one man's life and now that the russians are coming on again you will soon see a change for the better."
""susan said this so energetically that she convinced herself and cheered up immediately.
but cousin sophia shook her head."
"albert's wife wants to call the baby after brusiloff," she said, "but i told her to wait and see what becomes of him first.
them russians has such a habit of petering out."
""the russians are doing splendidly, however, and they have saved italy.
but even when the daily news of their sweeping advance comes we do n't feel like running up the flag as we used to do.
as gertrude says, verdun has slain all exultation.
we would all feel more like rejoicing if the victories were on the western front.
"when will the british strike?"
gertrude sighed this morning.
"we have waited so long -- so long."
""our greatest local event in recent weeks was the route march the county battalion made through the county before it left for overseas.
they marched from charlottetown to lowbridge, then round the harbour head and through the upper glen and so down to the st. mary station.
everybody turned out to see them, except old aunt fannie clow, who is bedridden and mr. pryor, who had n't been seen out even in church since the night of the union prayer meeting the previous week.
""it was wonderful and heartbreaking to see that battalion marching past.
there were young men and middle-aged men in it.
there was laurie mcallister from over-harbour who is only sixteen but swore he was eighteen, so that he could enlist; and there was angus mackenzie, from the upper glen who is fifty-five if he is a day and swore he was forty-four.
there were two south african veterans from lowbridge, and the three eighteen-year-old baxter triplets from harbour head.
everybody cheered as they went by, and they cheered foster booth, who is forty, walking side by side with his son charley who is twenty.
charley's mother died when he was born, and when charley enlisted foster said he'd never yet let charley go anywhere he dare n't go himself, and he did n't mean to begin with the flanders trenches.
at the station dog monday nearly went out of his head.
he tore about and sent messages to jem by them all.
mr. meredith read an address and reta crawford recited "the piper."
the soldiers cheered her like mad and cried "we'll follow -- we'll follow -- we wo n't break faith," and i felt so proud to think that it was my dear brother who had written such a wonderful, heart-stirring thing.
and then i looked at the khaki ranks and wondered if those tall fellows in uniform could be the boys i've laughed with and played with and danced with and teased all my life.
something seems to have touched them and set them apart.
they have heard the piper's call.
""fred arnold was in the battalion and i felt dreadfully about him, for i realized that it was because of me that he was going away with such a sorrowful expression.
i could n't help it but i felt as badly as if i could.
""the last evening of his leave fred came up to ingleside and told me he loved me and asked me if i would promise to marry him some day, if he ever came back.
he was desperately in earnest and i felt more wretched than i ever did in my life.
i could n't promise him that -- why, even if there was no question of ken, i do n't care for fred that way and never could -- but it seemed so cruel and heartless to send him away to the front without any hope of comfort.
i cried like a baby; and yet -- oh, i am afraid that there must be something incurably frivolous about me, because, right in the middle of it all, with me crying and fred looking so wild and tragic, the thought popped into my head that it would be an unendurable thing to see that nose across from me at the breakfast table every morning of my life.
there, that is one of the entries i would n't want my descendants to read in this journal.
but it is the humiliating truth; and perhaps it's just as well that thought did come or i might have been tricked by pity and remorse into giving him some rash assurance.
if fred's nose were as handsome as his eyes and mouth some such thing might have happened.
and then what an unthinkable predicament i should have been in!
""when poor fred became convinced that i could n't promise him, he behaved beautifully -- though that rather made things worse.
if he had been nasty about it i would n't have felt so heartbroken and remorseful -- though why i should feel remorseful i do n't know, for i never encouraged fred to think i cared a bit about him.
yet feel remorseful i did -- and do.
if fred arnold never comes back from overseas, this will haunt me all my life.
""then fred said if he could n't take my love with him to the trenches at least he wanted to feel that he had my friendship, and would i kiss him just once in good-bye before he went -- perhaps for ever?
""i do n't know how i could ever had imagined that love affairs were delightful, interesting things.
they are horrible.
i could n't even give poor heartbroken fred one little kiss, because of my promise to ken.
it seemed so brutal.
i had to tell fred that of course he would have my friendship, but that i could n't kiss him because i had promised somebody else i would n't.
""he said, "it is -- is it -- ken ford?"
""i nodded.
it seemed dreadful to have to tell it -- it was such a sacred little secret just between me and ken.
""when fred went away i came up here to my room and cried so long and so bitterly that mother came up and insisted on knowing what was the matter.
i told her.
she listened to my tale with an expression that clearly said, "can it be possible that anyone has been wanting to marry this baby?"
but she was so nice and understanding and sympathetic, oh, just so race-of-josephy -- that i felt indescribably comforted.
mothers are the dearest things."
"but oh, mother," i sobbed, "he wanted me to kiss him good-bye -- and i could n't -- and that hurt me worse than all the rest.""
"well, why did n't you kiss him?"
asked mother coolly.
"considering the circumstances, i think you might have.""
"but i could n't, mother -- i promised ken when he went away that i would n't kiss anybody else until he came back."
""this was another high explosive for poor mother.
she exclaimed, with the queerest little catch in her voice, "rilla, are you engaged to kenneth ford?""
"i -- do n't -- know," i sobbed."
"you -- do n't -- know?"
repeated mother.
""then i had to tell her the whole story, too; and every time i tell it it seems sillier and sillier to imagine that ken meant anything serious.
i felt idiotic and ashamed by the time i got through.
""mother sat a little while in silence.
then she came over, sat down beside me, and took me in her arms."
"do n't cry, dear little rilla-my-rilla.
you have nothing to reproach yourself with in regard to fred; and if leslie west's son asked you to keep your lips for him, i think you may consider yourself engaged to him.
but -- oh, my baby -- my last little baby -- i have lost you -- the war has made a woman of you too soon."
""i shall never be too much of a woman to find comfort in mother's hugs.
nevertheless, when i saw fred marching by two days later in the parade, my heart ached unbearably.
""but i'm glad mother thinks i'm really engaged to ken!"
chapter xxii little dog monday knows "it is two years tonight since the dance at the light, when jack elliott brought us news of the war.
do you remember, miss oliver?"
cousin sophia answered for miss oliver.
""oh, indeed, rilla, i remember that evening only too well, and you a-prancing down here to show off your party clothes.
did n't i warn you that we could not tell what was before us?
little did you think that night what was before you."
""little did any of us think that," said susan sharply, "not being gifted with the power of prophecy.
it does not require any great foresight, sophia crawford, to tell a body that she will have some trouble before her life is over.
i could do as much myself."
""we all thought the war would be over in a few months then," said rilla wistfully.
""when i look back it seems so ridiculous that we ever could have supposed it."
""and now, two years later, it is no nearer the end than it was then," said miss oliver gloomily.
susan clicked her knitting-needles briskly.
""now, miss oliver, dear, you know that is not a reasonable remark.
you know we are just two years nearer the end, whenever the end is appointed to be."
""albert read in a montreal paper today that a war expert gives it as his opinion that it will last five years more," was cousin sophia's cheerful contribution.
""it ca n't," cried rilla; then she added with a sigh, "two years ago we would have said "it ca n't last two years."
but five more years of this!"
""if rumania comes in, as i have strong hopes now of her doing, you will see the end in five months instead of five years," said susan.
""i've no faith in furriners," sighed cousin sophia.
""the french are foreigners," retorted susan, "and look at verdun.
and think of all the somme victories this blessed summer.
the big push is on and the russians are still going well.
why, general haig says that the german officers he has captured admit that they have lost the war."
""you ca n't believe a word the germans say," protested cousin sophia.
""there is no sense in believing a thing just because you'd like to believe it, susan baker.
the british have lost millions of men at the somme and how far have they got?
look facts in the face, susan baker, look facts in the face."
""they are wearing the germans out and so long as that happens it does not matter whether it is done a few miles east or a few miles west.
i am not," admitted susan in tremendous humility, "i am not a military expert, sophia crawford, but even i can see that, and so could you if you were not determined to take a gloomy view of everything.
the huns have not got all the cleverness in the world.
have you not heard the story of alistair maccallum's son roderick, from the upper glen?
he is a prisoner in germany and his mother got a letter from him last week.
he wrote that he was being very kindly treated and that all the prisoners had plenty of food and so on, till you would have supposed everything was lovely.
but when he signed his name, right in between roderick and maccallum, he wrote two gaelic words that meant "all lies" and the german censor did not understand gaelic and thought it was all part of roddy's name.
so he let it pass, never dreaming how he was diddled.
well, i am going to leave the war to haig for the rest of the day and make a frosting for my chocolate cake.
and when it is made i shall put it on the top shelf.
the last one i made i left it on the lower shelf and little kitchener sneaked in and clawed all the icing off and ate it.
we had company for tea that night and when i went to get my cake what a sight did i behold!"
""has that pore orphan's father never been heerd from yet?"
asked cousin sophia.
""yes, i had a letter from him in july," said rilla.
""he said that when he got word of his wife's death and of my taking the baby -- mr. meredith wrote him, you know -- he wrote right away, but as he never got any answer he had begun to think his letter must have been lost."
""it took him two years to begin to think it," said susan scornfully.
""some people think very slow.
jim anderson has not got a scratch, for all he has been two years in the trenches.
a fool for luck, as the old proverb says."
""he wrote very nicely about jims and said he'd like to see him," said rilla.
""so i wrote and told him all about the wee man, and sent him snapshots.
jims will be two years old next week and he is a perfect duck."
""you did n't used to be very fond of babies," said cousin sophia.
""i'm not a bit fonder of babies in the abstract than ever i was," said rilla, frankly.
""but i do love jims, and i'm afraid i was n't really half as glad as i should have been when jim anderson's letter proved that he was safe and sound."
""you was n't hoping the man would be killed!"
cried cousin sophia in horrified accents.
""no -- no -- no!
i just hoped he would go on forgetting about jims, mrs. crawford."
""and then your pa would have the expense of raising him," said cousin sophia reprovingly.
""you young creeturs are terrible thoughtless."
jims himself ran in at this juncture, so rosy and curly and kissable, that he extorted a qualified compliment even from cousin sophia.
""he's a reel healthy-looking child now, though mebbee his colour is a mite too high -- sorter consumptive looking, as you might say.
i never thought you'd raise him when i saw him the day after you brung him home.
i reely did not think it was in you and i told albert's wife so when i got home.
albert's wife says, says she, "there's more in rilla blythe than you'd think for, aunt sophia."
them was her very words.
"more in rilla blythe than you'd think for."
albert's wife always had a good opinion of you."
cousin sophia sighed, as if to imply that albert's wife stood alone in this against the world.
but cousin sophia really did not mean that.
she was quite fond of rilla in her own melancholy way; but young creeturs had to be kept down.
if they were not kept down society would be demoralized.
""do you remember your walk home from the light two years ago tonight?"
whispered gertrude oliver to rilla, teasingly.
""i should think i do," smiled rilla; and then her smile grew dreamy and absent; she was remembering something else -- that hour with kenneth on the sandshore.
where would ken be tonight?
and jem and jerry and walter and all the other boys who had danced and moonlighted on the old four winds point that evening of mirth and laughter -- their last joyous unclouded evening.
in the filthy trenches of the somme front, with the roar of the guns and the groans of stricken men for the music of ned burr's violin, and the flash of star shells for the silver sparkles on the old blue gulf.
two of them were sleeping under the flanders poppies -- alec burr from the upper glen, and clark manley of lowbridge.
others were wounded in the hospitals.
but so far nothing had touched the manse and the ingleside boys.
they seemed to bear charmed lives.
yet the suspense never grew any easier to bear as the weeks and months of war went by.
""it is n't as if it were some sort of fever to which you might conclude they were immune when they had n't taken it for two years," sighed rilla.
""the danger is just as great and just as real as it was the first day they went into the trenches.
i know this, and it tortures me every day.
and yet i ca n't help hoping that since they've come this far unhurt they'll come through.
oh, miss oliver, what would it be like not to wake up in the morning feeling afraid of the news the day would bring?
i ca n't picture such a state of things somehow.
and two years ago this morning i woke wondering what delightful gift the new day would give me.
these are the two years i thought would be filled with fun."
""would you exchange them -- now -- for two years filled with fun?"
""no," said rilla slowly.
""i would n't.
it's strange -- is n't it?
-- they have been two terrible years -- and yet i have a queer feeling of thankfulness for them -- as if they had brought me something very precious, with all their pain.
i would n't want to go back and be the girl i was two years ago, not even if i could.
not that i think i've made any wonderful progress -- but i'm not quite the selfish, frivolous little doll i was then.
i suppose i had a soul then, miss oliver -- but i did n't know it.
i know it now -- and that is worth a great deal -- worth all the suffering of the past two years.
and still" -- rilla gave a little apologetic laugh, "i do n't want to suffer any more -- not even for the sake of more soul growth.
at the end of two more years i might look back and be thankful for the development they had brought me, too; but i do n't want it now."
""we never do," said miss oliver.
""that is why we are not left to choose our own means and measure of development, i suppose.
no matter how much we value what our lessons have brought us we do n't want to go on with the bitter schooling.
well, let us hope for the best, as susan says; things are really going well now and if rumania lines up, the end may come with a suddenness that will surprise us all."
rumania did come in -- and susan remarked approvingly that its king and queen were the finest looking royal couple she had seen pictures of.
so the summer passed away.
early in september word came that the canadians had been shifted to the somme front and anxiety grew tenser and deeper.
for the first time mrs. blythe's spirit failed her a little, and as the days of suspense wore on the doctor began to look gravely at her, and veto this or that special effort in red cross work.
""oh, let me work -- let me work, gilbert," she entreated feverishly.
""while i'm working i do n't think so much.
if i'm idle i imagine everything -- rest is only torture for me.
my two boys are on the frightful somme front -- and shirley pores day and night over aviation literature and says nothing.
but i see the purpose growing in his eyes.
no, i can not rest -- do n't ask it of me, gilbert."
but the doctor was inexorable.
""i ca n't let you kill yourself, anne-girl," he said.
""when the boys come back i want a mother here to welcome them.
why, you're getting transparent.
it wo n't do -- ask susan there if it will do."
""oh, if susan and you are both banded together against me!"
said anne helplessly.
one day the glorious news came that the canadians had taken courcelette and martenpuich, with many prisoners and guns.
susan ran up the flag and said it was plain to be seen that haig knew what soldiers to pick for a hard job.
the others dared not feel exultant.
who knew what price had been paid?
rilla woke that morning when the dawn was beginning to break and went to her window to look out, her thick creamy eyelids heavy with sleep.
just at dawn the world looks as it never looks at any other time.
the air was cold with dew and the orchard and grove and rainbow valley were full of mystery and wonder.
over the eastern hill were golden deeps and silvery-pink shallows.
there was no wind, and rilla heard distinctly a dog howling in a melancholy way down in the direction of the station.
was it dog monday?
and if it were, why was he howling like that?
rilla shivered; the sound had something boding and grievous in it.
she remembered that miss oliver said once, when they were coming home in the darkness and heard a dog howl, "when a dog cries like that the angel of death is passing."
rilla listened with a curdling fear at her heart.
it was dog monday -- she felt sure of it.
whose dirge was he howling -- to whose spirit was he sending that anguished greeting and farewell?
rilla went back to bed but she could not sleep.
all day she watched and waited in a dread of which she did not speak to anyone.
she went down to see dog monday and the station-master said, "that dog of yours howled from midnight to sunrise something weird.
i dunno what got into him.
i got up once and went out and hollered at him but he paid no "tention to me.
he was sitting all alone in the moonlight out there at the end of the platform, and every few minutes the poor lonely little beggar'd lift his nose and howl as if his heart was breaking.
he never did it afore -- always slept in his kennel real quiet and canny from train to train.
but he sure had something on his mind last night."
dog monday was lying in his kennel.
he wagged his tail and licked rilla's hand.
but he would not touch the food she brought for him.
""i'm afraid he's sick," she said anxiously.
she hated to go away and leave him.
but no bad news came that day -- nor the next -- nor the next.
rilla's fear lifted.
dog monday howled no more and resumed his routine of train meeting and watching.
when five days had passed the ingleside people began to feel that they might be cheerful again.
rilla dashed about the kitchen helping susan with the breakfast and singing so sweetly and clearly that cousin sophia across the road heard her and croaked out to mrs. albert," "sing before eating, cry before sleeping," i've always heard."
but rilla blythe shed no tears before the nightfall.
when her father, his face grey and drawn and old, came to her that afternoon and told her that walter had been killed in action at courcelette she crumpled up in a pitiful little heap of merciful unconsciousness in his arms.
nor did she waken to her pain for many hours.
chapter xxiii "and so, goodnight" the fierce flame of agony had burned itself out and the grey dust of its ashes was over all the world.
rilla's younger life recovered physically sooner than her mother.
for weeks mrs. blythe lay ill from grief and shock.
rilla found it was possible to go on with existence, since existence had still to be reckoned with.
there was work to be done, for susan could not do all.
for her mother's sake she had to put on calmness and endurance as a garment in the day; but night after night she lay in her bed, weeping the bitter rebellious tears of youth until at last tears were all wept out and the little patient ache that was to be in her heart until she died took their place.
she clung to miss oliver, who knew what to say and what not to say.
so few people did.
kind, well-meaning callers and comforters gave rilla some terrible moments.
""you'll get over it in time," mrs. william reese said, cheerfully.
mrs. reese had three stalwart sons, not one of whom had gone to the front.
""it's such a blessing it was walter who was taken and not jem," said miss sarah clow.
""walter was a member of the church, and jem was n't.
i've told mr. meredith many a time that he should have spoken seriously to jem about it before he went away."
""pore, pore walter," sighed mrs. reese.
""do not you come here calling him poor walter," said susan indignantly, appearing in the kitchen door, much to the relief of rilla, who felt that she could endure no more just then.
""he was not poor.
he was richer than any of you.
it is you who stay at home and will not let your sons go who are poor -- poor and naked and mean and small -- pisen poor, and so are your sons, with all their prosperous farms and fat cattle and their souls no bigger than a flea's -- if as big."
""i came here to comfort the afflicted and not to be insulted," said mrs. reese, taking her departure, unregretted by anyone.
then the fire went out of susan and she retreated to her kitchen, laid her faithful old head on the table and wept bitterly for a time.
then she went to work and ironed jims's little rompers.
rilla scolded her gently for it when she herself came in to do it.
""i am not going to have you kill yourself working for any war-baby," susan said obstinately.
""oh, i wish i could just keep on working all the time, susan," cried poor rilla.
""and i wish i did n't have to go to sleep.
it is hideous to go to sleep and forget it for a little while, and wake up and have it all rush over me anew the next morning.
do people ever get used to things like this, susan?
and oh, susan, i ca n't get away from what mrs. reese said.
did walter suffer much -- he was always so sensitive to pain.
oh, susan, if i knew that he did n't i think i could gather up a little courage and strength."
this merciful knowledge was given to rilla.
a letter came from walter's commanding officer, telling them that he had been killed instantly by a bullet during a charge at courcelette.
the same day there was a letter for rilla from walter himself.
rilla carried it unopened to rainbow valley and read it there, in the spot where she had had her last talk with him.
it is a strange thing to read a letter after the writer is dead -- a bitter-sweet thing, in which pain and comfort are strangely mingled.
for the first time since the blow had fallen rilla felt -- a different thing from tremulous hope and faith -- that walter, of the glorious gift and the splendid ideals, still lived, with just the same gift and just the same ideals.
that could not be destroyed -- these could suffer no eclipse.
the personality that had expressed itself in that last letter, written on the eve of courcelette, could not be snuffed out by a german bullet.
it must carry on, though the earthly link with things of earth were broken.
""we're going over the top tomorrow, rilla-my-rilla," wrote walter.
""i wrote mother and di yesterday, but somehow i feel as if i must write you tonight.
i had n't intended to do any writing tonight -- but i've got to.
do you remember old mrs. tom crawford over-harbour, who was always saying that it was "laid on her" to do such and such a thing?
well, that is just how i feel.
it's "laid on me" to write you tonight -- you, sister and chum of mine.
there are some things i want to say before -- well, before tomorrow.
""you and ingleside seem strangely near me tonight.
it's the first time i've felt this since i came.
always home has seemed so far away -- so hopelessly far away from this hideous welter of filth and blood.
but tonight it is quite close to me -- it seems to me i can almost see you -- hear you speak.
and i can see the moonlight shining white and still on the old hills of home.
it has seemed to me ever since i came here that it was impossible that there could be calm gentle nights and unshattered moonlight anywhere in the world.
but tonight somehow, all the beautiful things i have always loved seem to have become possible again -- and this is good, and makes me feel a deep, certain, exquisite happiness.
it must be autumn at home now -- the harbour is a-dream and the old glen hills blue with haze, and rainbow valley a haunt of delight with wild asters blowing all over it -- our old "farewell-summers."
i always liked that name better than "aster" -- it was a poem in itself.
""rilla, you know i've always had premonitions.
you remember the pied piper -- but no, of course you would n't -- you were too young.
one evening long ago when nan and di and jem and the merediths and i were together in rainbow valley i had a queer vision or presentiment -- whatever you like to call it.
rilla, i saw the piper coming down the valley with a shadowy host behind him.
the others thought i was only pretending -- but i saw him for just one moment.
and rilla, last night i saw him again.
i was doing sentry-go and i saw him marching across no-man's - land from our trenches to the german trenches -- the same tall shadowy form, piping weirdly -- and behind him followed boys in khaki.
rilla, i tell you i saw him -- it was no fancy -- no illusion.
i heard his music, and then -- he was gone.
but i had seen him -- and i knew what it meant -- i knew that i was among those who followed him.
""rilla, the piper will pipe me "west" tomorrow.
i feel sure of this.
and rilla, i'm not afraid.
when you hear the news, remember that.
i've won my own freedom here -- freedom from all fear.
i shall never be afraid of anything again -- not of death -- nor of life, if after all, i am to go on living.
and life, i think, would be the harder of the two to face -- for it could never be beautiful for me again.
there would always be such horrible things to remember -- things that would make life ugly and painful always for me.
i could never forget them.
but whether it's life or death, i'm not afraid, rilla-my-rilla, and i am not sorry that i came.
i'm satisfied.
i'll never write the poems i once dreamed of writing -- but i've helped to make canada safe for the poets of the future -- for the workers of the future -- ay, and the dreamers, too -- for if no man dreams, there will be nothing for the workers to fulfil -- the future, not of canada only but of the world -- when the "red rain" of langemarck and verdun shall have brought forth a golden harvest -- not in a year or two, as some foolishly think, but a generation later, when the seed sown now shall have had time to germinate and grow.
yes, i'm glad i came, rilla.
it is n't only the fate of the little sea-born island i love that is in the balance -- nor of canada nor of england.
it's the fate of mankind.
that is what we're fighting for.
and we shall win -- never for a moment doubt that, rilla.
for it is n't only the living who are fighting -- the dead are fighting too.
such an army can not be defeated.
""is there laughter in your face yet, rilla?
i hope so.
the world will need laughter and courage more than ever in the years that will come next.
i do n't want to preach -- this is n't any time for it.
but i just want to say something that may help you over the worst when you hear that i've gone "west."
i've a premonition about you, rilla, as well as about myself.
i think ken will go back to you -- and that there are long years of happiness for you by-and-by.
and you will tell your children of the idea we fought and died for -- teach them it must be lived for as well as died for, else the price paid for it will have been given for nought.
this will be part of your work, rilla.
and if you -- all you girls back in the homeland -- do it, then we who do n't come back will know that you have not "broken faith" with us.
""i meant to write to una tonight, too, but i wo n't have time now.
read this letter to her and tell her it's really meant for you both -- you two dear, fine loyal girls.
tomorrow, when we go over the top -- i'll think of you both -- of your laughter, rilla-my-rilla, and the steadfastness in una's blue eyes -- somehow i see those eyes very plainly tonight, too.
yes, you'll both keep faith -- i'm sure of that -- you and una.
and so -- goodnight.
we go over the top at dawn."
rilla read her letter over many times.
there was a new light on her pale young face when she finally stood up, amid the asters walter had loved, with the sunshine of autumn around her.
for the moment at least, she was lifted above pain and loneliness.
""i will keep faith, walter," she said steadily.
""i will work -- and teach -- and learn -- and laugh, yes, i will even laugh -- through all my years, because of you and because of what you gave when you followed the call."
rilla meant to keep walter's letter as a a sacred treasure.
but, seeing the look on una meredith's face when una had read it and held it back to her, she thought of something.
could she do it?
oh, no, she could not give up walter's letter -- his last letter.
surely it was not selfishness to keep it.
a copy would be such a soulless thing.
but una -- una had so little -- and her eyes were the eyes of a woman stricken to the heart, who yet must not cry out or ask for sympathy.
""una, would you like to have this letter -- to keep?"
she asked slowly.
""yes -- if you can give it to me," una said dully.
""then -- you may have it," said rilla hurriedly.
""thank you," said una.
it was all she said, but there was something in her voice which repaid rilla for her bit of sacrifice.
una took the letter and when rilla had gone she pressed it against her lonely lips.
una knew that love would never come into her life now -- it was buried for ever under the blood-stained soil "somewhere in france."
no one but herself -- and perhaps rilla -- knew it -- would ever know it.
she had no right in the eyes of her world to grieve.
she must hide and bear her long pain as best she could -- alone.
but she, too, would keep faith.
chapter xxiv mary is just in time the autumn of 1916 was a bitter season for ingleside.
mrs. blythe's return to health was slow, and sorrow and loneliness were in all hearts.
every one tried to hide it from the others and "carry on" cheerfully.
rilla laughed a good deal.
nobody at ingleside was deceived by her laughter; it came from her lips only, never from her heart.
but outsiders said some people got over trouble very easily, and irene howard remarked that she was surprised to find how shallow rilla blythe really was.
""why, after all her pose of being so devoted to walter, she does n't seem to mind his death at all.
nobody has ever seen her shed a tear or heard her mention his name.
she has evidently quite forgotten him.
poor fellow -- you'd really think his family would feel it more.
i spoke of him to rilla at the last junior red meeting -- of how fine and brave and splendid he was -- and i said life could never be just the same to me again, now that walter had gone -- we were such friends, you know -- why i was the very first person he told about having enlisted -- and rilla answered, as coolly and indifferently as if she were speaking of an entire stranger, "he was just one of many fine and splendid boys who have given everything for their country."
well, i wish i could take things as calmly -- but i'm not made like that.
i'm so sensitive -- things hurt me terribly -- i really never get over them.
i asked rilla right out why she did n't put on mourning for walter.
she said her mother did n't wish it.
but every one is talking about it."
""rilla does n't wear colours -- nothing but white," protested betty mead.
""white becomes her better than anything else," said irene significantly.
""and we all know black does n't suit her complexion at all.
but of course i'm not saying that is the reason she does n't wear it.
only, it's funny.
if my brother had died i'd have gone into deep mourning.
i would n't have had the heart for anything else.
i confess i'm disappointed in rilla blythe."
""i am not, then," cried betty meade, loyally, "i think rilla is just a wonderful girl.
a few years ago i admit i did think she was rather too vain and gigglesome; but now she is nothing of the sort.
i do n't think there is a girl in the glen who is so unselfish and plucky as rilla, or who has done her bit as thoroughly and patiently.
our junior red cross would have gone on the rocks a dozen times if it had n't been for her tact and perseverance and enthusiasm -- you know that perfectly well, irene."
""why, i am not running rilla down," said irene, opening her eyes widely.
""it was only her lack of feeling i was criticizing.
i suppose she ca n't help it.
of course, she's a born manager -- everyone knows that.
she's very fond of managing, too -- and people like that are very necessary i admit.
so do n't look at me as if i'd said something perfectly dreadful, betty, please.
i'm quite willing to agree that rilla blythe is the embodiment of all the virtues, if that will please you.
and no doubt it is a virtue to be quite unmoved by things that would crush most people."
some of irene's remarks were reported to rilla; but they did not hurt her as they would once have done.
they did n't matter, that was all.
life was too big to leave room for pettiness.
she had a pact to keep and a work to do; and through the long hard days and weeks of that disastrous autumn she was faithful to her task.
the war news was consistently bad, for germany marched from victory to victory over poor rumania.
""foreigners -- foreigners," susan muttered dubiously.
""russians or rumanians or whatever they may be, they are foreigners and you can not tie to them.
but after verdun i shall not give up hope.
and can you tell me, mrs. dr. dear, if the dobruja is a river or a mountain range, or a condition of the atmosphere?"
the presidential election in the united states came off in november, and susan was red-hot over that -- and quite apologetic for her excitement.
""i never thought i would live to see the day when i would be interested in a yankee election, mrs. dr. dear.
it only goes to show we can never know what we will come to in this world, and therefore we should not be proud."
susan stayed up late on the evening of the eleventh, ostensibly to finish a pair of socks.
but she "phoned down to carter flagg's store at intervals, and when the first report came through that hughes had been elected she stalked solemnly upstairs to mrs. blythe's room and announced it in a thrilling whisper from the foot of the bed.
""i thought if you were not asleep you would be interested in knowing it.
i believe it is for the best.
perhaps he will just fall to writing notes, too, mrs. dr. dear, but i hope for better things.
i never was very partial to whiskers, but one can not have everything."
when news came in the morning that after all wilson was re-elected, susan tacked to catch another breeze of optimism.
""well, better a fool you know than a fool you do not know, as the old proverb has it," she remarked cheerfully.
""not that i hold woodrow to be a fool by any means, though by times you would not think he has the sense he was born with.
but he is a good letter writer at least, and we do not know if the hughes man is even that.
all things being considered i commend the yankees.
they have shown good sense and i do not mind admitting it.
cousin sophia wanted them to elect roosevelt, and is much disgruntled because they would not give him a chance.
i had a hankering for him myself, but we must believe that providence over-rules these matters and be satisfied -- though what the almighty means in this affair of rumania i can not fathom -- saying it with all reverence."
susan fathomed it -- or thought she did -- when the asquith ministry went down and lloyd george became premier.
""mrs. dr. dear, lloyd george is at the helm at last.
i have been praying for this for many a day.
now we shall soon see a blessed change.
it took the rumanian disaster to bring it about, no less, and that is the meaning of it, though i could not see it before.
there will be no more shilly-shallying.
i consider that the war is as good as won, and that i shall tie to, whether bucharest falls or not."
bucharest did fall -- and germany proposed peace negotiations.
whereat susan scornfully turned a deaf ear and absolutely refused to listen to such proposals.
when president wilson sent his famous december peace note susan waxed violently sarcastic.
""woodrow wilson is going to make peace, i understand.
first henry ford had a try at it and now comes wilson.
but peace is not made with ink, woodrow, and that you may tie to," said susan, apostrophizing the unlucky president out of the kitchen window nearest the united states.
""lloyd george's speech will tell the kaiser what is what, and you may keep your peace screeds at home and save postage."
""what a pity president wilson ca n't hear you, susan," said rilla slyly.
""indeed, rilla dear, it is a pity that he has no one near him to give him good advice, as it is clear he has not, in all those democrats and republicans," retorted susan.
""i do not know the difference between them, for the politics of the yankees is a puzzle i can not solve, study it as i may.
but as far as seeing through a grindstone goes, i am afraid --" susan shook her head dubiously, "that they are all tarred with the same brush."
""i am thankful christmas is over," rilla wrote in her diary during the last week of a stormy december.
""we had dreaded it so -- the first christmas since courcelette.
but we had all the merediths down for dinner and nobody tried to be gay or cheerful.
we were all just quiet and friendly, and that helped.
then, too, i was so thankful that jims had got better -- so thankful that i almost felt glad -- almost but not quite.
i wonder if i shall ever feel really glad over anything again.
it seems as if gladness were killed in me -- shot down by the same bullet that pierced walter's heart.
perhaps some day a new kind of gladness will be born in my soul -- but the old kind will never live again.
""winter set in awfully early this year.
ten days before christmas we had a big snowstorm -- at least we thought it big at the time.
as it happened, it was only a prelude to the real performance.
it was fine the next day, and ingleside and rainbow valley were wonderful, with the trees all covered with snow, and big drifts everywhere, carved into the most fantastic shapes by the chisel of the northeast wind.
father and mother went up to avonlea.
father thought the change would do mother good, and they wanted to see poor aunt diana, whose son jock had been seriously wounded a short time before.
they left susan and me to keep house, and father expected to be back the next day.
but he never got back for a week.
that night it began to storm again, and it stormed unbrokenly for four days.
it was the worst and longest storm that prince edward island has known for years.
everything was disorganized -- the roads were completely choked up, the trains blockaded, and the telephone wires put entirely out of commission.
""and then jims took ill.
""he had a little cold when father and mother went away, and he kept getting worse for a couple of days, but it did n't occur to me that there was danger of anything serious.
i never even took his temperature, and i ca n't forgive myself, because it was sheer carelessness.
the truth is i had slumped just then.
mother was away, so i let myself go.
all at once i was tired of keeping up and pretending to be brave and cheerful, and i just gave up for a few days and spent most of the time lying on my face on my bed, crying.
i neglected jims -- that is the hateful truth -- i was cowardly and false to what i promised walter -- and if jims had died i could never have forgiven myself.
""then, the third night after father and mother went away, jims suddenly got worse -- oh, so much worse -- all at once.
susan and i were all alone.
gertrude had been at lowbridge when the storm began and had never got back.
at first we were not much alarmed.
jims has had several bouts of croup and susan and morgan and i have always brought him through without much trouble.
but it was n't very long before we were dreadfully alarmed.""
i never saw croup like this before," said susan.
""as for me, i knew, when it was too late, what kind of croup it was.
i knew it was not the ordinary croup -- "false croup" as doctors call it -- but the "true croup" -- and i knew that it was a deadly and dangerous thing.
and father was away and there was no doctor nearer than lowbridge -- and we could not "phone and neither horse nor man could get through the drifts that night.
""gallant little jims put up a good fight for his life, -- susan and i tried every remedy we could think of or find in father's books, but he continued to grow worse.
it was heart-rending to see and hear him.
he gasped so horribly for breath -- the poor little soul -- and his face turned a dreadful bluish colour and had such an agonized expression, and he kept struggling with his little hands, as if he were appealing to us to help him somehow.
i found myself thinking that the boys who had been gassed at the front must have looked like that, and the thought haunted me amid all my dread and misery over jims.
and all the time the fatal membrane in his wee throat grew and thickened and he could n't get it up.
""oh, i was just wild!
i never realized how dear jims was to me until that moment.
and i felt so utterly helpless."
""and then susan gave up.
"we can not save him!
oh, if your father was here -- look at him, the poor little fellow!
i know not what to do."
""i looked at jims and i thought he was dying.
susan was holding him up in his crib to give him a better chance for breath, but it did n't seem as if he could breathe at all.
my little war-baby, with his dear ways and sweet roguish face, was choking to death before my very eyes, and i could n't help him.
i threw down the hot poultice i had ready in despair.
of what use was it?
jims was dying, and it was my fault -- i had n't been careful enough!
""just then -- at eleven o'clock at night -- the door bell rang.
such a ring -- it pealed all over the house above the roar of the storm.
susan could n't go -- she dared not lay jims down -- so i rushed downstairs.
in the hall i paused just a minute -- i was suddenly overcome by an absurd dread.
i thought of a weird story gertrude had told me once.
an aunt of hers was alone in a house one night with her sick husband.
she heard a knock at the door.
and when she went and opened it there was nothing there -- nothing that could be seen, at least.
but when she opened the door a deadly cold wind blew in and seemed to sweep past her right up the stairs, although it was a calm, warm summer night outside.
immediately she heard a cry.
she ran upstairs -- and her husband was dead.
and she always believed, so gertrude said, that when she opened that door she let death in.
""it was so ridiculous of me to feel so frightened.
but i was distracted and worn out, and i simply felt for a moment that i dared not open the door -- that death was waiting outside.
then i remembered that i had no time to waste -- must not be so foolish -- i sprang forward and opened the door.
""certainly a cold wind did blow in and filled the hall with a whirl of snow.
but there on the threshold stood a form of flesh and blood -- mary vance, coated from head to foot with snow -- and she brought life, not death, with her, though i did n't know that then.
i just stared at her.""
i have n't been turned out," grinned mary, as she stepped in and shut the door."
i came up to carter flagg's two days ago and i've been stormed-stayed there ever since.
but old abbie flagg got on my nerves at last, and tonight i just made up my mind to come up here.
i thought i could wade this far, but i can tell you it was as much as a bargain.
once i thought i was stuck for keeps.
ai n't it an awful night?"
""i came to myself and knew i must hurry upstairs.
i explained as quickly as i could to mary, and left her trying to brush the snow off.
upstairs i found that jims was over that paroxysm, but almost as soon as i got back to the room he was in the grip of another.
i could n't do anything but moan and cry -- oh, how ashamed i am when i think of it; and yet what could i do -- we had tried everything we knew -- and then all at once i heard mary vance saying loudly behind me, "why, that child is dying!"
""i whirled around.
did n't i know he was dying -- my little jims!
i could have thrown mary vance out of the door or the window -- anywhere -- at that moment.
there she stood, cool and composed, looking down at my baby, with those, weird white eyes of hers, as she might look at a choking kitten.
i had always disliked mary vance -- and just then i hated her."
"we have tried everything," said poor susan dully.
"it is not ordinary croup.""
"no, it's the dipthery croup," said mary briskly, snatching up an apron.
"and there's mighty little time to lose -- but i know what to do.
when i lived over-harbour with mrs. wiley, years ago, will crawford's kid died of dipthery croup, in spite of two doctors.
and when old aunt christina macallister heard of it -- she was the one brought me round when i nearly died of pneumonia you know -- she was a wonder -- no doctor was a patch on her -- they do n't hatch her breed of cats nowadays, let me tell you -- she said she could have saved him with her grandmother's remedy if she'd been there.
she told mrs. wiley what it was and i've never forgot it.
i've the greatest memory ever -- a thing just lies in the back of my head till the time comes to use it.
got any sulphur in the house, susan?"
""yes, we had sulphur.
susan went down with mary to get it, and i held jims.
i had n't any hope -- not the least.
mary vance might brag as she liked -- she was always bragging -- but i did n't believe any grandmother's remedy could save jims now.
presently mary came back.
she had tied a piece of thick flannel over her mouth and nose, and she carried susan's old tin chip pan, half full of burning coals."
"you watch me," she said boastfully.
"i've never done this, but it's kill or cure that child is dying anyway."
""she sprinkled a spoonful of sulphur over the coals; and then she picked up jims, turned him over, and held him face downward, right over those choking, blinding fumes.
i do n't know why i did n't spring forward and snatch him away.
susan says it was because it was fore-ordained that i should n't, and i think she is right, because it did really seem that i was powerless to move.
susan herself seemed transfixed, watching mary from the doorway.
jims writhed in those big, firm, capable hands of mary -- oh yes, she is capable all right -- and choked and wheezed -- and choked and wheezed -- and i felt that he was being tortured to death -- and then all at once, after what seemed to me an hour, though it really was n't long, he coughed up the membrane that was killing him.
mary turned him over and laid him back on his bed.
he was white as marble and the tears were pouring out of his brown eyes -- but that awful livid look was gone from his face and he could breathe quite easily."
"was n't that some trick?"
said mary gaily."
i had n't any idea how it would work, but i just took a chance.
i'll smoke his throat out again once or twice before morning, just to kill all the germs, but you'll see he'll be all right now."
""jims went right to sleep -- real sleep, not coma, as i feared at first.
mary "smoked him," as she called it, twice through the night, and at daylight his throat was perfectly clear and his temperature was almost normal.
when i made sure of that i turned and looked at mary vance.
she was sitting on the lounge laying down the law to susan on some subject about which susan must have known forty times as much as she did.
but i did n't mind how much law she laid down or how much she bragged.
she had a right to brag -- she had dared to do what i would never have dared, and had saved jims from a horrible death.
it did n't matter any more that she had once chased me through the glen with a codfish; it did n't matter that she had smeared goose-grease all over my dream of romance the night of the lighthouse dance; it did n't matter that she thought she knew more than anybody else and always rubbed it in -- i would never dislike mary vance again.
i went over to her and kissed her."
"what's up now?"
she said."
"nothing -- only i'm so grateful to you, mary.""
"well, i think you ought to be, that's a fact.
you two would have let that baby die on your hands if i had n't happened along," said mary, just beaming with complacency.
she got susan and me a tip-top breakfast and made us eat it, and "bossed the life out of us," as susan says, for two days, until the roads were opened so that she could get home.
jims was almost well by that time, and father turned up.
he heard our tale without saying much.
father is rather scornful generally about what he calls "old wives" remedies."
he laughed a little and said, "after this, mary vance will expect me to call her in for consultation in all my serious cases."
""so christmas was not so hard as i expected it to be; and now the new year is coming -- and we are still hoping for the "big push" that will end the war -- and little dog monday is getting stiff and rheumatic from his cold vigils, but still he "carries on," and shirley continues to read the exploits of the aces.
oh, nineteen-seventeen, what will you bring?"
chapter xxv shirley goes "no, woodrow, there will be no peace without victory," said susan, sticking her knitting needle viciously through president wilson's name in the newspaper column.
""we canadians mean to have peace and victory, too.
you, if it pleases you, woodrow, can have the peace without the victory" -- and susan stalked off to bed with the comfortable consciousness of having got the better of the argument with the president.
but a few days later she rushed to mrs. blythe in red-hot excitement.
""mrs. dr. dear, what do you think?
a "phone message has just come through from charlottetown that woodrow wilson has sent that german ambassador man to the right about at last.
they tell me that means war.
so i begin to think that woodrow's heart is in the right place after all, wherever his head may be, and i am going to commandeer a little sugar and celebrate the occasion with some fudge, despite the howls of the food board.
i thought that submarine business would bring things to a crisis.
i told cousin sophia so when she said it was the beginning of the end for the allies."
""do n't let the doctor hear of the fudge, susan," said anne, with a smile.
""you know he has laid down very strict rules for us along the lines of economy the government has asked for."
""yes, mrs. dr. dear, and a man should be master in his own household, and his women folk should bow to his decrees.
i flatter myself that i am becoming quite efficient in economizing" -- susan had taken to using certain german terms with killing effect -- "but one can exercise a little gumption on the quiet now and then.
shirley was wishing for some of my fudge the other day -- the susan brand, as he called it -- and i said "the first victory there is to celebrate i shall make you some."
i consider this news quite equal to a victory, and what the doctor does not know will never grieve him.
i take the whole responsibility, mrs. dr. dear, so do not you vex your conscience."
susan spoiled shirley shamelessly that winter.
he came home from queen's every week-end, and susan had all his favourite dishes for him, in so far as she could evade or wheedle the doctor, and waited on him hand and foot.
though she talked war constantly to everyone else she never mentioned it to him or before him, but she watched him like a cat watching a mouse; and when the german retreat from the bapaume salient began and continued, susan's exultation was linked up with something deeper than anything she expressed.
surely the end was in sight -- would come now before -- anyone else -- could go.
""things are coming our way at last.
we have got the germans on the run," she boasted.
""the united states has declared war at last, as i always believed they would, in spite of woodrow's gift for letter writing, and you will see they will go into it with a vim since i understand that is their habit, when they do start.
and we have got the germans on the run, too."
""the states mean well," moaned cousin sophia, "but all the vim in the world can not put them on the fighting line this spring, and the allies will be finished before that.
the germans are just luring them on.
that man simonds says their retreat has put the allies in a hole."
""that man simonds has said more than he will ever live to make good," retorted susan.
""i do not worry myself about his opinion as long as lloyd george is premier of england.
he will not be bamboozled and that you may tie to.
things look good to me.
the u. s. is in the war, and we have got kut and bagdad back -- and i would not be surprised to see the allies in berlin by june -- and the russians, too, since they have got rid of the czar.
that, in my opinion was a good piece of work."
""time will show if it is," said cousin sophia, who would have been very indignant if anyone had told her that she would rather see susan put to shame as a seer, than a successful overthrow of tyranny, or even the march of the allies down unter den linden.
but then the woes of the russian people were quite unknown to cousin sophia, while this aggravating, optimistic susan was an ever-present thorn in her side.
just at that moment shirley was sitting on the edge of the table in the living-room, swinging his legs -- a brown, ruddy, wholesome lad, from top to toe, every inch of him -- and saying coolly, "mother and dad, i was eighteen last monday.
do n't you think it's about time i joined up?"
the pale mother looked at him.
""two of my sons have gone and one will never return.
must i give you too, shirley?"
the age-old cry -- "joseph is not and simeon is not; and ye will take benjamin away."
how the mothers of the great war echoed the old patriarch's moan of so many centuries agone!
""you would n't have me a slacker, mother?
i can get into the flying-corps.
what say, dad?"
the doctor's hands were not quite steady as he folded up the powders he was concocting for abbie flagg's rheumatism.
he had known this moment was coming, yet he was not altogether prepared for it.
he answered slowly, "i wo n't try to hold you back from what you believe to be your duty.
but you must not go unless your mother says you may."
shirley said nothing more.
he was not a lad of many words.
anne did not say anything more just then, either.
she was thinking of little joyce's grave in the old burying-ground over-harbour -- little joyce who would have been a woman now, had she lived -- of the white cross in france and the splendid grey eyes of the little boy who had been taught his first lessons of duty and loyalty at her knee -- of jem in the terrible trenches -- of nan and di and rilla, waiting -- waiting -- waiting, while the golden years of youth passed by -- and she wondered if she could bear any more.
she thought not; surely she had given enough.
yet that night she told shirley that he might go.
they did not tell susan right away.
she did not know it until, a few days later, shirley presented himself in her kitchen in his aviation uniform.
susan did n't make half the fuss she had made when jem and walter had gone.
she said stonily, "so they're going to take you, too."
""take me?
no.
i'm going, susan -- got to."
susan sat down by the table, folded her knotted old hands, that had grown warped and twisted working for the ingleside children to still their shaking, and said: "yes, you must go.
i did not see once why such things must be, but i can see now."
""you're a brick, susan," said shirley.
he was relieved that she took it so coolly -- he had been a little afraid, with a boy's horror of "a scene."
he went out whistling gaily; but half an hour later, when pale anne blythe came in, susan was still sitting there.
""mrs. dr. dear," said susan, making an admission she would once have died rather than make, "i feel very old.
jem and walter were yours but shirley is mine.
and i can not bear to think of him flying -- his machine crashing down -- the life crushed out of his body -- the dear little body i nursed and cuddled when he was a wee baby."
""susan -- do n't," cried anne.
""oh, mrs. dr. dear, i beg your pardon.
i ought not to have said anything like that out loud.
i sometimes forget that i resolved to be a heroine.
this -- this has shaken me a little.
but i will not forget myself again.
only if things do not go as smoothly in the kitchen for a few days i hope you will make due allowance for me.
at least," said poor susan, forcing a grim smile in a desperate effort to recover lost standing, "at least flying is a clean job.
he will not get so dirty and messed up as he would in the trenches, and that is well, for he has always been a tidy child."
so shirley went -- not radiantly, as to a high adventure, like jem, not in a white flame of sacrifice, like walter, but in a cool, business-like mood, as of one doing something, rather dirty and disagreeable, that had just got to be done.
he kissed susan for the first time since he was five years old, and said, "good-bye, susan -- mother susan."
""my little brown boy -- my little brown boy," said susan.
""i wonder," she thought bitterly, as she looked at the doctor's sorrowful face, "if you remember how you spanked him once when he was a baby.
i am thankful i have nothing like that on my conscience now."
the doctor did not remember the old discipline.
but before he put on his hat to go out on his round of calls he stood for a moment in the great silent living-room that had once been full of children's laughter.
""our last son -- our last son," he said aloud.
""a good, sturdy, sensible lad, too.
always reminded me of my father.
i suppose i ought to be proud that he wanted to go -- i was proud when jem went -- even when walter went -- but "our house is left us desolate.""
""i have been thinking, doctor," old sandy of the upper glen said to him that afternoon, "that your house will be seeming very big the day."
highland sandy's quaint phrase struck the doctor as perfectly expressive.
ingleside did seem very big and empty that night.
yet shirley had been away all winter except for week-ends, and had always been a quiet fellow even when home.
was it because he had been the only one left that his going seemed to leave such a huge blank -- that every room seemed vacant and deserted -- that the very trees on the lawn seemed to be trying to comfort each other with caresses of freshly-budding boughs for the loss of the last of the little lads who had romped under them in childhood?
susan worked very hard all day and late into the night.
when she had wound the kitchen clock and put dr. jekyll out, none too gently, she stood for a little while on the doorstep, looking down the glen, which lay tranced in faint, silvery light from a sinking young moon.
but susan did not see the familiar hills and harbour.
she was looking at the aviation camp in kingsport where shirley was that night.
""he called me "mother susan,"" she was thinking.
""well, all our men folk have gone now -- jem and walter and shirley and jerry and carl.
and none of them had to be driven to it.
so we have a right to be proud.
but pride --" susan sighed bitterly -- "pride is cold company and that there is no gainsaying."
the moon sank lower into a black cloud in the west, the glen went out in an eclipse of sudden shadow -- and thousands of miles away the canadian boys in khaki -- the living and the dead -- were in possession of vimy ridge.
vimy ridge is a name written in crimson and gold on the canadian annals of the great war.
""the british could n't take it and the french could n't take it," said a german prisoner to his captors, "but you canadians are such fools that you do n't know when a place ca n't be taken!"
so the "fools" took it -- and paid the price.
jerry meredith was seriously wounded at vimy ridge -- shot in the back, the telegram said.
""poor nan," said mrs. blythe, when the news came.
she thought of her own happy girlhood at old green gables.
there had been no tragedy like this in it.
how the girls of to-day had to suffer!
when nan came home from redmond two weeks later her face showed what those weeks had meant to her.
john meredith, too, seemed to have grown old suddenly in them.
faith did not come home; she was on her way across the atlantic as a v.a.d. di had tried to wring from her father consent to her going also, but had been told that for her mother's sake it could not be given.
so di, after a flying visit home, went back to her red cross work in kingsport.
the mayflowers bloomed in the secret nooks of rainbow valley.
rilla was watching for them.
jem had once taken his mother the earliest mayflowers; walter brought them to her when jem was gone; last spring shirley had sought them out for her; now, rilla thought she must take the boys" place in this.
but before she had discovered any, bruce meredith came to ingleside one twilight with his hands full of delicate pink sprays.
he stalked up the steps of the veranda and laid them on mrs. blythe's lap.
""because shirley is n't here to bring them," he said in his funny, shy, blunt way.
""and you thought of this, you darling," said anne, her lips quivering, as she looked at the stocky, black-browed little chap, standing before her, with his hands thrust into his pockets.
""i wrote jem to-day and told him not to worry "bout you not getting your mayflowers," said bruce seriously,"'cause i'd see to that.
and i told him i would be ten pretty soon now, so it wo n't be very long before i'll be eighteen, and then i'll go to help him fight, and maybe let him come home for a rest while i took his place.
i wrote jerry, too.
jerry's getting better, you know."
""is he?
have you had any good news about him?"
""yes.
mother had a letter to-day, and it said he was out of danger."
""oh, thank god," murmured mrs. blythe, in a half-whisper.
bruce looked at her curiously.
""that is what father said when mother told him.
but when l said it the other day when i found out mr. mead's dog had n't hurt my kitten -- i thought he had shooken it to death, you know -- father looked awful solemn and said i must never say that again about a kitten.
but i could n't understand why, mrs. blythe.
i felt awful thankful, and it must have been god that saved stripey, because that mead dog had "normous jaws, and oh, how it shook poor stripey.
and so why could n't i thank him?
"course," added bruce reminiscently, "maybe i said it too loud --'cause i was awful glad and excited when i found stripey was all right.
i "most shouted it, mrs. blythe.
maybe if i'd said it sort of whispery like you and father it would have been all right.
do you know, mrs. blythe" -- bruce dropped to a "whispery" tone, edging a little nearer to anne -- "what i would like to do to the kaiser if i could?"
""what would you like to do, laddie?"
""norman reese said in school to-day that he would like to tie the kaiser to a tree and set cross dogs to worrying him," said bruce gravely.
""and emily flagg said she would like to put him in a cage and poke sharp things into him.
and they all said things like that.
but mrs. blythe" -- bruce took a little square paw out of his pocket and put it earnestly on anne's knee -- "i would like to turn the kaiser into a good man -- a very good man -- all at once if i could.
that is what i would do.
do n't you think, mrs. blythe, that would be the very worstest punishment of all?"
""bless the child," said susan, "how do you make out that would be any kind of a punishment for that wicked fiend?"
""do n't you see," said bruce, looking levelly at susan, out of his blackly blue eyes, "if he was turned into a good man he would understand how dreadful the things he has done are, and he would feel so terrible about it that he would be more unhappy and miserable than he could ever be in any other way.
he would feel just awful -- and he would go on feeling like that forever.
yes" -- bruce clenched his hands and nodded his head emphatically, "yes, i would make the kaiser a good man -- that is what i would do -- it would serve him "zackly right."
chapter xxvi susan has a proposal of marriage an aeroplane was flying over glen st. mary, like a great bird poised against the western sky -- a sky so clear and of such a pale, silvery yellow, that it gave an impression of a vast, wind-freshened space of freedom.
the little group on the ingleside lawn looked up at it with fascinated eyes, although it was by no means an unusual thing to see an occasional hovering plane that summer.
susan was always intensely excited.
who knew but that it might be shirley away up there in the clouds, flying over to the island from kingsport?
but shirley had gone overseas now, so susan was not so keenly interested in this particular aeroplane and its pilot.
nevertheless, she looked at it with awe.
""i wonder, mrs. dr. dear," she said solemnly, "what the old folks down there in the graveyard would think if they could rise out of their graves for one moment and behold that sight.
i am sure my father would disapprove of it, for he was a man who did not believe in new-fangled ideas of any sort.
he always cut his grain with a reaping hook to the day of his death.
a mower he would not have.
what was good enough for his father was good enough for him, he used to say.
i hope it is not unfilial to say that i think he was wrong in that point of view, but i am not sure i go so far as to approve of aeroplanes, though they may be a military necessity.
if the almighty had meant us to fly he would have provided us with wings.
since he did not it is plain he meant us to stick to the solid earth.
at any rate, you will never see me, mrs. dr. dear, cavorting through the sky in an aeroplane."
""but you wo n't refuse to cavort a bit in father's new automobile when it comes, will you, susan?"
teased rilla.
""i do not expect to trust my old bones in automobiles, either," retorted susan.
""but i do not look upon them as some narrow-minded people do.
whiskers-on-the-moon says the government should be turned out of office for permitting them to run on the island at all.
he foams at the mouth, they tell me, when he sees one.
the other day he saw one coming along that narrow side-road by his wheatfield, and whiskers bounded over the fence and stood right in the middle of the road, with his pitchfork.
the man in the machine was an agent of some kind, and whiskers hates agents as much as he hates automobiles.
he made the car come to a halt, because there was not room to pass him on either side, and the agent could not actually run over him.
then he raised his pitchfork and shouted, "get out of this with your devil-machine or i will run this pitchfork clean through you."
and mrs. dr. dear, if you will believe me, that poor agent had to back his car clean out to the lowbridge road, nearly a mile, whiskers following him every step, shaking his pitchfork and bellowing insults.
now, mrs. dr. dear, i call such conduct unreasonable; but all the same," added susan, with a sigh, "what with aeroplanes and automobiles and all the rest of it, this island is not what it used to be."
the aeroplane soared and dipped and circled, and soared again, until it became a mere speck far over the sunset hills."
"with the majesty of pinion which the theban eagles bear sailing with supreme dominion through the azure fields of air.""
quoted anne blythe dreamily.
""i wonder," said miss oliver, "if humanity will be any happier because of aeroplanes.
it seems to me that the sum of human happiness remains much the same from age to age, no matter how it may vary in distribution, and that all the "many inventions" neither lessen nor increase it."
""after all, the "kingdom of heaven is within you,"" said mr. meredith, gazing after the vanishing speck which symbolized man's latest victory in a world-old struggle.
""it does not depend on material achievements and triumphs."
""nevertheless, an aeroplane is a fascinating thing," said the doctor.
""it has always been one of humanity's favourite dreams -- the dream of flying.
dream after dream comes true -- or rather is made true by persevering effort.
i should like to have a flight in an aeroplane myself."
""shirley wrote me that he was dreadfully disappointed in his first flight," said rilla.
""he had expected to experience the sensation of soaring up from the earth like a bird -- and instead he just had the feeling that he was n't moving at all, but that the earth was dropping away under him.
and the first time he went up alone he suddenly felt terribly homesick.
he had never felt like that before; but all at once, he said, he felt as if he were adrift in space -- and he had a wild desire to get back home to the old planet and the companionship of fellow creatures.
he soon got over that feeling, but he says his first flight alone was a nightmare to him because of that dreadful sensation of ghastly loneliness."
the aeroplane disappeared.
the doctor threw back his head with a sigh.
""when i have watched one of those bird-men out of sight i come back to earth with an odd feeling of being merely a crawling insect.
anne," he said, turning to his wife, "do you remember the first time i took you for a buggy ride in avonlea -- that night we went to the carmody concert, the first fall you taught in avonlea?
i had out little black mare with the white star on her forehead, and a shining brand-new buggy -- and i was the proudest fellow in the world, barring none.
i suppose our grandson will be taking his sweetheart out quite casually for an evening "fly" in his aeroplane."
""an aeroplane wo n't be as nice as little silverspot was," said anne.
""a machine is simply a machine -- but silverspot, why she was a personality, gilbert.
a drive behind her had something in it that not even a flight among sunset clouds could have.
no, i do n't envy my grandson's sweetheart, after all.
mr. meredith is right.
"the kingdom of heaven" -- and of love -- and of happiness -- does n't depend on externals."
""besides," said the doctor gravely, "our said grandson will have to give most of his attention to the aeroplane -- he wo n't be able to let the reins lie on its back while he gazes into his lady's eyes.
and i have an awful suspicion that you ca n't run an aeroplane with one arm.
no" -- the doctor shook his head -- "i believe i'd still prefer silverspot after all."
the russian line broke again that summer and susan said bitterly that she had expected it ever since kerensky had gone and got married.
""far be it from me to decry the holy state of matrimony, mrs. dr. dear, but i felt that when a man was running a revolution he had his hands full and should have postponed marriage until a more fitting season.
the russians are done for this time and there would be no sense in shutting our eyes to the fact.
but have you seen woodrow wilson's reply to the pope's peace proposals?
it is magnificent.
i really could not have expressed the rights of the matter better myself.
i feel that i can forgive wilson everything for it.
he knows the meaning of words and that you may tie to.
speaking of meanings, have you heard the latest story about whiskers-on-the-moon, mrs. dr. dear?
it seems he was over at the lowbridge road school the other day and took a notion to examine the fourth class in spelling.
they have the summer term there yet, you know, with the spring and fall vacations, being rather backward people on that road.
my niece, ella baker, goes to that school and she it was who told me the story.
the teacher was not feeling well, having a dreadful headache, and she went out to get a little fresh air while mr. pryor was examining the class.
the children got along all right with the spelling but when whiskers began to question them about the meanings of the words they were all at sea, because they had not learned them.
ella and the other big scholars felt terrible over it.
they love their teacher so, and it seems mr. pryor's brother, abel pryor, who is trustee of that school, is against her and has been trying to turn the other trustees over to his way of thinking.
and ella and the rest were afraid that if the fourth class could n't tell whiskers the meanings of the words he would think the teacher was no good and tell abel so, and abel would have a fine handle.
but little sandy logan saved the situation.
he is a home boy, but he is as smart as a steel trap, and he sized up whiskers-on-the-moon right off.
"what does "anatomy" mean?"
whiskers demanded."
a pain in your stomach," sandy replied, quick as a flash and never batting an eyelid.
whiskers-on-the-moon is a very ignorant man, mrs. dr. dear; he did n't know the meaning of the words himself, and he said "very good -- very good."
the class caught right on -- at least three or four of the brighter ones did -- and they kept up the fun.
jean blane said that "acoustic" meant" a religious squabble," and muriel baker said that an "agnostic" was" a man who had indigestion," and jim carter said that "acerbity" meant that "you ate nothing but vegetable food," and so on all down the list.
whiskers swallowed it all, and kept saying "very good -- very good" until ella thought that die she would trying to keep a straight face.
when the teacher came in, whiskers complimented her on the splendid understanding the children had of their lesson and said he meant to tell the trustees what a jewel they had.
it was "very unusual," he said, to find a fourth class who could answer up so prompt when it came to explaining what words meant.
he went off beaming.
but ella told me this as a great secret, mrs. dr. dear, and we must keep it as such, for the sake of the lowbridge road teacher.
it would likely be the ruin of her chances of keeping the school if whiskers should ever find out how he had been bamboozled."
mary vance came up to ingleside that same afternoon to tell them that miller douglas, who had been wounded when the canadians took hill 70, had had to have his leg amputated.
the ingleside folk sympathized with mary, whose zeal and patriotism had taken some time to kindle but now burned with a glow as steady and bright as any one's.
""some folks have been twitting me about having a husband with only one leg.
but," said mary, rising to a lofty height, "i would rather miller with only one leg than any other man in the world with a dozen -- unless," she added as an after-thought, "unless it was lloyd george.
well, i must be going.
i thought you'd be interested in hearing about miller so i ran up from the store, but i must hustle home for i promised luke macallister i'd help him build his grain stack this evening.
it's up to us girls to see that the harvest is got in, since the boys are so scarce.
i've got overalls and i can tell you they're real becoming.
mrs. alec douglas says they're indecent and should n't be allowed, and even mrs. elliott kinder looks askance at them.
but bless you, the world moves, and anyhow there's no fun for me like shocking kitty alec."
""by the way, father," said rilla, "i'm going to take jack flagg's place in his father's store for a month.
i promised him today that i would, if you did n't object.
then he can help the farmers get the harvest in.
i do n't think i'd be much use in a harvest myself -- though lots of the girls are -- but i can set jack free while i do his work.
jims is n't much bother in the daytime now, and i'll always be home at night."
""do you think you'll like weighing out sugar and beans, and trafficking in butter and eggs?"
said the doctor, twinkling.
""probably not.
that is n't the question.
it's just one way of doing my bit."
so rilla went behind mr. flagg's counter for a month; and susan went into albert crawford's oat-fields.
""i am as good as any of them yet," she said proudly.
""not a man of them can beat me when it comes to building a stack.
when i offered to help albert looked doubtful."
i am afraid the work will be too hard for you," he said.
"try me for a day and see," said i." i will do my darnedest.""
none of the ingleside folks spoke for just a moment.
their silence meant that they thought susan's pluck in "working out" quite wonderful.
but susan mistook their meaning and her sun-burned face grew red.
""this habit of swearing seems to be growing on me, mrs. dr. dear," she said apologetically.
""to think that i should be acquiring it at my age!
it is such a dreadful example to the young girls.
i am of the opinion it comes of reading the newspapers so much.
they are so full of profanity and they do not spell it with stars either, as used to be done in my young days.
this war is demoralizing everybody."
susan, standing on a load of grain, her grey hair whipping in the breeze and her skirt kilted up to her knees for safety and convenience -- no overalls for susan, if you please -- neither a beautiful nor a romantic figure; but the spirit that animated her gaunt arms was the self-same one that captured vimy ridge and held the german legions back from verdun.
it is not the least likely, however, that this consideration was the one which appealed most strongly to mr. pryor when he drove past one afternoon and saw susan pitching sheaves gamely.
""smart woman that," he reflected.
""worth two of many a younger one yet.
i might do worse -- i might do worse.
if milgrave comes home alive i'll lose miranda and hired housekeepers cost more than a wife and are liable to leave a man in the lurch any time.
i'll think it over."
a week later mrs. blythe, coming up from the village late in the afternoon, paused at the gate of ingleside in an amazement which temporarily bereft her of the power of motion.
an extraordinary sight met her eyes.
round the end of the kitchen burst mr. pryor, running as stout, pompous mr. pryor had not run in years, with terror imprinted on every lineament -- a terror quite justifiable, for behind him, like an avenging fate, came susan, with a huge, smoking iron pot grasped in her hands, and an expression in her eye that boded ill to the object of her indignation, if she should overtake him.
pursuer and pursued tore across the lawn.
mr. pryor reached the gate a few feet ahead of susan, wrenched it open, and fled down the road, without a glance at the transfixed lady of ingleside.
""susan," gasped anne.
susan halted in her mad career, set down her pot, and shook her fist after mr. pryor, who had not ceased to run, evidently believing that susan was still full cry after him.
""susan, what does this mean?"
demanded anne, a little severely.
""you may well ask that, mrs. dr. dear," susan replied wrathfully.
""i have not been so upset in years.
that -- that -- that pacifist has actually had the audacity to come up here and, in my own kitchen, to ask me to marry him.
him!"
anne choked back a laugh.
""but -- susan!
could n't you have found a -- well, a less spectacular method of refusing him?
think what a gossip this would have made if anyone had been going past and had seen such a performance."
""indeed, mrs. dr. dear, you are quite right.
i did not think of it because i was quite past thinking rationally.
i was just clean mad.
come in the house and i will tell you all about it."
susan picked up her pot and marched into the kitchen, still trembling with wrathful excitement.
she set her pot on the stove with a vicious thud.
""wait a moment until i open all the windows to air this kitchen well, mrs. dr. dear.
there, that is better.
and i must wash my hands, too, because i shook hands with whiskers-on-the-moon when he came in -- not that i wanted to, but when he stuck out his fat, oily hand i did not know just what else to do at the moment.
i had just finished my afternoon cleaning and thanks be, everything was shining and spotless; and thought i "now that dye is boiling and i will get my rug rags and have them nicely out of the way before supper."
""just then a shadow fell over the floor and looking up i saw whiskers-on-the-moon, standing in the doorway, dressed up and looking as if he had just been starched and ironed.
i shook hands with him, as aforesaid, mrs. dr. dear, and told him you and the doctor were both away.
but he said, "i have come to see you, miss baker."
""i asked him to sit down, for the sake of my own manners, and then i stood there right in the middle of the floor and gazed at him as contemptuously as i could.
in spite of his brazen assurance this seemed to rattle him a little; but he began trying to look sentimental at me out of his little piggy eyes, and all at once an awful suspicion flashed into my mind.
something told me, mrs. dr. dear, that i was about to receive my first proposal.
i have always thought that i would like to have just one offer of marriage to reject, so that i might be able to look other women in the face, but you will not hear me bragging of this.
i consider it an insult and if i could have thought of any way of preventing it i would.
but just then, mrs. dr. dear, you will see i was at a disadvantage, being taken so completely by surprise.
some men, i am told, consider a little preliminary courting the proper thing before a proposal, if only to give fair warning of their intentions; but whiskers-on-the-moon probably thought it was any port in a storm for me and that i would jump at him.
well, he is undeceived -- yes, he is undeceived, mrs. dr. dear.
i wonder if he has stopped running yet."
""i understand that you do n't feel flattered, susan.
but could n't you have refused him a little more delicately than by chasing him off the premises in such a fashion?"
""well, maybe i might have, mrs. dr. dear, and i intended to, but one remark he made aggravated me beyond my powers of endurance.
if it had not been for that i would not have chased him with my dye-pot.
i will tell you the whole interview.
whiskers sat down, as i have said, and right beside him on another chair doc was lying.
the animal was pretending to be asleep but i knew very well he was not, for he has been hyde all day and hyde never sleeps.
by the way, mrs. dr. dear, have you noticed that that cat is far oftener hyde than jekyll now?
the more victories germany wins the hyder he becomes.
i leave you to draw your own conclusions from that.
i suppose whiskers thought he might curry favour with me by praising the creature, little dreaming what my real sentiments towards it were, so he stuck out his pudgy hand and stroked mr. hyde's back.
"what a nice cat," he said.
the nice cat flew at him and bit him.
then it gave a fearful yowl, and bounded out of the door.
whiskers looked after it quite amazed.
"that is a queer kind of a varmint," he said.
i agreed with him on that point, but i was not going to let him see it.
besides, what business had he to call our cat a varmint?
"it may be a varmint or it may not," i said, "but it knows the difference between a canadian and a hun."
you would have thought, would you not, mrs. dr. dear, that a hint like that would have been enough for him!
but it went no deeper than his skin.
i saw him settling back quite comfortable, as if for a good talk, and thought i, "if there is anything coming it may as well come soon and be done with, for with all these rags to dye before supper i have no time to waste in flirting," so i spoke right out.
"if you have anything particular to discuss with me, mr. pryor, i would feel obliged if you would mention it without loss of time, because i am very busy this afternoon."
he fairly beamed at me out of that circle of red whisker, and said, "you are a business-like woman and i agree with you.
there is no use in wasting time beating around the bush.
i came up here today to ask you to marry me."
so there it was, mrs. dr. dear.
i had a proposal at last, after waiting sixty-four years for one.
""i just glared at that presumptuous creature and i said," i would not marry you if you were the last man on earth, josiah pryor.
so there you have my answer and you can take it away forthwith."
you never saw a man so taken aback as he was, mrs. dr. dear.
he was so flabbergasted that he just blurted out the truth.
"why, i thought you'd be only too glad to get a chance to be married," he said.
that was when i lost my head, mrs. dr. dear.
do you think i had a good excuse, when a hun and a pacifist made such an insulting remark to me?
"go," i thundered, and i just caught up that iron pot.
i could see that he thought i had suddenly gone insane, and i suppose he considered an iron pot full of boiling dye was a dangerous weapon in the hands of a lunatic.
at any rate he went, and stood not upon the order of his going, as you saw for yourself.
and i do not think we will see him back here proposing to us again in a hurry.
no, i think he has learned that there is at least one single woman in glen st. mary who has no hankering to become mrs. whiskers-on-the-moon."
chapter xxvii waiting ingleside, 1st november 1917 "it is november -- and the glen is all grey and brown, except where the lombardy poplars stand up here and there like great golden torches in the sombre landscape, although every other tree has shed its leaves.
it has been very hard to keep our courage alight of late.
the caporetto disaster is a dreadful thing and not even susan can extract much consolation out of the present state of affairs.
the rest of us do n't try.
gertrude keeps saying desperately, "they must not get venice -- they must not get venice," as if by saying it often enough she can prevent them.
but what is to prevent them from getting venice i can not see.
yet, as susan fails not to point out, there was seemingly nothing to prevent them from getting to paris in 1914, yet they did not get it, and she affirms they shall not get venice either.
oh, how i hope and pray they will not -- venice the beautiful queen of the adriatic.
although i've never seen it i feel about it just as byron did -- i've always loved it -- it has always been to me" a fairy city of the heart."
perhaps i caught my love of it from walter, who worshipped it.
it was always one of his dreams to see venice.
i remember we planned once -- down in rainbow valley one evening just before the war broke out -- that some time we would go together to see it and float in a gondola through its moonlit streets.
""every fall since the war began there has been some terrible blow to our troops -- antwerp in 1914, serbia in 1915; last fall, rumania, and now italy, the worst of all.
i think i would give up in despair if it were not for what walter said in his dear last letter -- that "the dead as well as the living were fighting on our side and such an army can not be defeated."
no it can not.
we will win in the end.
i will not doubt it for one moment.
to let myself doubt would be to "break faith."
""we have all been campaigning furiously of late for the new victory loan.
we junior reds canvassed diligently and landed several tough old customers who had at first flatly refused to invest.
i -- even i -- tackled whiskers-on-the-moon.
i expected a bad time and a refusal.
but to my amazement he was quite agreeable and promised on the spot to take a thousand dollar bond.
he may be a pacifist, but he knows a good investment when it is handed out to him.
five and a half per cent is finve and a half per cent, even when a militaristic government pays it.
""father, to tease susan, says it was her speech at the victory loan campaign meeting that converted mr. pryor.
i do n't think that at all likely, since mr. pryor has been publicly very bitter against susan ever since her quite unmistakable rejection of his lover-like advances.
but susan did make a speech -- and the best one made at the meeting, too.
it was the first time she ever did such a thing and she vows it will be the last.
everybody in the glen was at the meeting, and quite a number of speeches were made, but somehow things were a little flat and no especial enthusiasm could be worked up.
susan was quite dismayed at the lack of zeal, because she had been burningly anxious that the island should go over the top in regard to its quota.
she kept whispering viciously to gertrude and me that there was "no ginger" in the speeches; and when nobody went forward to subscribe to the loan at the close susan "lost her head."
at least, that is how she describes it herself.
she bounded to her feet, her face grim and set under her bonnet -- susan is the only woman in glen st. mary who still wears a bonnet -- and said sarcastically and loudly, "no doubt it is much cheaper to talk patriotism than it is to pay for it.
and we are asking charity, of course -- we are asking you to lend us your money for nothing!
no doubt the kaiser will feel quite downcast when he hears of this meeting!"
""susan has an unshaken belief that the kaiser's spies -- presumably represented by mr. pryor -- promptly inform him of every happening in our glen.
""norman douglas shouted out "hear!
hear!"
and some boy at the back said, "what about lloyd george?"
in a tone susan did n't like.
lloyd george is her pet hero, now that kitchener is gone.""
i stand behind lloyd george every time," retorted susan.""
i suppose that will hearten him up greatly," said warren mead, with one of his disagreeable "haw-haws."
""warren's remark was spark to powder.
susan just "sailed in" as she puts it, and "said her say."
she said it remarkably well, too.
there was no lack of "ginger" in her speech, anyhow.
when susan is warmed up she has no mean powers of oratory, and the way she trimmed those men down was funny and wonderful and effective all at once.
she said it was the likes of her, millions of her, that did stand behind lloyd george, and did hearten him up.
that was the key-note of her speech.
dear old susan!
she is a perfect dynamo of patriotism and loyalty and contempt for slackers of all kinds, and when she let it loose on that audience in her one grand outburst she electrified it.
susan always vows she is no suffragette, but she gave womanhood its due that night, and she literally made those men cringe.
when she finished with them they were ready to eat out of her hand.
she wound up by ordering them -- yes, ordering them -- to march up to the platform forthwith and subscribe for victory bonds.
and after wild applause most of them did it, even warren mead.
when the total amount subscribed came out in the charlottetown dailies the next day we found that the glen led every district on the island -- and certainly susan has the credit for it.
she, herself, after she came home that night was quite ashamed and evidently feared that she had been guilty of unbecoming conduct: she confessed to mother that she had been "rather unladylike."
""we were all -- except susan -- out for a trial ride in father's new automobile tonight.
a very good one we had, too, though we did get ingloriously ditched at the end, owing to a certain grim old dame -- to wit, miss elizabeth carr of the upper glen -- who would n't rein her horse out to let us pass, honk as we might.
father was quite furious; but in my heart i believe i sympathized with miss elizabeth.
if i had been a spinster lady, driving along behind my own old nag, in maiden meditation fancy free, i would n't have lifted a rein when an obstreperous car hooted blatantly behind me.
i should just have sat up as dourly as she did and said "take the ditch if you are determined to pass."
""we did take the ditch -- and got up to our axles in sand -- and sat foolishly there while miss elizabeth clucked up her horse and rattled victoriously away.
""jem will have a laugh when i write him this.
he knows miss elizabeth of old.
""but -- will -- venice -- be -- saved?"
19th november 1917 "it is not saved yet -- it is still in great danger.
but the italians are making a stand at last on the piave line.
to be sure military critics say they can not possibly hold it and must retreat to the adige.
but susan and gertrude and i say they must hold it, because venice must be saved, so what are the military critics to do?
""oh, if i could only believe that they can hold it!
""our canadian troops have won another great victory -- they have stormed the passchendaele ridge and held it in the face of all counter attacks.
none of our boys were in the battle -- but oh, the casualty list of other people's boys!
joe milgrave was in it but came through safe.
miranda had some bad days until she got word from him.
but it is wonderful how miranda has bloomed out since her marriage.
she is n't the same girl at all.
even her eyes seem to have darkened and deepened -- though i suppose that is just because they glow with the greater intensity that has come to her.
she makes her father stand round in a perfectly amazing fashion; she runs up the flag whenever a yard of trench on the western front is taken; and she comes up regularly to our junior red cross; and she does -- yes, she does -- put on funny little "married woman" airs that are quite killing.
but she is the only war-bride in the glen and surely nobody need grudge her the satisfaction she gets out of it.
""the russian news is bad, too -- kerensky's government has fallen and lenin is dictator of russia.
somehow, it is very hard to keep up courage in the dull hopelessness of these grey autumn days of suspense and boding news.
but we are beginning to "get in a low," as old highland sandy says, over the approaching election.
conscription is the real issue at stake and it will be the most exciting election we ever had.
all the women "who have got de age" -- to quote jo poirier, and who have husbands, sons, and brothers at the front, can vote.
oh, if i were only twenty-one!
gertrude and susan are both furious because they ca n't vote."
"it is not fair," gertrude says passionately.
"there is agnes carr who can vote because her husband went.
she did everything she could to prevent him from going, and now she is going to vote against the union government.
yet i have no vote, because my man at the front is only my sweetheart and not my husband!"
""as for susan, when she reflects that she can not vote, while a rank old pacifist like mr. pryor can -- and will -- her comments are sulphurous.
""i really feel sorry for the elliotts and crawfords and macallisters over-harbour.
they have always lined up in clearly divided camps of liberal and conservative, and now they are torn from their moorings -- i know i'm mixing my metaphors dreadfully -- and set hopelessly adrift.
it will kill some of those old grits to vote for sir robert borden's side -- and yet they have to because they believe the time has come when we must have conscription.
and some poor conservatives who are against conscription must vote for laurier, who always has been anathema to them.
some of them are taking it terribly hard.
others seem to be in much the same attitude as mrs. marshall elliott has come to be regarding church union.
""she was up here last night.
she does n't come as often as she used to.
she is growing too old to walk this far -- dear old "miss cornelia."
i hate to think of her growing old -- we have always loved her so and she has always been so good to us ingleside young fry.
""she used to be so bitterly opposed to church union.
but last night, when father told her it was practically decided, she said in a resigned tone, "well, in a world where everything is being rent and torn what matters one more rending and tearing?
anyhow, compared with germans even methodists seem attractive to me."
""our junior r.c. goes on quite smoothly, in spite of the fact that irene has come back to it -- having fallen out with the lowbridge society, i understand.
she gave me a sweet little jab last meeting -- about knowing me across the square in charlottetown "by my green velvet hat."
everybody knows me by that detestable and detested hat.
this will be my fourth season for it.
even mother wanted me to get a new one this fall; but i said, "no."
as long as the war lasts so long do i wear that velvet hat in winter."
23rd november 1917 "the piave line still holds -- and general byng has won a splendid victory at cambrai.
i did run up the flag for that -- but susan only said" i shall set a kettle of water on the kitchen range tonight.
i notice little kitchener always has an attack of croup after any british victory.
i do hope he has no pro-german blood in his veins.
nobody knows much about his father's people."
""jims has had a few attacks of croup this fall -- just the ordinary croup -- not that terrible thing he had last year.
but whatever blood runs in his little veins it is good, healthy blood.
he is rosy and plump and curly and cute; and he says such funny things and asks such comical questions.
he likes very much to sit in a special chair in the kitchen; but that is susan's favourite chair, too, and when she wants it, out jims must go.
the last time she put him out of it he turned around and asked solemnly, "when you are dead, susan, can i sit in that chair?"
susan thought it quite dreadful, and i think that was when she began to feel anxiety about his possible ancestry.
the other night i took jims with me for a walk down to the store.
it was the first time he had ever been out so late at night, and when he saw the stars he exclaimed, "oh, willa, see the big moon and all the little moons!"
and last wednesday morning, when he woke up, my little alarm clock had stopped because i had forgotten to wind it up.
jims bounded out of his crib and ran across to me, his face quite aghast above his little blue flannel pyjamas.
"the clock is dead," he gasped, "oh willa, the clock is dead."
""one night he was quite angry with both susan and me because we would not give him something he wanted very much.
when he said his prayers he plumped down wrathfully, and when he came to the petition "make me a good boy" he tacked on emphatically, "and please make willa and susan good,'cause they're not."
""i do n't go about quoting jims's speeches to all i meet.
that always bores me when other people do it!
i just enshrine them in this old hotch-potch of a journal!
""this very evening as i put jims to bed he looked up and asked me gravely, "why ca n't yesterday come back, willa?"
""oh, why ca n't it, jims?
that beautiful "yesterday" of dreams and laughter -- when our boys were home -- when walter and i read and rambled and watched new moons and sunsets together in rainbow valley.
if it could just come back!
but yesterdays never come back, little jims -- and the todays are dark with clouds -- and we dare not think about the tomorrows."
11th december 1917 "wonderful news came today.
the british troops captured jerusalem yesterday.
we ran up the flag and some of gertrude's old sparkle came back to her for a moment."
"after all," she said, "it is worth while to live in the days which see the object of the crusades attained.
the ghosts of all the crusaders must have crowded the walls of jerusalem last night, with coeur-de-lion at their head."
""susan had cause for satisfaction also.""
i am so thankful i can pronounce jerusalem and hebron," she said.
"they give me a real comfortable feeling after przemysl and brest-litovsk!
well, we have got the turks on the run, at least, and venice is safe and lord lansdowne is not to be taken seriously; and i see no reason why we should be downhearted."
""jerusalem!
the "meteor flag of england!"
floats over you -- the crescent is gone.
how walter would have thrilled over that!"
18th december 1917 "yesterday the election came off.
in the evening mother and susan and gertrude and i forgathered in the living-room and waited in breathless suspense, father having gone down to the village.
we had no way of hearing the news, for carter flagg's store is not on our line, and when we tried to get it central always answered that the line "was busy" -- as no doubt it was, for everybody for miles around was trying to get carter's store for the same reason we were.
""about ten o'clock gertrude went to the "phone and happened to catch someone from over-harbour talking to carter flagg.
gertrude shamelessly listened in and got for her comforting what eavesdroppers are proverbially supposed to get -- to wit, unpleasant hearing; the union government had "done nothing" in the west.
""we looked at each other in dismay.
if the government had failed to carry the west, it was defeated."
"canada is disgraced in the eyes of the world," said gertrude bitterly."
"if everybody was like the mark crawfords over-harbour this would not have happened," groaned susan.
"yhey locked their uncle up in the barn this morning and would not let him out until he promised to vote union.
that is what i call effective argument, mrs. dr. dear."
""gertrude and i could n't rest after all that.
we walked the floor until our legs gave out and we had to sit down perforce.
mother knitted away as steadily as clockwork and pretended to be calm and serene -- pretended so well that we were all deceived and envious until the next day, when i caught her ravelling out four inches of her sock.
she had knit that far past where the heel should have begun!
""it was twelve before father came home.
he stood in the doorway and looked at us and we looked at him.
we did not dare ask him what the news was.
then he said that it was laurier who had "done nothing" in the west, and that the union government was in with a big majority.
gertrude clapped her hands.
i wanted to laugh and cry, mother's eyes flashed with their old-time starriness and susan emitted a queer sound between a gasp and a whoop.
""this will not comfort the kaiser much," she said.
""then we went to bed, but were too excited to sleep.
really, as susan said solemnly this morning, "mrs. dr. dear, i think politics are too strenuous for women.""
31st december 1917 "our fourth war christmas is over.
we are trying to gather up some courage wherewith to face another year of it.
germany has, for the most part, been victorious all summer.
and now they say she has all her troops from the russian front ready for a "big push" in the spring.
sometimes it seems to me that we just can not live through the winter waiting for that.
""i had a great batch of letters from overseas this week.
shirley is at the front now, too, and writes about it all as coolly and matter-of-factly as he used to write of football at queen's.
carl wrote that it had been raining for weeks and that nights in the trenches always made him think of the night of long ago when he did penance in the graveyard for running away from henry warren's ghost.
carl's letters are always full of jokes and bits of fun.
they had a great rat-hunt the night before he wrote -- spearing rats with their bayonets -- and he got the best bag and won the prize.
he has a tame rat that knows him and sleeps in his pocket at night.
rats do n't worry carl as they do some people -- he was always chummy with all little beasts.
he says he is making a study of the habits of the trench rat and means to write a treatise on it some day that will make him famous.
""ken wrote a short letter.
his letters are all rather short now -- and he does n't often slip in those dear little sudden sentences i love so much.
sometimes i think he has forgotten all about the night he was here to say goodbye -- and then there will be just a line or a word that makes me think he remembers and always will remember.
for instance to-day's letter had n't a thing in it that might n't have been written to any girl, except that he signed himself "your kenneth," instead of "yours, kenneth," as he usually does.
now, did he leave that's" off intentionally or was it only carelessness?
i shall lie awake half the night wondering.
he is a captain now.
i am glad and proud -- and yet captain ford sounds so horribly far away and high up.
ken and captain ford seem like two different persons.
i may be practically engaged to ken -- mother's opinion on that point is my stay and bulwark -- but i ca n't be to captain ford!
""and jem is a lieutenant now -- won his promotion on the field.
he sent me a snap-shot, taken in his new uniform.
he looked thin and old -- old -- my boy-brother jem.
i ca n't forget mother's face when i showed it to her.
"that -- my little jem -- the baby of the old house of dreams?"
was all she said.
""there was a letter from faith, too.
she is doing v.a.d. work in england and writes hopefully and brightly.
i think she is almost happy -- she saw jem on his last leave and she is so near him she could go to him, if he were wounded.
that means so much to her.
oh, if i were only with her!
but my work is here at home.
i know walter would n't have wanted me to leave mother and in everything i try to "keep faith" with him, even to the little details of daily life.
walter died for canada -- i must live for her.
that is what he asked me to do."
28th january 1918"" i shall anchor my storm-tossed soul to the british fleet and make a batch of bran biscuits," said susan today to cousin sophia, who had come in with some weird tale of a new and all-conquering submarine, just launched by germany.
but susan is a somewhat disgruntled woman at present, owing to the regulations regarding cookery.
her loyalty to the union government is being sorely tried.
it surmounted the first strain gallantly.
when the order about flour came susan said, quite cheerfully," i am an old dog to be learning new tricks, but i shall learn to make war bread if it will help defeat the huns."
""but the later suggestions went against susan's grain.
had it not been for father's decree i think she would have snapped her fingers at sir robert borden."
"talk about trying to make bricks without straw, mrs. dr. dear!
how am i to make a cake without butter or sugar?
it can not be done -- not cake that is cake.
of course one can make a slab, mrs. dr. dear.
and we can not even camooflash it with a little icing!
to think that i should have lived to see the day when a government at ottawa should step into my kitchen and put me on rations!"
""susan would give the last drop of her blood for her "king and country," but to surrender her beloved recipes is a very different and much more serious matter.
""i had letters from nan and di too -- or rather notes.
they are too busy to write letters, for exams are looming up.
they will graduate in arts this spring.
i am evidently to be the dunce of the family.
but somehow i never had any hankering for a college course, and even now it does n't appeal to me.
i'm afraid i'm rather devoid of ambition.
there is only one thing i really want to be -- and i do n't know if i'll be it or not.
if not -- i do n't want to be anything.
but i sha n't write it down.
it is all right to think it; but, as cousin sophia would say, it might be brazen to write it down.
""i will write it down.
i wo n't be cowed by the conventions and cousin sophia!
i want to be kenneth ford's wife!
there now!
""i've just looked in the glass, and i had n't the sign of a blush on my face.
i suppose i'm not a properly constructed damsel at all.
""i was down to see little dog monday today.
he has grown quite stiff and rheumatic but there he sat, waiting for the train.
he thumped his tail and looked pleadingly into my eyes.
"when will jem come?"
he seemed to say.
oh, dog monday, there is no answer to that question; and there is, as yet, no answer to the other which we are all constantly asking "what will happen when germany strikes again on the western front -- her one great, last blow for victory!"
1st march 1918" "what will spring bring?"
gertrude said today."
i dread it as i never dreaded spring before.
do you suppose there will ever again come a time when life will be free from fear?
for almost four years we have lain down with fear and risen up with it.
it has been the unbidden guest at every meal, the unwelcome companion at every gathering.""
"hindenburg says he will be in paris on 1st april," sighed cousin sophia."
"hindenburg!"
there is no power in pen and ink to express the contempt which susan infused into that name.
"has he forgotten what day the first of april is?""
"hindenburg has kept his word hitherto," said gertrude, as gloomily as cousin sophia herself could have said it."
"yes, fighting against the russians and rumanians," retorted susan.
"wait you till he comes up against the british and french, not to speak of the yankees, who are getting there as fast as they can and will no doubt give a good account of themselves.""
"you said just the same thing before mons, susan," i reminded her."
"hindenburg says he will spend a million lives to break the allied front," said gertrude.
"at such a price he must purchase some successes and how can we live through them, even if he is baffled in the end.
these past two months when we have been crouching and waiting for the blow to fall have seemed as long as all the preceding months of the war put together.
i work all day feverishly and waken at three o'clock at night to wonder if the iron legions have struck at last.
it is then i see hindenburg in paris and germany triumphant.
i never see her so at any other time than that accursed hour."
""susan looked dubious over gertrude's adjective, but evidently concluded that the "a" saved the situation.""
i wish it were possible to take some magic draught and go to sleep for the next three months -- and then waken to find armageddon over," said mother, almost impatiently.
""it is not often that mother slumps into a wish like that -- or at least the verbal expression of it.
mother has changed a great deal since that terrible day in september when we knew that walter would not come back; but she has always been brave and patient.
now it seemed as if even she had reached the limit of her endurance.
""susan went over to mother and touched her shoulder."
"do not you be frightened or downhearted, mrs. dr. dear," she said gently."
i felt somewhat that way myself last night, and i rose from my bed and lighted my lamp and opened my bible; and what do you think was the first verse my eyes lighted upon?
it was "and they shall fight against thee but they shall not prevail against thee, for i am with thee, saith the lord of hosts, to deliver thee."
i am not gifted in the way of dreaming, as miss oliver is, but i knew then and there, mrs. dr. dear, that it was a manifest leading, and that hindenburg will never see paris.
so i read no further but went back to my bed and i did not waken at three o'clock or at any other hour before morning."
""i say that verse susan read over and over again to myself.
the lord of hosts is with us -- and the spirits of all just men made perfect -- and even the legions and guns that germany is massing on the western front must break against such a barrier.
this is in certain uplifted moments; but when other moments come i feel, like gertrude, that i can not endure any longer this awful and ominous hush before the coming storm."
23rd march 1918 "armageddon has begun!
-- "the last great fight of all!"
is it, i wonder?
yesterday i went down to the post office for the mail.
it was a dull, bitter day.
the snow was gone but the grey, lifeless ground was frozen hard and a biting wind was blowing.
the whole glen landscape was ugly and hopeless.
""then i got the paper with its big black headlines.
germany struck on the twenty-first.
she makes big claims of guns and prisoners taken.
general haig reports that "severe fighting continues."
i do n't like the sound of that last expression.
""we all find we can not do any work that requires concentration of thought.
so we all knit furiously, because we can do that mechanically.
at least the dreadful waiting is over -- the horrible wondering where and when the blow will fall.
it has fallen -- but they shall not prevail against us!
""oh, what is happening on the western front tonight as i write this, sitting here in my room with my journal before me?
jims is asleep in his crib and the wind is wailing around the window; over my desk hangs walter's picture, looking at me with his beautiful deep eyes; the mona lisa he gave me the last christmas he was home hangs on one side of it, and on the other a framed copy of "the piper."
it seems to me that i can hear walter's voice repeating it -- that little poem into which he put his soul, and which will therefore live for ever, carrying walter's name on through the future of our land.
everything about me is calm and peaceful and "homey."
walter seems very near me -- if i could just sweep aside the thin wavering little veil that hangs between, i could see him -- just as he saw the pied piper the night before courcelette.
""over there in france tonight -- does the line hold?"
chapter xxviii black sunday in march of the year of grace 1918 there was one week into which must have crowded more of searing human agony than any seven days had ever held before in the history of the world.
and in that week there was one day when all humanity seemed nailed to the cross; on that day the whole planet must have been agroan with universal convulsion; everywhere the hearts of men were failing them for fear.
it dawned calmly and coldly and greyly at ingleside.
mrs. blythe and rilla and miss oliver made ready for church in a suspense tempered by hope and confidence.
the doctor was away, having been summoned during the wee sma's to the marwood household in upper glen, where a little war-bride was fighting gallantly on her own battleground to give life, not death, to the world.
susan announced that she meant to stay home that morning -- a rare decision for susan.
""but i would rather not go to church this morning, mrs. dr. dear," she explained.
""if whiskers-on-the-moon were there and i saw him looking holy and pleased, as he always looks when he thinks the huns are winning, i fear i would lose my patience and my sense of decorum and hurl a bible or hymn-book at him, thereby disgracing myself and the sacred edifice.
no, mrs. dr. dear, i shall stay home from church till the tide turns and pray hard here."
""i think i might as well stay home, too, for all the good church will do me today," miss oliver said to rilla, as they walked down the hard-frozen red road to the church.
""i can think of nothing but the question, "does the line still hold?""
""next sunday will be easter," said rilla.
""will it herald death or life to our cause?"
mr. meredith preached that morning from the text, "he that endureth to the end shall be saved," and hope and confidence rang through his inspiring sentences.
rilla, looking up at the memorial tablet on the wall above their pew, "sacred to the memory of walter cuthbert blythe," felt herself lifted out of her dread and filled anew with courage.
walter could not have laid down his life for naught.
his had been the gift of prophetic vision and he had foreseen victory.
she would cling to that belief -- the line would hold.
in this renewed mood she walked home from church almost gaily.
the others, too, were hopeful, and all went smiling into ingleside.
there was no one in the living-room, save jims, who had fallen asleep on the sofa, and doc, who sat "hushed in grim repose" on the hearth-rug, looking very hydeish indeed.
no one was in the dining-room either -- and, stranger still, no dinner was on the table, which was not even set.
where was susan?
""can she have taken ill?"
exclaimed mrs. blythe anxiously.
""i thought it strange that she did not want to go to church this morning."
the kitchen door opened and susan appeared on the threshold with such a ghastly face that mrs. blythe cried out in sudden panic.
""susan, what is it?"
""the british line is broken and the german shells are falling on paris," said susan dully.
the three women stared at each other, stricken.
""it's not true -- it's not," gasped rilla.
""the thing would be -- ridiculous," said gertrude oliver -- and then she laughed horribly.
""susan, who told you this -- when did the news come?"
asked mrs. blythe.
""i got it over the long-distance phone from charlottetown half an hour ago," said susan.
""the news came to town late last night.
it was dr. holland phoned it out and he said it was only too true.
since then i have done nothing, mrs. dr. dear.
i am very sorry dinner is not ready.
it is the first time i have been so remiss.
if you will be patient i will soon have something for you to eat.
but i am afraid i let the potatoes burn."
""dinner!
nobody wants any dinner, susan," said mrs. blythe wildly.
""oh, this thing is unbelievable -- it must be a nightmare."
""paris is lost -- france is lost -- the war is lost," gasped rilla, amid the utter ruins of hope and confidence and belief.
""oh god -- oh god," moaned gertrude oliver, walking about the room and wringing her hands, "oh -- god!"
nothing else -- no other words -- nothing but that age old plea -- the old, old cry of supreme agony and appeal, from the human heart whose every human staff has failed it.
""is god dead?"
asked a startled little voice from the doorway of the living-room.
jims stood there, flushed from sleep, his big brown eyes filled with dread, "oh willa -- oh, willa, is god dead?"
miss oliver stopped walking and exclaiming, and stared at jims, in whose eyes tears of fright were beginning to gather.
rilla ran to his comforting, while susan bounded up from the chair upon which she had dropped.
""no," she said briskly, with a sudden return of her real self.
""no, god is n't dead -- nor lloyd george either.
we were forgetting that, mrs. dr. dear.
do n't cry, little kitchener.
bad as things are, they might be worse.
the british line may be broken but the british navy is not.
let us tie to that.
i will take a brace and get up a bite to eat, for strength we must have."
they made a pretence of eating susan's "bite," but it was only a pretence.
nobody at ingleside ever forgot that black afternoon.
gertrude oliver walked the floor -- they all walked the floor; except susan, who got out her grey war sock.
""mrs. dr. dear, i must knit on sunday at last.
i have never dreamed of doing it before for, say what might be said, i have considered it was a violation of the third commandment.
but whether it is or whether it is not i must knit today or i shall go mad."
""knit if you can, susan," said mrs. blythe restlessly.
""i would knit if i could -- but i can not -- i can not."
""if we could only get fuller information," moaned rilla.
""there might be something to encourage us -- if we knew all."
""we know that the germans are shelling paris," said miss oliver bitterly.
""in that case they must have smashed through everywhere and be at the very gates.
no, we have lost -- let us face the fact as other peoples in the past have had to face it.
other nations, with right on their side, have given their best and bravest -- and gone down to defeat in spite of it.
ours is "but one more to baffled millions who have gone before.""
""i wo n't give up like that," cried rilla, her pale face suddenly flushing.
""i wo n't despair.
we are not conquered -- no, if germany overruns all france we are not conquered.
i am ashamed of myself for this hour of despair.
you wo n't see me slump again like that, i'm going to ring up town at once and ask for particulars."
but town could not be got.
the long-distance operator there was submerged by similar calls from every part of the distracted country.
rilla finally gave up and slipped away to rainbow valley.
there she knelt down on the withered grey grasses in the little nook where she and walter had had their last talk together, with her head bowed against the mossy trunk of a fallen tree.
the sun had broken through the black clouds and drenched the valley with a pale golden splendour.
the bells on the tree lovers twinkled elfinly and fitfully in the gusty march wind.
""oh god, give me strength," rilla whispered.
""just strength -- and courage."
then like a child she clasped her hands together and said, as simply as jims could have done, "please send us better news tomorrow."
she knelt there a long time, and when she went back to ingleside she was calm and resolute.
the doctor had arrived home, tired but triumphant, little douglas haig marwood having made a safe landing on the shores of time.
gertrude was still pacing restlessly but mrs. blythe and susan had reacted from the shock, and susan was already planning a new line of defence for the channel ports.
""as long as we can hold them," she declared, "the situation is saved.
paris has really no military significance."
""do n't," said gertrude sharply, as if susan had run something into her.
she thought the old worn phrase "no military significance" nothing short of ghastly mockery under the circumstances, and more terrible to endure than the voice of despair would have been.
""i heard up at marwood's of the line being broken," said the doctor, "but this story of the germans shelling paris seems to be rather incredible.
even if they broke through they were fifty miles from paris at the nearest point and how could they get their artillery close enough to shell it in so short a time?
depend upon it, girls, that part of the message ca n't be true.
i'm going to try to try a long-distance call to town myself."
the doctor was no more successful than rilla had been, but his point of view cheered them all a little, and helped them through the evening.
and at nine o'clock a long-distance message came through at last, that helped them through the night.
""the line broke only in one place, before st. quentin," said the doctor, as he hung up the receiver, "and the british troops are retreating in good order.
that's not so bad.
as for the shells that are falling on paris, they are coming from a distance of seventy miles -- from some amazing long-range gun the germans have invented and sprung with the opening offensive.
that is all the news to date, and dr. holland says it is reliable."
""it would have been dreadful news yesterday," said gertrude, "but compared to what we heard this morning it is almost like good news.
but still," she added, trying to smile, "i am afraid i will not sleep much tonight."
""there is one thing to be thankful for at any rate, miss oliver, dear," said susan, "and that is that cousin sophia did not come in today.
i really could not have endured her on top of all the rest."
chapter xxix "wounded and missing" "battered but not broken" was the headline in monday's paper, and susan repeated it over and over to herself as she went about her work.
the gap caused by the st. quentin disaster had been patched up in time, but the allied line was being pushed relentlessly back from the territory they had purchased in 1917 with half a million lives.
on wednesday the headline was "british and french check germans"; but still the retreat went on.
back -- and back -- and back!
where would it end?
would the line break again -- this time disastrously?
on saturday the headline was "even berlin admits offensive checked," and for the first time in that terrible week the ingleside folk dared to draw a long breath.
""well, we have got one week over -- now for the next," said susan staunchly.
""i feel like a prisoner on the rack when they stopped turning it," miss oliver said to rilla, as they went to church on easter morning.
""but i am not off the rack.
the torture may begin again at any time."
""i doubted god last sunday," said rilla, "but i do n't doubt him today.
evil can not win.
spirit is on our side and it is bound to outlast flesh."
nevertheless her faith was often tried in the dark spring that followed.
armageddon was not, as they had hoped, a matter of a few days.
it stretched out into weeks and months.
again and again hindenburg struck his savage, sudden blows, with alarming, though futile success.
again and again the military critics declared the situation extremely perilous.
again and again cousin sophia agreed with the military critics.
""if the allies go back three miles more the war is lost," she wailed.
""is the british navy anchored in those three miles?"
demanded susan scornfully.
""it is the opinion of a man who knows all about it," said cousin sophia solemnly.
""there is no such person," retorted susan.
""as for the military critics, they do not know one blessed thing about it, any more than you or i.
they have been mistaken times out of number.
why do you always look on the dark side, sophia crawford?"
""because there ai n't any bright side, susan baker."
""oh, is there not?
it is the twentieth of april, and hindy is not in paris yet, although he said he would be there by april first.
is that not a bright spot at least?"
""it is my opinion that the germans will be in paris before very long and more than that, susan baker, they will be in canada."
""not in this part of it.
the huns shall never set foot in prince edward island as long as i can handle a pitchfork," declared susan, looking, and feeling quite equal to routing the entire german army single-handed.
""no, sophia crawford, to tell you the plain truth i am sick and tired of your gloomy predictions.
i do not deny that some mistakes have been made.
the germans would never have got back passchendaele if the canadians had been left there; and it was bad business trusting to those portuguese at the lys river.
but that is no reason why you or anyone should go about proclaiming the war is lost.
i do not want to quarrel with you, least of all at such a time as this, but our morale must be kept up, and i am going to speak my mind out plainly and tell you that if you can not keep from such croaking your room is better than your company."
cousin sophia marched home in high dudgeon to digest her affront, and did not reappear in susan's kitchen for many weeks.
perhaps it was just as well, for they were hard weeks, when the germans continued to strike, now here, now there, and seemingly vital points fell to them at every blow.
and one day in early may, when wind and sunshine frolicked in rainbow valley and the maple grove was golden-green and the harbour all blue and dimpled and white-capped, the news came about jem.
there had been a trench raid on the canadian front -- a little trench raid so insignificant that it was never even mentioned in the dispatches and when it was over lieutenant james blythe was reported "wounded and missing."
""i think this is even worse than the news of his death would have been," moaned rilla through her white lips, that night.
""no -- no -- "missing" leaves a little hope, rilla," urged gertrude oliver.
""yes -- torturing, agonized hope that keeps you from ever becoming quite resigned to the worst," said rilla.
""oh, miss oliver -- must we go for weeks and months -- not knowing whether jem is alive or dead?
perhaps we will never know.
i -- i can not bear it -- i can not.
walter -- and now jem.
this will kill mother -- look at her face, miss oliver, and you will see that.
and faith -- poor faith -- how can she bear it?"
gertrude shivered with pain.
she looked up at the pictures hanging over rilla's desk and felt a sudden hatred of mona lisa's endless smile.
""will not even this blot it off your face?"
she thought savagely.
but she said gently, "no, it wo n't kill your mother.
she's made of finer mettle than that.
besides, she refuses to believe jem is dead; she will cling to hope and we must all do that.
faith, you may be sure, will do it."
""i can not," moaned rilla, "jem was wounded -- what chance would he have?
even if the germans found him -- we know how they have treated wounded prisoners.
i wish i could hope, miss oliver -- it would help, i suppose.
but hope seems dead in me.
i ca n't hope without some reason for it -- and there is no reason."
when miss oliver had gone to her own room and rilla was lying on her bed in the moonlight, praying desperately for a little strength, susan stepped in like a gaunt shadow and sat down beside her.
""rilla, dear, do not you worry.
little jem is not dead."
""oh, how can you believe that, susan?"
""because i know.
listen you to me.
when that word came this morning the first thing i thought of was dog monday.
and tonight, as soon as i got the supper dishes washed and the bread set, i went down to the station.
there was dog monday, waiting for the train, just as patient as usual.
now, rilla, dear, that trench raid was four days ago -- last monday -- and i said to the station-agent, "can you tell me if that dog howled or made any kind of a fuss last monday night?"
he thought it over a bit, and then he said, "no, he did not."
"are you sure?"
i said.
"there's more depends on it than you think!"
"dead sure," he said."
i was up all night last monday night because my mare was sick, and there was never a sound out of him.
i would have heard if there had been, for the stable door was open all the time and his kennel is right across from it!"
now rilla dear, those were the man's very words.
and you know how that poor little dog howled all night after the battle of courcelette.
yet he did not love walter as much as he loved jem.
if he mourned for walter like that, do you suppose he would sleep sound in his kennel the night after jem had been killed?
no, rilla dear, little jem is not dead, and that you may tie to.
if he were, dog monday would have known, just as he knew before, and he would not be still waiting for the trains."
it was absurd -- and irrational -- and impossible.
but rilla believed it, for all that; and mrs. blythe believed it; and the doctor, though he smiled faintly in pretended derision, felt an odd confidence replace his first despair; and foolish and absurd or not, they all plucked up heart and courage to carry on, just because a faithful little dog at the glen station was still watching with unbroken faith for his master to come home.
common sense might scorn -- incredulity might mutter "mere superstition" -- but in their hearts the folk of ingleside stood by their belief that dog monday knew.
chapter xxx the turning of the tide susan was very sorrowful when she saw the beautiful old lawn of ingleside ploughed up that spring and planted with potatoes.
yet she made no protest, even when her beloved peony bed was sacrificed.
but when the government passed the daylight saving law susan balked.
there was a higher power than the union government, to which susan owed allegiance.
""do you think it right to meddle with the arrangements of the almighty?"
she demanded indignantly of the doctor.
the doctor, quite unmoved, responded that the law must be observed, and the ingleside clocks were moved on accordingly.
but the doctor had no power over susan's little alarm.
""i bought that with my own money, mrs. dr. dear," she said firmly, "and it shall go on god's time and not borden's time."
susan got up and went to bed by "god's time," and regulated her own goings and comings by it.
she served the meals, under protest, by borden's time, and she had to go to church by it, which was the crowning injury.
but she said her prayers by her own clock, and fed the hens by it; so that there was always a furtive triumph in her eye when she looked at the doctor.
she had got the better of him by so much at least.
""whiskers-on-the-moon is very much delighted with this daylight saving business," she told him one evening.
""of course he naturally would be, since i understand that the germans invented it.
i hear he came near losing his entire wheat-crop lately.
warren mead's cows broke into the field one day last week -- it was the very day the germans captured the chemang-de-dam, which may have been a coincidence or may not -- and were making fine havoc of it when mrs. dick clow happened to see them from her attic window.
at first she had no intention of letting mr. pryor know.
she told me she had just gloated over the sight of those cows pasturing on his wheat.
she felt it served him exactly right.
but presently she reflected that the wheat-crop was a matter of great importance and that "save and serve" meant that those cows must be routed out as much as it meant anything.
so she went down and phoned over to whiskers about the matter.
all the thanks she got was that he said something queer right out to her.
she is not prepared to state that it was actually swearing for you can not be sure just what you hear over the phone; but she has her own opinion, and so have i, but i will not express it for here comes mr. meredith, and whiskers is one of his elders, so we must be discreet."
""are you looking for the new star?"
asked mr. meredith, joining miss oliver and rilla, who were standing among the blossoming potatoes gazing skyward.
""yes -- we have found it -- see, it is just above the tip of the tallest old pine."
""it's wonderful to be looking at something that happened three thousand years ago, is n't it?"
said rilla.
""that is when astronomers think the collision took place which produced this new star.
it makes me feel horribly insignificant," she added under her breath.
""even this event can not dwarf into what may be the proper perspective in star systems the fact that the germans are again only one leap from paris," said gertrude restlessly.
""i think i would like to have been an astronomer," said mr. meredith dreamily, gazing at the star.
""there must be a strange pleasure in it," agreed miss oliver, "an unearthly pleasure, in more senses than one.
i would like to have a few astronomers for my friends."
""fancy talking the gossip of the hosts of heaven," laughed rilla.
""i wonder if astronomers feel a very deep interest in earthly affairs?"
said the doctor.
""perhaps students of the canals of mars would not be so keenly sensitive to the significance of a few yards of trenches lost or won on the western front."
""i have read somewhere," said mr. meredith, "that ernest renan wrote one of his books during the siege of paris in 1870 and "enjoyed the writing of it very much."
i suppose one would call him a philosopher."
""i have read also," said miss oliver, "that shortly before his death he said that his only regret in dying was that he must die before he had seen what that "extremely interesting young man, the german emperor," would do in his life.
if ernest renan "walked" today and saw what that interesting young man had done to his beloved france, not to speak of the world, i wonder if his mental detachment would be as complete as it was in 1870."
""i wonder where jem is tonight," thought rilla, in a sudden bitter inrush of remembrance.
it was over a month since the news had come about jem.
nothing had been discovered concerning him, in spite of all efforts.
two or three letters had come from him, written before the trench raid, and since then there had been only unbroken silence.
now the germans were again at the marne, pressing nearer and nearer paris; now rumours were coming of another austrian offensive against the piave line.
rilla turned away from the new star, sick at heart.
it was one of the moments when hope and courage failed her utterly -- when it seemed impossible to go on even one more day.
if only they knew what had happened to jem -- you can face anything you know.
but a beleaguerment of fear and doubt and suspense is a hard thing for the morale.
surely, if jem were alive, some word would have come through.
he must be dead.
only -- they would never know -- they could never be quite sure; and dog monday would wait for the train until he died of old age.
monday was only a poor, faithful, rheumatic little dog, who knew nothing more of his master's fate than they did.
rilla had a "white night" and did not fall asleep until late.
when she wakened gertrude oliver was sitting at her window leaning out to meet the silver mystery of the dawn.
her clever, striking profile, with the masses of black hair behind it, came out clearly against the pallid gold of the eastern sky.
rilla remembered jem's admiration of the curve of miss oliver's brow and chin, and she shuddered.
everything that reminded her of jem was beginning to give intolerable pain.
walter's death had inflicted on her heart a terrible wound.
but it had been a clean wound and had healed slowly, as such wounds do, though the scar must remain for ever.
but the torture of jem's disappearance was another thing: there was a poison in it that kept it from healing.
the alternations of hope and despair, the endless watching each day for the letter that never came -- that might never come -- the newspaper tales of ill-usage of prisoners -- the bitter wonder as to jem's wound -- all were increasingly hard to bear.
gertrude oliver turned her head.
there was an odd brilliancy in her eyes.
""rilla, i've had another dream."
""oh, no -- no," cried rilla, shrinking.
miss oliver's dreams had always foretold coming disaster.
""rilla, it was a good dream.
listen -- i dreamed just as i did four years ago, that i stood on the veranda steps and looked down the glen.
and it was still covered by waves that lapped about my feet.
but as i looked the waves began to ebb -- and they ebbed as swiftly as, four years ago, they rolled in -- ebbed out and out, to the gulf; and the glen lay before me, beautiful and green, with a rainbow spanning rainbow valley -- a rainbow of such splendid colour that it dazzled me -- and i woke.
rilla -- rilla blythe -- the tide has turned."
""i wish i could believe it," sighed rilla.
""sooth was my prophecy of fear believe it when it augurs cheer," quoted gertrude, almost gaily.
""i tell you i have no doubt."
yet, in spite of the great italian victory at the piave that came a few days later, she had doubt many a time in the hard month that followed; and when in mid-july the germans crossed the marne again despair came sickeningly.
it was idle, they all felt, to hope that the miracle of the marne would be repeated.
but it was: again, as in 1914, the tide turned at the marne.
the french and the american troops struck their sudden smashing blow on the exposed flank of the enemy and, with the almost inconceivable rapidity of a dream, the whole aspect of the war changed.
""the allies have won two tremendous victories," said the doctor on 20th july.
""it is the beginning of the end -- i feel it -- i feel it," said mrs. blythe.
""thank god," said susan, folding her trembling old hands, then she added, under her breath, "but it wo n't bring our boys back."
nevertheless she went out and ran up the flag, for the first time since the fall of jerusalem.
as it caught the breeze and swelled gallantly out above her, susan lifted her hand and saluted it, as she had seen shirley do.
""we've all given something to keep you flying," she said.
""four hundred thousand of our boys gone overseas -- fifty thousand of them killed.
but -- you are worth it!"
the wind whipped her grey hair about her face and the gingham apron that shrouded her from head to foot was cut on lines of economy, not of grace; yet, somehow, just then susan made an imposing figure.
she was one of the women -- courageous, unquailing, patient, heroic -- who had made victory possible.
in her, they all saluted the symbol for which their dearest had fought.
something of this was in the doctor's mind as he watched her from the door.
""susan," he said, when she turned to come in, "from first to last of this business you have been a brick!"
chapter xxxi mrs. matilda pittman rilla and jims were standing on the rear platform of their car when the train stopped at the little millward siding.
the august evening was so hot and close that the crowded cars were stifling.
nobody ever knew just why trains stopped at millward siding.
nobody was ever known to get off there or get on.
there was only one house nearer to it than four miles, and it was surrounded by acres of blueberry barrens and scrub spruce-trees.
rilla was on her way into charlottetown to spend the night with a friend and the next day in red cross shopping; she had taken jims with her, partly because she did not want susan or her mother to be bothered with his care, partly because of a hungry desire in her heart to have as much of him as she could before she might have to give him up forever.
james anderson had written to her not long before this; he was wounded and in the hospital; he would not be able to go back to the front and as soon as he was able he would be coming home for jims.
rilla was heavy-hearted over this, and worried also.
she loved jims dearly and would feel deeply giving him up in any case; but if jim anderson were a different sort of a man, with a proper home for the child, it would not be so bad.
but to give jims up to a roving, shiftless, irresponsible father, however kind and good-hearted he might be -- and she knew jim anderson was kind and good-hearted enough -- was a bitter prospect to rilla.
it was not even likely anderson would stay in the glen; he had no ties there now; he might even go back to england.
she might never see her dear, sunshiny, carefully brought-up little jims again.
with such a father what might his fate be?
rilla meant to beg jim anderson to leave him with her, but, from his letter, she had not much hope that he would.
""if he would only stay in the glen, where i could keep an eye on jims and have him often with me i would n't feel so worried over it," she reflected.
""but i feel sure he wo n't -- and jims will never have any chance.
and he is such a bright little chap -- he has ambition, wherever he got it -- and he is n't lazy.
but his father will never have a cent to give him any education or start in life.
jims, my little war-baby, whatever is going to become of you?"
jims was not in the least concerned over what was to become of him.
he was gleefully watching the antics of a striped chipmunk that was frisking over the roof of the little siding.
as the train pulled out jims leaned eagerly forward for a last look at chippy, pulling his hand from rilla's.
rilla was so engrossed in wondering what was to become of jims in the future that she forgot to take notice of what was happening to him in the present.
what did happen was that jims lost his balance, shot headlong down the steps, hurtled across the little siding platform, and landed in a clump of bracken fern on the other side.
rilla shrieked and lost her head.
she sprang down the steps and jumped off the train.
fortunately, the train was still going at a comparatively slow speed; fortunately also, rilla retained enough sense to jump the way it was going; nevertheless, she fell and sprawled helplessly down the embankment, landing in a ditch full of a rank growth of golden-rod and fireweed.
nobody had seen what had happened and the train whisked briskly away round a curve in the barrens.
rilla picked herself up, dizzy but unhurt, scrambled out of the ditch, and flew wildly across the platform, expecting to find jims dead or broken in pieces.
but jims, except for a few bruises, and a big fright, was quite uninjured.
he was so badly scared that he did n't even cry, but rilla, when she found that he was safe and sound, burst into tears and sobbed wildly.
""nasty old twain," remarked jims in disgust.
""and nasty old god," he added, with a scowl at the heavens.
a laugh broke into rilla's sobbing, producing something very like what her father would have called hysterics.
but she caught herself up before the hysteria could conquer her.
""rilla blythe, i'm ashamed of you.
pull yourself together immediately.
jims, you should n't have said anything like that."
""god frew me off the twain," declared jims defiantly.
""somebody frew me; you did n't frow me; so it was god."
""no, it was n't.
you fell because you let go of my hand and bent too far forward.
i told you not to do that.
so that it was your own fault."
jims looked to see if she meant it; then glanced up at the sky again.
""excuse me, then, god," he remarked airily.
rilla scanned the sky also; she did not like its appearance; a heavy thundercloud was appearing in the northwest.
what in the world was to be done?
there was no other train that night, since the nine o'clock special ran only on saturdays.
would it be possible for them to reach hannah brewster's house, two miles away, before the storm broke?
rilla thought she could do it alone easily enough, but with jims it was another matter.
were his little legs good for it?
""we've got to try it," said rilla desperately.
""we might stay in the siding until the thunderstorm is over; but it may keep on raining all night and anyway it will be pitch dark.
if we can get to hannah's she will keep us all night."
hannah brewster, when she had been hannah crawford, had lived in the glen and gone to school with rilla.
they had been good friends then, though hannah had been three years the older.
she had married very young and had gone to live in millward.
what with hard work and babies and a ne'er - do-well husband, her life had not been an easy one, and hannah seldom revisited her old home.
rilla had visited her once soon after her marriage, but had not seen her or even heard of her for years; she knew, however, that she and jims would find welcome and harbourage in any house where rosy-faced, open-hearted, generous hannah lived.
for the first mile they got on very well but the second one was harder.
the road, seldom used, was rough and deep-rutted.
jims grew so tired that rilla had to carry him for the last quarter.
she reached the brewster house, almost exhausted, and dropped jims on the walk with a sigh of thankfulness.
the sky was black with clouds; the first heavy drops were beginning to fall; and the rumble of thunder was growing very loud.
then she made an unpleasant discovery.
the blinds were all down and the doors locked.
evidently the brewsters were not at home.
rilla ran to the little barn.
it, too, was locked.
no other refuge presented itself.
the bare whitewashed little house had not even a veranda or porch.
it was almost dark now and her plight seemed desperate.
""i'm going to get in if i have to break a window," said rilla resolutely.
""hannah would want me to do that.
she'd never get over it if she heard i came to her house for refuge in a thunderstorm and could n't get in."
luckily she did not have to go to the length of actual housebreaking.
the kitchen window went up quite easily.
rilla lifted jims in and scrambled through herself, just as the storm broke in good earnest.
""oh, see all the little pieces of thunder," cried jims in delight, as the hail danced in after them.
rilla shut the window and with some difficulty found and lighted a lamp.
they were in a very snug little kitchen.
opening off it on one side was a trim, nicely furnished parlour, and on the other a pantry, which proved to be well stocked.
""i'm going to make myself at home," said rilla.
""i know that is just what hannah would want me to do.
i'll get a little snack for jims and me, and then if the rain continues and nobody comes home i'll just go upstairs to the spare room and go to bed.
there is nothing like acting sensibly in an emergency.
if i had not been a goose when i saw jims fall off the train i'd have rushed back into the car and got some one to stop it.
then i would n't have been in this scrape.
since i am in it i'll make the best of it.
""this house," she added, looking around, "is fixed up much nicer than when i was here before.
of course hannah and ted were just beginning housekeeping then.
but somehow i've had the idea that ted has n't been very prosperous.
he must have done better than i've been led to believe, when they can afford furniture like this.
i'm awfully glad for hannah's sake."
the thunderstorm passed, but the rain continued to fall heavily.
at eleven o'clock rilla decided that nobody was coming home.
jims had fallen asleep on the sofa; she carried him up to the spare room and put him to bed.
then she undressed, put on a nightgown she found in the washstand drawer, and scrambled sleepily in between very nice lavender-scented sheets.
she was so tired, after her adventures and exertions, that not even the oddity of her situation could keep her awake; she was sound asleep in a few minutes.
rilla slept until eight o'clock the next morning and then wakened with startling suddenness.
somebody was saying in a harsh, gruff voice, "here, you two, wake up.
i want to know what this means."
rilla did wake up, promptly and effectually.
she had never in all her life wakened up so thoroughly before.
standing in the room were three people, one of them a man, who were absolute strangers to her.
the man was a big fellow with a bushy black beard and an angry scowl.
beside him was a woman -- a tall, thin, angular person, with violently red hair and an indescribable hat.
she looked even crosser and more amazed than the man, if that were possible.
in the background was another woman -- a tiny old lady who must have been at least eighty.
she was, in spite of her tinyness, a very striking-looking personage; she was dressed in unrelieved black, had snow-white hair, a dead-white face, and snapping, vivid, coal-black eyes.
she looked as amazed as the other two, but rilla realized that she did n't look cross.
rilla also was realizing that something was wrong -- fearfully wrong.
then the man said, more gruffly than ever, "come now.
who are you and what business have you here?"
rilla raised herself on one elbow, looking and feeling hopelessly bewildered and foolish.
she heard the old black-and-white lady in the background chuckle to herself.
""she must be real," rilla thought.
""i ca n't be dreaming her."
aloud she gasped, "is n't this theodore brewster's place?"
""no," said the big woman, speaking for the first time, "this place belongs to us.
we bought it from the brewsters last fall.
they moved to greenvale.
our name is chapley."
poor rilla fell back on her pillow, quite overcome.
""i beg your pardon," she said.
""i -- i -- thought the brewsters lived here.
mrs. brewster is a friend of mine.
i am rilla blythe -- dr. blythe's daughter from glen st. mary.
i -- i was going to town with my -- my -- this little boy -- and he fell off the train -- and i jumped off after him -- and nobody knew of it.
i knew we could n't get home last night and a storm was coming up -- so we came here and when we found nobody at home -- we -- we -- just got in through the window and -- and -- made ourselves at home."
""so it seems," said the woman sarcastically.
""a likely story," said the man.
""we were n't born yesterday," added the woman.
madam black-and-white did n't say anything; but when the other two made their pretty speeches she doubled up in a silent convulsion of mirth, shaking her head from side to side and beating the air with her hands.
rilla, stung by the disagreeable attitude of the chapleys, regained her self-possession and lost her temper.
she sat up in bed and said in her haughtiest voice, "i do not know when you were born, or where, but it must have been somewhere where very peculiar manners were taught.
if you will have the decency to leave my room -- er -- this room -- until i can get up and dress i shall not transgress upon your hospitality" -- rilla was killingly sarcastic -- "any longer.
and i shall pay you amply for the food we have eaten and the night's lodging i have taken."
the black-and-white apparition went through the motion of clapping her hands, but not a sound did she make.
perhaps mr. chapley was cowed by rilla's tone -- or perhaps he was appeased at the prospect of payment; at all events, he spoke more civilly.
""well, that's fair.
if you pay up it's all right."
""she shall do no such thing as pay you," said madam black-and-white in a surprisingly clear, resolute, authoritative tone of voice.
""if you have n't got any shame for yourself, robert chapley, you've got a mother-in-law who can be ashamed for you.
no strangers shall be charged for room and lodging in any house where mrs. matilda pitman lives.
remember that, though i may have come down in the world, i have n't quite forgot all decency for all that.
i knew you was a skinflint when amelia married you, and you've made her as bad as yourself.
but mrs. matilda pitman has been boss for a long time, and mrs. matilda pitman will remain boss.
here you, robert chapley, take yourself out of here and let that girl get dressed.
and you, amelia, go downstairs and cook a breakfast for her."
never, in all her life, had rilla seen anything like the abject meekness with which those two big people obeyed that mite.
they went without word or look of protest.
as the door closed behind them mrs. matilda pitman laughed silently, and rocked from side to side in her merriment.
""ai n't it funny?"
she said.
""i mostly lets them run the length of their tether, but sometimes i has to pull them up, and then i does it with a jerk.
they do n't dast aggravate me, because i've got considerable hard cash, and they're afraid i wo n't leave it all to them.
neither i will.
i'll leave'em some, but some i wo n't, just to vex'em.
i have n't made up my mind where i will leave it but i'll have to, soon, for at eighty a body is living on borrowed time.
now, you can take your time about dressing, my dear, and i'll go down and keep them mean scallawags in order.
that's a handsome child you have there.
is he your brother?"
""no, he's a little war-baby i've been taking care of, because his mother died and his father was overseas," answered rilla in a subdued tone.
""war-baby!
humph!
well, i'd better skin out before he wakes up or he'll likely start crying.
children do n't like me -- never did.
i ca n't recollect any youngster ever coming near me of its own accord.
never had any of my own.
amelia was my step-daughter.
well, it's saved me a world of bother.
if kids do n't like me i do n't like them, so that's an even score.
but that certainly is a handsome child."
jims chose this moment for waking up.
he opened his big brown eyes and looked at mrs. matilda pitman unblinkingly.
then he sat up, dimpled deliciously, pointed to her and said solemnly to rilla, "pwitty lady, willa, pwitty lady."
mrs. matilda pitman smiled.
even eighty-odd is sometimes vulnerable in vanity.
""i've heard that children and fools tell the truth," she said.
""i was used to compliments when i was young -- but they're scarcer when you get as far along as i am.
i have n't had one for years.
it tastes good.
i s "pose now, you monkey, you would n't give me a kiss."
then jims did a quite surprising thing.
he was not a demonstrative youngster and was chary with kisses even to the ingleside people.
but without a word he stood up in bed, his plump little body encased only in his undershirt, ran to the footboard, flung his arms about mrs. matilda pitman's neck, and gave her a bear hug, accompanied by three or four hearty, ungrudging smacks.
""jims," protested rilla, aghast at this liberty.
""you leave him be," ordered mrs. matilda pitman, setting her bonnet straight.
""laws i like to see some one that is n't skeered of me.
everybody is -- you are, though you're trying to hide it.
and why?
of course robert and amelia are because i make'em skeered on purpose.
but folks always are -- no matter how civil i be to them.
are you going to keep this child?"
""i'm afraid not.
his father is coming home before long."
""is he any good -- the father, i mean?"
""well -- he's kind and nice -- but he's poor -- and i'm afraid he always will be," faltered rilla.
""i see -- shiftless -- ca n't make or keep.
well, i'll see -- i'll see.
i have an idea.
it's a good idea, and besides it will make robert and amelia squirm.
that's its main merit in my eyes, though i like that child, mind you, because he ai n't skeered of me.
he's worth some bother.
now, you get dressed, as i said before, and come down when you're good and ready."
rilla was stiff and sore after her tumble and walk of the night before but she was not long in dressing herself and jims.
when she went down to the kitchen she found a smoking hot breakfast on the table.
mr. chapley was nowhere in sight and mrs. chapley was cutting bread with a sulky air.
mrs. matilda pitman was sitting in an armchair, knitting a grey army sock.
she still wore her bonnet and her triumphant expression.
""set right in, dears, and make a good breakfast," she said.
""i am not hungry," said rilla almost pleadingly.
""i do n't think i can eat anything.
and it is time i was starting for the station.
the morning train will soon be along.
please excuse me and let us go -- i'll take a piece of bread and butter for jims."
mrs. matilda pitman shook a knitting-needle playfully at rilla.
""sit down and take your breakfast," she said.
""mrs. matilda pitman commands you.
everybody obeys mrs. matilda pitman -- even robert and amelia.
you must obey her too."
rilla did obey her.
she sat down and, such was the influence of mrs. matilda pitman's mesmeric eye, she ate a tolerable breakfast.
the obedient amelia never spoke; mrs. matilda pitman did not speak either; but she knitted furiously and chuckled.
when rilla had finished, mrs. matilda pitman rolled up her sock.
""now you can go if you want to," she said, "but you do n't have to go.
you can stay here as long as you want to and i'll make amelia cook your meals for you."
the independent miss blythe, whom a certain clique of junior red cross girls accused of being domineering and "bossy," was thoroughly cowed.
""thank you," she said meekly, "but we must really go."
""well, then," said mrs. matilda pitman, throwing open the door, "your conveyance is ready for you.
i told robert he must hitch up and drive you to the station.
i enjoy making robert do things.
it's almost the only sport i have left.
i'm over eighty and most things have lost their flavour except bossing robert."
robert sat before the door on the front seat of a trim, double-seated, rubber-tired buggy.
he must have heard every word his mother-in-law said but he gave no sign.
""i do wish," said rilla, plucking up what little spirit she had left, "that you would let me -- oh -- ah --" then she quailed again before mrs. matilda pitman's eye -- "recompense you for -- for --" "mrs. matilda pitman said before -- and meant it -- that she does n't take pay for entertaining strangers, nor let other people where she lives do it, much as their natural meanness would like to do it.
you go along to town and do n't forget to call the next time you come this way.
do n't be scared.
not that you are scared of much, i reckon, considering the way you sassed robert back this morning.
i like your spunk.
most girls nowadays are such timid, skeery creeturs.
when i was a girl i was n't afraid of nothing nor nobody.
mind you take good care of that boy.
he ai n't any common child.
and make robert drive round all the puddles in the road.
i wo n't have that new buggy splashed."
as they drove away jims threw kisses at mrs. matilda pitman as long as he could see her, and mrs. matilda pitman waved her sock back at him.
robert spoke no word, either good or bad, all the way to the station, but he remembered the puddles.
when rilla got out at the siding she thanked him courteously.
the only response she got was a grunt as robert turned his horse and started for home.
""well" -- rilla drew a long breath -- "i must try to get back into rilla blythe again.
i've been somebody else these past few hours -- i do n't know just who -- some creation of that extraordinary old person's.
i believe she hypnotized me.
what an adventure this will be to write the boys."
and then she sighed.
bitter remembrance came that there were only jerry, ken, carl and shirley to write it to now.
jem -- who would have appreciated mrs. matilda pitman keenly -- where was jem?
chapter xxxii word from jem 4th august 1918 "it is four years tonight since the dance at the lighthouse -- four years of war.
it seems like three times four.
i was fifteen then.
i am nineteen now.
i expected that these past four years would be the most delightful years of my life and they have been years of war -- years of fear and grief and worry -- but i humbly hope, of a little growth in strength and character as well.
""today i was going through the hall and i heard mother saying something to father about me.
i did n't mean to listen -- i could n't help hearing her as i went along the hall and upstairs -- so perhaps that is why i heard what listeners are said never to hear -- something good of myself.
and because it was mother who said it i'm going to write it here in my journal, for my comforting when days of discouragement come upon me, in which i feel that i am vain and selfish and weak and that there is no good thing in me."
"rilla has developed in a wonderful fashion these past four years.
she used to be such an irresponsible young creature.
she has changed into a capable, womanly girl and she is such a comfort to me.
nan and di have grown a little away from me -- they have been so little at home -- but rilla has grown closer and closer to me.
we are chums.
i do n't see how i could have got through these terrible years without her, gilbert."
""there, that is just what mother said -- and i feel glad -- and sorry -- and proud -- and humble!
it's beautiful to have my mother think that about me -- but i do n't deserve it quite.
i'm not as good and strong as all that.
there are heaps of times when i have felt cross and impatient and woeful and despairing.
it is mother and susan who have been this family's backbone.
but i have helped a little, i believe, and i am so glad and thankful.
""the war news has been good right along.
the french and americans are pushing the germans back and back and back.
sometimes i am afraid it is too good to last -- after nearly four years of disasters one has a feeling that this constant success is unbelievable.
we do n't rejoice noisily over it.
susan keeps the flag up but we go softly.
the price paid has been too high for jubilation.
we are just thankful that it has not been paid in vain.
""no word has come from jem.
we hope -- because we dare not do anything else.
but there are hours when we all feel -- though we never say so -- that such hoping is foolishness.
these hours come more and more frequently as the weeks go by.
and we may never know.
that is the most terrible thought of all.
i wonder how faith is bearing it.
to judge from her letters she has never for a moment given up hope, but she must have had her dark hours of doubt like the rest of us."
20th august 1918 "the canadians have been in action again and mr. meredith had a cable today saying that carl had been slightly wounded and is in the hospital.
it did not say where the wound was, which is unusual, and we all feel worried.
there is news of a fresh victory every day now."
30th august 1918 "the merediths had a letter from carl today.
his wound was "only a slight one" -- but it was in his right eye and the sight is gone for ever!"
"one eye is enough to watch bugs with," carl writes cheerfully.
and we know it might have been oh so much worse!
if it had been both eyes!
but i cried all the afternoon after i saw carl's letter.
those beautiful, fearless blue eyes of his!
""there is one comfort -- he will not have to go back to the front.
he is coming home as soon as he is out of the hospital -- the first of our boys to return.
when will the others come?
""and there is one who will never come.
at least we will not see him if he does.
but, oh, i think he will be there -- when our canadian soldiers return there will be a shadow army with them -- the army of the fallen.
we will not see them -- but they will be there!"
1st september 1918 "mother and i went into charlottetown yesterday to see the moving picture, "hearts of the world."
i made an awful goose of myself -- father will never stop teasing me about it for the rest of my life.
but it all seemed so horribly real -- and i was so intensely interested that i forgot everything but the scenes i saw enacted before my eyes.
and then, quite near the last came a terribly exciting one.
the heroine was struggling with a horrible german soldier who was trying to drag her away.
i knew she had a knife -- i had seen her hide it, to have it in readiness -- and i could n't understand why she did n't produce it and finish the brute.
i thought she must have forgotten it, and just at the tensest moment of the scene i lost my head altogether.
i just stood right up on my feet in that crowded house and shrieked at the top of my voice -- "the knife is in your stocking -- the knife is in your stocking!"
""i created a sensation!
""the funny part was, that just as i said it, the girl did snatch out the knife and stab the soldier with it!
""everybody in the house laughed.
i came to my senses and fell back in my seat, overcome with mortification.
mother was shaking with laughter.
i could have shaken her.
why had n't she pulled me down and choked me before i had made such an idiot of myself.
she protests that there was n't time.
""fortunately the house was dark, and i do n't believe there was anybody there who knew me.
and i thought i was becoming sensible and self-controlled and womanly!
it is plain i have some distance to go yet before i attain that devoutly desired consummation."
20th september 1918 "in the east bulgaria has asked for peace, and in the west the british have smashed the hindenburg line; and right here in glen st. mary little bruce meredith has done something that i think wonderful -- wonderful because of the love behind it.
mrs. meredith was here tonight and told us about it -- and mother and i cried, and susan got up and clattered the things about the stove.
""bruce always loved jem very devotedly, and the child has never forgotten him in all these years.
he has been as faithful in his way as dog monday was in his.
we have always told him that jem would come back.
but it seems that he was in carter flagg's store last night and he heard his uncle norman flatly declaring that jem blythe would never come back and that the ingleside folk might as well give up hoping he would.
bruce went home and cried himself to sleep.
this morning his mother saw him going out of the yard, with a very sorrowful and determined look, carrying his pet kitten.
she did n't think much more about it until later on he came in, with the most tragic little face, and told her, his little body shaking with sobs, that he had drowned stripey."
"why did you do that?"
mrs. meredith exclaimed."
"to bring jem back," sobbed bruce."
i thought if i sacrificed stripey god would send jem back.
so i drownded him -- and, oh mother, it was awful hard -- but surely god will send jem back now,'cause stripey was the dearest thing i had.
i just told god i would give him stripey if he would send jem back.
and he will, wo n't he, mother?"
""mrs. meredith did n't know what to say to the poor child.
she just could not tell him that perhaps his sacrifice would n't bring jem back -- that god did n't work that way.
she told him that he must n't expect it right away -- that perhaps it would be quite a long time yet before jem came back.
""but bruce said, "it ought n't to take longer'n a week, mother.
oh, mother, stripey was such a nice little cat.
he purred so pretty.
do n't you think god ought to like him enough to let us have jem?"
""mr. meredith is worried about the effect on bruce's faith in god, and mrs. meredith is worried about the effect on bruce himself if his hope is n't fulfilled.
and i feel as if i must cry every time i think of it.
it was so splendid -- and sad -- and beautiful.
the dear devoted little fellow!
he worshipped that kitten.
and if it all goes for nothing -- as so many sacrifices seem to go for nothing -- he will be brokenhearted, for he is n't old enough to understand that god does n't answer our prayers just as we hope -- and does n't make bargains with us when we yield something we love up to him."
24th september 1918 "i have been kneeling at my window in the moonshine for a long time, just thanking god over and over again.
the joy of last night and today has been so great that it seemed half pain -- as if our hearts were n't big enough to hold it.
""last night i was sitting here in my room at eleven o'clock writing a letter to shirley.
every one else was in bed, except father, who was out.
i heard the telephone ring and i ran out to the hall to answer it, before it should waken mother.
it was long-distance calling, and when i answered it said "this is the telegraph company's office in charlottetown.
there is an overseas cable for dr. blythe."
""i thought of shirley -- my heart stood still -- and then i heard him saying, "it's from holland."
""the message was, "just arrived.
escaped from germany.
quite well.
writing.
james blythe."
""i did n't faint or fall or scream.
i did n't feel glad or surprised.
i did n't feel anything.
i felt numb, just as i did when i heard walter had enlisted.
i hung up the receiver and turned round.
mother was standing in her doorway.
she wore her old rose kimono, and her hair was hanging down her back in a long thick braid, and her eyes were shining.
she looked just like a young girl."
"there is word from jem?"
she said.
""how did she know?
i had n't said a word at the phone except "yes -- yes -- yes."
she says she does n't know how she knew, but she did know.
she was awake and she heard the ring and she knew that there was word from jem."
"he's alive -- he's well -- he's in holland," i said.
""mother came out into the hall and said," i must get your father on the "phone and tell him.
he is in the upper glen."
""she was very calm and quiet -- not a bit like i would have expected her to be.
but then i was n't either.
i went and woke up gertrude and susan and told them.
susan said "thank god," firstly, and secondly she said "did i not tell you dog monday knew?"
and thirdly, "i'll go down and make a cup of tea" -- and she stalked down in her nightdress to make it.
she did make it -- and made mother and gertrude drink it -- but i went back to my room and shut my door and locked it, and i knelt by my window and cried -- just as gertrude did when her great news came.
""i think i know at last exactly what i shall feel like on the resurrection morning."
4th october 1918 "today jem's letter came.
it has been in the house only six hours and it is almost read to pieces.
the post-mistress told everybody in the glen it had come, and everybody came up to hear the news.
""jem was badly wounded in the thigh -- and he was picked up and taken to prison, so delirious with fever that he did n't know what was happening to him or where he was.
it was weeks before he came to his senses and was able to write.
then he did write -- but it never came.
he was n't treated at all badly at his camp -- only the food was poor.
he had nothing to eat but a little black bread and boiled turnips and now and then a little soup with black peas in it.
and we sat down every one of those days to three good square luxurious meals!
he wrote us as often as he could but he was afraid we were not getting his letters because no reply came.
as soon as he was strong enough he tried to escape, but was caught and brought back; a month later he and a comrade made another attempt and succeeded in reaching holland.
""jem ca n't come home right away.
he is n't quite so well as his cable said, for his wound has not healed properly and he has to go into a hospital in england for further treatment.
but he says he will be all right eventually, and we know he is safe and will be back home sometime, and oh, the difference it makes in everything!
""i had a letter from jim anderson today, too.
he has married an english girl, got his discharge, and is coming right home to canada with his bride.
i do n't know whether to be glad or sorry.
it will depend on what kind of a woman she is.
i had a second letter also of a somewhat mysterious tenor.
it is from a charlottetown lawyer, asking me to go in to see him at my earliest convenience in regard to a certain matter connected with the estate of the "late mrs. matilda pitman."
""i read a notice of mrs. pitman's death -- from heart failure -- in the enterprise a few weeks ago.
i wonder if this summons has anything to do with jims."
5th october 1918 "i went into town this morning and had an interview with mrs. pitman's lawyer -- a little thin, wispy man, who spoke of his late client with such a profound respect that it is evident that he as was much under her thumb as robert and amelia were.
he drew up a new will for her a short time before her death.
she was worth thirty thousand dollars, the bulk of which was left to amelia chapley.
but she left five thousand to me in trust for jims.
the interest is to be used as i see fit for his education, and the principal is to be paid over to him on his twentieth birthday.
certainly jims was born lucky.
i saved him from slow extinction at the hands of mrs. conover -- mary vance saved him from death by diptheritic croup -- his star saved him when he fell off the train.
and he tumbled not only into a clump of bracken, but right into this nice little legacy.
""evidently, as mrs. matilda pitman said, and as i have always believed, he is no common child and he has no common destiny in store for him.
""at all events he is provided for, and in such a fashion that jim anderson ca n't squander his inheritance if he wanted to.
now, if the new english stepmother is only a good sort i shall feel quite easy about the future of my war-baby.
""i wonder what robert and amelia think of it.
i fancy they will nail down their windows when they leave home after this!"
chapter xxxiii victory!
""a day "of chilling winds and gloomy skies,"" rilla quoted one sunday afternoon -- the sixth of october to be exact.
it was so cold that they had lighted a fire in the living-room and the merry little flames were doing their best to counteract the outside dourness.
""it's more like november than october -- november is such an ugly month."
cousin sophia was there, having again forgiven susan, and mrs. martin clow, who was not visiting on sunday but had dropped in to borrow susan's cure for rheumatism -- that being cheaper than getting one from the doctor.
""i'm afeared we're going to have an airly winter," foreboded cousin sophia.
""the muskrats are building awful big houses round the pond, and that's a sign that never fails.
dear me, how that child has grown!"
cousin sophia sighed again, as if it were an unhappy circumstance that a child should grow.
""when do you expect his father?"
""next week," said rilla.
""well, i hope the stepmother wo n't abuse the pore child," sighed cousin sophia, "but i have my doubts -- i have my doubts.
anyhow, he'll be sure to feel the difference between his usage here and what he'll get anywhere else.
you've spoiled him so, rilla, waiting on him hand and foot the way you've always done."
rilla smiled and pressed her cheek to jims" curls.
she knew sweet-tempered, sunny, little jims was not spoiled.
nevertheless her heart was anxious behind her smile.
she, too, thought much about the new mrs. anderson and wondered uneasily what she would be like.
""i ca n't give jims up to a woman who wo n't love him," she thought rebelliously.
""i b "lieve it's going to rain," said cousin sophia.
""we have had an awful lot of rain this fall already.
it's going to make it awful hard for people to get their roots in.
it was n't so in my young days.
we gin "rally had beautiful octobers then.
but the seasons is altogether different now from what they used to be."
clear across cousin sophia's doleful voice cut the telephone bell.
gertrude oliver answered it.
""yes -- what?
what?
is it true -- is it official?
thank you -- thank you."
gertrude turned and faced the room dramatically, her dark eyes flashing, her dark face flushed with feeling.
all at once the sun broke through the thick clouds and poured through the big crimson maple outside the window.
its reflected glow enveloped her in a weird immaterial flame.
she looked like a priestess performing some mystic, splendid rite.
""germany and austria are suing for peace," she said.
rilla went crazy for a few minutes.
she sprang up and danced around the room, clapping her hands, laughing, crying.
""sit down, child," said mrs. clow, who never got excited over anything, and so had missed a tremendous amount of trouble and delight in her journey through life.
""oh," cried rilla, "i have walked the floor for hours in despair and anxiety in these past four years.
now let me walk in joy.
it was worth living long dreary years for this minute, and it would be worth living them again just to look back to it.
susan, let's run up the flag -- and we must phone the news to every one in the glen."
""can we have as much sugar as we want to now?"
asked jims eagerly.
it was a never-to-be-forgotten afternoon.
as the news spread excited people ran about the village and dashed up to ingleside.
the merediths came over and stayed to supper and everybody talked and nobody listened.
cousin sophia tried to protest that germany and austria were not to be trusted and it was all part of a plot, but nobody paid the least attention to her.
""this sunday makes up for that one in march," said susan.
""i wonder," said gertrude dreamily, apart to rilla, "if things wo n't seem rather flat and insipid when peace really comes.
after being fed for four years on horrors and fears, terrible reverses, amazing victories, wo n't anything less be tame and uninteresting?
how strange -- and blessed -- and dull it will be not to dread the coming of the mail every day."
""we must dread it for a little while yet, i suppose," said rilla.
""peace wo n't come -- ca n't come -- for some weeks yet.
and in those weeks dreadful things may happen.
my excitement is over.
we have won the victory -- but oh, what a price we have paid!"
""not too high a price for freedom," said gertrude softly.
""do you think it was, rilla?"
""no," said rilla, under her breath.
she was seeing a little white cross on a battlefield of france.
""no -- not if those of us who live will show ourselves worthy of it -- if we "keep faith.""
""we will keep faith," said gertrude.
she rose suddenly.
a silence fell around the table, and in the silence gertrude repeated walter's famous poem "the piper."
when she finished mr. meredith stood up and held up his glass.
""let us drink," he said, "to the silent army -- to the boys who followed when the piper summoned.
"for our tomorrow they gave their today" -- theirs is the victory!"
chapter xxxiv mr. hyde goes to his own place and susan takes a honeymoon early in november jims left ingleside.
rilla saw him go with many tears but a heart free from boding.
mrs. jim anderson, number two, was such a nice little woman that one was rather inclined to wonder at the luck which bestowed her on jim.
she was rosy-faced and blue-eyed and wholesome, with the roundness and trigness of a geranium leaf.
rilla saw at first glance that she was to be trusted with jims.
""i'm fond of children, miss," she said heartily.
""i'm used to them -- i've left six little brothers and sisters behind me.
jims is a dear child and i must say you've done wonders in bringing him up so healthy and handsome.
i'll be as good to him as if he was my own, miss.
and i'll make jim toe the line all right.
he's a good worker -- all he needs is some one to keep him at it, and to take charge of his money.
we've rented a little farm just out of the village, and we're going to settle down there.
jim wanted to stay in england but i says "no."
i hankered to try a new country and i've always thought canada would suit me."
""i'm so glad you are going to live near us.
you'll let jims come here often, wo n't you?
i love him dearly."
""no doubt you do, miss, for a lovabler child i never did see.
we understand, jim and me, what you've done for him, and you wo n't find us ungrateful.
he can come here whenever you want him and i'll always be glad of any advice from you about his bringing up.
he is more your baby than anyone else's i should say, and i'll see that you get your fair share of him, miss."
so jims went away -- with the soup tureen, though not in it.
then the news of the armistice came, and even glen st. mary went mad.
that night the village had a bonfire, and burned the kaiser in effigy.
the fishing village boys turned out and burned all the sandhills off in one grand glorious conflagration that extended for seven miles.
up at ingleside rilla ran laughing to her room.
""now i'm going to do a most unladylike and inexcusable thing," she said, as she pulled her green velvet hat out of its box.
""i'm going to kick this hat about the room until it is without form and void; and i shall never as long as i live wear anything of that shade of green again."
""you've certainly kept your vow pluckily," laughed miss oliver.
""it was n't pluck -- it was sheer obstinacy -- i'm rather ashamed of it," said rilla, kicking joyously.
""i wanted to show mother.
it's mean to want to show your own mother -- most unfilial conduct!
but i have shown her.
and i've shown myself a few things!
oh, miss oliver, just for one moment i'm really feeling quite young again -- young and frivolous and silly.
did i ever say november was an ugly month?
why it's the most beautiful month in the whole year.
listen to the bells ringing in rainbow valley!
i never heard them so clearly.
they're ringing for peace -- and new happiness -- and all the dear, sweet, sane, homey things that we can have again now, miss oliver.
not that i am sane just now -- i do n't pretend to be.
the whole world is having a little crazy spell today.
soon we'll sober down -- and "keep faith" -- and begin to build up our new world.
but just for today let's be mad and glad."
susan came in from the outdoor sunlight looking supremely satisfied.
""mr. hyde is gone," she announced.
""gone!
do you mean he is dead, susan?"
""no, mrs. dr. dear, that beast is not dead.
but you will never see him again.
i feel sure of that."
""do n't be so mysterious, susan.
what has happened to him?"
""well, mrs. dr. dear, he was sitting out on the back steps this afternoon.
it was just after the news came that the armistice had been signed and he was looking his hydest.
i can assure you he was an awesome looking beast.
all at once, mrs. dr. dear, bruce meredith came around the corner of the kitchen walking on his stilts.
he has been learning to walk on them lately and came over to show me how well he could do it.
mr. hyde just took a look and one bound carried him over the yard fence.
then he went tearing through the maple grove in great leaps with his ears laid back.
you never saw a creature so terrified, mrs. dr. dear.
he has never returned."
""oh, he'll come back, susan, probably chastened in spirit by his fright."
""we will see, mrs. dr. dear -- we will see.
remember, the armistice has been signed.
and that reminds me that whiskers-on-the-moon had a paralytic stroke last night.
i am not saying it is a judgment on him, because i am not in the counsels of the almighty, but one can have one's own thoughts about it.
neither whiskers-on-the-moon or mr. hyde will be much more heard of in glen st. mary, mrs. dr. dear, and that you may tie to."
mr. hyde certainly was heard of no more.
as it could hardly have been his fright that kept him away the ingleside folk decided that some dark fate of shot or poison had descended on him -- except susan, who believed and continued to affirm that he had merely "gone to his own place."
rilla lamented him, for she had been very fond of her stately golden pussy, and had liked him quite as well in his weird hyde moods as in his tame jekyll ones.
""and now, mrs. dr. dear," said susan, "since the fall house-cleaning is over and the garden truck is all safe in cellar, i am going to take a honeymoon to celebrate the peace."
""a honeymoon, susan?"
""yes, mrs. dr. dear, a honeymoon," repeated susan firmly.
""i shall never be able to get a husband but i am not going to be cheated out of everything and a honeymoon i intend to have.
i am going to charlottetown to visit my married brother and his family.
his wife has been ailing all the fall, but nobody knows whether she is going to die not.
she never did tell anyone what she was going to do until she did it.
that is the main reason why she was never liked in our family.
but to be on the safe side i feel that i should visit her.
i have not been in town for over a day for twenty years and i have a feeling that i might as well see one of those moving pictures there is so much talk of, so as not to be wholly out of the swim.
but have no fear that i shall be carried away with them, mrs. dr. dear.
i shall be away a fortnight if you can spare me so long."
""you certainly deserve a good holiday, susan.
better take a month -- that is the proper length for a honeymoon."
""no, mrs. dr. dear, a fortnight is all i require.
besides, i must be home for at least three weeks before christmas to make the proper preparations.
we will have a christmas that is a christmas this year, mrs. dr. dear.
do you think there is any chance of our boys being home for it?"
""no, i think not, susan.
both jem and shirley write that they do n't expect to be home before spring -- it may be even midsummer before shirley comes.
but carl meredith will be home, and nan and di, and we will have a grand celebration once more.
we'll set chairs for all, susan, as you did our first war christmas -- yes, for all -- for my dear lad whose chair must always be vacant, as well as for the others, susan."
""it is not likely i would forget to set his place, mrs. dr. dear," said susan, wiping her eyes as she departed to pack up for her "honeymoon."
chapter xxxv "rilla-my-rilla!"
carl meredith and miller douglas came home just before christmas and glen st. mary met them at the station with a brass band borrowed from lowbridge and speeches of home manufacture.
miller was brisk and beaming in spite of his wooden leg; he had developed into a broad-shouldered, imposing looking fellow and the d. c. medal he wore reconciled miss cornelia to the shortcomings of his pedigree to such a degree that she tacitly recognized his engagement to mary.
the latter put on a few airs -- especially when carter flagg took miller into his store as head clerk -- but nobody grudged them to her.
""of course farming's out of the question for us now," she told rilla, "but miller thinks he'll like storekeeping fine once he gets used to a quiet life again, and carter flagg will be a more agreeable boss than old kitty.
we're going to be married in the fall and live in the old mead house with the bay windows and the mansard roof.
i've always thought that the handsomest house in the glen, but never did i dream i'd ever live there.
we're only renting it, of course, but if things go as we expect and carter flagg takes miller into partnership we'll own it some day.
say, i've got on some in society, have n't i, considering what i come from?
i never aspired to being a storekeeper's wife.
but miller's real ambitious and he'll have a wife that'll back him up.
he says he never saw a french girl worth looking at twice and that his heart beat true to me every moment he was away."
jerry meredith and joe milgrave came back in january, and all winter the boys from the glen and its environs came home by twos and threes.
none of them came back just as they went away, not even those who had been so fortunate as to escape injury.
one spring day, when the daffodils were blowing on the ingleside lawn, and the banks of the brook in rainbow valley were sweet with white and purple violets, the little, lazy afternoon accommodation train pulled into the glen station.
it was very seldom that passengers for the glen came by that train, so nobody was there to meet it except the new station agent and a small black-and-yellow dog, who for four and a half years had met every train that had steamed into glen st. mary.
thousands of trains had dog monday met and never had the boy he waited and watched for returned.
yet still dog monday watched on with eyes that never quite lost hope.
perhaps his dog-heart failed him at times; he was growing old and rheumatic; when he walked back to his kennel after each train had gone his gait was very sober now -- he never trotted but went slowly with a drooping head and a depressed tail that had quite lost its old saucy uplift.
one passenger stepped off the train -- a tall fellow in a faded lieutenant's uniform, who walked with a barely perceptible limp.
he had a bronzed face and there were some grey hairs in the ruddy curls that clustered around his forehead.
the new station agent looked at him anxiously.
he was used to seeing the khaki-clad figures come off the train, some met by a tumultuous crowd, others, who had sent no word of their coming, stepping off quietly like this one.
but there was a certain distinction of bearing and features in this soldier that caught his attention and made him wonder a little more interestedly who he was.
a black-and-yellow streak shot past the station agent.
dog monday stiff?
dog monday rheumatic?
dog monday old?
never believe it.
dog monday was a young pup, gone clean mad with rejuvenating joy.
he flung himself against the tall soldier, with a bark that choked in his throat from sheer rapture.
he flung himself on the ground and writhed in a frenzy of welcome.
he tried to climb the soldier's khaki legs and slipped down and groveled in an ecstasy that seemed as if it must tear his little body in pieces.
he licked his boots and when the lieutenant had, with laughter on his lips and tears in his eyes, succeeded in gathering the little creature up in his arms dog monday laid his head on the khaki shoulder and licked the sunburned neck, making queer sounds between barks and sobs.
the station agent had heard the story of dog monday.
he knew now who the returned soldier was.
dog monday's long vigil was ended.
jem blythe had come home.
""we are all very happy -- and sad -- and thankful," wrote rilla in her diary a week later, "though susan has not yet recovered -- never will recover, i believe -- from the shock of having jem come home the very night she had, owing to a strenuous day, prepared a "pick up" supper.
i shall never forget the sight of her, tearing madly about from pantry to cellar, hunting out stored away goodies.
just as if anybody cared what was on the table -- none of us could eat, anyway.
it was meat and drink just to look at jem.
mother seemed afraid to take her eyes off him lest he vanish out of her sight.
it is wonderful to have jem back -- and little dog monday.
monday refuses to be separated from jem for a moment.
he sleeps on the foot of his bed and squats beside him at meal-times.
and on sunday he went to church with him and insisted on going right into our pew, where he went to sleep on jem's feet.
in the middle of the sermon he woke up and seemed to think he must welcome jem all over again, for he bounded up with a series of barks and would n't quiet down until jem took him up in his arms.
but nobody seemed to mind, and mr. meredith came and patted his head after the service and said," "faith and affection and loyalty are precious things wherever they are found.
that little dog's love is a treasure, jem."
""one night when jem and i were talking things over in rainbow valley, i asked him if he had ever felt afraid at the front.
""jem laughed."
"afraid!
i was afraid scores of times -- sick with fear -- i who used to laugh at walter when he was frightened.
do you know, walter was never frightened after he got to the front.
realities never scared him -- only his imagination could do that.
his colonel told me that walter was the bravest man in the regiment.
rilla, i never realized that walter was dead till i came back home.
you do n't know how i miss him now -- you folks here have got used to it in a sense -- but it's all fresh to me.
walter and i grew up together -- we were chums as well as brothers -- and now here, in this old valley we loved when we were children, it has come home to me that i'm not to see him again."
""jem is going back to college in the fall and so are jerry and carl.
i suppose shirley will, too.
he expects to be home in july.
nan and di will go on teaching.
faith does n't expect to be home before september.
i suppose she will teach then too, for she and jem ca n't be married until he gets through his course in medicine.
una meredith has decided, i think, to take a course in household science at kingsport -- and gertrude is to be married to her major and is frankly happy about it -- "shamelessly happy" she says; but i think her attitude is very beautiful.
they are all talking of their plans and hopes -- more soberly than they used to do long ago, but still with interest, and a determination to carry on and make good in spite of lost years."
"we're in a new world," jem says, "and we've got to make it a better one than the old.
that is n't done yet, though some folks seem to think it ought to be.
the job is n't finished -- it is n't really begun.
the old world is destroyed and we must build up the new one.
it will be the task of years.
i've seen enough of war to realize that we've got to make a world where wars ca n't happen.
we've given prussianism its mortal wound but it is n't dead yet and it is n't confined to germany either.
it is n't enough to drive out the old spirit -- we've got to bring in the new."
""i'm writing down those words of jem's in my diary so that i can read them over occasionally and get courage from them, when moods come when i find it not so easy to "keep faith.""
rilla closed her journal with a little sigh.
just then she was not finding it easy to keep faith.
all the rest seemed to have some special aim or ambition about which to build up their lives -- she had none.
and she was very lonely, horribly lonely.
jem had come back -- but he was not the laughing boy-brother who had gone away in 1914 and he belonged to faith.
walter would never come back.
she had not even jims left.
all at once her world seemed wide and empty -- that is, it had seemed wide and empty from the moment yesterday when she had read in a montreal paper a fortnight-old list of returned soldiers in which was the name of captain kenneth ford.
so ken was home -- and he had not even written her that he was coming.
he had been in canada two weeks and she had not had a line from him.
of course he had forgotten -- if there was ever anything to forget -- a handclasp -- a kiss -- a look -- a promise asked under the influence of a passing emotion.
it was all absurd -- she had been a silly, romantic, inexperienced goose.
well, she would be wiser in the future -- very wise -- and very discreet -- and very contemptuous of men and their ways.
""i suppose i'd better go with una and take up household science too," she thought, as she stood by her window and looked down through a delicate emerald tangle of young vines on rainbow valley, lying in a wonderful lilac light of sunset.
there did not seem anything very attractive just then about household science, but, with a whole new world waiting to be built, a girl must do something.
the door bell rang, rilla turned reluctantly stairwards.
she must answer it -- there was no one else in the house; but she hated the idea of callers just then.
she went downstairs slowly, and opened the front door.
a man in khaki was standing on the steps -- a tall fellow, with dark eyes and hair, and a narrow white scar running across his brown cheek.
rilla stared at him foolishly for a moment.
who was it?
she ought to know him -- there was certainly something very familiar about him -- "rilla-my-rilla," he said.
""ken," gasped rilla.
of course, it was ken -- but he looked so much older -- he was so much changed -- that scar -- the lines about his eyes and lips -- her thoughts went whirling helplessly.
ken took the uncertain hand she held out, and looked at her.
the slim rilla of four years ago had rounded out into symmetry.
he had left a school girl, and he found a woman -- a woman with wonderful eyes and a dented lip, and rose-bloom cheek -- a woman altogether beautiful and desirable -- the woman of his dreams.
""is it rilla-my-rilla?"
he asked, meaningly.
emotion shook rilla from head to foot.
joy -- happiness -- sorrow -- fear -- every passion that had wrung her heart in those four long years seemed to surge up in her soul for a moment as the deeps of being were stirred.
she had tried to speak; at first voice would not come.
_book_title_: lucy_maud_montgomery___the_story_girl.txt.out
chapter i.
the home of our fathers "i do like a road, because you can be always wondering what is at the end of it."
the story girl said that once upon a time.
felix and i, on the may morning when we left toronto for prince edward island, had not then heard her say it, and, indeed, were but barely aware of the existence of such a person as the story girl.
we did not know her at all under that name.
we knew only that a cousin, sara stanley, whose mother, our aunt felicity, was dead, was living down on the island with uncle roger and aunt olivia king, on a farm adjoining the old king homestead in carlisle.
we supposed we should get acquainted with her when we reached there, and we had an idea, from aunt olivia's letters to father, that she would be quite a jolly creature.
further than that we did not think about her.
we were more interested in felicity and cecily and dan, who lived on the homestead and would therefore be our roofmates for a season.
but the spirit of the story girl's yet unuttered remark was thrilling in our hearts that morning, as the train pulled out of toronto.
we were faring forth on a long road; and, though we had some idea what would be at the end of it, there was enough glamour of the unknown about it to lend a wonderful charm to our speculations concerning it.
we were delighted at the thought of seeing father's old home, and living among the haunts of his boyhood.
he had talked so much to us about it, and described its scenes so often and so minutely, that he had inspired us with some of his own deep-seated affection for it -- an affection that had never waned in all his years of exile.
we had a vague feeling that we, somehow, belonged there, in that cradle of our family, though we had never seen it.
we had always looked forward eagerly to the promised day when father would take us "down home," to the old house with the spruces behind it and the famous "king orchard" before it -- when we might ramble in "uncle stephen's walk," drink from the deep well with the chinese roof over it, stand on "the pulpit stone," and eat apples from our "birthday trees."
the time had come sooner than we had dared to hope; but father could not take us after all.
his firm asked him to go to rio de janeiro that spring to take charge of their new branch there.
it was too good a chance to lose, for father was a poor man and it meant promotion and increase of salary; but it also meant the temporary breaking up of our home.
our mother had died before either of us was old enough to remember her; father could not take us to rio de janeiro.
in the end he decided to send us to uncle alec and aunt janet down on the homestead; and our housekeeper, who belonged to the island and was now returning to it, took charge of us on the journey.
i fear she had an anxious trip of it, poor woman!
she was constantly in a quite justifiable terror lest we should be lost or killed; she must have felt great relief when she reached charlottetown and handed us over to the keeping of uncle alec.
indeed, she said as much.
""the fat one is n't so bad.
he is n't so quick to move and get out of your sight while you're winking as the thin one.
but the only safe way to travel with those young ones would be to have'em both tied to you with a short rope -- a mighty short rope."
""the fat one" was felix, who was very sensitive about his plumpness.
he was always taking exercises to make him thin, with the dismal result that he became fatter all the time.
he vowed that he did n't care; but he did care terribly, and he glowered at mrs. maclaren in a most undutiful fashion.
he had never liked her since the day she had told him he would soon be as broad as he was long.
for my own part, i was rather sorry to see her going; and she cried over us and wished us well; but we had forgotten all about her by the time we reached the open country, driving along, one on either side of uncle alec, whom we loved from the moment we saw him.
he was a small man, with thin, delicate features, close-clipped gray beard, and large, tired, blue eyes -- father's eyes over again.
we knew that uncle alec was fond of children and was heart-glad to welcome "alan's boys."
we felt at home with him, and were not afraid to ask him questions on any subject that came uppermost in our minds.
we became very good friends with him on that twenty-four mile drive.
much to our disappointment it was dark when we reached carlisle -- too dark to see anything very distinctly, as we drove up the lane of the old king homestead on the hill.
behind us a young moon was hanging over southwestern meadows of spring-time peace, but all about us were the soft, moist shadows of a may night.
we peered eagerly through the gloom.
""there's the big willow, bev," whispered felix excitedly, as we turned in at the gate.
there it was, in truth -- the tree grandfather king had planted when he returned one evening from ploughing in the brook field and stuck the willow switch he had used all day in the soft soil by the gate.
it had taken root and grown; our father and our uncles and aunts had played in its shadow; and now it was a massive thing, with a huge girth of trunk and great spreading boughs, each of them as large as a tree in itself.
""i'm going to climb it to-morrow," i said joyfully.
off to the right was a dim, branching place which we knew was the orchard; and on our left, among sibilant spruces and firs, was the old, whitewashed house -- from which presently a light gleamed through an open door, and aunt janet, a big, bustling, sonsy woman, with full-blown peony cheeks, came to welcome us.
soon after we were at supper in the kitchen, with its low, dark, raftered ceiling from which substantial hams and flitches of bacon were hanging.
everything was just as father had described it.
we felt that we had come home, leaving exile behind us.
felicity, cecily, and dan were sitting opposite us, staring at us when they thought we would be too busy eating to see them.
we tried to stare at them when they were eating; and as a result we were always catching each other at it and feeling cheap and embarrassed.
dan was the oldest; he was my age -- thirteen.
he was a lean, freckled fellow with rather long, lank, brown hair and the shapely king nose.
we recognized it at once.
his mouth was his own, however, for it was like to no mouth on either the king or the ward side; and nobody would have been anxious to claim it, for it was an undeniably ugly one -- long and narrow and twisted.
but it could grin in friendly fashion, and both felix and i felt that we were going to like dan.
felicity was twelve.
she had been called after aunt felicity, who was the twin sister of uncle felix.
aunt felicity and uncle felix, as father had often told us, had died on the same day, far apart, and were buried side by side in the old carlisle graveyard.
we had known from aunt olivia's letters, that felicity was the beauty of the connection, and we had been curious to see her on that account.
she fully justified our expectations.
she was plump and dimpled, with big, dark-blue, heavy-lidded eyes, soft, feathery, golden curls, and a pink and white skin -- "the king complexion."
the kings were noted for their noses and complexion.
felicity had also delightful hands and wrists.
at every turn of them a dimple showed itself.
it was a pleasure to wonder what her elbows must be like.
she was very nicely dressed in a pink print and a frilled muslin apron; and we understood, from something dan said, that she had "dressed up" in honour of our coming.
this made us feel quite important.
so far as we knew, no feminine creatures had ever gone to the pains of dressing up on our account before.
cecily, who was eleven, was pretty also -- or would have been had felicity not been there.
felicity rather took the colour from other girls.
cecily looked pale and thin beside her; but she had dainty little features, smooth brown hair of satin sheen, and mild brown eyes, with just a hint of demureness in them now and again.
we remembered that aunt olivia had written to father that cecily was a true ward -- she had no sense of humour.
we did not know what this meant, but we thought it was not exactly complimentary.
still, we were both inclined to think we would like cecily better than felicity.
to be sure, felicity was a stunning beauty.
but, with the swift and unerring intuition of childhood, which feels in a moment what it sometimes takes maturity much time to perceive, we realized that she was rather too well aware of her good looks.
in brief, we saw that felicity was vain.
""it's a wonder the story girl is n't over to see you," said uncle alec.
""she's been quite wild with excitement about your coming."
""she has n't been very well all day," explained cecily, "and aunt olivia would n't let her come out in the night air.
she made her go to bed instead.
the story girl was awfully disappointed."
""who is the story girl?"
asked felix.
""oh, sara -- sara stanley.
we call her the story girl partly because she's such a hand to tell stories -- oh, i ca n't begin to describe it -- and partly because sara ray, who lives at the foot of the hill, often comes up to play with us, and it is awkward to have two girls of the same name in the same crowd.
besides, sara stanley does n't like her name and she'd rather be called the story girl."
dan speaking for the first time, rather sheepishly volunteered the information that peter had also been intending to come over but had to go home to take some flour to his mother instead.
""peter?"
i questioned.
i had never heard of any peter.
""he is your uncle roger's handy boy," said uncle alec.
""his name is peter craig, and he is a real smart little chap.
but he's got his share of mischief, that same lad."
""he wants to be felicity's beau," said dan slyly.
""do n't talk silly nonsense, dan," said aunt janet severely.
felicity tossed her golden head and shot an unsisterly glance at dan.
""i would n't be very likely to have a hired boy for a beau," she observed.
we saw that her anger was real, not affected.
evidently peter was not an admirer of whom felicity was proud.
we were very hungry boys; and when we had eaten all we could -- and oh, what suppers aunt janet always spread!
-- we discovered that we were very tired also -- too tired to go out and explore our ancestral domains, as we would have liked to do, despite the dark.
we were quite willing to go to bed; and presently we found ourselves tucked away upstairs in the very room, looking out eastward into the spruce grove, which father had once occupied.
dan shared it with us, sleeping in a bed of his own in the opposite corner.
the sheets and pillow-slips were fragrant with lavender, and one of grandmother king's noted patchwork quilts was over us.
the window was open and we heard the frogs singing down in the swamp of the brook meadow.
we had heard frogs sing in ontario, of course; but certainly prince edward island frogs were more tuneful and mellow.
or was it simply the glamour of old family traditions and tales which was over us, lending its magic to all sights and sounds around us?
this was home -- father's home -- our home!
we had never lived long enough in any one house to develop a feeling of affection for it; but here, under the roof-tree built by great-grandfather king ninety years ago, that feeling swept into our boyish hearts and souls like a flood of living sweetness and tenderness.
""just think, those are the very frogs father listened to when he was a little boy," whispered felix.
""they can hardly be the same frogs," i objected doubtfully, not feeling very certain about the possible longevity of frogs.
""it's twenty years since father left home."
""well, they're the descendants of the frogs he heard," said felix, "and they're singing in the same swamp.
that's near enough."
our door was open and in their room across the narrow hall the girls were preparing for bed, and talking rather more loudly than they might have done had they realized how far their sweet, shrill voices carried.
""what do you think of the boys?"
asked cecily.
""beverley is handsome, but felix is too fat," answered felicity promptly.
felix twitched the quilt rather viciously and grunted.
but i began to think i would like felicity.
it might not be altogether her fault that she was vain.
how could she help it when she looked in the mirror?
""i think they're both nice and nice looking," said cecily.
dear little soul!
""i wonder what the story girl will think of them," said felicity, as if, after all, that was the main thing.
somehow, we, too, felt that it was.
we felt that if the story girl did not approve of us it made little difference who else did or did not.
""i wonder if the story girl is pretty," said felix aloud.
""no, she is n't," said dan instantly, from across the room.
""but you'll think she is while she's talking to you.
everybody does.
it's only when you go away from her that you find out she is n't a bit pretty after all."
the girls" door shut with a bang.
silence fell over the house.
we drifted into the land of sleep, wondering if the story girl would like us.
chapter ii.
a queen of hearts i wakened shortly after sunrise.
the pale may sunshine was showering through the spruces, and a chill, inspiring wind was tossing the boughs about.
""felix, wake up," i whispered, shaking him.
""what's the matter?"
he murmured reluctantly.
""it's morning.
let's get up and go down and out.
i ca n't wait another minute to see the places father has told us of."
we slipped out of bed and dressed, without arousing dan, who was still slumbering soundly, his mouth wide open, and his bed-clothes kicked off on the floor.
i had hard work to keep felix from trying to see if he could "shy" a marble into that tempting open mouth.
i told him it would waken dan, who would then likely insist on getting up and accompanying us, and it would be so much nicer to go by ourselves for the first time.
everything was very still as we crept downstairs.
out in the kitchen we heard some one, presumably uncle alec, lighting the fire; but the heart of house had not yet begun to beat for the day.
we paused a moment in the hall to look at the big "grandfather" clock.
it was not going, but it seemed like an old, familiar acquaintance to us, with the gilt balls on its three peaks; the little dial and pointer which would indicate the changes of the moon, and the very dent in its wooden door which father had made when he was a boy, by kicking it in a fit of naughtiness.
then we opened the front door and stepped out, rapture swelling in our bosoms.
there was a rare breeze from the south blowing to meet us; the shadows of the spruces were long and clear-cut; the exquisite skies of early morning, blue and wind-winnowed, were over us; away to the west, beyond the brook field, was a long valley and a hill purple with firs and laced with still leafless beeches and maples.
behind the house was a grove of fir and spruce, a dim, cool place where the winds were fond of purring and where there was always a resinous, woodsy odour.
on the further side of it was a thick plantation of slender silver birches and whispering poplars; and beyond it was uncle roger's house.
right before us, girt about with its trim spruce hedge, was the famous king orchard, the history of which was woven into our earliest recollections.
we knew all about it, from father's descriptions, and in fancy we had roamed in it many a time and oft.
it was now nearly sixty years since it had had its beginning, when grandfather king brought his bride home.
before the wedding he had fenced off the big south meadow that sloped to the sun; it was the finest, most fertile field on the farm, and the neighbours told young abraham king that he would raise many a fine crop of wheat in that meadow.
abraham king smiled and, being a man of few words, said nothing; but in his mind he had a vision of the years to be, and in that vision he saw, not rippling acres of harvest gold, but great, leafy avenues of wide-spreading trees laden with fruit to gladden the eyes of children and grandchildren yet unborn.
it was a vision to develop slowly into fulfilment.
grandfather king was in no hurry.
he did not set his whole orchard out at once, for he wished it to grow with his life and history, and be bound up with all of good and joy that should come to his household.
so the morning after he had brought his young wife home they went together to the south meadow and planted their bridal trees.
these trees were no longer living; but they had been when father was a boy, and every spring bedecked themselves in blossom as delicately tinted as elizabeth king's face when she walked through the old south meadow in the morn of her life and love.
when a son was born to abraham and elizabeth a tree was planted in the orchard for him.
they had fourteen children in all, and each child had its "birth tree."
every family festival was commemorated in like fashion, and every beloved visitor who spent a night under their roof was expected to plant a tree in the orchard.
so it came to pass that every tree in it was a fair green monument to some love or delight of the vanished years.
and each grandchild had its tree, there, also, set out by grandfather when the tidings of its birth reached him; not always an apple tree -- perhaps it was a plum, or cherry or pear.
but it was always known by the name of the person for whom, or by whom, it was planted; and felix and i knew as much about "aunt felicity's pears," and "aunt julia's cherries," and "uncle alec's apples," and the "rev. mr. scott's plums," as if we had been born and bred among them.
and now we had come to the orchard; it was before us; we had only to open that little whitewashed gate in the hedge and we might find ourselves in its storied domain.
but before we reached the gate we glanced to our left, along the grassy, spruce-bordered lane which led over to uncle roger's; and at the entrance of that lane we saw a girl standing, with a gray cat at her feet.
she lifted her hand and beckoned blithely to us; and, the orchard forgotten, we followed her summons.
for we knew that this must be the story girl; and in that gay and graceful gesture was an allurement not to be gainsaid or denied.
we looked at her as we drew near with such interest that we forgot to feel shy.
no, she was not pretty.
she was tall for her fourteen years, slim and straight; around her long, white face -- rather too long and too white -- fell sleek, dark-brown curls, tied above either ear with rosettes of scarlet ribbon.
her large, curving mouth was as red as a poppy, and she had brilliant, almond-shaped, hazel eyes; but we did not think her pretty.
then she spoke; she said, "good morning."
never had we heard a voice like hers.
never, in all my life since, have i heard such a voice.
i can not describe it.
i might say it was clear; i might say it was sweet; i might say it was vibrant and far-reaching and bell-like; all this would be true, but it would give you no real idea of the peculiar quality which made the story girl's voice what it was.
if voices had colour, hers would have been like a rainbow.
it made words live.
whatever she said became a breathing entity, not a mere verbal statement or utterance.
felix and i were too young to understand or analyze the impression it made upon us; but we instantly felt at her greeting that it was a good morning -- a surpassingly good morning -- the very best morning that had ever happened in this most excellent of worlds.
""you are felix and beverley," she went on, shaking our hands with an air of frank comradeship, which was very different from the shy, feminine advances of felicity and cecily.
from that moment we were as good friends as if we had known each other for a hundred years.
""i am glad to see you.
i was so disappointed i could n't go over last night.
i got up early this morning, though, for i felt sure you would be up early, too, and that you'd like to have me tell you about things.
i can tell things so much better than felicity or cecily.
do you think felicity is very pretty?"
""she's the prettiest girl i ever saw," i said enthusiastically, remembering that felicity had called me handsome.
""the boys all think so," said the story girl, not, i fancied, quite well pleased.
""and i suppose she is.
she is a splendid cook, too, though she is only twelve.
i ca n't cook.
i am trying to learn, but i do n't make much progress.
aunt olivia says i have n't enough natural gumption ever to be a cook; but i'd love to be able to make as good cakes and pies as felicity can make.
but then, felicity is stupid.
it's not ill-natured of me to say that.
it's just the truth, and you'd soon find it out for yourselves.
i like felicity very well, but she is stupid.
cecily is ever so much cleverer.
cecily's a dear.
so is uncle alec; and aunt janet is pretty nice, too."
""what is aunt olivia like?"
asked felix.
""aunt olivia is very pretty.
she is just like a pansy -- all velvety and purply and goldy."
felix and i saw, somewhere inside of our heads, a velvet and purple and gold pansy-woman, just as the story girl spoke.
""but is she nice?"
i asked.
that was the main question about grown-ups.
their looks mattered little to us.
""she is lovely.
but she is twenty-nine, you know.
that's pretty old.
she does n't bother me much.
aunt janet says that i'd have no bringing up at all, if it was n't for her.
aunt olivia says children should just be let come up -- that everything else is settled for them long before they are born.
i do n't understand that.
do you?"
no, we did not.
but it was our experience that grown-ups had a habit of saying things hard to understand.
""what is uncle roger like?"
was our next question.
""well, i like uncle roger," said the story girl meditatively.
""he is big and jolly.
but he teases people too much.
you ask him a serious question and you get a ridiculous answer.
he hardly ever scolds or gets cross, though, and that is something.
he is an old bachelor."
""does n't he ever mean to get married?"
asked felix.
""i do n't know.
aunt olivia wishes he would, because she's tired keeping house for him, and she wants to go to aunt julia in california.
but she says he'll never get married, because he is looking for perfection, and when he finds her she wo n't have him."
by this time we were all sitting down on the gnarled roots of the spruces, and the big gray cat came over and made friends with us.
he was a lordly animal, with a silver-gray coat beautifully marked with darker stripes.
with such colouring most cats would have had white or silver feet; but he had four black paws and a black nose.
such points gave him an air of distinction, and marked him out as quite different from the common or garden variety of cats.
he seemed to be a cat with a tolerably good opinion of himself, and his response to our advances was slightly tinged with condescension.
""this is n't topsy, is it?"
i asked.
i knew at once that the question was a foolish one.
topsy, the cat of which father had talked, had flourished thirty years before, and all her nine lives could scarcely have lasted so long.
""no, but it is topsy's great-great-great-great-grandson," said the story girl gravely.
""his name is paddy and he is my own particular cat.
we have barn cats, but paddy never associates with them.
i am very good friends with all cats.
they are so sleek and comfortable and dignified.
and it is so easy to make them happy.
oh, i'm so glad you boys have come to live here.
nothing ever happens here, except days, so we have to make our own good times.
we were short of boys before -- only dan and peter to four girls."
""four girls?
oh, yes, sara ray.
felicity mentioned her.
what is she like?
where does she live?"
""just down the hill.
you ca n't see the house for the spruce bush.
sara is a nice girl.
she's only eleven, and her mother is dreadfully strict.
she never allows sara to read a single story.
just you fancy!
sara's conscience is always troubling her for doing things she's sure her mother wo n't approve, but it never prevents her from doing them.
it only spoils her fun.
uncle roger says that a mother who wo n't let you do anything, and a conscience that wo n't let you enjoy anything is an awful combination, and he does n't wonder sara is pale and thin and nervous.
but, between you and me, i believe the real reason is that her mother does n't give her half enough to eat.
not that she's mean, you know -- but she thinks it is n't healthy for children to eat much, or anything but certain things.
is n't it fortunate we were n't born into that sort of a family?"
""i think it's awfully lucky we were all born into the same family," felix remarked.
""is n't it?
i've often thought so.
and i've often thought what a dreadful thing it would have been if grandfather and grandmother king had never got married to each other.
i do n't suppose there would have been a single one of us children here at all; or if we were, we would be part somebody else and that would be almost as bad.
when i think it all over i ca n't feel too thankful that grandfather and grandmother king happened to marry each other, when there were so many other people they might have married."
felix and i shivered.
we felt suddenly that we had escaped a dreadful danger -- the danger of having been born somebody else.
but it took the story girl to make us realize just how dreadful it was and what a terrible risk we had run years before we, or our parents either, had existed.
""who lives over there?"
i asked, pointing to a house across the fields.
""oh, that belongs to the awkward man.
his name is jasper dale, but everybody calls him the awkward man.
and they do say he writes poetry.
he calls his place golden milestone.
i know why, because i've read longfellow's poems.
he never goes into society because he is so awkward.
the girls laugh at him and he does n't like it.
i know a story about him and i'll tell it to you sometime."
""and who lives in that other house?"
asked felix, looking over the westering valley where a little gray roof was visible among the trees.
""old peg bowen.
she's very queer.
she lives there with a lot of pet animals in winter, and in summer she roams over the country and begs her meals.
they say she is crazy.
people have always tried to frighten us children into good behaviour by telling us that peg bowen would catch us if we did n't behave.
i'm not so frightened of her as i once was, but i do n't think i would like to be caught by her.
sara ray is dreadfully scared of her.
peter craig says she is a witch and that he bets she's at the bottom of it when the butter wo n't come.
but i do n't believe that.
witches are so scarce nowadays.
there may be some somewhere in the world, but it's not likely there are any here right in prince edward island.
they used to be very plenty long ago.
i know some splendid witch stories i'll tell you some day.
they'll just make your blood freeze in your veins."
we had n't a doubt of it.
if anybody could freeze the blood in our veins this girl with the wonderful voice could.
but it was a may morning, and our young blood was running blithely in our veins.
we suggested a visit to the orchard would be more agreeable.
""all right.
i know stories about it, too," she said, as we walked across the yard, followed by paddy of the waving tail.
""oh, are n't you glad it is spring?
the beauty of winter is that it makes you appreciate spring."
the latch of the gate clicked under the story girl's hand, and the next moment we were in the king orchard.
chapter iii.
legends of the old orchard outside of the orchard the grass was only beginning to grow green; but here, sheltered by the spruce hedges from uncertain winds and sloping to southern suns, it was already like a wonderful velvet carpet; the leaves on the trees were beginning to come out in woolly, grayish clusters; and there were purple-pencilled white violets at the base of the pulpit stone.
""it's all just as father described it," said felix with a blissful sigh, "and there's the well with the chinese roof."
we hurried over to it, treading on the spears of mint that were beginning to shoot up about it.
it was a very deep well, and the curb was of rough, undressed stones.
over it, the queer, pagoda-like roof, built by uncle stephen on his return from a voyage to china, was covered with yet leafless vines.
""it's so pretty, when the vines leaf out and hang down in long festoons," said the story girl.
""the birds build their nests in it.
a pair of wild canaries come here every summer.
and ferns grow out between the stones of the well as far down as you can see.
the water is lovely.
uncle edward preached his finest sermon about the bethlehem well where david's soldiers went to get him water, and he illustrated it by describing his old well at the homestead -- this very well -- and how in foreign lands he had longed for its sparkling water.
so you see it is quite famous."
""there's a cup just like the one that used to be here in father's time," exclaimed felix, pointing to an old-fashioned shallow cup of clouded blue ware on a little shelf inside the curb.
""it is the very same cup," said the story girl impressively.
""is n't it an amazing thing?
that cup has been here for forty years, and hundreds of people have drunk from it, and it has never been broken.
aunt julia dropped it down the well once, but they fished it up, not hurt a bit except for that little nick in the rim.
i think it is bound up with the fortunes of the king family, like the luck of edenhall in longfellow's poem.
it is the last cup of grandmother king's second best set.
her best set is still complete.
aunt olivia has it.
you must get her to show it to you.
it's so pretty, with red berries all over it, and the funniest little pot-bellied cream jug.
aunt olivia never uses it except on a family anniversary."
we took a drink from the blue cup and then went to find our birthday trees.
we were rather disappointed to find them quite large, sturdy ones.
it seemed to us that they should still be in the sapling stage corresponding to our boyhood.
""your apples are lovely to eat," the story girl said to me, "but felix's are only good for pies.
those two big trees behind them are the twins" trees -- my mother and uncle felix, you know.
the apples are so dead sweet that nobody but us children and the french boys can eat them.
and that tall, slender tree over there, with the branches all growing straight up, is a seedling that came up of itself, and nobody can eat its apples, they are so sour and bitter.
even the pigs wo n't eat them.
aunt janet tried to make pies of them once, because she said she hated to see them going to waste.
but she never tried again.
she said it was better to waste apples alone than apples and sugar too.
and then she tried giving them away to the french hired men, but they would n't even carry them home."
the story girl's words fell on the morning air like pearls and diamonds.
even her prepositions and conjunctions had untold charm, hinting at mystery and laughter and magic bound up in everything she mentioned.
apple pies and sour seedlings and pigs became straightway invested with a glamour of romance.
""i like to hear you talk," said felix in his grave, stodgy way.
""everybody does," said the story girl coolly.
""i'm glad you like the way i talk.
but i want you to like me, too -- as well as you like felicity and cecily.
not better.
i wanted that once but i've got over it.
i found out in sunday school, the day the minister taught our class, that it was selfish.
but i want you to like me as well."
""well, i will, for one," said felix emphatically.
i think he was remembering that felicity had called him fat.
cecily now joined us.
it appeared that it was felicity's morning to help prepare breakfast, therefore she could not come.
we all went to uncle stephen's walk.
this was a double row of apple trees, running down the western side of the orchard.
uncle stephen was the first born of abraham and elizabeth king.
he had none of grandfather's abiding love for woods and meadows and the kindly ways of the warm red earth.
grandmother king had been a ward, and in uncle stephen the blood of the seafaring race claimed its own.
to sea he must go, despite the pleadings and tears of a reluctant mother; and it was from the sea he came to set out his avenue in the orchard with trees brought from a foreign land.
then he sailed away again -- and the ship was never heard of more.
the gray first came in grandmother's brown hair in those months of waiting.
the, for the first time, the orchard heard the sound of weeping and was consecrated by a sorrow.
""when the blossoms come out it's wonderful to walk here," said the story girl.
""it's like a dream of fairyland -- as if you were walking in a king's palace.
the apples are delicious, and in winter it's a splendid place for coasting."
from the walk we went to the pulpit stone -- a huge gray boulder, as high as a man's head, in the southeastern corner.
it was straight and smooth in front, but sloped down in natural steps behind, with a ledge midway on which one could stand.
it had played an important part in the games of our uncles and aunts, being fortified castle, indian ambush, throne, pulpit, or concert platform, as occasion required.
uncle edward had preached his first sermon at the age of eight from that old gray boulder; and aunt julia, whose voice was to delight thousands, sang her earliest madrigals there.
the story girl mounted to the ledge, sat on the rim, and looked at us.
pat sat gravely at its base and daintily washed his face with his black paws.
""now for your stories about the orchard," said i. "there are two important ones," said the story girl.
""the story of the poet who was kissed, and the tale of the family ghost.
which one shall i tell?"
""tell them both," said felix greedily, "but tell the ghost one first."
""i do n't know."
the story girl looked dubious.
""that sort of story ought to be told in the twilight among the shadows.
then it would frighten the souls out of your bodies."
we thought it might be more agreeable not to have the souls frightened out of our bodies, and we voted for the family ghost.
""ghost stories are more comfortable in daytime," said felix.
the story girl began it and we listened avidly.
cecily, who had heard it many times before, listened just as eagerly as we did.
she declared to me afterwards that no matter how often the story girl told a story it always seemed as new and exciting as if you had just heard it for the first time.
""long, long ago," began the story girl, her voice giving us an impression of remote antiquity, "even before grandfather king was born, an orphan cousin of his lived here with his parents.
her name was emily king.
she was very small and very sweet.
she had soft brown eyes that were too timid to look straight at anybody -- like cecily's there -- and long, sleek, brown curls -- like mine; and she had a tiny birthmark like a pink butterfly on one cheek -- right here.
""of course, there was no orchard here then.
it was just a field; but there was a clump of white birches in it, right where that big, spreading tree of uncle alec's is now, and emily liked to sit among the ferns under the birches and read or sew.
she had a lover.
his name was malcolm ward and he was as handsome as a prince.
she loved him with all her heart and he loved her the same; but they had never spoken about it.
they used to meet under the birches and talk about everything except love.
one day he told her he was coming the next day to ask a very important question, and he wanted to find her under the birches when he came.
emily promised to meet him there.
i am sure she stayed awake that night, thinking about it, and wondering what the important question would be, although she knew perfectly well.
i would have.
and the next day she dressed herself beautifully in her best pale blue muslin and sleeked her curls and went smiling to the birches.
and while she was waiting there, thinking such lovely thoughts, a neighbour's boy came running up -- a boy who did n't know about her romance -- and cried out that malcolm ward had been killed by his gun going off accidentally.
emily just put her hands to her heart -- so -- and fell, all white and broken among the ferns.
and when she came back to life she never cried or lamented.
she was changed.
she was never, never like herself again; and she was never contented unless she was dressed in her blue muslin and waiting under the birches.
she got paler and paler every day, but the pink butterfly grew redder, until it looked just like a stain of blood on her white cheek.
when the winter came she died.
but next spring" -- the story girl dropped her voice to a whisper that was as audible and thrilling as her louder tones -- "people began to tell that emily was sometimes seen waiting under the birches still.
nobody knew just who told it first.
but more than one person saw her.
grandfather saw her when he was a little boy.
and my mother saw her once."
""did you ever see her?"
asked felix skeptically.
""no, but i shall some day, if i keep on believing in her," said the story girl confidently.
""i would n't like to see her.
i'd be afraid," said cecily with a shiver.
""there would n't be anything to be afraid of," said the story girl reassuringly.
""it's not as if it were a strange ghost.
it's our own family ghost, so of course it would n't hurt us."
we were not so sure of this.
ghosts were unchancy folk, even if they were our family ghosts.
the story girl had made the tale very real to us.
we were glad we had not heard it in the evening.
how could we ever have got back to the house through the shadows and swaying branches of a darkening orchard?
as it was, we were almost afraid to look up it, lest we should see the waiting, blue-clad emily under uncle alec's tree.
but all we saw was felicity, tearing over the green sward, her curls streaming behind her in a golden cloud.
""felicity's afraid she's missed something," remarked the story girl in a tone of quiet amusement.
""is your breakfast ready, felicity, or have i time to tell the boys the story of the poet who was kissed?"
""breakfast is ready, but we ca n't have it till father is through attending to the sick cow, so you will likely have time," answered felicity.
felix and i could n't keep our eyes off her.
crimson-cheeked, shining-eyed from her haste, her face was like a rose of youth.
but when the story girl spoke, we forgot to look at felicity.
""about ten years after grandfather and grandmother king were married, a young man came to visit them.
he was a distant relative of grandmother's and he was a poet.
he was just beginning to be famous.
he was very famous afterward.
he came into the orchard to write a poem, and he fell asleep with his head on a bench that used to be under grandfather's tree.
then great-aunt edith came into the orchard.
she was not a great-aunt then, of course.
she was only eighteen, with red lips and black, black hair and eyes.
they say she was always full of mischief.
she had been away and had just come home, and she did n't know about the poet.
but when she saw him, sleeping there, she thought he was a cousin they had been expecting from scotland.
and she tiptoed up -- so -- and bent over -- so -- and kissed his cheek.
then he opened his big blue eyes and looked up into edith's face.
she blushed as red as a rose, for she knew she had done a dreadful thing.
this could not be her cousin from scotland.
she knew, for he had written so to her, that he had eyes as black as her own.
edith ran away and hid; and of course she felt still worse when she found out that he was a famous poet.
but he wrote one of his most beautiful poems on it afterwards and sent it to her -- and it was published in one of his books."
we had seen it all -- the sleeping genius -- the roguish, red-lipped girl -- the kiss dropped as lightly as a rose-petal on the sunburned cheek.
""they should have got married," said felix.
""well, in a book they would have, but you see this was in real life," said the story girl.
""we sometimes act the story out.
i like it when peter plays the poet.
i do n't like it when dan is the poet because he is so freckled and screws his eyes up so tight.
but you can hardly ever coax peter to be the poet -- except when felicity is edith -- and dan is so obliging that way."
""what is peter like?"
i asked.
""peter is splendid.
his mother lives on the markdale road and washes for a living.
peter's father ran away and left them when peter was only three years old.
he has never come back, and they do n't know whether he is alive or dead.
is n't that a nice way to behave to your family?
peter has worked for his board ever since he was six.
uncle roger sends him to school, and pays him wages in summer.
we all like peter, except felicity."
""i like peter well enough in his place," said felicity primly, "but you make far too much of him, mother says.
he is only a hired boy, and he has n't been well brought up, and has n't much education.
i do n't think you should make such an equal of him as you do."
laughter rippled over the story girl's face as shadow waves go over ripe wheat before a wind.
""peter is a real gentleman, and he is more interesting than you could ever be, if you were brought up and educated for a hundred years," she said.
""he can hardly write," said felicity.
""william the conqueror could n't write at all," said the story girl crushingly.
""he never goes to church, and he never says his prayers," retorted felicity, uncrushed.
""i do, too," said peter himself, suddenly appearing through a little gap in the hedge.
""i say my prayers sometimes."
this peter was a slim, shapely fellow, with laughing black eyes and thick black curls.
early in the season as it was, he was barefooted.
his attire consisted of a faded, gingham shirt and a scanty pair of corduroy knickerbockers; but he wore it with such an unconscious air of purple and fine linen that he seemed to be much better dressed than he really was.
""you do n't pray very often," insisted felicity.
""well, god will be all the more likely to listen to me if i do n't pester him all the time," argued peter.
this was rank heresy to felicity, but the story girl looked as if she thought there might be something in it.
""you never go to church, anyhow," continued felicity, determined not to be argued down.
""well, i ai n't going to church till i've made up my mind whether i'm going to be a methodist or a presbyterian.
aunt jane was a methodist.
my mother ai n't much of anything but i mean to be something.
it's more respectable to be a methodist or a presbyterian, or something, than not to be anything.
when i've settled what i'm to be i'm going to church same as you."
""that's not the same as being born something," said felicity loftily.
""i think it's a good deal better to pick your own religion than have to take it just because it was what your folks had," retorted peter.
""now, never mind quarrelling," said cecily.
""you leave peter alone, felicity.
peter, this is beverley king, and this is felix.
and we're all going to be good friends and have a lovely summer together.
think of the games we can have!
but if you go squabbling you'll spoil it all.
peter, what are you going to do to-day?"
""harrow the wood field and dig your aunt olivia's flower beds."
""aunt olivia and i planted sweet peas yesterday," said the story girl, "and i planted a little bed of my own.
i am not going to dig them up this year to see if they have sprouted.
it is bad for them.
i shall try to cultivate patience, no matter how long they are coming up."
""i am going to help mother plant the vegetable garden to-day," said felicity.
""oh, i never like the vegetable garden," said the story girl.
""except when i am hungry.
then i do like to go and look at the nice little rows of onions and beets.
but i love a flower garden.
i think i could be always good if i lived in a garden all the time."
""adam and eve lived in a garden all the time," said felicity, "and they were far from being always good."
""they might n't have kept good as long as they did if they had n't lived in a garden," said the story girl.
we were now summoned to breakfast.
peter and the story girl slipped away through the gap, followed by paddy, and the rest of us walked up the orchard to the house.
""well, what do you think of the story girl?"
asked felicity.
""she's just fine," said felix, enthusiastically.
""i never heard anything like her to tell stories."
""she ca n't cook," said felicity, "and she has n't a good complexion.
mind you, she says she's going to be an actress when she grows up.
is n't that dreadful?"
we did n't exactly see why.
""oh, because actresses are always wicked people," said felicity in a shocked tone.
""but i daresay the story girl will go and be one just as soon as she can.
her father will back her up in it.
he is an artist, you know."
evidently felicity thought artists and actresses and all such poor trash were members one of another.
""aunt olivia says the story girl is fascinating," said cecily.
the very adjective!
felix and i recognized its beautiful fitness at once.
yes, the story girl was fascinating and that was the final word to be said on the subject.
dan did not come down until breakfast was half over, and aunt janet talked to him after a fashion which made us realize that it would be well to keep, as the piquant country phrase went, from the rough side of her tongue.
but all things considered, we liked the prospect of our summer very much.
felicity to look at -- the story girl to tell us tales of wonder -- cecily to admire us -- dan and peter to play with -- what more could reasonable fellows want?
chapter iv.
the wedding veil of the proud princess when we had lived for a fortnight in carlisle we belonged there, and the freedom of all its small fry was conferred on us.
with peter and dan, with felicity and cecily and the story girl, with pale, gray-eyed little sara ray, we were boon companions.
we went to school, of course; and certain home chores were assigned to each of us for the faithful performance of which we were held responsible.
but we had long hours for play.
even peter had plenty of spare time when the planting was over.
we got along very well with each other in the main, in spite of some minor differences of opinion.
as for the grown-up denizens of our small world, they suited us also.
we adored aunt olivia; she was pretty and merry and kind; and, above all, she had mastered to perfection the rare art of letting children alone.
if we kept ourselves tolerably clean, and refrained from quarrelling or talking slang, aunt olivia did not worry us.
aunt janet, on the contrary, gave us so much good advice and was so constantly telling us to do this or not to do the other thing, that we could not remember half her instructions, and did not try.
uncle roger was, as we had been informed, quite jolly and fond of teasing.
we liked him; but we had an uncomfortable feeling that the meaning of his remarks was not always that which met the ear.
sometimes we believed uncle roger was making fun of us, and the deadly seriousness of youth in us resented that.
the uncle alec we gave our warmest love.
we felt that we always had a friend at court in uncle alec, no matter what we did or left undone.
and we never had to turn his speeches inside out to discover their meaning.
the social life of juvenile carlisle centred in the day and sunday schools.
we were especially interested in our sunday school, for we were fortunate enough to be assigned to a teacher who made our lessons so interesting that we no longer regarded sunday school attendance as a disagreeable weekly duty; but instead looked forward to it with pleasure, and tried to carry out our teacher's gentle precepts -- at least on mondays and tuesdays.
i am afraid the remembrance grew a little dim the rest of the week.
she was also deeply interested in missions; and one talk on this subject inspired the story girl to do a little home missionary work on her own account.
the only thing she could think of, along this line, was to persuade peter to go to church.
felicity did not approve of the design, and said so plainly.
""he wo n't know how to behave, for he's never been inside a church door in his life," she warned the story girl.
""he'll likely do something awful, and then you'll feel ashamed and wish you'd never asked him to go, and we'll all be disgraced.
it's all right to have our mite boxes for the heathen, and send missionaries to them.
they're far away and we do n't have to associate with them.
but i do n't want to have to sit in a pew with a hired boy."
but the story girl undauntedly continued to coax the reluctant peter.
it was not an easy matter.
peter did not come of a churchgoing stock; and besides, he alleged, he had not yet made up his mind whether to be a presbyterian or a methodist.
""it is n't a bit of difference which you are," pleaded the story girl.
""they both go to heaven."
""but one way must be easier or better than the other, or else they'd all be one kind," argued peter.
""i want to find the easiest way.
and i've got a hankering after the methodists.
my aunt jane was a methodist."
""is n't she one still?"
asked felicity pertly.
""well, i do n't know exactly.
she's dead," said peter rebukingly.
""do people go on being just the same after they're dead?"
""no, of course not.
they're angels then -- not methodists or anything, but just angels.
that is, if they go to heaven."
""s'posen they went to the other place?"
but felicity's theology broke down at this point.
she turned her back on peter and walked disdainfully away.
the story girl returned to the main point with a new argument.
""we have such a lovely minister, peter.
he looks just like the picture of st. john my father sent me, only he is old and his hair is white.
i know you'd like him.
and even if you are going to be a methodist it wo n't hurt you to go to the presbyterian church.
the nearest methodist church is six miles away, at markdale, and you ca n't attend there just now.
go to the presbyterian church until you're old enough to have a horse."
""but s "posen i got too fond of being presbyterian and could n't change if i wanted to?"
objected peter.
altogether, the story girl had a hard time of it; but she persevered; and one day she came to us with the announcement that peter had yielded.
""he's going to church with us to-morrow," she said triumphantly.
we were out in uncle roger's hill pasture, sitting on some smooth, round stones under a clump of birches.
behind us was an old gray fence, with violets and dandelions thick in its corners.
below us was the carlisle valley, with its orchard-embowered homesteads, and fertile meadows.
its upper end was dim with a delicate spring mist.
winds blew up the field like wave upon wave of sweet savour -- spice of bracken and balsam.
we were eating little jam "turnovers," which felicity had made for us.
felicity's turnovers were perfection.
i looked at her and wondered why it was not enough that she should be so pretty and capable of making such turnovers.
if she were only more interesting!
felicity had not a particle of the nameless charm and allurement which hung about every motion of the story girl, and made itself manifest in her lightest word and most careless glance.
ah well, one can not have every good gift!
the story girl had no dimples at her slim, brown wrists.
we all enjoyed our turnovers except sara ray.
she ate hers but she knew she should not have done so.
her mother did not approve of snacks between meals, or of jam turnovers at any time.
once, when sara was in a brown study, i asked her what she was thinking of.
""i'm trying to think of something ma has n't forbid," she answered with a sigh.
we were all glad to hear that peter was going to church, except felicity.
she was full of gloomy forebodings and warnings.
""i'm surprised at you, felicity king," said cecily severely.
""you ought to be glad that poor boy is going to get started in the right way."
""there's a great big patch on his best pair of trousers," protested felicity.
""well, that's better than a hole," said the story girl, addressing herself daintily to her turnover.
""god wo n't notice the patch."
""no, but the carlisle people will," retorted felicity, in a tone which implied that what the carlisle people thought was far more important.
""and i do n't believe that peter has got a decent stocking to his name.
what will you feel like if he goes to church with the skin of his legs showing through the holes, miss story girl?"
""i'm not a bit afraid," said the story girl staunchly.
""peter knows better than that."
""well, all i hope is that he'll wash behind his ears," said felicity resignedly.
""how is pat to-day?"
asked cecily, by way of changing the conversation.
""pat is n't a bit better.
he just mopes about the kitchen," said the story girl anxiously.
""i went out to the barn and i saw a mouse.
i had a stick in my hand and i fetched a swipe at it -- so.
i killed it stone dead.
then i took it in to paddy.
will you believe it?
he would n't even look at it.
i'm so worried.
uncle roger says he needs a dose of physic.
but how is he to be made take it, that's the question.
i mixed a powder in some milk and tried to pour it down his throat while peter held him.
just look at the scratches i got!
and the milk went everywhere except down pat's throat."
""would n't it be awful if -- if anything happened to pat?"
whispered cecily.
""well, we could have a jolly funeral, you know," said dan.
we looked at him in such horror that dan hastened to apologize.
""i'd be awful sorry myself if pat died.
but if he did, we'd have to give him the right kind of a funeral," he protested.
""why, paddy just seems like one of the family."
the story girl finished her turnover, and stretched herself out on the grasses, pillowing her chin in her hands and looking at the sky.
she was bare headed, as usual, and her scarlet ribbon was bound filletwise about her head.
she had twined freshly plucked dandelions around it and the effect was that of a crown of brilliant golden stars on her sleek, brown curls.
""look at that long, thin, lacy cloud up there," she said.
""what does it make you think of, girls?"
""a wedding veil," said cecily.
""that is just what it is -- the wedding veil of the proud princess.
i know a story about it.
i read it in a book.
once upon a time" -- the story girl's eyes grew dreamy, and her accents floated away on the summer air like wind-blown rose petals -- "there was a princess who was the most beautiful princess in the world, and kings from all lands came to woo her for a bride.
but she was as proud as she was beautiful.
she laughed all her suitors to scorn.
and when her father urged her to choose one of them as her husband she drew herself up haughtily -- so --" the story girl sprang to her feet and for a moment we saw the proud princess of the old tale in all her scornful loveliness -- "and she said,"" i will not wed until a king comes who can conquer all kings.
then i shall be the wife of the king of the world and no one can hold herself higher than i." "so every king went to war to prove that he could conquer every one else, and there was a great deal of bloodshed and misery.
but the proud princess laughed and sang, and she and her maidens worked at a wonderful lace veil which she meant to wear when the king of all kings came.
it was a very beautiful veil; but her maidens whispered that a man had died and a woman's heart had broken for every stitch set in it.
""just when a king thought he had conquered everybody some other king would come and conquer him; and so it went on until it did not seem likely the proud princess would ever get a husband at all.
but still her pride was so great that she would not yield, even though everybody except the kings who wanted to marry her, hated her for the suffering she had caused.
one day a horn was blown at the palace gate; and there was one tall man in complete armor with his visor down, riding on a white horse.
when he said he had come to marry the princess every one laughed, for he had no retinue and no beautiful apparel, and no golden crown."
"but i am the king who conquers all kings," he said."
"you must prove it before i shall marry you," said the proud princess.
but she trembled and turned pale, for there was something in his voice that frightened her.
and when he laughed, his laughter was still more dreadful.""
i can easily prove it, beautiful princess," he said, "but you must go with me to my kingdom for the proof.
marry me now, and you and i and your father and all your court will ride straightway to my kingdom; and if you are not satisfied then that i am the king who conquers all kings you may give me back my ring and return home free of me forever more."
""it was a strange wooing and the friends of the princess begged her to refuse.
but her pride whispered that it would be such a wonderful thing to be the queen of the king of the world; so she consented; and her maidens dressed her, and put on the long lace veil that had been so many years a-making.
then they were married at once, but the bridegroom never lifted his visor and no one saw his face.
the proud princess held herself more proudly than ever, but she was as white as her veil.
and there was no laughter or merry-making, such as should be at a wedding, and every one looked at every one else with fear in his eyes.
""after the wedding the bridegroom lifted his bride before him on his white horse, and her father and all the members of his court mounted, too, and rode after them.
on and on they rode, and the skies grew darker and the wind blew and wailed, and the shades of evening came down.
and just in the twilight they rode into a dark valley, filled with tombs and graves."
"why have you brought me here?"
cried the proud princess angrily."
"this is my kingdom," he answered.
"these are the tombs of the kings i have conquered.
behold me, beautiful princess.
i am death!"
""he lifted his visor.
all saw his awful face.
the proud princess shrieked."
"come to my arms, my bride," he cried."
i have won you fairly.
i am the king who conquers all kings!"
""he clasped her fainting form to his breast and spurred his white horse to the tombs.
a tempest of rain broke over the valley and blotted them from sight.
very sadly the old king and courtiers rode home, and never, never again did human eye behold the proud princess.
but when those long, white clouds sweep across the sky, the country people in the land where she lived say, "look you, there is the wedding veil of the proud princess.""
the weird spell of the tale rested on us for some moments after the story girl had finished.
we had walked with her in the place of death and grown cold with the horror that chilled the heart of the poor princess.
dan presently broke the spell.
""you see it does n't do to be too proud, felicity," he remarked, giving her a poke.
""you'd better not say too much about peter's patches."
chapter v. peter goes to church there was no sunday school the next afternoon, as superintendent and teachers wished to attend a communion service at markdale.
the carlisle service was in the evening, and at sunset we were waiting at uncle alec's front door for peter and the story girl.
none of the grown-ups were going to church.
aunt olivia had a sick headache and uncle roger stayed home with her.
aunt janet and uncle alec had gone to the markdale service and had not yet returned.
felicity and cecily were wearing their new summer muslins for the first time -- and were acutely conscious of the fact.
felicity, her pink and white face shadowed by her drooping, forget-me-not-wreathed, leghorn hat, was as beautiful as usual; but cecily, having tortured her hair with curl papers all night, had a rampant bush of curls all about her head which quite destroyed the sweet, nun-like expression of her little features.
cecily cherished a grudge against fate because she had not been given naturally curly hair as had the other two girls.
but she attained the desire of her heart on sundays at least, and was quite well satisfied.
it was impossible to convince her that the satin smooth lustre of her week-day tresses was much more becoming to her.
presently peter and the story girl appeared, and we were all more or less relieved to see that peter looked quite respectable, despite the indisputable patch on his trousers.
his face was rosy, his thick black curls were smoothly combed, and his tie was neatly bowed; but it was his legs which we scrutinized most anxiously.
at first glance they seemed well enough; but closer inspection revealed something not altogether customary.
""what is the matter with your stockings, peter?"
asked dan bluntly.
""oh, i had n't a pair without holes in the legs," answered peter easily, "because ma had n't time to darn them this week.
so i put on two pairs.
the holes do n't come in the same places, and you'd never notice them unless you looked right close."
""have you got a cent for collection?"
demanded felicity.
""i've got a yankee cent.
i s "pose it will do, wo n't it?"
felicity shook her head vehemently.
""oh, no, no.
it may be all right to pass a yankee cent on a store keeper or an egg peddler, but it would never do for church."
""i'll have to go without any, then," said peter.
""i have n't another cent.
i only get fifty cents a week and i give it all to ma last night."
but peter must have a cent.
felicity would have given him one herself -- and she was none too lavish of her coppers -- rather than have him go without one.
dan, however, lent him one, on the distinct understanding that it was to be repaid the next week.
uncle roger wandered by at this moment and, beholding peter, said," "is saul also among the prophets?"
what can have induced you to turn church-goer, peter, when all olivia's gentle persuasions were of no avail?
the old, old argument i suppose -- "beauty draws us with a single hair.""
uncle roger looked quizzically at felicity.
we did not know what his quotations meant, but we understood he thought peter was going to church because of felicity.
felicity tossed her head.
""it is n't my fault that he's going to church," she said snappishly.
""it's the story girl's doings."
uncle roger sat down on the doorstep, and gave himself over to one of the silent, inward paroxysms of laughter we all found so very aggravating.
he shook his big, blond head, shut his eyes, and murmured, "not her fault!
oh, felicity, felicity, you'll be the death of your dear uncle yet if you do n't watch out."
felicity started off indignantly, and we followed, picking up sara ray at the foot of the hill.
the carlisle church was a very old-fashioned one, with a square, ivy-hung tower.
it was shaded by tall elms, and the graveyard surrounded it completely, many of the graves being directly under its windows.
we always took the corner path through it, passing the king plot where our kindred of four generations slept in a green solitude of wavering light and shadow.
there was great-grandfather king's flat tombstone of rough island sandstone, so overgrown with ivy that we could hardly read its lengthy inscription, recording his whole history in brief, and finishing with eight lines of original verse composed by his widow.
i do not think that poetry was great-grandmother king's strong point.
when felix read it, on our first sunday in carlisle, he remarked dubiously that it looked like poetry but did n't sound like it.
there, too, slept the emily whose faithful spirit was supposed to haunt the orchard; but edith who had kissed the poet lay not with her kindred.
she had died in a far, foreign land, and the murmur of an alien sea sounded about her grave.
white marble tablets, ornamented with weeping willow trees, marked where grandfather and grandmother king were buried, and a single shaft of red scotch granite stood between the graves of aunt felicity and uncle felix.
the story girl lingered to lay a bunch of wild violets, misty blue and faintly sweet, on her mother's grave; and then she read aloud the verse on the stone."
"they were lovely and pleasant in their lives and in their death they were not divided.""
the tones of her voice brought out the poignant and immortal beauty and pathos of that wonderful old lament.
the girls wiped their eyes; and we boys felt as if we might have done so, too, had nobody been looking.
what better epitaph could any one wish than to have it said that he was lovely and pleasant in his life?
when i heard the story girl read it i made a secret compact with myself that i would try to deserve such an epitaph.
""i wish i had a family plot," said peter, rather wistfully.
""i have n't anything you fellows have.
the craigs are just buried anywhere they happen to die."
""i'd like to buried here when i die," said felix.
""but i hope it wo n't be for a good while yet," he added in a livelier tone, as we moved onward to the church.
the interior of the church was as old-fashioned as its exterior.
it was furnished with square box pews; the pulpit was a "wine-glass" one, and was reached by a steep, narrow flight of steps.
uncle alec's pew was at the top of the church, quite near the pulpit.
peter's appearance did not attract as much attention as we had fondly expected.
indeed, nobody seemed to notice him at all.
the lamps were not yet lighted and the church was filled with a soft twilight and hush.
outside, the sky was purple and gold and silvery green, with a delicate tangle of rosy cloud above the elms.
""is n't it awful nice and holy in here?"
whispered peter reverently.
""i did n't know church was like this.
it's nice."
felicity frowned at him, and the story girl touched her with her slippered foot to remind him that he must not talk in church.
peter stiffened up and sat at attention during the service.
nobody could have behaved better.
but when the sermon was over and the collection was being taken up, he made the sensation which his entrance had not produced.
elder frewen, a tall, pale man, with long, sandy side-whiskers, appeared at the door of our pew with the collection plate.
we knew elder frewen quite well and like him; he was aunt janet's cousin and often visited her.
the contrast between his week-day jollity and the unearthly solemnity of his countenance on sundays always struck us as very funny.
it seemed so to strike peter; for as peter dropped his cent into the plate he laughed aloud!
everybody looked at our pew.
i have always wondered why felicity did not die of mortification on the spot.
the story girl turned white, and cecily turned red.
as for that poor, unlucky peter, the shame of his countenance was pitiful to behold.
he never lifted his head for the remainder of the service; and he followed us down the aisle and across the graveyard like a beaten dog.
none of us uttered a word until we reached the road, lying in the white moonshine of the may night.
then felicity broke the tense silence by remarking to the story girl, "i told you so!"
the story girl made no response.
peter sidled up to her.
""i'm awful sorry," he said contritely.
""i never meant to laugh.
it just happened before i could stop myself.
it was this way --" "do n't you ever speak to me again," said the story girl, in a tone of cold concentrated fury.
""go and be a methodist, or a mohammedan, or anything!
i do n't care what you are!
you have humiliated me!"
she marched off with sara ray, and peter dropped back to us with a frightened face.
""what is it i've done to her?"
he whispered.
""what does that big word mean?"
""oh, never mind," i said crossly -- for i felt that peter had disgraced us -- "she's just mad -- and no wonder.
whatever made you act so crazy, peter?"
""well, i did n't mean to.
and i wanted to laugh twice before that and did n't.
it was the story girl's stories made me want to laugh, so i do n't think it's fair for her to be mad at me.
she had n't ought to tell me stories about people if she do n't want me to laugh when i see them.
when i looked at samuel ward i thought of him getting up in meeting one night, and praying that he might be guided in his upsetting and downrising.
i remembered the way she took him off, and i wanted to laugh.
and then i looked at the pulpit and thought of the story she told about the old scotch minister who was too fat to get in at the door of it, and had to h "ist himself by his two hands over it, and then whispered to the other minister so that everybody heard him.""
this pulpit door was made for speerits" -- and i wanted to laugh.
and then mr. frewen come -- and i thought of her story about his sidewhiskers -- how when his first wife died of information of the lungs he went courting celia ward, and celia told him she would n't marry him unless he shaved them whiskers off.
and he would n't, just to be stubborn.
and one day one of them caught fire, when he was burning brush, and burned off, and every one thought he'd have to shave the other off then.
but he did n't and just went round with one whisker till the burned one grew out.
and then celia gave in and took him, because she saw there was n't no hope of him ever giving in.
i just remembered that story, and i thought i could see him, taking up the cents so solemn, with one long whisker; and the laugh just laughed itself before i could help it."
we all exploded with laughter on the spot, much to the horror of mrs. abraham ward, who was just driving past, and who came up the next day and told aunt janet we had "acted scandalous" on the road home from church.
we felt ashamed ourselves, because we knew people should conduct themselves decently and in order on sunday farings-forth.
but, as with peter, it "had laughed itself."
even felicity laughed.
felicity was not nearly so angry with peter as might have been expected.
she even walked beside him and let him carry her bible.
they talked quite confidentially.
perhaps she forgave him the more easily, because he had justified her in her predictions, and thus afforded her a decided triumph over the story girl.
""i'm going to keep on going to church," peter told her.
""i like it.
sermons are more int "resting than i thought, and i like the singing.
i wish i could make up my mind whether to be a presbyterian or a methodist.
i s "pose i might ask the ministers about it."
""oh, no, no, do n't do that," said felicity in alarm.
""ministers would n't want to be bothered with such questions."
""why not?
what are ministers for if they ai n't to tell people how to get to heaven?"
""oh, well, it's all right for grown-ups to ask them things, of course.
but it is n't respectful for little boys -- especially hired boys."
""i do n't see why.
but anyhow, i s "pose it would n't be much use, because if he was a presbyterian minister he'd say i ought to be a presbyterian, and if he was a methodist he'd tell me to be one, too.
look here, felicity, what is the difference between them?"
""i -- i do n't know," said felicity reluctantly.
""i s "pose children ca n't understand such things.
there must be a great deal of difference, of course, if we only knew what it was.
anyhow, i am a presbyterian, and i'm glad of it."
we walked on in silence for a time, thinking our own young thoughts.
presently they were scattered by an abrupt and startling question from peter.
""what does god look like?"
he said.
it appeared that none of us had any idea.
""the story girl would prob "ly know," said cecily.
""i wish i knew," said peter gravely.
""i wish i could see a picture of god.
it would make him seem lots more real."
""i've often wondered myself what he looks like," said felicity in a burst of confidence.
even in felicity, so it would seem, there were depths of thought unplumbed.
""i've seen pictures of jesus," said felix meditatively.
""he looks just like a man, only better and kinder.
but now that i come to think of it, i've never seen a picture of god."
""well, if there is n't one in toronto it is n't likely there's one anywhere," said peter disappointedly.
""i saw a picture of the devil once," he added.
""it was in a book my aunt jane had.
she got it for a prize in school.
my aunt jane was clever."
""it could n't have been a very good book if there was such a picture in it," said felicity.
""it was a real good book.
my aunt jane would n't have a book that was n't good," retorted peter sulkily.
he refused to discuss the subject further, somewhat to our disappointment.
for we had never seen a picture of the person referred to, and we were rather curious regarding it.
""we'll ask peter to describe it sometime when he's in a better humour," whispered felix.
sara ray having turned in at her own gate, i ran ahead to join the story girl, and we walked up the hill together.
she had recovered her calmness of mind, but she made no reference to peter.
when we reached our lane and passed under grandfather king's big willow the fragrance of the orchard struck us in the face like a wave.
we could see the long rows of trees, a white gladness in the moonshine.
it seemed to us that there was in the orchard something different from other orchards that we had known.
we were too young to analyze the vague sensation.
in later years we were to understand that it was because the orchard blossomed not only apple blossoms but all the love, faith, joy, pure happiness and pure sorrow of those who had made it and walked there.
""the orchard does n't seem the same place by moonlight at all," said the story girl dreamily.
""it's lovely, but it's different.
when i was very small i used to believe the fairies danced in it on moonlight nights.
i would like to believe it now but i ca n't."
""why not?"
""oh, it's so hard to believe things you know are not true.
it was uncle edward who told me there were no such things as fairies.
i was just seven.
he is a minister, so of course i knew he spoke the truth.
it was his duty to tell me, and i do not blame him, but i have never felt quite the same to uncle edward since."
ah, do we ever "feel quite the same" towards people who destroy our illusions?
shall i ever be able to forgive the brutal creature who first told me there was no such person as santa claus?
he was a boy, three years older than myself; and he may now, for aught i know, be a most useful and respectable member of society, beloved by his kind.
but i know what he must ever seem to me!
we waited at uncle alec's door for the others to come up.
peter was by way of skulking shamefacedly past into the shadows; but the story girl's brief, bitter anger had vanished.
""wait for me, peter," she called.
she went over to him and held out her hand.
""i forgive you," she said graciously.
felix and i felt that it would really be worth while to offend her, just to be forgiven in such an adorable voice.
peter eagerly grasped her hand.
""i tell you what, story girl, i'm awfully sorry i laughed in church, but you need n't be afraid i ever will again.
no, sir!
and i'm going to church and sunday school regular, and i'll say my prayers every night.
i want to be like the rest of you.
and look here!
i've thought of the way my aunt jane used to give medicine to a cat.
you mix the powder in lard, and spread it on his paws and his sides and he'll lick it off,'cause a cat ca n't stand being messy.
if paddy is n't any better to-morrow, we'll do that."
they went away together hand in hand, children-wise, up the lane of spruces crossed with bars of moonlight.
and there was peace over all that fresh and flowery land, and peace in our little hearts.
chapter vi.
the mystery of golden milestone paddy was smeared with medicated lard the next day, all of us assisting at the rite, although the story girl was high priestess.
then, out of regard for mats and cushions, he was kept in durance vile in the granary until he had licked his fur clean.
this treatment being repeated every day for a week, pat recovered his usual health and spirits, and our minds were set at rest to enjoy the next excitement -- collecting for a school library fund.
our teacher thought it would be an excellent thing to have a library in connection with the school; and he suggested that each of the pupils should try to see how much money he or she could raise for the project during the month of june.
we might earn it by honest toil, or gather it in by contributions levied on our friends.
the result was a determined rivalry as to which pupil should collect the largest sum; and this rivalry was especially intense in our home coterie.
our relatives started us with a quarter apiece.
for the rest, we knew we must depend on our own exertions.
peter was handicapped at the beginning by the fact that he had no family friend to finance him.
""if my aunt jane'd been living she'd have given me something," he remarked.
""and if my father had n't run away he might have given me something too.
but i'm going to do the best i can anyhow.
your aunt olivia says i can have the job of gathering the eggs, and i'm to have one egg out of every dozen to sell for myself."
felicity made a similar bargain with her mother.
the story girl and cecily were each to be paid ten cents a week for washing dishes in their respective homes.
felix and dan contracted to keep the gardens free from weeds.
i caught brook trout in the westering valley of spruces and sold them for a cent apiece.
sara ray was the only unhappy one among us.
she could do nothing.
she had no relatives in carlisle except her mother, and her mother did not approve of the school library project, and would not give sara a cent, or put her in any way of earning one.
to sara, this was humiliation indescribable.
she felt herself an outcast and an alien to our busy little circle, where each member counted every day, with miserly delight, his slowly increasing hoard of small cash.
""i'm just going to pray to god to send me some money," she announced desperately at last.
""i do n't believe that will do any good," said dan.
""he gives lots of things, but he does n't give money, because people can earn that for themselves."
""i ca n't," said sara, with passionate defiance.
""i think he ought to take that into account."
""do n't worry, dear," said cecily, who always poured balm.
""if you ca n't collect any money everybody will know it is n't your fault."
""i wo n't ever feel like reading a single book in the library if i ca n't give something to it," mourned sara.
dan and the girls and i were sitting in a row on aunt olivia's garden fence, watching felix weed.
felix worked well, although he did not like weeding -- "fat boys never do," felicity informed him.
felix pretended not to hear her, but i knew he did, because his ears grew red.
felix's face never blushed, but his ears always gave him away.
as for felicity, she did not say things like that out of malice prepense.
it never occurred to her that felix did not like to be called fat.
""i always feel so sorry for the poor weeds," said the story girl dreamily.
""it must be very hard to be rooted up."
""they should n't grow in the wrong place," said felicity mercilessly.
""when weeds go to heaven i suppose they will be flowers," continued the story girl.
""you do think such queer things," said felicity.
""a rich man in toronto has a floral clock in his garden," i said.
""it looks just like the face of a clock, and there are flowers in it that open at every hour, so that you can always tell the time."
""oh, i wish we had one here," exclaimed cecily.
""what would be the use of it?"
asked the story girl a little disdainfully.
""nobody ever wants to know the time in a garden."
i slipped away at this point, suddenly remembering that it was time to take a dose of magic seed.
i had bought it from billy robinson three days before in school.
billy had assured me that it would make me grow fast.
i was beginning to feel secretly worried because i did not grow.
i had overheard aunt janet say i was going to be short, like uncle alec.
now, i loved uncle alec, but i wanted to be taller than he was.
so when billy confided to me, under solemn promise of secrecy, that he had some "magic seed," which would make boys grow, and would sell me a box of it for ten cents, i jumped at the offer.
billy was taller than any boy of his age in carlisle, and he assured me it all came from taking magic seed.
""i was a regular runt before i begun," he said, "and look at me now.
i got it from peg bowen.
she's a witch, you know.
i would n't go near her again for a bushel of magic seed.
it was an awful experience.
i have n't much left, but i guess i've enough to do me till i'm as tall as i want to be.
you must take a pinch of the seed every three hours, walking backward, and you must never tell a soul you're taking it, or it wo n't work.
i would n't spare any of it to any one but you."
i felt deeply grateful to billy, and sorry that i had not liked him better.
somehow, nobody did like billy robinson over and above.
but i vowed i would like him in future.
i paid him the ten cents cheerfully and took the magic seed as directed, measuring myself carefully every day by a mark on the hall door.
i could not see any advance in growth yet, but then i had been taking it only three days.
one day the story girl had an inspiration.
""let us go and ask the awkward man and mr. campbell for a contribution to the library fund," she said.
""i am sure no one else has asked them, because nobody in carlisle is related to them.
let us all go, and if they give us anything we'll divide it equally among us."
it was a daring proposition, for both mr. campbell and the awkward man were regarded as eccentric personages; and mr. campbell was supposed to detest children.
but where the story girl led we would follow to the death.
the next day being saturday, we started out in the afternoon.
we took a short cut to golden milestone, over a long, green, dewy land full of placid meadows, where sunshine had fallen asleep.
at first all was not harmonious.
felicity was in an ill humour; she had wanted to wear her second best dress, but aunt janet had decreed that her school clothes were good enough to go "traipsing about in the dust."
then the story girl arrived, arrayed not in any second best but in her very best dress and hat, which her father had sent her from paris -- a dress of soft, crimson silk, and a white leghorn hat encircled by flame-red poppies.
neither felicity nor cecily could have worn it; but it became the story girl perfectly.
in it she was a thing of fire and laughter and glow, as if the singular charm of her temperament were visible and tangible in its vivid colouring and silken texture.
""i should n't think you'd put on your best clothes to go begging for the library in," said felicity cuttingly.
""aunt olivia says that when you are going to have an important interview with a man you ought to look your very best," said the story girl, giving her skirt a lustrous swirl and enjoying the effect.
""aunt olivia spoils you," said felicity.
""she does n't either, felicity king!
aunt olivia is just sweet.
she kisses me good-night every night, and your mother never kisses you."
""my mother does n't make kisses so common," retorted felicity.
""but she gives us pie for dinner every day."
""so does aunt olivia."
""yes, but look at the difference in the size of the pieces!
and aunt olivia only gives you skim milk.
my mother gives us cream."
""aunt olivia's skim milk is as good as your mother's cream," cried the story girl hotly.
""oh, girls, do n't fight," said cecily, the peacemaker.
""it's such a nice day, and we'll have a nice time if you do n't spoil it by fighting."
""we're not fighting," said felicity.
""and i like aunt olivia.
but my mother is just as good as aunt olivia, there now!"
""of course she is.
aunt janet is splendid," agreed the story girl.
they smiled at each other amicably.
felicity and the story girl were really quite fond of each other, under the queer surface friction that commonly resulted from their intercourse.
""you said once you knew a story about the awkward man," said felix.
""you might tell it to us."
""all right," agreed the story girl.
""the only trouble is, i do n't know the whole story.
but i'll tell you all i do know.
i call it "the mystery of the golden milestone.""
""oh, i do n't believe that story is true," said felicity.
""i believe mrs. griggs was just romancing.
she does romance, mother says."
""yes; but i do n't believe she could ever have thought of such a thing as this herself, so i believe it must be true," said the story girl.
""anyway, this is the story, boys.
you know the awkward man has lived alone ever since his mother died, ten years ago.
abel griggs is his hired man, and he and his wife live in a little house down the awkward man's lane.
mrs. griggs makes his bread for him, and she cleans up his house now and then.
she says he keeps it very neat.
but till last fall there was one room she never saw.
it was always locked -- the west one, looking out over his garden.
one day last fall the awkward man went to summerside, and mrs. griggs scrubbed his kitchen.
then she went over the whole house and she tried the door of the west room.
mrs. griggs is a very curious woman.
uncle roger says all women have as much curiosity as is good for them, but mrs. griggs has more.
she expected to find the door locked as usual.
it was not locked.
she opened it and went in.
what do you suppose she found?"
""something like -- like bluebeard's chamber?"
suggested felix in a scared tone.
""oh, no, no!
nothing like that could happen in prince edward island.
but if there had been beautiful wives hanging up by their hair all round the walls i do n't believe mrs. griggs could have been much more astonished.
the room had never been furnished in his mother's time, but now it was elegantly furnished, though mrs. griggs says she does n't know when or how that furniture was brought there.
she says she never saw a room like it in a country farmhouse.
it was like a bed-room and sitting-room combined.
the floor was covered with a carpet like green velvet.
there were fine lace curtains at the windows and beautiful pictures on the walls.
there was a little white bed, and a dressing-table, a bookcase full of books, a stand with a work basket on it, and a rocking-chair.
there was a woman's picture above the bookcase.
mrs. griggs says she thinks it was a coloured photograph, but she did n't know who it was.
anyway, it was a very pretty girl.
but the most amazing thing of all was that a woman's dress was hanging over a chair by the table.
mrs. griggs says it never belonged to jasper dale's mother, for she thought it a sin to wear anything but print and drugget; and this dress was of pale blue silk.
besides that, there was a pair of blue satin slippers on the floor beside it -- high-heeled slippers.
and on the fly-leaves of the books the name "alice" was written.
now, there never was an alice in the dale connection and nobody ever heard of the awkward man having a sweetheart.
there, is n't that a lovely mystery?"
""it's a pretty queer yarn," said felix.
""i wonder if it is true -- and what it means."
""i intend to find out what it means," said the story girl.
""i am going to get acquainted with the awkward man sometime, and then i'll find out his alice-secret."
""i do n't see how you'll ever get acquainted with him," said felicity.
""he never goes anywhere except to church.
he just stays home and reads books when he is n't working.
mother says he is a perfect hermit."
""i'll manage it somehow," said the story girl -- and we had no doubt that she would.
""but i must wait until i'm a little older, for he would n't tell the secret of the west room to a little girl.
and i must n't wait till i'm too old, for he is frightened of grown-up girls, because he thinks they laugh at his awkwardness.
i know i will like him.
he has such a nice face, even if he is awkward.
he looks like a man you could tell things to."
""well, i'd like a man who could move around without falling over his own feet," said felicity.
""and then the look of him!
uncle roger says he is long, lank, lean, narrow, and contracted."
""things always sound worse than they are when uncle roger says them," said the story girl.
""uncle edward says jasper dale is a very clever man and it's a great pity he was n't able to finish his college course.
he went to college two years, you know.
then his father died, and he stayed home with his mother because she was very delicate.
i call him a hero.
i wonder if it is true that he writes poetry.
mrs. griggs says it is.
she says she has seen him writing it in a brown book.
she said she could n't get near enough to read it, but she knew it was poetry by the shape of it."
""very likely.
if that blue silk dress story is true, i'd believe anything of him," said felicity.
we were near golden milestone now.
the house was a big, weather-gray structure, overgrown with vines and climbing roses.
something about the three square windows in the second story gave it an appearance of winking at us in a friendly fashion through its vines -- at least, so the story girl said; and, indeed, we could see it for ourselves after she had once pointed it out to us.
we did not get into the house, however.
we met the awkward man in his yard, and he gave us a quarter apiece for our library.
he did not seem awkward or shy; but then we were only children, and his foot was on his native heath.
he was a tall, slender man, who did not look his forty years, so unwrinkled was his high, white forehead, so clear and lustrous his large, dark-blue eyes, so free from silver threads his rather long black hair.
he had large hands and feet, and walked with a slight stoop.
i am afraid we stared at him rather rudely while the story girl talked to him.
but was not an awkward man, who was also a hermit and kept blue silk dresses in a locked room, and possibly wrote poetry, a legitimate object of curiosity?
i leave it to you.
when we got away we compared notes, and found that we all liked him -- and this, although he had said little and had appeared somewhat glad to get rid of us.
""he gave us the money like a gentleman," said the story girl.
""i felt he did n't grudge it.
and now for mr. campbell.
it was on his account i put on my red silk.
i do n't suppose the awkward man noticed it at all, but mr. campbell will, or i'm much mistaken."
chapter vii.
how betty sherman won a husband the rest of us did not share the story girl's enthusiasm regarding our call on mr. campbell.
we secretly dreaded it.
if, as was said, he detested children, who knew what sort of a reception we might meet?
mr. campbell was a rich, retired farmer, who took life easily.
he had visited new york and boston, toronto and montreal; he had even been as far as the pacific coast.
therefore he was regarded in carlisle as a much travelled man; and he was known to be "well read" and intelligent.
but it was also known that mr. campbell was not always in a good humour.
if he liked you there was nothing he would not do for you; if he disliked you -- well, you were not left in ignorance of it.
in short, we had the impression that mr. campbell resembled the famous little girl with the curl in the middle of her forehead.
""when he was good, he was very, very good, and when he was bad he was horrid."
what if this were one of his horrid days?
""he ca n't do anything to us, you know," said the story girl.
""he may be rude, but that wo n't hurt any one but himself."
""hard words break no bones," observed felicity philosophically.
""but they hurt your feelings.
i am afraid of mr. campbell," said cecily candidly.
""perhaps we'd better give up and go home," suggested dan.
""you can go home if you like," said the story girl scornfully.
""but i am going to see mr. campbell.
i know i can manage him.
but if i have to go alone, and he gives me anything, i'll keep it all for my own collection, mind you."
that settled it.
we were not going to let the story girl get ahead of us in the manner of collecting.
mr. campbell's housekeeper ushered us into his parlour and left us.
presently mr. campbell himself was standing in the doorway, looking us over.
we took heart of grace.
it seemed to be one of his good days, for there was a quizzical smile on his broad, clean-shaven, strongly-featured face.
mr. campbell was a tall man, with a massive head, well thatched with thick, black hair, gray-streaked.
he had big, black eyes, with many wrinkles around them, and a thin, firm, long-lipped mouth.
we thought him handsome, for an old man.
his gaze wandered over us with uncomplimentary indifference until it fell on the story girl, leaning back in an arm-chair.
she looked like a slender red lily in the unstudied grace of her attitude.
a spark flashed into mr. campbell's black eyes.
""is this a sunday school deputation?"
he inquired rather ironically.
""no.
we have come to ask a favour of you," said the story girl.
the magic of her voice worked its will on mr. campbell, as on all others.
he came in, sat down, hooked his thumb into his vest pocket, and smiled at her.
""what is it?"
he asked.
""we are collecting for our school library, and we have called to ask you for a contribution," she replied.
""why should i contribute to your school library?"
demanded mr. campbell.
this was a poser for us.
why should he, indeed?
but the story girl was quite equal to it.
leaning forward, and throwing an indescribable witchery into tone and eyes and smile, she said, "because a lady asks you."
mr. campbell chuckled.
""the best of all reasons," he said.
""but see here, my dear young lady, i'm an old miser and curmudgeon, as you may have heard.
i hate to part with my money, even for a good reason.
and i never part with any of it, unless i am to receive some benefit from the expenditure.
now, what earthly good could i get from your three by six school library?
none whatever.
but i shall make you a fair offer.
i have heard from my housekeeper's urchin of a son that you are a "master hand" to tell stories.
tell me one, here and now.
i shall pay you in proportion to the entertainment you afford me.
come now, and do your prettiest."
there was a fine mockery in his tone that put the story girl on her mettle instantly.
she sprang to her feet, an amazing change coming over her.
her eyes flashed and burned; crimson spots glowed in her cheeks.
""i shall tell you the story of the sherman girls, and how betty sherman won a husband," she said.
we gasped.
was the story girl crazy?
or had she forgotten that betty sherman was mr. campbell's own great-grandmother, and that her method of winning a husband was not exactly in accordance with maidenly traditions.
but mr. campbell chuckled again.
""an excellent test," he said.
""if you can amuse me with that story you must be a wonder.
i've heard it so often that it has no more interest for me than the alphabet."
""one cold winter day, eighty years ago," began the story girl without further parley, "donald fraser was sitting by the window of his new house, playing his fiddle for company, and looking out over the white, frozen bay before his door.
it was bitter, bitter cold, and a storm was brewing.
but, storm, or no storm, donald meant to go over the bay that evening to see nancy sherman.
he was thinking of her as he played "annie laurie," for nancy was more beautiful than the lady of the song.
"her face, it is the fairest that e'er the sun shone on," hummed donald -- and oh, he thought so, too!
he did not know whether nancy cared for him or not.
he had many rivals.
but he knew that if she would not come to be the mistress of his new house no one else ever should.
so he sat there that afternoon and dreamed of her, as he played sweet old songs and rollicking jigs on his fiddle.
""while he was playing a sleigh drove up to the door, and neil campbell came in.
donald was not overly glad to see him, for he suspected where he was going.
neil campbell, who was highland scotch and lived down at berwick, was courting nancy sherman, too; and, what was far worse, nancy's father favoured him, because he was a richer man than donald fraser.
but donald was not going to show all he thought -- scotch people never do -- and he pretended to be very glad to see neil and made him heartily welcome.
""neil sat down by the roaring fire, looking quite well satisfied with himself.
it was ten miles from berwick to the bay shore, and a call at a half way house was just the thing.
then donald brought out the whisky.
they always did that eighty years ago, you know.
if you were a woman, you could give your visitors a dish of tea; but if you were a man and did not offer them a "taste" of whisky, you were thought either very mean or very ignorant."
"you look cold," said donald, in his great, hearty voice.
"sit nearer the fire, man, and put a bit of warmth in your veins.
it's bitter cold the day.
and now tell me the berwick news.
has jean mclean made up with her man yet?
and is it true that sandy mcquarrie is to marry kate ferguson?
"twill be a match now!
sure, with her red hair, sandy will not be like to lose his bride past finding."
""neil had plenty of news to tell.
and the more whisky he drank the more he told.
he did n't notice that donald was not taking much.
neil talked on and on, and of course he soon began to tell things it would have been much wiser not to tell.
finally he told donald that he was going over the bay to ask nancy sherman that very night to marry him.
and if she would have him, then donald and all the folks should see a wedding that was a wedding.
""oh, was n't donald taken aback!
this was more than he had expected.
neil had n't been courting nancy very long, and donald never dreamed he would propose to her quite so soon.
""at first donald did n't know what to do.
he felt sure deep down in his heart, that nancy liked him.
she was very shy and modest, but you know a girl can let a man see she likes him without going out of her way.
but donald knew that if neil proposed first he would have the best chance.
neil was rich and the shermans were poor, and old elias sherman would have the most to say in the matter.
if he told nancy she must take neil campbell she would never dream of disobeying him.
old elias sherman was a man who had to be obeyed.
but if nancy had only promised some one else first her father would not make her break her word.
""was n't it a hard plight for poor donald?
but he was a scotchman, you know, and it's pretty hard to stick a scotchman long.
presently a twinkle came into his eyes, for he remembered that all was fair in love and war.
so he said to neil, oh, so persuasively," "have some more, man, have some more.
"twill keep the heart in you in the teeth of that wind.
help yourself.
there's plenty more where that came from."
""neil did n't want much persuasion.
he took some more, and said slyly," "is it going over the bay the night that yourself will be doing?"
""donald shook his head.""
i had thought of it," he owned, "but it looks a wee like a storm, and my sleigh is at the blacksmith's to be shod.
if i went it must be on black dan's back, and he likes a canter over the ice in a snow-storm as little as i. his own fireside is the best place for a man to-night, campbell.
have another taste, man, have another taste."
""neil went on "tasting," and that sly donald sat there with a sober face, but laughing eyes, and coaxed him on.
at last neil's head fell forward on his breast, and he was sound asleep.
donald got up, put on his overcoat and cap, and went to the door."
"may your sleep be long and sweet, man," he said, laughing softly, "and as for the waking, "twill be betwixt you and me."
""with that he untied neil's horse, climbed into neil's sleigh, and tucked neil's buffalo robe about him."
"now, bess, old girl, do your bonniest," he said.
"there's more than you know hangs on your speed.
if the campbell wakes too soon black dan could show you a pair of clean heels for all your good start.
on, my girl."
""brown bess went over the ice like a deer, and donald kept thinking of what he should say to nancy -- and more still of what she would say to him.
suppose he was mistaken.
suppose she said "no!""
"neil would have the laugh on me then.
sure he's sleeping well.
and the snow is coming soon.
there'll be a bonny swirl on the bay ere long.
i hope no harm will come to the lad if he starts to cross.
when he wakes he'll be in such a fine highland temper that he'll never stop to think of danger.
well, bess, old girl, here we are.
now, donald fraser, pluck up heart and play the man.
never flinch because a slip of a lass looks scornful at you out of the bonniest dark-blue eyes on earth."
""but in spite of his bold words donald's heart was thumping as he drove into the sherman yard.
nancy was there milking a cow by the stable door, but she stood up when she saw donald coming.
oh, she was very beautiful!
her hair was like a skein of golden silk, and her eyes were as blue as the gulf water when the sun breaks out after a storm.
donald felt more nervous than ever.
but he knew he must make the most of his chance.
he might not see nancy alone again before neil came.
he caught her hand and stammered out," "nan, lass, i love you.
you may think't is a hasty wooing, but that's a story i can tell you later maybe.
i know well i'm not worthy of you, but if true love could make a man worthy there'd be none before me.
will you have me, nan?"
""nancy did n't say she would have him.
she just looked it, and donald kissed her right there in the snow.
""the next morning the storm was over.
donald knew neil must be soon on his track.
he did not want to make the sherman house the scene of a quarrel, so he resolved to get away before the campbell came.
he persuaded nancy to go with him to visit some friends in another settlement.
as he brought neil's sleigh up to the door he saw a black speck far out on the bay and laughed."
"black dan goes well, but he'll not be quick enough," he said.
""half an hour later neil campbell rushed into the sherman kitchen and oh, how angry he was!
there was nobody there but betty sherman, and betty was not afraid of him.
she was never afraid of anybody.
she was very handsome, with hair as brown as october nuts and black eyes and crimson cheeks; and she had always been in love with neil campbell herself."
"good morning, mr. campbell," she said, with a toss of her head.
"it's early abroad you are.
and on black dan, no less!
was i mistaken in thinking that donald fraser said once that his favourite horse should never be backed by any man but him?
but doubtless a fair exchange is no robbery, and brown bess is a good mare in her way.""
"where is donald fraser?"
said neil, shaking his fist.
"it's him i'm seeking, and it's him i will be finding.
where is he, betty sherman?""
"donald fraser is far enough away by this time," mocked betty.
"he is a prudent fellow, and has some quickness of wit under that sandy thatch of his.
he came here last night at sunset, with a horse and sleigh not his own, or lately gotten, and he asked nan in the stable yard to marry him.
did a man ask me to marry him at the cow's side with a milking pail in my hand, it's a cold answer he'd get for his pains.
but nan thought differently, and they sat late together last night, and't was a bonny story nan wakened me to hear when she came to bed -- the story of a braw lover who let his secret out when the whisky was above the wit, and then fell asleep while his rival was away to woo and win his lass.
did you ever hear a like story, mr. campbell?""
"oh, yes," said neil fiercely.
"it is laughing at me over the country side and telling that story that donald fraser will be doing, is it?
but when i meet him it is not laughing he will be doing.
oh, no.
there will be another story to tell!""
"now, do n't meddle with the man," cried betty.
"what a state to be in because one good-looking lass likes sandy hair and gray eyes better than highland black and blue!
you have not the spirit of a wren, neil campbell.
were i you, i would show donald fraser that i could woo and win a lass as speedily as any lowlander of them all; that i would!
there's many a girl would gladly say "yes" for your asking.
and here stands one!
why not marry me, neil campbell?
folks say i'm as bonny as nan -- and i could love you as well as nan loves her donald -- ay, and ten times better!"
""what do you suppose the campbell did?
why, just the thing he ought to have done.
he took betty at her word on the spot; and there was a double wedding soon after.
and it is said that neil and betty were the happiest couple in the world -- happier even than donald and nancy.
so all was well because it ended well!"
the story girl curtsied until her silken skirts swept the floor.
then she flung herself in her chair and looked at mr. campbell, flushed, triumphant, daring.
the story was old to us.
it had once been published in a charlottetown paper, and we had read in aunt olivia's scrapbook, where the story girl had learned it.
but we had listened entranced.
i have written down the bare words of the story, as she told it; but i can never reproduce the charm and colour and spirit she infused into it.
it lived for us.
donald and neil, nancy and betty, were there in that room with us.
we saw the flashes of expression on their faces, we heard their voices, angry or tender, mocking or merry, in lowland and highland accent.
we realized all the mingled coquetry and feeling and defiance and archness in betty sherman's daring speech.
we had even forgotten all about mr. campbell.
that gentleman, in silence, took out his wallet, extracted a note therefrom, and handed it gravely to the story girl.
""there are five dollars for you," he said, "and your story was well worth it.
you are a wonder.
some day you will make the world realize it.
i've been about a bit, and heard some good things, but i've never enjoyed anything more than that threadbare old story i heard in my cradle.
and now, will you do me a favour?"
""of course," said the delighted story girl.
""recite the multiplication table for me," said mr. campbell.
we stared.
well might mr. campbell be called eccentric.
what on earth did he want the multiplication table recited for?
even the story girl was surprised.
but she began promptly, with twice one and went through it to twelve times twelve.
she repeated it simply, but her voice changed from one tone to another as each in succession grew tired.
we had never dreamed that there was so much in the multiplication table.
as she announced it, the fact that three times three was nine was exquisitely ridiculous, five times six almost brought tears to our eyes, eight times seven was the most tragic and frightful thing ever heard of, and twelve times twelve rang like a trumpet call to victory.
mr. campbell nodded his satisfaction.
""i thought you could do it," he said.
""the other day i found this statement in a book.
"her voice would have made the multiplication table charming!"
i thought of it when i heard yours.
i did n't believe it before, but i do now."
then he let us go.
""you see," said the story girl as we went home, "you need never be afraid of people."
""but we are not all story girls," said cecily.
that night we heard felicity talking to cecily in their room.
""mr. campbell never noticed one of us except the story girl," she said, "but if i had put on my best dress as she did maybe she would n't have taken all the attention."
""could you ever do what betty sherman did, do you suppose?"
asked cecily absently.
""no; but i believe the story girl could," answered felicity rather snappishly.
chapter viii.
a tragedy of childhood the story girl went to charlottetown for a week in june to visit aunt louisa.
life seemed very colourless without her, and even felicity admitted that it was lonesome.
but three days after her departure felix told us something on the way home from school which lent some spice to existence immediately.
""what do you think?"
he said in a very solemn, yet excited, tone.
""jerry cowan told me at recess this afternoon that he had seen a picture of god -- that he has it at home in an old, red-covered history of the world, and has looked at it often."
to think that jerry cowan should have seen such a picture often!
we were as deeply impressed as felix had meant us to be.
""did he say what it was like?"
asked peter.
""no -- only that it was a picture of god, walking in the garden of eden."
""oh," whispered felicity -- we all spoke in low tones on the subject, for, by instinct and training, we thought and uttered the great name with reverence, in spite of our devouring curiosity -- "oh, would jerry cowan bring it to school and let us see it?"
""i asked him that, soon as ever he told me," said felix.
""he said he might, but he could n't promise, for he'd have to ask his mother if he could bring the book to school.
if she'll let him he'll bring it to-morrow."
""oh, i'll be almost afraid to look at it," said sara ray tremulously.
i think we all shared her fear to some extent.
nevertheless, we went to school the next day burning with curiosity.
and we were disappointed.
possibly night had brought counsel to jerry cowan; or perhaps his mother had put him up to it.
at all events, he announced to us that he could n't bring the red-covered history to school, but if we wanted to buy the picture outright he would tear it out of the book and sell it to us for fifty cents.
we talked the matter over in serious conclave in the orchard that evening.
we were all rather short of hard cash, having devoted most of our spare means to the school library fund.
but the general consensus of opinion was that we must have the picture, no matter what pecuniary sacrifices were involved.
if we could each give about seven cents we would have the amount.
peter could only give four, but dan gave eleven, which squared matters.
""fifty cents would be pretty dear for any other picture, but of course this is different," said dan.
""and there's a picture of eden thrown in, too, you know," added felicity.
""fancy selling god's picture," said cecily in a shocked, awed tone.
""nobody but a cowan would do it, and that's a fact," said dan.
""when we get it we'll keep it in the family bible," said felicity.
""that's the only proper place."
""oh, i wonder what it will be like," breathed cecily.
we all wondered.
next day in school we agreed to jerry cowan's terms, and jerry promised to bring the picture up to uncle alec's the following afternoon.
we were all intensely excited saturday morning.
to our dismay, it began to rain just before dinner.
""what if jerry does n't bring the picture to-day because of the rain?"
i suggested.
""never you fear," answered felicity decidedly.
""a cowan would come through anything for fifty cents."
after dinner we all, without any verbal decision about it, washed our faces and combed our hair.
the girls put on their second best dresses, and we boys donned white collars.
we all had the unuttered feeling that we must do such honour to that picture as we could.
felicity and dan began a small spat over something, but stopped at once when cecily said severely, "how dare you quarrel when you are going to look at a picture of god to-day?"
owing to the rain we could not foregather in the orchard, where we had meant to transact the business with jerry.
we did not wish our grown-ups around at our great moment, so we betook ourselves to the loft of the granary in the spruce wood, from whose window we could see the main road and hail jerry.
sara ray had joined us, very pale and nervous, having had, so it appeared, a difference of opinion with her mother about coming up the hill in the rain.
""i'm afraid i did very wrong to come against ma's will," she said miserably, "but i could n't wait.
i wanted to see the picture as soon as you did."
we waited and watched at the window.
the valley was full of mist, and the rain was coming down in slanting lines over the tops of the spruces.
but as we waited the clouds broke away and the sun came out flashingly; the drops on the spruce boughs glittered like diamonds.
""i do n't believe jerry can be coming," said cecily in despair.
""i suppose his mother must have thought it was dreadful, after all, to sell such a picture."
""there he is now!"
cried dan, waving excitedly from the window.
""he's carrying a fish-basket," said felicity.
""you surely do n't suppose he would bring that picture in a fish-basket!"
jerry had brought it in a fish-basket, as appeared when he mounted the granary stairs shortly afterwards.
it was folded up in a newspaper packet on top of the dried herring with which the basket was filled.
we paid him his money, but we would not open the packet until he had gone.
""cecily," said felicity in a hushed tone.
""you are the best of us all.
you open the parcel."
""oh, i'm no gooder than the rest of you," breathed cecily, "but i'll open it if you like."
with trembling fingers cecily opened the parcel.
we stood around, hardly breathing.
she unfolded it and held it up.
we saw it.
suddenly sara began to cry.
""oh, oh, oh, does god look like that?"
she wailed.
felix and i spoke not.
disappointment, and something worse, sealed our speech.
did god look like that -- like that stern, angrily frowning old man with the tossing hair and beard of the wood-cut cecily held.
""i suppose he must, since that is his picture," said dan miserably.
""he looks awful cross," said peter simply.
""oh, i wish we'd never, never seen it," cried cecily.
we all wished that -- too late.
our curiosity had led us into some holy of holies, not to be profaned by human eyes, and this was our punishment.
""i've always had a feeling right along," wept sara, "that it was n't right to buy -- or look at -- god's picture."
as we stood there wretchedly we heard flying feet below and a blithe voice calling, "where are you, children?"
the story girl had returned!
at any other moment we would have rushed to meet her in wild joy.
but now we were too crushed and miserable to move.
""whatever is the matter with you all?"
demanded the story girl, appearing at the top of the stairs.
""what is sara crying about?
what have you got there?"
""a picture of god," said cecily with a sob in her voice, "and oh, it is so dreadful and ugly.
look!"
the story girl looked.
an expression of scorn came over her face.
""surely you do n't believe god looks like that," she said impatiently, while her fine eyes flashed.
""he does n't -- he could n't.
he is wonderful and beautiful.
i'm surprised at you.
that is nothing but the picture of a cross old man."
hope sprang up in our hearts, although we were not wholly convinced.
""i do n't know," said dan dubiously.
""it says under the picture "god in the garden of eden."
it's printed."
""well, i suppose that's what the man who drew it thought god was like," answered the story girl carelessly.
""but he could n't have known any more than you do.
he had never seen him."
""it's all very well for you to say so," said felicity, "but you do n't know either.
i wish i could believe that is n't like god -- but i do n't know what to believe."
""well, if you wo n't believe me, i suppose you'll believe the minister," said the story girl.
""go and ask him.
he's in the house this very minute.
he came up with us in the buggy."
at any other time we would never have dared catechize the minister about anything.
but desperate cases call for desperate measures.
we drew straws to see who should go and do the asking, and the lot fell to felix.
""better wait until mr. marwood leaves, and catch him in the lane," advised the story girl.
""you'll have a lot of grown-ups around you in the house."
felix took her advice.
mr. marwood, presently walking benignantly along the lane, was confronted by a fat, small boy with a pale face but resolute eyes.
the rest of us remained in the background but within hearing.
""well, felix, what is it?"
asked mr. marwood kindly.
""please, sir, does god really look like this?"
asked felix, holding out the picture.
""we hope he does n't -- but we want to know the truth, and that is why i'm bothering you.
please excuse us and tell me."
the minister looked at the picture.
a stern expression came into his gentle blue eyes and he got as near to frowning as it was possible for him to get.
""where did you get that thing?"
he asked.
thing!
we began to breathe easier.
""we bought it from jerry cowan.
he found it in a red-covered history of the world.
it says it's god's picture," said felix.
""it is nothing of the sort," said mr. marwood indignantly.
""there is no such thing as a picture of god, felix.
no human being knows what he looks like -- no human being can know.
we should not even try to think what he looks like.
but, felix, you may be sure that god is infinitely more beautiful and loving and tender and kind than anything we can imagine of him.
never believe anything else, my boy.
as for this -- this sacrilege -- take it and burn it."
we did not know what a sacrilege meant, but we knew that mr. marwood had declared that the picture was not like god.
that was enough for us.
we felt as if a terrible weight had been lifted from our minds.
""i could hardly believe the story girl, but of course the minister knows," said dan happily.
""we've lost fifty cents because of it," said felicity gloomily.
we had lost something of infinitely more value than fifty cents, although we did not realize it just then.
the minister's words had removed from our minds the bitter belief that god was like that picture; but on something deeper and more enduring than mind an impression had been made that was never to be removed.
the mischief was done.
from that day to this the thought or the mention of god brings up before us involuntarily the vision of a stern, angry, old man.
such was the price we were to pay for the indulgence of a curiosity which each of us, deep in our hearts, had, like sara ray, felt ought not to be gratified.
""mr. marwood told me to burn it," said felix.
""it does n't seem reverent to do that," said cecily.
""even if it is n't god's picture, it has his name on it."
""bury it," said the story girl.
we did bury it after tea, in the depths of the spruce grove; and then we went into the orchard.
it was so nice to have the story girl back again.
she had wreathed her hair with canterbury bells, and looked like the incarnation of rhyme and story and dream.
""canterbury bells is a lovely name for a flower, is n't it?"
she said.
""it makes you think of cathedrals and chimes, does n't it?
let's go over to uncle stephen's walk, and sit on the branches of the big tree.
it's too wet on the grass, and i know a story -- a true story, about an old lady i saw in town at aunt louisa's.
such a dear old lady, with lovely silvery curls."
after the rain the air seemed dripping with odours in the warm west wind -- the tang of fir balsam, the spice of mint, the wild woodsiness of ferns, the aroma of grasses steeping in the sunshine, -- and with it all a breath of wild sweetness from far hill pastures.
scattered through the grass in uncle stephen's walk, were blossoming pale, aerial flowers which had no name that we could ever discover.
nobody seemed to know anything about them.
they had been there when great-grandfather king bought the place.
i have never seen them elsewhere, or found them described in any floral catalogue.
we called them the white ladies.
the story girl gave them the name.
she said they looked like the souls of good women who had had to suffer much and had been very patient.
they were wonderfully dainty, with a strange, faint, aromatic perfume which was only to be detected at a little distance and vanished if you bent over them.
they faded soon after they were plucked; and, although strangers, greatly admiring them, often carried away roots and seeds, they could never be coaxed to grow elsewhere.
""my story is about mrs. dunbar and the captain of the fanny," said the story girl, settling herself comfortably on a bough, with her brown head against a gnarled trunk.
""it's sad and beautiful -- and true.
i do love to tell stories that i know really happened.
mrs. dunbar lives next door to aunt louisa in town.
she is so sweet.
you would n't think to look at her that she had a tragedy in her life, but she has.
aunt louisa told me the tale.
it all happened long, long ago.
interesting things like this all did happen long ago, it seems to me.
they never seem to happen now.
this was in" 49, when people were rushing to the gold fields in california.
it was just like a fever, aunt louisa says.
people took it, right here on the island; and a number of young men determined they would go to california.
""it is easy to go to california now; but it was a very different matter then.
there were no railroads across the land, as there are now, and if you wanted to go to california you had to go in a sailing vessel, all the way around cape horn.
it was a long and dangerous journey; and sometimes it took over six months.
when you got there you had no way of sending word home again except by the same plan.
it might be over a year before your people at home heard a word about you -- and fancy what their feelings would be!
""but these young men did n't think of these things; they were led on by a golden vision.
they made all their arrangements, and they chartered the brig fanny to take them to california.
""the captain of the fanny is the hero of my story.
his name was alan dunbar, and he was young and handsome.
heroes always are, you know, but aunt louisa says he really was.
and he was in love -- wildly in love, -- with margaret grant.
margaret was as beautiful as a dream, with soft blue eyes and clouds of golden hair; and she loved alan dunbar just as much as he loved her.
but her parents were bitterly opposed to him, and they had forbidden margaret to see him or speak to him.
they had n't anything against him as a man, but they did n't want her to throw herself away on a sailor.
""well, when alan dunbar knew that he must go to california in the fanny he was in despair.
he felt that he could never go so far away for so long and leave his margaret behind.
and margaret felt that she could never let him go.
i know exactly how she felt."
""how can you know?"
interrupted peter suddenly.
""you ai n't old enough to have a beau.
how can you know?"
the story girl looked at peter with a frown.
she did not like to be interrupted when telling a story.
""those are not things one knows about," she said with dignity.
""one feels about them."
peter, crushed but not convinced, subsided, and the story girl went on.
""finally, margaret ran away with alan, and they were married in charlottetown.
alan intended to take his wife with him to california in the fanny.
if it was a hard journey for a man it was harder still for a woman, but margaret would have dared anything for alan's sake.
they had three days -- only three days -- of happiness, and then the blow fell.
the crew and the passengers of the fanny refused to let captain dunbar take his wife with him.
they told him he must leave her behind.
and all his prayers were of no avail.
they say he stood on the deck of the fanny and pleaded with the men while the tears ran down his face; but they would not yield, and he had to leave margaret behind.
oh, what a parting it was!"
there was heartbreak in the story girl's voice and tears came into our eyes.
there, in the green bower of uncle stephen's walk, we cried over the pathos of a parting whose anguish had been stilled for many years.
""when it was all over, margaret's father and mother forgave her, and she went back home to wait -- to wait.
oh, it is so dreadful just to wait, and do nothing else.
margaret waited for nearly a year.
how long it must have seemed to her!
and at last there came a letter -- but not from alan.
alan was dead.
he had died in california and had been buried there.
while margaret had been thinking of him and longing for him and praying for him he had been lying in his lonely, faraway grave."
cecily sprang up, shaking with sobs.
""oh, do n't -- do n't go on," she implored.
""i ca n't bear any more."
""there is no more," said the story girl.
""that was the end of it -- the end of everything for margaret.
it did n't kill her, but her heart died."
""i just wish i'd hold of those fellows who would n't let the captain take his wife," said peter savagely.
""well, it was awful said," said felicity, wiping her eyes.
""but it was long ago and we ca n't do any good by crying over it now.
let us go and get something to eat.
i made some nice little rhubarb tarts this morning."
we went.
in spite of new disappointments and old heartbreaks we had appetites.
and felicity did make scrumptious rhubarb tarts!
chapter ix.
magic seed when the time came to hand in our collections for the library fund peter had the largest -- three dollars.
felicity was a good second with two and a half.
this was simply because the hens had laid so well.
""if you'd had to pay father for all the extra handfuls of wheat you've fed to those hens, miss felicity, you would n't have so much," said dan spitefully.
""i did n't," said felicity indignantly.
""look how aunt olivia's hens laid, too, and she fed them herself just the same as usual."
""never mind," said cecily, "we have all got something to give.
if you were like poor sara ray, and had n't been able to collect anything, you might feel bad."
but sara ray had something to give.
she came up the hill after tea, all radiant.
when sara ray smiled -- and she did not waste her smiles -- she was rather pretty in a plaintive, apologetic way.
a dimple or two came into sight, and she had very nice teeth -- small and white, like the traditional row of pearls.
""oh, just look," she said.
""here are three dollars -- and i'm going to give it all to the library fund.
i had a letter to-day from uncle arthur in winnipeg, and he sent me three dollars.
he said i was to use it any way i liked, so ma could n't refuse to let me give it to the fund.
she thinks it's an awful waste, but she always goes by what uncle arthur says.
oh, i've prayed so hard that some money might come some way, and now it has.
see what praying does!"
i was very much afraid that we did not rejoice quite as unselfishly in sara's good fortune as we should have done.
we had earned our contributions by the sweat of our brow, or by the scarcely less disagreeable method of "begging."
and sara's had as good as descended upon her out of the skies, as much like a miracle as anything you could imagine.
""she prayed for it, you know," said felix, after sara had gone home.
""that's too easy a way of earning money," grumbled peter resentfully.
""if the rest of us had just set down and done nothing, only prayed, how much do you s "pose we'd have?
it do n't seem fair to me."
""oh, well, it's different with sara," said dan.
""we could earn money and she could n't.
you see?
but come on down to the orchard.
the story girl had a letter from her father to-day and she's going to read it to us."
we went promptly.
a letter from the story girl's father was always an event; and to hear her read it was almost as good as hearing her tell a story.
before coming to carlisle, uncle blair stanley had been a mere name to us.
now he was a personality.
his letters to the story girl, the pictures and sketches he sent her, her adoring and frequent mention of him, all combined to make him very real to us.
we felt then, what we did not understand till later years, that our grown-up relatives did not altogether admire or approve of uncle blair.
he belonged to a different world from theirs.
they had never known him very intimately or understood him.
i realize now that uncle blair was a bit of a bohemian -- a respectable sort of tramp.
had he been a poor man he might have been a more successful artist.
but he had a small fortune of his own and, lacking the spur of necessity, or of disquieting ambition, he remained little more than a clever amateur.
once in a while he painted a picture which showed what he could do; but for the rest, he was satisfied to wander over the world, light-hearted and content.
we knew that the story girl was thought to resemble him strongly in appearance and temperament, but she had far more fire and intensity and strength of will -- her inheritance from king and ward.
she would never be satisfied as a dabbler; whatever her future career should be, into it she would throw all her powers of mind and heart and soul.
but uncle blair could do at least one thing surpassingly well.
he could write letters.
such letters!
by contrast, felix and i were secretly ashamed of father's epistles.
father could talk well but, as felix said, he could n't write worth a cent.
the letters we had received from him since his arrival in rio de janeiro were mere scrawls, telling us to be good boys and not trouble aunt janet, incidentally adding that he was well and lonesome.
felix and i were always glad to get his letters, but we never read them aloud to an admiring circle in the orchard.
uncle blair was spending the summer in switzerland; and the letter the story girl read to us, among the fair, frail white ladies of the walk, where the west wind came now with a sigh, and again with a rush, and then brushed our faces as softly as the down of a thistle, was full of the glamour of mountain-rimmed lakes, and purple chalets, and "snowy summits old in story."
we climbed mount blanc, saw the jungfrau soaring into cloudland, and walked among the gloomy pillars of bonnivard's prison.
finally, the story girl told us the tale of the prisoner of chillon, in words that were byron's, but in a voice that was all her own.
""it must be splendid to go to europe," sighed cecily longingly.
""i am going some day," said the story girl airily.
we looked at her with a slightly incredulous awe.
to us, in those years, europe seemed almost as remote and unreachable as the moon.
it was hard to believe that one of us should ever go there.
but aunt julia had gone -- and she had been brought up in carlisle on this very farm.
so it was possible that the story girl might go too.
""what will you do there?"
asked peter practically.
""i shall learn how to tell stories to all the world," said the story girl dreamily.
it was a lovely, golden-brown evening; the orchard, and the farm-lands beyond, were full of ruby lights and kissing shadows.
over in the east, above the awkward man's house, the wedding veil of the proud princess floated across the sky, presently turning as rosy as if bedewed with her heart's blood.
we sat there and talked until the first star lighted a white taper over the beech hill.
then i remembered that i had forgotten to take my dose of magic seed, and i hastened to do it, although i was beginning to lose faith in it.
i had not grown a single bit, by the merciless testimony of the hall door.
i took the box of seed out of my trunk in the twilit room and swallowed the decreed pinch.
as i did so, dan's voice rang out behind me.
""beverley king, what have you got there?"
i thrust the box hastily into my trunk and confronted dan.
""none of your business," i said defiantly.
""yes,'t is."
dan was too much in earnest to resent my blunt speech.
""look here, bev, is that magic seed?
and did you get it from billy robinson?"
dan and i looked at each other, suspicion dawning in our eyes.
""what do you know about billy robinson and his magic seed?"
i demanded.
""just this.
i bought a box from him for -- for -- something.
he said he was n't going to sell any of it to anybody else.
did he sell any to you?"
""yes, he did," i said in disgust -- for i was beginning to understand that billy and his magic seed were arrant frauds.
""what for?
your mouth is a decent size," said dan.
""mouth?
it had nothing to do with my mouth!
he said it would make me grow tall.
and it has n't -- not an inch!
i do n't see what you wanted it for!
you are tall enough."
""i got it for my mouth," said dan with a shame-faced grin.
""the girls in school laugh at it so.
kate marr says it's like a gash in a pie.
billy said that seed would shrink it for sure."
well, there it was!
billy had deceived us both.
nor were we the only victims.
we did not find the whole story out at once.
indeed, the summer was almost over before, in one way or another, the full measure of that shameless billy robinson's iniquity was revealed to us.
but i shall anticipate the successive relations in this chapter.
every pupil of carlisle school, so it eventually appeared, had bought magic seed, under solemn promise of secrecy.
felix had believed blissfully that it would make him thin.
cecily's hair was to become naturally curly, and sara ray was not to be afraid of peg bowen any more.
it was to make felicity as clever as the story girl and it was to make the story girl as good a cook as felicity.
what peter had bought magic seed for remained a secret longer than any of the others.
finally -- it was the night before what we expected would be the judgment day -- he confessed to me that he had taken it to make felicity fond of him.
skilfully indeed had that astute billy played on our respective weaknesses.
the keenest edge to our humiliation was given by the discovery that the magic seed was nothing more or less than caraway, which grew in abundance at billy robinson's uncle's in markdale.
peg bowen had had nothing to do with it.
well, we had all been badly hoaxed.
but we did not trumpet our wrongs abroad.
we did not even call billy to account.
we thought that least said was soonest mended in such a matter.
we went very softly indeed, lest the grown-ups, especially that terrible uncle roger, should hear of it.
""we should have known better than to trust billy robinson," said felicity, summing up the case one evening when all had been made known.
""after all, what could you expect from a pig but a grunt?"
we were not surprised to find that billy robinson's contribution to the library fund was the largest handed in by any of the scholars.
cecily said she did n't envy him his conscience.
but i am afraid she measured his conscience by her own.
i doubt very much if billy's troubled him at all.
chapter x.
a daughter of eve "i hate the thought of growing up," said the story girl reflectively, "because i can never go barefooted then, and nobody will ever see what beautiful feet i have."
she was sitting, the july sunlight, on the ledge of the open hayloft window in uncle roger's big barn; and the bare feet below her print skirt were beautiful.
they were slender and shapely and satin smooth with arched insteps, the daintiest of toes, and nails like pink shells.
we were all the hayloft.
the story girl had been telling us a tale "of old, unhappy, far-off things, and battles long ago."
felicity and cecily were curled up in a corner, and we boys sprawled idly on the fragrant, sun-warm heaps.
we had "stowed" the hay in the loft that morning for uncle roger, so we felt that we had earned the right to loll on our sweet-smelling couch.
haylofts are delicious places, with just enough of shadow and soft, uncertain noises to give an agreeable tang of mystery.
the swallows flew in and out of their nest above our heads, and whenever a sunbeam fell through a chink the air swarmed with golden dust.
outside of the loft was a vast, sunshiny gulf of blue sky and mellow air, wherein floated argosies of fluffy cloud, and airy tops of maple and spruce.
pat was with us, of course, prowling about stealthily, or making frantic, bootless leaps at the swallows.
a cat in a hayloft is a beautiful example of the eternal fitness of things.
we had not heard of this fitness then, but we all felt that paddy was in his own place in a hayloft.
""i think it is very vain to talk about anything you have yourself being beautiful," said felicity.
""i am not a bit vain," said the story girl, with entire truthfulness.
""it is not vanity to know your own good points.
it would just be stupidity if you did n't.
it's only vanity when you get puffed up about them.
i am not a bit pretty.
my only good points are my hair and eyes and feet.
so i think it's real mean that one of them has to be covered up the most of the time.
i'm always glad when it gets warm enough to go barefooted.
but, when i grow up they'll have to covered all the time.
it is mean."
""you'll have to put your shoes and stockings on when you go to the magic lantern show to-night," said felicity in a tone of satisfaction.
""i do n't know that.
i'm thinking of going barefooted."
""oh, you would n't!
sara stanley, you're not in earnest!"
exclaimed felicity, her blue eyes filling with horror.
the story girl winked with the side of her face next to felix and me, but the side next the girls changed not a muscle.
she dearly loved to "take a rise" out of felicity now and then.
""indeed, i would if i just made up my mind to.
why not?
why not bare feet -- if they're clean -- as well as bare hands and face?"
""oh, you would n't!
it would be such a disgrace!"
said poor felicity in real distress.
""we went to school barefooted all june," argued that wicked story girl.
""what is the difference between going to the schoolhouse barefooted in the daytime and going in the evening?"
""oh, there's every difference.
i ca n't just explain it -- but every one knows there is a difference.
you know it yourself.
oh, please, do n't do such a thing, sara."
""well, i wo n't, just to oblige you," said the story girl, who would have died the death before she would have gone to a "public meeting" barefooted.
we were all rather excited over the magic lantern show which an itinerant lecturer was to give in the schoolhouse that evening.
even felix and i, who had seen such shows galore, were interested, and the rest were quite wild.
there had never been such a thing in carlisle before.
we were all going, peter included.
peter went everywhere with us now.
he was a regular attendant at church and sunday school, where his behaviour was as irreproachable as if he had been "raised" in the caste of vere de vere.
it was feather in the story girl's cap, for she took all the credit of having started peter on the right road.
felicity was resigned, although the fatal patch on peter's best trousers was still an eyesore to her.
she declared she never got any good of the singing, because peter stood up then and every one could see the patch.
mrs. james clark, whose pew was behind ours, never took her eye off it -- or so felicity averred.
but peter's stockings were always darned.
aunt olivia had seen to that, ever since she heard of peter's singular device regarding them on his first sunday.
she had also given peter a bible, of which he was so proud that he hated to use it lest he should soil it.
""i think i'll wrap it up and keep it in my box," he said.
""i've an old bible of aunt jane's at home that i can use.
i s "pose it's just the same, even if it is old, is n't it?"
""oh, yes," cecily had assured him.
""the bible is always the same."
""i thought maybe they'd got some new improvements on it since aunt jane's day," said peter, relieved.
""sara ray is coming along the lane, and she's crying," announced dan, who was peering out of a knot-hole on the opposite side of the loft.
""sara ray is crying half her time," said cecily impatiently.
""i'm sure she cries a quartful of tears a month.
there are times when you ca n't help crying.
but i hide then.
sara just goes and cries in public."
the lachrymose sara presently joined us and we discovered the cause of her tears to be the doleful fact that her mother had forbidden her to go to the magic lantern show that night.
we all showed the sympathy we felt.
""she said yesterday you could go," said the story girl indignantly.
""why has she changed her mind?"
""because of the measles in markdale," sobbed sara.
""she says markdale is full of them, and there'll be sure to be some of the markdale people at the show.
so i'm not to go.
and i've never seen a magic lantern -- i've never seen anything."
""i do n't believe there's any danger of catching measles," said felicity.
""if there was we would n't be allowed to go."
""i wish i could get the measles," said sara defiantly.
""maybe i'd be of some importance to ma then."
""suppose cecily goes down with you and coaxes your mother," suggested the story girl.
""perhaps she'd let you go then.
she likes cecily.
she does n't like either felicity or me, so it would only make matters worse for us to try."
""ma's gone to town -- pa and her went this afternoon -- and they're not coming back till to-morrow.
there's nobody home but judy pineau and me."
""then," said the story girl, "why do n't you just go to the show anyhow?
your mother wo n't ever know, if you coax judy to hold her tongue."
""oh, but that's wrong," said felicity.
""you should n't put sara up to disobeying her mother."
now, felicity for once was undoubtedly right.
the story girl's suggestion was wrong; and if it had been cecily who protested, the story girl would probably have listened to her, and proceeded no further in the matter.
but felicity was one of those unfortunate people whose protests against wrong-doing serve only to drive the wrong-doer further on her sinful way.
the story girl resented felicity's superior tone, and proceeded to tempt sara in right good earnest.
the rest of us held our tongues.
it was, we told ourselves, sara's own lookout.
""i have a good mind to do it," said sara.
""but i ca n't get my good clothes; they're in the spare room, and ma locked the door, for fear somebody would get at the fruit cake.
i have n't a single thing to wear, except my school gingham."
""well, that's new and pretty," said the story girl.
""we'll lend you some things.
you can have my lace collar.
that'll make the gingham quite elegant.
and cecily will lend you her second best hat."
""but i've no shoes or stockings.
they're locked up too."
""you can have a pair of mine," said felicity, who probably thought that since sara was certain to yield to temptation, she might as well be garbed decently for her transgression.
sara did yield.
when the story girl's voice entreated it was not easy to resist its temptation, even if you wanted to.
that evening, when we started for the schoolhouse, sara ray was among us, decked out in borrowed plumes.
""suppose she does catch the measles?"
felicity said aside.
""i do n't believe there'll be anybody there from markdale.
the lecturer is going to markdale next week.
they'll wait for that," said the story girl airily.
it was a cool, dewy evening, and we walked down the long, red hill in the highest of spirits.
over a valley filled with beech and spruce was a sunset afterglow -- creamy yellow and a hue that was not so much red as the dream of red, with a young moon swung low in it.
the air was sweet with the breath of mown hayfields where swaths of clover had been steeping in the sun.
wild roses grew pinkly along the fences, and the roadsides were star-dusted with buttercups.
those of us who had nothing the matter with our consciences enjoyed our walk to the little whitewashed schoolhouse in the valley.
felicity and cecily were void of offence towards all men.
the story girl walked uprightly like an incarnate flame in her crimson silk.
her pretty feet were hidden in the tan-coloured, buttoned paris boots which were the secret envy of every school girl in carlisle.
but sara ray was not happy.
her face was so melancholy that the story girl lost patience with her.
the story girl herself was not altogether at ease.
probably her own conscience was troubling her.
but admit it she would not.
""now, sara," she said, "you just take my advice and go into this with all your heart if you go at all.
never mind if it is bad.
there's no use being naughty if you spoil your fun by wishing all the time you were good.
you can repent afterwards, but there is no use in mixing the two things together."
""i'm not repenting," protested sara.
""i'm only scared of ma finding it out."
""oh!"
the story girl's voice expressed her scorn.
for remorse she had understanding and sympathy; but fear of her fellow creatures was something unknown to her.
""did n't judy pineau promise you solemnly she would n't tell?"
""yes; but maybe some one who sees me there will mention it to ma."
""well, if you're so scared you'd better not go.
it is n't too late.
here's your own gate," said cecily.
but sara could not give up the delights of the show.
so she walked on, a small, miserable testimony that the way of the transgressor is never easy, even when said transgressor is only a damsel of eleven.
the magic lantern show was a splendid one.
the views were good and the lecturer witty.
we repeated his jokes to each other all the way home.
sara, who had not enjoyed the exhibition at all, seemed to feel more cheerful when it was over and she was going home.
the story girl on the contrary was gloomy.
""there were markdale people there," she confided to me, "and the williamsons live next door to the cowans, who have measles.
i wish i'd never egged sara on to going -- but do n't tell felicity i said so.
if sara ray had really enjoyed the show i would n't mind.
but she did n't.
i could see that.
so i've done wrong and made her do wrong -- and there's nothing to show for it."
the night was scented and mysterious.
the wind was playing an eerie fleshless melody in the reeds of the brook hollow.
the sky was dark and starry, and across it the milky way flung its shimmering misty ribbons.
""there's four hundred million stars in the milky way," quoth peter, who frequently astonished us by knowing more than any hired boy could be expected to.
he had a retentive memory, and never forgot anything he heard or read.
the few books left to him by his oft-referred-to aunt jane had stocked his mind with a miscellaneous information which sometimes made felix and me doubt if we knew as much as peter after all.
felicity was so impressed by his knowledge of astronomy that she dropped back from the other girls and walked beside him.
she had not done so before because he was barefooted.
it was permissible for hired boys to go to public meetings -- when not held in the church -- with bare feet, and no particular disgrace attached to it.
but felicity would not walk with a barefooted companion.
it was dark now, so nobody would notice his feet.
""i know a story about the milky way," said the story girl, brightening up.
""i read it in a book of aunt louisa's in town, and i learned it off by heart.
once there were two archangels in heaven, named zerah and zulamith --" "have angels names -- same as people?"
interrupted peter.
""yes, of course.
they must have.
they'd be all mixed up if they had n't."
""and when i'm an angel -- if i ever get to be one -- will my name still be peter?"
""no.
you'll have a new name up there," said cecily gently.
""it says so in the bible."
""well, i'm glad of that.
peter would be such a funny name for an angel.
and what is the difference between angels and archangels?"
""oh, archangels are angels that have been angels so long that they've had time to grow better and brighter and more beautiful than newer angels," said the story girl, who probably made that explanation up on the spur of the moment, just to pacify peter.
""how long does it take for an angel to grow into an archangel?"
pursued peter.
""oh, i do n't know.
millions of years likely.
and even then i do n't suppose all the angels do.
a good many of them must just stay plain angels, i expect."
""i shall be satisfied just to be a plain angel," said felicity modestly.
""oh, see here, if you're going to interrupt and argue over everything, we'll never get the story told," said felix.
""dry up, all of you, and let the story girl go on."
we dried up, and the story girl went on.
""zerah and zulamith loved each other, just as mortals love, and this is forbidden by the laws of the almighty.
and because zerah and zulamith had so broken god's law they were banished from his presence to the uttermost bounds of the universe.
if they had been banished together it would have been no punishment; so zerah was exiled to a star on one side of the universe, and zulamith was sent to a star on the other side of the universe; and between them was a fathomless abyss which thought itself could not cross.
only one thing could cross it -- and that was love.
zulamith yearned for zerah with such fidelity and longing that he began to build up a bridge of light from his star; and zerah, not knowing this, but loving and longing for him, began to build a similar bridge of light from her star.
for a thousand thousand years they both built the bridge of light, and at last they met and sprang into each other's arms.
their toil and loneliness and suffering were all over and forgotten, and the bridge they had built spanned the gulf between their stars of exile.
""now, when the other archangels saw what had been done they flew in fear and anger to god's white throne, and cried to him," "see what these rebellious ones have done!
they have built them a bridge of light across the universe, and set thy decree of separation at naught.
do thou, then, stretch forth thine arm and destroy their impious work."
""they ceased -- and all heaven was hushed.
through the silence sounded the voice of the almighty."
"nay," he said, "whatsoever in my universe true love hath builded not even the almighty can destroy.
the bridge must stand forever."
""and," concluded the story girl, her face upturned to the sky and her big eyes filled with starlight, "it stands still.
that bridge is the milky way."
""what a lovely story," sighed sara ray, who had been wooed to a temporary forgetfulness of her woes by its charm.
the rest of us came back to earth, feeling that we had been wandering among the hosts of heaven.
we were not old enough to appreciate fully the wonderful meaning of the legend; but we felt its beauty and its appeal.
to us forevermore the milky way would be, not peter's overwhelming garland of suns, but the lucent bridge, love-created, on which the banished archangels crossed from star to star.
we had to go up sara ray's lane with her to her very door, for she was afraid peg bowen would catch her if she went alone.
then the story girl and i walked up the hill together.
peter and felicity lagged behind.
cecily and dan and felix were walking before us, hand in hand, singing a hymn.
cecily had a very sweet voice, and i listened in delight.
but the story girl sighed.
""what if sara does take the measles?"
she asked miserably.
""everyone has to have the measles sometime," i said comfortingly, "and the younger you are the better."
chapter xi.
the story girl does penance ten days later, aunt olivia and uncle roger went to town one evening, to remain over night, and the next day.
peter and the story girl were to stay at uncle alec's during their absence.
we were in the orchard at sunset, listening to the story of king cophetua and the beggar maid -- all of us, except peter, who was hoeing turnips, and felicity, who had gone down the hill on an errand to mrs. ray.
the story girl impersonated the beggar maid so vividly, and with such an illusion of beauty, that we did not wonder in the least at the king's love for her.
i had read the story before, and it had been my opinion that it was "rot."
no king, i felt certain, would ever marry a beggar maid when he had princesses galore from whom to choose.
but now i understood it all.
when felicity returned we concluded from her expression that she had news.
and she had.
""sara is real sick," she said, with regret, and something that was not regret mingled in her voice.
""she has a cold and sore throat, and she is feverish.
mrs. ray says if she is n't better by the morning she's going to send for the doctor.
and she is afraid it's the measles."
felicity flung the last sentence at the story girl, who turned very pale.
""oh, do you suppose she caught them at the magic lantern show?"
she said miserably.
""where else could she have caught them?"
said felicity mercilessly.
""i did n't see her, of course -- mrs. ray met me at the door and told me not to come in.
but mrs. ray says the measles always go awful hard with the rays -- if they do n't die completely of them it leaves them deaf or half blind, or something like that.
of course," added felicity, her heart melting at sight of the misery in the story girl's piteous eyes, "mrs. ray always looks on the dark side, and it may not be the measles sara has after all."
but felicity had done her work too thoroughly.
the story girl was not to be comforted.
""i'd give anything if i'd never put sara up to going to that show," she said.
""it's all my fault -- but the punishment falls on sara, and that is n't fair.
i'd go this minute and confess the whole thing to mrs. ray; but if i did it might get sara into more trouble, and i must n't do that.
i sha'n' t sleep a wink to-night."
i do n't think she did.
she looked very pale and woebegone when she came down to breakfast.
but, for all that, there was a certain exhilaration about her.
""i'm going to do penance all day for coaxing sara to disobey her mother," she announced with chastened triumph.
""penance?"
we murmured in bewilderment.
""yes.
i'm going to deny myself everything i like, and do everything i can think of that i do n't like, just to punish myself for being so wicked.
and if any of you think of anything i do n't, just mention it to me.
i thought it out last night.
maybe sara wo n't be so very sick if god sees i'm truly sorry."
""he can see it anyhow, without you're doing anything," said cecily.
""well, my conscience will feel better."
""i do n't believe presbyterians ever do penance," said felicity dubiously.
""i never heard of one doing it."
but the rest of us rather looked with favour on the story girl's idea.
we felt sure that she would do penance as picturesquely and thoroughly as she did everything else.
""you might put peas in your shoes, you know," suggested peter.
""the very thing!
i never thought of that.
i'll get some after breakfast.
i'm not going to eat a single thing all day, except bread and water -- and not much of that!"
this, we felt, was a heroic measure indeed.
to sit down to one of aunt janet's meals, in ordinary health and appetite, and eat nothing but bread and water -- that would be penance with a vengeance!
we felt we could never do it.
but the story girl did it.
we admired and pitied her.
but now i do not think that she either needed our pity or deserved our admiration.
her ascetic fare was really sweeter to her than honey of hymettus.
she was, though quite unconsciously, acting a part, and tasting all the subtle joy of the artist, which is so much more exquisite than any material pleasure.
aunt janet, of course, noticed the story girl's abstinence and asked if she was sick.
""no.
i am just doing penance, aunt janet, for a sin i committed.
i ca n't confess it, because that would bring trouble on another person.
so i'm going to do penance all day.
you do n't mind, do you?"
aunt janet was in a very good humour that morning, so she merely laughed.
""not if you do n't go too far with your nonsense," she said tolerantly.
""thank you.
and will you give me a handful of hard peas after breakfast, aunt janet?
i want to put them in my shoes."
""there is n't any; i used the last in the soup yesterday."
""oh!"
the story girl was much disappointed.
""then i suppose i'll have to do without.
the new peas would n't hurt enough.
they're so soft they'd just squash flat."
""i'll tell you," said peter, "i'll pick up a lot of those little round pebbles on mr. king's front walk.
they'll be just as good as peas."
""you'll do nothing of the sort," said aunt janet.
""sara must not do penance in that way.
she would wear holes in her stockings, and might seriously bruise her feet."
""what would you say if i took a whip and whipped my bare shoulders till the blood came?"
demanded the story girl aggrieved.
""i would n't say anything," retorted aunt janet.
""i'd simply turn you over my knee and give you a sound, solid spanking, miss sara.
you'd find that penance enough."
the story girl was crimson with indignation.
to have such a remark made to you -- when you were fourteen and a half -- and before the boys, too!
really, aunt janet could be very dreadful.
it was vacation, and there was not much to do that day; we were soon free to seek the orchard.
but the story girl would not come.
she had seated herself in the darkest, hottest corner of the kitchen, with a piece of old cotton in her hand.
""i am not going to play to-day," she said, "and i'm not going to tell a single story.
aunt janet wo n't let me put pebbles in my shoes, but i've put a thistle next my skin on my back and it sticks into me if i lean back the least bit.
and i'm going to work buttonholes all over this cotton.
i hate working buttonholes worse than anything in the world, so i'm going to work them all day."
""what's the good of working buttonholes on an old rag?"
asked felicity.
""it is n't any good.
the beauty of penance is that it makes you feel uncomfortable.
so it does n't matter what you do, whether it's useful or not, so long as it's nasty.
oh, i wonder how sara is this morning."
""mother's going down this afternoon," said felicity.
""she says none of us must go near the place till we know whether it is the measles or not."
""i've thought of a great penance," said cecily eagerly.
""do n't go to the missionary meeting to-night."
the story girl looked piteous.
""i thought of that myself -- but i ca n't stay home, cecily.
it would be more than flesh and blood could endure.
i must hear that missionary speak.
they say he was all but eaten by cannibals once.
just think how many new stories i'd have to tell after i'd heard him!
no, i must go, but i'll tell you what i'll do.
i'll wear my school dress and hat.
that will be penance.
felicity, when you set the table for dinner, put the broken-handled knife for me.
i hate it so.
and i'm going to take a dose of mexican tea every two hours.
it's such dreadful tasting stuff -- but it's a good blood purifier, so aunt janet ca n't object to it."
the story girl carried out her self-imposed penance fully.
all day she sat in the kitchen and worked buttonholes, subsisting on bread and water and mexican tea.
felicity did a mean thing.
she went to work and made little raisin pies, right there in the kitchen before the story girl.
the smell of raisin pies is something to tempt an anchorite; and the story girl was exceedingly fond of them.
felicity ate two in her very presence, and then brought the rest out to us in the orchard.
the story girl could see us through the window, carousing without stint on raisin pies and uncle edward's cherries.
but she worked on at her buttonholes.
she would not look at the exciting serial in the new magazine dan brought home from the post-office, neither would she open a letter from her father.
pat came over, but his most seductive purrs won no notice from his mistress, who refused herself the pleasure of even patting him.
aunt janet could not go down the hill in the afternoon to find out how sara was because company came to tea -- the millwards from markdale.
mr. millward was a doctor, and mrs. millward was a b.a. aunt janet was very desirous that everything should be as nice as possible, and we were all sent to our rooms before tea to wash and dress up.
the story girl slipped over home, and when she came back we gasped.
she had combed her hair out straight, and braided it in a tight, kinky, pudgy braid; and she wore an old dress of faded print, with holes in the elbows and ragged flounces, which was much too short for her.
""sara stanley, have you taken leave of your senses?"
demanded aunt janet.
""what do you mean by putting on such a rig!
do n't you know i have company to tea?"
""yes, and that is just why i put it on, aunt janet.
i want to mortify the flesh --" "i'll "mortify" you, if i catch you showing yourself to the millwards like that, my girl!
go right home and dress yourself decently -- or eat your supper in the kitchen."
the story girl chose the latter alternative.
she was highly indignant.
i verily believe that to sit at the dining-room table, in that shabby, outgrown dress, conscious of looking her ugliest, and eating only bread and water before the critical millwards would have been positive bliss to her.
when we went to the missionary meeting that evening, the story girl wore her school dress and hat, while felicity and cecily were in their pretty muslins.
and she had tied her hair with a snuff-brown ribbon which was very unbecoming to her.
the first person we saw in the church porch was mrs. ray.
she told us that sara had nothing worse than a feverish cold.
the missionary had at least seven happy listeners that night.
we were all glad that sara did not have measles, and the story girl was radiant.
""now you see all your penance was wasted," said felicity, as we walked home, keeping close together because of the rumour that peg bowen was abroad.
""oh, i do n't know.
i feel better since i punished myself.
but i'm going to make up for it to-morrow," said the story girl energetically.
""in fact, i'll begin to-night.
i'm going to the pantry as soon as i get home, and i'll read father's letter before i go to bed.
was n't the missionary splendid?
that cannibal story was simply grand.
i tried to remember every word, so that i can tell it just as he told it.
missionaries are such noble people."
""i'd like to be a missionary and have adventures like that," said felix.
""it would be all right if you could be sure the cannibals would be interrupted in the nick of time as his were," said dan.
""but sposen they were n't?"
""nothing would prevent cannibals from eating felix if they once caught him," giggled felicity.
""he's so nice and fat."
i am sure felix felt very unlike a missionary at that precise moment.
""i'm going to put two cents more a week in my missionary box than i've been doing," said cecily determinedly.
two cents more a week out of cecily's egg money, meant something of a sacrifice.
it inspired the rest of us.
we all decided to increase our weekly contribution by a cent or so.
and peter, who had had no missionary box at all, up to this time, determined to start one.
""i do n't seem to be able to feel as int "rested in missionaries as you folks do," he said, "but maybe if i begin to give something i'll get int "rested.
i'll want to know how my money's being spent.
i wo n't be able to give much.
when your father's run away, and your mother goes out washing, and you're only old enough to get fifty cents a week, you ca n't give much to the heathen.
but i'll do the best i can.
my aunt jane was fond of missions.
are there any methodist heathen?
i s "pose i ought to give my box to them, rather than to presbyterian heathen."
""no, it's only after they're converted that they're anything in particular," said felicity.
""before that, they're just plain heathen.
but if you want your money to go to a methodist missionary you can give it to the methodist minister at markdale.
i guess the presbyterians can get along without it, and look after their own heathen."
""just smell mrs. sampson's flowers," said cecily, as we passed a trim white paling close to the road, over which blew odours sweeter than the perfume of araby's shore.
""her roses are all out and that bed of sweet william is a sight by daylight."
""sweet william is a dreadful name for a flower," said the story girl.
""william is a man's name, and men are never sweet.
they are a great many nice things, but they are not sweet and should n't be.
that is for women.
oh, look at the moonshine on the road in that gap between the spruces!
i'd like a dress of moonshine, with stars for buttons."
""it would n't do," said felicity decidedly.
""you could see through it."
which seemed to settle the question of moonshine dresses effectually.
chapter xii.
the blue chest of rachel ward "it's utterly out of the question," said aunt janet seriously.
when aunt janet said seriously that anything was out of the question it meant that she was thinking about it, and would probably end up by doing it.
if a thing really was out of the question she merely laughed and refused to discuss it at all.
the particular matter in or out of the question that opening day of august was a project which uncle edward had recently mooted.
uncle edward's youngest daughter was to be married; and uncle edward had written over, urging uncle alec, aunt janet and aunt olivia to go down to halifax for the wedding and spend a week there.
uncle alec and aunt olivia were eager to go; but aunt janet at first declared it was impossible.
""how could we go away and leave the place to the mercy of all those young ones?"
she demanded.
""we'd come home and find them all sick, and the house burned down."
""not a bit of fear of it," scoffed uncle roger.
""felicity is as good a housekeeper as you are; and i shall be here to look after them all, and keep them from burning the house down.
you've been promising edward for years to visit him, and you'll never have a better chance.
the haying is over and harvest is n't on, and alec needs a change.
he is n't looking well at all."
i think it was uncle roger's last argument which convinced aunt janet.
in the end she decided to go.
uncle roger's house was to be closed, and he and peter and the story girl were to take up their abode with us.
we were all delighted.
felicity, in especial, seemed to be in seventh heaven.
to be left in sole charge of a big house, with three meals a day to plan and prepare, with poultry and cows and dairy and garden to superintend, apparently furnished forth felicity's conception of paradise.
of course, we were all to help; but felicity was to "run things," and she gloried in it.
the story girl was pleased, too.
""felicity is going to give me cooking lessons," she confided to me, as we walked in the orchard.
""is n't that fine?
it will be easier when there are no grown-ups around to make me nervous, and laugh if i make mistakes."
uncle alec and aunts left on monday morning.
poor aunt janet was full of dismal forebodings, and gave us so many charges and warnings that we did not try to remember any of them; uncle alec merely told us to be good and mind what uncle roger said.
aunt olivia laughed at us out of her pansy-blue eyes, and told us she knew exactly what we felt like and hoped we'd have a gorgeous time.
""mind they go to bed at a decent hour," aunt janet called back to uncle roger as she drove out of the gate.
""and if anything dreadful happens telegraph us."
then they were really gone and we were all left "to keep house."
uncle roger and peter went away to their work.
felicity at once set the preparations for dinner a-going, and allotted to each of us his portion of service.
the story girl was to prepare the potatoes; felix and dan were to pick and shell the peas; cecily was to attend the fire; i was to peel the turnips.
felicity made our mouths water by announcing that she was going to make a roly-poly jam pudding for dinner.
i peeled my turnips on the back porch, put them in their pot, and set them on the stove.
then i was at liberty to watch the others, who had longer jobs.
the kitchen was a scene of happy activity.
the story girl peeled her potatoes, somewhat slowly and awkwardly -- for she was not deft at household tasks; dan and felix shelled peas and tormented pat by attaching pods to his ears and tail; felicity, flushed and serious, measured and stirred skilfully.
""i am sitting on a tragedy," said the story girl suddenly.
felix and i stared.
we were not quite sure what a "tragedy" was, but we did not think it was an old blue wooden chest, such as the story girl was undoubtedly sitting on, if eyesight counted for anything.
the old chest filled up the corner between the table and the wall.
neither felix nor i had ever thought about it particularly.
it was very large and heavy, and felicity generally said hard things of it when she swept the kitchen.
""this old blue chest holds a tragedy," explained the story girl.
""i know a story about it."
""cousin rachel ward's wedding things are all in that old chest," said felicity.
who was cousin rachel ward?
and why were her wedding things shut up in an old blue chest in uncle alec's kitchen?
we demanded the tale instantly.
the story girl told it to us as she peeled her potatoes.
perhaps the potatoes suffered -- felicity declared the eyes were not properly done at all -- but the story did not.
""it is a sad story," said the story girl, "and it happened fifty years ago, when grandfather and grandmother king were quite young.
grandmother's cousin rachel ward came to spend a winter with them.
she belonged to montreal and she was an orphan too, just like the family ghost.
i have never heard what she looked like, but she must have been beautiful, of course."
""mother says she was awful sentimental and romantic," interjected felicity.
""well, anyway, she met will montague that winter.
he was handsome -- everybody says so" -- "and an awful flirt," said felicity.
""felicity, i wish you would n't interrupt.
it spoils the effect.
what would you feel like if i went and kept stirring things that did n't belong to it into that pudding?
i feel just the same way.
well, will montague fell in love with rachel ward, and she with him, and it was all arranged that they were to be married from here in the spring.
poor rachel was so happy that winter; she made all her wedding things with her own hands.
girls did, then, you know, for there was no such thing as a sewing-machine.
well, at last in april the wedding day came, and all the guests were here, and rachel was dressed in her wedding robes, waiting for her bridegroom.
and" -- the story girl laid down her knife and potato and clasped her wet hands -- "will montague never came!"
we felt as much of a shock as if we had been one of the expectant guests ourselves.
""what happened to him?
was he killed too?"
asked felix.
the story girl sighed and resumed her work.
""no, indeed.
i wish he had been.
that would have been suitable and romantic.
no, it was just something horrid.
he had to run away for debt!
fancy!
he acted mean right through, aunt janet says.
he never sent even a word to rachel, and she never heard from him again."
""pig!"
said felix forcibly.
""she was broken-hearted of course.
when she found out what had happened, she took all her wedding things, and her supply of linen, and some presents that had been given her, and packed them all away in this old blue chest.
then she went away back to montreal, and took the key with her.
she never came back to the island again -- i suppose she could n't bear to.
and she has lived in montreal ever since and never married.
she is an old woman now -- nearly seventy-five.
and this chest has never been opened since."
""mother wrote to cousin rachel ten years ago," said cecily, "and asked her if she might open the chest to see if the moths had got into it.
there's a crack in the back as big as your finger.
cousin rachel wrote back that if it was n't for one thing that was in the trunk she would ask mother to open the chest and dispose of the things as she liked.
but she could not bear that any one but herself should see or touch that one thing.
so she wanted it left as it was.
ma said she washed her hands of it, moths or no moths.
she said if cousin rachel had to move that chest every time the floor had to be scrubbed it would cure her of her sentimental nonsense.
but i think," concluded cecily, "that i would feel just like cousin rachel in her place."
""what was the thing she could n't bear any one to see?"
i asked.
""ma thinks it was her wedding dress.
but father says he believes it was will montague's picture," said felicity.
""he saw her put it in.
father knows some of the things that are in the chest.
he was ten years old, and he saw her pack it.
there's a white muslin wedding dress and a veil -- and -- and -- a -- a" -- felicity dropped her eyes and blushed painfully.
""a petticoat, embroidered by hand from hem to belt," said the story girl calmly.
""and a china fruit basket with an apple on the handle," went on felicity, much relieved.
""and a tea set, and a blue candle-stick."
""i'd dearly love to see all the things that are in it," said the story girl.
""pa says it must never be opened without cousin rachel's permission," said cecily.
felix and i looked at the chest reverently.
it had taken on a new significance in our eyes, and seemed like a tomb wherein lay buried some dead romance of the vanished years.
""what happened to will montague?"
i asked.
""nothing!"
said the story girl viciously.
""he just went on living and flourishing.
he patched up matters with his creditors after awhile, and came back to the island; and in the end he married a real nice girl, with money, and was very happy.
did you ever hear of anything so unjust?"
""beverley king," suddenly cried felicity, who had been peering into a pot, "you've gone and put the turnips on to boil whole just like potatoes!"
""was n't that right?"
i cried, in an agony of shame.
""right!"
but felicity had already whisked the turnips out, and was slicing them, while all the others were laughing at me.
i had added a tradition on my own account to the family archives.
uncle roger roared when he heard it; and he roared again at night over peter's account of felix attempting to milk a cow.
felix had previously acquired the knack of extracting milk from the udder.
but he had never before tried to "milk a whole cow."
he did not get on well; the cow tramped on his foot, and finally upset the bucket.
""what are you to do when a cow wo n't stand straight?"
spluttered felix angrily.
""that's the question," said uncle roger, shaking his head gravely.
uncle roger's laughter was hard to bear, but his gravity was harder.
meanwhile, in the pantry the story girl, apron-enshrouded, was being initiated into the mysteries of bread-making.
under felicity's eyes she set the bread, and on the morrow she was to bake it.
""the first thing you must do in the morning is knead it well," said felicity, "and the earlier it's done the better -- because it's such a warm night."
with that we went to bed, and slept as soundly as if tragedies of blue chests and turnips and crooked cows had no place in the scheme of things at all.
chapter xiii.
an old proverb with a new meaning it was half-past five when we boys got up the next morning.
we were joined on the stairs by felicity, yawning and rosy.
""oh, dear me, i overslept myself.
uncle roger wanted breakfast at six.
well, i suppose the fire is on anyhow, for the story girl is up.
i guess she got up early to knead the bread.
she could n't sleep all night for worrying over it."
the fire was on, and a flushed and triumphant story girl was taking a loaf of bread from the oven.
""just look," she said proudly.
""i have every bit of the bread baked.
i got up at three, and it was lovely and light, so i just gave it a right good kneading and popped it into the oven.
and it's all done and out of the way.
but the loaves do n't seem quite as big as they should be," she added doubtfully.
""sara stanley!"
felicity flew across the kitchen.
""do you mean that you put the bread right into the oven after you kneaded it without leaving it to rise a second time?"
the story girl turned quite pale.
""yes, i did," she faltered.
""oh, felicity, was n't it right?"
""you've ruined the bread," said felicity flatly.
""it's as heavy as a stone.
i declare, sara stanley, i'd rather have a little common sense than be a great story teller."
bitter indeed was the poor story girl's mortification.
""do n't tell uncle roger," she implored humbly.
""oh, i wo n't tell him," promised felicity amiably.
""it's lucky there's enough old bread to do to-day.
this will go to the hens.
but it's an awful waste of good flour."
the story girl crept out with felix and me to the morning orchard, while dan and peter went to do the barn work.
""it is n't any use for me to try to learn to cook," she said.
""never mind," i said consolingly.
""you can tell splendid stories."
""but what good would that do a hungry boy?"
wailed the story girl.
""boys ai n't always hungry," said felix gravely.
""there's times when they ai n't."
""i do n't believe it," said the story girl drearily.
""besides," added felix in the tone of one who says while there is life there is yet hope, "you may learn to cook yet if you keep on trying."
""but aunt olivia wo n't let me waste the stuff.
my only hope was to learn this week.
but i suppose felicity is so disgusted with me now that she wo n't give me any more lessons."
""i do n't care," said felix.
""i like you better than felicity, even if you ca n't cook.
there's lots of folks can make bread.
but there is n't many who can tell a story like you."
""but it's better to be useful than just interesting," sighed the story girl bitterly.
and felicity, who was useful, would, in her secret soul, have given anything to be interesting.
which is the way of human nature.
company descended on us that afternoon.
first came aunt janet's sister, mrs. patterson, with a daughter of sixteen years and a son of two.
they were followed by a buggy-load of markdale people; and finally, mrs. elder frewen and her sister from vancouver, with two small daughters of the latter, arrived.
""it never rains but it pours," said uncle roger, as he went out to take their horse.
but felicity's foot was on her native heath.
she had been baking all the afternoon, and, with a pantry well stocked with biscuits, cookies, cakes, and pies, she cared not if all carlisle came to tea.
cecily set the table, and the story girl waited on it and washed all the dishes afterwards.
but all the blushing honours fell to felicity, who received so many compliments that her airs were quite unbearable for the rest of the week.
she presided at the head of the table with as much grace and dignity as if she had been five times twelve years old, and seemed to know by instinct just who took sugar and who took it not.
she was flushed with excitement and pleasure, and was so pretty that i could hardly eat for looking at her -- which is the highest compliment in a boy's power to pay.
the story girl, on the contrary, was under eclipse.
she was pale and lustreless from her disturbed night and early rising; and no opportunity offered to tell a melting tale.
nobody took any notice of her.
it was felicity's day.
after tea mrs. frewen and her sister wished to visit their father's grave in the carlisle churchyard.
it appeared that everybody wanted to go with them; but it was evident that somebody must stay home with jimmy patterson, who had just fallen sound asleep on the kitchen sofa.
dan finally volunteered to look after him.
he had a new henty book which he wanted to finish, and that, he said, was better fun than a walk to the graveyard.
""i think we'll be back before he wakes," said mrs. patterson, "and anyhow he is very good and wo n't be any trouble.
do n't let him go outside, though.
he has a cold now."
we went away, leaving dan sitting on the door-sill reading his book, and jimmy p. snoozing blissfully on the sofa.
when we returned -- felix and the girls and i were ahead of the others -- dan was still sitting in precisely the same place and attitude; but there was no jimmy in sight.
""dan, where's the baby?"
cried felicity.
dan looked around.
his jaw fell in blank amazement.
i never say any one look as foolish as dan at that moment.
""good gracious, i do n't know," he said helplessly.
""you've been so deep in that wretched book that he's got out, and dear knows where he is," cried felicity distractedly.
""i was n't," cried dan.
""he must be in the house.
i've been sitting right across the door ever since you left, and he could n't have got out unless he crawled right over me.
he must be in the house."
""he is n't in the kitchen," said felicity rushing about wildly, "and he could n't get into the other part of the house, for i shut the hall door tight, and no baby could open it -- and it's shut tight yet.
so are all the windows.
he must have gone out of that door, dan king, and it's your fault."
""he did n't go out of this door," reiterated dan stubbornly.
""i know that."
""well, where is he, then?
he is n't here.
did he melt into air?"
demanded felicity.
""oh, come and look for him, all of you.
do n't stand round like ninnies.
we must find him before his mother gets here.
dan king, you're an idiot!"
dan was too frightened to resent this, at the time.
however and wherever jimmy had gone, he was gone, so much was certain.
we tore about the house and yard like maniacs; we looked into every likely and unlikely place.
but jimmy we could not find, anymore than if he had indeed melted into air.
mrs. patterson came, and we had not found him.
things were getting serious.
uncle roger and peter were summoned from the field.
mrs. patterson became hysterical, and was taken into the spare room with such remedies as could be suggested.
everybody blamed poor dan.
cecily asked him what he would feel like if jimmy was never, never found.
the story girl had a gruesome recollection of some baby at markdale who had wandered away like that -- "and they never found him till the next spring, and all they found was -- his skeleton, with the grass growing through it," she whispered.
""this beats me," said uncle roger, when a fruitless hour had elapsed.
""i do hope that baby has n't wandered down to the swamp.
it seems impossible he could walk so far; but i must go and see.
felicity, hand me my high boots out from under the sofa, there's a girl."
felicity, pale and tearful, dropped on her knees and lifted the cretonne frill of the sofa.
there, his head pillowed hardly on uncle roger's boots, lay jimmy patterson, still sound asleep!
""well, i'll be -- jiggered!"
said uncle roger.
""i knew he never went out of the door," cried dan triumphantly.
when the last buggy had driven away, felicity set a batch of bread, and the rest of us sat around the back porch steps in the cat's light and ate cherries, shooting the stones at each other.
cecily was in quest of information.
""what does "it never rains but it pours" mean?"
""oh, it means if anything happens something else is sure to happen," said the story girl.
""i'll illustrate.
there's mrs. murphy.
she never had a proposal in her life till she was forty, and then she had three in the one week, and she was so flustered she took the wrong one and has been sorry ever since.
do you see what it means now?"
""yes, i guess so," said cecily somewhat doubtfully.
later on we heard her imparting her newly acquired knowledge to felicity in the pantry."
"it never rains but it pours" means that nobody wants to marry you for ever so long, and then lots of people do."
chapter xiv.
forbidden fruit we were all, with the exception of uncle roger, more or less grumpy in the household of king next day.
perhaps our nerves had been upset by the excitement attendant on jimmy patterson's disappearance.
but it is more likely that our crankiness was the result of the supper we had eaten the previous night.
even children can not devour mince pie, and cold fried pork ham, and fruit cake before going to bed with entire impunity.
aunt janet had forgotten to warn uncle roger to keep an eye on our bedtime snacks, and we ate what seemed good unto us.
some of us had frightful dreams, and all of us carried chips on our shoulders at breakfast.
felicity and dan began a bickering which they kept up the entire day.
felicity had a natural aptitude for what we called "bossing," and in her mother's absence she deemed that she had a right to rule supreme.
she knew better than to make any attempt to assert authority over the story girl, and felix and i were allowed some length of tether; but cecily, dan, and peter were expected to submit dutifully to her decrees.
in the main they did; but on this particular morning dan was plainly inclined to rebel.
he had had time to grow sore over the things that felicity had said to him when jimmy patterson was thought lost, and he began the day with a flatly expressed determination that he was not going to let felicity rule the roost.
it was not a pleasant day, and to make matters worse it rained until late in the afternoon.
the story girl had not recovered from the mortifications of the previous day; she would not talk, and she would not tell a single story; she sat on rachel ward's chest and ate her breakfast with the air of a martyr.
after breakfast she washed the dishes and did the bed-room work in grim silence; then, with a book under one arm and pat under the other, she betook herself to the window-seat in the upstairs hall, and would not be lured from that retreat, charmed we never so wisely.
she stroked the purring paddy, and read steadily on, with maddening indifference to all our pleadings.
even cecily, the meek and mild, was snappish, and complained of headache.
peter had gone home to see his mother, and uncle roger had gone to markdale on business.
sara ray came up, but was so snubbed by felicity that she went home, crying.
felicity got the dinner by herself, disdaining to ask or command assistance.
she banged things about and rattled the stove covers until even cecily protested from her sofa.
dan sat on the floor and whittled, his sole aim and object being to make a mess and annoy felicity, in which noble ambition he succeeded perfectly.
""i wish aunt janet and uncle alec were home," said felix.
""it's not half so much fun having the grown-ups away as i thought it would be."
""i wish i was back in toronto," i said sulkily.
the mince pie was to blame for that wish.
""i wish you were, i'm sure," said felicity, riddling the fire noisily.
""any one who lives with you, felicity king, will always be wishing he was somewhere else," said dan.
""i was n't talking to you, dan king," retorted felicity," "speak when you're spoken to, come when you're called.""
""oh, oh, oh," wailed cecily on the sofa.
""i wish it would stop raining.
i wish my head would stop aching.
i wish ma had never gone away.
i wish you'd leave felicity alone, dan."
""i wish girls had some sense," said dan -- which brought the orgy of wishing to an end for the time.
a wishing fairy might have had the time of her life in the king kitchen that morning -- particularly if she were a cynically inclined fairy.
but even the effects of unholy snacks wear away at length.
by tea-time things had brightened up.
the rain had ceased, and the old, low-raftered room was full of sunshine which danced on the shining dishes of the dresser, made mosaics on the floor, and flickered over the table whereon a delicious meal was spread.
felicity had put on her blue muslin, and looked so beautiful in it that her good humour was quite restored.
cecily's headache was better, and the story girl, refreshed by an afternoon siesta, came down with smiles and sparkling eyes.
dan alone continued to nurse his grievances, and would not even laugh when the story girl told us a tale brought to mind by some of the "rev. mr. scott's plums" which were on the table.
""the rev. mr. scott was the man who thought the pulpit door must be made for speerits, you know," she said.
""i heard uncle edward telling ever so many stories about him.
he was called to this congregation, and he laboured here long and faithfully, and was much beloved, though he was very eccentric."
""what does that mean?"
asked peter.
""hush!
it just means queer," said cecily, nudging him with her elbow.
""a common man would be queer, but when it's a minister, it's eccentric."
""when he gets very old," continued the story girl, "the presbytery thought it was time he was retired.
he did n't think so; but the presbytery had their way, because there were so many of them to one of him.
he was retired, and a young man was called to carlisle.
mr. scott went to live in town, but he came out to carlisle very often, and visited all the people regularly, just the same as when he was their minister.
the young minister was a very good young man, and tried to do his duty; but he was dreadfully afraid of meeting old mr. scott, because he had been told that the old minister was very angry at being set aside, and would likely give him a sound drubbing, if he ever met him.
one day the young minister was visiting the crawfords in markdale, when they suddenly heard old mr. scott's voice in the kitchen.
the young minister turned pale as the dead, and implored mrs. crawford to hid him.
but she could n't get him out of the room, and all she could do was to hide him in the china closet.
the young minister slipped into the china closet, and old mr. scott came into the room.
he talked very nicely, and read, and prayed.
they made very long prayers in those days, you know; and at the end of his prayer he said, "oh lord, bless the poor young man hiding in the closet.
give him courage not to fear the face of man.
make him a burning and a shining light to this sadly abused congregation."
just imagine the feelings of the young minister in the china closet!
but he came right out like a man, though his face was very red, as soon as mr. scott had done praying.
and mr. scott was lovely to him, and shook hands, and never mentioned the china closet.
and they were the best of friends ever afterwards."
""how did old mr. scott find out the young minister was in the closet?"
asked felix.
""nobody ever knew.
they supposed he had seen him through the window before he came into the house, and guessed he must be in the closet -- because there was no way for him to get out of the room."
""mr. scott planted the yellow plum tree in grandfather's time," said cecily, peeling one of the plums, "and when he did it he said it was as christian an act as he ever did.
i wonder what he meant.
i do n't see anything very christian about planting a tree."
""i do," said the story girl sagely.
when next we assembled ourselves together, it was after milking, and the cares of the day were done with.
we foregathered in the balsam-fragrant aisles of the fir wood, and ate early august apples to such an extent that the story girl said we made her think of the irishman's pig.
""an irishman who lived at markdale had a little pig," she said, "and he gave it a pailful of mush.
the pig at the whole pailful, and then the irishman put the pig in the pail, and it did n't fill more than half the pail.
now, how was that, when it held a whole pailful of mush?"
this seemed to be a rather unanswerable kind of conundrum.
we discussed the problem as we roamed the wood, and dan and peter almost quarrelled over it, dan maintaining that the thing was impossible, and peter being of the opinion that the mush was somehow "made thicker" in the process of being eaten, and so took up less room.
during the discussion we came out to the fence of the hill pasture where grew the "bad berry" bushes.
just what these "bad berries" were i can not tell.
we never knew their real name.
they were small, red-clustered berries of a glossy, seductive appearance, and we were forbidden to eat them, because it was thought they might be poisonous.
dan picked a cluster and held it up.
""dan king, do n't you dare eat those berries," said felicity in her "bossiest" tone.
""they're poison.
drop them right away."
now, dan had not had the slightest intention of eating the berries.
but at felicity's prohibition the rebellion which had smouldered in him all day broke into sudden flame.
he would show her!
""i'll eat them if i please, felicity king," he said in a fury: "i do n't believe they're poison.
look here!"
dan crammed the whole bunch into his capacious mouth and chewed it up.
""they taste great," he said, smacking; and he ate two more clusters, regardless of our horror-stricken protestations and felicity's pleadings.
we feared that dan would drop dead on the spot.
but nothing occurred immediately.
when an hour had passed we concluded that the bad berries were not poison after all, and we looked upon dan as quite a hero for daring to eat them.
""i knew they would n't hurt me," he said loftily.
""felicity's so fond of making a fuss over everything."
nevertheless, when it grew dark and we returned to the house, i noticed that dan was rather pale and quiet.
he lay down on the kitchen sofa.
""do n't you feel all right, dan?"
i whispered anxiously.
""shut up," he said.
i shut up.
felicity and cecily were setting out a lunch in the pantry when we were all startled by a loud groan from the sofa.
""oh, i'm sick -- i'm awful sick," said dan abjectly, all the defiance and bravado gone out of him.
we all went to pieces, except cecily, who alone retained her presence of mind.
""have you got a pain in your stomach?"
she demanded.
""i've got an awful pain here, if that's where my stomach is," moaned dan, putting his hand on a portion of his anatomy considerably below his stomach.
""oh -- oh -- oh!"
""go for uncle roger," commanded cecily, pale but composed.
""felicity, put on the kettle.
dan, i'm going to give you mustard and warm water."
the mustard and warm water produced its proper effect promptly, but gave dan no relief.
he continued to writhe and groan.
uncle roger, who had been summoned from his own place, went at once for the doctor, telling peter to go down the hill for mrs. ray.
peter went, but returned accompanied by sara only.
mrs. ray and judy pineau were both away.
sara might better have stayed home; she was of no use, and could only add to the general confusion, wandering aimlessly about, crying and asking if dan was going to die.
cecily took charge of things.
felicity might charm the palate, and the story girl bind captive the soul; but when pain and sickness wrung the brow it was cecily who was the ministering angel.
she made the writhing dan go to bed.
she made him swallow every available antidote which was recommended in "the doctor's book;" and she applied hot cloths to him until her faithful little hands were half scalded off.
there was no doubt dan was suffering intense pain.
he moaned and writhed, and cried for his mother.
""oh, is n't it dreadful!"
said felicity, wringing her hands as she walked the kitchen floor.
""oh, why does n't the doctor come?
i told dan the bad berries were poison.
but surely they ca n't kill people altogether."
""pa's cousin died of eating something forty years ago," sobbed sara ray.
""hold your tongue," said peter in a fierce whisper.
""you oughter have more sense than to say such things to the girls.
they do n't want to be any worse scared than they are."
""but pa's cousin did die," reiterated sara.
""my aunt jane used to rub whisky on for a pain," suggested peter.
""we have n't any whisky," said felicity disapprovingly.
""this is a temperance house."
""but rubbing whisky on the outside is n't any harm," argued peter.
""it's only when you take it inside it is bad for you."
""well, we have n't any, anyhow," said felicity.
""i suppose blueberry wine would n't do in its place?"
peter did not think blueberry wine would be any good.
it was ten o'clock before dan began to get better; but from that time he improved rapidly.
when the doctor, who had been away from home when uncle roger reached markdale, came at half past ten, he found his patient very weak and white, but free from pain.
dr. grier patted cecily on the head, told her she was a little brick, and had done just the right thing, examined some of the fatal berries and gave it as his opinion that they were probably poisonous, administered some powders to dan and advised him not to tamper with forbidden fruit in future, and went away.
mrs. ray now appeared, looking for sara, and said she would stay all night with us.
""i'll be much obliged to you if you will," said uncle roger.
""i feel a bit shook.
i urged janet and alec to go to halifax, and took the responsibility of the children while they were away, but i did n't know what i was letting myself in for.
if anything had happened i could never have forgiven myself -- though i believe it's beyond the power of mortal man to keep watch over the things children will eat.
now, you young fry, get straight off to your beds.
dan is out of danger, and you ca n't do any more good.
not that any of you have done much, except cecily.
she's got a head of her shoulders."
""it's been a horrid day all through," said felicity drearily, as we climbed the stairs.
""i suppose we made it horrid ourselves," said the story girl candidly.
""but it'll be a good story to tell sometime," she added.
""i'm awful tired and thankful," sighed cecily.
we all felt that way.
chapter xv.
a disobedient brother dan was his own man again in the morning, though rather pale and weak; he wanted to get up, but cecily ordered him to stay in bed.
fortunately felicity forgot to repeat the command, so dan did stay in bed.
cecily carried his meals to him, and read a henty book to him all her spare time.
the story girl went up and told him wondrous tales; and sara ray brought him a pudding she had made herself.
sara's intentions were good, but the pudding -- well, dan fed most of it to paddy, who had curled himself up at the foot of the bed, giving the world assurance of a cat by his mellifluous purring.
""ai n't he just a great old fellow?"
said dan.
""he knows i'm kind of sick, just as well as a human.
he never pays no attention to me when i'm well."
felix and peter and i were required to help uncle roger in some carpentering work that day, and felicity indulged in one of the house-cleaning orgies so dear to her soul; so that it was evening before we were all free to meet in the orchard and loll on the grasses of uncle stephen's walk.
in august it was a place of shady sweetness, fragrant with the odour of ripening apples, full of dear, delicate shadows.
through its openings we looked afar to the blue rims of the hills and over green, old, tranquil fields, lying the sunset glow.
overhead the lacing leaves made a green, murmurous roof.
there was no such thing as hurry in the world, while we lingered there and talked of "cabbages and kings."
a tale of the story girl's, wherein princes were thicker than blackberries, and queens as common as buttercups, led to our discussion of kings.
we wondered what it would be like to be a king.
peter thought it would be fine, only kind of inconvenient, wearing a crown all the time.
""oh, but they do n't," said the story girl.
""maybe they used to once, but now they wear hats.
the crowns are just for special occasions.
they look very much like other people, if you can go by their photographs."
""i do n't believe it would be much fun as a steady thing," said cecily.
""i'd like to see a queen though.
that is one thing i have against the island -- you never have a chance to see things like that here."
""the prince of wales was in charlottetown once," said peter.
""my aunt jane saw him quite close by."
""that was before we were born, and such a thing wo n't happen again until after we're dead," said cecily, with very unusual pessimism.
""i think queens and kings were thicker long ago," said the story girl.
""they do seem dreadfully scarce now.
there is n't one in this country anywhere.
perhaps i'll get a glimpse of some when i go to europe."
well, the story girl was destined to stand before kings herself, and she was to be one whom they delighted to honour.
but we did not know that, as we sat in the old orchard.
we thought it quite sufficiently marvellous that she should expect to have the chance of just seeing them.
""can a queen do exactly as she pleases?"
sara ray wanted to know.
""not nowadays," explained the story girl.
""then i do n't see any use in being one," sara decided.
""a king ca n't do as he pleases now, either," said felix.
""if he tries to, and if it is n't what pleases other people, the parliament or something squelches him."
""is n't "squelch" a lovely word?"
said the story girl irrelevantly.
""it's so expressive.
squ-u-e-l-ch!"
certainly it was a lovely word, as the story girl said it.
even a king would not have minded being squelched, if it were done to music like that.
""uncle roger says that martin forbes" wife has squelched him," said felicity.
""he says martin ca n't call his soul his own since he was married."
""i'm glad of it," said cecily vindictively.
we all stared.
this was so very unlike cecily.
""martin forbes is the brother of a horrid man in summerside who called me johnny, that's why," she explained.
""he was visiting here with his wife two years ago, and he called me johnny every time he spoke to me.
just you fancy!
i'll never forgive him."
""that is n't a christian spirit," said felicity rebukingly.
""i do n't care.
would you forgive james forbes if he had called you johnny?"
demanded cecily.
""i know a story about martin forbes" grandfather," said the story girl.
""long ago they did n't have any choir in the carlisle church -- just a precentor you know.
but at last they got a choir, and andrew mcpherson was to sing bass in it.
old mr. forbes had n't gone to church for years, because he was so rheumatic, but he went the first sunday the choir sang, because he had never heard any one sing bass, and wanted to hear what it was like.
grandfather king asked him what he thought of the choir.
mr. forbes said it was "verra guid," but as for andrew's bass, "there was nae bass aboot it -- it was just a bur-r-r-r the hale time.""
if you could have heard the story girl's "bur-r-r-r!"
not old mr. forbes himself could have invested it with more of doric scorn.
we rolled over in the cool grass and screamed with laughter.
""poor dan," said cecily compassionately.
""he's up there all alone in his room, missing all the fun.
i suppose it's mean of us to be having such a good time here, when he has to stay in bed."
""if dan had n't done wrong eating the bad berries when he was told not to, he would n't be sick," said felicity.
""you're bound to catch it when you do wrong.
it was just a providence he did n't die."
""that makes me think of another story about old mr. scott," said the story girl.
""you know, i told you he was very angry because the presbytery made him retire.
there were two ministers in particular he blamed for being at the bottom of it.
one time a friend of his was trying to console him, and said to him," "you should be resigned to the will of providence.""
"providence had nothing to do with it," said old mr. scott."
twas the mccloskeys and the devil.""
""you should n't speak of the -- the -- devil," said felicity, rather shocked.
""well, that's just what mr. scott said."
""oh, it's all right for a minister to speak of him.
but it is n't nice for little girls.
if you have to speak of -- of -- him -- you might say the old scratch.
that is what mother calls him."""
twas the mccloskeys and the old scratch,"" said the story girl reflectively, as if she were trying to see which version was the more effective.
""it would n't do," she decided.
""i do n't think it's any harm to mention the -- the -- that person, when you're telling a story," said cecily.
""it's only in plain talking it does n't do.
it sounds too much like swearing then."
""i know another story about mr. scott," said the story girl.
""not long after he was married his wife was n't quite ready for church one morning when it was time to go.
so, just to teach her a lesson, he drove off alone, and left her to walk all the way -- it was nearly two miles -- in the heat and dust.
she took it very quietly.
it's the best way, i guess, when you're married to a man like old mr. scott.
but just a few sundays after was n't he late himself!
i suppose mrs. scott thought that what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, for she slipped out and drove off to church as he had done.
old mr. scott finally arrived at the church, pretty hot and dusty, and in none too good a temper.
he went into the pulpit, leaned over it and looked at his wife, sitting calmly in her pew at the side."
"it was cleverly done," he said, right out loud, "but dinna try it again!""
in the midst of our laughter pat came down the walk, his stately tail waving over the grasses.
he proved to be the precursor of dan, clothed and in his right mind.
""do you think you should have got up, dan?"
said cecily anxiously.
""i had to," said dan.
""the window was open, and it was more'n i could stand to hear you fellows laughing down here and me missing it all.
"sides, i'm all right again.
i feel fine."
""i guess this will be a lesson to you, dan king," said felicity, in her most maddening tone.
""i guess you wo n't forget it in a hurry.
you wo n't go eating the bad berries another time when you're told not to."
dan had picked out a soft spot in the grass for himself, and was in the act of sitting down, when felicity's tactful speech arrested him midway.
he straightened up and turned a wrathful face on his provoking sister.
then, red with indignation, but without a word, he stalked up the walk.
""now he's gone off mad," said cecily reproachfully.
""oh, felicity, why could n't you have held your tongue?"
""why, what did i say to make him mad?"
asked felicity in honest perplexity.
""i think it's awful for brothers and sisters to be always quarrelling," sighed cecily.
""the cowans fight all the time; and you and dan will soon be as bad."
""oh, talk sense," said felicity.
""dan's got so touchy it is n't safe to speak to him.
i should think he'd be sorry for all the trouble he made last night.
but you just back him up in everything, cecily."
""i do n't!"
""you do!
and you've no business to, specially when mother's away.
she left me in charge."
""you did n't take much charge last night when dan got sick," said felix maliciously.
felicity had told him at tea that night he was getting fatter than ever.
this was his tit-for-tat.
""you were pretty glad to leave it all to cecily then."
""who's talking to you?"
said felicity.
""now, look here," said the story girl, "the first thing we know we'll all be quarrelling, and then some of us will sulk all day to-morrow.
it's dreadful to spoil a whole day.
just let's all sit still and count a hundred before we say another word."
we sat still and counted the hundred.
when cecily finished she got up and went in search of dan, resolved to soothe his wounded feelings.
felicity called after her to tell dan there was a jam turnover she had put away in the pantry specially for him.
felix held out to felicity a remarkably fine apple which he had been saving for his own consumption; and the story girl began a tale of an enchanted maiden in a castle by the sea; but we never heard the end of it.
for, just as the evening star was looking whitely through the rosy window of the west, cecily came flying through the orchard, wringing her hands.
""oh, come, come quick," she gasped.
""dan's eating the bad berries again -- he's et a whole bunch of them -- he says he'll show felicity.
i ca n't stop him.
come you and try."
we rose in a body and rushed towards the house.
in the yard we encountered dan, emerging from the fir wood and champing the fatal berries with unrepentant relish.
""dan king, do you want to commit suicide?"
demanded the story girl.
""look here, dan," i expostulated.
""you should n't do this.
think how sick you were last night and all the trouble you made for everybody.
do n't eat any more, there's a good chap."
""all right," said dan.
""i've et all i want.
they taste fine.
i do n't believe it was them made me sick."
but now that his anger was over he looked a little frightened.
felicity was not there.
we found her in the kitchen, lighting up the fire.
""bev, fill the kettle with water and put it on to heat," she said in a resigned tone.
""if dan's going to be sick again we've got to be ready for it.
i wish mother was home, that's all.
i hope she'll never go away again.
dan king, you just wait till i tell her of the way you've acted."
""fudge!
i ai n't going to be sick," said dan.
""and if you begin telling tales, felicity king, i'll tell some too.
i know how many eggs mother said you could use while she was away -- and i know how many you have used.
i counted.
so you'd better mind your own business, miss." "a nice way to talk to your sister when you may be dead in an hour's time!"
retorted felicity, in tears between her anger and her real alarm about dan.
but in an hour's time dan was still in good health, and announced his intention of going to bed.
he went, and was soon sleeping as peacefully as if he had nothing on either conscience or stomach.
but felicity declared she meant to keep the water hot until all danger was past; and we sat up to keep her company.
we were sitting there when uncle roger walked in at eleven o'clock.
""what on earth are you young fry doing up at this time of night?"
he asked angrily.
""you should have been in your beds two hours ago.
and with a roaring fire on a night that's hot enough to melt a brass monkey!
have you taken leave of your senses?"
""it's because of dan," explained felicity wearily.
""he went and et more of the bad berries -- a whole lot of them -- and we were sure he'd be sick again.
but he has n't been yet, and now he's asleep."
""is that boy stark, staring mad?"
said uncle roger.
""it was felicity's fault," cried cecily, who always took dan's part through evil report and good report.
""she told him she guessed he'd learned a lesson and would n't do what she'd told him not to again.
so he went and et them because she vexed him so."
""felicity king, if you do n't watch out you'll grow up into the sort of woman who drives her husband to drink," said uncle roger gravely.
""how could i tell dan would act so like a mule!"
cried felicity.
""get off to bed, every one of you.
it's a thankful man i'll be when your father and mother come home.
the wretched bachelor who undertakes to look after a houseful of children like you is to be pitied.
nobody will ever catch me doing it again.
felicity, is there anything fit to eat in the pantry?"
that last question was the most unkindest cut of all.
felicity could have forgiven uncle roger anything but that.
it really was unpardonable.
she confided to me as we climbed the stairs that she hated uncle roger.
her red lips quivered and the tears of wounded pride brimmed over in her beautiful blue eyes.
in the dim candle-light she looked unbelievably pretty and appealing.
i put my arm about her and gave her a cousinly salute.
""never you mind him, felicity," i said.
""he's only a grown-up."
chapter xvi.
the ghostly bell friday was a comfortable day in the household of king.
everybody was in good humour.
the story girl sparkled through several tales that ranged from the afrites and jinns of eastern myth, through the piping days of chivalry, down to the homely anecdotes of carlisle workaday folks.
she was in turn an oriental princess behind a silken veil, the bride who followed her bridegroom to the wars of palestine disguised as a page, the gallant lady who ransomed her diamond necklace by dancing a coranto with a highwayman on a moonlit heath, and "buskirk's girl" who joined the sons and daughters of temperance "just to see what was into it;" and in each impersonation she was so thoroughly the thing impersonated that it was a matter of surprise to us when she emerged from each our own familiar story girl again.
cecily and sara ray found a "sweet" new knitted lace pattern in an old magazine and spent a happy afternoon learning it and "talking secrets."
chancing -- accidentally, i vow -- to overhear certain of these secrets, i learned that sara ray had named an apple for johnny price -- "and, cecily, true's you live, there was eight seeds in it, and you know eight means "they both love"" -- while cecily admitted that willy fraser had written on his slate and showed it to her, "if you love me as i love you, no knife can cut our love in two" -- "but, sara ray, never you breathe this to a living soul."
felix also averred that he heard sara ask cecily very seriously, "cecily, how old must we be before we can have a real beau?"
but sara always denied it; so i am inclined to believe felix simply made it up himself.
paddy distinguished himself by catching a rat, and being intolerably conceited about it -- until sara ray cured him by calling him a "dear, sweet cat," and kissing him between the ears.
then pat sneaked abjectly off, his tail drooping.
he resented being called a sweet cat.
he had a sense of humour, had pat.
very few cats have; and most of them have such an inordinate appetite for flattery that they will swallow any amount of it and thrive thereon.
paddy had a finer taste.
the story girl and i were the only ones who could pay him compliments to his liking.
the story girl would box his ears with her fist and say, "bless your gray heart, paddy, you're a good sort of old rascal," and pat would purr his satisfaction; i used to take a handful of the skin on his back, shake him gently and say, "pat, you've forgotten more than any human being ever knew," and i vow paddy would lick his chops with delight.
but to be called "a sweet cat!"
oh, sara, sara!
felicity tried -- and had the most gratifying luck with -- a new and complicated cake recipe -- a gorgeous compound of a plumminess to make your mouth water.
the number of eggs she used in it would have shocked aunt janet's thrifty soul, but that cake, like beauty, was its own excuse.
uncle roger ate three slices of it at tea-time and told felicity she was an artist.
the poor man meant it as a compliment; but felicity, who knew uncle blair was an artist and had a poor opinion of such fry, looked indignant and retorted, indeed she was n't!
""peter says there's any amount of raspberries back in the maple clearing," said dan.
""s'posen we all go after tea and pick some?"
""i'd like to," sighed felicity, "but we'd come home tired and with all the milking to do.
you boys better go alone."
""peter and i will attend to the milking for one evening," said uncle roger.
""you can all go.
i have an idea that a raspberry pie for to-morrow night, when the folks come home, would hit the right spot."
accordingly, after tea we all set off, armed with jugs and cups.
felicity, thoughtful creature, also took a small basketful of jelly cookies along with her.
we had to go back through the maple woods to the extreme end of uncle roger's farm -- a pretty walk, through a world of green, whispering boughs and spice-sweet ferns, and shifting patches of sunlight.
the raspberries were plentiful, and we were not long in filling our receptacles.
then we foregathered around a tiny wood spring, cold and pellucid under its young maples, and ate the jelly cookies; and the story girl told us a tale of a haunted spring in a mountain glen where a fair white lady dwelt, who pledged all comers in a golden cup with jewels bright.
""and if you drank of the cup with her," said the story girl, her eyes glowing through the emerald dusk about us, "you were never seen in the world again; you were whisked straightway to fairyland, and lived there with a fairy bride.
and you never wanted to come back to earth, because when you drank of the magic cup you forgot all your past life, except for one day in every year when you were allowed to remember it."
""i wish there was such a place as fairyland -- and a way to get to it," said cecily.
""i think there is such a place -- in spite of uncle edward," said the story girl dreamily, "and i think there is a way of getting there too, if we could only find it."
well, the story girl was right.
there is such a place as fairyland -- but only children can find the way to it.
and they do not know that it is fairyland until they have grown so old that they forget the way.
one bitter day, when they seek it and can not find it, they realize what they have lost; and that is the tragedy of life.
on that day the gates of eden are shut behind them and the age of gold is over.
henceforth they must dwell in the common light of common day.
only a few, who remain children at heart, can ever find that fair, lost path again; and blessed are they above mortals.
they, and only they, can bring us tidings from that dear country where we once sojourned and from which we must evermore be exiles.
the world calls them its singers and poets and artists and story-tellers; but they are just people who have never forgotten the way to fairyland.
as we sat there the awkward man passed by, with his gun over his shoulder and his dog at his side.
he did not look like an awkward man, there in the heart of the maple woods.
he strode along right masterfully and lifted his head with the air of one who was monarch of all he surveyed.
the story girl kissed her fingertips to him with the delightful audacity which was a part of her; and the awkward man plucked off his hat and swept her a stately and graceful bow.
""i do n't understand why they call him the awkward man," said cecily, when he was out of earshot.
""you'd understand why if you ever saw him at a party or a picnic," said felicity, "trying to pass plates and dropping them whenever a woman looked at him.
they say it's pitiful to see him."
""i must get well acquainted with that man next summer," said the story girl.
""if i put it off any longer it will be too late.
i'm growing so fast, aunt olivia says i'll have to wear ankle skirts next summer.
if i begin to look grown-up he'll get frightened of me, and then i'll never find out the golden milestone mystery."
""do you think he'll ever tell you who alice is?"
i asked.
""i have a notion who alice is already," said the mysterious creature.
but she would tell us nothing more.
when the jelly cookies were all eaten it was high time to be moving homeward, for when the dark comes down there are more comfortable places than a rustling maple wood and the precincts of a possibly enchanted spring.
when we reached the foot of the orchard and entered it through a gap in the hedge it was the magical, mystical time of "between lights."
off to the west was a daffodil glow hanging over the valley of lost sunsets, and grandfather king's huge willow rose up against it like a rounded mountain of foliage.
in the east, above the maple woods, was a silvery sheen that hinted the moonrise.
but the orchard was a place of shadows and mysterious sounds.
midway up the open space in its heart we met peter; and if ever a boy was given over to sheer terror that boy was peter.
his face was as white as a sunburned face could be, and his eyes were brimmed with panic.
""peter, what is the matter?"
cried cecily.
""there's -- something -- in the house, ringing a bell," said peter, in a shaking voice.
not the story girl herself could have invested that "something" with more of creepy horror.
we all drew close together.
i felt a crinkly feeling along my back which i had never known before.
if peter had not been so manifestly frightened we might have thought he was trying to "pass a joke" on us.
but such abject terror as his could not be counterfeited.
""nonsense!"
said felicity, but her voice shook.
""there is n't a bell in the house to ring.
you must have imagined it, peter.
or else uncle roger is trying to fool us."
""your uncle roger went to markdale right after milking," said peter.
""he locked up the house and gave me the key.
there was n't a soul in it then, that i'm sure of.
i druv the cows to the pasture, and i got back about fifteen minutes ago.
i set down on the front door steps for a moment, and all at once i heard a bell ring in the house eight times.
i tell you i was skeered.
i made a bolt for the orchard -- and you wo n't catch me going near that house till your uncle roger comes home."
you would n't catch any of us doing it.
we were almost as badly scared as peter.
there we stood in a huddled demoralized group.
oh, what an eerie place that orchard was!
what shadows!
what noises!
what spooky swooping of bats!
you could n't look every way at once, and goodness only knew what might be behind you!
""there ca n't be anybody in the house," said felicity.
""well, here's the key -- go and see for yourself," said peter.
felicity had no intention of going and seeing.
""i think you boys ought to go," she said, retreating behind the defence of sex.
""you ought to be braver than girls."
""but we ai n't," said felix candidly.
""i would n't be much scared of anything real.
but a haunted house is a different thing."
""i always thought something had to be done in a place before it could be haunted," said cecily.
""somebody killed or something like that, you know.
nothing like that ever happened in our family.
the kings have always been respectable."
""perhaps it is emily king's ghost," whispered felix.
""she never appeared anywhere but in the orchard," said the story girl.
""oh, oh, children, is n't there something under uncle alec's tree?"
we peered fearfully through the gloom.
there was something -- something that wavered and fluttered -- advanced -- retreated -- "that's only my old apron," said felicity.
""i hung it there to-day when i was looking for the white hen's nest.
oh, what shall we do?
uncle roger may not be back for hours.
i ca n't believe there's anything in the house."
""maybe it's only peg bowen," suggested dan.
there was not a great deal of comfort in this.
we were almost as much afraid of peg bowen as we would be of any spectral visitant.
peter scoffed at the idea.
""peg bowen was n't in the house before your uncle roger locked it up, and how could she get in afterwards?"
he said.
""no, it is n't peg bowen.
it's something that walks."
""i know a story about a ghost," said the story girl, the ruling passion strong even in extremity.
""it is about a ghost with eyeholes but no eyes --" "do n't," cried cecily hysterically.
""do n't you go on!
do n't you say another word!
i ca n't bear it!
do n't you!"
the story girl did n't.
but she had said enough.
there was something in the quality of a ghost with eyeholes but no eyes that froze our young blood.
there never were in all the world six more badly scared children than those who huddled in the old king orchard that august night.
all at once -- something -- leaped from the bough of a tree and alighted before us.
we split the air with a simultaneous shriek.
we would have run, one and all, if there had been anywhere to run to.
but there was n't -- all around us were only those shadowy arcades.
then we saw with shame that it was only our paddy.
""pat, pat," i said, picking him up, feeling a certain comfort in his soft, solid body.
""stay with us, old fellow."
but pat would none of us.
he struggled out of my clasp and disappeared over the long grasses with soundless leaps.
he was no longer our tame, domestic, well acquainted paddy.
he was a strange, furtive animal -- a "questing beast."
presently the moon rose; but this only made matters worse.
the shadows had been still before; now they moved and danced, as the night wind tossed the boughs.
the old house, with its dreadful secret, was white and clear against the dark background of spruces.
we were woefully tired, but we could not sit down because the grass was reeking with dew.
""the family ghost only appears in daylight," said the story girl.
""i would n't mind seeing a ghost in daylight.
but after dark is another thing."
""there's no such thing as a ghost," i said contemptuously.
oh, how i wished i could believe it!
""then what rung that bell?"
said peter.
""bells do n't ring of themselves, i s "pose, specially when there ai n't any in the house to ring."
""oh, will uncle roger never come home!"
sobbed felicity.
""i know he'll laugh at us awful, but it's better to be laughed at than scared like this."
uncle roger did not come until nearly ten.
never was there a more welcome sound than the rumble of his wheels in the lane.
we ran to the orchard gate and swarmed across the yard, just as uncle roger alighted at the front door.
he stared at us in the moonlight.
""have you tormented any one into eating more bad berries, felicity?"
he demanded.
""oh, uncle roger, do n't go in," implored felicity seriously.
""there's something dreadful in there -- something that rings a bell.
peter heard it.
do n't go in."
""there's no use asking the meaning of this, i suppose," said uncle roger with the calm of despair.
""i've gave up trying to fathom you young ones.
peter, where's the key?
what yarn have you been telling?"
""i did hear a bell ring," said peter stubbornly.
uncle roger unlocked and flung open the front door.
as he did so, clear and sweet, rang out ten bell-like chimes.
""that's what i heard," cried peter.
""there's the bell!"
we had to wait until uncle roger stopped laughing before we heard the explanation.
we thought he never would stop.
""that's grandfather king's old clock striking," he said, as soon as he was able to speak.
""sammy prott came along after tea, when you were away to the forge, peter, and i gave him permission to clean the old clock.
he had it going merrily in no time.
and now it has almost frightened you poor little monkeys to death."
we heard uncle roger chuckling all the way to the barn.
""uncle roger can laugh," said cecily, with a quiver in her voice, "but it's no laughing matter to be so scared.
i just feel sick, i was so frightened."
""i would n't mind if he'd laugh once and have it done with it," said felicity bitterly.
""but he'll laugh at us for a year, and tell the story to every soul that comes to the place."
""you ca n't blame him for that," said the story girl.
""i shall tell it, too.
i do n't care if the joke is as much on myself as any one.
a story is a story, no matter who it's on.
but it is hateful to be laughed at -- and grown-ups always do it.
i never will when i'm grown up.
i'll remember better."
""it's all peter's fault," said felicity.
""i do think he might have had more sense than to take a clock striking for a bell ringing."
""i never heard that kind of a strike before," protested peter.
""it do n't sound a bit like other clocks.
and the door was shut and the sound kind o" muffled.
it's all very fine to say you would have known what it was, but i do n't believe you would."
""i would n't have," said the story girl honestly.
""i thought it was a bell when i heard it, and the door open, too.
let us be fair, felicity."
""i'm dreadful tired," sighed cecily.
we were all "dreadful tired," for this was the third night of late hours and nerve racking strain.
but it was over two hours since we had eaten the cookies, and felicity suggested that a saucerful apiece of raspberries and cream would not be hard to take.
it was not, for any one but cecily, who could n't swallow a mouthful.
""i'm glad father and mother will be back to-morrow night," she said.
""it's too exciting when they're away.
that's my opinion."
chapter xvii.
the proof of the pudding felicity was cumbered with many cares the next morning.
for one thing, the whole house must be put in apple pie order; and for another, an elaborate supper must be prepared for the expected return of the travellers that night.
felicity devoted her whole attention to this, and left the secondary preparation of the regular meals to cecily and the story girl.
it was agreed that the latter was to make a cornmeal pudding for dinner.
in spite of her disaster with the bread, the story girl had been taking cooking lessons from felicity all the week, and getting on tolerably well, although, mindful of her former mistake, she never ventured on anything without felicity's approval.
but felicity had no time to oversee her this morning.
""you must attend to the pudding yourself," she said.
""the recipe's so plain and simple even you ca n't go astray, and if there's anything you do n't understand you can ask me.
but do n't bother me if you can help it."
the story girl did not bother her once.
the pudding was concocted and baked, as the story girl proudly informed us when we came to the dinner-table, all on her own hook.
she was very proud of it; and certainly as far as appearance went it justified her triumph.
the slices were smooth and golden; and, smothered in the luscious maple sugar sauce which cecily had compounded, were very fair to view.
nevertheless, although none of us, not even uncle roger or felicity, said a word at the time, for fear of hurting the story girl's feelings, the pudding did not taste exactly as it should.
it was tough -- decidedly tough -- and lacked the richness of flavour which was customary in aunt janet's cornmeal puddings.
if it had not been for the abundant supply of sauce it would have been very dry eating indeed.
eaten it was, however, to the last crumb.
if it were not just what a cornmeal pudding might be, the rest of the bill of fare had been extra good and our appetites matched it.
""i wish i was twins so's i could eat more," said dan, when he simply had to stop.
""what good would being twins do you?"
asked peter.
""people who squint ca n't eat any more than people who do n't squint, can they?"
we could not see any connection between peter's two questions.
""what has squinting got to do with twins?"
asked dan.
""why, twins are just people that squint, are n't they?"
said peter.
we thought he was trying to be funny, until we found out that he was quite in earnest.
then we laughed until peter got sulky.
""i do n't care," he said.
""how's a fellow to know?
tommy and adam cowan, over at markdale, are twins; and they're both cross-eyed.
so i s "posed that was what being twins meant.
it's all very fine for you fellows to laugh.
i never went to school half as much as you did; and you was brought up in toronto, too.
if you'd worked out ever since you was seven, and just got to school in the winter, there'd be lots of things you would n't know, either."
""never mind, peter," said cecily.
""you know lots of things they do n't."
but peter was not to be conciliated, and took himself off in high dudgeon.
to be laughed at before felicity -- to be laughed at by felicity -- was something he could not endure.
let cecily and the story girl cackle all they wanted to, and let those stuck-up toronto boys grin like chessy-cats; but when felicity laughed at him the iron entered into peter's soul.
if the story girl laughed at peter the mills of the gods ground out his revenge for him in mid-afternoon.
felicity, having used up all the available cooking materials in the house, had to stop perforce; and she now determined to stuff two new pincushions she had been making for her room.
we heard her rummaging in the pantry as we sat on the cool, spruce-shadowed cellar door outside, where uncle roger was showing us how to make elderberry pop-guns.
presently she came out, frowning.
""cecily, do you know where mother put the sawdust she emptied out of that old beaded pincushion of grandmother king's, after she had sifted the needles out of it?
i thought it was in the tin box."
""so it is," said cecily.
""it is n't.
there is n't a speck of sawdust in that box."
the story girl's face wore a quite indescribable expression, compound of horror and shame.
she need not have confessed.
if she had but held her tongue the mystery of the sawdust's disappearance might have forever remained a mystery.
she would have held her tongue, as she afterwards confided to me, if it had not been for a horrible fear which flashed into her mind that possibly sawdust puddings were not healthy for people to eat -- especially if there might be needles in them -- and that if any mischief had been done in that direction it was her duty to undo it if possible at any cost of ridicule to herself.
""oh, felicity," she said, her voice expressing a very anguish of humiliation, "i -- i -- thought that stuff in the box was cornmeal and used it to make the pudding."
felicity and cecily stared blankly at the story girl.
we boys began to laugh, but were checked midway by uncle roger.
he was rocking himself back and forth, with his hand pressed against his stomach.
""oh," he groaned, "i've been wondering what these sharp pains i've been feeling ever since dinner meant.
i know now.
i must have swallowed a needle -- several needles, perhaps.
i'm done for!"
the poor story girl went very white.
""oh, uncle roger, could it be possible?
you could n't have swallowed a needle without knowing it.
it would have stuck in your tongue or teeth."
""i did n't chew the pudding," groaned uncle roger.
""it was too tough -- i just swallowed the chunks whole."
he groaned and twisted and doubled himself up.
but he overdid it.
he was not as good an actor as the story girl.
felicity looked scornfully at him.
""uncle roger, you are not one bit sick," she said deliberately.
""you are just putting on."
""felicity, if i die from the effects of eating sawdust pudding, flavoured with needles, you'll be sorry you ever said such a thing to your poor old uncle," said uncle roger reproachfully.
""even if there were no needles in it, sixty-year-old sawdust ca n't be good for my tummy.
i daresay it was n't even clean."
""well, you know every one has to eat a peck of dirt in his life," giggled felicity.
""but nobody has to eat it all at once," retorted uncle roger, with another groan.
""oh, sara stanley, it's a thankful man i am that your aunt olivia is to be home to-night.
you'd have me kilt entirely by another day.
i believe you did it on purpose to have a story to tell."
uncle roger hobbled off to the barn, still holding on to his stomach.
""do you think he really feels sick?"
asked the story girl anxiously.
""no, i do n't," said felicity.
""you need n't worry over him.
there's nothing the matter with him.
i do n't believe there were any needles in that sawdust.
mother sifted it very carefully."
""i know a story about a man whose son swallowed a mouse," said the story girl, who would probably have known a story and tried to tell it if she were being led to the stake.
""and he ran and wakened up a very tired doctor just as he had got to sleep."
"oh, doctor, my son has swallowed a mouse," he cried.
"what shall i do?""
"tell him to swallow a cat," roared the poor doctor, and slammed his door.
""now, if uncle roger has swallowed any needles, maybe it would make it all right if he swallowed a pincushion."
we all laughed.
but felicity soon grew sober.
""it seems awful to think of eating a sawdust pudding.
how on earth did you make such a mistake?"
""it looked just like cornmeal," said the story girl, going from white to red in her shame.
""well, i'm going to give up trying to cook, and stick to things i can do.
and if ever one of you mentions sawdust pudding to me i'll never tell you another story as long as i live."
the threat was effectual.
never did we mention that unholy pudding.
but the story girl could not so impose silence on the grown-ups, especially uncle roger.
he tormented her for the rest of the summer.
never a breakfast did he sit down to, without gravely inquiring if they were sure there was no sawdust in the porridge.
not a tweak of rheumatism did he feel but he vowed it was due to a needle, travelling about his body.
and aunt olivia was warned to label all the pincushions in the house.
""contents, sawdust; not intended for puddings."
chapter xviii.
how kissing was discovered an august evening, calm, golden, dewless, can be very lovely.
at sunset, felicity, cecily, and sara ray, dan, felix, and i were in the orchard, sitting on the cool grasses at the base of the pulpit stone.
in the west was a field of crocus sky over which pale cloud blossoms were scattered.
uncle roger had gone to the station to meet the travellers, and the dining-room table was spread with a feast of fat things.
""it's been a jolly week, take it all round," said felix, "but i'm glad the grown-ups are coming back to-night, especially uncle alec."
""i wonder if they'll bring us anything," said dan.
""i'm thinking long to hear all about the wedding," said felicity, who was braiding timothy stalks into a collar for pat.
""you girls are always thinking about weddings and getting married," said dan contemptuously.
""we ai n't," said felicity indignantly.
""i am never going to get married.
i think it is just horrid, so there!"
""i guess you think it would be a good deal horrider not to be," said dan.
""it depends on who you're married to," said cecily gravely, seeing that felicity disdained reply.
""if you got a man like father it would be all right.
but s'posen you got one like andrew ward?
he's so mean and cross to his wife that she tells him every day she wishes she'd never set eyes on him."
""perhaps that's why he's mean and cross," said felix.
""i tell you it is n't always the man's fault," said dan darkly.
""when i get married i'll be good to my wife, but i mean to be boss.
when i open my mouth my word will be law."
""if your word is as big as your mouth i guess it will be," said felicity cruelly.
""i pity the man who gets you, felicity king, that's all" retorted dan.
""now, do n't fight," implored cecily.
""who's fighting?"
demanded dan.
""felicity thinks she can say anything she likes to me, but i'll show her different."
probably, in spite of cecily's efforts, a bitter spat would have resulted between dan and felicity, had not a diversion been effected at that moment by the story girl, who came slowly down uncle stephen's walk.
""just look how the story girl has got herself up!"
said felicity.
""why, she's no more than decent!"
the story girl was barefooted and barearmed, having rolled the sleeves of her pink gingham up to her shoulders.
around her waist was twisted a girdle of the blood-red roses that bloomed in aunt olivia's garden; on her sleek curls she wore a chaplet of them; and her hands were full of them.
she paused under the outmost tree, in a golden-green gloom, and laughed at us over a big branch.
her wild, subtle, nameless charm clothed her as with a garment.
we always remembered the picture she made there; and in later days when we read tennyson's poems at a college desk, we knew exactly how an oread, peering through the green leaves on some haunted knoll of many fountained ida, must look.
""felicity," said the story girl reproachfully, "what have you been doing to peter?
he's up there sulking in the granary, and he wo n't come down, and he says it's your fault.
you must have hurt his feelings dreadfully."
""i do n't know about his feelings," said felicity, with an angry toss of her shining head, "but i guess i made his ears tingle all right.
i boxed them both good and hard."
""oh, felicity!
what for?"
""well, he tried to kiss me, that's what for!"
said felicity, turning very red.
""as if i would let a hired boy kiss me!
i guess master peter wo n't try anything like that again in a hurry."
the story girl came out of her shadows and sat down beside us on the grass.
""well, in that case," she said gravely, "i think you did right to slap his ears -- not because he is a hired boy, but because it would be impertinent in any boy.
but talking of kissing makes me think of a story i found in aunt olivia's scrapbook the other day.
would n't you like to hear it?
it is called, "how kissing was discovered.""
""was n't kissing always discovered?"
asked dan.
""not according to this story.
it was just discovered accidentally."
""well, let's hear about it," said felix, "although i think kissing's awful silly, and it would n't have mattered much if it had n't ever been discovered."
the story girl scattered her roses around her on the grass, and clasped her slim hands over her knees.
gazing dreamily afar at the tinted sky between the apple trees, as if she were looking back to the merry days of the world's gay youth, she began, her voice giving to the words and fancies of the old tale the delicacy of hoar frost and the crystal sparkle of dew.
""it happened long, long ago in greece -- where so many other beautiful things happened.
before that, nobody had ever heard of kissing.
and then it was just discovered in the twinkling of an eye.
and a man wrote it down and the account has been preserved ever since.
""there was a young shepherd named glaucon -- a very handsome young shepherd -- who lived in a little village called thebes.
it became a very great and famous city afterwards, but at this time it was only a little village, very quiet and simple.
too quiet for glaucon's liking.
he grew tired of it, and he thought he would like to go away from home and see something of the world.
so he took his knapsack and his shepherd's crook, and wandered away until he came to thessaly.
that is the land of the gods" hill, you know.
the name of the hill was olympus.
but it has nothing to do with this story.
this happened on another mountain -- mount pelion.
""glaucon hired himself to a wealthy man who had a great many sheep.
and every day glaucon had to lead the sheep up to pasture on mount pelion, and watch them while they ate.
there was nothing else to do, and he would have found the time very long, if he had not been able to play on a flute.
so he played very often and very beautifully, as he sat under the trees and watched the wonderful blue sea afar off, and thought about aglaia.
""aglaia was his master's daughter.
she was so sweet and beautiful that glaucon fell in love with her the very moment he first saw her; and when he was not playing his flute on the mountain he was thinking about aglaia, and dreaming that some day he might have flocks of his own, and a dear little cottage down in the valley where he and aglaia might live.
""aglaia had fallen in love with glaucon just as he had with her.
but she never let him suspect it for ever so long.
he did not know how often she would steal up the mountain and hide behind the rocks near where the sheep pastured, to listen to glaucon's beautiful music.
it was very lovely music, because he was always thinking of aglaia while he played, though he little dreamed how near him she often was.
""but after awhile glaucon found out that aglaia loved him, and everything was well.
nowadays i suppose a wealthy man like aglaia's father would n't be willing to let his daughter marry a hired man; but this was in the golden age, you know, when nothing like that mattered at all.
""after that, almost every day aglaia would go up the mountain and sit beside glaucon, as he watched the flocks and played on his flute.
but he did not play as much as he used to, because he liked better to talk with aglaia.
and in the evening they would lead the sheep home together.
""one day aglaia went up the mountain by a new way, and she came to a little brook.
something was sparkling very brightly among its pebbles.
aglaia picked it up, and it was the most beautiful little stone that she had ever seen.
it was only as large as a pea, but it glittered and flashed in the sunlight with every colour of the rainbow.
aglaia was so delighted with it that she resolved to take it as a present to glaucon.
""but all at once she heard a stamping of hoofs behind her, and when she turned she almost died from fright.
for there was the great god, pan, and he was a very terrible object, looking quite as much like a goat as a man.
the gods were not all beautiful, you know.
and, beautiful or not, nobody ever wanted to meet them face to face."
"give that stone to me," said pan, holding out his hand.
""but aglaia, though she was frightened, would not give him the stone.""
i want it for glaucon," she said.""
i want it for one of my wood nymphs," said pan, "and i must have it."
""he advanced threateningly, but aglaia ran as hard as she could up the mountain.
if she could only reach glaucon he would protect her.
pan followed her, clattering and bellowing terribly, but in a few minutes she rushed into glaucon's arms.
""the dreadful sight of pan and the still more dreadful noise he made, so frightened the sheep that they fled in all directions.
but glaucon was not afraid at all, because pan was the god of shepherds, and was bound to grant any prayer a good shepherd, who always did his duty, might make.
if glaucon had not been a good shepherd dear knows what would have happened to him and aglaia.
but he was; and when he begged pan to go away and not frighten aglaia any more, pan had to go, grumbling a good deal -- and pan's grumblings had a very ugly sound.
but still he went, and that was the main thing."
"now, dearest, what is all this trouble about?"
asked glaucon; and aglaia told him the story."
"but where is the beautiful stone?"
he asked, when she had finished.
"didst thou drop it in thy alarm?"
""no, indeed!
aglaia had done nothing of the sort.
when she began to run, she had popped it into her mouth, and there it was still, quite safe.
now she poked it out between her red lips, where it glittered in the sunlight."
"take it," she whispered.
""the question was -- how was he to take it?
both of aglaia's arms were held fast to her sides by glaucon's arms; and if he loosened his clasp ever so little he was afraid she would fall, so weak and trembling was she from her dreadful fright.
then glaucon had a brilliant idea.
he would take the beautiful stone from aglaia's lips with his own lips.
""he bent over until his lips touched hers -- and then, he forgot all about the beautiful pebble and so did aglaia.
kissing was discovered!
""what a yarn!"
said dan, drawing a long breath, when we had come to ourselves and discovered that we were really sitting in a dewy prince edward island orchard instead of watching two lovers on a mountain in thessaly in the golden age.
""i do n't believe a word of it."
""of course, we know it was n't really true," said felicity.
""well, i do n't know," said the story girl thoughtfully.
""i think there are two kinds of true things -- true things that are, and true things that are not, but might be."
""i do n't believe there's any but the one kind of trueness," said felicity.
""and anyway, this story could n't be true.
you know there was no such thing as a god pan."
""how do you know what there might have been in the golden age?"
asked the story girl.
which was, indeed, an unanswerable question for felicity.
""i wonder what became of the beautiful stone?"
said cecily.
""likely aglaia swallowed it," said felix practically.
""did glaucon and aglaia ever get married?"
asked sara ray.
""the story does n't say.
it stops just there," said the story girl.
""but of course they did.
i will tell you what i think.
i do n't think aglaia swallowed the stone.
i think it just fell to the ground; and after awhile they found it, and it turned out to be of such value that glaucon could buy all the flocks and herds in the valley, and the sweetest cottage; and he and aglaia were married right away."
""but you only think that," said sara ray.
""i'd like to be really sure that was what happened."
""oh, bother, none of it happened," said dan.
""i believed it while the story girl was telling it, but i do n't now.
is n't that wheels?"
wheels it was.
two wagons were driving up the lane.
we rushed to the house -- and there were uncle alec and aunt janet and aunt olivia!
the excitement was quite tremendous.
every body talked and laughed at once, and it was not until we were all seated around the supper table that conversation grew coherent.
what laughter and questioning and telling of tales followed, what smiles and bright eyes and glad voices.
and through it all, the blissful purrs of paddy, who sat on the window sill behind the story girl, resounded through the din like andrew mcpherson's bass -- "just a bur-r-r-r the hale time."
""well, i'm thankful to be home again" said aunt janet, beaming on us.
""we had a real nice time, and edward's folks were as kind as could be.
but give me home for a steady thing.
how has everything gone?
how did the children behave, roger?"
""like models," said uncle roger.
""they were as good as gold most of the days."
there were times when one could n't help liking uncle roger.
chapter xix.
a dread prophecy "i've got to go and begin stumping out the elderberry pasture this afternoon," said peter dolefully.
""i tell you it's a tough job.
mr. roger might wait for cool weather before he sets people to stumping out elderberries, and that's a fact."
""why do n't you tell him so?"
asked dan.
""it ai n't my business to tell him things," retorted peter.
""i'm hired to do what i'm told, and i do it.
but i can have my own opinion all the same.
it's going to be a broiling hot day."
we were all in the orchard, except felix, who had gone to the post-office.
it was the forenoon of an august saturday.
cecily and sara ray, who had come up to spend the day with us -- her mother having gone to town -- were eating timothy roots.
bertha lawrence, a charlottetown girl, who had visited kitty marr in june, and had gone to school one day with her, had eaten timothy roots, affecting to consider them great delicacies.
the fad was at once taken up by the carlisle schoolgirls.
timothy roots quite ousted "sours" and young raspberry sprouts, both of which had the real merit of being quite toothsome, while timothy roots were tough and tasteless.
but timothy roots were fashionable, therefore timothy roots must be eaten.
pecks of them must have been devoured in carlisle that summer.
pat was there also, padding about from one to the other on his black paws, giving us friendly pokes and rubs.
we all made much of him except felicity, who would not take any notice of him because he was the story girl's cat.
we boys were sprawling on the grass.
our morning chores were done and the day was before us.
we should have been feeling very comfortable and happy, but, as a matter of fact, we were not particularly so.
the story girl was sitting on the mint beside the well-house, weaving herself a wreath of buttercups.
felicity was sipping from the cup of clouded blue with an overdone air of unconcern.
each was acutely and miserably conscious of the other's presence, and each was desirous of convincing the rest of us that the other was less than nothing to her.
felicity could not succeed.
the story girl managed it better.
if it had not been for the fact that in all our foregatherings she was careful to sit as far from felicity as possible, we might have been deceived.
we had not passed a very pleasant week.
felicity and the story girl had not been "speaking" to each other, and consequently there had been something rotten in the state of denmark.
an air of restraint was over all our games and conversations.
on the preceding monday felicity and the story girl had quarrelled over something.
what the cause of the quarrel was i can not tell because i never knew.
it remained a "dead secret" between the parties of the first and second part forever.
but it was more bitter than the general run of their tiffs, and the consequences were apparent to all.
they had not spoken to each other since.
this was not because the rancour of either lasted so long.
on the contrary it passed speedily away, not even one low descending sun going down on their wrath.
but dignity remained to be considered.
neither would "speak first," and each obstinately declared that she would not speak first, no, not in a hundred years.
neither argument, entreaty, nor expostulation had any effect on those two stubborn girls, nor yet the tears of sweet cecily, who cried every night about it, and mingled in her pure little prayers fervent petitions that felicity and the story girl might make up.
""i do n't know where you expect to go when you die, felicity," she said tearfully, "if you do n't forgive people."
""i have forgiven her," was felicity's answer, "but i am not going to speak first for all that."
""it's very wrong, and, more than that, it's so uncomfortable," complained cecily.
""it spoils everything."
""were they ever like this before?"
i asked cecily, as we talked the matter over privately in uncle stephen's walk.
""never for so long," said cecily.
""they had a spell like this last summer, and one the summer before, but they only lasted a couple of days."
""and who spoke first?"
""oh, the story girl.
she got excited about something and spoke to felicity before she thought, and then it was all right.
but i'm afraid it is n't going to be like that this time.
do n't you notice how careful the story girl is not to get excited?
that is such a bad sign."
""we've just got to think up something that will excite her, that's all," i said.
""i'm -- i'm praying about it," said cecily in a low voice, her tear-wet lashes trembling against her pale, round cheeks.
""do you suppose it will do any good, bev?"
""very likely," i assured her.
""remember sara ray and the money.
that came from praying."
""i'm glad you think so," said cecily tremulously.
""dan said it was no use for me to bother praying about it.
he said if they could n't speak god might do something, but when they just would n't it was n't likely he would interfere.
dan does say such queer things.
i'm so afraid he's going to grow up just like uncle robert ward, who never goes to church, and does n't believe more than half the bible is true."
""which half does he believe is true?"
i inquired with unholy curiosity.
""oh, just the nice parts.
he says there's a heaven all right, but no -- no -- hell.
i do n't want dan to grow up like that.
it is n't respectable.
and you would n't want all kinds of people crowding heaven, now, would you?"
""well, no, i suppose not," i agreed, thinking of billy robinson.
""of course, i ca n't help feeling sorry for those who have to go to the other place," said cecily compassionately.
""but i suppose they would n't be very comfortable in heaven either.
they would n't feel at home.
andrew marr said a simply dreadful thing about the other place one night last fall, when felicity and i were down to see kitty, and they were burning the potato stalks.
he said he believed the other place must be lots more interesting than heaven because fires were such jolly things.
now, did you ever hear the like?"
""i guess it depends a good deal on whether you're inside or outside the fires," i said.
""oh, andrew did n't really mean it, of course.
he just said it to sound smart and make us stare.
the marrs are all like that.
but anyhow, i'm going to keep on praying that something will happen to excite the story girl.
i do n't believe there is any use in praying that felicity will speak first, because i am sure she wo n't."
""but do n't you suppose god could make her?"
i said, feeling that it was n't quite fair that the story girl should always have to speak first.
if she had spoken first the other times it was surely felicity's turn this time.
""well, i believe it would puzzle him," said cecily, out of the depths of her experience with felicity.
peter, as was to be expected, took felicity's part, and said the story girl ought to speak first because she was the oldest.
that, he said, had always been his aunt jane's rule.
sara ray thought felicity should speak first, because the story girl was half an orphan.
felix tried to make peace between them, and met the usual fate of all peacemakers.
the story girl loftily told him that he was too young to understand, and felicity said that fat boys should mind their own business.
after that, felix declared it would serve felicity right if the story girl never spoke to her again.
dan had no patience with either of the girls, especially felicity.
""what they both want is a right good spanking," he said.
if only a spanking would mend the matter it was not likely it would ever be mended.
both felicity and the story girl were rather too old to be spanked, and, if they had not been, none of the grown-ups would have thought it worth while to administer so desperate a remedy for what they considered so insignificant a trouble.
with the usual levity of grown-ups, they regarded the coldness between the girls as a subject of mirth and jest, and recked not that it was freezing the genial current of our youthful souls, and blighting hours that should have been fair pages in our book of days.
the story girl finished her wreath and put it on.
the buttercups drooped over her high, white brow and played peep with her glowing eyes.
a dreamy smile hovered around her poppy-red mouth -- a significant smile which, to those of us skilled in its interpretation, betokened the sentence which soon came.
""i know a story about a man who always had his own opinion --" the story girl got no further.
we never heard the story of the man who always had his own opinion.
felix came tearing up the lane, with a newspaper in his hand.
when a boy as fat as felix runs at full speed on a broiling august forenoon, he has something to run for -- as felicity remarked.
""he must have got some bad news at the office," said sara ray.
""oh, i hope nothing has happened to father," i exclaimed, springing anxiously to my feet, a sick, horrible feeling of fear running over me like a cool, rippling wave.
""it's just as likely to be good news he is running for as bad," said the story girl, who was no believer in meeting trouble half way.
""he would n't be running so fast for good news," said dan cynically.
we were not left long in doubt.
the orchard gate flew open and felix was among us.
one glimpse of his face told us that he was no bearer of glad tidings.
he had been running hard and should have been rubicund.
instead, he was "as pale as are the dead."
i could not have asked him what was the matter had my life depended on it.
it was felicity who demanded impatiently of my shaking, voiceless brother: "felix king, what has scared you?"
felix held out the newspaper -- it was the charlottetown daily enterprise.
""it's there," he gasped.
""look -- read -- oh, do you -- think it's -- true?
the -- end of -- the world -- is coming to-morrow -- at two -- o'clock -- in the afternoon!"
crash!
felicity had dropped the cup of clouded blue, which had passed unscathed through so many changing years, and now at last lay shattered on the stone of the well curb.
at any other time we should all have been aghast over such a catastrophe, but it passed unnoticed now.
what mattered it that all the cups in the world be broken to-day if the crack o" doom must sound to-morrow?
""oh, sara stanley, do you believe it?
do you?"
gasped felicity, clutching the story girl's hand.
cecily's prayer had been answered.
excitement had come with a vengeance, and under its stress felicity had spoken first.
but this, like the breaking of the cup, had no significance for us at the moment.
the story girl snatched the paper and read the announcement to a group on which sudden, tense silence had fallen.
under a sensational headline, "the last trump will sound at two o'clock to-morrow," was a paragraph to the effect that the leader of a certain noted sect in the united states had predicted that august twelfth would be the judgment day, and that all his numerous followers were preparing for the dread event by prayer, fasting, and the making of appropriate white garments for ascension robes.
i laugh at the remembrance now -- until i recall the real horror of fear that enwrapped us in that sunny orchard that august morning of long ago; and then i laugh no more.
we were only children, be it remembered, with a very firm and simple faith that grown people knew much more than we did, and a rooted conviction that whatever you read in a newspaper must be true.
if the daily enterprise said that august twelfth was to be the judgment day how were you going to get around it?
""do you believe it, sara stanley?"
persisted felicity.
""do you?"
""no -- no, i do n't believe a word of it," said the story girl.
but for once her voice failed to carry conviction -- or, rather, it carried conviction of the very opposite kind.
it was borne in upon our miserable minds that if the story girl did not altogether believe it was true she believed it might be true; and the possibility was almost as dreadful as the certainty.
""it ca n't be true," said sara ray, seeking refuge, as usual, in tears.
""why, everything looks just the same.
things could n't look the same if the judgment day was going to be to-morrow."
""but that's just the way it's to come," i said uncomfortably.
""it tells you in the bible.
it's to come just like a thief in the night."
""but it tells you another thing in the bible, too," said cecily eagerly.
""it says nobody knows when the judgment day is to come -- not even the angels in heaven.
now, if the angels in heaven do n't know it, do you suppose the editor of the enterprise can know it -- and him a grit, too?"
""i guess he knows as much about it as a tory would," retorted the story girl.
uncle roger was a liberal and uncle alec a conservative, and the girls held fast to the political traditions of their respective households.
""but it is n't really the enterprise editor at all who is saying it -- it's a man in the states who claims to be a prophet.
if he is a prophet perhaps he has found out somehow."
""and it's in the paper, too, and that's printed as well as the bible," said dan.
""well, i'm going to depend on the bible," said cecily.
""i do n't believe it's the judgment day to-morrow -- but i'm scared, for all that," she added piteously.
that was exactly the position of us all.
as in the case of the bell-ringing ghost, we did not believe but we trembled.
""nobody might have known when the bible was written," said dan, "but maybe somebody knows now.
why, the bible was written thousands of years ago, and that paper was printed this very morning.
there's been time to find out ever so much more."
""i want to do so many things," said the story girl, plucking off her crown of buttercup gold with a tragic gesture, "but if it's the judgment day to-morrow i wo n't have time to do any of them."
""it ca n't be much worse than dying, i s "pose," said felix, grasping at any straw of comfort.
""i'm awful glad i've got into the habit of going to church and sunday school this summer," said peter very soberly.
""i wish i'd made up my mind before this whether to be a presbyterian or a methodist.
do you s "pose it's too late now?"
""oh, that does n't matter," said cecily earnestly.
""if -- if you're a christian, peter, that is all that's necessary."
""but it's too late for that," said peter miserably.
""i ca n't turn into a christian between this and two o'clock to-morrow.
i'll just have to be satisfied with making up my mind to be a presbyterian or a methodist.
i wanted to wait till i got old enough to make out what was the difference between them, but i'll have to chance it now.
i guess i'll be a presbyterian,'cause i want to be like the rest of you.
yes, i'll be a presbyterian."
""i know a story about judy pineau and the word presbyterian," said the story girl, "but i ca n't tell it now.
if to-morrow is n't the judgment day i'll tell it monday."
""if i had known that to-morrow might be the judgment day i would n't have quarrelled with you last monday, sara stanley, or been so horrid and sulky all the week.
indeed i would n't," said felicity, with very unusual humility.
ah, felicity!
we were all, in the depths of our pitiful little souls, reviewing the innumerable things we would or would not have done "if we had known."
what a black and endless list they made -- those sins of omission and commission that rushed accusingly across our young memories!
for us the leaves of the book of judgment were already opened; and we stood at the bar of our own consciences, than which for youth or eld, there can be no more dread tribunal.
i thought of all the evil deeds of my short life -- of pinching felix to make him cry out at family prayers, of playing truant from sunday school and going fishing one day, of a certain fib -- no, no away from this awful hour with all such euphonious evasions -- of a lie i had once told, of many a selfish and unkind word and thought and action.
and to-morrow might be the great and terrible day of the last accounting!
oh, if i had only been a better boy!
""the quarrel was as much my fault as yours, felicity," said the story girl, putting her arm around felicity.
""we ca n't undo it now.
but if to-morrow is n't the judgment day we must be careful never to quarrel again.
oh, i wish father was here."
""he will be," said cecily.
""if it's the judgment day for prince edward island it will be for europe, too."
""i wish we could just know whether what the paper says is true or not," said felix desperately.
""it seems to me i could brace up if i just knew."
but to whom could we appeal?
uncle alec was away and would not be back until late that night.
neither aunt janet nor uncle roger were people to whom we cared to apply in such a crisis.
we were afraid of the judgment day; but we were almost equally afraid of being laughed at.
how about aunt olivia?
""no, aunt olivia has gone to bed with a sick headache and must n't be disturbed," said the story girl.
""she said i must get dinner ready, because there was plenty of cold meat, and nothing to do but boil the potatoes and peas, and set the table.
i do n't know how i can put my thoughts into it when the judgment day may be to-morrow.
besides, what is the good of asking the grown-ups?
they do n't know anything more about this than we do."
""but if they'd just say they did n't believe it, it would be a sort of comfort," said cecily.
""i suppose the minister would know, but he's away on his vacation" said felicity.
""anyhow, i'll go and ask mother what she thinks of it."
felicity picked up the enterprise and betook herself to the house.
we awaited her return in dire suspense.
""well, what does she say?"
asked cecily tremulously.
""she said, "run away and do n't bother me.
i have n't any time for your nonsense.""
responded felicity in an injured tone.
""and i said, "but, ma, the paper says to-morrow is the judgment day," and ma just said "judgment fiddlesticks!""
""well, that's kind of comforting," said peter.
""she ca n't put any faith in it, or she'd be more worked up."
""if it only was n't printed!"
said dan gloomily.
""let's all go over and ask uncle roger," said felix desperately.
that we should make uncle roger a court of last resort indicated all too clearly the state of our minds.
but we went.
uncle roger was in his barn-yard, hitching his black mare into the buggy.
his copy of the enterprise was sticking out of his pocket.
he looked, as we saw with sinking hearts, unusually grave and preoccupied.
there was not a glimmer of a smile about his face.
""you ask him," said felicity, nudging the story girl.
""uncle roger," said the story girl, the golden notes of her voice threaded with fear and appeal.
""the enterprise says that to-morrow is the judgment day?
is it?
do you think it is?"
""i'm afraid so," said uncle roger gravely.
""the enterprise is always very careful to print only reliable news."
""but mother does n't believe it," cried felicity.
uncle roger shook his head.
""that is just the trouble," he said.
""people wo n't believe it till it's too late.
i'm going straight to markdale to pay a man there some money i owe him, and after dinner i'm going to summerside to buy me a new suit.
my old one is too shabby for the judgment day."
he got into his buggy and drove away, leaving eight distracted mortals behind him.
""well, i suppose that settles it," said peter, in despairing tone.
""is there anything we can do to prepare?"
asked cecily.
""i wish i had a white dress like you girls," sobbed sara ray.
""but i have n't, and it's too late to get one.
oh, i wish i had minded what ma said better.
i would n't have disobeyed her so often if i'd thought the judgment day was so near.
when i go home i'm going to tell her about going to the magic lantern show."
""i'm not sure that uncle roger meant what he said," remarked the story girl.
""i could n't get a look into his eyes.
if he was trying to hoax us there would have been a twinkle in them.
he can never help that.
you know he would think it a great joke to frighten us like this.
it's really dreadful to have no grown-ups you can depend on."
""we could depend on father if he was here," said dan stoutly.
""he'd tell us the truth."
""he would tell us what he thought was true, dan, but he could n't know.
he's not such a well-educated man as the editor of the enterprise.
no, there's nothing to do but wait and see."
""let us go into the house and read just what the bible does say about it," suggested cecily.
we crept in carefully, lest we disturb aunt olivia, and cecily found and read the significant portion of holy writ.
there was little comfort for us in that vivid and terrible picture.
""well," said the story girl finally.
""i must go and get the potatoes ready.
i suppose they must be boiled even if it is the judgment day to-morrow.
but i do n't believe it is."
""and i've got to go and stump elderberries," said peter.
""i do n't see how i can do it -- go away back there alone.
i'll feel scared to death the whole time."
""tell uncle roger that, and say if to-morrow is the end of the world that there is no good in stumping any more fields," i suggested.
""yes, and if he lets you off then we'll know he was in earnest," chimed in cecily.
""but if he still says you must go that'll be a sign he does n't believe it."
leaving the story girl and peter to peel their potatoes, the rest of us went home, where aunt janet, who had gone to the well and found the fragments of the old blue cup, gave poor felicity a bitter scolding about it.
but felicity bore it very patiently -- nay, more, she seemed to delight in it.
""ma ca n't believe to-morrow is the last day, or she would n't scold like that," she told us; and this comforted us until after dinner, when the story girl and peter came over and told us that uncle roger had really gone to summerside.
then we plunged down into fear and wretchedness again.
""but he said i must go and stump elderberries just the same" said peter.
""he said it might not be the judgment day to-morrow, though he believed it was, and it would keep me out of mischief.
but i just ca n't stand it back there alone.
some of you fellows must come with me.
i do n't want you to work, but just for company."
it was finally decided that dan and felix should go.
i wanted to go also, but the girls protested.
""you must stay and keep us cheered up," implored felicity.
""i just do n't know how i'm ever going to put in the afternoon.
i promised kitty marr that i'd go down and spend it with her, but i ca n't now.
and i ca n't knit any at my lace.
i'd just keep thinking, "what is the use?
perhaps it'll all be burned up to-morrow.""
so i stayed with the girls, and a miserable afternoon we had of it.
the story girl again and again declared that she "did n't believe it," but when we asked her to tell a story, she evaded it with a flimsy excuse.
cecily pestered at aunt janet's life out, asking repeatedly, "ma, will you be washing monday?"
""ma, will you be going to prayer meeting tuesday night?"
""ma, will you be preserving raspberries next week?"
and various similar questions.
it was a huge comfort to her that aunt janet always said, "yes," or "of course," as if there could be no question about it.
sara ray cried until i wondered how one small head could contain all the tears she shed.
but i do not believe she was half as much frightened as disappointed that she had no white dress.
in mid-afternoon cecily came downstairs with her forget-me-not jug in her hand -- a dainty bit of china, wreathed with dark blue forget-me-nots, which cecily prized highly, and in which she always kept her toothbrush.
""sara, i am going to give you this jug," she said solemnly.
now, sara had always coveted this particular jug.
she stopped crying long enough to clutch it delightedly.
""oh, cecily, thank you.
but are you sure you wo n't want it back if to-morrow is n't the judgment day?"
""no, it's yours for good," said cecily, with the high, remote air of one to whom forget-me-not jugs and all such pomps and vanities of the world were as a tale that is told.
""are you going to give any one your cherry vase?"
asked felicity, trying to speak indifferently.
felicity had never admired the forget-me-not jug, but she had always hankered after the cherry vase -- an affair of white glass, with a cluster of red glass cherries and golden-green glass leaves on its side, which aunt olivia had given cecily one christmas.
""no, i'm not," answered cecily, with a change of tone.
""oh, well, i do n't care," said felicity quickly.
""only, if to-morrow is the last day, the cherry vase wo n't be much use to you."
""i guess it will be as much use to me as to any one else," said cecily indignantly.
she had sacrificed her dear forget-me-not jug to satisfy some pang of conscience, or propitiate some threatening fate, but surrender her precious cherry vase she could not and would not.
felicity need n't be giving any hints!
with the gathering shades of night our plight became pitiful.
in the daylight, surrounded by homely, familiar sights and sounds, it was not so difficult to fortify our souls with a cheering incredulity.
but now, in this time of shadows, dread belief clutched us and wrung us with terror.
if there had been one wise older friend to tell us, in serious fashion, that we need not be afraid, that the enterprise paragraph was naught save the idle report of a deluded fanatic, it would have been well for us.
but there was not.
our grown-ups, instead, considered our terror an exquisite jest.
at that very moment, aunt olivia, who had recovered from her headache, and aunt janet were laughing in the kitchen over the state the children were in because they were afraid the end of the world was close at hand.
aunt janet's throaty gurgle and aunt olivia's trilling mirth floated out through the open window.
""perhaps they'll laugh on the other side of their faces to-morrow," said dan, with gloomy satisfaction.
we were sitting on the cellar hatch, watching what might be our last sunset o'er the dark hills of time.
peter was with us.
it was his last sunday to go home, but he had elected to remain.
""if to-morrow is the judgment day i want to be with you fellows," he said.
sara ray had also yearned to stay, but could not because her mother had told her she must be home before dark.
""never mind, sara," comforted cecily.
""it's not to be till two o'clock to-morrow, so you'll have plenty of time to get up here before anything happens."
""but there might be a mistake," sobbed sara.
""it might be two o'clock to-night instead of to-morrow."
it might, indeed.
this was a new horror, which had not occurred to us.
""i'm sure i wo n't sleep a wink to-night," said felix.
""the paper says two o'clock to-morrow," said dan.
""you need n't worry, sara."
but sara departed, weeping.
she did not, however, forget to carry the forget-me-not jug with her.
all things considered, her departure was a relief.
such a constantly tearful damsel was not a pleasant companion.
cecily and felicity and the story girl did not cry.
they were made of finer, firmer stuff.
dry-eyed, with such courage as they might, they faced whatever might be in store for them.
""i wonder where we'll all be this time to-morrow night," said felix mournfully, as we watched the sunset between the dark fir boughs.
it was an ominous sunset.
the sun dropped down amid dark, livid clouds, that turned sullen shades of purple and fiery red behind him.
""i hope we'll be all together, wherever we are," said cecily gently.
""nothing can be so very bad then."
""i'm going to read the bible all to-morrow forenoon," said peter.
when aunt olivia came out to go home the story girl asked her permission to stay all night with felicity and cecily.
aunt olivia assented lightly, swinging her hat on her arm and including us all in a friendly smile.
she looked very pretty, with her big blue eyes and warm-hued golden hair.
we loved aunt olivia; but just now we resented her having laughed at us with aunt janet, and we refused to smile back.
""what a sulky, sulky lot of little people," said aunt olivia, going away across the yard, holding her pretty dress up from the dewy grass.
peter resolved to stay all night with us, too, not troubling himself about anybody's permission.
when we went to bed it was settling down for a stormy night, and the rain was streaming wetly on the roof, as if the world, like sara ray, were weeping because its end was so near.
nobody forgot or hurried over his prayers that night.
we would dearly have loved to leave the candle burning, but aunt janet's decree regarding this was as inexorable as any of mede and persia.
out the candle must go; and we lay there, quaking, with the wild rain streaming down on the roof above us, and the voices of the storm wailing through the writhing spruce trees.
chapter xx.
the judgment sunday sunday morning broke, dull and gray.
the rain had ceased, but the clouds hung dark and brooding above a world which, in its windless calm, following the spent storm-throe, seemed to us to be waiting "till judgment spoke the doom of fate."
we were all up early.
none of us, it appeared, had slept well, and some of us not at all.
the story girl had been among the latter, and she looked very pale and wan, with black shadows under her deep-set eyes.
peter, however, had slept soundly enough after twelve o'clock.
""when you've been stumping out elderberries all the afternoon it'll take more than the judgment day to keep you awake all night," he said.
""but when i woke up this morning it was just awful.
i'd forgot it for a moment, and then it all came back with a rush, and i was worse scared than before."
cecily was pale but brave.
for the first time in years she had not put her hair up in curlers on saturday night.
it was brushed and braided with puritan simplicity.
""if it's the judgment day i do n't care whether my hair is curly or not," she said.
""well," said aunt janet, when we all descended to the kitchen, "this is the first time you young ones have ever all got up without being called, and that's a fact."
at breakfast our appetites were poor.
how could the grown-ups eat as they did?
after breakfast and the necessary chores there was the forenoon to be lived through.
peter, true to his word, got out his bible and began to read from the first chapter in genesis.
""i wo n't have time to read it all through, i s "pose," he said, "but i'll get along as far as i can."
there was no preaching in carlisle that day, and sunday school was not till the evening.
cecily got out her lesson slip and studied the lesson conscientiously.
the rest of us did not see how she could do it.
we could not, that was very certain.
""if it is n't the judgment day, i want to have the lesson learned," she said, "and if it is i'll feel i've done what was right.
but i never found it so hard to remember the golden text before."
the long dragging hours were hard to endure.
we roamed restlessly about, and went to and fro -- all save peter, who still steadily read away at his bible.
he was through genesis by eleven and beginning on exodus.
""there's a good deal of it i do n't understand," he said, "but i read every word, and that's the main thing.
that story about joseph and his brother was so int "resting i almost forgot about the judgment day."
but the long drawn out dread was beginning to get on dan's nerves.
""if it is the judgment day," he growled, as we went in to dinner, "i wish it'd hurry up and have it over."
""oh, dan!"
cried felicity and cecily together, in a chorus of horror.
but the story girl looked as if she rather sympathized with dan.
if we had eaten little at breakfast we could eat still less at dinner.
after dinner the clouds rolled away, and the sun came joyously and gloriously out.
this, we thought, was a good omen.
felicity opined that it would n't have cleared up if it was the judgment day.
nevertheless, we dressed ourselves carefully, and the girls put on their white dresses.
sara ray came up, still crying, of course.
she increased our uneasiness by saying that her mother believed the enterprise paragraph, and was afraid that the end of the world was really at hand.
""that's why she let me come up," she sobbed.
""if she had n't been afraid i do n't believe she would have let me come up.
but i'd have died if i could n't have come.
and she was n't a bit cross when i told her i had gone to the magic lantern show.
that's an awful bad sign.
i had n't a white dress, but i put on my white muslin apron with the frills."
""that seems kind of queer," said felicity doubtfully.
""you would n't put on an apron to go to church, and so it does n't seems as if it was proper to put it on for judgment day either."
""well, it's the best i could do," said sara disconsolately.
""i wanted to have something white on.
it's just like a dress only it has n't sleeves."
""let's go into the orchard and wait," said the story girl.
""it's one o'clock now, so in another hour we'll know the worst.
we'll leave the front door open, and we'll hear the big clock when it strikes two."
no better plan being suggested, we betook ourselves to the orchard, and sat on the boughs of uncle alec's tree because the grass was wet.
the world was beautiful and peaceful and green.
overhead was a dazzling blue sky, spotted with heaps of white cloud.
""pshaw, i do n't believe there's any fear of it being the last day," said dan, beginning a whistle out of sheer bravado.
""well, do n't whistle on sunday anyhow," said felicity severely.
""i do n't see a thing about methodists or presbyterians, as far as i've gone, and i'm most through exodus," said peter suddenly.
""when does it begin to tell about them?"
""there's nothing about methodists or presbyterians in the bible," said felicity scornfully.
peter looked amazed.
""well, how did they happen then?"
he asked.
""when did they begin to be?"
""i've often thought it such a strange thing that there is n't a word about either of them in the bible," said cecily.
""especially when it mentions baptists -- or at least one baptist."
""well, anyhow," said peter, "even if it is n't the judgment day i'm going to keep on reading the bible until i've got clean through.
i never thought it was such an int "resting book."
""it sounds simply dreadful to hear you call the bible an interesting book," said felicity, with a shudder at the sacrilege.
""why, you might be talking about any common book."
""i did n't mean any harm," said peter, crestfallen.
""the bible is an interesting book," said the story girl, coming to peter's rescue.
""and there are magnificent stories in it -- yes, felicity, magnificent.
if the world does n't come to an end i'll tell you the story of ruth next sunday -- or look here!
i'll tell it anyhow.
that's a promise.
wherever we are next sunday i'll tell you about ruth."
""why, you would n't tell stories in heaven," said cecily, in a very timid voice.
""why not?"
said the story girl, with a flash of her eyes.
""indeed i shall.
i'll tell stories as long as i've a tongue to talk with, or any one to listen."
ay, doubtless.
that dauntless spirit would soar triumphantly above the wreck of matter and the crash of worlds, taking with it all its own wild sweetness and daring.
even the young-eyed cherubim, choiring on meadows of asphodel, might cease their harping for a time to listen to a tale of the vanished earth, told by that golden tongue.
some vague thought of this was in our minds as we looked at her; and somehow it comforted us.
not even the judgment was so greatly to be feared if after it we were the same, our own precious little identities unchanged.
""it must be getting handy two," said cecily.
""it seems as if we'd been waiting here for ever so much longer than an hour."
conversation languished.
we watched and waited nervously.
the moments dragged by, each seeming an hour.
would two o'clock never come and end the suspense?
we all became very tense.
even peter had to stop reading.
any unaccustomed sound or sight in the world about us struck on our taut senses like the trump of doom.
a cloud passed over the sun and as the sudden shadow swept across the orchard we turned pale and trembled.
a wagon rumbling over a plank bridge in the hollow made sara ray start up with a shriek.
the slamming of a barn door over at uncle roger's caused the cold perspiration to break out on our faces.
""i do n't believe it's the judgment day," said felix, "and i never have believed it.
but oh, i wish that clock would strike two."
""ca n't you tell us a story to pass the time?"
i entreated the story girl.
she shook her head.
""no, it would be no use to try.
but if this is n't the judgment day i'll have a great one to tell of us being so scared."
pat presently came galloping up the orchard, carrying in his mouth a big field mouse, which, sitting down before us, he proceeded to devour, body and bones, afterwards licking his chops with great satisfaction.
""it ca n't be the judgment day," said sara ray, brightening up.
""paddy would never be eating mice if it was."
""if that clock does n't soon strike two i shall go out of my seven senses," declared cecily with unusual vehemence.
""time always seems long when you're waiting," said the story girl.
""but it does seem as if we had been here more than an hour."
""maybe the clock struck and we did n't hear it," suggested dan.
""somebody'd better go and see."
""i'll go," said cecily.
""i suppose, even if anything happens, i'll have time to get back to you."
we watched her white-clad figure pass through the gate and enter the front door.
a few minutes passed -- or a few years -- we could not have told which.
then cecily came running at full speed back to us.
but when she reached us she trembled so much that at first she could not speak.
""what is it?
is it past two?"
implored the story girl.
""it's -- it's four," said cecily with a gasp.
""the old clock is n't going.
mother forgot to wind it up last night and it stopped.
but it's four by the kitchen clock -- so it is n't the judgment day -- and tea is ready -- and mother says to come in."
we looked at each other, realizing what our dread had been, now that it was lifted.
it was not the judgment day.
the world and life were still before us, with all their potent lure of years unknown.
""i'll never believe anything i read in the papers again," said dan, rushing to the opposite extreme.
""i told you the bible was more to be depended on than the newspapers," said cecily triumphantly.
sara ray and peter and the story girl went home, and we went in to tea with royal appetites.
afterwards, as we dressed for sunday school upstairs, our spirits carried us away to such an extent that aunt janet had to come twice to the foot of the stairs and inquire severely, "children, have you forgotten what day this is?"
""is n't it nice that we're going to live a spell longer in this nice world?"
said felix, as we walked down the hill.
""yes, and felicity and the story girl are speaking again," said cecily happily.
""and felicity did speak first," i said.
""yes, but it took the judgment day to make her.
i wish," added cecily with a sigh, "that i had n't been in quite such a hurry giving away my forget-me-not jug."
""and i wish i had n't been in such a hurry deciding i'd be a presbyterian," said peter.
""well, it's not too late for that," said dan.
""you can change your mind now."
""no, sir," said peter with a flash of spirit, "i ai n't one of the kind that says they'll be something just because they're scared, and when the scare is over go back on it.
i said i'd be presbyterian and i mean to stick to it."
""you said you knew a story that had something to do with presbyterians," i said to the story girl.
""tell us it now."
""oh, no, it is n't the right kind of story to tell on sunday," she replied.
""but i'll tell it to-morrow morning."
accordingly, we heard it the next morning in the orchard.
""long ago, when judy pineau was young," said the story girl, "she was hired with mrs. elder frewen -- the first mrs. elder frewen.
mrs. frewen had been a school-teacher, and she was very particular as to how people talked, and the grammar they used.
and she did n't like anything but refined words.
one very hot day she heard judy pineau say she was "all in a sweat."
mrs. frewen was greatly shocked, and said, "judy, you should n't say that.
it's horses that sweat.
you should say you are in a perspiration."
well, judy promised she'd remember, because she liked mrs. frewen and was anxious to please her.
not long afterwards judy was scrubbing the kitchen floor one morning, and when mrs. frewen came in judy looked up and said, quite proud over using the right word, "oh, mees frewen, ai n't it awful hot?
i declare i'm all in a presbyterian.""
chapter xxi.
dreamers of dreams august went out and september came in.
harvest was ended; and though summer was not yet gone, her face was turned westering.
the asters lettered her retreating footsteps in a purple script, and over the hills and valleys hung a faint blue smoke, as if nature were worshipping at her woodland altar.
the apples began to burn red on the bending boughs; crickets sang day and night; squirrels chattered secrets of polichinelle in the spruces; the sunshine was as thick and yellow as molten gold; school opened, and we small denizens of the hill farms lived happy days of harmless work and necessary play, closing in nights of peaceful, undisturbed slumber under a roof watched over by autumnal stars.
at least, our slumbers were peaceful and undisturbed until our orgy of dreaming began.
""i would really like to know what especial kind of deviltry you young fry are up to this time," said uncle roger one evening, as he passed through the orchard with his gun on his shoulder, bound for the swamp.
we were sitting in a circle before the pulpit stone, each writing diligently in an exercise book, and eating the rev. mr. scott's plums, which always reached their prime of juicy, golden-green flesh and bloomy blue skin in september.
the rev. mr. scott was dead and gone, but those plums certainly kept his memory green, as his forgotten sermons could never have done.
""oh," said felicity in a shocked tone, when uncle roger had passed by, "uncle roger swore."
""oh, no, he did n't," said the story girl quickly."
"deviltry" is n't swearing at all.
it only means extra bad mischief."
""well, it's not a very nice word, anyhow," said felicity.
""no, it is n't," agreed the story girl with a regretful sigh.
""it's very expressive, but it is n't nice.
that is the way with so many words.
they're expressive, but they're not nice, and so a girl ca n't use them" the story girl sighed again.
she loved expressive words, and treasured them as some girls might have treasured jewels.
to her, they were as lustrous pearls, threaded on the crimson cord of a vivid fancy.
when she met with a new one she uttered it over and over to herself in solitude, weighing it, caressing it, infusing it with the radiance of her voice, making it her own in all its possibilities for ever.
""well, anyhow, it is n't a suitable word in this case," insisted felicity.
""we are not up to any dev -- any extra bad mischief.
writing down one's dreams is n't mischief at all."
certainly it was n't.
surely not even the straitest sect of the grown-ups could call it so.
if writing down your dreams, with agonizing care as to composition and spelling -- for who knew that the eyes of generations unborn might not read the record?
-- were not a harmless amusement, could anything be called so?
i trow not.
we had been at it for a fortnight, and during that time we only lived to have dreams and write them down.
the story girl had originated the idea one evening in the rustling, rain-wet ways of the spruce wood, where we were picking gum after a day of showers.
when we had picked enough, we sat down on the moss-grown stones at the end of a long arcade, where it opened out on the harvest-golden valley below us, our jaws exercising themselves vigorously on the spoil of our climbings.
we were never allowed to chew gum in school or in company, but in wood and field, orchard and hayloft, such rules were in abeyance.
""my aunt jane used to say it was n't polite to chew gum anywhere," said peter rather ruefully.
""i do n't suppose your aunt jane knew all the rules of etiquette," said felicity, designing to crush peter with a big word, borrowed from the family guide.
but peter was not to be so crushed.
he had in him a certain toughness of fibre, that would have been proof against a whole dictionary.
""she did, too," he retorted.
""my aunt jane was a real lady, even if she was only a craig.
she knew all those rules and she kept them when there was nobody round to see her, just the same as when any one was.
and she was smart.
if father had had half her git-up-and-git i would n't be a hired boy to-day."
""have you any idea where your father is?"
asked dan.
""no," said peter indifferently.
""the last we heard of him he was in the maine lumber woods.
but that was three years ago.
i do n't know where he is now, and," added peter deliberately, taking his gum from his mouth to make his statement more impressive, "i do n't care."
""oh, peter, that sounds dreadful," said cecily.
""your own father!"
""well," said peter defiantly, "if your own father had run away when you was a baby, and left your mother to earn her living by washing and working out, i guess you would n't care much about him either."
""perhaps your father may come home some of these days with a huge fortune," suggested the story girl.
""perhaps pigs may whistle, but they've poor mouths for it," was all the answer peter deigned to this charming suggestion.
""there goes mr. campbell down the road," said dan.
""that's his new mare.
is n't she a dandy?
she's got a skin like black satin.
he calls her betty sherman."
""i do n't think it's very nice to call a horse after your own grandmother," said felicity.
""betty sherman would have thought it a compliment," said the story girl.
""maybe she would.
she could n't have been very nice herself, or she would never have gone and asked a man to marry her," said felicity.
""why not?"
""goodness me, it was dreadful!
would you do such a thing yourself?"
""well, i do n't know," said the story girl, her eyes gleaming with impish laughter.
""if i wanted him dreadfully, and he would n't do the asking, perhaps i would."
""i'd rather die an old maid forty times over," exclaimed felicity.
""nobody as pretty as you will ever be an old maid, felicity," said peter, who never put too fine an edge on his compliments.
felicity tossed her golden tressed head and tried to look angry, but made a dismal failure of it.
""it would n't be ladylike to ask any one to marry you, you know," argued cecily.
""i do n't suppose the family guide would think so," agreed the story girl lazily, with some sarcasm in her voice.
the story girl never held the family guide in such reverence as did felicity and cecily.
they pored over the "etiquette column" every week, and could have told you on demand, just exactly what kind of gloves should be worn at a wedding, what you should say when introducing or being introduced, and how you ought to look when your best young man came to see you.
""they say mrs. richard cook asked her husband to marry her," said dan.
""uncle roger says she did n't exactly ask him, but she helped the lame dog over the stile so slick that richard was engaged to her before he knew what had happened to him," said the story girl.
""i know a story about mrs. richard cook's grandmother.
she was one of those women who are always saying" i told you so --"" "take notice, felicity," said dan aside."
-- and she was very stubborn.
soon after she was married she and her husband quarrelled about an apple tree they had planted in their orchard.
the label was lost.
he said it was a fameuse and she declared it was a yellow transparent.
they fought over it till the neighbours came out to listen.
finally he got so angry that he told her to shut up.
they did n't have any family guide in those days, so he did n't know it was n't polite to say shut up to your wife.
i suppose she thought she would teach him manners, for would you believe it?
that woman did shut up, and never spoke one single word to her husband for five years.
and then, in five years" time, the tree bore apples, and they were yellow transparents.
and then she spoke at last.
she said," i told you so.""
""and did she talk to him after that as usual?"
asked sara ray.
""oh, yes, she was just the same as she used to be," said the story girl wearily.
""but that does n't belong to the story.
it stops when she spoke at last.
you're never satisfied to leave a story where it should stop, sara ray."
""well, i always like to know what happens afterwards," said sara ray.
""uncle roger says he would n't want a wife he could never quarrel with," remarked dan.
""he says it would be too tame a life for him."
""i wonder if uncle roger will always stay a bachelor," said cecily.
""he seems real happy," observed peter.
""ma says that it's all right as long as he is a bachelor because he wo n't take any one," said felicity, "but if he wakes up some day and finds he is an old bachelor because he ca n't get any one it'll have a very different flavour."
""if your aunt olivia was to up and get married what would your uncle roger do for a housekeeper?"
asked peter.
""oh, but aunt olivia will never be married now," said felicity.
""why, she'll be twenty-nine next january."
""well, o" course, that's pretty old," admitted peter, "but she might find some one who would n't mind that, seeing she's so pretty."
""it would be awful splendid and exciting to have a wedding in the family, would n't it?"
said cecily.
""i've never seen any one married, and i'd just love to.
i've been to four funerals, but not to one single wedding."
""i've never even got to a funeral," said sara ray gloomily.
""there's the wedding veil of the proud princess," said cecily, pointing to a long drift of filmy vapour in the southwestern sky.
""and look at that sweet pink cloud below it," added felicity.
""maybe that little pink cloud is a dream, getting all ready to float down into somebody's sleep," suggested the story girl.
""i had a perfectly awful dream last night," said cecily, with a shudder of remembrance.
""i dreamed i was on a desert island inhabited by tigers and natives with two heads."
""oh!"
the story girl looked at cecily half reproachfully.
""why could n't you tell it better than that?
if i had such a dream i could tell it so that everybody else would feel as if they had dreamed it, too."
""well, i'm not you," countered cecily, "and i would n't want to frighten any one as i was frightened.
it was an awful dream -- but it was kind of interesting, too."
""i've had some real int "resting dreams," said peter, "but i ca n't remember them long.
i wish i could."
""why do n't you write them down?"
suggested the story girl.
""oh --" she turned upon us a face illuminated with a sudden inspiration.
""i've an idea.
let us each get an exercise book and write down all our dreams, just as we dream them.
we'll see who'll have the most interesting collection.
and we'll have them to read and laugh over when we're old and gray."
instantly we all saw ourselves and each other by inner vision, old and gray -- all but the story girl.
we could not picture her as old.
always, as long as she lived, so it seemed to us, must she have sleek brown curls, a voice like the sound of a harpstring in the wind, and eyes that were stars of eternal youth.
chapter xxii.
the dream books the next day the story girl coaxed uncle roger to take her to markdale, and there she bought our dream books.
they were ten cents apiece, with ruled pages and mottled green covers.
my own lies open beside me as i write, its yellowed pages inscribed with the visions that haunted my childish slumbers on those nights of long ago.
on the cover is pasted a lady's visiting card, on which is written, "the dream book of beverley king."
cecily had a packet of visiting cards which she was hoarding against the day when she would be grown up and could put the calling etiquette of the family guide into practice; but she generously gave us all one apiece for the covers of our dream books.
as i turn the pages and glance over the naïve records, each one beginning, "last night i dreamed," the past comes very vividly back to me.
i see that bowery orchard, shining in memory with a soft glow of beauty -- "the light that never was on land or sea," -- where we sat on those september evenings and wrote down our dreams, when the cares of the day were over and there was nothing to interfere with the pleasing throes of composition.
peter -- dan -- felix -- cecily -- felicity -- sara ray -- the story girl -- they are all around me once more, in the sweet-scented, fading grasses, each with open dream books and pencil in hand, now writing busily, now staring fixedly into space in search of some elusive word or phrase which might best describe the indescribable.
i hear their laughing voices, i see their bright, unclouded eyes.
in this little, old book, filled with cramped, boyish writing, there is a spell of white magic that sets the years at naught.
beverley king is a boy once more, writing down his dreams in the old king orchard on the homestead hill, blown over by musky winds.
opposite to him sits the story girl, with her scarlet rosetted head, her beautiful bare feet crossed before her, one slender hand propping her high, white brow, on either side of which fall her glossy curls.
there, to the right, is sweet cecily of the dear, brown eyes, with a little bloated dictionary beside her -- for you dream of so many things you ca n't spell, or be expected to spell, when you are only eleven.
next to her sits felicity, beautiful, and conscious that she is beautiful, with hair of spun sunshine, and sea-blue eyes, and all the roses of that vanished summer abloom in her cheeks.
peter is beside her, of course, sprawled flat on his stomach among the grasses, one hand clutching his black curls, with his dream book on a small, round stone before him -- for only so can peter compose at all, and even then he finds it hard work.
he can handle a hoe more deftly than a pencil, and his spelling, even with all his frequent appeals to cecily, is a fearful and wonderful thing.
as for punctuation, he never attempts it, beyond an occasion period, jotted down whenever he happens to think of it, whether in the right place or not.
the story girl goes over his dreams after he has written them out, and puts in the commas and semicolons, and straightens out the sentences.
felix sits on the right of the story girl, fat and stodgy, grimly in earnest even over dreams.
he writes with his knees stuck up to form a writing-desk, and he always frowns fiercely the whole time.
dan, like peter, writes lying down flat, but with his back towards us; and he has a dismal habit of groaning aloud, writhing his whole body, and digging his toes into the grass, when he can not turn a sentence to suit him.
sara ray is at his left.
there is seldom anything to be said of sara except to tell where she is.
like tennyson's maud, in one respect at least, sara is splendidly null.
well, there we sit and write in our dream books, and uncle roger passes by and accuses us of being up to dev -- to very bad mischief.
each of us was very anxious to possess the most exciting record; but we were an honourable little crew, and i do not think anything was ever written down in those dream books which had not really been dreamed.
we had expected that the story girl would eclipse us all in the matter of dreams; but, at least in the beginning, her dreams were no more remarkable than those of the rest of us.
in dreamland we were all equal.
cecily, indeed, seemed to have the most decided talent for dramatic dreams.
that meekest and mildest of girls was in the habit of dreaming truly terrible things.
almost every night battle, murder, or sudden death played some part in her visions.
on the other hand, dan, who was a somewhat truculent fellow, addicted to the perusal of lurid dime novels which he borrowed from the other boys in school, dreamed dreams of such a peaceful and pastoral character that he was quite disgusted with the resulting tame pages of his dream book.
but if the story girl could not dream anything more wonderful than the rest of us, she scored when it came to the telling.
to hear her tell a dream was as good -- or as bad -- as dreaming it yourself.
as far as writing them down was concerned, i believe that i, beverley king, carried off the palm.
i was considered to possess a pretty knack of composition.
but the story girl went me one better even there, because, having inherited something of her father's talent for drawing, she illustrated her dreams with sketches that certainly caught the spirit of them, whatever might be said of their technical excellence.
she had an especial knack for drawing monstrosities; and i vividly recall the picture of an enormous and hideous lizard, looking like a reptile of the pterodactyl period, which she had dreamed of seeing crawl across the roof of the house.
on another occasion she had a frightful dream -- at least, it seemed frightful while she told us and described the dreadful feeling it had given her -- of being chased around the parlour by the ottoman, which made faces at her.
she drew a picture of the grimacing ottoman on the margin of her dream book which so scared sara ray when she beheld it that she cried all the way home, and insisted on sleeping that night with judy pineau lest the furniture take to pursuing her also.
sara ray's own dreams never amounted to much.
she was always in trouble of some sort -- could n't get her hair braided, or her shoes on the right feet.
consequently, her dream book was very monotonous.
the only thing worth mentioning in the way of dreams that sara ray ever achieved was when she dreamed that she went up in a balloon and fell out.
""i expected to come down with an awful thud," she said shuddering, "but i lit as light as a feather and woke right up."
""if you had n't woke up you'd have died," said peter with a dark significance.
""if you dream of falling and do n't wake you do land with a thud and it kills you.
that's what happens to people who die in their sleep."
""how do you know?"
asked dan skeptically.
""nobody who died in his sleep could ever tell it."
""my aunt jane told me so," said peter.
""i suppose that settles it," said felicity disagreeably.
""you always say something nasty when i mention my aunt jane," said peter reproachfully.
""what did i say that was nasty?"
cried felicity.
""i did n't say a single thing."
""well, it sounded nasty," said peter, who knew that it is the tone that makes the music.
""what did your aunt jane look like?"
asked cecily sympathetically.
""was she pretty?"
""no," conceded peter reluctantly, "she was n't pretty -- but she looked like the woman in that picture the story girl's father sent her last week -- the one with the shiny ring round her head and the baby in her lap.
i've seen aunt jane look at me just like that woman looks at her baby.
ma never looks so.
poor ma is too busy washing.
i wish i could dream of my aunt jane.
i never do.""
"dream of the dead, you'll hear of the living,"" quoted felix oracularly.
""i dreamed last night that i threw a lighted match into that keg of gunpowder in mr. cook's store at markdale," said peter.
""it blew up -- and everything blew up -- and they fished me out of the mess -- but i woke up before i'd time to find out if i was killed or not."
""one is so apt to wake up just as things get interesting," remarked the story girl discontentedly.
""i dreamed last night that i had really truly curly hair," said cecily mournfully.
""and oh, i was so happy!
it was dreadful to wake up and find it as straight as ever."
felix, that sober, solid fellow, dreamed constantly of flying through the air.
his descriptions of his aerial flights over the tree-tops of dreamland always filled us with envy.
none of the rest of us could ever compass such a dream, not even the story girl, who might have been expected to dream of flying if anybody did.
felix had a knack of dreaming anyhow, and his dream book, while suffering somewhat in comparison of literary style, was about the best of the lot when it came to subject matter.
cecily's might be more dramatic, but felix's was more amusing.
the dream which we all counted his masterpiece was the one in which a menagerie had camped in the orchard and the rhinoceros chased aunt janet around and around the pulpit stone, but turned into an inoffensive pig when it was on the point of catching her.
felix had a sick spell soon after we began our dream books, and aunt janet essayed to cure him by administering a dose of liver pills which elder frewen had assured her were a cure-all for every disease the flesh is heir to.
but felix flatly refused to take liver pills; mexican tea he would drink, but liver pills he would not take, in spite of his own suffering and aunt janet's commands and entreaties.
i could not understand his antipathy to the insignificant little white pellets, which were so easy to swallow; but he explained the matter to us in the orchard when he had recovered his usual health and spirits.
""i was afraid to take the liver pills for fear they'd prevent me from dreaming," he said.
""do n't you remember old miss baxter in toronto, bev?
and how she told mrs. mclaren that she was subject to terrible dreams, and finally she took two liver pills and never had any more dreams after that.
i'd rather have died than risk it," concluded felix solemnly.
""i'd an exciting dream last night for once," said dan triumphantly.
""i dreamt old peg bowen chased me.
i thought i was up to her house and she took after me.
you bet i scooted.
and she caught me -- yes, sir!
i felt her skinny hand reach out and clutch my shoulder.
i let out a screech -- and woke up."
""i should think you did screech," said felicity.
""we heard you clean over into our room."
""i hate to dream of being chased because i can never run," said sara ray with a shiver.
""i just stand rooted to the ground -- and see it coming -- and ca n't stir.
it do n't sound much written out, but it's awful to go through.
i'm sure i hope i'll never dream peg bowen chases me.
i'll die if i do."
""i wonder what peg bowen would really do to a fellow if she caught him," speculated dan.
""peg bowen does n't need to catch you to do things to you," said peter ominously.
""she can put ill-luck on you just by looking at you -- and she will if you offend her."
""i do n't believe that," said the story girl airily.
""do n't you?
all right, then!
last summer she called at lem hill's in markdale, and he told her to clear out or he'd set the dog on her.
peg cleared out, and she went across his pasture, muttering to herself and throwing her arms round.
and next day his very best cow took sick and died.
how do you account for that?"
""it might have happened anyhow," said the story girl -- somewhat less assuredly, though.
""it might.
but i'd just as soon peg bowen did n't look at my cows," said peter.
""as if you had any cows!"
giggled felicity.
""i'm going to have cows some day," said peter, flushing.
""i do n't mean to be a hired boy all my life.
i'll have a farm of my own and cows and everything.
you'll see if i wo n't."
""i dreamed last night that we opened the blue chest," said the story girl, "and all the things were there -- the blue china candlestick -- only it was brass in the dream -- and the fruit basket with the apple on it, and the wedding dress, and the embroidered petticoat.
and we were laughing, and trying the things on, and having such fun.
and rachel ward herself came and looked at us -- so sad and reproachful -- and we all felt ashamed, and i began to cry, and woke up crying."
""i dreamed last night that felix was thin," said peter, laughing.
""he did look so queer.
his clothes just hung loose, and he was going round trying to hold them on."
everybody thought this was funny, except felix.
he would not speak to peter for two days because of it.
felicity also got into trouble because of her dreams.
one night she woke up, having just had a very exciting dream; but she went to sleep again, and in the morning she could not remember the dream at all.
felicity determined she would never let another dream get away from her in such a fashion; and the next time she wakened in the night -- having dreamed that she was dead and buried -- she promptly arose, lighted a candle, and proceeded to write the dream down then and there.
while so employed she contrived to upset the candle and set fire to her nightgown -- a brand-new one, trimmed with any quantity of crocheted lace.
a huge hole was burned in it, and when aunt janet discovered it she lifted up her voice with no uncertain sound.
felicity had never received a sharper scolding.
but she took it very philosophically.
she was used to her mother's bitter tongue, and she was not unduly sensitive.
""anyhow, i saved my dream," she said placidly.
and that, of course, was all that really mattered.
grown people were so strangely oblivious to the truly important things of life.
material for new garments, of night or day, could be bought in any shop for a trifling sum and made up out of hand.
but if a dream escape you, in what market-place the wide world over can you hope to regain it?
what coin of earthly minting will ever buy back for you that lost and lovely vision?
chapter xxiii.
such stuff as dreams are made on peter took dan and me aside one evening, as we were on our way to the orchard with our dream books, saying significantly that he wanted our advice.
accordingly, we went round to the spruce wood, where the girls would not see us to the rousing of their curiosity, and then peter told us of his dilemma.
""last night i dreamed i was in church," he said.
""i thought it was full of people, and i walked up the aisle to your pew and set down, as unconcerned as a pig on ice.
and then i found that i had n't a stitch of clothes on -- not one blessed stitch.
now" -- peter dropped his voice -- "what is bothering me is this -- would it be proper to tell a dream like that before the girls?"
i was of the opinion that it would be rather questionable; but dan vowed he did n't see why.
he'd tell it quick as any other dream.
there was nothing bad in it.
""but they're your own relations," said peter.
""they're no relation to me, and that makes a difference.
besides, they're all such ladylike girls.
i guess i'd better not risk it.
i'm pretty sure aunt jane would n't think it was proper to tell such a dream.
and i do n't want to offend fel -- any of them."
so peter never told that dream, nor did he write it down.
instead, i remember seeing in his dream book, under the date of september fifteenth, an entry to this effect: -- "last nite i dremed a drem.
it wasent a polit drem so i wo n't rite it down."
the girls saw this entry but, to their credit be it told, they never tried to find out what the "drem" was.
as peter said, they were "ladies" in the best and truest sense of that much abused appellation.
full of fun and frolic and mischief they were, with all the defects of their qualities and all the wayward faults of youth.
but no indelicate thought or vulgar word could have been shaped or uttered in their presence.
had any of us boys ever been guilty of such, cecily's pale face would have coloured with the blush of outraged purity, felicity's golden head would have lifted itself in the haughty indignation of insulted womanhood, and the story girl's splendid eyes would have flashed with such anger and scorn as would have shrivelled the very soul of the wretched culprit.
dan was once guilty of swearing.
uncle alec whipped him for it -- the only time he ever so punished any of his children.
but it was because cecily cried all night that dan was filled with saving remorse and repentance.
he vowed next day to cecily that he would never swear again, and he kept his word.
all at once the story girl and peter began to forge ahead in the matter of dreaming.
their dreams suddenly became so lurid and dreadful and picturesque that it was hard for the rest of us to believe that they were not painting the lily rather freely in their accounts of them.
but the story girl was the soul of honour; and peter, early in life, had had his feet set in the path of truthfulness by his aunt jane and had never been known to stray from it.
when they assured us solemnly that their dreams all happened exactly as they described them we were compelled to believe them.
but there was something up, we felt sure of that.
peter and the story girl certainly had a secret between them, which they kept for a whole fortnight.
there was no finding it out from the story girl.
she had a knack of keeping secrets, anyhow; and, moreover, all that fortnight she was strangely cranky and petulant, and we found it was not wise to tease her.
she was not well, so aunt olivia told aunt janet.
""i do n't know what is the matter with the child," said the former anxiously.
""she has n't seemed like herself the past two weeks.
she complains of headache, and she has no appetite, and she is a dreadful colour.
i'll have to see a doctor about her if she does n't get better soon."
""give her a good dose of mexican tea and try that first," said aunt janet.
""i've saved many a doctor's bill in my family by using mexican tea."
the mexican tea was duly administered, but produced no improvement in the condition of the story girl, who, however, went on dreaming after a fashion which soon made her dream book a veritable curiosity of literature.
""if we ca n't soon find out what makes peter and the story girl dream like that, the rest of us might as well give up trying to write dream books," said felix discontentedly.
finally, we did find out.
felicity wormed the secret out of peter by the employment of delilah wiles, such as have been the undoing of many a miserable male creature since samson's day.
she first threatened that she would never speak to him again if he did n't tell her; and then she promised him that, if he did, she would let him walk beside her to and from sunday school all the rest of the summer, and carry her books for her.
peter was not proof against this double attack.
he yielded and told the secret.
i expected the story girl would overwhelm him with scorn and indignation.
but she took it very coolly.
""i knew felicity would get it out of him sometime," she said.
""i think he has done well to hold out this long."
peter and the story girl, so it appeared, had wooed wild dreams to their pillows by the simple device of eating rich, indigestible things before they went to bed.
aunt olivia knew nothing about it, of course.
she permitted them only a plain, wholesome lunch at bed-time.
but during the day the story girl would smuggle upstairs various tidbits from the pantry, putting half in peter's room and half in her own; and the result was these visions which had been our despair.
""last night i ate a piece of mince pie," she said, "and a lot of pickles, and two grape jelly tarts.
but i guess i overdid it, because i got real sick and could n't sleep at all, so of course i did n't have any dreams.
i should have stopped with the pie and pickles and left the tarts alone.
peter did, and he had an elegant dream that peg bowen caught him and put him on to boil alive in that big black pot that hangs outside her door.
he woke up before the water got hot, though.
well, miss felicity, you're pretty smart.
but how will you like to walk to sunday school with a boy who wears patched trousers?"
""i wo n't have to," said felicity triumphantly.
""peter is having a new suit made.
it's to be ready by saturday.
i knew that before i promised."
having discovered how to produce exciting dreams, we all promptly followed the example of peter and the story girl.
""there is no chance for me to have any horrid dreams," lamented sara ray, "because ma wo n't let me having anything at all to eat before i go to bed.
i do n't think it's fair."
""ca n't you hide something away through the day as we do?"
asked felicity.
""no."
sara shook her fawn-coloured head mournfully.
""ma always keeps the pantry locked, for fear judy pineau will treat her friends."
for a week we ate unlawful lunches and dreamed dreams after our own hearts -- and, i regret to say, bickered and squabbled incessantly throughout the daytime, for our digestions went out of order and our tempers followed suit.
even the story girl and i had a fight -- something that had never happened before.
peter was the only one who kept his normal poise.
nothing could upset that boy's stomach.
one night cecily came into the pantry with a large cucumber, and proceeded to devour the greater part of it.
the grown-ups were away that evening, attending a lecture at markdale, so we ate our snacks openly, without any recourse to ways that were dark.
i remember i supped that night off a solid hunk of fat pork, topped off with a slab of cold plum pudding.
""i thought you did n't like cucumber, cecily," dan remarked.
""neither i do," said cecily with a grimace.
""but peter says they're splendid for dreaming.
he et one that night he had the dream about being caught by cannibals.
i'd eat three cucumbers if i could have a dream like that."
cecily finished her cucumber, and then drank a glass of milk, just as we heard the wheels of uncle alec's buggy rambling over the bridge in the hollow.
felicity quickly restored pork and pudding to their own places, and by the time aunt janet came in we were all in our respective beds.
soon the house was dark and silent.
i was just dropping into an uneasy slumber when i heard a commotion in the girls" room across the hall.
their door opened and through our own open door i saw felicity's white-clad figure flit down the stairs to aunt janet's room.
from the room she had left came moans and cries.
""cecily's sick," said dan, springing out of bed.
""that cucumber must have disagreed with her."
in a few minutes the whole house was astir.
cecily was sick -- very, very sick, there was no doubt of that.
she was even worse than dan had been when he had eaten the bad berries.
uncle alec, tired as he was from his hard day's work and evening outing, was despatched for the doctor.
aunt janet and felicity administered all the homely remedies they could think of, but to no effect.
felicity told aunt janet of the cucumber, but aunt janet did not think the cucumber alone could be responsible for cecily's alarming condition.
""cucumbers are indigestible, but i never knew of them making any one as sick as this," she said anxiously.
""what made the child eat a cucumber before going to bed?
i did n't think she liked them."
""it was that wretched peter," sobbed felicity indignantly.
""he told her it would make her dream something extra."
""what on earth did she want to dream for?"
demanded aunt janet in bewilderment.
""oh, to have something worth while to write in her dream book, ma.
we all have dream books, you know, and every one wants their own to be the most exciting -- and we've been eating rich things to make us dream -- and it does -- but if cecily -- oh, i'll never forgive myself," said felicity, incoherently, letting all kinds of cats out of the bag in her excitement and alarm.
""well, i wonder what on earth you young ones will do next," said aunt janet in the helpless tone of a woman who gives it up.
cecily was no better when the doctor came.
like aunt janet, he declared that cucumbers alone would not have made her so ill; but when he found out that she had drunk a glass of milk also the mystery was solved.
""why, milk and cucumbers together make a rank poison," he said.
""no wonder the child is sick.
there -- there now --" seeing the alarmed faces around him, "do n't be frightened.
as old mrs. fraser says, "it's no deidly."
it wo n't kill her, but she'll probably be a pretty miserable girl for two or three days."
she was.
and we were all miserable in company.
aunt janet investigated the whole affair and the matter of our dream books was aired in family conclave.
i do not know which hurt our feelings most -- the scolding we got from aunt janet, or the ridicule which the other grown-ups, especially uncle roger, showered on us.
peter received an extra "setting down," which he considered rank injustice.
""i did n't tell cecily to drink the milk, and the cucumber alone would n't have hurt her," he grumbled.
cecily was able to be out with us again that day, so peter felt that he might venture on a grumble."
"sides, she coaxed me to tell her what would be good for dreams.
i just told her as a favour.
and now your aunt janet blames me for the whole trouble."
""and aunt janet says we are never to have anything to eat before we go to bed after this except plain bread and milk," said felix sadly.
""they'd like to stop us from dreaming altogether if they could," said the story girl wrathfully.
""well, anyway, they ca n't prevent us from growing up," consoled dan.
""we need n't worry about the bread and milk rule," added felicity.
""ma made a rule like that once before, and kept it for a week, and then we just slipped back to the old way.
that will be what will happen this time, too.
but of course we wo n't be able to get any more rich things for supper, and our dreams will be pretty flat after this."
""well, let's go down to the pulpit stone and i'll tell you a story i know," said the story girl.
we went -- and straightway drank of the waters of forgetfulness.
in a brief space we were laughing right merrily, no longer remembering our wrongs at the hands of those cruel grown-ups.
our laughter echoed back from the barns and the spruce grove, as if elfin denizens of upper air were sharing in our mirth.
presently, also, the laughter of the grown-ups mingled with ours.
aunt olivia and uncle roger, aunt janet and uncle alec, came strolling through the orchard and joined our circle, as they sometimes did when the toil of the day was over, and the magic time "twixt light and dark brought truce of care and labour.
't was then we liked our grown-ups best, for then they seemed half children again.
uncle roger and uncle alec lolled in the grass like boys; aunt olivia, looking more like a pansy than ever in the prettiest dress of pale purple print, with a knot of yellow ribbon at her throat, sat with her arm about cecily and smiled on us all; and aunt janet's motherly face lost its every-day look of anxious care.
the story girl was in great fettle that night.
never had her tales sparkled with such wit and archness.
""sara stanley," said aunt olivia, shaking her finger at her after a side-splitting yarn, "if you do n't watch out you'll be famous some day."
""these funny stories are all right," said uncle roger, "but for real enjoyment give me something with a creep in it.
sara, tell us that story of the serpent woman i heard you tell one day last summer."
the story girl began it glibly.
but before she had gone far with it, i, who was sitting beside her, felt an unaccountable repulsion creeping over me.
for the first time since i had known her i wanted to draw away from the story girl.
looking around on the faces of the group, i saw that they all shared my feeling.
cecily had put her hands over her eyes.
peter was staring at the story girl with a fascinated, horror-strickened gaze.
aunt olivia was pale and troubled.
all looked as if they were held prisoners in the bonds of a fearsome spell which they would gladly break but could not.
it was not our story girl who sat there, telling that weird tale in a sibilant, curdling voice.
she had put on a new personality like a garment, and that personality was a venomous, evil, loathly thing.
i would rather have died than have touched the slim, brown wrist on which she supported herself.
the light in her narrowed orbs was the cold, merciless gleam of the serpent's eye.
i felt frightened of this unholy creature who had suddenly come in our dear story girl's place.
when the tale ended there was a brief silence.
then aunt janet said severely, but with a sigh of relief, "little girls should n't tell such horrible stories."
this truly aunt janetian remark broke the spell.
the grown-ups laughed, rather shakily, and the story girl -- our own dear story girl once more, and no serpent woman -- said protestingly, "well, uncle roger asked me to tell it.
i do n't like telling such stories either.
they make me feel dreadful.
do you know, for just a little while, i felt exactly like a snake."
""you looked like one," said uncle roger.
""how on earth do you do it?"
""i ca n't explain how i do it," said the story girl perplexedly.
""it just does itself."
genius can never explain how it does it.
it would not be genius if it could.
and the story girl had genius.
as we left the orchard i walked along behind uncle roger and aunt olivia.
""that was an uncanny exhibition for a girl of fourteen, you know, roger," said aunt olivia musingly.
""what is in store for that child?"
""fame," said uncle roger.
""if she ever has a chance, that is, and i suppose her father will see to that.
at least, i hope he will.
you and i, olivia, never had our chance.
i hope sara will have hers."
this was my first inkling of what i was to understand more fully in later years.
uncle roger and aunt olivia had both cherished certain dreams and ambitions in youth, but circumstances had denied them their "chance" and those dreams had never been fulfilled.
""some day, olivia," went on uncle roger, "you and i may find ourselves the aunt and uncle of the foremost actress of her day.
if a girl of fourteen can make a couple of practical farmers and a pair of matter-of-fact housewives half believe for ten minutes that she really is a snake, what wo n't she be able to do when she is thirty?
here, you," added uncle roger, perceiving me, "cut along and get off to your bed.
and mind you do n't eat cucumbers and milk before you go."
chapter xxiv.
the bewitchment of pat we were all in the doleful dumps -- at least, all we "young fry" were, and even the grown-ups were sorry and condescended to take an interest in our troubles.
pat, our own, dear, frolicsome paddy, was sick again -- very, very sick.
on friday he moped and refused his saucer of new milk at milking time.
the next morning he stretched himself down on the platform by uncle roger's back door, laid his head on his black paws, and refused to take any notice of anything or anybody.
in vain we stroked and entreated and brought him tidbits.
only when the story girl caressed him did he give one plaintive little mew, as if to ask piteously why she could not do something for him.
at that cecily and felicity and sara ray all began crying, and we boys felt choky.
indeed, i caught peter behind aunt olivia's dairy later in the day, and if ever a boy had been crying i vow that boy was peter.
nor did he deny it when i taxed him with it, but he would not give in that he was crying about paddy.
nonsense!
""what were you crying for, then?"
i said.
""i'm crying because -- because my aunt jane is dead," said peter defiantly.
""but your aunt jane died two years ago," i said skeptically.
""well, ai n't that all the more reason for crying?"
retorted peter.
""i've had to do without her for two years, and that's worse than if it had just been a few days."
""i believe you were crying because pat is so sick," i said firmly.
""as if i'd cry about a cat!"
scoffed peter.
and he marched off whistling.
of course we had tried the lard and powder treatment again, smearing pat's paws and sides liberally.
but to our dismay, pat made no effort to lick it off.
""i tell you he's a mighty sick cat," said peter darkly.
""when a cat do n't care what he looks like he's pretty far gone."
""if we only knew what was the matter with him we might do something," sobbed the story girl, stroking her poor pet's unresponsive head.
""i could tell you what's the matter with him, but you'd only laugh at me," said peter.
we all looked at him.
""peter craig, what do you mean?"
asked felicity."
"zackly what i say."
""then, if you know what is the matter with paddy, tell us," commanded the story girl, standing up.
she said it quietly; but peter obeyed.
i think he would have obeyed if she, in that tone and with those eyes, had ordered him to cast himself into the depths of the sea.
i know i should.
""he's bewitched -- that's what's the matter with him," said peter, half defiantly, half shamefacedly.
""bewitched?
nonsense!"
""there now, what did i tell you?"
complained peter.
the story girl looked at peter, at the rest of us, and then at poor pat.
""how could he be bewitched?"
she asked irresolutely, "and who could bewitch him?"
""i do n't know how he was bewitched," said peter.
""i'd have to be a witch myself to know that.
but peg bowen bewitched him."
""nonsense!"
said the story girl again.
""all right," said peter.
""you do n't have to believe me."
""if peg bowen could bewitch anything -- and i do n't believe she could -- why should she bewitch pat?"
asked the story girl.
""everybody here and at uncle alec's is always kind to her."
""i'll tell you why," said peter.
""thursday afternoon, when you fellows were all in school, peg bowen came here.
your aunt olivia gave her a lunch -- a good one.
you may laugh at the notion of peg being a witch, but i notice your folks are always awful good to her when she comes, and awful careful never to offend her."
""aunt olivia would be good to any poor creature, and so would mother," said felicity.
""and of course nobody wants to offend peg, because she is spiteful, and she once set fire to a man's barn in markdale when he offended her.
but she is n't a witch -- that's ridiculous."
""all right.
but wait till i tell you.
when peg bowen was leaving pat stretched out on the steps.
she tramped on his tail.
you know pat does n't like to have his tail meddled with.
he slewed himself round and clawed her bare foot.
if you'd just seen the look she gave him you'd know whether she was a witch or not.
and she went off down the lane, muttering and throwing her hands round, just like she did in lem hill's cow pasture.
she put a spell on pat, that's what she did.
he was sick the next morning."
we looked at each other in miserable, perplexed silence.
we were only children -- and we believed that there had been such things as witches once upon a time -- and peg bowen was an eerie creature.
""if that's so -- though i ca n't believe it -- we ca n't do anything," said the story girl drearily.
""pat must die."
cecily began to weep afresh.
""i'd do anything to save pat's life," she said.
""i'd believe anything."
""there's nothing we can do," said felicity impatiently.
""i suppose," sobbed cecily, "we might go to peg bowen and ask her to forgive pat and take the spell off him.
she might, if we apologized real humble."
at first we were appalled by the suggestion.
we did n't believe that peg bowen was a witch.
but to go to her -- to seek her out in that mysterious woodland retreat of hers which was invested with all the terrors of the unknown!
and that this suggestion should come from timid cecily, of all people!
but then, there was poor pat!
""would it do any good?"
said the story girl desperately.
""even if she did make pat sick i suppose it would only make her crosser if we went and accused her of bewitching him.
besides, she did n't do anything of the sort."
but there was some uncertainty in the story girl's voice.
""it would n't do any harm to try," said cecily.
""if she did n't make him sick it wo n't matter if she is cross."
""it wo n't matter to pat, but it might to the one who goes to her," said felicity.
""she is n't a witch, but she's a spiteful old woman, and goodness knows what she'd do to us if she caught us.
i'm scared of peg bowen, and i do n't care who knows it.
ever since i can mind ma's been saying, "if you're not good peg bowen will catch you.""
""if i thought she really made pat sick and could make him better, i'd try to pacify her somehow," said the story girl decidedly.
""i'm frightened of her, too -- but just look at poor, darling paddy."
we looked at paddy who continued to stare fixedly before him with unwinking eyes.
uncle roger came out and looked at him also, with what seemed to us positively brutal unconcern.
""i'm afraid it's all up with pat," he said.
""uncle roger," said cecily imploringly, "peter says peg bowen has bewitched pat for scratching her.
do you think it can be so?"
""did pat scratch peg?"
asked uncle roger, with a horror-stricken face.
""dear me!
dear me!
that mystery is solved.
poor pat!"
uncle roger nodded his head, as if resigning himself and pat to the worst.
""do you really think peg bowen is a witch, uncle roger?"
demanded the story girl incredulously.
""do i think peg bowen is a witch?
my dear sara, what do you think of a woman who can turn herself into a black cat whenever she likes?
is she a witch?
or is she not?
i leave it to you."
""can peg bowen turn herself into a black cat?"
asked felix, staring.
""it's my belief that that is the least of peg bowen's accomplishments," answered uncle roger.
""it's the easiest thing in the world for a witch to turn herself into any animal you choose to mention.
yes, pat is bewitched -- no doubt of that -- not the least in the world."
""what are you telling those children such stuff for?"
asked aunt olivia, passing on her way to the well.
""it's an irresistible temptation," answered uncle roger, strolling over to carry her pail.
""you can see your uncle roger believes peg is a witch," said peter.
""and you can see aunt olivia does n't," i said, "and i do n't either."
""see here," said the story girl resolutely, "i do n't believe it, but there may be something in it.
suppose there is.
the question is, what can we do?"
""i'll tell you what i'd do," said peter.
""i'd take a present for peg, and ask her to make pat well.
i would n't let on i thought she'd made him sick.
then she could n't be offended -- and maybe she'd take the spell off."
""i think we'd better all give her something," said felicity.
""i'm willing to do that.
but who's going to take the presents to her?"
""we must all go together," said the story girl.
""i wo n't," cried sara ray in terror.
""i would n't go near peg bowen's house for the world, no matter who was with me."
""i've thought of a plan," said the story girl.
""let's all give her something, as felicity says.
and let us all go up to her place this evening, and if we see her outside we'll just go quietly and set the things down before her with the letter, and say nothing but come respectfully away."
""if she'll let us," said dan significantly.
""can peg read a letter?"
i asked.
""oh, yes.
aunt olivia says she is a good scholar.
she went to school and was a smart girl until she became crazy.
we'll write it very plain."
""what if we do n't see her?"
asked felicity.
""we'll put the things on her doorstep then and leave them."
""she may be miles away over the country by this time," sighed cecily, "and never find them until it's too late for pat.
but it's the only thing to do.
what can we give her?"
""we must n't offer her any money," said the story girl.
""she's very indignant when any one does that.
she says she is n't a beggar.
but she'll take anything else.
i shall give her my string of blue beads.
she's fond of finery."
""i'll give her that sponge cake i made this morning," said felicity.
""i guess she does n't get sponge cake very often."
""i've nothing but the rheumatism ring i got as a premium for selling needles last winter," said peter.
""i'll give her that.
even if she has n't got rheumatism it's a real handsome ring.
it looks like solid gold."
""i'll give her a roll of peppermint candy," said felix.
""i'll give one of those little jars of cherry preserve i made," said cecily.
""i wo n't go near her," quavered sara ray, "but i want to do something for pat, and i'll send that piece of apple leaf lace i knit last week."
i decided to give the redoubtable peg some apples from my birthday tree, and dan declared he would give her a plug of tobacco.
""oh, wo n't she be insulted?"
exclaimed felix, rather horrified.
""naw," grinned dan.
""peg chews tobacco like a man.
she'd rather have it than your rubbishy peppermints, i can tell you.
i'll run down to old mrs. sampson's and get a plug."
""now, we must write the letter and take it and the presents to her right away, before it gets dark," said the story girl.
we adjourned to the granary to indite the important document, which the story girl was to compose.
""how shall i begin it?"
she asked in perplexity.
""it would never do to say, "dear peg," and "dear miss bowen" sounds too ridiculous."
""besides, nobody knows whether she is miss bowen or not," said felicity.
""she went to boston when she grew up, and some say she was married there and her husband deserted her, and that's why she went crazy.
if she's married, she wo n't like being called miss." "well, how am i to address her?"
asked the story girl in despair.
peter again came to the rescue with a practical suggestion.
""begin it, "respected madam,"" he said.
""ma has a letter a school trustee once writ to my aunt jane and that's how it begins."
""respected madam," wrote the story girl.
""we want to ask a very great favour of you and we hope you will kindly grant it if you can.
our favourite cat, paddy, is very sick, and we are afraid he is going to die.
do you think you could cure him?
and will you please try?
we are all so fond of him, and he is such a good cat, and has no bad habits.
of course, if any of us tramps on his tail he will scratch us, but you know a cat ca n't bear to have his tail tramped on.
it's a very tender part of him, and it's his only way of preventing it, and he does n't mean any harm.
if you can cure paddy for us we will always be very, very grateful to you.
the accompanying small offerings are a testimonial of our respect and gratitude, and we entreat you to honour us by accepting them.
""very respectfully yours, "sara stanley."
""i tell you that last sentence has a fine sound," said peter admiringly.
""i did n't make that up," admitted the story girl honestly.
""i read it somewhere and remembered it."
""i think it's too fine," criticized felicity.
""peg bowen wo n't know the meaning of such big words."
but it was decided to leave them in and we all signed the letter.
then we got our "testimonials," and started on our reluctant journey to the domains of the witch.
sara ray would not go, of course, but she volunteered to stay with pat while we were away.
we did not think it necessary to inform the grown-ups of our errand, or its nature.
grown-ups had such peculiar views.
they might forbid our going at all -- and they would certainly laugh at us.
peg bowen's house was nearly a mile away, even by the short cut past the swamp and up the wooded hill.
we went down through the brook field and over the little plank bridge in the hollow, half lost in its surrounding sea of farewell summers.
when we reached the green gloom of the woods beyond we began to feel frightened, but nobody would admit it.
we walked very closely together, and we did not talk.
when you are near the retreat of witches and folk of that ilk the less you say the better, for their feelings are so notoriously touchy.
of course, peg was n't a witch, but it was best to be on the safe side.
finally we came to the lane which led directly to her abode.
we were all very pale now, and our hearts were beating.
the red september sun hung low between the tall spruces to the west.
it did not look to me just right for a sun.
in fact, everything looked uncanny.
i wished our errand were well over.
a sudden bend in the lane brought us out to the little clearing where peg's house was before we were half ready to see it.
in spite of my fear i looked at it with some curiosity.
it was a small, shaky building with a sagging roof, set amid a perfect jungle of weeds.
to our eyes, the odd thing about it was that there was no entrance on the ground floor, as there should be in any respectable house.
the only door was in the upper story, and was reached by a flight of rickety steps.
there was no sign of life about the place except -- sight of ill omen -- a large black cat, sitting on the topmost step.
we thought of uncle roger's gruesome hints.
could that black cat be peg?
nonsense!
but still -- it did n't look like an ordinary cat.
it was so large -- and had such green, malicious eyes!
plainly, there was something out of the common about the beastie!
in a tense, breathless silence the story girl placed our parcels on the lowest step, and laid her letter on the top of the pile.
her brown fingers trembled and her face was very pale.
suddenly the door above us opened, and peg bowen herself appeared on the threshold.
she was a tall, sinewy old woman, wearing a short, ragged, drugget skirt which reached scantly below her knees, a scarlet print blouse, and a man's hat.
her feet, arms, and neck were bare, and she had a battered old clay pipe in her mouth.
her brown face was seamed with a hundred wrinkles, and her tangled, grizzled hair fell unkemptly over her shoulders.
she was scowling, and her flashing black eyes held no friendly light.
we had borne up bravely enough hitherto, in spite of our inward, unconfessed quakings.
but now our strained nerves gave way, and sheer panic seized us.
peter gave a little yelp of pure terror.
we turned and fled across the clearing and into the woods.
down the long hill we tore, like mad, hunted creatures, firmly convinced that peg bowen was after us.
wild was that scamper, as nightmare-like as any recorded in our dream books.
the story girl was in front of me, and i can recall the tremendous leaps she made over fallen logs and little spruce bushes, with her long brown curls streaming out behind her from their scarlet fillet.
cecily, behind me, kept gasping out the contradictory sentences, "oh, bev, wait for me," and "oh, bev, hurry, hurry!"
more by blind instinct than anything else we kept together and found our way out of the woods.
presently we were in the field beyond the brook.
over us was a dainty sky of shell pink, placid cows were pasturing around us; the farewell summers nodded to us in the friendly breezes.
we halted, with a glad realization that we were back in our own haunts and that peg bowen had not caught us.
""oh, was n't that an awful experience?"
gasped cecily, shuddering.
""i would n't go through it again -- i could n't, not even for pat."
""it come on a fellow so suddent," said peter shamefacedly.
""i think i could a-stood my ground if i'd known she was going to come out.
but when she popped out like that i thought i was done for."
""we should n't have run," said felicity gloomily.
""it showed we were afraid of her, and that always makes her awful cross.
she wo n't do a thing for pat now."
""i do n't believe she could do anything, anyway," said the story girl.
""i think we've just been a lot of geese."
we were all, except peter, more or less inclined to agree with her.
and the conviction of our folly deepened when we reached the granary and found that pat, watched over by the faithful sara ray, was no better.
the story girl announced that she would take him into the kitchen and sit up all night with him.
""he sha'n' t die alone, anyway," she said miserably, gathering his limp body up in her arms.
we did not think aunt olivia would give her permission to stay up; but aunt olivia did.
aunt olivia really was a duck.
we wanted to stay with her also, but aunt janet would n't hear of such a thing.
she ordered us off to bed, saying that it was positively sinful in us to be so worked up over a cat.
five heart-broken children, who knew that there are many worse friends than dumb, furry folk, climbed uncle alec's stairs to bed that night.
""there's nothing we can do now, except pray god to make pat better," said cecily.
i must candidly say that her tone savoured strongly of a last resort; but this was owing more to early training than to any lack of faith on cecily's part.
she knew and we knew, that prayer was a solemn rite, not to be lightly held, nor degraded to common uses.
felicity voiced this conviction when she said, "i do n't believe it would be right to pray about a cat."
""i'd like to know why not," retorted cecily, "god made paddy just as much as he made you, felicity king, though perhaps he did n't go to so much trouble.
and i'm sure he's abler to help him than peg bowen.
anyhow, i'm going to pray for pat with all my might and main, and i'd like to see you try to stop me.
of course i wo n't mix it up with more important things.
i'll just tack it on after i've finished asking the blessings, but before i say amen."
more petitions than cecily's were offered up that night on behalf of paddy.
i distinctly heard felix -- who always said his prayers in a loud whisper, owing to some lasting conviction of early life that god could not hear him if he did not pray audibly -- mutter pleadingly, after the "important" part of his devotions was over, "oh, god, please make pat better by the morning.
please do."
and i, even in these late years of irreverence for the dreams of youth, am not in the least ashamed to confess that when i knelt down to say my boyish prayer, i thought of our little furry comrade in his extremity, and prayed as reverently as i knew how for his healing.
then i went to sleep, comforted by the simple hope that the great father would, after "important things" were all attended to, remember poor pat.
as soon as we were up the next morning we rushed off to uncle roger's.
but we met peter and the story girl in the lane, and their faces were as the faces of those who bring glad tidings upon the mountains.
""pat's better," cried the story girl, blithe, triumphant.
""last night, just at twelve, he began to lick his paws.
then he licked himself all over and went to sleep, too, on the sofa.
when i woke pat was washing his face, and he has taken a whole saucerful of milk.
oh, is n't it splendid?"
""you see peg bowen did put a spell on him," said peter, "and then she took it off."
""i guess cecily's prayer had more to do with pat's getting better than peg bowen," said felicity.
""she prayed for pat over and over again.
that is why he's better."
""oh, all right," said peter, "but i'd advise pat not to scratch peg bowen again, that's all."
""i wish i knew whether it was the praying or peg bowen that cured pat," said felix in perplexity.
""i do n't believe it was either of them," said dan.
""pat just got sick and got better again of his own accord."
""i'm going to believe that it was the praying," said cecily decidedly.
""it's so much nicer to believe that god cured pat than that peg bowen did."
""but you ought n't to believe a thing just'cause it would be more comfortable," objected peter.
""mind you, i ai n't saying god could n't cure pat.
but nothing and nobody ca n't ever make me believe that peg bowen was n't at the bottom of it all."
thus faith, superstition, and incredulity strove together amongst us, as in all history.
chapter xxv.
a cup of failure one warm sunday evening in the moon of golden-rod, we all, grown-ups and children, were sitting in the orchard by the pulpit stone singing sweet old gospel hymns.
we could all sing more or less, except poor sara ray, who had once despairingly confided to me that she did n't know what she'd ever do when she went to heaven, because she could n't sing a note.
that whole scene comes out clearly for me in memory -- the arc of primrose sky over the trees behind the old house, the fruit-laden boughs of the orchard, the bank of golden-rod, like a wave of sunshine, behind the pulpit stone, the nameless colour seen on a fir wood in a ruddy sunset.
i can see uncle alec's tired, brilliant, blue eyes, aunt janet's wholesome, matronly face, uncle roger's sweeping blond beard and red cheeks, and aunt olivia's full-blown beauty.
two voices ring out for me above all others in the music that echoes through the halls of recollection.
cecily's sweet and silvery, and uncle alec's fine tenor.
""if you're a king, you sing," was a carlisle proverb in those days.
aunt julia had been the flower of the flock in that respect and had become a noted concert singer.
the world had never heard of the rest.
their music echoed only along the hidden ways of life, and served but to lighten the cares of the trivial round and common task.
that evening, after they tired of singing, our grown-ups began talking of their youthful days and doings.
this was always a keen delight to us small fry.
we listened avidly to the tales of our uncles and aunts in the days when they, too -- hard fact to realize -- had been children.
good and proper as they were now, once, so it seemed, they had gotten into mischief and even had their quarrels and disagreements.
on this particular evening uncle roger told many stories of uncle edward, and one in which the said edward had preached sermons at the mature age of ten from the pulpit stone fired, as the sequel will show, the story girl's imagination.
""ca n't i just see him at it now," said uncle roger, "leaning over that old boulder, his cheeks red and his eyes burning with excitement, banging the top of it as he had seen the ministers do in church.
it was n't cushioned, however, and he always bruised his hands in his self-forgetful earnestness.
we thought him a regular wonder.
we loved to hear him preach, but we did n't like to hear him pray, because he always insisted on praying for each of us by name, and it made us feel wretchedly uncomfortable, somehow.
alec, do you remember how furious julia was because edward prayed one day that she might be preserved from vanity and conceit over her singing?"
""i should think i do," laughed uncle alec.
""she was sitting right there where cecily is now, and she got up at once and marched right out of the orchard, but at the gate she turned to call back indignantly," i guess you'd better wait till you've prayed the conceit out of yourself before you begin on me, ned king.
i never heard such stuck-up sermons as you preach."
ned went on praying and never let on he heard her, but at the end of his prayer he wound up with "oh, god, i pray you to keep an eye on us all, but i pray you to pay particular attention to my sister julia, for i think she needs it even more than the rest of us, world without end, amen.""
our uncles roared with laughter over the recollection.
we all laughed, indeed, especially over another tale in which uncle edward, leaning too far over the "pulpit" in his earnestness, lost his balance altogether and tumbled ingloriously into the grass below.
""he lit on a big scotch thistle," said uncle roger, chuckling, "and besides that, he skinned his forehead on a stone.
but he was determined to finish his sermon, and finish it he did.
he climbed back into the pulpit, with the tears rolling over his cheeks, and preached for ten minutes longer, with sobs in his voice and drops of blood on his forehead.
he was a plucky little beggar.
no wonder he succeeded in life."
""and his sermons and prayers were always just about as outspoken as those julia objected to," said uncle alec.
""well, we're all getting on in life and edward is gray; but when i think of him i always see him a little, rosy, curly-headed chap, laying down the law to us from the pulpit stone.
it seems like the other day that we were all here together, just as these children are, and now we are scattered everywhere.
julia in california, edward in halifax, alan in south america, felix and felicity and stephen gone to the land that is very far off."
there was a little space of silence; and then uncle alec began, in a low, impressive voice, to repeat the wonderful verses of the ninetieth psalm -- verses which were thenceforth bound up for us with the beauty of that night and the memories of our kindred.
very reverently we all listened to the majestic words.
""lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations.
before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting thou art god... for a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night... for all our days are passed away in thy wrath; we spend our years as a tale that is told.
the days of our years are threescore and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years yet is their strength, labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off and we fly away... so teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom... oh, satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days... and let the beauty of the lord our god be upon us; and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it."
the dusk crept into the orchard like a dim, bewitching personality.
you could see her -- feel her -- hear her.
she tiptoed softly from tree to tree, ever drawing nearer.
presently her filmy wings hovered over us and through them gleamed the early stars of the autumn night.
the grown-ups rose reluctantly and strolled away; but we children lingered for a moment to talk over an idea the story girl broached -- a good idea, we thought enthusiastically, and one that promised to add considerable spice to life.
we were on the lookout for some new amusement.
dream books had begun to pall.
we no longer wrote in them very regularly, and our dreams were not what they used to be before the mischance of the cucumber.
so the story girl's suggestion came pat to the psychological moment.
"i've thought of a splendid plan," she said.
""it just flashed into my mind when the uncles were talking about uncle edward.
and the beauty of it is we can play it on sundays, and you know there are so few things it is proper to play on sundays.
but this is a christian game, so it will be all right."
""it is n't like the religious fruit basket game, is it?"
asked cecily anxiously.
we had good reason to hope that it was n't.
one desperate sunday afternoon, when we had nothing to read and the time seemed endless, felix had suggested that we have a game of fruit-basket; only instead of taking the names of fruits, we were to take the names of bible characters.
this, he argued, would make it quite lawful and proper to play on sunday.
we, too desirous of being convinced, also thought so; and for a merry hour lazarus and martha and moses and aaron and sundry other worthies of holy writ had a lively time of it in the king orchard.
peter having a scriptural name of his own, did not want to take another; but we would not allow this, because it would give him an unfair advantage over the rest of us.
it would be so much easier to call out your own name than fit your tongue to an unfamiliar one.
so peter retaliated by choosing nebuchadnezzar, which no one could ever utter three times before peter shrieked it out once.
in the midst of our hilarity, however, uncle alec and aunt janet came down upon us.
it is best to draw a veil over what followed.
suffice it to say that the recollection gave point to cecily's question.
""no, it is n't that sort of game at all," said the story girl.
""it is this; each of you boys must preach a sermon, as uncle edward used to do.
one of you next sunday, and another the next, and so on.
and whoever preaches the best sermon is to get a prize."
dan promptly declared he would n't try to preach a sermon; but peter, felix and i thought the suggestion a very good one.
secretly, i believed i could cut quite a fine figure preaching a sermon.
""who'll give the prize?"
asked felix.
""i will," said the story girl.
""i'll give that picture father sent me last week."
as the said picture was an excellent copy of one of landseer's stags, felix and i were well pleased; but peter averred that he would rather have the madonna that looked like his aunt jane, and the story girl agreed that if his sermon was the best she would give him that.
""but who's to be the judge?"
i said, "and what kind of a sermon would you call the best?"
""the one that makes the most impression," answered the story girl promptly.
""and we girls must be the judges, because there's nobody else.
now, who is to preach next sunday?"
it was decided that i should lead off, and i lay awake for an extra hour that night thinking what text i should take for the following sunday.
the next day i bought two sheets of foolscap from the schoolmaster, and after tea i betook myself to the granary, barred the door, and fell to writing my sermon.
i did not find it as easy a task as i had anticipated; but i pegged grimly away at it, and by dint of severe labour for two evenings i eventually got my four pages of foolscap filled, although i had to pad the subject-matter not a little with verses of quotable hymns.
i had decided to preach on missions, as being a topic more within my grasp than abstruse theological doctrines or evangelical discourses; and, mindful of the need of making an impression, i drew a harrowing picture of the miserable plight of the heathen who in their darkness bowed down to wood and stone.
then i urged our responsibility concerning them, and meant to wind up by reciting, in a very solemn and earnest voice, the verse beginning, "can we whose souls are lighted."
when i had completed my sermon i went over it very carefully again and wrote with red ink -- cecily made it for me out of an aniline dye -- the word "thump" wherever i deemed it advisable to chastise the pulpit.
i have that sermon still, all its red thumps unfaded, lying beside my dream book; but i am not going to inflict it on my readers.
i am not so proud of it as i once was.
i was really puffed up with earthly vanity over it at that time.
felix, i thought, would be hard put to it to beat it.
as for peter, i did not consider him a rival to be feared.
it was unsupposable that a hired boy, with little education and less experience of church-going, should be able to preach better than could i, in whose family there was a real minister.
the sermon written, the next thing was to learn it off by heart and then practise it, thumps included, until i was letter and gesture perfect.
i preached it over several times in the granary with only paddy, sitting immovably on a puncheon, for audience.
paddy stood the test fairly well.
at least, he made an adorable listener, save at such times as imaginary rats distracted his attention.
mr. marwood had at least three absorbed listeners the next sunday morning.
felix, peter and i were all among the chiels who were taking mental notes on the art of preaching a sermon.
not a motion, or glance, or intonation escaped us.
to be sure, none of us could remember the text when we got home; but we knew just how you should throw back your head and clutch the edge of the pulpit with both hands when you announced it.
in the afternoon we all repaired to the orchard, bibles and hymn books in hand.
we did not think it necessary to inform the grown-ups of what was in the wind.
you could never tell what kink a grown-up would take.
they might not think it proper to play any sort of a game on sunday, not even a christian game.
least said was soonest mended where grown-ups were concerned.
i mounted the pulpit steps, feeling rather nervous, and my audience sat gravely down on the grass before me.
our opening exercises consisted solely of singing and reading.
we had agreed to omit prayer.
neither felix, peter nor i felt equal to praying in public.
but we took up a collection.
the proceeds were to go to missions.
dan passed the plate -- felicity's rosebud plate -- looking as preternaturally solemn as elder frewen himself.
every one put a cent on it.
well, i preached my sermon.
and it fell horribly flat.
i realized that, before i was half way through it.
i think i preached it very well; and never a thump did i forget or misplace.
but my audience was plainly bored.
when i stepped down from the pulpit, after demanding passionately if we whose souls were lighted and so forth, i felt with secret humiliation that my sermon was a failure.
it had made no impression at all.
felix would be sure to get the prize.
""that was a very good sermon for a first attempt," said the story girl graciously.
""it sounded just like real sermons i have heard."
for a moment the charm of her voice made me feel that i had not done so badly after all; but the other girls, thinking it their duty to pay me some sort of a compliment also, quickly dispelled that pleasing delusion.
""every word of it was true," said cecily, her tone unconsciously implying that this was its sole merit.
""i often feel," said felicity primly, "that we do n't think enough about the heathens.
we ought to think a great deal more."
sara ray put the finishing touch to my mortification.
""it was so nice and short," she said.
""what was the matter with my sermon?"
i asked dan that night.
since he was neither judge nor competitor i could discuss the matter with him.
""it was too much like a reg "lar sermon to be interesting," said dan frankly.
""i should think the more like a regular sermon it was, the better," i said.
""not if you want to make an impression," said dan seriously.
""you must have something sort of different for that.
peter, now, he'll have something different."
""oh, peter!
i do n't believe he can preach a sermon," i said.
""maybe not, but you'll see he'll make an impression," said dan.
dan was neither the prophet nor the son of a prophet, but he had the second sight for once; peter did make an impression.
chapter xxvi.
peter makes an impression peter's turn came next.
he did not write his sermon out.
that, he averred, was too hard work.
nor did he mean to take a text.
""why, who ever heard of a sermon without a text?"
asked felix blankly.
""i am going to take a subject instead of a text," said peter loftily.
""i ai n't going to tie myself down to a text.
and i'm going to have heads in it -- three heads.
you had n't a single head in yours," he added to me.
""uncle alec says that uncle edward says that heads are beginning to go out of fashion," i said defiantly -- all the more defiantly that i felt i should have had heads in my sermon.
it would doubtless have made a much deeper impression.
but the truth was i had forgotten all about such things.
""well, i'm going to have them, and i do n't care if they are unfashionable," said peter.
""they're good things.
aunt jane used to say if a man did n't have heads and stick to them he'd go wandering all over the bible and never get anywhere in particular."
""what are you going to preach on?"
asked felix.
""you'll find out next sunday," said peter significantly.
the next sunday was in october, and a lovely day it was, warm and bland as june.
there was something in the fine, elusive air, that recalled beautiful, forgotten things and suggested delicate future hopes.
the woods had wrapped fine-woven gossamers about them and the westering hill was crimson and gold.
we sat around the pulpit stone and waited for peter and sara ray.
it was the former's sunday off and he had gone home the night before, but he assured us he would be back in time to preach his sermon.
presently he arrived and mounted the granite boulder as if to the manor born.
he was dressed in his new suit and i, perceiving this, felt that he had the advantage of me.
when i preached i had to wear my second best suit, for it was one of aunt janet's laws that we should take our good suits off when we came home from church.
there were, i saw, compensations for being a hired boy.
peter made quite a handsome little minister, in his navy blue coat, white collar, and neatly bowed tie.
his black eyes shone, and his black curls were brushed up in quite a ministerial pompadour, but threatened to tumble over at the top in graceless ringlets.
it was decided that there was no use in waiting for sara ray, who might or might not come, according to the humour in which her mother was.
therefore peter proceeded with the service.
he read the chapter and gave out the hymn with as much sang froid as if he had been doing it all his life.
mr. marwood himself could not have bettered the way in which peter said, "we will sing the whole hymn, omitting the fourth stanza."
that was a fine touch which i had not thought of.
i began to think that, after all, peter might be a foeman worthy of my steel.
when peter was ready to begin he thrust his hands into his pockets -- a totally unorthodox thing.
then he plunged in without further ado, speaking in his ordinary conversational tone -- another unorthodox thing.
there was no shorthand reporter present to take that sermon down; but, if necessary, i could preach it over verbatim, and so, i doubt not, could everyone that heard it.
it was not a forgettable kind of sermon.
""dearly beloved," said peter, "my sermon is about the bad place -- in short, about hell."
an electric shock seemed to run through the audience.
everybody looked suddenly alert.
peter had, in one sentence, done what my whole sermon had failed to do.
he had made an impression.
""i shall divide my sermon into three heads," pursued peter.
""the first head is, what you must not do if you do n't want to go to the bad place.
the second head is, what the bad place is like" -- sensation in the audience -- "and the third head is, how to escape going there.
""now, there's a great many things you must not do, and it's very important to know what they are.
you ought not to lose no time in finding out.
in the first place you must n't ever forget to mind what grown-up people tell you -- that is, good grown-up people."
""but how are you going to tell who are the good grown-up people?"
asked felix suddenly, forgetting that he was in church.
""oh, that is easy," said peter.
""you can always just feel who is good and who is n't.
and you must n't tell lies and you must n't murder any one.
you must be specially careful not to murder any one.
you might be forgiven for telling lies, if you was real sorry for them, but if you murdered any one it would be pretty hard to get forgiven, so you'd better be on the safe side.
and you must n't commit suicide, because if you did that you would n't have any chance of repenting it; and you must n't forget to say your prayers and you must n't quarrel with your sister."
at this point felicity gave dan a significant poke with her elbow, and dan was up in arms at once.
""do n't you be preaching at me, peter craig," he cried out.
""i wo n't stand it.
i do n't quarrel with my sister any oftener than she quarrels with me.
you can just leave me alone."
""who's touching you?"
demanded peter.
""i did n't mention no names.
a minister can say anything he likes in the pulpit, as long as he does n't mention any names, and nobody can answer back."
""all right, but just you wait till to-morrow," growled dan, subsiding reluctantly into silence under the reproachful looks of the girls.
""you must not play any games on sunday," went on peter, "that is, any week-day games -- or whisper in church, or laugh in church -- i did that once but i was awful sorry -- and you must n't take any notice of paddy -- i mean of the family cat at family prayers, not even if he climbs up on your back.
and you must n't call names or make faces."
""amen," cried felix, who had suffered many things because felicity so often made faces at him.
peter stopped and glared at him over the edge of the pulpit stone.
""you have n't any business to call out a thing like that right in the middle of a sermon," he said.
""they do it in the methodist church at markdale," protested felix, somewhat abashed.
""i heard them."
""i know they do.
that's the methodist way and it is all right for them.
i have n't a word to say against methodists.
my aunt jane was one, and i might have been one myself if i had n't been so scared of the judgment day.
but you ai n't a methodist.
you're a presbyterian, ai n't you?"
""yes, of course.
i was born that way."
""very well then, you've got to do things the presbyterian way.
do n't let me hear any more of your amens or i'll amen you."
""oh, do n't anybody interrupt again," implored the story girl.
""it is n't fair.
how can any one preach a good sermon if he is always being interrupted?
nobody interrupted beverley."
""bev did n't get up there and pitch into us like that," muttered dan.
""you must n't fight," resumed peter undauntedly.
""that is, you must n't fight for the fun of fighting, nor out of bad temper.
you must not say bad words or swear.
you must n't get drunk -- although of course you would n't be likely to do that before you grow up, and the girls never.
there's prob "ly a good many other things you must n't do, but these i've named are the most important.
of course, i'm not saying you'll go to the bad place for sure if you do them.
i only say you're running a risk.
the devil is looking out for the people who do these things and he'll be more likely to get after them than to waste time over the people who do n't do them.
and that's all about the first head of my sermon."
at this point sara ray arrived, somewhat out of breath.
peter looked at her reproachfully.
""you've missed my whole first head, sara," he said.
""that is n't fair, when you're to be one of the judges.
i think i ought to preach it over again for you."
""that was really done once.
i know a story about it," said the story girl.
""who's interrupting now?"
aid dan slyly.
""never mind, tell us the story," said the preacher himself, eagerly leaning over the pulpit.
""it was mr. scott who did it," said the story girl.
""he was preaching somewhere in nova scotia, and when he was more than half way through his sermon -- and you know sermons were very long in those days -- a man walked in.
mr. scott stopped until he had taken his seat.
then he said, "my friend, you are very late for this service.
i hope you wo n't be late for heaven.
the congregation will excuse me if i recapitulate the sermon for our friend's benefit."
and then he just preached the sermon over again from the beginning.
it is said that that particular man was never known to be late for church again."
""it served him right," said dan, "but it was pretty hard lines on the rest of the congregation."
""now, let's be quiet so peter can go on with his sermon," said cecily.
peter squared his shoulders and took hold of the edge of the pulpit.
never a thump had he thumped, but i realized that his way of leaning forward and fixing this one or that one of his hearers with his eye was much more effective.
""i've come now to the second head of my sermon -- what the bad place is like."
he proceeded to describe the bad place.
later on we discovered that he had found his material in an illustrated translation of dante's inferno which had once been given to his aunt jane as a school prize.
but at the time we supposed he must be drawing from biblical sources.
peter had been reading the bible steadily ever since what we always referred to as "the judgment sunday," and he was by now almost through it.
none of the rest of us had ever read the bible completely through, and we thought peter must have found his description of the world of the lost in some portion with which we were not acquainted.
therefore, his utterances carried all the weight of inspiration, and we sat appalled before his lurid phrases.
he used his own words to clothe the ideas he had found, and the result was a force and simplicity that struck home to our imaginations.
suddenly sara ray sprang to her feet with a scream -- a scream that changed into strange laughter.
we all, preacher included, looked at her aghast.
cecily and felicity sprang up and caught hold of her.
sara ray was really in a bad fit of hysterics, but we knew nothing of such a thing in our experience, and we thought she had gone mad.
she shrieked, cried, laughed, and flung herself about.
""she's gone clean crazy," said peter, coming down out of his pulpit with a very pale face.
""you've frightened her crazy with your dreadful sermon," said felicity indignantly.
she and cecily each took sara by an arm and, half leading, half carrying, got her out of the orchard and up to the house.
the rest of us looked at each other in terrified questioning.
""you've made rather too much of an impression, peter," said the story girl miserably.
""she need n't have got so scared.
if she'd only waited for the third head i'd have showed her how easy it was to get clear of going to the bad place and go to heaven instead.
but you girls are always in such a hurry," said peter bitterly.
""do you s "pose they'll have to take her to the asylum?"
said dan in a whisper.
""hush, here's your father," said felix.
uncle alec came striding down the orchard.
we had never before seen uncle alec angry.
but there was no doubt that he was very angry.
his blue eyes fairly blazed at us as he said, "what have you been doing to frighten sara ray into such a condition?"
""we -- we were just having a sermon contest," explained the story girl tremulously.
""and peter preached about the bad place, and it frightened sara.
that is all, uncle alec."
""all!
i do n't know what the result will be to that nervous delicate child.
she is shrieking in there and nothing will quiet her.
what do you mean by playing such a game on sunday, and making a jest of sacred things?
no, not a word --" for the story girl had attempted to speak.
""you and peter march off home.
and the next time i find you up to such doings on sunday or any other day i'll give you cause to remember it to your latest hour."
the story girl and peter went humbly home and we went with them.
""i ca n't understand grown-up people," said felix despairingly.
""when uncle edward preached sermons it was all right, but when we do it it is "making a jest of sacred things."
and i heard uncle alec tell a story once about being nearly frightened to death when he was a little boy, by a minister preaching on the end of the world; and he said, "that was something like a sermon.
you do n't hear such sermons nowadays."
but when peter preaches just such a sermon, it's a very different story."
""it's no wonder we ca n't understand the grown-ups," said the story girl indignantly, "because we've never been grown-up ourselves.
but they have been children, and i do n't see why they ca n't understand us.
of course, perhaps we should n't have had the contest on sundays.
but all the same i think it's mean of uncle alec to be so cross.
oh, i do hope poor sara wo n't have to be taken to the asylum."
poor sara did not have to be.
she was eventually quieted down, and was as well as usual the next day; and she humbly begged peter's pardon for spoiling his sermon.
peter granted it rather grumpily, and i fear that he never really quite forgave sara for her untimely outburst.
felix, too, felt resentment against her, because he had lost the chance of preaching his sermon.
""of course i know i would n't have got the prize, for i could n't have made such an impression as peter," he said to us mournfully, "but i'd like to have had a chance to show what i could do.
that's what comes of having those cry-baby girls mixed up in things.
cecily was just as scared as sara ray, but she'd more sense than to show it like that."
""well, sara could n't help it," said the story girl charitably, "but it does seem as if we'd had dreadful luck in everything we've tried lately.
i thought of a new game this morning, but i'm almost afraid to mention it, for i suppose something dreadful will come of it, too."
""oh, tell us, what is it?"
everybody entreated.
""well, it's a trial by ordeal, and we're to see which of us can pass it.
the ordeal is to eat one of the bitter apples in big mouthfuls without making a single face."
dan made a face to begin with.
""i do n't believe any of us can do that," he said.
""you ca n't, if you take bites big enough to fill your mouth," giggled felicity, with cruelty and without provocation.
""well, maybe you could," retorted dan sarcastically.
""you'd be so afraid of spoiling your looks that you'd rather die than make a face, i s "pose, no matter what you et."
""felicity makes enough faces when there's nothing to make faces at," said felix, who had been grimaced at over the breakfast table that morning and had n't liked it.
""i think the bitter apples would be real good for felix," said felicity.
""they say sour things make people thin."
""let's go and get the bitter apples," said cecily hastily, seeing that felix, felicity and dan were on the verge of a quarrel more bitter than the apples.
we went to the seedling tree and got an apple apiece.
the game was that every one must take a bite in turn, chew it up, and swallow it, without making a face.
peter again distinguished himself.
he, and he alone, passed the ordeal, munching those dreadful mouthfuls without so much as a change of expression on his countenance, while the facial contortions the rest of us went through baffled description.
in every subsequent trial it was the same.
peter never made a face, and no one else could help making them.
it sent him up fifty per cent in felicity's estimation.
""peter is a real smart boy," she said to me.
""it's such a pity he is a hired boy."
but, if we could not pass the ordeal, we got any amount of fun out of it, at least.
evening after evening the orchard re-echoed to our peals of laughter.
""bless the children," said uncle alec, as he carried the milk pails across the yard.
""nothing can quench their spirits for long."
chapter xxvii.
the ordeal of bitter apples i could never understand why felix took peter's success in the ordeal of bitter apples so much to heart.
he had not felt very keenly over the matter of the sermons, and certainly the mere fact that peter could eat sour apples without making faces did not cast any reflection on the honour or ability of the other competitors.
but to felix everything suddenly became flat, stale, and unprofitable, because peter continued to hold the championship of bitter apples.
it haunted his waking hours and obsessed his nights.
i heard him talking in his sleep about it.
if anything could have made him thin the way he worried over this matter would have done it.
for myself, i cared not a groat.
i had wished to be successful in the sermon contest, and felt sore whenever i thought of my failure.
but i had no burning desire to eat sour apples without grimacing, and i did not sympathize over and above with my brother.
when, however, he took to praying about it, i realized how deeply he felt on the subject, and hoped he would be successful.
felix prayed earnestly that he might be enabled to eat a bitter apple without making a face.
and when he had prayed three nights after this manner, he contrived to eat a bitter apple without a grimace until he came to the last bite, which proved too much for him.
but felix was vastly encouraged.
""another prayer or two, and i'll be able to eat a whole one," he said jubilantly.
but this devoutly desired consummation did not come to pass.
in spite of prayers and heroic attempts, felix could never get beyond that last bite.
not even faith and works in combination could avail.
for a time he could not understand this.
but he thought the mystery was solved when cecily came to him one day and told him that peter was praying against him.
""he's praying that you'll never be able to eat a bitter apple without making a face," she said.
""he told felicity and felicity told me.
she said she thought it was real cute of him.
i think that is a dreadful way to talk about praying and i told her so.
she wanted me to promise not to tell you, but i would n't promise, because i think it's fair for you to know what is going on."
felix was very indignant -- and aggrieved as well.
""i do n't see why god should answer peter's prayers instead of mine," he said bitterly.
""i've gone to church and sunday school all my life, and peter never went till this summer.
it is n't fair."
""oh, felix, do n't talk like that," said cecily, shocked.
""god must be fair.
i'll tell you what i believe is the reason.
peter prays three times a day regular -- in the morning and at dinner time and at night -- and besides that, any time through the day when he happens to think of it, he just prays, standing up.
did you ever hear of such goings-on?"
""well, he's got to stop praying against me, anyhow," said felix resolutely.
""i wo n't put up with it, and i'll go and tell him so right off."
felix marched over to uncle roger's, and we trailed after, scenting a scene.
we found peter shelling beans in the granary, and whistling cheerily, as with a conscience void of offence towards all men.
""look here, peter," said felix ominously, "they tell me that you've been praying right along that i could n't eat a bitter apple.
now, i tell you --" "i never did!"
exclaimed peter indignantly.
""i never mentioned your name.
i never prayed that you could n't eat a bitter apple.
i just prayed that i'd be the only one that could."
""well, that's the same thing," cried felix.
""you've just been praying for the opposite to me out of spite.
and you've got to stop it, peter craig."
""well, i just guess i wo n't," said peter angrily.
""i've just as good a right to pray for what i want as you, felix king, even if you was brought up in toronto.
i s "pose you think a hired boy has n't any business to pray for particular things, but i'll show you.
i'll just pray for what i please, and i'd like to see you try and stop me."
""you'll have to fight me, if you keep on praying against me," said felix.
the girls gasped; but dan and i were jubilant, snuffing battle afar off.
""all right.
i can fight as well as pray."
""oh, do n't fight," implored cecily.
""i think it would be dreadful.
surely you can arrange it some other way.
let's all give up the ordeal, anyway.
there is n't much fun in it.
and then neither of you need pray about it."
""i do n't want to give up the ordeal," said felix, "and i wo n't."
""oh, well, surely you can settle it some way without fighting," persisted cecily.
""i'm not wanting to fight," said peter.
""it's felix.
if he do n't interfere with my prayers there's no need of fighting.
but if he does there's no other way to settle it."
""but how will that settle it?"
asked cecily.
""oh, whoever's licked will have to give in about the praying," said peter.
""that's fair enough.
if i'm licked i wo n't pray for that particular thing any more."
""it's dreadful to fight about anything so religious as praying," sighed poor cecily.
""why, they were always fighting about religion in old times," said felix.
""the more religious anything was the more fighting there was about it."
""a fellow's got a right to pray as he pleases," said peter, "and if anybody tries to stop him he's bound to fight.
that's my way of looking at it."
""what would miss marwood say if she knew you were going to fight?"
asked felicity.
miss marwood was felix" sunday school teacher and he was very fond of her.
but by this time felix was quite reckless.
""i do n't care what she would say," he retorted.
felicity tried another tack.
""you'll be sure to get whipped if you fight with peter," she said.
""you're too fat to fight."
after that, no moral force on earth could have prevented felix from fighting.
he would have faced an army with banners.
""you might settle it by drawing lots," said cecily desperately.
""drawing lots is wickeder that fighting," said dan.
""it's a kind of gambling."
""what would aunt jane say if she knew you were going to fight?"
cecily demanded of peter.
""do n't you drag my aunt jane into this affair," said peter darkly.
""you said you were going to be a presbyterian," persisted cecily.
""good presbyterians do n't fight."
""oh, do n't they!
i heard your uncle roger say that presbyterians were the best for fighting in the world -- or the worst, i forget which he said, but it means the same thing."
cecily had but one more shot in her locker.
""i thought you said in your sermon, master peter, that people should n't fight."
""i said they ought n't to fight for fun, or for bad temper," retorted peter.
""this is different.
i know what i'm fighting for but i ca n't think of the word."
""i guess you mean principle," i suggested.
""yes, that's it," agreed peter.
""it's all right to fight for principle.
it's kind of praying with your fists."
""oh, ca n't you do something to prevent them from fighting, sara?"
pleaded cecily, turning to the story girl, who was sitting on a bin, swinging her shapely bare feet to and fro.
""it does n't do to meddle in an affair of this kind between boys," said the story girl sagely.
i may be mistaken, but i do not believe the story girl wanted that fight stopped.
and i am far from being sure that felicity did either.
it was ultimately arranged that the combat should take place in the fir wood behind uncle roger's granary.
it was a nice, remote, bosky place where no prowling grown-up would be likely to intrude.
and thither we all resorted at sunset.
""i hope felix will beat," said the story girl to me, "not only for the family honour, but because that was a mean, mean prayer of peter's.
do you think he will?"
""i do n't know," i confessed dubiously.
""felix is too fat.
he'll get out of breath in no time.
and peter is such a cool customer, and he's a year older than felix.
but then felix has had some practice.
he has fought boys in toronto.
and this is peter's first fight."
""did you ever fight?"
asked the story girl.
""once," i said briefly, dreading the next question, which promptly came.
""who beat?"
it is sometimes a bitter thing to tell the truth, especially to a young lady for whom you have a great admiration.
i had a struggle with temptation in which i frankly confess i might have been worsted had it not been for a saving and timely remembrance of a certain resolution made on the day preceding judgment sunday.
""the other fellow," i said with reluctant honesty.
""well," said the story girl, "i think it does n't matter whether you get whipped or not so long as you fight a good, square fight."
her potent voice made me feel that i was quite a hero after all, and the sting went out of my recollection of that old fight.
when we arrived behind the granary the others were all there.
cecily was very pale, and felix and peter were taking off their coats.
there was a pure yellow sunset that evening, and the aisles of the fir wood were flooded with its radiance.
a cool, autumnal wind was whistling among the dark boughs and scattering blood red leaves from the maple at the end of the granary.
""now," said dan, "i'll count, and when i say three you pitch in, and hammer each other until one of you has had enough.
cecily, keep quiet.
now, one -- two -- three!"
peter and felix "pitched in," with more zeal than discretion on both sides.
as a result, peter got what later developed into a black eye, and felix's nose began to bleed.
cecily gave a shriek and ran out of the wood.
we thought she had fled because she could not endure the sight of blood, and we were not sorry, for her manifest disapproval and anxiety were damping the excitement of the occasion.
felix and peter drew apart after that first onset, and circled about one another warily.
then, just as they had come to grips again, uncle alec walked around the corner of the granary, with cecily behind him.
he was not angry.
there was a quizzical look in his eyes.
but he took the combatants by their shirt collars and dragged them apart.
""this stops right here, boys," he said.
""you know i do n't allow fighting."
""oh, but uncle alec, it was this way," began felix eagerly.
""peter --" "no, i do n't want to hear about it," said uncle alec sternly.
""i do n't care what you were fighting about, but you must settle your quarrels in a different fashion.
remember my commands, felix.
peter, roger is looking for you to wash his buggy.
be off."
peter went off rather sullenly, and felix, also sullenly, sat down and began to nurse his nose.
he turned his back on cecily.
cecily "caught it" after uncle alec had gone.
dan called her a tell-tale and a baby, and sneered at her until cecily began to cry.
""i could n't stand by and watch felix and peter pound each other all to pieces," she sobbed.
""they've been such friends, and it was dreadful to see them fighting."
""uncle roger would have let them fight it out," said the story girl discontentedly.
""uncle roger believes in boys fighting.
he says it's as harmless a way as any of working off their original sin.
peter and felix would n't have been any worse friends after it.
they'd have been better friends because the praying question would have been settled.
and now it ca n't be -- unless felicity can coax peter to give up praying against felix."
for once in her life the story girl was not as tactful as her wont.
or -- is it possible that she said it out of malice prepense?
at all events, felicity resented the imputation that she had more influence with peter than any one else.
""i do n't meddle with hired boys" prayers," she said haughtily.
""it was all nonsense fighting about such prayers, anyhow," said dan, who probably thought that since all chance of a fight was over, he might as well avow his real sentiments as to its folly.
""just as much nonsense as praying about the bitter apples in the first place."
""oh, dan, do n't you believe there is some good in praying?"
said cecily reproachfully.
""yes, i believe there's some good in some kinds of praying, but not in that kind," said dan sturdily.
""i do n't believe god cares whether anybody can eat an apple without making a face or not."
""i do n't believe it's right to talk of god as if you were well acquainted with him," said felicity, who felt that it was a good chance to snub dan.
""there's something wrong somewhere," said cecily perplexedly.
""we ought to pray for what we want, of that i'm sure -- and peter wanted to be the only one who could pass the ordeal.
it seems as if he must be right -- and yet it does n't seem so.
i wish i could understand it."
""peter's prayer was wrong because it was a selfish prayer, i guess," said the story girl thoughtfully.
""felix's prayer was all right, because it would n't have hurt any one else; but it was selfish of peter to want to be the only one.
we must n't pray selfish prayers."
""oh, i see through it now," said cecily joyfully.
""yes, but," said dan triumphantly, "if you believe god answers prayers about particular things, it was peter's prayer he answered.
what do you make of that?"
""oh!"
the story girl shook her head impatiently.
""there's no use trying to make such things out.
we only get more mixed up all the time.
let's leave it alone and i'll tell you a story.
aunt olivia had a letter today from a friend in nova scotia, who lives in shubenacadie.
when i said i thought it a funny name, she told me to go and look in her scrap book, and i would find a story about the origin of the name.
and i did.
do n't you want to hear it?"
of course we did.
we all sat down at the roots of the firs.
felix, having finally squared matters with his nose, turned around and listened also.
he would not look at cecily, but every one else had forgiven her.
the story girl leaned that brown head of hers against the fir trunk behind her, and looked up at the apple-green sky through the dark boughs above us.
she wore, i remember, a dress of warm crimson, and she had wound around her head a string of waxberries, that looked like a fillet of pearls.
her cheeks were still flushed with the excitement of the evening.
in the dim light she was beautiful, with a wild, mystic loveliness, a compelling charm that would not be denied.
""many, many moons ago, an indian tribe lived on the banks of a river in nova scotia.
one of the young braves was named accadee.
he was the tallest and bravest and handsomest young man in the tribe --" "why is it they're always so handsome in stories?"
asked dan.
""why are there never no stories about ugly people?"
""perhaps ugly people never have stories happen to them," suggested felicity.
""i think they're just as interesting as the handsome people," retorted dan.
""well, maybe they are in real life," said cecily, "but in stories it's just as easy to make them handsome as not.
i like them best that way.
i just love to read a story where the heroine is beautiful as a dream."
""pretty people are always conceited," said felix, who was getting tired of holding his tongue.
""the heroes in stories are always nice," said felicity, with apparent irrelevance.
""they're always so tall and slender.
would n't it be awful funny if any one wrote a story about a fat hero -- or about one with too big a mouth?"
""it does n't matter what a man looks like," i said, feeling that felix and dan were catching it rather too hotly.
""he must be a good sort of chap and do heaps of things.
that's all that's necessary."
""do any of you happen to want to hear the rest of my story?"
asked the story girl in an ominously polite voice that recalled us to a sense of our bad manners.
we apologized and promised to behave better; she went on, appeased: "accadee was all these things that i have mentioned, and he was the best hunter in the tribe besides.
never an arrow of his that did not go straight to the mark.
many and many a snow white moose he shot, and gave the beautiful skin to his sweetheart.
her name was shuben and she was as lovely as the moon when it rises from the sea, and as pleasant as a summer twilight.
her eyes were dark and soft, her foot was as light as a breeze, and her voice sounded like a brook in the woods, or the wind that comes over the hills at night.
she and accadee were very much in love with each other, and often they hunted together, for shuben was almost as skilful with her bow and arrow as accadee himself.
they had loved each other ever since they were small pappooses, and they had vowed to love each other as long as the river ran.
""one twilight, when accadee was out hunting in the woods, he shot a snow white moose; and he took off its skin and wrapped it around him.
then he went on through the woods in the starlight; and he felt so happy and light of heart that he sometimes frisked and capered about just as a real moose would do.
and he was doing this when shuben, who was also out hunting, saw him from afar and thought he was a real moose.
she stole cautiously through the woods until she came to the brink of a little valley.
below her stood the snow white moose.
she drew her arrow to her eye -- alas, she knew the art only too well!
-- and took careful aim.
the next moment accadee fell dead with her arrow in his heart."
the story girl paused -- a dramatic pause.
it was quite dark in the fir wood.
we could see her face and eyes but dimly through the gloom.
a silvery moon was looking down on us over the granary.
the stars twinkled through the softly waving boughs.
beyond the wood we caught a glimpse of a moonlit world lying in the sharp frost of the october evening.
the sky above it was chill and ethereal and mystical.
but all about us were shadows; and the weird little tale, told in a voice fraught with mystery and pathos, had peopled them for us with furtive folk in belt and wampum, and dark-tressed indian maidens.
""what did shuben do when she found out she had killed accadee?"
asked felicity.
""she died of a broken heart before the spring, and she and accadee were buried side by side on the bank of the river which has ever since borne their names -- the river shubenacadie," said the story girl.
the sharp wind blew around the granary and cecily shivered.
we heard aunt janet's voice calling "children, children."
shaking off the spell of firs and moonlight and romantic tale, we scrambled to our feet and went homeward.
""i kind of wish i'd been born an injun," said dan.
""it must have been a jolly life -- nothing to do but hunt and fight."
""it would n't be so nice if they caught you and tortured you at the stake," said felicity.
""no," said dan reluctantly.
""i suppose there'd be some drawback to everything, even being an injun."
""is n't it cold?"
said cecily, shivering again.
""it will soon be winter.
i wish summer could last forever.
felicity likes the winter, and so does the story girl, but i do n't.
it always seems so long till spring."
""never mind, we've had a splendid summer," i said, slipping my arm about her to comfort some childish sorrow that breathed in her plaintive voice.
truly, we had had a delectable summer; and, having had it, it was ours forever.
""the gods themselves can not recall their gifts."
they may rob us of our future and embitter our present, but our past they may not touch.
with all its laughter and delight and glamour it is our eternal possession.
nevertheless, we all felt a little of the sadness of the waning year.
there was a distinct weight on our spirits until felicity took us into the pantry and stayed us with apple tarts and comforted us with cream.
then we brightened up.
it was really a very decent world after all.
chapter xxviii.
the tale of the rainbow bridge felix, so far as my remembrance goes, never attained to success in the ordeal of bitter apples.
he gave up trying after awhile; and he also gave up praying about it, saying in bitterness of spirit that there was no use in praying when other fellows prayed against you out of spite.
he and peter remained on bad terms for some time, however.
we were all of us too tired those nights to do any special praying.
sometimes i fear our "regular" prayers were slurred over, or mumbled in anything but reverent haste.
october was a busy month on the hill farms.
the apples had to be picked, and this work fell mainly to us children.
we stayed home from school to do it.
it was pleasant work and there was a great deal of fun in it; but it was hard, too, and our arms and backs ached roundly at night.
in the mornings it was very delightful; in the afternoons tolerable; but in the evenings we lagged, and the laughter and zest of fresher hours were lacking.
some of the apples had to be picked very carefully.
but with others it did not matter; we boys would climb the trees and shake the apples down until the girls shrieked for mercy.
the days were crisp and mellow, with warm sunshine and a tang of frost in the air, mingled with the woodsy odours of the withering grasses.
the hens and turkeys prowled about, pecking at windfalls, and pat made mad rushes at them amid the fallen leaves.
the world beyond the orchard was in a royal magnificence of colouring, under the vivid blue autumn sky.
the big willow by the gate was a splendid golden dome, and the maples that were scattered through the spruce grove waved blood-red banners over the sombre cone-bearers.
the story girl generally had her head garlanded with their leaves.
they became her vastly.
neither felicity nor cecily could have worn them.
those two girls were of a domestic type that assorted ill with the wildfire in nature's veins.
but when the story girl wreathed her nut brown tresses with crimson leaves it seemed, as peter said, that they grew on her -- as if the gold and flame of her spirit had broken out in a coronal, as much a part of her as the pale halo seems a part of the madonna it encircles.
what tales she told us on those far-away autumn days, peopling the russet arcades with folk of an elder world.
many a princess rode by us on her palfrey, many a swaggering gallant ruffled it bravely in velvet and plume adown uncle stephen's walk, many a stately lady, silken clad, walked in that opulent orchard!
when we had filled our baskets they had to be carried to the granary loft, and the contents stored in bins or spread on the floor to ripen further.
we ate a good many, of course, feeling that the labourer was worthy of his hire.
the apples from our own birthday trees were stored in separate barrels inscribed with our names.
we might dispose of them as we willed.
felicity sold hers to uncle alec's hired man -- and was badly cheated to boot, for he levanted shortly afterwards, taking the apples with him, having paid her only half her rightful due.
felicity has not gotten over that to this day.
cecily, dear heart, sent most of hers to the hospital in town, and no doubt gathered in therefrom dividends of gratitude and satisfaction of soul, such as can never be purchased by any mere process of bargain and sale.
the rest of us ate our apples, or carried them to school where we bartered them for such treasures as our schoolmates possessed and we coveted.
there was a dusky, little, pear-shaped apple -- from one of uncle stephen's trees -- which was our favourite; and next to it a delicious, juicy yellow apple from aunt louisa's tree.
we were also fond of the big sweet apples; we used to throw them up in the air and let them fall on the ground until they were bruised and battered to the bursting point.
then we sucked on the juice; sweeter was it than the nectar drunk by blissful gods on the thessalian hill.
sometimes we worked until the cold yellow sunsets faded out over the darkening distances, and the hunter's moon looked down on us through the sparkling air.
the constellations of autumn scintillated above us.
peter and the story girl knew all about them, and imparted their knowledge to us generously.
i recall peter standing on the pulpit stone, one night ere moonrise, and pointing them out to us, occasionally having a difference of opinion with the story girl over the name of some particular star.
job's coffin and the northern cross were to the west of us; south of us flamed fomalhaut.
the great square of pegasus was over our heads.
cassiopeia sat enthroned in her beautiful chair in the north-east; and north of us the dippers swung untiringly around the pole star.
cecily and felix were the only ones who could distinguish the double star in the handle of the big dipper, and greatly did they plume themselves thereon.
the story girl told us the myths and legends woven around these immemorial clusters, her very voice taking on a clear, remote, starry sound as she talked of them.
when she ceased, we came back to earth, feeling as if we had been millions of miles away in the blue ether, and that all our old familiar surroundings were momentarily forgotten and strange.
that night when he pointed out the stars to us from the pulpit stone was the last time for several weeks that peter shared our toil and pastime.
the next day he complained of headache and sore throat, and seemed to prefer lying on aunt olivia's kitchen sofa to doing any work.
as it was not in peter to be a malingerer he was left in peace, while we picked apples.
felix alone, must unjustly and spitefully, declared that peter was simply shirking.
""he's just lazy, that's what's the matter with him," he said.
""why do n't you talk sense, if you must talk?"
said felicity.
""there's no sense in calling peter lazy.
you might as well say i had black hair.
of course, peter, being a craig, has his faults, but he's a smart boy.
his father was lazy but his mother has n't a lazy bone in her body, and peter takes after her."
""uncle roger says peter's father was n't exactly lazy," said the story girl.
""the trouble was, there were so many other things he liked better than work."
""i wonder if he'll ever come back to his family," said cecily.
""just think how dreadful it would be if our father had left us like that!"
""our father is a king," said felicity loftily, "and peter's father was only a craig.
a member of our family could n't behave like that."
""they say there must be a black sheep in every family," said the story girl.
""there is n't any in ours," said cecily loyally.
""why do white sheep eat more than black?"
asked felix.
""is that a conundrum?"
asked cecily cautiously.
""if it is i wo n't try to guess the reason.
i never can guess conundrums."
""it is n't a conundrum," said felix.
""it's a fact.
they do -- and there's a good reason for it."
we stopped picking apples, sat down on the grass, and tried to reason it out -- with the exception of dan, who declared that he knew there was a catch somewhere and he was n't going to be caught.
the rest of us could not see where any catch could exist, since felix solemnly vowed, "cross his heart, white sheep did eat more than black.
we argued over it seriously, but finally had to give it up.
""well, what is the reason?"
asked felicity.
""because there's more of them," said felix, grinning.
i forget what we did to felix.
a shower came up in the evening and we had to stop picking.
after the shower there was a magnificent double rainbow.
we watched it from the granary window, and the story girl told us an old legend, culled from one of aunt olivia's many scrapbooks.
""long, long ago, in the golden age, when the gods used to visit the earth so often that it was nothing uncommon to see them, odin made a pilgrimage over the world.
odin was the great god of the northland, you know.
and wherever he went among men he taught them love and brotherhood, and skilful arts; and great cities sprang up where he had trodden, and every land through which he passed was blessed because one of the gods had come down to men.
but many men and women followed odin himself, giving up all their worldly possessions and ambitions; and to these he promised the gift of eternal life.
all these people were good and noble and unselfish and kind; but the best and noblest of them all was a youth named ving; and this youth was beloved by odin above all others, for his beauty and strength and goodness.
always he walked on odin's right hand, and always the first light of odin's smile fell on him.
tall and straight was he as a young pine, and his long hair was the colour of ripe wheat in the sun; and his blue eyes were like the northland heavens on a starry night.
""in odin's band was a beautiful maiden named alin.
she was as fair and delicate as a young birch tree in spring among the dark old pines and firs, and ving loved her with all his heart.
his soul thrilled with rapture at the thought that he and she together should drink from the fountain of immortality, as odin had promised, and be one thereafter in eternal youth.
""at last they came to the very place where the rainbow touched the earth.
and the rainbow was a great bridge, built of living colours, so dazzling and wonderful that beyond it the eye could see nothing, only far away a great, blinding, sparkling glory, where the fountain of life sprang up in a shower of diamond fire.
but under the rainbow bridge rolled a terrible flood, deep and wide and violent, full of rocks and rapids and whirlpools.
""there was a warder of the bridge, a god, dark and stern and sorrowful.
and to him odin gave command that he should open the gate and allow his followers to cross the rainbow bridge, that they might drink of the fountain of life beyond.
and the warder set open the gate."
"pass on and drink of the fountain," he said.
"to all who taste of it shall immortality be given.
but only to that one who shall drink of it first shall be permitted to walk at odin's right hand forever."
""then the company passed through in great haste, all fired with a desire to be the first to drink of the fountain and win so marvellous a boon.
last of all came ving.
he had lingered behind to pluck a thorn from the foot of a beggar child he had met on the highway, and he had not heard the warder's words.
but when, eager, joyous, radiant, he set his foot on the rainbow, the stern, sorrowful warder took him by the arm and drew him back."
"ving, strong, noble, and valiant," he said, "rainbow bridge is not for thee."
""very dark grew ving's face.
hot rebellion rose in his heart and rushed over his pale lips."
"why dost thou keep back the draught of immortality from me?"
he demanded passionately.
""the warder pointed to the dark flood that rolled under the bridge."
"the path of the rainbow is not for thee," he said, "but yonder way is open.
ford that flood.
on the furthest bank is the fountain of life.""
"thou mockest me," muttered ving sullenly.
"no mortal could cross that flood.
oh, master," he prayed, turning beseechingly to odin, "thou didst promise to me eternal life as to the others.
wilt thou not keep that promise?
command the warder to let me pass.
he must obey thee."
""but odin stood silent, with his face turned from his beloved, and ving's heart was filled with unspeakable bitterness and despair."
"thou mayest return to earth if thou fearest to essay the flood," said the warder."
"nay," said ving wildly, "earthly life without alin is more dreadful than the death which awaits me in yon dark river."
""and he plunged fiercely in.
he swam, and struggled, he buffetted the turmoil.
the waves went over his head again and again, the whirlpools caught him and flung him on the cruel rocks.
the wild, cold spray beat on his eyes and blinded him, so that he could see nothing, and the roar of the river deafened him so that he could hear nothing; but he felt keenly the wounds and bruises of the cruel rocks, and many a time he would have given up the struggle had not the thought of sweet alin's loving eyes brought him the strength and desire to struggle as long as it was possible.
long, long, long, to him seemed that bitter and perilous passage; but at last he won through to the furthest side.
breathless and reeling, his vesture torn, his great wounds bleeding, he found himself on the shore where the fountain of immortality sprang up.
he staggered to its brink and drank of its clear stream.
then all pain and weariness fell away from him, and he rose up, a god, beautiful with immortality.
and as he did there came rushing over the rainbow bridge a great company -- the band of fellow travellers.
but all were too late to win the double boon.
ving had won to it through the danger and suffering of the dark river."
the rainbow had faded out, and the darkness of the october dusk was falling.
""i wonder," said dan meditatively, as we went away from that redolent spot, "what it would be like to live for ever in this world."
""i expect we'd get tired of it after awhile," said the story girl.
""but," she added, "i think it would be a goodly while before i would."
chapter xxix.
the shadow feared of man we were all up early the next morning, dressing by candlelight.
but early as it was we found the story girl in the kitchen when we went down, sitting on rachel ward's blue chest and looking important.
""what do you think?"
she exclaimed.
""peter has the measles!
he was dreadfully sick all night, and uncle roger had to go for the doctor.
he was quite light-headed, and did n't know any one.
of course he's far too sick to be taken home, so his mother has come up to wait on him, and i'm to live over here until he is better."
this was mingled bitter and sweet.
we were sorry to hear that peter had the measles; but it would be jolly to have the story girl living with us all the time.
what orgies of story telling we should have!
""i suppose we'll all have the measles now," grumbled felicity.
""and october is such an inconvenient time for measles -- there's so much to do."
""i do n't believe any time is very convenient to have the measles," cecily said.
""oh, perhaps we wo n't have them," said the story girl cheerfully.
""peter caught them at markdale, the last time he was home, his mother says."
""i do n't want to catch the measles from peter," said felicity decidedly.
""fancy catching them from a hired boy!"
""oh, felicity, do n't call peter a hired boy when he's sick," protested cecily.
during the next two days we were very busy -- too busy to tell tales or listen to them.
only in the frosty dusk did we have time to wander afar in realms of gold with the story girl.
she had recently been digging into a couple of old volumes of classic myths and northland folklore which she had found in aunt olivia's attic; and for us, god and goddess, laughing nymph and mocking satyr, norn and valkyrie, elf and troll, and "green folk" generally, were real creatures once again, inhabiting the orchards and woods and meadows around us, until it seemed as if the golden age had returned to earth.
then, on the third day, the story girl came to us with a very white face.
she had been over to uncle roger's yard to hear the latest bulletin from the sick room.
hitherto they had been of a non-committal nature; but now it was only too evident that she had bad news.
""peter is very, very sick," she said miserably.
""he has caught cold someway -- and the measles have struck in -- and -- and --" the story girl wrung her brown hands together -- "the doctor is afraid he -- he -- wo n't get better."
we all stood around, stricken, incredulous.
""do you mean," said felix, finding voice at length, "that peter is going to die?"
the story girl nodded miserably.
""they're afraid so."
cecily sat down by her half filled basket and began to cry.
felicity said violently that she did n't believe it.
""i ca n't pick another apple to-day and i ai n't going to try," said dan.
none of us could.
we went to the grown-ups and told them so; and the grown-ups, with unaccustomed understanding and sympathy, told us that we need not.
then we roamed about in our wretchedness and tried to comfort one another.
we avoided the orchard; it was for us too full of happy memories to accord with our bitterness of soul.
instead, we resorted to the spruce wood, where the hush and the sombre shadows and the soft, melancholy sighing of the wind in the branches over us did not jar harshly on our new sorrow.
we could not really believe that peter was going to die -- to die.
old people died.
grown-up people died.
even children of whom we had heard died.
but that one of us -- of our merry little band -- should die was unbelievable.
we could not believe it.
and yet the possibility struck us in the face like a blow.
we sat on the mossy stones under the dark old evergreens and gave ourselves up to wretchedness.
we all, even dan, cried, except the story girl.
""i do n't see how you can be so unfeeling, sara stanley," said felicity reproachfully.
""you've always been such friends with peter -- and made out you thought so much of him -- and now you ai n't shedding a tear for him."
i looked at the story girl's dry, piteous eyes, and suddenly remembered that i had never seen her cry.
when she told us sad tales, in a voice laden with all the tears that had ever been shed, she had never shed one of her own.
""i ca n't cry," she said drearily.
""i wish i could.
i've a dreadful feeling here --" she touched her slender throat -- "and if i could cry i think it would make it better.
but i ca n't."
""maybe peter will get better after all," said dan, swallowing a sob.
""i've heard of lots of people who went and got better after the doctor said they were going to die."
""while there's life there's hope, you know," said felix.
""we should n't cross bridges till we come to them."
""those are only proverbs," said the story girl bitterly.
""proverbs are all very fine when there's nothing to worry you, but when you're in real trouble they're not a bit of help."
""oh, i wish i'd never said peter was n't fit to associate with," moaned felicity.
""if he ever gets better i'll never say such a thing again -- i'll never think it.
he's just a lovely boy and twice as smart as lots that are n't hired out."
""he was always so polite and good-natured and obliging," sighed cecily.
""he was just a real gentleman," said the story girl.
""there ai n't many fellows as fair and square as peter," said dan.
""and such a worker," said felix.
""uncle roger says he never had a boy he could depend on like peter," i said.
""it's too late to be saying all these nice things about him now," said the story girl.
""he wo n't ever know how much we thought of him.
it's too late."
""if he gets better i'll tell him," said cecily resolutely.
""i wish i had n't boxed his ears that day he tried to kiss me," went on felicity, who was evidently raking her conscience for past offences in regard to peter.
""of course i could n't be expected to let a hir -- to let a boy kiss me.
but i need n't have been so cross about it.
i might have been more dignified.
and i told him i just hated him.
that was n't true, but i s "pose he'll die thinking it is.
oh, dear me, what makes people say things they've got to be so sorry for afterwards?"
""i suppose if peter d-d-dies he'll go to heaven anyhow," sobbed cecily.
""he's been real good all this summer, but he is n't a church member."
""he's a presbyterian, you know," said felicity reassuringly.
her tone expressed her conviction that that would carry peter through if anything would.
""we're none of us church members.
but of course peter could n't be sent to the bad place.
that would be ridiculous.
what would they do with him there, when he's so good and polite and honest and kind?"
""oh, i think he'll be all right, too," sighed cecily, "but you know he never did go to church and sunday school before this summer."
""well, his father run away, and his mother was too busy earning a living to bring him up right," argued felicity.
""do n't you suppose that anybody, even god, would make allowances for that?"
""of course peter will go to heaven," said the story girl.
""he's not grown up enough to go anywhere else.
children always go to heaven.
but i do n't want him to go there or anywhere else.
i want him to stay right here.
i know heaven must be a splendid place, but i'm sure peter would rather be here, having fun with us."
""sara stanley," rebuked felicity.
""i should think you would n't say such things at such a solemn time.
you're such a queer girl."
""would n't you rather be here yourself than in heaven?"
said the story girl bluntly.
""would n't you now, felicity king?
tell the truth, "cross your heart."
but felicity took refuge from this inconvenient question in tears.
""if we could only do something to help peter!"
i said desperately.
""it seems dreadful not to be able to do a single thing."
""there's one thing we can do," said cecily gently.
""we can pray for him."
""so we can," i agreed.
""i'm going to pray like sixty," said felix energetically.
""we'll have to be awful good, you know," warned cecily.
""there's no use praying if you're not good."
""that will be easy," sighed felicity.
""i do n't feel a bit like being bad.
if anything happens to peter i feel sure i'll never be naughty again.
i wo n't have the heart."
we did, indeed, pray most sincerely for peter's recovery.
we did not, as in the case of paddy, "tack it on after more important things," but put it in the very forefront of our petitions.
even skeptical dan prayed, his skepticism falling away from him like a discarded garment in this valley of the shadow, which sifts out hearts and tries souls, until we all, grown-up or children, realize our weakness, and, finding that our own puny strength is as a reed shaken in the wind, creep back humbly to the god we have vainly dreamed we could do without.
peter was no better the next day.
aunt olivia reported that his mother was broken-hearted.
we did not again ask to be released from work.
instead, we went at it with feverish zeal.
if we worked hard there was less time for grief and grievious thoughts.
we picked apples and dragged them to the granary doggedly.
in the afternoon aunt janet brought us a lunch of apple turnovers; but we could not eat them.
peter, as felicity reminded us with a burst of tears, had been so fond of apple turnovers.
and, oh, how good we were!
how angelically and unnaturally good!
never was there such a band of kind, sweet-tempered, unselfish children in any orchard.
even felicity and dan, for once in their lives, got through the day without any exchange of left-handed compliments.
cecily confided to me that she never meant to put her hair up in curlers on saturday nights again, because it was pretending.
she was so anxious to repent of something, sweet girl, and this was all she could think of.
during the afternoon judy pineau brought up a tear-blotted note from sara ray.
sara had not been allowed to visit the hill farm since peter had developed measles.
she was an unhappy little exile, and could only relieve her anguish of soul by daily letters to cecily, which the faithful and obliging judy pineau brought up for her.
these epistles were as gushingly underlined as if sara had been a correspondent of early victorian days.
cecily did not write back, because mrs. ray had decreed that no letters must be taken down from the hill farm lest they carry infection.
cecily had offered to bake every epistle thoroughly in the oven before sending it; but mrs. ray was inexorable, and cecily had to content herself by sending long verbal messages with judy pineau.
""my own dearest cecily," ran sara's letter.
""i have just heard the sad news about poor dear peter.
i ca n't describe my feelings.
they are dreadful.
i have been crying all the afternoon.
i wish i could fly to you, but ma will not let me.
she is afraid i will catch the measles, but i would rather have the measles a dozen times over than be sepparated from you all like this.
but i have felt, ever since the judgment sunday that i must obey ma better than i used to do.
if anything happens to peter and you are let see him before it happens give him my love and tell him how sorry i am, and that i hope we will all meet in a better world everything in school is about the same.
the master is awful cross by spells.
jimmy frewen walked home with nellie bowan last night from prayer-meeting and her only fourteen.
do n't you think it horrid beginning so young?
you and me would never do anything like that till we were grown up, would we?
willy fraser looks so lonesome in school these days.
i must stop for ma says i waste far too much time writing letters.
tell judy all the news for me.
""your own true friend, "sara ray.
""p.s. oh i do hope peter will get better.
ma is going to get me a new brown dress for the winter.
""s. r." when evening came we went to our seats under the whispering, sighing fir trees.
it was a beautiful night -- clear, windless, frosty.
some one galloped down the road on horseback, lustily singing a comic song.
how dared he?
we felt that it was an insult to our wretchedness.
if peter were going to -- going to -- well, if anything happened to peter, we felt so miserably sure that the music of life would be stilled for us for ever.
how could any one in the world be happy when we were so unhappy?
presently aunt olivia came down the long twilight arcade.
her bright hair was uncovered and she looked slim and queen-like in her light dress.
we thought aunt olivia very pretty then.
looking back from a mature standpoint i realize that she must have been an unusually beautiful woman; and she looked her prettiest as she stood under the swaying boughs in the last faint light of the autumn dusk and smiled down at our woebegone faces.
""dear, sorrowful little people, i bring you glad tidings of great joy," she said.
""the doctor has just been here, and he finds peter much better, and thinks he will pull through after all."
we gazed up at her in silence for a few moments.
when we had heard the news of paddy's recovery we had been noisy and jubilant; but we were very quiet now.
we had been too near something dark and terrible and menacing; and though it was thus suddenly removed the chill and shadow of it were about us still.
presently the story girl, who had been standing up, leaning against a tall fir, slipped down to the ground in a huddled fashion and broke into a very passion of weeping.
i had never heard any one cry so, with dreadful, rending sobs.
i was used to hearing girls cry.
it was as much sara ray's normal state as any other, and even felicity and cecily availed themselves occasionally of the privilege of sex.
but i had never heard any girl cry like this.
it gave me the same unpleasant sensation which i had felt one time when i had seen my father cry.
""oh, do n't, sara, do n't," i said gently, patting her convulsed shoulder.
""you are a queer girl," said felicity -- more tolerantly than usual however -- "you never cried a speck when you thought peter was going to die -- and now when he is going to get better you cry like that."
""sara, child, come with me," said aunt olivia, bending over her.
the story girl got up and went away, with aunt olivia's arms around her.
the sound of her crying died away under the firs, and with it seemed to go the dread and grief that had been our portion for hours.
in the reaction our spirits rose with a bound.
""oh, ai n't it great that peter's going to be all right?"
said dan, springing up.
""i never was so glad of anything in my whole life," declared felicity in shameless rapture.
""ca n't we send word somehow to sara ray to-night?"
asked cecily, the ever-thoughtful.
""she's feeling so bad -- and she'll have to feel that way till to-morrow if we ca n't."
""let's all go down to the ray gate and holler to judy pineau till she comes out," suggested felix.
accordingly, we went and "hollered," with a right good will.
we were much taken aback to find that mrs. ray came to the gate instead of judy, and rather sourly demanded what we were yelling about.
when she heard our news, however, she had the decency to say she was glad, and to promise she would convey the good tidings to sara -- "who is already in bed, where all children of her age should be," added mrs. ray severely.
we had no intention of going to bed for a good two hours yet.
instead, after devoutly thanking goodness that our grown-ups, in spite of some imperfections, were not of the mrs. ray type, we betook ourselves to the granary, lighted a huge lantern which dan had made out of a turnip, and proceeded to devour all the apples we might have eaten through the day but had not.
we were a blithe little crew, sitting there in the light of our goblin lantern.
we had in very truth been given beauty for ashes and the oil of joy for mourning.
life was as a red rose once more.
""i'm going to make a big batch of patty-pans, first thing in the morning," said felicity jubilantly.
""is n't it queer?
last night i felt just like praying, and tonight i feel just like cooking."
""we must n't forget to thank god for making peter better," said cecily, as we finally went to the house.
""do you s "pose peter would n't have got better anyway?"
said dan.
""oh, dan, what makes you ask such questions?"
exclaimed cecily in real distress.
""i dunno," said dan.
""they just kind of come into my head, like.
but of course i mean to thank god when i say my prayers to-night.
that's only decent."
chapter xxx.
a compound letter once peter was out of danger he recovered rapidly, but he found his convalescence rather tedious; and aunt olivia suggested to us one day that we write a "compound letter" to amuse him, until he could come to the window and talk to us from a safe distance.
the idea appealed to us; and, the day being saturday and the apples all picked, we betook ourselves to the orchard to compose our epistles, cecily having first sent word by a convenient caller to sara ray, that she, too, might have a letter ready.
later, i, having at that time a mania for preserving all documents relating to our life in carlisle, copied those letters in the blank pages at the back of my dream book.
hence i can reproduce them verbatim, with the bouquet they have retained through all the long years since they were penned in that autumnal orchard on the hill, with its fading leaves and frosted grasses, and the "mild, delightsome melancholy" of the late october day enfolding.
cecily's letter "dear peter: -- i am so very glad and thankful that you are going to get better.
we were so afraid you would not last tuesday, and we felt dreadful, even felicity.
we all prayed for you.
i think the others have stopped now, but i keep it up every night still, for fear you might have a relaps.
-lrb- i do n't know if that is spelled right.
i have n't the dixonary handy, and if i ask the others felicity will laugh at me, though she can not spell lots of words herself. -rrb-
i am saving some of the honourable mr. whalen's pears for you.
i've got them hid where nobody can find them.
there's only a dozen because dan et all the rest, but i guess you will like them.
we have got all the apples picked, and are all ready to take the measles now, if we have to, but i hope we wo n't.
if we have to, though, i'd rather catch them from you than from any one else, because we are acquainted with you.
if i do take the measles and anything happens to me felicity is to have my cherry vase.
i'd rather give it to the story girl, but dan says it ought to be kept in the family, even if felicity is a crank.
i have n't anything else valuable, since i gave sara ray my forget-me-not jug, but if you would like anything i've got let me know and i'll leave instructions for you to have it.
the story girl has told us some splendid stories lately.
i wish i was clever like her.
ma says it does n't matter if you're not clever as long as you are good, but i am not even very good.
""i think this is all my news, except that i want to tell you how much we all think of you, peter.
when we heard you were sick we all said nice things about you, but we were afraid it was too late, and i said if you got better i'd tell you.
it is easier to write it than to tell it out to your face.
we think you are smart and polite and obliging and a great worker and a gentleman.
""your true friend, "cecily king.
""p.s..
if you answer my letter do n't say anything about the pears, because i do n't want dan to find out there's any left.
c. k." felicity's letter "dear peter: -- aunt olivia says for us all to write a compound letter to cheer you up.
we are all awful glad you are getting better.
it gave us an awful scare when we heard you were going to die.
but you will soon be all right and able to get out again.
be careful you do n't catch cold.
i am going to bake some nice things for you and send them over, now that the doctor says you can eat them.
and i'll send you my rosebud plate to eat off of.
i'm only lending it, you know, not giving it.
i let very few people use it because it is my greatest treasure.
mind you do n't break it.
aunt olivia must always wash it, not your mother.
""i do hope the rest of us wo n't catch the measles.
it must look horrid to have red spots all over your face.
we all feel pretty well yet.
the story girl says as many queer things as ever.
felix thinks he is getting thin, but he is fatter than ever, and no wonder, with all the apples he eats.
he has give up trying to eat the bitter apples at last.
beverley has grown half an inch since july, by the mark on the hall door, and he is awful pleased about it.
i told him i guessed the magic seed was taking effect at last, and he got mad.
he never gets mad at anything the story girl says, and yet she is so sarkastic by times.
dan is pretty hard to get along with as usul, but i try to bear pashently with him.
cecily is well and says she is n't going to curl her hair any more.
she is so conscienshus.
i am glad my hair curls of itself, ai n't you?
""we have n't seen sara ray since you got sick.
she is awful lonesome, and judy says she cries nearly all the time but that is nothing new.
i'm awful sorry for sara but i'm glad i'm not her.
she is going to write you a letter too.
you'll let me see what she puts in it, wo n't you?
you'd better take some mexican tea now.
it's a great blood purifyer.
""i am going to get a lovely dark blue dress for the winter.
it is ever so much prettier than sara ray's brown one.
sara ray's mother has no taste.
the story girl's father is sending her a new red dress, and a red velvet cap from paris.
she is so fond of red.
i ca n't bear it, it looks so common.
mother says i can get a velvet hood too.
cecily says she does n't believe it's right to wear velvet when it's so expensive and the heathen are crying for the gospel.
she got that idea from a sunday school paper but i am going to get my hood all the same.
""well, peter, i have no more news so i will close for this time.
""hoping you will soon be quite well, i remain "yours sincerely, "felicity king.
""p.s..
the story girl peeked over my shoulder and says i ought to have signed it "yours affeckshunately," but i know better, because the family guide has told lots of times how you should sign yourself when you are writing to a young man who is only a friend.
f. k." felix" letter "dear peter: -- i am awful glad you are getting better.
we all felt bad when we thought you would n't, but i felt worse than the others because we had n't been on very good terms lately and i had said mean things about you.
i'm sorry and, peter, you can pray for anything you like and i wo n't ever object again.
i'm glad uncle alec interfered and stopped the fight.
if i had licked you and you had died of the measles it would have been a dreadful thing.
""we have all the apples in and have n't much to do just now and we are having lots of fun but we wish you were here to join in.
i'm a lot thinner than i was.
i guess working so hard picking apples is a good thing to make you thin.
the girls are all well.
felicity puts on as many airs as ever, but she makes great things to eat.
i have had some splendid dreams since we gave up writing them down.
that is always the way.
we ai n't going to school till we're sure we are not going to have the measles.
this is all i can think of, so i will draw to a close.
remember, you can pray for anything you like.
felix king."
sara ray's letter "dear peter: -- i never wrote to a boy before, so please excuse all mistakes.
i am so glad you are getting better.
we were so afraid you were going to die.
i cried all night about it.
but now that you are out of danger will you tell me what it really feels like to think you are going to die?
does it feel queer?
were you very badly frightened?
""ma wo n't let me go up the hill at all now.
i would die if it was not for judy pinno.
-lrb- the french names are so hard to spell. -rrb-
judy is very obliging and i feel that she simpathises with me.
in my lonely hours i read my dream book and cecily's old letters and they are such a comfort to me.
i have been reading one of the school library books too.
i is pretty good but i wish they had got more love stories because they are so exciting.
but the master would not let them.
""if you had died, peter, and your father had heard it would n't he have felt dreadful?
we are having beautiful weather and the seenary is fine since the leaves turned.
i think there is nothing so pretty as nature after all.
""i hope all danger from the measles will soon be over and we can all meet again at the home on the hill.
till then farewell.
""your true friend, "sara ray.
""p. s. do n't let felicity see this letter.
s. r." dan's letter "dear old pete: -- awful glad you cheated the doctor.
i thought you were n't the kind to turn up your toes so easy.
you should of heard the girls crying.
""they're all getting their winter finery now and the talk about it would make you sick.
the story girl is getting hers from paris and felicity is awful jealous though she pretends she is n't.
i can see through her.
""kitt mar was up here thursday to see the girls.
she's had the measles so she is n't scared.
she's a great girl to laugh.
i like a girl that laughs, do n't you?
""we had a call from peg bowen yesterday.
you should of seen the story girl hustling pat out of the way, for all she says she do n't believe he was bewitched.
peg had your rheumatism ring on and the story girl's blue beads and sara ray's lace soed across the front of her dress.
she wanted some tobacco and some pickles.
ma gave her some pickles but said we did n't have no tobacco and peg went off mad but i guess she would n't bewitch anything on account of the pickles.
""i ai n't any hand to write letters so i guess i'll stop.
hope you'll be out soon.
dan."
the story girl's letter "dear peter: -- oh, how glad i am that you are getting better!
those days when we thought you would n't were the hardest of my whole life.
it seemed too dreadful to be true that perhaps you would die.
and then when we heard you were going to get better that seemed too good to be true.
oh, peter, hurry up and get well, for we are having such good times and we miss you so much.
i have coaxed uncle alec not to burn his potato stalks till you are well, because i remember how you always liked to see the potato stalks burn.
uncle alec consented, though aunt janet said it was high time they were burned.
uncle roger burned his last night and it was such fun.
""pat is splendid.
he has never had a sick spell since that bad one.
i would send him over to be company for you, but aunt janet says no, because he might carry the measles back.
i do n't see how he could, but we must obey aunt janet.
she is very good to us all, but i know she does not approve of me.
she says i'm my father's own child.
i know that does n't mean anything complimentary because she looked so queer when she saw that i had heard her, but i do n't care.
i'm glad i'm like father.
i had a splendid letter from him this week, with the darlingest pictures in it.
he is painting a new picture which is going to make him famous.
i wonder what aunt janet will say then.
""do you know, peter, yesterday i thought i saw the family ghost at last.
i was coming through the gap in the hedge, and i saw somebody in blue standing under uncle alec's tree.
how my heart beat!
my hair should have stood up on end with terror but it did n't.
i felt to see, and it was lying down quite flat.
but it was only a visitor after all.
i do n't know whether i was glad or disappointed.
i do n't think it would be a pleasant experience to see the ghost.
but after i had seen it think what a heroine i would be!
""oh, peter, what do you think?
i have got acquainted with the awkward man at last.
i never thought it would be so easy.
yesterday aunt olivia wanted some ferns, so i went back to the maple woods to get them for her, and i found some lovely ones by the spring.
and while i was sitting there, looking into the spring who should come along but the awkward man himself.
he sat right down beside me and began to talk.
i never was so surprised in my life.
we had a very interesting talk, and i told him two of my best stories, and a great many of my secrets into the bargain.
they may say what they like, but he was not one bit shy or awkward, and he has beautiful eyes.
he did not tell me any of his secrets, but i believe he will some day.
of course i never said a word about his alice-room.
but i gave him a hint about his little brown book.
i said i loved poetry and often felt like writing it, and then i said, "do you ever feel like that, mr. dale?"
he said, yes, he sometimes felt that way, but he did not mention the brown book.
i thought he might have.
but after all i do n't like people who tell you everything the first time you meet them, like sara ray.
when he went away he said," i hope i shall have the pleasure of meeting you again," just as seriously and politely as if i was a grown-up young lady.
i am sure he could never have said it if i had been really grown up.
i told him it was likely he would and that he was n't to mind if i had a longer skirt on next time, because i'd be just the same person.
""i told the children a beautiful new fairy story to-day.
i made them go to the spruce wood to hear it.
a spruce wood is the proper place to tell fairy stories in.
felicity says she ca n't see that it makes any difference where you tell them, but oh, it does.
i wish you had been there to hear it too, but when you are well i will tell it over again for you.
""i am going to call the southernwood "appleringie" after this.
beverley says that is what they call it in scotland, and i think it sounds so much more poetical than southernwood.
felicity says the right name is "boy's love," but i think that sounds silly.
""oh, peter, shadows are such pretty things.
the orchard is full of them this very minute.
sometimes they are so still you would think them asleep.
then they go laughing and skipping.
outside, in the oat field, they are always chasing each other.
they are the wild shadows.
the shadows in the orchard are the tame shadows.
""everything seems to be rather tired growing except the spruces and chrysanthemums in aunt olivia's garden.
the sunshine is so thick and yellow and lazy, and the crickets sing all day long.
the birds are nearly all gone and most of the maple leaves have fallen.
""just to make you laugh i'll write you a little story i heard uncle alec telling last night.
it was about elder frewen's grandfather taking a pair of rope reins to lead a piano home.
everybody laughed except aunt janet.
old mr. frewen was her grandfather too, and she would n't laugh.
one day when old mr. frewen was a young man of eighteen his father came home and said, "sandy, i bought a piano at simon ward's sale to-day.
you're to go to-morrow and bring it home."
so next day sandy started off on horseback with a pair of rope reins to lead the piano home.
he thought it was some kind of livestock.
""and then uncle roger told about old mark ward who got up to make a speech at a church missionary social when he was drunk.
-lrb- of course he did n't get drunk at the social.
he went there that way. -rrb-
and this was his speech."
"ladies and gentlemen, mr. chairman, i ca n't express my thoughts on this grand subject of missions.
it's in this poor human critter" -- patting himself on the breast -- "but he ca n't git it out."
""i'll tell you these stories when you get well.
i can tell them ever so much better than i can write them.
""i know felicity is wondering why i'm writing such a long letter, so perhaps i'd better stop.
if your mother reads it to you there is a good deal of it she may not understand, but i think your aunt jane would.
""i remain "your very affectionate friend, "sara stanley."
i did not keep a copy of my own letter, and i have forgotten everything that was in it, except the first sentence, in which i told peter i was awful glad he was getting better.
peter's delight on receiving our letters knew no bounds.
he insisted on answering them and his letter, painstakingly disinfected, was duly delivered to us.
aunt olivia had written it at his dictation, which was a gain, as far as spelling and punctuation went.
but peter's individuality seemed merged and lost in aunt olivia's big, dashing script.
not until the story girl read the letter to us in the granary by jack-o-lantern light, in a mimicry of peter's very voice, did we savour the real bouquet of it.
peter's letter "dear everybody, but especially felicity: -- i was awful glad to get your letters.
it makes you real important to be sick, but the time seems awful long when you're getting better.
your letters were all great, but i liked felicity's best, and next to hers the story girl's.
felicity, it will be awful good of you to send me things to eat and the rosebud plate.
i'll be awful careful of it.
i hope you wo n't catch the measles, for they are not nice, especially when they strike in, but you would look all right, even if you did have red spots on your face.
i would like to try the mexican tea, because you want me to, but mother says no, she does n't believe in it, and burtons bitters are a great deal healthier.
if i was you i would get the velvet hood all right.
the heathen live in warm countries so they do n't want hoods.
""i'm glad you are still praying for me, cecily, for you ca n't trust the measles.
and i'm glad you're keeping you know what for me.
i do n't believe anything will happen to you if you do take the measles; but if anything does i'd like that little red book of yours, the safe compass, just to remember you by.
it's such a good book to read on sundays.
it is interesting and religious, too.
so is the bible.
i had n't quite finished the bible before i took the measles, but ma is reading the last chapters to me.
there's an awful lot in that book.
i ca n't understand the whole of it, since i'm only a hired boy, but some parts are real easy.
""i'm awful glad you have such a good opinion of me.
i do n't deserve it, but after this i'll try to.
i ca n't tell you how i feel about all your kindness.
i'm like the fellow the story girl wrote about who could n't get it out.
i have the picture the story girl gave me for my sermon on the wall at the foot of my bed.
i like to look at it, it looks so much like aunt jane.
""felix, i've given up praying that i'd be the only one to eat the bitter apples, and i'll never pray for anything like that again.
it was a horrid mean prayer.
i did n't know it then, but after the measles struck in i found out it was.
aunt jane would n't have liked it.
after this i'm going to pray prayers i need n't be ashamed of.
""sara ray, i do n't know what it feels like to be going to die because i did n't know i was going to die till i got better.
mother says i was luny most of the time after they struck in.
it was just because they struck in i was luny.
i ai n't luny naturally, felicity.
i will do what you asked in your postscript, sara, although it will be hard.
""i'm glad peg bowen did n't catch you, dan.
maybe she bewitched me that night we were at her place, and that is why the measles struck in.
i'm awful glad mr. king is going to leave the potato stalks until i get well, and i'm obliged to the story girl for coaxing him.
i guess she will find out about alice yet.
there were some parts of her letter i could n't see through, but when the measles strike in, they leave you stupid for a spell.
anyhow, it was a fine letter, and they were all fine, and i'm awful glad i have so many nice friends, even if i am only a hired boy.
perhaps i'd never have found it out if the measles had n't struck in.
so i'm glad they did but i hope they never will again.
""your obedient servant, "peter craig."
chapter xxxi.
on the edge of light and dark we celebrated the november day when peter was permitted to rejoin us by a picnic in the orchard.
sara ray was also allowed to come, under protest; and her joy over being among us once more was almost pathetic.
she and cecily cried in one another's arms as if they had been parted for years.
we had a beautiful day for our picnic.
november dreamed that it was may.
the air was soft and mellow, with pale, aerial mists in the valleys and over the leafless beeches on the western hill.
the sere stubble fields brooded in glamour, and the sky was pearly blue.
the leaves were still thick on the apple trees, though they were russet hued, and the after-growth of grass was richly green, unharmed as yet by the nipping frosts of previous nights.
the wind made a sweet, drowsy murmur in the boughs, as of bees among apple blossoms.
""it's just like spring, is n't it?"
asked felicity.
the story girl shook her head.
""no, not quite.
it looks like spring, but it is n't spring.
it's as if everything was resting -- getting ready to sleep.
in spring they're getting ready to grow.
ca n't you feel the difference?"
""i think it's just like spring," insisted felicity.
in the sun-sweet place before the pulpit stone we boys had put up a board table.
aunt janet allowed us to cover it with an old tablecloth, the worn places in which the girls artfully concealed with frost-whitened ferns.
we had the kitchen dishes, and the table was gaily decorated with cecily's three scarlet geraniums and maple leaves in the cherry vase.
as for the viands, they were fit for the gods on high olympus.
felicity had spent the whole previous day and the forenoon of the picnic day in concocting them.
her crowning achievement was a rich little plum cake, on the white frosting of which the words "welcome back" were lettered in pink candies.
this was put before peter's place, and almost overcame him.
""to think that you'd go to so much trouble for me!"
he said, with a glance of adoring gratitude at felicity.
felicity got all the gratitude, although the story girl had originated the idea and seeded the raisins and beaten the eggs, while cecily had trudged all the way to mrs. jameson's little shop below the church to buy the pink candies.
but that is the way of the world.
""we ought to have grace," said felicity, as we sat down at the festal board.
""will any one say it?"
she looked at me, but i blushed to the roots of my hair and shook my head sheepishly.
an awkward pause ensued; it looked as if we would have to proceed without grace, when felix suddenly shut his eyes, bent his head, and said a very good grace without any appearance of embarrassment.
we looked at him when it was over with an increase of respect.
""where on earth did you learn that, felix?"
i asked.
""it's the grace uncle alec says at every meal," answered felix.
we felt rather ashamed of ourselves.
was it possible that we had paid so little attention to uncle alec's grace that we did not recognize it when we heard it on other lips?
""now," said felicity jubilantly, "let's eat everything up."
in truth, it was a merry little feast.
we had gone without our dinners, in order to "save our appetites," and we did ample justice to felicity's good things.
paddy sat on the pulpit stone and watched us with great yellow eyes, knowing that tidbits would come his way later on.
many witty things were said -- or at least we thought them witty -- and uproarious was the laughter.
never had the old king orchard known a blither merrymaking or lighter hearts.
the picnic over, we played games until the early falling dusk, and then we went with uncle alec to the back field to burn the potato stalks -- the crowning delight of the day.
the stalks were in heaps all over the field, and we were allowed the privilege of setting fire to them.
't was glorious!
in a few minutes the field was alight with blazing bonfires, over which rolled great, pungent clouds of smoke.
from pile to pile we ran, shrieking with delight, to poke each up with a long stick and watch the gush of rose-red sparks stream off into the night.
in what a whirl of smoke and firelight and wild, fantastic, hurtling shadows we were!
when we grew tired of our sport we went to the windward side of the field and perched ourselves on the high pole fence that skirted a dark spruce wood, full of strange, furtive sounds.
over us was a great, dark sky, blossoming with silver stars, and all around lay dusky, mysterious reaches of meadow and wood in the soft, empurpled night.
away to the east a shimmering silveryness beneath a palace of aerial cloud foretokened moonrise.
but directly before us the potato field, with its wreathing smoke and sullen flames, the gigantic shadow of uncle alec crossing and recrossing it, reminded us of peter's famous description of the bad place, and probably suggested the story girl's remark.
""i know a story," she said, infusing just the right shade of weirdness into her voice, "about a man who saw the devil.
now, what's the matter, felicity?"
""i can never get used to the way you mention the -- the -- that name," complained felicity.
""to hear you speak of the old scratch any one would think he was just a common person."
""never mind.
tell us the story," i said curiously.
""it is about mrs. john martin's uncle at markdale," said the story girl.
""i heard uncle roger telling it the other night.
he did n't know i was sitting on the cellar hatch outside the window, or i do n't suppose he would have told it.
mrs. martin's uncle's name was william cowan, and he has been dead for twenty years; but sixty years ago he was a young man, and a very wild, wicked young man.
he did everything bad he could think of, and never went to church, and he laughed at everything religious, even the devil.
he did n't believe there was a devil at all.
one beautiful summer sunday evening his mother pleaded with him to go to church with her, but he would not.
he told her that he was going fishing instead, and when church time came he swaggered past the church, with his fishing rod over his shoulder, singing a godless song.
half way between the church and the harbour there was a thick spruce wood, and the path ran through it.
when william cowan was half way through it something came out of the wood and walked beside him."
i have never heard anything more horribly suggestive than that innocent word "something," as enunciated by the story girl.
i felt cecily's hand, icy cold, clutching mine.
""what -- what -- was it like?"
whispered felix, curiosity getting the better of his terror.
""it was tall, and black, and hairy," said the story girl, her eyes glowing with uncanny intensity in the red glare of the fires, "and it lifted one great, hairy hand, with claws on the end of it, and clapped william cowan, first on one shoulder and then on the other, and said, "good sport to you, brother."
william cowan gave a horrible scream and fell on his face right there in the wood.
some of the men around the church door heard the scream, and they rushed down to the wood.
they saw nothing but william cowan, lying like a dead man on the path.
they took him up and carried him home; and when they undressed him to put him to bed, there, on each shoulder, was the mark of a big hand, burned into the flesh.
it was weeks before the burns healed, and the scars never went away.
always, as long as william cowan lived, he carried on his shoulders the prints of the devil's hand."
i really do not know how we should ever have got home, had we been left to our own devices.
we were cold with fright.
how could we turn our backs on the eerie spruce wood, out of which something might pop at any moment?
how cross those long, shadowy fields between us and our rooftree?
how venture through the darkly mysterious bracken hollow?
fortunately, uncle alec came along at this crisis and said he thought we'd better come home now, since the fires were nearly out.
we slid down from the fence and started, taking care to keep close together and in front of uncle alec.
""i do n't believe a word of that yarn," said dan, trying to speak with his usual incredulity.
""i do n't see how you can help believing it," said cecily.
""it is n't as if it was something we'd read of, or that happened far away.
it happened just down at markdale, and i've seen that very spruce wood myself."
""oh, i suppose william cowan got a fright of some kind," conceded dan, "but i do n't believe he saw the devil."
""old mr. morrison at lower markdale was one of the men who undressed him, and he remembers seeing the marks," said the story girl triumphantly.
""how did william cowan behave afterwards?"
i asked.
""he was a changed man," said the story girl solemnly.
""too much changed.
he never was known to laugh again, or even smile.
he became a very religious man, which was a good thing, but he was dreadfully gloomy and thought everything pleasant sinful.
he would n't even eat any more than was actually necessary to keep him alive.
uncle roger says that if he had been a roman catholic he would have become a monk, but, as he was a presbyterian, all he could do was to turn into a crank."
""yes, but your uncle roger was never clapped on the shoulder and called brother by the devil," said peter.
""if he had, he might n't have been so precious jolly afterwards himself."
""i do wish to goodness," said felicity in exasperation, "that you'd stop talking of the -- the -- of such subjects in the dark.
i'm so scared now that i keep thinking father's steps behind us are something's.
just think, my own father!"
the story girl slipped her arm through felicity's.
""never mind," she said soothingly.
""i'll tell you another story -- such a beautiful story that you'll forget all about the devil."
she told us one of hans andersen's most exquisite tales; and the magic of her voice charmed away all our fear, so that when we reached the bracken hollow, a lake of shadow surrounded by the silver shore of moonlit fields, we all went through it without a thought of his satanic majesty at all.
and beyond us, on the hill, the homelight was glowing from the farmhouse window like a beacon of old loves.
chapter xxxii.
the opening of the blue chest november wakened from her dream of may in a bad temper.
the day after the picnic a cold autumn rain set in, and we got up to find our world a drenched, wind-writhen place, with sodden fields and dour skies.
the rain was weeping on the roof as if it were shedding the tears of old sorrows; the willow by the gate tossed its gaunt branches wildly, as if it were some passionate, spectral thing, wringing its fleshless hands in agony; the orchard was haggard and uncomely; nothing seemed the same except the staunch, trusty, old spruces.
it was friday, but we were not to begin going to school again until monday, so we spent the day in the granary, sorting apples and hearing tales.
in the evening the rain ceased, the wind came around to the northwest, freezing suddenly, and a chilly yellow sunset beyond the dark hills seemed to herald a brighter morrow.
felicity and the story girl and i walked down to the post-office for the mail, along a road where fallen leaves went eddying fitfully up and down before us in weird, uncanny dances of their own.
the evening was full of eerie sounds -- the creaking of fir boughs, the whistle of the wind in the tree-tops, the vibrations of strips of dried bark on the rail fences.
but we carried summer and sunshine in our hearts, and the bleak unloveliness of the outer world only intensified our inner radiance.
felicity wore her new velvet hood, with a coquettish little collar of white fur about her neck.
her golden curls framed her lovely face, and the wind stung the pink of her cheeks to crimson.
on my left hand walked the story girl, her red cap on her jaunty brown head.
she scattered her words along the path like the pearls and diamonds of the old fairy tale.
i remember that i strutted along quite insufferably, for we met several of the carlisle boys and i felt that i was an exceptionally lucky fellow to have such beauty on one side and such charm on the other.
there was one of father's thin letters for felix, a fat, foreign letter for the story girl, addressed in her father's minute handwriting, a drop letter for cecily from some school friend, with "in haste" written across the corner, and a letter for aunt janet, postmarked montreal.
""i ca n't think who that is from," said felicity.
""nobody in montreal ever writes to mother.
cecily's letter is from em frewen.
she always puts "in haste" on her letters, no matter what is in them."
when we reached home, aunt janet opened and read her montreal letter.
then she laid it down and looked about her in astonishment.
""well, did ever any mortal!"
she said.
""what in the world is the matter?"
said uncle alec.
""this letter is from james ward's wife in montreal," said aunt janet solemnly.
""rachel ward is dead.
and she told james" wife to write to me and tell me to open the old blue chest."
""hurrah!"
shouted dan.
""donald king," said his mother severely, "rachel ward was your relation and she is dead.
what do you mean by such behaviour?"
""i never was acquainted with her," said dan sulkily.
""and i was n't hurrahing because she is dead.
i hurrahed because that blue chest is to be opened at last."
""so poor rachel is gone," said uncle alec.
""she must have been an old woman -- seventy-five i suppose.
i remember her as a fine, blooming young woman.
well, well, and so the old chest is to be opened at last.
what is to be done with its contents?"
""rachel left instructions about them," answered aunt janet, referring to the letter.
""the wedding dress and veil and letters are to be burned.
there are two jugs in it which are to be sent to james" wife.
the rest of the things are to be given around among the connection.
each members is to have one, "to remember her by.""
""oh, ca n't we open it right away this very night?"
said felicity eagerly.
""no, indeed!"
aunt janet folded up the letter decidedly.
""that chest has been locked up for fifty years, and it'll stand being locked up one more night.
you children would n't sleep a wink to-night if we opened it now.
you'd go wild with excitement."
""i'm sure i wo n't sleep anyhow," said felicity.
""well, at least you'll open it the first thing in the morning, wo n't you, ma?"
""no, i'll do nothing of the sort," was aunt janet's pitiless decree.
""i want to get the work out of the way first -- and roger and olivia will want to be here, too.
we'll say ten o'clock to-morrow forenoon."
""that's sixteen whole hours yet," sighed felicity.
""i'm going right over to tell the story girl," said cecily.
""wo n't she be excited!"
we were all excited.
we spent the evening speculating on the possible contents of the chest, and cecily dreamed miserably that night that the moths had eaten everything in it.
the morning dawned on a beautiful world.
a very slight fall of snow had come in the night -- just enough to look like a filmy veil of lace flung over the dark evergreens, and the hard frozen ground.
a new blossom time seemed to have revisited the orchard.
the spruce wood behind the house appeared to be woven out of enchantment.
there is nothing more beautiful than a thickly growing wood of firs lightly powdered with new-fallen snow.
as the sun remained hidden by gray clouds, this fairy-beauty lasted all day.
the story girl came over early in the morning, and sara ray, to whom faithful cecily had sent word, was also on hand.
felicity did not approve of this.
""sara ray is n't any relation to our family," she scolded to cecily, "and she has no right to be present."
""she's a particular friend of mine," said cecily with dignity.
""we have her in everything, and it would hurt her feelings dreadfully to be left out of this.
peter is no relation either, but he is going to be here when we open it, so why should n't sara?"
""peter ai n't a member of the family yet, but maybe he will be some day.
hey, felicity?"
said dan.
""you're awful smart, are n't you, dan king?"
said felicity, reddening.
""perhaps you'd like to send for kitty marr, too -- though she does laugh at your big mouth."
""it seems as if ten o'clock would never come," sighed the story girl.
""the work is all done, and aunt olivia and uncle roger are here, and the chest might just as well be opened right away."
""mother said ten o'clock and she'll stick to it," said felicity crossly.
""it's only nine now."
""let us put the clock on half an hour," said the story girl.
""the clock in the hall is n't going, so no one will know the difference."
we all looked at each other.
""i would n't dare," said felicity irresolutely.
""oh, if that's all, i'll do it," said the story girl.
when ten o'clock struck aunt janet came into the kitchen, remarking innocently that it had n't seemed anytime since nine.
we must have looked horribly guilty, but none of the grown-ups suspected anything.
uncle alec brought in the axe, and pried off the cover of the old blue chest, while everybody stood around in silence.
then came the unpacking.
it was certainly an interesting performance.
aunt janet and aunt olivia took everything out and laid it on the kitchen table.
we children were forbidden to touch anything, but fortunately we were not forbidden the use of our eyes and tongues.
""there are the pink and gold vases grandmother king gave her," said felicity, as aunt olivia unwrapped from their tissue paper swathings a pair of slender, old-fashioned, twisted vases of pink glass, over which little gold leaves were scattered.
""are n't they handsome?"
""and oh," exclaimed cecily in delight, "there's the china fruit basket with the apple on the handle.
does n't it look real?
i've thought so much about it.
oh, mother, please let me hold it for a minute.
i'll be as careful as careful."
""there comes the china set grandfather king gave her," said the story girl wistfully.
""oh, it makes me feel sad.
think of all the hopes that rachel ward must have put away in this chest with all her pretty things."
following these, came a quaint little candlestick of blue china, and the two jugs which were to be sent to james" wife.
""they are handsome," said aunt janet rather enviously.
""they must be a hundred years old.
aunt sara ward gave them to rachel, and she had them for at least fifty years.
i should have thought one would have been enough for james" wife.
but of course we must do just as rachel wished.
i declare, here's a dozen tin patty pans!"
""tin patty pans are n't very romantic," said the story girl discontentedly.
""i notice that you are as fond as any one of what is baked in them," said aunt janet.
""i've heard of those patty pans.
an old servant grandmother king had gave them to rachel.
now we are coming to the linen.
that was uncle edward ward's present.
how yellow it has grown."
we children were not greatly interested in the sheets and tablecloths and pillow-cases which now came out of the capacious depths of the old blue chest.
but aunt olivia was quite enraptured over them.
""what sewing!"
she said.
""look, janet, you'd almost need a magnifying glass to see the stitches.
and the dear, old-fashioned pillow-slips with buttons on them!"
""here are a dozen handkerchiefs," said aunt janet.
""look at the initial in the corner of each.
rachel learned that stitch from a nun in montreal.
it looks as if it was woven into the material."
""here are her quilts," said aunt olivia.
""yes, there is the blue and white counterpane grandmother ward gave her -- and the rising sun quilt her aunt nancy made for her -- and the braided rug.
the colours are not faded one bit.
i want that rug, janet."
underneath the linen were rachel ward's wedding clothes.
the excitement of the girls waxed red hot over these.
there was a paisley shawl in the wrappings in which it had come from the store, and a wide scarf of some yellowed lace.
there was the embroidered petticoat which had cost felicity such painful blushes, and a dozen beautifully worked sets of the fine muslin "undersleeves" which had been the fashion in rachel ward's youth.
""this was to have been her appearing out dress," said aunt olivia, lifting out a shot green silk.
""it is all cut to pieces -- but what a pretty soft shade it was!
look at the skirt, janet.
how many yards must it measure around?"
""hoopskirts were in then," said aunt janet.
""i do n't see her wedding hat here.
i was always told that she packed it away, too."
""so was i.
but she could n't have.
it certainly is n't here.
i have heard that the white plume on it cost a small fortune.
here is her black silk mantle.
it seems like sacrilege to meddle with these clothes."
""do n't be foolish, olivia.
they must be unpacked at least.
and they must all be burned since they have cut so badly.
this purple cloth dress is quite good, however.
it can be made over nicely, and it would become you very well, olivia."
""no, thank you," said aunt olivia, with a little shudder.
""i should feel like a ghost.
make it over for yourself, janet."
""well, i will, if you do n't want it.
i am not troubled with fancies.
that seems to be all except this box.
i suppose the wedding dress is in it."
""oh," breathed the girls, crowding about aunt olivia, as she lifted out the box and cut the cord around it.
inside was lying a dress of soft silk, that had once been white but was now yellowed with age, and, enfolding it like a mist, a long, white bridal veil, redolent with some strange, old-time perfume that had kept its sweetness through all the years.
""poor rachel ward," said aunt olivia softly.
""here is her point lace handkerchief.
she made it herself.
it is like a spider's web.
here are the letters will montague wrote her.
and here," she added, taking up a crimson velvet case with a tarnished gilt clasp, "are their photographs -- his and hers."
we looked eagerly at the daguerreotypes in the old case.
""why, rachel ward was n't a bit pretty!"
exclaimed the story girl in poignant disappointment.
no, rachel ward was not pretty, that had to be admitted.
the picture showed a fresh young face, with strongly marked, irregular features, large black eyes, and black curls hanging around the shoulders in old-time style.
""rachel was n't pretty," said uncle alec, "but she had a lovely colour, and a beautiful smile.
she looks far too sober in that picture."
""she has a beautiful neck and bust," said aunt olivia critically.
""anyhow, will montague was really handsome," said the story girl.
""a handsome rogue," growled uncle alec.
""i never liked him.
i was only a little chap of ten but i saw through him.
rachel ward was far too good for him."
we would dearly have liked to get a peep into the letters, too.
but aunt olivia would not allow that.
they must be burned unread, she declared.
she took the wedding dress and veil, the picture case, and the letters away with her.
the rest of the things were put back into the chest, pending their ultimate distribution.
aunt janet gave each of us boys a handkerchief.
the story girl got the blue candlestick, and felicity and cecily each got a pink and gold vase.
even sara ray was made happy by the gift of a little china plate, with a loudly coloured picture of moses and aaron before pharaoh in the middle of it.
moses wore a scarlet cloak, while aaron disported himself in bright blue.
pharaoh was arrayed in yellow.
the plate had a scalloped border with a wreath of green leaves around it.
""i shall never use it to eat off," said sara rapturously.
""i'll put it up on the parlour mantelpiece."
""i do n't see much use in having a plate just for ornament," said felicity.
""it's nice to have something interesting to look at," retorted sara, who felt that the soul must have food as well as the body.
""i'm going to get a candle for my candlestick, and use it every night to go to bed with," said the story girl.
""and i'll never light it without thinking of poor rachel ward.
but i do wish she had been pretty."
""well," said felicity, with a glance at the clock, "it's all over, and it has been very interesting.
but that clock has got to be put back to the right time some time through the day.
i do n't want bedtime coming a whole half-hour before it ought to."
in the afternoon, when aunt janet was over at uncle roger's, seeing him and aunt olivia off to town, the clock was righted.
the story girl and peter came over to stay all night with us, and we made taffy in the kitchen, which the grown-ups kindly gave over to us for that purpose.
""of course it was very interesting to see the old chest unpacked," said the story girl as she stirred the contents of a saucepan vigorously.
""but now that it is over i believe i am sorry that it is opened.
it is n't mysterious any longer.
we know all about it now, and we can never imagine what things are in it any more."
""it's better to know than to imagine," said felicity.
""oh, no, it is n't," said the story girl quickly.
""when you know things you have to go by facts.
but when you just dream about things there's nothing to hold you down."
""you're letting the taffy scorch, and that's a fact you'd better go by," said felicity sniffing.
""have n't you got a nose?"
when we went to bed, that wonderful white enchantress, the moon, was making an elf-land of the snow-misted world outside.
from where i lay i could see the sharp tops of the spruces against the silvery sky.
the frost was abroad, and the winds were still and the land lay in glamour.
across the hall, the story girl was telling felicity and cecily the old, old tale of argive helen and "evil-hearted paris."
""but that's a bad story," said felicity when the tale was ended.
""she left her husband and run away with another man."
""i suppose it was bad four thousand years ago," admitted the story girl.
""but by this time the bad must have all gone out of it.
it's only the good that could last so long."
our summer was over.
it had been a beautiful one.
we had known the sweetness of common joys, the delight of dawns, the dream and glamour of noontides, the long, purple peace of carefree nights.
we had had the pleasure of bird song, of silver rain on greening fields, of storm among the trees, of blossoming meadows, and of the converse of whispering leaves.
we had had brotherhood with wind and star, with books and tales, and hearth fires of autumn.
ours had been the little, loving tasks of every day, blithe companionship, shared thoughts, and adventuring.
rich were we in the memory of those opulent months that had gone from us -- richer than we then knew or suspected.
and before us was the dream of spring.
it is always safe to dream of spring.
for it is sure to come; and if it be not just as we have pictured it, it will be infinitely sweeter.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___little_annie's_ramble_(from_"twice_told_tales").txt.out
ding-dong!
ding-dong!
ding-dong!
the town crier has rung his bell, at a distant corner, and little annie stands on her father's doorsteps, trying to hear what the man with the loud voice is talking about.
let me listen too.
o, he is telling the people that an elephant, and a lion, and a royal tiger, and a horse with horns, and other strange beasts from foreign countries, have come to town, and will receive all visitors who choose to wait upon them!
perhaps little annie would like to go.
yes; and i can see that the pretty child is weary of this wide and pleasant street, with the green trees flinging their shade across the quiet sunshine, and the pavements and the sidewalks all as clean as if the housemaid had just swept them with her broom.
she feels that impulse to go strolling away -- that longing after the mystery of the great world -- which many children feel, and which i felt in my childhood.
little annie shall take a ramble with me.
see!
i do but hold out my hand, and, like some bright bird in the sunny air, with her blue silk frock fluttering upwards from her white pantalets, she comes bounding on tiptoe across the street.
smooth back your brown curls, annie; and let me tie on your bonnet, and we will set forth!
what a strange couple to go on their rambles together!
one walks in black attire, with a measured step, and a heavy brow, and his thoughtful eyes bent down, while the gay little girl trips lightly along, as if she were forced to keep hold of my hand, lest her feet should dance away from the earth.
yet there is sympathy between us.
if i pride myself on anything, it is because i have a smile that children love; and, on the other hand, there are few grown ladies that could entice me from the side of little annie; for i delight to let my mind go hand in hand with the mind of a sinless child.
so, come, annie; but if i moralize as we go, do not listen to me; only look about you, and be merry!
now we turn the corner.
here are hacks with two horses, and stage-coaches with four, thundering to meet each other, and trucks and carts moving at a slower pace, being heavily laden with barrels from the wharves, and here are rattling gigs, which perhaps will be smashed to pieces before our eyes.
hitherward, also, comes a man trundling a wheelbarrow along the pavement.
is not little annie afraid of such a tumult?
no; she does not even shrink closer to my side, but passes on with fearless confidence, a happy child amidst a great throng of grown people, who pay the same reverence to her infancy that they would to extreme old age.
nobody jostles her; all turn aside to make way for little annie; and, what is most singular, she appears conscious of her claim to such respect.
now her eyes brighten with pleasure!
a street-musician has seated himself on the steps of yonder church, and pours forth his strains to the busy town, a melody that has gone astray among the tramp of footsteps, the buzz of voices, and the war of passing wheels.
who heeds the poor organ-grinder?
none but myself and little annie, whose feet begin to move in unison with the lively tune, as if she were loath that music should be wasted without a dance.
but where would annie find a partner?
some have the gout in their toes, or the rheumatism in their joints; some are stiff with age; some feeble with disease; some are so lean that their bones would rattle, and others of such ponderous size that their agility would crack the flagstones; but many, many have leaden feet, because their hearts are far heavier than lead.
it is a sad thought that i have chanced upon.
what a company of dancers should we be!
for i, too, am a gentleman of sober footsteps, and therefore, little annie, let us walk sedately on.
it is a question with me, whether this giddy child, or my sage self, have most pleasure in looking at the shop-windows.
we love the silks of sunny hue, that glow within the darkened premises of the spruce drygoods" men; we are pleasantly dazzled by the burnished silver, and the chased gold, the rings of wedlock and the costly love-ornaments, glistening at the window of the jeweller; but annie, more than i, seeks for a glimpse of her passing figure in the dusty looking-glasses at the hardware stores.
all that is bright and gay attracts us both.
here is a shop to which the recollections of my boyhood, as well as present partialities, give a peculiar magic.
how delightful to let the fancy revel on the dainties of a confectioner; those pies, with such white and flaky paste, their contents being a mystery, whether rich mince, with whole plums intermixed, or piquant apple, delicately rose-flavored; those cakes, heart-shaped or round, piled in a lofty pyramid; those sweet little circlets, sweetly named kisses; those dark, majestic masses, fit to be bridal-loaves at the wedding of an heiress, mountains in size, their summits deeply snow-covered with sugar!
then the mighty treasures of sugar-plums, white and crimson and yellow, in large glass vases; and candy of all varieties; and those little cockles, or whatever they are called, much prized by children for their sweetness, and more for the mottoes which they enclose, by love-sick maids and bachelors!
o, my mouth waters, little annie, and so doth yours; but we will not be tempted, except to an imaginary feast; so let us hasten onward, devouring the vision of a plum-cake.
here are pleasures, as some people would say, of a more exalted kind, in the window of a bookseller.
is annie a literary lady?
yes; she is deeply read in peter parley's tomes, and has an increasing love for fairy-tales, though seldom met with nowadays, and she will subscribe, next year, to the juvenile miscellany.
but, truth to tell, she is apt to turn away from the printed page, and keep gazing at the pretty pictures, such as the gay-colored ones which make this shopwindow the continual loitering-place of children.
what would annie think, if, in the book which i mean to send her, on new year's day, she should find her sweet little self, bound up in silk or morocco with gilt edges, there to remain till she become a woman grown with children of her own to read about their mother's childhood!
that would be very queer.
little annie is weary of pictures, and pulls me onward by the hand, till suddenly we pause at the most wondrous shop in all the town.
o, my stars!
is this a toy-shop, or is it fairy-land?
for here are gilded chariots, in which the king and queen of the fairies might ride side by side, while their courtiers, on these small horses, should gallop in triumphal procession before and behind the royal pair.
here, too, are dishes of china-ware, fit to be the dining set of those same princely personages, when they make a regal banquet in the stateliest ball of their palace, full five feet high, and behold their nobles feasting adown the long perspective of the table.
betwixt the king and queen should sit my little annie, the prettiest fairy of them all.
here stands a turbaned turk, threatening us with his sabre, like an ugly heathen as he is.
and next a chinese mandarin, who nods his head at annie and myself.
here we may review a whole army of horse and foot, in red and blue uniforms, with drums, fifes, trumpets, and all kinds of noiseless music; they have halted on the shelf of this window, after their weary march from liliput.
but what cares annie for soldiers?
no conquering queen is she, neither a semiramis nor a catharine, her whole heart is set upon that doll, who gazes at us with such a fashionable stare.
this is the little girl's true plaything.
though made of wood, a doll is a visionary and ethereal personage, endowed by childish fancy with a peculiar life; the mimic lady is a heroine of romance, an actor and a sufferer in a thousand shadowy scenes, the chief inhabitant of that wild world with which children ape the real one.
little annie does not understand what i am saying, but looks wishfully at the proud lady in the window.
we will invite her home with us as we return.
meantime, good by, dame doll!
a toy yourself, you look forth from your window upon many ladies that are also toys, though they walk and speak, and upon a crowd in pursuit of toys, though they wear grave visages.
o, with your never-closing eyes, had you but an intellect to moralize on all that flits before them, what a wise doll would you be!
come, little annie, we shall find toys enough, go where we may.
now we elbow our way among the throng again.
it is curious, in the most crowded part of a town, to meet with living creatures that had their birthplace in some far solitude, but have acquired a second nature in the wilderness of men.
look up, annie, at that canary-bird, hanging out of the window in his cage.
poor little fellow!
his golden feathers are all tarnished in this smoky sunshine; he would have glistened twice as brightly among the summer islands; but still he has become a citizen in all his tastes and habits, and would not sing half so well without the uproar that drowns his music.
what a pity that he does not know how miserable he is!
there is a parrot, too, calling out, "pretty poll!
pretty poll!"
as we pass by.
foolish bird, to be talking about her prettiness to strangers, especially as she is not a pretty poll, though gaudily dressed in green and yellow.
if she had said, "pretty annie," there would have been some sense in it.
see that gray squirrel at the door of the fruit-shop, whirling round and round so merrily within his wire wheel!
being condemned to the treadmill, he makes it an amusement.
admirable philosophy!
here comes a big, rough dog, a countryman's dog in search of his master; smelling at everybody's heels, and touching little annie's hand with his cold nose, but hurrying away, though she would fain have patted him.
success to your search, fidelity!
and there sits a great yellow cat upon a window-sill, a very corpulent and comfortable cat, gazing at this transitory world, with owl's eyes, and making pithy comments, doubtless, or what appear such, to the silly beast.
o sage puss, make room for me beside you, and we will be a pair of philosophers!
here we see something to remind us of the town crier, and his ding-dong bell!
look!
look at that great cloth spread out in the air, pictured all over with wild beasts, as if they had met together to choose a king, according to their custom in the days of aesop.
but they are choosing neither a king nor a president; else we should hear a most horrible snarling!
they have come from the deep woods, and the wild mountains, and the desert sands, and the polar snows, only to do homage to my little annie.
as we enter among them, the great elephant makes us a bow, in the best style of elephantine courtesy, bending lowly down his mountain bulk, with trunk abased, and leg thrust out behind.
annie returns the salute, much to the gratification of the elephant, who is certainly the best-bred monster in the caravan.
the lion and the lioness are busy with two beef-bones.
the royal tiger, the beautiful, the untamable, keeps pacing his narrow cage with a haughty step, unmindful of the spectators, or recalling the fierce deeds of his former life, when he was wont to leap forth upon such inferior animals, from the jungles of bengal.
here we see the very same wolf, -- do not go near him, annie!
-- the self-same wolf that devoured little red riding hood and her grandmother.
in the next cage, a hyena from egypt, who has doubtless howled around the pyramids, and a black bear from our own forests are fellow-prisoners, and most excellent friends.
are there any two living creatures who have so few sympathies that they can not possibly be friends?
here sits a great white bear, whom common observers would call a very stupid beast, though i perceive him to be only absorbed in contemplation; he is thinking of his voyages on an iceberg, and of his comfortable home in the vicinity of the north pole, and of the little cubs whom he left rolling in the eternal snows.
in fact, he is a bear of sentiment.
but, o, those unsentimental monkeys the ugly, grinning, aping, chattering, ill-natured, mischievous, and queer little brutes.
annie does not love the monkeys.
their ugliness shocks her pure, instinctive delicacy of taste, and makes her mind unquiet, because it bears a wild and dark resemblance to humanity.
but here is a little pony, just big enough for annie to ride, and round and round he gallops in a circle, keeping time with his trampling hoofs to a band of music.
and here, -- with a laced coat and a cocked hat, and a riding whip in his hand, -- here comes a little gentleman, small enough to be king of the fairies, and ugly enough to be king of the gnomes, and takes a flying leap into the saddle.
merrily, merrily plays the music, and merrily gallops the pony, and merrily rides the little old gentleman.
come, annie, into the street again; perchance we may see monkeys on horseback there!
mercy on us, what a noisy world we quiet people live in!
did annie ever read the cries of london city?
with what lusty lungs doth yonder man proclaim that his wheelbarrow is full of lobsters!
here comes another mounted on a cart, and blowing a hoarse and dreadful blast from a tin horn, as much as to say, "fresh fish!"
and hark!
a voice on high, like that of a muezzin from the summit of a mosque, announcing that some chimney-sweeper has emerged from smoke and soot, and darksome caverns, into the upper air.
what cares the world for that?
but, well-a-day, we hear a shrill voice of affliction, the scream of a little child, rising louder with every repetition of that smart, sharp, slapping sound, produced by an open hand on tender flesh.
annie sympathizes, though without experience of such direful woe.
lo!
the town crier again, with some new secret for the public ear.
will he tell us of an auction, or of a lost pocketbook, or a show of beautiful wax figures, or of some monstrous beast more horrible than any in the caravan?
i guess the latter.
see how he uplifts the bell in his right hand, and shakes it slowly at first, then with a hurried motion, till the clapper seems to strike both sides at once, and the sounds are scattered forth in quick succession, far and near.
ding-dong!
ding-dong!
ding-dong!
now he raises his clear, loud voice, above all the din of the town; it drowns the buzzing talk of many tongues, and draws each man's mind from his own business; it rolls up and down the echoing street and ascends to the hushed chamber of the sick, and penetrates downward to the cellar kitchen, where the hot cook turns from the fire to listen.
who, of all that address the public ear, whether in church, or court-house, or hall of state, has such an attentive audience as the town crier?
what saith the people's orator?
""strayed from her home, a little girl, of five years old, in a blue silk frock and white pantalets, with brown curling hair and hazel eyes.
whoever will bring her back to her afflicted mother --" stop, stop, town crier!
the lost is found.
o, my pretty annie, we forgot to tell your mother of our ramble, and she is in despair, and has sent the town crier to bellow up and down the streets, afrighting old and young, for the loss of a little girl who has not once let go my hand!
well, let us hasten homeward; and as we go, forget not to thank heaven, my annie, that, after wandering a little way into the world, you may return at the first summons, with an untainted and unwearied heart, and be a happy child again.
but i have gone too far astray for the town crier to call me back.
sweet has been the charm of childhood on my spirit, throughout my ramble with little annie!
say not that it has been a waste of precious moments, an idle matter, a babble of childish talk, and a revery of childish imaginations, about topics unworthy of a grown man's notice.
has it been merely this?
not so; not so.
they are not truly wise who would affirm it.
as the pure breath of children revives the life of aged men, so is our moral nature revived by their free and simple thoughts, their native feeling, their airy mirth, for little cause or none, their grief, soon roused and soon allayed.
their influence on us is at least reciprocal with ours on them.
when our infancy is almost forgotten, and our boyhood long departed, though it seems but as yesterday; when life settles darkly down upon us, and we doubt whether to call ourselves young any more, then it is good to steal away from the society of bearded men, and even of gentler woman, and spend an hour or two with children.
after drinking from those fountains of still fresh existence, we shall return into the crowd, as i do now, to struggle onward and do our part in life, perhaps as fervently as ever, but, for a time, with a kinder and purer heart, and a spirit more lightly wise.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___snow_flakes_(from_"twice_told_tales").txt.out
there is snow in yonder cold gray sky of the morning!
- and, through the partially frosted window-panes, i love to watch the gradual beginning of the storm.
a few feathery flakes are scattered widely through the air, and hover downward with uncertain flight, now almost alighting on the earth, now whirled again aloft into remote regions of the atmosphere.
these are not the big flakes, heavy with moisture, which melt as they touch the ground, and are portentous of a soaking rain.
it is to be, in good earnest, a wintry storm.
the two or three people, visible on the side-walks, have an aspect of endurance, a blue-nosed, frosty fortitude, which is evidently assumed in anticipation of a comfortless and blustering day.
by nightfall, or at least before the sun sheds another glimmering smile upon us, the street and our little garden will be heaped with mountain snow-drifts.
the soil, already frozen for weeks past, is prepared to sustain whatever burden may be laid upon it; and, to a northern eye, the landscape will lose its melancholy bleakness and acquire a beauty of its own, when mother earth, like her children, shall have put on the fleecy garb of her winter's wear.
the cloud-spirits are slowly weaving her white mantle.
as yet, indeed, there is barely a rime like hoarfrost over the brown surface of the street; the withered green of the grass-plat is still discernible; and the slated roofs of the houses do but begin to look gray, instead of black.
all the snow that has yet fallen within the circumference of my view, were it heaped up together, would hardly equal the hillock of a grave.
thus gradually, by silent and stealthy influences, are great changes wrought.
these little snow-particles, which the storm-spirit flings by handfuls through the air, will bury the great earth under their accumulated mass, nor permit her to behold her sister sky again for dreary months.
we, likewise, shall lose sight of our mother's familiar visage, and must content ourselves with looking heavenward the oftener.
now, leaving the storm to do his appointed office, let us sit down, pen in hand, by our fireside.
gloomy as it may seem, there is an influence productive of cheerfulness, and favorable to imaginative thought, in the atmosphere of a snowy day.
the native of a southern clime may woo the muse beneath the heavy shade of summer foliage, reclining on banks of turf, while the sound of singing birds and warbling rivulets chimes in with the music of his soul.
in our brief summer, i do not think, but only exist in the vague enjoyment of a dream.
my hour of inspiration -- if that hour ever comes -- is when the green log hisses upon the hearth, and the bright flame, brighter for the gloom of the chamber, rustles high up the chimney, and the coals drop tinkling down among the growing heaps of ashes.
when the casement rattles in the gust, and the snow-flakes or the sleety raindrops pelt hard against the window-panes, then i spread out my sheet of paper, with the certainty that thoughts and fancies will gleam forth upon it, like stars at twilight, or like violets in may, -- perhaps to fade as soon.
however transitory their glow, they at least shine amid the darksome shadow which the clouds of the outward sky fling through the room.
blessed, therefore, and reverently welcomed by me, her true-born son, be new england's winter, which makes us, one and all, the nurslings of the storm, and sings a familiar lullaby even in the wildest shriek of the december blast.
now look we forth again, and see how much of his task the storm-spirit has done.
slow and sure!
he has the day, perchance the week, before him, and may take his own time to accomplish nature's burial in snow.
a smooth mantle is scarcely yet thrown over the withered grass-plat, and the dry stalks of annuals still thrust themselves through the white surface in all parts of the garden.
the leafless rose-bushes stand shivering in a shallow snow-drift, looking, poor things!
as disconsolate as if they possessed a human consciousness of the dreary scene.
this is a sad time for the shrubs that do not perish with the summer; they neither live nor die; what they retain of life seems but the chilling sense of death.
very sad are the flower shrubs in midwinter!
the roofs of the houses are now all white, save where the eddying wind has kept them bare at the bleak corners.
to discern the real intensity of the storm, we must fix upon some distant object, -- as yonder spire,-and observe how the riotous gust fights with the descending snow throughout the intervening space.
sometimes the entire prospect is obscured; then, again, we have a distinct, but transient glimpse of the tall steeple, like a giant's ghost; and now the dense wreaths sweep between, as if demons were flinging snowdrifts at each other, in mid-air.
look next into the street, where we have seen an amusing parallel to the combat of those fancied demons in the upper regions.
it is a snow-battle of school-boys.
what a pretty satire on war and military glory might be written, in the form of a child's story, by describing the snowball-fights of two rival schools, the alternate defeats and victories of each, and the final triumph of one party, or perhaps of neither!
what pitched battles, worthy to be chanted in homeric strains!
what storming of fortresses, built all of massive snowblocks!
what feats of individual prowess, and embodied onsets of martial enthusiasm!
and when some well-contested and decisive victory had put a period to the war, both armies should unite to build a lofty monument of snow upon the battle-field, and crown it with the victor's statue, hewn of the same frozen marble.
in a few days or weeks thereafter, the passer-by would observe a shapeless mound upon the level common; and, unmindful of the famous victory, would ask, "how came it there?
who reared it?
and what means it?"
the shattered pedestal of many a battle monument has provoked these questions, when none could answer.
turn we again to the fireside, and sit musing there, lending our ears to the wind, till perhaps it shall seem like an articulate voice, and dictate wild and airy matter for the pen.
would it might inspire me to sketch out the personification of a new england winter!
and that idea, if i can seize the snow-wreathed figures that flit before my fancy, shall be the theme of the next page.
how does winter herald his approach?
by the shrieking blast of latter autumn, which is nature's cry of lamentation, as the destroyer rushes among the shivering groves where she has lingered, and scatters the sear leaves upon the tempest.
when that cry is heard, the people wrap themselves in cloaks, and shake their heads disconsolately, saying, "winter is at hand!"
then the axe of the woodcutter echoes sharp and diligently in the forest; then the coal-merchants rejoice, because each shriek of nature in her agony adds something to the price of coal per ton; then the peat-smoke spreads its aromatic fragrance through the atmosphere.
a few days more; and at eventide, the children look out of the window, and dimly perceive the flaunting of a snowy mantle in the air.
it is stern winter's vesture.
they crowd around the hearth, and cling to their mother's gown, or press between their father's knees, affrighted by the hollow roaring voice, that bellows a-down the wide flue of the chimney.
it is the voice of winter; and when parents and children bear it, they shudder and exclaim, "winter is come!
cold winter has begun his reign already!"
now, throughout new england, each hearth becomes an altar, sending up the smoke of a continued sacrifice to the immitigable deity who tyrannizes over forest, country side, and town.
wrapped in his white mantle, his staff a huge icicle, his beard and hair a wind-tossed snow-drift, he travels over the land, in the midst of the northern blast; and woe to the homeless wanderer whom he finds upon his path!
there he lies stark and stiff, a human shape of ice, on the spot where winter overtook him.
on strides the tyrant over the rushing rivers and broad lakes, which turn to rock beneath his footsteps.
his dreary empire is established; all around stretches the desolation of the pole.
yet not ungrateful be his new england children, -- for winter is our sire, though a stern and rough one, -- not ungrateful even for the severities, which have nourished our unyielding strength of character.
and let us thank him, too, for the sleigh-rides, cheered by the music of merry bells; for the crackling and rustling hearth, when the ruddy firelight gleams on hardy manhood and the blooming cheek of woman; for all the home enjoyments, and the kindred virtues, which flourish in a frozen soil.
not that we grieve, when, after some seven months of storm and bitter frost, spring, in the guise of a flower-crowned virgin, is seen driving away the hoary despot, pelting him with violets by the handful, and strewing green grass on the path behind him.
often, ere he will give up his empire, old winter rushes fiercely back, and hurls a snow-drift at the shrinking form of spring; yet, step by step, he is compelled to retreat northward, and spends the summer months within the arctic circle.
such fantasies, intermixed among graver toils of mind, have made the winter's day pass pleasantly.
meanwhile, the storm has raged without abatement, and now, as the brief afternoon declines, is tossing denser volumes to and fro about the atmosphere.
on the window-sill, there is a layer of snow, reaching half-way up the lowest pane of glass.
the garden is one unbroken bed.
along the street are two or three spots of uncovered earth, where the gust has whirled away the snow, heaping it elsewhere to the fence-tops, or piling huge banks against the doors of houses.
a solitary passenger is seen, now striding mid-leg deep across a drift, now scudding over the bare ground, while his cloak is swollen with the wind.
and now the jingling of bells, a sluggish sound, responsive to the horse's toilsome progress through the unbroken drifts, announces the passage of a sleigh, with a boy clinging behind, and ducking his head to escape detection by the driver.
next comes a sledge, laden with wood for some unthrifty housekeeper, whom winter has surprised at a cold hearth.
but what dismal equipage now struggles along the uneven street?
a sable hearse, bestrewn with snow, is bearing a dead man through the storm to his frozen bed.
o, how dreary is a burial in winter, when the bosom of mother earth has no warmth for her poor child!
evening -- the early eve of december -- begins to spread its deepening veil over the comfortless scene; the firelight gradually brightens, and throws my flickering shadow upon the walls and ceiling of the chamber; but still the storm rages and rattles, against the windows.
alas!
i shiver, and think it time to be disconsolate.
but, taking a farewell glance at dead nature in her shroud, i perceive a flock of snow-birds, skimming lightsomely through the tempest, and flitting from drift to drift, as sportively as swallows in the delightful prime of summer.
whence come they?
where do they build their nests, and seek their food?
why, having airy wings, do they not follow summer around the earth, instead of making themselves the playmates of the storm, and fluttering on the dreary verge of the winter's eve?
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___sunday_at_home_(from_"twice_told_tales").txt.out
every sabbath morning in the summer time i thrust back the curtain, to watch the sunrise stealing down a steeple, which stands opposite my chamber-window.
first, the weathercock begins to flash; then, a fainter lustre gives the spire an airy aspect; next it encroaches on the tower, and causes the index of the dial to glisten like gold, as it points to the gilded figure of the hour.
now, the loftiest window gleams, and now the lower.
the carved framework of the portal is marked strongly out.
at length, the morning glory, in its descent from heaven, comes down the stone steps, one by one; and there stands the steeple, glowing with fresh radiance, while the shades of twilight still hide themselves among the nooks of the adjacent buildings.
methinks, though the same sun brightens it every fair morning, yet the steeple has a peculiar robe of brightness for the sabbath.
by dwelling near a church, a person soon contracts an attachment for the edifice.
we naturally personify it, and conceive its massive walls and its dim emptiness to be instinct with a calm, and meditative, and somewhat melancholy spirit.
but the steeple stands foremost, in our thoughts, as well as locally.
it impresses us as a giant, with a mind comprehensive and discriminating enough to care for the great and small concerns of all the town.
hourly, while it speaks a moral to the few that think, it reminds thousands of busy individuals of their separate and most secret affairs.
it is the steeple, too, that flings abroad the hurried and irregular accents of general alarm; neither have gladness and festivity found a better utterance, than by its tongue; and when the dead are slowly passing to their home, the steeple has a melancholy voice to bid them welcome.
yet, in spite of this connection with human interests, what a moral loneliness, on week-days, broods round about its stately height!
it has no kindred with the houses above which it towers; it looks down into the narrow thoroughfare, the lonelier, because the crowd are elbowing their passage at its base.
a glance at the body of the church deepens this impression.
within, by the light of distant windows, amid refracted shadows, we discern the vacant pews and empty galleries, the silent organ, the voiceless pulpit, and the clock, which tells to solitude how time is passing.
time, -- where man lives not, -- what is it but eternity?
and in the church, we might suppose, are garnered up, throughout the week, all thoughts and feelings that have reference to eternity, until the holy day comes round again, to let them forth.
might not, then, its more appropriate site be in the outskirts of the town, with space for old trees to wave around it, and throw their solemn shadows over a quiet green?
we will say more of this, hereafter.
but, on the sabbath, i watch the earliest sunshine, and fancy that a holier brightness marks the day, when there shall be no buzz of voices on the exchange, nor traffic in the shops, nor crowd, nor business, anywhere but at church.
many have fancied so.
for my own part, whether i see it scattered down among tangled woods, or beaming broad across the fields, or hemmed in between brick buildings, or tracing out the figure of the casement on my chamber-floor, still i recognize the sabbath sunshine.
and ever let me recognize it!
some illusions, and this among them, are the shadows of great truths.
doubts may flit around me, or seem to close their evil wings, and settle down; but so long as i imagine that the earth is hallowed, and the light of heaven retains its sanctity, on the sabbath, -- while that blessed sunshine lives within me, -- never can my soul have lost the instinct of its faith.
if it have gone astray, it will return again.
i love to spend such pleasant sabbaths, from morning till night, behind the curtain of my open window.
are they spent amiss?
every spot, so near the church as to be visited by the circling shadow of the steeple, should be deemed consecrated ground, to-day.
with stronger truth be it said, that a devout heart may consecrate a den of thieves, as an evil one may convert a temple to the same.
my heart, perhaps, has not such holy, nor, i would fain trust, such impious potency.
it must suffice, that, though my form be absent, my inner man goes constantly to church, while many, whose bodily presence fills the accustomed seats, have left their souls at home.
but i am there, even before my friend, the sexton.
at length, he comes, -- a man of kindly, but sombre aspect, in dark gray clothes, and hair of the same mixture, -- he comes and applies his key to the wide portal.
now my thoughts may go in among the dusty pews, or ascend the pulpit without sacrilege, but soon come forth again to enjoy the music of the bell.
how glad, yet solemn too!
all the steeples in town are talking together, aloft in the sunny air, and rejoicing among themselves, while their spires point heavenward.
meantime, here are the children assembling to the sabbath school, which is kept somewhere within the church.
often, while looking at the arched portal, i have been gladdened by the sight of a score of these little girls and boys, in pink, blue, yellow, and crimson frocks, bursting suddenly forth into the sunshine, like a swarm of gay butterflies that had been shut up in the solemn gloom.
or i might compare them to cherubs, haunting that holy place.
about a quarter of an hour before the second ringing of the bell, individuals of the congregation begin to appear.
the earliest is invariably an old woman in black, whose bent frame and rounded shoulders are evidently laden with some heavy affliction, which she is eager to rest upon the altar.
would that the sabbath came twice as often, for the sake of that sorrowful old soul!
there is an elderly man, also, who arrives in good season, and leans against the corner of the tower, just within the line of its shadow, looking downward with a darksome brow.
i sometimes fancy that the old woman is the happier of the two.
after these, others drop in singly, and by twos and threes, either disappearing through the doorway or taking their stand in its vicinity.
at last, and always with an unexpected sensation, the bell turns in the steeple overhead, and throws out an irregular clangor, jarring the tower to its foundation.
as if there were magic in the sound, the sidewalks of the street, both up and down along, are immediately thronged with two long lines of people, all converging hitherward, and streaming into the church.
perhaps the far-off roar of a coach draws nearer, -- a deeper thunder by its contrast with the surrounding stillness, -- until it sets down the wealthy worshippers at the portal, among their humblest brethren.
beyond that entrance, in theory at least, there are no distinctions of earthly rank; nor indeed, by the goodly apparel which is flaunting in the sun, would there seem to be such, on the hither side.
those pretty girls!
why will they disturb my pious meditations!
of all days in the week, they should strive to look least fascinating on the sabbath, instead of heightening their mortal loveliness, as if to rival the blessed angels, and keep our thoughts from heaven.
were i the minister himself, i must needs look.
one girl is white muslin from the waist upwards, and black silk downwards to her slippers; a second blushes from topknot to shoe-tie, one universal scarlet; another shines of a pervading yellow, as if she had made a garment of the sunshine.
the greater part, however, have adopted a milder cheerfulness of hue.
their veils, especially when the wind raises them, give a lightness to the general effect, and make them appear like airy phantoms, as they flit up the steps, and vanish into the sombre doorway.
nearly all -- though it is very strange that i should know it -- wear white stockings, white as snow, and neat slippers, laced crosswise with black ribbon, pretty high above the ankles.
a white stocking is infinitely more effective than a black one.
here comes the clergyman, slow and solemn, in severe simplicity, needing no black silk gown to denote his office.
his aspect claims my reverence, but can not win my love.
were i to picture saint peter, keeping fast the gate of heaven, and frowning, more stern than pitiful, on the wretched applicants, that face should be my study.
by middle age, or sooner, the creed has generally wrought upon the heart, or been a-tempered by it.
as the minister passes into the church, the bell holds its iron tongue, and all the low murmur of the congregation dies away.
the gray sexton looks up and down the street, and then at my window-curtain, where, through the small peephole, i half fancy that he has caught my eye.
now, every loiterer has gone in, and the street lies asleep in the quiet sun, while a feeling of loneliness comes over me, and brings also an uneasy sense of neglected privileges and duties.
o, i ought to have gone to church!
the hustle of the rising congregation reaches my ears.
they are standing up to pray.
could i bring my heart into unison with those who are praying in yonder church, and lift it heavenward, with a fervor of supplication, but no distinct request, would not that be the safest kind of prayer?
""lord, look down upon me in mercy!"
with that sentiment gushing from my soul, might i not leave all the rest to him?
hark!
the hymn.
this, at least, is a portion of the service which i can enjoy better than if i sat within the walls, where the full choir and the massive melody of the organ, would fall with a weight upon me.
at this distance, it thrills through my frame, and plays upon my heartstrings, with a pleasure both of the sense and spirit.
heaven be praised, i know nothing of music, as a science; and the most elaborate harmonies, if they please me, please as simply as a nurse's lullaby.
the strain has ceased, but prolongs itself in my mind, with fanciful echoes, till i start from my revery, and find that the sermon has commenced.
it is my misfortune seldom to fructify, in a regular way, by any but printed sermons.
the first strong idea, which the preacher utters, gives birth to a train of thought, and leads me onward, step by step, quite out of hearing of the good man's voice, unless he be indeed a son of thunder.
at my open window, catching now and then a sentence of the "parson's saw," i am as well situated as at the foot of the pulpit stairs.
the broken and scattered fragments of this one discourse will be the texts of many sermons, preached by those colleague pastors, -- colleagues, but often disputants, -- my mind and heart.
the former pretends to be a scholar, and perplexes me with doctrinal points; the latter takes me on the score of feeling; and both, like several other preachers, spend their strength to very little purpose.
i, their sole auditor, can not always understand them.
suppose that a few hours have passed, and behold me still behind my curtain, just before the close of the afternoon service.
the hour-hand on the dial has passed beyond four o'clock.
the declining sun is hidden behind the steeple, and throws its shadow straight across the street, so that my chamber is darkened, as with a cloud.
around the church-door all is solitude, and an impenetrable obscurity beyond the threshold.
a commotion is heard.
the seats are slammed down, and the pew-doors thrown back, -- a multitude of feet are trampling along the unseen aisles, -- and the congregation bursts suddenly through the portal.
foremost, scampers a rabble of boys, behind whom moves a dense and dark phalanx of grown men, and lastly, a crowd of females, with young children, and a few scattered husbands.
this instantaneous outbreak of life into loneliness is one of the pleasantest scenes of the day.
some of the good people are rubbing their eyes, thereby intimating that they have been wrapped, as it were, in a sort of holy trance, by the fervor of their devotion.
there is a young man, a third-rate coxcomb, whose first care is always to flourish a white handkerchief, and brush the seat of a tight pair of black silk pantaloons, which shine as if varnished.
they must have been made of the stuff called "everlasting," or perhaps of the same piece as christian's garments in the pilgrim's progress, for he put them on two summers ago, and has not yet worn the gloss off.
i have taken a great liking to those black silk pantaloons.
but, now, with nods and greetings among friends, each matron takes her husband's arm, and paces gravely homeward, while the girls also flutter away, after arranging sunset walks with their favored bachelors.
the sabbath eve is the eve of love.
at length, the whole congregation is dispersed.
no; here, with faces as glossy as black satin, come two sable ladies and a sable gentleman, and close in their rear the minister, who softens his severe visage, and bestows a kind word on each.
poor souls!
to them the most captivating picture of bliss in heaven is -- "there we shall be white!"
all is solitude again.
but, hark!
-- a broken warbling of voices, and now, attuning its grandeur to their sweetness, a stately peal of the organ.
who are the choristers?
let me dream that the angels, who came down from heaven, this blessed morn, to blend themselves with the worship of the truly good, are playing and singing their farewell to the earth.
on the wings of that rich melody they were borne upward.
this, gentle reader, is merely a flight of poetry.
a few of the singing men and singing women had lingered behind their fellows, and raised their voices fitfully, and blew a careless note upon the organ.
yet, it lifted my soul higher than all their former strains.
they are gone, the sons and daughters of music, -- and the gray sexton is just closing the portal.
for six days more, there will be no face of man in the pews, and aisles, and galleries, nor a voice in the pulpit, nor music in the choir.
was it worth while to rear this massive edifice, to be a desert in the heart of the town, and populous only for a few hours of each seventh day?
o, but the church is a symbol of religion!
may its site, which was consecrated on the day when the first tree was felled, be kept holy forever, a spot of solitude and peace, amid the trouble and vanity of our week-day world!
there is a moral, and a religion too, even in the silent walls.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___tanglewood_tales.txt.out
the wayside.
introductory.
a short time ago, i was favored with a flying visit from my young friend eustace bright, whom i had not before met with since quitting the breezy mountains of berkshire.
it being the winter vacation at his college, eustace was allowing himself a little relaxation, in the hope, he told me, of repairing the inroads which severe application to study had made upon his health; and i was happy to conclude, from the excellent physical condition in which i saw him, that the remedy had already been attended with very desirable success.
he had now run up from boston by the noon train, partly impelled by the friendly regard with which he is pleased to honor me, and partly, as i soon found, on a matter of literary business.
it delighted me to receive mr. bright, for the first time, under a roof, though a very humble one, which i could really call my own.
nor did i fail -lrb- as is the custom of landed proprietors all about the world -rrb- to parade the poor fellow up and down over my half a dozen acres; secretly rejoicing, nevertheless, that the disarray of the inclement season, and particularly the six inches of snow then upon the ground, prevented him from observing the ragged neglect of soil and shrubbery into which the place had lapsed.
it was idle, however, to imagine that an airy guest from monument mountain, bald summit, and old graylock, shaggy with primeval forests, could see anything to admire in my poor little hillside, with its growth of frail and insect-eaten locust trees.
eustace very frankly called the view from my hill top tame; and so, no doubt, it was, after rough, broken, rugged, headlong berkshire, and especially the northern parts of the county, with which his college residence had made him familiar.
but to me there is a peculiar, quiet charm in these broad meadows and gentle eminences.
they are better than mountains, because they do not stamp and stereotype themselves into the brain, and thus grow wearisome with the same strong impression, repeated day after day.
a few summer weeks among mountains, a lifetime among green meadows and placid slopes, with outlines forever new, because continually fading out of the memory -- such would be my sober choice.
i doubt whether eustace did not internally pronounce the whole thing a bore, until i led him to my predecessor's little ruined, rustic summer house, midway on the hillside.
it is a mere skeleton of slender, decaying tree trunks, with neither walls nor a roof; nothing but a tracery of branches and twigs, which the next wintry blast will be very likely to scatter in fragments along the terrace.
it looks, and is, as evanescent as a dream; and yet, in its rustic network of boughs, it has somehow enclosed a hint of spiritual beauty, and has become a true emblem of the subtile and ethereal mind that planned it.
i made eustace bright sit down on a snow bank, which had heaped itself over the mossy seat, and gazing through the arched windows opposite, he acknowledged that the scene at once grew picturesque.
""simple as it looks," said he, "this little edifice seems to be the work of magic.
it is full of suggestiveness, and, in its way, is as good as a cathedral.
ah, it would be just the spot for one to sit in, of a summer afternoon, and tell the children some more of those wild stories from the classic myths!"
""it would, indeed," answered i. "the summer house itself, so airy and so broken, is like one of those old tales, imperfectly remembered; and these living branches of the baldwin apple tree, thrusting so rudely in, are like your unwarrantable interpolations.
but, by the by, have you added any more legends to the series, since the publication of the "wonder-book"?"
""many more," said eustace; "primrose, periwinkle, and the rest of them, allow me no comfort of my life unless i tell them a story every day or two.
i have run away from home partly to escape the importunity of these little wretches!
but i have written out six of the new stories, and have brought them for you to look over."
""are they as good as the first?"
i inquired.
""better chosen, and better handled," replied eustace bright.
""you will say so when you read them."
""possibly not," i remarked.
""i know from my own experience, that an author's last work is always his best one, in his own estimate, until it quite loses the red heat of composition.
after that, it falls into its true place, quietly enough.
but let us adjourn to my study, and examine these new stories.
it would hardly be doing yourself justice, were you to bring me acquainted with them, sitting here on this snow bank!"
so we descended the hill to my small, old cottage, and shut ourselves up in the south-eastern room, where the sunshine comes in, warmly and brightly, through the better half of a winter's day.
eustace put his bundle of manuscript into my hands; and i skimmed through it pretty rapidly, trying to find out its merits and demerits by the touch of my fingers, as a veteran story-teller ought to know how to do.
it will be remembered that mr. bright condescended to avail himself of my literary experience by constituting me editor of the "wonder-book."
as he had no reason to complain of the reception of that erudite work by the public, he was now disposed to retain me in a similar position with respect to the present volume, which he entitled tanglewood tales.
not, as eustace hinted, that there was any real necessity for my services as introducer, inasmuch as his own name had become established in some good degree of favor with the literary world.
but the connection with myself, he was kind enough to say, had been highly agreeable; nor was he by any means desirous, as most people are, of kicking away the ladder that had perhaps helped him to reach his present elevation.
my young friend was willing, in short, that the fresh verdure of his growing reputation should spread over my straggling and half-naked boughs; even as i have sometimes thought of training a vine, with its broad leafiness, and purple fruitage, over the worm-eaten posts and rafters of the rustic summer house.
i was not insensible to the advantages of his proposal, and gladly assured him of my acceptance.
merely from the title of the stories i saw at once that the subjects were not less rich than those of the former volume; nor did i at all doubt that mr. bright's audacity -lrb- so far as that endowment might avail -rrb- had enabled him to take full advantage of whatever capabilities they offered.
yet, in spite of my experience of his free way of handling them, i did not quite see, i confess, how he could have obviated all the difficulties in the way of rendering them presentable to children.
these old legends, so brimming over with everything that is most abhorrent to our christianized moral sense some of them so hideous, others so melancholy and miserable, amid which the greek tragedians sought their themes, and moulded them into the sternest forms of grief that ever the world saw; was such material the stuff that children's playthings should be made of!
how were they to be purified?
how was the blessed sunshine to be thrown into them?
but eustace told me that these myths were the most singular things in the world, and that he was invariably astonished, whenever he began to relate one, by the readiness with which it adapted itself to the childish purity of his auditors.
the objectionable characteristics seem to be a parasitical growth, having no essential connection with the original fable.
they fall away, and are thought of no more, the instant he puts his imagination in sympathy with the innocent little circle, whose wide-open eyes are fixed so eagerly upon him.
thus the stories -lrb- not by any strained effort of the narrator's, but in harmony with their inherent germ -rrb- transform themselves, and re-assume the shapes which they might be supposed to possess in the pure childhood of the world.
when the first poet or romancer told these marvellous legends -lrb- such is eustace bright's opinion -rrb-, it was still the golden age.
evil had never yet existed; and sorrow, misfortune, crime, were mere shadows which the mind fancifully created for itself, as a shelter against too sunny realities; or, at most, but prophetic dreams to which the dreamer himself did not yield a waking credence.
children are now the only representatives of the men and women of that happy era; and therefore it is that we must raise the intellect and fancy to the level of childhood, in order to re-create the original myths.
i let the youthful author talk as much and as extravagantly as he pleased, and was glad to see him commencing life with such confidence in himself and his performances.
a few years will do all that is necessary towards showing him the truth in both respects.
meanwhile, it is but right to say, he does really appear to have overcome the moral objections against these fables, although at the expense of such liberties with their structure as must be left to plead their own excuse, without any help from me.
indeed, except that there was a necessity for it -- and that the inner life of the legends can not be come at save by making them entirely one's own property -- there is no defense to be made.
eustace informed me that he had told his stories to the children in various situations -- in the woods, on the shore of the lake, in the dell of shadow brook, in the playroom, at tanglewood fireside, and in a magnificent palace of snow, with ice windows, which he helped his little friends to build.
his auditors were even more delighted with the contents of the present volume than with the specimens which have already been given to the world.
the classically learned mr. pringle, too, had listened to two or three of the tales, and censured them even more bitterly than he did the three golden apples; so that, what with praise, and what with criticism, eustace bright thinks that there is good hope of at least as much success with the public as in the case of the "wonderbook."
i made all sorts of inquiries about the children, not doubting that there would be great eagerness to hear of their welfare, among some good little folks who have written to me, to ask for another volume of myths.
they are all, i am happy to say -lrb- unless we except clover -rrb-, in excellent health and spirits.
primrose is now almost a young lady, and, eustace tells me, is just as saucy as ever.
she pretends to consider herself quite beyond the age to be interested by such idle stories as these; but, for all that, whenever a story is to be told, primrose never fails to be one of the listeners, and to make fun of it when finished.
periwinkle is very much grown, and is expected to shut up her baby house and throw away her doll in a month or two more.
sweet fern has learned to read and write, and has put on a jacket and pair of pantaloons -- all of which improvements i am sorry for.
squash blossom, blue eye, plantain, and buttercup have had the scarlet fever, but came easily through it.
huckleberry, milkweed, and dandelion were attacked with the whooping cough, but bore it bravely, and kept out of doors whenever the sun shone.
cowslip, during the autumn, had either the measles, or some eruption that looked very much like it, but was hardly sick a day.
poor clover has been a good deal troubled with her second teeth, which have made her meagre in aspect and rather fractious in temper; nor, even when she smiles, is the matter much mended, since it discloses a gap just within her lips, almost as wide as the barn door.
but all this will pass over, and it is predicted that she will turn out a very pretty girl.
as for mr. bright himself, he is now in his senior year at williams college, and has a prospect of graduating with some degree of honorable distinction at the next commencement.
in his oration for the bachelor's degree, he gives me to understand, he will treat of the classical myths, viewed in the aspect of baby stories, and has a great mind to discuss the expediency of using up the whole of ancient history, for the same purpose.
i do not know what he means to do with himself after leaving college, but trust that, by dabbling so early with the dangerous and seductive business of authorship, he will not be tempted to become an author by profession.
if so i shall be very sorry for the little that i have had to do with the matter, in encouraging these first beginnings.
i wish there were any likelihood of my soon seeing primrose, periwinkle, dandelion, sweet fern, clover plantain, huckleberry, milkweed, cowslip, buttercup, blue eye, and squash blossom again.
but as i do not know when i shall re-visit tanglewood, and as eustace bright probably will not ask me to edit a third "wonderbook," the public of little folks must not expect to hear any more about those dear children from me.
heaven bless them, and everybody else, whether grown people or children!
the minotaur.
in the old city of troezene, at the foot of a lofty mountain, there lived, a very long time ago, a little boy named theseus.
his grandfather, king pittheus, was the sovereign of that country, and was reckoned a very wise man; so that theseus, being brought up in the royal palace, and being naturally a bright lad, could hardly fail of profiting by the old king's instructions.
his mother's name was aethra.
as for his father, the boy had never seen him.
but, from his earliest remembrance, aethra used to go with little theseus into a wood, and sit down upon a moss-grown rock, which was deeply sunken into the earth.
here she often talked with her son about his father, and said that he was called aegeus, and that he was a great king, and ruled over attica, and dwelt at athens, which was as famous a city as any in the world.
theseus was very fond of hearing about king aegeus, and often asked his good mother aethra why he did not come and live with them at troezene.
""ah, my dear son," answered aethra, with a sigh, "a monarch has his people to take care of.
the men and women over whom he rules are in the place of children to him; and he can seldom spare time to love his own children as other parents do.
your father will never be able to leave his kingdom for the sake of seeing his little boy."
""well, but, dear mother," asked the boy, "why can not i go to this famous city of athens, and tell king aegeus that i am his son?"
""that may happen by and by," said aethra.
""be patient, and we shall see.
you are not yet big and strong enough to set out on such an errand."
""and how soon shall i be strong enough?"
theseus persisted in inquiring.
""you are but a tiny boy as yet," replied his mother.
""see if you can lift this rock on which we are sitting?"
the little fellow had a great opinion of his own strength.
so, grasping the rough protuberances of the rock, he tugged and toiled amain, and got himself quite out of breath, without being able to stir the heavy stone.
it seemed to be rooted into the ground.
no wonder he could not move it; for it would have taken all the force of a very strong man to lift it out of its earthy bed.
his mother stood looking on, with a sad kind of a smile on her lips and in her eyes, to see the zealous and yet puny efforts of her little boy.
she could not help being sorrowful at finding him already so impatient to begin his adventures in the world.
""you see how it is, my dear theseus," said she.
""you must possess far more strength than now before i can trust you to go to athens, and tell king aegeus that you are his son.
but when you can lift this rock, and show me what is hidden beneath it, i promise you my permission to depart."
often and often, after this, did theseus ask his mother whether it was yet time for him to go to athens; and still his mother pointed to the rock, and told him that, for years to come, he could not be strong enough to move it.
and again and again the rosy-checked and curly-headed boy would tug and strain at the huge mass of stone, striving, child as he was, to do what a giant could hardly have done without taking both of his great hands to the task.
meanwhile the rock seemed to be sinking farther and farther into the ground.
the moss grew over it thicker and thicker, until at last it looked almost like a soft green seat, with only a few gray knobs of granite peeping out.
the overhanging trees, also, shed their brown leaves upon it, as often as the autumn came; and at its base grew ferns and wild flowers, some of which crept quite over its surface.
to all appearance, the rock was as firmly fastened as any other portion of the earth's substance.
but, difficult as the matter looked, theseus was now growing up to be such a vigorous youth, that, in his own opinion, the time would quickly come when he might hope to get the upper hand of this ponderous lump of stone.
""mother, i do believe it has started!"
cried he, after one of his attempts.
""the earth around it is certainly a little cracked!"
""no, no, child!"
his mother hastily answered.
""it is not possible you can have moved it, such a boy as you still are!"
nor would she be convinced, although theseus showed her the place where he fancied that the stem of a flower had been partly uprooted by the movement of the rock.
but aethra sighed, and looked disquieted; for, no doubt, she began to be conscious that her son was no longer a child, and that, in a little while hence, she must send him forth among the perils and troubles of the world.
it was not more than a year afterwards when they were again sitting on the moss-covered stone.
aethra had once more told him the oft-repeated story of his father, and how gladly he would receive theseus at his stately palace, and how he would present him to his courtiers and the people, and tell them that here was the heir of his dominions.
the eyes of theseus glowed with enthusiasm, and he would hardly sit still to hear his mother speak.
""dear mother aethra," he exclaimed, "i never felt half so strong as now!
i am no longer a child, nor a boy, nor a mere youth!
i feel myself a man!
it is now time to make one earnest trial to remove the stone."
""ah, my dearest theseus," replied his mother "not yet!
not yet!"
""yes, mother," said he, resolutely, "the time has come!"
then theseus bent himself in good earnest to the task, and strained every sinew, with manly strength and resolution.
he put his whole brave heart into the effort.
he wrestled with the big and sluggish stone, as if it had been a living enemy.
he heaved, he lifted, he resolved now to succeed, or else to perish there, and let the rock be his monument forever!
aethra stood gazing at him, and clasped her hands, partly with a mother's pride, and partly with a mother's sorrow.
the great rock stirred!
yes, it was raised slowly from the bedded moss and earth, uprooting the shrubs and flowers along with it, and was turned upon its side.
theseus had conquered!
while taking breath, he looked joyfully at his mother, and she smiled upon him through her tears.
""yes, theseus," she said, "the time has come, and you must stay no longer at my side!
see what king aegeus, your royal father, left for you beneath the stone, when he lifted it in his mighty arms, and laid it on the spot whence you have now removed it."
theseus looked, and saw that the rock had been placed over another slab of stone, containing a cavity within it; so that it somewhat resembled a roughly-made chest or coffer, of which the upper mass had served as the lid.
within the cavity lay a sword, with a golden hilt, and a pair of sandals.
""that was your father's sword," said aethra, "and those were his sandals.
when he went to be king of athens, he bade me treat you as a child until you should prove yourself a man by lifting this heavy stone.
that task being accomplished, you are to put on his sandals, in order to follow in your father's footsteps, and to gird on his sword, so that you may fight giants and dragons, as king aegeus did in his youth."
""i will set out for athens this very day!"
cried theseus.
but his mother persuaded him to stay a day or two longer, while she got ready some necessary articles for his journey.
when his grandfather, the wise king pittheus, heard that theseus intended to present himself at his father's palace, he earnestly advised him to get on board of a vessel, and go by sea; because he might thus arrive within fifteen miles of athens, without either fatigue or danger.
""the roads are very bad by land," quoth the venerable king; "and they are terribly infested with robbers and monsters.
a mere lad, like theseus, is not fit to be trusted on such a perilous journey, all by himself.
no, no; let him go by sea."
but when theseus heard of robbers and monsters, he pricked up his ears, and was so much the more eager to take the road along which they were to be met with.
on the third day, therefore, he bade a respectful farewell to his grandfather, thanking him for all his kindness; and, after affectionately embracing his mother, he set forth with a good many of her tears glistening on his cheeks, and some, if the truth must be told, that had gushed out of his own eyes.
but he let the sun and wind dry them, and walked stoutly on, playing with the golden hilt of his sword, and taking very manly strides in his father's sandals.
i can not stop to tell you hardly any of the adventures that befell theseus on the road to athens.
it is enough to say, that he quite cleared that part of the country of the robbers about whom king pittheus had been so much alarmed.
one of these bad people was named procrustes; and he was indeed a terrible fellow, and had an ugly way of making fun of the poor travelers who happened to fall into his clutches.
in his cavern he had a bed, on which, with great pretense of hospitality, he invited his guests to lie down; but, if they happened to be shorter than the bed, this wicked villain stretched them out by main force; or, if they were too tall, he lopped off their heads or feet, and laughed at what he had done, as an excellent joke.
thus, however weary a man might be, he never liked to lie in the bed of procrustes.
another of these robbers, named scinis, must likewise have been a very great scoundrel.
he was in the habit of flinging his victims off a high cliff into the sea; and, in order to give him exactly his deserts, theseus tossed him off the very same place.
but if you will believe me, the sea would not pollute itself by receiving such a bad person into its bosom; neither would the earth, having once got rid of him, consent to take him back; so that, between the cliff and the sea, scinis stuck fast in the air, which was forced to bear the burden of his naughtiness.
after these memorable deeds, theseus heard of an enormous sow, which ran wild, and was the terror of all the farmers round about; and, as he did not consider himself above doing any good thing that came in his way, he killed this monstrous creature, and gave the carcass to the poor people for bacon.
the great sow had been an awful beast, while ramping about the woods and fields, but was a pleasant object enough when cut up into joints, and smoking on i know not how many dinner tables.
thus, by the time he reached his journey's end, theseus had done many valiant feats with his father's golden-hilted sword, and had gained the renown of being one of the bravest young men of the day.
his fame traveled faster than he did, and reached athens before him.
as he entered the city, he heard the inhabitants talking at the street corners, and saying that hercules was brave, and jason too, and castor and pollux likewise, but that theseus, the son of their own king, would turn out as great a hero as the best of them.
theseus took longer strides on hearing this, and fancied himself sure of a magnificent reception at his father's court, since he came thither with fame to blow her trumpet before him, and cry to king aegeus, "behold your son!"
he little suspected, innocent youth that he was, that here, in this very athens, where his father reigned, a greater danger awaited him than any which he had encountered on the road.
yet this was the truth.
you must understand that the father of theseus, though not very old in years, was almost worn out with the cares of government, and had thus grown aged before his time.
his nephews, not expecting him to live a very great while, intended to get all the power of the kingdom into their own hands.
but when they heard that theseus had arrived in athens, and learned what a gallant young man he was, they saw that he would not be at all the kind of a person to let them steal away his father's crown and scepter, which ought to be his own by right of inheritance.
thus these bad-hearted nephews of king aegeus, who were the own cousins of theseus, at once became his enemies.
a still more dangerous enemy was medea, the wicked enchantress; for she was now the king's wife, and wanted to give the kingdom to her son medus, instead of letting it be given to the son of aethra, whom she hated.
it so happened that the king's nephews met theseus, and found out who he was, just as he reached the entrance of the royal palace.
with all their evil designs against him, they pretended to be their cousin's best friends, and expressed great joy at making his acquaintance.
they proposed to him that he should come into the king's presence as a stranger, in order to try whether aegeus would discover in the young man's features any likeness either to himself or his mother aethra, and thus recognize him for a son.
theseus consented; for he fancied that his father would know him in a moment, by the love that was in his heart.
but, while he waited at the door, the nephews ran and told king aegeus that a young man had arrived in athens, who, to their certain knowledge, intended to put him to death, and get possession of his royal crown.
""and he is now waiting for admission to your majesty's presence," added they.
""aha!"
cried the old king, on hearing this.
""why, he must be a very wicked young fellow indeed!
pray, what would you advise me to do with him?"
in reply to this question, the wicked medea put in her word.
as i have already told you, she was a famous enchantress.
according to some stories, she was in the habit of boiling old people in a large caldron, under pretense of making them young again; but king aegeus, i suppose, did not fancy such an uncomfortable way of growing young, or perhaps was contented to be old, and therefore would never let himself be popped into the caldron.
if there were time to spare from more important matters, i should be glad to tell you of medea's fiery chariot, drawn by winged dragons, in which the enchantress used often to take an airing among the clouds.
this chariot, in fact, was the vehicle that first brought her to athens, where she had done nothing but mischief ever since her arrival.
but these and many other wonders must be left untold; and it is enough to say, that medea, amongst a thousand other bad things, knew how to prepare a poison, that was instantly fatal to whomsoever might so much as touch it with his lips.
so, when the king asked what he should do with theseus, this naughty woman had an answer ready at her tongue's end.
""leave that to me, please your majesty," she replied.
""only admit this evil-minded young man to your presence, treat him civilly, and invite him to drink a goblet of wine.
your majesty is well aware that i sometimes amuse myself by distilling very powerful medicines.
here is one of them in this small phial.
as to what it is made of, that is one of my secrets of state.
do but let me put a single drop into the goblet, and let the young man taste it; and i will answer for it, he shall quite lay aside the bad designs with which he comes hither."
as she said this, medea smiled; but, for all her smiling face, she meant nothing less than to poison the poor innocent theseus, before his father's eyes.
and king aegeus, like most other kings, thought any punishment mild enough for a person who was accused of plotting against his life.
he therefore made little or no objection to medea's scheme, and as soon as the poisonous wine was ready, gave orders that the young stranger should be admitted into his presence.
the goblet was set on a table beside the king's throne; and a fly, meaning just to sip a little from the brim, immediately tumbled into it, dead.
observing this, medea looked round at the nephews, and smiled again.
when theseus was ushered into the royal apartment, the only object that he seemed to behold was the white-bearded old king.
there he sat on his magnificent throne, a dazzling crown on his head, and a scepter in his hand.
his aspect was stately and majestic, although his years and infirmities weighed heavily upon him, as if each year were a lump of lead, and each infirmity a ponderous stone, and all were bundled up together, and laid upon his weary shoulders.
the tears both of joy and sorrow sprang into the young man's eyes; for he thought how sad it was to see his dear father so infirm, and how sweet it would be to support him with his own youthful strength, and to cheer him up with the alacrity of his loving spirit.
when a son takes a father into his warm heart it renews the old man's youth in a better way than by the heat of medea's magic caldron.
and this was what theseus resolved to do.
he could scarcely wait to see whether king aegeus would recognize him, so eager was he to throw himself into his arms.
advancing to the foot of the throne, he attempted to make a little speech, which he had been thinking about, as he came up the stairs.
but he was almost choked by a great many tender feelings that gushed out of his heart and swelled into his throat, all struggling to find utterance together.
and therefore, unless he could have laid his full, over-brimming heart into the king's hand, poor theseus knew not what to do or say.
the cunning medea observed what was passing in the young man's mind.
she was more wicked at that moment than ever she had been before; for -lrb- and it makes me tremble to tell you of it -rrb- she did her worst to turn all this unspeakable love with which theseus was agitated to his own ruin and destruction.
""does your majesty see his confusion?"
she whispered in the king's ear.
""he is so conscious of guilt, that he trembles and can not speak.
the wretch lives too long!
quick!
offer him the wine!"
now king aegeus had been gazing earnestly at the young stranger, as he drew near the throne.
there was something, he knew not what, either in his white brow, or in the fine expression of his mouth, or in his beautiful and tender eyes, that made him indistinctly feel as if he had seen this youth before; as if, indeed, he had trotted him on his knee when a baby, and had beheld him growing to be a stalwart man, while he himself grew old.
but medea guessed how the king felt, and would not suffer him to yield to these natural sensibilities; although they were the voice of his deepest heart, telling him as plainly as it could speak, that here was our dear son, and aethra's son, coming to claim him for a father.
the enchantress again whispered in the king's ear, and compelled him, by her witchcraft, to see everything under a false aspect.
he made up his mind, therefore, to let theseus drink off the poisoned wine.
""young man," said he, "you are welcome!
i am proud to show hospitality to so heroic a youth.
do me the favor to drink the contents of this goblet.
it is brimming over, as you see, with delicious wine, such as i bestow only on those who are worthy of it!
none is more worthy to quaff it than yourself!"
so saying, king aegeus took the golden goblet from the table, and was about to offer it to theseus.
but, partly through his infirmities, and partly because it seemed so sad a thing to take away this young man's life.
however wicked he might be, and partly, no doubt, because his heart was wiser than his head, and quaked within him at the thought of what he was going to do -- for all these reasons, the king's hand trembled so much that a great deal of the wine slopped over.
in order to strengthen his purpose, and fearing lest the whole of the precious poison should be wasted, one of his nephews now whispered to him: "has your majesty any doubt of this stranger's guilt?
this is the very sword with which he meant to slay you.
how sharp, and bright, and terrible it is!
quick!
-- let him taste the wine; or perhaps he may do the deed even yet."
at these words, aegeus drove every thought and feeling out of his breast, except the one idea of how justly the young man deserved to be put to death.
he sat erect on his throne, and held out the goblet of wine with a steady hand, and bent on theseus a frown of kingly severity; for, after all, he had too noble a spirit to murder even a treacherous enemy with a deceitful smile upon his face.
""drink!"
said he, in the stern tone with which he was wont to condemn a criminal to be beheaded.
""you have well deserved of me such wine as this!"
theseus held out his hand to take the wine.
but, before he touched it, king aegeus trembled again.
his eyes had fallen on the gold-hilted sword that hung at the young man's side.
he drew back the goblet.
""that sword!"
he exclaimed: "how came you by it?"
""it was my father's sword," replied theseus, with a tremulous voice.
""these were his sandals.
my dear mother -lrb- her name is aethra -rrb- told me his story while i was yet a little child.
but it is only a month since i grew strong enough to lift the heavy stone, and take the sword and sandals from beneath it, and come to athens to seek my father."
""my son!
my son!"
cried king aegeus, flinging away the fatal goblet, and tottering down from the throne to fall into the arms of theseus.
""yes, these are aethra's eyes.
it is my son."
i have quite forgotten what became of the king's nephews.
but when the wicked medea saw this new turn of affairs, she hurried out of the room, and going to her private chamber, lost no time to setting her enchantments to work.
in a few moments, she heard a great noise of hissing snakes outside of the chamber window; and behold!
there was her fiery chariot, and four huge winged serpents, wriggling and twisting in the air, flourishing their tails higher than the top of the palace, and all ready to set off on an aerial journey.
medea staid only long enough to take her son with her, and to steal the crown jewels, together with the king's best robes, and whatever other valuable things she could lay hands on; and getting into the chariot, she whipped up the snakes, and ascended high over the city.
the king, hearing the hiss of the serpents, scrambled as fast as he could to the window, and bawled out to the abominable enchantress never to come back.
the whole people of athens, too, who had run out of doors to see this wonderful spectacle, set up a shout of joy at the prospect of getting rid of her.
medea, almost bursting with rage, uttered precisely such a hiss as one of her own snakes, only ten times more venomous and spiteful; and glaring fiercely out of the blaze of the chariot, she shook her hands over the multitude below, as if she were scattering a million of curses among them.
in so doing, however, she unintentionally let fall about five hundred diamonds of the first water, together with a thousand great pearls, and two thousand emeralds, rubies, sapphires, opals, and topazes, to which she had helped herself out of the king's strong box.
all these came pelting down, like a shower of many-colored hailstones, upon the heads of grown people and children, who forthwith gathered them up, and carried them back to the palace.
but king aegeus told them that they were welcome to the whole, and to twice as many more, if he had them, for the sake of his delight at finding his son, and losing the wicked medea.
and, indeed, if you had seen how hateful was her last look, as the flaming chariot flew upward, you would not have wondered that both king and people should think her departure a good riddance.
and now prince theseus was taken into great favor by his royal father.
the old king was never weary of having him sit beside him on his throne -lrb- which was quite wide enough for two -rrb-, and of hearing him tell about his dear mother, and his childhood, and his many boyish efforts to lift the ponderous stone.
theseus, however, was much too brave and active a young man to be willing to spend all his time in relating things which had already happened.
his ambition was to perform other and more heroic deeds, which should be better worth telling in prose and verse.
nor had he been long in athens before he caught and chained a terrible mad bull, and made a public show of him, greatly to the wonder and admiration of good king aegeus and his subjects.
but pretty soon, he undertook an affair that made all his foregone adventures seem like mere boy's play.
the occasion of it was as follows: one morning, when prince theseus awoke, he fancied that he must have had a very sorrowful dream, and that it was still running in his mind, even now that his eyes were opened.
for it appeared as if the air was full of a melancholy wail; and when he listened more attentively, he could hear sobs, and groans, and screams of woe, mingled with deep, quiet sighs, which came from the king's palace, and from the streets, and from the temples, and from every habitation in the city.
and all these mournful noises, issuing out of thousands of separate hearts, united themselves into one great sound of affliction, which had startled theseus from slumber.
he put on his clothes as quickly as he could -lrb- not forgetting his sandals and gold-hilted sword -rrb-, and, hastening to the king, inquired what it all meant.
""alas!
my son," quoth king aegeus, heaving a long sigh, "here is a very lamentable matter in hand!
this is the wofulest anniversary in the whole year.
it is the day when we annually draw lots to see which of the youths and maids of athens shall go to be devoured by the horrible minotaur!"
""the minotaur!"
exclaimed prince theseus; and like a brave young prince as he was, he put his hand to the hilt of his sword.
""what kind of a monster may that be?
is it not possible, at the risk of one's life, to slay him?"
but king aegeus shook his venerable head, and to convince theseus that it was quite a hopeless case, he gave him an explanation of the whole affair.
it seems that in the island of crete there lived a certain dreadful monster, called a minotaur, which was shaped partly like a man and partly like a bull, and was altogether such a hideous sort of a creature that it is really disagreeable to think of him.
if he were suffered to exist at all, it should have been on some desert island, or in the duskiness of some deep cavern, where nobody would ever be tormented by his abominable aspect.
but king minos, who reigned over crete, laid out a vast deal of money in building a habitation for the minotaur, and took great care of his health and comfort, merely for mischief's sake.
a few years before this time, there had been a war between the city of athens and the island of crete, in which the athenians were beaten, and compelled to beg for peace.
no peace could they obtain, however, except on condition that they should send seven young men and seven maidens, every year, to be devoured by the pet monster of the cruel king minos.
for three years past, this grievous calamity had been borne.
and the sobs, and groans, and shrieks, with which the city was now filled, were caused by the people's woe, because the fatal day had come again, when the fourteen victims were to be chosen by lot; and the old people feared lest their sons or daughters might be taken, and the youths and damsels dreaded lest they themselves might be destined to glut the ravenous maw of that detestable man-brute.
but when theseus heard the story, he straightened himself up, so that he seemed taller than ever before; and as for his face it was indignant, despiteful, bold, tender, and compassionate, all in one look.
""let the people of athens this year draw lots for only six young men, instead of seven," said he, "i will myself be the seventh; and let the minotaur devour me if he can!"
""o my dear son," cried king aegeus, "why should you expose yourself to this horrible fate?
you are a royal prince, and have a right to hold yourself above the destinies of common men."
""it is because i am a prince, your son, and the rightful heir of your kingdom, that i freely take upon me the calamity of your subjects," answered theseus, "and you, my father, being king over these people, and answerable to heaven for their welfare, are bound to sacrifice what is dearest to you, rather than that the son or daughter of the poorest citizen should come to any harm."
the old king shed tears, and besought theseus not to leave him desolate in his old age, more especially as he had but just begun to know the happiness of possessing a good and valiant son.
theseus, however, felt that he was in the right, and therefore would not give up his resolution.
but he assured his father that he did not intend to be eaten up, unresistingly, like a sheep, and that, if the minotaur devoured him, it should not be without a battle for his dinner.
and finally, since he could not help it, king aegeus consented to let him go.
so a vessel was got ready, and rigged with black sails; and theseus, with six other young men, and seven tender and beautiful damsels, came down to the harbor to embark.
a sorrowful multitude accompanied them to the shore.
there was the poor old king, too, leaning on his son's arm, and looking as if his single heart held all the grief of athens.
just as prince theseus was going on board, his father bethought himself of one last word to say.
""my beloved son," said he, grasping the prince's hand, "you observe that the sails of this vessel are black; as indeed they ought to be, since it goes upon a voyage of sorrow and despair.
now, being weighed down with infirmities, i know not whether i can survive till the vessel shall return.
but, as long as i do live, i shall creep daily to the top of yonder cliff, to watch if there be a sail upon the sea.
and, dearest theseus, if by some happy chance, you should escape the jaws of the minotaur, then tear down those dismal sails, and hoist others that shall be bright as the sunshine.
beholding them on the horizon, myself and all the people will know that you are coming back victorious, and will welcome you with such a festal uproar as athens never heard before."
theseus promised that he would do so.
then going on board, the mariners trimmed the vessel's black sails to the wind, which blew faintly off the shore, being pretty much made up of the sighs that everybody kept pouring forth on this melancholy occasion.
but by and by, when they had got fairly out to sea, there came a stiff breeze from the north-west, and drove them along as merrily over the white-capped waves as if they had been going on the most delightful errand imaginable.
and though it was a sad business enough, i rather question whether fourteen young people, without any old persons to keep them in order, could continue to spend the whole time of the voyage in being miserable.
there had been some few dances upon the undulating deck, i suspect, and some hearty bursts of laughter, and other such unseasonable merriment among the victims, before the high blue mountains of crete began to show themselves among the far-off clouds.
that sight, to be sure, made them all very grave again.
theseus stood among the sailors, gazing eagerly towards the land; although, as yet, it seemed hardly more substantial than the clouds, amidst which the mountains were looming up.
once or twice, he fancied that he saw a glare of some bright object, a long way off, flinging a gleam across the waves.
""did you see that flash of light?"
he inquired of the master of the vessel.
""no, prince; but i have seen it before," answered the master.
""it came from talus, i suppose."
as the breeze came fresher just then, the master was busy with trimming his sails, and had no more time to answer questions.
but while the vessel flew faster and faster towards crete, theseus was astonished to behold a human figure, gigantic in size, which appeared to be striding, with a measured movement, along the margin of the island.
it stepped from cliff to cliff, and sometimes from one headland to another, while the sea foamed and thundered on the shore beneath, and dashed its jets of spray over the giant's feet.
what was still more remarkable, whenever the sun shone on this huge figure, it flickered and glimmered; its vast countenance, too, had a metallic lustre, and threw great flashes of splendor through the air.
the folds of its garments, moreover, instead of waving in the wind, fell heavily over its limbs, as if woven of some kind of metal.
the nigher the vessel came, the more theseus wondered what this immense giant could be, and whether it actually had life or no.
for, though it walked, and made other lifelike motions, there yet was a kind of jerk in its gait, which, together with its brazen aspect, caused the young prince to suspect that it was no true giant, but only a wonderful piece of machinery.
the figure looked all the more terrible because it carried an enormous brass club on its shoulder.
""what is this wonder?"
theseus asked of the master of the vessel, who was now at leisure to answer him.
""it is talus, the man of brass," said the master.
""and is he a live giant, or a brazen image?"
asked theseus.
""that, truly," replied the master, "is the point which has always perplexed me.
some say, indeed, that this talus was hammered out for king minos by vulcan himself, the skilfullest of all workers in metal.
but who ever saw a brazen image that had sense enough to walk round an island three times a day, as this giant walks round the island of crete, challenging every vessel that comes nigh the shore?
and, on the other hand, what living thing, unless his sinews were made of brass, would not be weary of marching eighteen hundred miles in the twenty-four hours, as talus does, without ever sitting down to rest?
he is a puzzler, take him how you will."
still the vessel went bounding onward; and now theseus could hear the brazen clangor of the giant's footsteps, as he trod heavily upon the sea-beaten rocks, some of which were seen to crack and crumble into the foaming waves beneath his weight.
as they approached the entrance of the port, the giant straddled clear across it, with a foot firmly planted on each headland, and uplifting his club to such a height that its butt-end was hidden in the cloud, he stood in that formidable posture, with the sun gleaming all over his metallic surface.
there seemed nothing else to be expected but that, the next moment, he would fetch his great club down, slam bang, and smash the vessel into a thousand pieces, without heeding how many innocent people he might destroy; for there is seldom any mercy in a giant, you know, and quite as little in a piece of brass clockwork.
but just when theseus and his companions thought the blow was coming, the brazen lips unclosed themselves, and the figure spoke.
""whence come you, strangers?"
and when the ringing voice ceased, there was just such a reverberation as you may have heard within a great church bell, for a moment or two after the stroke of the hammer.
""from athens!"
shouted the master in reply.
""on what errand?"
thundered the man of brass.
and he whirled his club aloft more threateningly than ever, as if he were about to smite them with a thunderstroke right amidships, because athens, so little while ago, had been at war with crete.
""we bring the seven youths and the seven maidens," answered the master, "to be devoured by the minotaur!"
""pass!"
cried the brazen giant.
that one loud word rolled all about the sky, while again there was a booming reverberation within the figure's breast.
the vessel glided between the headlands of the port, and the giant resumed his march.
in a few moments, this wondrous sentinel was far away, flashing in the distant sunshine, and revolving with immense strides round the island of crete, as it was his never-ceasing task to do.
no sooner had they entered the harbor than a party of the guards of king minos came down to the water side, and took charge of the fourteen young men and damsels.
surrounded by these armed warriors, prince theseus and his companions were led to the king's palace, and ushered into his presence.
now, minos was a stern and pitiless king.
if the figure that guarded crete was made of brass, then the monarch, who ruled over it, might be thought to have a still harder metal in his breast, and might have been called a man of iron.
he bent his shaggy brows upon the poor athenian victims.
any other mortal, beholding their fresh and tender beauty, and their innocent looks, would have felt himself sitting on thorns until he had made every soul of them happy by bidding them go free as the summer wind.
but this immitigable minos cared only to examine whether they were plump enough to satisfy the minotaur's appetite.
for my part, i wish he himself had been the only victim; and the monster would have found him a pretty tough one.
one after another, king minos called these pale, frightened youths and sobbing maidens to his footstool, gave them each a poke in the ribs with his sceptre -lrb- to try whether they were in good flesh or no -rrb-, and dismissed them with a nod to his guards.
but when his eyes rested on theseus, the king looked at him more attentively, because his face was calm and brave.
""young man," asked he, with his stern voice, "are you not appalled at the certainty of being devoured by this terrible minotaur?"
""i have offered my life in a good cause," answered theseus, "and therefore i give it freely and gladly.
but thou, king minos, art thou not thyself appalled, who, year after year, hast perpetrated this dreadful wrong, by giving seven innocent youths and as many maidens to be devoured by a monster?
dost thou not tremble, wicked king, to turn shine eyes inward on shine own heart?
sitting there on thy golden throne, and in thy robes of majesty, i tell thee to thy face, king minos, thou art a more hideous monster than the minotaur himself!"
""aha!
do you think me so?"
cried the king, laughing in his cruel way.
""to-morrow, at breakfast time, you shall have an opportunity of judging which is the greater monster, the minotaur or the king!
take them away, guards; and let this free-spoken youth be the minotaur's first morsel."
near the king's throne -lrb- though i had no time to tell you so before -rrb- stood his daughter ariadne.
she was a beautiful and tender-hearted maiden, and looked at these poor doomed captives with very different feelings from those of the iron-breasted king minos.
she really wept indeed, at the idea of how much human happiness would be needlessly thrown away, by giving so many young people, in the first bloom and rose blossom of their lives, to be eaten up by a creature who, no doubt, would have preferred a fat ox, or even a large pig, to the plumpest of them.
and when she beheld the brave, spirited figure of prince theseus bearing himself so calmly in his terrible peril, she grew a hundred times more pitiful than before.
as the guards were taking him away, she flung herself at the king's feet, and besought him to set all the captives free, and especially this one young man.
""peace, foolish girl!"
answered king minos.
""what hast thou to do with an affair like this?
it is a matter of state policy, and therefore quite beyond thy weak comprehension.
go water thy flowers, and think no more of these athenian caitiffs, whom the minotaur shall as certainly eat up for breakfast as i will eat a partridge for my supper."
so saying, the king looked cruel enough to devour theseus and all the rest of the captives himself, had there been no minotaur to save him the trouble.
as he would hear not another word in their favor, the prisoners were now led away, and clapped into a dungeon, where the jailer advised them to go to sleep as soon as possible, because the minotaur was in the habit of calling for breakfast early.
the seven maidens and six of the young men soon sobbed themselves to slumber.
but theseus was not like them.
he felt conscious that he was wiser, and braver, and stronger than his companions, and that therefore he had the responsibility of all their lives upon him, and must consider whether there was no way to save them, even in this last extremity.
so he kept himself awake, and paced to and fro across the gloomy dungeon in which they were shut up.
just before midnight, the door was softly unbarred, and the gentle ariadne showed herself, with a torch in her hand.
""are you awake, prince theseus?"
she whispered.
""yes," answered theseus.
""with so little time to live, i do not choose to waste any of it in sleep."
""then follow me," said ariadne, "and tread softly."
what had become of the jailer and the guards, theseus never knew.
but, however that might be, ariadne opened all the doors, and led him forth from the darksome prison into the pleasant moonlight.
""theseus," said the maiden, "you can now get on board your vessel, and sail away for athens."
""no," answered the young man; "i will never leave crete unless i can first slay the minotaur, and save my poor companions, and deliver athens from this cruel tribute."
""i knew that this would be your resolution," said ariadne.
""come, then, with me, brave theseus.
here is your own sword, which the guards deprived you of.
you will need it; and pray heaven you may use it well."
then she led theseus along by the hand until they came to a dark, shadowy grove, where the moonlight wasted itself on the tops of the trees, without shedding hardly so much as a glimmering beam upon their pathway.
after going a good way through this obscurity, they reached a high marble wall, which was overgrown with creeping plants, that made it shaggy with their verdure.
the wall seemed to have no door, nor any windows, but rose up, lofty, and massive, and mysterious, and was neither to be clambered over, nor, as far as theseus could perceive, to be passed through.
nevertheless, ariadne did but press one of her soft little fingers against a particular block of marble and, though it looked as solid as any other part of the wall, it yielded to her touch, disclosing an entrance just wide enough to admit them they crept through, and the marble stone swung back into its place.
""we are now," said ariadne, "in the famous labyrinth which daedalus built before he made himself a pair of wings, and flew away from our island like a bird.
that daedalus was a very cunning workman; but of all his artful contrivances, this labyrinth is the most wondrous.
were we to take but a few steps from the doorway, we might wander about all our lifetime, and never find it again.
yet in the very center of this labyrinth is the minotaur; and, theseus, you must go thither to seek him."
""but how shall i ever find him," asked theseus, "if the labyrinth so bewilders me as you say it will?"
just as he spoke, they heard a rough and very disagreeable roar, which greatly resembled the lowing of a fierce bull, but yet had some sort of sound like the human voice.
theseus even fancied a rude articulation in it, as if the creature that uttered it were trying to shape his hoarse breath into words.
it was at some distance, however, and he really could not tell whether it sounded most like a bull's roar or a man's harsh voice.
""that is the minotaur's noise," whispered ariadne, closely grasping the hand of theseus, and pressing one of her own hands to her heart, which was all in a tremble.
""you must follow that sound through the windings of the labyrinth, and, by and by, you will find him.
stay!
take the end of this silken string; i will hold the other end; and then, if you win the victory, it will lead you again to this spot.
farewell, brave theseus."
so the young man took the end of the silken string in his left hand, and his gold-hilted sword, ready drawn from its scabbard, in the other, and trod boldly into the inscrutable labyrinth.
how this labyrinth was built is more than i can tell you.
but so cunningly contrived a mizmaze was never seen in the world, before nor since.
there can be nothing else so intricate, unless it were the brain of a man like daedalus, who planned it, or the heart of any ordinary man; which last, to be sure, is ten times as great a mystery as the labyrinth of crete.
theseus had not taken five steps before he lost sight of ariadne; and in five more his head was growing dizzy.
but still he went on, now creeping through a low arch, now ascending a flight of steps, now in one crooked passage and now in another, with here a door opening before him, and there one banging behind, until it really seemed as if the walls spun round, and whirled him round along with them.
and all the while, through these hollow avenues, now nearer, now farther off again, resounded the cry of the minotaur; and the sound was so fierce, so cruel, so ugly, so like a bull's roar, and withal so like a human voice, and yet like neither of them, that the brave heart of theseus grew sterner and angrier at every step; for he felt it an insult to the moon and sky, and to our affectionate and simple mother earth, that such a monster should have the audacity to exist.
as he passed onward, the clouds gathered over the moon, and the labyrinth grew so dusky that theseus could no longer discern the bewilderment through which he was passing.
he would have left quite lost, and utterly hopeless of ever again walking in a straight path, if, every little while, he had not been conscious of a gentle twitch at the silken cord.
then he knew that the tender-hearted ariadne was still holding the other end, and that she was fearing for him, and hoping for him, and giving him just as much of her sympathy as if she were close by his side.
o, indeed, i can assure you, there was a vast deal of human sympathy running along that slender thread of silk.
but still he followed the dreadful roar of the minotaur, which now grew louder and louder, and finally so very loud that theseus fully expected to come close upon him, at every new zizgag and wriggle of the path.
and at last, in an open space, at the very center of the labyrinth, he did discern the hideous creature.
sure enough, what an ugly monster it was!
only his horned head belonged to a bull; and yet, somehow or other, he looked like a bull all over, preposterously waddling on his hind legs; or, if you happened to view him in another way, he seemed wholly a man, and all the more monstrous for being so.
and there he was, the wretched thing, with no society, no companion, no kind of a mate, living only to do mischief, and incapable of knowing what affection means.
theseus hated him, and shuddered at him, and yet could not but be sensible of some sort of pity; and all the more, the uglier and more detestable the creature was.
for he kept striding to and fro, in a solitary frenzy of rage, continually emitting a hoarse roar, which was oddly mixed up with half-shaped words; and, after listening a while, theseus understood that the minotaur was saying to himself how miserable he was, and how hungry, and how he hated everybody, and how he longed to eat up the human race alive.
ah!
the bull-headed villain!
and o, my good little people, you will perhaps see, one of these days, as i do now, that every human being who suffers any thing evil to get into his nature, or to remain there, is a kind of minotaur, an enemy of his fellow-creatures, and separated from all good companionship, as this poor monster was.
was theseus afraid?
by no means, my dear auditors.
what!
a hero like theseus afraid, not had the minotaur had twenty bull-heads instead of one.
bold as he was, however, i rather fancy that it strengthened his valiant heart, just at this crisis, to feel a tremulous twitch at the silken cord, which he was still holding in his left hand.
it was as if ariadne were giving him all her might and courage; and much as he already had, and little as she had to give, it made his own seem twice as much.
and to confess the honest truth, he needed the whole; for now the minotaur, turning suddenly about, caught sight of theseus, and instantly lowered his horribly sharp horns, exactly as a mad bull does when he means to rush against an enemy.
at the same time, he belched forth a tremendous roar, in which there was something like the words of human language, but all disjointed and shaken to pieces by passing through the gullet of a miserably enraged brute.
theseus could only guess what the creature intended to say, and that rather by his gestures than his words; for the minotaur's horns were sharper than his wits, and of a great deal more service to him than his tongue.
but probably this was the sense of what he uttered: "ah, wretch of a human being!
i'll stick my horns through you, and toss you fifty feet high, and eat you up the moment you come down."
""come on, then, and try it!"
was all that theseus deigned to reply; for he was far too magnanimous to assault his enemy with insolent language.
without more words on either side, there ensued the most awful fight between theseus and the minotaur that ever happened beneath the sun or moon.
i really know not how it might have turned out, if the monster, in his first headlong rush against theseus, had not missed him, by a hair's breadth, and broken one of his horns short off against the stone wall.
on this mishap, he bellowed so intolerably that a part of the labyrinth tumbled down, and all the inhabitants of crete mistook the noise for an uncommonly heavy thunder storm.
smarting with the pain, he galloped around the open space in so ridiculous a way that theseus laughed at it, long afterwards, though not precisely at the moment.
after this, the two antagonists stood valiantly up to one another, and fought, sword to horn, for a long while.
at last, the minotaur made a run at theseus, grazed his left side with his horn, and flung him down; and thinking that he had stabbed him to the heart, he cut a great caper in the air, opened his bull mouth from ear to ear, and prepared to snap his head off.
but theseus by this time had leaped up, and caught the monster off his guard.
fetching a sword stroke at him with all his force, he hit him fair upon the neck, and made his bull head skip six yards from his human body, which fell down flat upon the ground.
so now the battle was ended.
immediately the moon shone out as brightly as if all the troubles of the world, and all the wickedness and the ugliness that infest human life, were past and gone forever.
and theseus, as he leaned on his sword, taking breath, felt another twitch of the silken cord; for all through the terrible encounter, he had held it fast in his left hand.
eager to let ariadne know of his success, he followed the guidance of the thread, and soon found himself at the entrance of the labyrinth.
""thou hast slain the monster," cried ariadne, clasping her hands.
""thanks to thee, dear ariadne," answered theseus, "i return victorious."
""then," said ariadne, "we must quickly summon thy friends, and get them and thyself on board the vessel before dawn.
if morning finds thee here, my father will avenge the minotaur."
to make my story short, the poor captives were awakened, and, hardly knowing whether it was not a joyful dream, were told of what theseus had done, and that they must set sail for athens before daybreak.
hastening down to the vessel, they all clambered on board, except prince theseus, who lingered behind them on the strand, holding ariadne's hand clasped in his own.
""dear maiden," said he, "thou wilt surely go with us.
thou art too gentle and sweet a child for such an iron-hearted father as king minos.
he cares no more for thee than a granite rock cares for the little flower that grows in one of its crevices.
but my father, king aegeus, and my dear mother, aethra, and all the fathers and mothers in athens, and all the sons and daughters too, will love and honor thee as their benefactress.
come with us, then; for king minos will be very angry when he knows what thou hast done."
now, some low-minded people, who pretend to tell the story of theseus and ariadne, have the face to say that this royal and honorable maiden did really flee away, under cover of the night, with the young stranger whose life she had preserved.
they say, too, that prince theseus -lrb- who would have died sooner than wrong the meanest creature in the world -rrb- ungratefully deserted ariadne, on a solitary island, where the vessel touched on its voyage to athens.
but, had the noble theseus heard these falsehoods, he would have served their slanderous authors as he served the minotaur!
here is what ariadne answered, when the brave prince of athens besought her to accompany him: "no, theseus," the maiden said, pressing his hand, and then drawing back a step or two, "i can not go with you.
my father is old, and has nobody but myself to love him.
hard as you think his heart is, it would break to lose me.
at first, king minos will be angry; but he will soon forgive his only child; and, by and by, he will rejoice, i know, that no more youths and maidens must come from athens to be devoured by the minotaur.
i have saved you, theseus, as much for my father's sake as for your own.
farewell!
heaven bless you!"
all this was so true, and so maiden-like, and was spoken with so sweet a dignity, that theseus would have blushed to urge her any longer.
nothing remained for him, therefore, but to bid ariadne an affectionate farewell, and to go on board the vessel, and set sail.
in a few moments the white foam was boiling up before their prow, as prince theseus and his companions sailed out of the harbor, with a whistling breeze behind them.
talus, the brazen giant, on his never-ceasing sentinel's march, happened to be approaching that part of the coast; and they saw him, by the glimmering of the moonbeams on his polished surface, while he was yet a great way off.
as the figure moved like clockwork, however, and could neither hasten his enormous strides nor retard them, he arrived at the port when they were just beyond the reach of his club.
nevertheless, straddling from headland to headland, as his custom was, talus attempted to strike a blow at the vessel, and, overreaching himself, tumbled at full length into the sea, which splashed high over his gigantic shape, as when an iceberg turns a somerset.
there he lies yet; and whoever desires to enrich himself by means of brass had better go thither with a diving bell, and fish up talus.
on the homeward voyage, the fourteen youths and damsels were in excellent spirits, as you will easily suppose.
they spent most of their time in dancing, unless when the sidelong breeze made the deck slope too much.
in due season, they came within sight of the coast of attica, which was their native country.
but here, i am grieved to tell you, happened a sad misfortune.
you will remember -lrb- what theseus unfortunately forgot -rrb- that his father, king aegeus, had enjoined it upon him to hoist sunshiny sails, instead of black ones, in case he should overcome the minotaur, and return victorious.
in the joy of their success, however, and amidst the sports, dancing, and other merriment, with which these young folks wore away the time, they never once thought whether their sails were black, white, or rainbow colored, and, indeed, left it entirely to the mariners whether they had any sails at all.
thus the vessel returned, like a raven, with the same sable wings that had wafted her away.
but poor king aegeus, day after day, infirm as he was, had clambered to the summit of a cliff that overhung the sea, and there sat watching for prince theseus, homeward bound; and no sooner did he behold the fatal blackness of the sails, than he concluded that his dear son, whom he loved so much, and felt so proud of, had been eaten by the minotaur.
he could not bear the thought of living any longer; so, first flinging his crown and sceptre into the sea -lrb- useless baubles that they were to him now -rrb-, king aegeus merely stooped forward, and fell headlong over the cliff, and was drowned, poor soul, in the waves that foamed at its base!
this was melancholy news for prince theseus, who, when he stepped ashore, found himself king of all the country, whether he would or no; and such a turn of fortune was enough to make any young man feel very much out of spirits.
however, he sent for his dear mother to athens, and, by taking her advice in matters of state, became a very excellent monarch, and was greatly beloved by his people.
the pygmies.
a great while ago, when the world was full of wonders, there lived an earth-born giant, named antaeus, and a million or more of curious little earth-born people, who were called pygmies.
this giant and these pygmies being children of the same mother -lrb- that is to say, our good old grandmother earth -rrb-, were all brethren, and dwelt together in a very friendly and affectionate manner, far, far off, in the middle of hot africa.
the pygmies were so small, and there were so many sandy deserts and such high mountains between them and the rest of mankind, that nobody could get a peep at them oftener than once in a hundred years.
as for the giant, being of a very lofty stature, it was easy enough to see him, but safest to keep out of his sight.
among the pygmies, i suppose, if one of them grew to the height of six or eight inches, he was reckoned a prodigiously tall man.
it must have been very pretty to behold their little cities, with streets two or three feet wide, paved with the smallest pebbles, and bordered by habitations about as big as a squirrel's cage.
the king's palace attained to the stupendous magnitude of periwinkle's baby house, and stood in the center of a spacious square, which could hardly have been covered by our hearth-rug.
their principal temple, or cathedral, was as lofty as yonder bureau, and was looked upon as a wonderfully sublime and magnificent edifice.
all these structures were built neither of stone nor wood.
they were neatly plastered together by the pygmy workmen, pretty much like birds" nests, out of straw, feathers, egg shells, and other small bits of stuff, with stiff clay instead of mortar; and when the hot sun had dried them, they were just as snug and comfortable as a pygmy could desire.
the country round about was conveniently laid out in fields, the largest of which was nearly of the same extent as one of sweet fern's flower beds.
here the pygmies used to plant wheat and other kinds of grain, which, when it grew up and ripened, overshadowed these tiny people as the pines, and the oaks, and the walnut and chestnut trees overshadow you and me, when we walk in our own tracts of woodland.
at harvest time, they were forced to go with their little axes and cut down the grain, exactly as a woodcutter makes a clearing in the forest; and when a stalk of wheat, with its overburdened top, chanced to come crashing down upon an unfortunate pygmy, it was apt to be a very sad affair.
if it did not smash him all to pieces, at least, i am sure, it must have made the poor little fellow's head ache.
and o, my stars!
if the fathers and mothers were so small, what must the children and babies have been?
a whole family of them might have been put to bed in a shoe, or have crept into an old glove, and played at hide-and-seek in its thumb and fingers.
you might have hidden a year-old baby under a thimble.
now these funny pygmies, as i told you before, had a giant for their neighbor and brother, who was bigger, if possible, than they were little.
he was so very tall that he carried a pine tree, which was eight feet through the butt, for a walking stick.
it took a far-sighted pygmy, i can assure you, to discern his summit without the help of a telescope; and sometimes, in misty weather, they could not see his upper half, but only his long legs, which seemed to be striding about by themselves.
but at noonday in a clear atmosphere, when the sun shone brightly over him, the giant antaeus presented a very grand spectacle.
there he used to stand, a perfect mountain of a man, with his great countenance smiling down upon his little brothers, and his one vast eye -lrb- which was as big as a cart wheel, and placed right in the center of his forehead -rrb- giving a friendly wink to the whole nation at once.
the pygmies loved to talk with antaeus; and fifty times a day, one or another of them would turn up his head, and shout through the hollow of his fists, "halloo, brother antaeus!
how are you, my good fellow?"
and when the small distant squeak of their voices reached his ear, the giant would make answer, "pretty well, brother pygmy, i thank you," in a thunderous roar that would have shaken down the walls of their strongest temple, only that it came from so far aloft.
it was a happy circumstance that antaeus was the pygmy people's friend; for there was more strength in his little finger than in ten million of such bodies as this.
if he had been as ill-natured to them as he was to everybody else, he might have beaten down their biggest city at one kick, and hardly have known that he did it.
with the tornado of his breath, he could have stripped the roofs from a hundred dwellings and sent thousands of the inhabitants whirling through the air.
he might have set his immense foot upon a multitude; and when he took it up again, there would have been a pitiful sight, to be sure.
but, being the son of mother earth, as they likewise were, the giant gave them his brotherly kindness, and loved them with as big a love as it was possible to feel for creatures so very small.
and, on their parts, the pygmies loved antaeus with as much affection as their tiny hearts could hold.
he was always ready to do them any good offices that lay in his power; as for example, when they wanted a breeze to turn their windmills, the giant would set all the sails a-going with the mere natural respiration of his lungs.
when the sun was too hot, he often sat himself down, and let his shadow fall over the kingdom, from one frontier to the other; and as for matters in general, he was wise enough to let them alone, and leave the pygmies to manage their own affairs -- which, after all, is about the best thing that great people can do for little ones.
in short, as i said before, antaeus loved the pygmies, and the pygmies loved antaeus.
the giant's life being as long as his body was large, while the lifetime of a pygmy was but a span, this friendly intercourse had been going on for innumerable generations and ages.
it was written about in the pygmy histories, and talked about in their ancient traditions.
the most venerable and white-bearded pygmy had never heard of a time, even in his greatest of grandfathers" days, when the giant was not their enormous friend.
once, to be sure -lrb- as was recorded on an obelisk, three feet high, erected on the place of the catastrophe -rrb-, antaeus sat down upon about five thousand pygmies, who were assembled at a military review.
but this was one of those unlucky accidents for which nobody is to blame; so that the small folks never took it to heart, and only requested the giant to be careful forever afterwards to examine the acre of ground where he intended to squat himself.
it is a very pleasant picture to imagine antaeus standing among the pygmies, like the spire of the tallest cathedral that ever was built, while they ran about like pismires at his feet; and to think that, in spite of their difference in size, there were affection and sympathy between them and him!
indeed, it has always seemed to me that the giant needed the little people more than the pygmies needed the giant.
for, unless they had been his neighbors and well wishers, and, as we may say, his playfellows, antaeus would not have had a single friend in the world.
no other being like himself had ever been created.
no creature of his own size had ever talked with him, in thunder-like accents, face to face.
when he stood with his head among the clouds, he was quite alone, and had been so for hundreds of years, and would be so forever.
even if he had met another giant, antaeus would have fancied the world not big enough for two such vast personages, and, instead of being friends with him, would have fought him till one of the two was killed.
but with the pygmies he was the most sportive and humorous, and merry-hearted, and sweet-tempered old giant that ever washed his face in a wet cloud.
his little friends, like all other small people, had a great opinion of their own importance, and used to assume quite a patronizing air towards the giant.
""poor creature!"
they said one to another.
""he has a very dull time of it, all by himself; and we ought not to grudge wasting a little of our precious time to amuse him.
he is not half so bright as we are, to be sure; and, for that reason, he needs us to look after his comfort and happiness.
let us be kind to the old fellow.
why, if mother earth had not been very kind to ourselves, we might all have been giants too."
on all their holidays, the pygmies had excellent sport with antaeus.
he often stretched himself out at full length on the ground, where he looked like the long ridge of a hill; and it was a good hour's walk, no doubt, for a short-legged pygmy to journey from head to foot of the giant.
he would lay down his great hand flat on the grass, and challenge the tallest of them to clamber upon it, and straddle from finger to finger.
so fearless were they, that they made nothing of creeping in among the folds of his garments.
when his head lay sidewise on the earth, they would march boldly up, and peep into the great cavern of his mouth, and take it all as a joke -lrb- as indeed it was meant -rrb- when antaeus gave a sudden snap of his jaws, as if he were going to swallow fifty of them at once.
you would have laughed to see the children dodging in and out among his hair, or swinging from his beard.
it is impossible to tell half of the funny tricks that they played with their huge comrade; but i do not know that anything was more curious than when a party of boys were seen running races on his forehead, to try which of them could get first round the circle of his one great eye.
it was another favorite feat with them to march along the bridge of his nose, and jump down upon his upper lip.
if the truth must be told, they were sometimes as troublesome to the giant as a swarm of ants or mosquitoes, especially as they had a fondness for mischief, and liked to prick his skin with their little swords and lances, to see how thick and tough it was.
but antaeus took it all kindly enough; although, once in a while, when he happened to be sleepy, he would grumble out a peevish word or two, like the muttering of a tempest, and ask them to have done with their nonsense.
a great deal oftener, however, he watched their merriment and gambols until his huge, heavy, clumsy wits were completely stirred up by them; and then would he roar out such a tremendous volume of immeasurable laughter, that the whole nation of pygmies had to put their hands to their ears, else it would certainly have deafened them.
""ho!
ho!
ho!"
quoth the giant, shaking his mountainous sides.
""what a funny thing it is to be little!
if i were not antaeus, i should like to be a pygmy, just for the joke's sake."
the pygmies had but one thing to trouble them in the world.
they were constantly at war with the cranes, and had always been so, ever since the long-lived giant could remember.
from time to time, very terrible battles had been fought in which sometimes the little men won the victory, and sometimes the cranes.
according to some historians, the pygmies used to go to the battle, mounted on the backs of goats and rams; but such animals as these must have been far too big for pygmies to ride upon; so that, i rather suppose, they rode on squirrel-back, or rabbit-back, or rat-back, or perhaps got upon hedgehogs, whose prickly quills would be very terrible to the enemy.
however this might be, and whatever creatures the pygmies rode upon, i do not doubt that they made a formidable appearance, armed with sword and spear, and bow and arrow, blowing their tiny trumpet, and shouting their little war cry.
they never failed to exhort one another to fight bravely, and recollect that the world had its eyes upon them; although, in simple truth, the only spectator was the giant antaeus, with his one, great, stupid eye in the middle of his forehead.
when the two armies joined battle, the cranes would rush forward, flapping their wings and stretching out their necks, and would perhaps snatch up some of the pygmies crosswise in their beaks.
whenever this happened, it was truly an awful spectacle to see those little men of might kicking and sprawling in the air, and at last disappearing down the crane's long, crooked throat, swallowed up alive.
a hero, you know, must hold himself in readiness for any kind of fate; and doubtless the glory of the thing was a consolation to him, even in the crane's gizzard.
if antaeus observed that the battle was going hard against his little allies, he generally stopped laughing, and ran with mile-long strides to their assistance, flourishing his club aloft and shouting at the cranes, who quacked and croaked, and retreated as fast as they could.
then the pygmy army would march homeward in triumph, attributing the victory entirely to their own valor, and to the warlike skill and strategy of whomsoever happened to be captain general; and for a tedious while afterwards, nothing would be heard of but grand processions, and public banquets, and brilliant illuminations, and shows of wax-work, with likenesses of the distinguished officers, as small as life.
in the above-described warfare, if a pygmy chanced to pluck out a crane's tail feather, it proved a very great feather in his cap.
once or twice, if you will believe me, a little man was made chief ruler of the nation for no other merit in the world than bringing home such a feather.
but i have now said enough to let you see what a gallant little people these were, and how happily they and their forefathers, for nobody knows how many generations, had lived with the immeasurable giant antaeus.
in the remaining part of the story, i shall tell you of a far more astonishing battle than any that was fought between the pygmies and the cranes.
one day the mighty antaeus was lolling at full length among his little friends.
his pine-tree walking stick lay on the ground, close by his side.
his head was in one part of the kingdom, and his feet extended across the boundaries of another part; and he was taking whatever comfort he could get, while the pygmies scrambled over him, and peeped into his cavernous mouth, and played among his hair.
sometimes, for a minute or two, the giant dropped asleep, and snored like the rush of a whirlwind.
during one of these little bits of slumber, a pygmy chanced to climb upon his shoulder, and took a view around the horizon, as from the summit of a hill; and he beheld something, a long way off, which made him rub the bright specks of his eyes, and look sharper than before.
at first he mistook it for a mountain, and wondered how it had grown up so suddenly out of the earth.
but soon he saw the mountain move.
as it came nearer and nearer, what should it turn out to be but a human shape, not so big as antaeus, it is true, although a very enormous figure, in comparison with pygmies, and a vast deal bigger than the men we see nowadays.
when the pygmy was quite satisfied that his eyes had not deceived him, he scampered, as fast as his legs would carry him, to the giant's ear, and stooping over its cavity, shouted lustily into it: "halloo, brother antaeus!
get up this minute, and take your pine-tree walking stick in your hand.
here comes another giant to have a tussle with you."
""poh, poh!"
grumbled antaeus, only half awake.
""none of your nonsense, my little fellow!
do n't you see i'm sleepy?
there is not a giant on earth for whom i would take the trouble to get up."
but the pygmy looked again, and now perceived that the stranger was coming directly towards the prostrate form of antaeus.
with every step, he looked less like a blue mountain, and more like an immensely large man.
he was soon so nigh, that there could be no possible mistake about the matter.
there he was, with the sun flaming on his golden helmet, and flashing from his polished breastplate; he had a sword by his side, and a lion's skin over his back, and on his right shoulder he carried a club, which looked bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree walking stick of antaeus.
by this time, the whole nation of the pygmies had seen the new wonder, and a million of them set up a shout all together; so that it really made quite an audible squeak.
""get up, antaeus!
bestir yourself, you lazy old giant!
here comes another giant, as strong as you are, to fight with you."
""nonsense, nonsense!"
growled the sleepy giant.
""i'll have my nap out, come who may."
still the stranger drew nearer; and now the pygmies could plainly discern that, if his stature were less lofty than the giant's, yet his shoulders were even broader.
and, in truth, what a pair of shoulders they must have been!
as i told you, a long while ago, they once upheld the sky.
the pygmies, being ten times as vivacious as their great numskull of a brother, could not abide the giant's slow movements, and were determined to have him on his feet.
so they kept shouting to him, and even went so far as to prick him with their swords.
""get up, get up, get up," they cried.
""up with you, lazy bones!
the strange giant's club is bigger than your own, his shoulders are the broadest, and we think him the stronger of the two."
antaeus could not endure to have it said that any mortal was half so mighty as himself.
this latter remark of the pygmies pricked him deeper than their swords; and, sitting up, in rather a sulky humor, he gave a gape of several yards wide, rubbed his eyes, and finally turned his stupid head in the direction whither his little friends were eagerly pointing.
no sooner did he set eyes on the stranger, than, leaping on his feet, and seizing his walking stick, he strode a mile or two to meet him; all the while brandishing the sturdy pine tree, so that it whistled through the air.
""who are you?"
thundered the giant.
""and what do you want in my dominions?"
there was one strange thing about antaeus, of which i have not yet told you, lest, hearing of so many wonders all in a lump, you might not believe much more than half of them.
you are to know, then, that whenever this redoubtable giant touched the ground, either with his hand, his foot, or any other part of his body, he grew stronger than ever he had been before.
the earth, you remember, was his mother, and was very fond of him, as being almost the biggest of her children; and so she took this method of keeping him always in full vigor.
some persons affirm that he grew ten times stronger at every touch; others say that it was only twice as strong.
but only think of it!
whenever antaeus took a walk, supposing it were but ten miles, and that he stepped a hundred yards at a stride, you may try to cipher out how much mightier he was, on sitting down again, than when he first started.
and whenever he flung himself on the earth to take a little repose, even if he got up the very next instant, he would be as strong as exactly ten just such giants as his former self.
it was well for the world that antaeus happened to be of a sluggish disposition and liked ease better than exercise; for, if he had frisked about like the pygmies, and touched the earth as often as they did, he would long ago have been strong enough to pull down the sky about people's ears.
but these great lubberly fellows resemble mountains, not only in bulk, but in their disinclination to move.
any other mortal man, except the very one whom antaeus had now encountered, would have been half frightened to death by the giant's ferocious aspect and terrible voice.
but the stranger did not seem at all disturbed.
he carelessly lifted his club, and balanced it in his hand, measuring antaeus with his eye, from head to foot, not as if wonder-smitten at his stature, but as if he had seen a great many giants before, and this was by no means the biggest of them.
in fact, if the giant had been no bigger than the pygmies -lrb- who stood pricking up their ears, and looking and listening to what was going forward -rrb-, the stranger could not have been less afraid of him.
""who are you, i say?"
roared antaeus again.
""what's your name?
why do you come hither?
speak, you vagabond, or i'll try the thickness of your skull with my walking-stick!"
""you are a very discourteous giant," answered the stranger quietly, "and i shall probably have to teach you a little civility, before we part.
as for my name, it is hercules.
i have come hither because this is my most convenient road to the garden of the hesperides, whither i am going to get three of the golden apples for king eurystheus."
""caitiff, you shall go no farther!"
bellowed antaeus, putting on a grimmer look than before; for he had heard of the mighty hercules, and hated him because he was said to be so strong.
""neither shall you go back whence you came!"
""how will you prevent me," asked hercules, "from going whither i please?"
""by hitting you a rap with this pine tree here," shouted antaeus, scowling so that he made himself the ugliest monster in africa.
""i am fifty times stronger than you; and now that i stamp my foot upon the ground, i am five hundred times stronger!
i am ashamed to kill such a puny little dwarf as you seem to be.
i will make a slave of you, and you shall likewise be the slave of my brethren here, the pygmies.
so throw down your club and your other weapons; and as for that lion's skin, i intend to have a pair of gloves made of it."
""come and take it off my shoulders, then," answered hercules, lifting his club.
then the giant, grinning with rage, strode tower-like towards the stranger -lrb- ten times strengthened at every step -rrb-, and fetched a monstrous blow at him with his pine tree, which hercules caught upon his club; and being more skilful than antaeus, he paid him back such a rap upon the sconce, that down tumbled the great lumbering man-mountain, flat upon the ground.
the poor little pygmies -lrb- who really never dreamed that anybody in the world was half so strong as their brother antaeus -rrb- were a good deal dismayed at this.
but no sooner was the giant down, than up he bounced again, with tenfold might, and such a furious visage as was horrible to behold.
he aimed another blow at hercules, but struck awry, being blinded with wrath, and only hit his poor innocent mother earth, who groaned and trembled at the stroke.
his pine tree went so deep into the ground, and stuck there so fast, that, before antaeus could get it out, hercules brought down his club across his shoulders with a mighty thwack, which made the giant roar as if all sorts of intolerable noises had come screeching and rumbling out of his immeasurable lungs in that one cry.
away it went, over mountains and valleys, and, for aught i know, was heard on the other side of the african deserts.
as for the pygmies, their capital city was laid in ruins by the concussion and vibration of the air; and, though there was uproar enough without their help, they all set up a shriek out of three millions of little throats, fancying, no doubt, that they swelled the giant's bellow by at least ten times as much.
meanwhile, antaeus had scrambled upon his feet again, and pulled his pine tree out of the earth; and, all aflame with fury, and more outrageously strong than ever, he ran at hercules, and brought down another blow.
""this time, rascal," shouted he, "you shall not escape me."
but once more hercules warded off the stroke with his club, and the giant's pine tree was shattered into a thousand splinters, most of which flew among the pygmies, and did them more mischief than i like to think about.
before antaeus could get out of the way, hercules let drive again, and gave him another knock-down blow, which sent him heels over head, but served only to increase his already enormous and insufferable strength.
as for his rage, there is no telling what a fiery furnace it had now got to be.
his one eye was nothing but a circle of red flame.
having now no weapons but his fists, he doubled them up -lrb- each bigger than a hogshead -rrb-, smote one against the other, and danced up and down with absolute frenzy, flourishing his immense arms about, as if he meant not merely to kill hercules, but to smash the whole world to pieces.
""come on!"
roared this thundering giant.
""let me hit you but one box on the ear, and you'll never have the headache again."
now hercules -lrb- though strong enough, as you already know, to hold the sky up -rrb- began to be sensible that he should never win the victory, if he kept on knocking antaeus down; for, by and by, if he hit him such hard blows, the giant would inevitably, by the help of his mother earth, become stronger than the mighty hercules himself.
so, throwing down his club, with which he had fought so many dreadful battles, the hero stood ready to receive his antagonist with naked arms.
""step forward," cried he.
""since i've broken your pine tree, we'll try which is the better man at a wrestling match."
""aha!
then i'll soon satisfy you," shouted the giant; for, if there was one thing on which he prided himself more than another, it was his skill in wrestling.
""villain, i'll fling you where you can never pick yourself up again."
on came antaeus, hopping and capering with the scorching heat of his rage, and getting new vigor wherewith to wreak his passion, every time he hopped.
but hercules, you must understand, was wiser than this numskull of a giant, and had thought of a way to fight him -- huge, earth-born monster that he was -- and to conquer him too, in spite of all that his mother earth could do for him.
watching his opportunity, as the mad giant made a rush at him, hercules caught him round the middle with both hands, lifted him high into the air, and held him aloft overhead.
just imagine it, my dear little friends.
what a spectacle it must have been, to see this monstrous fellow sprawling in the air, face downwards, kicking out his long legs and wriggling his whole vast body, like a baby when its father holds it at arm's length towards the ceiling.
but the most wonderful thing was, that, as soon as antaeus was fairly off the earth, he began to lose the vigor which he had gained by touching it.
hercules very soon perceived that his troublesome enemy was growing weaker, both because he struggled and kicked with less violence, and because the thunder of his big voice subsided into a grumble.
the truth was that unless the giant touched mother earth as often as once in five minutes, not only his overgrown strength, but the very breath of his life, would depart from him.
hercules had guessed this secret; and it may be well for us all to remember it, in case we should ever have to fight a battle with a fellow like antaeus.
for these earth-born creatures are only difficult to conquer on their own ground, but may easily be managed if we can contrive to lift them into a loftier and purer region.
so it proved with the poor giant, whom i am really a little sorry for, notwithstanding his uncivil way of treating strangers who came to visit him.
when his strength and breath were quite gone, hercules gave his huge body a toss, and flung it about a mile off, where it fell heavily, and lay with no more motion than a sand hill.
it was too late for the giant's mother earth to help him now; and i should not wonder if his ponderous bones were lying on the same spot to this very day, and were mistaken for those of an uncommonly large elephant.
but, alas me!
what a wailing did the poor little pygmies set up when they saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible manner!
if hercules heard their shrieks, however, he took no notice, and perhaps fancied them only the shrill, plaintive twittering of small birds that had been frightened from their nests by the uproar of the battle between himself and antaeus.
indeed, his thoughts had been so much taken up with the giant, that he had never once looked at the pygmies, nor even knew that there was such a funny little nation in the world.
and now, as he had traveled a good way, and was also rather weary with his exertions in the fight, he spread out his lion's skin on the ground, and, reclining himself upon it, fell fast asleep.
as soon as the pygmies saw hercules preparing for a nap, they nodded their little heads at one another, and winked with their little eyes.
and when his deep, regular breathing gave them notice that he was asleep, they assembled together in an immense crowd, spreading over a space of about twenty-seven feet square.
one of their most eloquent orators -lrb- and a valiant warrior enough, besides, though hardly so good at any other weapon as he was with his tongue -rrb- climbed upon a toadstool, and, from that elevated position, addressed the multitude.
his sentiments were pretty much as follows; or, at all events, something like this was probably the upshot of his speech: "tall pygmies and mighty little men!
you and all of us have seen what a public calamity has been brought to pass, and what an insult has here been offered to the majesty of our nation.
yonder lies antaeus, our great friend and brother, slain, within our territory, by a miscreant who took him at disadvantage, and fought him -lrb- if fighting it can be called -rrb- in a way that neither man, nor giant, nor pygmy ever dreamed of fighting, until this hour.
and, adding a grievous contumely to the wrong already done us, the miscreant has now fallen asleep as quietly as if nothing were to be dreaded from our wrath!
it behooves you, fellow-countrymen, to consider in what aspect we shall stand before the world, and what will be the verdict of impartial history, should we suffer these accumulated outrages to go unavenged.
""antaeus was our brother, born of that same beloved parent to whom we owe the thews and sinews, as well as the courageous hearts, which made him proud of our relationship.
he was our faithful ally, and fell fighting as much for our national rights and immunities as for his own personal ones.
we and our forefathers have dwelt in friendship with him, and held affectionate intercourse as man to man, through immemorial generations.
you remember how often our entire people have reposed in his great shadow, and how our little ones have played at hide-and-seek in the tangles of his hair, and how his mighty footsteps have familiarly gone to and fro among us, and never trodden upon any of our toes.
and there lies this dear brother -- this sweet and amiable friend -- this brave and faithful ally -- this virtuous giant -- this blameless and excellent antaeus -- dead!
dead!
silent!
powerless!
a mere mountain of clay!
forgive my tears!
nay, i behold your own.
were we to drown the world with them, could the world blame us?
""but to resume: shall we, my countrymen, suffer this wicked stranger to depart unharmed, and triumph in his treacherous victory, among distant communities of the earth?
shall we not rather compel him to leave his bones here on our soil, by the side of our slain brother's bones?
so that, while one skeleton shall remain as the everlasting monument of our sorrow, the other shall endure as long, exhibiting to the whole human race a terrible example of pygmy vengeance!
such is the question.
i put it to you in full confidence of a response that shall be worthy of our national character, and calculated to increase, rather than diminish, the glory which our ancestors have transmitted to us, and which we ourselves have proudly vindicated in our warfare with the cranes."
the orator was here interrupted by a burst of irrepressible enthusiasm; every individual pygmy crying out that the national honor must be preserved at all hazards.
he bowed, and, making a gesture for silence, wound up his harangue in the following admirable manner: "it only remains for us, then, to decide whether we shall carry on the war in our national capacity -- one united people against a common enemy -- or whether some champion, famous in former fights, shall be selected to defy the slayer of our brother antaeus to single combat.
in the latter case, though not unconscious that there may be taller men among you, i hereby offer myself for that enviable duty.
and believe me, dear countrymen, whether i live or die, the honor of this great country, and the fame bequeathed us by our heroic progenitors, shall suffer no diminution in my hands.
never, while i can wield this sword, of which i now fling away the scabbard -- never, never, never, even if the crimson hand that slew the great antaeus shall lay me prostrate, like him, on the soil which i give my life to defend."
so saying, this valiant pygmy drew out his weapon -lrb- which was terrible to behold, being as long as the blade of a penknife -rrb-, and sent the scabbard whirling over the heads of the multitude.
his speech was followed by an uproar of applause, as its patriotism and self-devotion unquestionably deserved; and the shouts and clapping of hands would have been greatly prolonged, had they not been rendered quite inaudible by a deep respiration, vulgarly called a snore, from the sleeping hercules.
it was finally decided that the whole nation of pygmies should set to work to destroy hercules; not, be it understood, from any doubt that a single champion would be capable of putting him to the sword, but because he was a public enemy, and all were desirous of sharing in the glory of his defeat.
there was a debate whether the national honor did not demand that a herald should be sent with a trumpet, to stand over the ear of hercules, and after blowing a blast right into it, to defy him to the combat by formal proclamation.
but two or three venerable and sagacious pygmies, well versed in state affairs, gave it as their opinion that war already existed, and that it was their rightful privilege to take the enemy by surprise.
moreover, if awakened, and allowed to get upon his feet, hercules might happen to do them a mischief before he could be beaten down again.
for, as these sage counselors remarked, the stranger's club was really very big, and had rattled like a thunderbolt against the skull of antaeus.
so the pygmies resolved to set aside all foolish punctilios, and assail their antagonist at once.
accordingly, all the fighting men of the nation took their weapons, and went boldly up to hercules, who still lay fast asleep, little dreaming of the harm which the pygmies meant to do him.
a body of twenty thousand archers marched in front, with their little bows all ready, and the arrows on the string.
the same number were ordered to clamber upon hercules, some with spades to dig his eyes out, and others with bundles of hay, and all manner of rubbish with which they intended to plug up his mouth and nostrils, so that he might perish for lack of breath.
these last, however, could by no means perform their appointed duty; inasmuch as the enemy's breath rushed out of his nose in an obstreperous hurricane and whirlwind, which blew the pygmies away as fast as they came nigh.
it was found necessary, therefore, to hit upon some other method of carrying on the war.
after holding a council, the captains ordered their troops to collect sticks, straws, dry weeds, and whatever combustible stuff they could find, and make a pile of it, heaping it high around the head of hercules.
as a great many thousand pygmies were employed in this task, they soon brought together several bushels of inflammatory matter, and raised so tall a heap, that, mounting on its summit, they were quite upon a level with the sleeper's face.
the archers, meanwhile, were stationed within bow shot, with orders to let fly at hercules the instant that he stirred.
everything being in readiness, a torch was applied to the pile, which immediately burst into flames, and soon waxed hot enough to roast the enemy, had he but chosen to lie still.
a pygmy, you know, though so very small, might set the world on fire, just as easily as a giant could; so that this was certainly the very best way of dealing with their foe, provided they could have kept him quiet while the conflagration was going forward.
but no sooner did hercules begin to be scorched, than up he started, with his hair in a red blaze.
""what's all this?"
he cried, bewildered with sleep, and staring about him as if he expected to see another giant.
at that moment the twenty thousand archers twanged their bowstrings, and the arrows came whizzing, like so many winged mosquitoes, right into the face of hercules.
but i doubt whether more than half a dozen of them punctured the skin, which was remarkably tough, as you know the skin of a hero has good need to be.
""villain!"
shouted all the pygmies at once.
""you have killed the giant antaeus, our great brother, and the ally of our nation.
we declare bloody war against you, and will slay you on the spot."
surprised at the shrill piping of so many little voices, hercules, after putting out the conflagration of his hair, gazed all round about, but could see nothing.
at last, however, looking narrowly on the ground, he espied the innumerable assemblage of pygmies at his feet.
he stooped down, and taking up the nearest one between his thumb and finger, set him on the palm of his left hand, and held him at a proper distance for examination.
it chanced to be the very identical pygmy who had spoken from the top of the toadstool, and had offered himself as a champion to meet hercules in single combat.
""what in the world, my little fellow," ejaculated hercules, "may you be?"
""i am your enemy," answered the valiant pygmy, in his mightiest squeak.
""you have slain the enormous antaeus, our brother by the mother's side, and for ages the faithful ally of our illustrious nation.
we are determined to put you to death; and for my own part, i challenge you to instant battle, on equal ground."
hercules was so tickled with the pygmy's big words and warlike gestures, that he burst into a great explosion of laughter, and almost dropped the poor little mite of a creature off the palm of his hand, through the ecstasy and convulsion of his merriment.
""upon my word," cried he, "i thought i had seen wonders before to-day -- hydras with nine heads, stags with golden horns, six-legged men, three-headed dogs, giants with furnaces in their stomachs, and nobody knows what besides.
but here, on the palm of my hand, stands a wonder that outdoes them all!
your body, my little friend, is about the size of an ordinary man's finger.
pray, how big may your soul be?"
""as big as your own!"
said the pygmy.
hercules was touched with the little man's dauntless courage, and could not help acknowledging such a brotherhood with him as one hero feels for another.
""my good little people," said he, making a low obeisance to the grand nation, "not for all the world would i do an intentional injury to such brave fellows as you!
your hearts seem to me so exceedingly great, that, upon my honor, i marvel how your small bodies can contain them.
i sue for peace, and, as a condition of it, will take five strides, and be out of your kingdom at the sixth.
good-bye.
i shall pick my steps carefully, for fear of treading upon some fifty of you, without knowing it.
ha, ha, ha!
ho, ho, ho!
for once, hercules acknowledges himself vanquished."
some writers say, that hercules gathered up the whole race of pygmies in his lion's skin, and carried them home to greece, for the children of king eurystheus to play with.
but this is a mistake.
he left them, one and all, within their own territory, where, for aught i can tell, their descendants are alive to the present day, building their little houses, cultivating their little fields, spanking their little children, waging their little warfare with the cranes, doing their little business, whatever it may be, and reading their little histories of ancient times.
in those histories, perhaps, it stands recorded, that, a great many centuries ago, the valiant pygmies avenged the death of the giant antaeus by scaring away the mighty hercules.
the dragon's teeth.
cadmus, phoenix, and cilix, the three sons of king agenor, and their little sister europa -lrb- who was a very beautiful child -rrb-, were at play together near the seashore in their father's kingdom of phoenicia.
they had rambled to some distance from the palace where their parents dwelt, and were now in a verdant meadow, on one side of which lay the sea, all sparkling and dimpling in the sunshine, and murmuring gently against the beach.
the three boys were very happy, gathering flowers, and twining them into garlands, with which they adorned the little europa.
seated on the grass, the child was almost hidden under an abundance of buds and blossoms, whence her rosy face peeped merrily out, and, as cadmus said, was the prettiest of all the flowers.
just then, there came a splendid butterfly, fluttering along the meadow; and cadmus, phoenix, and cilix set off in pursuit of it, crying out that it was a flower with wings.
europa, who was a little wearied with playing all day long, did not chase the butterfly with her brothers, but sat still where they had left her, and closed her eyes.
for a while, she listened to the pleasant murmur of the sea, which was like a voice saying "hush!"
and bidding her go to sleep.
but the pretty child, if she slept at all, could not have slept more than a moment, when she heard something trample on the grass, not far from her, and, peeping out from the heap of flowers, beheld a snow-white bull.
and whence could this bull have com?
europa and her brothers had been a long time playing in the meadow, and had seen no cattle, nor other living thing, either there or on the neighboring hills.
""brother cadmus!"
cried europa, starting up out of the midst of the roses and lilies.
""phoenix!
cilix!
where are you all?
help!
help!
come and drive away this bull!"
but her brothers were too far off to hear; especially as the fright took away europa's voice, and hindered her from calling very loudly.
so there she stood, with her pretty mouth wide open, as pale as the white lilies that were twisted among the other flowers in her garlands.
nevertheless, it was the suddenness with which she had perceived the bull, rather than anything frightful in his appearance, that caused europa so much alarm.
on looking at him more attentively, she began to see that he was a beautiful animal, and even fancied a particularly amiable expression in his face.
as for his breath -- the breath of cattle, you know, is always sweet -- it was as fragrant as if he had been grazing on no other food than rosebuds, or at least, the most delicate of clover blossoms.
never before did a bull have such bright and tender eyes, and such smooth horns of ivory, as this one.
and the bull ran little races, and capered sportively around the child; so that she quite forgot how big and strong he was, and, from the gentleness and playfulness of his actions, soon came to consider him as innocent a creature as a pet lamb.
thus, frightened as she at first was, you might by and by have seen europa stroking the bull's forehead with her small white hand, and taking the garlands off her own head to hang them on his neck and ivory horns.
then she pulled up some blades of grass, and he ate them out of her hand, not as if he were hungry, but because he wanted to be friends with the child, and took pleasure in eating what she had touched.
well, my stars!
was there ever such a gentle, sweet, pretty, and amiable creature as this bull, and ever such a nice playmate for a little girl?
when the animal saw -lrb- for the bull had so much intelligence that it is really wonderful to think of -rrb-, when he saw that europa was no longer afraid of him, he grew overjoyed, and could hardly contain himself for delight.
he frisked about the meadow, now here, now there, making sprightly leaps, with as little effort as a bird expends in hopping from twig to twig.
indeed, his motion was as light as if he were flying through the air, and his hoofs seemed hardly to leave their print in the grassy soil over which he trod.
with his spotless hue, he resembled a snow drift, wafted along by the wind.
once he galloped so far away that europa feared lest she might never see him again; so, setting up her childish voice, called him back.
""come back, pretty creature!"
she cried.
""here is a nice clover blossom."
and then it was delightful to witness the gratitude of this amiable bull, and how he was so full of joy and thankfulness that he capered higher than ever.
he came running, and bowed his head before europa, as if he knew her to be a king's daughter, or else recognized the important truth that a little girl is everybody's queen.
and not only did the bull bend his neck, he absolutely knelt down at her feet, and made such intelligent nods, and other inviting gestures, that europa understood what he meant just as well as if he had put it in so many words.
""come, dear child," was what he wanted to say, "let me give you a ride on my back."
at the first thought of such a thing, europa drew back.
but then she considered in her wise little head that there could be no possible harm in taking just one gallop on the back of this docile and friendly animal, who would certainly set her down the very instant she desired it.
and how it would surprise her brothers to see her riding across the green meadow!
and what merry times they might have, either taking turns for a gallop, or clambering on the gentle creature, all four children together, and careering round the field with shouts of laughter that would be heard as far off as king agenor's palace!
""i think i will do it," said the child to herself.
and, indeed, why not?
she cast a glance around, and caught a glimpse of cadmus, phoenix, and cilix, who were still in pursuit of the butterfly, almost at the other end of the meadow.
it would be the quickest way of rejoining them, to get upon the white bull's back.
she came a step nearer to him therefore; and -- sociable creature that he was -- he showed so much joy at this mark of her confidence, that the child could not find in her heart to hesitate any longer.
making one bound -lrb- for this little princess was as active as a squirrel -rrb-, there sat europa on the beautiful bull, holding an ivory horn in each hand, lest she should fall off.
""softly, pretty bull, softly!"
she said, rather frightened at what she had done.
""do not gallop too fast."
having got the child on his back, the animal gave a leap into the air, and came down so like a feather that europa did not know when his hoofs touched the ground.
he then began a race to that part of the flowery plain where her three brothers were, and where they had just caught their splendid butterfly.
europa screamed with delight; and phoenix, cilix, and cadmus stood gaping at the spectacle of their sister mounted on a white bull, not knowing whether to be frightened or to wish the same good luck for themselves.
the gentle and innocent creature -lrb- for who could possibly doubt that he was so? -rrb-
pranced round among the children as sportively as a kitten.
europa all the while looked down upon her brothers, nodding and laughing, but yet with a sort of stateliness in her rosy little face.
as the bull wheeled about to take another gallop across the meadow, the child waved her hand, and said, "good-bye," playfully pretending that she was now bound on a distant journey, and might not see her brothers again for nobody could tell how long.
""good-bye," shouted cadmus, phoenix, and cilix, all in one breath.
but, together with her enjoyment of the sport, there was still a little remnant of fear in the child's heart; so that her last look at the three boys was a troubled one, and made them feel as if their dear sister were really leaving them forever.
and what do you think the snowy bull did next?
why, he set off, as swift as the wind, straight down to the seashore, scampered across the sand, took an airy leap, and plunged right in among the foaming billows.
the white spray rose in a shower over him and little europa, and fell spattering down upon the water.
then what a scream of terror did the poor child send forth!
the three brothers screamed manfully, likewise, and ran to the shore as fast as their legs would carry them, with cadmus at their head.
but it was too late.
when they reached the margin of the sand, the treacherous animal was already far away in the wide blue sea, with only his snowy head and tail emerging, and poor little europa between them, stretching out one hand towards her dear brothers, while she grasped the bull's ivory horn with the other.
and there stood cadmus, phoenix, and cilix, gazing at this sad spectacle, through their tears, until they could no longer distinguish the bull's snowy head from the white-capped billows that seemed to boil up out of the sea's depths around him.
nothing more was ever seen of the white bull -- nothing more of the beautiful child.
this was a mournful story, as you may well think, for the three boys to carry home to their parents.
king agenor, their father, was the ruler of the whole country; but he loved his little daughter europa better than his kingdom, or than all his other children, or than anything else in the world.
therefore, when cadmus and his two brothers came crying home, and told him how that a white bull had carried off their sister, and swam with her over the sea, the king was quite beside himself with grief and rage.
although it was now twilight, and fast growing dark, he bade them set out instantly in search of her.
""never shall you see my face again," he cried, "unless you bring me back my little europa, to gladden me with her smiles and her pretty ways.
begone, and enter my presence no more, till you come leading her by the hand."
as king agenor said this, his eyes flashed fire -lrb- for he was a very passionate king -rrb-, and he looked so terribly angry that the poor boys did not even venture to ask for their suppers, but slunk away out of the palace, and only paused on the steps a moment to consult whither they should go first.
while they were standing there, all in dismay, their mother, queen telephassa -lrb- who happened not to be by when they told the story to the king -rrb-, came hurrying after them, and said that she too would go in quest of her daughter.
""o, no, mother!"
cried the boys.
""the night is dark, and there is no knowing what troubles and perils we may meet with."
""alas!
my dear children," answered poor queen telephassa; weeping bitterly, "that is only another reason why i should go with you.
if i should lose you, too, as well as my little europa, what would become of me!"
""and let me go likewise!"
said their playfellow thasus, who came running to join them.
thasus was the son of a seafaring person in the neighborhood; he had been brought up with the young princes, and was their intimate friend, and loved europa very much; so they consented that he should accompany them.
the whole party, therefore, set forth together.
cadmus, phoenix, cilix, and thasus clustered round queen telephassa, grasping her skirts, and begging her to lean upon their shoulders whenever she felt weary.
in this manner they went down the palace steps, and began a journey, which turned out to be a great deal longer than they dreamed of.
the last that they saw of king agenor, he came to the door, with a servant holding a torch beside him, and called after them into the gathering darkness: "remember!
never ascend these steps again without the child!"
""never!"
sobbed queen telephassa; and the three brothers and thasus answered, "never!
never!
never!
never!"
and they kept their word.
year after year, king agenor sat in the solitude of his beautiful palace, listening in vain for their returning footsteps, hoping to hear the familiar voice of the queen, and the cheerful talk of his sons and their playfellow thasus, entering the door together, and the sweet, childish accents of little europa in the midst of them.
but so long a time went by, that, at last, if they had really come, the king would not have known that this was the voice of telephassa, and these the younger voices that used to make such joyful echoes, when the children were playing about the palace.
we must now leave king agenor to sit on his throne, and must go along with queen telephassa, and her four youthful companions.
they went on and on, and traveled a long way, and passed over mountains and rivers, and sailed over seas.
here, and there, and everywhere, they made continual inquiry if any person could tell them what had become of europa.
the rustic people, of whom they asked this question, paused a little while from their labors in the field, and looked very much surprised.
they thought it strange to behold a woman in the garb of a queen -lrb- for telephassa in her haste had forgotten to take off her crown and her royal robes -rrb-, roaming about the country, with four lads around her, on such an errand as this seemed to be.
but nobody could give them any tidings of europa; nobody had seen a little girl dressed like a princess, and mounted on a snow-white bull, which galloped as swiftly as the wind.
i can not tell you how long queen telephassa, and cadmus, phoenix, and cilix, her three sons, and thasus, their playfellow, went wandering along the highways and bypaths, or through the pathless wildernesses of the earth, in this manner.
but certain it is, that, before they reached any place of rest, their splendid garments were quite worn out.
they all looked very much travel-stained, and would have had the dust of many countries on their shoes, if the streams, through which they waded, had not washed it all away.
when they had been gone a year, telephassa threw away her crown, because it chafed her forehead.
""it has given me many a headache," said the poor queen, "and it can not cure my heartache."
as fast as their princely robes got torn and tattered, they exchanged them for such mean attire as ordinary people wore.
by and by, they come to have a wild and homeless aspect; so that you would much sooner have taken them for a gypsy family than a queen and three princes, and a young nobleman, who had once a palace for a home, and a train of servants to do their bidding.
the four boys grew up to be tall young men, with sunburnt faces.
each of them girded on a sword, to defend themselves against the perils of the way.
when the husbandmen, at whose farmhouses they sought hospitality, needed their assistance in the harvest field, they gave it willingly; and queen telephassa -lrb- who had done no work in her palace, save to braid silk threads with golden ones -rrb- came behind them to bind the sheaves.
if payment was offered, they shook their heads, and only asked for tidings of europa.
""there are bulls enough in my pasture," the old farmers would reply; "but i never heard of one like this you tell me of.
a snow-white bull with a little princess on his back!
ho!
ho!
i ask your pardon, good folks; but there never such a sight seen hereabouts."
at last, when his upper lip began to have the down on it, phoenix grew weary of rambling hither and thither to no purpose.
so one day, when they happened to be passing through a pleasant and solitary tract of country, he sat himself down on a heap of moss.
""i can go no farther," said phoenix.
""it is a mere foolish waste of life, to spend it as we do, always wandering up and down, and never coming to any home at nightfall.
our sister is lost, and never will be found.
she probably perished in the sea; or, to whatever shore the white bull may have carried her, it is now so many years ago, that there would be neither love nor acquaintance between us, should we meet again.
my father has forbidden us to return to his palace, so i shall build me a hut of branches, and dwell here."
""well, son phoenix," said telephassa, sorrowfully, "you have grown to be a man, and must do as you judge best.
but, for my part, i will still go in quest of my poor child."
""and we three will go along with you!"
cried cadmus and cilix, and their faithful friend thasus.
but, before setting out, they all helped phoenix to build a habitation.
when completed, it was a sweet rural bower, roofed overhead with an arch of living boughs.
inside there were two pleasant rooms, one of which had a soft heap of moss for a bed, while the other was furnished with a rustic seat or two, curiously fashioned out of the crooked roots of trees.
so comfortable and home-like did it seem, that telephassa and her three companions could not help sighing, to think that they must still roam about the world, instead of spending the remainder of their lives in some such cheerful abode as they had here built for phoenix.
but, when they bade him farewell, phoenix shed tears, and probably regretted that he was no longer to keep them company.
however, he had fixed upon an admirable place to dwell in.
and by and by there came other people, who chanced to have no homes; and, seeing how pleasant a spot it was, they built themselves huts in the neighborhood of phoenix's habitation.
thus, before many years went by, a city had grown up there, in the center of which was seen a stately palace of marble, wherein dwelt phoenix, clothed in a purple robe, and wearing a golden crown upon his head.
for the inhabitants of the new city, finding that he had royal blood in his veins, had chosen him to be their king.
the very first decree of state which king phoenix issued was, that, if a maiden happened to arrive in the kingdom, mounted on a snow-white bull, and calling herself europa, his subjects should treat her with the greatest kindness and respect, and immediately bring her to the palace.
you may see, by this, that phoenix's conscience never quite ceased to trouble him, for giving up the quest of his dear sister, and sitting himself down to be comfortable, while his mother and her companions went onward.
but often and often, at the close of a weary day's journey, did telephassa and cadmus, cilix, and thasus, remember the pleasant spot in which they had left phoenix.
it was a sorrowful prospect for these wanderers, that on the morrow they must again set forth, and that, after many nightfalls, they would perhaps be no nearer the close of their toilsome pilgrimage than now.
these thoughts made them all melancholy at times, but appeared to torment cilix more than the rest of the party.
at length, one morning, when they were taking their staffs in hand to set out, he thus addressed them: "my dear mother, and you, good brother cadmus, and my friend thasus, methinks we are like people in a dream.
there is no substance in the life which we are leading.
it is such a dreary length of time since the white bull carried off my sister europa, that i have quite forgotten how she looked, and the tones of her voice, and, indeed, almost doubt whether such a little girl ever lived in the world.
and whether she once lived or no, i am convinced that she no longer survives, and that therefore it is the merest folly to waste our own lives and happiness in seeking her.
were we to find her, she would now be a woman grown, and would look upon us all as strangers.
so, to tell you the truth, i have resolved to take up my abode here; and i entreat you, mother, brother, and friend, to follow my example."
""not i, for one," said telephassa; although the poor queen, firmly as she spoke, was so travel-worn that she could hardly put her foot to the ground.
""not i, for one!
in the depths of my heart, little europa is still the rosy child who ran to gather flowers so many years ago.
she has not grown to womanhood, nor forgotten me.
at noon, at night, journeying onward, sitting down to rest, her childish voice is always in my ears, calling, "mother!
mother!"
stop here who may, there is no repose for me."
""nor for me," said cadmus, "while my dear mother pleases to go onward."
and the faithful thasus, too, was resolved to bear them company.
they remained with cilix a few days, however, and helped him to build a rustic bower, resembling the one which they had formerly built for phoenix.
when they were bidding him farewell cilix burst into tears, and told his mother that it seemed just as melancholy a dream to stay there, in solitude, as to go onward.
if she really believed that they would ever find europa, he was willing to continue the search with them, even now.
but telephassa bade him remain there, and be happy, if his own heart would let him.
so the pilgrims took their leave of him, and departed, and were hardly out of sight before some other wandering people came along that way, and saw cilix's habitation, and were greatly delighted with the appearance of the place.
there being abundance of unoccupied ground in the neighborhood, these strangers built huts for themselves, and were soon joined by a multitude of new settlers, who quickly formed a city.
in the middle of it was seen a magnificent palace of colored marble, on the balcony of which, every noontide, appeared cilix, in a long purple robe, and with a jeweled crown upon his head; for the inhabitants, when they found out that he was a king's son, had considered him the fittest of all men to be a king himself.
one of the first acts of king cilix's government was to send out an expedition, consisting of a grave ambassador, and an escort of bold and hardy young men, with orders to visit the principal kingdoms of the earth, and inquire whether a young maiden had passed through those regions, galloping swiftly on a white bull.
it is, therefore, plain to my mind, that cilix secretly blamed himself for giving up the search for europa, as long as he was able to put one foot before the other.
as for telephassa, and cadmus, and the good thasus, it grieves me to think of them, still keeping up that weary pilgrimage.
the two young men did their best for the poor queen, helping her over the rough places, often carrying her across rivulets in their faithful arms and seeking to shelter her at nightfall, even when they themselves lay on the ground.
sad, sad it was to hear them asking of every passer-by if he had seen europa, so long after the white bull had carried her away.
but, though the gray years thrust themselves between, and made the child's figure dim in their remembrance, neither of these true-hearted three ever dreamed of giving up the search.
one morning, however, poor thasus found that he had sprained his ankle, and could not possibly go a step farther.
""after a few days, to be sure," said he, mournfully, "i might make shift to hobble along with a stick.
but that would only delay you, and perhaps hinder you from finding dear little europa, after all your pains and trouble.
do you go forward, therefore, my beloved companions, and leave me to follow as i may."
""thou hast been a true friend, dear thasus," said queen telephassa, kissing his forehead.
""being neither my son, nor the brother of our lost europa, thou hast shown thyself truer to me and her than phoenix and cilix did, whom we have left behind us.
without thy loving help, and that of my son cadmus, my limbs could not have borne me half so far as this.
now, take thy rest, and be at peace.
for -- and it is the first time i have owned it to myself -- i begin to question whether we shall ever find my beloved daughter in this world."
saying this, the poor queen shed tears, because it was a grievous trial to the mother's heart to confess that her hopes were growing faint.
from that day forward, cadmus noticed that she never traveled with the same alacrity of spirit that had heretofore supported her.
her weight was heavier upon his arm.
before setting out, cadmus helped thasus build a bower; while telephassa, being too infirm to give any great assistance, advised them how to fit it up and furnish it, so that it might be as comfortable as a hut of branches could.
thasus, however, did not spend all his days in this green bower.
for it happened to him, as to phoenix and cilix, that other homeless people visited the spot, and liked it, and built themselves habitations in the neighborhood.
so here, in the course of a few years, was another thriving city, with a red freestone palace in the center of it, where thasus sat upon a throne, doing justice to the people, with a purple robe over his shoulders, a sceptre in his hand, and a crown upon his head.
the inhabitants had made him king, not for the sake of any royal blood -lrb- for none was in his veins -rrb-, but because thasus was an upright, true-hearted, and courageous man, and therefore fit to rule.
but when the affairs of his kingdom were all settled, king thasus laid aside his purple robe and crown, and sceptre, and bade his worthiest subjects distribute justice to the people in his stead.
then, grasping the pilgrim's staff that had supported him so long, he set forth again, hoping still to discover some hoof-mark of the snow-white bull, some trace of the vanished child.
he returned after a lengthened absence, and sat down wearily upon his throne.
to his latest hour, nevertheless, king thasus showed his true-hearted remembrance of europa, by ordering that a fire should always be kept burning in his palace, and a bath steaming hot, and food ready to be served up, and a bed with snow-white sheets, in case the maiden should arrive, and require immediate refreshment.
and, though europa never came, the good thasus had the blessings of many a poor traveler, who profited by the food and lodging which were meant for the little playmate of the king's boyhood.
telephassa and cadmus were now pursuing their weary way, with no companion but each other.
the queen leaned heavily upon her son's arm, and could walk only a few miles a day.
but for all her weakness and weariness, she would not be persuaded to give up the search.
it was enough to bring tears into the eyes of bearded men to hear the melancholy tone with which she inquired of every stranger whether he could not tell her any news of the lost child.
""have you seen a little girl -- no, no, i mean a young maiden of full growth -- passing by this way, mounted on a snow-white bull, which gallops as swiftly as the wind?"
""we have seen no such wondrous sight," the people would reply; and very often, taking cadmus aside, they whispered to him, "is this stately and sad-looking woman your mother?
surely she is not in her right mind; and you ought to take her home, and make her comfortable, and do your best to get this dream out of her fancy."
""it is no dream," said cadmus.
""everything else is a dream, save that."
but, one day, telephassa seemed feebler than usual, and leaned almost her whole weight on the arm of cadmus, and walked more slowly than ever before.
at last they reached a solitary spot, where she told her son that she must needs lie down, and take a good long rest.
""a good long rest!"
she repeated, looking cadmus tenderly in the face.
""a good long rest, thou dearest one!"
""as long as you please, dear mother," answered cadmus.
telephassa bade him sit down on the turf beside her, and then she took his hand.
""my son," said she, fixing her dim eyes most lovingly upon him, "this rest that i speak of will be very long indeed!
you must not wait till it is finished.
dear cadmus, you do not comprehend me.
you must make a grave here, and lay your mother's weary frame into it.
my pilgrimage is over."
cadmus burst into tears, and, for a long time, refused to believe that his dear mother was now to be taken from him.
but telephassa reasoned with him, and kissed him, and at length made him discern that it was better for her spirit to pass away out of the toil, the weariness, and grief, and disappointment which had burdened her on earth, ever since the child was lost.
he therefore repressed his sorrow, and listened to her last words.
""dearest cadmus," said she, "thou hast been the truest son that ever mother had, and faithful to the very last.
who else would have borne with my infirmities as thou hast!
it is owing to thy care, thou tenderest child, that my grave was not dug long years ago, in some valley, or on some hillside, that lies far, far behind us.
it is enough.
thou shalt wander no more on this hopeless search.
but, when thou hast laid thy mother in the earth, then go, my son, to delphi, and inquire of the oracle what thou shalt do next."
""o mother, mother," cried cadmus, "couldst thou but have seen my sister before this hour!"
""it matters little now," answered telephassa, and there was a smile upon her face.
""i go now to the better world, and, sooner or later, shall find my daughter there."
i will not sadden you, my little hearers, with telling how telephassa died and was buried, but will only say, that her dying smile grew brighter, instead of vanishing from her dead face; so that cadmus left convinced that, at her very first step into the better world, she had caught europa in her arms.
he planted some flowers on his mother's grave, and left them to grow there, and make the place beautiful, when he should be far away.
after performing this last sorrowful duty, he set forth alone, and took the road towards the famous oracle of delphi, as telephassa had advised him.
on his way thither, he still inquired of most people whom he met whether they had seen europa; for, to say the truth, cadmus had grown so accustomed to ask the question, that it came to his lips as readily as a remark about the weather.
he received various answers.
some told him one thing, and some another.
among the rest, a mariner affirmed, that, many years before, in a distant country, he had heard a rumor about a white bull, which came swimming across the sea with a child on his back, dressed up in flowers that were blighted by the sea water.
he did not know what had become of the child or the bull; and cadmus suspected, indeed, by a queer twinkle in the mariner's eyes, that he was putting a joke upon him, and had never really heard anything about the matter.
poor cadmus found it more wearisome to travel alone than to bear all his dear mother's weight, while she had kept him company.
his heart, you will understand, was now so heavy that it seemed impossible, sometimes, to carry it any farther.
but his limbs were strong and active, and well accustomed to exercise.
he walked swiftly along, thinking of king agenor and queen telephassa, and his brothers, and the friendly thasus, all of whom he had left behind him, at one point of his pilgrimage or another, and never expected to see them any more.
full of these remembrances, he came within sight of a lofty mountain, which the people thereabouts told him was called parnassus.
on the slope of mount parnassus was the famous delphi, whither cadmus was going.
this delphi was supposed to be the very midmost spot of the whole world.
the place of the oracle was a certain cavity in the mountain side, over which, when cadmus came thither, he found a rude bower of branches.
it reminded him of those which he had helped to build for phoenix and cilix, and afterwards for thasus.
in later times, when multitudes of people came from great distances to put questions to the oracle, a spacious temple of marble was erected over the spot.
but in the days of cadmus, as i have told you, there was only this rustic bower, with its abundance of green foliage, and a tuft of shrubbery, that ran wild over the mysterious hole in the hillside.
when cadmus had thrust a passage through the tangled boughs, and made his way into the bower, he did not at first discern the half-hidden cavity.
but soon he felt a cold stream of air rushing out of it, with so much force that it shook the ringlets on his cheek.
pulling away the shrubbery which clustered over the hole, he bent forward, and spoke in a distinct but reverential tone, as if addressing some unseen personage inside of the mountain.
""sacred oracle of delphi," said he, "whither shall i go next in quest of my dear sister europa?"
there was at first a deep silence, and then a rushing sound, or a noise like a long sigh, proceeding out of the interior of the earth.
this cavity, you must know, was looked upon as a sort of fountain of truth, which sometimes gushed out in audible words; although, for the most part, these words were such a riddle that they might just as well have staid at the bottom of the hole.
but cadmus was more fortunate than many others who went to delphi in search of truth.
by and by, the rushing noise began to sound like articulate language.
it repeated, over and over again, the following sentence, which, after all, was so like the vague whistle of a blast of air, that cadmus really did not quite know whether it meant anything or not: "seek her no more!
seek her no more!
seek her no more!"
""what, then, shall i do?"
asked cadmus.
for, ever since he was a child, you know, it had been the great object of his life to find his sister.
from the very hour that he left following the butterfly in the meadow, near his father's palace, he had done his best to follow europa, over land and sea.
and now, if he must give up the search, he seemed to have no more business in the world.
but again the sighing gust of air grew into something like a hoarse voice.
""follow the cow!"
it said.
""follow the cow!
follow the cow!"
and when these words had been repeated until cadmus was tired of hearing them -lrb- especially as he could not imagine what cow it was, or why he was to follow her -rrb-, the gusty hole gave vent to another sentence.
""where the stray cow lies down, there is your home."
these words were pronounced but a single time, and died away into a whisper before cadmus was fully satisfied that he had caught the meaning.
he put other questions, but received no answer; only the gust of wind sighed continually out of the cavity, and blew the withered leaves rustling along the ground before it.
""did there really come any words out of the hole?"
thought cadmus; "or have i been dreaming all this while?"
he turned away from the oracle, and thought himself no wiser than when he came thither.
caring little what might happen to him, he took the first path that offered itself, and went along at a sluggish pace; for, having no object in view, nor any reason to go one way more than another, it would certainly have been foolish to make haste.
whenever he met anybody, the old question was at his tongue's end.
""have you seen a beautiful maiden, dressed like a king's daughter, and mounted on a snow-white bull, that gallops as swiftly as the wind?"
but, remembering what the oracle had said, he only half uttered the words, and then mumbled the rest indistinctly; and from his confusion, people must have imagined that this handsome young man had lost his wits.
i know not how far cadmus had gone, nor could he himself have told you, when at no great distance before him, he beheld a brindled cow.
she was lying down by the wayside, and quietly chewing her cud; nor did she take any notice of the young man until he had approached pretty nigh.
then, getting leisurely upon her feet, and giving her head a gentle toss, she began to move along at a moderate pace, often pausing just long enough to crop a mouthful of grass.
cadmus loitered behind, whistling idly to himself, and scarcely noticing the cow; until the thought occurred to him, whether this could possibly be the animal which, according to the oracle's response, was to serve him for a guide.
but he smiled at himself for fancying such a thing.
he could not seriously think that this was the cow, because she went along so quietly, behaving just like any other cow.
evidently she neither knew nor cared so much as a wisp of hay about cadmus, and was only thinking how to get her living along the wayside, where the herbage was green and fresh.
perhaps she was going home to be milked.
""cow, cow, cow!"
cried cadmus.
""hey, brindle, hey!
stop, my good cow!"
he wanted to come up with the cow, so as to examine her, and see if she would appear to know him, or whether there were any peculiarities to distinguish her from a thousand other cows, whose only business is to fill the milk-pail, and sometimes kick it over.
but still the brindled cow trudged on, whisking her tail to keep the flies away, and taking as little notice of cadmus as she well could.
if he walked slowly, so did the cow, and seized the opportunity to graze.
if he quickened his pace, the cow went just so much the faster; and once, when cadmus tried to catch her by running, she threw out her heels, stuck her tail straight on end, and set off at a gallop, looking as queerly as cows generally do, while putting themselves to their speed.
when cadmus saw that it was impossible to come up with her, he walked on moderately, as before.
the cow, too, went leisurely on, without looking behind.
wherever the grass was greenest, there she nibbled a mouthful or two.
where a brook glistened brightly across the path, there the cow drank, and breathed a comfortable sigh, and drank again, and trudged onward at the pace that best suited herself and cadmus.
""i do believe," thought cadmus, "that this may be the cow that was foretold me.
if it be the one, i suppose she will lie down somewhere hereabouts."
whether it were the oracular cow or some other one, it did not seem reasonable that she should travel a great way farther.
so, whenever they reached a particularly pleasant spot on a breezy hillside, or in a sheltered vale, or flowery meadow, on the shore of a calm lake, or along the bank of a clear stream, cadmus looked eagerly around to see if the situation would suit him for a home.
but still, whether he liked the place or no, the brindled cow never offered to lie down.
on she went at the quiet pace of a cow going homeward to the barn yard; and, every moment, cadmus expected to see a milkmaid approaching with a pail, or a herdsman running to head the stray animal, and turn her back towards the pasture.
but no milkmaid came; no herdsman drove her back; and cadmus followed the stray brindle till he was almost ready to drop down with fatigue.
""o brindled cow," cried he, in a tone of despair, "do you never mean to stop?"
he had now grown too intent on following her to think of lagging behind, however long the way, and whatever might be his fatigue.
indeed, it seemed as if there were something about the animal that bewitched people.
several persons who happened to see the brindled cow, and cadmus following behind, began to trudge after her, precisely as he did.
cadmus was glad of somebody to converse with, and therefore talked very freely to these good people.
he told them all his adventures, and how he had left king agenor in his palace, and phoenix at one place, and cilix at another, and thasus at a third, and his dear mother, queen telephassa, under a flowery sod; so that now he was quite alone, both friendless and homeless.
he mentioned, likewise, that the oracle had bidden him be guided by a cow, and inquired of the strangers whether they supposed that this brindled animal could be the one.
""why,'t is a very wonderful affair," answered one of his new companions.
""i am pretty well acquainted with the ways of cattle, and i never knew a cow, of her own accord, to go so far without stopping.
if my legs will let me, i'll never leave following the beast till she lies down."
""nor i!"
said a second.
""nor i!"
cried a third.
""if she goes a hundred miles farther, i am determined to see the end of it."
the secret of it was, you must know, that the cow was an enchanted cow, and that, without their being conscious of it, she threw some of her enchantment over everybody that took so much as half a dozen steps behind her.
they could not possibly help following her, though all the time they fancied themselves doing it of their own accord.
the cow was by no means very nice in choosing her path; so that sometimes they had to scramble over rocks, or wade through mud and mire, and all in a terribly bedraggled condition, and tired to death, and very hungry, into the bargain.
what a weary business it was!
but still they kept trudging stoutly forward, and talking as they went.
the strangers grew very fond of cadmus, and resolved never to leave him, but to help him build a city wherever the cow might lie down.
in the center of it there should be a noble palace, in which cadmus might dwell, and be their king, with a throne, a crown, a sceptre, a purple robe, and everything else that a king ought to have; for in him there was the royal blood, and the royal heart, and the head that knew how to rule.
while they were talking of these schemes, and beguiling the tediousness of the way with laying out the plan of the new city, one of the company happened to look at the cow.
""joy!
joy!"
cried he, clapping his hands.
""brindle is going to lie down."
they all looked; and, sure enough, the cow had stopped, and was staring leisurely about her, as other cows do when on the point of lying down.
and slowly, slowly did she recline herself on the soft grass, first bending her forelegs, and then crouching her hind ones.
when cadmus and his companions came up with her, there was the brindled cow taking her ease, chewing her cud, and looking them quietly in the face; as if this was just the spot she had been seeking for, and as if it were all a matter of course.
""this, then," said cadmus, gazing around him, "this is to be my home."
it was a fertile and lovely plain, with great trees flinging their sun-speckled shadows over it, and hills fencing it in from the rough weather at no great distance, they beheld a river gleaming in the sunshine.
a home feeling stole into the heart of poor cadmus.
he was very glad to know that here he might awake in the morning without the necessity of putting on his dusty sandals to travel farther and farther.
the days and the years would pass over him, and find him still in this pleasant spot.
if he could have had his brothers with him, and his friend thasus, and could have seen his dear mother under a roof of his own, he might here have been happy after all their disappointments.
some day or other, too, his sister europa might have come quietly to the door of his home, and smiled round upon the familiar faces.
but, indeed, since there was no hope of regaining the friends of his boyhood, or ever seeing his dear sister again, cadmus resolved to make himself happy with these new companions, who had grown so fond of him while following the cow.
""yes, my friends," said he to them, "this is to be our home.
here we will build our habitations.
the brindled cow, which has led us hither, will supply us with milk.
we will cultivate the neighboring soil and lead an innocent and happy life."
his companions joyfully assented to this plan; and, in the first place, being very hungry and thirsty, they looked about them for the means of providing a comfortable meal.
not far off they saw a tuft of trees, which appeared as if there might be a spring of water beneath them.
they went thither to fetch some, leaving cadmus stretched on the ground along with the brindled cow; for, now that he had found a place of rest, it seemed as if all the weariness of his pilgrimage, ever since he left king agenor's palace, had fallen upon him at once.
but his new friends had not long been gone, when he was suddenly startled by cries, shouts, and screams, and the noise of a terrible struggle, and in the midst of it all, a most awful hissing, which went right through his ears like a rough saw.
running towards the tuft of trees, he beheld the head and fiery eyes of an immense serpent or dragon, with the widest jaws that ever a dragon had, and a vast many rows of horribly sharp teeth.
before cadmus could reach the spot, this pitiless reptile had killed his poor companions, and was busily devouring them, making but a mouthful of each man.
it appears that the fountain of water was enchanted, and that the dragon had been set to guard it, so that no mortal might ever quench his thirst there.
as the neighboring inhabitants carefully avoided the spot, it was now a long time -lrb- not less than a hundred years or thereabouts -rrb- since the monster had broken his fast; and, as was natural enough, his appetite had grown to be enormous, and was not half satisfied by the poor people whom he had just eaten up.
when he caught sight of cadmus, therefore, he set up another abominable hiss, and flung back his immense jaws, until his mouth looked like a great red cavern, at the farther end of which were seen the legs of his last victim, whom he had hardly had time to swallow.
but cadmus was so enraged at the destruction of his friends that he cared neither for the size of the dragon's jaws nor for his hundreds of sharp teeth.
drawing his sword, he rushed at the monster, and flung himself right into his cavernous mouth.
this bold method of attacking him took the dragon by surprise; for, in fact, cadmus had leaped so far down into his throat, that the rows of terrible teeth could not close upon him, nor do him the least harm in the world.
thus, though the struggle was a tremendous one, and though the dragon shattered the tuft of trees into small splinters by the lashing of his tail, yet, as cadmus was all the while slashing and stabbing at his very vitals, it was not long before the scaly wretch bethought himself of slipping away.
he had not gone his length, however, when the brave cadmus gave him a sword thrust that finished the battle; and creeping out of the gateway of the creature's jaws, there he beheld him still wriggling his vast bulk, although there was no longer life enough in him to harm a little child.
but do not you suppose that it made cadmus sorrowful to think of the melancholy fate which had befallen those poor, friendly people, who had followed the cow along with him?
it seemed as if he were doomed to lose everybody whom he loved, or to see them perish in one way or another.
and here he was, after all his toils and troubles, in a solitary place, with not a single human being to help him build a hut.
""what shall i do?"
cried he aloud.
""it were better for me to have been devoured by the dragon, as my poor companions were."
""cadmus," said a voice but whether it came from above or below him, or whether it spoke within his own breast, the young man could not tell -- "cadmus, pluck out the dragon's teeth, and plant them in the earth."
this was a strange thing to do; nor was it very easy, i should imagine, to dig out all those deep-rooted fangs from the dead dragon's jaws.
but cadmus toiled and tugged, and after pounding the monstrous head almost to pieces with a great stone, he at last collected as many teeth as might have filled a bushel or two.
the next thing was to plant them.
this, likewise, was a tedious piece of work, especially as cadmus was already exhausted with killing the dragon and knocking his head to pieces, and had nothing to dig the earth with, that i know of, unless it were his sword blade.
finally, however, a sufficiently large tract of ground was turned up, and sown with this new kind of seed; although half of the dragon's teeth still remained to be planted some other day.
cadmus, quite out of breath, stood leaning upon his sword, and wondering what was to happen next.
he had waited but a few moments, when he began to see a sight, which was as great a marvel as the most marvelous thing i ever told you about.
the sun was shining slantwise over the field, and showed all the moist, dark soil just like any other newly-planted piece of ground.
all at once, cadmus fancied he saw something glisten very brightly, first at one spot, then at another, and then at a hundred and a thousand spots together.
soon he perceived them to be the steel heads of spears, sprouting up everywhere like so many stalks of grain, and continually growing taller and taller.
next appeared a vast number of bright sword blades, thrusting themselves up in the same way.
a moment afterwards, the whole surface of the ground was broken by a multitude of polished brass helmets, coming up like a crop of enormous beans.
so rapidly did they grow, that cadmus now discerned the fierce countenance of a man beneath every one.
in short, before he had time to think what a wonderful affair it was, he beheld an abundant harvest of what looked like human beings, armed with helmets and breastplates, shields, swords, and spears; and before they were well out of the earth, they brandished their weapons, and clashed them one against another, seeming to think, little while as they had yet lived, that they had wasted too much of life without a battle.
every tooth of the dragon had produced one of these sons of deadly mischief.
up sprouted also a great many trumpeters; and with the first breath that they drew, they put their brazen trumpets to their lips, and sounded a tremendous and ear-shattering blast, so that the whole space, just now so quiet and solitary, reverberated with the clash and clang of arms, the bray of warlike music, and the shouts of angry men.
so enraged did they all look, that cadmus fully expected them to put the whole world to the sword.
how fortunate would it be for a great conqueror, if he could get a bushel of the dragon's teeth to sow!
""cadmus," said the same voice which he had before heard, "throw a stone into the midst of the armed men."
so cadmus seized a large stone, and flinging it into the middle of the earth army, saw it strike the breastplate of a gigantic and fierce-looking warrior.
immediately on feeling the blow, he seemed to take it for granted that somebody had struck him; and, uplifting his weapon, he smote his next neighbor a blow that cleft his helmet asunder, and stretched him on the ground.
in an instant, those nearest the fallen warrior began to strike at one another with their swords, and stab with their spears.
the confusion spread wider and wider.
each man smote down his brother, and was himself smitten down before he had time to exult in his victory.
the trumpeters, all the while, blew their blasts shriller and shriller; each soldier shouted a battle cry, and often fell with it on his lips.
it was the strangest spectacle of causeless wrath, and of mischief for no good end, that had ever been witnessed; but, after all, it was neither more foolish nor more wicked than a thousand battles that have since been fought, in which men have slain their brothers with just as little reason as these children of the dragon's teeth.
it ought to be considered, too, that the dragon people were made for nothing else; whereas other mortals were born to love and help one another.
well, this memorable battle continued to rage until the ground was strewn with helmeted heads that had been cut off.
of all the thousands that began the fight, there were only five left standing.
these now rushed from different parts of the field, and, meeting in the middle of it, clashed their swords, and struck at each other's hearts as fiercely as ever.
""cadmus," said the voice again, "bid those five warriors sheathe their swords.
they will help you to build the city."
without hesitating an instant, cadmus stepped forward, with the aspect of a king and a leader, and extending his drawn sword amongst them, spoke to the warriors in a stern and commanding voice.
""sheathe your weapons!"
said he.
and forthwith, feeling themselves bound to obey him, the five remaining sons of the dragon's teeth made him a military salute with their swords, returned them to the scabbards, and stood before cadmus in a rank, eyeing him as soldiers eye their captain, while awaiting the word of command.
these five men had probably sprung from the biggest of the dragon's teeth, and were the boldest and strongest of the whole army.
they were almost giants indeed, and had good need to be so, else they never could have lived through so terrible a fight.
they still had a very furious look, and, if cadmus happened to glance aside, would glare at one another, with fire flashing out of their eyes.
it was strange, too, to observe how the earth, out of which they had so lately grown, was incrusted, here and there, on their bright breastplates, and even, begrimed their faces; just as you may have seen it clinging to beets and carrots, when pulled out of their native soil.
cadmus hardly knew whether to consider them as men, or some odd kind of vegetable; although, on the whole, he concluded that there was human nature in them, because they were so fond of trumpets and weapons, and so ready to shed blood.
they looked him earnestly in the face, waiting for his next order, and evidently desiring no other employment than to follow him from one battlefield to another, all over the wide world.
but cadmus was wiser than these earth-born creatures, with the dragon's fierceness in them, and knew better how to use their strength and hardihood.
""come!"
said he.
""you are sturdy fellows.
make yourselves useful!
quarry some stones with those great swords of yours, and help me to build a city."
the five soldiers grumbled a little, and muttered that it was their business to overthrow cities, not to build them up.
but cadmus looked at them with a stern eye, and spoke to them in a tone of authority, so that they knew him for their master, and never again thought of disobeying his commands.
they set to work in good earnest, and toiled so diligently, that, in a very short time, a city began to make its appearance.
at first, to be sure, the workmen showed a quarrelsome disposition.
like savage beasts, they would doubtless have done one another a mischief, if cadmus had not kept watch over them, and quelled the fierce old serpent that lurked in their hearts, when he saw it gleaming out of their wild eyes.
but, in course of time, they got accustomed to honest labor, and had sense enough to feel that there was more true enjoyment in living at peace, and doing good to one's neighbor, than in striking at him with a two-edged sword.
it may not be too much to hope that the rest of mankind will by and by grow as wise and peaceable as these five earth-begrimed warriors, who sprang from the dragon's teeth.
and now the city was built, and there was a home in it for each of the workmen.
but the palace of cadmus was not yet erected, because they had left it till the last, meaning to introduce all the new improvements of architecture, and make it very commodious, as well as stately and beautiful.
after finishing the rest of their labors, they all went to bed betimes, in order to rise in the gray of the morning, and get at least the foundation of the edifice laid before nightfall.
but, when cadmus arose, and took his way towards the site where the palace was to be built, followed by his five sturdy workmen marching all in a row, what do you think he saw?
what should it be but the most magnificent palace that had ever been seen in the world.
it was built of marble and other beautiful kinds of stone, and rose high into the air, with a splendid dome and a portico along the front, and carved pillars, and everything else that befitted the habitation of a mighty king.
it had grown up out of the earth in almost as short a time as it had taken the armed host to spring from the dragon's teeth; and what made the matter more strange, no seed of this stately edifice ever had been planted.
when the five workmen beheld the dome, with the morning sunshine making it look golden and glorious, they gave a great shout.
""long live king cadmus," they cried, "in his beautiful palace."
and the new king, with his five faithful followers at his heels, shouldering their pickaxes and marching in a rank -lrb- for they still had a soldier-like sort of behavior, as their nature was -rrb-, ascended the palace steps.
halting at the entrance, they gazed through a long vista of lofty pillars, that were ranged from end to end of a great hall.
at the farther extremity of this hall, approaching slowly towards him, cadmus beheld a female figure, wonderfully beautiful, and adorned with a royal robe, and a crown of diamonds over her golden ringlets, and the richest necklace that ever a queen wore.
his heart thrilled with delight.
he fancied it his long-lost sister europa, now grown to womanhood, coming to make him happy, and to repay him with her sweet sisterly affection, for all those weary wonderings in quest of her since he left king agenor's palace -- for the tears that he had shed, on parting with phoenix, and cilix, and thasus -- for the heart-breakings that had made the whole world seem dismal to him over his dear mother's grave.
but, as cadmus advanced to meet the beautiful stranger, he saw that her features were unknown to him, although, in the little time that it required to tread along the hall, he had already felt a sympathy betwixt himself and her.
""no, cadmus," said the same voice that had spoken to him in the field of the armed men, "this is not that dear sister europa whom you have sought so faithfully all over the wide world.
this is harmonia, a daughter of the sky, who is given you instead of sister, and brothers, and friend, and mother.
you will find all those dear ones in her alone."
so king cadmus dwelt in the palace, with his new friend harmonia, and found a great deal of comfort in his magnificent abode, but would doubtless have found as much, if not more, in the humblest cottage by the wayside.
before many years went by, there was a group of rosy little children -lrb- but how they came thither has always been a mystery to me -rrb- sporting in the great hall, and on the marble steps of the palace, and running joyfully to meet king cadmus when affairs of state left him at leisure to play with them.
they called him father, and queen harmonia mother.
the five old soldiers of the dragon's teeth grew very fond of these small urchins, and were never weary of showing them how to shoulder sticks, flourish wooden swords, and march in military order, blowing a penny trumpet, or beating an abominable rub-a-dub upon a little drum.
but king cadmus, lest there should be too much of the dragon's tooth in his children's disposition, used to find time from his kingly duties to teach them their a b c -- which he invented for their benefit, and for which many little people, i am afraid, are not half so grateful to him as they ought to be.
circe's palace.
some of you have heard, no doubt, of the wise king ulysses, and how he went to the siege of troy, and how, after that famous city was taken and burned, he spent ten long years in trying to get back again to his own little kingdom of ithaca.
at one time in the course of this weary voyage, he arrived at an island that looked very green and pleasant, but the name of which was unknown to him.
for, only a little while before he came thither, he had met with a terrible hurricane, or rather a great many hurricanes at once, which drove his fleet of vessels into a strange part of the sea, where neither himself nor any of his mariners had ever sailed.
this misfortune was entirely owing to the foolish curiosity of his shipmates, who, while ulysses lay asleep, had untied some very bulky leathern bags, in which they supposed a valuable treasure to be concealed.
but in each of these stout bags, king aeolus, the ruler of the winds, had tied up a tempest, and had given it to ulysses to keep in order that he might be sure of a favorable passage homeward to ithaca; and when the strings were loosened, forth rushed the whistling blasts, like air out of a blown bladder, whitening the sea with foam, and scattering the vessels nobody could tell whither.
immediately after escaping from this peril, a still greater one had befallen him.
scudding before the hurricane, he reached a place, which, as he afterwards found, was called laestrygonia, where some monstrous giants had eaten up many of his companions, and had sunk every one of his vessels, except that in which he himself sailed, by flinging great masses of rock at them, from the cliffs along the shore.
after going through such troubles as these, you can not wonder that king ulysses was glad to moor his tempest-beaten bark in a quiet cove of the green island, which i began with telling you about.
but he had encountered so many dangers from giants, and one-eyed cyclops, and monsters of the sea and land, that he could not help dreading some mischief, even in this pleasant and seemingly solitary spot.
for two days, therefore, the poor weather-worn voyagers kept quiet, and either staid on board of their vessel, or merely crept along under the cliffs that bordered the shore; and to keep themselves alive, they dug shellfish out of the sand, and sought for any little rill of fresh water that might be running towards the sea.
before the two days were spent, they grew very weary of this kind of life; for the followers of king ulysses, as you will find it important to remember, were terrible gormandizers, and pretty sure to grumble if they missed their regulars meals, and their irregular ones besides.
their stock of provisions was quite exhausted, and even the shellfish began to get scarce, so that they had now to choose between starving to death or venturing into the interior of the island, where perhaps some huge three-headed dragon, or other horrible monster, had his den.
such misshapen creatures were very numerous in those days; and nobody ever expected to make a voyage, or take a journey, without running more or less risk of being devoured by them.
but king ulysses was a bold man as well as a prudent one; and on the third morning he determined to discover what sort of a place the island was, and whether it were possible to obtain a supply of food for the hungry mouths of his companions.
so, taking a spear in his hand, he clambered to the summit of a cliff, and gazed round about him.
at a distance, towards the center of the island, he beheld the stately towers of what seemed to be a palace, built of snow-white marble, and rising in the midst of a grove of lofty trees.
the thick branches of these trees stretched across the front of the edifice, and more than half concealed it, although, from the portion which he saw, ulysses judged it to be spacious and exceedingly beautiful, and probably the residence of some great nobleman or prince.
a blue smoke went curling up from the chimney, and was almost the pleasantest part of the spectacle to ulysses.
for, from the abundance of this smoke, it was reasonable to conclude that there was a good fire in the kitchen, and that, at dinner-time, a plentiful banquet would be served up to the inhabitants of the palace, and to whatever guests might happen to drop in.
with so agreeable a prospect before him, ulysses fancied that he could not do better than go straight to the palace gate, and tell the master of it that there was a crew of poor shipwrecked mariners, not far off, who had eaten nothing for a day or two, save a few clams and oysters, and would therefore be thankful for a little food.
and the prince or nobleman must be a very stingy curmudgeon, to be sure, if, at least, when his own dinner was over, he would not bid them welcome to the broken victuals from the table.
pleasing himself with this idea, king ulysses had made a few steps in the direction of the palace, when there was a great twittering and chirping from the branch of a neighboring tree.
a moment afterwards, a bird came flying towards him, and hovered in the air, so as almost to brush his face with its wings.
it was a very pretty little bird, with purple wings and body, and yellow legs, and a circle of golden feathers round its neck, and on its head a golden tuft, which looked like a king's crown in miniature.
ulysses tried to catch the bird.
but it fluttered nimbly out of his reach, still chirping in a piteous tone, as if it could have told a lamentable story, had it only been gifted with human language.
and when he attempted to drive it away, the bird flew no farther than the bough of the next tree, and again came fluttering about his head, with its doleful chirp, as soon as he showed a purpose of going forward.
""have you anything to tell me, little bird?"
asked ulysses.
and he was ready to listen attentively to whatever the bird might communicate; for, at the siege of troy, and elsewhere, he had known such odd things to happen, that he would not have considered it much out of the common run had this little feathered creature talked as plainly as himself.
""peep!"
said the bird, "peep, peep, pe -- weep!"
and nothing else would it say, but only, "peep, peep, pe -- weep!"
in a melancholy cadence, and over and over and over again.
as often as ulysses moved forward, however, the bird showed the greatest alarm, and did its best to drive him back, with the anxious flutter of its purple wings.
its unaccountable behavior made him conclude, at last, that the bird knew of some danger that awaited him, and which must needs be very terrible, beyond all question, since it moved even a little fowl to feel compassion for a human being.
so he resolved, for the present, to return to the vessel, and tell his companions what he had seen.
this appeared to satisfy the bird.
as soon as ulysses turned back, it ran up the trunk of a tree, and began to pick insects out of the bark with its long, sharp bill; for it was a kind of woodpecker, you must know, and had to get its living in the same manner as other birds of that species.
but every little while, as it pecked at the bark of the tree, the purple bird bethought itself of some secret sorrow, and repeated its plaintive note of "peep, peep, pe -- weep!"
on his way to the shore, ulysses had the good luck to kill a large stag by thrusting his spear into his back.
taking it on his shoulders -lrb- for he was a remarkably strong man -rrb-, he lugged it along with him, and flung it down before his hungry companions.
i have already hinted to you what gormandizers some of the comrades of king ulysses were.
from what is related of them, i reckon that their favorite diet was pork, and that they had lived upon it until a good part of their physical substance was swine's flesh, and their tempers and dispositions were very much akin to the hog.
a dish of venison, however, was no unacceptable meal to them, especially after feeding so long on oysters and clams.
so, beholding the dead stag, they felt of its ribs, in a knowing way, and lost no time in kindling a fire of driftwood, to cook it.
the rest of the day was spent in feasting; and if these enormous eaters got up from table at sunset, it was only because they could not scrape another morsel off the poor animal's bones.
the next morning, their appetites were as sharp as ever.
they looked at ulysses, as if they expected him to clamber up the cliff again, and come back with another fat deer upon his shoulders.
instead of setting out, however, he summoned the whole crew together, and told them it was in vain to hope that he could kill a stag every day for their dinner, and therefore it was advisable to think of some other mode of satisfying their hunger.
""now," said he, "when i was on the cliff, yesterday, i discovered that this island is inhabited.
at a considerable distance from the shore stood a marble palace, which appeared to be very spacious, and had a great deal of smoke curling out of one of its chimneys."
""aha!"
muttered some of his companions, smacking their lips.
""that smoke must have come from the kitchen fire.
there was a good dinner on the spit; and no doubt there will be as good a one to-day."
""but," continued the wise ulysses, "you must remember, my good friends, our misadventure in the cavern of one-eyed polyphemus, the cyclops!
instead of his ordinary milk diet, did he not eat up two of our comrades for his supper, and a couple more for breakfast, and two at his supper again?
methinks i see him yet, the hideous monster, scanning us with that great red eye, in the middle of his forehead, to single out the fattest.
and then, again, only a few days ago, did we not fall into the hands of the king of the laestrygons, and those other horrible giants, his subjects, who devoured a great many more of us than are now left?
to tell you the truth, if we go to yonder palace, there can be no question that we shall make our appearance at the dinner table; but whether seated as guests, or served up as food, is a point to be seriously considered."
""either way," murmured some of the hungriest of the crew; "it will be better than starvation; particularly if one could be sure of being well fattened beforehand, and daintily cooked afterwards."
""that is a matter of taste," said king ulysses, "and, for my own part, neither the most careful fattening nor the daintiest of cookery would reconcile me to being dished at last.
my proposal is, therefore, that we divide ourselves into two equal parties, and ascertain, by drawing lots, which of the two shall go to the palace, and beg for food and assistance.
if these can be obtained, all is well.
if not, and if the inhabitants prove as inhospitable as polyphemus, or the laestrygons, then there will but half of us perish, and the remainder may set sail and escape."
as nobody objected to this scheme, ulysses proceeded to count the whole band, and found that there were forty-six men, including himself.
he then numbered off twenty-two of them, and put eurylochus -lrb- who was one of his chief officers, and second only to himself in sagacity -rrb- at their head.
ulysses took command of the remaining twenty-two men, in person.
then, taking off his helmet, he put two shells into it, on one of which was written, "go," and on the other "stay."
another person now held the helmet, while ulysses and eurylochus drew out each a shell; and the word "go" was found written on that which eurylochus had drawn.
in this manner, it was decided that ulysses and his twenty-two men were to remain at the seaside until the other party should have found out what sort of treatment they might expect at the mysterious palace.
as there was no help for it, eurylochus immediately set forth at the head of his twenty-two followers, who went off in a very melancholy state of mind, leaving their friends in hardly better spirits than themselves.
no sooner had they clambered up the cliff, than they discerned the tall marble towers of the palace, ascending, as white as snow, out of the lovely green shadow of the trees which surrounded it.
a gush of smoke came from a chimney in the rear of the edifice.
this vapor rose high in the air, and, meeting with a breeze, was wafted seaward, and made to pass over the heads of the hungry mariners.
when people's appetites are keen, they have a very quick scent for anything savory in the wind.
""that smoke comes from the kitchen!"
cried one of them, turning up his nose as high as he could, and snuffing eagerly.
""and, as sure as i'm a half-starved vagabond, i smell roast meat in it."
""pig, roast pig!"
said another.
""ah, the dainty little porker.
my mouth waters for him."
""let us make haste," cried the others, "or we shall be too late for the good cheer!"
but scarcely had they made half a dozen steps from the edge of the cliff, when a bird came fluttering to meet them.
it was the same pretty little bird, with the purple wings and body, the yellow legs, the golden collar round its neck, and the crown-like tuft upon its head, whose behavior had so much surprised ulysses.
it hovered about eurylochus, and almost brushed his face with its wings.
""peep, peep, pe -- weep!"
chirped the bird.
so plaintively intelligent was the sound, that it seemed as if the little creature were going to break its heart with some mighty secret that it had to tell, and only this one poor note to tell it with.
""my pretty bird," said eurylochus -- for he was a wary person, and let no token of harm escape his notice -- "my pretty bird, who sent you hither?
and what is the message which you bring?"
""peep, peep, pe -- weep!"
replied the bird, very sorrowfully.
then it flew towards the edge of the cliff, and looked around at them, as if exceedingly anxious that they should return whence they came.
eurylochus and a few of the others were inclined to turn back.
they could not help suspecting that the purple bird must be aware of something mischievous that would befall them at the palace, and the knowledge of which affected its airy spirit with a human sympathy and sorrow.
but the rest of the voyagers, snuffing up the smoke from the palace kitchen, ridiculed the idea of returning to the vessel.
one of them -lrb- more brutal than his fellows, and the most notorious gormandizer in the crew -rrb- said such a cruel and wicked thing, that i wonder the mere thought did not turn him into a wild beast, in shape, as he already was in his nature.
""this troublesome and impertinent little fowl," said he, "would make a delicate titbit to begin dinner with.
just one plump morsel, melting away between the teeth.
if he comes within my reach, i'll catch him, and give him to the palace cook to be roasted on a skewer."
the words were hardly out of his mouth, before the purple bird flew away, crying, "peep, peep, pe -- weep," more dolorously than ever.
""that bird," remarked eurylochus, "knows more than we do about what awaits us at the palace."
""come on, then," cried his comrades, "and we'll soon know as much as he does."
the party, accordingly, went onward through the green and pleasant wood.
every little while they caught new glimpses of the marble palace, which looked more and more beautiful the nearer they approached it.
they soon entered a broad pathway, which seemed to be very neatly kept, and which went winding along, with streaks of sunshine falling across it and specks of light quivering among the deepest shadows that fell from the lofty trees.
it was bordered, too, with a great many sweet-smelling flowers, such as the mariners had never seen before.
so rich and beautiful they were, that, if the shrubs grew wild here, and were native in the soil, then this island was surely the flower garden of the whole earth; or, if transplanted from some other clime, it must have been from the happy islands that lay towards the golden sunset.
""there has been a great deal of pains foolishly wasted on these flowers," observed one of the company; and i tell you what he said, that you may keep in mind what gormandizers they were.
""for my part, if i were the owner of the palace, i would bid my gardener cultivate nothing but savory pot herbs to make a stuffing for roast meat, or to flavor a stew with."
""well said!"
cried the others.
""but i'll warrant you there's a kitchen garden in the rear of the palace."
at one place they came to a crystal spring, and paused to drink at it for want of liquor which they liked better.
looking into its bosom, they beheld their own faces dimly reflected, but so extravagantly distorted by the gush and motion of the water, that each one of them appeared to be laughing at himself and all his companions.
so ridiculous were these images of themselves, indeed, that they did really laugh aloud, and could hardly be grave again as soon as they wished.
and after they had drank, they grew still merrier than before.
""it has a twang of the wine cask in it," said one, smacking his lips.
""make haste!"
cried his fellows: "we'll find the wine cask itself at the palace, and that will be better than a hundred crystal fountains."
then they quickened their pace, and capered for joy at the thought of the savory banquet at which they hoped to be guests.
but eurylochus told them that he felt as if he were walking in a dream.
""if i am really awake," continued he, "then, in my opinion, we are on the point of meeting with some stranger adventure than any that befell us in the cave of polyphemus, or among the gigantic man-eating laestrygons, or in the windy palace of king aeolus, which stands on a brazen-walled island.
this kind of dreamy feeling always comes over me before any wonderful occurrence.
if you take my advice, you will turn back."
""no, no," answered his comrades, snuffing the air, in which the scent from the palace kitchen was now very perceptible.
""we would not turn back, though we were certain that the king of the laestrygons, as big as a mountain, would sit at the head of the table, and huge polyphemus, the one-eyed cyclops, at its foot."
at length they came within full sight of the palace, which proved to be very large and lofty, with a great number of airy pinnacles upon its roof.
though it was midday, and the sun shone brightly over the marble front, yet its snowy whiteness, and its fantastic style of architecture, made it look unreal, like the frost work on a window pane, or like the shapes of castles which one sees among the clouds by moonlight.
but, just then, a puff of wind brought down the smoke of the kitchen chimney among them, and caused each man to smell the odor of the dish that he liked best; and, after scenting it, they thought everything else moonshine, and nothing real save this palace, and save the banquet that was evidently ready to be served up in it.
so they hastened their steps towards the portal, but had not got half way across the wide lawn, when a pack of lions, tigers, and wolves came bounding to meet them.
the terrified mariners started back, expecting no better fate than to be torn to pieces and devoured.
to their surprise and joy, however, these wild beasts merely capered around them, wagging their tails, offering their heads to be stroked and patted, and behaving just like so many well-bred house dogs, when they wish to express their delight at meeting their master, or their master's friends.
the biggest lion licked the feet of eurylochus; and every other lion, and every wolf and tiger, singled out one of his two and twenty followers, whom the beast fondled as if he loved him better than a beef bone.
but, for all that, eurylochus imagined that he saw something fierce and savage in their eyes; nor would he have been surprised, at any moment, to feel the big lion's terrible claws, or to see each of the tigers make a deadly spring, or each wolf leap at the throat of the man whom he had fondled.
their mildness seemed unreal, and a mere freak; but their savage nature was as true as their teeth and claws.
nevertheless, the men went safely across the lawn with the wild beasts frisking about them, and doing no manner of harm; although, as they mounted the steps of the palace, you might possibly have heard a low growl, particularly from the wolves; as if they thought it a pity, after all, to let the strangers pass without so much as tasting what they were made of.
eurylochus and his followers now passed under a lofty portal, and looked through the open doorway into the interior of the palace.
the first thing that they saw was a spacious hall, and a fountain in the middle of it, gushing up towards the ceiling out of a marble basin, and falling back into it with a continual plash.
the water of this fountain, as it spouted upward, was constantly taking new shapes, not very distinctly, but plainly enough for a nimble fancy to recognize what they were.
now it was the shape of a man in a long robe, the fleecy whiteness of which was made out of the fountain's spray; now it was a lion, or a tiger, or a wolf, or an ass, or, as often as anything else, a hog, wallowing in the marble basin as if it were his sty.
it was either magic or some very curious machinery that caused the gushing waterspout to assume all these forms.
but, before the strangers had time to look closely at this wonderful sight, their attention was drawn off by a very sweet and agreeable sound.
a woman's voice was singing melodiously in another room of the palace, and with her voice was mingled the noise of a loom, at which she was probably seated, weaving a rich texture of cloth, and intertwining the high and low sweetness of her voice into a rich tissue of harmony.
by and by, the song came to an end; and then, all at once, there were several feminine voices, talking airily and cheerfully, with now and then a merry burst of laughter, such as you may always hear when three or four young women sit at work together.
""what a sweet song that was!"
exclaimed one of the voyagers.
""too sweet, indeed," answered eurylochus, shaking his head.
""yet it was not so sweet as the song of the sirens, those bird-like damsels who wanted to tempt us on the rocks, so that our vessel might be wrecked, and our bones left whitening along the shore."
""but just listen to the pleasant voices of those maidens, and that buzz of the loom, as the shuttle passes to and fro," said another comrade.
""what a domestic, household, home-like sound it is!
ah, before that weary siege of troy, i used to hear the buzzing loom and the women's voices under my own roof.
shall i never hear them again?
nor taste those nice little savory dishes which my dearest wife knew how to serve up?"
""tush!
we shall fare better here," said another.
""but how innocently those women are babbling together, without guessing that we overhear them!
and mark that richest voice of all, so pleasant and so familiar, but which yet seems to have the authority of a mistress among them.
let us show ourselves at once.
what harm can the lady of the palace and her maidens do to mariners and warriors like us?"
""remember," said eurylochus, "that it was a young maiden who beguiled three of our friends into the palace of the king of the laestrygons, who ate up one of them in the twinkling of an eye."
no warning or persuasion, however, had any effect on his companions.
they went up to a pair of folding doors at the farther end of the hall, and throwing them wide open, passed into the next room.
eurylochus, meanwhile, had stepped behind a pillar.
in the short moment while the folding doors opened and closed again, he caught a glimpse of a very beautiful woman rising from the loom, and coming to meet the poor weather-beaten wanderers, with a hospitable smile, and her hand stretched out in welcome.
there were four other young women, who joined their hands and danced merrily forward, making gestures of obeisance to the strangers.
they were only less beautiful than the lady who seemed to be their mistress.
yet eurylochus fancied that one of them had sea-green hair, and that the close-fitting bodice of a second looked like the bark of a tree, and that both the others had something odd in their aspect, although he could not quite determine what it was, in the little while that he had to examine them.
the folding doors swung quickly back, and left him standing behind the pillar, in the solitude of the outer hall.
there eurylochus waited until he was quite weary, and listened eagerly to every sound, but without hearing anything that could help him to guess what had become of his friends.
footsteps, it is true, seemed to be passing and repassing, in other parts of the palace.
then there was a clatter of silver dishes, or golden ones, which made him imagine a rich feast in a splendid banqueting hall.
but by and by he heard a tremendous grunting and squealing, and then a sudden scampering, like that of small, hard hoofs over a marble floor, while the voices of the mistress and her four handmaidens were screaming all together, in tones of anger and derision.
eurylochus could not conceive what had happened, unless a drove of swine had broken into the palace, attracted by the smell of the feast.
chancing to cast his eyes at the fountain, he saw that it did not shift its shape, as formerly, nor looked either like a long-robed man, or a lion, a tiger, a wolf, or an ass.
it looked like nothing but a hog, which lay wallowing in the marble basin, and filled it from brim to brim.
but we must leave the prudent eurylochus waiting in the outer hall, and follow his friends into the inner secrecy of the palace.
as soon as the beautiful woman saw them, she arose from the loom, as i have told you, and came forward, smiling, and stretching out her hand.
she took the hand of the foremost among them, and bade him and the whole party welcome.
""you have been long expected, my good friends," said she.
""i and my maidens are well acquainted with you, although you do not appear to recognize us.
look at this piece of tapestry, and judge if your faces must not have been familiar to us."
so the voyagers examined the web of cloth which the beautiful woman had been weaving in her loom; and, to their vast astonishment, they saw their own figures perfectly represented in different colored threads.
it was a life-like picture of their recent adventures, showing them in the cave of polyphemus, and how they had put out his one great moony eye; while in another part of the tapestry they were untying the leathern bags, puffed out with contrary winds; and farther on, they beheld themselves scampering away from the gigantic king of the laestrygons, who had caught one of them by the leg.
lastly, there they were, sitting on the desolate shore of this very island, hungry and downcast, and looking ruefully at the bare bones of the stag which they devoured yesterday.
this was as far as the work had yet proceeded; but when the beautiful woman should again sit down at her loom, she would probably make a picture of what had since happened to the strangers, and of what was now going to happen.
""you see," she said, "that i know all about your troubles; and you can not doubt that i desire to make you happy for as long a time as you may remain with me.
for this purpose, my honored guests, i have ordered a banquet to be prepared.
fish, fowl, and flesh, roasted, and in luscious stews, and seasoned, i trust, to all your tastes, are ready to be served up.
if your appetites tell you it is dinner time, then come with me to the festal saloon."
at this kind invitation, the hungry mariners were quite overjoyed; and one of them, taking upon himself to be spokesman, assured their hospitable hostess that any hour of the day was dinner time with them, whenever they could get flesh to put in the pot, and fire to boil it with.
so the beautiful woman led the way; and the four maidens -lrb- one of them had sea-green hair, another a bodice of oak bark, a third sprinkled a shower of water drops from her fingers" ends, and the fourth had some other oddity, which i have forgotten -rrb-, all these followed behind, and hurried the guests along, until they entered a magnificent saloon.
it was built in a perfect oval, and lighted from a crystal dome above.
around the walls were ranged two and twenty thrones, overhung by canopies of crimson and gold, and provided with the softest of cushions, which were tasselled and fringed with gold cord.
each of the strangers was invited to sit down; and there they were, two and twenty storm-beaten mariners, in worn and tattered garb, sitting on two and twenty cushioned and canopied thrones, so rich and gorgeous that the proudest monarch had nothing more splendid in his stateliest hall.
then you might have seen the guests nodding, winking with one eye, and leaning from one throne to another, to communicate their satisfaction in hoarse whispers.
""our good hostess has made kings of us all," said one.
""ha!
do you smell the feast?
i'll engage it will be fit to set before two and twenty kings."
""i hope," said another, "it will be, mainly, good substantial joints, sirloins, spareribs, and hinder quarters, without too many kickshaws.
if i thought the good lady would not take it amiss, i should call for a fat slice of fried bacon to begin with."
ah, the gluttons and gormandizers!
you see how it was with them.
in the loftiest seats of dignity, on royal thrones, they could think of nothing but their greedy appetite, which was the portion of their nature that they shared with wolves and swine; so that they resembled those vilest of animals far more than they did kings -- if, indeed, kings were what they ought to be.
but the beautiful woman now clapped her hands; and immediately there entered a train of two and twenty serving man, bringing dishes of the richest food, all hot from the kitchen fire, and sending up such a steam that it hung like a cloud below the crystal dome of the saloon.
an equal number of attendants brought great flagons of wine, of various kinds, some of which sparkled as it was poured out, and went bubbling down the throat; while, of other sorts, the purple liquor was so clear that you could see the wrought figures at the bottom of the goblet.
while the servants supplied the two and twenty guests with food and drink, the hostess and her four maidens went from one throne to another, exhorting them to eat their fill, and to quaff wine abundantly, and thus to recompense themselves, at this one banquet, for the many days when they had gone without a dinner.
but whenever the mariners were not looking at them -lrb- which was pretty often, as they looked chiefly into the basins and platters -rrb-, the beautiful woman and her damsels turned aside, and laughed.
even the servants, as they knelt down to present the dishes, might be seen to grin and sneer, while the guests were helping themselves to the offered dainties.
and, once in a while, the strangers seemed to taste something that they did not like.
""here is an odd kind of spice in this dish," said one.
""i ca n't say it quite suits my palate.
down it goes, however."
""send a good draught of wine down your throat," said his comrade on the next throne.
""that is the stuff to make this sort of cookery relish well.
though i must needs say, the wine has a queer taste too.
but the more i drink of it, the better i like the flavor."
whatever little fault they might find with the dishes, they sat at dinner a prodigiously long while; and it would really have made you ashamed to see how they swilled down the liquor and gobbled up the food.
they sat on golden thrones, to be sure; but they behaved like pigs in a sty; and, if they had had their wits about them, they might have guessed that this was the opinion of their beautiful hostess and her maidens.
it brings a blush into my face to reckon up, in my own mind, what mountains of meat and pudding, and what gallons of wine, these two and twenty guzzlers and gormandizers ate and drank.
they forgot all about their homes, and their wives and children, and all about ulysses, and everything else, except this banquet, at which they wanted to keep feasting forever.
but at length they began to give over, from mere incapacity to hold any more.
""that last bit of fat is too much for me," said one.
""and i have not room for another morsel," said his next neighbor, heaving a sigh.
""what a pity!
my appetite is as sharp as ever."
in short, they all left off eating, and leaned back on their thrones, with such a stupid and helpless aspect as made them ridiculous to behold.
when their hostess saw this, she laughed aloud; so did her four damsels; so did the two and twenty serving men that bore the dishes, and their two and twenty fellows that poured out the wine.
and the louder they all laughed, the more stupid and helpless did the two and twenty gormandizers look.
then the beautiful woman took her stand in the middle of the saloon, and stretching out a slender rod -lrb- it had been all the while in her hand, although they never noticed it till this moment -rrb-, she turned it from one guest to another, until each had felt it pointed at himself.
beautiful as her face was, and though there was a smile on it, it looked just as wicked and mischievous as the ugliest serpent that ever was seen; and fat-witted as the voyagers had made themselves, they began to suspect that they had fallen into the power of an evil-minded enchantress.
""wretches," cried she, "you have abused a lady's hospitality; and in this princely saloon your behavior has been suited to a hog-pen.
you are already swine in everything but the human form, which you disgrace, and which i myself should be ashamed to keep a moment longer, were you to share it with me.
but it will require only the slightest exercise of magic to make the exterior conform to the hoggish disposition.
assume your proper shapes, gormandizers, and begone to the sty!"
uttering these last words, she waved her wand; and stamping her foot imperiously, each of the guests was struck aghast at beholding, instead of his comrades in human shape, one and twenty hogs sitting on the same number of golden thrones.
each man -lrb- as he still supposed himself to be -rrb- essayed to give a cry of surprise, but found that he could merely grunt, and that, in a word, he was just such another beast as his companions.
it looked so intolerably absurd to see hogs on cushioned thrones, that they made haste to wallow down upon all fours, like other swine.
they tried to groan and beg for mercy, but forthwith emitted the most awful grunting and squealing that ever came out of swinish throats.
they would have wrung their hands in despair, but, attempting to do so, grew all the more desperate for seeing themselves squatted on their hams, and pawing the air with their fore trotters.
dear me!
what pendulous ears they had!
what little red eyes, half buried in fat!
and what long snouts, instead of grecian noses!
but brutes as they certainly were, they yet had enough of human nature in them to be shocked at their own hideousness; and still intending to groan, they uttered a viler grunt and squeal than before.
so harsh and ear-piercing it was, that you would have fancied a butcher was sticking his knife into each of their throats, or, at the very least, that somebody was pulling every hog by his funny little twist of a tail.
""begone to your sty!"
cried the enchantress, giving them some smart strokes with her wand; and then she turned to the serving men -- "drive out these swine, and throw down some acorns for them to eat."
the door of the saloon being flung open, the drove of hogs ran in all directions save the right one, in accordance with their hoggish perversity, but were finally driven into the back yard of the palace.
it was a sight to bring tears into one's eyes -lrb- and i hope none of you will be cruel enough to laugh at it -rrb-, to see the poor creatures go snuffing along, picking up here a cabbage leaf and there a turnip top, and rooting their noses in the earth for whatever they could find.
in their sty, moreover, they behaved more piggishly than the pigs that had been born so; for they bit and snorted at one another, put their feet in the trough, and gobbled up their victuals in a ridiculous hurry; and, when there was nothing more to be had, they made a great pile of themselves among some unclean straw, and fell fast asleep.
if they had any human reason left, it was just enough to keep them wondering when they should be slaughtered, and what quality of bacon they should make.
meantime, as i told you before, eurylochus had waited, and waited, and waited, in the entrance hall of the palace, without being able to comprehend what had befallen his friends.
at last, when the swinish uproar resounded through the palace, and when he saw the image of a hog in the marble basin, he thought it best to hasten back to the vessel, and inform the wise ulysses of these marvelous occurrences.
so he ran as fast as he could down the steps, and never stopped to draw breath till he reached the shore.
""why do you come alone?"
asked king ulysses, as soon as he saw him.
""where are your two and twenty comrades?"
at these questions, eurylochus burst into tears.
""alas!"
he cried, "i greatly fear that we shall never see one of their faces again."
then he told ulysses all that had happened, as far as he knew it, and added that he suspected the beautiful woman to be a vile enchantress, and the marble palace, magnificent as it looked, to be only a dismal cavern in reality.
as for his companions, he could not imagine what had become of them, unless they had been given to the swine to be devoured alive.
at this intelligence, all the voyagers were greatly affrighted.
but ulysses lost no time in girding on his sword, and hanging his bow and quiver over his shoulders, and taking a spear in his right hand.
when his followers saw their wise leader making these preparations, they inquired whither he was going, and earnestly besought him not to leave them.
""you are our king," cried they; "and what is more, you are the wisest man in the whole world, and nothing but your wisdom and courage can get us out of this danger.
if you desert us, and go to the enchanted palace, you will suffer the same fate as our poor companions, and not a soul of us will ever see our dear ithaca again."
""as i am your king," answered ulysses, "and wiser than any of you, it is therefore the more my duty to see what has befallen our comrades, and whether anything can yet be done to rescue them.
wait for me here until tomorrow.
if i do not then return, you must hoist sail, and endeavor to find your way to our native land.
for my part, i am answerable for the fate of these poor mariners, who have stood by my side in battle, and been so often drenched to the skin, along with me, by the same tempestuous surges.
i will either bring them back with me, or perish."
had his followers dared, they would have detained him by force.
but king ulysses frowned sternly on them, and shook his spear, and bade them stop him at their peril.
seeing him so determined, they let him go, and sat down on the sand, as disconsolate a set of people as could be, waiting and praying for his return.
it happened to ulysses, just as before, that, when he had gone a few steps from the edge of the cliff, the purple bird came fluttering towards him, crying, "peep, peep, pe -- weep!"
and using all the art it could to persuade him to go no farther.
""what mean you, little bird?"
cried ulysses.
""you are arrayed like a king in purple and gold, and wear a golden crown upon your head.
is it because i too am a king, that you desire so earnestly to speak with me?
if you can talk in human language, say what you would have me do."
""peep!"
answered the purple bird, very dolorously.
""peep, peep, pe -- we -- e!" certainly there lay some heavy anguish at the little bird's heart; and it was a sorrowful predicament that he could not, at least, have the consolation of telling what it was.
but ulysses had no time to waste in trying to get at the mystery.
he therefore quickened his pace, and had gone a good way along the pleasant wood path, when there met him a young man of very brisk and intelligent aspect, and clad in a rather singular garb.
he wore a short cloak and a sort of cap that seemed to be furnished with a pair of wings; and from the lightness of his step, you would have supposed that there might likewise be wings on his feet.
to enable him to walk still better -lrb- for he was always on one journey or another -rrb- he carried a winged staff, around which two serpents were wriggling and twisting.
in short, i have said enough to make you guess that it was quicksilver; and ulysses -lrb- who knew him of old, and had learned a great deal of his wisdom from him -rrb- recognized him in a moment.
""whither are you going in such a hurry, wise ulysses?"
asked quicksilver.
""do you not know that this island is enchanted?
the wicked enchantress -lrb- whose name is circe, the sister of king aetes -rrb- dwells in the marble palace which you see yonder among the trees.
by her magic arts she changes every human being into the brute, beast, or fowl whom he happens most to resemble."
""that little bird, which met me at the edge of the cliff," exclaimed ulysses; "was he a human being once?"
""yes," answered quicksilver.
""he was once a king, named picus, and a pretty good sort of a king, too, only rather too proud of his purple robe, and his crown, and the golden chain about his neck; so he was forced to take the shape of a gaudy-feathered bird.
the lions, and wolves, and tigers, who will come running to meet you, in front of the palace, were formerly fierce and cruel men, resembling in their disposition the wild beasts whose forms they now rightfully wear."
""and my poor companions," said ulysses.
""have they undergone a similar change, through the arts of this wicked circe?"
""you well know what gormandizers they were," replied quicksilver; and rogue that he was, he could not help laughing at the joke.
""so you will not be surprised to hear that they have all taken the shapes of swine!
if circe had never done anything worse, i really should not think her so very much to blame."
""but can i do nothing to help them?"
inquired ulysses.
""it will require all your wisdom," said quicksilver, "and a little of my own into the bargain, to keep your royal and sagacious self from being transformed into a fox.
but do as i bid you; and the matter may end better than it has begun."
while he was speaking, quicksilver seemed to be in search of something; he went stooping along the ground, and soon laid his hand on a little plant with a snow-white flower, which he plucked and smelt of.
ulysses had been looking at that very spot only just before; and it appeared to him that the plant had burst into full flower the instant when quicksilver touched it with his fingers.
""take this flower, king ulysses," said he.
""guard it as you do your eyesight; for i can assure you it is exceedingly rare and precious, and you might seek the whole earth over without ever finding another like it.
keep it in your hand, and smell of it frequently after you enter the palace, and while you are talking with the enchantress.
especially when she offers you food, or a draught of wine out of her goblet, be careful to fill your nostrils with the flower's fragrance.
follow these directions, and you may defy her magic arts to change you into a fox."
quicksilver then gave him some further advice how to behave, and bidding him be bold and prudent, again assured him that, powerful as circe was, he would have a fair prospect of coming safely out of her enchanted palace.
after listening attentively, ulysses thanked his good friend, and resumed his way.
but he had taken only a few steps, when, recollecting some other questions which he wished to ask, he turned round again, and beheld nobody on the spot where quicksilver had stood; for that winged cap of his, and those winged shoes, with the help of the winged staff, had carried him quickly out of sight.
when ulysses reached the lawn, in front of the palace, the lions and other savage animals came bounding to meet him, and would have fawned upon him and licked his feet.
but the wise king struck at them with his long spear, and sternly bade them begone out of his path; for he knew that they had once been bloodthirsty men, and would now tear him limb from limb, instead of fawning upon him, could they do the mischief that was in their hearts.
the wild beasts yelped and glared at him, and stood at a distance, while he ascended the palace steps.
on entering the hall, ulysses saw the magic fountain in the center of it.
the up-gushing water had now again taken the shape of a man in a long, white, fleecy robe, who appeared to be making gestures of welcome.
the king likewise heard the noise of the shuttle in the loom and the sweet melody of the beautiful woman's song, and then the pleasant voices of herself and the four maidens talking together, with peals of merry laughter intermixed.
but ulysses did not waste much time in listening to the laughter or the song.
he leaned his spear against one of the pillars of the hall, and then, after loosening his sword in the scabbard, stepped boldly forward, and threw the folding doors wide open.
the moment she beheld his stately figure standing in the doorway, the beautiful woman rose from the loom, and ran to meet him with a glad smile throwing its sunshine over her face, and both her hands extended.
""welcome, brave stranger!"
cried she.
""we were expecting you."
and the nymph with the sea-green hair made a courtesy down to the ground, and likewise bade him welcome; so did her sister with the bodice of oaken bark, and she that sprinkled dew-drops from her fingers" ends, and the fourth one with some oddity which i can not remember.
and circe, as the beautiful enchantress was called -lrb- who had deluded so many persons that she did not doubt of being able to delude ulysses, not imagining how wise he was -rrb-, again addressed him: "your companions," said she, "have already been received into my palace, and have enjoyed the hospitable treatment to which the propriety of their behavior so well entitles them.
if such be your pleasure, you shall first take some refreshment, and then join them in the elegant apartment which they now occupy.
see, i and my maidens have been weaving their figures into this piece of tapestry."
she pointed to the web of beautifully-woven cloth in the loom.
circe and the four nymphs must have been very diligently at work since the arrival of the mariners; for a great many yards of tapestry had now been wrought, in addition to what i before described.
in this new part, ulysses saw his two and twenty friends represented as sitting on cushions and canopied thrones, greedily devouring dainties, and quaffing deep draughts of wine.
the work had not yet gone any further.
o, no, indeed.
the enchantress was far too cunning to let ulysses see the mischief which her magic arts had since brought upon the gormandizers.
""as for yourself, valiant sir," said circe, "judging by the dignity of your aspect, i take you to be nothing less than a king.
deign to follow me, and you shall be treated as befits your rank."
so ulysses followed her into the oval saloon, where his two and twenty comrades had devoured the banquet, which ended so disastrously for themselves.
but, all this while, he had held the snow-white flower in his hand, and had constantly smelt of it while circe was speaking; and as he crossed the threshold of the saloon, he took good care to inhale several long and deep snuffs of its fragrance.
instead of two and twenty thrones, which had before been ranged around the wall, there was now only a single throne, in the center of the apartment.
but this was surely the most magnificent seat that ever a king or an emperor reposed himself upon, all made of chased gold, studded with precious stones, with a cushion that looked like a soft heap of living roses, and overhung by a canopy of sunlight which circe knew how to weave into drapery.
the enchantress took ulysses by the hand, and made him sit down upon this dazzling throne.
then, clapping her hands, she summoned the chief butler.
""bring hither," said she, "the goblet that is set apart for kings to drink out of.
and fill it with the same delicious wine which my royal brother, king aetes, praised so highly, when he last visited me with my fair daughter medea.
that good and amiable child!
were she now here, it would delight her to see me offering this wine to my honored guest."
but ulysses, while the butler was gone for the wine, held the snow-white flower to his nose.
""is it a wholesome wine?"
he asked.
at this the four maidens tittered; whereupon the enchantress looked round at them, with an aspect of severity.
""it is the wholesomest juice that ever was squeezed out of the grape," said she; "for, instead of disguising a man, as other liquor is apt to do, it brings him to his true self, and shows him as he ought to be."
the chief butler liked nothing better than to see people turned into swine, or making any kind of a beast of themselves; so he made haste to bring the royal goblet, filled with a liquid as bright as gold, and which kept sparkling upward, and throwing a sunny spray over the brim.
but, delightfully as the wine looked, it was mingled with the most potent enchantments that circe knew how to concoct.
for every drop of the pure grape juice there were two drops of the pure mischief; and the danger of the thing was, that the mischief made it taste all the better.
the mere smell of the bubbles, which effervesced at the brim, was enough to turn a man's beard into pig's bristles, or make a lion's claws grow out of his fingers, or a fox's brush behind him.
""drink, my noble guest," said circe, smiling, as she presented him with the goblet.
""you will find in this draught a solace for all your troubles."
king ulysses took the goblet with his right hand, while with his left he held the snow-white flower to his nostrils, and drew in so long a breath that his lungs were quite filled with its pure and simple fragrance.
then, drinking off all the wine, he looked the enchantress calmly in the face.
""wretch," cried circe, giving him a smart stroke with her wand, "how dare you keep your human shape a moment longer!
take the form of the brute whom you most resemble.
if a hog, go join your fellow-swine in the sty; if a lion, a wolf, a tiger, go howl with the wild beasts on the lawn; if a fox, go exercise your craft in stealing poultry.
thou hast quaffed off my wine, and canst be man no longer."
but, such was the virtue of the snow-white flower, instead of wallowing down from his throne in swinish shape, or taking any other brutal form, ulysses looked even more manly and king-like than before.
he gave the magic goblet a toss, and sent it clashing over the marble floor to the farthest end of the saloon.
then, drawing his sword, he seized the enchantress by her beautiful ringlets, and made a gesture as if he meant to strike off her head at one blow.
""wicked circe," cried he, in a terrible voice, "this sword shall put an end to thy enchant meets.
thou shalt die, vile wretch, and do no more mischief in the world, by tempting human beings into the vices which make beasts of them."
the tone and countenance of ulysses were so awful, and his sword gleamed so brightly, and seemed to have so intolerably keen an edge, that circe was almost killed by the mere fright, without waiting for a blow.
the chief butler scrambled out of the saloon, picking up the golden goblet as he went; and the enchantress and the four maidens fell on their knees, wringing their hands, and screaming for mercy.
""spare me!"
cried circe.
""spare me, royal and wise ulysses.
for now i know that thou art he of whom quicksilver forewarned me, the most prudent of mortals, against whom no enchantments can prevail.
thou only couldst have conquered circe.
spare me, wisest of men.
i will show thee true hospitality, and even give myself to be thy slave, and this magnificent palace to be henceforth thy home."
the four nymphs, meanwhile, were making a most piteous ado; and especially the ocean nymph, with the sea-green hair, wept a great deal of salt water, and the fountain nymph, besides scattering dewdrops from her fingers" ends, nearly melted away into tears.
but ulysses would not be pacified until circe had taken a solemn oath to change back his companions, and as many others as he should direct, from their present forms of beast or bird into their former shapes of men.
""on these conditions," said he, "i consent to spare your life.
otherwise you must die upon the spot."
with a drawn sword hanging over her, the enchantress would readily have consented to do as much good as she had hitherto done mischief, however little she might like such employment.
she therefore led ulysses out of the back entrance of the palace, and showed him the swine in their sty.
there were about fifty of these unclean beasts in the whole herd; and though the greater part were hogs by birth and education, there was wonderfully little difference to be seen betwixt them and their new brethren, who had so recently worn the human shape.
to speak critically, indeed, the latter rather carried the thing to excess, and seemed to make it a point to wallow in the miriest part of the sty, and otherwise to outdo the original swine in their own natural vocation.
when men once turn to brutes, the trifle of man's wit that remains in them adds tenfold to their brutality.
the comrades of ulysses, however, had not quite lost the remembrance of having formerly stood erect.
when he approached the sty, two and twenty enormous swine separated themselves from the herd, and scampered towards him, with such a chorus of horrible squealing as made him clap both hands to his ears.
and yet they did not seem to know what they wanted, nor whether they were merely hungry, or miserable from some other cause.
it was curious, in the midst of their distress, to observe them thrusting their noses into the mire, in quest of something to eat.
the nymph with the bodice of oaken bark -lrb- she was the hamadryad of an oak -rrb- threw a handful of acorns among them; and the two and twenty hogs scrambled and fought for the prize, as if they had tasted not so much as a noggin of sour milk for a twelvemonth.
""these must certainly be my comrades," said ulysses.
""i recognize their dispositions.
they are hardly worth the trouble of changing them into the human form again.
nevertheless, we will have it done, lest their bad example should corrupt the other hogs.
let them take their original shapes, therefore, dame circe, if your skill is equal to the task.
it will require greater magic, i trow, than it did to make swine of them."
so circe waved her wand again, and repeated a few magic words, at the sound of which the two and twenty hogs pricked up their pendulous ears.
it was a wonder to behold how their snouts grew shorter and shorter, and their mouths -lrb- which they seemed to be sorry for, because they could not gobble so expeditiously -rrb- smaller and smaller, and how one and another began to stand upon his hind legs, and scratch his nose with his fore trotters.
at first the spectators hardly knew whether to call them hogs or men, but by and by came to the conclusion that they rather resembled the latter.
finally, there stood the twenty-two comrades of ulysses, looking pretty much the same as when they left the vessel.
you must not imagine, however, that the swinish quality had entirely gone out of them.
when once it fastens itself into a person's character, it is very difficult getting rid of it.
this was proved by the hamadryad, who, being exceedingly fond of mischief, threw another handful of acorns before the twenty-two newly-restored people; whereupon down they wallowed in a moment, and gobbled them up in a very shameful way.
then, recollecting themselves, they scrambled to their feet, and looked more than commonly foolish.
""thanks, noble ulysses!"
they cried.
""from brute beasts you have restored us to the condition of men again."
""do not put yourselves to the trouble of thanking me," said the wise king.
""i fear i have done but little for you."
to say the truth, there was a suspicious kind of a grunt in their voices, and, for a long time afterwards, they spoke gruffly, and were apt to set up a squeal.
""it must depend on your own future behavior," added ulysses, "whether you do not find your way back to the sty."
at this moment, the note of a bird sounded from the branch of a neighboring tree.
""peep, peep, pe -- wee -- e!" it was the purple bird, who, all this while, had been sitting over their heads, watching what was going forward, and hoping that ulysses would remember how he had done his utmost to keep him and his followers out of harm's way.
ulysses ordered circe instantly to make a king of this good little fowl, and leave him exactly as she found him.
hardly were the words spoken, and before the bird had time to utter another "pe -- weep," king picus leaped down from the bough of a tree, as majestic a sovereign as any in the world, dressed in a long purple robe and gorgeous yellow stockings, with a splendidly wrought collar about his neck, and a golden crown upon his head.
he and king ulysses exchanged with one another the courtesies which belong to their elevated rank.
but from that time forth, king picus was no longer proud of his crown and his trappings of royalty, nor of the fact of his being a king; he felt himself merely the upper servant of his people, and that it must be his life-long labor to make them better and happier.
as for the lions, tigers, and wolves -lrb- though circe would have restored them to their former shapes at his slightest word -rrb-, ulysses thought it advisable that they should remain as they now were, and thus give warning of their cruel dispositions, instead of going about under the guise of men, and pretending to human sympathies, while their hearts had the blood-thirstiness of wild beasts.
so he let them howl as much as they liked, but never troubled his head about them.
and, when everything was settled according to his pleasure, he sent to summon the remainder of his comrades, whom he had left at the sea-shore.
these being arrived, with the prudent eurylochus at their head, they all made themselves comfortable in circe's enchanted palace, until quite rested and refreshed from the toils and hardships of their voyage.
the pomegranate seeds.
mother ceres was exceedingly fond of her daughter proserpina, and seldom let her go alone into the fields.
but, just at the time when my story begins, the good lady was very busy, because she had the care of the wheat, and the indian corn, and the rye and barley and, in short, of the crops of every kind, all over the earth; and as the season had thus far been uncommonly backward, it was necessary to make the harvest ripen more speedily than usual.
so she put on her turban, made of poppies -lrb- a kind of flower which she was always noted for wearing -rrb-, and got into her car drawn by a pair of winged dragons, and was just ready to set off.
""dear mother," said proserpina, "i shall be very lonely while you are away.
may i not run down to the shore, and ask some of the sea nymphs to come up out of the waves and play with me?"
""yes, child," answered mother ceres.
""the sea nymphs are good creatures, and will never lead you into any harm.
but you must take care not to stray away from them, nor go wandering about the fields by yourself.
young girls, without their mothers to take care of them, are very apt to get into mischief."
the child promised to be as prudent as if she were a grown-up woman; and, by the time the winged dragons had whirled the car out of sight, she was already on the shore, calling to the sea nymphs to come and play with her.
they knew proserpina's voice, and were not long in showing their glistening faces and sea-green hair above the water, at the bottom of which was their home.
they brought along with them a great many beautiful shells; and sitting down on the moist sand, where the surf wave broke over them, they busied themselves in making a necklace, which they hung round proserpina's neck.
by way of showing her gratitude, the child besought them to go with her a little way into the fields, so that they might gather abundance of flowers, with which she would make each of her kind playmates a wreath.
""o no, dear proserpina," cried the sea nymphs; "we dare not go with you upon the dry land.
we are apt to grow faint, unless at every breath we can snuff up the salt breeze of the ocean.
and do n't you see how careful we are to let the surf wave break over us every moment or two, so as to keep ourselves comfortably moist?
if it were not for that, we should look like bunches of uprooted seaweed dried in the sun.
""it is a great pity," said proserpina.
""but do you wait for me here, and i will run and gather my apron full of flowers, and be back again before the surf wave has broken ten times over you.
i long to make you some wreaths that shall be as lovely as this necklace of many colored shells."
""we will wait, then," answered the sea nymphs.
""but while you are gone, we may as well lie down on a bank of soft sponge under the water.
the air to-day is a little too dry for our comfort.
but we will pop up our heads every few minutes to see if you are coming."
the young proserpina ran quickly to a spot where, only the day before, she had seen a great many flowers.
these, however, were now a little past their bloom; and wishing to give her friends the freshest and loveliest blossoms, she strayed farther into the fields, and found some that made her scream with delight.
never had she met with such exquisite flowers before -- violets so large and fragrant -- roses with so rich and delicate a blush -- such superb hyacinths and such aromatic pinks -- and many others, some of which seemed to be of new shapes and colors.
two or three times, moreover, she could not help thinking that a tuft of most splendid flowers had suddenly sprouted out of the earth before her very eyes, as if on purpose to tempt her a few steps farther.
proserpina's apron was soon filled, and brimming over with delightful blossoms.
she was on the point of turning back in order to rejoin the sea nymphs, and sit with them on the moist sands, all twining wreaths together.
but, a little farther on, what should she behold?
it was a large shrub, completely covered with the most magnificent flowers in the world.
""the darlings!"
cried proserpina; and then she thought to herself, "i was looking at that spot only a moment ago.
how strange it is that i did not see the flowers!"
the nearer she approached the shrub, the more attractive it looked, until she came quite close to it; and then, although its beauty was richer than words can tell, she hardly knew whether to like it or not.
it bore above a hundred flowers of the most brilliant hues, and each different from the others, but all having a kind of resemblance among themselves, which showed them to be sister blossoms.
but there was a deep, glossy luster on the leaves of the shrub, and on the petals of the flowers, that made proserpina doubt whether they might not be poisonous.
to tell you the truth, foolish as it may seem, she was half inclined to turn round and run away.
""what a silly child i am!"
thought she, taking courage.
""it is really the most beautiful shrub that ever sprang out of the earth.
i will pull it up by the roots, and carry it home, and plant it in my mother's garden."
holding up her apron full of flowers with her left hand, proserpina seized the large shrub with the other, and pulled, and pulled, but was hardly able to loosen the soil about its roots.
what a deep-rooted plant it was!
again the girl pulled with all her might, and observed that the earth began to stir and crack to some distance around the stem.
she gave another pull, but relaxed her hold, fancying that there was a rumbling sound right beneath her feet.
did the roots extend down into some enchanted cavern?
then laughing at herself for so childish a notion, she made another effort: up came the shrub, and proserpina staggered back, holding the stem triumphantly in her hand, and gazing at the deep hole which its roots had left in the soil.
much to her astonishment, this hole kept spreading wider and wider, and growing deeper and deeper, until it really seemed to have no bottom; and all the while, there came a rumbling noise out of its depths, louder and louder, and nearer and nearer, and sounding like the tramp of horses" hoofs and the rattling of wheels.
too much frightened to run away, she stood straining her eyes into this wonderful cavity, and soon saw a team of four sable horses, snorting smoke out of their nostrils, and tearing their way out of the earth with a splendid golden chariot whirling at their heels.
they leaped out of the bottomless hole, chariot and all; and there they were, tossing their black manes, flourishing their black tails, and curvetting with every one of their hoofs off the ground at once, close by the spot where proserpina stood.
in the chariot sat the figure of a man, richly dressed, with a crown on his head, all flaming with diamonds.
he was of a noble aspect, and rather handsome, but looked sullen and discontented; and he kept rubbing his eyes and shading them with his hand, as if he did not live enough in the sunshine to be very fond of its light.
as soon as this personage saw the affrighted proserpina, he beckoned her to come a little nearer.
""do not be afraid," said he, with as cheerful a smile as he knew how to put on.
""come!
will you not like to ride a little way with me, in my beautiful chariot?"
but proserpina was so alarmed, that she wished for nothing but to get out of his reach.
and no wonder.
the stranger did not look remarkably good-natured, in spite of his smile; and as for his voice, its tones were deep and stern, and sounded as much like the rumbling of an earthquake underground than anything else.
as is always the case with children in trouble, proserpina's first thought was to call for her mother.
""mother, mother ceres!"
cried she, all in a tremble.
""come quickly and save me."
but her voice was too faint for her mother to hear.
indeed, it is most probable that ceres was then a thousand miles off, making the corn grow in some far distant country.
nor could it have availed her poor daughter, even had she been within hearing; for no sooner did proserpina begin to cry out, than the stranger leaped to the ground, caught the child in his arms, and again mounted the chariot, shook the reins, and shouted to the four black horses to set off.
they immediately broke into so swift a gallop, that it seemed rather like flying through the air than running along the earth.
in a moment, proserpina lost sight of the pleasant vale of enna, in which she had always dwelt.
another instant, and even the summit of mount aetna had become so blue in the distance, that she could scarcely distinguish it from the smoke that gushed out of its crater.
but still the poor child screamed, and scattered her apron full of flowers along the way, and left a long cry trailing behind the chariot; and many mothers, to whose ears it came, ran quickly to see if any mischief had befallen their children.
but mother ceres was a great way off, and could not hear the cry.
as they rode on, the stranger did his best to soothe her.
""why should you be so frightened, my pretty child?"
said he, trying to soften his rough voice.
""i promise not to do you any harm.
what!
you have been gathering flowers?
wait till we come to my palace, and i will give you a garden full of prettier flowers than those, all made of pearls, and diamonds, and rubies.
can you guess who i am?
they call my name pluto; and i am the king of diamonds and all other precious stones.
every atom of the gold and silver that lies under the earth belongs to me, to say nothing of the copper and iron, and of the coal mines, which supply me with abundance of fuel.
do you see this splendid crown upon my head?
you may have it for a plaything.
o, we shall be very good friends, and you will find me more agreeable than you expect, when once we get out of this troublesome sunshine."
""let me go home!"
cried proserpina.
""let me go home!"
""my home is better than your mother's," answered king pluto.
""it is a palace, all made of gold, with crystal windows; and because there is little or no sunshine thereabouts, the apartments are illuminated with diamond lamps.
you never saw anything half so magnificent as my throne.
if you like, you may sit down on it, and be my little queen, and i will sit on the footstool."
""i do n't care for golden palaces and thrones," sobbed proserpina.
""oh, my mother, my mother!
carry me back to my mother!"
but king pluto, as he called himself, only shouted to his steeds to go faster.
""pray do not be foolish, proserpina," said he, in rather a sullen tone.
""i offer you my palace and my crown, and all the riches that are under the earth; and you treat me as if i were doing you an injury.
the one thing which my palace needs is a merry little maid, to run upstairs and down, and cheer up the rooms with her smile.
and this is what you must do for king pluto."
""never!"
answered proserpina, looking as miserable as she could.
""i shall never smile again till you set me down at my mother's door."
but she might just as well have talked to the wind that whistled past them, for pluto urged on his horses, and went faster than ever.
proserpina continued to cry out, and screamed so long and so loudly that her poor little voice was almost screamed away; and when it was nothing but a whisper, she happened to cast her eyes over a great broad field of waving grain -- and whom do you think she saw?
who, but mother ceres, making the corn grow, and too busy to notice the golden chariot as it went rattling along.
the child mustered all her strength, and gave one more scream, but was out of sight before ceres had time to turn her head.
king pluto had taken a road which now began to grow excessively gloomy.
it was bordered on each side with rocks and precipices, between which the rumbling of the chariot wheels was reverberated with a noise like rolling thunder.
the trees and bushes that grew in the crevices of the rocks had very dismal foliage; and by and by, although it was hardly noon, the air became obscured with a gray twilight.
the black horses had rushed along so swiftly, that they were already beyond the limits of the sunshine.
but the duskier it grew, the more did pluto's visage assume an air of satisfaction.
after all, he was not an ill-looking person, especially when he left off twisting his features into a smile that did not belong to them.
proserpina peeped at his face through the gathering dusk, and hoped that he might not be so very wicked as she at first thought him.
""ah, this twilight is truly refreshing," said king pluto, "after being so tormented with that ugly and impertinent glare of the sun.
how much more agreeable is lamplight or torchlight, more particularly when reflected from diamonds!
it will be a magnificent sight, when we get to my palace."
""is it much farther?"
asked proserpina.
""and will you carry me back when i have seen it?"
""we will talk of that by and by," answered pluto.
""we are just entering my dominions.
do you see that tall gateway before us?
when we pass those gates, we are at home.
and there lies my faithful mastiff at the threshold.
cerberus!
cerberus!
come hither, my good dog!"
so saying, pluto pulled at the reins, and stopped the chariot right between the tall, massive pillars of the gateway.
the mastiff of which he had spoken got up from the threshold, and stood on his hinder legs, so as to put his fore paws on the chariot wheel.
but, my stars, what a strange dog it was!
why, he was a big, rough, ugly-looking monster, with three separate heads, and each of them fiercer than the two others; but fierce as they were, king pluto patted them all.
he seemed as fond of his three-headed dog as if it had been a sweet little spaniel, with silken ears and curly hair.
cerberus, on the other hand, was evidently rejoiced to see his master, and expressed his attachment, as other dogs do, by wagging his tail at a great rate.
proserpina's eyes being drawn to it by its brisk motion, she saw that this tail was neither more nor less than a live dragon, with fiery eyes, and fangs that had a very poisonous aspect.
and while the three-headed cerberus was fawning so lovingly on king pluto, there was the dragon tail wagging against its will, and looking as cross and ill-natured as you can imagine, on its own separate account.
""will the dog bite me?"
asked proserpina, shrinking closer to pluto.
""what an ugly creature he is!"
""o, never fear," answered her companion.
""he never harms people, unless they try to enter my dominions without being sent for, or to get away when i wish to keep them here.
down, cerberus!
now, my pretty proserpina, we will drive on."
on went the chariot, and king pluto seemed greatly pleased to find himself once more in his own kingdom.
he drew proserpina's attention to the rich veins of gold that were to be seen among the rocks, and pointed to several places where one stroke of a pickaxe would loosen a bushel of diamonds.
all along the road, indeed, there were sparkling gems, which would have been of inestimable value above ground, but which here were reckoned of the meaner sort and hardly worth a beggar's stooping for.
not far from the gateway, they came to a bridge, which seemed to be built of iron.
pluto stopped the chariot, and bade proserpina look at the stream which was gliding so lazily beneath it.
never in her life had she beheld so torpid, so black, so muddy-looking a stream; its waters reflected no images of anything that was on the banks, and it moved as sluggishly as if it had quite forgotten which way it ought to flow, and had rather stagnate than flow either one way or the other.
""this is the river lethe," observed king pluto.
""is it not a very pleasant stream?"
""i think it a very dismal one," answered proserpina.
""it suits my taste, however," answered pluto, who was apt to be sullen when anybody disagreed with him.
""at all events, its water has one excellent quality; for a single draught of it makes people forget every care and sorrow that has hitherto tormented them.
only sip a little of it, my dear proserpina, and you will instantly cease to grieve for your mother, and will have nothing in your memory that can prevent your being perfectly happy in my palace.
i will send for some, in a golden goblet, the moment we arrive."
""o, no, no, no!"
cried proserpina, weeping afresh.
""i had a thousand times rather be miserable with remembering my mother, than be happy in forgetting her.
that dear, dear mother!
i never, never will forget her."
""we shall see," said king pluto.
""you do not know what fine times we will have in my palace.
here we are just at the portal.
these pillars are solid gold, i assure you."
he alighted from the chariot, and taking proserpina in his arms, carried her up a lofty flight of steps into the great hall of the palace.
it was splendidly illuminated by means of large precious stones, of various hues, which seemed to burn like so many lamps, and glowed with a hundred-fold radiance all through the vast apartment.
and yet there was a kind of gloom in the midst of this enchanted light; nor was there a single object in the hall that was really agreeable to behold, except the little proserpina herself, a lovely child, with one earthly flower which she had not let fall from her hand.
it is my opinion that even king pluto had never been happy in his palace, and that this was the true reason why he had stolen away proserpina, in order that he might have something to love, instead of cheating his heart any longer with this tiresome magnificence.
and, though he pretended to dislike the sunshine of the upper world, yet the effect of the child's presence, bedimmed as she was by her tears, was as if a faint and watery sunbeam had somehow or other found its way into the enchanted hall.
pluto now summoned his domestics, and bade them lose no time in preparing a most sumptuous banquet, and above all things, not to fail of setting a golden beaker of the water of lethe by proserpina's plate.
""i will neither drink that nor anything else," said proserpina.
""nor will i taste a morsel of food, even if you keep me forever in your palace."
""i should be sorry for that," replied king pluto, patting her cheek; for he really wished to be kind, if he had only known how.
""you are a spoiled child, i perceive, my little proserpina; but when you see the nice things which my cook will make for you, your appetite will quickly come again."
then, sending for the head cook, he gave strict orders that all sorts of delicacies, such as young people are usually fond of, should be set before proserpina.
he had a secret motive in this; for, you are to understand, it is a fixed law, that when persons are carried off to the land of magic, if they once taste any food there, they can never get back to their friends.
now, if king pluto had been cunning enough to offer proserpina some fruit, or bread and milk -lrb- which was the simple fare to which the child had always been accustomed -rrb-, it is very probable that she would soon have been tempted to eat it.
but he left the matter entirely to his cook, who, like all other cooks, considered nothing fit to eat unless it were rich pastry, or highly-seasoned meat, or spiced sweet cakes -- things which proserpina's mother had never given her, and the smell of which quite took away her appetite, instead of sharpening it.
but my story must now clamber out of king pluto's dominions, and see what mother ceres had been about, since she was bereft of her daughter.
we had a glimpse of her, as you remember, half hidden among the waving grain, while the four black steeds were swiftly whirling along the chariot, in which her beloved proserpina was so unwillingly borne away.
you recollect, too, the loud scream which proserpina gave, just when the chariot was out of sight.
of all the child's outcries, this last shriek was the only one that reached the ears of mother ceres.
she had mistaken the rumbling of the chariot wheels for a peal of thunder, and imagined that a shower was coming up, and that it would assist her in making the corn grow.
but, at the sound of proserpina's shriek, she started, and looked about in every direction, not knowing whence it came, but feeling almost certain that it was her daughter's voice.
it seemed so unaccountable, however, that the girl should have strayed over so many lands and seas -lrb- which she herself could not have traversed without the aid of her winged dragons -rrb-, that the good ceres tried to believe that it must be the child of some other parent, and not her own darling proserpina, who had uttered this lamentable cry.
nevertheless, it troubled her with a vast many tender fears, such as are ready to bestir themselves in every mother's heart, when she finds it necessary to go away from her dear children without leaving them under the care of some maiden aunt, or other such faithful guardian.
so she quickly left the field in which she had been so busy; and, as her work was not half done, the grain looked, next day, as if it needed both sun and rain, and as if it were blighted in the ear, and had something the matter with its roots.
the pair of dragons must have had very nimble wings; for, in less than an hour, mother ceres had alighted at the door of her home, and found it empty.
knowing, however, that the child was fond of sporting on the sea-shore, she hastened thither as fast as she could, and there beheld the wet faces of the poor sea nymphs peeping over a wave.
all this while, the good creatures had been waiting on the bank of sponge, and once, every half minute or so, had popped up their four heads above water, to see if their playmate were yet coming back.
when they saw mother ceres, they sat down on the crest of the surf wave, and let it toss them ashore at her feet.
""where is proserpina?"
cried ceres.
""where is my child?
tell me, you naughty sea nymphs, have you enticed her under the sea?"
""o, no, good mother ceres," said the innocent sea nymphs, tossing back their green ringlets, and looking her in the face.
""we never should dream of such a thing.
proserpina has been at play with us, it is true; but she left us a long while ago, meaning only to run a little way upon the dry land, and gather some flowers for a wreath.
this was early in the day, and we have seen nothing of her since."
ceres scarcely waited to hear what the nymphs had to say, before she hurried off to make inquiries all through the neighborhood.
but nobody told her anything that would enable the poor mother to guess what had become of proserpina.
a fisherman, it is true, had noticed her little footprints in the sand, as he went homeward along the beach with a basket of fish; a rustic had seen the child stooping to gather flowers; several persons had heard either the rattling of chariot wheels, or the rumbling of distant thunder; and one old woman, while plucking vervain and catnip, had heard a scream, but supposed it to be some childish nonsense, and therefore did not take the trouble to look up.
the stupid people!
it took them such a tedious while to tell the nothing that they knew, that it was dark night before mother ceres found out that she must seek her daughter elsewhere.
so she lighted a torch, and set forth, resolving never to come back until proserpina was discovered.
in her haste and trouble of mind, she quite forgot her car and the winged dragons; or, it may be, she thought that she could follow up the search more thoroughly on foot.
at all events, this was the way in which she began her sorrowful journey, holding her torch before her, and looking carefully at every object along the path.
and as it happened, she had not gone far before she found one of the magnificent flowers which grew on the shrub that proserpina had pulled up.
""ha!"
thought mother ceres, examining it by torchlight.
""here is mischief in this flower!
the earth did not produce it by any help of mine, nor of its own accord.
it is the work of enchantment, and is therefore poisonous; and perhaps it has poisoned my poor child."
but she put the poisonous flower in her bosom, not knowing whether she might ever find any other memorial of proserpina.
all night long, at the door of every cottage and farm-house, ceres knocked, and called up the weary laborers to inquire if they had seen her child; and they stood, gaping and half-asleep, at the threshold, and answered her pityingly, and besought her to come in and rest.
at the portal of every palace, too, she made so loud a summons that the menials hurried to throw open the gate, thinking that it must be some great king or queen, who would demand a banquet for supper and a stately chamber to repose in.
and when they saw only a sad and anxious woman, with a torch in her hand and a wreath of withered poppies on her head, they spoke rudely, and sometimes threatened to set the dogs upon her.
but nobody had seen proserpina, nor could give mother ceres the least hint which way to seek her.
thus passed the night; and still she continued her search without sitting down to rest, or stopping to take food, or even remembering to put out the torch although first the rosy dawn, and then the glad light of the morning sun, made its red flame look thin and pale.
but i wonder what sort of stuff this torch was made of; for it burned dimly through the day, and, at night, was as bright as ever, and never was extinguished by the rain or wind, in all the weary days and nights while ceres was seeking for proserpina.
it was not merely of human beings that she asked tidings of her daughter.
in the woods and by the streams, she met creatures of another nature, who used, in those old times, to haunt the pleasant and solitary places, and were very sociable with persons who understood their language and customs, as mother ceres did.
sometimes, for instance, she tapped with her finger against the knotted trunk of a majestic oak; and immediately its rude bark would cleave asunder, and forth would step a beautiful maiden, who was the hamadryad of the oak, dwelling inside of it, and sharing its long life, and rejoicing when its green leaves sported with the breeze.
but not one of these leafy damsels had seen proserpina.
then, going a little farther, ceres would, perhaps, come to a fountain, gushing out of a pebbly hollow in the earth, and would dabble with her hand in the water.
behold, up through its sandy and pebbly bed, along with the fountain's gush, a young woman with dripping hair would arise, and stand gazing at mother ceres, half out of the water, and undulating up and down with its ever-restless motion.
but when the mother asked whether her poor lost child had stopped to drink out of the fountain, the naiad, with weeping eyes -lrb- for these water-nymphs had tears to spare for everybody's grief -rrb-, would answer "no!"
in a murmuring voice, which was just like the murmur of the stream.
often, likewise, she encountered fauns, who looked like sunburnt country people, except that they had hairy ears, and little horns upon their foreheads, and the hinder legs of goats, on which they gamboled merrily about the woods and fields.
they were a frolicsome kind of creature but grew as sad as their cheerful dispositions would allow, when ceres inquired for her daughter, and they had no good news to tell.
but sometimes she same suddenly upon a rude gang of satyrs, who had faces like monkeys, and horses" tails behind them, and who were generally dancing in a very boisterous manner, with shouts of noisy laughter.
when she stopped to question them, they would only laugh the louder, and make new merriment out of the lone woman's distress.
how unkind of those ugly satyrs!
and once, while crossing a solitary sheep pasture, she saw a personage named pan, seated at the foot of a tall rock, and making music on a shepherd's flute.
he, too, had horns, and hairy ears, and goats" feet; but, being acquainted with mother ceres, he answered her question as civilly as he knew how, and invited her to taste some milk and honey out of a wooden bowl.
but neither could pan tell her what had become of proserpina, any better than the rest of these wild people.
and thus mother ceres went wandering about for nine long days and nights, finding no trace of proserpina, unless it were now and then a withered flower; and these she picked up and put in her bosom, because she fancied that they might have fallen from her poor child's hand.
all day she traveled onward through the hot sun; and, at night again, the flame of the torch would redden and gleam along the pathway, and she continued her search by its light, without ever sitting down to rest.
on the tenth day, she chanced to espy the mouth of a cavern within which -lrb- though it was bright noon everywhere else -rrb- there would have been only a dusky twilight; but it so happened that a torch was burning there.
it flickered, and struggled with the duskiness, but could not half light up the gloomy cavern with all its melancholy glimmer.
ceres was resolved to leave no spot without a search; so she peeped into the entrance of the cave, and lighted it up a little more, by holding her own torch before her.
in so doing, she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a woman, sitting on the brown leaves of the last autumn, a great heap of which had been swept into the cave by the wind.
this woman -lrb- if woman it were -rrb- was by no means so beautiful as many of her sex; for her head, they tell me, was shaped very much like a dog's, and, by way of ornament, she wore a wreath of snakes around it.
but mother ceres, the moment she saw her, knew that this was an odd kind of a person, who put all her enjoyment in being miserable, and never would have a word to say to other people, unless they were as melancholy and wretched as she herself delighted to be.
""i am wretched enough now," thought poor ceres, "to talk with this melancholy hecate, were she ten times sadder than ever she was yet."
so she stepped into the cave, and sat down on the withered leaves by the dog-headed woman's side.
in all the world, since her daughter's loss, she had found no other companion.
""o hecate," said she, "if ever you lose a daughter, you will know what sorrow is.
tell me, for pity's sake, have you seen my poor child proserpina pass by the mouth of your cavern?"
""no," answered hecate, in a cracked voice, and sighing betwixt every word or two; "no, mother ceres, i have seen nothing of your daughter.
but my ears, you must know, are made in such a way, that all cries of distress and affright all over the world are pretty sure to find their way to them; and nine days ago, as i sat in my cave, making myself very miserable, i heard the voice of a young girl, shrieking as if in great distress.
something terrible has happened to the child, you may rest assured.
as well as i could judge, a dragon, or some other cruel monster, was carrying her away."
""you kill me by saying so," cried ceres, almost ready to faint.
""where was the sound, and which way did it seem to go?"
""it passed very swiftly along," said hecate, "and, at the same time, there was a heavy rumbling of wheels towards the eastward.
i can tell you nothing more, except that, in my honest opinion, you will never see your daughter again.
the best advice i can give you is, to take up your abode in this cavern, where we will be the two most wretched women in the world."
""not yet, dark hecate," replied ceres.
""but do you first come with your torch, and help me to seek for my lost child.
and when there shall be no more hope of finding her -lrb- if that black day is ordained to come -rrb-, then, if you will give me room to fling myself down, either on these withered leaves or on the naked rock, i will show what it is to be miserable.
but, until i know that she has perished from the face of the earth, i will not allow myself space even to grieve."
the dismal hecate did not much like the idea of going abroad into the sunny world.
but then she reflected that the sorrow of the disconsolate ceres would be like a gloomy twilight round about them both, let the sun shine ever so brightly, and that therefore she might enjoy her bad spirits quite as well as if she were to stay in the cave.
so she finally consented to go, and they set out together, both carrying torches, although it was broad daylight and clear sunshine.
the torchlight seemed to make a gloom; so that the people whom they met, along the road, could not very distinctly see their figures; and, indeed, if they once caught a glimpse of hecate, with the wreath of snakes round her forehead, they generally thought it prudent to run away, without waiting for a second glance.
as the pair traveled along in this woe-begone manner, a thought struck ceres.
""there is one person," she exclaimed, "who must have seen my poor child, and can doubtless tell what has become of her.
why did not i think of him before?
it is phoebus."
""what," said hecate, "the young man that always sits in the sunshine?
o, pray do not think of going near him.
he is a gay, light, frivolous young fellow, and will only smile in your face.
and besides, there is such a glare of the sun about him, that he will quite blind my poor eyes, which i have almost wept away already."
""you have promised to be my companion," answered ceres.
""come, let us make haste, or the sunshine will be gone, and phoebus along with it."
accordingly, they went along in quest of phoebus, both of them sighing grievously, and hecate, to say the truth, making a great deal worse lamentation than ceres; for all the pleasure she had, you know, lay in being miserable, and therefore she made the most of it.
by and by, after a pretty long journey, they arrived at the sunniest spot in the whole world.
there they beheld a beautiful young man, with long, curling ringlets, which seemed to be made of golden sunbeams; his garments were like light summer clouds; and the expression of his face was so exceedingly vivid, that hecate held her hands before her eyes, muttering that he ought to wear a black veil.
phoebus -lrb- for this was the very person whom they were seeking -rrb- had a lyre in his hands, and was making its chords tremble with sweet music; at the same time singing a most exquisite song, which he had recently composed.
for, beside a great many other accomplishments, this young man was renowned for his admirable poetry.
as ceres and her dismal companion approached him, phoebus smiled on them so cheerfully that hecate's wreath of snakes gave a spiteful hiss, and hecate heartily wished herself back in her cave.
but as for ceres, she was too earnest in her grief either to know or care whether phoebus smiled or frowned.
""phoebus!"
exclaimed she, "i am in great trouble, and have come to you for assistance.
can you tell me what has become of my dear child proserpina?"
""proserpina!
proserpina, did you call her name?"
answered phoebus, endeavoring to recollect; for there was such a continual flow of pleasant ideas in his mind, that he was apt to forget what had happened no longer ago than yesterday.
""ah, yes, i remember her now.
a very lovely child, indeed.
i am happy to tell you, my dear madam, that i did see the little proserpina not many days ago.
you may make yourself perfectly easy about her.
she is safe, and in excellent hands."
""o, where is my dear child?"
cried ceres, clasping her hands, and flinging herself at his feet.
""why," said phoebus -- and as he spoke he kept touching his lyre so as to make a thread of music run in and out among his words -- "as the little damsel was gathering flowers -lrb- and she has really a very exquisite taste for flowers -rrb-, she was suddenly snatched up by king pluto, and carried off to his dominions.
i have never been in that part of the universe; but the royal palace, i am told, is built in a very noble style of architecture, and of the most splendid and costly materials.
gold, diamonds, pearls, and all manner of precious stones will be your daughter's ordinary playthings.
i recommend to you, my dear lady, to give yourself no uneasiness.
proserpina's sense of beauty will be duly gratified, and even in spite of the lack of sunshine, she will lead a very enviable life."
""hush!
say not such a word!"
answered ceres, indignantly.
""what is there to gratify her heart?
what are all the splendors you speak of without affection?
i must have her back again.
will you go with me you go with me, phoebus, to demand my daughter of this wicked pluto?"
""pray excuse me," replied phoebus, with an elegant obeisance.
""i certainly wish you success, and regret that my own affairs are so immediately pressing that i can not have the pleasure of attending you.
besides, i am not upon the best of terms with king pluto.
to tell you the truth, his three-headed mastiff would never let me pass the gateway; for i should be compelled to take a sheaf of sunbeams along with me, and those, you know, are forbidden things in pluto's kingdom."
""ah, phoebus," said ceres, with bitter meaning in her words, "you have a harp instead of a heart.
farewell."
""will not you stay a moment," asked phoebus, "and hear me turn the pretty and touching story of proserpina into extemporary verses?"
but ceres shook her head, and hastened away, along with hecate.
phoebus -lrb- who, as i have told you, was an exquisite poet -rrb- forthwith began to make an ode about the poor mother's grief; and, if we were to judge of his sensibility by this beautiful production, he must have been endowed with a very tender heart.
but when a poet gets into the habit of using his heartstrings to make chords for his lyre, he may thrum upon them as much as he will, without any great pain to himself.
accordingly, though phoebus sang a very sad song, he was as merry all the while as were the sunbeams amid which he dwelt.
poor mother ceres had now found out what had become of her daughter, but was not a whit happier than before.
her case, on the contrary, looked more desperate than ever.
as long as proserpina was above ground, there might have been hopes of regaining her.
but now that the poor child was shut up within the iron gates of the king of the mines, at the threshold of which lay the three-headed cerberus, there seemed no possibility of her ever making her escape.
the dismal hecate, who loved to take the darkest view of things, told ceres that she had better come with her to the cavern, and spend the rest of her life in being miserable.
ceres answered, that hecate was welcome to go back thither herself, but that, for her part, she would wander about the earth in quest of the entrance to king pluto's dominions.
and hecate took her at her word, and hurried back to her beloved cave, frightening a great many little children with a glimpse of her dog's face as she went.
poor mother ceres!
it is melancholy to think of her, pursuing her toilsome way, all alone, and holding up that never-dying torch, the flame of which seemed an emblem of the grief and hope that burned together in her heart.
so much did she suffer, that, though her aspect had been quite youthful when her troubles began, she grew to look like an elderly person in a very brief time.
she cared not how she was dressed, nor had she ever thought of flinging away the wreath of withered poppies, which she put on the very morning of proserpina's disappearance.
she roamed about in so wild a way, and with her hair so disheveled, that people took her for some distracted creature, and never dreamed that this was mother ceres, who had the oversight of every seed which the husbandman planted.
nowadays, however, she gave herself no trouble about seed time nor harvest, but left the farmers to take care of their own affairs, and the crops to fade or flourish, as the case might be.
there was nothing, now, in which ceres seemed to feel an interest, unless when she saw children at play, or gathering flowers along the wayside.
then, indeed, she would stand and gaze at them with tears in her eyes.
the children, too, appeared to have a sympathy with her grief, and would cluster themselves in a little group about her knees, and look up wistfully in her face; and ceres, after giving them a kiss all round, would lead them to their homes, and advise their mothers never to let them stray out of sight.
""for if they do," said she, "it may happen to you, as it has to me, that the iron-hearted king pluto will take a liking to your darlings, and snatch them up in his chariot, and carry them away."
one day, during her pilgrimage in quest of the entrance to pluto's kingdom, she came to the palace of king cereus, who reigned at eleusis.
ascending a lofty flight of steps, she entered the portal, and found the royal household in very great alarm about the queen's baby.
the infant, it seems, was sickly -lrb- being troubled with its teeth, i suppose -rrb-, and would take no food, and was all the time moaning with pain.
the queen -- her name was metanira -- was desirous of funding a nurse; and when she beheld a woman of matronly aspect coming up the palace steps, she thought, in her own mind, that here was the very person whom she needed.
so queen metanira ran to the door, with the poor wailing baby in her arms, and besought ceres to take charge of it, or, at least, to tell her what would do it good.
""will you trust the child entirely to me?"
asked ceres.
""yes, and gladly, too," answered the queen, "if you will devote all your time to him.
for i can see that you have been a mother."
""you are right," said ceres.
""i once had a child of my own.
well; i will be the nurse of this poor, sickly boy.
but beware, i warn you, that you do not interfere with any kind of treatment which i may judge proper for him.
if you do so, the poor infant must suffer for his mother's folly."
then she kissed the child, and it seemed to do him good; for he smiled and nestled closely into her bosom.
so mother ceres set her torch in a corner -lrb- where it kept burning all the while -rrb-, and took up her abode in the palace of king cereus, as nurse to the little prince demophoon.
she treated him as if he were her own child, and allowed neither the king nor the queen to say whether he should be bathed in warm or cold water, or what he should eat, or how often he should take the air, or when he should be put to bed.
you would hardly believe me, if i were to tell how quickly the baby prince got rid of his ailments, and grew fat, and rosy, and strong, and how he had two rows of ivory teeth in less time than any other little fellow, before or since.
instead of the palest, and wretchedest, and puniest imp in the world -lrb- as his own mother confessed him to be, when ceres first took him in charge -rrb-, he was now a strapping baby, crowing, laughing, kicking up his heels, and rolling from one end of the room to the other.
all the good women of the neighborhood crowded to the palace, and held up their hands, in unutterable amazement, at the beauty and wholesomeness of this darling little prince.
their wonder was the greater, because he was never seen to taste any food; not even so much as a cup of milk.
""pray, nurse," the queen kept saying, "how is it that you make the child thrive so?"
""i was a mother once," ceres always replied; "and having nursed my own child, i know what other children need."
but queen metanira, as was very natural, had a great curiosity to know precisely what the nurse did to her child.
one night, therefore, she hid herself in the chamber where ceres and the little prince were accustomed to sleep.
there was a fire in the chimney, and it had now crumbled into great coals and embers, which lay glowing on the hearth, with a blaze flickering up now and then, and flinging a warm and ruddy light upon the walls.
ceres sat before the hearth with the child in her lap, and the firelight making her shadow dance upon the ceiling overhead.
she undressed the little prince, and bathed him all over with some fragrant liquid out of a vase.
the next thing she did was to rake back the red embers, and make a hollow place among them, just where the backlog had been.
at last, while the baby was crowing, and clapping its fat little hands, and laughing in the nurse's face -lrb- just as you may have seen your little brother or sister do before going into its warm bath -rrb-, ceres suddenly laid him, all naked as he was, in the hollow among the red-hot embers.
she then raked the ashes over him, and turned quietly away.
you may imagine, if you can, how queen metanira shrieked, thinking nothing less than that her dear child would be burned to a cinder.
she burst forth from her hiding-place, and running to the hearth, raked open the fire, and snatched up poor little prince demophoon out of his bed of live coals, one of which he was gripping in each of his fists.
he immediately set up a grievous cry, as babies are apt to do, when rudely startled out of a sound sleep.
to the queen's astonishment and joy, she could perceive no token of the child's being injured by the hot fire in which he had lain.
she now turned to mother ceres, and asked her to explain the mystery.
""foolish woman," answered ceres, "did you not promise to intrust this poor infant entirely to me?
you little know the mischief you have done him.
had you left him to my care, he would have grown up like a child of celestial birth, endowed with superhuman strength and intelligence, and would have lived forever.
do you imagine that earthly children are to become immortal without being tempered to it in the fiercest heat of the fire?
but you have ruined your own son.
for though he will be a strong man and a hero in his day, yet, on account of your folly, he will grow old, and finally die, like the sons of other women.
the weak tenderness of his mother has cost the poor boy an immortality.
farewell."
saying these words, she kissed the little prince demophoon, and sighed to think what he had lost, and took her departure without heeding queen metanira, who entreated her to remain, and cover up the child among the hot embers as often as she pleased.
poor baby!
he never slept so warmly again.
while she dwelt in the king's palace, mother ceres had been so continually occupied with taking care of the young prince, that her heart was a little lightened of its grief for proserpina.
but now, having nothing else to busy herself about, she became just as wretched as before.
at length, in her despair, she came to the dreadful resolution that not a stalk of grain, nor a blade of grass, not a potato, nor a turnip, nor any other vegetable that was good for man or beast to eat, should be suffered to grow until her daughter were restored.
she even forbade the flowers to bloom, lest somebody's heart should be cheered by their beauty.
now, as not so much as a head of asparagus ever presumed to poke itself out of the ground, without the especial permission of ceres, you may conceive what a terrible calamity had here fallen upon the earth.
the husbandmen plowed and planted as usual; but there lay the rich black furrows, all as barren as a desert of sand.
the pastures looked as brown in the sweet month of june as ever they did in chill november.
the rich man's broad acres and the cottager's small garden patch were equally blighted.
every little girl's flower bed showed nothing but dry stalks.
the old people shook their white heads, and said that the earth had grown aged like themselves, and was no longer capable of wearing the warm smile of summer on its face.
it was really piteous to see the poor, starving cattle and sheep, how they followed behind ceres, lowing and bleating, as if their instinct taught them to expect help from her; and everybody that was acquainted with her power besought her to have mercy on the human race, and, at all events, to let the grass grow.
but mother ceres, though naturally of an affectionate disposition, was now inexorable.
""never," said she.
""if the earth is ever again to see any verdure, it must first grow along the path which my daughter will tread in coming back to me."
finally, as there seemed to be no other remedy, our old friend quicksilver was sent post-haste to king pluto, in hopes that he might be persuaded to undo the mischief he had done, and to set everything right again, by giving up proserpina.
quicksilver accordingly made the best of his way to the great gate, took a flying leap right over the three-headed mastiff, and stood at the door of the palace in an inconceivably short time.
the servants knew him both by his face and garb; for his short cloak, and his winged cap and shoes, and his snaky staff had often been seen thereabouts in times gone by.
he requested to be shown immediately into the king's presence; and pluto, who heard his voice from the top of the stairs, and who loved to recreate himself with quicksilver's merry talk, called out to him to come up.
and while they settle their business together, we must inquire what proserpina had been doing ever since we saw her last.
the child had declared, as you may remember, that she would not taste a mouthful of food as long as she should be compelled to remain in king pluto's palace.
how she contrived to maintain her resolution, and at the same time to keep herself tolerably plump and rosy, is more than i can explain; but some young ladies, i am given to understand, possess the faculty of living on air, and proserpina seems to have possessed it too.
at any rate, it was now six months since she left the outside of the earth; and not a morsel, so far as the attendants were able to testify, had yet passed between her teeth.
this was the more creditable to proserpina, inasmuch as king pluto had caused her to be tempted day by day, with all manner of sweetmeats, and richly-preserved fruits, and delicacies of every sort, such as young people are generally most fond of.
but her good mother had often told her of the hurtfulness of these things; and for that reason alone, if there had been no other, she would have resolutely refused to taste them.
all this time, being of a cheerful and active disposition, the little damsel was not quite so unhappy as you may have supposed.
the immense palace had a thousand rooms, and was full of beautiful and wonderful objects.
there was a never-ceasing gloom, it is true, which half hid itself among the innumerable pillars, gliding before the child as she wandered among them, and treading stealthily behind her in the echo of her footsteps.
neither was all the dazzle of the precious stones, which flamed with their own light, worth one gleam of natural sunshine; nor could the most brilliant of the many-colored gems, which proserpina had for playthings, vie with the simple beauty of the flowers she used to gather.
but still, whenever the girl went among those gilded halls and chambers, it seemed as if she carried nature and sunshine along with her, and as if she scattered dewy blossoms on her right hand and on her left.
after proserpina came, the palace was no longer the same abode of stately artifice and dismal magnificence that it had before been.
the inhabitants all felt this, and king pluto more than any of them.
""my own little proserpina," he used to say.
""i wish you could like me a little better.
we gloomy and cloudy-natured persons have often as warm hearts, at bottom, as those of a more cheerful character.
if you would only stay with me of your own accord, it would make me happier than the possession of a hundred such palaces as this."
""ah," said proserpina, "you should have tried to make me like you before carrying me off.
and the best thing you can now do is, to let me go again.
then i might remember you sometimes, and think that you were as kind as you knew how to be.
perhaps, too, one day or other, i might come back, and pay you a visit."
""no, no," answered pluto, with his gloomy smile, "i will not trust you for that.
you are too fond of living in the broad daylight, and gathering flowers.
what an idle and childish taste that is!
are not these gems, which i have ordered to be dug for you, and which are richer than any in my crown -- are they not prettier than a violet?"
""not half so pretty," said proserpina, snatching the gems from pluto's hand, and flinging them to the other end of the hall.
""o my sweet violets, shall i never see you again?"
and then she burst into tears.
but young people's tears have very little saltness or acidity in them, and do not inflame the eyes so much as those of grown persons; so that it is not to be wondered at, if, a few moments afterwards, proserpina was sporting through the hall almost as merrily as she and the four sea nymphs had sported along the edge of the surf wave.
king pluto gazed after her, and wished that he, too, was a child.
and little proserpina, when she turned about, and beheld this great king standing in his splendid hall, and looking so grand, and so melancholy, and so lonesome, was smitten with a kind of pity.
she ran back to him, and, for the first time in all her life, put her small, soft hand in his.
""i love you a little," whispered she, looking up in his face.
""do you, indeed, my dear child?"
cried pluto, bending his dark face down to kiss her; but proserpina shrank away from the kiss, for, though his features were noble, they were very dusky and grim.
""well, i have not deserved it of you, after keeping you a prisoner for so many months, and starving you besides.
are you not terribly hungry?
is there nothing which i can get you to eat?"
in asking this question, the king of the mines had a very cunning purpose; for, you will recollect, if proserpina tasted a morsel of food in his dominions, she would never afterwards be at liberty to quit them.
""no indeed," said proserpina.
""your head cook is always baking, and stewing, and roasting, and rolling out paste, and contriving one dish or another, which he imagines may be to my liking.
but he might just as well save himself the trouble, poor, fat little man that he is.
i have no appetite for anything in the world, unless it were a slice of bread, of my mother's own baking, or a little fruit out of her garden."
when pluto heard this, he began to see that he had mistaken the best method of tempting proserpina to eat.
the cook's made dishes and artificial dainties were not half so delicious, in the good child's opinion, as the simple fare to which mother ceres had accustomed her.
wondering that he had never thought of it before, the king now sent one of his trusty attendants with a large basket, to get some of the finest and juiciest pears, peaches, and plums which could anywhere be found in the upper world.
unfortunately, however, this was during the time when ceres had forbidden any fruits or vegetables to grow; and, after seeking all over the earth, king pluto's servant found only a single pomegranate, and that so dried up as not to be worth eating.
nevertheless, since there was no better to be had, he brought this dry, old withered pomegranate home to the palace, put it on a magnificent golden salver, and carried it up to proserpina.
now, it happened, curiously enough, that, just as the servant was bringing the pomegranate into the back door of the palace, our friend quicksilver had gone up the front steps, on his errand to get proserpina away from king pluto.
as soon as proserpina saw the pomegranate on the golden salver, she told the servant he had better take it away again.
""i shall not touch it, i assure you," said she.
""if i were ever so hungry, i should never think of eating such a miserable, dry pomegranate as that."
""it is the only one in the world," said the servant.
he set down the golden salver, with the wizened pomegranate upon it, and left the room.
when he was gone, proserpina could not help coming close to the table, and looking at this poor specimen of dried fruit with a great deal of eagerness; for, to say the truth, on seeing something that suited her taste, she felt all the six months" appetite taking possession of her at once.
to be sure, it was a very wretched-looking pomegranate, and seemed to have no more juice in it than an oyster shell.
but there was no choice of such things in king pluto's palace.
this was the first fruit she had seen there, and the last she was ever likely to see; and unless she ate it up immediately, it would grow drier than it already was, and be wholly unfit to eat.
""at least, i may smell it," thought proserpina.
so she took up the pomegranate, and applied it to her nose; and, somehow or other, being in such close neighborhood to her mouth, the fruit found its way into that little red cave.
dear me!
what an everlasting pity!
before proserpina knew what she was about, her teeth had actually bitten it, of their own accord.
just as this fatal deed was done, the door of the apartment opened, and in came king pluto, followed by quicksilver, who had been urging him to let his little prisoner go.
at the first noise of their entrance, proserpina withdrew the pomegranate from her mouth.
but quicksilver -lrb- whose eyes were very keen, and his wits the sharpest that ever anybody had -rrb- perceived that the child was a little confused; and seeing the empty salver, he suspected that she had been taking a sly nibble of something or other.
as for honest pluto, he never guessed at the secret.
""my little proserpina," said the king, sitting down, and affectionately drawing her between his knees, "here is quicksilver, who tells me that a great many misfortunes have befallen innocent people on account of my detaining you in my dominions.
to confess the truth, i myself had already reflected that it was an unjustifiable act to take you away from your good mother.
but, then, you must consider, my dear child, that this vast palace is apt to be gloomy -lrb- although the precious stones certainly shine very bright -rrb-, and that i am not of the most cheerful disposition, and that therefore it was a natural thing enough to seek for the society of some merrier creature than myself.
i hoped you would take my crown for a plaything, and me -- ah, you laugh, naughty proserpina -- me, grim as i am, for a playmate.
it was a silly expectation."
""not so extremely silly," whispered proserpina.
""you have really amused me very much, sometimes."
""thank you," said king pluto, rather dryly.
""but i can see plainly enough, that you think my palace a dusky prison, and me the iron-hearted keeper of it.
and an iron heart i should surely have, if i could detain you here any longer, my poor child, when it is now six months since you tasted food.
i give you your liberty.
go with quicksilver.
hasten home to your dear mother."
now, although you may not have supposed it, proserpina found it impossible to take leave of poor king pluto without some regrets, and a good deal of compunction for not telling him about the pomegranate.
she even shed a tear or two, thinking how lonely and cheerless the great palace would seem to him, with all its ugly glare of artificial light, after she herself -- his one little ray of natural sunshine, whom he had stolen, to be sure, but only because he valued her so much -- after she should have departed.
i know not how many kind things she might have said to the disconsolate king of the mines, had not quicksilver hurried her way.
""come along quickly," whispered he in her ear, "or his majesty may change his royal mind.
and take care, above all things, that you say nothing of what was brought you on the golden salver."
in a very short time, they had passed the great gateway -lrb- leaving the three-headed cerberus, barking, and yelping, and growling, with threefold din, behind them -rrb-, and emerged upon the surface of the earth.
it was delightful to behold, as proserpina hastened along, how the path grew verdant behind and on either side of her.
wherever she set her blessed foot, there was at once a dewy flower.
the violets gushed up along the wayside.
the grass and the grain began to sprout with tenfold vigor and luxuriance, to make up for the dreary months that had been wasted in barrenness.
the starved cattle immediately set to work grazing, after their long fast, and ate enormously, all day, and got up at midnight to eat more.
but i can assure you it was a busy time of year with the farmers, when they found the summer coming upon them with such a rush.
nor must i forget to say, that all the birds in the whole world hopped about upon the newly-blossoming trees, and sang together, in a prodigious ecstasy of joy.
mother ceres had returned to her deserted home, and was sitting disconsolately on the doorstep, with her torch burning in her hand.
she had been idly watching the flame for some moments past, when, all at once, it flickered and went out.
""what does this mean?"
thought she.
""it was an enchanted torch, and should have kept burning till my child came back."
lifting her eyes, she was surprised to see a sudden verdure flashing over the brown and barren fields, exactly as you may have observed a golden hue gleaming far and wide across the landscape, from the just risen sun.
""does the earth disobey me?"
exclaimed mother ceres, indignantly.
""does it presume to be green, when i have bidden it be barren, until my daughter shall be restored to my arms?"
""then open your arms, dear mother," cried a well-known voice, "and take your little daughter into them."
and proserpina came running, and flung herself upon her mother's bosom.
their mutual transport is not to be described.
the grief of their separation had caused both of them to shed a great many tears; and now they shed a great many more, because their joy could not so well express itself in any other way.
when their hearts had grown a little more quiet, mother ceres looked anxiously at proserpina.
""my child," said she, "did you taste any food while you were in king pluto's palace?"
""dearest mother," exclaimed proserpina, "i will tell you the whole truth.
until this very morning, not a morsel of food had passed my lips.
but to-day, they brought me a pomegranate -lrb- a very dry one it was, and all shriveled up, till there was little left of it but seeds and skin -rrb-, and having seen no fruit for so long a time, and being faint with hunger, i was tempted just to bite it.
the instant i tasted it, king pluto and quicksilver came into the room.
i had not swallowed a morsel; but -- dear mother, i hope it was no harm -- but six of the pomegranate seeds, i am afraid, remained in my mouth."
""ah, unfortunate child, and miserable me!"
exclaimed ceres.
""for each of those six pomegranate seeds you must spend one month of every year in king pluto's palace.
you are but half restored to your mother.
only six months with me, and six with that good-for-nothing king of darkness!"
""do not speak so harshly of poor king pluto," said prosperina, kissing her mother.
""he has some very good qualities; and i really think i can bear to spend six months in his palace, if he will only let me spend the other six with you.
he certainly did very wrong to carry me off; but then, as he says, it was but a dismal sort of life for him, to live in that great gloomy place, all alone; and it has made a wonderful change in his spirits to have a little girl to run up stairs and down.
there is some comfort in making him so happy; and so, upon the whole, dearest mother, let us be thankful that he is not to keep me the whole year round."
the golden fleece.
when jason, the son of the dethroned king of iolchos, was a little boy, he was sent away from his parents, and placed under the queerest schoolmaster that ever you heard of.
this learned person was one of the people, or quadrupeds, called centaurs.
he lived in a cavern, and had the body and legs of a white horse, with the head and shoulders of a man.
his name was chiron; and, in spite of his odd appearance, he was a very excellent teacher, and had several scholars, who afterwards did him credit by making a great figure in the world.
the famous hercules was one, and so was achilles, and philoctetes likewise, and aesculapius, who acquired immense repute as a doctor.
the good chiron taught his pupils how to play upon the harp, and how to cure diseases, and how to use the sword and shield, together with various other branches of education, in which the lads of those days used to be instructed, instead of writing and arithmetic.
i have sometimes suspected that master chiron was not really very different from other people, but that, being a kind-hearted and merry old fellow, he was in the habit of making believe that he was a horse, and scrambling about the schoolroom on all fours, and letting the little boys ride upon his back.
and so, when his scholars had grown up, and grown old, and were trotting their grandchildren on their knees, they told them about the sports of their school days; and these young folks took the idea that their grandfathers had been taught their letters by a centaur, half man and half horse.
little children, not quite understanding what is said to them, often get such absurd notions into their heads, you know.
be that as it may, it has always been told for a fact -lrb- and always will be told, as long as the world lasts -rrb-, that chiron, with the head of a schoolmaster, had the body and legs of a horse.
just imagine the grave old gentleman clattering and stamping into the schoolroom on his four hoofs, perhaps treading on some little fellow's toes, flourishing his switch tail instead of a rod, and, now and then, trotting out of doors to eat a mouthful of grass!
i wonder what the blacksmith charged him for a set of iron shoes?
so jason dwelt in the cave, with this four-footed chiron, from the time that he was an infant, only a few months old, until he had grown to the full height of a man.
he became a very good harper, i suppose, and skilful in the use of weapons, and tolerably acquainted with herbs and other doctor's stuff, and, above all, an admirable horseman; for, in teaching young people to ride, the good chiron must have been without a rival among schoolmasters.
at length, being now a tall and athletic youth, jason resolved to seek his fortune in the world, without asking chiron's advice, or telling him anything about the matter.
this was very unwise, to be sure; and i hope none of you, my little hearers, will ever follow jason's example.
but, you are to understand, he had heard how that he himself was a prince royal, and how his father, king jason, had been deprived of the kingdom of iolchos by a certain pelias, who would also have killed jason, had he not been hidden in the centaur's cave.
and, being come to the strength of a man, jason determined to set all this business to rights, and to punish the wicked pelias for wronging his dear father, and to cast him down from the throne, and seat himself there instead.
with this intention, he took a spear in each hand, and threw a leopard's skin over his shoulders, to keep off the rain, and set forth on his travels, with his long yellow ringlets waving in the wind.
the part of his dress on which he most prided himself was a pair of sandals, that had been his father's.
they were handsomely embroidered, and were tied upon his feet with strings of gold.
but his whole attire was such as people did not very often see; and as he passed along, the women and children ran to the doors and windows, wondering whither this beautiful youth was journeying, with his leopard's skin and his golden-tied sandals, and what heroic deeds he meant to perform, with a spear in his right hand and another in his left.
i know not how far jason had traveled, when he came to a turbulent river, which rushed right across his pathway, with specks of white foam among its black eddies, hurrying tumultuously onward, and roaring angrily as it went.
though not a very broad river in the dry seasons of the year, it was now swollen by heavy rains and by the melting of the snow on the sides of mount olympus; and it thundered so loudly, and looked so wild and dangerous, that jason, bold as he was, thought it prudent to pause upon the brink.
the bed of the stream seemed to be strewn with sharp and rugged rocks, some of which thrust themselves above the water.
by and by, an uprooted tree, with shattered branches, came drifting along the current, and got entangled among the rocks.
now and then, a drowned sheep, and once the carcass of a cow, floated past.
in short, the swollen river had already done a great deal of mischief.
it was evidently too deep for jason to wade, and too boisterous for him to swim; he could see no bridge; and as for a boat, had there been any, the rocks would have broken it to pieces in an instant.
""see the poor lad," said a cracked voice close to his side.
""he must have had but a poor education, since he does not know how to cross a little stream like this.
or is he afraid of wetting his fine golden-stringed sandals?
it is a pity his four-footed schoolmaster is not here to carry him safely across on his back!"
jason looked round greatly surprised, for he did not know that anybody was near.
but beside him stood an old woman, with a ragged mantle over her head, leaning on a staff, the top of which was carved into the shape of a cuckoo.
she looked very aged, and wrinkled, and infirm; and yet her eyes, which were as brown as those of an ox, were so extremely large and beautiful, that, when they were fixed on jason's eyes, he could see nothing else but them.
the old woman had a pomegranate in her hand, although the fruit was then quite out of season.
""whither are you going, jason?"
she now asked.
she seemed to know his name, you will observe; and, indeed, those great brown eyes looked as if they had a knowledge of everything, whether past or to come.
while jason was gazing at her, a peacock strutted forward, and took his stand at the old woman's side.
""i am going to iolchos," answered the young man, "to bid the wicked king pelias come down from my father's throne, and let me reign in his stead."
""ah, well, then," said the old woman, still with the same cracked voice, "if that is all your business, you need not be in a very great hurry.
just take me on your back, there's a good youth, and carry me across the river.
i and my peacock have something to do on the other side, as well as yourself."
""good mother," replied jason, "your business can hardly be so important as the pulling down a king from his throne.
besides, as you may see for yourself, the river is very boisterous; and if i should chance to stumble, it would sweep both of us away more easily than it has carried off yonder uprooted tree.
i would gladly help you if i could; but i doubt whether i am strong enough to carry you across."
""then," said she, very scornfully, "neither are you strong enough to pull king pelias off his throne.
and, jason, unless you will help an old woman at her need, you ought not to be a king.
what are kings made for, save to succor the feeble and distressed?
but do as you please.
either take me on your back, or with my poor old limbs i shall try my best to struggle across the stream."
saying this, the old woman poked with her staff in the river, as if to find the safest place in its rocky bed where she might make the first step.
but jason, by this time, had grown ashamed of his reluctance to help her.
he felt that he could never forgive himself, if this poor feeble creature should come to any harm in attempting to wrestle against the headlong current.
the good chiron, whether half horse or no, had taught him that the noblest use of his strength was to assist the weak; and also that he must treat every young woman as if she were his sister, and every old one like a mother.
remembering these maxims, the vigorous and beautiful young man knelt down, and requested the good dame to mount upon his back.
""the passage seems to me not very safe," he remarked.
""but as your business is so urgent, i will try to carry you across.
if the river sweeps you away, it shall take me too."
""that, no doubt, will be a great comfort to both of us," quoth the old woman.
""but never fear.
we shall get safely across."
so she threw her arms around jason's neck; and lifting her from the ground, he stepped boldly into the raging and foaming current, and began to stagger away from the shore.
as for the peacock, it alighted on the old dame's shoulder.
jason's two spears, one in each hand, kept him from stumbling, and enabled him to feel his way among the hidden rocks; although every instant, he expected that his companion and himself would go down the stream, together with the driftwood of shattered trees, and the carcasses of the sheep and cow.
down came the cold, snowy torrent from the steep side of olympus, raging and thundering as if it had a real spite against jason, or, at all events, were determined to snatch off his living burden from his shoulders.
when he was half way across, the uprooted tree -lrb- which i have already told you about -rrb- broke loose from among the rocks, and bore down upon him, with all its splintered branches sticking out like the hundred arms of the giant briareus.
it rushed past, however, without touching him.
but the next moment his foot was caught in a crevice between two rocks, and stuck there so fast, that, in the effort to get free, he lost one of his golden-stringed sandals.
at this accident jason could not help uttering a cry of vexation.
""what is the matter, jason?"
asked the old woman.
""matter enough," said the young man.
""i have lost a sandal here among the rocks.
and what sort of a figure shall i cut, at the court of king pelias, with a golden-stringed sandal on one foot, and the other foot bare!"
""do not take it to heart," answered his companion cheerily.
""you never met with better fortune than in losing that sandal.
it satisfies me that you are the very person whom the speaking oak has been talking about."
there was no time, just then, to inquire what the speaking oak had said.
but the briskness of her tone encouraged the young man; and, besides, he had never in his life felt so vigorous and mighty as since taking this old woman on his back.
instead of being exhausted, he gathered strength as he went on; and, struggling up against the torrent, he at last gained the opposite shore, clambered up the bank, and set down the old dame and her peacock safely on the grass.
as soon as this was done, however, he could not help looking rather despondently at his bare foot, with only a remnant of the golden string of the sandal clinging round his ankle.
""you will get a handsomer pair of sandals by and by," said the old woman, with a kindly look out of her beautiful brown eyes.
""only let king pelias get a glimpse of that bare foot, and you shall see him turn as pale as ashes, i promise you.
there is your path.
go along, my good jason, and my blessing go with you.
and when you sit on your throne remember the old woman whom you helped over the river."
with these words, she hobbled away, giving him a smile over her shoulder as she departed.
whether the light of her beautiful brown eyes threw a glory round about her, or whatever the cause might be, jason fancied that there was something very noble and majestic in her figure, after all, and that, though her gait seemed to be a rheumatic hobble, yet she moved with as much grace and dignity as any queen on earth.
her peacock, which had now fluttered down from her shoulder, strutted behind her in a prodigious pomp, and spread out its magnificent tail on purpose for jason to admire it.
when the old dame and her peacock were out of sight, jason set forward on his journey.
after traveling a pretty long distance, he came to a town situated at the foot of a mountain, and not a great way from the shore of the sea.
on the outside of the town there was an immense crowd of people, not only men and women, but children too, all in their best clothes, and evidently enjoying a holiday.
the crowd was thickest towards the sea-shore; and in that direction, over the people's heads, jason saw a wreath of smoke curling upward to the blue sky.
he inquired of one of the multitude what town it was near by, and why so many persons were here assembled together.
""this is the kingdom of iolchos," answered the man, "and we are the subjects of king pelias.
our monarch has summoned us together, that we may see him sacrifice a black bull to neptune, who, they say, is his majesty's father.
yonder is the king, where you see the smoke going up from the altar."
while the man spoke he eyed jason with great curiosity; for his garb was quite unlike that of the iolchians, and it looked very odd to see a youth with a leopard's skin over his shoulders, and each hand grasping a spear.
jason perceived, too, that the man stared particularly at his feet, one of which, you remember, was bare, while the other was decorated with his father's golden-stringed sandal.
""look at him!
only look at him!"
said the man to his next neighbor.
""do you see?
he wears but one sandal!"
upon this, first one person, and then another, began to stare at jason, and everybody seemed to be greatly struck with something in his aspect; though they turned their eyes much oftener towards his feet than to any other part of his figure.
besides, he could hear them whispering to one another.
""one sandal!
one sandal!"
they kept saying.
""the man with one sandal!
here he is at last!
whence has he come?
what does he mean to do?
what will the king say to the one-sandaled man?"
poor jason was greatly abashed, and made up his mind that the people of iolchos were exceedingly ill-bred, to take such public notice of an accidental deficiency in his dress.
meanwhile, whether it were that they hustled him forward, or that jason, of his own accord, thrust a passage through the crowd, it so happened that he soon found himself close to the smoking altar, where king pelias was sacrificing the black bull.
the murmur and hum of the multitude, in their surprise at the spectacle of jason with his one bare foot, grew so loud that it disturbed the ceremonies; and the king, holding the great knife with which he was just going to cut the bull's throat, turned angrily about, and fixed his eyes on jason.
the people had now withdrawn from around him, so that the youth stood in an open space, near the smoking altar, front to front with the angry king pelias.
""who are you?"
cried the king, with a terrible frown.
""and how dare you make this disturbance, while i am sacrificing a black bull to my father neptune?"
""it is no fault of mine," answered jason.
""your majesty must blame the rudeness of your subjects, who have raised all this tumult because one of my feet happens to be bare."
when jason said this, the king gave a quick startled glance down at his feet.
""ha!"
muttered he, "here is the one-sandaled fellow, sure enough!
what can i do with him?"
and he clutched more closely the great knife in his hand, as if he were half a mind to slay jason, instead of the black bull.
the people round about caught up the king's words, indistinctly as they were uttered; and first there was a murmur amongst them, and then a loud shout.
""the one-sandaled man has come!
the prophecy must be fulfilled!"
for you are to know, that, many years before, king pelias had been told by the speaking oak of dodona, that a man with one sandal should cast him down from his throne.
on this account, he had given strict orders that nobody should ever come into his presence, unless both sandals were securely tied upon his feet; and he kept an officer in his palace, whose sole business it was to examine people's sandals, and to supply them with a new pair, at the expense of the royal treasury, as soon as the old ones began to wear out.
in the whole course of the king's reign, he had never been thrown into such a fright and agitation as by the spectacle of poor jason's bare foot.
but, as he was naturally a bold and hard-hearted man, he soon took courage, and began to consider in what way he might rid himself of this terrible one-sandaled stranger.
""my good young man," said king pelias, taking the softest tone imaginable, in order to throw jason off his guard, "you are excessively welcome to my kingdom.
judging by your dress, you must have traveled a long distance, for it is not the fashion to wear leopard skins in this part of the world.
pray what may i call your name?
and where did you receive your education?"
""my name is jason," answered the young stranger.
""ever since my infancy, i have dwelt in the cave of chiron the centaur.
he was my instructor, and taught me music, and horsemanship, and how to cure wounds, and likewise how to inflict wounds with my weapons!"
""i have heard of chiron the schoolmaster," replied king pelias, "and how that there is an immense deal of learning and wisdom in his head, although it happens to be set on a horse's body.
it gives me great delight to see one of his scholars at my court.
but to test how much you have profited under so excellent a teacher, will you allow me to ask you a single question?"
""i do not pretend to be very wise," said jason.
""but ask me what you please, and i will answer to the best of my ability."
now king pelias meant cunningly to entrap the young man, and to make him say something that should be the cause of mischief and distraction to himself.
so, with a crafty and evil smile upon his face, he spoke as follows: "what would you do, brave jason," asked he, "if there were a man in the world, by whom, as you had reason to believe, you were doomed to be ruined and slain -- what would you do, i say, if that man stood before you, and in your power?"
when jason saw the malice and wickedness which king pelias could not prevent from gleaming out of his eyes, he probably guessed that the king had discovered what he came for, and that he intended to turn his own words against himself.
still he scorned to tell a falsehood.
like an upright and honorable prince as he was, he determined to speak out the real truth.
since the king had chosen to ask him the question, and since jason had promised him an answer, there was no right way save to tell him precisely what would be the most prudent thing to do, if he had his worst enemy in his power.
therefore, after a moment's consideration, he spoke up, with a firm and manly voice.
""i would send such a man," said he, "in quest of the golden fleece!"
this enterprise, you will understand, was, of all others, the most difficult and dangerous in the world.
in the first place it would be necessary to make a long voyage through unknown seas.
there was hardly a hope, or a possibility, that any young man who should undertake this voyage would either succeed in obtaining the golden fleece, or would survive to return home, and tell of the perils he had run.
the eyes of king pelias sparkled with joy, therefore, when he heard jason's reply.
""well said, wise man with the one sandal!"
cried he.
""go, then, and at the peril of your life, bring me back the golden fleece."
""i go," answered jason, composedly.
""if i fail, you need not fear that i will ever come back to trouble you again.
but if i return to iolchos with the prize, then, king pelias, you must hasten down from your lofty throne, and give me your crown and sceptre."
""that i will," said the king, with a sneer.
""meantime, i will keep them very safely for you."
the first thing that jason thought of doing, after he left the king's presence, was to go to dodona, and inquire of the talking oak what course it was best to pursue.
this wonderful tree stood in the center of an ancient wood.
its stately trunk rose up a hundred feet into the air, and threw a broad and dense shadow over more than an acre of ground.
standing beneath it, jason looked up among the knotted branches and green leaves, and into the mysterious heart of the old tree, and spoke aloud, as if he were addressing some person who was hidden in the depths of the foliage.
""what shall i do," said he, "in order to win the golden fleece?"
at first there was a deep silence, not only within the shadow of the talking oak, but all through the solitary wood.
in a moment or two, however, the leaves of the oak began to stir and rustle, as if a gentle breeze were wandering amongst them, although the other trees of the wood were perfectly still.
the sound grew louder, and became like the roar of a high wind.
by and by, jason imagined that he could distinguish words, but very confusedly, because each separate leaf of the tree seemed to be a tongue, and the whole myriad of tongues were babbling at once.
but the noise waxed broader and deeper, until it resembled a tornado sweeping through the oak, and making one great utterance out of the thousand and thousand of little murmurs which each leafy tongue had caused by its rustling.
and now, though it still had the tone of a mighty wind roaring among the branches, it was also like a deep bass voice, speaking as distinctly as a tree could be expected to speak, the following words: "go to argus, the shipbuilder, and bid him build a galley with fifty oars."
then the voice melted again into the indistinct murmur of the rustling leaves, and died gradually away.
when it was quite gone, jason felt inclined to doubt whether he had actually heard the words, or whether his fancy had not shaped them out of the ordinary sound made by a breeze, while passing through the thick foliage of the tree.
but on inquiry among the people of iolchos, he found that there was really a man in the city, by the name of argus, who was a very skilful builder of vessels.
this showed some intelligence in the oak; else how should it have known that any such person existed?
at jason's request, argus readily consented to build him a galley so big that it should require fifty strong men to row it; although no vessel of such a size and burden had heretofore been seen in the world.
so the head carpenter and all his journeymen and apprentices began their work; and for a good while afterwards, there they were, busily employed, hewing out the timbers, and making a great clatter with their hammers; until the new ship, which was called the argo, seemed to be quite ready for sea.
and, as the talking oak had already given him such good advice, jason thought that it would not be amiss to ask for a little more.
he visited it again, therefore, and standing beside its huge, rough trunk, inquired what he should do next.
this time, there was no such universal quivering of the leaves, throughout the whole tree, as there had been before.
but after a while, jason observed that the foliage of a great branch which stretched above his head had begun to rustle, as if the wind were stirring that one bough, while all the other boughs of the oak were at rest.
""cut me off!"
said the branch, as soon as it could speak distinctly; "cut me off!
cut me off!
and carve me into a figure-head for your galley."
accordingly, jason took the branch at its word, and lopped it off the tree.
a carver in the neighborhood engaged to make the figurehead.
he was a tolerably good workman, and had already carved several figure-heads, in what he intended for feminine shapes, and looking pretty much like those which we see nowadays stuck up under a vessel's bowsprit, with great staring eyes, that never wink at the dash of the spray.
but -lrb- what was very strange -rrb- the carver found that his hand was guided by some unseen power, and by a skill beyond his own, and that his tools shaped out an image which he had never dreamed of.
when the work was finished, it turned out to be the figure of a beautiful woman, with a helmet on her head, from beneath which the long ringlets fell down upon her shoulders.
on the left arm was a shield, and in its center appeared a lifelike representation of the head of medusa with the snaky locks.
the right arm was extended, as if pointing onward.
the face of this wonderful statue, though not angry or forbidding, was so grave and majestic, that perhaps you might call it severe; and as for the mouth, it seemed just ready to unclose its lips, and utter words of the deepest wisdom.
jason was delighted with the oaken image, and gave the carver no rest until it was completed, and set up where a figure-head has always stood, from that time to this, in the vessel's prow.
""and now," cried he, as he stood gazing at the calm, majestic face of the statue, "i must go to the talking oak and inquire what next to do."
""there is no need of that, jason," said a voice which, though it was far lower, reminded him of the mighty tones of the great oak.
""when you desire good advice, you can seek it of me."
jason had been looking straight into the face of the image when these words were spoken.
but he could hardly believe either his ears or his eyes.
the truth was, however, that the oaken lips had moved, and, to all appearance, the voice had proceeded from the statue's mouth.
recovering a little from his surprise, jason bethought himself that the image had been carved out of the wood of the talking oak, and that, therefore, it was really no great wonder, but on the contrary, the most natural thing in the world, that it should possess the faculty of speech.
it would have been very odd, indeed, if it had not.
but certainly it was a great piece of good fortune that he should be able to carry so wise a block of wood along with him in his perilous voyage.
""tell me, wondrous image," exclaimed jason, -- "since you inherit the wisdom of the speaking oak of dodona, whose daughter you are, -- tell me, where shall i find fifty bold youths, who will take each of them an oar of my galley?
they must have sturdy arms to row, and brave hearts to encounter perils, or we shall never win the golden fleece."
""go," replied the oaken image, "go, summon all the heroes of greece."
and, in fact, considering what a great deed was to be done, could any advice be wiser than this which jason received from the figure-head of his vessel?
he lost no time in sending messengers to all the cities, and making known to the whole people of greece, that prince jason, the son of king jason, was going in quest of the fleece of gold, and that he desired the help of forty-nine of the bravest and strongest young men alive, to row his vessel and share his dangers.
and jason himself would be the fiftieth.
at this news, the adventurous youths, all over the country, began to bestir themselves.
some of them had already fought with giants, and slain dragons; and the younger ones, who had not yet met with such good fortune, thought it a shame to have lived so long without getting astride of a flying serpent, or sticking their spears into a chimaera, or, at least, thrusting their right arms down a monstrous lion's throat.
there was a fair prospect that they would meet with plenty of such adventures before finding the golden fleece.
as soon as they could furbish up their helmets and shields, therefore, and gird on their trusty swords, they came thronging to iolchos, and clambered on board the new galley.
shaking hands with jason, they assured him that they did not care a pin for their lives, but would help row the vessel to the remotest edge of the world, and as much farther as he might think it best to go.
many of these brave fellows had been educated by chiron, the four-footed pedagogue, and were therefore old schoolmates of jason, and knew him to be a lad of spirit.
the mighty hercules, whose shoulders afterwards upheld the sky, was one of them.
and there were castor and pollux, the twin brothers, who were never accused of being chicken-hearted, although they had been hatched out of an egg; and theseus, who was so renowned for killing the minotaur, and lynceus, with his wonderfully sharp eyes, which could see through a millstone, or look right down into the depths of the earth, and discover the treasures that were there; and orpheus, the very best of harpers, who sang and played upon his lyre so sweetly, that the brute beasts stood upon their hind legs, and capered merrily to the music.
yes, and at some of his more moving tunes, the rocks bestirred their moss-grown bulk out of the ground, and a grove of forest trees uprooted themselves, and, nodding their tops to one another, performed a country dance.
one of the rowers was a beautiful young woman, named atalanta, who had been nursed among the mountains by a bear.
so light of foot was this fair damsel, that she could step from one foamy crest of a wave to the foamy crest of another, without wetting more than the sole of her sandal.
she had grown up in a very wild way, and talked much about the rights of women, and loved hunting and war far better than her needle.
but in my opinion, the most remarkable of this famous company were two sons of the north wind -lrb- airy youngsters, and of rather a blustering disposition -rrb- who had wings on their shoulders, and, in case of a calm, could puff out their cheeks, and blow almost as fresh a breeze as their father.
i ought not to forget the prophets and conjurors, of whom there were several in the crew, and who could foretell what would happen to-morrow or the next day, or a hundred years hence, but were generally quite unconscious of what was passing at the moment.
jason appointed tiphys to be helmsman because he was a star-gazer, and knew the points of the compass.
lynceus, on account of his sharp sight, was stationed as a look-out in the prow, where he saw a whole day's sail ahead, but was rather apt to overlook things that lay directly under his nose.
if the sea only happened to be deep enough, however, lynceus could tell you exactly what kind of rocks or sands were at the bottom of it; and he often cried out to his companions, that they were sailing over heaps of sunken treasure, which yet he was none the richer for beholding.
to confess the truth, few people believed him when he said it.
well!
but when the argonauts, as these fifty brave adventurers were called, had prepared everything for the voyage, an unforeseen difficulty threatened to end it before it was begun.
the vessel, you must understand, was so long, and broad, and ponderous, that the united force of all the fifty was insufficient to shove her into the water.
hercules, i suppose, had not grown to his full strength, else he might have set her afloat as easily as a little boy launches his boat upon a puddle.
but here were these fifty heroes, pushing, and straining, and growing red in the face, without making the argo start an inch.
at last, quite wearied out, they sat themselves down on the shore exceedingly disconsolate, and thinking that the vessel must be left to rot and fall in pieces, and that they must either swim across the sea or lose the golden fleece.
all at once, jason bethought himself of the galley's miraculous figure-head.
""o, daughter of the talking oak," cried he, "how shall we set to work to get our vessel into the water?"
""seat yourselves," answered the image -lrb- for it had known what had ought to be done from the very first, and was only waiting for the question to be put -rrb-, -- "seat yourselves, and handle your oars, and let orpheus play upon his harp."
immediately the fifty heroes got on board, and seizing their oars, held them perpendicularly in the air, while orpheus -lrb- who liked such a task far better than rowing -rrb- swept his fingers across the harp.
at the first ringing note of the music, they felt the vessel stir.
orpheus thrummed away briskly, and the galley slid at once into the sea, dipping her prow so deeply that the figure-head drank the wave with its marvelous lips, and rising again as buoyant as a swan.
the rowers plied their fifty oars; the white foam boiled up before the prow; the water gurgled and bubbled in their wake; while orpheus continued to play so lively a strain of music, that the vessel seemed to dance over the billows by way of keeping time to it.
thus triumphantly did the argo sail out of the harbor, amidst the huzzas and good wishes of everybody except the wicked old pelias, who stood on a promontory, scowling at her, and wishing that he could blow out of his lungs the tempest of wrath that was in his heart, and so sink the galley with all on board.
when they had sailed above fifty miles over the sea, lynceus happened to cast his sharp eyes behind, and said that there was this bad-hearted king, still perched upon the promontory, and scowling so gloomily that it looked like a black thunder-cloud in that quarter of the horizon.
in order to make the time pass away more pleasantly during the voyage, the heroes talked about the golden fleece.
it originally belonged, it appears, to a boeotian ram, who had taken on his back two children, when in danger of their lives, and fled with them over land and sea as far as colchis.
one of the children, whose name was helle, fell into the sea and was drowned.
but the other -lrb- a little boy, named phrixus -rrb- was brought safe ashore by the faithful ram, who, however, was so exhausted that he immediately lay down and died.
in memory of this good deed, and as a token of his true heart, the fleece of the poor dead ram was miraculously changed to gold, and became one of the most beautiful objects ever seen on earth.
it was hung upon a tree in a sacred grove, where it had now been kept i know not how many years, and was the envy of mighty kings, who had nothing so magnificent in any of their palaces.
if i were to tell you all the adventures of the argonauts, it would take me till nightfall, and perhaps a great deal longer.
there was no lack of wonderful events, as you may judge from what you have already heard.
at a certain island, they were hospitably received by king cyzicus, its sovereign, who made a feast for them, and treated them like brothers.
but the argonauts saw that this good king looked downcast and very much troubled, and they therefore inquired of him what was the matter.
king cyzicus hereupon informed them that he and his subjects were greatly abused and incommoded by the inhabitants of a neighboring mountain, who made war upon them, and killed many people, and ravaged the country.
and while they were talking about it, cyzicus pointed to the mountain, and asked jason and his companions what they saw there.
""i see some very tall objects," answered jason; "but they are at such a distance that i can not distinctly make out what they are.
to tell your majesty the truth, they look so very strangely that i am inclined to think them clouds, which have chanced to take something like human shapes."
""i see them very plainly," remarked lynceus, whose eyes, you know, were as far-sighted as a telescope.
""they are a band of enormous giants, all of whom have six arms apiece, and a club, a sword, or some other weapon in each of their hands."
""you have excellent eyes," said king cyzicus.
""yes; they are six-armed giants, as you say, and these are the enemies whom i and my subjects have to contend with."
the next day, when the argonauts were about setting sail, down came these terrible giants, stepping a hundred yards at a stride, brandishing their six arms apiece, and looking formidable, so far aloft in the air.
each of these monsters was able to carry on a whole war by himself, for with one arm he could fling immense stones, and wield a club with another, and a sword with a third, while the fourth was poking a long spear at the enemy, and the fifth and sixth were shooting him with a bow and arrow.
but, luckily, though the giants were so huge, and had so many arms, they had each but one heart, and that no bigger nor braver than the heart of an ordinary man.
besides, if they had been like the hundred-armed briareus, the brave argonauts would have given them their hands full of fight.
jason and his friends went boldly to meet them, slew a great many, and made the rest take to their heels, so that if the giants had had six legs apiece instead of six arms, it would have served them better to run away with.
another strange adventure happened when the voyagers came to thrace, where they found a poor blind king, named phineus, deserted by his subjects, and living in a very sorrowful way, all by himself: on jason's inquiring whether they could do him any service, the king answered that he was terribly tormented by three great winged creatures, called harpies, which had the faces of women, and the wings, bodies, and claws of vultures.
these ugly wretches were in the habit of snatching away his dinner, and allowed him no peace of his life.
upon hearing this, the argonauts spread a plentiful feast on the sea-shore, well knowing, from what the blind king said of their greediness, that the harpies would snuff up the scent of the victuals, and quickly come to steal them away.
and so it turned out; for, hardly was the table set, before the three hideous vulture women came flapping their wings, seized the food in their talons, and flew off as fast as they could.
but the two sons of the north wind drew their swords, spread their pinions, and set off through the air in pursuit of the thieves, whom they at last overtook among some islands, after a chase of hundreds of miles.
the two winged youths blustered terribly at the harpies -lrb- for they had the rough temper of their father -rrb-, and so frightened them with their drawn swords, that they solemnly promised never to trouble king phineus again.
then the argonauts sailed onward and met with many other marvelous incidents, any one of which would make a story by itself.
at one time they landed on an island, and were reposing on the grass, when they suddenly found themselves assailed by what seemed a shower of steel-headed arrows.
some of them stuck in the ground, while others hit against their shields, and several penetrated their flesh.
the fifty heroes started up, and looked about them for the hidden enemy, but could find none, nor see any spot, on the whole island, where even a single archer could lie concealed.
still, however, the steel-headed arrows came whizzing among them; and, at last, happening to look upward, they beheld a large flock of birds, hovering and wheeling aloft, and shooting their feathers down upon the argonauts.
these feathers were the steel-headed arrows that had so tormented them.
there was no possibility of making any resistance; and the fifty heroic argonauts might all have been killed or wounded by a flock of troublesome birds, without ever setting eyes on the golden fleece, if jason had not thought of asking the advice of the oaken image.
so he ran to the galley as fast as his legs would carry him.
""o, daughter of the speaking oak," cried he, all out of breath, "we need your wisdom more than ever before!
we are in great peril from a flock of birds, who are shooting us with their steel-pointed feathers.
what can we do to drive them away?"
""make a clatter on your shields," said the image.
on receiving this excellent counsel, jason hurried back to his companions -lrb- who were far more dismayed than when they fought with the six-armed giants -rrb-, and bade them strike with their swords upon their brazen shields.
forthwith the fifty heroes set heartily to work, banging with might and main, and raised such a terrible clatter, that the birds made what haste they could to get away; and though they had shot half the feathers out of their wings, they were soon seen skimming among the clouds, a long distance off, and looking like a flock of wild geese.
orpheus celebrated this victory by playing a triumphant anthem on his harp, and sang so melodiously that jason begged him to desist, lest, as the steel-feathered birds had been driven away by an ugly sound, they might be enticed back again by a sweet one.
while the argonauts remained on this island, they saw a small vessel approaching the shore, in which were two young men of princely demeanor, and exceedingly handsome, as young princes generally were, in those days.
now, who do you imagine these two voyagers turned out to be?
why, if you will believe me, they were the sons of that very phrixus, who, in his childhood, had been carried to colchis on the back of the golden-fleeced ram.
since that time, phrixus had married the king's daughter; and the two young princes had been born and brought up at colchis, and had spent their play-days in the outskirts of the grove, in the center of which the golden fleece was hanging upon a tree.
they were now on their way to greece, in hopes of getting back a kingdom that had been wrongfully taken from their father.
when the princes understood whither the argonauts were going, they offered to turn back, and guide them to colchis.
at the same time, however, they spoke as if it were very doubtful whether jason would succeed in getting the golden fleece.
according to their account, the tree on which it hung was guarded by a terrible dragon, who never failed to devour, at one mouthful, every person who might venture within his reach.
""there are other difficulties in the way," continued the young princes.
""but is not this enough?
ah, brave jason, turn back before it is too late.
it would grieve us to the heart, if you and your nine and forty brave companions should be eaten up, at fifty mouthfuls, by this execrable dragon."
""my young friends," quietly replied jason, "i do not wonder that you think the dragon very terrible.
you have grown up from infancy in the fear of this monster, and therefore still regard him with the awe that children feel for the bugbears and hobgoblins which their nurses have talked to them about.
but, in my view of the matter, the dragon is merely a pretty large serpent, who is not half so likely to snap me up at one mouthful as i am to cut off his ugly head, and strip the skin from his body.
at all events, turn back who may, i will never see greece again, unless i carry with me the golden fleece."
""we will none of us turn back!"
cried his nine and forty brave comrades.
""let us get on board the galley this instant; and if the dragon is to make a breakfast of us, much good may it do him."
and orpheus -lrb- whose custom it was to set everything to music -rrb- began to harp and sing most gloriously, and made every mother's son of them feel as if nothing in this world were so delectable as to fight dragons, and nothing so truly honorable as to be eaten up at one mouthful, in case of the worst.
after this -lrb- being now under the guidance of the two princes, who were well acquainted with the way -rrb-, they quickly sailed to colchis.
when the king of the country, whose name was aetes, heard of their arrival, he instantly summoned jason to court.
the king was a stern and cruel looking potentate; and though he put on as polite and hospitable an expression as he could, jason did not like his face a whit better than that of the wicked king pelias, who dethroned his father.
""you are welcome, brave jason," said king aetes.
""pray, are you on a pleasure voyage?
-- or do you meditate the discovery of unknown islands?
-- or what other cause has procured me the happiness of seeing you at my court?"
""great sir," replied jason, with an obeisance -- for chiron had taught him how to behave with propriety, whether to kings or beggars -- "i have come hither with a purpose which i now beg your majesty's permission to execute.
king pelias, who sits on my father's throne -lrb- to which he has no more right than to the one on which your excellent majesty is now seated -rrb-, has engaged to come down from it, and to give me his crown and sceptre, provided i bring him the golden fleece.
this, as your majesty is aware, is now hanging on a tree here at colchis; and i humbly solicit your gracious leave to take it away."
in spite of himself, the king's face twisted itself into an angry frown; for, above all things else in the world, he prized the golden fleece, and was even suspected of having done a very wicked act, in order to get it into his own possession.
it put him into the worst possible humor, therefore, to hear that the gallant prince jason, and forty-nine of the bravest young warriors of greece, had come to colchis with the sole purpose of taking away his chief treasure.
""do you know," asked king aetes, eyeing jason very sternly, "what are the conditions which you must fulfill before getting possession of the golden fleece?"
""i have heard," rejoined the youth, "that a dragon lies beneath the tree on which the prize hangs, and that whoever approaches him runs the risk of being devoured at a mouthful."
""true," said the king, with a smile that did not look particularly good-natured.
""very true, young man.
but there are other things as hard, or perhaps a little harder, to be done before you can even have the privilege of being devoured by the dragon.
for example, you must first tame my two brazen-footed and brazen-lunged bulls, which vulcan, the wonderful blacksmith, made for me.
there is a furnace in each of their stomachs; and they breathe such hot fire out of their mouths and nostrils, that nobody has hitherto gone nigh them without being instantly burned to a small, black cinder.
what do you think of this, my brave jason?"
""i must encounter the peril," answered jason, composedly, "since it stands in the way of my purpose."
""after taming the fiery bulls," continued king aetes, who was determined to scare jason if possible, "you must yoke them to a plow, and must plow the sacred earth in the grove of mars, and sow some of the same dragon's teeth from which cadmus raised a crop of armed men.
they are an unruly set of reprobates, those sons of the dragon's teeth; and unless you treat them suitably, they will fall upon you sword in hand.
you and your nine and forty argonauts, my bold jason, are hardly numerous or strong enough to fight with such a host as will spring up."
""my master chiron," replied jason, "taught me, long ago, the story of cadmus.
perhaps i can manage the quarrelsome sons of the dragon's teeth as well as cadmus did."
""i wish the dragon had him," muttered king aetes to himself, "and the four-footed pedant, his schoolmaster, into the bargain.
why, what a foolhardy, self-conceited coxcomb he is!
we'll see what my fire-breathing bulls will do for him.
well, prince jason," he continued, aloud, and as complaisantly as he could, "make yourself comfortable for to-day, and to-morrow morning, since you insist upon it, you shall try your skill at the plow."
while the king talked with jason, a beautiful young woman was standing behind the throne.
she fixed her eyes earnestly upon the youthful stranger, and listened attentively to every word that was spoken; and when jason withdrew from the king's presence, this young woman followed him out of the room.
""i am the king's daughter," she said to him, "and my name is medea.
i know a great deal of which other young princesses are ignorant, and can do many things which they would be afraid so much as to dream of.
if you will trust to me, i can instruct you how to tame the fiery bulls, and sow the dragon's teeth, and get the golden fleece."
""indeed, beautiful princess," answered jason, "if you will do me this service, i promise to be grateful to you my whole life long.""
gazing at medea, he beheld a wonderful intelligence in her face.
she was one of those persons whose eyes are full of mystery; so that, while looking into them, you seem to see a very great way, as into a deep well, yet can never be certain whether you see into the farthest depths, or whether there be not something else hidden at the bottom.
if jason had been capable of fearing anything, he would have been afraid of making this young princess his enemy; for, beautiful as she now looked, she might, the very next instant, become as terrible as the dragon that kept watch over the golden fleece.
""princess," he exclaimed, "you seem indeed very wise and very powerful.
but how can you help me to do the things of which you speak?
are you an enchantress?"
""yes, prince jason," answered medea, with a smile, "you have hit upon the truth.
i am an enchantress.
circe, my father's sister, taught me to be one, and i could tell you, if i pleased, who was the old woman with the peacock, the pomegranate, and the cuckoo staff, whom you carried over the river; and, likewise, who it is that speaks through the lips of the oaken image, that stands in the prow of your galley.
i am acquainted with some of your secrets, you perceive.
it is well for you that i am favorably inclined; for, otherwise, you would hardly escape being snapped up by the dragon."
""i should not so much care for the dragon," replied jason, "if i only knew how to manage the brazen-footed and fiery-lunged bulls."
""if you are as brave as i think you, and as you have need to be," said medea, "your own bold heart will teach you that there is but one way of dealing with a mad bull.
what it is i leave you to find out in the moment of peril.
as for the fiery breath of these animals, i have a charmed ointment here, which will prevent you from being burned up, and cure you if you chance to be a little scorched."
so she put a golden box into his hand, and directed him how to apply the perfumed unguent which it contained, and where to meet her at midnight.
""only be brave," added she, "and before daybreak the brazen bulls shall be tamed."
the young man assured her that his heart would not fail him.
he then rejoined his comrades, and told them what had passed between the princess and himself, and warned them to be in readiness in case there might be need of their help.
at the appointed hour he met the beautiful medea on the marble steps of the king's palace.
she gave him a basket, in which were the dragon's teeth, just as they had been pulled out of the monster's jaws by cadmus, long ago.
medea then led jason down the palace steps, and through the silent streets of the city, and into the royal pasture ground, where the two brazen-footed bulls were kept.
it was a starry night, with a bright gleam along the eastern edge of the sky, where the moon was soon going to show herself.
after entering the pasture, the princess paused and looked around.
""there they are," said she, "reposing themselves and chewing their fiery cuds in that farthest corner of the field.
it will be excellent sport, i assure you, when they catch a glimpse of your figure.
my father and all his court delight in nothing so much as to see a stranger trying to yoke them, in order to come at the golden fleece.
it makes a holiday in colchis whenever such a thing happens.
for my part, i enjoy it immensely.
you can not imagine in what a mere twinkling of an eye their hot breath shrivels a young man into a black cinder."
""are you sure, beautiful medea," asked jason, "quite sure, that the unguent in the gold box will prove a remedy against those terrible burns?"
""if you doubt, if you are in the least afraid," said the princess, looking him in the face by the dim starlight, "you had better never have been born than to go a step nigher to the bulls."
but jason had set his heart steadfastly on getting the golden fleece; and i positively doubt whether he would have gone back without it, even had he been certain of finding himself turned into a red-hot cinder, or a handful of white ashes, the instant he made a step farther.
he therefore let go medea's hand, and walked boldly forward in the direction whither she had pointed.
at some distance before him he perceived four streams of fiery vapor, regularly appearing and again vanishing, after dimly lighting up the surrounding obscurity.
these, you will understand, were caused by the breath of the brazen bulls, which was quietly stealing out of their four nostrils, as they lay chewing their cuds.
at the first two or three steps which jason made, the four fiery streams appeared to gush out somewhat more plentifully; for the two brazen bulls had heard his foot tramp, and were lifting up their hot noses to snuff the air.
he went a little farther, and by the way in which the red vapor now spouted forth, he judged that the creatures had got upon their feet.
now he could see glowing sparks, and vivid jets of flame.
at the next step, each of the bulls made the pasture echo with a terrible roar, while the burning breath, which they thus belched forth, lit up the whole field with a momentary flash.
one other stride did bold jason make; and, suddenly as a streak of lightning, on came these fiery animals, roaring like thunder, and sending out sheets of white flame, which so kindled up the scene that the young man could discern every object more distinctly than by daylight.
most distinctly of all he saw the two horrible creatures galloping right down upon him, their brazen hoofs rattling and ringing over the ground, and their tails sticking up stiffly into the air, as has always been the fashion with angry bulls.
their breath scorched the herbage before them.
so intensely hot it was, indeed, that it caught a dry tree under which jason was now standing, and set it all in a light blaze.
but as for jason himself -lrb- thanks to medea's enchanted ointment -rrb-, the white flame curled around his body, without injuring him a jot more than if he had been made of asbestos.
greatly encouraged at finding himself not yet turned into a cinder, the young man awaited the attack of the bulls.
just as the brazen brutes fancied themselves sure of tossing him into the air, he caught one of them by the horn, and the other by his screwed-up tail, and held them in a gripe like that of an iron vice, one with his right hand, the other with his left.
well, he must have been wonderfully strong in his arms, to be sure.
but the secret of the matter was, that the brazen bulls were enchanted creatures, and that jason had broken the spell of their fiery fierceness by his bold way of handling them.
and, ever since that time, it has been the favorite method of brave men, when danger assails them, to do what they call "taking the bull by the horns"; and to gripe him by the tail is pretty much the same thing -- that is, to throw aside fear, and overcome the peril by despising it.
it was now easy to yoke the bulls, and to harness them to the plow, which had lain rusting on the ground for a great many years gone by; so long was it before anybody could be found capable of plowing that piece of land.
jason, i suppose, had been taught how to draw a furrow by the good old chiron, who, perhaps, used to allow himself to be harnessed to the plow.
at any rate, our hero succeeded perfectly well in breaking up the greensward; and, by the time that the moon was a quarter of her journey up the sky, the plowed field lay before him, a large tract of black earth, ready to be sown with the dragon's teeth.
so jason scattered them broadcast, and harrowed them into the soil with a brush-harrow, and took his stand on the edge of the field, anxious to see what would happen next.
""must we wait long for harvest time?"
he inquired of medea, who was now standing by his side.
""whether sooner or later, it will be sure to come," answered the princess.
""a crop of armed men never fails to spring up, when the dragon's teeth have been sown."
the moon was now high aloft in the heavens, and threw its bright beams over the plowed field, where as yet there was nothing to be seen.
any farmer, on viewing it, would have said that jason must wait weeks before the green blades would peep from among the clods, and whole months before the yellow grain would be ripened for the sickle.
but by and by, all over the field, there was something that glistened in the moonbeams, like sparkling drops of dew.
these bright objects sprouted higher, and proved to be the steel heads of spears.
then there was a dazzling gleam from a vast number of polished brass helmets, beneath which, as they grew farther out of the soil, appeared the dark and bearded visages of warriors, struggling to free themselves from the imprisoning earth.
the first look that they gave at the upper world was a glare of wrath and defiance.
next were seen their bright breastplates; in every right hand there was a sword or a spear, and on each left arm a shield; and when this strange crop of warriors had but half grown out of the earth, they struggled -- such was their impatience of restraint -- and, as it were, tore themselves up by the roots.
wherever a dragon's tooth had fallen, there stood a man armed for battle.
they made a clangor with their swords against their shields, and eyed one another fiercely; for they had come into this beautiful world, and into the peaceful moonlight, full of rage and stormy passions, and ready to take the life of every human brother, in recompense of the boon of their own existence.
there have been many other armies in the world that seemed to possess the same fierce nature with the one which had now sprouted from the dragon's teeth; but these, in the moonlit field, were the more excusable, because they never had women for their mothers.
and how it would have rejoiced any great captain, who was bent on conquering the world, like alexander or napoleon, to raise a crop of armed soldiers as easily as jason did!
for a while, the warriors stood flourishing their weapons, clashing their swords against their shields, and boiling over with the red-hot thirst for battle.
then they began to shout -- "show us the enemy!
lead us to the charge!
death or victory!"
""come on, brave comrades!
conquer or die!"
and a hundred other outcries, such as men always bellow forth on a battle field, and which these dragon people seemed to have at their tongues" ends.
at last, the front rank caught sight of jason, who, beholding the flash of so many weapons in the moonlight, had thought it best to draw his sword.
in a moment all the sons of the dragon's teeth appeared to take jason for an enemy; and crying with one voice, "guard the golden fleece!"
they ran at him with uplifted swords and protruded spears.
jason knew that it would be impossible to withstand this blood-thirsty battalion with his single arm, but determined, since there was nothing better to be done, to die as valiantly as if he himself had sprung from a dragon's tooth.
medea, however, bade him snatch up a stone from the ground.
""throw it among them quickly!"
cried she.
""it is the only way to save yourself."
the armed men were now so nigh that jason could discern the fire flashing out of their enraged eyes, when he let fly the stone, and saw it strike the helmet of a tall warrior, who was rushing upon him with his blade aloft.
the stone glanced from this man's helmet to the shield of his nearest comrade, and thence flew right into the angry face of another, hitting him smartly between the eyes.
each of the three who had been struck by the stone took it for granted that his next neighbor had given him a blow; and instead of running any farther towards jason, they began to fight among themselves.
the confusion spread through the host, so that it seemed scarcely a moment before they were all hacking, hewing, and stabbing at one another, lopping off arms, heads, and legs and doing such memorable deeds that jason was filled with immense admiration; although, at the same time, he could not help laughing to behold these mighty men punishing each other for an offense which he himself had committed.
in an incredibly short space of time -lrb- almost as short, indeed, as it had taken them to grow up -rrb-, all but one of the heroes of the dragon's teeth were stretched lifeless on the field.
the last survivor, the bravest and strongest of the whole, had just force enough to wave his crimson sword over his head and give a shout of exultation, crying, "victory!
victory!
immortal fame!"
when he himself fell down, and lay quietly among his slain brethren.
and there was the end of the army that had sprouted from the dragon's teeth.
that fierce and feverish fight was the only enjoyment which they had tasted on this beautiful earth.
""let them sleep in the bed of honor," said the princess medea, with a sly smile at jason.
""the world will always have simpletons enough, just like them, fighting and dying for they know not what, and fancying that posterity will take the trouble to put laurel wreaths on their rusty and battered helmets.
could you help smiling, prince jason, to see the self-conceit of that last fellow, just as he tumbled down?"
""it made me very sad," answered jason, gravely.
""and, to tell you the truth, princess, the golden fleece does not appear so well worth the winning, after what i have here beheld!"
""you will think differently in the morning," said medea.
""true, the golden fleece may not be so valuable as you have thought it; but then there is nothing better in the world; and one must needs have an object, you know.
come!
your night's work has been well performed; and to-morrow you can inform king aetes that the first part of your allotted task is fulfilled."
agreeably to medea's advice, jason went betimes in the morning to the palace of king aetes.
entering the presence chamber, he stood at the foot of the throne, and made a low obeisance.
""your eyes look heavy, prince jason," observed the king; "you appear to have spent a sleepless night.
i hope you have been considering the matter a little more wisely, and have concluded not to get yourself scorched to a cinder, in attempting to tame my brazen-lunged bulls."
""that is already accomplished, may it please your majesty," replied jason.
""the bulls have been tamed and yoked; the field has been plowed; the dragon's teeth have been sown broadcast, and harrowed into the soil; the crop of armed warriors have sprung up, and they have slain one another, to the last man.
and now i solicit your majesty's permission to encounter the dragon, that i may take down the golden fleece from the tree, and depart, with my nine and forty comrades."
king aetes scowled, and looked very angry and excessively disturbed; for he knew that, in accordance with his kingly promise, he ought now to permit jason to win the fleece, if his courage and skill should enable him to do so.
but, since the young man had met with such good luck in the matter of the brazen bulls and the dragon's teeth, the king feared that he would be equally successful in slaying the dragon.
and therefore, though he would gladly have seen jason snapped up at a mouthful, he was resolved -lrb- and it was a very wrong thing of this wicked potentate -rrb- not to run any further risk of losing his beloved fleece.
""you never would have succeeded in this business, young man," said he, "if my undutiful daughter medea had not helped you with her enchantments.
had you acted fairly, you would have been, at this instant, a black cinder, or a handful of white ashes.
i forbid you, on pain of death, to make any more attempts to get the golden fleece.
to speak my mind plainly, you shall never set eyes on so much as one of its glistening locks."
jason left the king's presence in great sorrow and anger.
he could think of nothing better to be done than to summon together his forty-nine brave argonauts, march at once to the grove of mars, slay the dragon, take possession of the golden fleece, get on board the argo, and spread all sail for iolchos.
the success of this scheme depended, it is true, on the doubtful point whether all the fifty heroes might not be snapped up, at so many mouthfuls, by the dragon.
but, as jason was hastening down the palace steps, the princess medea called after him, and beckoned him to return.
her black eyes shone upon him with such a keen intelligence, that he felt as if there were a serpent peeping out of them; and, although she had done him so much service only the night before, he was by no means very certain that she would not do him an equally great mischief before sunset.
these enchantresses, you must know, are never to be depended upon.
""what says king aetes, my royal and upright father?"
inquired medea, slightly smiling.
""will he give you the golden fleece, without any further risk or trouble?"
""on the contrary," answered jason, "he is very angry with me for taming the brazen bulls and sowing the dragon's teeth.
and he forbids me to make any more attempts, and positively refuses to give up the golden fleece, whether i slay the dragon or no."
""yes, jason," said the princess, "and i can tell you more.
unless you set sail from colchis before to-morrow's sunrise, the king means to burn your fifty-oared galley, and put yourself and your forty-nine brave comrades to the sword.
but be of good courage.
the golden fleece you shall have, if it lies within the power of my enchantments to get it for you.
wait for me here an hour before midnight."
at the appointed hour you might again have seen prince jason and the princess medea, side by side, stealing through the streets of colchis, on their way to the sacred grove, in the center of which the golden fleece was suspended to a tree.
while they were crossing the pasture ground, the brazen bulls came towards jason, lowing, nodding their heads, and thrusting forth their snouts, which, as other cattle do, they loved to have rubbed and caressed by a friendly hand.
their fierce nature was thoroughly tamed; and, with their fierceness, the two furnaces in their stomachs had likewise been extinguished, insomuch that they probably enjoyed far more comfort in grazing and chewing their cuds than ever before.
indeed, it had heretofore been a great inconvenience to these poor animals, that, whenever they wished to eat a mouthful of grass, the fire out of their nostrils had shriveled it up, before they could manage to crop it.
how they contrived to keep themselves alive is more than i can imagine.
but now, instead of emitting jets of flame and streams of sulphurous vapor, they breathed the very sweetest of cow breath.
after kindly patting the bulls, jason followed medea's guidance into the grove of mars, where the great oak trees, that had been growing for centuries, threw so thick a shade that the moonbeams struggled vainly to find their way through it.
only here and there a glimmer fell upon the leaf-strewn earth, or now and then a breeze stirred the boughs aside, and gave jason a glimpse of the sky, lest, in that deep obscurity, he might forget that there was one, overhead.
at length, when they had gone farther and farther into the heart of the duskiness, medea squeezed jason's hand.
""look yonder," she whispered.
""do you see it?"
gleaming among the venerable oaks, there was a radiance, not like the moonbeams, but rather resembling the golden glory of the setting sun.
it proceeded from an object, which appeared to be suspended at about a man's height from the ground, a little farther within the wood.
""what is it?"
asked jason.
""have you come so far to seek it," exclaimed medea, "and do you not recognize the meed of all your toils and perils, when it glitters before your eyes?
it is the golden fleece."
jason went onward a few steps farther, and then stopped to gaze.
o, how beautiful it looked, shining with a marvelous light of its own, that inestimable prize which so many heroes had longed to behold, but had perished in the quest of it, either by the perils of their voyage, or by the fiery breath of the brazen-lunged bulls.
""how gloriously it shines!"
cried jason, in a rapture.
""it has surely been dipped in the richest gold of sunset.
let me hasten onward, and take it to my bosom."
""stay," said medea, holding him back.
""have you forgotten what guards it?"
to say the truth, in the joy of beholding the object of his desires, the terrible dragon had quite slipped out of jason's memory.
soon, however, something came to pass, that reminded him what perils were still to be encountered.
an antelope, that probably mistook the yellow radiance for sunrise, came bounding fleetly through the grove.
he was rushing straight towards the golden fleece, when suddenly there was a frightful hiss, and the immense head and half the scaly body of the dragon was thrust forth -lrb- for he was twisted round the trunk of the tree on which the fleece hung -rrb-, and seizing the poor antelope, swallowed him with one snap of his jaws.
after this feat, the dragon seemed sensible that some other living creature was within reach, on which he felt inclined to finish his meal.
in various directions he kept poking his ugly snout among the trees, stretching out his neck a terrible long way, now here, now there, and now close to the spot where jason and the princess were hiding behind an oak.
upon my word, as the head came waving and undulating through the air, and reaching almost within arm's length of prince jason, it was a very hideous and uncomfortable sight.
the gape of his enormous jaws was nearly as wide as the gateway of the king's palace.
""well, jason," whispered medea -lrb- for she was ill natured, as all enchantresses are, and wanted to make the bold youth tremble -rrb-, "what do you think now of your prospect of winning the golden fleece?"
jason answered only by drawing his sword, and making a step forward.
""stay, foolish youth," said medea, grasping his arm.
""do not you see you are lost, without me as your good angel?
in this gold box i have a magic potion, which will do the dragon's business far more effectually than your sword."
the dragon had probably heard the voices; for swift as lightning, his black head and forked tongue came hissing among the trees again, darting full forty feet at a stretch.
as it approached, medea tossed the contents of the gold box right down the monster's wide-open throat.
immediately, with an outrageous hiss and a tremendous wriggle -- flinging his tail up to the tip-top of the tallest tree, and shattering all its branches as it crashed heavily down again -- the dragon fell at full length upon the ground, and lay quite motionless.
""it is only a sleeping potion," said the enchantress to prince jason.
""one always finds a use for these mischievous creatures, sooner or later; so i did not wish to kill him outright.
quick!
snatch the prize, and let us begone.
you have won the golden fleece."
jason caught the fleece from the tree, and hurried through the grove, the deep shadows of which were illuminated as he passed by the golden glory of the precious object that he bore along.
a little way before him, he beheld the old woman whom he had helped over the stream, with her peacock beside her.
she clapped her hands for joy, and beckoning him to make haste, disappeared among the duskiness of the trees.
espying the two winged sons of the north wind -lrb- who were disporting themselves in the moonlight, a few hundred feet aloft -rrb-, jason bade them tell the rest of the argonauts to embark as speedily as possible.
but lynceus, with his sharp eyes, had already caught a glimpse of him, bringing the golden fleece, although several stone walls, a hill, and the black shadows of the grove of mars, intervened between.
by his advice, the heroes had seated themselves on the benches of the galley, with their oars held perpendicularly, ready to let fall into the water.
as jason drew near, he heard the talking image calling to him with more than ordinary eagerness, in its grave, sweet voice: "make haste, prince jason!
for your life, make haste!"
with one bound, he leaped aboard.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___the_gorgon's_head.txt.out
introductory to "the gorgon's head."
beneath the porch of the country-seat called tanglewood, one fine autumnal morning, was assembled a merry party of little folks, with a tall youth in the midst of them.
they had planned a nutting expedition, and were impatiently waiting for the mists to roll up the hill-slopes, and for the sun to pour the warmth of the indian summer over the fields and pastures, and into the nooks of the many-colored woods.
there was a prospect of as fine a day as ever gladdened the aspect of this beautiful and comfortable world.
as yet, however, the morning mist filled up the whole length and breadth of the valley, above which, on a gently sloping eminence, the mansion stood.
this body of white vapor extended to within less than a hundred yards of the house.
it completely hid everything beyond that distance, except a few ruddy or yellow tree-tops, which here and there emerged, and were glorified by the early sunshine, as was likewise the broad surface of the mist.
four or five miles off to the southward rose the summit of monument mountain, and seemed to be floating on a cloud.
some fifteen miles farther away, in the same direction, appeared the loftier dome of taconic, looking blue and indistinct, and hardly so substantial as the vapory sea that almost rolled over it.
the nearer hills, which bordered the valley, were half submerged, and were specked with little cloud-wreaths all the way to their tops.
on the whole, there was so much cloud, and so little solid earth, that it had the effect of a vision.
the children above-mentioned, being as full of life as they could hold, kept overflowing from the porch of tanglewood, and scampering along the gravel-walk, or rushing across the dewy herbage of the lawn.
i can hardly tell how many of these small people there were; not less than nine or ten, however, nor more than a dozen, of all sorts, sizes, and ages, whether girls or boys.
they were brothers, sisters, and cousins, together with a few of their young acquaintances, who had been invited by mr. and mrs. pringle to spend some of this delightful weather with their own children, at tanglewood.
i am afraid to tell you their names, or even to give them any names which other children have ever been called by; because, to my certain knowledge, authors sometimes get themselves into great trouble by accidentally giving the names of real persons to the characters in their books.
for this reason, i mean to call them primrose, periwinkle, sweet fern, dandelion, blue eye, clover, huckleberry, cowslip, squash-blossom, milkweed, plantain, and buttercup; although, to be sure, such titles might better suit a group of fairies than a company of earthly children.
it is not to be supposed that these little folks were to be permitted by their careful fathers and mothers, uncles, aunts, or grandparents, to stray abroad into the woods and fields, without the guardianship of some particularly grave and elderly person.
o no, indeed!
in the first sentence of my book, you will recollect that i spoke of a tall youth, standing in the midst of the children.
his name -- -lrb- and i shall let you know his real name, because he considers it a great honor to have told the stories that are here to be printed -rrb- -- his name was eustace bright.
he was a student at williams college, and had reached, i think, at this period, the venerable age of eighteen -- years; so that he felt quite like a grandfather towards periwinkle, dandelion, huckleberry, squash-blossom, milkweed, and the rest, who were only half or a third as venerable as he.
a trouble in his eyesight -lrb- such as many students think it necessary to have, nowadays, in order to prove their diligence at their books -rrb- had kept him from college a week or two after the beginning of the term.
but, for my part, i have seldom met with a pair of eyes that looked as if they could see farther or better than those of eustace bright.
this learned student was slender, and rather pale, as all yankee students are; but yet of a healthy aspect, and as light and active as if he had wings to his shoes.
by the by, being much addicted to wading through streamlets and across meadows, he had put on cowhide boots for the expedition.
he wore a linen blouse, a cloth cap, and a pair of green spectacles, which he had assumed, probably, less for the preservation of his eyes, than for the dignity that they imparted to his countenance.
in either case, however, he might as well have let then alone; for huckleberry, a mischievous little elf, crept behind eustace as he sat on the steps of the porch, snatched the spectacles from his nose, and clapped them on her own; and as the student forgot to take them back, they fell off into the grass, and lay there till the next spring.
now, eustace bright, you must know, had won great fame among the children, as a narrator of wonderful stories; and though he sometimes pretended to be annoyed, when they teased him for more, and more, and always for more, yet i really doubt whether he liked anything quite so well as to tell them.
you might have seen his eyes twinkle, therefore, when clover, sweet fern, cowslip, buttercup, and most of their playmates, besought him to relate one of his stories, while they were waiting for the mist to clear up.
""yes, cousin eustace," said primrose, who was a bright girl of twelve, with laughing eyes, and a nose that turned up a little, "the morning is certainly the best time for the stories with which you so often tire out our patience.
we shall be in less danger of hurting your feelings, by falling asleep at the most interesting points, -- as little cowslip and i did last night!"
""naughty primrose," cried cowslip, a child of six years old; "i did not fall asleep, and i only shut my eyes, so as to see a picture of what cousin eustace was telling about.
his stories are good to hear at night, because we can dream about them asleep; and good in the morning, too, because then we can dream about them awake.
so i hope he will tell us one this very minute."
""thank you, my little cowslip," said eustace; "certainly you shall have the best story i can think of, if it were only for defending me so well from that naughty primrose.
but, children, i have already told you so many fairy tales, that i doubt whether there is a single one which you have not heard at least twice over.
i am afraid you will fall asleep in reality, if i repeat any of them again."
""no, no, no!"
cried blue eye, periwinkle, plantain, and half a dozen others.
""we like a story all the better for having heard it two or three tunes before."
and it is a truth, as regards children, that a story seems often to deepen its mark in their interest, not merely by two or three, but by numberless repetitions.
but eustace bright, in the exuberance of his resources, scorned to avail himself of an advantage which an older story-teller would have been glad to grasp at.
""it would be a great pity," said he, "if a man of my learning -lrb- to say nothing of original fancy -rrb- could not find a new story every day, year in and year out, for children such as you.
i will tell you one of the nursery tales that were made for the amusement of our great old grandmother, the earth, when she was a child in frock and pinafore.
there are a hundred such; and it is a wonder to me that they have not long ago been put into picture-books for little girls and boys.
but, instead of that, old gray-bearded grandsires pore over them, in musty volumes of greek, and puzzle themselves with trying to find out when, and how, and for what they were made."
""well, well, well, well, cousin eustace!"
cried all the children at once; "talk no more about your stories, but begin."
""sit down, then, every soul of you," said eustace bright, "and be all as still as so many mice.
at the slightest interruption, whether from great, naughty primrose, little dandelion, or any other, i shall bite the story short off between my teeth, and swallow the untold part.
but, in the first place, do any of you know what a gorgon is?"
""i do," said primrose.
""then hold your tongue!"
rejoined eustace, who had rather she would have known nothing about the matter.
""hold all your tongues, and i shall tell you a sweet pretty story of a gorgon's head."
and so he did, as you may begin to read on the next page.
working up his sophomorical erudition with a good deal of tact, and incurring great obligations to professor anthon, he, nevertheless, disregarded all classical authorities, whenever the vagrant audacity of his imagination impelled him to do so.
the gorgon's head.
perseus was the son of danae, who was the daughter of a king.
and when perseus was a very little boy, some wicked people put his mother and himself into a chest, and set them afloat upon the sea.
the wind blew freshly, and drove the chest away from the shore, and the uneasy billows tossed it up and down; while danae clasped her child closely to her bosom, and dreaded that some big wave would dash its foamy crest over them both.
the chest sailed on, however, and neither sank nor was upset; until, when night was coming, it floated so near an island that it got entangled in a fisherman's nets, and was drawn out high and dry upon the sand.
the island was called seriphus, and it was reigned over by king polydectes, who happened to be the fisherman's brother.
this fisherman, i am glad to tell you, was an exceedingly humane and upright man.
he showed great kindness to danae and her little boy; and continued to befriend them, until perseus had grown to be a handsome youth, very strong and active, and skilful in the use of arms.
long before this time, king polydectes had seen the two strangers -- the mother and her child -- who had come to his dominions in a floating chest.
as he was not good and kind, like his brother the fisherman, but extremely wicked, he resolved to send perseus on a dangerous enterprise, in which he would probably be killed, and then to do some great mischief to danae herself.
so this bad-hearted king spent a long while in considering what was the most dangerous thing that a young man could possibly undertake to perform.
at last, having hit upon an enterprise that promised to turn out as fatally as he desired, he sent for the youthful perseus.
the young man came to the palace, and found the king sitting upon his throne.
""perseus," said king polydectes, smiling craftily upon him, "you are grown up a fine young man.
you and your good mother have received a great deal of kindness from myself, as well as from my worthy brother the fisherman, and i suppose you would not be sorry to repay some of it."
""please your majesty," answered perseus, "i would willingly risk my life to do so."
""well, then," continued the king, still with a curving smile on his lips, "i have a little adventure to propose to you; and, as you are a brave and enterprising youth, you will doubtless look upon it as a great piece of good luck to have so rare an opportunity of distinguishing yourself.
you must know, my good perseus, i think of getting married to the beautiful princess hippodamia; and it is customary, on these occasions, to make the bride a present of some far-fetched and elegant curiosity.
i have been a little perplexed, i must honestly confess, where to obtain anything likely to please a princess of her exquisite taste.
but, this morning, i flatter myself, i have thought of precisely the article."
""and can i assist your majesty in obtaining it?"
cried perseus, eagerly.
""you can, if you are as brave a youth as i believe you to be," replied king polydectes, with the utmost graciousness of manner.
""the bridal gift which i have set my heart on presenting to the beautiful hippodamia is the head of the gorgon medusa, with the snaky locks; and i depend on you, my dear perseus, to bring it to me.
so, as i am anxious to settle affairs with the princess, the sooner you go in quest of the gorgon, the better i shall be pleased."
""i will set out to-morrow morning," answered perseus.
""pray do so, my gallant youth," rejoined the king.
""and, perseus, in cutting off the gorgon's head, be careful to make a clean stroke, so as not to injure its appearance.
you must bring it home in the very best condition, in order to suit the exquisite taste of the beautiful princess hippodamia."
perseus left the palace, but was scarcely out of hearing before polydectes burst into a laugh; being greatly amused, wicked king that he was, to find how readily the young man fell into the snare.
the news quickly spread abroad, that perseus had undertaken to cut off the head of medusa with the snaky locks.
everybody was rejoiced; for most of the inhabitants of the island were as wicked as the king himself, and would have liked nothing better than to see some enormous mischief happen to danae and her son.
the only good man in this unfortunate island of seriphus appears to have been the fisherman.
as perseus walked along, therefore, the people pointed after him, and made mouths, and winked to one another, and ridiculed him as loudly as they dared.
""ho, ho!"
cried they; "medusa's snakes will sting him soundly!"
now, there were three gorgons alive, at that period; and they were the most strange and terrible monsters that had ever been since the world was made, or that have been seen in after days, or that are likely to be seen in all time to come.
i hardly know what sort of creature or hobgoblin to call them.
they were three sisters, and seem to have borne some distant resemblance to women, but were really a very frightful and mischievous species of dragon.
it is, indeed, difficult to imagine what hideous beings these three sisters were.
why, instead of locks of hair, if you can believe me, they had each of them a hundred enormous snakes growing on their heads, all alive, twisting, wriggling, curling, and thrusting out their venomous" tongues, with forked stings at the end!
the teeth of the gorgons were terribly long tusks; their hands were made of brass; and their bodies were all over scales, which, if not iron, were something as hard and impenetrable.
they had wings, too, and exceedingly splendid ones, i can assure you; for every feather in them was pure, bright, glittering, burnished gold, and they looked very dazzlingly, no doubt, when the gorgons were flying about in the sunshine.
but when people happened to catch a glimpse of their glittering brightness, aloft in the air, they seldom stopped to gaze, but ran and hid themselves as speedily as they could.
you will think, perhaps, that they were afraid of being stung by the serpents that served the gorgons instead of hair, -- or of having their heads bitten off by their ugly tusks, -- or of being torn all to pieces by their brazen claws.
well, to be sure, these were some of the dangers, but by no means the greatest, nor the most difficult to avoid.
for the worst thing about these abominable gorgons was, that, if once a poor mortal fixed his eyes full upon one of their faces, he was certain, that very instant, to be changed from warm flesh and blood into cold and lifeless stone!
thus, as you will easily perceive, it was a very dangerous adventure that the wicked king polydectes had contrived for this innocent young man.
perseus himself, when he had thought over the matter, could not help seeing that he had very little chance of coming safely through it, and that he was far more likely to become a stone image than to bring back the head of medusa with the snaky locks.
for, not to speak of other difficulties, there was one which it would have puzzled an older man than perseus to get over.
not only must he fight with and slay this golden-winged, iron-scaled, long-tusked, brazen-clawed, snaky-haired monster, but he must do it with his eyes shut, or, at least, without so much as a glance at the enemy with whom he was contending.
else, while his arm was lifted to strike, he would stiffen into stone, and stand with that uplifted arm for centuries, until time, and the wind and weather, should crumble him quite away.
this would be a very sad thing to befall a young mail who wanted to perform a great many brave deeds, and to enjoy a great deal of happiness, in this bright and beautiful world.
so disconsolate did these thoughts make him, that perseus could not bear to tell his another what he had undertaken to do.
he therefore took his shield, girded on his sword, and crossed over from the island to the mainland, where he sat down in a solitary place, and hardly refrained from shedding tears.
but, while he was in this sorrowful mood, he heard a voice close beside him.
""perseus," said the voice, "why are you sad?"
he lifted his head from his hands, in which he had hidden it, and, behold!
all alone as perseus had supposed himself to be, there was a stranger in the solitary place.
it was a brisk, intelligent, and remarkably shrewd-looking young man, with a cloak over his shoulders, an odd sort of cap on his head, a strangely twisted staff in his hand, and a short and very crooked sword hanging by his side.
he was exceedingly light and active in his figure, like a person much accustomed to gymnastic exercises, and well able to leap or run.
above all, the stranger had such a cheerful, knowing, and helpful aspect -lrb- though it was certainly a little mischievous, into the bargain -rrb-, that perseus could not help feeling his spirits grow livelier, as he gazed at him.
besides, being really a courageous youth, he felt greatly ashamed that anybody should have found him with tears in his eyes, like a timid little school-boy, when, after all, there might be no occasion for despair.
so perseus wiped his eyes, and answered the stranger pretty briskly, putting on as brave a look as he could.
""i am not so very sad," said he; "only thoughtful about an adventure that i have undertaken."
""oho!"
answered the stranger.
""well, tell me all about it, and possibly i may be of service to you.
i have helped a good many young men through adventures that looked difficult enough beforehand.
perhaps you may have heard of me.
i have more names than one; but the name of quicksilver suits me as well as any other.
tell me what your trouble is, and we will talk the matter over, and see what can be done."
the stranger's words and manner put perseus into quite a different mood from his former one.
he resolved to tell quicksilver all his difficulties, since he could not easily be worse off than he already was, and, very possibly, his new friend might give him some advice that would turn out well in the end.
so he let the stranger know, in few words, precisely what the case was; -- how that king polydeetes wanted the head of medusa with the snaky locks as a bridal gift for the beautiful princess hippodamia, and how that he had undertaken to get it for him, but was afraid of being turned into stone.
""and that would be a great pity," said quicksilver, with his mischievous smile.
""you would make a very handsome marble statue, it is true, and it would be a considerable number of centuries before you crumbled away; but, on the whole, one would rather be a young man for a few years, than a stone image for a great many."
""o, far rather!"
exclaimed perseus, with the tears again standing in his eyes.
""and, besides, what would my dear mother do, if her beloved son were turned into a stone?"
""well, well; let us hope that the affair will not turn out so very badly," replied quicksilver, in an encouraging tone.
""i am the very person to help you, if anybody can.
my sister and myself will do our utmost to bring you safe through the adventure, ugly as it now looks."
""your sister?"
repeated perseus.
""yes, my sister," said the stranger.
""she is very wise, i promise you; and as for myself, i generally have all my wits about me, such as they are.
if you show yourself bold and cautious, and follow our advice, you need not fear being a stone image yet awhile.
but, first of all, you must polish your shield, till you can see your face in it as distinctly as in a mirror."
this seemed to perseus rather an odd beginning of the adventure; for he thought it of far more consequence that the shield should be strong enough to defend him from the gorgon's brazen claws, than that it should be bright enough to show him the reflection of his face.
however, concluding that quicksilver knew better than himself, he immediately set to work, and scrubbed the shield with so much diligence and good-will, that it very quickly shone like the moon at harvest-time.
quicksilver looked at it with a smile, and nodded his approbation.
then, taking off his own short and crooked sword, he girded it about perseus, instead of the one which he had before worn.
""no sword but mine will answer your purpose," observed he; "the blade has a most excellent temper, and will cut through iron and brass as easily as through the slenderest twig.
and now we will set out.
the next thing is to find the three gray women, who will tell us where to find the nymphs."
""the three gray women!"
cried perseus, to whom this seemed only a new difficulty in the path of his adventure; "pray, who may the three gray women be?
i never heard of them before."
""they are three very strange old ladies," said quicksilver, laughing.
""they have but one eye among them, and only one tooth.
moreover, you must find them out by starlight, or in the dusk of the evening; for they never show themselves by the light either of the sun or moon."
""but," said perseus, "why should i waste my time with these three gray women?
would it not be better to set out at once in search of the terrible gorgons?"
""no, no," answered his friend.
""there are other things to be done, before you can find your way to the gorgons.
there is nothing for it but to hunt up these old ladies; and when we meet with them, you may be sure that the gorgons are not a great way off.
come, let us be stirring!"
perseus, by this time, felt so much confidence in his companion's sagacity, that he made no more objections, and professed himself ready to begin the adventure immediately.
they accordingly set out, and walked at a pretty brisk pace; so brisk, indeed, that perseus found it rather difficult to keep up with his nimble friend quicksilver.
to say the truth, he had a singular idea that quicksilver was furnished with a pair of winged shoes, which, of course, helped him along marvellously.
and then, too, when perseus looked sideways at him, out of the corner of his eye, he seemed to see wings on the side of his head; although, if he turned a full gaze, there were no such things to be perceived, but only an odd kind of cap.
but, at all events, the twisted staff was evidently a great convenience to quicksilver, and enabled him to proceed so fast, that perseus, though a remarkably active young man, began to be out of breath.
""here!"
cried quicksilver, at last, -- for he knew well enough, rogue that he was, how hard perseus found it to keep pace with him, -- "take you the staff, for you need it a great deal more than i. are there no better walkers than yourself, in the island of seriphus?"
""i could walk pretty well," said perseus, glancing slyly at his companion's feet, "if i had only a pair of winged shoes."
""we must see about getting you a pair," answered quicksilver.
but the staff helped perseus along so bravely, that he no longer felt the slightest weariness.
in fact, the stick seemed to be alive in his hand, and to lend some of its life to perseus.
he and quicksilver now walked onward at their ease, talking very sociably together; and quicksilver told so many pleasant stories about his former adventures, and how well his wits had served him on various occasions, that perseus began to think him a very wonderful person.
he evidently knew the world; and nobody is so charming to a young man as a friend who has that kind of knowledge.
perseus listened the more eagerly, in the hope of brightening his own wits by what he heard.
at last, he happened to recollect that quicksilver had spoken of a sister, who was to lend her assistance in the adventure which they were now bound upon.
""where is she?"
he inquired.
""shall we not meet her soon?"
""all at the proper time," said his companion.
""but this sister of mine, you must understand, is quite a different sort of character from myself.
she is very grave and prudent, seldom smiles, never laughs, and makes it a rule not to utter a word unless she has something particularly profound to say.
neither will she listen to any but the wisest conversation."
""dear me!"
ejaculated perseus; "i shall be afraid to say a syllable."
""she is a very accomplished person, i assure you," continued quicksilver, "and has all the arts and sciences at her fingers" ends.
in short, she is so immoderately wise, that many people call her wisdom personified.
but, to tell you the truth, she has hardly vivacity enough for my taste; and i think you would scarcely find her so pleasant a travelling companion as myself.
she has her good points, nevertheless; and you will find the benefit of them, in your encounter with the gorgons."
by this time it had grown quite dusk.
they were now come to a very wild and desert place, overgrown with shaggy bushes, and so silent and solitary that nobody seemed ever to have dwelt or journeyed there.
all was waste and desolate, in the gray twilight, which grew every moment more obscure.
perseus looked about him, rather disconsolately, and asked quicksilver whether they had a great deal farther to go.
""hist!
hist!"
whispered his companion.
""make no noise!
this is just the time and place to meet the three gray women.
be careful that they do not see you before you see them; for, though they have but a single eye among the three, it is as sharp-sighted as half a dozen common eyes."
""but what must i do," asked perseus, "when we meet them?"
quicksilver explained to perseus how the three gray women managed with their one eye.
they were in the habit, it seems, of changing it from one to another, as if it had been a pair of spectacles, or -- which would have suited them better -- quizzing-glass.
when one of the three had kept the eye a certain time, she took it out of the socket and passed it to one of her sisters, whose turn it might happen to be, and who immediately clapped it into her own head, and enjoyed a peep at the visible world.
thus it will easily be understood that only one of the three gray women could see, while the other two were in utter darkness; and, moreover, at the instant when the eye was passing from hand to hand, neither of the poor old ladies was able to see a wink.
i have heard of a great many strange things, in my day, and have witnessed not a few; but none, it seems to me, that can compare with the oddity of these three gray women, all peeping through a single eye.
so thought perseus, likewise, and was so astonished that he almost fancied his companion was joking with him, and that there were no such old women in the world.
""you will soon find whether i tell the truth or no," observed quicksilver.
""hark!
hush!
hist!
hist!
there they come, now!"
perseus looked earnestly through the dusk of the evening, and there, sure enough, at no great distance off, he descried the three gray women.
the light being so faint, he could not well make out what sort of figures they were; only he discovered that they had long gray hair; and, as they came nearer, he saw that two of them had but the empty socket of an eye, in the middle of their foreheads.
but, in the middle of the third sister's forehead, there was a very large, bright, and piercing eye, which sparkled like a great diamond in a ring; and so penetrating did it seem to be, that perseus could not help thinking it must possess the gift of seeing in the darkest midnight just as perfectly as at noonday.
the sight of three persons" eyes was melted and collected into that single one.
thus the three old dames got along about as comfortably, upon the whole, as if they could all see at once.
she who chanced to have the eye in her forehead led the other two by the hands, peeping sharply about her, all the while; insomuch that perseus dreaded lest she should see right through the thick clump of bushes behind which he and quicksilver had hidden themselves.
my stars!
it was positively terrible to be within reach of so very sharp an eye!
but, before they reached the clump of bushes, one of the three gray women spoke.
""sister!
sister scarecrow!"
cried she, "you have had the eye long enough.
it is my turn now!"
""let me keep it a moment longer, sister nightmare," answered scarecrow.
""i thought i had a glimpse of something behind that thick bush."
""well, and what of that?"
retorted nightmare, peevishly.
""ca n't i see into a thick bush as easily as yourself?
the eye is mine, as well as yours; and i know the use of it as well as you, or may be a little better.
i insist upon taking a peep immediately!"
but here the third sister, whose name was shakejoint, began to complain, and said that it was her turn to have the eye, and that scarecrow and nightmare wanted to keep it all to themselves.
to end the dispute, old dame scarecrow took the eye out of her forehead, and held it forth in her hand.
""take it, one of you," cried she, "and quit this foolish quarrelling.
for my part, i shall be glad of a little thick darkness.
take it quickly, however, or i must clap it into my own head again!"
accordingly, both nightmare and shakejoint stretched out their hands, groping eagerly to snatch the eye out of the hand of scarecrow.
but, being both alike blind, they could not easily find where scarecrow's hand was; and scarecrow, being now just as much in the dark as shakejoint and nightmare, could not at once meet either of their hands, in order to put the eye into it.
thus -lrb- as you will see, with half an eye, my wise little auditors -rrb-, these good old dames had fallen into a strange perplexity.
for, though the eye shone and glistened like a star, as scarecrow held it out, yet the gray women caught not the least glimpse of its light, and were all three in utter darkness, from too impatient a desire to see.
quicksilver was so much tickled at beholding shakejoint and nightmare both groping for the eye, and each finding fault with scarecrow and one another, that he could scarcely help laughing aloud.
""now is your time!"
he whispered to perseus.
""quick, quick!
before they can clap the eye into either of their heads.
rush out upon the old ladies, and snatch it from scarecrow's hand!"
in an instant, while the three gray women were still scolding each other, perseus leaped front behind the clump of bushes, and made himself master of the prize.
the marvellous eye, as he held it in his hand, shone very brightly, and seemed to look up into his face with a knowing air, and an expression as if it would have winked, had it been provided with a pair of eyelids for that purpose.
but the gray women knew nothing of what had happened; and, each supposing that one of her sisters was in possession of the eye, they began their quarrel anew.
at last, as perseus did not wish to put these respectable dames to greater inconvenience than was really necessary, he thought it right to explain the matter.
""my good ladies," said he, "pray do not be angry with one another.
if anybody is in fault, it is myself; for i have the honor to hold your very brilliant and excellent eye in my own hand!"
""you!
you have our eye!
and who are you?"
screamed the three gray women, all in a breath; for they were terribly frightened, of course, at hearing a strange voice, and discovering that their eyesight had got into the hands of they could not guess whom.
""o, what shall we do, sisters?
what shall we do?
we are all in the dark!
give us our eye!
give us our one, precious, solitary eye!
you have two of your own give us our eye!"
""tell them," whispered quicksilver to perseus, "that they shall have back the eye as soon as they direct you where to find the nymphs who have the flying slippers, the magic wallet, and the helmet of darkness."
""my dear, good, admirable old ladies," said perseus, addressing the gray women, "there is no occasion for putting yourselves into such a fright.
i am by no means a bad young man.
you shall have back your eye, safe and sound, and as bright as ever, the moment you tell me where to find the nymphs."
""the nymphs!
goodness me!
sisters, what nymphs does he mean?"
screamed scarecrow.
""there are a great many nymphs, people say; some that go a hunting in the woods, and some that live inside of trees, and some that have a comfortable home in fountains of water.
we know nothing at all about them.
we are three unfortunate old souls, that go wandering about in the dusk, and never had but one eye amongst us, and that one you have stolen away.
o, give it back, good stranger!
-- whoever you are, give it back!"
all this while the three gray women were groping with their outstretched hands, and trying their utmost to get hold of perseus.
but he took good care to keep out of their reach.
""my respectable dames," said he, -- for his mother had taught him always to use the greatest civility, -- "i hold your eye fast in my hand, and shall keep it safely for you, until you please to tell me where to find these nymphs.
the nymphs, i mean, who keep the enchanted wallet, the flying slippers, and the what is it?
-- the helmet of invisibility."
""mercy on us, sisters!
what is the young man talking about?"
exclaimed scarecrow, nightmare, and shakejoint, one to another, with great appearance of astonishment.
""a pair of flying slippers, quoth he!
his heels would quickly fly higher than his head, if he were silly enough to put them on.
and a helmet of invisibility!
how could a helmet make him invisible, unless it were big enough for him to hide under it?
and an enchanted wallet!
what sort of a contrivance may that be, i wonder?
no, no, good stranger!
we can tell you nothing of these marvellous things.
you have two eyes of your own, and we have but a single one amongst us three.
you can find out such wonders better than three blind old creatures, like us."
perseus, hearing them talk in this way, began really to think that the gray women knew nothing of the matter; and, as it grieved him to have put them to so much trouble, he was just on the point of restoring their eye and asking pardon for his rudeness in snatching it away.
but quicksilver caught his hand.
""do n't let them make a fool of you!"
said he.
""these three gray women are the only persons in the world that can tell you where to find the nymphs; and, unless you get that information, you will never succeed in cutting off the head of medusa with the snaky locks.
keep fast hold of the eye, and all will go well."
as it turned out, quicksilver was in the right.
there are but few things that people prize so much as they do their eyesight; and the gray women valued their single eye as highly as if it had been half a dozen, which was the number they ought to have had.
finding that there was no other way of recovering it, they at last told perseus what he wanted to know.
no sooner had they done so, than he immediately, and with the utmost respect, clapped the eye into the vacant socket in one of their foreheads, thanked them for their kindness, and bade them farewell.
before the young man was out of hearing, however, they had got into a new dispute, because he happened to have given the eye to scarecrow, who had already taken her turn of it when their trouble with perseus commenced.
it is greatly to be feared that the three gray women were very much in the habit of disturbing their mutual harmony by bickerings of this sort; which was the more pity, as they could not conveniently do without one another, and were evidently intended to be inseparable companions.
as a general rule, i would advise all people, whether sisters or brothers, old or young, who chance to have but one eye amongst them, to cultivate forbearance, and not all insist upon peeping through it at once.
quicksilver and perseus, in the mean time, were making the best of their way in quest of the nymphs.
the old dames had given them such particular directions, that they were not long in finding them out.
they proved to be very different persons from nightmare shakejoint, and scarecrow; for, instead of being old, they were young and beautiful; and instead of one eye amongst the sisterhood, each nymph had two exceedingly bright eyes of her own, with which she looked very kindly at perseus.
they seemed to be acquainted with quicksilver; and when he told them the adventure which perseus had undertaken, they made no difficulty about giving him the valuable articles that were in their custody.
in the first place, they brought out what appeared to be a small purse, made of deer-skin, and curiously embroidered, and bade him be sure and keep it safe.
this was the magic wallet.
the nymphs next produced a pair of shoes, or slippers, or sandals, with a nice little pair of wings at the heel of each.
""put them on, perseus," said quicksilver.
""you will find yourself as light-heeled as you can desire, for the remainder of our journey."
so perseus proceeded to put one of the slippers on, while he laid the other on the ground by his side.
unexpectedly, however, this other slipper spread its wings, fluttered up off the ground, and would probably have flown away, if quicksilver had not made a leap, and luckily caught it in the air.
""be more careful," said he, as he gave it back to perseus.
""it would frighten the birds, up aloft, if they should see a flying slipper amongst them."
when perseus had got on both of these wonderful slippers, he was altogether too buoyant to tread on earth.
making a step or two, lo and behold!
upward he popt into the air, high above the heads of quicksilver and the nymphs, and found it very difficult to clamber down again.
winged slippers, and all such high-flying contrivances, are seldom quite easy to manage, until one grows a little accustomed to them.
quicksilver laughed at his companion's involuntary activity, and told him that he must not be in so desperate a hurry, but must wait for the invisible helmet.
the good-natured nymphs had the helmet, with its dark tuft of waving plumes, all in readiness to put upon his head.
and now there happened about as wonderful an incident as anything that i have yet told you.
the instant before the helmet was put on, there stood perseus, a beautiful young man, with golden ringlets and rosy cheeks, the crooked sword by his side, and the brightly polished shield upon his arm, -- a figure that seemed all made up of courage, sprightliness, and glorious light.
but when the helmet had descended over his white brow, there was no longer any perseus to be seen!
nothing but empty air!
even the helmet, that covered him with its invisibility, had vanished!
""where are you, perseus?"
asked quicksilver.
""why, here, to be sure!"
answered perseus, very quietly, although his voice seemed to come out of the transparent atmosphere.
""just where i was a moment ago.
do n't you see me?"
""no, indeed!"
answered his friend.
""you are hidden under the helmet.
but, if i can not see you, neither can the gorgons.
follow me, therefore, and we will try your dexterity in using the winged slippers."
with these words, quicksilver's cap spread its wings, as if his head were about to fly away from his shoulders; but his whole figure rose lightly into the air, and perseus followed.
by the time they had ascended a few hundred feet, the young man began to feel what a delightful thing it was to leave the dull earth so far beneath him, and to be able to flit about like a bird.
it was now deep night.
perseus looked upward, and saw the round, bright, silvery moon, and thought that he should desire nothing better than to soar up thither, and spend his life there.
then he looked downward again, and saw the earth, with its seas, and lakes, and the silver courses of its rivers, and its snowy mountain-peaks, and the breadth of its fields, and the dark cluster of its woods, and its cities of white marble; and, with the moonshine sleeping over the whole scene, it was as beautiful as the moon or any star could be.
and, among other objects, he saw the island of seriplius, where his dear mother was.
sometimes, he and quicksilver approached a cloud, that, at a distance, looked as if it were made of fleecy silver; although, when they plunged into it, they found themselves chilled and moistened with gray mist.
so swift was their flight, however, that, in an instant, they emerged from the cloud into the moonlight again.
once, a high-soaring eagle flew right against the invisible perseus.
the bravest sights were the meteors, that gleamed suddenly out, as if a bonfire had been kindled in the sky, and made the moonshine pale for as much as a hundred miles around them.
as the two companions flew onward, perseus fancied that he could hear the rustle of a garment close by his side; and it was on the side opposite to the one where he beheld quicksilver, yet only quicksilver was visible.
""whose garment is this," inquired perseus, "that keeps rustling close beside me, in the breeze?"
""o, it is my sister's!"
answered quicksilver.
""she is coming along with us, as i told you she would.
we could do nothing without the help of my sister.
you have no idea how wise she is.
she has such eyes, too!
why, she can see you, at this moment, just as distinctly as if you were not invisible; and i'll venture to say, she will be the first to discover the gorgons."
by this time, in their swift voyage through the air, they had come within sight of the great ocean, and were soon flying over it.
far beneath them, the waves tossed themselves tumultuously in mid-sea, or rolled a white surf-line upon the long beaches, or foamed against the rocky cliffs, with a roar that was thunderous, in the lower world; although it became a gentle murmur, like the voice of a baby half asleep, before it reached the ears of perseus.
just then a voice spoke in the air close by him.
it seemed to be a woman's voice, and was melodious, though not exactly what might be called sweet, but grave and mild.
""perseus," said the voice, "there are the gorgons."
""where?"
exclaimed perseus.
""i can not see them."
""on the shore of that island beneath you," replied the voice.
""a pebble, dropped from your hand, would strike in the midst of them."
""i told you she would be the first to discover them," said quicksilver to perseus.
""and there they are!"
straight downward, two or three thousand feet below him, perseus perceived a small island, with the sea breaking into white foam all around its rocky shore, except on one side, where there was a beach of snowy sand.
he descended towards it, and, looking earnestly at a cluster or heap of brightness, at the foot of a precipice of black rocks, behold, there were the terrible gorgons!
they lay fast asleep, soothed by the thunder of the sea; for it required a tumult that would have deafened everybody else to lull such fierce creatures into slumber.
the moonlight glistened on their steely scales, and on their golden wings, which drooped idly over the sand.
their brazen claws, horrible to look at, were thrust out, and clutched the wave-beaten fragments of rock, while the sleeping gorgons dreamed of tearing some poor mortal all to pieces.
the snakes that served them instead of hair seemed likewise to be asleep; although, now and then, one would writhe, and lift its head, and thrust out its forked tongue, emitting a drowsy hiss, and then let itself subside among its sister snakes.
the gorgons were more like an awful, gigantic kind of insect, -- immense, golden-winged beetles, or dragon-flies, or things of that sort, -- at once ugly and beautiful, -- than like anything else; only that they were a thousand and a million times as big.
and, with all this, there was something partly human about them, too.
luckily for perseus, their faces were completely hidden from him by the posture in which they lay; for, had he but looked one instant at them, he would have fallen heavily out of the air, an image of senseless stone.
""now," whispered quicksilver, as he hovered by the side of perseus, -- "now is your time to do the deed!
be quick; for, if one of the gorgons should awake, you are too late!"
""which shall i strike at?"
asked perseus, drawing his sword and descending a little lower.
""they all three look alike.
all three have snaky locks.
which of the three is medusa?"
it must be understood that medusa was the only one of these dragon-monsters whose head perseus could possibly cut off.
as for the other two, let him have the sharpest sword that ever was forged, and he might have hacked away by the hour together, without doing there the least harm.
""be cautious," said the calm voice which had before spoken to him.
""one of the gorgons is stirring in her sleep, and is just about to turn over.
that is medusa.
do not look at her!
the sight would turn you to stone!
look at the reflection of her face and figure in the bright mirror of your shield."
perseus now understood quicksilver's motive for so earnestly exhorting him to polish his shield.
in its surface he could safely look at the reflection of the gorgon's face.
and there it was, -- that terrible countenance, -- mirrored in the brightness of the shield, with the moonlight falling over it, and displaying all its horror.
the snakes, whose venomous natures could not altogether sleep, kept twisting themselves over the forehead.
it was the fiercest and most horrible face that ever was seen or imagined, and yet with a strange, fearful, and savage kind of beauty in it.
the eyes were closed, and the gorgon was still in a deep slumber; but there was an unquiet expression disturbing her features, as if the monster was troubled with an ugly dream.
she gnashed her white tusks, and dug into the sand with her brazen claws.
the snakes, too, seemed to feel medusa's dream, and to be made more restless by it.
they twined themselves into tumultuous knots, writhed fiercely, and uplifted a hundred hissing heads, without opening their eyes.
""now, now!"
whispered quicksilver, who was growing impatient.
""make a dash at the monster!"
""but be calm," said the grave, melodious voice, at the young man's side.
""look in your shield, as you fly downward, and take care that you do not miss your first stroke."
perseus flew cautiously downward, still keeping his eyes on medusa's face, as reflected in his shield.
the nearer he came, the more terrible did the snaky visage and metallic body of the monster grow.
at last, when he found himself hovering over her within arm's length, perseus uplifted his sword, while, at the same instant, each separate snake upon the gorgon's head stretched threateningly upward, and medusa unclosed her eyes.
but she awoke too late.
the sword was sharp; the stroke fell like a lightning-flash; and the head of the wicked medusa tumbled from her body!
""admirably done!"
cried quicksilver.
""make haste, and clap the head into your magic wallet."
to the astonishment of perseus, the small, embroidered wallet, which he had hung about his neck, and which had hitherto been no bigger than a purse, grew all at once large enough to contain medusa's head.
as quick as thought, he snatched it up, with the snakes still writhing upon it, and thrust it in.
""your task is done," said the calm voice.
""now fly; for the other gorgons will do their utmost to take vengeance for medusa's death."
it was, indeed, necessary to take flight; for perseus had not done the deed so quietly, but that the clash of his sword, and the hissing of the snakes, and the thump of medusa's head as it tumbled upon the sea-beaten sand, awoke the other two monsters.
there they sat, for an instant, sleepily rubbing their eyes with their brazen fingers, while all the snakes on their heads reared themselves on end with surprise, and with venomous malice against they knew not what.
but when the gorgons saw the scaly carcass of medusa, headless, and her golden wings all ruffled, and half spread out on the sand, it was really awful to hear what yells and screeches they set up.
and then the snakes!
they sent forth a hundred-fold hiss, with one consent, and medusa's snakes answered them out of the magic wallet.
no sooner were the gorgons broad awake, than they hurtled upward into the air, brandishing their brass talons, gnashing their horrible tusks, and flapping their huge wings so wildly, that some of the golden feathers were shaken out, and floated down upon the shore.
and there, perhaps, those very feathers he scattered, till this day.
up rose the gorgons, as i tell you, staring horribly about, in hopes of turning somebody to stone.
had perseus looked them in the face, or had he fallen into their clutches, his poor mother would never have kissed her boy again!
but he took good care to turn his eyes another way; and, as he wore the helmet of invisibility, the gorgons knew not in what direction to follow him; nor did he fail to make the best use of the winged slippers, by soaring upward a perpendicular mile or so.
at that height, when the screams of those abominable creatures sounded faintly beneath him, he made a straight course for the island of seriphus, in order to carry medusa's head to king polydectes.
i have no time to tell you of several marvellous things that befell perseus, on his way homeward; such as his killing a hideous sea-monster, just as it was on the point of devouring a beautiful maiden; nor how he changed an enormous giant into a mountain of stone, merely by showing him the head of the gorgon.
if you doubt this latter story, you may make a voyage to africa, some day or other, and see the very mountain, which is still known by the ancient giant's name.
finally, our brave perseus arrived at the island, where he expected to see his dear mother.
but, during his absence, the wicked king had treated danae so very ill, that she was compelled to make her escape, and had taken refuge in a temple, where some good old priests were extremely kind to her.
these praiseworthy priests, and the kind-hearted fisherman, who had first shown hospitality to danae and little perseus when he found them afloat in the chest, seem to have been the only persons on the island who cared about doing right.
all the rest of the people, as well as king polydectes himself, were remarkably ill-behaved, and deserved no better destiny than that which was now to happen.
not finding his mother at home, perseus went straight to the palace and was immediately ushered into the presence of the king.
polydectes was by no means rejoiced to see him; for he had felt almost certain, in his own evil mind, that the gorgons would have torn the poor young man to pieces, and have eaten him up, out of the way.
however, seeing him safely returned, he put the best face he could upon the matter and asked perseus how he had succeeded.
""have you performed your promise?"
inquired he.
""have you brought me the head of medusa with the snaky locks?
if not, young man, it will cost you dear; for i must have a bridal present for the beautiful princess hippodamia, and there is nothing else that she would admire so much."
""yes, please your majesty," answered perseus, in a quiet way, as if it were no very wonderful deed for such a young man as he to perform.
""i have brought you the gorgon's head, snaky locks and all!"
""indeed!
pray let me see it," quoth king polydectes.
""it must be a very curious spectacle, if all that travellers tell about it be true!"
""your majesty is in the right," replied perseus.
""it is really an object that will be pretty certain to fix the regards of all who look at it.
and, if your majesty think fit, i would suggest that a holiday be proclaimed, and that all your majesty's subjects be summoned to behold this wonderful curiosity.
few of them, i imagine, have seen a gorgon's head before, and perhaps never may again!"
the king well knew that his subjects were an idle set of reprobates, and very fond of sight-seeing, as idle persons usually are.
so he took the young man's advice, and sent out heralds and messengers, in all directions, to blow the trumpet at the street-corners, and in the market-places, and wherever two roads met, and summon everybody to court.
thither, accordingly, came a great multitude of good-for-nothing vagabonds, all of whom, out of pure love of mischief, would have been glad if perseus had met with some ill-hap, in his encounter with the gorgons.
if there were any better people in the island -lrb- as i really hope there may have been, although the story tells nothing about any such -rrb-, they stayed quietly at home, minding their own business, and taking care of their little children.
most of the inhabitants, at all events, ran as fast as they could to the palace, and shoved, and pushed, and elbowed one another, in their eagerness to get near a balcony, on which perseus showed himself, holding the embroidered wallet in his hand.
on a platform, within full view of the balcony, sat the mighty king polydectes, amid his evil counsellors, and with his flattering courtiers in a semicircle round about him.
monarch, counsellors, courtiers, and subjects, all gazed eagerly towards perseus.
""show us the head!
show us the head!"
shouted the people; and there was a fierceness in their cry as if they would tear perseus to pieces, unless he should satisfy them with what he had to show.
""show us the head of medusa with the snaky locks!"
a feeling of sorrow and pity came over the youthful perseus.
""o king polydectes," cried he, "and ye many people, i am very loath to show you the gorgon's head!"
""ah, the villain and coward!"
yelled the people, more fiercely than before.
""he is making game of us!
he has no gorgon's head!
show us the head, if you have it, or we will take your own head for a football!"
the evil counsellors whispered bad advice in the king's ear; the courtiers murmured, with one consent, that perseus had shown disrespect to their royal lord and master; and the great king polydectes himself waved his hand, and ordered him, with the stern, deep voice of authority, on his peril, to produce the bead.
""show me the gorgon's head, or i will cut off your own!"
and perseus sighed.
""this instant," repeated polydectes, "or you die!"
""behold it, then!"
cried perseus, in a voice like the blast of a trumpet.
and, suddenly holding up the head, not an eyelid had time to wink before the wicked king polydectes, his evil counsellors, and all his fierce subjects were no longer anything but the mere images of a monarch and his people.
they were all fixed, forever, in the look and attitude of that moment!
at the first glimpse of the terrible head of medusa, they whitened into marble!
and perseus thrust the head back into his wallet, and went to tell his dear mother that she need no longer be afraid of the wicked king polydectes.
tanglewood porch.
after the story.
""is not that a very fine story?"
asked eustace.
""o yes, yes!"
cried cowslip, clapping her hands.
""and those funny old women, with only one eye amongst them!
i never heard of anything so strange."
""as to their one tooth, which they shifted about," observed primrose, "there was nothing so very wonderful in that.
i suppose it was a false tooth.
but think of your turning mercury into quicksilver, and talking about his sister!
you are too ridiculous!"
""and was she not his sister?"
asked eustace bright.
""if i had thought of it sooner, i would have described her as a maiden lady, who kept a pet owl!"
""well, at any rate," said primrose, "your story seems to have driven away the mist."
and, indeed, while the tale was going forward, the vapors had been quite exhaled from the landscape.
a scene was now disclosed which the spectators might almost fancy as having been created since they had last looked in the direction where it lay.
about half a mile distant, in the lap of the valley, now appeared a beautiful lake, which reflected a perfect image of its own wooded banks, and of the summits of the more distant hills.
it gleamed in glassy tranquillity, without the trace of a winged breeze on any part of its bosom.
beyond its farther shore was monument mountain, in a recumbent position, stretching almost across the valley.
eustace bright compared it to a huge, headless sphinx, wrapped in a persian shawl; and, indeed, so rich and diversified was the autumnal foliage of its woods, that the simile of the shawl was by no means too high-colored for the reality.
in the lower ground, between tanglewood and the lake, the clumps of trees and borders of woodland were chiefly golden-leaved or dusky brown, as having suffered more from frost than the foliage on the hillsides.
over all this scene there was a genial sunshine, intermingled with a slight haze, which made it unspeakably soft and tender.
o, what a day of indian summer was it going to be!
the children snatched their baskets, and set forth, with hop, skip, and jump, and all sorts of frisks and gambols; while cousin eustace proved his fitness to preside over the party, by outdoing all their antics, and performing several new capers, which none of them could ever hope to imitate.
behind went a good old dog, whose name was ben.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___the_lily's_quest_(from_"twice_told_tales").txt.out
two lovers, once upon a time, had planned a little summer-house, in the form of an antique temple, which it was their purpose to consecrate to all manner of refined and innocent enjoyments.
there they would hold pleasant intercourse with one another, and the circle of their familiar friends; there they would give festivals of delicious fruit; there they would hear lightsome music, intermingled with the strains of pathos which make joy more sweet; there they would read poetry and fiction, and permit their own minds to flit away in daydreams and romance; there, in short, -- for why should we shape out the vague sunshine of their hopes?
-- there all pure delights were to cluster like roses among the pillars of the edifice, and blossom ever new and spontaneously.
so, one breezy and cloudless afternoon, adam forrester and lilias fay set out upon a ramble over the wide estate which they were to possess together, seeking a proper site for their temple of happiness.
they were themselves a fair and happy spectacle, fit priest and priestess for such a shrine; although, making poetry of the pretty name of lilias, adam forrester was wont to call her lily, because her form was as fragile, and her cheek almost as pale.
as they passed, hand in hand, down the avenue of drooping elms, that led from the portal of lilies fay's paternal mansion, they seemed to glance like winged creatures through the strips of sunshine, and to scatter brightness where the deep shadows fell.
but, setting forth at the same time with this youthful pair, there was a dismal figure, wrapped in a black velvet cloak that might have been made of a coffin pall, and with a sombre hat, such as mourners wear, drooping its broad brim over his heavy brows.
glancing behind them, the lovers well knew who it was that followed, but wished from their hearts that he had been elsewhere, as being a companion so strangely unsuited to their joyous errand.
it was a near relative of lilies fay, an old man by the name of walter gascoigne, who had long labored under the burden of a melancholy spirit, which was sometimes maddened into absolute insanity, and always had a tinge of it.
what a contrast between the young pilgrims of bliss and their unbidden associate!
they looked as if moulded of heaven's sunshine, and he of earth's gloomiest shade; they flitted along like hope and joy, roaming hand in hand through life; while his darksome figure stalked behind, a type of all the woeful influences which life could fling upon them.
but the three had not gone far, when they reached a spot that pleased the gentle lily, and she paused.
""what sweeter place shall we find than this?"
said she.
""why should we seek farther for the site of our temple?"
it was indeed a delightful spot of earth, though undistinguished by any very prominent beauties, being merely a nook in the shelter of a hill, with the prospect of a distant lake in one direction, and of a church-spire in another.
there were vistas and pathways leading onward and onward into the green woodlands, and vanishing away in the glimmering shade.
the temple, if erected here, would look towards the west: so that the lovers could shape all sorts of magnificent dreams out of the purple, violet, and gold of the sunset sky; and few of their anticipated pleasures were dearer than this sport of fantasy.
""yes," said adam forrester, "we might seek all day, and find no lovelier spot.
we will build our temple here."
but their sad old companion, who had taken his stand on the very site which they proposed to cover with a marble floor, shook his head and frowned; and the young man and the lily deemed it almost enough to blight the spot, and desecrate it for their airy temple, that his dismal figure had thrown its shadow there.
he pointed to some scattered stones, the remnants of a former structure, and to flowers such as young girls delight to nurse in their gardens, but which had now relapsed into the wild simplicity of nature.
""not here!"
cried old walter gascoigne.
""here, long ago, other mortals built their temple of happiness.
seek another site for yours!"
""what!"
exclaimed lilias fay.
""have any ever planned such a temple, save ourselves?"
""poor child!"
said her gloomy kinsman.
""in one shape or other, every mortal has dreamed your dream."
then he told the lovers, how -- not, indeed, an antique temple -- but a dwelling had once stood there, and that a dark-clad guest had dwelt among its inmates, sitting forever at the fireside, and poisoning all their household mirth.
under this type, adam forrester and lilias saw that the old man spake of sorrow.
he told of nothing that might not be recorded in the history of almost every household; and yet his hearers felt as if no sunshine ought to fall upon a spot where human grief had left so deep a stain; or, at least, that no joyous temple should be built there.
""this is very sad," said the lily; sighing.
""well, there are lovelier spots than this," said adam forrester, soothingly, -- "spots which sorrow has not blighted."
so they hastened away, and the melancholy gascoigne followed them, looking as if he had gathered up all the gloom of the deserted spot, and was hearing it as a burden of inestimable treasure.
but still they rambled on, and soon found themselves in a rocky dell, through the midst of which ran a streamlet, with ripple, and foam, and a continual voice of inarticulate joy.
it was a wild retreat, walled on either side with gray precipices, which would have frowned somewhat too sternly, had not a profusion of green shrubbery rooted itself into their crevices, and wreathed gladsome foliage around their solemn brows.
but the chief joy of the dell was in the little stream, which seemed like the presence of a blissful child, with nothing earthly to do save to babble merrily and disport itself, and make every living soul its playfellow, and throw the sunny gleams of its spirit upon all.
""here, here is the spot!"
cried the two lovers with one voice, as they reached a level space on the brink of a small cascade.
""this glen was made on purpose for our temple!"
""and the glad song of the brook will be always in our ears," said lilias fay.
""and its long melody shall sing the bliss of our lifetime," said adam forrester.
""ye must build no temple here!"
murmured their dismal companion.
and there again was the old lunatic, standing just on the spot where they meant to rear their lightsome dome, and looking like the embodied symbol of some great woe, that, in forgotten days, had happened there.
and, alas!
there had been woe, nor that alone.
a young man, more than a hundred years before, had lured hither a girl that loved him, and on this spot had murdered her, and washed his bloody hands in the stream which sung so merrily.
and ever since, the victim's death-shrieks were often heard to echo between the cliffs.
""and see!"
cried old gascoigne, "is the stream yet pure from the stain of the murderer's hands?"
""methinks it has a tinge of blood," faintly answered the lily; and being as slight as the gossamer, she trembled and clung to her lover's arm, whispering, "let us flee from this dreadful vale!"
""come, then," said adam forrester, as cheerily as he could; "we shall soon find a happier spot."
they set forth again, young pilgrims on that quest which millions -- which every child of earth -- has tried in turn.
and were the lily and her lover to be more fortunate than all those millions?
for a long time, it seemed not so.
the dismal shape of the old lunatic still glided behind them; and for every spot that looked lovely in their eyes, he had some legend of human wrong or suffering, so miserably sad, that his auditors could never afterwards connect the idea of joy with the place where it had happened.
here, a heart-broken woman, kneeling to her child, had been spurned from his feet; here, a desolate old creature had prayed to the evil one, and had received a fiendish malignity of soul, in answer to her prayer; here, a new-born infant, sweet blossom of life, had been found dead, with the impress of its mother's fingers round its throat; and here, under a shattered oak, two lovers had been stricken by lightning, and fell blackened corpses in each other's arms.
the dreary gascoigne had a gift to know whatever evil and lamentable thing had stained the bosom of mother earth; and when his funereal voice had told the tale, it appeared like a prophecy of future woe, as well as a tradition of the past.
and now, by their sad demeanor, you would have fancied that the pilgrim lovers were seeking, not a temple of earthly joy, but a tomb for themselves and their posterity.
""where in this world," exclaimed adam forrester, despondingly, "shall we build our temple of happiness?"
""where in this world, indeed!"
repeated lilias fay; and being faint and weary, the more so by the heaviness of her heart, the lily drooped her head and sat down on the summit of a knoll, repeating, "where in this world shall we build our temple?"
""ah!
have you already asked yourselves that question?"
said their companion, his shaded features growing even gloomier with the smile that dwelt on them; "yet there is a place, even in this world, where ye may build it."
while the old man spoke, adam forrester and lilias had carelessly thrown their eyes around, and perceived that the spot where they had chanced to pause possessed a quiet charm, which was well enough adapted to their present mood of mind.
it was a small rise of ground, with a certain regularity of shape, that had perhaps been bestowed by art; and a group of trees, which almost surrounded it, threw their pensive shadows across and far beyond, although some softened glory of the sunshine found its way there.
the ancestral mansion, wherein the lovers would dwell together, appeared on one side, and the ivied church, where they were to worship, on another.
happening to cast their eyes on the ground, they smiled, yet with a sense of wonder, to see that a pale lily was growing at their feet.
""we will build our temple here," said they, simultaneously, and with an indescribable conviction, that they had at last found the very spot.
yet, while they uttered this exclamation, the young man and the lily turned an apprehensive glance at their dreary associate, deeming it hardly possible, that some tale of earthly affliction should not make those precincts loathsome, as in every former case.
the old man stood just behind them, so as to form the chief figure in the group, with his sable cloak muffling the lower part of his visage, and his sombre list overshadowing his brows.
but he gave no word of dissent from their purpose; and an inscrutable smile was accepted by the lovers as a token that here had been no footprint of guilt or sorrow, to desecrate the site of their temple of happiness.
in a little time longer, while summer was still in its prime, the fairy structure of the temple arose on the summit of the knoll, amid the solemn shadows of the trees, yet often gladdened with bright sunshine.
it was built of white marble, with slender and graceful pillars, supporting a vaulted dome; and beneath the centre of this dome, upon a pedestal, was a slab of dark-veined marble, on which books and music might be strewn.
but there was a fantasy among the people of the neighborhood, that the edifice was planned after an ancient mausoleum, and was intended for a tomb, and that the central slab of dark-veined marble was to be inscribed with the names of buried ones.
they doubted, too, whether the form of lilias fay could appertain to a creature of this earth, being so very delicate, and growing every day more fragile, so that she looked as if the summer breeze should snatch her up, and waft her heavenward.
but still she watched the daily growth of the temple; and so did old walter gascoigne, who now made that spot his continual haunt, leaning whole hours together on his staff, and giving as deep attention to the work as though it had been indeed a tomb.
in due time it was finished, and a day appointed for a simple rite of dedication.
on the preceding evening, after adam forrester had taken leave of his mistress, he looked back towards the portal of her dwelling, and felt a strange thrill of fear; for he imagined that, as the setting sunbeams faded from her figure, she was exhaling away, and that something of her ethereal substance was withdrawn, with each lessening gleam of light.
with his farewell glance, a shadow had fallen over the portal, and lilias was invisible.
his foreboding spirit deemed it an omen at the time; and so it proved; for the sweet earthly form, by which the lily bad been manifested to the world, was found lifeless, the next morning, in the temple, with her head resting on her arms, which were folded upon the slab of dark-veined marble.
the chill winds of the earth had long since breathed a blight into this beautiful flower, so that a loving hand had now transplanted it, to blossom brightly in the garden of paradise.
but, alas for the temple of happiness!
in his unutterable grief, adam forrester had no purpose more at heart than to convert this temple of many delightful hopes into a tomb, and bury his dead mistress there.
and to!
a wonder!
digging a grave beneath the temple's marble floor, the sexton found no virgin earth, such as was meet to receive the maiden's dust, but an ancient sepulchre, in which were treasured up the bones of generations that had died long ago.
among those forgotten ancestors was the lily to be laid.
and when the funeral procession brought lilias thither in her coffin, they beheld old walter gascoigne standing beneath the dome of the temple, with his cloak of pall, and face of darkest gloom; and wherever that figure might take its stand, the spot would seem a sepulchre.
he watched the mourners as they lowered the coffin down.
""and so," said he to adam forrester, with the strange smile in which his insanity was wont to gleam forth, "you have found no better foundation for your happiness than on a grave!"
but as the shadow of affliction spoke, a vision of hope and joy had its birth in adam's mind, even from the old man's taunting words; for then he knew what was betokened by the parable in which the lily and himself had acted; and the mystery of life and death was opened to him.
""joy!
joy!"
he cried, throwing his arms towards heaven, "on a grave be the site of our temple; and now our happiness is for eternity!"
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___the_miraculous_pitcher.txt.out
introductory to "the miraculous pitcher" and when, and where, do you think we find the children next?
no longer in the winter-time, but in the merry month of may.
no longer in tanglewood play-room, or at tanglewood fireside, but more than half-way up a monstrous hill, or a mountain, as perhaps it would be better pleased to have us call it.
they had set out from home with the mighty purpose of climbing this high hill, even to the very tiptop of its bald head.
to be sure, it was not quite so high as chimborazo, or mont blanc, and was even a good deal lower than old graylock.
but, at any rate, it was higher than a thousand ant-hillocks, or a million of mole hills; and, when measured by the short strides of little children, might be reckoned a very respectable mountain.
and was cousin eustace with the party?
of that you may be certain; else how could the book go on a step further?
he was now in the middle of the spring vacation, and looked pretty much as we saw him four or five months ago, except that, if you gazed quite closely at his upper lip, you could discern the funniest little bit of a mustache upon it.
setting aside this mark of mature manhood, you might have considered cousin eustace just as much a boy as when you first became acquainted with him.
he was as merry, as playful, as good-humored, as light of foot and of spirits, and equally a favorite with the little folks, as he had always been.
this expedition up the mountain was entirely of his contrivance.
all the way up the steep ascent, he had encouraged the elder children with his cheerful voice; and when dandelion, cowslip, and squash-blossom grew weary, he had lugged them along, alternately, on his back.
in this manner, they had passed through the orchards and pastures on the lower part of the hill, and had reached the wood, which extends thence towards its bare summit.
the month of may, thus far, had been more amiable than it often is, and this was as sweet and genial a day as the heart of man or child could wish.
in their progress up the hill, the small people had found enough of violets, blue and white, and some that were as golden as if they had the touch of midas on them.
that sociablest of flowers, the little housatonia, was very abundant.
it is a flower that never lives alone, but which loves its own kind, and is always fond of dwelling with a great many friends and relatives around it.
sometimes you see a family of them, covering a space no bigger than the palm of your hand; and sometimes a large community, whitening a whole tract of pasture, and all keeping one another in cheerful heart and life.
within the verge of the wood there were columbines, looking more pale than red, because they were so modest, and had thought proper to seclude themselves too anxiously from the sun.
there were wild geraniums, too, and a thousand white blossoms of the strawberry.
the trailing arbutus was not yet quite out of bloom; but it hid its precious flowers under the last year's withered forest-leaves, as carefully as a mother-bird hides its little young ones.
it knew, i suppose, how beautiful and sweet-scented they were.
so cunning was their concealment, that the children sometimes smelt the delicate richness of their perfume, before they knew whence it proceeded.
amid so much new life, it was strange and truly pitiful to behold, here and there, in the fields and pastures, the hoary periwig of dandelions that had already gone to seed.
they had done with summer before the summer came.
within those small globes of winged seeds it was autumn now!
well, but we must not waste our valuable pages with any more talk about the spring-time and wild flowers.
there is something, we hope, more interesting to be talked about.
if you look at the group of children, you may see them all gathered around eustace bright, who, sitting on the stump of a tree, seems to be just beginning a story.
the fact is, the younger part of the troop have found out that it takes rather too many of their short strides to measure the long ascent of the hill.
cousin eustace, therefore, has decided to leave sweet fern, cowslip, squash-blossom, and dandelion, at this point, midway up, until the return of the rest of the party from the summit.
and because they complain a little, and do not quite like to stay behind, he gives them some apples out of his pocket, and proposes to tell them a very pretty story.
hereupon they brighten up, and change their grieved looks into the broadest kind of smiles.
as for the story, i was there to hear it, hidden behind a bush, and shall tell it over to you in the pages that come next.
the miraculous pitcher.
one evening, in times long ago, old philemon and his old wife baucis sat at their cottage-door, enjoying the cahn and beautiful sunset.
they had already eaten their frugal supper, and intended now to spend a quiet hour or two before bedtime.
so they talked together about their garden, and their cow, and their bees, and their grapevine, which clambered over the cottage-wall, and on which the grapes were beginning to turn purple.
but the rude shouts of children and the fierce barking of dogs, in the village near at hand, grew louder and louder, until, at last, it was hardly possible for baucis and philemon to hear each other speak.
""ah, wife."
cried philemon, "i fear some poor traveller is seeking hospitality among our neighbors yonder, and, instead of giving him food and lodging, they have set their dogs at him, as their custom is!"
""well-a-day!"
answered old baucis, "i do wish our neighbors felt a little more kindness for their fellow-creatures.
and only think of bringing up their children in this naughty way, and patting them on the head when they fling stones at strangers!"
""those children will never come to any good," said philemon, shaking his white head.
""to tell you the truth, wife, i should not wonder if some terrible thing were to happen to all the people in the village, unless they mend their manners.
but, as for you and me, so long as providence affords us a crust of bread, let us be ready to give half to any poor, homeless stranger, that may come along and need it."
""that's right, husband!"
said baucis.
""so we will!"
these old folks, you must know, were quite poor, and had to work pretty hard for a living.
old philemon toiled diligently in his garden, while baucis was always busy with her distaff, or making a little butter and cheese with their cow's milk, or doing one thing and another about the cottage.
their food was seldom anything but bread, milk, and vegetables, with sometimes a portion of honey from their beehive, and now and then a bunch of grapes, that had ripened against the cottage-wall.
but they were two of the kindest old people in the world, and would cheerfully have gone without their dinners, any day, rather than refuse a slice of their brown loaf, a cup of new milk, and a spoonful of honey, to the weary traveller who might pause before their door.
they felt as if such guests had a sort of holiness, and that they ought, therefore, to treat them better and more bountifully than their own selves.
their cottage stood on a rising ground, at some short distance from a village, which lay in a hollow valley, that was about half a mile in breadth.
this valley, in past ages, when the world was new, had probably been the bed of a lake.
there, fishes had glided to and fro in the depths, and water-weeds had grown along the margin, and trees and hills had seen their reflected images in the broad, and peaceful mirror.
but, as the waters subsided, men had cultivated the soil, and built houses on it, so that it was now a fertile spot, and bore no traces of the ancient lake, except a very small brook, which meandered through the midst of the village, and supplied the inhabitants with water.
the valley had been dry land so long, that oaks had sprung up, and grown great and high, and perished with old age, and been succeeded by others; as tall and stately as the first.
never was there a prettier or more fruitful valley.
the very sight of the plenty around them should have made the inhabitants kind and gentle, and ready to show their gratitude to providence by doing good to their fellow-creatures.
but, we are sorry to say, the people of this lovely village were not worthy to dwell in a spot on which heaven had smiled so beneficently.
they were a very selfish and hard-hearted people, and had no pity for the poor, nor sympathy with the homeless.
they would only have laughed, had anybody told them that human beings owe a debt of love to one another, because there is no other method of paying the debt of love and care which all of us owe to providence.
you will hardly believe what i am going to tell you.
these naughty people taught their children to be no better than themselves, and used to clap their hands, by way of encouragement, when they saw the little boys and girls run after some poor stranger, shouting at his heels, and pelting hum with stones.
they kept large and fierce dogs, and whenever a traveller ventured to show himself in the village street, this pack of disagreeable curs scampered to meet him, barking, snarling, and showing their teeth.
then they would seize him by his leg, or by his clothes, just as it happened; and if he were ragged when he came, he was generally a pitiable object before he had time to run away.
this was a very terrible thing to poor travellers, as you may suppose, especially when they chanced to be sick, or feeble, or lame, or old.
such persons -lrb- if they once knew how badly these unkind people, and their unkind children and curs, were in the habit of behaving -rrb- would go miles and miles out of their way, rather than try to pass through the village again.
what made the matter seem worse, if possible, was that when rich persons came in their chariots, or riding on beautiful horses, with their servants in rich liveries attending on them, nobody could be more civil and obsequious than the inhabitants of the village.
they would take off their hats, and make the humblest bows you ever saw.
if the children were rude, they were pretty certain to get their ears boxed; and as for the dogs, if a single cur in the pack presumed to yelp, his master instantly beat him with a club, and tied him up without any supper.
this would have been all very well, only it proved that the villagers cared much about the money that a stranger had in his pocket, and nothing whatever for the human soul, which lives equally in the beggar and the prince.
so now you can understand why old philemon spoke so sorrowfully, when he heard the shouts of the children and the barking of the dogs, at the farther extremity of the village street.
there was a confused din, which lasted a good while, and seemed to pass quite through the breadth of the valley.
""i never heard the dogs so loud!"
observed the good old man.
""nor the children so rude!"
answered his good old wife.
they sat shaking their heads, one to another, while the noise came nearer and nearer; until, at the foot of the little eminence on which their cottage stood, they saw two travellers approaching on foot.
close behind them came the fierce dogs, snarling at their very heels.
a little farther off, ran a crowd of children, who sent up shrill cries, and flung stones at the two strangers, with all their might.
once or twice, the younger of the two men -lrb- he was a slender and very active figure -rrb- turned about, and drove back the dogs with a staff which he carried in his hand.
his companion, who was a very tall person, walked calmly along, as if disdaining to notice either the naughty children, or the pack of curs, whose manners the children seemed to imitate.
both of the travellers were very humbly clad, and looked as if they might not have money enough in their pockets to pay for a night's lodging.
and this, i am afraid, was the reason why the villagers had allowed their children and dogs to treat them so rudely.
""come, wife," said philemon to baucis, "let us go and meet these poor people.
no doubt, they feel almost too heavy-hearted to climb the hill."
""go you and meet them," answered baucis, "while i make haste within doors, and see whether we can get them anything for supper.
a comfortable bowl of bread and milk would do wonders towards raising their spirits."
accordingly, she hastened into the cottage.
philemon, on his part, went forward, and extended his hand with so hospitable an aspect that there was no need of saying, what nevertheless he did say, in the heartiest tone imaginable, -- "welcome, strangers!
welcome!"
""thank you!"
replied the younger of the two, in a lively kind of way, notwithstanding his weariness and trouble.
""this is quite another greeting than we have met with yonder, in the village.
pray, why do you live in such a bad neighborhood?"
""ah!"
observed old philemon, with a quiet and benign smile, "providence put me here, i hope, among other reasons, in order that i may make you what amends i can for the inhospitality of my neighbors."
""well said, old father!"
cried the traveller, laughing; "and, if the truth must be told, my companion and myself need some amends.
those children -lrb- the little rascals! -rrb-
have bespattered us finely with their mud-ball; and one of the curs has torn my cloak, which was ragged enough already.
but i took him across the muzzle with my staff; and i think you may have heard him yelp, even thus far off."
philemon was glad to see him in such good spirits; nor, indeed, would you have fancied, by the traveller's look and manner, that he was weary with a long day's journey, besides being disheartened by rough treatment at the end of it.
he was dressed in rather an odd way, with a sort of cap on his head, the brim of which stuck out over both ears.
though it was a summer evening, he wore a cloak, which he kept wrapt closely about him, perhaps because his under garments were shabby.
philemen perceived, too, that he had on a singular pair of shoes; but, as it was now growing dusk, and as the old man's eyesight was none the sharpest, he could not precisely tell in what the strangeness consisted.
one thing, certainly, seemed queer.
the traveller was so wonderfully light and active, that it appeared as if his feet sometimes rose from the ground of their own accord, or could only be kept down by an effort.
""i used to be light-footed, in my youth," said philemen to the traveller.
""but i always found my feet grow heavier towards nightfall."
""there is nothing like a good staff to help one along," answered the stranger; "and i happen to have an excellent one, as you see."
this staff, in fact, was the oddest-looking staff that philemon had ever beheld.
it was made of olive-wood, and had something like a little pair of wings near the top.
two snakes, carved in the wood, were represented as twining themselves about the staff, and were so very skilfully executed that old philemon -lrb- whose eyes, you know, were getting rather dim -rrb- almost thought them alive, and that he could see them wriggling and twisting.
""a curious piece of work, sure enough!"
said he.
""a staff with wings!
it would be an excellent kind of stick for a little boy to ride astride of!"
by this time, philemon and his two guests had reached the cottage-door.
""friends," said the old man, "sit down and rest yourselves here on this bench.
my good wife baucis has gone to see what you can have for supper.
we are poor folks; but you shall be welcome to whatever we have in the cupboard."
the younger stranger threw himself carelessly on the bench, letting his staff fall, as he did so.
and here happened something rather marvellous, though trifling enough, too.
the staff seemed to get up from the ground of its own accord, and, spreading its little pair of wings, it half hopt, half flew, and leaned itself against the wall of the cottage.
there it stood quite still, except that the snakes continued to wriggle.
but, in my private opinion, old philemon's eyesight had been playing him tricks again.
before he could ask any questions, the elder stranger drew his attention from the wonderful staff, by speaking to him.
""was there not," asked the stranger, in a remarkably deep tone of voice, "a lake, in very ancient times, covering the spot where now stands yonder village?"
""not in my day, friend," answered philemon; "and yet i am an old man, as you see.
there were always the fields and meadows, just as they are now, and the old trees, and the little stream murmuring through the midst of the valley.
my father, nor his father before him, ever saw it otherwise, so far as i know; and doubtless it will still be the same, when old philemon shall be gone and forgotten!"
""that is more than can be safely foretold," observed the stranger; and there was something very stern in his deep voice.
he shook his head, too, so that his dark and heavy curls were shaken with the movement, "since the inhabitants of yonder village have forgotten the affections and sympathies of their nature, it were better that the lake should be rippling over their dwellings again!"
the traveller looked so stern, that philemon was really almost frightened; the more so, that, at his frown, the twilight seemed suddenly to grow darker, and that, when he shook his head, there was a roll as of thunder in the air.
but, in a moment afterwards, the stranger's face became so kindly and mild, that the old man quite forgot his terror.
nevertheless, he could not help feeling that this elder traveller must be no ordinary personage, although he happened now to be attired so humbly, and to be journeying on foot.
not that philemon fancied him a prince in disguise, or any character of that sort; but rather some exceedingly wise man, who went about the world in this poor garb, despising wealth and all worldly objects, and seeking everywhere to add a mite to his wisdom.
this idea appeared the more probable, because, when philemon raised his eyes to the stranger's face, he seemed to see more thought there, in one look, than he could have studied out in a lifetime.
while baucis was getting the supper, the travellers both began to talk very sociably with philemon.
the younger, indeed, was extremely loquacious, and made such shrewd and witty remarks, that the good old man continually burst out a-laughing, and pronounced him the merriest fellow whom he had seen for many a day.
""pray, my young friend," said he, as they grew familiar together, "what may i call your name?"
""why, i am very nimble, as you see," answered the traveller.
""so, if you call me quicksilver, the name will fit tolerably well."
""quicksilver?
quicksilver?"
repeated philemon, looking in the traveller's face, to see if he were making fun of him.
""it is a very odd name!
and your companion there?
has he as strange a one?"
""you must ask the thunder to tell it you!"
replied quicksilver, putting on a mysterious look.
""no other voice is loud enough."
this remark, whether it were serious or in jest, might have caused philemon to conceive a very great awe of the elder stranger, if, on venturing to gaze at him, he had not beheld so much beneficence in his visage; but, undoubtedly, here was the grandest figure that ever sat so humbly beside a cottage-door.
when the stranger conversed, it was with gravity, and in such a way that philemon felt irresistibly moved to tell him everything which he had most at heart.
this is always the feeling that people have, when they meet with any one wise enough to comprehend all their good and evil, and to despise not a tittle of it.
but philemon, simple and kind-hearted old man that he was, had not many secrets to disclose.
he talked, however, quite garrulously, about the events of his past life, in the whole course of which he had never been a score of miles from this very spot.
his wife baucis and himself had dwelt in the cottage from their youth upward, earning their bread by honest labor, always poor, but still contented.
he told what excellent butter and cheese baucis made, and how nice were the vegetables which he raised in his garden.
he said, too, that, because they loved one another so very much, it was the wish of both that death might not separate them, but that they should die, as they had lived, together.
as the stranger listened, a smile beamed over his countenance, and made its expression as sweet as it was grand.
""you are a good old man," said he to philemon, "and you have a good old wife to be your helpmeet.
it is fit that your wish be granted."
and it seemed to philemon, just then, as if the sunset clouds threw up a bright flash from the west, and kindled a sudden light in the sky.
baucis had now got supper ready, and, coming to the door, began to make apologies for the poor fare which she was forced to set before her guests.
""had we known you were coming," said she, "my good man and myself would have gone without a morsel, rather than you should lack a better supper.
but i took the most part of to-day's milk to make cheese; and our last loaf is already half eaten.
ah me!
i never feel the sorrow of being poor, save when a poor traveller knocks at our door."
""all will be very well; do not trouble yourself, my good dame," replied the elder stranger, kindly.
""an honest, hearty welcome to a guest works miracles with the fare, and is capable of turning the coarsest food to nectar and ambrosia."
""a welcome you shall have," cried baucis, "and likewise a little honey that we happen to have left, and a bunch of purple grapes besides."
""why, mother baucis, it, is a feast!"
exclaimed quicksilver, laughing, "an absolute feast!
and you shall see how bravely i will play my part at it!
i think i never felt hungrier in my life."
""mercy on us!"
whispered baucis to her husband.
""if the young man has such a terrible appetite, i am afraid there will not be half enough supper!"
they all went into the cottage.
and now, my little auditors, shall i tell you something that will make you open your eyes very wide?
it is really one of the oddest circumstances in the whole story.
quicksilver's staff, you recollect, had set itself up against the wall of the cottage.
well; when its master entered the door, leaving this wonderful staff behind, what should it do but immediately spread its little wings, and go hopping and fluttering up the doorsteps!
tap, tap, went the staff, on the kitchen floor; nor did it rest until it had stood itself on end, with the greatest gravity and decorum, beside quicksilver's chair.
old philemon, however, as well as his wife, was so taken up in attending to their guests, that no notice was given to what the staff had been about.
as baucis had said, there was but a scanty supper for two hungry travellers.
in the middle of the table was the remnant of a brown loaf, with a piece of cheese on one side of it, and a dish of honeycomb on the other.
there was a pretty good bunch of grapes for each of the guests.
a moderately sized earthen pitcher, nearly full of milk, stood at a corner of the board; and when hands had filled two bowls, and set them before the strangers, only a little milk remained in the bottom of the pitcher.
alas!
it is a very sad business, when a bountiful heart finds itself pinched and squeezed among narrow circumstances.
poor baucis kept wishing that she might starve for a week to come, if it were possible, by so doing, to provide these hungry folks a more plentiful supper.
and, since the supper was so exceedingly small, she could not help wishing that their appetites had not been quite so large.
why, at their very first sitting down, the travellers both drank off all the milk in their two bowls, at a draught.
""a little more milk, kind mother baucis, if you please," said quicksilver.
""the day has been hot, and i am very much athirst."
""now, my dear people," answered baucis, in great confusion, "i am so sorry and ashamed!
but the truth is, there is hardly a drop more milk in the pitcher.
o husband!
husband!
why did n't we go without our supper?"
""why, it appears to me," cried quicksilver, starting up from table and taking the pitcher by the handle, "it really appears to me that matters are not quite so bad as you represent them.
here is certainly more milk in the pitcher."
so saying, and to the vast astonishment of baucis, he proceeded to fill, not only his own bowl, but his companion's likewise, from the pitcher, that was supposed to be almost empty.
the good woman could scarcely believe her eyes.
she had certainly poured out nearly all the milk, and had peeped in afterwards, and seen the bottom of the pitcher, as she set it down upon the table.
""but i am old," thought baucis to herself, "and apt to be forgetful.
i suppose i must have made a mistake.
at all events, the pitcher can not, help being empty now, after filling the bowls twice over."
""what excellent milk!"
observed quicksilver, after quaffing the contents of the second bowl.
""excuse me, my kind hostess, but i must really ask you for a little more."
now baucis had seen, as plainly as she could see anything, that quicksilver had turned the pitcher upside down, and consequently had poured out every drop of milk, in filling the last bowl.
of course, there could not possibly be any left.
however, in order to let him know precisely how the case was, she lifted the pitcher, and made a gesture as if pouring milk into quicksilver's bowl, but without the remotest idea that any milk would stream forth.
what was her surprise, therefore, when such an abundant cascade fell bubbling into the bowl, that it was immediately filled to the brim, and overflowed upon the table!
the two snakes that were twisted about quicksilver's staff -lrb- but neither baucis nor philemon happened to observe this circumstance -rrb- stretched out their heads, and began to lap up the spilt milk.
and then what a delicious fragrance the milk had!
it seemed as if philemon's only cow must have pastured, that day, on the richest herbage that could be found anywhere in the world.
i only wish that each of you, my beloved little souls, could have a bowl of such nice milk, at supper-time!
""and now a slice of your brown loaf, mother baucis," said quicksilver, "and a little of that honey!"
baucis cut him a slice, accordingly; and though the loaf, when she and her husband ate of it, had been rather too dry and crusty to be palatable, it was now as light and moist as if but a few hours out of the oven.
tasting a crumb, which had fallen on the table, she found it more delicious than bread ever was before, and could hardly believe that it was a loaf of her own kneading and baking.
yet, what other loaf could it possibly be?
but, oh the honey!
i may just as well let it alone, without trying to describe how exquisitely it smelt and looked.
its color was that of the purest and most transparent gold; and it had the odor of a thousand flowers; but of such flowers as never grew in an earthly garden, and to seek which the bees must have flown high above the clouds.
the wonder is, that, after alighting on a flower-bed of so delicious fragrance and immortal bloom, they should have been content to fly down again to their hive in philemon's garden.
never was such honey tasted, seen, or smelt.
the perfume floated around the kitchen, and made it so delightful, that, had you closed your eyes, you would instantly have forgotten the low ceiling and smoky walls, and have fancied yourself in an arbor, with celestial honeysuckles creeping over it.
although good mother baucis was a simple old dame, she could not but think that there was something rather out of the common way, in all that had been going on.
so, after helping the guests to bread and honey, and laying a bunch of grapes by each of their plates, she sat down by philemon, and told him what she had seen, in a whisper.
""did you ever hear the like?"
asked she.
""no, i never did," answered philemon, with a smile.
""and i rather think, my dear old wife, you have been walking about in a sort of a dream.
if i had poured out the milk, i should have seen through the business, at once.
there happened to be a little more in the pitcher than you thought, -- that is all."
""ah, husband," said baucis, "say what you will, these are very uncommon people."
""well, well," replied philemon, still smiling, "perhaps they are.
they certainly do look as if they had seen better days; and i am heartily glad to see them making so comfortable a supper."
each of the guests had now taken his bunch of grapes upon his plate.
baucis -lrb- who rubbed her eyes, in order to see the more clearly -rrb- was of opinion that the clusters had grown larger and richer, and that each separate grape seemed to be on the point of bursting with ripe juice.
it was entirely a mystery to her how such grapes could ever have been produced from the old stunted vine that climbed against the cottage-wall.
""very admirable grapes these!"
observed quicksilver, as he swallowed one after another, without apparently diminishing his cluster.
""pray, my good host, whence did you gather them?"
""from my own vine," answered philemon.
""you may see one of its branches twisting across the window, yonder.
but wife and i never thought the grapes very fine ones."
""i never tasted better," said the guest.
""another cup of this delicious milk, if you please, and i shall then have supped better than a prince."
this time, old philemon bestirred himself, and took up the pitcher; for he was curious to discover whether there was any reality in the marvels which baucis had whispered to him.
he knew that his good old wife was incapable of falsehood, and that she was seldom mistaken in what she supposed to be true; but this was so very singular a case, that he wanted to see into it with his own eyes.
on taking up the pitcher, therefore, he slyly peeped into it, and was fully satisfied that it contained not so much as a single drop.
all at once, however, he beheld a little white fountain, which gushed up from the bottom of the pitcher, and speedily filled it to the brim with foaming and deliciously fragrant milk.
it was lucky that philemon, in his surprise, did not drop the miraculous pitcher from his hand.
""who are ye, wonder-working strangers?"
cried he, even more bewildered than his wife had been.
""your guests, my good philemon, and your friends," replied the elder traveller, in his mild, deep voice, that had something at once sweet and awe-inspiring in it.
""give me likewise a cup of the milk; and may your pitcher never be empty for kind baucis and yourself, any more than for the needy wayfarer!"
the supper being now over, the strangers requested to be shown to their place of repose.
the old people would gladly have talked with them a little longer, and have expressed the wonder which they felt, and their delight at finding the poor and meagre supper prove so much better and more abundant than they hoped.
but the elder traveller had inspired them with such reverence, that they dared not ask him any questions.
and when philemon drew quicksilver aside, and inquired how under the sun a fountain of milk could have got into air old earthen pitcher, this latter personage pointed to his staff.
""there is the whole mystery of the affair," quoth quicksilver; "and if you can make it out, i'll thank you to let me know.
i ca n't tell what to make of my staff.
it is always playing such odd tricks as this; sometimes getting me a supper, and, quite as often, stealing it away.
if i had any faith in such nonsense, i should say the stick was bewitched!"
he said no more, but looked so slyly in their faces, that they rather fancied he was laughing at them.
the magic staff went hopping at his heels, as quicksilver quitted the room.
when left alone, the good old couple spent some little time in conversation about the events of the evening, and then lay down on the floor, and fell fast asleep.
they had given up their sleeping-room to the guests, and had no other bed for themselves, save these planks, which i wish had been as soft as their own hearts.
the old man and his wife were stirring, betimes, in the morning, and the strangers likewise arose with the sun, and made their preparations to depart.
philemon hospitably entreated them to remain a little longer, until baucis could milk the cow, and bake a cake upon the hearth, and, perhaps, find them a few fresh eggs, for breakfast.
the guests, however, seemed to think it better to accomplish a good part of their journey before the heat of the day should come on.
they, therefore, persisted in setting out immediately, but asked philemon and baucis to walk forth with them a short distance, and show them the road which they were to take.
so they all four issued from the cottage, chatting together like old friends.
it was very remarkable indeed, how familiar the old couple insensibly grew with the elder traveller, and how their good and simple spirits melted into his, even as two drops of water would melt into the illimitable ocean.
and as for quicksilver, with his keen, quick, laughing wits, he appeared to discover every little thought that but peeped into their minds, before they suspected it themselves.
they sometimes wished, it is true, that he had not been quite so quick-witted, and also that he would fling away his staff, which looked so mysteriously mischievous, with the snakes always writhing about it.
but then, again, quicksilver showed himself so very good-humored, that they would have been rejoiced to keep him in their cottage, staff, snakes, and all, every day, and the whole day long.
""ah me!
well-a-day!"
exclaimed philemon, when they had walked a little way from their door.
""if our neighbors only knew what a blessed thing it is to show hospitality to strangers, they would tie up all their dogs, and never allow their children to fling another stone."
""it is a sin and shame for them to behave so, -- that it is!"
cried good old baucis, vehemently.
""and i mean to go this very day, and tell some of then what naughty people they are!"
""i fear," remarked quicksilver, slyly smiling, "that you will find none of them at home."
the elder traveller's brow, just then, assumed such a grave, stern, and awful grandeur, yet serene withal, that neither baucis nor philemon dared to speak a word.
they gazed reverently into his face, as if they had been gazing at the sky.
""when men do not feel towards the humblest stranger as if he were a brother," said the traveller, in tones so deep that they sounded like those of an organ, "they are unworthy to exist on earth, which was created as the abode of a great human brotherhood!"
""and, by the by, my dear old people," cried quicksilver, with the liveliest look of fun and mischief in his eyes, "where is this same village that you talk about?
on which side of us does it lie?
methinks i do not see it hereabouts."
philemon and his wife turned towards the valley, where, at sunset, only the day before, they had seen the meadows, the houses, the gardens, the clumps of trees, the wide, green-margined street, with children playing in it, and all the tokens of business, enjoyment, and prosperity.
but what was their astonishment!
there was no longer any appearance of a village!
even the fertile vale, in the hollow of which it lay, had ceased to have existence.
in its stead, they beheld the broad, blue surface of a lake, which filled the great basin of the valley, from brim to brim, and reflected the surrounding bills in its bosom, with as tranquil an image as if it had been there ever since the creation of the world.
for an instant, the lake remained perfectly smooth.
then, a little breeze sprang up, and caused the water to dance, glitter, and sparkle in the early sunbeams, and to dash, with a pleasant rippling murmur, against the hither shore.
the lake seemed so strangely familiar, that the old couple were greatly perplexed, and felt as if they could only have been dreaming about a village having lain there.
but, the next moment, they remembered the vanished dwellings, and the faces and characters of the inhabitants, far too distinctly for a dream.
the village had been there yesterday, and now was gone!
""alas!"
cried these kind-hearted old people, "what has become of our poor neighbors?"
""they exist no longer as men and women," said the elder traveller, in his grand and deep voice, while a roll of thunder seemed to echo it at a distance.
""there was neither use nor beauty in such a life as theirs: for they never softened or sweetened the hard lot of mortality by the exercise of kindly affections between man and man.
they retained no image of the better life in their bosoms; therefore, the lake, that was of old, has spread itself forth again, to reflect the sky!"
""and as for those foolish people," said quicksilver, with his mischievous smile, "they are all transformed to fishes.
there needed but little change, for they were already a scaly set of rascals, and the coldest-blooded beings in existence.
so, kind mother baucis, whenever you or your husband have an appetite for a dish of broiled trout, he can throw in a line, and pull out half a dozen of your old neighbors!"
""ah," cried baucis, shuddering, "i would not, for the world, put one of them on the gridiron!"
""no," added philemon, making a wry face, "we could never relish them!"
""as for you, good philemon," continued the elder traveller, -- "and you, kind baucis, -- you, with your scanty means, have mingled so much heartfelt hospitality with your entertainment of the homeless stranger, that the milk became an inexhaustible fount of nectar, and the brown loaf and the honey were ambrosia.
thus, the divinities have feasted, at your board, off the same viands that supply their banquets on olympus.
you have done well, my dear old friends.
wherefore, request whatever favor you have most at heart, and it is granted."
philemon and baucis looked at one another, and then, -- i know not which of the two it was who spoke, but that one uttered the desire of both their hearts.
""let us live together, while we live, and leave the world at the same instant, when we die!
for we have always loved one another!"
""be it so!"
replied the stranger, with majestic kindness.
""now, look towards your cottage!"
they did so.
but what was their surprise, on beholding a tall edifice of white marble, with a wide-open portal, occupying the spot where their humble residence had so lately stood!
""there is your home," said the stranger, beneficently smiling on them both.
""exercise your hospitality in yonder palace, as freely as in the poor hovel to which you welcomed us last evening."
the old folks fell on their knees to thank him; but, behold!
neither he nor quicksilver was there.
so philemon and baucis took up their residence in the marble palace, and spent their time, with vast satisfaction to themselves, in making everybody jolly and comfortable who happened to pass that way.
the milk-pitcher, i must not forget to say, retained its marvellous quality of being never empty, when it was desirable to have it full.
whenever an honest, good-humored, and free-hearted guest took a draught from this pitcher, he invariably found it the sweetest and most invigorating fluid that ever ran down his throat.
but, if a cross and disagreeable curmudgeon happened to sip, he was pretty certain to twist his visage into a hard knot, and pronounce it a pitcher of sour milk!
thus the old couple lived in their palace a great, great while, and grew older and older, and very old indeed.
at length, however, there came a summer morning when philemon and baucis failed to make their appearance, as on other mornings, with one hospitable smile overspreading both their pleasant faces, to invite the guests of overnight to breakfast.
the guests searched everywhere, from top to bottom of the spacious palace, and all to no purpose.
but, after a great deal of perplexity, they espied, in front of the portal, two venerable trees, which nobody could remember to have seen there the day before.
yet there they stood, with their roots fastened deep into the soil, and a huge breadth of foliage overshadowing the whole front of the edifice.
one was an oak, and the other a linden-tree.
their boughs it was strange and beautiful to see -- were intertwined together, and embraced one another, so that each tree seemed to live in the other tree's bosom, much more than in its own.
while the guests were marvelling how these trees, that must have required at least a century to grow, could have come to be so tall and venerable in a single night, a breeze sprang up, and set their intermingled boughs astir.
and then there was a deep, broad murmur in the air, as if the two mysterious trees were speaking.
""i am old philemon!"
murmured the oak.
""i am old baucis!"
murmured the linden-tree.
but, as the breeze grew stronger, the trees both spoke at once, -- "philemon!
baucis!
baucis!
philemon!"
-- as if one were both and both were one, and talking together in the depths of their mutual heart.
it was plain enough to perceive that the good old couple had renewed their age, and were now to spend a quiet and delightful hundred years or so, philemon as an oak, and baucis as a linden-tree.
and oh, what a hospitable shade did they fling around them!
whenever a wayfarer paused beneath it, he heard a pleasant whisper of the leaves above his head, and wondered how the sound should so much resemble words like these: -- "welcome, welcome, dear traveller, welcome!"
and some kind soul, that knew what would have pleased old baucis and old philemon best, built a circular seat around both their trunks, where, for a great while afterwards, the weary, and the hungry, and the thirsty used to repose themselves, and quaff milk abundantly out of the miraculous pitcher.
and i wish, for all our sakes, that we had the pitcher here now!
the hillside.
after the story.
""how much did the pitcher hold?"
asked sweet fern.
""it did not hold quite a quart," answered the student; "but you might keep pouring milk out of it, till you should fill a hogshead, if you pleased.
the truth is, it would run on forever, and not be dry even at midsummer, -- which is more than can be said of yonder rill, that goes babbling down the hillside."
""and what has become of the pitcher now?"
inquired the little boy.
""it was broken, i am sorry to say, about twenty-five thousand years ago," replied cousin eustace.
""the people mended it as well as they could; but, though it would hold milk pretty well, it was never afterwards known to fill itself of its own accord.
so, you see, it was no better than any other cracked earthen pitcher."
""what a pity!"
cried all the children at once.
the respectable dog ben had accompanied the party, as did likewise a half-grown newfoundland puppy, who went by the name of bruin, because he was just as black as a bear.
ben, being elderly, and of very circumspect habits, was respectfully requested, by cousin eustace, to stay behind with the four little children, in order to keep them out of mischief.
as for black bruin, who was himself nothing but a child, the student thought it best to take him along, lest, in his rude play with the other children, he should trip them up, and send them rolling and tumbling down the bill.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___the_paradise_of_children.txt.out
tanglewood play-room.
the golden days of october passed away, as so many other octobers have, and brown november likewise, and the greater part of chill december, too.
at last came merry christmas, and eustace bright along with it, making it all the merrier by his presence.
and, the day after his arrival from college, there came a mighty snow-storm.
up to this time, the winter had held back, and had given us a good many mild days, which were like smiles upon its wrinkled visage.
the grass had kept itself green, in sheltered places, such as the nooks of southern hill-slopes, and along the lee of the stone fences.
it was but a week or two ago, and since the beginning of the month, that the children had found a dandelion in bloom, on the margin of shadow brook, where it glides out of the dell.
but no more green grass and dandelions now.
this was such a snow-storm!
twenty miles of it might have been visible at once, between the windows of tanglewood and the dome of taconic, had it been possible to see so far, among the eddying drifts that whitened all the atmosphere.
it seemed as if the hills were giants, and were flinging monstrous handfuls of snow at one another, in their enormous sport.
so thick were the fluttering snow-flakes, that even the trees, midway down the valley, were hidden by them the greater part of the time.
sometimes, it is true, the little prisoners of tanglewood could discern a dim outline of monument mountain, and the smooth whiteness of the frozen lake at its base, and the black or gray tracts of woodland in the nearer landscape.
but these were merely peeps through the tempest.
nevertheless, the children rejoiced greatly in the snowstorm.
they had already made acquaintance with it, by tumbling heels over head into its highest drifts, and flinging snow at one another, as we have just fancied the berkshire mountains to be doing.
and now they had come back to their spacious play-room, which was as big as the great drawing-room, and was lumbered with all sorts of playthings, large and small.
the biggest was a rocking-horse, that looked like a real pony; and there was a whole family of wooden, waxen, plaster, and china dolls, besides rag-babies; and blocks enough to build bunker hill monument, and nine-pins, and balls, and humming-tops, and battledores, and grace-sticks, and skipping-ropes, and more of such valuable property than i could tell of in a printed page.
but the children liked the snow-storm better than them all.
it suggested so many brisk enjoyments for to-morrow, and all the remainder of the winter.
the sleigh-ride; the slides down hill into the valley; the snow-images that were to be shaped out; the snow-fortresses that were to be built; and the snow-balling to be carried on!
so the little folks blessed the snow-storm, and were glad to see it come thicker and thicker, and watched hopefully the long drift that was piling itself up in the avenue, and was already higher than any of their heads.
""why, we shall be blocked up till spring!"
cried they, with the hugest delight.
""what a pity that the house is too high to be quite covered up!
the little red house, down yonder, will be buried up to its eaves."
""you silly children, what do you want of more snow?"
asked eustace, who, tired of some novel that he was skimming through, had strolled into the play-room.
""it has done mischief enough already, by spoiling the only skating that i could hope for through the winter.
we shall see nothing more of the lake till april; and this was to have been my first day upon it!
do n't you pity me, primrose?"
""o, to be sure!"
answered primrose, laughing.
""but, for your comfort, we will listen to another of your old stories, such as you told us under the porch, and down in the hollow, by shadow brook.
perhaps i shall like them better now, when there is nothing to do, than while there were nuts to be gathered, and beautiful weather to enjoy."
hereupon, periwinkle, clover, sweet fern, and as many others of the little fraternity and cousinhood as were still at tanglewood, gathered about eustace, and earnestly besought him for a story.
the student yawned, stretched himself, and then, to the vast admiration of the small people, skipped three times hack and forth over the top of a chair, in order, as he explained to them, to set his wits in motion.
""well, well, children," said he, after these preliminaries, "since you insist, and primrose has set her heart upon it, i will see what can be done for you.
and, that you may know what happy days there were before snowstorms came into fashion, i will tell you a story of the oldest of all old times, when the world was as new as sweet fern's bran-new humming-top.
there was then but one season in the year, and that was the delightful summer; and but one age for mortals, and that was childhood."
""i never heard of that before," said primrose.
""of course, you never did," answered eustace.
""it shall be a story of what nobody but myself ever dreamed of, -- a paradise of children, -- and how, by the naughtiness of just such a little imp as primrose here, it all came to nothing."
so eustace bright sat down in the chair which he had just been skipping over, took cowslip upon his knee, ordered silence throughout the auditory, and began a story about a sad naughty child, whose name was pandora, and about her playfellow epimetheus.
you may read it, word for word, in the pages that come next.
the paradise of children.
long, long ago, when this old world was in its tender infancy, there was a child, named epimetheus, who never had either father or mother; and, that he might not be lonely, another child, fatherless and motherless like himself, was sent from a far country, to live with him, and be his playfellow and helpmate.
her name was pandora.
the first thing that pandora saw, when she entered the cottage where epimetheus dwelt, was a great box.
and almost the first question which she put to him, after crossing the threshold, was this, -- "epimetheus, what have you in that box?"
""my dear little pandora," answered epimetheus, "that is a secret, and you must be kind enough not to ask any questions about it.
the box was left here to be kept safely, and i do not myself know what it contains."
""but, who gave it to you?"
asked pandora.
""and where did it come from?"
""that is a secret, too," replied epimetheus.
""how provoking!"
exclaimed pandora, pouting her lip.
""i wish the great ugly box were out of the way!"
""o come, do n't think of it, any more," cried epimetheus.
""let us run out of doors, and have some nice play with the other children."
it is thousands of years since epimetheus and pandora were alive; and the world, nowadays, is a very different sort of thing from what it was in their time.
then, everybody was a child.
there needed no fathers and mothers to take care of the children; because there was no danger, nor trouble of any kind, and no clothes to be mended, and there was always plenty to eat and drink.
whenever a child wanted his dinner, he found it growing on a tree; and, if he looked at the tree in the morning, he could see the expanding blossom of that night's supper; or, at eventide, he saw the tender bud of to-morrow's breakfast.
it was a very pleasant life indeed.
no labor to be done, no tasks to be studied; nothing but sports and dances, and sweet voices of children talking, or carolling like birds, or gushing out in merry laughter, throughout the livelong day.
what was most wonderful of all, the children never quarrelled among themselves; neither had they any crying fits; nor, since time first began, had a single one of these little mortals ever gone apart into a corner, and sulked.
o, what a good time was that to be alive in!
the truth is, those ugly little winged monsters, called troubles, which are now almost as numerous as mosquitoes, had never yet been seen on the earth.
it is probable that the very greatest disquietude which a child had ever experienced was pandora's vexation at not being able to discover the secret of the mysterious box.
this was at first only the faint shadow of a trouble; but, every day, it grew more and more substantial, until, before a great while, the cottage of epimetheus and pandora was less sunshiny than those of the other children.
""whence can the box have come?"
pandora continually kept saying to herself and to epimetheus.
""and what in the world can be inside of it?"
""always talking about this box!"
said epimetheus, at last; for he had grown extremely tired of the subject.
""i wish, dear pandora, you would try to talk of something else.
come, let us go and gather some ripe figs, and eat them under the trees, for our supper.
and i know a vine that has the sweetest and juiciest grapes you ever tasted."
""always talking about grapes and figs!"
cried pandora, pettishly.
""well, then," said epimetheus, who was a very good-tempered child, like a multitude of children in those days, "let us run out and have a merry time with our playmates."
""i am tired of merry times, and do n't care if i never have any more!"
answered our pettish little pandora.
""and, besides, i never do have any.
this ugly box!
i am so taken up with thinking about it all the time.
i insist upon your telling me what is inside of it."
""as i have already said, fifty times over, i do not know!"
replied epimetheus, getting a little vexed.
""how, then, can i tell you what is inside?"
""you might open it," said pandora, looking sideways at epimetheus, "and then we could see for ourselves."
""pandora, what are you thinking of?"
exclaimed epimetheus.
and his face expressed so much horror at the idea of looking into a box, which had been confided to him on the condition of his never opening it, that pandora thought it best not to suggest it any more.
still, however, she could not help thinking and talking about the box.
""at least," said she, "you can tell me how it came here."
""it was left at the door," replied epimetheus, "just before you came, by a person who looked very smiling and intelligent, and who could hardly forbear laughing as he put it down.
he was dressed in an-odd kind of a cloak, and had on a cap that seemed to be made partly of feathers, so that it looked almost as if it had wings."
""what sort of a staff had he?"
asked pandora.
""o, the most curious staff you ever saw!"
cried epimetheus.
""it was like two serpents twisting around a stick, and was carved so naturally that i, at first, bought the serpents were alive."
""i know him," said pandora, thoughtfully.
""nobody else has such a staff.
it was quicksilver; and he brought one hither, as well as the box.
no doubt he intended it for me; and, most probably, it contains pretty dresses for me to wear, or toys for you and me to play with, or something very nice for us both to eat!"
""perhaps so," answered epimetheus, turning away.
""but until quicksilver comes back and tells us so, we have neither of us any right to lift the lid of the box."
""what a dull boy he is!"
muttered pandora, as epimetheus left the cottage.
""i do wish he had a little more enterprise!"
for the first time since her arrival, epimetheus had gone out without asking pandora to accompany him.
he went to gather figs and grapes by himself, or to seek whatever amusement he could find, in other society than his little playfellow's.
he was tired to death of hearing about the box, and heartily wished that quicksilver, or whatever was the messenger's name, had left it at some other child's door, where pandora would never have set eyes on it.
so perseveringly as she did babble about this one thing!
the box, the box, and nothing but the box!
it seemed as if the box were bewitched, and as if the cottage were not big enough to hold it, without pandora's continually stumbling over it, and making epimetheus stumble over it likewise, and bruising all four of their shins.
well, it was really hard that poor epimetheus should have a box in his ears from morning till night; especially as the little people of the earth were so unaccustomed to vexations, in those happy days, that they knew not how to deal with them.
thus, a small vexation made as much disturbance, then, as a far bigger one would, in our own times.
after epimetheus was gone, pandora stood gazing at the box.
she had called it ugly, above a hundred times; but, in spite of all that she had said against it, it was positively a very handsome article of furniture, and would have been quite an ornament to any room in which it should be placed.
it was made of a beautiful kind of wood, with dark and rich veins spreading over its surface, which was so highly polished that little pandora could see her face in it.
as the child had no other looking-glass, it is odd that she did not value the box, merely on this account.
the edges and corners of the box were carved with most wonderful skill.
around the margin there were figures of graceful men and women, and the prettiest children ever seen, reclining or sporting amid a profusion of flowers and foliage; and these various objects were so exquisitely represented, and were wrought together in such harmony, that flowers, foliage, and human beings seemed to combine into a wreath of mingled beauty.
but here and there, peeping forth from behind the carved foliage, pandora once or twice fancied that she saw a face not so lovely, or something or other that was disagreeable, and which stole the beauty out of all the rest.
nevertheless, on looking more closely, and touching the spot with her finger, she could discover nothing of the kind.
some face, that was really beautiful, had been made to look ugly by her catching a sideway glimpse at it.
the most beautiful face of all was done in what is called high relief, in the centre of the lid.
there was nothing else, save the dark, smooth richness of the polished wood, and this one face in the centre, with a garland of flowers about its brow.
pandora had looked at this face a great many times, and imagined that the mouth could smile if it liked, or be grave when it chose, the same as any living mouth.
the features, indeed, all wore a very lively and rather mischievous expression, which looked almost as if it needs must burst out of the carved lips, and utter itself in words.
had the mouth spoken, it would probably have been something like this: "do not be afraid, pandora!
what harm can there be in opening the box?
never mind that poor, simple epimetheus!
you are wiser than he, and have ten times as much spirit.
open the box, and see if you do not find something very pretty!"
the box, i had almost forgotten to say, was fastened; not by a lock, nor by any other such contrivance, but by a very intricate knot of gold cord.
there appeared to be no end to this knot, and no beginning.
never was a knot so cunningly twisted, nor with so many ins and outs, which roguishly defied the skilfullest fingers to disentangle them.
and yet, by the very difficulty that there was in it, pandora was the more tempted to examine the knot, and just see how it was made.
two or three times, already, she had stooped over the box, and taken the knot between her thumb and forefinger, but without positively trying to undo it.
""i really believe," said she to herself, "that i begin to see how it was done.
nay, perhaps i could tie it up again, after undoing it.
there would be no harm in that, surely.
even epimetheus would not blame me for that.
i need not open the box, and should not, of course, without the foolish boy's consent, even if the knot were untied."
it might have been better for pandora if she had had a little work to do, or anything to employ her mind upon, so as not to be so constantly thinking of this one subject.
but children led so easy a life, before any troubles came into the world, that they had really a great deal too much leisure.
they could not be forever playing at hide-and-seek among the flower-shrubs, or at blind-man's - buff with garlands over their eyes, or at whatever other games had been found out, while mother earth was in her babyhood.
when life is all sport, toil is the real play.
there was absolutely nothing to do.
a little sweeping and dusting about the cottage, i suppose, and the gathering of fresh flowers -lrb- which were only too abundant everywhere -rrb-, and arranging them in vases, -- and poor little pandora's day's work was over.
and then, for the rest of the day, there was the box!
after all, i am not quite sure that the box was not a blessing to her in its way.
it supplied her with such a variety of ideas to think of, and to talk about, whenever she had anybody to listen!
when she was in good humor, she could admire the bright polish of its sides, and the rich border of beautiful faces and foliage that ran all around it.
or, if she chanced to be ill-tempered, she could give it a push, or kick it with her naughty little foot.
and many a kick did the box -- -lrb- but it was a mischievous box, as we shall see, and deserved all it got -rrb- -- many a kick did it receive.
but, certain it is, if it had not been for the box, our active-minded little pandora would not have known half so well how to spend her time as she now did.
for it was really an endless employment to guess what was inside.
what could it be, indeed?
just imagine, my little hearers, how busy your wits would be, if there were a great box in the house, which, as you might have reason to suppose, contained something new and pretty for your christmas or new-year's gifts.
do you think that you should be less curious than pandora?
if you were left alone with the box, might you not feel a little tempted to lift the lid?
but you would not do it.
o, fie!
no, no!
only, if you thought there were toys in it, it would be so very hard to let slip an opportunity of taking just one peep!
i know not whether pandora expected any toys; for none had yet begun to be made, probably, in those days, when the world itself was one great plaything for the children that dwelt upon it.
but pandora was convinced that there was something very beautiful and valuable in the box; and therefore she felt just as anxious to take a peep as any of these little girls, here around me, would have felt.
and, possibly, a little more so; but of that i am not quite so certain.
on this particular day, however, which we have so long been talking about, her curiosity grew so much greater than it usually was, that, at last, she approached the box.
she was more than half determined to open it, if she could.
ah, naughty pandora!
first, however, she tried to lift it.
it was heavy; quite too heavy for the slender strength of a child, like pandora.
she raised one end of the box a few inches from the floor, and let it fall again, with a pretty loud thump.
a moment afterwards, she almost fancied that she heard something stir, inside of the box.
she applied her ear as closely as possible, and listened.
positively, there did seem to be a kind of stifled murmur, within!
or was it merely the singing in pandora's ears?
or could it be the beating of her heart?
the child could not quite satisfy herself whether she had heard anything or no.
but, at all events, her curiosity was stronger than ever.
as she drew back her head, her eyes fell upon the knot of gold cord.
""it must have been a very ingenious person who tied this knot," said pandora to herself.
""but i think i could untie it, nevertheless.
i am resolved, at least, to find the two ends of the cord."
so she took the golden knot in her fingers, and pried into its intricacies as sharply as she could.
almost without intending it, or quite knowing what she was about, she was soon busily engaged in attempting to undo it.
meanwhile, the bright sunshine came through the open window; as did likewise the merry voices of the children, playing at a distance, and perhaps the voice of epimetheus among then.
pandora stopped to listen.
what a beautiful day it was!
would it not be wiser, if she were to let the troublesome knot alone, and think no more about the box, but run and join her little playfellows, and be happy?
all this time, however, her fingers were half unconsciously busy with the knot; and happening to glance at the flower-wreathed face on the lid of the enchanted box, she seemed to perceive it slyly grinning at her.
""that face looks very mischievous," thought pandora.
""i wonder whether it smiles because i am doing wrong!
i have the greatest mind in the world to run away!"
but just then, by the merest accident, she gave the knot a kind of a twist, which produced a wonderful result.
the gold cord untwined itself, as if by magic, and left the box without a fastening.
""this is the strangest thing i ever knew!"
said pandora.
""what will epimetheus say?
and how can i possibly tie it up again?"
she made one or two attempts to restore the knot, but soon found it quite beyond her skill.
it had disentangled itself so suddenly that she could not in the least remember how the strings had been doubled into one another; and when she tried to recollect the shape and appearance of the knot, it seemed to have gone entirely out of her mind.
nothing was to be done, therefore, but to let the box remain as it was, until epimetheus should come in.
""but," said pandora, "when he finds the knot untied, he will know that i have done it.
how shall i make him believe that i have not looked into the box?"
and then the thought came into her naughty little heart, that, since she would be suspected of having looked into the box, she might just as well do so, at once.
o, very naughty and very foolish pandora!
you should have thought only of doing what was right, and of leaving undone what was wrong, and not of what your playfellow epimetheus would have said or believed.
and so perhaps she might, if the enchanted face on the lid of the box had not looked so bewitchingly persuasive at her, and if she had not seemed to hear, more distinctly than before, the murmur of small voices within.
she could not tell whether it was fancy or no; but there was quite a little tumult of whispers in her ear, -- or else it was her curiosity that whispered, "let us out, dear pandora, -- pray let us out!
we will be such nice pretty playfellows for you!
only let us out!"
""what can it be?"
thought pandora.
""is there something alive in the box?
well!
-- yes!
-- i am resolved to take just one peep!
only one peep; and then the lid shall be shut down as safely as ever!
there can not possibly be any harm in just one little peep!"
but it is now time for us to see what epimetheus was doing.
this was the first time, since his little playmate had come to dwell with him, that he had attempted to enjoy any pleasure in which she did not partake.
but nothing went right; nor was he nearly so happy as on other days.
he could not find a sweet grape or a ripe fig -lrb- if epimetheus had a fault, it was a little too much fondness for figs -rrb-; or, if ripe at all, they were over-ripe, and so sweet as to be cloying.
there was no mirth in his heart, such as usually made his voice gush out, of its own accord, and swell the merriment of his companions.
in short, he grew so uneasy and discontented, that the other children could not imagine what was the matter with epimetheus.
neither did he himself know what ailed him, any better than they did.
for you must recollect, that at the time we are speaking of, it was everybody's nature, and constant habit, to be happy.
the world had not yet learned to be otherwise.
not a single soul or body, since these children were first sent to enjoy themselves on the beautiful earth, had ever been sick, or out of sorts.
at length, discovering that, somehow or other, he put a stop to all the play, epimetheus judged it best to go back to pandora, who was in a humor better suited to his own.
but, with a hope of giving her pleasure, he gathered some flowers, and made them into a wreath, which he meant to put upon her head.
the flowers were very lovely, -- roses, and lilies, and orange-blossoms, and a great many more, which left a trail of fragrance behind, as epimetheus carried them along; and the wreath was put together with as much skill as could reasonably be expected of a boy.
the fingers of little girls, it has always appeared to me, are the fittest to twine flower-wreaths; but boys could do it, in those days, rather better than they can now.
and here i must mention that a great black cloud had been gathering in the sky, for some time past, although it had not yet overspread the sun.
but, just as epimetheus reached the cottage door, this cloud began to intercept the sunshine, and thus to make a sudden and sad obscurity.
he entered softly; for he meant, if possible, to steal behind pandora, and fling the wreath of flowers over her head, before she should be aware of his approach.
but, as it happened, there was no need of his treading so very lightly.
he might have trod as heavily as he pleased, -- as heavily as a grown man, -- as heavily, i was going to say, as an elephant, -- without much probability of pandora's hearing his footsteps.
she was too intent upon her purpose.
at the moment of his entering the cottage, the naughty child had put her hand to the lid, and was on the point of opening the mysterious box.
epimetheus beheld her.
if he had cried out, pandora would probably have withdrawn her hand, and the fatal mystery of the box might never have been known.
but epimetheus himself, although he said very little about it, had his own share of curiosity to know what was inside.
perceiving that pandora was resolved to find out the secret, he determined that his playfellow should not be the only wise person in the cottage.
and if there were anything pretty or valuable in the box, he meant to take half of it to himself.
thus, after all his sage speeches to pandora about restraining her curiosity, epimetheus turned out to be quite as foolish, and nearly as much in fault, as she.
so, whenever we blame pandora for what happened, we must not forget to shake our heads at epimetheus likewise.
as pandora raised the lid, the cottage grew very dark and dismal; for the black cloud had now swept quite over the sun, and seemed to have buried it alive.
there had, for a little while past, been a low growling and muttering, which all at once broke into a heavy peal of thunder.
but pandora, heeding nothing of all this, lifted the lid nearly upright, and looked inside.
it seemed as if a sudden swarm of winged creatures brushed past her, taking flight out of the box, while, at the same instant, she heard the voice of epimetheus, with a lamentable tone, as if he were in pain.
""o, i am stung!"
cried he.
""i am stung!
naughty pandora!
why have you opened this wicked box?"
pandora let fall the lid, and, starting up, looked about her, to see what had befallen epimetheus.
the thundercloud had so darkened the room that she could not very clearly discern what was in it.
but she heard a disagreeable buzzing, as if a great many huge flies, or gigantic mosquitoes, or those insects which we call dorbugs and pinching-dogs, were darting about.
and, as her eyes grew more accustomed to the imperfect light, she saw a crowd of ugly little shapes, with bats" wings, looking abominably spiteful, and armed with terribly long stings in their tails.
it was one of these that had stung epimetheus.
nor was it a great while before pandora herself began to scream, in no less pain and affright than her playfellow, and making a vast deal more hubbub about it.
an odious little monster had settled on her forehead, and would have stung her i know not how deeply, if epimetheus had not run and brushed it away.
now, if you wish to know what these ugly things might be, which had made their escape out of the box, i must tell you that they were the whole family of earthly troubles.
there were evil passions; there were a great many species of cares; there were more than a hundred and fifty sorrows; there were diseases, in a vast number of miserable and painful shapes; there were more kinds of naughtiness than it would be of any use to talk about.
in short, everything that has since afflicted the souls and bodies of mankind had been shut up in the mysterious box, and given to epimetheus and pandora to be kept safely, in order that the happy children of the world might never be molested by them.
had they been faithful to their trust, all would have gone well.
no grown person would ever have been sad, nor any child have had cause to shed a single tear, from that hour until this moment.
but -- and you may see by this how a wrong act of any one mortal is a calamity to the whole world -- by pandora's lifting the lid of that miserable box, and by the fault of epimetheus, too, in not preventing her, these troubles have obtained a foothold among us, and do not seem very likely to be driven away in a hurry.
for it was impossible, as you will easily guess, that the two children should keep the ugly swarm in their own little cottage.
on the contrary, the first thing that they did was to fling open the doors and windows, in hopes of getting rid of them; and, sure enough, away flew the winged troubles all abroad, and so pestered and tormented the small people, everywhere about, that none of them so much as smiled for many days afterwards.
and, what was very singular, all the flowers and dewy blossoms on earth, not one of which had hitherto faded, now began to droop and shed their leaves, after a day or two.
the children, moreover, who before seemed immortal in their childhood, now grew older, day by day, and came soon to be youths and maidens, and men and women by and by, and aged people, before they dreamed of such a thing.
meanwhile, the naughty pandora, and hardly less naughty epimetheus, remained in their cottage.
both of them had been grievously stung, and were in a good deal of pain, which seemed the more intolerable to them, because it was the very first pain that had ever been felt since the world began.
of course, they were entirely unaccustomed to it, and could have no idea what it meant.
besides all this, they were in exceedingly bad humor, both with themselves and with one another.
in order to indulge it to the utmost, epimetheus sat down sullenly in a corner with his back towards pandora; while pandora flung herself upon the floor and rested her head on the fatal and abominable box.
she was crying bitterly, and sobbing as if her heart would break.
suddenly there was a gentle little tap, on the inside of the lid.
""what can that be?"
cried pandora, lifting her head.
but either epimetheus had not heard the tap, or was too much out of humor to notice it.
at any rate, he made no answer.
""you are very unkind," said pandora, sobbing anew, "not to speak to me!"
again the tap!
it sounded like the tiny knuckles of a fairy's hand, knocking lightly and playfully on the inside of the box.
""who are you?"
asked pandora, with a little of her former curiosity.
""who are you, inside of this naughty box?"
a sweet little voice spoke from within, -- "only lift the lid, and you shall see."
""no, no," answered pandora, again beginning to sob, "i have had enough of lifting the lid!
you are inside of the box, naughty creature, and there you shall stay!
there are plenty of your ugly brothers and sisters already flying about the world.
you need never think that i shall be so foolish as to let you out!"
she looked towards epimetheus, as she spoke, perhaps expecting that he would commend her for her wisdom.
but the sullen boy only muttered that she was wise a little too late.
""ah," said the sweet little voice again, "you had much better let me out.
i am not like those naughty creatures that have stings in their tails.
they are no brothers and sisters of mine, as you would see at once, if you were only to get a glimpse of me.
come, come, my pretty pandora!
i am sure you will let me out!"
and, indeed, there was a kind of cheerful witchery in the tone, that made it almost impossible to refuse anything which this little voice asked.
pandora's heart had insensibly grown lighter, at every word that came from within the box.
epimetheus, too, though still in the corner, had turned half round, and seemed to be in rather better spirits than before.
""my dear epimetheus," cried pandora, "have you heard this little voice?"
""yes, to be sure i have," answered he, but in no very good-humor as yet.
""and what of it?"
""shall i lift the lid again?"
asked pandora.
""just as you please," said epimetheus.
""you have done so much mischief already, that perhaps you may as well do a little more.
one other trouble, in such a swarm as you have set adrift about the world, can make no very great difference."
""you might speak a little more kindly!"
murmured pandora, wiping her eyes.
""ah, naughty boy!"
cried the little voice within the box, in an arch and laughing tone.
""he knows he is longing to see me.
come, my dear pandora, lift up the lid.
i am in a great hurry to comfort you.
only let me have some fresh air, and you shall soon see that matters are not quite so dismal as you think them!"
""epimetheus," exclaimed pandora, "come what may, i am resolved to open the box!"
""and, as the lid seems very heavy," cried epimetheus, running across the room, "i will help you!"
so, with one consent, the two children again lifted the lid.
out flew a sunny and smiling little personage, and hovered about the room, throwing a light wherever she went.
have you never made the sunshine dance into dark corners, by reflecting it from a bit of looking-glass?
well, so looked the winged cheerfulness of this fairylike stranger, amid the gloom of the cottage.
she flew to epimetheus, and laid the least touch of her finger on the inflamed spot where the trouble had stung him, and immediately the anguish of it was gone.
then she kissed pandora on the forehead, and her hurt was cured likewise.
after performing these good offices, the bright stranger fluttered sportively over the children's heads, and looked so sweetly at them, that they both began to think it not so very much amiss to have opened the box, since, otherwise, their cheery guest must have been kept a prisoner among those naughty imps with stings in their tails.
""pray, who are you, beautiful creature?"
inquired pandora.
""i am to be called hope!"
answered the sunshiny figure.
""and because i am such a cheery little body, i was packed into the box, to make amends to the human race for that swarm of ugly troubles, which was destined to be let loose among them.
never fear!
we shall do pretty well, in spite of them all."
""your wings are colored like the rainbow!"
exclaimed pandora.
""how very beautiful!"
""yes, they are like the rainbow," said hope, "because glad as my nature is, i am partly made of tears as well as smiles."
""and will you stay with us," asked epimetheus, "for ever and ever?"
""as long as you need me," said hope, with her pleasant smile, -- "and that will be as long as you live in the world, -- i promise never to desert you.
there may come times and seasons, now and then, when you will think that i have utterly vanished.
but again, and again, and again, when perhaps you least dream of it, you shall see the glimmer of my wings on the ceiling of your cottage.
yes, my dear children, and i know something very good and beautiful that is to be given you hereafter!"
""o tell us," they exclaimed, -- "tell us what it is!"
""do not ask me," replied hope, putting her finger on her rosy mouth.
""but do not despair, even if it should never happen while you live on this earth.
trust in my promise, for it is true."
""we do trust you!"
cried epimetheus and pandora, both in one breath.
and so they did; and not only they, but so has everybody trusted hope, that has since been alive.
and, to tell you the truth, i can not help being glad -- -lrb- though, to be sure, it was an uncommonly naughty thing for her to do -rrb- - but i can not help being glad that our foolish pandora peeped into the box.
no doubt -- no doubt -- the troubles are still flying about the world, and have increased in multitude, rather than lessened, and are a very ugly set of imps, and carry most venomous stings in their tails.
i have felt them already, and expect to feel them more, as i grow older.
but then that lovely and lightsome little figure of hope!
what in the world could we do without her?
hope spiritualizes the earth; hope makes it always new; and, even in the earth's best and brightest aspect, hope shows it to be only the shadow of an infinite bliss hereafter!
tanglewood play-room.
after the story.
""primrose," asked eustace, pinching her ear, "how do you like my little pandora?
do n't you think her the exact picture of yourself?
but you would not have hesitated half so long about opening the box."
""then i should have been well punished for my naughtiness," retorted primrose, smartly; "for the first thing to pop out, after the lid was lifted, would have been mr. eustace bright, in the shape of a trouble."
""cousin eustace," said sweet fern, "did the box hold all the trouble that has ever come into the world?"
""every mite of it!"
answered eustace.
""this very snow-storm, which has spoiled my skating, was packed up there."
""and how big was the box?"
asked sweet fern.
""why, perhaps three feet long," said eustace, "two feet wide, and two feet and a half high."
""ah," said the child, "you are making fun of me, cousin eustace!
i know there is not trouble enough in the world to fill such a great box as that.
as for the snow-storm, it is no trouble at all, but a pleasure; so it could not have been in the box."
""hear the child!"
cried primrose, with an air of superiority.
""how little he knows about the troubles of this world!
poor fellow!
he will be wiser when he has seen as much of life as i have."
so saying, she began to skip the rope.
meantime, the day was drawing towards its close.
out of doors the scene certainly looked dreary.
there was a gray drift, far and wide, through the gathering twilight; the earth was as pathless as the air; and the bank of snow over the steps of the porch proved that nobody had entered or gone out for a good many hours past.
had there been only one child at the window of tanglewood, gazing at this wintry prospect, it would perhaps have made him sad.
but half a dozen children together, though they can not quite turn the world into a paradise, may defy old winter and all his storms to put them out of spirits.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___the_seven_vagabonds_(from_"twice_told_tales").txt.out
rambling on foot in the spring of my life and the summer of the year, i came one afternoon to a point which gave me the choice of three directions.
straight before me, the main road extended its dusty length to boston; on the left a branch went towards the sea, and would have lengthened my journey a trifle of twenty or thirty miles; while by the right-hand path, i might have gone over hills and lakes to canada, visiting in my way the celebrated town of stamford.
on a level spot of grass, at the foot of the guidepost, appeared an object, which, though locomotive on a different principle, reminded me of gulliver's portable mansion among the brobdignags.
it was a huge covered wagon, or, more properly, a small house on wheels, with a door on one side and a window shaded by green blinds on the other.
two horses, munching provender out of the baskets which muzzled them, were fastened near the vehicle: a delectable sound of music proceeded from the interior; and i immediately conjectured that this was some itinerant show, halting at the confluence of the roads to intercept such idle travellers as myself.
a shower had long been climbing up the western sky, and now hung so blackly over my onward path that it was a point of wisdom to seek shelter here.
""halloo!
who stands guard here?
is the doorkeeper asleep?"
cried i, approaching a ladder of two or three steps which was let down from the wagon.
the music ceased at my summons, and there appeared at the door, not the sort of figure that i had mentally assigned to the wandering showman, but a most respectable old personage, whom i was sorry to have addressed in so free a style.
he wore a snuff colored coat and small-clothes, with white-top boots, and exhibited the mild dignity of aspect and manner which may often be noticed in aged schoolmasters, and sometimes in deacons, selectmen, or other potentates of that kind.
a small piece of silver was my passport within his premises, where i found only one other person, hereafter to be described.
""this is a dull day for business," said the old gentleman, as he ushered me in; "but i merely tarry here to refresh the cattle, being bound for the camp-meeting at stamford."
perhaps the movable scene of this narrative is still peregrinating new england, and may enable the reader to test the accuracy of my description.
the spectacle -- for i will not use the unworthy term of puppet-show -- consisted of a multitude of little people assembled on a miniature stage.
among them were artisans of every kind, in the attitudes of their toil, and a group of fair ladies and gay gentlemen standing ready for the dance; a company of foot-soldiers formed a line across the stage, looking stern, grim, and terrible enough, to make it a pleasant consideration that they were but three inches high; and conspicuous above the whole was seen a merry-andrew, in the pointed cap and motley coat of his profession.
all the inhabitants of this mimic world were motionless, like the figures in a picture, or like that people who one moment were alive in the midst of their business and delights, and the next were transformed to statues, preserving an eternal semblance of labor that was ended, and pleasure that could be felt no more.
anon, however, the old gentleman turned the handle of a barrel-organ, the first note of which produced a most enlivening effect upon the figures, and awoke them all to their proper occupations and amusements.
by the self-same impulse the tailor plied his needle, the blacksmith's hammer descended upon the anvil, and the dancers whirled away on feathery tiptoes; the company of soldiers broke into platoons, retreated from the stage, and were succeeded by a troop of horse, who came prancing onward with such a sound of trumpets and trampling of hoofs, as might have startled don quixote himself; while an old toper, of inveterate ill habits, uplifted his black bottle and took off a hearty swig.
meantime the merry-andrew began to caper and turn somersets, shaking his sides, nodding his head, and winking his eyes in as life-like a manner as if he were ridiculing the nonsense of all human affairs, and making fun of the whole multitude beneath him.
at length the old magician -lrb- for i compared the showman to prospero, entertaining his guests with a mask of shadows -rrb- paused that i might give utterance to my wonder.
""what an admirable piece of work is this!"
exclaimed i, lifting up my bands in astonishment.
indeed, i liked the spectacle, and was tickled with the old man's gravity as he presided at it, for i had none of that foolish wisdom which reproves every occupation that is not useful in this world of vanities.
if there be a faculty which i possess more perfectly than most men, it is that of throwing myself mentally into situations foreign to my own, and detecting, with a cheerful eye, the desirable circumstances of each.
i could have envied the life of this gray-headed showman, spent as it had been in a course of safe and pleasurable adventure, in driving his huge vehicle sometimes through the sands of cape cod, and sometimes over the rough forest roads of the north and east, and halting now on the green before a village meeting-house, and now in a paved square of the metropolis.
how often must his heart have been gladdened by the delight of children, as they viewed these animated figures!
or his pride indulged, by haranguing learnedly to grown men on the mechanical powers which produced such wonderful effects!
or his gallantry brought into play -lrb- for this is an attribute which such grave men do not lack -rrb- by the visits of pretty maidens!
and then with how fresh a feeling must he return, at intervals, to his own peculiar home!
""i would i were assured of as happy a life as his," thought i. though the showman's wagon might have accommodated fifteen or twenty spectators, it now contained only himself and me, and a third person at whom i threw a glance on entering.
he was a neat and trim young man of two or three and twenty; his drab hat, and green frock-coat with velvet collar, were smart, though no longer new; while a pair of green spectacles, that seemed needless to his brisk little eyes, gave him something of a scholar-like and literary air.
after allowing me a sufficient time to inspect the puppets, he advanced with a bow, and drew my attention to some books in a corner of the wagon.
these he forthwith began to extol, with an amazing volubility of well-sounding words, and an ingenuity of praise that won him my heart, as being myself one of the most merciful of critics.
indeed, his stock required some considerable powers of commendation in the salesman; there were several ancient friends of mine, the novels of those happy days when my affections wavered between the scottish chiefs and thomas thumb; besides a few of later date, whose merits had not been acknowledged by the public.
i was glad to find that dear little venerable volume, the new england primer, looking as antique as ever, though in its thousandth new edition; a bundle of superannuated gilt picture-books made such a child of me, that, partly for the glittering covers, and partly for the fairy-tales within, i bought the whole; and an assortment of ballads and popular theatrical songs drew largely on my purse.
to balance these expenditures, i meddled neither with sermons, nor science, nor morality, though volumes of each were there; nor with a life of franklin in the coarsest of paper, but so showily bound that it was emblematical of the doctor himself, in the court dress which he refused to wear at paris; nor with webster's spelling book, nor some of byron's minor poems, nor half a dozen little testaments at twenty-five cents each.
thus far the collection might have been swept from some great bookstore, or picked up at an evening auction-room; but there was one small blue-covered pamphlet, which the peddler handed me with so peculiar an air, that i purchased it immediately at his own price; and then, for the first time, the thought struck me, that i had spoken face to face with the veritable author of a printed book.
the literary man now evinced a great kindness for me, and i ventured to inquire which way he was travelling.
""o," said he, "i keep company with this old gentleman here, and we are moving now towards the camp-meeting at stamford!"
he then explained to me, that for the present season he had rented a corner of the wagon as a bookstore, which, as he wittily observed, was a true circulating library, since there were few parts of the country where it had not gone its rounds.
i approved of the plan exceedingly, and began to sum up within my mind the many uncommon felicities in the life of a book-peddler, especially when his character resembled that of the individual before me.
at a high rate was to be reckoned the daily and hourly enjoyment of such interviews as the present, in which he seized upon the admiration of a passing stranger, and made him aware that a man of literary taste, and even of literary achievement, was travelling the country in a showman's wagon.
a more valuable, yet not infrequent triumph, might be won in his conversation with some elderly clergyman, long vegetating in a rocky, woody, watery back settlement of new england, who, as he recruited his library from the peddler's stock of sermons, would exhort him to seek a college education and become the first scholar in his class.
sweeter and prouder yet would be his sensations, when, talking poetry while he sold spelling-books, he should charm the mind, and haply touch the heart of a fair country schoolmistress, herself an unhonored poetess, a wearer of blue stockings which none but himself took pains to look at.
but the scene of his completest glory would be when the wagon had halted for the night, and his stock of books was transferred to some crowded bar-room.
then would he recommend to the multifarious company, whether traveller from the city, or teamster from the hills, or neighboring squire, or the landlord himself, or his loutish hostler, works suited to each particular taste and capacity; proving, all the while, by acute criticism and profound remark, that the lore in his books was even exceeded by that in his brain.
thus happily would he traverse the land; sometimes a herald before the march of mind; sometimes walking arm in arm with awful literature; and reaping everywhere a harvest of real and sensible popularity, which the secluded bookworms, by whose toil he lived, could never hope for.
""if ever i meddle with literature," thought i, fixing myself in adamantine resolution, "it shall be as a travelling bookseller."
though it was still mid-afternoon, the air had now grown dark about us, and a few drops of rain came down upon the roof of our vehicle, pattering like the feet of birds that had flown thither to rest.
a sound of pleasant voices made us listen, and there soon appeared half-way up the ladder the pretty person of a young damsel, whose rosy face was so cheerful, that even amid the gloomy light it seemed as if the sunbeams were peeping under her bonnet.
we next saw the dark and handsome features of a young man, who, with easier gallantry than might have been expected in the heart of yankee-land, was assisting her into the wagon.
it became immediately evident to us, when the two strangers stood within the door, that they were of a profession kindred to those of my companions; and i was delighted with the more than hospitable, the even paternal kindness, of the old showman's manner, as he welcomed them; while the man of literature hastened to lead the merry-eyed girl to a seat on the long bench.
""you are housed but just in time, my young friends," said the master of the wagon.
""the sky would have been down upon you within five minutes."
the young man's reply marked him as a foreigner, not by any variation from the idiom and accent of good english, but because he spoke with more caution and accuracy, than if perfectly familiar with the language.
""we knew that a shower was hanging over us," said he, "and consulted whether it were best to enter the house on the top of yonder hill, but seeing your wagon in the road --" "we agreed to come hither," interrupted the girl, with a smile, "because we should be more at home in a wandering house like this."
i, meanwhile, with many a wild and undetermined fantasy, was narrowly inspecting these two doves that had flown into our ark.
the young man, tall, agile, and athletic, wore a mass of black shining curls clustering round a dark and vivacious countenance, which, if it had not greater expression, was at least more active, and attracted readier notice, than the quiet faces of our countrymen.
at his first appearance, he had been laden with a neat mahogany box, of about two feet square, but very light in proportion to its size, which he had immediately unstrapped from his shoulders and deposited on the floor of the wagon.
the girl had nearly as fair a complexion as our own beauties, and a brighter one than most of them; the lightness of her figure, which seemed calculated to traverse the whole world without weariness, suited well with the glowing cheerfulness of her face; and her gay attire, combining the rainbow hues of crimson, green, and a deep orange, was as proper to her lightsome aspect as if she had been born in it.
this gay stranger was appropriately burdened with that mirth-inspiring instrument, the fiddle, which her companion took from her hands, and shortly began the process of tuning.
neither of us -- the previous company of the wagon-needed to inquire their trade; for this could be no mystery to frequenters of brigade-musters, ordinations, cattle-shows, commencements, and other festal meetings in our sober land; and there is a dear friend of mine, who will smile when this page recalls to his memory a chivalrous deed performed by us, in rescuing the show-box of such a couple from a mob of great double-fisted countrymen.
""come," said i to the damsel of gay attire, "shall we visit all the wonders of the world together?"
she understood the metaphor at once; though indeed it would not much have troubled me, if she had assented to the literal meaning of my words.
the mahogany box was placed in a proper position, and i peeped in through its small round magnifying window, while the girl sat by my side, and gave short descriptive sketches, as one after another the pictures were unfolded to my view.
we visited together, at least our imaginations did, full many a famous city, in the streets of which i had long yearned to tread; once, i remember, we were in the harbor of barcelona, gazing townwards; next, she bore me through the air to sicily, and bade me look up at blazing aetna; then we took wing to venice, and sat in a gondola beneath the arch of the rialto; and anon she sat me down among the thronged spectators at the coronation of napoleon.
but there was one scene, its locality she could not tell, which charmed my attention longer than all those gorgeous palaces and churches, because the fancy hammed me, that i myself, the preceding summer, had beheld just such a humble meeting-house, in just such a pine-surrounded nook, among our own green mountains.
all these pictures were tolerably executed, though far inferior to the girl's touches of description; nor was it easy to comprehend, how in so few sentences, and these, as i supposed, in a language foreign to her, she contrived to present an airy copy of each varied scene.
when we had travelled through the vast extent of the mahogany box, i looked into my guide's face.
""where are you going, my pretty maid?"
inquired i, in the words of an old song.
""ah," said the gay damsel, "you might as well ask where the summer wind is going.
we are wanderers here, and there, and everywhere.
wherever there is mirth, our merry hearts are drawn to it.
to-day, indeed, the people have told us of a great frolic and festival in these parts; so perhaps we may be needed at what you call the camp-meeting at stamford."
then in my happy youth, and while her pleasant voice yet sounded in my ears, i sighed; for none but myself, i thought, should have been her companion in a life which seemed to realize my own wild fancies, cherished all through visionary boyhood to that hour.
to these two strangers the world was in its golden age, not that indeed it was less dark and sad than ever, but because its weariness and sorrow had no community with their ethereal nature.
wherever they might appear in their pilgrimage of bliss, youth would echo back their gladness, care-stricken maturity would rest a moment from its toil, and age, tottering among the graves, would smile in withered joy for their sakes.
the lonely cot, the narrow and gloomy street, the sombre shade, would catch a passing gleam like that now shining on ourselves, as these bright spirits wandered by.
blessed pair, whose happy home was throughout all the earth!
i looked at my shoulders, and thought them broad enough to sustain those pictured towns and mountains; mine, too, was an elastic foot, as tireless as the wing of the bird of paradise; mine was then an untroubled heart, that would have gone singing on its delightful way.
""o maiden!"
said i aloud, "why did you not come hither alone?"
while the merry girl and myself were busy with the show-box, the unceasing rain had driven another wayfarer into the wagon.
he seemed pretty nearly of the old showman's age, but much smaller, leaner, and more withered than he, and less respectably clad in a patched suit of gray; withal, he had a thin, shrewd countenance, and a pair of diminutive gray eyes, which peeped rather too keenly out of their puckered sockets.
this old fellow had been joking with the showman, in a manner which intimated previous acquaintance; but perceiving that the damsel and i had terminated our affairs, he drew forth a folded document, and presented it to me.
as i had anticipated, it proved to be a circular, written in a very fair and legible hand, and signed by several distinguished gentlemen whom i had never heard of, stating that the bearer had encountered every variety of misfortune, and recommending him to the notice of all charitable people.
previous disbursements had left me no more than a five-dollar bill, out of which, however, i offered to make the beggar a donation, provided he would give me change for it.
the object of my beneficence looked keenly in my face, and discerned that, i had none of that abominable spirit, characteristic though it be, of a full-blooded yankee, which takes pleasure in detecting every little harmless piece of knavery.
""why, perhaps," said the ragged old mendicant, "if the bank is in good standing, i ca n't say but i may have enough about me to change your bill."
""it is a bill of the suffolk bank," said i, "and better than the specie."
as the beggar had nothing to object, he now produced a small buff-leather bag, tied up carefully with a shoe-string.
when this was opened, there appeared a very comfortable treasure of silver coins of all sorts and sizes; and i even fancied that i saw, gleaming among them, the golden plumage of that rare bird in our currency, the american eagle.
in this precious heap was my bank, note deposited, the rate of exchange being considerably against me.
his wants being thus relieved, the destitute man pulled out of his pocket an old pack of greasy cards, which had probably contributed to fill the buff leather bag, in more ways than one.
""come," said he, "i spy a rare fortune in your face, and for twenty-five cents more, i'll tell you what it is."
i never refuse to take a glimpse into futurity; so, after shuffling the cards, and when the fair damsel had cut them, i dealt a portion to the prophetic beggar.
like others of his profession, before predicting the shadowy events that were moving on to meet me, he gave proof of his preternatural science, by describing scenes through which i had already passed.
here let me have credit for a sober fact.
when the old man had read a page in his book of fate, he bent his keen gray eyes on mine, and proceeded to relate, in all its minute particulars, what was then the most singular event of my life.
it was one which i had no purpose to disclose, till the general unfolding of all secrets; nor would it be a much stranger instance of inscrutable knowledge, or fortunate conjecture, if the beggar were to meet me in the street to-day, and repeat, word for word, the page which i have here written.
the fortune-teller, after predicting a destiny which time seems loath to make good, put up his cards, secreted his treasure-bag, and began to converse with the other occupants of the wagon.
""well, old friend," said the showman, "you have not yet told us which way your face is turned this afternoon."
""i am taking a trip northward, this warm weather," replied the conjurer, "across the connecticut first, and then up through vermont, and may be into canada before the fall.
but i must stop and see the breaking up of the camp-meeting at stamford."
i began to think that all the vagrants in new england were converging to the camp-meeting, and had made this wagon their rendezvous by the way.
the showman now proposed that, when the shower was over, they should pursue the road to stamford together, it being sometimes the policy of these people to form a sort of league and confederacy.
""and the young lady too," observed the gallant bibliopolist, bowing to her profoundly, "and this foreign gentleman, as i understand, are on a jaunt of pleasure to the same spot.
it would add incalculably to my own enjoyment, and i presume to that of my colleague and his friend, if they could be prevailed upon to join our party."
this arrangement met with approbation on all hands, nor were any of those concerned more sensible of its advantages than myself, who had no title to be included in it.
having already satisfied myself as to the several modes in which the four others attained felicity, i next set my mind at work to discover what enjoyments were peculiar to the old "straggler," as the people of the country would have termed the wandering mendicant and prophet.
as he pretended to familiarity with the devil, so i fancied that he was fitted to pursue and take delight in his way of life, by possessing some of the mental and moral characteristics, the lighter and more comic ones, of the devil in popular stories.
among them might be reckoned a love of deception for its own sake, a shrewd eye and keen relish for human weakness and ridiculous infirmity, and the talent of petty fraud.
thus to this old man there would be pleasure even in the consciousness, so insupportable to some minds, that his whole life was a cheat upon the world, and that, so far as he was concerned with the public, his little cunning had the upper hand of its united wisdom.
every day would furnish him with a succession of minute and pungent triumphs: as when, for instance, his importunity wrung a pittance out of the heart of a miser, or when my silly good-nature transferred a part of my slender purse to his plump leather bag; or when some ostentatious gentleman should throw a coin to the ragged beggar who was richer than himself; or when, though he would not always be so decidedly diabolical, his pretended wants should make him a sharer in the scanty living of real indigence.
and then what an inexhaustible field of enjoyment, both as enabling him to discern so much folly and achieve such quantities of minor mischief, was opened to his sneering spirit by his pretensions to prophetic knowledge.
all this was a sort of happiness which i could conceive of, though i had little sympathy with it.
perhaps, had i been then inclined to admit it, i might have found that the roving life was more proper to him than to either of his companions; for satan, to whom i had compared the poor man, has delighted, ever since the time of job, in "wandering up and down upon the earth"; and indeed a crafty disposition, which operates not in deep-laid plans, but in disconnected tricks, could not have an adequate scope, unless naturally impelled to a continual change of scene and society.
my reflections were here interrupted.
""another visitor!"
exclaimed the old showman.
the door of the wagon had been closed against the tempest, which was roaring and blustering with prodigious fury and commotion, and beating violently against our shelter, as if it claimed all those homeless people for its lawful prey, while we, caring little for the displeasure of the elements, sat comfortably talking.
there was now an attempt to open the door, succeeded by a voice, uttering some strange, unintelligible gibberish, which my companions mistook for greek, and i suspected to be thieves" latin.
however, the showman stepped forward, and gave admittance to a figure which made me imagine; either that our wagon had rolled back two hundred years into past ages, or that the forest and its old inhabitants had sprung up around us by enchantment.
it was a red indian, armed with his bow and arrow.
his dress was a sort of cap, adorned with a single feather of some wild bird, and a frock of blue cotton, girded tight about him; on his breast, like orders of knighthood, hung a crescent and a circle, and other ornaments of silver; while a small crucifix betokened that our father the pope had interposed between the indian and the great spirit, whom he had worshipped in his simplicity.
this son of the wilderness, and pilgrim of the storm, took his place silently in the midst of us.
when the first surprise was over, i rightly conjectured him to be one of the penobscot tribe, parties of which i had often seen, in their summer excursions down our eastern rivers.
there they paddle their birch canoes among the coasting schooners, and build their wigwam beside some roaring milldam, and drive a little trade in basket-work where their fathers hunted deer.
our new visitor was probably wandering through the country towards boston, subsisting on the careless charity of the people, while he turned his archery to profitable account by shooting at cents, which were to be the prize of his successful aim.
the indian had not long been seated, ere our merry damsel sought to draw him into conversation.
she, indeed, seemed all made up of sunshine in the mouth of may; for there was nothing so dark and dismal that her pleasant mind could not cast a glow over it; and the wild indian, like a fir-tree in his native forest, soon began to brighten into a sort of sombre cheerfulness.
at length, she inquired whether his journey had any particular end or purpose.
""i go shoot at the camp-meeting at stamford," replied the indian.
""and here are five more," said the girl, "all aiming at the camp-meeting too.
you shall be one of us, for we travel with light hearts; and as for me, i sing merry songs, and tell merry tales, and am full of merry thoughts, and i dance merrily along the road, so that there is never any sadness among them that keep me company.
but, o, you would find it very dull indeed, to go all the way to stamford alone!"
my ideas of the aboriginal character led me to fear that the indian would prefer his own solitary musings to the gay society thus offered him; on the contrary, the girl's proposal met with immediate acceptance, and seemed to animate him with a misty expectation of enjoyment.
i now gave myself up to a course of thought which, whether it flowed naturally from this combination of events, or was drawn forth by a wayward fancy, caused my mind to thrill as if i were listening to deep music.
i saw mankind, in this weary old age of the world, either enduring a sluggish existence amid the smoke and dust of cities, or, if they breathed a purer air, still lying down at night with no hope but to wear out to-morrow, and all the to-morrows which make up life, among the same dull scenes and in the same wretched toil that had darkened the sunshine of to-day.
but there were some, full of the primeval instinct, who preserved the freshness of youth to their latest years by the continual excitement of new objects, new pursuits, and new associates; and cared little, though their birthplace might have been here in new england, if the grave should close over them in central asia.
fate was summoning a parliament of these free spirits; unconscious of the impulse which directed them to a common centre, they had come hither from far and near; and last of all appeared the representative of those mighty vagrants, who had chased the deer during thousands of years, and were chasing it now in the spirit land.
wandering down through the waste of ages, the woods had vanished around his path; his arm had lost somewhat of its strength, his foot of its fleetness, his mien of its wild regality, his heart and mind of their savage virtue and uncultured force; but here, untamable to the routine of artificial life, roving now along the dusty road, as of old over the forest leaves, here was the indian still.
""well," said the old showman, in the midst of my meditations, "here is an honest company of us, -- one, two, three, four, five, six, -- all going to the camp-meeting at stamford.
now, hoping no offence, i should like to know where this young gentleman may be going?"
i started.
how came i among these wanderers?
the free mind, that preferred its own folly to another's wisdom; the open spirit, that found companions everywhere; above all, the restless impulse, that had so often made me wretched in the midst of enjoyments: these were my claims to be of their society.
""my friends!"
cried i, stepping into the centre of the wagon, "i am going with you to the camp-meeting at stamford."
""but in what capacity?"
asked the old showman, after a moment's silence.
""all of us here can get our bread in some creditable way.
every honest man should have his livelihood.
you, sir, as i take it, are a mere strolling gentleman."
i proceeded to inform the company, that, when nature gave me a propensity to their way of life, she had not left me altogether destitute of qualifications for it; though i could not deny that my talent was less respectable, and might be less profitable, than the meanest of theirs.
my design, in short, was to imitate the storytellers of whom oriental travellers have told us, and become an itinerant novelist, reciting my own extemporaneous fictions to such audiences as i could collect.
""either this," said i, "is my vocation, or i have been born in vain."
the fortune-teller, with a sly wink to the company, proposed to take me as an apprentice to one or other of his professions, either of which, undoubtedly, would have given full scope to whatever inventive talent i might possess.
the bibliopolist spoke a few words in opposition to my plan, influenced partly, i suspect, by the jealousy of authorship, and partly by an apprehension that the viva voce practice would become general among novelists, to the infinite detriment of the book-trade.
dreading a rejection, i solicited the interest of the merry damsel.
""mirth," cried i, most aptly appropriating the words of l'allegro, "to thee i sue!
mirth, admit me of thy crew!"
""let us indulge the poor youth," said mirth, with a kindness which made me love her dearly, though i was no such coxcomb as to misinterpret her motives.
""i have espied much promise in him.
true, a shadow sometimes flits across his brow, but the sunshine is sure to follow in a moment.
he is never guilty of a sad thought, but a merry one is twin born with it.
we will take him with us; and you shall see that he will set us all a-laughing before we reach the camp-meeting at stamford."
her voice silenced the scruples of the rest, and gained me admittance into the league; according to the terms of which, without a community of goods or profits, we were to lend each other all the aid, and avert all the harm, that might be in our power.
this affair settled, a marvellous jollity entered into the whole tribe of us, manifesting itself characteristically in each individual.
the old showman, sitting down to his barrel-organ, stirred up the souls of the pygmy people with one of the quickest tunes in the music-book; tailors, blacksmiths, gentlemen, and ladies, all seemed to share in the spirit of the occasion; and the merry-andrew played his part more facetiously than ever, nodding and winking particularly at me.
the young foreigner flourished his fiddle-bow with a master's hand, and gave an inspiring echo to the showman's melody.
the bookish man and the merry damsel started up simultaneously to dance; the former enacting the double shuffle in a style which everybody must have witnessed, ere election week was blotted out of time; while the girl, setting her arms akimbo with both hands at her slim waist, displayed such light rapidity of foot, and harmony of varying attitude and motion, that i could not conceive how she ever was to stop; imagining, at the moment, that nature had made her, as the old showman had made his puppets, for no earthly purpose but to dance jigs.
the indian bellowed forth a succession of most hideous outcries, somewhat afrighting us, till we interpreted them as the war-song, with which, in imitation of his ancestors, he was prefacing the assault on stamford.
the conjurer, meanwhile, sat demurely in a corner, extracting a sly enjoyment from the whole scene, and, like the facetious merry andrew, directing his queer glance particularly at me.
as for myself, with great exhilaration of fancy, i began to arrange and color the incidents of a tale, wherewith i proposed to amuse an audience that very evening; for i saw that my associates were a little ashamed of me, and that no time was to be lost in obtaining a public acknowledgment of my abilities.
""come, fellow-laborers," at last said the old showman, whom we had elected president; "the shower is over, and we must be doing our duty by these poor souls at stamford."
""we'll come among them in procession, with music and dancing," cried the merry damsel.
accordingly -- for it must be understood that our pilgrimage was to be performed on foot -- we sallied joyously out of the wagon, each of us, even the old gentleman in his white-top boots, giving a great skip as we came down the ladder.
above our heads there was such a glory of sunshine and splendor of clouds, and such brightness of verdure below, that, as i modestly remarked at the time, nature seemed to have washed her face, and put on the best of her jewelry and a fresh green gown, in honor of our confederation.
casting our eyes northward, we beheld a horseman approaching leisurely, and splashing through the little puddles on the stamford road.
onward he came, sticking up in his saddle with rigid perpendicularity, a tall, thin figure in rusty black, whom the showman and the conjurer shortly recognized to be, what his aspect sufficiently indicated, a travelling preacher of great fame among the methodists.
what puzzled us was the fact, that his face appeared turned from, instead of to, the camp-meeting at stamford.
however, as this new votary of the wandering life drew near the little green space, where the guidepost and our wagon were situated, my six fellow-vagabonds and myself rushed forward and surrounded him, crying out with united voices, -- "what news, what news from the camp-meeting at stamford?"
the missionary looked down, in surprise, at as singular a knot of people as could have been selected from all his heterogeneous auditors.
indeed, considering that we might all be classified under the general head of vagabond, there was great diversity of character among the grave old showman, the sly, prophetic beggar, the fiddling foreigner and his merry damsel, the smart bibliopolist, the sombre indian, and myself, the itinerant novelist, a slender youth of eighteen.
i even fancied that a smile was endeavoring to disturb the iron gravity of the preacher's mouth.
""good people," answered he, "the camp-meeting is broke up."
so saying, the methodist minister switched his steed, and rode westward.
our union being thus nullified, by the removal of its object, we were sundered at once to the four winds of heaven.
the fortune-teller, giving a nod to all, and a peculiar wink to me, departed on his northern tour, chuckling within himself as he took the stamford road.
the old showman and his literary coadjutor were already tackling their horses to the wagon, with a design to peregrinate southwest along the seacoast.
the foreigner and the merry damsel took their laughing leave, and pursued the eastern road, which i had that day trodden; as they passed away, the young man played a lively strain, and the girl's happy spirit broke into a dance; and thus, dissolving, as it were, into sunbeams and gay music, that pleasant pair departed from my view.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___the_sister_years_(from_"twice_told_tales").txt.out
last night, between eleven and twelve o'clock, when the old year was leaving her final foot prints on the borders of time's empire, she found herself in possession of a few spare moments, and sat down -- of all places in the world -- on the steps of our new city hall.
the wintry moonlight showed that she looked weary of body, and sad of heart, like many another wayfarer of earth.
her garments, having been exposed to much foul weather, and rough usage, were in very ill condition; and as the hurry of her journey had never before allowed her to take an instant's rest, her shoes were so worn as to be scarcely worth the mending.
but, after trudging only a little distance farther, this poor old year was destined to enjoy a long, long sleep.
i forgot to mention, that when she seated herself on the steps, she deposited by her side a very capacious bandbox, in which, as is the custom among travellers of her sex, she carried a great deal of valuable property.
besides this luggage, there was a folio book under her arm, very much resembling the annual volume of a newspaper.
placing this volume across her knees, and resting her elbows upon it, with her forehead in her hands, the weary, bedraggled, world-worn old year heaved a heavy sigh, and appeared to be taking no very pleasant retrospect of her past existence.
while she thus awaited the midnight knell, that was to summon her to the innumerable sisterhood of departed years, there came a young maiden treading lightsomely on tiptoe along the street, from the direction of the railroad depot.
she was evidently a stranger, and perhaps had come to town by the evening train of cars.
there was a smiling cheerfulness in this fair maiden's face, which bespoke her fully confident of a kind reception from the multitude of people, with whom she was soon to form acquaintance.
her dress was rather too airy for the season, and was bedizened with fluttering ribbons and other vanities, which were likely soon to be rent away by the fierce storms, or to fade in the hot sunshine, amid which she was to pursue her changeful course.
but still she was a wonderfully pleasant looking figure, and had so much promise and such an indescribable hopefulness in her aspect, that hardly anybody could meet her without anticipating some very desirable thing -- the consummation of some long-sought good -- from her kind offices.
a few dismal characters there may be, here and there about the world, who have so often been trifled with by young maidens as promising as she, that they have now ceased to pin any faith upon the skirts of the new year.
but, for my own part, i have great faith in her; and should i live to see fifty more such, still, from each of those successive sisters, i shall reckon upon receiving something that will be worth living for.
the new year -- for this young maiden was no less a personage -- carried all her goods and chattels in a basket of no great size or weight, which hung upon her arm.
she greeted the disconsolate old year with great affection, and sat down beside her on the steps of the city hall, waiting for the signal to begin her rambles through the world.
the two were own sisters, being both granddaughters of time; and though one looked so much older than the other, it was rather owing to hardships and trouble than to age, since there was but a twelvemonth's difference between them.
""well, my dear sister," said the new year, after the first salutations, "you look almost tired to death.
what have you been about during your sojourn in this part of infinite space?"
""o, i have it all recorded here in my book of chronicles," answered the old year, in a heavy tone.
""there is nothing that would amuse you; and you will soon get sufficient knowledge of such matters from your own personal experience.
it is but tiresome reading."
nevertheless, she turned over the leaves of the folio, and glanced at them by the light of the moon, feeling an irresistible spell of interest in her own biography, although its incidents were remembered without pleasure.
the volume, though she termed it her book of chronicles, seemed to be neither more nor less than the salem gazette for 1838; in the accuracy of which journal this sagacious old year had so much confidence, that she deemed it needless to record her history with her own pen.
""what have you been doing in the political way?"
asked the new year.
""why, my course here in the united states," said the old year, -- "though perhaps i ought to blush at the confession, -- my political course, i must acknowledge, has been rather vacillatory, sometimes inclining towards the whigs, -- then causing the administration party to shout for triumph, -- and now again uplifting what seemed the almost prostrate banner of the opposition; so that historians will hardly know what to make of me, in this respect.
but the loco focos --" "i do not like these party nicknames," interrupted her sister, who seemed remarkably touchy about some points.
""perhaps we shall part in better humor, if we avoid any political discussion."
""with all my heart," replied the old year, who had already been tormented half to death with squabbles of this kind.
""i care not if the navies of whig or tory, with their interminable brawls about banks and the sub-treasury, abolition, texas, the florida war, and a million of other topics, -- which you will learn soon enough for your own comfort, -- i care not, i say, if no whisper of these matters ever reaches my ears again.
yet they have occupied so large a share of my attention, that i scarcely know what else to tell you.
there has indeed been a curious sort of war on the canada border, where blood has streamed in the names of liberty and patriotism; but it must remain for some future, perhaps far distant year, to tell whether or no those holy names have been rightfully invoked.
nothing so much depresses me, in my view of mortal affairs, as to see high energies wasted, and human life and happiness thrown away, for ends that appear oftentimes unwise, and still oftener remain unaccomplished.
but the wisest people and the best keep a steadfast faith that the progress of mankind is onward and upward, and that the toil and anguish of the path serve to wear away the imperfections of the immortal pilgrim, and will be felt no more, when they have done their office."
""perhaps," cried the hopeful new year, -- "perhaps i shall see that happy day!"
""i doubt whether it be so close at hand," answered the old year, gravely smiling.
""you will soon grow weary of looking for that blessed consummation, and will turn for amusement -lrb- as has frequently been my own practice -rrb- to the affairs of some sober little city, like this of salem.
here we sit on the steps of the new city hall, which has been completed under my administration; and it would make you laugh to see how the game of politics, of which the capitol at washington is the great chess-board, is here played in miniature.
burning ambition finds its fuel here; here patriotism speaks boldly in the people's behalf, and virtuous economy demands retrenchment in the emoluments of a lamplighter; here the aldermen range their senatorial dignity around the mayor's chair of state, and the common council feel that they have liberty in charge.
in short, human weakness and strength, passion and policy, man's tendencies, his aims and modes of pursuing them, his individual character, and his character in the mass, may be studied almost as well here as on the theatre of nations; and with this great advantage, that, be the lesson ever so disastrous, its liliputian scope still makes the beholder smile."
""have you done much for the improvement of the city?"
asked the new year.
""judging from what little i have seen, it appears to be ancient and timeworn."
""i have opened the railroad," said the elder year, "and half a dozen times a day, you will hear the bell -lrb- which once summoned the monks of a spanish convent to their devotions -rrb- announcing the arrival or departure of the cars.
old salem now wears a much livelier expression than when i first beheld her.
strangers rumble down from boston by hundreds at a time.
new faces throng in essex street.
railroad-hacks and omnibuses rattle over the pavements.
there is a perceptible increase of oyster-shops, and other establishments for the accommodation of a transitory diurnal multitude.
but a more important change awaits the venerable town.
an immense accumulation of musty prejudices will be carried off by the free circulation of society.
a peculiarity of character, of which the inhabitants themselves are hardly sensible, will be rubbed down and worn away by the attrition of foreign substances.
much of the result will be good; there will likewise be a few things not so good.
whether for better or worse, there will be a probable diminution of the moral influence of wealth, and the sway of an aristocratic class, which, from an era far beyond my memory, has held firmer dominion here than in any other new england town."
the old year having talked away nearly all of her little remaining breath, now closed her book of chronicles, and was about to take her departure.
but her sister detained her awhile longer, by inquiring the contents of the huge bandbox, which she was so painfully lugging along with her.
""these are merely a few trifles," replied the old year, "which i have picked up in my rambles, and am going to deposit, in the receptacle of things past and forgotten.
we sisterhood of years never carry anything really valuable out of the world with us.
here are patterns of most of the fashions which i brought into vogue, and which have already lived out their allotted term.
you will supply their place, with others equally ephemeral.
here, put up in little china pots, like rouge, is a considerable lot of beautiful women's bloom, which the disconsolate fair ones owe me a bitter grudge for stealing.
i have likewise a quantity of men's dark hair, instead of which, i have left gray locks, or none at all.
the tears of widows and other afflicted mortals, who have received comfort during the last twelve months, are preserved in some dozens of essence-bottles, well corked and sealed.
i have several bundles of love-letters, eloquently breathing an eternity of burning passion, which grew cold and perished, almost before the ink was dry.
moreover, here is an assortment of many thousand broken promises, and other broken ware, all very light and packed into little space.
the heaviest articles in my possession are a large parcel of disappointed hopes, which, a little while ago, were buoyant enough to have inflated mr. lauriat's balloon."
""i have a fine lot of hopes here in my basket," remarked the new year.
""they are a sweet-smelling flower, -- a species of rose."
""they soon lose their perfume," replied the sombre old year.
""what else have you brought to insure a welcome from the discontented race of mortals?"
""why, to say the truth, little or nothing else," said her sister, with a smile, -- "save a few new annuals and almanacs, and some new year's gifts for the children.
but i heartily wish well to poor mortals, and mean to do all i can for their improvement and happiness."
""it is a good resolution," rejoined the old year; "and, by the way, i have a plentiful assortment of good resolutions, which have now grown so stale and musty, that i am ashamed to carry them any farther.
only for fear that the city authorities would send constable mansfield, with a warrant after me, i should toss them into the street at once.
many other matters go to make up the contents of my bandbox; but the whole lot would not fetch a single bid, even at an auction of worn-out furniture; and as they are worth nothing either to you or anybody else, i need not trouble you with a longer catalogue."
""and must i also pickup such worthless luggage in my travels?"
asked the new year.
""most certainly; and well, if you have no heavier load to bear," replied the other.
""and now, my dear sister, i must bid you farewell, earnestly advising and exhorting you to expect no gratitude "nor goodwill from this peevish, unreasonable, inconsiderate, ill-intending, and worse-behaving world.
however warmly its inhabitants may seen to welcome you, yet, do what you may, and lavish on them what means of happiness you please, they will still be complaining, still craving what it is not in your power to give, still looking forward to some other year for the accomplishment of projects which ought never to have been formed, and which, if successful, would only provide new occasions of discontent.
if these ridiculous people ever see anything tolerable in you, it will be after you are gone forever."
""but i," cried the fresh-hearted new year, -- "i shall try to leave men wiser than i find them.
i will offer them freely whatever good gifts providence permits me to distribute, and will tell them to be thankful for what they have, and humbly hopeful for more; and surely, if they are not absolute fools, they will condescend to be happy, and will allow me to be a happy year.
for my happiness must depend on them."
""alas for you, then, my poor sister!"
said the old fear, sighing, as she uplifted her burden.
""we grand-children of time are born to trouble.
happiness, they say, dwells in the mansions of eternity; but we can only lead mortals thither, step by step, with reluctant murmurings, and ourselves must perish on the threshold.
but hark!
my task is done."
the clock in the tall steeple of dr. emerson's church struck twelve; there was a response from dr. flint's, in the opposite quarter of the city; and while the strokes were yet dropping into the air, the old year either flitted or faded away; and not the wisdom and might of angels, to say nothing of the remorseful yearnings of the millions who had used her ill, could have prevailed with that departed year to return one step.
but she, in the company of time and all her kindred, must hereafter hold a reckoning with mankind.
so shall it be, likewise, with the maidenly new year, who, as the clock ceased to strike, arose from the steps of the city hall, and set out rather timorously on her earthly course.
""a happy new year!"
cried a watchman, eying her figure very questionably, but without the least suspicion that he was addressing the new year in person.
""thank you kindly!"
said the new year; and she gave the watchman one of the roses of hope from her basket.
""may this flower keep a sweet smell, long after i have bidden you good by."
then she stepped on more briskly through the silent streets; and such as were awake at the moment, heard her footfall, and said, "the new year is come!"
wherever there was a knot of midnight roisterers, they quaffed her health.
she sighed, however, to perceive that the air was tainted -- as the atmosphere of this world must continually be -- with the dying breaths of mortals who had lingered just long enough for her to bury them.
but there were millions left alive, to rejoice at her coming; and so she pursued her way with confidence, strewing emblematic flowers on the doorstep of almost every dwelling, which some persons will gather up and wear in their bosoms, and others will trample under foot.
the carrier boy can only say further, that, early this morning, she filled his basket with new year's addresses, assuring him that the whole city, with our new mayor, and the aldermen and common council at its head, would make a general rush to secure copies.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___the_three_golden_apples.txt.out
introductory to "the three golden apples" the snow-storm lasted another day; but what became of it afterwards, i can not possibly imagine.
at any rate, it entirely cleared away, during the night; and when the sun arose, the next morning, it shone brightly down on as bleak a tract of hill-country, here in berkshire, as could be seen anywhere in the world.
the frost-work had so covered the windowpanes that it was hardly possible to get a glimpse at the scenery outside.
but, while waiting for breakfast, the small populace of tanglewood had scratched peepholes with their finger-nails, and saw with vast delight that -- unless it were one or two bare patches on a precipitous hillside, or the gray effect of the snow, intermingled with the black pine forest -- all nature was as white as a sheet.
how exceedingly pleasant!
and, to make it all the better, it was cold enough to nip one's nose short off!
if people have but life enough in them to bear it, there is nothing that so raises the spirits, and makes the blood ripple and dance so nimbly, like a brook down the slope of a hill, as a bright, hard frost.
no sooner was breakfast over, than the whole party, well muffled in furs and woollens, floundered forth into the midst of the snow.
well, what a day of frosty sport was this!
they slid down hill into the valley, a hundred times, nobody knows how far; and, to make it all the merrier, upsetting their sledges, and tumbling head over heels, quite as often as they came safely to the bottom.
and, once, eustace bright took periwinkle, sweet fern, and squash-blossom, on the sledge with him, by way of insuring a safe passage; and down they went, full speed.
but, behold, half-way down, the sledge hit against a hidden stump, and flung all four of its passengers into a heap; and, on gathering themselves up, there was no little squash-blossom to be found!
why, what could have become of the child?
and while they were wondering and staring about, up started squash-blossom out of a snow-bank, with the reddest face you ever saw, and looking as if a large scarlet flower had suddenly sprouted up in midwinter.
then there was a great laugh.
when they had grown tired of sliding down hill, eustace set the children to digging a cave in the biggest snow-drift that they could find.
unluckily, just as it was completed, and the party had squeezed themselves into the hollow, down came the roof upon their heads, and buried every soul of them alive!
the next moment, up popped all their little heads out of the ruins, and the tall student's head in the midst of them, looking hoary and venerable with the snow-dust that had got amongst his brown curls.
and then, to punish cousin eustace for advising them to dig such a tumble-down cavern, the children attacked him in a body, and so bepelted him with snowballs that he was fain to take to his heels.
so he ran away, and went into the woods, and thence to the margin of shadow brook, where he could hear the streamlet grumbling along, under great overhanging banks of snow and ice, which would scarcely let it see the light of day.
there were adamantine icicles glittering around all its little cascades.
thence be strolled to the shore of the lake, and beheld a white, untrodden plain before him, stretching from his own feet to the foot of monument mountain.
and, it being now almost sunset, eustace thought that he had never beheld anything so fresh and beautiful as the scene.
he was glad that the children were not with him; for their lively spirits and tumble-about activity would quite have chased away his higher and graver mood, so that he would merely have been merry -lrb- as he had already been, the whole day long -rrb-, and would not have known the loveliness of the winter sunset among the hills.
when the sun was fairly down, our friend eustace went home to eat his supper.
after the meal was over, he betook himself to the study, with a purpose, i rather imagine, to write an ode, or two or three sonnets, or verses of some kind or other, in praise of the purple and golden clouds which he had seen around the setting sun.
but, before he had hammered out the very first rhyme, the door opened, and primrose and periwinkle made their appearance.
""go away, children!
i ca n't be troubled with you now!"
cried the student, looking over his shoulder, with the pen between his fingers.
""what in the world do you want here?
i thought you were all in bed!"
""hear him, periwinkle, trying to talk like a grown man!"
said primrose.
""and he seems to forget that i am now thirteen years old, and may sit up almost as late as i please.
but, cousin eustace, you must put off your airs, and come with us to the drawing-room.
the children have talked so much about your stories, that my father wishes to hear one of them, in order to judge whether they are likely to do any mischief."
""poh, poh, primrose!"
exclaimed the student, rather vexed.
""i do n't believe i can tell one of my stories in the presence of grown people.
besides, your father is a classical scholar; not that i am much afraid of his scholarship, neither, for i doubt not it is as rusty as an old case-knife, by this time.
but then he will be sure to quarrel with the admirable nonsense that i put into these stories, out of my own head, and which makes the great charm of the matter for children, like yourself.
no man of fifty, who has read the classical myths in his youth, can possibly understand my merit as a re-inventor and improver of them."
""all this may be very true," said primrose, "but come you must!
my father will not open his book, nor will mamma open the piano, till you have given us some of your nonsense, as you very correctly call it.
so be a good boy, and come along."
whatever he might pretend, the student was rather glad than otherwise, on second thoughts, to catch at the opportunity of proving to mr. pringle what an excellent faculty he had in modernizing the myths of ancient times.
until twenty years of age, a young man may, indeed, be rather bashful about showing his poetry and his prose; but, for all that, he is pretty apt to think that these very productions would place him at the tip-top of literature, if once they could be known.
accordingly, without much more resistance, eustace suffered primrose and periwinkle to drag him into the drawing-room.
it was a large handsome apartment, with a semicircular window at one end, in the recess of which stood a marble copy of greenough's angel and child.
on one side of the fireplace there were many shelves of books, gravely but richly bound.
the white light of the astrallamp, and the red glow of the bright coal-fire, made the room brilliant and cheerful; and before the fire, in a deep arm-chair, sat mr. pringle, looking just fit to be seated in such a chair, and in such a room.
he was a tall and quite a handsome gentleman, with a bald brow; and was always so nicely dressed, that even eustace bright never liked to enter his presence, without at least pausing at the threshold to settle his shirt-collar.
but now, as primrose had hold of one of his hands, and periwinkle of the other, he was forced to make his appearance with a rough-and-tumble sort of look, as if he had been rolling all day in a snow-bank.
and so he had.
mr. pringle turned towards the student, benignly enough, but in a way that made him feel how uncombed and unbrushed he was, and how uncombed and unbrushed, likewise, were his mind and thoughts.
""eustace," said mr. pringle, with a smile, "i find that you are producing a great sensation among the little public of tanglewood, by the exercise of your gifts of narrative.
primrose here, as the little folks choose to call her, and the rest of the children, have been so loud in praise of your stories, that mrs. pringle and myself are really curious to hear a specimen.
it would be so much the more gratifying to myself, as the stories appear to be an attempt to render the fables of classical antiquity into the idiom of modern fancy and feeling.
at least, so i judge from a few of the incidents, which have come to me at second hand."
""you are not exactly the auditor that i should have chosen, sir," observed the student, "for fantasies of this nature."
""possibly not," replied mr. pringle.
""i suspect, however, that a young author's most useful critic is precisely the one whom he would be least apt to choose.
pray oblige me, therefore."
""sympathy, methinks, should have some little share in the critic's qualifications," murmured eustace bright.
""however, sir, if you will find patience, i will find stories.
but be kind enough to remember that i am addressing myself to the imagination and sympathies of the children, not to your own."
accordingly, the student snatched hold of the first theme which presented itself.
it was suggested by a plate of apples that he happened to spy on the mantel-piece.
the three golden apples.
did you ever hear of the golden apples, that grew in the garden of the hesperides?
ah, those were such apples as would bring a great price, by the bushel, if any of them could be found growing in the orchards of nowadays!
but there is not, i suppose, a graft of that wonderful fruit on a single tree in the wide world.
not so much as a seed of those apples exists any longer.
and, even in the old, old, half-forgotten times, before the garden of the hesperides was overrun with weeds, a great many people doubted whether there could be real trees that bore apples of solid gold upon their branches.
all had heard of them, but nobody remembered to have seen any.
children, nevertheless, used to listen, open-mouthed, to stories of the golden apple-tree, and resolved to discover it, when they should be big enough.
adventurous young men, who desired to do a braver thing than any of their fellows, set out in quest of this fruit.
many of them returned no more; none of them brought back the apples.
no wonder that they found it impossible to gather them!
it is said that there was a dragon beneath the tree, with a hundred terrible heads, fifty of which were always on the watch, while the other fifty slept.
in my opinion it was hardly worth running so much risk for the sake of a solid golden apple.
had the apples been sweet, mellow, and juicy, indeed that would be another matter.
there might then have been some sense in trying to get at them, in spite of the hundred-headed dragon.
but, as i have already told you, it was quite a common thing with young persons, when tired of too much peace and rest, to go in search of the garden of the hesperides.
and once the adventure was undertaken by a hero who had enjoyed very little peace or rest since he came into the world.
at the time of which i am going to speak, he was wandering through the pleasant land of italy, with a mighty club in his hand, and a bow and quiver slung across his shoulders.
he was wrapt in the skin of the biggest and fiercest lion that ever had been seen, and which he himself had killed; and though, on the whole, he was kind, and generous, and noble, there was a good deal of the lion's fierceness in his heart.
as he went on his way, he continually inquired whether that were the right road to the famous garden.
but none of the country people knew anything about the matter, and many looked as if they would have laughed at the question, if the stranger had not carried so very big a club.
so he journeyed on and on, still making the same inquiry, until, at last, he came to the brink of a river where some beautiful young women sat twining wreaths of flowers.
""can you tell me, pretty maidens," asked the stranger, "whether this is the right way to the garden of the hesperides?"
the young women had been having a fine time together, weaving the flowers into wreaths, and crowning one another's heads.
and there seemed to be a kind of magic in the touch of their fingers, that made the flowers more fresh and dewy, and of brighter lines, and sweeter fragrance, while they played with them, than even when they had been growing on their native stems.
but, on hearing the stranger's question, they dropped all their flowers on the grass, and gazed at him with astonishment.
""the garden of the hesperides!"
cried one.
""we thought mortals had been weary of seeking it, after so many disappointments.
and pray, adventurous traveller, what do you want there?"
""a certain king, who is my cousin," replied he, "has ordered me to get him three of the golden apples."
""most of the young men who go in quest of these apples," observed another of the damsels, "desire to obtain them for themselves, or to present them to some fair maiden whom they love.
do you, then, love this king, your cousin, so very much?"
""perhaps not," replied the stranger, sighing.
""he has often been severe and cruel to me.
but it is my destiny to obey him."
""and do you know," asked the damsel who had first spoken, "that a terrible dragon, with a hundred heads, keeps watch under the golden apple-tree?"
""i know it well," answered the stranger, calmly.
""but, from my cradle upwards, it has been my business, and almost my pastime, to deal with serpents and dragons."
the young women looked at his massive club, and at the shaggy lion's skin which he wore, and likewise at his heroic limbs and figure; and they whispered to each other that the stranger appeared to be one who might reasonably expect to perform deeds far beyond the might of other men.
but, then, the dragon with a hundred heads!
what mortal, even if he possessed a hundred lives, could hope to escape the fangs of such a monster?
so kind-hearted were the maidens, that they could not bear to see this brave and, handsome traveller attempt what was so very dangerous, and devote himself, most probably, to become a meal for the dragon's hundred ravenous mouths.
""go back," cried they all, -- "go back to your own home!
your mother, beholding you safe and sound, will shed tears of joy; and what can she do more, should you win ever so great a victory?
no matter for the golden apples!
no matter for the king, your cruel cousin!
we do not wish the dragon with the hundred heads to eat you up!"
the stranger seemed to grow impatient at these remonstrances.
he carelessly lifted his mighty club, and let it fall upon a rock that lay half buried in the earth, near by.
with the force of that idle blow, the great rock was shattered all to pieces.
it cost the stranger no more effort to achieve this feat of a giant's strength than for one of the young maidens to touch her sister's rosy cheek with a flower.
""do you not believe," said he, looking at the damsels with a smile, "that such a blow would have crushed one of the dragon's hundred heads?"
then he sat down on the grass, and told them the story of his life, or as much of it as he could remember, from the day when he was first cradled in a warrior's brazen shield.
while he lay there, two immense serpents came gliding over the floor, and opened their hideous jaws to devour him; and he, a baby of a few months old, had griped one of the fierce snakes in each of his little fists, and strangled them to death.
when he was but a stripling, he had killed a huge lion, almost as big as the one whose vast and shaggy hide he now wore upon his shoulders.
the next thing that he had done was to fight a battle with an ugly sort of monster, called a hydra, which had no less than nine heads, and exceedingly sharp teeth in every one of them.
""but the dragon of the hesperides, you know," observed one of the damsels, "has a hundred heads!"
""nevertheless," replied the stranger, "i would rather fight two such dragons than a single hydra.
for, as fast as i cut off a head, two others grew in its place; and, besides, there was one of the heads that could not possibly be killed, but kept biting as fiercely as ever, long after it was cut off.
so i was forced to bury it under a stone, where it is doubtless alive, to this vary day.
but the hydra's body, and its eight other heads, will never do any further mischief."
the damsels, judging that the story was likely to last a good while, had been preparing a repast of bread and grapes, that the stranger might refresh himself in the intervals of his talk.
they took pleasure in helping him to this simple food; and, now and then, one of them would put a sweet grape between her rosy lips, lest it should make him bashful to eat alone.
the traveller proceeded to tell how he had chased a very swift stag, for a twelve-month together, without ever stopping to take breath, and had at last caught it by the antlers, and carried it home alive.
and he had fought with a very odd race of people, half horses and half men, and had put them all to death, from a sense of duty, in order that their ugly figures might never be seen any more.
besides all this, he took to himself great credit for having cleaned out a stable.
""do you call that a wonderful exploit?"
asked one of the young maidens, with a smile.
""any clown in the country has done as much!"
""had it been an ordinary stable," replied the stranger, "i should not have mentioned it.
but this was so gigantic a task that it would have taken me all my life to perform it, if i had not luckily thought of turning the channel of a river through the stable-door.
that did the business in a very short time!"
seeing how earnestly his fair auditors listened, he next told them how he had shot some monstrous birds, and had caught a wild bull alive, and let him go again, and had tamed a number of very wild horses, and had conquered hippolyta, the warlike queen of the amazons.
he mentioned, likewise, that he had taken off hippolyta's enchanted girdle, and had given it to the daughter of his cousin, the king.
""was it the girdle of venus," inquired the prettiest of the damsels, "which makes women beautiful?"
""no," answered the stranger.
""it had formerly been the sword-belt of mars; and it can only make the wearer valiant and courageous."
""an old sword-belt!"
cried the damsel, tossing her head.
""then i should not care about having it!"
""you are right," said the stranger.
going on with his wonderful narrative, he informed the maidens that as strange an adventure as ever happened was when he fought with geryon, the six-legged man.
this was a very odd and frightful sort of figure, as you may well believe.
any person, looking at his tracks in the sand or snow, would suppose that three sociable companions had been walking along together.
on hearing his footsteps at, a little distance, it was no more than reasonable to judge that several people must be coming.
but it was only the strange man geryon clattering onward, with his six legs!
six legs, and one gigantic body!
certainly, he must have been a very queer monster to look at; and, my stars, what a waste of shoe-leather!
when the stranger had finished the story of his adventures, he looked around at the attentive faces of the maidens.
""perhaps you may have heard of me before," said he, modestly.
""my name is hercules!"
""we had already guessed it," replied the maidens; "for your wonderful deeds are known all over the world.
we do not think it strange, any longer, that you should set out in quest of the golden apples of the hesperides.
come, sisters, let us crown the hero with flowers!"
then they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately head and mighty shoulders, so that the lion's skin was almost entirely covered with roses.
they took possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it about with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant blossoms, that not a finger's breadth of its oaken substance could be seen.
it looked all like a huge bunch of flowers.
lastly, they joined hands, and danced around him, chanting words which became poetry of their own accord, and grew into a choral song, in honor of the illustrious hercules.
and hercules was rejoiced, as any other hero would have been, to know that these fair young girls had heard of the valiant deeds which it had cost him so much toil and danger to achieve.
but, still, he was not satisfied.
he could not think that what he had already done was worthy of so much honor, while there remained any bold or difficult adventure to be undertaken.
""dear maidens," said he, when they paused to take breath, "now that you know my name, will you not tell me how i am to reach the garden of the hesperides?"
""ah!
must you go so soon?"
they exclaimed.
""you -- that have performed so many wonders, and spent such a toilsome life -- can not you content yourself to repose a little while on the margin of this peaceful river?"
hercules shook his head.
""i must depart now," said he.
""we will then give you the best directions we can," replied the damsels.
""you must go to the sea-shore, and find out the old one, and compel him to inform you where the golden apples are to be found."
""the old one!"
repeated hercules, laughing at this odd name.
""and, pray, who may the old one be?"
""why, the old man of the sea, to be sure!"
answered one of the damsels.
""he has fifty daughters, whom some people call very beautiful; but we do not think it proper to be acquainted with them, because they have sea-green hair, and taper away like fishes.
you must talk with this old man of the sea.
he is a sea-faring person, and knows all about the garden of the hesperides; for it is situated in an island which he is often in the habit of visiting."
hercules then asked whereabouts the old one was most likely to be met with.
when the damsels had informed him, he thanked them for all their kindness, -- for the bread and grapes with which they had fed him, the lovely flowers with which they had crowned him, and the songs and dances wherewith they had done him honor, -- and he thanked them, most of all, for telling him the right way, -- and immediately set forth upon his journey.
but, before he was out of hearing, one of the maidens called after him.
""keep fast hold of the old-one, when you catch him!"
cried she, smiling, and lifting her finger to make the caution more impressive.
""do not be astonished at anything that may happen.
only hold him fast, and he will tell you what you wish to know."
hercules again thanked her, and pursued his way, while the maidens resumed their pleasant labor of making flower-wreaths.
they talked about the hero, long after he was gone.
""we will crown him with the loveliest of our garlands," said they, "when he returns hither with the three golden apples, after slaying the dragon with a hundred heads."
meanwhile, hercules travelled constantly onward, over hill and dale, and through the solitary woods.
sometimes he swung his club aloft, and splintered a mighty oak with a downright blow.
his mind was so full of the giants and monsters with whom it was the business of his life to fight, that perhaps he mistook the great tree for a giant or a monster.
and so eager was hercules to achieve what he had undertaken, that he almost regretted to have spent so much time with the damsels, wasting idle breath upon the story of his adventures.
but thus it always is with persons who are destined to perform great things.
what they have already done seems less than nothing.
what they have taken in hand to do seems worth toil, danger, and life itself.
persons who happened to be passing through the forest must have been affrighted to see him smite the trees with his great club.
with but a single blow, the trunk was riven as by the stroke of lightning, and the broad boughs came rustling and crashing down.
hastening forward, without ever pausing or looking behind, he by and by heard the sea roaring at a distance.
at this sound, he increased his speed, and soon came to a beach, where the great surf-waves tumbled themselves upon the hard sand, in a long line of snowy foam.
at one end of the beach, however, there was a pleasant spot, where some green shrubbery clambered up a cliff, making its rocky face look soft and beautiful.
a carpet of verdant grass, largely intermixed with sweet-smelling clover, covered the narrow space between the bottom of the cliff and the sea.
and what should hercules espy there, but an old man, fast asleep!
but was it really and truly an old man?
certainly, at first sight, it looked very like one; but, on closer inspection, it rather seemed to be some kind of a creature that lived in the sea.
for, on his legs and arms there were scales, such as fishes have; he was web-footed and web-fingered, after the fashion of a duck; and his long beard, being of a greenish tinge, had more the appearance of a tuft of sea-weed than of an ordinary beard.
have you never seen a stick of timber, that has been long tossed about by the waves, and has got all overgrown with barnacles, and, at last drifting ashore, seems to have been thrown up from the very deepest bottom of the sea?
well, the old man would have put you in mind of just such a wave-tost spar!
but hercules, the instant he set eyes on this strange figure, was convinced that it could be no other than the old one, who was to direct him on his way.
yes; it was the selfsame old man of the sea, whom the hospitable maidens had talked to him about.
thanking his stars for the lucky accident of finding the old fellow asleep, hercules stole on tiptoe towards him, and caught him by the arm and leg.
""tell me," cried he, before the old one was well awake, "which is the way to the garden of the hesperides?"
as you may easily imagine, the old man of the sea awoke in a fright.
but his astonishment could hardly have been greater than was that of hercules, the next moment.
for, all of a sudden, the old one seemed to disappear out of his grasp, and he found himself holding a stag by the fore and hind leg!
but still he kept fast hold.
then the stag disappeared, and in its stead there was a sea-bird, fluttering and screaming, while hercules clutched it by the wing and claw!
but the bird could not get away.
immediately afterwards, there was an ugly three-headed dog, which growled and barked at hercules, and snapped fiercely at the hands by which he held him!
but hercules would not let him go.
in another minute, instead of the three-headed dog, what should appear but geryon, the six-legged man-monster, kicking at hercules with five of his legs, in order to get the remaining one at liberty!
but hercules held on.
by and by, no geryou was there, but a huge snake, like one of those which hercules had strangled in his babyhood, only a hundred times as big, and it twisted and twined about the hero's neck and body, and threw its tail high into the air, and opened its deadly jaws as if to devour him outright; so that it was really a very terrible spectacle!
but hercules was no whit disheartened, and squeezed the great snake so tightly that he soon began to hiss with pain.
you must understand that the old man of the sea, though he generally looked so much like the wave-beaten figure-head of a vessel, had the power of assuming any shape he pleased.
when he found himself so roughly seized by hercules, he had been in hopes of putting him into such surprise and terror, by these magical transformations, that the hero would be glad to let him go.
if hercules had relaxed his grasp, the old one would certainly have plunged down to the very bottom of the sea, whence he would not soon have given himself the trouble of coming up, in order to answer any impertinent questions.
ninety-nine people out of a hundred, i suppose, would have been frightened out of their wits by the very first of his ugly shapes, and would have taken to their heels at once.
for, one of the hardest things in this world is, to see the difference between real dangers and imaginary ones.
but, as hercules held on so stubbornly, and only squeezed the old one so much the tighter at every change of shape, and really put him to no small torture, he finally thought it best to reappear in his own figure.
so there he was again, a fishy, scaly, webfooted sort of personage, with something like a tuft of sea-weed at his chin.
""pray, what do you want with me?"
cried the old one, as soon as he could take breath; for it is quite a tiresome affair to go through so many false shapes.
""why do you squeeze me so hard?
let me go, this moment, or i shall begin to consider you an extremely uncivil person!"
""my name is hercules!"
roared the mighty stranger.
""and you will never get out of my clutch, until you tell me the nearest way to the garden of the hesperides!"
when the old fellow heard who it was that had caught him, he saw, with half an eye, that it would be necessary to tell him everything that he wanted to know.
the old one was an inhabitant of the sea, you must recollect, and roamed about everywhere, like other sea-faring people.
of course, he had often heard of the fame of hercules, and of the wonderful things that he was constantly performing, in various parts of the earth, and how determined he always was to accomplish whatever he undertook.
he therefore made no more attempts to escape, but told the hero how to find the garden of the hesperides, and likewise warned him of many difficulties which must be overcome, before he could arrive thither.
""you must go on, thus and thus," said the old man of the sea, after taking the points of the compass, "till you come in sight of a very tall giant, who holds the sky on his shoulders.
and the giant, if he happens to be in the humor, will tell you exactly where the garden of the hesperides lies."
""and if the giant happens not to be in the humor," remarked hercules, balancing his club on the tip of his finger, "perhaps i shall find means to persuade him!"
thanking the old man of the sea, and begging his pardon for having squeezed him so roughly, the hero resumed his journey.
he met with a great many strange adventures, which would be well worth your hearing, if i had leisure to narrate them as minutely as they deserve.
it was in this journey, if i mistake not, that he encountered a prodigious giant, who was so wonderfully contrived by nature, that, every time he touched the earth, he became ten times as strong as ever he had been before.
his name was antreus.
you may see, plainly enough, that it was a very difficult business to fight with such a fellow; for, as often as he got a knock-down blow, up he started again, stronger, fiercer, and abler to use his weapons, than if his enemy had let him alone, thus, the harder hercules pounded the giant with his club, the further be seemed from winning the victory.
i have sometimes argued with such people, but never fought with one.
the only way in which hercules found it possible to finish the battle, was by lifting antaeus off his feet into the air, and squeezing, and squeezing, and squeezing him, until, finally, the strength was quite squeezed out of his enormous body.
when this affair was finished, hercules continued his travels, and went to the land of egypt, where he was taken prisoner, and would have been put to death, if he had not slain the king of the country, and made his escape.
passing through the deserts of africa, and going as fast as he could, he arrived at last on the shore of the great ocean.
and here, unless he could walk on the crests of the billows, it seemed as if his journey must needs be at an end.
nothing was before him, save the foaming, dashing, measureless ocean.
but, suddenly, as he looked towards the horizon, he saw something, a great way off, which he had not seen the moment before.
it gleamed very brightly, almost as you may have beheld the round, golden disk of the sun, when it rises or sets over the edge of the world.
it evidently drew nearer; for, at every instant, this wonderful object became larger and more lustrous.
at length, it had come so nigh that hercules discovered it to be an immense cup or bowl, made either of gold or burnished brass.
how it had got afloat upon the sea, is more than i can tell you.
there it was, at all events, rolling on the tumultuous billows, which tossed it up and down, and heaved their foamy tops against its sides, but without ever throwing their spray over the brim.
""i have seen many giants, in my time," thought hercules, "but never one that would need to drink his wine out of a cup like this!"
and, true enough, what a cup it must have been!
it was as large -- as large -- but, in short, i am afraid to say how immeasurably large it was.
to speak within bounds, it was ten times larger than a great mill-wheel; and, all of metal as it was, it floated over the heaving surges more lightly than an acorn-cup adown the brook.
the waves tumbled it onward, until it grazed against the shore, within a short distance of the spot where hercules was standing.
as soon as this happened, he knew what was to be done; for he had not gone through so many remarkable adventures without learning pretty well how to conduct himself, whenever anything came to pass a little out of the common rule.
it was just as clear as daylight that this marvellous cup had been set adrift by some unseen power, and guided hitherward, in order to carry hercules across the sea, on his way to the garden of the hesperides.
accordingly, without a moment's delay, he clambered over the brim, and slid down on the inside, where, spreading out his lion's skin, he proceeded to take a little repose.
he had scarcely rested, until now, since he bade farewell to the damsels on the margin of the river.
the waves dashed, with a pleasant and ringing sound, against the circumference of the hollow cup; it rocked lightly to and fro, and the motion was so soothing that, it speedily rocked hercules into an agreeable slumber.
his nap had probably lasted a good while, when the cup chanced to graze against a rock, and, in consequence, immediately resounded and reverberated through its golden or brazen substance, a hundred times as loudly as ever you heard a church-bell.
the noise awoke hercules, who instantly started up and gazed around him, wondering whereabouts he was.
he was not long in discovering that the cup had floated across a great part of the sea, and was approaching the shore of what seemed to be an island.
and, on that island, what do you think he saw?
no; you will never guess it, not if you were to try fifty thousand times!
it positively appears to me that this was the most marvellous spectacle that had ever been seen by hercules, in the whole course of his wonderful travels and adventures.
it was a greater marvel than the hydra with nine heads, which kept growing twice as fast as they were cut off; greater than the six-legged man-monster; greater than antreus; greater than anything that was ever beheld by anybody, before or since the days of hercules, or than anything that remains to be beheld, by travellers in all time to come.
it was a giant!
but such an intolerably big giant!
a giant as tall as a mountain; so vast a giant, that the clouds rested about his midst, like a girdle, and hung like a hoary beard from his chin, and flitted before his huge eyes, so that he could neither see hercules nor the golden cup in which he was voyaging.
and, most wonderful of all, the giant held up his great hands and appeared to support the sky, which, so far as hercules could discern through the clouds, was resting upon his head!
this does really seem almost too much to believe.
meanwhile, the bright cup continued to float onward, and finally touched the strand.
just then a breeze wafted away the clouds from before the giant's visage, and hercules beheld it, with all its enormous features; eyes each of them as big as yonder lake, a nose a mile long, and a mouth of the same width.
it was a countenance terrible from its enormity of size, but disconsolate and weary, even as you may see the faces of many people, nowadays, who are compelled to sustain burdens above their strength.
what the sky was to the giant, such are the cares of earth to those who let themselves be weighed down by them.
and whenever men undertake what is beyond the just measure of their abilities, they encounter precisely such a doom as had befallen this poor giant.
poor fellow!
he had evidently stood there a long while.
an ancient forest had been growing and decaying around his feet; and oak-trees, of six or seven centuries old, had sprung from the acorn, and forced themselves between his toes.
the giant now looked down from the far height of his great eyes, and, perceiving hercules, roared out, in a voice that resembled thunder, proceeding out of the cloud that had just flitted away from his face.
""who are you, down at my feet there?
and whence do you come, in that little cup?"
""i am hercules!"
thundered back the hero, in a voice pretty nearly or quite as loud as the giant's own.
""and i am seeking for the garden of the hesperides!"
""ho!
ho!
ho!"
roared the giant, in a fit of immense laughter.
""that is a wise adventure, truly!"
""and why not?"
cried hercules, getting a little angry at the giant's mirth.
""do you think i am afraid of the dragon with a hundred heads!"
just at this time, while they were talking together, some black clouds gathered about the giant's middle, and burst into a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning, causing such a pother that hercules found it impossible to distinguish a word.
only the giant's immeasurable legs were to be seen, standing up into the obscurity of the tempest; and, now and then, a momentary glimpse of his whole figure, mantled in a volume of mist.
he seemed to be speaking, most of the time; but his big, deep, rough voice chimed in with the reverberations of the thunder-claps, and rolled away over the hills, like them.
thus, by talking out of season, the foolish giant expended an incalculable quantity of breath, to no purpose; for the thunder spoke quite as intelligibly as he.
at last, the storm swept over, as suddenly as it had come.
and there again was the clear sky, and the weary giant holding it up, and the pleasant sunshine beaming over his vast height, and illuminating it against the background of the sullen thunder-clouds.
so far above the shower had been his head, that not a hair of it was moistened by the rain-drops!
when the giant could see hercules still standing on the sea-shore, he roared out to him anew.
""i am atlas, the mightiest giant in the world!
and i hold the sky upon my head!"
""so i see," answered hercules.
""but, can you show me the way to the garden of the hesperides?"
""what do you want there?"
asked the giant.
""i want three of the golden apples," shouted hercules, "for my cousin, the king."
""there is nobody but myself," quoth the giant, "that can go to the garden of the hesperides, and gather the golden apples.
if it were not for this little business of holding up the sky, i would make half a dozen steps across the sea, and get them for you."
""you are very kind," replied hercules.
""and can not you rest the sky upon a mountain?"
""none of them are quite high enough," said atlas, shaking his head.
""but, if you were to take your stand on the summit of that nearest one, your head would be pretty nearly on a level with mine.
you seem to be a fellow of some strength.
what if you should take my burden on your shoulders, while i do your errand for you?"
hercules, as you must be careful to remember, was a remarkably strong man; and though it certainly requires a great deal of muscular power to uphold the sky, yet, if any mortal could be supposed capable of such an exploit, he was the one.
nevertheless, it seemed so difficult an undertaking, that, for the first time in his life, he hesitated.
""is the sky very heavy?"
he inquired.
""why, not particularly so, at first," answered the giant, shrugging his shoulders.
""but it gets to be a little burdensome, after a thousand years!"
""and how long a time," asked the hero, "will it take you to get the golden apples?"
""o, that will be done in a few moments," cried atlas.
""i shall take ten or fifteen miles at a stride, and be at the garden and back again before your shoulders begin to ache."
""well, then," answered hercules, "i will climb the mountain behind you there, and relieve you of your burden."
the truth is, hercules had a kind heart of his own, and considered that he should be doing the giant a favor, by allowing him this opportunity for a ramble.
and, besides, he thought that it would be still more for his own glory, if he could boast of upholding the sky, than merely to do so ordinary a thing as to conquer a dragon with a hundred heads.
accordingly, without more words, the sky was shifted from the shoulders of atlas, and placed upon those of hercules.
when this was safely accomplished, the first thing that the giant did was to stretch himself; and you may imagine what a prodigious spectacle be was then.
next, he slowly lifted one of his feet out of the forest that had grown up around it; then, the other.
then, all at once, he began to caper, and leap, and dance, for joy at his freedom; flinging himself nobody knows how high into the air, and floundering down again with a shock that made the earth tremble.
then he laughed -- ho!
ho!
ho!
-- with a thunderous roar that was echoed from the mountains, far and near, as if they and the giant had been so many rejoicing brothers.
when his joy had a little subsided, he stepped into the sea; ten miles at the first stride, which brought him mid-leg deep; and ten miles at the second, when the water came just above his knees; and ten miles more at the third, by which he was immersed nearly to his waist.
this was the greatest depth of the sea.
hercules watched the giant, as he still went onward; for it was really a wonderful sight, this immense human form, more than thirty miles off, half hidden in the ocean, but with his upper half as tall, and misty, and blue, as a distant mountain.
at last the gigantic shape faded entirely out of view.
and now hercules began to consider what he should do, in case atlas should be drowned in the sea, or if he were to be stung to death by the dragon with the hundred beads, which guarded the golden apples of the hesperides.
if any such misfortune were to happen, how could he ever get rid of the sky?
and, by the by, its weight began already to be a little irksome to his head and shoulders.
""i really pity the poor giant," thought hercules.
""if it wearies me so much in ten minutes, how must it have wearied him in a thousand years!"
o my sweet little people, you have no idea what a weight there was in that same blue sky, which looks so soft and aerial above our heads!
and there, too, was the bluster of the wind, and the chill and watery clouds, and the blazing sun, all taking their turns to make hercules uncomfortable!
he began to be afraid that the giant would never come back.
he gazed wistfully at the world beneath him, and acknowledged to himself that it was a far happier kind of life to be a shepherd at the foot of a mountain, than to stand on its dizzy summit, and bear up the firmament with his might and main.
for, of course, as you will easily understand, hercules had an immense responsibility on his mind, as well as a weight on his head and shoulders.
why, if he did not stand perfectly still, and keep the sky immovable, the sun would perhaps be put ajar!
or, after nightfall, a great many of the stars might be loosened from their places, and shower down, like fiery rain, upon the people's heads!
and how ashamed would the hero be, if, owing to his unsteadiness beneath its weight, the sky should crack, and show a great fissure quite across it!
i know not how long it was before, to his unspeakable joy, he beheld the huge shape of the giant, like a cloud, on the far-off edge of the sea.
at his nearer approach, atlas held up his hand, in which hercules could perceive three magnificent golden apples, as big as pumpkins, all banging from one branch.
""i am glad to see you again," shouted hercules, when the giant was within hearing.
""so you have got the golden apples?"
""certainly, certainly," answered atlas; "and very fair apples they are.
i took the finest that grew on the tree, i assure you.
ah!
it is a beautiful spot, that garden of the hesperides.
yes; and the dragon with a hundred heads is a sight worth any man's seeing.
after all, you had better have gone for the apples yourself."
""no matter," replied hercules.
""you have had a pleasant ramble, and have done the business as well as i could.
i heartily thank you for your trouble.
and now, as i have a long way to go, and am rather in haste, -- and as the king, my cousin, is anxious to receive the golden apples, -- will you be kind enough to take the sky off my shoulders again?"
""why, as to that," said the giant, chucking the golden apples into the air, twenty miles high, or thereabouts, and catching them as they came down, -- "as to that, my good friend, i consider you a little unreasonable.
can not i carry the golden apples to the king, your cousin, much quicker than you could?
as his majesty is in such a hurry to get them, i promise you to take my longest strides.
and, besides, i have no fancy for burdening myself with the sky, just now."
here hercules grew impatient, and gave a great shrug of his shoulders.
it being now twilight, you might have seen two or three stars tumble out of their places.
everybody on earth looked upward in affright, thinking that the sky might be going to fall next.
""o, that will never do!"
cried giant atlas, with a great roar of laughter.
""i have not let fall so many stars within the last five centuries.
by the time you have stood there as long as i did, you will begin to learn patience!"
""what!"
shouted hercules, very wrathfully, "do you intend to make me bear this burden forever?"
""we will see about that, one of these days," answered the giant.
""at all events, you ought not to complain, if you have to bear it the next hundred years, or perhaps the next thousand.
i bore it a good while longer, in spite of the back-ache.
well, then, after a thousand years, if i happen to feel in the mood, we may possibly shift about again.
you are certainly a very strong man, and can never have a better opportunity to prove it.
posterity will talk of you, i warrant it!"
""pish!
a fig for its talk!"
cried hercules, with another hitch of his shoulders.
""just take the sky upon your head one instant, will you?
i want to make a cushion of my lion's skin, for the weight to rest upon.
it really chafes me, and will cause unnecessary inconvenience in so many centuries as i am to stand here."
""that's no more than fair, and i'll do it!"
quoth the giant; for he had no unkind feeling towards hercules, and was merely acting with a too selfish consideration of his own ease.
""for just five minutes, then, i'll take back the sky.
only for five minutes, recollect!
i have no idea of spending another thousand years as i spent the last.
variety is the spice of life, say i." ah, the thick-witted old rogue of a giant!
he threw down the golden apples, and received back the sky, from the head and shoulders of hercules, upon his own, where it rightly belonged.
and hercules picked up the three golden apples, that were as big or bigger than pumpkins, and straightway set out on his journey homeward, without paying the slightest heed to the thundering tones of the giant, who bellowed after him to come back.
another forest sprang up around his feet, and grew ancient there; and again might be seen oak-trees, of six or seven centuries old, that had waxed thus again betwixt his enormous toes.
and there stands the giant, to this day; or, at any rate, there stands a mountain as tall as he, and which bears his name; and when the thunder rumples about its summit, we may imagine it to be the voice of giant atlas, bellowing after hercules!
tanglewood fireside.
after the story.
""cousin eustace," demanded sweet fern, who had been sitting at the story-teller's feet, with his mouth wide open, "exactly how tall was this giant?"
""o sweet fern, sweet fern!"
cried the student, "do you think i was there, to measure him with a yardstick?
well, if you must know to a hair's - breadth, i suppose he might be from three to fifteen miles straight upward, and that he might have seated himself on taconic, and had monument mountain for a footstool."
""dear me!"
ejaculated the good little boy, with a contented sort of a grunt, "that was a giant, sure enough!
and how long was his little finger?"
""as long as from tanglewood to the lake," said eustace.
""sure enough, that was a giant!"
repeated sweet fern, in an ecstasy at the precision of these measurements.
""and how broad, i wonder, were the shoulders of hercules?"
""that is what i have never been able to find out," answered the student.
""but i think they must have been a great deal broader than mine, or than your father's, or than almost any shoulders which one sees nowadays."
""i wish," whispered sweet fern, with his mouth close to the student's ear, "that you would tell me how big were some of the oak-trees that grew between the giant's toes."
""they were bigger," said eustace, "than the great chestnut-tree which stands beyond captain smith's house."
""eustace," remarked mr. pringle, after some deliberation, "i find it impossible to express such an opinion of this story as will be likely to gratify, in the smallest degree, your pride of authorship.
pray let me advise you never more to meddle with a classical myth.
your imagination is altogether gothic, and will inevitably gothicize everything that you touch.
the effect is like bedaubing a marble statue with paint.
this giant, now!
how can you have ventured to thrust his huge, disproportioned mass among the seemly outlines of grecian fable, the tendency of which is to reduce even the extravagant within limits, by its pervading elegance?"
""i described the giant as he appeared to me," replied the student, rather piqued.
""and, sir, if you would only bring your mind into such a relation with these fables as is necessary in order to remodel them, you would see at once that an old greek had no more exclusive right to them than a modern yankee has.
they are the common property of the world, and of all time.
the ancient poets remodelled them at pleasure, and held them plastic in their hands; and why should they not be plastic in my hands, as well?"
mr. pringle could not forbear a smile.
""and besides," continued eustace, "the moment you put any warmth of heart, any passion or affection, any human or divine morality, into a classic mould, you make it quite another thing from what it was before.
my own opinion is, that the greeks, by taking possession of these legends -lrb- which were the immemorial birthright of mankind -rrb-, and putting them into shapes of indestructible beauty, indeed, but cold and heartless, have done all subsequent ages an incalculable injury."
""which you, doubtless, were born to remedy," said mr. pringle, laughing outright.
""well, well, go on; but take my advice, and never put any of your travesties on paper.
and, as your next effort, what if you should try your hand on some one of the legends of apollo?"
""ah, sir, you propose it as an impossibility," observed the student, after a moment's meditation; "and, to be sure, at first thought, the idea of a gothic apollo strikes one rather ludicrously.
but i will turn over your suggestion in my mind, and do not quite despair of success."
during the above discussion, the children -lrb- who understood not a word of it -rrb- had grown very sleepy, and were now sent off to bed.
their drowsy babble was heard, ascending the staircase, while a northwest-wind roared loudly among the tree-tops of tanglewood, and played an anthem around the house.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___the_threefold_destiny_(from_"twice_told_tales").txt.out
i have sometimes produced a singular and not unpleasing effect, so far as my own mind was concerned, by imagining a train of incidents, in which the spirit and mechanism of the fairy legend should be combined with the characters and manners of familiar life.
in the little tale which follows, a subdued tinge of the wild and wonderful is thrown over a sketch of new england personages and scenery, yet, it is hoped, without entirely obliterating the sober hues of nature.
rather than a story of events claiming to be real, it may be considered as an allegory, such as the writers of the last century would have expressed in the shape of an eastern tale, but to which i have endeavored to give a more life-like warmth than could be infused into those fanciful productions.
in the twilight of a summer eve, a tall, dark figure, over which long and remote travel had thrown an outlandish aspect, was entering a village, not in "fairy londe," but within our own familiar boundaries.
the staff, on which this traveller leaned, had been his companion from the spot where it grew, in the jungles of hindostan; the hat, that overshadowed his sombre brow, had shielded him from the suns of spain; but his cheek had been blackened by the red-hot wind of an arabian desert, and had felt the frozen breath of an arctic region.
long sojourning amid wild and dangerous men, he still wore beneath his vest the ataghan which he had once struck into the throat of a turkish robber.
in every foreign clime he had lost something of his new england characteristics; and, perhaps, from every people he had unconsciously borrowed a new peculiarity; so that when the world-wanderer again trod the street of his native village, it is no wonder that he passed unrecognized, though exciting the gaze and curiosity of all.
yet, as his arm casually touched that of a young woman, who was wending her way to an evening lecture, she started, and almost uttered a cry.
""ralph cranfield!"
was the name that she half articulated.
""can that be my old playmate, faith egerton?"
thought the traveller, looking round at her figure, but without pausing.
ralph cranfield, from his youth upward, had felt himself marked out for a high destiny.
he had imbibed the idea -- we say not whether it were revealed to him by witchcraft, or in a dream of prophecy, or that his brooding fancy had palmed its own dictates upon him as the oracles of a sibyl -- but he had imbibed the idea, and held it firmest among his articles of faith, that three marvellous events of his life were to be confirmed to him by three signs.
the first of these three fatalities, and perhaps the one on which his youthful imagination had dwelt most fondly, was the discovery of the maid, who alone, of all the maids on earth, could make him happy by her love.
he was to roam around the world till he should meet a beautiful woman, wearing on her bosom a jewel in the shape of a heart; whether of pearl, or ruby, or emerald, or carbuncle, or a changeful opal, or perhaps a priceless diamond, ralph cranfield little cared, so long as it were a heart of one peculiar shape.
on encountering this lovely stranger, he was bound to address her thus: "maiden, i have brought you a heavy heart.
may i rest its weight on you?"
and if she were his fated bride, -- if their kindred souls were destined to form a union here below, which all eternity should only bind more closely, -- she would reply, with her finger on the heart-shaped jewel, "this token, which i have worn so long, is the assurance that you may!"
and, secondly, ralph cranfield had a firm belief that there was a mighty treasure hidden somewhere in the earth, of which the burial-place would be revealed to none but him.
when his feet should press upon the mysterious spot, there would be a hand before him, pointing downward, -- whether carved of marble, or hewn in gigantic dimensions on the side of a rocky precipice, or perchance a hand of flame in empty air, he could not tell; but, at least, he would discern a hand, the forefinger pointing downward, and beneath it the latin word effode, -- dig!
and digging thereabouts, the gold in coin or ingots, the precious stones, or of whatever else the treasure might consist, would be certain to reward his toil.
the third and last of the miraculous events in the life of this high-destined man was to be the attainment of extensive influence and sway over his fellow-creatures.
whether he were to be a king, and founder of an hereditary throne, or the victorious leader of a people contending for their freedom, or the apostle of a purified and regenerated faith, was left for futurity to show.
as messengers of the sign, by which ralph cranfield might recognize the summons, three venerable men were to claim audience of him.
the chief among them, a dignified and majestic person, arrayed, it may be supposed, in the flowing garments of an ancient sage, would be the bearer of a wand, or prophet's rod.
with this wand, or rod, or staff, the venerable sage would trace a certain figure in the air, and then proceed to make known his heaven-instructed message; which, if obeyed, must lead to glorious results.
with this proud fate before him, in the flush of his imaginative youth, ralph cranfield had set forth to seek the maid, the treasure, and the venerable sage, with his gift of extended empire.
and had he found them?
alas!
it was not with the aspect of a triumphant man, who had achieved a nobler destiny than all his fellows, but rather with the gloom of one struggling against peculiar and continual adversity, that he now passed homeward to his mother's cottage.
he had come back, but only for a time, to lay aside the pilgrim's staff, trusting that his weary manhood would regain somewhat of the elasticity of youth, in the spot where his threefold fate had been foreshown him.
there had been few changes in the village; for it was not one of those thriving places where a year's prosperity makes more than the havoc of a century's decay; but like a gray hair in a young man's head, an antiquated little town, full of old maids, and aged elms, and moss-grown dwellings.
few seemed to be the changes here.
the drooping elms, indeed, had a more majestic spread; the weather-blackened houses were adorned with a denser thatch of verdant moss; and doubtless there were a few more gravestones in the burial-ground, inscribed with names that had once been familiar in the village street.
yet, summing up all the mischief that ten years had wrought, it seemed scarcely more than if ralph cranfield had gone forth that very morning, and dreamed a daydream till the twilight, and then turned back again.
but his heart grew cold, because the village did not remember him as he remembered the village.
""here is the change!"
sighed he, striking his hand upon his breast.
""who is this man of thought and care, weary with world-wandering, and heavy with disappointed hopes?
the youth returns not, who went forth so joyously!"
and now ralph cranfield was at his mother's gate, in front of the small house where the old lady, with slender but sufficient means, had kept herself comfortable during her son's long absence.
admitting himself within the enclosure, he leaned against a great, old tree, trifling with his own impatience, as people often do in those intervals when years are summed into a moment.
he took a minute survey of the dwelling, -- its windows, brightened with the sky-gleans, its doorway, with the half of a mill-stone for a step, and the faintly traced path waving thence to the gate.
he made friends again with his childhood's friend, the old tree against which he leaned; and glancing his eye a-down its trunk, beheld something that excited a melancholy smile.
it was a half-obliterated inscription -- the latin word effode -- which he remembered to have carved in the bark of the tree, with a whole day's toil, when he had first begun to muse about his exalted destiny.
it might be accounted a rather singular coincidence, that the bark, just above the inscription, had put forth an excrescence, shaped not unlike a hand, with the forefinger pointing obliquely at the word of fate.
such, at least, was its appearance in the dusky light.
""now a credulous man," said ralph cranfield carelessly to himself, "might suppose that the treasure which i have sought round the world lies buried, after all, at the very door of my mother's dwelling.
that would be a jest indeed!"
more he thought not about the matter; for now the door was opened, and an elderly woman appeared on the threshold, peering into the dusk to discover who it might be that had intruded on her premises, and was standing in the shadow of her tree.
it was ralph cranfield's mother.
pass we over their greeting, and leave the one to her joy and the other to his rest, -- if quiet rest he found.
but when morning broke, he arose with a troubled brow; for his sleep and his wakefulness had alike been full of dreams.
all the fervor was rekindled with which he had burned of yore to unravel the threefold mystery of his fate.
the crowd of his early visions seemed to have awaited him beneath his mother's roof, and thronged riotously around to welcome his return.
in the well-remembered chamber -- on the pillow where his infancy had slumbered -- he had passed a wilder night than ever in an arab tent, or when he had reposed his head in the ghastly shades of a haunted forest.
a shadowy maid had stolen to his bedside, and laid her finger on the scintillating heart; a hand of flame had glowed amid the darkness, pointing downward to a mystery within the earth; a hoary sage had waved his prophetic wand, and beckoned the dreamer onward to a chair of state.
the same phantoms, though fainter in the daylight, still flitted about the cottage, and mingled among the crowd of familiar faces that were drawn thither by the news of ralph cranfield's return, to bid him welcome for his mother's sake.
there they found him, a tall, dark, stately man, of foreign aspect, courteous in demeanor and mild of speech, yet with an abstracted eye, which seemed often to snatch a glance at the invisible.
meantime the widow cranfield went bustling about the house full of joy that she again had somebody to love, and be careful of, and for whom she might vex and tease herself with the petty troubles of daily life.
it was nearly noon, when she looked forth from the door, and descried three personages of note coming along the street, through the hot sunshine and the masses of elm-tree shade.
at length they reached her gate, and undid the latch.
""see, ralph!"
exclaimed she, with maternal pride, "here is squire hawkwood and the two other selectmen coming on purpose to see you!
now do tell them a good long story about what you have seen in foreign parts."
the foremost of the three visitors, squire hawkwood, was a very pompous, but excellent old gentleman, the head and prime mover in all the affairs of the village, and universally acknowledged to be one of the sagest men on earth.
he wore, according to a fashion, even then becoming antiquated, a three-cornered hat, and carried a silver-headed cane, the use of which seemed to be rather for flourishing in the air than for assisting the progress of his legs.
his two companions were elderly and respectable yeomen, who, retaining an ante-revolutionary reverence for rank and hereditary wealth, kept a little in the squire's rear.
as they approached along the pathway, ralph cranfield sat in an oaken elbow-chair, half unconsciously gazing at the three visitors, and enveloping their homely figures in the misty romance that pervaded his mental world.
""here," thought he, smiling at the conceit, -- "here come three elderly personages, and the first of the three is a venerable sage with a staff.
what if this embassy should bring me the message of my fate!"
while squire hawkwood and his colleagues entered, ralph rose from his seat, and advanced a few steps to receive them; and his stately figure and dark countenance, as he bent courteously towards his guests, had a natural dignity, contrasting well with the bustling importance of the squire.
the old gentleman, according to invariable custom, gave an elaborate preliminary flourish with his cane in the air, then removed his three-cornered hat in order to wipe his brow, and finally proceeded to make known his errand.
""my colleagues and myself," began the squire, "are burdened with momentous duties, being jointly selectmen of this village.
our minds, for the space of three days past, have been laboriously bent on the selection of a suitable person to fill a most important office, and take upon himself a charge and rule, which, wisely considered, may be ranked no lower than those of kings and potentates.
and whereas you, our native townsman, are of good natural intellect, and well cultivated by foreign travel, and that certain vagaries and fantasies of your youth are doubtless long ago corrected; taking all these matters, i say, into due consideration, we are of opinion that providence lath sent you hither, at this juncture, for our very purpose."
during this harangue, cranfield gazed fixedly at the speaker, as if he beheld something mysterious and unearthly in his pompous little figure, and as if the squire had worn the flowing robes of an ancient sage, instead of a square-skirted coat, flapped waistcoat, velvet breeches, and silk stockings.
nor was his wonder without sufficient cause; for the flourish of the squire's staff, marvellous to relate, had described precisely the signal in the air which was to ratify the message of the prophetic sage, whom cranfield had sought around the world.
""and what," inquired ralph cranfield, with a tremor in his voice, -- "what may this office be, which is to equal me with kings and potentates?"
""no less than instructor of our village school," answered squire hawkwood; "the office being now vacant by the loath of the venerable master whitaker, after a fifty years" incumbency."
""i will consider of your proposal," replied ralph cranfield, hurriedly, "and will make known my decision within three days."
after a few more words, the village dignitary and his companions took their leave.
but to cranfield's fancy their images were still present, and became more and more invested with the dim awfulness of figures which had first appeared to him in a dream, and afterwards had shown themselves in his waking moments, assuming homely aspects among familiar things.
his mind dwelt upon the features of the squire, till they grew confused with those of the visionary sage, and one appeared but the shadow of the other.
the same visage, he now thought, had looked forth upon him from the pyramid of cheops; the same form had beckoned to him among the colonnades of the alhambra; the same figure had mistily revealed itself through the ascending steam of the great geyser.
at every effort of his memory he recognized some trait of the dreamy messenger of destiny, in this pompous, bustling, self-important, little great man of the village.
amid such musings ralph cranfield sat all day in the cottage, scarcely hearing and vaguely answering his mother's thousand questions about his travels and adventures.
at sunset he roused himself to take a stroll, and, passing the aged elm-tree, his eye was again caught by the semblance of a hand, pointing downward at the half-obliterated inscription.
as cranfield walked down the street of the village, the level sunbeams threw his shadow far before him; and he fancied that, as his shadow walked among distant objects, so had there been a presentiment stalking in advance of him throughout his life.
and when he drew near each object, over which his tall shadow had preceded him, still it proved to be -- one of the familiar recollections of his infancy and youth.
every crook in the pathway was remembered.
even the more transitory characteristics of the scene were the same as in bygone days.
a company of cows were grazing on the grassy roadside, and refreshed him with their fragrant breath.
""it is sweeter," thought he, "than the perfume which was wafted to our shipp from the spice islands."
the round little figure of a child rolled from a doorway, and lay laughing almost beneath cranfield's feet.
the dark and stately man stooped down, and, lifting the infant, restored him to his mother's arms.
""the children," said he to himself, and sighed, and smiled, -- "the children are to be my charge!"
and while a flow of natural feeling gushed like a wellspring in his heart, he came to a dwelling which he could nowise forbear to enter.
a sweet voice, which seemed to come from a deep and tender soul, was warbling a plaintive little air, within.
he bent his head, and passed through the lowly door.
as his foot sounded upon the threshold, a young woman advanced from the dusky interior of the house, at first hastily, and then with a more uncertain step, till they met face to face.
there was a singular contrast in their two figures; he dark and picturesque, -- one who had battled with the world, -- whom all suns had shone upon, and whom all winds had blown on a varied course; she neat, comely, and quiet, -- quiet even in her agitation, -- as if all her emotions had been subdued to the peaceful tenor of her life.
yet their faces, all unlike as they were, had an expression that seemed not so alien, -- a glow of kindred feeling, flashing upward anew from half-extinguished embers.
""you are welcome home!"
said faith egerton.
but cranfield did not immediately answer; for his eye had been caught by an ornament in the shape of a heart, which faith wore as a brooch upon her bosom.
the material was the ordinary white quartz; and he recollected having himself shaped it out of one of those indian arrowheads, which are so often found in the ancient haunts of the red men.
it was precisely on the pattern of that worn by the visionary maid.
when cranfield departed on his shadowy search he had bestowed this brooch, in a gold setting, as a parting gift to faith egerton.
""so, faith, you have kept the heart!"
said he, at length.
""yes," said she, blushing deeply; then more gayly, "and what else have you brought me from beyond the sea?"
""faith!"
replied ralph cranfield, uttering the fated words by an uncontrollable impulse, "i have brought you nothing but a heavy heart!
may i rest its weight on you?"
""this token, which i have worn so long," said faith, laying her tremulous finger on the heart, "is the assurance that you may!"
""faith!
faith!"
cried cranfield, clasping her in his arms, "you have interpreted my wild and weary dream!"
yes, the wild dreamer was awake at last.
to find the mysterious treasure, he was to till the earth around his mother's dwelling, and reap its products!
instead of warlike command, or regal or religious sway, he was to rule over the village children!
and now the visionary maid had faded from his fancy, and in her place he saw the playmate of his childhood!
would all, who cherish such wild wishes, but look around them, they would oftenest find their sphere of duty, of prosperity, and happiness within those precincts, and in that station where providence itself has cast their lot.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___the_toll_gatherer's_day_(from_"twice_told_tales").txt.out
methinks, for a person whose instinct bids him rather to pore over the current of life, than to plunge into its tumultuous waves, no undesirable retreat were a toll-house beside some thronged thoroughfare of the land.
in youth, perhaps, it is good for the observer to run about the earth, to leave the track of his footsteps far and wide, -- to mingle himself with the action of numberless vicissitudes, -- and, finally, in some calm solitude, to feed a musing spirit on all that lie has seen and felt.
but there are natures too indolent, or too sensitive, to endure the dust, the sunshine, or the rain, the turmoil of moral and physical elements, to which all the wayfarers of the world expose themselves.
for such a mail, how pleasant a miracle, could life be made to roll its variegated length by the threshold of his own hermitage, and the great globe, as it were, perform its revolutions and shift its thousand scenes before his eyes without whirling him onward in its course.
if any mortal be favored with a lot analogous to this, it is the toll-gatherer.
so, at least, have i often fancied, while lounging on a bench at the door of a small square edifice, which stands between shore and shore in the midst of a long bridge.
beneath the timbers ebbs and flows an arm of the sea; while above, like the life-blood through a great artery, the travel of the north and east is continually throbbing.
sitting on the aforesaid bench, i amuse myself with a conception, illustrated by numerous pencil-sketches in the air, of the toll-gatherer's day.
in the morning -- dim, gray, dewy summer's morn the distant roll of ponderous wheels begins to mingle with my old friend's slumbers, creaking more and more harshly through the midst of his dream, and gradually replacing it with realities.
hardly conscious of the change from sleep to wakefulness, he finds himself partly clad and throwing wide the toll-gates for the passage of a fragrant load of hay.
the timbers groan beneath the slow-revolving wheels; one sturdy yeoman stalks beside the oxen, and, peering from the summit of the hay, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished lantern over the toll-house, is seen the drowsy visage of his comrade, who has enjoyed a nap some ten miles long.
the toll is paid, -- creak, creak, again go the wheels, and the huge haymow vanishes into the morning mist.
as yet, nature is but half awake, and familiar objects appear visionary.
but yonder, dashing from the shore with a rattling thunder of the wheels and a confused clatter of hoofs, comes the never-tiring mail, which has hurried onward at the same headlong, restless rate, all through the quiet night.
the bridge resounds in one continued peal as the coach rolls on without a pause, merely affording the toll-gatherer a glimpse at the sleepy passengers, who now bestir their torpid limbs, and snuff a cordial in the briny air.
the morn breathes upon them and blushes, and they forget how wearily the darkness toiled away.
and behold now the fervid day, in his bright chariot, glittering aslant over the waves, nor scorning to throw a tribute of his golden beams on the toll-gatherer's little hermitage.
the old man looks eastward, and -lrb- for he is a moralizer -rrb- frames a simile of the stage coach and the sun.
while the world is rousing itself, we may glance slightly at the scene of our sketch.
it sits above the bosom of the broad flood, a spot not of earth, but in the midst of waters, which rush with a murmuring sound among the massive beams beneath.
over the door is a weather-beaten board, inscribed with the rates of toll, in letters so nearly effaced that the gilding of the sunshine can hardly make them legible.
beneath the window is a wooden bench, on which a long succession of weary wayfarers have reposed themselves.
peeping within doors, we perceive the whitewashed walls bedecked with sundry lithographic prints and advertisements of various import, and the immense showbill of a wandering caravan.
and there sits our good old toll-gatherer, glorified by the early sunbeams.
he is a man, as his aspect may announce, of quiet soul, and thoughtful, shrewd, yet simple mind, who, of the wisdom which the passing world scatters along the wayside, has gathered a reasonable store.
now the sun smiles upon the landscape, and earth smiles back again upon the sky.
frequent, now, are the travellers.
the toll-gatherer's practised ear can distinguish the weight of every vehicle, the number of its wheels, and how many horses beat the resounding timbers with their iron tramp.
here, in a substantial family chaise, setting forth betimes to take advantage of the dewy road, come a gentleman and his wife, with their rosy-cheeked little girl sitting gladsomely between them.
the bottom of the chaise is heaped with multifarious bandboxes and carpet-bags, and beneath the axle swings a leathern trunk dusty with yesterday's journey.
next appears a four-wheeled carryall, peopled with a round half-dozen of pretty girls, all drawn by a single horse, and driven by a single gentleman.
luckless wight, doomed, through a whole summer day, to be the butt of mirth and mischief among the frolicsome maidens!
bolt upright in a sulky rides a thin, sour-visaged man, who, as he pays his toll, hands the toll-gatherer a printed card to stick upon the wall.
the vinegar-faced traveller proves to be a manufacturer of pickles.
now paces slowly from timber to timber a horseman clad in black, with a meditative brow, as of one who, whithersoever his steed might bear him, would still journey through a mist of brooding thought.
he is a country preacher, going to labor at a protracted meeting.
the next object passing townward is a butcher's cart, canopied with its arch of snow-white cotton.
behind comes a "sauceman," driving a wagon full of new potatoes, green ears of corn, beets, carrots, turnips, and summer-squashes; and next, two wrinkled, withered, witch-looking old gossips, in an antediluvian chaise, drawn by a horse of former generations, and going to peddle out a lot of huckleberries.
see there, a man trundling a wheelbarrow-load of lobsters.
and now a milk-cart rattles briskly onward, covered with green canvas, and conveying the contributions of a whole herd of cows, in large tin canisters.
but let all these pay their toll and pass.
here comes a spectacle that causes the old toll-gatherer to smile benignantly, as if the travellers brought sunshine with them and lavished its gladsome influence all along the road.
it is a harouche of the newest style, the varnished panels of which reflect the whole moving panorama of the landscape, and show a picture, likewise, of our friend, with his visage broadened, so that his meditative smile is transformed to grotesque merriment.
within, sits a youth, fresh as the summer morn, and beside him a young lady in white, with white gloves upon her slender bands, and a white veil flowing down over her face.
but methinks her blushing cheek burns through the snowy veil.
another white-robed virgin sits in front.
and who are these, on whom, and on all that appertains to them, the dust of earth seems never to have settled?
two lovers, whom the priest has blessed, this blessed morn, and sent them forth, with one of the bridemaids, on the matrimonial tour.
take my blessing too, ye happy ones!
may the sky not frown upon you, nor clouds bedew you with their chill and sullen rain!
may the hot sun kindle no fever in your hearts!
may your whole life's pilgrimage be as blissful as this first day's journey, and its close be gladdened with even brighter anticipations than those which hallow your bridal night!
they pass; and ere the reflection of their joy has faded from his face, another spectacle throws a melancholy shadow over the spirit of the observing man.
in a close carriage sits a fragile figure, muffled carefully, and shrinking even from the mild breath of summer.
she leans against a manly form, and his arm infolds her, as if to guard his treasure from some enemy.
let but a few weeks pass, and when he shall strive to embrace that loved one, he will press only desolation to his heart!
and now has morning gathered up her dewy pearls, and fled away.
the sun rolls blazing through the sky, and can not find a cloud to cool his face with.
the horses toil sluggishly along the bridge, and heave their glistening sides in short quick pantings, when the reins are tightened at the toll-house.
glisten, too, the faces of the travellers.
their garments are thickly bestrewn with dust; their whiskers and hair look hoary; their throats are choked with the dusty atmosphere which they have left behind them.
no air is stirring on the road.
nature dares draw no breath, lest she should inhale a stifling cloud of dust.
""a hot, and dusty day!"
cry the poor pilgrims, as they wipe their begrimed foreheads, and woo the doubtful breeze which the river bears along with it.
""awful hot!
dreadful dusty!"
answers the sympathetic toll-gatherer.
they start again, to pass through the fiery furnace, while he re-enters his cool hermitage, and besprinkles it with a pail of briny water from the stream beneath.
he thinks within himself, that the sun is not so fierce here as elsewhere, and that the gentle air does not forget him in these sultry days.
yes, old friend; and a quiet heart will make a dog-day temperate.
he hears a weary footstep, and perceives a traveller with pack and staff, who sits down upon the hospitable bench, and removes the hat from his wet brow.
the toll-gatherer administers a cup of cold water, and discovering his guest to be a man of homely sense, he engages him in profitable talk, uttering the maxims of a philosophy which he has found in his own soul, but knows not how it came there.
and as the wayfarer makes ready to resume his journey, he tells him a sovereign remedy for blistered feet.
now comes the noontide hour, -- of all the hours nearest akin to midnight; for each has its own calmness and repose.
soon, however, the world begins to turn again upon its axis, and it seems the busiest epoch of the day; when an accident impedes the march of sublunary things.
the draw being lifted to permit the passage of a schooner, laden with wood from the eastern forests, she sticks immovably, right athwart the bridge!
meanwhile, on both sides of the chasm, a throng of impatient travellers fret and fume.
here are two sailors in a gig, with the top thrown back, both puffing cigars, and swearing all sorts of forecastle oaths; there, in a smart chaise, a dashingly dressed gentleman and lady, he from a tailor's shop-board; and she from a milliner's hack room, -- the aristocrats of a summer afternoon.
and what are the haughtiest of us, but the ephemeral aristocrats of a summer's day?
here is a tin-peddler, whose glittering ware bedazzles all beholders, like a travelling meteor, or opposition sun; and on the other side a seller of spruce-beer, which brisk liquor is confined in several dozen of stone bottles.
here comes a party of ladies on horseback, in green riding-habits, and gentlemen attendant; and there a flock of sheep for the market, pattering over the bridge with a multitudinous clatter of their little hoofs.
here a frenchman, with a hand-organ on his shoulder; and there an itinerant swiss jeweller.
on this side, heralded by a blast of clarions and bugles, appears a train of wagons, conveying all the wild beasts of a caravan; and on that, a company of summer soldiers, marching from village to village on a festival campaign, attended by the "brass band."
now look at the scene, and it presents an emblem of the mysterious confusion, the apparently insolvable riddle, in which individuals, or the great world itself, seem often to be involved.
what miracle shall set all things right again?
but see!
the schooner has thrust her bulky carcass through the chasm; the draw descends; horse and foot pass onward, and leave the bridge vacant from end to end.
""and thus," muses the toll-gatherer, "have i found it with all stoppages, even though the universe seemed to be at a stand."
the sage old man!
far westward now, the reddening sun throws a broad sheet of splendor across the flood, and to the eyes of distant boatmen gleams brightly among the timbers of the bridge.
strollers come from the town to quaff the freshening breeze.
one or two let down long lines, and haul up flapping flounders?
or cunners, or small cod, or perhaps an eel.
others, and fair girls among them, with the flush of the hot day still on their cheeks, bend over the railing and watch the heaps of sea-weed floating upward with the flowing tide.
the horses now tramp heavily along the bridge, and wistfully bethink them of their stables.
rest, rest, thou weary world!
for tomorrow's round of toil and pleasure will be as wearisome as to-day's has been; yet both shall bear thee onward a day's march of eternity.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___the_village_uncle_(from_"twice_told_tales").txt.out
come!
another log upon the hearth.
true, our little parlor is comfortable, especially here, where the old man sits in his old arm-chair; but on thanksgiving night the blaze should dance high up the chimney, and send a shower of sparks into the outer darkness.
toss on an armful of those dry oak chips, the last relics of the mermaid's knee-timbers, the bones of your namesake, susan.
higher yet, and clearer be the blaze, till our cottage windows glow the ruddiest in the village, and the light of our household mirth flash far across the bay to nahant.
and now, come, susan, come, my children, draw your chairs round me, all of you.
there is a dimness over your figures!
you sit quivering indistinctly with each motion of the blaze, which eddies about you like a flood, so that you all have the look of visions, or people that dwell only in the fire light, and will vanish from existence, as completely as your own shadows, when the flame shall sink among the embers.
hark!
let me listen for the swell of the surf; it should be audible a mile inland, on a night like this.
yes; there i catch the sound, but only an uncertain murmur, as if a good way down over the beach; though, by the almanac, it is high tide at eight o'clock, and the billows must now be dashing within thirty yards of our door.
ah!
the old man's ears are failing him; and so is his eyesight, and perhaps his mind; else you would not all be so shadowy, in the blaze of his thanksgiving fire.
how strangely the past is peeping over the shoulders of the present!
to judge by my recollections, it is but a few moments since i sat in another room; yonder model of a vessel was not there, nor the old chest of drawers, nor susan's profile and mine, in that gilt frame; nothing, in short, except this same fire, which glimmered on books, papers, and a picture, and half discovered my solitary figure in a looking-glass.
but it was paler than my rugged old self, and younger, too, by almost half a century.
speak to me, susan; speak, my beloved ones; for the scene is glimmering on my sight again, and as it brightens you fade away.
o, i should be loath to lose my treasure of past happiness, and become once more what i was then; a hermit in the depths of my own mind; sometimes yawning over drowsy volumes, and anon a scribbler of wearier trash than what i read; a man who had wandered out of the real world and got into its shadow, where his troubles, joys, and vicissitudes were of such slight stuff, that he hardly knew whether he lived, or only dreamed of living.
thank heaven, i am an old man now, and have done with all such vanities!
still this dimness of mine eyes!
come nearer, susan, and stand before the fullest blaze of the hearth.
now i behold you illuminated from head to foot, in your clean cap and decent gown, with the dear lock of gray hair across your forehead, and a quiet smile about your mouth, while the eyes alone are concealed, by the red gleam of the fire upon your spectacles.
there, you made me tremble again!
when the flame quivered, my sweet susan, you quivered with it, and grew indistinct, as if melting into the warm light, that my last glimpse of you might be as visionary as the first was, full many a year since.
do you remember it?
you stood on the little bridge, over the brook, that runs across king's beach into the sea.
it was twilight; the waves rolling in, the wind sweeping by, the crimson clouds fading in the west, and the silver moon brightening above the hill; and on the bridge were you, fluttering in the breeze like a sea-bird that might skim away at your pleasure.
you seemed a daughter of the viewless wind, a creature of the ocean foam and the crimson light, whose merry life was spent in dancing on the crests of the billows, that threw up their spray to support your footsteps.
as i drew nearer, i fancied you akin to the race of mermaids, and thought how pleasant it would be to dwell with you among the quiet coves, in the shadow of the cliffs, and to roam along secluded beaches of the purest sand, and when our northern shores grew bleak, to haunt the islands, green and lonely, far amid summer seas.
and yet it gladdened me, after all this nonsense, to find you nothing but a pretty young girl, sadly perplexed with the rude behavior of the wind about your petticoats.
thus i did with susan as with most other things in my earlier days, dipping her image into my mind and coloring it of a thousand fantastic hues, before i could see her as she really was.
now, susan, for a sober picture of our village!
it was a small collection of dwellings that seemed to have been cast up by the sea, with the rock-weed and marine plants that it vomits after a storm, or to have come ashore among the pipe-staves and other lumber, which had been washed from the deck of an eastern schooner.
there was just space for the narrow and sandy street between the beach in front, and a precipitous hill that lifted its rocky forehead in the rear, among a waste of juniper-bushes and the wild growth of a broken pasture.
the village was picturesque, in the variety of its edifices, though all were rude.
here stood a little old hovel, built, perhaps, of drift-wood, there a row of boat-houses, and beyond them a two-story dwelling, of dark and weather-beaten aspect, the whole intermixed with one or two snug cottages, painted white, a sufficiency of pigsties, and a shoemaker's shop.
two grocery-stores stand opposite each other, in the centre of the village.
these were the places of resort, at their idle hours, of a hardy throng of fishermen, in red baize shirts, oilcloth trousers, and boots of brown leather covering the whole leg; true seven-league boots, but fitter to wade the ocean than walk the earth.
the wearers seemed amphibious, as if they did but creep out of salt water to sun themselves; nor would it have been wonderful to see their lower limbs covered with clusters of little shellfish, such as cling to rocks and old ship-timber over which the tide ebbs and flows.
when their fleet of boats was weather-bound, the butchers raised their price, and the spit was busier than the frying-pan; for this was a place of fish, and known as such, to all the country round about; the very air was fishy, being perfumed with dead sculpins, hardheads, and dogfish, strewn plentifully on the beach.
you see, children, the village is but little changed, since your mother and i were young.
how like a dream it was, when i bent over a pool of water, one pleasant morning, and saw that the ocean had dashed its spray over me and made me a fisherman!
there were the tarpauling, the baize shirt, the oil-cloth trousers and seven-league boots, and there my own features, but so reddened with sunburn and sea-breezes, that methought i had another face, and on other shoulders too.
the sea-gulls and the loons, and i, had now all one trade; we skimmed the crested waves and sought our prey beneath them, the man with as keen enjoyment as the birds.
always, when the east grew purple, i launched my dory, my little flat-bottomed skiff, and rowed cross-handed to point ledge, the middle ledge, or, perhaps, beyond egg rock; often, too, did i anchor off dread ledge, a spot of peril to ships unpiloted; and sometimes spread an adventurous sail and tracked across the bay to south shore, casting my lines in sight of scituate.
ere nightfall, i hauled my skiff high and dry on the beach, laden with red rock-cod, or the white-bellied ones of deep water; haddock, bearing the black marks of st. peter's fingers near the gills; the longbearded hake, whose liver holds oil enough for a midnight lamp; and now and then a mighty halibut, with a back broad as my boat.
in the autumn, i trolled and caught those lovely fish, the mackerel.
when the wind was high, -- when the whale-boats, anchored off the point, nodded their slender masts at each other, and the dories pitched and tossed in the surf, -- when nahant beach was thundering three miles off, and the spray broke a hundred feet in air, round the distant base of egg rock, -- when the brimful and boisterous sea threatened to tumble over the street of our village, -- then i made a holiday on shore.
many such a day did i sit snugly in mr. bartlett's store, attentive to the yarns of uncle parker; uncle to the whole village, by right of seniority, but of southern blood, with no kindred in new england.
his figure is before me now, enthroned upon a mackerel-barrel; a lean old man, of great height, but bent with years, and twisted into an uncouth shape by seven broken limbs; furrowed also, and weather-worn, as if every gale, for the better part of a century, had caught him somewhere on the sea.
he looked like a harbinger of tempest, a shipmate of the flying dutchman.
after innumerable voyages aboard men-of-war and merchant-men, fishing-schooners and chebacco-boats, the old salt had become master of a handcart, which he daily trundled about the vicinity, and sometimes blew his fish-horn through the streets of salem.
one of uncle parker's eyes had been blown out with gunpowder, and the other did but glimmer in its socket.
turning it upward as he spoke, it was his delight to tell of cruises against the french, and battles with his own shipmates, when he and an antagonist used to be seated astride of a sailor's chest, each fastened down by a spike-nail through his trousers, and there to fight it out.
sometimes he expatiated on the delicious flavor of the liagden, a greasy and goose-like fowl, which the sailors catch with hook and line on the grand banks.
he dwelt with rapture on an interminable winter at the isle of sables, where he had gladdened himself, amid polar snows, with the rum and sugar saved from the wreck of a west india schooner.
and wrathfully did he shake his fist, as he related how a party of cape cod men had robbed him and his companions of their lawful spoil, and sailed away with every keg of old jamaica, leaving him not a drop to drown his sorrow.
villains they were, and of that wicked brotherhood who are said to tie lanterns to horses" tails, to mislead the mariner along the dangerous shores of the cape.
even now i seem to see the group of fishermen, with that old salt in the midst.
one fellow sits on the counter, a second bestrides an oil-barrel, a third lolls at his length on a parcel of new cod-lines, and another has planted the tarry seat of his trousers on a heap of salt, which will shortly be sprinkled over a lot of fish.
they are a likely set of men.
some have voyaged to the east indies or the pacific, and most of them have sailed in marblehead schooners to newfoundland; a few have been no farther than the middle banks, and one or two have always fished along the shore; but, as uncle parker used to say, they have all been christened in salt water, and know more than men ever learn in the bushes.
a curious figure, by way of contrast, is a fish-dealer from farup country, listening with eyes wide open to narratives that might startle sindbad the sailor.
be it well with you, my brethren!
ye are all gone, some to your graves ashore, and others to the depths of ocean; but my faith is strong that ye are happy; for whenever i behold your forms, whether in dream or vision, each departed friend is puffing his long-nine, and a mug of the right blackstrap goes round from lip to lip.
but where was the mermaid in those delightful times?
at a certain window near the centre of the village appeared a pretty display of gingerbread men and horses, picture-books and ballads, small fish-hooks, pins, needles, sugar-plums, and brass thimbles, articles on which the young fishermen used to expend their money from pure gallantry.
what a picture was susan behind the counter!
a slender maiden, though the child of rugged parents, she had the slimmest of all waists, brown hair curling on her neck, and a complexion rather pale, except when the sea-breeze flushed it.
a few freckles became beauty-spots beneath her eyelids.
how was it, susan, that you talked and acted so carelessly, yet always for the best, doing whatever was right in your own eyes, and never once doing wrong in mine, nor shocked a taste that had been morbidly sensitive till now?
and whence had you that happiest gift, of brightening every topic with an unsought gayety, quiet but irresistible, so that even loomy spirits felt your sunshine, and did not shrink from it?
nature wrought the charm.
she made you a frank, simple, kind-hearted, sensible, and mirthful girl.
obeying nature, you did free things without indelicacy, displayed a maiden's thoughts to every eye, and proved yourself as innocent as naked eve.
it was beautiful to observe, how her simple and happy nature mingled itself with mine.
she kindled a domestic fire within my heart, and took up her dwelling there, even in that chill and lonesome cavern hung round with glittering icicles of fancy.
she gave me warmth of feeling, while the influence of my mind made her contemplative.
i taught her to love the moonlight hour, when the expanse of the encircled bay was smooth as a great mirror and slept in a transparent shadow; while beyond nahant, the wind rippled the dim ocean into a dreamy brightness, which grew faint afar off, without becoming gloomier.
i held her hand and pointed to the long surf wave, as it rolled calmly on the beach, in an unbroken line of silver; we were silent together, till its deep and peaceful murmur had swept by us.
when the sabbath sun shone down into the recesses of the cliffs, i led the mermaid thither, and told her that those huge, gray, shattered rocks, and her native sea, that raged forever like a storm against them, and her own slender beauty, in so stern a scene, were all combined into a strain of poetry.
but on the sabbath eve, when her mother had gone early to bed, and her gentle sister had smiled and left us, as we sat alone by the quiet hearth, with household things around, it was her turn to make me feel that here was a deeper poetry, and that this was the dearest hour of all.
thus went on our wooing, till i had shot wild-fowl enough to feather our bridal bed, and the daughter of the sea was mine.
i built a cottage for susan and myself, and made a gateway in the form of a gothic arch, by setting up a whale's jaw-bones.
we bought a heifer with her first calf, and had a little garden on the hillside, to supply us with potatoes and green sauce for our fish.
our parlor small and neat, was ornamented with our two profiles in one gilt frame, and with shells and pretty pebbles on the mantel-piece, selected from the sea's treasury of such things, on nahant beach.
on the desk, beneath the looking-glass, lay the bible, which i had begun to read aloud at the book of genesis, and the singing-book that susan used for her evening psalm.
except the almanac, we had no other literature.
all that i heard of books, was when an indian history, or tale of shipwreck, was sold by a peddler or wandering subscription-man, to some one in the village, and read through its owner's nose to a slumberous auditory.
like my brother fishermen, i grew into the belief that all human erudition was collected in our pedagogue, whose green spectacles and solemn phiz, as he passed to his little schoolhouse, amid a waste of sand, might have gained him a diploma from any college in new england.
in truth i dreaded him.
when our children were old enough to claim his care, you remember, susan, how i frowned, though you were pleased, at this learned man's encomiums on their proficiency.
i feared to trust them even with the alphabet; it was the key to a fatal treasure.
but i loved to lead them by their little hands along the beach, and point to nature in the vast and the minute, the sky, the sea, the green earth, the pebbles, and the shells.
then did i discourse of the mighty works and coextensive goodness of the deity, with the simple wisdom of a man whose mind had profited by lonely days upon the deep, and his heart by the strong and pure affections of his evening home.
sometimes my voice lost itself in a tremulous depth; for i felt his eye upon me as i spoke.
once, while my wife and all of us were gazing at ourselves, in the mirror left by the tide in a hollow of the sand, i pointed to the pictured heaven below, and bade her observe how religion was strewn everywhere in our path; since even a casual pool of water recalled the idea of that home whither we were travelling, to rest forever with our children.
suddenly, your image, susan, and all the little faces made up of yours and mine, seemed to fade away and vanish around me, leaving a pale visage like my own of former days within the frame of a large looking-glass.
strange illusion!
my life glided on, the past appearing to mingle with the present and absorb the future, till the whole lies before me at a glance.
my manhood has long been waning with a stanch decay; my earlier contemporaries, after lives of unbroken health, are all at rest, without having known the weariness of later age; and now, with a wrinkled forehead and thin white hair as badges of my dignity, i have become the patriarch, the uncle of the village.
i love that name; it widens the circle of my sympathies; it joins all the youthful to my household, in the kindred of affection.
like uncle parker, whose rheumatic bones were dashed against egg rock, full forty years ago, i am a spinner of long yarns.
seated on the gunwale of a dory, or on the sunny side of a boat-house, where the warmth is grateful to my limbs, or by my own hearth, when a friend or two are there, i overflow with talk, and yet am never tedious.
with a broken voice i give utterance to much wisdom.
such, heaven be praised!
is the vigor of my faculties, that many a forgotten usage, and traditions ancient in my youth, and early adventures of myself or others, hitherto effaced by things more recent, acquire new distinctness in my memory.
i remember the happy days when the haddock were more numerous on all the fishing-grounds than sculpins in the surf; when the deepwater cod swain close in shore, and the dogfish, with his poisonous horn, had not learned to take the hook.
i can number every equinoctial storm, in which the sea has overwhelmed the street, flooded the cellars of the village, and hissed upon our kitchen hearth.
i give the history of the great whale that was landed on whale beach, and whose jaws, being now my gateway, will last for ages after my coffin shall have passed beneath them.
thence it is an easy digression to the halibut, scarcely smaller than the whale, which ran out six cod-lines, and hauled my dory to the mouth of boston harbor, before i could touch him with the gaff.
if melancholy accidents be the theme of conversation, i tell how a friend of mine was taken out of his boat by an enormous shark; and the sad, true tale of a young man on the eve of marriage, who had been nine days missing, when his drowned body floated into the very pathway, on marblehead neck, that had often led him to the dwelling of his bride; as if the dripping corpse would have come where the mourner was.
with such awful fidelity did that lover return to fulfil his vows!
another favorite story is of a crazy maiden, who conversed with angels and had the gift of prophecy, and whom all the village loved and pitied, though she went from door to door accusing us of sin, exhorting to repentance, and foretelling our destruction by flood or earthquake.
if the young men boast their knowledge of the ledges and sunken rocks, i speak of pilots, who knew the wind by its scent and the wave by its taste, and could have steered blindfold to any port between boston and mount desert, guided only by the rote of the shore; the peculiar sound of the surf on each island, beach, and line of rocks, along the coast.
thus do i talk, and all my auditors grow wise, while they deem it pastime.
i recollect no happier portion of my life, than this, my calm old age.
it is like the sunny and sheltered slope of a valley, where, late in the autumn, the grass is greener than in august, and intermixed with golden dandelions, that have not been seen till now, since the first warmth of the year.
but with me, the verdure and the flowers are not frostbitten in the midst of winter.
a playfulness has revisited my mind; a sympathy with the young and gay; an unpainful interest in the business of others; a light and wandering curiosity; arising, perhaps, from the sense that my toil on earth is ended, and the brief hour till bedtime may be spent in play.
still, i have fancied that there is a depth of feeling and reflection, under this superficial levity, peculiar to one who has lived long, and is soon to die.
show me anything that would make an infant smile, and you shall behold a gleam of mirth over the hoary ruin of my visage.
i can spend a pleasant hour in the sun, watching the sports of the village children, on the edge of the surf; now they chase the retreating wave far down over the wet sand; now it steals softly up to kiss their naked feet; now it comes onward with threatening front, and roars after the laughing crew, as they scamper beyond its reach.
why should not an old man be merry too, when the great sea is at play with those little children?
i delight, also, to follow in the wake of a pleasure-party of young men and girls, strolling along the beach after an early supper at the point.
here, with hand kerchiefs at nose, they bend over a heap of eel-grass, entangled in which is a dead skate, so oddly accoutred with two legs and a long tail, that they mistake him for a drowned animal.
a few steps farther, the ladies scream, and the gentlemen make ready to protect them against a young shark of the dogfish kind, rolling with a life-like motion in the tide that has thrown him up.
next, they are smit with wonder at the black shells of a wagon-load of live lobsters, packed in rock-weed for the country market.
and when they reach the fleet of dories, just hauled ashore after the day's fishing, how do i laugh in my sleeve, and sometimes roar outright, at the simplicity of these young folks and the sly humor of the fishermen!
in winter, when our village is thrown into a bustle by the arrival of perhaps a score of country dealers, bargaining for frozen fish, to be transported hundreds of miles, and eaten fresh in vermont or canada, i am a pleased but idle spectator in the throng.
for i launch my boat no more.
when the shore was solitary, i have found a pleasure that seemed even to exalt my mind, in observing the sports or contentions of two gulls, as they wheeled and hovered about each other, with hoarse screams, one moment flapping on the foam of the wave, and then soaring aloft, till their white bosoms melted into the upper sunshine.
in the calm of the summer sunset, i drag my aged limbs, with a little ostentation of activity, because i am so old, up to the rocky brow of the hill.
there i see the white sails of many a vessel, outward bound or homeward from afar, and the black trail of a vapor behind the eastern steamboat; there, too, is the sun, going down, but not in gloom, and there the illimitable ocean mingling with the sky, to remind me of eternity.
but sweetest of all is the hour of cheerful musing and pleasant talk, that comes between the dusk and the lighted candle, by my glowing fireside.
and never, even on the first thanksgiving night, when susan and i sat alone with our hopes, nor the second, when a stranger had been sent to gladden us, and be the visible image of our affection, did i feel such joy as now.
all that belong to me are here; death has taken none, nor disease kept them away, nor strife divided them from their parents or each other; with neither poverty nor riches to disturb them, nor the misery of desires beyond their lot, they have kept new england's festival round the patriarch's board.
for i am a patriarch!
here i sit among my descendants, in my old arm-chair and immemorial corner, while the firelight throws an appropriate glory round my venerable frame.
susan!
my children!
something whispers me, that this happiest hour must be the final one, and that nothing remains but to bless you all, and depart with a treasure of recollected joys to heaven.
will you meet me there?
alas!
your figures grow indistinct, fading into pictures on the air, and now to fainter outlines, while the fire is glimmering on the walls of a familiar room, and shows the book that i flung down, and the sheet that i left half written, some fifty years ago.
i lift my eyes to the looking-glass, and perceive myself alone, unless those be the mermaid's features, retiring into the depths of the mirror, with a tender and melancholy smile.
all!
one feels a chillness, not bodily, but about the heart, and, moreover, a foolish dread of looking behind him, after these pastimes.
i can imagine precisely how a magician would sit down in gloom and terror, after dismissing the shadows that had personated dead or distant people, and stripping his cavern of the unreal splendor which had changed it to a palace.
and now for a moral to my revery.
shall it be, that, since fancy can create so bright a dream of happiness, it were better to dream on from youth to age, than to awake and strive doubtfully for something real!
o, the slight tissue of a dream can no more preserve us from the stern reality of misfortune, than a robe of cobweb could repel the wintry blast.
be this the moral, then.
_book_title_: nathaniel_hawthorne___twice_told_tales.txt.out
the gray champion.
there was once a time when new england groaned under the actual pressure of heavier wrongs than those threatened ones which brought on the revolution.
james ii., the bigoted successor of charles the voluptuous, had annulled the charters of all the colonies and sent a harsh and unprincipled soldier to take away our liberties and endanger our religion.
the administration of sir edmund andros lacked scarcely a single characteristic of tyranny -- a governor and council holding office from the king and wholly independent of the country; laws made and taxes levied without concurrence of the people, immediate or by their representatives; the rights of private citizens violated and the titles of all landed property declared void; the voice of complaint stifled by restrictions on the press; and finally, disaffection overawed by the first band of mercenary troops that ever marched on our free soil.
for two years our ancestors were kept in sullen submission by that filial love which had invariably secured their allegiance to the mother-country, whether its head chanced to be a parliament, protector or popish monarch.
till these evil times, however, such allegiance had been merely nominal, and the colonists had ruled themselves, enjoying far more freedom than is even yet the privilege of the native subjects of great britain.
at length a rumor reached our shores that the prince of orange had ventured on an enterprise the success of which would be the triumph of civil and religious rights and the salvation of new england.
it was but a doubtful whisper; it might be false or the attempt might fail, and in either case the man that stirred against king james would lose his head.
still, the intelligence produced a marked effect.
the people smiled mysteriously in the streets and threw bold glances at their oppressors, while far and wide there was a subdued and silent agitation, as if the slightest signal would rouse the whole land from its sluggish despondency.
aware of their danger, the rulers resolved to avert it by an imposing display of strength, and perhaps to confirm their despotism by yet harsher measures.
one afternoon in april, 1689, sir edmund andros and his favorite councillors, being warm with wine, assembled the red-coats of the governor's guard and made their appearance in the streets of boston.
the sun was near setting when the march commenced.
the roll of the drum at that unquiet crisis seemed to go through the streets less as the martial music of the soldiers than as a muster-call to the inhabitants themselves.
a multitude by various avenues assembled in king street, which was destined to be the scene, nearly a century afterward, of another encounter between the troops of britain and a people struggling against her tyranny.
though more than sixty years had elapsed since the pilgrims came, this crowd of their descendants still showed the strong and sombre features of their character perhaps more strikingly in such a stern emergency than on happier occasions.
there was the sober garb, the general severity of mien, the gloomy but undismayed expression, the scriptural forms of speech and the confidence in heaven's blessing on a righteous cause which would have marked a band of the original puritans when threatened by some peril of the wilderness.
indeed, it was not yet time for the old spirit to be extinct, since there were men in the street that day who had worshipped there beneath the trees before a house was reared to the god for whom they had become exiles.
old soldiers of the parliament were here, too, smiling grimly at the thought that their aged arms might strike another blow against the house of stuart.
here, also, were the veterans of king philip's war, who had burned villages and slaughtered young and old with pious fierceness while the godly souls throughout the land were helping them with prayer.
several ministers were scattered among the crowd, which, unlike all other mobs, regarded them with such reverence as if there were sanctity in their very garments.
these holy men exerted their influence to quiet the people, but not to disperse them.
meantime, the purpose of the governor in disturbing the peace of the town at a period when the slightest commotion might throw the country into a ferment was almost the universal subject of inquiry, and variously explained.
""satan will strike his master-stroke presently," cried some, "because he knoweth that his time is short.
all our godly pastors are to be dragged to prison.
we shall see them at a smithfield fire in king street."
hereupon the people of each parish gathered closer round their minister, who looked calmly upward and assumed a more apostolic dignity, as well befitted a candidate for the highest honor of his profession -- a crown of martyrdom.
it was actually fancied at that period that new england might have a john rogers of her own to take the place of that worthy in the primer.
""the pope of rome has given orders for a new st. bartholomew," cried others.
""we are to be massacred, man and male-child."
neither was this rumor wholly discredited; although the wiser class believed the governor's object somewhat less atrocious.
his predecessor under the old charter, bradstreet, a venerable companion of the first settlers, was known to be in town.
there were grounds for conjecturing that sir edmund andros intended at once to strike terror by a parade of military force and to confound the opposite faction by possessing himself of their chief.
""stand firm for the old charter-governor!"
shouted the crowd, seizing upon the idea -- "the good old governor bradstreet!"
while this cry was at the loudest the people were surprised by the well-known figure of governor bradstreet himself, a patriarch of nearly ninety, who appeared on the elevated steps of a door and with characteristic mildness besought them to submit to the constituted authorities.
""my children," concluded this venerable person, "do nothing rashly.
cry not aloud, but pray for the welfare of new england and expect patiently what the lord will do in this matter."
the event was soon to be decided.
all this time the roll of the drum had been approaching through cornhill, louder and deeper, till with reverberations from house to house and the regular tramp of martial footsteps it burst into the street.
a double rank of soldiers made their appearance, occupying the whole breadth of the passage, with shouldered matchlocks and matches burning, so as to present a row of fires in the dusk.
their steady march was like the progress of a machine that would roll irresistibly over everything in its way.
next, moving slowly, with a confused clatter of hoofs on the pavement, rode a party of mounted gentlemen, the central figure being sir edmund andros, elderly, but erect and soldier-like.
those around him were his favorite councillors and the bitterest foes of new england.
at his right hand rode edward randolph, our arch-enemy, that "blasted wretch," as cotton mather calls him, who achieved the downfall of our ancient government and was followed with a sensible curse-through life and to his grave.
on the other side was bullivant, scattering jests and mockery as he rode along.
dudley came behind with a downcast look, dreading, as well he might, to meet the indignant gaze of the people, who beheld him, their only countryman by birth, among the oppressors of his native land.
the captain of a frigate in the harbor and two or three civil officers under the crown were also there.
but the figure which most attracted the public eye and stirred up the deepest feeling was the episcopal clergyman of king's chapel riding haughtily among the magistrates in his priestly vestments, the fitting representative of prelacy and persecution, the union of church and state, and all those abominations which had driven the puritans to the wilderness.
another guard of soldiers, in double rank, brought up the rear.
the whole scene was a picture of the condition of new england, and its moral, the deformity of any government that does not grow out of the nature of things and the character of the people -- on one side the religious multitude with their sad visages and dark attire, and on the other the group of despotic rulers with the high churchman in the midst and here and there a crucifix at their bosoms, all magnificently clad, flushed with wine, proud of unjust authority and scoffing at the universal groan.
and the mercenary soldiers, waiting but the word to deluge the street with blood, showed the only means by which obedience could be secured.
""o lord of hosts," cried a voice among the crowd, "provide a champion for thy people!"
this ejaculation was loudly uttered, and served as a herald's cry to introduce a remarkable personage.
the crowd had rolled back, and were now huddled together nearly at the extremity of the street, while the soldiers had advanced no more than a third of its length.
the intervening space was empty -- a paved solitude between lofty edifices which threw almost a twilight shadow over it.
suddenly there was seen the figure of an ancient man who seemed to have emerged from among the people and was walking by himself along the centre of the street to confront the armed band.
he wore the old puritan dress -- a dark cloak and a steeple-crowned hat in the fashion of at least fifty years before, with a heavy sword upon his thigh, but a staff in his hand to assist the tremulous gait of age.
when at some distance from the multitude, the old man turned slowly round, displaying a face of antique majesty rendered doubly venerable by the hoary beard that descended on his breast.
he made a gesture at once of encouragement and warning, then turned again and resumed his way.
""who is this gray patriarch?"
asked the young men of their sires.
""who is this venerable brother?"
asked the old men among themselves.
but none could make reply.
the fathers of the people, those of fourscore years and upward, were disturbed, deeming it strange that they should forget one of such evident authority whom they must have known in their early days, the associate of winthrop and all the old councillors, giving laws and making prayers and leading them against the savage.
the elderly men ought to have remembered him, too, with locks as gray in their youth as their own were now.
and the young!
how could he have passed so utterly from their memories -- that hoary sire, the relic of long-departed times, whose awful benediction had surely been bestowed on their uncovered heads in childhood?
""whence did he come?
what is his purpose?
who can this old man be?"
whispered the wondering crowd.
meanwhile, the venerable stranger, staff in hand, was pursuing his solitary walk along the centre of the street.
as he drew near the advancing soldiers, and as the roll of their drum came full upon his ear, the old man raised himself to a loftier mien, while the decrepitude of age seemed to fall from his shoulders, leaving him in gray but unbroken dignity.
now he marched onward with a warrior's step, keeping time to the military music.
thus the aged form advanced on one side and the whole parade of soldiers and magistrates on the other, till, when scarcely twenty yards remained between, the old man grasped his staff by the middle and held it before him like a leader's truncheon.
""stand!"
cried he.
the eye, the face and attitude of command, the solemn yet warlike peal of that voice -- fit either to rule a host in the battle-field or be raised to god in prayer -- were irresistible.
at the old man's word and outstretched arm the roll of the drum was hushed at once and the advancing line stood still.
a tremulous enthusiasm seized upon the multitude.
that stately form, combining the leader and the saint, so gray, so dimly seen, in such an ancient garb, could only belong to some old champion of the righteous cause whom the oppressor's drum had summoned from his grave.
they raised a shout of awe and exultation, and looked for the deliverance of new england.
the governor and the gentlemen of his party, perceiving themselves brought to an unexpected stand, rode hastily forward, as if they would have pressed their snorting and affrighted horses right against the hoary apparition.
he, however, blenched not a step, but, glancing his severe eye round the group, which half encompassed him, at last bent it sternly on sir edmund andros.
one would have thought that the dark old man was chief ruler there, and that the governor and council with soldiers at their back, representing the whole power and authority of the crown, had no alternative but obedience.
""what does this old fellow here?"
cried edward randolph, fiercely.
-- "on, sir edmund!
bid the soldiers forward, and give the dotard the same choice that you give all his countrymen -- to stand aside or be trampled on."
""nay, nay!
let us show respect to the good grandsire," said bullivant, laughing.
""see you not he is some old round-headed dignitary who hath lain asleep these thirty years and knows nothing of the change of times?
doubtless he thinks to put us down with a proclamation in old noll's name."
""are you mad, old man?"
demanded sir edmund andros, in loud and harsh tones.
""how dare you stay the march of king james's governor?"
""i have stayed the march of a king himself ere now," replied the gray figure, with stern composure.
""i am here, sir governor, because the cry of an oppressed people hath disturbed me in my secret place, and, beseeching this favor earnestly of the lord, it was vouchsafed me to appear once again on earth in the good old cause of his saints.
and what speak ye of james?
there is no longer a popish tyrant on the throne of england, and by to-morrow noon his name shall be a by-word in this very street, where ye would make it a word of terror.
back, thou that wast a governor, back!
with this night thy power is ended.
to-morrow, the prison!
back, lest i foretell the scaffold!"
the people had been drawing nearer and nearer and drinking in the words of their champion, who spoke in accents long disused, like one unaccustomed to converse except with the dead of many years ago.
but his voice stirred their souls.
they confronted the soldiers, not wholly without arms and ready to convert the very stones of the street into deadly weapons.
sir edmund andros looked at the old man; then he cast his hard and cruel eye over the multitude and beheld them burning with that lurid wrath so difficult to kindle or to quench, and again he fixed his gaze on the aged form which stood obscurely in an open space where neither friend nor foe had thrust himself.
what were his thoughts he uttered no word which might discover, but, whether the oppressor were overawed by the gray champion's look or perceived his peril in the threatening attitude of the people, it is certain that he gave back and ordered his soldiers to commence a slow and guarded retreat.
before another sunset the governor and all that rode so proudly with him were prisoners, and long ere it was known that james had abdicated king william was proclaimed throughout new england.
but where was the gray champion?
some reported that when the troops had gone from king street and the people were thronging tumultuously in their rear, bradstreet, the aged governor, was seen to embrace a form more aged than his own.
others soberly affirmed that while they marvelled at the venerable grandeur of his aspect the old man had faded from their eyes, melting slowly into the hues of twilight, till where he stood there was an empty space.
but all agreed that the hoary shape was gone.
the men of that generation watched for his reappearance in sunshine and in twilight, but never saw him more, nor knew when his funeral passed nor where his gravestone was.
and who was the gray champion?
perhaps his name might be found in the records of that stern court of justice which passed a sentence too mighty for the age, but glorious in all after-times for its humbling lesson to the monarch and its high example to the subject.
i have heard that whenever the descendants of the puritans are to show the spirit of their sires the old man appears again.
when eighty years had passed, he walked once more in king street.
five years later, in the twilight of an april morning, he stood on the green beside the meeting-house at lexington where now the obelisk of granite with a slab of slate inlaid commemorates the first-fallen of the revolution.
and when our fathers were toiling at the breastwork on bunker's hill, all through that night the old warrior walked his rounds.
long, long may it be ere he comes again!
his hour is one of darkness and adversity and peril.
but should domestic tyranny oppress us or the invader's step pollute our soil, still may the gray champion come!
for he is the type of new england's hereditary spirit, and his shadowy march on the eve of danger must ever be the pledge that new england's sons will vindicate their ancestry.
sunday at home.
every sabbath morning in the summer-time i thrust back the curtain to watch the sunrise stealing down a steeple which stands opposite my chamber window.
first the weathercock begins to flash; then a fainter lustre gives the spire an airy aspect; next it encroaches on the tower and causes the index of the dial to glisten like gold as it points to the gilded figure of the hour.
now the loftiest window gleams, and now the lower.
the carved framework of the portal is marked strongly out.
at length the morning glory in its descent from heaven comes down the stone steps one by one, and there stands the steeple glowing with fresh radiance, while the shades of twilight still hide themselves among the nooks of the adjacent buildings.
methinks though the same sun brightens it every fair morning, yet the steeple has a peculiar robe of brightness for the sabbath.
by dwelling near a church a person soon contracts an attachment for the edifice.
we naturally personify it, and conceive its massy walls and its dim emptiness to be instinct with a calm and meditative and somewhat melancholy spirit.
but the steeple stands foremost in our thoughts, as well as locally.
it impresses us as a giant with a mind comprehensive and discriminating enough to care for the great and small concerns of all the town.
hourly, while it speaks a moral to the few that think, it reminds thousands of busy individuals of their separate and most secret affairs.
it is the steeple, too, that flings abroad the hurried and irregular accents of general alarm; neither have gladness and festivity found a better utterance than by its tongue; and when the dead are slowly passing to their home, the steeple has a melancholy voice to bid them welcome.
yet, in spite of this connection with human interests, what a moral loneliness on week-days broods round about its stately height!
it has no kindred with the houses above which it towers; it looks down into the narrow thoroughfare -- the lonelier because the crowd are elbowing their passage at its base.
a glance at the body of the church deepens this impression.
within, by the light of distant windows, amid refracted shadows we discern the vacant pews and empty galleries, the silent organ, the voiceless pulpit and the clock which tells to solitude how time is passing.
time -- where man lives not -- what is it but eternity?
and in the church, we might suppose, are garnered up throughout the week all thoughts and feelings that have reference to eternity, until the holy day comes round again to let them forth.
might not, then, its more appropriate site be in the outskirts of the town, with space for old trees to wave around it and throw their solemn shadows over a quiet green?
we will say more of this hereafter.
but on the sabbath i watch the earliest sunshine and fancy that a holier brightness marks the day when there shall be no buzz of voices on the exchange nor traffic in the shops, nor crowd nor business anywhere but at church.
many have fancied so.
for my own part, whether i see it scattered down among tangled woods, or beaming broad across the fields, or hemmed in between brick buildings, or tracing out the figure of the casement on my chamber floor, still i recognize the sabbath sunshine.
and ever let me recognize it!
some illusions -- and this among them -- are the shadows of great truths.
doubts may flit around me or seem to close their evil wings and settle down, but so long as i imagine that the earth is hallowed and the light of heaven retains its sanctity on the sabbath -- while that blessed sunshine lives within me -- never can my soul have lost the instinct of its faith.
if it have gone astray, it will return again.
i love to spend such pleasant sabbaths from morning till night behind the curtain of my open window.
are they spent amiss?
every spot so near the church as to be visited by the circling shadow of the steeple should be deemed consecrated ground to-day.
with stronger truth be it said that a devout heart may consecrate a den of thieves, as an evil one may convert a temple to the same.
my heart, perhaps, has no such holy, nor, i would fain trust, such impious, potency.
it must suffice that, though my form be absent, my inner man goes constantly to church, while many whose bodily presence fills the accustomed seats have left their souls at home.
but i am there even before my friend the sexton.
at length he comes -- a man of kindly but sombre aspect, in dark gray clothes, and hair of the same mixture.
he comes and applies his key to the wide portal.
now my thoughts may go in among the dusty pews or ascend the pulpit without sacrilege, but soon come forth again to enjoy the music of the bell.
how glad, yet solemn too!
all the steeples in town are talking together aloft in the sunny air and rejoicing among themselves while their spires point heavenward.
meantime, here are the children assembling to the sabbath-school, which is kept somewhere within the church.
often, while looking at the arched portal, i have been gladdened by the sight of a score of these little girls and boys in pink, blue, yellow and crimson frocks bursting suddenly forth into the sunshine like a swarm of gay butterflies that had been shut up in the solemn gloom.
or i might compare them to cherubs haunting that holy place.
about a quarter of an hour before the second ringing of the bell individuals of the congregation begin to appear.
the earliest is invariably an old woman in black whose bent frame and rounded shoulders are evidently laden with some heavy affliction which she is eager to rest upon the altar.
would that the sabbath came twice as often, for the sake of that sorrowful old soul!
there is an elderly man, also, who arrives in good season and leans against the corner of the tower, just within the line of its shadow, looking downward with a darksome brow.
i sometimes fancy that the old woman is the happier of the two.
after these, others drop in singly and by twos and threes, either disappearing through the doorway or taking their stand in its vicinity.
at last, and always with an unexpected sensation, the bell turns in the steeple overhead and throws out an irregular clangor, jarring the tower to its foundation.
as if there were magic in the sound, the sidewalks of the street, both up and down along, are immediately thronged with two long lines of people, all converging hitherward and streaming into the church.
perhaps the far-off roar of a coach draws nearer -- a deeper thunder by its contrast with the surrounding stillness -- until it sets down the wealthy worshippers at the portal among their humblest brethren.
beyond that entrance -- in theory, at least -- there are no distinctions of earthly rank; nor, indeed, by the goodly apparel which is flaunting in the sun would there seem to be such on the hither side.
those pretty girls!
why will they disturb my pious meditations?
of all days in the week, they should strive to look least fascinating on the sabbath, instead of heightening their mortal loveliness, as if to rival the blessed angels and keep our thoughts from heaven.
were i the minister himself, i must needs look.
one girl is white muslin from the waist upward and black silk downward to her slippers; a second blushes from top-knot to shoe-tie, one universal scarlet; another shines of a pervading yellow, as if she had made a garment of the sunshine.
the greater part, however, have adopted a milder cheerfulness of hue.
their veils, especially when the wind raises them, give a lightness to the general effect and make them appear like airy phantoms as they flit up the steps and vanish into the sombre doorway.
nearly all -- though it is very strange that i should know it -- wear white stockings, white as snow, and neat slippers laced crosswise with black ribbon pretty high above the ankles.
a white stocking is infinitely more effective than a black one.
here comes the clergyman, slow and solemn, in severe simplicity, needing no black silk gown to denote his office.
his aspect claims my reverence, but can not win my love.
were i to picture saint peter keeping fast the gate of heaven and frowning, more stern than pitiful, on the wretched applicants, that face should be my study.
by middle age, or sooner, the creed has generally wrought upon the heart or been attempered by it.
as the minister passes into the church the bell holds its iron tongue and all the low murmur of the congregation dies away.
the gray sexton looks up and down the street and then at my window-curtain, where through the small peephole i half fancy that he has caught my eye.
now every loiterer has gone in and the street lies asleep in the quiet sun, while a feeling of loneliness comes over me, and brings also an uneasy sense of neglected privileges and duties.
oh, i ought to have gone to church!
the bustle of the rising congregation reaches my ears.
they are standing up to pray.
could i bring my heart into unison with those who are praying in yonder church and lift it heavenward with a fervor of supplication, but no distinct request, would not that be the safest kind of prayer?
-- "lord, look down upon me in mercy!"
with that sentiment gushing from my soul, might i not leave all the rest to him?
hark!
the hymn!
this, at least, is a portion of the service which i can enjoy better than if i sat within the walls, where the full choir and the massive melody of the organ would fall with a weight upon me.
at this distance it thrills through my frame and plays upon my heart-strings with a pleasure both of the sense and spirit.
heaven be praised!
i know nothing of music as a science, and the most elaborate harmonies, if they please me, please as simply as a nurse's lullaby.
the strain has ceased, but prolongs itself in my mind with fanciful echoes till i start from my reverie and find that the sermon has commenced.
it is my misfortune seldom to fructify in a regular way by any but printed sermons.
the first strong idea which the preacher utters gives birth to a train of thought and leads me onward step by step quite out of hearing of the good man's voice unless he be indeed a son of thunder.
at my open window, catching now and then a sentence of the "parson's saw," i am as well situated as at the foot of the pulpit stairs.
the broken and scattered fragments of this one discourse will be the texts of many sermons preached by those colleague pastors -- colleagues, but often disputants -- my mind and heart.
the former pretends to be a scholar and perplexes me with doctrinal points; the latter takes me on the score of feeling; and both, like several other preachers, spend their strength to very little purpose.
i, their sole auditor, can not always understand them.
suppose that a few hours have passed, and behold me still behind my curtain just before the close of the afternoon service.
the hour-hand on the dial has passed beyond four o'clock.
the declining sun is hidden behind the steeple and throws its shadow straight across the street; so that my chamber is darkened as with a cloud.
around the church door all is solitude, and an impenetrable obscurity beyond the threshold.
a commotion is heard.
the seats are slammed down and the pew doors thrown back; a multitude of feet are trampling along the unseen aisles, and the congregation bursts suddenly through the portal.
foremost scampers a rabble of boys, behind whom moves a dense and dark phalanx of grown men, and lastly a crowd of females with young children and a few scattered husbands.
this instantaneous outbreak of life into loneliness is one of the pleasantest scenes of the day.
some of the good people are rubbing their eyes, thereby intimating that they have been wrapped, as it were, in a sort of holy trance by the fervor of their devotion.
there is a young man, a third-rate coxcomb, whose first care is always to flourish a white handkerchief and brush the seat of a tight pair of black silk pantaloons which shine as if varnished.
they must have been made of the stuff called "everlasting," or perhaps of the same piece as christian's garments in the pilgrim's progress, for he put them on two summers ago and has not yet worn the gloss off.
i have taken a great liking to those black silk pantaloons.
but now, with nods and greetings among friends, each matron takes her husband's arm and paces gravely homeward, while the girls also flutter away after arranging sunset walks with their favored bachelors.
the sabbath eve is the eve of love.
at length the whole congregation is dispersed.
no; here, with faces as glossy as black satin, come two sable ladies and a sable gentleman, and close in their rear the minister, who softens his severe visage and bestows a kind word on each.
poor souls!
to them the most captivating picture of bliss in heaven is "there we shall be white!"
all is solitude again.
but hark!
a broken warbling of voices, and now, attuning its grandeur to their sweetness, a stately peal of the organ.
who are the choristers?
let me dream that the angels who came down from heaven this blessed morn to blend themselves with the worship of the truly good are playing and singing their farewell to the earth.
on the wings of that rich melody they were borne upward.
this, gentle reader, is merely a flight of poetry.
a few of the singing-men and singing-women had lingered behind their fellows and raised their voices fitfully and blew a careless note upon the organ.
yet it lifted my soul higher than all their former strains.
they are gone -- the sons and daughters of music -- and the gray sexton is just closing the portal.
for six days more there will be no face of man in the pews and aisles and galleries, nor a voice in the pulpit, nor music in the choir.
was it worth while to rear this massive edifice to be a desert in the heart of the town and populous only for a few hours of each seventh day?
oh, but the church is a symbol of religion.
may its site, which was consecrated on the day when the first tree was felled, be kept holy for ever, a spot of solitude and peace amid the trouble and vanity of our week-day world!
there is a moral, and a religion too, even in the silent walls.
and may the steeple still point heavenward and be decked with the hallowed sunshine of the sabbath morn!
the wedding-knell.
there is a certain church, in the city of new york which i have always regarded with peculiar interest on account of a marriage there solemnized under very singular circumstances in my grandmother's girlhood.
that venerable lady chanced to be a spectator of the scene, and ever after made it her favorite narrative.
whether the edifice now standing on the same site be the identical one to which she referred i am not antiquarian enough to know, nor would it be worth while to correct myself, perhaps, of an agreeable error by reading the date of its erection on the tablet over the door.
it is a stately church surrounded by an enclosure of the loveliest green, within which appear urns, pillars, obelisks, and other forms of monumental marble, the tributes of private affection or more splendid memorials of historic dust.
with such a place, though the tumult of the city rolls beneath its tower, one would be willing to connect some legendary interest.
the marriage might be considered as the result of an early engagement, though there had been two intermediate weddings on the lady's part and forty years of celibacy on that of the gentleman.
at sixty-five mr. ellenwood was a shy but not quite a secluded man; selfish, like all men who brood over their own hearts, yet manifesting on rare occasions a vein of generous sentiment; a scholar throughout life, though always an indolent one, because his studies had no definite object either of public advantage or personal ambition; a gentleman, high-bred and fastidiously delicate, yet sometimes requiring a considerable relaxation in his behalf of the common rules of society.
in truth, there were so many anomalies in his character, and, though shrinking with diseased sensibility from public notice, it had been his fatality so often to become the topic of the day by some wild eccentricity of conduct, that people searched his lineage for a hereditary taint of insanity.
but there was no need of this.
his caprices had their origin in a mind that lacked the support of an engrossing purpose, and in feelings that preyed upon themselves for want of other food.
if he were mad, it was the consequence, and not the cause, of an aimless and abortive life.
the widow was as complete a contrast to her third bridegroom in everything but age as can well be conceived.
compelled to relinquish her first engagement, she had been united to a man of twice her own years, to whom she became an exemplary wife, and by whose death she was left in possession of a splendid fortune.
a southern gentleman considerably younger than herself succeeded to her hand and carried her to charleston, where after many uncomfortable years she found herself again a widow.
it would have been singular if any uncommon delicacy of feeling had survived through such a life as mrs. dabney's; it could not but be crushed and killed by her early disappointment, the cold duty of her first marriage, the dislocation of the heart's principles consequent on a second union, and the unkindness of her southern husband, which had inevitably driven her to connect the idea of his death with that of her comfort.
to be brief, she was that wisest but unloveliest variety of woman, a philosopher, bearing troubles of the heart with equanimity, dispensing with all that should have been her happiness and making the best of what remained.
sage in most matters, the widow was perhaps the more amiable for the one frailty that made her ridiculous.
being childless, she could not remain beautiful by proxy in the person of a daughter; she therefore refused to grow old and ugly on any consideration; she struggled with time, and held fast her roses in spite of him, till the venerable thief appeared to have relinquished the spoil as not worth the trouble of acquiring it.
the approaching marriage of this woman of the world with such an unworldly man as mr. ellenwood was announced soon after mrs. dabney's return to her native city.
superficial observers, and deeper ones, seemed to concur in supposing that the lady must have borne no inactive part in arranging the affair; there were considerations of expediency which she would be far more likely to appreciate than mr. ellenwood, and there was just the specious phantom of sentiment and romance in this late union of two early lovers which sometimes makes a fool of a woman who has lost her true feelings among the accidents of life.
all the wonder was how the gentleman, with his lack of worldly wisdom and agonizing consciousness of ridicule, could have been induced to take a measure at once so prudent and so laughable.
but while people talked the wedding-day arrived.
the ceremony was to be solemnized according to the episcopalian forms and in open church, with a degree of publicity that attracted many spectators, who occupied the front seats of the galleries and the pews near the altar and along the broad aisle.
it had been arranged, or possibly it was the custom of the day, that the parties should proceed separately to church.
by some accident the bridegroom was a little less punctual than the widow and her bridal attendants, with whose arrival, after this tedious but necessary preface, the action of our tale may be said to commence.
the clumsy wheels of several old-fashioned coaches were heard, and the gentlemen and ladies composing the bridal-party came through the church door with the sudden and gladsome effect of a burst of sunshine.
the whole group, except the principal figure, was made up of youth and gayety.
as they streamed up the broad aisle, while the pews and pillars seemed to brighten on either side, their steps were as buoyant as if they mistook the church for a ball-room and were ready to dance hand in hand to the altar.
so brilliant was the spectacle that few took notice of a singular phenomenon that had marked its entrance.
at the moment when the bride's foot touched the threshold the bell swung heavily in the tower above her and sent forth its deepest knell.
the vibrations died away, and returned with prolonged solemnity as she entered the body of the church.
""good heavens!
what an omen!"
whispered a young lady to her lover.
""on my honor," replied the gentleman, "i believe the bell has the good taste to toll of its own accord.
what has she to do with weddings?
if you, dearest julia, were approaching the altar, the bell would ring out its merriest peal.
it has only a funeral-knell for her."
the bride and most of her company had been too much occupied with the bustle of entrance to hear the first boding stroke of the bell -- or, at least, to reflect on the singularity of such a welcome to the altar.
they therefore continued to advance with undiminished gayety.
the gorgeous dresses of the time -- the crimson velvet coats, the gold-laced hats, the hoop-petticoats, the silk, satin, brocade and embroidery, the buckles, canes and swords, all displayed to the best advantage on persons suited to such finery -- made the group appear more like a bright-colored picture than anything real.
but by what perversity of taste had the artist represented his principal figure as so wrinkled and decayed, while yet he had decked her out in the brightest splendor of attire, as if the loveliest maiden had suddenly withered into age and become a moral to the beautiful around her?
on they went, however, and had glittered along about a third of the aisle, when another stroke of the bell seemed to fill the church with a visible gloom, dimming and obscuring the bright-pageant till it shone forth again as from a mist.
this time the party wavered, stopped and huddled closer together, while a slight scream was heard from some of the ladies and a confused whispering among the gentlemen.
thus tossing to and fro, they might have been fancifully compared to a splendid bunch of flowers suddenly shaken by a puff of wind which threatened to scatter the leaves of an old brown, withered rose on the same stalk with two dewy buds, such being the emblem of the widow between her fair young bridemaids.
but her heroism was admirable.
she had started with an irrepressible shudder, as if the stroke of the bell had fallen directly on her heart; then, recovering herself, while her attendants were yet in dismay, she took the lead and paced calmly up the aisle.
the bell continued to swing, strike and vibrate with the same doleful regularity as when a corpse is on its way to the tomb.
""my young friends here have their nerves a little shaken," said the widow, with a smile, to the clergyman at the altar.
""but so many weddings have been ushered in with the merriest peal of the bells, and yet turned out unhappily, that i shall hope for better fortune under such different auspices."
""madam," answered the rector, in great perplexity, "this strange occurrence brings to my mind a marriage-sermon of the famous bishop taylor wherein he mingles so many thoughts of mortality and future woe that, to speak somewhat after his own rich style, he seems to hang the bridal-chamber in black and cut the wedding-garment out of a coffin-pall.
and it has been the custom of divers nations to infuse something of sadness into their marriage ceremonies, so to keep death in mind while contracting that engagement which is life's chiefest business.
thus we may draw a sad but profitable moral from this funeral-knell."
but, though the clergyman might have given his moral even a keener point, he did not fail to despatch an attendant to inquire into the mystery and stop those sounds so dismally appropriate to such a marriage.
a brief space elapsed, during which the silence was broken only by whispers and a few suppressed titterings among the wedding-party and the spectators, who after the first shock were disposed to draw an ill-natured merriment from the affair.
the young have less charity for aged follies than the old for those of youth.
the widow's glance was observed to wander for an instant toward a window of the church, as if searching for the time-worn marble that she had dedicated to her first husband; then her eyelids dropped over their faded orbs and her thoughts were drawn irresistibly to another grave.
two buried men with a voice at her ear and a cry afar off were calling her to lie down beside them.
perhaps, with momentary truth of feeling, she thought how much happier had been her fate if, after years of bliss, the bell were now tolling for her funeral and she were followed to the grave by the old affection of her earliest lover, long her husband.
but why had she returned to him when their cold hearts shrank from each other's embrace?
still the death-bell tolled so mournfully that the sunshine seemed to fade in the air.
a whisper, communicated from those who stood nearest the windows, now spread through the church: a hearse with a train of several coaches was creeping along the street, conveying some dead man to the churchyard, while the bride awaited a living one at the altar.
immediately after, the footsteps of the bridegroom and his friends were heard at the door.
the widow looked down the aisle and clenched the arm of one of her bridemaids in her bony hand with such unconscious violence that the fair girl trembled.
""you frighten me, my dear madam," cried she.
""for heaven's sake, what is the matter?"
""nothing, my dear -- nothing," said the widow; then, whispering close to her ear, "there is a foolish fancy that i can not get rid of.
i am expecting my bridegroom to come into the church with my two first husbands for groomsmen."
""look!
look!"
screamed the bridemaid.
""what is here?
the funeral!"
as she spoke a dark procession paced into the church.
first came an old man and woman, like chief mourners at a funeral, attired from head to foot in the deepest black, all but their pale features and hoary hair, he leaning on a staff and supporting her decrepit form with his nerveless arm.
behind appeared another and another pair, as aged, as black and mournful as the first.
as they drew near the widow recognized in every face some trait of former friends long forgotten, but now returning as if from their old graves to warn her to prepare a shroud, or, with purpose almost as unwelcome, to exhibit their wrinkles and infirmity and claim her as their companion by the tokens of her own decay.
many a merry night had she danced with them in youth, and now in joyless age she felt that some withered partner should request her hand and all unite in a dance of death to the music of the funeral-bell.
while these aged mourners were passing up the aisle it was observed that from pew to pew the spectators shuddered with irrepressible awe as some object hitherto concealed by the intervening figures came full in sight.
many turned away their faces; others kept a fixed and rigid stare, and a young girl giggled hysterically and fainted with the laughter on her lips.
when the spectral procession approached the altar, each couple separated and slowly diverged, till in the centre appeared a form that had been worthily ushered in with all this gloomy pomp, the death-knell and the funeral.
it was the bridegroom in his shroud.
no garb but that of the grave could have befitted such a death-like aspect.
the eyes, indeed, had the wild gleam of a sepulchral lamp; all else was fixed in the stern calmness which old men wear in the coffin.
the corpse stood motionless, but addressed the widow in accents that seemed to melt into the clang of the bell, which fell heavily on the air while he spoke.
""come, my bride!"
said those pale lips.
""the hearse is ready; the sexton stands waiting for us at the door of the tomb.
let us be married, and then to our coffins!"
how shall the widow's horror be represented?
it gave her the ghastliness of a dead man's bride.
her youthful friends stood apart, shuddering at the mourners, the shrouded bridegroom and herself; the whole scene expressed by the strongest imagery the vain struggle of the gilded vanities of this world when opposed to age, infirmity, sorrow and death.
the awestruck silence was first broken by the clergyman.
""mr. ellenwood," said he, soothingly, yet with somewhat of authority, "you are not well.
your mind has been agitated by the unusual circumstances in which you are placed.
the ceremony must be deferred.
as an old friend, let me entreat you to return home."
""home -- yes; but not without my bride," answered he, in the same hollow accents.
""you deem this mockery -- perhaps madness.
had i bedizened my aged and broken frame with scarlet and embroidery, had i forced my withered lips to smile at my dead heart, that might have been mockery or madness; but now let young and old declare which of us has come hither without a wedding-garment -- the bridegroom or the bride."
he stepped forward at a ghostly pace and stood beside the widow, contrasting the awful simplicity of his shroud with the glare and glitter in which she had arrayed herself for this unhappy scene.
none that beheld them could deny the terrible strength of the moral which his disordered intellect had contrived to draw.
""cruel!
cruel!"
groaned the heartstricken bride.
""cruel?"
repeated he; then, losing his deathlike composure in a wild bitterness, "heaven judge which of us has been cruel to the other!
in youth you deprived me of my happiness, my hopes, my aims; you took away all the substance of my life and made it a dream without reality enough even to grieve at -- with only a pervading gloom, through which i walked wearily and cared not whither.
but after forty years, when i have built my tomb and would not give up the thought of resting there -- no, not for such a life as we once pictured -- you call me to the altar.
at your summons i am here.
but other husbands have enjoyed your youth, your beauty, your warmth of heart and all that could be termed your life.
what is there for me but your decay and death?
and therefore i have bidden these funeral-friends, and bespoken the sexton's deepest knell, and am come in my shroud to wed you as with a burial-service, that we may join our hands at the door of the sepulchre and enter it together."
it was not frenzy, it was not merely the drunkenness of strong emotion in a heart unused to it, that now wrought upon the bride.
the stern lesson of the day had done its work; her worldliness was gone.
she seized the bridegroom's hand.
""yes!"
cried she; "let us wed even at the door of the sepulchre.
my life is gone in vanity and emptiness, but at its close there is one true feeling.
it has made me what i was in youth: it makes me worthy of you.
time is no more for both of us.
let us wed for eternity."
with a long and deep regard the bridegroom looked into her eyes, while a tear was gathering in his own.
how strange that gush of human feeling from the frozen bosom of a corpse!
he wiped away the tear, even with his shroud.
""beloved of my youth," said he, "i have been wild.
the despair of my whole lifetime had returned at once and maddened me.
forgive and be forgiven.
yes; it is evening with us now, and we have realized none of our morning dreams of happiness.
but let us join our hands before the altar as lovers whom adverse circumstances have separated through life, yet who meet again as they are leaving it and find their earthly affection changed into something holy as religion.
and what is time to the married of eternity?"
amid the tears of many and a swell of exalted sentiment in those who felt aright was solemnized the union of two immortal souls.
the train of withered mourners, the hoary bridegroom in his shroud, the pale features of the aged bride and the death-bell tolling through the whole till its deep voice overpowered the marriage-words, -- all marked the funeral of earthly hopes.
but as the ceremony proceeded, the organ, as if stirred by the sympathies of this impressive scene, poured forth an anthem, first mingling with the dismal knell, then rising to a loftier strain, till the soul looked down upon its woe.
and when the awful rite was finished and with cold hand in cold hand the married of eternity withdrew, the organ's peal of solemn triumph drowned the wedding-knell.
the minister's black veil.
a parable.
-lsb- 1 -rsb- the sexton stood in the porch of milford meeting-house pulling lustily at the bell-rope.
the old people of the village came stooping along the street.
children with bright faces tripped merrily beside their parents or mimicked a graver gait in the conscious dignity of their sunday clothes.
spruce bachelors looked sidelong at the pretty maidens, and fancied that the sabbath sunshine made them prettier than on week-days.
when the throng had mostly streamed into the porch, the sexton began to toll the bell, keeping his eye on the reverend mr. hooper's door.
the first glimpse of the clergyman's figure was the signal for the bell to cease its summons.
-lsb- footnote 1: another clergyman in new england, mr. joseph moody, of york, maine, who died about eighty years since, made himself remarkable by the same eccentricity that is here related of the reverend mr. hooper.
in his case, however, the symbol had a different import.
in early life he had accidentally killed a beloved friend, and from that day till the hour of his own death he hid his face from men. -rsb-
""but what has good parson hooper got upon his face?"
cried the sexton, in astonishment.
all within hearing immediately turned about and beheld the semblance of mr. hooper pacing slowly his meditative way toward the meeting-house.
with one accord they started, expressing more wonder than if some strange minister were coming to dust the cushions of mr. hooper's pulpit.
""are you sure it is our parson?"
inquired goodman gray of the sexton.
""of a certainty it is good mr. hooper," replied the sexton.
""he was to have exchanged pulpits with parson shute of westbury, but parson shute sent to excuse himself yesterday, being to preach a funeral sermon."
the cause of so much amazement may appear sufficiently slight.
mr. hooper, a gentlemanly person of about thirty, though still a bachelor, was dressed with due clerical neatness, as if a careful wife had starched his band and brushed the weekly dust from his sunday's garb.
there was but one thing remarkable in his appearance.
swathed about his forehead and hanging down over his face, so low as to be shaken by his breath, mr. hooper had on a black veil.
on a nearer view it seemed to consist of two folds of crape, which entirely concealed his features except the mouth and chin, but probably did not intercept his sight further than to give a darkened aspect to all living and inanimate things.
with this gloomy shade before him good mr. hooper walked onward at a slow and quiet pace, stooping somewhat and looking on the ground, as is customary with abstracted men, yet nodding kindly to those of his parishioners who still waited on the meeting-house steps.
but so wonder-struck were they that his greeting hardly met with a return.
""i ca n't really feel as if good mr. hooper's face was behind that piece of crape," said the sexton.
""i do n't like it," muttered an old woman as she hobbled into the meeting-house.
""he has changed himself into something awful only by hiding his face."
""our parson has gone mad!"
cried goodman gray, following him across the threshold.
a rumor of some unaccountable phenomenon had preceded mr. hooper into the meeting-house and set all the congregation astir.
few could refrain from twisting their heads toward the door; many stood upright and turned directly about; while several little boys clambered upon the seats, and came down again with a terrible racket.
there was a general bustle, a rustling of the women's gowns and shuffling of the men's feet, greatly at variance with that hushed repose which should attend the entrance of the minister.
but mr. hooper appeared not to notice the perturbation of his people.
he entered with an almost noiseless step, bent his head mildly to the pews on each side and bowed as he passed his oldest parishioner, a white-haired great-grandsire, who occupied an arm-chair in the centre of the aisle.
it was strange to observe how slowly this venerable man became conscious of something singular in the appearance of his pastor.
he seemed not fully to partake of the prevailing wonder till mr. hooper had ascended the stairs and showed himself in the pulpit, face to face with his congregation except for the black veil.
that mysterious emblem was never once withdrawn.
it shook with his measured breath as he gave out the psalm, it threw its obscurity between him and the holy page as he read the scriptures, and while he prayed the veil lay heavily on his uplifted countenance.
did he seek to hide it from the dread being whom he was addressing?
such was the effect of this simple piece of crape that more than one woman of delicate nerves was forced to leave the meeting-house.
yet perhaps the pale-faced congregation was almost as fearful a sight to the minister as his black veil to them.
mr. hooper had the reputation of a good preacher, but not an energetic one: he strove to win his people heavenward by mild, persuasive influences rather than to drive them thither by the thunders of the word.
the sermon which he now delivered was marked by the same characteristics of style and manner as the general series of his pulpit oratory, but there was something either in the sentiment of the discourse itself or in the imagination of the auditors which made it greatly the most powerful effort that they had ever heard from their pastor's lips.
it was tinged rather more darkly than usual with the gentle gloom of mr. hooper's temperament.
the subject had reference to secret sin and those sad mysteries which we hide from our nearest and dearest, and would fain conceal from our own consciousness, even forgetting that the omniscient can detect them.
a subtle power was breathed into his words.
each member of the congregation, the most innocent girl and the man of hardened breast, felt as if the preacher had crept upon them behind his awful veil and discovered their hoarded iniquity of deed or thought.
many spread their clasped hands on their bosoms.
there was nothing terrible in what mr. hooper said -- at least, no violence; and yet with every tremor of his melancholy voice the hearers quaked.
an unsought pathos came hand in hand with awe.
so sensible were the audience of some unwonted attribute in their minister that they longed for a breath of wind to blow aside the veil, almost believing that a stranger's visage would be discovered, though the form, gesture and voice were those of mr. hooper.
at the close of the services the people hurried out with indecorous confusion, eager to communicate their pent-up amazement, and conscious of lighter spirits the moment they lost sight of the black veil.
some gathered in little circles, huddled closely together, with their mouths all whispering in the centre; some went homeward alone, wrapped in silent meditation; some talked loudly and profaned the sabbath-day with ostentatious laughter.
a few shook their sagacious heads, intimating that they could penetrate the mystery, while one or two affirmed that there was no mystery at all, but only that mr. hooper's eyes were so weakened by the midnight lamp as to require a shade.
after a brief interval forth came good mr. hooper also, in the rear of his flock.
turning his veiled face from one group to another, he paid due reverence to the hoary heads, saluted the middle-aged with kind dignity as their friend and spiritual guide, greeted the young with mingled authority and love, and laid his hands on the little children's heads to bless them.
such was always his custom on the sabbath-day.
strange and bewildered looks repaid him for his courtesy.
none, as on former occasions, aspired to the honor of walking by their pastor's side.
old squire saunders -- doubtless by an accidental lapse of memory -- neglected to invite mr. hooper to his table, where the good clergyman had been wont to bless the food almost every sunday since his settlement.
he returned, therefore, to the parsonage, and at the moment of closing the door was observed to look back upon the people, all of whom had their eyes fixed upon the minister.
a sad smile gleamed faintly from beneath the black veil and flickered about his mouth, glimmering as he disappeared.
""how strange," said a lady, "that a simple black veil, such as any woman might wear on her bonnet, should become such a terrible thing on mr. hooper's face!"
""something must surely be amiss with mr. hooper's intellects," observed her husband, the physician of the village.
""but the strangest part of the affair is the effect of this vagary even on a sober-minded man like myself.
the black veil, though it covers only our pastor's face, throws its influence over his whole person and makes him ghost-like from head to foot.
do you not feel it so?"
""truly do i," replied the lady; "and i would not be alone with him for the world.
i wonder he is not afraid to be alone with himself."
""men sometimes are so," said her husband.
the afternoon service was attended with similar circumstances.
at its conclusion the bell tolled for the funeral of a young lady.
the relatives and friends were assembled in the house and the more distant acquaintances stood about the door, speaking of the good qualities of the deceased, when their talk was interrupted by the appearance of mr. hooper, still covered with his black veil.
it was now an appropriate emblem.
the clergyman stepped into the room where the corpse was laid, and bent over the coffin to take a last farewell of his deceased parishioner.
as he stooped the veil hung straight down from his forehead, so that, if her eye-lids had not been closed for ever, the dead maiden might have seen his face.
could mr. hooper be fearful of her glance, that he so hastily caught back the black veil?
a person who watched the interview between the dead and living scrupled not to affirm that at the instant when the clergyman's features were disclosed the corpse had slightly shuddered, rustling the shroud and muslin cap, though the countenance retained the composure of death.
a superstitious old woman was the only witness of this prodigy.
from the coffin mr. hooper passed into the chamber of the mourners, and thence to the head of the staircase, to make the funeral prayer.
it was a tender and heart-dissolving prayer, full of sorrow, yet so imbued with celestial hopes that the music of a heavenly harp swept by the fingers of the dead seemed faintly to be heard among the saddest accents of the minister.
the people trembled, though they but darkly understood him, when he prayed that they and himself, and all of mortal race, might be ready, as he trusted this young maiden had been, for the dreadful hour that should snatch the veil from their faces.
the bearers went heavily forth and the mourners followed, saddening all the street, with the dead before them and mr. hooper in his black veil behind.
""why do you look back?"
said one in the procession to his partner.
""i had a fancy," replied she, "that the minister and the maiden's spirit were walking hand in hand."
""and so had i at the same moment," said the other.
that night the handsomest couple in milford village were to be joined in wedlock.
though reckoned a melancholy man, mr. hooper had a placid cheerfulness for such occasions which often excited a sympathetic smile where livelier merriment would have been thrown away.
there was no quality of his disposition which made him more beloved than this.
the company at the wedding awaited his arrival with impatience, trusting that the strange awe which had gathered over him throughout the day would now be dispelled.
but such was not the result.
when mr. hooper came, the first thing that their eyes rested on was the same horrible black veil which had added deeper gloom to the funeral and could portend nothing but evil to the wedding.
such was its immediate effect on the guests that a cloud seemed to have rolled duskily from beneath the black crape and dimmed the light of the candles.
the bridal pair stood up before the minister, but the bride's cold fingers quivered in the tremulous hand of the bridegroom, and her death-like paleness caused a whisper that the maiden who had been buried a few hours before was come from her grave to be married.
if ever another wedding were so dismal, it was that famous one where they tolled the wedding-knell.
after performing the ceremony mr. hooper raised a glass of wine to his lips, wishing happiness to the new-married couple in a strain of mild pleasantry that ought to have brightened the features of the guests like a cheerful gleam from the hearth.
at that instant, catching a glimpse of his figure in the looking-glass, the black veil involved his own spirit in the horror with which it overwhelmed all others.
his frame shuddered, his lips grew white, he spilt the untasted wine upon the carpet and rushed forth into the darkness, for the earth too had on her black veil.
the next day the whole village of milford talked of little else than parson hooper's black veil.
that, and the mystery concealed behind it, supplied a topic for discussion between acquaintances meeting in the street and good women gossipping at their open windows.
it was the first item of news that the tavernkeeper told to his guests.
the children babbled of it on their way to school.
one imitative little imp covered his face with an old black handkerchief, thereby so affrighting his playmates that the panic seized himself and he wellnigh lost his wits by his own waggery.
it was remarkable that, of all the busybodies and impertinent people in the parish, not one ventured to put the plain question to mr. hooper wherefore he did this thing.
hitherto, whenever there appeared the slightest call for such interference, he had never lacked advisers nor shown himself averse to be guided by their judgment.
if he erred at all, it was by so painful a degree of self-distrust that even the mildest censure would lead him to consider an indifferent action as a crime.
yet, though so well acquainted with this amiable weakness, no individual among his parishioners chose to make the black veil a subject of friendly remonstrance.
there was a feeling of dread, neither plainly confessed nor carefully concealed, which caused each to shift the responsibility upon another, till at length it was found expedient to send a deputation of the church, in order to deal with mr. hooper about the mystery before it should grow into a scandal.
never did an embassy so ill discharge its duties.
the minister received them with friendly courtesy, but became silent after they were seated, leaving to his visitors the whole burden of introducing their important business.
the topic, it might be supposed, was obvious enough.
there was the black veil swathed round mr. hooper's forehead and concealing every feature above his placid mouth, on which, at times, they could perceive the glimmering of a melancholy smile.
but that piece of crape, to their imagination, seemed to hang down before his heart, the symbol of a fearful secret between him and them.
were the veil but cast aside, they might speak freely of it, but not till then.
thus they sat a considerable time, speechless, confused and shrinking uneasily from mr. hooper's eye, which they felt to be fixed upon them with an invisible glance.
finally, the deputies returned abashed to their constituents, pronouncing the matter too weighty to be handled except by a council of the churches, if, indeed, it might not require a general synod.
but there was one person in the village unappalled by the awe with which the black veil had impressed all besides herself.
when the deputies returned without an explanation, or even venturing to demand one, she with the calm energy of her character determined to chase away the strange cloud that appeared to be settling round mr. hooper every moment more darkly than before.
as his plighted wife it should be her privilege to know what the black veil concealed.
at the minister's first visit, therefore, she entered upon the subject with a direct simplicity which made the task easier both for him and her.
after he had seated himself she fixed her eyes steadfastly upon the veil, but could discern nothing of the dreadful gloom that had so overawed the multitude; it was but a double fold of crape hanging down from his forehead to his mouth and slightly stirring with his breath.
""no," said she, aloud, and smiling, "there is nothing terrible in this piece of crape, except that it hides a face which i am always glad to look upon.
come, good sir; let the sun shine from behind the cloud.
first lay aside your black veil, then tell me why you put it on."
mr. hooper's smile glimmered faintly.
""there is an hour to come," said he, "when all of us shall cast aside our veils.
take it not amiss, beloved friend, if i wear this piece of crape till then."
""your words are a mystery too," returned the young lady.
""take away the veil from them, at least."
""elizabeth, i will," said he, "so far as my vow may suffer me.
know, then, this veil is a type and a symbol, and i am bound to wear it ever, both in light and darkness, in solitude and before the gaze of multitudes, and as with strangers, so with my familiar friends.
no mortal eye will see it withdrawn.
this dismal shade must separate me from the world; even you, elizabeth, can never come behind it."
""what grievous affliction hath befallen you," she earnestly inquired, "that you should thus darken your eyes for ever?"
""if it be a sign of mourning," replied mr. hooper, "i, perhaps, like most other mortals, have sorrows dark enough to be typified by a black veil."
""but what if the world will not believe that it is the type of an innocent sorrow?"
urged elizabeth.
""beloved and respected as you are, there may be whispers that you hide your face under the consciousness of secret sin.
for the sake of your holy office do away this scandal."
the color rose into her cheeks as she intimated the nature of the rumors that were already abroad in the village.
but mr. hooper's mildness did not forsake him.
he even smiled again -- that same sad smile which always appeared like a faint glimmering of light proceeding from the obscurity beneath the veil.
""if i hide my face for sorrow, there is cause enough," he merely replied; "and if i cover it for secret sin, what mortal might not do the same?"
and with this gentle but unconquerable obstinacy did he resist all her entreaties.
at length elizabeth sat silent.
for a few moments she appeared lost in thought, considering, probably, what new methods might be tried to withdraw her lover from so dark a fantasy, which, if it had no other meaning, was perhaps a symptom of mental disease.
though of a firmer character than his own, the tears rolled down her cheeks.
but in an instant, as it were, a new feeling took the place of sorrow: her eyes were fixed insensibly on the black veil, when like a sudden twilight in the air its terrors fell around her.
she arose and stood trembling before him.
""and do you feel it, then, at last?"
said he, mournfully.
she made no reply, but covered her eyes with her hand and turned to leave the room.
he rushed forward and caught her arm.
""have patience with me, elizabeth!"
cried he, passionately.
""do not desert me though this veil must be between us here on earth.
be mine, and hereafter there shall be no veil over my face, no darkness between our souls.
it is but a mortal veil; it is not for eternity.
oh, you know not how lonely i am, and how frightened to be alone behind my black veil!
do not leave me in this miserable obscurity for ever."
""lift the veil but once and look me in the face," said she.
""never!
it can not be!"
replied mr. hooper.
""then farewell!"
said elizabeth.
she withdrew her arm from his grasp and slowly departed, pausing at the door to give one long, shuddering gaze that seemed almost to penetrate the mystery of the black veil.
but even amid his grief mr. hooper smiled to think that only a material emblem had separated him from happiness, though the horrors which it shadowed forth must be drawn darkly between the fondest of lovers.
from that time no attempts were made to remove mr. hooper's black veil or by a direct appeal to discover the secret which it was supposed to hide.
by persons who claimed a superiority to popular prejudice it was reckoned merely an eccentric whim, such as often mingles with the sober actions of men otherwise rational and tinges them all with its own semblance of insanity.
but with the multitude good mr. hooper was irreparably a bugbear.
he could not walk the street with any peace of mind, so conscious was he that the gentle and timid would turn aside to avoid him, and that others would make it a point of hardihood to throw themselves in his way.
the impertinence of the latter class compelled him to give up his customary walk at sunset to the burial-ground; for when he leaned pensively over the gate, there would always be faces behind the gravestones peeping at his black veil.
a fable went the rounds that the stare of the dead people drove him thence.
it grieved him to the very depth of his kind heart to observe how the children fled from his approach, breaking up their merriest sports while his melancholy figure was yet afar off.
their instinctive dread caused him to feel more strongly than aught else that a preternatural horror was interwoven with the threads of the black crape.
in truth, his own antipathy to the veil was known to be so great that he never willingly passed before a mirror nor stooped to drink at a still fountain lest in its peaceful bosom he should be affrighted by himself.
this was what gave plausibility to the whispers that mr. hooper's conscience tortured him for some great crime too horrible to be entirely concealed or otherwise than so obscurely intimated.
thus from beneath the black veil there rolled a cloud into the sunshine, an ambiguity of sin or sorrow, which enveloped the poor minister, so that love or sympathy could never reach him.
it was said that ghost and fiend consorted with him there.
with self-shudderings and outward terrors he walked continually in its shadow, groping darkly within his own soul or gazing through a medium that saddened the whole world.
even the lawless wind, it was believed, respected his dreadful secret and never blew aside the veil.
but still good mr. hooper sadly smiled at the pale visages of the worldly throng as he passed by.
among all its bad influences, the black veil had the one desirable effect of making its wearer a very efficient clergyman.
by the aid of his mysterious emblem -- for there was no other apparent cause -- he became a man of awful power over souls that were in agony for sin.
his converts always regarded him with a dread peculiar to themselves, affirming, though but figuratively, that before he brought them to celestial light they had been with him behind the black veil.
its gloom, indeed, enabled him to sympathize with all dark affections.
dying sinners cried aloud for mr. hooper and would not yield their breath till he appeared, though ever, as he stooped to whisper consolation, they shuddered at the veiled face so near their own.
such were the terrors of the black veil even when death had bared his visage.
strangers came long distances to attend service at his church with the mere idle purpose of gazing at his figure because it was forbidden them to behold his face.
but many were made to quake ere they departed.
once, during governor belcher's administration, mr. hooper was appointed to preach the election sermon.
covered with his black veil, he stood before the chief magistrate, the council and the representatives, and wrought so deep an impression that the legislative measures of that year were characterized by all the gloom and piety of our earliest ancestral sway.
in this manner mr. hooper spent a long life, irreproachable in outward act, yet shrouded in dismal suspicions; kind and loving, though unloved and dimly feared; a man apart from men, shunned in their health and joy, but ever summoned to their aid in mortal anguish.
as years wore on, shedding their snows above his sable veil, he acquired a name throughout the new england churches, and they called him father hooper.
nearly all his parishioners who were of mature age when he was settled had been borne away by many a funeral: he had one congregation in the church and a more crowded one in the churchyard; and, having wrought so late into the evening and done his work so well, it was now good father hooper's turn to rest.
several persons were visible by the shaded candlelight in the death-chamber of the old clergyman.
natural connections he had none.
but there was the decorously grave though unmoved physician, seeking only to mitigate the last pangs of the patient whom he could not save.
there were the deacons and other eminently pious members of his church.
there, also, was the reverend mr. clark of westbury, a young and zealous divine who had ridden in haste to pray by the bedside of the expiring minister.
there was the nurse -- no hired handmaiden of death, but one whose calm affection had endured thus long in secrecy, in solitude, amid the chill of age, and would not perish even at the dying-hour.
who but elizabeth!
and there lay the hoary head of good father hooper upon the death-pillow with the black veil still swathed about his brow and reaching down over his face, so that each more difficult gasp of his faint breath caused it to stir.
all through life that piece of crape had hung between him and the world; it had separated him from cheerful brotherhood and woman's love and kept him in that saddest of all prisons his own heart; and still it lay upon his face, as if to deepen the gloom of his darksome chamber and shade him from the sunshine of eternity.
for some time previous his mind had been confused, wavering doubtfully between the past and the present, and hovering forward, as it were, at intervals, into the indistinctness of the world to come.
there had been feverish turns which tossed him from side to side and wore away what little strength he had.
but in his most convulsive struggles and in the wildest vagaries of his intellect, when no other thought retained its sober influence, he still showed an awful solicitude lest the black veil should slip aside.
even if his bewildered soul could have forgotten, there was a faithful woman at his pillow who with averted eyes would have covered that aged face which she had last beheld in the comeliness of manhood.
at length the death-stricken old man lay quietly in the torpor of mental and bodily exhaustion, with an imperceptible pulse and breath that grew fainter and fainter except when a long, deep and irregular inspiration seemed to prelude the flight of his spirit.
the minister of westbury approached the bedside.
""venerable father hooper," said he, "the moment of your release is at hand.
are you ready for the lifting of the veil that shuts in time from eternity?"
father hooper at first replied merely by a feeble motion of his head; then -- apprehensive, perhaps, that his meaning might be doubtful -- he exerted himself to speak.
""yea," said he, in faint accents; "my soul hath a patient weariness until that veil be lifted."
""and is it fitting," resumed the reverend mr. clark, "that a man so given to prayer, of such a blameless example, holy in deed and thought, so far as mortal judgment may pronounce, -- is it fitting that a father in the church should leave a shadow on his memory that may seem to blacken a life so pure?
i pray you, my venerable brother, let not this thing be!
suffer us to be gladdened by your triumphant aspect as you go to your reward.
before the veil of eternity be lifted let me cast aside this black veil from your face;" and, thus speaking, the reverend mr. clark bent forward to reveal the mystery of so many years.
but, exerting a sudden energy that made all the beholders stand aghast, father hooper snatched both his hands from beneath the bedclothes and pressed them strongly on the black veil, resolute to struggle if the minister of westbury would contend with a dying man.
""never!"
cried the veiled clergyman.
""on earth, never!"
""dark old man," exclaimed the affrighted minister, "with what horrible crime upon your soul are you now passing to the judgment?"
father hooper's breath heaved: it rattled in his throat; but, with a mighty effort grasping forward with his hands, he caught hold of life and held it back till he should speak.
he even raised himself in bed, and there he sat shivering with the arms of death around him, while the black veil hung down, awful at that last moment in the gathered terrors of a lifetime.
and yet the faint, sad smile so often there now seemed to glimmer from its obscurity and linger on father hooper's lips.
""why do you tremble at me alone?"
cried he, turning his veiled face round the circle of pale spectators.
""tremble also at each other.
have men avoided me and women shown no pity and children screamed and fled only for my black veil?
what but the mystery which it obscurely typifies has made this piece of crape so awful?
when the friend shows his inmost heart to his friend, the lover to his best-beloved; when man does not vainly shrink from the eye of his creator, loathsomely treasuring up the secret of his sin, -- then deem me a monster for the symbol beneath which i have lived and die.
i look around me, and, lo!
on every visage a black veil!"
while his auditors shrank from one another in mutual affright, father hooper fell back upon his pillow, a veiled corpse with a faint smile lingering on the lips.
still veiled, they laid him in his coffin, and a veiled corpse they bore him to the grave.
the grass of many years has sprung up and withered on that grave, the burial-stone is moss-grown, and good mr. hooper's face is dust; but awful is still the thought that it mouldered beneath the black veil.
the maypole of merry mount.
there is an admirable foundation for a philosophic romance in the curious history of the early settlement of mount wollaston, or merry mount.
in the slight sketch here attempted the facts recorded on the grave pages of our new england annalists have wrought themselves almost spontaneously into a sort of allegory.
the masques, mummeries and festive customs described in the text are in accordance with the manners of the age.
authority on these points may be found in strutt's book of english sports and pastimes.
bright were the days at merry mount when the maypole was the banner-staff of that gay colony.
they who reared it, should their banner be triumphant, were to pour sunshine over new england's rugged hills and scatter flower-seeds throughout the soil.
jollity and gloom were contending for an empire.
midsummer eve had come, bringing deep verdure to the forest, and roses in her lap of a more vivid hue than the tender buds of spring.
but may, or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all the year round at merry mount, sporting with the summer months and revelling with autumn and basking in the glow of winter's fireside.
through a world of toil and care she flitted with a dream-like smile, and came hither to find a home among the lightsome hearts of merry mount.
never had the maypole been so gayly decked as at sunset on midsummer eve.
this venerated emblem was a pine tree which had preserved the slender grace of youth, while it equalled the loftiest height of the old wood-monarchs.
from its top streamed a silken banner colored like the rainbow.
down nearly to the ground the pole was dressed with birchen boughs, and others of the liveliest green, and some with silvery leaves fastened by ribbons that fluttered in fantastic knots of twenty different colors, but no sad ones.
garden-flowers and blossoms of the wilderness laughed gladly forth amid the verdure, so fresh and dewy that they must have grown by magic on that happy pine tree.
where this green and flowery splendor terminated the shaft of the maypole was stained with the seven brilliant hues of the banner at its top.
on the lowest green bough hung an abundant wreath of roses -- some that had been gathered in the sunniest spots of the forest, and others, of still richer blush, which the colonists had reared from english seed.
o people of the golden age, the chief of your husbandry was to raise flowers!
but what was the wild throng that stood hand in hand about the maypole?
it could not be that the fauns and nymphs, when driven from their classic groves and homes of ancient fable, had sought refuge, as all the persecuted did, in the fresh woods of the west.
these were gothic monsters, though perhaps of grecian ancestry.
on the shoulders of a comely youth uprose the head and branching antlers of a stag; a second, human in all other points, had the grim visage of a wolf; a third, still with the trunk and limbs of a mortal man, showed the beard and horns of a venerable he-goat.
there was the likeness of a bear erect, brute in all but his hind legs, which were adorned with pink silk stockings.
and here, again, almost as wondrous, stood a real bear of the dark forest, lending each of his forepaws to the grasp of a human hand and as ready for the dance as any in that circle.
his inferior nature rose halfway to meet his companions as they stooped.
other faces wore the similitude of man or woman, but distorted or extravagant, with red noses pendulous before their mouths, which seemed of awful depth and stretched from ear to ear in an eternal fit of laughter.
here might be seen the salvage man -- well known in heraldry -- hairy as a baboon and girdled with green leaves.
by his side -- a nobler figure, but still a counterfeit -- appeared an indian hunter with feathery crest and wampum-belt.
many of this strange company wore foolscaps and had little bells appended to their garments, tinkling with a silvery sound responsive to the inaudible music of their gleesome spirits.
some youths and maidens were of soberer garb, yet well maintained their places in the irregular throng by the expression of wild revelry upon their features.
such were the colonists of merry mount as they stood in the broad smile of sunset round their venerated maypole.
had a wanderer bewildered in the melancholy forest heard their mirth and stolen a half-affrighted glance, he might have fancied them the crew of comus, some already transformed to brutes, some midway between man and beast, and the others rioting in the flow of tipsy jollity that foreran the change; but a band of puritans who watched the scene, invisible themselves, compared the masques to those devils and ruined souls with whom their superstition peopled the black wilderness.
within the ring of monsters appeared the two airiest forms that had ever trodden on any more solid footing than a purple-and-golden cloud.
one was a youth in glistening apparel with a scarf of the rainbow pattern crosswise on his breast.
his right hand held a gilded staff -- the ensign of high dignity among the revellers -- and his left grasped the slender fingers of a fair maiden not less gayly decorated than himself.
bright roses glowed in contrast with the dark and glossy curls of each, and were scattered round their feet or had sprung up spontaneously there.
behind this lightsome couple, so close to the maypole that its boughs shaded his jovial face, stood the figure of an english priest, canonically dressed, yet decked with flowers, in heathen fashion, and wearing a chaplet of the native vine leaves.
by the riot of his rolling eye and the pagan decorations of his holy garb, he seemed the wildest monster there, and the very comus of the crew.
""votaries of the maypole," cried the flower-decked priest, "merrily all day long have the woods echoed to your mirth.
but be this your merriest hour, my hearts!
lo!
here stand the lord and lady of the may, whom i, a clerk of oxford and high priest of merry mount, am presently to join in holy matrimony.
-- up with your nimble spirits, ye morrice-dancers, green men and glee-maidens, bears and wolves and horned gentlemen!
come!
a chorus now rich with the old mirth of merry england and the wilder glee of this fresh forest, and then a dance, to show the youthful pair what life is made of and how airily they should go through it!
-- all ye that love the maypole, lend your voices to the nuptial song of the lord and lady of the may!"
this wedlock was more serious than most affairs of merry mount, where jest and delusion, trick and fantasy, kept up a continual carnival.
the lord and lady of the may, though their titles must be laid down at sunset, were really and truly to be partners for the dance of life, beginning the measure that same bright eve.
the wreath of roses that hung from the lowest green bough of the maypole had been twined for them, and would be thrown over both their heads in symbol of their flowery union.
when the priest had spoken, therefore, a riotous uproar burst from the rout of monstrous figures.
""begin you the stave, reverend sir," cried they all, "and never did the woods ring to such a merry peal as we of the maypole shall send up."
immediately a prelude of pipe, cittern and viol, touched with practised minstrelsy, began to play from a neighboring thicket in such a mirthful cadence that the boughs of the maypole quivered to the sound.
but the may-lord -- he of the gilded staff -- chancing to look into his lady's eyes, was wonder-struck at the almost pensive glance that met his own.
""edith, sweet lady of the may," whispered he, reproachfully, "is yon wreath of roses a garland to hang above our graves that you look so sad?
oh, edith, this is our golden time.
tarnish it not by any pensive shadow of the mind, for it may be that nothing of futurity will be brighter than the mere remembrance of what is now passing."
""that was the very thought that saddened me.
how came it in your mind too?"
said edith, in a still lower tone than he; for it was high treason to be sad at merry mount.
""therefore do i sigh amid this festive music.
and besides, dear edgar, i struggle as with a dream, and fancy that these shapes of our jovial friends are visionary and their mirth unreal, and that we are no true lord and lady of the may.
what is the mystery in my heart?"
just then, as if a spell had loosened them, down came a little shower of withering rose-leaves from the maypole.
alas for the young lovers!
no sooner had their hearts glowed with real passion than they were sensible of something vague and unsubstantial in their former pleasures, and felt a dreary presentiment of inevitable change.
from the moment that they truly loved they had subjected themselves to earth's doom of care and sorrow and troubled joy, and had no more a home at merry mount.
that was edith's mystery.
now leave we the priest to marry them, and the masquers to sport round the maypole till the last sunbeam be withdrawn from its summit and the shadows of the forest mingle gloomily in the dance.
meanwhile, we may discover who these gay people were.
two hundred years ago, and more, the old world and its inhabitants became mutually weary of each other.
men voyaged by thousands to the west -- some to barter glass and such like jewels for the furs of the indian hunter, some to conquer virgin empires, and one stern band to pray.
but none of these motives had much weight with the striving to communicate their mirth to the grave indian, or masquerading in the skins of deer and wolves which they had hunted for that especial purpose.
often the whole colony were playing at blindman's buff, magistrates and all with their eyes bandaged, except a single scapegoat, whom the blinded sinners pursued by the tinkling of the bells at his garments.
once, it is said, they were seen following a flower-decked corpse with merriment and festive music to his grave.
but did the dead man laugh?
in their quietest times they sang ballads and told tales for the edification of their pious visitors, or perplexed them with juggling tricks, or grinned at them through horse-collars; and when sport itself grew wearisome, they made game of their own stupidity and began a yawning-match.
at the very least of these enormities the men of iron shook their heads and frowned so darkly that the revellers looked up, imagining that a momentary cloud had overcast the sunshine which was to be perpetual there.
on the other hand, the puritans affirmed that when a psalm was pealing from their place of worship the echo which the forest sent them back seemed often like the chorus of a jolly catch, closing with a roar of laughter.
who but the fiend and his bond-slaves the crew of merry mount had thus disturbed them?
in due time a feud arose, stern and bitter on one side, and as serious on the other as anything could be among such light spirits as had sworn allegiance to the maypole.
the future complexion of new england was involved in this important quarrel.
should the grisly saints establish their jurisdiction over the gay sinners, then would their spirits darken all the clime and make it a land of clouded visages, of hard toil, of sermon and psalm for ever; but should the banner-staff of merry mount be fortunate, sunshine would break upon the hills, and flowers would beautify the forest and late posterity do homage to the maypole.
after these authentic passages from history we return to the nuptials of the lord and lady of the may.
alas!
we have delayed too long, and must darken our tale too suddenly.
as we glance again at the maypole a solitary sunbeam is fading from the summit, and leaves only a faint golden tinge blended with the hues of the rainbow banner.
even that dim light is now withdrawn, relinquishing the whole domain of merry mount to the evening gloom which has rushed so instantaneously from the black surrounding woods.
but some of these black shadows have rushed forth in human shape.
yes, with the setting sun the last day of mirth had passed from merry mount.
the ring of gay masquers was disordered and broken; the stag lowered his antlers in dismay; the wolf grew weaker than a lamb; the bells of the morrice-dancers tinkled with tremulous affright.
the puritans had played a characteristic part in the maypole mummeries.
their darksome figures were intermixed with the wild shapes of their foes, and made the scene a picture of the moment when waking thoughts start up amid the scattered fantasies of a dream.
the leader of the hostile party stood in the centre of the circle, while the rout of monsters cowered around him like evil spirits in the presence of a dread magician.
no fantastic foolery could look him in the face.
so stern was the energy of his aspect that the whole man, visage, frame and soul, seemed wrought of iron gifted with life and thought, yet all of one substance with his headpiece and breastplate.
it was the puritan of puritans: it was endicott himself.
""stand off, priest of baal!"
said he, with a grim frown and laying no reverent hand upon the surplice.
""i know thee, blackstone!
-lsb- 1 -rsb- thou art the man who couldst not abide the rule even of thine own corrupted church, and hast come hither to preach iniquity and to give example of it in thy life.
but now shall it be seen that the lord hath sanctified this wilderness for his peculiar people.
woe unto them that would defile it!
and first for this flower-decked abomination, the altar of thy worship!"
-lsb- footnote 1: did governor endicott speak less positively, we should suspect a mistake here.
the rev. mr. blackstone, though an eccentric, is not known to have been an immoral man.
we rather doubt his identity with the priest of merry mount. -rsb-
and with his keen sword endicott assaulted the hallowed maypole.
nor long did it resist his arm.
it groaned with a dismal sound, it showered leaves and rosebuds upon the remorseless enthusiast, and finally, with all its green boughs and ribbons and flowers, symbolic of departed pleasures, down fell the banner-staff of merry mount.
as it sank, tradition says, the evening sky grew darker and the woods threw forth a more sombre shadow.
""there!"
cried endicott, looking triumphantly on his work; "there lies the only maypole in new england.
the thought is strong within me that by its fall is shadowed forth the fate of light and idle mirthmakers amongst us and our posterity.
amen, saith john endicott!"
""amen!"
echoed his followers.
but the votaries of the maypole gave one groan for their idol.
at the sound the puritan leader glanced at the crew of comus, each a figure of broad mirth, yet at this moment strangely expressive of sorrow and dismay.
""valiant captain," quoth peter palfrey, the ancient of the band, "what order shall be taken with the prisoners?"
""i thought not to repent me of cutting down a maypole," replied endicott, "yet now i could find in my heart to plant it again and give each of these bestial pagans one other dance round their idol.
it would have served rarely for a whipping-post."
""but there are pine trees enow," suggested the lieutenant.
""true, good ancient," said the leader.
""wherefore bind the heathen crew and bestow on them a small matter of stripes apiece as earnest of our future justice.
set some of the rogues in the stocks to rest themselves so soon as providence shall bring us to one of our own well-ordered settlements where such accommodations may be found.
further penalties, such as branding and cropping of ears, shall be thought of hereafter."
""how many stripes for the priest?"
inquired ancient palfrey.
""none as yet," answered endicott, bending his iron frown upon the culprit.
""it must be for the great and general court to determine whether stripes and long imprisonment, and other grievous penalty, may atone for his transgressions.
let him look to himself.
for such as violate our civil order it may be permitted us to show mercy, but woe to the wretch that troubleth our religion!"
""and this dancing bear?"
resumed the officer.
""must he share the stripes of his fellows?"
""shoot him through the head!"
said the energetic puritan.
""i suspect witchcraft in the beast."
""here be a couple of shining ones," continued peter palfrey, pointing his weapon at the lord and lady of the may.
""they seem to be of high station among these misdoers.
methinks their dignity will not be fitted with less than a double share of stripes."
endicott rested on his sword and closely surveyed the dress and aspect of the hapless pair.
there they stood, pale, downcast and apprehensive, yet there was an air of mutual support and of pure affection seeking aid and giving it that showed them to be man and wife with the sanction of a priest upon their love.
the youth in the peril of the moment, had dropped his gilded staff and thrown his arm about the lady of the may, who leaned against his breast too lightly to burden him, but with weight enough to express that their destinies were linked together for good or evil.
they looked first at each other and then into the grim captain's face.
there they stood in the first hour of wedlock, while the idle pleasures of which their companions were the emblems had given place to the sternest cares of life, personified by the dark puritans.
but never had their youthful beauty seemed so pure and high as when its glow was chastened by adversity.
""youth," said endicott, "ye stand in an evil case -- thou and thy maiden-wife.
make ready presently, for i am minded that ye shall both have a token to remember your wedding-day."
""stern man," cried the may-lord, "how can i move thee?
were the means at hand, i would resist to the death; being powerless, i entreat.
do with me as thou wilt, but let edith go untouched."
""not so," replied the immitigable zealot.
""we are not wont to show an idle courtesy to that sex which requireth the stricter discipline.
-- what sayest thou, maid?
shall thy silken bridegroom suffer thy share of the penalty besides his own?"
""be it death," said edith, "and lay it all on me."
truly, as endicott had said, the poor lovers stood in a woeful case.
their foes were triumphant, their friends captive and abased, their home desolate, the benighted wilderness around them, and a rigorous destiny in the shape of the puritan leader their only guide.
yet the deepening twilight could not altogether conceal that the iron man was softened.
he smiled at the fair spectacle of early love; he almost sighed for the inevitable blight of early hopes.
""the troubles of life have come hastily on this young couple," observed endicott.
""we will see how they comport themselves under their present trials ere we burden them with greater.
if among the spoil there be any garments of a more decent fashion, let them be put upon this may-lord and his lady instead of their glistening vanities.
look to it, some of you."
""and shall not the youth's hair be cut?"
asked peter palfrey, looking with abhorrence at the lovelock and long glossy curls of the young man.
""crop it forthwith, and that in the true pumpkin-shell fashion," answered the captain.
""then bring them along with us, but more gently than their fellows.
there be qualities in the youth which may make him valiant to fight and sober to toil and pious to pray, and in the maiden that may fit her to become a mother in our israel, bringing up babes in better nurture than her own hath been.
-- nor think ye, young ones, that they are the happiest, even in our lifetime of a moment, who misspend it in dancing round a maypole."
and endicott, the severest puritan of all who laid the rock-foundation of new england, lifted the wreath of roses from the ruin of the maypole and threw it with his own gauntleted hand over the heads of the lord and lady of the may.
it was a deed of prophecy.
as the moral gloom of the world overpowers all systematic gayety, even so was their home of wild mirth made desolate amid the sad forest.
they returned to it no more.
but as their flowery garland was wreathed of the brightest roses that had grown there, so in the tie that united them were intertwined all the purest and best of their early joys.
they went heavenward supporting each other along the difficult path which it was their lot to tread, and never wasted one regretful thought on the vanities of merry mount.
the gentle boy.
in the course of the year 1656 several of the people called quakers -- led, as they professed, by the inward movement of the spirit -- made their appearance in new england.
their reputation as holders of mystic and pernicious principles having spread before them, the puritans early endeavored to banish and to prevent the further intrusion of the rising sect.
but the measures by which it was intended to purge the land of heresy, though more than sufficiently vigorous, were entirely unsuccessful.
the quakers, esteeming persecution as a divine call to the post of danger, laid claim to a holy courage unknown to the puritans themselves, who had shunned the cross by providing for the peaceable exercise of their religion in a distant wilderness.
though it was the singular fact that every nation of the earth rejected the wandering enthusiasts who practised peace toward all men, the place of greatest uneasiness and peril, and therefore in their eyes the most eligible, was the province of massachusetts bay.
the fines, imprisonments and stripes liberally distributed by our pious forefathers, the popular antipathy, so strong that it endured nearly a hundred years after actual persecution had ceased, were attractions as powerful for the quakers as peace, honor and reward would have been for the worldly-minded.
every european vessel brought new cargoes of the sect, eager to testify against the oppression which they hoped to share; and when shipmasters were restrained by heavy fines from affording them passage, they made long and circuitous journeys through the indian country, and appeared in the province as if conveyed by a supernatural power.
their enthusiasm, heightened almost to madness by the treatment which they received, produced actions contrary to the rules of decency as well as of rational religion, and presented a singular contrast to the calm and staid deportment of their sectarian successors of the present day.
the command of the spirit, inaudible except to the soul and not to be controverted on grounds of human wisdom, was made a plea for most indecorous exhibitions which, abstractedly considered, well deserved the moderate chastisement of the rod.
these extravagances, and the persecution which was at once their cause and consequence, continued to increase, till in the year 1659 the government of massachusetts bay indulged two members of the quaker sect with the crown of martyrdom.
an indelible stain of blood is upon the hands of all who consented to this act, but a large share of the awful responsibility must rest upon the person then at the head of the government.
he was a man of narrow mind and imperfect education, and his uncompromising bigotry was made hot and mischievous by violent and hasty passions; he exerted his influence indecorously and unjustifiably to compass the death of the enthusiasts, and his whole conduct in respect to them was marked by brutal cruelty.
the quakers, whose revengeful feelings were not less deep because they were inactive, remembered this man and his associates in after-times.
the historian of the sect affirms that by the wrath of heaven a blight fell upon the land in the vicinity of the "bloody town" of boston, so that no wheat would grow there; and he takes his stand, as it were, among the graves of the ancient persecutors, and triumphantly recounts the judgments that overtook them in old age or at the parting-hour.
he tells us that they died suddenly and violently and in madness, but nothing can exceed the bitter mockery with which he records the loathsome disease and "death by rottenness" of the fierce and cruel governor.
* * * * * on the evening of the autumn day that had witnessed the martyrdom of two men of the quaker persuasion, a puritan settler was returning from the metropolis to the neighboring country-town in which he resided.
the air was cool, the sky clear, and the lingering twilight was made brighter by the rays of a young moon which had now nearly reached the verge of the horizon.
the traveller, a man of middle age, wrapped in a gray frieze cloak, quickened his pace when he had reached the outskirts of the town, for a gloomy extent of nearly four miles lay between him and his home.
the low straw-thatched houses were scattered at considerable intervals along the road, and, the country having been settled but about thirty years, the tracts of original forest still bore no small proportion to the cultivated ground.
the autumn wind wandered among the branches, whirling away the leaves from all except the pine trees and moaning as if it lamented the desolation of which it was the instrument.
the road had penetrated the mass of woods that lay nearest to the town, and was just emerging into an open space, when the traveller's ears were saluted by a sound more mournful than even that of the wind.
it was like the wailing of some one in distress, and it seemed to proceed from beneath a tall and lonely fir tree in the centre of a cleared but unenclosed and uncultivated field.
the puritan could not but remember that this was the very spot which had been made accursed a few hours before by the execution of the quakers, whose bodies had been thrown together into one hasty grave beneath the tree on which they suffered.
he struggled, however, against the superstitious fears which belonged to the age, and compelled himself to pause and listen.
""the voice is most likely mortal, nor have i cause to tremble if it be otherwise," thought he, straining his eyes through the dim moonlight.
""methinks it is like the wailing of a child -- some infant, it may be, which has strayed from its mother and chanced upon this place of death.
for the ease of mine own conscience i must search this matter out."
he therefore left the path and walked somewhat fearfully across the field.
though now so desolate, its soil was pressed down and trampled by the thousand footsteps of those who had witnessed the spectacle of that day, all of whom had now retired, leaving the dead to their loneliness.
the traveller at length reached the fir tree, which from the middle upward was covered with living branches, although a scaffold had been erected beneath, and other preparations made for the work of death.
under this unhappy tree -- which in after-times was believed to drop poison with its dew -- sat the one solitary mourner for innocent blood.
it was a slender and light-clad little boy who leaned his face upon a hillock of fresh-turned and half-frozen earth and wailed bitterly, yet in a suppressed tone, as if his grief might receive the punishment of crime.
the puritan, whose approach had been unperceived, laid his hand upon the child's shoulder and addressed him compassionately.
""you have chosen a dreary lodging, my poor boy, and no wonder that you weep," said he.
""but dry your eyes and tell me where your mother dwells; i promise you, if the journey be not too far, i will leave you in her arms tonight."
the boy had hushed his wailing at once, and turned his face upward to the stranger.
it was a pale, bright-eyed countenance, certainly not more than six years old, but sorrow, fear and want had destroyed much of its infantile expression.
the puritan, seeing the boy's frightened gaze and feeling that he trembled under his hand, endeavored to reassure him: "nay, if i intended to do you harm, little lad, the readiest way were to leave you here.
what!
you do not fear to sit beneath the gallows on a new-made grave, and yet you tremble at a friend's touch?
take heart, child, and tell me what is your name and where is your home."
""friend," replied the little boy, in a sweet though faltering voice, "they call me ilbrahim, and my home is here."
the pale, spiritual face, the eyes that seemed to mingle with the moonlight, the sweet, airy voice and the outlandish name almost made the puritan believe that the boy was in truth a being which had sprung up out of the grave on which he sat; but perceiving that the apparition stood the test of a short mental prayer, and remembering that the arm which he had touched was lifelike, he adopted a more rational supposition.
""the poor child is stricken in his intellect," thought he, "but verily his words are fearful in a place like this."
he then spoke soothingly, intending to humor the boy's fantasy: "your home will scarce be comfortable, ilbrahim, this cold autumn night, and i fear you are ill-provided with food.
i am hastening to a warm supper and bed; and if you will go with me, you shall share them."
""i thank thee, friend, but, though i be hungry and shivering with cold, thou wilt not give me food nor lodging," replied the boy, in the quiet tone which despair had taught him even so young.
""my father was of the people whom all men hate; they have laid him under this heap of earth, and here is my home."
the puritan, who had laid hold of little ilbrahim's hand, relinquished it as if he were touching a loathsome reptile.
but he possessed a compassionate heart which not even religious prejudice could harden into stone.
""god forbid that i should leave this child to perish, though he comes of the accursed sect," said he to himself.
""do we not all spring from an evil root?
are we not all in darkness till the light doth shine upon us?
he shall not perish, neither in body nor, if prayer and instruction may avail for him, in soul."
he then spoke aloud and kindly to ilbrahim, who had again hid his face in the cold earth of the grave: "was every door in the land shut against you, my child, that you have wandered to this unhallowed spot?"
""they drove me forth from the prison when they took my father thence," said the boy, "and i stood afar off watching the crowd of people; and when they were gone, i came hither, and found only this grave.
i knew that my father was sleeping here, and i said, "this shall be my home.""
""no, child, no, not while i have a roof over my head or a morsel to share with you," exclaimed the puritan, whose sympathies were now fully excited.
""rise up and come with me, and fear not any harm."
the boy wept afresh, and clung to the heap of earth as if the cold heart beneath it were warmer to him than any in a living breast.
the traveller, however, continued to entreat him tenderly, and, seeming to acquire some degree of confidence, he at length arose; but his slender limbs tottered with weakness, his little head grew dizzy, and he leaned against the tree of death for support.
""my poor boy, are you so feeble?"
said the puritan.
""when did you taste food last?"
""i ate of bread and water with my father in the prison," replied ilbrahim, "but they brought him none neither yesterday nor to-day, saying that he had eaten enough to bear him to his journey's end.
trouble not thyself for my hunger, kind friend, for i have lacked food many times ere now."
the traveller took the child in his arms and wrapped his cloak about him, while his heart stirred with shame and anger against the gratuitous cruelty of the instruments in this persecution.
in the awakened warmth of his feelings he resolved that at whatever risk he would not forsake the poor little defenceless being whom heaven had confided to his care.
with this determination he left the accursed field and resumed the homeward path from which the wailing of the boy had called him.
the light and motionless burden scarcely impeded his progress, and he soon beheld the fire-rays from the windows of the cottage which he, a native of a distant clime, had built in the western wilderness.
it was surrounded by a considerable extent of cultivated ground, and the dwelling was situated in the nook of a wood-covered hill, whither it seemed to have crept for protection.
""look up, child," said the puritan to ilbrahim, whose faint head had sunk upon his shoulder; "there is our home."
at the word "home" a thrill passed through the child's frame, but he continued silent.
a few moments brought them to the cottage door, at which the owner knocked; for at that early period, when savages were wandering everywhere among the settlers, bolt and bar were indispensable to the security of a dwelling.
the summons was answered by a bond-servant, a coarse-clad and dull-featured piece of humanity, who, after ascertaining that his master was the applicant, undid the door and held a flaring pine-knot torch to light him in.
farther back in the passageway the red blaze discovered a matronly woman, but no little crowd of children came bounding forth to greet their father's return.
as the puritan entered he thrust aside his cloak and displayed ilbrahim's face to the female.
""dorothy, here is a little outcast whom providence hath put into our hands," observed he.
""be kind to him, even as if he were of those dear ones who have departed from us."
""what pale and bright-eyed little boy is this, tobias?"
she inquired.
""is he one whom the wilderness-folk have ravished from some christian mother?"
""no, dorothy; this poor child is no captive from the wilderness," he replied.
""the heathen savage would have given him to eat of his scanty morsel and to drink of his birchen cup, but christian men, alas!
had cast him out to die."
then he told her how he had found him beneath the gallows, upon his father's grave, and how his heart had prompted him like the speaking of an inward voice to take the little outcast home and be kind unto him.
he acknowledged his resolution to feed and clothe him as if he were his own child, and to afford him the instruction which should counteract the pernicious errors hitherto instilled into his infant mind.
dorothy was gifted with even a quicker tenderness than her husband, and she approved of all his doings and intentions.
""have you a mother, dear child?"
she inquired.
the tears burst forth from his full heart as he attempted to reply, but dorothy at length understood that he had a mother, who like the rest of her sect was a persecuted wanderer.
she had been taken from the prison a short time before, carried into the uninhabited wilderness and left to perish there by hunger or wild beasts.
this was no uncommon method of disposing of the quakers, and they were accustomed to boast that the inhabitants of the desert were more hospitable to them than civilized man.
""fear not, little boy; you shall not need a mother, and a kind one," said dorothy, when she had gathered this information.
""dry your tears, ilbrahim, and be my child, as i will be your mother."
the good woman prepared the little bed from which her own children had successively been borne to another resting-place.
before ilbrahim would consent to occupy it he knelt down, and as dorothy listed to his simple and affecting prayer she marvelled how the parents that had taught it to him could have been judged worthy of death.
when the boy had fallen asleep, she bent over his pale and spiritual countenance, pressed a kiss upon his white brow, drew the bedclothes up about his neck, and went away with a pensive gladness in her heart.
tobias pearson was not among the earliest emigrants from the old country.
he had remained in england during the first years of the civil war, in which he had borne some share as a cornet of dragoons under cromwell.
but when the ambitious designs of his leader began to develop themselves, he quitted the army of the parliament and sought a refuge from the strife which was no longer holy among the people of his persuasion in the colony of massachusetts.
a more worldly consideration had perhaps an influence in drawing him thither, for new england offered advantages to men of unprosperous fortunes as well as to dissatisfied religionists, and pearson had hitherto found it difficult to provide for a wife and increasing family.
to this supposed impurity of motive the more bigoted puritans were inclined to impute the removal by death of all the children for whose earthly good the father had been over-thoughtful.
they had left their native country blooming like roses, and like roses they had perished in a foreign soil.
those expounders of the ways of providence, who had thus judged their brother and attributed his domestic sorrows to his sin, were not more charitable when they saw him and dorothy endeavoring to fill up the void in their hearts by the adoption of an infant of the accursed sect.
nor did they fail to communicate their disapprobation to tobias, but the latter in reply merely pointed at the little quiet, lovely boy, whose appearance and deportment were indeed as powerful arguments as could possibly have been adduced in his own favor.
even his beauty, however, and his winning manners sometimes produced an effect ultimately unfavorable; for the bigots, when the outer surfaces of their iron hearts had been softened and again grew hard, affirmed that no merely natural cause could have so worked upon them.
their antipathy to the poor infant was also increased by the ill-success of divers theological discussions in which it was attempted to convince him of the errors of his sect.
ilbrahim, it is true, was not a skilful controversialist, but the feeling of his religion was strong as instinct in him, and he could neither be enticed nor driven from the faith which his father had died for.
the odium of this stubbornness was shared in a great measure by the child's protectors, insomuch that tobias and dorothy very shortly began to experience a most bitter species of persecution in the cold regards of many a friend whom they had valued.
the common people manifested their opinions more openly.
pearson was a man of some consideration, being a representative to the general court and an approved lieutenant in the train-bands, yet within a week after his adoption of ilbrahim he had been both hissed and hooted.
once, also, when walking through a solitary piece of woods, he heard a loud voice from some invisible speaker, and it cried, "what shall be done to the backslider?
lo!
the scourge is knotted for him, even the whip of nine cords, and every cord three knots."
these insults irritated pearson's temper for the moment; they entered also into his heart, and became imperceptible but powerful workers toward an end which his most secret thought had not yet whispered.
* * * * * on the second sabbath after ilbrahim became a member of their family, pearson and his wife deemed it proper that he should appear with them at public worship.
they had anticipated some opposition to this measure from the boy, but he prepared himself in silence, and at the appointed hour was clad in the new mourning-suit which dorothy had wrought for him.
as the parish was then, and during many subsequent years, unprovided with a bell, the signal for the commencement of religious exercises was the beat of a drum.
at the first sound of that martial call to the place of holy and quiet thoughts tobias and dorothy set forth, each holding a hand of little ilbrahim, like two parents linked together by the infant of their love.
on their path through the leafless woods they were overtaken by many persons of their acquaintance, all of whom avoided them and passed by on the other side; but a severer trial awaited their constancy when they had descended the hill and drew near the pine-built and undecorated house of prayer.
around the door, from which the drummer still sent forth his thundering summons, was drawn up a formidable phalanx, including several of the oldest members of the congregation, many of the middle-aged and nearly all the younger males.
pearson found it difficult to sustain their united and disapproving gaze, but dorothy, whose mind was differently circumstanced, merely drew the boy closer to her and faltered not in her approach.
as they entered the door they overheard the muttered sentiments of the assemblage; and when the reviling voices of the little children smote ilbrahim's ear, he wept.
the interior aspect of the meeting-house was rude.
the low ceiling, the unplastered walls, the naked woodwork and the undraperied pulpit offered nothing to excite the devotion which without such external aids often remains latent in the heart.
the floor of the building was occupied by rows of long cushionless benches, supplying the place of pews, and the broad aisle formed a sexual division impassable except by children beneath a certain age.
pearson and dorothy separated at the door of the meeting-house, and ilbrahim, being within the years of infancy, was retained under the care of the latter.
the wrinkled beldams involved themselves in their rusty cloaks as he passed by; even the mild-featured maidens seemed to dread contamination; and many a stern old man arose and turned his repulsive and unheavenly countenance upon the gentle boy, as if the sanctuary were polluted by his presence.
he was a sweet infant of the skies that had strayed away from his home, and all the inhabitants of this miserable world closed up their impure hearts against him, drew back their earth-soiled garments from his touch and said, "we are holier than thou."
ilbrahim, seated by the side of his adopted mother and retaining fast hold of her hand, assumed a grave and decorous demeanor such as might befit a person of matured taste and understanding who should find himself in a temple dedicated to some worship which he did not recognize, but felt himself bound to respect.
the exercises had not yet commenced, however, when the boy's attention was arrested by an event apparently of trifling interest.
a woman having her face muffled in a hood and a cloak drawn completely about her form advanced slowly up the broad aisle and took place upon the foremost bench.
ilbrahim's faint color varied, his nerves fluttered; he was unable to turn his eyes from the muffled female.
when the preliminary prayer and hymn were over, the minister arose, and, having turned the hour-glass which stood by the great bible, commenced his discourse.
he was now well stricken in years, a man of pale, thin countenance, and his gray hairs were closely covered by a black velvet skull-cap.
in his younger days he had practically learned the meaning of persecution from archbishop laud, and he was not now disposed to forget the lesson against which he had murmured then.
introducing the often-discussed subject of the quakers, he gave a history of that sect and a description of their tenets in which error predominated and prejudice distorted the aspect of what was true.
he adverted to the recent measures in the province, and cautioned his hearers of weaker parts against calling in question the just severity which god-fearing magistrates had at length been compelled to exercise.
he spoke of the danger of pity -- in some cases a commendable and christian virtue, but inapplicable to this pernicious sect.
he observed that such was their devilish obstinacy in error that even the little children, the sucking babes, were hardened and desperate heretics.
he affirmed that no man without heaven's especial warrant should attempt their conversion lest while he lent his hand to draw them from the slough he should himself be precipitated into its lowest depths.
the sands of the second hour were principally in the lower half of the glass when the sermon concluded.
an approving murmur followed, and the clergyman, having given out a hymn, took his seat with much self-congratulation, and endeavored to read the effect of his eloquence in the visages of the people.
but while voices from all parts of the house were tuning themselves to sing a scene occurred which, though not very unusual at that period in the province, happened to be without precedent in this parish.
the muffled female, who had hitherto sat motionless in the front rank of the audience, now arose and with slow, stately and unwavering step ascended the pulpit stairs.
the quaverings of incipient harmony were hushed and the divine sat in speechless and almost terrified astonishment while she undid the door and stood up in the sacred desk from which his maledictions had just been thundered.
she then divested herself of the cloak and hood, and appeared in a most singular array.
a shapeless robe of sackcloth was girded about her waist with a knotted cord; her raven hair fell down upon her shoulders, and its blackness was defiled by pale streaks of ashes, which she had strewn upon her head.
her eyebrows, dark and strongly defined, added to the deathly whiteness of a countenance which, emaciated with want and wild with enthusiasm and strange sorrows, retained no trace of earlier beauty.
this figure stood gazing earnestly on the audience, and there was no sound nor any movement except a faint shuddering which every man observed in his neighbor, but was scarcely conscious of in himself.
at length, when her fit of inspiration came, she spoke for the first few moments in a low voice and not invariably distinct utterance.
her discourse gave evidence of an imagination hopelessly entangled with her reason; it was a vague and incomprehensible rhapsody, which, however, seemed to spread its own atmosphere round the hearer's soul, and to move his feelings by some influence unconnected with the words.
as she proceeded beautiful but shadowy images would sometimes be seen like bright things moving in a turbid river, or a strong and singularly shaped idea leapt forth and seized at once on the understanding or the heart.
but the course of her unearthly eloquence soon led her to the persecutions of her sect, and from thence the step was short to her own peculiar sorrows.
she was naturally a woman of mighty passions, and hatred and revenge now wrapped themselves in the garb of piety.
the character of her speech was changed; her images became distinct though wild, and her denunciations had an almost hellish bitterness.
""the governor and his mighty men," she said, "have gathered together, taking counsel among themselves and saying, "what shall we do unto this people -- even unto the people that have come into this land to put our iniquity to the blush?"
and, lo!
the devil entereth into the council-chamber like a lame man of low stature and gravely apparelled, with a dark and twisted countenance and a bright, downcast eye.
and he standeth up among the rulers; yea, he goeth to and fro, whispering to each; and every man lends his ear, for his word is "slay!
slay!"
but i say unto ye, woe to them that slay!
woe to them that shed the blood of saints!
woe to them that have slain the husband and cast forth the child, the tender infant, to wander homeless and hungry and cold till he die, and have saved the mother alive in the cruelty of their tender mercies!
woe to them in their lifetime!
cursed are they in the delight and pleasure of their hearts!
woe to them in their death-hour, whether it come swiftly with blood and violence or after long and lingering pain!
woe in the dark house, in the rottenness of the grave, when the children's children shall revile the ashes of the fathers!
woe, woe, woe, at the judgment, when all the persecuted and all the slain in this bloody land, and the father, the mother and the child, shall await them in a day that they can not escape!
seed of the faith, seed of the faith, ye whose hearts are moving with a power that ye know not, arise, wash your hands of this innocent blood!
lift your voices, chosen ones, cry aloud, and call down a woe and a judgment with me!"
having thus given vent to the flood of malignity which she mistook for inspiration, the speaker was silent.
her voice was succeeded by the hysteric shrieks of several women, but the feelings of the audience generally had not been drawn onward in the current with her own.
they remained stupefied, stranded, as it were, in the midst of a torrent which deafened them by its roaring, but might not move them by its violence.
the clergyman, who could not hitherto have ejected the usurper of his pulpit otherwise than by bodily force, now addressed her in the tone of just indignation and legitimate authority.
""get you down, woman, from the holy place which you profane," he said, "is it to the lord's house that you come to pour forth the foulness of your heart and the inspiration of the devil?
get you down, and remember that the sentence of death is on you -- yea, and shall be executed, were it but for this day's work."
""i go, friend, i go, for the voice hath had its utterance," replied she, in a depressed, and even mild, tone.
""i have done my mission unto thee and to thy people; reward me with stripes, imprisonment or death, as ye shall be permitted."
the weakness of exhausted passion caused her steps to totter as she descended the pulpit stairs.
the people, in the mean while, were stirring to and fro on the floor of the house, whispering among themselves and glancing toward the intruder.
many of them now recognized her as the woman who had assaulted the governor with frightful language as he passed by the window of her prison; they knew, also, that she was adjudged to suffer death, and had been preserved only by an involuntary banishment into the wilderness.
the new outrage by which she had provoked her fate seemed to render further lenity impossible, and a gentleman in military dress, with a stout man of inferior rank, drew toward the door of the meetinghouse and awaited her approach.
scarcely did her feet press the floor, however, when an unexpected scene occurred.
in that moment of her peril, when every eye frowned with death, a little timid boy threw his arms round his mother.
""i am here, mother; it is i, and i will go with thee to prison," he exclaimed.
she gazed at him with a doubtful and almost frightened expression, for she knew that the boy had been cast out to perish, and she had not hoped to see his face again.
she feared, perhaps, that it was but one of the happy visions with which her excited fancy had often deceived her in the solitude of the desert or in prison; but when she felt his hand warm within her own and heard his little eloquence of childish love, she began to know that she was yet a mother.
""blessed art thou, my son!"
she sobbed.
""my heart was withered -- yea, dead with thee and with thy father -- and now it leaps as in the first moment when i pressed thee to my bosom."
she knelt down and embraced him again and again, while the joy that could find no words expressed itself in broken accents, like the bubbles gushing up to vanish at the surface of a deep fountain.
the sorrows of past years and the darker peril that was nigh cast not a shadow on the brightness of that fleeting moment.
soon, however, the spectators saw a change upon her face as the consciousness of her sad estate returned, and grief supplied the fount of tears which joy had opened.
by the words she uttered it would seem that the indulgence of natural love had given her mind a momentary sense of its errors, and made her know how far she had strayed from duty in following the dictates of a wild fanaticism.
""in a doleful hour art thou returned to me, poor boy," she said, "for thy mother's path has gone darkening onward, till now the end is death.
son, son, i have borne thee in my arms when my limbs were tottering, and i have fed thee with the food that i was fainting for; yet i have ill-performed a mother's part by thee in life, and now i leave thee no inheritance but woe and shame.
thou wilt go seeking through the world, and find all hearts closed against thee and their sweet affections turned to bitterness for my sake.
my child, my child, how many a pang awaits thy gentle spirit, and i the cause of all!"
she hid her face on ilbrahim's head, and her long raven hair, discolored with the ashes of her mourning, fell down about him like a veil.
a low and interrupted moan was the voice of her heart's anguish, and it did not fail to move the sympathies of many who mistook their involuntary virtue for a sin.
sobs were audible in the female section of the house, and every man who was a father drew his hand across his eyes.
tobias pearson was agitated and uneasy, but a certain feeling like the consciousness of guilt oppressed him; so that he could not go forth and offer himself as the protector of the child.
dorothy, however, had watched her husband's eye.
her mind was free from the influence that had begun to work on his, and she drew near the quaker woman and addressed her in the hearing of all the congregation.
""stranger, trust this boy to me, and i will be his mother," she said, taking ilbrahim's hand.
""providence has signally marked out my husband to protect him, and he has fed at our table and lodged under our roof now many days, till our hearts have grown very strongly unto him.
leave the tender child with us, and be at ease concerning his welfare."
the quaker rose from the ground, but drew the boy closer to her, while she gazed earnestly in dorothy's face.
her mild but saddened features and neat matronly attire harmonized together and were like a verse of fireside poetry.
her very aspect proved that she was blameless, so far as mortal could be so, in respect to god and man, while the enthusiast, in her robe of sackcloth and girdle of knotted cord, had as evidently violated the duties of the present life and the future by fixing her attention wholly on the latter.
the two females, as they held each a hand of ilbrahim, formed a practical allegory: it was rational piety and unbridled fanaticism contending for the empire of a young heart.
""thou art not of our people," said the quaker, mournfully.
""no, we are not of your people," replied dorothy, with mildness, "but we are christians looking upward to the same heaven with you.
doubt not that your boy shall meet you there, if there be a blessing on our tender and prayerful guidance of him.
thither, i trust, my own children have gone before me, for i also have been a mother.
i am no longer so," she added, in a faltering tone, "and your son will have all my care."
""but will ye lead him in the path which his parents have trodden?"
demanded the quaker.
""can ye teach him the enlightened faith which his father has died for, and for which i -- even i -- am soon to become an unworthy martyr?
the boy has been baptized in blood; will ye keep the mark fresh and ruddy upon his forehead?"
""i will not deceive you," answered dorothy.
""if your child become our child, we must breed him up in the instruction which heaven has imparted to us; we must pray for him the prayers of our own faith; we must do toward him according to the dictates of our own consciences, and not of yours.
were we to act otherwise, we should abuse your trust, even in complying with your wishes."
the mother looked down upon her boy with a troubled countenance, and then turned her eyes upward to heaven.
she seemed to pray internally, and the contention of her soul was evident.
""friend," she said, at length, to dorothy, "i doubt not that my son shall receive all earthly tenderness at thy hands.
nay, i will believe that even thy imperfect lights may guide him to a better world, for surely thou art on the path thither.
but thou hast spoken of a husband.
doth he stand here among this multitude of people?
let him come forth, for i must know to whom i commit this most precious trust."
she turned her face upon the male auditors, and after a momentary delay tobias pearson came forth from among them.
the quaker saw the dress which marked his military rank, and shook her head; but then she noted the hesitating air, the eyes that struggled with her own and were vanquished, the color that went and came and could find no resting-place.
as she gazed an unmirthful smile spread over her features, like sunshine that grows melancholy in some desolate spot.
her lips moved inaudibly, but at length she spake: "i hear it, i hear it!
the voice speaketh within me and saith, "leave thy child, catharine, for his place is here, and go hence, for i have other work for thee.
break the bonds of natural affection, martyr thy love, and know that in all these things eternal wisdom hath its ends."
i go, friends, i go.
take ye my boy, my precious jewel.
i go hence trusting that all shall be well, and that even for his infant hands there is a labor in the vineyard."
she knelt down and whispered to ilbrahim, who at first struggled and clung to his mother with sobs and tears, but remained passive when she had kissed his cheek and arisen from the ground.
having held her hands over his head in mental prayer, she was ready to depart.
""farewell, friends in mine extremity," she said to pearson and his wife; "the good deed ye have done me is a treasure laid up in heaven, to be returned a thousandfold hereafter.
-- and farewell, ye mine enemies, to whom it is not permitted to harm so much as a hair of my head, nor to stay my footsteps even for a moment.
the day is coming when ye shall call upon me to witness for ye to this one sin uncommitted, and i will rise up and answer."
she turned her steps toward the door, and the men who had stationed themselves to guard it withdrew and suffered her to pass.
a general sentiment of pity overcame the virulence of religious hatred.
sanctified by her love and her affliction, she went forth, and all the people gazed after her till she had journeyed up the hill and was lost behind its brow.
she went, the apostle of her own unquiet heart, to renew the wanderings of past years.
for her voice had been already heard in many lands of christendom, and she had pined in the cells of a catholic inquisition before she felt the lash and lay in the dungeons of the puritans.
her mission had extended also to the followers of the prophet, and from them she had received the courtesy and kindness which all the contending sects of our purer religion united to deny her.
her husband and herself had resided many months in turkey, where even the sultan's countenance was gracious to them; in that pagan land, too, was ilbrahim's birthplace, and his oriental name was a mark of gratitude for the good deeds of an unbeliever.
* * * * * when pearson and his wife had thus acquired all the rights over ilbrahim that could be delegated, their affection for him became, like the memory of their native land or their mild sorrow for the dead, a piece of the immovable furniture of their hearts.
the boy, also, after a week or two of mental disquiet, began to gratify his protectors by many inadvertent proofs that he considered them as parents and their house as home.
before the winter snows were melted the persecuted infant, the little wanderer from a remote and heathen country, seemed native in the new england cottage and inseparable from the warmth and security of its hearth.
under the influence of kind treatment, and in the consciousness that he was loved, ilbrahim's demeanor lost a premature manliness which had resulted from his earlier situation; he became more childlike and his natural character displayed itself with freedom.
it was in many respects a beautiful one, yet the disordered imaginations of both his father and mother had perhaps propagated a certain unhealthiness in the mind of the boy.
in his general state ilbrahim would derive enjoyment from the most trifling events and from every object about him; he seemed to discover rich treasures of happiness by a faculty analogous to that of the witch-hazel, which points to hidden gold where all is barren to the eye.
his airy gayety, coming to him from a thousand sources, communicated itself to the family, and ilbrahim was like a domesticated sunbeam, brightening moody countenances and chasing away the gloom from the dark corners of the cottage.
on the other hand, as the susceptibility of pleasure is also that of pain, the exuberant cheerfulness of the boy's prevailing temper sometimes yielded to moments of deep depression.
his sorrows could not always be followed up to their original source, but most frequently they appeared to flow -- though ilbrahim was young to be sad for such a cause -- from wounded love.
the flightiness of his mirth rendered him often guilty of offences against the decorum of a puritan household, and on these occasions he did not invariably escape rebuke.
but the slightest word of real bitterness, which he was infallible in distinguishing from pretended anger, seemed to sink into his heart and poison all his enjoyments till he became sensible that he was entirely forgiven.
of the malice which generally accompanies a superfluity of sensitiveness ilbrahim was altogether destitute.
when trodden upon, he would not turn; when wounded, he could but die.
his mind was wanting in the stamina of self-support.
it was a plant that would twine beautifully round something stronger than itself; but if repulsed or torn away, it had no choice but to wither on the ground.
dorothy's acuteness taught her that severity would crush the spirit of the child, and she nurtured him with the gentle care of one who handles a butterfly.
her husband manifested an equal affection, although it grew daily less productive of familiar caresses.
the feelings of the neighboring people in regard to the quaker infant and his protectors had not undergone a favorable change, in spite of the momentary triumph which the desolate mother had obtained over their sympathies.
the scorn and bitterness of which he was the object were very grievous to ilbrahim, especially when any circumstance made him sensible that the children his equals in age partook of the enmity of their parents.
his tender and social nature had already overflowed in attachments to everything about him, and still there was a residue of unappropriated love which he yearned to bestow upon the little ones who were taught to hate him.
as the warm days of spring came on ilbrahim was accustomed to remain for hours silent and inactive within hearing of the children's voices at their play, yet with his usual delicacy of feeling he avoided their notice, and would flee and hide himself from the smallest individual among them.
chance, however, at length seemed to open a medium of communication between his heart and theirs; it was by means of a boy about two years older than ilbrahim, who was injured by a fall from a tree in the vicinity of pearson's habitation.
as the sufferer's own home was at some distance, dorothy willingly received him under her roof and became his tender and careful nurse.
ilbrahim was the unconscious possessor of much skill in physiognomy, and it would have deterred him in other circumstances from attempting to make a friend of this boy.
the countenance of the latter immediately impressed a beholder disagreeably, but it required some examination to discover that the cause was a very slight distortion of the mouth and the irregular, broken line and near approach of the eyebrows.
analogous, perhaps, to these trifling deformities was an almost imperceptible twist of every joint and the uneven prominence of the breast, forming a body regular in its general outline, but faulty in almost all its details.
the disposition of the boy was sullen and reserved, and the village schoolmaster stigmatized him as obtuse in intellect, although at a later period of life he evinced ambition and very peculiar talents.
but, whatever might be his personal or moral irregularities, ilbrahim's heart seized upon and clung to him from the moment that he was brought wounded into the cottage; the child of persecution seemed to compare his own fate with that of the sufferer, and to feel that even different modes of misfortune had created a sort of relationship between them.
food, rest and the fresh air for which he languished were neglected; he nestled continually by the bedside of the little stranger and with a fond jealousy endeavored to be the medium of all the cares that were bestowed upon him.
as the boy became convalescent ilbrahim contrived games suitable to his situation or amused him by a faculty which he had perhaps breathed in with the air of his barbaric birthplace.
it was that of reciting imaginary adventures on the spur of the moment, and apparently in inexhaustible succession.
his tales were, of course, monstrous, disjointed and without aim, but they were curious on account of a vein of human tenderness which ran through them all and was like a sweet familiar face encountered in the midst of wild and unearthly scenery.
the auditor paid much attention to these romances and sometimes interrupted them by brief remarks upon the incidents, displaying shrewdness above his years, mingled with a moral obliquity which grated very harshly against ilbrahim's instinctive rectitude.
nothing, however, could arrest the progress of the latter's affection, and there were many proofs that it met with a response from the dark and stubborn nature on which it was lavished.
the boy's parents at length removed him to complete his cure under their own roof.
ilbrahim did not visit his new friend after his departure, but he made anxious and continual inquiries respecting him and informed himself of the day when he was to reappear among his playmates.
on a pleasant summer afternoon the children of the neighborhood had assembled in the little forest-crowned amphitheatre behind the meeting-house, and the recovering invalid was there, leaning on a staff.
the glee of a score of untainted bosoms was heard in light and airy voices, which danced among the trees like sunshine become audible; the grown men of this weary world as they journeyed by the spot marvelled why life, beginning in such brightness, should proceed in gloom, and their hearts or their imaginations answered them and said that the bliss of childhood gushes from its innocence.
but it happened that an unexpected addition was made to the heavenly little band.
it was ilbrahim, who came toward the children with a look of sweet confidence on his fair and spiritual face, as if, having manifested his love to one of them, he had no longer to fear a repulse from their society.
a hush came over their mirth the moment they beheld him, and they stood whispering to each other while he drew nigh; but all at once the devil of their fathers entered into the unbreeched fanatics, and, sending up a fierce, shrill cry, they rushed upon the poor quaker child.
in an instant he was the centre of a brood of baby-fiends, who lifted sticks against him, pelted him with stones and displayed an instinct of destruction far more loathsome than the bloodthirstiness of manhood.
the invalid, in the mean while, stood apart from the tumult, crying out with a loud voice, "fear not, ilbrahim; come hither and take my hand," and his unhappy friend endeavored to obey him.
after watching the victim's struggling approach with a calm smile and unabashed eye, the foul-hearted little villain lifted his staff and struck ilbrahim on the mouth so forcibly that the blood issued in a stream.
the poor child's arms had been raised to guard his head from the storm of blows, but now he dropped them at once.
his persecutors beat him down, trampled upon him, dragged him by his long fair locks, and ilbrahim was on the point of becoming as veritable a martyr as ever entered bleeding into heaven.
the uproar, however, attracted the notice of a few neighbors, who put themselves to the trouble of rescuing the little heretic, and of conveying him to pearson's door.
ilbrahim's bodily harm was severe, but long and careful nursing accomplished his recovery; the injury done to his sensitive spirit was more serious, though not so visible.
its signs were principally of a negative character, and to be discovered only by those who had previously known him.
his gait was thenceforth slow, even and unvaried by the sudden bursts of sprightlier motion which had once corresponded to his overflowing gladness; his countenance was heavier, and its former play of expression -- the dance of sunshine reflected from moving water -- was destroyed by the cloud over his existence; his notice was attracted in a far less degree by passing events, and he appeared to find greater difficulty in comprehending what was new to him than at a happier period.
a stranger founding his judgment upon these circumstances would have said that the dulness of the child's intellect widely contradicted the promise of his features, but the secret was in the direction of ilbrahim's thoughts, which were brooding within him when they should naturally have been wandering abroad.
an attempt of dorothy to revive his former sportiveness was the single occasion on which his quiet demeanor yielded to a violent display of grief; he burst into passionate weeping and ran and hid himself, for his heart had become so miserably sore that even the hand of kindness tortured it like fire.
sometimes at night, and probably in his dreams, he was heard to cry, "mother!
mother!"
as if her place, which a stranger had supplied while ilbrahim was happy, admitted of no substitute in his extreme affliction.
perhaps among the many life-weary wretches then upon the earth there was not one who combined innocence and misery like this poor broken-hearted infant so soon the victim of his own heavenly nature.
while this melancholy change had taken place in ilbrahim, one of an earlier origin and of different character had come to its perfection in his adopted father.
the incident with which this tale commences found pearson in a state of religious dulness, yet mentally disquieted and longing for a more fervid faith than he possessed.
the first effect of his kindness to ilbrahim was to produce a softened feeling, an incipient love for the child's whole sect, but joined to this, and resulting, perhaps, from self-suspicion, was a proud and ostentatious contempt of their tenets and practical extravagances.
in the course of much thought, however -- for the subject struggled irresistibly into his mind -- the foolishness of the doctrine began to be less evident, and the points which had particularly offended his reason assumed another aspect or vanished entirely away.
the work within him appeared to go on even while he slept, and that which had been a doubt when he laid down to rest would often hold the place of a truth confirmed by some forgotten demonstration when he recalled his thoughts in the morning.
but, while he was thus becoming assimilated to the enthusiasts, his contempt, in nowise decreasing toward them, grew very fierce against himself; he imagined, also, that every face of his acquaintance wore a sneer, and that every word addressed to him was a gibe.
such was his state of mind at the period of ilbrahim's misfortune, and the emotions consequent upon that event completed the change of which the child had been the original instrument.
in the mean time, neither the fierceness of the persecutors nor the infatuation of their victims had decreased.
the dungeons were never empty; the streets of almost every village echoed daily with the lash; the life of a woman whose mild and christian spirit no cruelty could embitter had been sacrificed, and more innocent blood was yet to pollute the hands that were so often raised in prayer.
early after the restoration the english quakers represented to charles ii.
that a "vein of blood was open in his dominions," but, though the displeasure of the voluptuous king was roused, his interference was not prompt.
and now the tale must stride forward over many months, leaving pearson to encounter ignominy and misfortune; his wife, to a firm endurance of a thousand sorrows; poor ilbrahim, to pine and droop like a cankered rose-bud; his mother, to wander on a mistaken errand, neglectful of the holiest trust which can be committed to a woman.
* * * * * a winter evening, a night of storm, had darkened over pearson's habitation, and there were no cheerful faces to drive the gloom from his broad hearth.
the fire, it is true, sent forth a glowing heat and a ruddy light, and large logs dripping with half-melted snow lay ready to cast upon the embers.
but the apartment was saddened in its aspect by the absence of much of the homely wealth which had once adorned it, for the exaction of repeated fines and his own neglect of temporal affairs had greatly impoverished the owner.
and with the furniture of peace the implements of war had likewise disappeared; the sword was broken, the helm and cuirass were cast away for ever: the soldier had done with battles, and might not lift so much as his naked hand to guard his head.
but the holy book remained, and the table on which it rested was drawn before the fire, while two of the persecuted sect sought comfort from its pages.
he who listened while the other read was the master of the house, now emaciated in form and altered as to the expression and healthiness of his countenance, for his mind had dwelt too long among visionary thoughts and his body had been worn by imprisonment and stripes.
the hale and weatherbeaten old man who sat beside him had sustained less injury from a far longer course of the same mode of life.
in person he was tall and dignified, and, which alone would have made him hateful to the puritans, his gray locks fell from beneath the broad-brimmed hat and rested on his shoulders.
as the old man read the sacred page the snow drifted against the windows or eddied in at the crevices of the door, while a blast kept laughing in the chimney and the blaze leaped fiercely up to seek it.
and sometimes, when the wind struck the hill at a certain angle and swept down by the cottage across the wintry plain, its voice was the most doleful that can be conceived; it came as if the past were speaking, as if the dead had contributed each a whisper, as if the desolation of ages were breathed in that one lamenting sound.
the quaker at length closed the book, retaining, however, his hand between the pages which he had been reading, while he looked steadfastly at pearson.
the attitude and features of the latter might have indicated the endurance of bodily pain; he leaned his forehead on his hands, his teeth were firmly closed and his frame was tremulous at intervals with a nervous agitation.
""friend tobias," inquired the old man, compassionately, "hast thou found no comfort in these many blessed passages of scripture?"
""thy voice has fallen on my ear like a sound afar off and indistinct," replied pearson, without lifting his eyes.
""yea; and when i have hearkened carefully, the words seemed cold and lifeless and intended for another and a lesser grief than mine.
remove the book," he added, in a tone of sullen bitterness; "i have no part in its consolations, and they do but fret my sorrow the more."
""nay, feeble brother; be not as one who hath never known the light," said the elder quaker, earnestly, but with mildness.
""art thou he that wouldst be content to give all and endure all for conscience" sake, desiring even peculiar trials that thy faith might be purified and thy heart weaned from worldly desires?
and wilt thou sink beneath an affliction which happens alike to them that have their portion here below and to them that lay up treasure in heaven?
faint not, for thy burden is yet light."
""it is heavy!
it is heavier than i can bear!"
exclaimed pearson, with the impatience of a variable spirit.
""from my youth upward i have been a man marked out for wrath, and year by year -- yea, day after day -- i have endured sorrows such as others know not in their lifetime.
and now i speak not of the love that has been turned to hatred, the honor to ignominy, the ease and plentifulness of all things to danger, want and nakedness.
all this i could have borne and counted myself blessed.
but when my heart was desolate with many losses, i fixed it upon the child of a stranger, and he became dearer to me than all my buried ones; and now he too must die as if my love were poison.
verily, i am an accursed man, and i will lay me down in the dust and lift up my head no more."
""thou sinnest, brother, but it is not for me to rebuke thee, for i also have had my hours of darkness wherein i have murmured against the cross," said the old quaker.
he continued, perhaps in the hope of distracting his companion's thoughts from his own sorrows: "even of late was the light obscured within me, when the men of blood had banished me on pain of death and the constables led me onward from village to village toward the wilderness.
a strong and cruel hand was wielding the knotted cords; they sunk deep into the flesh, and thou mightst have tracked every reel and totter of my footsteps by the blood that followed.
as we went on --" "have i not borne all this, and have i murmured?"
interrupted pearson, impatiently.
""nay, friend, but hear me," continued the other.
""as we journeyed on night darkened on our path, so that no man could see the rage of the persecutors or the constancy of my endurance, though heaven forbid that i should glory therein.
the lights began to glimmer in the cottage windows, and i could discern the inmates as they gathered in comfort and security, every man with his wife and children by their own evening hearth.
at length we came to a tract of fertile land.
in the dim light the forest was not visible around it, and, behold, there was a straw-thatched dwelling which bore the very aspect of my home far over the wild ocean -- far in our own england.
then came bitter thoughts upon me -- yea, remembrances that were like death to my soul.
the happiness of my early days was painted to me, the disquiet of my manhood, the altered faith of my declining years.
i remembered how i had been moved to go forth a wanderer when my daughter, the youngest, the dearest of my flock, lay on her dying-bed, and --" "couldst thou obey the command at such a moment?"
exclaimed pearson, shuddering.
""yea!
yea!"
replied the old man, hurriedly.
""i was kneeling by her bedside when the voice spoke loud within me, but immediately i rose and took my staff and gat me gone.
oh that it were permitted me to forget her woeful look when i thus withdrew my arm and left her journeying through the dark valley alone!
for her soul was faint and she had leaned upon my prayers.
now in that night of horror i was assailed by the thought that i had been an erring christian and a cruel parent; yea, even my daughter with her pale dying features seemed to stand by me and whisper, "father, you are deceived; go home and shelter your gray head."
-- o thou to whom i have looked in my furthest wanderings," continued the quaker, raising his agitated eyes to heaven, "inflict not upon the bloodiest of our persecutors the unmitigated agony of my soul when i believed that all i had done and suffered for thee was at the instigation of a mocking fiend!
-- but i yielded not; i knelt down and wrestled with the tempter, while the scourge bit more fiercely into the flesh.
my prayer was heard, and i went on in peace and joy toward the wilderness."
the old man, though his fanaticism had generally all the calmness of reason, was deeply moved while reciting this tale, and his unwonted emotion seemed to rebuke and keep down that of his companion.
they sat in silence, with their faces to the fire, imagining, perhaps, in its red embers new scenes of persecution yet to be encountered.
the snow still drifted hard against the windows, and sometimes, as the blaze of the logs had gradually sunk, came down the spacious chimney and hissed upon the hearth.
a cautious footstep might now and then be heard in a neighboring apartment, and the sound invariably drew the eyes of both quakers to the door which led thither.
when a fierce and riotous gust of wind had led his thoughts by a natural association to homeless travellers on such a night, pearson resumed the conversation.
""i have wellnigh sunk under my own share of this trial," observed he, sighing heavily; "yet i would that it might be doubled to me, if so the child's mother could be spared.
her wounds have been deep and many, but this will be the sorest of all."
""fear not for catharine," replied the old quaker, "for i know that valiant woman and have seen how she can bear the cross.
a mother's heart, indeed, is strong in her, and may seem to contend mightily with her faith; but soon she will stand up and give thanks that her son has been thus early an accepted sacrifice.
the boy hath done his work, and she will feel that he is taken hence in kindness both to him and her.
blessed, blessed are they that with so little suffering can enter into peace!"
the fitful rush of the wind was now disturbed by a portentous sound: it was a quick and heavy knocking at the outer door.
pearson's wan countenance grew paler, for many a visit of persecution had taught him what to dread; the old man, on the other hand, stood up erect, and his glance was firm as that of the tried soldier who awaits his enemy.
""the men of blood have come to seek me," he observed, with calmness.
""they have heard how i was moved to return from banishment, and now am i to be led to prison, and thence to death.
it is an end i have long looked for.
i will open unto them lest they say, "lo, he feareth!""
""nay; i will present myself before them," said pearson, with recovered fortitude.
""it may be that they seek me alone and know not that thou abidest with me."
""let us go boldly, both one and the other," rejoined his companion.
""it is not fitting that thou or i should shrink."
they therefore proceeded through the entry to the door, which they opened, bidding the applicant "come in, in god's name!"
a furious blast of wind drove the storm into their faces and extinguished the lamp; they had barely time to discern a figure so white from head to foot with the drifted snow that it seemed like winter's self come in human shape to seek refuge from its own desolation.
""enter, friend, and do thy errand, be it what it may," said pearson.
""it must needs be pressing, since thou comest on such a bitter night."
""peace be with this household!"
said the stranger, when they stood on the floor of the inner apartment.
pearson started; the elder quaker stirred the slumbering embers of the fire till they sent up a clear and lofty blaze.
it was a female voice that had spoken; it was a female form that shone out, cold and wintry, in that comfortable light.
""catharine, blessed woman," exclaimed the old man, "art thou come to this darkened land again?
art thou come to bear a valiant testimony as in former years?
the scourge hath not prevailed against thee, and from the dungeon hast thou come forth triumphant, but strengthen, strengthen now thy heart, catharine, for heaven will prove thee yet this once ere thou go to thy reward."
""rejoice, friends!"
she replied.
""thou who hast long been of our people, and thou whom a little child hath led to us, rejoice!
lo, i come, the messenger of glad tidings, for the day of persecution is over-past.
the heart of the king, even charles, hath been moved in gentleness toward us, and he hath sent forth his letters to stay the hands of the men of blood.
a ship's company of our friends hath arrived at yonder town, and i also sailed joyfully among them."
as catharine spoke her eyes were roaming about the room in search of him for whose sake security was dear to her.
pearson made a silent appeal to the old man, nor did the latter shrink from the painful task assigned him.
""sister," he began, in a softened yet perfectly calm tone, "thou tellest us of his love manifested in temporal good, and now must we speak to thee of that selfsame love displayed in chastenings.
hitherto, catharine, thou hast been as one journeying in a darksome and difficult path and leading an infant by the hand; fain wouldst thou have looked heavenward continually, but still the cares of that little child have drawn thine eyes and thy affections to the earth.
sister, go on rejoicing, for his tottering footsteps shall impede thine own no more."
but the unhappy mother was not thus to be consoled.
she shook like a leaf; she turned white as the very snow that hung drifted into her hair.
the firm old man extended his hand and held her up, keeping his eye upon hers as if to repress any outbreak of passion.
""i am a woman -- i am but a woman; will he try me above my strength?"
said catharine, very quickly and almost in a whisper.
""i have been wounded sore; i have suffered much -- many things in the body, many in the mind; crucified in myself and in them that were dearest to me.
surely," added she, with a long shudder, "he hath spared me in this one thing."
she broke forth with sudden and irrepressible violence: "tell me, man of cold heart, what has god done to me?
hath he cast me down never to rise again?
hath he crushed my very heart in his hand?
-- and thou to whom i committed my child, how hast thou fulfilled thy trust?
give me back the boy well, sound, alive -- alive -- or earth and heaven shall avenge me!"
the agonized shriek of catharine was answered by the faint -- the very faint -- voice of a child.
on this day it had become evident to pearson, to his aged guest and to dorothy that ilbrahim's brief and troubled pilgrimage drew near its close.
the two former would willingly have remained by him to make use of the prayers and pious discourses which they deemed appropriate to the time, and which, if they be impotent as to the departing traveller's reception in the world whither he goes, may at least sustain him in bidding adieu to earth.
but, though ilbrahim uttered no complaint, he was disturbed by the faces that looked upon him; so that dorothy's entreaties and their own conviction that the child's feet might tread heaven's pavement and not soil it had induced the two quakers to remove.
ilbrahim then closed his eyes and grew calm, and, except for now and then a kind and low word to his nurse, might have been thought to slumber.
as nightfall came on, however, and the storm began to rise, something seemed to trouble the repose of the boy's mind and to render his sense of hearing active and acute.
if a passing wind lingered to shake the casement, he strove to turn his head toward it; if the door jarred to and fro upon its hinges, he looked long and anxiously thitherward; if the heavy voice of the old man as he read the scriptures rose but a little higher, the child almost held his dying-breath to listen; if a snowdrift swept by the cottage with a sound like the trailing of a garment, ilbrahim seemed to watch that some visitant should enter.
but after a little time he relinquished whatever secret hope had agitated him and with one low complaining whisper turned his cheek upon the pillow.
he then addressed dorothy with his usual sweetness and besought her to draw near him; she did so, and ilbrahim took her hand in both of his, grasping it with a gentle pressure, as if to assure himself that he retained it.
at intervals, and without disturbing the repose of his countenance, a very faint trembling passed over him from head to foot, as if a mild but somewhat cool wind had breathed upon him and made him shiver.
as the boy thus led her by the hand in his quiet progress over the borders of eternity, dorothy almost imagined that she could discern the near though dim delightfulness of the home he was about to reach; she would not have enticed the little wanderer back, though she bemoaned herself that she must leave him and return.
but just when ilbrahim's feet were pressing on the soil of paradise he heard a voice behind him, and it recalled him a few, few paces of the weary path which he had travelled.
as dorothy looked upon his features she perceived that their placid expression was again disturbed.
her own thoughts had been so wrapped in him that all sounds of the storm and of human speech were lost to her; but when catharine's shriek pierced through the room, the boy strove to raise himself.
""friend, she is come!
open unto her!"
cried he.
in a moment his mother was kneeling by the bedside; she drew ilbrahim to her bosom, and he nestled there with no violence of joy, but contentedly as if he were hushing himself to sleep.
he looked into her face, and, reading its agony, said with feeble earnestness, "mourn not, dearest mother.
i am happy now;" and with these words the gentle boy was dead.
* * * * * the king's mandate to stay the new england persecutors was effectual in preventing further martyrdoms, but the colonial authorities, trusting in the remoteness of their situation, and perhaps in the supposed instability of the royal government, shortly renewed their severities in all other respects.
catharine's fanaticism had become wilder by the sundering of all human ties; and wherever a scourge was lifted, there was she to receive the blow; and whenever a dungeon was unbarred, thither she came to cast herself upon the floor.
but in process of time a more christian spirit -- a spirit of forbearance, though not of cordiality or approbation -- began to pervade the land in regard to the persecuted sect.
and then, when the rigid old pilgrims eyed her rather in pity than in wrath, when the matrons fed her with the fragments of their children's food and offered her a lodging on a hard and lowly bed, when no little crowd of schoolboys left their sports to cast stones after the roving enthusiast, -- then did catharine return to pearson's dwelling, and made that her home.
as if ilbrahim's sweetness yet lingered round his ashes, as if his gentle spirit came down from heaven to teach his parent a true religion, her fierce and vindictive nature was softened by the same griefs which had once irritated it.
when the course of years had made the features of the unobtrusive mourner familiar in the settlement, she became a subject of not deep but general interest -- a being on whom the otherwise superfluous sympathies of all might be bestowed.
every one spoke of her with that degree of pity which it is pleasant to experience; every one was ready to do her the little kindnesses which are not costly, yet manifest good-will; and when at last she died, a long train of her once bitter persecutors followed her with decent sadness and tears that were not painful to her place by ilbrahim's green and sunken grave.
mr. higginbotham's catastrophe.
a young fellow, a tobacco-pedler by trade, was on his way from morristown, where he had dealt largely with the deacon of the shaker settlement, to the village of parker's falls, on salmon river.
he had a neat little cart painted green, with a box of cigars depicted on each side-panel, and an indian chief holding a pipe and a golden tobacco-stalk on the rear.
the pedler drove a smart little mare and was a young man of excellent character, keen at a bargain, but none the worse liked by the yankees, who, as i have heard them say, would rather be shaved with a sharp razor than a dull one.
especially was he beloved by the pretty girls along the connecticut, whose favor he used to court by presents of the best smoking-tobacco in his stock, knowing well that the country-lasses of new england are generally great performers on pipes.
moreover, as will be seen in the course of my story, the pedler was inquisitive and something of a tattler, always itching to hear the news and anxious to tell it again.
after an early breakfast at morristown the tobacco-pedler -- whose name was dominicus pike -- had travelled seven miles through a solitary piece of woods without speaking a word to anybody but himself and his little gray mare.
it being nearly seven o'clock, he was as eager to hold a morning gossip as a city shopkeeper to read the morning paper.
an opportunity seemed at hand when, after lighting a cigar with a sun-glass, he looked up and perceived a man coming over the brow of the hill at the foot of which the pedler had stopped his green cart.
dominicus watched him as he descended, and noticed that he carried a bundle over his shoulder on the end of a stick and travelled with a weary yet determined pace.
he did not look as if he had started in the freshness of the morning, but had footed it all night, and meant to do the same all day.
""good-morning, mister," said dominicus, when within speaking-distance.
""you go a pretty good jog.
what's the latest news at parker's falls?"
the man pulled the broad brim of a gray hat over his eyes, and answered, rather sullenly, that he did not come from parker's falls, which, as being the limit of his own day's journey, the pedler had naturally mentioned in his inquiry.
""well, then," rejoined dominicus pike, "let's have the latest news where you did come from.
i'm not particular about parker's falls.
any place will answer."
being thus importuned, the traveller -- who was as ill-looking a fellow as one would desire to meet in a solitary piece of woods -- appeared to hesitate a little, as if he was either searching his memory for news or weighing the expediency of telling it.
at last, mounting on the step of the cart, he whispered in the ear of dominicus, though he might have shouted aloud and no other mortal would have heard him.
""i do remember one little trifle of news," said he.
""old mr. higginbotham of kimballton was murdered in his orchard at eight o'clock last night by an irishman and a nigger.
they strung him up to the branch of a st. michael's pear tree where nobody would find him till the morning."
as soon as this horrible intelligence was communicated the stranger betook himself to his journey again with more speed than ever, not even turning his head when dominicus invited him to smoke a spanish cigar and relate all the particulars.
the pedler whistled to his mare and went up the hill, pondering on the doleful fate of mr. higginbotham, whom he had known in the way of trade, having sold him many a bunch of long nines and a great deal of pig-tail, lady's twist and fig tobacco.
he was rather astonished at the rapidity with which the news had spread.
kimballton was nearly sixty miles distant in a straight line; the murder had been perpetrated only at eight o'clock the preceding night, yet dominicus had heard of it at seven in the morning, when, in all probability, poor mr. higginbotham's own family had but just discovered his corpse hanging on the st. michael's pear tree.
the stranger on foot must have worn seven-league boots, to travel at such a rate.
""ill-news flies fast, they say," thought dominicus pike, "but this beats railroads.
the fellow ought to be hired to go express with the president's message."
the difficulty was solved by supposing that the narrator had made a mistake of one day in the date of the occurrence; so that our friend did not hesitate to introduce the story at every tavern and country-store along the road, expending a whole bunch of spanish wrappers among at least twenty horrified audiences.
he found himself invariably the first bearer of the intelligence, and was so pestered with questions that he could not avoid filling up the outline till it became quite a respectable narrative.
he met with one piece of corroborative evidence.
mr. higginbotham was a trader, and a former clerk of his to whom dominicus related the facts testified that the old gentleman was accustomed to return home through the orchard about nightfall with the money and valuable papers of the store in his pocket.
the clerk manifested but little grief at mr. higginbotham's catastrophe, hinting -- what the pedler had discovered in his own dealings with him -- that he was a crusty old fellow as close as a vise.
his property would descend to a pretty niece who was now keeping school in kimballton.
what with telling the news for the public good and driving bargains for his own, dominicus was so much delayed on the road that he chose to put up at a tavern about five miles short of parker's falls.
after supper, lighting one of his prime cigars, he seated himself in the bar-room and went through the story of the murder, which had grown so fast that it took him half an hour to tell.
there were as many as twenty people in the room, nineteen of whom received it all for gospel.
but the twentieth was an elderly farmer who had arrived on horseback a short time before and was now seated in a corner, smoking his pipe.
when the story was concluded, he rose up very deliberately, brought his chair right in front of dominicus and stared him full in the face, puffing out the vilest tobacco-smoke the pedler had ever smelt.
""will you make affidavit," demanded he, in the tone of a country-justice taking an examination, "that old squire higginbotham of kimballton was murdered in his orchard the night before last and found hanging on his great pear tree yesterday morning?"
""i tell the story as i heard it, mister," answered dominicus, dropping his half-burnt cigar.
""i do n't say that i saw the thing done, so i ca n't take my oath that he was murdered exactly in that way."
""but i can take mine," said the farmer, "that if squire higginbotham was murdered night before last i drank a glass of bitters with his ghost this morning.
being a neighbor of mine, he called me into his store as i was riding by, and treated me, and then asked me to do a little business for him on the road.
he did n't seem to know any more about his own murder than i did."
""why, then it ca n't be a fact!"
exclaimed dominicus pike.
""i guess he'd have mentioned, if it was," said the old farmer; and he removed his chair back to the corner, leaving dominicus quite down in the mouth.
here was a sad resurrection of old mr. higginbotham!
the pedler had no heart to mingle in the conversation any more, but comforted himself with a glass of gin and water and went to bed, where all night long he dreamed of hanging on the st. michael's pear tree.
to avoid the old farmer -lrb- whom he so detested that his suspension would have pleased him better than mr. higginbotham's -rrb-, dominicus rose in the gray of the morning, put the little mare into the green cart and trotted swiftly away toward parker's falls.
the fresh breeze, the dewy road and the pleasant summer dawn revived his spirits, and might have encouraged him to repeat the old story had there been anybody awake to bear it, but he met neither ox-team, light wagon, chaise, horseman nor foot-traveller till, just as he crossed salmon river, a man came trudging down to the bridge with a bundle over his shoulder, on the end of a stick.
""good-morning, mister," said the pedler, reining in his mare.
""if you come from kimballton or that neighborhood, maybe you can tell me the real fact about this affair of old mr. higginbotham.
was the old fellow actually murdered two or three nights ago by an irishman and a nigger?"
dominicus had spoken in too great a hurry to observe at first that the stranger himself had a deep tinge of negro blood.
on hearing this sudden question the ethiopian appeared to change his skin, its yellow hue becoming a ghastly white, while, shaking and stammering, he thus replied: "no, no!
there was no colored man.
it was an irishman that hanged him last night at eight o'clock; i came away at seven.
his folks ca n't have looked for him in the orchard yet."
scarcely had the yellow man spoken, when he interrupted himself and, though he seemed weary enough before, continued his journey at a pace which would have kept the pedler's mare on a smart trot.
dominicus stared after him in great perplexity.
if the murder had not been committed till tuesday night, who was the prophet that had foretold it in all its circumstances on tuesday morning?
if mr. higginbotham's corpse were not yet discovered by his own family, how came the mulatto, at above thirty miles" distance, to know that he was hanging in the orchard, especially as he had left kimballton before the unfortunate man was hanged at all?
these ambiguous circumstances, with the stranger's surprise and terror, made dominicus think of raising a hue-and-cry after him as an accomplice in the murder, since a murder, it seemed, had really been perpetrated.
""but let the poor devil go," thought the pedler.
""i do n't want his black blood on my head, and hanging the nigger would n't unhang mr. higginbotham.
unhang the old gentleman?
it's a sin, i know, but i should hate to have him come to life a second time and give me the lie."
with these meditations dominicus pike drove into the street of parker's falls, which, as everybody knows, is as thriving a village as three cotton-factories and a slitting-mill can make it.
the machinery was not in motion and but a few of the shop doors unbarred when he alighted in the stable-yard of the tavern and made it his first business to order the mare four quarts of oats.
his second duty, of course, was to impart mr. higginbotham's catastrophe to the hostler.
he deemed it advisable, however, not to be too positive as to the date of the direful fact, and also to be uncertain whether it were perpetrated by an irishman and a mulatto or by the son of erin alone.
neither did he profess to relate it on his own authority or that of any one person, but mentioned it as a report generally diffused.
the story ran through the town like fire among girdled trees, and became so much the universal talk that nobody could tell whence it had originated.
mr. higginbotham was as well known at parker's falls as any citizen of the place, being part-owner of the slitting-mill and a considerable stockholder in the cotton-factories.
the inhabitants felt their own prosperity interested in his fate.
such was the excitement that the parker's falls gazette anticipated its regular day of publication, and came out with half a form of blank paper and a column of double pica emphasized with capitals and headed "horrid murder of mr. higginbotham!"
among other dreadful details, the printed account described the mark of the cord round the dead man's neck and stated the number of thousand dollars of which he had been robbed; there was much pathos, also, about the affliction of his niece, who had gone from one fainting-fit to another ever since her uncle was found hanging on the st. michael's pear tree with his pockets inside out.
the village poet likewise commemorated the young lady's grief in seventeen stanzas of a ballad.
the selectmen held a meeting, and in consideration of mr. higginbotham's claims on the town determined to issue handbills offering a reward of five hundred dollars for the apprehension of his murderers and the recovery of the stolen property.
meanwhile, the whole population of parker's falls, consisting of shopkeepers, mistresses of boarding-houses, factory-girls, mill-men and schoolboys, rushed into the street and kept up such a terrible loquacity as more than compensated for the silence of the cotton-machines, which refrained from their usual din out of respect to the deceased.
had mr. higginbotham cared about posthumous renown, his untimely ghost would have exulted in this tumult.
our friend dominicus in his vanity of heart forgot his intended precautions, and, mounting on the town-pump, announced himself as the bearer of the authentic intelligence which had caused so wonderful a sensation.
he immediately became the great man of the moment, and had just begun a new edition of the narrative with a voice like a field-preacher when the mail-stage drove into the village street.
it had travelled all night, and must have shifted horses at kimballton at three in the morning.
""now we shall hear all the particulars!"
shouted the crowd.
the coach rumbled up to the piazza of the tavern followed by a thousand people; for if any man had been minding his own business till then, he now left it at sixes and sevens to hear the news.
the pedler, foremost in the race, discovered two passengers, both of whom had been startled from a comfortable nap to find themselves in the centre of a mob.
every man assailing them with separate questions, all propounded at once, the couple were struck speechless, though one was a lawyer and the other a young lady.
""mr. higginbotham!
mr. higginbotham!
tell us the particulars about old mr. higginbotham!"
bawled the mob.
""what is the coroner's verdict?
are the murderers apprehended?
is mr. higginbotham's niece come out of her fainting-fits?
mr. higginbotham!
mr. higginbotham!"
the coachman said not a word except to swear awfully at the hostler for not bringing him a fresh team of horses.
the lawyer inside had generally his wits about him even when asleep; the first thing he did after learning the cause of the excitement was to produce a large red pocketbook.
meantime, dominicus pike, being an extremely polite young man, and also suspecting that a female tongue would tell the story as glibly as a lawyer's, had handed the lady out of the coach.
she was a fine, smart girl, now wide awake and bright as a button, and had such a sweet, pretty mouth that dominicus would almost as lief have heard a love-tale from it as a tale of murder.
""gentlemen and ladies," said the lawyer to the shopkeepers, the mill-men and the factory-girls, "i can assure you that some unaccountable mistake -- or, more probably, a wilful falsehood maliciously contrived to injure mr. higginbotham's credit -- has excited this singular uproar.
we passed through kimballton at three o'clock this morning, and most certainly should have been informed of the murder had any been perpetrated.
but i have proof nearly as strong as mr. higginbotham's own oral testimony in the negative.
here is a note relating to a suit of his in the connecticut courts which was delivered me from that gentleman himself.
i find it dated at ten o'clock last evening."
so saying, the lawyer, exhibited the date and signature of the note, which irrefragably proved either that this perverse mr. higginbotham was alive when he wrote it, or, as some deemed the more probable case of two doubtful ones, that he was so absorbed in worldly business as to continue to transact it even after his death.
but unexpected evidence was forthcoming.
the young lady, after listening to the pedler's explanation, merely seized a moment to smooth her gown and put her curls in order, and then appeared at the tavern door, making a modest signal to be heard.
""good people," said she, "i am mr. higginbotham's niece."
a wondering murmur passed through the crowd on beholding her so rosy and bright -- that same unhappy niece whom they had supposed, on the authority of the parker's falls gazette, to be lying at death's door in a fainting-fit.
but some shrewd fellows had doubted all along whether a young lady would be quite so desperate at the hanging of a rich old uncle.
""you see," continued miss higginbotham, with a smile, "that this strange story is quite unfounded as to myself, and i believe i may affirm it to be equally so in regard to my dear uncle higginbotham.
he has the kindness to give me a home in his house, though i contribute to my own support by teaching a school.
i left kimballton this morning to spend the vacation of commencement-week with a friend about five miles from parker's falls.
my generous uncle, when he heard me on the stairs, called me to his bedside and gave me two dollars and fifty cents to pay my stage-fare, and another dollar for my extra expenses.
he then laid his pocketbook under his pillow, shook hands with me, and advised me to take some biscuit in my bag instead of breakfasting on the road.
i feel confident, therefore, that i left my beloved relative alive, and trust that i shall find him so on my return."
the young lady courtesied at the close of her speech, which was so sensible and well worded, and delivered with such grace and propriety, that everybody thought her fit to be preceptress of the best academy in the state.
but a stranger would have supposed that mr. higginbotham was an object of abhorrence at parker's falls and that a thanksgiving had been proclaimed for his murder, so excessive was the wrath of the inhabitants on learning their mistake.
the mill-men resolved to bestow public honors on dominicus pike, only hesitating whether to tar and feather him, ride him on a rail or refresh him with an ablution at the town-pump, on the top of which he had declared himself the bearer of the news.
the selectmen, by advice of the lawyer, spoke of prosecuting him for a misdemeanor in circulating unfounded reports, to the great disturbance of the peace of the commonwealth.
nothing saved dominicus either from mob-law or a court of justice but an eloquent appeal made by the young lady in his behalf.
addressing a few words of heartfelt gratitude to his benefactress, he mounted the green cart and rode out of town under a discharge of artillery from the schoolboys, who found plenty of ammunition in the neighboring clay-pits and mud-holes.
as he turned his head to exchange a farewell glance with mr. higginbotham's niece a ball of the consistence of hasty-pudding hit him slap in the mouth, giving him a most grim aspect.
his whole person was so bespattered with the like filthy missiles that he had almost a mind to ride back and supplicate for the threatened ablution at the town-pump; for, though not meant in kindness, it would now have been a deed of charity.
however, the sun shone bright on poor dominicus, and the mud -- an emblem of all stains of undeserved opprobrium -- was easily brushed off when dry.
being a funny rogue, his heart soon cheered up; nor could he refrain from a hearty laugh at the uproar which his story had excited.
the handbills of the selectmen would cause the commitment of all the vagabonds in the state, the paragraph in the parker's falls gazette would be reprinted from maine to florida, and perhaps form an item in the london newspapers, and many a miser would tremble for his moneybags and life on learning the catastrophe of mr. higginbotham.
the pedler meditated with much fervor on the charms of the young schoolmistress, and swore that daniel webster never spoke nor looked so like an angel as miss higginbotham while defending him from the wrathful populace at parker's falls.
dominicus was now on the kimballton turnpike, having all along determined to visit that place, though business had drawn, him out of the most direct road from morristown.
as he approached the scene of the supposed murder he continued to revolve the circumstances in his mind, and was astonished at the aspect which the whole case assumed.
had nothing occurred to corroborate the story of the first traveller, it might now have been considered as a hoax; but the yellow man was evidently acquainted either with the report or the fact, and there was a mystery in his dismayed and guilty look on being abruptly questioned.
when to this singular combination of incidents it was added that the rumor tallied exactly with mr. higginbotham's character and habits of life, and that he had an orchard and a st. michael's pear tree, near which he always passed at nightfall, the circumstantial evidence appeared so strong that dominicus doubted whether the autograph produced by the lawyer, or even the niece's direct testimony, ought to be equivalent.
making cautious inquiries along the road, the pedler further learned that mr. higginbotham had in his service an irishman of doubtful character whom he had hired without a recommendation, on the score of economy.
""may i be hanged myself," exclaimed dominicus pike, aloud, on reaching the top of a lonely hill, "if i'll believe old higginbotham is unhanged till i see him with my own eyes and hear it from his own mouth.
and, as he's a real shaver, i'll have the minister, or some other responsible man, for an endorser."
it was growing dusk when he reached the toll-house on kimballton turnpike, about a quarter of a mile from the village of this name.
his little mare was fast bringing him up with a man on horseback who trotted through the gate a few rods in advance of him, nodded to the toll-gatherer and kept on towards the village.
dominicus was acquainted with the toll-man, and while making change the usual remarks on the weather passed between them.
""i suppose," said the pedler, throwing back his whiplash to bring it down like a feather on the mare's flank, "you have not seen anything of old mr. higginbotham within a day or two?"
""yes," answered the toll-gatherer; "he passed the gate just before you drove up, and yonder he rides now, if you can see him through the dusk.
he's been to woodfield this afternoon, attending a sheriff's sale there.
the old man generally shakes hands and has a little chat with me, but to-night he nodded, as if to say, "charge my toll," and jogged on; for, wherever he goes, he must always be at home by eight o'clock."
""so they tell me," said dominicus.
""i never saw a man look so yellow and thin as the squire does," continued the toll-gatherer.
""says i to myself tonight, "he's more like a ghost or an old mummy than good flesh and blood.""
the pedler strained his eyes through the twilight, and could just discern the horseman now far ahead on the village road.
he seemed to recognize the rear of mr. higginbotham, but through the evening shadows and amid the dust from the horse's feet the figure appeared dim and unsubstantial, as if the shape of the mysterious old man were faintly moulded of darkness and gray light.
dominicus shivered.
""mr. higginbotham has come back from the other world by way of the kimballton turnpike," thought he.
he shook the reins and rode forward, keeping about the same distance in the rear of the gray old shadow till the latter was concealed by a bend of the road.
on reaching this point the pedler no longer saw the man on horseback, but found himself at the head of the village street, not far from a number of stores and two taverns clustered round the meeting-house steeple.
on his left was a stone wall and a gate, the boundary of a wood-lot beyond which lay an orchard, farther still a mowing-field, and last of all a house.
these were the premises of mr. higginbotham, whose dwelling stood beside the old highway, but had been left in the background by the kimballton turnpike.
dominicus knew the place, and the little mare stopped short by instinct, for he was not conscious of tightening the reins.
""for the soul of me, i can not get by this gate!"
said he, trembling.
""i never shall be my own man again till i see whether mr. higginbotham is hanging on the st. michael's pear tree."
he leaped from the cart, gave the rein a turn round the gate-post, and ran along the green path of the wood-lot as if old nick were chasing behind.
just then the village clock tolled eight, and as each deep stroke fell dominicus gave a fresh bound and flew faster than before, till, dim in the solitary centre of the orchard, he saw the fated pear tree.
one great branch stretched from the old contorted trunk across the path and threw the darkest shadow on that one spot.
but something seemed to struggle beneath the branch.
the pedler had never pretended to more courage than befits a man of peaceable occupation, nor could he account for his valor on this awful emergency.
certain it is, however, that he rushed forward, prostrated a sturdy irishman with the butt-end of his whip, and found -- not, indeed, hanging on the st. michael's pear tree, but trembling beneath it with a halter round his neck -- the old identical mr. higginbotham.
""mr. higginbotham," said dominicus, tremulously, "you're an honest man, and i'll take your word for it.
have you been hanged, or not?"
if the riddle be not already guessed, a few words will explain the simple machinery by which this "coming event" was made to cast its "shadow before."
three men had plotted the robbery and murder of mr. higginbotham; two of them successively lost courage and fled, each delaying the crime one night by their disappearance; the third was in the act of perpetration, when a champion, blindly obeying the call of fate, like the heroes of old romance, appeared in the person of dominicus pike.
it only remains to say that mr. higginbotham took the pedler into high favor, sanctioned his addresses to the pretty schoolmistress and settled his whole property on their children, allowing themselves the interest.
in due time the old gentleman capped the climax of his favors by dying a christian death in bed; since which melancholy event, dominicus pike has removed from kimballton and established a large tobacco-manufactory in my native village.
little annie's ramble.
ding-dong!
ding-dong!
ding-dong!
the town-crier has rung his bell at a distant corner, and little annie stands on her father's doorsteps trying to hear what the man with the loud voice is talking about.
let me listen too.
oh, he is telling the people that an elephant and a lion and a royal tiger and a horse with horns, and other strange beasts from foreign countries, have come to town and will receive all visitors who choose to wait upon them.
perhaps little annie would like to go?
yes, and i can see that the pretty child is weary of this wide and pleasant street with the green trees flinging their shade across the quiet sunshine and the pavements and the sidewalks all as clean as if the housemaid had just swept them with her broom.
she feels that impulse to go strolling away -- that longing after the mystery of the great world -- which many children feel, and which i felt in my childhood.
little annie shall take a ramble with me.
see!
i do but hold out my hand, and like some bright bird in the sunny air, with her blue silk frock fluttering upward from her white pantalets, she comes bounding on tiptoe across the street.
smooth back your brown curls, annie, and let me tie on your bonnet, and we will set forth.
what a strange couple to go on their rambles together!
one walks in black attire, with a measured step and a heavy brow and his thoughtful eyes bent down, while the gay little girl trips lightly along as if she were forced to keep hold of my hand lest her feet should dance away from the earth.
yet there is sympathy between us.
if i pride myself on anything, it is because i have a smile that children love; and, on the other hand, there are few grown ladies that could entice me from the side of little annie, for i delight to let my mind go hand in hand with the mind of a sinless child.
so come, annie; but if i moralize as we go, do not listen to me: only look about you and be merry.
now we turn the corner.
here are hacks with two horses and stage-coaches with four thundering to meet each other, and trucks and carts moving at a slower pace, being heavily laden with barrels from the wharves; and here are rattling gigs which perhaps will be smashed to pieces before our eyes.
hitherward, also, comes a man trundling a wheelbarrow along the pavement.
is not little annie afraid of such a tumult?
no; she does not even shrink closer to my side, but passes on with fearless confidence, a happy child amidst a great throng of grown people who pay the same reverence to her infancy that they would to extreme old age.
nobody jostles her: all turn aside to make way for little annie; and, what is most singular, she appears conscious of her claim to such respect.
now her eyes brighten with pleasure.
a street-musician has seated himself on the steps of yonder church and pours forth his strains to the busy town -- a melody that has gone astray among the tramp of footsteps, the buzz of voices and the war of passing wheels.
who heeds the poor organ-grinder?
none but myself and little annie, whose feet begin to move in unison with the lively tune, as if she were loth that music should be wasted without a dance.
but where would annie find a partner?
some have the gout in their toes or the rheumatism in their joints; some are stiff with age, some feeble with disease; some are so lean that their bones would rattle, and others of such ponderous size that their agility would crack the flagstones; but many, many have leaden feet because their hearts are far heavier than lead.
it is a sad thought that i have chanced upon.
what a company of dancers should we be!
for i too am a gentleman of sober footsteps, and therefore, little annie, let us walk sedately on.
it is a question with me whether this giddy child or my sage self have most pleasure in looking at the shop-windows.
we love the silks of sunny hue that glow within the darkened premises of the spruce dry-goods men; we are pleasantly dazzled by the burnished silver and the chased gold, the rings of wedlock and the costly love-ornaments, glistening at the window of the jeweller; but annie, more than i, seeks for a glimpse of her passing figure in the dusty looking-glasses at the hardware-stores.
all that is bright and gay attracts us both.
here is a shop to which the recollections of my boyhood as well as present partialities give a peculiar magic.
how delightful to let the fancy revel on the dainties of a confectioner -- those pies with such white and flaky paste, their contents being a mystery, whether rich mince with whole plums intermixed, or piquant apple delicately rose-flavored; those cakes, heart-shaped or round, piled in a lofty pyramid; those sweet little circlets sweetly named kisses; those dark majestic masses fit to be bridal-loaves at the wedding of an heiress, mountains in size, their summits deeply snow-covered with sugar!
then the mighty treasures of sugarplums, white and crimson and yellow, in large glass vases, and candy of all varieties, and those little cockles -- or whatever they are called -- much prized by children for their sweetness, and more for the mottoes which they enclose, by love-sick maids and bachelors!
oh, my mouth waters, little annie, and so doth yours, but we will not be tempted except to an imaginary feast; so let us hasten onward devouring the vision of a plum-cake.
here are pleasures, as some people would say, of a more exalted kind, in the window of a bookseller.
is annie a literary lady?
yes; she is deeply read in peter parley's tomes and has an increasing love for fairy-tales, though seldom met with nowadays, and she will subscribe next year to the juvenile miscellany.
but, truth to tell, she is apt to turn away from the printed page and keep gazing at the pretty pictures, such as the gay-colored ones which make this shop-window the continual loitering-place of children.
what would annie think if, in the book which i mean to send her on new year's day, she should find her sweet little self bound up in silk or morocco with gilt edges, there to remain till she become a woman grown with children of her own to read about their mother's childhood?
that would be very queer.
little annie is weary of pictures and pulls me onward by the hand, till suddenly we pause at the most wondrous shop in all the town.
oh, my stars!
is this a toyshop, or is it fairy-land?
for here are gilded chariots in which the king and queen of the fairies might ride side by side, while their courtiers on these small horses should gallop in triumphal procession before and behind the royal pair.
here, too, are dishes of chinaware fit to be the dining-set of those same princely personages when they make a regal banquet in the stateliest hall of their palace -- full five feet high -- and behold their nobles feasting adown the long perspective of the table.
betwixt the king and queen should sit my little annie, the prettiest fairy of them all.
here stands a turbaned turk threatening us with his sabre, like an ugly heathen as he is, and next a chinese mandarin who nods his head at annie and myself.
here we may review a whole army of horse and foot in red-and-blue uniforms, with drums, fifes, trumpets, and all kinds of noiseless music; they have halted on the shelf of this window after their weary march from liliput.
but what cares annie for soldiers?
no conquering queen is she -- neither a semiramis nor a catharine; her whole heart is set upon that doll who gazes at us with such a fashionable stare.
this is the little girl's true plaything.
though made of wood, a doll is a visionary and ethereal personage endowed by childish fancy with a peculiar life; the mimic lady is a heroine of romance, an actor and a sufferer in a thousand shadowy scenes, the chief inhabitant of that wild world with which children ape the real one.
little annie does not understand what i am saying, but looks wishfully at the proud lady in the window.
we will invite her home with us as we return.
-- meantime, good-bye, dame doll!
a toy yourself, you look forth from your window upon many ladies that are also toys, though they walk and speak, and upon a crowd in pursuit of toys, though they wear grave visages.
oh, with your never-closing eyes, had you but an intellect to moralize on all that flits before them, what a wise doll would you be!
-- come, little annie, we shall find toys enough, go where we may.
now we elbow our way among the throng again.
it is curious in the most crowded part of a town to meet with living creatures that had their birthplace in some far solitude, but have acquired a second nature in the wilderness of men.
look up, annie, at that canary-bird hanging out of the window in his cage.
poor little fellow!
his golden feathers are all tarnished in this smoky sunshine; he would have glistened twice as brightly among the summer islands, but still he has become a citizen in all his tastes and habits, and would not sing half so well without the uproar that drowns his music.
what a pity that he does not know how miserable he is!
there is a parrot, too, calling out, "pretty poll!
pretty poll!"
as we pass by.
foolish bird, to be talking about her prettiness to strangers, especially as she is not a pretty poll, though gaudily dressed in green and yellow!
if she had said "pretty annie!"
there would have been some sense in it.
see that gray squirrel at the door of the fruit-shop whirling round and round so merrily within his wire wheel!
being condemned to the treadmill, he makes it an amusement.
admirable philosophy!
here comes a big, rough dog -- a countryman's dog -- in search of his master, smelling at everybody's heels and touching little annie's hand with his cold nose, but hurrying away, though she would fain have patted him.
-- success to your search, fidelity!
-- and there sits a great yellow cat upon a window-sill, a very corpulent and comfortable cat, gazing at this transitory world with owl's eyes, and making pithy comments, doubtless, or what appear such, to the silly beast.
-- oh, sage puss, make room for me beside you, and we will be a pair of philosophers.
here we see something to remind us of the town-crier and his ding-dong-bell.
look!
look at that great cloth spread out in the air, pictured all over with wild beasts, as if they had met together to choose a king, according to their custom in the days of æsop.
but they are choosing neither a king nor a president, else we should hear a most horrible snarling!
they have come from the deep woods and the wild mountains and the desert sands and the polar snows only to do homage to my little annie.
as we enter among them the great elephant makes us a bow in the best style of elephantine courtesy, bending lowly down his mountain bulk, with trunk abased and leg thrust out behind.
annie returns the salute, much to the gratification of the elephant, who is certainly the best-bred monster in the caravan.
the lion and the lioness are busy with two beef-bones.
the royal tiger, the beautiful, the untamable, keeps pacing his narrow cage with a haughty step, unmindful of the spectators or recalling the fierce deeds of his former life, when he was wont to leap forth upon such inferior animals from the jungles of bengal.
here we see the very same wolf -- do not go near him, annie!
-- the selfsame wolf that devoured little red riding-hood and her grandmother.
in the next cage a hyena from egypt who has doubtless howled around the pyramids and a black bear from our own forests are fellow-prisoners and most excellent friends.
are there any two living creatures who have so few sympathies that they can not possibly be friends?
here sits a great white bear whom common observers would call a very stupid beast, though i perceive him to be only absorbed in contemplation; he is thinking of his voyages on an iceberg, and of his comfortable home in the vicinity of the north pole, and of the little cubs whom he left rolling in the eternal snows.
in fact, he is a bear of sentiment.
but oh those unsentimental monkeys!
the ugly, grinning, aping, chattering, ill-natured, mischievous and queer little brutes!
annie does not love the monkeys; their ugliness shocks her pure, instinctive delicacy of taste and makes her mind unquiet because it bears a wild and dark resemblance to humanity.
but here is a little pony just big enough for annie to ride, and round and round he gallops in a circle, keeping time with his trampling hoofs to a band of music.
and here, with a laced coat and a cocked hat, and a riding-whip in his hand -- here comes a little gentleman small enough to be king of the fairies and ugly enough to be king of the gnomes, and takes a flying leap into the saddle.
merrily, merrily plays the music, and merrily gallops the pony, and merrily rides the little old gentleman.
-- come, annie, into the street again; perchance we may see monkeys on horseback there.
mercy on us!
what a noisy world we quiet people live in!
did annie ever read the cries of london city?
with what lusty lungs doth yonder man proclaim that his wheelbarrow is full of lobsters!
here comes another, mounted on a cart and blowing a hoarse and dreadful blast from a tin horn, as much as to say, "fresh fish!"
and hark!
a voice on high, like that of a muezzin from the summit of a mosque, announcing that some chimney-sweeper has emerged from smoke and soot and darksome caverns into the upper air.
what cares the world for that?
but, well-a-day, we hear a shrill voice of affliction -- the scream of a little child, rising louder with every repetition of that smart, sharp, slapping sound produced by an open hand on tender flesh.
annie sympathizes, though without experience of such direful woe.
lo!
the town-crier again, with some new secret for the public ear.
will he tell us of an auction, or of a lost pocket-book or a show of beautiful wax figures, or of some monstrous beast more horrible than any in the caravan?
i guess the latter.
see how he uplifts the bell in his right hand and shakes it slowly at first, then with a hurried motion, till the clapper seems to strike both sides at once, and the sounds are scattered forth in quick succession far and near.
ding-dong!
ding-dong!
ding-dong!
now he raises his clear loud voice above all the din of the town.
it drowns the buzzing talk of many tongues and draws each man's mind from his own business; it rolls up and down the echoing street, and ascends to the hushed chamber of the sick, and penetrates downward to the cellar kitchen where the hot cook turns from the fire to listen.
who of all that address the public ear, whether in church or court-house or hall of state, has such an attentive audience as the town-crier!
what saith the people's orator?
""strayed from her home, a little girl of five years old, in a blue silk frock and white pantalets, with brown curling hair and hazel eyes.
whoever will bring her back to her afflicted mother --" stop, stop, town-crier!
the lost is found.
-- oh, my pretty annie, we forgot to tell your mother of our ramble, and she is in despair and has sent the town-crier to bellow up and down the streets, affrighting old and young, for the loss of a little girl who has not once let go my hand?
well, let us hasten homeward; and as we go forget not to thank heaven, my annie, that after wandering a little way into the world you may return at the first summons with an untainted and unwearied heart, and be a happy child again.
but i have gone too far astray for the town-crier to call me back.
sweet has been the charm of childhood on my spirit throughout my ramble with little annie.
say not that it has been a waste of precious moments, an idle matter, a babble of childish talk and a reverie of childish imaginations about topics unworthy of a grown man's notice.
has it been merely this?
not so -- not so.
they are not truly wise who would affirm it.
as the pure breath of children revives the life of aged men, so is our moral nature revived by their free and simple thoughts, their native feeling, their airy mirth for little cause or none, their grief soon roused and soon allayed.
their influence on us is at least reciprocal with ours on them.
when our infancy is almost forgotten and our boyhood long departed, though it seems but as yesterday, when life settles darkly down upon us and we doubt whether to call ourselves young any more, -- then it is good to steal away from the society of bearded men, and even of gentler woman, and spend an hour or two with children.
after drinking from those fountains of still fresh existence we shall return into the crowd, as i do now, to struggle onward and do our part in life -- perhaps as fervently as ever, but for a time with a kinder and purer heart and a spirit more lightly wise.
all this by thy sweet magic, dear little annie!
wakefield.
in some old magazine or newspaper i recollect a story, told as truth, of a man -- let us call him wakefield -- who absented himself for a long time from his wife.
the fact, thus abstractedly stated, is not very uncommon, nor, without a proper distinction of circumstances, to be condemned either as naughty or nonsensical.
howbeit, this, though far from the most aggravated, is perhaps the strangest instance on record of marital delinquency, and, moreover, as remarkable a freak as may be found in the whole list of human oddities.
the wedded couple lived in london.
the man, under pretence of going a journey, took lodgings in the next street to his own house, and there, unheard of by his wife or friends and without the shadow of a reason for such self-banishment, dwelt upward of twenty years.
during that period he beheld his home every day, and frequently the forlorn mrs. wakefield.
and after so great a gap in his matrimonial felicity -- when his death was reckoned certain, his estate settled, his name dismissed from memory and his wife long, long ago resigned to her autumnal widowhood -- he entered the door one evening quietly as from a day's absence, and became a loving spouse till death.
this outline is all that i remember.
but the incident, though of the purest originality, unexampled, and probably never to be repeated, is one, i think, which appeals to the general sympathies of mankind.
we know, each for himself, that none of us would perpetrate such a folly, yet feel as if some other might.
to my own contemplations, at least, it has often recurred, always exciting wonder, but with a sense that the story must be true and a conception of its hero's character.
whenever any subject so forcibly affects the mind, time is well spent in thinking of it.
if the reader choose, let him do his own meditation; or if he prefer to ramble with me through the twenty years of wakefield's vagary, i bid him welcome, trusting that there will be a pervading spirit and a moral, even should we fail to find them, done up neatly and condensed into the final sentence.
thought has always its efficacy and every striking incident its moral.
what sort of a man was wakefield?
we are free to shape out our own idea and call it by his name.
he was now in the meridian of life; his matrimonial affections, never violent, were sobered into a calm, habitual sentiment; of all husbands, he was likely to be the most constant, because a certain sluggishness would keep his heart at rest wherever it might be placed.
he was intellectual, but not actively so; his mind occupied itself in long and lazy musings that tended to no purpose or had not vigor to attain it; his thoughts were seldom so energetic as to seize hold of words.
imagination, in the proper meaning of the term, made no part of wakefield's gifts.
with a cold but not depraved nor wandering heart, and a mind never feverish with riotous thoughts nor perplexed with originality, who could have anticipated that our friend would entitle himself to a foremost place among the doers of eccentric deeds?
had his acquaintances been asked who was the man in london the surest to perform nothing to-day which should be remembered on the morrow, they would have thought of wakefield.
only the wife of his bosom might have hesitated.
she, without having analyzed his character, was partly aware of a quiet selfishness that had rusted into his inactive mind; of a peculiar sort of vanity, the most uneasy attribute about him; of a disposition to craft which had seldom produced more positive effects than the keeping of petty secrets hardly worth revealing; and, lastly, of what she called a little strangeness sometimes in the good man.
this latter quality is indefinable, and perhaps non-existent.
let us now imagine wakefield bidding adieu to his wife.
it is the dusk of an october evening.
his equipment is a drab greatcoat, a hat covered with an oil-cloth, top-boots, an umbrella in one hand and a small portmanteau in the other.
he has informed mrs. wakefield that he is to take the night-coach into the country.
she would fain inquire the length of his journey, its object and the probable time of his return, but, indulgent to his harmless love of mystery, interrogates him only by a look.
he tells her not to expect him positively by the return-coach nor to be alarmed should he tarry three or four days, but, at all events, to look for him at supper on friday evening.
wakefield, himself, be it considered, has no suspicion of what is before him.
he holds out his hand; she gives her own and meets his parting kiss in the matter-of-course way of a ten years" matrimony, and forth goes the middle-aged mr. wakefield, almost resolved to perplex his good lady by a whole week's absence.
after the door has closed behind him, she perceives it thrust partly open and a vision of her husband's face through the aperture, smiling on her and gone in a moment.
for the time this little incident is dismissed without a thought, but long afterward, when she has been more years a widow than a wife, that smile recurs and flickers across all her reminiscences of wakefield's visage.
in her many musings she surrounds the original smile with a multitude of fantasies which make it strange and awful; as, for instance, if she imagines him in a coffin, that parting look is frozen on his pale features; or if she dreams of him in heaven, still his blessed spirit wears a quiet and crafty smile.
yet for its sake, when all others have given him up for dead, she sometimes doubts whether she is a widow.
but our business is with the husband.
we must hurry after him along the street ere he lose his individuality and melt into the great mass of london life.
it would be vain searching for him there.
let us follow close at his heels, therefore, until, after several superfluous turns and doublings, we find him comfortably established by the fireside of a small apartment previously bespoken.
he is in the next street to his own and at his journey's end.
he can scarcely trust his good-fortune in having got thither unperceived, recollecting that at one time he was delayed by the throng in the very focus of a lighted lantern, and again there were footsteps that seemed to tread behind his own, distinct from the multitudinous tramp around him, and anon he heard a voice shouting afar and fancied that it called his name.
doubtless a dozen busybodies had been watching him and told his wife the whole affair.
poor wakefield!
little knowest thou thine own insignificance in this great world.
no mortal eye but mine has traced thee.
go quietly to thy bed, foolish man, and on the morrow, if thou wilt be wise, get thee home to good mrs. wakefield and tell her the truth.
remove not thyself even for a little week from thy place in her chaste bosom.
were she for a single moment to deem thee dead or lost or lastingly divided from her, thou wouldst be woefully conscious of a change in thy true wife for ever after.
it is perilous to make a chasm in human affections -- not that they gape so long and wide, but so quickly close again.
almost repenting of his frolic, or whatever it may be termed, wakefield lies down betimes, and, starting from his first nap, spreads forth his arms into the wide and solitary waste of the unaccustomed bed, "no," thinks he, gathering the bedclothes about him; "i will not sleep alone another night."
in the morning he rises earlier than usual and sets himself to consider what he really means to do.
such are his loose and rambling modes of thought that he has taken this very singular step with the consciousness of a purpose, indeed, but without being able to define it sufficiently for his own contemplation.
the vagueness of the project and the convulsive effort with which he plunges into the execution of it are equally characteristic of a feeble-minded man.
wakefield sifts his ideas, however, as minutely as he may, and finds himself curious to know the progress of matters at home -- how his exemplary wife will endure her widowhood of a week, and, briefly, how the little sphere of creatures and circumstances in which he was a central object will be affected by his removal.
a morbid vanity, therefore, lies nearest the bottom of the affair.
but how is he to attain his ends?
not, certainly, by keeping close in this comfortable lodging, where, though he slept and awoke in the next street to his home, he is as effectually abroad as if the stage-coach had been whirling him away all night.
yet should he reappear, the whole project is knocked in the head.
his poor brains being hopelessly puzzled with this dilemma, he at length ventures out, partly resolving to cross the head of the street and send one hasty glance toward his forsaken domicile.
habit -- for he is a man of habits -- takes him by the hand and guides him, wholly unaware, to his own door, where, just at the critical moment, he is aroused by the scraping of his foot upon the step.
-- wakefield, whither are you going?
at that instant his fate was turning on the pivot.
little dreaming of the doom to which his first backward step devotes him, he hurries away, breathless with agitation hitherto unfelt, and hardly dares turn his head at the distant corner.
can it be that nobody caught sight of him?
will not the whole household -- the decent mrs. wakefield, the smart maid-servant and the dirty little footboy -- raise a hue-and-cry through london streets in pursuit of their fugitive lord and master?
wonderful escape!
he gathers courage to pause and look homeward, but is perplexed with a sense of change about the familiar edifice such as affects us all when, after a separation of months or years, we again see some hill or lake or work of art with which we were friends of old.
in ordinary cases this indescribable impression is caused by the comparison and contrast between our imperfect reminiscences and the reality.
in wakefield the magic of a single night has wrought a similar transformation, because in that brief period a great moral change has been effected.
but this is a secret from himself.
before leaving the spot he catches a far and momentary glimpse of his wife passing athwart the front window with her face turned toward the head of the street.
the crafty nincompoop takes to his heels, scared with the idea that among a thousand such atoms of mortality her eye must have detected him.
right glad is his heart, though his brain be somewhat dizzy, when he finds himself by the coal-fire of his lodgings.
so much for the commencement of this long whim-wham.
after the initial conception and the stirring up of the man's sluggish temperament to put it in practice, the whole matter evolves itself in a natural train.
we may suppose him, as the result of deep deliberation, buying a new wig of reddish hair and selecting sundry garments, in a fashion unlike his customary suit of brown, from a jew's old-clothes bag.
it is accomplished: wakefield is another man.
the new system being now established, a retrograde movement to the old would be almost as difficult as the step that placed him in his unparalleled position.
furthermore, he is rendered obstinate by a sulkiness occasionally incident to his temper and brought on at present by the inadequate sensation which he conceives to have been produced in the bosom of mrs. wakefield.
he will not go back until she be frightened half to death.
well, twice or thrice has she passed before his sight, each time with a heavier step, a paler cheek and more anxious brow, and in the third week of his non-appearance he detects a portent of evil entering the house in the guise of an apothecary.
next day the knocker is muffled.
toward nightfall comes the chariot of a physician and deposits its big-wigged and solemn burden at wakefield's door, whence after a quarter of an hour's visit he emerges, perchance the herald of a funeral.
dear woman!
will she die?
by this time wakefield is excited to something like energy of feeling, but still lingers away from his wife's bedside, pleading with his conscience that she must not be disturbed at such a juncture.
if aught else restrains him, he does not know it.
in the course of a few weeks she gradually recovers.
the crisis is over; her heart is sad, perhaps, but quiet, and, let him return soon or late, it will never be feverish for him again.
such ideas glimmer through the mist of wakefield's mind and render him indistinctly conscious that an almost impassable gulf divides his hired apartment from his former home.
""it is but in the next street," he sometimes says.
fool!
it is in another world.
hitherto he has put off" his return from one particular day to another; henceforward he leaves the precise time undetermined -- not to-morrow; probably next week; pretty soon.
poor man!
the dead have nearly as much chance of revisiting their earthly homes as the self-banished wakefield.
would that i had a folio to write, instead of an article of a dozen pages!
then might i exemplify how an influence beyond our control lays its strong hand on every deed which we do and weaves its consequences into an iron tissue of necessity.
wakefield is spellbound.
we must leave him for ten years or so to haunt around his house without once crossing the threshold, and to be faithful to his wife with all the affection of which his heart is capable, while he is slowly fading out of hers.
long since, it must be remarked, he has lost the perception of singularity in his conduct.
now for a scene.
amid the throng of a london street we distinguish a man, now waxing elderly, with few characteristics to attract careless observers, yet bearing in his whole aspect the handwriting of no common fate for such as have the skill to read it.
he is meagre; his low and narrow forehead is deeply wrinkled; his eyes, small and lustreless, sometimes wander apprehensively about him, but oftener seem to look inward.
he bends his head and moves with an indescribable obliquity of gait, as if unwilling to display his full front to the world.
watch him long enough to see what we have described, and you will allow that circumstances -- which often produce remarkable men from nature's ordinary handiwork -- have produced one such here.
next, leaving him to sidle along the footwalk, cast your eyes in the opposite direction, where a portly female considerably in the wane of life, with a prayer-book in her hand, is proceeding to yonder church.
she has the placid mien of settled widowhood.
her regrets have either died away or have become so essential to her heart that they would be poorly exchanged for joy.
just as the lean man and well-conditioned woman are passing a slight obstruction occurs and brings these two figures directly in contact.
their hands touch; the pressure of the crowd forces her bosom against his shoulder; they stand face to face, staring into each other's eyes.
after a ten years" separation thus wakefield meets his wife.
the throng eddies away and carries them asunder.
the sober widow, resuming her former pace, proceeds to church, but pauses in the portal and throws a perplexed glance along the street.
she passes in, however, opening her prayer-book as she goes.
and the man?
with so wild a face that busy and selfish london stands to gaze after him he hurries to his lodgings, bolts the door and throws himself upon the bed.
the latent feelings of years break out; his feeble mind acquires a brief energy from their strength; all the miserable strangeness of his life is revealed to him at a glance, and he cries out passionately, "wakefield, wakefield!
you are mad!"
perhaps he was so.
the singularity of his situation must have so moulded him to itself that, considered in regard to his fellow-creatures and the business of life, he could not be said to possess his right mind.
he had contrived -- or, rather, he had happened -- to dissever himself from the world, to vanish, to give up his place and privileges with living men without being admitted among the dead.
the life of a hermit is nowise parallel to his.
he was in the bustle of the city as of old, but the crowd swept by and saw him not; he was, we may figuratively say, always beside his wife and at his hearth, yet must never feel the warmth of the one nor the affection of the other.
it was wakefield's unprecedented fate to retain his original share of human sympathies and to be still involved in human interests, while he had lost his reciprocal influence on them.
it would be a most curious speculation to trace out the effect of such circumstances on his heart and intellect separately and in unison.
yet, changed as he was, he would seldom be conscious of it, but deem himself the same man as ever; glimpses of the truth, indeed, would come, but only for the moment, and still he would keep saying, "i shall soon go back," nor reflect that he had been saying so for twenty years.
i conceive, also, that these twenty years would appear in the retrospect scarcely longer than the week to which wakefield had at first limited his absence.
he would look on the affair as no more than an interlude in the main business of his life.
when, after a little while more, he should deem it time to re-enter his parlor, his wife would clap her hands for joy on beholding the middle-aged mr. wakefield.
alas, what a mistake!
would time but await the close of our favorite follies, we should be young men -- all of us -- and till doomsday.
one evening, in the twentieth year since he vanished, wakefield is taking his customary walk toward the dwelling which he still calls his own.
it is a gusty night of autumn, with frequent showers that patter down upon the pavement and are gone before a man can put up his umbrella.
pausing near the house, wakefield discerns through the parlor-windows of the second floor the red glow and the glimmer and fitful flash of a comfortable fire.
on the ceiling appears a grotesque shadow of good mrs. wakefield.
the cap, the nose and chin and the broad waist form an admirable caricature, which dances, moreover, with the up-flickering and down-sinking blaze almost too merrily for the shade of an elderly widow.
at this instant a shower chances to fall, and is driven by the unmannerly gust full into wakefield's face and bosom.
he is quite penetrated with its autumnal chill.
shall he stand wet and shivering here, when his own hearth has a good fire to warm him and his own wife will run to fetch the gray coat and small-clothes which doubtless she has kept carefully in the closet of their bedchamber?
no; wakefield is no such fool.
he ascends the steps -- heavily, for twenty years have stiffened his legs since he came down, but he knows it not.
-- stay, wakefield!
would you go to the sole home that is left you?
then step into your grave.
-- the door opens.
as he passes in we have a parting glimpse of his visage, and recognize the crafty smile which was the precursor of the little joke that he has ever since been playing off at his wife's expense.
how unmercifully has he quizzed the poor woman!
well, a good night's rest to wakefield!
this happy event -- supposing it to be such -- could only have occurred at an unpremeditated moment.
we will not follow our friend across the threshold.
he has left us much food for thought, a portion of which shall lend its wisdom to a moral and be shaped into a figure.
amid the seeming confusion of our mysterious world individuals are so nicely adjusted to a system, and systems to one another and to a whole, that by stepping aside for a moment a man exposes himself to a fearful risk of losing his place for ever.
like wakefield, he may become, as it were, the outcast of the universe.
a rill from the town-pump.
-lrb- scene, the corner of two principal streets, -lsb- 1 -rsb- the town-pump talking through its nose. -rrb-
noon by the north clock!
noon by the east!
high noon, too, by these hot sunbeams, which full, scarcely aslope, upon my head and almost make the water bubble and smoke in the trough under my nose.
truly, we public characters have a tough time of it!
and among all the town-officers chosen at march meeting, where is he that sustains for a single year the burden of such manifold duties as are imposed in perpetuity upon the town-pump?
the title of "town-treasurer" is rightfully mine, as guardian of the best treasure that the town has.
the overseers of the poor ought to make me their chairman, since i provide bountifully for the pauper without expense to him that pays taxes.
i am at the head of the fire department and one of the physicians to the board of health.
as a keeper of the peace all water-drinkers will confess me equal to the constable.
i perform some of the duties of the town-clerk by promulgating public notices when they are posted on my front.
to speak within bounds, i am the chief person of the municipality, and exhibit, moreover, an admirable pattern to my brother-officers by the cool, steady, upright, downright and impartial discharge of my business and the constancy with which i stand to my post.
summer or winter, nobody seeks me in vain, for all day long i am seen at the busiest corner, just above the market, stretching out my arms to rich and poor alike, and at night i hold a lantern over my head both to show where i am and keep people out of the gutters.
at this sultry noontide i am cupbearer to the parched populace, for whose benefit an iron goblet is chained to my waist.
like a dramseller on the mall at muster-day, i cry aloud to all and sundry in my plainest accents and at the very tiptop of my voice.
-lsb- footnote 1: essex and washington streets, salem. -rsb-
here it is, gentlemen!
here is the good liquor!
walk up, walk up, gentlemen!
walk up, walk up!
here is the superior stuff!
here is the unadulterated ale of father adam -- better than cognac, hollands, jamaica, strong beer or wine of any price; here it is by the hogshead or the single glass, and not a cent to pay!
walk up, gentlemen, walk up, and help yourselves!
it were a pity if all this outcry should draw no customers.
here they come.
-- a hot day, gentlemen!
quaff and away again, so as to keep yourselves in a nice cool sweat.
-- you, my friend, will need another cupful to wash the dust out of your throat, if it be as thick there as it is on your cowhide shoes.
i see that you have trudged half a score of miles to-day, and like a wise man have passed by the taverns and stopped at the running brooks and well-curbs.
otherwise, betwixt heat without and fire within, you would have been burnt to a cinder or melted down to nothing at all, in the fashion of a jelly-fish.
drink and make room for that other fellow, who seeks my aid to quench the fiery fever of last night's potations, which he drained from no cup of mine.
-- welcome, most rubicund sir!
you and i have been great strangers hitherto; nor, to confess the truth, will my nose be anxious for a closer intimacy till the fumes of your breath be a little less potent.
mercy on you, man!
the water absolutely hisses down your red-hot gullet and is converted quite to steam in the miniature tophet which you mistake for a stomach.
fill again, and tell me, on the word of an honest toper, did you ever, in cellar, tavern, or any kind of a dram-shop, spend the price of your children's food for a swig half so delicious?
now, for the first time these ten years, you know the flavor of cold water.
good-bye; and whenever you are thirsty, remember that i keep a constant supply at the old stand.
-- who next?
-- oh, my little friend, you are let loose from school and come hither to scrub your blooming face and drown the memory of certain taps of the ferule, and other schoolboy troubles, in a draught from the town-pump?
take it, pure as the current of your young life.
take it, and may your heart and tongue never be scorched with a fiercer thirst than now!
there, my dear child!
put down the cup and yield your place to this elderly gentleman who treads so tenderly over the paving-stones that i suspect he is afraid of breaking them.
what!
he limps by without so much as thanking me, as if my hospitable offers were meant only for people who have no wine-cellars.
-- well, well, sir, no harm done, i hope?
go draw the cork, tip the decanter; but when your great toe shall set you a-roaring, it will be no affair of mine.
if gentlemen love the pleasant titillation of the gout, it is all one to the town-pump.
this thirsty dog with his red tongue lolling out does not scorn my hospitality, but stands on his hind legs and laps eagerly out of the trough.
see how lightly he capers away again!
-- jowler, did your worship ever have the gout?
are you all satisfied?
then wipe your mouths, my good friends, and while my spout has a moment's leisure i will delight the town with a few historical remniscences.
in far antiquity, beneath a darksome shadow of venerable boughs, a spring bubbled out of the leaf-strewn earth in the very spot where you now behold me on the sunny pavement.
the water was as bright and clear and deemed as precious as liquid diamonds.
the indian sagamores drank of it from time immemorial till the fatal deluge of the firewater burst upon the red men and swept their whole race away from the cold fountains.
endicott and his followers came next, and often knelt down to drink, dipping their long beards in the spring.
the richest goblet then was of birch-bark.
governor winthrop, after a journey afoot from boston, drank here out of the hollow of his hand.
the elder higginson here wet his palm and laid it on the brow of the first town-born child.
for many years it was the watering-place, and, as it were, the washbowl, of the vicinity, whither all decent folks resorted to purify their visages and gaze at them afterward -- at least, the pretty maidens did -- in the mirror which it made.
on sabbath-days, whenever a babe was to be baptized, the sexton filled his basin here and placed it on the communion-table of the humble meeting-house, which partly covered the site of yonder stately brick one.
thus one generation after another was consecrated to heaven by its waters, and cast their waxing and waning shadows into its glassy bosom, and vanished from the earth, as if mortal life were but a flitting image in a fountain.
finally the fountain vanished also.
cellars were dug on all sides and cart-loads of gravel flung upon its source, whence oozed a turbid stream, forming a mud-puddle at the corner of two streets.
in the hot months, when its refreshment was most needed, the dust flew in clouds over the forgotten birthplace of the waters, now their grave.
but in the course of time a town-pump was sunk into the source of the ancient spring; and when the first decayed, another took its place, and then another, and still another, till here stand i, gentlemen and ladies, to serve you with my iron goblet.
drink and be refreshed.
the water is as pure and cold as that which slaked the thirst of the red sagamore beneath the aged boughs, though now the gem of the wilderness is treasured under these hot stones, where no shadow falls but from the brick buildings.
and be it the moral of my story that, as this wasted and long-lost fountain is now known and prized again, so shall the virtues of cold water -- too little valued since your fathers" days -- be recognized by all.
your pardon, good people!
i must interrupt my stream of eloquence and spout forth a stream of water to replenish the trough for this teamster and his two yoke of oxen, who have come from topsfield, or somewhere along that way.
no part of my business is pleasanter than the watering of cattle.
look!
how rapidly they lower the water-mark on the sides of the trough, till their capacious stomachs are moistened with a gallon or two apiece and they can afford time to breathe it in with sighs of calm enjoyment.
now they roll their quiet eyes around the brim of their monstrous drinking-vessel.
an ox is your true toper.
but i perceive, my dear auditors, that you are impatient for the remainder of my discourse.
impute it, i beseech you, to no defect of modesty if i insist a little longer on so fruitful a topic as my own multifarious merits.
it is altogether for your good.
the better you think of me, the better men and women you will find yourselves.
i shall say nothing of my all-important aid on washing-days, though on that account alone i might call myself the household god of a hundred families.
far be it from me, also, to hint, my respectable friends, at the show of dirty faces which you would present without my pains to keep you clean.
nor will i remind you how often, when the midnight bells make you tremble for your combustible town, you have fled to the town-pump and found me always at my post firm amid the confusion and ready to drain my vital current in your behalf.
neither is it worth while to lay much stress on my claims to a medical diploma as the physician whose simple rule of practice is preferable to all the nauseous lore which has found men sick, or left them so, since the days of hippocrates.
let us take a broader view of my beneficial influence on mankind.
no; these are trifles, compared with the merits which wise men concede to me -- if not in my single self, yet as the representative of a class -- of being the grand reformer of the age.
from my spout, and such spouts as mine, must flow the stream that shall cleanse our earth of the vast portion of its crime and anguish which has gushed from the fiery fountains of the still.
in this mighty enterprise the cow shall be my great confederate.
milk and water -- the town-pump and the cow!
such is the glorious copartnership that shall tear down the distilleries and brewhouses, uproot the vineyards, shatter the cider-presses, ruin the tea and coffee trade, and finally monopolize the whole business of quenching thirst.
blessed consummation!
then poverty shall pass away from the land, finding no hovel so wretched where her squalid form may shelter herself.
then disease, for lack of other victims, shall gnaw its own heart and die.
then sin, if she do not die, shall lose half her strength.
until now the frenzy of hereditary fever has raged in the human blood, transmitted from sire to son and rekindled in every generation by fresh draughts of liquid flame.
when that inward fire shall be extinguished, the heat of passion can not but grow cool, and war -- the drunkenness of nations -- perhaps will cease.
at least, there will be no war of households.
the husband and wife, drinking deep of peaceful joy -- a calm bliss of temperate affections -- shall pass hand in hand through life and lie down not reluctantly at its protracted close.
to them the past will be no turmoil of mad dreams, nor the future an eternity of such moments as follow the delirium of the drunkard.
their dead faces shall express what their spirits were and are to be by a lingering smile of memory and hope.
ahem!
dry work, this speechifying, especially to an unpractised orator.
i never conceived till now what toil the temperance lecturers undergo for my sake; hereafter they shall have the business to themselves.
-- do, some kind christian, pump a stroke or two, just to wet my whistle.
-- thank you, sir!
-- my dear hearers, when the world shall have been regenerated by my instrumentality, you will collect your useless vats and liquor-casks into one great pile and make a bonfire in honor of the town-pump.
and when i shall have decayed like my predecessors, then, if you revere my memory, let a marble fountain richly sculptured take my place upon this spot.
such monuments should be erected everywhere and inscribed with the names of the distinguished champions of my cause.
now, listen, for something very important is to come next.
there are two or three honest friends of mine -- and true friends i know they are -- who nevertheless by their fiery pugnacity in my behalf do put me in fearful hazard of a broken nose, or even a total overthrow upon the pavement and the loss of the treasure which i guard.
-- i pray you, gentlemen, let this fault be amended.
is it decent, think you, to get tipsy with zeal for temperance and take up the honorable cause of the town-pump in the style of a toper fighting for his brandy-bottle?
or can the excellent qualities of cold water be no otherwise exemplified than by plunging slapdash into hot water and woefully scalding yourselves and other people?
trust me, they may.
in the moral warfare which you are to wage -- and, indeed, in the whole conduct of your lives -- you can not choose a better example than myself, who have never permitted the dust and sultry atmosphere, the turbulence and manifold disquietudes, of the world around me to reach that deep, calm well of purity which may be called my soul.
and whenever i pour out that soul, it is to cool earth's fever or cleanse its stains.
one o'clock!
nay, then, if the dinner-bell begins to speak, i may as well hold my peace.
here comes a pretty young girl of my acquaintance with a large stone pitcher for me to fill.
may she draw a husband while drawing her water, as rachel did of old!
-- hold out your vessel, my dear!
there it is, full to the brim; so now run home, peeping at your sweet image in the pitcher as you go, and forget not in a glass of my own liquor to drink "success to the town-pump."
the great carbuncle.
-lsb- 1 -rsb- a mystery of the white mountains.
at nightfall once in the olden time, on the rugged side of one of the crystal hills, a party of adventurers were refreshing themselves after a toilsome and fruitless quest for the great carbuncle.
they had come thither, not as friends nor partners in the enterprise, but each, save one youthful pair, impelled by his own selfish and solitary longing for this wondrous gem.
their feeling of brotherhood, however, was strong enough to induce them to contribute a mutual aid in building a rude hut of branches and kindling a great fire of shattered pines that had drifted down the headlong current of the amonoosuck, on the lower bank of which they were to pass the night.
there was but one of their number, perhaps, who had become so estranged from natural sympathies by the absorbing spell of the pursuit as to acknowledge no satisfaction at the sight of human faces in the remote and solitary region whither they had ascended.
a vast extent of wilderness lay between them and the nearest settlement, while scant a mile above their heads was that bleak verge where the hills throw off their shaggy mantle of forest-trees and either robe themselves in clouds or tower naked into the sky.
the roar of the amonoosuck would have been too awful for endurance if only a solitary man had listened while the mountain-stream talked with the wind.
-lsb- footnote 1: the indian tradition on which this somewhat extravagant tale is founded is both too wild and too beautiful to be adequately wrought up in prose.
sullivan, in his history of maine, written since the revolution, remarks that even then the existence of the great carbuncle was not entirely discredited. -rsb-
the adventurers, therefore, exchanged hospitable greetings and welcomed one another to the hut where each man was the host and all were the guests of the whole company.
they spread their individual supplies of food on the flat surface of a rock and partook of a general repast; at the close of which a sentiment of good-fellowship was perceptible among the party, though repressed by the idea that the renewed search for the great carbuncle must make them strangers again in the morning.
seven men and one young woman, they warmed themselves together at the fire, which extended its bright wall along the whole front of their wigwam.
as they observed the various and contrasted figures that made up the assemblage, each man looking like a caricature of himself in the unsteady light that flickered over him, they came mutually to the conclusion that an odder society had never met in city or wilderness, on mountain or plain.
the eldest of the group -- a tall, lean, weatherbeaten man some sixty years of age -- was clad in the skins of wild animals whose fashion of dress he did well to imitate, since the deer, the wolf and the bear had long been his most intimate companions.
he was one of those ill-fated mortals, such as the indians told of, whom in their early youth the great carbuncle smote with a peculiar madness and became the passionate dream of their existence.
all who visited that region knew him as "the seeker," and by no other name.
as none could remember when he first took up the search, there went a fable in the valley of the saco that for his inordinate lust after the great carbuncle he had been condemned to wander among the mountains till the end of time, still with the same feverish hopes at sunrise, the same despair at eve.
near this miserable seeker sat a little elderly personage wearing a high-crowned hat shaped somewhat like a crucible.
he was from beyond the sea -- a doctor cacaphodel, who had wilted and dried himself into a mummy by continually stooping over charcoal-furnaces and inhaling unwholesome fumes during his researches in chemistry and alchemy.
it was told of him -- whether truly or not -- that at the commencement of his studies he had drained his body of all its richest blood and wasted it, with other inestimable ingredients, in an unsuccessful experiment, and had never been a well man since.
another of the adventurers was master ichabod pigsnort, a weighty merchant and selectman of boston, and an elder of the famous mr. norton's church.
his enemies had a ridiculous story that master pigsnort was accustomed to spend a whole hour after prayer-time every morning and evening in wallowing naked among an immense quantity of pine-tree shillings, which were the earliest silver coinage of massachusetts.
the fourth whom we shall notice had no name that his companions knew of, and was chiefly distinguished by a sneer that always contorted his thin visage, and by a prodigious pair of spectacles which were supposed to deform and discolor the whole face of nature to this gentleman's perception.
the fifth adventurer likewise lacked a name, which was the greater pity, as he appeared to be a poet.
he was a bright-eyed man, but woefully pined away, which was no more than natural if, as some people affirmed, his ordinary diet was fog, morning mist and a slice of the densest cloud within his reach, sauced with moonshine whenever he could get it.
certain it is that the poetry which flowed from him had a smack of all these dainties.
the sixth of the party was a young man of haughty mien and sat somewhat apart from the rest, wearing his plumed hat loftily among his elders, while the fire glittered on the rich embroidery of his dress and gleamed intensely on the jewelled pommel of his sword.
this was the lord de vere, who when at home was said to spend much of his time in the burial-vault of his dead progenitors rummaging their mouldy coffins in search of all the earthly pride and vainglory that was hidden among bones and dust; so that, besides his own share, he had the collected haughtiness of his whole line of ancestry.
lastly, there was a handsome youth in rustic garb, and by his side a blooming little person in whom a delicate shade of maiden reserve was just melting into the rich glow of a young wife's affection.
her name was hannah, and her husband's matthew -- two homely names, yet well enough adapted to the simple pair who seemed strangely out of place among the whimsical fraternity whose wits had been set agog by the great carbuncle.
beneath the shelter of one hut, in the bright blaze of the same fire, sat this varied group of adventurers, all so intent upon a single object that of whatever else they began to speak their closing words were sure to be illuminated with the great carbuncle.
several related the circumstances that brought them thither.
one had listened to a traveller's tale of this marvellous stone in his own distant country, and had immediately been seized with such a thirst for beholding it as could only be quenched in its intensest lustre.
another, so long ago as when the famous captain smith visited these coasts, had seen it blazing far at sea, and had felt no rest in all the intervening years till now that he took up the search.
a third, being encamped on a hunting-expedition full forty miles south of the white mountains, awoke at midnight and beheld the great carbuncle gleaming like a meteor, so that the shadows of the trees fell backward from it.
they spoke of the innumerable attempts which had been made to reach the spot, and of the singular fatality which had hitherto withheld success from all adventurers, though it might seem so easy to follow to its source a light that overpowered the moon and almost matched the sun.
it was observable that each smiled scornfully at the madness of every other in anticipating better fortune than the past, yet nourished a scarcely-hidden conviction that he would himself be the favored one.
as if to allay their too sanguine hopes, they recurred to the indian traditions that a spirit kept watch about the gem and bewildered those who sought it either by removing it from peak to peak of the higher hills or by calling up a mist from the enchanted lake over which it hung.
but these tales were deemed unworthy of credit, all professing to believe that the search had been baffled by want of sagacity or perseverance in the adventurers, or such other causes as might naturally obstruct the passage to any given point among the intricacies of forest, valley and mountain.
in a pause of the conversation the wearer of the prodigious spectacles looked round upon the party, making each individual in turn the object of the sneer which invariably dwelt upon his countenance.
""so, fellow-pilgrims," said he, "here we are, seven wise men and one fair damsel, who doubtless is as wise as any graybeard of the company.
here we are, i say, all bound on the same goodly enterprise.
methinks, now, it were not amiss that each of us declare what he proposes to do with the great carbuncle, provided he have the good hap to clutch it.
-- what says our friend in the bearskin?
how mean you, good sir, to enjoy the prize which you have been seeking the lord knows how long among the crystal hills?"
""how enjoy it!"
exclaimed the aged seeker, bitterly.
""i hope for no enjoyment from it: that folly has past long ago.
i keep up the search for this accursed stone because the vain ambition of my youth has become a fate upon me in old age.
the pursuit alone is my strength, the energy of my soul, the warmth of my blood and the pith and marrow of my bones.
were i to turn my back upon it, i should fall down dead on the hither side of the notch which is the gateway of this mountain-region.
yet not to have my wasted lifetime back again would i give up my hopes of is deemed little better than a traffic with the evil one.
now, think ye that i would have done this grievous wrong to my soul, body, reputation and estate without a reasonable chance of profit?"
""not i, pious master pigsnort," said the man with the spectacles.
""i never laid such a great folly to thy charge."
""truly, i hope not," said the merchant.
""now, as touching this great carbuncle, i am free to own that i have never had a glimpse of it, but, be it only the hundredth part so bright as people tell, it will surely outvalue the great mogul's best diamond, which he holds at an incalculable sum; wherefore i am minded to put the great carbuncle on shipboard and voyage with it to england, france, spain, italy, or into heathendom if providence should send me thither, and, in a word, dispose of the gem to the best bidder among the potentates of the earth, that he may place it among his crown-jewels.
if any of ye have a wiser plan, let him expound it."
""that have i, thou sordid man!"
exclaimed the poet.
""dost thou desire nothing brighter than gold, that thou wouldst transmute all this ethereal lustre into such dross as thou wallowest in already?
for myself, hiding the jewel under my cloak, i shall hie me back to my attic-chamber in one of the darksome alleys of london.
there night and day will i gaze upon it.
my soul shall drink its radiance; it shall be diffused throughout my intellectual powers and gleam brightly in every line of poesy that i indite.
thus long ages after i am gone the splendor of the great carbuncle will blaze around my name."
""well said, master poet!"
cried he of the spectacles.
""hide it under thy cloak, sayest thou?
why, it will gleam through the holes and make thee look like a jack-o" - lantern!"
""to think," ejaculated the lord de vere, rather to himself than his companions, the best of whom he held utterly unworthy of his intercourse -- "to think that a fellow in a tattered cloak should talk of conveying the great carbuncle to a garret in grubb street!
have not i resolved within myself that the whole earth contains no fitter ornament for the great hall of my ancestral castle?
there shall it flame for ages, making a noonday of midnight, glittering on the suits of armor, the banners and escutcheons, that hang around the wall, and keeping bright the memory of heroes.
wherefore have all other adventurers sought the prize in vain but that i might win it and make it a symbol of the glories of our lofty line?
and never on the diadem of the white mountains did the great carbuncle hold a place half so honored as is reserved for it in the hall of the de veres."
""it is a noble thought," said the cynic, with an obsequious sneer.
""yet, might i presume to say so, the gem would make a rare sepulchral lamp, and would display the glories of your lordship's progenitors more truly in the ancestral vault than in the castle-hall."
""nay, forsooth," observed matthew, the young rustic, who sat hand in hand with his bride, "the gentleman has bethought himself of a profitable use for this bright stone.
hannah here and i are seeking it for a like purpose."
""how, fellow?"
exclaimed his lordship, in surprise.
""what castle-hall hast thou to hang it in?"
""no castle," replied matthew, "but as neat a cottage as any within sight of the crystal hills.
ye must know, friends, that hannah and i, being wedded the last week, have taken up the search of the great carbuncle because we shall need its light in the long winter evenings and it will be such a pretty thing to show the neighbors when they visit us!
it will shine through the house, so that we may pick up a pin in any corner, and will set all the windows a-glowing as if there were a great fire of pine-knots in the chimney.
and then how pleasant, when we awake in the night, to be able to see one another's faces!"
there was a general smile among the adventurers at the simplicity of the young couple's project in regard to this wondrous and invaluable stone, with which the greatest monarch on earth might have been proud to adorn his palace.
especially the man with spectacles, who had sneered at all the company in turn, now twisted his visage into such an expression of ill-natured mirth that matthew asked him rather peevishly what he himself meant to do with the great carbuncle.
""the great carbuncle!"
answered the cynic, with ineffable scorn.
""why, you blockhead, there is no such thing in rerum naturâ.
i have come three thousand miles, and am resolved to set my foot on every peak of these mountains and poke my head into every chasm for the sole purpose of demonstrating to the satisfaction of any man one whit less an ass than thyself that the great carbuncle is all a humbug."
vain and foolish were the motives that had brought most of the adventurers to the crystal hills, but none so vain, so foolish, and so impious too, as that of the scoffer with the prodigious spectacles.
he was one of those wretched and evil men whose yearnings are downward to the darkness instead of heavenward, and who, could they but extinguish the lights which god hath kindled for us, would count the midnight gloom their chiefest glory.
as the cynic spoke several of the party were startled by a gleam of red splendor that showed the huge shapes of the surrounding mountains and the rock-bestrewn bed of the turbulent river, with an illumination unlike that of their fire, on the trunks and black boughs of the forest-trees.
they listened for the roll of thunder, but heard nothing, and were glad that the tempest came not near them.
the stars -- those dial-points of heaven -- now warned the adventurers to close their eyes on the blazing logs and open them in dreams to the glow of the great carbuncle.
the young married couple had taken their lodgings in the farthest corner of the wigwam, and were separated from the rest of the party by a curtain of curiously-woven twigs such as might have hung in deep festoons around the bridal-bower of eve.
the modest little wife had wrought this piece of tapestry while the other guests were talking.
she and her husband fell asleep with hands tenderly clasped, and awoke from visions of unearthly radiance to meet the more blessed light of one another's eyes.
they awoke at the same instant and with one happy smile beaming over their two faces, which grew brighter with their consciousness of the reality of life and love.
but no sooner did she recollect where they were than the bride peeped through the interstices of the leafy curtain and saw that the outer room of the hut was deserted.
""up, dear matthew!"
cried she, in haste.
""the strange folk are all gone.
up this very minute, or we shall lose the great carbuncle!"
in truth, so little did these poor young people deserve the mighty prize which had lured them thither that they had slept peacefully all night and till the summits of the hills were glittering with sunshine, while the other adventurers had tossed their limbs in feverish wakefulness or dreamed of climbing precipices, and set off to realize their dreams with the curliest peep of dawn.
but matthew and hannah after their calm rest were as light as two young deer, and merely stopped to say their prayers and wash themselves in a cold pool of the amonoosuck, and then to taste a morsel of food ere they turned their faces to the mountain-side.
it was a sweet emblem of conjugal affection as they toiled up the difficult ascent gathering strength from the mutual aid which they afforded.
after several little accidents, such as a torn robe, a lost shoe and the entanglement of hannah's hair in a bough, they reached the upper verge of the forest and were now to pursue a more adventurous course.
the innumerable trunks and heavy foliage of the trees had hitherto shut in their thoughts, which now shrank affrighted from the region of wind and cloud and naked rocks and desolate sunshine that rose immeasurably above them.
they gazed back at the obscure wilderness which they had traversed, and longed to be buried again in its depths rather than trust themselves to so vast and visible a solitude.
""shall we go on?"
said matthew, throwing his arm round hannah's waist both to protect her and to comfort his heart by drawing her close to it.
but the little bride, simple as she was, had a woman's love of jewels, and could not forego the hope of possessing the very brightest in the world, in spite of the perils with which it must be won.
""let us climb a little higher," whispered she, yet tremulously, as she turned her face upward to the lonely sky.
""come, then," said matthew, mustering his manly courage and drawing her along with him; for she became timid again the moment that he grew bold.
and upward, accordingly, went the pilgrims of the great carbuncle, now treading upon the tops and thickly-interwoven branches of dwarf pines which by the growth of centuries, though mossy with age, had barely reached three feet in altitude.
next they came to masses and fragments of naked rock heaped confusedly together like a cairn reared by giants in memory of a giant chief.
in this bleak realm of upper air nothing breathed, nothing grew; there was no life but what was concentred in their two hearts; they had climbed so high that nature herself seemed no longer to keep them company.
she lingered beneath them within the verge of the forest-trees, and sent a farewell glance after her children as they strayed where her own green footprints had never been.
but soon they were to be hidden from her eye.
densely and dark the mists began to gather below, casting black spots of shadow on the vast landscape and sailing heavily to one centre, as if the loftiest mountain-peak had summoned a council of its kindred clouds.
finally the vapors welded themselves, as it were, into a mass, presenting the appearance of a pavement over which the wanderers might have trodden, but where they would vainly have sought an avenue to the blessed earth which they had lost.
and the lovers yearned to behold that green earth again -- more intensely, alas!
than beneath a clouded sky they had ever desired a glimpse of heaven.
they even felt it a relief to their desolation when the mists, creeping gradually up the mountain, concealed its lonely peak, and thus annihilated -- at least, for them -- the whole region of visible space.
but they drew closer together with a fond and melancholy gaze, dreading lest the universal cloud should snatch them from each other's sight.
still, perhaps, they would have been resolute to climb as far and as high between earth and heaven as they could find foothold if hannah's strength had not begun to fail, and with that her courage also.
her breath grew short.
she refused to burden her husband with her weight, but often tottered against his side, and recovered herself each time by a feebler effort.
at last she sank down on one of the rocky steps of the acclivity.
""we are lost, dear matthew," said she, mournfully; "we shall never find our way to the earth again.
and oh how happy we might have been in our cottage!"
""dear heart, we will yet be happy there," answered matthew.
""look!
in this direction the sunshine penetrates the dismal mist; by its aid i can direct our course to the passage of the notch.
let us go back, love, and dream no more of the great carbuncle."
""the sun can not be yonder," said hannah, with despondence.
""by this time it must be noon; if there could ever be any sunshine here, it would come from above our heads."
""but look!"
repeated matthew, in a somewhat altered tone.
""it is brightening every moment.
if not sunshine, what can it be?"
nor could the young bride any longer deny that a radiance was breaking through the mist and changing its dim hue to a dusky red, which continually grew more vivid, as if brilliant particles were interfused with the gloom.
now, also, the cloud began to roll away from the mountain, while, as it heavily withdrew, one object after another started out of its impenetrable obscurity into sight with precisely the effect of a new creation before the indistinctness of the old chaos had been completely swallowed up.
as the process went on they saw the gleaming of water close at their feet, and found themselves on the very border of a mountain-lake, deep, bright, clear and calmly beautiful, spreading from brim to brim of a basin that had been scooped out of the solid rock.
a ray of glory flashed across its surface.
the pilgrims looked whence it should proceed, but closed their eyes, with a thrill of awful admiration, to exclude the fervid splendor that glowed from the brow of a cliff impending over the enchanted lake.
for the simple pair had reached that lake of mystery and found the long-sought shrine of the great carbuncle.
they threw their arms around each other and trembled at their own success, for as the legends of this wondrous gem rushed thick upon their memory they felt themselves marked out by fate, and the consciousness was fearful.
often from childhood upward they had seen it shining like a distant star, and now that star was throwing its intensest lustre on their hearts.
they seemed changed to one another's eyes in the red brilliancy that flamed upon their cheeks, while it lent the same fire to the lake, the rocks and sky, and to the mists which had rolled back before its power.
but with their next glance they beheld an object that drew their attention even from the mighty stone.
at the base of the cliff, directly beneath the great carbuncle, appeared the figure of a man with his arms extended in the act of climbing and his face turned upward as if to drink the full gush of splendor.
but he stirred not, no more than if changed to marble.
""it is the seeker," whispered hannah, convulsively grasping her husband's arm.
""matthew, he is dead."
""the joy of success has killed him," replied matthew, trembling violently.
""or perhaps the very light of the great carbuncle was death.""
"the great carbuncle"!"
cried a peevish voice behind them.
""the great humbug!
if you have found it, prithee point it out to me."
they turned their heads, and there was the cynic with his prodigious spectacles set carefully on his nose, staring now at the lake, now at the rocks, now at the distant masses of vapor, now right at the great carbuncle itself, yet seemingly as unconscious of its light as if all the scattered clouds were condensed about his person.
though its radiance actually threw the shadow of the unbeliever at his own feet as he turned his back upon the glorious jewel, he would not be convinced that there was the least glimmer there.
""where is your great humbug?"
he repeated.
""i challenge you to make me see it."
""there!"
said matthew, incensed at such perverse blindness, and turning the cynic round toward the illuminated cliff.
""take off those abominable spectacles, and you can not help seeing it."
now, these colored spectacles probably darkened the cynic's sight in at least as great a degree as the smoked glasses through which people gaze at an eclipse.
with resolute bravado, however, he snatched them from his nose and fixed a bold stare full upon the ruddy blaze of the great carbuncle.
but scarcely had he encountered it when, with a deep, shuddering groan, he dropped his head and pressed both hands across his miserable eyes.
thenceforth there was in very truth no light of the great carbuncle, nor any other light on earth, nor light of heaven itself, for the poor cynic.
so long accustomed to view all objects through a medium that deprived them of every glimpse of brightness, a single flash of so glorious a phenomenon, striking upon his naked vision, had blinded him for ever.
""matthew," said hannah, clinging to him, "let us go hence."
matthew saw that she was faint, and, kneeling down, supported her in his arms while he threw some of the thrillingly-cold water of the enchanted lake upon her face and bosom.
it revived her, but could not renovate her courage.
""yes, dearest," cried matthew, pressing her tremulous form to his breast; "we will go hence and return to our humble cottage.
the blessed sunshine and the quiet moonlight shall come through our window.
we will kindle the cheerful glow of our hearth at eventide and be happy in its light.
but never again will we desire more light than all the world may share with us."
""no," said his bride, "for how could we live by day or sleep by night in this awful blaze of the great carbuncle?"
out of the hollow of their hands they drank each a draught from the lake, which presented them its waters uncontaminated by an earthly lip.
then, lending their guidance to the blinded cynic, who uttered not a word, and even stifled his groans in his own most wretched heart, they began to descend the mountain.
yet as they left the shore, till then untrodden, of the spirit's lake, they threw a farewell glance toward the cliff and beheld the vapors gathering in dense volumes, through which the gem burned duskily.
as touching the other pilgrims of the great carbuncle, the legend goes on to tell that the worshipful master ichabod pigsnort soon gave up the quest as a desperate speculation, and wisely resolved to betake himself again to his warehouse, near the town-dock, in boston.
but as he passed through the notch of the mountains a war-party of indians captured our unlucky merchant and carried him to montreal, there holding him in bondage till by the payment of a heavy ransom he had woefully subtracted from his hoard of pine-tree shillings.
by his long absence, moreover, his affairs had become so disordered that for the rest of his life, instead of wallowing in silver, he had seldom a sixpence-worth of copper.
doctor cacaphodel, the alchemist, returned to his laboratory with a prodigious fragment of granite, which he ground to powder, dissolved in acids, melted in the crucible and burnt with the blowpipe, and published the result of his experiments in one of the heaviest folios of the day.
and for all these purposes the gem itself could not have answered better than the granite.
the poet, by a somewhat similar mistake, made prize of a great piece of ice which he found in a sunless chasm of the mountains, and swore that it corresponded in all points with his idea of the great carbuncle.
the critics say that, if his poetry lacked the splendor of the gem, it retained all the coldness of the ice.
the lord de vere went back to his ancestral hall, where he contented himself with a wax-lighted chandelier, and filled in due course of time another coffin in the ancestral vault.
as the funeral torches gleamed within that dark receptacle, there was no need of the great carbuncle to show the vanity of earthly pomp.
the cynic, having cast aside his spectacles, wandered about the world a miserable object, and was punished with an agonizing desire of light for the wilful blindness of his former life.
the whole night long he would lift his splendor-blasted orbs to the moon and stars; he turned his face eastward at sunrise as duly as a persian idolater; he made a pilgrimage to rome to witness the magnificent illumination of saint peter's church, and finally perished in the great fire of london, into the midst of which he had thrust himself with the desperate idea of catching one feeble ray from the blaze that was kindling earth and heaven.
matthew and his bride spent many peaceful years and were fond of telling the legend of the great carbuncle.
the tale, however, toward the close of their lengthened lives, did not meet with the full credence that had been accorded to it by those who remembered the ancient lustre of the gem.
for it is affirmed that from the hour when two mortals had shown themselves so simply wise as to reject a jewel which would have dimmed all earthly things its splendor waned.
when our pilgrims reached the cliff, they found only an opaque stone with particles of mica glittering on its surface.
there is also a tradition that as the youthful pair departed the gem was loosened from the forehead of the cliff and fell into the enchanted lake, and that at noontide the seeker's form may still be seen to bend over its quenchless gleam.
some few believe that this inestimable stone is blazing as of old, and say that they have caught its radiance, like a flash of summer lightning, far down the valley of the saco.
and be it owned that many a mile from the crystal hills i saw a wondrous light around their summits, and was lured by the faith of poesy to be the latest pilgrim of the great carbuncle.
the prophetic pictures.
-lsb- 1 -rsb- "but this painter!"
cried walter ludlow, with animation.
""he not only excels in his peculiar art, but possesses vast acquirements in all other learning and science.
he talks hebrew with dr. mather and gives lectures in anatomy to dr. boylston.
in a word, he will meet the best-instructed man among us on his own ground.
moreover, he is a polished gentleman, a citizen of the world -- yes, a true cosmopolite; for he will speak like a native of each clime and country on the globe, except our own forests, whither he is now going.
nor is all this what i most admire in him."
-lsb- footnote 1: this story was suggested by an anecdote of stuart related in dunlap's history of the arts of designs -- a most entertaining book to the general reader, and a deeply-interesting one, we should think, to the artist. -rsb-
""indeed!"
said elinor, who had listened with a women's interest to the description of such a man.
""yet this is admirable enough."
""surely it is," replied her lover, "but far less so than his natural gift of adapting himself to every variety of character, insomuch that all men -- and all women too, elinor -- shall find a mirror of themselves in this wonderful painter.
but the greatest wonder is yet to be told."
""nay, if he have more wonderful attributes than these," said elinor, laughing, "boston is a perilous abode for the poor gentleman.
are you telling me of a painter, or a wizard?"
""in truth," answered he, "that question might be asked much more seriously than you suppose.
they say that he paints not merely a man's features, but his mind and heart.
he catches the secret sentiments and passions and throws them upon the canvas like sunshine, or perhaps, in the portraits of dark-souled men, like a gleam of infernal fire.
it is an awful gift," added walter, lowering his voice from its tone of enthusiasm.
""i shall be almost afraid to sit to him."
""walter, are you in earnest?"
exclaimed elinor.
""for heaven's sake, dearest elinor, do not let him paint the look which you now wear," said her lover, smiling, though rather perplexed.
""there!
it is passing away now; but when you spoke, you seemed frightened to death, and very sad besides.
what were you thinking of?"
""nothing, nothing!"
answered elinor, hastily.
""you paint my face with your own fantasies.
well, come for me tomorrow, and we will visit this wonderful artist."
but when the young man had departed, it can not be denied that a remarkable expression was again visible on the fair and youthful face of his mistress.
it was a sad and anxious look, little in accordance with what should have been the feelings of a maiden on the eve of wedlock.
yet walter ludlow was the chosen of her heart.
""a look!"
said elinor to herself.
""no wonder that it startled him if it expressed what i sometimes feel.
i know by my own experience how frightful a look may be.
but it was all fancy.
i thought nothing of it at the time; i have seen nothing of it since; i did but dream it;" and she busied herself about the embroidery of a ruff in which she meant that her portrait should be taken.
the painter of whom they had been speaking was not one of those native artists who at a later period than this borrowed their colors from the indians and manufactured their pencils of the furs of wild beasts.
perhaps, if he could have revoked his life and prearranged his destiny, he might have chosen to belong to that school without a master in the hope of being at least original, since there were no works of art to imitate nor rules to follow.
but he had been born and educated in europe.
people said that he had studied the grandeur or beauty of conception and every touch of the master-hand in all the most famous pictures in cabinets and galleries and on the walls of churches till there was nothing more for his powerful mind to learn.
art could add nothing to its lessons, but nature might.
he had, therefore, visited a world whither none of his professional brethren had preceded him, to feast his eyes on visible images that were noble and picturesque, yet had never been transferred to canvas.
america was too poor to afford other temptations to an artist of eminence, though many of the colonial gentry on the painter's arrival had expressed a wish to transmit their lineaments to posterity by moans of his skill.
whenever such proposals were made, he fixed his piercing eyes on the applicant and seemed to look him through and through.
if he beheld only a sleek and comfortable visage, though there were a gold-laced coat to adorn the picture and golden guineas to pay for it, he civilly rejected the task and the reward; but if the face were the index of anything uncommon in thought, sentiment or experience, or if he met a beggar in the street with a white beard and a furrowed brow, or if sometimes a child happened to look up and smile, he would exhaust all the art on them that he denied to wealth.
pictorial skill being so rare in the colonies, the painter became an object of general curiosity.
if few or none could appreciate the technical merit of his productions, yet there were points in regard to which the opinion of the crowd was as valuable as the refined judgment of the amateur.
he watched the effect that each picture produced on such untutored beholders, and derived profit from their remarks, while they would as soon have thought of instructing nature herself as him who seemed to rival her.
their admiration, it must be owned, was tinctured with the prejudices of the age and country.
some deemed it an offence against the mosaic law, and even a presumptuous mockery of the creator, to bring into existence such lively images of his creatures.
others, frightened at the art which could raise phantoms at will and keep the form of the dead among the living, were inclined to consider the painter as a magician, or perhaps the famous black man of old witch-times plotting mischief in a new guise.
these foolish fancies were more, than half believed among the mob.
even in superior circles his character was invested with a vague awe, partly rising like smoke-wreaths from the popular superstitions, but chiefly caused by the varied knowledge and talents which he made subservient to his profession.
being on the eve of marriage, walter ludlow and elinor were eager to obtain their portraits as the first of what, they doubtless hoped, would be a long series of family pictures.
the day after the conversation above recorded they visited the painter's rooms.
a servant ushered them into an apartment where, though the artist himself was not visible, there were personages whom they could hardly forbear greeting with reverence.
they knew, indeed, that the whole assembly were but pictures, yet felt it impossible to separate the idea of life and intellect from such striking counterfeits.
several of the portraits were known to them either as distinguished characters of the day or their private acquaintances.
there was governor burnett, looking as if he had just received an undutiful communication from the house of representatives and were inditing a most sharp response.
mr. cooke hung beside the ruler whom he opposed, sturdy and somewhat puritanical, as befitted a popular leader.
the ancient lady of sir william phipps eyed them from the wall in ruff and farthingale, an imperious old dame not unsuspected of witchcraft.
john winslow, then a very young man, wore the expression of warlike enterprise which long afterward made him a distinguished general.
their personal friends were recognized at a glance.
in most of the pictures the whole mind and character were brought out on the countenance and concentrated into a single look; so that, to speak paradoxically, the originals hardly resembled themselves so strikingly as the portraits did.
among these modern worthies there were two old bearded saints who had almost vanished into the darkening canvas.
there was also a pale but unfaded madonna who had perhaps been worshipped in rome, and now regarded the lovers with such a mild and holy look that they longed to worship too.
""how singular a thought," observed walter ludlow, "that this beautiful face has been beautiful for above two hundred years!
oh, if all beauty would endure so well!
do you not envy her, elinor?"
""if earth were heaven, i might," she replied.
""but, where all things fade, how miserable to be the one that could not fade!"
""this dark old st. peter has a fierce and ugly scowl, saint though he be," continued walter; "he troubles me.
but the virgin looks kindly at us."
""yes, but very sorrowfully, methinks," said elinor.
the easel stood beneath these three old pictures, sustaining one that had been recently commenced.
after a little inspection they began to recognize the features of their own minister, the rev. dr. colman, growing into shape and life, as it were, out of a cloud.
""kind old man!"
exclaimed elinor.
""he gazes at me as if he were about to utter a word of paternal advice."
""and at me," said walter, "as if he were about to shake his head and rebuke me for some suspected iniquity.
but so does the original.
i shall never feel quite comfortable under his eye till we stand before him to be married."
they now heard a footstep on the floor, and, turning, beheld the painter, who had been some moments in the room and had listened to a few of their remarks.
he was a middle-aged man with a countenance well worthy of his own pencil.
indeed, by the picturesque though careless arrangement of his rich dress, and perhaps because his soul dwelt always among painted shapes, he looked somewhat like a portrait himself.
his visitors were sensible of a kindred between the artist and his works, and felt as if one of the pictures had stepped from the canvas to salute them.
walter ludlow, who was slightly known to the painter, explained the object of their visit.
while he spoke a sunbeam was falling athwart his figure and elinor's with so happy an effect that they also seemed living pictures of youth and beauty gladdened by bright fortune.
the artist was evidently struck.
""my easel is occupied for several ensuing days, and my stay in boston must be brief," said he, thoughtfully; then, after an observant glance, he added, "but your wishes shall be gratified though i disappoint the chief-justice and madame oliver.
i must not lose this opportunity for the sake of painting a few ells of broadcloth and brocade."
the painter expressed a desire to introduce both their portraits into one picture and represent them engaged in some appropriate action.
this plan would have delighted the lovers, but was necessarily rejected because so large a space of canvas would have been unfit for the room which it was intended to decorate.
two half-length portraits were therefore fixed upon.
after they had taken leave, walter ludlow asked elinor, with a smile, whether she knew what an influence over their fates the painter was about to acquire.
""the old women of boston affirm," continued he, "that after he has once got possession of a person's face and figure he may paint him in any act or situation whatever, and the picture will be prophetic.
do you believe it?"
""not quite," said elinor, smiling.
""yet if he has such magic, there is something so gentle in his manner that i am sure he will use it well."
it was the painter's choice to proceed with both the portraits at the same time, assigning as a reason, in the mystical language which he sometimes used, that the faces threw light upon each other.
accordingly, he gave now a touch to walter and now to elinor, and the features of one and the other began to start forth so vividly that it appeared as if his triumphant art would actually disengage them from the canvas.
amid the rich light and deep shade they beheld their phantom selves, but, though the likeness promised to be perfect, they were not quite satisfied with the expression: it seemed more vague than in most of the painter's works.
he, however, was satisfied with the prospect of success, and, being much interested in the lovers, employed his leisure moments, unknown to them, in making a crayon sketch of their two figures.
during their sittings he engaged them in conversation and kindled up their faces with characteristic traits, which, though continually varying, it was his purpose to combine and fix.
at length he announced that at their next visit both the portraits would be ready for delivery.
""if my pencil will but be true to my conception in the few last touches which i meditate," observed he, "these two pictures will be my very best performances.
seldom indeed has an artist such subjects."
while speaking he still bent his penetrative eye upon them, nor withdrew it till they had reached the bottom of the stairs.
nothing in the whole circle of human vanities takes stronger hold of the imagination than this affair of having a portrait painted.
yet why should it be so?
the looking-glass, the polished globes of the andirons, the mirror-like water, and all other reflecting surfaces, continually present us with portraits -- or, rather, ghosts -- of ourselves which we glance at and straightway forget them.
but we forget them only because they vanish.
it is the idea of duration -- of earthly immortality -- that gives such a mysterious interest to our own portraits.
walter and elinor were not insensible to this feeling, and hastened to the painter's room punctually at the appointed hour to meet those pictured shapes which were to be their representatives with posterity.
the sunshine flashed after them into the apartment, but left it somewhat gloomy as they closed the door.
their eyes were immediately attracted to their portraits, which rested against the farthest wall of the room.
at the first glance through the dim light and the distance, seeing themselves in precisely their natural attitudes and with all the air that they recognized so well, they uttered a simultaneous exclamation of delight.
""there we stand," cried walter, enthusiastically, "fixed in sunshine for ever.
no dark passions can gather on our faces."
""no," said elinor, more calmly; "no dreary change can sadden us."
this was said while they were approaching and had yet gained only an imperfect view of the pictures.
the painter, after saluting them, busied himself at a table in completing a crayon sketch, leaving his visitors to form their own judgment as to his perfected labors.
at intervals he sent a glance from beneath his deep eyebrows, watching their countenances in profile with his pencil suspended over the sketch.
they had now stood some moments, each in front of the other's picture, contemplating it with entranced attention, but without uttering a word.
at length walter stepped forward, then back, viewing elinor's portrait in various lights, and finally spoke.
""is there not a change?"
said he, in a doubtful and meditative tone.
""yes; the perception of it grows more vivid the longer i look.
it is certainly the same picture that i saw yesterday; the dress, the features, all are the same, and yet something is altered."
""is, then, the picture less like than it was yesterday?"
inquired the painter, now drawing near with irrepressible interest.
""the features are perfect elinor," answered walter, "and at the first glance the expression seemed also hers; but i could fancy that the portrait has changed countenance while i have been looking at it.
the eyes are fixed on mine with a strangely sad and anxious expression.
nay, it is grief and terror.
is this like elinor?"
""compare the living face with the pictured one," said the painter.
walter glanced sidelong at his mistress, and started.
motionless and absorbed, fascinated, as it were, in contemplation of walter's portrait, elinor's face had assumed precisely the expression of which he had just been complaining.
had she practised for whole hours before a mirror, she could not have caught the look so successfully.
had the picture itself been a mirror, it could not have thrown back her present aspect with stronger and more melancholy truth.
she appeared quite unconscious of the dialogue between the artist and her lover.
""elinor," exclaimed walter, in amazement, "what change has come over you?"
she did not hear him nor desist from her fixed gaze till he seized her hand, and thus attracted her notice; then with a sudden tremor she looked from the picture to the face of the original.
""do you see no change in your portrait?"
asked she.
""in mine?
none," replied walter, examining it.
""but let me see.
yes; there is a slight change -- an improvement, i think, in the picture, though none in the likeness.
it has a livelier expression than yesterday, as if some bright thought were flashing from the eyes and about to be uttered from the lips.
now that i have caught the look, it becomes very decided."
while he was intent on these observations elinor turned to the painter.
she regarded him with grief and awe, and felt that he repaid her with sympathy and commiseration, though wherefore she could but vaguely guess.
""that look!"
whispered she, and shuddered.
""how came it there?"
""madam," said the painter, sadly, taking her hand and leading her apart, "in both these pictures i have painted what i saw.
the artist -- the true artist -- must look beneath the exterior.
it is his gift -- his proudest, but often a melancholy one -- to see the inmost soul, and by a power indefinable even to himself to make it glow or darken upon the canvas in glances that express the thought and sentiment of years.
would that i might convince myself of error in the present instance!"
they had now approached the table, on which were heads in chalk, hands almost as expressive as ordinary faces, ivied church-towers, thatched cottages, old thunder-stricken trees, oriental and antique costume, and all such picturesque vagaries of an artist's idle moments.
turning them over with seeming carelessness, a crayon sketch of two figures was disclosed.
""if i have failed," continued he -- "if your heart does not see itself reflected in your own portrait, if you have no secret cause to trust my delineation of the other -- it is not yet too late to alter them.
i might change the action of these figures too.
but would it influence the event?"
he directed her notice to the sketch.
a thrill ran through elinor's frame; a shriek was upon her lips, but she stifled it with the self-command that becomes habitual to all who hide thoughts of fear and anguish within their bosoms.
turning from the table, she perceived that walter had advanced near enough to have seen the sketch, though she could not determine whether it had caught his eye.
""we will not have the pictures altered," said she, hastily.
""if mine is sad, i shall but look the gayer for the contrast."
""be it so," answered the painter, bowing.
""may your griefs be such fanciful ones that only your pictures may mourn for them!
for your joys, may they be true and deep, and paint themselves upon this lovely face till it quite belie my art!"
after the marriage of walter and elinor the pictures formed the two most splendid ornaments of their abode.
they hung side by side, separated by a narrow panel, appearing to eye each other constantly, yet always returning the gaze of the spectator.
travelled gentlemen who professed a knowledge of such subjects reckoned these among the most admirable specimens of modern portraiture, while common observers compared them with the originals, feature by feature, and were rapturous in praise of the likeness.
but it was on a third class -- neither travelled connoisseurs nor common observers, but people of natural sensibility -- that the pictures wrought their strongest effect.
such persons might gaze carelessly at first, but, becoming interested, would return day after day and study these painted faces like the pages of a mystic volume.
walter ludlow's portrait attracted their earliest notice.
in the absence of himself and his bride they sometimes disputed as to the expression which the painter had intended to throw upon the features, all agreeing that there was a look of earnest import, though no two explained it alike.
there was less diversity of opinion in regard to elinor's picture.
they differed, indeed, in their attempts to estimate the nature and depth of the gloom that dwelt upon her face, but agreed that it was gloom and alien from the natural temperament of their youthful friend.
a certain fanciful person announced as the result of much scrutiny that both these pictures were parts of one design, and that the melancholy strength of feeling in elinor's countenance bore reference to the more vivid emotion -- or, as he termed it, the wild passion -- in that of walter.
though unskilled in the art, he even began a sketch in which the action of the two figures was to correspond with their mutual expression.
it was whispered among friends that day by day elinor's face was assuming a deeper shade of pensiveness which threatened soon to render her too true a counterpart of her melancholy picture.
walter, on the other hand, instead of acquiring the vivid look which the painter had given him on the canvas, became reserved and downcast, with no outward flashes of emotion, however it might be smouldering within.
in course of time elinor hung a gorgeous curtain of purple silk wrought with flowers and fringed with heavy golden tassels before the pictures, under pretence that the dust would tarnish their hues or the light dim them.
it was enough.
her visitors felt that the massive folds of the silk must never be withdrawn nor the portraits mentioned in her presence.
time wore on, and the painter came again.
he had been far enough to the north to see the silver cascade of the crystal hills, and to look over the vast round of cloud and forest from the summit of new england's loftiest mountain.
but he did not profane that scene by the mockery of his art.
he had also lain in a canoe on the bosom of lake george, making his soul the mirror of its loveliness and grandeur till not a picture in the vatican was more vivid than his recollection.
he had gone with the indian hunters to niagara, and there, again, had flung his hopeless pencil down the precipice, feeling that he could as soon paint the roar as aught else that goes to make up the wondrous cataract.
in truth, it was seldom his impulse to copy natural scenery except as a framework for the delineations of the human form and face instinct with thought, passion or suffering.
with store of such his adventurous ramble had enriched him.
the stern dignity of indian chiefs, the dusky loveliness of indian girls, the domestic life of wigwams, the stealthy march, the battle beneath gloomy pine trees, the frontier fortress with its garrison, the anomaly of the old french partisan bred in courts, but grown gray in shaggy deserts, -- such were the scenes and portraits that he had sketched.
the glow of perilous moments, flashes of wild feeling, struggles of fierce power, love, hate, grief, frenzy -- in a word, all the worn-out heart of the old earth -- had been revealed to him under a new form.
his portfolio was filled with graphic illustrations of the volume of his memory which genius would transmute into its own substance and imbue with immortality.
he felt that the deep wisdom in his art which he had sought so far was found.
but amid stern or lovely nature, in the perils of the forest or its overwhelming peacefulness, still there had been two phantoms, the companions of his way.
like all other men around whom an engrossing purpose wreathes itself, he was insulated from the mass of humankind.
he had no aim, no pleasure, no sympathies, but what were ultimately connected with his art.
though gentle in manner and upright in intent and action, he did not possess kindly feelings; his heart was cold: no living creature could be brought near enough to keep him warm.
for these two beings, however, he had felt in its greatest intensity the sort of interest which always allied him to the subjects of his pencil.
he had pried into their souls with his keenest insight and pictured the result upon their features with his utmost skill, so as barely to fall short of that standard which no genius ever reached, his own severe conception.
he had caught from the duskiness of the future -- at least, so he fancied -- a fearful secret, and had obscurely revealed it on the portraits.
so much of himself -- of his imagination and all other powers -- had been lavished on the study of walter and elinor that he almost regarded them as creations of his own, like the thousands with which he had peopled the realms of picture.
therefore did they flit through the twilight of the woods, hover on the mist of waterfalls, look forth from the mirror of the lake, nor melt away in the noontide sun.
they haunted his pictorial fancy, not as mockeries of life nor pale goblins of the dead, but in the guise of portraits, each with an unalterable expression which his magic had evoked from the caverns of the soul.
he could not recross the atlantic till he had again beheld the originals of those airy pictures.
""o glorious art!"
thus mused the enthusiastic painter as he trod the street.
""thou art the image of the creator's own.
the innumerable forms that wander in nothingness start into being at thy beck.
the dead live again; thou recallest them to their old scenes and givest their gray shadows the lustre of a better life, at once earthly and immortal.
thou snatchest back the fleeting moments of history.
with then there is no past, for at thy touch all that is great becomes for ever present, and illustrious men live through long ages in the visible performance of the very deeds which made them what they are.
o potent art!
as thou bringest the faintly-revealed past to stand in that narrow strip of sunlight which we call "now," canst thou summon the shrouded future to meet her there?
have i not achieved it?
am i not thy prophet?"
thus with a proud yet melancholy fervor did he almost cry aloud as he passed through the toilsome street among people that knew not of his reveries nor could understand nor care for them.
it is not good for man to cherish a solitary ambition.
unless there be those around him by whose example he may regulate himself, his thoughts, desires and hopes will become extravagant and he the semblance -- perhaps the reality -- of a madman.
reading other bosoms with an acuteness almost preternatural, the painter failed to see the disorder of his own.
""and this should be the house," said he, looking up and down the front before he knocked.
""heaven help my brains!
that picture!
methinks it will never vanish.
whether i look at the windows or the door, there it is framed within them, painted strongly and glowing in the richest tints -- the faces of the portraits, the figures and action of the sketch!"
he knocked.
""the portraits -- are they within?"
inquired he of the domestic; then, recollecting himself, "your master and mistress -- are they at home?"
""they are, sir," said the servant, adding, as he noticed that picturesque aspect of which the painter could never divest himself, "and the portraits too."
the guest was admitted into a parlor communicating by a central door with an interior room of the same size.
as the first apartment was empty, he passed to the entrance of the second, within which his eyes were greeted by those living personages, as well as their pictured representatives, who had long been the objects of so singular an interest.
he involuntarily paused on the threshold.
they had not perceived his approach.
walter and elinor were standing before the portraits, whence the former had just flung back the rich and voluminous folds of the silken curtain, holding its golden tassel with one hand, while the other grasped that of his bride.
the pictures, concealed for months, gleamed forth again in undiminished splendor, appearing to throw a sombre light across the room rather than to be disclosed by a borrowed radiance.
that of elinor had been almost prophetic.
a pensiveness, and next a gentle sorrow, had successively dwelt upon her countenance, deepening with the lapse of time into a quiet anguish.
a mixture of affright would now have made it the very expression of the portrait.
walter's face was moody and dull or animated only by fitful flashes which left a heavier darkness for their momentary illumination.
he looked from elinor to her portrait, and thence to his own, in the contemplation of which he finally stood absorbed.
the painter seemed to hear the step of destiny approaching behind him on its progress toward its victims.
a strange thought darted into his mind.
was not his own the form in which that destiny had embodied itself, and he a chief agent of the coming evil which he had foreshadowed?
still, walter remained silent before the picture, communing with it as with his own heart and abandoning himself to the spell of evil influence that the painter had cast upon the features.
gradually his eyes kindled, while as elinor watched the increasing wildness of his face her own assumed a look of terror; and when, at last, he turned upon her, the resemblance of both to their portraits was complete.
""our fate is upon us!"
howled walter.
""die!"
drawing a knife, he sustained her as she was sinking to the ground, and aimed it at her bosom.
in the action and in the look and attitude of each the painter beheld the figures of his sketch.
the picture, with all its tremendous coloring, was finished.
""hold, madman!"
cried he, sternly.
he had advanced from the door and interposed himself between the wretched beings with the same sense of power to regulate their destiny as to alter a scene upon the canvas.
he stood like a magician controlling the phantoms which he had evoked.
""what!"
muttered walter ludlow as he relapsed from fierce excitement into sullen gloom.
""does fate impede its own decree?"
""wretched lady," said the painter, "did i not warn you?"
""you did," replied elinor, calmly, as her terror gave place to the quiet grief which it had disturbed.
""but i loved him."
is there not a deep moral in the tale?
could the result of one or all our deeds be shadowed forth and set before us, some would call it fate and hurry onward, others be swept along by their passionate desires, and none be turned aside by the prophetic pictures.
david swan.
a fantasy.
we can be but partially acquainted even with the events which actually influence our course through life and our final destiny.
there are innumerable other events, if such they may be called, which come close upon us, yet pass away without actual results or even betraying their near approach by the reflection of any light or shadow across our minds.
could we know all the vicissitudes of our fortunes, life would be too full of hope and fear, exultation or disappointment, to afford us a single hour of true serenity.
this idea may be illustrated by a page from the secret history of david swan.
we have nothing to do with david until we find him, at the age of twenty, on the high road from his native place to the city of boston, where his uncle, a small dealer in the grocery line, was to take him behind the counter.
be it enough to say that he was a native of new hampshire, born of respectable parents, and had received an ordinary school education with a classic finish by a year at gilmanton academy.
after journeying on foot from sunrise till nearly noon of a summer's day, his weariness and the increasing heat determined him to sit down in the first convenient shade and await the coming up of the stage-coach.
as if planted on purpose for him, there soon appeared a little tuft of maples with a delightful recess in the midst, and such a fresh bubbling spring that it seemed never to have sparkled for any wayfarer but david swan.
virgin or not, he kissed it with his thirsty lips and then flung himself along the brink, pillowing his head upon some shirts and a pair of pantaloons tied up in a striped cotton handkerchief.
the sunbeams could not reach him; the dust did not yet rise from the road after the heavy rain of yesterday, and his grassy lair suited the young man better than a bed of down.
the spring murmured drowsily beside him; the branches waved dreamily across the blue sky overhead, and a deep sleep, perchance hiding dreams within its depths, fell upon david swan.
but we are to relate events which he did not dream of.
while he lay sound asleep in the shade other people were wide awake, and passed to and fro, afoot, on horseback and in all sorts of vehicles, along the sunny road by his bedchamber.
some looked neither to the right hand nor the left and knew not that he was there; some merely glanced that way without admitting the slumberer among their busy thoughts; some laughed to see how soundly he slept, and several whose hearts were brimming full of scorn ejected their venomous superfluity on david swan.
a middle-aged widow, when nobody else was near, thrust her head a little way into the recess, and vowed that the young fellow looked charming in his sleep.
a temperance lecturer saw him, and wrought poor david into the texture of his evening's discourse as an awful instance of dead drunkenness by the roadside.
but censure, praise, merriment, scorn and indifference were all one -- or, rather, all nothing -- to david swan.
he had slept only a few moments when a brown carriage drawn by a handsome pair of horses bowled easily along and was brought to a standstill nearly in front of david's resting-place.
a linch-pin had fallen out and permitted one of the wheels to slide off.
the damage was slight and occasioned merely a momentary alarm to an elderly merchant and his wife, who were returning to boston in the carriage.
while the coachman and a servant were replacing the wheel the lady and gentleman sheltered themselves beneath the maple trees, and there espied the bubbling fountain and david swan asleep beside it.
impressed with the awe which the humblest sleeper usually sheds around him, the merchant trod as lightly as the gout would allow, and his spouse took good heed not to rustle her silk gown lest david should start up all of a sudden.
""how soundly he sleeps!"
whispered the old gentleman.
""from what a depth he draws that easy breath!
such sleep as that, brought on without an opiate, would be worth more to me than half my income, for it would suppose health and an untroubled mind."
""and youth besides," said the lady.
""healthy and quiet age does not sleep thus.
our slumber is no more like his than our wakefulness."
the longer they looked, the more did this elderly couple feel interested in the unknown youth to whom the wayside and the maple shade were as a secret chamber with the rich gloom of damask curtains brooding over him.
perceiving that a stray sunbeam glimmered down upon his face, the lady contrived to twist a branch aside so as to intercept it, and, having done this little act of kindness, she began to feel like a mother to him.
""providence seems to have laid him here," whispered she to her husband, "and to have brought us hither to find him, after our disappointment in our cousin's son.
methinks i can see a likeness to our departed henry.
shall we waken him?"
""to what purpose?"
said the merchant, hesitating.
""we know nothing of the youth's character."
""that open countenance!"
replied his wife, in the same hushed voice, yet earnestly.
""this innocent sleep!"
while these whispers were passing, the sleeper's heart did not throb, nor his breath become agitated, nor his features betray the least token of interest.
yet fortune was bending over him, just ready to let fall a burden of gold.
the old merchant had lost his only son, and had no heir to his wealth except a distant relative with whose conduct he was dissatisfied.
in such cases people sometimes do stranger things than to act the magician and awaken a young man to splendor who fell asleep in poverty.
""shall we not waken him?"
repeated the lady, persuasively.
""the coach is ready, sir," said the servant, behind.
the old couple started, reddened and hurried away, mutually wondering that they should ever have dreamed of doing anything so very ridiculous.
the merchant threw himself back in the carriage and occupied his mind with the plan of a magnificent asylum for unfortunate men of business.
meanwhile, david swan enjoyed his nap.
the carriage could not have gone above a mile or two when a pretty young girl came along with a tripping pace which showed precisely how her little heart was dancing in her bosom.
perhaps it was this merry kind of motion that caused -- is there any harm in saying it?
-- her garter to slip its knot.
conscious that the silken girth -- if silk it were -- was relaxing its hold, she turned aside into the shelter of the maple trees, and there found a young man asleep by the spring.
blushing as red as any rose that she should have intruded into a gentleman's bedchamber, and for such a purpose too, she was about to make her escape on tiptoe.
but there was peril near the sleeper.
a monster of a bee had been wandering overhead -- buzz, buzz, buzz -- now among the leaves, now flashing through the strips of sunshine, and now lost in the dark shade, till finally he appeared to be settling on the eyelid of david swan.
the sting of a bee is sometimes deadly.
as free-hearted as she was innocent, the girl attacked the intruder with her handkerchief, brushed him soundly and drove him from beneath the maple shade.
how sweet a picture!
this good deed accomplished, with quickened breath and a deeper blush she stole a glance at the youthful stranger for whom she had been battling with a dragon in the air.
""he is handsome!"
thought she, and blushed redder yet.
how could it be that no dream of bliss grew so strong within him that, shattered by its very strength, it should part asunder and allow him to perceive the girl among its phantoms?
why, at least, did no smile of welcome brighten upon his face?
she was come, the maid whose soul, according to the old and beautiful idea, had been severed from his own, and whom in all his vague but passionate desires he yearned to meet.
her only could he love with a perfect love, him only could she receive into the depths of her heart, and now her image was faintly blushing in the fountain by his side; should it pass away, its happy lustre would never gleam upon his life again.
""how sound he sleeps!"
murmured the girl.
she departed, but did not trip along the road so lightly as when she came.
now, this girl's father was a thriving country merchant in the neighborhood, and happened at that identical time to be looking out for just such a young man as david swan.
had david formed a wayside acquaintance with the daughter, he would have become the father's clerk, and all else in natural succession.
so here, again, had good fortune -- the best of fortunes -- stolen so near that her garments brushed against him, and he knew nothing of the matter.
the girl was hardly out of sight when two men turned aside beneath the maple shade.
both had dark faces set off by cloth caps, which were drawn down aslant over their brows.
their dresses were shabby, yet had a certain smartness.
these were a couple of rascals who got their living by whatever the devil sent them, and now, in the interim of other business, had staked the joint profits of their next piece of villainy on a game of cards which was to have been decided here under the trees.
but, finding david asleep by the spring, one of the rogues whispered to his fellow: "hist!
do you see that bundle under his head?"
the other villain nodded, winked and leered.
""i'll bet you a horn of brandy," said the first, "that the chap has either a pocketbook or a snug little hoard of small change stowed away amongst his shirts.
and if not there, we will find it in his pantaloons pocket."
""but how if he wakes?"
said the other.
his companion thrust aside his waistcoat, pointed to the handle of a dirk and nodded.
""so be it!"
muttered the second villain.
they approached the unconscious david, and, while one pointed the dagger toward his heart, the other began to search the bundle beneath his head.
their two faces, grim, wrinkled and ghastly with guilt and fear, bent over their victim, looking horrible enough to be mistaken for fiends should he suddenly awake.
nay, had the villains glanced aside into the spring, even they would hardly have known themselves as reflected there.
but david swan had never worn a more tranquil aspect, even when asleep on his mother's breast.
""i must take away the bundle," whispered one.
""if he stirs, i'll strike," muttered the other.
but at this moment a dog scenting along the ground came in beneath the maple trees and gazed alternately at each of these wicked men and then at the quiet sleeper.
he then lapped out of the fountain.
""pshaw!"
said one villain.
""we can do nothing now.
the dog's master must be close behind."
""let's take a drink and be off," said the other.
the man with the dagger thrust back the weapon into his bosom and drew forth a pocket-pistol, but not of that kind which kills by a single discharge.
it was a flask of liquor with a block-tin tumbler screwed upon the mouth.
each drank a comfortable dram, and left the spot with so many jests and such laughter at their unaccomplished wickedness that they might be said to have gone on their way rejoicing.
in a few hours they had forgotten the whole affair, nor once imagined that the recording angel had written down the crime of murder against their souls in letters as durable as eternity.
as for david swan, he still slept quietly, neither conscious of the shadow of death when it hung over him nor of the glow of renewed life when that shadow was withdrawn.
he slept, but no longer so quietly as at first.
an hour's repose had snatched from his elastic frame the weariness with which many hours of toil had burdened it.
now he stirred, now moved his lips without a sound, now talked in an inward tone to the noonday spectres of his dream.
but a noise of wheels came rattling louder and louder along the road, until it dashed through the dispersing mist of david's slumber; and there was the stagecoach.
he started up with all his ideas about him.
""halloo, driver!
take a passenger?"
shouted he.
""room on top!"
answered the driver.
up mounted david, and bowled away merrily toward boston without so much as a parting glance at that fountain of dreamlike vicissitude.
he knew not that a phantom of wealth had thrown a golden hue upon its waters, nor that one of love had sighed softly to their murmur, nor that one of death had threatened to crimson them with his blood, all in the brief hour since he lay down to sleep.
sleeping or waking, we hear not the airy footsteps of the strange things that almost happen.
does it not argue a superintending providence that, while viewless and unexpected events thrust themselves continually athwart our path, there should still be regularity enough in mortal life to render foresight even partially available?
sights from a steeple.
so!
i have climbed high, and my reward is small.
here i stand with wearied knees -- earth, indeed, at a dizzy depth below, but heaven far, far beyond me still.
oh that i could soar up into the very zenith, where man never breathed nor eagle ever flew, and where the ethereal azure melts away from the eye and appears only a deepened shade of nothingness!
and yet i shiver at that cold and solitary thought.
what clouds are gathering in the golden west with direful intent against the brightness and the warmth of this summer afternoon?
they are ponderous air-ships, black as death and freighted with the tempest, and at intervals their thunder -- the signal-guns of that unearthly squadron -- rolls distant along the deep of heaven.
these nearer heaps of fleecy vapor -- methinks i could roll and toss upon them the whole day long -- seem scattered here and there for the repose of tired pilgrims through the sky.
perhaps -- for who can tell?
-- beautiful spirits are disporting themselves there, and will bless my mortal eye with the brief appearance of their curly locks of golden light and laughing faces fair and faint as the people of a rosy dream.
or where the floating mass so imperfectly obstructs the color of the firmament a slender foot and fairy limb resting too heavily upon the frail support may be thrust through and suddenly withdrawn, while longing fancy follows them in vain.
yonder, again, is an airy archipelago where the sunbeams love to linger in their journeyings through space.
every one of those little clouds has been dipped and steeped in radiance which the slightest pressure might disengage in silvery profusion like water wrung from a sea-maid's hair.
bright they are as a young man's visions, and, like them, would be realized in dullness, obscurity and tears.
i will look on them no more.
in three parts of the visible circle whose centre is this spire i discern cultivated fields, villages, white country-seats, the waving lines of rivulets, little placid lakes, and here and there a rising ground that would fain be termed a hill.
on the fourth side is the sea, stretching away toward a viewless boundary, blue and calm except where the passing anger of a shadow flits across its surface and is gone.
hitherward a broad inlet penetrates far into the land; on the verge of the harbor formed by its extremity is a town, and over it am i, a watchman, all-heeding and unheeded.
oh that the multitude of chimneys could speak, like those of madrid, and betray in smoky whispers the secrets of all who since their first foundation have assembled at the hearths within!
oh that the limping devil of le sage would perch beside me here, extend his wand over this contiguity of roofs, uncover every chamber and make me familiar with their inhabitants!
the most desirable mode of existence might be that of a spiritualized paul pry hovering invisible round man and woman, witnessing their deeds, searching into their hearts, borrowing brightness from their felicity and shade from their sorrow, and retaining no emotion peculiar to himself.
but none of these things are possible; and if i would know the interior of brick walls or the mystery of human bosoms, i can but guess.
yonder is a fair street extending north and south.
the stately mansions are placed each on its carpet of verdant grass, and a long flight of steps descends from every door to the pavement.
ornamental trees -- the broadleafed horse-chestnut, the elm so lofty and bending, the graceful but infrequent willow, and others whereof i know not the names -- grow thrivingly among brick and stone.
the oblique rays of the sun are intercepted by these green citizens and by the houses, so that one side of the street is a shaded and pleasant walk.
on its whole extent there is now but a single passenger, advancing from the upper end, and he, unless distance and the medium of a pocket spyglass do him more than justice, is a fine young man of twenty.
he saunters slowly forward, slapping his left hand with his folded gloves, bending his eyes upon the pavement, and sometimes raising them to throw a glance before him.
certainly he has a pensive air.
is he in doubt or in debt?
is he -- if the question be allowable -- in love?
does he strive to be melancholy and gentlemanlike, or is he merely overcome by the heat?
but i bid him farewell for the present.
the door of one of the houses -- an aristocratic edifice with curtains of purple and gold waving from the windows -- is now opened, and down the steps come two ladies swinging their parasols and lightly arrayed for a summer ramble.
both are young, both are pretty; but methinks the left-hand lass is the fairer of the twain, and, though she be so serious at this moment, i could swear that there is a treasure of gentle fun within her.
they stand talking a little while upon the steps, and finally proceed up the street.
meantime, as their faces are now turned from me, i may look elsewhere.
upon that wharf and down the corresponding street is a busy contrast to the quiet scene which i have just noticed.
business evidently has its centre there, and many a man is wasting the summer afternoon in labor and anxiety, in losing riches or in gaining them, when he would be wiser to flee away to some pleasant country village or shaded lake in the forest or wild and cool sea-beach.
i see vessels unlading at the wharf and precious merchandise strown upon the ground abundantly as at the bottom of the sea -- that market whence no goods return, and where there is no captain nor supercargo to render an account of sales.
here the clerks are diligent with their paper and pencils and sailors ply the block and tackle that hang over the hold, accompanying their toil with cries long-drawn and roughly melodious till the bales and puncheons ascend to upper air.
at a little distance a group of gentlemen are assembled round the door of a warehouse.
grave seniors be they, and i would wager -- if it were safe, in these times, to be responsible for any one -- that the least eminent among them might vie with old vincentio, that incomparable trafficker of pisa.
i can even select the wealthiest of the company.
it is the elderly personage in somewhat rusty black, with powdered hair the superfluous whiteness of which is visible upon the cape of his coat.
his twenty ships are wafted on some of their many courses by every breeze that blows, and his name, i will venture to say, though i know it not, is a familiar sound among the far-separated merchants of europe and the indies.
but i bestow too much of my attention in this quarter.
on looking again to the long and shady walk i perceive that the two fair girls have encountered the young man.
after a sort of shyness in the recognition, he turns back with them.
moreover, he has sanctioned my taste in regard to his companions by placing himself on the inner side of the pavement, nearest the venus to whom i, enacting on a steeple-top the part of paris on the top of ida, adjudged the golden apple.
in two streets converging at right angles toward my watch-tower i distinguish three different processions.
one is a proud array of voluntary soldiers in bright uniform, resembling, from the height whence i look down, the painted veterans that garrison the windows of a toy-shop.
and yet it stirs my heart.
their regular advance, their nodding plumes, the sun-flash on their bayonets and musket-barrels, the roll of their drums ascending past me, and the fife ever and anon piercing through, -- these things have wakened a warlike fire, peaceful though i be.
close to their rear marches a battalion of schoolboys ranged in crooked and irregular platoons, shouldering sticks, thumping a harsh and unripe clatter from an instrument of tin and ridiculously aping the intricate manoeuvres of the foremost band.
nevertheless, as slight differences are scarcely perceptible from a church-spire, one might be tempted to ask, "which are the boys?"
or, rather, "which the men?"
but, leaving these, let us turn to the third procession, which, though sadder in outward show, may excite identical reflections in the thoughtful mind.
it is a funeral -- a hearse drawn by a black and bony steed and covered by a dusty pall, two or three coaches rumbling over the stones, their drivers half asleep, a dozen couple of careless mourners in their every-day attire.
such was not the fashion of our fathers when they carried a friend to his grave.
there is now no doleful clang of the bell to proclaim sorrow to the town.
was the king of terrors more awful in those days than in our own, that wisdom and philosophy have been able to produce this change?
not so.
here is a proof that he retains his proper majesty.
the military men and the military boys are wheeling round the corner, and meet the funeral full in the face.
immediately the drum is silent, all but the tap that regulates each simultaneous footfall.
the soldiers yield the path to the dusty hearse and unpretending train, and the children quit their ranks and cluster on the sidewalks with timorous and instinctive curiosity.
the mourners enter the churchyard at the base of the steeple and pause by an open grave among the burial-stones; the lightning glimmers on them as they lower down the coffin, and the thunder rattles heavily while they throw the earth upon its lid.
verily, the shower is near, and i tremble for the young man and the girls, who have now disappeared from the long and shady street.
how various are the situations of the people covered by the roofs beneath me, and how diversified are the events at this moment befalling them!
the new-born, the aged, the dying, the strong in life and the recent dead are in the chambers of these many mansions.
the full of hope, the happy, the miserable and the desperate dwell together within the circle of my glance.
in some of the houses over which my eyes roam so coldly guilt is entering into hearts that are still tenanted by a debased and trodden virtue; guilt is on the very edge of commission, and the impending deed might be averted; guilt is done, and the criminal wonders if it be irrevocable.
there are broad thoughts struggling in my mind, and, were i able to give them distinctness, they would make their way in eloquence.
lo!
the raindrops are descending.
the clouds within a little time have gathered over all the sky, hanging heavily, as if about to drop in one unbroken mass upon the earth.
at intervals the lightning flashes from their brooding hearts, quivers, disappears, and then comes the thunder, travelling slowly after its twin-born flame.
a strong wind has sprung up, howls through the darkened streets, and raises the dust in dense bodies to rebel against the approaching storm.
the disbanded soldiers fly, the funeral has already vanished like its dead, and all people hurry homeward -- all that have a home -- while a few lounge by the corners or trudge on desperately at their leisure.
in a narrow lane which communicates with the shady street i discern the rich old merchant putting himself to the top of his speed lest the rain should convert his hair-powder to a paste.
unhappy gentleman!
by the slow vehemence and painful moderation wherewith he journeys, it is but too evident that podagra has left its thrilling tenderness in his great toe.
but yonder, at a far more rapid pace, come three other of my acquaintance, the two pretty girls and the young man unseasonably interrupted in their walk.
their footsteps are supported by the risen dust, the wind lends them its velocity, they fly like three sea-birds driven landward by the tempestuous breeze.
the ladies would not thus rival atalanta if they but knew that any one were at leisure to observe them.
ah!
as they hasten onward, laughing in the angry face of nature, a sudden catastrophe has chanced.
at the corner where the narrow lane enters into the street they come plump against the old merchant, whose tortoise-motion has just brought him to that point.
he likes not the sweet encounter; the darkness of the whole air gathers speedily upon his visage, and there is a pause on both sides.
finally he thrusts aside the youth with little courtesy, seizes an arm of each of the two girls, and plods onward like a magician with a prize of captive fairies.
all this is easy to be understood.
how disconsolate the poor lover stands, regardless of the rain that threatens an exceeding damage to his well-fashioned habiliments, till he catches a backward glance of mirth from a bright eye, and turns away with whatever comfort it conveys!
the old man and his daughters are safely housed, and now the storm lets loose its fury.
in every dwelling i perceive the faces of the chambermaids as they shut down the windows, excluding the impetuous shower and shrinking away from the quick fiery glare.
the large drops descend with force upon the slated roofs and rise again in smoke.
there is a rush and roar as of a river through the air, and muddy streams bubble majestically along the pavement, whirl their dusky foam into the kennel, and disappear beneath iron grates.
thus did arethusa sink.
i love not my station here aloft in the midst of the tumult which i am powerless to direct or quell, with the blue lightning wrinkling on my brow and the thunder muttering its first awful syllables in my ear.
i will descend.
yet let me give another glance to the sea, where the foam breaks out in long white lines upon a broad expanse of blackness or boils up in far-distant points like snowy mountain-tops in the eddies of a flood; and let me look once more at the green plain and little hills of the country, over which the giant of the storm is striding in robes of mist, and at the town whose obscured and desolate streets might beseem a city of the dead; and, turning a single moment to the sky, now gloomy as an author's prospects, i prepare to resume my station on lower earth.
but stay!
a little speck of azure has widened in the western heavens; the sunbeams find a passage and go rejoicing through the tempest, and on yonder darkest cloud, born like hallowed hopes of the glory of another world and the trouble and tears of this, brightens forth the rainbow.
the hollow of the three hills.
in those strange old times when fantastic dreams and madmen's reveries were realized among the actual circumstances of life, two persons met together at an appointed hour and place.
one was a lady graceful in form and fair of feature, though pale and troubled and smitten with an untimely blight in what should have been the fullest bloom of her years; the other was an ancient and meanly-dressed woman of ill-favored aspect, and so withered, shrunken and decrepit that even the space since she began to decay must have exceeded the ordinary term of human existence.
in the spot where they encountered no mortal could observe them.
three little hills stood near each other, and down in the midst of them sunk a hollow basin almost mathematically circular, two or three hundred feet in breadth and of such depth that a stately cedar might but just be visible above the sides.
dwarf pines were numerous upon the hills and partly fringed the outer verge of the intermediate hollow, within which there was nothing but the brown grass of october and here and there a tree-trunk that had fallen long ago and lay mouldering with no green successor from its roots.
one of these masses of decaying wood, formerly a majestic oak, rested close beside a pool of green and sluggish water at the bottom of the basin.
such scenes as this -lrb- so gray tradition tells -rrb- were once the resort of a power of evil and his plighted subjects, and here at midnight or on the dim verge of evening they were said to stand round the mantling pool disturbing its putrid waters in the performance of an impious baptismal rite.
the chill beauty of an autumnal sunset was now gilding the three hill-tops, whence a paler tint stole down their sides into the hollow.
""here is our pleasant meeting come to pass," said the aged crone, "according as thou hast desired.
say quickly what thou wouldst have of me, for there is but a short hour that we may tarry here."
as the old withered woman spoke a smile glimmered on her countenance like lamplight on the wall of a sepulchre.
the lady trembled and cast her eyes upward to the verge of the basin, as if meditating to return with her purpose unaccomplished.
but it was not so ordained.
""i am stranger in this land, as you know," said she, at length.
""whence i come it matters not, but i have left those behind me with whom my fate was intimately bound, and from whom i am cut off for ever.
there is a weight in my bosom that i can not away with, and i have come hither to inquire of their welfare."
""and who is there by this green pool that can bring thee news from the ends of the earth?"
cried the old woman, peering into the lady's face.
""not from my lips mayst thou hear these tidings; yet be thou bold, and the daylight shall not pass away from yonder hilltop before thy wish be granted."
""i will do your bidding though i die," replied the lady, desperately.
the old woman seated herself on the trunk of the fallen tree, threw aside the hood that shrouded her gray locks and beckoned her companion to draw near.
""kneel down," she said, "and lay your forehead on my knees."
she hesitated a moment, but the anxiety that had long been kindling burned fiercely up within her.
as she knelt down the border of her garment was dipped into the pool; she laid her forehead on the old woman's knees, and the latter drew a cloak about the lady's face, so that she was in darkness.
then she heard the muttered words of prayer, in the midst of which she started and would have arisen.
""let me flee!
let me flee and hide myself, that they may not look upon me!"
she cried.
but, with returning recollection, she hushed herself and was still as death, for it seemed as if other voices, familiar in infancy and unforgotten through many wanderings and in all the vicissitudes of her heart and fortune, were mingling with the accents of the prayer.
at first the words were faint and indistinct -- not rendered so by distance, but rather resembling the dim pages of a book which we strive to read by an imperfect and gradually brightening light.
in such a manner, as the prayer proceeded, did those voices strengthen upon the ear, till at length the petition ended, and the conversation of an aged man and of a woman broken and decayed like himself became distinctly audible to the lady as she knelt.
but those strangers appeared not to stand in the hollow depth between the three hills.
their voices were encompassed and re-echoed by the walls of a chamber the windows of which were rattling in the breeze; the regular vibration of a clock, the crackling of a fire and the tinkling of the embers as they fell among the ashes rendered the scene almost as vivid as if painted to the eye.
by a melancholy hearth sat these two old people, the man calmly despondent, the woman querulous and tearful, and their words were all of sorrow.
they spoke of a daughter, a wanderer they knew not where, bearing dishonor along with her and leaving shame and affliction to bring their gray heads to the grave.
they alluded also to other and more recent woe, but in the midst of their talk their voices seemed to melt into the sound of the wind sweeping mournfully among the autumn leaves; and when the lady lifted her eyes, there was she kneeling in the hollow between three hills.
""a weary and lonesome time yonder old couple have of it," remarked the old woman, smiling in the lady's face.
""and did you also hear them?"
exclaimed she, a sense of intolerable humiliation triumphing over her agony and fear.
""yea, and we have yet more to hear," replied the old woman, "wherefore cover thy face quickly."
again the withered hag poured forth the monotonous words of a prayer that was not meant to be acceptable in heaven, and soon in the pauses of her breath strange murmurings began to thicken, gradually increasing, so as to drown and overpower the charm by which they grew.
shrieks pierced through the obscurity of sound and were succeeded by the singing of sweet female voices, which in their turn gave way to a wild roar of laughter broken suddenly by groanings and sobs, forming altogether a ghastly confusion of terror and mourning and mirth.
chains were rattling, fierce and stern voices uttered threats and the scourge resounded at their command.
all these noises deepened and became substantial to the listener's ear, till she could distinguish every soft and dreamy accent of the love-songs that died causelessly into funeral-hymns.
she shuddered at the unprovoked wrath which blazed up like the spontaneous kindling of flume, and she grew faint at the fearful merriment raging miserably around her.
in the midst of this wild scene, where unbound passions jostled each other in a drunken career, there was one solemn voice of a man, and a manly and melodious voice it might once have been.
he went to and fro continually, and his feet sounded upon the floor.
in each member of that frenzied company whose own burning thoughts had become their exclusive world he sought an auditor for the story of his individual wrong, and interpreted their laughter and tears as his reward of scorn or pity.
he spoke of woman's perfidy, of a wife who had broken her holiest vows, of a home and heart made desolate.
even as he went on, the shout, the laugh, the shriek, the sob, rose up in unison, till they changed into the hollow, fitful and uneven sound of the wind as it fought among the pine trees on those three lonely hills.
the lady looked up, and there was the withered woman smiling in her face.
""couldst thou have thought there were such merry times in a mad-house?"
inquired the latter.
""true, true!"
said the lady to herself; "there is mirth within its walls, but misery, misery without."
""wouldst thou hear more?"
demanded the old woman.
""there is one other voice i would fain listen to again," replied the lady, faintly.
""then lay down thy head speedily upon my knees, that thou mayst get thee hence before the hour be past."
the golden skirts of day were yet lingering upon the hills, but deep shades obscured the hollow and the pool, as if sombre night wore rising thence to overspread the world.
again that evil woman began to weave her spell.
long did it proceed unanswered, till the knolling of a bell stole in among the intervals of her words like a clang that had travelled far over valley and rising ground and was just ready to die in the air.
the lady shook upon her companion's knees as she heard that boding sound.
stronger it grew, and sadder, and deepened into the tone of a death-bell, knolling dolefully from some ivy-mantled tower and bearing tidings of mortality and woe to the cottage, to the hall and to the solitary wayfarer, that all might weep for the doom appointed in turn to them.
then came a measured tread, passing slowly, slowly on, as of mourners with a coffin, their garments trailing on the ground, so that the ear could measure the length of their melancholy array.
before them went the priest, reading the burial-service, while the leaves of his book were rustling in the breeze.
and though no voice but his was heard to speak aloud, still there were revilings and anathemas, whispered but distinct, from women and from men, breathed against the daughter who had wrung the aged hearts of her parents, the wife who had betrayed the trusting fondness of her husband, the mother who had sinned against natural affection and left her child to die.
the sweeping sound of the funeral train faded away like a thin vapor, and the wind, that just before had seemed to shake the coffin-pall, moaned sadly round the verge of the hollow between three hills.
but when the old woman stirred the kneeling lady, she lifted not her head.
""here has been a sweet hour's sport!"
said the withered crone, chuckling to herself.
the toll-gatherer's day.
a sketch of transitory life.
methinks, for a person whose instinct bids him rather to pore over the current of life than to plunge into its tumultuous waves, no undesirable retreat were a toll-house beside some thronged thoroughfare of the land.
in youth, perhaps, it is good for the observer to run about the earth, to leave the track of his footsteps far and wide, to mingle himself with the action of numberless vicissitudes, and, finally, in some calm solitude to feed a musing spirit on all that he has seen and felt.
but there are natures too indolent or too sensitive to endure the dust, the sunshine or the rain, the turmoil of moral and physical elements, to which all the wayfarers of the world expose themselves.
for such a man how pleasant a miracle could life be made to roll its variegated length by the threshold of his own hermitage, and the great globe, as it were, perform its revolutions and shift its thousand scenes before his eyes without whirling him onward in its course!
if any mortal be favored with a lot analogous to this, it is the toll-gatherer.
so, at least, have i often fancied while lounging on a bench at the door of a small square edifice which stands between shore and shore in the midst of a long bridge.
beneath the timbers ebbs and flows an arm of the sea, while above, like the life-blood through a great artery, the travel of the north and east is continually throbbing.
sitting on the aforesaid bench, i amuse myself with a conception, illustrated by numerous pencil-sketches in the air, of the toll-gatherer's day.
in the morning -- dim, gray, dewy summer's morn -- the distant roll of ponderous wheels begins to mingle with my old friend's slumbers, creaking more and more harshly through the midst of his dream and gradually replacing it with realities.
hardly conscious of the change from sleep to wakefulness, he finds himself partly clad and throwing wide the toll-gates for the passage of a fragrant load of hay.
the timbers groan beneath the slow-revolving wheels; one sturdy yeoman stalks beside the oxen, and, peering from the summit of the hay, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished lantern over the toll-house is seen the drowsy visage of his comrade, who has enjoyed a nap some ten miles long.
the toll is paid; creak, creak, again go the wheels, and the huge hay-mow vanishes into the morning mist.
as yet nature is but half awake, and familiar objects appear visionary.
but yonder, dashing from the shore with a rattling thunder of the wheels and a confused clatter of hoofs, comes the never-tiring mail, which has hurried onward at the same headlong, restless rate all through the quiet night.
the bridge resounds in one continued peal as the coach rolls on without a pause, merely affording the toll-gatherer a glimpse at the sleepy passengers, who now bestir their torpid limbs and snuff a cordial in the briny air.
the morn breathes upon them and blushes, and they forget how wearily the darkness toiled away.
and behold now the fervid day in his bright chariot, glittering aslant over the waves, nor scorning to throw a tribute of his golden beams on the toll-gatherer's little hermitage.
the old man looks eastward, and -lrb- for he is a moralizer -rrb- frames a simile of the stage-coach and the sun.
while the world is rousing itself we may glance slightly at the scene of our sketch.
it sits above the bosom of the broad flood -- a spot not of earth, but in the midst of waters which rush with a murmuring sound among the massive beams beneath.
over the door is a weatherbeaten board inscribed with the rates of toll in letters so nearly effaced that the gilding of the sunshine can hardly make them legible.
beneath the window is a wooden bench on which a long succession of weary wayfarers have reposed themselves.
peeping within-doors, we perceive the whitewashed walls bedecked with sundry lithographic prints and advertisements of various import and the immense show-bill of a wandering caravan.
and there sits our good old toll-gatherer, glorified by the early sunbeams.
he is a man, as his aspect may announce, of quiet soul and thoughtful, shrewd, yet simple mind, who of the wisdom which the passing world scatters along the wayside has gathered a reasonable store.
now the sun smiles upon the landscape and earth smiles back again upon the sky.
frequent now are the travellers.
the toll-gatherer's practised ear can distinguish the weight of every vehicle, the number of its wheels and how many horses beat the resounding timbers with their iron tramp.
here, in a substantial family chaise, setting forth betimes to take advantage of the dewy road, come a gentleman and his wife with their rosy-cheeked little girl sitting gladsomely between them.
the bottom of the chaise is heaped with multifarious bandboxes and carpet-bags, and beneath the axle swings a leathern trunk dusty with yesterday's journey.
next appears a four-wheeled carryall peopled with a round half dozen of pretty girls, all drawn by a single horse and driven by a single gentleman.
luckless wight doomed through a whole summer day to be the butt of mirth and mischief among the frolicsome maidens!
bolt upright in a sulky rides a thin, sour-visaged man who as he pays his toll hands the toll-gatherer a printed card to stick upon the wall.
the vinegar-faced traveller proves to be a manufacturer of pickles.
now paces slowly from timber to timber a horseman clad in black, with a meditative brow, as of one who, whithersoever his steed might bear him, would still journey through a mist of brooding thought.
he is a country preacher going to labor at a protracted meeting.
the next object passing townward is a butcher's cart canopied with its arch of snow-white cotton.
behind comes a "sauceman" driving a wagon full of new potatoes, green ears of corn, beets, carrots, turnips and summer squashes, and next two wrinkled, withered witch-looking old gossips in an antediluvian chaise drawn by a horse of former generations and going to peddle out a lot of huckleberries.
see, there, a man trundling a wheelbarrow-load of lobsters.
and now a milk-cart rattles briskly onward, covered with green canvas and conveying the contributions of a whole herd of cows, in large tin canisters.
but let all these pay their toll and pass.
here comes a spectacle that causes the old toll-gatherer to smile benignantly, as if the travellers brought sunshine with them and lavished its gladsome influence all along the road.
it is a barouche of the newest style, the varnished panels of which reflect the whole moving panorama of the landscape, and show a picture, likewise, of our friend with his visage broadened, so that his meditative smile is transformed to grotesque merriment.
within sits a youth fresh as the summer morn, and beside him a young lady in white with white gloves upon her slender hands and a white veil flowing down over her face.
but methinks her blushing cheek burns through the snowy veil.
another white-robed virgin sits in front.
and who are these on whom, and on all that appertains to them, the dust of earth seems never to have settled?
two lovers whom the priest has blessed this blessed morn and sent them forth, with one of the bride-maids, on the matrimonial tour.
-- take my blessing too, ye happy ones!
may the sky not frown upon you nor clouds bedew you with their chill and sullen rain!
may the hot sun kindle no fever in your hearts!
may your whole life's pilgrimage be as blissful as this first day's journey, and its close be gladdened with even brighter anticipations than those which hallow your bridal-night!
they pass, and ere the reflection of their joy has faded from his face another spectacle throws a melancholy shadow over the spirit of the observing man.
in a close carriage sits a fragile figure muffled carefully and shrinking even from the mild breath of summer.
she leans against a manly form, and his arm enfolds her as if to guard his treasure from some enemy.
let but a few weeks pass, and when he shall strive to embrace that loved one, he will press only desolation to his heart.
and now has morning gathered up her dewy pearls and fled away.
the sun rolls blazing through the sky, and can not find a cloud to cool his face with.
the horses toil sluggishly along the bridge, and heave their glistening sides in short quick pantings when the reins are tightened at the toll-house.
glisten, too, the faces of the travellers.
their garments are thickly bestrewn with dust; their whiskers and hair look hoary; their throats are choked with the dusty atmosphere which they have left behind them.
no air is stirring on the road.
nature dares draw no breath lest she should inhale a stifling cloud of dust.
""a hot and dusty day!"
cry the poor pilgrims as they wipe their begrimed foreheads and woo the doubtful breeze which the river bears along with it.
-- "awful hot!
dreadful dusty!"
answers the sympathetic toll-gatherer.
they start again to pass through the fiery furnace, while he re-enters his cool hermitage and besprinkles it with a pail of briny water from the stream beneath.
he thinks within himself that the sun is not so fierce here as elsewhere, and that the gentle air doth not forget him in these sultry days.
yes, old friend, and a quiet heart will make a dog-day temperate.
he hears a weary footstep, and perceives a traveller with pack and staff, who sits down upon the hospitable bench and removes the hat from his wet brow.
the toll-gatherer administers a cup of cold water, and, discovering his guest to be a man of homely sense, he engages him in profitable talk, uttering the maxims of a philosophy which he has found in his own soul, but knows not how it came there.
and as the wayfarer makes ready to resume his journey he tells him a sovereign remedy for blistered feet.
now comes the noontide hour -- of all the hours, nearest akin to midnight, for each has its own calmness and repose.
soon, however, the world begins to turn again upon its axis, and it seems the busiest epoch of the day, when an accident impedes the march of sublunary things.
the draw being lifted to permit the passage of a schooner laden with wood from the eastern forests, she sticks immovably right athwart the bridge.
meanwhile, on both sides of the chasm a throng of impatient travellers fret and fume.
here are two sailors in a gig with the top thrown back, both puffing cigars and swearing all sorts of forecastle oaths; there, in a smart chaise, a dashingly-dressed gentleman and lady, he from a tailor's shop-board and she from a milliner's back room -- the aristocrats of a summer afternoon.
and what are the haughtiest of us but the ephemeral aristocrats of a summer's day?
here is a tin-pedler whose glittering ware bedazzles all beholders like a travelling meteor or opposition sun, and on the other side a seller of spruce beer, which brisk liquor is confined in several dozen of stone bottles.
here conic a party of ladies on horseback, in green ridings habits, and gentlemen attendant, and there a flock of sheep for the market, pattering over the bridge with a multitude nous clatter of their little hoofs; here a frenchman with a hand-organ on his shoulder, and there an itinerant swiss jeweller.
on this side, heralded by a blast of clarions and bugles, appears a train of wagons conveying all the wild beasts of a caravan; and on that a company of summer soldiers marching from village to village on a festival campaign, attended by the "brass band."
now look at the scene, and it presents an emblem of the mysterious confusion, the apparently insolvable riddle, in which individuals, or the great world itself, seem often to be involved.
what miracle shall set all things right again?
but see!
the schooner has thrust her bulky carcase through the chasm; the draw descends; horse and foot pass onward and leave the bridge vacant from end to end.
""and thus," muses the toll-gatherer, "have i found it with all stoppages, even though the universe seemed to be at a stand."
the sage old man!
far westward now the reddening sun throws a broad sheet of splendor across the flood, and to the eyes of distant boatmen gleams brightly among the timbers of the bridge.
strollers come from the town to quaff the freshening breeze.
one or two let down long lines and haul up flapping flounders or cunners or small cod, or perhaps an eel.
others, and fair girls among them, with the flush of the hot day still on their cheeks, bend over the railing and watch the heaps of seaweed floating upward with the flowing tide.
the horses now tramp heavily along the bridge and wistfully bethink them of their stables.
-- rest, rest, thou weary world!
for to-morrow's round of toil and pleasure will be as wearisome as to-day's has been, yet both shall bear thee onward a day's march of eternity.
-- now the old toll-gatherer looks seaward and discerns the lighthouse kindling on a far island, and the stars, too, kindling in the sky, as if but a little way beyond; and, mingling reveries of heaven with remembrances of earth, the whole procession of mortal travellers, all the dusty pilgrimage which he has witnessed, seems like a flitting show of phantoms for his thoughtful soul to muse upon.
the vision of the fountain.
at fifteen i became a resident in a country village more than a hundred miles from home.
the morning after my arrival -- a september morning, but warm and bright as any in july -- i rambled into a wood of oaks with a few walnut trees intermixed, forming the closest shade above my head.
the ground was rocky, uneven, overgrown with bushes and clumps of young saplings and traversed only by cattle-paths.
the track which i chanced to follow led me to a crystal spring with a border of grass as freshly green as on may morning, and overshadowed by the limb of a great oak.
one solitary sunbeam found its way down and played like a goldfish in the water.
from my childhood i have loved to gaze into a spring.
the water filled a circular basin, small but deep and set round with stones, some of which were covered with slimy moss, the others naked and of variegated hue -- reddish, white and brown.
the bottom was covered with coarse sand, which sparkled in the lonely sunbeam and seemed to illuminate the spring with an unborrowed light.
in one spot the gush of the water violently agitated the sand, but without obscuring the fountain or breaking the glassiness of its surface.
it appeared as if some living creature were about to emerge -- the naiad of the spring, perhaps, in the shape of a beautiful young woman with a gown of filmy water-moss, a belt of rainbow-drops and a cold, pure, passionless countenance.
how would the beholder shiver, pleasantly yet fearfully, to see her sitting on one of the stones, paddling her white feet in the ripples and throwing up water to sparkle in the sun!
wherever she laid her hands on grass and flowers, they would immediately be moist, as with morning dew.
then would she set about her labors, like a careful housewife, to clear the fountain of withered leaves, and bits of slimy wood, and old acorns from the oaks above, and grains of corn left by cattle in drinking, till the bright sand in the bright water were like a treasury of diamonds.
but, should the intruder approach too near, he would find only the drops of a summer shower glistening about the spot where he had seen her.
reclining on the border of grass where the dewy goddess should have been, i bent forward, and a pair of eyes met mine within the watery mirror.
they were the reflection of my own.
i looked again, and, lo!
another face, deeper in the fountain than my own image, more distinct in all the features, yet faint as thought.
the vision had the aspect of a fair young girl with locks of paly gold.
a mirthful expression laughed in the eyes and dimpled over the whole shadowy countenance, till it seemed just what a fountain would be if, while dancing merrily into the sunshine, it should assume the shape of woman.
through the dim rosiness of the cheeks i could see the brown leaves, the slimy twigs, the acorns and the sparkling sand.
the solitary sunbeam was diffused among the golden hair, which melted into its faint brightness and became a glory round that head so beautiful.
my description can give no idea how suddenly the fountain was thus tenanted and how soon it was left desolate.
i breathed, and there was the face; i held my breath, and it was gone.
had it passed away or faded into nothing?
i doubted whether it had ever been.
my sweet readers, what a dreamy and delicious hour did i spend where that vision found and left me!
for a long time i sat perfectly still, waiting till it should reappear, and fearful that the slightest motion, or even the flutter of my breath, might frighten it away.
thus have i often started from a pleasant dream, and then kept quiet in hopes to wile it back.
deep were my musings as to the race and attributes of that ethereal being.
had i created her?
was she the daughter of my fancy, akin to those strange shapes which peep under the lids of children's eyes?
and did her beauty gladden me for that one moment and then die?
or was she a water-nymph within the fountain, or fairy or woodland goddess peeping over my shoulder, or the ghost of some forsaken maid who had drowned herself for love?
or, in good truth, had a lovely girl with a warm heart and lips that would bear pressure stolen softly behind me and thrown her image into the spring?
i watched and waited, but no vision came again.
i departed, but with a spell upon me which drew me back that same afternoon to the haunted spring.
there was the water gushing, the sand sparkling and the sunbeam glimmering.
there the vision was not, but only a great frog, the hermit of that solitude, who immediately withdrew his speckled snout and made himself invisible -- all except a pair of long legs -- beneath a stone.
methought he had a devilish look.
i could have slain him as an enchanter who kept the mysterious beauty imprisoned in the fountain.
sad and heavy, i was returning to the village.
between me and the church-spire rose a little hill, and on its summit a group of trees insulated from all the rest of the wood, with their own share of radiance hovering on them from the west and their own solitary shadow falling to the east.
the afternoon being far declined, the sunshine was almost pensive and the shade almost cheerful; glory and gloom were mingled in the placid light, as if the spirits of the day and evening had met in friendship under those trees and found themselves akin.
i was admiring the picture when the shape of a young girl emerged from behind the clump of oaks.
my heart knew her: it was the vision, but so distant and ethereal did she seem, so unmixed with earth, so imbued with the pensive glory of the spot where she was standing, that my spirit sunk within me, sadder than before.
how could i ever reach her?
while i gazed a sudden shower came pattering down upon the leaves.
in a moment the air was full of brightness, each raindrop catching a portion of sunlight as it fell, and the whole gentle shower appearing like a mist, just substantial enough to bear the burden of radiance.
a rainbow vivid as niagara's was painted in the air.
its southern limb came down before the group of trees and enveloped the fair vision as if the hues of heaven were the only garment for her beauty.
when the rainbow vanished, she who had seemed a part of it was no longer there.
was her existence absorbed in nature's loveliest phenomenon, and did her pure frame dissolve away in the varied light?
yet i would not despair of her return, for, robed in the rainbow, she was the emblem of hope.
thus did the vision leave me, and many a doleful day succeeded to the parting moment.
by the spring and in the wood and on the hill and through the village, at dewy sunrise, burning noon, and at that magic hour of sunset, when she had vanished from my sight, i sought her, but in vain.
weeks came and went, months rolled away, and she appeared not in them.
i imparted my mystery to none, but wandered to and fro or sat in solitude like one that had caught a glimpse of heaven and could take no more joy on earth.
i withdrew into an inner world where my thoughts lived and breathed, and the vision in the midst of them.
without intending it, i became at once the author and hero of a romance, conjuring up rivals, imagining events, the actions of others and my own, and experiencing every change of passion, till jealousy and despair had their end in bliss.
oh, had i the burning fancy of my early youth with manhood's colder gift, the power of expression, your hearts, sweet ladies, should flutter at my tale.
in the middle of january i was summoned home.
the day before my departure, visiting the spots which had been hallowed by the vision, i found that the spring had a frozen bosom, and nothing but the snow and a glare of winter sunshine on the hill of the rainbow.
""let me hope," thought i, "or my heart will be as icy as the fountain and the whole world as desolate as this snowy hill."
most of the day was spent in preparing for the journey, which was to commence at four o'clock the next morning.
about an hour after supper, when all was in readiness, i descended from my chamber to the sitting-room to take leave of the old clergyman and his family with whom i had been an inmate.
a gust of wind blew out my lamp as i passed through the entry.
according to their invariable custom -- so pleasant a one when the fire blazes cheerfully -- the family were sitting in the parlor with no other light than what came from the hearth.
as the good clergyman's scanty stipend compelled him to use all sorts of economy, the foundation of his fires was always a large heap of tan, or ground bark, which would smoulder away from morning till night with a dull warmth and no flame.
this evening the heap of tan was newly put on and surmounted with three sticks of red oak full of moisture, and a few pieces of dry pine that had not yet kindled.
there was no light except the little that came sullenly from two half-burnt brands, without even glimmering on the andirons.
but i knew the position of the old minister's arm-chair, and also where his wife sat with her knitting-work, and how to avoid his two daughters -- one a stout country lass, and the other a consumptive girl.
groping through the gloom, i found my own place next to that of the son, a learned collegian who had come home to keep school in the village during the winter vacation.
i noticed that there was less room than usual to-night between the collegian's chair and mine.
as people are always taciturn in the dark, not a word was said for some time after my entrance.
nothing broke the stillness but the regular click of the matron's knitting-needles.
at times the fire threw out a brief and dusky gleam which twinkled on the old man's glasses and hovered doubtfully round our circle, but was far too faint to portray the individuals who composed it.
were we not like ghosts?
dreamy as the scene was, might it not be a type of the mode in which departed people who had known and loved each other here would hold communion in eternity?
we were aware of each other's presence, not by sight nor sound nor touch, but by an inward consciousness.
would it not be so among the dead?
the silence was interrupted by the consumptive daughter addressing a remark to some one in the circle whom she called rachel.
her tremulous and decayed accents were answered by a single word, but in a voice that made me start and bend toward the spot whence it had proceeded.
had i ever heard that sweet, low tone?
if not, why did it rouse up so many old recollections, or mockeries of such, the shadows of things familiar yet unknown, and fill my mind with confused images of her features who had spoken, though buried in the gloom of the parlor?
whom had my heart recognized, that it throbbed so?
i listened to catch her gentle breathing, and strove by the intensity of my gaze to picture forth a shape where none was visible.
suddenly the dry pine caught; the fire blazed up with a ruddy glow, and where the darkness had been, there was she -- the vision of the fountain.
a spirit of radiance only, she had vanished with the rainbow and appeared again in the firelight, perhaps to flicker with the blaze and be gone.
vet her cheek was rosy and lifelike, and her features, in the bright warmth of the room, were even sweeter and tenderer than my recollection of them.
she knew me.
the mirthful expression that had laughed in her eyes and dimpled over her countenance when i beheld her faint beauty in the fountain was laughing and dimpling there now.
one moment our glance mingled; the next, down rolled the heap of tan upon the kindled wood, and darkness snatched away that daughter of the light, and gave her back to me no more!
fair ladies, there is nothing more to tell.
must the simple mystery be revealed, then, that rachel was the daughter of the village squire and had left home for a boarding-school the morning after i arrived and returned the day before my departure?
if i transformed her to an angel, it is what every youthful lover does for his mistress.
therein consists the essence of my story.
but slight the change, sweet maids, to make angels of yourselves.
fancy's show-box.
a morality.
what is guilt?
a stain upon the soul.
and it is a point of vast interest whether the soul may contract such stains in all their depth and flagrancy from deeds which may have been plotted and resolved upon, but which physically have never had existence.
must the fleshly hand and visible frame of man set its seal to the evil designs of the soul, in order to give them their entire validity against the sinner?
or, while none but crimes perpetrated are cognizable before an earthly tribunal, will guilty thoughts -- of which guilty deeds are no more than shadows, -- will these draw down the full weight of a condemning sentence in the supreme court of eternity?
in the solitude of a midnight chamber or in a desert afar from men or in a church while the body is kneeling the soul may pollute itself even with those crimes which we are accustomed to deem altogether carnal.
if this be true, it is a fearful truth.
let us illustrate the subject by an imaginary example.
a venerable gentleman -- one mr. smith -- who had long been regarded as a pattern of moral excellence was warming his aged blood with a glass or two of generous wine.
his children being gone forth about their worldly business and his grandchildren at school, he sat alone in a deep luxurious arm-chair with his feet beneath a richly-carved mahogany table.
some old people have a dread of solitude, and when better company may not be had rejoice even to hear the quiet breathing of a babe asleep upon the carpet.
but mr. smith, whose silver hair was the bright symbol of a life unstained except by such spots as are inseparable from human nature -- he had no need of a babe to protect him by its purity, nor of a grown person to stand between him and his own soul.
nevertheless, either manhood must converse with age, or womanhood must soothe him with gentle cares, or infancy must sport around his chair, or his thoughts will stray into the misty region of the past and the old man be chill and sad.
wine will not always cheer him.
such might have been the case with mr. smith, when, through the brilliant medium of his glass of old madeira, he beheld three figures entering the room.
these were fancy, who had assumed the garb and aspect of an itinerant showman, with a box of pictures on her back; and memory, in the likeness of a clerk, with a pen behind her ear, an inkhorn at her buttonhole and a huge manuscript volume beneath her arm; and lastly, behind the other two, a person shrouded in a dusky mantle which concealed both face and form.
but mr. smith had a shrewd idea that it was conscience.
how kind of fancy, memory and conscience to visit the old gentleman just as he was beginning to imagine that the wine had neither so bright a sparkle nor so excellent a flavor as when himself and the liquor were less aged!
through the dim length of the apartment, where crimson curtains muffled the glare of sunshine and created a rich obscurity, the three guests drew near the silver-haired old man.
memory, with a finger between the leaves of her huge volume, placed herself at his right hand; conscience, with her face still hidden in the dusky mantle, took her station on the left, so as to be next his heart; while fancy set down her picture-box upon the table with the magnifying-glass convenient to his eye.
we can sketch merely the outlines of two or three out of the many pictures which at the pulling of a string successively peopled the box with the semblances of living scenes.
one was a moonlight picture, in the background a lowly dwelling, and in front, partly shadowed by a tree, yet besprinkled with flakes of radiance, two youthful figures, male and female.
the young man stood with folded arms, a haughty smile upon his lip and a gleam of triumph in his eye as he glanced downward at the kneeling girl.
she was almost prostrate at his feet, evidently sinking under a weight of shame and anguish which hardly allowed her to lift her clasped hands in supplication.
her eyes she could not lift.
but neither her agony, nor the lovely features on which it was depicted, nor the slender grace of the form which it convulsed, appeared to soften the obduracy of the young man.
he was the personification of triumphant scorn.
now, strange to say, as old mr. smith peeped through the magnifying-glass, which made the objects start out from the canvas with magical deception, he began to recognize the farmhouse, the tree and both the figures of the picture.
the young man in times long past had often met his gaze within the looking-glass; the girl was the very image of his first love -- his cottage-love, his martha burroughs.
mr. smith was scandalized.
""oh, vile and slanderous picture!"
he exclaims.
""when have i triumphed over ruined innocence?
was not martha wedded in her teens to david tomkins, who won her girlish love and long enjoyed her affection as a wife?
and ever since his death she has lived a reputable widow!"
meantime, memory was turning over the leaves of her volume, rustling them to and fro with uncertain fingers, until among the earlier pages she found one which had reference to this picture.
she reads it close to the old gentleman's ear: it is a record merely of sinful thought which never was embodied in an act, but, while memory is reading, conscience unveils her face and strikes a dagger to the heart of mr. smith.
though not a death-blow, the torture was extreme.
the exhibition proceeded.
one after another fancy displayed her pictures, all of which appeared to have been painted by some malicious artist on purpose to vex mr. smith.
not a shadow of proof could have been adduced in any earthly court that he was guilty of the slightest of those sins which were thus made to stare him in the face.
in one scene there was a table set out, with several bottles and glasses half filled with wine, which threw back the dull ray of an expiring lamp.
there had been mirth and revelry until the hand of the clock stood just at midnight, when murder stepped between the boon-companions.
a young man had fallen on the floor, and lay stone dead with a ghastly wound crushed into his temple, while over him, with a delirium of mingled rage and horror in his countenance, stood the youthful likeness of mr. smith.
the murdered youth wore the features of edward spencer.
""what does this rascal of a painter mean?"
cries mr. smith, provoked beyond all patience.
""edward spencer was my earliest and dearest friend, true to me as i to him through more than half a century.
neither i nor any other ever murdered him.
was he not alive within five years, and did he not, in token of our long friendship, bequeath me his gold-headed cane and a mourning-ring?"
again had memory been turning over her volume, and fixed at length upon so confused a page that she surely must have scribbled it when she was tipsy.
the purport was, however, that while mr. smith and edward spencer were heating their young blood with wine a quarrel had flashed up between them, and mr. smith, in deadly wrath, had flung a bottle at spencer's head.
true, it missed its aim and merely smashed a looking-glass; and the next morning, when the incident was imperfectly remembered, they had shaken hands with a hearty laugh.
yet, again, while memory was reading, conscience unveiled her face, struck a dagger to the heart of mr. smith and quelled his remonstrance with her iron frown.
the pain was quite excruciating.
some of the pictures had been painted with so doubtful a touch, and in colors so faint and pale, that the subjects could barely be conjectured.
a dull, semi-transparent mist had been thrown over the surface of the canvas, into which the figures seemed to vanish while the eye sought most earnestly to fix them.
but in every scene, however dubiously portrayed, mr. smith was invariably haunted by his own lineaments at various ages as in a dusty mirror.
after poring several minutes over one of these blurred and almost indistinguishable pictures, he began to see that the painter had intended to represent him, now in the decline of life, as stripping the clothes from the backs of three half-starved children.
""really, this puzzles me!"
quoth mr. smith, with the irony of conscious rectitude.
""asking pardon of the painter, i pronounce him a fool as well as a scandalous knave.
a man of my standing in the world to be robbing little children of their clothes!
ridiculous!"
but while he spoke memory had searched her fatal volume and found a page which with her sad calm voice she poured into his ear.
it was not altogether inapplicable to the misty scene.
it told how mr. smith had been grievously tempted by many devilish sophistries, on the ground of a legal quibble, to commence a lawsuit against three orphan-children, joint-heirs to a considerable estate.
fortunately, before he was quite decided, his claims had turned out nearly as devoid of law as justice.
as memory ceased to read conscience again thrust aside her mantle, and would have struck her victim with the envenomed dagger only that he struggled and clasped his hands before his heart.
even then, however, he sustained an ugly gash.
why should we follow fancy through the whole series of those awful pictures?
painted by an artist of wondrous power and terrible acquaintance with the secret soul, they embodied the ghosts of all the never-perpetrated sins that had glided through the lifetime of mr. smith.
and could such beings of cloudy fantasy, so near akin to nothingness, give valid evidence against him at the day of judgment?
be that the case or not, there is reason to believe that one truly penitential tear would have washed away each hateful picture and left the canvas white as snow.
but mr. smith, at a prick of conscience too keen to be endured, bellowed aloud with impatient agony, and suddenly discovered that his three guests were gone.
there he sat alone, a silver-haired and highly-venerated old man, in the rich gloom of the crimsoned-curtained room, with no box of pictures on the table, but only a decanter of most excellent madeira.
yet his heart still seemed to fester with the venom of the dagger.
nevertheless, the unfortunate old gentleman might have argued the matter with conscience and alleged many reasons wherefore she should not smite him so pitilessly.
were we to take up his cause, it should be somewhat in the following fashion.
a scheme of guilt, till it be put in execution, greatly resembles a train of incidents in a projected tale.
the latter, in order to produce a sense of reality in the reader's mind, must be conceived with such proportionate strength by the author as to seem in the glow of fancy more like truth, past, present or to come, than purely fiction.
the prospective sinner, on the other hand, weaves his plot of crime, but seldom or never feels a perfect certainty that it will be executed.
there is a dreaminess diffused about his thoughts; in a dream, as it were, he strikes the death-blow into his victim's heart and starts to find an indelible blood-stain on his hand.
thus a novel-writer or a dramatist, in creating a villain of romance and fitting him with evil deeds, and the villain of actual life in projecting crimes that will be perpetrated, may almost meet each other halfway between reality and fancy.
it is not until the crime is accomplished that guilt clenches its gripe upon the guilty heart and claims it for his own.
then, and not before, sin is actually felt and acknowledged, and, if unaccompanied by repentance, grows a thousandfold more virulent by its self-consciousness.
be it considered, also, that men often overestimate their capacity for evil.
at a distance, while its attendant circumstances do not press upon their notice and its results are dimly seen, they can bear to contemplate it.
they may take the steps which lead to crime, impelled by the same sort of mental action as in working out a mathematical problem, yet be powerless with compunction at the final moment.
they knew not what deed it was that they deemed themselves resolved to do.
in truth, there is no such thing in man's nature as a settled and full resolve, either for good or evil, except at the very moment of execution.
let us hope, therefore, that all the dreadful consequences of sin will not be incurred unless the act have set its seal upon the thought.
yet, with the slight fancy-work which we have framed, some sad and awful truths are interwoven.
man must not disclaim his brotherhood even with the guiltiest, since, though his hand be clean, his heart has surely been polluted by the flitting phantoms of iniquity.
he must feel that when he shall knock at the gate of heaven no semblance of an unspotted life can entitle him to entrance there.
penitence must kneel and mercy come from the footstool of the throne, or that golden gate will never open.
dr. heidegger's experiment.
that very singular man old dr. heidegger once invited four venerable friends to meet him in his study.
there were three white-bearded gentlemen -- mr. medbourne, colonel killigrew and mr. gascoigne -- and a withered gentlewoman whose name was the widow wycherly.
they were all melancholy old creatures who had been unfortunate in life, and whose greatest misfortune it was that they were not long ago in their graves.
mr. medbourne, in the vigor of his age, had been a prosperous merchant, but had lost his all by a frantic speculation, and was now little better than a mendicant.
colonel killigrew had wasted his best years and his health and substance in the pursuit of sinful pleasures which had given birth to a brood of pains, such as the gout and divers other torments of soul and body.
mr. gascoigne was a ruined politician, a man of evil fame -- or, at least, had been so till time had buried him from the knowledge of the present generation and made him obscure instead of infamous.
as for the widow wycherly, tradition tells us that she was a great beauty in her day, but for a long while past she had lived in deep seclusion on account of certain scandalous stories which had prejudiced the gentry of the town against her.
it is a circumstance worth mentioning that each of these three old gentlemen -- mr. medbourne, colonel killigrew and mr. gascoigne -- were early lovers of the widow wycherly, and had once been on the point of cutting each other's throats for her sake.
and before proceeding farther i will merely hint that dr. heidegger and all his four guests were sometimes thought to be a little beside themselves, as is not infrequently the case with old people when worried either by present troubles or woeful recollections.
""my dear old friends," said dr. heidegger, motioning them to be seated, "i am desirous of your assistance in one of those little experiments with which i amuse myself here in my study."
if all stories were true, dr. heidegger's study must have been a very curious place.
it was a dim, old-fashioned chamber festooned with cobwebs and besprinkled with antique dust.
around the walls stood several oaken bookcases, the lower shelves of which were filled with rows of gigantic folios and black-letter quartos, and the upper with little parchment-covered duodecimos.
over the central bookcase was a bronze bust of hippocrates, with which, according to some authorities, dr. heidegger was accustomed to hold consultations in all difficult cases of his practice.
in the obscurest corner of the room stood a tall and narrow oaken closet with its door ajar, within which doubtfully appeared a skeleton.
between two of the bookcases hung a looking-glass, presenting its high and dusty plate within a tarnished gilt frame.
among many wonderful stories related of this mirror, it was fabled that the spirits of all the doctor's deceased patients dwelt within its verge and would stare him in the face whenever he looked thitherward.
the opposite side of the chamber was ornamented with the full-length portrait of a young lady arrayed in the faded magnificence of silk, satin and brocade, and with a visage as faded as her dress.
above half a century ago dr. heidegger had been on the point of marriage with this young lady, but, being affected with some slight disorder, she had swallowed one of her lover's prescriptions and died on the bridal-evening.
the greatest curiosity of the study remains to be mentioned: it was a ponderous folio volume bound in black leather, with massive silver clasps.
there were no letters on the back, and nobody could tell the title of the book.
but it was well known to be a book of magic, and once, when a chambermaid had lifted it merely to brush away the dust, the skeleton had rattled in its closet, the picture of the young lady had stepped one foot upon the floor and several ghastly faces had peeped forth from the mirror, while the brazen head of hippocrates frowned and said, "forbear!"
such was dr. heidegger's study.
on the summer afternoon of our tale a small round table as black as ebony stood in the centre of the room, sustaining a cut-glass vase of beautiful form and elaborate workmanship.
the sunshine came through the window between the heavy festoons of two faded damask curtains and fell directly across this vase, so that a mild splendor was reflected from it on the ashen visages of the five old people who sat around.
four champagne-glasses were also on the table.
""my dear old friends," repeated dr. heidegger, "may i reckon on your aid in performing an exceedingly curious experiment?"
now, dr. heidegger was a very strange old gentleman whose eccentricity had become the nucleus for a thousand fantastic stories.
some of these fables -- to my shame be it spoken -- might possibly be traced back to mine own veracious self; and if any passages of the present tale should startle the reader's faith, i must be content to bear the stigma of a fiction-monger.
when the doctor's four guests heard him talk of his proposed experiment, they anticipated nothing more wonderful than the murder of a mouse in an air-pump or the examination of a cobweb by the microscope, or some similar nonsense with which he was constantly in the habit of pestering his intimates.
but without waiting for a reply dr. heidegger hobbled across the chamber and returned with the same ponderous folio bound in black leather which common report affirmed to be a book of magic.
undoing the silver clasps, he opened the volume and took from among its black-letter pages a rose, or what was once a rose, though now the green leaves and crimson petals had assumed one brownish hue and the ancient flower seemed ready to crumble to dust in the doctor's hands.
""this rose," said dr. heidegger, with a sigh -- "this same withered and crumbling flower -- blossomed five and fifty years ago.
it was given me by sylvia ward, whose portrait hangs yonder, and i meant to wear it in my bosom at our wedding.
five and fifty years it has been treasured between the leaves of this old volume.
now, would you deem it possible that this rose of half a century could ever bloom again?"
""nonsense!"
said the widow wycherly, with a peevish toss of her head.
""you might as well ask whether an old woman's wrinkled face could ever bloom again."
""see!"
answered dr. heidegger.
he uncovered the vase and threw the faded rose into the water which it contained.
at first it lay lightly on the surface of the fluid, appearing to imbibe none of its moisture.
soon, however, a singular change began to be visible.
the crushed and dried petals stirred and assumed a deepening tinge of crimson, as if the flower were reviving from a deathlike slumber, the slender stalk and twigs of foliage became green, and there was the rose of half a century, looking as fresh as when sylvia ward had first given it to her lover.
it was scarcely full-blown, for some of its delicate red leaves curled modestly around its moist bosom, within which two or three dewdrops were sparkling.
""that is certainly a very pretty deception," said the doctor's friends -- carelessly, however, for they had witnessed greater miracles at a conjurer's show.
""pray, how was it effected?"
""did you never hear of the fountain of youth?"
asked dr. heidegger, "which ponce de leon, the spanish adventurer, went in search of two or three centuries ago?"
""but did ponce de leon ever find it?"
said the widow wycherly.
""no," answered dr. heidegger, "for he never sought it in the right place.
the famous fountain of youth, if i am rightly informed, is situated in the southern part of the floridian peninsula, not far from lake macaco.
its source is overshadowed by several gigantic magnolias which, though numberless centuries old, have been kept as fresh as violets by the virtues of this wonderful water.
an acquaintance of mine, knowing my curiosity in such matters, has sent me what you see in the vase."
""ahem!"
said colonel killigrew, who believed not a word of the doctor's story; "and what may be the effect of this fluid on the human frame?"
""you shall judge for yourself, my dear colonel," replied dr. heidegger.
-- "and all of you, my respected friends, are welcome to so much of this admirable fluid as may restore to you the bloom of youth.
for my own part, having had much trouble in growing old, i am in no hurry to grow young again.
with your permission, therefore, i will merely watch the progress of the experiment."
while he spoke dr. heidegger had been filling the four champagne-glasses with the water of the fountain of youth.
it was apparently impregnated with an effervescent gas, for little bubbles were continually ascending from the depths of the glasses and bursting in silvery spray at the surface.
as the liquor diffused a pleasant perfume, the old people doubted not that it possessed cordial and comfortable properties, and, though utter sceptics as to its rejuvenescent power, they were inclined to swallow it at once.
but dr. heidegger besought them to stay a moment.
""before you drink, my respectable old friends," said he, "it would be well that, with the experience of a lifetime to direct you, you should draw up a few general rules for your guidance in passing a second time through the perils of youth.
think what a sin and shame it would be if, with your peculiar advantages, you should not become patterns of virtue and wisdom to all the young people of the age!"
the doctor's four venerable friends made him no answer except by a feeble and tremulous laugh, so very ridiculous was the idea that, knowing how closely repentance treads behind the steps of error, they should ever go astray again.
""drink, then," said the doctor, bowing; "i rejoice that i have so well selected the subjects of my experiment."
with palsied hands they raised the glasses to their lips.
the liquor, if it really possessed such virtues as dr. heidegger imputed to it, could not have been bestowed on four human beings who needed it more woefully.
they looked as if they had never known what youth or pleasure was, but had been the offspring of nature's dotage, and always the gray, decrepit, sapless, miserable creatures who now sat stooping round the doctor's table without life enough in their souls or bodies to be animated even by the prospect of growing young again.
they drank off the water and replaced their glasses on the table.
assuredly, there was an almost immediate improvement in the aspect of the party -- not unlike what might have been produced by a glass of generous wine -- together with a sudden glow of cheerful sunshine, brightening over all their visages at once.
there was a healthful suffusion on their cheeks instead of the ashen hue that had made them look so corpse-like.
they gazed at one another, and fancied that some magic power had really begun to smooth away the deep and sad inscriptions which father time had been so long engraving on their brows.
the widow wycherly adjusted her cap, for she felt almost like a woman again.
""give us more of this wondrous water," cried they, eagerly.
""we are younger, but we are still too old.
quick!
give us more!"
""patience, patience!"
quoth dr. heidegger, who sat, watching the experiment with philosophic coolness.
""you have been a long time growing old; surely you might be content to grow young in half an hour.
but the water is at your service."
again he filled their glasses with the liquor of youth, enough of which still remained in the vase to turn half the old people in the city to the age of their own grandchildren.
while the bubbles were yet sparkling on the brim the doctor's four guests snatched their glasses from the table and swallowed the contents at a single gulp.
was it delusion?
even while the draught was passing down their throats it seemed to have wrought a change on their whole systems.
their eyes grew clear and bright; a dark shade deepened among their silvery locks: they sat around the table three gentlemen of middle age and a woman hardly beyond her buxom prime.
""my dear widow, you are charming!"
cried colonel killigrew, whose eyes had been fixed upon her face while the shadows of age were flitting from it like darkness from the crimson daybreak.
the fair widow knew of old that colonel killigrew's compliments were not always measured by sober truth; so she started up and ran to the mirror, still dreading that the ugly visage of an old woman would meet her gaze.
meanwhile, the three gentlemen behaved in such a manner as proved that the water of the fountain of youth possessed some intoxicating qualities -- unless, indeed, their exhilaration of spirits were merely a lightsome dizziness caused by the sudden removal of the weight of years.
mr. gascoigne's mind seemed to run on political topics, but whether relating to the past, present or future could not easily be determined, since the same ideas and phrases have been in vogue these fifty years.
now he rattled forth full-throated sentences about patriotism, national glory and the people's right; now he muttered some perilous stuff or other in a sly and doubtful whisper, so cautiously that even his own conscience could scarcely catch the secret; and now, again, he spoke in measured accents and a deeply-deferential tone, as if a royal ear were listening to his well-turned periods.
colonel killigrew all this time had been trolling forth a jolly bottle-song and ringing his glass in symphony with the chorus, while his eyes wandered toward the buxom figure of the widow wycherly.
on the other side of the table, mr. medbourne was involved in a calculation of dollars and cents with which was strangely intermingled a project for supplying the east indies with ice by harnessing a team of whales to the polar icebergs.
as for the widow wycherly, she stood before the mirror courtesying and simpering to her own image and greeting it as the friend whom she loved better than all the world besides.
she thrust her face close to the glass to see whether some long-remembered wrinkle or crow's - foot had indeed vanished; she examined whether the snow had so entirely melted from her hair that the venerable cap could be safely thrown aside.
at last, turning briskly away, she came with a sort of dancing step to the table.
""my dear old doctor," cried she, "pray favor me with another glass."
""certainly, my dear madam -- certainly," replied the complaisant doctor.
""see!
i have already filled the glasses."
there, in fact, stood the four glasses brimful of this wonderful water, the delicate spray of which, as it effervesced from the surface, resembled the tremulous glitter of diamonds.
it was now so nearly sunset that the chamber had grown duskier than ever, but a mild and moonlike splendor gleamed from within the vase and rested alike on the four guests and on the doctor's venerable figure.
he sat in a high-backed, elaborately-carved oaken arm-chair with a gray dignity of aspect that might have well befitted that very father time whose power had never been disputed save by this fortunate company.
even while quaffing the third draught of the fountain of youth, they were almost awed by the expression of his mysterious visage.
but the next moment the exhilarating gush of young life shot through their veins.
they were now in the happy prime of youth.
age, with its miserable train of cares and sorrows and diseases, was remembered only as the trouble of a dream from which they had joyously awoke.
the fresh gloss of the soul, so early lost and without which the world's successive scenes had been but a gallery of faded pictures, again threw its enchantment over all their prospects.
they felt like new-created beings in a new-created universe.
""we are young!
we are young!"
they cried, exultingly.
youth, like the extremity of age, had effaced the strongly-marked characteristics of middle life and mutually assimilated them all.
they were a group of merry youngsters almost maddened with the exuberant frolicsomeness of their years.
the most singular effect of their gayety was an impulse to mock the infirmity and decrepitude of which they had so lately been the victims.
they laughed loudly at their old-fashioned attire -- the wide-skirted coats and flapped waistcoats of the young men and the ancient cap and gown of the blooming girl.
one limped across the floor like a gouty grandfather; one set a pair of spectacles astride of his nose and pretended to pore over the black-letter pages of the book of magic; a third seated himself in an arm-chair and strove to imitate the venerable dignity of dr. heidegger.
then all shouted mirthfully and leaped about the room.
the widow wycherly -- if so fresh a damsel could be called a widow -- tripped up to the doctor's chair with a mischievous merriment in her rosy face.
""doctor, you dear old soul," cried she, "get up and dance with me;" and then the four young people laughed louder than ever to think what a queer figure the poor old doctor would cut.
""pray excuse me," answered the doctor, quietly.
""i am old and rheumatic, and my dancing-days were over long ago.
but either of these gay young gentlemen will be glad of so pretty a partner."
""dance with me, clara," cried colonel killigrew.
""no, no!
i will be her partner," shouted mr. gascoigne.
""she promised me her hand fifty years ago," exclaimed mr. medbourne.
they all gathered round her.
one caught both her hands in his passionate grasp, another threw his arm about her waist, the third buried his hand among the glossy curls that clustered beneath the widow's cap.
blushing, panting, struggling, chiding, laughing, her warm breath fanning each of their faces by turns, she strove to disengage herself, yet still remained in their triple embrace.
never was there a livelier picture of youthful rivalship, with bewitching beauty for the prize.
yet, by a strange deception, owing to the duskiness of the chamber and the antique dresses which they still wore, the tall mirror is said to have reflected the figures of the three old, gray, withered grand-sires ridiculously contending for the skinny ugliness of a shrivelled grandam.
but they were young: their burning passions proved them so.
inflamed to madness by the coquetry of the girl-widow, who neither granted nor quite withheld her favors, the three rivals began to interchange threatening glances.
still keeping hold of the fair prize, they grappled fiercely at one another's throats.
as they struggled to and fro the table was overturned and the vase dashed into a thousand fragments.
the precious water of youth flowed in a bright stream across the floor, moistening the wings of a butterfly which, grown old in the decline of summer, had alighted there to die.
the insect fluttered lightly through the chamber and settled on the snowy head of dr. heidegger.
""come, come, gentlemen!
come, madam wycherly!"
exclaimed the doctor.
""i really must protest against this riot."
they stood still and shivered, for it seemed as if gray time were calling them back from their sunny youth far down into the chill and darksome vale of years.
they looked at old dr. heidegger, who sat in his carved armchair holding the rose of half a century, which he had rescued from among the fragments of the shattered vase.
at the motion of his hand the four rioters resumed their seats -- the more readily because their violent exertions had wearied them, youthful though they were.
""my poor sylvia's rose!"
ejaculated dr. heidegger, holding it in the light of the sunset clouds.
""it appears to be fading again."
and so it was.
even while the party were looking at it the flower continued to shrivel up, till it became as dry and fragile as when the doctor had first thrown it into the vase.
he shook off the few drops of moisture which clung to its petals.
""i love it as well thus as in its dewy freshness," observed he, pressing the withered rose to his withered lips.
while he spoke the butterfly fluttered down from the doctor's snowy head and fell upon the floor.
his guests shivered again.
a strange dullness -- whether of the body or spirit they could not tell -- was creeping gradually over them all.
they gazed at one another, and fancied that each fleeting moment snatched away a charm and left a deepening furrow where none had been before.
was it an illusion?
had the changes of a lifetime been crowded into so brief a space, and were they now four aged people sitting with their old friend dr. heidegger?
""are we grown old again so soon?"
cried they, dolefully.
in truth, they had.
the water of youth possessed merely a virtue more transient than that of wine; the delirium which it created had effervesced away.
yes, they were old again.
with a shuddering impulse that showed her a woman still, the widow clasped her skinny hands before her face and wished that the coffin-lid were over it, since it could be no longer beautiful.
""yes, friends, ye are old again," said dr. heidegger, "and, lo!
the water of youth is all lavished on the ground.
well, i bemoan it not; for if the fountain gushed at my very doorstep, i would not stoop to bathe my lips in it -- no, though its delirium were for years instead of moments.
such is the lesson ye have taught me."
but the doctor's four friends had taught no such lesson to themselves.
they resolved forthwith to make a pilgrimage to florida and quaff at morning, noon and night from the fountain of youth.
legends of the province-house.
i. -- howe's masquerade.
ii.
-- edward randolph's portrait.
iii.
-- lady eleanore's mantle.
iv.
-- old esther dudley.
i. howe's masquerade.
one afternoon last summer, while walking along washington street, my eye was attracted by a sign-board protruding over a narrow archway nearly opposite the old south church.
the sign represented the front of a stately edifice which was designated as the "old province house, kept by thomas waite."
i was glad to be thus reminded of a purpose, long entertained, of visiting and rambling over the mansion of the old royal governors of massachusetts, and, entering the arched passage which penetrated through the middle of a brick row of shops, a few steps transported me from the busy heart of modern boston into a small and secluded court-yard.
one side of this space was occupied by the square front of the province house, three stories high and surmounted by a cupola, on the top of which a gilded indian was discernible, with his bow bent and his arrow on the string, as if aiming at the weathercock on the spire of the old south.
the figure has kept this attitude for seventy years or more, ever since good deacon drowne, a cunning carver of wood, first stationed him on his long sentinel's watch over the city.
the province house is constructed of brick, which seems recently to have been overlaid with a coat of light-colored paint.
a flight of red freestone steps fenced in by a balustrade of curiously wrought iron ascends from the court-yard to the spacious porch, over which is a balcony with an iron balustrade of similar pattern and workmanship to that beneath.
these letters and figures -- "16 p.s. 79" -- are wrought into the ironwork of the balcony, and probably express the date of the edifice, with the initials of its founder's name.
a wide door with double leaves admitted me into the hall or entry, on the right of which is the entrance to the bar-room.
it was in this apartment, i presume, that the ancient governors held their levees with vice-regal pomp, surrounded by the military men, the counsellors, the judges, and other officers of the crown, while all the loyalty of the province thronged to do them honor.
but the room in its present condition can not boast even of faded magnificence.
the panelled wainscot is covered with dingy paint and acquires a duskier hue from the deep shadow into which the province house is thrown by the brick block that shuts it in from washington street.
a ray of sunshine never visits this apartment any more than the glare of the festal torches which have been extinguished from the era of the revolution.
the most venerable and ornamental object is a chimney-piece set round with dutch tiles of blue-figured china, representing scenes from scripture, and, for aught i know, the lady of pownall or bernard may have sat beside this fireplace and told her children the story of each blue tile.
a bar in modern style, well replenished with decanters, bottles, cigar-boxes and network bags of lemons, and provided with a beer-pump and a soda-fount, extends along one side of the room.
at my entrance an elderly person was smacking his lips with a zest which satisfied me that the cellars of the province house still hold good liquor, though doubtless of other vintages than were quaffed by the old governors.
after sipping a glass of port-sangaree prepared by the skilful hands of mr. thomas waite, i besought that worthy successor and representative of so many historic personages to conduct me over their time-honored mansion.
he readily complied, but, to confess the truth, i was forced to draw strenuously upon my imagination in order to find aught that was interesting in a house which, without its historic associations, would have seemed merely such a tavern as is usually favored by the custom of decent city boarders and old-fashioned country gentlemen.
the chambers, which were probably spacious in former times, are now cut up by partitions and subdivided into little nooks, each affording scanty room for the narrow bed and chair and dressing-table of a single lodger: the great staircase, however, may be termed, without much hyperbole, a feature of grandeur and magnificence.
it winds through the midst of the house by flights of broad steps, each flight terminating in a square landing-place, whence the ascent is continued toward the cupola.
a carved balustrade, freshly painted in the lower stories, but growing dingier as we ascend, borders the staircase with its quaintly twisted and intertwined pillars, from top to bottom.
up these stairs the military boots, or perchance the gouty shoes, of many a governor have trodden as the wearers mounted to the cupola which afforded them so wide a view over their metropolis and the surrounding country.
the cupola is an octagon with several windows, and a door opening upon the roof.
from this station, as i pleased myself with imagining, gage may have beheld his disastrous victory on bunker hill -lrb- unless one of the tri-mountains intervened -rrb-, and howe have marked the approaches of washington's besieging army, although the buildings since erected in the vicinity have shut out almost every object save the steeple of the old south, which seems almost within arm's length.
descending from the cupola, i paused in the garret to observe the ponderous white-oak framework, so much more massive than the frames of modern houses, and thereby resembling an antique skeleton.
the brick walls, the materials of which were imported from holland, and the timbers of the mansion, are still as sound as ever, but, the floors and other interior parts being greatly decayed, it is contemplated to gut the whole and build a new house within the ancient frame-and brickwork.
among other inconveniences of the present edifice, mine host mentioned that any jar or motion was apt to shake down the dust of ages out of the ceiling of one chamber upon the floor of that beneath it.
we stepped forth from the great front window into the balcony where in old times it was doubtless the custom of the king's representative to show himself to a loyal populace, requiting their huzzas and tossed-up hats with stately bendings of his dignified person.
in those days the front of the province house looked upon the street, and the whole site now occupied by the brick range of stores, as well as the present court-yard, was laid out in grass-plats overshadowed by trees and bordered by a wrought-iron fence.
now the old aristocratic edifice hides its time-worn visage behind an upstart modern building; at one of the back windows i observed some pretty tailoresses sewing and chatting and laughing, with now and then a careless glance toward the balcony.
descending thence, we again entered the bar-room, where the elderly gentleman above mentioned -- the smack of whose lips had spoken so favorably for mr. waite's good liquor -- was still lounging in his chair.
he seemed to be, if not a lodger, at least a familiar visitor of the house who might be supposed to have his regular score at the bar, his summer seat at the open window and his prescriptive corner at the winter's fireside.
being of a sociable aspect, i ventured to address him with a remark calculated to draw forth his historical reminiscences, if any such were in his mind, and it gratified me to discover that, between memory and tradition, the old gentleman was really possessed of some very pleasant gossip about the province house.
the portion of his talk which chiefly interested me was the outline of the following legend.
he professed to have received it at one or two removes from an eye-witness, but this derivation, together with the lapse of time, must have afforded opportunities for many variations of the narrative; so that, despairing of literal and absolute truth, i have not scrupled to make such further changes as seemed conducive to the reader's profit and delight.
* * * * * at one of the entertainments given at the province-house during the latter part of the siege of boston there passed a scene which has never yet been satisfactorily explained.
the officers of the british army and the loyal gentry of the province, most of whom were collected within the beleaguered town, had been invited to a masqued ball, for it was the policy for sir william howe to hide the distress and danger of the period and the desperate aspect of the siege under an ostentation of festivity.
the spectacle of this evening, if the oldest members of the provincial court circle might be believed, was the most gay and gorgeous affair that had occurred in the annals of the government.
the brilliantly-lighted apartments were thronged with figures that seemed to have stepped from the dark canvas of historic portraits or to have flitted forth from the magic pages of romance, or at least to have flown hither from one of the london theatres without a change of garments.
steeled knights of the conquest, bearded statesmen of queen elizabeth and high-ruffed ladies of her court were mingled with characters of comedy, such as a parti-colored merry andrew jingling his cap and bells, a falstaff almost as provocative of laughter as his prototype, and a don quixote with a bean-pole for a lance and a pot-lid for a shield.
but the broadest merriment was excited by a group of figures ridiculously dressed in old regimentals which seemed to have been purchased at a military rag-fair or pilfered from some receptacle of the cast-off clothes of both the french and british armies.
portions of their attire had probably been worn at the siege of louisburg, and the coats of most recent cut might have been rent and tattered by sword, ball or bayonet as long ago as wolfe's victory.
one of these worthies -- a tall, lank figure brandishing a rusty sword of immense longitude -- purported to be no less a personage than general george washington, and the other principal officers of the american army, such as gates, lee, putnam, schuyler, ward and heath, were represented by similar scarecrows.
an interview in the mock-heroic style between the rebel warriors and the british commander-in-chief was received with immense applause, which came loudest of all from the loyalists of the colony.
there was one of the guests, however, who stood apart, eying these antics sternly and scornfully at once with a frown and a bitter smile.
it was an old man formerly of high station and great repute in the province, and who had been a very famous soldier in his day.
some surprise had been expressed that a person of colonel joliffe's known whig principles, though now too old to take an active part in the contest, should have remained in boston during the siege, and especially that he should consent to show himself in the mansion of sir william howe.
but thither he had come with a fair granddaughter under his arm, and there, amid all the mirth and buffoonery, stood this stern old figure, the best-sustained character in the masquerade, because so well representing the antique spirit of his native land.
the other guests affirmed that colonel joliffe's black puritanical scowl threw a shadow round about him, although, in spite of his sombre influence, their gayety continued to blaze higher, like -- an ominous comparison -- the flickering brilliancy of a lamp which has but a little while to burn.
eleven strokes full half an hour ago had pealed from the clock of the old south, when a rumor was circulated among the company that some new spectacle or pageant was about to be exhibited which should put a fitting close to the splendid festivities of the night.
""what new jest has your excellency in hand?"
asked the reverend mather byles, whose presbyterian scruples had not kept him from the entertainment.
""trust me, sir, i have already laughed more than beseems my cloth at your homeric confabulation with yonder ragamuffin general of the rebels.
one other such fit of merriment, and i must throw off my clerical wig and band."
""not so, good dr. byles," answered sir william howe; "if mirth were a crime, you had never gained your doctorate in divinity.
as to this new foolery, i know no more about it than yourself -- perhaps not so much.
honestly, now, doctor, have you not stirred up the sober brains of some of your countrymen to enact a scene in our masquerade?"
""perhaps," slyly remarked the granddaughter of colonel joliffe, whose high spirit had been stung by many taunts against new england -- "perhaps we are to have a masque of allegorical figures -- victory with trophies from lexington and bunker hill, plenty with her overflowing horn to typify the present abundance in this good town, and glory with a wreath for his excellency's brow."
sir william howe smiled at words which he would have answered with one of his darkest frowns had they been uttered by lips that wore a beard.
he was spared the necessity of a retort by a singular interruption.
a sound of music was heard without the house, as if proceeding from a full band of military instruments stationed in the street, playing, not such a festal strain as was suited to the occasion, but a slow funeral-march.
the drums appeared to be muffled, and the trumpets poured forth a wailing breath which at once hushed the merriment of the auditors, filling all with wonder and some with apprehension.
the idea occurred to many that either the funeral procession of some great personage had halted in front of the province-house, or that a corpse in a velvet-covered and gorgeously-decorated coffin was about to be borne from the portal.
after listening a moment, sir william howe called in a stern voice to the leader of the musicians, who had hitherto enlivened the entertainment with gay and lightsome melodies.
the man was drum-major to one of the british regiments.
""dighton," demanded the general, "what means this foolery?
bid your band silence that dead march, or, by my word, they shall have sufficient cause for their lugubrious strains.
silence it, sirrah!"
""please, your honor," answered the drum-major, whose rubicund visage had lost all its color, "the fault is none of mine.
i and my band are all here together, and i question whether there be a man of us that could play that march without book.
i never heard it but once before, and that was at the funeral of his late majesty, king george ii."
""well, well!"
said sir william howe, recovering his composure; "it is the prelude to some masquerading antic.
let it pass."
a figure now presented itself, but among the many fantastic masks that were dispersed through the apartments none could tell precisely from whence it came.
it was a man in an old-fashioned dress of black serge and having the aspect of a steward or principal domestic in the household of a nobleman or great english landholder.
this figure advanced to the outer door of the mansion, and, throwing both its leaves wide open, withdrew a little to one side and looked back toward the grand staircase, as if expecting some person to descend.
at the same time, the music in the street sounded a loud and doleful summons.
the eyes of sir william howe and his guests being directed to the staircase, there appeared on the uppermost landing-place, that was discernible from the bottom, several personages descending toward the door.
the foremost was a man of stern visage, wearing a steeple-crowned hat and a skull-cap beneath it, a dark cloak and huge wrinkled boots that came halfway up his legs.
under his arm was a rolled-up banner which seemed to be the banner of england, but strangely rent and torn; he had a sword in his right hand and grasped a bible in his left.
the next figure was of milder aspect, yet full of dignity, wearing a broad ruff, over which descended a beard, a gown of wrought velvet and a doublet and hose of black satin; he carried a roll of manuscript in his hand.
close behind these two came a young man of very striking countenance and demeanor with deep thought and contemplation on his brow, and perhaps a flash of enthusiasm in his eye; his garb, like that of his predecessors, was of an antique fashion, and there was a stain of blood upon his ruff.
in the same group with these were three or four others, all men of dignity and evident command, and bearing themselves like personages who were accustomed to the gaze of the multitude.
it was the idea of the beholders that these figures went to join the mysterious funeral that had halted in front of the province-house, yet that supposition seemed to be contradicted by the air of triumph with which they waved their hands as they crossed the threshold and vanished through the portal.
""in the devil's name, what is this?"
muttered sir william howe to a gentleman beside him.
""a procession of the regicide judges of king charles the martyr?"
""these," said colonel joliffe, breaking silence almost for the first time that evening -- "these, if i interpret them aright, are the puritan governors, the rulers of the old original democracy of massachusetts -- endicott with the banner from which he had torn the symbol of subjection, and winthrop and sir henry vane and dudley, haynes, bellingham and leverett."
""why had that young man a stain of blood upon his ruff?"
asked miss joliffe.
""because in after-years," answered her grandfather, "he laid down the wisest head in england upon the block for the principles of liberty."
""will not your excellency order out the guard?"
whispered lord percy, who, with other british officers, had now assembled round the general.
""there may be a plot under this mummery."
""tush!
we have nothing to fear," carelessly replied sir william howe.
""there can be no worse treason in the matter than a jest, and that somewhat of the dullest.
even were it a sharp and bitter one, our best policy would be to laugh it off.
see!
here come more of these gentry."
another group of characters had now partly descended the staircase.
the first was a venerable and white-bearded patriarch who cautiously felt his way downward with a staff.
treading hastily behind him, and stretching forth his gauntleted hand as if to grasp the old man's shoulder, came a tall soldier-like figure equipped with a plumed cap of steel, a bright breastplate and a long sword, which rattled against the stairs.
next was seen a stout man dressed in rich and courtly attire, but not of courtly demeanor; his gait had the swinging motion of a seaman's walk, and, chancing to stumble on the staircase, he suddenly grew wrathful and was heard to mutter an oath.
he was followed by a noble-looking personage in a curled wig such as are represented in the portraits of queen anne's time and earlier, and the breast of his coat was decorated with an embroidered star.
while advancing to the door he bowed to the right hand and to the left in a very gracious and insinuating style, but as he crossed the threshold, unlike the early puritan governors, he seemed to wring his hands with sorrow.
""prithee, play the part of a chorus, good dr. byles," said sir william howe.
""what worthies are these?"
""if it please your excellency, they lived somewhat before my day," answered the doctor; "but doubtless our friend the colonel has been hand and glove with them."
""their living faces i never looked upon," said colonel joliffe, gravely; "although i have spoken face to face with many rulers of this land, and shall greet yet another with an old man's blessing ere i die.
but we talk of these figures.
i take the venerable patriarch to be bradstreet, the last of the puritans, who was governor at ninety or thereabouts.
the next is sir edmund andros, a tyrant, as any new england schoolboy will tell you, and therefore the people cast him down from his high seat into a dungeon.
then comes sir william phipps, shepherd, cooper, sea-captain and governor.
may many of his countrymen rise as high from as low an origin!
lastly, you saw the gracious earl of bellamont, who ruled us under king william."
""but what is the meaning of it all?"
asked lord percy.
""now, were i a rebel," said miss joliffe, half aloud, "i might fancy that the ghosts of these ancient governors had been summoned to form the funeral procession of royal authority in new england."
several other figures were now seen at the turn of the staircase.
the one in advance had a thoughtful, anxious and somewhat crafty expression of face, and in spite of his loftiness of manner, which was evidently the result both of an ambitious spirit and of long continuance in high stations, he seemed not incapable of cringing to a greater than himself.
a few steps behind came an officer in a scarlet and embroidered uniform cut in a fashion old enough to have been worn by the duke of marlborough.
his nose had a rubicund tinge, which, together with the twinkle of his eye, might have marked him as a lover of the wine-cup and good-fellowship; notwithstanding which tokens, he appeared ill at ease, and often glanced around him as if apprehensive of some secret mischief.
next came a portly gentleman wearing a coat of shaggy cloth lined with silken velvet; he had sense, shrewdness and humor in his face and a folio volume under his arm, but his aspect was that of a man vexed and tormented beyond all patience and harassed almost to death.
he went hastily down, and was followed by a dignified person dressed in a purple velvet suit with very rich embroidery; his demeanor would have possessed much stateliness, only that a grievous fit of the gout compelled him to hobble from stair to stair with contortions of face and body.
when dr. byles beheld this figure on the staircase, he shivered as with an ague, but continued to watch him steadfastly until the gouty gentleman had reached the threshold, made a gesture of anguish and despair and vanished into the outer gloom, whither the funeral music summoned him.
""governor belcher -- my old patron -- in his very shape and dress!"
gasped dr. byles.
""this is an awful mockery."
""a tedious foolery, rather," said sir william howe, with an air of indifference.
""but who were the three that preceded him?"
""governor dudley, a cunning politician; yet his craft once brought him to a prison," replied colonel joliffe.
""governor shute, formerly a colonel under marlborough, and whom the people frightened out of the province, and learned governor burnett, whom the legislature tormented into a mortal fever."
""methinks they were miserable men -- these royal governors of massachusetts," observed miss joliffe.
""heavens!
how dim the light grows!"
it was certainly a fact that the large lamp which illuminated the staircase now burned dim and duskily; so that several figures which passed hastily down the stairs and went forth from the porch appeared rather like shadows than persons of fleshly substance.
sir william howe and his guests stood at the doors of the contiguous apartments watching the progress of this singular pageant with various emotions of anger, contempt or half-acknowledged fear, but still with an anxious curiosity.
the shapes which now seemed hastening to join the mysterious procession were recognized rather by striking peculiarities of dress or broad characteristics of manner than by any perceptible resemblance of features to their prototypes.
their faces, indeed, were invariably kept in deep shadow, but dr. byles and other gentlemen who had long been familiar with the successive rulers of the province were heard to whisper the names of shirley, of pownall, of sir francis bernard and of the well-remembered hutchinson, thereby confessing that the actors, whoever they might be, in this spectral march of governors had succeeded in putting on some distant portraiture of the real personages.
as they vanished from the door, still did these shadows toss their arms into the gloom of night with a dread expression of woe.
following the mimic representative of hutchinson came a military figure holding before his face the cocked hat which he had taken from his powdered head, but his epaulettes and other insignia of rank were those of a general officer, and something in his mien reminded the beholders of one who had recently been master of the province-house and chief of all the land.
""the shape of gage, as true as in a looking-glass!"
exclaimed lord percy, turning pale.
""no, surely," cried miss joliffe, laughing hysterically; "it could not be gage, or sir william would have greeted his old comrade in arms.
perhaps he will not suffer the next to pass unchallenged."
""of that be assured, young lady," answered sir william howe, fixing his eyes with a very marked expression upon the immovable visage of her grandfather.
""i have long enough delayed to pay the ceremonies of a host to these departing guests; the next that takes his leave shall receive due courtesy."
a wild and dreary burst of music came through the open door.
it seemed as it the procession, which had been gradually filling up its ranks, were now about to move, and that this loud peal of the wailing trumpets and roll of the muffled drums were a call to some loiterer to make haste.
many eyes, by an irresistible impulse, were turned upon sir william howe, as if it were he whom the dreary music summoned to the funeral of departed power.
""see!
here comes the last," whispered miss joliffe, pointing her tremulous finger to the staircase.
a figure had come into view as if descending the stairs, although so dusky was the region whence it emerged some of the spectators fancied that they had seen this human shape suddenly moulding itself amid the gloom.
downward the figure came with a stately and martial tread, and, reaching the lowest stair, was observed to be a tall man booted and wrapped in a military cloak, which was drawn up around the face so as to meet the napped brim of a laced hat; the features, therefore, were completely hidden.
but the british officers deemed that they had seen that military cloak before, and even recognized the frayed embroidery on the collar, as well as the gilded scabbard of a sword which protruded from the folds of the cloak and glittered in a vivid gleam of light.
apart from these trifling particulars there were characteristics of gait and bearing which impelled the wondering guests to glance from the shrouded figure to sir william howe, as if to satisfy themselves that their host had not suddenly vanished from the midst of them.
with a dark flush of wrath upon his brow, they saw the general draw his sword and advance to meet the figure in the cloak before the latter had stepped one pace upon the floor.
""villain, unmuffle yourself!"
cried he.
""you pass no farther."
the figure, without blenching a hair's - breadth from the sword which was pointed at his breast, made a solemn pause and lowered the cape of the cloak from about his face, yet not sufficiently for the spectators to catch a glimpse of it.
but sir william howe had evidently seen enough.
the sternness of his countenance gave place to a look of wild amazement, if not horror, while he recoiled several steps from the figure and let fall his sword upon the floor.
the martial shape again drew the cloak about his features and passed on, but, reaching the threshold with his back toward the spectators, he was seen to stamp his foot and shake his clenched hands in the air.
it was afterward affirmed that sir william howe had repeated that selfsame gesture of rage and sorrow when for the last time, and as the last royal governor, he passed through the portal of the province-house.
""hark!
the procession moves," said miss joliffe.
the music was dying away along the street, and its dismal strains were mingled with the knell of midnight from the steeple of the old south and with the roar of artillery which announced that the beleaguered army of washington had intrenched itself upon a nearer height than before.
as the deep boom of the cannon smote upon his ear colonel joliffe raised himself to the full height of his aged form and smiled sternly on the british general.
""would your excellency inquire further into the mystery of the pageant?"
said he.
""take care of your gray head!"
cried sir william howe, fiercely, though with a quivering lip.
""it has stood too long on a traitor's shoulders."
""you must make haste to chop it off, then," calmly replied the colonel, "for a few hours longer, and not all the power of sir william howe, nor of his master, shall cause one of these gray hairs to fall.
the empire of britain in this ancient province is at its last gasp to-night; almost while i speak it is a dead corpse, and methinks the shadows of the old governors are fit mourners at its funeral."
with these words colonel joliffe threw on his cloak, and, drawing his granddaughter's arm within his own, retired from the last festival that a british ruler ever held in the old province of massachusetts bay.
it was supposed that the colonel and the young lady possessed some secret intelligence in regard to the mysterious pageant of that night.
however this might be, such knowledge has never become general.
the actors in the scene have vanished into deeper obscurity than even that wild indian hand who scattered the cargoes of the tea-ships on the waves and gained a place in history, yet left no names.
but superstition, among other legends of this mansion, repeats the wondrous tale that on the anniversary night of britain's discomfiture the ghosts of the ancient governors of massachusetts still glide through the portal of the province house.
and last of all comes a figure shrouded in a military cloak, tossing his clenched hands into the air and stamping his iron-shod boots upon the broad freestone steps with a semblance of feverish despair, but without the sound of a foot-tramp.
* * * * * when the truth-telling accents of the elderly gentleman were hushed, i drew a long breath and looked round the room, striving with the best energy of my imagination to throw a tinge of romance and historic grandeur over the realities of the scene.
but my nostrils snuffed up a scent of cigar-smoke, clouds of which the narrator had emitted by way of visible emblem, i suppose, of the nebulous obscurity of his tale.
moreover, my gorgeous fantasies were woefully disturbed by the rattling of the spoon in a tumbler of whiskey-punch which mr. thomas waite was mingling for a customer.
nor did it add to the picturesque appearance of the panelled walls that the slate of the brookline stage was suspended against them, instead of the armorial escutcheon of some far-descended governor.
a stage-driver sat at one of the windows reading a penny paper of the day -- the boston times -- and presenting a figure which could nowise be brought into any picture of "times in boston" seventy or a hundred years ago.
on the window-seat lay a bundle neatly done up in brown paper, the direction of which i had the idle curiosity to read: "miss susan huggins, at the province house."
a pretty chambermaid, no doubt.
in truth, it is desperately hard work when we attempt to throw the spell of hoar antiquity over localities with which the living world and the day that is passing over us have aught to do.
yet, as i glanced at the stately staircase down which the procession of the old governors had descended, and as i emerged through the venerable portal whence their figures had preceded me, it gladdened me to be conscious of a thrill of awe.
then, diving through the narrow archway, a few strides transported me into the densest throng of washington street.
ii.
edward randolph's portrait.
the old legendary guest of the province house abode in my remembrance from midsummer till january.
one idle evening last winter, confident that he would be found in the snuggest corner of the bar-room, i resolved to pay him another visit, hoping to deserve well of my country by snatching from oblivion some else unheard-of fact of history.
the night was chill and raw, and rendered boisterous by almost a gale of wind which whistled along washington street, causing the gaslights to flare and flicker within the lamps.
as i hurried onward my fancy was busy with a comparison between the present aspect of the street and that which it probably wore when the british governors inhabited the mansion whither i was now going.
brick edifices in those times were few till a succession of destructive fires had swept, and swept again, the wooden dwellings and warehouses from the most populous quarters of the town.
the buildings stood insulated and independent, not, as now, merging their separate existences into connected ranges with a front of tiresome identity, but each possessing features of its own, as if the owner's individual taste had shaped it, and the whole presenting a picturesque irregularity the absence of which is hardly compensated by any beauties of our modern architecture.
such a scene, dimly vanishing from the eye by the ray of here and there a tallow candle glimmering through the small panes of scattered windows, would form a sombre contrast to the street as i beheld it with the gaslights blazing from corner to corner, flaming within the shops and throwing a noonday brightness through the huge plates of glass.
but the black, lowering sky, as i turned my eyes upward, wore, doubtless, the same visage as when it frowned upon the ante-revolutionary new englanders.
the wintry blast had the same shriek that was familiar to their ears.
the old south church, too, still pointed its antique spire into the darkness and was lost between earth and heaven, and, as i passed, its clock, which had warned so many generations how transitory was their lifetime, spoke heavily and slow the same unregarded moral to myself.
""only seven o'clock!"
thought i. "my old friend's legends will scarcely kill the hours "twixt this and bedtime."
passing through the narrow arch, i crossed the courtyard, the confined precincts of which were made visible by a lantern over the portal of the province house.
on entering the bar-room, i found, as i expected, the old tradition-monger seated by a special good fire of anthracite, compelling clouds of smoke from a corpulent cigar.
he recognized me with evident pleasure, for my rare properties as a patient listener invariably make me a favorite with elderly gentlemen and ladies of narrative propensites.
drawing a chair to the fire, i desired mine host to favor us with a glass apiece of whiskey-punch, which was speedily prepared, steaming hot, with a slice of lemon at the bottom, a dark-red stratum of port wine upon the surface and a sprinkling of nutmeg strewn over all.
as we touched our glasses together, my legendary friend made himself known to me as mr. bela tiffany, and i rejoiced at the oddity of the name, because it gave his image and character a sort of individuality in my conception.
the old gentleman's draught acted as a solvent upon his memory, so that it overflowed with tales, traditions, anecdotes of famous dead people and traits of ancient manners, some of which were childish as a nurse's lullaby, while others might have been worth the notice of the grave historian.
nothing impressed me more than a story of a black mysterious picture which used to hang in one of the chambers of the province house, directly above the room where we were now sitting.
the following is as correct a version of the fact as the reader would be likely to obtain from any other source, although, assuredly, it has a tinge of romance approaching to the marvellous.
* * * * * in one of the apartments of the province-house there was long preserved an ancient picture the frame of which was as black as ebony, and the canvas itself so dark with age, damp and smoke that not a touch of the painter's art could be discerned.
time had thrown an impenetrable veil over it and left to tradition and fable and conjecture to say what had once been there portrayed.
during the rule of many successive governors it had hung, by prescriptive and undisputed right, over the mantel piece of the same chamber, and it still kept its place when lieutenant-governor hutchinson assumed the administration of the province on the departure of sir francis bernard.
the lieutenant-governor sat one afternoon resting his head against the carved back of his stately arm-chair and gazing up thoughtfully at the void blackness of the picture.
it was scarcely a time for such inactive musing, when affairs of the deepest moment required the ruler's decision; for within that very hour hutchinson had received intelligence of the arrival of a british fleet bringing three regiments from halifax to overawe the insubordination of the people.
these troops awaited his permission to occupy the fortress of castle william and the town itself, yet, instead of affixing his signature to an official order, there sat the lieutenant-governor so carefully scrutinizing the black waste of canvas that his demeanor attracted the notice of two young persons who attended him.
one, wearing a military dress of buff, was his kinsman, francis lincoln, the provincial captain of castle william; the other, who sat on a low stool beside his chair, was alice vane, his favorite niece.
she was clad entirely in white -- a pale, ethereal creature who, though a native of new england, had been educated abroad and seemed not merely a stranger from another clime, but almost a being from another world.
for several years, until left an orphan, she had dwelt with her father in sunny italy, and there had acquired a taste and enthusiasm for sculpture and painting which she found few opportunities of gratifying in the undecorated dwellings of the colonial gentry.
it was said that the early productions of her own pencil exhibited no inferior genius, though perhaps the rude atmosphere of new england had cramped her hand and dimmed the glowing colors of her fancy.
but, observing her uncle's steadfast gaze, which appeared to search through the mist of years to discover the subject of the picture, her curiosity was excited.
""is it known, my dear uncle," inquired she, "what this old picture once represented?
possibly, could it be made visible, it might prove a masterpiece of some great artist; else why has it so long held such a conspicuous place?"
as her uncle, contrary to his usual custom -- for he was as attentive to all the humors and caprices of alice as if she had been his own best-beloved child -- did not immediately reply, the young captain of castle william took that office upon himself.
""this dark old square of canvas, my fair cousin," said he, "has been an heirloom in the province-house from time immemorial.
as to the painter, i can tell you nothing; but if half the stories told of it be true, not one of the great italian masters has ever produced so marvellous a piece of work as that before you."
captain lincoln proceeded to relate some of the strange fables and fantasies which, as it was impossible to refute them by ocular demonstration, had grown to be articles of popular belief in reference to this old picture.
one of the wildest, and at the same time the best-accredited, accounts stated it to be an original and authentic portrait of the evil one, taken at a witch-meeting near salem, and that its strong and terrible resemblance had been confirmed by several of the confessing wizards and witches at their trial in open court.
it was likewise affirmed that a familiar spirit or demon abode behind the blackness of the picture, and had shown himself at seasons of public calamity to more than one of the royal governors.
shirley, for instance, had beheld this ominous apparition on the eve of general abercrombie's shameful and bloody defeat under the walls of ticonderoga.
many of the servants of the province-house had caught glimpses of a visage frowning down upon them at morning or evening twilight, or in the depths of night while raking up the fire that glimmered on the hearth beneath, although, if any were, bold enough to hold a torch before the picture, it would appear as black and undistinguishable as ever.
the oldest inhabitant of boston recollected that his father -- in whose days the portrait had not wholly faded out of sight -- had once looked upon it, but would never suffer himself to be questioned as to the face which was there represented.
in connection with such stories, it was remarkable that over the top of the frame there were some ragged remnants of black silk, indicating that a veil had formerly hung down before the picture until the duskiness of time had so effectually concealed it.
but, after all, it was the most singular part of the affair that so many of the pompous governors of massachusetts had allowed the obliterated picture to remain in the state-chamber of the province-house.
""some of these fables are really awful," observed alice vane, who had occasionally shuddered as well as smiled while her cousin spoke.
""it would be almost worth while to wipe away the black surface of the canvas, since the original picture can hardly be so formidable as those which fancy paints instead of it."
""but would it be possible," inquired her cousin," to restore this dark picture to its pristine hues?"
""such arts are known in italy," said alice.
the lieutenant-governor had roused himself from his abstracted mood, and listened with a smile to the conversation of his young relatives.
yet his voice had something peculiar in its tones when he undertook the explanation of the mystery.
""i am sorry, alice, to destroy your faith in the legends of which you are so fond," remarked he, "but my antiquarian researches have long since made me acquainted with the subject of this picture -- if picture it can be called -- which is no more visible, nor ever will be, than the face of the long-buried man whom it once represented.
it was the portrait of edward randolph, the founder of this house, a person famous in the history of new england."
""of that edward randolph," exclaimed captain lincoln, "who obtained the repeal of the first provincial charter, under which our forefathers had enjoyed almost democratic privileges -- he that was styled the arch-enemy of new england, and whose memory is still held in detestation as the destroyer of our liberties?"
""it was the same randolph," answered hutchinson, moving uneasily in his chair.
""it was his lot to taste the bitterness of popular odium."
""our annals tell us," continued the captain of castle william, "that the curse of the people followed this randolph where he went and wrought evil in all the subsequent events of his life, and that its effect was seen, likewise, in the manner of his death.
they say, too, that the inward misery of that curse worked itself outward and was visible on the wretched man's countenance, making it too horrible to be looked upon.
if so, and if this picture truly represented his aspect, it was in mercy that the cloud of blackness has gathered over it."
""these traditions are folly to one who has proved, as i have, how little of historic truth lies at the bottom," said the lieutenant-governor.
""as regards the life and character of edward randolph, too implicit credence has been given to dr. cotton mather, who -- i must say it, though some of his blood runs in my veins -- has filled our early history with old women's tales as fanciful and extravagant as those of greece or rome."
""and yet," whispered alice vane, "may not such fables have a moral?
and methinks, if the visage of this portrait be so dreadful, it is not without a cause that it has hung so long in a chamber of the province-house.
when the rulers feel themselves irresponsible, it were well that they should be reminded of the awful weight of a people's curse."
the lieutenant-governor started and gazed for a moment at his niece, as if her girlish fantasies had struck upon some feeling in his own breast which all his policy or principles could not entirely subdue.
he knew, indeed, that alice, in spite of her foreign education, retained the native sympathies of a new england girl.
""peace, silly child!"
cried he, at last, more harshly than he had ever before addressed the gentle alice.
""the rebuke of a king; is more to be dreaded than the clamor of a wild, misguided multitude.
-- captain lincoln, it is decided: the fortress of castle william must be occupied by the royal troops.
the two remaining regiments shall be billeted in the town or encamped upon the common.
it is time, after years of tumult, and almost rebellion, that his majesty's government should have a wall of strength about it."
""trust, sir -- trust yet a while to the loyalty of the people," said captain lincoln, "nor teach them that they can ever be on other terms with british soldiers than those of brotherhood, as when they fought side by side through the french war.
do not convert the streets of your native town into a camp.
think twice before you give up old castle william, the key of the province, into other keeping than that of true-born new englanders."
""young man, it is decided," repeated hutchinson, rising from his chair.
""a british officer will be in attendance this evening to receive the necessary instructions for the disposal of the troops.
your presence also will be required.
till then, farewell."
with these words the lieutenant-governor hastily left the room, while alice and her cousin more slowly followed, whispering together, and once pausing to glance back at the mysterious picture.
the captain of castle william fancied that the girl's air and mien were such as might have belonged to one of those spirits of fable -- fairies or creatures of a more antique mythology -- who sometimes mingled their agency with mortal affairs, half in caprice, yet with a sensibility to human weal or woe.
as he held the door for her to pass alice beckoned to the picture and smiled.
""come forth, dark and evil shape!"
cried she.
""it is thine hour."
in the evening lieutenant-governor hutchinson sat in the same chamber where the foregoing scene had occurred, surrounded by several persons whose various interests had summoned them together.
there were the selectmen of boston -- plain patriarchal fathers of the people, excellent representatives of the old puritanical founders whose sombre strength had stamped so deep an impress upon the new england character.
contrasting with these were one or two members of council, richly dressed in the white wigs, the embroidered waistcoats and other magnificence of the time, and making a somewhat ostentatious display of courtier-like ceremonial.
in attendance, likewise, was a major of the british army, awaiting the lieutenant-governor's orders for the landing of the troops, which still remained on board the transports.
the captain of castle william stood beside hutchinson's chair, with folded arms, glancing rather haughtily at the british officer by whom he was soon to be superseded in his command.
on a table in the centre of the chamber stood a branched silver candlestick, throwing down the glow of half a dozen waxlights upon a paper apparently ready for the lieutenant-governor's signature.
partly shrouded in the voluminous folds of one of the window-curtains, which fell from the ceiling to the floor, was seen the white drapery of a lady's robe.
it may appear strange that alice vane should have been there at such a time, but there was something so childlike, so wayward, in her singular character, so apart from ordinary rules, that her presence did not surprise the few who noticed it.
meantime, the chairman of the selectmen was addressing to the lieutenant-governor a long and solemn protest against the reception of the british troops into the town.
""and if your honor," concluded this excellent but somewhat prosy old gentleman, "shall see fit to persist in bringing these mercenary sworders and musketeers into our quiet streets, not on our heads be the responsibility.
think, sir, while there is yet time, that if one drop of blood be shed, that blood shall be an eternal stain upon your honor's memory.
you, sir, have written with an able pen the deeds of our forefathers; the more to be desired is it, therefore, that yourself should deserve honorable mention as a true patriot and upright ruler when your own doings shall be written down in history."
""i am not insensible, my good sir, to the natural desire to stand well in the annals of my country," replied hutchinson, controlling his impatience into courtesy, "nor know i any better method of attaining that end than by withstanding the merely temporary spirit of mischief which, with your pardon, seems to have infected older men than myself.
would you have me wait till the mob shall sack the province-house as they did my private mansion?
trust me, sir, the time may come when you will be glad to flee for protection to the king's banner, the raising of which is now so distasteful to you."
""yes," said the british major, who was impatiently expecting the lieutenant-governor's orders.
""the demagogues of this province have raised the devil, and can not lay him again.
we will exorcise him in god's name and the king's."
""if you meddle with the devil, take care of his claws," answered the captain of castle william, stirred by the taunt against his countrymen.
""craving your pardon, young sir," said the venerable selectman, "let not an evil spirit enter into your words.
we will strive against the oppressor with prayer and fasting, as our forefathers would have done.
like them, moreover, we will submit to whatever lot a wise providence may send us -- always after our own best exertions to amend it."
""and there peep forth the devil's claws!"
muttered hutchinson, who well understood the nature of puritan submission.
""this matter shall be expedited forthwith.
when there shall be a sentinel at every corner and a court of guard before the town-house, a loyal gentleman may venture to walk abroad.
what to me is the outcry of a mob in this remote province of the realm?
the king is my master, and england is my country; upheld by their armed strength, i set my foot upon the rabble and defy them."
he snatched a pen and was about to affix his signature to the paper that lay on the table, when the captain of castle william placed his hand upon his shoulder.
the freedom of the action, so contrary to the ceremonious respect which was then considered due to rank and dignity, awakened general surprise, and in none more than in the lieutenant-governor himself.
looking angrily up, he perceived that his young relative was pointing his finger to the opposite wall.
hutchinson's eye followed the signal, and he saw what had hitherto been unobserved -- that a black silk curtain was suspended before the mysterious picture, so as completely to conceal it.
his thoughts immediately recurred to the scene of the preceding afternoon, and in his surprise, confused by indistinct emotions, yet sensible that his niece must have had an agency in this phenomenon, he called loudly upon her: "alice!
come hither, alice!"
no sooner had he spoken than alice vane glided from her station, and, pressing one hand across her eyes, with the other snatched away the sable curtain that concealed the portrait.
an exclamation of surprise burst from every beholder, but the lieutenant-governor's voice had a tone of horror.
""by heaven!"
said he, in a low inward murmur, speaking rather to himself than to those around him; "if the spirit of edward randolph were to appear among us from the place of torment, he could not wear more of the terrors of hell upon his face."
""for some wise end," said the aged selectman, solemnly, "hath providence scattered away the mist of years that had so long hid this dreadful effigy.
until this hour no living man hath seen what we behold."
within the antique frame which so recently had enclosed a sable waste of canvas now appeared a visible picture-still dark, indeed, in its hues and shadings, but thrown forward in strong relief.
it was a half-length figure of a gentleman in a rich but very old-fashioned dress of embroidered velvet, with a broad ruff and a beard, and wearing a hat the brim of which overshadowed his forehead.
beneath this cloud the eyes had a peculiar glare which was almost lifelike.
the whole portrait started so distinctly out of the background that it had the effect of a person looking down from the wall at the astonished and awe-stricken spectators.
the expression of the face, if any words can convey an idea of it, was that of a wretch detected in some hideous guilt and exposed to the bitter hatred and laughter and withering scorn of a vast surrounding multitude.
there was the struggle of defiance, beaten down and overwhelmed by the crushing weight of ignominy.
the torture of the soul had come forth upon the countenance.
it seemed as if the picture, while hidden behind the cloud of immemorial years, had been all the time acquiring an intenser depth and darkness of expression, till now it gloomed forth again and threw its evil omen over the present hour.
such, if the wild legend may be credited, was the portrait of edward randolph as he appeared when a people's curse had wrought its influence upon his nature."
"twould drive me mad, that awful face," said hutchinson, who seemed fascinated by the contemplation of it.
""be warned, then," whispered alice.
""he trampled on a people's rights.
behold his punishment, and avoid a crime like his."
the lieutenant-governor actually trembled for an instant, but, exerting his energy -- which was not, however, his most characteristic feature -- he strove to shake off the spell of randolph's countenance.
""girl," cried he, laughing bitterly, as he turned to alice, "have you brought hither your painter's art, your italian spirit of intrigue, your tricks of stage-effect, and think to influence the councils of rulers and the affairs of nations by such shallow contrivances?
see here!"
""stay yet a while," said the selectman as hutchinson again snatched the pen; "for if ever mortal man received a warning from a tormented soul, your honor is that man."
""away!"
answered hutchinson, fiercely.
""though yonder senseless picture cried "forbear!"
it should not move me!"
casting a scowl of defiance at the pictured face -- which seemed at that moment to intensify the horror of its miserable and wicked look -- he scrawled on the paper, in characters that betokened it a deed of desperation, the name of thomas hutchinson.
then, it is said, he shuddered, as if that signature had granted away his salvation.
""it is done," said he, and placed his hand upon his brow.
""may heaven forgive the deed!"
said the soft, sad accents of alice vane, like the voice of a good spirit flitting away.
when morning came, there was a stifled whisper through the household, and spreading thence about the town, that the dark mysterious picture had started from the wall and spoken face to face with lieutenant-governor hutchinson.
if such a miracle had been wrought, however, no traces of it remained behind; for within the antique frame nothing could be discerned save the impenetrable cloud which had covered the canvas since the memory of man.
if the figure had, indeed, stepped forth, it had fled back, spirit-like, at the day-dawn, and hidden itself behind a century's obscurity.
the truth probably was that alice vane's secret for restoring the hues of the picture had merely effected a temporary renovation.
but those who in that brief interval had beheld the awful visage of edward randolph desired no second glance, and ever afterward trembled at the recollection of the scene, as if an evil spirit had appeared visibly among them.
and, as for hutchinson, when, far over the ocean, his dying-hour drew on, he gasped for breath and complained that he was choking with the blood of the boston massacre, and francis lincoln, the former captain of castle william, who was standing at his bedside, perceived a likeness in his frenzied look to that of edward randolph.
did his broken spirit feel at that dread hour the tremendous burden of a people's curse?
* * * * * at the conclusion of this miraculous legend i inquired of mine host whether the picture still remained in the chamber over our heads, but mr. tiffany informed me that it had long since been removed, and was supposed to be hidden in some out-of-the-way corner of the new england museum.
perchance some curious antiquary may light upon it there, and, with the assistance of mr. howorth, the picture-cleaner, may supply a not unnecessary proof of the authenticity of the facts here set down.
during the progress of the story a storm had been gathering abroad and raging and rattling so loudly in the upper regions of the province house that it seemed as if all the old governors and great men were running riot above stairs while mr. bela tiffany babbled of them below.
in the course of generations, when many people have lived and died in an ancient house, the whistling of the wind through its crannies and the creaking of its beams and rafters become strangely like the tones of the human voice, or thundering laughter, or heavy footsteps treading the deserted chambers.
it is as if the echoes of half a century were revived.
such were the ghostly sounds that roared and murmured in our ears when i took leave of the circle round the fireside of the province house and, plunging down the doorsteps, fought my way homeward against a drifting snow-storm.
iii.
lady eleanore's mantle.
mine excellent friend the landlord of the province house was pleased the other evening to invite mr. tiffany and myself to an oyster-supper.
this slight mark of respect and gratitude, as he handsomely observed, was far less than the ingenious tale-teller, and i, the humble note-taker of his narratives, had fairly earned by the public notice which our joint lucubrations had attracted to his establishment.
many a cigar had been smoked within his premises, many a glass of wine or more potent aqua vitæ had been quaffed, many a dinner had been eaten, by curious strangers who, save for the fortunate conjunction of mr. tiffany and me, would never have ventured through that darksome avenue which gives access to the historic precincts of the province house.
in short, if any credit be due to the courteous assurances of mr. thomas waite, we had brought his forgotten mansion almost as effectually into public view as if we had thrown down the vulgar range of shoe-shops and dry-good stores which hides its aristocratic front from washington street.
it may be unadvisable, however, to speak too loudly of the increased custom of the house, lest mr. waite should find it difficult to renew the lease on so favorable terms as heretofore.
being thus welcomed as benefactors, neither mr. tiffany nor myself felt any scruple in doing full justice to the good things that were set before us.
if the feast were less magnificent than those same panelled walls had witnessed in a bygone century; if mine host presided with somewhat less of state than might have befitted a successor of the royal governors; if the guests made a less imposing show than the bewigged and powdered and embroidered dignitaries who erst banqueted at the gubernatorial table and now sleep within their armorial tombs on copp's hill or round king's chapel, -- yet never, i may boldly say, did a more comfortable little party assemble in the province-house from queen anne's days to the revolution.
the occasion was rendered more interesting by the presence of a venerable personage whose own actual reminiscences went back to the epoch of gage and howe, and even supplied him with a doubtful anecdote or two of hutchinson.
he was one of that small, and now all but extinguished, class whose attachment to royalty, and to the colonial institutions and customs that were connected with it, had never yielded to the democratic heresies of after-times.
the young queen of britain has not a more loyal subject in her realm -- perhaps not one who would kneel before her throne with such reverential love -- as this old grandsire whose head has whitened beneath the mild sway of the republic which still in his mellower moments he terms a usurpation.
yet prejudices so obstinate have not made him an ungentle or impracticable companion.
if the truth must be told, the life of the aged loyalist has been of such a scrambling and unsettled character -- he has had so little choice of friends and been so often destitute of any -- that i doubt whether he would refuse a cup of kindness with either oliver cromwell or john hancock, to say nothing of any democrat now upon the stage.
in another paper of this series i may perhaps give the reader a closer glimpse of his portrait.
our host in due season uncorked a bottle of madeira of such exquisite perfume and admirable flavor that he surely must have discovered it in an ancient bin down deep beneath the deepest cellar where some jolly old butler stored away the governor's choicest wine and forgot to reveal the secret on his death-bed.
peace to his red-nosed ghost and a libation to his memory!
this precious liquor was imbibed by mr. tiffany with peculiar zest, and after sipping the third glass it was his pleasure to give us one of the oddest legends which he had yet raked from the storehouse where he keeps such matters.
with some suitable adornments from my own fancy, it ran pretty much as follows.
* * * * * not long after colonel shute had assumed the government of massachusetts bay -- now nearly a hundred and twenty years ago -- a young lady of rank and fortune arrived from england to claim his protection as her guardian.
he was her distant relative, but the nearest who had survived the gradual extinction of her family; so that no more eligible shelter could be found for the rich and high-born lady eleanore rochcliffe than within the province-house of a transatlantic colony.
the consort of governor shute, moreover, had been as a mother to her childhood, and was now anxious to receive her in the hope that a beautiful young woman would be exposed to infinitely less peril from the primitive society of new england than amid the artifices and corruptions of a court.
if either the governor or his lady had especially consulted their own comfort, they would probably have sought to devolve the responsibility on other hands, since with some noble and splendid traits of character lady eleanore was remarkable for a harsh, unyielding pride, a haughty consciousness of her hereditary and personal advantages, which made her almost incapable of control.
judging from many traditionary anecdotes, this peculiar temper was hardly less than a monomania; or if the acts which it inspired were those of a sane person, it seemed due from providence that pride so sinful should be followed by as severe a retribution.
that tinge of the marvellous which is thrown over so many of these half-forgotten legends has probably imparted an additional wildness to the strange story of lady eleanore rochcliffe.
the ship in which she came passenger had arrived at newport, whence lady eleanore was conveyed to boston in the governor's coach, attended by a small escort of gentlemen on horseback.
the ponderous equipage, with its four black horses, attracted much notice as it rumbled through cornhill surrounded by the prancing steeds of half a dozen cavaliers with swords dangling to their stirrups and pistols at their holsters.
through the large glass windows of the coach, as it rolled along, the people could discern the figure of lady eleanore, strangely combining an almost queenly stateliness with the grace and beauty of a maiden in her teens.
a singular tale had gone abroad among the ladies of the province that their fair rival was indebted for much of the irresistible charm of her appearance to a certain article of dress -- an embroidered mantle -- which had been wrought by the most skilful artist in london, and possessed even magical properties of adornment.
on the present occasion, however, she owed nothing to the witchery of dress, being clad in a riding-habit of velvet which would have appeared stiff and ungraceful on any other form.
the coachman reined in his four black steeds, and the whole cavalcade came to a pause in front of the contorted iron balustrade that fenced the province-house from the public street.
it was an awkward coincidence that the bell of the old south was just then tolling for a funeral; so that, instead of a gladsome peal with which it was customary to announce the arrival of distinguished strangers, lady eleanore rochcliffe was ushered by a doleful clang, as if calamity had come embodied in her beautiful person.
""a very great disrespect!"
exclaimed captain langford, an english officer who had recently brought despatches to governor shute.
""the funeral should have been deferred lest lady eleanore's spirits be affected by such a dismal welcome."
""with your pardon, sir," replied dr. clarke, a physician and a famous champion of the popular party, "whatever the heralds may pretend, a dead beggar must have precedence of a living queen.
king death confers high privileges."
these remarks-were interchanged while the speakers waited a passage through the crowd which had gathered on each side of the gateway, leaving an open avenue to the portal of the province-house.
a black slave in livery now leaped from behind the coach and threw open the door, while at the same moment governor shute descended the flight of steps from his mansion to assist lady eleanore in alighting.
but the governor's stately approach was anticipated in a manner that excited general astonishment.
a pale young man with his black hair all in disorder rushed from the throng and prostrated himself beside the coach, thus offering his person as a footstool for lady eleanore rochcliffe to tread upon.
she held back an instant, yet with an expression as if doubting whether the young man were worthy to bear the weight of her footstep rather than dissatisfied to receive such awful reverence from a fellow-mortal.
""up, sir!"
said the governor, sternly, at the same time lifting his cane over the intruder.
""what means the bedlamite by this freak?"
""nay," answered lady eleanore, playfully, but with more scorn than pity in her tone; "your excellency shall not strike him.
when men seek only to be trampled upon, it were a pity to deny them a favor so easily granted -- and so well deserved!"
then, though as lightly as a sunbeam on a cloud, she placed her foot upon the cowering form and extended her hand to meet that of the governor.
there was a brief interval during which lady eleanore retained this attitude, and never, surely, was there an apter emblem of aristocracy and hereditary pride trampling on human sympathies and the kindred of nature than these two figures presented at that moment.
yet the spectators were so smitten with her beauty, and so essential did pride seem to the existence of such a creature, that they gave a simultaneous acclamation of applause.
""who is this insolent young fellow?"
inquired captain langford, who still remained beside dr. clarke.
""if he be in his senses, his impertinence demands the bastinado; if mad, lady eleanore should be secured from further inconvenience by his confinement."
""his name is jervase helwyse," answered the doctor -- "a youth of no birth or fortune, or other advantages save the mind and soul that nature gave him; and, being secretary to our colonial agent in london, it was his misfortune to meet this lady eleanore rochcliffe.
he loved her, and her scorn has driven him mad."
""he was mad so to aspire," observed the english officer.
""it may be so," said dr. clarke, frowning as he spoke; "but i tell you, sir, i could wellnigh doubt the justice of the heaven above us if no signal humiliation overtake this lady who now treads so haughtily into yonder mansion.
she seeks to place herself above the sympathies of our common nature, which envelops all human souls; see if that nature do not assert its claim over her in some mode that shall bring her level with the lowest."
""never!"
cried captain langford, indignantly -- "neither in life nor when they lay her with her ancestors."
not many days afterward the governor gave a ball in honor of lady eleanore rochcliffe.
the principal gentry of the colony received invitations, which were distributed to their residences far and near by messengers on horseback bearing missives sealed with all the formality of official despatches.
in obedience to the summons, there was a general gathering of rank, wealth and beauty, and the wide door of the province-house had seldom given admittance to more numerous and honorable guests than on the evening of lady eleanore's ball.
without much extravagance of eulogy, the spectacle might even be termed splendid, for, according to the fashion of the times, the ladies shone in rich silks and satins outspread over wide-projecting hoops, and the gentlemen glittered in gold embroidery laid unsparingly upon the purple or scarlet or sky-blue velvet which was the material of their coats and waistcoats.
the latter article of dress was of great importance, since it enveloped the wearer's body nearly to the knees and was perhaps bedizened with the amount of his whole year's income in golden flowers and foliage.
the altered taste of the present day -- a taste symbolic of a deep change in the whole system of society -- would look upon almost any of those gorgeous figures as ridiculous, although that evening the guests sought their reflections in the pier-glasses and rejoiced to catch their own glitter amid the glittering crowd.
what a pity that one of the stately mirrors has not preserved a picture of the scene which by the very traits that were so transitory might have taught us much that would be worth knowing and remembering!
would, at least, that either painter or mirror could convey to us some faint idea of a garment already noticed in this legend -- the lady eleanore's embroidered mantle, which the gossips whispered was invested with magic properties, so as to lend a new and untried grace to her figure each time that she put it on!
idle fancy as it is, this mysterious mantle has thrown an awe around my image of her, partly from its fabled virtues and partly because it was the handiwork of a dying woman, and perchance owed the fantastic grace of its conception to the delirium of approaching death.
after the ceremonial greetings had been paid, lady eleanore rochcliffe stood apart from the mob of guests, insulating herself within a small and distinguished circle to whom she accorded a more cordial favor than to the general throng.
the waxen torches threw their radiance vividly over the scene, bringing out its brilliant points in strong relief, but she gazed carelessly, and with now and then an expression of weariness or scorn tempered with such feminine grace that her auditors scarcely perceived the moral deformity of which it was the utterance.
she beheld the spectacle not with vulgar ridicule, as disdaining to be pleased with the provincial mockery of a court-festival, but with the deeper scorn of one whose spirit held itself too high to participate in the enjoyment of other human souls.
whether or no the recollections of those who saw her that evening were influenced by the strange events with which she was subsequently connected, so it was that her figure ever after recurred to them as marked by something wild and unnatural, although at the time the general whisper was of her exceeding beauty and of the indescribable charm which her mantle threw around her.
some close observers, indeed, detected a feverish flush and alternate paleness of countenance, with a corresponding flow and revulsion of spirits, and once or twice a painful and helpless betrayal of lassitude, as if she were on the point of sinking to the ground.
then, with a nervous shudder, she seemed to arouse her energies, and threw some bright and playful yet half-wicked sarcasm into the conversation.
there was so strange a characteristic in her manners and sentiments that it astonished every right-minded listener, till, looking in her face, a lurking and incomprehensible glance and smile perplexed them with doubts both as to her seriousness and sanity.
gradually, lady eleanore rochcliffe's circle grew smaller, till only four gentlemen remained in it.
these were captain langford, the english officer before mentioned; a virginian planter who had come to massachusetts on some political errand; a young episcopal clergyman, the grandson of a british earl; and, lastly, the private secretary of governor shute, whose obsequiousness had won a sort of tolerance from lady eleanore.
at different periods of the evening the liveried servants of the province-house passed among the guests bearing huge trays of refreshments and french and spanish wines.
lady eleanore rochcliffe, who refused to wet her beautiful lips even with a bubble of champagne, had sunk back into a large damask chair, apparently overwearied either with the excitement of the scene or its tedium; and while, for an instant, she was unconscious of voices, laughter and music, a young man stole forward and knelt down at her feet.
he bore a salver in his hand on which was a chased silver goblet filled to the brim with wine, which he offered as reverentially as to a crowned queen -- or, rather, with the awful devotion of a priest doing sacrifice to his idol.
conscious that some one touched her robe, lady eleanore started, and unclosed her eyes upon the pale, wild features and dishevelled hair of jervase helwyse.
""why do you haunt me thus?"
said she, in a languid tone, but with a kindlier feeling than she ordinarily permitted herself to express.
""they tell me that i have done you harm."
""heaven knows if that be so," replied the young man, solemnly.
""but, lady eleanore, in requital of that harm, if such there be, and for your own earthly and heavenly welfare, i pray you to take one sip of this holy wine and then to pass the goblet round among the guests.
and this shall be a symbol that you have not sought to withdraw yourself from the chain of human sympathies, which whoso would shake off must keep company with fallen angels."
""where has this mad fellow stolen that sacramental vessel?"
exclaimed the episcopal clergyman.
this question drew the notice of the guests to the silver cup, which was recognized as appertaining to the communion-plate of the old south church, and, for aught that could be known, it was brimming over with the consecrated wine.
""perhaps it is poisoned," half whispered the governor's secretary.
""pour it down the villain's throat!"
cried the virginian, fiercely.
""turn him out of the house!"
cried captain langford, seizing jervase helwyse so roughly by the shoulder that the sacramental cup was overturned and its contents sprinkled upon lady eleanore's mantle.
""whether knave, fool or bedlamite, it is intolerable that the fellow should go at large."
""pray, gentlemen, do my poor admirer no harm," said lady eleanore, with a faint and weary smile.
""take him out of my sight, if such be your pleasure, for i can find in my heart to do nothing but laugh at him, whereas, in all decency and conscience, it would become me to weep for the mischief i have wrought."
but while the bystanders were attempting to lead away the unfortunate young man he broke from them and with a wild, impassioned earnestness offered a new and equally strange petition to lady eleanore.
it was no other than that she should throw off the mantle, which while he pressed the silver cup of wine upon her she had drawn more closely around her form, so as almost to shroud herself within it.
""cast it from you," exclaimed jervase helwyse, clasping his hands in an agony of entreaty.
""it may not yet be too late.
give the accursed garment to the flames."
but lady eleanore, with a laugh of scorn, drew the rich folds of the embroidered mantle over her head in such a fashion as to give a completely new aspect to her beautiful face, which, half hidden, half revealed, seemed to belong to some being of mysterious character and purposes.
""farewell, jervase helwyse!"
said she.
""keep my image in your remembrance as you behold it now."
""alas, lady!"
he replied, in a tone no longer wild, but sad as a funeral-bell; "we must meet shortly when your face may wear another aspect, and that shall be the image that must abide within me."
he made no more resistance to the violent efforts of the gentlemen and servants who almost dragged him out of the apartment and dismissed him roughly from the iron gate of the province-house.
captain langford, who had been very active in this affair, was returning to the presence of lady eleanore rochcliffe, when he encountered the physician, dr. clarke, with whom he had held some casual talk on the day of her arrival.
the doctor stood apart, separated from lady eleanore by the width of the room, but eying her with such keen sagacity that captain langford involuntarily gave him credit for the discovery of some deep secret.
""you appear to be smitten, after all, with the charms of this queenly maiden," said he, hoping thus to draw forth the physician's hidden knowledge.
""god forbid!"
answered dr. clarke, with a grave smile; "and if you be wise, you will put up the same prayer for yourself.
woe to those who shall be smitten by this beautiful lady eleanore!
but yonder stands the governor, and i have a word or two for his private ear.
good-night!"
he accordingly advanced to governor shute and addressed him in so low a tone that none of the bystanders could catch a word of what he said, although the sudden change of his excellency's hitherto cheerful visage betokened that the communication could be of no agreeable import.
a very few moments afterward it was announced to the guests that an unforeseen circumstance rendered it necessary to put a premature close to the festival.
the ball at the province-house supplied a topic of conversation for the colonial metropolis for some days after its occurrence, and might still longer have been the general theme, only that a subject of all-engrossing interest thrust it for a time from the public recollection.
this was the appearance of a dreadful epidemic which in that age, and long before and afterward, was wont to slay its hundreds and thousands on both sides of the atlantic.
on the occasion of which we speak it was distinguished by a peculiar virulence, insomuch that it has left its traces -- its pitmarks, to use an appropriate figure -- on the history of the country, the affairs of which were thrown into confusion by its ravages.
at first, unlike its ordinary course, the disease seemed to confine itself to the higher circles of society, selecting its victims from among the proud, the well-born and the wealthy, entering unabashed into stately chambers and lying down with the slumberers in silken beds.
some of the most distinguished guests of the province-house -- even those whom the haughty lady eleanore rochcliffe had deemed not unworthy of her favor -- were stricken by this fatal scourge.
it was noticed with an ungenerous bitterness of feeling that the four gentlemen -- the virginian, the british officer, the young clergyman and the governor's secretary -- who had been her most devoted attendants on the evening of the ball were the foremost on whom the plague-stroke fell.
but the disease, pursuing its onward progress, soon ceased to be exclusively a prerogative of aristocracy.
its red brand was no longer conferred like a noble's star or an order of knighthood.
it threaded its way through the narrow and crooked streets, and entered the low, mean, darksome dwellings and laid its hand of death upon the artisans and laboring classes of the town.
it compelled rich and poor to feel themselves brethren then, and stalking to and fro across the three hills with a fierceness which made it almost a new pestilence, there was that mighty conqueror -- that scourge and horror of our forefathers -- the small-pox.
we can not estimate the affright which this plague inspired of yore by contemplating it as the fangless monster of the present day.
we must remember, rather, with what awe we watched the gigantic footsteps of the asiatic cholera striding from shore to shore of the atlantic and marching like destiny upon cities far remote which flight had already half depopulated.
there is no other fear so horrible and unhumanizing as that which makes man dread to breathe heaven's vital air lest it be poison, or to grasp the hand of a brother or friend lest the grip of the pestilence should clutch him.
such was the dismay that now followed in the track of the disease or ran before it throughout the town.
graves were hastily dug and the pestilential relics as hastily covered, because the dead were enemies of the living and strove to draw them headlong, as it were, into their own dismal pit.
the public councils were suspended, as if mortal wisdom might relinquish its devices now that an unearthly usurper had found his way into the ruler's mansion.
had an enemy's fleet been hovering on the coast or his armies trampling on our soil, the people would probably have committed their defence to that same direful conqueror who had wrought their own calamity and would permit no interference with his sway.
this conqueror had a symbol of his triumphs: it was a blood-red flag that fluttered in the tainted air over the door of every dwelling into which the small-pox had entered.
such a banner was long since waving over the portal of the province-house, for thence, as was proved by tracking its footsteps back, had all this dreadful mischief issued.
it had been traced back to a lady's luxurious chamber, to the proudest of the proud, to her that was so delicate and hardly owned herself of earthly mould, to the haughty one who took her stand above human sympathies -- to lady eleanore.
there remained no room for doubt that the contagion had lurked in that gorgeous mantle which threw so strange a grace around her at the festival.
its fantastic splendor had been conceived in the delirious brain of a woman on her death-bed and was the last toil of her stiffening fingers, which had interwoven fate and misery with its golden threads.
this dark tale, whispered at first, was now bruited far and wide.
the people raved against the lady eleanore and cried out that her pride and scorn had evoked a fiend, and that between them both this monstrous evil had been born.
at times their rage and despair took the semblance of grinning mirth; and whenever the red flag of the pestilence was hoisted over another and yet another door, they clapped their hands and shouted through the streets in bitter mockery: "behold a new triumph for the lady eleanore!"
one day in the midst of these dismal times a wild figure approached the portal of the province-house, and, folding his arms, stood contemplating the scarlet banner, which a passing breeze shook fitfully, as if to fling abroad the contagion that it typified.
at length, climbing one of the pillars by means of the iron balustrade, he took down the flag, and entered the mansion waving it above his head.
at the foot of the staircase he met the governor, booted and spurred, with his cloak drawn around him, evidently on the point of setting forth upon a journey.
""wretched lunatic, what do you seek here?"
exclaimed shute, extending his cane to guard himself from contact.
""there is nothing here but death; back, or you will meet him."
""death will not touch me, the banner-bearer of the pestilence," cried jervase helwyse, shaking the red flag aloft.
""death and the pestilence, who wears the aspect of the lady eleanore, will walk through the streets to-night, and i must march before them with this banner."
""why do i waste words on the fellow?"
muttered the governor, drawing his cloak across his mouth.
""what matters his miserable life, when none of us are sure of twelve hours" breath?
-- on, fool, to your own destruction!"
he made way for jervase helwyse, who immediately ascended the staircase, but on the first landing-place was arrested by the firm grasp of a hand upon his shoulder.
looking fiercely up with a madman's impulse to struggle with and rend asunder his opponent, he found himself powerless beneath a calm, stern eye which possessed the mysterious property of quelling frenzy at its height.
the person whom he had now encountered was the physician, dr. clarke, the duties of whose sad profession had led him to the province-house, where he was an infrequent guest in more prosperous times.
""young man, what is your purpose?"
demanded he.
""i seek the lady eleanore," answered jervase helwyse, submissively.
""all have fled from her," said the physician.
""why do you seek her now?
i tell you, youth, her nurse fell death-stricken on the threshold of that fatal chamber.
know ye not that never came such a curse to our shores as this lovely lady eleanore, that her breath has filled the air with poison, that she has shaken pestilence and death upon the land from the folds of her accursed mantle?"
""let me look upon her," rejoined the mad youth, more wildly.
""let me behold her in her awful beauty, clad in the regal garments of the pestilence.
she and death sit on a throne together; let me kneel down before them."
""poor youth!"
said dr. clarke, and, moved by a deep sense of human weakness, a smile of caustic humor curled his lip even then.
""wilt thou still worship the destroyer and surround her image with fantasies the more magnificent the more evil she has wrought?
thus man doth ever to his tyrants.
approach, then.
madness, as i have noted, has that good efficacy that it will guard you from contagion, and perhaps its own cure may be found in yonder chamber."
ascending another flight of stairs, he threw open a door and signed to jervase helwyse that he should enter.
the poor lunatic, it seems probable, had cherished a delusion that his haughty mistress sat in state, unharmed herself by the pestilential influence which as by enchantment she scattered round about her.
he dreamed, no doubt, that her beauty was not dimmed, but brightened into superhuman splendor.
with such anticipations he stole reverentially to the door at which the physician stood, but paused upon the threshold, gazing fearfully into the gloom of the darkened chamber.
""where is the lady eleanore?"
whispered he.
""call her," replied the physician.
""lady eleanore!
princess!
queen of death!"
cried jervase helwyse, advancing three steps into the chamber.
""she is not here.
there, on yonder table, i behold the sparkle of a diamond which once she wore upon her bosom.
there" -- and he shuddered -- "there hangs her mantle, on which a dead woman embroidered a spell of dreadful potency.
but where is the lady eleanore?"
something stirred within the silken curtains of a canopied bed and a low moan was uttered, which, listening intently, jervase helwyse began to distinguish as a woman's voice complaining dolefully of thirst.
he fancied, even, that he recognized its tones.
""my throat!
my throat is scorched," murmured the voice.
""a drop of water!"
""what thing art thou?"
said the brain-stricken youth, drawing near the bed and tearing asunder its curtains.
""whose voice hast thou stolen for thy murmurs and miserable petitions, as if lady eleanore could be conscious of mortal infirmity?
fie!
heap of diseased mortality, why lurkest thou in my lady's chamber?"
""oh, jervase helwyse," said the voice -- and as it spoke the figure contorted itself, struggling to hide its blasted face -- "look not now on the woman you once loved.
the curse of heaven hath stricken me because i would not call man my brother nor woman sister.
i wrapped myself in pride as in a mantle and scorned the sympathies of nature, and therefore has nature made this wretched body the medium of a dreadful sympathy.
you are avenged, they are all avenged, nature is avenged; for i am eleanore rochcliffe."
the malice of his mental disease, the bitterness lurking at the bottom of his heart, mad as he was, for a blighted and ruined life and love that had been paid with cruel scorn, awoke within the breast of jervase helwyse.
he shook his finger at the wretched girl, and the chamber echoed, the curtains of the bed were shaken, with his outburst of insane merriment.
""another triumph for the lady eleanore!"
he cried.
""all have been her victims; who so worthy to be the final victim as herself?"
impelled by some new fantasy of his crazed intellect, he snatched the fatal mantle and rushed from the chamber and the house.
that night a procession passed by torchlight through the streets, bearing in the midst the figure of a woman enveloped with a richly-embroidered mantle, while in advance stalked jervase helwyse waving the red flag of the pestilence.
arriving opposite the province-house, the mob burned the effigy, and a strong wind came and swept away the ashes.
it was said that from that very hour the pestilence abated, as if its sway had some mysterious connection, from the first plague-stroke to the last, with lady elcanore's mantle.
a remarkable uncertainty broods over that unhappy lady's fate.
there is a belief, however, that in a certain chamber of this mansion a female form may sometimes be duskily discerned shrinking into the darkest corner and muffling her face within an embroidered mantle.
supposing the legend true, can this be other than the once proud lady eleanore?
* * * * * mine host and the old loyalist and i bestowed no little warmth of applause upon this narrative, in which we had all been deeply interested; for the reader can scarcely conceive how unspeakably the effect of such a tale is heightened when, as in the present case, we may repose perfect confidence in the veracity of him who tells it.
for my own part, knowing how scrupulous is mr. tiffany to settle the foundation of his facts, i could not have believed him one whit the more faithfully had he professed himself an eyewitness of the doings and sufferings of poor lady eleanore.
some sceptics, it is true, might demand documentary evidence, or even require him to produce the embroidered mantle, forgetting that -- heaven be praised!
-- it was consumed to ashes.
but now the old loyalist, whose blood was warmed by the good cheer, began to talk, in his turn, about the traditions of the province house, and hinted that he, if it were agreeable, might add a few reminiscences to our legendary stock.
mr. tiffany, having no cause to dread a rival, immediately besought him to favor us with a specimen; my own entreaties, of course, were urged to the same effect; and our venerable guest, well pleased to find willing auditors, awaited only the return of mr. thomas waite, who had been summoned forth to provide accommodations for several new arrivals.
perchance the public -- but be this as its own caprice and ours shall settle the matter -- may read the result in another tale of the province house.
iv.
old esther dudley.
our host having resumed the chair, he as well as mr. tiffany and myself expressed much eagerness to be made acquainted with the story to which the loyalist had alluded.
that venerable man first of all saw lit to moisten his throat with another glass of wine, and then, turning his face toward our coal-fire, looked steadfastly for a few moments into the depths of its cheerful glow.
finally he poured forth a great fluency of speech.
the generous liquid that he had imbibed, while it warmed his age-chilled blood, likewise took off the chill from his heart and mind, and gave him an energy to think and feel which we could hardly have expected to find beneath the snows of fourscore winters.
his feelings, indeed, appeared to me more excitable than those of a younger man -- or, at least, the same degree of feeling manifested itself by more visible effects than if his judgment and will had possessed the potency of meridian life.
at the pathetic passages of his narrative he readily melted into tears.
when a breath of indignation swept across his spirit, the blood flushed his withered visage even to the roots of his white hair, and he shook his clinched fist at the trio of peaceful auditors, seeming to fancy enemies in those who felt very kindly toward the desolate old soul.
but ever and anon, sometimes in the midst of his most earnest talk, this ancient person's intellect would wander vaguely, losing its hold of the matter in hand and groping for it amid misty shadows.
then would he cackle forth a feeble laugh and express a doubt whether his wits -- for by that phrase it pleased our ancient friend to signify his mental powers -- were not getting a little the worse for wear.
under these disadvantages, the old loyalist's story required more revision to render it fit for the public eye than those of the series which have preceded it; nor should it be concealed that the sentiment and tone of the affair may have undergone some slight -- or perchance more than slight -- metamorphosis in its transmission to the reader through the medium of a thoroughgoing democrat.
the tale itself is a mere sketch with no involution of plot nor any great interest of events, yet possessing, if i have rehearsed it aright, that pensive influence over the mind which the shadow of the old province house flings upon the loiterer in its court-yard.
* * * * * the hour had come -- the hour of defeat and humiliation -- when sir william howe was to pass over the threshold of the province-house and embark, with no such triumphal ceremonies as he once promised himself, on board the british fleet.
he bade his servants and military attendants go before him, and lingered a moment in the loneliness of the mansion to quell the fierce emotions that struggled in his bosom as with a death-throb.
preferable then would he have deemed his fate had a warrior's death left him a claim to the narrow territory of a grave within the soil which the king had given him to defend.
with an ominous perception that as his departing footsteps echoed adown the staircase the sway of britain was passing for ever from new england, he smote his clenched hand on his brow and cursed the destiny that had flung the shame of a dismembered empire upon him.
""would to god," cried he, hardly repressing his tears of rage, "that the rebels were even now at the doorstep!
a blood-stain upon the floor should then bear testimony that the last british ruler was faithful to his trust."
the tremulous voice of a woman replied to his exclamation.
""heaven's cause and the king's are one," it said.
""go forth, sir william howe, and trust in heaven to bring back a royal governor in triumph."
subduing at once the passion to which he had yielded only in the faith that it was unwitnessed, sir william howe became conscious that an aged woman leaning on a gold-headed staff was standing betwixt him and the door.
it was old esther dudley, who had dwelt almost immemorial years in this mansion, until her presence seemed as inseparable from it as the recollections of its history.
she was the daughter of an ancient and once eminent family which had fallen into poverty and decay and left its last descendant no resource save the bounty of the king, nor any shelter except within the walls of the province-house.
an office in the household with merely nominal duties had been assigned to her as a pretext for the payment of a small pension, the greater part of which she expended in adorning herself with an antique magnificence of attire.
the claims of esther dudley's gentle blood were acknowledged by all the successive governors, and they treated her with the punctilious courtesy which it was her foible to demand, not always with success, from a neglectful world.
the only actual share which she assumed in the business of the mansion was to glide through its passages and public chambers late at night to see that the servants had dropped no fire from their flaring torches nor left embers crackling and blazing on the hearths.
perhaps it was this invariable custom of walking her rounds in the hush of midnight that caused the superstition of the times to invest the old woman with attributes of awe and mystery, fabling that she had entered the portal of the province-house -- none knew whence -- in the train of the first royal governor, and that it was her fate to dwell there till the last should have departed.
but sir william howe, if he ever heard this legend, had forgotten it.
""mistress dudley, why are you loitering here?"
asked he, with some severity of tone.
""it is my pleasure to be the last in this mansion of the king."
""not so, if it please your excellency," answered the time-stricken woman.
""this roof has sheltered me long; i will not pass from it until they bear me to the tomb of my forefathers.
what other shelter is there for old esther dudley save the province-house or the grave?"
""now, heaven forgive me!"
said sir william howe to himself.
""i was about to leave this wretched old creature to starve or beg.
-- take this, good mistress dudley," he added, putting a purse into her hands.
""king george's head on these golden guineas is sterling yet, and will continue so, i warrant you, even should the rebels crown john hancock their king.
that purse will buy a better shelter than the province-house can now afford."
""while the burden of life remains upon me i will have no other shelter than this roof," persisted esther dudley, striking her stuff upon the floor with a gesture that expressed immovable resolve; "and when your excellency returns in triumph, i will totter into the porch to welcome you."
""my poor old friend!"
answered the british general, and all his manly and martial pride could no longer restrain a gush of bitter tears.
""this is an evil hour for you and me.
the province which the king entrusted to my charge is lost.
i go hence in misfortune -- perchance in disgrace -- to return no more.
and you, whose present being is incorporated with the past, who have seen governor after governor in stately pageantry ascend these steps, whose whole life has been an observance of majestic ceremonies and a worship of the king, -- how will you endure the change?
come with us; bid farewell to a land that has shaken off its allegiance, and live still under a royal government at halifax."
""never!
never!"
said the pertinacious old dame.
""here will i abide, and king george shall still have one true subject in his disloyal province."
""beshrew the old fool!"
muttered sir william howe, growing impatient of her obstinacy and ashamed of the emotion into which he had been betrayed.
""she is the very moral of old-fashioned prejudice, and could exist nowhere but in this musty edifice.
-- well, then, mistress dudley, since you will needs tarry, i give the province-house in charge to you.
take this key, and keep it safe until myself or some other royal governor shall demand it of you."
smiling bitterly at himself and her, he took the heavy key of the province-house, and, delivering it into the old lady's hands, drew his clonk around him for departure.
as the general glanced back at esther dudley's antique figure he deemed her well fitted for such a charge, as being so perfect a representative of the decayed past -- of an age gone by, with its manners, opinions, faith and feelings all fallen into oblivion or scorn, of what had once been a reality, but was now merely a vision of faded magnificence.
then sir william howe strode forth, smiting his clenched hands together in the fierce anguish of his spirit, and old esther dudley was left to keep watch in the lonely province-house, dwelling there with memory; and if hope ever seemed to flit around her, still it was memory in disguise.
the total change of affairs that ensued on the departure of the british troops did not drive the venerable lady from her stronghold.
there was not for many years afterward a governor of massachusetts, and the magistrates who had charge of such matters saw no objection to esther dudley's residence in the province-house, especially as they must otherwise have paid a hireling for taking care of the premises, which with her was a labor of love; and so they left her the undisturbed mistress of the old historic edifice.
many and strange were the fables which the gossips whispered about her in all the chimney-corners of the town.
among the time-worn articles of furniture that had been left in the mansion, there was a tall antique mirror which was well worthy of a tale by itself, and perhaps may hereafter be the theme of one.
the gold of its heavily-wrought frame was tarnished, and its surface so blurred that the old woman's figure, whenever she paused before it, looked indistinct and ghostlike.
but it was the general belief that esther could cause the governors of the overthrown dynasty, with the beautiful ladies who had once adorned their festivals, the indian chiefs who had come up to the province-house to hold council or swear allegiance, the grim provincial warriors, the severe clergymen -- in short, all the pageantry of gone days, all the figures that ever swept across the broad-plate of glass in former times, -- she could cause the whole to reappear and people the inner world of the mirror with shadows of old life.
such legends as these, together with the singularity of her isolated existence, her age and the infirmity that each added winter flung upon her, made mistress dudley the object both of fear and pity, and it was partly the result of either sentiment that, amid all the angry license of the times, neither wrong nor insult ever fell upon her unprotected head.
indeed, there was so much haughtiness in her demeanor toward intruders -- among whom she reckoned all persons acting under the new authorities -- that it was really an affair of no small nerve to look her in the face.
and, to do the people justice, stern republicans as they had now become, they were well content that the old gentlewoman, in her hoop-petticoat and faded embroidery, should still haunt the palace of ruined pride and overthrown power, the symbol of a departed system, embodying a history in her person.
so esther dudley dwelt year after year in the province-house, still reverencing all that others had flung aside, still faithful to her king, who, so long as the venerable dame yet held her post, might be said to retain one true subject in new england and one spot of the empire that had been wrested from him.
and did she dwell there in utter loneliness?
rumor said, "not so."
whenever her chill and withered heart desired warmth, she was wont to summon a black slave of governor shirley's from the blurred mirror and send him in search of guests who had long ago been familiar in those deserted chambers.
forth went the sable messenger, with the starlight or the moonshine gleaming through him, and did his errand in the burial-grounds, knocking at the iron doors of tombs or upon the marble slabs that covered them, and whispering to those within, "my mistress, old esther dudley, bids you to the province-house at midnight;" and punctually as the clock of the old south told twelve came the shadows of the olivers, the hutchinsons, the dudleys -- all the grandees of a bygone generation -- gliding beneath the portal into the well-known mansion, where esther mingled with them as if she likewise were a shade.
without vouching for the truth of such traditions, it is certain that mistress dudley sometimes assembled a few of the stanch though crestfallen old tories who had lingered in the rebel town during those days of wrath and tribulation.
out of a cobwebbed bottle containing liquor that a royal governor might have smacked his lips over they quaffed healths to the king and babbled treason to the republic, feeling as if the protecting shadow of the throne were still flung around them.
but, draining the last drops of their liquor, they stole timorously homeward, and answered not again if the rude mob reviled them in the street.
yet esther dudley's most frequent and favored guests were the children of the town.
toward them she was never stern.
a kindly and loving nature hindered elsewhere from its free course by a thousand rocky prejudices lavished itself upon these little ones.
by bribes of gingerbread of her own making, stamped with a royal crown, she tempted their sunny sportiveness beneath the gloomy portal of the province-house, and would often beguile them to spend a whole play-day there, sitting in a circle round the verge of her hoop-petticoat, greedily attentive to her stories of a dead world.
and when these little boys and girls stole forth again from the dark, mysterious mansion, they went bewildered, full of old feelings that graver people had long ago forgotten, rubbing their eyes at the world around them as if they had gone astray into ancient times and become children of the past.
at home, when their parents asked where they had loitered such a weary while and with whom they had been at play, the children would talk of all the departed worthies of the province as far back as governor belcher and the haughty dame of sir william phipps.
it would seem as though they had been sitting on the knees of these famous personages, whom the grave had hidden for half a century, and had toyed with the embroidery of their rich waistcoats or roguishly pulled the long curls of their flowing wigs.
""but governor belcher has been dead this many a year," would the mother say to her little boy.
""and did you really see him at the province-house?"
-- "oh yes, dear mother -- yes!"
the half-dreaming child would answer.
""but when old esther had done speaking about him, he faded away out of his chair."
thus, without affrighting her little guests, she led them by the hand into the chambers of her own desolate heart and made childhood's fancy discern the ghosts that haunted there.
living so continually in her own circle of ideas, and never regulating her mind by a proper reference to present things, esther dudley appears to have grown partially crazed.
it was found that she had no right sense of the progress and true state of the revolutionary war, but held a constant faith that the armies of britain were victorious on every field and destined to be ultimately triumphant.
whenever the town rejoiced for a battle won by washington or gates or morgan or greene, the news, in passing through the door of the province-house as through the ivory gate of dreams, became metamorphosed into a strange tale of the prowess of howe, clinton or cornwallis.
sooner or later, it was her invincible belief, the colonies would be prostrate at the footstool of the king.
sometimes she seemed to take for granted that such was already the case.
on one occasion she startled the townspeople by a brilliant illumination of the province-house with candles at every pane of glass and a transparency of the king's initials and a crown of light in the great balcony-window.
the figure of the aged woman in the most gorgeous of her mildewed velvets and brocades was seen passing from casement to casement, until she paused before the balcony and flourished a huge key above her head.
her wrinkled visage actually gleamed with triumph, as if the soul within her were a festal lamp.
""what means this blaze of light?
what does old esther's joy portend?"
whispered a spectator.
""it is frightful to, see her gliding about the chambers and rejoicing there without a soul to bear her company."
""it is as if she were making merry in a tomb," said another.
""pshaw!
it is no such mystery," observed an old man, after some brief exercise of memory.
""mistress dudley is keeping jubilee for the king of england's birthday."
then the people laughed aloud, and would have thrown mud against the blazing transparency of the king's crown and initials, only that they pitied the poor old dame who was so dismally triumphant amid the wreck and ruin of the system to which she appertained.
oftentimes it was her custom to climb the weary staircase that wound upward to the cupola, and thence strain her dimmed eyesight seaward and countryward, watching for a british fleet or for the march of a grand procession with the king's banner floating over it.
the passengers in the street below would discern her anxious visage and send up a shout: "when the golden indian on the province-house shall shoot his arrow, and when the cock on the old south spire shall crow, then look for a royal governor again!"
for this had grown a by-word through the town.
and at last, after long, long years, old esther dudley knew -- or perchance she only dreamed -- that a royal governor was on the eve of returning to the province-house to receive the heavy key which sir william howe had committed to her charge.
now, it was the fact that intelligence bearing some faint analogy to esther's version of it was current among the townspeople.
she set the mansion in the best order that her means allowed, and, arraying herself in silks and tarnished gold, stood long before the blurred mirror to admire her own magnificence.
as she gazed the gray and withered lady moved her ashen lips, murmuring half aloud, talking to shapes that she saw within the mirror, to shadows of her own fantasies, to the household friends of memory, and bidding them rejoice with her and come forth to meet the governor.
and while absorbed in this communion mistress dudley heard the tramp of many footsteps in the street, and, looking out at the window, beheld what she construed as the royal governor's arrival.
""oh, happy day!
oh, blessed, blessed hour!"
she exclaimed.
""let me but bid him welcome within the portal, and my task in the province-house and on earth is done."
then, with tottering feet which age and tremulous joy caused to tread amiss, she hurried down the grand staircase, her silks sweeping and rustling as she went; so that the sound was as if a train of special courtiers were thronging from the dim mirror.
and esther dudley fancied that as soon as the wide door should be flung open all the pomp and splendor of bygone times would pace majestically into the province-house and the gilded tapestry of the past would be brightened by the sunshine of the present.
she turned the key, withdrew it from the lock, unclosed the door and stepped across the threshold.
advancing up the court-yard appeared a person of most dignified mien, with tokens, as esther interpreted them, of gentle blood, high rank and long-accustomed authority even in his walk and every gesture.
he was richly dressed, but wore a gouty shoe, which, however, did not lessen the stateliness of his gait.
around and behind him were people in plain civic dresses and two or three war-worn veterans -- evidently officers of rank -- arrayed in a uniform of blue and buff.
but esther dudley, firm in the belief that had fastened its roots about her heart, beheld only the principal personage, and never doubted that this was the long-looked-for governor to whom she was to surrender up her charge.
as he approached she involuntarily sank down on her knees and tremblingly held forth the heavy key.
""receive my trust!
take it quickly," cried she, "for methinks death is striving to snatch away my triumph.
but he conies too late.
thank heaven for this blessed hour!
god save king george!"
""that, madam, is a strange prayer to be offered up at such a moment," replied the unknown guest of the province-house, and, courteously removing his hat, he offered his arm to raise the aged woman.
""yet, in reverence for your gray hairs and long-kept faith, heaven forbid that any here should say you nay.
over the realms which still acknowledge his sceptre, god save king george!"
esther dudley started to her feet, and, hastily clutching back the key, gazed with fearful earnestness at the stranger, and dimly and doubtfully, as if suddenly awakened from a dream, her bewildered eyes half recognized his face.
years ago she had known him among the gentry of the province, but the ban of the king had fallen upon him.
how, then, came the doomed victim here?
proscribed, excluded from mercy, the monarch's most dreaded and hated foe, this new england merchant had stood triumphantly against a kingdom's strength, and his foot now trod upon humbled royalty as he ascended the steps of the province-house, the people's chosen governor of massachusetts.
""wretch, wretch that i am!"
muttered the old woman, with such a heartbroken expression that the tears gushed from the stranger's eyes.
""have i bidden a traitor welcome?
-- come, death!
come quickly!"
""alas, venerable lady!"
said governor hancock, lending her his support with all the reverence that a courtier would have shown to a queen, "your life has been prolonged until the world has changed around you.
you have treasured up all that time has rendered worthless -- the principles, feelings, manners, modes of being and acting which another generation has flung aside -- and you are a symbol of the past.
and i and these around me -- we represent a new race of men, living no longer in the past, scarcely in the present, but projecting our lives forward into the future.
ceasing to model ourselves on ancestral superstitions, it is our faith and principle to press onward -- onward.
-- yet," continued he, turning to his attendants, "let us reverence for the last time the stately and gorgeous prejudices of the tottering past."
while the republican governor spoke he had continued to support the helpless form of esther dudley; her weight grew heavier against his arm, but at last, with a sudden effort to free herself, the ancient woman sank down beside one of the pillars of the portal.
the key of the province-house fell from her grasp and clanked against the stone.
""i have been faithful unto death," murmured she.
""god save the king!"
""she hath done her office," said hancock, solemnly.
""we will follow her reverently to the tomb of her ancestors, and then, my fellow-citizens, onward -- onward.
we are no longer children of the past."
as the old loyalist concluded his narrative the enthusiasm which had been fitfully flashing within his sunken eyes and quivering across his wrinkled visage faded away, as if all the lingering fire of his soul were extinguished.
just then, too, a lamp upon the mantelpiece threw out a dying gleam, which vanished as speedily as it shot upward, compelling our eyes to grope for one another's features by the dim glow of the hearth.
with such a lingering fire, methought, with such a dying gleam, had the glory of the ancient system vanished from the province-house when the spirit of old esther dudley took its flight.
and now, again, the clock of the old south threw its voice of ages on the breeze, knolling the hourly knell of the past, crying out far and wide through the multitudinous city, and filling our ears, as we sat in the dusky chamber, with its reverberating depth of tone.
in that same mansion -- in that very chamber -- what a volume of history had been told off into hours by the same voice that was now trembling in the air!
many a governor had heard those midnight accents and longed to exchange his stately cares for slumber.
and, as for mine host and mr. bela tiffany and the old loyalist and me, we had babbled about dreams of the past until we almost fancied that the clock was still striking in a bygone century.
neither of us would have wondered had a hoop-petticoated phantom of esther dudley tottered into the chamber, walking her rounds in the hush of midnight as of yore, and motioned us to quench the fading embers of the fire and leave the historic precincts to herself and her kindred shades.
but, as no such vision was vouchsafed, i retired unbidden, and would advise mr. tiffany to lay hold of another auditor, being resolved not to show my face in the province house for a good while hence -- if ever.
the haunted mind.
what a singular moment is the first one, when you have hardly begun to recollect yourself, after starting from midnight slumber!
by unclosing your eyes so suddenly you seem to have surprised the personages of your dream in full convocation round your bed, and catch one broad glance at them before they can flit into obscurity.
or, to vary the metaphor, you find yourself for a single instant wide awake in that realm of illusions whither sleep has been the passport, and behold its ghostly inhabitants and wondrous scenery with a perception of their strangeness such as you never attain while the dream is undisturbed.
the distant sound of a church-clock is borne faintly on the wind.
you question with yourself, half seriously, whether it has stolen to your waking ear from some gray tower that stood within the precincts of your dream.
while yet in suspense another clock flings its heavy clang over the slumbering town with so full and distinct a sound, and such a long murmur in the neighboring air, that you are certain it must proceed from the steeple at the nearest corner; you count the strokes -- one, two; and there they cease with a booming sound like the gathering of a third stroke within the bell.
if you could choose an hour of wakefulness out of the whole night, it would be this.
since your sober bedtime, at eleven, you have had rest enough to take off the pressure of yesterday's fatigue, while before you, till the sun comes from "far cathay" to brighten your window, there is almost the space of a summer night -- one hour to be spent in thought with the mind's eye half shut, and two in pleasant dreams, and two in that strangest of enjoyments the forgetfulness alike of joy and woe.
the moment of rising belongs to another period of time, and appears so distant that the plunge out of a warm bed into the frosty air can not yet be anticipated with dismay.
yesterday has already vanished among the shadows of the past; to-morrow has not yet emerged from the future.
you have found an intermediate space where the business of life does not intrude, where the passing moment lingers and becomes truly the present; a spot where father time, when he thinks nobody is watching him, sits down by the wayside to take breath.
oh that he would fall asleep and let mortals live on without growing older!
hitherto you have lain perfectly still, because the slightest motion would dissipate the fragments of your slumber.
now, being irrevocably awake, you peep through the half-drawn window-curtain, and observe that the glass is ornamented with fanciful devices in frost-work, and that each pane presents something like a frozen dream.
there will be time enough to trace out the analogy while waiting the summons to breakfast.
seen through the clear portion of the glass where the silvery mountain-peaks of the frost-scenery do not ascend, the most conspicuous object is the steeple, the white spire of which directs you to the wintry lustre of the firmament.
you may almost distinguish the figures on the clock that has just told the hour.
such a frosty sky and the snow-covered roofs and the long vista of the frozen street, all white, and the distant water hardened into rock, might make you shiver even under four blankets and a woollen comforter.
yet look at that one glorious star!
its beams are distinguishable from all the rest, and actually cast the shadow of the casement on the bed with a radiance of deeper hue than moonlight, though not so accurate an outline.
you sink down and muffle your head in the clothes, shivering all the while, but less from bodily chill than the bare idea of a polar atmosphere.
it is too cold even for the thoughts to venture abroad.
you speculate on the luxury of wearing out a whole existence in bed like an oyster in its shell, content with the sluggish ecstasy of inaction, and drowsily conscious of nothing but delicious warmth such as you now feel again.
ah!
that idea has brought a hideous one in its train.
you think how the dead are lying in their cold shrouds and narrow coffins through the drear winter of the grave, and can not persuade your fancy that they neither shrink nor shiver when the snow is drifting over their little hillocks and the bitter blast howls against the door of the tomb.
that gloomy thought will collect a gloomy multitude and throw its complexion over your wakeful hour.
in the depths of every heart there is a tomb and a dungeon, though the lights, the music and revelry, above may cause us to forget their existence and the buried ones or prisoners whom they hide.
but sometimes, and oftenest at midnight, those dark receptacles are flung wide open.
in an hour like this, when the mind has a passive sensibility, but no active strength -- when the imagination is a mirror imparting vividness to all ideas without the power of selecting or controlling them -- then pray that your griefs may slumber and the brotherhood of remorse not break their chain.
it is too late.
a funeral train comes gliding by your bed in which passion and feeling assume bodily shape and things of the mind become dim spectres to the eye.
there is your earliest sorrow, a pale young mourner wearing a sister's likeness to first love, sadly beautiful, with a hallowed sweetness in her melancholy features and grace in the flow of her sable robe.
next appears a shade of ruined loveliness with dust among her golden hair and her bright garments all faded and defaced, stealing from your glance with drooping head, as fearful of reproach: she was your fondest hope, but a delusive one; so call her disappointment now.
a sterner form succeeds, with a brow of wrinkles, a look and gesture of iron authority; there is no name for him unless it be fatality -- an emblem of the evil influence that rules your fortunes, a demon to whom you subjected yourself by some error at the outset of life, and were bound his slave for ever by once obeying him.
see those fiendish lineaments graven on the darkness, the writhed lip of scorn, the mockery of that living eye, the pointed finger touching the sore place in your heart!
do you remember any act of enormous folly at which you would blush even in the remotest cavern of the earth?
then recognize your shame.
pass, wretched band!
well for the wakeful one if, riotously miserable, a fiercer tribe do not surround him -- the devils of a guilty heart that holds its hell within itself.
what if remorse should assume the features of an injured friend?
what if the fiend should come in woman's garments with a pale beauty amid sin and desolation, and lie down by your side?
what if he should stand at your bed's foot in the likeness of a corpse with a bloody stain upon the shroud?
sufficient without such guilt is this nightmare of the soul, this heavy, heavy sinking of the spirits, this wintry gloom about the heart, this indistinct horror of the mind blending itself with the darkness of the chamber.
by a desperate effort you start upright, breaking from a sort of conscious sleep and gazing wildly round the bed, as if the fiends were anywhere but in your haunted mind.
at the same moment the slumbering embers on the hearth send forth a gleam which palely illuminates the whole outer room and flickers through the door of the bedchamber, but can not quite dispel its obscurity.
your eye searches for whatever may remind you of the living world.
with eager minuteness you take note of the table near the fireplace, the book with an ivory knife between its leaves, the unfolded letter, the hat and the fallen glove.
soon the flame vanishes, and with it the whole scene is gone, though its image remains an instant in your mind's eye when darkness has swallowed the reality.
throughout the chamber there is the same obscurity as before, but not the same gloom within your breast.
as your head falls back upon the pillow you think -- in a whisper be it spoken -- how pleasant in these night solitudes would be the rise and fall of a softer breathing than your own, the slight pressure of a tenderer bosom, the quiet throb of a purer heart, imparting its peacefulness to your troubled one, as if the fond sleeper were involving you in her dream.
her influence is over you, though she have no existence but in that momentary image.
you sink down in a flowery spot on the borders of sleep and wakefulness, while your thoughts rise before you in pictures, all disconnected, yet all assimilated by a pervading gladsomeness and beauty.
the wheeling of gorgeous squadrons that glitter in the sun is succeeded by the merriment of children round the door of a schoolhouse beneath the glimmering shadow of old trees at the corner of a rustic lane.
you stand in the sunny rain of a summer shower, and wander among the sunny trees of an autumnal wood, and look upward at the brightest of all rainbows overarching the unbroken sheet of snow on the american side of niagara.
your mind struggles pleasantly between the dancing radiance round the hearth of a young man and his recent bride and the twittering flight of birds in spring about their new-made nest.
you feel the merry bounding of a ship before the breeze, and watch the tuneful feet of rosy girls as they twine their last and merriest dance in a splendid ball-room, and find yourself in the brilliant circle of a crowded theatre as the curtain falls over a light and airy scene.
with an involuntary start you seize hold on consciousness, and prove yourself but half awake by running a doubtful parallel between human life and the hour which has now elapsed.
in both you emerge from mystery, pass through a vicissitude that you can but imperfectly control, and are borne onward to another mystery.
now comes the peal of the distant clock with fainter and fainter strokes as you plunge farther into the wilderness of sleep.
it is the knell of a temporary death.
your spirit has departed, and strays like a free citizen among the people of a shadowy world, beholding strange sights, yet without wonder or dismay.
so calm, perhaps, will be the final change -- so undisturbed, as if among familiar things, the entrance of the soul to its eternal home.
the village uncle.
an imaginary retrospect.
come!
another log upon the hearth.
true, our little parlor is comfortable, especially here where the old man sits in his old arm-chair; but on thanksgiving-night the blaze should dance higher up the chimney and send a shower of sparks into the outer darkness.
toss on an armful of those dry oak chips, the last relicts of the mermaid's knee-timbers -- the bones of your namesake, susan.
higher yet, and clearer, be the blaze, till our cottage windows glow the ruddiest in the village and the light of our household mirth flash far across the bay to nahant.
and now come, susan; come, my children.
draw your chairs round me, all of you.
there is a dimness over your figures.
you sit quivering indistinctly with each motion of the blaze, which eddies about you like a flood; so that you all have the look of visions or people that dwell only in the firelight, and will vanish from existence as completely as your own shadows when the flame shall sink among the embers.
hark!
let me listen for the swell of the surf; it should be audible a mile inland on a night like this.
yes; there i catch the sound, but only an uncertain murmur, as if a good way down over the beach, though by the almanac it is high tide at eight o'clock, and the billows must now be dashing within thirty yards of our door.
ah!
the old man's ears are failing him, and so is his eyesight, and perhaps his mind, else you would not all be so shadowy in the blaze of his thanksgiving fire.
how strangely the past is peeping over the shoulders of the present!
to judge by my recollections, it is but a few moments since i sat in another room.
yonder model of a vessel was not there, nor the old chest of drawers, nor susan's profile and mine in that gilt frame -- nothing, in short, except this same fire, which glimmered on books, papers and a picture, and half discovered my solitary figure in a looking-glass.
but it was paler than my rugged old self, and younger, too, by almost half a century.
speak to me, susan; speak, my beloved ones; for the scene is glimmering on my sight again, and as it brightens you fade away.
oh, i should be loth to lose my treasure of past happiness and become once more what i was then -- a hermit in the depths of my own mind, sometimes yawning over drowsy volumes and anon a scribbler of wearier trash than what i read; a man who had wandered out of the real world and got into its shadow, where his troubles, joys and vicissitudes were of such slight stuff that he hardly knew whether he lived or only dreamed of living.
thank heaven i am an old man now and have done with all such vanities!
still this dimness of mine eyes!
-- come nearer, susan, and stand before the fullest blaze of the hearth.
now i behold you illuminated from head to foot, in your clean cap and decent gown, with the dear lock of gray hair across your forehead and a quiet smile about your mouth, while the eyes alone are concealed by the red gleam of the fire upon your spectacles.
there!
you made me tremble again.
when the flame quivered, my sweet susan, you quivered with it and grew indistinct, as if melting into the warm light, that my last glimpse of you might be as visionary as the first was, full many a year since.
do you remember it?
you stood on the little bridge over the brook that runs across king's beach into the sea.
it was twilight, the waves rolling in, the wind sweeping by, the crimson clouds fading in the west and the silver moon brightening above the hill; and on the bridge were you, fluttering in the breeze like a sea-bird that might skim away at your pleasure.
you seemed a daughter of the viewless wind, a creature of the ocean-foam and the crimson light, whose merry life was spent in dancing on the crests of the billows that threw up their spray to support your footsteps.
as i drew nearer i fancied you akin to the race of mermaids, and thought how pleasant it would be to dwell with you among the quiet coves in the shadow of the cliffs, and to roam along secluded beaches of the purest sand, and, when our northern shores grew bleak, to haunt the islands, green and lonely, far amid summer seas.
and yet it gladdened me, after all this nonsense, to find you nothing but a pretty young girl sadly perplexed with the rude behavior of the wind about your petticoats.
thus i did with susan as with most other things in my earlier days, dipping her image into my mind and coloring it of a thousand fantastic hues before i could see her as she really was.
now, susan, for a sober picture of our village.
it was a small collection of dwellings that seemed to have been cast up by the sea with the rock-weed and marine plants that it vomits after a storm, or to have come ashore among the pipe-staves and other lumber which had been washed from the deck of an eastern schooner.
there was just space for the narrow and sandy street between the beach in front and a precipitous hill that lifted its rocky forehead in the rear among a waste of juniper-bushes and the wild growth of a broken pasture.
the village was picturesque in the variety of its edifices, though all were rude.
here stood a little old hovel, built, perhaps, of driftwood, there a row of boat-houses, and beyond them a two-story dwelling of dark and weatherbeaten aspect, the whole intermixed with one or two snug cottages painted white, a sufficiency of pig-styes and a shoemaker's shop.
two grocery stores stood opposite each other in the centre of the village.
these were the places of resort at their idle hours of a hardy throng of fishermen in red baize shirts, oilcloth trousers and boots of brown leather covering the whole leg -- true seven-league boots, but fitter to wade the ocean than walk the earth.
the wearers seemed amphibious, as if they did but creep out of salt water to sun themselves; nor would it have been wonderful to see their lower limbs covered with clusters of little shellfish such as cling to rocks and old ship-timber over which the tide ebbs and flows.
when their fleet of boats was weather-bound, the butchers raised their price, and the spit was busier than the frying-pan; for this was a place of fish, and known as such to all the country round about.
the very air was fishy, being perfumed with dead sculpins, hard-heads and dogfish strewn plentifully on the beach.
-- you see, children, the village is but little changed since your mother and i were young.
how like a dream it was when i bent over a pool of water one pleasant morning and saw that the ocean had dashed its spray over me and made me a fisherman!
there was the tarpaulin, the baize shirt, the oilcloth trousers and seven-league boots, and there my own features, but so reddened with sunburn and sea-breezes that methought i had another face, and on other shoulders too.
the seagulls and the loons and i had now all one trade: we skimmed the crested waves and sought our prey beneath them, the man with as keen enjoyment as the birds.
always when the east grew purple i launched my dory, my little flat-bottomed skiff, and rowed cross-handed to point ledge, the middle ledge, or perhaps beyond egg rock; often, too, did i anchor off dread ledge -- a spot of peril to ships unpiloted -- and sometimes spread an adventurous sail and tracked across the bay to south shore, casting my lines in sight of scituate.
ere nightfall i hauled my skiff high and dry on the beach, laden with red rock-cod or the white-bellied ones of deep water, haddock bearing the black marks of st. peter's fingers near the gills, the long-bearded hake whose liver holds oil enough for a midnight lamp, and now and then a mighty halibut with a back broad as my boat.
in the autumn i toled and caught those lovely fish the mackerel.
when the wind was high, when the whale-boats anchored off the point nodded their slender masts at each other and the dories pitched and tossed in the surf, when nahant beach was thundering three miles off and the spray broke a hundred feet in the air round the distant base of egg rock, when the brimful and boisterous sea threatened to tumble over the street of our village, -- then i made a holiday on shore.
many such a day did i sit snugly in mr. bartlett's store, attentive to the yarns of uncle parker -- uncle to the whole village by right of seniority, but of southern blood, with no kindred in new england.
his figure is before me now enthroned upon a mackerel-barrel -- a lean old man of great height, but bent with years and twisted into an uncouth shape by seven broken limbs; furrowed, also, and weatherworn, as if every gale for the better part of a century had caught him somewhere on the sea.
he looked like a harbinger of tempest -- a shipmate of the flying dutchman.
after innumerable voyages aboard men-of-war and merchantmen, fishing-schooners and chebacco-boats, the old salt had become master of a hand-cart, which he daily trundled about the vicinity, and sometimes blew his fish-horn through the streets of salem.
one of uncle parker's eyes had been blown out with gunpowder, and the other did but glimmer in its socket.
turning it upward as he spoke, it was his delight to tell of cruises against the french and battles with his own shipmates, when he and an antagonist used to be seated astride of a sailor's chest, each fastened down by a spike-nail through his trousers, and there to fight it out.
sometimes he expatiated on the delicious flavor of the hagden, a greasy and goose-like fowl which the sailors catch with hook and line on the grand banks.
he dwelt with rapture on an interminable winter at the isle of sables, where he had gladdened himself amid polar snows with the rum and sugar saved from the wreck of a west india schooner.
and wrathfully did he shake his fist as he related how a party of cape cod men had robbed him and his companions of their lawful spoils and sailed away with every keg of old jamaica, leaving him not a drop to drown his sorrow.
villains they were, and of that wicked brotherhood who are said to tie lanterns to horses" tails to mislead the mariner along the dangerous shores of the cape.
even now i seem to see the group of fishermen with that old salt in the midst.
one fellow sits on the counter, a second bestrides an oil-barrel, a third lolls at his length on a parcel of new cod-lines, and another has planted the tarry seat of his trousers on a heap of salt which will shortly be sprinkled over a lot of fish.
they are a likely set of men.
some have voyaged to the east indies or the pacific, and most of them have sailed in marblehead schooners to newfoundland; a few have been no farther than the middle banks, and one or two have always fished along the shore; but, as uncle parker used to say, they have all been christened in salt water and know more than men ever learn in the bushes.
a curious figure, by way of contrast, is a fish-dealer from far up-country listening with eyes wide open to narratives that might startle sinbad the sailor.
-- be it well with you, my brethren!
ye are all gone -- some to your graves ashore and others to the depths of ocean -- but my faith is strong that ye are happy; for whenever i behold your forms, whether in dream or vision, each departed friend is puffing his long nine, and a mug of the right blackstrap goes round from lip to lip.
but where was the mermaid in those delightful times?
at a certain window near the centre of the village appeared a pretty display of gingerbread men and horses, picture-books and ballads, small fish-hooks, pins, needles, sugarplums and brass thimbles -- articles on which the young fishermen used to expend their money from pure gallantry.
what a picture was susan behind the counter!
a slender maiden, though the child of rugged parents, she had the slimmest of all waists, brown hair curling on her neck, and a complexion rather pale except when the sea-breeze flushed it.
a few freckles became beauty-spots beneath her eyelids.
-- how was it, susan, that you talked and acted so carelessly, yet always for the best, doing whatever was right in your own eyes, and never once doing wrong in mine, nor shocked a taste that had been morbidly sensitive till now?
and whence had you that happiest gift of brightening every topic with an unsought gayety, quiet but irresistible, so that even gloomy spirits felt your sunshine and did not shrink from it?
nature wrought the charm.
she made you a frank, simple, kind-hearted, sensible and mirthful girl.
obeying nature, you did free things without indelicacy, displayed a maiden's thoughts to every eye, and proved yourself as innocent as naked eve.
-- it was beautiful to observe how her simple and happy nature mingled itself with mine.
she kindled a domestic fire within my heart and took up her dwelling there, even in that chill and lonesome cavern hung round with glittering icicles of fancy.
she gave me warmth of feeling, while the influence of my mind made her contemplative.
i taught her to love the moonlight hour, when the expanse of the encircled bay was smooth as a great mirror and slept in a transparent shadow, while beyond nahant the wind rippled the dim ocean into a dreamy brightness which grew faint afar off without becoming gloomier.
i held her hand and pointed to the long surf-wave as it rolled calmly on the beach in an unbroken line of silver; we were silent together till its deep and peaceful murmur had swept by us.
when the sabbath sun shone down into the recesses of the cliffs, i led the mermaid thither and told her that those huge gray, shattered rocks, and her native sea that raged for ever like a storm against them, and her own slender beauty in so stern a scene, were all combined into a strain of poetry.
but on the sabbath-eve, when her mother had gone early to bed and her gentle sister had smiled and left us, as we sat alone by the quiet hearth with household things around, it was her turn to make me feel that here was a deeper poetry, and that this was the dearest hour of all.
thus went on our wooing, till i had shot wild-fowl enough to feather our bridal-bed, and the daughter of the sea was mine.
i built a cottage for susan and myself, and made a gateway in the form of a gothic arch by setting up a whale's jaw-bones.
we bought a heifer with her first calf, and had a little garden on the hillside to supply us with potatoes and green sauce for our fish.
our parlor, small and neat, was ornamented with our two profiles in one gilt frame, and with shells and pretty pebbles on the mantelpiece, selected from the sea's treasury of such things on nahant beach.
on the desk, beneath the looking-glass, lay the bible, which i had begun to read aloud at the book of genesis, and the singing-book that susan used for her evening psalm.
except the almanac, we had no other literature.
all that i heard of books was when an indian history or tale of shipwreck was sold by a pedler or wandering subscription-man to some one in the village, and read through its owner's nose to a slumbrous auditory.
like my brother-fishermen, i grew into the belief that all human erudition was collected in our pedagogue, whose green spectacles and solemn phiz as he passed to his little schoolhouse amid a waste of sand might have gained him a diploma from any college in new england.
in truth, i dreaded him.
-- when our children were old enough to claim his care, you remember, susan, how i frowned, though you were pleased at this learned man's encomiums on their proficiency.
i feared to trust them even with the alphabet: it was the key to a fatal treasure.
but i loved to lead them by their little hands along the beach and point to nature in the vast and the minute -- the sky, the sea, the green earth, the pebbles and the shells.
then did i discourse of the mighty works and coextensive goodness of the deity with the simple wisdom of a man whose mind had profited by lonely days upon the deep and his heart by the strong and pure affections of his evening home.
sometimes my voice lost itself in a tremulous depth, for i felt his eye upon me as i spoke.
once, while my wife and all of us were gazing at ourselves in the mirror left by the tide in a hollow of the sand, i pointed to the pictured heaven below and bade her observe how religion was strewn everywhere in our path, since even a casual pool of water recalled the idea of that home whither we were travelling to rest for ever with our children.
suddenly your image, susan, and all the little faces made up of yours and mine, seemed to fade away and vanish around me, leaving a pale visage like my own of former days within the frame of a large looking-glass.
strange illusion!
my life glided on, the past appearing to mingle with the present and absorb the future, till the whole lies before me at a glance.
my manhood has long been waning with a stanch decay; my earlier contemporaries, after lives of unbroken health, are all at rest without having known the weariness of later age; and now with a wrinkled forehead and thin white hair as badges of my dignity i have become the patriarch -- the uncle -- of the village.
i love that name: it widens the circle of my sympathies; it joins all the youthful to my household in the kindred of affection.
like uncle parker, whose rheumatic bones were dashed against egg rock full forty years ago, i am a spinner of long yarns.
seated on the gunnel of a dory or on the sunny side of a boat-house, where the warmth is grateful to my limbs, or by my own hearth when a friend or two are there, i overflow with talk, and yet am never tedious.
with a broken voice i give utterance to much wisdom.
such, heaven be praised!
is the vigor of my faculties that many a forgotten usage, and traditions ancient in my youth, and early adventures of myself or others hitherto effaced by things more recent, acquire new distinctness in my memory.
i remember the happy days when the haddock were more numerous on all the fishing-grounds than sculpins in the surf -- when the deep-water cod swam close in-shore, and the dogfish, with his poisonous horn, had not learnt to take the hook.
i can number every equinoctial storm in which the sea has overwhelmed the street, flooded the cellars of the village and hissed upon our kitchen hearth.
i give the history of the great whale that was landed on whale beach, and whose jaws, being now my gateway, will last for ages after my coffin shall have passed beneath them.
thence it is an easy digression to the halibut -- scarcely smaller than the whale -- which ran out six codlines and hauled my dory to the mouth of boston harbor before i could touch him with the gaff.
if melancholy accidents be the theme of conversation, i tell how a friend of mine was taken out of his boat by an enormous shark, and the sad, true tale of a young man on the eve of marriage who had been nine days missing, when his drowned body floated into the very pathway on marble-head neck that had often led him to the dwelling of his bride, as if the dripping corpse would have come where the mourner was.
with such awful fidelity did that lover return to fulfil his vows!
another favorite story is of a crazy maiden who conversed with angels and had the gift of prophecy, and whom all the village loved and pitied, though she went from door to door accusing us of sin, exhorting to repentance and foretelling our destruction by flood or earthquake.
if the young men boast their knowledge of the ledges and sunken rocks, i speak of pilots who knew the wind by its scent and the wave by its taste, and could have steered blindfold to any port between boston and mount desert guided only by the rote of the shore -- the peculiar sound of the surf on each island, beach and line of rocks along the coast.
thus do i talk, and all my auditors grow wise while they deem it pastime.
i recollect no happier portion of my life than this my calm old age.
it is like the sunny and sheltered slope of a valley where late in the autumn the grass is greener than in august, and intermixed with golden dandelions that had not been seen till now since the first warmth of the year.
but with me the verdure and the flowers are not frost-bitten in the midst of winter.
a playfulness has revisited my mind -- a sympathy with the young and gay, an unpainful interest in the business of others, a light and wandering curiosity -- arising, perhaps, from the sense that my toil on earth is ended and the brief hour till bedtime may be spent in play.
still, i have fancied that there is a depth of feeling and reflection under this superficial levity peculiar to one who has lived long and is soon to die.
show me anything that would make an infant smile, and you shall behold a gleam of mirth over the hoary ruin of my visage.
i can spend a pleasant hour in the sun watching the sports of the village children on the edge of the surf.
now they chase the retreating wave far down over the wet sand; now it steals softly up to kiss their naked feet; now it comes onward with threatening front, and roars after the laughing crew as they scamper beyond its reach.
why should not an old man be merry too, when the great sea is at play with those little children?
i delight, also, to follow in the wake of a pleasure-party of young men and girls strolling along the beach after an early supper at the point.
here, with handkerchiefs at nose, they bend over a heap of eel-grass entangled in which is a dead skate so oddly accoutred with two legs and a long tail that they mistake him for a drowned animal.
a few steps farther the ladies scream, and the gentlemen make ready to protect them against a young shark of the dogfish kind rolling with a lifelike motion in the tide that has thrown him up.
next they are smit with wonder at the black shells of a wagon-load of live lobsters packed in rock-weed for the country-market.
and when they reach the fleet of dories just hauled ashore after the day's fishing, how do i laugh in my sleeve, and sometimes roar outright, at the simplicity of these young folks and the sly humor of the fishermen!
in winter, when our village is thrown into a bustle by the arrival of perhaps a score of country dealers bargaining for frozen fish to be transported hundreds of miles and eaten fresh in vermont or canada, i am a pleased but idle spectator in the throng.
for i launch my boat no more.
when the shore was solitary, i have found a pleasure that seemed even to exalt my mind in observing the sports or contentions of two gulls as they wheeled and hovered about each other with hoarse screams, one moment flapping on the foam of the wave, and then soaring aloft till their white bosoms melted into the upper sunshine.
in the calm of the summer sunset i drag my aged limbs with a little ostentation of activity, because i am so old, up to the rocky brow of the hill.
there i see the white sails of many a vessel outward bound or homeward from afar, and the black trail of a vapor behind the eastern steamboat; there, too, is the sun, going down, but not in gloom, and there the illimitable ocean mingling with the sky, to remind me of eternity.
but sweetest of all is the hour of cheerful musing and pleasant talk that comes between the dusk and the lighted candle by my glowing fireside.
and never, even on the first thanksgiving-night, when susan and i sat alone with our hopes, nor the second, when a stranger had been sent to gladden us and be the visible image of our affection, did i feel such joy as now.
all that belongs to me are here: death has taken none, nor disease kept them away, nor strife divided them from their parents or each other; with neither poverty nor riches to disturb them, nor the misery of desires beyond their lot, they have kept new england's festival round the patriarch's board.
for i am a patriarch.
here i sit among my descendants, in my old arm-chair and immemorial corner, while the firelight throws an appropriate glory round my venerable frame.
-- susan!
my children!
something whispers me that this happiest hour must be the final one, and that nothing remains but to bless you all and depart with a treasure of recollected joys to heaven.
will you meet me there?
alas!
your figures grow indistinct, fading into pictures on the air, and now to fainter outlines, while the fire is glimmering on the walls of a familiar room, and shows the book that i flung down and the sheet that i left half written some fifty years ago.
i lift my eyes to the looking-glass, and perceive myself alone, unless those be the mermaid's features retiring into the depths of the mirror with a tender and melancholy smile.
ah!
one feels a chilliness -- not bodily, but about the heart -- and, moreover, a foolish dread of looking behind him, after these pastimes.
i can imagine precisely how a magician would sit down in gloom and terror after dismissing the shadows that had personated dead or distant people and stripping his cavern of the unreal splendor which had changed it to a palace.
and now for a moral to my reverie.
shall it be that, since fancy can create so bright a dream of happiness, it were better to dream on from youth to age than to awake and strive doubtfully for something real?
oh, the slight tissue of a dream can no more preserve us from the stern reality of misfortune than a robe of cobweb could repel the wintry blast.
be this the moral, then: in chaste and warm affections, humble wishes and honest toil for some useful end there is health for the mind and quiet for the heart, the prospect of a happy life and the fairest hope of heaven.
the ambitious guest.
one september night a family had gathered round their hearth and piled it high with the driftwood of mountain-streams, the dry cones of the pine, and the splintered ruins of great trees that had come crashing down the precipice.
up the chimney roared the fire, and brightened the room with its broad blaze.
the faces of the father and mother had a sober gladness; the children laughed.
the eldest daughter was the image of happiness at seventeen, and the aged grandmother, who sat knitting in the warmest place, was the image of happiness grown old.
they had found the "herb heart's - ease" in the bleakest spot of all new england.
this family were situated in the notch of the white hills, where the wind was sharp throughout the year and pitilessly cold in the winter, giving their cottage all its fresh inclemency before it descended on the valley of the saco.
they dwelt in a cold spot and a dangerous one, for a mountain towered above their heads so steep that the stones would often rumble down its sides and startle them at midnight.
the daughter had just uttered some simple jest that filled them all with mirth, when the wind came through the notch and seemed to pause before their cottage, rattling the door with a sound of wailing and lamentation before it passed into the valley.
for a moment it saddened them, though there was nothing unusual in the tones.
but the family were glad again when they perceived that the latch was lifted by some traveller whose footsteps had been unheard amid the dreary blast which heralded his approach and wailed as he was entering and went moaning away from the door.
though they dwelt in such a solitude, these people held daily converse with the world.
the romantic pass of the notch is a great artery through which the life-blood of internal commerce is continually throbbing between maine on one side and the green mountains and the shores of the st. lawrence on the other.
the stage-coach always drew up before the door of the cottage.
the wayfarer with no companion but his staff paused here to exchange a word, that the sense of loneliness might not utterly overcome him ere he could pass through the cleft of the mountain or reach the first house in the valley.
and here the teamster on his way to portland market would put up for the night, and, if a bachelor, might sit an hour beyond the usual bedtime and steal a kiss from the mountain-maid at parting.
it was one of those primitive taverns where the traveller pays only for food and lodging, but meets with a homely kindness beyond all price.
when the footsteps were heard, therefore, between the outer door and the inner one, the whole family rose up, grandmother, children and all, as if about to welcome some one who belonged to them, and whose fate was linked with theirs.
the door was opened by a young man.
his face at first wore the melancholy expression, almost despondency, of one who travels a wild and bleak road at nightfall and alone, but soon brightened up when he saw the kindly warmth of his reception.
he felt his heart spring forward to meet them all, from the old woman who wiped a chair with her apron to the little child that held out its arms to him.
one glance and smile placed the stranger on a footing of innocent familiarity with the eldest daughter.
""ah!
this fire is the right thing," cried he, "especially when there is such a pleasant circle round it.
i am quite benumbed, for the notch is just like the pipe of a great pair of bellows; it has blown a terrible blast in my face all the way from bartlett."
""then you are going toward vermont?"
said the master of the house as he helped to take a light knapsack off the young man's shoulders.
""yes, to burlington, and far enough beyond," replied he.
""i meant to have been at ethan crawford's to-night, but a pedestrian lingers along such a road as this.
it is no matter; for when i saw this good fire and all your cheerful faces, i felt as if you had kindled it on purpose for me and were waiting my arrival.
so i shall sit down among you and make myself at home."
the frank-hearted stranger had just drawn his chair to the fire when something like a heavy footstep was heard without, rushing down the steep side of the mountain as with long and rapid strides, and taking such a leap in passing the cottage as to strike the opposite precipice.
the family held their breath, because they knew the sound, and their guest held his by instinct.
""the old mountain has thrown a stone at us for fear we should forget him," said the landlord, recovering himself.
""he sometimes nods his head and threatens to come down, but we are old neighbors, and agree together pretty well, upon the whole.
besides, we have a sure place of refuge hard by if he should be coming in good earnest."
let us now suppose the stranger to have finished his supper of bear's meat, and by his natural felicity of manner to have placed himself on a footing of kindness with the whole family; so that they talked as freely together as if he belonged to their mountain-brood.
he was of a proud yet gentle spirit, haughty and reserved among the rich and great, but ever ready to stoop his head to the lowly cottage door and be like a brother or a son at the poor man's fireside.
in the household of the notch he found warmth and simplicity of feeling, the pervading intelligence of new england, and a poetry of native growth which they had gathered when they little thought of it from the mountain-peaks and chasms, and at the very threshold of their romantic and dangerous abode.
he had travelled far and alone; his whole life, indeed, had been a solitary path, for, with the lofty caution of his nature, he had kept himself apart from those who might otherwise have been his companions.
the family, too, though so kind and hospitable, had that consciousness of unity among themselves and separation from the world at large which in every domestic circle should still keep a holy place where no stranger may intrude.
but this evening a prophetic sympathy impelled the refined and educated youth to pour out his heart before the simple mountaineers, and constrained them to answer him with the same free confidence.
and thus it should have been.
is not the kindred of a common fate a closer tie than that of birth?
the secret of the young man's character was a high and abstracted ambition.
he could have borne to live an undistinguished life, but not to be forgotten in the grave.
yearning desire had been transformed to hope, and hope, long cherished, had become like certainty that, obscurely as he journeyed now, a glory was to beam on all his pathway, though not, perhaps, while he was treading it.
but when posterity should gaze back into the gloom of what was now the present, they would trace the brightness of his footsteps, brightening as meaner glories faded, and confess that a gifted one had passed from his cradle to his tomb with none to recognize him.
""as yet," cried the stranger, his cheek glowing and his eye flashing with enthusiasm -- "as yet i have done nothing.
were i to vanish from the earth to-morrow, none would know so much of me as you -- that a nameless youth came up at nightfall from the valley of the saco, and opened his heart to you in the evening, and passed through the notch by sunrise, and was seen no more.
not a soul would ask, "who was he?
whither did the wanderer go?"
but i can not die till i have achieved my destiny.
then let death come: i shall have built my monument."
there was a continual flow of natural emotion gushing forth amid abstracted reverie which enabled the family to understand this young man's sentiments, though so foreign from their own.
with quick sensibility of the ludicrous, he blushed at the ardor into which he had been betrayed.
""you laugh at me," said he, taking the eldest daughter's hand and laughing himself.
""you think my ambition as nonsensical as if i were to freeze myself to death on the top of mount washington only that people might spy at me from the country roundabout.
and truly that would be a noble pedestal for a man's statue."
""it is better to sit here by this fire," answered the girl, blushing, "and be comfortable and contented, though nobody thinks about us."
""i suppose," said her father, after a fit of musing, "there is something natural in what the young man says; and if my mind had been turned that way, i might have felt just the same.
-- it is strange, wife, how his talk has set my head running on things that are pretty certain never to come to pass."
""perhaps they may," observed the wife.
""is the man thinking what he will do when he is a widower?"
""no, no!"
cried he, repelling the idea with reproachful kindness.
""when i think of your death, esther, i think of mine too.
but i was wishing we had a good farm in bartlett or bethlehem or littleton, or some other township round the white mountains, but not where they could tumble on our heads.
i should want to stand well with my neighbors and be called squire and sent to general court for a term or two; for a plain, honest man may do as much good there as a lawyer.
and when i should be grown quite an old man, and you an old woman, so as not to be long apart, i might die happy enough in my bed, and leave you all crying around me.
a slate gravestone would suit me as well as a marble one, with just my name and age, and a verse of a hymn, and something to let people know that i lived an honest man and died a christian."
""there, now!"
exclaimed the stranger; "it is our nature to desire a monument, be it slate or marble, or a pillar of granite, or a glorious memory in the universal heart of man."
""we're in a strange way to-night," said the wife, with tears in her eyes.
""they say it's a sign of something when folks" minds go a-wandering so.
hark to the children!"
they listened accordingly.
the younger children had been put to bed in another room, but with an open door between; so that they could be heard talking busily among themselves.
one and all seemed to have caught the infection from the fireside circle, and were outvying each other in wild wishes and childish projects of what they would do when they came to be men and women.
at length a little boy, instead of addressing his brothers and sisters, called out to his mother.
""i'll tell you what i wish, mother," cried he: "i want you and father and grandma'm, and all of us, and the stranger too, to start right away and go and take a drink out of the basin of the flume."
nobody could help laughing at the child's notion of leaving a warm bed and dragging them from a cheerful fire to visit the basin of the flume -- a brook which tumbles over the precipice deep within the notch.
the boy had hardly spoken, when a wagon rattled along the road and stopped a moment before the door.
it appeared to contain two or three men who were cheering their hearts with the rough chorus of a song which resounded in broken notes between the cliffs, while the singers hesitated whether to continue their journey or put up here for the night.
""father," said the girl, "they are calling you by name."
but the good man doubted whether they had really called him, and was unwilling to show himself too solicitous of gain by inviting people to patronize his house.
he therefore did not hurry to the door, and, the lash being soon applied, the travellers plunged into the notch, still singing and laughing, though their music and mirth came back drearily from the heart of the mountain.
""there, mother!"
cried the boy, again; "they'd have given us a ride to the flume."
again they laughed at the child's pertinacious fancy for a night-ramble.
but it happened that a light cloud passed over the daughter's spirit; she looked gravely into the fire and drew a breath that was almost a sigh.
it forced its way, in spite of a little struggle to repress it.
then, starting and blushing, she looked quickly around the circle, as if they had caught a glimpse into her bosom.
the stranger asked what she had been thinking of.
""nothing," answered she, with a downcast smile; "only i felt lonesome just then."
""oh, i have always had a gift of feeling what is in other people's hearts," said he, half seriously.
""shall i tell the secrets of yours?
for i know what to think when a young girl shivers by a warm hearth and complains of lonesomeness at her mother's side.
shall i put these feelings into words?"
""they would not be a girl's feelings any longer if they could be put into words," replied the mountain-nymph, laughing, but avoiding his eye.
all this was said apart.
perhaps a germ of love was springing in their hearts so pure that it might blossom in paradise, since it could not be matured on earth; for women worship such gentle dignity as his, and the proud, contemplative, yet kindly, soul is oftenest captivated by simplicity like hers.
but while they spoke softly, and he was watching the happy sadness, the lightsome shadows, the shy yearnings, of a maiden's nature, the wind through the notch took a deeper and drearier sound.
it seemed, as the fanciful stranger said, like the choral strain of the spirits of the blast who in old indian times had their dwelling among these mountains and made their heights and recesses a sacred region.
there was a wail along the road as if a funeral were passing.
to chase away the gloom, the family threw pine-branches on their fire till the dry leaves crackled and the flame arose, discovering once again a scene of peace and humble happiness.
the light hovered about them fondly and caressed them all.
there were the little faces of the children peeping from their bed apart, and here the father's frame of strength, the mother's subdued and careful mien, the high-browed youth, the budding girl and the good old grandam, still knitting in the warmest place.
the aged woman looked up from her task, and with fingers ever busy was the next to speak.
""old folks have their notions," said she, "as well as young ones.
you've been wishing and planning and letting your heads run on one thing and another till you've set my mind a-wandering too.
now, what should an old woman wish for, when she can go but a step or two before she comes to her grave?
children, it will haunt me night and day till i tell you."
""what is it, mother?"
cried the husband and wife at once.
then the old woman, with an air of mystery which drew the circle closer round the fire, informed them that she had provided her grave-clothes some years before -- a nice linen shroud, a cap with a muslin ruff, and everything of a finer sort than she had worn since her wedding-day.
but this evening an old superstition had strangely recurred to her.
it used to be said in her younger days that if anything were amiss with a corpse -- if only the ruff were not smooth or the cap did not set right -- the corpse, in the coffin and beneath the clods, would strive to put up its cold hands and arrange it.
the bare thought made her nervous.
""do n't talk so, grandmother," said the girl, shuddering.
""now," continued the old woman, with singular earnestness, yet smiling strangely at her own folly, "i want one of you, my children, when your mother is dressed and in the coffin, -- i want one of you to hold a looking-glass over my face.
who knows but i may take a glimpse at myself and see whether all's right?"
""old and young, we dream of graves and monuments," murmured the stranger-youth.
""i wonder how mariners feel when the ship is sinking and they, unknown and undistinguished, are to be buried together in the ocean, that wide and nameless sepulchre?"
for a moment the old woman's ghastly conception so engrossed the minds of her hearers that a sound abroad in the night, rising like the roar of a blast, had grown broad, deep and terrible before the fated group were conscious of it.
the house and all within it trembled; the foundations of the earth seemed to be shaken, as if this awful sound were the peal of the last trump.
young and old exchanged one wild glance and remained an instant pale, affrighted, without utterance or power to move.
then the same shriek burst simultaneously from all their lips: "the slide!
the slide!"
the simplest words must intimate, but not portray, the unutterable horror of the catastrophe.
the victims rushed from their cottage and sought refuge in what they deemed a safer spot, where, in contemplation of such an emergency, a sort of barrier had been reared.
alas!
they had quitted their security and fled right into the pathway of destruction.
down came the whole side of the mountain in a cataract of ruin.
just before it reached the house the stream broke into two branches, shivered not a window there, but overwhelmed the whole vicinity, blocked up the road and annihilated everything in its dreadful course.
long ere the thunder of that great slide had ceased to roar among the mountains the mortal agony had been endured and the victims were at peace.
their bodies were never found.
the next morning the light smoke was seen stealing from the cottage chimney up the mountain-side.
within, the fire was yet smouldering on the hearth, and the chairs in a circle round it, as if the inhabitants had but gone forth to view the devastation of the slide and would shortly return to thank heaven for their miraculous escape.
all had left separate tokens by which those who had known the family were made to shed a tear for each.
who has not heard their name?
the story has been told far and wide, and will for ever be a legend of these mountains.
poets have sung their fate.
there were circumstances which led some to suppose that a stranger had been received into the cottage on this awful night, and had shared the catastrophe of all its inmates; others denied that there were sufficient grounds for such a conjecture.
woe for the high-souled youth with his dream of earthly immortality!
his name and person utterly unknown, his history, his way of life, his plans, a mystery never to be solved, his death and his existence equally a doubt, -- whose was the agony of that death-moment?
the sister-years.
last night, between eleven and twelve o'clock, when the old year was leaving her final footprints on the borders of time's empire, she found herself in possession of a few spare moments, and sat down -- of all places in the world -- on the steps of our new city-hall.
the wintry moonlight showed that she looked weary of body and sad of heart, like many another wayfarer of earth.
her garments, having been exposed to much foul weather and rough usage, were in very ill condition, and, as the hurry of her journey had never before allowed her to take an instant's rest, her shoes were so worn as to be scarcely worth the mending.
but after trudging only a little distance farther this poor old year was destined to enjoy a long, long sleep.
i forgot to mention that when she seated herself on the steps she deposited by her side a very capacious bandbox in which, as is the custom among travellers of her sex, she carried a great deal of valuable property.
besides this luggage, there was a folio book under her arm very much resembling the annual volume of a newspaper.
placing this volume across her knees and resting her elbows upon it, with her forehead in her hands, the weary, bedraggled, world-worn old year heaved a heavy sigh and appeared to be taking no very pleasant retrospect of her past existence.
while she thus awaited the midnight knell that was to summon her to the innumerable sisterhood of departed years, there came a young maiden treading lightsomely on tip-toe along the street from the direction of the railroad dépôt.
she was evidently a stranger, and perhaps had come to town by the evening train of cars.
there was a smiling cheerfulness in this fair maiden's face which bespoke her fully confident of a kind reception from the multitude of people with whom she was soon to form acquaintance.
her dress was rather too airy for the season, and was bedizened with fluttering ribbons and other vanities which were likely soon to be rent away by the fierce storms or to fade in the hot sunshine amid which she was to pursue her changeful course.
but still she was a wonderfully pleasant-looking figure, and had so much promise and such an indescribable hopefulness in her aspect that hardly anybody could meet her without anticipating some very desirable thing -- the consummation of some long-sought good -- from her kind offices.
a few dismal characters there may be here and there about the world who have so often been trifled with by young maidens as promising as she that they have now ceased to pin any faith upon the skirts of the new year.
but, for my own part, i have great faith in her, and, should i live to see fifty more such, still from each of those successive sisters i shall reckon upon receiving something that will be worth living for.
the new year -- for this young maiden was no less a personage -- carried all her goods and chattels in a basket of no great size or weight, which hung upon her arm.
she greeted the disconsolate old year with great affection, and sat down beside her on the steps of the city-hall, waiting for the signal to begin her rambles through the world.
the two were own sisters, being both granddaughters of time, and, though one looked so much older than the other, it was rather owing to hardships and trouble than to age, since there was but a twelvemonth's difference between them.
""well, my dear sister," said the new year, after the first salutations, "you look almost tired to death.
what have you been about during your sojourn in this part of infinite space?"
""oh, i have it all recorded here in my book of chronicles," answered the old year, in a heavy tone.
""there is nothing that would amuse you, and you will soon get sufficient knowledge of such matters from your own personal experience.
it is but tiresome reading."
nevertheless, she turned over the leaves of the folio and glanced at them by the light of the moon, feeling an irresistible spell of interest in her own biography, although its incidents were remembered without pleasure.
the volume, though she termed it her book of chronicles, seemed to be neither more nor less than the salem gazette for 1838; in the accuracy of which journal this sagacious old year had so much confidence that she deemed it needless to record her history with her own pen.
""what have you been doing in the political way?"
asked the new year.
""why, my course here in the united states," said the old year -- "though perhaps i ought to blush at the confession -- my political course, i must acknowledge, has been rather vacillatory, sometimes inclining toward the whigs, then causing the administration party to shout for triumph, and now again uplifting what seemed the almost prostrate banner of the opposition; so that historians will hardly know what to make of me in this respect.
but the loco-focos --" "i do not like these party nicknames," interrupted her sister, who seemed remarkably touchy about some points.
""perhaps we shall part in better humor if we avoid any political discussion."
""with all my heart," replied the old year, who had already been tormented half to death with squabbles of this kind.
""i care not if the name of whig or tory, with their interminable brawls about banks and the sub-treasury, abolition, texas, the florida war, and a million of other topics which you will learn soon enough for your own comfort, -- i care not, i say, if no whisper of these matters ever reaches my ears again.
yet they have occupied so large a share of my attention that i scarcely know what else to tell you.
there has, indeed been a curious sort of war on the canada border, where blood has streamed in the names of liberty and patriotism; but it must remain for some future, perhaps far-distant, year to tell whether or no those holy names have been rightfully invoked.
nothing so much depresses me in my view of mortal affairs as to see high energies wasted and human life and happiness thrown away for ends that appear oftentimes unwise, and still oftener remain unaccomplished.
but the wisest people and the best keep a steadfast faith that the progress of mankind is onward and upward, and that the toil and anguish of the path serve to wear away the imperfections of the immortal pilgrim, and will be felt no more when they have done their office."
""perhaps," cried the hopeful new year -- "perhaps i shall see that happy day."
""i doubt whether it be so close at hand," answered the old year, gravely smiling.
""you will soon grow weary of looking for that blessed consummation, and will turn for amusement -- as has frequently been my own practice -- to the affairs of some sober little city like this of salem.
here we sit on the steps of the new city-hall which has been completed under my administration, and it would make you laugh to see how the game of politics of which the capitol at washington is the great chess-board is here played in miniature.
burning ambition finds its fuel here; here patriotism speaks boldly in the people's behalf and virtuous economy demands retrenchment in the emoluments of a lamplighter; here the aldermen range their senatorial dignity around the mayor's chair of state and the common council feel that they have liberty in charge.
in short, human weakness and strength, passion and policy, man's tendencies, his aims and modes of pursuing them, his individual character and his character in the mass, may be studied almost as well here as on the theatre of nations, and with this great advantage -- that, be the lesson ever so disastrous, its liliputian scope still makes the beholder smile."
""have you done much for the improvement of the city?"
asked the new year.
""judging from what little i have seen, it appears to be ancient and time-worn."
""i have opened the railroad," said the elder year, "and half a dozen times a day you will hear the bell which once summoned the monks of a spanish convent to their devotions announcing the arrival or departure of the cars.
old salem now wears a much livelier expression than when i first beheld her.
strangers rumble down from boston by hundreds at a time.
new faces throng in essex street.
railroad-hacks and omnibuses rattle over the pavements.
there is a perceptible increase of oyster-shops and other establishments for the accommodation of a transitory diurnal multitude.
but a more important change awaits the venerable town.
an immense accumulation of musty prejudices will be carried off by the free circulation of society.
a peculiarity of character of which the inhabitants themselves are hardly sensible will be rubbed down and worn away by the attrition of foreign substances.
much of the result will be good; there will likewise be a few things not so good.
whether for better or worse, there will be a probable diminution of the moral influence of wealth, and the sway of an aristocratic class which from an era far beyond my memory has held firmer dominion here than in any other new england town."
the old year, having talked away nearly all of her little remaining breath, now closed her book of chronicles, and was about to take her departure, but her sister detained her a while longer by inquiring the contents of the huge bandbox which she was so painfully lugging along with her.
""these are merely a few trifles," replied the old year, "which i have picked up in my rambles and am going to deposit in the receptacle of things past and forgotten.
we sisterhood of years never carry anything really valuable out of the world with us.
here are patterns of most of the fashions which i brought into vogue, and which have already lived out their allotted term; you will supply their place with others equally ephemeral.
here, put up in little china pots, like rouge, is a considerable lot of beautiful women's bloom which the disconsolate fair ones owe me a bitter grudge for stealing.
i have likewise a quantity of men's dark hair, instead of which i have left gray locks or none at all.
the tears of widows and other afflicted mortals who have received comfort during the last twelve months are preserved in some dozens of essence-bottles well corked and sealed.
i have several bundles of love-letters eloquently breathing an eternity of burning passion which grew cold and perished almost before the ink was dry.
moreover, here is an assortment of many thousand broken promises and other broken ware, all very light and packed into little space.
the heaviest articles in my possession are a large parcel of disappointed hopes which a little while ago were buoyant enough to have inflated mr. lauriat's balloon."
""i have a fine lot of hopes here in my basket," remarked the new year.
""they are a sweet-smelling flower -- a species of rose."
""they soon lose their perfume," replied the sombre old year.
""what else have you brought to insure a welcome from the discontented race of mortals?"
""why, to say the truth, little or nothing else," said her sister, with a smile, "save a few new annuals and almanacs, and some new year's gifts for the children.
but i heartily wish well to poor mortals, and mean to do all i can for their improvement and happiness."
""it is a good resolution," rejoined the old year.
""and, by the way, i have a plentiful assortment of good resolutions which have now grown so stale and musty that i am ashamed to carry them any farther.
only for fear that the city authorities would send constable mansfield with a warrant after me, i should toss them into the street at once.
many other matters go to make up the contents of my bandbox, but the whole lot would not fetch a single bid even at an auction of worn-out furniture; and as they are worth nothing either to you or anybody else, i need not trouble you with a longer catalogue."
""and must i also pick up such worthless luggage in my travels?"
asked the new year.
""most certainly, and well if you have no heavier load to bear," replied the other.
""and now, my dear sister, i must bid you farewell, earnestly advising and exhorting you to expect no gratitude nor good-will from this peevish, unreasonable, inconsiderate, ill-intending and worse-behaving world.
however warmly its inhabitants may seem to welcome you, yet, do what you may and lavish on them what means of happiness you please, they will still be complaining, still craving what it is not in your power to give, still looking forward to some other year for the accomplishment of projects which ought never to have been formed, and which, if successful, would only provide new occasions of discontent.
if these ridiculous people ever see anything tolerable in you, it will be after you are gone for ever."
""but i," cried the fresh-hearted new year -- "i shall try to leave men wiser than i find them.
i will offer them freely whatever good gifts providence permits me to distribute, and will tell them to be thankful for what they have and humbly hopeful for more; and surely, if they are not absolute fools, they will condescend to be happy, and will allow me to be a happy year.
for my happiness must depend on them."
""alas for you, then, my poor sister!"
said the old year, sighing, as she uplifted her burden.
""we grandchildren of time are born to trouble.
happiness, they say, dwells in the mansions of eternity, but we can only lead mortals thither step by step with reluctant murmurings, and ourselves must perish on the threshold.
but hark!
my task is done."
the clock in the tall steeple of dr. emerson's church struck twelve; there was a response from dr. flint's, in the opposite quarter of the city; and while the strokes were yet dropping into the air the old year either flitted or faded away, and not the wisdom and might of angels, to say nothing of the remorseful yearnings of the millions who had used her ill, could have prevailed with that departed year to return one step.
but she, in the company of time and all her kindred, must hereafter hold a reckoning with mankind.
so shall it be, likewise, with the maidenly new year, who, as the clock ceased to strike, arose from the steps of the city-hall and set out rather timorously on her earthly course.
""a happy new year!"
cried a watchman, eying her figure very questionably, but without the least suspicion that he was addressing the new year in person.
""thank you kindly," said the new year; and she gave the watchman one of the roses of hope from her basket.
""may this flower keep a sweet smell long after i have bidden you good-bye!"
then she stepped on more briskly through the silent streets, and such as were awake at the moment heard her footfall and said, "the new year is come!"
wherever there was a knot of midnight roisterers, they quaffed her health.
she sighed, however, to perceive that the air was tainted -- as the atmosphere of this world must continually be -- with the dying breaths of mortals who had lingered just long enough for her to bury them.
but there were millions left alive to rejoice at her coming, and so she pursued her way with confidence, strewing emblematic flowers on the doorstep of almost every dwelling, which some persons will gather up and wear in their bosoms, and others will trample under foot.
the carrier-boy can only say further that early this morning she filled his basket with new year's addresses, assuring him that the whole city, with our new mayor and the aldermen and common council at its head, would make a general rush to secure copies.
kind patrons, will not you redeem the pledge of the new year?
snowflakes.
there is snow in yonder cold gray sky of the morning, and through the partially-frosted window-panes i love to watch the gradual beginning of the storm.
a few feathery flakes are scattered widely through the air and hover downward with uncertain flight, now almost alighting on the earth, now whirled again aloft into remote regions of the atmosphere.
these are not the big flakes heavy with moisture which melt as they touch the ground and are portentous of a soaking rain.
it is to be in good earnest a wintry storm.
the two or three people visible on the sidewalks have an aspect of endurance, a blue-nosed, frosty fortitude, which is evidently assumed in anticipation of a comfortless and blustering day.
by nightfall -- or, at least, before the sun sheds another glimmering smile upon us -- the street and our little garden will be heaped with mountain snowdrifts.
the soil, already frozen for weeks past, is prepared to sustain whatever burden may be laid upon it, and to a northern eye the landscape will lose its melancholy bleakness and acquire a beauty of its own when mother earth, like her children, shall have put on the fleecy garb of her winter's wear.
the cloud-spirits are slowly weaving her white mantle.
as yet, indeed, there is barely a rime like hoar-frost over the brown surface of the street; the withered green of the grass-plat is still discernible, and the slated roofs of the houses do but begin to look gray instead of black.
all the snow that has yet fallen within the circumference of my view, were it heaped up together, would hardly equal the hillock of a grave.
thus gradually by silent and stealthy influences are great changes wrought.
these little snow-particles which the storm-spirit flings by handfuls through the air will bury the great earth under their accumulated mass, nor permit her to behold her sister sky again for dreary months.
we likewise shall lose sight of our mother's familiar visage, and must content ourselves with looking heavenward the oftener.
now, leaving the storm to do his appointed office, let us sit down, pen in hand, by our fireside.
gloomy as it may seem, there is an influence productive of cheerfulness and favorable to imaginative thought in the atmosphere of a snowy day.
the native of a southern clime may woo the muse beneath the heavy shade of summer foliage reclining on banks of turf, while the sound of singing-birds and warbling rivulets chimes in with the music of his soul.
in our brief summer i do not think, but only exist in the vague enjoyment of a dream.
my hour of inspiration -- if that hour ever comes -- is when the green log hisses upon the hearth, and the bright flame, brighter for the gloom of the chamber, rustles high up the chimney, and the coals drop tinkling down among the growing heaps of ashes.
when the casement rattles in the gust and the snowflakes or the sleety raindrops pelt hard against the window-panes, then i spread out my sheet of paper with the certainty that thoughts and fancies will gleam forth upon it like stars at twilight or like violets in may, perhaps to fade as soon.
however transitory their glow, they at least shine amid the darksome shadow which the clouds of the outward sky fling through the room.
blessed, therefore, and reverently welcomed by me, her true-born son, be new england's winter, which makes us one and all the nurslings of the storm and sings a familiar lullaby even in the wildest shriek of the december blast.
now look we forth again and see how much of his task the storm-spirit has done.
slow and sure!
he has the day -- perchance the week -- before him, and may take his own time to accomplish nature's burial in snow.
a smooth mantle is scarcely yet thrown over the withered grass-plat, and the dry stalks of annuals still thrust themselves through the white surface in all parts of the garden.
the leafless rose-bushes stand shivering in a shallow snowdrift, looking, poor things!
as disconsolate as if they possessed a human consciousness of the dreary scene.
this is a sad time for the shrubs that do not perish with the summer.
they neither live nor die; what they retain of life seems but the chilling sense of death.
very sad are the flower-shrubs in midwinter.
the roofs of the houses are now all white, save where the eddying wind has kept them bare at the bleak corners.
to discern the real intensity of the storm, we must fix upon some distant object -- as yonder spire -- and observe how the riotous gust fights with the descending snow throughout the intervening space.
sometimes the entire prospect is obscured; then, again, we have a distinct but transient glimpse of the tall steeple, like a giant's ghost; and now the dense wreaths sweep between, as if demons were flinging snowdrifts at each other in mid-air.
look next into the street, where we have an amusing parallel to the combat of those fancied demons in the upper regions.
it is a snow-battle of schoolboys.
what a pretty satire on war and military glory might be written in the form of a child's story by describing the snow-ball fights of two rival schools, the alternate defeats and victories of each, and the final triumph of one party, or perhaps of neither!
what pitched battles worthy to be chanted in homeric strains!
what storming of fortresses built all of massive snow-blocks!
what feats of individual prowess and embodied onsets of martial enthusiasm!
and when some well-contested and decisive victory had put a period to the war, both armies should unite to build a lofty monument of snow upon the battlefield and crown it with the victor's statue hewn of the same frozen marble.
in a few days or weeks thereafter the passer-by would observe a shapeless mound upon the level common, and, unmindful of the famous victory, would ask, "how came it there?
who reared it?
and what means it?"
the shattered pedestal of many a battle-monument has provoked these questions when none could answer.
turn we again to the fireside and sit musing there, lending our ears to the wind till perhaps it shall seem like an articulate voice and dictate wild and airy matter for the pen.
would it might inspire me to sketch out the personification of a new england winter!
and that idea, if i can seize the snow-wreathed figures that flit before my fancy, shall be the theme of the next page.
how does winter herald his approach?
by the shrieking blast of latter autumn which is nature's cry of lamentation as the destroyer rushes among the shivering groves where she has lingered and scatters the sear leaves upon the tempest.
when that cry is heard, the people wrap themselves in cloaks and shake their heads disconsolately, saying, "winter is at hand."
then the axe of the woodcutter echoes sharp and diligently in the forest; then the coal-merchants rejoice because each shriek of nature in her agony adds something to the price of coal per ton; then the peat-smoke spreads its aromatic fragrance through the atmosphere.
a few days more, and at eventide the children look out of the window and dimly perceive the flaunting of a snowy mantle in the air.
it is stern winter's vesture.
they crowd around the hearth and cling to their mother's gown or press between their father's knees, affrighted by the hollow roaring voice that bellows adown the wide flue of the chimney.
it is the voice of winter; and when parents and children hear it, they shudder and exclaim, "winter is come.
cold winter has begun his reign already."
now throughout new england each hearth becomes an altar sending up the smoke of a continued sacrifice to the immitigable deity who tyrannizes over forest, country-side and town.
wrapped in his white mantle, his staff a huge icicle, his beard and hair a wind-tossed snowdrift, he travels over the land in the midst of the northern blast, and woe to the homeless wanderer whom he finds upon his path!
there he lies stark and stiff, a human shape of ice, on the spot where winter overtook him.
on strides the tyrant over the rushing rivers and broad lakes, which turn to rock beneath his footsteps.
his dreary empire is established; all around stretches the desolation of the pole.
yet not ungrateful be his new england children -lrb- for winter is our sire, though a stern and rough one -rrb- -- not ungrateful even for the severities which have nourished our unyielding strength of character.
and let us thank him, too, for the sleigh-rides cheered by the music of merry bells; for the crackling and rustling hearth when the ruddy firelight gleams on hardy manhood and the blooming cheek of woman: for all the home-enjoyments and the kindred virtues which flourish in a frozen soil.
not that we grieve when, after some seven months of storm and bitter frost, spring, in the guise of a flower-crowned virgin, is seen driving away the hoary despot, pelting him with violets by the handful and strewing green grass on the path behind him.
often ere he will give up his empire old winter rushes fiercely buck and hurls a snowdrift at the shrinking form of spring, yet step by step he is compelled to retreat northward, and spends the summer month within the arctic circle.
such fantasies, intermixed among graver toils of mind, have made the winter's day pass pleasantly.
meanwhile, the storm has raged without abatement, and now, as the brief afternoon declines, is tossing denser volumes to and fro about the atmosphere.
on the window-sill there is a layer of snow reaching halfway up the lowest pane of glass.
the garden is one unbroken bed.
along the street are two or three spots of uncovered earth where the gust has whirled away the snow, heaping it elsewhere to the fence-tops or piling huge banks against the doors of houses.
a solitary passenger is seen, now striding mid-leg deep across a drift, now scudding over the bare ground, while his cloak is swollen with the wind.
and now the jingling of bells -- a sluggish sound responsive to the horse's toilsome progress through the unbroken drifts -- announces the passage of a sleigh with a boy clinging behind and ducking his head to escape detection by the driver.
next comes a sledge laden with wood for some unthrifty housekeeper whom winter has surprised at a cold hearth.
but what dismal equipage now struggles along the uneven street?
a sable hearse bestrewn with snow is bearing a dead man through the storm to his frozen bed.
oh how dreary is a burial in winter, when the bosom of mother earth has no warmth for her poor child!
evening -- the early eve of december -- begins to spread its deepening veil over the comfortless scene.
the firelight gradually brightens and throws my flickering shadow upon the walls and ceiling of the chamber, but still the storm rages and rattles against the windows.
alas!
i shiver and think it time to be disconsolate, but, taking a farewell glance at dead nature in her shroud, i perceive a flock of snowbirds skimming lightsomely through the tempest and flitting from drift to drift as sportively as swallows in the delightful prime of summer.
whence come they?
where do they build their nests and seek their food?
why, having airy wings, do they not follow summer around the earth, instead of making themselves the playmates of the storm and fluttering on the dreary verge of the winter's eve?
i know not whence they come, nor why; yet my spirit has been cheered by that wandering flock of snow-birds.
the seven vagabonds.
rambling on foot in the spring of my life and the summer of the year, i came one afternoon to a point which gave me the choice of three directions.
straight before me the main road extended its dusty length to boston; on the left a branch went toward the sea, and would have lengthened my journey a trifle of twenty or thirty miles, while by the right-hand path i might have gone over hills and lakes to canada, visiting in my way the celebrated town of stamford.
on a level spot of grass at the foot of the guide-post appeared an object which, though locomotive on a different principle, reminded me of gulliver's portable mansion among the brobdignags.
it was a huge covered wagon -- or, more properly, a small house on wheels -- with a door on one side and a window shaded by green blinds on the other.
two horses munching provender out of the baskets which muzzled them were fastened near the vehicle.
a delectable sound of music proceeded from the interior, and i immediately conjectured that this was some itinerant show halting at the confluence of the roads to intercept such idle travellers as myself.
a shower had long been climbing up the western sky, and now hung so blackly over my onward path that it was a point of wisdom to seek shelter here.
""halloo!
who stands guard here?
is the doorkeeper asleep?"
cried i, approaching a ladder of two or three steps which was let down from the wagon.
the music ceased at my summons, and there appeared at the door, not the sort of figure that i had mentally assigned to the wandering showman, but a most respectable old personage whom i was sorry to have addressed in so free a style.
he wore a snuff-colored coat and small-clothes, with white top-boots, and exhibited the mild dignity of aspect and manner which may often be noticed in aged schoolmasters, and sometimes in deacons, selectmen or other potentates of that kind.
a small piece of silver was my passport within his premises, where i found only one other person, hereafter to be described.
""this is a dull day for business," said the old gentleman as he ushered me in; "but i merely tarry here to refresh the cattle, being bound for the camp-meeting at stamford."
perhaps the movable scene of this narrative is still peregrinating new england, and may enable the reader to test the accuracy of my description.
the spectacle -- for i will not use the unworthy term of "puppet-show" -- consisted of a multitude of little people assembled on a miniature stage.
among them were artisans of every kind in the attitudes of their toil, and a group of fair ladies and gay gentlemen standing ready for the dance; a company of foot-soldiers formed a line across the stage, looking stern, grim and terrible enough to make it a pleasant consideration that they were but three inches high; and conspicuous above the whole was seen a merry andrew in the pointed cap and motley coat of his profession.
all the inhabitants of this mimic world were motionless, like the figures in a picture, or like that people who one moment were alive in the midst of their business and delights and the next were transformed to statues, preserving an eternal semblance of labor that was ended and pleasure that could be felt no more.
anon, however, the old gentleman turned the handle of a barrel-organ, the first note of which produced a most enlivening effect upon the figures and awoke them all to their proper occupations and amusements.
by the selfsame impulse the tailor plied his needle, the blacksmith's hammer descended upon the anvil and the dancers whirled away on feathery tiptoes; the company of soldiers broke into platoons, retreated from the stage, and were succeeded by a troop of horse, who came prancing onward with such a sound of trumpets and trampling of hoofs as might have startled don quixote himself; while an old toper of inveterate ill-habits uplifted his black bottle and took off a hearty swig.
meantime, the merry andrew began to caper and turn somersets, shaking his sides, nodding his head and winking his eyes in as lifelike a manner as if he were ridiculing the nonsense of all human affairs and making fun of the whole multitude beneath him.
at length the old magician -lrb- for i compared the showman to prospero entertaining his guests with a masque of shadows -rrb- paused that i might give utterance to my wonder.
""what an admirable piece of work is this!"
exclaimed i, lifting up my hands in astonishment.
indeed, i liked the spectacle and was tickled with the old man's gravity as he presided at it, for i had none of that foolish wisdom which reproves every occupation that is not useful in this world of vanities.
if there be a faculty which i possess more perfectly than most men, it is that of throwing myself mentally into situations foreign to my own and detecting with a cheerful eye the desirable circumstances of each.
i could have envied the life of this gray-headed showman, spent as it had been in a course of safe and pleasurable adventure in driving his huge vehicle sometimes through the sands of cape cod and sometimes over the rough forest-roads of the north and east, and halting now on the green before a village meeting-house and now in a paved square of the metropolis.
how often must his heart have been gladdened by the delight of children as they viewed these animated figures, or his pride indulged by haranguing learnedly to grown men on the mechanical powers which produced such wonderful effects, or his gallantry brought into play -- for this is an attribute which such grave men do not lack -- by the visits of pretty maidens!
and then with how fresh a feeling must he return at intervals to his own peculiar home!
""i would i were assured of as happy a life as his," thought i. though the showman's wagon might have accommodated fifteen or twenty spectators, it now contained only himself and me and a third person, at whom i threw a glance on entering.
he was a neat and trim young man of two or three and twenty; his drab hat and green frock-coat with velvet collar were smart, though no longer new, while a pair of green spectacles that seemed needless to his brisk little eyes gave him something of a scholar-like and literary air.
after allowing me a sufficient time to inspect the puppets, he advanced with a bow and drew my attention to some books in a corner of the wagon.
these he forthwith began to extol with an amazing volubility of well-sounding words and an ingenuity of praise that won him my heart as being myself one of the most merciful of critics.
indeed, his stock required some considerable powers of commendation in the salesman.
there were several ancient friends of mine -- the novels of those happy days when my affections wavered between the scottish chiefs and thomas thumb -- besides a few of later date whose merits had not been acknowledged by the public.
i was glad to find that dear little venerable volume the new england primer, looking as antique as ever, though in its thousandth new edition; a bundle of superannuated gilt picture-books made such a child of me that, partly for the glittering covers and partly for the fairy-tales within, i bought the whole, and an assortment of ballads and popular theatrical songs drew largely on my purse.
to balance these expenditures, i meddled neither with sermons nor science nor morality, though volumes of each were there, nor with a life of franklin in the coarsest of paper, but so showily bound that it was emblematical of the doctor himself in the court-dress which he refused to wear at paris, nor with webster's spelling-book, nor some of byron's minor poems, nor half a dozen little testaments at twenty-five cents each.
thus far the collection might have been swept from some great bookstore or picked up at an evening auction-room, but there was one small blue-covered pamphlet which the pedler handed me with so peculiar an air that i purchased it immediately at his own price; and then for the first time the thought struck me that i had spoken face to face with the veritable author of a printed book.
the literary-man now evinced a great kindness for me, and i ventured to inquire which way he was travelling.
""oh," said he, "i keep company with this old gentlemen here, and we are moving now toward the camp-meeting at stamford."
he then explained to me that for the present season he had rented a corner of the wagon as a book-store, which, as he wittily observed, was a true circulating library, since there were few parts of the country where it had not gone its rounds.
i approved of the plan exceedingly, and began to sum up within my mind the many uncommon felicities in the life of a book-pedler, especially when his character resembled that of the individual before me.
at a high rate was to be reckoned the daily and hourly enjoyment of such interviews as the present, in which he seized upon the admiration of a passing stranger and made him aware that a man of literary taste, and even of literary achievement, was travelling the country in a showman's wagon.
a more valuable yet not infrequent triumph might be won in his conversations with some elderly clergyman long vegetating in a rocky, woody, watery back-settlement of new england, who as he recruited his library from the pedler's stock of sermons would exhort him to seek a college education and become the first scholar in his class.
sweeter and prouder yet would be his sensations when, talking poetry while he sold spelling-books, he should charm the mind, and haply touch the heart, of a fair country schoolmistress, herself an unhonored poetess, a wearer of blue stockings which none but himself took pains to look at.
but the scene of his completest glory would be when the wagon had halted for the night and his stock of books was transferred to some crowded bar-room.
then would he recommend to the multifarious company, whether traveller from the city, or teamster from the hills, or neighboring squire, or the landlord himself, or his loutish hostler, works suited to each particular taste and capacity, proving, all the while, by acute criticism and profound remark, that the lore in his books was even exceeded by that in his brain.
thus happily would he traverse the land, sometimes a herald before the march of mind, sometimes walking arm in arm with awful literature, and reaping everywhere a harvest of real and sensible popularity which the secluded bookworms by whose toil he lived could never hope for.
""if ever i meddle with literature," thought i, fixing myself in adamantine resolution, "it shall be as a travelling bookseller."
though it was still mid-afternoon, the air had now grown dark about us, and a few drops of rain came down upon the roof of our vehicle, pattering like the feet of birds that had flown thither to rest.
a sound of pleasant voices made us listen, and there soon appeared halfway up the ladder the pretty person of a young damsel whose rosy face was so cheerful that even amid the gloomy light it seemed as if the sunbeams were peeping under her bonnet.
we next saw the dark and handsome features of a young man who, with easier gallantry than might have been expected in the heart of yankee-land, was assisting her into the wagon.
it became immediately evident to us, when the two strangers stood within the door, that they were of a profession kindred to those of my companions, and i was delighted with the more than hospitable -- the even paternal -- kindness of the old showman's manner as he welcomed them, while the man of literature hastened to lead the merry-eyed girl to a seat on the long bench.
""you are housed but just in time, my young friends," said the master of the wagon; "the sky would have been down upon you within five minutes."
the young man's reply marked him as a foreigner -- not by any variation from the idiom and accent of good english, but because he spoke with more caution and accuracy than if perfectly familiar with the language.
""we knew that a shower was hanging over us," said he, "and consulted whether it were best to enter the house on the top of yonder hill, but, seeing your wagon in the road --" "we agreed to come hither," interrupted the girl, with a smile, "because we should be more at home in a wandering house like this."
i, meanwhile, with many a wild and undetermined fantasy was narrowly inspecting these two doves that had flown into our ark.
the young man, tall, agile and athletic, wore a mass of black shining curls clustering round a dark and vivacious countenance which, if it had not greater expression, was at least more active and attracted readier notice, than the quiet faces of our countrymen.
at his first appearance he had been laden with a neat mahogany box of about two feet square, but very light in proportion to its size, which he had immediately unstrapped from his shoulders and deposited on the floor of the wagon.
the girl had nearly as fair a complexion as our own beauties, and a brighter one than most of them; the lightness of her figure, which seemed calculated to traverse the whole world without weariness, suited well with the glowing cheerfulness of her face, and her gay attire, combining the rainbow hues of crimson, green and a deep orange, was as proper to her lightsome aspect as if she had been born in it.
this gay stranger was appropriately burdened with that mirth-inspiring instrument the fiddle, which her companion took from her hands, and shortly began the process of tuning.
neither of us the previous company of the wagon needed to inquire their trade, for this could be no mystery to frequenters of brigade-musters, ordinations, cattle-shows, commencements, and other festal meetings in our sober land; and there is a dear friend of mine who will smile when this page recalls to his memory a chivalrous deed performed by us in rescuing the show-box of such a couple from a mob of great double-fisted countrymen.
""come," said i to the damsel of gay attire; "shall we visit all the wonders of the world together?"
she understood the metaphor at once, though, indeed, it would not much have troubled me if she had assented to the literal meaning of my words.
the mahogany box was placed in a proper position, and i peeped in through its small round magnifying-window while the girl sat by my side and gave short descriptive sketches as one after another the pictures were unfolded to my view.
we visited together -- at least, our imaginations did -- full many a famous city in the streets of which i had long yearned to tread.
once, i remember, we were in the harbor of barcelona, gazing townward; next, she bore me through the air to sicily and bade me look up at blazing ætna; then we took wing to venice and sat in a gondola beneath the arch of the rialto, and anon she set me down among the thronged spectators at the coronation of napoleon.
but there was one scene -- its locality she could not tell -- which charmed my attention longer than all those gorgeous palaces and churches, because the fancy haunted me that i myself the preceding summer had beheld just such a humble meeting-house, in just such a pine-surrounded nook, among our own green mountains.
all these pictures were tolerably executed, though far inferior to the girl's touches of description; nor was it easy to comprehend how in so few sentences, and these, as i supposed, in a language foreign to her, she contrived to present an airy copy of each varied scene.
when we had travelled through the vast extent of the mahogany box, i looked into my guide's face."
"where are you going, my pretty maid?""
inquired i, in the words of an old song.
""ah!"
said the gay damsel; "you might as well ask where the summer wind is going.
we are wanderers here and there and everywhere.
wherever there is mirth our merry hearts are drawn to it.
to-day, indeed, the people have told us of a great frolic and festival in these parts; so perhaps we may be needed at what you call the camp-meeting at stamford."
then, in my happy youth, and while her pleasant voice yet sounded in my ears, i sighed; for none but myself, i thought, should have been her companion in a life which seemed to realize my own wild fancies cherished all through visionary boyhood to that hour.
to these two strangers the world was in its golden age -- not that, indeed, it was less dark and sad than ever, but because its weariness and sorrow had no community with their ethereal nature.
wherever they might appear in their pilgrimage of bliss, youth would echo back their gladness, care-stricken maturity would rest a moment from its toil, and age, tottering among the graves, would smile in withered joy for their sakes.
the lonely cot, the narrow and gloomy street, the sombre shade, would catch a passing gleam like that now shining on ourselves as these bright spirits wandered by.
blessed pair, whose happy home was throughout all the earth!
i looked at my shoulders, and thought them broad enough to sustain those pictured towns and mountains; mine, too, was an elastic foot as tireless as the wing of the bird of paradise; mine was then an untroubled heart that would have gone singing on its delightful way.
""oh, maiden," said i aloud, "why did you not come hither alone?"
while the merry girl and myself were busy with the show-box the unceasing rain had driven another wayfarer into the wagon.
he seemed pretty nearly of the old showman's age, but much smaller, leaner and more withered than he, and less respectably clad in a patched suit of gray; withal, he had a thin, shrewd countenance and a pair of diminutive gray eyes, which peeped rather too keenly out of their puckered sockets.
this old fellow had been joking with the showman in a manner which intimated previous acquaintance, but, perceiving that the damsel and i had terminated our affairs, he drew forth a folded document and presented it to me.
as i had anticipated, it proved to be a circular, written in a very fair and legible hand and signed by several distinguished gentlemen whom i had never heard of, stating that the bearer had encountered every variety of misfortune and recommending him to the notice of all charitable people.
previous disbursements had left me no more than a five-dollar bill, out of which, however, i offered to make the beggar a donation provided he would give me change for it.
the object of my beneficence looked keenly in my face, and discerned that i had none of that abominable spirit, characteristic though it be, of a full-blooded yankee, which takes pleasure in detecting every little harmless piece of knavery.
""why, perhaps," said the ragged old mendicant, "if the bank is in good standing, i ca n't say but i may have enough about me to change your bill."
""it is a bill of the suffolk bank," said i, "and better than the specie."
as the beggar had nothing to object, he now produced a small buff leather bag tied up carefully with a shoe-string.
when this was opened, there appeared a very comfortable treasure of silver coins of all sorts and sizes, and i even fancied that i saw gleaming among them the golden plumage of that rare bird in our currency the american eagle.
in this precious heap was my bank-note deposited, the rate of exchange being considerably against me.
his wants being thus relieved, the destitute man pulled out of his pocket an old pack of greasy cards which had probably contributed to fill the buff leather bag in more ways than one.
""come!"
said he; "i spy a rare fortune in your face, and for twenty-five cents more i'll tell you what it is."
i never refuse to take a glimpse into futurity; so, after shuffling the cards and when the fair damsel had cut them, i dealt a portion to the prophetic beggar.
like others of his profession, before predicting the shadowy events that were moving on to meet me he gave proof of his preternatural science by describing scenes through which i had already passed.
here let me have credit for a sober fact.
when the old man had read a page in his book of fate, he bent his keen gray eyes on mine and proceeded to relate in all its minute particulars what was then the most singular event of my life.
it was one which i had no purpose to disclose till the general unfolding of all secrets, nor would it be a much stranger instance of inscrutable knowledge or fortunate conjecture if the beggar were to meet me in the street today and repeat word for word the page which i have here written.
the fortune-teller, after predicting a destiny which time seems loth to make good, put up his cards, secreted his treasure-bag and began to converse with the other occupants of the wagon.
""well, old friend," said the showman, "you have not yet told us which way your face is turned this afternoon."
""i am taking a trip northward this warm weather," replied the conjurer, "across the connecticut first, and then up through vermont, and maybe into canada before the fall.
but i must stop and see the breaking up of the camp-meeting at stamford."
i began to think that all the vagrants in new england were converging to the camp-meeting and had made this wagon, their rendezvous by the way.
the showman now proposed that when the shower was over they should pursue the road to stamford together, it being sometimes the policy of these people to form a sort of league and confederacy.
""and the young lady too," observed the gallant bibliopolist, bowing to her profoundly, "and this foreign gentleman, as i understand, are on a jaunt of pleasure to the same spot.
it would add incalculably to my own enjoyment, and i presume to that of my colleague and his friend, if they could be prevailed upon to join our party."
this arrangement met with approbation on all hands, nor were any of those concerned more sensible of its advantages than myself, who had no title to be included in it.
having already satisfied myself as to the several modes in which the four others attained felicity, i next set my mind at work to discover what enjoyments were peculiar to the old "straggler," as the people of the country would have termed the wandering mendicant and prophet.
as he pretended to familiarity with the devil, so i fancied that he was fitted to pursue and take delight in his way of life by possessing some of the mental and moral characteristics -- the lighter and more comic ones -- of the devil in popular stories.
among them might be reckoned a love of deception for its own sake, a shrewd eye and keen relish for human weakness and ridiculous infirmity, and the talent of petty fraud.
thus to this old man there would be pleasure even in the consciousness -- so insupportable to some minds -- that his whole life was a cheat upon the world, and that, so far as he was concerned with the public, his little cunning had the upper hand of its united wisdom.
every day would furnish him with a succession of minute and pungent triumphs -- as when, for instance, his importunity wrung a pittance out of the heart of a miser, or when my silly good-nature transferred a part of my slender purse to his plump leather bag, or when some ostentatious gentleman should throw a coin to the ragged beggar who was richer than himself, or when -- though he would not always be so decidedly diabolical -- his pretended wants should make him a sharer in the scanty living of real indigence.
and then what an inexhaustible field of enjoyment, both as enabling him to discern so much folly and achieve such quantities of minor mischief, was opened to his sneering spirit by his pretensions to prophetic knowledge.
all this was a sort of happiness which i could conceive of, though i had little sympathy with it.
perhaps, had i been then inclined to admit it, i might have found that the roving life was more proper to him than to either of his companions; for satan, to whom i had compared the poor man, has delighted, ever since the time of job, in "wandering up and down upon the earth," and, indeed, a crafty disposition which operates not in deep-laid plans, but in disconnected tricks, could not have an adequate scope, unless naturally impelled to a continual change of scene and society.
my reflections were here interrupted.
""another visitor!"
exclaimed the old showman.
the door of the wagon had been closed against the tempest, which was roaring and blustering with prodigious fury and commotion and beating violently against our shelter, as if it claimed all those homeless people for its lawful prey, while we, caring little for the displeasure of the elements, sat comfortably talking.
there was now an attempt to open the door, succeeded by a voice uttering some strange, unintelligible gibberish which my companions mistook for greek and i suspected to be thieves" latin.
however, the showman stepped forward and gave admittance to a figure which made me imagine either that our wagon had rolled back two hundred years into past ages or that the forest and its old inhabitants had sprung up around us by enchantment.
it was a red indian armed with his bow and arrow.
his dress was a sort of cap adorned with a single feather of some wild bird, and a frock of blue cotton girded tight about him; on his breast, like orders of knighthood, hung a crescent and a circle and other ornaments of silver, while a small crucifix betokened that our father the pope had interposed between the indian and the great spirit whom he had worshipped in his simplicity.
this son of the wilderness and pilgrim of the storm took his place silently in the midst of us.
when the first surprise was over, i rightly conjectured him to be one of the penobscot tribe, parties of which i had often seen in their summer excursions down our eastern rivers.
there they paddle their birch canoes among the coasting-schooners, and build their wigwam beside some roaring mill-dam, and drive a little trade in basket-work where their fathers hunted deer.
our new visitor was probably wandering through the country toward boston, subsisting on the careless charity of the people while he turned his archery to profitable account by shooting at cents which were to be the prize of his successful aim.
the indian had not long been seated ere our merry damsel sought to draw him into conversation.
she, indeed, seemed all made up of sunshine in the month of may, for there was nothing so dark and dismal that her pleasant mind could not cast a glow over it; and the wild man, like a fir tree in his native forest, soon began to brighten into a sort of sombre cheerfulness.
at length she inquired whether his journey had any particular end or purpose.
""i go shoot at the camp-meeting at stamford," replied the indian.
""and here are five more," said the girl, "all aiming at the camp-meeting too.
you shall be one of us, for we travel with light hearts; and, as for me, i sing merry songs and tell merry tales and am full of merry thoughts, and i dance merrily along the road, so that there is never any sadness among them that keep me company.
but oh, you would find it very dull indeed to go all the way to stamford alone."
my ideas of the aboriginal character led me to fear that the indian would prefer his own solitary musings to the gay society thus offered him; on the contrary, the girl's proposal met with immediate acceptance and seemed to animate him with a misty expectation of enjoyment.
i now gave myself up to a course of thought which, whether it flowed naturally from this combination of events or was drawn forth by a wayward fancy, caused my mind to thrill as if i were listening to deep music.
i saw mankind in this weary old age of the world either enduring a sluggish existence amid the smoke and dust of cities, or, if they breathed a purer air, still lying down at night with no hope but to wear out to-morrow, and all the to-morrows which make up life, among the same dull scenes and in the same wretched toil that had darkened the sunshine of today.
but there were some full of the primeval instinct who preserved the freshness of youth to their latest years by the continual excitement of new objects, new pursuits and new associates, and cared little, though their birthplace might have been here in new england, if the grave should close over them in central asia.
fate was summoning a parliament of these free spirits; unconscious of the impulse which directed them to a common centre, they had come hither from far and near, and last of all appeared the representatives of those mighty vagrants who had chased the deer during thousands of years, and were chasing it now in the spirit-land.
wandering down through the waste of ages, the woods had vanished around his path; his arm had lost somewhat of its strength, his foot of its fleetness, his mien of its wild regality, his heart and mind of their savage virtue and uncultured force, but here, untamable to the routine of artificial life, roving now along the dusty road as of old over the forest-leaves, -- here was the indian still.
""well," said the old showman, in the midst of my meditations, "here is an honest company of us -- one, two, three, four, five, six -- all going to the camp-meeting at stamford.
now, hoping no offence, i should like to know where this young gentleman may be going?"
i started.
how came i among these wanderers?
the free mind that preferred its own folly to another's wisdom, the open spirit that found companions everywhere -- above all, the restless impulse that had so often made me wretched in the midst of enjoyments, -- these were my claims to be of their society.
""my friends," cried i, stepping into the centre of the wagon, "i am going with you to the camp-meeting at stamford."
""but in what capacity?"
asked the old showman, after a moment's silence.
""all of us here can get our bread in some creditable way.
every honest man should have his livelihood.
you, sir, as i take it, are a mere strolling gentleman."
i proceeded to inform the company that when nature gave me a propensity to their way of life she had not left me altogether destitute of qualifications for it, though i could not deny that my talent was less respectable, and might be less profitable, than the meanest of theirs.
my design, in short, was to imitate the story-tellers of whom oriental travellers have told us, and become an itinerant novelist, reciting my own extemporaneous fictions to such audiences as i could collect.
""either this," said i, "is my vocation, or i have been born in vain."
the fortune-teller, with a sly wink to the company, proposed to take me as an apprentice to one or other of his professions, either of which undoubtedly would have given full scope to whatever inventive talent i might possess.
the bibliopolist spoke a few words in opposition to my plan -- influenced partly, i suspect, by the jealousy of authorship, and partly by an apprehension that the vivâ-voce practice would become general among novelists, to the infinite detriment of the book trade.
dreading a rejection, i solicited the interest of the merry damsel."
"mirth,"" cried i, most aptly appropriating the words of l'allegro," "to thee i sue!
mirth, admit me of thy crew!""
""let us indulge the poor youth," said mirth, with a kindness which made me love her dearly, though i was no such coxcomb as to misinterpret her motives.
""i have espied much promise in him.
true, a shadow sometimes flits across his brow, but the sunshine is sure to follow in a moment.
he is never guilty of a sad thought but a merry one is twin-born with it.
we will take him with us, and you shall see that he will set us all a-laughing before we reach the camp-meeting at stamford."
her voice silenced the scruples of the rest and gained me admittance into the league; according to the terms of which, without a community of goods or profits, we were to lend each other all the aid and avert all the harm that might be in our power.
this affair settled, a marvellous jollity entered into the whole tribe of us, manifesting itself characteristically in each individual.
the old showman, sitting down to his barrel-organ, stirred up the souls of the pigmy people with one of the quickest tunes in the music-book; tailors, blacksmiths, gentlemen and ladies all seemed to share in the spirit of the occasion, and the merry andrew played his part more facetiously than ever, nodding and winking particularly at me.
the young foreigner flourished his fiddle-bow with a master's hand, and gave an inspiring echo to the showman's melody.
the bookish man and the merry damsel started up simultaneously to dance, the former enacting the double shuffle in a style which everybody must have witnessed ere election week was blotted out of time, while the girl, setting her arms akimbo with both hands at her slim waist, displayed such light rapidity of foot and harmony of varying attitude and motion that i could not conceive how she ever was to stop, imagining at the moment that nature had made her, as the old showman had made his puppets, for no earthly purpose but to dance jigs.
the indian bellowed forth a succession of most hideous outcries, somewhat affrighting us till we interpreted them as the war-song with which, in imitation of his ancestors, he was prefacing the assault on stamford.
the conjurer, meanwhile, sat demurely in a corner extracting a sly enjoyment from the whole scene, and, like the facetious merry andrew, directing his queer glance particularly at me.
as for myself, with great exhilaration of fancy, i began to arrange and color the incidents of a tale wherewith i proposed to amuse an audience that very evening; for i saw that my associates were a little ashamed of me, and that no time was to be lost in obtaining a public acknowledgment of my abilities.
""come, fellow-laborers," at last said the old showman, whom we had elected president; "the shower is over, and we must be doing our duty by these poor souls at stamford."
""we'll come among them in procession, with music and dancing," cried the merry damsel.
accordingly -- for it must be understood that our pilgrimage was to be performed on foot -- we sallied joyously out of the wagon, each of us, even the old gentleman in his white top-boots, giving a great skip as we came down the ladder.
above our heads there was such a glory of sunshine and splendor of clouds, and such brightness of verdure below, that, as i modestly remarked at the time, nature seemed to have washed her face and put on the best of her jewelry and a fresh green gown in honor of our confederation.
casting our eyes northward, we beheld a horseman approaching leisurely and splashing through the little puddle on the stamford road.
onward he came, sticking up in his saddle with rigid perpendicularity, a tall, thin figure in rusty black, whom the showman and the conjurer shortly recognized to be what his aspect sufficiently indicated -- a travelling preacher of great fame among the methodists.
what puzzled us was the fact that his face appeared turned from, instead of to, the camp-meeting at stamford.
however, as this new votary of the wandering life drew near the little green space where the guide-post and our wagon were situated, my six fellow-vagabonds and myself rushed forward and surrounded him, crying out with united voices, "what news?
what news from the camp-meeting at stamford?"
the missionary looked down in surprise at as singular a knot of people as could have been selected from all his heterogeneous auditors.
indeed, considering that we might all be classified under the general head of vagabond, there was great diversity of character among the grave old showman, the sly, prophetic beggar, the fiddling foreigner and his merry damsel, the smart bibliopolist, the sombre indian and myself, the itinerant novelist, a slender youth of eighteen.
i even fancied that a smile was endeavoring to disturb the iron gravity of the preacher's mouth.
""good people," answered he, "the camp-meeting is broke up."
so saying, the methodist minister switched his steed and rode westward.
our union being thus nullified by the removal of its object, we were sundered at once to the four winds of heaven.
the fortune-teller, giving a nod to all and a peculiar wink to me, departed on his northern tour, chuckling within himself as he took the stamford road.
the old showman and his literary coadjutor were already tackling their horses to the wagon with a design to peregrinate south-west along the sea-coast.
the foreigner and the merry damsel took their laughing leave and pursued the eastern road, which i had that day trodden; as they passed away the young man played a lively strain and the girl's happy spirit broke into a dance, and, thus dissolving, as it were, into sunbeams and gay music, that pleasant pair departed from my view.
finally, with a pensive shadow thrown across my mind, yet emulous of the light philosophy of my late companions, i joined myself to the penobscot indian and set forth toward the distant city.
the white old maid.
the moonbeams came through two deep and narrow windows and showed a spacious chamber richly furnished in an antique fashion.
from one lattice the shadow of the diamond panes was thrown upon the floor; the ghostly light through the other slept upon a bed, falling between the heavy silken curtains and illuminating the face of a young man.
but how quietly the slumberer lay!
how pale his features!
and how like a shroud the sheet was wound about his frame!
yes, it was a corpse in its burial-clothes.
suddenly the fixed features seemed to move with dark emotion.
strange fantasy!
it was but the shadow of the fringed curtain waving betwixt the dead face and the moonlight as the door of the chamber opened and a girl stole softly to the bedside.
was there delusion in the moonbeams, or did her gesture and her eye betray a gleam of triumph as she bent over the pale corpse, pale as itself, and pressed her living lips to the cold ones of the dead?
as she drew back from that long kiss her features writhed as if a proud heart were fighting with its anguish.
again it seemed that the features of the corpse had moved responsive to her own.
still an illusion.
the silken curtains had waved a second time betwixt the dead face and the moonlight as another fair young girl unclosed the door and glided ghostlike to the bedside.
there the two maidens stood, both beautiful, with the pale beauty of the dead between them.
but she who had first entered was proud and stately, and the other a soft and fragile thing.
""away!"
cried the lofty one.
""thou hadst him living; the dead is mine."
""thine!"
returned the other, shuddering.
""well hast thou spoken; the dead is thine."
the proud girl started and stared into her face with a ghastly look, but a wild-and mournful expression passed across the features of the gentle one, and, weak and helpless, she sank down on the bed, her head pillowed beside that of the corpse and her hair mingling with his dark locks.
a creature of hope and joy, the first draught of sorrow had bewildered her.
""edith!"
cried her rival.
edith groaned as with a sudden compression of the heart, and, removing her cheek from the dead youth's pillow, she stood upright, fearfully encountering the eyes of the lofty girl.
""wilt thou betray me?"
said the latter, calmly.
""till the dead bid me speak i will be silent," answered edith.
""leave us alone together.
go and live many years, and then return and tell me of thy life.
he too will be here.
then, if thou tellest of sufferings more than death, we will both forgive thee."
""and what shall be the token?"
asked the proud girl, as if her heart acknowledged a meaning in these wild words.
""this lock of hair," said edith, lifting one of the dark clustering curls that lay heavily on the dead man's brow.
the two maidens joined their hands over the bosom of the corpse and appointed a day and hour far, far in time to come for their next meeting in that chamber.
the statelier girl gave one deep look at the motionless countenance and departed, yet turned again and trembled ere she closed the door, almost believing that her dead lover frowned upon her.
and edith, too!
was not her white form fading into the moonlight?
scorning her own weakness, she went forth and perceived that a negro slave was waiting in the passage with a waxlight, which he held between her face and his own and regarded her, as she thought, with an ugly expression of merriment.
lifting his torch on high, the slave lighted her down the staircase and undid the portal of the mansion.
the young clergyman of the town had just ascended the steps, and, bowing to the lady, passed in without a word.
years -- many years -- rolled on.
the world seemed new again, so much older was it grown since the night when those pale girls had clasped their hands across the bosom of the corpse.
in the interval a lonely woman had passed from youth to extreme age, and was known by all the town as the "old maid in the winding-sheet."
a taint of insanity had affected her whole life, but so quiet, sad and gentle, so utterly free from violence, that she was suffered to pursue her harmless fantasies unmolested by the world with whose business or pleasures she had naught to do.
she dwelt alone, and never came into the daylight except to follow funerals.
whenever a corpse was borne along the street, in sunshine, rain or snow, whether a pompous train of the rich and proud thronged after it or few and humble were the mourners, behind them came the lonely woman in a long white garment which the people called her shroud.
she took no place among the kindred or the friends, but stood at the door to hear the funeral prayer, and walked in the rear of the procession as one whose earthly charge it was to haunt the house of mourning and be the shadow of affliction and see that the dead were duly buried.
so long had this been her custom that the inhabitants of the town deemed her a part of every funeral, as much as the coffin-pall or the very corpse itself, and augured ill of the sinner's destiny unless the old maid in the winding-sheet came gliding like a ghost behind.
once, it is said, she affrighted a bridal-party with her pale presence, appearing suddenly in the illuminated hall just as the priest was uniting a false maid to a wealthy man before her lover had been dead a year.
evil was the omen to that marriage.
sometimes she stole forth by moonlight and visited the graves of venerable integrity and wedded love and virgin innocence, and every spot where the ashes of a kind and faithful heart were mouldering.
over the hillocks of those favored dead would she stretch out her arms with a gesture as if she were scattering seeds, and many believed that she brought them from the garden of paradise, for the graves which she had visited were green beneath the snow and covered with sweet flowers from april to november.
her blessing was better than a holy verse upon the tombstone.
thus wore away her long, sad, peaceful and fantastic life till few were so old as she, and the people of later generations wondered how the dead had ever been buried or mourners had endured their grief without the old maid in the winding-sheet.
still years went on, and still she followed funerals and was not yet summoned to her own festival of death.
one afternoon the great street of the town was all alive with business and bustle, though the sun now gilded only the upper half of the church-spire, having left the housetops and loftiest trees in shadow.
the scene was cheerful and animated in spite of the sombre shade between the high brick buildings.
here were pompous merchants in white wigs and laced velvet, the bronzed faces of sea-captains, the foreign garb and air of spanish creoles, and the disdainful port of natives of old england, all contrasted with the rough aspect of one or two back-settlers negotiating sales of timber from forests where axe had never sounded.
sometimes a lady passed, swelling roundly forth in an embroidered petticoat, balancing her steps in high-heeled shoes and courtesying with lofty grace to the punctilious obeisances of the gentlemen.
the life of the town seemed to have its very centre not far from an old mansion that stood somewhat back from the pavement, surrounded by neglected grass, with a strange air of loneliness rather deepened than dispelled by the throng so near it.
its site would have been suitably occupied by a magnificent exchange or a brick block lettered all over with various signs, or the large house itself might have made a noble tavern with the "king's arms" swinging before it and guests in every chamber, instead of the present solitude.
but, owing to some dispute about the right of inheritance, the mansion had been long without a tenant, decaying from year to year and throwing the stately gloom of its shadow over the busiest part of the town.
such was the scene, and such the time, when a figure unlike any that have been described was observed at a distance down the street.
""i espy a strange sail yonder," remarked a liverpool captain -- "that woman in the long white garment."
the sailor seemed much struck by the object, as were several others who at the same moment caught a glimpse of the figure that had attracted his notice.
almost immediately the various topics of conversation gave place to speculations in an undertone on this unwonted occurrence.
""can there be a funeral so late this afternoon?"
inquired some.
they looked for the signs of death at every door -- the sexton, the hearse, the assemblage of black-clad relatives, all that makes up the woeful pomp of funerals.
they raised their eyes, also, to the sun-gilt spire of the church, and wondered that no clang proceeded from its bell, which had always tolled till now when this figure appeared in the light of day.
but none had heard that a corpse was to be borne to its home that afternoon, nor was there any token of a funeral except the apparition of the old maid in the winding-sheet.
""what may this portend?"
asked each man of his neighbor.
all smiled as they put the question, yet with a certain trouble in their eyes, as if pestilence, or some other wide calamity, were prognosticated by the untimely intrusion among the living of one whose presence had always been associated with death and woe.
what a comet is to the earth was that sad woman to the town.
still she moved on, while the hum of surprise was hushed at her approach, and the proud and the humble stood aside that her white garment might not wave against them.
it was a long, loose robe of spotless purity.
its wearer appeared very old, pale, emaciated and feeble, yet glided onward without the unsteady pace of extreme age.
at one point of her course a little rosy boy burst forth from a door and ran with open arms toward the ghostly woman, seeming to expect a kiss from her bloodless lips.
she made a slight pause, fixing her eye upon him with an expression of no earthly sweetness, so that the child shivered and stood awestruck rather than affrighted while the old maid passed on.
perhaps her garment might have been polluted even by an infant's touch; perhaps her kiss would have been death to the sweet boy within the year.
""she is but a shadow," whispered the superstitious.
""the child put forth his arms and could not grasp her robe."
the wonder was increased when the old maid passed beneath the porch of the deserted mansion, ascended the moss-covered steps, lifted the iron knocker and gave three raps.
the people could only conjecture that some old remembrance, troubling her bewildered brain, had impelled the poor woman hither to visit the friends of her youth -- all gone from their home long since and for ever unless their ghosts still haunted it, fit company for the old maid in the winding-sheet.
an elderly man approached the steps, and, reverently uncovering his gray locks, essayed to explain the matter.
""none, madam," said he, "have dwelt in this house these fifteen years agone -- no, not since the death of old colonel fenwicke, whose funeral you may remember to have followed.
his heirs, being ill-agreed among themselves, have let the mansion-house go to ruin."
the old maid looked slowly round with a slight gesture of one hand and a finger of the other upon her lip, appearing more shadow-like than ever in the obscurity of the porch.
but again she lifted the hammer, and gave, this time, a single rap.
could it be that a footstep was now heard coming down the staircase of the old mansion which all conceived to have been so long untenanted?
slowly, feebly, yet heavily, like the pace of an aged and infirm person, the step approached, more distinct on every downward stair, till it reached the portal.
the bar fell on the inside; the door was opened.
one upward glance toward the church-spire, whence the sunshine had just faded, was the last that the people saw of the old maid in the winding-sheet.
""who undid the door?"
asked many.
this question, owing to the depth of shadow beneath the porch, no one could satisfactorily answer.
two or three aged men, while protesting against an inference which might be drawn, affirmed that the person within was a negro and bore a singular resemblance to old cæsar, formerly a slave in the house, but freed by death some thirty years before.
""her summons has waked up a servant of the old family," said one, half seriously.
""let us wait here," replied another; "more guests will knock at the door anon.
but the gate of the graveyard should be thrown open."
twilight had overspread the town before the crowd began to separate or the comments on this incident were exhausted.
one after another was wending his way homeward, when a coach -- no common spectacle in those days -- drove slowly into the street.
it was an old-fashioned equipage, hanging close to the ground, with arms on the panels, a footman behind and a grave, corpulent coachman seated high in front, the whole giving an idea of solemn state and dignity.
there was something awful in the heavy rumbling of the wheels.
the coach rolled down the street, till, coming to the gateway of the deserted mansion, it drew up, and the footman sprang to the ground.
""whose grand coach is this?"
asked a very inquisitive body.
the footman made no reply, but ascended the steps of the old house, gave three taps with the iron hammer, and returned to open the coach door.
an old man possessed of the heraldic lore so common in that day examined the shield of arms on the panel.
""azure, a lion's head erased, between three flowers de luce," said he, then whispered the name of the family to whom these bearings belonged.
the last inheritor of its honors was recently dead, after a long residence amid the splendor of the british court, where his birth and wealth had given him no mean station.
""he left no child," continued the herald, "and these arms, being in a lozenge, betoken that the coach appertains to his widow."
further disclosures, perhaps, might have been made had not the speaker been suddenly struck dumb by the stern eye of an ancient lady who thrust forth her head from the coach, preparing to descend.
as she emerged the people saw that her dress was magnificent, and her figure dignified in spite of age and infirmity -- a stately ruin, but with a look at once of pride and wretchedness.
her strong and rigid features had an awe about them unlike that of the white old maid, but as of something evil.
she passed up the steps, leaning on a gold-headed cane.
the door swung open as she ascended, and the light of a torch glittered on the embroidery of her dress and gleamed on the pillars of the porch.
after a momentary pause, a glance backward and then a desperate effort, she went in.
the decipherer of the coat-of-arms had ventured up the lower step, and, shrinking back immediately, pale and tremulous, affirmed that the torch was held by the very image of old cæsar.
""but such a hideous grin," added he, "was never seen on the face of mortal man, black or white.
it will haunt me till my dying-day."
meantime, the coach had wheeled round with a prodigious clatter on the pavement and rumbled up the street, disappearing in the twilight, while the ear still tracked its course.
scarcely was it gone when the people began to question whether the coach and attendants, the ancient lady, the spectre of old cæsar and the old maid herself were not all a strangely-combined delusion with some dark purport in its mystery.
the whole town was astir, so that, instead of dispersing, the crowd continually increased, and stood gazing up at the windows of the mansion, now silvered by the brightening moon.
the elders, glad to indulge the narrative propensity of age, told of the long-faded splendor of the family, the entertainments they had given and the guests, the greatest of the land, and even titled and noble ones from abroad, who had passed beneath that portal.
these graphic reminiscences seemed to call up the ghosts of those to whom they referred.
so strong was the impression on some of the more imaginative hearers that two or three were seized with trembling fits at one and the same moment, protesting that they had distinctly heard three other raps of the iron knocker.
""impossible!"
exclaimed others.
""see!
the moon shines beneath the porch, and shows every part of it except in the narrow shade of that pillar.
there is no one there."
""did not the door open?"
whispered one of these fanciful persons.
""didst thou see it too?"
said his companion, in a startled tone.
but the general sentiment was opposed to the idea that a third visitant had made application at the door of the deserted house.
a few, however, adhered to this new marvel, and even declared that a red gleam like that of a torch had shone through the great front window, as if the negro were lighting a guest up the staircase.
this too was pronounced a mere fantasy.
but at once the whole multitude started, and each man beheld his own terror painted in the faces of all the rest.
""what an awful thing is this!"
cried they.
a shriek too fearfully distinct for doubt had been heard within the mansion, breaking forth suddenly and succeeded by a deep stillness, as if a heart had burst in giving it utterance.
the people knew not whether to fly from the very sight of the house or to rush trembling in and search out the strange mystery.
amid their confusion and affright they were somewhat reassured by the appearance of their clergyman, a venerable patriarch, and equally a saint, who had taught them and their fathers the way to heaven for more than the space of an ordinary lifetime.
he was a reverend figure with long white hair upon his shoulders, a white beard upon his breast and a back so bent over his staff that he seemed to be looking downward continually, as if to choose a proper grave for his weary frame.
it was some time before the good old man, being deaf and of impaired intellect, could be made to comprehend such portions of the affair as were comprehensible at all.
but when possessed of the facts, his energies assumed unexpected vigor.
""verily," said the old gentleman, "it will be fitting that i enter the mansion-house of the worthy colonel fenwicke, lest any harm should have befallen that true christian woman whom ye call the "old maid in the winding-sheet.""
behold, then, the venerable clergyman ascending the steps of the mansion with a torch-bearer behind him.
it was the elderly man who had spoken to the old maid, and the same who had afterward explained the shield of arms and recognized the features of the negro.
like their predecessors, they gave three raps with the iron hammer.
""old cæsar cometh not," observed the priest.
""well, i wot he no longer doth service in this mansion."
""assuredly, then, it was something worse in old cæsar's likeness," said the other adventurer.
""be it as god wills," answered the clergyman.
""see!
my strength, though it be much decayed, hath sufficed to open this heavy door.
let us enter and pass up the staircase."
here occurred a singular exemplification of the dreamy state of a very old man's mind.
as they ascended the wide flight of stairs the aged clergyman appeared to move with caution, occasionally standing aside, and oftener bending his head, as it were in salutation, thus practising all the gestures of one who makes his way through a throng.
reaching the head of the staircase, he looked around with sad and solemn benignity, laid aside his staff, bared his hoary locks, and was evidently on the point of commencing a prayer.
""reverend sir," said his attendant, who conceived this a very suitable prelude to their further search, "would it not be well that the people join with us in prayer?"
""well-a-day!"
cried the old clergyman, staring strangely around him.
""art thou here with me, and none other?
verily, past times were present to me, and i deemed that i was to make a funeral prayer, as many a time heretofore, from the head of this staircase.
of a truth, i saw the shades of many that are gone.
yea, i have prayed at their burials, one after another, and the old maid in the winding-sheet hath seen them to their graves."
being now more thoroughly awake to their present purpose, he took his staff and struck forcibly on the floor, till there came an echo from each deserted chamber, but no menial to answer their summons.
they therefore walked along the passage, and again paused, opposite to the great front window, through which was seen the crowd in the shadow and partial moonlight of the street beneath.
on their right hand was the open door of a chamber, and a closed one on their left.
the clergyman pointed his cane to the carved oak panel of the latter.
""within that chamber," observed he, "a whole lifetime since, did i sit by the death-bed of a goodly young man who, being now at the last gasp --" apparently, there was some powerful excitement in the ideas which had now flashed across his mind.
he snatched the torch from his companion's hand, and threw open the door with such sudden violence that the flame was extinguished, leaving them no other light than the moonbeams which fell through two windows into the spacious chamber.
it was sufficient to discover all that could be known.
in a high-backed oaken arm-chair, upright, with her hands clasped across her breast and her head thrown back, sat the old maid in the winding-sheet.
the stately dame had fallen on her knees with her forehead on the holy knees of the old maid, one hand upon the floor and the other pressed convulsively against her heart.
it clutched a lock of hair -- once sable, now discolored with a greenish mould.
as the priest and layman advanced into the chamber the old maid's features assumed such a semblance of shifting expression that they trusted to hear the whole mystery explained by a single word.
but it was only the shadow of a tattered curtain waving betwixt the dead face and the moonlight.
""both dead!"
said the venerable man.
""then who shall divulge the secret?
methinks it glimmers to and fro in my mind like the light and shadow across the old maid's face.
and now't is gone!"
peter goldthwaite's treasure.
""and so, peter, you wo n't even consider of the business?"
said mr. john brown, buttoning his surtout over the snug rotundity of his person and drawing on his gloves.
""you positively refuse to let me have this crazy old house, and the land under and adjoining, at the price named?"
""neither at that, nor treble the sum," responded the gaunt, grizzled and threadbare peter goldthwaite.
""the fact is, mr. brown, you must find another site for your brick block and be content to leave my estate with the present owner.
next summer i intend to put a splendid new mansion over the cellar of the old house."
""pho, peter!"
cried mr. brown as he opened the kitchen door; "content yourself with building castles in the air, where house-lots are cheaper than on earth, to say nothing of the cost of bricks and mortar.
such foundations are solid enough for your edifices, while this underneath us is just the thing for mine; and so we may both be suited.
what say you, again?"
""precisely what i said before, mr. brown," answered peter goldthwaite.
""and, as for castles in the air, mine may not be as magnificent as that sort of architecture, but perhaps as substantial, mr. brown, as the very respectable brick block with dry-goods stores, tailors" shops and banking-rooms on the lower floor, and lawyers" offices in the second story, which you are so anxious to substitute."
""and the cost, peter?
eh?"
said mr. brown as he withdrew in something of a pet.
""that, i suppose, will be provided for off-hand by drawing a check on bubble bank?"
john brown and peter goldthwaite had been jointly known to the commercial world between twenty and thirty years before under the firm of goldthwaite & brown; which copartnership, however, was speedily dissolved by the natural incongruity of its constituent parts.
since that event, john brown, with exactly the qualities of a thousand other john browns, and by just such plodding methods as they used, had prospered wonderfully and become one of the wealthiest john browns on earth.
peter goldthwaite, on the contrary, after innumerable schemes which ought to have collected all the coin and paper currency of the country into his coffers, was as needy a gentleman as ever wore a patch upon his elbow.
the contrast between him and his former partner may be briefly marked, for brown never reckoned upon luck, yet always had it, while peter made luck the main condition of his projects, and always missed it.
while the means held out his speculations had been magnificent, but were chiefly confined of late years to such small business as adventures in the lottery.
once he had gone on a gold-gathering expedition somewhere to the south, and ingeniously contrived to empty his pockets more thoroughly than ever, while others, doubtless, were filling theirs with native bullion by the handful.
more recently he had expended a legacy of a thousand or two of dollars in purchasing mexican scrip, and thereby became the proprietor of a province; which, however, so far as peter could find out, was situated where he might have had an empire for the same money -- in the clouds.
from a search after this valuable real estate peter returned so gaunt and threadbare that on reaching new england the scarecrows in the corn-fields beckoned to him as he passed by.
""they did but flutter in the wind," quoth peter goldthwaite.
no, peter, they beckoned, for the scarecrows knew their brother.
at the period of our story his whole visible income would not have paid the tax of the old mansion in which we find him.
it was one of those rusty, moss-grown, many-peaked wooden houses which are scattered about the streets of our elder towns, with a beetle-browed second story projecting over the foundation, as if it frowned at the novelty around it.
this old paternal edifice, needy as he was, and though, being centrally situated on the principal street of the town, it would have brought him a handsome sum, the sagacious peter had his own reasons for never parting with, either by auction or private sale.
there seemed, indeed, to be a fatality that connected him with his birthplace; for, often as he had stood on the verge of ruin, and standing there even now, he had not yet taken the step beyond it which would have compelled him to surrender the house to his creditors.
so here he dwelt with bad luck till good should come.
here, then, in his kitchen -- the only room where a spark of fire took off the chill of a november evening -- poor peter goldthwaite had just been visited by his rich old partner.
at the close of their interview, peter, with rather a mortified look, glanced downward at his dress, parts of which appeared as ancient as the days of goldthwaite & brown.
his upper garment was a mixed surtout, woefully faded, and patched with newer stuff on each elbow; beneath this he wore a threadbare black coat, some of the silk buttons of which had been replaced with others of a different pattern; and, lastly, though he lacked not a pair of gray pantaloons, they were very shabby ones, and had been partially turned brown by the frequent toasting of peter's shins before a scanty fire.
peter's person was in keeping with his goodly apparel.
gray-headed, hollow-eyed, pale-cheeked and lean-bodied, he was the perfect picture of a man who had fed on windy schemes and empty hopes till he could neither live on such unwholesome trash nor stomach more substantial food.
but, withal, this peter goldthwaite, crack-brained simpleton as, perhaps, he was, might have cut a very brilliant figure in the world had he employed his imagination in the airy business of poetry instead of making it a demon of mischief in mercantile pursuits.
after all, he was no bad fellow, but as harmless as a child, and as honest and honorable, and as much of the gentleman which nature meant him for, as an irregular life and depressed circumstances will permit any man to be.
as peter stood on the uneven bricks of his hearth looking round at the disconsolate old kitchen his eyes began to kindle with the illumination of an enthusiasm that never long deserted him.
he raised his hand, clenched it and smote it energetically against the smoky panel over the fireplace.
""the time is come," said he; "with such a treasure at command, it were folly to be a poor man any longer.
tomorrow morning i will begin with the garret, nor desist till i have torn the house down."
deep in the chimney-corner, like a witch in a dark cavern, sat a little old woman mending one of the two pairs of stockings wherewith peter goldthwaite kept his toes from being frost-bitten.
as the feet were ragged past all darning, she had cut pieces out of a cast-off flannel petticoat to make new soles.
tabitha porter was an old maid upward of sixty years of age, fifty-five of which she had sat in that same chimney-corner, such being the length of time since peter's grandfather had taken her from the almshouse.
she had no friend but peter, nor peter any friend but tabitha; so long as peter might have a shelter for his own head, tabitha would know where to shelter hers, or, being homeless elsewhere, she would take her master by the hand and bring him to her native home, the almshouse.
should it ever be necessary, she loved him well enough to feed him with her last morsel and clothe him with her under-petticoat.
but tabitha was a queer old woman, and, though never infected with peter's flightiness, had become so accustomed to his freaks and follies that she viewed them all as matters of course.
hearing him threaten to tear the house down, she looked quietly up from her work.
""best leave the kitchen till the last, mr. peter," said she.
""the sooner we have it all down, the better," said peter goldthwaite.
""i am tired to death of living in this cold, dark, windy, smoky, creaking, groaning, dismal old house.
i shall feel like a younger man when we get into my splendid brick mansion, as, please heaven, we shall by this time next autumn.
you shall have a room on the sunny side, old tabby, finished and furnished as best may suit your own notions."
""i should like it pretty much such a room as this kitchen," answered tabitha.
""it will never be like home to me till the chimney-corner gets as black with smoke as this, and that wo n't be these hundred years.
how much do you mean to lay out on the house, mr. peter?"
""what is that to the purpose?"
exclaimed peter, loftily.
""did not my great-grand-uncle, peter goldthwaite, who died seventy years ago, and whose namesake i am, leave treasure enough to build twenty such?"
""i ca n't say but he did, mr. peter," said tabitha, threading her needle.
tabitha well understood that peter had reference to an immense hoard of the precious metals which was said to exist somewhere in the cellar or walls, or under the floors, or in some concealed closet or other out-of-the-way nook of the old house.
this wealth, according to tradition, had been accumulated by a former peter goldthwaite whose character seems to have borne a remarkable similitude to that of the peter of our story.
like him, he was a wild projector, seeking to heap up gold by the bushel and the cart-load instead of scraping it together coin by coin.
like peter the second, too, his projects had almost invariably failed, and, but for the magnificent success of the final one, would have left him with hardly a coat and pair of breeches to his gaunt and grizzled person.
reports were various as to the nature of his fortunate speculation, one intimating that the ancient peter had made the gold by alchemy; another, that he had conjured it out of people's pockets by the black art; and a third -- still more unaccountable -- that the devil had given him free access to the old provincial treasury.
it was affirmed, however, that some secret impediment had debarred him from the enjoyment of his riches, and that he had a motive for concealing them from his heir, or, at any rate, had died without disclosing the place of deposit.
the present peter's father had faith enough in the story to cause the cellar to be dug over.
peter himself chose to consider the legend as an indisputable truth, and amid his many troubles had this one consolation -- that, should all other resources fail, he might build up his fortunes by tearing his house down.
yet, unless he felt a lurking distrust of the golden tale, it is difficult to account for his permitting the paternal roof to stand so long, since he had never yet seen the moment when his predecessor's treasure would not have found plenty of room in his own strong-box.
but now was the crisis.
should he delay the search a little longer, the house would pass from the lineal heir, and with it the vast heap of gold, to remain in its burial-place till the ruin of the aged walls should discover it to strangers of a future generation.
""yes," cried peter goldthwaite, again; "to-morrow i will set about it."
the deeper he looked at the matter, the more certain of success grew peter.
his spirits were naturally so elastic that even now, in the blasted autumn of his age, he could often compete with the springtime gayety of other people.
enlivened by his brightening prospects, he began to caper about the kitchen like a hobgoblin, with the queerest antics of his lean limbs and gesticulations of his starved features.
nay, in the exuberance of his feelings, he seized both of tabitha's hands and danced the old lady across the floor till the oddity of her rheumatic motions set him into a roar of laughter, which was echoed back from the rooms and chambers, as if peter goldthwaite were laughing in every one.
finally, he bounded upward, almost out of sight, into the smoke that clouded the roof of the kitchen, and, alighting safely on the floor again, endeavored to resume his customary gravity.
""to-morrow, at sunrise," he repeated, taking his lamp to retire to bed, "i'll see whether this treasure be hid in the wall of the garret."
""and, as we're out of wood, mr. peter," said tabitha, puffing and panting with her late gymnastics, "as fast as you tear the house down i'll make a fire with the pieces."
gorgeous that night were the dreams of peter goldthwaite.
at one time he was turning a ponderous key in an iron door not unlike the door of a sepulchre, but which, being opened, disclosed a vault heaped up with gold coin as plentifully as golden corn in a granary.
there were chased goblets, also, and tureens, salvers, dinner-dishes and dish-covers of gold or silver-gilt, besides chains and other jewels, incalculably rich, though tarnished with the damps of the vault; for, of all the wealth that was irrevocably lost to man, whether buried in the earth or sunken in the sea, peter goldthwaite had found it in this one treasure-place.
anon he had returned to the old house as poor as ever, and was received at the door by the gaunt and grizzled figure of a man whom he might have mistaken for himself, only that his garments were of a much elder fashion.
but the house, without losing its former aspect, had been changed into a palace of the precious metals.
the floors, walls and ceilings were of burnished silver; the doors, the window-frames, the cornices, the balustrades and the steps of the staircase, of pure gold; and silver, with gold bottoms, were the chairs, and gold, standing on silver legs, the high chests of drawers, and silver the bedsteads, with blankets of woven gold and sheets of silver tissue.
the house had evidently been transmuted by a single touch, for it retained all the marks that peter remembered, but in gold or silver instead of wood, and the initials of his name -- which when a boy he had cut in the wooden door-post -- remained as deep in the pillar of gold.
a happy man would have been peter goldthwaite except for a certain ocular deception which, whenever he glanced backward, caused the house to darken from its glittering magnificence into the sordid gloom of yesterday.
up betimes rose peter, seized an axe, hammer and saw which he had placed by his bedside, and hied him to the garret.
it was but scantily lighted up as yet by the frosty fragments of a sunbeam which began to glimmer through the almost opaque bull-eyes of the window.
a moralizer might find abundant themes for his speculative and impracticable wisdom in a garret.
there is the limbo of departed fashions, aged trifles of a day and whatever was valuable only to one generation of men, and which passed to the garret when that generation passed to the grave -- not for safekeeping, but to be out of the way.
peter saw piles of yellow and musty account-books in parchment covers, wherein creditors long dead and buried had written the names of dead and buried debtors in ink now so faded that their moss-grown tombstones were more legible.
he found old moth-eaten garments, all in rags and tatters, or peter would have put them on.
here was a naked and rusty sword -- not a sword of service, but a gentleman's small french rapier -- which had never left its scabbard till it lost it.
here were canes of twenty different sorts, but no gold-headed ones, and shoebuckles of various pattern and material, but not silver nor set with precious stones.
here was a large box full of shoes with high heels and peaked toes.
here, on a shelf, were a multitude of phials half filled with old apothecary's stuff which, when the other half had done its business on peter's ancestors, had been brought hither from the death-chamber.
here -- not to give a longer inventory of articles that will never be put up at auction -- was the fragment of a full-length looking-glass which by the dust and dimness of its surface made the picture of these old things look older than the reality.
when peter, not knowing that there was a mirror there, caught the faint traces of his own figure, he partly imagined that the former peter goldthwaite had come back either to assist or impede his search for the hidden wealth.
and at that moment a strange notion glimmered through his brain that he was the identical peter who had concealed the gold, and ought to know whereabout it lay.
this, however, he had unaccountably forgotten.
""well, mr. peter!"
cried tabitha, on the garret stairs.
""have you torn the house down enough to heat the teakettle?"
""not yet, old tabby," answered peter, "but that's soon done, as you shall see."
with the word in his mouth, he uplifted the axe, and laid about him so vigorously that the dust flew, the boards crashed, and in a twinkling the old woman had an apron full of broken rubbish.
""we shall get our winter's wood cheap," quoth tabitha.
the good work being thus commenced, peter beat down all before him, smiting and hewing at the joints and timbers, unclenching spike-nails, ripping and tearing away boards, with a tremendous racket from morning till night.
he took care, however, to leave the outside shell of the house untouched, so that the neighbors might not suspect what was going on.
never, in any of his vagaries, though each had made him happy while it lasted, had peter been happier than now.
perhaps, after all, there was something in peter goldthwaite's turn of mind which brought him an inward recompense for all the external evil that it caused.
if he were poor, ill-clad, even hungry and exposed, as it were, to be utterly annihilated by a precipice of impending ruin, yet only his body remained in these miserable circumstances, while his aspiring soul enjoyed the sunshine of a bright futurity.
it was his nature to be always young, and the tendency of his mode of life to keep him so.
gray hairs were nothing -- no, nor wrinkles nor infirmity; he might look old, indeed, and be somewhat disagreeably connected with a gaunt old figure much the worse for wear, but the true, the essential peter was a young man of high hopes just entering on the world.
at the kindling of each new fire his burnt-out youth rose afresh from the old embers and ashes.
it rose exulting now.
having lived thus long -- not too long, but just to the right age -- a susceptible bachelor with warm and tender dreams, he resolved, so soon as the hidden gold should flash to light, to go a-wooing and win the love of the fairest maid in town.
what heart could resist him?
happy peter goldthwaite!
every evening -- as peter had long absented himself from his former lounging-places at insurance offices, news-rooms, and book-stores, and as the honor of his company was seldom requested in private circles -- he and tabitha used to sit down sociably by the kitchen hearth.
this was always heaped plentifully with the rubbish of his day's labor.
as the foundation of the fire there would be a goodly-sized back-log of red oak, which after being sheltered from rain or damp above a century still hissed with the heat and distilled streams of water from each end, as if the tree had been cut down within a week or two.
next there were large sticks, sound, black and heavy, which had lost the principle of decay and were indestructible except by fire, wherein they glowed like red-hot bars of iron.
on this solid basis tabitha would rear a lighter structure, composed of the splinters of door-panels, ornamented mouldings, and such quick combustibles, which caught like straw and threw a brilliant blaze high up the spacious flue, making its sooty sides visible almost to the chimney-top.
meantime, the gloom of the old kitchen would be chased out of the cobwebbed corners and away from the dusky cross-beams overhead, and driven nobody could tell whither, while peter smiled like a gladsome man and tabitha seemed a picture of comfortable age.
all this, of course, was but an emblem of the bright fortune which the destruction of the house would shed upon its occupants.
while the dry pine was flaming and crackling like an irregular discharge of fairy-musketry, peter sat looking and listening in a pleasant state of excitement; but when the brief blaze and uproar were succeeded by the dark-red glow, the substantial heat and the deep singing sound which were to last throughout the evening, his humor became talkative.
one night -- the hundredth time -- he teased tabitha to tell him something new about his great-granduncle.
""you have been sitting in that chimney-corner fifty-five years, old tabby, and must have heard many a tradition about him," said peter.
""did not you tell me that when you first came to the house there was an old woman sitting where you sit now who had been housekeeper to the famous peter goldthwaite?"
""so there was, mr. peter," answered tabitha, "and she was near about a hundred years old.
she used to say that she and old peter goldthwaite had often spent a sociable evening by the kitchen fire -- pretty much as you and i are doing now, mr. peter."
""the old fellow must have resembled me in more points than one," said peter, complacently, "or he never would have grown so rich.
but methinks he might have invested the money better than he did.
no interest!
nothing but good security!
and the house to be torn down to come at it!
what made him hide it so snug, tabby?"
""because he could not spend it," said tabitha, "for as often as he went to unlock the chest the old scratch came behind and caught his arm.
the money, they say, was paid peter out of his purse, and he wanted peter to give him a deed of this house and land, which peter swore he would not do."
""just as i swore to john brown, my old partner," remarked peter.
""but this is all nonsense, tabby; i do n't believe the story."
""well, it may not be just the truth," said tabitha, "for some folks say that peter did make over the house to the old scratch, and that's the reason it has always been so unlucky to them that lived in it.
and as soon as peter had given him the deed the chest flew open, and peter caught up a handful of the gold.
but, lo and behold!
there was nothing in his fist but a parcel of old rags."
""hold your tongue, you silly old tabby!"
cried peter, in great wrath.
""they were as good golden guineas as ever bore the effigies of the king of england.
it seems as if i could recollect the whole circumstance, and how i, or old peter, or whoever it was, thrust in my hand, or his hand, and drew it out all of a blaze with gold.
old rags indeed!"
but it was not an old woman's legend that would discourage peter goldthwaite.
all night long he slept among pleasant dreams, and awoke at daylight with a joyous throb of the heart which few are fortunate enough to feel beyond their boyhood.
day after day he labored hard without wasting a moment except at meal-times, when tabitha summoned him to the pork and cabbage, or such other sustenance as she had picked up or providence had sent them.
being a truly pious man, peter never failed to ask a blessing -- if the food were none of the best, then so much the more earnestly, as it was more needed -- nor to return thanks, if the dinner had been scanty, yet for the good appetite which was better than a sick stomach at a feast.
then did he hurry back to his toil, and in a moment was lost to sight in a cloud of dust from the old walls, though sufficiently perceptible to the ear by the clatter which he raised in the midst of it.
how enviable is the consciousness of being usefully employed!
nothing troubled peter, or nothing but those phantoms of the mind which seem like vague recollections, yet have also the aspect of presentiments.
he often paused with his axe uplifted in the air, and said to himself, "peter goldthwaite, did you never strike this blow before?"
or "peter, what need of tearing the whole house down?
think a little while, and you will remember where the gold is hidden."
days and weeks passed on, however, without any remarkable discovery.
sometimes, indeed, a lean gray rat peeped forth at the lean gray man, wondering what devil had got into the old house, which had always been so peaceable till now.
and occasionally peter sympathized with the sorrows of a female mouse who had brought five or six pretty, little, soft and delicate young ones into the world just in time to see them crushed by its ruin.
but as yet no treasure.
by this time, peter, being as determined as fate and as diligent as time, had made an end with the uppermost regions and got down to the second story, where he was busy in one of the front chambers.
it had formerly been the state-bedchamber, and was honored by tradition as the sleeping-apartment of governor dudley and many other eminent guests.
the furniture was gone.
there were remnants of faded and tattered paper-hangings, but larger spaces of bare wall ornamented with charcoal sketches, chiefly of people's heads in profile.
these being specimens of peter's youthful genius, it went more to his heart to obliterate them than if they had been pictures on a church wall by michael angelo.
one sketch, however, and that the best one, affected him differently.
it represented a ragged man partly supporting himself on a spade and bending his lean body over a hole in the earth, with one hand extended to grasp something that he had found.
but close behind him, with a fiendish laugh on his features, appeared a figure with horns, a tufted tail and a cloven hoof.
""avaunt, satan!"
cried peter.
""the man shall have his gold."
uplifting his axe, he hit the horned gentleman such a blow on the head as not only demolished him, but the treasure-seeker also, and caused the whole scene to vanish like magic.
moreover, his axe broke quite through the plaster and laths and discovered a cavity.
""mercy on us, mr. peter!
are you quarrelling with the old scratch?"
said tabitha, who was seeking some fuel to put under the dinner-pot.
without answering the old woman, peter broke down a further space of the wall, and laid open a small closet or cupboard on one side of the fireplace, about breast-high from the ground.
it contained nothing but a brass lamp covered with verdigris, and a dusty piece of parchment.
while peter inspected the latter, tabitha seized the lamp and began to rub it with her apron.
""there is no use in rubbing it, tabitha," said peter.
""it is not aladdin's lamp, though i take it to be a token of as much luck.
look here, tabby!"
tabitha took the parchment and held it close to her nose, which was saddled with a pair of iron-bound spectacles.
but no sooner had she begun to puzzle over it than she burst into a chuckling laugh, holding both her hands against her sides.
""you ca n't make a fool of the old woman," cried she.
""this is your own handwriting, mr. peter, the same as in the letter you sent me from mexico."
""there is certainly a considerable resemblance," said peter, again examining the parchment.
""but you know yourself, tabby, that this closet must have been plastered up before you came to the house or i came into the world.
no; this is old peter goldthwaite's writing.
these columns of pounds, shillings and pence are his figures, denoting the amount of the treasure, and this, at the bottom, is doubtless a reference to the place of concealment.
but the ink has either faded or peeled off, so that it is absolutely illegible.
what a pity!"
""well, this lamp is as good as new.
that's some comfort," said tabitha.
""a lamp!"
thought peter.
""that indicates light on my researches."
for the present peter felt more inclined to ponder on this discovery than to resume his labors.
after tabitha had gone down stairs he stood poring over the parchment at one of the front windows, which was so obscured with dust that the sun could barely throw an uncertain shadow of the casement across the floor.
peter forced it open and looked out upon the great street of the town, while the sun looked in at his old house.
the air, though mild, and even warm, thrilled peter as with a dash of water.
it was the first day of the january thaw.
the snow lay deep upon the housetops, but was rapidly dissolving into millions of water-drops, which sparkled downward through the sunshine with the noise of a summer shower beneath the eaves.
along the street the trodden snow was as hard and solid as a pavement of white marble, and had not yet grown moist in the spring-like temperature.
but when peter thrust forth his head, he saw that the inhabitants, if not the town, were already thawed out by this warm day, after two or three weeks of winter weather.
it gladdened him -- a gladness with a sigh breathing through it -- to see the stream of ladies gliding along the slippery sidewalks with their red cheeks set off by quilted hoods, boas and sable capes like roses amidst a new kind of foliage.
the sleigh bells jingled to and fro continually, sometimes announcing the arrival of a sleigh from vermont laden with the frozen bodies of porkers or sheep, and perhaps a deer or two; sometimes, of a regular marketman with chickens, geese and turkeys, comprising the whole colony of a barn-yard; and sometimes, of a farmer and his dame who had come to town partly for the ride, partly to go a-shopping and partly for the sale of some eggs and butter.
this couple rode in an old-fashioned square sleigh which had served them twenty winters and stood twenty summers in the sun beside their door.
now a gentleman and lady skimmed the snow in an elegant car shaped somewhat like a cockle-shell; now a stage-sleigh with its cloth curtains thrust aside to admit the sun dashed rapidly down the street, whirling in and out among the vehicles that obstructed its passage; now came round a corner the similitude of noah's ark on runners, being an immense open sleigh with seats for fifty people and drawn by a dozen horses.
this spacious receptacle was populous with merry maids and merry bachelors, merry girls and boys and merry old folks, all alive with fun and grinning to the full width of their mouths.
they kept up a buzz of babbling voices and low laughter, and sometimes burst into a deep, joyous shout which the spectators answered with three cheers, while a gang of roguish boys let drive their snow-balls right among the pleasure-party.
the sleigh passed on, and when concealed by a bend of the street was still audible by a distant cry of merriment.
never had peter beheld a livelier scene than was constituted by all these accessories -- the bright sun, the flashing water-drops, the gleaming snow, the cheerful multitude, the variety of rapid vehicles and the jingle-jangle of merry bells which made the heart dance to their music.
nothing dismal was to be seen except that peaked piece of antiquity peter goldthwaite's house, which might well look sad externally, since such a terrible consumption was preying on its insides.
and peter's gaunt figure, half visible in the projecting second story, was worthy of his house.
""peter!
how goes it, friend peter?"
cried a voice across the street as peter was drawing in his head.
""look out here, peter!"
peter looked, and saw his old partner, mr. john brown, on the opposite sidewalk, portly and comfortable, with his furred cloak thrown open, disclosing a handsome surtout beneath.
his voice had directed the attention of the whole town to peter goldthwaite's window, and to the dusty scarecrow which appeared at it.
""i say, peter!"
cried mr. brown, again; "what the devil are you about there, that i hear such a racket whenever i pass by?
you are repairing the old house, i suppose, making a new one of it?
eh?"
""too late for that, i am afraid, mr. brown," replied peter.
""if i make it new, it will be new inside and out, from the cellar upward."
""had not you better let me take the job?"
said mr. brown, significantly.
""not yet," answered peter, hastily shutting the window; for ever since he had been in search of the treasure he hated to have people stare at him.
as he drew back, ashamed of his outward poverty, yet proud of the secret wealth within his grasp, a haughty smile shone out on peter's visage with precisely the effect of the dim sunbeams in the squalid chamber.
he endeavored to assume such a mien as his ancestor had probably worn when he gloried in the building of a strong house for a home to many generations of his posterity.
but the chamber was very dark to his snow-dazzled eyes, and very dismal, too, in contrast with the living scene that he had just looked upon.
his brief glimpse into the street had given him a forcible impression of the manner in which the world kept itself cheerful and prosperous by social pleasures and an intercourse of business, while he in seclusion was pursuing an object that might possibly be a phantasm by a method which most people would call madness.
it is one great advantage of a gregarious mode of life that each person rectifies his mind by other minds and squares his conduct to that of his neighbors, so as seldom to be lost in eccentricity.
peter goldthwaite had exposed himself to this influence by merely looking out of the window.
for a while he doubted whether there were any hidden chest of gold, and in that case whether it was so exceedingly wise to tear the house down only to be convinced of its non-existence.
but this was momentary.
peter the destroyer resumed the task which fate had assigned him, nor faltered again till it was accomplished.
in the course of his search he met with many things that are usually found in the ruins of an old house, and also with some that are not.
what seemed most to the purpose was a rusty key which had been thrust into a chink of the wall, with a wooden label appended to the handle, bearing the initials "p.g." another singular discovery was that of a bottle of wine walled up in an old oven.
a tradition ran in the family that peter's grandfather, a jovial officer in the old french war, had set aside many dozens of the precious liquor for the benefit of topers then unborn.
peter needed no cordial to sustain his hopes, and therefore kept the wine to gladden his success.
many half-pence did he pick up that had been lost through the cracks of the floor, and some few spanish coins, and the half of a broken sixpence which had doubtless been a love-token.
there was likewise a silver coronation medal of george iii.
but old peter goldthwaite's strong-box fled from one dark corner to another, or otherwise eluded the second peter's clutches till, should he seek much farther, he must burrow into the earth.
we will not follow him in his triumphant progress step by step.
suffice it that peter worked like a steam-engine and finished in that one winter the job which all the former inhabitants of the house, with time and the elements to aid them, had only half done in a century.
except the kitchen, every room and chamber was now gutted.
the house was nothing but a shell, the apparition of a house, as unreal as the painted edifices of a theatre.
it was like the perfect rind of a great cheese in which a mouse had dwelt and nibbled till it was a cheese no more.
and peter was the mouse.
what peter had torn down, tabitha had burnt up, for she wisely considered that without a house they should need no wood to warm it, and therefore economy was nonsense.
thus the whole house might be said to have dissolved in smoke and flown up among the clouds through the great black flue of the kitchen chimney.
it was an admirable parallel to the feat of the man who jumped down his own throat.
on the night between the last day of winter and the first of spring every chink and cranny had been ransacked except within the precincts of the kitchen.
this fated evening was an ugly one.
a snow-storm had set in some hours before, and was still driven and tossed about the atmosphere by a real hurricane which fought against the house as if the prince of the air in person were putting the final stroke to peter's labors.
the framework being so much weakened and the inward props removed, it would have been no marvel if in some stronger wrestle of the blast the rotten walls of the edifice and all the peaked roofs had come crashing down upon the owner's head.
he, however, was careless of the peril, but as wild and restless as the night itself, or as the flame that quivered up the chimney at each roar of the tempestuous wind.
""the wine, tabitha," he cried -- "my grandfather's rich old wine!
we will drink it now."
tabitha arose from her smoke-blackened bench in the chimney-corner and placed the bottle before peter, close beside the old brass lamp which had likewise been the prize of his researches.
peter held it before his eyes, and, looking through the liquid medium, beheld the kitchen illuminated with a golden glory which also enveloped tabitha and gilded her silver hair and converted her mean garments into robes of queenly splendor.
it reminded him of his golden dream.
""mr. peter," remarked tabitha, "must the wine be drunk before the money is found?"
""the money is found!"
exclaimed peter, with a sort of fierceness.
""the chest is within my reach; i will not sleep till i have turned this key in the rusty lock.
but first of all let us drink."
there being no corkscrew in the house, he smote the neck of the bottle with old peter goldthwaite's rusty key, and decapitated the sealed cork at a single blow.
he then filled two little china teacups which tabitha had brought from the cupboard.
so clear and brilliant was this aged wine that it shone within the cups and rendered the sprig of scarlet flowers at the bottom of each more distinctly visible than when there had been no wine there.
its rich and delicate perfume wasted itself round the kitchen.
""drink, tabitha!"
cried peter.
""blessings on the honest old fellow who set aside this good liquor for you and me!
and here's to peter goldthwaite's memory!"
""and good cause have we to remember him," quoth tabitha as she drank.
how many years, and through what changes of fortune and various calamity, had that bottle hoarded up its effervescent joy, to be quaffed at last by two such boon-companions!
a portion of the happiness of a former age had been kept for them, and was now set free in a crowd of rejoicing visions to sport amid the storm and desolation of the present time.
until they have finished the bottle we must turn our eyes elsewhere.
it so chanced that on this stormy night mr. john brown found himself ill at ease in his wire-cushioned arm-chair by the glowing grate of anthracite which heated his handsome parlor.
he was naturally a good sort of a man, and kind and pitiful whenever the misfortunes of others happened to reach his heart through the padded vest of his own prosperity.
this evening he had thought much about his old partner, peter goldthwaite, his strange vagaries and continual ill-luck, the poverty of his dwelling at mr. brown's last visit, and peter's crazed and haggard aspect when he had talked with him at the window.
""poor fellow!"
thought mr. john brown.
""poor crack-brained peter goldthwaite!
for old acquaintance" sake i ought to have taken care that he was comfortable this rough winter."
these feelings grew so powerful that, in spite of the inclement weather, he resolved to visit peter goldthwaite immediately.
the strength of the impulse was really singular.
every shriek of the blast seemed a summons, or would have seemed so had mr. brown been accustomed to hear the echoes of his own fancy in the wind.
much amazed at such active benevolence, he huddled himself in his cloak, muffled his throat and ears in comforters and handkerchiefs, and, thus fortified, bade defiance to the tempest.
but the powers of the air had rather the best of the battle.
mr. brown was just weathering the corner by peter goldthwaite's house when the hurricane caught him off his feet, tossed him face downward into a snow-bank and proceeded to bury his protuberant part beneath fresh drifts.
there seemed little hope of his reappearance earlier than the next thaw.
at the same moment his hat was snatched away and whirled aloft into some far-distant region whence no tidings have as yet returned.
nevertheless mr. brown contrived to burrow a passage through the snow-drift, and with his bare head bent against the storm floundered onward to peter's door.
there was such a creaking and groaning and rattling, and such an ominous shaking, throughout the crazy edifice that the loudest rap would have been inaudible to those within.
he therefore entered without ceremony, and groped his way to the kitchen.
his intrusion even there was unnoticed.
peter and tabitha stood with their backs to the door, stooping over a large chest which apparently they had just dragged from a cavity or concealed closet on the left side of the chimney.
by the lamp in the old woman's hand mr. brown saw that the chest was barred and clamped with iron, strengthened with iron plates and studded with iron nails, so as to be a fit receptacle in which the wealth of one century might be hoarded up for the wants of another.
peter goldthwaite was inserting a key into the lock.
""oh, tabitha," cried he, with tremulous rapture, "how shall i endure the effulgence?
the gold!
-- the bright, bright gold!
methinks i can remember my last glance at it just as the iron-plated lid fell down.
and ever since, being seventy years, it has been blazing in secret and gathering its splendor against this glorious moment.
it will flash upon us like the noonday sun."
""then shade your eyes, mr. peter!"
said tabitha, with somewhat less patience than usual.
""but, for mercy's sake, do turn the key!"
and with a strong effort of both hands peter did force the rusty key through the intricacies of the rusty lock.
mr. brown, in the mean time, had drawn near and thrust his eager visage between those of the other two at the instant that peter threw up the lid.
no sudden blaze illuminated the kitchen.
""what's here?"
exclaimed tabitha, adjusting her spectacles and holding the lamp over the open chest.
""old peter goldthwaite's hoard of old rags!"
""pretty much so, tabby," said mr. brown, lifting a handful of the treasure.
oh what a ghost of dead and buried wealth had peter goldthwaite raised to scare himself out of his scanty wits withal!
here was the semblance of an incalculable sum, enough to purchase the whole town and build every street anew, but which, vast as it was, no sane man would have given a solid sixpence for.
what, then, in sober earnest, were the delusive treasures of the chest?
why, here were old provincial bills of credit and treasury notes and bills of land-banks, and all other bubbles of the sort, from the first issue -- above a century and a half ago -- down nearly to the revolution.
bills of a thousand pounds were intermixed with parchment pennies, and worth no more than they.
""and this, then, is old peter goldthwaite's treasure!"
said john brown.
""your namesake, peter, was something like yourself; and when the provincial currency had depreciated fifty or seventy-five per cent, he bought it up in expectation of a rise.
i have heard my grandfather say that old peter gave his father a mortgage of this very house and land to raise cash for his silly project.
but the currency kept sinking till nobody would take it as a gift, and there was old peter goldthwaite, like peter the second, with thousands in his strong-box and hardly a coat to his back.
he went mad upon the strength of it.
but never mind, peter; it is just the sort of capital for building castles in the air."
""the house will be down about our ears," cried tabitha as the wind shook it with increasing violence.
""let it fall," said peter, folding his arms, as he seated himself upon the chest.
""no, no, my old friend peter!"
said john brown.
""i have house-room for you and tabby, and a safe vault for the chest of treasure.
to-morrow we will try to come to an agreement about the sale of this old house; real estate is well up, and i could afford you a pretty handsome price."
""and i," observed peter goldthwaite, with reviving spirits, "have a plan for laying out the cash to great advantage."
""why, as to that," muttered john brown to himself, "we must apply to the next court for a guardian to take care of the solid cash; and if peter insists upon speculating, he may do it to his heart's content with old peter goldthwaite's treasure."
chippings with a chisel.
passing a summer several years since at edgartown, on the island of martha's vineyard, i became acquainted with a certain carver of tombstones who had travelled and voyaged thither from the interior of massachusetts in search of professional employment.
the speculation had turned out so successful that my friend expected to transmute slate and marble into silver and gold to the amount of at least a thousand dollars during the few months of his sojourn at nantucket and the vineyard.
the secluded life and the simple and primitive spirit which still characterizes the inhabitants of those islands, especially of martha's vineyard, insure their dead friends a longer and dearer remembrance than the daily novelty and revolving bustle of the world can elsewhere afford to beings of the past.
yet, while every family is anxious to erect a memorial to its departed members, the untainted breath of ocean bestows such health and length of days upon the people of the isles as would cause a melancholy dearth of business to a resident artist in that line.
his own monument, recording his decease by starvation, would probably be an early specimen of his skill.
gravestones, therefore, have generally been an article of imported merchandise.
in my walks through the burial-ground of edgartown -- where the dead have lain so long that the soil, once enriched by their decay, has returned to its original barrenness -- in that ancient burial-ground i noticed much variety of monumental sculpture.
the elder stones, dated a century back or more, have borders elaborately carved with flowers and are adorned with a multiplicity of death's - heads, crossbones, scythes, hour-glasses, and other lugubrious emblems of mortality, with here and there a winged cherub to direct the mourner's spirit upward.
these productions of gothic taste must have been quite beyond the colonial skill of the day, and were probably carved in london and brought across the ocean to commemorate the defunct worthies of this lonely isle.
the more recent monuments are mere slabs of slate in the ordinary style, without any superfluous flourishes to set off the bald inscriptions.
but others -- and those far the most impressive both to my taste and feelings -- were roughly hewn from the gray rocks of the island, evidently by the unskilled hands of surviving friends and relatives.
on some there were merely the initials of a name; some were inscribed with misspelt prose or rhyme, in deep letters which the moss and wintry rain of many years had not been able to obliterate.
these, these were graves where loved ones slept.
it is an old theme of satire, the falsehood and vanity of monumental eulogies; but when affection and sorrow grave the letters with their own painful labor, then we may be sure that they copy from the record on their hearts.
my acquaintance the sculptor -- he may share that title with greenough, since the dauber of signs is a painter as well as raphael -- had found a ready market for all his blank slabs of marble and full occupation in lettering and ornamenting them.
he was an elderly man, a descendant of the old puritan family of wigglesworth, with a certain simplicity and singleness both of heart and mind which, methinks, is more rarely found among us yankees than in any other community of people.
in spite of his gray head and wrinkled brow, he was quite like a child in all matters save what had some reference to his own business; he seemed, unless my fancy misled me, to view mankind in no other relation than as people in want of tombstones, and his literary attainments evidently comprehended very little either of prose of poetry which had not at one time or other been inscribed on slate or marble.
his sole task and office among the immortal pilgrims of the tomb -- the duty for which providence had sent the old man into the world, as it were with a chisel in his hand -- was to label the dead bodies, lest their names should be forgotten at the resurrection.
yet he had not failed, within a narrow scope, to gather a few sprigs of earthly, and more than earthly, wisdom -- the harvest of many a grave.
and, lugubrious as his calling might appear, he was as cheerful an old soul as health and integrity and lack of care could make him, and used to set to work upon one sorrowful inscription or another with that sort of spirit which impels a man to sing at his labor.
on the whole, i found mr. wigglesworth an entertaining, and often instructive, if not an interesting, character; and, partly for the charm of his society, and still more because his work has an invariable attraction for "man that is born of woman," i was accustomed to spend some hours a day at his workshop.
the quaintness of his remarks and their not infrequent truth -- a truth condensed and pointed by the limited sphere of his view -- gave a raciness to his talk which mere worldliness and general cultivation would at once have destroyed.
sometimes we would discuss the respective merits of the various qualities of marble, numerous slabs of which were resting against the walls of the shop, or sometimes an hour or two would pass quietly without a word on either side while i watched how neatly his chisel struck out letter after letter of the names of the nortons, the mayhews, the luces, the daggets, and other immemorial families of the vineyard.
often with an artist's pride the good old sculptor would speak of favorite productions of his skill which were scattered throughout the village graveyards of new england.
but my chief and most instructive amusement was to witness his interviews with his customers, who held interminable consultations about the form and fashion of the desired monuments, the buried excellence to be commemorated, the anguish to be expressed, and finally the lowest price in dollars and cents for which a marble transcript of their feelings might be obtained.
really, my mind received many fresh ideas which perhaps may remain in it even longer than mr. wigglesworth's hardest marble will retain the deepest strokes of his chisel.
an elderly lady came to bespeak a monument for her first love, who had been killed by a whale in the pacific ocean no less than forty years before.
it was singular that so strong an impression of early feeling should have survived through the changes of her subsequent life, in the course of which she had been a wife and a mother, and, so far as i could judge, a comfortable and happy woman.
reflecting within myself, it appeared to me that this lifelong sorrow -- as, in all good faith, she deemed it -- was one of the most fortunate circumstances of her history.
it had given an ideality to her mind; it had kept her purer and less earthy than she would otherwise have been by drawing a portion of her sympathies apart from earth.
amid the throng of enjoyments and the pressure of worldly care and all the warm materialism of this life she had communed with a vision, and had been the better for such intercourse.
faithful to the husband of her maturity, and loving him with a far more real affection than she ever could have felt for this dream of her girlhood, there had still been an imaginative faith to the ocean-buried; so that an ordinary character had thus been elevated and refined.
her sighs had been the breath of heaven to her soul.
the good lady earnestly desired that the proposed monument should be ornamented with a carved border of marine plants interwined with twisted sea-shells, such as were probably waving over her lover's skeleton or strewn around it in the far depths of the pacific.
but, mr. wigglesworth's chisel being inadequate to the task, she was forced to content herself with a rose hanging its head from a broken stem.
after her departure i remarked that the symbol was none of the most apt.
""and yet," said my friend the sculptor, embodying in this image the thoughts that had been passing through my own mind, "that broken rose has shed its sweet smell through forty years of the good woman's life."
it was seldom that i could find such pleasant food for contemplation as in the above instance.
none of the applicants, i think, affected me more disagreeably than an old man who came, with his fourth wife hanging on his arm, to bespeak gravestones for the three former occupants of his marriage-bed.
i watched with some anxiety to see whether his remembrance of either were more affectionate than of the other two, but could discover no symptom of the kind.
the three monuments were all to be of the same material and form, and each decorated in bas-relief with two weeping willows, one of these sympathetic trees bending over its fellow, which was to be broken in the midst and rest upon a sepulchral urn.
this, indeed, was mr. wigglesworth's standing emblem of conjugal bereavement.
i shuddered at the gray polygamist who had so utterly lost the holy sense of individuality in wedlock that methought he was fain to reckon upon his fingers how many women who had once slept by his side were now sleeping in their graves.
there was even -- if i wrong him, it is no great matter -- a glance sidelong at his living spouse, as if he were inclined to drive a thriftier bargain by bespeaking four gravestones in a lot.
i was better pleased with a rough old whaling-captain who gave directions for a broad marble slab divided into two compartments, one of which was to contain an epitaph on his deceased wife and the other to be left vacant till death should engrave his own name there.
as is frequently the case among the whalers of martha's vineyard, so much of this storm-beaten widower's life had been tossed away on distant seas that out of twenty years of matrimony he had spent scarce three, and those at scattered intervals, beneath his own roof.
thus the wife of his youth, though she died in his and her declining age, retained the bridal dewdrops fresh around her memory.
my observations gave me the idea, and mr. wigglesworth confirmed it, that husbands were more faithful in setting up memorials to their dead wives than widows to their dead husbands.
i was not ill-natured enough to fancy that women less than men feel so sure of their own constancy as to be willing to give a pledge of it in marble.
it is more probably the fact that, while men are able to reflect upon their lost companions as remembrances apart from themselves, women, on the other hand, are conscious that a portion of their being has gone with the departed whithersoever he has gone.
soul clings to soul, the living dust has a sympathy with the dust of the grave; and by the very strength of that sympathy the wife of the dead shrinks the more sensitively from reminding the world of its existence.
the link is already strong enough; it needs no visible symbol.
and, though a shadow walks ever by her side and the touch of a chill hand is on her bosom, yet life, and perchance its natural yearnings, may still be warm within her and inspire her with new hopes of happiness.
then would she mark out the grave the scent of which would be perceptible on the pillow of the second bridal?
no, but rather level its green mound with the surrounding earth, as if, when she dug up again her buried heart, the spot had ceased to be a grave.
yet, in spite of these sentimentalities, i was prodigiously amused by an incident of which i had not the good-fortune to be a witness, but which mr. wigglesworth related with considerable humor.
a gentlewoman of the town, receiving news of her husband's loss at sea, had bespoken a handsome slab of marble, and came daily to watch the progress of my friend's chisel.
one afternoon, when the good lady and the sculptor were in the very midst of the epitaph -- which the departed spirit might have been greatly comforted to read -- who should walk into the workshop but the deceased himself, in substance as well as spirit!
he had been picked up at sea, and stood in no present need of tombstone or epitaph.
""and how," inquired i, "did his wife bear the shock of joyful surprise?"
""why," said the old man, deepening the grin of a death's - head on which his chisel was just then employed, "i really felt for the poor woman; it was one of my best pieces of marble -- and to be thrown away on a living man!"
a comely woman with a pretty rosebud of a daughter came to select a gravestone for a twin-daughter, who had died a month before.
i was impressed with the different nature of their feelings for the dead.
the mother was calm and woefully resigned, fully conscious of her loss, as of a treasure which she had not always possessed, and therefore had been aware that it might be taken from her; but the daughter evidently had no real knowledge of what death's doings were.
her thoughts knew, but not her heart.
it seemed to me that by the print and pressure which the dead sister had left upon the survivor's spirit her feelings were almost the same as if she still stood side by side and arm in arm with the departed, looking at the slabs of marble, and once or twice she glanced around with a sunny smile, which, as its sister-smile had faded for ever, soon grew confusedly overshadowed.
perchance her consciousness was truer than her reflection; perchance her dead sister was a closer companion than in life.
the mother and daughter talked a long while with mr. wigglesworth about a suitable epitaph, and finally chose an ordinary verse of ill-matched rhymes which had already been inscribed upon innumerable tombstones.
but when we ridicule the triteness of monumental verses, we forget that sorrow reads far deeper in them than we can, and finds a profound and individual purport in what seems so vague and inexpressive unless interpreted by her.
she makes the epitaph anew, though the selfsame words may have served for a thousand graves.
""and yet," said i afterward to mr. wigglesworth, "they might have made a better choice than this.
while you were discussing the subject i was struck by at least a dozen simple and natural expressions from the lips of both mother and daughter.
one of these would have formed an inscription equally original and appropriate."
""no, no!"
replied the sculptor, shaking his head; "there is a good deal of comfort to be gathered from these little old scraps of poetry, and so i always recommend them in preference to any new-fangled ones.
and somehow they seem to stretch to suit a great grief and shrink to fit a small one."
it was not seldom that ludicrous images were excited by what took place between mr. wigglesworth and his customers.
a shrewd gentlewoman who kept a tavern in the town was anxious to obtain two or three gravestones for the deceased members of her family, and to pay for these solemn commodities by taking the sculptor to board.
hereupon a fantasy arose in my mind of good mr. wigglesworth sitting down to dinner at a broad, flat tombstone carving one of his own plump little marble cherubs, gnawing a pair of crossbones and drinking out of a hollow death's - head or perhaps a lachrymatory vase or sepulchral urn, while his hostess's dead children waited on him at the ghastly banquet.
on communicating this nonsensical picture to the old man he laughed heartily and pronounced my humor to be of the right sort.
""i have lived at such a table all my days," said he, "and eaten no small quantity of slate and marble."
""hard fare," rejoined i, smiling, "but you seemed to have found it excellent of digestion, too."
a man of fifty or thereabouts with a harsh, unpleasant countenance ordered a stone for the grave of his bitter enemy, with whom he had waged warfare half a lifetime, to their mutual misery and ruin.
the secret of this phenomenon was that hatred had become the sustenance and enjoyment of the poor wretch's soul; it had supplied the place of all kindly affections; it had been really a bond of sympathy between himself and the man who shared the passion; and when its object died, the unappeasable foe was the only mourner for the dead.
he expressed a purpose of being buried side by side with his enemy.
""i doubt whether their dust will mingle," remarked the old sculptor to me; for often there was an earthliness in his conceptions.
""oh yes," replied i, who had mused long upon the incident; "and when they rise again, these bitter foes may find themselves dear friends.
methinks what they mistook for hatred was but love under a mask."
a gentleman of antiquarian propensities provided a memorial for an indian of chabbiquidick -- one of the few of untainted blood remaining in that region, and said to be a hereditary chieftain descended from the sachem who welcomed governor mayhew to the vineyard.
mr. wiggles-worth exerted his best skill to carve a broken bow and scattered sheaf of arrows in memory of the hunters and warriors whose race was ended here, but he likewise sculptured a cherub, to denote that the poor indian had shared the christian's hope of immortality.
""why," observed i, taking a perverse view of the winged boy and the bow and arrows, "it looks more like cupid's tomb than an indian chief's."
""you talk nonsense," said the sculptor, with the offended pride of art.
he then added with his usual good-nature, "how can cupid die when there are such pretty maidens in the vineyard?"
""very true," answered i; and for the rest of the day i thought of other matters than tombstones.
at our next meeting i found him chiselling an open book upon a marble headstone, and concluded that it was meant to express the erudition of some black-letter clergyman of the cotton mather school.
it turned out, however, to be emblematical of the scriptural knowledge of an old woman who had never read anything but her bible, and the monument was a tribute to her piety and good works from the orthodox church of which she had been a member.
in strange contrast with this christian woman's memorial was that of an infidel whose gravestone, by his own direction, bore an avowal of his belief that the spirit within him would be extinguished like a flame, and that the nothingness whence he sprang would receive him again.
mr. wigglesworth consulted me as to the propriety of enabling a dead man's dust to utter this dreadful creed.
""if i thought," said he, "that a single mortal would read the inscription without a shudder, my chisel should never cut a letter of it.
but when the grave speaks such falsehoods, the soul of man will know the truth by its own horror."
""so it will," said i, struck by the idea.
""the poor infidel may strive to preach blasphemies from his grave, but it will be only another method of impressing the soul with a consciousness of immortality."
there was an old man by the name of norton, noted throughout the island for his great wealth, which he had accumulated by the exercise of strong and shrewd faculties combined with a most penurious disposition.
this wretched miser, conscious that he had not a friend to be mindful of him in his grave, had himself taken the needful precautions for posthumous remembrance by bespeaking an immense slab of white marble with a long epitaph in raised letters, the whole to be as magnificent as mr. wigglesworth's skill could make it.
there was something very characteristic in this contrivance to have his money's worth even from his own tombstone, which, indeed, afforded him more enjoyment in the few months that he lived thereafter than it probably will in a whole century, now that it is laid over his bones.
this incident reminds me of a young girl -- a pale, slender, feeble creature most unlike the other rosy and healthful damsels of the vineyard, amid whose brightness she was fading away.
day after day did the poor maiden come to the sculptor's shop and pass from one piece of marble to another, till at last she pencilled her name upon a slender slab which, i think, was of a more spotless white than all the rest.
i saw her no more, but soon afterward found mr. wigglesworth cutting her virgin-name into the stone which she had chosen.
""she is dead, poor girl!"
said he, interrupting the tune which he was whistling, "and she chose a good piece of stuff for her headstone.
now, which of these slabs would you like best to see your own name upon?"
""why, to tell you the truth, my good mr. wigglesworth," replied i, after a moment's pause, for the abruptness of the question had somewhat startled me -- "to be quite sincere with you, i care little or nothing about a stone for my own grave, and am somewhat inclined to scepticism as to the propriety of erecting monuments at all over the dust that once was human.
the weight of these heavy marbles, though unfelt by the dead corpse or the enfranchised soul, presses drearily upon the spirit of the survivor and causes him to connect the idea of death with the dungeon-like imprisonment of the tomb, instead of with the freedom of the skies.
every gravestone that you ever made is the visible symbol of a mistaken system.
our thoughts should soar upward with the butterfly, not linger with the exuviæ that confined him.
in truth and reason, neither those whom we call the living, and still less the departed, have anything to do with the grave."
""i never heard anything so heathenish," said mr. wigglesworth, perplexed and displeased at sentiments which controverted all his notions and feelings and implied the utter waste, and worse, of his whole life's labor.
""would you forget your dead friends the moment they are under the sod?"
""they are not under the sod," i rejoined; "then why should i mark the spot where there is no treasure hidden?
forget them?
no; but, to remember them aright, i would forget what they have cast off.
and to gain the truer conception of death i would forget the grave."
but still the good old sculptor murmured, and stumbled, as it were, over the gravestones amid which he had walked through life.
whether he were right or wrong, i had grown the wiser from our companionship and from my observations of nature and character as displayed by those who came, with their old griefs or their new ones, to get them recorded upon his slabs of marble.
and yet with my gain of wisdom i had likewise gained perplexity; for there was a strange doubt in my mind whether the dark shadowing of this life, the sorrows and regrets, have not as much real comfort in them -- leaving religious influences out of the question -- as what we term life's joys.
the shaker bridal.
one day, in the sick-chamber of father ephraim, who had been forty years the presiding elder over the shaker settlement at goshen, there was an assemblage of several of the chief men of the sect.
individuals had come from the rich establishment at lebanon, from canterbury, harvard and alfred, and from all the other localities where this strange people have fertilized the rugged hills of new england by their systematic industry.
an elder was likewise there who had made a pilgrimage of a thousand miles from a village of the faithful in kentucky to visit his spiritual kindred the children of the sainted mother ann.
he had partaken of the homely abundance of their tables, had quaffed the far-famed shaker cider, and had joined in the sacred dance every step of which is believed to alienate the enthusiast from earth and bear him onward to heavenly purity and bliss.
his brethren of the north had now courteously invited him to be present on an occasion when the concurrence of every eminent member of their community was peculiarly desirable.
the venerable father ephraim sat in his easy-chair, not only hoary-headed and infirm with age, but worn down by a lingering disease which it was evident would very soon transfer his patriarchal staff to other hands.
at his footstool stood a man and woman, both clad in the shaker garb.
""my brethren," said father ephraim to the surrounding elders, feebly exerting himself to utter these few words, "here are the son and daughter to whom i would commit the trust of which providence is about to lighten my weary shoulders.
read their faces, i pray you, and say whether the inward movement of the spirit hath guided my choice aright."
accordingly, each elder looked at the two candidates with a most scrutinizing gaze.
the man -- whose name was adam colburn -- had a face sunburnt with labor in the fields, yet intelligent, thoughtful and traced with cares enough for a whole lifetime, though he had barely reached middle age.
there was something severe in his aspect and a rigidity throughout his person -- characteristics that caused him generally to be taken for a schoolmaster; which vocation, in fact, he had formerly exercised for several years.
the woman, martha pierson, was somewhat above thirty, thin and pale, as a shaker sister almost invariably is, and not entirely free from that corpse-like appearance which the garb of the sisterhood is so well calculated to impart.
""this pair are still in the summer of their years," observed the elder from harvard, a shrewd old man.
""i would like better to see the hoar-frost of autumn on their heads.
methinks, also, they will be exposed to peculiar temptations on account of the carnal desires which have heretofore subsisted between them."
""nay, brother," said the elder from canterbury; "the hoar-frost and the black frost hath done its work on brother adam and sister martha, even as we sometimes discern its traces in our cornfields while they are yet green.
and why should we question the wisdom of our venerable father's purpose, although this pair in their early youth have loved one another as the world's people love?
are there not many brethren and sisters among us who have lived long together in wedlock, yet, adopting our faith, find their hearts purified from all but spiritual affection?"
whether or no the early loves of adam and martha had rendered it inexpedient that they should now preside together over a shaker village, it was certainly most singular that such should be the final result of many warm and tender hopes.
children of neighboring families, their affection was older even than their school-days; it seemed an innate principle interfused among all their sentiments and feelings, and not so much a distinct remembrance as connected with their whole volume of remembrances.
but just as they reached a proper age for their union misfortunes had fallen heavily on both and made it necessary that they should resort to personal labor for a bare subsistence.
even under these circumstances martha pierson would probably have consented to unite her fate with adam colburn's, and, secure of the bliss of mutual love, would patiently have awaited the less important gifts of fortune.
but adam, being of a calm and cautious character, was loth to relinquish the advantages which a single man possesses for raising himself in the world.
year after year, therefore, their marriage had been deferred.
adam colburn had followed many vocations, had travelled far and seen much of the world and of life.
martha had earned her bread sometimes as a sempstress, sometimes as help to a farmer's wife, sometimes as schoolmistress of the village children, sometimes as a nurse or watcher of the sick, thus acquiring a varied experience the ultimate use of which she little anticipated.
but nothing had gone prosperously with either of the lovers; at no subsequent moment would matrimony have been so prudent a measure as when they had first parted, in the opening bloom of life, to seek a better fortune.
still, they had held fast their mutual faith.
martha might have been the wife of a man who sat among the senators of his native state, and adam could have won the hand, as he had unintentionally won the heart, of a rich and comely widow.
but neither of them desired good-fortune save to share it with the other.
at length that calm despair which occurs only in a strong and somewhat stubborn character and yields to no second spring of hope settled down on the spirit of adam colburn.
he sought an interview with martha and proposed that they should join the society of shakers.
the converts of this sect are oftener driven within its hospitable gates by worldly misfortune than drawn thither by fanaticism, and are received without inquisition as to their motives.
martha, faithful still, had placed her hand in that of her lover and accompanied him to the shaker village.
here the natural capacity of each, cultivated and strengthened by the difficulties of their previous lives, had soon gained them an important rank in the society, whose members are generally below the ordinary standard of intelligence.
their faith and feelings had in some degree become assimilated to those of their fellow-worshippers.
adam colburn gradually acquired reputation not only in the management of the temporal affairs of the society, but as a clear and efficient preacher of their doctrines.
martha was not less distinguished in the duties proper to her sex.
finally, when the infirmities of father ephraim had admonished him to seek a successor in his patriarchal office, he thought of adam and martha, and proposed to renew in their persons the primitive form of shaker government as established by mother ann.
they were to be the father and mother of the village.
the simple ceremony which would constitute them such was now to be performed.
""son adam and daughter martha," said the venerable father ephraim, fixing his aged eyes piercingly upon them, "if ye can conscientiously undertake this charge, speak, that the brethren may not doubt of your fitness."
""father," replied adam, speaking with the calmness of his character, "i came to your village a disappointed man, weary of the world, worn out with continual trouble, seeking only a security against evil fortune, as i had no hope of good.
even my wishes of worldly success were almost dead within me.
i came hither as a man might come to a tomb willing to lie down in its gloom and coldness for the sake of its peace and quiet.
there was but one earthly affection in my breast, and it had grown calmer since my youth; so that i was satisfied to bring martha to be my sister in our new abode.
we are brother and sister, nor would i have it otherwise.
and in this peaceful village i have found all that i hope for -- all that i desire.
i will strive with my best strength for the spiritual and temporal good of our community.
my conscience is not doubtful in this matter.
i am ready to receive the trust."
""thou hast spoken well, son adam," said the father.
""god will bless thee in the office which i am about to resign."
""but our sister," observed the elder from harvard.
""hath she not likewise a gift to declare her sentiments?"
martha started and moved her lips as if she would have made a formal reply to this appeal.
but, had she attempted it, perhaps the old recollections, the long-repressed feelings of childhood, youth and womanhood, might have gushed from her heart in words that it would have been profanation to utter there.
""adam has spoken," said she, hurriedly; "his sentiments are likewise mine."
but while speaking these few words martha grew so pale that she looked fitter to be laid in her coffin than to stand in the presence of father ephraim and the elders; she shuddered, also, as if there were something awful or horrible in her situation and destiny.
it required, indeed, a more than feminine strength of nerve to sustain the fixed observance of men so exalted and famous throughout the beet as these were.
they had overcome their natural sympathy with human frailties and affections.
one, when he joined the society, had brought with him his wife and children, but never from that hour had spoken a fond word to the former or taken his best-loved child upon his knee.
another, whose family refused to follow him, had been enabled -- such was his gift of holy fortitude -- to leave them to the mercy of the world.
the youngest of the elders, a man of about fifty, had been bred from infancy in a shaker village, and was said never to have clasped a woman's hand in his own, and to have no conception of a closer tie than the cold fraternal one of the sect.
old father ephraim was the most awful character of all.
in his youth he had been a dissolute libertine, but was converted by mother ann herself, and had partaken of the wild fanaticism of the early shakers.
tradition whispered at the firesides of the village that mother ann had been compelled to sear his heart of flesh with a red-hot iron before it could be purified from earthly passions.
however that might be, poor martha had a woman's heart, and a tender one, and it quailed within her as she looked round at those strange old men, and from them to the calm features of adam colburn.
but, perceiving that the elders eyed her doubtfully, she gasped for breath and again spoke.
""with what strength is left me by my many troubles," said she, "i am ready to undertake this charge, and to do my best in it."
""my children, join your hands," said father ephraim.
they did so.
the elders stood up around, and the father feebly raised himself to a more erect position, but continued sitting in his great chair.
""i have bidden you to join your hands," said he, "not in earthly affection, for ye have cast off its chains for ever, but as brother and sister in spiritual love and helpers of one another in your allotted task.
teach unto others the faith which ye have received.
open wide your gates -- i deliver you the keys thereof -- open them wide to all who will give up the iniquities of the world and come hither to lead lives of purity and peace.
receive the weary ones who have known the vanity of earth; receive the little children, that they may never learn that miserable lesson.
and a blessing be upon your labors; so that the time may hasten on when the mission of mother ann shall have wrought its full effect, when children shall no more be born and die, and the last survivor of mortal race -- some old and weary man like me -- shall see the sun go down nevermore to rise on a world of sin and sorrow."
the aged father sank back exhausted, and the surrounding elders deemed, with good reason, that the hour was come when the new heads of the village must enter on their patriarchal duties.
in their attention to father ephraim their eyes were turned from martha pierson, who grew paler and paler, unnoticed even by adam colburn.
he, indeed, had withdrawn his hand from hers and folded his arms with a sense of satisfied ambition.
but paler and paler grew martha by his side, till, like a corpse in its burial-clothes, she sank down at the feet of her early lover; for, after many trials firmly borne, her heart could endure the weight of its desolate agony no longer.
night-sketches, beneath an umbrella.
pleasant is a rainy winter's day within-doors.
the best study for such a day -- or the best amusement: call it what you will -- is a book of travels describing scenes the most unlike that sombre one which is mistily presented through the windows.
i have experienced that fancy is then most successful in imparting distinct shapes and vivid colors to the objects which the author has spread upon his page, and that his words become magic spells to summon up a thousand varied pictures.
strange landscapes glimmer through the familiar walls of the room, and outlandish figures thrust themselves almost within the sacred precincts of the hearth.
small as my chamber is, it has space enough to contain the ocean-like circumference of an arabian desert, its parched sands tracked by the long line of a caravan with the camels patiently journeying through the heavy sunshine.
though my ceiling be not lofty, yet i can pile up the mountains of central asia beneath it till their summits shine far above the clouds of the middle atmosphere.
and with my humble means -- a wealth that is not taxable -- i can transport hither the magnificent merchandise of an oriental bazaar, and call a crowd of purchasers from distant countries to pay a fair profit for the precious articles which are displayed on all sides.
true it is, however, that amid the bustle of traffic, or whatever else may seem to be going on around me, the raindrops will occasionally be heard to patter against my window-panes, which look forth upon one of the quietest streets in a new england town.
after a time, too, the visions vanish, and will not appear again at my bidding.
then, it being nightfall, a gloomy sense of unreality depresses my spirits, and impels me to venture out before the clock shall strike bedtime to satisfy myself that the world is not entirely made up of such shadowy materials as have busied me throughout the day.
a dreamer may dwell so long among fantasies that the things without him will seem as unreal as those within.
when eve has fairly set in, therefore, i sally forth, tightly buttoning my shaggy overcoat and hoisting my umbrella, the silken dome of which immediately resounds with the heavy drumming of the invisible raindrops.
pausing on the lowest doorstep, i contrast the warmth and cheerfulness of my deserted fireside with the drear obscurity and chill discomfort into which i am about to plunge.
now come fearful auguries innumerable as the drops of rain.
did not my manhood cry shame upon me, i should turn back within-doors, resume my elbow-chair, my slippers and my book, pass such an evening of sluggish enjoyment as the day has been, and go to bed inglorious.
the same shivering reluctance, no doubt, has quelled for a moment the adventurous spirit of many a traveller when his feet, which were destined to measure the earth around, were leaving their last tracks in the home-paths.
in my own case poor human nature may be allowed a few misgivings.
i look upward and discern no sky, not even an unfathomable void, but only a black, impenetrable nothingness, as though heaven and all its lights were blotted from the system of the universe.
it is as if nature were dead and the world had put on black and the clouds were weeping for her.
with their tears upon my cheek i turn my eyes earthward, but find little consolation here below.
a lamp is burning dimly at the distant corner, and throws just enough of light along the street to show, and exaggerate by so faintly showing, the perils and difficulties which beset my path.
yonder dingily-white remnant of a huge snowbank, which will yet cumber the sidewalk till the latter days of march, over or through that wintry waste must i stride onward.
beyond lies a certain slough of despond, a concoction of mud and liquid filth, ankle-deep, leg-deep, neck-deep -- in a word, of unknown bottom -- on which the lamplight does not even glimmer, but which i have occasionally watched in the gradual growth of its horrors from morn till nightfall.
should i flounder into its depths, farewell to upper earth!
and hark!
how roughly resounds the roaring of a stream the turbulent career of which is partially reddened by the gleam of the lamp, but elsewhere brawls noisily through the densest gloom!
oh, should i be swept away in fording that impetuous and unclean torrent, the coroner will have a job with an unfortunate gentleman who would fain end his troubles anywhere but in a mud-puddle.
pshaw!
i will linger not another instant at arm's - length from these dim terrors, which grow more obscurely formidable the longer i delay to grapple with them.
now for the onset, and, lo!
with little damage save a dash of rain in the face and breast, a splash of mud high up the pantaloons and the left boot full of ice-cold water, behold me at the corner of the street.
the lamp throws down a circle of red light around me, and twinkling onward from corner to corner i discern other beacons, marshalling my way to a brighter scene.
but this is a lonesome and dreary spot.
the tall edifices bid gloomy defiance to the storm with their blinds all closed, even as a man winks when he faces a spattering gust.
how loudly tinkles the collected rain down the tin spouts!
the puffs of wind are boisterous, and seem to assail me from various quarters at once.
i have often observed that this corner is a haunt and loitering-place for those winds which have no work to do upon the deep dashing ships against our iron-bound shores, nor in the forest tearing up the sylvan giants with half a rood of soil at their vast roots.
here they amuse themselves with lesser freaks of mischief.
see, at this moment, how they assail yonder poor woman who is passing just within the verge of the lamplight!
one blast struggles for her umbrella and turns it wrong side outward, another whisks the cape of her cloak across her eyes, while a third takes most unwarrantable liberties with the lower part of her attire.
happily, the good dame is no gossamer, but a figure of rotundity and fleshly substance; else would these aerial tormentors whirl her aloft like a witch upon a broomstick, and set her down, doubtless, in the filthiest kennel hereabout.
from hence i tread upon firm pavements into the centre of the town.
here there is almost as brilliant an illumination as when some great victory has been won either on the battlefield or at the polls.
two rows of shops with windows down nearly to the ground cast a glow from side to side, while the black night hangs overhead like a canopy, and thus keeps the splendor from diffusing itself away.
the wet sidewalks gleam with a broad sheet of red light.
the raindrops glitter as if the sky were pouring down rubies.
the spouts gush with fire.
methinks the scene is an emblem of the deceptive glare which mortals throw around their footsteps in the moral world, thus bedazzling themselves till they forget the impenetrable obscurity that hems them in, and that can be dispelled only by radiance from above.
and, after all, it is a cheerless scene, and cheerless are the wanderers in it.
here comes one who has so long been familiar with tempestuous weather that he takes the bluster of the storm for a friendly greeting, as if it should say, "how fare ye, brother?"
he is a retired sea-captain wrapped in some nameless garment of the pea-jacket order, and is now laying his course toward the marine-insurance office, there to spin yarns of gale and shipwreck with a crew of old seadogs like himself.
the blast will put in its word among their hoarse voices, and be understood by all of them.
next i meet an unhappy slipshod gentleman with a cloak flung hastily over his shoulders, running a race with boisterous winds and striving to glide between the drops of rain.
some domestic emergency or other has blown this miserable man from his warm fireside in quest of a doctor.
see that little vagabond!
how carelessly he has taken his stand right underneath a spout while staring at some object of curiosity in a shop-window!
surely the rain is his native element; he must have fallen with it from the clouds, as frogs are supposed to do.
here is a picture, and a pretty one -- a young man and a girl, both enveloped in cloaks and huddled beneath the scanty protection of a cotton umbrella.
she wears rubber overshoes, but he is in his dancing-pumps, and they are on their way no doubt, to some cotillon-party or subscription-ball at a dollar a head, refreshments included.
thus they struggle against the gloomy tempest, lured onward by a vision of festal splendor.
but ah!
a most lamentable disaster!
bewildered by the red, blue and yellow meteors in an apothecary's window, they have stepped upon a slippery remnant of ice, and are precipitated into a confluence of swollen floods at the corner of two streets.
luckless lovers!
were it my nature to be other than a looker-on in life, i would attempt your rescue.
since that may not be, i vow, should you be drowned, to weave such a pathetic story of your fate as shall call forth tears enough to drown you both anew.
do ye touch bottom, my young friends?
yes; they emerge like a water-nymph and a river-deity, and paddle hand in hand out of the depths of the dark pool.
they hurry homeward, dripping, disconsolate, abashed, but with love too warm to be chilled by the cold water.
they have stood a test which proves too strong for many.
faithful though over head and ears in trouble!
onward i go, deriving a sympathetic joy or sorrow from the varied aspect of mortal affairs even as my figure catches a gleam from the lighted windows or is blackened by an interval of darkness.
not that mine is altogether a chameleon spirit with no hue of its own.
now i pass into a more retired street where the dwellings of wealth and poverty are intermingled, presenting a range of strongly-contrasted pictures.
here, too, may be found the golden mean.
through yonder casement i discern a family circle -- the grandmother, the parents and the children -- all flickering, shadow-like, in the glow of a wood-fire.
-- bluster, fierce blast, and beat, thou wintry rain, against the window-panes!
ye can not damp the enjoyment of that fireside.
-- surely my fate is hard that i should be wandering homeless here, taking to my bosom night and storm and solitude instead of wife and children.
peace, murmurer!
doubt not that darker guests are sitting round the hearth, though the warm blaze hides all but blissful images.
well, here is still a brighter scene -- a stately mansion illuminated for a ball, with cut-glass chandeliers and alabaster lamps in every room, and sunny landscapes hanging round the walls.
see!
a coach has stopped, whence emerges a slender beauty who, canopied by two umbrellas, glides within the portal and vanishes amid lightsome thrills of music.
will she ever feel the night-wind and the rain?
perhaps -- perhaps!
and will death and sorrow ever enter that proud mansion?
as surely as the dancers will be gay within its halls to-night.
such thoughts sadden yet satisfy my heart, for they teach me that the poor man in this mean, weatherbeaten hovel, without a fire to cheer him, may call the rich his brother -- brethren by sorrow, who must be an inmate of both their households; brethren by death, who will lead them both to other homes.
onward, still onward, i plunge into the night.
now have i reached the utmost limits of the town, where the last lamp struggles feebly with the darkness like the farthest star that stands sentinel on the borders of uncreated space.
it is strange what sensations of sublimity may spring from a very humble source.
such are suggested by this hollow roar of a subterranean cataract where the mighty stream of a kennel precipitates itself beneath an iron grate and is seen no more on earth.
listen a while to its voice of mystery, and fancy will magnify it till you start and smile at the illusion.
and now another sound -- the rumbling of wheels as the mail-coach, outward bound, rolls heavily off the pavements and splashes through the mud and water of the road.
all night long the poor passengers will be tossed to and fro between drowsy watch and troubled sleep, and will dream of their own quiet beds and awake to find themselves still jolting onward.
happier my lot, who will straightway hie me to my familiar room and toast myself comfortably before the fire, musing and fitfully dozing and fancying a strangeness in such sights as all may see.
but first let me gaze at this solitary figure who comes hitherward with a tin lantern which throws the circular pattern of its punched holes on the ground about him.
he passes fearlessly into the unknown gloom, whither i will not follow him.
this figure shall supply me with a moral wherewith, for lack of a more appropriate one, i may wind up my sketch.
he fears not to tread the dreary path before him, because his lantern, which was kindled at the fireside of his home, will light him back to that same fireside again.
and thus we, night-wanderers through a stormy and dismal world, if we bear the lamp of faith enkindled at a celestial fire, it will surely lead us home to that heaven whence its radiance was borrowed.
endicott and the red cross.
at noon of an autumnal day more than two centuries ago the english colors were displayed by the standard bearer of the salem train-band, which had mustered for martial exercise under the orders of john endicott.
it was a period when the religious exiles were accustomed often to buckle on their armor and practise the handling of their weapons of war.
since the first settlement of new england its prospects had never been so dismal.
the dissensions between charles i. and his subjects were then, and for several years afterward, confined to the floor of parliament.
the measures of the king and ministry were rendered more tyrannically violent by an opposition which had not yet acquired sufficient confidence in its own strength to resist royal injustice with the sword.
the bigoted and haughty primate laud, archbishop of canterbury, controlled the religious affairs of the realm, and was consequently invested with powers which might have wrought the utter ruin of the two puritan colonies, plymouth and massachusetts.
there is evidence on record that our forefathers perceived their danger, but were resolved that their infant country should not fall without a struggle, even beneath the giant strength of the king's right arm.
such was the aspect of the times when the folds of the english banner with the red cross in its field were flung out over a company of puritans.
their leader, the famous endicott, was a man of stern and resolute countenance, the effect of which was heightened by a grizzled beard that swept the upper portion of his breastplate.
this piece of armor was so highly polished that the whole surrounding scene had its image in the glittering steel.
the central object in the mirrored picture was an edifice of humble architecture with neither steeple nor bell to proclaim it -- what, nevertheless, it was -- the house of prayer.
a token of the perils of the wilderness was seen in the grim head of a wolf which had just been slain within the precincts of the town, and, according to the regular mode of claiming the bounty, was nailed on the porch of the meeting-house.
the blood was still plashing on the doorstep.
there happened to be visible at the same noontide hour so many other characteristics of the times and manners of the puritans that we must endeavor to represent them in a sketch, though far less vividly than they were reflected in the polished breastplate of john endicott.
in close vicinity to the sacred edifice appeared that important engine of puritanic authority the whipping-post, with the soil around it well trodden by the feet of evil-doers who had there been disciplined.
at one corner of the meeting-house was the pillory and at the other the stocks, and, by a singular good fortune for our sketch, the head of an episcopalian and suspected catholic was grotesquely encased in the former machine, while a fellow-criminal who had boisterously quaffed a health to the king was confined by the legs in the latter.
side by side on the meeting-house steps stood a male and a female figure.
the man was a tall, lean, haggard personification of fanaticism, bearing on his breast this label, "a wanton gospeller," which betokened that he had dared to give interpretations of holy writ unsanctioned by the infallible judgment of the civil and religious rulers.
his aspect showed no lack of zeal to maintain his heterodoxies even at the stake.
the woman wore a cleft stick on her tongue, in appropriate retribution for having wagged that unruly member against the elders of the church, and her countenance and gestures gave much cause to apprehend that the moment the stick should be removed a repetition of the offence would demand new ingenuity in chastising it.
the above-mentioned individuals had been sentenced to undergo their various modes of ignominy for the space of one hour at noonday.
but among the crowd were several whose punishment would be lifelong -- some whose ears had been cropped like those of puppy-dogs, others whose cheeks had been branded with the initials of their misdemeanors; one with his nostrils slit and seared, and another with a halter about his neck, which he was forbidden ever to take off or to conceal beneath his garments.
methinks he must have been grievously tempted to affix the other end of the rope to some convenient beam or bough.
there was likewise a young woman with no mean share of beauty whose doom it was to wear the letter a on the breast of her gown in the eyes of all the world and her own children.
and even her own children knew what that initial signified.
sporting with her infamy, the lost and desperate creature had embroidered the fatal token in scarlet cloth with golden thread and the nicest art of needlework; so that the capital a might have been thought to mean "admirable," or anything rather than "adulteress."
let not the reader argue from any of these evidences of iniquity that the times of the puritans were more vicious than our own, when as we pass along the very street of this sketch we discern no badge of infamy on man or woman.
it was the policy of our ancestors to search out even the most secret sins and expose them to shame, without fear or favor, in the broadest light of the noonday sun.
were such the custom now, perchance we might find materials for a no less piquant sketch than the above.
except the malefactors whom we have described and the diseased or infirm persons, the whole male population of the town, between sixteen years and sixty were seen in the ranks of the train-band.
a few stately savages in all the pomp and dignity of the primeval indian stood gazing at the spectacle.
their flint-headed arrows were but childish weapons, compared with the matchlocks of the puritans, and would have rattled harmlessly against the steel caps and hammered iron breastplates which enclosed each soldier in an individual fortress.
the valiant john endicott glanced with an eye of pride at his sturdy followers, and prepared to renew the martial toils of the day.
""come, my stout hearts!"
quoth he, drawing his sword.
""let us show these poor heathen that we can handle our weapons like men of might.
well for them if they put us not to prove it in earnest!"
the iron-breasted company straightened their line, and each man drew the heavy butt of his matchlock close to his left foot, thus awaiting the orders of the captain.
but as endicott glanced right and left along the front he discovered a personage at some little distance with whom it behoved him to hold a parley.
it was an elderly gentleman wearing a black cloak and band and a high-crowned hat beneath which was a velvet skull-cap, the whole being the garb of a puritan minister.
this reverend person bore a staff which seemed to have been recently cut in the forest, and his shoes were bemired, as if he had been travelling on foot through the swamps of the wilderness.
his aspect was perfectly that of a pilgrim, heightened also by an apostolic dignity.
just as endicott perceived him he laid aside his staff and stooped to drink at a bubbling fountain which gushed into the sunshine about a score of yards from the corner of the meeting-house.
but ere the good man drank he turned his face heavenward in thankfulness, and then, holding back his gray beard with one hand, he scooped up his simple draught in the hollow of the other.
""what ho, good mr. williams!"
shouted endicott.
""you are welcome back again to our town of peace.
how does our worthy governor winthrop?
and what news from boston?"
""the governor hath his health, worshipful sir," answered roger williams, now resuming his staff and drawing near.
""and, for the news, here is a letter which, knowing i was to travel hitherward to-day, his excellency committed to my charge.
belike it contains tidings of much import, for a ship arrived yesterday from england."
mr. williams, the minister of salem, and of course known to all the spectators, had now reached the spot where endicott was standing under the banner of his company, and put the governor's epistle into his hand.
the broad seal was impressed with winthrop's coat-of-arms.
endicott hastily unclosed the letter and began to read, while, as his eye passed down the page, a wrathful change came over his manly countenance.
the blood glowed through it till it seemed to be kindling with an internal heat, nor was it unnatural to suppose that his breastplate would likewise become red hot with the angry fire of the bosom which it covered.
arriving at the conclusion, he shook the letter fiercely in his hand, so that it rustled as loud as the flag above his head.
""black tidings these, mr. williams," said he; "blacker never came to new england.
doubtless you know their purport?"
""yea, truly," replied roger williams, "for the governor consulted respecting this matter with my brethren in the ministry at boston, and my opinion was likewise asked.
and his excellency entreats you by me that the news be not suddenly noised abroad, lest the people be stirred up unto some outbreak, and thereby give the king and the archbishop a handle against us."
""the governor is a wise man -- a wise man, and a meek and moderate," said endicott, setting his teeth grimly.
""nevertheless, i must do according to my own best judgment.
there is neither man, woman nor child in new england but has a concern as dear as life in these tidings; and if john endicott's voice be loud enough, man, woman and child shall hear them.
-- soldiers, wheel into a hollow square.
-- ho, good people!
here are news for one and all of you."
the soldiers closed in around their captain, and he and roger williams stood together under the banner of the red cross, while the women and the aged men pressed forward and the mothers held up their children to look endicott in the face.
a few taps of the drum gave signal for silence and attention.
""fellow-soldiers, fellow-exiles," began endicott, speaking under strong excitement, yet powerfully restraining it, "wherefore did ye leave your native country?
wherefore, i say, have we left the green and fertile fields, the cottages, or, perchance, the old gray halls, where we were born and bred, the churchyards where our forefathers lie buried?
wherefore have we come hither to set up our own tombstones in a wilderness?
a howling wilderness it is.
the wolf and the bear meet us within halloo of our dwellings.
the savage lieth in wait for us in the dismal shadow of the woods.
the stubborn roots of the trees break our ploughshares when we would till the earth.
our children cry for bread, and we must dig in the sands of the seashore to satisfy them.
wherefore, i say again, have we sought this country of a rugged soil and wintry sky?
was it not for the enjoyment of our civil rights?
was it not for liberty to worship god according to our conscience?"
""call you this liberty of conscience?"
interrupted a voice on the steps of the meeting-house.
it was the wanton gospeller.
a sad and quiet smile flitted across the mild visage of roger williams, but endicott, in the excitement of the moment, shook his sword wrathfully at the culprit -- an ominous gesture from a man like him.
""what hast thou to do with conscience, thou knave?"
cried he.
""i said liberty to worship god, not license to profane and ridicule him.
break not in upon my speech, or i will lay thee neck and heels till this time to-morrow.
-- hearken to me, friends, nor heed that accursed rhapsodist.
as i was saying, we have sacrificed all things, and have come to a land whereof the old world hath scarcely heard, that we might make a new world unto ourselves and painfully seek a path from hence to heaven.
but what think ye now?
this son of a scotch tyrant -- this grandson of a papistical and adulterous scotch woman whose death proved that a golden crown doth not always save an anointed head from the block --" "nay, brother, nay," interposed mr. williams; "thy words are not meet for a secret chamber, far less for a public street."
""hold thy peace, roger williams!"
answered endicott, imperiously.
""my spirit is wiser than thine for the business now in hand.
-- i tell ye, fellow-exiles, that charles of england and laud, our bitterest persecutor, arch-priest of canterbury, are resolute to pursue us even hither.
they are taking counsel, saith this letter, to send over a governor-general in whose breast shall be deposited all the law and equity of the land.
they are minded, also, to establish the idolatrous forms of english episcopacy; so that when laud shall kiss the pope's toe as cardinal of rome he may deliver new england, bound hand and foot, into the power of his master."
a deep groan from the auditors -- a sound of wrath as well as fear and sorrow -- responded to this intelligence.
""look ye to it, brethren," resumed endicott, with increasing energy.
""if this king and this arch-prelate have their will, we shall briefly behold a cross on the spire of this tabernacle which we have builded, and a high altar within its walls, with wax tapers burning round it at noon-day.
we shall hear the sacring-bell and the voices of the romish priests saying the mass.
but think ye, christian men, that these abominations may be suffered without a sword drawn, without a shot fired, without blood spilt -- yea, on the very stairs of the pulpit?
no!
be ye strong of hand and stout of heart.
here we stand on our own soil, which we have bought with our goods, which we have won with our swords, which we have cleared with our axes, which we have tilled with the sweat of our brows, which we have sanctified with our prayers to the god that brought us hither!
who shall enslave us here?
what have we to do with this mitred prelate -- with this crowned king?
what have we to do with england?"
endicott gazed round at the excited countenances of the people, now full of his own spirit, and then turned suddenly to the standard-bearer, who stood close behind him.
""officer, lower your banner," said he.
the officer obeyed, and, brandishing his sword, endicott thrust it through the cloth and with his left hand rent the red cross completely out of the banner.
he then waved the tattered ensign above his head.
""sacrilegious wretch!"
cried the high-churchman in the pillory, unable longer to restrain himself; "thou hast rejected the symbol of our holy religion."
""treason!
treason!"
roared the royalist in the stocks.
""he hath defaced the king's banner!"
""before god and man i will avouch the deed," answered endicott.
-- "beat a flourish, drummer -- shout, soldiers and people -- in honor of the ensign of new england.
neither pope nor tyrant hath part in it now."
with a cry of triumph the people gave their sanction to one of the boldest exploits which our history records.
and for ever honored be the name of endicott!
we look back through the mist of ages, and recognize in the rending of the red cross from new england's banner the first omen of that deliverance which our fathers consummated after the bones of the stern puritan had lain more than a century in the dust.
the lily's quest.
an apologue.
two lovers once upon a time had planned a little summer-house in the form of an antique temple which it was their purpose to consecrate to all manner of refined and innocent enjoyments.
there they would hold pleasant intercourse with one another and the circle of their familiar friends; there they would give festivals of delicious fruit; there they would hear lightsome music intermingled with the strains of pathos which make joy more sweet; there they would read poetry and fiction and permit their own minds to flit away in day-dreams and romance; there, in short -- for why should we shape out the vague sunshine of their hopes?
-- there all pure delights were to cluster like roses among the pillars of the edifice and blossom ever new and spontaneously.
so one breezy and cloudless afternoon adam forrester and lilias fay set out upon a ramble over the wide estate which they were to possess together, seeking a proper site for their temple of happiness.
they were themselves a fair and happy spectacle, fit priest and priestess for such a shrine, although, making poetry of the pretty name of lilias, adam forrester was wont to call her "lily" because her form was as fragile and her cheek almost as pale.
as they passed hand in hand down the avenue of drooping elms that led from the portal of lilias fay's paternal mansion they seemed to glance like winged creatures through the strips of sunshine, and to scatter brightness where the deep shadows fell.
but, setting forth at the same time with this youthful pair, there was a dismal figure wrapped in a black velvet cloak that might have been made of a coffin-pall, and with a sombre hat such as mourners wear drooping its broad brim over his heavy brows.
glancing behind them, the lovers well knew who it was that followed, but wished from their hearts that he had been elsewhere, as being a companion so strangely unsuited to their joyous errand.
it was a near relative of lilias fay, an old man by the name of walter gascoigne, who had long labored under the burden of a melancholy spirit which was sometimes maddened into absolute insanity and always had a tinge of it.
what a contrast between the young pilgrims of bliss and their unbidden associate!
they looked as if moulded of heaven's sunshine and he of earth's gloomiest shade; they flitted along like hope and joy roaming hand in hand through life, while his darksome figure stalked behind, a type of all the woeful influences which life could fling upon them.
but the three had not gone far when they reached a spot that pleased the gentle lily, and she paused.
""what sweeter place shall we find than this?"
said she.
""why should we seek farther for the site of our temple?"
it was indeed a delightful spot of earth, though undistinguished by any very prominent beauties, being merely a nook in the shelter of a hill, with the prospect of a distant lake in one direction and of a church-spire in another.
there were vistas and pathways leading onward and onward into the green woodlands and vanishing away in the glimmering shade.
the temple, if erected here, would look toward the west; so that the lovers could shape all sorts of magnificent dreams out of the purple, violet and gold of the sunset sky, and few of their anticipated pleasures were dearer than this sport of fantasy.
""yes," said adam forrester; "we might seek all day and find no lovelier spot.
we will build our temple here."
but their sad old companion, who had taken his stand on the very site which they proposed to cover with a marble floor, shook his head and frowned, and the young man and the lily deemed it almost enough to blight the spot and desecrate it for their airy temple that his dismal figure had thrown its shadow there.
he pointed to some scattered stones, the remnants of a former structure, and to flowers such as young girls delight to nurse in their gardens, but which had now relapsed into the wild simplicity of nature.
""not here," cried old walter gascoigne.
""here, long ago, other mortals built their temple of happiness; seek another site for yours."
""what!"
exclaimed lilias fay.
""have any ever planned such a temple save ourselves?"
""poor child!"
said her gloomy kinsman.
""in one shape or other every mortal has dreamed your dream."
then he told the lovers, how -- not, indeed, an antique temple, but a dwelling -- had once stood there, and that a dark-clad guest had dwelt among its inmates, sitting for ever at the fireside and poisoning all their household mirth.
under this type adam forrester and lilias saw that the old man spake of sorrow.
he told of nothing that might not be recorded in the history of almost every household, and yet his hearers felt as if no sunshine ought to fall upon a spot where human grief had left so deep a stain -- or, at least, that no joyous temple should be built there.
""this is very sad," said the lily, sighing.
""well, there are lovelier spots than this," said adam forrester, soothingly -- "spots which sorrow has not blighted."
so they hastened away, and the melancholy gascoigne followed them, looking as if he had gathered up all the gloom of the deserted spot and was bearing it as a burden of inestimable treasure.
but still they rambled on, and soon found themselves in a rocky dell through the midst of which ran a streamlet with ripple and foam and a continual voice of inarticulate joy.
it was a wild retreat walled on either side with gray precipices which would have frowned somewhat too sternly had not a profusion of green shrubbery rooted itself into their crevices and wreathed gladsome foliage around their solemn brows.
but the chief joy of the dell was in the little stream which seemed like the presence of a blissful child with nothing earthly to do save to babble merrily and disport itself, and make every living soul its playfellow, and throw the sunny gleams of its spirit upon all.
""here, here is the spot!"
cried the two lovers, with one voice, as they reached a level space on the brink of a small cascade.
""this glen was made on purpose for our temple."
""and the glad song of the brook will be always in our ears," said lilias fay.
""and its long melody shall sing the bliss of our lifetime," said adam forrester.
""ye must build no temple here," murmured their dismal companion.
and there again was the old lunatic standing just on the spot where they meant to rear their lightsome dome, and looking like the embodied symbol of some great woe that in forgotten days had happened there.
and, alas!
there had been woe, nor that alone.
a young man more than a hundred years before had lured hither a girl that loved him, and on this spot had murdered her and washed his bloody hands in the stream which sang so merrily, and ever since the victim's death-shrieks were often heard to echo between the cliffs.
""and see!"
cried old gascoigne; "is the stream yet pure from the stain of the murderer's hands?"
""methinks it has a tinge of blood," faintly answered the lily; and, being as slight as the gossamer, she trembled and clung to her lover's arm, whispering, "let us flee from this dreadful vale."
""come, then," said adam forrester as cheerily as he could; "we shall soon find a happier spot."
they set forth again, young pilgrims on that quest which millions -- which every child of earth -- has tried in turn.
and were the lily and her lover to be more fortunate than all those millions?
for a long time it seemed not so.
the dismal shape of the old lunatic still glided behind them, and for every spot that looked lovely in their eyes he had some legend of human wrong or suffering so miserably sad that his auditors could never afterward connect the idea of joy with the place where it had happened.
here a heartbroken woman kneeling to her child had been spurned from his feet; here a desolate old creature had prayed to the evil one, and had received a fiendish malignity of soul in answer to her prayer; here a new-born infant, sweet blossom of life, had been found dead with the impress of its mother's fingers round its throat; and here, under a shattered oak, two lovers had been stricken by lightning and fell blackened corpses in each other's arms.
the dreary gascoigne had a gift to know whatever evil and lamentable thing had stained the bosom of mother earth; and when his funereal voice had told the tale, it appeared like a prophecy of future woe as well as a tradition of the past.
and now, by their sad demeanor, you would have fancied that the pilgrim-lovers were seeking, not a temple of earthly joy, but a tomb for themselves and their posterity.
""where in this world," exclaimed adam forrester, despondingly, "shall we build our temple of happiness?"
""where in this world, indeed?"
repeated lilias fay; and, being faint and weary -- the more so by the heaviness of her heart -- the lily drooped her head and sat down on the summit of a knoll, repeating, "where in this world shall we build our temple?"
""ah!
have you already asked yourselves that question?"
said their companion, his shaded features growing even gloomier with the smile that dwelt on them.
""yet there is a place even in this world where ye may build it."
while the old man spoke adam forrester and lilias had carelessly thrown their eyes around, and perceived that the spot where they had chanced to pause possessed a quiet charm which was well enough adapted to their present mood of mind.
it was a small rise of ground with a certain regularity of shape that had perhaps been bestowed by art, and a group of trees which almost surrounded it threw their pensive shadows across and far beyond, although some softened glory of the sunshine found its way there.
the ancestral mansion wherein the lovers would dwell together appeared on one side, and the ivied church where they were to worship on another.
happening to cast their eyes on the ground, they smiled, yet with a sense of wonder, to see that a pale lily was growing at their feet.
""we will build our temple here," said they, simultaneously, and with an indescribable conviction that they had at last found the very spot.
yet while they uttered this exclamation the young man and the lily turned an apprehensive glance at their dreary associate, deeming it hardly possible that some tale of earthly affliction should not make those precincts loathsome, as in every former case.
the old man stood just behind them, so as to form the chief figure in the group, with his sable cloak muffling the lower part of his visage and his sombre hat overshadowing his brows.
but he gave no word of dissent from their purpose, and an inscrutable smile was accepted by the lovers as a token that here had been no footprint of guilt or sorrow to desecrate the site of their temple of happiness.
in a little time longer, while summer was still in its prime, the fairy-structure of the temple arose on the summit of the knoll amid the solemn shadows of the trees, yet often gladdened with bright sunshine.
it was built of white marble, with slender and graceful pillars supporting a vaulted dome, and beneath the centre of this dome, upon a pedestal, was a slab of dark-veined marble on which books and music might be strewn.
but there was a fantasy among the people of the neighborhood that the edifice was planned after an ancient mausoleum and was intended for a tomb, and that the central slab of dark-veined marble was to be inscribed with the names of buried ones.
they doubted, too, whether the form of lilias fay could appertain to a creature of this earth, being so very delicate and growing every day more fragile, so that she looked as if the summer breeze should snatch her up and waft her heavenward.
but still she watched the daily growth of the temple, and so did old walter gascoigne, who now made that spot his continual haunt, leaning whole hours together on his staff and giving as deep attention to the work as though it had been indeed a tomb.
in due time it was finished and a day appointed for a simple rite of dedication.
on the preceding evening, after adam forrester had taken leave of his mistress, he looked back toward the portal of her dwelling and felt a strange thrill of fear, for he imagined that as the setting sunbeams faded from her figure she was exhaling away, and that something of her ethereal substance was withdrawn with each lessening gleam of light.
with his farewell glance a shadow had fallen over the portal, and lilias was invisible.
his foreboding spirit deemed it an omen at the time, and so it proved; for the sweet earthly form by which the lily had been manifested to the world was found lifeless the next morning in the temple with her head resting on her arms, which were folded upon the slab of dark-veined marble.
the chill winds of the earth had long since breathed a blight into this beautiful flower; so that a loving hand had now transplanted it to blossom brightly in the garden of paradise.
but alas for the temple of happiness!
in his unutterable grief adam forrester had no purpose more at heart than to convert this temple of many delightful hopes into a tomb and bury his dead mistress there.
and, lo!
a wonder!
digging a grave beneath the temple's marble floor, the sexton found no virgin earth such as was meet to receive the maiden's dust, but an ancient sepulchre in which were treasured up the bones of generations that had died long ago.
among those forgotten ancestors was the lily to be laid; and when the funeral procession brought lilias thither in her coffin, they beheld old walter gascoigne standing beneath the dome of the temple with his cloak of pall and face of darkest gloom, and wherever that figure might take its stand the spot would seem a sepulchre.
he watched the mourners as they lowered the coffin down.
""and so," said he to adam forrester, with the strange smile in which his insanity was wont to gleam forth, "you have found no better foundation for your happiness than on a grave?"
but as the shadow of affliction spoke a vision of hope and joy had its birth in adam's mind even from the old man's taunting words, for then he knew what was betokened by the parable in which the lily and himself had acted, and the mystery of life and death was opened to him.
""joy!
joy!"
he cried, throwing his arms toward heaven.
""on a grave be the site of our temple, and now our happiness is for eternity."
with those words a ray of sunshine broke through the dismal sky and glimmered down into the sepulchre, while at the same moment the shape of old walter gascoigne stalked drearily away, because his gloom, symbolic of all earthly sorrow, might no longer abide there now that the darkest riddle of humanity was read.
footprints on the seashore.
it must be a spirit much unlike my own which can keep itself in health and vigor without sometimes stealing from the sultry sunshine of the world to plunge into the cool bath of solitude.
at intervals, and not infrequent ones, the forest and the ocean summon me -- one with the roar of its waves, the other with the murmur of its boughs -- forth from the haunts of men.
but i must wander many a mile ere i could stand beneath the shadow of even one primeval tree, much less be lost among the multitude of hoary trunks and hidden from the earth and sky by the mystery of darksome foliage.
nothing is within my daily reach more like a forest than the acre or two of woodland near some suburban farmhouse.
when, therefore, the yearning for seclusion becomes a necessity within me, i am drawn to the seashore which extends its line of rude rocks and seldom-trodden sands for leagues around our bay.
setting forth at my last ramble on a september morning, i bound myself with a hermit's vow to interchange no thoughts with man or woman, to share no social pleasure, but to derive all that day's enjoyment from shore and sea and sky, from my soul's communion with these, and from fantasies and recollections or anticipated realities.
surely here is enough to feed a human spirit for a single day.
-- farewell, then, busy world!
till your evening lights shall shine along the street -- till they gleam upon my sea-flushed face as i tread homeward -- free me from your ties and let me be a peaceful outlaw.
highways and cross-paths are hastily traversed, and, clambering down a crag, i find myself at the extremity of a long beach.
how gladly does the spirit leap forth and suddenly enlarge its sense of being to the full extent of the broad blue, sunny deep!
a greeting and a homage to the sea!
i descend over its margin and dip my hand into the wave that meets me, and bathe my brow.
that far-resounding roar is ocean's voice of welcome.
his salt breath brings a blessing along with it.
now let us pace together -- the reader's fancy arm in arm with mine -- this noble beach, which extends a mile or more from that craggy promontory to yonder rampart of broken rocks.
in front, the sea; in the rear, a precipitous bank the grassy verge of which is breaking away year after year, and flings down its tufts of verdure upon the barrenness below.
the beach itself is a broad space of sand, brown and sparkling, with hardly any pebbles intermixed.
near the water's edge there is a wet margin which glistens brightly in the sunshine and reflects objects like a mirror, and as we tread along the glistening border a dry spot flashes around each footstep, but grows moist again as we lift our feet.
in some spots the sand receives a complete impression of the sole, square toe and all; elsewhere it is of such marble firmness that we must stamp heavily to leave a print even of the iron-shod heel.
along the whole of this extensive beach gambols the surf-wave.
now it makes a feint of dashing onward in a fury, yet dies away with a meek murmur and does but kiss the strand; now, after many such abortive efforts, it rears itself up in an unbroken line, heightening as it advances, without a speck of foam on its green crest.
with how fierce a roar it flings itself forward and rushes far up the beach!
as i threw my eyes along the edge of the surf i remember that i was startled, as robinson crusoe might have been, by the sense that human life was within the magic circle of my solitude.
afar off in the remote distance of the beach, appearing like sea-nymphs, or some airier things such as might tread upon the feathery spray, was a group of girls.
hardly had i beheld them, when they passed into the shadow of the rocks and vanished.
to comfort myself -- for truly i would fain have gazed a while longer -- i made acquaintance with a flock of beach-birds.
these little citizens of the sea and air preceded me by about a stone's - throw along the strand, seeking, i suppose, for food upon its margin.
yet, with a philosophy which mankind would do well to imitate, they drew a continual pleasure from their toil for a subsistence.
the sea was each little bird's great playmate.
they chased it downward as it swept back, and again ran up swiftly before the impending wave, which sometimes overtook them and bore them off their feet.
but they floated as lightly as one of their own feathers on the breaking crest.
in their airy flutterings they seemed to rest on the evanescent spray.
their images -- long-legged little figures with gray backs and snowy bosoms -- were seen as distinctly as the realities in the mirror of the glistening strand.
as i advanced they flew a score or two of yards, and, again alighting, recommenced their dalliance with the surf-wave; and thus they bore me company along the beach, the types of pleasant fantasies, till at its extremity they took wing over the ocean and were gone.
after forming a friendship with these small surf-spirits, it is really worth a sigh to find no memorial of them save their multitudinous little tracks in the sand.
when we have paced the length of the beach, it is pleasant and not unprofitable to retrace our steps and recall the whole mood and occupation of the mind during the former passage.
our tracks, being all discernible, will guide us with an observing consciousness through every unconscious wandering of thought and fancy.
here we followed the surf in its reflux to pick up a shell which the sea seemed loth to relinquish.
here we found a seaweed with an immense brown leaf, and trailed it behind us by its long snake-like stalk.
here we seized a live horseshoe by the tail, and counted the many claws of that queer monster.
here we dug into the sand for pebbles, and skipped them upon the surface of the water.
here we wet our feet while examining a jelly-fish which the waves, having just tossed it up, now sought to snatch away again.
here we trod along the brink of a fresh-water brooklet which flows across the beach, becoming shallower and more shallow, till at last it sinks into the sand and perishes in the effort to bear its little tribute to the main.
here some vagary appears to have bewildered us, for our tracks go round and round and are confusedly intermingled, as if we had found a labyrinth upon the level beach.
and here amid our idle pastime we sat down upon almost the only stone that breaks the surface of the sand, and were lost in an unlooked-for and overpowering conception of the majesty and awfulness of the great deep.
thus by tracking our footprints in the sand we track our own nature in its wayward course, and steal a glance upon it when it never dreams of being so observed.
such glances always make us wiser.
this extensive beach affords room for another pleasant pastime.
with your staff you may write verses -- love-verses if they please you best -- and consecrate them with a woman's name.
here, too, may be inscribed thoughts, feelings, desires, warm outgushings from the heart's secret places, which you would not pour upon the sand without the certainty that almost ere the sky has looked upon them the sea will wash them out.
stir not hence till the record be effaced.
now -lrb- for there is room enough on your canvas -rrb- draw huge faces -- huge as that of the sphynx on egyptian sands -- and fit them with bodies of corresponding immensity and legs which might stride halfway to yonder island.
child's - play becomes magnificent on so grand a scale.
but, after all, the most fascinating employment is simply to write your name in the sand.
draw the letters gigantic, so that two strides may barely measure them, and three for the long strokes; cut deep, that the record may be permanent.
statesmen and warriors and poets have spent their strength in no better cause than this.
is it accomplished?
return, then, in an hour or two, and seek for this mighty record of a name.
the sea will have swept over it, even as time rolls its effacing waves over the names of statesmen and warriors and poets.
hark!
the surf-wave laughs at you.
passing from the beach, i begin to clamber over the crags, making my difficult way among the ruins of a rampart shattered and broken by the assaults of a fierce enemy.
the rocks rise in every variety of attitude.
some of them have their feet in the foam and are shagged halfway upward with seaweed; some have been hollowed almost into caverns by the unwearied toil of the sea, which can afford to spend centuries in wearing away a rock, or even polishing a pebble.
one huge rock ascends in monumental shape, with a face like a giant's tombstone, on which the veins resemble inscriptions, but in an unknown tongue.
we will fancy them the forgotten characters of an antediluvian race, or else that nature's own hand has here recorded a mystery which, could i read her language, would make mankind the wiser and the happier.
how many a thing has troubled me with that same idea!
pass on and leave it unexplained.
here is a narrow avenue which might seem to have been hewn through the very heart of an enormous crag, affording passage for the rising sea to thunder back and forth, filling it with tumultuous foam and then leaving its floor of black pebbles bare and glistening.
in this chasm there was once an intersecting vein of softer stone, which the waves have gnawed away piecemeal, while the granite walls remain entire on either side.
how sharply and with what harsh clamor does the sea rake back the pebbles as it momentarily withdraws into its own depths!
at intervals the floor of the chasm is left nearly dry, but anon, at the outlet, two or three great waves are seen struggling to get in at once; two hit the walls athwart, while one rushes straight through, and all three thunder as if with rage and triumph.
they heap the chasm with a snow-drift of foam and spray.
while watching this scene i can never rid myself of the idea that a monster endowed with life and fierce energy is striving to burst his way through the narrow pass.
and what a contrast to look through the stormy chasm and catch a glimpse of the calm bright sea beyond!
many interesting discoveries may be made among these broken cliffs.
once, for example, i found a dead seal which a recent tempest had tossed into the nook of the rocks, where his shaggy carcase lay rolled in a heap of eel-grass as if the sea-monster sought to hide himself from my eye.
another time a shark seemed on the point of leaping from the surf to swallow me, nor did i wholly without dread approach near enough to ascertain that the man-eater had already met his own death from some fisherman in the bay.
in the same ramble i encountered a bird -- a large gray bird -- but whether a loon or a wild goose or the identical albatross of the ancient mariner was beyond my ornithology to decide.
it reposed so naturally on a bed of dry seaweed, with its head beside its wing, that i almost fancied it alive, and trod softly lest it should suddenly spread its wings skyward.
but the sea-bird would soar among the clouds no more, nor ride upon its native waves; so i drew near and pulled out one of its mottled tail-feathers for a remembrance.
another day i discovered an immense bone wedged into a chasm of the rocks; it was at least ten feet long, curved like a scymitar, bejewelled with barnacles and small shellfish and partly covered with a growth of seaweed.
some leviathan of former ages had used this ponderous mass as a jaw-bone.
curiosities of a minuter order may be observed in a deep reservoir which is replenished with water at every tide, but becomes a lake among the crags save when the sea is at its height.
at the bottom of this rocky basin grow marine plants, some of which tower high beneath the water and cast a shadow in the sunshine.
small fishes dart to and fro and hide themselves among the seaweed; there is also a solitary crab who appears to lead the life of a hermit, communing with none of the other denizens of the place, and likewise several five-fingers; for i know no other name than that which children give them.
if your imagination be at all accustomed to such freaks, you may look down into the depths of this pool and fancy it the mysterious depth of ocean.
but where are the hulks and scattered timbers of sunken ships?
where the treasures that old ocean hoards?
where the corroded cannon?
where the corpses and skeletons of seamen who went down in storm and battle?
on the day of my last ramble -- it was a september day, yet as warm as summer -- what should i behold as i approached the above-described basin but three girls sitting on its margin and -- yes, it is veritably so -- laving their snowy feet in the sunny water?
these, these are the warm realities of those three visionary shapes that flitted from me on the beach.
hark their merry voices as they toss up the water with their feet!
they have not seen me.
i must shrink behind this rock and steal away again.
in honest truth, vowed to solitude as i am, there is something in this encounter that makes the heart flutter with a strangely pleasant sensation.
i know these girls to be realities of flesh and blood, yet, glancing at them so briefly, they mingle like kindred creatures with the ideal beings of my mind.
it is pleasant, likewise, to gaze down from some high crag and watch a group of children gathering pebbles and pearly shells and playing with the surf as with old ocean's hoary beard.
nor does it infringe upon my seclusion to see yonder boat at anchor off the shore swinging dreamily to and fro and rising and sinking with the alternate swell, while the crew -- four gentlemen in roundabout jackets -- are busy with their fishing-lines.
but with an inward antipathy and a headlong flight do i eschew the presence of any meditative stroller like myself, known by his pilgrim-staff, his sauntering step, his shy demeanor, his observant yet abstracted eye.
from such a man as if another self had scared me i scramble hastily over the rocks, and take refuge in a nook which many a secret hour has given me a right to call my own.
i would do battle for it even with the churl that should produce the title-deeds.
have not my musings melted into its rocky walls and sandy floor and made them a portion of myself?
it is a recess in the line of cliffs, walled round by a rough, high precipice which almost encircles and shuts in a little space of sand.
in front the sea appears as between the pillars of a portal; in the rear the precipice is broken and intermixed with earth which gives nourishment not only to clinging and twining shrubs, but to trees that grip the rock with their naked roots and seem to struggle hard for footing and for soil enough to live upon.
these are fir trees, but oaks hang their heavy branches from above, and throw down acorns on the beach, and shed their withering foliage upon the waves.
at this autumnal season the precipice is decked with variegated splendor.
trailing wreaths of scarlet flaunt from the summit downward; tufts of yellow-flowering shrubs and rose-bushes, with their reddened leaves and glossy seed-berries, sprout from each crevice; at every glance i detect some new light or shade of beauty, all contrasting with the stern gray rock.
a rill of water trickles down the cliff and fills a little cistern near the base.
i drain it at a draught, and find it fresh and pure.
this recess shall be my dining-hall.
and what the feast?
a few biscuits made savory by soaking them in sea-water, a tuft of samphire gathered from the beach, and an apple for the dessert.
by this time the little rill has filled its reservoir again, and as i quaff it i thank god more heartily than for a civic banquet that he gives me the healthful appetite to make a feast of bread and water.
dinner being over, i throw myself at length upon the sand and, basking in the sunshine, let my mind disport itself at will.
the walls of this my hermitage have no tongue to tell my follies, though i sometimes fancy that they have ears to hear them and a soul to sympathize.
there is a magic in this spot.
dreams haunt its precincts and flit around me in broad sunlight, nor require that sleep shall blindfold me to real objects ere these be visible.
here can i frame a story of two lovers, and make their shadows live before me and be mirrored in the tranquil water as they tread along the sand, leaving no footprints.
here, should i will it, i can summon up a single shade and be myself her lover.
-- yes, dreamer, but your lonely heart will be the colder for such fancies.
-- sometimes, too, the past comes back, and finds me here, and in her train come faces which were gladsome when i knew them, yet seem not gladsome now.
would that my hiding-place were lonelier, so that the past might not find me!
-- get ye all gone, old friends, and let me listen to the murmur of the sea -- a melancholy voice, but less sad than yours.
of what mysteries is it telling?
of sunken ships and whereabouts they lie?
of islands afar and undiscovered whose tawny children are unconscious of other islands and of continents, and deem the stars of heaven their nearest neighbors?
nothing of all this.
what, then?
has it talked for so many ages and meant nothing all the while?
no; for those ages find utterance in the sea's unchanging voice, and warn the listener to withdraw his interest from mortal vicissitudes and let the infinite idea of eternity pervade his soul.
this is wisdom, and therefore will i spend the next half-hour in shaping little boats of driftwood and launching them on voyages across the cove, with the feather of a sea-gull for a sail.
if the voice of ages tell me true, this is as wise an occupation as to build ships of five hundred tons and launch them forth upon the main, bound to "far cathay."
yet how would the merchant sneer at me!
and, after all, can such philosophy be true?
methinks i could find a thousand arguments against it.
well, then, let yonder shaggy rock mid-deep in the surf -- see!
he is somewhat wrathful: he rages and roars and foams, -- let that tall rock be my antagonist, and let me exercise my oratory like him of athens who bandied words with an angry sea and got the victory.
my maiden-speech is a triumphant one, for the gentleman in seaweed has nothing to offer in reply save an immitigable roaring.
his voice, indeed, will be heard a long while after mine is hushed.
once more i shout and the cliffs reverberate the sound.
oh what joy for a shy man to feel himself so solitary that he may lift his voice to its highest pitch without hazard of a listener!
-- but hush!
be silent, my good friend!
whence comes that stifled laughter?
it was musical, but how should there be such music in my solitude?
looking upward, i catch a glimpse of three faces peeping from the summit of the cliff like angels between me and their native sky.
-- ah, fair girls!
you may make yourself merry at my eloquence, but it was my turn to smile when i saw your white feet in the pool.
let us keep each other's secrets.
the sunshine has now passed from my hermitage, except a gleam upon the sand just where it meets the sea.
a crowd of gloomy fantasies will come and haunt me if i tarry longer here in the darkening twilight of these gray rocks.
this is a dismal place in some moods of the mind.
climb we, therefore, the precipice, and pause a moment on the brink gazing down into that hollow chamber by the deep where we have been what few can be -- sufficient to our own pastime.
yes, say the word outright: self-sufficient to our own happiness.
how lonesome looks the recess now, and dreary too, like all other spots where happiness has been!
there lies my shadow in the departing sunshine with its head upon the sea.
i will pelt it with pebbles.
a hit!
a hit!
i clap my hands in triumph, and see my shadow clapping its unreal hands and claiming the triumph for itself.
what a simpleton must i have been all day, since my own shadow makes a mock of my fooleries!
homeward!
homeward!
it is time to hasten home.
it is time -- it is time; for as the sun sinks over the western wave the sea grows melancholy and the surf has a saddened tone.
the distant sails appear astray and not of earth in their remoteness amid the desolate waste.
my spirit wanders forth afar, but finds no resting-place and comes shivering back.
it is time that i were hence.
but grudge me not the day that has been spent in seclusion which yet was not solitude, since the great sea has been my companion, and the little sea-birds my friends, and the wind has told me his secrets, and airy shapes have flitted around me in my hermitage.
such companionship works an effect upon a man's character as if he had been admitted to the society of creatures that are not mortal.
and when, at noontide, i tread the crowded streets, the influence of this day will still be felt; so that i shall walk among men kindly and as a brother, with affection and sympathy, but yet shall not melt into the indistinguishable mass of humankind.
i shall think my own thoughts and feel my own emotions and possess my individuality unviolated.
but it is good at the eve of such a day to feel and know that there are men and women in the world.
that feeling and that knowledge are mine at this moment, for on the shore, far below me, the fishing-party have landed from their skiff and are cooking their scaly prey by a fire of driftwood kindled in the angle of two rude rocks.
the three visionary girls are likewise there.
in the deepening twilight, while the surf is dashing near their hearth, the ruddy gleam of the fire throws a strange air of comfort over the wild cove, bestrewn as it is with pebbles and seaweed and exposed to the "melancholy main."
moreover, as the smoke climbs up the precipice, it brings with it a savory smell from a pan of fried fish and a black kettle of chowder, and reminds me that my dinner was nothing but bread and water and a tuft of samphire and an apple.
methinks the party might find room for another guest at that flat rock which serves them for a table; and if spoons be scarce, i could pick up a clam-shell on the beach.
they see me now; and -- the blessing of a hungry man upon him!
-- one of them sends up a hospitable shout: "halloo, sir solitary!
come down and sup with us!"
the ladies wave their handkerchiefs.
can i decline?
no; and be it owned, after all my solitary joys, that this is the sweetest moment of a day by the seashore.
edward fane's rosebud.
there is hardly a more difficult exercise of fancy than, while gazing at a figure of melancholy age, to recreate its youth, and without entirely obliterating the identity of form and features to restore those graces which time has snatched away.
some old people -- especially women -- so age-worn and woeful are they, seem never to have been young and gay.
it is easier to conceive that such gloomy phantoms were sent into the world as withered and decrepit as we behold them now, with sympathies only for pain and grief, to watch at death-beds and weep at funerals.
even the sable garments of their widowhood appear essential to their existence; all their attributes combine to render them darksome shadows creeping strangely amid the sunshine of human life.
yet it is no unprofitable task to take one of these doleful creatures and set fancy resolutely at work to brighten the dim eye, and darken the silvery locks, and paint the ashen cheek with rose-color, and repair the shrunken and crazy form, till a dewy maiden shall be seen in the old matron's elbow-chair.
the miracle being wrought, then let the years roll back again, each sadder than the last, and the whole weight of age and sorrow settle down upon the youthful figure.
wrinkles and furrows, the handwriting of time, may thus be deciphered and found to contain deep lessons of thought and feeling.
such profit might be derived by a skilful observer from my much-respected friend the widow toothaker, a nurse of great repute who has breathed the atmosphere of sick-chambers and dying-breaths these forty years.
see!
she sits cowering over her lonesome hearth with her gown and upper petticoat drawn upward, gathering thriftily into her person the whole warmth of the fire which now at nightfall begins to dissipate the autumnal chill of her chamber.
the blaze quivers capriciously in front, alternately glimmering into the deepest chasms of her wrinkled visage, and then permitting a ghostly dimness to mar the outlines of her venerable figure.
and nurse toothaker holds a teaspoon in her right hand with which to stir up the contents of a tumbler in her left, whence steams a vapory fragrance abhorred of temperance societies.
now she sips, now stirs, now sips again.
her sad old heart has need to be revived by the rich infusion of geneva which is mixed half and half with hot water in the tumbler.
all day long she has been sitting by a death-pillow, and quitted it for her home only when the spirit of her patient left the clay and went homeward too.
but now are her melancholy meditations cheered and her torpid blood warmed and her shoulders lightened of at least twenty ponderous years by a draught from the true fountain of youth in a case-bottle.
it is strange that men should deem that fount a fable, when its liquor fills more bottles than the congress-water.
-- sip it again, good nurse, and see whether a second draught will not take off another score of years, and perhaps ten more, and show us in your high-backed chair the blooming damsel who plighted troths with edward fane.
-- get you gone, age and widowhood!
-- come back, unwedded youth!
-- but, alas!
the charm will not work.
in spite of fancy's most potent spell, i can see only an old dame cowering over the fire, a picture of decay and desolation, while the november blast roars at her in the chimney and fitful showers rush suddenly against the window.
yet there was a time when rose grafton -- such was the pretty maiden-name of nurse toothaker -- possessed beauty that would have gladdened this dim and dismal chamber as with sunshine.
it won for her the heart of edward fane, who has since made so great a figure in the world and is now a grand old gentleman with powdered hair and as gouty as a lord.
these early lovers thought to have walked hand in hand through life.
they had wept together for edward's little sister mary, whom rose tended in her sickness -- partly because she was the sweetest child that ever lived or died, but more for love of him.
she was but three years old.
being such an infant, death could not embody his terrors in her little corpse; nor did rose fear to touch the dead child's brow, though chill, as she curled the silken hair around it, nor to take her tiny hand and clasp a flower within its fingers.
afterward, when she looked through the pane of glass in the coffin-lid and beheld mary's face, it seemed not so much like death or life as like a wax-work wrought into the perfect image of a child asleep and dreaming of its mother's smile.
rose thought her too fair a thing to be hidden in the grave, and wondered that an angel did not snatch up little mary's coffin and bear the slumbering babe to heaven and bid her wake immortal.
but when the sods were laid on little mary, the heart of rose was troubled.
she shuddered at the fantasy that in grasping the child's cold fingers her virgin hand had exchanged a first greeting with mortality and could never lose the earthy taint.
how many a greeting since!
but as yet she was a fair young girl with the dewdrops of fresh feeling in her bosom, and, instead of "rose" -- which seemed too mature a name for her half-opened beauty -- her lover called her "rosebud."
the rosebud was destined never to bloom for edward fane.
his mother was a rich and haughty dame with all the aristocratic prejudices of colonial times.
she scorned rose grafton's humble parentage and caused her son to break his faith, though, had she let him choose, he would have prized his rosebud above the richest diamond.
the lovers parted, and have seldom met again.
both may have visited the same mansions, but not at the same time, for one was bidden to the festal hall and the other to the sick-chamber; he was the guest of pleasure and prosperity, and she of anguish.
rose, after their separation, was long secluded within the dwelling of mr. toothaker, whom she married with the revengeful hope of breaking her false lover's heart.
she went to her bridegroom's arms with bitterer tears, they say, than young girls ought to shed at the threshold of the bridal-chamber.
yet, though her husband's head was getting gray and his heart had been chilled with an autumnal frost, rose soon began to love him, and wondered at her own conjugal affection.
he was all she had to love; there were no children.
in a year or two poor mr. toothaker was visited with a wearisome infirmity which settled in his joints and made him weaker than a child.
he crept forth about his business, and came home at dinner-time and eventide, not with the manly tread that gladdens a wife's heart, but slowly, feebly, jotting down each dull footstep with a melancholy dub of his staff.
we must pardon his pretty wife if she sometimes blushed to own him.
her visitors, when they heard him coming, looked for the appearance of some old, old man, but he dragged his nerveless limbs into the parlor -- and there was mr. toothaker!
the disease increasing, he never went into the sunshine save with a staff in his right hand and his left on his wife's shoulder, bearing heavily downward like a dead man's hand.
thus, a slender woman still looking maiden-like, she supported his tall, broad-chested frame along the pathway of their little garden, and plucked the roses for her gray-haired husband, and spoke soothingly as to an infant.
his mind was palsied with his body; its utmost energy was peevishness.
in a few months more she helped him up the staircase with a pause at every step, and a longer one upon the landing-place, and a heavy glance behind as he crossed the threshold of his chamber.
he knew, poor man!
that the precincts of those four walls would thenceforth be his world -- his world, his home, his tomb, at once a dwelling-and a burial-place -- till he were borne to a darker and a narrower one.
but rose was with him in the tomb.
he leaned upon her in his daily passage from the bed to the chair by the fireside, and back again from the weary chair to the joyless bed -- his bed and hers, their marriage-bed -- till even this short journey ceased and his head lay all day upon the pillow and hers all night beside it.
how long poor mr. toothaker was kept in misery!
death seemed to draw near the door, and often to lift the latch, and sometimes to thrust his ugly skull into the chamber, nodding to rose and pointing at her husband, but still delayed to enter.
""this bedridden wretch can not escape me," quoth death.
""i will go forth and run a race with the swift and fight a battle with the strong, and come back for toothaker at my leisure."
oh, when the deliverer came so near, in the dull anguish of her worn-out sympathies did she never long to cry, "death, come in"?
but no; we have no right to ascribe such a wish to our friend rose.
she never failed in a wife's duty to her poor sick husband.
she murmured not though a glimpse of the sunny sky was as strange to her as him, nor answered peevishly though his complaining accents roused her from sweetest dream only to share his wretchedness.
he knew her faith, yet nourished a cankered jealousy; and when the slow disease had chilled all his heart save one lukewarm spot which death's frozen fingers were searching for, his last words were, "what would my rose have done for her first love, if she has been so true and kind to a sick old man like me?"
and then his poor soul crept away and left the body lifeless, though hardly more so than for years before, and rose a widow, though in truth it was the wedding-night that widowed her.
she felt glad, it must be owned, when mr. toothaker was buried, because his corpse had retained such a likeness to the man half alive that she hearkened for the sad murmur of his voice bidding her shift his pillow.
but all through the next winter, though the grave had held him many a month, she fancied him calling from that cold bed, "rose, rose!
come put a blanket on my feet!"
so now the rosebud was the widow toothaker.
her troubles had come early, and, tedious as they seemed, had passed before all her bloom was fled.
she was still fair enough to captivate a bachelor, or with a widow's cheerful gravity she might have won a widower, stealing into his heart in the very guise of his dead wife.
but the widow toothaker had no such projects.
by her watchings and continual cares her heart had become knit to her first husband with a constancy which changed its very nature and made her love him for his infirmities, and infirmity for his sake.
when the palsied old man was gone, even her early lover could not have supplied his place.
she had dwelt in a sick-chamber and been the companion of a half-dead wretch till she could scarcely breathe in a free air and felt ill at ease with the healthy and the happy.
she missed the fragrance of the doctor's stuff.
she walked the chamber with a noiseless footfall.
if visitors came in, she spoke in soft and soothing accents, and was startled and shocked by their loud voices.
often in the lonesome evening she looked timorously from the fireside to the bed, with almost a hope of recognizing a ghastly face upon the pillow.
then went her thoughts sadly to her husband's grave.
if one impatient throb had wronged him in his lifetime, if she had secretly repined because her buoyant youth was imprisoned with his torpid age, if ever while slumbering beside him a treacherous dream had admitted another into her heart, -- yet the sick man had been preparing a revenge which the dead now claimed.
on his painful pillow he had cast a spell around her; his groans and misery had proved more captivating charms than gayety and youthful grace; in his semblance disease itself had won the rosebud for a bride, nor could his death dissolve the nuptials.
by that indissoluble bond she had gained a home in every sick-chamber, and nowhere else; there were her brethren and sisters; thither her husband summoned her with that voice which had seemed to issue from the grave of toothaker.
at length she recognized her destiny.
we have beheld her as the maid, the wife, the widow; now we see her in a separate and insulated character: she was in all her attributes nurse toothaker.
and nurse toothaker alone, with her own shrivelled lips, could make known her experience in that capacity.
what a history might she record of the great sicknesses in which she has gone hand in hand with the exterminating angel!
she remembers when the small-pox hoisted a red banner on almost every house along the street.
she has witnessed when the typhus fever swept off a whole household, young and old, all but a lonely mother, who vainly shrieked to follow her last loved one.
where would be death's triumph if none lived to weep?
she can speak of strange maladies that have broken out as if spontaneously, but were found to have been imported from foreign lands with rich silks and other merchandise, the costliest portion of the cargo.
and once, she recollects, the people died of what was considered a new pestilence, till the doctors traced it to the ancient grave of a young girl who thus caused many deaths a hundred years after her own burial.
strange that such black mischief should lurk in a maiden's grave!
she loves to tell how strong men fight with fiery fevers, utterly refusing to give up their breath, and how consumptive virgins fade out of the world, scarcely reluctant, as if their lovers were wooing them to a far country.
-- tell us, thou fearful woman; tell us the death-secrets.
fain would i search out the meaning of words faintly gasped with intermingled sobs and broken sentences half-audibly spoken between earth and the judgment-seat.
an awful woman!
she is the patron-saint of young physicians and the bosom-friend of old ones.
in the mansions where she enters the inmates provide themselves black garments; the coffin-maker follows her, and the bell tolls as she comes away from the threshold.
death himself has met her at so many a bedside that he puts forth his bony hand to greet nurse toothaker.
she is an awful woman.
and oh, is it conceivable that this handmaid of human infirmity and affliction -- so darkly stained, so thoroughly imbued with all that is saddest in the doom of mortals -- can ever again be bright and gladsome even though bathed in the sunshine of eternity?
by her long communion with woe has she not forfeited her inheritance of immortal joy?
does any germ of bliss survive within her?
hark!
an eager knocking st nurse toothaker's door.
she starts from her drowsy reverie, sets aside the empty tumbler and teaspoon, and lights a lamp at the dim embers of the fire.
""rap, rap, rap!"
again, and she hurries adown the staircase, wondering which of her friends can be at death's door now, since there is such an earnest messenger at nurse toothaker's.
again the peal resounds just as her hand is on the lock.
""be quick, nurse toothaker!"
cries a man on the doorstep.
""old general fane is taken with the gout in his stomach and has sent for you to watch by his death-bed.
make haste, for there is no time to lose."
-- "fane!
edward fane!
and has he sent for me at last?
i am ready.
i will get on my cloak and begone.
so," adds the sable-gowned, ashen-visaged, funereal old figure, "edward fane remembers his rosebud."
our question is answered.
there is a germ of bliss within her.
her long-hoarded constancy, her memory of the bliss that was remaining amid the gloom of her after-life like a sweet-smelling flower in a coffin, is a symbol that all may be renewed.
in some happier clime the rosebud may revive again with all the dewdrops in its bosom.
the threefold destiny.
a faëry legend.
i have sometimes produced a singular and not unpleasing effect, so far as my own mind was concerned, by imagining a train of incidents in which the spirit and mechanism of the faëry legend should be combined with the characters and manners of familiar life.
in the little tale which follows a subdued tinge of the wild and wonderful is thrown over a sketch of new england personages and scenery, yet, it is hoped, without entirely obliterating the sober hues of nature.
rather than a story of events claiming to be real, it may be considered as an allegory such as the writers of the last century would have expressed in the shape of an eastern tale, but to which i have endeavored to give a more lifelike warmth than could be infused into those fanciful productions.
in the twilight of a summer eve a tall dark figure over which long and remote travel had thrown an outlandish aspect was entering a village not in "faëry londe," but within our own familiar boundaries.
the staff on which this traveller leaned had been his companion from the spot where it grew in the jungles of hindostan; the hat that overshadowed his sombre brow, had shielded him from the suns of spain; but his cheek had been blackened by the red-hot wind of an arabian desert and had felt the frozen breath of an arctic region.
long sojourning amid wild and dangerous men, he still wore beneath his vest the ataghan which he had once struck into the throat of a turkish robber.
in every foreign clime he had lost something of his new england characteristics, and perhaps from every people he had unconsciously borrowed a new peculiarity; so that when the world-wanderer again trod the street of his native village it is no wonder that he passed unrecognized, though exciting the gaze and curiosity of all.
yet, as his arm casually touched that of a young woman who was wending her way to an evening lecture, she started and almost uttered a cry.
""ralph cranfield!"
was the name that she half articulated.
""can that be my old playmate faith egerton?"
thought the traveller, looking round at her figure, but without pausing.
ralph cranfield from his youth upward had felt himself marked out for a high destiny.
he had imbibed the idea -- we say not whether it were revealed to him by witchcraft or in a dream of prophecy, or that his brooding fancy had palmed its own dictates upon him as the oracles of a sybil, but he had imbibed the idea, and held it firmest among his articles of faith -- that three marvellous events of his life were to be confirmed to him by three signs.
the first of these three fatalities, and perhaps the one on which his youthful imagination had dwelt most fondly, was the discovery of the maid who alone of all the maids on earth could make him happy by her love.
he was to roam around the world till he should meet a beautiful woman wearing on her bosom a jewel in the shape of a heart -- whether of pearl or ruby or emerald or carbuncle or a changeful opal, or perhaps a priceless diamond, ralph cranfield little cared, so long as it were a heart of one peculiar shape.
on encountering this lovely stranger he was bound to address her thus: "maiden, i have brought you a heavy heart.
may i rest its weight on you?"
and if she were his fated bride -- if their kindred souls were destined to form a union here below which all eternity should only bind more closely -- she would reply, with her finger on the heart-shaped jewel, "this token which i have worn so long is the assurance that you may."
and, secondly, ralph cranfield had a firm belief that there was a mighty treasure hidden somewhere in the earth of which the burial-place would be revealed to none but him.
when his feet should press upon the mysterious spot, there would be a hand before him pointing downward -- whether carved of marble or hewn in gigantic dimensions on the side of a rocky precipice, or perchance a hand of flame in empty air, he could not tell, but at least he would discern a hand, the forefinger pointing downward, and beneath it the latin word" effode" -- "dig!"
and, digging thereabouts, the gold in coin or ingots, the precious stones, or of whatever else the treasure might consist, would be certain to reward his toil.
the third and last of the miraculous events in the life of this high-destined man was to be the attainment of extensive influence and sway over his fellow-creatures.
whether he were to be a king and founder of a hereditary throne, or the victorious leader of a people contending for their freedom, or the apostle of a purified and regenerated faith, was left for futurity to show.
as messengers of the sign by which ralph cranfield might recognize the summons, three venerable men were to claim audience of him.
the chief among them -- a dignified and majestic person arrayed, it may be supposed, in the flowing garments of an ancient sage -- would be the bearer of a wand or prophet's rod.
with this wand or rod or staff the venerable sage would trace a certain figure in the air, and then proceed to make known his heaven-instructed message, which, if obeyed, must lead to glorious results.
with this proud fate before him, in the flush of his imaginative youth ralph cranfield had set forth to seek the maid, the treasure, and the venerable sage with his gift of extended empire.
and had he found them?
alas!
it was not with the aspect of a triumphant man who had achieved a nobler destiny than all his fellows, but rather with the gloom of one struggling against peculiar and continual adversity, that he now passed homeward to his mother's cottage.
he had come back, but only for a time, to lay aside the pilgrim's staff, trusting that his weary manhood would regain somewhat of the elasticity of youth in the spot where his threefold fate had been foreshown him.
there had been few changes in the village, for it was not one of those thriving places where a year's prosperity makes more than the havoc of a century's decay, but, like a gray hair in a young man's head, an antiquated little town full of old maids and aged elms and moss-grown dwellings.
few seemed to be the changes here.
the drooping elms, indeed, had a more majestic spread, the weather-blackened houses were adorned with a denser thatch of verdant moss, and doubtless there were a few more gravestones in the burial-ground inscribed with names that had once been familiar in the village street; yet, summing up all the mischief that ten years had wrought, it seemed scarcely more than if ralph cranfield had gone forth that very morning and dreamed a day-dream till the twilight, and then turned back again.
but his heart grew cold because the village did not remember him as he remembered the village.
""here is the change," sighed he, striking his hand upon his breast.
""who is this man of thought and care, weary with world-wandering and heavy with disappointed hopes?
the youth returns not who went forth so joyously."
and now ralph cranfield was at his mother's gate, in front of the small house where the old lady, with slender but sufficient means, had kept herself comfortable during her son's long absence.
admitting himself within the enclosure, he leaned against a great old tree, trifling with his own impatience as people often do in those intervals when years are summed into a moment.
he took a minute survey of the dwelling -- its windows brightened with the sky-gleam, its doorway with the half of a millstone for a step, and the faintly-traced path waving thence to the gate.
he made friends again with his childhood's friend -- the old tree against which he leaned -- and, glancing his eye down its trunk, beheld something that excited a melancholy smile.
it was a half-obliterated inscription -- the latin word" effode" -- which he remembered to have carved in the bark of the tree with a whole day's toil when he had first begun to muse about his exalted destiny.
it might be accounted a rather singular coincidence that the bark just above the inscription had put forth an excrescence shaped not unlike a hand, with the forefinger pointing obliquely at the word of fate.
such, at least, was its appearance in the dusky light.
""now, a credulous man," said ralph cranfield, carelessly, to himself, "might suppose that the treasure which i have sought round the world lies buried, after all, at the very door of my mother's dwelling.
that would be a jest indeed."
more he thought not about the matter, for now the door was opened and an elderly woman appeared on the threshold, peering into the dusk to discover who it might be that had intruded on her premises and was standing in the shadow of her tree.
it was ralph cranfield's mother.
pass we over their greeting, and leave the one to her joy and the other to his rest -- if quiet rest he found.
but when morning broke, he arose with a troubled brow, for his sleep and his wakefulness had alike been full of dreams.
all the fervor was rekindled with which he had burned of yore to unravel the threefold mystery of his fate.
the crowd of his early visions seemed to have awaited him beneath his mother's roof and thronged riotously around to welcome his return.
in the well-remembered chamber, on the pillow where his infancy had slumbered, he had passed a wilder night than ever in an arab tent or when he had reposed his head in the ghastly shades of a haunted forest.
a shadowy maid had stolen to his bedside and laid her finger on the scintillating heart; a hand of flame had glowed amid the darkness, pointing downward to a mystery within the earth; a hoary sage had waved his prophetic wand and beckoned the dreamer onward to a chair of state.
the same phantoms, though fainter in the daylight, still flitted about, the cottage and mingled among the crowd of familiar faces that were drawn thither by the news of ralph cranfield's return to bid him welcome for his mother's sake.
there they found him, a tall, dark, stately man of foreign aspect, courteous in demeanor and mild of speech, yet with an abstracted eye which seemed often to snatch a glance at the invisible.
meantime, the widow cranfield went bustling about the house full of joy that she again had somebody to love and be careful of, and for whom she might vex and tease herself with the petty troubles of daily life.
it was nearly noon when she looked forth from the door and descried three personages of note coming along the street through the hot sunshine and the masses of elm-tree shade.
at length they reached her gate and undid the latch.
""see, ralph!"
exclaimed she, with maternal pride; "here is squire hawkwood and the two other selectmen coming on purpose to see you.
now, do tell them a good long story about what you have seen in foreign parts."
the foremost of the three visitors, squire hawkwood, was a very pompous but excellent old gentleman, the head and prime-mover in all the affairs of the village, and universally acknowledged to be one of the sagest men on earth.
he wore, according to a fashion even then becoming antiquated, a three-cornered hat, and carried a silver-headed cane the use of which seemed to be rather for flourishing in the air than for assisting the progress of his legs.
his two companions were elderly and respectable yeomen who, retaining an ante-revolutionary reverence for rank and hereditary wealth, kept a little in the squire's rear.
as they approached along the pathway ralph cranfield sat in an oaken elbow-chair half unconsciously gazing at the three visitors and enveloping their homely figures in the misty romance that pervaded his mental world.
""here," thought he, smiling at the conceit -- "here come three elderly personages, and the first of the three is a venerable sage with a staff.
what if this embassy should bring me the message of my fate?"
while squire hawkwood and his colleagues entered, ralph rose from his seat and advanced a few steps to receive them, and his stately figure and dark countenance as he bent courteously toward his guests had a natural dignity contrasting well with the bustling importance of the squire.
the old gentleman, according to invariable custom, gave an elaborate preliminary flourish with his cane in the air, then removed his three-cornered hat in order to wipe his brow, and finally proceeded to make known his errand.
""my colleagues and myself," began the squire, "are burdened with momentous duties, being jointly selectmen of this village.
our minds for the space of three days past have been laboriously bent on the selection of a suitable person to fill a most important office and take upon himself a charge and rule which, wisely considered, may be ranked no lower than those of kings and potentates.
and whereas you, our native townsman, are of good natural intellect and well cultivated by foreign travel, and that certain vagaries and fantasies of your youth are doubtless long ago corrected, -- taking all these matters, i say, into due consideration, we are of opinion that providence hath sent you hither at this juncture for our very purpose."
during this harangue cranfield gazed fixedly at the speaker, as if he beheld something mysterious and unearthly in his pompous little figure, and as if the squire had worn the flowing robes of an ancient sage instead of a square-skirted coat, flapped waistcoat, velvet breeches and silk stockings.
nor was his wonder without sufficient cause, for the flourish of the squire's staff, marvellous to relate, had described precisely the signal in the air which was to ratify the message of the prophetic sage whom cranfield had sought around the world.
""and what," inquired ralph cranfield, with a tremor in his voice -- "what may this office be which is to equal me with kings and potentates?"
""no less than instructor of our village school," answered squire hawkwood, "the office being now vacant by the death of the venerable master whitaker after a fifty years" incumbency."
""i will consider of your proposal," replied ralph cranfield, hurriedly, "and will make known my decision within three days."
after a few more words the village dignitary and his companions took their leave.
but to cranfield's fancy their images were still present, and became more and more invested with the dim awfulness of figures which had first appeared to him in a dream, and afterward had shown themselves in his waking moments, assuming homely aspects among familiar things.
his mind dwelt upon the features of the squire till they grew confused with those of the visionary sage and one appeared but the shadow of the other.
the same visage, he now thought, had looked forth upon him from the pyramid of cheops; the same form had beckoned to him among the colonnades of the alhambra; the same figure had mistily revealed itself through the ascending steam of the great geyser.
at every effort of his memory he recognized some trait of the dreamy messenger of destiny in this pompous, bustling, self-important, little-great man of the village.
amid such musings ralph cranfield sat all day in the cottage, scarcely hearing and vaguely answering his mother's thousand questions about his travels and adventures.
at sunset he roused himself to take a stroll, and, passing the aged elm tree, his eye was again caught by the semblance of a hand pointing downward at the half-obliterated inscription.
as cranfield walked down the street of the village the level sunbeams threw his shadow far before him, and he fancied that, as his shadow walked among distant objects, so had there been a presentiment stalking in advance of him throughout his life.
and when he drew near each object over which his tall shadow had preceded him, still it proved to be one of the familiar recollections of his infancy and youth.
every crook in the pathway was remembered.
even the more transitory characteristics of the scene were the same as in by-gone days.
a company of cows were grazing on the grassy roadside, and refreshed him with their fragrant breath.
""it is sweeter," thought he, "than the perfume which was wafted to our ship from the spice islands."
the round little figure of a child rolled from a doorway and lay laughing almost beneath cranfield's feet.
the dark and stately man stooped down, and, lifting the infant, restored him to his mother's arms.
""the children," said he to himself, and sighed and smiled -- "the children are to be my charge."
and while a flow of natural feeling gushed like a well-spring in his heart he came to a dwelling which he could nowise forbear to enter.
a sweet voice which seemed to come from a deep and tender soul was warbling a plaintive little air within.
he bent his head and passed through the lowly door.
as his foot sounded upon the threshold a young woman advanced from the dusky interior of the house, at first hastily, and then with a more uncertain step, till they met face to face.
there was a singular contrast in their two figures -- he dark and picturesque, one who had battled with the world, whom all suns had shone upon and whom all winds had blown on a varied course; she neat, comely and quiet -- quiet even in her agitation -- as if all her emotions had been subdued to the peaceful tenor of her life.
yet their faces, all unlike as they were, had an expression that seemed not so alien -- a glow of kindred feeling flashing upward anew from half-extinguished embers.
""you are welcome home," said faith egerton.
but cranfield did not immediately answer, for his eye had, been caught by an ornament in the shape of a heart which faith wore as a brooch upon her bosom.
the material was the ordinary white quartz, and he recollected having himself shaped it out of one of those indian arrowheads which are so often found in the ancient haunts of the red men.
it was precisely on the pattern of that worn by the visionary maid.
when cranfield departed on his shadowy search, he had bestowed this brooch, in a gold setting, as a parting gift to faith egerton.
""so, faith, you have kept the heart?"
said he, at length.
""yes," said she, blushing deeply; then, more gayly, "and what else have you brought me from beyond the sea?"
""faith," replied ralph cranfield, uttering the fated words by an uncontrollable impulse, "i have brought you nothing but a heavy heart.
may i rest its weight on you?"
""this token which i have worn so long," said faith, laying her tremulous finger on the heart, "is the assurance that you may."
""faith, faith!"
cried cranfield, clasping her in his arms; "you have interpreted my wild and weary dream!"
yes, the wild dreamer was awake at last.
to find the mysterious treasure he was to till the earth around his mother's dwelling and reap its products; instead of warlike command or regal or religious sway, he was to rule over the village children; and now the visionary maid had faded from his fancy, and in her place he saw the playmate of his childhood.
would all who cherish such wild wishes but look around them, they would oftenest find their sphere of duty, of prosperity and happiness, within those precincts and in that station where providence itself has cast their lot.
_book_title_: oscar_wilde___the_happy_prince_and_other_tales.txt.out
high above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the happy prince.
he was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.
he was very much admired indeed.
""he is as beautiful as a weathercock," remarked one of the town councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; "only not quite so useful," he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.
""why ca n't you be like the happy prince?"
asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon.
""the happy prince never dreams of crying for anything."
""i am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy," muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.
""he looks just like an angel," said the charity children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores.
""how do you know?"
said the mathematical master, "you have never seen one."
""ah!
but we have, in our dreams," answered the children; and the mathematical master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children dreaming.
one night there flew over the city a little swallow.
his friends had gone away to egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful reed.
he had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.
""shall i love you?"
said the swallow, who liked to come to the point at once, and the reed made him a low bow.
so he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples.
this was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.
""it is a ridiculous attachment," twittered the other swallows; "she has no money, and far too many relations"; and indeed the river was quite full of reeds.
then, when the autumn came they all flew away.
after they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady - love.
""she has no conversation," he said, "and i am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind."
and certainly, whenever the wind blew, the reed made the most graceful curtseys.
""i admit that she is domestic," he continued, "but i love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should love travelling also."
""will you come away with me?"
he said finally to her; but the reed shook her head, she was so attached to her home.
""you have been trifling with me," he cried.
""i am off to the pyramids.
good-bye!"
and he flew away.
all day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city.
""where shall i put up?"
he said; "i hope the town has made preparations."
then he saw the statue on the tall column.
""i will put up there," he cried; "it is a fine position, with plenty of fresh air."
so he alighted just between the feet of the happy prince.
""i have a golden bedroom," he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him.
""what a curious thing!"
he cried; "there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining.
the climate in the north of europe is really dreadful.
the reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness."
then another drop fell.
""what is the use of a statue if it can not keep the rain off?"
he said; "i must look for a good chimney-pot," and he determined to fly away.
but before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw -- ah!
what did he see?
the eyes of the happy prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks.
his face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little swallow was filled with pity.
""who are you?"
he said.
""i am the happy prince."
""why are you weeping then?"
asked the swallow; "you have quite drenched me."
""when i was alive and had a human heart," answered the statue, "i did not know what tears were, for i lived in the palace of sans - souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter.
in the daytime i played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening i led the dance in the great hall.
round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but i never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful.
my courtiers called me the happy prince, and happy indeed i was, if pleasure be happiness.
so i lived, and so i died.
and now that i am dead they have set me up here so high that i can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet i can not chose but weep."
""what!
is he not solid gold?"
said the swallow to himself.
he was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.
""far away," continued the statue in a low musical voice, "far away in a little street there is a poor house.
one of the windows is open, and through it i can see a woman seated at a table.
her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress.
she is embroidering passion - flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the queen's maids-of - honour to wear at the next court-ball.
in a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill.
he has a fever, and is asking for oranges.
his mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying.
swallow, swallow, little swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt?
my feet are fastened to this pedestal and i can not move."
""i am waited for in egypt," said the swallow.
""my friends are flying up and down the nile, and talking to the large lotus - flowers.
soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great king.
the king is there himself in his painted coffin.
he is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices.
round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered leaves."
""swallow, swallow, little swallow," said the prince, "will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger?
the boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad."
""i do n't think i like boys," answered the swallow.
""last summer, when i was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller's sons, who were always throwing stones at me.
they never hit me, of course; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, i come of a family famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect."
but the happy prince looked so sad that the little swallow was sorry.
""it is very cold here," he said; "but i will stay with you for one night, and be your messenger."
""thank you, little swallow," said the prince.
so the swallow picked out the great ruby from the prince's sword, and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.
he passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured.
he passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing.
a beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover.
""how wonderful the stars are," he said to her, "and how wonderful is the power of love!"
""i hope my dress will be ready in time for the state-ball," she answered; "i have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy."
he passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships.
he passed over the ghetto, and saw the old jews bargaining with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales.
at last he came to the poor house and looked in.
the boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired.
in he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman's thimble.
then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his wings.
""how cool i feel," said the boy, "i must be getting better"; and he sank into a delicious slumber.
then the swallow flew back to the happy prince, and told him what he had done.
""it is curious," he remarked, "but i feel quite warm now, although it is so cold."
""that is because you have done a good action," said the prince.
and the little swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep.
thinking always made him sleepy.
when day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath.
""what a remarkable phenomenon," said the professor of ornithology as he was passing over the bridge.
""a swallow in winter!"
and he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper.
every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that they could not understand.
""to-night i go to egypt," said the swallow, and he was in high spirits at the prospect.
he visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple.
wherever he went the sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, "what a distinguished stranger!"
so he enjoyed himself very much.
when the moon rose he flew back to the happy prince.
""have you any commissions for egypt?"
he cried; "i am just starting."
""swallow, swallow, little swallow," said the prince, "will you not stay with me one night longer?"
""i am waited for in egypt," answered the swallow.
""to-morrow my friends will fly up to the second cataract.
the river-horse couches there among the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the god memnon.
all night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent.
at noon the yellow lions come down to the water's edge to drink.
they have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.
""swallow, swallow, little swallow," said the prince, "far away across the city i see a young man in a garret.
he is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets.
his hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes.
he is trying to finish a play for the director of the theatre, but he is too cold to write any more.
there is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint."
""i will wait with you one night longer," said the swallow, who really had a good heart.
""shall i take him another ruby?"
""alas!
i have no ruby now," said the prince; "my eyes are all that i have left.
they are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of india a thousand years ago.
pluck out one of them and take it to him.
he will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play."
""dear prince," said the swallow, "i can not do that"; and he began to weep.
""swallow, swallow, little swallow," said the prince, "do as i command you."
so the swallow plucked out the prince's eye, and flew away to the student's garret.
it was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof.
through this he darted, and came into the room.
the young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird's wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.
""i am beginning to be appreciated," he cried; "this is from some great admirer.
now i can finish my play," and he looked quite happy.
the next day the swallow flew down to the harbour.
he sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes.
""heave a-hoy!"
they shouted as each chest came up.
""i am going to egypt"!
cried the swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the happy prince.
""i am come to bid you good-bye," he cried.
""swallow, swallow, little swallow," said the prince, "will you not stay with me one night longer?"
""it is winter," answered the swallow, "and the chill snow will soon be here.
in egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them.
my companions are building a nest in the temple of baalbec, and the pink and white doves are watching them, and cooing to each other.
dear prince, i must leave you, but i will never forget you, and next spring i will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away.
the ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea."
""in the square below," said the happy prince, "there stands a little match-girl.
she has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled.
her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying.
she has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare.
pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her."
""i will stay with you one night longer," said the swallow, "but i can not pluck out your eye.
you would be quite blind then."
""swallow, swallow, little swallow," said the prince, "do as i command you."
so he plucked out the prince's other eye, and darted down with it.
he swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand.
""what a lovely bit of glass," cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.
then the swallow came back to the prince.
""you are blind now," he said, "so i will stay with you always."
""no, little swallow," said the poor prince, "you must go away to egypt."
""i will stay with you always," said the swallow, and he slept at the prince's feet.
all the next day he sat on the prince's shoulder, and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands.
he told him of the red ibises, who stand in long rows on the banks of the nile, and catch gold-fish in their beaks; of the sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the king of the mountains of the moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the butterflies.
""dear little swallow," said the prince, "you tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women.
there is no mystery so great as misery.
fly over my city, little swallow, and tell me what you see there."
so the swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates.
he flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets.
under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another's arms to try and keep themselves warm.
""how hungry we are!"
they said.
""you must not lie here," shouted the watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.
then he flew back and told the prince what he had seen.
""i am covered with fine gold," said the prince, "you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy."
leaf after leaf of the fine gold the swallow picked off, till the happy prince looked quite dull and grey.
leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street.
""we have bread now!"
they cried.
then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost.
the streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.
the poor little swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the prince, he loved him too well.
he picked up crumbs outside the baker's door when the baker was not looking and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.
but at last he knew that he was going to die.
he had just strength to fly up to the prince's shoulder once more.
""good-bye, dear prince!"
he murmured, "will you let me kiss your hand?"
""i am glad that you are going to egypt at last, little swallow," said the prince, "you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips, for i love you."
""it is not to egypt that i am going," said the swallow.
""i am going to the house of death.
death is the brother of sleep, is he not?"
and he kissed the happy prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.
at that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken.
the fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two.
it certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.
early the next morning the mayor was walking in the square below in company with the town councillors.
as they passed the column he looked up at the statue: "dear me!
how shabby the happy prince looks!"
he said.
""how shabby indeed!"
cried the town councillors, who always agreed with the mayor; and they went up to look at it.
""the ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer," said the mayor in fact, "he is litttle beter than a beggar!"
""little better than a beggar," said the town councillors.
""and here is actually a dead bird at his feet!"
continued the mayor.
""we must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here."
and the town clerk made a note of the suggestion.
so they pulled down the statue of the happy prince.
""as he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful," said the art professor at the university.
then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the mayor held a meeting of the corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal.
""we must have another statue, of course," he said, "and it shall be a statue of myself."
""of myself," said each of the town councillors, and they quarrelled.
when i last heard of them they were quarrelling still.
""what a strange thing!"
said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry.
""this broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace.
we must throw it away."
so they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead swallow was also lying.
""bring me the two most precious things in the city," said god to one of his angels; and the angel brought him the leaden heart and the dead bird.
""you have rightly chosen," said god, "for in my garden of paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the happy prince shall praise me."
the nightingale and the rose "she said that she would dance with me if i brought her red roses," cried the young student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."
from her nest in the holm-oak tree the nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.
""no red rose in all my garden!"
he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears.
""ah, on what little things does happiness depend!
i have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched."
""here at last is a true lover," said the nightingale.
""night after night have i sung of him, though i knew him not: night after night have i told his story to the stars, and now i see him.
his hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow."
""the prince gives a ball to-morrow night," murmured the young student, "and my love will be of the company.
if i bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn.
if i bring her a red rose, i shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine.
but there is no red rose in my garden, so i shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by.
she will have no heed of me, and my heart will break."
""here indeed is the true lover," said the nightingale.
""what i sing of, he suffers -- what is joy to me, to him is pain.
surely love is a wonderful thing.
it is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals.
pearls and pomegranates can not buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace.
it may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold."
""the musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin.
she will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her.
but with me she will not dance, for i have no red rose to give her"; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.
""why is he weeping?"
asked a little green lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.
""why, indeed?"
said a butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.
""why, indeed?"
whispered a daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.
""he is weeping for a red rose," said the nightingale.
""for a red rose?"
they cried; "how very ridiculous!"
and the little lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.
but the nightingale understood the secret of the student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of love.
suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.
she passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.
in the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
""give me a red rose," she cried, "and i will sing you my sweetest song."
but the tree shook its head.
""my roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain.
but go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."
so the nightingale flew over to the rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.
""give me a red rose," she cried, "and i will sing you my sweetest song."
but the tree shook its head.
""my roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe.
but go to my brother who grows beneath the student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."
so the nightingale flew over to the rose-tree that was growing beneath the student's window.
""give me a red rose," she cried, "and i will sing you my sweetest song."
but the tree shook its head.
""my roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern.
but the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and i shall have no roses at all this year."
""one red rose is all i want," cried the nightingale, "only one red rose!
is there no way by which i can get it?"
""there is away," answered the tree; "but it is so terrible that i dare not tell it to you."
""tell it to me," said the nightingale, "i am not afraid."
""if you want a red rose," said the tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's - blood.
you must sing to me with your breast against a thorn.
all night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine."
""death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the nightingale, "and life is very dear to all.
it is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the sun in his chariot of gold, and the moon in her chariot of pearl.
sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill.
yet love is better than life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?"
so she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.
she swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.
the young student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
""be happy," cried the nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red rose.
i will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's - blood.
all that i ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for love is wiser than philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than power, though he is mighty.
flame - coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body.
his lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense."
the student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.
but the oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.
""sing me one last song," he whispered; "i shall feel very lonely when you are gone."
so the nightingale sang to the oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.
when she had finished her song the student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.
""she has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove -- "that can not be denied to her; but has she got feeling?
i am afraid not.
in fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity.
she would not sacrifice herself for others.
she thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish.
still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice.
what a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good."
and he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.
and when the moon shone in the heavens the nightingale flew to the rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn.
all night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal moon leaned down and listened.
all night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.
she sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl.
and on the top-most spray of the rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song.
pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river -- pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn.
as the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the tree.
but the tree cried to the nightingale to press closer against the thorn.
""press closer, little nightingale," cried the tree, "or the day will come before the rose is finished."
so the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.
and a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride.
but the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a nightingale's heart's - blood can crimson the heart of a rose.
and the tree cried to the nightingale to press closer against the thorn.
""press closer, little nightingale," cried the tree, "or the day will come before the rose is finished."
so the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her.
bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the love that is perfected by death, of the love that dies not in the tomb.
and the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky.
crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.
but the nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes.
fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.
then she gave one last burst of music.
the white moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky.
the red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air.
echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams.
it floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
""look, look!"
cried the tree, "the rose is finished now"; but the nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.
and at noon the student opened his window and looked out.
""why, what a wonderful piece of luck!"
he cried; "here is a red rose!
i have never seen any rose like it in all my life.
it is so beautiful that i am sure it has a long latin name"; and he leaned down and plucked it.
then he put on his hat, and ran up to the professor's house with the rose in his hand.
the daughter of the professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.
""you said that you would dance with me if i brought you a red rose," cried the student.
""here is the reddest rose in all the world.
you will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how i love you."
but the girl frowned.
""i am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides, the chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers."
""well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.
""ungrateful!"
said the girl.
""i tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you?
only a student.
why, i do n't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the chamberlain's nephew has"; and she got up from her chair and went into the house.
""what i a silly thing love is," said the student as he walked away.
""it is not half as useful as logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true.
in fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, i shall go back to philosophy and study metaphysics."
so he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.
the selfish giant every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the giant's garden.
it was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass.
here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit.
the birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them.
""how happy we are here!"
they cried to each other.
one day the giant came back.
he had been to visit his friend the cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years.
after the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was limited, and he determined to return to his own castle.
when he arrived he saw the children playing in the garden.
""what are you doing here?"
he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away.
""my own garden is my own garden," said the giant; "any one can understand that, and i will allow nobody to play in it but myself."
so he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board.
trespassers will be prosecuted he was a very selfish giant.
the poor children had now nowhere to play.
they tried to play on the road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did not like it.
they used to wander round the high wall when their lessons were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside.
""how happy we were there," they said to each other.
then the spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms and little birds.
only in the garden of the selfish giant it was still winter.
the birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children, and the trees forgot to blossom.
once a beautiful flower put its head out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to sleep.
the only people who were pleased were the snow and the frost.
""spring has forgotten this garden," they cried, "so we will live here all the year round."
the snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak, and the frost painted all the trees silver.
then they invited the north wind to stay with them, and he came.
he was wrapped in furs, and he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down.
""this is a delightful spot," he said, "we must ask the hail on a visit."
so the hail came.
every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and round the garden as fast as he could go.
he was dressed in grey, and his breath was like ice.
""i can not understand why the spring is so late in coming," said the selfish giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white garden; "i hope there will be a change in the weather."
but the spring never came, nor the summer.
the autumn gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the giant's garden she gave none.
""he is too selfish," she said.
so it was always winter there, and the north wind, and the hail, and the frost, and the snow danced about through the trees.
one morning the giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music.
it sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the king's musicians passing by.
it was really only a little linnet singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world.
then the hail stopped dancing over his head, and the north wind ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement.
""i believe the spring has come at last," said the giant; and he jumped out of bed and looked out.
what did he see?
he saw a most wonderful sight.
through a little hole in the wall the children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the trees.
in every tree that he could see there was a little child.
and the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the children's heads.
the birds were flying about and twittering with delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and laughing.
it was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter.
it was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy.
he was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly.
the poor tree was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the north wind was blowing and roaring above it.
""climb up!
little boy," said the tree, and it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny.
and the giant's heart melted as he looked out.
""how selfish i have been!"
he said; "now i know why the spring would not come here.
i will put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then i will knock down the wall, and my garden shall be the children's playground for ever and ever."
he was really very sorry for what he had done.
so he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went out into the garden.
but when the children saw him they were so frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again.
only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that he did not see the giant coming.
and the giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree.
and the tree broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the giant's neck, and kissed him.
and the other children, when they saw that the giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came the spring.
""it is your garden now, little children," said the giant, and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall.
and when the people were going to market at twelve o'clock they found the giant playing with the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.
all day long they played, and in the evening they came to the giant to bid him good-bye.
""but where is your little companion?"
he said: "the boy i put into the tree."
the giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.
""we do n't know," answered the children; "he has gone away."
""you must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow," said the giant.
but the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had never seen him before; and the giant felt very sad.
every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with the giant.
but the little boy whom the giant loved was never seen again.
the giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first little friend, and often spoke of him.
""how i would like to see him!"
he used to say.
years went over, and the giant grew very old and feeble.
he could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the children at their games, and admired his garden.
""i have many beautiful flowers," he said; "but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all."
one winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing.
he did not hate the winter now, for he knew that it was merely the spring asleep, and that the flowers were resting.
suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked.
it certainly was a marvellous sight.
in the farthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms.
its branches were all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the little boy he had loved.
downstairs ran the giant in great joy, and out into the garden.
he hastened across the grass, and came near to the child.
and when he came quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, "who hath dared to wound thee?"
for on the palms of the child's hands were the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.
""who hath dared to wound thee?"
cried the giant; "tell me, that i may take my big sword and slay him."
""nay!"
answered the child; "but these are the wounds of love."
""who art thou?"
said the giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he knelt before the little child.
and the child smiled on the giant, and said to him, "you let me play once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is paradise."
and when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.
the devoted friend one morning the old water-rat put his head out of his hole.
he had bright beady eyes and stiff grey whiskers and his tail was like a long bit of black india-rubber.
the little ducks were swimming about in the pond, looking just like a lot of yellow canaries, and their mother, who was pure white with real red legs, was trying to teach them how to stand on their heads in the water.
""you will never be in the best society unless you can stand on your heads," she kept saying to them; and every now and then she showed them how it was done.
but the little ducks paid no attention to her.
they were so young that they did not know what an advantage it is to be in society at all.
""what disobedient children!"
cried the old water-rat; "they really deserve to be drowned."
""nothing of the kind," answered the duck, "every one must make a beginning, and parents can not be too patient."
""ah!
i know nothing about the feelings of parents," said the water - rat; "i am not a family man.
in fact, i have never been married, and i never intend to be.
love is all very well in its way, but friendship is much higher.
indeed, i know of nothing in the world that is either nobler or rarer than a devoted friendship."
""and what, pray, is your idea of the duties of a devoted friend?"
asked a green linnet, who was sitting in a willow-tree hard by, and had overheard the conversation.
""yes, that is just what i want to know," said the duck; and she swam away to the end of the pond, and stood upon her head, in order to give her children a good example.
""what a silly question!"
cried the water-rat.
""i should expect my devoted friend to be devoted to me, of course."
""and what would you do in return?"
said the little bird, swinging upon a silver spray, and flapping his tiny wings.
""i do n't understand you," answered the water-rat.
""let me tell you a story on the subject," said the linnet.
""is the story about me?"
asked the water-rat.
""if so, i will listen to it, for i am extremely fond of fiction."
""it is applicable to you," answered the linnet; and he flew down, and alighting upon the bank, he told the story of the devoted friend.
""once upon a time," said the linnet, "there was an honest little fellow named hans."
""was he very distinguished?"
asked the water-rat.
""no," answered the linnet, "i do n't think he was distinguished at all, except for his kind heart, and his funny round good-humoured face.
he lived in a tiny cottage all by himself, and every day he worked in his garden.
in all the country-side there was no garden so lovely as his.
sweet-william grew there, and gilly-flowers, and shepherds" - purses, and fair-maids of france.
there were damask roses, and yellow roses, lilac crocuses, and gold, purple violets and white.
columbine and ladysmock, marjoram and wild basil, the cowslip and the flower-de-luce, the daffodil and the clove-pink bloomed or blossomed in their proper order as the months went by, one flower taking another flower's place, so that there were always beautiful things to look at, and pleasant odours to smell.
""little hans had a great many friends, but the most devoted friend of all was big hugh the miller.
indeed, so devoted was the rich miller to little hans, that be would never go by his garden without leaning over the wall and plucking a large nosegay, or a handful of sweet herbs, or filling his pockets with plums and cherries if it was the fruit season."
"real friends should have everything in common," the miller used to say, and little hans nodded and smiled, and felt very proud of having a friend with such noble ideas.
""sometimes, indeed, the neighbours thought it strange that the rich miller never gave little hans anything in return, though he had a hundred sacks of flour stored away in his mill, and six milch cows, and a large flock of woolly sheep; but hans never troubled his head about these things, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than to listen to all the wonderful things the miller used to say about the unselfishness of true friendship.
""so little hans worked away in his garden.
during the spring, the summer, and the autumn he was very happy, but when the winter came, and he had no fruit or flowers to bring to the market, he suffered a good deal from cold and hunger, and often had to go to bed without any supper but a few dried pears or some hard nuts.
in the winter, also, he was extremely lonely, as the miller never came to see him then."
"there is no good in my going to see little hans as long as the snow lasts," the miller used to say to his wife, "for when people are in trouble they should be left alone, and not be bothered by visitors.
that at least is my idea about friendship, and i am sure i am right.
so i shall wait till the spring comes, and then i shall pay him a visit, and he will be able to give me a large basket of primroses and that will make him so happy.""
"you are certainly very thoughtful about others," answered the wife, as she sat in her comfortable armchair by the big pinewood fire; "very thoughtful indeed.
it is quite a treat to hear you talk about friendship.
i am sure the clergyman himself could not say such beautiful things as you do, though he does live in a three-storied house, and wear a gold ring on his little finger.""
"but could we not ask little hans up here?"
said the miller's youngest son.
"if poor hans is in trouble i will give him half my porridge, and show him my white rabbits.""
"what a silly boy you are"!
cried the miller;" i really do n't know what is the use of sending you to school.
you seem not to learn anything.
why, if little hans came up here, and saw our warm fire, and our good supper, and our great cask of red wine, he might get envious, and envy is a most terrible thing, and would spoil anybody's nature.
i certainly will not allow hans" nature to be spoiled.
i am his best friend, and i will always watch over him, and see that he is not led into any temptations.
besides, if hans came here, he might ask me to let him have some flour on credit, and that i could not do.
flour is one thing, and friendship is another, and they should not be confused.
why, the words are spelt differently, and mean quite different things.
everybody can see that.""
"how well you talk"!
said the miller's wife, pouring herself out a large glass of warm ale; "really i feel quite drowsy.
it is just like being in church.""
"lots of people act well," answered the miller; "but very few people talk well, which shows that talking is much the more difficult thing of the two, and much the finer thing also"; and he looked sternly across the table at his little son, who felt so ashamed of himself that he hung his head down, and grew quite scarlet, and began to cry into his tea.
however, he was so young that you must excuse him."
""is that the end of the story?"
asked the water-rat.
""certainly not," answered the linnet, "that is the beginning."
""then you are quite behind the age," said the water-rat.
""every good story-teller nowadays starts with the end, and then goes on to the beginning, and concludes with the middle.
that is the new method.
i heard all about it the other day from a critic who was walking round the pond with a young man.
he spoke of the matter at great length, and i am sure he must have been right, for he had blue spectacles and a bald head, and whenever the young man made any remark, he always answered "pooh!"
but pray go on with your story.
i like the miller immensely.
i have all kinds of beautiful sentiments myself, so there is a great sympathy between us."
""well," said the linnet, hopping now on one leg and now on the other, "as soon as the winter was over, and the primroses began to open their pale yellow stars, the miller said to his wife that he would go down and see little hans."
"why, what a good heart you have"!
cried his wife; "you are always thinking of others.
and mind you take the big basket with you for the flowers."
""so the miller tied the sails of the windmill together with a strong iron chain, and went down the hill with the basket on his arm."
"good morning, little hans," said the miller."
"good morning," said hans, leaning on his spade, and smiling from ear to ear."
"and how have you been all the winter?"
said the miller."
"well, really," cried hans, "it is very good of you to ask, very good indeed.
i am afraid i had rather a hard time of it, but now the spring has come, and i am quite happy, and all my flowers are doing well.""
"we often talked of you during the winter, hans," said the miller, "and wondered how you were getting on.""
"that was kind of you," said hans;" i was half afraid you had forgotten me.""
"hans, i am surprised at you," said the miller; "friendship never forgets.
that is the wonderful thing about it, but i am afraid you do n't understand the poetry of life.
how lovely your primroses are looking, by-the-bye"!"
"they are certainly very lovely," said hans, "and it is a most lucky thing for me that i have so many.
i am going to bring them into the market and sell them to the burgomaster's daughter, and buy back my wheelbarrow with the money.""
"buy back your wheelbarrow?
you do n't mean to say you have sold it?
what a very stupid thing to do"!"
"well, the fact is," said hans, "that i was obliged to.
you see the winter was a very bad time for me, and i really had no money at all to buy bread with.
so i first sold the silver buttons off my sunday coat, and then i sold my silver chain, and then i sold my big pipe, and at last i sold my wheelbarrow.
but i am going to buy them all back again now.""
"hans," said the miller," i will give you my wheelbarrow.
it is not in very good repair; indeed, one side is gone, and there is something wrong with the wheel-spokes; but in spite of that i will give it to you.
i know it is very generous of me, and a great many people would think me extremely foolish for parting with it, but i am not like the rest of the world.
i think that generosity is the essence of friendship, and, besides, i have got a new wheelbarrow for myself.
yes, you may set your mind at ease, i will give you my wheelbarrow.""
"well, really, that is generous of you," said little hans, and his funny round face glowed all over with pleasure."
i can easily put it in repair, as i have a plank of wood in the house."""
a plank of wood"!
said the miller; "why, that is just what i want for the roof of my barn.
there is a very large hole in it, and the corn will all get damp if i do n't stop it up.
how lucky you mentioned it!
it is quite remarkable how one good action always breeds another.
i have given you my wheelbarrow, and now you are going to give me your plank.
of course, the wheelbarrow is worth far more than the plank, but true, friendship never notices things like that.
pray get it at once, and i will set to work at my barn this very day.""
"certainly," cried little hans, and he ran into the shed and dragged the plank out."
"it is not a very big plank," said the miller, looking at it, "and i am afraid that after i have mended my barn-roof there wo n't be any left for you to mend the wheelbarrow with; but, of course, that is not my fault.
and now, as i have given you my wheelbarrow, i am sure you would like to give me some flowers in return.
here is the basket, and mind you fill it quite full.""
"quite full?"
said little hans, rather sorrowfully, for it was really a very big basket, and he knew that if he filled it he would have no flowers left for the market and he was very anxious to get his silver buttons back."
"well, really," answered the miller, "as i have given you my wheelbarrow, i do n't think that it is much to ask you for a few flowers.
i may be wrong, but i should have thought that friendship, true friendship, was quite free from selfishness of any kind.""
"my dear friend, my best friend," cried little hans, "you are welcome to all the flowers in my garden.
i would much sooner have your good opinion than my silver buttons, any day"; and he ran and plucked all his pretty primroses, and filled the miller's basket."
"good-bye, little hans," said the miller, as he went up the hill with the plank on his shoulder, and the big basket in his hand."
"good-bye," said little hans, and he began to dig away quite merrily, he was so pleased about the wheelbarrow.
""the next day he was nailing up some honeysuckle against the porch, when he heard the miller's voice calling to him from the road.
so he jumped off the ladder, and ran down the garden, and looked over the wall.
""there was the miller with a large sack of flour on his back."
"dear little hans," said the miller, "would you mind carrying this sack of flour for me to market?""
"oh, i am so sorry," said hans, "but i am really very busy to-day.
i have got all my creepers to nail up, and all my flowers to water, and all my grass to roll.""
"well, really," said the miller," i think that, considering that i am going to give you my wheelbarrow, it is rather unfriendly of you to refuse.""
"oh, do n't say that," cried little hans," i would n't be unfriendly for the whole world"; and he ran in for his cap, and trudged off with the big sack on his shoulders.
""it was a very hot day, and the road was terribly dusty, and before hans had reached the sixth milestone he was so tired that he had to sit down and rest.
however, he went on bravely, and as last he reached the market.
after he had waited there some time, he sold the sack of flour for a very good price, and then he returned home at once, for he was afraid that if he stopped too late he might meet some robbers on the way."
"it has certainly been a hard day," said little hans to himself as he was going to bed, "but i am glad i did not refuse the miller, for he is my best friend, and, besides, he is going to give me his wheelbarrow."
""early the next morning the miller came down to get the money for his sack of flour, but little hans was so tired that he was still in bed."
"upon my word," said the miller, "you are very lazy.
really, considering that i am going to give you my wheelbarrow, i think you might work harder.
idleness is a great sin, and i certainly do n't like any of my friends to be idle or sluggish.
you must not mind my speaking quite plainly to you.
of course i should not dream of doing so if i were not your friend.
but what is the good of friendship if one can not say exactly what one means?
anybody can say charming things and try to please and to flatter, but a true friend always says unpleasant things, and does not mind giving pain.
indeed, if he is a really true friend he prefers it, for he knows that then he is doing good."""
i am very sorry," said little hans, rubbing his eyes and pulling off his night-cap, "but i was so tired that i thought i would lie in bed for a little time, and listen to the birds singing.
do you know that i always work better after hearing the birds sing?""
"well, i am glad of that," said the miller, clapping little hans on the back, "for i want you to come up to the mill as soon as you are dressed, and mend my barn-roof for me."
""poor little hans was very anxious to go and work in his garden, for his flowers had not been watered for two days, but he did not like to refuse the miller, as he was such a good friend to him."
"do you think it would be unfriendly of me if i said i was busy?"
he inquired in a shy and timid voice."
"well, really," answered the miller," i do not think it is much to ask of you, considering that i am going to give you my wheelbarrow; but of course if you refuse i will go and do it myself.""
"oh!
on no account," cried little hans and he jumped out of bed, and dressed himself, and went up to the barn.
""he worked there all day long, till sunset, and at sunset the miller came to see how he was getting on."
"have you mended the hole in the roof yet, little hans?"
cried the miller in a cheery voice."
"it is quite mended," answered little hans, coming down the ladder."
"ah"!
said the miller, "there is no work so delightful as the work one does for others.""
"it is certainly a great privilege to hear you talk," answered little hans, sitting down, and wiping his forehead," a very great privilege.
but i am afraid i shall never have such beautiful ideas as you have.""
"oh!
they will come to you," said the miller, "but you must take more pains.
at present you have only the practice of friendship; some day you will have the theory also.""
"do you really think i shall?"
asked little hans.""
i have no doubt of it," answered the miller, "but now that you have mended the roof, you had better go home and rest, for i want you to drive my sheep to the mountain to-morrow."
""poor little hans was afraid to say anything to this, and early the next morning the miller brought his sheep round to the cottage, and hans started off with them to the mountain.
it took him the whole day to get there and back; and when he returned he was so tired that he went off to sleep in his chair, and did not wake up till it was broad daylight."
"what a delightful time i shall have in my garden," he said, and he went to work at once.
""but somehow he was never able to look after his flowers at all, for his friend the miller was always coming round and sending him off on long errands, or getting him to help at the mill.
little hans was very much distressed at times, as he was afraid his flowers would think he had forgotten them, but he consoled himself by the reflection that the miller was his best friend.
"besides," he used to say, "he is going to give me his wheelbarrow, and that is an act of pure generosity."
""so little hans worked away for the miller, and the miller said all kinds of beautiful things about friendship, which hans took down in a note-book, and used to read over at night, for he was a very good scholar.
""now it happened that one evening little hans was sitting by his fireside when a loud rap came at the door.
it was a very wild night, and the wind was blowing and roaring round the house so terribly that at first he thought it was merely the storm.
but a second rap came, and then a third, louder than any of the others."
"it is some poor traveller," said little hans to himself, and he ran to the door.
""there stood the miller with a lantern in one hand and a big stick in the other."
"dear little hans," cried the miller," i am in great trouble.
my little boy has fallen off a ladder and hurt himself, and i am going for the doctor.
but he lives so far away, and it is such a bad night, that it has just occurred to me that it would be much better if you went instead of me.
you know i am going to give you my wheelbarrow, and so, it is only fair that you should do something for me in return.""
"certainly," cried little hans," i take it quite as a compliment your coming to me, and i will start off at once.
but you must lend me your lantern, as the night is so dark that i am afraid i might fall into the ditch."""
i am very sorry," answered the miller, "but it is my new lantern, and it would be a great loss to me if anything happened to it.""
"well, never mind, i will do without it," cried little hans, and he took down his great fur coat, and his warm scarlet cap, and tied a muffler round his throat, and started off.
""what a dreadful storm it was!
the night was so black that little hans could hardly see, and the wind was so strong that he could scarcely stand.
however, he was very courageous, and after he had been walking about three hours, he arrived at the doctor's house, and knocked at the door."
"who is there?"
cried the doctor, putting his head out of his bedroom window."
"little hans, doctor.""
"what do you want, little hans?""
"the miller's son has fallen from a ladder, and has hurt himself, and the miller wants you to come at once.""
"all right!"
said the doctor; and he ordered his horse, and his big boots, and his lantern, and came downstairs, and rode off in the direction of the miller's house, little hans trudging behind him.
""but the storm grew worse and worse, and the rain fell in torrents, and little hans could not see where he was going, or keep up with the horse.
at last he lost his way, and wandered off on the moor, which was a very dangerous place, as it was full of deep holes, and there poor little hans was drowned.
his body was found the next day by some goatherds, floating in a great pool of water, and was brought back by them to the cottage.
""everybody went to little hans" funeral, as he was so popular, and the miller was the chief mourner."
"as i was his best friend," said the miller, "it is only fair that i should have the best place"; so he walked at the head of the procession in a long black cloak, and every now and then he wiped his eyes with a big pocket-handkerchief."
"little hans is certainly a great loss to every one," said the blacksmith, when the funeral was over, and they were all seated comfortably in the inn, drinking spiced wine and eating sweet cakes.""
a great loss to me at any rate," answered the miller; "why, i had as good as given him my wheelbarrow, and now i really do n't know what to do with it.
it is very much in my way at home, and it is in such bad repair that i could not get anything for it if i sold it.
i will certainly take care not to give away anything again.
one always suffers for being generous.""
""well?"
said the water-rat, after a long pause.
""well, that is the end," said the linnet.
""but what became of the miller?"
asked the water-rat.
""oh!
i really do n't know," replied the linnet; "and i am sure that i do n't care."
""it is quite evident then that you have no sympathy in your nature," said the water-rat.
""i am afraid you do n't quite see the moral of the story," remarked the linnet.
""the what?"
screamed the water-rat.
""the moral."
""do you mean to say that the story has a moral?"
""certainly," said the linnet.
""well, really," said the water-rat, in a very angry manner, "i think you should have told me that before you began.
if you had done so, i certainly would not have listened to you; in fact, i should have said "pooh," like the critic.
however, i can say it now"; so he shouted out "pooh" at the top of his voice, gave a whisk with his tail, and went back into his hole.
""and how do you like the water-rat?"
asked the duck, who came paddling up some minutes afterwards.
""he has a great many good points, but for my own part i have a mother's feelings, and i can never look at a confirmed bachelor without the tears coming into my eyes."
""i am rather afraid that i have annoyed him," answered the linnet.
""the fact is, that i told him a story with a moral."
""ah!
that is always a very dangerous thing to do," said the duck.
and i quite agree with her.
the remarkable rocket the king's son was going to be married, so there were general rejoicings.
he had waited a whole year for his bride, and at last she had arrived.
she was a russian princess, and had driven all the way from finland in a sledge drawn by six reindeer.
the sledge was shaped like a great golden swan, and between the swan's wings lay the little princess herself.
her long ermine-cloak reached right down to her feet, on her head was a tiny cap of silver tissue, and she was as pale as the snow palace in which she had always lived.
so pale was she that as she drove through the streets all the people wondered.
""she is like a white rose!"
they cried, and they threw down flowers on her from the balconies.
at the gate of the castle the prince was waiting to receive her.
he had dreamy violet eyes, and his hair was like fine gold.
when he saw her he sank upon one knee, and kissed her hand.
""your picture was beautiful," he murmured, "but you are more beautiful than your picture"; and the little princess blushed.
""she was like a white rose before," said a young page to his neighbour, "but she is like a red rose now"; and the whole court was delighted.
for the next three days everybody went about saying, "white rose, red rose, red rose, white rose"; and the king gave orders that the page's salary was to be doubled.
as he received no salary at all this was not of much use to him, but it was considered a great honour, and was duly published in the court gazette.
when the three days were over the marriage was celebrated.
it was a magnificent ceremony, and the bride and bridegroom walked hand in hand under a canopy of purple velvet embroidered with little pearls.
then there was a state banquet, which lasted for five hours.
the prince and princess sat at the top of the great hall and drank out of a cup of clear crystal.
only true lovers could drink out of this cup, for if false lips touched it, it grew grey and dull and cloudy.
""it's quite clear that they love each other," said the little page, "as clear as crystal!"
and the king doubled his salary a second time.
""what an honour!"
cried all the courtiers.
after the banquet there was to be a ball.
the bride and bridegroom were to dance the rose-dance together, and the king had promised to play the flute.
he played very badly, but no one had ever dared to tell him so, because he was the king.
indeed, he knew only two airs, and was never quite certain which one he was playing; but it made no matter, for, whatever he did, everybody cried out, "charming!
charming!"
the last item on the programme was a grand display of fireworks, to be let off exactly at midnight.
the little princess had never seen a firework in her life, so the king had given orders that the royal pyrotechnist should be in attendance on the day of her marriage.
""what are fireworks like?"
she had asked the prince, one morning, as she was walking on the terrace.
""they are like the aurora borealis," said the king, who always answered questions that were addressed to other people, "only much more natural.
i prefer them to stars myself, as you always know when they are going to appear, and they are as delightful as my own flute-playing.
you must certainly see them."
so at the end of the king's garden a great stand had been set up, and as soon as the royal pyrotechnist had put everything in its proper place, the fireworks began to talk to each other.
""the world is certainly very beautiful," cried a little squib.
""just look at those yellow tulips.
why!
if they were real crackers they could not be lovelier.
i am very glad i have travelled.
travel improves the mind wonderfully, and does away with all one's prejudices."
""the king's garden is not the world, you foolish squib," said a big roman candle; "the world is an enormous place, and it would take you three days to see it thoroughly."
""any place you love is the world to you," exclaimed a pensive catherine wheel, who had been attached to an old deal box in early life, and prided herself on her broken heart; "but love is not fashionable any more, the poets have killed it.
they wrote so much about it that nobody believed them, and i am not surprised.
true love suffers, and is silent.
i remember myself once -- but it is no matter now.
romance is a thing of the past."
""nonsense!"
said the roman candle, "romance never dies.
it is like the moon, and lives for ever.
the bride and bridegroom, for instance, love each other very dearly.
i heard all about them this morning from a brown-paper cartridge, who happened to be staying in the same drawer as myself, and knew the latest court news."
but the catherine wheel shook her head.
""romance is dead, romance is dead, romance is dead," she murmured.
she was one of those people who think that, if you say the same thing over and over a great many times, it becomes true in the end.
suddenly, a sharp, dry cough was heard, and they all looked round.
it came from a tall, supercilious-looking rocket, who was tied to the end of a long stick.
he always coughed before he made any observation, so as to attract attention.
""ahem!
ahem!"
he said, and everybody listened except the poor catherine wheel, who was still shaking her head, and murmuring, "romance is dead."
""order!
order!"
cried out a cracker.
he was something of a politician, and had always taken a prominent part in the local elections, so he knew the proper parliamentary expressions to use.
""quite dead," whispered the catherine wheel, and she went off to sleep.
as soon as there was perfect silence, the rocket coughed a third time and began.
he spoke with a very slow, distinct voice, as if he was dictating his memoirs, and always looked over the shoulder of the person to whom he was talking.
in fact, he had a most distinguished manner.
""how fortunate it is for the king's son," he remarked, "that he is to be married on the very day on which i am to be let off.
really, if it had been arranged beforehand, it could not have turned out better for him; but, princes are always lucky."
""dear me!"
said the little squib, "i thought it was quite the other way, and that we were to be let off in the prince's honour."
""it may be so with you," he answered; "indeed, i have no doubt that it is, but with me it is different.
i am a very remarkable rocket, and come of remarkable parents.
my mother was the most celebrated catherine wheel of her day, and was renowned for her graceful dancing.
when she made her great public appearance she spun round nineteen times before she went out, and each time that she did so she threw into the air seven pink stars.
she was three feet and a half in diameter, and made of the very best gunpowder.
my father was a rocket like myself, and of french extraction.
he flew so high that the people were afraid that he would never come down again.
he did, though, for he was of a kindly disposition, and he made a most brilliant descent in a shower of golden rain.
the newspapers wrote about his performance in very flattering terms.
indeed, the court gazette called him a triumph of pylotechnic art."
""pyrotechnic, pyrotechnic, you mean," said a bengal light; "i know it is pyrotechnic, for i saw it written on my own canister."
""well, i said pylotechnic," answered the rocket, in a severe tone of voice, and the bengal light felt so crushed that he began at once to bully the little squibs, in order to show that he was still a person of some importance.
""i was saying," continued the rocket, "i was saying -- what was i saying?"
""you were talking about yourself," replied the roman candle.
""of course; i knew i was discussing some interesting subject when i was so rudely interrupted.
i hate rudeness and bad manners of every kind, for i am extremely sensitive.
no one in the whole world is so sensitive as i am, i am quite sure of that."
""what is a sensitive person?"
said the cracker to the roman candle.
""a person who, because he has corns himself, always treads on other people's toes," answered the roman candle in a low whisper; and the cracker nearly exploded with laughter.
""pray, what are you laughing at?"
inquired the rocket; "i am not laughing."
""i am laughing because i am happy," replied the cracker.
""that is a very selfish reason," said the rocket angrily.
""what right have you to be happy?
you should be thinking about others.
in fact, you should be thinking about me.
i am always thinking about myself, and i expect everybody else to do the same.
that is what is called sympathy.
it is a beautiful virtue, and i possess it in a high degree.
suppose, for instance, anything happened to me to-night, what a misfortune that would be for every one!
the prince and princess would never be happy again, their whole married life would be spoiled; and as for the king, i know he would not get over it.
really, when i begin to reflect on the importance of my position, i am almost moved to tears."
""if you want to give pleasure to others," cried the roman candle, "you had better keep yourself dry."
""certainly," exclaimed the bengal light, who was now in better spirits; "that is only common sense."
""common sense, indeed!"
said the rocket indignantly; "you forget that i am very uncommon, and very remarkable.
why, anybody can have common sense, provided that they have no imagination.
but i have imagination, for i never think of things as they really are; i always think of them as being quite different.
as for keeping myself dry, there is evidently no one here who can at all appreciate an emotional nature.
fortunately for myself, i do n't care.
the only thing that sustains one through life is the consciousness of the immense inferiority of everybody else, and this is a feeling that i have always cultivated.
but none of you have any hearts.
here you are laughing and making merry just as if the prince and princess had not just been married."
""well, really," exclaimed a small fire-balloon, "why not?
it is a most joyful occasion, and when i soar up into the air i intend to tell the stars all about it.
you will see them twinkle when i talk to them about the pretty bride."
""ah!
what a trivial view of life!"
said the rocket; "but it is only what i expected.
there is nothing in you; you are hollow and empty.
why, perhaps the prince and princess may go to live in a country where there is a deep river, and perhaps they may have one only son, a little fair-haired boy with violet eyes like the prince himself; and perhaps some day he may go out to walk with his nurse; and perhaps the nurse may go to sleep under a great elder-tree; and perhaps the little boy may fall into the deep river and be drowned.
what a terrible misfortune!
poor people, to lose their only son!
it is really too dreadful!
i shall never get over it."
""but they have not lost their only son," said the roman candle; "no misfortune has happened to them at all."
""i never said that they had," replied the rocket; "i said that they might.
if they had lost their only son there would be no use in saying anything more about the matter.
i hate people who cry over spilt milk.
but when i think that they might lose their only son, i certainly am very much affected."
""you certainly are!"
cried the bengal light.
""in fact, you are the most affected person i ever met."
""you are the rudest person i ever met," said the rocket, "and you can not understand my friendship for the prince."
""why, you do n't even know him," growled the roman candle.
""i never said i knew him," answered the rocket.
""i dare say that if i knew him i should not be his friend at all.
it is a very dangerous thing to know one's friends."
""you had really better keep yourself dry," said the fire-balloon.
""that is the important thing."
""very important for you, i have no doubt," answered the rocket, "but i shall weep if i choose"; and he actually burst into real tears, which flowed down his stick like rain-drops, and nearly drowned two little beetles, who were just thinking of setting up house together, and were looking for a nice dry spot to live in.
""he must have a truly romantic nature," said the catherine wheel, "for he weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about"; and she heaved a deep sigh, and thought about the deal box.
but the roman candle and the bengal light were quite indignant, and kept saying, "humbug!
humbug!"
at the top of their voices.
they were extremely practical, and whenever they objected to anything they called it humbug.
then the moon rose like a wonderful silver shield; and the stars began to shine, and a sound of music came from the palace.
the prince and princess were leading the dance.
they danced so beautifully that the tall white lilies peeped in at the window and watched them, and the great red poppies nodded their heads and beat time.
then ten o'clock struck, and then eleven, and then twelve, and at the last stroke of midnight every one came out on the terrace, and the king sent for the royal pyrotechnist.
""let the fireworks begin," said the king; and the royal pyrotechnist made a low bow, and marched down to the end of the garden.
he had six attendants with him, each of whom carried a lighted torch at the end of a long pole.
it was certainly a magnificent display.
whizz!
whizz!
went the catherine wheel, as she spun round and round.
boom!
boom!
went the roman candle.
then the squibs danced all over the place, and the bengal lights made everything look scarlet.
""good-bye," cried the fire-balloon, as he soared away, dropping tiny blue sparks.
bang!
bang!
answered the crackers, who were enjoying themselves immensely.
every one was a great success except the remarkable rocket.
he was so damp with crying that he could not go off at all.
the best thing in him was the gunpowder, and that was so wet with tears that it was of no use.
all his poor relations, to whom he would never speak, except with a sneer, shot up into the sky like wonderful golden flowers with blossoms of fire.
huzza!
huzza!
cried the court; and the little princess laughed with pleasure.
""i suppose they are reserving me for some grand occasion," said the rocket; "no doubt that is what it means," and he looked more supercilious than ever.
the next day the workmen came to put everything tidy.
""this is evidently a deputation," said the rocket; "i will receive them with becoming dignity" so he put his nose in the air, and began to frown severely as if he were thinking about some very important subject.
but they took no notice of him at all till they were just going away.
then one of them caught sight of him.
""hallo!"
he cried, "what a bad rocket!"
and he threw him over the wall into the ditch.
""bad rocket?
bad rocket?"
he said, as he whirled through the air; "impossible!
grand rocket, that is what the man said.
bad and grand sound very much the same, indeed they often are the same"; and he fell into the mud.
""it is not comfortable here," he remarked, "but no doubt it is some fashionable watering-place, and they have sent me away to recruit my health.
my nerves are certainly very much shattered, and i require rest."
then a little frog, with bright jewelled eyes, and a green mottled coat, swam up to him.
""a new arrival, i see!"
said the frog.
""well, after all there is nothing like mud.
give me rainy weather and a ditch, and i am quite happy.
do you think it will be a wet afternoon?
i am sure i hope so, but the sky is quite blue and cloudless.
what a pity!"
""ahem!
ahem!"
said the rocket, and he began to cough.
""what a delightful voice you have!"
cried the frog.
""really it is quite like a croak, and croaking is of course the most musical sound in the world.
you will hear our glee-club this evening.
we sit in the old duck pond close by the farmer's house, and as soon as the moon rises we begin.
it is so entrancing that everybody lies awake to listen to us.
in fact, it was only yesterday that i heard the farmer's wife say to her mother that she could not get a wink of sleep at night on account of us.
it is most gratifying to find oneself so popular."
""ahem!
ahem!"
said the rocket angrily.
he was very much annoyed that he could not get a word in.
""a delightful voice, certainly," continued the frog; "i hope you will come over to the duck-pond.
i am off to look for my daughters.
i have six beautiful daughters, and i am so afraid the pike may meet them.
he is a perfect monster, and would have no hesitation in breakfasting off them.
well, good-bye: i have enjoyed our conversation very much, i assure you."
""conversation, indeed!"
said the rocket.
""you have talked the whole time yourself.
that is not conversation."
""somebody must listen," answered the frog, "and i like to do all the talking myself.
it saves time, and prevents arguments."
""but i like arguments," said the rocket.
""i hope not," said the frog complacently.
""arguments are extremely vulgar, for everybody in good society holds exactly the same opinions.
good-bye a second time; i see my daughters in the distance and the little frog swam away.
""you are a very irritating person," said the rocket, "and very ill - bred.
i hate people who talk about themselves, as you do, when one wants to talk about oneself, as i do.
it is what i call selfishness, and selfishness is a most detestable thing, especially to any one of my temperament, for i am well known for my sympathetic nature.
in fact, you should take example by me; you could not possibly have a better model.
now that you have the chance you had better avail yourself of it, for i am going back to court almost immediately.
i am a great favourite at court; in fact, the prince and princess were married yesterday in my honour.
of course you know nothing of these matters, for you are a provincial."
""there is no good talking to him," said a dragon-fly, who was sitting on the top of a large brown bulrush; "no good at all, for he has gone away."
""well, that is his loss, not mine," answered the rocket.
""i am not going to stop talking to him merely because he pays no attention.
i like hearing myself talk.
it is one of my greatest pleasures.
i often have long conversations all by myself, and i am so clever that sometimes i do n't understand a single word of what i am saying."
""then you should certainly lecture on philosophy," said the dragon - fly; and he spread a pair of lovely gauze wings and soared away into the sky.
""how very silly of him not to stay here!"
said the rocket.
""i am sure that he has not often got such a chance of improving his mind.
however, i do n't care a bit.
genius like mine is sure to be appreciated some day"; and he sank down a little deeper into the mud.
after some time a large white duck swam up to him.
she had yellow legs, and webbed feet, and was considered a great beauty on account of her waddle.
""quack, quack, quack," she said.
""what a curious shape you are!
may i ask were you born like that, or is it the result of an accident?"
""it is quite evident that you have always lived in the country," answered the rocket, "otherwise you would know who i am.
however, i excuse your ignorance.
it would be unfair to expect other people to be as remarkable as oneself.
you will no doubt be surprised to hear that i can fly up into the sky, and come down in a shower of golden rain."
""i do n't think much of that," said the duck, "as i can not see what use it is to any one.
now, if you could plough the fields like the ox, or draw a cart like the horse, or look after the sheep like the collie-dog, that would be something."
""my good creature," cried the rocket in a very haughty tone of voice, "i see that you belong to the lower orders.
a person of my position is never useful.
we have certain accomplishments, and that is more than sufficient.
i have no sympathy myself with industry of any kind, least of all with such industries as you seem to recommend.
indeed, i have always been of opinion that hard work is simply the refuge of people who have nothing whatever to do."
""well, well," said the duck, who was of a very peaceable disposition, and never quarrelled with any one, "everybody has different tastes.
i hope, at any rate, that you are going to take up your residence here."
""oh!
dear no," cried the rocket.
""i am merely a visitor, a distinguished visitor.
the fact is that i find this place rather tedious.
there is neither society here, nor solitude.
in fact, it is essentially suburban.
i shall probably go back to court, for i know that i am destined to make a sensation in the world."
""i had thoughts of entering public life once myself," remarked the duck; "there are so many things that need reforming.
indeed, i took the chair at a meeting some time ago, and we passed resolutions condemning everything that we did not like.
however, they did not seem to have much effect.
now i go in for domesticity, and look after my family."
""i am made for public life," said the rocket, "and so are all my relations, even the humblest of them.
whenever we appear we excite great attention.
i have not actually appeared myself, but when i do so it will be a magnificent sight.
as for domesticity, it ages one rapidly, and distracts one's mind from higher things."
""ah!
the higher things of life, how fine they are!"
said the duck; "and that reminds me how hungry i feel": and she swam away down the stream, saying, "quack, quack, quack."
""come back!
come back!"
screamed the rocket, "i have a great deal to say to you"; but the duck paid no attention to him.
""i am glad that she has gone," he said to himself, "she has a decidedly middle-class mind"; and he sank a little deeper still into the mud, and began to think about the loneliness of genius, when suddenly two little boys in white smocks came running down the bank, with a kettle and some faggots.
""this must be the deputation," said the rocket, and he tried to look very dignified.
""hallo!"
cried one of the boys, "look at this old stick!
i wonder how it came here"; and he picked the rocket out of the ditch.
""old stick!"
said the rocket, "impossible!
gold stick, that is what he said.
gold stick is very complimentary.
in fact, he mistakes me for one of the court dignitaries!"
""let us put it into the fire!"
said the other boy, "it will help to boil the kettle."
so they piled the faggots together, and put the rocket on top, and lit the fire.
""this is magnificent," cried the rocket, "they are going to let me off in broad day-light, so that every one can see me."
""we will go to sleep now," they said, "and when we wake up the kettle will be boiled"; and they lay down on the grass, and shut their eyes.
the rocket was very damp, so he took a long time to burn.
at last, however, the fire caught him.
""now i am going off!"
he cried, and he made himself very stiff and straight.
""i know i shall go much higher than the stars, much higher than the moon, much higher than the sun.
in fact, i shall go so high that --" fizz!
fizz!
fizz!
and he went straight up into the air.
""delightful!"
he cried, "i shall go on like this for ever.
what a success i am!"
but nobody saw him.
then he began to feel a curious tingling sensation all over him.
""now i am going to explode," he cried.
""i shall set the whole world on fire, and make such a noise that nobody will talk about anything else for a whole year."
and he certainly did explode.
bang!
bang!
bang!
went the gunpowder.
there was no doubt about it.
but nobody heard him, not even the two little boys, for they were sound asleep.
then all that was left of him was the stick, and this fell down on the back of a goose who was taking a walk by the side of the ditch.
""good heavens!"
cried the goose.
""it is going to rain sticks"; and she rushed into the water.
_book_title_: robert_louis_stevenson___kidnapped.txt.out
chapter i i set off upon my journey to the house of shaws i will begin the story of my adventures with a certain morning early in the month of june, the year of grace 1751, when i took the key for the last time out of the door of my father's house.
the sun began to shine upon the summit of the hills as i went down the road; and by the time i had come as far as the manse, the blackbirds were whistling in the garden lilacs, and the mist that hung around the valley in the time of the dawn was beginning to arise and die away.
mr. campbell, the minister of essendean, was waiting for me by the garden gate, good man!
he asked me if i had breakfasted; and hearing that i lacked for nothing, he took my hand in both of his and clapped it kindly under his arm.
""well, davie, lad," said he, "i will go with you as far as the ford, to set you on the way."
and we began to walk forward in silence.
""are ye sorry to leave essendean?"
said he, after awhile.
""why, sir," said i, "if i knew where i was going, or what was likely to become of me, i would tell you candidly.
essendean is a good place indeed, and i have been very happy there; but then i have never been anywhere else.
my father and mother, since they are both dead, i shall be no nearer to in essendean than in the kingdom of hungary, and, to speak truth, if i thought i had a chance to better myself where i was going i would go with a good will."
""ay?"
said mr. campbell.
""very well, davie.
then it behoves me to tell your fortune; or so far as i may.
when your mother was gone, and your father -lrb- the worthy, christian man -rrb- began to sicken for his end, he gave me in charge a certain letter, which he said was your inheritance.
"so soon," says he, "as i am gone, and the house is redd up and the gear disposed of" -lrb- all which, davie, hath been done -rrb-, "give my boy this letter into his hand, and start him off to the house of shaws, not far from cramond.
that is the place i came from," he said, "and it's where it befits that my boy should return.
he is a steady lad," your father said, "and a canny goer; and i doubt not he will come safe, and be well lived where he goes.""
""the house of shaws!"
i cried.
""what had my poor father to do with the house of shaws?"
""nay," said mr. campbell, "who can tell that for a surety?
but the name of that family, davie, boy, is the name you bear -- balfours of shaws: an ancient, honest, reputable house, peradventure in these latter days decayed.
your father, too, was a man of learning as befitted his position; no man more plausibly conducted school; nor had he the manner or the speech of a common dominie; but -lrb- as ye will yourself remember -rrb- i took aye a pleasure to have him to the manse to meet the gentry; and those of my own house, campbell of kilrennet, campbell of dunswire, campbell of minch, and others, all well-kenned gentlemen, had pleasure in his society.
lastly, to put all the elements of this affair before you, here is the testamentary letter itself, superscrived by the own hand of our departed brother."
he gave me the letter, which was addressed in these words: "to the hands of ebenezer balfour, esquire, of shaws, in his house of shaws, these will be delivered by my son, david balfour."
my heart was beating hard at this great prospect now suddenly opening before a lad of seventeen years of age, the son of a poor country dominie in the forest of ettrick.
""mr. campbell," i stammered, "and if you were in my shoes, would you go?"
""of a surety," said the minister, "that would i, and without pause.
a pretty lad like you should get to cramond -lrb- which is near in by edinburgh -rrb- in two days of walk.
if the worst came to the worst, and your high relations -lrb- as i can not but suppose them to be somewhat of your blood -rrb- should put you to the door, ye can but walk the two days back again and risp at the manse door.
but i would rather hope that ye shall be well received, as your poor father forecast for you, and for anything that i ken come to be a great man in time.
and here, davie, laddie," he resumed, "it lies near upon my conscience to improve this parting, and set you on the right guard against the dangers of the world."
here he cast about for a comfortable seat, lighted on a big boulder under a birch by the trackside, sate down upon it with a very long, serious upper lip, and the sun now shining in upon us between two peaks, put his pocket-handkerchief over his cocked hat to shelter him.
there, then, with uplifted forefinger, he first put me on my guard against a considerable number of heresies, to which i had no temptation, and urged upon me to be instant in my prayers and reading of the bible.
that done, he drew a picture of the great house that i was bound to, and how i should conduct myself with its inhabitants.
""be soople, davie, in things immaterial," said he.
""bear ye this in mind, that, though gentle born, ye have had a country rearing.
dinnae shame us, davie, dinnae shame us!
in yon great, muckle house, with all these domestics, upper and under, show yourself as nice, as circumspect, as quick at the conception, and as slow of speech as any.
as for the laird -- remember he's the laird; i say no more: honour to whom honour.
it's a pleasure to obey a laird; or should be, to the young."
""well, sir," said i, "it may be; and i'll promise you i'll try to make it so."
""why, very well said," replied mr. campbell, heartily.
""and now to come to the material, or -lrb- to make a quibble -rrb- to the immaterial.
i have here a little packet which contains four things."
he tugged it, as he spoke, and with some great difficulty, from the skirt pocket of his coat.
""of these four things, the first is your legal due: the little pickle money for your father's books and plenishing, which i have bought -lrb- as i have explained from the first -rrb- in the design of re-selling at a profit to the incoming dominie.
the other three are gifties that mrs. campbell and myself would be blithe of your acceptance.
the first, which is round, will likely please ye best at the first off-go; but, o davie, laddie, it's but a drop of water in the sea; it'll help you but a step, and vanish like the morning.
the second, which is flat and square and written upon, will stand by you through life, like a good staff for the road, and a good pillow to your head in sickness.
and as for the last, which is cubical, that'll see you, it's my prayerful wish, into a better land."
with that he got upon his feet, took off his hat, and prayed a little while aloud, and in affecting terms, for a young man setting out into the world; then suddenly took me in his arms and embraced me very hard; then held me at arm's length, looking at me with his face all working with sorrow; and then whipped about, and crying good-bye to me, set off backward by the way that we had come at a sort of jogging run.
it might have been laughable to another; but i was in no mind to laugh.
i watched him as long as he was in sight; and he never stopped hurrying, nor once looked back.
then it came in upon my mind that this was all his sorrow at my departure; and my conscience smote me hard and fast, because i, for my part, was overjoyed to get away out of that quiet country-side, and go to a great, busy house, among rich and respected gentlefolk of my own name and blood.
""davie, davie," i thought, "was ever seen such black ingratitude?
can you forget old favours and old friends at the mere whistle of a name?
fie, fie; think shame."
and i sat down on the boulder the good man had just left, and opened the parcel to see the nature of my gifts.
that which he had called cubical, i had never had much doubt of; sure enough it was a little bible, to carry in a plaid-neuk.
that which he had called round, i found to be a shilling piece; and the third, which was to help me so wonderfully both in health and sickness all the days of my life, was a little piece of coarse yellow paper, written upon thus in red ink: "to make lilly of the valley water.
-- take the flowers of lilly of the valley and distil them in sack, and drink a spooneful or two as there is occasion.
it restores speech to those that have the dumb palsey.
it is good against the gout; it comforts the heart and strengthens the memory; and the flowers, put into a glasse, close stopt, and set into ane hill of ants for a month, then take it out, and you will find a liquor which comes from the flowers, which keep in a vial; it is good, ill or well, and whether man or woman."
and then, in the minister's own hand, was added: "likewise for sprains, rub it in; and for the cholic, a great spooneful in the hour."
to be sure, i laughed over this; but it was rather tremulous laughter; and i was glad to get my bundle on my staff's end and set out over the ford and up the hill upon the farther side; till, just as i came on the green drove-road running wide through the heather, i took my last look of kirk essendean, the trees about the manse, and the big rowans in the kirkyard where my father and my mother lay.
chapter ii i come to my journey's end on the forenoon of the second day, coming to the top of a hill, i saw all the country fall away before me down to the sea; and in the midst of this descent, on a long ridge, the city of edinburgh smoking like a kiln.
there was a flag upon the castle, and ships moving or lying anchored in the firth; both of which, for as far away as they were, i could distinguish clearly; and both brought my country heart into my mouth.
presently after, i came by a house where a shepherd lived, and got a rough direction for the neighbourhood of cramond; and so, from one to another, worked my way to the westward of the capital by colinton, till i came out upon the glasgow road.
and there, to my great pleasure and wonder, i beheld a regiment marching to the fifes, every foot in time; an old red-faced general on a grey horse at the one end, and at the other the company of grenadiers, with their pope's - hats.
the pride of life seemed to mount into my brain at the sight of the red coats and the hearing of that merry music.
a little farther on, and i was told i was in cramond parish, and began to substitute in my inquiries the name of the house of shaws.
it was a word that seemed to surprise those of whom i sought my way.
at first i thought the plainness of my appearance, in my country habit, and that all dusty from the road, consorted ill with the greatness of the place to which i was bound.
but after two, or maybe three, had given me the same look and the same answer, i began to take it in my head there was something strange about the shaws itself.
the better to set this fear at rest, i changed the form of my inquiries; and spying an honest fellow coming along a lane on the shaft of his cart, i asked him if he had ever heard tell of a house they called the house of shaws.
he stopped his cart and looked at me, like the others.
""ay" said he.
""what for?"
""it's a great house?"
i asked.
""doubtless," says he.
""the house is a big, muckle house."
""ay," said i, "but the folk that are in it?"
""folk?"
cried he.
""are ye daft?
there's nae folk there -- to call folk."
""what?"
say i; "not mr. ebenezer?"
""ou, ay" says the man; "there's the laird, to be sure, if it's him you're wanting.
what'll like be your business, mannie?"
""i was led to think that i would get a situation," i said, looking as modest as i could.
""what?"
cries the carter, in so sharp a note that his very horse started; and then, "well, mannie," he added, "it's nane of my affairs; but ye seem a decent-spoken lad; and if ye'll take a word from me, ye'll keep clear of the shaws."
the next person i came across was a dapper little man in a beautiful white wig, whom i saw to be a barber on his rounds; and knowing well that barbers were great gossips, i asked him plainly what sort of a man was mr. balfour of the shaws.
""hoot, hoot, hoot," said the barber, "nae kind of a man, nae kind of a man at all;" and began to ask me very shrewdly what my business was; but i was more than a match for him at that, and he went on to his next customer no wiser than he came.
i can not well describe the blow this dealt to my illusions.
the more indistinct the accusations were, the less i liked them, for they left the wider field to fancy.
what kind of a great house was this, that all the parish should start and stare to be asked the way to it?
or what sort of a gentleman, that his ill-fame should be thus current on the wayside?
if an hour's walking would have brought me back to essendean, i had left my adventure then and there, and returned to mr. campbell's.
but when i had come so far a way already, mere shame would not suffer me to desist till i had put the matter to the touch of proof; i was bound, out of mere self-respect, to carry it through; and little as i liked the sound of what i heard, and slow as i began to travel, i still kept asking my way and still kept advancing.
it was drawing on to sundown when i met a stout, dark, sour-looking woman coming trudging down a hill; and she, when i had put my usual question, turned sharp about, accompanied me back to the summit she had just left, and pointed to a great bulk of building standing very bare upon a green in the bottom of the next valley.
the country was pleasant round about, running in low hills, pleasantly watered and wooded, and the crops, to my eyes, wonderfully good; but the house itself appeared to be a kind of ruin; no road led up to it; no smoke arose from any of the chimneys; nor was there any semblance of a garden.
my heart sank.
""that!"
i cried.
the woman's face lit up with a malignant anger.
""that is the house of shaws!"
she cried.
""blood built it; blood stopped the building of it; blood shall bring it down.
see here!"
she cried again -- "i spit upon the ground, and crack my thumb at it!
black be its fall!
if ye see the laird, tell him what ye hear; tell him this makes the twelve hunner and nineteen time that jennet clouston has called down the curse on him and his house, byre and stable, man, guest, and master, wife, miss, or bairn -- black, black be their fall!"
and the woman, whose voice had risen to a kind of eldritch sing-song, turned with a skip, and was gone.
i stood where she left me, with my hair on end.
in those days folk still believed in witches and trembled at a curse; and this one, falling so pat, like a wayside omen, to arrest me ere i carried out my purpose, took the pith out of my legs.
i sat me down and stared at the house of shaws.
the more i looked, the pleasanter that country-side appeared; being all set with hawthorn bushes full of flowers; the fields dotted with sheep; a fine flight of rooks in the sky; and every sign of a kind soil and climate; and yet the barrack in the midst of it went sore against my fancy.
country folk went by from the fields as i sat there on the side of the ditch, but i lacked the spirit to give them a good-e "en.
at last the sun went down, and then, right up against the yellow sky, i saw a scroll of smoke go mounting, not much thicker, as it seemed to me, than the smoke of a candle; but still there it was, and meant a fire, and warmth, and cookery, and some living inhabitant that must have lit it; and this comforted my heart.
so i set forward by a little faint track in the grass that led in my direction.
it was very faint indeed to be the only way to a place of habitation; yet i saw no other.
presently it brought me to stone uprights, with an unroofed lodge beside them, and coats of arms upon the top.
a main entrance it was plainly meant to be, but never finished; instead of gates of wrought iron, a pair of hurdles were tied across with a straw rope; and as there were no park walls, nor any sign of avenue, the track that i was following passed on the right hand of the pillars, and went wandering on toward the house.
the nearer i got to that, the drearier it appeared.
it seemed like the one wing of a house that had never been finished.
what should have been the inner end stood open on the upper floors, and showed against the sky with steps and stairs of uncompleted masonry.
many of the windows were unglazed, and bats flew in and out like doves out of a dove-cote.
the night had begun to fall as i got close; and in three of the lower windows, which were very high up and narrow, and well barred, the changing light of a little fire began to glimmer.
was this the palace i had been coming to?
was it within these walls that i was to seek new friends and begin great fortunes?
why, in my father's house on essen-waterside, the fire and the bright lights would show a mile away, and the door open to a beggar's knock!
i came forward cautiously, and giving ear as i came, heard some one rattling with dishes, and a little dry, eager cough that came in fits; but there was no sound of speech, and not a dog barked.
the door, as well as i could see it in the dim light, was a great piece of wood all studded with nails; and i lifted my hand with a faint heart under my jacket, and knocked once.
then i stood and waited.
the house had fallen into a dead silence; a whole minute passed away, and nothing stirred but the bats overhead.
i knocked again, and hearkened again.
by this time my ears had grown so accustomed to the quiet, that i could hear the ticking of the clock inside as it slowly counted out the seconds; but whoever was in that house kept deadly still, and must have held his breath.
i was in two minds whether to run away; but anger got the upper hand, and i began instead to rain kicks and buffets on the door, and to shout out aloud for mr. balfour.
i was in full career, when i heard the cough right overhead, and jumping back and looking up, beheld a man's head in a tall nightcap, and the bell mouth of a blunderbuss, at one of the first-storey windows.
""it's loaded," said a voice.
""i have come here with a letter," i said, "to mr. ebenezer balfour of shaws.
is he here?"
""from whom is it?"
asked the man with the blunderbuss.
""that is neither here nor there," said i, for i was growing very wroth.
""well," was the reply, "ye can put it down upon the doorstep, and be off with ye."
""i will do no such thing," i cried.
""i will deliver it into mr. balfour's hands, as it was meant i should.
it is a letter of introduction."
""a what?"
cried the voice, sharply.
i repeated what i had said.
""who are ye, yourself?"
was the next question, after a considerable pause.
""i am not ashamed of my name," said i. "they call me david balfour."
at that, i made sure the man started, for i heard the blunderbuss rattle on the window-sill; and it was after quite a long pause, and with a curious change of voice, that the next question followed: "is your father dead?"
i was so much surprised at this, that i could find no voice to answer, but stood staring.
""ay," the man resumed, "he'll be dead, no doubt; and that'll be what brings ye chapping to my door."
another pause, and then defiantly, "well, man," he said, "i'll let ye in;" and he disappeared from the window.
chapter iii i make acquaintance of my uncle presently there came a great rattling of chains and bolts, and the door was cautiously opened and shut to again behind me as soon as i had passed.
""go into the kitchen and touch naething," said the voice; and while the person of the house set himself to replacing the defences of the door, i groped my way forward and entered the kitchen.
the fire had burned up fairly bright, and showed me the barest room i think i ever put my eyes on.
half-a-dozen dishes stood upon the shelves; the table was laid for supper with a bowl of porridge, a horn spoon, and a cup of small beer.
besides what i have named, there was not another thing in that great, stone-vaulted, empty chamber but lockfast chests arranged along the wall and a corner cupboard with a padlock.
as soon as the last chain was up, the man rejoined me.
he was a mean, stooping, narrow-shouldered, clay-faced creature; and his age might have been anything between fifty and seventy.
his nightcap was of flannel, and so was the nightgown that he wore, instead of coat and waistcoat, over his ragged shirt.
he was long unshaved; but what most distressed and even daunted me, he would neither take his eyes away from me nor look me fairly in the face.
what he was, whether by trade or birth, was more than i could fathom; but he seemed most like an old, unprofitable serving-man, who should have been left in charge of that big house upon board wages.
""are ye sharp-set?"
he asked, glancing at about the level of my knee.
""ye can eat that drop parritch?"
i said i feared it was his own supper.
""o," said he, "i can do fine wanting it.
i'll take the ale, though, for it slockens -lrb- moistens -rrb- my cough."
he drank the cup about half out, still keeping an eye upon me as he drank; and then suddenly held out his hand.
""let's see the letter," said he.
i told him the letter was for mr. balfour; not for him.
""and who do ye think i am?"
says he.
""give me alexander's letter."
""you know my father's name?"
""it would be strange if i didnae," he returned, "for he was my born brother; and little as ye seem to like either me or my house, or my good parritch, i'm your born uncle, davie, my man, and you my born nephew.
so give us the letter, and sit down and fill your kyte."
if i had been some years younger, what with shame, weariness, and disappointment, i believe i had burst into tears.
as it was, i could find no words, neither black nor white, but handed him the letter, and sat down to the porridge with as little appetite for meat as ever a young man had.
meanwhile, my uncle, stooping over the fire, turned the letter over and over in his hands.
""do ye ken what's in it?"
he asked, suddenly.
""you see for yourself, sir," said i, "that the seal has not been broken."
""ay," said he, "but what brought you here?"
""to give the letter," said i. "no," says he, cunningly, "but ye'll have had some hopes, nae doubt?"
""i confess, sir," said i, "when i was told that i had kinsfolk well-to-do, i did indeed indulge the hope that they might help me in my life.
but i am no beggar; i look for no favours at your hands, and i want none that are not freely given.
for as poor as i appear, i have friends of my own that will be blithe to help me."
""hoot-toot!"
said uncle ebenezer, "dinnae fly up in the snuff at me.
we'll agree fine yet.
and, davie, my man, if you're done with that bit parritch, i could just take a sup of it myself.
ay," he continued, as soon as he had ousted me from the stool and spoon, "they're fine, halesome food -- they're grand food, parritch."
he murmured a little grace to himself and fell to.
""your father was very fond of his meat, i mind; he was a hearty, if not a great eater; but as for me, i could never do mair than pyke at food."
he took a pull at the small beer, which probably reminded him of hospitable duties, for his next speech ran thus: "if ye're dry ye'll find water behind the door."
to this i returned no answer, standing stiffly on my two feet, and looking down upon my uncle with a mighty angry heart.
he, on his part, continued to eat like a man under some pressure of time, and to throw out little darting glances now at my shoes and now at my home-spun stockings.
once only, when he had ventured to look a little higher, our eyes met; and no thief taken with a hand in a man's pocket could have shown more lively signals of distress.
this set me in a muse, whether his timidity arose from too long a disuse of any human company; and whether perhaps, upon a little trial, it might pass off, and my uncle change into an altogether different man.
from this i was awakened by his sharp voice.
""your father's been long dead?"
he asked.
""three weeks, sir," said i. "he was a secret man, alexander -- a secret, silent man," he continued.
""he never said muckle when he was young.
he'll never have spoken muckle of me?"
""i never knew, sir, till you told it me yourself, that he had any brother."
""dear me, dear me!"
said ebenezer.
""nor yet of shaws, i dare say?"
""not so much as the name, sir," said i. "to think o" that!"
said he.
""a strange nature of a man!"
for all that, he seemed singularly satisfied, but whether with himself, or me, or with this conduct of my father's, was more than i could read.
certainly, however, he seemed to be outgrowing that distaste, or ill-will, that he had conceived at first against my person; for presently he jumped up, came across the room behind me, and hit me a smack upon the shoulder.
""we'll agree fine yet!"
he cried.
""i'm just as glad i let you in.
and now come awa" to your bed."
to my surprise, he lit no lamp or candle, but set forth into the dark passage, groped his way, breathing deeply, up a flight of steps, and paused before a door, which he unlocked.
i was close upon his heels, having stumbled after him as best i might; and then he bade me go in, for that was my chamber.
i did as he bid, but paused after a few steps, and begged a light to go to bed with.
""hoot-toot!"
said uncle ebenezer, "there's a fine moon."
""neither moon nor star, sir, and pit-mirk," * said i. "i cannae see the bed."
* dark as the pit.
""hoot-toot, hoot-toot!"
said he.
""lights in a house is a thing i dinnae agree with.
i'm unco feared of fires.
good-night to ye, davie, my man."
and before i had time to add a further protest, he pulled the door to, and i heard him lock me in from the outside.
i did not know whether to laugh or cry.
the room was as cold as a well, and the bed, when i had found my way to it, as damp as a peat-hag; but by good fortune i had caught up my bundle and my plaid, and rolling myself in the latter, i lay down upon the floor under lee of the big bedstead, and fell speedily asleep.
with the first peep of day i opened my eyes, to find myself in a great chamber, hung with stamped leather, furnished with fine embroidered furniture, and lit by three fair windows.
ten years ago, or perhaps twenty, it must have been as pleasant a room to lie down or to awake in as a man could wish; but damp, dirt, disuse, and the mice and spiders had done their worst since then.
many of the window-panes, besides, were broken; and indeed this was so common a feature in that house, that i believe my uncle must at some time have stood a siege from his indignant neighbours -- perhaps with jennet clouston at their head.
meanwhile the sun was shining outside; and being very cold in that miserable room, i knocked and shouted till my gaoler came and let me out.
he carried me to the back of the house, where was a draw-well, and told me to "wash my face there, if i wanted;" and when that was done, i made the best of my own way back to the kitchen, where he had lit the fire and was making the porridge.
the table was laid with two bowls and two horn spoons, but the same single measure of small beer.
perhaps my eye rested on this particular with some surprise, and perhaps my uncle observed it; for he spoke up as if in answer to my thought, asking me if i would like to drink ale -- for so he called it.
i told him such was my habit, but not to put himself about.
""na, na," said he; "i'll deny you nothing in reason."
he fetched another cup from the shelf; and then, to my great surprise, instead of drawing more beer, he poured an accurate half from one cup to the other.
there was a kind of nobleness in this that took my breath away; if my uncle was certainly a miser, he was one of that thorough breed that goes near to make the vice respectable.
when we had made an end of our meal, my uncle ebenezer unlocked a drawer, and drew out of it a clay pipe and a lump of tobacco, from which he cut one fill before he locked it up again.
then he sat down in the sun at one of the windows and silently smoked.
from time to time his eyes came coasting round to me, and he shot out one of his questions.
once it was, "and your mother?"
and when i had told him that she, too, was dead, "ay, she was a bonnie lassie!"
then, after another long pause, "whae were these friends o" yours?"
i told him they were different gentlemen of the name of campbell; though, indeed, there was only one, and that the minister, that had ever taken the least note of me; but i began to think my uncle made too light of my position, and finding myself all alone with him, i did not wish him to suppose me helpless.
he seemed to turn this over in his mind; and then, "davie, my man," said he, "ye've come to the right bit when ye came to your uncle ebenezer.
i've a great notion of the family, and i mean to do the right by you; but while i'm taking a bit think to mysel" of what's the best thing to put you to -- whether the law, or the meenistry, or maybe the army, whilk is what boys are fondest of -- i wouldnae like the balfours to be humbled before a wheen hieland campbells, and i'll ask you to keep your tongue within your teeth.
nae letters; nae messages; no kind of word to onybody; or else -- there's my door."
""uncle ebenezer," said i, "i've no manner of reason to suppose you mean anything but well by me.
for all that, i would have you to know that i have a pride of my own.
it was by no will of mine that i came seeking you; and if you show me your door again, i'll take you at the word."
he seemed grievously put out.
""hoots-toots," said he, "ca" cannie, man -- ca" cannie!
bide a day or two.
i'm nae warlock, to find a fortune for you in the bottom of a parritch bowl; but just you give me a day or two, and say naething to naebody, and as sure as sure, i'll do the right by you."
""very well," said i, "enough said.
if you want to help me, there's no doubt but i'll be glad of it, and none but i'll be grateful."
it seemed to me -lrb- too soon, i dare say -rrb- that i was getting the upper hand of my uncle; and i began next to say that i must have the bed and bedclothes aired and put to sun-dry; for nothing would make me sleep in such a pickle.
""is this my house or yours?"
said he, in his keen voice, and then all of a sudden broke off.
""na, na," said he, "i didnae mean that.
what's mine is yours, davie, my man, and what's yours is mine.
blood's thicker than water; and there's naebody but you and me that ought the name."
and then on he rambled about the family, and its ancient greatness, and his father that began to enlarge the house, and himself that stopped the building as a sinful waste; and this put it in my head to give him jennet clouston's message.
""the limmer!"
he cried.
""twelve hunner and fifteen -- that's every day since i had the limmer rowpit!
* dod, david, i'll have her roasted on red peats before i'm by with it!
a witch -- a proclaimed witch!
i'll aff and see the session clerk."
* sold up.
and with that he opened a chest, and got out a very old and well-preserved blue coat and waistcoat, and a good enough beaver hat, both without lace.
these he threw on any way, and taking a staff from the cupboard, locked all up again, and was for setting out, when a thought arrested him.
""i cannae leave you by yoursel" in the house," said he.
""i'll have to lock you out."
the blood came to my face.
""if you lock me out," i said, "it'll be the last you'll see of me in friendship."
he turned very pale, and sucked his mouth in.
""this is no the way," he said, looking wickedly at a corner of the floor -- "this is no the way to win my favour, david."
""sir," says i, "with a proper reverence for your age and our common blood, i do not value your favour at a boddle's purchase.
i was brought up to have a good conceit of myself; and if you were all the uncle, and all the family, i had in the world ten times over, i would n't buy your liking at such prices."
uncle ebenezer went and looked out of the window for awhile.
i could see him all trembling and twitching, like a man with palsy.
but when he turned round, he had a smile upon his face.
""well, well," said he, "we must bear and forbear.
i'll no go; that's all that's to be said of it."
""uncle ebenezer," i said, "i can make nothing out of this.
you use me like a thief; you hate to have me in this house; you let me see it, every word and every minute: it's not possible that you can like me; and as for me, i've spoken to you as i never thought to speak to any man.
why do you seek to keep me, then?
let me gang back -- let me gang back to the friends i have, and that like me!"
""na, na; na, na," he said, very earnestly.
""i like you fine; we'll agree fine yet; and for the honour of the house i couldnae let you leave the way ye came.
bide here quiet, there's a good lad; just you bide here quiet a bittie, and ye'll find that we agree."
""well, sir," said i, after i had thought the matter out in silence, "i'll stay awhile.
it's more just i should be helped by my own blood than strangers; and if we do n't agree, i'll do my best it shall be through no fault of mine."
chapter iv i run a great danger in the house of shaws for a day that was begun so ill, the day passed fairly well.
we had the porridge cold again at noon, and hot porridge at night; porridge and small beer was my uncle's diet.
he spoke but little, and that in the same way as before, shooting a question at me after a long silence; and when i sought to lead him to talk about my future, slipped out of it again.
in a room next door to the kitchen, where he suffered me to go, i found a great number of books, both latin and english, in which i took great pleasure all the afternoon.
indeed, the time passed so lightly in this good company, that i began to be almost reconciled to my residence at shaws; and nothing but the sight of my uncle, and his eyes playing hide and seek with mine, revived the force of my distrust.
one thing i discovered, which put me in some doubt.
this was an entry on the fly-leaf of a chap-book -lrb- one of patrick walker's -rrb- plainly written by my father's hand and thus conceived: "to my brother ebenezer on his fifth birthday."
now, what puzzled me was this: that, as my father was of course the younger brother, he must either have made some strange error, or he must have written, before he was yet five, an excellent, clear manly hand of writing.
i tried to get this out of my head; but though i took down many interesting authors, old and new, history, poetry, and story-book, this notion of my father's hand of writing stuck to me; and when at length i went back into the kitchen, and sat down once more to porridge and small beer, the first thing i said to uncle ebenezer was to ask him if my father had not been very quick at his book.
""alexander?
no him!"
was the reply.
""i was far quicker mysel"; i was a clever chappie when i was young.
why, i could read as soon as he could."
this puzzled me yet more; and a thought coming into my head, i asked if he and my father had been twins.
he jumped upon his stool, and the horn spoon fell out of his hand upon the floor.
""what gars ye ask that?"
he said, and he caught me by the breast of the jacket, and looked this time straight into my eyes: his own were little and light, and bright like a bird's, blinking and winking strangely.
""what do you mean?"
i asked, very calmly, for i was far stronger than he, and not easily frightened.
""take your hand from my jacket.
this is no way to behave."
my uncle seemed to make a great effort upon himself.
""dod man, david," he said, "ye should-nae speak to me about your father.
that's where the mistake is."
he sat awhile and shook, blinking in his plate: "he was all the brother that ever i had," he added, but with no heart in his voice; and then he caught up his spoon and fell to supper again, but still shaking.
now this last passage, this laying of hands upon my person and sudden profession of love for my dead father, went so clean beyond my comprehension that it put me into both fear and hope.
on the one hand, i began to think my uncle was perhaps insane and might be dangerous; on the other, there came up into my mind -lrb- quite unbidden by me and even discouraged -rrb- a story like some ballad i had heard folk singing, of a poor lad that was a rightful heir and a wicked kinsman that tried to keep him from his own.
for why should my uncle play a part with a relative that came, almost a beggar, to his door, unless in his heart he had some cause to fear him?
with this notion, all unacknowledged, but nevertheless getting firmly settled in my head, i now began to imitate his covert looks; so that we sat at table like a cat and a mouse, each stealthily observing the other.
not another word had he to say to me, black or white, but was busy turning something secretly over in his mind; and the longer we sat and the more i looked at him, the more certain i became that the something was unfriendly to myself.
when he had cleared the platter, he got out a single pipeful of tobacco, just as in the morning, turned round a stool into the chimney corner, and sat awhile smoking, with his back to me.
""davie," he said, at length, "i've been thinking;" then he paused, and said it again.
""there's a wee bit siller that i half promised ye before ye were born," he continued; "promised it to your father.
o, naething legal, ye understand; just gentlemen daffing at their wine.
well, i keepit that bit money separate -- it was a great expense, but a promise is a promise -- and it has grown by now to be a matter of just precisely -- just exactly" -- and here he paused and stumbled -- "of just exactly forty pounds!"
this last he rapped out with a sidelong glance over his shoulder; and the next moment added, almost with a scream, "scots!"
the pound scots being the same thing as an english shilling, the difference made by this second thought was considerable; i could see, besides, that the whole story was a lie, invented with some end which it puzzled me to guess; and i made no attempt to conceal the tone of raillery in which i answered -- "o, think again, sir!
pounds sterling, i believe!"
""that's what i said," returned my uncle: "pounds sterling!
and if you'll step out-by to the door a minute, just to see what kind of a night it is, i'll get it out to ye and call ye in again."
i did his will, smiling to myself in my contempt that he should think i was so easily to be deceived.
it was a dark night, with a few stars low down; and as i stood just outside the door, i heard a hollow moaning of wind far off among the hills.
i said to myself there was something thundery and changeful in the weather, and little knew of what a vast importance that should prove to me before the evening passed.
when i was called in again, my uncle counted out into my hand seven and thirty golden guinea pieces; the rest was in his hand, in small gold and silver; but his heart failed him there, and he crammed the change into his pocket.
""there," said he, "that'll show you!
i'm a queer man, and strange wi" strangers; but my word is my bond, and there's the proof of it."
now, my uncle seemed so miserly that i was struck dumb by this sudden generosity, and could find no words in which to thank him.
""no a word!"
said he.
""nae thanks; i want nae thanks.
i do my duty.
i'm no saying that everybody would have done it; but for my part -lrb- though i'm a careful body, too -rrb- it's a pleasure to me to do the right by my brother's son; and it's a pleasure to me to think that now we'll agree as such near friends should."
i spoke him in return as handsomely as i was able; but all the while i was wondering what would come next, and why he had parted with his precious guineas; for as to the reason he had given, a baby would have refused it.
presently he looked towards me sideways.
""and see here," says he, "tit for tat."
i told him i was ready to prove my gratitude in any reasonable degree, and then waited, looking for some monstrous demand.
and yet, when at last he plucked up courage to speak, it was only to tell me -lrb- very properly, as i thought -rrb- that he was growing old and a little broken, and that he would expect me to help him with the house and the bit garden.
i answered, and expressed my readiness to serve.
""well," he said, "let's begin."
he pulled out of his pocket a rusty key.
""there," says he, "there's the key of the stair-tower at the far end of the house.
ye can only win into it from the outside, for that part of the house is no finished.
gang ye in there, and up the stairs, and bring me down the chest that's at the top.
there's papers i n't," he added.
""can i have a light, sir?"
said i. "na," said he, very cunningly.
""nae lights in my house."
""very well, sir," said i. "are the stairs good?"
""they're grand," said he; and then, as i was going, "keep to the wall," he added; "there's nae bannisters.
but the stairs are grand underfoot."
out i went into the night.
the wind was still moaning in the distance, though never a breath of it came near the house of shaws.
it had fallen blacker than ever; and i was glad to feel along the wall, till i came the length of the stairtower door at the far end of the unfinished wing.
i had got the key into the keyhole and had just turned it, when all upon a sudden, without sound of wind or thunder, the whole sky lighted up with wild fire and went black again.
i had to put my hand over my eyes to get back to the colour of the darkness; and indeed i was already half blinded when i stepped into the tower.
it was so dark inside, it seemed a body could scarce breathe; but i pushed out with foot and hand, and presently struck the wall with the one, and the lowermost round of the stair with the other.
the wall, by the touch, was of fine hewn stone; the steps too, though somewhat steep and narrow, were of polished masonwork, and regular and solid underfoot.
minding my uncle's word about the bannisters, i kept close to the tower side, and felt my way in the pitch darkness with a beating heart.
the house of shaws stood some five full storeys high, not counting lofts.
well, as i advanced, it seemed to me the stair grew airier and a thought more lightsome; and i was wondering what might be the cause of this change, when a second blink of the summer lightning came and went.
if i did not cry out, it was because fear had me by the throat; and if i did not fall, it was more by heaven's mercy than my own strength.
it was not only that the flash shone in on every side through breaches in the wall, so that i seemed to be clambering aloft upon an open scaffold, but the same passing brightness showed me the steps were of unequal length, and that one of my feet rested that moment within two inches of the well.
this was the grand stair!
i thought; and with the thought, a gust of a kind of angry courage came into my heart.
my uncle had sent me here, certainly to run great risks, perhaps to die.
i swore i would settle that "perhaps," if i should break my neck for it; got me down upon my hands and knees; and as slowly as a snail, feeling before me every inch, and testing the solidity of every stone, i continued to ascend the stair.
the darkness, by contrast with the flash, appeared to have redoubled; nor was that all, for my ears were now troubled and my mind confounded by a great stir of bats in the top part of the tower, and the foul beasts, flying downwards, sometimes beat about my face and body.
the tower, i should have said, was square; and in every corner the step was made of a great stone of a different shape to join the flights.
well, i had come close to one of these turns, when, feeling forward as usual, my hand slipped upon an edge and found nothing but emptiness beyond it.
the stair had been carried no higher; to set a stranger mounting it in the darkness was to send him straight to his death; and -lrb- although, thanks to the lightning and my own precautions, i was safe enough -rrb- the mere thought of the peril in which i might have stood, and the dreadful height i might have fallen from, brought out the sweat upon my body and relaxed my joints.
but i knew what i wanted now, and turned and groped my way down again, with a wonderful anger in my heart.
about half-way down, the wind sprang up in a clap and shook the tower, and died again; the rain followed; and before i had reached the ground level it fell in buckets.
i put out my head into the storm, and looked along towards the kitchen.
the door, which i had shut behind me when i left, now stood open, and shed a little glimmer of light; and i thought i could see a figure standing in the rain, quite still, like a man hearkening.
and then there came a blinding flash, which showed me my uncle plainly, just where i had fancied him to stand; and hard upon the heels of it, a great tow-row of thunder.
now, whether my uncle thought the crash to be the sound of my fall, or whether he heard in it god's voice denouncing murder, i will leave you to guess.
certain it is, at least, that he was seized on by a kind of panic fear, and that he ran into the house and left the door open behind him.
i followed as softly as i could, and, coming unheard into the kitchen, stood and watched him.
he had found time to open the corner cupboard and bring out a great case bottle of aqua vitae, and now sat with his back towards me at the table.
ever and again he would be seized with a fit of deadly shuddering and groan aloud, and carrying the bottle to his lips, drink down the raw spirits by the mouthful.
i stepped forward, came close behind him where he sat, and suddenly clapping my two hands down upon his shoulders -- "ah!"
cried i. my uncle gave a kind of broken cry like a sheep's bleat, flung up his arms, and tumbled to the floor like a dead man.
i was somewhat shocked at this; but i had myself to look to first of all, and did not hesitate to let him lie as he had fallen.
the keys were hanging in the cupboard; and it was my design to furnish myself with arms before my uncle should come again to his senses and the power of devising evil.
in the cupboard were a few bottles, some apparently of medicine; a great many bills and other papers, which i should willingly enough have rummaged, had i had the time; and a few necessaries that were nothing to my purpose.
thence i turned to the chests.
the first was full of meal; the second of moneybags and papers tied into sheaves; in the third, with many other things -lrb- and these for the most part clothes -rrb- i found a rusty, ugly-looking highland dirk without the scabbard.
this, then, i concealed inside my waistcoat, and turned to my uncle.
he lay as he had fallen, all huddled, with one knee up and one arm sprawling abroad; his face had a strange colour of blue, and he seemed to have ceased breathing.
fear came on me that he was dead; then i got water and dashed it in his face; and with that he seemed to come a little to himself, working his mouth and fluttering his eyelids.
at last he looked up and saw me, and there came into his eyes a terror that was not of this world.
""come, come," said i; "sit up."
""are ye alive?"
he sobbed.
""o man, are ye alive?"
""that am i," said i. "small thanks to you!"
he had begun to seek for his breath with deep sighs.
""the blue phial," said he -- "in the aumry -- the blue phial."
his breath came slower still.
i ran to the cupboard, and, sure enough, found there a blue phial of medicine, with the dose written on it on a paper, and this i administered to him with what speed i might.
""it's the trouble," said he, reviving a little; "i have a trouble, davie.
it's the heart."
i set him on a chair and looked at him.
it is true i felt some pity for a man that looked so sick, but i was full besides of righteous anger; and i numbered over before him the points on which i wanted explanation: why he lied to me at every word; why he feared that i should leave him; why he disliked it to be hinted that he and my father were twins -- "is that because it is true?"
i asked; why he had given me money to which i was convinced i had no claim; and, last of all, why he had tried to kill me.
he heard me all through in silence; and then, in a broken voice, begged me to let him go to bed.
""i'll tell ye the morn," he said; "as sure as death i will."
and so weak was he that i could do nothing but consent.
i locked him into his room, however, and pocketed the key, and then returning to the kitchen, made up such a blaze as had not shone there for many a long year, and wrapping myself in my plaid, lay down upon the chests and fell asleep.
chapter v i go to the queen's ferry much rain fell in the night; and the next morning there blew a bitter wintry wind out of the north-west, driving scattered clouds.
for all that, and before the sun began to peep or the last of the stars had vanished, i made my way to the side of the burn, and had a plunge in a deep whirling pool.
all aglow from my bath, i sat down once more beside the fire, which i replenished, and began gravely to consider my position.
there was now no doubt about my uncle's enmity; there was no doubt i carried my life in my hand, and he would leave no stone unturned that he might compass my destruction.
but i was young and spirited, and like most lads that have been country-bred, i had a great opinion of my shrewdness.
i had come to his door no better than a beggar and little more than a child; he had met me with treachery and violence; it would be a fine consummation to take the upper hand, and drive him like a herd of sheep.
i sat there nursing my knee and smiling at the fire; and i saw myself in fancy smell out his secrets one after another, and grow to be that man's king and ruler.
the warlock of essendean, they say, had made a mirror in which men could read the future; it must have been of other stuff than burning coal; for in all the shapes and pictures that i sat and gazed at, there was never a ship, never a seaman with a hairy cap, never a big bludgeon for my silly head, or the least sign of all those tribulations that were ripe to fall on me.
presently, all swollen with conceit, i went up-stairs and gave my prisoner his liberty.
he gave me good-morning civilly; and i gave the same to him, smiling down upon him, from the heights of my sufficiency.
soon we were set to breakfast, as it might have been the day before.
""well, sir," said i, with a jeering tone, "have you nothing more to say to me?"
and then, as he made no articulate reply, "it will be time, i think, to understand each other," i continued.
""you took me for a country johnnie raw, with no more mother-wit or courage than a porridge-stick.
i took you for a good man, or no worse than others at the least.
it seems we were both wrong.
what cause you have to fear me, to cheat me, and to attempt my life --" he murmured something about a jest, and that he liked a bit of fun; and then, seeing me smile, changed his tone, and assured me he would make all clear as soon as we had breakfasted.
i saw by his face that he had no lie ready for me, though he was hard at work preparing one; and i think i was about to tell him so, when we were interrupted by a knocking at the door.
bidding my uncle sit where he was, i went to open it, and found on the doorstep a half-grown boy in sea-clothes.
he had no sooner seen me than he began to dance some steps of the sea-hornpipe -lrb- which i had never before heard of far less seen -rrb-, snapping his fingers in the air and footing it right cleverly.
for all that, he was blue with the cold; and there was something in his face, a look between tears and laughter, that was highly pathetic and consisted ill with this gaiety of manner.
""what cheer, mate?"
says he, with a cracked voice.
i asked him soberly to name his pleasure.
""o, pleasure!"
says he; and then began to sing: "for it's my delight, of a shiny night, in the season of the year."
""well," said i, "if you have no business at all, i will even be so unmannerly as to shut you out."
""stay, brother!"
he cried.
""have you no fun about you?
or do you want to get me thrashed?
i've brought a letter from old heasyoasy to mr. belflower."
he showed me a letter as he spoke.
""and i say, mate," he added, "i'm mortal hungry."
""well," said i, "come into the house, and you shall have a bite if i go empty for it."
with that i brought him in and set him down to my own place, where he fell-to greedily on the remains of breakfast, winking to me between whiles, and making many faces, which i think the poor soul considered manly.
meanwhile, my uncle had read the letter and sat thinking; then, suddenly, he got to his feet with a great air of liveliness, and pulled me apart into the farthest corner of the room.
""read that," said he, and put the letter in my hand.
here it is, lying before me as i write: "the hawes inn, at the queen's ferry.
""sir, -- i lie here with my hawser up and down, and send my cabin-boy to informe.
if you have any further commands for over-seas, to-day will be the last occasion, as the wind will serve us well out of the firth.
i will not seek to deny that i have had crosses with your doer, * mr. rankeillor; of which, if not speedily redd up, you may looke to see some losses follow.
i have drawn a bill upon you, as per margin, and am, sir, your most obedt., humble servant, "elias hoseason."
* agent.
""you see, davie," resumed my uncle, as soon as he saw that i had done, "i have a venture with this man hoseason, the captain of a trading brig, the covenant, of dysart.
now, if you and me was to walk over with yon lad, i could see the captain at the hawes, or maybe on board the covenant if there was papers to be signed; and so far from a loss of time, we can jog on to the lawyer, mr. rankeillor's.
after a" that's come and gone, ye would be swier * to believe me upon my naked word; but ye'll believe rankeillor.
he's factor to half the gentry in these parts; an auld man, forby: highly respeckit, and he kenned your father."
* unwilling.
i stood awhile and thought.
i was going to some place of shipping, which was doubtless populous, and where my uncle durst attempt no violence, and, indeed, even the society of the cabin-boy so far protected me.
once there, i believed i could force on the visit to the lawyer, even if my uncle were now insincere in proposing it; and, perhaps, in the bottom of my heart, i wished a nearer view of the sea and ships.
you are to remember i had lived all my life in the inland hills, and just two days before had my first sight of the firth lying like a blue floor, and the sailed ships moving on the face of it, no bigger than toys.
one thing with another, i made up my mind.
""very well," says i, "let us go to the ferry."
my uncle got into his hat and coat, and buckled an old rusty cutlass on; and then we trod the fire out, locked the door, and set forth upon our walk.
the wind, being in that cold quarter the north-west, blew nearly in our faces as we went.
it was the month of june; the grass was all white with daisies, and the trees with blossom; but, to judge by our blue nails and aching wrists, the time might have been winter and the whiteness a december frost.
uncle ebenezer trudged in the ditch, jogging from side to side like an old ploughman coming home from work.
he never said a word the whole way; and i was thrown for talk on the cabin-boy.
he told me his name was ransome, and that he had followed the sea since he was nine, but could not say how old he was, as he had lost his reckoning.
he showed me tattoo marks, baring his breast in the teeth of the wind and in spite of my remonstrances, for i thought it was enough to kill him; he swore horribly whenever he remembered, but more like a silly schoolboy than a man; and boasted of many wild and bad things that he had done: stealthy thefts, false accusations, ay, and even murder; but all with such a dearth of likelihood in the details, and such a weak and crazy swagger in the delivery, as disposed me rather to pity than to believe him.
i asked him of the brig -lrb- which he declared was the finest ship that sailed -rrb- and of captain hoseason, in whose praises he was equally loud.
heasyoasy -lrb- for so he still named the skipper -rrb- was a man, by his account, that minded for nothing either in heaven or earth; one that, as people said, would "crack on all sail into the day of judgment;" rough, fierce, unscrupulous, and brutal; and all this my poor cabin-boy had taught himself to admire as something seamanlike and manly.
he would only admit one flaw in his idol.
""he ai n't no seaman," he admitted.
""that's mr. shuan that navigates the brig; he's the finest seaman in the trade, only for drink; and i tell you i believe it!
why, look "ere;" and turning down his stocking he showed me a great, raw, red wound that made my blood run cold.
""he done that -- mr. shuan done it," he said, with an air of pride.
""what!"
i cried, "do you take such savage usage at his hands?
why, you are no slave, to be so handled!"
""no," said the poor moon-calf, changing his tune at once, "and so he'll find.
see'ere;" and he showed me a great case-knife, which he told me was stolen.
""o," says he, "let me see him try; i dare him to; i'll do for him!
o, he ai n't the first!"
and he confirmed it with a poor, silly, ugly oath.
i have never felt such pity for any one in this wide world as i felt for that half-witted creature, and it began to come over me that the brig covenant -lrb- for all her pious name -rrb- was little better than a hell upon the seas.
""have you no friends?"
said i.
he said he had a father in some english seaport, i forget which.
""he was a fine man, too," he said, "but he's dead."
""in heaven's name," cried i, "can you find no reputable life on shore?"
""o, no," says he, winking and looking very sly, "they would put me to a trade.
i know a trick worth two of that, i do!"
i asked him what trade could be so dreadful as the one he followed, where he ran the continual peril of his life, not alone from wind and sea, but by the horrid cruelty of those who were his masters.
he said it was very true; and then began to praise the life, and tell what a pleasure it was to get on shore with money in his pocket, and spend it like a man, and buy apples, and swagger, and surprise what he called stick-in-the-mud boys.
""and then it's not all as bad as that," says he; "there's worse off than me: there's the twenty-pounders.
o, laws!
you should see them taking on.
why, i've seen a man as old as you, i dessay" -- -lrb- to him i seemed old -rrb- -- "ah, and he had a beard, too -- well, and as soon as we cleared out of the river, and he had the drug out of his head -- my!
how he cried and carried on!
i made a fine fool of him, i tell you!
and then there's little uns, too: oh, little by me!
i tell you, i keep them in order.
when we carry little uns, i have a rope's end of my own to wollop'em."
and so he ran on, until it came in on me what he meant by twenty-pounders were those unhappy criminals who were sent over-seas to slavery in north america, or the still more unhappy innocents who were kidnapped or trepanned -lrb- as the word went -rrb- for private interest or vengeance.
just then we came to the top of the hill, and looked down on the ferry and the hope.
the firth of forth -lrb- as is very well known -rrb- narrows at this point to the width of a good-sized river, which makes a convenient ferry going north, and turns the upper reach into a landlocked haven for all manner of ships.
right in the midst of the narrows lies an islet with some ruins; on the south shore they have built a pier for the service of the ferry; and at the end of the pier, on the other side of the road, and backed against a pretty garden of holly-trees and hawthorns, i could see the building which they called the hawes inn.
the town of queensferry lies farther west, and the neighbourhood of the inn looked pretty lonely at that time of day, for the boat had just gone north with passengers.
a skiff, however, lay beside the pier, with some seamen sleeping on the thwarts; this, as ransome told me, was the brig's boat waiting for the captain; and about half a mile off, and all alone in the anchorage, he showed me the covenant herself.
there was a sea-going bustle on board; yards were swinging into place; and as the wind blew from that quarter, i could hear the song of the sailors as they pulled upon the ropes.
after all i had listened to upon the way, i looked at that ship with an extreme abhorrence; and from the bottom of my heart i pitied all poor souls that were condemned to sail in her.
we had all three pulled up on the brow of the hill; and now i marched across the road and addressed my uncle.
""i think it right to tell you, sir," says i, "there's nothing that will bring me on board that covenant."
he seemed to waken from a dream.
""eh?"
he said.
""what's that?"
i told him over again.
""well, well," he said, "we'll have to please ye, i suppose.
but what are we standing here for?
it's perishing cold; and if i'm no mistaken, they're busking the covenant for sea."
chapter vi what befell at the queen's ferry as soon as we came to the inn, ransome led us up the stair to a small room, with a bed in it, and heated like an oven by a great fire of coal.
at a table hard by the chimney, a tall, dark, sober-looking man sat writing.
in spite of the heat of the room, he wore a thick sea-jacket, buttoned to the neck, and a tall hairy cap drawn down over his ears; yet i never saw any man, not even a judge upon the bench, look cooler, or more studious and self-possessed, than this ship-captain.
he got to his feet at once, and coming forward, offered his large hand to ebenezer.
""i am proud to see you, mr. balfour," said he, in a fine deep voice, "and glad that ye are here in time.
the wind's fair, and the tide upon the turn; we'll see the old coal-bucket burning on the isle of may before to-night."
""captain hoseason," returned my uncle, "you keep your room unco hot."
""it's a habit i have, mr. balfour," said the skipper.
""i'm a cold-rife man by my nature; i have a cold blood, sir.
there's neither fur, nor flannel -- no, sir, nor hot rum, will warm up what they call the temperature.
sir, it's the same with most men that have been carbonadoed, as they call it, in the tropic seas."
""well, well, captain," replied my uncle, "we must all be the way we're made."
but it chanced that this fancy of the captain's had a great share in my misfortunes.
for though i had promised myself not to let my kinsman out of sight, i was both so impatient for a nearer look of the sea, and so sickened by the closeness of the room, that when he told me to "run down-stairs and play myself awhile," i was fool enough to take him at his word.
away i went, therefore, leaving the two men sitting down to a bottle and a great mass of papers; and crossing the road in front of the inn, walked down upon the beach.
with the wind in that quarter, only little wavelets, not much bigger than i had seen upon a lake, beat upon the shore.
but the weeds were new to me -- some green, some brown and long, and some with little bladders that crackled between my fingers.
even so far up the firth, the smell of the sea-water was exceedingly salt and stirring; the covenant, besides, was beginning to shake out her sails, which hung upon the yards in clusters; and the spirit of all that i beheld put me in thoughts of far voyages and foreign places.
i looked, too, at the seamen with the skiff -- big brown fellows, some in shirts, some with jackets, some with coloured handkerchiefs about their throats, one with a brace of pistols stuck into his pockets, two or three with knotty bludgeons, and all with their case-knives.
i passed the time of day with one that looked less desperate than his fellows, and asked him of the sailing of the brig. he said they would get under way as soon as the ebb set, and expressed his gladness to be out of a port where there were no taverns and fiddlers; but all with such horrifying oaths, that i made haste to get away from him.
this threw me back on ransome, who seemed the least wicked of that gang, and who soon came out of the inn and ran to me, crying for a bowl of punch.
i told him i would give him no such thing, for neither he nor i was of an age for such indulgences.
""but a glass of ale you may have, and welcome," said i.
he mopped and mowed at me, and called me names; but he was glad to get the ale, for all that; and presently we were set down at a table in the front room of the inn, and both eating and drinking with a good appetite.
here it occurred to me that, as the landlord was a man of that county, i might do well to make a friend of him.
i offered him a share, as was much the custom in those days; but he was far too great a man to sit with such poor customers as ransome and myself, and he was leaving the room, when i called him back to ask if he knew mr. rankeillor.
""hoot, ay," says he, "and a very honest man.
and, o, by-the-by," says he, "was it you that came in with ebenezer?"
and when i had told him yes, "ye'll be no friend of his?"
he asked, meaning, in the scottish way, that i would be no relative.
i told him no, none.
""i thought not," said he, "and yet ye have a kind of gliff * of mr. alexander."
* look.
i said it seemed that ebenezer was ill-seen in the country.
""nae doubt," said the landlord.
""he's a wicked auld man, and there's many would like to see him girning in the tow *.
jennet clouston and mony mair that he has harried out of house and hame.
and yet he was ance a fine young fellow, too.
but that was before the sough ** gaed abroad about mr. alexander, that was like the death of him."
* rope.
** report.
""and what was it?"
i asked.
""ou, just that he had killed him," said the landlord.
""did ye never hear that?"
""and what would he kill him for?"
said i. "and what for, but just to get the place," said he.
""the place?"
said i. "the shaws?"
""nae other place that i ken," said he.
""ay, man?"
said i. "is that so?
was my -- was alexander the eldest son?""
"deed was he," said the landlord.
""what else would he have killed him for?"
and with that he went away, as he had been impatient to do from the beginning.
of course, i had guessed it a long while ago; but it is one thing to guess, another to know; and i sat stunned with my good fortune, and could scarce grow to believe that the same poor lad who had trudged in the dust from ettrick forest not two days ago, was now one of the rich of the earth, and had a house and broad lands, and might mount his horse tomorrow.
all these pleasant things, and a thousand others, crowded into my mind, as i sat staring before me out of the inn window, and paying no heed to what i saw; only i remember that my eye lighted on captain hoseason down on the pier among his seamen, and speaking with some authority.
and presently he came marching back towards the house, with no mark of a sailor's clumsiness, but carrying his fine, tall figure with a manly bearing, and still with the same sober, grave expression on his face.
i wondered if it was possible that ransome's stories could be true, and half disbelieved them; they fitted so ill with the man's looks.
but indeed, he was neither so good as i supposed him, nor quite so bad as ransome did; for, in fact, he was two men, and left the better one behind as soon as he set foot on board his vessel.
the next thing, i heard my uncle calling me, and found the pair in the road together.
it was the captain who addressed me, and that with an air -lrb- very flattering to a young lad -rrb- of grave equality.
""sir," said he, "mr. balfour tells me great things of you; and for my own part, i like your looks.
i wish i was for longer here, that we might make the better friends; but we'll make the most of what we have.
ye shall come on board my brig for half an hour, till the ebb sets, and drink a bowl with me."
now, i longed to see the inside of a ship more than words can tell; but i was not going to put myself in jeopardy, and i told him my uncle and i had an appointment with a lawyer.
""ay, ay," said he, "he passed me word of that.
but, ye see, the boat'll set ye ashore at the town pier, and that's but a penny stonecast from rankeillor's house."
and here he suddenly leaned down and whispered in my ear: "take care of the old tod; * he means mischief.
come aboard till i can get a word with ye."
and then, passing his arm through mine, he continued aloud, as he set off towards his boat: "but, come, what can i bring ye from the carolinas?
any friend of mr. balfour's can command.
a roll of tobacco?
indian feather-work?
a skin of a wild beast?
a stone pipe?
the mocking-bird that mews for all the world like a cat?
the cardinal bird that is as red as blood?
-- take your pick and say your pleasure."
* fox.
by this time we were at the boat-side, and he was handing me in.
i did not dream of hanging back; i thought -lrb- the poor fool! -rrb-
that i had found a good friend and helper, and i was rejoiced to see the ship.
as soon as we were all set in our places, the boat was thrust off from the pier and began to move over the waters: and what with my pleasure in this new movement and my surprise at our low position, and the appearance of the shores, and the growing bigness of the brig as we drew near to it, i could hardly understand what the captain said, and must have answered him at random.
as soon as we were alongside -lrb- where i sat fairly gaping at the ship's height, the strong humming of the tide against its sides, and the pleasant cries of the seamen at their work -rrb- hoseason, declaring that he and i must be the first aboard, ordered a tackle to be sent down from the main-yard.
in this i was whipped into the air and set down again on the deck, where the captain stood ready waiting for me, and instantly slipped back his arm under mine.
there i stood some while, a little dizzy with the unsteadiness of all around me, perhaps a little afraid, and yet vastly pleased with these strange sights; the captain meanwhile pointing out the strangest, and telling me their names and uses.
""but where is my uncle?"
said i suddenly.
""ay," said hoseason, with a sudden grimness, "that's the point."
i felt i was lost.
with all my strength, i plucked myself clear of him and ran to the bulwarks.
sure enough, there was the boat pulling for the town, with my uncle sitting in the stern.
i gave a piercing cry -- "help, help!
murder!"
-- so that both sides of the anchorage rang with it, and my uncle turned round where he was sitting, and showed me a face full of cruelty and terror.
it was the last i saw.
already strong hands had been plucking me back from the ship's side; and now a thunderbolt seemed to strike me; i saw a great flash of fire, and fell senseless.
chapter vii i go to sea in the brig "covenant" of dysart i came to myself in darkness, in great pain, bound hand and foot, and deafened by many unfamiliar noises.
there sounded in my ears a roaring of water as of a huge mill-dam, the thrashing of heavy sprays, the thundering of the sails, and the shrill cries of seamen.
the whole world now heaved giddily up, and now rushed giddily downward; and so sick and hurt was i in body, and my mind so much confounded, that it took me a long while, chasing my thoughts up and down, and ever stunned again by a fresh stab of pain, to realise that i must be lying somewhere bound in the belly of that unlucky ship, and that the wind must have strengthened to a gale.
with the clear perception of my plight, there fell upon me a blackness of despair, a horror of remorse at my own folly, and a passion of anger at my uncle, that once more bereft me of my senses.
when i returned again to life, the same uproar, the same confused and violent movements, shook and deafened me; and presently, to my other pains and distresses, there was added the sickness of an unused landsman on the sea.
in that time of my adventurous youth, i suffered many hardships; but none that was so crushing to my mind and body, or lit by so few hopes, as these first hours aboard the brig. i heard a gun fire, and supposed the storm had proved too strong for us, and we were firing signals of distress.
the thought of deliverance, even by death in the deep sea, was welcome to me.
yet it was no such matter; but -lrb- as i was afterwards told -rrb- a common habit of the captain's, which i here set down to show that even the worst man may have his kindlier side.
we were then passing, it appeared, within some miles of dysart, where the brig was built, and where old mrs. hoseason, the captain's mother, had come some years before to live; and whether outward or inward bound, the covenant was never suffered to go by that place by day, without a gun fired and colours shown.
i had no measure of time; day and night were alike in that ill-smelling cavern of the ship's bowels where i lay; and the misery of my situation drew out the hours to double.
how long, therefore, i lay waiting to hear the ship split upon some rock, or to feel her reel head foremost into the depths of the sea, i have not the means of computation.
but sleep at length stole from me the consciousness of sorrow.
i was awakened by the light of a hand-lantern shining in my face.
a small man of about thirty, with green eyes and a tangle of fair hair, stood looking down at me.
""well," said he, "how goes it?"
i answered by a sob; and my visitor then felt my pulse and temples, and set himself to wash and dress the wound upon my scalp.
""ay," said he, "a sore dunt *.
what, man?
cheer up!
the world's no done; you've made a bad start of it but you'll make a better.
have you had any meat?"
* stroke.
i said i could not look at it: and thereupon he gave me some brandy and water in a tin pannikin, and left me once more to myself.
the next time he came to see me, i was lying betwixt sleep and waking, my eyes wide open in the darkness, the sickness quite departed, but succeeded by a horrid giddiness and swimming that was almost worse to bear.
i ached, besides, in every limb, and the cords that bound me seemed to be of fire.
the smell of the hole in which i lay seemed to have become a part of me; and during the long interval since his last visit i had suffered tortures of fear, now from the scurrying of the ship's rats, that sometimes pattered on my very face, and now from the dismal imaginings that haunt the bed of fever.
the glimmer of the lantern, as a trap opened, shone in like the heaven's sunlight; and though it only showed me the strong, dark beams of the ship that was my prison, i could have cried aloud for gladness.
the man with the green eyes was the first to descend the ladder, and i noticed that he came somewhat unsteadily.
he was followed by the captain.
neither said a word; but the first set to and examined me, and dressed my wound as before, while hoseason looked me in my face with an odd, black look.
""now, sir, you see for yourself," said the first: "a high fever, no appetite, no light, no meat: you see for yourself what that means."
""i am no conjurer, mr. riach," said the captain.
""give me leave, sir," said riach; "you've a good head upon your shoulders, and a good scotch tongue to ask with; but i will leave you no manner of excuse; i want that boy taken out of this hole and put in the forecastle."
""what ye may want, sir, is a matter of concern to nobody but yoursel"," returned the captain; "but i can tell ye that which is to be.
here he is; here he shall bide."
""admitting that you have been paid in a proportion," said the other, "i will crave leave humbly to say that i have not.
paid i am, and none too much, to be the second officer of this old tub, and you ken very well if i do my best to earn it.
but i was paid for nothing more."
""if ye could hold back your hand from the tin-pan, mr. riach, i would have no complaint to make of ye," returned the skipper; "and instead of asking riddles, i make bold to say that ye would keep your breath to cool your porridge.
we'll be required on deck," he added, in a sharper note, and set one foot upon the ladder.
but mr. riach caught him by the sleeve.
""admitting that you have been paid to do a murder --" he began.
hoseason turned upon him with a flash.
""what's that?"
he cried.
""what kind of talk is that?"
""it seems it is the talk that you can understand," said mr. riach, looking him steadily in the face.
""mr. riach, i have sailed with ye three cruises," replied the captain.
""in all that time, sir, ye should have learned to know me: i'm a stiff man, and a dour man; but for what ye say the now -- fie, fie!
-- it comes from a bad heart and a black conscience.
if ye say the lad will die --" "ay, will he!"
said mr. riach.
""well, sir, is not that enough?"
said hoseason.
""flit him where ye please!"
thereupon the captain ascended the ladder; and i, who had lain silent throughout this strange conversation, beheld mr. riach turn after him and bow as low as to his knees in what was plainly a spirit of derision.
even in my then state of sickness, i perceived two things: that the mate was touched with liquor, as the captain hinted, and that -lrb- drunk or sober -rrb- he was like to prove a valuable friend.
five minutes afterwards my bonds were cut, i was hoisted on a man's back, carried up to the forecastle, and laid in a bunk on some sea-blankets; where the first thing that i did was to lose my senses.
it was a blessed thing indeed to open my eyes again upon the daylight, and to find myself in the society of men.
the forecastle was a roomy place enough, set all about with berths, in which the men of the watch below were seated smoking, or lying down asleep.
the day being calm and the wind fair, the scuttle was open, and not only the good daylight, but from time to time -lrb- as the ship rolled -rrb- a dusty beam of sunlight shone in, and dazzled and delighted me.
i had no sooner moved, moreover, than one of the men brought me a drink of something healing which mr. riach had prepared, and bade me lie still and i should soon be well again.
there were no bones broken, he explained: "a clour * on the head was naething.
man," said he, "it was me that gave it ye!"
* blow.
here i lay for the space of many days a close prisoner, and not only got my health again, but came to know my companions.
they were a rough lot indeed, as sailors mostly are: being men rooted out of all the kindly parts of life, and condemned to toss together on the rough seas, with masters no less cruel.
there were some among them that had sailed with the pirates and seen things it would be a shame even to speak of; some were men that had run from the king's ships, and went with a halter round their necks, of which they made no secret; and all, as the saying goes, were "at a word and a blow" with their best friends.
yet i had not been many days shut up with them before i began to be ashamed of my first judgment, when i had drawn away from them at the ferry pier, as though they had been unclean beasts.
no class of man is altogether bad, but each has its own faults and virtues; and these shipmates of mine were no exception to the rule.
rough they were, sure enough; and bad, i suppose; but they had many virtues.
they were kind when it occurred to them, simple even beyond the simplicity of a country lad like me, and had some glimmerings of honesty.
there was one man, of maybe forty, that would sit on my berthside for hours and tell me of his wife and child.
he was a fisher that had lost his boat, and thus been driven to the deep-sea voyaging.
well, it is years ago now: but i have never forgotten him.
his wife -lrb- who was "young by him," as he often told me -rrb- waited in vain to see her man return; he would never again make the fire for her in the morning, nor yet keep the bairn when she was sick.
indeed, many of these poor fellows -lrb- as the event proved -rrb- were upon their last cruise; the deep seas and cannibal fish received them; and it is a thankless business to speak ill of the dead.
among other good deeds that they did, they returned my money, which had been shared among them; and though it was about a third short, i was very glad to get it, and hoped great good from it in the land i was going to.
the ship was bound for the carolinas; and you must not suppose that i was going to that place merely as an exile.
the trade was even then much depressed; since that, and with the rebellion of the colonies and the formation of the united states, it has, of course, come to an end; but in those days of my youth, white men were still sold into slavery on the plantations, and that was the destiny to which my wicked uncle had condemned me.
the cabin-boy ransome -lrb- from whom i had first heard of these atrocities -rrb- came in at times from the round-house, where he berthed and served, now nursing a bruised limb in silent agony, now raving against the cruelty of mr. shuan.
it made my heart bleed; but the men had a great respect for the chief mate, who was, as they said, "the only seaman of the whole jing-bang, and none such a bad man when he was sober."
indeed, i found there was a strange peculiarity about our two mates: that mr. riach was sullen, unkind, and harsh when he was sober, and mr. shuan would not hurt a fly except when he was drinking.
i asked about the captain; but i was told drink made no difference upon that man of iron.
i did my best in the small time allowed me to make some thing like a man, or rather i should say something like a boy, of the poor creature, ransome.
but his mind was scarce truly human.
he could remember nothing of the time before he came to sea; only that his father had made clocks, and had a starling in the parlour, which could whistle "the north countrie;" all else had been blotted out in these years of hardship and cruelties.
he had a strange notion of the dry land, picked up from sailor's stories: that it was a place where lads were put to some kind of slavery called a trade, and where apprentices were continually lashed and clapped into foul prisons.
in a town, he thought every second person a decoy, and every third house a place in which seamen would be drugged and murdered.
to be sure, i would tell him how kindly i had myself been used upon that dry land he was so much afraid of, and how well fed and carefully taught both by my friends and my parents: and if he had been recently hurt, he would weep bitterly and swear to run away; but if he was in his usual crackbrain humour, or -lrb- still more -rrb- if he had had a glass of spirits in the roundhouse, he would deride the notion.
it was mr. riach -lrb- heaven forgive him! -rrb-
who gave the boy drink; and it was, doubtless, kindly meant; but besides that it was ruin to his health, it was the pitifullest thing in life to see this unhappy, unfriended creature staggering, and dancing, and talking he knew not what.
some of the men laughed, but not all; others would grow as black as thunder -lrb- thinking, perhaps, of their own childhood or their own children -rrb- and bid him stop that nonsense, and think what he was doing.
as for me, i felt ashamed to look at him, and the poor child still comes about me in my dreams.
all this time, you should know, the covenant was meeting continual head-winds and tumbling up and down against head-seas, so that the scuttle was almost constantly shut, and the forecastle lighted only by a swinging lantern on a beam.
there was constant labour for all hands; the sails had to be made and shortened every hour; the strain told on the men's temper; there was a growl of quarrelling all day long from berth to berth; and as i was never allowed to set my foot on deck, you can picture to yourselves how weary of my life i grew to be, and how impatient for a change.
and a change i was to get, as you shall hear; but i must first tell of a conversation i had with mr. riach, which put a little heart in me to bear my troubles.
getting him in a favourable stage of drink -lrb- for indeed he never looked near me when he was sober -rrb-, i pledged him to secrecy, and told him my whole story.
he declared it was like a ballad; that he would do his best to help me; that i should have paper, pen, and ink, and write one line to mr. campbell and another to mr. rankeillor; and that if i had told the truth, ten to one he would be able -lrb- with their help -rrb- to pull me through and set me in my rights.
""and in the meantime," says he, "keep your heart up.
you're not the only one, i'll tell you that.
there's many a man hoeing tobacco over-seas that should be mounting his horse at his own door at home; many and many!
and life is all a variorum, at the best.
look at me: i'm a laird's son and more than half a doctor, and here i am, man-jack to hoseason!"
i thought it would be civil to ask him for his story.
he whistled loud.
""never had one," said he.
""i like fun, that's all."
and he skipped out of the forecastle.
chapter viii the round-house one night, about eleven o'clock, a man of mr. riach's watch -lrb- which was on deck -rrb- came below for his jacket; and instantly there began to go a whisper about the forecastle that "shuan had done for him at last."
there was no need of a name; we all knew who was meant; but we had scarce time to get the idea rightly in our heads, far less to speak of it, when the scuttle was again flung open, and captain hoseason came down the ladder.
he looked sharply round the bunks in the tossing light of the lantern; and then, walking straight up to me, he addressed me, to my surprise, in tones of kindness.
""my man," said he, "we want ye to serve in the round-house.
you and ransome are to change berths.
run away aft with ye."
even as he spoke, two seamen appeared in the scuttle, carrying ransome in their arms; and the ship at that moment giving a great sheer into the sea, and the lantern swinging, the light fell direct on the boy's face.
it was as white as wax, and had a look upon it like a dreadful smile.
the blood in me ran cold, and i drew in my breath as if i had been struck.
""run away aft; run away aft with ye!"
cried hoseason.
and at that i brushed by the sailors and the boy -lrb- who neither spoke nor moved -rrb-, and ran up the ladder on deck.
the brig was sheering swiftly and giddily through a long, cresting swell.
she was on the starboard tack, and on the left hand, under the arched foot of the foresail, i could see the sunset still quite bright.
this, at such an hour of the night, surprised me greatly; but i was too ignorant to draw the true conclusion -- that we were going north-about round scotland, and were now on the high sea between the orkney and shetland islands, having avoided the dangerous currents of the pentland firth.
for my part, who had been so long shut in the dark and knew nothing of head-winds, i thought we might be half-way or more across the atlantic.
and indeed -lrb- beyond that i wondered a little at the lateness of the sunset light -rrb- i gave no heed to it, and pushed on across the decks, running between the seas, catching at ropes, and only saved from going overboard by one of the hands on deck, who had been always kind to me.
the round-house, for which i was bound, and where i was now to sleep and serve, stood some six feet above the decks, and considering the size of the brig, was of good dimensions.
inside were a fixed table and bench, and two berths, one for the captain and the other for the two mates, turn and turn about.
it was all fitted with lockers from top to bottom, so as to stow away the officers" belongings and a part of the ship's stores; there was a second store-room underneath, which you entered by a hatchway in the middle of the deck; indeed, all the best of the meat and drink and the whole of the powder were collected in this place; and all the firearms, except the two pieces of brass ordnance, were set in a rack in the aftermost wall of the round-house.
the most of the cutlasses were in another place.
a small window with a shutter on each side, and a skylight in the roof, gave it light by day; and after dark there was a lamp always burning.
it was burning when i entered, not brightly, but enough to show mr. shuan sitting at the table, with the brandy bottle and a tin pannikin in front of him.
he was a tall man, strongly made and very black; and he stared before him on the table like one stupid.
he took no notice of my coming in; nor did he move when the captain followed and leant on the berth beside me, looking darkly at the mate.
i stood in great fear of hoseason, and had my reasons for it; but something told me i need not be afraid of him just then; and i whispered in his ear: "how is he?"
he shook his head like one that does not know and does not wish to think, and his face was very stern.
presently mr. riach came in.
he gave the captain a glance that meant the boy was dead as plain as speaking, and took his place like the rest of us; so that we all three stood without a word, staring down at mr. shuan, and mr. shuan -lrb- on his side -rrb- sat without a word, looking hard upon the table.
all of a sudden he put out his hand to take the bottle; and at that mr. riach started forward and caught it away from him, rather by surprise than violence, crying out, with an oath, that there had been too much of this work altogether, and that a judgment would fall upon the ship.
and as he spoke -lrb- the weather sliding-doors standing open -rrb- he tossed the bottle into the sea.
mr. shuan was on his feet in a trice; he still looked dazed, but he meant murder, ay, and would have done it, for the second time that night, had not the captain stepped in between him and his victim.
""sit down!"
roars the captain.
""ye sot and swine, do ye know what ye've done?
ye've murdered the boy!"
mr. shuan seemed to understand; for he sat down again, and put up his hand to his brow.
""well," he said, "he brought me a dirty pannikin!"
at that word, the captain and i and mr. riach all looked at each other for a second with a kind of frightened look; and then hoseason walked up to his chief officer, took him by the shoulder, led him across to his bunk, and bade him lie down and go to sleep, as you might speak to a bad child.
the murderer cried a little, but he took off his sea-boots and obeyed.
""ah!"
cried mr. riach, with a dreadful voice, "ye should have interfered long syne.
it's too late now."
""mr. riach," said the captain, "this night's work must never be kennt in dysart.
the boy went overboard, sir; that's what the story is; and i would give five pounds out of my pocket it was true!"
he turned to the table.
""what made ye throw the good bottle away?"
he added.
""there was nae sense in that, sir.
here, david, draw me another.
they're in the bottom locker;" and he tossed me a key.
""ye'll need a glass yourself, sir," he added to riach.
""yon was an ugly thing to see."
so the pair sat down and hob-a-nobbed; and while they did so, the murderer, who had been lying and whimpering in his berth, raised himself upon his elbow and looked at them and at me.
that was the first night of my new duties; and in the course of the next day i had got well into the run of them.
i had to serve at the meals, which the captain took at regular hours, sitting down with the officer who was off duty; all the day through i would be running with a dram to one or other of my three masters; and at night i slept on a blanket thrown on the deck boards at the aftermost end of the round-house, and right in the draught of the two doors.
it was a hard and a cold bed; nor was i suffered to sleep without interruption; for some one would be always coming in from deck to get a dram, and when a fresh watch was to be set, two and sometimes all three would sit down and brew a bowl together.
how they kept their health, i know not, any more than how i kept my own.
and yet in other ways it was an easy service.
there was no cloth to lay; the meals were either of oatmeal porridge or salt junk, except twice a week, when there was duff: and though i was clumsy enough and -lrb- not being firm on my sealegs -rrb- sometimes fell with what i was bringing them, both mr. riach and the captain were singularly patient.
i could not but fancy they were making up lee-way with their consciences, and that they would scarce have been so good with me if they had not been worse with ransome.
as for mr. shuan, the drink or his crime, or the two together, had certainly troubled his mind.
i can not say i ever saw him in his proper wits.
he never grew used to my being there, stared at me continually -lrb- sometimes, i could have thought, with terror -rrb-, and more than once drew back from my hand when i was serving him.
i was pretty sure from the first that he had no clear mind of what he had done, and on my second day in the round-house i had the proof of it.
we were alone, and he had been staring at me a long time, when all at once, up he got, as pale as death, and came close up to me, to my great terror.
but i had no cause to be afraid of him.
""you were not here before?"
he asked.
""no, sir," said i." "there was another boy?"
he asked again; and when i had answered him, "ah!"
says he, "i thought that," and went and sat down, without another word, except to call for brandy.
you may think it strange, but for all the horror i had, i was still sorry for him.
he was a married man, with a wife in leith; but whether or no he had a family, i have now forgotten; i hope not.
altogether it was no very hard life for the time it lasted, which -lrb- as you are to hear -rrb- was not long.
i was as well fed as the best of them; even their pickles, which were the great dainty, i was allowed my share of; and had i liked i might have been drunk from morning to night, like mr. shuan.
i had company, too, and good company of its sort.
mr. riach, who had been to the college, spoke to me like a friend when he was not sulking, and told me many curious things, and some that were informing; and even the captain, though he kept me at the stick's end the most part of the time, would sometimes unbuckle a bit, and tell me of the fine countries he had visited.
the shadow of poor ransome, to be sure, lay on all four of us, and on me and mr. shuan in particular, most heavily.
and then i had another trouble of my own.
here i was, doing dirty work for three men that i looked down upon, and one of whom, at least, should have hung upon a gallows; that was for the present; and as for the future, i could only see myself slaving alongside of negroes in the tobacco fields.
mr. riach, perhaps from caution, would never suffer me to say another word about my story; the captain, whom i tried to approach, rebuffed me like a dog and would not hear a word; and as the days came and went, my heart sank lower and lower, till i was even glad of the work which kept me from thinking.
chapter ix the man with the belt of gold more than a week went by, in which the ill-luck that had hitherto pursued the covenant upon this voyage grew yet more strongly marked.
some days she made a little way; others, she was driven actually back.
at last we were beaten so far to the south that we tossed and tacked to and fro the whole of the ninth day, within sight of cape wrath and the wild, rocky coast on either hand of it.
there followed on that a council of the officers, and some decision which i did not rightly understand, seeing only the result: that we had made a fair wind of a foul one and were running south.
the tenth afternoon there was a falling swell and a thick, wet, white fog that hid one end of the brig from the other.
all afternoon, when i went on deck, i saw men and officers listening hard over the bulwarks -- "for breakers," they said; and though i did not so much as understand the word, i felt danger in the air, and was excited.
maybe about ten at night, i was serving mr. riach and the captain at their supper, when the ship struck something with a great sound, and we heard voices singing out.
my two masters leaped to their feet.
""she's struck!"
said mr. riach.
""no, sir," said the captain.
""we've only run a boat down."
and they hurried out.
the captain was in the right of it.
we had run down a boat in the fog, and she had parted in the midst and gone to the bottom with all her crew but one.
this man -lrb- as i heard afterwards -rrb- had been sitting in the stern as a passenger, while the rest were on the benches rowing.
at the moment of the blow, the stern had been thrown into the air, and the man -lrb- having his hands free, and for all he was encumbered with a frieze overcoat that came below his knees -rrb- had leaped up and caught hold of the brig's bowsprit.
it showed he had luck and much agility and unusual strength, that he should have thus saved himself from such a pass.
and yet, when the captain brought him into the round-house, and i set eyes on him for the first time, he looked as cool as i did.
he was smallish in stature, but well set and as nimble as a goat; his face was of a good open expression, but sunburnt very dark, and heavily freckled and pitted with the small-pox; his eyes were unusually light and had a kind of dancing madness in them, that was both engaging and alarming; and when he took off his great-coat, he laid a pair of fine silver-mounted pistols on the table, and i saw that he was belted with a great sword.
his manners, besides, were elegant, and he pledged the captain handsomely.
altogether i thought of him, at the first sight, that here was a man i would rather call my friend than my enemy.
the captain, too, was taking his observations, but rather of the man's clothes than his person.
and to be sure, as soon as he had taken off the great-coat, he showed forth mighty fine for the round-house of a merchant brig: having a hat with feathers, a red waistcoat, breeches of black plush, and a blue coat with silver buttons and handsome silver lace; costly clothes, though somewhat spoiled with the fog and being slept in.
""i'm vexed, sir, about the boat," says the captain.
""there are some pretty men gone to the bottom," said the stranger, "that i would rather see on the dry land again than half a score of boats."
""friends of yours?"
said hoseason.
""you have none such friends in your country," was the reply.
""they would have died for me like dogs."
""well, sir," said the captain, still watching him, "there are more men in the world than boats to put them in."
""and that's true, too," cried the other, "and ye seem to be a gentleman of great penetration."
""i have been in france, sir," says the captain, so that it was plain he meant more by the words than showed upon the face of them.
""well, sir," says the other, "and so has many a pretty man, for the matter of that."
""no doubt, sir," says the captain, "and fine coats."
""oho!"
says the stranger, "is that how the wind sets?"
and he laid his hand quickly on his pistols.
""do n't be hasty," said the captain.
""do n't do a mischief before ye see the need of it.
ye've a french soldier's coat upon your back and a scotch tongue in your head, to be sure; but so has many an honest fellow in these days, and i dare say none the worse of it."
""so?"
said the gentleman in the fine coat: "are ye of the honest party?"
-lrb- meaning, was he a jacobite?
for each side, in these sort of civil broils, takes the name of honesty for its own -rrb-.
""why, sir," replied the captain, "i am a true-blue protestant, and i thank god for it."
-lrb- it was the first word of any religion i had ever heard from him, but i learnt afterwards he was a great church-goer while on shore. -rrb-
""but, for all that," says he, "i can be sorry to see another man with his back to the wall."
""can ye so, indeed?"
asked the jacobite.
""well, sir, to be quite plain with ye, i am one of those honest gentlemen that were in trouble about the years forty-five and six; and -lrb- to be still quite plain with ye -rrb- if i got into the hands of any of the red-coated gentry, it's like it would go hard with me.
now, sir, i was for france; and there was a french ship cruising here to pick me up; but she gave us the go-by in the fog -- as i wish from the heart that ye had done yoursel"!
and the best that i can say is this: if ye can set me ashore where i was going, i have that upon me will reward you highly for your trouble."
""in france?"
says the captain.
""no, sir; that i can not do.
but where ye come from -- we might talk of that."
and then, unhappily, he observed me standing in my corner, and packed me off to the galley to get supper for the gentleman.
i lost no time, i promise you; and when i came back into the round-house, i found the gentleman had taken a money-belt from about his waist, and poured out a guinea or two upon the table.
the captain was looking at the guineas, and then at the belt, and then at the gentleman's face; and i thought he seemed excited.
""half of it," he cried, "and i'm your man!"
the other swept back the guineas into the belt, and put it on again under his waistcoat.
""i have told ye sir," said he, "that not one doit of it belongs to me.
it belongs to my chieftain," and here he touched his hat, "and while i would be but a silly messenger to grudge some of it that the rest might come safe, i should show myself a hound indeed if i bought my own carcase any too dear.
thirty guineas on the sea-side, or sixty if ye set me on the linnhe loch.
take it, if ye will; if not, ye can do your worst."
""ay," said hoseason.
""and if i give ye over to the soldiers?"
""ye would make a fool's bargain," said the other.
""my chief, let me tell you, sir, is forfeited, like every honest man in scotland.
his estate is in the hands of the man they call king george; and it is his officers that collect the rents, or try to collect them.
but for the honour of scotland, the poor tenant bodies take a thought upon their chief lying in exile; and this money is a part of that very rent for which king george is looking.
now, sir, ye seem to me to be a man that understands things: bring this money within the reach of government, and how much of it'll come to you?"
""little enough, to be sure," said hoseason; and then, "if they knew," he added, drily.
""but i think, if i was to try, that i could hold my tongue about it."
""ah, but i'll begowk * ye there!"
cried the gentleman.
""play me false, and i'll play you cunning.
if a hand is laid upon me, they shall ken what money it is."
* befool.
""well," returned the captain, "what must be must.
sixty guineas, and done.
here's my hand upon it."
""and here's mine," said the other.
and thereupon the captain went out -lrb- rather hurriedly, i thought -rrb-, and left me alone in the round-house with the stranger.
at that period -lrb- so soon after the forty-five -rrb- there were many exiled gentlemen coming back at the peril of their lives, either to see their friends or to collect a little money; and as for the highland chiefs that had been forfeited, it was a common matter of talk how their tenants would stint themselves to send them money, and their clansmen outface the soldiery to get it in, and run the gauntlet of our great navy to carry it across.
all this i had, of course, heard tell of; and now i had a man under my eyes whose life was forfeit on all these counts and upon one more, for he was not only a rebel and a smuggler of rents, but had taken service with king louis of france.
and as if all this were not enough, he had a belt full of golden guineas round his loins.
whatever my opinions, i could not look on such a man without a lively interest.
""and so you're a jacobite?"
said i, as i set meat before him.
""ay," said he, beginning to eat.
""and you, by your long face, should be a whig?"
* * whig or whigamore was the cant name for those who were loyal to king george.
""betwixt and between," said i, not to annoy him; for indeed i was as good a whig as mr. campbell could make me.
""and that's naething," said he.
""but i'm saying, mr. betwixt-and-between," he added, "this bottle of yours is dry; and it's hard if i'm to pay sixty guineas and be grudged a dram upon the back of it."
""i'll go and ask for the key," said i, and stepped on deck.
the fog was as close as ever, but the swell almost down.
they had laid the brig to, not knowing precisely where they were, and the wind -lrb- what little there was of it -rrb- not serving well for their true course.
some of the hands were still hearkening for breakers; but the captain and the two officers were in the waist with their heads together.
it struck me -lrb- i do n't know why -rrb- that they were after no good; and the first word i heard, as i drew softly near, more than confirmed me.
it was mr. riach, crying out as if upon a sudden thought: "could n't we wile him out of the round-house?"
""he's better where he is," returned hoseason; "he has n't room to use his sword."
""well, that's true," said riach; "but he's hard to come at."
""hut!"
said hoseason.
""we can get the man in talk, one upon each side, and pin him by the two arms; or if that'll not hold, sir, we can make a run by both the doors and get him under hand before he has the time to draw."
at this hearing, i was seized with both fear and anger at these treacherous, greedy, bloody men that i sailed with.
my first mind was to run away; my second was bolder.
""captain," said i, "the gentleman is seeking a dram, and the bottle's out.
will you give me the key?"
they all started and turned about.
""why, here's our chance to get the firearms!"
riach cried; and then to me: "hark ye, david," he said, "do ye ken where the pistols are?"
""ay, ay," put in hoseason.
""david kens; david's a good lad.
ye see, david my man, yon wild hielandman is a danger to the ship, besides being a rank foe to king george, god bless him!"
i had never been so be-davided since i came on board: but i said yes, as if all i heard were quite natural.
""the trouble is," resumed the captain, "that all our firelocks, great and little, are in the round-house under this man's nose; likewise the powder.
now, if i, or one of the officers, was to go in and take them, he would fall to thinking.
but a lad like you, david, might snap up a horn and a pistol or two without remark.
and if ye can do it cleverly, i'll bear it in mind when it'll be good for you to have friends; and that's when we come to carolina."
here mr. riach whispered him a little.
""very right, sir," said the captain; and then to myself: "and see here, david, yon man has a beltful of gold, and i give you my word that you shall have your fingers in it."
i told him i would do as he wished, though indeed i had scarce breath to speak with; and upon that he gave me the key of the spirit locker, and i began to go slowly back to the round-house.
what was i to do?
they were dogs and thieves; they had stolen me from my own country; they had killed poor ransome; and was i to hold the candle to another murder?
but then, upon the other hand, there was the fear of death very plain before me; for what could a boy and a man, if they were as brave as lions, against a whole ship's company?
i was still arguing it back and forth, and getting no great clearness, when i came into the round-house and saw the jacobite eating his supper under the lamp; and at that my mind was made up all in a moment.
i have no credit by it; it was by no choice of mine, but as if by compulsion, that i walked right up to the table and put my hand on his shoulder.
""do ye want to be killed?"
said i.
he sprang to his feet, and looked a question at me as clear as if he had spoken.
""o!"
cried i, "they're all murderers here; it's a ship full of them!
they've murdered a boy already.
now it's you."
""ay, ay," said he; "but they have n't got me yet."
and then looking at me curiously, "will ye stand with me?"
""that will i!"
said i. "i am no thief, nor yet murderer.
i'll stand by you."
""why, then," said he, "what's your name?"
""david balfour," said i; and then, thinking that a man with so fine a coat must like fine people, i added for the first time, "of shaws."
it never occurred to him to doubt me, for a highlander is used to see great gentlefolk in great poverty; but as he had no estate of his own, my words nettled a very childish vanity he had.
""my name is stewart," he said, drawing himself up.
""alan breck, they call me.
a king's name is good enough for me, though i bear it plain and have the name of no farm-midden to clap to the hind-end of it."
and having administered this rebuke, as though it were something of a chief importance, he turned to examine our defences.
the round-house was built very strong, to support the breaching of the seas.
of its five apertures, only the skylight and the two doors were large enough for the passage of a man.
the doors, besides, could be drawn close: they were of stout oak, and ran in grooves, and were fitted with hooks to keep them either shut or open, as the need arose.
the one that was already shut i secured in this fashion; but when i was proceeding to slide to the other, alan stopped me.
""david," said he -- "for i cannae bring to mind the name of your landed estate, and so will make so bold as to call you david -- that door, being open, is the best part of my defences."
""it would be yet better shut," says i. "not so, david," says he.
""ye see, i have but one face; but so long as that door is open and my face to it, the best part of my enemies will be in front of me, where i would aye wish to find them."
then he gave me from the rack a cutlass -lrb- of which there were a few besides the firearms -rrb-, choosing it with great care, shaking his head and saying he had never in all his life seen poorer weapons; and next he set me down to the table with a powder-horn, a bag of bullets and all the pistols, which he bade me charge.
""and that will be better work, let me tell you," said he, "for a gentleman of decent birth, than scraping plates and raxing * drams to a wheen tarry sailors."
* reaching.
thereupon he stood up in the midst with his face to the door, and drawing his great sword, made trial of the room he had to wield it in.
""i must stick to the point," he said, shaking his head; "and that's a pity, too.
it does n't set my genius, which is all for the upper guard.
and, now," said he, "do you keep on charging the pistols, and give heed to me."
i told him i would listen closely.
my chest was tight, my mouth dry, the light dark to my eyes; the thought of the numbers that were soon to leap in upon us kept my heart in a flutter: and the sea, which i heard washing round the brig, and where i thought my dead body would be cast ere morning, ran in my mind strangely.
""first of all," said he, "how many are against us?"
i reckoned them up; and such was the hurry of my mind, i had to cast the numbers twice.
""fifteen," said i. alan whistled.
""well," said he, "that ca n't be cured.
and now follow me.
it is my part to keep this door, where i look for the main battle.
in that, ye have no hand.
and mind and dinnae fire to this side unless they get me down; for i would rather have ten foes in front of me than one friend like you cracking pistols at my back."
i told him, indeed i was no great shot.
""and that's very bravely said," he cried, in a great admiration of my candour.
""there's many a pretty gentleman that wouldnae dare to say it."
""but then, sir," said i, "there is the door behind you, which they may perhaps break in."
""ay," said he, "and that is a part of your work.
no sooner the pistols charged, than ye must climb up into yon bed where ye're handy at the window; and if they lift hand against the door, ye're to shoot.
but that's not all.
let's make a bit of a soldier of ye, david.
what else have ye to guard?"
""there's the skylight," said i. "but indeed, mr. stewart, i would need to have eyes upon both sides to keep the two of them; for when my face is at the one, my back is to the other."
""and that's very true," said alan.
""but have ye no ears to your head?"
""to be sure!"
cried i. "i must hear the bursting of the glass!"
""ye have some rudiments of sense," said alan, grimly.
chapter x the siege of the round-house but now our time of truce was come to an end.
those on deck had waited for my coming till they grew impatient; and scarce had alan spoken, when the captain showed face in the open door.
""stand!"
cried alan, and pointed his sword at him.
the captain stood, indeed; but he neither winced nor drew back a foot.
""a naked sword?"
says he.
""this is a strange return for hospitality."
""do ye see me?"
said alan.
""i am come of kings; i bear a king's name.
my badge is the oak.
do ye see my sword?
it has slashed the heads off mair whigamores than you have toes upon your feet.
call up your vermin to your back, sir, and fall on!
the sooner the clash begins, the sooner ye'll taste this steel throughout your vitals."
the captain said nothing to alan, but he looked over at me with an ugly look.
""david," said he, "i'll mind this;" and the sound of his voice went through me with a jar.
next moment he was gone.
""and now," said alan, "let your hand keep your head, for the grip is coming."
alan drew a dirk, which he held in his left hand in case they should run in under his sword.
i, on my part, clambered up into the berth with an armful of pistols and something of a heavy heart, and set open the window where i was to watch.
it was a small part of the deck that i could overlook, but enough for our purpose.
the sea had gone down, and the wind was steady and kept the sails quiet; so that there was a great stillness in the ship, in which i made sure i heard the sound of muttering voices.
a little after, and there came a clash of steel upon the deck, by which i knew they were dealing out the cutlasses and one had been let fall; and after that, silence again.
i do not know if i was what you call afraid; but my heart beat like a bird's, both quick and little; and there was a dimness came before my eyes which i continually rubbed away, and which continually returned.
as for hope, i had none; but only a darkness of despair and a sort of anger against all the world that made me long to sell my life as dear as i was able.
i tried to pray, i remember, but that same hurry of my mind, like a man running, would not suffer me to think upon the words; and my chief wish was to have the thing begin and be done with it.
it came all of a sudden when it did, with a rush of feet and a roar, and then a shout from alan, and a sound of blows and some one crying out as if hurt.
i looked back over my shoulder, and saw mr. shuan in the doorway, crossing blades with alan.
""that's him that killed the boy!"
i cried.
""look to your window!"
said alan; and as i turned back to my place, i saw him pass his sword through the mate's body.
it was none too soon for me to look to my own part; for my head was scarce back at the window, before five men, carrying a spare yard for a battering-ram, ran past me and took post to drive the door in.
i had never fired with a pistol in my life, and not often with a gun; far less against a fellow-creature.
but it was now or never; and just as they swang the yard, i cried out: "take that!"
and shot into their midst.
i must have hit one of them, for he sang out and gave back a step, and the rest stopped as if a little disconcerted.
before they had time to recover, i sent another ball over their heads; and at my third shot -lrb- which went as wide as the second -rrb- the whole party threw down the yard and ran for it.
then i looked round again into the deck-house.
the whole place was full of the smoke of my own firing, just as my ears seemed to be burst with the noise of the shots.
but there was alan, standing as before; only now his sword was running blood to the hilt, and himself so swelled with triumph and fallen into so fine an attitude, that he looked to be invincible.
right before him on the floor was mr. shuan, on his hands and knees; the blood was pouring from his mouth, and he was sinking slowly lower, with a terrible, white face; and just as i looked, some of those from behind caught hold of him by the heels and dragged him bodily out of the round-house.
i believe he died as they were doing it.
""there's one of your whigs for ye!"
cried alan; and then turning to me, he asked if i had done much execution.
i told him i had winged one, and thought it was the captain.
""and i've settled two," says he.
""no, there's not enough blood let; they'll be back again.
to your watch, david.
this was but a dram before meat."
i settled back to my place, re-charging the three pistols i had fired, and keeping watch with both eye and ear.
our enemies were disputing not far off upon the deck, and that so loudly that i could hear a word or two above the washing of the seas.
""it was shuan bauchled * it," i heard one say.
* bungled.
and another answered him with a "wheesht, man!
he's paid the piper."
after that the voices fell again into the same muttering as before.
only now, one person spoke most of the time, as though laying down a plan, and first one and then another answered him briefly, like men taking orders.
by this, i made sure they were coming on again, and told alan.
""it's what we have to pray for," said he.
""unless we can give them a good distaste of us, and done with it, there'll be nae sleep for either you or me.
but this time, mind, they'll be in earnest."
by this, my pistols were ready, and there was nothing to do but listen and wait.
while the brush lasted, i had not the time to think if i was frighted; but now, when all was still again, my mind ran upon nothing else.
the thought of the sharp swords and the cold steel was strong in me; and presently, when i began to hear stealthy steps and a brushing of men's clothes against the round-house wall, and knew they were taking their places in the dark, i could have found it in my mind to cry out aloud.
all this was upon alan's side; and i had begun to think my share of the fight was at an end, when i heard some one drop softly on the roof above me.
then there came a single call on the sea-pipe, and that was the signal.
a knot of them made one rush of it, cutlass in hand, against the door; and at the same moment, the glass of the skylight was dashed in a thousand pieces, and a man leaped through and landed on the floor.
before he got his feet, i had clapped a pistol to his back, and might have shot him, too; only at the touch of him -lrb- and him alive -rrb- my whole flesh misgave me, and i could no more pull the trigger than i could have flown.
he had dropped his cutlass as he jumped, and when he felt the pistol, whipped straight round and laid hold of me, roaring out an oath; and at that either my courage came again, or i grew so much afraid as came to the same thing; for i gave a shriek and shot him in the midst of the body.
he gave the most horrible, ugly groan and fell to the floor.
the foot of a second fellow, whose legs were dangling through the skylight, struck me at the same time upon the head; and at that i snatched another pistol and shot this one through the thigh, so that he slipped through and tumbled in a lump on his companion's body.
there was no talk of missing, any more than there was time to aim; i clapped the muzzle to the very place and fired.
i might have stood and stared at them for long, but i heard alan shout as if for help, and that brought me to my senses.
he had kept the door so long; but one of the seamen, while he was engaged with others, had run in under his guard and caught him about the body.
alan was dirking him with his left hand, but the fellow clung like a leech.
another had broken in and had his cutlass raised.
the door was thronged with their faces.
i thought we were lost, and catching up my cutlass, fell on them in flank.
but i had not time to be of help.
the wrestler dropped at last; and alan, leaping back to get his distance, ran upon the others like a bull, roaring as he went.
they broke before him like water, turning, and running, and falling one against another in their haste.
the sword in his hands flashed like quicksilver into the huddle of our fleeing enemies; and at every flash there came the scream of a man hurt.
i was still thinking we were lost, when lo!
they were all gone, and alan was driving them along the deck as a sheep-dog chases sheep.
yet he was no sooner out than he was back again, being as cautious as he was brave; and meanwhile the seamen continued running and crying out as if he was still behind them; and we heard them tumble one upon another into the forecastle, and clap-to the hatch upon the top.
the round-house was like a shambles; three were dead inside, another lay in his death agony across the threshold; and there were alan and i victorious and unhurt.
he came up to me with open arms.
""come to my arms!"
he cried, and embraced and kissed me hard upon both cheeks.
""david," said he, "i love you like a brother.
and o, man," he cried in a kind of ecstasy, "am i no a bonny fighter?"
thereupon he turned to the four enemies, passed his sword clean through each of them, and tumbled them out of doors one after the other.
as he did so, he kept humming and singing and whistling to himself, like a man trying to recall an air; only what he was trying was to make one.
all the while, the flush was in his face, and his eyes were as bright as a five-year-old child's with a new toy.
and presently he sat down upon the table, sword in hand; the air that he was making all the time began to run a little clearer, and then clearer still; and then out he burst with a great voice into a gaelic song.
i have translated it here, not in verse -lrb- of which i have no skill -rrb- but at least in the king's english.
he sang it often afterwards, and the thing became popular; so that i have heard it and had it explained to me, many's the time.
""this is the song of the sword of alan; the smith made it, the fire set it; now it shines in the hand of alan breck.
""their eyes were many and bright, swift were they to behold, many the hands they guided: the sword was alone.
""the dun deer troop over the hill, they are many, the hill is one; the dun deer vanish, the hill remains.
""come to me from the hills of heather, come from the isles of the sea.
o far-beholding eagles, here is your meat."
now this song which he made -lrb- both words and music -rrb- in the hour of our victory, is something less than just to me, who stood beside him in the tussle.
mr. shuan and five more were either killed outright or thoroughly disabled; but of these, two fell by my hand, the two that came by the skylight.
four more were hurt, and of that number, one -lrb- and he not the least important -rrb- got his hurt from me.
so that, altogether, i did my fair share both of the killing and the wounding, and might have claimed a place in alan's verses.
but poets have to think upon their rhymes; and in good prose talk, alan always did me more than justice.
in the meanwhile, i was innocent of any wrong being done me.
for not only i knew no word of the gaelic; but what with the long suspense of the waiting, and the scurry and strain of our two spirts of fighting, and more than all, the horror i had of some of my own share in it, the thing was no sooner over than i was glad to stagger to a seat.
there was that tightness on my chest that i could hardly breathe; the thought of the two men i had shot sat upon me like a nightmare; and all upon a sudden, and before i had a guess of what was coming, i began to sob and cry like any child.
alan clapped my shoulder, and said i was a brave lad and wanted nothing but a sleep.
""i'll take the first watch," said he.
""ye've done well by me, david, first and last; and i would n't lose you for all appin -- no, nor for breadalbane."
so i made up my bed on the floor; and he took the first spell, pistol in hand and sword on knee, three hours by the captain's watch upon the wall.
then he roused me up, and i took my turn of three hours; before the end of which it was broad day, and a very quiet morning, with a smooth, rolling sea that tossed the ship and made the blood run to and fro on the round-house floor, and a heavy rain that drummed upon the roof.
all my watch there was nothing stirring; and by the banging of the helm, i knew they had even no one at the tiller.
indeed -lrb- as i learned afterwards -rrb- there were so many of them hurt or dead, and the rest in so ill a temper, that mr. riach and the captain had to take turn and turn like alan and me, or the brig might have gone ashore and nobody the wiser.
it was a mercy the night had fallen so still, for the wind had gone down as soon as the rain began.
even as it was, i judged by the wailing of a great number of gulls that went crying and fishing round the ship, that she must have drifted pretty near the coast or one of the islands of the hebrides; and at last, looking out of the door of the round-house, i saw the great stone hills of skye on the right hand, and, a little more astern, the strange isle of rum.
chapter xi the captain knuckles under alan and i sat down to breakfast about six of the clock.
the floor was covered with broken glass and in a horrid mess of blood, which took away my hunger.
in all other ways we were in a situation not only agreeable but merry; having ousted the officers from their own cabin, and having at command all the drink in the ship -- both wine and spirits -- and all the dainty part of what was eatable, such as the pickles and the fine sort of bread.
this, of itself, was enough to set us in good humour, but the richest part of it was this, that the two thirstiest men that ever came out of scotland -lrb- mr. shuan being dead -rrb- were now shut in the fore-part of the ship and condemned to what they hated most -- cold water.
""and depend upon it," alan said, "we shall hear more of them ere long.
ye may keep a man from the fighting, but never from his bottle."
we made good company for each other.
alan, indeed, expressed himself most lovingly; and taking a knife from the table, cut me off one of the silver buttons from his coat.
""i had them," says he, "from my father, duncan stewart; and now give ye one of them to be a keepsake for last night's work.
and wherever ye go and show that button, the friends of alan breck will come around you."
he said this as if he had been charlemagne, and commanded armies; and indeed, much as i admired his courage, i was always in danger of smiling at his vanity: in danger, i say, for had i not kept my countenance, i would be afraid to think what a quarrel might have followed.
as soon as we were through with our meal he rummaged in the captain's locker till he found a clothes-brush; and then taking off his coat, began to visit his suit and brush away the stains, with such care and labour as i supposed to have been only usual with women.
to be sure, he had no other; and, besides -lrb- as he said -rrb-, it belonged to a king and so behoved to be royally looked after.
for all that, when i saw what care he took to pluck out the threads where the button had been cut away, i put a higher value on his gift.
he was still so engaged when we were hailed by mr. riach from the deck, asking for a parley; and i, climbing through the skylight and sitting on the edge of it, pistol in hand and with a bold front, though inwardly in fear of broken glass, hailed him back again and bade him speak out.
he came to the edge of the round-house, and stood on a coil of rope, so that his chin was on a level with the roof; and we looked at each other awhile in silence.
mr. riach, as i do not think he had been very forward in the battle, so he had got off with nothing worse than a blow upon the cheek: but he looked out of heart and very weary, having been all night afoot, either standing watch or doctoring the wounded.
""this is a bad job," said he at last, shaking his head.
""it was none of our choosing," said i. "the captain," says he, "would like to speak with your friend.
they might speak at the window."
""and how do we know what treachery he means?"
cried i. "he means none, david," returned mr. riach, "and if he did, i'll tell ye the honest truth, we couldnae get the men to follow."
""is that so?"
said i. "i'll tell ye more than that," said he.
""it's not only the men; it's me.
i'm frich "ened, davie."
and he smiled across at me.
""no," he continued, "what we want is to be shut of him."
thereupon i consulted with alan, and the parley was agreed to and parole given upon either side; but this was not the whole of mr. riach's business, and he now begged me for a dram with such instancy and such reminders of his former kindness, that at last i handed him a pannikin with about a gill of brandy.
he drank a part, and then carried the rest down upon the deck, to share it -lrb- i suppose -rrb- with his superior.
a little after, the captain came -lrb- as was agreed -rrb- to one of the windows, and stood there in the rain, with his arm in a sling, and looking stern and pale, and so old that my heart smote me for having fired upon him.
alan at once held a pistol in his face.
""put that thing up!"
said the captain.
""have i not passed my word, sir?
or do ye seek to affront me?"
""captain," says alan, "i doubt your word is a breakable.
last night ye haggled and argle-bargled like an apple-wife; and then passed me your word, and gave me your hand to back it; and ye ken very well what was the upshot.
be damned to your word!"
says he.
""well, well, sir," said the captain, "ye'll get little good by swearing."
-lrb- and truly that was a fault of which the captain was quite free. -rrb-
""but we have other things to speak," he continued, bitterly.
""ye've made a sore hash of my brig; i have n't hands enough left to work her; and my first officer -lrb- whom i could ill spare -rrb- has got your sword throughout his vitals, and passed without speech.
there is nothing left me, sir, but to put back into the port of glasgow after hands; and there -lrb- by your leave -rrb- ye will find them that are better able to talk to you."
""ay?"
said alan; "and faith, i'll have a talk with them mysel"!
unless there's naebody speaks english in that town, i have a bonny tale for them.
fifteen tarry sailors upon the one side, and a man and a halfling boy upon the other!
o, man, it's peetiful!"
hoseason flushed red.
""no," continued alan, "that'll no do.
ye'll just have to set me ashore as we agreed."
""ay," said hoseason, "but my first officer is dead -- ye ken best how.
there's none of the rest of us acquaint with this coast, sir; and it's one very dangerous to ships."
""i give ye your choice," says alan.
""set me on dry ground in appin, or ardgour, or in morven, or arisaig, or morar; or, in brief, where ye please, within thirty miles of my own country; except in a country of the campbells.
that's a broad target.
if ye miss that, ye must be as feckless at the sailoring as i have found ye at the fighting.
why, my poor country people in their bit cobles * pass from island to island in all weathers, ay, and by night too, for the matter of that."
* coble: a small boat used in fishing.
""a coble's not a ship, sir," said the captain.
""it has nae draught of water."
""well, then, to glasgow if ye list!"
says alan.
""we'll have the laugh of ye at the least."
""my mind runs little upon laughing," said the captain.
""but all this will cost money, sir."
""well, sir," says alan, "i am nae weathercock.
thirty guineas, if ye land me on the sea-side; and sixty, if ye put me in the linnhe loch."
""but see, sir, where we lie, we are but a few hours" sail from ardnamurchan," said hoseason.
""give me sixty, and i'll set ye there."
""and i'm to wear my brogues and run jeopardy of the red-coats to please you?"
cries alan.
""no, sir; if ye want sixty guineas earn them, and set me in my own country."
""it's to risk the brig, sir," said the captain, "and your own lives along with her."
""take it or want it," says alan.
""could ye pilot us at all?"
asked the captain, who was frowning to himself.
""well, it's doubtful," said alan.
""i'm more of a fighting man -lrb- as ye have seen for yoursel" -rrb- than a sailor-man.
but i have been often enough picked up and set down upon this coast, and should ken something of the lie of it."
the captain shook his head, still frowning.
""if i had lost less money on this unchancy cruise," says he, "i would see you in a rope's end before i risked my brig, sir.
but be it as ye will.
as soon as i get a slant of wind -lrb- and there's some coming, or i'm the more mistaken -rrb- i'll put it in hand.
but there's one thing more.
we may meet in with a king's ship and she may lay us aboard, sir, with no blame of mine: they keep the cruisers thick upon this coast, ye ken who for.
now, sir, if that was to befall, ye might leave the money."
""captain," says alan, "if ye see a pennant, it shall be your part to run away.
and now, as i hear you're a little short of brandy in the fore-part, i'll offer ye a change: a bottle of brandy against two buckets of water."
that was the last clause of the treaty, and was duly executed on both sides; so that alan and i could at last wash out the round-house and be quit of the memorials of those whom we had slain, and the captain and mr. riach could be happy again in their own way, the name of which was drink.
chapter xii i hear of the "red fox" before we had done cleaning out the round-house, a breeze sprang up from a little to the east of north.
this blew off the rain and brought out the sun.
and here i must explain; and the reader would do well to look at a map.
on the day when the fog fell and we ran down alan's boat, we had been running through the little minch.
at dawn after the battle, we lay becalmed to the east of the isle of canna or between that and isle eriska in the chain of the long island.
now to get from there to the linnhe loch, the straight course was through the narrows of the sound of mull.
but the captain had no chart; he was afraid to trust his brig so deep among the islands; and the wind serving well, he preferred to go by west of tiree and come up under the southern coast of the great isle of mull.
all day the breeze held in the same point, and rather freshened than died down; and towards afternoon, a swell began to set in from round the outer hebrides.
our course, to go round about the inner isles, was to the west of south, so that at first we had this swell upon our beam, and were much rolled about.
but after nightfall, when we had turned the end of tiree and began to head more to the east, the sea came right astern.
meanwhile, the early part of the day, before the swell came up, was very pleasant; sailing, as we were, in a bright sunshine and with many mountainous islands upon different sides.
alan and i sat in the round-house with the doors open on each side -lrb- the wind being straight astern -rrb-, and smoked a pipe or two of the captain's fine tobacco.
it was at this time we heard each other's stories, which was the more important to me, as i gained some knowledge of that wild highland country on which i was so soon to land.
in those days, so close on the back of the great rebellion, it was needful a man should know what he was doing when he went upon the heather.
it was i that showed the example, telling him all my misfortune; which he heard with great good-nature.
only, when i came to mention that good friend of mine, mr. campbell the minister, alan fired up and cried out that he hated all that were of that name.
""why," said i, "he is a man you should be proud to give your hand to."
""i know nothing i would help a campbell to," says he, "unless it was a leaden bullet.
i would hunt all of that name like blackcocks.
if i lay dying, i would crawl upon my knees to my chamber window for a shot at one."
""why, alan," i cried, "what ails ye at the campbells?"
""well," says he, "ye ken very well that i am an appin stewart, and the campbells have long harried and wasted those of my name; ay, and got lands of us by treachery -- but never with the sword," he cried loudly, and with the word brought down his fist upon the table.
but i paid the less attention to this, for i knew it was usually said by those who have the underhand.
""there's more than that," he continued, "and all in the same story: lying words, lying papers, tricks fit for a peddler, and the show of what's legal over all, to make a man the more angry."
""you that are so wasteful of your buttons," said i, "i can hardly think you would be a good judge of business."
""ah!"
says he, falling again to smiling, "i got my wastefulness from the same man i got the buttons from; and that was my poor father, duncan stewart, grace be to him!
he was the prettiest man of his kindred; and the best swordsman in the hielands, david, and that is the same as to say, in all the world, i should ken, for it was him that taught me.
he was in the black watch, when first it was mustered; and, like other gentlemen privates, had a gillie at his back to carry his firelock for him on the march.
well, the king, it appears, was wishful to see hieland swordsmanship; and my father and three more were chosen out and sent to london town, to let him see it at the best.
so they were had into the palace and showed the whole art of the sword for two hours at a stretch, before king george and queen carline, and the butcher cumberland, and many more of whom i havenae mind.
and when they were through, the king -lrb- for all he was a rank usurper -rrb- spoke them fair and gave each man three guineas in his hand.
now, as they were going out of the palace, they had a porter's lodge to go by; and it came in on my father, as he was perhaps the first private hieland gentleman that had ever gone by that door, it was right he should give the poor porter a proper notion of their quality.
so he gives the king's three guineas into the man's hand, as if it was his common custom; the three others that came behind him did the same; and there they were on the street, never a penny the better for their pains.
some say it was one, that was the first to fee the king's porter; and some say it was another; but the truth of it is, that it was duncan stewart, as i am willing to prove with either sword or pistol.
and that was the father that i had, god rest him!"
""i think he was not the man to leave you rich," said i. "and that's true," said alan.
""he left me my breeks to cover me, and little besides.
and that was how i came to enlist, which was a black spot upon my character at the best of times, and would still be a sore job for me if i fell among the red-coats."
""what," cried i, "were you in the english army?"
""that was i," said alan.
""but i deserted to the right side at preston pans -- and that's some comfort."
i could scarcely share this view: holding desertion under arms for an unpardonable fault in honour.
but for all i was so young, i was wiser than say my thought.
""dear, dear," says i, "the punishment is death."
""ay" said he, "if they got hands on me, it would be a short shrift and a lang tow for alan!
but i have the king of france's commission in my pocket, which would aye be some protection."
""i misdoubt it much," said i. "i have doubts mysel"," said alan drily.
""and, good heaven, man," cried i, "you that are a condemned rebel, and a deserter, and a man of the french king's -- what tempts ye back into this country?
it's a braving of providence."
""tut!"
says alan, "i have been back every year since forty-six!"
""and what brings ye, man?"
cried i. "well, ye see, i weary for my friends and country," said he.
""france is a braw place, nae doubt; but i weary for the heather and the deer.
and then i have bit things that i attend to.
whiles i pick up a few lads to serve the king of france: recruits, ye see; and that's aye a little money.
but the heart of the matter is the business of my chief, ardshiel."
""i thought they called your chief appin," said i. "ay, but ardshiel is the captain of the clan," said he, which scarcely cleared my mind.
""ye see, david, he that was all his life so great a man, and come of the blood and bearing the name of kings, is now brought down to live in a french town like a poor and private person.
he that had four hundred swords at his whistle, i have seen, with these eyes of mine, buying butter in the market-place, and taking it home in a kale-leaf.
this is not only a pain but a disgrace to us of his family and clan.
there are the bairns forby, the children and the hope of appin, that must be learned their letters and how to hold a sword, in that far country.
now, the tenants of appin have to pay a rent to king george; but their hearts are staunch, they are true to their chief; and what with love and a bit of pressure, and maybe a threat or two, the poor folk scrape up a second rent for ardshiel.
well, david, i'm the hand that carries it."
and he struck the belt about his body, so that the guineas rang.
""do they pay both?"
cried i. "ay, david, both," says he.
""what!
two rents?"
i repeated.
""ay, david," said he.
""i told a different tale to yon captain man; but this is the truth of it.
and it's wonderful to me how little pressure is needed.
but that's the handiwork of my good kinsman and my father's friend, james of the glens: james stewart, that is: ardshiel's half-brother.
he it is that gets the money in, and does the management."
this was the first time i heard the name of that james stewart, who was afterwards so famous at the time of his hanging.
but i took little heed at the moment, for all my mind was occupied with the generosity of these poor highlanders.
""i call it noble," i cried.
""i'm a whig, or little better; but i call it noble."
""ay" said he, "ye're a whig, but ye're a gentleman; and that's what does it.
now, if ye were one of the cursed race of campbell, ye would gnash your teeth to hear tell of it.
if ye were the red fox..." and at that name, his teeth shut together, and he ceased speaking.
i have seen many a grim face, but never a grimmer than alan's when he had named the red fox.
""and who is the red fox?"
i asked, daunted, but still curious.
""who is he?"
cried alan.
""well, and i'll tell you that.
when the men of the clans were broken at culloden, and the good cause went down, and the horses rode over the fetlocks in the best blood of the north, ardshiel had to flee like a poor deer upon the mountains -- he and his lady and his bairns.
a sair job we had of it before we got him shipped; and while he still lay in the heather, the english rogues, that couldnae come at his life, were striking at his rights.
they stripped him of his powers; they stripped him of his lands; they plucked the weapons from the hands of his clansmen, that had borne arms for thirty centuries; ay, and the very clothes off their backs -- so that it's now a sin to wear a tartan plaid, and a man may be cast into a gaol if he has but a kilt about his legs.
one thing they couldnae kill.
that was the love the clansmen bore their chief.
these guineas are the proof of it.
and now, in there steps a man, a campbell, red-headed colin of glenure --" "is that him you call the red fox?"
said i. "will ye bring me his brush?"
cries alan, fiercely.
""ay, that's the man.
in he steps, and gets papers from king george, to be so-called king's factor on the lands of appin.
and at first he sings small, and is hail-fellow-well-met with sheamus -- that's james of the glens, my chieftain's agent.
but by-and-by, that came to his ears that i have just told you; how the poor commons of appin, the farmers and the crofters and the boumen, were wringing their very plaids to get a second rent, and send it over-seas for ardshiel and his poor bairns.
what was it ye called it, when i told ye?"
""i called it noble, alan," said i. "and you little better than a common whig!"
cries alan.
""but when it came to colin roy, the black campbell blood in him ran wild.
he sat gnashing his teeth at the wine table.
what!
should a stewart get a bite of bread, and him not be able to prevent it?
ah!
red fox, if ever i hold you at a gun's end, the lord have pity upon ye!"
-lrb- alan stopped to swallow down his anger. -rrb-
""well, david, what does he do?
he declares all the farms to let.
and, thinks he, in his black heart, "i'll soon get other tenants that'll overbid these stewarts, and maccolls, and macrobs" -lrb- for these are all names in my clan, david -rrb-; "and then," thinks he, "ardshiel will have to hold his bonnet on a french roadside.""
""well," said i, "what followed?"
alan laid down his pipe, which he had long since suffered to go out, and set his two hands upon his knees.
""ay," said he, "ye'll never guess that!
for these same stewarts, and maccolls, and macrobs -lrb- that had two rents to pay, one to king george by stark force, and one to ardshiel by natural kindness -rrb- offered him a better price than any campbell in all broad scotland; and far he sent seeking them -- as far as to the sides of clyde and the cross of edinburgh -- seeking, and fleeching, and begging them to come, where there was a stewart to be starved and a red-headed hound of a campbell to be pleasured!"
""well, alan," said i, "that is a strange story, and a fine one, too.
and whig as i may be, i am glad the man was beaten."
""him beaten?"
echoed alan.
""it's little ye ken of campbells, and less of the red fox.
him beaten?
no: nor will be, till his blood's on the hillside!
but if the day comes, david man, that i can find time and leisure for a bit of hunting, there grows not enough heather in all scotland to hide him from my vengeance!"
""man alan," said i, "ye are neither very wise nor very christian to blow off so many words of anger.
they will do the man ye call the fox no harm, and yourself no good.
tell me your tale plainly out.
what did he next?"
""and that's a good observe, david," said alan.
""troth and indeed, they will do him no harm; the more's the pity!
and barring that about christianity -lrb- of which my opinion is quite otherwise, or i would be nae christian -rrb-, i am much of your mind."
""opinion here or opinion there," said i, "it's a kent thing that christianity forbids revenge."
""ay" said he, "it's well seen it was a campbell taught ye!
it would be a convenient world for them and their sort, if there was no such a thing as a lad and a gun behind a heather bush!
but that's nothing to the point.
this is what he did."
""ay" said i, "come to that."
""well, david," said he, "since he couldnae be rid of the loyal commons by fair means, he swore he would be rid of them by foul.
ardshiel was to starve: that was the thing he aimed at.
and since them that fed him in his exile wouldnae be bought out -- right or wrong, he would drive them out.
therefore he sent for lawyers, and papers, and red-coats to stand at his back.
and the kindly folk of that country must all pack and tramp, every father's son out of his father's house, and out of the place where he was bred and fed, and played when he was a callant.
and who are to succeed them?
bare-leggit beggars!
king george is to whistle for his rents; he maun dow with less; he can spread his butter thinner: what cares red colin?
if he can hurt ardshiel, he has his wish; if he can pluck the meat from my chieftain's table, and the bit toys out of his children's hands, he will gang hame singing to glenure!"
""let me have a word," said i. "be sure, if they take less rents, be sure government has a finger in the pie.
it's not this campbell's fault, man -- it's his orders.
and if ye killed this colin to-morrow, what better would ye be?
there would be another factor in his shoes, as fast as spur can drive."
""ye're a good lad in a fight," said alan; "but, man!
ye have whig blood in ye!"
he spoke kindly enough, but there was so much anger under his contempt that i thought it was wise to change the conversation.
i expressed my wonder how, with the highlands covered with troops, and guarded like a city in a siege, a man in his situation could come and go without arrest.
""it's easier than ye would think," said alan.
""a bare hillside -lrb- ye see -rrb- is like all one road; if there's a sentry at one place, ye just go by another.
and then the heather's a great help.
and everywhere there are friends" houses and friends" byres and haystacks.
and besides, when folk talk of a country covered with troops, it's but a kind of a byword at the best.
a soldier covers nae mair of it than his boot-soles.
i have fished a water with a sentry on the other side of the brae, and killed a fine trout; and i have sat in a heather bush within six feet of another, and learned a real bonny tune from his whistling.
this was it," said he, and whistled me the air.
""and then, besides," he continued, "it's no sae bad now as it was in forty-six.
the hielands are what they call pacified.
small wonder, with never a gun or a sword left from cantyre to cape wrath, but what tenty * folk have hidden in their thatch!
but what i would like to ken, david, is just how long?
not long, ye would think, with men like ardshiel in exile and men like the red fox sitting birling the wine and oppressing the poor at home.
but it's a kittle thing to decide what folk'll bear, and what they will not.
or why would red colin be riding his horse all over my poor country of appin, and never a pretty lad to put a bullet in him?"
* careful.
and with this alan fell into a muse, and for a long time sate very sad and silent.
i will add the rest of what i have to say about my friend, that he was skilled in all kinds of music, but principally pipe-music; was a well-considered poet in his own tongue; had read several books both in french and english; was a dead shot, a good angler, and an excellent fencer with the small sword as well as with his own particular weapon.
for his faults, they were on his face, and i now knew them all.
but the worst of them, his childish propensity to take offence and to pick quarrels, he greatly laid aside in my case, out of regard for the battle of the round-house.
but whether it was because i had done well myself, or because i had been a witness of his own much greater prowess, is more than i can tell.
for though he had a great taste for courage in other men, yet he admired it most in alan breck.
chapter xiii the loss of the brig it was already late at night, and as dark as it ever would be at that season of the year -lrb- and that is to say, it was still pretty bright -rrb-, when hoseason clapped his head into the round-house door.
""here," said he, "come out and see if ye can pilot."
""is this one of your tricks?"
asked alan.
""do i look like tricks?"
cries the captain.
""i have other things to think of -- my brig's in danger!"
by the concerned look of his face, and, above all, by the sharp tones in which he spoke of his brig, it was plain to both of us he was in deadly earnest; and so alan and i, with no great fear of treachery, stepped on deck.
the sky was clear; it blew hard, and was bitter cold; a great deal of daylight lingered; and the moon, which was nearly full, shone brightly.
the brig was close hauled, so as to round the southwest corner of the island of mull, the hills of which -lrb- and ben more above them all, with a wisp of mist upon the top of it -rrb- lay full upon the lar-board bow.
though it was no good point of sailing for the covenant, she tore through the seas at a great rate, pitching and straining, and pursued by the westerly swell.
altogether it was no such ill night to keep the seas in; and i had begun to wonder what it was that sat so heavily upon the captain, when the brig rising suddenly on the top of a high swell, he pointed and cried to us to look.
away on the lee bow, a thing like a fountain rose out of the moonlit sea, and immediately after we heard a low sound of roaring.
""what do ye call that?"
asked the captain, gloomily.
""the sea breaking on a reef," said alan.
""and now ye ken where it is; and what better would ye have?"
""ay," said hoseason, "if it was the only one."
and sure enough, just as he spoke there came a second fountain farther to the south.
""there!"
said hoseason.
""ye see for yourself.
if i had kent of these reefs, if i had had a chart, or if shuan had been spared, it's not sixty guineas, no, nor six hundred, would have made me risk my brig in sic a stoneyard!
but you, sir, that was to pilot us, have ye never a word?"
""i'm thinking," said alan, "these'll be what they call the torran rocks."
""are there many of them?"
says the captain.
""truly, sir, i am nae pilot," said alan; "but it sticks in my mind there are ten miles of them."
mr. riach and the captain looked at each other.
""there's a way through them, i suppose?"
said the captain.
""doubtless," said alan, "but where?
but it somehow runs in my mind once more that it is clearer under the land."
""so?"
said hoseason.
""we'll have to haul our wind then, mr. riach; we'll have to come as near in about the end of mull as we can take her, sir; and even then we'll have the land to kep the wind off us, and that stoneyard on our lee.
well, we're in for it now, and may as well crack on."
with that he gave an order to the steersman, and sent riach to the foretop.
there were only five men on deck, counting the officers; these being all that were fit -lrb- or, at least, both fit and willing -rrb- for their work.
so, as i say, it fell to mr. riach to go aloft, and he sat there looking out and hailing the deck with news of all he saw.
""the sea to the south is thick," he cried; and then, after a while, "it does seem clearer in by the land."
""well, sir," said hoseason to alan, "we'll try your way of it.
but i think i might as well trust to a blind fiddler.
pray god you're right."
""pray god i am!"
says alan to me.
""but where did i hear it?
well, well, it will be as it must."
as we got nearer to the turn of the land the reefs began to be sown here and there on our very path; and mr. riach sometimes cried down to us to change the course.
sometimes, indeed, none too soon; for one reef was so close on the brig's weather board that when a sea burst upon it the lighter sprays fell upon her deck and wetted us like rain.
the brightness of the night showed us these perils as clearly as by day, which was, perhaps, the more alarming.
it showed me, too, the face of the captain as he stood by the steersman, now on one foot, now on the other, and sometimes blowing in his hands, but still listening and looking and as steady as steel.
neither he nor mr. riach had shown well in the fighting; but i saw they were brave in their own trade, and admired them all the more because i found alan very white.
""ochone, david," says he, "this is no the kind of death i fancy!"
""what, alan!"
i cried, "you're not afraid?"
""no," said he, wetting his lips, "but you'll allow, yourself, it's a cold ending."
by this time, now and then sheering to one side or the other to avoid a reef, but still hugging the wind and the land, we had got round iona and begun to come alongside mull.
the tide at the tail of the land ran very strong, and threw the brig about.
two hands were put to the helm, and hoseason himself would sometimes lend a help; and it was strange to see three strong men throw their weight upon the tiller, and it -lrb- like a living thing -rrb- struggle against and drive them back.
this would have been the greater danger had not the sea been for some while free of obstacles.
mr. riach, besides, announced from the top that he saw clear water ahead.
""ye were right," said hoseason to alan.
""ye have saved the brig, sir.
i'll mind that when we come to clear accounts."
and i believe he not only meant what he said, but would have done it; so high a place did the covenant hold in his affections.
but this is matter only for conjecture, things having gone otherwise than he forecast.
""keep her away a point," sings out mr. riach.
""reef to windward!"
and just at the same time the tide caught the brig, and threw the wind out of her sails.
she came round into the wind like a top, and the next moment struck the reef with such a dunch as threw us all flat upon the deck, and came near to shake mr. riach from his place upon the mast.
i was on my feet in a minute.
the reef on which we had struck was close in under the southwest end of mull, off a little isle they call earraid, which lay low and black upon the larboard.
sometimes the swell broke clean over us; sometimes it only ground the poor brig upon the reef, so that we could hear her beat herself to pieces; and what with the great noise of the sails, and the singing of the wind, and the flying of the spray in the moonlight, and the sense of danger, i think my head must have been partly turned, for i could scarcely understand the things i saw.
presently i observed mr. riach and the seamen busy round the skiff, and, still in the same blank, ran over to assist them; and as soon as i set my hand to work, my mind came clear again.
it was no very easy task, for the skiff lay amidships and was full of hamper, and the breaking of the heavier seas continually forced us to give over and hold on; but we all wrought like horses while we could.
meanwhile such of the wounded as could move came clambering out of the fore-scuttle and began to help; while the rest that lay helpless in their bunks harrowed me with screaming and begging to be saved.
the captain took no part.
it seemed he was struck stupid.
he stood holding by the shrouds, talking to himself and groaning out aloud whenever the ship hammered on the rock.
his brig was like wife and child to him; he had looked on, day by day, at the mishandling of poor ransome; but when it came to the brig, he seemed to suffer along with her.
all the time of our working at the boat, i remember only one other thing: that i asked alan, looking across at the shore, what country it was; and he answered, it was the worst possible for him, for it was a land of the campbells.
we had one of the wounded men told off to keep a watch upon the seas and cry us warning.
well, we had the boat about ready to be launched, when this man sang out pretty shrill: "for god's sake, hold on!"
we knew by his tone that it was something more than ordinary; and sure enough, there followed a sea so huge that it lifted the brig right up and canted her over on her beam.
whether the cry came too late, or my hold was too weak, i know not; but at the sudden tilting of the ship i was cast clean over the bulwarks into the sea.
i went down, and drank my fill, and then came up, and got a blink of the moon, and then down again.
they say a man sinks a third time for good.
i can not be made like other folk, then; for i would not like to write how often i went down, or how often i came up again.
all the while, i was being hurled along, and beaten upon and choked, and then swallowed whole; and the thing was so distracting to my wits, that i was neither sorry nor afraid.
presently, i found i was holding to a spar, which helped me somewhat.
and then all of a sudden i was in quiet water, and began to come to myself.
it was the spare yard i had got hold of, and i was amazed to see how far i had travelled from the brig. i hailed her, indeed; but it was plain she was already out of cry.
she was still holding together; but whether or not they had yet launched the boat, i was too far off and too low down to see.
while i was hailing the brig, i spied a tract of water lying between us where no great waves came, but which yet boiled white all over and bristled in the moon with rings and bubbles.
sometimes the whole tract swung to one side, like the tail of a live serpent; sometimes, for a glimpse, it would all disappear and then boil up again.
what it was i had no guess, which for the time increased my fear of it; but i now know it must have been the roost or tide race, which had carried me away so fast and tumbled me about so cruelly, and at last, as if tired of that play, had flung out me and the spare yard upon its landward margin.
i now lay quite becalmed, and began to feel that a man can die of cold as well as of drowning.
the shores of earraid were close in; i could see in the moonlight the dots of heather and the sparkling of the mica in the rocks.
""well," thought i to myself, "if i can not get as far as that, it's strange!"
i had no skill of swimming, essen water being small in our neighbourhood; but when i laid hold upon the yard with both arms, and kicked out with both feet, i soon begun to find that i was moving.
hard work it was, and mortally slow; but in about an hour of kicking and splashing, i had got well in between the points of a sandy bay surrounded by low hills.
the sea was here quite quiet; there was no sound of any surf; the moon shone clear; and i thought in my heart i had never seen a place so desert and desolate.
but it was dry land; and when at last it grew so shallow that i could leave the yard and wade ashore upon my feet, i can not tell if i was more tired or more grateful.
both, at least, i was: tired as i never was before that night; and grateful to god as i trust i have been often, though never with more cause.
chapter xiv the islet with my stepping ashore i began the most unhappy part of my adventures.
it was half-past twelve in the morning, and though the wind was broken by the land, it was a cold night.
i dared not sit down -lrb- for i thought i should have frozen -rrb-, but took off my shoes and walked to and fro upon the sand, bare-foot, and beating my breast with infinite weariness.
there was no sound of man or cattle; not a cock crew, though it was about the hour of their first waking; only the surf broke outside in the distance, which put me in mind of my perils and those of my friend.
to walk by the sea at that hour of the morning, and in a place so desert-like and lonesome, struck me with a kind of fear.
as soon as the day began to break i put on my shoes and climbed a hill -- the ruggedest scramble i ever undertook -- falling, the whole way, between big blocks of granite, or leaping from one to another.
when i got to the top the dawn was come.
there was no sign of the brig, which must have lifted from the reef and sunk.
the boat, too, was nowhere to be seen.
there was never a sail upon the ocean; and in what i could see of the land was neither house nor man.
i was afraid to think what had befallen my shipmates, and afraid to look longer at so empty a scene.
what with my wet clothes and weariness, and my belly that now began to ache with hunger, i had enough to trouble me without that.
so i set off eastward along the south coast, hoping to find a house where i might warm myself, and perhaps get news of those i had lost.
and at the worst, i considered the sun would soon rise and dry my clothes.
after a little, my way was stopped by a creek or inlet of the sea, which seemed to run pretty deep into the land; and as i had no means to get across, i must needs change my direction to go about the end of it.
it was still the roughest kind of walking; indeed the whole, not only of earraid, but of the neighbouring part of mull -lrb- which they call the ross -rrb- is nothing but a jumble of granite rocks with heather in among.
at first the creek kept narrowing as i had looked to see; but presently to my surprise it began to widen out again.
at this i scratched my head, but had still no notion of the truth: until at last i came to a rising ground, and it burst upon me all in a moment that i was cast upon a little barren isle, and cut off on every side by the salt seas.
instead of the sun rising to dry me, it came on to rain, with a thick mist; so that my case was lamentable.
i stood in the rain, and shivered, and wondered what to do, till it occurred to me that perhaps the creek was fordable.
back i went to the narrowest point and waded in.
but not three yards from shore, i plumped in head over ears; and if ever i was heard of more, it was rather by god's grace than my own prudence.
i was no wetter -lrb- for that could hardly be -rrb-, but i was all the colder for this mishap; and having lost another hope was the more unhappy.
and now, all at once, the yard came in my head.
what had carried me through the roost would surely serve me to cross this little quiet creek in safety.
with that i set off, undaunted, across the top of the isle, to fetch and carry it back.
it was a weary tramp in all ways, and if hope had not buoyed me up, i must have cast myself down and given up.
whether with the sea salt, or because i was growing fevered, i was distressed with thirst, and had to stop, as i went, and drink the peaty water out of the hags.
i came to the bay at last, more dead than alive; and at the first glance, i thought the yard was something farther out than when i left it.
in i went, for the third time, into the sea.
the sand was smooth and firm, and shelved gradually down, so that i could wade out till the water was almost to my neck and the little waves splashed into my face.
but at that depth my feet began to leave me, and i durst venture in no farther.
as for the yard, i saw it bobbing very quietly some twenty feet beyond.
i had borne up well until this last disappointment; but at that i came ashore, and flung myself down upon the sands and wept.
the time i spent upon the island is still so horrible a thought to me, that i must pass it lightly over.
in all the books i have read of people cast away, they had either their pockets full of tools, or a chest of things would be thrown upon the beach along with them, as if on purpose.
my case was very different.
i had nothing in my pockets but money and alan's silver button; and being inland bred, i was as much short of knowledge as of means.
i knew indeed that shell-fish were counted good to eat; and among the rocks of the isle i found a great plenty of limpets, which at first i could scarcely strike from their places, not knowing quickness to be needful.
there were, besides, some of the little shells that we call buckies; i think periwinkle is the english name.
of these two i made my whole diet, devouring them cold and raw as i found them; and so hungry was i, that at first they seemed to me delicious.
perhaps they were out of season, or perhaps there was something wrong in the sea about my island.
but at least i had no sooner eaten my first meal than i was seized with giddiness and retching, and lay for a long time no better than dead.
a second trial of the same food -lrb- indeed i had no other -rrb- did better with me, and revived my strength.
but as long as i was on the island, i never knew what to expect when i had eaten; sometimes all was well, and sometimes i was thrown into a miserable sickness; nor could i ever distinguish what particular fish it was that hurt me.
all day it streamed rain; the island ran like a sop, there was no dry spot to be found; and when i lay down that night, between two boulders that made a kind of roof, my feet were in a bog.
the second day i crossed the island to all sides.
there was no one part of it better than another; it was all desolate and rocky; nothing living on it but game birds which i lacked the means to kill, and the gulls which haunted the outlying rocks in a prodigious number.
but the creek, or strait, that cut off the isle from the main-land of the ross, opened out on the north into a bay, and the bay again opened into the sound of iona; and it was the neighbourhood of this place that i chose to be my home; though if i had thought upon the very name of home in such a spot, i must have burst out weeping.
i had good reasons for my choice.
there was in this part of the isle a little hut of a house like a pig's hut, where fishers used to sleep when they came there upon their business; but the turf roof of it had fallen entirely in; so that the hut was of no use to me, and gave me less shelter than my rocks.
what was more important, the shell-fish on which i lived grew there in great plenty; when the tide was out i could gather a peck at a time: and this was doubtless a convenience.
but the other reason went deeper.
i had become in no way used to the horrid solitude of the isle, but still looked round me on all sides -lrb- like a man that was hunted -rrb-, between fear and hope that i might see some human creature coming.
now, from a little up the hillside over the bay, i could catch a sight of the great, ancient church and the roofs of the people's houses in iona.
and on the other hand, over the low country of the ross, i saw smoke go up, morning and evening, as if from a homestead in a hollow of the land.
i used to watch this smoke, when i was wet and cold, and had my head half turned with loneliness; and think of the fireside and the company, till my heart burned.
it was the same with the roofs of iona.
altogether, this sight i had of men's homes and comfortable lives, although it put a point on my own sufferings, yet it kept hope alive, and helped me to eat my raw shell-fish -lrb- which had soon grown to be a disgust -rrb-, and saved me from the sense of horror i had whenever i was quite alone with dead rocks, and fowls, and the rain, and the cold sea.
i say it kept hope alive; and indeed it seemed impossible that i should be left to die on the shores of my own country, and within view of a church-tower and the smoke of men's houses.
but the second day passed; and though as long as the light lasted i kept a bright look-out for boats on the sound or men passing on the ross, no help came near me.
it still rained, and i turned in to sleep, as wet as ever, and with a cruel sore throat, but a little comforted, perhaps, by having said good-night to my next neighbours, the people of iona.
charles the second declared a man could stay outdoors more days in the year in the climate of england than in any other.
this was very like a king, with a palace at his back and changes of dry clothes.
but he must have had better luck on his flight from worcester than i had on that miserable isle.
it was the height of the summer; yet it rained for more than twenty-four hours, and did not clear until the afternoon of the third day.
this was the day of incidents.
in the morning i saw a red deer, a buck with a fine spread of antlers, standing in the rain on the top of the island; but he had scarce seen me rise from under my rock, before he trotted off upon the other side.
i supposed he must have swum the strait; though what should bring any creature to earraid, was more than i could fancy.
a little after, as i was jumping about after my limpets, i was startled by a guinea-piece, which fell upon a rock in front of me and glanced off into the sea.
when the sailors gave me my money again, they kept back not only about a third of the whole sum, but my father's leather purse; so that from that day out, i carried my gold loose in a pocket with a button.
i now saw there must be a hole, and clapped my hand to the place in a great hurry.
but this was to lock the stable door after the steed was stolen.
i had left the shore at queensferry with near on fifty pounds; now i found no more than two guinea-pieces and a silver shilling.
it is true i picked up a third guinea a little after, where it lay shining on a piece of turf.
that made a fortune of three pounds and four shillings, english money, for a lad, the rightful heir of an estate, and now starving on an isle at the extreme end of the wild highlands.
this state of my affairs dashed me still further; and, indeed my plight on that third morning was truly pitiful.
my clothes were beginning to rot; my stockings in particular were quite worn through, so that my shanks went naked; my hands had grown quite soft with the continual soaking; my throat was very sore, my strength had much abated, and my heart so turned against the horrid stuff i was condemned to eat, that the very sight of it came near to sicken me.
and yet the worst was not yet come.
there is a pretty high rock on the northwest of earraid, which -lrb- because it had a flat top and overlooked the sound -rrb- i was much in the habit of frequenting; not that ever i stayed in one place, save when asleep, my misery giving me no rest.
indeed, i wore myself down with continual and aimless goings and comings in the rain.
as soon, however, as the sun came out, i lay down on the top of that rock to dry myself.
the comfort of the sunshine is a thing i can not tell.
it set me thinking hopefully of my deliverance, of which i had begun to despair; and i scanned the sea and the ross with a fresh interest.
on the south of my rock, a part of the island jutted out and hid the open ocean, so that a boat could thus come quite near me upon that side, and i be none the wiser.
well, all of a sudden, a coble with a brown sail and a pair of fishers aboard of it, came flying round that corner of the isle, bound for iona.
i shouted out, and then fell on my knees on the rock and reached up my hands and prayed to them.
they were near enough to hear -- i could even see the colour of their hair; and there was no doubt but they observed me, for they cried out in the gaelic tongue, and laughed.
but the boat never turned aside, and flew on, right before my eyes, for iona.
i could not believe such wickedness, and ran along the shore from rock to rock, crying on them piteously even after they were out of reach of my voice, i still cried and waved to them; and when they were quite gone, i thought my heart would have burst.
all the time of my troubles i wept only twice.
once, when i could not reach the yard, and now, the second time, when these fishers turned a deaf ear to my cries.
but this time i wept and roared like a wicked child, tearing up the turf with my nails, and grinding my face in the earth.
if a wish would kill men, those two fishers would never have seen morning, and i should likely have died upon my island.
when i was a little over my anger, i must eat again, but with such loathing of the mess as i could now scarce control.
sure enough, i should have done as well to fast, for my fishes poisoned me again.
i had all my first pains; my throat was so sore i could scarce swallow; i had a fit of strong shuddering, which clucked my teeth together; and there came on me that dreadful sense of illness, which we have no name for either in scotch or english.
i thought i should have died, and made my peace with god, forgiving all men, even my uncle and the fishers; and as soon as i had thus made up my mind to the worst, clearness came upon me; i observed the night was falling dry; my clothes were dried a good deal; truly, i was in a better case than ever before, since i had landed on the isle; and so i got to sleep at last, with a thought of gratitude.
the next day -lrb- which was the fourth of this horrible life of mine -rrb- i found my bodily strength run very low.
but the sun shone, the air was sweet, and what i managed to eat of the shell-fish agreed well with me and revived my courage.
i was scarce back on my rock -lrb- where i went always the first thing after i had eaten -rrb- before i observed a boat coming down the sound, and with her head, as i thought, in my direction.
i began at once to hope and fear exceedingly; for i thought these men might have thought better of their cruelty and be coming back to my assistance.
but another disappointment, such as yesterday's, was more than i could bear.
i turned my back, accordingly, upon the sea, and did not look again till i had counted many hundreds.
the boat was still heading for the island.
the next time i counted the full thousand, as slowly as i could, my heart beating so as to hurt me.
and then it was out of all question.
she was coming straight to earraid!
i could no longer hold myself back, but ran to the seaside and out, from one rock to another, as far as i could go.
it is a marvel i was not drowned; for when i was brought to a stand at last, my legs shook under me, and my mouth was so dry, i must wet it with the sea-water before i was able to shout.
all this time the boat was coming on; and now i was able to perceive it was the same boat and the same two men as yesterday.
this i knew by their hair, which the one had of a bright yellow and the other black.
but now there was a third man along with them, who looked to be of a better class.
as soon as they were come within easy speech, they let down their sail and lay quiet.
in spite of my supplications, they drew no nearer in, and what frightened me most of all, the new man tee-hee'd with laughter as he talked and looked at me.
then he stood up in the boat and addressed me a long while, speaking fast and with many wavings of his hand.
i told him i had no gaelic; and at this he became very angry, and i began to suspect he thought he was talking english.
listening very close, i caught the word "whateffer" several times; but all the rest was gaelic and might have been greek and hebrew for me.
""whatever," said i, to show him i had caught a word.
""yes, yes -- yes, yes," says he, and then he looked at the other men, as much as to say, "i told you i spoke english," and began again as hard as ever in the gaelic.
this time i picked out another word, "tide."
then i had a flash of hope.
i remembered he was always waving his hand towards the mainland of the ross.
""do you mean when the tide is out --?"
i cried, and could not finish.
""yes, yes," said he.
""tide."
at that i turned tail upon their boat -lrb- where my adviser had once more begun to tee-hee with laughter -rrb-, leaped back the way i had come, from one stone to another, and set off running across the isle as i had never run before.
in about half an hour i came out upon the shores of the creek; and, sure enough, it was shrunk into a little trickle of water, through which i dashed, not above my knees, and landed with a shout on the main island.
a sea-bred boy would not have stayed a day on earraid; which is only what they call a tidal islet, and except in the bottom of the neaps, can be entered and left twice in every twenty-four hours, either dry-shod, or at the most by wading.
even i, who had the tide going out and in before me in the bay, and even watched for the ebbs, the better to get my shellfish -- even i -lrb- i say -rrb- if i had sat down to think, instead of raging at my fate, must have soon guessed the secret, and got free.
it was no wonder the fishers had not understood me.
the wonder was rather that they had ever guessed my pitiful illusion, and taken the trouble to come back.
i had starved with cold and hunger on that island for close upon one hundred hours.
but for the fishers, i might have left my bones there, in pure folly.
and even as it was, i had paid for it pretty dear, not only in past sufferings, but in my present case; being clothed like a beggar-man, scarce able to walk, and in great pain of my sore throat.
i have seen wicked men and fools, a great many of both; and i believe they both get paid in the end; but the fools first.
chapter xv the lad with the silver button: through the isle of mull the ross of mull, which i had now got upon, was rugged and trackless, like the isle i had just left; being all bog, and brier, and big stone.
there may be roads for them that know that country well; but for my part i had no better guide than my own nose, and no other landmark than ben more.
i aimed as well as i could for the smoke i had seen so often from the island; and with all my great weariness and the difficulty of the way came upon the house in the bottom of a little hollow about five or six at night.
it was low and longish, roofed with turf and built of unmortared stones; and on a mound in front of it, an old gentleman sat smoking his pipe in the sun.
with what little english he had, he gave me to understand that my shipmates had got safe ashore, and had broken bread in that very house on the day after.
""was there one," i asked, "dressed like a gentleman?"
he said they all wore rough great-coats; but to be sure, the first of them, the one that came alone, wore breeches and stockings, while the rest had sailors" trousers.
""ah," said i, "and he would have a feathered hat?"
he told me, no, that he was bareheaded like myself.
at first i thought alan might have lost his hat; and then the rain came in my mind, and i judged it more likely he had it out of harm's way under his great-coat.
this set me smiling, partly because my friend was safe, partly to think of his vanity in dress.
and then the old gentleman clapped his hand to his brow, and cried out that i must be the lad with the silver button.
""why, yes!"
said i, in some wonder.
""well, then," said the old gentleman, "i have a word for you, that you are to follow your friend to his country, by torosay."
he then asked me how i had fared, and i told him my tale.
a south-country man would certainly have laughed; but this old gentleman -lrb- i call him so because of his manners, for his clothes were dropping off his back -rrb- heard me all through with nothing but gravity and pity.
when i had done, he took me by the hand, led me into his hut -lrb- it was no better -rrb- and presented me before his wife, as if she had been the queen and i a duke.
the good woman set oat-bread before me and a cold grouse, patting my shoulder and smiling to me all the time, for she had no english; and the old gentleman -lrb- not to be behind -rrb- brewed me a strong punch out of their country spirit.
all the while i was eating, and after that when i was drinking the punch, i could scarce come to believe in my good fortune; and the house, though it was thick with the peat-smoke and as full of holes as a colander, seemed like a palace.
the punch threw me in a strong sweat and a deep slumber; the good people let me lie; and it was near noon of the next day before i took the road, my throat already easier and my spirits quite restored by good fare and good news.
the old gentleman, although i pressed him hard, would take no money, and gave me an old bonnet for my head; though i am free to own i was no sooner out of view of the house than i very jealously washed this gift of his in a wayside fountain.
thought i to myself: "if these are the wild highlanders, i could wish my own folk wilder."
i not only started late, but i must have wandered nearly half the time.
true, i met plenty of people, grubbing in little miserable fields that would not keep a cat, or herding little kine about the bigness of asses.
the highland dress being forbidden by law since the rebellion, and the people condemned to the lowland habit, which they much disliked, it was strange to see the variety of their array.
some went bare, only for a hanging cloak or great-coat, and carried their trousers on their backs like a useless burthen: some had made an imitation of the tartan with little parti-coloured stripes patched together like an old wife's quilt; others, again, still wore the highland philabeg, but by putting a few stitches between the legs transformed it into a pair of trousers like a dutchman's.
all those makeshifts were condemned and punished, for the law was harshly applied, in hopes to break up the clan spirit; but in that out-of-the-way, sea-bound isle, there were few to make remarks and fewer to tell tales.
they seemed in great poverty; which was no doubt natural, now that rapine was put down, and the chiefs kept no longer an open house; and the roads -lrb- even such a wandering, country by-track as the one i followed -rrb- were infested with beggars.
and here again i marked a difference from my own part of the country.
for our lowland beggars -- even the gownsmen themselves, who beg by patent -- had a louting, flattering way with them, and if you gave them a plaek and asked change, would very civilly return you a boddle.
but these highland beggars stood on their dignity, asked alms only to buy snuff -lrb- by their account -rrb- and would give no change.
to be sure, this was no concern of mine, except in so far as it entertained me by the way.
what was much more to the purpose, few had any english, and these few -lrb- unless they were of the brotherhood of beggars -rrb- not very anxious to place it at my service.
i knew torosay to be my destination, and repeated the name to them and pointed; but instead of simply pointing in reply, they would give me a screed of the gaelic that set me foolish; so it was small wonder if i went out of my road as often as i stayed in it.
at last, about eight at night, and already very weary, i came to a lone house, where i asked admittance, and was refused, until i bethought me of the power of money in so poor a country, and held up one of my guineas in my finger and thumb.
thereupon, the man of the house, who had hitherto pretended to have no english, and driven me from his door by signals, suddenly began to speak as clearly as was needful, and agreed for five shillings to give me a night's lodging and guide me the next day to torosay.
i slept uneasily that night, fearing i should be robbed; but i might have spared myself the pain; for my host was no robber, only miserably poor and a great cheat.
he was not alone in his poverty; for the next morning, we must go five miles about to the house of what he called a rich man to have one of my guineas changed.
this was perhaps a rich man for mull; he would have scarce been thought so in the south; for it took all he had -- the whole house was turned upside down, and a neighbour brought under contribution, before he could scrape together twenty shillings in silver.
the odd shilling he kept for himself, protesting he could ill afford to have so great a sum of money lying "locked up."
for all that he was very courteous and well spoken, made us both sit down with his family to dinner, and brewed punch in a fine china bowl, over which my rascal guide grew so merry that he refused to start.
i was for getting angry, and appealed to the rich man -lrb- hector maclean was his name -rrb-, who had been a witness to our bargain and to my payment of the five shillings.
but maclean had taken his share of the punch, and vowed that no gentleman should leave his table after the bowl was brewed; so there was nothing for it but to sit and hear jacobite toasts and gaelic songs, till all were tipsy and staggered off to the bed or the barn for their night's rest.
next day -lrb- the fourth of my travels -rrb- we were up before five upon the clock; but my rascal guide got to the bottle at once, and it was three hours before i had him clear of the house, and then -lrb- as you shall hear -rrb- only for a worse disappointment.
as long as we went down a heathery valley that lay before mr. maclean's house, all went well; only my guide looked constantly over his shoulder, and when i asked him the cause, only grinned at me.
no sooner, however, had we crossed the back of a hill, and got out of sight of the house windows, than he told me torosay lay right in front, and that a hill-top -lrb- which he pointed out -rrb- was my best landmark.
""i care very little for that," said i, "since you are going with me."
the impudent cheat answered me in the gaelic that he had no english.
""my fine fellow," i said, "i know very well your english comes and goes.
tell me what will bring it back?
is it more money you wish?"
""five shillings mair," said he, "and hersel" will bring ye there."
i reflected awhile and then offered him two, which he accepted greedily, and insisted on having in his hands at once "for luck," as he said, but i think it was rather for my misfortune.
the two shillings carried him not quite as many miles; at the end of which distance, he sat down upon the wayside and took off his brogues from his feet, like a man about to rest.
i was now red-hot.
""ha!"
said i, "have you no more english?"
he said impudently, "no."
at that i boiled over, and lifted my hand to strike him; and he, drawing a knife from his rags, squatted back and grinned at me like a wildcat.
at that, forgetting everything but my anger, i ran in upon him, put aside his knife with my left, and struck him in the mouth with the right.
i was a strong lad and very angry, and he but a little man; and he went down before me heavily.
by good luck, his knife flew out of his hand as he fell.
i picked up both that and his brogues, wished him a good morning, and set off upon my way, leaving him barefoot and disarmed.
i chuckled to myself as i went, being sure i was done with that rogue, for a variety of reasons.
first, he knew he could have no more of my money; next, the brogues were worth in that country only a few pence; and, lastly, the knife, which was really a dagger, it was against the law for him to carry.
in about half an hour of walk, i overtook a great, ragged man, moving pretty fast but feeling before him with a staff.
he was quite blind, and told me he was a catechist, which should have put me at my ease.
but his face went against me; it seemed dark and dangerous and secret; and presently, as we began to go on alongside, i saw the steel butt of a pistol sticking from under the flap of his coat-pocket.
to carry such a thing meant a fine of fifteen pounds sterling upon a first offence, and transportation to the colonies upon a second.
nor could i quite see why a religious teacher should go armed, or what a blind man could be doing with a pistol.
i told him about my guide, for i was proud of what i had done, and my vanity for once got the heels of my prudence.
at the mention of the five shillings he cried out so loud that i made up my mind i should say nothing of the other two, and was glad he could not see my blushes.
""was it too much?"
i asked, a little faltering.
""too much!"
cries he.
""why, i will guide you to torosay myself for a dram of brandy.
and give you the great pleasure of my company -lrb- me that is a man of some learning -rrb- in the bargain."
i said i did not see how a blind man could be a guide; but at that he laughed aloud, and said his stick was eyes enough for an eagle.
""in the isle of mull, at least," says he, "where i know every stone and heather-bush by mark of head.
see, now," he said, striking right and left, as if to make sure, "down there a burn is running; and at the head of it there stands a bit of a small hill with a stone cocked upon the top of that; and it's hard at the foot of the hill, that the way runs by to torosay; and the way here, being for droves, is plainly trodden, and will show grassy through the heather."
i had to own he was right in every feature, and told my wonder.
""ha!"
says he, "that's nothing.
would ye believe me now, that before the act came out, and when there were weepons in this country, i could shoot?
ay, could i!"
cries he, and then with a leer: "if ye had such a thing as a pistol here to try with, i would show ye how it's done."
i told him i had nothing of the sort, and gave him a wider berth.
if he had known, his pistol stuck at that time quite plainly out of his pocket, and i could see the sun twinkle on the steel of the butt.
but by the better luck for me, he knew nothing, thought all was covered, and lied on in the dark.
he then began to question me cunningly, where i came from, whether i was rich, whether i could change a five-shilling piece for him -lrb- which he declared he had that moment in his sporran -rrb-, and all the time he kept edging up to me and i avoiding him.
we were now upon a sort of green cattle-track which crossed the hills towards torosay, and we kept changing sides upon that like dancers in a reel.
i had so plainly the upper-hand that my spirits rose, and indeed i took a pleasure in this game of blindman's buff; but the catechist grew angrier and angrier, and at last began to swear in gaelic and to strike for my legs with his staff.
then i told him that, sure enough, i had a pistol in my pocket as well as he, and if he did not strike across the hill due south i would even blow his brains out.
he became at once very polite, and after trying to soften me for some time, but quite in vain, he cursed me once more in gaelic and took himself off.
i watched him striding along, through bog and brier, tapping with his stick, until he turned the end of a hill and disappeared in the next hollow.
then i struck on again for torosay, much better pleased to be alone than to travel with that man of learning.
this was an unlucky day; and these two, of whom i had just rid myself, one after the other, were the two worst men i met with in the highlands.
at torosay, on the sound of mull and looking over to the mainland of morven, there was an inn with an innkeeper, who was a maclean, it appeared, of a very high family; for to keep an inn is thought even more genteel in the highlands than it is with us, perhaps as partaking of hospitality, or perhaps because the trade is idle and drunken.
he spoke good english, and finding me to be something of a scholar, tried me first in french, where he easily beat me, and then in the latin, in which i do n't know which of us did best.
this pleasant rivalry put us at once upon friendly terms; and i sat up and drank punch with him -lrb- or to be more correct, sat up and watched him drink it -rrb-, until he was so tipsy that he wept upon my shoulder.
i tried him, as if by accident, with a sight of alan's button; but it was plain he had never seen or heard of it.
indeed, he bore some grudge against the family and friends of ardshiel, and before he was drunk he read me a lampoon, in very good latin, but with a very ill meaning, which he had made in elegiac verses upon a person of that house.
when i told him of my catechist, he shook his head, and said i was lucky to have got clear off.
""that is a very dangerous man," he said; "duncan mackiegh is his name; he can shoot by the ear at several yards, and has been often accused of highway robberies, and once of murder."
""the cream of it is," says i, "that he called himself a catechist."
""and why should he not?"
says he, "when that is what he is.
it was maclean of duart gave it to him because he was blind.
but perhaps it was a peety," says my host, "for he is always on the road, going from one place to another to hear the young folk say their religion; and, doubtless, that is a great temptation to the poor man."
at last, when my landlord could drink no more, he showed me to a bed, and i lay down in very good spirits; having travelled the greater part of that big and crooked island of mull, from earraid to torosay, fifty miles as the crow flies, and -lrb- with my wanderings -rrb- much nearer a hundred, in four days and with little fatigue.
indeed i was by far in better heart and health of body at the end of that long tramp than i had been at the beginning.
chapter xvi the lad with the silver button: across morven there is a regular ferry from torosay to kinlochaline on the mainland.
both shores of the sound are in the country of the strong clan of the macleans, and the people that passed the ferry with me were almost all of that clan.
the skipper of the boat, on the other hand, was called neil roy macrob; and since macrob was one of the names of alan's clansmen, and alan himself had sent me to that ferry, i was eager to come to private speech of neil roy.
in the crowded boat this was of course impossible, and the passage was a very slow affair.
there was no wind, and as the boat was wretchedly equipped, we could pull but two oars on one side, and one on the other.
the men gave way, however, with a good will, the passengers taking spells to help them, and the whole company giving the time in gaelic boat-songs.
and what with the songs, and the sea-air, and the good-nature and spirit of all concerned, and the bright weather, the passage was a pretty thing to have seen.
but there was one melancholy part.
in the mouth of loch aline we found a great sea-going ship at anchor; and this i supposed at first to be one of the king's cruisers which were kept along that coast, both summer and winter, to prevent communication with the french.
as we got a little nearer, it became plain she was a ship of merchandise; and what still more puzzled me, not only her decks, but the sea-beach also, were quite black with people, and skiffs were continually plying to and fro between them.
yet nearer, and there began to come to our ears a great sound of mourning, the people on board and those on the shore crying and lamenting one to another so as to pierce the heart.
then i understood this was an emigrant ship bound for the american colonies.
we put the ferry-boat alongside, and the exiles leaned over the bulwarks, weeping and reaching out their hands to my fellow-passengers, among whom they counted some near friends.
how long this might have gone on i do not know, for they seemed to have no sense of time: but at last the captain of the ship, who seemed near beside himself -lrb- and no great wonder -rrb- in the midst of this crying and confusion, came to the side and begged us to depart.
thereupon neil sheered off; and the chief singer in our boat struck into a melancholy air, which was presently taken up both by the emigrants and their friends upon the beach, so that it sounded from all sides like a lament for the dying.
i saw the tears run down the cheeks of the men and women in the boat, even as they bent at the oars; and the circumstances and the music of the song -lrb- which is one called "lochaber no more" -rrb- were highly affecting even to myself.
at kinlochaline i got neil roy upon one side on the beach, and said i made sure he was one of appin's men.
""and what for no?"
said he.
""i am seeking somebody," said i; "and it comes in my mind that you will have news of him.
alan breck stewart is his name."
and very foolishly, instead of showing him the button, i sought to pass a shilling in his hand.
at this he drew back.
""i am very much affronted," he said; "and this is not the way that one shentleman should behave to another at all.
the man you ask for is in france; but if he was in my sporran," says he, "and your belly full of shillings, i would not hurt a hair upon his body."
i saw i had gone the wrong way to work, and without wasting time upon apologies, showed him the button lying in the hollow of my palm.
""aweel, aweel," said neil; "and i think ye might have begun with that end of the stick, whatever!
but if ye are the lad with the silver button, all is well, and i have the word to see that ye come safe.
but if ye will pardon me to speak plainly," says he, "there is a name that you should never take into your mouth, and that is the name of alan breck; and there is a thing that ye would never do, and that is to offer your dirty money to a hieland shentleman."
it was not very easy to apologise; for i could scarce tell him -lrb- what was the truth -rrb- that i had never dreamed he would set up to be a gentleman until he told me so.
neil on his part had no wish to prolong his dealings with me, only to fulfil his orders and be done with it; and he made haste to give me my route.
this was to lie the night in kinlochaline in the public inn; to cross morven the next day to ardgour, and lie the night in the house of one john of the claymore, who was warned that i might come; the third day, to be set across one loch at corran and another at balachulish, and then ask my way to the house of james of the glens, at aucharn in duror of appin.
there was a good deal of ferrying, as you hear; the sea in all this part running deep into the mountains and winding about their roots.
it makes the country strong to hold and difficult to travel, but full of prodigious wild and dreadful prospects.
i had some other advice from neil: to speak with no one by the way, to avoid whigs, campbells, and the "red-soldiers;" to leave the road and lie in a bush if i saw any of the latter coming, "for it was never chancy to meet in with them;" and in brief, to conduct myself like a robber or a jacobite agent, as perhaps neil thought me.
the inn at kinlochaline was the most beggarly vile place that ever pigs were styed in, full of smoke, vermin, and silent highlanders.
i was not only discontented with my lodging, but with myself for my mismanagement of neil, and thought i could hardly be worse off.
but very wrongly, as i was soon to see; for i had not been half an hour at the inn -lrb- standing in the door most of the time, to ease my eyes from the peat smoke -rrb- when a thunderstorm came close by, the springs broke in a little hill on which the inn stood, and one end of the house became a running water.
places of public entertainment were bad enough all over scotland in those days; yet it was a wonder to myself, when i had to go from the fireside to the bed in which i slept, wading over the shoes.
early in my next day's journey i overtook a little, stout, solemn man, walking very slowly with his toes turned out, sometimes reading in a book and sometimes marking the place with his finger, and dressed decently and plainly in something of a clerical style.
this i found to be another catechist, but of a different order from the blind man of mull: being indeed one of those sent out by the edinburgh society for propagating christian knowledge, to evangelise the more savage places of the highlands.
his name was henderland; he spoke with the broad south-country tongue, which i was beginning to weary for the sound of; and besides common countryship, we soon found we had a more particular bond of interest.
for my good friend, the minister of essendean, had translated into the gaelic in his by-time a number of hymns and pious books which henderland used in his work, and held in great esteem.
indeed, it was one of these he was carrying and reading when we met.
we fell in company at once, our ways lying together as far as to kingairloch.
as we went, he stopped and spoke with all the wayfarers and workers that we met or passed; and though of course i could not tell what they discoursed about, yet i judged mr. henderland must be well liked in the countryside, for i observed many of them to bring out their mulls and share a pinch of snuff with him.
i told him as far in my affairs as i judged wise; as far, that is, as they were none of alan's; and gave balachulish as the place i was travelling to, to meet a friend; for i thought aucharn, or even duror, would be too particular, and might put him on the scent.
on his part, he told me much of his work and the people he worked among, the hiding priests and jacobites, the disarming act, the dress, and many other curiosities of the time and place.
he seemed moderate; blaming parliament in several points, and especially because they had framed the act more severely against those who wore the dress than against those who carried weapons.
this moderation put it in my mind to question him of the red fox and the appin tenants; questions which, i thought, would seem natural enough in the mouth of one travelling to that country.
he said it was a bad business.
""it's wonderful," said he, "where the tenants find the money, for their life is mere starvation.
-lrb- ye do n't carry such a thing as snuff, do ye, mr. balfour?
no.
well, i'm better wanting it. -rrb-
but these tenants -lrb- as i was saying -rrb- are doubtless partly driven to it.
james stewart in duror -lrb- that's him they call james of the glens -rrb- is half-brother to ardshiel, the captain of the clan; and he is a man much looked up to, and drives very hard.
and then there's one they call alan breck --" "ah!"
i cried, "what of him?"
""what of the wind that bloweth where it listeth?"
said henderland.
""he's here and awa; here to-day and gone to-morrow: a fair heather-cat.
he might be glowering at the two of us out of yon whin-bush, and i wouldnae wonder!
ye'll no carry such a thing as snuff, will ye?"
i told him no, and that he had asked the same thing more than once.
""it's highly possible," said he, sighing.
""but it seems strange ye shouldnae carry it.
however, as i was saying, this alan breck is a bold, desperate customer, and well kent to be james's right hand.
his life is forfeit already; he would boggle at naething; and maybe, if a tenant-body was to hang back he would get a dirk in his wame."
""you make a poor story of it all, mr. henderland," said i. "if it is all fear upon both sides, i care to hear no more of it."
""na," said mr. henderland, "but there's love too, and self-denial that should put the like of you and me to shame.
there's something fine about it; no perhaps christian, but humanly fine.
even alan breck, by all that i hear, is a chield to be respected.
there's many a lying sneck-draw sits close in kirk in our own part of the country, and stands well in the world's eye, and maybe is a far worse man, mr. balfour, than yon misguided shedder of man's blood.
ay, ay, we might take a lesson by them.
-- ye'll perhaps think i've been too long in the hielands?"
he added, smiling to me.
i told him not at all; that i had seen much to admire among the highlanders; and if he came to that, mr. campbell himself was a highlander.
""ay," said he, "that's true.
it's a fine blood."
""and what is the king's agent about?"
i asked.
""colin campbell?"
says henderland.
""putting his head in a bees" byke!"
""he is to turn the tenants out by force, i hear?"
said i. "yes," says he, "but the business has gone back and forth, as folk say.
first, james of the glens rode to edinburgh, and got some lawyer -lrb- a stewart, nae doubt -- they all hing together like bats in a steeple -rrb- and had the proceedings stayed.
and then colin campbell cam" in again, and had the upper-hand before the barons of exchequer.
and now they tell me the first of the tenants are to flit to-morrow.
it's to begin at duror under james's very windows, which doesnae seem wise by my humble way of it."
""do you think they'll fight?"
i asked.
""well," says henderland, "they're disarmed -- or supposed to be -- for there's still a good deal of cold iron lying by in quiet places.
and then colin campbell has the sogers coming.
but for all that, if i was his lady wife, i wouldnae be well pleased till i got him home again.
they're queer customers, the appin stewarts."
i asked if they were worse than their neighbours.
""no they," said he.
""and that's the worst part of it.
for if colin roy can get his business done in appin, he has it all to begin again in the next country, which they call mamore, and which is one of the countries of the camerons.
he's king's factor upon both, and from both he has to drive out the tenants; and indeed, mr. balfour -lrb- to be open with ye -rrb-, it's my belief that if he escapes the one lot, he'll get his death by the other."
so we continued talking and walking the great part of the day; until at last, mr. henderland after expressing his delight in my company, and satisfaction at meeting with a friend of mr. campbell's -lrb- "whom," says he, "i will make bold to call that sweet singer of our covenanted zion" -rrb-, proposed that i should make a short stage, and lie the night in his house a little beyond kingairloch.
to say truth, i was overjoyed; for i had no great desire for john of the claymore, and since my double misadventure, first with the guide and next with the gentleman skipper, i stood in some fear of any highland stranger.
accordingly we shook hands upon the bargain, and came in the afternoon to a small house, standing alone by the shore of the linnhe loch.
the sun was already gone from the desert mountains of ardgour upon the hither side, but shone on those of appin on the farther; the loch lay as still as a lake, only the gulls were crying round the sides of it; and the whole place seemed solemn and uncouth.
we had no sooner come to the door of mr. henderland's dwelling, than to my great surprise -lrb- for i was now used to the politeness of highlanders -rrb- he burst rudely past me, dashed into the room, caught up a jar and a small horn-spoon, and began ladling snuff into his nose in most excessive quantities.
then he had a hearty fit of sneezing, and looked round upon me with a rather silly smile.
""it's a vow i took," says he.
""i took a vow upon me that i wouldnae carry it.
doubtless it's a great privation; but when i think upon the martyrs, not only to the scottish covenant but to other points of christianity, i think shame to mind it."
as soon as we had eaten -lrb- and porridge and whey was the best of the good man's diet -rrb- he took a grave face and said he had a duty to perform by mr. campbell, and that was to inquire into my state of mind towards god.
i was inclined to smile at him since the business of the snuff; but he had not spoken long before he brought the tears into my eyes.
there are two things that men should never weary of, goodness and humility; we get none too much of them in this rough world among cold, proud people; but mr. henderland had their very speech upon his tongue.
and though i was a good deal puffed up with my adventures and with having come off, as the saying is, with flying colours; yet he soon had me on my knees beside a simple, poor old man, and both proud and glad to be there.
before we went to bed he offered me sixpence to help me on my way, out of a scanty store he kept in the turf wall of his house; at which excess of goodness i knew not what to do.
but at last he was so earnest with me that i thought it the more mannerly part to let him have his way, and so left him poorer than myself.
chapter xvii the death of the red fox the next day mr. henderland found for me a man who had a boat of his own and was to cross the linnhe loch that afternoon into appin, fishing.
him he prevailed on to take me, for he was one of his flock; and in this way i saved a long day's travel and the price of the two public ferries i must otherwise have passed.
it was near noon before we set out; a dark day with clouds, and the sun shining upon little patches.
the sea was here very deep and still, and had scarce a wave upon it; so that i must put the water to my lips before i could believe it to be truly salt.
the mountains on either side were high, rough and barren, very black and gloomy in the shadow of the clouds, but all silver-laced with little watercourses where the sun shone upon them.
it seemed a hard country, this of appin, for people to care as much about as alan did.
there was but one thing to mention.
a little after we had started, the sun shone upon a little moving clump of scarlet close in along the water-side to the north.
it was much of the same red as soldiers" coats; every now and then, too, there came little sparks and lightnings, as though the sun had struck upon bright steel.
i asked my boatman what it should be, and he answered he supposed it was some of the red soldiers coming from fort william into appin, against the poor tenantry of the country.
well, it was a sad sight to me; and whether it was because of my thoughts of alan, or from something prophetic in my bosom, although this was but the second time i had seen king george's troops, i had no good will to them.
at last we came so near the point of land at the entering in of loch leven that i begged to be set on shore.
my boatman -lrb- who was an honest fellow and mindful of his promise to the catechist -rrb- would fain have carried me on to balachulish; but as this was to take me farther from my secret destination, i insisted, and was set on shore at last under the wood of lettermore -lrb- or lettervore, for i have heard it both ways -rrb- in alan's country of appin.
this was a wood of birches, growing on a steep, craggy side of a mountain that overhung the loch.
it had many openings and ferny howes; and a road or bridle track ran north and south through the midst of it, by the edge of which, where was a spring, i sat down to eat some oat-bread of mr. henderland's and think upon my situation.
here i was not only troubled by a cloud of stinging midges, but far more by the doubts of my mind.
what i ought to do, why i was going to join myself with an outlaw and a would-be murderer like alan, whether i should not be acting more like a man of sense to tramp back to the south country direct, by my own guidance and at my own charges, and what mr. campbell or even mr. henderland would think of me if they should ever learn my folly and presumption: these were the doubts that now began to come in on me stronger than ever.
as i was so sitting and thinking, a sound of men and horses came to me through the wood; and presently after, at a turning of the road, i saw four travellers come into view.
the way was in this part so rough and narrow that they came single and led their horses by the reins.
the first was a great, red-headed gentleman, of an imperious and flushed face, who carried his hat in his hand and fanned himself, for he was in a breathing heat.
the second, by his decent black garb and white wig, i correctly took to be a lawyer.
the third was a servant, and wore some part of his clothes in tartan, which showed that his master was of a highland family, and either an outlaw or else in singular good odour with the government, since the wearing of tartan was against the act.
if i had been better versed in these things, i would have known the tartan to be of the argyle -lrb- or campbell -rrb- colours.
this servant had a good-sized portmanteau strapped on his horse, and a net of lemons -lrb- to brew punch with -rrb- hanging at the saddle-bow; as was often enough the custom with luxurious travellers in that part of the country.
as for the fourth, who brought up the tail, i had seen his like before, and knew him at once to be a sheriff's officer.
i had no sooner seen these people coming than i made up my mind -lrb- for no reason that i can tell -rrb- to go through with my adventure; and when the first came alongside of me, i rose up from the bracken and asked him the way to aucharn.
he stopped and looked at me, as i thought, a little oddly; and then, turning to the lawyer, "mungo," said he, "there's many a man would think this more of a warning than two pyats.
here am i on my road to duror on the job ye ken; and here is a young lad starts up out of the bracken, and speers if i am on the way to aucharn."
""glenure," said the other, "this is an ill subject for jesting."
these two had now drawn close up and were gazing at me, while the two followers had halted about a stone-cast in the rear.
""and what seek ye in aucharn?"
said colin roy campbell of glenure, him they called the red fox; for he it was that i had stopped.
""the man that lives there," said i. "james of the glens," says glenure, musingly; and then to the lawyer: "is he gathering his people, think ye?"
""anyway," says the lawyer, "we shall do better to bide where we are, and let the soldiers rally us."
""if you are concerned for me," said i, "i am neither of his people nor yours, but an honest subject of king george, owing no man and fearing no man."
""why, very well said," replies the factor.
""but if i may make so bold as ask, what does this honest man so far from his country?
and why does he come seeking the brother of ardshiel?
i have power here, i must tell you.
i am king's factor upon several of these estates, and have twelve files of soldiers at my back."
""i have heard a waif word in the country," said i, a little nettled, "that you were a hard man to drive."
he still kept looking at me, as if in doubt.
""well," said he, at last, "your tongue is bold; but i am no unfriend to plainness.
if ye had asked me the way to the door of james stewart on any other day but this, i would have set ye right and bidden ye god speed.
but to-day -- eh, mungo?"
and he turned again to look at the lawyer.
but just as he turned there came the shot of a firelock from higher up the hill; and with the very sound of it glenure fell upon the road.
""o, i am dead!"
he cried, several times over.
the lawyer had caught him up and held him in his arms, the servant standing over and clasping his hands.
and now the wounded man looked from one to another with scared eyes, and there was a change in his voice, that went to the heart.
""take care of yourselves," says he.
""i am dead."
he tried to open his clothes as if to look for the wound, but his fingers slipped on the buttons.
with that he gave a great sigh, his head rolled on his shoulder, and he passed away.
the lawyer said never a word, but his face was as sharp as a pen and as white as the dead man's; the servant broke out into a great noise of crying and weeping, like a child; and i, on my side, stood staring at them in a kind of horror.
the sheriff's officer had run back at the first sound of the shot, to hasten the coming of the soldiers.
at last the lawyer laid down the dead man in his blood upon the road, and got to his own feet with a kind of stagger.
i believe it was his movement that brought me to my senses; for he had no sooner done so than i began to scramble up the hill, crying out, "the murderer!
the murderer!"
so little a time had elapsed, that when i got to the top of the first steepness, and could see some part of the open mountain, the murderer was still moving away at no great distance.
he was a big man, in a black coat, with metal buttons, and carried a long fowling-piece.
""here!"
i cried.
""i see him!"
at that the murderer gave a little, quick look over his shoulder, and began to run.
the next moment he was lost in a fringe of birches; then he came out again on the upper side, where i could see him climbing like a jackanapes, for that part was again very steep; and then he dipped behind a shoulder, and i saw him no more.
all this time i had been running on my side, and had got a good way up, when a voice cried upon me to stand.
i was at the edge of the upper wood, and so now, when i halted and looked back, i saw all the open part of the hill below me.
the lawyer and the sheriff's officer were standing just above the road, crying and waving on me to come back; and on their left, the red-coats, musket in hand, were beginning to struggle singly out of the lower wood.
""why should i come back?"
i cried.
""come you on!"
""ten pounds if ye take that lad!"
cried the lawyer.
""he's an accomplice.
he was posted here to hold us in talk."
at that word -lrb- which i could hear quite plainly, though it was to the soldiers and not to me that he was crying it -rrb- my heart came in my mouth with quite a new kind of terror.
indeed, it is one thing to stand the danger of your life, and quite another to run the peril of both life and character.
the thing, besides, had come so suddenly, like thunder out of a clear sky, that i was all amazed and helpless.
the soldiers began to spread, some of them to run, and others to put up their pieces and cover me; and still i stood.
""jock * in here among the trees," said a voice close by.
* duck.
indeed, i scarce knew what i was doing, but i obeyed; and as i did so, i heard the firelocks bang and the balls whistle in the birches.
just inside the shelter of the trees i found alan breck standing, with a fishing-rod.
he gave me no salutation; indeed it was no time for civilities; only "come!"
says he, and set off running along the side of the mountain towards balachulish; and i, like a sheep, to follow him.
now we ran among the birches; now stooping behind low humps upon the mountain-side; now crawling on all fours among the heather.
the pace was deadly: my heart seemed bursting against my ribs; and i had neither time to think nor breath to speak with.
only i remember seeing with wonder, that alan every now and then would straighten himself to his full height and look back; and every time he did so, there came a great far-away cheering and crying of the soldiers.
quarter of an hour later, alan stopped, clapped down flat in the heather, and turned to me.
""now," said he, "it's earnest.
do as i do, for your life."
and at the same speed, but now with infinitely more precaution, we traced back again across the mountain-side by the same way that we had come, only perhaps higher; till at last alan threw himself down in the upper wood of lettermore, where i had found him at the first, and lay, with his face in the bracken, panting like a dog.
my own sides so ached, my head so swam, my tongue so hung out of my mouth with heat and dryness, that i lay beside him like one dead.
chapter xviii i talk with alan in the wood of lettermore alan was the first to come round.
he rose, went to the border of the wood, peered out a little, and then returned and sat down.
""well," said he, "yon was a hot burst, david."
i said nothing, nor so much as lifted my face.
i had seen murder done, and a great, ruddy, jovial gentleman struck out of life in a moment; the pity of that sight was still sore within me, and yet that was but a part of my concern.
here was murder done upon the man alan hated; here was alan skulking in the trees and running from the troops; and whether his was the hand that fired or only the head that ordered, signified but little.
by my way of it, my only friend in that wild country was blood-guilty in the first degree; i held him in horror; i could not look upon his face; i would have rather lain alone in the rain on my cold isle, than in that warm wood beside a murderer.
""are ye still wearied?"
he asked again.
""no," said i, still with my face in the bracken; "no, i am not wearied now, and i can speak.
you and me must twine," * i said.
""i liked you very well, alan, but your ways are not mine, and they're not god's: and the short and the long of it is just that we must twine."
* part.
""i will hardly twine from ye, david, without some kind of reason for the same," said alan, mighty gravely.
""if ye ken anything against my reputation, it's the least thing that ye should do, for old acquaintance" sake, to let me hear the name of it; and if ye have only taken a distaste to my society, it will be proper for me to judge if i'm insulted."
""alan," said i, "what is the sense of this?
ye ken very well yon campbell-man lies in his blood upon the road."
he was silent for a little; then says he, "did ever ye hear tell of the story of the man and the good people?"
-- by which he meant the fairies.
""no," said i, "nor do i want to hear it."
""with your permission, mr. balfour, i will tell it you, whatever," says alan.
""the man, ye should ken, was cast upon a rock in the sea, where it appears the good people were in use to come and rest as they went through to ireland.
the name of this rock is called the skerryvore, and it's not far from where we suffered ship-wreck.
well, it seems the man cried so sore, if he could just see his little bairn before he died!
that at last the king of the good people took peety upon him, and sent one flying that brought back the bairn in a poke * and laid it down beside the man where he lay sleeping.
so when the man woke, there was a poke beside him and something into the inside of it that moved.
well, it seems he was one of these gentry that think aye the worst of things; and for greater security, he stuck his dirk throughout that poke before he opened it, and there was his bairn dead.
i am thinking to myself, mr. balfour, that you and the man are very much alike."
* bag.
""do you mean you had no hand in it?"
cried i, sitting up.
""i will tell you first of all, mr. balfour of shaws, as one friend to another," said alan, "that if i were going to kill a gentleman, it would not be in my own country, to bring trouble on my clan; and i would not go wanting sword and gun, and with a long fishing-rod upon my back."
""well," said i, "that's true!"
""and now," continued alan, taking out his dirk and laying his hand upon it in a certain manner, "i swear upon the holy iron i had neither art nor part, act nor thought in it."
""i thank god for that!"
cried i, and offered him my hand.
he did not appear to see it.
""and here is a great deal of work about a campbell!"
said he.
""they are not so scarce, that i ken!"
""at least," said i, "you can not justly blame me, for you know very well what you told me in the brig. but the temptation and the act are different, i thank god again for that.
we may all be tempted; but to take a life in cold blood, alan!"
and i could say no more for the moment.
""and do you know who did it?"
i added.
""do you know that man in the black coat?"
""i have nae clear mind about his coat," said alan cunningly, "but it sticks in my head that it was blue."
""blue or black, did ye know him?"
said i. "i couldnae just conscientiously swear to him," says alan.
""he gaed very close by me, to be sure, but it's a strange thing that i should just have been tying my brogues."
""can you swear that you do n't know him, alan?"
i cried, half angered, half in a mind to laugh at his evasions.
""not yet," says he; "but i've a grand memory for forgetting, david."
""and yet there was one thing i saw clearly," said i; "and that was, that you exposed yourself and me to draw the soldiers."
""it's very likely," said alan; "and so would any gentleman.
you and me were innocent of that transaction."
""the better reason, since we were falsely suspected, that we should get clear," i cried.
""the innocent should surely come before the guilty."
""why, david," said he, "the innocent have aye a chance to get assoiled in court; but for the lad that shot the bullet, i think the best place for him will be the heather.
them that havenae dipped their hands in any little difficulty, should be very mindful of the case of them that have.
and that is the good christianity.
for if it was the other way round about, and the lad whom i couldnae just clearly see had been in our shoes, and we in his -lrb- as might very well have been -rrb-, i think we would be a good deal obliged to him oursel's if he would draw the soldiers."
when it came to this, i gave alan up.
but he looked so innocent all the time, and was in such clear good faith in what he said, and so ready to sacrifice himself for what he deemed his duty, that my mouth was closed.
mr. henderland's words came back to me: that we ourselves might take a lesson by these wild highlanders.
well, here i had taken mine.
alan's morals were all tail-first; but he was ready to give his life for them, such as they were.
""alan," said i, "i'll not say it's the good christianity as i understand it, but it's good enough.
and here i offer ye my hand for the second time."
whereupon he gave me both of his, saying surely i had cast a spell upon him, for he could forgive me anything.
then he grew very grave, and said we had not much time to throw away, but must both flee that country: he, because he was a deserter, and the whole of appin would now be searched like a chamber, and every one obliged to give a good account of himself; and i, because i was certainly involved in the murder.
""o!"
says i, willing to give him a little lesson, "i have no fear of the justice of my country."
""as if this was your country!"
said he.
""or as if ye would be tried here, in a country of stewarts!"
""it's all scotland," said i. "man, i whiles wonder at ye," said alan.
""this is a campbell that's been killed.
well, it'll be tried in inverara, the campbells" head place; with fifteen campbells in the jury-box and the biggest campbell of all -lrb- and that's the duke -rrb- sitting cocking on the bench.
justice, david?
the same justice, by all the world, as glenure found awhile ago at the roadside."
this frightened me a little, i confess, and would have frightened me more if i had known how nearly exact were alan's predictions; indeed it was but in one point that he exaggerated, there being but eleven campbells on the jury; though as the other four were equally in the duke's dependence, it mattered less than might appear.
still, i cried out that he was unjust to the duke of argyle, who -lrb- for all he was a whig -rrb- was yet a wise and honest nobleman.
""hoot!"
said alan, "the man's a whig, nae doubt; but i would never deny he was a good chieftain to his clan.
and what would the clan think if there was a campbell shot, and naebody hanged, and their own chief the justice general?
but i have often observed," says alan, "that you low-country bodies have no clear idea of what's right and wrong."
at this i did at last laugh out aloud, when to my surprise, alan joined in, and laughed as merrily as myself.
""na, na," said he, "we're in the hielands, david; and when i tell ye to run, take my word and run.
nae doubt it's a hard thing to skulk and starve in the heather, but it's harder yet to lie shackled in a red-coat prison."
i asked him whither we should flee; and as he told me "to the lowlands," i was a little better inclined to go with him; for, indeed, i was growing impatient to get back and have the upper-hand of my uncle.
besides, alan made so sure there would be no question of justice in the matter, that i began to be afraid he might be right.
of all deaths, i would truly like least to die by the gallows; and the picture of that uncanny instrument came into my head with extraordinary clearness -lrb- as i had once seen it engraved at the top of a pedlar's ballad -rrb- and took away my appetite for courts of justice.
""i'll chance it, alan," said i. "i'll go with you."
""but mind you," said alan, "it's no small thing.
ye maun lie bare and hard, and brook many an empty belly.
your bed shall be the moorcock's, and your life shall be like the hunted deer's, and ye shall sleep with your hand upon your weapons.
ay, man, ye shall taigle many a weary foot, or we get clear!
i tell ye this at the start, for it's a life that i ken well.
but if ye ask what other chance ye have, i answer: nane.
either take to the heather with me, or else hang."
""and that's a choice very easily made," said i; and we shook hands upon it.
""and now let's take another keek at the red-coats," says alan, and he led me to the north-eastern fringe of the wood.
looking out between the trees, we could see a great side of mountain, running down exceeding steep into the waters of the loch.
it was a rough part, all hanging stone, and heather, and big scrogs of birchwood; and away at the far end towards balachulish, little wee red soldiers were dipping up and down over hill and howe, and growing smaller every minute.
there was no cheering now, for i think they had other uses for what breath was left them; but they still stuck to the trail, and doubtless thought that we were close in front of them.
alan watched them, smiling to himself.
""ay," said he, "they'll be gey weary before they've got to the end of that employ!
and so you and me, david, can sit down and eat a bite, and breathe a bit longer, and take a dram from my bottle.
then we'll strike for aucharn, the house of my kinsman, james of the glens, where i must get my clothes, and my arms, and money to carry us along; and then, david, we'll cry, "forth, fortune!"
and take a cast among the heather."
so we sat again and ate and drank, in a place whence we could see the sun going down into a field of great, wild, and houseless mountains, such as i was now condemned to wander in with my companion.
partly as we so sat, and partly afterwards, on the way to aucharn, each of us narrated his adventures; and i shall here set down so much of alan's as seems either curious or needful.
it appears he ran to the bulwarks as soon as the wave was passed; saw me, and lost me, and saw me again, as i tumbled in the roost; and at last had one glimpse of me clinging on the yard.
it was this that put him in some hope i would maybe get to land after all, and made him leave those clues and messages which had brought me -lrb- for my sins -rrb- to that unlucky country of appin.
in the meanwhile, those still on the brig had got the skiff launched, and one or two were on board of her already, when there came a second wave greater than the first, and heaved the brig out of her place, and would certainly have sent her to the bottom, had she not struck and caught on some projection of the reef.
when she had struck first, it had been bows-on, so that the stern had hitherto been lowest.
but now her stern was thrown in the air, and the bows plunged under the sea; and with that, the water began to pour into the fore-scuttle like the pouring of a mill-dam.
it took the colour out of alan's face, even to tell what followed.
for there were still two men lying impotent in their bunks; and these, seeing the water pour in and thinking the ship had foundered, began to cry out aloud, and that with such harrowing cries that all who were on deck tumbled one after another into the skiff and fell to their oars.
they were not two hundred yards away, when there came a third great sea; and at that the brig lifted clean over the reef; her canvas filled for a moment, and she seemed to sail in chase of them, but settling all the while; and presently she drew down and down, as if a hand was drawing her; and the sea closed over the covenant of dysart.
never a word they spoke as they pulled ashore, being stunned with the horror of that screaming; but they had scarce set foot upon the beach when hoseason woke up, as if out of a muse, and bade them lay hands upon alan.
they hung back indeed, having little taste for the employment; but hoseason was like a fiend, crying that alan was alone, that he had a great sum about him, that he had been the means of losing the brig and drowning all their comrades, and that here was both revenge and wealth upon a single cast.
it was seven against one; in that part of the shore there was no rock that alan could set his back to; and the sailors began to spread out and come behind him.
""and then," said alan, "the little man with the red head -- i havenae mind of the name that he is called."
""riach," said i. "ay" said alan, "riach!
well, it was him that took up the clubs for me, asked the men if they werenae feared of a judgment, and, says he "dod, i'll put my back to the hielandman's mysel"."
that's none such an entirely bad little man, yon little man with the red head," said alan.
""he has some spunks of decency."
""well," said i, "he was kind to me in his way."
""and so he was to alan," said he; "and by my troth, i found his way a very good one!
but ye see, david, the loss of the ship and the cries of these poor lads sat very ill upon the man; and i'm thinking that would be the cause of it."
""well, i would think so," says i; "for he was as keen as any of the rest at the beginning.
but how did hoseason take it?"
""it sticks in my mind that he would take it very ill," says alan.
""but the little man cried to me to run, and indeed i thought it was a good observe, and ran.
the last that i saw they were all in a knot upon the beach, like folk that were not agreeing very well together."
""what do you mean by that?"
said i. "well, the fists were going," said alan; "and i saw one man go down like a pair of breeks.
but i thought it would be better no to wait.
ye see there's a strip of campbells in that end of mull, which is no good company for a gentleman like me.
if it hadnae been for that i would have waited and looked for ye mysel", let alone giving a hand to the little man."
-lrb- it was droll how alan dwelt on mr. riach's stature, for, to say the truth, the one was not much smaller than the other. -rrb-
""so," says he, continuing, "i set my best foot forward, and whenever i met in with any one i cried out there was a wreck ashore.
man, they didnae stop to fash with me!
ye should have seen them linking for the beach!
and when they got there they found they had had the pleasure of a run, which is aye good for a campbell.
i'm thinking it was a judgment on the clan that the brig went down in the lump and didnae break.
but it was a very unlucky thing for you, that same; for if any wreck had come ashore they would have hunted high and low, and would soon have found ye."
chapter xix the house of fear night fell as we were walking, and the clouds, which had broken up in the afternoon, settled in and thickened, so that it fell, for the season of the year, extremely dark.
the way we went was over rough mountainsides; and though alan pushed on with an assured manner, i could by no means see how he directed himself.
at last, about half-past ten of the clock, we came to the top of a brae, and saw lights below us.
it seemed a house door stood open and let out a beam of fire and candle-light; and all round the house and steading five or six persons were moving hurriedly about, each carrying a lighted brand.
""james must have tint his wits," said alan.
""if this was the soldiers instead of you and me, he would be in a bonny mess.
but i dare say he'll have a sentry on the road, and he would ken well enough no soldiers would find the way that we came."
hereupon he whistled three times, in a particular manner.
it was strange to see how, at the first sound of it, all the moving torches came to a stand, as if the bearers were affrighted; and how, at the third, the bustle began again as before.
having thus set folks" minds at rest, we came down the brae, and were met at the yard gate -lrb- for this place was like a well-doing farm -rrb- by a tall, handsome man of more than fifty, who cried out to alan in the gaelic.
""james stewart," said alan, "i will ask ye to speak in scotch, for here is a young gentleman with me that has nane of the other.
this is him," he added, putting his arm through mine, "a young gentleman of the lowlands, and a laird in his country too, but i am thinking it will be the better for his health if we give his name the go-by."
james of the glens turned to me for a moment, and greeted me courteously enough; the next he had turned to alan.
""this has been a dreadful accident," he cried.
""it will bring trouble on the country."
and he wrung his hands.
""hoots!"
said alan, "ye must take the sour with the sweet, man.
colin roy is dead, and be thankful for that!"
""ay" said james, "and by my troth, i wish he was alive again!
it's all very fine to blow and boast beforehand; but now it's done, alan; and who's to bear the wyte * of it?
the accident fell out in appin -- mind ye that, alan; it's appin that must pay; and i am a man that has a family."
* blame.
while this was going on i looked about me at the servants.
some were on ladders, digging in the thatch of the house or the farm buildings, from which they brought out guns, swords, and different weapons of war; others carried them away; and by the sound of mattock blows from somewhere farther down the brae, i suppose they buried them.
though they were all so busy, there prevailed no kind of order in their efforts; men struggled together for the same gun and ran into each other with their burning torches; and james was continually turning about from his talk with alan, to cry out orders which were apparently never understood.
the faces in the torchlight were like those of people overborne with hurry and panic; and though none spoke above his breath, their speech sounded both anxious and angry.
it was about this time that a lassie came out of the house carrying a pack or bundle; and it has often made me smile to think how alan's instinct awoke at the mere sight of it.
""what's that the lassie has?"
he asked.
""we're just setting the house in order, alan," said james, in his frightened and somewhat fawning way.
""they'll search appin with candles, and we must have all things straight.
we're digging the bit guns and swords into the moss, ye see; and these, i am thinking, will be your ain french clothes.
we'll be to bury them, i believe."
""bury my french clothes!"
cried alan.
""troth, no!"
and he laid hold upon the packet and retired into the barn to shift himself, recommending me in the meanwhile to his kinsman.
james carried me accordingly into the kitchen, and sat down with me at table, smiling and talking at first in a very hospitable manner.
but presently the gloom returned upon him; he sat frowning and biting his fingers; only remembered me from time to time; and then gave me but a word or two and a poor smile, and back into his private terrors.
his wife sat by the fire and wept, with her face in her hands; his eldest son was crouched upon the floor, running over a great mass of papers and now and again setting one alight and burning it to the bitter end; all the while a servant lass with a red face was rummaging about the room, in a blind hurry of fear, and whimpering as she went; and every now and again one of the men would thrust in his face from the yard, and cry for orders.
at last james could keep his seat no longer, and begged my permission to be so unmannerly as walk about.
""i am but poor company altogether, sir," says he, "but i can think of nothing but this dreadful accident, and the trouble it is like to bring upon quite innocent persons."
a little after he observed his son burning a paper which he thought should have been kept; and at that his excitement burst out so that it was painful to witness.
he struck the lad repeatedly.
""are you gone gyte?"
* he cried.
""do you wish to hang your father?"
and forgetful of my presence, carried on at him a long time together in the gaelic, the young man answering nothing; only the wife, at the name of hanging, throwing her apron over her face and sobbing out louder than before.
* mad.
this was all wretched for a stranger like myself to hear and see; and i was right glad when alan returned, looking like himself in his fine french clothes, though -lrb- to be sure -rrb- they were now grown almost too battered and withered to deserve the name of fine.
i was then taken out in my turn by another of the sons, and given that change of clothing of which i had stood so long in need, and a pair of highland brogues made of deer-leather, rather strange at first, but after a little practice very easy to the feet.
by the time i came back alan must have told his story; for it seemed understood that i was to fly with him, and they were all busy upon our equipment.
they gave us each a sword and pistols, though i professed my inability to use the former; and with these, and some ammunition, a bag of oatmeal, an iron pan, and a bottle of right french brandy, we were ready for the heather.
money, indeed, was lacking.
i had about two guineas left; alan's belt having been despatched by another hand, that trusty messenger had no more than seventeen-pence to his whole fortune; and as for james, it appears he had brought himself so low with journeys to edinburgh and legal expenses on behalf of the tenants, that he could only scrape together three-and-five-pence-halfpenny, the most of it in coppers.
""this'll no do," said alan.
""ye must find a safe bit somewhere near by," said james, "and get word sent to me.
ye see, ye'll have to get this business prettily off, alan.
this is no time to be stayed for a guinea or two.
they're sure to get wind of ye, sure to seek ye, and by my way of it, sure to lay on ye the wyte of this day's accident.
if it falls on you, it falls on me that am your near kinsman and harboured ye while ye were in the country.
and if it comes on me --" he paused, and bit his fingers, with a white face.
""it would be a painful thing for our friends if i was to hang," said he.
""it would be an ill day for appin," says alan.
""it's a day that sticks in my throat," said james.
""o man, man, man -- man alan!
you and me have spoken like two fools!"
he cried, striking his hand upon the wall so that the house rang again.
""well, and that's true, too," said alan; "and my friend from the lowlands here" -lrb- nodding at me -rrb- "gave me a good word upon that head, if i would only have listened to him."
""but see here," said james, returning to his former manner, "if they lay me by the heels, alan, it's then that you'll be needing the money.
for with all that i have said and that you have said, it will look very black against the two of us; do ye mark that?
well, follow me out, and ye'll, i'll see that i'll have to get a paper out against ye mysel"; have to offer a reward for ye; ay, will i!
it's a sore thing to do between such near friends; but if i get the dirdum * of this dreadful accident, i'll have to fend for myself, man.
do ye see that?"
* blame.
he spoke with a pleading earnestness, taking alan by the breast of the coat.
""ay" said alan, "i see that."
""and ye'll have to be clear of the country, alan -- ay, and clear of scotland -- you and your friend from the lowlands, too.
for i'll have to paper your friend from the lowlands.
ye see that, alan -- say that ye see that!"
i thought alan flushed a bit.
""this is unco hard on me that brought him here, james," said he, throwing his head back.
""it's like making me a traitor!"
""now, alan, man!"
cried james.
""look things in the face!
he'll be papered anyway; mungo campbell'll be sure to paper him; what matters if i paper him too?
and then, alan, i am a man that has a family."
and then, after a little pause on both sides, "and, alan, it'll be a jury of campbells," said he.
""there's one thing," said alan, musingly, "that naebody kens his name."
""nor yet they shallnae, alan!
there's my hand on that," cried james, for all the world as if he had really known my name and was foregoing some advantage.
""but just the habit he was in, and what he looked like, and his age, and the like?
i couldnae well do less."
""i wonder at your father's son," cried alan, sternly.
""would ye sell the lad with a gift?
would ye change his clothes and then betray him?"
""no, no, alan," said james.
""no, no: the habit he took off -- the habit mungo saw him in."
but i thought he seemed crestfallen; indeed, he was clutching at every straw, and all the time, i dare say, saw the faces of his hereditary foes on the bench, and in the jury-box, and the gallows in the background.
""well, sir," says alan, turning to me, "what say ye to that?
ye are here under the safeguard of my honour; and it's my part to see nothing done but what shall please you."
""i have but one word to say," said i; "for to all this dispute i am a perfect stranger.
but the plain common-sense is to set the blame where it belongs, and that is on the man who fired the shot.
paper him, as ye call it, set the hunt on him; and let honest, innocent folk show their faces in safety."
but at this both alan and james cried out in horror; bidding me hold my tongue, for that was not to be thought of; and asking me what the camerons would think?
-lrb- which confirmed me, it must have been a cameron from mamore that did the act -rrb- and if i did not see that the lad might be caught?
""ye havenae surely thought of that?"
said they, with such innocent earnestness, that my hands dropped at my side and i despaired of argument.
""very well, then," said i, "paper me, if you please, paper alan, paper king george!
we're all three innocent, and that seems to be what's wanted.
but at least, sir," said i to james, recovering from my little fit of annoyance, "i am alan's friend, and if i can be helpful to friends of his, i will not stumble at the risk."
i thought it best to put a fair face on my consent, for i saw alan troubled; and, besides -lrb- thinks i to myself -rrb-, as soon as my back is turned, they will paper me, as they call it, whether i consent or not.
but in this i saw i was wrong; for i had no sooner said the words, than mrs. stewart leaped out of her chair, came running over to us, and wept first upon my neck and then on alan's, blessing god for our goodness to her family.
""as for you, alan, it was no more than your bounden duty," she said.
""but for this lad that has come here and seen us at our worst, and seen the goodman fleeching like a suitor, him that by rights should give his commands like any king -- as for you, my lad," she says, "my heart is wae not to have your name, but i have your face; and as long as my heart beats under my bosom, i will keep it, and think of it, and bless it."
and with that she kissed me, and burst once more into such sobbing, that i stood abashed.
""hoot, hoot," said alan, looking mighty silly.
""the day comes unco soon in this month of july; and to-morrow there'll be a fine to-do in appin, a fine riding of dragoons, and crying of "cruachan!"
* and running of red-coats; and it behoves you and me to the sooner be gone."
* the rallying-word of the campbells.
thereupon we said farewell, and set out again, bending somewhat eastwards, in a fine mild dark night, and over much the same broken country as before.
chapter xx the flight in the heather: the rocks sometimes we walked, sometimes ran; and as it drew on to morning, walked ever the less and ran the more.
though, upon its face, that country appeared to be a desert, yet there were huts and houses of the people, of which we must have passed more than twenty, hidden in quiet places of the hills.
when we came to one of these, alan would leave me in the way, and go himself and rap upon the side of the house and speak awhile at the window with some sleeper awakened.
this was to pass the news; which, in that country, was so much of a duty that alan must pause to attend to it even while fleeing for his life; and so well attended to by others, that in more than half of the houses where we called they had heard already of the murder.
in the others, as well as i could make out -lrb- standing back at a distance and hearing a strange tongue -rrb-, the news was received with more of consternation than surprise.
for all our hurry, day began to come in while we were still far from any shelter.
it found us in a prodigious valley, strewn with rocks and where ran a foaming river.
wild mountains stood around it; there grew there neither grass nor trees; and i have sometimes thought since then, that it may have been the valley called glencoe, where the massacre was in the time of king william.
but for the details of our itinerary, i am all to seek; our way lying now by short cuts, now by great detours; our pace being so hurried, our time of journeying usually by night; and the names of such places as i asked and heard being in the gaelic tongue and the more easily forgotten.
the first peep of morning, then, showed us this horrible place, and i could see alan knit his brow.
""this is no fit place for you and me," he said.
""this is a place they're bound to watch."
and with that he ran harder than ever down to the water-side, in a part where the river was split in two among three rocks.
it went through with a horrid thundering that made my belly quake; and there hung over the lynn a little mist of spray.
alan looked neither to the right nor to the left, but jumped clean upon the middle rock and fell there on his hands and knees to check himself, for that rock was small and he might have pitched over on the far side.
i had scarce time to measure the distance or to understand the peril before i had followed him, and he had caught and stopped me.
so there we stood, side by side upon a small rock slippery with spray, a far broader leap in front of us, and the river dinning upon all sides.
when i saw where i was, there came on me a deadly sickness of fear, and i put my hand over my eyes.
alan took me and shook me; i saw he was speaking, but the roaring of the falls and the trouble of my mind prevented me from hearing; only i saw his face was red with anger, and that he stamped upon the rock.
the same look showed me the water raging by, and the mist hanging in the air: and with that i covered my eyes again and shuddered.
the next minute alan had set the brandy bottle to my lips, and forced me to drink about a gill, which sent the blood into my head again.
then, putting his hands to his mouth, and his mouth to my ear, he shouted, "hang or drown!"
and turning his back upon me, leaped over the farther branch of the stream, and landed safe.
i was now alone upon the rock, which gave me the more room; the brandy was singing in my ears; i had this good example fresh before me, and just wit enough to see that if i did not leap at once, i should never leap at all.
i bent low on my knees and flung myself forth, with that kind of anger of despair that has sometimes stood me in stead of courage.
sure enough, it was but my hands that reached the full length; these slipped, caught again, slipped again; and i was sliddering back into the lynn, when alan seized me, first by the hair, then by the collar, and with a great strain dragged me into safety.
never a word he said, but set off running again for his life, and i must stagger to my feet and run after him.
i had been weary before, but now i was sick and bruised, and partly drunken with the brandy; i kept stumbling as i ran, i had a stitch that came near to overmaster me; and when at last alan paused under a great rock that stood there among a number of others, it was none too soon for david balfour.
a great rock i have said; but by rights it was two rocks leaning together at the top, both some twenty feet high, and at the first sight inaccessible.
even alan -lrb- though you may say he had as good as four hands -rrb- failed twice in an attempt to climb them; and it was only at the third trial, and then by standing on my shoulders and leaping up with such force as i thought must have broken my collar-bone, that he secured a lodgment.
once there, he let down his leathern girdle; and with the aid of that and a pair of shallow footholds in the rock, i scrambled up beside him.
then i saw why we had come there; for the two rocks, being both somewhat hollow on the top and sloping one to the other, made a kind of dish or saucer, where as many as three or four men might have lain hidden.
all this while alan had not said a word, and had run and climbed with such a savage, silent frenzy of hurry, that i knew that he was in mortal fear of some miscarriage.
even now we were on the rock he said nothing, nor so much as relaxed the frowning look upon his face; but clapped flat down, and keeping only one eye above the edge of our place of shelter scouted all round the compass.
the dawn had come quite clear; we could see the stony sides of the valley, and its bottom, which was bestrewed with rocks, and the river, which went from one side to another, and made white falls; but nowhere the smoke of a house, nor any living creature but some eagles screaming round a cliff.
then at last alan smiled.
""ay" said he, "now we have a chance;" and then looking at me with some amusement, "ye're no very gleg * at the jumping," said he.
* brisk.
at this i suppose i coloured with mortification, for he added at once, "hoots!
small blame to ye!
to be feared of a thing and yet to do it, is what makes the prettiest kind of a man.
and then there was water there, and water's a thing that dauntons even me.
no, no," said alan, "it's no you that's to blame, it's me."
i asked him why.
""why," said he, "i have proved myself a gomeral this night.
for first of all i take a wrong road, and that in my own country of appin; so that the day has caught us where we should never have been; and thanks to that, we lie here in some danger and mair discomfort.
and next -lrb- which is the worst of the two, for a man that has been so much among the heather as myself -rrb- i have come wanting a water-bottle, and here we lie for a long summer's day with naething but neat spirit.
ye may think that a small matter; but before it comes night, david, ye'll give me news of it."
i was anxious to redeem my character, and offered, if he would pour out the brandy, to run down and fill the bottle at the river.
""i wouldnae waste the good spirit either," says he.
""it's been a good friend to you this night; or in my poor opinion, ye would still be cocking on yon stone.
and what's mair," says he, "ye may have observed -lrb- you that's a man of so much penetration -rrb- that alan breck stewart was perhaps walking quicker than his ordinar"."
""you!"
i cried, "you were running fit to burst."
""was i so?"
said he.
""well, then, ye may depend upon it, there was nae time to be lost.
and now here is enough said; gang you to your sleep, lad, and i'll watch."
accordingly, i lay down to sleep; a little peaty earth had drifted in between the top of the two rocks, and some bracken grew there, to be a bed to me; the last thing i heard was still the crying of the eagles.
i dare say it would be nine in the morning when i was roughly awakened, and found alan's hand pressed upon my mouth.
""wheesht!"
he whispered.
""ye were snoring."
""well," said i, surprised at his anxious and dark face, "and why not?"
he peered over the edge of the rock, and signed to me to do the like.
it was now high day, cloudless, and very hot.
the valley was as clear as in a picture.
about half a mile up the water was a camp of red-coats; a big fire blazed in their midst, at which some were cooking; and near by, on the top of a rock about as high as ours, there stood a sentry, with the sun sparkling on his arms.
all the way down along the river-side were posted other sentries; here near together, there widelier scattered; some planted like the first, on places of command, some on the ground level and marching and counter-marching, so as to meet half-way.
higher up the glen, where the ground was more open, the chain of posts was continued by horse-soldiers, whom we could see in the distance riding to and fro.
lower down, the infantry continued; but as the stream was suddenly swelled by the confluence of a considerable burn, they were more widely set, and only watched the fords and stepping-stones.
i took but one look at them, and ducked again into my place.
it was strange indeed to see this valley, which had lain so solitary in the hour of dawn, bristling with arms and dotted with the red coats and breeches.
""ye see," said alan, "this was what i was afraid of, davie: that they would watch the burn-side.
they began to come in about two hours ago, and, man!
but ye're a grand hand at the sleeping!
we're in a narrow place.
if they get up the sides of the hill, they could easy spy us with a glass; but if they'll only keep in the foot of the valley, we'll do yet.
the posts are thinner down the water; and, come night, we'll try our hand at getting by them."
""and what are we to do till night?"
i asked.
""lie here," says he, "and birstle."
that one good scotch word, "birstle," was indeed the most of the story of the day that we had now to pass.
you are to remember that we lay on the bare top of a rock, like scones upon a girdle; the sun beat upon us cruelly; the rock grew so heated, a man could scarce endure the touch of it; and the little patch of earth and fern, which kept cooler, was only large enough for one at a time.
we took turn about to lie on the naked rock, which was indeed like the position of that saint that was martyred on a gridiron; and it ran in my mind how strange it was, that in the same climate and at only a few days" distance, i should have suffered so cruelly, first from cold upon my island and now from heat upon this rock.
all the while we had no water, only raw brandy for a drink, which was worse than nothing; but we kept the bottle as cool as we could, burying it in the earth, and got some relief by bathing our breasts and temples.
the soldiers kept stirring all day in the bottom of the valley, now changing guard, now in patrolling parties hunting among the rocks.
these lay round in so great a number, that to look for men among them was like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay; and being so hopeless a task, it was gone about with the less care.
yet we could see the soldiers pike their bayonets among the heather, which sent a cold thrill into my vitals; and they would sometimes hang about our rock, so that we scarce dared to breathe.
it was in this way that i first heard the right english speech; one fellow as he went by actually clapping his hand upon the sunny face of the rock on which we lay, and plucking it off again with an oath.
""i tell you it's "ot," says he; and i was amazed at the clipping tones and the odd sing-song in which he spoke, and no less at that strange trick of dropping out the letter "h." to be sure, i had heard ransome; but he had taken his ways from all sorts of people, and spoke so imperfectly at the best, that i set down the most of it to childishness.
my surprise was all the greater to hear that manner of speaking in the mouth of a grown man; and indeed i have never grown used to it; nor yet altogether with the english grammar, as perhaps a very critical eye might here and there spy out even in these memoirs.
the tediousness and pain of these hours upon the rock grew only the greater as the day went on; the rock getting still the hotter and the sun fiercer.
there were giddiness, and sickness, and sharp pangs like rheumatism, to be supported.
i minded then, and have often minded since, on the lines in our scotch psalm: -- "the moon by night thee shall not smite, nor yet the sun by day;" and indeed it was only by god's blessing that we were neither of us sun-smitten.
at last, about two, it was beyond men's bearing, and there was now temptation to resist, as well as pain to thole.
for the sun being now got a little into the west, there came a patch of shade on the east side of our rock, which was the side sheltered from the soldiers.
""as well one death as another," said alan, and slipped over the edge and dropped on the ground on the shadowy side.
i followed him at once, and instantly fell all my length, so weak was i and so giddy with that long exposure.
here, then, we lay for an hour or two, aching from head to foot, as weak as water, and lying quite naked to the eye of any soldier who should have strolled that way.
none came, however, all passing by on the other side; so that our rock continued to be our shield even in this new position.
presently we began again to get a little strength; and as the soldiers were now lying closer along the river-side, alan proposed that we should try a start.
i was by this time afraid of but one thing in the world; and that was to be set back upon the rock; anything else was welcome to me; so we got ourselves at once in marching order, and began to slip from rock to rock one after the other, now crawling flat on our bellies in the shade, now making a run for it, heart in mouth.
the soldiers, having searched this side of the valley after a fashion, and being perhaps somewhat sleepy with the sultriness of the afternoon, had now laid by much of their vigilance, and stood dozing at their posts or only kept a look-out along the banks of the river; so that in this way, keeping down the valley and at the same time towards the mountains, we drew steadily away from their neighbourhood.
but the business was the most wearing i had ever taken part in.
a man had need of a hundred eyes in every part of him, to keep concealed in that uneven country and within cry of so many and scattered sentries.
when we must pass an open place, quickness was not all, but a swift judgment not only of the lie of the whole country, but of the solidity of every stone on which we must set foot; for the afternoon was now fallen so breathless that the rolling of a pebble sounded abroad like a pistol shot, and would start the echo calling among the hills and cliffs.
by sundown we had made some distance, even by our slow rate of progress, though to be sure the sentry on the rock was still plainly in our view.
but now we came on something that put all fears out of season; and that was a deep rushing burn, that tore down, in that part, to join the glen river.
at the sight of this we cast ourselves on the ground and plunged head and shoulders in the water; and i can not tell which was the more pleasant, the great shock as the cool stream went over us, or the greed with which we drank of it.
we lay there -lrb- for the banks hid us -rrb-, drank again and again, bathed our chests, let our wrists trail in the running water till they ached with the chill; and at last, being wonderfully renewed, we got out the meal-bag and made drammach in the iron pan.
this, though it is but cold water mingled with oatmeal, yet makes a good enough dish for a hungry man; and where there are no means of making fire, or -lrb- as in our case -rrb- good reason for not making one, it is the chief stand-by of those who have taken to the heather.
as soon as the shadow of the night had fallen, we set forth again, at first with the same caution, but presently with more boldness, standing our full height and stepping out at a good pace of walking.
the way was very intricate, lying up the steep sides of mountains and along the brows of cliffs; clouds had come in with the sunset, and the night was dark and cool; so that i walked without much fatigue, but in continual fear of falling and rolling down the mountains, and with no guess at our direction.
the moon rose at last and found us still on the road; it was in its last quarter, and was long beset with clouds; but after awhile shone out and showed me many dark heads of mountains, and was reflected far underneath us on the narrow arm of a sea-loch.
at this sight we both paused: i struck with wonder to find myself so high and walking -lrb- as it seemed to me -rrb- upon clouds; alan to make sure of his direction.
seemingly he was well pleased, and he must certainly have judged us out of ear-shot of all our enemies; for throughout the rest of our night-march he beguiled the way with whistling of many tunes, warlike, merry, plaintive; reel tunes that made the foot go faster; tunes of my own south country that made me fain to be home from my adventures; and all these, on the great, dark, desert mountains, making company upon the way.
chapter xxi the flight in the heather: the heugh of corrynakiegh early as day comes in the beginning of july, it was still dark when we reached our destination, a cleft in the head of a great mountain, with a water running through the midst, and upon the one hand a shallow cave in a rock.
birches grew there in a thin, pretty wood, which a little farther on was changed into a wood of pines.
the burn was full of trout; the wood of cushat-doves; on the open side of the mountain beyond, whaups would be always whistling, and cuckoos were plentiful.
from the mouth of the cleft we looked down upon a part of mamore, and on the sea-loch that divides that country from appin; and this from so great a height as made it my continual wonder and pleasure to sit and behold them.
the name of the cleft was the heugh of corrynakiegh; and although from its height and being so near upon the sea, it was often beset with clouds, yet it was on the whole a pleasant place, and the five days we lived in it went happily.
we slept in the cave, making our bed of heather bushes which we cut for that purpose, and covering ourselves with alan's great-coat.
there was a low concealed place, in a turning of the glen, where we were so bold as to make fire: so that we could warm ourselves when the clouds set in, and cook hot porridge, and grill the little trouts that we caught with our hands under the stones and overhanging banks of the burn.
this was indeed our chief pleasure and business; and not only to save our meal against worse times, but with a rivalry that much amused us, we spent a great part of our days at the water-side, stripped to the waist and groping about or -lrb- as they say -rrb- guddling for these fish.
the largest we got might have been a quarter of a pound; but they were of good flesh and flavour, and when broiled upon the coals, lacked only a little salt to be delicious.
in any by-time alan must teach me to use my sword, for my ignorance had much distressed him; and i think besides, as i had sometimes the upper-hand of him in the fishing, he was not sorry to turn to an exercise where he had so much the upper-hand of me.
he made it somewhat more of a pain than need have been, for he stormed at me all through the lessons in a very violent manner of scolding, and would push me so close that i made sure he must run me through the body.
i was often tempted to turn tail, but held my ground for all that, and got some profit of my lessons; if it was but to stand on guard with an assured countenance, which is often all that is required.
so, though i could never in the least please my master, i was not altogether displeased with myself.
in the meanwhile, you are not to suppose that we neglected our chief business, which was to get away.
""it will be many a long day," alan said to me on our first morning, "before the red-coats think upon seeking corrynakiegh; so now we must get word sent to james, and he must find the siller for us."
""and how shall we send that word?"
says i. "we are here in a desert place, which yet we dare not leave; and unless ye get the fowls of the air to be your messengers, i see not what we shall be able to do."
""ay?"
said alan.
""ye're a man of small contrivance, david."
thereupon he fell in a muse, looking in the embers of the fire; and presently, getting a piece of wood, he fashioned it in a cross, the four ends of which he blackened on the coals.
then he looked at me a little shyly.
""could ye lend me my button?"
says he.
""it seems a strange thing to ask a gift again, but i own i am laith to cut another."
i gave him the button; whereupon he strung it on a strip of his great-coat which he had used to bind the cross; and tying in a little sprig of birch and another of fir, he looked upon his work with satisfaction.
""now," said he, "there is a little clachan" -lrb- what is called a hamlet in the english -rrb- "not very far from corrynakiegh, and it has the name of koalisnacoan.
there there are living many friends of mine whom i could trust with my life, and some that i am no just so sure of.
ye see, david, there will be money set upon our heads; james himsel" is to set money on them; and as for the campbells, they would never spare siller where there was a stewart to be hurt.
if it was otherwise, i would go down to koalisnacoan whatever, and trust my life into these people's hands as lightly as i would trust another with my glove."
""but being so?"
said i. "being so," said he, "i would as lief they didnae see me.
there's bad folk everywhere, and what's far worse, weak ones.
so when it comes dark again, i will steal down into that clachan, and set this that i have been making in the window of a good friend of mine, john breck maccoll, a bouman * of appin's."
* a bouman is a tenant who takes stock from the landlord and shares with him the increase.
""with all my heart," says i; "and if he finds it, what is he to think?"
""well," says alan, "i wish he was a man of more penetration, for by my troth i am afraid he will make little enough of it!
but this is what i have in my mind.
this cross is something in the nature of the crosstarrie, or fiery cross, which is the signal of gathering in our clans; yet he will know well enough the clan is not to rise, for there it is standing in his window, and no word with it.
so he will say to himsel", the clan is not to rise, but there is something.
then he will see my button, and that was duncan stewart's.
and then he will say to himsel", the son of duncan is in the heather, and has need of me."
""well," said i, "it may be.
but even supposing so, there is a good deal of heather between here and the forth."
""and that is a very true word," says alan.
""but then john breck will see the sprig of birch and the sprig of pine; and he will say to himsel" -lrb- if he is a man of any penetration at all, which i misdoubt -rrb-, alan will be lying in a wood which is both of pines and birches.
then he will think to himsel", that is not so very rife hereabout; and then he will come and give us a look up in corrynakiegh.
and if he does not, david, the devil may fly away with him, for what i care; for he will no be worth the salt to his porridge."
""eh, man," said i, drolling with him a little, "you're very ingenious!
but would it not be simpler for you to write him a few words in black and white?"
""and that is an excellent observe, mr. balfour of shaws," says alan, drolling with me; "and it would certainly be much simpler for me to write to him, but it would be a sore job for john breck to read it.
he would have to go to the school for two-three years; and it's possible we might be wearied waiting on him."
so that night alan carried down his fiery cross and set it in the bouman's window.
he was troubled when he came back; for the dogs had barked and the folk run out from their houses; and he thought he had heard a clatter of arms and seen a red-coat come to one of the doors.
on all accounts we lay the next day in the borders of the wood and kept a close look-out, so that if it was john breck that came we might be ready to guide him, and if it was the red-coats we should have time to get away.
about noon a man was to be spied, straggling up the open side of the mountain in the sun, and looking round him as he came, from under his hand.
no sooner had alan seen him than he whistled; the man turned and came a little towards us: then alan would give another "peep!"
and the man would come still nearer; and so by the sound of whistling, he was guided to the spot where we lay.
he was a ragged, wild, bearded man, about forty, grossly disfigured with the small pox, and looked both dull and savage.
although his english was very bad and broken, yet alan -lrb- according to his very handsome use, whenever i was by -rrb- would suffer him to speak no gaelic.
perhaps the strange language made him appear more backward than he really was; but i thought he had little good-will to serve us, and what he had was the child of terror.
alan would have had him carry a message to james; but the bouman would hear of no message.
""she was forget it," he said in his screaming voice; and would either have a letter or wash his hands of us.
i thought alan would be gravelled at that, for we lacked the means of writing in that desert.
but he was a man of more resources than i knew; searched the wood until he found the quill of a cushat-dove, which he shaped into a pen; made himself a kind of ink with gunpowder from his horn and water from the running stream; and tearing a corner from his french military commission -lrb- which he carried in his pocket, like a talisman to keep him from the gallows -rrb-, he sat down and wrote as follows: "dear kinsman, -- please send the money by the bearer to the place he kens of.
""your affectionate cousin, "a. s." this he intrusted to the bouman, who promised to make what manner of speed he best could, and carried it off with him down the hill.
he was three full days gone, but about five in the evening of the third, we heard a whistling in the wood, which alan answered; and presently the bouman came up the water-side, looking for us, right and left.
he seemed less sulky than before, and indeed he was no doubt well pleased to have got to the end of such a dangerous commission.
he gave us the news of the country; that it was alive with red-coats; that arms were being found, and poor folk brought in trouble daily; and that james and some of his servants were already clapped in prison at fort william, under strong suspicion of complicity.
it seemed it was noised on all sides that alan breck had fired the shot; and there was a bill issued for both him and me, with one hundred pounds reward.
this was all as bad as could be; and the little note the bouman had carried us from mrs. stewart was of a miserable sadness.
in it she besought alan not to let himself be captured, assuring him, if he fell in the hands of the troops, both he and james were no better than dead men.
the money she had sent was all that she could beg or borrow, and she prayed heaven we could be doing with it.
lastly, she said, she enclosed us one of the bills in which we were described.
this we looked upon with great curiosity and not a little fear, partly as a man may look in a mirror, partly as he might look into the barrel of an enemy's gun to judge if it be truly aimed.
alan was advertised as "a small, pock-marked, active man of thirty-five or thereby, dressed in a feathered hat, a french side-coat of blue with silver buttons, and lace a great deal tarnished, a red waistcoat and breeches of black, shag;" and i as "a tall strong lad of about eighteen, wearing an old blue coat, very ragged, an old highland bonnet, a long homespun waistcoat, blue breeches; his legs bare, low-country shoes, wanting the toes; speaks like a lowlander, and has no beard."
alan was well enough pleased to see his finery so fully remembered and set down; only when he came to the word tarnish, he looked upon his lace like one a little mortified.
as for myself, i thought i cut a miserable figure in the bill; and yet was well enough pleased too, for since i had changed these rags, the description had ceased to be a danger and become a source of safety.
""alan," said i, "you should change your clothes."
""na, troth!"
said alan, "i have nae others.
a fine sight i would be, if i went back to france in a bonnet!"
this put a second reflection in my mind: that if i were to separate from alan and his tell-tale clothes i should be safe against arrest, and might go openly about my business.
nor was this all; for suppose i was arrested when i was alone, there was little against me; but suppose i was taken in company with the reputed murderer, my case would begin to be grave.
for generosity's sake i dare not speak my mind upon this head; but i thought of it none the less.
i thought of it all the more, too, when the bouman brought out a green purse with four guineas in gold, and the best part of another in small change.
true, it was more than i had.
but then alan, with less than five guineas, had to get as far as france; i, with my less than two, not beyond queensferry; so that taking things in their proportion, alan's society was not only a peril to my life, but a burden on my purse.
but there was no thought of the sort in the honest head of my companion.
he believed he was serving, helping, and protecting me.
and what could i do but hold my peace, and chafe, and take my chance of it?
""it's little enough," said alan, putting the purse in his pocket, "but it'll do my business.
and now, john breck, if ye will hand me over my button, this gentleman and me will be for taking the road."
but the bouman, after feeling about in a hairy purse that hung in front of him in the highland manner -lrb- though he wore otherwise the lowland habit, with sea-trousers -rrb-, began to roll his eyes strangely, and at last said, "her nainsel will loss it," meaning he thought he had lost it.
""what!"
cried alan, "you will lose my button, that was my father's before me?
now i will tell you what is in my mind, john breck: it is in my mind this is the worst day's work that ever ye did since ye was born."
and as alan spoke, he set his hands on his knees and looked at the bouman with a smiling mouth, and that dancing light in his eyes that meant mischief to his enemies.
perhaps the bouman was honest enough; perhaps he had meant to cheat and then, finding himself alone with two of us in a desert place, cast back to honesty as being safer; at least, and all at once, he seemed to find that button and handed it to alan.
""well, and it is a good thing for the honour of the maccolls," said alan, and then to me, "here is my button back again, and i thank you for parting with it, which is of a piece with all your friendships to me."
then he took the warmest parting of the bouman.
""for," says he, "ye have done very well by me, and set your neck at a venture, and i will always give you the name of a good man."
lastly, the bouman took himself off by one way; and alan and i -lrb- getting our chattels together -rrb- struck into another to resume our flight.
chapter xxii the flight in the heather: the moor some seven hours" incessant, hard travelling brought us early in the morning to the end of a range of mountains.
in front of us there lay a piece of low, broken, desert land, which we must now cross.
the sun was not long up, and shone straight in our eyes; a little, thin mist went up from the face of the moorland like a smoke; so that -lrb- as alan said -rrb- there might have been twenty squadron of dragoons there and we none the wiser.
we sat down, therefore, in a howe of the hill-side till the mist should have risen, and made ourselves a dish of drammach, and held a council of war.
""david," said alan, "this is the kittle bit.
shall we lie here till it comes night, or shall we risk it, and stave on ahead?"
""well," said i, "i am tired indeed, but i could walk as far again, if that was all."
""ay, but it isnae," said alan, "nor yet the half.
this is how we stand: appin's fair death to us.
to the south it's all campbells, and no to be thought of.
to the north; well, there's no muckle to be gained by going north; neither for you, that wants to get to queensferry, nor yet for me, that wants to get to france.
well, then, we'll can strike east."
""east be it!"
says i, quite cheerily; but i was thinking in to myself: "o, man, if you would only take one point of the compass and let me take any other, it would be the best for both of us."
""well, then, east, ye see, we have the muirs," said alan.
""once there, david, it's mere pitch-and-toss.
out on yon bald, naked, flat place, where can a body turn to?
let the red-coats come over a hill, they can spy you miles away; and the sorrow's in their horses" heels, they would soon ride you down.
it's no good place, david; and i'm free to say, it's worse by daylight than by dark."
""alan," said i, "hear my way of it.
appin's death for us; we have none too much money, nor yet meal; the longer they seek, the nearer they may guess where we are; it's all a risk; and i give my word to go ahead until we drop."
alan was delighted.
""there are whiles," said he, "when ye are altogether too canny and whiggish to be company for a gentleman like me; but there come other whiles when ye show yoursel" a mettle spark; and it's then, david, that i love ye like a brother."
the mist rose and died away, and showed us that country lying as waste as the sea; only the moorfowl and the pewees crying upon it, and far over to the east, a herd of deer, moving like dots.
much of it was red with heather; much of the rest broken up with bogs and hags and peaty pools; some had been burnt black in a heath fire; and in another place there was quite a forest of dead firs, standing like skeletons.
a wearier-looking desert man never saw; but at least it was clear of troops, which was our point.
we went down accordingly into the waste, and began to make our toilsome and devious travel towards the eastern verge.
there were the tops of mountains all round -lrb- you are to remember -rrb- from whence we might be spied at any moment; so it behoved us to keep in the hollow parts of the moor, and when these turned aside from our direction to move upon its naked face with infinite care.
sometimes, for half an hour together, we must crawl from one heather bush to another, as hunters do when they are hard upon the deer.
it was a clear day again, with a blazing sun; the water in the brandy bottle was soon gone; and altogether, if i had guessed what it would be to crawl half the time upon my belly and to walk much of the rest stooping nearly to the knees, i should certainly have held back from such a killing enterprise.
toiling and resting and toiling again, we wore away the morning; and about noon lay down in a thick bush of heather to sleep.
alan took the first watch; and it seemed to me i had scarce closed my eyes before i was shaken up to take the second.
we had no clock to go by; and alan stuck a sprig of heath in the ground to serve instead; so that as soon as the shadow of the bush should fall so far to the east, i might know to rouse him.
but i was by this time so weary that i could have slept twelve hours at a stretch; i had the taste of sleep in my throat; my joints slept even when my mind was waking; the hot smell of the heather, and the drone of the wild bees, were like possets to me; and every now and again i would give a jump and find i had been dozing.
the last time i woke i seemed to come back from farther away, and thought the sun had taken a great start in the heavens.
i looked at the sprig of heath, and at that i could have cried aloud: for i saw i had betrayed my trust.
my head was nearly turned with fear and shame; and at what i saw, when i looked out around me on the moor, my heart was like dying in my body.
for sure enough, a body of horse-soldiers had come down during my sleep, and were drawing near to us from the south-east, spread out in the shape of a fan and riding their horses to and fro in the deep parts of the heather.
when i waked alan, he glanced first at the soldiers, then at the mark and the position of the sun, and knitted his brows with a sudden, quick look, both ugly and anxious, which was all the reproach i had of him.
""what are we to do now?"
i asked.
""we'll have to play at being hares," said he.
""do ye see yon mountain?"
pointing to one on the north-eastern sky.
""ay," said i. "well, then," says he, "let us strike for that.
its name is ben alder.
it is a wild, desert mountain full of hills and hollows, and if we can win to it before the morn, we may do yet."
""but, alan," cried i, "that will take us across the very coming of the soldiers!"
""i ken that fine," said he; "but if we are driven back on appin, we are two dead men.
so now, david man, be brisk!"
with that he began to run forward on his hands and knees with an incredible quickness, as though it were his natural way of going.
all the time, too, he kept winding in and out in the lower parts of the moorland where we were the best concealed.
some of these had been burned or at least scathed with fire; and there rose in our faces -lrb- which were close to the ground -rrb- a blinding, choking dust as fine as smoke.
the water was long out; and this posture of running on the hands and knees brings an overmastering weakness and weariness, so that the joints ache and the wrists faint under your weight.
now and then, indeed, where was a big bush of heather, we lay awhile, and panted, and putting aside the leaves, looked back at the dragoons.
they had not spied us, for they held straight on; a half-troop, i think, covering about two miles of ground, and beating it mighty thoroughly as they went.
i had awakened just in time; a little later, and we must have fled in front of them, instead of escaping on one side.
even as it was, the least misfortune might betray us; and now and again, when a grouse rose out of the heather with a clap of wings, we lay as still as the dead and were afraid to breathe.
the aching and faintness of my body, the labouring of my heart, the soreness of my hands, and the smarting of my throat and eyes in the continual smoke of dust and ashes, had soon grown to be so unbearable that i would gladly have given up.
nothing but the fear of alan lent me enough of a false kind of courage to continue.
as for himself -lrb- and you are to bear in mind that he was cumbered with a great-coat -rrb- he had first turned crimson, but as time went on the redness began to be mingled with patches of white; his breath cried and whistled as it came; and his voice, when he whispered his observations in my ear during our halts, sounded like nothing human.
yet he seemed in no way dashed in spirits, nor did he at all abate in his activity, so that i was driven to marvel at the man's endurance.
at length, in the first gloaming of the night, we heard a trumpet sound, and looking back from among the heather, saw the troop beginning to collect.
a little after, they had built a fire and camped for the night, about the middle of the waste.
at this i begged and besought that we might lie down and sleep.
""there shall be no sleep the night!"
said alan.
""from now on, these weary dragoons of yours will keep the crown of the muirland, and none will get out of appin but winged fowls.
we got through in the nick of time, and shall we jeopard what we've gained?
na, na, when the day comes, it shall find you and me in a fast place on ben alder."
""alan," i said, "it's not the want of will: it's the strength that i want.
if i could, i would; but as sure as i'm alive i can not."
""very well, then," said alan.
""i'll carry ye."
i looked to see if he were jesting; but no, the little man was in dead earnest; and the sight of so much resolution shamed me.
""lead away!"
said i. "i'll follow."
he gave me one look as much as to say, "well done, david!"
and off he set again at his top speed.
it grew cooler and even a little darker -lrb- but not much -rrb- with the coming of the night.
the sky was cloudless; it was still early in july, and pretty far north; in the darkest part of that night, you would have needed pretty good eyes to read, but for all that, i have often seen it darker in a winter mid-day.
heavy dew fell and drenched the moor like rain; and this refreshed me for a while.
when we stopped to breathe, and i had time to see all about me, the clearness and sweetness of the night, the shapes of the hills like things asleep, and the fire dwindling away behind us, like a bright spot in the midst of the moor, anger would come upon me in a clap that i must still drag myself in agony and eat the dust like a worm.
by what i have read in books, i think few that have held a pen were ever really wearied, or they would write of it more strongly.
i had no care of my life, neither past nor future, and i scarce remembered there was such a lad as david balfour.
i did not think of myself, but just of each fresh step which i was sure would be my last, with despair -- and of alan, who was the cause of it, with hatred.
alan was in the right trade as a soldier; this is the officer's part to make men continue to do things, they know not wherefore, and when, if the choice was offered, they would lie down where they were and be killed.
and i dare say i would have made a good enough private; for in these last hours it never occurred to me that i had any choice but just to obey as long as i was able, and die obeying.
day began to come in, after years, i thought; and by that time we were past the greatest danger, and could walk upon our feet like men, instead of crawling like brutes.
but, dear heart have mercy!
what a pair we must have made, going double like old grandfathers, stumbling like babes, and as white as dead folk.
never a word passed between us; each set his mouth and kept his eyes in front of him, and lifted up his foot and set it down again, like people lifting weights at a country play; * all the while, with the moorfowl crying "peep!"
in the heather, and the light coming slowly clearer in the east.
* village fair.
i say alan did as i did.
not that ever i looked at him, for i had enough ado to keep my feet; but because it is plain he must have been as stupid with weariness as myself, and looked as little where we were going, or we should not have walked into an ambush like blind men.
it fell in this way.
we were going down a heathery brae, alan leading and i following a pace or two behind, like a fiddler and his wife; when upon a sudden the heather gave a rustle, three or four ragged men leaped out, and the next moment we were lying on our backs, each with a dirk at his throat.
i do n't think i cared; the pain of this rough handling was quite swallowed up by the pains of which i was already full; and i was too glad to have stopped walking to mind about a dirk.
i lay looking up in the face of the man that held me; and i mind his face was black with the sun, and his eyes very light, but i was not afraid of him.
i heard alan and another whispering in the gaelic; and what they said was all one to me.
then the dirks were put up, our weapons were taken away, and we were set face to face, sitting in the heather.
""they are cluny's men," said alan.
""we couldnae have fallen better.
we're just to bide here with these, which are his out-sentries, till they can get word to the chief of my arrival."
now cluny macpherson, the chief of the clan vourich, had been one of the leaders of the great rebellion six years before; there was a price on his life; and i had supposed him long ago in france, with the rest of the heads of that desperate party.
even tired as i was, the surprise of what i heard half wakened me.
""what," i cried, "is cluny still here?"
""ay, is he so!"
said alan.
""still in his own country and kept by his own clan.
king george can do no more."
i think i would have asked farther, but alan gave me the put-off.
""i am rather wearied," he said, "and i would like fine to get a sleep."
and without more words, he rolled on his face in a deep heather bush, and seemed to sleep at once.
there was no such thing possible for me.
you have heard grasshoppers whirring in the grass in the summer time?
well, i had no sooner closed my eyes, than my body, and above all my head, belly, and wrists, seemed to be filled with whirring grasshoppers; and i must open my eyes again at once, and tumble and toss, and sit up and lie down; and look at the sky which dazzled me, or at cluny's wild and dirty sentries, peering out over the top of the brae and chattering to each other in the gaelic.
that was all the rest i had, until the messenger returned; when, as it appeared that cluny would be glad to receive us, we must get once more upon our feet and set forward.
alan was in excellent good spirits, much refreshed by his sleep, very hungry, and looking pleasantly forward to a dram and a dish of hot collops, of which, it seems, the messenger had brought him word.
for my part, it made me sick to hear of eating.
i had been dead-heavy before, and now i felt a kind of dreadful lightness, which would not suffer me to walk.
i drifted like a gossamer; the ground seemed to me a cloud, the hills a feather-weight, the air to have a current, like a running burn, which carried me to and fro.
with all that, a sort of horror of despair sat on my mind, so that i could have wept at my own helplessness.
i saw alan knitting his brows at me, and supposed it was in anger; and that gave me a pang of light-headed fear, like what a child may have.
i remember, too, that i was smiling, and could not stop smiling, hard as i tried; for i thought it was out of place at such a time.
but my good companion had nothing in his mind but kindness; and the next moment, two of the gillies had me by the arms, and i began to be carried forward with great swiftness -lrb- or so it appeared to me, although i dare say it was slowly enough in truth -rrb-, through a labyrinth of dreary glens and hollows and into the heart of that dismal mountain of ben alder.
chapter xxiii cluny's cage we came at last to the foot of an exceeding steep wood, which scrambled up a craggy hillside, and was crowned by a naked precipice.
""it's here," said one of the guides, and we struck up hill.
the trees clung upon the slope, like sailors on the shrouds of a ship, and their trunks were like the rounds of a ladder, by which we mounted.
quite at the top, and just before the rocky face of the cliff sprang above the foliage, we found that strange house which was known in the country as "cluny's cage."
the trunks of several trees had been wattled across, the intervals strengthened with stakes, and the ground behind this barricade levelled up with earth to make the floor.
a tree, which grew out from the hillside, was the living centre-beam of the roof.
the walls were of wattle and covered with moss.
the whole house had something of an egg shape; and it half hung, half stood in that steep, hillside thicket, like a wasp's nest in a green hawthorn.
within, it was large enough to shelter five or six persons with some comfort.
a projection of the cliff had been cunningly employed to be the fireplace; and the smoke rising against the face of the rock, and being not dissimilar in colour, readily escaped notice from below.
this was but one of cluny's hiding-places; he had caves, besides, and underground chambers in several parts of his country; and following the reports of his scouts, he moved from one to another as the soldiers drew near or moved away.
by this manner of living, and thanks to the affection of his clan, he had not only stayed all this time in safety, while so many others had fled or been taken and slain: but stayed four or five years longer, and only went to france at last by the express command of his master.
there he soon died; and it is strange to reflect that he may have regretted his cage upon ben alder.
when we came to the door he was seated by his rock chimney, watching a gillie about some cookery.
he was mighty plainly habited, with a knitted nightcap drawn over his ears, and smoked a foul cutty pipe.
for all that he had the manners of a king, and it was quite a sight to see him rise out of his place to welcome us.
""well, mr. stewart, come awa", sir!"
said he, "and bring in your friend that as yet i dinna ken the name of."
""and how is yourself, cluny?"
said alan.
""i hope ye do brawly, sir.
and i am proud to see ye, and to present to ye my friend the laird of shaws, mr. david balfour."
alan never referred to my estate without a touch of a sneer, when we were alone; but with strangers, he rang the words out like a herald.
""step in by, the both of ye, gentlemen," says cluny.
""i make ye welcome to my house, which is a queer, rude place for certain, but one where i have entertained a royal personage, mr. stewart -- ye doubtless ken the personage i have in my eye.
we'll take a dram for luck, and as soon as this handless man of mine has the collops ready, we'll dine and take a hand at the cartes as gentlemen should.
my life is a bit driegh," says he, pouring out the brandy; "i see little company, and sit and twirl my thumbs, and mind upon a great day that is gone by, and weary for another great day that we all hope will be upon the road.
and so here's a toast to ye: the restoration!"
thereupon we all touched glasses and drank.
i am sure i wished no ill to king george; and if he had been there himself in proper person, it's like he would have done as i did.
no sooner had i taken out the drain than i felt hugely better, and could look on and listen, still a little mistily perhaps, but no longer with the same groundless horror and distress of mind.
it was certainly a strange place, and we had a strange host.
in his long hiding, cluny had grown to have all manner of precise habits, like those of an old maid.
he had a particular place, where no one else must sit; the cage was arranged in a particular way, which none must disturb; cookery was one of his chief fancies, and even while he was greeting us in, he kept an eye to the collops.
it appears, he sometimes visited or received visits from his wife and one or two of his nearest friends, under the cover of night; but for the more part lived quite alone, and communicated only with his sentinels and the gillies that waited on him in the cage.
the first thing in the morning, one of them, who was a barber, came and shaved him, and gave him the news of the country, of which he was immoderately greedy.
there was no end to his questions; he put them as earnestly as a child; and at some of the answers, laughed out of all bounds of reason, and would break out again laughing at the mere memory, hours after the barber was gone.
to be sure, there might have been a purpose in his questions; for though he was thus sequestered, and like the other landed gentlemen of scotland, stripped by the late act of parliament of legal powers, he still exercised a patriarchal justice in his clan.
disputes were brought to him in his hiding-hole to be decided; and the men of his country, who would have snapped their fingers at the court of session, laid aside revenge and paid down money at the bare word of this forfeited and hunted outlaw.
when he was angered, which was often enough, he gave his commands and breathed threats of punishment like any king; and his gillies trembled and crouched away from him like children before a hasty father.
with each of them, as he entered, he ceremoniously shook hands, both parties touching their bonnets at the same time in a military manner.
altogether, i had a fair chance to see some of the inner workings of a highland clan; and this with a proscribed, fugitive chief; his country conquered; the troops riding upon all sides in quest of him, sometimes within a mile of where he lay; and when the least of the ragged fellows whom he rated and threatened, could have made a fortune by betraying him.
on that first day, as soon as the collops were ready, cluny gave them with his own hand a squeeze of a lemon -lrb- for he was well supplied with luxuries -rrb- and bade us draw in to our meal.
""they," said he, meaning the collops, "are such as i gave his royal highness in this very house; bating the lemon juice, for at that time we were glad to get the meat and never fashed for kitchen.
* indeed, there were mair dragoons than lemons in my country in the year forty-six."
* condiment.
i do not know if the collops were truly very good, but my heart rose against the sight of them, and i could eat but little.
all the while cluny entertained us with stories of prince charlie's stay in the cage, giving us the very words of the speakers, and rising from his place to show us where they stood.
by these, i gathered the prince was a gracious, spirited boy, like the son of a race of polite kings, but not so wise as solomon.
i gathered, too, that while he was in the cage, he was often drunk; so the fault that has since, by all accounts, made such a wreck of him, had even then begun to show itself.
we were no sooner done eating than cluny brought out an old, thumbed, greasy pack of cards, such as you may find in a mean inn; and his eyes brightened in his face as he proposed that we should fall to playing.
now this was one of the things i had been brought up to eschew like disgrace; it being held by my father neither the part of a christian nor yet of a gentleman to set his own livelihood and fish for that of others, on the cast of painted pasteboard.
to be sure, i might have pleaded my fatigue, which was excuse enough; but i thought it behoved that i should bear a testimony.
i must have got very red in the face, but i spoke steadily, and told them i had no call to be a judge of others, but for my own part, it was a matter in which i had no clearness.
cluny stopped mingling the cards.
""what in deil's name is this?"
says he.
""what kind of whiggish, canting talk is this, for the house of cluny macpherson?"
""i will put my hand in the fire for mr. balfour," says alan.
""he is an honest and a mettle gentleman, and i would have ye bear in mind who says it.
i bear a king's name," says he, cocking his hat; "and i and any that i call friend are company for the best.
but the gentleman is tired, and should sleep; if he has no mind to the cartes, it will never hinder you and me.
and i'm fit and willing, sir, to play ye any game that ye can name."
""sir," says cluny, "in this poor house of mine i would have you to ken that any gentleman may follow his pleasure.
if your friend would like to stand on his head, he is welcome.
and if either he, or you, or any other man, is not preceesely satisfied, i will be proud to step outside with him."
i had no will that these two friends should cut their throats for my sake.
""sir," said i, "i am very wearied, as alan says; and what's more, as you are a man that likely has sons of your own, i may tell you it was a promise to my father."
""say nae mair, say nae mair," said cluny, and pointed me to a bed of heather in a corner of the cage.
for all that he was displeased enough, looked at me askance, and grumbled when he looked.
and indeed it must be owned that both my scruples and the words in which i declared them, smacked somewhat of the covenanter, and were little in their place among wild highland jacobites.
what with the brandy and the venison, a strange heaviness had come over me; and i had scarce lain down upon the bed before i fell into a kind of trance, in which i continued almost the whole time of our stay in the cage.
sometimes i was broad awake and understood what passed; sometimes i only heard voices, or men snoring, like the voice of a silly river; and the plaids upon the wall dwindled down and swelled out again, like firelight shadows on the roof.
i must sometimes have spoken or cried out, for i remember i was now and then amazed at being answered; yet i was conscious of no particular nightmare, only of a general, black, abiding horror -- a horror of the place i was in, and the bed i lay in, and the plaids on the wall, and the voices, and the fire, and myself.
the barber-gillie, who was a doctor too, was called in to prescribe for me; but as he spoke in the gaelic, i understood not a word of his opinion, and was too sick even to ask for a translation.
i knew well enough i was ill, and that was all i cared about.
i paid little heed while i lay in this poor pass.
but alan and cluny were most of the time at the cards, and i am clear that alan must have begun by winning; for i remember sitting up, and seeing them hard at it, and a great glittering pile of as much as sixty or a hundred guineas on the table.
it looked strange enough, to see all this wealth in a nest upon a cliff-side, wattled about growing trees.
and even then, i thought it seemed deep water for alan to be riding, who had no better battle-horse than a green purse and a matter of five pounds.
the luck, it seems, changed on the second day.
about noon i was wakened as usual for dinner, and as usual refused to eat, and was given a dram with some bitter infusion which the barber had prescribed.
the sun was shining in at the open door of the cage, and this dazzled and offended me.
cluny sat at the table, biting the pack of cards.
alan had stooped over the bed, and had his face close to my eyes; to which, troubled as they were with the fever, it seemed of the most shocking bigness.
he asked me for a loan of my money.
""what for?"
said i. "o, just for a loan," said he.
""but why?"
i repeated.
""i do n't see."
""hut, david!"
said alan, "ye wouldnae grudge me a loan?"
i would, though, if i had had my senses!
but all i thought of then was to get his face away, and i handed him my money.
on the morning of the third day, when we had been forty-eight hours in the cage, i awoke with a great relief of spirits, very weak and weary indeed, but seeing things of the right size and with their honest, everyday appearance.
i had a mind to eat, moreover, rose from bed of my own movement, and as soon as we had breakfasted, stepped to the entry of the cage and sat down outside in the top of the wood.
it was a grey day with a cool, mild air: and i sat in a dream all morning, only disturbed by the passing by of cluny's scouts and servants coming with provisions and reports; for as the coast was at that time clear, you might almost say he held court openly.
when i returned, he and alan had laid the cards aside, and were questioning a gillie; and the chief turned about and spoke to me in the gaelic.
""i have no gaelic, sir," said i.
now since the card question, everything i said or did had the power of annoying cluny.
""your name has more sense than yourself, then," said he angrily, "for it's good gaelic.
but the point is this.
my scout reports all clear in the south, and the question is, have ye the strength to go?"
i saw cards on the table, but no gold; only a heap of little written papers, and these all on cluny's side.
alan, besides, had an odd look, like a man not very well content; and i began to have a strong misgiving.
""i do not know if i am as well as i should be," said i, looking at alan; "but the little money we have has a long way to carry us."
alan took his under-lip into his mouth, and looked upon the ground.
""david," says he at last, "i've lost it; there's the naked truth."
""my money too?"
said i. "your money too," says alan, with a groan.
""ye shouldnae have given it me.
i'm daft when i get to the cartes."
""hoot-toot!
hoot-toot!"
said cluny.
""it was all daffing; it's all nonsense.
of course you'll have your money back again, and the double of it, if ye'll make so free with me.
it would be a singular thing for me to keep it.
it's not to be supposed that i would be any hindrance to gentlemen in your situation; that would be a singular thing!"
cries he, and began to pull gold out of his pocket with a mighty red face.
alan said nothing, only looked on the ground.
""will you step to the door with me, sir?"
said i. cluny said he would be very glad, and followed me readily enough, but he looked flustered and put out.
""and now, sir," says i, "i must first acknowledge your generosity."
""nonsensical nonsense!"
cries cluny.
""where's the generosity?
this is just a most unfortunate affair; but what would ye have me do -- boxed up in this bee-skep of a cage of mine -- but just set my friends to the cartes, when i can get them?
and if they lose, of course, it's not to be supposed --" and here he came to a pause.
""yes," said i, "if they lose, you give them back their money; and if they win, they carry away yours in their pouches!
i have said before that i grant your generosity; but to me, sir, it's a very painful thing to be placed in this position."
there was a little silence, in which cluny seemed always as if he was about to speak, but said nothing.
all the time he grew redder and redder in the face.
""i am a young man," said i, "and i ask your advice.
advise me as you would your son.
my friend fairly lost his money, after having fairly gained a far greater sum of yours; can i accept it back again?
would that be the right part for me to play?
whatever i do, you can see for yourself it must be hard upon a man of any pride."
""it's rather hard on me, too, mr. balfour," said cluny, "and ye give me very much the look of a man that has entrapped poor people to their hurt.
i wouldnae have my friends come to any house of mine to accept affronts; no," he cried, with a sudden heat of anger, "nor yet to give them!"
""and so you see, sir," said i, "there is something to be said upon my side; and this gambling is a very poor employ for gentlefolks.
but i am still waiting your opinion."
i am sure if ever cluny hated any man it was david balfour.
he looked me all over with a warlike eye, and i saw the challenge at his lips.
but either my youth disarmed him, or perhaps his own sense of justice.
certainly it was a mortifying matter for all concerned, and not least cluny; the more credit that he took it as he did.
""mr. balfour," said he, "i think you are too nice and covenanting, but for all that you have the spirit of a very pretty gentleman.
upon my honest word, ye may take this money -- it's what i would tell my son -- and here's my hand along with it!"
chapter xxiv the flight in the heather: the quarrel alan and i were put across loch errocht under cloud of night, and went down its eastern shore to another hiding-place near the head of loch rannoch, whither we were led by one of the gillies from the cage.
this fellow carried all our luggage and alan's great-coat in the bargain, trotting along under the burthen, far less than the half of which used to weigh me to the ground, like a stout hill pony with a feather; yet he was a man that, in plain contest, i could have broken on my knee.
doubtless it was a great relief to walk disencumbered; and perhaps without that relief, and the consequent sense of liberty and lightness, i could not have walked at all.
i was but new risen from a bed of sickness; and there was nothing in the state of our affairs to hearten me for much exertion; travelling, as we did, over the most dismal deserts in scotland, under a cloudy heaven, and with divided hearts among the travellers.
for long, we said nothing; marching alongside or one behind the other, each with a set countenance: i, angry and proud, and drawing what strength i had from these two violent and sinful feelings; alan angry and ashamed, ashamed that he had lost my money, angry that i should take it so ill.
the thought of a separation ran always the stronger in my mind; and the more i approved of it, the more ashamed i grew of my approval.
it would be a fine, handsome, generous thing, indeed, for alan to turn round and say to me: "go, i am in the most danger, and my company only increases yours."
but for me to turn to the friend who certainly loved me, and say to him: "you are in great danger, i am in but little; your friendship is a burden; go, take your risks and bear your hardships alone --" no, that was impossible; and even to think of it privily to myself, made my cheeks to burn.
and yet alan had behaved like a child, and -lrb- what is worse -rrb- a treacherous child.
wheedling my money from me while i lay half-conscious was scarce better than theft; and yet here he was trudging by my side, without a penny to his name, and by what i could see, quite blithe to sponge upon the money he had driven me to beg.
true, i was ready to share it with him; but it made me rage to see him count upon my readiness.
these were the two things uppermost in my mind; and i could open my mouth upon neither without black ungenerosity.
so i did the next worst, and said nothing, nor so much as looked once at my companion, save with the tail of my eye.
at last, upon the other side of loch errocht, going over a smooth, rushy place, where the walking was easy, he could bear it no longer, and came close to me.
""david," says he, "this is no way for two friends to take a small accident.
i have to say that i'm sorry; and so that's said.
and now if you have anything, ye'd better say it."
""o," says i, "i have nothing."
he seemed disconcerted; at which i was meanly pleased.
""no," said he, with rather a trembling voice, "but when i say i was to blame?"
""why, of course, ye were to blame," said i, coolly; "and you will bear me out that i have never reproached you."
""never," says he; "but ye ken very well that ye've done worse.
are we to part?
ye said so once before.
are ye to say it again?
there's hills and heather enough between here and the two seas, david; and i will own i'm no very keen to stay where i'm no wanted."
this pierced me like a sword, and seemed to lay bare my private disloyalty.
""alan breck!"
i cried; and then: "do you think i am one to turn my back on you in your chief need?
you durs n't say it to my face.
my whole conduct's there to give the lie to it.
it's true, i fell asleep upon the muir; but that was from weariness, and you do wrong to cast it up to me --" "which is what i never did," said alan.
""but aside from that," i continued, "what have i done that you should even me to dogs by such a supposition?
i never yet failed a friend, and it's not likely i'll begin with you.
there are things between us that i can never forget, even if you can."
""i will only say this to ye, david," said alan, very quietly, "that i have long been owing ye my life, and now i owe ye money.
ye should try to make that burden light for me."
this ought to have touched me, and in a manner it did, but the wrong manner.
i felt i was behaving badly; and was now not only angry with alan, but angry with myself in the bargain; and it made me the more cruel.
""you asked me to speak," said i. "well, then, i will.
you own yourself that you have done me a disservice; i have had to swallow an affront: i have never reproached you, i never named the thing till you did.
and now you blame me," cried i, "because i cannae laugh and sing as if i was glad to be affronted.
the next thing will be that i'm to go down upon my knees and thank you for it!
ye should think more of others, alan breck.
if ye thought more of others, ye would perhaps speak less about yourself; and when a friend that likes you very well has passed over an offence without a word, you would be blithe to let it lie, instead of making it a stick to break his back with.
by your own way of it, it was you that was to blame; then it shouldnae be you to seek the quarrel."
""aweel," said alan, "say nae mair."
and we fell back into our former silence; and came to our journey's end, and supped, and lay down to sleep, without another word.
the gillie put us across loch rannoch in the dusk of the next day, and gave us his opinion as to our best route.
this was to get us up at once into the tops of the mountains: to go round by a circuit, turning the heads of glen lyon, glen lochay, and glen dochart, and come down upon the lowlands by kippen and the upper waters of the forth.
alan was little pleased with a route which led us through the country of his blood-foes, the glenorchy campbells.
he objected that by turning to the east, we should come almost at once among the athole stewarts, a race of his own name and lineage, although following a different chief, and come besides by a far easier and swifter way to the place whither we were bound.
but the gillie, who was indeed the chief man of cluny's scouts, had good reasons to give him on all hands, naming the force of troops in every district, and alleging finally -lrb- as well as i could understand -rrb- that we should nowhere be so little troubled as in a country of the campbells.
alan gave way at last, but with only half a heart.
""it's one of the dowiest countries in scotland," said he.
""there's naething there that i ken, but heath, and crows, and campbells.
but i see that ye're a man of some penetration; and be it as ye please!"
we set forth accordingly by this itinerary; and for the best part of three nights travelled on eerie mountains and among the well-heads of wild rivers; often buried in mist, almost continually blown and rained upon, and not once cheered by any glimpse of sunshine.
by day, we lay and slept in the drenching heather; by night, incessantly clambered upon break-neck hills and among rude crags.
we often wandered; we were often so involved in fog, that we must lie quiet till it lightened.
a fire was never to be thought of.
our only food was drammach and a portion of cold meat that we had carried from the cage; and as for drink, heaven knows we had no want of water.
this was a dreadful time, rendered the more dreadful by the gloom of the weather and the country.
i was never warm; my teeth chattered in my head; i was troubled with a very sore throat, such as i had on the isle; i had a painful stitch in my side, which never left me; and when i slept in my wet bed, with the rain beating above and the mud oozing below me, it was to live over again in fancy the worst part of my adventures -- to see the tower of shaws lit by lightning, ransome carried below on the men's backs, shuan dying on the round-house floor, or colin campbell grasping at the bosom of his coat.
from such broken slumbers, i would be aroused in the gloaming, to sit up in the same puddle where i had slept, and sup cold drammach; the rain driving sharp in my face or running down my back in icy trickles; the mist enfolding us like as in a gloomy chamber -- or, perhaps, if the wind blew, falling suddenly apart and showing us the gulf of some dark valley where the streams were crying aloud.
the sound of an infinite number of rivers came up from all round.
in this steady rain the springs of the mountain were broken up; every glen gushed water like a cistern; every stream was in high spate, and had filled and overflowed its channel.
during our night tramps, it was solemn to hear the voice of them below in the valleys, now booming like thunder, now with an angry cry.
i could well understand the story of the water kelpie, that demon of the streams, who is fabled to keep wailing and roaring at the ford until the coming of the doomed traveller.
alan i saw believed it, or half believed it; and when the cry of the river rose more than usually sharp, i was little surprised -lrb- though, of course, i would still be shocked -rrb- to see him cross himself in the manner of the catholics.
during all these horrid wanderings we had no familiarity, scarcely even that of speech.
the truth is that i was sickening for my grave, which is my best excuse.
but besides that i was of an unforgiving disposition from my birth, slow to take offence, slower to forget it, and now incensed both against my companion and myself.
for the best part of two days he was unweariedly kind; silent, indeed, but always ready to help, and always hoping -lrb- as i could very well see -rrb- that my displeasure would blow by.
for the same length of time i stayed in myself, nursing my anger, roughly refusing his services, and passing him over with my eyes as if he had been a bush or a stone.
the second night, or rather the peep of the third day, found us upon a very open hill, so that we could not follow our usual plan and lie down immediately to eat and sleep.
before we had reached a place of shelter, the grey had come pretty clear, for though it still rained, the clouds ran higher; and alan, looking in my face, showed some marks of concern.
""ye had better let me take your pack," said he, for perhaps the ninth time since we had parted from the scout beside loch rannoch.
""i do very well, i thank you," said i, as cold as ice.
alan flushed darkly.
""i'll not offer it again," he said.
""i'm not a patient man, david."
""i never said you were," said i, which was exactly the rude, silly speech of a boy of ten.
alan made no answer at the time, but his conduct answered for him.
henceforth, it is to be thought, he quite forgave himself for the affair at cluny's; cocked his hat again, walked jauntily, whistled airs, and looked at me upon one side with a provoking smile.
the third night we were to pass through the western end of the country of balquhidder.
it came clear and cold, with a touch in the air like frost, and a northerly wind that blew the clouds away and made the stars bright.
the streams were full, of course, and still made a great noise among the hills; but i observed that alan thought no more upon the kelpie, and was in high good spirits.
as for me, the change of weather came too late; i had lain in the mire so long that -lrb- as the bible has it -rrb- my very clothes "abhorred me."
i was dead weary, deadly sick and full of pains and shiverings; the chill of the wind went through me, and the sound of it confused my ears.
in this poor state i had to bear from my companion something in the nature of a persecution.
he spoke a good deal, and never without a taunt.
""whig" was the best name he had to give me.
""here," he would say, "here's a dub for ye to jump, my whiggie!
i ken you're a fine jumper!"
and so on; all the time with a gibing voice and face.
i knew it was my own doing, and no one else's; but i was too miserable to repent.
i felt i could drag myself but little farther; pretty soon, i must lie down and die on these wet mountains like a sheep or a fox, and my bones must whiten there like the bones of a beast.
my head was light perhaps; but i began to love the prospect, i began to glory in the thought of such a death, alone in the desert, with the wild eagles besieging my last moments.
alan would repent then, i thought; he would remember, when i was dead, how much he owed me, and the remembrance would be torture.
so i went like a sick, silly, and bad-hearted schoolboy, feeding my anger against a fellow-man, when i would have been better on my knees, crying on god for mercy.
and at each of alan's taunts, i hugged myself.
""ah!"
thinks i to myself, "i have a better taunt in readiness; when i lie down and die, you will feel it like a buffet in your face; ah, what a revenge!
ah, how you will regret your ingratitude and cruelty!"
all the while, i was growing worse and worse.
once i had fallen, my leg simply doubling under me, and this had struck alan for the moment; but i was afoot so briskly, and set off again with such a natural manner, that he soon forgot the incident.
flushes of heat went over me, and then spasms of shuddering.
the stitch in my side was hardly bearable.
at last i began to feel that i could trail myself no farther: and with that, there came on me all at once the wish to have it out with alan, let my anger blaze, and be done with my life in a more sudden manner.
he had just called me "whig."
i stopped.
""mr. stewart," said i, in a voice that quivered like a fiddle-string, "you are older than i am, and should know your manners.
do you think it either very wise or very witty to cast my politics in my teeth?
i thought, where folk differed, it was the part of gentlemen to differ civilly; and if i did not, i may tell you i could find a better taunt than some of yours."
alan had stopped opposite to me, his hat cocked, his hands in his breeches pockets, his head a little on one side.
he listened, smiling evilly, as i could see by the starlight; and when i had done he began to whistle a jacobite air.
it was the air made in mockery of general cope's defeat at preston pans: "hey, johnnie cope, are ye waukin" yet?
and are your drums a-beatin" yet?"
and it came in my mind that alan, on the day of that battle, had been engaged upon the royal side.
""why do ye take that air, mr. stewart?"
said i. "is that to remind me you have been beaten on both sides?"
the air stopped on alan's lips.
""david!"
said he.
""but it's time these manners ceased," i continued; "and i mean you shall henceforth speak civilly of my king and my good friends the campbells."
""i am a stewart --" began alan.
""o!"
says i, "i ken ye bear a king's name.
but you are to remember, since i have been in the highlands, i have seen a good many of those that bear it; and the best i can say of them is this, that they would be none the worse of washing."
""do you know that you insult me?"
said alan, very low.
""i am sorry for that," said i, "for i am not done; and if you distaste the sermon, i doubt the pirliecue * will please you as little.
you have been chased in the field by the grown men of my party; it seems a poor kind of pleasure to out-face a boy.
both the campbells and the whigs have beaten you; you have run before them like a hare.
it behoves you to speak of them as of your betters."
* a second sermon.
alan stood quite still, the tails of his great-coat clapping behind him in the wind.
""this is a pity," he said at last.
""there are things said that can not be passed over."
""i never asked you to," said i. "i am as ready as yourself."
""ready?"
said he.
""ready," i repeated.
""i am no blower and boaster like some that i could name.
come on!"
and drawing my sword, i fell on guard as alan himself had taught me.
""david!"
he cried.
""are ye daft?
i cannae draw upon ye, david.
it's fair murder."
""that was your look-out when you insulted me," said i. "it's the truth!"
cried alan, and he stood for a moment, wringing his mouth in his hand like a man in sore perplexity.
""it's the bare truth," he said, and drew his sword.
but before i could touch his blade with mine, he had thrown it from him and fallen to the ground.
""na, na," he kept saying, "na, na -- i cannae, i cannae."
at this the last of my anger oozed all out of me; and i found myself only sick, and sorry, and blank, and wondering at myself.
i would have given the world to take back what i had said; but a word once spoken, who can recapture it?
i minded me of all alan's kindness and courage in the past, how he had helped and cheered and borne with me in our evil days; and then recalled my own insults, and saw that i had lost for ever that doughty friend.
at the same time, the sickness that hung upon me seemed to redouble, and the pang in my side was like a sword for sharpness.
i thought i must have swooned where i stood.
this it was that gave me a thought.
no apology could blot out what i had said; it was needless to think of one, none could cover the offence; but where an apology was vain, a mere cry for help might bring alan back to my side.
i put my pride away from me.
""alan!"
i said; "if ye cannae help me, i must just die here."
he started up sitting, and looked at me.
""it's true," said i. "i'm by with it.
o, let me get into the bield of a house -- i'll can die there easier."
i had no need to pretend; whether i chose or not, i spoke in a weeping voice that would have melted a heart of stone.
""can ye walk?"
asked alan.
""no," said i, "not without help.
this last hour my legs have been fainting under me; i've a stitch in my side like a red-hot iron; i cannae breathe right.
if i die, ye'll can forgive me, alan?
in my heart, i liked ye fine -- even when i was the angriest."
""wheesht, wheesht!"
cried alan.
""dinna say that!
david man, ye ken --" he shut his mouth upon a sob.
""let me get my arm about ye," he continued; "that's the way!
now lean upon me hard.
gude kens where there's a house!
we're in balwhidder, too; there should be no want of houses, no, nor friends" houses here.
do ye gang easier so, davie?"
""ay," said i, "i can be doing this way;" and i pressed his arm with my hand.
again he came near sobbing.
""davie," said he, "i'm no a right man at all; i have neither sense nor kindness; i could nae remember ye were just a bairn, i couldnae see ye were dying on your feet; davie, ye'll have to try and forgive me."
""o man, let's say no more about it!"
said i. "we're neither one of us to mend the other -- that's the truth!
we must just bear and forbear, man alan.
o, but my stitch is sore!
is there nae house?"
""i'll find a house to ye, david," he said, stoutly.
""we'll follow down the burn, where there's bound to be houses.
my poor man, will ye no be better on my back?"
""o, alan," says i, "and me a good twelve inches taller?"
""ye're no such a thing," cried alan, with a start.
""there may be a trifling matter of an inch or two; i'm no saying i'm just exactly what ye would call a tall man, whatever; and i dare say," he added, his voice tailing off in a laughable manner, "now when i come to think of it, i dare say ye'll be just about right.
ay, it'll be a foot, or near hand; or may be even mair!"
it was sweet and laughable to hear alan eat his words up in the fear of some fresh quarrel.
i could have laughed, had not my stitch caught me so hard; but if i had laughed, i think i must have wept too.
""alan," cried i, "what makes ye so good to me?
what makes ye care for such a thankless fellow?""
"deed, and i do n't know" said alan.
""for just precisely what i thought i liked about ye, was that ye never quarrelled: -- and now i like ye better!"
chapter xxv in balquhidder at the door of the first house we came to, alan knocked, which was of no very safe enterprise in such a part of the highlands as the braes of balquhidder.
no great clan held rule there; it was filled and disputed by small septs, and broken remnants, and what they call "chiefless folk," driven into the wild country about the springs of forth and teith by the advance of the campbells.
here were stewarts and maclarens, which came to the same thing, for the maclarens followed alan's chief in war, and made but one clan with appin.
here, too, were many of that old, proscribed, nameless, red-handed clan of the macgregors.
they had always been ill-considered, and now worse than ever, having credit with no side or party in the whole country of scotland.
their chief, macgregor of macgregor, was in exile; the more immediate leader of that part of them about balquhidder, james more, rob roy's eldest son, lay waiting his trial in edinburgh castle; they were in ill-blood with highlander and lowlander, with the grahames, the maclarens, and the stewarts; and alan, who took up the quarrel of any friend, however distant, was extremely wishful to avoid them.
chance served us very well; for it was a household of maclarens that we found, where alan was not only welcome for his name's sake but known by reputation.
here then i was got to bed without delay, and a doctor fetched, who found me in a sorry plight.
but whether because he was a very good doctor, or i a very young, strong man, i lay bedridden for no more than a week, and before a month i was able to take the road again with a good heart.
all this time alan would not leave me though i often pressed him, and indeed his foolhardiness in staying was a common subject of outcry with the two or three friends that were let into the secret.
he hid by day in a hole of the braes under a little wood; and at night, when the coast was clear, would come into the house to visit me.
i need not say if i was pleased to see him; mrs. maclaren, our hostess, thought nothing good enough for such a guest; and as duncan dhu -lrb- which was the name of our host -rrb- had a pair of pipes in his house, and was much of a lover of music, this time of my recovery was quite a festival, and we commonly turned night into day.
the soldiers let us be; although once a party of two companies and some dragoons went by in the bottom of the valley, where i could see them through the window as i lay in bed.
what was much more astonishing, no magistrate came near me, and there was no question put of whence i came or whither i was going; and in that time of excitement, i was as free of all inquiry as though i had lain in a desert.
yet my presence was known before i left to all the people in balquhidder and the adjacent parts; many coming about the house on visits and these -lrb- after the custom of the country -rrb- spreading the news among their neighbours.
the bills, too, had now been printed.
there was one pinned near the foot of my bed, where i could read my own not very flattering portrait and, in larger characters, the amount of the blood money that had been set upon my life.
duncan dhu and the rest that knew that i had come there in alan's company, could have entertained no doubt of who i was; and many others must have had their guess.
for though i had changed my clothes, i could not change my age or person; and lowland boys of eighteen were not so rife in these parts of the world, and above all about that time, that they could fail to put one thing with another, and connect me with the bill.
so it was, at least.
other folk keep a secret among two or three near friends, and somehow it leaks out; but among these clansmen, it is told to a whole countryside, and they will keep it for a century.
there was but one thing happened worth narrating; and that is the visit i had of robin oig, one of the sons of the notorious rob roy.
he was sought upon all sides on a charge of carrying a young woman from balfron and marrying her -lrb- as was alleged -rrb- by force; yet he stepped about balquhidder like a gentleman in his own walled policy.
it was he who had shot james maclaren at the plough stilts, a quarrel never satisfied; yet he walked into the house of his blood enemies as a rider * might into a public inn.
* commercial traveller.
duncan had time to pass me word of who it was; and we looked at one another in concern.
you should understand, it was then close upon the time of alan's coming; the two were little likely to agree; and yet if we sent word or sought to make a signal, it was sure to arouse suspicion in a man under so dark a cloud as the macgregor.
he came in with a great show of civility, but like a man among inferiors; took off his bonnet to mrs. maclaren, but clapped it on his head again to speak to duncan; and having thus set himself -lrb- as he would have thought -rrb- in a proper light, came to my bedside and bowed.
""i am given to know, sir," says he, "that your name is balfour."
""they call me david balfour," said i, "at your service."
""i would give ye my name in return, sir," he replied, "but it's one somewhat blown upon of late days; and it'll perhaps suffice if i tell ye that i am own brother to james more drummond or macgregor, of whom ye will scarce have failed to hear."
""no, sir," said i, a little alarmed; "nor yet of your father, macgregor-campbell."
and i sat up and bowed in bed; for i thought best to compliment him, in case he was proud of having had an outlaw to his father.
he bowed in return.
""but what i am come to say, sir," he went on, "is this.
in the year" 45, my brother raised a part of the "gregara" and marched six companies to strike a stroke for the good side; and the surgeon that marched with our clan and cured my brother's leg when it was broken in the brush at preston pans, was a gentleman of the same name precisely as yourself.
he was brother to balfour of baith; and if you are in any reasonable degree of nearness one of that gentleman's kin, i have come to put myself and my people at your command."
you are to remember that i knew no more of my descent than any cadger's dog; my uncle, to be sure, had prated of some of our high connections, but nothing to the present purpose; and there was nothing left me but that bitter disgrace of owning that i could not tell.
robin told me shortly he was sorry he had put himself about, turned his back upon me without a sign of salutation, and as he went towards the door, i could hear him telling duncan that i was "only some kinless loon that did n't know his own father."
angry as i was at these words, and ashamed of my own ignorance, i could scarce keep from smiling that a man who was under the lash of the law -lrb- and was indeed hanged some three years later -rrb- should be so nice as to the descent of his acquaintances.
just in the door, he met alan coming in; and the two drew back and looked at each other like strange dogs.
they were neither of them big men, but they seemed fairly to swell out with pride.
each wore a sword, and by a movement of his haunch, thrust clear the hilt of it, so that it might be the more readily grasped and the blade drawn.
""mr. stewart, i am thinking," says robin.
""troth, mr. macgregor, it's not a name to be ashamed of," answered alan.
""i did not know ye were in my country, sir," says robin.
""it sticks in my mind that i am in the country of my friends the maclarens," says alan.
""that's a kittle point," returned the other.
""there may be two words to say to that.
but i think i will have heard that you are a man of your sword?"
""unless ye were born deaf, mr. macgregor, ye will have heard a good deal more than that," says alan.
""i am not the only man that can draw steel in appin; and when my kinsman and captain, ardshiel, had a talk with a gentleman of your name, not so many years back, i could never hear that the macgregor had the best of it."
""do ye mean my father, sir?"
says robin.
""well, i wouldnae wonder," said alan.
""the gentleman i have in my mind had the ill-taste to clap campbell to his name."
""my father was an old man," returned robin.
""the match was unequal.
you and me would make a better pair, sir."
""i was thinking that," said alan.
i was half out of bed, and duncan had been hanging at the elbow of these fighting cocks, ready to intervene upon the least occasion.
but when that word was uttered, it was a case of now or never; and duncan, with something of a white face to be sure, thrust himself between.
""gentlemen," said he, "i will have been thinking of a very different matter, whateffer.
here are my pipes, and here are you two gentlemen who are baith acclaimed pipers.
it's an auld dispute which one of ye's the best.
here will be a braw chance to settle it."
""why, sir," said alan, still addressing robin, from whom indeed he had not so much as shifted his eyes, nor yet robin from him, "why, sir," says alan, "i think i will have heard some sough * of the sort.
have ye music, as folk say?
are ye a bit of a piper?"
* rumour.
""i can pipe like a macrimmon!"
cries robin.
""and that is a very bold word," quoth alan.
""i have made bolder words good before now," returned robin, "and that against better adversaries."
""it is easy to try that," says alan.
duncan dhu made haste to bring out the pair of pipes that was his principal possession, and to set before his guests a mutton-ham and a bottle of that drink which they call athole brose, and which is made of old whiskey, strained honey and sweet cream, slowly beaten together in the right order and proportion.
the two enemies were still on the very breach of a quarrel; but down they sat, one upon each side of the peat fire, with a mighty show of politeness.
maclaren pressed them to taste his mutton-ham and "the wife's brose," reminding them the wife was out of athole and had a name far and wide for her skill in that confection.
but robin put aside these hospitalities as bad for the breath.
""i would have ye to remark, sir," said alan, "that i havenae broken bread for near upon ten hours, which will be worse for the breath than any brose in scotland."
""i will take no advantages, mr. stewart," replied robin.
""eat and drink; i'll follow you."
each ate a small portion of the ham and drank a glass of the brose to mrs. maclaren; and then after a great number of civilities, robin took the pipes and played a little spring in a very ranting manner.
""ay, ye can blow" said alan; and taking the instrument from his rival, he first played the same spring in a manner identical with robin's; and then wandered into variations, which, as he went on, he decorated with a perfect flight of grace-notes, such as pipers love, and call the "warblers."
i had been pleased with robin's playing, alan's ravished me.
""that's no very bad, mr. stewart," said the rival, "but ye show a poor device in your warblers."
""me!"
cried alan, the blood starting to his face.
""i give ye the lie."
""do ye own yourself beaten at the pipes, then," said robin, "that ye seek to change them for the sword?"
""and that's very well said, mr. macgregor," returned alan; "and in the meantime" -lrb- laying a strong accent on the word -rrb- "i take back the lie.
i appeal to duncan."
""indeed, ye need appeal to naebody," said robin.
""ye're a far better judge than any maclaren in balquhidder: for it's a god's truth that you're a very creditable piper for a stewart.
hand me the pipes."
alan did as he asked; and robin proceeded to imitate and correct some part of alan's variations, which it seemed that he remembered perfectly.
""ay, ye have music," said alan, gloomily.
""and now be the judge yourself, mr. stewart," said robin; and taking up the variations from the beginning, he worked them throughout to so new a purpose, with such ingenuity and sentiment, and with so odd a fancy and so quick a knack in the grace-notes, that i was amazed to hear him.
as for alan, his face grew dark and hot, and he sat and gnawed his fingers, like a man under some deep affront.
""enough!"
he cried.
""ye can blow the pipes -- make the most of that."
and he made as if to rise.
but robin only held out his hand as if to ask for silence, and struck into the slow measure of a pibroch.
it was a fine piece of music in itself, and nobly played; but it seems, besides, it was a piece peculiar to the appin stewarts and a chief favourite with alan.
the first notes were scarce out, before there came a change in his face; when the time quickened, he seemed to grow restless in his seat; and long before that piece was at an end, the last signs of his anger died from him, and he had no thought but for the music.
""robin oig," he said, when it was done, "ye are a great piper.
i am not fit to blow in the same kingdom with ye.
body of me!
ye have mair music in your sporran than i have in my head!
and though it still sticks in my mind that i could maybe show ye another of it with the cold steel, i warn ye beforehand -- it'll no be fair!
it would go against my heart to haggle a man that can blow the pipes as you can!"
thereupon that quarrel was made up; all night long the brose was going and the pipes changing hands; and the day had come pretty bright, and the three men were none the better for what they had been taking, before robin as much as thought upon the road.
chapter xxvi end of the flight: we pass the forth the month, as i have said, was not yet out, but it was already far through august, and beautiful warm weather, with every sign of an early and great harvest, when i was pronounced able for my journey.
our money was now run to so low an ebb that we must think first of all on speed; for if we came not soon to mr. rankeillor's, or if when we came there he should fail to help me, we must surely starve.
in alan's view, besides, the hunt must have now greatly slackened; and the line of the forth and even stirling bridge, which is the main pass over that river, would be watched with little interest.
""it's a chief principle in military affairs," said he, "to go where ye are least expected.
forth is our trouble; ye ken the saying, "forth bridles the wild hielandman."
well, if we seek to creep round about the head of that river and come down by kippen or balfron, it's just precisely there that they'll be looking to lay hands on us.
but if we stave on straight to the auld brig of stirling, i'll lay my sword they let us pass unchallenged."
the first night, accordingly, we pushed to the house of a maclaren in strathire, a friend of duncan's, where we slept the twenty-first of the month, and whence we set forth again about the fall of night to make another easy stage.
the twenty-second we lay in a heather bush on the hillside in uam var, within view of a herd of deer, the happiest ten hours of sleep in a fine, breathing sunshine and on bone-dry ground, that i have ever tasted.
that night we struck allan water, and followed it down; and coming to the edge of the hills saw the whole carse of stirling underfoot, as flat as a pancake, with the town and castle on a hill in the midst of it, and the moon shining on the links of forth.
""now," said alan, "i kenna if ye care, but ye're in your own land again.
we passed the hieland line in the first hour; and now if we could but pass yon crooked water, we might cast our bonnets in the air."
in allan water, near by where it falls into the forth, we found a little sandy islet, overgrown with burdock, butterbur and the like low plants, that would just cover us if we lay flat.
here it was we made our camp, within plain view of stirling castle, whence we could hear the drums beat as some part of the garrison paraded.
shearers worked all day in a field on one side of the river, and we could hear the stones going on the hooks and the voices and even the words of the men talking.
it behoved to lie close and keep silent.
but the sand of the little isle was sun-warm, the green plants gave us shelter for our heads, we had food and drink in plenty; and to crown all, we were within sight of safety.
as soon as the shearers quit their work and the dusk began to fall, we waded ashore and struck for the bridge of stirling, keeping to the fields and under the field fences.
the bridge is close under the castle hill, an old, high, narrow bridge with pinnacles along the parapet; and you may conceive with how much interest i looked upon it, not only as a place famous in history, but as the very doors of salvation to alan and myself.
the moon was not yet up when we came there; a few lights shone along the front of the fortress, and lower down a few lighted windows in the town; but it was all mighty still, and there seemed to be no guard upon the passage.
i was for pushing straight across; but alan was more wary.
""it looks unco" quiet," said he; "but for all that we'll lie down here cannily behind a dyke, and make sure."
so we lay for about a quarter of an hour, whiles whispering, whiles lying still and hearing nothing earthly but the washing of the water on the piers.
at last there came by an old, hobbling woman with a crutch stick; who first stopped a little, close to where we lay, and bemoaned herself and the long way she had travelled; and then set forth again up the steep spring of the bridge.
the woman was so little, and the night still so dark, that we soon lost sight of her; only heard the sound of her steps, and her stick, and a cough that she had by fits, draw slowly farther away.
""she's bound to be across now," i whispered.
""na," said alan, "her foot still sounds boss * upon the bridge."
* hollow.
and just then -- "who goes?"
cried a voice, and we heard the butt of a musket rattle on the stones.
i must suppose the sentry had been sleeping, so that had we tried, we might have passed unseen; but he was awake now, and the chance forfeited.
""this'll never do," said alan.
""this'll never, never do for us, david."
and without another word, he began to crawl away through the fields; and a little after, being well out of eye-shot, got to his feet again, and struck along a road that led to the eastward.
i could not conceive what he was doing; and indeed i was so sharply cut by the disappointment, that i was little likely to be pleased with anything.
a moment back and i had seen myself knocking at mr. rankeillor's door to claim my inheritance, like a hero in a ballad; and here was i back again, a wandering, hunted blackguard, on the wrong side of forth.
""well?"
said i. "well," said alan, "what would ye have?
they're none such fools as i took them for.
we have still the forth to pass, davie -- weary fall the rains that fed and the hillsides that guided it!"
""and why go east?"
said i. "ou, just upon the chance!"
said he.
""if we cannae pass the river, we'll have to see what we can do for the firth."
""there are fords upon the river, and none upon the firth," said i. "to be sure there are fords, and a bridge forbye," quoth alan; "and of what service, when they are watched?"
""well," said i, "but a river can be swum."
""by them that have the skill of it," returned he; "but i have yet to hear that either you or me is much of a hand at that exercise; and for my own part, i swim like a stone."
""i'm not up to you in talking back, alan," i said; "but i can see we're making bad worse.
if it's hard to pass a river, it stands to reason it must be worse to pass a sea."
""but there's such a thing as a boat," says alan, "or i'm the more deceived."
""ay, and such a thing as money," says i. "but for us that have neither one nor other, they might just as well not have been invented."
""ye think so?"
said alan.
""i do that," said i. "david," says he, "ye're a man of small invention and less faith.
but let me set my wits upon the hone, and if i cannae beg, borrow, nor yet steal a boat, i'll make one!"
""i think i see ye!"
said i. "and what's more than all that: if ye pass a bridge, it can tell no tales; but if we pass the firth, there's the boat on the wrong side -- somebody must have brought it -- the country-side will all be in a bizz --" "man!"
cried alan, "if i make a boat, i'll make a body to take it back again!
so deave me with no more of your nonsense, but walk -lrb- for that's what you've got to do -rrb- -- and let alan think for ye."
all night, then, we walked through the north side of the carse under the high line of the ochil mountains; and by alloa and clackmannan and culross, all of which we avoided: and about ten in the morning, mighty hungry and tired, came to the little clachan of limekilns.
this is a place that sits near in by the water-side, and looks across the hope to the town of the queensferry.
smoke went up from both of these, and from other villages and farms upon all hands.
the fields were being reaped; two ships lay anchored, and boats were coming and going on the hope.
it was altogether a right pleasant sight to me; and i could not take my fill of gazing at these comfortable, green, cultivated hills and the busy people both of the field and sea.
for all that, there was mr. rankeillor's house on the south shore, where i had no doubt wealth awaited me; and here was i upon the north, clad in poor enough attire of an outlandish fashion, with three silver shillings left to me of all my fortune, a price set upon my head, and an outlawed man for my sole company.
""o, alan!"
said i, "to think of it!
over there, there's all that heart could want waiting me; and the birds go over, and the boats go over -- all that please can go, but just me only!
o, man, but it's a heart-break!"
in limekilns we entered a small change-house, which we only knew to be a public by the wand over the door, and bought some bread and cheese from a good-looking lass that was the servant.
this we carried with us in a bundle, meaning to sit and eat it in a bush of wood on the sea-shore, that we saw some third part of a mile in front.
as we went, i kept looking across the water and sighing to myself; and though i took no heed of it, alan had fallen into a muse.
at last he stopped in the way.
""did ye take heed of the lass we bought this of?"
says he, tapping on the bread and cheese.
""to be sure," said i, "and a bonny lass she was."
""ye thought that?"
cries he.
""man, david, that's good news."
""in the name of all that's wonderful, why so?"
says i. "what good can that do?"
""well," said alan, with one of his droll looks, "i was rather in hopes it would maybe get us that boat."
""if it were the other way about, it would be liker it," said i. "that's all that you ken, ye see," said alan.
""i do n't want the lass to fall in love with ye, i want her to be sorry for ye, david; to which end there is no manner of need that she should take you for a beauty.
let me see" -lrb- looking me curiously over -rrb-.
""i wish ye were a wee thing paler; but apart from that ye'll do fine for my purpose -- ye have a fine, hang-dog, rag-and-tatter, clappermaclaw kind of a look to ye, as if ye had stolen the coat from a potato-bogle.
come; right about, and back to the change-house for that boat of ours."
i followed him, laughing.
""david balfour," said he, "ye're a very funny gentleman by your way of it, and this is a very funny employ for ye, no doubt.
for all that, if ye have any affection for my neck -lrb- to say nothing of your own -rrb- ye will perhaps be kind enough to take this matter responsibly.
i am going to do a bit of play-acting, the bottom ground of which is just exactly as serious as the gallows for the pair of us.
so bear it, if ye please, in mind, and conduct yourself according."
""well, well," said i, "have it as you will."
as we got near the clachan, he made me take his arm and hang upon it like one almost helpless with weariness; and by the time he pushed open the change-house door, he seemed to be half carrying me.
the maid appeared surprised -lrb- as well she might be -rrb- at our speedy return; but alan had no words to spare for her in explanation, helped me to a chair, called for a tass of brandy with which he fed me in little sips, and then breaking up the bread and cheese helped me to eat it like a nursery-lass; the whole with that grave, concerned, affectionate countenance, that might have imposed upon a judge.
it was small wonder if the maid were taken with the picture we presented, of a poor, sick, overwrought lad and his most tender comrade.
she drew quite near, and stood leaning with her back on the next table.
""what's like wrong with him?"
said she at last.
alan turned upon her, to my great wonder, with a kind of fury.
""wrong?"
cries he.
""he's walked more hundreds of miles than he has hairs upon his chin, and slept oftener in wet heather than dry sheets.
wrong, quo" she!
wrong enough, i would think!
wrong, indeed!"
and he kept grumbling to himself as he fed me, like a man ill-pleased.
""he's young for the like of that," said the maid.
""ower young," said alan, with his back to her.
""he would be better riding," says she.
""and where could i get a horse to him?"
cried alan, turning on her with the same appearance of fury.
""would ye have me steal?"
i thought this roughness would have sent her off in dudgeon, as indeed it closed her mouth for the time.
but my companion knew very well what he was doing; and for as simple as he was in some things of life, had a great fund of roguishness in such affairs as these.
""ye neednae tell me," she said at last -- "ye're gentry."
""well," said alan, softened a little -lrb- i believe against his will -rrb- by this artless comment, "and suppose we were?
did ever you hear that gentrice put money in folk's pockets?"
she sighed at this, as if she were herself some disinherited great lady.
""no," says she, "that's true indeed."
i was all this while chafing at the part i played, and sitting tongue-tied between shame and merriment; but somehow at this i could hold in no longer, and bade alan let me be, for i was better already.
my voice stuck in my throat, for i ever hated to take part in lies; but my very embarrassment helped on the plot, for the lass no doubt set down my husky voice to sickness and fatigue.
""has he nae friends?"
said she, in a tearful voice.
""that has he so!"
cried alan, "if we could but win to them!
-- friends and rich friends, beds to lie in, food to eat, doctors to see to him -- and here he must tramp in the dubs and sleep in the heather like a beggarman."
""and why that?"
says the lass.
""my dear," said alan, "i cannae very safely say; but i'll tell ye what i'll do instead," says he, "i'll whistle ye a bit tune."
and with that he leaned pretty far over the table, and in a mere breath of a whistle, but with a wonderful pretty sentiment, gave her a few bars of "charlie is my darling."
""wheesht," says she, and looked over her shoulder to the door.
""that's it," said alan.
""and him so young!"
cries the lass.
""he's old enough to --" and alan struck his forefinger on the back part of his neck, meaning that i was old enough to lose my head.
""it would be a black shame," she cried, flushing high.
""it's what will be, though," said alan, "unless we manage the better."
at this the lass turned and ran out of that part of the house, leaving us alone together.
alan in high good humour at the furthering of his schemes, and i in bitter dudgeon at being called a jacobite and treated like a child.
""alan," i cried, "i can stand no more of this."
""ye'll have to sit it then, davie," said he.
""for if ye upset the pot now, ye may scrape your own life out of the fire, but alan breck is a dead man."
this was so true that i could only groan; and even my groan served alan's purpose, for it was overheard by the lass as she came flying in again with a dish of white puddings and a bottle of strong ale.
""poor lamb!"
says she, and had no sooner set the meat before us, than she touched me on the shoulder with a little friendly touch, as much as to bid me cheer up.
then she told us to fall to, and there would be no more to pay; for the inn was her own, or at least her father's, and he was gone for the day to pittencrieff.
we waited for no second bidding, for bread and cheese is but cold comfort and the puddings smelt excellently well; and while we sat and ate, she took up that same place by the next table, looking on, and thinking, and frowning to herself, and drawing the string of her apron through her hand.
""i'm thinking ye have rather a long tongue," she said at last to alan.
""ay" said alan; "but ye see i ken the folk i speak to."
""i would never betray ye," said she, "if ye mean that."
""no," said he, "ye're not that kind.
but i'll tell ye what ye would do, ye would help."
""i couldnae," said she, shaking her head.
""na, i couldnae."
""no," said he, "but if ye could?"
she answered him nothing.
""look here, my lass," said alan, "there are boats in the kingdom of fife, for i saw two -lrb- no less -rrb- upon the beach, as i came in by your town's end.
now if we could have the use of a boat to pass under cloud of night into lothian, and some secret, decent kind of a man to bring that boat back again and keep his counsel, there would be two souls saved -- mine to all likelihood -- his to a dead surety.
if we lack that boat, we have but three shillings left in this wide world; and where to go, and how to do, and what other place there is for us except the chains of a gibbet -- i give you my naked word, i kenna!
shall we go wanting, lassie?
are ye to lie in your warm bed and think upon us, when the wind gowls in the chimney and the rain tirls on the roof?
are ye to eat your meat by the cheeks of a red fire, and think upon this poor sick lad of mine, biting his finger ends on a blae muir for cauld and hunger?
sick or sound, he must aye be moving; with the death grapple at his throat he must aye be trailing in the rain on the lang roads; and when he gants his last on a rickle of cauld stanes, there will be nae friends near him but only me and god."
at this appeal, i could see the lass was in great trouble of mind, being tempted to help us, and yet in some fear she might be helping malefactors; and so now i determined to step in myself and to allay her scruples with a portion of the truth.
""did ever you hear," said i, "of mr. rankeillor of the ferry?"
""rankeillor the writer?"
said she.
""i daur say that!"
""well," said i, "it's to his door that i am bound, so you may judge by that if i am an ill-doer; and i will tell you more, that though i am indeed, by a dreadful error, in some peril of my life, king george has no truer friend in all scotland than myself."
her face cleared up mightily at this, although alan's darkened.
""that's more than i would ask," said she.
""mr. rankeillor is a kennt man."
and she bade us finish our meat, get clear of the clachan as soon as might be, and lie close in the bit wood on the sea-beach.
""and ye can trust me," says she, "i'll find some means to put you over."
at this we waited for no more, but shook hands with her upon the bargain, made short work of the puddings, and set forth again from limekilns as far as to the wood.
it was a small piece of perhaps a score of elders and hawthorns and a few young ashes, not thick enough to veil us from passersby upon the road or beach.
here we must lie, however, making the best of the brave warm weather and the good hopes we now had of a deliverance, and planing more particularly what remained for us to do.
we had but one trouble all day; when a strolling piper came and sat in the same wood with us; a red-nosed, bleareyed, drunken dog, with a great bottle of whisky in his pocket, and a long story of wrongs that had been done him by all sorts of persons, from the lord president of the court of session, who had denied him justice, down to the bailies of inverkeithing who had given him more of it than he desired.
it was impossible but he should conceive some suspicion of two men lying all day concealed in a thicket and having no business to allege.
as long as he stayed there he kept us in hot water with prying questions; and after he was gone, as he was a man not very likely to hold his tongue, we were in the greater impatience to be gone ourselves.
the day came to an end with the same brightness; the night fell quiet and clear; lights came out in houses and hamlets and then, one after another, began to be put out; but it was past eleven, and we were long since strangely tortured with anxieties, before we heard the grinding of oars upon the rowing-pins.
at that, we looked out and saw the lass herself coming rowing to us in a boat.
she had trusted no one with our affairs, not even her sweetheart, if she had one; but as soon as her father was asleep, had left the house by a window, stolen a neighbour's boat, and come to our assistance single-handed.
i was abashed how to find expression for my thanks; but she was no less abashed at the thought of hearing them; begged us to lose no time and to hold our peace, saying -lrb- very properly -rrb- that the heart of our matter was in haste and silence; and so, what with one thing and another, she had set us on the lothian shore not far from carriden, had shaken hands with us, and was out again at sea and rowing for limekilns, before there was one word said either of her service or our gratitude.
even after she was gone, we had nothing to say, as indeed nothing was enough for such a kindness.
only alan stood a great while upon the shore shaking his head.
""it is a very fine lass," he said at last.
""david, it is a very fine lass."
and a matter of an hour later, as we were lying in a den on the sea-shore and i had been already dozing, he broke out again in commendations of her character.
for my part, i could say nothing, she was so simple a creature that my heart smote me both with remorse and fear: remorse because we had traded upon her ignorance; and fear lest we should have anyway involved her in the dangers of our situation.
chapter xxvii i come to mr. rankeillor the next day it was agreed that alan should fend for himself till sunset; but as soon as it began to grow dark, he should lie in the fields by the roadside near to newhalls, and stir for naught until he heard me whistling.
at first i proposed i should give him for a signal the "bonnie house of airlie," which was a favourite of mine; but he objected that as the piece was very commonly known, any ploughman might whistle it by accident; and taught me instead a little fragment of a highland air, which has run in my head from that day to this, and will likely run in my head when i lie dying.
every time it comes to me, it takes me off to that last day of my uncertainty, with alan sitting up in the bottom of the den, whistling and beating the measure with a finger, and the grey of the dawn coming on his face.
i was in the long street of queensferry before the sun was up.
it was a fairly built burgh, the houses of good stone, many slated; the town-hall not so fine, i thought, as that of peebles, nor yet the street so noble; but take it altogether, it put me to shame for my foul tatters.
as the morning went on, and the fires began to be kindled, and the windows to open, and the people to appear out of the houses, my concern and despondency grew ever the blacker.
i saw now that i had no grounds to stand upon; and no clear proof of my rights, nor so much as of my own identity.
if it was all a bubble, i was indeed sorely cheated and left in a sore pass.
even if things were as i conceived, it would in all likelihood take time to establish my contentions; and what time had i to spare with less than three shillings in my pocket, and a condemned, hunted man upon my hands to ship out of the country?
truly, if my hope broke with me, it might come to the gallows yet for both of us.
and as i continued to walk up and down, and saw people looking askance at me upon the street or out of windows, and nudging or speaking one to another with smiles, i began to take a fresh apprehension: that it might be no easy matter even to come to speech of the lawyer, far less to convince him of my story.
for the life of me i could not muster up the courage to address any of these reputable burghers; i thought shame even to speak with them in such a pickle of rags and dirt; and if i had asked for the house of such a man as mr. rankeillor, i suppose they would have burst out laughing in my face.
so i went up and down, and through the street, and down to the harbour-side, like a dog that has lost its master, with a strange gnawing in my inwards, and every now and then a movement of despair.
it grew to be high day at last, perhaps nine in the forenoon; and i was worn with these wanderings, and chanced to have stopped in front of a very good house on the landward side, a house with beautiful, clear glass windows, flowering knots upon the sills, the walls new-harled * and a chase-dog sitting yawning on the step like one that was at home.
well, i was even envying this dumb brute, when the door fell open and there issued forth a shrewd, ruddy, kindly, consequential man in a well-powdered wig and spectacles.
i was in such a plight that no one set eyes on me once, but he looked at me again; and this gentleman, as it proved, was so much struck with my poor appearance that he came straight up to me and asked me what i did.
* newly rough-cast.
i told him i was come to the queensferry on business, and taking heart of grace, asked him to direct me to the house of mr. rankeillor.
""why," said he, "that is his house that i have just come out of; and for a rather singular chance, i am that very man."
""then, sir," said i, "i have to beg the favour of an interview."
""i do not know your name," said he, "nor yet your face."
""my name is david balfour," said i. "david balfour?"
he repeated, in rather a high tone, like one surprised.
""and where have you come from, mr. david balfour?"
he asked, looking me pretty drily in the face.
""i have come from a great many strange places, sir," said i; "but i think it would be as well to tell you where and how in a more private manner."
he seemed to muse awhile, holding his lip in his hand, and looking now at me and now upon the causeway of the street.
""yes," says he, "that will be the best, no doubt."
and he led me back with him into his house, cried out to some one whom i could not see that he would be engaged all morning, and brought me into a little dusty chamber full of books and documents.
here he sate down, and bade me be seated; though i thought he looked a little ruefully from his clean chair to my muddy rags.
""and now," says he, "if you have any business, pray be brief and come swiftly to the point.
nec gemino bellum trojanum orditur ab ovo -- do you understand that?"
says he, with a keen look.
""i will even do as horace says, sir," i answered, smiling, "and carry you in medias res."
he nodded as if he was well pleased, and indeed his scrap of latin had been set to test me.
for all that, and though i was somewhat encouraged, the blood came in my face when i added: "i have reason to believe myself some rights on the estate of shaws."
he got a paper book out of a drawer and set it before him open.
""well?"
said he.
but i had shot my bolt and sat speechless.
""come, come, mr. balfour," said he, "you must continue.
where were you born?"
""in essendean, sir," said i, "the year 1733, the 12th of march."
he seemed to follow this statement in his paper book; but what that meant i knew not.
""your father and mother?"
said he.
""my father was alexander balfour, schoolmaster of that place," said i, "and my mother grace pitarrow; i think her people were from angus."
""have you any papers proving your identity?"
asked mr. rankeillor.
""no, sir," said i, "but they are in the hands of mr. campbell, the minister, and could be readily produced.
mr. campbell, too, would give me his word; and for that matter, i do not think my uncle would deny me."
""meaning mr. ebenezer balfour?"
says he.
""the same," said i. "whom you have seen?"
he asked.
""by whom i was received into his own house," i answered.
""did you ever meet a man of the name of hoseason?"
asked mr. rankeillor.
""i did so, sir, for my sins," said i; "for it was by his means and the procurement of my uncle, that i was kidnapped within sight of this town, carried to sea, suffered shipwreck and a hundred other hardships, and stand before you to-day in this poor accoutrement."
""you say you were shipwrecked," said rankeillor; "where was that?"
""off the south end of the isle of mull," said i. "the name of the isle on which i was cast up is the island earraid."
""ah!"
says he, smiling, "you are deeper than me in the geography.
but so far, i may tell you, this agrees pretty exactly with other informations that i hold.
but you say you were kidnapped; in what sense?"
""in the plain meaning of the word, sir," said i. "i was on my way to your house, when i was trepanned on board the brig, cruelly struck down, thrown below, and knew no more of anything till we were far at sea.
i was destined for the plantations; a fate that, in god's providence, i have escaped."
""the brig was lost on june the 27th," says he, looking in his book, "and we are now at august the 24th.
here is a considerable hiatus, mr. balfour, of near upon two months.
it has already caused a vast amount of trouble to your friends; and i own i shall not be very well contented until it is set right."
""indeed, sir," said i, "these months are very easily filled up; but yet before i told my story, i would be glad to know that i was talking to a friend."
""this is to argue in a circle," said the lawyer.
""i can not be convinced till i have heard you.
i can not be your friend till i am properly informed.
if you were more trustful, it would better befit your time of life.
and you know, mr. balfour, we have a proverb in the country that evil-doers are aye evil-dreaders."
""you are not to forget, sir," said i, "that i have already suffered by my trustfulness; and was shipped off to be a slave by the very man that -lrb- if i rightly understand -rrb- is your employer?"
all this while i had been gaining ground with mr. rankeillor, and in proportion as i gained ground, gaining confidence.
but at this sally, which i made with something of a smile myself, he fairly laughed aloud.
""no, no," said he, "it is not so bad as that.
fui, non sum.
i was indeed your uncle's man of business; but while you -lrb- imberbis juvenis custode remoto -rrb- were gallivanting in the west, a good deal of water has run under the bridges; and if your ears did not sing, it was not for lack of being talked about.
on the very day of your sea disaster, mr. campbell stalked into my office, demanding you from all the winds.
i had never heard of your existence; but i had known your father; and from matters in my competence -lrb- to be touched upon hereafter -rrb- i was disposed to fear the worst.
mr. ebenezer admitted having seen you; declared -lrb- what seemed improbable -rrb- that he had given you considerable sums; and that you had started for the continent of europe, intending to fulfil your education, which was probable and praiseworthy.
interrogated how you had come to send no word to mr. campbell, he deponed that you had expressed a great desire to break with your past life.
further interrogated where you now were, protested ignorance, but believed you were in leyden.
that is a close sum of his replies.
i am not exactly sure that any one believed him," continued mr. rankeillor with a smile; "and in particular he so much disrelished me expressions of mine that -lrb- in a word -rrb- he showed me to the door.
we were then at a full stand; for whatever shrewd suspicions we might entertain, we had no shadow of probation.
in the very article, comes captain hoseason with the story of your drowning; whereupon all fell through; with no consequences but concern to mr. campbell, injury to my pocket, and another blot upon your uncle's character, which could very ill afford it.
and now, mr. balfour," said he, "you understand the whole process of these matters, and can judge for yourself to what extent i may be trusted."
indeed he was more pedantic than i can represent him, and placed more scraps of latin in his speech; but it was all uttered with a fine geniality of eye and manner which went far to conquer my distrust.
moreover, i could see he now treated me as if i was myself beyond a doubt; so that first point of my identity seemed fully granted.
""sir," said i, "if i tell you my story, i must commit a friend's life to your discretion.
pass me your word it shall be sacred; and for what touches myself, i will ask no better guarantee than just your face."
he passed me his word very seriously.
""but," said he, "these are rather alarming prolocutions; and if there are in your story any little jostles to the law, i would beg you to bear in mind that i am a lawyer, and pass lightly."
thereupon i told him my story from the first, he listening with his spectacles thrust up and his eyes closed, so that i sometimes feared he was asleep.
but no such matter!
he heard every word -lrb- as i found afterward -rrb- with such quickness of hearing and precision of memory as often surprised me.
even strange outlandish gaelic names, heard for that time only, he remembered and would remind me of, years after.
yet when i called alan breck in full, we had an odd scene.
the name of alan had of course rung through scotland, with the news of the appin murder and the offer of the reward; and it had no sooner escaped me than the lawyer moved in his seat and opened his eyes.
""i would name no unnecessary names, mr. balfour," said he; "above all of highlanders, many of whom are obnoxious to the law."
""well, it might have been better not," said i, "but since i have let it slip, i may as well continue."
""not at all," said mr. rankeillor.
""i am somewhat dull of hearing, as you may have remarked; and i am far from sure i caught the name exactly.
we will call your friend, if you please, mr. thomson -- that there may be no reflections.
and in future, i would take some such way with any highlander that you may have to mention -- dead or alive."
by this, i saw he must have heard the name all too clearly, and had already guessed i might be coming to the murder.
if he chose to play this part of ignorance, it was no matter of mine; so i smiled, said it was no very highland-sounding name, and consented.
through all the rest of my story alan was mr. thomson; which amused me the more, as it was a piece of policy after his own heart.
james stewart, in like manner, was mentioned under the style of mr. thomson's kinsman; colin campbell passed as a mr. glen; and to cluny, when i came to that part of my tale, i gave the name of "mr. jameson, a highland chief."
it was truly the most open farce, and i wondered that the lawyer should care to keep it up; but, after all, it was quite in the taste of that age, when there were two parties in the state, and quiet persons, with no very high opinions of their own, sought out every cranny to avoid offence to either.
""well, well," said the lawyer, when i had quite done, "this is a great epic, a great odyssey of yours.
you must tell it, sir, in a sound latinity when your scholarship is riper; or in english if you please, though for my part i prefer the stronger tongue.
you have rolled much; quae regio in terris -- what parish in scotland -lrb- to make a homely translation -rrb- has not been filled with your wanderings?
you have shown, besides, a singular aptitude for getting into false positions; and, yes, upon the whole, for behaving well in them.
this mr. thomson seems to me a gentleman of some choice qualities, though perhaps a trifle bloody-minded.
it would please me none the worse, if -lrb- with all his merits -rrb- he were soused in the north sea, for the man, mr. david, is a sore embarrassment.
but you are doubtless quite right to adhere to him; indubitably, he adhered to you.
it comes -- we may say -- he was your true companion; nor less paribus curis vestigia figit, for i dare say you would both take an orra thought upon the gallows.
well, well, these days are fortunately by; and i think -lrb- speaking humanly -rrb- that you are near the end of your troubles."
as he thus moralised on my adventures, he looked upon me with so much humour and benignity that i could scarce contain my satisfaction.
i had been so long wandering with lawless people, and making my bed upon the hills and under the bare sky, that to sit once more in a clean, covered house, and to talk amicably with a gentleman in broadcloth, seemed mighty elevations.
even as i thought so, my eye fell on my unseemly tatters, and i was once more plunged in confusion.
but the lawyer saw and understood me.
he rose, called over the stair to lay another plate, for mr. balfour would stay to dinner, and led me into a bedroom in the upper part of the house.
here he set before me water and soap, and a comb; and laid out some clothes that belonged to his son; and here, with another apposite tag, he left me to my toilet.
chapter xxviii i go in quest of my inheritance i made what change i could in my appearance; and blithe was i to look in the glass and find the beggarman a thing of the past, and david balfour come to life again.
and yet i was ashamed of the change too, and, above all, of the borrowed clothes.
when i had done, mr. rankeillor caught me on the stair, made me his compliments, and had me again into the cabinet.
""sit ye down, mr. david," said he, "and now that you are looking a little more like yourself, let me see if i can find you any news.
you will be wondering, no doubt, about your father and your uncle?
to be sure it is a singular tale; and the explanation is one that i blush to have to offer you.
for," says he, really with embarrassment, "the matter hinges on a love affair."
""truly," said i, "i can not very well join that notion with my uncle."
""but your uncle, mr. david, was not always old," replied the lawyer, "and what may perhaps surprise you more, not always ugly.
he had a fine, gallant air; people stood in their doors to look after him, as he went by upon a mettle horse.
i have seen it with these eyes, and i ingenuously confess, not altogether without envy; for i was a plain lad myself and a plain man's son; and in those days it was a case of odi te, qui bellus es, sabelle."
""it sounds like a dream," said i. "ay, ay," said the lawyer, "that is how it is with youth and age.
nor was that all, but he had a spirit of his own that seemed to promise great things in the future.
in 1715, what must he do but run away to join the rebels?
it was your father that pursued him, found him in a ditch, and brought him back multum gementem; to the mirth of the whole country.
however, majora canamus -- the two lads fell in love, and that with the same lady.
mr. ebenezer, who was the admired and the beloved, and the spoiled one, made, no doubt, mighty certain of the victory; and when he found he had deceived himself, screamed like a peacock.
the whole country heard of it; now he lay sick at home, with his silly family standing round the bed in tears; now he rode from public-house to public-house, and shouted his sorrows into the lug of tom, dick, and harry.
your father, mr. david, was a kind gentleman; but he was weak, dolefully weak; took all this folly with a long countenance; and one day -- by your leave!
-- resigned the lady.
she was no such fool, however; it's from her you must inherit your excellent good sense; and she refused to be bandied from one to another.
both got upon their knees to her; and the upshot of the matter for that while was that she showed both of them the door.
that was in august; dear me!
the same year i came from college.
the scene must have been highly farcical."
i thought myself it was a silly business, but i could not forget my father had a hand in it.
""surely, sir, it had some note of tragedy," said i. "why, no, sir, not at all," returned the lawyer.
""for tragedy implies some ponderable matter in dispute, some dignus vindice nodus; and this piece of work was all about the petulance of a young ass that had been spoiled, and wanted nothing so much as to be tied up and soundly belted.
however, that was not your father's view; and the end of it was, that from concession to concession on your father's part, and from one height to another of squalling, sentimental selfishness upon your uncle's, they came at last to drive a sort of bargain, from whose ill results you have recently been smarting.
the one man took the lady, the other the estate.
now, mr. david, they talk a great deal of charity and generosity; but in this disputable state of life, i often think the happiest consequences seem to flow when a gentleman consults his lawyer, and takes all the law allows him.
anyhow, this piece of quixotry on your father's part, as it was unjust in itself, has brought forth a monstrous family of injustices.
your father and mother lived and died poor folk; you were poorly reared; and in the meanwhile, what a time it has been for the tenants on the estate of shaws!
and i might add -lrb- if it was a matter i cared much about -rrb- what a time for mr. ebenezer!"
""and yet that is certainly the strangest part of all," said i, "that a man's nature should thus change."
""true," said mr. rankeillor.
""and yet i imagine it was natural enough.
he could not think that he had played a handsome part.
those who knew the story gave him the cold shoulder; those who knew it not, seeing one brother disappear, and the other succeed in the estate, raised a cry of murder; so that upon all sides he found himself evited.
money was all he got by his bargain; well, he came to think the more of money.
he was selfish when he was young, he is selfish now that he is old; and the latter end of all these pretty manners and fine feelings you have seen for yourself."
""well, sir," said i, "and in all this, what is my position?"
""the estate is yours beyond a doubt," replied the lawyer.
""it matters nothing what your father signed, you are the heir of entail.
but your uncle is a man to fight the indefensible; and it would be likely your identity that he would call in question.
a lawsuit is always expensive, and a family lawsuit always scandalous; besides which, if any of your doings with your friend mr. thomson were to come out, we might find that we had burned our fingers.
the kidnapping, to be sure, would be a court card upon our side, if we could only prove it.
but it may be difficult to prove; and my advice -lrb- upon the whole -rrb- is to make a very easy bargain with your uncle, perhaps even leaving him at shaws where he has taken root for a quarter of a century, and contenting yourself in the meanwhile with a fair provision."
i told him i was very willing to be easy, and that to carry family concerns before the public was a step from which i was naturally much averse.
in the meantime -lrb- thinking to myself -rrb- i began to see the outlines of that scheme on which we afterwards acted.
""the great affair," i asked, "is to bring home to him the kidnapping?"
""surely," said mr. rankeillor, "and if possible, out of court.
for mark you here, mr. david: we could no doubt find some men of the covenant who would swear to your reclusion; but once they were in the box, we could no longer check their testimony, and some word of your friend mr. thomson must certainly crop out.
which -lrb- from what you have let fall -rrb- i can not think to be desirable."
""well, sir," said i, "here is my way of it."
and i opened my plot to him.
""but this would seem to involve my meeting the man thomson?"
says he, when i had done.
""i think so, indeed, sir," said i. "dear doctor!"
cries he, rubbing his brow.
""dear doctor!
no, mr. david, i am afraid your scheme is inadmissible.
i say nothing against your friend, mr. thomson: i know nothing against him; and if i did -- mark this, mr. david!
-- it would be my duty to lay hands on him.
now i put it to you: is it wise to meet?
he may have matters to his charge.
he may not have told you all.
his name may not be even thomson!"
cries the lawyer, twinkling; "for some of these fellows will pick up names by the roadside as another would gather haws."
""you must be the judge, sir," said i.
but it was clear my plan had taken hold upon his fancy, for he kept musing to himself till we were called to dinner and the company of mrs. rankeillor; and that lady had scarce left us again to ourselves and a bottle of wine, ere he was back harping on my proposal.
when and where was i to meet my friend mr. thomson; was i sure of mr. t.'s discretion; supposing we could catch the old fox tripping, would i consent to such and such a term of an agreement -- these and the like questions he kept asking at long intervals, while he thoughtfully rolled his wine upon his tongue.
when i had answered all of them, seemingly to his contentment, he fell into a still deeper muse, even the claret being now forgotten.
then he got a sheet of paper and a pencil, and set to work writing and weighing every word; and at last touched a bell and had his clerk into the chamber.
""torrance," said he, "i must have this written out fair against to-night; and when it is done, you will be so kind as put on your hat and be ready to come along with this gentleman and me, for you will probably be wanted as a witness."
""what, sir," cried i, as soon as the clerk was gone, "are you to venture it?"
""why, so it would appear," says he, filling his glass.
""but let us speak no more of business.
the very sight of torrance brings in my head a little droll matter of some years ago, when i had made a tryst with the poor oaf at the cross of edinburgh.
each had gone his proper errand; and when it came four o'clock, torrance had been taking a glass and did not know his master, and i, who had forgot my spectacles, was so blind without them, that i give you my word i did not know my own clerk."
and thereupon he laughed heartily.
i said it was an odd chance, and smiled out of politeness; but what held me all the afternoon in wonder, he kept returning and dwelling on this story, and telling it again with fresh details and laughter; so that i began at last to be quite put out of countenance and feel ashamed for my friend's folly.
towards the time i had appointed with alan, we set out from the house, mr. rankeillor and i arm in arm, and torrance following behind with the deed in his pocket and a covered basket in his hand.
all through the town, the lawyer was bowing right and left, and continually being button-holed by gentlemen on matters of burgh or private business; and i could see he was one greatly looked up to in the county.
at last we were clear of the houses, and began to go along the side of the haven and towards the hawes inn and the ferry pier, the scene of my misfortune.
i could not look upon the place without emotion, recalling how many that had been there with me that day were now no more: ransome taken, i could hope, from the evil to come; shuan passed where i dared not follow him; and the poor souls that had gone down with the brig in her last plunge.
all these, and the brig herself, i had outlived; and come through these hardships and fearful perils without scath.
my only thought should have been of gratitude; and yet i could not behold the place without sorrow for others and a chill of recollected fear.
i was so thinking when, upon a sudden, mr. rankeillor cried out, clapped his hand to his pockets, and began to laugh.
""why," he cries, "if this be not a farcical adventure!
after all that i said, i have forgot my glasses!"
at that, of course, i understood the purpose of his anecdote, and knew that if he had left his spectacles at home, it had been done on purpose, so that he might have the benefit of alan's help without the awkwardness of recognising him.
and indeed it was well thought upon; for now -lrb- suppose things to go the very worst -rrb- how could rankeillor swear to my friend's identity, or how be made to bear damaging evidence against myself?
for all that, he had been a long while of finding out his want, and had spoken to and recognised a good few persons as we came through the town; and i had little doubt myself that he saw reasonably well.
as soon as we were past the hawes -lrb- where i recognised the landlord smoking his pipe in the door, and was amazed to see him look no older -rrb- mr. rankeillor changed the order of march, walking behind with torrance and sending me forward in the manner of a scout.
i went up the hill, whistling from time to time my gaelic air; and at length i had the pleasure to hear it answered and to see alan rise from behind a bush.
he was somewhat dashed in spirits, having passed a long day alone skulking in the county, and made but a poor meal in an alehouse near dundas.
but at the mere sight of my clothes, he began to brighten up; and as soon as i had told him in what a forward state our matters were and the part i looked to him to play in what remained, he sprang into a new man.
""and that is a very good notion of yours," says he; "and i dare to say that you could lay your hands upon no better man to put it through than alan breck.
it is not a thing -lrb- mark ye -rrb- that any one could do, but takes a gentleman of penetration.
but it sticks in my head your lawyer-man will be somewhat wearying to see me," says alan.
accordingly i cried and waved on mr. rankeillor, who came up alone and was presented to my friend, mr. thomson.
""mr. thomson, i am pleased to meet you," said he.
""but i have forgotten my glasses; and our friend, mr. david here" -lrb- clapping me on the shoulder -rrb-, "will tell you that i am little better than blind, and that you must not be surprised if i pass you by to-morrow."
this he said, thinking that alan would be pleased; but the highlandman's vanity was ready to startle at a less matter than that.
""why, sir," says he, stiffly, "i would say it mattered the less as we are met here for a particular end, to see justice done to mr. balfour; and by what i can see, not very likely to have much else in common.
but i accept your apology, which was a very proper one to make."
""and that is more than i could look for, mr. thomson," said rankeillor, heartily.
""and now as you and i are the chief actors in this enterprise, i think we should come into a nice agreement; to which end, i propose that you should lend me your arm, for -lrb- what with the dusk and the want of my glasses -rrb- i am not very clear as to the path; and as for you, mr. david, you will find torrance a pleasant kind of body to speak with.
only let me remind you, it's quite needless he should hear more of your adventures or those of -- ahem -- mr. thomson."
accordingly these two went on ahead in very close talk, and torrance and i brought up the rear.
night was quite come when we came in view of the house of shaws.
ten had been gone some time; it was dark and mild, with a pleasant, rustling wind in the south-west that covered the sound of our approach; and as we drew near we saw no glimmer of light in any portion of the building.
it seemed my uncle was already in bed, which was indeed the best thing for our arrangements.
we made our last whispered consultations some fifty yards away; and then the lawyer and torrance and i crept quietly up and crouched down beside the corner of the house; and as soon as we were in our places, alan strode to the door without concealment and began to knock.
chapter xxix i come into my kingdom for some time alan volleyed upon the door, and his knocking only roused the echoes of the house and neighbourhood.
at last, however, i could hear the noise of a window gently thrust up, and knew that my uncle had come to his observatory.
by what light there was, he would see alan standing, like a dark shadow, on the steps; the three witnesses were hidden quite out of his view; so that there was nothing to alarm an honest man in his own house.
for all that, he studied his visitor awhile in silence, and when he spoke his voice had a quaver of misgiving.
""what's this?"
says he.
""this is nae kind of time of night for decent folk; and i hae nae trokings * wi" night-hawks.
what brings ye here?
i have a blunderbush."
* dealings.
""is that yoursel", mr. balfour?"
returned alan, stepping back and looking up into the darkness.
""have a care of that blunderbuss; they're nasty things to burst."
""what brings ye here?
and whae are ye?"
says my uncle, angrily.
""i have no manner of inclination to rowt out my name to the country-side," said alan; "but what brings me here is another story, being more of your affair than mine; and if ye're sure it's what ye would like, i'll set it to a tune and sing it to you."
""and what is "t?"
asked my uncle.
""david," says alan.
""what was that?"
cried my uncle, in a mighty changed voice.
""shall i give ye the rest of the name, then?"
said alan.
there was a pause; and then, "i'm thinking i'll better let ye in," says my uncle, doubtfully.
""i dare say that," said alan; "but the point is, would i go?
now i will tell you what i am thinking.
i am thinking that it is here upon this doorstep that we must confer upon this business; and it shall be here or nowhere at all whatever; for i would have you to understand that i am as stiffnecked as yoursel", and a gentleman of better family."
this change of note disconcerted ebenezer; he was a little while digesting it, and then says he, "weel, weel, what must be must," and shut the window.
but it took him a long time to get down-stairs, and a still longer to undo the fastenings, repenting -lrb- i dare say -rrb- and taken with fresh claps of fear at every second step and every bolt and bar.
at last, however, we heard the creak of the hinges, and it seems my uncle slipped gingerly out and -lrb- seeing that alan had stepped back a pace or two -rrb- sate him down on the top doorstep with the blunderbuss ready in his hands.
""and, now" says he, "mind i have my blunderbush, and if ye take a step nearer ye're as good as deid."
""and a very civil speech," says alan, "to be sure."
""na," says my uncle, "but this is no a very chanty kind of a proceeding, and i'm bound to be prepared.
and now that we understand each other, ye'll can name your business."
""why," says alan, "you that are a man of so much understanding, will doubtless have perceived that i am a hieland gentleman.
my name has nae business in my story; but the county of my friends is no very far from the isle of mull, of which ye will have heard.
it seems there was a ship lost in those parts; and the next day a gentleman of my family was seeking wreck-wood for his fire along the sands, when he came upon a lad that was half drowned.
well, he brought him to; and he and some other gentleman took and clapped him in an auld, ruined castle, where from that day to this he has been a great expense to my friends.
my friends are a wee wild-like, and not so particular about the law as some that i could name; and finding that the lad owned some decent folk, and was your born nephew, mr. balfour, they asked me to give ye a bit call and confer upon the matter.
and i may tell ye at the off-go, unless we can agree upon some terms, ye are little likely to set eyes upon him.
for my friends," added alan, simply, "are no very well off."
my uncle cleared his throat.
""i'm no very caring," says he.
""he wasnae a good lad at the best of it, and i've nae call to interfere."
""ay, ay," said alan, "i see what ye would be at: pretending ye do n't care, to make the ransom smaller."
""na," said my uncle, "it's the mere truth.
i take nae manner of interest in the lad, and i'll pay nae ransome, and ye can make a kirk and a mill of him for what i care."
""hoot, sir," says alan.
""blood's thicker than water, in the deil's name!
ye cannae desert your brother's son for the fair shame of it; and if ye did, and it came to be kennt, ye wouldnae be very popular in your country-side, or i'm the more deceived."
""i'm no just very popular the way it is," returned ebenezer; "and i dinnae see how it would come to be kennt.
no by me, onyway; nor yet by you or your friends.
so that's idle talk, my buckie," says he.
""then it'll have to be david that tells it," said alan.
""how that?"
says my uncle, sharply.
""ou, just this way," says alan.
""my friends would doubtless keep your nephew as long as there was any likelihood of siller to be made of it, but if there was nane, i am clearly of opinion they would let him gang where he pleased, and be damned to him!"
""ay, but i'm no very caring about that either," said my uncle.
""i wouldnae be muckle made up with that."
""i was thinking that," said alan.
""and what for why?"
asked ebenezer.
""why, mr. balfour," replied alan, "by all that i could hear, there were two ways of it: either ye liked david and would pay to get him back; or else ye had very good reasons for not wanting him, and would pay for us to keep him.
it seems it's not the first; well then, it's the second; and blythe am i to ken it, for it should be a pretty penny in my pocket and the pockets of my friends."
""i dinnae follow ye there," said my uncle.
""no?"
said alan.
""well, see here: you dinnae want the lad back; well, what do ye want done with him, and how much will ye pay?"
my uncle made no answer, but shifted uneasily on his seat.
""come, sir," cried alan.
""i would have you to ken that i am a gentleman; i bear a king's name; i am nae rider to kick my shanks at your hall door.
either give me an answer in civility, and that out of hand; or by the top of glencoe, i will ram three feet of iron through your vitals."
""eh, man," cried my uncle, scrambling to his feet, "give me a meenit!
what's like wrong with ye?
i'm just a plain man and nae dancing master; and i'm tryin to be as ceevil as it's morally possible.
as for that wild talk, it's fair disrepitable.
vitals, says you!
and where would i be with my blunderbush?"
he snarled.
""powder and your auld hands are but as the snail to the swallow against the bright steel in the hands of alan," said the other.
""before your jottering finger could find the trigger, the hilt would dirl on your breast-bane."
""eh, man, whae's denying it?"
said my uncle.
""pit it as ye please, hae" t your ain way; i'll do naething to cross ye.
just tell me what like ye'll be wanting, and ye'll see that we'll can agree fine."
""troth, sir," said alan, "i ask for nothing but plain dealing.
in two words: do ye want the lad killed or kept?"
""o, sirs!"
cried ebenezer.
""o, sirs, me!
that's no kind of language!"
""killed or kept!"
repeated alan.
""o, keepit, keepit!"
wailed my uncle.
""we'll have nae bloodshed, if you please."
""well," says alan, "as ye please; that'll be the dearer."
""the dearer?"
cries ebenezer.
""would ye fyle your hands wi" crime?"
""hoot!"
said alan, "they're baith crime, whatever!
and the killing's easier, and quicker, and surer.
keeping the lad'll be a fashious * job, a fashious, kittle business."
* troublesome.
""i'll have him keepit, though," returned my uncle.
""i never had naething to do with onything morally wrong; and i'm no gaun to begin to pleasure a wild hielandman."
""ye're unco scrupulous," sneered alan.
""i'm a man o" principle," said ebenezer, simply; "and if i have to pay for it, i'll have to pay for it.
and besides," says he, "ye forget the lad's my brother's son."
""well, well," said alan, "and now about the price.
it's no very easy for me to set a name upon it; i would first have to ken some small matters.
i would have to ken, for instance, what ye gave hoseason at the first off-go?"
""hoseason!"
cries my uncle, struck aback.
""what for?"
""for kidnapping david," says alan.
""it's a lee, it's a black lee!"
cried my uncle.
""he was never kidnapped.
he leed in his throat that tauld ye that.
kidnapped?
he never was!"
""that's no fault of mine nor yet of yours," said alan; "nor yet of hoseason's, if he's a man that can be trusted."
""what do ye mean?"
cried ebenezer.
""did hoseason tell ye?"
""why, ye donnered auld runt, how else would i ken?"
cried alan.
""hoseason and me are partners; we gang shares; so ye can see for yoursel" what good ye can do leeing.
and i must plainly say ye drove a fool's bargain when ye let a man like the sailor-man so far forward in your private matters.
but that's past praying for; and ye must lie on your bed the way ye made it.
and the point in hand is just this: what did ye pay him?"
""has he tauld ye himsel"?"
asked my uncle.
""that's my concern," said alan.
""weel," said my uncle, "i dinnae care what he said, he leed, and the solemn god's truth is this, that i gave him twenty pound.
but i'll be perfec "ly honest with ye: forby that, he was to have the selling of the lad in caroliny, whilk would be as muckle mair, but no from my pocket, ye see."
""thank you, mr. thomson.
that will do excellently well," said the lawyer, stepping forward; and then mighty civilly, "good-evening, mr. balfour," said he.
and, "good-evening, uncle ebenezer," said i. and, "it's a braw nicht, mr. balfour," added torrance.
never a word said my uncle, neither black nor white; but just sat where he was on the top door-step and stared upon us like a man turned to stone.
alan filched away his blunderbuss; and the lawyer, taking him by the arm, plucked him up from the doorstep, led him into the kitchen, whither we all followed, and set him down in a chair beside the hearth, where the fire was out and only a rush-light burning.
there we all looked upon him for a while, exulting greatly in our success, but yet with a sort of pity for the man's shame.
""come, come, mr. ebenezer," said the lawyer, "you must not be down-hearted, for i promise you we shall make easy terms.
in the meanwhile give us the cellar key, and torrance shall draw us a bottle of your father's wine in honour of the event."
then, turning to me and taking me by the hand, "mr. david," says he, "i wish you all joy in your good fortune, which i believe to be deserved."
and then to alan, with a spice of drollery, "mr. thomson, i pay you my compliment; it was most artfully conducted; but in one point you somewhat outran my comprehension.
do i understand your name to be james?
or charles?
or is it george, perhaps?"
""and why should it be any of the three, sir?"
quoth alan, drawing himself up, like one who smelt an offence.
""only, sir, that you mentioned a king's name," replied rankeillor; "and as there has never yet been a king thomson, or his fame at least has never come my way, i judged you must refer to that you had in baptism."
this was just the stab that alan would feel keenest, and i am free to confess he took it very ill.
not a word would he answer, but stepped off to the far end of the kitchen, and sat down and sulked; and it was not till i stepped after him, and gave him my hand, and thanked him by title as the chief spring of my success, that he began to smile a bit, and was at last prevailed upon to join our party.
by that time we had the fire lighted, and a bottle of wine uncorked; a good supper came out of the basket, to which torrance and i and alan set ourselves down; while the lawyer and my uncle passed into the next chamber to consult.
they stayed there closeted about an hour; at the end of which period they had come to a good understanding, and my uncle and i set our hands to the agreement in a formal manner.
by the terms of this, my uncle bound himself to satisfy rankeillor as to his intromissions, and to pay me two clear thirds of the yearly income of shaws.
so the beggar in the ballad had come home; and when i lay down that night on the kitchen chests, i was a man of means and had a name in the country.
alan and torrance and rankeillor slept and snored on their hard beds; but for me who had lain out under heaven and upon dirt and stones, so many days and nights, and often with an empty belly, and in fear of death, this good change in my case unmanned me more than any of the former evil ones; and i lay till dawn, looking at the fire on the roof and planning the future.
chapter xxx good-bye so far as i was concerned myself, i had come to port; but i had still alan, to whom i was so much beholden, on my hands; and i felt besides a heavy charge in the matter of the murder and james of the glens.
on both these heads i unbosomed to rankeillor the next morning, walking to and fro about six of the clock before the house of shaws, and with nothing in view but the fields and woods that had been my ancestors" and were now mine.
even as i spoke on these grave subjects, my eye would take a glad bit of a run over the prospect, and my heart jump with pride.
about my clear duty to my friend, the lawyer had no doubt.
i must help him out of the county at whatever risk; but in the case of james, he was of a different mind.
""mr. thomson," says he, "is one thing, mr. thomson's kinsman quite another.
i know little of the facts, but i gather that a great noble -lrb- whom we will call, if you like, the d. of a. -rrb- * has some concern and is even supposed to feel some animosity in the matter.
the d. of a. is doubtless an excellent nobleman; but, mr. david, timeo qui nocuere deos.
if you interfere to balk his vengeance, you should remember there is one way to shut your testimony out; and that is to put you in the dock.
there, you would be in the same pickle as mr. thomson's kinsman.
you will object that you are innocent; well, but so is he.
and to be tried for your life before a highland jury, on a highland quarrel and with a highland judge upon the bench, would be a brief transition to the gallows."
* the duke of argyle.
now i had made all these reasonings before and found no very good reply to them; so i put on all the simplicity i could.
""in that case, sir," said i, "i would just have to be hanged -- would i not?"
""my dear boy," cries he, "go in god's name, and do what you think is right.
it is a poor thought that at my time of life i should be advising you to choose the safe and shameful; and i take it back with an apology.
go and do your duty; and be hanged, if you must, like a gentleman.
there are worse things in the world than to be hanged."
""not many, sir," said i, smiling.
""why, yes, sir," he cried, "very many.
and it would be ten times better for your uncle -lrb- to go no farther afield -rrb- if he were dangling decently upon a gibbet."
thereupon he turned into the house -lrb- still in a great fervour of mind, so that i saw i had pleased him heartily -rrb- and there he wrote me two letters, making his comments on them as he wrote.
""this," says he, "is to my bankers, the british linen company, placing a credit to your name.
consult mr. thomson, he will know of ways; and you, with this credit, can supply the means.
i trust you will be a good husband of your money; but in the affair of a friend like mr. thomson, i would be even prodigal.
then for his kinsman, there is no better way than that you should seek the advocate, tell him your tale, and offer testimony; whether he may take it or not, is quite another matter, and will turn on the d. of a. now, that you may reach the lord advocate well recommended, i give you here a letter to a namesake of your own, the learned mr. balfour of pilrig, a man whom i esteem.
it will look better that you should be presented by one of your own name; and the laird of pilrig is much looked up to in the faculty and stands well with lord advocate grant.
i would not trouble him, if i were you, with any particulars; and -lrb- do you know? -rrb-
i think it would be needless to refer to mr. thomson.
form yourself upon the laird, he is a good model; when you deal with the advocate, be discreet; and in all these matters, may the lord guide you, mr. david!"
thereupon he took his farewell, and set out with torrance for the ferry, while alan and i turned our faces for the city of edinburgh.
as we went by the footpath and beside the gateposts and the unfinished lodge, we kept looking back at the house of my fathers.
it stood there, bare and great and smokeless, like a place not lived in; only in one of the top windows, there was the peak of a nightcap bobbing up and down and back and forward, like the head of a rabbit from a burrow.
i had little welcome when i came, and less kindness while i stayed; but at least i was watched as i went away.
alan and i went slowly forward upon our way, having little heart either to walk or speak.
the same thought was uppermost in both, that we were near the time of our parting; and remembrance of all the bygone days sate upon us sorely.
we talked indeed of what should be done; and it was resolved that alan should keep to the county, biding now here, now there, but coming once in the day to a particular place where i might be able to communicate with him, either in my own person or by messenger.
in the meanwhile, i was to seek out a lawyer, who was an appin stewart, and a man therefore to be wholly trusted; and it should be his part to find a ship and to arrange for alan's safe embarkation.
no sooner was this business done, than the words seemed to leave us; and though i would seek to jest with alan under the name of mr. thomson, and he with me on my new clothes and my estate, you could feel very well that we were nearer tears than laughter.
we came the by-way over the hill of corstorphine; and when we got near to the place called rest-and-be-thankful, and looked down on corstorphine bogs and over to the city and the castle on the hill, we both stopped, for we both knew without a word said that we had come to where our ways parted.
here he repeated to me once again what had been agreed upon between us: the address of the lawyer, the daily hour at which alan might be found, and the signals that were to be made by any that came seeking him.
then i gave what money i had -lrb- a guinea or two of rankeillor's -rrb- so that he should not starve in the meanwhile; and then we stood a space, and looked over at edinburgh in silence.
""well, good-bye," said alan, and held out his left hand.
""good-bye," said i, and gave the hand a little grasp, and went off down hill.
neither one of us looked the other in the face, nor so long as he was in my view did i take one back glance at the friend i was leaving.
but as i went on my way to the city, i felt so lost and lonesome, that i could have found it in my heart to sit down by the dyke, and cry and weep like any baby.
it was coming near noon when i passed in by the west kirk and the grassmarket into the streets of the capital.
the huge height of the buildings, running up to ten and fifteen storeys, the narrow arched entries that continually vomited passengers, the wares of the merchants in their windows, the hubbub and endless stir, the foul smells and the fine clothes, and a hundred other particulars too small to mention, struck me into a kind of stupor of surprise, so that i let the crowd carry me to and fro; and yet all the time what i was thinking of was alan at rest-and-be-thankful; and all the time -lrb- although you would think i would not choose but be delighted with these braws and novelties -rrb- there was a cold gnawing in my inside like a remorse for something wrong.
_book_title_: robert_louis_stevenson___the_black_arrow.txt.out
prologue -- john amend-all on a certain afternoon, in the late springtime, the bell upon tunstall moat house was heard ringing at an unaccustomed hour.
far and near, in the forest and in the fields along the river, people began to desert their labours and hurry towards the sound; and in tunstall hamlet a group of poor country-folk stood wondering at the summons.
tunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of old king henry vi., wore much the same appearance as it wears to-day.
a score or so of houses, heavily framed with oak, stood scattered in a long green valley ascending from the river.
at the foot, the road crossed a bridge, and mounting on the other side, disappeared into the fringes of the forest on its way to the moat house, and further forth to holywood abbey.
half-way up the village, the church stood among yews.
on every side the slopes were crowned and the view bounded by the green elms and greening oak-trees of the forest.
hard by the bridge, there was a stone cross upon a knoll, and here the group had collected -- half a dozen women and one tall fellow in a russet smock -- discussing what the bell betided.
an express had gone through the hamlet half an hour before, and drunk a pot of ale in the saddle, not daring to dismount for the hurry of his errand; but he had been ignorant himself of what was forward, and only bore sealed letters from sir daniel brackley to sir oliver oates, the parson, who kept the moat house in the master's absence.
but now there was the noise of a horse; and soon, out of the edge of the wood and over the echoing bridge, there rode up young master richard shelton, sir daniel's ward.
he, at the least, would know, and they hailed him and begged him to explain.
he drew bridle willingly enough -- a young fellow not yet eighteen, sun-browned and grey-eyed, in a jacket of deer's leather, with a black velvet collar, a green hood upon his head, and a steel cross-bow at his back.
the express, it appeared, had brought great news.
a battle was impending.
sir daniel had sent for every man that could draw a bow or carry a bill to go post-haste to kettley, under pain of his severe displeasure; but for whom they were to fight, or of where the battle was expected, dick knew nothing.
sir oliver would come shortly himself, and bennet hatch was arming at that moment, for he it was who should lead the party.
""it is the ruin of this kind land," a woman said.
""if the barons live at war, ploughfolk must eat roots."
""nay," said dick, "every man that follows shall have sixpence a day, and archers twelve."
""if they live," returned the woman, "that may very well be; but how if they die, my master?"
""they can not better die than for their natural lord," said dick.
""no natural lord of mine," said the man in the smock.
""i followed the walsinghams; so we all did down brierly way, till two years ago, come candlemas.
and now i must side with brackley!
it was the law that did it; call ye that natural?
but now, what with sir daniel and what with sir oliver -- that knows more of law than honesty -- i have no natural lord but poor king harry the sixt, god bless him!
-- the poor innocent that can not tell his right hand from his left."
""ye speak with an ill tongue, friend," answered dick, "to miscall your good master and my lord the king in the same libel.
but king harry -- praised be the saints!
-- has come again into his right mind, and will have all things peaceably ordained.
and as for sir daniel, y" are very brave behind his back.
but i will be no tale-bearer; and let that suffice."
""i say no harm of you, master richard," returned the peasant.
""y" are a lad; but when ye come to a man's inches, ye will find ye have an empty pocket.
i say no more: the saints help sir daniel's neighbours, and the blessed maid protect his wards!"
""clipsby," said richard, "you speak what i can not hear with honour.
sir daniel is my good master, and my guardian."
""come, now, will ye read me a riddle?"
returned clipsby.
""on whose side is sir daniel?"
""i know not," said dick, colouring a little; for his guardian had changed sides continually in the troubles of that period, and every change had brought him some increase of fortune.
""ay," returned clipsby, "you, nor no man.
for, indeed, he is one that goes to bed lancaster and gets up york."
just then the bridge rang under horse-shoe iron, and the party turned and saw bennet hatch come galloping -- a brown-faced, grizzled fellow, heavy of hand and grim of mien, armed with sword and spear, a steel salet on his head, a leather jack upon his body.
he was a great man in these parts; sir daniel's right hand in peace and war, and at that time, by his master's interest, bailiff of the hundred.
""clipsby," he shouted, "off to the moat house, and send all other laggards the same gate.
bowyer will give you jack and salet.
we must ride before curfew.
look to it: he that is last at the lych-gate sir daniel shall reward.
look to it right well!
i know you for a man of naught.
nance," he added, to one of the women, "is old appleyard up town?"
""i'll warrant you," replied the woman.
""in his field, for sure."
so the group dispersed, and while clipsby walked leisurely over the bridge, bennet and young shelton rode up the road together, through the village and past the church.
""ye will see the old shrew," said bennet.
""he will waste more time grumbling and prating of harry the fift than would serve a man to shoe a horse.
and all because he has been to the french wars!"
the house to which they were bound was the last in the village, standing alone among lilacs; and beyond it, on three sides, there was open meadow rising towards the borders of the wood.
hatch dismounted, threw his rein over the fence, and walked down the field, dick keeping close at his elbow, to where the old soldier was digging, knee-deep in his cabbages, and now and again, in a cracked voice, singing a snatch of song.
he was all dressed in leather, only his hood and tippet were of black frieze, and tied with scarlet; his face was like a walnut-shell, both for colour and wrinkles; but his old grey eye was still clear enough, and his sight unabated.
perhaps he was deaf; perhaps he thought it unworthy of an old archer of agincourt to pay any heed to such disturbances; but neither the surly notes of the alarm bell, nor the near approach of bennet and the lad, appeared at all to move him; and he continued obstinately digging, and piped up, very thin and shaky: "now, dear lady, if thy will be, i pray you that you will rue on me."
""nick appleyard," said hatch, "sir oliver commends him to you, and bids that ye shall come within this hour to the moat house, there to take command."
the old fellow looked up.
""save you, my masters!"
he said, grinning.
""and where goeth master hatch?"
""master hatch is off to kettley, with every man that we can horse," returned bennet.
""there is a fight toward, it seems, and my lord stays a reinforcement."
""ay, verily," returned appleyard.
""and what will ye leave me to garrison withal?"
""i leave you six good men, and sir oliver to boot," answered hatch.
""it'll not hold the place," said appleyard; "the number sufficeth not.
it would take two score to make it good."
""why, it's for that we came to you, old shrew!"
replied the other.
""who else is there but you that could do aught in such a house with such a garrison?"
""ay!
when the pinch comes, ye remember the old shoe," returned nick.
""there is not a man of you can back a horse or hold a bill; and as for archery -- st. michael!
if old harry the fift were back again, he would stand and let ye shoot at him for a farthen a shoot!"
""nay, nick, there's some can draw a good bow yet," said bennet.
""draw a good bow!"
cried appleyard.
""yes!
but who'll shoot me a good shoot?
it's there the eye comes in, and the head between your shoulders.
now, what might you call a long shoot, bennet hatch?"
""well," said bennet, looking about him, "it would be a long shoot from here into the forest."
""ay, it would be a longish shoot," said the old fellow, turning to look over his shoulder; and then he put up his hand over his eyes, and stood staring.
""why, what are you looking at?"
asked bennet, with a chuckle.
""do, you see harry the fift?"
the veteran continued looking up the hill in silence.
the sun shone broadly over the shelving meadows; a few white sheep wandered browsing; all was still but the distant jangle of the bell.
""what is it, appleyard?"
asked dick.
""why, the birds," said appleyard.
and, sure enough, over the top of the forest, where it ran down in a tongue among the meadows, and ended in a pair of goodly green elms, about a bowshot from the field where they were standing, a flight of birds was skimming to and fro, in evident disorder.
""what of the birds?"
said bennet.
""ay!"
returned appleyard, "y" are a wise man to go to war, master bennet.
birds are a good sentry; in forest places they be the first line of battle.
look you, now, if we lay here in camp, there might be archers skulking down to get the wind of us; and here would you be, none the wiser!"
""why, old shrew," said hatch, "there be no men nearer us than sir daniel's, at kettley; y" are as safe as in london tower; and ye raise scares upon a man for a few chaffinches and sparrows!"
""hear him!"
grinned appleyard.
""how many a rogue would give his two crop ears to have a shoot at either of us?
saint michael, man!
they hate us like two polecats!"
""well, sooth it is, they hate sir daniel," answered hatch, a little sobered.
""ay, they hate sir daniel, and they hate every man that serves with him," said appleyard; "and in the first order of hating, they hate bennet hatch and old nicholas the bowman.
see ye here: if there was a stout fellow yonder in the wood-edge, and you and i stood fair for him -- as, by saint george, we stand!
-- which, think ye, would he choose?"
""you, for a good wager," answered hatch.
""my surcoat to a leather belt, it would be you!"
cried the old archer.
""ye burned grimstone, bennet -- they'll ne'er forgive you that, my master.
and as for me, i'll soon be in a good place, god grant, and out of bow-shoot -- ay, and cannon-shoot -- of all their malices.
i am an old man, and draw fast to homeward, where the bed is ready.
but for you, bennet, y" are to remain behind here at your own peril, and if ye come to my years unhanged, the old true-blue english spirit will be dead."
""y" are the shrewishest old dolt in tunstall forest," returned hatch, visibly ruffled by these threats.
""get ye to your arms before sir oliver come, and leave prating for one good while.
an ye had talked so much with harry the fift, his ears would ha" been richer than his pocket."
an arrow sang in the air, like a huge hornet; it struck old appleyard between the shoulder-blades, and pierced him clean through, and he fell forward on his face among the cabbages.
hatch, with a broken cry, leapt into the air; then, stooping double, he ran for the cover of the house.
and in the meanwhile dick shelton had dropped behind a lilac, and had his crossbow bent and shouldered, covering the point of the forest.
not a leaf stirred.
the sheep were patiently browsing; the birds had settled.
but there lay the old man, with a cloth-yard arrow standing in his back; and there were hatch holding to the gable, and dick crouching and ready behind the lilac bush.
""d'ye see aught?"
cried hatch.
""not a twig stirs," said dick.
""i think shame to leave him lying," said bennet, coming forward once more with hesitating steps and a very pale countenance.
""keep a good eye on the wood, master shelton -- keep a clear eye on the wood.
the saints assoil us!
here was a good shoot!"
bennet raised the old archer on his knee.
he was not yet dead; his face worked, and his eyes shut and opened like machinery, and he had a most horrible, ugly look of one in pain.
""can ye hear, old nick?"
asked hatch.
""have ye a last wish before ye wend, old brother?"
""pluck out the shaft, and let me pass, a" mary's name!"
gasped appleyard.
""i be done with old england.
pluck it out!"
""master dick," said bennet, "come hither, and pull me a good pull upon the arrow.
he would fain pass, the poor sinner."
dick laid down his cross-bow, and pulling hard upon the arrow, drew it forth.
a gush of blood followed; the old archer scrambled half upon his feet, called once upon the name of god, and then fell dead.
hatch, upon his knees among the cabbages, prayed fervently for the welfare of the passing spirit.
but even as he prayed, it was plain that his mind was still divided, and he kept ever an eye upon the corner of the wood from which the shot had come.
when he had done, he got to his feet again, drew off one of his mailed gauntlets, and wiped his pale face, which was all wet with terror.
""ay," he said, "it'll be my turn next."
""who hath done this, bennet?"
richard asked, still holding the arrow in his hand.
""nay, the saints know," said hatch.
""here are a good two score christian souls that we have hunted out of house and holding, he and i.
he has paid his shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long, mayhap, ere i pay mine.
sir daniel driveth over-hard."
""this is a strange shaft," said the lad, looking at the arrow in his hand.
""ay, by my faith!"
cried bennet.
""black, and black-feathered.
here is an ill-favoured shaft, by my sooth!
for black, they say, bodes burial.
and here be words written.
wipe the blood away.
what read ye?"""
appulyaird fro jon amend-all,"" read shelton.
""what should this betoken?"
""nay, i like it not," returned the retainer, shaking his head.
""john amend-all!
here is a rogue's name for those that be up in the world!
but why stand we here to make a mark?
take him by the knees, good master shelton, while i lift him by the shoulders, and let us lay him in his house.
this will be a rare shog to poor sir oliver; he will turn paper colour; he will pray like a windmill."
they took up the old archer, and carried him between them into his house, where he had dwelt alone.
and there they laid him on the floor, out of regard for the mattress, and sought, as best they might, to straighten and compose his limbs.
appleyard's house was clean and bare.
there was a bed, with a blue cover, a cupboard, a great chest, a pair of joint-stools, a hinged table in the chimney corner, and hung upon the wall the old soldier's armoury of bows and defensive armour.
hatch began to look about him curiously.
""nick had money," he said.
""he may have had three score pounds put by.
i would i could light upo n't!
when ye lose an old friend, master richard, the best consolation is to heir him.
see, now, this chest.
i would go a mighty wager there is a bushel of gold therein.
he had a strong hand to get, and a hard hand to keep withal, had appleyard the archer.
now may god rest his spirit!
near eighty year he was afoot and about, and ever getting; but now he's on the broad of his back, poor shrew, and no more lacketh; and if his chattels came to a good friend, he would be merrier, methinks, in heaven."
""come, hatch," said dick, "respect his stone-blind eyes.
would ye rob the man before his body?
nay, he would walk!"
hatch made several signs of the cross; but by this time his natural complexion had returned, and he was not easily to be dashed from any purpose.
it would have gone hard with the chest had not the gate sounded, and presently after the door of the house opened and admitted a tall, portly, ruddy, black-eyed man of near fifty, in a surplice and black robe.
""appleyard" -- the newcomer was saying, as he entered; but he stopped dead.
""ave maria!"
he cried.
""saints be our shield!
what cheer is this?"
""cold cheer with appleyard, sir parson," answered hatch, with perfect cheerfulness.
""shot at his own door, and alighteth even now at purgatory gates.
ay!
there, if tales be true, he shall lack neither coal nor candle."
sir oliver groped his way to a joint-stool, and sat down upon it, sick and white.
""this is a judgment!
o, a great stroke!"
he sobbed, and rattled off a leash of prayers.
hatch meanwhile reverently doffed his salet and knelt down.
""ay, bennet," said the priest, somewhat recovering, "and what may this be?
what enemy hath done this?"
""here, sir oliver, is the arrow.
see, it is written upon with words," said dick.
""nay," cried the priest, "this is a foul hearing!
john amend-all!
a right lollardy word.
and black of hue, as for an omen!
sirs, this knave arrow likes me not.
but it importeth rather to take counsel.
who should this be?
bethink you, bennet.
of so many black ill-willers, which should he be that doth so hardily outface us?
simnel?
i do much question it.
the walsinghams?
nay, they are not yet so broken; they still think to have the law over us, when times change.
there was simon malmesbury, too.
how think ye, bennet?"
""what think ye, sir," returned hatch, "of ellis duckworth?"
""nay, bennet, never.
nay, not he," said the priest.
""there cometh never any rising, bennet, from below -- so all judicious chroniclers concord in their opinion; but rebellion travelleth ever downward from above; and when dick, tom, and harry take them to their bills, look ever narrowly to see what lord is profited thereby.
now, sir daniel, having once more joined him to the queen's party, is in ill odour with the yorkist lords.
thence, bennet, comes the blow -- by what procuring, i yet seek; but therein lies the nerve of this discomfiture."
""a n't please you, sir oliver," said bennet, "the axles are so hot in this country that i have long been smelling fire.
so did this poor sinner, appleyard.
and, by your leave, men's spirits are so foully inclined to all of us, that it needs neither york nor lancaster to spur them on.
hear my plain thoughts: you, that are a clerk, and sir daniel, that sails on any wind, ye have taken many men's goods, and beaten and hanged not a few.
y" are called to count for this; in the end, i wot not how, ye have ever the uppermost at law, and ye think all patched.
but give me leave, sir oliver: the man that ye have dispossessed and beaten is but the angrier, and some day, when the black devil is by, he will up with his bow and clout me a yard of arrow through your inwards."
""nay, bennet, y" are in the wrong.
bennet, ye should be glad to be corrected," said sir oliver.
""y" are a prater, bennet, a talker, a babbler; your mouth is wider than your two ears.
mend it, bennet, mend it."
""nay, i say no more.
have it as ye list," said the retainer.
the priest now rose from the stool, and from the writing-case that hung about his neck took forth wax and a taper, and a flint and steel.
with these he sealed up the chest and the cupboard with sir daniel's arms, hatch looking on disconsolate; and then the whole party proceeded, somewhat timorously, to sally from the house and get to horse."
't is time we were on the road, sir oliver," said hatch, as he held the priest's stirrup while he mounted.
""ay; but, bennet, things are changed," returned the parson.
""there is now no appleyard -- rest his soul!
-- to keep the garrison.
i shall keep you, bennet.
i must have a good man to rest me on in this day of black arrows.
"the arrow that flieth by day," saith the evangel; i have no mind of the context; nay, i am a sluggard priest, i am too deep in men's affairs.
well, let us ride forth, master hatch.
the jackmen should be at the church by now."
so they rode forward down the road, with the wind after them, blowing the tails of the parson's cloak; and behind them, as they went, clouds began to arise and blot out the sinking sun.
they had passed three of the scattered houses that make up tunstall hamlet, when, coming to a turn, they saw the church before them.
ten or a dozen houses clustered immediately round it; but to the back the churchyard was next the meadows.
at the lych-gate, near a score of men were gathered, some in the saddle, some standing by their horses" heads.
they were variously armed and mounted; some with spears, some with bills, some with bows, and some bestriding plough-horses, still splashed with the mire of the furrow; for these were the very dregs of the country, and all the better men and the fair equipments were already with sir daniel in the field.
""we have not done amiss, praised be the cross of holywood!
sir daniel will be right well content," observed the priest, inwardly numbering the troop.
""who goes?
stand!
if ye be true!"
shouted bennet.
a man was seen slipping through the churchyard among the yews; and at the sound of this summons he discarded all concealment, and fairly took to his heels for the forest.
the men at the gate, who had been hitherto unaware of the stranger's presence, woke and scattered.
those who had dismounted began scrambling into the saddle; the rest rode in pursuit; but they had to make the circuit of the consecrated ground, and it was plain their quarry would escape them.
hatch, roaring an oath, put his horse at the hedge, to head him off; but the beast refused, and sent his rider sprawling in the dust.
and though he was up again in a moment, and had caught the bridle, the time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained too great a lead for any hope of capture.
the wisest of all had been dick shelton.
instead of starting in a vain pursuit, he had whipped his crossbow from his back, bent it, and set a quarrel to the string; and now, when the others had desisted, he turned to bennet and asked if he should shoot.
""shoot!
shoot!"
cried the priest, with sanguinary violence.
""cover him, master dick," said bennet.
""bring me him down like a ripe apple."
the fugitive was now within but a few leaps of safety; but this last part of the meadow ran very steeply uphill; and the man ran slower in proportion.
what with the greyness of the falling night, and the uneven movements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as dick levelled his bow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half desire that he might miss.
the quarrel sped.
the man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose from hatch and the pursuers.
but they were counting their corn before the harvest.
the man fell lightly; he was lightly afoot again, turned and waved his cap in a bravado, and was out of sight next moment in the margin of the wood.
""and the plague go with him!"
cried bennet.
""he has thieves" heels; he can run, by st banbury!
but you touched him, master shelton; he has stolen your quarrel, may he never have good i grudge him less!"
""nay, but what made he by the church?"
asked sir oliver.
""i am shrewdly afeared there has been mischief here.
clipsby, good fellow, get ye down from your horse, and search thoroughly among the yews."
clipsby was gone but a little while ere he returned carrying a paper.
""this writing was pinned to the church door," he said, handing it to the parson.
""i found naught else, sir parson."
""now, by the power of mother church," cried sir oliver, "but this runs hard on sacrilege!
for the king's good pleasure, or the lord of the manor -- well!
but that every run-the-hedge in a green jerkin should fasten papers to the chancel door -- nay, it runs hard on sacrilege, hard; and men have burned for matters of less weight.
but what have we here?
the light falls apace.
good master richard, y" have young eyes.
read me, i pray, this libel."
dick shelton took the paper in his hand and read it aloud.
it contained some lines of very rugged doggerel, hardly even rhyming, written in a gross character, and most uncouthly spelt.
with the spelling somewhat bettered, this is how they ran: "i had four blak arrows under my belt, four for the greefs that i have felt, four for the nomber of ill menne that have opressid me now and then.
one is gone; one is wele sped; old apulyaird is ded.
one is for maister bennet hatch, that burned grimstone, walls and thatch.
one for sir oliver oates, that cut sir harry shelton's throat.
sir daniel, ye shull have the fourt; we shall think it fair sport.
ye shull each have your own part, a blak arrow in each blak heart.
get ye to your knees for to pray: ye are ded theeves, by yea and nay!
""jon amend-all of the green wood, and his jolly fellaweship.
""item, we have mo arrowes and goode hempen cord for otheres of your following."
""now, well-a-day for charity and the christian graces!"
cried sir oliver, lamentably.
""sirs, this is an ill world, and groweth daily worse.
i will swear upon the cross of holywood i am as innocent of that good knight's hurt, whether in act or purpose, as the babe unchristened.
neither was his throat cut; for therein they are again in error, as there still live credible witnesses to show."
""it boots not, sir parson," said bennet.
""here is unseasonable talk."
""nay, master bennet, not so.
keep ye in your due place, good bennet," answered the priest.
""i shall make mine innocence appear.
i will, upon no consideration, lose my poor life in error.
i take all men to witness that i am clear of this matter.
i was not even in the moat house.
i was sent of an errand before nine upon the clock" -- "sir oliver," said hatch, interrupting, "since it please you not to stop this sermon, i will take other means.
goffe, sound to horse."
and while the tucket was sounding, bennet moved close to the bewildered parson, and whispered violently in his ear.
dick shelton saw the priest's eye turned upon him for an instant in a startled glance.
he had some cause for thought; for this sir harry shelton was his own natural father.
but he said never a word, and kept his countenance unmoved.
hatch and sir oliver discussed together for a while their altered situation; ten men, it was decided between them, should be reserved, not only to garrison the moat house, but to escort the priest across the wood.
in the meantime, as bennet was to remain behind, the command of the reinforcement was given to master shelton.
indeed, there was no choice; the men were loutish fellows, dull and unskilled in war, while dick was not only popular, but resolute and grave beyond his age.
although his youth had been spent in these rough, country places, the lad had been well taught in letters by sir oliver, and hatch himself had shown him the management of arms and the first principles of command.
bennet had always been kind and helpful; he was one of those who are cruel as the grave to those they call their enemies, but ruggedly faithful and well willing to their friends; and now, while sir oliver entered the next house to write, in his swift, exquisite penmanship, a memorandum of the last occurrences to his master, sir daniel brackley, bennet came up to his pupil to wish him god-speed upon his enterprise.
""ye must go the long way about, master shelton," he said; "round by the bridge, for your life!
keep a sure man fifty paces afore you, to draw shots; and go softly till y" are past the wood.
if the rogues fall upon you, ride for "t; ye will do naught by standing.
and keep ever forward, master shelton; turn me not back again, an ye love your life; there is no help in tunstall, mind ye that.
and now, since ye go to the great wars about the king, and i continue to dwell here in extreme jeopardy of my life, and the saints alone can certify if we shall meet again below, i give you my last counsels now at your riding.
keep an eye on sir daniel; he is unsure.
put not your trust in the jack-priest; he intendeth not amiss, but doth the will of others; it is a hand-gun for sir daniel!
get your good lordship where ye go; make you strong friends; look to it.
and think ever a pater-noster-while on bennet hatch.
there are worse rogues afoot than bennet.
so, god-speed!"
""and heaven be with you, bennet!"
returned dick.
""ye were a good friend to me-ward, and so i shall say ever."
""and, look ye, master," added hatch, with a certain embarrassment, "if this amend-all should get a shaft into me, ye might, mayhap, lay out a gold mark or mayhap a pound for my poor soul; for it is like to go stiff with me in purgatory."
""ye shall have your will of it, bennet," answered dick.
""but, what cheer, man!
we shall meet again, where ye shall have more need of ale than masses."
""the saints so grant it, master dick!"
returned the other.
""but here comes sir oliver.
an he were as quick with the long-bow as with the pen, he would be a brave man-at-arms."
sir oliver gave dick a sealed packet, with this superscription: "to my ryght worchypful master, sir daniel brackley, knyght, be thys delyvered in haste."
and dick, putting it in the bosom of his jacket, gave the word and set forth westward up the village.
book i -- the two lads chapter i -- at the sign of the sun in kettley sir daniel and his men lay in and about kettley that night, warmly quartered and well patrolled.
but the knight of tunstall was one who never rested from money-getting; and even now, when he was on the brink of an adventure which should make or mar him, he was up an hour after midnight to squeeze poor neighbours.
he was one who trafficked greatly in disputed inheritances; it was his way to buy out the most unlikely claimant, and then, by the favour he curried with great lords about the king, procure unjust decisions in his favour; or, if that was too roundabout, to seize the disputed manor by force of arms, and rely on his influence and sir oliver's cunning in the law to hold what he had snatched.
kettley was one such place; it had come very lately into his clutches; he still met with opposition from the tenants; and it was to overawe discontent that he had led his troops that way.
by two in the morning, sir daniel sat in the inn room, close by the fireside, for it was cold at that hour among the fens of kettley.
by his elbow stood a pottle of spiced ale.
he had taken off his visored headpiece, and sat with his bald head and thin, dark visage resting on one hand, wrapped warmly in a sanguine-coloured cloak.
at the lower end of the room about a dozen of his men stood sentry over the door or lay asleep on benches; and somewhat nearer hand, a young lad, apparently of twelve or thirteen, was stretched in a mantle on the floor.
the host of the sun stood before the great man.
""now, mark me, mine host," sir daniel said, "follow but mine orders, and i shall be your good lord ever.
i must have good men for head boroughs, and i will have adam-a-more high constable; see to it narrowly.
if other men be chosen, it shall avail you nothing; rather it shall be found to your sore cost.
for those that have paid rent to walsingham i shall take good measure -- you among the rest, mine host."
""good knight," said the host, "i will swear upon the cross of holywood i did but pay to walsingham upon compulsion.
nay, bully knight, i love not the rogue walsinghams; they were as poor as thieves, bully knight.
give me a great lord like you.
nay; ask me among the neighbours, i am stout for brackley."
""it may be," said sir daniel, dryly.
""ye shall then pay twice."
the innkeeper made a horrid grimace; but this was a piece of bad luck that might readily befall a tenant in these unruly times, and he was perhaps glad to make his peace so easily.
""bring up yon fellow, selden!"
cried the knight.
and one of his retainers led up a poor, cringing old man, as pale as a candle, and all shaking with the fen fever.
""sirrah," said sir daniel, "your name?"
""a n't please your worship," replied the man, "my name is condall -- condall of shoreby, at your good worship's pleasure."
""i have heard you ill reported on," returned the knight.
""ye deal in treason, rogue; ye trudge the country leasing; y" are heavily suspicioned of the death of severals.
how, fellow, are ye so bold?
but i will bring you down."
""right honourable and my reverend lord," the man cried, "here is some hodge-podge, saving your good presence.
i am but a poor private man, and have hurt none."
""the under-sheriff did report of you most vilely," said the knight."
"seize me," saith he, "that tyndal of shoreby.""
""condall, my good lord; condall is my poor name," said the unfortunate.
""condall or tyndal, it is all one," replied sir daniel, coolly.
""for, by my sooth, y" are here and i do mightily suspect your honesty.
if ye would save your neck, write me swiftly an obligation for twenty pound."
""for twenty pound, my good lord!"
cried condall.
""here is midsummer madness!
my whole estate amounteth not to seventy shillings."
""condall or tyndal," returned sir daniel, grinning, "i will run my peril of that loss.
write me down twenty, and when i have recovered all i may, i will be good lord to you, and pardon you the rest."
""alas!
my good lord, it may not be; i have no skill to write," said condall.
""well-a-day!"
returned the knight.
""here, then, is no remedy.
yet i would fain have spared you, tyndal, had my conscience suffered.
selden, take me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang me him tenderly by the neck, where i may see him at my riding.
fare ye well, good master condall, dear master tyndal; y" are post-haste for paradise; fare ye then well!"
""nay, my right pleasant lord," replied condall, forcing an obsequious smile, "an ye be so masterful, as doth right well become you, i will even, with all my poor skill, do your good bidding."
""friend," quoth sir daniel, "ye will now write two score.
go to!
y" are too cunning for a livelihood of seventy shillings.
selden, see him write me this in good form, and have it duly witnessed."
and sir daniel, who was a very merry knight, none merrier in england, took a drink of his mulled ale, and lay back, smiling.
meanwhile, the boy upon the floor began to stir, and presently sat up and looked about him with a scare.
""hither," said sir daniel; and as the other rose at his command and came slowly towards him, he leaned back and laughed outright.
""by the rood!"
he cried, "a sturdy boy!"
the lad flushed crimson with anger, and darted a look of hate out of his dark eyes.
now that he was on his legs, it was more difficult to make certain of his age.
his face looked somewhat older in expression, but it was as smooth as a young child's; and in bone and body he was unusually slender, and somewhat awkward of gait.
""ye have called me, sir daniel," he said.
""was it to laugh at my poor plight?"
""nay, now, let laugh," said the knight.
""good shrew, let laugh, i pray you.
an ye could see yourself, i warrant ye would laugh the first."
""well," cried the lad, flushing, "ye shall answer this when ye answer for the other.
laugh while yet ye may!"
""nay, now, good cousin," replied sir daniel, with some earnestness, "think not that i mock at you, except in mirth, as between kinsfolk and singular friends.
i will make you a marriage of a thousand pounds, go to!
and cherish you exceedingly.
i took you, indeed, roughly, as the time demanded; but from henceforth i shall ungrudgingly maintain and cheerfully serve you.
ye shall be mrs. shelton -- lady shelton, by my troth!
for the lad promiseth bravely.
tut!
ye will not shy for honest laughter; it purgeth melancholy.
they are no rogues who laugh, good cousin.
good mine host, lay me a meal now for my cousin, master john.
sit ye down, sweetheart, and eat."
""nay," said master john, "i will break no bread.
since ye force me to this sin, i will fast for my soul's interest.
but, good mine host, i pray you of courtesy give me a cup of fair water; i shall be much beholden to your courtesy indeed."
""ye shall have a dispensation, go to!"
cried the knight.
""shalt be well shriven, by my faith!
content you, then, and eat."
but the lad was obstinate, drank a cup of water, and, once more wrapping himself closely in his mantle, sat in a far corner, brooding.
in an hour or two, there rose a stir in the village of sentries challenging and the clatter of arms and horses; and then a troop drew up by the inn door, and richard shelton, splashed with mud, presented himself upon the threshold.
""save you, sir daniel," he said.
""how!
dickie shelton!"
cried the knight; and at the mention of dick's name the other lad looked curiously across.
""what maketh bennet hatch?"
""please you, sir knight, to take cognisance of this packet from sir oliver, wherein are all things fully stated," answered richard, presenting the priest's letter.
""and please you farther, ye were best make all speed to risingham; for on the way hither we encountered one riding furiously with letters, and by his report, my lord of risingham was sore bested, and lacked exceedingly your presence."
""how say you?
sore bested?"
returned the knight.
""nay, then, we will make speed sitting down, good richard.
as the world goes in this poor realm of england, he that rides softliest rides surest.
delay, they say, begetteth peril; but it is rather this itch of doing that undoes men; mark it, dick.
but let me see, first, what cattle ye have brought.
selden, a link here at the door!"
and sir daniel strode forth into the village street, and, by the red glow of a torch, inspected his new troops.
he was an unpopular neighbour and an unpopular master; but as a leader in war he was well-beloved by those who rode behind his pennant.
his dash, his proved courage, his forethought for the soldiers" comfort, even his rough gibes, were all to the taste of the bold blades in jack and salet.
""nay, by the rood!"
he cried, "what poor dogs are these?
here be some as crooked as a bow, and some as lean as a spear.
friends, ye shall ride in the front of the battle; i can spare you, friends.
mark me this old villain on the piebald!
a two-year mutton riding on a hog would look more soldierly!
ha!
clipsby, are ye there, old rat?
y" are a man i could lose with a good heart; ye shall go in front of all, with a bull's eye painted on your jack, to be the better butt for archery; sirrah, ye shall show me the way."
""i will show you any way, sir daniel, but the way to change sides," returned clipsby, sturdily.
sir daniel laughed a guffaw.
""why, well said!"
he cried.
""hast a shrewd tongue in thy mouth, go to!
i will forgive you for that merry word.
selden, see them fed, both man and brute."
the knight re-entered the inn.
""now, friend dick," he said, "fall to.
here is good ale and bacon.
eat, while that i read."
sir daniel opened the packet, and as he read his brow darkened.
when he had done he sat a little, musing.
then he looked sharply at his ward.
""dick," said he, "y" have seen this penny rhyme?"
the lad replied in the affirmative.
""it bears your father's name," continued the knight; "and our poor shrew of a parson is, by some mad soul, accused of slaying him."
""he did most eagerly deny it," answered dick.
""he did?"
cried the knight, very sharply.
""heed him not.
he has a loose tongue; he babbles like a jack-sparrow.
some day, when i may find the leisure, dick, i will myself more fully inform you of these matters.
there was one duckworth shrewdly blamed for it; but the times were troubled, and there was no justice to be got."
""it befell at the moat house?"
dick ventured, with a beating at his heart.
""it befell between the moat house and holywood," replied sir daniel, calmly; but he shot a covert glance, black with suspicion, at dick's face.
""and now," added the knight, "speed you with your meal; ye shall return to tunstall with a line from me."
dick's face fell sorely.
""prithee, sir daniel," he cried, "send one of the villains!
i beseech you let me to the battle.
i can strike a stroke, i promise you."
""i misdoubt it not," replied sir daniel, sitting down to write.
""but here, dick, is no honour to be won.
i lie in kettley till i have sure tidings of the war, and then ride to join me with the conqueror.
cry not on cowardice; it is but wisdom, dick; for this poor realm so tosseth with rebellion, and the king's name and custody so changeth hands, that no man may be certain of the morrow.
toss-pot and shuttle-wit run in, but my lord good-counsel sits o" one side, waiting."
with that, sir daniel, turning his back to dick, and quite at the farther end of the long table, began to write his letter, with his mouth on one side, for this business of the black arrow stuck sorely in his throat.
meanwhile, young shelton was going on heartily enough with his breakfast, when he felt a touch upon his arm, and a very soft voice whispering in his ear.
""make not a sign, i do beseech you," said the voice, "but of your charity tell me the straight way to holywood.
beseech you, now, good boy, comfort a poor soul in peril and extreme distress, and set me so far forth upon the way to my repose."
""take the path by the windmill," answered dick, in the same tone; "it will bring you to till ferry; there inquire again."
and without turning his head, he fell again to eating.
but with the tail of his eye he caught a glimpse of the young lad called master john stealthily creeping from the room.
""why," thought dick, "he is a young as i. "good boy" doth he call me?
an i had known, i should have seen the varlet hanged ere i had told him.
well, if he goes through the fen, i may come up with him and pull his ears."
half an hour later, sir daniel gave dick the letter, and bade him speed to the moat house.
and, again, some half an hour after dick's departure, a messenger came, in hot haste, from my lord of risingham.
""sir daniel," the messenger said, "ye lose great honour, by my sooth!
the fight began again this morning ere the dawn, and we have beaten their van and scattered their right wing.
only the main battle standeth fast.
an we had your fresh men, we should tilt you them all into the river.
what, sir knight!
will ye be the last?
it stands not with your good credit."
""nay," cried the knight, "i was but now upon the march.
selden, sound me the tucket.
sir, i am with you on the instant.
it is not two hours since the more part of my command came in, sir messenger.
what would ye have?
spurring is good meat, but yet it killed the charger.
bustle, boys!"
by this time the tucket was sounding cheerily in the morning, and from all sides sir daniel's men poured into the main street and formed before the inn.
they had slept upon their arms, with chargers saddled, and in ten minutes five-score men-at-arms and archers, cleanly equipped and briskly disciplined, stood ranked and ready.
the chief part were in sir daniel's livery, murrey and blue, which gave the greater show to their array.
the best armed rode first; and away out of sight, at the tail of the column, came the sorry reinforcement of the night before.
sir daniel looked with pride along the line.
""here be the lads to serve you in a pinch," he said.
""they are pretty men, indeed," replied the messenger.
""it but augments my sorrow that ye had not marched the earlier."
""well," said the knight, "what would ye?
the beginning of a feast and the end of a fray, sir messenger;" and he mounted into his saddle.
""why!
how now!"
he cried.
""john!
joanna!
nay, by the sacred rood!
where is she?
host, where is that girl?"
""girl, sir daniel?"
cried the landlord.
""nay, sir, i saw no girl."
""boy, then, dotard!"
cried the knight.
""could ye not see it was a wench?
she in the murrey-coloured mantle -- she that broke her fast with water, rogue -- where is she?"
""nay, the saints bless us!
master john, ye called him," said the host.
""well, i thought none evil.
he is gone.
i saw him -- her -- i saw her in the stable a good hour agone;" a was saddling a grey horse."
""now, by the rood!"
cried sir daniel, "the wench was worth five hundred pound to me and more."
""sir knight," observed the messenger, with bitterness, "while that ye are here, roaring for five hundred pounds, the realm of england is elsewhere being lost and won."
""it is well said," replied sir daniel.
""selden, fall me out with six cross-bowmen; hunt me her down.
i care not what it cost; but, at my returning, let me find her at the moat house.
be it upon your head.
and now, sir messenger, we march."
and the troop broke into a good trot, and selden and his six men were left behind upon the street of kettley, with the staring villagers.
chapter ii -- in the fen it was near six in the may morning when dick began to ride down into the fen upon his homeward way.
the sky was all blue; the jolly wind blew loud and steady; the windmill-sails were spinning; and the willows over all the fen rippling and whitening like a field of corn.
he had been all night in the saddle, but his heart was good and his body sound, and he rode right merrily.
the path went down and down into the marsh, till he lost sight of all the neighbouring landmarks but kettley windmill on the knoll behind him, and the extreme top of tunstall forest far before.
on either hand there were great fields of blowing reeds and willows, pools of water shaking in the wind, and treacherous bogs, as green as emerald, to tempt and to betray the traveller.
the path lay almost straight through the morass.
it was already very ancient; its foundation had been laid by roman soldiery; in the lapse of ages much of it had sunk, and every here and there, for a few hundred yards, it lay submerged below the stagnant waters of the fen.
about a mile from kettley, dick came to one such break in the plain line of causeway, where the reeds and willows grew dispersedly like little islands and confused the eye.
the gap, besides, was more than usually long; it was a place where any stranger might come readily to mischief; and dick bethought him, with something like a pang, of the lad whom he had so imperfectly directed.
as for himself, one look backward to where the windmill sails were turning black against the blue of heaven -- one look forward to the high ground of tunstall forest, and he was sufficiently directed and held straight on, the water washing to his horse's knees, as safe as on a highway.
half-way across, and when he had already sighted the path rising high and dry upon the farther side, he was aware of a great splashing on his right, and saw a grey horse, sunk to its belly in the mud, and still spasmodically struggling.
instantly, as though it had divined the neighbourhood of help, the poor beast began to neigh most piercingly.
it rolled, meanwhile, a blood-shot eye, insane with terror; and as it sprawled wallowing in the quag, clouds of stinging insects rose and buzzed about it in the air.
""alack!"
thought dick, "can the poor lad have perished?
there is his horse, for certain -- a brave grey!
nay, comrade, if thou criest to me so piteously, i will do all man can to help thee.
shalt not lie there to drown by inches!"
and he made ready his crossbow, and put a quarrel through the creature's head.
dick rode on after this act of rugged mercy, somewhat sobered in spirit, and looking closely about him for any sign of his less happy predecessor in the way.
""i would i had dared to tell him further," he thought; "for i fear he has miscarried in the slough."
and just as he was so thinking, a voice cried upon his name from the causeway side, and, looking over his shoulder, he saw the lad's face peering from a clump of reeds.
""are ye there?"
he said, reining in.
""ye lay so close among the reeds that i had passed you by.
i saw your horse bemired, and put him from his agony; which, by my sooth!
an ye had been a more merciful rider, ye had done yourself.
but come forth out of your hiding.
here be none to trouble you."
""nay, good boy, i have no arms, nor skill to use them if i had," replied the other, stepping forth upon the pathway.
""why call me "boy"?"
cried dick.
""y" are not, i trow, the elder of us twain."
""good master shelton," said the other, "prithee forgive me.
i have none the least intention to offend.
rather i would in every way beseech your gentleness and favour, for i am now worse bested than ever, having lost my way, my cloak, and my poor horse.
to have a riding-rod and spurs, and never a horse to sit upon!
and before all," he added, looking ruefully upon his clothes -- "before all, to be so sorrily besmirched!"
""tut!"
cried dick.
""would ye mind a ducking?
blood of wound or dust of travel -- that's a man's adornment."
""nay, then, i like him better plain," observed the lad.
""but, prithee, how shall i do?
prithee, good master richard, help me with your good counsel.
if i come not safe to holywood, i am undone."
""nay," said dick, dismounting, "i will give more than counsel.
take my horse, and i will run awhile, and when i am weary we shall change again, that so, riding and running, both may go the speedier."
so the change was made, and they went forward as briskly as they durst on the uneven causeway, dick with his hand upon the other's knee.
""how call ye your name?"
asked dick.
""call me john matcham," replied the lad.
""and what make ye to holywood?"
dick continued.
""i seek sanctuary from a man that would oppress me," was the answer.
""the good abbot of holywood is a strong pillar to the weak."
""and how came ye with sir daniel, master matcham?"
pursued dick.
""nay," cried the other, "by the abuse of force!
he hath taken me by violence from my own place; dressed me in these weeds; ridden with me till my heart was sick; gibed me till i could "a" wept; and when certain of my friends pursued, thinking to have me back, claps me in the rear to stand their shot!
i was even grazed in the right foot, and walk but lamely.
nay, there shall come a day between us; he shall smart for all!"
""would ye shoot at the moon with a hand-gun?"
said dick."
't is a valiant knight, and hath a hand of iron.
an he guessed i had made or meddled with your flight, it would go sore with me."
""ay, poor boy," returned the other, "y" are his ward, i know it.
by the same token, so am i, or so he saith; or else he hath bought my marriage -- i wot not rightly which; but it is some handle to oppress me by."
""boy again!"
said dick.
""nay, then, shall i call you girl, good richard?"
asked matcham.
""never a girl for me," returned dick.
""i do abjure the crew of them!"
""ye speak boyishly," said the other.
""ye think more of them than ye pretend."
""not i," said dick, stoutly.
""they come not in my mind.
a plague of them, say i!
give me to hunt and to fight and to feast, and to live with jolly foresters.
i never heard of a maid yet that was for any service, save one only; and she, poor shrew, was burned for a witch and the wearing of men's clothes in spite of nature."
master matcham crossed himself with fervour, and appeared to pray.
""what make ye?"
dick inquired.
""i pray for her spirit," answered the other, with a somewhat troubled voice.
""for a witch's spirit?"
dick cried.
""but pray for her, an ye list; she was the best wench in europe, was this joan of arc.
old appleyard the archer ran from her, he said, as if she had been mahoun.
nay, she was a brave wench."
""well, but, good master richard," resumed matcham, "an ye like maids so little, y" are no true natural man; for god made them twain by intention, and brought true love into the world, to be man's hope and woman's comfort."
""faugh!"
said dick.
""y" are a milk-sopping baby, so to harp on women.
an ye think i be no true man, get down upon the path, and whether at fists, back-sword, or bow and arrow, i will prove my manhood on your body."
""nay, i am no fighter," said matcham, eagerly.
""i mean no tittle of offence.
i meant but pleasantry.
and if i talk of women, it is because i heard ye were to marry."
""i to marry!"
dick exclaimed.
""well, it is the first i hear of it.
and with whom was i to marry?"
""one joan sedley," replied matcham, colouring.
""it was sir daniel's doing; he hath money to gain upon both sides; and, indeed, i have heard the poor wench bemoaning herself pitifully of the match.
it seems she is of your mind, or else distasted to the bridegroom."
""well!
marriage is like death, it comes to all," said dick, with resignation.
""and she bemoaned herself?
i pray ye now, see there how shuttle-witted are these girls: to bemoan herself before that she had seen me!
do i bemoan myself?
not i.
an i be to marry, i will marry dry-eyed!
but if ye know her, prithee, of what favour is she?
fair or foul?
and is she shrewish or pleasant?"
""nay, what matters it?"
said matcham.
""an y" are to marry, ye can but marry.
what matters foul or fair?
these be but toys.
y" are no milksop, master richard; ye will wed with dry eyes, anyhow."
""it is well said," replied shelton.
""little i reck."
""your lady wife is like to have a pleasant lord," said matcham.
""she shall have the lord heaven made her for," returned dick.
""it trow there be worse as well as better."
""ah, the poor wench!"
cried the other.
""and why so poor?"
asked dick.
""to wed a man of wood," replied his companion.
""o me, for a wooden husband!"
""i think i be a man of wood, indeed," said dick, "to trudge afoot the while you ride my horse; but it is good wood, i trow."
""good dick, forgive me," cried the other.
""nay, y" are the best heart in england; i but laughed.
forgive me now, sweet dick."
""nay, no fool words," returned dick, a little embarrassed by his companion's warmth.
""no harm is done.
i am not touchy, praise the saints."
and at that moment the wind, which was blowing straight behind them as they went, brought them the rough flourish of sir daniel's trumpeter.
""hark!"
said dick, "the tucket soundeth."
""ay," said matcham, "they have found my flight, and now i am unhorsed!"
and he became pale as death.
""nay, what cheer!"
returned dick.
""y" have a long start, and we are near the ferry.
and it is i, methinks, that am unhorsed."
""alack, i shall be taken!"
cried the fugitive.
""dick, kind dick, beseech ye help me but a little!"
""why, now, what aileth thee?"
said dick.
""methinks i help you very patently.
but my heart is sorry for so spiritless a fellow!
and see ye here, john matcham -- sith john matcham is your name -- i, richard shelton, tide what betideth, come what may, will see you safe in holywood.
the saints so do to me again if i default you.
come, pick me up a good heart, sir white-face.
the way betters here; spur me the horse.
go faster!
faster!
nay, mind not for me; i can run like a deer."
so, with the horse trotting hard, and dick running easily alongside, they crossed the remainder of the fen, and came out upon the banks of the river by the ferryman's hut.
chapter iii -- the fen ferry the river till was a wide, sluggish, clayey water, oozing out of fens, and in this part of its course it strained among some score of willow-covered, marshy islets.
it was a dingy stream; but upon this bright, spirited morning everything was become beautiful.
the wind and the martens broke it up into innumerable dimples; and the reflection of the sky was scattered over all the surface in crumbs of smiling blue.
a creek ran up to meet the path, and close under the bank the ferryman's hut lay snugly.
it was of wattle and clay, and the grass grew green upon the roof.
dick went to the door and opened it.
within, upon a foul old russet cloak, the ferryman lay stretched and shivering; a great hulk of a man, but lean and shaken by the country fever.
""hey, master shelton," he said, "be ye for the ferry?
ill times, ill times!
look to yourself.
there is a fellowship abroad.
ye were better turn round on your two heels and try the bridge."
""nay; time's in the saddle," answered dick.
""time will ride, hugh ferryman.
i am hot in haste."
""a wilful man!"
returned the ferryman, rising.
""an ye win safe to the moat house, y" have done lucky; but i say no more."
and then catching sight of matcham, "who be this?"
he asked, as he paused, blinking, on the threshold of his cabin.
""it is my kinsman, master matcham," answered dick.
""give ye good day, good ferryman," said matcham, who had dismounted, and now came forward, leading the horse.
""launch me your boat, i prithee; we are sore in haste."
the gaunt ferryman continued staring.
""by the mass!"
he cried at length, and laughed with open throat.
matcham coloured to his neck and winced; and dick, with an angry countenance, put his hand on the lout's shoulder.
""how now, churl!"
he cried.
""fall to thy business, and leave mocking thy betters."
hugh ferryman grumblingly undid his boat, and shoved it a little forth into the deep water.
then dick led in the horse, and matcham followed.
""ye be mortal small made, master," said hugh, with a wide grin; "something o" the wrong model, belike.
nay, master shelton, i am for you," he added, getting to his oars.
""a cat may look at a king.
i did but take a shot of the eye at master matcham."
""sirrah, no more words," said dick.
""bend me your back."
they were by that time at the mouth of the creek, and the view opened up and down the river.
everywhere it was enclosed with islands.
clay banks were falling in, willows nodding, reeds waving, martens dipping and piping.
there was no sign of man in the labyrinth of waters.
""my master," said the ferryman, keeping the boat steady with one oar, "i have a shrew guess that john-a-fenne is on the island.
he bears me a black grudge to all sir daniel's.
how if i turned me up stream and landed you an arrow-flight above the path?
ye were best not meddle with john fenne."
""how, then?
is he of this company?"
asked dick.
""nay, mum is the word," said hugh.
""but i would go up water, dick.
how if master matcham came by an arrow?"
and he laughed again.
""be it so, hugh," answered dick.
""look ye, then," pursued hugh.
""sith it shall so be, unsling me your cross-bow -- so: now make it ready -- good; place me a quarrel.
ay, keep it so, and look upon me grimly."
""what meaneth this?"
asked dick.
""why, my master, if i steal you across, it must be under force or fear," replied the ferryman; "for else, if john fenne got wind of it, he were like to prove my most distressful neighbour."
""do these churls ride so roughly?"
dick inquired.
""do they command sir daniel's own ferry?"
""nay," whispered the ferryman, winking.
""mark me!
sir daniel shall down.
his time is out.
he shall down.
mum!"
and he bent over his oars.
they pulled a long way up the river, turned the tail of an island, and came softly down a narrow channel next the opposite bank.
then hugh held water in midstream.
""i must land you here among the willows," he said.
""here is no path but willow swamps and quagmires," answered dick.
""master shelton," replied hugh, "i dare not take ye nearer down, for your own sake now.
he watcheth me the ferry, lying on his bow.
all that go by and owe sir daniel goodwill, he shooteth down like rabbits.
i heard him swear it by the rood.
an i had not known you of old days -- ay, and from so high upward -- i would "a" let you go on; but for old days" remembrance, and because ye had this toy with you that's not fit for wounds or warfare, i did risk my two poor ears to have you over whole.
content you; i can no more, on my salvation!"
hugh was still speaking, lying on his oars, when there came a great shout from among the willows on the island, and sounds followed as of a strong man breasting roughly through the wood.
""a murrain!"
cried hugh.
""he was on the upper island all the while!"
he pulled straight for shore.
""threat me with your bow, good dick; threat me with it plain," he added.
""i have tried to save your skins, save you mine!"
the boat ran into a tough thicket of willows with a crash.
matcham, pale, but steady and alert, at a sign from dick, ran along the thwarts and leaped ashore; dick, taking the horse by the bridle, sought to follow, but what with the animal's bulk, and what with the closeness of the thicket, both stuck fast.
the horse neighed and trampled; and the boat, which was swinging in an eddy, came on and off and pitched with violence.
""it may not be, hugh; here is no landing," cried dick; but he still struggled valiantly with the obstinate thicket and the startled animal.
a tall man appeared upon the shore of the island, a long-bow in his hand.
dick saw him for an instant, with the corner of his eye, bending the bow with a great effort, his face crimson with hurry.
""who goes?"
he shouted.
""hugh, who goes?""
't is master shelton, john," replied the ferryman.
""stand, dick shelton!"
bawled the man upon the island.
""ye shall have no hurt, upon the rood!
stand!
back out, hugh ferryman."
dick cried a taunting answer.
""nay, then, ye shall go afoot," returned the man; and he let drive an arrow.
the horse, struck by the shaft, lashed out in agony and terror; the boat capsized, and the next moment all were struggling in the eddies of the river.
when dick came up, he was within a yard of the bank; and before his eyes were clear, his hand had closed on something firm and strong that instantly began to drag him forward.
it was the riding-rod, that matcham, crawling forth upon an overhanging willow, had opportunely thrust into his grasp.
""by the mass!"
cried dick, as he was helped ashore, "that makes a life i owe you.
i swim like a cannon-ball."
and he turned instantly towards the island.
midway over, hugh ferryman was swimming with his upturned boat, while john-a-fenne, furious at the ill-fortune of his shot, bawled to him to hurry.
""come, jack," said shelton, "run for it!
ere hugh can hale his barge across, or the pair of'em can get it righted, we may be out of cry."
and adding example to his words, he began to run, dodging among the willows, and in marshy places leaping from tussock to tussock.
he had no time to look for his direction; all he could do was to turn his back upon the river, and put all his heart to running.
presently, however, the ground began to rise, which showed him he was still in the right way, and soon after they came forth upon a slope of solid turf, where elms began to mingle with the willows.
but here matcham, who had been dragging far into the rear, threw himself fairly down.
""leave me, dick!"
he cried, pantingly; "i can no more."
dick turned, and came back to where his companion lay.
""nay, jack, leave thee!"
he cried.
""that were a knave's trick, to be sure, when ye risked a shot and a ducking, ay, and a drowning too, to save my life.
drowning, in sooth; for why i did not pull you in along with me, the saints alone can tell!"
""nay," said matcham, "i would "a" saved us both, good dick, for i can swim."
""can ye so?"
cried dick, with open eyes.
it was the one manly accomplishment of which he was himself incapable.
in the order of the things that he admired, next to having killed a man in single fight came swimming.
""well," he said, "here is a lesson to despise no man.
i promised to care for you as far as holywood, and, by the rood, jack, y" are more capable to care for me."
""well, dick, we're friends now," said matcham.
""nay, i never was unfriends," answered dick.
""y" are a brave lad in your way, albeit something of a milksop, too.
i never met your like before this day.
but, prithee, fetch back your breath, and let us on.
here is no place for chatter."
""my foot hurts shrewdly," said matcham.
""nay, i had forgot your foot," returned dick.
""well, we must go the gentlier.
i would i knew rightly where we were.
i have clean lost the path; yet that may be for the better, too.
an they watch the ferry, they watch the path, belike, as well.
i would sir daniel were back with two score men; he would sweep me these rascals as the wind sweeps leaves.
come, jack, lean ye on my shoulder, ye poor shrew.
nay, y" are not tall enough.
what age are ye, for a wager?
-- twelve?"
""nay, i am sixteen," said matcham.
""y" are poorly grown to height, then," answered dick.
""but take my hand.
we shall go softly, never fear.
i owe you a life; i am a good repayer, jack, of good or evil."
they began to go forward up the slope.
""we must hit the road, early or late," continued dick; "and then for a fresh start.
by the mass!
but y" "ave a rickety hand, jack.
if i had a hand like that, i would think shame.
i tell you," he went on, with a sudden chuckle, "i swear by the mass i believe hugh ferryman took you for a maid."
""nay, never!"
cried the other, colouring high.
""a" did, though, for a wager!"
dick exclaimed.
""small blame to him.
ye look liker maid than man; and i tell you more -- y" are a strange-looking rogue for a boy; but for a hussy, jack, ye would be right fair -- ye would.
ye would be well favoured for a wench."
""well," said matcham, "ye know right well that i am none."
""nay, i know that; i do but jest," said dick.
""ye'll be a man before your mother, jack.
what cheer, my bully!
ye shall strike shrewd strokes.
now, which, i marvel, of you or me, shall be first knighted, jack?
for knighted i shall be, or die for "t. "sir richard shelton, knight": it soundeth bravely.
but "sir john matcham" soundeth not amiss."
""prithee, dick, stop till i drink," said the other, pausing where a little clear spring welled out of the slope into a gravelled basin no bigger than a pocket.
""and o, dick, if i might come by anything to eat!
-- my very heart aches with hunger."
""why, fool, did ye not eat at kettley?"
asked dick.
""i had made a vow -- it was a sin i had been led into," stammered matcham; "but now, if it were but dry bread, i would eat it greedily."
""sit ye, then, and eat," said dick, "while that i scout a little forward for the road."
and he took a wallet from his girdle, wherein were bread and pieces of dry bacon, and, while matcham fell heartily to, struck farther forth among the trees.
a little beyond there was a dip in the ground, where a streamlet soaked among dead leaves; and beyond that, again, the trees were better grown and stood wider, and oak and beech began to take the place of willow and elm.
the continued tossing and pouring of the wind among the leaves sufficiently concealed the sounds of his footsteps on the mast; it was for the ear what a moonless night is to the eye; but for all that dick went cautiously, slipping from one big trunk to another, and looking sharply about him as he went.
suddenly a doe passed like a shadow through the underwood in front of him, and he paused, disgusted at the chance.
this part of the wood had been certainly deserted, but now that the poor deer had run, she was like a messenger he should have sent before him to announce his coming; and instead of pushing farther, he turned him to the nearest well-grown tree, and rapidly began to climb.
luck had served him well.
the oak on which he had mounted was one of the tallest in that quarter of the wood, and easily out-topped its neighbours by a fathom and a half; and when dick had clambered into the topmost fork and clung there, swinging dizzily in the great wind, he saw behind him the whole fenny plain as far as kettley, and the till wandering among woody islets, and in front of him, the white line of high-road winding through the forest.
the boat had been righted -- it was even now midway on the ferry.
beyond that there was no sign of man, nor aught moving but the wind.
he was about to descend, when, taking a last view, his eye lit upon a string of moving points about the middle of the fen.
plainly a small troop was threading the causeway, and that at a good pace; and this gave him some concern as he shinned vigorously down the trunk and returned across the wood for his companion.
chapter iv -- a greenwood company matcham was well rested and revived; and the two lads, winged by what dick had seen, hurried through the remainder of the outwood, crossed the road in safety, and began to mount into the high ground of tunstall forest.
the trees grew more and more in groves, with heathy places in between, sandy, gorsy, and dotted with old yews.
the ground became more and more uneven, full of pits and hillocks.
and with every step of the ascent the wind still blew the shriller, and the trees bent before the gusts like fishing-rods.
they had just entered one of the clearings, when dick suddenly clapped down upon his face among the brambles, and began to crawl slowly backward towards the shelter of the grove.
matcham, in great bewilderment, for he could see no reason for this flight, still imitated his companion's course; and it was not until they had gained the harbour of a thicket that he turned and begged him to explain.
for all reply, dick pointed with his finger.
at the far end of the clearing, a fir grew high above the neighbouring wood, and planted its black shock of foliage clear against the sky.
for about fifty feet above the ground the trunk grew straight and solid like a column.
at that level, it split into two massive boughs; and in the fork, like a mast-headed seaman, there stood a man in a green tabard, spying far and wide.
the sun glistened upon his hair; with one hand he shaded his eyes to look abroad, and he kept slowly rolling his head from side to side, with the regularity of a machine.
the lads exchanged glances.
""let us try to the left," said dick.
""we had near fallen foully, jack."
ten minutes afterwards they struck into a beaten path.
""here is a piece of forest that i know not," dick remarked.
""where goeth me this track?"
""let us even try," said matcham.
a few yards further, the path came to the top of a ridge and began to go down abruptly into a cup-shaped hollow.
at the foot, out of a thick wood of flowering hawthorn, two or three roofless gables, blackened as if by fire, and a single tall chimney marked the ruins of a house.
""what may this be?"
whispered matcham.
""nay, by the mass, i know not," answered dick.
""i am all at sea.
let us go warily."
with beating hearts, they descended through the hawthorns.
here and there, they passed signs of recent cultivation; fruit trees and pot herbs ran wild among the thicket; a sun-dial had fallen in the grass; it seemed they were treading what once had been a garden.
yet a little farther and they came forth before the ruins of the house.
it had been a pleasant mansion and a strong.
a dry ditch was dug deep about it; but it was now choked with masonry, and bridged by a fallen rafter.
the two farther walls still stood, the sun shining through their empty windows; but the remainder of the building had collapsed, and now lay in a great cairn of ruin, grimed with fire.
already in the interior a few plants were springing green among the chinks.
""now i bethink me," whispered dick, "this must be grimstone.
it was a hold of one simon malmesbury; sir daniel was his bane!
't was bennet hatch that burned it, now five years agone.
in sooth,'t was pity, for it was a fair house."
down in the hollow, where no wind blew, it was both warm and still; and matcham, laying one hand upon dick's arm, held up a warning finger.
""hist!"
he said.
then came a strange sound, breaking on the quiet.
it was twice repeated ere they recognised its nature.
it was the sound of a big man clearing his throat; and just then a hoarse, untuneful voice broke into singing.
""then up and spake the master, the king of the outlaws: "what make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?"
and gamelyn made answer -- he looked never adown: "o, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town!""
the singer paused, a faint clink of iron followed, and then silence.
the two lads stood looking at each other.
whoever he might be, their invisible neighbour was just beyond the ruin.
and suddenly the colour came into matcham's face, and next moment he had crossed the fallen rafter, and was climbing cautiously on the huge pile of lumber that filled the interior of the roofless house.
dick would have withheld him, had he been in time; as it was, he was fain to follow.
right in the corner of the ruin, two rafters had fallen crosswise, and protected a clear space no larger than a pew in church.
into this the lads silently lowered themselves.
there they were perfectly concealed, and through an arrow-loophole commanded a view upon the farther side.
peering through this, they were struck stiff with terror at their predicament.
to retreat was impossible; they scarce dared to breathe.
upon the very margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from where they crouched, an iron caldron bubbled and steamed above a glowing fire; and close by, in an attitude of listening, as though he had caught some sound of their clambering among the ruins, a tall, red-faced, battered-looking man stood poised, an iron spoon in his right hand, a horn and a formidable dagger at his belt.
plainly this was the singer; plainly he had been stirring the caldron, when some incautious step among the lumber had fallen upon his ear.
a little further off, another man lay slumbering, rolled in a brown cloak, with a butterfly hovering above his face.
all this was in a clearing white with daisies; and at the extreme verge, a bow, a sheaf of arrows, and part of a deer's carcase, hung upon a flowering hawthorn.
presently the fellow relaxed from his attitude of attention, raised the spoon to his mouth, tasted its contents, nodded, and then fell again to stirring and singing."
"o, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town,"" he croaked, taking up his song where he had left it.
""o, sir, we walk not here at all an evil thing to do.
but if we meet with the good king's deer to shoot a shaft into."
still as he sang, he took from time to time, another spoonful of the broth, blew upon it, and tasted it, with all the airs of an experienced cook.
at length, apparently, he judged the mess was ready; for taking the horn from his girdle, he blew three modulated calls.
the other fellow awoke, rolled over, brushed away the butterfly, and looked about him.
""how now, brother?"
he said.
""dinner?"
""ay, sot," replied the cook, "dinner it is, and a dry dinner, too, with neither ale nor bread.
but there is little pleasure in the greenwood now; time was when a good fellow could live here like a mitred abbot, set aside the rain and the white frosts; he had his heart's desire both of ale and wine.
but now are men's spirits dead; and this john amend-all, save us and guard us!
but a stuffed booby to scare crows withal."
""nay," returned the other, "y" are too set on meat and drinking, lawless.
bide ye a bit; the good time cometh."
""look ye," returned the cook, "i have even waited for this good time sith that i was so high.
i have been a grey friar; i have been a king's archer; i have been a shipman, and sailed the salt seas; and i have been in greenwood before this, forsooth!
and shot the king's deer.
what cometh of it?
naught!
i were better to have bided in the cloister.
john abbot availeth more than john amend-all.
by" r lady!
here they come."
one after another, tall, likely fellows began to stroll into the lawn.
each as he came produced a knife and a horn cup, helped himself from the caldron, and sat down upon the grass to eat.
they were very variously equipped and armed; some in rusty smocks, and with nothing but a knife and an old bow; others in the height of forest gallantry, all in lincoln green, both hood and jerkin, with dainty peacock arrows in their belts, a horn upon a baldrick, and a sword and dagger at their sides.
they came in the silence of hunger, and scarce growled a salutation, but fell instantly to meat.
there were, perhaps, a score of them already gathered, when a sound of suppressed cheering arose close by among the hawthorns, and immediately after five or six woodmen carrying a stretcher debauched upon the lawn.
a tall, lusty fellow, somewhat grizzled, and as brown as a smoked ham, walked before them with an air of some authority, his bow at his back, a bright boar-spear in his hand.
""lads!"
he cried, "good fellows all, and my right merry friends, y" have sung this while on a dry whistle and lived at little ease.
but what said i ever?
abide fortune constantly; she turneth, turneth swift.
and lo!
here is her little firstling -- even that good creature, ale!"
there was a murmur of applause as the bearers set down the stretcher and displayed a goodly cask.
""and now haste ye, boys," the man continued.
""there is work toward.
a handful of archers are but now come to the ferry; murrey and blue is their wear; they are our butts -- they shall all taste arrows -- no man of them shall struggle through this wood.
for, lads, we are here some fifty strong, each man of us most foully wronged; for some they have lost lands, and some friends; and some they have been outlawed -- all oppressed!
who, then, hath done this evil?
sir daniel, by the rood!
shall he then profit?
shall he sit snug in our houses?
shall he till our fields?
shall he suck the bone he robbed us of?
i trow not.
he getteth him strength at law; he gaineth cases; nay, there is one case he shall not gain -- i have a writ here at my belt that, please the saints, shall conquer him."
lawless the cook was by this time already at his second horn of ale.
he raised it, as if to pledge the speaker.
""master ellis," he said, "y" are for vengeance -- well it becometh you!
-- but your poor brother o" the greenwood, that had never lands to lose nor friends to think upon, looketh rather, for his poor part, to the profit of the thing.
he had liever a gold noble and a pottle of canary wine than all the vengeances in purgatory."
""lawless," replied the other, "to reach the moat house, sir daniel must pass the forest.
we shall make that passage dearer, pardy, than any battle.
then, when he hath got to earth with such ragged handful as escapeth us -- all his great friends fallen and fled away, and none to give him aid -- we shall beleaguer that old fox about, and great shall be the fall of him.
't is a fat buck; he will make a dinner for us all."
""ay," returned lawless, "i have eaten many of these dinners beforehand; but the cooking of them is hot work, good master ellis.
and meanwhile what do we?
we make black arrows, we write rhymes, and we drink fair cold water, that discomfortable drink."
""y" are untrue, will lawless.
ye still smell of the grey friars" buttery; greed is your undoing," answered ellis.
""we took twenty pounds from appleyard.
we took seven marks from the messenger last night.
a day ago we had fifty from the merchant."
""and to-day," said one of the men, "i stopped a fat pardoner riding apace for holywood.
here is his purse."
ellis counted the contents.
""five score shillings!"
he grumbled.
""fool, he had more in his sandal, or stitched into his tippet.
y" are but a child, tom cuckow; ye have lost the fish."
but, for all that, ellis pocketed the purse with nonchalance.
he stood leaning on his boar-spear, and looked round upon the rest.
they, in various attitudes, took greedily of the venison pottage, and liberally washed it down with ale.
this was a good day; they were in luck; but business pressed, and they were speedy in their eating.
the first-comers had by this time even despatched their dinner.
some lay down upon the grass and fell instantly asleep, like boa-constrictors; others talked together, or overhauled their weapons: and one, whose humour was particularly gay, holding forth an ale-horn, began to sing: "here is no law in good green shaw, here is no lack of meat;'t is merry and quiet, with deer for our diet, in summer, when all is sweet.
come winter again, with wind and rain -- come winter, with snow and sleet, get home to your places, with hoods on your faces, and sit by the fire and eat."
all this while the two lads had listened and lain close; only richard had unslung his cross-bow, and held ready in one hand the windac, or grappling-iron that he used to bend it.
otherwise they had not dared to stir; and this scene of forest life had gone on before their eyes like a scene upon a theatre.
but now there came a strange interruption.
the tall chimney which over-topped the remainder of the ruins rose right above their hiding-place.
there came a whistle in the air, and then a sounding smack, and the fragments of a broken arrow fell about their ears.
some one from the upper quarters of the wood, perhaps the very sentinel they saw posted in the fir, had shot an arrow at the chimney-top.
matcham could not restrain a little cry, which he instantly stifled, and even dick started with surprise, and dropped the windac from his fingers.
but to the fellows on the lawn, this shaft was an expected signal.
they were all afoot together, tightening their belts, testing their bow-strings, loosening sword and dagger in the sheath.
ellis held up his hand; his face had suddenly assumed a look of savage energy; the white of his eyes shone in his sun-brown face.
""lads," he said, "ye know your places.
let not one man's soul escape you.
appleyard was a whet before a meal; but now we go to table.
i have three men whom i will bitterly avenge -- harry shelton, simon malmesbury, and" -- striking his broad bosom -- "and ellis duckworth, by the mass!"
another man came, red with hurry, through the thorns."
't is not sir daniel!"
he panted.
""they are but seven.
is the arrow gone?"
""it struck but now," replied ellis.
""a murrain!"
cried the messenger.
""methought i heard it whistle.
and i go dinnerless!"
in the space of a minute, some running, some walking sharply, according as their stations were nearer or farther away, the men of the black arrow had all disappeared from the neighbourhood of the ruined house; and the caldron, and the fire, which was now burning low, and the dead deer's carcase on the hawthorn, remained alone to testify they had been there.
chapter v -- "bloody as the hunter" the lads lay quiet till the last footstep had melted on the wind.
then they arose, and with many an ache, for they were weary with constraint, clambered through the ruins, and recrossed the ditch upon the rafter.
matcham had picked up the windac and went first, dick following stiffly, with his cross-bow on his arm.
""and now," said matcham, "forth to holywood."
""to holywood!"
cried dick, "when good fellows stand shot?
not i!
i would see you hanged first, jack!"
""ye would leave me, would ye?"
matcham asked.
""ay, by my sooth!"
returned dick.
""an i be not in time to warn these lads, i will go die with them.
what!
would ye have me leave my own men that i have lived among.
i trow not!
give me my windac."
but there was nothing further from matcham's mind.
""dick," he said, "ye sware before the saints that ye would see me safe to holywood.
would ye be forsworn?
would you desert me -- a perjurer?"
""nay, i sware for the best," returned dick.
""i meant it too; but now!
but look ye, jack, turn again with me.
let me but warn these men, and, if needs must, stand shot with them; then shall all be clear, and i will on again to holywood and purge mine oath."
""ye but deride me," answered matcham.
""these men ye go to succour are the i same that hunt me to my ruin."
dick scratched his head.
""i can not help it, jack," he said.
""here is no remedy.
what would ye?
ye run no great peril, man; and these are in the way of death.
death!"
he added.
""think of it!
what a murrain do ye keep me here for?
give me the windac.
saint george!
shall they all die?"
""richard shelton," said matcham, looking him squarely in the face, "would ye, then, join party with sir daniel?
have ye not ears?
heard ye not this ellis, what he said?
or have ye no heart for your own kindly blood and the father that men slew?
"harry shelton," he said; and sir harry shelton was your father, as the sun shines in heaven."
""what would ye?"
dick cried again.
""would ye have me credit thieves?"
""nay, i have heard it before now," returned matcham.
""the fame goeth currently, it was sir daniel slew him.
he slew him under oath; in his own house he shed the innocent blood.
heaven wearies for the avenging o n't; and you -- the man's son -- ye go about to comfort and defend the murderer!"
""jack," cried the lad "i know not.
it may be; what know i?
but, see here: this man hath bred me up and fostered me, and his men i have hunted with and played among; and to leave them in the hour of peril -- o, man, if i did that, i were stark dead to honour!
nay, jack, ye would not ask it; ye would not wish me to be base."
""but your father, dick?"
said matcham, somewhat wavering.
""your father?
and your oath to me?
ye took the saints to witness."
""my father?"
cried shelton.
""nay, he would have me go!
if sir daniel slew him, when the hour comes this hand shall slay sir daniel; but neither him nor his will i desert in peril.
and for mine oath, good jack, ye shall absolve me of it here.
for the lives" sake of many men that hurt you not, and for mine honour, ye shall set me free."
""i, dick?
never!"
returned matcham.
""an ye leave me, y" are forsworn, and so i shall declare it."
""my blood heats," said dick.
""give me the windac!
give it me!"
""i'll not," said matcham.
""i'll save you in your teeth."
""not?"
cried dick.
""i'll make you!"
""try it," said the other.
they stood, looking in each other's eyes, each ready for a spring.
then dick leaped; and though matcham turned instantly and fled, in two bounds he was over-taken, the windac was twisted from his grasp, he was thrown roughly to the ground, and dick stood across him, flushed and menacing, with doubled fist.
matcham lay where he had fallen, with his face in the grass, not thinking of resistance.
dick bent his bow.
""i'll teach you!"
he cried, fiercely.
""oath or no oath, ye may go hang for me!"
and he turned and began to run.
matcham was on his feet at once, and began running after him.
""what d'ye want?"
cried dick, stopping.
""what make ye after me?
stand off!"
""will follow an i please," said matcham.
""this wood is free to me."
""stand back, by" r lady!"
returned dick, raising his bow.
""ah, y" are a brave boy!"
retorted matcham.
""shoot!"
dick lowered his weapon in some confusion.
""see here," he said.
""y" have done me ill enough.
go, then.
go your way in fair wise; or, whether i will or not, i must even drive you to it."
""well," said matcham, doggedly, "y" are the stronger.
do your worst.
i shall not leave to follow thee, dick, unless thou makest me," he added.
dick was almost beside himself.
it went against his heart to beat a creature so defenceless; and, for the life of him, he knew no other way to rid himself of this unwelcome and, as he began to think, perhaps untrue companion.
""y" are mad, i think," he cried.
""fool-fellow, i am hasting to your foes; as fast as foot can carry me, go i thither."
""i care not, dick," replied the lad.
""if y" are bound to die, dick, i'll die too.
i would liever go with you to prison than to go free without you."
""well," returned the other, "i may stand no longer prating.
follow me, if ye must; but if ye play me false, it shall but little advance you, mark ye that.
shalt have a quarrel in thine inwards, boy."
so saying, dick took once more to his heels, keeping in the margin of the thicket and looking briskly about him as he went.
at a good pace he rattled out of the dell, and came again into the more open quarters of the wood.
to the left a little eminence appeared, spotted with golden gorse, and crowned with a black tuft of firs.
""i shall see from there," he thought, and struck for it across a heathy clearing.
he had gone but a few yards, when matcham touched him on the arm, and pointed.
to the eastward of the summit there was a dip, and, as it were, a valley passing to the other side; the heath was not yet out; all the ground was rusty, like an unscoured buckler, and dotted sparingly with yews; and there, one following another, dick saw half a score green jerkins mounting the ascent, and marching at their head, conspicuous by his boar-spear, ellis duckworth in person.
one after another gained the top, showed for a moment against the sky, and then dipped upon the further side, until the last was gone.
dick looked at matcham with a kindlier eye.
""so y" are to be true to me, jack?"
he asked.
""i thought ye were of the other party."
matcham began to sob.
""what cheer!"
cried dick.
""now the saints behold us!
would ye snivel for a word?"
""ye hurt me," sobbed matcham.
""ye hurt me when ye threw me down.
y" are a coward to abuse your strength."
""nay, that is fool's talk," said dick, roughly.
""y" had no title to my windac, master john.
i would "a" done right to have well basted you.
if ye go with me, ye must obey me; and so, come."
matcham had half a thought to stay behind; but, seeing that dick continued to scour full-tilt towards the eminence and not so much as looked across his shoulder, he soon thought better of that, and began to run in turn.
but the ground was very difficult and steep; dick had already a long start, and had, at any rate, the lighter heels, and he had long since come to the summit, crawled forward through the firs, and ensconced himself in a thick tuft of gorse, before matcham, panting like a deer, rejoined him, and lay down in silence by his side.
below, in the bottom of a considerable valley, the short cut from tunstall hamlet wound downwards to the ferry.
it was well beaten, and the eye followed it easily from point to point.
here it was bordered by open glades; there the forest closed upon it; every hundred yards it ran beside an ambush.
far down the path, the sun shone on seven steel salets, and from time to time, as the trees opened, selden and his men could be seen riding briskly, still bent upon sir daniel's mission.
the wind had somewhat fallen, but still tussled merrily with the trees, and, perhaps, had appleyard been there, he would have drawn a warning from the troubled conduct of the birds.
""now, mark," dick whispered.
""they be already well advanced into the wood; their safety lieth rather in continuing forward.
but see ye where this wide glade runneth down before us, and in the midst of it, these two score trees make like an island?
there were their safety.
an they but come sound as far as that, i will make shift to warn them.
but my heart misgiveth me; they are but seven against so many, and they but carry cross-bows.
the long-bow, jack, will have the uppermost ever."
meanwhile, selden and his men still wound up the path, ignorant of their danger, and momently drew nearer hand.
once, indeed, they paused, drew into a group, and seemed to point and listen.
but it was something from far away across the plain that had arrested their attention -- a hollow growl of cannon that came, from time to time, upon the wind, and told of the great battle.
it was worth a thought, to be sure; for if the voice of the big guns were thus become audible in tunstall forest, the fight must have rolled ever eastward, and the day, by consequence, gone sore against sir daniel and the lords of the dark rose.
but presently the little troop began again to move forward, and came next to a very open, heathy portion of the way, where but a single tongue of forest ran down to join the road.
they were but just abreast of this, when an arrow shone flying.
one of the men threw up his arms, his horse reared, and both fell and struggled together in a mass.
even from where the boys lay they could hear the rumour of the men's voices crying out; they could see the startled horses prancing, and, presently, as the troop began to recover from their first surprise, one fellow beginning to dismount.
a second arrow from somewhat farther off glanced in a wide arch; a second rider bit the dust.
the man who was dismounting lost hold upon the rein, and his horse fled galloping, and dragged him by the foot along the road, bumping from stone to stone, and battered by the fleeing hoofs.
the four who still kept the saddle instantly broke and scattered; one wheeled and rode, shrieking, towards the ferry; the other three, with loose rein and flying raiment, came galloping up the road from tunstall.
from every clump they passed an arrow sped.
soon a horse fell, but the rider found his feet and continued to pursue his comrades till a second shot despatched him.
another man fell; then another horse; out of the whole troop there was but one fellow left, and he on foot; only, in different directions, the noise of the galloping of three riderless horses was dying fast into the distance.
all this time not one of the assailants had for a moment shown himself.
here and there along the path, horse or man rolled, undespatched, in his agony; but no merciful enemy broke cover to put them from their pain.
the solitary survivor stood bewildered in the road beside his fallen charger.
he had come the length of that broad glade, with the island of timber, pointed out by dick.
he was not, perhaps, five hundred yards from where the boys lay hidden; and they could see him plainly, looking to and fro in deadly expectation.
but nothing came; and the man began to pluck up his courage, and suddenly unslung and bent his bow.
at the same time, by something in his action, dick recognised selden.
at this offer of resistance, from all about him in the covert of the woods there went up the sound of laughter.
a score of men, at least, for this was the very thickest of the ambush, joined in this cruel and untimely mirth.
then an arrow glanced over selden's shoulder; and he leaped and ran a little back.
another dart struck quivering at his heel.
he made for the cover.
a third shaft leaped out right in his face, and fell short in front of him.
and then the laughter was repeated loudly, rising and reechoing from different thickets.
it was plain that his assailants were but baiting him, as men, in those days, baited the poor bull, or as the cat still trifles with the mouse.
the skirmish was well over; farther down the road, a fellow in green was already calmly gathering the arrows; and now, in the evil pleasure of their hearts, they gave themselves the spectacle of their poor fellow-sinner in his torture.
selden began to understand; he uttered a roar of anger, shouldered his cross-bow, and sent a quarrel at a venture into the wood.
chance favoured him, for a slight cry responded.
then, throwing down his weapon, selden began to run before him up the glade, and almost in a straight line for dick and matcham.
the companions of the black arrow now began to shoot in earnest.
but they were properly served; their chance had past; most of them had now to shoot against the sun; and selden, as he ran, bounded from side to side to baffle and deceive their aim.
best of all, by turning up the glade he had defeated their preparations; there were no marksmen posted higher up than the one whom he had just killed or wounded; and the confusion of the foresters" counsels soon became apparent.
a whistle sounded thrice, and then again twice.
it was repeated from another quarter.
the woods on either side became full of the sound of people bursting through the underwood; and a bewildered deer ran out into the open, stood for a second on three feet, with nose in air, and then plunged again into the thicket.
selden still ran, bounding; ever and again an arrow followed him, but still would miss.
it began to appear as if he might escape.
dick had his bow armed, ready to support him; even matcham, forgetful of his interest, took sides at heart for the poor fugitive; and both lads glowed and trembled in the ardour of their hearts.
he was within fifty yards of them, when an arrow struck him and he fell.
he was up again, indeed, upon the instant; but now he ran staggering, and, like a blind man, turned aside from his direction.
dick leaped to his feet and waved to him.
""here!"
he cried.
""this way!
here is help!
nay, run, fellow -- run!"
but just then a second arrow struck selden in the shoulder, between the plates of his brigandine, and, piercing through his jack, brought him, like a stone, to earth.
""o, the poor heart!"
cried matcham, with clasped hands.
and dick stood petrified upon the hill, a mark for archery.
ten to one he had speedily been shot -- for the foresters were furious with themselves, and taken unawares by dick's appearance in the rear of their position -- but instantly, out of a quarter of the wood surprisingly near to the two lads, a stentorian voice arose, the voice of ellis duckworth.
""hold!"
it roared.
""shoot not!
take him alive!
it is young shelton -- harry's son."
and immediately after a shrill whistle sounded several times, and was again taken up and repeated farther off.
the whistle, it appeared, was john amend-all's battle trumpet, by which he published his directions.
""ah, foul fortune!"
cried dick.
""we are undone.
swiftly, jack, come swiftly!"
and the pair turned and ran back through the open pine clump that covered the summit of the hill.
chapter vi -- to the day's end it was, indeed, high time for them to run.
on every side the company of the black arrow was making for the hill.
some, being better runners, or having open ground to run upon, had far outstripped the others, and were already close upon the goal; some, following valleys, had spread out to right and left, and outflanked the lads on either side.
dick plunged into the nearest cover.
it was a tall grove of oaks, firm under foot and clear of underbrush, and as it lay down hill, they made good speed.
there followed next a piece of open, which dick avoided, holding to his left.
two minutes after, and the same obstacle arising, the lads followed the same course.
thus it followed that, while the lads, bending continually to the left, drew nearer and nearer to the high road and the river which they had crossed an hour or two before, the great bulk of their pursuers were leaning to the other hand, and running towards tunstall.
the lads paused to breathe.
there was no sound of pursuit.
dick put his ear to the ground, and still there was nothing; but the wind, to be sure, still made a turmoil in the trees, and it was hard to make certain.
""on again," said dick; and, tired as they were, and matcham limping with his injured foot, they pulled themselves together, and once more pelted down the hill.
three minutes later, they were breasting through a low thicket of evergreen.
high overhead, the tall trees made a continuous roof of foliage.
it was a pillared grove, as high as a cathedral, and except for the hollies among which the lads were struggling, open and smoothly swarded.
on the other side, pushing through the last fringe of evergreen, they blundered forth again into the open twilight of the grove.
""stand!"
cried a voice.
and there, between the huge stems, not fifty feet before them, they beheld a stout fellow in green, sore blown with running, who instantly drew an arrow to the head and covered them.
matcham stopped with a cry; but dick, without a pause, ran straight upon the forester, drawing his dagger as he went.
the other, whether he was startled by the daring of the onslaught, or whether he was hampered by his orders, did not shoot; he stood wavering; and before he had time to come to himself, dick bounded at his throat, and sent him sprawling backward on the turf.
the arrow went one way and the bow another with a sounding twang.
the disarmed forester grappled his assailant; but the dagger shone and descended twice.
then came a couple of groans, and then dick rose to his feet again, and the man lay motionless, stabbed to the heart.
""on!"
said dick; and he once more pelted forward, matcham trailing in the rear.
to say truth, they made but poor speed of it by now, labouring dismally as they ran, and catching for their breath like fish.
matcham had a cruel stitch, and his head swam; and as for dick, his knees were like lead.
but they kept up the form of running with undiminished courage.
presently they came to the end of the grove.
it stopped abruptly; and there, a few yards before them, was the high road from risingham to shoreby, lying, at this point, between two even walls of forest.
at the sight dick paused; and as soon as he stopped running, he became aware of a confused noise, which rapidly grew louder.
it was at first like the rush of a very high gust of wind, but soon it became more definite, and resolved itself into the galloping of horses; and then, in a flash, a whole company of men-at-arms came driving round the corner, swept before the lads, and were gone again upon the instant.
they rode as for their lives, in complete disorder; some of them were wounded; riderless horses galloped at their side with bloody saddles.
they were plainly fugitives from the great battle.
the noise of their passage had scarce begun to die away towards shoreby, before fresh hoofs came echoing in their wake, and another deserter clattered down the road; this time a single rider and, by his splendid armour, a man of high degree.
close after him there followed several baggage-waggons, fleeing at an ungainly canter, the drivers flailing at the horses as if for life.
these must have run early in the day; but their cowardice was not to save them.
for just before they came abreast of where the lads stood wondering, a man in hacked armour, and seemingly beside himself with fury, overtook the waggons, and with the truncheon of a sword, began to cut the drivers down.
some leaped from their places and plunged into the wood; the others he sabred as they sat, cursing them the while for cowards in a voice that was scarce human.
all this time the noise in the distance had continued to increase; the rumble of carts, the clatter of horses, the cries of men, a great, confused rumour, came swelling on the wind; and it was plain that the rout of a whole army was pouring, like an inundation, down the road.
dick stood sombre.
he had meant to follow the highway till the turn for holywood, and now he had to change his plan.
but above all, he had recognised the colours of earl risingham, and he knew that the battle had gone finally against the rose of lancaster.
had sir daniel joined, and was he now a fugitive and ruined?
or had he deserted to the side of york, and was he forfeit to honour?
it was an ugly choice.
""come," he said, sternly; and, turning on his heel, he began to walk forward through the grove, with matcham limping in his rear.
for some time they continued to thread the forest in silence.
it was now growing late; the sun was setting in the plain beyond kettley; the tree-tops overhead glowed golden; but the shadows had begun to grow darker and the chill of the night to fall.
""if there were anything to eat!"
cried dick, suddenly, pausing as he spoke.
matcham sat down and began to weep.
""ye can weep for your own supper, but when it was to save men's lives, your heart was hard enough," said dick, contemptuously.
""y" "ave seven deaths upon your conscience, master john; i'll ne'er forgive you that."
""conscience!"
cried matcham, looking fiercely up.
""mine!
and ye have the man's red blood upon your dagger!
and wherefore did ye slay him, the poor soul?
he drew his arrow, but he let not fly; he held you in his hand, and spared you!
't is as brave to kill a kitten, as a man that not defends himself."
dick was struck dumb.
""i slew him fair.
i ran me in upon his bow," he cried.
""it was a coward blow," returned matcham.
""y" are but a lout and bully, master dick; ye but abuse advantages; let there come a stronger, we will see you truckle at his boot!
ye care not for vengeance, neither -- for your father's death that goes unpaid, and his poor ghost that clamoureth for justice.
but if there come but a poor creature in your hands that lacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, down she shall go!"
dick was too furious to observe that "she."
""marry!"
he cried, "and here is news!
of any two the one will still be stronger.
the better man throweth the worse, and the worse is well served.
ye deserve a belting, master matcham, for your ill-guidance and unthankfulness to meward; and what ye deserve ye shall have."
and dick, who, even in his angriest temper, still preserved the appearance of composure, began to unbuckle his belt.
""here shall be your supper," he said, grimly.
matcham had stopped his tears; he was as white as a sheet, but he looked dick steadily in the face, and never moved.
dick took a step, swinging the belt.
then he paused, embarrassed by the large eyes and the thin, weary face of his companion.
his courage began to subside.
""say ye were in the wrong, then," he said, lamely.
""nay," said matcham, "i was in the right.
come, cruel!
i be lame; i be weary; i resist not; i ne'er did thee hurt; come, beat me -- coward!"
dick raised the belt at this last provocation, but matcham winced and drew himself together with so cruel an apprehension, that his heart failed him yet again.
the strap fell by his side, and he stood irresolute, feeling like a fool.
""a plague upon thee, shrew!"
he said.
""an ye be so feeble of hand, ye should keep the closer guard upon your tongue.
but i'll be hanged before i beat you!"
and he put on his belt again.
""beat you i will not," he continued; "but forgive you?
-- never.
i knew ye not; ye were my master's enemy; i lent you my horse; my dinner ye have eaten; y" "ave called me a man o" wood, a coward, and a bully.
nay, by the mass!
the measure is filled, and runneth over.
't is a great thing to be weak, i trow: ye can do your worst, yet shall none punish you; ye may steal a man's weapons in the hour of need, yet may the man not take his own again; -- y" are weak, forsooth!
nay, then, if one cometh charging at you with a lance, and crieth he is weak, ye must let him pierce your body through!
tut!
fool words!"
""and yet ye beat me not," returned matcham.
""let be," said dick -- "let be.
i will instruct you.
y" "ave been ill-nurtured, methinks, and yet ye have the makings of some good, and, beyond all question, saved me from the river.
nay, i had forgotten it; i am as thankless as thyself.
but, come, let us on.
an we be for holywood this night, ay, or to-morrow early, we had best set forward speedily."
but though dick had talked himself back into his usual good-humour, matcham had forgiven him nothing.
his violence, the recollection of the forester whom he had slain -- above all, the vision of the upraised belt, were things not easily to be forgotten.
""i will thank you, for the form's sake," said matcham.
""but, in sooth, good master shelton, i had liever find my way alone.
here is a wide wood; prithee, let each choose his path; i owe you a dinner and a lesson.
fare ye well!"
""nay," cried dick, "if that be your tune, so be it, and a plague be with you!"
each turned aside, and they began walking off severally, with no thought of the direction, intent solely on their quarrel.
but dick had not gone ten paces ere his name was called, and matcham came running after.
""dick," he said, "it were unmannerly to part so coldly.
here is my hand, and my heart with it.
for all that wherein you have so excellently served and helped me -- not for the form, but from the heart, i thank you.
fare ye right well."
""well, lad," returned dick, taking the hand which was offered him, "good speed to you, if speed you may.
but i misdoubt it shrewdly.
y" are too disputatious."
so then they separated for the second time; and presently it was dick who was running after matcham.
""here," he said, "take my cross-bow; shalt not go unarmed."
""a cross-bow!"
said matcham.
""nay, boy, i have neither the strength to bend nor yet the skill to aim with it.
it were no help to me, good boy.
but yet i thank you."
the night had now fallen, and under the trees they could no longer read each other's face.
""i will go some little way with you," said dick.
""the night is dark.
i would fain leave you on a path, at least.
my mind misgiveth me, y" are likely to be lost."
without any more words, he began to walk forward, and the other once more followed him.
the blackness grew thicker and thicker.
only here and there, in open places, they saw the sky, dotted with small stars.
in the distance, the noise of the rout of the lancastrian army still continued to be faintly audible; but with every step they left it farther in the rear.
at the end of half an hour of silent progress they came forth upon a broad patch of heathy open.
it glimmered in the light of the stars, shaggy with fern and islanded with clumps of yew.
and here they paused and looked upon each other.
""y" are weary?"
dick said.
""nay, i am so weary," answered matcham, "that methinks i could lie down and die."
""i hear the chiding of a river," returned dick.
""let us go so far forth, for i am sore athirst."
the ground sloped down gently; and, sure enough, in the bottom, they found a little murmuring river, running among willows.
here they threw themselves down together by the brink; and putting their mouths to the level of a starry pool, they drank their fill.
""dick," said matcham, "it may not be.
i can no more."
""i saw a pit as we came down," said dick.
""let us lie down therein and sleep."
""nay, but with all my heart!"
cried matcham.
the pit was sandy and dry; a shock of brambles hung upon one hedge, and made a partial shelter; and there the two lads lay down, keeping close together for the sake of warmth, their quarrel all forgotten.
and soon sleep fell upon them like a cloud, and under the dew and stars they rested peacefully.
chapter vii -- the hooded face they awoke in the grey of the morning; the birds were not yet in full song, but twittered here and there among the woods; the sun was not yet up, but the eastern sky was barred with solemn colours.
half starved and over-weary as they were, they lay without moving, sunk in a delightful lassitude.
and as they thus lay, the clang of a bell fell suddenly upon their ears.
""a bell!"
said dick, sitting up.
""can we be, then, so near to holywood?"
a little after, the bell clanged again, but this time somewhat nearer hand; and from that time forth, and still drawing nearer and nearer, it continued to sound brokenly abroad in the silence of the morning.
""nay, what should this betoken?"
said dick, who was now broad awake.
""it is some one walking," returned matcham, and "the bell tolleth ever as he moves."
""i see that well," said dick.
""but wherefore?
what maketh he in tunstall woods?
jack," he added, "laugh at me an ye will, but i like not the hollow sound of it."
""nay," said matcham, with a shiver, "it hath a doleful note.
an the day were not come" -- but just then the bell, quickening its pace, began to ring thick and hurried, and then it gave a single hammering jangle, and was silent for a space.
""it is as though the bearer had run for a pater-noster while, and then leaped the river," dick observed.
""and now beginneth he again to pace soberly forward," added matcham.
""nay," returned dick -- "nay, not so soberly, jack.
't is a man that walketh you right speedily.
't is a man in some fear of his life, or about some hurried business.
see ye not how swift the beating draweth near?"
""it is now close by," said matcham.
they were now on the edge of the pit; and as the pit itself was on a certain eminence, they commanded a view over the greater proportion of the clearing, up to the thick woods that closed it in.
the daylight, which was very clear and grey, showed them a riband of white footpath wandering among the gorse.
it passed some hundred yards from the pit, and ran the whole length of the clearing, east and west.
by the line of its course, dick judged it should lead more or less directly to the moat house.
upon this path, stepping forth from the margin of the wood, a white figure now appeared.
it paused a little, and seemed to look about; and then, at a slow pace, and bent almost double, it began to draw near across the heath.
at every step the bell clanked.
face, it had none; a white hood, not even pierced with eye-holes, veiled the head; and as the creature moved, it seemed to feel its way with the tapping of a stick.
fear fell upon the lads, as cold as death.
""a leper!"
said dick, hoarsely.
""his touch is death," said matcham.
""let us run."
""not so," returned dick.
""see ye not?
-- he is stone blind.
he guideth him with a staff.
let us lie still; the wind bloweth towards the path, and he will go by and hurt us not.
alas, poor soul, and we should rather pity him!"
""i will pity him when he is by," replied matcham.
the blind leper was now about halfway towards them, and just then the sun rose and shone full on his veiled face.
he had been a tall man before he was bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even now he walked with a vigorous step.
the dismal beating of his bell, the pattering of the stick, the eyeless screen before his countenance, and the knowledge that he was not only doomed to death and suffering, but shut out for ever from the touch of his fellow-men, filled the lads" bosoms with dismay; and at every step that brought him nearer, their courage and strength seemed to desert them.
as he came about level with the pit, he paused, and turned his face full upon the lads.
""mary be my shield!
he sees us!"
said matcham, faintly.
""hush!"
whispered dick.
""he doth but hearken.
he is blind, fool!"
the leper looked or listened, whichever he was really doing, for some seconds.
then he began to move on again, but presently paused once more, and again turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads.
even dick became dead-white and closed his eyes, as if by the mere sight he might become infected.
but soon the bell sounded, and this time, without any farther hesitation, the leper crossed the remainder of the little heath and disappeared into the covert of the woods.
""he saw us," said matcham.
""i could swear it!"
""tut!"
returned dick, recovering some sparks of courage.
""he but heard us.
he was in fear, poor soul!
an ye were blind, and walked in a perpetual night, ye would start yourself, if ever a twig rustled or a bird cried "peep.""
""dick, good dick, he saw us," repeated matcham.
""when a man hearkeneth, he doth not as this man; he doth otherwise, dick.
this was seeing; it was not hearing.
he means foully.
hark, else, if his bell be not stopped!"
such was the case.
the bell rang no longer.
""nay," said dick, "i like not that.
nay," he cried again, "i like that little.
what may this betoken?
let us go, by the mass!"
""he hath gone east," added matcham.
""good dick, let us go westward straight; i shall not breathe till i have my back turned upon that leper."
""jack, y" are too cowardly," replied dick.
""we shall go fair for holywood, or as fair, at least, as i can guide you, and that will be due north."
they were afoot at once, passed the stream upon some stepping-stones, and began to mount on the other side, which was steeper, towards the margin of the wood.
the ground became very uneven, full of knolls and hollows; trees grew scattered or in clumps; it became difficult to choose a path, and the lads somewhat wandered.
they were weary, besides, with yesterday's exertions and the lack of food, and they moved but heavily and dragged their feet among the sand.
presently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were aware of the leper, some hundred feet in front of them, crossing the line of their march by a hollow.
his bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped the ground, and he went before him with the swift and assured footsteps of a man who sees.
next moment he had disappeared into a little thicket.
the lads, at the first glimpse, had crouched behind a tuft of gorse; there they lay, horror-struck.
""certain, he pursueth us," said dick -- "certain!
he held the clapper of his bell in one hand, saw ye?
that it should not sound.
now may the saints aid and guide us, for i have no strength to combat pestilence!"
""what maketh he?"
cried matcham.
""what doth he want?
who ever heard the like, that a leper, out of mere malice, should pursue unfortunates?
hath he not his bell to that very end, that people may avoid him?
dick, there is below this something deeper."
""nay, i care not," moaned dick; "the strength is gone out of me; my legs are like water.
the saints be mine assistance!"
""would ye lie there idle?"
cried matcham.
""let us back into the open.
we have the better chance; he can not steal upon us unawares."
""not i," said dick.
""my time is come, and peradventure he may pass us by."
""bend me, then, your bow!"
cried the other.
""what!
will ye be a man?"
dick crossed himself.
""would ye have me shoot upon a leper?"
he cried.
""the hand would fail me.
nay, now," he added -- "nay, now, let be!
with sound men i will fight, but not with ghosts and lepers.
which this is, i wot not.
one or other, heaven be our protection!"
""now," said matcham, "if this be man's courage, what a poor thing is man!
but sith ye will do naught, let us lie close."
then came a single, broken jangle on the bell.
""he hath missed his hold upon the clapper," whispered matcham.
""saints!
how near he is!"
but dick answered never a word; his teeth were near chattering.
soon they saw a piece of the white robe between some bushes; then the leper's head was thrust forth from behind a trunk, and he seemed narrowly to scan the neighbourhood before he once again withdrew.
to their stretched senses, the whole bush appeared alive with rustlings and the creak of twigs; and they heard the beating of each other's heart.
suddenly, with a cry, the leper sprang into the open close by, and ran straight upon the lads.
they, shrieking aloud, separated and began to run different ways.
but their horrible enemy fastened upon matcham, ran him swiftly down, and had him almost instantly a prisoner.
the lad gave one scream that echoed high and far over the forest, he had one spasm of struggling, and then all his limbs relaxed, and he fell limp into his captor's arms.
dick heard the cry and turned.
he saw matcham fall; and on the instant his spirit and his strength revived; with a cry of pity and anger, he unslung and bent his arblast.
but ere he had time to shoot, the leper held up his hand.
""hold your shot, dickon!"
cried a familiar voice.
""hold your shot, mad wag!
know ye not a friend?"
and then laying down matcham on the turf, he undid the hood from off his face, and disclosed the features of sir daniel brackley.
""sir daniel!"
cried dick.
""ay, by the mass, sir daniel!"
returned the knight.
""would ye shoot upon your guardian, rogue?
but here is this" -- and there he broke off, and pointing to matcham, asked: "how call ye him, dick?"
""nay," said dick, "i call him master matcham.
know ye him not?
he said ye knew him!"
""ay," replied sir daniel, "i know the lad;" and he chuckled.
""but he has fainted; and, by my sooth, he might have had less to faint for!
hey, dick?
did i put the fear of death upon you?"
""indeed, sir daniel, ye did that," said dick, and sighed again at the mere recollection.
""nay, sir, saving your respect, i had as lief "a" met the devil in person; and to speak truth, i am yet all a-quake.
but what made ye, sir, in such a guise?"
sir daniel's brow grew suddenly black with anger.
""what made i?"
he said.
""ye do well to mind me of it!
what?
i skulked for my poor life in my own wood of tunstall, dick.
we were ill sped at the battle; we but got there to be swept among the rout.
where be all my good men-at-arms?
dick, by the mass, i know not!
we were swept down; the shot fell thick among us; i have not seen one man in my own colours since i saw three fall.
for myself, i came sound to shoreby, and being mindful of the black arrow, got me this gown and bell, and came softly by the path for the moat house.
there is no disguise to be compared with it; the jingle of this bell would scare me the stoutest outlaw in the forest; they would all turn pale to hear it.
at length i came by you and matcham.
i could see but evilly through this same hood, and was not sure of you, being chiefly, and for many a good cause, astonished at the finding you together.
moreover, in the open, where i had to go slowly and tap with my staff, i feared to disclose myself.
but see," he added, "this poor shrew begins a little to revive.
a little good canary will comfort me the heart of it."
the knight, from under his long dress, produced a stout bottle, and began to rub the temples and wet the lips of the patient, who returned gradually to consciousness, and began to roll dim eyes from one to another.
""what cheer, jack!"
said dick.
""it was no leper, after all; it was sir daniel!
see!"
""swallow me a good draught of this," said the knight.
""this will give you manhood.
thereafter, i will give you both a meal, and we shall all three on to tunstall.
for, dick," he continued, laying forth bread and meat upon the grass, "i will avow to you, in all good conscience, it irks me sorely to be safe between four walls.
not since i backed a horse have i been pressed so hard; peril of life, jeopardy of land and livelihood, and to sum up, all these losels in the wood to hunt me down.
but i be not yet shent.
some of my lads will pick me their way home.
hatch hath ten fellows; selden, he had six.
nay, we shall soon be strong again; and if i can but buy my peace with my right fortunate and undeserving lord of york, why, dick, we'll be a man again and go a-horseback!"
and so saying, the knight filled himself a horn of canary, and pledged his ward in dumb show.
""selden," dick faltered -- "selden" -- and he paused again.
sir daniel put down the wine untasted.
""how!"
he cried, in a changed voice.
""selden?
speak!
what of selden?"
dick stammered forth the tale of the ambush and the massacre.
the knight heard in silence; but as he listened, his countenance became convulsed with rage and grief.
""now here," he cried, "on my right hand, i swear to avenge it!
if that i fail, if that i spill not ten men's souls for each, may this hand wither from my body!
i broke this duckworth like a rush; i beggared him to his door; i burned the thatch above his head; i drove him from this country; and now, cometh he back to beard me?
nay, but, duckworth, this time it shall go bitter hard!"
he was silent for some time, his face working.
""eat!"
he cried, suddenly.
""and you here," he added to matcham, "swear me an oath to follow straight to the moat house."
""i will pledge mine honour," replied matcham.
""what make i with your honour?"
cried the knight.
""swear me upon your mother's welfare!"
matcham gave the required oath; and sir daniel re-adjusted the hood over his face, and prepared his bell and staff.
to see him once more in that appalling travesty somewhat revived the horror of his two companions.
but the knight was soon upon his feet.
""eat with despatch," he said, "and follow me yarely to mine house."
and with that he set forth again into the woods; and presently after the bell began to sound, numbering his steps, and the two lads sat by their untasted meal, and heard it die slowly away up hill into the distance.
""and so ye go to tunstall?"
dick inquired.
""yea, verily," said matcham, "when needs must!
i am braver behind sir daniel's back than to his face."
they ate hastily, and set forth along the path through the airy upper levels of the forest, where great beeches stood apart among green lawns, and the birds and squirrels made merry on the boughs.
two hours later, they began to descend upon the other side, and already, among the tree-tops, saw before them the red walls and roofs of tunstall house.
""here," said matcham, pausing, "ye shall take your leave of your friend jack, whom y" are to see no more.
come, dick, forgive him what he did amiss, as he, for his part, cheerfully and lovingly forgiveth you."
""and wherefore so?"
asked dick.
""an we both go to tunstall, i shall see you yet again, i trow, and that right often."
""ye'll never again see poor jack matcham," replied the other, "that was so fearful and burthensome, and yet plucked you from the river; ye'll not see him more, dick, by mine honour!"
he held his arms open, and the lads embraced and kissed.
""and, dick," continued matcham, "my spirit bodeth ill.
y" are now to see a new sir daniel; for heretofore hath all prospered in his hands exceedingly, and fortune followed him; but now, methinks, when his fate hath come upon him, and he runs the adventure of his life, he will prove but a foul lord to both of us.
he may be brave in battle, but he hath the liar's eye; there is fear in his eye, dick, and fear is as cruel as the wolf!
we go down into that house, saint mary guide us forth again!"
and so they continued their descent in silence, and came out at last before sir daniel's forest stronghold, where it stood, low and shady, flanked with round towers and stained with moss and lichen, in the lilied waters of the moat.
even as they appeared, the doors were opened, the bridge lowered, and sir daniel himself, with hatch and the parson at his side, stood ready to receive them.
book ii -- the moat house chapter i -- dick asks questions the moat house stood not far from the rough forest road.
externally, it was a compact rectangle of red stone, flanked at each corner by a round tower, pierced for archery and battlemented at the top.
within, it enclosed a narrow court.
the moat was perhaps twelve feet wide, crossed by a single drawbridge.
it was supplied with water by a trench, leading to a forest pool and commanded, through its whole length, from the battlements of the two southern towers.
except that one or two tall and thick trees had been suffered to remain within half a bowshot of the walls, the house was in a good posture for defence.
in the court, dick found a part of the garrison, busy with preparations for defence, and gloomily discussing the chances of a siege.
some were making arrows, some sharpening swords that had long been disused; but even as they worked, they shook their heads.
twelve of sir daniel's party had escaped the battle, run the gauntlet through the wood, and come alive to the moat house.
but out of this dozen, three had been gravely wounded: two at risingham in the disorder of the rout, one by john amend-all's marksmen as he crossed the forest.
this raised the force of the garrison, counting hatch, sir daniel, and young shelton, to twenty-two effective men.
and more might be continually expected to arrive.
the danger lay not therefore in the lack of men.
it was the terror of the black arrow that oppressed the spirits of the garrison.
for their open foes of the party of york, in these most changing times, they felt but a far-away concern.
""the world," as people said in those days, "might change again" before harm came.
but for their neighbours in the wood, they trembled.
it was not sir daniel alone who was a mark for hatred.
his men, conscious of impunity, had carried themselves cruelly through all the country.
harsh commands had been harshly executed; and of the little band that now sat talking in the court, there was not one but had been guilty of some act of oppression or barbarity.
and now, by the fortune of war, sir daniel had become powerless to protect his instruments; now, by the issue of some hours of battle, at which many of them had not been present, they had all become punishable traitors to the state, outside the buckler of the law, a shrunken company in a poor fortress that was hardly tenable, and exposed upon all sides to the just resentment of their victims.
nor had there been lacking grisly advertisements of what they might expect.
at different periods of the evening and the night, no fewer than seven riderless horses had come neighing in terror to the gate.
two were from selden's troop; five belonged to men who had ridden with sir daniel to the field.
lastly, a little before dawn, a spearman had come staggering to the moat side, pierced by three arrows; even as they carried him in, his spirit had departed; but by the words that he uttered in his agony, he must have been the last survivor of a considerable company of men.
hatch himself showed, under his sun-brown, the pallour of anxiety; and when he had taken dick aside and learned the fate of selden, he fell on a stone bench and fairly wept.
the others, from where they sat on stools or doorsteps in the sunny angle of the court, looked at him with wonder and alarm, but none ventured to inquire the cause of his emotion.
""nay, master shelton," said hatch, at last -- "nay, but what said i?
we shall all go.
selden was a man of his hands; he was like a brother to me.
well, he has gone second; well, we shall all follow!
for what said their knave rhyme?
--" a black arrow in each black heart."
was it not so it went?
appleyard, selden, smith, old humphrey gone; and there lieth poor john carter, crying, poor sinner, for the priest."
dick gave ear.
out of a low window, hard by where they were talking, groans and murmurs came to his ear.
""lieth he there?"
he asked.
""ay, in the second porter's chamber," answered hatch.
""we could not bear him further, soul and body were so bitterly at odds.
at every step we lifted him, he thought to wend.
but now, methinks, it is the soul that suffereth.
ever for the priest he crieth, and sir oliver, i wot not why, still cometh not.
"twill be a long shrift; but poor appleyard and poor selden, they had none."
dick stooped to the window and looked in.
the little cell was low and dark, but he could make out the wounded soldier lying moaning on his pallet.
""carter, poor friend, how goeth it?"
he asked.
""master shelton," returned the man, in an excited whisper, "for the dear light of heaven, bring the priest.
alack, i am sped; i am brought very low down; my hurt is to the death.
ye may do me no more service; this shall be the last.
now, for my poor soul's interest, and as a loyal gentleman, bestir you; for i have that matter on my conscience that shall drag me deep."
he groaned, and dick heard the grating of his teeth, whether in pain or terror.
just then sir daniel appeared upon the threshold of the hall.
he had a letter in one hand.
""lads," he said, "we have had a shog, we have had a tumble; wherefore, then, deny it?
rather it imputeth to get speedily again to saddle.
this old harry the sixt has had the undermost.
wash we, then, our hands of him.
i have a good friend that rideth next the duke, the lord of wensleydale.
well, i have writ a letter to my friend, praying his good lordship, and offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable surety for the future.
doubt not but he will lend a favourable ear.
a prayer without gifts is like a song without music: i surfeit him with promises, boys -- i spare not to promise.
what, then, is lacking?
nay, a great thing -- wherefore should i deceive you?
-- a great thing and a difficult: a messenger to bear it.
the woods -- y" are not ignorant of that -- lie thick with our ill-willers.
haste is most needful; but without sleight and caution all is naught.
which, then, of this company will take me this letter, bear me it to my lord of wensleydale, and bring me the answer back?"
one man instantly arose.
""i will, a n't like you," said he.
""i will even risk my carcase."
""nay, dicky bowyer, not so," returned the knight.
""it likes me not.
y" are sly indeed, but not speedy.
ye were a laggard ever."
""a n't be so, sir daniel, here am i," cried another.
""the saints forfend!"
said the knight.
""y" are speedy, but not sly.
ye would blunder me headforemost into john amend-all's camp.
i thank you both for your good courage; but, in sooth, it may not be."
then hatch offered himself, and he also was refused.
""i want you here, good bennet; y" are my right hand, indeed," returned the knight; and then several coming forward in a group, sir daniel at length selected one and gave him the letter.
""now," he said, "upon your good speed and better discretion we do all depend.
bring me a good answer back, and before three weeks, i will have purged my forest of these vagabonds that brave us to our faces.
but mark it well, throgmorton: the matter is not easy.
ye must steal forth under night, and go like a fox; and how ye are to cross till i know not, neither by the bridge nor ferry."
""i can swim," returned throgmorton.
""i will come soundly, fear not."
""well, friend, get ye to the buttery," replied sir daniel.
""ye shall swim first of all in nut-brown ale."
and with that he turned back into the hall.
""sir daniel hath a wise tongue," said hatch, aside, to dick.
""see, now, where many a lesser man had glossed the matter over, he speaketh it out plainly to his company.
here is a danger," a saith, and here difficulty; and jesteth in the very saying.
nay, by saint barbary, he is a born captain!
not a man but he is some deal heartened up!
see how they fall again to work."
this praise of sir daniel put a thought in the lad's head.
""bennet," he said, "how came my father by his end?"
""ask me not that," replied hatch.
""i had no hand nor knowledge in it; furthermore, i will even be silent, master dick.
for look you, in a man's own business there he may speak; but of hearsay matters and of common talk, not so.
ask me sir oliver -- ay, or carter, if ye will; not me."
and hatch set off to make the rounds, leaving dick in a muse.
""wherefore would he not tell me?"
thought the lad.
""and wherefore named he carter?
carter -- nay, then carter had a hand in it, perchance."
he entered the house, and passing some little way along a flagged and vaulted passage, came to the door of the cell where the hurt man lay groaning.
at his entrance carter started eagerly.
""have ye brought the priest?"
he cried.
""not yet awhile," returned dick.
""y" "ave a word to tell me first.
how came my father, harry shelton, by his death?"
the man's face altered instantly.
""i know not," he replied, doggedly.
""nay, ye know well," returned dick.
""seek not to put me by."
""i tell you i know not," repeated carter.
""then," said dick, "ye shall die unshriven.
here am i, and here shall stay.
there shall no priest come near you, rest assured.
for of what avail is penitence, an ye have no mind to right those wrongs ye had a hand in?
and without penitence, confession is but mockery."
""ye say what ye mean not, master dick," said carter, composedly.
""it is ill threatening the dying, and becometh you -lrb- to speak truth -rrb- little.
and for as little as it commends you, it shall serve you less.
stay, an ye please.
ye will condemn my soul -- ye shall learn nothing!
there is my last word to you."
and the wounded man turned upon the other side.
now, dick, to say truth, had spoken hastily, and was ashamed of his threat.
but he made one more effort.
""carter," he said, "mistake me not.
i know ye were but an instrument in the hands of others; a churl must obey his lord; i would not bear heavily on such an one.
but i begin to learn upon many sides that this great duty lieth on my youth and ignorance, to avenge my father.
prithee, then, good carter, set aside the memory of my threatenings, and in pure goodwill and honest penitence give me a word of help."
the wounded man lay silent; nor, say what dick pleased, could he extract another word from him.
""well," said dick, "i will go call the priest to you as ye desired; for howsoever ye be in fault to me or mine, i would not be willingly in fault to any, least of all to one upon the last change."
again the old soldier heard him without speech or motion; even his groans he had suppressed; and as dick turned and left the room, he was filled with admiration for that rugged fortitude.
""and yet," he thought, "of what use is courage without wit?
had his hands been clean, he would have spoken; his silence did confess the secret louder than words.
nay, upon all sides, proof floweth on me.
sir daniel, he or his men, hath done this thing."
dick paused in the stone passage with a heavy heart.
at that hour, in the ebb of sir daniel's fortune, when he was beleaguered by the archers of the black arrow and proscribed by the victorious yorkists, was dick, also, to turn upon the man who had nourished and taught him, who had severely punished, indeed, but yet unwearyingly protected his youth?
the necessity, if it should prove to be one, was cruel.
""pray heaven he be innocent!"
he said.
and then steps sounded on the flagging, and sir oliver came gravely towards the lad.
""one seeketh you earnestly," said dick.
""i am upon the way, good richard," said the priest.
""it is this poor carter.
alack, he is beyond cure."
""and yet his soul is sicker than his body," answered dick.
""have ye seen him?"
asked sir oliver, with a manifest start.
""i do but come from him," replied dick.
""what said he?
what said he?"
snapped the priest, with extraordinary eagerness.
""he but cried for you the more piteously, sir oliver.
it were well done to go the faster, for his hurt is grievous," returned the lad.
""i am straight for him," was the reply.
""well, we have all our sins.
we must all come to our latter day, good richard."
""ay, sir; and it were well if we all came fairly," answered dick.
the priest dropped his eyes, and with an inaudible benediction hurried on.
""he, too!"
thought dick -- "he, that taught me in piety!
nay, then, what a world is this, if all that care for me be blood-guilty of my father's death?
vengeance!
alas!
what a sore fate is mine, if i must be avenged upon my friends!"
the thought put matcham in his head.
he smiled at the remembrance of his strange companion, and then wondered where he was.
ever since they had come together to the doors of the moat house the younger lad had disappeared, and dick began to weary for a word with him.
about an hour after, mass being somewhat hastily run through by sir oliver, the company gathered in the hall for dinner.
it was a long, low apartment, strewn with green rushes, and the walls hung with arras in a design of savage men and questing bloodhounds; here and there hung spears and bows and bucklers; a fire blazed in the big chimney; there were arras-covered benches round the wall, and in the midst the table, fairly spread, awaited the arrival of the diners.
neither sir daniel nor his lady made their appearance.
sir oliver himself was absent, and here again there was no word of matcham.
dick began to grow alarmed, to recall his companion's melancholy forebodings, and to wonder to himself if any foul play had befallen him in that house.
after dinner he found goody hatch, who was hurrying to my lady brackley.
""goody," he said, "where is master matcham, i prithee?
i saw ye go in with him when we arrived."
the old woman laughed aloud.
""ah, master dick," she said, "y" have a famous bright eye in your head, to be sure!"
and laughed again.
""nay, but where is he, indeed?"
persisted dick.
""ye will never see him more," she returned -- "never.
it is sure."
""an i do not," returned the lad, "i will know the reason why.
he came not hither of his full free will; such as i am, i am his best protector, and i will see him justly used.
there be too many mysteries; i do begin to weary of the game!"
but as dick was speaking, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
it was bennet hatch that had come unperceived behind him.
with a jerk of his thumb, the retainer dismissed his wife.
""friend dick," he said, as soon as they were alone, "are ye a moon-struck natural?
an ye leave not certain things in peace, ye were better in the salt sea than here in tunstall moat house.
y" have questioned me; y" have baited carter; y" have frighted the jack-priest with hints.
bear ye more wisely, fool; and even now, when sir daniel calleth you, show me a smooth face for the love of wisdom.
y" are to be sharply questioned.
look to your answers."
""hatch," returned dick, "in all this i smell a guilty conscience."
""an ye go not the wiser, ye will soon smell blood," replied bennet.
""i do but warn you.
and here cometh one to call you."
and indeed, at that very moment, a messenger came across the court to summon dick into the presence of sir daniel.
chapter ii -- the two oaths sir daniel was in the hall; there he paced angrily before the fire, awaiting dick's arrival.
none was by except sir oliver, and he sat discreetly backward, thumbing and muttering over his breviary.
""y" have sent for me, sir daniel?"
said young shelton.
""i have sent for you, indeed," replied the knight.
""for what cometh to mine ears?
have i been to you so heavy a guardian that ye make haste to credit ill of me?
or sith that ye see me, for the nonce, some worsted, do ye think to quit my party?
by the mass, your father was not so!
those he was near, those he stood by, come wind or weather.
but you, dick, y" are a fair-day friend, it seemeth, and now seek to clear yourself of your allegiance."
""a n't please you, sir daniel, not so," returned dick, firmly.
""i am grateful and faithful, where gratitude and faith are due.
and before more is said, i thank you, and i thank sir oliver; y" have great claims upon me both -- none can have more; i were a hound if i forgot them."
""it is well," said sir daniel; and then, rising into anger: "gratitude and faith are words, dick shelton," he continued; "but i look to deeds.
in this hour of my peril, when my name is attainted, when my lands are forfeit, when this wood is full of men that hunger and thirst for my destruction, what doth gratitude?
what doth faith?
i have but a little company remaining; is it grateful or faithful to poison me their hearts with your insidious whisperings?
save me from such gratitude!
but, come, now, what is it ye wish?
speak; we are here to answer.
if ye have aught against me, stand forth and say it."
""sir," replied dick, "my father fell when i was yet a child.
it hath come to mine ears that he was foully done by.
it hath come to mine ears -- for i will not dissemble -- that ye had a hand in his undoing.
and in all verity, i shall not be at peace in mine own mind, nor very clear to help you, till i have certain resolution of these doubts."
sir daniel sat down in a deep settle.
he took his chin in his hand and looked at dick fixedly.
""and ye think i would be guardian to the man's son that i had murdered?"
he asked.
""nay," said dick, "pardon me if i answer churlishly; but indeed ye know right well a wardship is most profitable.
all these years have ye not enjoyed my revenues, and led my men?
have ye not still my marriage?
i wot not what it may be worth -- it is worth something.
pardon me again; but if ye were base enough to slay a man under trust, here were, perhaps, reasons enough to move you to the lesser baseness."
""when i was lad of your years," returned sir daniel, sternly, "my mind had not so turned upon suspicions.
and sir oliver here," he added, "why should he, a priest, be guilty of this act?"
""nay, sir daniel," said dick, "but where the master biddeth there will the dog go.
it is well known this priest is but your instrument.
i speak very freely; the time is not for courtesies.
even as i speak, so would i be answered.
and answer get i none!
ye but put more questions.
i rede ye be ware, sir daniel; for in this way ye will but nourish and not satisfy my doubts."
""i will answer you fairly, master richard," said the knight.
""were i to pretend ye have not stirred my wrath, i were no honest man.
but i will be just even in anger.
come to me with these words when y" are grown and come to man's estate, and i am no longer your guardian, and so helpless to resent them.
come to me then, and i will answer you as ye merit, with a buffet in the mouth.
till then ye have two courses: either swallow me down these insults, keep a silent tongue, and fight in the meanwhile for the man that fed and fought for your infancy; or else -- the door standeth open, the woods are full of mine enemies -- go."
the spirit with which these words were uttered, the looks with which they were accompanied, staggered dick; and yet he could not but observe that he had got no answer.
""i desire nothing more earnestly, sir daniel, than to believe you," he replied.
""assure me ye are free from this."
""will ye take my word of honour, dick?"
inquired the knight.
""that would i," answered the lad.
""i give it you," returned sir daniel.
""upon my word of honour, upon the eternal welfare of my spirit, and as i shall answer for my deeds hereafter, i had no hand nor portion in your father's death."
he extended his hand, and dick took it eagerly.
neither of them observed the priest, who, at the pronunciation of that solemn and false oath, had half arisen from his seat in an agony of horror and remorse.
""ah," cried dick, "ye must find it in your great-heartedness to pardon me!
i was a churl, indeed, to doubt of you.
but ye have my hand upon it; i will doubt no more."
""nay, dick," replied sir daniel, "y" are forgiven.
ye know not the world and its calumnious nature."
""i was the more to blame," added dick, "in that the rogues pointed, not directly at yourself, but at sir oliver."
as he spoke, he turned towards the priest, and paused in the middle of the last word.
this tall, ruddy, corpulent, high-stepping man had fallen, you might say, to pieces; his colour was gone, his limbs were relaxed, his lips stammered prayers; and now, when dick's eyes were fixed upon him suddenly, he cried out aloud, like some wild animal, and buried his face in his hands.
sir daniel was by him in two strides, and shook him fiercely by the shoulder.
at the same moment dick's suspicions reawakened.
""nay," he said, "sir oliver may swear also.
't was him they accused."
""he shall swear," said the knight.
sir oliver speechlessly waved his arms.
""ay, by the mass!
but ye shall swear," cried sir daniel, beside himself with fury.
""here, upon this book, ye shall swear," he continued, picking up the breviary, which had fallen to the ground.
""what!
ye make me doubt you!
swear, i say; swear!"
but the priest was still incapable of speech.
his terror of sir daniel, his terror of perjury, risen to about an equal height, strangled him.
and just then, through the high, stained-glass window of the hall, a black arrow crashed, and struck, and stuck quivering, in the midst of the long table.
sir oliver, with a loud scream, fell fainting on the rushes; while the knight, followed by dick, dashed into the court and up the nearest corkscrew stair to the battlements.
the sentries were all on the alert.
the sun shone quietly on green lawns dotted with trees, and on the wooded hills of the forest which enclosed the view.
there was no sign of a besieger.
""whence came that shot?"
asked the knight.
""from yonder clump, sir daniel," returned a sentinel.
the knight stood a little, musing.
then he turned to dick.
""dick," he said, "keep me an eye upon these men; i leave you in charge here.
as for the priest, he shall clear himself, or i will know the reason why.
i do almost begin to share in your suspicions.
he shall swear, trust me, or we shall prove him guilty."
dick answered somewhat coldly, and the knight, giving him a piercing glance, hurriedly returned to the hall.
his first glance was for the arrow.
it was the first of these missiles he had seen, and as he turned it to and fro, the dark hue of it touched him with some fear.
again there was some writing: one word -- "earthed."
""ay," he broke out, "they know i am home, then.
earthed!
ay, but there is not a dog among them fit to dig me out."
sir oliver had come to himself, and now scrambled to his feet.
""alack, sir daniel!"
he moaned, "y" "ave sworn a dread oath; y" are doomed to the end of time."
""ay," returned the knight, "i have sworn an oath, indeed, thou chucklehead; but thyself shalt swear a greater.
it shall be on the blessed cross of holywood.
look to it; get the words ready.
it shall be sworn to-night."
""now, may heaven lighten you!"
replied the priest; "may heaven incline your heart from this iniquity!"
""look you, my good father," said sir daniel, "if y" are for piety, i say no more; ye begin late, that is all.
but if y" are in any sense bent upon wisdom, hear me.
this lad beginneth to irk me like a wasp.
i have a need for him, for i would sell his marriage.
but i tell you, in all plainness, if that he continue to weary me, he shall go join his father.
i give orders now to change him to the chamber above the chapel.
if that ye can swear your innocency with a good, solid oath and an assured countenance, it is well; the lad will be at peace a little, and i will spare him.
if that ye stammer or blench, or anyways boggle at the swearing, he will not believe you; and by the mass, he shall die.
there is for your thinking on."
""the chamber above the chapel!"
gasped the priest.
""that same," replied the knight.
""so if ye desire to save him, save him; and if ye desire not, prithee, go to, and let me be at peace!
for an i had been a hasty man, i would already have put my sword through you, for your intolerable cowardice and folly.
have ye chosen?
say!"
""i have chosen," said the priest.
""heaven pardon me, i will do evil for good.
i will swear for the lad's sake."
""so is it best!"
said sir daniel.
""send for him, then, speedily.
ye shall see him alone.
yet i shall have an eye on you.
i shall be here in the panel room."
the knight raised the arras and let it fall again behind him.
there was the sound of a spring opening; then followed the creaking of trod stairs.
sir oliver, left alone, cast a timorous glance upward at the arras-covered wall, and crossed himself with every appearance of terror and contrition.
""nay, if he is in the chapel room," the priest murmured, "were it at my soul's cost, i must save him."
three minutes later, dick, who had been summoned by another messenger, found sir oliver standing by the hall table, resolute and pale.
""richard shelton," he said, "ye have required an oath from me.
i might complain, i might deny you; but my heart is moved toward you for the past, and i will even content you as ye choose.
by the true cross of holywood, i did not slay your father."
""sir oliver," returned dick, "when first we read john amend-all's paper, i was convinced of so much.
but suffer me to put two questions.
ye did not slay him; granted.
but had ye no hand in it?"
""none," said sir oliver.
and at the same time he began to contort his face, and signal with his mouth and eyebrows, like one who desired to convey a warning, yet dared not utter a sound.
dick regarded him in wonder; then he turned and looked all about him at the empty hall.
""what make ye?"
he inquired.
""why, naught," returned the priest, hastily smoothing his countenance.
""i make naught; i do but suffer; i am sick.
i -- i -- prithee, dick, i must begone.
on the true cross of holywood, i am clean innocent alike of violence or treachery.
content ye, good lad.
farewell!"
and he made his escape from the apartment with unusual alacrity.
dick remained rooted to the spot, his eyes wandering about the room, his face a changing picture of various emotions, wonder, doubt, suspicion, and amusement.
gradually, as his mind grew clearer, suspicion took the upper hand, and was succeeded by certainty of the worst.
he raised his head, and, as he did so, violently started.
high upon the wall there was the figure of a savage hunter woven in the tapestry.
with one hand he held a horn to his mouth; in the other he brandished a stout spear.
his face was dark, for he was meant to represent an african.
now, here was what had startled richard shelton.
the sun had moved away from the hall windows, and at the same time the fire had blazed up high on the wide hearth, and shed a changeful glow upon the roof and hangings.
in this light the figure of the black hunter had winked at him with a white eyelid.
he continued staring at the eye.
the light shone upon it like a gem; it was liquid, it was alive.
again the white eyelid closed upon it for a fraction of a second, and the next moment it was gone.
there could be no mistake.
the live eye that had been watching him through a hole in the tapestry was gone.
the firelight no longer shone on a reflecting surface.
and instantly dick awoke to the terrors of his position.
hatch's warning, the mute signals of the priest, this eye that had observed him from the wall, ran together in his mind.
he saw he had been put upon his trial, that he had once more betrayed his suspicions, and that, short of some miracle, he was lost.
""if i can not get me forth out of this house," he thought, "i am a dead man!
and this poor matcham, too -- to what a cockatrice's nest have i not led him!"
he was still so thinking, when there came one in haste, to bid him help in changing his arms, his clothing, and his two or three books, to a new chamber.
""a new chamber?"
he repeated.
""wherefore so?
what chamber?""
't is one above the chapel," answered the messenger.
""it hath stood long empty," said dick, musing.
""what manner of room is it?"
""nay, a brave room," returned the man.
""but yet" -- lowering his voice -- "they call it haunted."
""haunted?"
repeated dick, with a chill.
""i have not heard of it.
nay, then, and by whom?"
the messenger looked about him; and then, in a low whisper, "by the sacrist of st. john's," he said.
""they had him there to sleep one night, and in the morning -- whew!
-- he was gone.
the devil had taken him, they said; the more betoken, he had drunk late the night before."
dick followed the man with black forebodings.
chapter iii -- the room over the chapel from the battlements nothing further was observed.
the sun journeyed westward, and at last went down; but, to the eyes of all these eager sentinels, no living thing appeared in the neighbourhood of tunstall house.
when the night was at length fairly come, throgmorton was led to a room overlooking an angle of the moat.
thence he was lowered with every precaution; the ripple of his swimming was audible for a brief period; then a black figure was observed to land by the branches of a willow and crawl away among the grass.
for some half hour sir daniel and hatch stood eagerly giving ear; but all remained quiet.
the messenger had got away in safety.
sir daniel's brow grew clearer.
he turned to hatch.
""bennet," he said, "this john amend-all is no more than a man, ye see.
he sleepeth.
we will make a good end of him, go to!"
all the afternoon and evening, dick had been ordered hither and thither, one command following another, till he was bewildered with the number and the hurry of commissions.
all that time he had seen no more of sir oliver, and nothing of matcham; and yet both the priest and the young lad ran continually in his mind.
it was now his chief purpose to escape from tunstall moat house as speedily as might be; and yet, before he went, he desired a word with both of these.
at length, with a lamp in one hand, he mounted to his new apartment.
it was large, low, and somewhat dark.
the window looked upon the moat, and although it was so high up, it was heavily barred.
the bed was luxurious, with one pillow of down and one of lavender, and a red coverlet worked in a pattern of roses.
all about the walls were cupboards, locked and padlocked, and concealed from view by hangings of dark-coloured arras.
dick made the round, lifting the arras, sounding the panels, seeking vainly to open the cupboards.
he assured himself that the door was strong and the bolt solid; then he set down his lamp upon a bracket, and once more looked all around.
for what reason had he been given this chamber?
it was larger and finer than his own.
could it conceal a snare?
was there a secret entrance?
was it, indeed, haunted?
his blood ran a little chilly in his veins.
immediately over him the heavy foot of a sentry trod the leads.
below him, he knew, was the arched roof of the chapel; and next to the chapel was the hall.
certainly there was a secret passage in the hall; the eye that had watched him from the arras gave him proof of that.
was it not more than probable that the passage extended to the chapel, and, if so, that it had an opening in his room?
to sleep in such a place, he felt, would be foolhardy.
he made his weapons ready, and took his position in a corner of the room behind the door.
if ill was intended, he would sell his life dear.
the sound of many feet, the challenge, and the password, sounded overhead along the battlements; the watch was being changed.
and just then there came a scratching at the door of the chamber; it grew a little louder; then a whisper: "dick, dick, it is i!"
dick ran to the door, drew the bolt, and admitted matcham.
he was very pale, and carried a lamp in one hand and a drawn dagger in the other.
""shut me the door," he whispered.
""swift, dick!
this house is full of spies; i hear their feet follow me in the corridors; i hear them breathe behind the arras."
""well, content you," returned dick, "it is closed.
we are safe for this while, if there be safety anywhere within these walls.
but my heart is glad to see you.
by the mass, lad, i thought ye were sped!
where hid ye?"
""it matters not," returned matcham.
""since we be met, it matters not.
but, dick, are your eyes open?
have they told you of to-morrow's doings?"
""not they," replied dick.
""what make they to-morrow?"
""to-morrow, or to-night, i know not," said the other, "but one time or other, dick, they do intend upon your life.
i had the proof of it; i have heard them whisper; nay, they as good as told me."
""ay," returned dick, "is it so?
i had thought as much."
and he told him the day's occurrences at length.
when it was done, matcham arose and began, in turn, to examine the apartment.
""no," he said, "there is no entrance visible.
yet't is a pure certainty there is one.
dick, i will stay by you.
an y" are to die, i will die with you.
and i can help -- look!
i have stolen a dagger -- i will do my best!
and meanwhile, an ye know of any issue, any sally-port we could get opened, or any window that we might descend by, i will most joyfully face any jeopardy to flee with you."
""jack," said dick, "by the mass, jack, y" are the best soul, and the truest, and the bravest in all england!
give me your hand, jack."
and he grasped the other's hand in silence.
""i will tell you," he resumed.
""there is a window, out of which the messenger descended; the rope should still be in the chamber.
't is a hope."
""hist!"
said matcham.
both gave ear.
there was a sound below the floor; then it paused, and then began again.
""some one walketh in the room below," whispered matcham.
""nay," returned dick, "there is no room below; we are above the chapel.
it is my murderer in the secret passage.
well, let him come; it shall go hard with him;" and he ground his teeth.
""blow me the lights out," said the other.
""perchance he will betray himself."
they blew out both the lamps and lay still as death.
the footfalls underneath were very soft, but they were clearly audible.
several times they came and went; and then there was a loud jar of a key turning in a lock, followed by a considerable silence.
presently the steps began again, and then, all of a sudden, a chink of light appeared in the planking of the room in a far corner.
it widened; a trap-door was being opened, letting in a gush of light.
they could see the strong hand pushing it up; and dick raised his cross-bow, waiting for the head to follow.
but now there came an interruption.
from a distant corner of the moat house shouts began to be heard, and first one voice, and then several, crying aloud upon a name.
this noise had plainly disconcerted the murderer, for the trap-door was silently lowered to its place, and the steps hurriedly returned, passed once more close below the lads, and died away in the distance.
here was a moment's respite.
dick breathed deep, and then, and not till then, he gave ear to the disturbance which had interrupted the attack, and which was now rather increasing than diminishing.
all about the moat house feet were running, doors were opening and slamming, and still the voice of sir daniel towered above all this bustle, shouting for "joanna."
""joanna!"
repeated dick.
""why, who the murrain should this be?
here is no joanna, nor ever hath been.
what meaneth it?"
matcham was silent.
he seemed to have drawn further away.
but only a little faint starlight entered by the window, and at the far end of the apartment, where the pair were, the darkness was complete.
""jack," said dick, "i wot not where ye were all day.
saw ye this joanna?"
""nay," returned matcham, "i saw her not."
""nor heard tell of her?"
he pursued.
the steps drew nearer.
sir daniel was still roaring the name of joanna from the courtyard.
""did ye hear of her?"
repeated dick.
""i heard of her," said matcham.
""how your voice twitters!
what aileth you?"
said dick."
't is a most excellent good fortune, this joanna; it will take their minds from us."
""dick," cried matcham, "i am lost; we are both lost.
let us flee if there be yet time.
they will not rest till they have found me.
or, see!
let me go forth; when they have found me, ye may flee.
let me forth, dick -- good dick, let me away!"
she was groping for the bolt, when dick at last comprehended.
""by the mass!"
he cried, "y" are no jack; y" are joanna sedley; y" are the maid that would not marry me!"
the girl paused, and stood silent and motionless.
dick, too, was silent for a little; then he spoke again.
""joanna," he said, "y" "ave saved my life, and i have saved yours; and we have seen blood flow, and been friends and enemies -- ay, and i took my belt to thrash you; and all that time i thought ye were a boy.
but now death has me, and my time's out, and before i die i must say this: y" are the best maid and the bravest under heaven, and, if only i could live, i would marry you blithely; and, live or die, i love you."
she answered nothing.
""come," he said, "speak up, jack.
come, be a good maid, and say ye love me!"
""why, dick," she cried, "would i be here?"
""well, see ye here," continued dick, "an we but escape whole we'll marry; and an we're to die, we die, and there's an end o n't.
but now that i think, how found ye my chamber?"
""i asked it of dame hatch," she answered.
""well, the dame's staunch," he answered; "she'll not tell upon you.
we have time before us."
and just then, as if to contradict his words, feet came down the corridor, and a fist beat roughly on the door.
""here!"
cried a voice.
""open, master dick; open!"
dick neither moved nor answered.
""it is all over," said the girl; and she put her arms about dick's neck.
one after another, men came trooping to the door.
then sir daniel arrived himself, and there was a sudden cessation of the noise.
""dick," cried the knight, "be not an ass.
the seven sleepers had been awake ere now.
we know she is within there.
open, then, the door, man."
dick was again silent.
""down with it," said sir daniel.
and immediately his followers fell savagely upon the door with foot and fist.
solid as it was, and strongly bolted, it would soon have given way; but once more fortune interfered.
over the thunderstorm of blows the cry of a sentinel was heard; it was followed by another; shouts ran along the battlements, shouts answered out of the wood.
in the first moment of alarm it sounded as if the foresters were carrying the moat house by assault.
and sir daniel and his men, desisting instantly from their attack upon dick's chamber, hurried to defend the walls.
""now," cried dick, "we are saved."
he seized the great old bedstead with both hands, and bent himself in vain to move it.
""help me, jack.
for your life's sake, help me stoutly!"
he cried.
between them, with a huge effort, they dragged the big frame of oak across the room, and thrust it endwise to the chamber door.
""ye do but make things worse," said joanna, sadly.
""he will then enter by the trap."
""not so," replied dick.
""he durst not tell his secret to so many.
it is by the trap that we shall flee.
hark!
the attack is over.
nay, it was none!"
it had, indeed, been no attack; it was the arrival of another party of stragglers from the defeat of risingham that had disturbed sir daniel.
they had run the gauntlet under cover of the darkness; they had been admitted by the great gate; and now, with a great stamping of hoofs and jingle of accoutrements and arms, they were dismounting in the court.
""he will return anon," said dick.
""to the trap!"
he lighted a lamp, and they went together into the corner of the room.
the open chink through which some light still glittered was easily discovered, and, taking a stout sword from his small armoury, dick thrust it deep into the seam, and weighed strenuously on the hilt.
the trap moved, gaped a little, and at length came widely open.
seizing it with their hands, the two young folk threw it back.
it disclosed a few steps descending, and at the foot of them, where the would-be murderer had left it, a burning lamp.
""now," said dick, "go first and take the lamp.
i will follow to close the trap."
so they descended one after the other, and as dick lowered the trap, the blows began once again to thunder on the panels of the door.
chapter iv -- the passage the passage in which dick and joanna now found themselves was narrow, dirty, and short.
at the other end of it, a door stood partly open; the same door, without doubt, that they had heard the man unlocking.
heavy cobwebs hung from the roof; and the paved flooring echoed hollow under the lightest tread.
beyond the door there were two branches, at right angles.
dick chose one of them at random, and the pair hurried, with echoing footsteps, along the hollow of the chapel roof.
the top of the arched ceiling rose like a whale's back in the dim glimmer of the lamp.
here and there were spyholes, concealed, on the other side, by the carving of the cornice; and looking down through one of these, dick saw the paved floor of the chapel -- the altar, with its burning tapers -- and stretched before it on the steps, the figure of sir oliver praying with uplifted hands.
at the other end, they descended a few steps.
the passage grew narrower; the wall upon one hand was now of wood; the noise of people talking, and a faint flickering of lights, came through the interstices; and presently they came to a round hole about the size of a man's eye, and dick, looking down through it, beheld the interior of the hall, and some half a dozen men sitting, in their jacks, about the table, drinking deep and demolishing a venison pie.
these were certainly some of the late arrivals.
""here is no help," said dick.
""let us try back."
""nay," said joanna; "maybe the passage goeth farther."
and she pushed on.
but a few yards farther the passage ended at the top of a short flight of steps; and it became plain that, as long as the soldiers occupied the hall, escape was impossible upon that side.
they retraced their steps with all imaginable speed, and set forward to explore the other branch.
it was exceedingly narrow, scarce wide enough for a large man; and it led them continually up and down by little break-neck stairs, until even dick had lost all notion of his whereabouts.
at length it grew both narrower and lower; the stairs continued to descend; the walls on either hand became damp and slimy to the touch; and far in front of them they heard the squeaking and scuttling of the rats.
""we must be in the dungeons," dick remarked.
""and still there is no outlet," added joanna.
""nay, but an outlet there must be!"
dick answered.
presently, sure enough, they came to a sharp angle, and then the passage ended in a flight of steps.
on the top of that there was a solid flag of stone by way of trap, and to this they both set their backs.
it was immovable.
""some one holdeth it," suggested joanna.
""not so," said dick; "for were a man strong as ten, he must still yield a little.
but this resisteth like dead rock.
there is a weight upon the trap.
here is no issue; and, by my sooth, good jack, we are here as fairly prisoners as though the gyves were on our ankle bones.
sit ye then down, and let us talk.
after a while we shall return, when perchance they shall be less carefully upon their guard; and, who knoweth?
we may break out and stand a chance.
but, in my poor opinion, we are as good as shent."
""dick!"
she cried, "alas the day that ever ye should have seen me!
for like a most unhappy and unthankful maid, it is i have led you hither."
""what cheer!"
returned dick.
""it was all written, and that which is written, willy nilly, cometh still to pass.
but tell me a little what manner of a maid ye are, and how ye came into sir daniel's hands; that will do better than to bemoan yourself, whether for your sake or mine."
""i am an orphan, like yourself, of father and mother," said joanna; "and for my great misfortune, dick, and hitherto for yours, i am a rich marriage.
my lord foxham had me to ward; yet it appears sir daniel bought the marriage of me from the king, and a right dear price he paid for it.
so here was i, poor babe, with two great and rich men fighting which should marry me, and i still at nurse!
well, then the world changed, and there was a new chancellor, and sir daniel bought the warding of me over the lord foxham's head.
and then the world changed again, and lord foxham bought my marriage over sir daniel's; and from then to now it went on ill betwixt the two of them.
but still lord foxham kept me in his hands, and was a good lord to me.
and at last i was to be married -- or sold, if ye like it better.
five hundred pounds lord foxham was to get for me.
hamley was the groom's name, and to-morrow, dick, of all days in the year, was i to be betrothed.
had it not come to sir daniel, i had been wedded, sure -- and never seen thee, dick -- dear dick!"
and here she took his hand, and kissed it, with the prettiest grace; and dick drew her hand to him and did the like.
""well," she went on, "sir daniel took me unawares in the garden, and made me dress in these men's clothes, which is a deadly sin for a woman; and, besides, they fit me not.
he rode with me to kettley, as ye saw, telling me i was to marry you; but i, in my heart, made sure i would marry hamley in his teeth."
""ay!"
cried dick, "and so ye loved this hamley!"
""nay," replied joanna, "not i. i did but hate sir daniel.
and then, dick, ye helped me, and ye were right kind, and very bold, and my heart turned towards you in mine own despite; and now, if we can in any way compass it, i would marry you with right goodwill.
and if, by cruel destiny, it may not be, still ye'll be dear to me.
while my heart beats, it'll be true to you."
""and i," said dick, "that never cared a straw for any manner of woman until now, i took to you when i thought ye were a boy.
i had a pity to you, and knew not why.
when i would have belted you, the hand failed me.
but when ye owned ye were a maid, jack -- for still i will call you jack -- i made sure ye were the maid for me.
hark!"
he said, breaking off -- "one cometh."
and indeed a heavy tread was now audible in the echoing passage, and the rats again fled in armies.
dick reconnoitred his position.
the sudden turn gave him a post of vantage.
he could thus shoot in safety from the cover of the wall.
but it was plain the light was too near him, and, running some way forward, he set down the lamp in the middle of the passage, and then returned to watch.
presently, at the far end of the passage, bennet hove in sight.
he seemed to be alone, and he carried in his hand a burning torch, which made him the better mark.
""stand, bennet!"
cried dick.
""another step, and y" are dead."
""so here ye are," returned hatch, peering forward into the darkness.
""i see you not.
aha!
y" "ave done wisely, dick; y" "ave put your lamp before you.
by my sooth, but, though it was done to shoot my own knave body, i do rejoice to see ye profit of my lessons!
and now, what make ye?
what seek ye here?
why would ye shoot upon an old, kind friend?
and have ye the young gentlewoman there?"
""nay, bennet, it is i should question and you answer," replied dick.
""why am i in this jeopardy of my life?
why do men come privily to slay me in my bed?
why am i now fleeing in mine own guardian's strong house, and from the friends that i have lived among and never injured?"
""master dick, master dick," said bennet, "what told i you?
y" are brave, but the most uncrafty lad that i can think upon!"
""well," returned dick, "i see ye know all, and that i am doomed indeed.
it is well.
here, where i am, i stay.
let sir daniel get me out if he be able!"
hatch was silent for a space.
""hark ye," he began, "return to sir daniel, to tell him where ye are, and how posted; for, in truth, it was to that end he sent me.
but you, if ye are no fool, had best be gone ere i return."
""begone!"
repeated dick.
""i would be gone already, an" i wist how.
i can not move the trap."
""put me your hand into the corner, and see what ye find there," replied bennet.
""throgmorton's rope is still in the brown chamber.
fare ye well."
and hatch, turning upon his heel, disappeared again into the windings of the passage.
dick instantly returned for his lamp, and proceeded to act upon the hint.
at one corner of the trap there was a deep cavity in the wall.
pushing his arm into the aperture, dick found an iron bar, which he thrust vigorously upwards.
there followed a snapping noise, and the slab of stone instantly started in its bed.
they were free of the passage.
a little exercise of strength easily raised the trap; and they came forth into a vaulted chamber, opening on one hand upon the court, where one or two fellows, with bare arms, were rubbing down the horses of the last arrivals.
a torch or two, each stuck in an iron ring against the wall, changefully lit up the scene.
chapter v -- how dick changed sides dick, blowing out his lamp lest it should attract attention, led the way up-stairs and along the corridor.
in the brown chamber the rope had been made fast to the frame of an exceeding heavy and ancient bed.
it had not been detached, and dick, taking the coil to the window, began to lower it slowly and cautiously into the darkness of the night.
joan stood by; but as the rope lengthened, and still dick continued to pay it out, extreme fear began to conquer her resolution.
""dick," she said, "is it so deep?
i may not essay it.
i should infallibly fall, good dick."
it was just at the delicate moment of the operations that she spoke.
dick started; the remainder of the coil slipped from his grasp, and the end fell with a splash into the moat.
instantly, from the battlement above, the voice of a sentinel cried, "who goes?"
""a murrain!"
cried dick.
""we are paid now!
down with you -- take the rope."
""i can not," she cried, recoiling.
""an ye can not, no more can i," said shelton.
""how can i swim the moat without you?
do you desert me, then?"
""dick," she gasped, "i can not.
the strength is gone from me."
""by the mass, then, we are all shent!"
he shouted, stamping with his foot; and then, hearing steps, he ran to the room door and sought to close it.
before he could shoot the bolt, strong arms were thrusting it back upon him from the other side.
he struggled for a second; then, feeling himself overpowered, ran back to the window.
the girl had fallen against the wall in the embrasure of the window; she was more than half insensible; and when he tried to raise her in his arms, her body was limp and unresponsive.
at the same moment the men who had forced the door against him laid hold upon him.
the first he poinarded at a blow, and the others falling back for a second in some disorder, he profited by the chance, bestrode the window-sill, seized the cord in both hands, and let his body slip.
the cord was knotted, which made it the easier to descend; but so furious was dick's hurry, and so small his experience of such gymnastics, that he span round and round in mid-air like a criminal upon a gibbet, and now beat his head, and now bruised his hands, against the rugged stonework of the wall.
the air roared in his ears; he saw the stars overhead, and the reflected stars below him in the moat, whirling like dead leaves before the tempest.
and then he lost hold, and fell, and soused head over ears into the icy water.
when he came to the surface his hand encountered the rope, which, newly lightened of his weight, was swinging wildly to and fro.
there was a red glow overhead, and looking up, he saw, by the light of several torches and a cresset full of burning coals, the battlements lined with faces.
he saw the men's eyes turning hither and thither in quest of him; but he was too far below, the light reached him not, and they looked in vain.
and now he perceived that the rope was considerably too long, and he began to struggle as well as he could towards the other side of the moat, still keeping his head above water.
in this way he got much more than halfway over; indeed the bank was almost within reach, before the rope began to draw him back by its own weight.
taking his courage in both hands, he left go and made a leap for the trailing sprays of willow that had already, that same evening, helped sir daniel's messenger to land.
he went down, rose again, sank a second time, and then his hand caught a branch, and with the speed of thought he had dragged himself into the thick of the tree and clung there, dripping and panting, and still half uncertain of his escape.
but all this had not been done without a considerable splashing, which had so far indicated his position to the men along the battlements.
arrows and quarrels fell thick around him in the darkness, thick like driving hail; and suddenly a torch was thrown down -- flared through the air in its swift passage -- stuck for a moment on the edge of the bank, where it burned high and lit up its whole surroundings like a bonfire -- and then, in a good hour for dick, slipped off, plumped into the moat, and was instantly extinguished.
it had served its purpose.
the marksmen had had time to see the willow, and dick ensconced among its boughs; and though the lad instantly sprang higher up the bank, and ran for his life, he was yet not quick enough to escape a shot.
an arrow struck him in the shoulder, another grazed his head.
the pain of his wounds lent him wings; and he had no sooner got upon the level than he took to his heels and ran straight before him in the dark, without a thought for the direction of his flight.
for a few steps missiles followed him, but these soon ceased; and when at length he came to a halt and looked behind, he was already a good way from the moat house, though he could still see the torches moving to and fro along its battlements.
he leaned against a tree, streaming with blood and water, bruised, wounded, alone, and unarmed.
for all that, he had saved his life for that bout; and though joanna remained behind in the power of sir daniel, he neither blamed himself for an accident that it had been beyond his power to prevent, nor did he augur any fatal consequences to the girl herself.
sir daniel was cruel, but he was not likely to be cruel to a young gentlewoman who had other protectors, willing and able to bring him to account.
it was more probable he would make haste to marry her to some friend of his own.
""well," thought dick, "between then and now i will find me the means to bring that traitor under; for i think, by the mass, that i be now absolved from any gratitude or obligation; and when war is open, there is a fair chance for all."
in the meanwhile, here he was in a sore plight.
for some little way farther he struggled forward through the forest; but what with the pain of his wounds, the darkness of the night, and the extreme uneasiness and confusion of his mind, he soon became equally unable to guide himself or to continue to push through the close undergrowth, and he was fain at length to sit down and lean his back against a tree.
when he awoke from something betwixt sleep and swooning, the grey of the morning had begun to take the place of night.
a little chilly breeze was bustling among the trees, and as he still sat staring before him, only half awake, he became aware of something dark that swung to and fro among the branches, some hundred yards in front of him.
the progressive brightening of the day and the return of his own senses at last enabled him to recognise the object.
it was a man hanging from the bough of a tall oak.
his head had fallen forward on his breast; but at every stronger puff of wind his body span round and round, and his legs and arms tossed, like some ridiculous plaything.
dick clambered to his feet, and, staggering and leaning on the tree-trunks as he went, drew near to this grim object.
the bough was perhaps twenty feet above the ground, and the poor fellow had been drawn up so high by his executioners that his boots swung clear above dick's reach; and as his hood had been drawn over his face, it was impossible to recognise the man.
dick looked about him right and left; and at last he perceived that the other end of the cord had been made fast to the trunk of a little hawthorn which grew, thick with blossom, under the lofty arcade of the oak.
with his dagger, which alone remained to him of all his arms, young shelton severed the rope, and instantly, with a dead thump, the corpse fell in a heap upon the ground.
dick raised the hood; it was throgmorton, sir daniel's messenger.
he had not gone far upon his errand.
a paper, which had apparently escaped the notice of the men of the black arrow, stuck from the bosom of his doublet, and dick, pulling it forth, found it was sir daniel's letter to lord wensleydale.
""come," thought he, "if the world changes yet again, i may have here the wherewithal to shame sir daniel -- nay, and perchance to bring him to the block."
and he put the paper in his own bosom, said a prayer over the dead man, and set forth again through the woods.
his fatigue and weakness increased; his ears sang, his steps faltered, his mind at intervals failed him, so low had he been brought by loss of blood.
doubtless he made many deviations from his true path, but at last he came out upon the high-road, not very far from tunstall hamlet.
a rough voice bid him stand.
""stand?"
repeated dick.
""by the mass, but i am nearer falling."
and he suited the action to the word, and fell all his length upon the road.
two men came forth out of the thicket, each in green forest jerkin, each with long-bow and quiver and short sword.
""why, lawless," said the younger of the two, "it is young shelton."
""ay, this will be as good as bread to john amend-all," returned the other.
""though, faith, he hath been to the wars.
here is a tear in his scalp that must "a" cost him many a good ounce of blood."
""and here," added greensheve, "is a hole in his shoulder that must have pricked him well.
who hath done this, think ye?
if it be one of ours, he may all to prayer; ellis will give him a short shrift and a long rope."
""up with the cub," said lawless.
""clap him on my back."
and then, when dick had been hoisted to his shoulders, and he had taken the lad's arms about his neck, and got a firm hold of him, the ex-grey friar added: "keep ye the post, brother greensheve.
i will on with him by myself."
so greensheve returned to his ambush on the wayside, and lawless trudged down the hill, whistling as he went, with dick, still in a dead faint, comfortably settled on his shoulders.
the sun rose as he came out of the skirts of the wood and saw tunstall hamlet straggling up the opposite hill.
all seemed quiet, but a strong post of some half a score of archers lay close by the bridge on either side of the road, and, as soon as they perceived lawless with his burthen, began to bestir themselves and set arrow to string like vigilant sentries.
""who goes?"
cried the man in command.
""will lawless, by the rood -- ye know me as well as your own hand," returned the outlaw, contemptuously.
""give the word, lawless," returned the other.
""now, heaven lighten thee, thou great fool," replied lawless.
""did i not tell it thee myself?
but ye are all mad for this playing at soldiers.
when i am in the greenwood, give me greenwood ways; and my word for this tide is: "a fig for all mock soldiery!""
""lawless, ye but show an ill example; give us the word, fool jester," said the commander of the post.
""and if i had forgotten it?"
asked the other.
""an ye had forgotten it -- as i know y" "ave not -- by the mass, i would clap an arrow into your big body," returned the first.
""nay, an y" are so ill a jester," said lawless, "ye shall have your word for me.
"duckworth and shelton" is the word; and here, to the illustration, is shelton on my shoulders, and to duckworth do i carry him."
""pass, lawless," said the sentry.
""and where is john?"
asked the grey friar.
""he holdeth a court, by the mass, and taketh rents as to the manner born!"
cried another of the company.
so it proved.
when lawless got as far up the village as the little inn, he found ellis duckworth surrounded by sir daniel's tenants, and, by the right of his good company of archers, coolly taking rents, and giving written receipts in return for them.
by the faces of the tenants, it was plain how little this proceeding pleased them; for they argued very rightly that they would simply have to pay them twice.
as soon as he knew what had brought lawless, ellis dismissed the remainder of the tenants, and, with every mark of interest and apprehension, conducted dick into an inner chamber of the inn.
there the lad's hurts were looked to; and he was recalled, by simple remedies, to consciousness.
""dear lad," said ellis, pressing his hand, "y" are in a friend's hands that loved your father, and loves you for his sake.
rest ye a little quietly, for ye are somewhat out of case.
then shall ye tell me your story, and betwixt the two of us we shall find a remedy for all."
a little later in the day, and after dick had awakened from a comfortable slumber to find himself still very weak, but clearer in mind and easier in body, ellis returned, and sitting down by the bedside, begged him, in the name of his father, to relate the circumstance of his escape from tunstall moat house.
there was something in the strength of duckworth's frame, in the honesty of his brown face, in the clearness and shrewdness of his eyes, that moved dick to obey him; and from first to last the lad told him the story of his two days" adventures.
""well," said ellis, when he had done, "see what the kind saints have done for you, dick shelton, not alone to save your body in so numerous and deadly perils, but to bring you into my hands that have no dearer wish than to assist your father's son.
be but true to me -- and i see y" are true -- and betwixt you and me, we shall bring that false-heart traitor to the death."
""will ye assault the house?"
asked dick.
""i were mad, indeed, to think of it," returned ellis.
""he hath too much power; his men gather to him; those that gave me the slip last night, and by the mass came in so handily for you -- those have made him safe.
nay, dick, to the contrary, thou and i and my brave bowmen, we must all slip from this forest speedily, and leave sir daniel free."
""my mind misgiveth me for jack," said the lad.
""for jack!"
repeated duckworth.
""o, i see, for the wench!
nay, dick, i promise you, if there come talk of any marriage we shall act at once; till then, or till the time is ripe, we shall all disappear, even like shadows at morning; sir daniel shall look east and west, and see none enemies; he shall think, by the mass, that he hath dreamed awhile, and hath now awakened in his bed.
but our four eyes, dick, shall follow him right close, and our four hands -- so help us all the army of the saints!
-- shall bring that traitor low!"
two days later sir daniel's garrison had grown to such a strength that he ventured on a sally, and at the head of some two score horsemen, pushed without opposition as far as tunstall hamlet.
not an arrow flew, not a man stirred in the thicket; the bridge was no longer guarded, but stood open to all corners; and as sir daniel crossed it, he saw the villagers looking timidly from their doors.
presently one of them, taking heart of grace, came forward, and with the lowliest salutations, presented a letter to the knight.
his face darkened as he read the contents.
it ran thus: to the most untrue and cruel gentylman, sir daniel brackley, knyght, these: i fynde ye were untrue and unkynd fro the first.
ye have my father's blood upon your hands; let be, it will not wasshe.
some day ye shall perish by my procurement, so much i let you to wytte; and i let you to wytte farther, that if ye seek to wed to any other the gentylwoman, mistresse joan sedley, whom that i am bound upon a great oath to wed myself, the blow will be very swift.
the first step therinne will be thy first step to the grave.
ric.
shelton.
book iii -- my lord foxham chapter i -- the house by the shore months had passed away since richard shelton made his escape from the hands of his guardian.
these months had been eventful for england.
the party of lancaster, which was then in the very article of death, had once more raised its head.
the yorkists defeated and dispersed, their leader butchered on the field, it seemed, -- for a very brief season in the winter following upon the events already recorded, as if the house of lancaster had finally triumphed over its foes.
the small town of shoreby-on-the-till was full of the lancastrian nobles of the neighbourhood.
earl risingham was there, with three hundred men-at-arms; lord shoreby, with two hundred; sir daniel himself, high in favour and once more growing rich on confiscations, lay in a house of his own, on the main street, with three-score men.
the world had changed indeed.
it was a black, bitter cold evening in the first week of january, with a hard frost, a high wind, and every likelihood of snow before the morning.
in an obscure alehouse in a by-street near the harbour, three or four men sat drinking ale and eating a hasty mess of eggs.
they were all likely, lusty, weather-beaten fellows, hard of hand, bold of eye; and though they wore plain tabards, like country ploughmen, even a drunken soldier might have looked twice before he sought a quarrel in such company.
a little apart before the huge fire sat a younger man, almost a boy, dressed in much the same fashion, though it was easy to see by his looks that he was better born, and might have worn a sword, had the time suited.
""nay," said one of the men at the table, "i like it not.
ill will come of it.
this is no place for jolly fellows.
a jolly fellow loveth open country, good cover, and scarce foes; but here we are shut in a town, girt about with enemies; and, for the bull's - eye of misfortune, see if it snow not ere the morning.""
't is for master shelton there," said another, nodding his head towards the lad before the fire.
""i will do much for master shelton," returned the first; "but to come to the gallows for any man -- nay, brothers, not that!"
the door of the inn opened, and another man entered hastily and approached the youth before the fire.
""master shelton," he said, "sir daniel goeth forth with a pair of links and four archers."
dick -lrb- for this was our young friend -rrb- rose instantly to his feet.
""lawless," he said, "ye will take john capper's watch.
greensheve, follow with me.
capper, lead forward.
we will follow him this time, an he go to york."
the next moment they were outside in the dark street, and capper, the man who had just come, pointed to where two torches flared in the wind at a little distance.
the town was already sound asleep; no one moved upon the streets, and there was nothing easier than to follow the party without observation.
the two link-bearers went first; next followed a single man, whose long cloak blew about him in the wind; and the rear was brought up by the four archers, each with his bow upon his arm.
they moved at a brisk walk, threading the intricate lanes and drawing nearer to the shore.
""he hath gone each night in this direction?"
asked dick, in a whisper.
""this is the third night running, master shelton," returned capper, "and still at the same hour and with the same small following, as though his end were secret."
sir daniel and his six men were now come to the outskirts of the country.
shoreby was an open town, and though the lancastrian lords who lay there kept a strong guard on the main roads, it was still possible to enter or depart unseen by any of the lesser streets or across the open country.
the lane which sir daniel had been following came to an abrupt end.
before him there was a stretch of rough down, and the noise of the sea-surf was audible upon one hand.
there were no guards in the neighbourhood, nor any light in that quarter of the town.
dick and his two outlaws drew a little closer to the object of their chase, and presently, as they came forth from between the houses and could see a little farther upon either hand, they were aware of another torch drawing near from another direction.
""hey," said dick, "i smell treason."
meanwhile, sir daniel had come to a full halt.
the torches were stuck into the sand, and the men lay down, as if to await the arrival of the other party.
this drew near at a good rate.
it consisted of four men only -- a pair of archers, a varlet with a link, and a cloaked gentleman walking in their midst.
""is it you, my lord?"
cried sir daniel.
""it is i, indeed; and if ever true knight gave proof i am that man," replied the leader of the second troop; "for who would not rather face giants, sorcerers, or pagans, than this pinching cold?"
""my lord," returned sir daniel, "beauty will be the more beholden, misdoubt it not.
but shall we forth?
for the sooner ye have seen my merchandise, the sooner shall we both get home."
""but why keep ye her here, good knight?"
inquired the other.
""an she be so young, and so fair, and so wealthy, why do ye not bring her forth among her mates?
ye would soon make her a good marriage, and no need to freeze your fingers and risk arrow-shots by going abroad at such untimely seasons in the dark."
""i have told you, my lord," replied sir daniel, "the reason thereof concerneth me only.
neither do i purpose to explain it farther.
suffice it, that if ye be weary of your old gossip, daniel brackley, publish it abroad that y" are to wed joanna sedley, and i give you my word ye will be quit of him right soon.
ye will find him with an arrow in his back."
meantime the two gentlemen were walking briskly forward over the down; the three torches going before them, stooping against the wind and scattering clouds of smoke and tufts of flame, and the rear brought up by the six archers.
close upon the heels of these, dick followed.
he had, of course, heard no word of this conversation; but he had recognised in the second of the speakers old lord shoreby himself, a man of an infamous reputation, whom even sir daniel affected, in public, to condemn.
presently they came close down upon the beach.
the air smelt salt; the noise of the surf increased; and here, in a large walled garden, there stood a small house of two storeys, with stables and other offices.
the foremost torch-bearer unlocked a door in the wall, and after the whole party had passed into the garden, again closed and locked it on the other side.
dick and his men were thus excluded from any farther following, unless they should scale the wall and thus put their necks in a trap.
they sat down in a tuft of furze and waited.
the red glow of the torches moved up and down and to and fro within the enclosure, as if the link bearers steadily patrolled the garden.
twenty minutes passed, and then the whole party issued forth again upon the down; and sir daniel and the baron, after an elaborate salutation, separated and turned severally homeward, each with his own following of men and lights.
as soon as the sound of their steps had been swallowed by the wind, dick got to his feet as briskly as he was able, for he was stiff and aching with the cold.
""capper, ye will give me a back up," he said.
they advanced, all three, to the wall; capper stooped, and dick, getting upon his shoulders, clambered on to the cope-stone.
""now, greensheve," whispered dick, "follow me up here; lie flat upon your face, that ye may be the less seen; and be ever ready to give me a hand if i fall foully on the other side."
and so saying he dropped into the garden.
it was all pitch dark; there was no light in the house.
the wind whistled shrill among the poor shrubs, and the surf beat upon the beach; there was no other sound.
cautiously dick footed it forth, stumbling among bushes, and groping with his hands; and presently the crisp noise of gravel underfoot told him that he had struck upon an alley.
here he paused, and taking his crossbow from where he kept it concealed under his long tabard, he prepared it for instant action, and went forward once more with greater resolution and assurance.
the path led him straight to the group of buildings.
all seemed to be sorely dilapidated: the windows of the house were secured by crazy shutters; the stables were open and empty; there was no hay in the hay-loft, no corn in the corn-box.
any one would have supposed the place to be deserted.
but dick had good reason to think otherwise.
he continued his inspection, visiting the offices, trying all the windows.
at length he came round to the sea-side of the house, and there, sure enough, there burned a pale light in one of the upper windows.
he stepped back a little way, till he thought he could see the movement of a shadow on the wall of the apartment.
then he remembered that, in the stable, his groping hand had rested for a moment on a ladder, and he returned with all despatch to bring it.
the ladder was very short, but yet, by standing on the topmost round, he could bring his hands as high as the iron bars of the window; and seizing these, he raised his body by main force until his eyes commanded the interior of the room.
two persons were within; the first he readily knew to be dame hatch; the second, a tall and beautiful and grave young lady, in a long, embroidered dress -- could that be joanna sedley?
his old wood-companion, jack, whom he had thought to punish with a belt?
he dropped back again to the top round of the ladder in a kind of amazement.
he had never thought of his sweetheart as of so superior a being, and he was instantly taken with a feeling of diffidence.
but he had little opportunity for thought.
a low "hist!"
sounded from close by, and he hastened to descend the ladder.
""who goes?"
he whispered.
""greensheve," came the reply, in tones similarly guarded.
""what want ye?"
asked dick.
""the house is watched, master shelton," returned the outlaw.
""we are not alone to watch it; for even as i lay on my belly on the wall i saw men prowling in the dark, and heard them whistle softly one to the other."
""by my sooth," said dick, "but this is passing strange!
were they not men of sir daniel's?"
""nay, sir, that they were not," returned greensheve; "for if i have eyes in my head, every man-jack of them weareth me a white badge in his bonnet, something chequered with dark."
""white, chequered with dark," repeated dick.
""faith,'t is a badge i know not.
it is none of this country's badges.
well, an that be so, let us slip as quietly forth from this garden as we may; for here we are in an evil posture for defence.
beyond all question there are men of sir daniel's in that house, and to be taken between two shots is a beggarman's position.
take me this ladder; i must leave it where i found it."
they returned the ladder to the stable, and groped their way to the place where they had entered.
capper had taken greensheve's position on the cope, and now he leaned down his hand, and, first one and then the other, pulled them up.
cautiously and silently, they dropped again upon the other side; nor did they dare to speak until they had returned to their old ambush in the gorse.
""now, john capper," said dick, "back with you to shoreby, even as for your life.
bring me instantly what men ye can collect.
here shall be the rendezvous; or if the men be scattered and the day be near at hand before they muster, let the place be something farther back, and by the entering in of the town.
greensheve and i lie here to watch.
speed ye, john capper, and the saints aid you to despatch.
and now, greensheve," he continued, as soon as capper had departed, "let thou and i go round about the garden in a wide circuit.
i would fain see whether thine eyes betrayed thee."
keeping well outwards from the wall, and profiting by every height and hollow, they passed about two sides, beholding nothing.
on the third side the garden wall was built close upon the beach, and to preserve the distance necessary to their purpose, they had to go some way down upon the sands.
although the tide was still pretty far out, the surf was so high, and the sands so flat, that at each breaker a great sheet of froth and water came careering over the expanse, and dick and greensheve made this part of their inspection wading, now to the ankles, and now as deep as to the knees, in the salt and icy waters of the german ocean.
suddenly, against the comparative whiteness of the garden wall, the figure of a man was seen, like a faint chinese shadow, violently signalling with both arms.
as he dropped again to the earth, another arose a little farther on and repeated the same performance.
and so, like a silent watch word, these gesticulations made the round of the beleaguered garden.
""they keep good watch," dick whispered.
""let us back to land, good master," answered greensheve.
""we stand here too open; for, look ye, when the seas break heavy and white out there behind us, they shall see us plainly against the foam."
""ye speak sooth," returned dick.
""ashore with us, right speedily."
chapter ii -- a skirmish in the dark thoroughly drenched and chilled, the two adventurers returned to their position in the gorse.
""i pray heaven that capper make good speed!"
said dick.
""i vow a candle to st. mary of shoreby if he come before the hour!"
""y" are in a hurry, master dick?"
asked greensheve.
""ay, good fellow," answered dick; "for in that house lieth my lady, whom i love, and who should these be that lie about her secretly by night?
unfriends, for sure!"
""well," returned greensheve, "an john come speedily, we shall give a good account of them.
they are not two score at the outside -- i judge so by the spacing of their sentries -- and, taken where they are, lying so widely, one score would scatter them like sparrows.
and yet, master dick, an she be in sir daniel's power already, it will little hurt that she should change into another's.
who should these be?"
""i do suspect the lord of shoreby," dick replied.
""when came they?"
""they began to come, master dick," said greensheve, "about the time ye crossed the wall.
i had not lain there the space of a minute ere i marked the first of the knaves crawling round the corner."
the last light had been already extinguished in the little house when they were wading in the wash of the breakers, and it was impossible to predict at what moment the lurking men about the garden wall might make their onslaught.
of two evils, dick preferred the least.
he preferred that joanna should remain under the guardianship of sir daniel rather than pass into the clutches of lord shoreby; and his mind was made up, if the house should be assaulted, to come at once to the relief of the besieged.
but the time passed, and still there was no movement.
from quarter of an hour to quarter of an hour the same signal passed about the garden wall, as if the leader desired to assure himself of the vigilance of his scattered followers; but in every other particular the neighbourhood of the little house lay undisturbed.
presently dick's reinforcements began to arrive.
the night was not yet old before nearly a score of men crouched beside him in the gorse.
separating these into two bodies, he took the command of the smaller himself, and entrusted the larger to the leadership of greensheve.
""now, kit," said he to this last, "take me your men to the near angle of the garden wall upon the beach.
post them strongly, and wait till that ye hear me falling on upon the other side.
it is those upon the sea front that i would fain make certain of, for there will be the leader.
the rest will run; even let them.
and now, lads, let no man draw an arrow; ye will but hurt friends.
take to the steel, and keep to the steel; and if we have the uppermost, i promise every man of you a gold noble when i come to mine estate."
out of the odd collection of broken men, thieves, murderers, and ruined peasantry, whom duckworth had gathered together to serve the purposes of his revenge, some of the boldest and the most experienced in war had volunteered to follow richard shelton.
the service of watching sir daniel's movements in the town of shoreby had from the first been irksome to their temper, and they had of late begun to grumble loudly and threaten to disperse.
the prospect of a sharp encounter and possible spoils restored them to good humour, and they joyfully prepared for battle.
their long tabards thrown aside, they appeared, some in plain green jerkins, and some in stout leathern jacks; under their hoods many wore bonnets strengthened by iron plates; and, for offensive armour, swords, daggers, a few stout boar-spears, and a dozen of bright bills, put them in a posture to engage even regular feudal troops.
the bows, quivers, and tabards were concealed among the gorse, and the two bands set resolutely forward.
dick, when he had reached the other side of the house, posted his six men in a line, about twenty yards from the garden wall, and took position himself a few paces in front.
then they all shouted with one voice, and closed upon the enemy.
these, lying widely scattered, stiff with cold, and taken at unawares, sprang stupidly to their feet, and stood undecided.
before they had time to get their courage about them, or even to form an idea of the number and mettle of their assailants, a similar shout of onslaught sounded in their ears from the far side of the enclosure.
thereupon they gave themselves up for lost and ran.
in this way the two small troops of the men of the black arrow closed upon the sea front of the garden wall, and took a part of the strangers, as it were, between two fires; while the whole of the remainder ran for their lives in different directions, and were soon scattered in the darkness.
for all that, the fight was but beginning.
dick's outlaws, although they had the advantage of the surprise, were still considerably outnumbered by the men they had surrounded.
the tide had flowed, in the meanwhile; the beach was narrowed to a strip; and on this wet field, between the surf and the garden wall, there began, in the darkness, a doubtful, furious, and deadly contest.
the strangers were well armed; they fell in silence upon their assailants; and the affray became a series of single combats.
dick, who had come first into the mellay, was engaged by three; the first he cut down at the first blow, but the other two coming upon him, hotly, he was fain to give ground before their onset.
one of these two was a huge fellow, almost a giant for stature, and armed with a two-handed sword, which he brandished like a switch.
against this opponent, with his reach of arm and the length and weight of his weapon, dick and his bill were quite defenceless; and had the other continued to join vigorously in the attack, the lad must have indubitably fallen.
this second man, however, less in stature and slower in his movements, paused for a moment to peer about him in the darkness, and to give ear to the sounds of the battle.
the giant still pursued his advantage, and still dick fled before him, spying for his chance.
then the huge blade flashed and descended, and the lad, leaping on one side and running in, slashed sideways and upwards with his bill.
a roar of agony responded, and, before the wounded man could raise his formidable weapon, dick, twice repeating his blow, had brought him to the ground.
the next moment he was engaged, upon more equal terms, with his second pursuer.
here there was no great difference in size, and though the man, fighting with sword and dagger against a bill, and being wary and quick of fence, had a certain superiority of arms, dick more than made it up by his greater agility on foot.
neither at first gained any obvious advantage; but the older man was still insensibly profiting by the ardour of the younger to lead him where he would; and presently dick found that they had crossed the whole width of the beach, and were now fighting above the knees in the spume and bubble of the breakers.
here his own superior activity was rendered useless; he found himself more or less at the discretion of his foe; yet a little, and he had his back turned upon his own men, and saw that this adroit and skilful adversary was bent upon drawing him farther and farther away.
dick ground his teeth.
he determined to decide the combat instantly; and when the wash of the next wave had ebbed and left them dry, he rushed in, caught a blow upon his bill, and leaped right at the throat of his opponent.
the man went down backwards, with dick still upon the top of him; and the next wave, speedily succeeding to the last, buried him below a rush of water.
while he was still submerged, dick forced his dagger from his grasp, and rose to his feet, victorious.
""yield ye!"
he said.
""i give you life."
""i yield me," said the other, getting to his knees.
""ye fight, like a young man, ignorantly and foolhardily; but, by the array of the saints, ye fight bravely!"
dick turned to the beach.
the combat was still raging doubtfully in the night; over the hoarse roar of the breakers steel clanged upon steel, and cries of pain and the shout of battle resounded.
""lead me to your captain, youth," said the conquered knight.
""it is fit this butchery should cease."
""sir," replied dick, "so far as these brave fellows have a captain, the poor gentleman who here addresses you is he."
""call off your dogs, then, and i will bid my villains hold," returned the other.
there was something noble both in the voice and manner of his late opponent, and dick instantly dismissed all fears of treachery.
""lay down your arms, men!"
cried the stranger knight.
""i have yielded me, upon promise of life."
the tone of the stranger was one of absolute command, and almost instantly the din and confusion of the mellay ceased.
""lawless," cried dick, "are ye safe?"
""ay," cried lawless, "safe and hearty."
""light me the lantern," said dick.
""is not sir daniel here?"
inquired the knight.
""sir daniel?"
echoed dick.
""now, by the rood, i pray not.
it would go ill with me if he were."
""ill with you, fair sir?"
inquired the other.
""nay, then, if ye be not of sir daniel's party, i profess i comprehend no longer.
wherefore, then, fell ye upon mine ambush?
in what quarrel, my young and very fiery friend?
to what earthly purpose?
and, to make a clear end of questioning, to what good gentleman have i surrendered?"
but before dick could answer, a voice spoke in the darkness from close by.
dick could see the speaker's black and white badge, and the respectful salute which he addressed to his superior.
""my lord," said he, "if these gentlemen be unfriends to sir daniel, it is pity, indeed, we should have been at blows with them; but it were tenfold greater that either they or we should linger here.
the watchers in the house -- unless they be all dead or deaf -- have heard our hammering this quarter-hour agone; instantly they will have signalled to the town; and unless we be the livelier in our departure, we are like to be taken, both of us, by a fresh foe."
""hawksley is in the right," added the lord.
""how please ye, sir?
whither shall we march?"
""nay, my lord," said dick, "go where ye will for me.
i do begin to suspect we have some ground of friendship, and if, indeed, i began our acquaintance somewhat ruggedly, i would not churlishly continue.
let us, then, separate, my lord, you laying your right hand in mine; and at the hour and place that ye shall name, let us encounter and agree."
""y" are too trustful, boy," said the other; "but this time your trust is not misplaced.
i will meet you at the point of day at st. bride's cross.
come, lads, follow!"
the strangers disappeared from the scene with a rapidity that seemed suspicious; and, while the outlaws fell to the congenial task of rifling the dead bodies, dick made once more the circuit of the garden wall to examine the front of the house.
in a little upper loophole of the roof he beheld a light set; and as it would certainly be visible in town from the back windows of sir daniel's mansion, he doubted not that this was the signal feared by hawksley, and that ere long the lances of the knight of tunstall would arrive upon the scene.
he put his ear to the ground, and it seemed to him as if he heard a jarring and hollow noise from townward.
back to the beach he went hurrying.
but the work was already done; the last body was disarmed and stripped to the skin, and four fellows were already wading seaward to commit it to the mercies of the deep.
a few minutes later, when there debauched out of the nearest lanes of shoreby some two score horsemen, hastily arrayed and moving at the gallop of their steeds, the neighbourhood of the house beside the sea was entirely silent and deserted.
meanwhile, dick and his men had returned to the ale-house of the goat and bagpipes to snatch some hours of sleep before the morning tryst.
chapter iii -- st. bride's cross st. bride's cross stood a little way back from shoreby, on the skirts of tunstall forest.
two roads met: one, from holywood across the forest; one, that road from risingham down which we saw the wrecks of a lancastrian army fleeing in disorder.
here the two joined issue, and went on together down the hill to shoreby; and a little back from the point of junction, the summit of a little knoll was crowned by the ancient and weather-beaten cross.
here, then, about seven in the morning, dick arrived.
it was as cold as ever; the earth was all grey and silver with the hoarfrost, and the day began to break in the east with many colours of purple and orange.
dick set him down upon the lowest step of the cross, wrapped himself well in his tabard, and looked vigilantly upon all sides.
he had not long to wait.
down the road from holywood a gentleman in very rich and bright armour, and wearing over that a surcoat of the rarest furs, came pacing on a splendid charger.
twenty yards behind him followed a clump of lances; but these halted as soon as they came in view of the trysting-place, while the gentleman in the fur surcoat continued to advance alone.
his visor was raised, and showed a countenance of great command and dignity, answerable to the richness of his attire and arms.
and it was with some confusion of manner that dick arose from the cross and stepped down the bank to meet his prisoner.
""i thank you, my lord, for your exactitude," he said, louting very low.
""will it please your lordship to set foot to earth?"
""are ye here alone, young man?"
inquired the other.
""i was not so simple," answered dick; "and, to be plain with your lordship, the woods upon either hand of this cross lie full of mine honest fellows lying on their weapons."
""y" "ave done wisely," said the lord.
""it pleaseth me the rather, since last night ye fought foolhardily, and more like a salvage saracen lunatic than any christian warrior.
but it becomes not me to complain that had the undermost."
""ye had the undermost indeed, my lord, since ye so fell," returned dick; "but had the waves not holpen me, it was i that should have had the worst.
ye were pleased to make me yours with several dagger marks, which i still carry.
and in fine, my lord, methinks i had all the danger, as well as all the profit, of that little blind-man's mellay on the beach."
""y" are shrewd enough to make light of it, i see," returned the stranger.
""nay, my lord, not shrewd," replied dick, "in that i shoot at no advantage to myself.
but when, by the light of this new day, i see how stout a knight hath yielded, not to my arms alone, but to fortune, and the darkness, and the surf -- and how easily the battle had gone otherwise, with a soldier so untried and rustic as myself -- think it not strange, my lord, if i feel confounded with my victory."
""ye speak well," said the stranger.
""your name?"
""my name, a n't like you, is shelton," answered dick.
""men call me the lord foxham," added the other.
""then, my lord, and under your good favour, ye are guardian to the sweetest maid in england," replied dick; "and for your ransom, and the ransom of such as were taken with you on the beach, there will be no uncertainty of terms.
i pray you, my lord, of your goodwill and charity, yield me the hand of my mistress, joan sedley; and take ye, upon the other part, your liberty, the liberty of these your followers, and -lrb- if ye will have it -rrb- my gratitude and service till i die."
""but are ye not ward to sir daniel?
methought, if y" are harry shelton's son, that i had heard it so reported," said lord foxham.
""will it please you, my lord, to alight?
i would fain tell you fully who i am, how situate, and why so bold in my demands.
beseech you, my lord, take place upon these steps, hear me to a full end, and judge me with allowance."
and so saying, dick lent a hand to lord foxham to dismount; led him up the knoll to the cross; installed him in the place where he had himself been sitting; and standing respectfully before his noble prisoner, related the story of his fortunes up to the events of the evening before.
lord foxham listened gravely, and when dick had done, "master shelton," he said, "ye are a most fortunate-unfortunate young gentleman; but what fortune y" "ave had, that ye have amply merited; and what unfortune, ye have noways deserved.
be of a good cheer; for ye have made a friend who is devoid neither of power nor favour.
for yourself, although it fits not for a person of your birth to herd with outlaws, i must own ye are both brave and honourable; very dangerous in battle, right courteous in peace; a youth of excellent disposition and brave bearing.
for your estates, ye will never see them till the world shall change again; so long as lancaster hath the strong hand, so long shall sir daniel enjoy them for his own.
for my ward, it is another matter; i had promised her before to a gentleman, a kinsman of my house, one hamley; the promise is old --" "ay, my lord, and now sir daniel hath promised her to my lord shoreby," interrupted dick.
""and his promise, for all it is but young, is still the likelier to be made good.""
't is the plain truth," returned his lordship.
""and considering, moreover, that i am your prisoner, upon no better composition than my bare life, and over and above that, that the maiden is unhappily in other hands, i will so far consent.
aid me with your good fellows" -- "my lord," cried dick, "they are these same outlaws that ye blame me for consorting with."
""let them be what they will, they can fight," returned lord foxham.
""help me, then; and if between us we regain the maid, upon my knightly honour, she shall marry you!"
dick bent his knee before his prisoner; but he, leaping up lightly from the cross, caught the lad up and embraced him like a son.
""come," he said, "an y" are to marry joan, we must be early friends."
chapter iv -- the good hope an hour thereafter, dick was back at the goat and bagpipes, breaking his fast, and receiving the report of his messengers and sentries.
duckworth was still absent from shoreby; and this was frequently the case, for he played many parts in the world, shared many different interests, and conducted many various affairs.
he had founded that fellowship of the black arrow, as a ruined man longing for vengeance and money; and yet among those who knew him best, he was thought to be the agent and emissary of the great king-maker of england, richard, earl of warwick.
in his absence, at any rate, it fell upon richard shelton to command affairs in shoreby; and, as he sat at meat, his mind was full of care, and his face heavy with consideration.
it had been determined, between him and the lord foxham, to make one bold stroke that evening, and, by brute force, to set joanna free.
the obstacles, however, were many; and as one after another of his scouts arrived, each brought him more discomfortable news.
sir daniel was alarmed by the skirmish of the night before.
he had increased the garrison of the house in the garden; but not content with that, he had stationed horsemen in all the neighbouring lanes, so that he might have instant word of any movement.
meanwhile, in the court of his mansion, steeds stood saddled, and the riders, armed at every point, awaited but the signal to ride.
the adventure of the night appeared more and more difficult of execution, till suddenly dick's countenance lightened.
""lawless!"
he cried, "you that were a shipman, can ye steal me a ship?"
""master dick," replied lawless, "if ye would back me, i would agree to steal york minster."
presently after, these two set forth and descended to the harbour.
it was a considerable basin, lying among sand hills, and surrounded with patches of down, ancient ruinous lumber, and tumble-down slums of the town.
many decked ships and many open boats either lay there at anchor, or had been drawn up on the beach.
a long duration of bad weather had driven them from the high seas into the shelter of the port; and the great trooping of black clouds, and the cold squalls that followed one another, now with a sprinkling of dry snow, now in a mere swoop of wind, promised no improvement but rather threatened a more serious storm in the immediate future.
the seamen, in view of the cold and the wind, had for the most part slunk ashore, and were now roaring and singing in the shoreside taverns.
many of the ships already rode unguarded at their anchors; and as the day wore on, and the weather offered no appearance of improvement, the number was continually being augmented.
it was to these deserted ships, and, above all, to those of them that lay far out, that lawless directed his attention; while dick, seated upon an anchor that was half embedded in the sand, and giving ear, now to the rude, potent, and boding voices of the gale, and now to the hoarse singing of the shipmen in a neighbouring tavern, soon forgot his immediate surroundings and concerns in the agreeable recollection of lord foxham's promise.
he was disturbed by a touch upon his shoulder.
it was lawless, pointing to a small ship that lay somewhat by itself, and within but a little of the harbour mouth, where it heaved regularly and smoothly on the entering swell.
a pale gleam of winter sunshine fell, at that moment, on the vessel's deck, relieving her against a bank of scowling cloud; and in this momentary glitter dick could see a couple of men hauling the skiff alongside.
""there, sir," said lawless, "mark ye it well!
there is the ship for to-night."
presently the skiff put out from the vessel's side, and the two men, keeping her head well to the wind, pulled lustily for shore.
lawless turned to a loiterer.
""how call ye her?"
he asked, pointing to the little vessel.
""they call her the good hope, of dartmouth," replied the loiterer.
""her captain, arblaster by name.
he pulleth the bow oar in yon skiff."
this was all that lawless wanted.
hurriedly thanking the man, he moved round the shore to a certain sandy creek, for which the skiff was heading.
there he took up his position, and as soon as they were within earshot, opened fire on the sailors of the good hope.
""what!
gossip arblaster!"
he cried.
""why, ye be well met; nay, gossip, ye be right well met, upon the rood!
and is that the good hope?
ay, i would know her among ten thousand!
-- a sweet shear, a sweet boat!
but marry come up, my gossip, will ye drink?
i have come into mine estate which doubtless ye remember to have heard on.
i am now rich; i have left to sail upon the sea; i do sail now, for the most part, upon spiced ale.
come, fellow; thy hand upon "t!
come, drink with an old shipfellow!"
skipper arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather-beaten man, with a knife hanging about his neck by a plaited cord, and for all the world like any modern seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung back in obvious amazement and distrust.
but the name of an estate, and a certain air of tipsified simplicity and good-fellowship which lawless very well affected, combined to conquer his suspicious jealousy; his countenance relaxed, and he at once extended his open hand and squeezed that of the outlaw in a formidable grasp.
""nay," he said, "i can not mind you.
but what o" that?
i would drink with any man, gossip, and so would my man tom.
man tom," he added, addressing his follower, "here is my gossip, whose name i can not mind, but no doubt a very good seaman.
let's go drink with him and his shore friend."
lawless led the way, and they were soon seated in an alehouse, which, as it was very new, and stood in an exposed and solitary station, was less crowded than those nearer to the centre of the port.
it was but a shed of timber, much like a blockhouse in the backwoods of to-day, and was coarsely furnished with a press or two, a number of naked benches, and boards set upon barrels to play the part of tables.
in the middle, and besieged by half a hundred violent draughts, a fire of wreck-wood blazed and vomited thick smoke.
""ay, now," said lawless, "here is a shipman's joy -- a good fire and a good stiff cup ashore, with foul weather without and an off-sea gale a-snoring in the roof!
here's to the good hope!
may she ride easy!"
""ay," said skipper arblaster,"'t is good weather to be ashore in, that is sooth.
man tom, how say ye to that?
gossip, ye speak well, though i can never think upon your name; but ye speak very well.
may the good hope ride easy!
amen!"
""friend dickon," resumed lawless, addressing his commander, "ye have certain matters on hand, unless i err?
well, prithee be about them incontinently.
for here i be with the choice of all good company, two tough old shipmen; and till that ye return i will go warrant these brave fellows will bide here and drink me cup for cup.
we are not like shore-men, we old, tough tarry-johns!"
""it is well meant," returned the skipper.
""ye can go, boy; for i will keep your good friend and my good gossip company till curfew -- ay, and by st. mary, till the sun get up again!
for, look ye, when a man hath been long enough at sea, the salt getteth me into the clay upon his bones; and let him drink a draw-well, he will never be quenched."
thus encouraged upon all hands, dick rose, saluted his company, and going forth again into the gusty afternoon, got him as speedily as he might to the goat and bagpipes.
thence he sent word to my lord foxham that, so soon as ever the evening closed, they would have a stout boat to keep the sea in.
and then leading along with him a couple of outlaws who had some experience of the sea, he returned himself to the harbour and the little sandy creek.
the skiff of the good hope lay among many others, from which it was easily distinguished by its extreme smallness and fragility.
indeed, when dick and his two men had taken their places, and begun to put forth out of the creek into the open harbour, the little cockle dipped into the swell and staggered under every gust of wind, like a thing upon the point of sinking.
the good hope, as we have said, was anchored far out, where the swell was heaviest.
no other vessel lay nearer than several cables" length; those that were the nearest were themselves entirely deserted; and as the skiff approached, a thick flurry of snow and a sudden darkening of the weather further concealed the movements of the outlaws from all possible espial.
in a trice they had leaped upon the heaving deck, and the skiff was dancing at the stern.
the good hope was captured.
she was a good stout boat, decked in the bows and amidships, but open in the stern.
she carried one mast, and was rigged between a felucca and a lugger.
it would seem that skipper arblaster had made an excellent venture, for the hold was full of pieces of french wine; and in the little cabin, besides the virgin mary in the bulkhead which proved the captain's piety, there were many lockfast chests and cupboards, which showed him to be rich and careful.
a dog, who was the sole occupant of the vessel, furiously barked and bit the heels of the boarders; but he was soon kicked into the cabin, and the door shut upon his just resentment.
a lamp was lit and fixed in the shrouds to mark the vessel clearly from the shore; one of the wine pieces in the hold was broached, and a cup of excellent gascony emptied to the adventure of the evening; and then, while one of the outlaws began to get ready his bow and arrows and prepare to hold the ship against all comers, the other hauled in the skiff and got overboard, where he held on, waiting for dick.
""well, jack, keep me a good watch," said the young commander, preparing to follow his subordinate.
""ye will do right well."
""why," returned jack, "i shall do excellent well indeed, so long as we lie here; but once we put the nose of this poor ship outside the harbour -- see, there she trembles!
nay, the poor shrew heard the words, and the heart misgave her in her oak-tree ribs.
but look, master dick!
how black the weather gathers!"
the darkness ahead was, indeed, astonishing.
great billows heaved up out of the blackness, one after another; and one after another the good hope buoyantly climbed, and giddily plunged upon the further side.
a thin sprinkle of snow and thin flakes of foam came flying, and powdered the deck; and the wind harped dismally among the rigging.
""in sooth, it looketh evilly," said dick.
""but what cheer!
't is but a squall, and presently it will blow over."
but, in spite of his words, he was depressingly affected by the bleak disorder of the sky and the wailing and fluting of the wind; and as he got over the side of the good hope and made once more for the landing-creek with the best speed of oars, he crossed himself devoutly, and recommended to heaven the lives of all who should adventure on the sea.
at the landing-creek there had already gathered about a dozen of the outlaws.
to these the skiff was left, and they were bidden embark without delay.
a little further up the beach dick found lord foxham hurrying in quest of him, his face concealed with a dark hood, and his bright armour covered by a long russet mantle of a poor appearance.
""young shelton," he said, "are ye for sea, then, truly?"
""my lord," replied richard, "they lie about the house with horsemen; it may not be reached from the land side without alarum; and sir daniel once advertised of our adventure, we can no more carry it to a good end than, saving your presence, we could ride upon the wind.
now, in going round by sea, we do run some peril by the elements; but, what much outweighteth all, we have a chance to make good our purpose and bear off the maid."
""well," returned lord foxham, "lead on.
i will, in some sort, follow you for shame's sake; but i own i would i were in bed."
""here, then," said dick.
""hither we go to fetch our pilot."
and he led the way to the rude alehouse where he had given rendezvous to a portion of his men.
some of these he found lingering round the door outside; others had pushed more boldly in, and, choosing places as near as possible to where they saw their comrade, gathered close about lawless and the two shipmen.
these, to judge by the distempered countenance and cloudy eye, had long since gone beyond the boundaries of moderation; and as richard entered, closely followed by lord foxham, they were all three tuning up an old, pitiful sea-ditty, to the chorus of the wailing of the gale.
the young leader cast a rapid glance about the shed.
the fire had just been replenished, and gave forth volumes of black smoke, so that it was difficult to see clearly in the further corners.
it was plain, however, that the outlaws very largely outnumbered the remainder of the guests.
satisfied upon this point, in case of any failure in the operation of his plan, dick strode up to the table and resumed his place upon the bench.
""hey?"
cried the skipper, tipsily, "who are ye, hey?"
""i want a word with you without, master arblaster," returned dick; "and here is what we shall talk of."
and he showed him a gold noble in the glimmer of the firelight.
the shipman's eyes burned, although he still failed to recognise our hero.
""ay, boy," he said, "i am with you.
gossip, i will be back anon.
drink fair, gossip;" and, taking dick's arm to steady his uneven steps, he walked to the door of the alehouse.
as soon as he was over the threshold, ten strong arms had seized and bound him; and in two minutes more, with his limbs trussed one to another, and a good gag in his mouth, he had been tumbled neck and crop into a neighbouring hay-barn.
presently, his man tom, similarly secured, was tossed beside him, and the pair were left to their uncouth reflections for the night.
and now, as the time for concealment had gone by, lord foxham's followers were summoned by a preconcerted signal, and the party, boldly taking possession of as many boats as their numbers required, pulled in a flotilla for the light in the rigging of the ship.
long before the last man had climbed to the deck of the good hope, the sound of furious shouting from the shore showed that a part, at least, of the seamen had discovered the loss of their skiffs.
but it was now too late, whether for recovery or revenge.
out of some forty fighting men now mustered in the stolen ship, eight had been to sea, and could play the part of mariners.
with the aid of these, a slice of sail was got upon her.
the cable was cut.
lawless, vacillating on his feet, and still shouting the chorus of sea-ballads, took the long tiller in his hands: and the good hope began to flit forward into the darkness of the night, and to face the great waves beyond the harbour bar.
richard took his place beside the weather rigging.
except for the ship's own lantern, and for some lights in shoreby town, that were already fading to leeward, the whole world of air was as black as in a pit.
only from time to time, as the good hope swooped dizzily down into the valley of the rollers, a crest would break -- a great cataract of snowy foam would leap in one instant into being -- and, in an instant more, would stream into the wake and vanish.
many of the men lay holding on and praying aloud; many more were sick, and had crept into the bottom, where they sprawled among the cargo.
and what with the extreme violence of the motion, and the continued drunken bravado of lawless, still shouting and singing at the helm, the stoutest heart on board may have nourished a shrewd misgiving as to the result.
but lawless, as if guided by an instinct, steered the ship across the breakers, struck the lee of a great sandbank, where they sailed for awhile in smooth water, and presently after laid her alongside a rude, stone pier, where she was hastily made fast, and lay ducking and grinding in the dark.
chapter v -- the good hope -lrb- continued -rrb- the pier was not far distant from the house in which joanna lay; it now only remained to get the men on shore, to surround the house with a strong party, burst in the door and carry off the captive.
they might then regard themselves as done with the good hope; it had placed them on the rear of their enemies; and the retreat, whether they should succeed or fail in the main enterprise, would be directed with a greater measure of hope in the direction of the forest and my lord foxham's reserve.
to get the men on shore, however, was no easy task; many had been sick, all were pierced with cold; the promiscuity and disorder on board had shaken their discipline; the movement of the ship and the darkness of the night had cowed their spirits.
they made a rush upon the pier; my lord, with his sword drawn on his own retainers, must throw himself in front; and this impulse of rabblement was not restrained without a certain clamour of voices, highly to be regretted in the case.
when some degree of order had been restored, dick, with a few chosen men, set forth in advance.
the darkness on shore, by contrast with the flashing of the surf, appeared before him like a solid body; and the howling and whistling of the gale drowned any lesser noise.
he had scarce reached the end of the pier, however, when there fell a lull of the wind; and in this he seemed to hear on shore the hollow footing of horses and the clash of arms.
checking his immediate followers, he passed forward a step or two alone, even setting foot upon the down; and here he made sure he could detect the shape of men and horses moving.
a strong discouragement assailed him.
if their enemies were really on the watch, if they had beleaguered the shoreward end of the pier, he and lord foxham were taken in a posture of very poor defence, the sea behind, the men jostled in the dark upon a narrow causeway.
he gave a cautious whistle, the signal previously agreed upon.
it proved to be a signal far more than he desired.
instantly there fell, through the black night, a shower of arrows sent at a venture; and so close were the men huddled on the pier that more than one was hit, and the arrows were answered with cries of both fear and pain.
in this first discharge, lord foxham was struck down; hawksley had him carried on board again at once; and his men, during the brief remainder of the skirmish, fought -lrb- when they fought at all -rrb- without guidance.
that was perhaps the chief cause of the disaster which made haste to follow.
at the shore end of the pier, for perhaps a minute, dick held his own with a handful; one or two were wounded upon either side; steel crossed steel; nor had there been the least signal of advantage, when in the twinkling of an eye the tide turned against the party from the ship.
someone cried out that all was lost; the men were in the very humour to lend an ear to a discomfortable counsel; the cry was taken up.
""on board, lads, for your lives!"
cried another.
a third, with the true instinct of the coward, raised that inevitable report on all retreats: "we are betrayed!"
and in a moment the whole mass of men went surging and jostling backward down the pier, turning their defenceless backs on their pursuers and piercing the night with craven outcry.
one coward thrust off the ship's stern, while another still held her by the bows.
the fugitives leaped, screaming, and were hauled on board, or fell back and perished in the sea.
some were cut down upon the pier by the pursuers.
many were injured on the ship's deck in the blind haste and terror of the moment, one man leaping upon another, and a third on both.
at last, and whether by design or accident, the bows of the good hope were liberated; and the ever-ready lawless, who had maintained his place at the helm through all the hurly-burly by sheer strength of body and a liberal use of the cold steel, instantly clapped her on the proper tack.
the ship began to move once more forward on the stormy sea, its scuppers running blood, its deck heaped with fallen men, sprawling and struggling in the dark.
thereupon, lawless sheathed his dagger, and turning to his next neighbour, "i have left my mark on them, gossip," said he, "the yelping, coward hounds."
now, while they were all leaping and struggling for their lives, the men had not appeared to observe the rough shoves and cutting stabs with which lawless had held his post in the confusion.
but perhaps they had already begun to understand somewhat more clearly, or perhaps another ear had overheard, the helmsman's speech.
panic-stricken troops recover slowly, and men who have just disgraced themselves by cowardice, as if to wipe out the memory of their fault, will sometimes run straight into the opposite extreme of insubordination.
so it was now; and the same men who had thrown away their weapons and been hauled, feet foremost, into the good hope, began to cry out upon their leaders, and demand that someone should be punished.
this growing ill-feeling turned upon lawless.
in order to get a proper offing, the old outlaw had put the head of the good hope to seaward.
""what!"
bawled one of the grumblers, "he carrieth us to seaward!""
't is sooth," cried another.
""nay, we are betrayed for sure."
and they all began to cry out in chorus that they were betrayed, and in shrill tones and with abominable oaths bade lawless go about-ship and bring them speedily ashore.
lawless, grinding his teeth, continued in silence to steer the true course, guiding the good hope among the formidable billows.
to their empty terrors, as to their dishonourable threats, between drink and dignity he scorned to make reply.
the malcontents drew together a little abaft the mast, and it was plain they were like barnyard cocks, "crowing for courage."
presently they would be fit for any extremity of injustice or ingratitude.
dick began to mount by the ladder, eager to interpose; but one of the outlaws, who was also something of a seaman, got beforehand.
""lads," he began, "y" are right wooden heads, i think.
for to get back, by the mass, we must have an offing, must we not?
and this old lawless --" someone struck the speaker on the mouth, and the next moment, as a fire springs among dry straw, he was felled upon the deck, trampled under the feet, and despatched by the daggers of his cowardly companions.
at this the wrath of lawless rose and broke.
""steer yourselves," he bellowed, with a curse; and, careless of the result, he left the helm.
the good hope was, at that moment, trembling on the summit of a swell.
she subsided, with sickening velocity, upon the farther side.
a wave, like a great black bulwark, hove immediately in front of her; and, with a staggering blow, she plunged headforemost through that liquid hill.
the green water passed right over her from stem to stern, as high as a man's knees; the sprays ran higher than the mast; and she rose again upon the other side, with an appalling, tremulous indecision, like a beast that has been deadly wounded.
six or seven of the malcontents had been carried bodily overboard; and as for the remainder, when they found their tongues again, it was to bellow to the saints and wail upon lawless to come back and take the tiller.
nor did lawless wait to be twice bidden.
the terrible result of his fling of just resentment sobered him completely.
he knew, better than any one on board, how nearly the good hope had gone bodily down below their feet; and he could tell, by the laziness with which she met the sea, that the peril was by no means over.
dick, who had been thrown down by the concussion and half drowned, rose wading to his knees in the swamped well of the stern, and crept to the old helmsman's side.
""lawless," he said, "we do all depend on you; y" are a brave, steady man, indeed, and crafty in the management of ships; i shall put three sure men to watch upon your safety."
""bootless, my master, bootless," said the steersman, peering forward through the dark.
""we come every moment somewhat clearer of these sandbanks; with every moment, then, the sea packeth upon us heavier, and for all these whimperers, they will presently be on their backs.
for, my master,'t is a right mystery, but true, there never yet was a bad man that was a good shipman.
none but the honest and the bold can endure me this tossing of a ship."
""nay, lawless," said dick, laughing, "that is a right shipman's byword, and hath no more of sense than the whistle of the wind.
but, prithee, how go we?
do we lie well?
are we in good case?"
""master shelton," replied lawless, "i have been a grey friar -- i praise fortune -- an archer, a thief, and a shipman.
of all these coats, i had the best fancy to die in the grey friar's, as ye may readily conceive, and the least fancy to die in john shipman's tarry jacket; and that for two excellent good reasons: first, that the death might take a man suddenly; and second, for the horror of that great, salt smother and welter under my foot here" -- and lawless stamped with his foot.
""howbeit," he went on, "an i die not a sailor's death, and that this night, i shall owe a tall candle to our lady."
""is it so?"
asked dick.
""it is right so," replied the outlaw.
""do ye not feel how heavy and dull she moves upon the waves?
do ye not hear the water washing in her hold?
she will scarce mind the rudder even now.
bide till she has settled a bit lower; and she will either go down below your boots like a stone image, or drive ashore here, under our lee, and come all to pieces like a twist of string."
""ye speak with a good courage," returned dick.
""ye are not then appalled?"
""why, master," answered lawless, "if ever a man had an ill crew to come to port with, it is i -- a renegade friar, a thief, and all the rest o n't.
well, ye may wonder, but i keep a good hope in my wallet; and if that i be to drown, i will drown with a bright eye, master shelton, and a steady hand."
dick returned no answer; but he was surprised to find the old vagabond of so resolute a temper, and fearing some fresh violence or treachery, set forth upon his quest for three sure men.
the great bulk of the men had now deserted the deck, which was continually wetted with the flying sprays, and where they lay exposed to the shrewdness of the winter wind.
they had gathered, instead, into the hold of the merchandise, among the butts of wine, and lighted by two swinging lanterns.
here a few kept up the form of revelry, and toasted each other deep in arblaster's gascony wine.
but as the good hope continued to tear through the smoking waves, and toss her stem and stern alternately high in air and deep into white foam, the number of these jolly companions diminished with every moment and with every lurch.
many sat apart, tending their hurts, but the majority were already prostrated with sickness, and lay moaning in the bilge.
greensheve, cuckow, and a young fellow of lord foxham's whom dick had already remarked for his intelligence and spirit, were still, however, both fit to understand and willing to obey.
these dick set, as a body-guard, about the person of the steersman, and then, with a last look at the black sky and sea, he turned and went below into the cabin, whither lord foxham had been carried by his servants.
chapter vi -- the good hope -lrb- concluded -rrb- the moans of the wounded baron blended with the wailing of the ship's dog.
the poor animal, whether he was merely sick at heart to be separated from his friends, or whether he indeed recognised some peril in the labouring of the ship, raised his cries, like minute-guns, above the roar of wave and weather; and the more superstitious of the men heard, in these sounds, the knell of the good hope.
lord foxham had been laid in a berth upon a fur cloak.
a little lamp burned dim before the virgin in the bulkhead, and by its glimmer dick could see the pale countenance and hollow eyes of the hurt man.
""i am sore hurt," said he.
""come near to my side, young shelton; let there be one by me who, at least, is gentle born; for after having lived nobly and richly all the days of my life, this is a sad pass that i should get my hurt in a little ferreting skirmish, and die here, in a foul, cold ship upon the sea, among broken men and churls."
""nay, my lord," said dick, "i pray rather to the saints that ye will recover you of your hurt, and come soon and sound ashore."
""how!"
demanded his lordship.
""come sound ashore?
there is, then, a question of it?"
""the ship laboureth -- the sea is grievous and contrary," replied the lad; "and by what i can learn of my fellow that steereth us, we shall do well, indeed, if we come dryshod to land."
""ha!"
said the baron, gloomily, "thus shall every terror attend upon the passage of my soul!
sir, pray rather to live hard, that ye may die easy, than to be fooled and fluted all through life, as to the pipe and tabor, and, in the last hour, be plunged among misfortunes!
howbeit, i have that upon my mind that must not be delayed.
we have no priest aboard?"
""none," replied dick.
""here, then, to my secular interests," resumed lord foxham: "ye must be as good a friend to me dead, as i found you a gallant enemy when i was living.
i fall in an evil hour for me, for england, and for them that trusted me.
my men are being brought by hamley -- he that was your rival; they will rendezvous in the long holm at holywood; this ring from off my finger will accredit you to represent mine orders; and i shall write, besides, two words upon this paper, bidding hamley yield to you the damsel.
will he obey?
i know not."
""but, my lord, what orders?"
inquired dick.
""ay," quoth the baron, "ay -- the orders;" and he looked upon dick with hesitation.
""are ye lancaster or york?"
he asked, at length.
""i shame to say it," answered dick, "i can scarce clearly answer.
but so much i think is certain: since i serve with ellis duckworth, i serve the house of york.
well, if that be so, i declare for york."
""it is well," returned the other; "it is exceeding well.
for, truly, had ye said lancaster, i wot not for the world what i had done.
but sith ye are for york, follow me.
i came hither but to watch these lords at shoreby, while mine excellent young lord, richard of gloucester, -lcb- 1 -rcb- prepareth a sufficient force to fall upon and scatter them.
i have made me notes of their strength, what watch they keep, and how they lie; and these i was to deliver to my young lord on sunday, an hour before noon, at st. bride's cross beside the forest.
this tryst i am not like to keep, but i pray you, of courtesy, to keep it in my stead; and see that not pleasure, nor pain, tempest, wound, nor pestilence withhold you from the hour and place, for the welfare of england lieth upon this cast."
""i do soberly take this up on me," said dick.
""in so far as in me lieth, your purpose shall be done."
""it is good," said the wounded man.
""my lord duke shall order you farther, and if ye obey him with spirit and good will, then is your fortune made.
give me the lamp a little nearer to mine eyes, till that i write these words for you."
he wrote a note "to his worshipful kinsman, sir john hamley;" and then a second, which he-left without external superscripture.
""this is for the duke," he said.
""the word is "england and edward," and the counter, "england and york.""
""and joanna, my lord?"
asked dick.
""nay, ye must get joanna how ye can," replied the baron.
""i have named you for my choice in both these letters; but ye must get her for yourself, boy.
i have tried, as ye see here before you, and have lost my life.
more could no man do."
by this time the wounded man began to be very weary; and dick, putting the precious papers in his bosom, bade him be of good cheer, and left him to repose.
the day was beginning to break, cold and blue, with flying squalls of snow.
close under the lee of the good hope, the coast lay in alternate rocky headlands and sandy bays; and further inland the wooded hill-tops of tunstall showed along the sky.
both the wind and the sea had gone down; but the vessel wallowed deep, and scarce rose upon the waves.
lawless was still fixed at the rudder; and by this time nearly all the men had crawled on deck, and were now gazing, with blank faces, upon the inhospitable coast.
""are we going ashore?"
asked dick.
""ay," said lawless, "unless we get first to the bottom."
and just then the ship rose so languidly to meet a sea, and the water weltered so loudly in her hold, that dick involuntarily seized the steersman by the arm.
""by the mass!"
cried dick, as the bows of the good hope reappeared above the foam, "i thought we had foundered, indeed; my heart was at my throat."
in the waist, greensheve, hawksley, and the better men of both companies were busy breaking up the deck to build a raft; and to these dick joined himself, working the harder to drown the memory of his predicament.
but, even as he worked, every sea that struck the poor ship, and every one of her dull lurches, as she tumbled wallowing among the waves, recalled him with a horrid pang to the immediate proximity of death.
presently, looking up from his work, he saw that they were close in below a promontory; a piece of ruinous cliff, against the base of which the sea broke white and heavy, almost overplumbed the deck; and, above that, again, a house appeared, crowning a down.
inside the bay the seas ran gayly, raised the good hope upon their foam-flecked shoulders, carried her beyond the control of the steersman, and in a moment dropped her, with a great concussion, on the sand, and began to break over her half-mast high, and roll her to and fro.
another great wave followed, raised her again, and carried her yet farther in; and then a third succeeded, and left her far inshore of the more dangerous breakers, wedged upon a bank.
""now, boys," cried lawless, "the saints have had a care of us, indeed.
the tide ebbs; let us but sit down and drink a cup of wine, and before half an hour ye may all march me ashore as safe as on a bridge."
a barrel was broached, and, sitting in what shelter they could find from the flying snow and spray, the shipwrecked company handed the cup around, and sought to warm their bodies and restore their spirits.
dick, meanwhile, returned to lord foxham, who lay in great perplexity and fear, the floor of his cabin washing knee-deep in water, and the lamp, which had been his only light, broken and extinguished by the violence of the blow.
""my lord," said young shelton, "fear not at all; the saints are plainly for us; the seas have cast us high upon a shoal, and as soon as the tide hath somewhat ebbed, we may walk ashore upon our feet."
it was nearly an hour before the vessel was sufficiently deserted by the ebbing sea; and they could set forth for the land, which appeared dimly before them through a veil of driving snow.
upon a hillock on one side of their way a party of men lay huddled together, suspiciously observing the movements of the new arrivals.
""they might draw near and offer us some comfort," dick remarked.
""well, an" they come not to us, let us even turn aside to them," said hawksley.
""the sooner we come to a good fire and a dry bed the better for my poor lord."
but they had not moved far in the direction of the hillock, before the men, with one consent, rose suddenly to their feet, and poured a flight of well-directed arrows on the shipwrecked company.
""back!
back!"
cried his lordship.
""beware, in heaven's name, that ye reply not."
""nay," cried greensheve, pulling an arrow from his leather jack.
""we are in no posture to fight, it is certain, being drenching wet, dog-weary, and three-parts frozen; but, for the love of old england, what aileth them to shoot thus cruelly on their poor country people in distress?"
""they take us to be french pirates," answered lord foxham.
""in these most troublesome and degenerate days we can not keep our own shores of england; but our old enemies, whom we once chased on sea and land, do now range at pleasure, robbing and slaughtering and burning.
it is the pity and reproach of this poor land."
the men upon the hillock lay, closely observing them, while they trailed upward from the beach and wound inland among desolate sand-hills; for a mile or so they even hung upon the rear of the march, ready, at a sign, to pour another volley on the weary and dispirited fugitives; and it was only when, striking at length upon a firm high-road, dick began to call his men to some more martial order, that these jealous guardians of the coast of england silently disappeared among the snow.
they had done what they desired; they had protected their own homes and farms, their own families and cattle; and their private interest being thus secured, it mattered not the weight of a straw to any one of them, although the frenchmen should carry blood and fire to every other parish in the realm of england.
book iv -- the disguise chapter i -- the den the place where dick had struck the line of a high-road was not far from holywood, and within nine or ten miles of shoreby-on-the-till; and here, after making sure that they were pursued no longer, the two bodies separated.
lord foxham's followers departed, carrying their wounded master towards the comfort and security of the great abbey; and dick, as he saw them wind away and disappear in the thick curtain of the falling snow, was left alone with near upon a dozen outlaws, the last remainder of his troop of volunteers.
some were wounded; one and all were furious at their ill-success and long exposure; and though they were now too cold and hungry to do more, they grumbled and cast sullen looks upon their leaders.
dick emptied his purse among them, leaving himself nothing; thanked them for the courage they had displayed, though he could have found it more readily in his heart to rate them for poltroonery; and having thus somewhat softened the effect of his prolonged misfortune, despatched them to find their way, either severally or in pairs, to shoreby and the goat and bagpipes.
for his own part, influenced by what he had seen on board of the good hope, he chose lawless to be his companion on the walk.
the snow was falling, without pause or variation, in one even, blinding cloud; the wind had been strangled, and now blew no longer; and the whole world was blotted out and sheeted down below that silent inundation.
there was great danger of wandering by the way and perishing in drifts; and lawless, keeping half a step in front of his companion, and holding his head forward like a hunting dog upon the scent, inquired his way of every tree, and studied out their path as though he were conning a ship among dangers.
about a mile into the forest they came to a place where several ways met, under a grove of lofty and contorted oaks.
even in the narrow horizon of the falling snow, it was a spot that could not fail to be recognised; and lawless evidently recognised it with particular delight.
""now, master richard," said he, "an y" are not too proud to be the guest of a man who is neither a gentleman by birth nor so much as a good christian, i can offer you a cup of wine and a good fire to melt the marrow in your frozen bones."
""lead on, will," answered dick.
""a cup of wine and a good fire!
nay, i would go a far way round to see them."
lawless turned aside under the bare branches of the grove, and, walking resolutely forward for some time, came to a steepish hollow or den, that had now drifted a quarter full of snow.
on the verge, a great beech-tree hung, precariously rooted; and here the old outlaw, pulling aside some bushy underwood, bodily disappeared into the earth.
the beech had, in some violent gale, been half-uprooted, and had torn up a considerable stretch of turf and it was under this that old lawless had dug out his forest hiding-place.
the roots served him for rafters, the turf was his thatch; for walls and floor he had his mother the earth.
rude as it was, the hearth in one corner, blackened by fire, and the presence in another of a large oaken chest well fortified with iron, showed it at one glance to be the den of a man, and not the burrow of a digging beast.
though the snow had drifted at the mouth and sifted in upon the floor of this earth cavern, yet was the air much warmer than without; and when lawless had struck a spark, and the dry furze bushes had begun to blaze and crackle on the hearth, the place assumed, even to the eye, an air of comfort and of home.
with a sigh of great contentment, lawless spread his broad hands before the fire, and seemed to breathe the smoke.
""here, then," he said, "is this old lawless's rabbit-hole; pray heaven there come no terrier!
far i have rolled hither and thither, and here and about, since that i was fourteen years of mine age and first ran away from mine abbey, with the sacrist's gold chain and a mass-book that i sold for four marks.
i have been in england and france and burgundy, and in spain, too, on a pilgrimage for my poor soul; and upon the sea, which is no man's country.
but here is my place, master shelton.
this is my native land, this burrow in the earth!
come rain or wind -- and whether it's april, and the birds all sing, and the blossoms fall about my bed -- or whether it's winter, and i sit alone with my good gossip the fire, and robin red breast twitters in the woods -- here, is my church and market, and my wife and child.
it's here i come back to, and it's here, so please the saints, that i would like to die.""
't is a warm corner, to be sure," replied dick, "and a pleasant, and a well hid."
""it had need to be," returned lawless, "for an they found it, master shelton, it would break my heart.
but here," he added, burrowing with his stout fingers in the sandy floor, "here is my wine cellar; and ye shall have a flask of excellent strong stingo."
sure enough, after but a little digging, he produced a big leathern bottle of about a gallon, nearly three-parts full of a very heady and sweet wine; and when they had drunk to each other comradely, and the fire had been replenished and blazed up again, the pair lay at full length, thawing and steaming, and divinely warm.
""master shelton," observed the outlaw, "y" "ave had two mischances this last while, and y" are like to lose the maid -- do i take it aright?"
""aright!"
returned dick, nodding his head.
""well, now," continued lawless, "hear an old fool that hath been nigh-hand everything, and seen nigh-hand all!
ye go too much on other people's errands, master dick.
ye go on ellis's; but he desireth rather the death of sir daniel.
ye go on lord foxham's; well -- the saints preserve him!
-- doubtless he meaneth well.
but go ye upon your own, good dick.
come right to the maid's side.
court her, lest that she forget you.
be ready; and when the chance shall come, off with her at the saddle-bow."
""ay, but, lawless, beyond doubt she is now in sir daniel's own mansion."
answered dick.
""thither, then, go we," replied the outlaw.
dick stared at him.
""nay, i mean it," nodded lawless.
""and if y" are of so little faith, and stumble at a word, see here!"
and the outlaw, taking a key from about his neck, opened the oak chest, and dipping and groping deep among its contents, produced first a friar's robe, and next a girdle of rope; and then a huge rosary of wood, heavy enough to be counted as a weapon.
""here," he said, "is for you.
on with them!"
and then, when dick had clothed himself in this clerical disguise, lawless produced some colours and a pencil, and proceeded, with the greatest cunning, to disguise his face.
the eyebrows he thickened and produced; to the moustache, which was yet hardly visible, he rendered a like service; while, by a few lines around the eye, he changed the expression and increased the apparent age of this young monk.
""now," he resumed, "when i have done the like, we shall make as bonny a pair of friars as the eye could wish.
boldly to sir daniel's we shall go, and there be hospitably welcome for the love of mother church."
""and how, dear lawless," cried the lad, "shall i repay you?"
""tut, brother," replied the outlaw, "i do naught but for my pleasure.
mind not for me.
i am one, by the mass, that mindeth for himself.
when that i lack, i have a long tongue and a voice like the monastery bell -- i do ask, my son; and where asking faileth, i do most usually take."
the old rogue made a humorous grimace; and although dick was displeased to lie under so great favours to so equivocal a personage, he was yet unable to restrain his mirth.
with that, lawless returned to the big chest, and was soon similarly disguised; but, below his gown, dick wondered to observe him conceal a sheaf of black arrows.
""wherefore do ye that?"
asked the lad.
""wherefore arrows, when ye take no bow?"
""nay," replied lawless, lightly,"'t is like there will be heads broke -- not to say backs -- ere you and i win sound from where we're going to; and if any fall, i would our fellowship should come by the credit o n't.
a black arrow, master dick, is the seal of our abbey; it showeth you who writ the bill."
""an ye prepare so carefully," said dick, "i have here some papers that, for mine own sake, and the interest of those that trusted me, were better left behind than found upon my body.
where shall i conceal them, will?"
""nay," replied lawless, "i will go forth into the wood and whistle me three verses of a song; meanwhile, do you bury them where ye please, and smooth the sand upon the place."
""never!"
cried richard.
""i trust you, man.
i were base indeed if i not trusted you."
""brother, y" are but a child," replied the old outlaw, pausing and turning his face upon dick from the threshold of the den.
""i am a kind old christian, and no traitor to men's blood, and no sparer of mine own in a friend's jeopardy.
but, fool, child, i am a thief by trade and birth and habit.
if my bottle were empty and my mouth dry, i would rob you, dear child, as sure as i love, honour, and admire your parts and person!
can it be clearer spoken?
no."
and he stumped forth through the bushes with a snap of his big fingers.
dick, thus left alone, after a wondering thought upon the inconsistencies of his companion's character, hastily produced, reviewed, and buried his papers.
one only he reserved to carry along with him, since it in nowise compromised his friends, and yet might serve him, in a pinch, against sir daniel.
that was the knight's own letter to lord wensleydale, sent by throgmorton, on the morrow of the defeat at risingham, and found next day by dick upon the body of the messenger.
then, treading down the embers of the fire, dick left the den, and rejoined the old outlaw, who stood awaiting him under the leafless oaks, and was already beginning to be powdered by the falling snow.
each looked upon the other, and each laughed, so thorough and so droll was the disguise.
""yet i would it were but summer and a clear day," grumbled the outlaw, "that i might see myself in the mirror of a pool.
there be many of sir daniel's men that know me; and if we fell to be recognised, there might be two words for you, brother, but as for me, in a paternoster while, i should be kicking in a rope's - end."
thus they set forth together along the road to shoreby, which, in this part of its course, kept near along the margin or the forest, coming forth, from time to time, in the open country, and passing beside poor folks" houses and small farms.
presently at sight of one of these, lawless pulled up.
""brother martin," he said, in a voice capitally disguised, and suited to his monkish robe, "let us enter and seek alms from these poor sinners.
pax vobiscum!
ay," he added, in his own voice,"'t is as i feared; i have somewhat lost the whine of it; and by your leave, good master shelton, ye must suffer me to practise in these country places, before that i risk my fat neck by entering sir daniel's.
but look ye a little, what an excellent thing it is to be a jack-of-all-trades!
an i had not been a shipman, ye had infallibly gone down in the good hope; an i had not been a thief, i could not have painted me your face; and but that i had been a grey friar, and sung loud in the choir, and ate hearty at the board, i could not have carried this disguise, but the very dogs would have spied us out and barked at us for shams."
he was by this time close to the window of the farm, and he rose on his tip-toes and peeped in.
""nay," he cried, "better and better.
we shall here try our false faces with a vengeance, and have a merry jest on brother capper to boot."
and so saying, he opened the door and led the way into the house.
three of their own company sat at the table, greedily eating.
their daggers, stuck beside them in the board, and the black and menacing looks which they continued to shower upon the people of the house, proved that they owed their entertainment rather to force than favour.
on the two monks, who now, with a sort of humble dignity, entered the kitchen of the farm, they seemed to turn with a particular resentment; and one -- it was john capper in person -- who seemed to play the leading part, instantly and rudely ordered them away.
""we want no beggars here!"
he cried.
but another -- although he was as far from recognising dick and lawless -- inclined to more moderate counsels.
""not so," he cried.
""we be strong men, and take; these be weak, and crave; but in the latter end these shall be uppermost and we below.
mind him not, my father; but come, drink of my cup, and give me a benediction."
""y" are men of a light mind, carnal, and accursed," said the monk.
""now, may the saints forbid that ever i should drink with such companions!
but here, for the pity i bear to sinners, here i do leave you a blessed relic, the which, for your soul's interest, i bid you kiss and cherish."
so far lawless thundered upon them like a preaching friar; but with these words he drew from under his robe a black arrow, tossed it on the board in front of the three startled outlaws, turned in the same instant, and, taking dick along with him, was out of the room and out of sight among the falling snow before they had time to utter a word or move a finger.
""so," he said, "we have proved our false faces, master shelton.
i will now adventure my poor carcase where ye please."
""good!"
returned richard.
""it irks me to be doing.
set we on for shoreby!"
chapter ii -- "in mine enemies" house" sir daniel's residence in shoreby was a tall, commodious, plastered mansion, framed in carven oak, and covered by a low-pitched roof of thatch.
to the back there stretched a garden, full of fruit-trees, alleys, and thick arbours, and overlooked from the far end by the tower of the abbey church.
the house might contain, upon a pinch, the retinue of a greater person than sir daniel; but even now it was filled with hubbub.
the court rang with arms and horseshoe-iron; the kitchens roared with cookery like a bees" - hive; minstrels, and the players of instruments, and the cries of tumblers, sounded from the hall.
sir daniel, in his profusion, in the gaiety and gallantry of his establishment, rivalled with lord shoreby, and eclipsed lord risingham.
all guests were made welcome.
minstrels, tumblers, players of chess, the sellers of relics, medicines, perfumes, and enchantments, and along with these every sort of priest, friar, or pilgrim, were made welcome to the lower table, and slept together in the ample lofts, or on the bare boards of the long dining-hall.
on the afternoon following the wreck of the good hope, the buttery, the kitchens, the stables, the covered cartshed that surrounded two sides of the court, were all crowded by idle people, partly belonging to sir daniel's establishment, and attired in his livery of murrey and blue, partly nondescript strangers attracted to the town by greed, and received by the knight through policy, and because it was the fashion of the time.
the snow, which still fell without interruption, the extreme chill of the air, and the approach of night, combined to keep them under shelter.
wine, ale, and money were all plentiful; many sprawled gambling in the straw of the barn, many were still drunken from the noontide meal.
to the eye of a modern it would have looked like the sack of a city; to the eye of a contemporary it was like any other rich and noble household at a festive season.
two monks -- a young and an old -- had arrived late, and were now warming themselves at a bonfire in a corner of the shed.
a mixed crowd surrounded them -- jugglers, mountebanks, and soldiers; and with these the elder of the two had soon engaged so brisk a conversation, and exchanged so many loud guffaws and country witticisms, that the group momentarily increased in number.
the younger companion, in whom the reader has already recognised dick shelton, sat from the first somewhat backward, and gradually drew himself away.
he listened, indeed, closely, but he opened not his mouth; and by the grave expression of his countenance, he made but little account of his companion's pleasantries.
at last his eye, which travelled continually to and fro, and kept a guard upon all the entrances of the house, lit upon a little procession entering by the main gate and crossing the court in an oblique direction.
two ladies, muffled in thick furs, led the way, and were followed by a pair of waiting-women and four stout men-at-arms.
the next moment they had disappeared within the house; and dick, slipping through the crowd of loiterers in the shed, was already giving hot pursuit.
""the taller of these twain was lady brackley," he thought; "and where lady brackley is, joan will not be far."
at the door of the house the four men-at-arms had ceased to follow, and the ladies were now mounting the stairway of polished oak, under no better escort than that of the two waiting-women.
dick followed close behind.
it was already the dusk of the day; and in the house the darkness of the night had almost come.
on the stair-landings, torches flared in iron holders; down the long, tapestried corridors, a lamp burned by every door.
and where the door stood open, dick could look in upon arras-covered walls and rush-bescattered floors, glowing in the light of the wood fires.
two floors were passed, and at every landing the younger and shorter of the two ladies had looked back keenly at the monk.
he, keeping his eyes lowered, and affecting the demure manners that suited his disguise, had but seen her once, and was unaware that he had attracted her attention.
and now, on the third floor, the party separated, the younger lady continuing to ascend alone, the other, followed by the waiting-maids, descending the corridor to the right.
dick mounted with a swift foot, and holding to the corner, thrust forth his head and followed the three women with his eyes.
without turning or looking behind them, they continued to descend the corridor.
""it is right well," thought dick.
""let me but know my lady brackley's chamber, and it will go hard an i find not dame hatch upon an errand."
and just then a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, with a bound and a choked cry, he turned to grapple his assailant.
he was somewhat abashed to find, in the person whom he had so roughly seized, the short young lady in the furs.
she, on her part, was shocked and terrified beyond expression, and hung trembling in his grasp.
""madam," said dick, releasing her, "i cry you a thousand pardons; but i have no eyes behind, and, by the mass, i could not tell ye were a maid."
the girl continued to look at him, but, by this time, terror began to be succeeded by surprise, and surprise by suspicion.
dick, who could read these changes on her face, became alarmed for his own safety in that hostile house.
""fair maid," he said, affecting easiness, "suffer me to kiss your hand, in token ye forgive my roughness, and i will even go."
""y" are a strange monk, young sir," returned the young lady, looking him both boldly and shrewdly in the face; "and now that my first astonishment hath somewhat passed away, i can spy the layman in each word you utter.
what do ye here?
why are ye thus sacrilegiously tricked out?
come ye in peace or war?
and why spy ye after lady brackley like a thief?"
""madam," quoth dick, "of one thing i pray you to be very sure: i am no thief.
and even if i come here in war, as in some degree i do, i make no war upon fair maids, and i hereby entreat them to copy me so far, and to leave me be.
for, indeed, fair mistress, cry out -- if such be your pleasure -- cry but once, and say what ye have seen, and the poor gentleman before you is merely a dead man.
i can not think ye would be cruel," added dick; and taking the girl's hand gently in both of his, he looked at her with courteous admiration.
""are ye, then, a spy -- a yorkist?"
asked the maid.
""madam," he replied, "i am indeed a yorkist, and, in some sort, a spy.
but that which bringeth me into this house, the same which will win for me the pity and interest of your kind heart, is neither of york nor lancaster.
i will wholly put my life in your discretion.
i am a lover, and my name --" but here the young lady clapped her hand suddenly upon dick's mouth, looked hastily up and down and east and west, and, seeing the coast clear, began to drag the young man, with great strength and vehemence, up-stairs.
""hush!"
she said, "and come!
shalt talk hereafter."
somewhat bewildered, dick suffered himself to be pulled up-stairs, bustled along a corridor, and thrust suddenly into a chamber, lit, like so many of the others, by a blazing log upon the hearth.
""now," said the young lady, forcing him down upon a stool, "sit ye there and attend my sovereign good pleasure.
i have life and death over you, and i will not scruple to abuse my power.
look to yourself; y" "ave cruelly mauled my arm.
he knew not i was a maid, quoth he!
had he known i was a maid, he had ta'en his belt to me, forsooth!"
and with these words, she whipped out of the room and left dick gaping with wonder, and not very sure if he were dreaming or awake.
""ta'en my belt to her!"
he repeated.
""ta'en my belt to her!"
and the recollection of that evening in the forest flowed back upon his mind, and he once more saw matcham's wincing body and beseeching eyes.
and then he was recalled to the dangers of the present.
in the next room he heard a stir, as of a person moving; then followed a sigh, which sounded strangely near; and then the rustle of skirts and tap of feet once more began.
as he stood hearkening, he saw the arras wave along the wall; there was the sound of a door being opened, the hangings divided, and, lamp in hand, joanna sedley entered the apartment.
she was attired in costly stuffs of deep and warm colours, such as befit the winter and the snow.
upon her head, her hair had been gathered together and became her as a crown.
and she, who had seemed so little and so awkward in the attire of matcham, was now tall like a young willow, and swam across the floor as though she scorned the drudgery of walking.
without a start, without a tremor, she raised her lamp and looked at the young monk.
""what make ye here, good brother?"
she inquired.
""ye are doubtless ill-directed.
whom do ye require?
and she set her lamp upon the bracket.
""joanna," said dick; and then his voice failed him.
""joanna," he began again, "ye said ye loved me; and the more fool i, but i believed it!"
""dick!"
she cried.
""dick!"
and then, to the wonder of the lad, this beautiful and tall young lady made but one step of it, and threw her arms about his neck and gave him a hundred kisses all in one.
""oh, the fool fellow!"
she cried.
""oh, dear dick!
oh, if ye could see yourself!
alack!"
she added, pausing.
""i have spoilt you, dick!
i have knocked some of the paint off.
but that can be mended.
what can not be mended, dick -- or i much fear it can not!
-- is my marriage with lord shoreby."
""is it decided, then?"
asked the lad.
""to-morrow, before noon, dick, in the abbey church," she answered, "john matcham and joanna sedley both shall come to a right miserable end.
there is no help in tears, or i could weep mine eyes out.
i have not spared myself to pray, but heaven frowns on my petition.
and, dear dick -- good dick -- but that ye can get me forth of this house before the morning, we must even kiss and say good-bye."
""nay," said dick, "not i; i will never say that word.
't is like despair; but while there's life, joanna, there is hope.
yet will i hope.
ay, by the mass, and triumph!
look ye, now, when ye were but a name to me, did i not follow -- did i not rouse good men -- did i not stake my life upon the quarrel?
and now that i have seen you for what ye are -- the fairest maid and stateliest of england -- think ye i would turn?
-- if the deep sea were there, i would straight through it; if the way were full of lions, i would scatter them like mice."
""ay," she said, dryly, "ye make a great ado about a sky-blue robe!"
""nay, joan," protested dick,"'t is not alone the robe.
but, lass, ye were disguised.
here am i disguised; and, to the proof, do i not cut a figure of fun -- a right fool's figure?"
""ay, dick, an" that ye do!"
she answered, smiling.
""well, then!"
he returned, triumphant.
""so was it with you, poor matcham, in the forest.
in sooth, ye were a wench to laugh at.
but now!"
so they ran on, holding each other by both hands, exchanging smiles and lovely looks, and melting minutes into seconds; and so they might have continued all night long.
but presently there was a noise behind them; and they were aware of the short young lady, with her finger on her lips.
""saints!"
she cried, "but what a noise ye keep!
can ye not speak in compass?
and now, joanna, my fair maid of the woods, what will ye give your gossip for bringing you your sweetheart?"
joanna ran to her, by way of answer, and embraced her fierily.
""and you, sir," added the young lady, "what do ye give me?"
""madam," said dick, "i would fain offer to pay you in the same money."
""come, then," said the lady, "it is permitted you."
but dick, blushing like a peony, only kissed her hand.
""what ails ye at my face, fair sir?"
she inquired, curtseying to the very ground; and then, when dick had at length and most tepidly embraced her, "joanna," she added, "your sweetheart is very backward under your eyes; but i warrant you, when first we met he was more ready.
i am all black and blue, wench; trust me never, if i be not black and blue!
and now," she continued, "have ye said your sayings?
for i must speedily dismiss the paladin."
but at this they both cried out that they had said nothing, that the night was still very young, and that they would not be separated so early.
""and supper?"
asked the young lady.
""must we not go down to supper?"
""nay, to be sure!"
cried joan.
""i had forgotten."
""hide me, then," said dick, "put me behind the arras, shut me in a chest, or what ye will, so that i may be here on your return.
indeed, fair lady," he added, "bear this in mind, that we are sore bested, and may never look upon each other's face from this night forward till we die."
at this the young lady melted; and when, a little after, the bell summoned sir daniel's household to the board, dick was planted very stiffly against the wall, at a place where a division in the tapestry permitted him to breathe the more freely, and even to see into the room.
he had not been long in this position, when he was somewhat strangely disturbed.
the silence, in that upper storey of the house, was only broken by the flickering of the flames and the hissing of a green log in the chimney; but presently, to dick's strained hearing, there came the sound of some one walking with extreme precaution; and soon after the door opened, and a little black-faced, dwarfish fellow, in lord shoreby's colours, pushed first his head, and then his crooked body, into the chamber.
his mouth was open, as though to hear the better; and his eyes, which were very bright, flitted restlessly and swiftly to and fro.
he went round and round the room, striking here and there upon the hangings; but dick, by a miracle, escaped his notice.
then he looked below the furniture, and examined the lamp; and, at last, with an air of cruel disappointment, was preparing to go away as silently as he had come, when down he dropped upon his knees, picked up something from among the rushes on the floor, examined it, and, with every signal of delight, concealed it in the wallet at his belt.
dick's heart sank, for the object in question was a tassel from his own girdle; and it was plain to him that this dwarfish spy, who took a malign delight in his employment, would lose no time in bearing it to his master, the baron.
he was half-tempted to throw aside the arras, fall upon the scoundrel, and, at the risk of his life, remove the telltale token.
and while he was still hesitating, a new cause of concern was added.
a voice, hoarse and broken by drink, began to be audible from the stair; and presently after, uneven, wandering, and heavy footsteps sounded without along the passage.
""what make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?"
sang the voice.
""what make ye here?
hey!
sots, what make ye here?"
it added, with a rattle of drunken laughter; and then, once more breaking into song: "if ye should drink the clary wine, fat friar john, ye friend o" mine -- if i should eat, and ye should drink, who shall sing the mass, d'ye think?"
lawless, alas!
rolling drunk, was wandering the house, seeking for a corner wherein to slumber off the effect of his potations.
dick inwardly raged.
the spy, at first terrified, had grown reassured as he found he had to deal with an intoxicated man, and now, with a movement of cat-like rapidity, slipped from the chamber, and was gone from richard's eyes.
what was to be done?
if he lost touch of lawless for the night, he was left impotent, whether to plan or carry forth joanna's rescue.
if, on the other hand, he dared to address the drunken outlaw, the spy might still be lingering within sight, and the most fatal consequences ensue.
it was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that dick decided.
slipping from behind the tapestry, he stood ready in the doorway of the chamber, with a warning hand upraised.
lawless, flushed crimson, with his eyes injected, vacillating on his feet, drew still unsteadily nearer.
at last he hazily caught sight of his commander, and, in despite of dick's imperious signals, hailed him instantly and loudly by his name.
dick leaped upon and shook the drunkard furiously.
""beast!"
he hissed -- "beast and no man!
it is worse than treachery to be so witless.
we may all be shent for thy sotting."
but lawless only laughed and staggered, and tried to clap young shelton on the back.
and just then dick's quick ear caught a rapid brushing in the arras.
he leaped towards the sound, and the next moment a piece of the wall-hanging had been torn down, and dick and the spy were sprawling together in its folds.
over and over they rolled, grappling for each other's throat, and still baffled by the arras, and still silent in their deadly fury.
but dick was by much the stronger, and soon the spy lay prostrate under his knee, and, with a single stroke of the long poniard, ceased to breathe.
chapter iii -- the dead spy throughout this furious and rapid passage, lawless had looked on helplessly, and even when all was over, and dick, already re-arisen to his feet, was listening with the most passionate attention to the distant bustle in the lower storeys of the house, the old outlaw was still wavering on his legs like a shrub in a breeze of wind, and still stupidly staring on the face of the dead man.
""it is well," said dick, at length; "they have not heard us, praise the saints!
but, now, what shall i do with this poor spy?
at least, i will take my tassel from his wallet."
so saying, dick opened the wallet; within he found a few pieces of money, the tassel, and a letter addressed to lord wensleydale, and sealed with my lord shoreby's seal.
the name awoke dick's recollection; and he instantly broke the wax and read the contents of the letter.
it was short, but, to dick's delight, it gave evident proof that lord shoreby was treacherously corresponding with the house of york.
the young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and implements about him, and so now, bending a knee beside the body of the dead spy, he was able to write these words upon a corner of the paper: my lord of shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot ye why your man is ded?
but let me rede you, marry not.
jon amend-all.
he laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and then lawless, who had been looking on upon these last manoeuvres with some flickering returns of intelligence, suddenly drew a black arrow from below his robe, and therewith pinned the paper in its place.
the sight of this disrespect, or, as it almost seemed, cruelty to the dead, drew a cry of horror from young shelton; but the old outlaw only laughed.
""nay, i will have the credit for mine order," he hiccupped.
""my jolly boys must have the credit o n't -- the credit, brother;" and then, shutting his eyes tight and opening his mouth like a precentor, he began to thunder, in a formidable voice: "if ye should drink the clary wine" -- "peace, sot!"
cried dick, and thrust him hard against the wall.
""in two words -- if so be that such a man can understand me who hath more wine than wit in him -- in two words, and, a-mary's name, begone out of this house, where, if ye continue to abide, ye will not only hang yourself, but me also!
faith, then, up foot!
be yare, or, by the mass, i may forget that i am in some sort your captain and in some your debtor!
go!"
the sham monk was now, in some degree, recovering the use of his intelligence; and the ring in dick's voice, and the glitter in dick's eye, stamped home the meaning of his words.
""by the mass," cried lawless, "an i be not wanted, i can go;" and he turned tipsily along the corridor and proceeded to flounder down-stairs, lurching against the wall.
so soon as he was out of sight, dick returned to his hiding-place, resolutely fixed to see the matter out.
wisdom, indeed, moved him to be gone; but love and curiosity were stronger.
time passed slowly for the young man, bolt upright behind the arras.
the fire in the room began to die down, and the lamp to burn low and to smoke.
and still there was no word of the return of any one to these upper quarters of the house; still the faint hum and clatter of the supper party sounded from far below; and still, under the thick fall of the snow, shoreby town lay silent upon every side.
at length, however, feet and voices began to draw near upon the stair; and presently after several of sir daniel's guests arrived upon the landing, and, turning down the corridor, beheld the torn arras and the body of the spy.
some ran forward and some back, and all together began to cry aloud.
at the sound of their cries, guests, men-at-arms, ladies, servants, and, in a word, all the inhabitants of that great house, came flying from every direction, and began to join their voices to the tumult.
soon a way was cleared, and sir daniel came forth in person, followed by the bridegroom of the morrow, my lord shoreby.
""my lord," said sir daniel, "have i not told you of this knave black arrow?
to the proof, behold it!
there it stands, and, by the rood, my gossip, in a man of yours, or one that stole your colours!"
""in good sooth, it was a man of mine," replied lord shoreby, hanging back.
""i would i had more such.
he was keen as a beagle and secret as a mole."
""ay, gossip, truly?"
asked sir daniel, keenly.
""and what came he smelling up so many stairs in my poor mansion?
but he will smell no more."
""a n't please you, sir daniel," said one, "here is a paper written upon with some matter, pinned upon his breast."
""give it me, arrow and all," said the knight.
and when he had taken into his hand the shaft, he continued for some time to gaze upon it in a sullen musing.
""ay," he said, addressing lord shoreby, "here is a hate that followeth hard and close upon my heels.
this black stick, or its just likeness, shall yet bring me down.
and, gossip, suffer a plain knight to counsel you; and if these hounds begin to wind you, flee!
't is like a sickness -- it still hangeth, hangeth upon the limbs.
but let us see what they have written.
it is as i thought, my lord; y" are marked, like an old oak, by the woodman; to-morrow or next day, by will come the axe.
but what wrote ye in a letter?"
lord shoreby snatched the paper from the arrow, read it, crumpled it between his hands, and, overcoming the reluctance which had hitherto withheld him from approaching, threw himself on his knees beside the body and eagerly groped in the wallet.
he rose to his feet with a somewhat unsettled countenance.
""gossip," he said, "i have indeed lost a letter here that much imported; and could i lay my hand upon the knave that took it, he should incontinently grace a halter.
but let us, first of all, secure the issues of the house.
here is enough harm already, by st. george!"
sentinels were posted close around the house and garden; a sentinel on every landing of the stair, a whole troop in the main entrance-hall; and yet another about the bonfire in the shed.
sir daniel's followers were supplemented by lord shoreby's; there was thus no lack of men or weapons to make the house secure, or to entrap a lurking enemy, should one be there.
meanwhile, the body of the spy was carried out through the falling snow and deposited in the abbey church.
it was not until these dispositions had been taken, and all had returned to a decorous silence, that the two girls drew richard shelton from his place of concealment, and made a full report to him of what had passed.
he, upon his side, recounted the visit of the spy, his dangerous discovery, and speedy end.
joanna leaned back very faint against the curtained wall.
""it will avail but little," she said.
""i shall be wed to-morrow, in the morning, after all!"
""what!"
cried her friend.
""and here is our paladin that driveth lions like mice!
ye have little faith, of a surety.
but come, friend lion-driver, give us some comfort; speak, and let us hear bold counsels."
dick was confounded to be thus outfaced with his own exaggerated words; but though he coloured, he still spoke stoutly.
""truly," said he, "we are in straits.
yet, could i but win out of this house for half an hour, i do honestly tell myself that all might still go well; and for the marriage, it should be prevented."
""and for the lions," mimicked the girl, "they shall be driven."
""i crave your excuse," said dick.
""i speak not now in any boasting humour, but rather as one inquiring after help or counsel; for if i get not forth of this house and through these sentinels, i can do less than naught.
take me, i pray you, rightly."
""why said ye he was rustic, joan?"
the girl inquired.
""i warrant he hath a tongue in his head; ready, soft, and bold is his speech at pleasure.
what would ye more?"
""nay," sighed joanna, with a smile, "they have changed me my friend dick,'t is sure enough.
when i beheld him, he was rough indeed.
but it matters little; there is no help for my hard case, and i must still be lady shoreby!"
""nay, then," said dick, "i will even make the adventure.
a friar is not much regarded; and if i found a good fairy to lead me up, i may find another belike to carry me down.
how call they the name of this spy?"
""rutter," said the young lady; "and an excellent good name to call him by.
but how mean ye, lion-driver?
what is in your mind to do?"
""to offer boldly to go forth," returned dick; "and if any stop me, to keep an unchanged countenance, and say i go to pray for rutter.
they will be praying over his poor clay even now."
""the device is somewhat simple," replied the girl, "yet it may hold."
""nay," said young shelton, "it is no device, but mere boldness, which serveth often better in great straits."
""ye say true," she said.
""well, go, a-mary's name, and may heaven speed you!
ye leave here a poor maid that loves you entirely, and another that is most heartily your friend.
be wary, for their sakes, and make not shipwreck of your safety."
""ay," added joanna, "go, dick.
ye run no more peril, whether ye go or stay.
go; ye take my heart with you; the saints defend you!"
dick passed the first sentry with so assured a countenance that the fellow merely figeted and stared; but at the second landing the man carried his spear across and bade him name his business."
pax vobiscum," answered dick.
""i go to pray over the body of this poor rutter."
""like enough," returned the sentry; "but to go alone is not permitted you."
he leaned over the oaken balusters and whistled shrill.
""one cometh!"
he cried; and then motioned dick to pass.
at the foot of the stair he found the guard afoot and awaiting his arrival; and when he had once more repeated his story, the commander of the post ordered four men out to accompany him to the church.
""let him not slip, my lads," he said.
""bring him to sir oliver, on your lives!"
the door was then opened; one of the men took dick by either arm, another marched ahead with a link, and the fourth, with bent bow and the arrow on the string, brought up the rear.
in this order they proceeded through the garden, under the thick darkness of the night and the scattering snow, and drew near to the dimly-illuminated windows of the abbey church.
at the western portal a picket of archers stood, taking what shelter they could find in the hollow of the arched doorways, and all powdered with the snow; and it was not until dick's conductors had exchanged a word with these, that they were suffered to pass forth and enter the nave of the sacred edifice.
the church was doubtfully lighted by the tapers upon the great altar, and by a lamp or two that swung from the arched roof before the private chapels of illustrious families.
in the midst of the choir the dead spy lay, his limbs piously composed, upon a bier.
a hurried mutter of prayer sounded along the arches; cowled figures knelt in the stalls of the choir, and on the steps of the high altar a priest in pontifical vestments celebrated mass.
upon this fresh entrance, one of the cowled figures arose, and, coming down the steps which elevated the level of the choir above that of the nave, demanded from the leader of the four men what business brought him to the church.
out of respect for the service and the dead, they spoke in guarded tones; but the echoes of that huge, empty building caught up their words, and hollowly repeated and repeated them along the aisles.
""a monk!"
returned sir oliver -lrb- for he it was -rrb-, when he had heard the report of the archer.
""my brother, i looked not for your coming," he added, turning to young shelton.
""in all civility, who are ye?
and at whose instance do ye join your supplications to ours?"
dick, keeping his cowl about his face, signed to sir oliver to move a pace or two aside from the archers; and, so soon as the priest had done so, "i can not hope to deceive you, sir," he said.
""my life is in your hands."
sir oliver violently started; his stout cheeks grew pale, and for a space he was silent.
""richard," he said, "what brings you here, i know not; but i much misdoubt it to be evil.
nevertheless, for the kindness that was, i would not willingly deliver you to harm.
ye shall sit all night beside me in the stalls: ye shall sit there till my lord of shoreby be married, and the party gone safe home; and if all goeth well, and ye have planned no evil, in the end ye shall go whither ye will.
but if your purpose be bloody, it shall return upon your head.
amen!"
and the priest devoutly crossed himself, and turned and louted to the altar.
with that, he spoke a few words more to the soldiers, and taking dick by the hand, led him up to the choir, and placed him in the stall beside his own, where, for mere decency, the lad had instantly to kneel and appear to be busy with his devotions.
his mind and his eyes, however, were continually wandering.
three of the soldiers, he observed, instead of returning to the house, had got them quietly into a point of vantage in the aisle; and he could not doubt that they had done so by sir oliver's command.
here, then, he was trapped.
here he must spend the night in the ghostly glimmer and shadow of the church, and looking on the pale face of him he slew; and here, in the morning, he must see his sweetheart married to another man before his eyes.
but, for all that, he obtained a command upon his mind, and built himself up in patience to await the issue.
chapter iv -- in the abbey church in shoreby abbey church the prayers were kept up all night without cessation, now with the singing of psalms, now with a note or two upon the bell.
rutter, the spy, was nobly waked.
there he lay, meanwhile, as they had arranged him, his dead hands crossed upon his bosom, his dead eyes staring on the roof; and hard by, in the stall, the lad who had slain him waited, in sore disquietude, the coming of the morning.
once only, in the course of the hours, sir oliver leaned across to his captive.
""richard," he whispered, "my son, if ye mean me evil, i will certify, on my soul's welfare, ye design upon an innocent man.
sinful in the eye of heaven i do declare myself; but sinful as against you i am not, neither have been ever."
""my father," returned dick, in the same tone of voice, "trust me, i design nothing; but as for your innocence, i may not forget that ye cleared yourself but lamely."
""a man may be innocently guilty," replied the priest.
""he may be set blindfolded upon a mission, ignorant of its true scope.
so it was with me.
i did decoy your father to his death; but as heaven sees us in this sacred place, i knew not what i did."
""it may be," returned dick.
""but see what a strange web ye have woven, that i should be, at this hour, at once your prisoner and your judge; that ye should both threaten my days and deprecate my anger.
methinks, if ye had been all your life a true man and good priest, ye would neither thus fear nor thus detest me.
and now to your prayers.
i do obey you, since needs must; but i will not be burthened with your company."
the priest uttered a sigh so heavy that it had almost touched the lad into some sentiment of pity, and he bowed his head upon his hands like a man borne down below a weight of care.
he joined no longer in the psalms; but dick could hear the beads rattle through his fingers and the prayers a-pattering between his teeth.
yet a little, and the grey of the morning began to struggle through the painted casements of the church, and to put to shame the glimmer of the tapers.
the light slowly broadened and brightened, and presently through the south-eastern clerestories a flush of rosy sunlight flickered on the walls.
the storm was over; the great clouds had disburdened their snow and fled farther on, and the new day was breaking on a merry winter landscape sheathed in white.
a bustle of church officers followed; the bier was carried forth to the deadhouse, and the stains of blood were cleansed from off the tiles, that no such ill-omened spectacle should disgrace the marriage of lord shoreby.
at the same time, the very ecclesiastics who had been so dismally engaged all night began to put on morning faces, to do honour to the merrier ceremony which was about to follow.
and further to announce the coming of the day, the pious of the town began to assemble and fall to prayer before their favourite shrines, or wait their turn at the confessionals.
favoured by this stir, it was of course easily possible for any man to avoid the vigilance of sir daniel's sentries at the door; and presently dick, looking about him wearily, caught the eye of no less a person than will lawless, still in his monk's habit.
the outlaw, at the same moment, recognised his leader, and privily signed to him with hand and eye.
now, dick was far from having forgiven the old rogue his most untimely drunkenness, but he had no desire to involve him in his own predicament; and he signalled back to him, as plain as he was able, to begone.
lawless, as though he had understood, disappeared at once behind a pillar, and dick breathed again.
what, then, was his dismay to feel himself plucked by the sleeve and to find the old robber installed beside him, upon the next seat, and, to all appearance, plunged in his devotions!
instantly sir oliver arose from his place, and, gliding behind the stalls, made for the soldiers in the aisle.
if the priest's suspicions had been so lightly wakened, the harm was already done, and lawless a prisoner in the church.
""move not," whispered dick.
""we are in the plaguiest pass, thanks, before all things, to thy swinishness of yestereven.
when ye saw me here, so strangely seated where i have neither right nor interest, what a murrain i could ye not smell harm and get ye gone from evil?"
""nay," returned lawless, "i thought ye had heard from ellis, and were here on duty."
""ellis!"
echoed dick.
""is ellis, then, returned?
""for sure," replied the outlaw.
""he came last night, and belted me sore for being in wine -- so there ye are avenged, my master.
a furious man is ellis duckworth!
he hath ridden me hot-spur from craven to prevent this marriage; and, master dick, ye know the way of him -- do so he will!"
""nay, then," returned dick, with composure, "you and i, my poor brother, are dead men; for i sit here a prisoner upon suspicion, and my neck was to answer for this very marriage that he purposeth to mar..
i had a fair choice, by the rood!
to lose my sweetheart or else lose my life!
well, the cast is thrown -- it is to be my life."
""by the mass," cried lawless, half arising, "i am gone!"
but dick had his hand at once upon his shoulder.
""friend lawless, sit ye still," he said.
""an ye have eyes, look yonder at the corner by the chancel arch; see ye not that, even upon the motion of your rising, yon armed men are up and ready to intercept you?
yield ye, friend.
ye were bold aboard ship, when ye thought to die a sea-death; be bold again, now that y" are to die presently upon the gallows."
""master dick," gasped lawless, "the thing hath come upon me somewhat of the suddenest.
but give me a moment till i fetch my breath again; and, by the mass, i will be as stout-hearted as yourself."
""here is my bold fellow!"
returned dick.
""and yet, lawless, it goes hard against the grain with me to die; but where whining mendeth nothing, wherefore whine?"
""nay, that indeed!"
chimed lawless.
""and a fig for death, at worst!
it has to be done, my master, soon or late.
and hanging in a good quarrel is an easy death, they say, though i could never hear of any that came back to say so."
and so saying, the stout old rascal leaned back in his stall, folded his arms, and began to look about him with the greatest air of insolence and unconcern.
""and for the matter of that," dick added, "it is yet our best chance to keep quiet.
we wot not yet what duckworth purposes; and when all is said, and if the worst befall, we may yet clear our feet of it."
now that they ceased talking, they were aware of a very distant and thin strain of mirthful music which steadily drew nearer, louder, and merrier.
the bells in the tower began to break forth into a doubling peal, and a greater and greater concourse of people to crowd into the church, shuffling the snow from off their feet, and clapping and blowing in their hands.
the western door was flung wide open, showing a glimpse of sunlit, snowy street, and admitting in a great gust the shrewd air of the morning; and in short, it became plain by every sign that lord shoreby desired to be married very early in the day, and that the wedding-train was drawing near.
some of lord shoreby's men now cleared a passage down the middle aisle, forcing the people back with lance-stocks; and just then, outside the portal, the secular musicians could be descried drawing near over the frozen snow, the fifers and trumpeters scarlet in the face with lusty blowing, the drummers and the cymbalists beating as for a wager.
these, as they drew near the door of the sacred building, filed off on either side, and, marking time to their own vigorous music, stood stamping in the snow.
as they thus opened their ranks, the leaders of this noble bridal train appeared behind and between them; and such was the variety and gaiety of their attire, such the display of silks and velvet, fur and satin, embroidery and lace, that the procession showed forth upon the snow like a flower-bed in a path or a painted window in a wall.
first came the bride, a sorry sight, as pale as winter, clinging to sir daniel's arm, and attended, as brides-maid, by the short young lady who had befriended dick the night before.
close behind, in the most radiant toilet, followed the bridegroom, halting on a gouty foot; and as he passed the threshold of the sacred building and doffed his hat, his bald head was seen to be rosy with emotion.
and now came the hour of ellis duckworth.
dick, who sat stunned among contrary emotions, grasping the desk in front of him, beheld a movement in the crowd, people jostling backward, and eyes and arms uplifted.
following these signs, he beheld three or four men with bent bows leaning from the clerestory gallery.
at the same instant they delivered their discharge, and before the clamour and cries of the astounded populace had time to swell fully upon the ear, they had flitted from their perch and disappeared.
the nave was full of swaying heads and voices screaming; the ecclesiastics thronged in terror from their places; the music ceased, and though the bells overhead continued for some seconds to clang upon the air, some wind of the disaster seemed to find its way at last even to the chamber where the ringers were leaping on their ropes, and they also desisted from their merry labours.
right in the midst of the nave the bridegroom lay stone-dead, pierced by two black arrows.
the bride had fainted.
sir daniel stood, towering above the crowd in his surprise and anger, a clothyard shaft quivering in his left forearm, and his face streaming blood from another which had grazed his brow.
long before any search could be made for them, the authors of this tragic interruption had clattered down a turnpike stair and decamped by a postern door.
but dick and lawless still remained in pawn; they had, indeed, arisen on the first alarm, and pushed manfully to gain the door; but what with the narrowness of the stalls and the crowding of terrified priests and choristers, the attempt had been in vain, and they had stoically resumed their places.
and now, pale with horror, sir oliver rose to his feet and called upon sir daniel, pointing with one hand to dick.
""here," he cried, "is richard shelton -- alas the hour!
-- blood guilty!
seize him!
-- bid him be seized!
for all our lives" sakes, take him and bind him surely!
he hath sworn our fall."
sir daniel was blinded by anger -- blinded by the hot blood that still streamed across his face.
""where?"
he bellowed.
""hale him forth!
by the cross of holywood, but he shall rue this hour!"
the crowd fell back, and a party of archers invaded the choir, laid rough hands on dick, dragged him head-foremost from the stall, and thrust him by the shoulders down the chancel steps.
lawless, on his part, sat as still as a mouse.
sir daniel, brushing the blood out of his eyes, stared blinkingly upon his captive.
""ay," he said, "treacherous and insolent, i have thee fast; and by all potent oaths, for every drop of blood that now trickles in mine eyes, i will wring a groan out of thy carcase.
away with him!"
he added.
""here is no place!
off with him to my house.
i will number every joint of thy body with a torture."
but dick, putting off his captors, uplifted his voice.
""sanctuary!"
he shouted.
""sanctuary!
ho, there, my fathers!
they would drag me from the church!"
""from the church thou hast defiled with murder, boy," added a tall man, magnificently dressed.
""on what probation?"
cried dick.
""they do accuse me, indeed, of some complicity, but have not proved one tittle.
i was, in truth, a suitor for this damsel's hand; and she, i will be bold to say it, repaid my suit with favour.
but what then?
to love a maid is no offence, i trow -- nay, nor to gain her love.
in all else, i stand here free from guiltiness."
there was a murmur of approval among the bystanders, so boldly dick declared his innocence; but at the same time a throng of accusers arose upon the other side, crying how he had been found last night in sir daniel's house, how he wore a sacrilegious disguise; and in the midst of the babel, sir oliver indicated lawless, both by voice and gesture, as accomplice to the fact.
he, in his turn, was dragged from his seat and set beside his leader.
the feelings of the crowd rose high on either side, and while some dragged the prisoners to and fro to favour their escape, others cursed and struck them with their fists.
dick's ears rang and his brain swam dizzily, like a man struggling in the eddies of a furious river.
but the tall man who had already answered dick, by a prodigious exercise of voice restored silence and order in the mob.
""search them," he said, "for arms.
we may so judge of their intentions."
upon dick they found no weapon but his poniard, and this told in his favour, until one man officiously drew it from its sheath, and found it still uncleansed of the blood of rutter.
at this there was a great shout among sir daniel's followers, which the tall man suppressed by a gesture and an imperious glance.
but when it came to the turn of lawless, there was found under his gown a sheaf of arrows identical with those that had been shot.
""how say ye now?"
asked the tall man, frowningly, of dick.
""sir," replied dick, "i am here in sanctuary, is it not so?
well, sir, i see by your bearing that ye are high in station, and i read in your countenance the marks of piety and justice.
to you, then, i will yield me prisoner, and that blithely, foregoing the advantage of this holy place.
but rather than to be yielded into the discretion of that man -- whom i do here accuse with a loud voice to be the murderer of my natural father and the unjust retainer of my lands and revenues -- rather than that, i would beseech you, under favour, with your own gentle hand, to despatch me on the spot.
your own ears have heard him, how before that i was proven guilty he did threaten me with torments.
it standeth not with your own honour to deliver me to my sworn enemy and old oppressor, but to try me fairly by the way of law, and, if that i be guilty indeed, to slay me mercifully."
""my lord," cried sir daniel, "ye will not hearken to this wolf?
his bloody dagger reeks him the lie into his face."
""nay, but suffer me, good knight," returned the tall stranger; "your own vehemence doth somewhat tell against yourself."
and here the bride, who had come to herself some minutes past and looked wildly on upon this scene, broke loose from those that held her, and fell upon her knees before the last speaker.
""my lord of risingham," she cried, "hear me, in justice.
i am here in this man's custody by mere force, reft from mine own people.
since that day i had never pity, countenance, nor comfort from the face of man -- but from him only -- richard shelton -- whom they now accuse and labour to undo.
my lord, if he was yesternight in sir daniel's mansion, it was i that brought him there; he came but at my prayer, and thought to do no hurt.
while yet sir daniel was a good lord to him, he fought with them of the black arrow loyally; but when his foul guardian sought his life by practices, and he fled by night, for his soul's sake, out of that bloody house, whither was he to turn -- he, helpless and penniless?
or if he be fallen among ill company, whom should ye blame -- the lad that was unjustly handled, or the guardian that did abuse his trust?"
and then the short young lady fell on her knees by joanna's side.
""and i, my good lord and natural uncle," she added, "i can bear testimony, on my conscience and before the face of all, that what this maiden saith is true.
it was i, unworthy, that did lead the young man in."
earl risingham had heard in silence, and when the voices ceased, he still stood silent for a space.
then he gave joanna his hand to arise, though it was to be observed that he did not offer the like courtesy to her who had called herself his niece.
""sir daniel," he said, "here is a right intricate affair, the which, with your good leave, it shall be mine to examine and adjust.
content ye, then; your business is in careful hands; justice shall be done you; and in the meanwhile, get ye incontinently home, and have your hurts attended.
the air is shrewd, and i would not ye took cold upon these scratches."
he made a sign with his hand; it was passed down the nave by obsequious servants, who waited there upon his smallest gesture.
instantly, without the church, a tucket sounded shrill, and through the open portal archers and men-at-arms, uniformly arrayed in the colours and wearing the badge of lord risingham, began to file into the church, took dick and lawless from those who still detained them, and, closing their files about the prisoners, marched forth again and disappeared.
as they were passing, joanna held both her hands to dick and cried him her farewell; and the bridesmaid, nothing downcast by her uncle's evident displeasure, blew him a kiss, with a "keep your heart up, lion-driver!"
that for the first time since the accident called up a smile to the faces of the crowd.
chapter v -- earl risingham earl risingham, although by far the most important person then in shoreby, was poorly lodged in the house of a private gentleman upon the extreme outskirts of the town.
nothing but the armed men at the doors, and the mounted messengers that kept arriving and departing, announced the temporary residence of a great lord.
thus it was that, from lack of space, dick and lawless were clapped into the same apartment.
""well spoken, master richard," said the outlaw; "it was excellently well spoken, and, for my part, i thank you cordially.
here we are in good hands; we shall be justly tried, and, some time this evening, decently hanged on the same tree."
""indeed, my poor friend, i do believe it," answered dick.
""yet have we a string to our bow," returned lawless.
""ellis duckworth is a man out of ten thousand; he holdeth you right near his heart, both for your own and for your father's sake; and knowing you guiltless of this fact, he will stir earth and heaven to bear you clear."
""it may not be," said dick.
""what can he do?
he hath but a handful.
alack, if it were but to-morrow -- could i but keep a certain tryst an hour before noon to-morrow -- all were, i think, otherwise.
but now there is no help."
""well," concluded lawless, "an ye will stand to it for my innocence, i will stand to it for yours, and that stoutly.
it shall naught avail us; but an i be to hang, it shall not be for lack of swearing."
and then, while dick gave himself over to his reflections, the old rogue curled himself down into a corner, pulled his monkish hood about his face, and composed himself to sleep.
soon he was loudly snoring, so utterly had his long life of hardship and adventure blunted the sense of apprehension.
it was long after noon, and the day was already failing, before the door was opened and dick taken forth and led up-stairs to where, in a warm cabinet, earl risingham sat musing over the fire.
on his captive's entrance he looked up.
""sir," he said, "i knew your father, who was a man of honour, and this inclineth me to be the more lenient; but i may not hide from you that heavy charges lie against your character.
ye do consort with murderers and robbers; upon a clear probation ye have carried war against the king's peace; ye are suspected to have piratically seized upon a ship; ye are found skulking with a counterfeit presentment in your enemy's house; a man is slain that very evening --" "an it like you, my lord," dick interposed, "i will at once avow my guilt, such as it is.
i slew this fellow rutter; and to the proof" -- searching in his bosom -- "here is a letter from his wallet."
lord risingham took the letter, and opened and read it twice.
""ye have read this?"
he inquired.
""i have read it," answered dick.
""are ye for york or lancaster?"
the earl demanded.
""my lord, it was but a little while back that i was asked that question, and knew not how to answer it," said dick; "but having answered once, i will not vary.
my lord, i am for york."
the earl nodded approvingly.
""honestly replied," he said.
""but wherefore, then, deliver me this letter?"
""nay, but against traitors, my lord, are not all sides arrayed?"
cried dick.
""i would they were, young gentleman," returned the earl; "and i do at least approve your saying.
there is more youth than guile in you, i do perceive; and were not sir daniel a mighty man upon our side, i were half-tempted to espouse your quarrel.
for i have inquired, and it appears ye have been hardly dealt with, and have much excuse.
but look ye, sir, i am, before all else, a leader in the queen's interest; and though by nature a just man, as i believe, and leaning even to the excess of mercy, yet must i order my goings for my party's interest, and, to keep sir daniel, i would go far about."
""my lord," returned dick, "ye will think me very bold to counsel you; but do ye count upon sir daniel's faith?
methought he had changed sides intolerably often."
""nay, it is the way of england.
what would ye have?"
the earl demanded.
""but ye are unjust to the knight of tunstall; and as faith goes, in this unfaithful generation, he hath of late been honourably true to us of lancaster.
even in our last reverses he stood firm."
""an it pleased you, then," said dick, "to cast your eye upon this letter, ye might somewhat change your thought of him;" and he handed to the earl sir daniel's letter to lord wensleydale.
the effect upon the earl's countenance was instant; he lowered like an angry lion, and his hand, with a sudden movement, clutched at his dagger.
""ye have read this also?"
he asked.
""even so," said dick.
""it is your lordship's own estate he offers to lord wensleydale?"
""it is my own estate, even as ye say!"
returned the earl.
""i am your bedesman for this letter.
it hath shown me a fox's hole.
command me, master shelton; i will not be backward in gratitude, and to begin with, york or lancaster, true man or thief, i do now set you at freedom.
go, a mary's name!
but judge it right that i retain and hang your fellow, lawless.
the crime hath been most open, and it were fitting that some open punishment should follow."
""my lord, i make it my first suit to you to spare him also," pleaded dick.
""it is an old, condemned rogue, thief, and vagabond, master shelton," said the earl.
""he hath been gallows-ripe this score of years.
and, whether for one thing or another, whether to-morrow or the day after, where is the great choice?"
""yet, my lord, it was through love to me that he came hither," answered dick, "and i were churlish and thankless to desert him."
""master shelton, ye are troublesome," replied the earl, severely.
""it is an evil way to prosper in this world.
howbeit, and to be quit of your importunity, i will once more humour you.
go, then, together; but go warily, and get swiftly out of shoreby town.
for this sir daniel -lrb- whom may the saints confound! -rrb-
thirsteth most greedily to have your blood."
""my lord, i do now offer you in words my gratitude, trusting at some brief date to pay you some of it in service," replied dick, as he turned from the apartment.
chapter vi -- arblaster again when dick and lawless were suffered to steal, by a back way, out of the house where lord risingham held his garrison, the evening had already come.
they paused in shelter of the garden wall to consult on their best course.
the danger was extreme.
if one of sir daniel's men caught sight of them and raised the view-hallo, they would be run down and butchered instantly.
and not only was the town of shoreby a mere net of peril for their lives, but to make for the open country was to run the risk of the patrols.
a little way off, upon some open ground, they spied a windmill standing; and hard by that, a very large granary with open doors.
""how if we lay there until the night fall?"
dick proposed.
and lawless having no better suggestion to offer, they made a straight push for the granary at a run, and concealed themselves behind the door among some straw.
the daylight rapidly departed; and presently the moon was silvering the frozen snow.
now or never was their opportunity to gain the goat and bagpipes unobserved and change their tell-tale garments.
yet even then it was advisable to go round by the outskirts, and not run the gauntlet of the market-place, where, in the concourse of people, they stood the more imminent peril to be recognised and slain.
this course was a long one.
it took them not far from the house by the beach, now lying dark and silent, and brought them forth at last by the margin of the harbour.
many of the ships, as they could see by the clear moonshine, had weighed anchor, and, profiting by the calm sky, proceeded for more distant parts; answerably to this, the rude alehouses along the beach -lrb- although in defiance of the curfew law, they still shone with fire and candle -rrb- were no longer thronged with customers, and no longer echoed to the chorus of sea-songs.
hastily, half-running, with their monkish raiment kilted to the knee, they plunged through the deep snow and threaded the labyrinth of marine lumber; and they were already more than half way round the harbour when, as they were passing close before an alehouse, the door suddenly opened and let out a gush of light upon their fleeting figures.
instantly they stopped, and made believe to be engaged in earnest conversation.
three men, one after another, came out of the ale-house, and the last closed the door behind him.
all three were unsteady upon their feet, as if they had passed the day in deep potations, and they now stood wavering in the moonlight, like men who knew not what they would be after.
the tallest of the three was talking in a loud, lamentable voice.
""seven pieces of as good gascony as ever a tapster broached," he was saying, "the best ship out o" the port o" dartmouth, a virgin mary parcel-gilt, thirteen pounds of good gold money --" "i have bad losses, too," interrupted one of the others.
""i have had losses of mine own, gossip arblaster.
i was robbed at martinmas of five shillings and a leather wallet well worth ninepence farthing."
dick's heart smote him at what he heard.
until that moment he had not perhaps thought twice of the poor skipper who had been ruined by the loss of the good hope; so careless, in those days, were men who wore arms of the goods and interests of their inferiors.
but this sudden encounter reminded him sharply of the high-handed manner and ill-ending of his enterprise; and both he and lawless turned their heads the other way, to avoid the chance of recognition.
the ship's dog had, however, made his escape from the wreck and found his way back again to shoreby.
he was now at arblaster's heels, and suddenly sniffing and pricking his ears, he darted forward and began to bark furiously at the two sham friars.
his master unsteadily followed him.
""hey, shipmates!"
he cried.
""have ye ever a penny pie for a poor old shipman, clean destroyed by pirates?
i am a man that would have paid for you both o" thursday morning; and now here i be, o" saturday night, begging for a flagon of ale!
ask my man tom, if ye misdoubt me.
seven pieces of good gascon wine, a ship that was mine own, and was my father's before me, a blessed mary of plane-tree wood and parcel-gilt, and thirteen pounds in gold and silver.
hey!
what say ye?
a man that fought the french, too; for i have fought the french; i have cut more french throats upon the high seas than ever a man that sails out of dartmouth.
come, a penny piece."
neither dick nor lawless durst answer him a word, lest he should recognise their voices; and they stood there as helpless as a ship ashore, not knowing where to turn nor what to hope.
""are ye dumb, boy?"
inquired the skipper.
""mates," he added, with a hiccup, "they be dumb.
i like not this manner of discourtesy; for an a man be dumb, so be as he's courteous, he will still speak when he was spoken to, methinks."
by this time the sailor, tom, who was a man of great personal strength, seemed to have conceived some suspicion of these two speechless figures; and being soberer than his captain, stepped suddenly before him, took lawless roughly by the shoulder, and asked him, with an oath, what ailed him that he held his tongue.
to this the outlaw, thinking all was over, made answer by a wrestling feint that stretched the sailor on the sand, and, calling upon dick to follow him, took to his heels among the lumber.
the affair passed in a second.
before dick could run at all, arblaster had him in his arms; tom, crawling on his face, had caught him by one foot, and the third man had a drawn cutlass brandishing above his head.
it was not so much the danger, it was not so much the annoyance, that now bowed down the spirits of young shelton; it was the profound humiliation to have escaped sir daniel, convinced lord risingham, and now fall helpless in the hands of this old, drunken sailor; and not merely helpless, but, as his conscience loudly told him when it was too late, actually guilty -- actually the bankrupt debtor of the man whose ship he had stolen and lost.
""bring me him back into the alehouse, till i see his face," said arblaster.
""nay, nay," returned tom; "but let us first unload his wallet, lest the other lads cry share."
but though he was searched from head to foot, not a penny was found upon him; nothing but lord foxham's signet, which they plucked savagely from his finger.
""turn me him to the moon," said the skipper; and taking dick by the chin, he cruelly jerked his head into the air.
""blessed virgin!"
he cried, "it is the pirate!"
""hey!"
cried tom.
""by the virgin of bordeaux, it is the man himself!"
repeated arblaster.
""what, sea-thief, do i hold you?"
he cried.
""where is my ship?
where is my wine?
hey!
have i you in my hands?
tom, give me one end of a cord here; i will so truss me this sea-thief, hand and foot together, like a basting turkey -- marry, i will so bind him up -- and thereafter i will so beat -- so beat him!"
and so he ran on, winding the cord meanwhile about dick's limbs with the dexterity peculiar to seamen, and at every turn and cross securing it with a knot, and tightening the whole fabric with a savage pull.
when he had done, the lad was a mere package in his hands -- as helpless as the dead.
the skipper held him at arm's length, and laughed aloud.
then he fetched him a stunning buffet on the ear; and then turned him about, and furiously kicked and kicked him.
anger rose up in dick's bosom like a storm; anger strangled him, and he thought to have died; but when the sailor, tired of this cruel play, dropped him all his length upon the sand and turned to consult with his companions, he instantly regained command of his temper.
here was a momentary respite; ere they began again to torture him, he might have found some method to escape from this degrading and fatal misadventure.
presently, sure enough, and while his captors were still discussing what to do with him, he took heart of grace, and, with a pretty steady voice, addressed them.
""my masters," he began, "are ye gone clean foolish?
here hath heaven put into your hands as pretty an occasion to grow rich as ever shipman had -- such as ye might make thirty over-sea adventures and not find again -- and, by the mass i what do ye?
beat me?
-- nay; so would an angry child!
but for long-headed tarry-johns, that fear not fire nor water, and that love gold as they love beef, methinks ye are not wise."
""ay," said tom, "now y" are trussed ye would cozen us."
""cozen you!"
repeated dick.
""nay, if ye be fools, it would be easy.
but if ye be shrewd fellows, as i trow ye are, ye can see plainly where your interest lies.
when i took your ship from you, we were many, we were well clad and armed; but now, bethink you a little, who mustered that array?
one incontestably that hath much gold.
and if he, being already rich, continueth to hunt after more even in the face of storms -- bethink you once more -- shall there not be a treasure somewhere hidden?"
""what meaneth he?"
asked one of the men.
""why, if ye have lost an old skiff and a few jugs of vinegary wine," continued dick, "forget them, for the trash they are; and do ye rather buckle to an adventure worth the name, that shall, in twelve hours, make or mar you for ever.
but take me up from where i lie, and let us go somewhere near at hand and talk across a flagon, for i am sore and frozen, and my mouth is half among the snow."
""he seeks but to cozen us," said tom, contemptuously.
""cozen!
cozen!"
cried the third man.
""i would i could see the man that could cozen me!
he were a cozener indeed!
nay, i was not born yesterday.
i can see a church when it hath a steeple on it; and for my part, gossip arblaster, methinks there is some sense in this young man.
shall we go hear him, indeed?
say, shall we go hear him?"
""i would look gladly on a pottle of strong ale, good master pirret," returned arblaster.
""how say ye, tom?
but then the wallet is empty."
""i will pay," said the other -- "i will pay.
i would fain see this matter out; i do believe, upon my conscience, there is gold in it."
""nay, if ye get again to drinking, all is lost!"
cried tom.
""gossip arblaster, ye suffer your fellow to have too much liberty," returned master pirret.
""would ye be led by a hired man?
fy, fy!"
""peace, fellow!"
said arblaster, addressing tom.
""will ye put your oar in?
truly a fine pass, when the crew is to correct the skipper!"
""well, then, go your way," said tom; "i wash my hands of you."
""set him, then, upon his feet," said master pirret.
""i know a privy place where we may drink and discourse."
""if i am to walk, my friends, ye must set my feet at liberty," said dick, when he had been once more planted upright like a post.
""he saith true," laughed pirret.
""truly, he could not walk accoutred as he is.
give it a slit -- out with your knife and slit it, gossip."
even arblaster paused at this proposal; but as his companion continued to insist, and dick had the sense to keep the merest wooden indifference of expression, and only shrugged his shoulders over the delay, the skipper consented at last, and cut the cords which tied his prisoner's feet and legs.
not only did this enable dick to walk; but the whole network of his bonds being proportionately loosened, he felt the arm behind his back begin to move more freely, and could hope, with time and trouble, to entirely disengage it.
so much he owed already to the owlish silliness and greed of master pirret.
that worthy now assumed the lead, and conducted them to the very same rude alehouse where lawless had taken arblaster on the day of the gale.
it was now quite deserted; the fire was a pile of red embers, radiating the most ardent heat; and when they had chosen their places, and the landlord had set before them a measure of mulled ale, both pirret and arblaster stretched forth their legs and squared their elbows like men bent upon a pleasant hour.
the table at which they sat, like all the others in the alehouse, consisted of a heavy, square board, set on a pair of barrels; and each of the four curiously-assorted cronies sat at one side of the square, pirret facing arblaster, and dick opposite to the common sailor.
""and now, young man," said pirret, "to your tale.
it doth appear, indeed, that ye have somewhat abused our gossip arblaster; but what then?
make it up to him -- show him but this chance to become wealthy -- and i will go pledge he will forgive you."
so far dick had spoken pretty much at random; but it was now necessary, under the supervision of six eyes, to invent and tell some marvellous story, and, if it were possible, get back into his hands the all-important signet.
to squander time was the first necessity.
the longer his stay lasted, the more would his captors drink, and the surer should he be when he attempted his escape.
well, dick was not much of an inventor, and what he told was pretty much the tale of ali baba, with shoreby and tunstall forest substituted for the east, and the treasures of the cavern rather exaggerated than diminished.
as the reader is aware, it is an excellent story, and has but one drawback -- that it is not true; and so, as these three simple shipmen now heard it for the first time, their eyes stood out of their faces, and their mouths gaped like codfish at a fishmonger's.
pretty soon a second measure of mulled ale was called for; and while dick was still artfully spinning out the incidents a third followed the second.
here was the position of the parties towards the end: arblaster, three-parts drunk and one-half asleep, hung helpless on his stool.
even tom had been much delighted with the tale, and his vigilance had abated in proportion.
meanwhile, dick had gradually wormed his right arm clear of its bonds, and was ready to risk all.
""and so," said pirret, "y" are one of these?"
""i was made so," replied dick, "against my will; but an i could but get a sack or two of gold coin to my share, i should be a fool indeed to continue dwelling in a filthy cave, and standing shot and buffet like a soldier.
here be we four; good!
let us, then, go forth into the forest to-morrow ere the sun be up.
could we come honestly by a donkey, it were better; but an we can not, we have our four strong backs, and i warrant me we shall come home staggering."
pirret licked his lips.
""and this magic," he said -- "this password, whereby the cave is opened -- how call ye it, friend?"
""nay, none know the word but the three chiefs," returned dick; "but here is your great good fortune, that, on this very evening, i should be the bearer of a spell to open it.
it is a thing not trusted twice a year beyond the captain's wallet."
""a spell!"
said arblaster, half awakening, and squinting upon dick with one eye.
""aroint thee!
no spells!
i be a good christian.
ask my man tom, else."
""nay, but this is white magic," said dick.
""it doth naught with the devil; only the powers of numbers, herbs, and planets."
""ay, ay," said pirret;"'t is but white magic, gossip.
there is no sin therein, i do assure you.
but proceed, good youth.
this spell -- in what should it consist?"
""nay, that i will incontinently show you," answered dick.
""have ye there the ring ye took from my finger?
good!
now hold it forth before you by the extreme finger-ends, at the arm's - length, and over against the shining of these embers.
't is so exactly.
thus, then, is the spell."
with a haggard glance, dick saw the coast was clear between him and the door.
he put up an internal prayer.
then whipping forth his arm, he made but one snatch of the ring, and at the same instant, levering up the table, he sent it bodily over upon the seaman tom.
he, poor soul, went down bawling under the ruins; and before arblaster understood that anything was wrong, or pirret could collect his dazzled wits, dick had run to the door and escaped into the moonlit night.
the moon, which now rode in the mid-heavens, and the extreme whiteness of the snow, made the open ground about the harbour bright as day; and young shelton leaping, with kilted robe, among the lumber, was a conspicuous figure from afar.
tom and pirret followed him with shouts; from every drinking-shop they were joined by others whom their cries aroused; and presently a whole fleet of sailors was in full pursuit.
but jack ashore was a bad runner, even in the fifteenth century, and dick, besides, had a start, which he rapidly improved, until, as he drew near the entrance of a narrow lane, he even paused and looked laughingly behind him.
upon the white floor of snow, all the shipmen of shoreby came clustering in an inky mass, and tailing out rearward in isolated clumps.
every man was shouting or screaming; every man was gesticulating with both arms in air; some one was continually falling; and to complete the picture, when one fell, a dozen would fall upon the top of him.
the confused mass of sound which they rolled up as high as to the moon was partly comical and partly terrifying to the fugitive whom they were hunting.
in itself, it was impotent, for he made sure no seaman in the port could run him down.
but the mere volume of noise, in so far as it must awake all the sleepers in shoreby and bring all the skulking sentries to the street, did really threaten him with danger in the front.
so, spying a dark doorway at a corner, he whipped briskly into it, and let the uncouth hunt go by him, still shouting and gesticulating, and all red with hurry and white with tumbles in the snow.
it was a long while, indeed, before this great invasion of the town by the harbour came to an end, and it was long before silence was restored.
for long, lost sailors were still to be heard pounding and shouting through the streets in all directions and in every quarter of the town.
quarrels followed, sometimes among themselves, sometimes with the men of the patrols; knives were drawn, blows given and received, and more than one dead body remained behind upon the snow.
when, a full hour later, the last seaman returned grumblingly to the harbour side and his particular tavern, it may fairly be questioned if he had ever known what manner of man he was pursuing, but it was absolutely sure that he had now forgotten.
by next morning there were many strange stories flying; and a little while after, the legend of the devil's nocturnal visit was an article of faith with all the lads of shoreby.
but the return of the last seaman did not, even yet, set free young shelton from his cold imprisonment in the doorway.
for some time after, there was a great activity of patrols; and special parties came forth to make the round of the place and report to one or other of the great lords, whose slumbers had been thus unusually broken.
the night was already well spent before dick ventured from his hiding-place and came, safe and sound, but aching with cold and bruises, to the door of the goat and bagpipes.
as the law required, there was neither fire nor candle in the house; but he groped his way into a corner of the icy guest-room, found an end of a blanket, which he hitched around his shoulders, and creeping close to the nearest sleeper, was soon lost in slumber.
book v -- crookback chapter i -- the shrill trumpet very early the next morning, before the first peep of the day, dick arose, changed his garments, armed himself once more like a gentleman, and set forth for lawless's den in the forest.
there, it will be remembered, he had left lord foxham's papers; and to get these and be back in time for the tryst with the young duke of gloucester could only be managed by an early start and the most vigorous walking.
the frost was more rigorous than ever; the air windless and dry, and stinging to the nostril.
the moon had gone down, but the stars were still bright and numerous, and the reflection from the snow was clear and cheerful.
there was no need for a lamp to walk by; nor, in that still but ringing air, the least temptation to delay.
dick had crossed the greater part of the open ground between shoreby and the forest, and had reached the bottom of the little hill, some hundred yards below the cross of st. bride, when, through the stillness of the black morn, there rang forth the note of a trumpet, so shrill, clear, and piercing, that he thought he had never heard the match of it for audibility.
it was blown once, and then hurriedly a second time; and then the clash of steel succeeded.
at this young shelton pricked his ears, and drawing his sword, ran forward up the hill.
presently he came in sight of the cross, and was aware of a most fierce encounter raging on the road before it.
there were seven or eight assailants, and but one to keep head against them; but so active and dexterous was this one, so desperately did he charge and scatter his opponents, so deftly keep his footing on the ice, that already, before dick could intervene, he had slain one, wounded another, and kept the whole in check.
still, it was by a miracle that he continued his defence, and at any moment, any accident, the least slip of foot or error of hand, his life would be a forfeit.
""hold ye well, sir!
here is help!"
cried richard; and forgetting that he was alone, and that the cry was somewhat irregular, "to the arrow!
to the arrow!"
he shouted, as he fell upon the rear of the assailants.
these were stout fellows also, for they gave not an inch at this surprise, but faced about, and fell with astonishing fury upon dick.
four against one, the steel flashed about him in the starlight; the sparks flew fiercely; one of the men opposed to him fell -- in the stir of the fight he hardly knew why; then he himself was struck across the head, and though the steel cap below his hood protected him, the blow beat him down upon one knee, with a brain whirling like a windmill sail.
meanwhile the man whom he had come to rescue, instead of joining in the conflict, had, on the first sign of intervention, leaped aback and blown again, and yet more urgently and loudly, on that same shrill-voiced trumpet that began the alarm.
next moment, indeed, his foes were on him, and he was once more charging and fleeing, leaping, stabbing, dropping to his knee, and using indifferently sword and dagger, foot and hand, with the same unshaken courage and feverish energy and speed.
but that ear-piercing summons had been heard at last.
there was a muffled rushing in the snow; and in a good hour for dick, who saw the sword-points glitter already at his throat, there poured forth out of the wood upon both sides a disorderly torrent of mounted men-at-arms, each cased in iron, and with visor lowered, each bearing his lance in rest, or his sword bared and raised, and each carrying, so to speak, a passenger, in the shape of an archer or page, who leaped one after another from their perches, and had presently doubled the array.
the original assailants; seeing themselves outnumbered and surrounded, threw down their arms without a word.
""seize me these fellows!"
said the hero of the trumpet; and when his order had been obeyed, he drew near to dick and looked him in the face.
dick, returning this scrutiny, was surprised to find in one who had displayed such strength, skill and energy, a lad no older than himself -- slightly deformed, with one shoulder higher than the other, and of a pale, painful, and distorted countenance.
-lcb- 2 -rcb- the eyes, however, were very clear and bold.
""sir," said this lad, "ye came in good time for me, and none too early."
""my lord," returned dick, with a faint sense that he was in the presence of a great personage, "ye are yourself so marvellous a good swordsman that i believe ye had managed them single-handed.
howbeit, it was certainly well for me that your men delayed no longer than they did."
""how knew ye who i was?"
demanded the stranger.
""even now, my lord," dick answered, "i am ignorant of whom i speak with."
""is it so?"
asked the other.
""and yet ye threw yourself head first into this unequal battle."
""i saw one man valiantly contending against many," replied dick, "and i had thought myself dishonoured not to bear him aid."
a singular sneer played about the young nobleman's mouth as he made answer: "these are very brave words.
but to the more essential -- are ye lancaster or york?"
""my lord, i make no secret; i am clear for york," dick answered.
""by the mass!"
replied the other, "it is well for you."
and so saying, he turned towards one of his followers.
""let me see," he continued, in the same sneering and cruel tones -- "let me see a clean end of these brave gentlemen.
truss me them up."
there were but five survivors of the attacking party.
archers seized them by the arms; they were hurried to the borders of the wood, and each placed below a tree of suitable dimension; the rope was adjusted; an archer, carrying the end of it, hastily clambered overhead; and before a minute was over, and without a word passing upon either hand, the five men were swinging by the neck.
""and now," cried the deformed leader, "back to your posts, and when i summon you next, be readier to attend."
""my lord duke," said one man, "beseech you, tarry not here alone.
keep but a handful of lances at your hand."
""fellow," said the duke, "i have forborne to chide you for your slowness.
cross me not, therefore.
i trust my hand and arm, for all that i be crooked.
ye were backward when the trumpet sounded; and ye are now too forward with your counsels.
but it is ever so; last with the lance and first with tongue.
let it be reversed."
and with a gesture that was not without a sort of dangerous nobility, he waved them off.
the footmen climbed again to their seats behind the men-at-arms, and the whole party moved slowly away and disappeared in twenty different directions, under the cover of the forest.
the day was by this time beginning to break, and the stars to fade.
the first grey glimmer of dawn shone upon the countenances of the two young men, who now turned once more to face each other.
""here," said the duke, "ye have seen my vengeance, which is, like my blade, both sharp and ready.
but i would not have you, for all christendom, suppose me thankless.
you that came to my aid with a good sword and a better courage -- unless that ye recoil from my misshapenness -- come to my heart."
and so saying, the young leader held out his arms for an embrace.
in the bottom of his heart dick already entertained a great terror and some hatred for the man whom he had rescued; but the invitation was so worded that it would not have been merely discourteous, but cruel, to refuse or hesitate; and he hastened to comply.
""and now, my lord duke," he said, when he had regained his freedom, "do i suppose aright?
are ye my lord duke of gloucester?"
""i am richard of gloucester," returned the other.
""and you -- how call they you?"
dick told him his name, and presented lord foxham's signet, which the duke immediately recognised.
""ye come too soon," he said; "but why should i complain?
ye are like me, that was here at watch two hours before the day.
but this is the first sally of mine arms; upon this adventure, master shelton, shall i make or mar the quality of my renown.
there lie mine enemies, under two old, skilled captains -- risingham and brackley -- well posted for strength, i do believe, but yet upon two sides without retreat, enclosed betwixt the sea, the harbour, and the river.
methinks, shelton, here were a great blow to be stricken, an we could strike it silently and suddenly."
""i do think so, indeed," cried dick, warming.
""have ye my lord foxham's notes?"
inquired the duke.
and then, dick, having explained how he was without them for the moment, made himself bold to offer information every jot as good, of his own knowledge.
""and for mine own part, my lord duke," he added, "an ye had men enough, i would fall on even at this present.
for, look ye, at the peep of day the watches of the night are over; but by day they keep neither watch nor ward -- only scour the outskirts with horsemen.
now, then, when the night watch is already unarmed, and the rest are at their morning cup -- now were the time to break them."
""how many do ye count?"
asked gloucester.
""they number not two thousand," dick replied.
""i have seven hundred in the woods behind us," said the duke; "seven hundred follow from kettley, and will be here anon; behind these, and further, are four hundred more; and my lord foxham hath five hundred half a day from here, at holywood.
shall we attend their coming, or fall on?"
""my lord," said dick, "when ye hanged these five poor rogues ye did decide the question.
churls although they were, in these uneasy, times they will be lacked and looked for, and the alarm be given.
therefore, my lord, if ye do count upon the advantage of a surprise, ye have not, in my poor opinion, one whole hour in front of you."
""i do think so indeed," returned crookback.
""well, before an hour, ye shall be in the thick o n't, winning spurs.
a swift man to holywood, carrying lord foxham's signet; another along the road to speed my laggards!
nay, shelton, by the rood, it may be done!"
therewith he once more set his trumpet to his lips and blew.
this time he was not long kept waiting.
in a moment the open space about the cross was filled with horse and foot.
richard of gloucester took his place upon the steps, and despatched messenger after messenger to hasten the concentration of the seven hundred men that lay hidden in the immediate neighbourhood among the woods; and before a quarter of an hour had passed, all his dispositions being taken, he put himself at their head, and began to move down the hill towards shoreby.
his plan was simple.
he was to seize a quarter of the town of shoreby lying on the right hand of the high road, and make his position good there in the narrow lanes until his reinforcements followed.
if lord risingham chose to retreat, richard would follow upon his rear, and take him between two fires; or, if he preferred to hold the town, he would be shut in a trap, there to be gradually overwhelmed by force of numbers.
there was but one danger, but that was imminent and great -- gloucester's seven hundred might be rolled up and cut to pieces in the first encounter, and, to avoid this, it was needful to make the surprise of their arrival as complete as possible.
the footmen, therefore, were all once more taken up behind the riders, and dick had the signal honour meted out to him of mounting behind gloucester himself.
for as far as there was any cover the troops moved slowly, and when they came near the end of the trees that lined the highway, stopped to breathe and reconnoitre.
the sun was now well up, shining with a frosty brightness out of a yellow halo, and right over against the luminary, shoreby, a field of snowy roofs and ruddy gables, was rolling up its columns of morning smoke.
gloucester turned round to dick.
""in that poor place," he said, "where people are cooking breakfast, either you shall gain your spurs and i begin a life of mighty honour and glory in the world's eye, or both of us, as i conceive it, shall fall dead and be unheard of.
two richards are we.
well, then, richard shelton, they shall be heard about, these two!
their swords shall not ring more loudly on men's helmets than their names shall ring in people's ears."
dick was astonished at so great a hunger after fame, expressed with so great vehemence of voice and language, and he answered very sensibly and quietly, that, for his part, he promised he would do his duty, and doubted not of victory if everyone did the like.
by this time the horses were well breathed, and the leader holding up his sword and giving rein, the whole troop of chargers broke into the gallop and thundered, with their double load of fighting men, down the remainder of the hill and across the snow-covered plain that still divided them from shoreby.
chapter ii -- the battle of shoreby the whole distance to be crossed was not above a quarter of a mile.
but they had no sooner debauched beyond the cover of the trees than they were aware of people fleeing and screaming in the snowy meadows upon either hand.
almost at the same moment a great rumour began to arise, and spread and grow continually louder in the town; and they were not yet halfway to the nearest house before the bells began to ring backward from the steeple.
the young duke ground his teeth together.
by these so early signals of alarm he feared to find his enemies prepared; and if he failed to gain a footing in the town, he knew that his small party would soon be broken and exterminated in the open.
in the town, however, the lancastrians were far from being in so good a posture.
it was as dick had said.
the night-guard had already doffed their harness; the rest were still hanging -- unlatched, unbraced, all unprepared for battle -- about their quarters; and in the whole of shoreby there were not, perhaps, fifty men full armed, or fifty chargers ready to be mounted.
the beating of the bells, the terrifying summons of men who ran about the streets crying and beating upon the doors, aroused in an incredibly short space at least two score out of that half hundred.
these got speedily to horse, and, the alarm still flying wild and contrary, galloped in different directions.
thus it befell that, when richard of gloucester reached the first house of shoreby, he was met in the mouth of the street by a mere handful of lances, whom he swept before his onset as the storm chases the bark.
a hundred paces into the town, dick shelton touched the duke's arm; the duke, in answer, gathered his reins, put the shrill trumpet to his mouth, and blowing a concerted point, turned to the right hand out of the direct advance.
swerving like a single rider, his whole command turned after him, and, still at the full gallop of the chargers, swept up the narrow bye-street.
only the last score of riders drew rein and faced about in the entrance; the footmen, whom they carried behind them, leapt at the same instant to the earth, and began, some to bend their bows, and others to break into and secure the houses upon either hand.
surprised at this sudden change of direction, and daunted by the firm front of the rear-guard, the few lancastrians, after a momentary consultation, turned and rode farther into town to seek for reinforcements.
the quarter of the town upon which, by the advice of dick, richard of gloucester had now seized, consisted of five small streets of poor and ill-inhabited houses, occupying a very gentle eminence, and lying open towards the back.
the five streets being each secured by a good guard, the reserve would thus occupy the centre, out of shot, and yet ready to carry aid wherever it was needed.
such was the poorness of the neighbourhood that none of the lancastrian lords, and but few of their retainers, had been lodged therein; and the inhabitants, with one accord, deserted their houses and fled, squalling, along the streets or over garden walls.
in the centre, where the five ways all met, a somewhat ill-favoured alehouse displayed the sign of the chequers; and here the duke of gloucester chose his headquarters for the day.
to dick he assigned the guard of one of the five streets.
""go," he said, "win your spurs.
win glory for me: one richard for another.
i tell you, if i rise, ye shall rise by the same ladder.
go," he added, shaking him by the hand.
but, as soon as dick was gone, he turned to a little shabby archer at his elbow.
""go, dutton, and that right speedily," he added.
""follow that lad.
if ye find him faithful, ye answer for his safety, a head for a head.
woe unto you, if ye return without him!
but if he be faithless -- or, for one instant, ye misdoubt him -- stab him from behind."
in the meanwhile dick hastened to secure his post.
the street he had to guard was very narrow, and closely lined with houses, which projected and overhung the roadway; but narrow and dark as it was, since it opened upon the market-place of the town, the main issue of the battle would probably fall to be decided on that spot.
the market-place was full of townspeople fleeing in disorder; but there was as yet no sign of any foeman ready to attack, and dick judged he had some time before him to make ready his defence.
the two houses at the end stood deserted, with open doors, as the inhabitants had left them in their flight, and from these he had the furniture hastily tossed forth and piled into a barrier in the entry of the lane.
a hundred men were placed at his disposal, and of these he threw the more part into the houses, where they might lie in shelter and deliver their arrows from the windows.
with the rest, under his own immediate eye, he lined the barricade.
meanwhile the utmost uproar and confusion had continued to prevail throughout the town; and what with the hurried clashing of bells, the sounding of trumpets, the swift movement of bodies of horse, the cries of the commanders, and the shrieks of women, the noise was almost deafening to the ear.
presently, little by little, the tumult began to subside; and soon after, files of men in armour and bodies of archers began to assemble and form in line of battle in the market-place.
a large portion of this body were in murrey and blue, and in the mounted knight who ordered their array dick recognised sir daniel brackley.
then there befell a long pause, which was followed by the almost simultaneous sounding of four trumpets from four different quarters of the town.
a fifth rang in answer from the market-place, and at the same moment the files began to move, and a shower of arrows rattled about the barricade, and sounded like blows upon the walls of the two flanking houses.
the attack had begun, by a common signal, on all the five issues of the quarter.
gloucester was beleaguered upon every side; and dick judged, if he would make good his post, he must rely entirely on the hundred men of his command.
seven volleys of arrows followed one upon the other, and in the very thick of the discharges dick was touched from behind upon the arm, and found a page holding out to him a leathern jack, strengthened with bright plates of mail.
""it is from my lord of gloucester," said the page.
""he hath observed, sir richard, that ye went unarmed."
dick, with a glow at his heart at being so addressed, got to his feet and, with the assistance of the page, donned the defensive coat.
even as he did so, two arrows rattled harmlessly upon the plates, and a third struck down the page, mortally wounded, at his feet.
meantime the whole body of the enemy had been steadily drawing nearer across the market-place; and by this time were so close at hand that dick gave the order to return their shot.
immediately, from behind the barrier and from the windows of the houses, a counterblast of arrows sped, carrying death.
but the lancastrians, as if they had but waited for a signal, shouted loudly in answer; and began to close at a run upon the barrier, the horsemen still hanging back, with visors lowered.
then followed an obstinate and deadly struggle, hand to hand.
the assailants, wielding their falchions with one hand, strove with the other to drag down the structure of the barricade.
on the other side, the parts were reversed; and the defenders exposed themselves like madmen to protect their rampart.
so for some minutes the contest raged almost in silence, friend and foe falling one upon another.
but it is always the easier to destroy; and when a single note upon the tucket recalled the attacking party from this desperate service, much of the barricade had been removed piecemeal, and the whole fabric had sunk to half its height, and tottered to a general fall.
and now the footmen in the market-place fell back, at a run, on every side.
the horsemen, who had been standing in a line two deep, wheeled suddenly, and made their flank into their front; and as swift as a striking adder, the long, steel-clad column was launched upon the ruinous barricade.
of the first two horsemen, one fell, rider and steed, and was ridden down by his companions.
the second leaped clean upon the summit of the rampart, transpiercing an archer with his lance.
almost in the same instant he was dragged from the saddle and his horse despatched.
and then the full weight and impetus of the charge burst upon and scattered the defenders.
the men-at-arms, surmounting their fallen comrades, and carried onward by the fury of their onslaught, dashed through dick's broken line and poured thundering up the lane beyond, as a stream bestrides and pours across a broken dam.
yet was the fight not over.
still, in the narrow jaws of the entrance, dick and a few survivors plied their bills like woodmen; and already, across the width of the passage, there had been formed a second, a higher, and a more effectual rampart of fallen men and disembowelled horses, lashing in the agonies of death.
baffled by this fresh obstacle, the remainder of the cavalry fell back; and as, at the sight of this movement, the flight of arrows redoubled from the casements of the houses, their retreat had, for a moment, almost degenerated into flight.
almost at the same time, those who had crossed the barricade and charged farther up the street, being met before the door of the chequers by the formidable hunchback and the whole reserve of the yorkists, began to come scattering backward, in the excess of disarray and terror.
dick and his fellows faced about, fresh men poured out of the houses; a cruel blast of arrows met the fugitives full in the face, while gloucester was already riding down their rear; in the inside of a minute and a half there was no living lancastrian in the street.
then, and not till then, did dick hold up his reeking blade and give the word to cheer.
meanwhile gloucester dismounted from his horse and came forward to inspect the post.
his face was as pale as linen; but his eyes shone in his head like some strange jewel, and his voice, when he spoke, was hoarse and broken with the exultation of battle and success.
he looked at the rampart, which neither friend nor foe could now approach without precaution, so fiercely did the horses struggle in the throes of death, and at the sight of that great carnage he smiled upon one side.
""despatch these horses," he said; "they keep you from your vantage.
richard shelton," he added, "ye have pleased me.
kneel."
the lancastrians had already resumed their archery, and the shafts fell thick in the mouth of the street; but the duke, minding them not at all, deliberately drew his sword and dubbed richard a knight upon the spot.
""and now, sir richard," he continued, "if that ye see lord risingham, send me an express upon the instant.
were it your last man, let me hear of it incontinently.
i had rather venture the post than lose my stroke at him.
for mark me, all of ye," he added, raising his voice, "if earl risingham fall by another hand than mine, i shall count this victory a defeat."
""my lord duke," said one of his attendants, "is your grace not weary of exposing his dear life unneedfully?
why tarry we here?"
""catesby," returned the duke, "here is the battle, not elsewhere.
the rest are but feigned onslaughts.
here must we vanquish.
and for the exposure -- if ye were an ugly hunchback, and the children gecked at you upon the street, ye would count your body cheaper, and an hour of glory worth a life.
howbeit, if ye will, let us ride on and visit the other posts.
sir richard here, my namesake, he shall still hold this entry, where he wadeth to the ankles in hot blood.
him can we trust.
but mark it, sir richard, ye are not yet done.
the worst is yet to ward.
sleep not."
he came right up to young shelton, looking him hard in the eyes, and taking his hand in both of his, gave it so extreme a squeeze that the blood had nearly spurted.
dick quailed before his eyes.
the insane excitement, the courage, and the cruelty that he read therein filled him with dismay about the future.
this young duke's was indeed a gallant spirit, to ride foremost in the ranks of war; but after the battle, in the days of peace and in the circle of his trusted friends, that mind, it was to be dreaded, would continue to bring forth the fruits of death.
chapter iii -- the battle of shoreby -lrb- concluded -rrb- dick, once more left to his own counsels, began to look about him.
the arrow-shot had somewhat slackened.
on all sides the enemy were falling back; and the greater part of the market-place was now left empty, the snow here trampled into orange mud, there splashed with gore, scattered all over with dead men and horses, and bristling thick with feathered arrows.
on his own side the loss had been cruel.
the jaws of the little street and the ruins of the barricade were heaped with the dead and dying; and out of the hundred men with whom he had begun the battle, there were not seventy left who could still stand to arms.
at the same time, the day was passing.
the first reinforcements might be looked for to arrive at any moment; and the lancastrians, already shaken by the result of their desperate but unsuccessful onslaught, were in an ill temper to support a fresh invader.
there was a dial in the wall of one of the two flanking houses; and this, in the frosty winter sunshine, indicated ten of the forenoon.
dick turned to the man who was at his elbow, a little insignificant archer, binding a cut in his arm.
""it was well fought," he said, "and, by my sooth, they will not charge us twice."
""sir," said the little archer, "ye have fought right well for york, and better for yourself.
never hath man in so brief space prevailed so greatly on the duke's affections.
that he should have entrusted such a post to one he knew not is a marvel.
but look to your head, sir richard!
if ye be vanquished -- ay, if ye give way one foot's breadth -- axe or cord shall punish it; and i am set if ye do aught doubtful, i will tell you honestly, here to stab you from behind."
dick looked at the little man in amaze.
""you!"
he cried.
""and from behind!"
""it is right so," returned the archer; "and because i like not the affair i tell it you.
ye must make the post good, sir richard, at your peril.
o, our crookback is a bold blade and a good warrior; but, whether in cold blood or in hot, he will have all things done exact to his commandment.
if any fail or hinder, they shall die the death."
""now, by the saints!"
cried richard, "is this so?
and will men follow such a leader?"
""nay, they follow him gleefully," replied the other; "for if he be exact to punish, he is most open-handed to reward.
and if he spare not the blood and sweat of others, he is ever liberal of his own, still in the first front of battle, still the last to sleep.
he will go far, will crookback dick o" gloucester!"
the young knight, if he had before been brave and vigilant, was now all the more inclined to watchfulness and courage.
his sudden favour, he began to perceive, had brought perils in its train.
and he turned from the archer, and once more scanned anxiously the market-place.
it lay empty as before.
""i like not this quietude," he said.
""doubtless they prepare us some surprise."
and, as if in answer to his remark, the archers began once more to advance against the barricade, and the arrows to fall thick.
but there was something hesitating in the attack.
they came not on roundly, but seemed rather to await a further signal.
dick looked uneasily about him, spying for a hidden danger.
and sure enough, about half way up the little street, a door was suddenly opened from within, and the house continued, for some seconds, and both by door and window, to disgorge a torrent of lancastrian archers.
these, as they leaped down, hurriedly stood to their ranks, bent their bows, and proceeded to pour upon dick's rear a flight of arrows.
at the same time, the assailants in the market-place redoubled their shot, and began to close in stoutly upon the barricade.
dick called down his whole command out of the houses, and facing them both ways, and encouraging their valour both by word and gesture, returned as best he could the double shower of shafts that fell about his post.
meanwhile house after house was opened in the street, and the lancastrians continued to pour out of the doors and leap down from the windows, shouting victory, until the number of enemies upon dick's rear was almost equal to the number in his face.
it was plain that he could hold the post no longer; what was worse, even if he could have held it, it had now become useless; and the whole yorkist army lay in a posture of helplessness upon the brink of a complete disaster.
the men behind him formed the vital flaw in the general defence; and it was upon these that dick turned, charging at the head of his men.
so vigorous was the attack, that the lancastrian archers gave ground and staggered, and, at last, breaking their ranks, began to crowd back into the houses from which they had so recently and so vaingloriously sallied.
meanwhile the men from the market-place had swarmed across the undefended barricade, and fell on hotly upon the other side; and dick must once again face about, and proceed to drive them back.
once again the spirit of his men prevailed; they cleared the street in a triumphant style, but even as they did so the others issued again out of the houses, and took them, a third time, upon the rear.
the yorkists began to be scattered; several times dick found himself alone among his foes and plying his bright sword for life; several times he was conscious of a hurt.
and meanwhile the fight swayed to and fro in the street without determinate result.
suddenly dick was aware of a great trumpeting about the outskirts of the town.
the war-cry of york began to be rolled up to heaven, as by many and triumphant voices.
and at the same time the men in front of him began to give ground rapidly, streaming out of the street and back upon the market-place.
some one gave the word to fly.
trumpets were blown distractedly, some for a rally, some to charge.
it was plain that a great blow had been struck, and the lancastrians were thrown, at least for the moment, into full disorder, and some degree of panic.
and then, like a theatre trick, there followed the last act of shoreby battle.
the men in front of richard turned tail, like a dog that has been whistled home, and fled like the wind.
at the same moment there came through the market-place a storm of horsemen, fleeing and pursuing, the lancastrians turning back to strike with the sword, the yorkists riding them down at the point of the lance.
conspicuous in the mellay, dick beheld the crookback.
he was already giving a foretaste of that furious valour and skill to cut his way across the ranks of war, which, years afterwards upon the field of bosworth, and when he was stained with crimes, almost sufficed to change the fortunes of the day and the destiny of the english throne.
evading, striking, riding down, he so forced and so manoeuvred his strong horse, so aptly defended himself, and so liberally scattered death to his opponents, that he was now far ahead of the foremost of his knights, hewing his way, with the truncheon of a bloody sword, to where lord risingham was rallying the bravest.
a moment more and they had met; the tall, splendid, and famous warrior against the deformed and sickly boy.
yet shelton had never a doubt of the result; and when the fight next opened for a moment, the figure of the earl had disappeared; but still, in the first of the danger, crookback dick was launching his big horse and plying the truncheon of his sword.
thus, by shelton's courage in holding the mouth of the street against the first attack, and by the opportune arrival of his seven hundred reinforcements, the lad, who was afterwards to be handed down to the execration of posterity under the name of richard iii., had won his first considerable fight.
chapter iv -- the sack of shoreby there was not a foe left within striking distance; and dick, as he looked ruefully about him on the remainder of his gallant force, began to count the cost of victory.
he was himself, now that the danger was ended, so stiff and sore, so bruised and cut and broken, and, above all, so utterly exhausted by his desperate and unremitting labours in the fight, that he seemed incapable of any fresh exertion.
but this was not yet the hour for repose.
shoreby had been taken by assault; and though an open town, and not in any manner to be charged with the resistance, it was plain that these rough fighters would be not less rough now that the fight was over, and that the more horrid part of war would fall to be enacted.
richard of gloucester was not the captain to protect the citizens from his infuriated soldiery; and even if he had the will, it might be questioned if he had the power.
it was, therefore, dick's business to find and to protect joanna; and with that end he looked about him at the faces of his men.
the three or four who seemed likeliest to be obedient and to keep sober he drew aside; and promising them a rich reward and a special recommendation to the duke, led them across the market-place, now empty of horsemen, and into the streets upon the further side.
every here and there small combats of from two to a dozen still raged upon the open street; here and there a house was being besieged, the defenders throwing out stools and tables on the heads of the assailants.
the snow was strewn with arms and corpses; but except for these partial combats the streets were deserted, and the houses, some standing open, and some shuttered and barricaded, had for the most part ceased to give out smoke.
dick, threading the skirts of these skirmishers, led his followers briskly in the direction of the abbey church; but when he came the length of the main street, a cry of horror broke from his lips.
sir daniel's great house had been carried by assault.
the gates hung in splinters from the hinges, and a double throng kept pouring in and out through the entrance, seeking and carrying booty.
meanwhile, in the upper storeys, some resistance was still being offered to the pillagers; for just as dick came within eyeshot of the building, a casement was burst open from within, and a poor wretch in murrey and blue, screaming and resisting, was forced through the embrasure and tossed into the street below.
the most sickening apprehension fell upon dick.
he ran forward like one possessed, forced his way into the house among the foremost, and mounted without pause to the chamber on the third floor where he had last parted from joanna.
it was a mere wreck; the furniture had been overthrown, the cupboards broken open, and in one place a trailing corner of the arras lay smouldering on the embers of the fire.
dick, almost without thinking, trod out the incipient conflagration, and then stood bewildered.
sir daniel, sir oliver, joanna, all were gone; but whether butchered in the rout or safe escaped from shoreby, who should say?
he caught a passing archer by the tabard.
""fellow," he asked, "were ye here when this house was taken?"
""let be," said the archer.
""a murrain!
let be, or i strike."
""hark ye," returned richard, "two can play at that.
stand and be plain."
but the man, flushed with drink and battle, struck dick upon the shoulder with one hand, while with the other he twitched away his garment.
thereupon the full wrath of the young leader burst from his control.
he seized the fellow in his strong embrace, and crushed him on the plates of his mailed bosom like a child; then, holding him at arm's length, he bid him speak as he valued life.
""i pray you mercy!"
gasped the archer.
""an i had thought ye were so angry i would "a" been charier of crossing you.
i was here indeed."
""know ye sir daniel?"
pursued dick.
""well do i know him," returned the man.
""was he in the mansion?"
""ay, sir, he was," answered the archer; "but even as we entered by the yard gate he rode forth by the garden."
""alone?"
cried dick.
""he may "a" had a score of lances with him," said the man.
""lances!
no women, then?"
asked shelton.
""troth, i saw not," said the archer.
""but there were none in the house, if that be your quest."
""i thank you," said dick.
""here is a piece for your pains."
but groping in his wallet, dick found nothing.
""inquire for me to-morrow," he added -- "richard shelt -- sir richard shelton," he corrected, "and i will see you handsomely rewarded."
and then an idea struck dick.
he hastily descended to the courtyard, ran with all his might across the garden, and came to the great door of the church.
it stood wide open; within, every corner of the pavement was crowded with fugitive burghers, surrounded by their families and laden with the most precious of their possessions, while, at the high altar, priests in full canonicals were imploring the mercy of god.
even as dick entered, the loud chorus began to thunder in the vaulted roofs.
he hurried through the groups of refugees, and came to the door of the stair that led into the steeple.
and here a tall churchman stepped before him and arrested his advance.
""whither, my son?"
he asked, severely.
""my father," answered dick, "i am here upon an errand of expedition.
stay me not.
i command here for my lord of gloucester."
""for my lord of gloucester?"
repeated the priest.
""hath, then, the battle gone so sore?"
""the battle, father, is at an end, lancaster clean sped, my lord of risingham -- heaven rest him!
-- left upon the field.
and now, with your good leave, i follow mine affairs."
and thrusting on one side the priest, who seemed stupefied at the news, dick pushed open the door and rattled up the stairs four at a bound, and without pause or stumble, till he stepped upon the open platform at the top.
shoreby church tower not only commanded the town, as in a map, but looked far, on both sides, over sea and land.
it was now near upon noon; the day exceeding bright, the snow dazzling.
and as dick looked around him, he could measure the consequences of the battle.
a confused, growling uproar reached him from the streets, and now and then, but very rarely, the clash of steel.
not a ship, not so much as a skiff remained in harbour; but the sea was dotted with sails and row-boats laden with fugitives.
on shore, too, the surface of the snowy meadows was broken up with bands of horsemen, some cutting their way towards the borders of the forest, others, who were doubtless of the yorkist side, stoutly interposing and beating them back upon the town.
over all the open ground there lay a prodigious quantity of fallen men and horses, clearly defined upon the snow.
to complete the picture, those of the foot soldiers as had not found place upon a ship still kept up an archery combat on the borders of the port, and from the cover of the shoreside taverns.
in that quarter, also, one or two houses had been fired, and the smoke towered high in the frosty sunlight, and blew off to sea in voluminous folds.
already close upon the margin of the woods, and somewhat in the line of holywood, one particular clump of fleeing horsemen riveted the attention of the young watcher on the tower.
it was fairly numerous; in no other quarter of the field did so many lancastrians still hold together; thus they had left a wide, discoloured wake upon the snow, and dick was able to trace them step by step from where they had left the town.
while dick stood watching them, they had gained, unopposed, the first fringe of the leafless forest, and, turning a little from their direction, the sun fell for a moment full on their array, as it was relieved against the dusky wood.
""murrey and blue!"
cried dick.
""i swear it -- murrey and blue!"
the next moment he was descending the stairway.
it was now his business to seek out the duke of gloucester, who alone, in the disorder of the forces, might be able to supply him with a sufficiency of men.
the fighting in the main town was now practically at an end; and as dick ran hither and thither, seeking the commander, the streets were thick with wandering soldiers, some laden with more booty than they could well stagger under, others shouting drunk.
none of them, when questioned, had the least notion of the duke's whereabouts; and, at last, it was by sheer good fortune that dick found him, where he sat in the saddle directing operations to dislodge the archers from the harbour side.
""sir richard shelton, ye are well found," he said.
""i owe you one thing that i value little, my life; and one that i can never pay you for, this victory.
catesby, if i had ten such captains as sir richard, i would march forthright on london.
but now, sir, claim your reward."
""freely, my lord," said dick, "freely and loudly.
one hath escaped to whom i owe some grudges, and taken with him one whom i owe love and service.
give me, then, fifty lances, that i may pursue; and for any obligation that your graciousness is pleased to allow, it shall be clean discharged."
""how call ye him?"
inquired the duke.
""sir daniel brackley," answered richard.
""out upon him, double-face!"
cried gloucester.
""here is no reward, sir richard; here is fresh service offered, and, if that ye bring his head to me, a fresh debt upon my conscience.
catesby, get him these lances; and you, sir, bethink ye, in the meanwhile, what pleasure, honour, or profit it shall be mine to give you."
just then the yorkist skirmishers carried one of the shoreside taverns, swarming in upon it on three sides, and driving out or taking its defenders.
crookback dick was pleased to cheer the exploit, and pushing his horse a little nearer, called to see the prisoners.
there were four or five of them -- two men of my lord shoreby's and one of lord risingham's among the number, and last, but in dick's eyes not least, a tall, shambling, grizzled old shipman, between drunk and sober, and with a dog whimpering and jumping at his heels.
the young duke passed them for a moment under a severe review.
""good," he said.
""hang them."
and he turned the other way to watch the progress of the fight.
""my lord," said dick, "so please you, i have found my reward.
grant me the life and liberty of yon old shipman."
gloucester turned and looked the speaker in the face.
""sir richard," he said, "i make not war with peacock's feathers, but steel shafts.
those that are mine enemies i slay, and that without excuse or favour.
for, bethink ye, in this realm of england, that is so torn in pieces, there is not a man of mine but hath a brother or a friend upon the other party.
if, then, i did begin to grant these pardons, i might sheathe my sword."
""it may be so, my lord; and yet i will be overbold, and at the risk of your disfavour, recall your lordship's promise," replied dick.
richard of gloucester flushed.
""mark it right well," he said, harshly.
""i love not mercy, nor yet mercymongers.
ye have this day laid the foundations of high fortune.
if ye oppose to me my word, which i have plighted, i will yield.
but, by the glory of heaven, there your favour dies!
""mine is the loss," said dick.
""give him his sailor," said the duke; and wheeling his horse, he turned his back upon young shelton.
dick was nor glad nor sorry.
he had seen too much of the young duke to set great store on his affection; and the origin and growth of his own favour had been too flimsy and too rapid to inspire much confidence.
one thing alone he feared -- that the vindictive leader might revoke the offer of the lances.
but here he did justice neither to gloucester's honour -lrb- such as it was -rrb- nor, above all, to his decision.
if he had once judged dick to be the right man to pursue sir daniel, he was not one to change; and he soon proved it by shouting after catesby to be speedy, for the paladin was waiting.
in the meanwhile, dick turned to the old shipman, who had seemed equally indifferent to his condemnation and to his subsequent release.
""arblaster," said dick, "i have done you ill; but now, by the rood, i think i have cleared the score."
but the old skipper only looked upon him dully and held his peace.
""come," continued dick, "a life is a life, old shrew, and it is more than ships or liquor.
say ye forgive me; for if your life be worth nothing to you, it hath cost me the beginnings of my fortune.
come, i have paid for it dearly; be not so churlish."
""an i had had my ship," said arblaster, "i would "a" been forth and safe on the high seas -- i and my man tom.
but ye took my ship, gossip, and i'm a beggar; and for my man tom, a knave fellow in russet shot him down.
"murrain!"
quoth he, and spake never again.
"murrain" was the last of his words, and the poor spirit of him passed."
a will never sail no more, will my tom.""
dick was seized with unavailing penitence and pity; he sought to take the skipper's hand, but arblaster avoided his touch.
""nay," said he, "let be.
y" have played the devil with me, and let that content you."
the words died in richard's throat.
he saw, through tears, the poor old man, bemused with liquor and sorrow, go shambling away, with bowed head, across the snow, and the unnoticed dog whimpering at his heels, and for the first time began to understand the desperate game that we play in life; and how a thing once done is not to be changed or remedied, by any penitence.
but there was no time left to him for vain regret.
catesby had now collected the horsemen, and riding up to dick he dismounted, and offered him his own horse.
""this morning," he said, "i was somewhat jealous of your favour; it hath not been of a long growth; and now, sir richard, it is with a very good heart that i offer you this horse -- to ride away with."
""suffer me yet a moment," replied dick.
""this favour of mine -- whereupon was it founded?"
""upon your name," answered catesby.
""it is my lord's chief superstition.
were my name richard, i should be an earl to-morrow."
""well, sir, i thank you," returned dick; "and since i am little likely to follow these great fortunes, i will even say farewell.
i will not pretend i was displeased to think myself upon the road to fortune; but i will not pretend, neither, that i am over-sorry to be done with it.
command and riches, they are brave things, to be sure; but a word in your ear -- yon duke of yours, he is a fearsome lad."
catesby laughed.
""nay," said he, "of a verity he that rides with crooked dick will ride deep.
well, god keep us all from evil!
speed ye well."
thereupon dick put himself at the head of his men, and giving the word of command, rode off.
he made straight across the town, following what he supposed to be the route of sir daniel, and spying around for any signs that might decide if he were right.
the streets were strewn with the dead and the wounded, whose fate, in the bitter frost, was far the more pitiable.
gangs of the victors went from house to house, pillaging and stabbing, and sometimes singing together as they went.
from different quarters, as he rode on, the sounds of violence and outrage came to young shelton's ears; now the blows of the sledge-hammer on some barricaded door, and now the miserable shrieks of women.
dick's heart had just been awakened.
he had just seen the cruel consequences of his own behaviour; and the thought of the sum of misery that was now acting in the whole of shoreby filled him with despair.
at length he reached the outskirts, and there, sure enough, he saw straight before him the same broad, beaten track across the snow that he had marked from the summit of the church.
here, then, he went the faster on; but still, as he rode, he kept a bright eye upon the fallen men and horses that lay beside the track.
many of these, he was relieved to see, wore sir daniel's colours, and the faces of some, who lay upon their back, he even recognised.
about half-way between the town and the forest, those whom he was following had plainly been assailed by archers; for the corpses lay pretty closely scattered, each pierced by an arrow.
and here dick spied among the rest the body of a very young lad, whose face was somehow hauntingly familiar to him.
he halted his troop, dismounted, and raised the lad's head.
as he did so, the hood fell back, and a profusion of long brown hair unrolled itself.
at the same time the eyes opened.
""ah!
lion driver!"
said a feeble voice.
""she is farther on.
ride -- ride fast!"
and then the poor young lady fainted once again.
one of dick's men carried a flask of some strong cordial, and with this dick succeeded in reviving consciousness.
then he took joanna's friend upon his saddlebow, and once more pushed toward the forest.
""why do ye take me?"
said the girl.
""ye but delay your speed."
""nay, mistress risingham," replied dick.
""shoreby is full of blood and drunkenness and riot.
here ye are safe; content ye."
""i will not be beholden to any of your faction," she cried; "set me down."
""madam, ye know not what ye say," returned dick.
""y" are hurt" -- "i am not," she said.
""it was my horse was slain."
""it matters not one jot," replied richard.
""ye are here in the midst of open snow, and compassed about with enemies.
whether ye will or not, i carry you with me.
glad am i to have the occasion; for thus shall i repay some portion of our debt."
for a little while she was silent.
then, very suddenly, she asked: "my uncle?"
""my lord risingham?"
returned dick.
""i would i had good news to give you, madam; but i have none.
i saw him once in the battle, and once only.
let us hope the best."
chapter v -- night in the woods: alicia risingham it was almost certain that sir daniel had made for the moat house; but, considering the heavy snow, the lateness of the hour, and the necessity under which he would lie of avoiding the few roads and striking across the wood, it was equally certain that he could not hope to reach it ere the morrow.
there were two courses open to dick; either to continue to follow in the knight's trail, and, if he were able, to fall upon him that very night in camp, or to strike out a path of his own, and seek to place himself between sir daniel and his destination.
either scheme was open to serious objection, and dick, who feared to expose joanna to the hazards of a fight, had not yet decided between them when he reached the borders of the wood.
at this point sir daniel had turned a little to his left, and then plunged straight under a grove of very lofty timber.
his party had then formed to a narrower front, in order to pass between the trees, and the track was trod proportionally deeper in the snow.
the eye followed it under the leafless tracery of the oaks, running direct and narrow; the trees stood over it, with knotty joints and the great, uplifted forest of their boughs; there was no sound, whether of man or beast -- not so much as the stirring of a robin; and over the field of snow the winter sun lay golden among netted shadows.
""how say ye," asked dick of one of the men, "to follow straight on, or strike across for tunstall?"
""sir richard," replied the man-at-arms, "i would follow the line until they scatter."
""ye are, doubtless, right," returned dick; "but we came right hastily upon the errand, even as the time commanded.
here are no houses, neither for food nor shelter, and by the morrow's dawn we shall know both cold fingers and an empty belly.
how say ye, lads?
will ye stand a pinch for expedition's sake, or shall we turn by holywood and sup with mother church?
the case being somewhat doubtful, i will drive no man; yet if ye would suffer me to lead you, ye would choose the first."
the men answered, almost with one voice, that they would follow sir richard where he would.
and dick, setting spur to his horse, began once more to go forward.
the snow in the trail had been trodden very hard, and the pursuers had thus a great advantage over the pursued.
they pushed on, indeed, at a round trot, two hundred hoofs beating alternately on the dull pavement of the snow, and the jingle of weapons and the snorting of horses raising a warlike noise along the arches of the silent wood.
presently, the wide slot of the pursued came out upon the high road from holywood; it was there, for a moment, indistinguishable; and, where it once more plunged into the unbeaten snow upon the farther side, dick was surprised to see it narrower and lighter trod.
plainly, profiting by the road, sir daniel had begun already to scatter his command.
at all hazards, one chance being equal to another, dick continued to pursue the straight trail; and that, after an hour's riding, in which it led into the very depths of the forest, suddenly split, like a bursting shell, into two dozen others, leading to every point of the compass.
dick drew bridle in despair.
the short winter's day was near an end; the sun, a dull red orange, shorn of rays, swam low among the leafless thickets; the shadows were a mile long upon the snow; the frost bit cruelly at the finger-nails; and the breath and steam of the horses mounted in a cloud.
""well, we are outwitted," dick confessed.
""strike we for holywood, after all.
it is still nearer us than tunstall -- or should be by the station of the sun."
so they wheeled to their left, turning their backs on the red shield of sun, and made across country for the abbey.
but now times were changed with them; they could no longer spank forth briskly on a path beaten firm by the passage of their foes, and for a goal to which that path itself conducted them.
now they must plough at a dull pace through the encumbering snow, continually pausing to decide their course, continually floundering in drifts.
the sun soon left them; the glow of the west decayed; and presently they were wandering in a shadow of blackness, under frosty stars.
presently, indeed, the moon would clear the hilltops, and they might resume their march.
but till then, every random step might carry them wider of their march.
there was nothing for it but to camp and wait.
sentries were posted; a spot of ground was cleared of snow, and, after some failures, a good fire blazed in the midst.
the men-at-arms sat close about this forest hearth, sharing such provisions as they had, and passing about the flask; and dick, having collected the most delicate of the rough and scanty fare, brought it to lord risingham's niece, where she sat apart from the soldiery against a tree.
she sat upon one horse-cloth, wrapped in another, and stared straight before her at the firelit scene.
at the offer of food she started, like one wakened from a dream, and then silently refused.
""madam," said dick, "let me beseech you, punish me not so cruelly.
wherein i have offended you, i know not; i have, indeed, carried you away, but with a friendly violence; i have, indeed, exposed you to the inclemency of night, but the hurry that lies upon me hath for its end the preservation of another, who is no less frail and no less unfriended than yourself.
at least, madam, punish not yourself; and eat, if not for hunger, then for strength."
""i will eat nothing at the hands that slew my kinsman," she replied.
""dear madam," dick cried, "i swear to you upon the rood i touched him not."
""swear to me that he still lives," she returned.
""i will not palter with you," answered dick.
""pity bids me to wound you.
in my heart i do believe him dead."
""and ye ask me to eat!"
she cried.
""ay, and they call you "sir!"
y" have won your spurs by my good kinsman's murder.
and had i not been fool and traitor both, and saved you in your enemy's house, ye should have died the death, and he -- he that was worth twelve of you -- were living."
""i did but my man's best, even as your kinsman did upon the other party," answered dick.
""were he still living -- as i vow to heaven i wish it!
-- he would praise, not blame me."
""sir daniel hath told me," she replied.
""he marked you at the barricade.
upon you, he saith, their party foundered; it was you that won the battle.
well, then, it was you that killed my good lord risingham, as sure as though ye had strangled him.
and ye would have me eat with you -- and your hands not washed from killing?
but sir daniel hath sworn your downfall.
he't is that will avenge me!"
the unfortunate dick was plunged in gloom.
old arblaster returned upon his mind, and he groaned aloud.
""do ye hold me so guilty?"
he said; "you that defended me -- you that are joanna's friend?"
""what made ye in the battle?"
she retorted.
""y" are of no party; y" are but a lad -- but legs and body, without government of wit or counsel!
wherefore did ye fight?
for the love of hurt, pardy!"
""nay," cried dick, "i know not.
but as the realm of england goes, if that a poor gentleman fight not upon the one side, perforce he must fight upon the other.
he may not stand alone;'t is not in nature."
""they that have no judgment should not draw the sword," replied the young lady.
""ye that fight but for a hazard, what are ye but a butcher?
war is but noble by the cause, and y" have disgraced it."
""madam," said the miserable dick, "i do partly see mine error.
i have made too much haste; i have been busy before my time.
already i stole a ship -- thinking, i do swear it, to do well -- and thereby brought about the death of many innocent, and the grief and ruin of a poor old man whose face this very day hath stabbed me like a dagger.
and for this morning, i did but design to do myself credit, and get fame to marry with, and, behold!
i have brought about the death of your dear kinsman that was good to me.
and what besides, i know not.
for, alas!
i may have set york upon the throne, and that may be the worser cause, and may do hurt to england.
o, madam, i do see my sin.
i am unfit for life.
i will, for penance sake and to avoid worse evil, once i have finished this adventure, get me to a cloister.
i will forswear joanna and the trade of arms.
i will be a friar, and pray for your good kinsman's spirit all my days."
it appeared to dick, in this extremity of his humiliation and repentance, that the young lady had laughed.
raising his countenance, he found her looking down upon him, in the fire-light, with a somewhat peculiar but not unkind expression.
""madam," he cried, thinking the laughter to have been an illusion of his hearing, but still, from her changed looks, hoping to have touched her heart, "madam, will not this content you?
i give up all to undo what i have done amiss; i make heaven certain for lord risingham.
and all this upon the very day that i have won my spurs, and thought myself the happiest young gentleman on ground."
""o boy," she said -- "good boy!"
and then, to the extreme surprise of dick, she first very tenderly wiped the tears away from his cheeks, and then, as if yielding to a sudden impulse, threw both her arms about his neck, drew up his face, and kissed him.
a pitiful bewilderment came over simple-minded dick.
""but come," she said, with great cheerfulness, "you that are a captain, ye must eat.
why sup ye not?"
""dear mistress risingham," replied dick, "i did but wait first upon my prisoner; but, to say truth, penitence will no longer suffer me to endure the sight of food.
i were better to fast, dear lady, and to pray."
""call me alicia," she said; "are we not old friends?
and now, come, i will eat with you, bit for bit and sup for sup; so if ye eat not, neither will i; but if ye eat hearty, i will dine like a ploughman."
so there and then she fell to; and dick, who had an excellent stomach, proceeded to bear her company, at first with great reluctance, but gradually, as he entered into the spirit, with more and more vigour and devotion: until, at last, he forgot even to watch his model, and most heartily repaired the expenses of his day of labour and excitement.
""lion-driver," she said, at length, "ye do not admire a maid in a man's jerkin?"
the moon was now up; and they were only waiting to repose the wearied horses.
by the moon's light, the still penitent but now well-fed richard beheld her looking somewhat coquettishly down upon him.
""madam" -- he stammered, surprised at this new turn in her manners.
""nay," she interrupted, "it skills not to deny; joanna hath told me, but come, sir lion-driver, look at me -- am i so homely -- come!"
and she made bright eyes at him.
""ye are something smallish, indeed" -- began dick.
and here again she interrupted him, this time with a ringing peal of laughter that completed his confusion and surprise.
""smallish!"
she cried.
""nay, now, be honest as ye are bold; i am a dwarf, or little better; but for all that -- come, tell me!
-- for all that, passably fair to look upon; is" t not so?"
""nay, madam, exceedingly fair," said the distressed knight, pitifully trying to seem easy.
""and a man would be right glad to wed me?"
she pursued.
""o, madam, right glad!"
agreed dick.
""call me alicia," said she.
""alicia," quoth sir richard.
""well, then, lion-driver," she continued, "sith that ye slew my kinsman, and left me without stay, ye owe me, in honour, every reparation; do ye not?"
""i do, madam," said dick.
""although, upon my heart, i do hold me but partially guilty of that brave knight's blood."
""would ye evade me?"
she cried.
""madam, not so.
i have told you; at your bidding, i will even turn me a monk," said richard.
""then, in honour, ye belong to me?"
she concluded.
""in honour, madam, i suppose" -- began the young man.
""go to!"
she interrupted; "ye are too full of catches.
in honour do ye belong to me, till ye have paid the evil?"
""in honour, i do," said dick.
""hear, then," she continued; "ye would make but a sad friar, methinks; and since i am to dispose of you at pleasure, i will even take you for my husband.
nay, now, no words!"
cried she.
""they will avail you nothing.
for see how just it is, that you who deprived me of one home, should supply me with another.
and as for joanna, she will be the first, believe me, to commend the change; for, after all, as we be dear friends, what matters it with which of us ye wed?
not one whit!"
""madam," said dick, "i will go into a cloister, an ye please to bid me; but to wed with anyone in this big world besides joanna sedley is what i will consent to neither for man's force nor yet for lady's pleasure.
pardon me if i speak my plain thoughts plainly; but where a maid is very bold, a poor man must even be the bolder."
""dick," she said, "ye sweet boy, ye must come and kiss me for that word.
nay, fear not, ye shall kiss me for joanna; and when we meet, i shall give it back to her, and say i stole it.
and as for what ye owe me, why, dear simpleton, methinks ye were not alone in that great battle; and even if york be on the throne, it was not you that set him there.
but for a good, sweet, honest heart, dick, y" are all that; and if i could find it in my soul to envy your joanna anything, i would even envy her your love."
chapter vi -- night in the woods -lrb- concluded -rrb-: dick and joan the horses had by this time finished the small store of provender, and fully breathed from their fatigues.
at dick's command, the fire was smothered in snow; and while his men got once more wearily to saddle, he himself, remembering, somewhat late, true woodland caution, chose a tall oak and nimbly clambered to the topmost fork.
hence he could look far abroad on the moonlit and snow-paven forest.
on the south-west, dark against the horizon, stood those upland, heathy quarters where he and joanna had met with the terrifying misadventure of the leper.
and there his eye was caught by a spot of ruddy brightness no bigger than a needle's eye.
he blamed himself sharply for his previous neglect.
were that, as it appeared to be, the shining of sir daniel's camp-fire, he should long ago have seen and marched for it; above all, he should, for no consideration, have announced his neighbourhood by lighting a fire of his own.
but now he must no longer squander valuable hours.
the direct way to the uplands was about two miles in length; but it was crossed by a very deep, precipitous dingle, impassable to mounted men; and for the sake of speed, it seemed to dick advisable to desert the horses and attempt the adventure on foot.
ten men were left to guard the horses; signals were agreed upon by which they could communicate in case of need; and dick set forth at the head of the remainder, alicia risingham walking stoutly by his side.
the men had freed themselves of heavy armour, and left behind their lances; and they now marched with a very good spirit in the frozen snow, and under the exhilarating lustre of the moon.
the descent into the dingle, where a stream strained sobbing through the snow and ice, was effected with silence and order; and on the further side, being then within a short half mile of where dick had seen the glimmer of the fire, the party halted to breathe before the attack.
in the vast silence of the wood, the lightest sounds were audible from far; and alicia, who was keen of hearing, held up her finger warningly and stooped to listen.
all followed her example; but besides the groans of the choked brook in the dingle close behind, and the barking of a fox at a distance of many miles among the forest, to dick's acutest hearkening, not a breath was audible.
""but yet, for sure, i heard the clash of harness," whispered alicia.
""madam," returned dick, who was more afraid of that young lady than of ten stout warriors, "i would not hint ye were mistaken; but it might well have come from either of the camps."
""it came not thence.
it came from westward," she declared.
""it may be what it will," returned dick; "and it must be as heaven please.
reck we not a jot, but push on the livelier, and put it to the touch.
up, friends -- enough breathed."
as they advanced, the snow became more and more trampled with hoof-marks, and it was plain that they were drawing near to the encampment of a considerable force of mounted men.
presently they could see the smoke pouring from among the trees, ruddily coloured on its lower edge and scattering bright sparks.
and here, pursuant to dick's orders, his men began to open out, creeping stealthily in the covert, to surround on every side the camp of their opponents.
he himself, placing alicia in the shelter of a bulky oak, stole straight forth in the direction of the fire.
at last, through an opening of the wood, his eye embraced the scene of the encampment.
the fire had been built upon a heathy hummock of the ground, surrounded on three sides by thicket, and it now burned very strong, roaring aloud and brandishing flames.
around it there sat not quite a dozen people, warmly cloaked; but though the neighbouring snow was trampled down as by a regiment, dick looked in vain for any horse.
he began to have a terrible misgiving that he was out-manoeuvred.
at the same time, in a tall man with a steel salet, who was spreading his hands before the blaze, he recognised his old friend and still kindly enemy, bennet hatch; and in two others, sitting a little back, he made out, even in their male disguise, joanna sedley and sir daniel's wife.
""well," thought he to himself, "even if i lose my horses, let me get my joanna, and why should i complain?"
and then, from the further side of the encampment, there came a little whistle, announcing that his men had joined, and the investment was complete.
bennet, at the sound, started to his feet; but ere he had time to spring upon his arms, dick hailed him.
""bennet," he said -- "bennet, old friend, yield ye.
ye will but spill men's lives in vain, if ye resist.""
't is master shelton, by st. barbary!"
cried hatch.
""yield me?
ye ask much.
what force have ye?"
""i tell you, bennet, ye are both outnumbered and begirt," said dick.
""caesar and charlemagne would cry for quarter.
i have two score men at my whistle, and with one shoot of arrows i could answer for you all."
""master dick," said bennet, "it goes against my heart; but i must do my duty.
the saints help you!"
and therewith he raised a little tucket to his mouth and wound a rousing call.
then followed a moment of confusion; for while dick, fearing for the ladies, still hesitated to give the word to shoot, hatch's little band sprang to their weapons and formed back to back as for a fierce resistance.
in the hurry of their change of place, joanna sprang from her seat and ran like an arrow to her lover's side.
""here, dick!"
she cried, as she clasped his hand in hers.
but dick still stood irresolute; he was yet young to the more deplorable necessities of war, and the thought of old lady brackley checked the command upon his tongue.
his own men became restive.
some of them cried on him by name; others, of their own accord, began to shoot; and at the first discharge poor bennet bit the dust.
then dick awoke.
""on!"
he cried.
""shoot, boys, and keep to cover.
england and york!"
but just then the dull beat of many horses on the snow suddenly arose in the hollow ear of the night, and, with incredible swiftness, drew nearer and swelled louder.
at the same time, answering tuckets repeated and repeated hatch's call.
""rally, rally!"
cried dick.
""rally upon me!
rally for your lives!"
but his men -- afoot, scattered, taken in the hour when they had counted on an easy triumph -- began instead to give ground severally, and either stood wavering or dispersed into the thickets.
and when the first of the horsemen came charging through the open avenues and fiercely riding their steeds into the underwood, a few stragglers were overthrown or speared among the brush, but the bulk of dick's command had simply melted at the rumour of their coming.
dick stood for a moment, bitterly recognising the fruits of his precipitate and unwise valour.
sir daniel had seen the fire; he had moved out with his main force, whether to attack his pursuers or to take them in the rear if they should venture the assault.
his had been throughout the part of a sagacious captain; dick's the conduct of an eager boy.
and here was the young knight, his sweetheart, indeed, holding him tightly by the hand, but otherwise alone, his whole command of men and horses dispersed in the night and the wide forest, like a paper of pins in a bay barn.
""the saints enlighten me!"
he thought.
""it is well i was knighted for this morning's matter; this doth me little honour."
and thereupon, still holding joanna, he began to run.
the silence of the night was now shattered by the shouts of the men of tunstall, as they galloped hither and thither, hunting fugitives; and dick broke boldly through the underwood and ran straight before him like a deer.
the silver clearness of the moon upon the open snow increased, by contrast, the obscurity of the thickets; and the extreme dispersion of the vanquished led the pursuers into wildly divergent paths.
hence, in but a little while, dick and joanna paused, in a close covert, and heard the sounds of the pursuit, scattering abroad, indeed, in all directions, but yet fainting already in the distance.
""an i had but kept a reserve of them together," dick cried, bitterly, "i could have turned the tables yet!
well, we live and learn; next time it shall go better, by the rood."
""nay, dick," said joanna, "what matters it?
here we are together once again."
he looked at her, and there she was -- john matcham, as of yore, in hose and doublet.
but now he knew her; now, even in that ungainly dress, she smiled upon him, bright with love; and his heart was transported with joy.
""sweetheart," he said, "if ye forgive this blunderer, what care i?
make we direct for holywood; there lieth your good guardian and my better friend, lord foxham.
there shall we be wed; and whether poor or wealthy, famous or unknown, what, matters it?
this day, dear love, i won my spurs; i was commended by great men for my valour; i thought myself the goodliest man of war in all broad england.
then, first, i fell out of my favour with the great; and now have i been well thrashed, and clean lost my soldiers.
there was a downfall for conceit!
but, dear, i care not -- dear, if ye still love me and will wed, i would have my knighthood done away, and mind it not a jot."
""my dick!"
she cried.
""and did they knight you?"
""ay, dear, ye are my lady now," he answered, fondly; "or ye shall, ere noon to-morrow -- will ye not?"
""that will i, dick, with a glad heart," she answered.
""ay, sir?
methought ye were to be a monk!"
said a voice in their ears.
""alicia!"
cried joanna.
""even so," replied the young lady, coming forward.
""alicia, whom ye left for dead, and whom your lion-driver found, and brought to life again, and, by my sooth, made love to, if ye want to know!"
""i'll not believe it," cried joanna.
""dick!"
""dick!"
mimicked alicia.
""dick, indeed!
ay, fair sir, and ye desert poor damsels in distress," she continued, turning to the young knight.
""ye leave them planted behind oaks.
but they say true -- the age of chivalry is dead."
""madam," cried dick, in despair, "upon my soul i had forgotten you outright.
madam, ye must try to pardon me.
ye see, i had new found joanna!"
""i did not suppose that ye had done it o" purpose," she retorted.
""but i will be cruelly avenged.
i will tell a secret to my lady shelton -- she that is to be," she added, curtseying.
""joanna," she continued, "i believe, upon my soul, your sweetheart is a bold fellow in a fight, but he is, let me tell you plainly, the softest-hearted simpleton in england.
go to -- ye may do your pleasure with him!
and now, fool children, first kiss me, either one of you, for luck and kindness; and then kiss each other just one minute by the glass, and not one second longer; and then let us all three set forth for holywood as fast as we can stir; for these woods, methinks, are full of peril and exceeding cold."
""but did my dick make love to you?"
asked joanna, clinging to her sweetheart's side.
""nay, fool girl," returned alicia; "it was i made love to him.
i offered to marry him, indeed; but he bade me go marry with my likes.
these were his words.
nay, that i will say: he is more plain than pleasant.
but now, children, for the sake of sense, set forward.
shall we go once more over the dingle, or push straight for holywood?"
""why," said dick, "i would like dearly to get upon a horse; for i have been sore mauled and beaten, one way and another, these last days, and my poor body is one bruise.
but how think ye?
if the men, upon the alarm of the fighting, had fled away, we should have gone about for nothing.
't is but some three short miles to holywood direct; the bell hath not beat nine; the snow is pretty firm to walk upon, the moon clear; how if we went even as we are?"
""agreed," cried alicia; but joanna only pressed upon dick's arm.
forth, then, they went, through open leafless groves and down snow-clad alleys, under the white face of the winter moon; dick and joanna walking hand in hand and in a heaven of pleasure; and their light-minded companion, her own bereavements heartily forgotten, followed a pace or two behind, now rallying them upon their silence, and now drawing happy pictures of their future and united lives.
still, indeed, in the distance of the wood, the riders of tunstall might be heard urging their pursuit; and from time to time cries or the clash of steel announced the shock of enemies.
but in these young folk, bred among the alarms of war, and fresh from such a multiplicity of dangers, neither fear nor pity could be lightly wakened.
content to find the sounds still drawing farther and farther away, they gave up their hearts to the enjoyment of the hour, walking already, as alicia put it, in a wedding procession; and neither the rude solitude of the forest, nor the cold of the freezing night, had any force to shadow or distract their happiness.
at length, from a rising hill, they looked below them on the dell of holywood.
the great windows of the forest abbey shone with torch and candle; its high pinnacles and spires arose very clear and silent, and the gold rood upon the topmost summit glittered brightly in the moon.
all about it, in the open glade, camp-fires were burning, and the ground was thick with huts; and across the midst of the picture the frozen river curved.
""by the mass," said richard, "there are lord foxham's fellows still encamped.
the messenger hath certainly miscarried.
well, then, so better.
we have power at hand to face sir daniel."
but if lord foxham's men still lay encamped in the long holm at holywood, it was from a different reason from the one supposed by dick.
they had marched, indeed, for shoreby; but ere they were half way thither, a second messenger met them, and bade them return to their morning's camp, to bar the road against lancastrian fugitives, and to be so much nearer to the main army of york.
for richard of gloucester, having finished the battle and stamped out his foes in that district, was already on the march to rejoin his brother; and not long after the return of my lord foxham's retainers, crookback himself drew rein before the abbey door.
it was in honour of this august visitor that the windows shone with lights; and at the hour of dick's arrival with his sweetheart and her friend, the whole ducal party was being entertained in the refectory with the splendour of that powerful and luxurious monastery.
dick, not quite with his good will, was brought before them.
gloucester, sick with fatigue, sat leaning upon one hand his white and terrifying countenance; lord foxham, half recovered from his wound, was in a place of honour on his left.
""how, sir?"
asked richard.
""have ye brought me sir daniel's head?"
""my lord duke," replied dick, stoutly enough, but with a qualm at heart, "i have not even the good fortune to return with my command.
i have been, so please your grace, well beaten."
gloucester looked upon him with a formidable frown.
""i gave you fifty lances, -lcb- 3 -rcb- sir," he said.
""my lord duke, i had but fifty men-at-arms," replied the young knight.
""how is this?"
said gloucester.
""he did ask me fifty lances."
""may it please your grace," replied catesby, smoothly, "for a pursuit we gave him but the horsemen."
""it is well," replied richard, adding, "shelton, ye may go."
""stay!"
said lord foxham.
""this young man likewise had a charge from me.
it may be he hath better sped.
say, master shelton, have ye found the maid?"
""i praise the saints, my lord," said dick, "she is in this house."
""is it even so?
well, then, my lord the duke," resumed lord foxham, "with your good will, to-morrow, before the army march, i do propose a marriage.
this young squire --" "young knight," interrupted catesby.
""say ye so, sir william?"
cried lord foxham.
""i did myself, and for good service, dub him knight," said gloucester.
""he hath twice manfully served me.
it is not valour of hands, it is a man's mind of iron, that he lacks.
he will not rise, lord foxham.
't is a fellow that will fight indeed bravely in a mellay, but hath a capon's heart.
howbeit, if he is to marry, marry him in the name of mary, and be done!"
""nay, he is a brave lad -- i know it," said lord foxham.
""content ye, then, sir richard.
i have compounded this affair with master hamley, and to-morrow ye shall wed." whereupon dick judged it prudent to withdraw; but he was not yet clear of the refectory, when a man, but newly alighted at the gate, came running four stairs at a bound, and, brushing through the abbey servants, threw himself on one knee before the duke.
""victory, my lord," he cried.
and before dick had got to the chamber set apart for him as lord foxham's guest, the troops in the holm were cheering around their fires; for upon that same day, not twenty miles away, a second crushing blow had been dealt to the power of lancaster.
chapter vii -- dick's revenge the next morning dick was afoot before the sun, and having dressed himself to the best advantage with the aid of the lord foxham's baggage, and got good reports of joan, he set forth on foot to walk away his impatience.
for some while he made rounds among the soldiery, who were getting to arms in the wintry twilight of the dawn and by the red glow of torches; but gradually he strolled further afield, and at length passed clean beyond the outposts, and walked alone in the frozen forest, waiting for the sun.
his thoughts were both quiet and happy.
his brief favour with the duke he could not find it in his heart to mourn; with joan to wife, and my lord foxham for a faithful patron, he looked most happily upon the future; and in the past he found but little to regret.
as he thus strolled and pondered, the solemn light of the morning grew more clear, the east was already coloured by the sun, and a little scathing wind blew up the frozen snow.
he turned to go home; but even as he turned, his eye lit upon a figure behind, a tree.
""stand!"
he cried.
""who goes?"
the figure stepped forth and waved its hand like a dumb person.
it was arrayed like a pilgrim, the hood lowered over the face, but dick, in an instant, recognised sir daniel.
he strode up to him, drawing his sword; and the knight, putting his hand in his bosom, as if to seize a hidden weapon, steadfastly awaited his approach.
""well, dickon," said sir daniel, "how is it to be?
do ye make war upon the fallen?"
""i made no war upon your life," replied the lad; "i was your true friend until ye sought for mine; but ye have sought for it greedily."
""nay -- self-defence," replied the knight.
""and now, boy, the news of this battle, and the presence of yon crooked devil here in mine own wood, have broken me beyond all help.
i go to holywood for sanctuary; thence overseas, with what i can carry, and to begin life again in burgundy or france."
""ye may not go to holywood," said dick.
""how!
may not?"
asked the knight.
""look ye, sir daniel, this is my marriage morn," said dick; "and yon sun that is to rise will make the brightest day that ever shone for me.
your life is forfeit -- doubly forfeit, for my father's death and your own practices to meward.
but i myself have done amiss; i have brought about men's deaths; and upon this glad day i will be neither judge nor hangman.
an ye were the devil, i would not lay a hand on you.
an ye were the devil, ye might go where ye will for me.
seek god's forgiveness; mine ye have freely.
but to go on to holywood is different.
i carry arms for york, and i will suffer no spy within their lines.
hold it, then, for certain, if ye set one foot before another, i will uplift my voice and call the nearest post to seize you."
""ye mock me," said sir daniel.
""i have no safety out of holywood."
""i care no more," returned richard.
""i let you go east, west, or south; north i will not.
holywood is shut against you.
go, and seek not to return.
for, once ye are gone, i will warn every post about this army, and there will be so shrewd a watch upon all pilgrims that, once again, were ye the very devil, ye would find it ruin to make the essay."
""ye doom me," said sir daniel, gloomily.
""i doom you not," returned richard.
""if it so please you to set your valour against mine, come on; and though i fear it be disloyal to my party, i will take the challenge openly and fully, fight you with mine own single strength, and call for none to help me.
so shall i avenge my father, with a perfect conscience."
""ay," said sir daniel, "y" have a long sword against my dagger."
""i rely upon heaven only," answered dick, casting his sword some way behind him on the snow.
""now, if your ill-fate bids you, come; and, under the pleasure of the almighty, i make myself bold to feed your bones to foxes."
""i did but try you, dickon," returned the knight, with an uneasy semblance of a laugh.
""i would not spill your blood."
""go, then, ere it be too late," replied shelton.
""in five minutes i will call the post.
i do perceive that i am too long-suffering.
had but our places been reversed, i should have been bound hand and foot some minutes past."
""well, dickon, i will go," replied sir daniel.
""when we next meet, it shall repent you that ye were so harsh."
and with these words, the knight turned and began to move off under the trees.
dick watched him with strangely-mingled feelings, as he went, swiftly and warily, and ever and again turning a wicked eye upon the lad who had spared him, and whom he still suspected.
there was upon one side of where he went a thicket, strongly matted with green ivy, and, even in its winter state, impervious to the eye.
herein, all of a sudden, a bow sounded like a note of music.
an arrow flew, and with a great, choked cry of agony and anger, the knight of tunstall threw up his hands and fell forward in the snow.
dick bounded to his side and raised him.
his face desperately worked; his whole body was shaken by contorting spasms.
""is the arrow black?"
he gasped.
""it is black," replied dick, gravely.
and then, before he could add one word, a desperate seizure of pain shook the wounded man from head to foot, so that his body leaped in dick's supporting arms, and with the extremity of that pang his spirit fled in silence.
the young man laid him back gently on the snow and prayed for that unprepared and guilty spirit, and as he prayed the sun came up at a bound, and the robins began chirping in the ivy.
when he rose to his feet, he found another man upon his knees but a few steps behind him, and, still with uncovered head, he waited until that prayer also should be over.
it took long; the man, with his head bowed and his face covered with his hands, prayed like one in a great disorder or distress of mind; and by the bow that lay beside him, dick judged that he was no other than the archer who had laid sir daniel low.
at length he, also, rose, and showed the countenance of ellis duckworth.
""richard," he said, very gravely, "i heard you.
ye took the better part and pardoned; i took the worse, and there lies the clay of mine enemy.
pray for me."
and he wrung him by the hand.
""sir," said richard, "i will pray for you, indeed; though how i may prevail i wot not.
but if ye have so long pursued revenge, and find it now of such a sorry flavour, bethink ye, were it not well to pardon others?
hatch -- he is dead, poor shrew!
i would have spared a better; and for sir daniel, here lies his body.
but for the priest, if i might anywise prevail, i would have you let him go."
a flash came into the eyes of ellis duckworth.
""nay," he said, "the devil is still strong within me.
but be at rest; the black arrow flieth nevermore -- the fellowship is broken.
they that still live shall come to their quiet and ripe end, in heaven's good time, for me; and for yourself, go where your better fortune calls you, and think no more of ellis."
chapter viii -- conclusion about nine in the morning, lord foxham was leading his ward, once more dressed as befitted her sex, and followed by alicia risingham, to the church of holywood, when richard crookback, his brow already heavy with cares, crossed their path and paused.
""is this the maid?"
he asked; and when lord foxham had replied in the affirmative, "minion," he added, "hold up your face until i see its favour."
he looked upon her sourly for a little.
""ye are fair," he said at last, "and, as they tell me, dowered.
how if i offered you a brave marriage, as became your face and parentage?"
""my lord duke," replied joanna, "may it please your grace, i had rather wed with sir richard."
""how so?"
he asked, harshly.
""marry but the man i name to you, and he shall be my lord, and you my lady, before night.
for sir richard, let me tell you plainly, he will die sir richard."
""i ask no more of heaven, my lord, than but to die sir richard's wife," returned joanna.
""look ye at that, my lord," said gloucester, turning to lord foxham.
""here be a pair for you.
the lad, when for good services i gave him his choice of my favour, chose but the grace of an old, drunken shipman.
i did warn him freely, but he was stout in his besottedness.
"here dieth your favour," said i; and he, my lord, with a most assured impertinence, "mine be the loss," quoth he.
it shall be so, by the rood!"
""said he so?"
cried alicia.
""then well said, lion-driver!"
""who is this?"
asked the duke.
""a prisoner of sir richard's," answered lord foxham; "mistress alicia risingham."
""see that she be married to a sure man," said the duke.
""i had thought of my kinsman, hamley, an it like your grace," returned lord foxham.
""he hath well served the cause."
""it likes me well," said richard.
""let them be wedded speedily.
say, fair maid, will you wed?"
""my lord duke," said alicia, "so as the man is straight" -- and there, in a perfect consternation, the voice died on her tongue.
""he is straight, my mistress," replied richard, calmly.
""i am the only crookback of my party; we are else passably well shapen.
ladies, and you, my lord," he added, with a sudden change to grave courtesy, "judge me not too churlish if i leave you.
a captain, in the time of war, hath not the ordering of his hours."
and with a very handsome salutation he passed on, followed by his officers.
""alack," cried alicia, "i am shent!"
""ye know him not," replied lord foxham.
""it is but a trifle; he hath already clean forgot your words."
""he is, then, the very flower of knighthood," said alicia.
""nay, he but mindeth other things," returned lord foxham.
""tarry we no more."
in the chancel they found dick waiting, attended by a few young men; and there were he and joan united.
when they came forth again, happy and yet serious, into the frosty air and sunlight, the long files of the army were already winding forward up the road; already the duke of gloucester's banner was unfolded and began to move from before the abbey in a clump of spears; and behind it, girt by steel-clad knights, the bold, black-hearted, and ambitious hunchback moved on towards his brief kingdom and his lasting infamy.
but the wedding party turned upon the other side, and sat down, with sober merriment, to breakfast.
the father cellarer attended on their wants, and sat with them at table.
hamley, all jealousy forgotten, began to ply the nowise loth alicia with courtship.
and there, amid the sounding of tuckets and the clash of armoured soldiery and horses continually moving forth, dick and joan sat side by side, tenderly held hands, and looked, with ever growing affection, in each other's eyes.
thenceforth the dust and blood of that unruly epoch passed them by.
they dwelt apart from alarms in the green forest where their love began.
two old men in the meanwhile enjoyed pensions in great prosperity and peace, and with perhaps a superfluity of ale and wine, in tunstall hamlet.
one had been all his life a shipman, and continued to the last to lament his man tom.
the other, who had been a bit of everything, turned in the end towards piety, and made a most religious death under the name of brother honestus in the neighbouring abbey.
so lawless had his will, and died a friar.
footnotes: -lcb- 1 -rcb- at the date of this story, richard crookback could not have been created duke of gloucester; but for clearness, with the reader's leave, he shall so be called.
-lcb- 2 -rcb- richard crookback would have been really far younger at this date.
_book_title_: robert_louis_stevenson___treasure_island.txt.out
part one -- the old buccaneer 1 the old sea-dog at the admiral benbow squire trelawney, dr. livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about treasure island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, i take up my pen in the year of grace 17 __ and go back to the time when my father kept the admiral benbow inn and the brown old seaman with the sabre cut first took up his lodging under our roof.
i remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door, his sea-chest following behind him in a hand-barrow -- a tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man, his tarry pigtail falling over the shoulder of his soiled blue coat, his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails, and the sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white.
i remember him looking round the cover and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards: "fifteen men on the dead man's chest -- yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
in the high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and broken at the capstan bars.
then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum.
this, when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste and still looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard.
""this is a handy cove," says he at length; "and a pleasant sittyated grog-shop.
much company, mate?"
my father told him no, very little company, the more was the pity.
""well, then," said he, "this is the berth for me.
here you, matey," he cried to the man who trundled the barrow; "bring up alongside and help up my chest.
i'll stay here a bit," he continued.
""i'm a plain man; rum and bacon and eggs is what i want, and that head up there for to watch ships off.
what you mought call me?
you mought call me captain.
oh, i see what you're at -- there"; and he threw down three or four gold pieces on the threshold.
""you can tell me when i've worked through that," says he, looking as fierce as a commander.
and indeed bad as his clothes were and coarsely as he spoke, he had none of the appearance of a man who sailed before the mast, but seemed like a mate or skipper accustomed to be obeyed or to strike.
the man who came with the barrow told us the mail had set him down the morning before at the royal george, that he had inquired what inns there were along the coast, and hearing ours well spoken of, i suppose, and described as lonely, had chosen it from the others for his place of residence.
and that was all we could learn of our guest.
he was a very silent man by custom.
all day he hung round the cove or upon the cliffs with a brass telescope; all evening he sat in a corner of the parlour next the fire and drank rum and water very strong.
mostly he would not speak when spoken to, only look up sudden and fierce and blow through his nose like a fog-horn; and we and the people who came about our house soon learned to let him be.
every day when he came back from his stroll he would ask if any seafaring men had gone by along the road.
at first we thought it was the want of company of his own kind that made him ask this question, but at last we began to see he was desirous to avoid them.
when a seaman did put up at the admiral benbow -lrb- as now and then some did, making by the coast road for bristol -rrb- he would look in at him through the curtained door before he entered the parlour; and he was always sure to be as silent as a mouse when any such was present.
for me, at least, there was no secret about the matter, for i was, in a way, a sharer in his alarms.
he had taken me aside one day and promised me a silver fourpenny on the first of every month if i would only keep my "weather-eye open for a seafaring man with one leg" and let him know the moment he appeared.
often enough when the first of the month came round and i applied to him for my wage, he would only blow through his nose at me and stare me down, but before the week was out he was sure to think better of it, bring me my four-penny piece, and repeat his orders to look out for "the seafaring man with one leg."
how that personage haunted my dreams, i need scarcely tell you.
on stormy nights, when the wind shook the four corners of the house and the surf roared along the cove and up the cliffs, i would see him in a thousand forms, and with a thousand diabolical expressions.
now the leg would be cut off at the knee, now at the hip; now he was a monstrous kind of a creature who had never had but the one leg, and that in the middle of his body.
to see him leap and run and pursue me over hedge and ditch was the worst of nightmares.
and altogether i paid pretty dear for my monthly fourpenny piece, in the shape of these abominable fancies.
but though i was so terrified by the idea of the seafaring man with one leg, i was far less afraid of the captain himself than anybody else who knew him.
there were nights when he took a deal more rum and water than his head would carry; and then he would sometimes sit and sing his wicked, old, wild sea-songs, minding nobody; but sometimes he would call for glasses round and force all the trembling company to listen to his stories or bear a chorus to his singing.
often i have heard the house shaking with "yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum," all the neighbours joining in for dear life, with the fear of death upon them, and each singing louder than the other to avoid remark.
for in these fits he was the most overriding companion ever known; he would slap his hand on the table for silence all round; he would fly up in a passion of anger at a question, or sometimes because none was put, and so he judged the company was not following his story.
nor would he allow anyone to leave the inn till he had drunk himself sleepy and reeled off to bed.
his stories were what frightened people worst of all.
dreadful stories they were -- about hanging, and walking the plank, and storms at sea, and the dry tortugas, and wild deeds and places on the spanish main.
by his own account he must have lived his life among some of the wickedest men that god ever allowed upon the sea, and the language in which he told these stories shocked our plain country people almost as much as the crimes that he described.
my father was always saying the inn would be ruined, for people would soon cease coming there to be tyrannized over and put down, and sent shivering to their beds; but i really believe his presence did us good.
people were frightened at the time, but on looking back they rather liked it; it was a fine excitement in a quiet country life, and there was even a party of the younger men who pretended to admire him, calling him a "true sea-dog" and a "real old salt" and such like names, and saying there was the sort of man that made england terrible at sea.
in one way, indeed, he bade fair to ruin us, for he kept on staying week after week, and at last month after month, so that all the money had been long exhausted, and still my father never plucked up the heart to insist on having more.
if ever he mentioned it, the captain blew through his nose so loudly that you might say he roared, and stared my poor father out of the room.
i have seen him wringing his hands after such a rebuff, and i am sure the annoyance and the terror he lived in must have greatly hastened his early and unhappy death.
all the time he lived with us the captain made no change whatever in his dress but to buy some stockings from a hawker.
one of the cocks of his hat having fallen down, he let it hang from that day forth, though it was a great annoyance when it blew.
i remember the appearance of his coat, which he patched himself upstairs in his room, and which, before the end, was nothing but patches.
he never wrote or received a letter, and he never spoke with any but the neighbours, and with these, for the most part, only when drunk on rum.
the great sea-chest none of us had ever seen open.
he was only once crossed, and that was towards the end, when my poor father was far gone in a decline that took him off.
dr. livesey came late one afternoon to see the patient, took a bit of dinner from my mother, and went into the parlour to smoke a pipe until his horse should come down from the hamlet, for we had no stabling at the old benbow.
i followed him in, and i remember observing the contrast the neat, bright doctor, with his powder as white as snow and his bright, black eyes and pleasant manners, made with the coltish country folk, and above all, with that filthy, heavy, bleared scarecrow of a pirate of ours, sitting, far gone in rum, with his arms on the table.
suddenly he -- the captain, that is -- began to pipe up his eternal song: "fifteen men on the dead man's chest -- yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
drink and the devil had done for the rest -- yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
at first i had supposed "the dead man's chest" to be that identical big box of his upstairs in the front room, and the thought had been mingled in my nightmares with that of the one-legged seafaring man.
but by this time we had all long ceased to pay any particular notice to the song; it was new, that night, to nobody but dr. livesey, and on him i observed it did not produce an agreeable effect, for he looked up for a moment quite angrily before he went on with his talk to old taylor, the gardener, on a new cure for the rheumatics.
in the meantime, the captain gradually brightened up at his own music, and at last flapped his hand upon the table before him in a way we all knew to mean silence.
the voices stopped at once, all but dr. livesey's; he went on as before speaking clear and kind and drawing briskly at his pipe between every word or two.
the captain glared at him for a while, flapped his hand again, glared still harder, and at last broke out with a villainous, low oath, "silence, there, between decks!"
""were you addressing me, sir?"
says the doctor; and when the ruffian had told him, with another oath, that this was so, "i have only one thing to say to you, sir," replies the doctor, "that if you keep on drinking rum, the world will soon be quit of a very dirty scoundrel!"
the old fellow's fury was awful.
he sprang to his feet, drew and opened a sailor's clasp-knife, and balancing it open on the palm of his hand, threatened to pin the doctor to the wall.
the doctor never so much as moved.
he spoke to him as before, over his shoulder and in the same tone of voice, rather high, so that all the room might hear, but perfectly calm and steady: "if you do not put that knife this instant in your pocket, i promise, upon my honour, you shall hang at the next assizes."
then followed a battle of looks between them, but the captain soon knuckled under, put up his weapon, and resumed his seat, grumbling like a beaten dog.
""and now, sir," continued the doctor, "since i now know there's such a fellow in my district, you may count i'll have an eye upon you day and night.
i'm not a doctor only; i'm a magistrate; and if i catch a breath of complaint against you, if it's only for a piece of incivility like tonight's, i'll take effectual means to have you hunted down and routed out of this.
let that suffice."
soon after, dr. livesey's horse came to the door and he rode away, but the captain held his peace that evening, and for many evenings to come.
2 black dog appears and disappears it was not very long after this that there occurred the first of the mysterious events that rid us at last of the captain, though not, as you will see, of his affairs.
it was a bitter cold winter, with long, hard frosts and heavy gales; and it was plain from the first that my poor father was little likely to see the spring.
he sank daily, and my mother and i had all the inn upon our hands, and were kept busy enough without paying much regard to our unpleasant guest.
it was one january morning, very early -- a pinching, frosty morning -- the cove all grey with hoar-frost, the ripple lapping softly on the stones, the sun still low and only touching the hilltops and shining far to seaward.
the captain had risen earlier than usual and set out down the beach, his cutlass swinging under the broad skirts of the old blue coat, his brass telescope under his arm, his hat tilted back upon his head.
i remember his breath hanging like smoke in his wake as he strode off, and the last sound i heard of him as he turned the big rock was a loud snort of indignation, as though his mind was still running upon dr. livesey.
well, mother was upstairs with father and i was laying the breakfast-table against the captain's return when the parlour door opened and a man stepped in on whom i had never set my eyes before.
he was a pale, tallowy creature, wanting two fingers of the left hand, and though he wore a cutlass, he did not look much like a fighter.
i had always my eye open for seafaring men, with one leg or two, and i remember this one puzzled me.
he was not sailorly, and yet he had a smack of the sea about him too.
i asked him what was for his service, and he said he would take rum; but as i was going out of the room to fetch it, he sat down upon a table and motioned me to draw near.
i paused where i was, with my napkin in my hand.
""come here, sonny," says he.
""come nearer here."
i took a step nearer.
""is this here table for my mate bill?"
he asked with a kind of leer.
i told him i did not know his mate bill, and this was for a person who stayed in our house whom we called the captain.
""well," said he, "my mate bill would be called the captain, as like as not.
he has a cut on one cheek and a mighty pleasant way with him, particularly in drink, has my mate bill.
we'll put it, for argument like, that your captain has a cut on one cheek -- and we'll put it, if you like, that that cheek's the right one.
ah, well!
i told you.
now, is my mate bill in this here house?"
i told him he was out walking.
""which way, sonny?
which way is he gone?"
and when i had pointed out the rock and told him how the captain was likely to return, and how soon, and answered a few other questions, "ah," said he, "this'll be as good as drink to my mate bill."
the expression of his face as he said these words was not at all pleasant, and i had my own reasons for thinking that the stranger was mistaken, even supposing he meant what he said.
but it was no affair of mine, i thought; and besides, it was difficult to know what to do.
the stranger kept hanging about just inside the inn door, peering round the corner like a cat waiting for a mouse.
once i stepped out myself into the road, but he immediately called me back, and as i did not obey quick enough for his fancy, a most horrible change came over his tallowy face, and he ordered me in with an oath that made me jump.
as soon as i was back again he returned to his former manner, half fawning, half sneering, patted me on the shoulder, told me i was a good boy and he had taken quite a fancy to me.
""i have a son of my own," said he, "as like you as two blocks, and he's all the pride of my "art.
but the great thing for boys is discipline, sonny -- discipline.
now, if you had sailed along of bill, you would n't have stood there to be spoke to twice -- not you.
that was never bill's way, nor the way of sich as sailed with him.
and here, sure enough, is my mate bill, with a spy-glass under his arm, bless his old "art, to be sure.
you and me'll just go back into the parlour, sonny, and get behind the door, and we'll give bill a little surprise -- bless his "art, i say again."
so saying, the stranger backed along with me into the parlour and put me behind him in the corner so that we were both hidden by the open door.
i was very uneasy and alarmed, as you may fancy, and it rather added to my fears to observe that the stranger was certainly frightened himself.
he cleared the hilt of his cutlass and loosened the blade in the sheath; and all the time we were waiting there he kept swallowing as if he felt what we used to call a lump in the throat.
at last in strode the captain, slammed the door behind him, without looking to the right or left, and marched straight across the room to where his breakfast awaited him.
""bill," said the stranger in a voice that i thought he had tried to make bold and big.
the captain spun round on his heel and fronted us; all the brown had gone out of his face, and even his nose was blue; he had the look of a man who sees a ghost, or the evil one, or something worse, if anything can be; and upon my word, i felt sorry to see him all in a moment turn so old and sick.
""come, bill, you know me; you know an old shipmate, bill, surely," said the stranger.
the captain made a sort of gasp.
""black dog!"
said he.
""and who else?"
returned the other, getting more at his ease.
""black dog as ever was, come for to see his old shipmate billy, at the admiral benbow inn.
ah, bill, bill, we have seen a sight of times, us two, since i lost them two talons," holding up his mutilated hand.
""now, look here," said the captain; "you've run me down; here i am; well, then, speak up; what is it?"
""that's you, bill," returned black dog, "you're in the right of it, billy.
i'll have a glass of rum from this dear child here, as i've took such a liking to; and we'll sit down, if you please, and talk square, like old shipmates."
when i returned with the rum, they were already seated on either side of the captain's breakfast-table -- black dog next to the door and sitting sideways so as to have one eye on his old shipmate and one, as i thought, on his retreat.
he bade me go and leave the door wide open.
""none of your keyholes for me, sonny," he said; and i left them together and retired into the bar.
for a long time, though i certainly did my best to listen, i could hear nothing but a low gattling; but at last the voices began to grow higher, and i could pick up a word or two, mostly oaths, from the captain.
""no, no, no, no; and an end of it!"
he cried once.
and again, "if it comes to swinging, swing all, say i." then all of a sudden there was a tremendous explosion of oaths and other noises -- the chair and table went over in a lump, a clash of steel followed, and then a cry of pain, and the next instant i saw black dog in full flight, and the captain hotly pursuing, both with drawn cutlasses, and the former streaming blood from the left shoulder.
just at the door the captain aimed at the fugitive one last tremendous cut, which would certainly have split him to the chine had it not been intercepted by our big signboard of admiral benbow.
you may see the notch on the lower side of the frame to this day.
that blow was the last of the battle.
once out upon the road, black dog, in spite of his wound, showed a wonderful clean pair of heels and disappeared over the edge of the hill in half a minute.
the captain, for his part, stood staring at the signboard like a bewildered man.
then he passed his hand over his eyes several times and at last turned back into the house.
""jim," says he, "rum"; and as he spoke, he reeled a little, and caught himself with one hand against the wall.
""are you hurt?"
cried i. "rum," he repeated.
""i must get away from here.
rum!
rum!"
i ran to fetch it, but i was quite unsteadied by all that had fallen out, and i broke one glass and fouled the tap, and while i was still getting in my own way, i heard a loud fall in the parlour, and running in, beheld the captain lying full length upon the floor.
at the same instant my mother, alarmed by the cries and fighting, came running downstairs to help me.
between us we raised his head.
he was breathing very loud and hard, but his eyes were closed and his face a horrible colour.
""dear, deary me," cried my mother, "what a disgrace upon the house!
and your poor father sick!"
in the meantime, we had no idea what to do to help the captain, nor any other thought but that he had got his death-hurt in the scuffle with the stranger.
i got the rum, to be sure, and tried to put it down his throat, but his teeth were tightly shut and his jaws as strong as iron.
it was a happy relief for us when the door opened and doctor livesey came in, on his visit to my father.
""oh, doctor," we cried, "what shall we do?
where is he wounded?"
""wounded?
a fiddle-stick's end!"
said the doctor.
""no more wounded than you or i.
the man has had a stroke, as i warned him.
now, mrs. hawkins, just you run upstairs to your husband and tell him, if possible, nothing about it.
for my part, i must do my best to save this fellow's trebly worthless life; jim, you get me a basin."
when i got back with the basin, the doctor had already ripped up the captain's sleeve and exposed his great sinewy arm.
it was tattooed in several places.
""here's luck," "a fair wind," and "billy bones his fancy," were very neatly and clearly executed on the forearm; and up near the shoulder there was a sketch of a gallows and a man hanging from it -- done, as i thought, with great spirit.
""prophetic," said the doctor, touching this picture with his finger.
""and now, master billy bones, if that be your name, we'll have a look at the colour of your blood.
jim," he said, "are you afraid of blood?"
""no, sir," said i. "well, then," said he, "you hold the basin"; and with that he took his lancet and opened a vein.
a great deal of blood was taken before the captain opened his eyes and looked mistily about him.
first he recognized the doctor with an unmistakable frown; then his glance fell upon me, and he looked relieved.
but suddenly his colour changed, and he tried to raise himself, crying, "where's black dog?"
""there is no black dog here," said the doctor, "except what you have on your own back.
you have been drinking rum; you have had a stroke, precisely as i told you; and i have just, very much against my own will, dragged you headforemost out of the grave.
now, mr. bones --" "that's not my name," he interrupted.
""much i care," returned the doctor.
""it's the name of a buccaneer of my acquaintance; and i call you by it for the sake of shortness, and what i have to say to you is this; one glass of rum wo n't kill you, but if you take one you'll take another and another, and i stake my wig if you do n't break off short, you'll die -- do you understand that?
-- die, and go to your own place, like the man in the bible.
come, now, make an effort.
i'll help you to your bed for once."
between us, with much trouble, we managed to hoist him upstairs, and laid him on his bed, where his head fell back on the pillow as if he were almost fainting.
""now, mind you," said the doctor, "i clear my conscience -- the name of rum for you is death."
and with that he went off to see my father, taking me with him by the arm.
""this is nothing," he said as soon as he had closed the door.
""i have drawn blood enough to keep him quiet awhile; he should lie for a week where he is -- that is the best thing for him and you; but another stroke would settle him."
3 the black spot about noon i stopped at the captain's door with some cooling drinks and medicines.
he was lying very much as we had left him, only a little higher, and he seemed both weak and excited.
""jim," he said, "you're the only one here that's worth anything, and you know i've been always good to you.
never a month but i've given you a silver fourpenny for yourself.
and now you see, mate, i'm pretty low, and deserted by all; and jim, you'll bring me one noggin of rum, now, wo n't you, matey?"
""the doctor --" i began.
but he broke in cursing the doctor, in a feeble voice but heartily.
""doctors is all swabs," he said; "and that doctor there, why, what do he know about seafaring men?
i been in places hot as pitch, and mates dropping round with yellow jack, and the blessed land a-heaving like the sea with earthquakes -- what to the doctor know of lands like that?
-- and i lived on rum, i tell you.
it's been meat and drink, and man and wife, to me; and if i'm not to have my rum now i'm a poor old hulk on a lee shore, my blood'll be on you, jim, and that doctor swab"; and he ran on again for a while with curses.
""look, jim, how my fingers fidges," he continued in the pleading tone.
""i ca n't keep'em still, not i. i have n't had a drop this blessed day.
that doctor's a fool, i tell you.
if i do n't have a drain o" rum, jim, i'll have the horrors; i seen some on'em already.
i seen old flint in the corner there, behind you; as plain as print, i seen him; and if i get the horrors, i'm a man that has lived rough, and i'll raise cain.
your doctor hisself said one glass would n't hurt me.
i'll give you a golden guinea for a noggin, jim."
he was growing more and more excited, and this alarmed me for my father, who was very low that day and needed quiet; besides, i was reassured by the doctor's words, now quoted to me, and rather offended by the offer of a bribe.
""i want none of your money," said i, "but what you owe my father.
i'll get you one glass, and no more."
when i brought it to him, he seized it greedily and drank it out.
""aye, aye," said he, "that's some better, sure enough.
and now, matey, did that doctor say how long i was to lie here in this old berth?"
""a week at least," said i. "thunder!"
he cried.
""a week!
i ca n't do that; they'd have the black spot on me by then.
the lubbers is going about to get the wind of me this blessed moment; lubbers as could n't keep what they got, and want to nail what is another's.
is that seamanly behaviour, now, i want to know?
but i'm a saving soul.
i never wasted good money of mine, nor lost it neither; and i'll trick'em again.
i'm not afraid on'em.
i'll shake out another reef, matey, and daddle'em again."
as he was thus speaking, he had risen from bed with great difficulty, holding to my shoulder with a grip that almost made me cry out, and moving his legs like so much dead weight.
his words, spirited as they were in meaning, contrasted sadly with the weakness of the voice in which they were uttered.
he paused when he had got into a sitting position on the edge.
""that doctor's done me," he murmured.
""my ears is singing.
lay me back."
before i could do much to help him he had fallen back again to his former place, where he lay for a while silent.
""jim," he said at length, "you saw that seafaring man today?"
""black dog?"
i asked.
""ah!
black dog," says he.
""he's a bad un; but there's worse that put him on.
now, if i ca n't get away nohow, and they tip me the black spot, mind you, it's my old sea-chest they're after; you get on a horse -- you can, ca n't you?
well, then, you get on a horse, and go to -- well, yes, i will!
-- to that eternal doctor swab, and tell him to pipe all hands -- magistrates and sich -- and he'll lay'em aboard at the admiral benbow -- all old flint's crew, man and boy, all on'em that's left.
i was first mate, i was, old flint's first mate, and i'm the on" y one as knows the place.
he gave it me at savannah, when he lay a-dying, like as if i was to now, you see.
but you wo n't peach unless they get the black spot on me, or unless you see that black dog again or a seafaring man with one leg, jim -- him above all."
""but what is the black spot, captain?"
i asked.
""that's a summons, mate.
i'll tell you if they get that.
but you keep your weather-eye open, jim, and i'll share with you equals, upon my honour."
he wandered a little longer, his voice growing weaker; but soon after i had given him his medicine, which he took like a child, with the remark, "if ever a seaman wanted drugs, it's me," he fell at last into a heavy, swoon-like sleep, in which i left him.
what i should have done had all gone well i do not know.
probably i should have told the whole story to the doctor, for i was in mortal fear lest the captain should repent of his confessions and make an end of me.
but as things fell out, my poor father died quite suddenly that evening, which put all other matters on one side.
our natural distress, the visits of the neighbours, the arranging of the funeral, and all the work of the inn to be carried on in the meanwhile kept me so busy that i had scarcely time to think of the captain, far less to be afraid of him.
he got downstairs next morning, to be sure, and had his meals as usual, though he ate little and had more, i am afraid, than his usual supply of rum, for he helped himself out of the bar, scowling and blowing through his nose, and no one dared to cross him.
on the night before the funeral he was as drunk as ever; and it was shocking, in that house of mourning, to hear him singing away at his ugly old sea-song; but weak as he was, we were all in the fear of death for him, and the doctor was suddenly taken up with a case many miles away and was never near the house after my father's death.
i have said the captain was weak, and indeed he seemed rather to grow weaker than regain his strength.
he clambered up and down stairs, and went from the parlour to the bar and back again, and sometimes put his nose out of doors to smell the sea, holding on to the walls as he went for support and breathing hard and fast like a man on a steep mountain.
he never particularly addressed me, and it is my belief he had as good as forgotten his confidences; but his temper was more flighty, and allowing for his bodily weakness, more violent than ever.
he had an alarming way now when he was drunk of drawing his cutlass and laying it bare before him on the table.
but with all that, he minded people less and seemed shut up in his own thoughts and rather wandering.
once, for instance, to our extreme wonder, he piped up to a different air, a kind of country love-song that he must have learned in his youth before he had begun to follow the sea.
so things passed until, the day after the funeral, and about three o'clock of a bitter, foggy, frosty afternoon, i was standing at the door for a moment, full of sad thoughts about my father, when i saw someone drawing slowly near along the road.
he was plainly blind, for he tapped before him with a stick and wore a great green shade over his eyes and nose; and he was hunched, as if with age or weakness, and wore a huge old tattered sea-cloak with a hood that made him appear positively deformed.
i never saw in my life a more dreadful-looking figure.
he stopped a little from the inn, and raising his voice in an odd sing-song, addressed the air in front of him, "will any kind friend inform a poor blind man, who has lost the precious sight of his eyes in the gracious defence of his native country, england -- and god bless king george!
-- where or in what part of this country he may now be?"
""you are at the admiral benbow, black hill cove, my good man," said i. "i hear a voice," said he, "a young voice.
will you give me your hand, my kind young friend, and lead me in?"
i held out my hand, and the horrible, soft-spoken, eyeless creature gripped it in a moment like a vise.
i was so much startled that i struggled to withdraw, but the blind man pulled me close up to him with a single action of his arm.
""now, boy," he said, "take me in to the captain."
""sir," said i, "upon my word i dare not."
""oh," he sneered, "that's it!
take me in straight or i'll break your arm."
and he gave it, as he spoke, a wrench that made me cry out.
""sir," said i, "it is for yourself i mean.
the captain is not what he used to be.
he sits with a drawn cutlass.
another gentleman --" "come, now, march," interrupted he; and i never heard a voice so cruel, and cold, and ugly as that blind man's.
it cowed me more than the pain, and i began to obey him at once, walking straight in at the door and towards the parlour, where our sick old buccaneer was sitting, dazed with rum.
the blind man clung close to me, holding me in one iron fist and leaning almost more of his weight on me than i could carry.
""lead me straight up to him, and when i'm in view, cry out, "here's a friend for you, bill."
if you do n't, i'll do this," and with that he gave me a twitch that i thought would have made me faint.
between this and that, i was so utterly terrified of the blind beggar that i forgot my terror of the captain, and as i opened the parlour door, cried out the words he had ordered in a trembling voice.
the poor captain raised his eyes, and at one look the rum went out of him and left him staring sober.
the expression of his face was not so much of terror as of mortal sickness.
he made a movement to rise, but i do not believe he had enough force left in his body.
""now, bill, sit where you are," said the beggar.
""if i ca n't see, i can hear a finger stirring.
business is business.
hold out your left hand.
boy, take his left hand by the wrist and bring it near to my right."
we both obeyed him to the letter, and i saw him pass something from the hollow of the hand that held his stick into the palm of the captain's, which closed upon it instantly.
""and now that's done," said the blind man; and at the words he suddenly left hold of me, and with incredible accuracy and nimbleness, skipped out of the parlour and into the road, where, as i still stood motionless, i could hear his stick go tap-tap-tapping into the distance.
it was some time before either i or the captain seemed to gather our senses, but at length, and about at the same moment, i released his wrist, which i was still holding, and he drew in his hand and looked sharply into the palm.
""ten o'clock!"
he cried.
""six hours.
we'll do them yet," and he sprang to his feet.
even as he did so, he reeled, put his hand to his throat, stood swaying for a moment, and then, with a peculiar sound, fell from his whole height face foremost to the floor.
i ran to him at once, calling to my mother.
but haste was all in vain.
the captain had been struck dead by thundering apoplexy.
it is a curious thing to understand, for i had certainly never liked the man, though of late i had begun to pity him, but as soon as i saw that he was dead, i burst into a flood of tears.
it was the second death i had known, and the sorrow of the first was still fresh in my heart.
4 the sea-chest i lost no time, of course, in telling my mother all that i knew, and perhaps should have told her long before, and we saw ourselves at once in a difficult and dangerous position.
some of the man's money -- if he had any -- was certainly due to us, but it was not likely that our captain's shipmates, above all the two specimens seen by me, black dog and the blind beggar, would be inclined to give up their booty in payment of the dead man's debts.
the captain's order to mount at once and ride for doctor livesey would have left my mother alone and unprotected, which was not to be thought of.
indeed, it seemed impossible for either of us to remain much longer in the house; the fall of coals in the kitchen grate, the very ticking of the clock, filled us with alarms.
the neighbourhood, to our ears, seemed haunted by approaching footsteps; and what between the dead body of the captain on the parlour floor and the thought of that detestable blind beggar hovering near at hand and ready to return, there were moments when, as the saying goes, i jumped in my skin for terror.
something must speedily be resolved upon, and it occurred to us at last to go forth together and seek help in the neighbouring hamlet.
no sooner said than done.
bare-headed as we were, we ran out at once in the gathering evening and the frosty fog.
the hamlet lay not many hundred yards away, though out of view, on the other side of the next cove; and what greatly encouraged me, it was in an opposite direction from that whence the blind man had made his appearance and whither he had presumably returned.
we were not many minutes on the road, though we sometimes stopped to lay hold of each other and hearken.
but there was no unusual sound -- nothing but the low wash of the ripple and the croaking of the inmates of the wood.
it was already candle-light when we reached the hamlet, and i shall never forget how much i was cheered to see the yellow shine in doors and windows; but that, as it proved, was the best of the help we were likely to get in that quarter.
for -- you would have thought men would have been ashamed of themselves -- no soul would consent to return with us to the admiral benbow.
the more we told of our troubles, the more -- man, woman, and child -- they clung to the shelter of their houses.
the name of captain flint, though it was strange to me, was well enough known to some there and carried a great weight of terror.
some of the men who had been to field-work on the far side of the admiral benbow remembered, besides, to have seen several strangers on the road, and taking them to be smugglers, to have bolted away; and one at least had seen a little lugger in what we called kitt's hole.
for that matter, anyone who was a comrade of the captain's was enough to frighten them to death.
and the short and the long of the matter was, that while we could get several who were willing enough to ride to dr. livesey's, which lay in another direction, not one would help us to defend the inn.
they say cowardice is infectious; but then argument is, on the other hand, a great emboldener; and so when each had said his say, my mother made them a speech.
she would not, she declared, lose money that belonged to her fatherless boy; "if none of the rest of you dare," she said, "jim and i dare.
back we will go, the way we came, and small thanks to you big, hulking, chicken-hearted men.
we'll have that chest open, if we die for it.
and i'll thank you for that bag, mrs. crossley, to bring back our lawful money in."
of course i said i would go with my mother, and of course they all cried out at our foolhardiness, but even then not a man would go along with us.
all they would do was to give me a loaded pistol lest we were attacked, and to promise to have horses ready saddled in case we were pursued on our return, while one lad was to ride forward to the doctor's in search of armed assistance.
my heart was beating finely when we two set forth in the cold night upon this dangerous venture.
a full moon was beginning to rise and peered redly through the upper edges of the fog, and this increased our haste, for it was plain, before we came forth again, that all would be as bright as day, and our departure exposed to the eyes of any watchers.
we slipped along the hedges, noiseless and swift, nor did we see or hear anything to increase our terrors, till, to our relief, the door of the admiral benbow had closed behind us.
i slipped the bolt at once, and we stood and panted for a moment in the dark, alone in the house with the dead captain's body.
then my mother got a candle in the bar, and holding each other's hands, we advanced into the parlour.
he lay as we had left him, on his back, with his eyes open and one arm stretched out.
""draw down the blind, jim," whispered my mother; "they might come and watch outside.
and now," said she when i had done so, "we have to get the key off that; and who's to touch it, i should like to know!"
and she gave a kind of sob as she said the words.
i went down on my knees at once.
on the floor close to his hand there was a little round of paper, blackened on the one side.
i could not doubt that this was the black spot; and taking it up, i found written on the other side, in a very good, clear hand, this short message: "you have till ten tonight."
""he had till ten, mother," said i; and just as i said it, our old clock began striking.
this sudden noise startled us shockingly; but the news was good, for it was only six.
""now, jim," she said, "that key."
i felt in his pockets, one after another.
a few small coins, a thimble, and some thread and big needles, a piece of pigtail tobacco bitten away at the end, his gully with the crooked handle, a pocket compass, and a tinder box were all that they contained, and i began to despair.
""perhaps it's round his neck," suggested my mother.
overcoming a strong repugnance, i tore open his shirt at the neck, and there, sure enough, hanging to a bit of tarry string, which i cut with his own gully, we found the key.
at this triumph we were filled with hope and hurried upstairs without delay to the little room where he had slept so long and where his box had stood since the day of his arrival.
it was like any other seaman's chest on the outside, the initial "b" burned on the top of it with a hot iron, and the corners somewhat smashed and broken as by long, rough usage.
""give me the key," said my mother; and though the lock was very stiff, she had turned it and thrown back the lid in a twinkling.
a strong smell of tobacco and tar rose from the interior, but nothing was to be seen on the top except a suit of very good clothes, carefully brushed and folded.
they had never been worn, my mother said.
under that, the miscellany began -- a quadrant, a tin canikin, several sticks of tobacco, two brace of very handsome pistols, a piece of bar silver, an old spanish watch and some other trinkets of little value and mostly of foreign make, a pair of compasses mounted with brass, and five or six curious west indian shells.
i have often wondered since why he should have carried about these shells with him in his wandering, guilty, and hunted life.
in the meantime, we had found nothing of any value but the silver and the trinkets, and neither of these were in our way.
underneath there was an old boat-cloak, whitened with sea-salt on many a harbour-bar.
my mother pulled it up with impatience, and there lay before us, the last things in the chest, a bundle tied up in oilcloth, and looking like papers, and a canvas bag that gave forth, at a touch, the jingle of gold.
""i'll show these rogues that i'm an honest woman," said my mother.
""i'll have my dues, and not a farthing over.
hold mrs. crossley's bag."
and she began to count over the amount of the captain's score from the sailor's bag into the one that i was holding.
it was a long, difficult business, for the coins were of all countries and sizes -- doubloons, and louis d'ors, and guineas, and pieces of eight, and i know not what besides, all shaken together at random.
the guineas, too, were about the scarcest, and it was with these only that my mother knew how to make her count.
when we were about half-way through, i suddenly put my hand upon her arm, for i had heard in the silent frosty air a sound that brought my heart into my mouth -- the tap-tapping of the blind man's stick upon the frozen road.
it drew nearer and nearer, while we sat holding our breath.
then it struck sharp on the inn door, and then we could hear the handle being turned and the bolt rattling as the wretched being tried to enter; and then there was a long time of silence both within and without.
at last the tapping recommenced, and, to our indescribable joy and gratitude, died slowly away again until it ceased to be heard.
""mother," said i, "take the whole and let's be going," for i was sure the bolted door must have seemed suspicious and would bring the whole hornet's nest about our ears, though how thankful i was that i had bolted it, none could tell who had never met that terrible blind man.
but my mother, frightened as she was, would not consent to take a fraction more than was due to her and was obstinately unwilling to be content with less.
it was not yet seven, she said, by a long way; she knew her rights and she would have them; and she was still arguing with me when a little low whistle sounded a good way off upon the hill.
that was enough, and more than enough, for both of us.
""i'll take what i have," she said, jumping to her feet.
""and i'll take this to square the count," said i, picking up the oilskin packet.
next moment we were both groping downstairs, leaving the candle by the empty chest; and the next we had opened the door and were in full retreat.
we had not started a moment too soon.
the fog was rapidly dispersing; already the moon shone quite clear on the high ground on either side; and it was only in the exact bottom of the dell and round the tavern door that a thin veil still hung unbroken to conceal the first steps of our escape.
far less than half-way to the hamlet, very little beyond the bottom of the hill, we must come forth into the moonlight.
nor was this all, for the sound of several footsteps running came already to our ears, and as we looked back in their direction, a light tossing to and fro and still rapidly advancing showed that one of the newcomers carried a lantern.
""my dear," said my mother suddenly, "take the money and run on.
i am going to faint."
this was certainly the end for both of us, i thought.
how i cursed the cowardice of the neighbours; how i blamed my poor mother for her honesty and her greed, for her past foolhardiness and present weakness!
we were just at the little bridge, by good fortune; and i helped her, tottering as she was, to the edge of the bank, where, sure enough, she gave a sigh and fell on my shoulder.
i do not know how i found the strength to do it at all, and i am afraid it was roughly done, but i managed to drag her down the bank and a little way under the arch.
farther i could not move her, for the bridge was too low to let me do more than crawl below it.
so there we had to stay -- my mother almost entirely exposed and both of us within earshot of the inn.
5 the last of the blind man my curiosity, in a sense, was stronger than my fear, for i could not remain where i was, but crept back to the bank again, whence, sheltering my head behind a bush of broom, i might command the road before our door.
i was scarcely in position ere my enemies began to arrive, seven or eight of them, running hard, their feet beating out of time along the road and the man with the lantern some paces in front.
three men ran together, hand in hand; and i made out, even through the mist, that the middle man of this trio was the blind beggar.
the next moment his voice showed me that i was right.
""down with the door!"
he cried.
""aye, aye, sir!"
answered two or three; and a rush was made upon the admiral benbow, the lantern-bearer following; and then i could see them pause, and hear speeches passed in a lower key, as if they were surprised to find the door open.
but the pause was brief, for the blind man again issued his commands.
his voice sounded louder and higher, as if he were afire with eagerness and rage.
""in, in, in!"
he shouted, and cursed them for their delay.
four or five of them obeyed at once, two remaining on the road with the formidable beggar.
there was a pause, then a cry of surprise, and then a voice shouting from the house, "bill's dead."
but the blind man swore at them again for their delay.
""search him, some of you shirking lubbers, and the rest of you aloft and get the chest," he cried.
i could hear their feet rattling up our old stairs, so that the house must have shook with it.
promptly afterwards, fresh sounds of astonishment arose; the window of the captain's room was thrown open with a slam and a jingle of broken glass, and a man leaned out into the moonlight, head and shoulders, and addressed the blind beggar on the road below him.
""pew," he cried, "they've been before us.
someone's turned the chest out alow and aloft."
""is it there?"
roared pew.
""the money's there."
the blind man cursed the money.
""flint's fist, i mean," he cried.
""we do n't see it here nohow," returned the man.
""here, you below there, is it on bill?"
cried the blind man again.
at that another fellow, probably him who had remained below to search the captain's body, came to the door of the inn.
""bill's been overhauled a "ready," said he; "nothin" left."
""it's these people of the inn -- it's that boy.
i wish i had put his eyes out!"
cried the blind man, pew.
""there were no time ago -- they had the door bolted when i tried it.
scatter, lads, and find'em."
""sure enough, they left their glim here," said the fellow from the window.
""scatter and find'em!
rout the house out!"
reiterated pew, striking with his stick upon the road.
then there followed a great to-do through all our old inn, heavy feet pounding to and fro, furniture thrown over, doors kicked in, until the very rocks re-echoed and the men came out again, one after another, on the road and declared that we were nowhere to be found.
and just the same whistle that had alarmed my mother and myself over the dead captain's money was once more clearly audible through the night, but this time twice repeated.
i had thought it to be the blind man's trumpet, so to speak, summoning his crew to the assault, but i now found that it was a signal from the hillside towards the hamlet, and from its effect upon the buccaneers, a signal to warn them of approaching danger.
""there's dirk again," said one.
""twice!
we'll have to budge, mates."
""budge, you skulk!"
cried pew.
""dirk was a fool and a coward from the first -- you would n't mind him.
they must be close by; they ca n't be far; you have your hands on it.
scatter and look for them, dogs!
oh, shiver my soul," he cried, "if i had eyes!"
this appeal seemed to produce some effect, for two of the fellows began to look here and there among the lumber, but half-heartedly, i thought, and with half an eye to their own danger all the time, while the rest stood irresolute on the road.
""you have your hands on thousands, you fools, and you hang a leg!
you'd be as rich as kings if you could find it, and you know it's here, and you stand there skulking.
there was n't one of you dared face bill, and i did it -- a blind man!
and i'm to lose my chance for you!
i'm to be a poor, crawling beggar, sponging for rum, when i might be rolling in a coach!
if you had the pluck of a weevil in a biscuit you would catch them still."
""hang it, pew, we've got the doubloons!"
grumbled one.
""they might have hid the blessed thing," said another.
""take the georges, pew, and do n't stand here squalling."
squalling was the word for it; pew's anger rose so high at these objections till at last, his passion completely taking the upper hand, he struck at them right and left in his blindness and his stick sounded heavily on more than one.
these, in their turn, cursed back at the blind miscreant, threatened him in horrid terms, and tried in vain to catch the stick and wrest it from his grasp.
this quarrel was the saving of us, for while it was still raging, another sound came from the top of the hill on the side of the hamlet -- the tramp of horses galloping.
almost at the same time a pistol-shot, flash and report, came from the hedge side.
and that was plainly the last signal of danger, for the buccaneers turned at once and ran, separating in every direction, one seaward along the cove, one slant across the hill, and so on, so that in half a minute not a sign of them remained but pew.
him they had deserted, whether in sheer panic or out of revenge for his ill words and blows i know not; but there he remained behind, tapping up and down the road in a frenzy, and groping and calling for his comrades.
finally he took a wrong turn and ran a few steps past me, towards the hamlet, crying, "johnny, black dog, dirk," and other names, "you wo n't leave old pew, mates -- not old pew!"
just then the noise of horses topped the rise, and four or five riders came in sight in the moonlight and swept at full gallop down the slope.
at this pew saw his error, turned with a scream, and ran straight for the ditch, into which he rolled.
but he was on his feet again in a second and made another dash, now utterly bewildered, right under the nearest of the coming horses.
the rider tried to save him, but in vain.
down went pew with a cry that rang high into the night; and the four hoofs trampled and spurned him and passed by.
he fell on his side, then gently collapsed upon his face and moved no more.
i leaped to my feet and hailed the riders.
they were pulling up, at any rate, horrified at the accident; and i soon saw what they were.
one, tailing out behind the rest, was a lad that had gone from the hamlet to dr. livesey's; the rest were revenue officers, whom he had met by the way, and with whom he had had the intelligence to return at once.
some news of the lugger in kitt's hole had found its way to supervisor dance and set him forth that night in our direction, and to that circumstance my mother and i owed our preservation from death.
pew was dead, stone dead.
as for my mother, when we had carried her up to the hamlet, a little cold water and salts and that soon brought her back again, and she was none the worse for her terror, though she still continued to deplore the balance of the money.
in the meantime the supervisor rode on, as fast as he could, to kitt's hole; but his men had to dismount and grope down the dingle, leading, and sometimes supporting, their horses, and in continual fear of ambushes; so it was no great matter for surprise that when they got down to the hole the lugger was already under way, though still close in.
he hailed her.
a voice replied, telling him to keep out of the moonlight or he would get some lead in him, and at the same time a bullet whistled close by his arm.
soon after, the lugger doubled the point and disappeared.
mr. dance stood there, as he said, "like a fish out of water," and all he could do was to dispatch a man to b -- to warn the cutter.
""and that," said he, "is just about as good as nothing.
they've got off clean, and there's an end.
only," he added, "i'm glad i trod on master pew's corns," for by this time he had heard my story.
i went back with him to the admiral benbow, and you can not imagine a house in such a state of smash; the very clock had been thrown down by these fellows in their furious hunt after my mother and myself; and though nothing had actually been taken away except the captain's money-bag and a little silver from the till, i could see at once that we were ruined.
mr. dance could make nothing of the scene.
""they got the money, you say?
well, then, hawkins, what in fortune were they after?
more money, i suppose?"
""no, sir; not money, i think," replied i. "in fact, sir, i believe i have the thing in my breast pocket; and to tell you the truth, i should like to get it put in safety."
""to be sure, boy; quite right," said he.
""i'll take it, if you like."
""i thought perhaps dr. livesey --" i began.
""perfectly right," he interrupted very cheerily, "perfectly right -- a gentleman and a magistrate.
and, now i come to think of it, i might as well ride round there myself and report to him or squire.
master pew's dead, when all's done; not that i regret it, but he's dead, you see, and people will make it out against an officer of his majesty's revenue, if make it out they can.
now, i'll tell you, hawkins, if you like, i'll take you along."
i thanked him heartily for the offer, and we walked back to the hamlet where the horses were.
by the time i had told mother of my purpose they were all in the saddle.
""dogger," said mr. dance, "you have a good horse; take up this lad behind you."
as soon as i was mounted, holding on to dogger's belt, the supervisor gave the word, and the party struck out at a bouncing trot on the road to dr. livesey's house.
6 the captain's papers we rode hard all the way till we drew up before dr. livesey's door.
the house was all dark to the front.
mr. dance told me to jump down and knock, and dogger gave me a stirrup to descend by.
the door was opened almost at once by the maid.
""is dr. livesey in?"
i asked.
no, she said, he had come home in the afternoon but had gone up to the hall to dine and pass the evening with the squire.
""so there we go, boys," said mr. dance.
this time, as the distance was short, i did not mount, but ran with dogger's stirrup-leather to the lodge gates and up the long, leafless, moonlit avenue to where the white line of the hall buildings looked on either hand on great old gardens.
here mr. dance dismounted, and taking me along with him, was admitted at a word into the house.
the servant led us down a matted passage and showed us at the end into a great library, all lined with bookcases and busts upon the top of them, where the squire and dr. livesey sat, pipe in hand, on either side of a bright fire.
i had never seen the squire so near at hand.
he was a tall man, over six feet high, and broad in proportion, and he had a bluff, rough-and-ready face, all roughened and reddened and lined in his long travels.
his eyebrows were very black, and moved readily, and this gave him a look of some temper, not bad, you would say, but quick and high.
""come in, mr. dance," says he, very stately and condescending.
""good evening, dance," says the doctor with a nod.
""and good evening to you, friend jim.
what good wind brings you here?"
the supervisor stood up straight and stiff and told his story like a lesson; and you should have seen how the two gentlemen leaned forward and looked at each other, and forgot to smoke in their surprise and interest.
when they heard how my mother went back to the inn, dr. livesey fairly slapped his thigh, and the squire cried "bravo!"
and broke his long pipe against the grate.
long before it was done, mr. trelawney -lrb- that, you will remember, was the squire's name -rrb- had got up from his seat and was striding about the room, and the doctor, as if to hear the better, had taken off his powdered wig and sat there looking very strange indeed with his own close-cropped black poll.
at last mr. dance finished the story.
""mr. dance," said the squire, "you are a very noble fellow.
and as for riding down that black, atrocious miscreant, i regard it as an act of virtue, sir, like stamping on a cockroach.
this lad hawkins is a trump, i perceive.
hawkins, will you ring that bell?
mr. dance must have some ale."
""and so, jim," said the doctor, "you have the thing that they were after, have you?"
""here it is, sir," said i, and gave him the oilskin packet.
the doctor looked it all over, as if his fingers were itching to open it; but instead of doing that, he put it quietly in the pocket of his coat.
""squire," said he, "when dance has had his ale he must, of course, be off on his majesty's service; but i mean to keep jim hawkins here to sleep at my house, and with your permission, i propose we should have up the cold pie and let him sup."
""as you will, livesey," said the squire; "hawkins has earned better than cold pie."
so a big pigeon pie was brought in and put on a sidetable, and i made a hearty supper, for i was as hungry as a hawk, while mr. dance was further complimented and at last dismissed.
""and now, squire," said the doctor.
""and now, livesey," said the squire in the same breath.
""one at a time, one at a time," laughed dr. livesey.
""you have heard of this flint, i suppose?"
""heard of him!"
cried the squire.
""heard of him, you say!
he was the bloodthirstiest buccaneer that sailed.
blackbeard was a child to flint.
the spaniards were so prodigiously afraid of him that, i tell you, sir, i was sometimes proud he was an englishman.
i've seen his top-sails with these eyes, off trinidad, and the cowardly son of a rum-puncheon that i sailed with put back -- put back, sir, into port of spain."
""well, i've heard of him myself, in england," said the doctor.
""but the point is, had he money?"
""money!"
cried the squire.
""have you heard the story?
what were these villains after but money?
what do they care for but money?
for what would they risk their rascal carcasses but money?"
""that we shall soon know," replied the doctor.
""but you are so confoundedly hot-headed and exclamatory that i can not get a word in.
what i want to know is this: supposing that i have here in my pocket some clue to where flint buried his treasure, will that treasure amount to much?"
""amount, sir!"
cried the squire.
""it will amount to this: if we have the clue you talk about, i fit out a ship in bristol dock, and take you and hawkins here along, and i'll have that treasure if i search a year."
""very well," said the doctor.
""now, then, if jim is agreeable, we'll open the packet"; and he laid it before him on the table.
the bundle was sewn together, and the doctor had to get out his instrument case and cut the stitches with his medical scissors.
it contained two things -- a book and a sealed paper.
""first of all we'll try the book," observed the doctor.
the squire and i were both peering over his shoulder as he opened it, for dr. livesey had kindly motioned me to come round from the side-table, where i had been eating, to enjoy the sport of the search.
on the first page there were only some scraps of writing, such as a man with a pen in his hand might make for idleness or practice.
one was the same as the tattoo mark, "billy bones his fancy"; then there was "mr. w. bones, mate," "no more rum," "off palm key he got itt," and some other snatches, mostly single words and unintelligible.
i could not help wondering who it was that had "got itt," and what "itt" was that he got.
a knife in his back as like as not.
""not much instruction there," said dr. livesey as he passed on.
the next ten or twelve pages were filled with a curious series of entries.
there was a date at one end of the line and at the other a sum of money, as in common account-books, but instead of explanatory writing, only a varying number of crosses between the two.
on the 12th of june, 1745, for instance, a sum of seventy pounds had plainly become due to someone, and there was nothing but six crosses to explain the cause.
in a few cases, to be sure, the name of a place would be added, as "offe caraccas," or a mere entry of latitude and longitude, as "62o 17" 20", 19o 2" 40"."
the record lasted over nearly twenty years, the amount of the separate entries growing larger as time went on, and at the end a grand total had been made out after five or six wrong additions, and these words appended, "bones, his pile."
""i ca n't make head or tail of this," said dr. livesey.
""the thing is as clear as noonday," cried the squire.
""this is the black-hearted hound's account-book.
these crosses stand for the names of ships or towns that they sank or plundered.
the sums are the scoundrel's share, and where he feared an ambiguity, you see he added something clearer.
"offe caraccas," now; you see, here was some unhappy vessel boarded off that coast.
god help the poor souls that manned her -- coral long ago."
""right!"
said the doctor.
""see what it is to be a traveller.
right!
and the amounts increase, you see, as he rose in rank."
there was little else in the volume but a few bearings of places noted in the blank leaves towards the end and a table for reducing french, english, and spanish moneys to a common value.
""thrifty man!"
cried the doctor.
""he was n't the one to be cheated."
""and now," said the squire, "for the other."
the paper had been sealed in several places with a thimble by way of seal; the very thimble, perhaps, that i had found in the captain's pocket.
the doctor opened the seals with great care, and there fell out the map of an island, with latitude and longitude, soundings, names of hills and bays and inlets, and every particular that would be needed to bring a ship to a safe anchorage upon its shores.
it was about nine miles long and five across, shaped, you might say, like a fat dragon standing up, and had two fine land-locked harbours, and a hill in the centre part marked "the spy-glass."
there were several additions of a later date, but above all, three crosses of red ink -- two on the north part of the island, one in the southwest -- and beside this last, in the same red ink, and in a small, neat hand, very different from the captain's tottery characters, these words: "bulk of treasure here."
over on the back the same hand had written this further information: tall tree, spy-glass shoulder, bearing a point to the n. of n.n.e. skeleton island e.s.e. and by e. ten feet.
the bar silver is in the north cache; you can find it by the trend of the east hummock, ten fathoms south of the black crag with the face on it.
the arms are easy found, in the sand-hill, n. point of north inlet cape, bearing e. and a quarter n. j.f..
that was all; but brief as it was, and to me incomprehensible, it filled the squire and dr. livesey with delight.
""livesey," said the squire, "you will give up this wretched practice at once.
tomorrow i start for bristol.
in three weeks" time -- three weeks!
-- two weeks -- ten days -- we'll have the best ship, sir, and the choicest crew in england.
hawkins shall come as cabin-boy.
you'll make a famous cabin-boy, hawkins.
you, livesey, are ship's doctor; i am admiral.
we'll take redruth, joyce, and hunter.
we'll have favourable winds, a quick passage, and not the least difficulty in finding the spot, and money to eat, to roll in, to play duck and drake with ever after."
""trelawney," said the doctor, "i'll go with you; and i'll go bail for it, so will jim, and be a credit to the undertaking.
there's only one man i'm afraid of."
""and who's that?"
cried the squire.
""name the dog, sir!"
""you," replied the doctor; "for you can not hold your tongue.
we are not the only men who know of this paper.
these fellows who attacked the inn tonight -- bold, desperate blades, for sure -- and the rest who stayed aboard that lugger, and more, i dare say, not far off, are, one and all, through thick and thin, bound that they'll get that money.
we must none of us go alone till we get to sea.
jim and i shall stick together in the meanwhile; you'll take joyce and hunter when you ride to bristol, and from first to last, not one of us must breathe a word of what we've found."
""livesey," returned the squire, "you are always in the right of it.
i'll be as silent as the grave."
part two -- the sea-cook 7 i go to bristol it was longer than the squire imagined ere we were ready for the sea, and none of our first plans -- not even dr. livesey's, of keeping me beside him -- could be carried out as we intended.
the doctor had to go to london for a physician to take charge of his practice; the squire was hard at work at bristol; and i lived on at the hall under the charge of old redruth, the gamekeeper, almost a prisoner, but full of sea-dreams and the most charming anticipations of strange islands and adventures.
i brooded by the hour together over the map, all the details of which i well remembered.
sitting by the fire in the housekeeper's room, i approached that island in my fancy from every possible direction; i explored every acre of its surface; i climbed a thousand times to that tall hill they call the spy-glass, and from the top enjoyed the most wonderful and changing prospects.
sometimes the isle was thick with savages, with whom we fought, sometimes full of dangerous animals that hunted us, but in all my fancies nothing occurred to me so strange and tragic as our actual adventures.
so the weeks passed on, till one fine day there came a letter addressed to dr. livesey, with this addition, "to be opened, in the case of his absence, by tom redruth or young hawkins."
obeying this order, we found, or rather i found -- for the gamekeeper was a poor hand at reading anything but print -- the following important news: old anchor inn, bristol, march 1, 17 -- dear livesey -- as i do not know whether you are at the hall or still in london, i send this in double to both places.
the ship is bought and fitted.
she lies at anchor, ready for sea.
you never imagined a sweeter schooner -- a child might sail her -- two hundred tons; name, hispaniola.
i got her through my old friend, blandly, who has proved himself throughout the most surprising trump.
the admirable fellow literally slaved in my interest, and so, i may say, did everyone in bristol, as soon as they got wind of the port we sailed for -- treasure, i mean.
""redruth," said i, interrupting the letter, "dr. livesey will not like that.
the squire has been talking, after all."
""well, who's a better right?"
growled the gamekeeper.
""a pretty rum go if squire ai n't to talk for dr. livesey, i should think."
at that i gave up all attempts at commentary and read straight on: blandly himself found the hispaniola, and by the most admirable management got her for the merest trifle.
there is a class of men in bristol monstrously prejudiced against blandly.
they go the length of declaring that this honest creature would do anything for money, that the hispaniola belonged to him, and that he sold it me absurdly high -- the most transparent calumnies.
none of them dare, however, to deny the merits of the ship.
so far there was not a hitch.
the workpeople, to be sure -- riggers and what not -- were most annoyingly slow; but time cured that.
it was the crew that troubled me.
i wished a round score of men -- in case of natives, buccaneers, or the odious french -- and i had the worry of the deuce itself to find so much as half a dozen, till the most remarkable stroke of fortune brought me the very man that i required.
i was standing on the dock, when, by the merest accident, i fell in talk with him.
i found he was an old sailor, kept a public-house, knew all the seafaring men in bristol, had lost his health ashore, and wanted a good berth as cook to get to sea again.
he had hobbled down there that morning, he said, to get a smell of the salt.
i was monstrously touched -- so would you have been -- and, out of pure pity, i engaged him on the spot to be ship's cook.
long john silver, he is called, and has lost a leg; but that i regarded as a recommendation, since he lost it in his country's service, under the immortal hawke.
he has no pension, livesey.
imagine the abominable age we live in!
well, sir, i thought i had only found a cook, but it was a crew i had discovered.
between silver and myself we got together in a few days a company of the toughest old salts imaginable -- not pretty to look at, but fellows, by their faces, of the most indomitable spirit.
i declare we could fight a frigate.
long john even got rid of two out of the six or seven i had already engaged.
he showed me in a moment that they were just the sort of fresh-water swabs we had to fear in an adventure of importance.
i am in the most magnificent health and spirits, eating like a bull, sleeping like a tree, yet i shall not enjoy a moment till i hear my old tarpaulins tramping round the capstan.
seaward, ho!
hang the treasure!
it's the glory of the sea that has turned my head.
so now, livesey, come post; do not lose an hour, if you respect me.
let young hawkins go at once to see his mother, with redruth for a guard; and then both come full speed to bristol.
john trelawney postscript -- i did not tell you that blandly, who, by the way, is to send a consort after us if we do n't turn up by the end of august, had found an admirable fellow for sailing master -- a stiff man, which i regret, but in all other respects a treasure.
long john silver unearthed a very competent man for a mate, a man named arrow.
i have a boatswain who pipes, livesey; so things shall go man-o" - war fashion on board the good ship hispaniola.
i forgot to tell you that silver is a man of substance; i know of my own knowledge that he has a banker's account, which has never been overdrawn.
he leaves his wife to manage the inn; and as she is a woman of colour, a pair of old bachelors like you and i may be excused for guessing that it is the wife, quite as much as the health, that sends him back to roving.
j. t. p.p.s. -- hawkins may stay one night with his mother.
j. t.
you can fancy the excitement into which that letter put me.
i was half beside myself with glee; and if ever i despised a man, it was old tom redruth, who could do nothing but grumble and lament.
any of the under-gamekeepers would gladly have changed places with him; but such was not the squire's pleasure, and the squire's pleasure was like law among them all.
nobody but old redruth would have dared so much as even to grumble.
the next morning he and i set out on foot for the admiral benbow, and there i found my mother in good health and spirits.
the captain, who had so long been a cause of so much discomfort, was gone where the wicked cease from troubling.
the squire had had everything repaired, and the public rooms and the sign repainted, and had added some furniture -- above all a beautiful armchair for mother in the bar.
he had found her a boy as an apprentice also so that she should not want help while i was gone.
it was on seeing that boy that i understood, for the first time, my situation.
i had thought up to that moment of the adventures before me, not at all of the home that i was leaving; and now, at sight of this clumsy stranger, who was to stay here in my place beside my mother, i had my first attack of tears.
i am afraid i led that boy a dog's life, for as he was new to the work, i had a hundred opportunities of setting him right and putting him down, and i was not slow to profit by them.
the night passed, and the next day, after dinner, redruth and i were afoot again and on the road.
i said good-bye to mother and the cove where i had lived since i was born, and the dear old admiral benbow -- since he was repainted, no longer quite so dear.
one of my last thoughts was of the captain, who had so often strode along the beach with his cocked hat, his sabre-cut cheek, and his old brass telescope.
next moment we had turned the corner and my home was out of sight.
the mail picked us up about dusk at the royal george on the heath.
i was wedged in between redruth and a stout old gentleman, and in spite of the swift motion and the cold night air, i must have dozed a great deal from the very first, and then slept like a log up hill and down dale through stage after stage, for when i was awakened at last it was by a punch in the ribs, and i opened my eyes to find that we were standing still before a large building in a city street and that the day had already broken a long time.
""where are we?"
i asked.
""bristol," said tom.
""get down."
mr. trelawney had taken up his residence at an inn far down the docks to superintend the work upon the schooner.
thither we had now to walk, and our way, to my great delight, lay along the quays and beside the great multitude of ships of all sizes and rigs and nations.
in one, sailors were singing at their work, in another there were men aloft, high over my head, hanging to threads that seemed no thicker than a spider's.
though i had lived by the shore all my life, i seemed never to have been near the sea till then.
the smell of tar and salt was something new.
i saw the most wonderful figureheads, that had all been far over the ocean.
i saw, besides, many old sailors, with rings in their ears, and whiskers curled in ringlets, and tarry pigtails, and their swaggering, clumsy sea-walk; and if i had seen as many kings or archbishops i could not have been more delighted.
and i was going to sea myself, to sea in a schooner, with a piping boatswain and pig-tailed singing seamen, to sea, bound for an unknown island, and to seek for buried treasure!
while i was still in this delightful dream, we came suddenly in front of a large inn and met squire trelawney, all dressed out like a sea-officer, in stout blue cloth, coming out of the door with a smile on his face and a capital imitation of a sailor's walk.
""here you are," he cried, "and the doctor came last night from london.
bravo!
the ship's company complete!"
""oh, sir," cried i, "when do we sail?"
""sail!"
says he.
""we sail tomorrow!"
8 at the sign of the spy-glass when i had done breakfasting the squire gave me a note addressed to john silver, at the sign of the spy-glass, and told me i should easily find the place by following the line of the docks and keeping a bright lookout for a little tavern with a large brass telescope for sign.
i set off, overjoyed at this opportunity to see some more of the ships and seamen, and picked my way among a great crowd of people and carts and bales, for the dock was now at its busiest, until i found the tavern in question.
it was a bright enough little place of entertainment.
the sign was newly painted; the windows had neat red curtains; the floor was cleanly sanded.
there was a street on each side and an open door on both, which made the large, low room pretty clear to see in, in spite of clouds of tobacco smoke.
the customers were mostly seafaring men, and they talked so loudly that i hung at the door, almost afraid to enter.
as i was waiting, a man came out of a side room, and at a glance i was sure he must be long john.
his left leg was cut off close by the hip, and under the left shoulder he carried a crutch, which he managed with wonderful dexterity, hopping about upon it like a bird.
he was very tall and strong, with a face as big as a ham -- plain and pale, but intelligent and smiling.
indeed, he seemed in the most cheerful spirits, whistling as he moved about among the tables, with a merry word or a slap on the shoulder for the more favoured of his guests.
now, to tell you the truth, from the very first mention of long john in squire trelawney's letter i had taken a fear in my mind that he might prove to be the very one-legged sailor whom i had watched for so long at the old benbow.
but one look at the man before me was enough.
i had seen the captain, and black dog, and the blind man, pew, and i thought i knew what a buccaneer was like -- a very different creature, according to me, from this clean and pleasant-tempered landlord.
i plucked up courage at once, crossed the threshold, and walked right up to the man where he stood, propped on his crutch, talking to a customer.
""mr. silver, sir?"
i asked, holding out the note.
""yes, my lad," said he; "such is my name, to be sure.
and who may you be?"
and then as he saw the squire's letter, he seemed to me to give something almost like a start.
""oh!"
said he, quite loud, and offering his hand.
""i see.
you are our new cabin-boy; pleased i am to see you."
and he took my hand in his large firm grasp.
just then one of the customers at the far side rose suddenly and made for the door.
it was close by him, and he was out in the street in a moment.
but his hurry had attracted my notice, and i recognized him at glance.
it was the tallow-faced man, wanting two fingers, who had come first to the admiral benbow.
""oh," i cried, "stop him!
it's black dog!"
""i do n't care two coppers who he is," cried silver.
""but he has n't paid his score.
harry, run and catch him."
one of the others who was nearest the door leaped up and started in pursuit.
""if he were admiral hawke he shall pay his score," cried silver; and then, relinquishing my hand, "who did you say he was?"
he asked.
""black what?"
""dog, sir," said i. "has mr. trelawney not told you of the buccaneers?
he was one of them."
""so?"
cried silver.
""in my house!
ben, run and help harry.
one of those swabs, was he?
was that you drinking with him, morgan?
step up here."
the man whom he called morgan -- an old, grey-haired, mahogany-faced sailor -- came forward pretty sheepishly, rolling his quid.
""now, morgan," said long john very sternly, "you never clapped your eyes on that black -- black dog before, did you, now?"
""not i, sir," said morgan with a salute.
""you did n't know his name, did you?"
""no, sir."
""by the powers, tom morgan, it's as good for you!"
exclaimed the landlord.
""if you had been mixed up with the like of that, you would never have put another foot in my house, you may lay to that.
and what was he saying to you?"
""i do n't rightly know, sir," answered morgan.
""do you call that a head on your shoulders, or a blessed dead-eye?"
cried long john.
""do n't rightly know, do n't you!
perhaps you do n't happen to rightly know who you was speaking to, perhaps?
come, now, what was he jawing -- v "yages, cap'n s, ships?
pipe up!
what was it?"
""we was a-talkin" of keel-hauling," answered morgan.
""keel-hauling, was you?
and a mighty suitable thing, too, and you may lay to that.
get back to your place for a lubber, tom."
and then, as morgan rolled back to his seat, silver added to me in a confidential whisper that was very flattering, as i thought, "he's quite an honest man, tom morgan, on" y stupid.
and now," he ran on again, aloud, "let's see -- black dog?
no, i do n't know the name, not i.
yet i kind of think i've -- yes, i've seen the swab.
he used to come here with a blind beggar, he used."
""that he did, you may be sure," said i. "i knew that blind man too.
his name was pew."
""it was!"
cried silver, now quite excited.
""pew!
that were his name for certain.
ah, he looked a shark, he did!
if we run down this black dog, now, there'll be news for cap'n trelawney!
ben's a good runner; few seamen run better than ben.
he should run him down, hand over hand, by the powers!
he talked o" keel-hauling, did he?
i'll keel-haul him!"
all the time he was jerking out these phrases he was stumping up and down the tavern on his crutch, slapping tables with his hand, and giving such a show of excitement as would have convinced an old bailey judge or a bow street runner.
my suspicions had been thoroughly reawakened on finding black dog at the spy-glass, and i watched the cook narrowly.
but he was too deep, and too ready, and too clever for me, and by the time the two men had come back out of breath and confessed that they had lost the track in a crowd, and been scolded like thieves, i would have gone bail for the innocence of long john silver.
""see here, now, hawkins," said he, "here's a blessed hard thing on a man like me, now, ai n't it?
there's cap'n trelawney -- what's he to think?
here i have this confounded son of a dutchman sitting in my own house drinking of my own rum!
here you comes and tells me of it plain; and here i let him give us all the slip before my blessed deadlights!
now, hawkins, you do me justice with the cap'n.
you're a lad, you are, but you're as smart as paint.
i see that when you first come in.
now, here it is: what could i do, with this old timber i hobble on?
when i was an a b master mariner i'd have come up alongside of him, hand over hand, and broached him to in a brace of old shakes, i would; but now --" and then, all of a sudden, he stopped, and his jaw dropped as though he had remembered something.
""the score!"
he burst out.
""three goes o" rum!
why, shiver my timbers, if i had n't forgotten my score!"
and falling on a bench, he laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks.
i could not help joining, and we laughed together, peal after peal, until the tavern rang again.
""why, what a precious old sea-calf i am!"
he said at last, wiping his cheeks.
""you and me should get on well, hawkins, for i'll take my davy i should be rated ship's boy.
but come now, stand by to go about.
this wo n't do.
dooty is dooty, messmates.
i'll put on my old cockerel hat, and step along of you to cap'n trelawney, and report this here affair.
for mind you, it's serious, young hawkins; and neither you nor me's come out of it with what i should make so bold as to call credit.
nor you neither, says you; not smart -- none of the pair of us smart.
but dash my buttons!
that was a good un about my score."
and he began to laugh again, and that so heartily, that though i did not see the joke as he did, i was again obliged to join him in his mirth.
on our little walk along the quays, he made himself the most interesting companion, telling me about the different ships that we passed by, their rig, tonnage, and nationality, explaining the work that was going forward -- how one was discharging, another taking in cargo, and a third making ready for sea -- and every now and then telling me some little anecdote of ships or seamen or repeating a nautical phrase till i had learned it perfectly.
i began to see that here was one of the best of possible shipmates.
when we got to the inn, the squire and dr. livesey were seated together, finishing a quart of ale with a toast in it, before they should go aboard the schooner on a visit of inspection.
long john told the story from first to last, with a great deal of spirit and the most perfect truth.
""that was how it were, now, were n't it, hawkins?"
he would say, now and again, and i could always bear him entirely out.
the two gentlemen regretted that black dog had got away, but we all agreed there was nothing to be done, and after he had been complimented, long john took up his crutch and departed.
""all hands aboard by four this afternoon," shouted the squire after him.
""aye, aye, sir," cried the cook, in the passage.
""well, squire," said dr. livesey, "i do n't put much faith in your discoveries, as a general thing; but i will say this, john silver suits me."
""the man's a perfect trump," declared the squire.
""and now," added the doctor, "jim may come on board with us, may he not?"
""to be sure he may," says squire.
""take your hat, hawkins, and we'll see the ship."
9 powder and arms the hispaniola lay some way out, and we went under the figureheads and round the sterns of many other ships, and their cables sometimes grated underneath our keel, and sometimes swung above us.
at last, however, we got alongside, and were met and saluted as we stepped aboard by the mate, mr. arrow, a brown old sailor with earrings in his ears and a squint.
he and the squire were very thick and friendly, but i soon observed that things were not the same between mr. trelawney and the captain.
this last was a sharp-looking man who seemed angry with everything on board and was soon to tell us why, for we had hardly got down into the cabin when a sailor followed us.
""captain smollett, sir, axing to speak with you," said he.
""i am always at the captain's orders.
show him in," said the squire.
the captain, who was close behind his messenger, entered at once and shut the door behind him.
""well, captain smollett, what have you to say?
all well, i hope; all shipshape and seaworthy?"
""well, sir," said the captain, "better speak plain, i believe, even at the risk of offence.
i do n't like this cruise; i do n't like the men; and i do n't like my officer.
that's short and sweet."
""perhaps, sir, you do n't like the ship?"
inquired the squire, very angry, as i could see.
""i ca n't speak as to that, sir, not having seen her tried," said the captain.
""she seems a clever craft; more i ca n't say."
""possibly, sir, you may not like your employer, either?"
says the squire.
but here dr. livesey cut in.
""stay a bit," said he, "stay a bit.
no use of such questions as that but to produce ill feeling.
the captain has said too much or he has said too little, and i'm bound to say that i require an explanation of his words.
you do n't, you say, like this cruise.
now, why?"
""i was engaged, sir, on what we call sealed orders, to sail this ship for that gentleman where he should bid me," said the captain.
""so far so good.
but now i find that every man before the mast knows more than i do.
i do n't call that fair, now, do you?"
""no," said dr. livesey, "i do n't."
""next," said the captain, "i learn we are going after treasure -- hear it from my own hands, mind you.
now, treasure is ticklish work; i do n't like treasure voyages on any account, and i do n't like them, above all, when they are secret and when -lrb- begging your pardon, mr. trelawney -rrb- the secret has been told to the parrot."
""silver's parrot?"
asked the squire.
""it's a way of speaking," said the captain.
""blabbed, i mean.
it's my belief neither of you gentlemen know what you are about, but i'll tell you my way of it -- life or death, and a close run."
""that is all clear, and, i dare say, true enough," replied dr. livesey.
""we take the risk, but we are not so ignorant as you believe us.
next, you say you do n't like the crew.
are they not good seamen?"
""i do n't like them, sir," returned captain smollett.
""and i think i should have had the choosing of my own hands, if you go to that."
""perhaps you should," replied the doctor.
""my friend should, perhaps, have taken you along with him; but the slight, if there be one, was unintentional.
and you do n't like mr. arrow?"
""i do n't, sir.
i believe he's a good seaman, but he's too free with the crew to be a good officer.
a mate should keep himself to himself -- should n't drink with the men before the mast!"
""do you mean he drinks?"
cried the squire.
""no, sir," replied the captain, "only that he's too familiar."
""well, now, and the short and long of it, captain?"
asked the doctor.
""tell us what you want."
""well, gentlemen, are you determined to go on this cruise?"
""like iron," answered the squire.
""very good," said the captain.
""then, as you've heard me very patiently, saying things that i could not prove, hear me a few words more.
they are putting the powder and the arms in the fore hold.
now, you have a good place under the cabin; why not put them there?
-- first point.
then, you are bringing four of your own people with you, and they tell me some of them are to be berthed forward.
why not give them the berths here beside the cabin?
-- second point."
""any more?"
asked mr. trelawney.
""one more," said the captain.
""there's been too much blabbing already."
""far too much," agreed the doctor.
""i'll tell you what i've heard myself," continued captain smollett: "that you have a map of an island, that there's crosses on the map to show where treasure is, and that the island lies --" and then he named the latitude and longitude exactly.
""i never told that," cried the squire, "to a soul!"
""the hands know it, sir," returned the captain.
""livesey, that must have been you or hawkins," cried the squire.
""it does n't much matter who it was," replied the doctor.
and i could see that neither he nor the captain paid much regard to mr. trelawney's protestations.
neither did i, to be sure, he was so loose a talker; yet in this case i believe he was really right and that nobody had told the situation of the island.
""well, gentlemen," continued the captain, "i do n't know who has this map; but i make it a point, it shall be kept secret even from me and mr. arrow.
otherwise i would ask you to let me resign."
""i see," said the doctor.
""you wish us to keep this matter dark and to make a garrison of the stern part of the ship, manned with my friend's own people, and provided with all the arms and powder on board.
in other words, you fear a mutiny."
""sir," said captain smollett, "with no intention to take offence, i deny your right to put words into my mouth.
no captain, sir, would be justified in going to sea at all if he had ground enough to say that.
as for mr. arrow, i believe him thoroughly honest; some of the men are the same; all may be for what i know.
but i am responsible for the ship's safety and the life of every man jack aboard of her.
i see things going, as i think, not quite right.
and i ask you to take certain precautions or let me resign my berth.
and that's all."
""captain smollett," began the doctor with a smile, "did ever you hear the fable of the mountain and the mouse?
you'll excuse me, i dare say, but you remind me of that fable.
when you came in here, i'll stake my wig, you meant more than this."
""doctor," said the captain, "you are smart.
when i came in here i meant to get discharged.
i had no thought that mr. trelawney would hear a word."
""no more i would," cried the squire.
""had livesey not been here i should have seen you to the deuce.
as it is, i have heard you.
i will do as you desire, but i think the worse of you."
""that's as you please, sir," said the captain.
""you'll find i do my duty."
and with that he took his leave.
""trelawney," said the doctor, "contrary to all my notions, i believed you have managed to get two honest men on board with you -- that man and john silver."
""silver, if you like," cried the squire; "but as for that intolerable humbug, i declare i think his conduct unmanly, unsailorly, and downright un-english."
""well," says the doctor, "we shall see."
when we came on deck, the men had begun already to take out the arms and powder, yo-ho-ing at their work, while the captain and mr. arrow stood by superintending.
the new arrangement was quite to my liking.
the whole schooner had been overhauled; six berths had been made astern out of what had been the after-part of the main hold; and this set of cabins was only joined to the galley and forecastle by a sparred passage on the port side.
it had been originally meant that the captain, mr. arrow, hunter, joyce, the doctor, and the squire were to occupy these six berths.
now redruth and i were to get two of them and mr. arrow and the captain were to sleep on deck in the companion, which had been enlarged on each side till you might almost have called it a round-house.
very low it was still, of course; but there was room to swing two hammocks, and even the mate seemed pleased with the arrangement.
even he, perhaps, had been doubtful as to the crew, but that is only guess, for as you shall hear, we had not long the benefit of his opinion.
we were all hard at work, changing the powder and the berths, when the last man or two, and long john along with them, came off in a shore-boat.
the cook came up the side like a monkey for cleverness, and as soon as he saw what was doing, "so ho, mates!"
says he.
""what's this?"
""we're a-changing of the powder, jack," answers one.
""why, by the powers," cried long john, "if we do, we'll miss the morning tide!"
""my orders!"
said the captain shortly.
""you may go below, my man.
hands will want supper."
""aye, aye, sir," answered the cook, and touching his forelock, he disappeared at once in the direction of his galley.
""that's a good man, captain," said the doctor.
""very likely, sir," replied captain smollett.
""easy with that, men -- easy," he ran on, to the fellows who were shifting the powder; and then suddenly observing me examining the swivel we carried amidships, a long brass nine, "here you, ship's boy," he cried, "out o" that!
off with you to the cook and get some work."
and then as i was hurrying off i heard him say, quite loudly, to the doctor, "i'll have no favourites on my ship."
i assure you i was quite of the squire's way of thinking, and hated the captain deeply.
10 the voyage all that night we were in a great bustle getting things stowed in their place, and boatfuls of the squire's friends, mr. blandly and the like, coming off to wish him a good voyage and a safe return.
we never had a night at the admiral benbow when i had half the work; and i was dog-tired when, a little before dawn, the boatswain sounded his pipe and the crew began to man the capstan-bars.
i might have been twice as weary, yet i would not have left the deck, all was so new and interesting to me -- the brief commands, the shrill note of the whistle, the men bustling to their places in the glimmer of the ship's lanterns.
""now, barbecue, tip us a stave," cried one voice.
""the old one," cried another.
""aye, aye, mates," said long john, who was standing by, with his crutch under his arm, and at once broke out in the air and words i knew so well: "fifteen men on the dead man's chest --" and then the whole crew bore chorus: -- "yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
and at the third "ho!"
drove the bars before them with a will.
even at that exciting moment it carried me back to the old admiral benbow in a second, and i seemed to hear the voice of the captain piping in the chorus.
but soon the anchor was short up; soon it was hanging dripping at the bows; soon the sails began to draw, and the land and shipping to flit by on either side; and before i could lie down to snatch an hour of slumber the hispaniola had begun her voyage to the isle of treasure.
i am not going to relate that voyage in detail.
it was fairly prosperous.
the ship proved to be a good ship, the crew were capable seamen, and the captain thoroughly understood his business.
but before we came the length of treasure island, two or three things had happened which require to be known.
mr. arrow, first of all, turned out even worse than the captain had feared.
he had no command among the men, and people did what they pleased with him.
but that was by no means the worst of it, for after a day or two at sea he began to appear on deck with hazy eye, red cheeks, stuttering tongue, and other marks of drunkenness.
time after time he was ordered below in disgrace.
sometimes he fell and cut himself; sometimes he lay all day long in his little bunk at one side of the companion; sometimes for a day or two he would be almost sober and attend to his work at least passably.
in the meantime, we could never make out where he got the drink.
that was the ship's mystery.
watch him as we pleased, we could do nothing to solve it; and when we asked him to his face, he would only laugh if he were drunk, and if he were sober deny solemnly that he ever tasted anything but water.
he was not only useless as an officer and a bad influence amongst the men, but it was plain that at this rate he must soon kill himself outright, so nobody was much surprised, nor very sorry, when one dark night, with a head sea, he disappeared entirely and was seen no more.
""overboard!"
said the captain.
""well, gentlemen, that saves the trouble of putting him in irons."
but there we were, without a mate; and it was necessary, of course, to advance one of the men.
the boatswain, job anderson, was the likeliest man aboard, and though he kept his old title, he served in a way as mate.
mr. trelawney had followed the sea, and his knowledge made him very useful, for he often took a watch himself in easy weather.
and the coxswain, israel hands, was a careful, wily, old, experienced seaman who could be trusted at a pinch with almost anything.
he was a great confidant of long john silver, and so the mention of his name leads me on to speak of our ship's cook, barbecue, as the men called him.
aboard ship he carried his crutch by a lanyard round his neck, to have both hands as free as possible.
it was something to see him wedge the foot of the crutch against a bulkhead, and propped against it, yielding to every movement of the ship, get on with his cooking like someone safe ashore.
still more strange was it to see him in the heaviest of weather cross the deck.
he had a line or two rigged up to help him across the widest spaces -- long john's earrings, they were called; and he would hand himself from one place to another, now using the crutch, now trailing it alongside by the lanyard, as quickly as another man could walk.
yet some of the men who had sailed with him before expressed their pity to see him so reduced.
""he's no common man, barbecue," said the coxswain to me.
""he had good schooling in his young days and can speak like a book when so minded; and brave -- a lion's nothing alongside of long john!
i seen him grapple four and knock their heads together -- him unarmed."
all the crew respected and even obeyed him.
he had a way of talking to each and doing everybody some particular service.
to me he was unweariedly kind, and always glad to see me in the galley, which he kept as clean as a new pin, the dishes hanging up burnished and his parrot in a cage in one corner.
""come away, hawkins," he would say; "come and have a yarn with john.
nobody more welcome than yourself, my son.
sit you down and hear the news.
here's cap'n flint -- i calls my parrot cap'n flint, after the famous buccaneer -- here's cap'n flint predicting success to our v "yage.
was n't you, cap'n?"
and the parrot would say, with great rapidity, "pieces of eight!
pieces of eight!
pieces of eight!"
till you wondered that it was not out of breath, or till john threw his handkerchief over the cage.
""now, that bird," he would say, "is, maybe, two hundred years old, hawkins -- they live forever mostly; and if anybody's seen more wickedness, it must be the devil himself.
she's sailed with england, the great cap'n england, the pirate.
she's been at madagascar, and at malabar, and surinam, and providence, and portobello.
she was at the fishing up of the wrecked plate ships.
it's there she learned "pieces of eight," and little wonder; three hundred and fifty thousand of'em, hawkins!
she was at the boarding of the viceroy of the indies out of goa, she was; and to look at her you would think she was a babby.
but you smelt powder -- did n't you, cap'n?"
""stand by to go about," the parrot would scream.
""ah, she's a handsome craft, she is," the cook would say, and give her sugar from his pocket, and then the bird would peck at the bars and swear straight on, passing belief for wickedness.
""there," john would add, "you ca n't touch pitch and not be mucked, lad.
here's this poor old innocent bird o" mine swearing blue fire, and none the wiser, you may lay to that.
she would swear the same, in a manner of speaking, before chaplain."
and john would touch his forelock with a solemn way he had that made me think he was the best of men.
in the meantime, the squire and captain smollett were still on pretty distant terms with one another.
the squire made no bones about the matter; he despised the captain.
the captain, on his part, never spoke but when he was spoken to, and then sharp and short and dry, and not a word wasted.
he owned, when driven into a corner, that he seemed to have been wrong about the crew, that some of them were as brisk as he wanted to see and all had behaved fairly well.
as for the ship, he had taken a downright fancy to her.
""she'll lie a point nearer the wind than a man has a right to expect of his own married wife, sir.
but," he would add, "all i say is, we're not home again, and i do n't like the cruise."
the squire, at this, would turn away and march up and down the deck, chin in air.
""a trifle more of that man," he would say, "and i shall explode."
we had some heavy weather, which only proved the qualities of the hispaniola.
every man on board seemed well content, and they must have been hard to please if they had been otherwise, for it is my belief there was never a ship's company so spoiled since noah put to sea.
double grog was going on the least excuse; there was duff on odd days, as, for instance, if the squire heard it was any man's birthday, and always a barrel of apples standing broached in the waist for anyone to help himself that had a fancy.
""never knew good come of it yet," the captain said to dr. livesey.
""spoil forecastle hands, make devils.
that's my belief."
but good did come of the apple barrel, as you shall hear, for if it had not been for that, we should have had no note of warning and might all have perished by the hand of treachery.
this was how it came about.
we had run up the trades to get the wind of the island we were after -- i am not allowed to be more plain -- and now we were running down for it with a bright lookout day and night.
it was about the last day of our outward voyage by the largest computation; some time that night, or at latest before noon of the morrow, we should sight the treasure island.
we were heading s.s.w. and had a steady breeze abeam and a quiet sea.
the hispaniola rolled steadily, dipping her bowsprit now and then with a whiff of spray.
all was drawing alow and aloft; everyone was in the bravest spirits because we were now so near an end of the first part of our adventure.
now, just after sundown, when all my work was over and i was on my way to my berth, it occurred to me that i should like an apple.
i ran on deck.
the watch was all forward looking out for the island.
the man at the helm was watching the luff of the sail and whistling away gently to himself, and that was the only sound excepting the swish of the sea against the bows and around the sides of the ship.
in i got bodily into the apple barrel, and found there was scarce an apple left; but sitting down there in the dark, what with the sound of the waters and the rocking movement of the ship, i had either fallen asleep or was on the point of doing so when a heavy man sat down with rather a clash close by.
the barrel shook as he leaned his shoulders against it, and i was just about to jump up when the man began to speak.
it was silver's voice, and before i had heard a dozen words, i would not have shown myself for all the world, but lay there, trembling and listening, in the extreme of fear and curiosity, for from these dozen words i understood that the lives of all the honest men aboard depended upon me alone.
11 what i heard in the apple barrel "no, not i," said silver.
""flint was cap'n; i was quartermaster, along of my timber leg.
the same broadside i lost my leg, old pew lost his deadlights.
it was a master surgeon, him that ampytated me -- out of college and all -- latin by the bucket, and what not; but he was hanged like a dog, and sun-dried like the rest, at corso castle.
that was roberts" men, that was, and comed of changing names to their ships -- royal fortune and so on.
now, what a ship was christened, so let her stay, i says.
so it was with the cassandra, as brought us all safe home from malabar, after england took the viceroy of the indies; so it was with the old walrus, flint's old ship, as i've seen amuck with the red blood and fit to sink with gold."
""ah!"
cried another voice, that of the youngest hand on board, and evidently full of admiration.
""he was the flower of the flock, was flint!"
""davis was a man too, by all accounts," said silver.
""i never sailed along of him; first with england, then with flint, that's my story; and now here on my own account, in a manner of speaking.
i laid by nine hundred safe, from england, and two thousand after flint.
that ai n't bad for a man before the mast -- all safe in bank.
"tai n't earning now, it's saving does it, you may lay to that.
where's all england's men now?
i dunno.
where's flint's?
why, most on'em aboard here, and glad to get the duff -- been begging before that, some on'em.
old pew, as had lost his sight, and might have thought shame, spends twelve hundred pound in a year, like a lord in parliament.
where is he now?
well, he's dead now and under hatches; but for two year before that, shiver my timbers, the man was starving!
he begged, and he stole, and he cut throats, and starved at that, by the powers!"
""well, it ai n't much use, after all," said the young seaman."
"tai n't much use for fools, you may lay to it -- that, nor nothing," cried silver.
""but now, you look here: you're young, you are, but you're as smart as paint.
i see that when i set my eyes on you, and i'll talk to you like a man."
you may imagine how i felt when i heard this abominable old rogue addressing another in the very same words of flattery as he had used to myself.
i think, if i had been able, that i would have killed him through the barrel.
meantime, he ran on, little supposing he was overheard.
""here it is about gentlemen of fortune.
they lives rough, and they risk swinging, but they eat and drink like fighting-cocks, and when a cruise is done, why, it's hundreds of pounds instead of hundreds of farthings in their pockets.
now, the most goes for rum and a good fling, and to sea again in their shirts.
but that's not the course i lay.
i puts it all away, some here, some there, and none too much anywheres, by reason of suspicion.
i'm fifty, mark you; once back from this cruise, i set up gentleman in earnest.
time enough too, says you.
ah, but i've lived easy in the meantime, never denied myself o" nothing heart desires, and slep" soft and ate dainty all my days but when at sea.
and how did i begin?
before the mast, like you!"
""well," said the other, "but all the other money's gone now, ai n't it?
you dare n't show face in bristol after this."
""why, where might you suppose it was?"
asked silver derisively.
""at bristol, in banks and places," answered his companion.
""it were," said the cook; "it were when we weighed anchor.
but my old missis has it all by now.
and the spy-glass is sold, lease and goodwill and rigging; and the old girl's off to meet me.
i would tell you where, for i trust you, but it'd make jealousy among the mates."
""and can you trust your missis?"
asked the other.
""gentlemen of fortune," returned the cook, "usually trusts little among themselves, and right they are, you may lay to it.
but i have a way with me, i have.
when a mate brings a slip on his cable -- one as knows me, i mean -- it wo n't be in the same world with old john.
there was some that was feared of pew, and some that was feared of flint; but flint his own self was feared of me.
feared he was, and proud.
they was the roughest crew afloat, was flint's; the devil himself would have been feared to go to sea with them.
well now, i tell you, i'm not a boasting man, and you seen yourself how easy i keep company, but when i was quartermaster, lambs was n't the word for flint's old buccaneers.
ah, you may be sure of yourself in old john's ship."
""well, i tell you now," replied the lad, "i did n't half a quarter like the job till i had this talk with you, john; but there's my hand on it now."
""and a brave lad you were, and smart too," answered silver, shaking hands so heartily that all the barrel shook, "and a finer figurehead for a gentleman of fortune i never clapped my eyes on."
by this time i had begun to understand the meaning of their terms.
by a "gentleman of fortune" they plainly meant neither more nor less than a common pirate, and the little scene that i had overheard was the last act in the corruption of one of the honest hands -- perhaps of the last one left aboard.
but on this point i was soon to be relieved, for silver giving a little whistle, a third man strolled up and sat down by the party.
""dick's square," said silver.
""oh, i know'd dick was square," returned the voice of the coxswain, israel hands.
""he's no fool, is dick."
and he turned his quid and spat.
""but look here," he went on, "here's what i want to know, barbecue: how long are we a-going to stand off and on like a blessed bumboat?
i've had a "most enough o" cap'n smollett; he's hazed me long enough, by thunder!
i want to go into that cabin, i do.
i want their pickles and wines, and that."
""israel," said silver, "your head ai n't much account, nor ever was.
but you're able to hear, i reckon; leastways, your ears is big enough.
now, here's what i say: you'll berth forward, and you'll live hard, and you'll speak soft, and you'll keep sober till i give the word; and you may lay to that, my son."
""well, i do n't say no, do i?"
growled the coxswain.
""what i say is, when?
that's what i say."
""when!
by the powers!"
cried silver.
""well now, if you want to know, i'll tell you when.
the last moment i can manage, and that's when.
here's a first-rate seaman, cap'n smollett, sails the blessed ship for us.
here's this squire and doctor with a map and such -- i do n't know where it is, do i?
no more do you, says you.
well then, i mean this squire and doctor shall find the stuff, and help us to get it aboard, by the powers.
then we'll see.
if i was sure of you all, sons of double dutchmen, i'd have cap'n smollett navigate us half-way back again before i struck."
""why, we're all seamen aboard here, i should think," said the lad dick.
""we're all forecastle hands, you mean," snapped silver.
""we can steer a course, but who's to set one?
that's what all you gentlemen split on, first and last.
if i had my way, i'd have cap'n smollett work us back into the trades at least; then we'd have no blessed miscalculations and a spoonful of water a day.
but i know the sort you are.
i'll finish with'em at the island, as soon's the blunt's on board, and a pity it is.
but you're never happy till you're drunk.
split my sides, i've a sick heart to sail with the likes of you!"
""easy all, long john," cried israel.
""who's a-crossin" of you?"
""why, how many tall ships, think ye, now, have i seen laid aboard?
and how many brisk lads drying in the sun at execution dock?"
cried silver.
""and all for this same hurry and hurry and hurry.
you hear me?
i seen a thing or two at sea, i have.
if you would on" y lay your course, and a p "int to windward, you would ride in carriages, you would.
but not you!
i know you.
you'll have your mouthful of rum tomorrow, and go hang."
""everybody knowed you was a kind of a chapling, john; but there's others as could hand and steer as well as you," said israel.
""they liked a bit o" fun, they did.
they was n't so high and dry, nohow, but took their fling, like jolly companions every one."
""so?"
says silver.
""well, and where are they now?
pew was that sort, and he died a beggar-man.
flint was, and he died of rum at savannah.
ah, they was a sweet crew, they was!
on "y, where are they?"
""but," asked dick, "when we do lay'em athwart, what are we to do with'em, anyhow?"
""there's the man for me!"
cried the cook admiringly.
""that's what i call business.
well, what would you think?
put'em ashore like maroons?
that would have been england's way.
or cut'em down like that much pork?
that would have been flint's, or billy bones's."
""billy was the man for that," said israel."
"dead men do n't bite," says he.
well, he's dead now hisself; he knows the long and short on it now; and if ever a rough hand come to port, it was billy."
""right you are," said silver; "rough and ready.
but mark you here, i'm an easy man -- i'm quite the gentleman, says you; but this time it's serious.
dooty is dooty, mates.
i give my vote -- death.
when i'm in parlyment and riding in my coach, i do n't want none of these sea-lawyers in the cabin a-coming home, unlooked for, like the devil at prayers.
wait is what i say; but when the time comes, why, let her rip!"
""john," cries the coxswain, "you're a man!"
""you'll say so, israel when you see," said silver.
""only one thing i claim -- i claim trelawney.
i'll wring his calf's head off his body with these hands, dick!"
he added, breaking off.
""you just jump up, like a sweet lad, and get me an apple, to wet my pipe like."
you may fancy the terror i was in!
i should have leaped out and run for it if i had found the strength, but my limbs and heart alike misgave me.
i heard dick begin to rise, and then someone seemingly stopped him, and the voice of hands exclaimed, "oh, stow that!
do n't you get sucking of that bilge, john.
let's have a go of the rum."
""dick," said silver, "i trust you.
i've a gauge on the keg, mind.
there's the key; you fill a pannikin and bring it up."
terrified as i was, i could not help thinking to myself that this must have been how mr. arrow got the strong waters that destroyed him.
dick was gone but a little while, and during his absence israel spoke straight on in the cook's ear.
it was but a word or two that i could catch, and yet i gathered some important news, for besides other scraps that tended to the same purpose, this whole clause was audible: "not another man of them'll jine."
hence there were still faithful men on board.
when dick returned, one after another of the trio took the pannikin and drank -- one "to luck," another with a "here's to old flint," and silver himself saying, in a kind of song, "here's to ourselves, and hold your luff, plenty of prizes and plenty of duff."
just then a sort of brightness fell upon me in the barrel, and looking up, i found the moon had risen and was silvering the mizzen-top and shining white on the luff of the fore-sail; and almost at the same time the voice of the lookout shouted, "land ho!"
12 council of war there was a great rush of feet across the deck.
i could hear people tumbling up from the cabin and the forecastle, and slipping in an instant outside my barrel, i dived behind the fore-sail, made a double towards the stern, and came out upon the open deck in time to join hunter and dr. livesey in the rush for the weather bow.
there all hands were already congregated.
a belt of fog had lifted almost simultaneously with the appearance of the moon.
away to the south-west of us we saw two low hills, about a couple of miles apart, and rising behind one of them a third and higher hill, whose peak was still buried in the fog.
all three seemed sharp and conical in figure.
so much i saw, almost in a dream, for i had not yet recovered from my horrid fear of a minute or two before.
and then i heard the voice of captain smollett issuing orders.
the hispaniola was laid a couple of points nearer the wind and now sailed a course that would just clear the island on the east.
""and now, men," said the captain, when all was sheeted home, "has any one of you ever seen that land ahead?"
""i have, sir," said silver.
""i've watered there with a trader i was cook in."
""the anchorage is on the south, behind an islet, i fancy?"
asked the captain.
""yes, sir; skeleton island they calls it.
it were a main place for pirates once, and a hand we had on board knowed all their names for it.
that hill to the nor "ard they calls the fore-mast hill; there are three hills in a row running south "ard -- fore, main, and mizzen, sir.
but the main -- that's the big un, with the cloud on it -- they usually calls the spy-glass, by reason of a lookout they kept when they was in the anchorage cleaning, for it's there they cleaned their ships, sir, asking your pardon."
""i have a chart here," says captain smollett.
""see if that's the place."
long john's eyes burned in his head as he took the chart, but by the fresh look of the paper i knew he was doomed to disappointment.
this was not the map we found in billy bones's chest, but an accurate copy, complete in all things -- names and heights and soundings -- with the single exception of the red crosses and the written notes.
sharp as must have been his annoyance, silver had the strength of mind to hide it.
""yes, sir," said he, "this is the spot, to be sure, and very prettily drawed out.
who might have done that, i wonder?
the pirates were too ignorant, i reckon.
aye, here it is: "capt. kidd's anchorage" -- just the name my shipmate called it.
there's a strong current runs along the south, and then away nor "ard up the west coast.
right you was, sir," says he, "to haul your wind and keep the weather of the island.
leastways, if such was your intention as to enter and careen, and there ai n't no better place for that in these waters."
""thank you, my man," says captain smollett.
""i'll ask you later on to give us a help.
you may go."
i was surprised at the coolness with which john avowed his knowledge of the island, and i own i was half-frightened when i saw him drawing nearer to myself.
he did not know, to be sure, that i had overheard his council from the apple barrel, and yet i had by this time taken such a horror of his cruelty, duplicity, and power that i could scarce conceal a shudder when he laid his hand upon my arm.
""ah," says he, "this here is a sweet spot, this island -- a sweet spot for a lad to get ashore on.
you'll bathe, and you'll climb trees, and you'll hunt goats, you will; and you'll get aloft on them hills like a goat yourself.
why, it makes me young again.
i was going to forget my timber leg, i was.
it's a pleasant thing to be young and have ten toes, and you may lay to that.
when you want to go a bit of exploring, you just ask old john, and he'll put up a snack for you to take along."
and clapping me in the friendliest way upon the shoulder, he hobbled off forward and went below.
captain smollett, the squire, and dr. livesey were talking together on the quarter-deck, and anxious as i was to tell them my story, i durst not interrupt them openly.
while i was still casting about in my thoughts to find some probable excuse, dr. livesey called me to his side.
he had left his pipe below, and being a slave to tobacco, had meant that i should fetch it; but as soon as i was near enough to speak and not to be overheard, i broke immediately, "doctor, let me speak.
get the captain and squire down to the cabin, and then make some pretence to send for me.
i have terrible news."
the doctor changed countenance a little, but next moment he was master of himself.
""thank you, jim," said he quite loudly, "that was all i wanted to know," as if he had asked me a question.
and with that he turned on his heel and rejoined the other two.
they spoke together for a little, and though none of them started, or raised his voice, or so much as whistled, it was plain enough that dr. livesey had communicated my request, for the next thing that i heard was the captain giving an order to job anderson, and all hands were piped on deck.
""my lads," said captain smollett, "i've a word to say to you.
this land that we have sighted is the place we have been sailing for.
mr. trelawney, being a very open-handed gentleman, as we all know, has just asked me a word or two, and as i was able to tell him that every man on board had done his duty, alow and aloft, as i never ask to see it done better, why, he and i and the doctor are going below to the cabin to drink your health and luck, and you'll have grog served out for you to drink our health and luck.
i'll tell you what i think of this: i think it handsome.
and if you think as i do, you'll give a good sea-cheer for the gentleman that does it."
the cheer followed -- that was a matter of course; but it rang out so full and hearty that i confess i could hardly believe these same men were plotting for our blood.
""one more cheer for cap'n smollett," cried long john when the first had subsided.
and this also was given with a will.
on the top of that the three gentlemen went below, and not long after, word was sent forward that jim hawkins was wanted in the cabin.
i found them all three seated round the table, a bottle of spanish wine and some raisins before them, and the doctor smoking away, with his wig on his lap, and that, i knew, was a sign that he was agitated.
the stern window was open, for it was a warm night, and you could see the moon shining behind on the ship's wake.
""now, hawkins," said the squire, "you have something to say.
speak up."
i did as i was bid, and as short as i could make it, told the whole details of silver's conversation.
nobody interrupted me till i was done, nor did any one of the three of them make so much as a movement, but they kept their eyes upon my face from first to last.
""jim," said dr. livesey, "take a seat."
and they made me sit down at table beside them, poured me out a glass of wine, filled my hands with raisins, and all three, one after the other, and each with a bow, drank my good health, and their service to me, for my luck and courage.
""now, captain," said the squire, "you were right, and i was wrong.
i own myself an ass, and i await your orders."
""no more an ass than i, sir," returned the captain.
""i never heard of a crew that meant to mutiny but what showed signs before, for any man that had an eye in his head to see the mischief and take steps according.
but this crew," he added, "beats me."
""captain," said the doctor, "with your permission, that's silver.
a very remarkable man."
""he'd look remarkably well from a yard-arm, sir," returned the captain.
""but this is talk; this do n't lead to anything.
i see three or four points, and with mr. trelawney's permission, i'll name them."
""you, sir, are the captain.
it is for you to speak," says mr. trelawney grandly.
""first point," began mr. smollett.
""we must go on, because we ca n't turn back.
if i gave the word to go about, they would rise at once.
second point, we have time before us -- at least until this treasure's found.
third point, there are faithful hands.
now, sir, it's got to come to blows sooner or later, and what i propose is to take time by the forelock, as the saying is, and come to blows some fine day when they least expect it.
we can count, i take it, on your own home servants, mr. trelawney?"
""as upon myself," declared the squire.
""three," reckoned the captain; "ourselves make seven, counting hawkins here.
now, about the honest hands?"
""most likely trelawney's own men," said the doctor; "those he had picked up for himself before he lit on silver."
""nay," replied the squire.
""hands was one of mine."
""i did think i could have trusted hands," added the captain.
""and to think that they're all englishmen!"
broke out the squire.
""sir, i could find it in my heart to blow the ship up."
""well, gentlemen," said the captain, "the best that i can say is not much.
we must lay to, if you please, and keep a bright lookout.
it's trying on a man, i know.
it would be pleasanter to come to blows.
but there's no help for it till we know our men.
lay to, and whistle for a wind, that's my view."
""jim here," said the doctor, "can help us more than anyone.
the men are not shy with him, and jim is a noticing lad."
""hawkins, i put prodigious faith in you," added the squire.
i began to feel pretty desperate at this, for i felt altogether helpless; and yet, by an odd train of circumstances, it was indeed through me that safety came.
in the meantime, talk as we pleased, there were only seven out of the twenty-six on whom we knew we could rely; and out of these seven one was a boy, so that the grown men on our side were six to their nineteen.
part three -- my shore adventure 13 how my shore adventure began the appearance of the island when i came on deck next morning was altogether changed.
although the breeze had now utterly ceased, we had made a great deal of way during the night and were now lying becalmed about half a mile to the south-east of the low eastern coast.
grey-coloured woods covered a large part of the surface.
this even tint was indeed broken up by streaks of yellow sand-break in the lower lands, and by many tall trees of the pine family, out-topping the others -- some singly, some in clumps; but the general colouring was uniform and sad.
the hills ran up clear above the vegetation in spires of naked rock.
all were strangely shaped, and the spy-glass, which was by three or four hundred feet the tallest on the island, was likewise the strangest in configuration, running up sheer from almost every side and then suddenly cut off at the top like a pedestal to put a statue on.
the hispaniola was rolling scuppers under in the ocean swell.
the booms were tearing at the blocks, the rudder was banging to and fro, and the whole ship creaking, groaning, and jumping like a manufactory.
i had to cling tight to the backstay, and the world turned giddily before my eyes, for though i was a good enough sailor when there was way on, this standing still and being rolled about like a bottle was a thing i never learned to stand without a qualm or so, above all in the morning, on an empty stomach.
perhaps it was this -- perhaps it was the look of the island, with its grey, melancholy woods, and wild stone spires, and the surf that we could both see and hear foaming and thundering on the steep beach -- at least, although the sun shone bright and hot, and the shore birds were fishing and crying all around us, and you would have thought anyone would have been glad to get to land after being so long at sea, my heart sank, as the saying is, into my boots; and from the first look onward, i hated the very thought of treasure island.
we had a dreary morning's work before us, for there was no sign of any wind, and the boats had to be got out and manned, and the ship warped three or four miles round the corner of the island and up the narrow passage to the haven behind skeleton island.
i volunteered for one of the boats, where i had, of course, no business.
the heat was sweltering, and the men grumbled fiercely over their work.
anderson was in command of my boat, and instead of keeping the crew in order, he grumbled as loud as the worst.
""well," he said with an oath, "it's not forever."
i thought this was a very bad sign, for up to that day the men had gone briskly and willingly about their business; but the very sight of the island had relaxed the cords of discipline.
all the way in, long john stood by the steersman and conned the ship.
he knew the passage like the palm of his hand, and though the man in the chains got everywhere more water than was down in the chart, john never hesitated once.
""there's a strong scour with the ebb," he said, "and this here passage has been dug out, in a manner of speaking, with a spade."
we brought up just where the anchor was in the chart, about a third of a mile from each shore, the mainland on one side and skeleton island on the other.
the bottom was clean sand.
the plunge of our anchor sent up clouds of birds wheeling and crying over the woods, but in less than a minute they were down again and all was once more silent.
the place was entirely land-locked, buried in woods, the trees coming right down to high-water mark, the shores mostly flat, and the hilltops standing round at a distance in a sort of amphitheatre, one here, one there.
two little rivers, or rather two swamps, emptied out into this pond, as you might call it; and the foliage round that part of the shore had a kind of poisonous brightness.
from the ship we could see nothing of the house or stockade, for they were quite buried among trees; and if it had not been for the chart on the companion, we might have been the first that had ever anchored there since the island arose out of the seas.
there was not a breath of air moving, nor a sound but that of the surf booming half a mile away along the beaches and against the rocks outside.
a peculiar stagnant smell hung over the anchorage -- a smell of sodden leaves and rotting tree trunks.
i observed the doctor sniffing and sniffing, like someone tasting a bad egg.
""i do n't know about treasure," he said, "but i'll stake my wig there's fever here."
if the conduct of the men had been alarming in the boat, it became truly threatening when they had come aboard.
they lay about the deck growling together in talk.
the slightest order was received with a black look and grudgingly and carelessly obeyed.
even the honest hands must have caught the infection, for there was not one man aboard to mend another.
mutiny, it was plain, hung over us like a thunder-cloud.
and it was not only we of the cabin party who perceived the danger.
long john was hard at work going from group to group, spending himself in good advice, and as for example no man could have shown a better.
he fairly outstripped himself in willingness and civility; he was all smiles to everyone.
if an order were given, john would be on his crutch in an instant, with the cheeriest "aye, aye, sir!"
in the world; and when there was nothing else to do, he kept up one song after another, as if to conceal the discontent of the rest.
of all the gloomy features of that gloomy afternoon, this obvious anxiety on the part of long john appeared the worst.
we held a council in the cabin.
""sir," said the captain, "if i risk another order, the whole ship'll come about our ears by the run.
you see, sir, here it is.
i get a rough answer, do i not?
well, if i speak back, pikes will be going in two shakes; if i do n't, silver will see there's something under that, and the game's up.
now, we've only one man to rely on."
""and who is that?"
asked the squire.
""silver, sir," returned the captain; "he's as anxious as you and i to smother things up.
this is a tiff; he'd soon talk'em out of it if he had the chance, and what i propose to do is to give him the chance.
let's allow the men an afternoon ashore.
if they all go, why we'll fight the ship.
if they none of them go, well then, we hold the cabin, and god defend the right.
if some go, you mark my words, sir, silver'll bring'em aboard again as mild as lambs."
it was so decided; loaded pistols were served out to all the sure men; hunter, joyce, and redruth were taken into our confidence and received the news with less surprise and a better spirit than we had looked for, and then the captain went on deck and addressed the crew.
""my lads," said he, "we've had a hot day and are all tired and out of sorts.
a turn ashore'll hurt nobody -- the boats are still in the water; you can take the gigs, and as many as please may go ashore for the afternoon.
i'll fire a gun half an hour before sundown."
i believe the silly fellows must have thought they would break their shins over treasure as soon as they were landed, for they all came out of their sulks in a moment and gave a cheer that started the echo in a faraway hill and sent the birds once more flying and squalling round the anchorage.
the captain was too bright to be in the way.
he whipped out of sight in a moment, leaving silver to arrange the party, and i fancy it was as well he did so.
had he been on deck, he could no longer so much as have pretended not to understand the situation.
it was as plain as day.
silver was the captain, and a mighty rebellious crew he had of it.
the honest hands -- and i was soon to see it proved that there were such on board -- must have been very stupid fellows.
or rather, i suppose the truth was this, that all hands were disaffected by the example of the ringleaders -- only some more, some less; and a few, being good fellows in the main, could neither be led nor driven any further.
it is one thing to be idle and skulk and quite another to take a ship and murder a number of innocent men.
at last, however, the party was made up.
six fellows were to stay on board, and the remaining thirteen, including silver, began to embark.
then it was that there came into my head the first of the mad notions that contributed so much to save our lives.
if six men were left by silver, it was plain our party could not take and fight the ship; and since only six were left, it was equally plain that the cabin party had no present need of my assistance.
it occurred to me at once to go ashore.
in a jiffy i had slipped over the side and curled up in the fore-sheets of the nearest boat, and almost at the same moment she shoved off.
no one took notice of me, only the bow oar saying, "is that you, jim?
keep your head down."
but silver, from the other boat, looked sharply over and called out to know if that were me; and from that moment i began to regret what i had done.
the crews raced for the beach, but the boat i was in, having some start and being at once the lighter and the better manned, shot far ahead of her consort, and the bow had struck among the shore-side trees and i had caught a branch and swung myself out and plunged into the nearest thicket while silver and the rest were still a hundred yards behind.
""jim, jim!"
i heard him shouting.
but you may suppose i paid no heed; jumping, ducking, and breaking through, i ran straight before my nose till i could run no longer.
14 the first blow i was so pleased at having given the slip to long john that i began to enjoy myself and look around me with some interest on the strange land that i was in.
i had crossed a marshy tract full of willows, bulrushes, and odd, outlandish, swampy trees; and i had now come out upon the skirts of an open piece of undulating, sandy country, about a mile long, dotted with a few pines and a great number of contorted trees, not unlike the oak in growth, but pale in the foliage, like willows.
on the far side of the open stood one of the hills, with two quaint, craggy peaks shining vividly in the sun.
i now felt for the first time the joy of exploration.
the isle was uninhabited; my shipmates i had left behind, and nothing lived in front of me but dumb brutes and fowls.
i turned hither and thither among the trees.
here and there were flowering plants, unknown to me; here and there i saw snakes, and one raised his head from a ledge of rock and hissed at me with a noise not unlike the spinning of a top.
little did i suppose that he was a deadly enemy and that the noise was the famous rattle.
then i came to a long thicket of these oaklike trees -- live, or evergreen, oaks, i heard afterwards they should be called -- which grew low along the sand like brambles, the boughs curiously twisted, the foliage compact, like thatch.
the thicket stretched down from the top of one of the sandy knolls, spreading and growing taller as it went, until it reached the margin of the broad, reedy fen, through which the nearest of the little rivers soaked its way into the anchorage.
the marsh was steaming in the strong sun, and the outline of the spy-glass trembled through the haze.
all at once there began to go a sort of bustle among the bulrushes; a wild duck flew up with a quack, another followed, and soon over the whole surface of the marsh a great cloud of birds hung screaming and circling in the air.
i judged at once that some of my shipmates must be drawing near along the borders of the fen.
nor was i deceived, for soon i heard the very distant and low tones of a human voice, which, as i continued to give ear, grew steadily louder and nearer.
this put me in a great fear, and i crawled under cover of the nearest live-oak and squatted there, hearkening, as silent as a mouse.
another voice answered, and then the first voice, which i now recognized to be silver's, once more took up the story and ran on for a long while in a stream, only now and again interrupted by the other.
by the sound they must have been talking earnestly, and almost fiercely; but no distinct word came to my hearing.
at last the speakers seemed to have paused and perhaps to have sat down, for not only did they cease to draw any nearer, but the birds themselves began to grow more quiet and to settle again to their places in the swamp.
and now i began to feel that i was neglecting my business, that since i had been so foolhardy as to come ashore with these desperadoes, the least i could do was to overhear them at their councils, and that my plain and obvious duty was to draw as close as i could manage, under the favourable ambush of the crouching trees.
i could tell the direction of the speakers pretty exactly, not only by the sound of their voices but by the behaviour of the few birds that still hung in alarm above the heads of the intruders.
crawling on all fours, i made steadily but slowly towards them, till at last, raising my head to an aperture among the leaves, i could see clear down into a little green dell beside the marsh, and closely set about with trees, where long john silver and another of the crew stood face to face in conversation.
the sun beat full upon them.
silver had thrown his hat beside him on the ground, and his great, smooth, blond face, all shining with heat, was lifted to the other man's in a kind of appeal.
""mate," he was saying, "it's because i thinks gold dust of you -- gold dust, and you may lay to that!
if i had n't took to you like pitch, do you think i'd have been here a-warning of you?
all's up -- you ca n't make nor mend; it's to save your neck that i'm a-speaking, and if one of the wild uns knew it, where'd i be, tom -- now, tell me, where'd i be?"
""silver," said the other man -- and i observed he was not only red in the face, but spoke as hoarse as a crow, and his voice shook too, like a taut rope -- "silver," says he, "you're old, and you're honest, or has the name for it; and you've money too, which lots of poor sailors has n't; and you're brave, or i'm mistook.
and will you tell me you'll let yourself be led away with that kind of a mess of swabs?
not you!
as sure as god sees me, i'd sooner lose my hand.
if i turn agin my dooty --" and then all of a sudden he was interrupted by a noise.
i had found one of the honest hands -- well, here, at that same moment, came news of another.
far away out in the marsh there arose, all of a sudden, a sound like the cry of anger, then another on the back of it; and then one horrid, long-drawn scream.
the rocks of the spy-glass re-echoed it a score of times; the whole troop of marsh-birds rose again, darkening heaven, with a simultaneous whirr; and long after that death yell was still ringing in my brain, silence had re-established its empire, and only the rustle of the redescending birds and the boom of the distant surges disturbed the languor of the afternoon.
tom had leaped at the sound, like a horse at the spur, but silver had not winked an eye.
he stood where he was, resting lightly on his crutch, watching his companion like a snake about to spring.
""john!"
said the sailor, stretching out his hand.
""hands off!"
cried silver, leaping back a yard, as it seemed to me, with the speed and security of a trained gymnast.
""hands off, if you like, john silver," said the other.
""it's a black conscience that can make you feared of me.
but in heaven's name, tell me, what was that?"
""that?"
returned silver, smiling away, but warier than ever, his eye a mere pin-point in his big face, but gleaming like a crumb of glass.
""that?
oh, i reckon that'll be alan."
and at this point tom flashed out like a hero.
""alan!"
he cried.
""then rest his soul for a true seaman!
and as for you, john silver, long you've been a mate of mine, but you're mate of mine no more.
if i die like a dog, i'll die in my dooty.
you've killed alan, have you?
kill me too, if you can.
but i defies you."
and with that, this brave fellow turned his back directly on the cook and set off walking for the beach.
but he was not destined to go far.
with a cry john seized the branch of a tree, whipped the crutch out of his armpit, and sent that uncouth missile hurtling through the air.
it struck poor tom, point foremost, and with stunning violence, right between the shoulders in the middle of his back.
his hands flew up, he gave a sort of gasp, and fell.
whether he were injured much or little, none could ever tell.
like enough, to judge from the sound, his back was broken on the spot.
but he had no time given him to recover.
silver, agile as a monkey even without leg or crutch, was on the top of him next moment and had twice buried his knife up to the hilt in that defenceless body.
from my place of ambush, i could hear him pant aloud as he struck the blows.
i do not know what it rightly is to faint, but i do know that for the next little while the whole world swam away from before me in a whirling mist; silver and the birds, and the tall spy-glass hilltop, going round and round and topsy-turvy before my eyes, and all manner of bells ringing and distant voices shouting in my ear.
when i came again to myself the monster had pulled himself together, his crutch under his arm, his hat upon his head.
just before him tom lay motionless upon the sward; but the murderer minded him not a whit, cleansing his blood-stained knife the while upon a wisp of grass.
everything else was unchanged, the sun still shining mercilessly on the steaming marsh and the tall pinnacle of the mountain, and i could scarce persuade myself that murder had been actually done and a human life cruelly cut short a moment since before my eyes.
but now john put his hand into his pocket, brought out a whistle, and blew upon it several modulated blasts that rang far across the heated air.
i could not tell, of course, the meaning of the signal, but it instantly awoke my fears.
more men would be coming.
i might be discovered.
they had already slain two of the honest people; after tom and alan, might not i come next?
instantly i began to extricate myself and crawl back again, with what speed and silence i could manage, to the more open portion of the wood.
as i did so, i could hear hails coming and going between the old buccaneer and his comrades, and this sound of danger lent me wings.
as soon as i was clear of the thicket, i ran as i never ran before, scarce minding the direction of my flight, so long as it led me from the murderers; and as i ran, fear grew and grew upon me until it turned into a kind of frenzy.
indeed, could anyone be more entirely lost than i?
when the gun fired, how should i dare to go down to the boats among those fiends, still smoking from their crime?
would not the first of them who saw me wring my neck like a snipe's?
would not my absence itself be an evidence to them of my alarm, and therefore of my fatal knowledge?
it was all over, i thought.
good-bye to the hispaniola; good-bye to the squire, the doctor, and the captain!
there was nothing left for me but death by starvation or death by the hands of the mutineers.
all this while, as i say, i was still running, and without taking any notice, i had drawn near to the foot of the little hill with the two peaks and had got into a part of the island where the live-oaks grew more widely apart and seemed more like forest trees in their bearing and dimensions.
mingled with these were a few scattered pines, some fifty, some nearer seventy, feet high.
the air too smelt more freshly than down beside the marsh.
and here a fresh alarm brought me to a standstill with a thumping heart.
15 the man of the island from the side of the hill, which was here steep and stony, a spout of gravel was dislodged and fell rattling and bounding through the trees.
my eyes turned instinctively in that direction, and i saw a figure leap with great rapidity behind the trunk of a pine.
what it was, whether bear or man or monkey, i could in no wise tell.
it seemed dark and shaggy; more i knew not.
but the terror of this new apparition brought me to a stand.
i was now, it seemed, cut off upon both sides; behind me the murderers, before me this lurking nondescript.
and immediately i began to prefer the dangers that i knew to those i knew not.
silver himself appeared less terrible in contrast with this creature of the woods, and i turned on my heel, and looking sharply behind me over my shoulder, began to retrace my steps in the direction of the boats.
instantly the figure reappeared, and making a wide circuit, began to head me off.
i was tired, at any rate; but had i been as fresh as when i rose, i could see it was in vain for me to contend in speed with such an adversary.
from trunk to trunk the creature flitted like a deer, running manlike on two legs, but unlike any man that i had ever seen, stooping almost double as it ran.
yet a man it was, i could no longer be in doubt about that.
i began to recall what i had heard of cannibals.
i was within an ace of calling for help.
but the mere fact that he was a man, however wild, had somewhat reassured me, and my fear of silver began to revive in proportion.
i stood still, therefore, and cast about for some method of escape; and as i was so thinking, the recollection of my pistol flashed into my mind.
as soon as i remembered i was not defenceless, courage glowed again in my heart and i set my face resolutely for this man of the island and walked briskly towards him.
he was concealed by this time behind another tree trunk; but he must have been watching me closely, for as soon as i began to move in his direction he reappeared and took a step to meet me.
then he hesitated, drew back, came forward again, and at last, to my wonder and confusion, threw himself on his knees and held out his clasped hands in supplication.
at that i once more stopped.
""who are you?"
i asked.
""ben gunn," he answered, and his voice sounded hoarse and awkward, like a rusty lock.
""i'm poor ben gunn, i am; and i have n't spoke with a christian these three years."
i could now see that he was a white man like myself and that his features were even pleasing.
his skin, wherever it was exposed, was burnt by the sun; even his lips were black, and his fair eyes looked quite startling in so dark a face.
of all the beggar-men that i had seen or fancied, he was the chief for raggedness.
he was clothed with tatters of old ship's canvas and old sea-cloth, and this extraordinary patchwork was all held together by a system of the most various and incongruous fastenings, brass buttons, bits of stick, and loops of tarry gaskin.
about his waist he wore an old brass-buckled leather belt, which was the one thing solid in his whole accoutrement.
""three years!"
i cried.
""were you shipwrecked?"
""nay, mate," said he; "marooned."
i had heard the word, and i knew it stood for a horrible kind of punishment common enough among the buccaneers, in which the offender is put ashore with a little powder and shot and left behind on some desolate and distant island.
""marooned three years agone," he continued, "and lived on goats since then, and berries, and oysters.
wherever a man is, says i, a man can do for himself.
but, mate, my heart is sore for christian diet.
you might n't happen to have a piece of cheese about you, now?
no?
well, many's the long night i've dreamed of cheese -- toasted, mostly -- and woke up again, and here i were."
""if ever i can get aboard again," said i, "you shall have cheese by the stone."
all this time he had been feeling the stuff of my jacket, smoothing my hands, looking at my boots, and generally, in the intervals of his speech, showing a childish pleasure in the presence of a fellow creature.
but at my last words he perked up into a kind of startled slyness.
""if ever you can get aboard again, says you?"
he repeated.
""why, now, who's to hinder you?"
""not you, i know," was my reply.
""and right you was," he cried.
""now you -- what do you call yourself, mate?"
""jim," i told him.
""jim, jim," says he, quite pleased apparently.
""well, now, jim, i've lived that rough as you'd be ashamed to hear of.
now, for instance, you would n't think i had had a pious mother -- to look at me?"
he asked.
""why, no, not in particular," i answered.
""ah, well," said he, "but i had -- remarkable pious.
and i was a civil, pious boy, and could rattle off my catechism that fast, as you could n't tell one word from another.
and here's what it come to, jim, and it begun with chuck-farthen on the blessed grave-stones!
that's what it begun with, but it went further'n that; and so my mother told me, and predicked the whole, she did, the pious woman!
but it were providence that put me here.
i've thought it all out in this here lonely island, and i'm back on piety.
you do n't catch me tasting rum so much, but just a thimbleful for luck, of course, the first chance i have.
i'm bound i'll be good, and i see the way to.
and, jim" -- looking all round him and lowering his voice to a whisper -- "i'm rich."
i now felt sure that the poor fellow had gone crazy in his solitude, and i suppose i must have shown the feeling in my face, for he repeated the statement hotly: "rich!
rich!
i says.
and i'll tell you what: i'll make a man of you, jim.
ah, jim, you'll bless your stars, you will, you was the first that found me!"
and at this there came suddenly a lowering shadow over his face, and he tightened his grasp upon my hand and raised a forefinger threateningly before my eyes.
""now, jim, you tell me true: that ai n't flint's ship?"
he asked.
at this i had a happy inspiration.
i began to believe that i had found an ally, and i answered him at once.
""it's not flint's ship, and flint is dead; but i'll tell you true, as you ask me -- there are some of flint's hands aboard; worse luck for the rest of us."
""not a man -- with one -- leg?"
he gasped.
""silver?"
i asked.
""ah, silver!"
says he.
""that were his name."
""he's the cook, and the ringleader too."
he was still holding me by the wrist, and at that he give it quite a wring.
""if you was sent by long john," he said, "i'm as good as pork, and i know it.
but where was you, do you suppose?"
i had made my mind up in a moment, and by way of answer told him the whole story of our voyage and the predicament in which we found ourselves.
he heard me with the keenest interest, and when i had done he patted me on the head.
""you're a good lad, jim," he said; "and you're all in a clove hitch, ai n't you?
well, you just put your trust in ben gunn -- ben gunn's the man to do it.
would you think it likely, now, that your squire would prove a liberal-minded one in case of help -- him being in a clove hitch, as you remark?"
i told him the squire was the most liberal of men.
""aye, but you see," returned ben gunn, "i did n't mean giving me a gate to keep, and a suit of livery clothes, and such; that's not my mark, jim.
what i mean is, would he be likely to come down to the toon of, say one thousand pounds out of money that's as good as a man's own already?"
""i am sure he would," said i. "as it was, all hands were to share."
""and a passage home?"
he added with a look of great shrewdness.
""why," i cried, "the squire's a gentleman.
and besides, if we got rid of the others, we should want you to help work the vessel home."
""ah," said he, "so you would."
and he seemed very much relieved.
""now, i'll tell you what," he went on.
""so much i'll tell you, and no more.
i were in flint's ship when he buried the treasure; he and six along -- six strong seamen.
they was ashore nigh on a week, and us standing off and on in the old walrus.
one fine day up went the signal, and here come flint by himself in a little boat, and his head done up in a blue scarf.
the sun was getting up, and mortal white he looked about the cutwater.
but, there he was, you mind, and the six all dead -- dead and buried.
how he done it, not a man aboard us could make out.
it was battle, murder, and sudden death, leastways -- him against six.
billy bones was the mate; long john, he was quartermaster; and they asked him where the treasure was.
"ah," says he, "you can go ashore, if you like, and stay," he says; "but as for the ship, she'll beat up for more, by thunder!"
that's what he said.
""well, i was in another ship three years back, and we sighted this island.
"boys," said i, "here's flint's treasure; let's land and find it."
the cap'n was displeased at that, but my messmates were all of a mind and landed.
twelve days they looked for it, and every day they had the worse word for me, until one fine morning all hands went aboard.
"as for you, benjamin gunn," says they, "here's a musket," they says, "and a spade, and pick-axe.
you can stay here and find flint's money for yourself," they says.
""well, jim, three years have i been here, and not a bite of christian diet from that day to this.
but now, you look here; look at me.
do i look like a man before the mast?
no, says you.
nor i were n't, neither, i says."
and with that he winked and pinched me hard.
""just you mention them words to your squire, jim," he went on.
""nor he were n't, neither -- that's the words.
three years he were the man of this island, light and dark, fair and rain; and sometimes he would maybe think upon a prayer -lrb- says you -rrb-, and sometimes he would maybe think of his old mother, so be as she's alive -lrb- you'll say -rrb-; but the most part of gunn's time -lrb- this is what you'll say -rrb- -- the most part of his time was took up with another matter.
and then you'll give him a nip, like i do."
and he pinched me again in the most confidential manner.
""then," he continued, "then you'll up, and you'll say this: gunn is a good man -lrb- you'll say -rrb-, and he puts a precious sight more confidence -- a precious sight, mind that -- in a gen "leman born than in these gen "leman of fortune, having been one hisself."
""well," i said, "i do n't understand one word that you've been saying.
but that's neither here nor there; for how am i to get on board?"
""ah," said he, "that's the hitch, for sure.
well, there's my boat, that i made with my two hands.
i keep her under the white rock.
if the worst come to the worst, we might try that after dark.
hi!"
he broke out.
""what's that?"
for just then, although the sun had still an hour or two to run, all the echoes of the island awoke and bellowed to the thunder of a cannon.
""they have begun to fight!"
i cried.
""follow me."
and i began to run towards the anchorage, my terrors all forgotten, while close at my side the marooned man in his goatskins trotted easily and lightly.
""left, left," says he; "keep to your left hand, mate jim!
under the trees with you!
theer's where i killed my first goat.
they do n't come down here now; they're all mastheaded on them mountings for the fear of benjamin gunn.
ah!
and there's the cetemery" -- cemetery, he must have meant.
""you see the mounds?
i come here and prayed, nows and thens, when i thought maybe a sunday would be about doo.
it were n't quite a chapel, but it seemed more solemn like; and then, says you, ben gunn was short-handed -- no chapling, nor so much as a bible and a flag, you says."
so he kept talking as i ran, neither expecting nor receiving any answer.
the cannon-shot was followed after a considerable interval by a volley of small arms.
another pause, and then, not a quarter of a mile in front of me, i beheld the union jack flutter in the air above a wood.
part four -- the stockade 16 narrative continued by the doctor: how the ship was abandoned it was about half past one -- three bells in the sea phrase -- that the two boats went ashore from the hispaniola.
the captain, the squire, and i were talking matters over in the cabin.
had there been a breath of wind, we should have fallen on the six mutineers who were left aboard with us, slipped our cable, and away to sea.
but the wind was wanting; and to complete our helplessness, down came hunter with the news that jim hawkins had slipped into a boat and was gone ashore with the rest.
it never occurred to us to doubt jim hawkins, but we were alarmed for his safety.
with the men in the temper they were in, it seemed an even chance if we should see the lad again.
we ran on deck.
the pitch was bubbling in the seams; the nasty stench of the place turned me sick; if ever a man smelt fever and dysentery, it was in that abominable anchorage.
the six scoundrels were sitting grumbling under a sail in the forecastle; ashore we could see the gigs made fast and a man sitting in each, hard by where the river runs in.
one of them was whistling "lillibullero."
waiting was a strain, and it was decided that hunter and i should go ashore with the jolly-boat in quest of information.
the gigs had leaned to their right, but hunter and i pulled straight in, in the direction of the stockade upon the chart.
the two who were left guarding their boats seemed in a bustle at our appearance; "lillibullero" stopped off, and i could see the pair discussing what they ought to do.
had they gone and told silver, all might have turned out differently; but they had their orders, i suppose, and decided to sit quietly where they were and hark back again to "lillibullero."
there was a slight bend in the coast, and i steered so as to put it between us; even before we landed we had thus lost sight of the gigs.
i jumped out and came as near running as i durst, with a big silk handkerchief under my hat for coolness" sake and a brace of pistols ready primed for safety.
i had not gone a hundred yards when i reached the stockade.
this was how it was: a spring of clear water rose almost at the top of a knoll.
well, on the knoll, and enclosing the spring, they had clapped a stout loghouse fit to hold two score of people on a pinch and loopholed for musketry on either side.
all round this they had cleared a wide space, and then the thing was completed by a paling six feet high, without door or opening, too strong to pull down without time and labour and too open to shelter the besiegers.
the people in the log-house had them in every way; they stood quiet in shelter and shot the others like partridges.
all they wanted was a good watch and food; for, short of a complete surprise, they might have held the place against a regiment.
what particularly took my fancy was the spring.
for though we had a good enough place of it in the cabin of the hispaniola, with plenty of arms and ammunition, and things to eat, and excellent wines, there had been one thing overlooked -- we had no water.
i was thinking this over when there came ringing over the island the cry of a man at the point of death.
i was not new to violent death -- i have served his royal highness the duke of cumberland, and got a wound myself at fontenoy -- but i know my pulse went dot and carry one.
""jim hawkins is gone," was my first thought.
it is something to have been an old soldier, but more still to have been a doctor.
there is no time to dilly-dally in our work.
and so now i made up my mind instantly, and with no time lost returned to the shore and jumped on board the jolly-boat.
by good fortune hunter pulled a good oar.
we made the water fly, and the boat was soon alongside and i aboard the schooner.
i found them all shaken, as was natural.
the squire was sitting down, as white as a sheet, thinking of the harm he had led us to, the good soul!
and one of the six forecastle hands was little better.
""there's a man," says captain smollett, nodding towards him, "new to this work.
he came nigh-hand fainting, doctor, when he heard the cry.
another touch of the rudder and that man would join us."
i told my plan to the captain, and between us we settled on the details of its accomplishment.
we put old redruth in the gallery between the cabin and the forecastle, with three or four loaded muskets and a mattress for protection.
hunter brought the boat round under the stern-port, and joyce and i set to work loading her with powder tins, muskets, bags of biscuits, kegs of pork, a cask of cognac, and my invaluable medicine chest.
in the meantime, the squire and the captain stayed on deck, and the latter hailed the coxswain, who was the principal man aboard.
""mr. hands," he said, "here are two of us with a brace of pistols each.
if any one of you six make a signal of any description, that man's dead."
they were a good deal taken aback, and after a little consultation one and all tumbled down the fore companion, thinking no doubt to take us on the rear.
but when they saw redruth waiting for them in the sparred galley, they went about ship at once, and a head popped out again on deck.
""down, dog!"
cries the captain.
and the head popped back again; and we heard no more, for the time, of these six very faint-hearted seamen.
by this time, tumbling things in as they came, we had the jolly-boat loaded as much as we dared.
joyce and i got out through the stern-port, and we made for shore again as fast as oars could take us.
this second trip fairly aroused the watchers along shore.
""lillibullero" was dropped again; and just before we lost sight of them behind the little point, one of them whipped ashore and disappeared.
i had half a mind to change my plan and destroy their boats, but i feared that silver and the others might be close at hand, and all might very well be lost by trying for too much.
we had soon touched land in the same place as before and set to provision the block house.
all three made the first journey, heavily laden, and tossed our stores over the palisade.
then, leaving joyce to guard them -- one man, to be sure, but with half a dozen muskets -- hunter and i returned to the jolly-boat and loaded ourselves once more.
so we proceeded without pausing to take breath, till the whole cargo was bestowed, when the two servants took up their position in the block house, and i, with all my power, sculled back to the hispaniola.
that we should have risked a second boat load seems more daring than it really was.
they had the advantage of numbers, of course, but we had the advantage of arms.
not one of the men ashore had a musket, and before they could get within range for pistol shooting, we flattered ourselves we should be able to give a good account of a half-dozen at least.
the squire was waiting for me at the stern window, all his faintness gone from him.
he caught the painter and made it fast, and we fell to loading the boat for our very lives.
pork, powder, and biscuit was the cargo, with only a musket and a cutlass apiece for the squire and me and redruth and the captain.
the rest of the arms and powder we dropped overboard in two fathoms and a half of water, so that we could see the bright steel shining far below us in the sun, on the clean, sandy bottom.
by this time the tide was beginning to ebb, and the ship was swinging round to her anchor.
voices were heard faintly halloaing in the direction of the two gigs; and though this reassured us for joyce and hunter, who were well to the eastward, it warned our party to be off.
redruth retreated from his place in the gallery and dropped into the boat, which we then brought round to the ship's counter, to be handier for captain smollett.
""now, men," said he, "do you hear me?"
there was no answer from the forecastle.
""it's to you, abraham gray -- it's to you i am speaking."
still no reply.
""gray," resumed mr. smollett, a little louder, "i am leaving this ship, and i order you to follow your captain.
i know you are a good man at bottom, and i dare say not one of the lot of you's as bad as he makes out.
i have my watch here in my hand; i give you thirty seconds to join me in."
there was a pause.
""come, my fine fellow," continued the captain; "do n't hang so long in stays.
i'm risking my life and the lives of these good gentlemen every second."
there was a sudden scuffle, a sound of blows, and out burst abraham gray with a knife cut on the side of the cheek, and came running to the captain like a dog to the whistle.
""i'm with you, sir," said he.
and the next moment he and the captain had dropped aboard of us, and we had shoved off and given way.
we were clear out of the ship, but not yet ashore in our stockade.
17 narrative continued by the doctor: the jolly-boat's last trip this fifth trip was quite different from any of the others.
in the first place, the little gallipot of a boat that we were in was gravely overloaded.
five grown men, and three of them -- trelawney, redruth, and the captain -- over six feet high, was already more than she was meant to carry.
add to that the powder, pork, and bread-bags.
the gunwale was lipping astern.
several times we shipped a little water, and my breeches and the tails of my coat were all soaking wet before we had gone a hundred yards.
the captain made us trim the boat, and we got her to lie a little more evenly.
all the same, we were afraid to breathe.
in the second place, the ebb was now making -- a strong rippling current running westward through the basin, and then south "ard and seaward down the straits by which we had entered in the morning.
even the ripples were a danger to our overloaded craft, but the worst of it was that we were swept out of our true course and away from our proper landing-place behind the point.
if we let the current have its way we should come ashore beside the gigs, where the pirates might appear at any moment.
""i can not keep her head for the stockade, sir," said i to the captain.
i was steering, while he and redruth, two fresh men, were at the oars.
""the tide keeps washing her down.
could you pull a little stronger?"
""not without swamping the boat," said he.
""you must bear up, sir, if you please -- bear up until you see you're gaining."
i tried and found by experiment that the tide kept sweeping us westward until i had laid her head due east, or just about right angles to the way we ought to go.
""we'll never get ashore at this rate," said i. "if it's the only course that we can lie, sir, we must even lie it," returned the captain.
""we must keep upstream.
you see, sir," he went on, "if once we dropped to leeward of the landing-place, it's hard to say where we should get ashore, besides the chance of being boarded by the gigs; whereas, the way we go the current must slacken, and then we can dodge back along the shore."
""the current's less a "ready, sir," said the man gray, who was sitting in the fore-sheets; "you can ease her off a bit."
""thank you, my man," said i, quite as if nothing had happened, for we had all quietly made up our minds to treat him like one of ourselves.
suddenly the captain spoke up again, and i thought his voice was a little changed.
""the gun!"
said he.
""i have thought of that," said i, for i made sure he was thinking of a bombardment of the fort.
""they could never get the gun ashore, and if they did, they could never haul it through the woods."
""look astern, doctor," replied the captain.
we had entirely forgotten the long nine; and there, to our horror, were the five rogues busy about her, getting off her jacket, as they called the stout tarpaulin cover under which she sailed.
not only that, but it flashed into my mind at the same moment that the round-shot and the powder for the gun had been left behind, and a stroke with an axe would put it all into the possession of the evil ones abroad.
""israel was flint's gunner," said gray hoarsely.
at any risk, we put the boat's head direct for the landing-place.
by this time we had got so far out of the run of the current that we kept steerage way even at our necessarily gentle rate of rowing, and i could keep her steady for the goal.
but the worst of it was that with the course i now held we turned our broadside instead of our stern to the hispaniola and offered a target like a barn door.
i could hear as well as see that brandy-faced rascal israel hands plumping down a round-shot on the deck.
""who's the best shot?"
asked the captain.
""mr. trelawney, out and away," said i. "mr. trelawney, will you please pick me off one of these men, sir?
hands, if possible," said the captain.
trelawney was as cool as steel.
he looked to the priming of his gun.
""now," cried the captain, "easy with that gun, sir, or you'll swamp the boat.
all hands stand by to trim her when he aims."
the squire raised his gun, the rowing ceased, and we leaned over to the other side to keep the balance, and all was so nicely contrived that we did not ship a drop.
they had the gun, by this time, slewed round upon the swivel, and hands, who was at the muzzle with the rammer, was in consequence the most exposed.
however, we had no luck, for just as trelawney fired, down he stooped, the ball whistled over him, and it was one of the other four who fell.
the cry he gave was echoed not only by his companions on board but by a great number of voices from the shore, and looking in that direction i saw the other pirates trooping out from among the trees and tumbling into their places in the boats.
""here come the gigs, sir," said i. "give way, then," cried the captain.
""we must n't mind if we swamp her now.
if we ca n't get ashore, all's up."
""only one of the gigs is being manned, sir," i added; "the crew of the other most likely going round by shore to cut us off."
""they'll have a hot run, sir," returned the captain.
""jack ashore, you know.
it's not them i mind; it's the round-shot.
carpet bowls!
my lady's maid could n't miss.
tell us, squire, when you see the match, and we'll hold water."
in the meanwhile we had been making headway at a good pace for a boat so overloaded, and we had shipped but little water in the process.
we were now close in; thirty or forty strokes and we should beach her, for the ebb had already disclosed a narrow belt of sand below the clustering trees.
the gig was no longer to be feared; the little point had already concealed it from our eyes.
the ebb-tide, which had so cruelly delayed us, was now making reparation and delaying our assailants.
the one source of danger was the gun.
""if i durst," said the captain, "i'd stop and pick off another man."
but it was plain that they meant nothing should delay their shot.
they had never so much as looked at their fallen comrade, though he was not dead, and i could see him trying to crawl away.
""ready!"
cried the squire.
""hold!"
cried the captain, quick as an echo.
and he and redruth backed with a great heave that sent her stern bodily under water.
the report fell in at the same instant of time.
this was the first that jim heard, the sound of the squire's shot not having reached him.
where the ball passed, not one of us precisely knew, but i fancy it must have been over our heads and that the wind of it may have contributed to our disaster.
at any rate, the boat sank by the stern, quite gently, in three feet of water, leaving the captain and myself, facing each other, on our feet.
the other three took complete headers, and came up again drenched and bubbling.
so far there was no great harm.
no lives were lost, and we could wade ashore in safety.
but there were all our stores at the bottom, and to make things worse, only two guns out of five remained in a state for service.
mine i had snatched from my knees and held over my head, by a sort of instinct.
as for the captain, he had carried his over his shoulder by a bandoleer, and like a wise man, lock uppermost.
the other three had gone down with the boat.
to add to our concern, we heard voices already drawing near us in the woods along shore, and we had not only the danger of being cut off from the stockade in our half-crippled state but the fear before us whether, if hunter and joyce were attacked by half a dozen, they would have the sense and conduct to stand firm.
hunter was steady, that we knew; joyce was a doubtful case -- a pleasant, polite man for a valet and to brush one's clothes, but not entirely fitted for a man of war.
with all this in our minds, we waded ashore as fast as we could, leaving behind us the poor jolly-boat and a good half of all our powder and provisions.
18 narrative continued by the doctor: end of the first day's fighting we made our best speed across the strip of wood that now divided us from the stockade, and at every step we took the voices of the buccaneers rang nearer.
soon we could hear their footfalls as they ran and the cracking of the branches as they breasted across a bit of thicket.
i began to see we should have a brush for it in earnest and looked to my priming.
""captain," said i, "trelawney is the dead shot.
give him your gun; his own is useless."
they exchanged guns, and trelawney, silent and cool as he had been since the beginning of the bustle, hung a moment on his heel to see that all was fit for service.
at the same time, observing gray to be unarmed, i handed him my cutlass.
it did all our hearts good to see him spit in his hand, knit his brows, and make the blade sing through the air.
it was plain from every line of his body that our new hand was worth his salt.
forty paces farther we came to the edge of the wood and saw the stockade in front of us.
we struck the enclosure about the middle of the south side, and almost at the same time, seven mutineers -- job anderson, the boatswain, at their head -- appeared in full cry at the southwestern corner.
they paused as if taken aback, and before they recovered, not only the squire and i, but hunter and joyce from the block house, had time to fire.
the four shots came in rather a scattering volley, but they did the business: one of the enemy actually fell, and the rest, without hesitation, turned and plunged into the trees.
after reloading, we walked down the outside of the palisade to see to the fallen enemy.
he was stone dead -- shot through the heart.
we began to rejoice over our good success when just at that moment a pistol cracked in the bush, a ball whistled close past my ear, and poor tom redruth stumbled and fell his length on the ground.
both the squire and i returned the shot, but as we had nothing to aim at, it is probable we only wasted powder.
then we reloaded and turned our attention to poor tom.
the captain and gray were already examining him, and i saw with half an eye that all was over.
i believe the readiness of our return volley had scattered the mutineers once more, for we were suffered without further molestation to get the poor old gamekeeper hoisted over the stockade and carried, groaning and bleeding, into the log-house.
poor old fellow, he had not uttered one word of surprise, complaint, fear, or even acquiescence from the very beginning of our troubles till now, when we had laid him down in the log-house to die.
he had lain like a trojan behind his mattress in the gallery; he had followed every order silently, doggedly, and well; he was the oldest of our party by a score of years; and now, sullen, old, serviceable servant, it was he that was to die.
the squire dropped down beside him on his knees and kissed his hand, crying like a child.
""be i going, doctor?"
he asked.
""tom, my man," said i, "you're going home."
""i wish i had had a lick at them with the gun first," he replied.
""tom," said the squire, "say you forgive me, wo n't you?"
""would that be respectful like, from me to you, squire?"
was the answer.
""howsoever, so be it, amen!"
after a little while of silence, he said he thought somebody might read a prayer.
""it's the custom, sir," he added apologetically.
and not long after, without another word, he passed away.
in the meantime the captain, whom i had observed to be wonderfully swollen about the chest and pockets, had turned out a great many various stores -- the british colours, a bible, a coil of stoutish rope, pen, ink, the log-book, and pounds of tobacco.
he had found a longish fir-tree lying felled and trimmed in the enclosure, and with the help of hunter he had set it up at the corner of the log-house where the trunks crossed and made an angle.
then, climbing on the roof, he had with his own hand bent and run up the colours.
this seemed mightily to relieve him.
he re-entered the log-house and set about counting up the stores as if nothing else existed.
but he had an eye on tom's passage for all that, and as soon as all was over, came forward with another flag and reverently spread it on the body.
""do n't you take on, sir," he said, shaking the squire's hand.
""all's well with him; no fear for a hand that's been shot down in his duty to captain and owner.
it may n't be good divinity, but it's a fact."
then he pulled me aside.
""dr. livesey," he said, "in how many weeks do you and squire expect the consort?"
i told him it was a question not of weeks but of months, that if we were not back by the end of august blandly was to send to find us, but neither sooner nor later.
""you can calculate for yourself," i said.
""why, yes," returned the captain, scratching his head; "and making a large allowance, sir, for all the gifts of providence, i should say we were pretty close hauled."
""how do you mean?"
i asked.
""it's a pity, sir, we lost that second load.
that's what i mean," replied the captain.
""as for powder and shot, we'll do.
but the rations are short, very short -- so short, dr. livesey, that we're perhaps as well without that extra mouth."
and he pointed to the dead body under the flag.
just then, with a roar and a whistle, a round-shot passed high above the roof of the log-house and plumped far beyond us in the wood.
""oho!"
said the captain.
""blaze away!
you've little enough powder already, my lads."
at the second trial, the aim was better, and the ball descended inside the stockade, scattering a cloud of sand but doing no further damage.
""captain," said the squire, "the house is quite invisible from the ship.
it must be the flag they are aiming at.
would it not be wiser to take it in?"
""strike my colours!"
cried the captain.
""no, sir, not i"; and as soon as he had said the words, i think we all agreed with him.
for it was not only a piece of stout, seamanly, good feeling; it was good policy besides and showed our enemies that we despised their cannonade.
all through the evening they kept thundering away.
ball after ball flew over or fell short or kicked up the sand in the enclosure, but they had to fire so high that the shot fell dead and buried itself in the soft sand.
we had no ricochet to fear, and though one popped in through the roof of the log-house and out again through the floor, we soon got used to that sort of horse-play and minded it no more than cricket.
""there is one good thing about all this," observed the captain; "the wood in front of us is likely clear.
the ebb has made a good while; our stores should be uncovered.
volunteers to go and bring in pork."
gray and hunter were the first to come forward.
well armed, they stole out of the stockade, but it proved a useless mission.
the mutineers were bolder than we fancied or they put more trust in israel's gunnery.
for four or five of them were busy carrying off our stores and wading out with them to one of the gigs that lay close by, pulling an oar or so to hold her steady against the current.
silver was in the stern-sheets in command; and every man of them was now provided with a musket from some secret magazine of their own.
the captain sat down to his log, and here is the beginning of the entry: alexander smollett, master; david livesey, ship's doctor; abraham gray, carpenter's mate; john trelawney, owner; john hunter and richard joyce, owner's servants, landsmen -- being all that is left faithful of the ship's company -- with stores for ten days at short rations, came ashore this day and flew british colours on the log-house in treasure island.
thomas redruth, owner's servant, landsman, shot by the mutineers; james hawkins, cabin-boy -- and at the same time, i was wondering over poor jim hawkins" fate.
a hail on the land side.
""somebody hailing us," said hunter, who was on guard.
""doctor!
squire!
captain!
hullo, hunter, is that you?"
came the cries.
and i ran to the door in time to see jim hawkins, safe and sound, come climbing over the stockade.
19 narrative resumed by jim hawkins: the garrison in the stockade as soon as ben gunn saw the colours he came to a halt, stopped me by the arm, and sat down.
""now," said he, "there's your friends, sure enough."
""far more likely it's the mutineers," i answered.
""that!"
he cried.
""why, in a place like this, where nobody puts in but gen "lemen of fortune, silver would fly the jolly roger, you do n't make no doubt of that.
no, that's your friends.
there's been blows too, and i reckon your friends has had the best of it; and here they are ashore in the old stockade, as was made years and years ago by flint.
ah, he was the man to have a headpiece, was flint!
barring rum, his match were never seen.
he were afraid of none, not he; on" y silver -- silver was that genteel."
""well," said i, "that may be so, and so be it; all the more reason that i should hurry on and join my friends."
""nay, mate," returned ben, "not you.
you're a good boy, or i'm mistook; but you're on" y a boy, all told.
now, ben gunn is fly.
rum would n't bring me there, where you're going -- not rum would n't, till i see your born gen "leman and gets it on his word of honour.
and you wo n't forget my words;" a precious sight -lrb- that's what you'll say -rrb-, a precious sight more confidence" -- and then nips him."
and he pinched me the third time with the same air of cleverness.
""and when ben gunn is wanted, you know where to find him, jim.
just wheer you found him today.
and him that comes is to have a white thing in his hand, and he's to come alone.
oh!
and you'll say this: "ben gunn," says you, "has reasons of his own.""
""well," said i, "i believe i understand.
you have something to propose, and you wish to see the squire or the doctor, and you're to be found where i found you.
is that all?"
""and when?
says you," he added.
""why, from about noon observation to about six bells."
""good," said i, "and now may i go?"
""you wo n't forget?"
he inquired anxiously.
""precious sight, and reasons of his own, says you.
reasons of his own; that's the mainstay; as between man and man.
well, then" -- still holding me -- "i reckon you can go, jim.
and, jim, if you was to see silver, you would n't go for to sell ben gunn?
wild horses would n't draw it from you?
no, says you.
and if them pirates camp ashore, jim, what would you say but there'd be widders in the morning?"
here he was interrupted by a loud report, and a cannonball came tearing through the trees and pitched in the sand not a hundred yards from where we two were talking.
the next moment each of us had taken to his heels in a different direction.
for a good hour to come frequent reports shook the island, and balls kept crashing through the woods.
i moved from hiding-place to hiding-place, always pursued, or so it seemed to me, by these terrifying missiles.
but towards the end of the bombardment, though still i durst not venture in the direction of the stockade, where the balls fell oftenest, i had begun, in a manner, to pluck up my heart again, and after a long detour to the east, crept down among the shore-side trees.
the sun had just set, the sea breeze was rustling and tumbling in the woods and ruffling the grey surface of the anchorage; the tide, too, was far out, and great tracts of sand lay uncovered; the air, after the heat of the day, chilled me through my jacket.
the hispaniola still lay where she had anchored; but, sure enough, there was the jolly roger -- the black flag of piracy -- flying from her peak.
even as i looked, there came another red flash and another report that sent the echoes clattering, and one more round-shot whistled through the air.
it was the last of the cannonade.
i lay for some time watching the bustle which succeeded the attack.
men were demolishing something with axes on the beach near the stockade -- the poor jolly-boat, i afterwards discovered.
away, near the mouth of the river, a great fire was glowing among the trees, and between that point and the ship one of the gigs kept coming and going, the men, whom i had seen so gloomy, shouting at the oars like children.
but there was a sound in their voices which suggested rum.
at length i thought i might return towards the stockade.
i was pretty far down on the low, sandy spit that encloses the anchorage to the east, and is joined at half-water to skeleton island; and now, as i rose to my feet, i saw, some distance further down the spit and rising from among low bushes, an isolated rock, pretty high, and peculiarly white in colour.
it occurred to me that this might be the white rock of which ben gunn had spoken and that some day or other a boat might be wanted and i should know where to look for one.
then i skirted among the woods until i had regained the rear, or shoreward side, of the stockade, and was soon warmly welcomed by the faithful party.
i had soon told my story and began to look about me.
the log-house was made of unsquared trunks of pine -- roof, walls, and floor.
the latter stood in several places as much as a foot or a foot and a half above the surface of the sand.
there was a porch at the door, and under this porch the little spring welled up into an artificial basin of a rather odd kind -- no other than a great ship's kettle of iron, with the bottom knocked out, and sunk "to her bearings," as the captain said, among the sand.
little had been left besides the framework of the house, but in one corner there was a stone slab laid down by way of hearth and an old rusty iron basket to contain the fire.
the slopes of the knoll and all the inside of the stockade had been cleared of timber to build the house, and we could see by the stumps what a fine and lofty grove had been destroyed.
most of the soil had been washed away or buried in drift after the removal of the trees; only where the streamlet ran down from the kettle a thick bed of moss and some ferns and little creeping bushes were still green among the sand.
very close around the stockade -- too close for defence, they said -- the wood still flourished high and dense, all of fir on the land side, but towards the sea with a large admixture of live-oaks.
the cold evening breeze, of which i have spoken, whistled through every chink of the rude building and sprinkled the floor with a continual rain of fine sand.
there was sand in our eyes, sand in our teeth, sand in our suppers, sand dancing in the spring at the bottom of the kettle, for all the world like porridge beginning to boil.
our chimney was a square hole in the roof; it was but a little part of the smoke that found its way out, and the rest eddied about the house and kept us coughing and piping the eye.
add to this that gray, the new man, had his face tied up in a bandage for a cut he had got in breaking away from the mutineers and that poor old tom redruth, still unburied, lay along the wall, stiff and stark, under the union jack.
if we had been allowed to sit idle, we should all have fallen in the blues, but captain smollett was never the man for that.
all hands were called up before him, and he divided us into watches.
the doctor and gray and i for one; the squire, hunter, and joyce upon the other.
tired though we all were, two were sent out for firewood; two more were set to dig a grave for redruth; the doctor was named cook; i was put sentry at the door; and the captain himself went from one to another, keeping up our spirits and lending a hand wherever it was wanted.
from time to time the doctor came to the door for a little air and to rest his eyes, which were almost smoked out of his head, and whenever he did so, he had a word for me.
""that man smollett," he said once, "is a better man than i am.
and when i say that it means a deal, jim."
another time he came and was silent for a while.
then he put his head on one side, and looked at me.
""is this ben gunn a man?"
he asked.
""i do not know, sir," said i. "i am not very sure whether he's sane."
""if there's any doubt about the matter, he is," returned the doctor.
""a man who has been three years biting his nails on a desert island, jim, ca n't expect to appear as sane as you or me.
it does n't lie in human nature.
was it cheese you said he had a fancy for?"
""yes, sir, cheese," i answered.
""well, jim," says he, "just see the good that comes of being dainty in your food.
you've seen my snuff-box, have n't you?
and you never saw me take snuff, the reason being that in my snuff-box i carry a piece of parmesan cheese -- a cheese made in italy, very nutritious.
well, that's for ben gunn!"
before supper was eaten we buried old tom in the sand and stood round him for a while bare-headed in the breeze.
a good deal of firewood had been got in, but not enough for the captain's fancy, and he shook his head over it and told us we "must get back to this tomorrow rather livelier."
then, when we had eaten our pork and each had a good stiff glass of brandy grog, the three chiefs got together in a corner to discuss our prospects.
it appears they were at their wits" end what to do, the stores being so low that we must have been starved into surrender long before help came.
but our best hope, it was decided, was to kill off the buccaneers until they either hauled down their flag or ran away with the hispaniola.
from nineteen they were already reduced to fifteen, two others were wounded, and one at least -- the man shot beside the gun -- severely wounded, if he were not dead.
every time we had a crack at them, we were to take it, saving our own lives, with the extremest care.
and besides that, we had two able allies -- rum and the climate.
as for the first, though we were about half a mile away, we could hear them roaring and singing late into the night; and as for the second, the doctor staked his wig that, camped where they were in the marsh and unprovided with remedies, the half of them would be on their backs before a week.
""so," he added, "if we are not all shot down first they'll be glad to be packing in the schooner.
it's always a ship, and they can get to buccaneering again, i suppose."
""first ship that ever i lost," said captain smollett.
i was dead tired, as you may fancy; and when i got to sleep, which was not till after a great deal of tossing, i slept like a log of wood.
the rest had long been up and had already breakfasted and increased the pile of firewood by about half as much again when i was wakened by a bustle and the sound of voices.
""flag of truce!"
i heard someone say; and then, immediately after, with a cry of surprise, "silver himself!"
and at that, up i jumped, and rubbing my eyes, ran to a loophole in the wall.
20 silver's embassy sure enough, there were two men just outside the stockade, one of them waving a white cloth, the other, no less a person than silver himself, standing placidly by.
it was still quite early, and the coldest morning that i think i ever was abroad in -- a chill that pierced into the marrow.
the sky was bright and cloudless overhead, and the tops of the trees shone rosily in the sun.
but where silver stood with his lieutenant, all was still in shadow, and they waded knee-deep in a low white vapour that had crawled during the night out of the morass.
the chill and the vapour taken together told a poor tale of the island.
it was plainly a damp, feverish, unhealthy spot.
""keep indoors, men," said the captain.
""ten to one this is a trick."
then he hailed the buccaneer.
""who goes?
stand, or we fire."
""flag of truce," cried silver.
the captain was in the porch, keeping himself carefully out of the way of a treacherous shot, should any be intended.
he turned and spoke to us, "doctor's watch on the lookout.
dr. livesey take the north side, if you please; jim, the east; gray, west.
the watch below, all hands to load muskets.
lively, men, and careful."
and then he turned again to the mutineers.
""and what do you want with your flag of truce?"
he cried.
this time it was the other man who replied.
""cap'n silver, sir, to come on board and make terms," he shouted.
""cap'n silver!
do n't know him.
who's he?"
cried the captain.
and we could hear him adding to himself, "cap'n, is it?
my heart, and here's promotion!"
long john answered for himself.
""me, sir.
these poor lads have chosen me cap'n, after your desertion, sir" -- laying a particular emphasis upon the word "desertion."
""we're willing to submit, if we can come to terms, and no bones about it.
all i ask is your word, cap'n smollett, to let me safe and sound out of this here stockade, and one minute to get out o" shot before a gun is fired."
""my man," said captain smollett, "i have not the slightest desire to talk to you.
if you wish to talk to me, you can come, that's all.
if there's any treachery, it'll be on your side, and the lord help you."
""that's enough, cap'n," shouted long john cheerily.
""a word from you's enough.
i know a gentleman, and you may lay to that."
we could see the man who carried the flag of truce attempting to hold silver back.
nor was that wonderful, seeing how cavalier had been the captain's answer.
but silver laughed at him aloud and slapped him on the back as if the idea of alarm had been absurd.
then he advanced to the stockade, threw over his crutch, got a leg up, and with great vigour and skill succeeded in surmounting the fence and dropping safely to the other side.
i will confess that i was far too much taken up with what was going on to be of the slightest use as sentry; indeed, i had already deserted my eastern loophole and crept up behind the captain, who had now seated himself on the threshold, with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and his eyes fixed on the water as it bubbled out of the old iron kettle in the sand.
he was whistling "come, lasses and lads."
silver had terrible hard work getting up the knoll.
what with the steepness of the incline, the thick tree stumps, and the soft sand, he and his crutch were as helpless as a ship in stays.
but he stuck to it like a man in silence, and at last arrived before the captain, whom he saluted in the handsomest style.
he was tricked out in his best; an immense blue coat, thick with brass buttons, hung as low as to his knees, and a fine laced hat was set on the back of his head.
""here you are, my man," said the captain, raising his head.
""you had better sit down."
""you ai n't a-going to let me inside, cap'n?"
complained long john.
""it's a main cold morning, to be sure, sir, to sit outside upon the sand."
""why, silver," said the captain, "if you had pleased to be an honest man, you might have been sitting in your galley.
it's your own doing.
you're either my ship's cook -- and then you were treated handsome -- or cap'n silver, a common mutineer and pirate, and then you can go hang!"
""well, well, cap'n," returned the sea-cook, sitting down as he was bidden on the sand, "you'll have to give me a hand up again, that's all.
a sweet pretty place you have of it here.
ah, there's jim!
the top of the morning to you, jim.
doctor, here's my service.
why, there you all are together like a happy family, in a manner of speaking."
""if you have anything to say, my man, better say it," said the captain.
""right you were, cap'n smollett," replied silver.
""dooty is dooty, to be sure.
well now, you look here, that was a good lay of yours last night.
i do n't deny it was a good lay.
some of you pretty handy with a handspike-end.
and i'll not deny neither but what some of my people was shook -- maybe all was shook; maybe i was shook myself; maybe that's why i'm here for terms.
but you mark me, cap'n, it wo n't do twice, by thunder!
we'll have to do sentry-go and ease off a point or so on the rum.
maybe you think we were all a sheet in the wind's eye.
but i'll tell you i was sober; i was on" y dog tired; and if i'd awoke a second sooner, i'd" a caught you at the act, i would.
he was n't dead when i got round to him, not he."
""well?"
says captain smollett as cool as can be.
all that silver said was a riddle to him, but you would never have guessed it from his tone.
as for me, i began to have an inkling.
ben gunn's last words came back to my mind.
i began to suppose that he had paid the buccaneers a visit while they all lay drunk together round their fire, and i reckoned up with glee that we had only fourteen enemies to deal with.
""well, here it is," said silver.
""we want that treasure, and we'll have it -- that's our point!
you would just as soon save your lives, i reckon; and that's yours.
you have a chart, have n't you?"
""that's as may be," replied the captain.
""oh, well, you have, i know that," returned long john.
""you need n't be so husky with a man; there ai n't a particle of service in that, and you may lay to it.
what i mean is, we want your chart.
now, i never meant you no harm, myself."
""that wo n't do with me, my man," interrupted the captain.
""we know exactly what you meant to do, and we do n't care, for now, you see, you ca n't do it."
and the captain looked at him calmly and proceeded to fill a pipe.
""if abe gray --" silver broke out.
""avast there!"
cried mr. smollett.
""gray told me nothing, and i asked him nothing; and what's more, i would see you and him and this whole island blown clean out of the water into blazes first.
so there's my mind for you, my man, on that."
this little whiff of temper seemed to cool silver down.
he had been growing nettled before, but now he pulled himself together.
""like enough," said he.
""i would set no limits to what gentlemen might consider shipshape, or might not, as the case were.
and seein" as how you are about to take a pipe, cap'n, i'll make so free as do likewise."
and he filled a pipe and lighted it; and the two men sat silently smoking for quite a while, now looking each other in the face, now stopping their tobacco, now leaning forward to spit.
it was as good as the play to see them.
""now," resumed silver, "here it is.
you give us the chart to get the treasure by, and drop shooting poor seamen and stoving of their heads in while asleep.
you do that, and we'll offer you a choice.
either you come aboard along of us, once the treasure shipped, and then i'll give you my affy-davy, upon my word of honour, to clap you somewhere safe ashore.
or if that ai n't to your fancy, some of my hands being rough and having old scores on account of hazing, then you can stay here, you can.
we'll divide stores with you, man for man; and i'll give my affy-davy, as before to speak the first ship i sight, and send'em here to pick you up.
now, you'll own that's talking.
handsomer you could n't look to get, now you.
and i hope" -- raising his voice -- "that all hands in this here block house will overhaul my words, for what is spoke to one is spoke to all."
captain smollett rose from his seat and knocked out the ashes of his pipe in the palm of his left hand.
""is that all?"
he asked.
""every last word, by thunder!"
answered john.
""refuse that, and you've seen the last of me but musket-balls."
""very good," said the captain.
""now you'll hear me.
if you'll come up one by one, unarmed, i'll engage to clap you all in irons and take you home to a fair trial in england.
if you wo n't, my name is alexander smollett, i've flown my sovereign's colours, and i'll see you all to davy jones.
you ca n't find the treasure.
you ca n't sail the ship -- there's not a man among you fit to sail the ship.
you ca n't fight us -- gray, there, got away from five of you.
your ship's in irons, master silver; you're on a lee shore, and so you'll find.
i stand here and tell you so; and they're the last good words you'll get from me, for in the name of heaven, i'll put a bullet in your back when next i meet you.
tramp, my lad.
bundle out of this, please, hand over hand, and double quick."
silver's face was a picture; his eyes started in his head with wrath.
he shook the fire out of his pipe.
""give me a hand up!"
he cried.
""not i," returned the captain.
""who'll give me a hand up?"
he roared.
not a man among us moved.
growling the foulest imprecations, he crawled along the sand till he got hold of the porch and could hoist himself again upon his crutch.
then he spat into the spring.
""there!"
he cried.
""that's what i think of ye.
before an hour's out, i'll stove in your old block house like a rum puncheon.
laugh, by thunder, laugh!
before an hour's out, ye'll laugh upon the other side.
them that die'll be the lucky ones."
and with a dreadful oath he stumbled off, ploughed down the sand, was helped across the stockade, after four or five failures, by the man with the flag of truce, and disappeared in an instant afterwards among the trees.
21 the attack as soon as silver disappeared, the captain, who had been closely watching him, turned towards the interior of the house and found not a man of us at his post but gray.
it was the first time we had ever seen him angry.
""quarters!"
he roared.
and then, as we all slunk back to our places, "gray," he said, "i'll put your name in the log; you've stood by your duty like a seaman.
mr. trelawney, i'm surprised at you, sir.
doctor, i thought you had worn the king's coat!
if that was how you served at fontenoy, sir, you'd have been better in your berth."
the doctor's watch were all back at their loopholes, the rest were busy loading the spare muskets, and everyone with a red face, you may be certain, and a flea in his ear, as the saying is.
the captain looked on for a while in silence.
then he spoke.
""my lads," said he, "i've given silver a broadside.
i pitched it in red-hot on purpose; and before the hour's out, as he said, we shall be boarded.
we're outnumbered, i need n't tell you that, but we fight in shelter; and a minute ago i should have said we fought with discipline.
i've no manner of doubt that we can drub them, if you choose."
then he went the rounds and saw, as he said, that all was clear.
on the two short sides of the house, east and west, there were only two loopholes; on the south side where the porch was, two again; and on the north side, five.
there was a round score of muskets for the seven of us; the firewood had been built into four piles -- tables, you might say -- one about the middle of each side, and on each of these tables some ammunition and four loaded muskets were laid ready to the hand of the defenders.
in the middle, the cutlasses lay ranged.
""toss out the fire," said the captain; "the chill is past, and we must n't have smoke in our eyes."
the iron fire-basket was carried bodily out by mr. trelawney, and the embers smothered among sand.
""hawkins has n't had his breakfast.
hawkins, help yourself, and back to your post to eat it," continued captain smollett.
""lively, now, my lad; you'll want it before you've done.
hunter, serve out a round of brandy to all hands."
and while this was going on, the captain completed, in his own mind, the plan of the defence.
""doctor, you will take the door," he resumed.
""see, and do n't expose yourself; keep within, and fire through the porch.
hunter, take the east side, there.
joyce, you stand by the west, my man.
mr. trelawney, you are the best shot -- you and gray will take this long north side, with the five loopholes; it's there the danger is.
if they can get up to it and fire in upon us through our own ports, things would begin to look dirty.
hawkins, neither you nor i are much account at the shooting; we'll stand by to load and bear a hand."
as the captain had said, the chill was past.
as soon as the sun had climbed above our girdle of trees, it fell with all its force upon the clearing and drank up the vapours at a draught.
soon the sand was baking and the resin melting in the logs of the block house.
jackets and coats were flung aside, shirts thrown open at the neck and rolled up to the shoulders; and we stood there, each at his post, in a fever of heat and anxiety.
an hour passed away.
""hang them!"
said the captain.
""this is as dull as the doldrums.
gray, whistle for a wind."
and just at that moment came the first news of the attack.
""if you please, sir," said joyce, "if i see anyone, am i to fire?"
""i told you so!"
cried the captain.
""thank you, sir," returned joyce with the same quiet civility.
nothing followed for a time, but the remark had set us all on the alert, straining ears and eyes -- the musketeers with their pieces balanced in their hands, the captain out in the middle of the block house with his mouth very tight and a frown on his face.
so some seconds passed, till suddenly joyce whipped up his musket and fired.
the report had scarcely died away ere it was repeated and repeated from without in a scattering volley, shot behind shot, like a string of geese, from every side of the enclosure.
several bullets struck the log-house, but not one entered; and as the smoke cleared away and vanished, the stockade and the woods around it looked as quiet and empty as before.
not a bough waved, not the gleam of a musket-barrel betrayed the presence of our foes.
""did you hit your man?"
asked the captain.
""no, sir," replied joyce.
""i believe not, sir."
""next best thing to tell the truth," muttered captain smollett.
""load his gun, hawkins.
how many should say there were on your side, doctor?"
""i know precisely," said dr. livesey.
""three shots were fired on this side.
i saw the three flashes -- two close together -- one farther to the west."
""three!"
repeated the captain.
""and how many on yours, mr. trelawney?"
but this was not so easily answered.
there had come many from the north -- seven by the squire's computation, eight or nine according to gray.
from the east and west only a single shot had been fired.
it was plain, therefore, that the attack would be developed from the north and that on the other three sides we were only to be annoyed by a show of hostilities.
but captain smollett made no change in his arrangements.
if the mutineers succeeded in crossing the stockade, he argued, they would take possession of any unprotected loophole and shoot us down like rats in our own stronghold.
nor had we much time left to us for thought.
suddenly, with a loud huzza, a little cloud of pirates leaped from the woods on the north side and ran straight on the stockade.
at the same moment, the fire was once more opened from the woods, and a rifle ball sang through the doorway and knocked the doctor's musket into bits.
the boarders swarmed over the fence like monkeys.
squire and gray fired again and yet again; three men fell, one forwards into the enclosure, two back on the outside.
but of these, one was evidently more frightened than hurt, for he was on his feet again in a crack and instantly disappeared among the trees.
two had bit the dust, one had fled, four had made good their footing inside our defences, while from the shelter of the woods seven or eight men, each evidently supplied with several muskets, kept up a hot though useless fire on the log-house.
the four who had boarded made straight before them for the building, shouting as they ran, and the men among the trees shouted back to encourage them.
several shots were fired, but such was the hurry of the marksmen that not one appears to have taken effect.
in a moment, the four pirates had swarmed up the mound and were upon us.
the head of job anderson, the boatswain, appeared at the middle loophole.
""at'em, all hands -- all hands!"
he roared in a voice of thunder.
at the same moment, another pirate grasped hunter's musket by the muzzle, wrenched it from his hands, plucked it through the loophole, and with one stunning blow, laid the poor fellow senseless on the floor.
meanwhile a third, running unharmed all around the house, appeared suddenly in the doorway and fell with his cutlass on the doctor.
our position was utterly reversed.
a moment since we were firing, under cover, at an exposed enemy; now it was we who lay uncovered and could not return a blow.
the log-house was full of smoke, to which we owed our comparative safety.
cries and confusion, the flashes and reports of pistol-shots, and one loud groan rang in my ears.
""out, lads, out, and fight'em in the open!
cutlasses!"
cried the captain.
i snatched a cutlass from the pile, and someone, at the same time snatching another, gave me a cut across the knuckles which i hardly felt.
i dashed out of the door into the clear sunlight.
someone was close behind, i knew not whom.
right in front, the doctor was pursuing his assailant down the hill, and just as my eyes fell upon him, beat down his guard and sent him sprawling on his back with a great slash across the face.
""round the house, lads!
round the house!"
cried the captain; and even in the hurly-burly, i perceived a change in his voice.
mechanically, i obeyed, turned eastwards, and with my cutlass raised, ran round the corner of the house.
next moment i was face to face with anderson.
he roared aloud, and his hanger went up above his head, flashing in the sunlight.
i had not time to be afraid, but as the blow still hung impending, leaped in a trice upon one side, and missing my foot in the soft sand, rolled headlong down the slope.
when i had first sallied from the door, the other mutineers had been already swarming up the palisade to make an end of us.
one man, in a red night-cap, with his cutlass in his mouth, had even got upon the top and thrown a leg across.
well, so short had been the interval that when i found my feet again all was in the same posture, the fellow with the red night-cap still half-way over, another still just showing his head above the top of the stockade.
and yet, in this breath of time, the fight was over and the victory was ours.
gray, following close behind me, had cut down the big boatswain ere he had time to recover from his last blow.
another had been shot at a loophole in the very act of firing into the house and now lay in agony, the pistol still smoking in his hand.
a third, as i had seen, the doctor had disposed of at a blow.
of the four who had scaled the palisade, one only remained unaccounted for, and he, having left his cutlass on the field, was now clambering out again with the fear of death upon him.
""fire -- fire from the house!"
cried the doctor.
""and you, lads, back into cover."
but his words were unheeded, no shot was fired, and the last boarder made good his escape and disappeared with the rest into the wood.
in three seconds nothing remained of the attacking party but the five who had fallen, four on the inside and one on the outside of the palisade.
the doctor and gray and i ran full speed for shelter.
the survivors would soon be back where they had left their muskets, and at any moment the fire might recommence.
the house was by this time somewhat cleared of smoke, and we saw at a glance the price we had paid for victory.
hunter lay beside his loophole, stunned; joyce by his, shot through the head, never to move again; while right in the centre, the squire was supporting the captain, one as pale as the other.
""the captain's wounded," said mr. trelawney.
""have they run?"
asked mr. smollett.
""all that could, you may be bound," returned the doctor; "but there's five of them will never run again."
""five!"
cried the captain.
""come, that's better.
five against three leaves us four to nine.
that's better odds than we had at starting.
we were seven to nineteen then, or thought we were, and that's as bad to bear."
* * the mutineers were soon only eight in number, for the man shot by mr. trelawney on board the schooner died that same evening of his wound.
but this was, of course, not known till after by the faithful party.
part five -- my sea adventure 22 how my sea adventure began there was no return of the mutineers -- not so much as another shot out of the woods.
they had "got their rations for that day," as the captain put it, and we had the place to ourselves and a quiet time to overhaul the wounded and get dinner.
squire and i cooked outside in spite of the danger, and even outside we could hardly tell what we were at, for horror of the loud groans that reached us from the doctor's patients.
out of the eight men who had fallen in the action, only three still breathed -- that one of the pirates who had been shot at the loophole, hunter, and captain smollett; and of these, the first two were as good as dead; the mutineer indeed died under the doctor's knife, and hunter, do what we could, never recovered consciousness in this world.
he lingered all day, breathing loudly like the old buccaneer at home in his apoplectic fit, but the bones of his chest had been crushed by the blow and his skull fractured in falling, and some time in the following night, without sign or sound, he went to his maker.
as for the captain, his wounds were grievous indeed, but not dangerous.
no organ was fatally injured.
anderson's ball -- for it was job that shot him first -- had broken his shoulder-blade and touched the lung, not badly; the second had only torn and displaced some muscles in the calf.
he was sure to recover, the doctor said, but in the meantime, and for weeks to come, he must not walk nor move his arm, nor so much as speak when he could help it.
my own accidental cut across the knuckles was a flea-bite.
doctor livesey patched it up with plaster and pulled my ears for me into the bargain.
after dinner the squire and the doctor sat by the captain's side awhile in consultation; and when they had talked to their hearts" content, it being then a little past noon, the doctor took up his hat and pistols, girt on a cutlass, put the chart in his pocket, and with a musket over his shoulder crossed the palisade on the north side and set off briskly through the trees.
gray and i were sitting together at the far end of the block house, to be out of earshot of our officers consulting; and gray took his pipe out of his mouth and fairly forgot to put it back again, so thunder-struck he was at this occurrence.
""why, in the name of davy jones," said he, "is dr. livesey mad?"
""why no," says i. "he's about the last of this crew for that, i take it."
""well, shipmate," said gray, "mad he may not be; but if he's not, you mark my words, i am."
""i take it," replied i, "the doctor has his idea; and if i am right, he's going now to see ben gunn."
i was right, as appeared later; but in the meantime, the house being stifling hot and the little patch of sand inside the palisade ablaze with midday sun, i began to get another thought into my head, which was not by any means so right.
what i began to do was to envy the doctor walking in the cool shadow of the woods with the birds about him and the pleasant smell of the pines, while i sat grilling, with my clothes stuck to the hot resin, and so much blood about me and so many poor dead bodies lying all around that i took a disgust of the place that was almost as strong as fear.
all the time i was washing out the block house, and then washing up the things from dinner, this disgust and envy kept growing stronger and stronger, till at last, being near a bread-bag, and no one then observing me, i took the first step towards my escapade and filled both pockets of my coat with biscuit.
i was a fool, if you like, and certainly i was going to do a foolish, over-bold act; but i was determined to do it with all the precautions in my power.
these biscuits, should anything befall me, would keep me, at least, from starving till far on in the next day.
the next thing i laid hold of was a brace of pistols, and as i already had a powder-horn and bullets, i felt myself well supplied with arms.
as for the scheme i had in my head, it was not a bad one in itself.
i was to go down the sandy spit that divides the anchorage on the east from the open sea, find the white rock i had observed last evening, and ascertain whether it was there or not that ben gunn had hidden his boat, a thing quite worth doing, as i still believe.
but as i was certain i should not be allowed to leave the enclosure, my only plan was to take french leave and slip out when nobody was watching, and that was so bad a way of doing it as made the thing itself wrong.
but i was only a boy, and i had made my mind up.
well, as things at last fell out, i found an admirable opportunity.
the squire and gray were busy helping the captain with his bandages, the coast was clear, i made a bolt for it over the stockade and into the thickest of the trees, and before my absence was observed i was out of cry of my companions.
this was my second folly, far worse than the first, as i left but two sound men to guard the house; but like the first, it was a help towards saving all of us.
i took my way straight for the east coast of the island, for i was determined to go down the sea side of the spit to avoid all chance of observation from the anchorage.
it was already late in the afternoon, although still warm and sunny.
as i continued to thread the tall woods, i could hear from far before me not only the continuous thunder of the surf, but a certain tossing of foliage and grinding of boughs which showed me the sea breeze had set in higher than usual.
soon cool draughts of air began to reach me, and a few steps farther i came forth into the open borders of the grove, and saw the sea lying blue and sunny to the horizon and the surf tumbling and tossing its foam along the beach.
i have never seen the sea quiet round treasure island.
the sun might blaze overhead, the air be without a breath, the surface smooth and blue, but still these great rollers would be running along all the external coast, thundering and thundering by day and night; and i scarce believe there is one spot in the island where a man would be out of earshot of their noise.
i walked along beside the surf with great enjoyment, till, thinking i was now got far enough to the south, i took the cover of some thick bushes and crept warily up to the ridge of the spit.
behind me was the sea, in front the anchorage.
the sea breeze, as though it had the sooner blown itself out by its unusual violence, was already at an end; it had been succeeded by light, variable airs from the south and south-east, carrying great banks of fog; and the anchorage, under lee of skeleton island, lay still and leaden as when first we entered it.
the hispaniola, in that unbroken mirror, was exactly portrayed from the truck to the waterline, the jolly roger hanging from her peak.
alongside lay one of the gigs, silver in the stern-sheets -- him i could always recognize -- while a couple of men were leaning over the stern bulwarks, one of them with a red cap -- the very rogue that i had seen some hours before stride-legs upon the palisade.
apparently they were talking and laughing, though at that distance -- upwards of a mile -- i could, of course, hear no word of what was said.
all at once there began the most horrid, unearthly screaming, which at first startled me badly, though i had soon remembered the voice of captain flint and even thought i could make out the bird by her bright plumage as she sat perched upon her master's wrist.
soon after, the jolly-boat shoved off and pulled for shore, and the man with the red cap and his comrade went below by the cabin companion.
just about the same time, the sun had gone down behind the spy-glass, and as the fog was collecting rapidly, it began to grow dark in earnest.
i saw i must lose no time if i were to find the boat that evening.
the white rock, visible enough above the brush, was still some eighth of a mile further down the spit, and it took me a goodish while to get up with it, crawling, often on all fours, among the scrub.
night had almost come when i laid my hand on its rough sides.
right below it there was an exceedingly small hollow of green turf, hidden by banks and a thick underwood about knee-deep, that grew there very plentifully; and in the centre of the dell, sure enough, a little tent of goat-skins, like what the gipsies carry about with them in england.
i dropped into the hollow, lifted the side of the tent, and there was ben gunn's boat -- home-made if ever anything was home-made; a rude, lop-sided framework of tough wood, and stretched upon that a covering of goat-skin, with the hair inside.
the thing was extremely small, even for me, and i can hardly imagine that it could have floated with a full-sized man.
there was one thwart set as low as possible, a kind of stretcher in the bows, and a double paddle for propulsion.
i had not then seen a coracle, such as the ancient britons made, but i have seen one since, and i can give you no fairer idea of ben gunn's boat than by saying it was like the first and the worst coracle ever made by man.
but the great advantage of the coracle it certainly possessed, for it was exceedingly light and portable.
well, now that i had found the boat, you would have thought i had had enough of truantry for once, but in the meantime i had taken another notion and become so obstinately fond of it that i would have carried it out, i believe, in the teeth of captain smollett himself.
this was to slip out under cover of the night, cut the hispaniola adrift, and let her go ashore where she fancied.
i had quite made up my mind that the mutineers, after their repulse of the morning, had nothing nearer their hearts than to up anchor and away to sea; this, i thought, it would be a fine thing to prevent, and now that i had seen how they left their watchmen unprovided with a boat, i thought it might be done with little risk.
down i sat to wait for darkness, and made a hearty meal of biscuit.
it was a night out of ten thousand for my purpose.
the fog had now buried all heaven.
as the last rays of daylight dwindled and disappeared, absolute blackness settled down on treasure island.
and when, at last, i shouldered the coracle and groped my way stumblingly out of the hollow where i had supped, there were but two points visible on the whole anchorage.
one was the great fire on shore, by which the defeated pirates lay carousing in the swamp.
the other, a mere blur of light upon the darkness, indicated the position of the anchored ship.
she had swung round to the ebb -- her bow was now towards me -- the only lights on board were in the cabin, and what i saw was merely a reflection on the fog of the strong rays that flowed from the stern window.
the ebb had already run some time, and i had to wade through a long belt of swampy sand, where i sank several times above the ankle, before i came to the edge of the retreating water, and wading a little way in, with some strength and dexterity, set my coracle, keel downwards, on the surface.
23 the ebb-tide runs the coracle -- as i had ample reason to know before i was done with her -- was a very safe boat for a person of my height and weight, both buoyant and clever in a seaway; but she was the most cross-grained, lop-sided craft to manage.
do as you pleased, she always made more leeway than anything else, and turning round and round was the manoeuvre she was best at.
even ben gunn himself has admitted that she was "queer to handle till you knew her way."
certainly i did not know her way.
she turned in every direction but the one i was bound to go; the most part of the time we were broadside on, and i am very sure i never should have made the ship at all but for the tide.
by good fortune, paddle as i pleased, the tide was still sweeping me down; and there lay the hispaniola right in the fairway, hardly to be missed.
first she loomed before me like a blot of something yet blacker than darkness, then her spars and hull began to take shape, and the next moment, as it seemed -lrb- for, the farther i went, the brisker grew the current of the ebb -rrb-, i was alongside of her hawser and had laid hold.
the hawser was as taut as a bowstring, and the current so strong she pulled upon her anchor.
all round the hull, in the blackness, the rippling current bubbled and chattered like a little mountain stream.
one cut with my sea-gully and the hispaniola would go humming down the tide.
so far so good, but it next occurred to my recollection that a taut hawser, suddenly cut, is a thing as dangerous as a kicking horse.
ten to one, if i were so foolhardy as to cut the hispaniola from her anchor, i and the coracle would be knocked clean out of the water.
this brought me to a full stop, and if fortune had not again particularly favoured me, i should have had to abandon my design.
but the light airs which had begun blowing from the south-east and south had hauled round after nightfall into the south-west.
just while i was meditating, a puff came, caught the hispaniola, and forced her up into the current; and to my great joy, i felt the hawser slacken in my grasp, and the hand by which i held it dip for a second under water.
with that i made my mind up, took out my gully, opened it with my teeth, and cut one strand after another, till the vessel swung only by two.
then i lay quiet, waiting to sever these last when the strain should be once more lightened by a breath of wind.
all this time i had heard the sound of loud voices from the cabin, but to say truth, my mind had been so entirely taken up with other thoughts that i had scarcely given ear.
now, however, when i had nothing else to do, i began to pay more heed.
one i recognized for the coxswain's, israel hands, that had been flint's gunner in former days.
the other was, of course, my friend of the red night-cap.
both men were plainly the worse of drink, and they were still drinking, for even while i was listening, one of them, with a drunken cry, opened the stern window and threw out something, which i divined to be an empty bottle.
but they were not only tipsy; it was plain that they were furiously angry.
oaths flew like hailstones, and every now and then there came forth such an explosion as i thought was sure to end in blows.
but each time the quarrel passed off and the voices grumbled lower for a while, until the next crisis came and in its turn passed away without result.
on shore, i could see the glow of the great camp-fire burning warmly through the shore-side trees.
someone was singing, a dull, old, droning sailor's song, with a droop and a quaver at the end of every verse, and seemingly no end to it at all but the patience of the singer.
i had heard it on the voyage more than once and remembered these words: "but one man of her crew alive, what put to sea with seventy-five."
and i thought it was a ditty rather too dolefully appropriate for a company that had met such cruel losses in the morning.
but, indeed, from what i saw, all these buccaneers were as callous as the sea they sailed on.
at last the breeze came; the schooner sidled and drew nearer in the dark; i felt the hawser slacken once more, and with a good, tough effort, cut the last fibres through.
the breeze had but little action on the coracle, and i was almost instantly swept against the bows of the hispaniola.
at the same time, the schooner began to turn upon her heel, spinning slowly, end for end, across the current.
i wrought like a fiend, for i expected every moment to be swamped; and since i found i could not push the coracle directly off, i now shoved straight astern.
at length i was clear of my dangerous neighbour, and just as i gave the last impulsion, my hands came across a light cord that was trailing overboard across the stern bulwarks.
instantly i grasped it.
why i should have done so i can hardly say.
it was at first mere instinct, but once i had it in my hands and found it fast, curiosity began to get the upper hand, and i determined i should have one look through the cabin window.
i pulled in hand over hand on the cord, and when i judged myself near enough, rose at infinite risk to about half my height and thus commanded the roof and a slice of the interior of the cabin.
by this time the schooner and her little consort were gliding pretty swiftly through the water; indeed, we had already fetched up level with the camp-fire.
the ship was talking, as sailors say, loudly, treading the innumerable ripples with an incessant weltering splash; and until i got my eye above the window-sill i could not comprehend why the watchmen had taken no alarm.
one glance, however, was sufficient; and it was only one glance that i durst take from that unsteady skiff.
it showed me hands and his companion locked together in deadly wrestle, each with a hand upon the other's throat.
i dropped upon the thwart again, none too soon, for i was near overboard.
i could see nothing for the moment but these two furious, encrimsoned faces swaying together under the smoky lamp, and i shut my eyes to let them grow once more familiar with the darkness.
the endless ballad had come to an end at last, and the whole diminished company about the camp-fire had broken into the chorus i had heard so often: "fifteen men on the dead man's chest -- yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
drink and the devil had done for the rest -- yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
i was just thinking how busy drink and the devil were at that very moment in the cabin of the hispaniola, when i was surprised by a sudden lurch of the coracle.
at the same moment, she yawed sharply and seemed to change her course.
the speed in the meantime had strangely increased.
i opened my eyes at once.
all round me were little ripples, combing over with a sharp, bristling sound and slightly phosphorescent.
the hispaniola herself, a few yards in whose wake i was still being whirled along, seemed to stagger in her course, and i saw her spars toss a little against the blackness of the night; nay, as i looked longer, i made sure she also was wheeling to the southward.
i glanced over my shoulder, and my heart jumped against my ribs.
there, right behind me, was the glow of the camp-fire.
the current had turned at right angles, sweeping round along with it the tall schooner and the little dancing coracle; ever quickening, ever bubbling higher, ever muttering louder, it went spinning through the narrows for the open sea.
suddenly the schooner in front of me gave a violent yaw, turning, perhaps, through twenty degrees; and almost at the same moment one shout followed another from on board; i could hear feet pounding on the companion ladder and i knew that the two drunkards had at last been interrupted in their quarrel and awakened to a sense of their disaster.
i lay down flat in the bottom of that wretched skiff and devoutly recommended my spirit to its maker.
at the end of the straits, i made sure we must fall into some bar of raging breakers, where all my troubles would be ended speedily; and though i could, perhaps, bear to die, i could not bear to look upon my fate as it approached.
so i must have lain for hours, continually beaten to and fro upon the billows, now and again wetted with flying sprays, and never ceasing to expect death at the next plunge.
gradually weariness grew upon me; a numbness, an occasional stupor, fell upon my mind even in the midst of my terrors, until sleep at last supervened and in my sea-tossed coracle i lay and dreamed of home and the old admiral benbow.
24 the cruise of the coracle it was broad day when i awoke and found myself tossing at the south-west end of treasure island.
the sun was up but was still hid from me behind the great bulk of the spy-glass, which on this side descended almost to the sea in formidable cliffs.
haulbowline head and mizzen-mast hill were at my elbow, the hill bare and dark, the head bound with cliffs forty or fifty feet high and fringed with great masses of fallen rock.
i was scarce a quarter of a mile to seaward, and it was my first thought to paddle in and land.
that notion was soon given over.
among the fallen rocks the breakers spouted and bellowed; loud reverberations, heavy sprays flying and falling, succeeded one another from second to second; and i saw myself, if i ventured nearer, dashed to death upon the rough shore or spending my strength in vain to scale the beetling crags.
nor was that all, for crawling together on flat tables of rock or letting themselves drop into the sea with loud reports i beheld huge slimy monsters -- soft snails, as it were, of incredible bigness -- two or three score of them together, making the rocks to echo with their barkings.
i have understood since that they were sea lions, and entirely harmless.
but the look of them, added to the difficulty of the shore and the high running of the surf, was more than enough to disgust me of that landing-place.
i felt willing rather to starve at sea than to confront such perils.
in the meantime i had a better chance, as i supposed, before me.
north of haulbowline head, the land runs in a long way, leaving at low tide a long stretch of yellow sand.
to the north of that, again, there comes another cape -- cape of the woods, as it was marked upon the chart -- buried in tall green pines, which descended to the margin of the sea.
i remembered what silver had said about the current that sets northward along the whole west coast of treasure island, and seeing from my position that i was already under its influence, i preferred to leave haulbowline head behind me and reserve my strength for an attempt to land upon the kindlier-looking cape of the woods.
there was a great, smooth swell upon the sea.
the wind blowing steady and gentle from the south, there was no contrariety between that and the current, and the billows rose and fell unbroken.
had it been otherwise, i must long ago have perished; but as it was, it is surprising how easily and securely my little and light boat could ride.
often, as i still lay at the bottom and kept no more than an eye above the gunwale, i would see a big blue summit heaving close above me; yet the coracle would but bounce a little, dance as if on springs, and subside on the other side into the trough as lightly as a bird.
i began after a little to grow very bold and sat up to try my skill at paddling.
but even a small change in the disposition of the weight will produce violent changes in the behaviour of a coracle.
and i had hardly moved before the boat, giving up at once her gentle dancing movement, ran straight down a slope of water so steep that it made me giddy, and struck her nose, with a spout of spray, deep into the side of the next wave.
i was drenched and terrified, and fell instantly back into my old position, whereupon the coracle seemed to find her head again and led me as softly as before among the billows.
it was plain she was not to be interfered with, and at that rate, since i could in no way influence her course, what hope had i left of reaching land?
i began to be horribly frightened, but i kept my head, for all that.
first, moving with all care, i gradually baled out the coracle with my sea-cap; then, getting my eye once more above the gunwale, i set myself to study how it was she managed to slip so quietly through the rollers.
i found each wave, instead of the big, smooth glossy mountain it looks from shore or from a vessel's deck, was for all the world like any range of hills on dry land, full of peaks and smooth places and valleys.
the coracle, left to herself, turning from side to side, threaded, so to speak, her way through these lower parts and avoided the steep slopes and higher, toppling summits of the wave.
""well, now," thought i to myself, "it is plain i must lie where i am and not disturb the balance; but it is plain also that i can put the paddle over the side and from time to time, in smooth places, give her a shove or two towards land."
no sooner thought upon than done.
there i lay on my elbows in the most trying attitude, and every now and again gave a weak stroke or two to turn her head to shore.
it was very tiring and slow work, yet i did visibly gain ground; and as we drew near the cape of the woods, though i saw i must infallibly miss that point, i had still made some hundred yards of easting.
i was, indeed, close in.
i could see the cool green tree-tops swaying together in the breeze, and i felt sure i should make the next promontory without fail.
it was high time, for i now began to be tortured with thirst.
the glow of the sun from above, its thousandfold reflection from the waves, the sea-water that fell and dried upon me, caking my very lips with salt, combined to make my throat burn and my brain ache.
the sight of the trees so near at hand had almost made me sick with longing, but the current had soon carried me past the point, and as the next reach of sea opened out, i beheld a sight that changed the nature of my thoughts.
right in front of me, not half a mile away, i beheld the hispaniola under sail.
i made sure, of course, that i should be taken; but i was so distressed for want of water that i scarce knew whether to be glad or sorry at the thought, and long before i had come to a conclusion, surprise had taken entire possession of my mind and i could do nothing but stare and wonder.
the hispaniola was under her main-sail and two jibs, and the beautiful white canvas shone in the sun like snow or silver.
when i first sighted her, all her sails were drawing; she was lying a course about north-west, and i presumed the men on board were going round the island on their way back to the anchorage.
presently she began to fetch more and more to the westward, so that i thought they had sighted me and were going about in chase.
at last, however, she fell right into the wind's eye, was taken dead aback, and stood there awhile helpless, with her sails shivering.
""clumsy fellows," said i; "they must still be drunk as owls."
and i thought how captain smollett would have set them skipping.
meanwhile the schooner gradually fell off and filled again upon another tack, sailed swiftly for a minute or so, and brought up once more dead in the wind's eye.
again and again was this repeated.
to and fro, up and down, north, south, east, and west, the hispaniola sailed by swoops and dashes, and at each repetition ended as she had begun, with idly flapping canvas.
it became plain to me that nobody was steering.
and if so, where were the men?
either they were dead drunk or had deserted her, i thought, and perhaps if i could get on board i might return the vessel to her captain.
the current was bearing coracle and schooner southward at an equal rate.
as for the latter's sailing, it was so wild and intermittent, and she hung each time so long in irons, that she certainly gained nothing, if she did not even lose.
if only i dared to sit up and paddle, i made sure that i could overhaul her.
the scheme had an air of adventure that inspired me, and the thought of the water breaker beside the fore companion doubled my growing courage.
up i got, was welcomed almost instantly by another cloud of spray, but this time stuck to my purpose and set myself, with all my strength and caution, to paddle after the unsteered hispaniola.
once i shipped a sea so heavy that i had to stop and bail, with my heart fluttering like a bird, but gradually i got into the way of the thing and guided my coracle among the waves, with only now and then a blow upon her bows and a dash of foam in my face.
i was now gaining rapidly on the schooner; i could see the brass glisten on the tiller as it banged about, and still no soul appeared upon her decks.
i could not choose but suppose she was deserted.
if not, the men were lying drunk below, where i might batten them down, perhaps, and do what i chose with the ship.
for some time she had been doing the worse thing possible for me -- standing still.
she headed nearly due south, yawing, of course, all the time.
each time she fell off, her sails partly filled, and these brought her in a moment right to the wind again.
i have said this was the worst thing possible for me, for helpless as she looked in this situation, with the canvas cracking like cannon and the blocks trundling and banging on the deck, she still continued to run away from me, not only with the speed of the current, but by the whole amount of her leeway, which was naturally great.
but now, at last, i had my chance.
the breeze fell for some seconds, very low, and the current gradually turning her, the hispaniola revolved slowly round her centre and at last presented me her stern, with the cabin window still gaping open and the lamp over the table still burning on into the day.
the main-sail hung drooped like a banner.
she was stock-still but for the current.
for the last little while i had even lost, but now redoubling my efforts, i began once more to overhaul the chase.
i was not a hundred yards from her when the wind came again in a clap; she filled on the port tack and was off again, stooping and skimming like a swallow.
my first impulse was one of despair, but my second was towards joy.
round she came, till she was broadside on to me -- round still till she had covered a half and then two thirds and then three quarters of the distance that separated us.
i could see the waves boiling white under her forefoot.
immensely tall she looked to me from my low station in the coracle.
and then, of a sudden, i began to comprehend.
i had scarce time to think -- scarce time to act and save myself.
i was on the summit of one swell when the schooner came stooping over the next.
the bowsprit was over my head.
i sprang to my feet and leaped, stamping the coracle under water.
with one hand i caught the jib-boom, while my foot was lodged between the stay and the brace; and as i still clung there panting, a dull blow told me that the schooner had charged down upon and struck the coracle and that i was left without retreat on the hispaniola.
25 i strike the jolly roger i had scarce gained a position on the bowsprit when the flying jib flapped and filled upon the other tack, with a report like a gun.
the schooner trembled to her keel under the reverse, but next moment, the other sails still drawing, the jib flapped back again and hung idle.
this had nearly tossed me off into the sea; and now i lost no time, crawled back along the bowsprit, and tumbled head foremost on the deck.
i was on the lee side of the forecastle, and the mainsail, which was still drawing, concealed from me a certain portion of the after-deck.
not a soul was to be seen.
the planks, which had not been swabbed since the mutiny, bore the print of many feet, and an empty bottle, broken by the neck, tumbled to and fro like a live thing in the scuppers.
suddenly the hispaniola came right into the wind.
the jibs behind me cracked aloud, the rudder slammed to, the whole ship gave a sickening heave and shudder, and at the same moment the main-boom swung inboard, the sheet groaning in the blocks, and showed me the lee after-deck.
there were the two watchmen, sure enough: red-cap on his back, as stiff as a handspike, with his arms stretched out like those of a crucifix and his teeth showing through his open lips; israel hands propped against the bulwarks, his chin on his chest, his hands lying open before him on the deck, his face as white, under its tan, as a tallow candle.
for a while the ship kept bucking and sidling like a vicious horse, the sails filling, now on one tack, now on another, and the boom swinging to and fro till the mast groaned aloud under the strain.
now and again too there would come a cloud of light sprays over the bulwark and a heavy blow of the ship's bows against the swell; so much heavier weather was made of it by this great rigged ship than by my home-made, lop-sided coracle, now gone to the bottom of the sea.
at every jump of the schooner, red-cap slipped to and fro, but -- what was ghastly to behold -- neither his attitude nor his fixed teeth-disclosing grin was anyway disturbed by this rough usage.
at every jump too, hands appeared still more to sink into himself and settle down upon the deck, his feet sliding ever the farther out, and the whole body canting towards the stern, so that his face became, little by little, hid from me; and at last i could see nothing beyond his ear and the frayed ringlet of one whisker.
at the same time, i observed, around both of them, splashes of dark blood upon the planks and began to feel sure that they had killed each other in their drunken wrath.
while i was thus looking and wondering, in a calm moment, when the ship was still, israel hands turned partly round and with a low moan writhed himself back to the position in which i had seen him first.
the moan, which told of pain and deadly weakness, and the way in which his jaw hung open went right to my heart.
but when i remembered the talk i had overheard from the apple barrel, all pity left me.
i walked aft until i reached the main-mast.
""come aboard, mr. hands," i said ironically.
he rolled his eyes round heavily, but he was too far gone to express surprise.
all he could do was to utter one word, "brandy."
it occurred to me there was no time to lose, and dodging the boom as it once more lurched across the deck, i slipped aft and down the companion stairs into the cabin.
it was such a scene of confusion as you can hardly fancy.
all the lockfast places had been broken open in quest of the chart.
the floor was thick with mud where ruffians had sat down to drink or consult after wading in the marshes round their camp.
the bulkheads, all painted in clear white and beaded round with gilt, bore a pattern of dirty hands.
dozens of empty bottles clinked together in corners to the rolling of the ship.
one of the doctor's medical books lay open on the table, half of the leaves gutted out, i suppose, for pipelights.
in the midst of all this the lamp still cast a smoky glow, obscure and brown as umber.
i went into the cellar; all the barrels were gone, and of the bottles a most surprising number had been drunk out and thrown away.
certainly, since the mutiny began, not a man of them could ever have been sober.
foraging about, i found a bottle with some brandy left, for hands; and for myself i routed out some biscuit, some pickled fruits, a great bunch of raisins, and a piece of cheese.
with these i came on deck, put down my own stock behind the rudder head and well out of the coxswain's reach, went forward to the water-breaker, and had a good deep drink of water, and then, and not till then, gave hands the brandy.
he must have drunk a gill before he took the bottle from his mouth.
""aye," said he, "by thunder, but i wanted some o" that!"
i had sat down already in my own corner and begun to eat.
""much hurt?"
i asked him.
he grunted, or rather, i might say, he barked.
""if that doctor was aboard," he said, "i'd be right enough in a couple of turns, but i do n't have no manner of luck, you see, and that's what's the matter with me.
as for that swab, he's good and dead, he is," he added, indicating the man with the red cap.
""he war n't no seaman anyhow.
and where mought you have come from?"
""well," said i, "i've come aboard to take possession of this ship, mr. hands; and you'll please regard me as your captain until further notice."
he looked at me sourly enough but said nothing.
some of the colour had come back into his cheeks, though he still looked very sick and still continued to slip out and settle down as the ship banged about.
""by the by," i continued, "i ca n't have these colours, mr. hands; and by your leave, i'll strike'em.
better none than these."
and again dodging the boom, i ran to the colour lines, handed down their cursed black flag, and chucked it overboard.
""god save the king!"
said i, waving my cap.
""and there's an end to captain silver!"
he watched me keenly and slyly, his chin all the while on his breast.
""i reckon," he said at last, "i reckon, cap'n hawkins, you'll kind of want to get ashore now.
s'pose we talks."
""why, yes," says i, "with all my heart, mr. hands.
say on."
and i went back to my meal with a good appetite.
""this man," he began, nodding feebly at the corpse" -- o'brien were his name, a rank irelander -- this man and me got the canvas on her, meaning for to sail her back.
well, he's dead now, he is -- as dead as bilge; and who's to sail this ship, i do n't see.
without i gives you a hint, you ai n't that man, as far's i can tell.
now, look here, you gives me food and drink and a old scarf or ankecher to tie my wound up, you do, and i'll tell you how to sail her, and that's about square all round, i take it."
""i'll tell you one thing," says i: "i'm not going back to captain kidd's anchorage.
i mean to get into north inlet and beach her quietly there."
""to be sure you did," he cried.
""why, i ai n't sich an infernal lubber after all.
i can see, ca n't i?
i've tried my fling, i have, and i've lost, and it's you has the wind of me.
north inlet?
why, i have n't no ch "ice, not i!
i'd help you sail her up to execution dock, by thunder!
so i would."
well, as it seemed to me, there was some sense in this.
we struck our bargain on the spot.
in three minutes i had the hispaniola sailing easily before the wind along the coast of treasure island, with good hopes of turning the northern point ere noon and beating down again as far as north inlet before high water, when we might beach her safely and wait till the subsiding tide permitted us to land.
then i lashed the tiller and went below to my own chest, where i got a soft silk handkerchief of my mother's.
with this, and with my aid, hands bound up the great bleeding stab he had received in the thigh, and after he had eaten a little and had a swallow or two more of the brandy, he began to pick up visibly, sat straighter up, spoke louder and clearer, and looked in every way another man.
the breeze served us admirably.
we skimmed before it like a bird, the coast of the island flashing by and the view changing every minute.
soon we were past the high lands and bowling beside low, sandy country, sparsely dotted with dwarf pines, and soon we were beyond that again and had turned the corner of the rocky hill that ends the island on the north.
i was greatly elated with my new command, and pleased with the bright, sunshiny weather and these different prospects of the coast.
i had now plenty of water and good things to eat, and my conscience, which had smitten me hard for my desertion, was quieted by the great conquest i had made.
i should, i think, have had nothing left me to desire but for the eyes of the coxswain as they followed me derisively about the deck and the odd smile that appeared continually on his face.
it was a smile that had in it something both of pain and weakness -- a haggard old man's smile; but there was, besides that, a grain of derision, a shadow of treachery, in his expression as he craftily watched, and watched, and watched me at my work.
26 israel hands the wind, serving us to a desire, now hauled into the west.
we could run so much the easier from the north-east corner of the island to the mouth of the north inlet.
only, as we had no power to anchor and dared not beach her till the tide had flowed a good deal farther, time hung on our hands.
the coxswain told me how to lay the ship to; after a good many trials i succeeded, and we both sat in silence over another meal.
""cap'n," said he at length with that same uncomfortable smile, "here's my old shipmate, o'brien; s "pose you was to heave him overboard.
i ai n't partic "lar as a rule, and i do n't take no blame for settling his hash, but i do n't reckon him ornamental now, do you?"
""i'm not strong enough, and i do n't like the job; and there he lies, for me," said i. "this here's an unlucky ship, this hispaniola, jim," he went on, blinking.
""there's a power of men been killed in this hispaniola -- a sight o" poor seamen dead and gone since you and me took ship to bristol.
i never seen sich dirty luck, not i.
there was this here o'brien now -- he's dead, ai n't he?
well now, i'm no scholar, and you're a lad as can read and figure, and to put it straight, do you take it as a dead man is dead for good, or do he come alive again?"
""you can kill the body, mr. hands, but not the spirit; you must know that already," i replied.
""o'brien there is in another world, and may be watching us."
""ah!"
says he.
""well, that's unfort "nate -- appears as if killing parties was a waste of time.
howsomever, sperrits do n't reckon for much, by what i've seen.
i'll chance it with the sperrits, jim.
and now, you've spoke up free, and i'll take it kind if you'd step down into that there cabin and get me a -- well, a -- shiver my timbers!
i ca n't hit the name on "t; well, you get me a bottle of wine, jim -- this here brandy's too strong for my head."
now, the coxswain's hesitation seemed to be unnatural, and as for the notion of his preferring wine to brandy, i entirely disbelieved it.
the whole story was a pretext.
he wanted me to leave the deck -- so much was plain; but with what purpose i could in no way imagine.
his eyes never met mine; they kept wandering to and fro, up and down, now with a look to the sky, now with a flitting glance upon the dead o'brien.
all the time he kept smiling and putting his tongue out in the most guilty, embarrassed manner, so that a child could have told that he was bent on some deception.
i was prompt with my answer, however, for i saw where my advantage lay and that with a fellow so densely stupid i could easily conceal my suspicions to the end.
""some wine?"
i said.
""far better.
will you have white or red?"
""well, i reckon it's about the blessed same to me, shipmate," he replied; "so it's strong, and plenty of it, what's the odds?"
""all right," i answered.
""i'll bring you port, mr. hands.
but i'll have to dig for it."
with that i scuttled down the companion with all the noise i could, slipped off my shoes, ran quietly along the sparred gallery, mounted the forecastle ladder, and popped my head out of the fore companion.
i knew he would not expect to see me there, yet i took every precaution possible, and certainly the worst of my suspicions proved too true.
he had risen from his position to his hands and knees, and though his leg obviously hurt him pretty sharply when he moved -- for i could hear him stifle a groan -- yet it was at a good, rattling rate that he trailed himself across the deck.
in half a minute he had reached the port scuppers and picked, out of a coil of rope, a long knife, or rather a short dirk, discoloured to the hilt with blood.
he looked upon it for a moment, thrusting forth his under jaw, tried the point upon his hand, and then, hastily concealing it in the bosom of his jacket, trundled back again into his old place against the bulwark.
this was all that i required to know.
israel could move about, he was now armed, and if he had been at so much trouble to get rid of me, it was plain that i was meant to be the victim.
what he would do afterwards -- whether he would try to crawl right across the island from north inlet to the camp among the swamps or whether he would fire long tom, trusting that his own comrades might come first to help him -- was, of course, more than i could say.
yet i felt sure that i could trust him in one point, since in that our interests jumped together, and that was in the disposition of the schooner.
we both desired to have her stranded safe enough, in a sheltered place, and so that, when the time came, she could be got off again with as little labour and danger as might be; and until that was done i considered that my life would certainly be spared.
while i was thus turning the business over in my mind, i had not been idle with my body.
i had stolen back to the cabin, slipped once more into my shoes, and laid my hand at random on a bottle of wine, and now, with this for an excuse, i made my reappearance on the deck.
hands lay as i had left him, all fallen together in a bundle and with his eyelids lowered as though he were too weak to bear the light.
he looked up, however, at my coming, knocked the neck off the bottle like a man who had done the same thing often, and took a good swig, with his favourite toast of "here's luck!"
then he lay quiet for a little, and then, pulling out a stick of tobacco, begged me to cut him a quid.
""cut me a junk o" that," says he, "for i have n't no knife and hardly strength enough, so be as i had.
ah, jim, jim, i reckon i've missed stays!
cut me a quid, as'll likely be the last, lad, for i'm for my long home, and no mistake."
""well," said i, "i'll cut you some tobacco, but if i was you and thought myself so badly, i would go to my prayers like a christian man."
""why?"
said he.
""now, you tell me why."
""why?"
i cried.
""you were asking me just now about the dead.
you've broken your trust; you've lived in sin and lies and blood; there's a man you killed lying at your feet this moment, and you ask me why!
for god's mercy, mr. hands, that's why."
i spoke with a little heat, thinking of the bloody dirk he had hidden in his pocket and designed, in his ill thoughts, to end me with.
he, for his part, took a great draught of the wine and spoke with the most unusual solemnity.
""for thirty years," he said, "i've sailed the seas and seen good and bad, better and worse, fair weather and foul, provisions running out, knives going, and what not.
well, now i tell you, i never seen good come o" goodness yet.
him as strikes first is my fancy; dead men do n't bite; them's my views -- amen, so be it.
and now, you look here," he added, suddenly changing his tone, "we've had about enough of this foolery.
the tide's made good enough by now.
you just take my orders, cap'n hawkins, and we'll sail slap in and be done with it."
all told, we had scarce two miles to run; but the navigation was delicate, the entrance to this northern anchorage was not only narrow and shoal, but lay east and west, so that the schooner must be nicely handled to be got in.
i think i was a good, prompt subaltern, and i am very sure that hands was an excellent pilot, for we went about and about and dodged in, shaving the banks, with a certainty and a neatness that were a pleasure to behold.
scarcely had we passed the heads before the land closed around us.
the shores of north inlet were as thickly wooded as those of the southern anchorage, but the space was longer and narrower and more like, what in truth it was, the estuary of a river.
right before us, at the southern end, we saw the wreck of a ship in the last stages of dilapidation.
it had been a great vessel of three masts but had lain so long exposed to the injuries of the weather that it was hung about with great webs of dripping seaweed, and on the deck of it shore bushes had taken root and now flourished thick with flowers.
it was a sad sight, but it showed us that the anchorage was calm.
""now," said hands, "look there; there's a pet bit for to beach a ship in.
fine flat sand, never a cat's paw, trees all around of it, and flowers a-blowing like a garding on that old ship."
""and once beached," i inquired, "how shall we get her off again?"
""why, so," he replied: "you take a line ashore there on the other side at low water, take a turn about one of them big pines; bring it back, take a turn around the capstan, and lie to for the tide.
come high water, all hands take a pull upon the line, and off she comes as sweet as natur".
and now, boy, you stand by.
we're near the bit now, and she's too much way on her.
starboard a little -- so -- steady -- starboard -- larboard a little -- steady -- steady!"
so he issued his commands, which i breathlessly obeyed, till, all of a sudden, he cried, "now, my hearty, luff!"
and i put the helm hard up, and the hispaniola swung round rapidly and ran stem on for the low, wooded shore.
the excitement of these last manoeuvres had somewhat interfered with the watch i had kept hitherto, sharply enough, upon the coxswain.
even then i was still so much interested, waiting for the ship to touch, that i had quite forgot the peril that hung over my head and stood craning over the starboard bulwarks and watching the ripples spreading wide before the bows.
i might have fallen without a struggle for my life had not a sudden disquietude seized upon me and made me turn my head.
perhaps i had heard a creak or seen his shadow moving with the tail of my eye; perhaps it was an instinct like a cat's; but, sure enough, when i looked round, there was hands, already half-way towards me, with the dirk in his right hand.
we must both have cried out aloud when our eyes met, but while mine was the shrill cry of terror, his was a roar of fury like a charging bully's.
at the same instant, he threw himself forward and i leapt sideways towards the bows.
as i did so, i let go of the tiller, which sprang sharp to leeward, and i think this saved my life, for it struck hands across the chest and stopped him, for the moment, dead.
before he could recover, i was safe out of the corner where he had me trapped, with all the deck to dodge about.
just forward of the main-mast i stopped, drew a pistol from my pocket, took a cool aim, though he had already turned and was once more coming directly after me, and drew the trigger.
the hammer fell, but there followed neither flash nor sound; the priming was useless with sea-water.
i cursed myself for my neglect.
why had not i, long before, reprimed and reloaded my only weapons?
then i should not have been as now, a mere fleeing sheep before this butcher.
wounded as he was, it was wonderful how fast he could move, his grizzled hair tumbling over his face, and his face itself as red as a red ensign with his haste and fury.
i had no time to try my other pistol, nor indeed much inclination, for i was sure it would be useless.
one thing i saw plainly: i must not simply retreat before him, or he would speedily hold me boxed into the bows, as a moment since he had so nearly boxed me in the stern.
once so caught, and nine or ten inches of the blood-stained dirk would be my last experience on this side of eternity.
i placed my palms against the main-mast, which was of a goodish bigness, and waited, every nerve upon the stretch.
seeing that i meant to dodge, he also paused; and a moment or two passed in feints on his part and corresponding movements upon mine.
it was such a game as i had often played at home about the rocks of black hill cove, but never before, you may be sure, with such a wildly beating heart as now.
still, as i say, it was a boy's game, and i thought i could hold my own at it against an elderly seaman with a wounded thigh.
indeed my courage had begun to rise so high that i allowed myself a few darting thoughts on what would be the end of the affair, and while i saw certainly that i could spin it out for long, i saw no hope of any ultimate escape.
well, while things stood thus, suddenly the hispaniola struck, staggered, ground for an instant in the sand, and then, swift as a blow, canted over to the port side till the deck stood at an angle of forty-five degrees and about a puncheon of water splashed into the scupper holes and lay, in a pool, between the deck and bulwark.
we were both of us capsized in a second, and both of us rolled, almost together, into the scuppers, the dead red-cap, with his arms still spread out, tumbling stiffly after us.
so near were we, indeed, that my head came against the coxswain's foot with a crack that made my teeth rattle.
blow and all, i was the first afoot again, for hands had got involved with the dead body.
the sudden canting of the ship had made the deck no place for running on; i had to find some new way of escape, and that upon the instant, for my foe was almost touching me.
quick as thought, i sprang into the mizzen shrouds, rattled up hand over hand, and did not draw a breath till i was seated on the cross-trees.
i had been saved by being prompt; the dirk had struck not half a foot below me as i pursued my upward flight; and there stood israel hands with his mouth open and his face upturned to mine, a perfect statue of surprise and disappointment.
now that i had a moment to myself, i lost no time in changing the priming of my pistol, and then, having one ready for service, and to make assurance doubly sure, i proceeded to draw the load of the other and recharge it afresh from the beginning.
my new employment struck hands all of a heap; he began to see the dice going against him, and after an obvious hesitation, he also hauled himself heavily into the shrouds, and with the dirk in his teeth, began slowly and painfully to mount.
it cost him no end of time and groans to haul his wounded leg behind him, and i had quietly finished my arrangements before he was much more than a third of the way up.
then, with a pistol in either hand, i addressed him.
""one more step, mr. hands," said i, "and i'll blow your brains out!
dead men do n't bite, you know," i added with a chuckle.
he stopped instantly.
i could see by the working of his face that he was trying to think, and the process was so slow and laborious that, in my new-found security, i laughed aloud.
at last, with a swallow or two, he spoke, his face still wearing the same expression of extreme perplexity.
in order to speak he had to take the dagger from his mouth, but in all else he remained unmoved.
""jim," says he, "i reckon we're fouled, you and me, and we'll have to sign articles.
i'd have had you but for that there lurch, but i do n't have no luck, not i; and i reckon i'll have to strike, which comes hard, you see, for a master mariner to a ship's younker like you, jim."
i was drinking in his words and smiling away, as conceited as a cock upon a wall, when, all in a breath, back went his right hand over his shoulder.
something sang like an arrow through the air; i felt a blow and then a sharp pang, and there i was pinned by the shoulder to the mast.
in the horrid pain and surprise of the moment -- i scarce can say it was by my own volition, and i am sure it was without a conscious aim -- both my pistols went off, and both escaped out of my hands.
they did not fall alone; with a choked cry, the coxswain loosed his grasp upon the shrouds and plunged head first into the water.
27 "pieces of eight" owing to the cant of the vessel, the masts hung far out over the water, and from my perch on the cross-trees i had nothing below me but the surface of the bay.
hands, who was not so far up, was in consequence nearer to the ship and fell between me and the bulwarks.
he rose once to the surface in a lather of foam and blood and then sank again for good.
as the water settled, i could see him lying huddled together on the clean, bright sand in the shadow of the vessel's sides.
a fish or two whipped past his body.
sometimes, by the quivering of the water, he appeared to move a little, as if he were trying to rise.
but he was dead enough, for all that, being both shot and drowned, and was food for fish in the very place where he had designed my slaughter.
i was no sooner certain of this than i began to feel sick, faint, and terrified.
the hot blood was running over my back and chest.
the dirk, where it had pinned my shoulder to the mast, seemed to burn like a hot iron; yet it was not so much these real sufferings that distressed me, for these, it seemed to me, i could bear without a murmur; it was the horror i had upon my mind of falling from the cross-trees into that still green water, beside the body of the coxswain.
i clung with both hands till my nails ached, and i shut my eyes as if to cover up the peril.
gradually my mind came back again, my pulses quieted down to a more natural time, and i was once more in possession of myself.
it was my first thought to pluck forth the dirk, but either it stuck too hard or my nerve failed me, and i desisted with a violent shudder.
oddly enough, that very shudder did the business.
the knife, in fact, had come the nearest in the world to missing me altogether; it held me by a mere pinch of skin, and this the shudder tore away.
the blood ran down the faster, to be sure, but i was my own master again and only tacked to the mast by my coat and shirt.
these last i broke through with a sudden jerk, and then regained the deck by the starboard shrouds.
for nothing in the world would i have again ventured, shaken as i was, upon the overhanging port shrouds from which israel had so lately fallen.
i went below and did what i could for my wound; it pained me a good deal and still bled freely, but it was neither deep nor dangerous, nor did it greatly gall me when i used my arm.
then i looked around me, and as the ship was now, in a sense, my own, i began to think of clearing it from its last passenger -- the dead man, o'brien.
he had pitched, as i have said, against the bulwarks, where he lay like some horrible, ungainly sort of puppet, life-size, indeed, but how different from life's colour or life's comeliness!
in that position i could easily have my way with him, and as the habit of tragical adventures had worn off almost all my terror for the dead, i took him by the waist as if he had been a sack of bran and with one good heave, tumbled him overboard.
he went in with a sounding plunge; the red cap came off and remained floating on the surface; and as soon as the splash subsided, i could see him and israel lying side by side, both wavering with the tremulous movement of the water.
o'brien, though still quite a young man, was very bald.
there he lay, with that bald head across the knees of the man who had killed him and the quick fishes steering to and fro over both.
i was now alone upon the ship; the tide had just turned.
the sun was within so few degrees of setting that already the shadow of the pines upon the western shore began to reach right across the anchorage and fall in patterns on the deck.
the evening breeze had sprung up, and though it was well warded off by the hill with the two peaks upon the east, the cordage had begun to sing a little softly to itself and the idle sails to rattle to and fro.
i began to see a danger to the ship.
the jibs i speedily doused and brought tumbling to the deck, but the main-sail was a harder matter.
of course, when the schooner canted over, the boom had swung out-board, and the cap of it and a foot or two of sail hung even under water.
i thought this made it still more dangerous; yet the strain was so heavy that i half feared to meddle.
at last i got my knife and cut the halyards.
the peak dropped instantly, a great belly of loose canvas floated broad upon the water, and since, pull as i liked, i could not budge the downhall, that was the extent of what i could accomplish.
for the rest, the hispaniola must trust to luck, like myself.
by this time the whole anchorage had fallen into shadow -- the last rays, i remember, falling through a glade of the wood and shining bright as jewels on the flowery mantle of the wreck.
it began to be chill; the tide was rapidly fleeting seaward, the schooner settling more and more on her beam-ends.
i scrambled forward and looked over.
it seemed shallow enough, and holding the cut hawser in both hands for a last security, i let myself drop softly overboard.
the water scarcely reached my waist; the sand was firm and covered with ripple marks, and i waded ashore in great spirits, leaving the hispaniola on her side, with her main-sail trailing wide upon the surface of the bay.
about the same time, the sun went fairly down and the breeze whistled low in the dusk among the tossing pines.
at least, and at last, i was off the sea, nor had i returned thence empty-handed.
there lay the schooner, clear at last from buccaneers and ready for our own men to board and get to sea again.
i had nothing nearer my fancy than to get home to the stockade and boast of my achievements.
possibly i might be blamed a bit for my truantry, but the recapture of the hispaniola was a clenching answer, and i hoped that even captain smollett would confess i had not lost my time.
so thinking, and in famous spirits, i began to set my face homeward for the block house and my companions.
i remembered that the most easterly of the rivers which drain into captain kidd's anchorage ran from the two-peaked hill upon my left, and i bent my course in that direction that i might pass the stream while it was small.
the wood was pretty open, and keeping along the lower spurs, i had soon turned the corner of that hill, and not long after waded to the mid-calf across the watercourse.
this brought me near to where i had encountered ben gunn, the maroon; and i walked more circumspectly, keeping an eye on every side.
the dusk had come nigh hand completely, and as i opened out the cleft between the two peaks, i became aware of a wavering glow against the sky, where, as i judged, the man of the island was cooking his supper before a roaring fire.
and yet i wondered, in my heart, that he should show himself so careless.
for if i could see this radiance, might it not reach the eyes of silver himself where he camped upon the shore among the marshes?
gradually the night fell blacker; it was all i could do to guide myself even roughly towards my destination; the double hill behind me and the spy-glass on my right hand loomed faint and fainter; the stars were few and pale; and in the low ground where i wandered i kept tripping among bushes and rolling into sandy pits.
suddenly a kind of brightness fell about me.
i looked up; a pale glimmer of moonbeams had alighted on the summit of the spy-glass, and soon after i saw something broad and silvery moving low down behind the trees, and knew the moon had risen.
with this to help me, i passed rapidly over what remained to me of my journey, and sometimes walking, sometimes running, impatiently drew near to the stockade.
yet, as i began to thread the grove that lies before it, i was not so thoughtless but that i slacked my pace and went a trifle warily.
it would have been a poor end of my adventures to get shot down by my own party in mistake.
the moon was climbing higher and higher, its light began to fall here and there in masses through the more open districts of the wood, and right in front of me a glow of a different colour appeared among the trees.
it was red and hot, and now and again it was a little darkened -- as it were, the embers of a bonfire smouldering.
for the life of me i could not think what it might be.
at last i came right down upon the borders of the clearing.
the western end was already steeped in moonshine; the rest, and the block house itself, still lay in a black shadow chequered with long silvery streaks of light.
on the other side of the house an immense fire had burned itself into clear embers and shed a steady, red reverberation, contrasted strongly with the mellow paleness of the moon.
there was not a soul stirring nor a sound beside the noises of the breeze.
i stopped, with much wonder in my heart, and perhaps a little terror also.
it had not been our way to build great fires; we were, indeed, by the captain's orders, somewhat niggardly of firewood, and i began to fear that something had gone wrong while i was absent.
i stole round by the eastern end, keeping close in shadow, and at a convenient place, where the darkness was thickest, crossed the palisade.
to make assurance surer, i got upon my hands and knees and crawled, without a sound, towards the corner of the house.
as i drew nearer, my heart was suddenly and greatly lightened.
it is not a pleasant noise in itself, and i have often complained of it at other times, but just then it was like music to hear my friends snoring together so loud and peaceful in their sleep.
the sea-cry of the watch, that beautiful "all's well," never fell more reassuringly on my ear.
in the meantime, there was no doubt of one thing; they kept an infamous bad watch.
if it had been silver and his lads that were now creeping in on them, not a soul would have seen daybreak.
that was what it was, thought i, to have the captain wounded; and again i blamed myself sharply for leaving them in that danger with so few to mount guard.
by this time i had got to the door and stood up.
all was dark within, so that i could distinguish nothing by the eye.
as for sounds, there was the steady drone of the snorers and a small occasional noise, a flickering or pecking that i could in no way account for.
with my arms before me i walked steadily in.
i should lie down in my own place -lrb- i thought with a silent chuckle -rrb- and enjoy their faces when they found me in the morning.
my foot struck something yielding -- it was a sleeper's leg; and he turned and groaned, but without awaking.
and then, all of a sudden, a shrill voice broke forth out of the darkness: "pieces of eight!
pieces of eight!
pieces of eight!
pieces of eight!
pieces of eight!"
and so forth, without pause or change, like the clacking of a tiny mill.
silver's green parrot, captain flint!
it was she whom i had heard pecking at a piece of bark; it was she, keeping better watch than any human being, who thus announced my arrival with her wearisome refrain.
i had no time left me to recover.
at the sharp, clipping tone of the parrot, the sleepers awoke and sprang up; and with a mighty oath, the voice of silver cried, "who goes?"
i turned to run, struck violently against one person, recoiled, and ran full into the arms of a second, who for his part closed upon and held me tight.
""bring a torch, dick," said silver when my capture was thus assured.
and one of the men left the log-house and presently returned with a lighted brand.
part six -- captain silver 28 in the enemy's camp the red glare of the torch, lighting up the interior of the block house, showed me the worst of my apprehensions realized.
the pirates were in possession of the house and stores: there was the cask of cognac, there were the pork and bread, as before, and what tenfold increased my horror, not a sign of any prisoner.
i could only judge that all had perished, and my heart smote me sorely that i had not been there to perish with them.
there were six of the buccaneers, all told; not another man was left alive.
five of them were on their feet, flushed and swollen, suddenly called out of the first sleep of drunkenness.
the sixth had only risen upon his elbow; he was deadly pale, and the blood-stained bandage round his head told that he had recently been wounded, and still more recently dressed.
i remembered the man who had been shot and had run back among the woods in the great attack, and doubted not that this was he.
the parrot sat, preening her plumage, on long john's shoulder.
he himself, i thought, looked somewhat paler and more stern than i was used to.
he still wore the fine broadcloth suit in which he had fulfilled his mission, but it was bitterly the worse for wear, daubed with clay and torn with the sharp briers of the wood.
""so," said he, "here's jim hawkins, shiver my timbers!
dropped in, like, eh?
well, come, i take that friendly."
and thereupon he sat down across the brandy cask and began to fill a pipe.
""give me a loan of the link, dick," said he; and then, when he had a good light, "that'll do, lad," he added; "stick the glim in the wood heap; and you, gentlemen, bring yourselves to!
you need n't stand up for mr. hawkins; he'll excuse you, you may lay to that.
and so, jim" -- stopping the tobacco -- "here you were, and quite a pleasant surprise for poor old john.
i see you were smart when first i set my eyes on you, but this here gets away from me clean, it do."
to all this, as may be well supposed, i made no answer.
they had set me with my back against the wall, and i stood there, looking silver in the face, pluckily enough, i hope, to all outward appearance, but with black despair in my heart.
silver took a whiff or two of his pipe with great composure and then ran on again.
""now, you see, jim, so be as you are here," says he, "i'll give you a piece of my mind.
i've always liked you, i have, for a lad of spirit, and the picter of my own self when i was young and handsome.
i always wanted you to jine and take your share, and die a gentleman, and now, my cock, you've got to.
cap'n smollett's a fine seaman, as i'll own up to any day, but stiff on discipline.
"dooty is dooty," says he, and right he is.
just you keep clear of the cap'n.
the doctor himself is gone dead again you -- "ungrateful scamp" was what he said; and the short and the long of the whole story is about here: you ca n't go back to your own lot, for they wo n't have you; and without you start a third ship's company all by yourself, which might be lonely, you'll have to jine with cap'n silver."
so far so good.
my friends, then, were still alive, and though i partly believed the truth of silver's statement, that the cabin party were incensed at me for my desertion, i was more relieved than distressed by what i heard.
""i do n't say nothing as to your being in our hands," continued silver, "though there you are, and you may lay to it.
i'm all for argyment; i never seen good come out o" threatening.
if you like the service, well, you'll jine; and if you do n't, jim, why, you're free to answer no -- free and welcome, shipmate; and if fairer can be said by mortal seaman, shiver my sides!"
""am i to answer, then?"
i asked with a very tremulous voice.
through all this sneering talk, i was made to feel the threat of death that overhung me, and my cheeks burned and my heart beat painfully in my breast.
""lad," said silver, "no one's a-pressing of you.
take your bearings.
none of us wo n't hurry you, mate; time goes so pleasant in your company, you see."
""well," says i, growing a bit bolder, "if i'm to choose, i declare i have a right to know what's what, and why you're here, and where my friends are."
""wot's wot?"
repeated one of the buccaneers in a deep growl.
""ah, he'd be a lucky one as knowed that!"
""you'll perhaps batten down your hatches till you're spoke to, my friend," cried silver truculently to this speaker.
and then, in his first gracious tones, he replied to me, "yesterday morning, mr. hawkins," said he, "in the dog-watch, down came doctor livesey with a flag of truce.
says he, "cap'n silver, you're sold out.
ship's gone."
well, maybe we'd been taking a glass, and a song to help it round.
i wo n't say no.
leastways, none of us had looked out.
we looked out, and by thunder, the old ship was gone!
i never seen a pack o" fools look fishier; and you may lay to that, if i tells you that looked the fishiest.
"well," says the doctor, "let's bargain."
we bargained, him and i, and here we are: stores, brandy, block house, the firewood you was thoughtful enough to cut, and in a manner of speaking, the whole blessed boat, from cross-trees to kelson.
as for them, they've tramped; i do n't know where's they are."
he drew again quietly at his pipe.
""and lest you should take it into that head of yours," he went on, "that you was included in the treaty, here's the last word that was said: "how many are you," says i, "to leave?"
"four," says he; "four, and one of us wounded.
as for that boy, i do n't know where he is, confound him," says he, "nor i do n't much care.
we're about sick of him."
these was his words.
""is that all?"
i asked.
""well, it's all that you're to hear, my son," returned silver.
""and now i am to choose?"
""and now you are to choose, and you may lay to that," said silver.
""well," said i, "i am not such a fool but i know pretty well what i have to look for.
let the worst come to the worst, it's little i care.
i've seen too many die since i fell in with you.
but there's a thing or two i have to tell you," i said, and by this time i was quite excited; "and the first is this: here you are, in a bad way -- ship lost, treasure lost, men lost, your whole business gone to wreck; and if you want to know who did it -- it was i!
i was in the apple barrel the night we sighted land, and i heard you, john, and you, dick johnson, and hands, who is now at the bottom of the sea, and told every word you said before the hour was out.
and as for the schooner, it was i who cut her cable, and it was i that killed the men you had aboard of her, and it was i who brought her where you'll never see her more, not one of you.
the laugh's on my side; i've had the top of this business from the first; i no more fear you than i fear a fly.
kill me, if you please, or spare me.
but one thing i'll say, and no more; if you spare me, bygones are bygones, and when you fellows are in court for piracy, i'll save you all i can.
it is for you to choose.
kill another and do yourselves no good, or spare me and keep a witness to save you from the gallows."
i stopped, for, i tell you, i was out of breath, and to my wonder, not a man of them moved, but all sat staring at me like as many sheep.
and while they were still staring, i broke out again, "and now, mr. silver," i said, "i believe you're the best man here, and if things go to the worst, i'll take it kind of you to let the doctor know the way i took it."
""i'll bear it in mind," said silver with an accent so curious that i could not, for the life of me, decide whether he were laughing at my request or had been favourably affected by my courage.
""i'll put one to that," cried the old mahogany-faced seaman -- morgan by name -- whom i had seen in long john's public-house upon the quays of bristol.
""it was him that knowed black dog."
""well, and see here," added the sea-cook.
""i'll put another again to that, by thunder!
for it was this same boy that faked the chart from billy bones.
first and last, we've split upon jim hawkins!"
""then here goes!"
said morgan with an oath.
and he sprang up, drawing his knife as if he had been twenty.
""avast, there!"
cried silver.
""who are you, tom morgan?
maybe you thought you was cap'n here, perhaps.
by the powers, but i'll teach you better!
cross me, and you'll go where many a good man's gone before you, first and last, these thirty year back -- some to the yard-arm, shiver my timbers, and some by the board, and all to feed the fishes.
there's never a man looked me between the eyes and seen a good day a "terwards, tom morgan, you may lay to that."
morgan paused, but a hoarse murmur rose from the others.
""tom's right," said one.
""i stood hazing long enough from one," added another.
""i'll be hanged if i'll be hazed by you, john silver."
""did any of you gentlemen want to have it out with me?"
roared silver, bending far forward from his position on the keg, with his pipe still glowing in his right hand.
""put a name on what you're at; you ai n't dumb, i reckon.
him that wants shall get it.
have i lived this many years, and a son of a rum puncheon cock his hat athwart my hawse at the latter end of it?
you know the way; you're all gentlemen o" fortune, by your account.
well, i'm ready.
take a cutlass, him that dares, and i'll see the colour of his inside, crutch and all, before that pipe's empty."
not a man stirred; not a man answered.
""that's your sort, is it?"
he added, returning his pipe to his mouth.
""well, you're a gay lot to look at, anyway.
not much worth to fight, you ai n't.
p "r "aps you can understand king george's english.
i'm cap'n here by "lection.
i'm cap'n here because i'm the best man by a long sea-mile.
you wo n't fight, as gentlemen o" fortune should; then, by thunder, you'll obey, and you may lay to it!
i like that boy, now; i never seen a better boy than that.
he's more a man than any pair of rats of you in this here house, and what i say is this: let me see him that'll lay a hand on him -- that's what i say, and you may lay to it."
there was a long pause after this.
i stood straight up against the wall, my heart still going like a sledge-hammer, but with a ray of hope now shining in my bosom.
silver leant back against the wall, his arms crossed, his pipe in the corner of his mouth, as calm as though he had been in church; yet his eye kept wandering furtively, and he kept the tail of it on his unruly followers.
they, on their part, drew gradually together towards the far end of the block house, and the low hiss of their whispering sounded in my ear continuously, like a stream.
one after another, they would look up, and the red light of the torch would fall for a second on their nervous faces; but it was not towards me, it was towards silver that they turned their eyes.
""you seem to have a lot to say," remarked silver, spitting far into the air.
""pipe up and let me hear it, or lay to."
""ax your pardon, sir," returned one of the men; "you're pretty free with some of the rules; maybe you'll kindly keep an eye upon the rest.
this crew's dissatisfied; this crew do n't vally bullying a marlin-spike; this crew has its rights like other crews, i'll make so free as that; and by your own rules, i take it we can talk together.
i ax your pardon, sir, acknowledging you for to be captaing at this present; but i claim my right, and steps outside for a council."
and with an elaborate sea-salute, this fellow, a long, ill-looking, yellow-eyed man of five and thirty, stepped coolly towards the door and disappeared out of the house.
one after another the rest followed his example, each making a salute as he passed, each adding some apology.
""according to rules," said one.
""forecastle council," said morgan.
and so with one remark or another all marched out and left silver and me alone with the torch.
the sea-cook instantly removed his pipe.
""now, look you here, jim hawkins," he said in a steady whisper that was no more than audible, "you're within half a plank of death, and what's a long sight worse, of torture.
they're going to throw me off.
but, you mark, i stand by you through thick and thin.
i did n't mean to; no, not till you spoke up.
i was about desperate to lose that much blunt, and be hanged into the bargain.
but i see you was the right sort.
i says to myself, you stand by hawkins, john, and hawkins'll stand by you.
you're his last card, and by the living thunder, john, he's yours!
back to back, says i.
you save your witness, and he'll save your neck!"
i began dimly to understand.
""you mean all's lost?"
i asked.
""aye, by gum, i do!"
he answered.
""ship gone, neck gone -- that's the size of it.
once i looked into that bay, jim hawkins, and seen no schooner -- well, i'm tough, but i gave out.
as for that lot and their council, mark me, they're outright fools and cowards.
i'll save your life -- if so be as i can -- from them.
but, see here, jim -- tit for tat -- you save long john from swinging."
i was bewildered; it seemed a thing so hopeless he was asking -- he, the old buccaneer, the ringleader throughout.
""what i can do, that i'll do," i said.
""it's a bargain!"
cried long john.
""you speak up plucky, and by thunder, i've a chance!"
he hobbled to the torch, where it stood propped among the firewood, and took a fresh light to his pipe.
""understand me, jim," he said, returning.
""i've a head on my shoulders, i have.
i'm on squire's side now.
i know you've got that ship safe somewheres.
how you done it, i do n't know, but safe it is.
i guess hands and o'brien turned soft.
i never much believed in neither of them.
now you mark me.
i ask no questions, nor i wo n't let others.
i know when a game's up, i do; and i know a lad that's staunch.
ah, you that's young -- you and me might have done a power of good together!"
he drew some cognac from the cask into a tin cannikin.
""will you taste, messmate?"
he asked; and when i had refused: "well, i'll take a drain myself, jim," said he.
""i need a caulker, for there's trouble on hand.
and talking o" trouble, why did that doctor give me the chart, jim?"
my face expressed a wonder so unaffected that he saw the needlessness of further questions.
""ah, well, he did, though," said he.
""and there's something under that, no doubt -- something, surely, under that, jim -- bad or good."
and he took another swallow of the brandy, shaking his great fair head like a man who looks forward to the worst.
29 the black spot again the council of buccaneers had lasted some time, when one of them re-entered the house, and with a repetition of the same salute, which had in my eyes an ironical air, begged for a moment's loan of the torch.
silver briefly agreed, and this emissary retired again, leaving us together in the dark.
""there's a breeze coming, jim," said silver, who had by this time adopted quite a friendly and familiar tone.
i turned to the loophole nearest me and looked out.
the embers of the great fire had so far burned themselves out and now glowed so low and duskily that i understood why these conspirators desired a torch.
about half-way down the slope to the stockade, they were collected in a group; one held the light, another was on his knees in their midst, and i saw the blade of an open knife shine in his hand with varying colours in the moon and torchlight.
the rest were all somewhat stooping, as though watching the manoeuvres of this last.
i could just make out that he had a book as well as a knife in his hand, and was still wondering how anything so incongruous had come in their possession when the kneeling figure rose once more to his feet and the whole party began to move together towards the house.
""here they come," said i; and i returned to my former position, for it seemed beneath my dignity that they should find me watching them.
""well, let'em come, lad -- let'em come," said silver cheerily.
""i've still a shot in my locker."
the door opened, and the five men, standing huddled together just inside, pushed one of their number forward.
in any other circumstances it would have been comical to see his slow advance, hesitating as he set down each foot, but holding his closed right hand in front of him.
""step up, lad," cried silver.
""i wo n't eat you.
hand it over, lubber.
i know the rules, i do; i wo n't hurt a depytation."
thus encouraged, the buccaneer stepped forth more briskly, and having passed something to silver, from hand to hand, slipped yet more smartly back again to his companions.
the sea-cook looked at what had been given him.
""the black spot!
i thought so," he observed.
""where might you have got the paper?
why, hillo!
look here, now; this ai n't lucky!
you've gone and cut this out of a bible.
what fool's cut a bible?"
""ah, there!"
said morgan.
""there!
wot did i say?
no good'll come o" that, i said."
""well, you've about fixed it now, among you," continued silver.
""you'll all swing now, i reckon.
what soft-headed lubber had a bible?"
""it was dick," said one.
""dick, was it?
then dick can get to prayers," said silver.
""he's seen his slice of luck, has dick, and you may lay to that."
but here the long man with the yellow eyes struck in.
""belay that talk, john silver," he said.
""this crew has tipped you the black spot in full council, as in dooty bound; just you turn it over, as in dooty bound, and see what's wrote there.
then you can talk."
""thanky, george," replied the sea-cook.
""you always was brisk for business, and has the rules by heart, george, as i'm pleased to see.
well, what is it, anyway?
ah!
"deposed" -- that's it, is it?
very pretty wrote, to be sure; like print, i swear.
your hand o" write, george?
why, you was gettin" quite a leadin" man in this here crew.
you'll be cap'n next, i should n't wonder.
just oblige me with that torch again, will you?
this pipe do n't draw."
""come, now," said george, "you do n't fool this crew no more.
you're a funny man, by your account; but you're over now, and you'll maybe step down off that barrel and help vote."
""i thought you said you knowed the rules," returned silver contemptuously.
""leastways, if you do n't, i do; and i wait here -- and i'm still your cap'n, mind -- till you outs with your grievances and i reply; in the meantime, your black spot ai n't worth a biscuit.
after that, we'll see."
""oh," replied george, "you do n't be under no kind of apprehension; we're all square, we are.
first, you've made a hash of this cruise -- you'll be a bold man to say no to that.
second, you let the enemy out o" this here trap for nothing.
why did they want out?
i dunno, but it's pretty plain they wanted it.
third, you would n't let us go at them upon the march.
oh, we see through you, john silver; you want to play booty, that's what's wrong with you.
and then, fourth, there's this here boy."
""is that all?"
asked silver quietly.
""enough, too," retorted george.
""we'll all swing and sun-dry for your bungling."
""well now, look here, i'll answer these four p "ints; one after another i'll answer'em.
i made a hash o" this cruise, did i?
well now, you all know what i wanted, and you all know if that had been done that we'd" a been aboard the hispaniola this night as ever was, every man of us alive, and fit, and full of good plum-duff, and the treasure in the hold of her, by thunder!
well, who crossed me?
who forced my hand, as was the lawful cap'n?
who tipped me the black spot the day we landed and began this dance?
ah, it's a fine dance -- i'm with you there -- and looks mighty like a hornpipe in a rope's end at execution dock by london town, it does.
but who done it?
why, it was anderson, and hands, and you, george merry!
and you're the last above board of that same meddling crew; and you have the davy jones's insolence to up and stand for cap'n over me -- you, that sank the lot of us!
by the powers!
but this tops the stiffest yarn to nothing."
silver paused, and i could see by the faces of george and his late comrades that these words had not been said in vain.
""that's for number one," cried the accused, wiping the sweat from his brow, for he had been talking with a vehemence that shook the house.
""why, i give you my word, i'm sick to speak to you.
you've neither sense nor memory, and i leave it to fancy where your mothers was that let you come to sea.
sea!
gentlemen o" fortune!
i reckon tailors is your trade."
""go on, john," said morgan.
""speak up to the others."
""ah, the others!"
returned john.
""they're a nice lot, ai n't they?
you say this cruise is bungled.
ah!
by gum, if you could understand how bad it's bungled, you would see!
we're that near the gibbet that my neck's stiff with thinking on it.
you've seen'em, maybe, hanged in chains, birds about'em, seamen p "inting'em out as they go down with the tide.
"who's that?"
says one.
"that!
why, that's john silver.
i knowed him well," says another.
and you can hear the chains a-jangle as you go about and reach for the other buoy.
now, that's about where we are, every mother's son of us, thanks to him, and hands, and anderson, and other ruination fools of you.
and if you want to know about number four, and that boy, why, shiver my timbers, is n't he a hostage?
are we a-going to waste a hostage?
no, not us; he might be our last chance, and i should n't wonder.
kill that boy?
not me, mates!
and number three?
ah, well, there's a deal to say to number three.
maybe you do n't count it nothing to have a real college doctor to see you every day -- you, john, with your head broke -- or you, george merry, that had the ague shakes upon you not six hours agone, and has your eyes the colour of lemon peel to this same moment on the clock?
and maybe, perhaps, you did n't know there was a consort coming either?
but there is, and not so long till then; and we'll see who'll be glad to have a hostage when it comes to that.
and as for number two, and why i made a bargain -- well, you came crawling on your knees to me to make it -- on your knees you came, you was that downhearted -- and you'd have starved too if i had n't -- but that's a trifle!
you look there -- that's why!"
and he cast down upon the floor a paper that i instantly recognized -- none other than the chart on yellow paper, with the three red crosses, that i had found in the oilcloth at the bottom of the captain's chest.
why the doctor had given it to him was more than i could fancy.
but if it were inexplicable to me, the appearance of the chart was incredible to the surviving mutineers.
they leaped upon it like cats upon a mouse.
it went from hand to hand, one tearing it from another; and by the oaths and the cries and the childish laughter with which they accompanied their examination, you would have thought, not only they were fingering the very gold, but were at sea with it, besides, in safety.
""yes," said one, "that's flint, sure enough.
j. f., and a score below, with a clove hitch to it; so he done ever."
""mighty pretty," said george.
""but how are we to get away with it, and us no ship."
silver suddenly sprang up, and supporting himself with a hand against the wall: "now i give you warning, george," he cried.
""one more word of your sauce, and i'll call you down and fight you.
how?
why, how do i know?
you had ought to tell me that -- you and the rest, that lost me my schooner, with your interference, burn you!
but not you, you ca n't; you hai n't got the invention of a cockroach.
but civil you can speak, and shall, george merry, you may lay to that."
""that's fair enow," said the old man morgan.
""fair!
i reckon so," said the sea-cook.
""you lost the ship; i found the treasure.
who's the better man at that?
and now i resign, by thunder!
elect whom you please to be your cap'n now; i'm done with it."
""silver!"
they cried.
""barbecue forever!
barbecue for cap'n!"
""so that's the toon, is it?"
cried the cook.
""george, i reckon you'll have to wait another turn, friend; and lucky for you as i'm not a revengeful man.
but that was never my way.
and now, shipmates, this black spot?
"tai n't much good now, is it?
dick's crossed his luck and spoiled his bible, and that's about all."
""it'll do to kiss the book on still, wo n't it?"
growled dick, who was evidently uneasy at the curse he had brought upon himself.
""a bible with a bit cut out!"
returned silver derisively.
""not it.
it do n't bind no more'n a ballad-book."
""do n't it, though?"
cried dick with a sort of joy.
""well, i reckon that's worth having too."
""here, jim -- here's a cur "osity for you," said silver, and he tossed me the paper.
it was around about the size of a crown piece.
one side was blank, for it had been the last leaf; the other contained a verse or two of revelation -- these words among the rest, which struck sharply home upon my mind: "without are dogs and murderers."
the printed side had been blackened with wood ash, which already began to come off and soil my fingers; on the blank side had been written with the same material the one word "depposed."
i have that curiosity beside me at this moment, but not a trace of writing now remains beyond a single scratch, such as a man might make with his thumb-nail.
that was the end of the night's business.
soon after, with a drink all round, we lay down to sleep, and the outside of silver's vengeance was to put george merry up for sentinel and threaten him with death if he should prove unfaithful.
it was long ere i could close an eye, and heaven knows i had matter enough for thought in the man whom i had slain that afternoon, in my own most perilous position, and above all, in the remarkable game that i saw silver now engaged upon -- keeping the mutineers together with one hand and grasping with the other after every means, possible and impossible, to make his peace and save his miserable life.
he himself slept peacefully and snored aloud, yet my heart was sore for him, wicked as he was, to think on the dark perils that environed and the shameful gibbet that awaited him.
30 on parole i was wakened -- indeed, we were all wakened, for i could see even the sentinel shake himself together from where he had fallen against the door-post -- by a clear, hearty voice hailing us from the margin of the wood: "block house, ahoy!"
it cried.
""here's the doctor."
and the doctor it was.
although i was glad to hear the sound, yet my gladness was not without admixture.
i remembered with confusion my insubordinate and stealthy conduct, and when i saw where it had brought me -- among what companions and surrounded by what dangers -- i felt ashamed to look him in the face.
he must have risen in the dark, for the day had hardly come; and when i ran to a loophole and looked out, i saw him standing, like silver once before, up to the mid-leg in creeping vapour.
""you, doctor!
top o" the morning to you, sir!"
cried silver, broad awake and beaming with good nature in a moment.
""bright and early, to be sure; and it's the early bird, as the saying goes, that gets the rations.
george, shake up your timbers, son, and help dr. livesey over the ship's side.
all a-doin" well, your patients was -- all well and merry."
so he pattered on, standing on the hilltop with his crutch under his elbow and one hand upon the side of the log-house -- quite the old john in voice, manner, and expression.
""we've quite a surprise for you too, sir," he continued.
""we've a little stranger here -- he!
he!
a noo boarder and lodger, sir, and looking fit and taut as a fiddle; slep" like a supercargo, he did, right alongside of john -- stem to stem we was, all night."
dr. livesey was by this time across the stockade and pretty near the cook, and i could hear the alteration in his voice as he said, "not jim?"
""the very same jim as ever was," says silver.
the doctor stopped outright, although he did not speak, and it was some seconds before he seemed able to move on.
""well, well," he said at last, "duty first and pleasure afterwards, as you might have said yourself, silver.
let us overhaul these patients of yours."
a moment afterwards he had entered the block house and with one grim nod to me proceeded with his work among the sick.
he seemed under no apprehension, though he must have known that his life, among these treacherous demons, depended on a hair; and he rattled on to his patients as if he were paying an ordinary professional visit in a quiet english family.
his manner, i suppose, reacted on the men, for they behaved to him as if nothing had occurred, as if he were still ship's doctor and they still faithful hands before the mast.
""you're doing well, my friend," he said to the fellow with the bandaged head, "and if ever any person had a close shave, it was you; your head must be as hard as iron.
well, george, how goes it?
you're a pretty colour, certainly; why, your liver, man, is upside down.
did you take that medicine?
did he take that medicine, men?"
""aye, aye, sir, he took it, sure enough," returned morgan.
""because, you see, since i am mutineers" doctor, or prison doctor as i prefer to call it," says doctor livesey in his pleasantest way, "i make it a point of honour not to lose a man for king george -lrb- god bless him! -rrb-
and the gallows."
the rogues looked at each other but swallowed the home-thrust in silence.
""dick do n't feel well, sir," said one.
""do n't he?"
replied the doctor.
""well, step up here, dick, and let me see your tongue.
no, i should be surprised if he did!
the man's tongue is fit to frighten the french.
another fever."
""ah, there," said morgan, "that comed of sp "iling bibles."
""that comes -- as you call it -- of being arrant asses," retorted the doctor, "and not having sense enough to know honest air from poison, and the dry land from a vile, pestiferous slough.
i think it most probable -- though of course it's only an opinion -- that you'll all have the deuce to pay before you get that malaria out of your systems.
camp in a bog, would you?
silver, i'm surprised at you.
you're less of a fool than many, take you all round; but you do n't appear to me to have the rudiments of a notion of the rules of health.
""well," he added after he had dosed them round and they had taken his prescriptions, with really laughable humility, more like charity schoolchildren than blood-guilty mutineers and pirates -- "well, that's done for today.
and now i should wish to have a talk with that boy, please."
and he nodded his head in my direction carelessly.
george merry was at the door, spitting and spluttering over some bad-tasted medicine; but at the first word of the doctor's proposal he swung round with a deep flush and cried "no!"
and swore.
silver struck the barrel with his open hand.
""si-lence!"
he roared and looked about him positively like a lion.
""doctor," he went on in his usual tones, "i was a-thinking of that, knowing as how you had a fancy for the boy.
we're all humbly grateful for your kindness, and as you see, puts faith in you and takes the drugs down like that much grog.
and i take it i've found a way as'll suit all.
hawkins, will you give me your word of honour as a young gentleman -- for a young gentleman you are, although poor born -- your word of honour not to slip your cable?"
i readily gave the pledge required.
""then, doctor," said silver, "you just step outside o" that stockade, and once you're there i'll bring the boy down on the inside, and i reckon you can yarn through the spars.
good day to you, sir, and all our dooties to the squire and cap'n smollett."
the explosion of disapproval, which nothing but silver's black looks had restrained, broke out immediately the doctor had left the house.
silver was roundly accused of playing double -- of trying to make a separate peace for himself, of sacrificing the interests of his accomplices and victims, and, in one word, of the identical, exact thing that he was doing.
it seemed to me so obvious, in this case, that i could not imagine how he was to turn their anger.
but he was twice the man the rest were, and his last night's victory had given him a huge preponderance on their minds.
he called them all the fools and dolts you can imagine, said it was necessary i should talk to the doctor, fluttered the chart in their faces, asked them if they could afford to break the treaty the very day they were bound a-treasure-hunting.
""no, by thunder!"
he cried.
""it's us must break the treaty when the time comes; and till then i'll gammon that doctor, if i have to ile his boots with brandy."
and then he bade them get the fire lit, and stalked out upon his crutch, with his hand on my shoulder, leaving them in a disarray, and silenced by his volubility rather than convinced.
""slow, lad, slow," he said.
""they might round upon us in a twinkle of an eye if we was seen to hurry."
very deliberately, then, did we advance across the sand to where the doctor awaited us on the other side of the stockade, and as soon as we were within easy speaking distance silver stopped.
""you'll make a note of this here also, doctor," says he, "and the boy'll tell you how i saved his life, and were deposed for it too, and you may lay to that.
doctor, when a man's steering as near the wind as me -- playing chuck-farthing with the last breath in his body, like -- you would n't think it too much, mayhap, to give him one good word?
you'll please bear in mind it's not my life only now -- it's that boy's into the bargain; and you'll speak me fair, doctor, and give me a bit o" hope to go on, for the sake of mercy."
silver was a changed man once he was out there and had his back to his friends and the block house; his cheeks seemed to have fallen in, his voice trembled; never was a soul more dead in earnest.
""why, john, you're not afraid?"
asked dr. livesey.
""doctor, i'm no coward; no, not i -- not so much!"
and he snapped his fingers.
""if i was i would n't say it.
but i'll own up fairly, i've the shakes upon me for the gallows.
you're a good man and a true; i never seen a better man!
and you'll not forget what i done good, not any more than you'll forget the bad, i know.
and i step aside -- see here -- and leave you and jim alone.
and you'll put that down for me too, for it's a long stretch, is that!"
so saying, he stepped back a little way, till he was out of earshot, and there sat down upon a tree-stump and began to whistle, spinning round now and again upon his seat so as to command a sight, sometimes of me and the doctor and sometimes of his unruly ruffians as they went to and fro in the sand between the fire -- which they were busy rekindling -- and the house, from which they brought forth pork and bread to make the breakfast.
""so, jim," said the doctor sadly, "here you are.
as you have brewed, so shall you drink, my boy.
heaven knows, i can not find it in my heart to blame you, but this much i will say, be it kind or unkind: when captain smollett was well, you dared not have gone off; and when he was ill and could n't help it, by george, it was downright cowardly!"
i will own that i here began to weep.
""doctor," i said, "you might spare me.
i have blamed myself enough; my life's forfeit anyway, and i should have been dead by now if silver had n't stood for me; and doctor, believe this, i can die -- and i dare say i deserve it -- but what i fear is torture.
if they come to torture me --" "jim," the doctor interrupted, and his voice was quite changed, "jim, i ca n't have this.
whip over, and we'll run for it."
""doctor," said i, "i passed my word."
""i know, i know," he cried.
""we ca n't help that, jim, now.
i'll take it on my shoulders, holus bolus, blame and shame, my boy; but stay here, i can not let you.
jump!
one jump, and you're out, and we'll run for it like antelopes."
""no," i replied; "you know right well you would n't do the thing yourself -- neither you nor squire nor captain; and no more will i. silver trusted me; i passed my word, and back i go.
but, doctor, you did not let me finish.
if they come to torture me, i might let slip a word of where the ship is, for i got the ship, part by luck and part by risking, and she lies in north inlet, on the southern beach, and just below high water.
at half tide she must be high and dry."
""the ship!"
exclaimed the doctor.
rapidly i described to him my adventures, and he heard me out in silence.
""there is a kind of fate in this," he observed when i had done.
""every step, it's you that saves our lives; and do you suppose by any chance that we are going to let you lose yours?
that would be a poor return, my boy.
you found out the plot; you found ben gunn -- the best deed that ever you did, or will do, though you live to ninety.
oh, by jupiter, and talking of ben gunn!
why, this is the mischief in person.
silver!"
he cried.
""silver!
i'll give you a piece of advice," he continued as the cook drew near again; "do n't you be in any great hurry after that treasure."
""why, sir, i do my possible, which that ai n't," said silver.
""i can only, asking your pardon, save my life and the boy's by seeking for that treasure; and you may lay to that."
""well, silver," replied the doctor, "if that is so, i'll go one step further: look out for squalls when you find it."
""sir," said silver, "as between man and man, that's too much and too little.
what you're after, why you left the block house, why you given me that there chart, i do n't know, now, do i?
and yet i done your bidding with my eyes shut and never a word of hope!
but no, this here's too much.
if you wo n't tell me what you mean plain out, just say so and i'll leave the helm."
""no," said the doctor musingly; "i've no right to say more; it's not my secret, you see, silver, or, i give you my word, i'd tell it you.
but i'll go as far with you as i dare go, and a step beyond, for i'll have my wig sorted by the captain or i'm mistaken!
and first, i'll give you a bit of hope; silver, if we both get alive out of this wolf-trap, i'll do my best to save you, short of perjury."
silver's face was radiant.
""you could n't say more, i'm sure, sir, not if you was my mother," he cried.
""well, that's my first concession," added the doctor.
""my second is a piece of advice: keep the boy close beside you, and when you need help, halloo.
i'm off to seek it for you, and that itself will show you if i speak at random.
good-bye, jim."
and dr. livesey shook hands with me through the stockade, nodded to silver, and set off at a brisk pace into the wood.
31 the treasure-hunt -- flint's pointer "jim," said silver when we were alone, "if i saved your life, you saved mine; and i'll not forget it.
i seen the doctor waving you to run for it -- with the tail of my eye, i did; and i seen you say no, as plain as hearing.
jim, that's one to you.
this is the first glint of hope i had since the attack failed, and i owe it you.
and now, jim, we're to go in for this here treasure-hunting, with sealed orders too, and i do n't like it; and you and me must stick close, back to back like, and we'll save our necks in spite o" fate and fortune."
just then a man hailed us from the fire that breakfast was ready, and we were soon seated here and there about the sand over biscuit and fried junk.
they had lit a fire fit to roast an ox, and it was now grown so hot that they could only approach it from the windward, and even there not without precaution.
in the same wasteful spirit, they had cooked, i suppose, three times more than we could eat; and one of them, with an empty laugh, threw what was left into the fire, which blazed and roared again over this unusual fuel.
i never in my life saw men so careless of the morrow; hand to mouth is the only word that can describe their way of doing; and what with wasted food and sleeping sentries, though they were bold enough for a brush and be done with it, i could see their entire unfitness for anything like a prolonged campaign.
even silver, eating away, with captain flint upon his shoulder, had not a word of blame for their recklessness.
and this the more surprised me, for i thought he had never shown himself so cunning as he did then.
""aye, mates," said he, "it's lucky you have barbecue to think for you with this here head.
i got what i wanted, i did.
sure enough, they have the ship.
where they have it, i do n't know yet; but once we hit the treasure, we'll have to jump about and find out.
and then, mates, us that has the boats, i reckon, has the upper hand."
thus he kept running on, with his mouth full of the hot bacon; thus he restored their hope and confidence, and, i more than suspect, repaired his own at the same time.
""as for hostage," he continued, "that's his last talk, i guess, with them he loves so dear.
i've got my piece o" news, and thanky to him for that; but it's over and done.
i'll take him in a line when we go treasure-hunting, for we'll keep him like so much gold, in case of accidents, you mark, and in the meantime.
once we got the ship and treasure both and off to sea like jolly companions, why then we'll talk mr. hawkins over, we will, and we'll give him his share, to be sure, for all his kindness."
it was no wonder the men were in a good humour now.
for my part, i was horribly cast down.
should the scheme he had now sketched prove feasible, silver, already doubly a traitor, would not hesitate to adopt it.
he had still a foot in either camp, and there was no doubt he would prefer wealth and freedom with the pirates to a bare escape from hanging, which was the best he had to hope on our side.
nay, and even if things so fell out that he was forced to keep his faith with dr. livesey, even then what danger lay before us!
what a moment that would be when the suspicions of his followers turned to certainty and he and i should have to fight for dear life -- he a cripple and i a boy -- against five strong and active seamen!
add to this double apprehension the mystery that still hung over the behaviour of my friends, their unexplained desertion of the stockade, their inexplicable cession of the chart, or harder still to understand, the doctor's last warning to silver, "look out for squalls when you find it," and you will readily believe how little taste i found in my breakfast and with how uneasy a heart i set forth behind my captors on the quest for treasure.
we made a curious figure, had anyone been there to see us -- all in soiled sailor clothes and all but me armed to the teeth.
silver had two guns slung about him -- one before and one behind -- besides the great cutlass at his waist and a pistol in each pocket of his square-tailed coat.
to complete his strange appearance, captain flint sat perched upon his shoulder and gabbling odds and ends of purposeless sea-talk.
i had a line about my waist and followed obediently after the sea-cook, who held the loose end of the rope, now in his free hand, now between his powerful teeth.
for all the world, i was led like a dancing bear.
the other men were variously burthened, some carrying picks and shovels -- for that had been the very first necessary they brought ashore from the hispaniola -- others laden with pork, bread, and brandy for the midday meal.
all the stores, i observed, came from our stock, and i could see the truth of silver's words the night before.
had he not struck a bargain with the doctor, he and his mutineers, deserted by the ship, must have been driven to subsist on clear water and the proceeds of their hunting.
water would have been little to their taste; a sailor is not usually a good shot; and besides all that, when they were so short of eatables, it was not likely they would be very flush of powder.
well, thus equipped, we all set out -- even the fellow with the broken head, who should certainly have kept in shadow -- and straggled, one after another, to the beach, where the two gigs awaited us.
even these bore trace of the drunken folly of the pirates, one in a broken thwart, and both in their muddy and unbailed condition.
both were to be carried along with us for the sake of safety; and so, with our numbers divided between them, we set forth upon the bosom of the anchorage.
as we pulled over, there was some discussion on the chart.
the red cross was, of course, far too large to be a guide; and the terms of the note on the back, as you will hear, admitted of some ambiguity.
they ran, the reader may remember, thus: tall tree, spy-glass shoulder, bearing a point to the n. of n.n.e. skeleton island e.s.e. and by e. ten feet.
a tall tree was thus the principal mark.
now, right before us the anchorage was bounded by a plateau from two to three hundred feet high, adjoining on the north the sloping southern shoulder of the spy-glass and rising again towards the south into the rough, cliffy eminence called the mizzen-mast hill.
the top of the plateau was dotted thickly with pine-trees of varying height.
every here and there, one of a different species rose forty or fifty feet clear above its neighbours, and which of these was the particular "tall tree" of captain flint could only be decided on the spot, and by the readings of the compass.
yet, although that was the case, every man on board the boats had picked a favourite of his own ere we were half-way over, long john alone shrugging his shoulders and bidding them wait till they were there.
we pulled easily, by silver's directions, not to weary the hands prematurely, and after quite a long passage, landed at the mouth of the second river -- that which runs down a woody cleft of the spy-glass.
thence, bending to our left, we began to ascend the slope towards the plateau.
at the first outset, heavy, miry ground and a matted, marish vegetation greatly delayed our progress; but by little and little the hill began to steepen and become stony under foot, and the wood to change its character and to grow in a more open order.
it was, indeed, a most pleasant portion of the island that we were now approaching.
a heavy-scented broom and many flowering shrubs had almost taken the place of grass.
thickets of green nutmeg-trees were dotted here and there with the red columns and the broad shadow of the pines; and the first mingled their spice with the aroma of the others.
the air, besides, was fresh and stirring, and this, under the sheer sunbeams, was a wonderful refreshment to our senses.
the party spread itself abroad, in a fan shape, shouting and leaping to and fro.
about the centre, and a good way behind the rest, silver and i followed -- i tethered by my rope, he ploughing, with deep pants, among the sliding gravel.
from time to time, indeed, i had to lend him a hand, or he must have missed his footing and fallen backward down the hill.
we had thus proceeded for about half a mile and were approaching the brow of the plateau when the man upon the farthest left began to cry aloud, as if in terror.
shout after shout came from him, and the others began to run in his direction.
""he ca n't" a found the treasure," said old morgan, hurrying past us from the right, "for that's clean a-top."
indeed, as we found when we also reached the spot, it was something very different.
at the foot of a pretty big pine and involved in a green creeper, which had even partly lifted some of the smaller bones, a human skeleton lay, with a few shreds of clothing, on the ground.
i believe a chill struck for a moment to every heart.
""he was a seaman," said george merry, who, bolder than the rest, had gone up close and was examining the rags of clothing.
""leastways, this is good sea-cloth."
""aye, aye," said silver; "like enough; you would n't look to find a bishop here, i reckon.
but what sort of a way is that for bones to lie?
"tai n't in natur"."
indeed, on a second glance, it seemed impossible to fancy that the body was in a natural position.
but for some disarray -lrb- the work, perhaps, of the birds that had fed upon him or of the slow-growing creeper that had gradually enveloped his remains -rrb- the man lay perfectly straight -- his feet pointing in one direction, his hands, raised above his head like a diver's, pointing directly in the opposite.
""i've taken a notion into my old numbskull," observed silver.
""here's the compass; there's the tip-top p "int o" skeleton island, stickin" out like a tooth.
just take a bearing, will you, along the line of them bones."
it was done.
the body pointed straight in the direction of the island, and the compass read duly e.s.e. and by e. "i thought so," cried the cook; "this here is a p "inter.
right up there is our line for the pole star and the jolly dollars.
but, by thunder!
if it do n't make me cold inside to think of flint.
this is one of his jokes, and no mistake.
him and these six was alone here; he killed'em, every man; and this one he hauled here and laid down by compass, shiver my timbers!
they're long bones, and the hair's been yellow.
aye, that would be allardyce.
you mind allardyce, tom morgan?"
""aye, aye," returned morgan; "i mind him; he owed me money, he did, and took my knife ashore with him."
""speaking of knives," said another, "why do n't we find his'n lying round?
flint war n't the man to pick a seaman's pocket; and the birds, i guess, would leave it be."
""by the powers, and that's true!"
cried silver.
""there ai n't a thing left here," said merry, still feeling round among the bones; "not a copper doit nor a baccy box.
it do n't look nat "ral to me."
""no, by gum, it do n't," agreed silver; "not nat "ral, nor not nice, says you.
great guns!
messmates, but if flint was living, this would be a hot spot for you and me.
six they were, and six are we; and bones is what they are now."
""i saw him dead with these here deadlights," said morgan.
""billy took me in.
there he laid, with penny-pieces on his eyes."
""dead -- aye, sure enough he's dead and gone below," said the fellow with the bandage; "but if ever sperrit walked, it would be flint's.
dear heart, but he died bad, did flint!"
""aye, that he did," observed another; "now he raged, and now he hollered for the rum, and now he sang.
"fifteen men" were his only song, mates; and i tell you true, i never rightly liked to hear it since.
it was main hot, and the windy was open, and i hear that old song comin" out as clear as clear -- and the death-haul on the man already."
""come, come," said silver; "stow this talk.
he's dead, and he do n't walk, that i know; leastways, he wo n't walk by day, and you may lay to that.
care killed a cat.
fetch ahead for the doubloons."
we started, certainly; but in spite of the hot sun and the staring daylight, the pirates no longer ran separate and shouting through the wood, but kept side by side and spoke with bated breath.
the terror of the dead buccaneer had fallen on their spirits.
32 the treasure-hunt -- the voice among the trees partly from the damping influence of this alarm, partly to rest silver and the sick folk, the whole party sat down as soon as they had gained the brow of the ascent.
the plateau being somewhat tilted towards the west, this spot on which we had paused commanded a wide prospect on either hand.
before us, over the tree-tops, we beheld the cape of the woods fringed with surf; behind, we not only looked down upon the anchorage and skeleton island, but saw -- clear across the spit and the eastern lowlands -- a great field of open sea upon the east.
sheer above us rose the spyglass, here dotted with single pines, there black with precipices.
there was no sound but that of the distant breakers, mounting from all round, and the chirp of countless insects in the brush.
not a man, not a sail, upon the sea; the very largeness of the view increased the sense of solitude.
silver, as he sat, took certain bearings with his compass.
""there are three "tall trees"" said he, "about in the right line from skeleton island.
"spy-glass shoulder," i take it, means that lower p "int there.
it's child's play to find the stuff now.
i've half a mind to dine first."
""i do n't feel sharp," growled morgan.
""thinkin" o" flint -- i think it were -- as done me."
""ah, well, my son, you praise your stars he's dead," said silver.
""he were an ugly devil," cried a third pirate with a shudder; "that blue in the face too!"
""that was how the rum took him," added merry.
""blue!
well, i reckon he was blue.
that's a true word."
ever since they had found the skeleton and got upon this train of thought, they had spoken lower and lower, and they had almost got to whispering by now, so that the sound of their talk hardly interrupted the silence of the wood.
all of a sudden, out of the middle of the trees in front of us, a thin, high, trembling voice struck up the well-known air and words: "fifteen men on the dead man's chest -- yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
i never have seen men more dreadfully affected than the pirates.
the colour went from their six faces like enchantment; some leaped to their feet, some clawed hold of others; morgan grovelled on the ground.
""it's flint, by --!"
cried merry.
the song had stopped as suddenly as it began -- broken off, you would have said, in the middle of a note, as though someone had laid his hand upon the singer's mouth.
coming through the clear, sunny atmosphere among the green tree-tops, i thought it had sounded airily and sweetly; and the effect on my companions was the stranger.
""come," said silver, struggling with his ashen lips to get the word out; "this wo n't do.
stand by to go about.
this is a rum start, and i ca n't name the voice, but it's someone skylarking -- someone that's flesh and blood, and you may lay to that."
his courage had come back as he spoke, and some of the colour to his face along with it.
already the others had begun to lend an ear to this encouragement and were coming a little to themselves, when the same voice broke out again -- not this time singing, but in a faint distant hail that echoed yet fainter among the clefts of the spy-glass.
""darby m'graw," it wailed -- for that is the word that best describes the sound -- "darby m'graw!
darby m'graw!"
again and again and again; and then rising a little higher, and with an oath that i leave out: "fetch aft the rum, darby!"
the buccaneers remained rooted to the ground, their eyes starting from their heads.
long after the voice had died away they still stared in silence, dreadfully, before them.
""that fixes it!"
gasped one.
""let's go."
""they was his last words," moaned morgan, "his last words above board."
dick had his bible out and was praying volubly.
he had been well brought up, had dick, before he came to sea and fell among bad companions.
still silver was unconquered.
i could hear his teeth rattle in his head, but he had not yet surrendered.
""nobody in this here island ever heard of darby," he muttered; "not one but us that's here."
and then, making a great effort: "shipmates," he cried, "i'm here to get that stuff, and i'll not be beat by man or devil.
i never was feared of flint in his life, and, by the powers, i'll face him dead.
there's seven hundred thousand pound not a quarter of a mile from here.
when did ever a gentleman o" fortune show his stern to that much dollars for a boozy old seaman with a blue mug -- and him dead too?"
but there was no sign of reawakening courage in his followers, rather, indeed, of growing terror at the irreverence of his words.
""belay there, john!"
said merry.
""do n't you cross a sperrit."
and the rest were all too terrified to reply.
they would have run away severally had they dared; but fear kept them together, and kept them close by john, as if his daring helped them.
he, on his part, had pretty well fought his weakness down.
""sperrit?
well, maybe," he said.
""but there's one thing not clear to me.
there was an echo.
now, no man ever seen a sperrit with a shadow; well then, what's he doing with an echo to him, i should like to know?
that ai n't in natur", surely?"
this argument seemed weak enough to me.
but you can never tell what will affect the superstitious, and to my wonder, george merry was greatly relieved.
""well, that's so," he said.
""you've a head upon your shoulders, john, and no mistake.
"bout ship, mates!
this here crew is on a wrong tack, i do believe.
and come to think on it, it was like flint's voice, i grant you, but not just so clear-away like it, after all.
it was liker somebody else's voice now -- it was liker --" "by the powers, ben gunn!"
roared silver.
""aye, and so it were," cried morgan, springing on his knees.
""ben gunn it were!"
""it do n't make much odds, do it, now?"
asked dick.
""ben gunn's not here in the body any more'n flint."
but the older hands greeted this remark with scorn.
""why, nobody minds ben gunn," cried merry; "dead or alive, nobody minds him."
it was extraordinary how their spirits had returned and how the natural colour had revived in their faces.
soon they were chatting together, with intervals of listening; and not long after, hearing no further sound, they shouldered the tools and set forth again, merry walking first with silver's compass to keep them on the right line with skeleton island.
he had said the truth: dead or alive, nobody minded ben gunn.
dick alone still held his bible, and looked around him as he went, with fearful glances; but he found no sympathy, and silver even joked him on his precautions.
""i told you," said he -- "i told you you had sp "iled your bible.
if it ai n't no good to swear by, what do you suppose a sperrit would give for it?
not that!"
and he snapped his big fingers, halting a moment on his crutch.
but dick was not to be comforted; indeed, it was soon plain to me that the lad was falling sick; hastened by heat, exhaustion, and the shock of his alarm, the fever, predicted by dr. livesey, was evidently growing swiftly higher.
it was fine open walking here, upon the summit; our way lay a little downhill, for, as i have said, the plateau tilted towards the west.
the pines, great and small, grew wide apart; and even between the clumps of nutmeg and azalea, wide open spaces baked in the hot sunshine.
striking, as we did, pretty near north-west across the island, we drew, on the one hand, ever nearer under the shoulders of the spy-glass, and on the other, looked ever wider over that western bay where i had once tossed and trembled in the coracle.
the first of the tall trees was reached, and by the bearings proved the wrong one.
so with the second.
the third rose nearly two hundred feet into the air above a clump of underwood -- a giant of a vegetable, with a red column as big as a cottage, and a wide shadow around in which a company could have manoeuvred.
it was conspicuous far to sea both on the east and west and might have been entered as a sailing mark upon the chart.
but it was not its size that now impressed my companions; it was the knowledge that seven hundred thousand pounds in gold lay somewhere buried below its spreading shadow.
the thought of the money, as they drew nearer, swallowed up their previous terrors.
their eyes burned in their heads; their feet grew speedier and lighter; their whole soul was found up in that fortune, that whole lifetime of extravagance and pleasure, that lay waiting there for each of them.
silver hobbled, grunting, on his crutch; his nostrils stood out and quivered; he cursed like a madman when the flies settled on his hot and shiny countenance; he plucked furiously at the line that held me to him and from time to time turned his eyes upon me with a deadly look.
certainly he took no pains to hide his thoughts, and certainly i read them like print.
in the immediate nearness of the gold, all else had been forgotten: his promise and the doctor's warning were both things of the past, and i could not doubt that he hoped to seize upon the treasure, find and board the hispaniola under cover of night, cut every honest throat about that island, and sail away as he had at first intended, laden with crimes and riches.
shaken as i was with these alarms, it was hard for me to keep up with the rapid pace of the treasure-hunters.
now and again i stumbled, and it was then that silver plucked so roughly at the rope and launched at me his murderous glances.
dick, who had dropped behind us and now brought up the rear, was babbling to himself both prayers and curses as his fever kept rising.
this also added to my wretchedness, and to crown all, i was haunted by the thought of the tragedy that had once been acted on that plateau, when that ungodly buccaneer with the blue face -- he who died at savannah, singing and shouting for drink -- had there, with his own hand, cut down his six accomplices.
this grove that was now so peaceful must then have rung with cries, i thought; and even with the thought i could believe i heard it ringing still.
we were now at the margin of the thicket.
""huzza, mates, all together!"
shouted merry; and the foremost broke into a run.
and suddenly, not ten yards further, we beheld them stop.
a low cry arose.
silver doubled his pace, digging away with the foot of his crutch like one possessed; and next moment he and i had come also to a dead halt.
before us was a great excavation, not very recent, for the sides had fallen in and grass had sprouted on the bottom.
in this were the shaft of a pick broken in two and the boards of several packing-cases strewn around.
on one of these boards i saw, branded with a hot iron, the name walrus -- the name of flint's ship.
all was clear to probation.
the cache had been found and rifled; the seven hundred thousand pounds were gone!
33 the fall of a chieftain there never was such an overturn in this world.
each of these six men was as though he had been struck.
but with silver the blow passed almost instantly.
every thought of his soul had been set full-stretch, like a racer, on that money; well, he was brought up, in a single second, dead; and he kept his head, found his temper, and changed his plan before the others had had time to realize the disappointment.
""jim," he whispered, "take that, and stand by for trouble."
and he passed me a double-barrelled pistol.
at the same time, he began quietly moving northward, and in a few steps had put the hollow between us two and the other five.
then he looked at me and nodded, as much as to say, "here is a narrow corner," as, indeed, i thought it was.
his looks were not quite friendly, and i was so revolted at these constant changes that i could not forbear whispering, "so you've changed sides again."
there was no time left for him to answer in.
the buccaneers, with oaths and cries, began to leap, one after another, into the pit and to dig with their fingers, throwing the boards aside as they did so.
morgan found a piece of gold.
he held it up with a perfect spout of oaths.
it was a two-guinea piece, and it went from hand to hand among them for a quarter of a minute.
""two guineas!"
roared merry, shaking it at silver.
""that's your seven hundred thousand pounds, is it?
you're the man for bargains, ai n't you?
you're him that never bungled nothing, you wooden-headed lubber!"
""dig away, boys," said silver with the coolest insolence; "you'll find some pig-nuts and i should n't wonder."
""pig-nuts!"
repeated merry, in a scream.
""mates, do you hear that?
i tell you now, that man there knew it all along.
look in the face of him and you'll see it wrote there."
""ah, merry," remarked silver, "standing for cap'n again?
you're a pushing lad, to be sure."
but this time everyone was entirely in merry's favour.
they began to scramble out of the excavation, darting furious glances behind them.
one thing i observed, which looked well for us: they all got out upon the opposite side from silver.
well, there we stood, two on one side, five on the other, the pit between us, and nobody screwed up high enough to offer the first blow.
silver never moved; he watched them, very upright on his crutch, and looked as cool as ever i saw him.
he was brave, and no mistake.
at last merry seemed to think a speech might help matters.
""mates," says he, "there's two of them alone there; one's the old cripple that brought us all here and blundered us down to this; the other's that cub that i mean to have the heart of.
now, mates --" he was raising his arm and his voice, and plainly meant to lead a charge.
but just then -- crack!
crack!
crack!
-- three musket-shots flashed out of the thicket.
merry tumbled head foremost into the excavation; the man with the bandage spun round like a teetotum and fell all his length upon his side, where he lay dead, but still twitching; and the other three turned and ran for it with all their might.
before you could wink, long john had fired two barrels of a pistol into the struggling merry, and as the man rolled up his eyes at him in the last agony, "george," said he, "i reckon i settled you."
at the same moment, the doctor, gray, and ben gunn joined us, with smoking muskets, from among the nutmeg-trees.
""forward!"
cried the doctor.
""double quick, my lads.
we must head'em off the boats."
and we set off at a great pace, sometimes plunging through the bushes to the chest.
i tell you, but silver was anxious to keep up with us.
the work that man went through, leaping on his crutch till the muscles of his chest were fit to burst, was work no sound man ever equalled; and so thinks the doctor.
as it was, he was already thirty yards behind us and on the verge of strangling when we reached the brow of the slope.
""doctor," he hailed, "see there!
no hurry!"
sure enough there was no hurry.
in a more open part of the plateau, we could see the three survivors still running in the same direction as they had started, right for mizzenmast hill.
we were already between them and the boats; and so we four sat down to breathe, while long john, mopping his face, came slowly up with us.
""thank ye kindly, doctor," says he.
""you came in in about the nick, i guess, for me and hawkins.
and so it's you, ben gunn!"
he added.
""well, you're a nice one, to be sure."
""i'm ben gunn, i am," replied the maroon, wriggling like an eel in his embarrassment.
""and," he added, after a long pause, "how do, mr. silver?
pretty well, i thank ye, says you."
""ben, ben," murmured silver, "to think as you've done me!"
the doctor sent back gray for one of the pick-axes deserted, in their flight, by the mutineers, and then as we proceeded leisurely downhill to where the boats were lying, related in a few words what had taken place.
it was a story that profoundly interested silver; and ben gunn, the half-idiot maroon, was the hero from beginning to end.
ben, in his long, lonely wanderings about the island, had found the skeleton -- it was he that had rifled it; he had found the treasure; he had dug it up -lrb- it was the haft of his pick-axe that lay broken in the excavation -rrb-; he had carried it on his back, in many weary journeys, from the foot of the tall pine to a cave he had on the two-pointed hill at the north-east angle of the island, and there it had lain stored in safety since two months before the arrival of the hispaniola.
when the doctor had wormed this secret from him on the afternoon of the attack, and when next morning he saw the anchorage deserted, he had gone to silver, given him the chart, which was now useless -- given him the stores, for ben gunn's cave was well supplied with goats" meat salted by himself -- given anything and everything to get a chance of moving in safety from the stockade to the two-pointed hill, there to be clear of malaria and keep a guard upon the money.
""as for you, jim," he said, "it went against my heart, but i did what i thought best for those who had stood by their duty; and if you were not one of these, whose fault was it?"
that morning, finding that i was to be involved in the horrid disappointment he had prepared for the mutineers, he had run all the way to the cave, and leaving the squire to guard the captain, had taken gray and the maroon and started, making the diagonal across the island to be at hand beside the pine.
soon, however, he saw that our party had the start of him; and ben gunn, being fleet of foot, had been dispatched in front to do his best alone.
then it had occurred to him to work upon the superstitions of his former shipmates, and he was so far successful that gray and the doctor had come up and were already ambushed before the arrival of the treasure-hunters.
""ah," said silver, "it were fortunate for me that i had hawkins here.
you would have let old john be cut to bits, and never given it a thought, doctor."
""not a thought," replied dr. livesey cheerily.
and by this time we had reached the gigs.
the doctor, with the pick-axe, demolished one of them, and then we all got aboard the other and set out to go round by sea for north inlet.
this was a run of eight or nine miles.
silver, though he was almost killed already with fatigue, was set to an oar, like the rest of us, and we were soon skimming swiftly over a smooth sea.
soon we passed out of the straits and doubled the south-east corner of the island, round which, four days ago, we had towed the hispaniola.
as we passed the two-pointed hill, we could see the black mouth of ben gunn's cave and a figure standing by it, leaning on a musket.
it was the squire, and we waved a handkerchief and gave him three cheers, in which the voice of silver joined as heartily as any.
three miles farther, just inside the mouth of north inlet, what should we meet but the hispaniola, cruising by herself?
the last flood had lifted her, and had there been much wind or a strong tide current, as in the southern anchorage, we should never have found her more, or found her stranded beyond help.
as it was, there was little amiss beyond the wreck of the main-sail.
another anchor was got ready and dropped in a fathom and a half of water.
we all pulled round again to rum cove, the nearest point for ben gunn's treasure-house; and then gray, single-handed, returned with the gig to the hispaniola, where he was to pass the night on guard.
a gentle slope ran up from the beach to the entrance of the cave.
at the top, the squire met us.
to me he was cordial and kind, saying nothing of my escapade either in the way of blame or praise.
at silver's polite salute he somewhat flushed.
""john silver," he said, "you're a prodigious villain and imposter -- a monstrous imposter, sir.
i am told i am not to prosecute you.
well, then, i will not.
but the dead men, sir, hang about your neck like mill-stones."
""thank you kindly, sir," replied long john, again saluting.
""i dare you to thank me!"
cried the squire.
""it is a gross dereliction of my duty.
stand back."
and thereupon we all entered the cave.
it was a large, airy place, with a little spring and a pool of clear water, overhung with ferns.
the floor was sand.
before a big fire lay captain smollett; and in a far corner, only duskily flickered over by the blaze, i beheld great heaps of coin and quadrilaterals built of bars of gold.
that was flint's treasure that we had come so far to seek and that had cost already the lives of seventeen men from the hispaniola.
how many it had cost in the amassing, what blood and sorrow, what good ships scuttled on the deep, what brave men walking the plank blindfold, what shot of cannon, what shame and lies and cruelty, perhaps no man alive could tell.
yet there were still three upon that island -- silver, and old morgan, and ben gunn -- who had each taken his share in these crimes, as each had hoped in vain to share in the reward.
""come in, jim," said the captain.
""you're a good boy in your line, jim, but i do n't think you and me'll go to sea again.
you're too much of the born favourite for me.
is that you, john silver?
what brings you here, man?"
""come back to my dooty, sir," returned silver.
""ah!"
said the captain, and that was all he said.
what a supper i had of it that night, with all my friends around me; and what a meal it was, with ben gunn's salted goat and some delicacies and a bottle of old wine from the hispaniola.
never, i am sure, were people gayer or happier.
and there was silver, sitting back almost out of the firelight, but eating heartily, prompt to spring forward when anything was wanted, even joining quietly in our laughter -- the same bland, polite, obsequious seaman of the voyage out.
34 and last the next morning we fell early to work, for the transportation of this great mass of gold near a mile by land to the beach, and thence three miles by boat to the hispaniola, was a considerable task for so small a number of workmen.
the three fellows still abroad upon the island did not greatly trouble us; a single sentry on the shoulder of the hill was sufficient to ensure us against any sudden onslaught, and we thought, besides, they had had more than enough of fighting.
therefore the work was pushed on briskly.
gray and ben gunn came and went with the boat, while the rest during their absences piled treasure on the beach.
two of the bars, slung in a rope's end, made a good load for a grown man -- one that he was glad to walk slowly with.
for my part, as i was not much use at carrying, i was kept busy all day in the cave packing the minted money into bread-bags.
it was a strange collection, like billy bones's hoard for the diversity of coinage, but so much larger and so much more varied that i think i never had more pleasure than in sorting them.
english, french, spanish, portuguese, georges, and louises, doubloons and double guineas and moidores and sequins, the pictures of all the kings of europe for the last hundred years, strange oriental pieces stamped with what looked like wisps of string or bits of spider's web, round pieces and square pieces, and pieces bored through the middle, as if to wear them round your neck -- nearly every variety of money in the world must, i think, have found a place in that collection; and for number, i am sure they were like autumn leaves, so that my back ached with stooping and my fingers with sorting them out.
day after day this work went on; by every evening a fortune had been stowed aboard, but there was another fortune waiting for the morrow; and all this time we heard nothing of the three surviving mutineers.
at last -- i think it was on the third night -- the doctor and i were strolling on the shoulder of the hill where it overlooks the lowlands of the isle, when, from out the thick darkness below, the wind brought us a noise between shrieking and singing.
it was only a snatch that reached our ears, followed by the former silence.
""heaven forgive them," said the doctor;"'t is the mutineers!"
""all drunk, sir," struck in the voice of silver from behind us.
silver, i should say, was allowed his entire liberty, and in spite of daily rebuffs, seemed to regard himself once more as quite a privileged and friendly dependent.
indeed, it was remarkable how well he bore these slights and with what unwearying politeness he kept on trying to ingratiate himself with all.
yet, i think, none treated him better than a dog, unless it was ben gunn, who was still terribly afraid of his old quartermaster, or myself, who had really something to thank him for; although for that matter, i suppose, i had reason to think even worse of him than anybody else, for i had seen him meditating a fresh treachery upon the plateau.
accordingly, it was pretty gruffly that the doctor answered him.
""drunk or raving," said he.
""right you were, sir," replied silver; "and precious little odds which, to you and me."
""i suppose you would hardly ask me to call you a humane man," returned the doctor with a sneer, "and so my feelings may surprise you, master silver.
but if i were sure they were raving -- as i am morally certain one, at least, of them is down with fever -- i should leave this camp, and at whatever risk to my own carcass, take them the assistance of my skill."
""ask your pardon, sir, you would be very wrong," quoth silver.
""you would lose your precious life, and you may lay to that.
i'm on your side now, hand and glove; and i should n't wish for to see the party weakened, let alone yourself, seeing as i know what i owes you.
but these men down there, they could n't keep their word -- no, not supposing they wished to; and what's more, they could n't believe as you could."
""no," said the doctor.
""you're the man to keep your word, we know that."
well, that was about the last news we had of the three pirates.
only once we heard a gunshot a great way off and supposed them to be hunting.
a council was held, and it was decided that we must desert them on the island -- to the huge glee, i must say, of ben gunn, and with the strong approval of gray.
we left a good stock of powder and shot, the bulk of the salt goat, a few medicines, and some other necessaries, tools, clothing, a spare sail, a fathom or two of rope, and by the particular desire of the doctor, a handsome present of tobacco.
that was about our last doing on the island.
before that, we had got the treasure stowed and had shipped enough water and the remainder of the goat meat in case of any distress; and at last, one fine morning, we weighed anchor, which was about all that we could manage, and stood out of north inlet, the same colours flying that the captain had flown and fought under at the palisade.
the three fellows must have been watching us closer than we thought for, as we soon had proved.
for coming through the narrows, we had to lie very near the southern point, and there we saw all three of them kneeling together on a spit of sand, with their arms raised in supplication.
it went to all our hearts, i think, to leave them in that wretched state; but we could not risk another mutiny; and to take them home for the gibbet would have been a cruel sort of kindness.
the doctor hailed them and told them of the stores we had left, and where they were to find them.
but they continued to call us by name and appeal to us, for god's sake, to be merciful and not leave them to die in such a place.
at last, seeing the ship still bore on her course and was now swiftly drawing out of earshot, one of them -- i know not which it was -- leapt to his feet with a hoarse cry, whipped his musket to his shoulder, and sent a shot whistling over silver's head and through the main-sail.
after that, we kept under cover of the bulwarks, and when next i looked out they had disappeared from the spit, and the spit itself had almost melted out of sight in the growing distance.
that was, at least, the end of that; and before noon, to my inexpressible joy, the highest rock of treasure island had sunk into the blue round of sea.
we were so short of men that everyone on board had to bear a hand -- only the captain lying on a mattress in the stern and giving his orders, for though greatly recovered he was still in want of quiet.
we laid her head for the nearest port in spanish america, for we could not risk the voyage home without fresh hands; and as it was, what with baffling winds and a couple of fresh gales, we were all worn out before we reached it.
it was just at sundown when we cast anchor in a most beautiful land-locked gulf, and were immediately surrounded by shore boats full of negroes and mexican indians and half-bloods selling fruits and vegetables and offering to dive for bits of money.
the sight of so many good-humoured faces -lrb- especially the blacks -rrb-, the taste of the tropical fruits, and above all the lights that began to shine in the town made a most charming contrast to our dark and bloody sojourn on the island; and the doctor and the squire, taking me along with them, went ashore to pass the early part of the night.
here they met the captain of an english man-of-war, fell in talk with him, went on board his ship, and, in short, had so agreeable a time that day was breaking when we came alongside the hispaniola.
ben gunn was on deck alone, and as soon as we came on board he began, with wonderful contortions, to make us a confession.
silver was gone.
the maroon had connived at his escape in a shore boat some hours ago, and he now assured us he had only done so to preserve our lives, which would certainly have been forfeit if "that man with the one leg had stayed aboard."
but this was not all.
the sea-cook had not gone empty-handed.
he had cut through a bulkhead unobserved and had removed one of the sacks of coin, worth perhaps three or four hundred guineas, to help him on his further wanderings.
i think we were all pleased to be so cheaply quit of him.
well, to make a long story short, we got a few hands on board, made a good cruise home, and the hispaniola reached bristol just as mr. blandly was beginning to think of fitting out her consort.
five men only of those who had sailed returned with her.
""drink and the devil had done for the rest," with a vengeance, although, to be sure, we were not quite in so bad a case as that other ship they sang about: with one man of her crew alive, what put to sea with seventy-five.
all of us had an ample share of the treasure and used it wisely or foolishly, according to our natures.
captain smollett is now retired from the sea.
gray not only saved his money, but being suddenly smit with the desire to rise, also studied his profession, and he is now mate and part owner of a fine full-rigged ship, married besides, and the father of a family.
as for ben gunn, he got a thousand pounds, which he spent or lost in three weeks, or to be more exact, in nineteen days, for he was back begging on the twentieth.
then he was given a lodge to keep, exactly as he had feared upon the island; and he still lives, a great favourite, though something of a butt, with the country boys, and a notable singer in church on sundays and saints" days.
of silver we have heard no more.
that formidable seafaring man with one leg has at last gone clean out of my life; but i dare say he met his old negress, and perhaps still lives in comfort with her and captain flint.
it is to be hoped so, i suppose, for his chances of comfort in another world are very small.
the bar silver and the arms still lie, for all that i know, where flint buried them; and certainly they shall lie there for me.
oxen and wain-ropes would not bring me back again to that accursed island; and the worst dreams that ever i have are when i hear the surf booming about its coasts or start upright in bed with the sharp voice of captain flint still ringing in my ears: "pieces of eight!
_book_title_: rudyard_kipling___just_so_stories.txt.out
how the whale got his throat in the sea, once upon a time, o my best beloved, there was a whale, and he ate fishes.
he ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel.
all the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth -- so!
till at last there was only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was a small "stute fish, and he swam a little behind the whale's right ear, so as to be out of harm's way.
then the whale stood up on his tail and said, "i'm hungry."
and the small "stute fish said in a small "stute voice, "noble and generous cetacean, have you ever tasted man?"
"no," said the whale.
"what is it like?"
"nice," said the small "stute fish.
"nice but nubbly."
"then fetch me some," said the whale, and he made the sea froth up with his tail.
"one at a time is enough," said the "stute fish.
"if you swim to latitude fifty north, longitude forty west -lrb- that is magic -rrb-, you will find, sitting on a raft, in the middle of the sea, with nothing on but a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders -lrb- you must not forget the suspenders, best beloved -rrb-, and a jack-knife, one ship-wrecked mariner, who, it is only fair to tell you, is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity."
so the whale swam and swam to latitude fifty north, longitude forty west, as fast as he could swim, and on a raft, in the middle of the sea, with nothing to wear except a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders -lrb- you must particularly remember the suspenders, best beloved -rrb-, and a jack-knife, he found one single, solitary shipwrecked mariner, trailing his toes in the water.
-lrb- he had his mummy's leave to paddle, or else he would never have done it, because he was a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity. -rrb-
then the whale opened his mouth back and back and back till it nearly touched his tail, and he swallowed the shipwrecked mariner, and the raft he was sitting on, and his blue canvas breeches, and the suspenders -lrb- which you must not forget -rrb-, and the jack-knife -- he swallowed them all down into his warm, dark, inside cup-boards, and then he smacked his lips -- so, and turned round three times on his tail.
but as soon as the mariner, who was a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, found himself truly inside the whale's warm, dark, inside cup-boards, he stumped and he jumped and he thumped and he bumped, and he pranced and he danced, and he banged and he clanged, and he hit and he bit, and he leaped and he creeped, and he prowled and he howled, and he hopped and he dropped, and he cried and he sighed, and he crawled and he bawled, and he stepped and he lepped, and he danced hornpipes where he should n't, and the whale felt most unhappy indeed.
-lrb- have you forgotten the suspenders? -rrb-
so he said to the "stute fish, "this man is very nubbly, and besides he is making me hiccough.
what shall i do?"
"tell him to come out," said the "stute fish.
so the whale called down his own throat to the shipwrecked mariner, "come out and behave yourself.
i've got the hiccoughs."
"nay, nay!"
said the mariner.
"not so, but far otherwise.
take me to my natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-albion, and i'll think about it."
and he began to dance more than ever.
"you had better take him home," said the "stute fish to the whale."
i ought to have warned you that he is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity."
so the whale swam and swam and swam, with both flippers and his tail, as hard as he could for the hiccoughs; and at last he saw the mariner's natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-albion, and he rushed half-way up the beach, and opened his mouth wide and wide and wide, and said, "change here for winchester, ashuelot, nashua, keene, and stations on the fitch_burg road;" and just as he said "fitch" the mariner walked out of his mouth.
but while the whale had been swimming, the mariner, who was indeed a person of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, had taken his jack-knife and cut up the raft into a little square grating all running criss-cross, and he had tied it firm with his suspenders -lrb- now, you know why you were not to forget the suspenders! -rrb-
, and he dragged that grating good and tight into the whale's throat, and there it stuck!
then he recited the following sloka, which, as you have not heard it, i will now proceed to relate -- by means of a grating i have stopped your ating.
for the mariner he was also an hi-ber-ni-an.
and he stepped out on the shingle, and went home to his mother, who had given him leave to trail his toes in the water; and he married and lived happily ever afterward.
so did the whale.
but from that day on, the grating in his throat, which he could neither cough up nor swallow down, prevented him eating anything except very, very small fish; and that is the reason why whales nowadays never eat men or boys or little girls.
the small "stute fish went and hid himself in the mud under the door-sills of the equator.
he was afraid that the whale might be angry with him.
the sailor took the jack-knife home.
he was wearing the blue canvas breeches when he walked out on the shingle.
the suspenders were left behind, you see, to tie the grating with; and that is the end of that tale.
when the cabin port-holes are dark and green because of the seas outside; when the ship goes wop -lrb- with a wiggle between -rrb- and the steward falls into the soup-tureen, and the trunks begin to slide; when nursey lies on the floor in a heap, and mummy tells you to let her sleep, and you are n't waked or washed or dressed, why, then you will know -lrb- if you have n't guessed -rrb- you're "fifty north and forty west!"
how the camel got his hump now this is the next tale, and it tells how the camel got his big hump.
in the beginning of years, when the world was so new and all, and the animals were just beginning to work for man, there was a camel, and he lived in the middle of a howling desert because he did not want to work; and besides, he was a howler himself.
so he ate sticks and thorns and tamarisks and milkweed and prickles, most "scruciating idle; and when anybody spoke to him he said "humph!"
just "humph!"
and no more.
presently the horse came to him on monday morning, with a saddle on his back and a bit in his mouth, and said, "camel, o camel, come out and trot like the rest of us."
"humph!"
said the camel; and the horse went away and told the man.
presently the dog came to him, with a stick in his mouth, and said, "camel, o camel, come and fetch and carry like the rest of us."
"humph!"
said the camel; and the dog went away and told the man.
presently the ox came to him, with the yoke on his neck and said, "camel, o camel, come and plough like the rest of us."
"humph!"
said the camel; and the ox went away and told the man.
at the end of the day the man called the horse and the dog and the ox together, and said, "three, o three, i'm very sorry for you -lrb- with the world so new-and-all -rrb-; but that humph-thing in the desert ca n't work, or he would have been here by now, so i am going to leave him alone, and you must work double-time to make up for it."
that made the three very angry -lrb- with the world so new-and-all -rrb-, and they held a palaver, and an indaba, and a punchayet, and a pow-wow on the edge of the desert; and the camel came chewing on milkweed most "scruciating idle, and laughed at them.
then he said "humph!"
and went away again.
presently there came along the djinn in charge of all deserts, rolling in a cloud of dust -lrb- djinns always travel that way because it is magic -rrb-, and he stopped to palaver and pow-pow with the three.
"djinn of all deserts," said the horse, "is it right for any one to be idle, with the world so new-and-all?"
"certainly not," said the djinn.
"well," said the horse, "there's a thing in the middle of your howling desert -lrb- and he's a howler himself -rrb- with a long neck and long legs, and he has n't done a stroke of work since monday morning.
he wo n't trot."
"whew!"
said the djinn, whistling, "that's my camel, for all the gold in arabia!
what does he say about it?"
"he says "humph!""
said the dog; "and he wo n't fetch and carry."
"does he say anything else?"
"only "humph!"
; and he wo n't plough," said the ox.
"very good," said the djinn.
"i'll humph him if you will kindly wait a minute."
the djinn rolled himself up in his dust-cloak, and took a bearing across the desert, and found the camel most "scruciatingly idle, looking at his own reflection in a pool of water.
"my long and bubbling friend," said the djinn, "what's this i hear of your doing no work, with the world so new-and-all?"
"humph!"
said the camel.
the djinn sat down, with his chin in his hand, and began to think a great magic, while the camel looked at his own reflection in the pool of water.
"you've given the three extra work ever since monday morning, all on account of your "scruciating idleness," said the djinn; and he went on thinking magics, with his chin in his hand.
"humph!"
said the camel."
i should n't say that again if i were you," said the djinn; you might say it once too often.
bubbles, i want you to work."
and the camel said "humph!"
again; but no sooner had he said it than he saw his back, that he was so proud of, puffing up and puffing up into a great big lolloping humph.
"do you see that?"
said the djinn.
"that's your very own humph that you've brought upon your very own self by not working.
to-day is thursday, and you've done no work since monday, when the work began.
now you are going to work."
"how can i," said the camel, "with this humph on my back?"
"that's made a-purpose," said the djinn, "all because you missed those three days.
you will be able to work now for three days without eating, because you can live on your humph; and do n't you ever say i never did anything for you.
come out of the desert and go to the three, and behave.
humph yourself!"
and the camel humphed himself, humph and all, and went away to join the three.
and from that day to this the camel always wears a humph -lrb- we call it "hump" now, not to hurt his feelings -rrb-; but he has never yet caught up with the three days that he missed at the beginning of the world, and he has never yet learned how to behave.
the camel's hump is an ugly lump which well you may see at the zoo; but uglier yet is the hump we get from having too little to do.
kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo, if we have n't enough to do-oo-oo, we get the hump -- cameelious hump -- the hump that is black and blue!
we climb out of bed with a frouzly head and a snarly-yarly voice.
we shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl at our bath and our boots and our toys; and there ought to be a corner for me -lrb- and i know there is one for you -rrb- when we get the hump -- cameelious hump -- the hump that is black and blue!
the cure for this ill is not to sit still, or frowst with a book by the fire; but to take a large hoe and a shovel also, and dig till you gently perspire; and then you will find that the sun and the wind.
and the djinn of the garden too, have lifted the hump -- the horrible hump -- the hump that is black and blue!
i get it as well as you-oo-oo -- if i have n't enough to do-oo-oo -- we all get hump -- cameelious hump -- kiddies and grown-ups too!
how the rhinoceros got his skin once upon a time, on an uninhabited island on the shores of the red sea, there lived a parsee from whose hat the rays of the sun were reflected in more-than-oriental splendour.
and the parsee lived by the red sea with nothing but his hat and his knife and a cooking-stove of the kind that you must particularly never touch.
and one day he took flour and water and currants and plums and sugar and things, and made himself one cake which was two feet across and three feet thick.
it was indeed a superior comestible -lrb- that's magic -rrb-, and he put it on stove because he was allowed to cook on the stove, and he baked it and he baked it till it was all done brown and smelt most sentimental.
but just as he was going to eat it there came down to the beach from the altogether uninhabited interior one rhinoceros with a horn on his nose, two piggy eyes, and few manners.
in those days the rhinoceros's skin fitted him quite tight.
there were no wrinkles in it anywhere.
he looked exactly like a noah's ark rhinoceros, but of course much bigger.
all the same, he had no manners then, and he has no manners now, and he never will have any manners.
he said, "how!"
and the parsee left that cake and climbed to the top of a palm tree with nothing on but his hat, from which the rays of the sun were always reflected in more-than-oriental splendour.
and the rhinoceros upset the oil-stove with his nose, and the cake rolled on the sand, and he spiked that cake on the horn of his nose, and he ate it, and he went away, waving his tail, to the desolate and exclusively uninhabited interior which abuts on the islands of mazanderan, socotra, and promontories of the larger equinox.
then the parsee came down from his palm-tree and put the stove on its legs and recited the following sloka, which, as you have not heard, i will now proceed to relate: -- them that takes cakes which the parsee-man bakes makes dreadful mistakes.
and there was a great deal more in that than you would think.
because, five weeks later, there was a heat wave in the red sea, and everybody took off all the clothes they had.
the parsee took off his hat; but the rhinoceros took off his skin and carried it over his shoulder as he came down to the beach to bathe.
in those days it buttoned underneath with three buttons and looked like a waterproof.
he said nothing whatever about the parsee's cake, because he had eaten it all; and he never had any manners, then, since, or henceforward.
he waddled straight into the water and blew bubbles through his nose, leaving his skin on the beach.
presently the parsee came by and found the skin, and he smiled one smile that ran all round his face two times.
then he danced three times round the skin and rubbed his hands.
then he went to his camp and filled his hat with cake-crumbs, for the parsee never ate anything but cake, and never swept out his camp.
he took that skin, and he shook that skin, and he scrubbed that skin, and he rubbed that skin just as full of old, dry, stale, tickly cake-crumbs and some burned currants as ever it could possibly hold.
then he climbed to the top of his palm-tree and waited for the rhinoceros to come out of the water and put it on.
and the rhinoceros did.
he buttoned it up with the three buttons, and it tickled like cake crumbs in bed.
then he wanted to scratch, but that made it worse; and then he lay down on the sands and rolled and rolled and rolled, and every time he rolled the cake crumbs tickled him worse and worse and worse.
then he ran to the palm-tree and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed himself against it.
he rubbed so much and so hard that he rubbed his skin into a great fold over his shoulders, and another fold underneath, where the buttons used to be -lrb- but he rubbed the buttons off -rrb-, and he rubbed some more folds over his legs.
and it spoiled his temper, but it did n't make the least difference to the cake-crumbs.
they were inside his skin and they tickled.
so he went home, very angry indeed and horribly scratchy; and from that day to this every rhinoceros has great folds in his skin and a very bad temper, all on account of the cake-crumbs inside.
but the parsee came down from his palm-tree, wearing his hat, from which the rays of the sun were reflected in more-than-oriental splendour, packed up his cooking-stove, and went away in the direction of orotavo, amygdala, the upland meadows of anantarivo, and the marshes of sonaput.
this uninhabited island is off cape gardafui, by the beaches of socotra and the pink arabian sea: but it's hot -- too hot from suez for the likes of you and me ever to go in a p. and o. and call on the cake-parsee!
how the leopard got his spots in the days when everybody started fair, best beloved, the leopard lived in a place called the high veldt.
"member it was n't the low veldt, or the bush veldt, or the sour veldt, but the "sclusively bare, hot, shiny high veldt, where there was sand and sandy-coloured rock and "sclusively tufts of sandy-yellowish grass.
the giraffe and the zebra and the eland and the koodoo and the hartebeest lived there; and they were "sclusively sandy-yellow-brownish all over; but the leopard, he was the "sclusivest sandiest-yellowish-brownest of them all -- a greyish-yellowish catty-shaped kind of beast, and he matched the "sclusively yellowish-greyish-brownish colour of the high veldt to one hair.
this was very bad for the giraffe and the zebra and the rest of them; for he would lie down by a "sclusively yellowish-greyish-brownish stone or clump of grass, and when the giraffe or the zebra or the eland or the koodoo or the bush-buck or the bonte-buck came by he would surprise them out of their jumpsome lives.
he would indeed!
and, also, there was an ethiopian with bows and arrows -lrb- a "sclusively greyish-brownish-yellowish man he was then -rrb-, who lived on the high veldt with the leopard; and the two used to hunt together -- the ethiopian with his bows and arrows, and the leopard "sclusively with his teeth and claws -- till the giraffe and the eland and the koodoo and the quagga and all the rest of them did n't know which way to jump, best beloved.
they did n't indeed!
after a long time -- things lived for ever so long in those days -- they learned to avoid anything that looked like a leopard or an ethiopian; and bit by bit -- the giraffe began it, because his legs were the longest -- they went away from the high veldt.
they scuttled for days and days and days till they came to a great forest, "sclusively full of trees and bushes and stripy, speckly, patchy-blatchy shadows, and there they hid: and after another long time, what with standing half in the shade and half out of it, and what with the slippery-slidy shadows of the trees falling on them, the giraffe grew blotchy, and the zebra grew stripy, and the eland and the koodoo grew darker, with little wavy grey lines on their backs like bark on a tree trunk; and so, though you could hear them and smell them, you could very seldom see them, and then only when you knew precisely where to look.
they had a beautiful time in the "sclusively speckly-spickly shadows of the forest, while the leopard and the ethiopian ran about over the "sclusively greyish-yellowish-reddish high veldt outside, wondering where all their breakfasts and their dinners and their teas had gone.
at last they were so hungry that they ate rats and beetles and rock-rabbits, the leopard and the ethiopian, and then they had the big tummy-ache, both together; and then they met baviaan -- the dog-headed, barking baboon, who is quite the wisest animal in all south africa.
said leopard to baviaan -lrb- and it was a very hot day -rrb-, "where has all the game gone?"
and baviaan winked.
he knew.
said the ethiopian to baviaan, "can you tell me the present habitat of the aboriginal fauna?"
-lrb- that meant just the same thing, but the ethiopian always used long words.
he was a grown-up. -rrb-
and baviaan winked.
he knew.
then said baviaan, "the game has gone into other spots; and my advice to you, leopard, is to go into other spots as soon as you can."
and the ethiopian said, "that is all very fine, but i wish to know whither the aboriginal fauna has migrated."
then said baviaan, "the aboriginal fauna has joined the aboriginal flora because it was high time for a change; and my advice to you, ethiopian, is to change as soon as you can."
that puzzled the leopard and the ethiopian, but they set off to look for the aboriginal flora, and presently, after ever so many days, they saw a great, high, tall forest full of tree trunks all "sclusively speckled and sprottled and spottled, dotted and splashed and slashed and hatched and cross-hatched with shadows.
-lrb- say that quickly aloud, and you will see how very shadowy the forest must have been. -rrb-
"what is this," said the leopard, "that is so "sclusively dark, and yet so full of little pieces of light?'"
i do n't know, said the ethiopian, "but it ought to be the aboriginal flora.
i can smell giraffe, and i can hear giraffe, but i ca n't see giraffe."
"that's curious," said the leopard."
i suppose it is because we have just come in out of the sunshine.
i can smell zebra, and i can hear zebra, but i ca n't see zebra."
"wait a bit, said the ethiopian.
"it's a long time since we've hunted'em.
perhaps we've forgotten what they were like."
"fiddle!"
said the leopard."
i remember them perfectly on the high veldt, especially their marrow-bones.
giraffe is about seventeen feet high, of a "sclusively fulvous golden-yellow from head to heel; and zebra is about four and a half feet high, of a "sclusively grey-fawn colour from head to heel."
"umm, said the ethiopian, looking into the speckly-spickly shadows of the aboriginal flora-forest.
"then they ought to show up in this dark place like ripe bananas in a smokehouse."
but they did n't.
the leopard and the ethiopian hunted all day; and though they could smell them and hear them, they never saw one of them.
"for goodness" sake," said the leopard at tea-time, "let us wait till it gets dark.
this daylight hunting is a perfect scandal."
so they waited till dark, and then the leopard heard something breathing sniffily in the starlight that fell all stripy through the branches, and he jumped at the noise, and it smelt like zebra, and it felt like zebra, and when he knocked it down it kicked like zebra, but he could n't see it.
so he said, "be quiet, o you person without any form.
i am going to sit on your head till morning, because there is something about you that i do n't understand."
presently he heard a grunt and a crash and a scramble, and the ethiopian called out, "i've caught a thing that i ca n't see.
it smells like giraffe, and it kicks like giraffe, but it has n't any form."
"do n't you trust it," said the leopard.
"sit on its head till the morning -- same as me.
they have n't any form -- any of'em."
so they sat down on them hard till bright morning-time, and then leopard said, "what have you at your end of the table, brother?"
the ethiopian scratched his head and said, "it ought to be "sclusively a rich fulvous orange-tawny from head to heel, and it ought to be giraffe; but it is covered all over with chestnut blotches.
what have you at your end of the table, brother?"
and the leopard scratched his head and said, "it ought to be "sclusively a delicate greyish-fawn, and it ought to be zebra; but it is covered all over with black and purple stripes.
what in the world have you been doing to yourself, zebra?
do n't you know that if you were on the high veldt i could see you ten miles off?
you have n't any form."
"yes," said the zebra, "but this is n't the high veldt.
ca n't you see?'"
i can now," said the leopard.
"but i could n't all yesterday.
how is it done?"
"let us up," said the zebra, "and we will show you.
they let the zebra and the giraffe get up; and zebra moved away to some little thorn-bushes where the sunlight fell all stripy, and giraffe moved off to some tallish trees where the shadows fell all blotchy.
"now watch," said the zebra and the giraffe.
"this is the way it's done.
one -- two -- three!
and where's your breakfast?"
leopard stared, and ethiopian stared, but all they could see were stripy shadows and blotched shadows in the forest, but never a sign of zebra and giraffe.
they had just walked off and hidden themselves in the shadowy forest.
"hi!
hi!"
said the ethiopian.
"that's a trick worth learning.
take a lesson by it, leopard.
you show up in this dark place like a bar of soap in a coal-scuttle."
"ho!
ho!"
said the leopard.
"would it surprise you very much to know that you show up in this dark place like a mustard-plaster on a sack of coals?"
"well, calling names wo n't catch dinner, said the ethiopian.
"the long and the little of it is that we do n't match our backgrounds.
i'm going to take baviaan's advice.
he told me i ought to change; and as i've nothing to change except my skin i'm going to change that."
"what to?"
said the leopard, tremendously excited.
"to a nice working blackish-brownish colour, with a little purple in it, and touches of slaty-blue.
it will be the very thing for hiding in hollows and behind trees."
so he changed his skin then and there, and the leopard was more excited than ever; he had never seen a man change his skin before.
"but what about me?"
he said, when the ethiopian had worked his last little finger into his fine new black skin.
"you take baviaan's advice too.
he told you to go into spots."
"so i did," said the leopard.
i went into other spots as fast as i could.
i went into this spot with you, and a lot of good it has done me."
"oh," said the ethiopian, "baviaan did n't mean spots in south africa.
he meant spots on your skin."
"what's the use of that?"
said the leopard.
"think of giraffe," said the ethiopian.
"or if you prefer stripes, think of zebra.
they find their spots and stripes give them per-feet satisfaction."
"umm," said the leopard."
i would n't look like zebra -- not for ever so."
"well, make up your mind," said the ethiopian, "because i'd hate to go hunting without you, but i must if you insist on looking like a sun-flower against a tarred fence."
"i'll take spots, then," said the leopard; "but do n't make'em too vulgar-big.
i would n't look like giraffe -- not for ever so."
"i'll make'em with the tips of my fingers," said the ethiopian.
"there's plenty of black left on my skin still.
stand over!"
then the ethiopian put his five fingers close together -lrb- there was plenty of black left on his new skin still -rrb- and pressed them all over the leopard, and wherever the five fingers touched they left five little black marks, all close together.
you can see them on any leopard's skin you like, best beloved.
sometimes the fingers slipped and the marks got a little blurred; but if you look closely at any leopard now you will see that there are always five spots -- off five fat black finger-tips.
"now you are a beauty!"
said the ethiopian.
"you can lie out on the bare ground and look like a heap of pebbles.
you can lie out on the naked rocks and look like a piece of pudding-stone.
you can lie out on a leafy branch and look like sunshine sifting through the leaves; and you can lie right across the centre of a path and look like nothing in particular.
think of that and purr!"
"but if i'm all this," said the leopard, "why did n't you go spotty too?"
"oh, plain black's best for a nigger," said the ethiopian.
"now come along and we'll see if we ca n't get even with mr. one-two-three where's your breakfast!"
so they went away and lived happily ever afterward, best beloved.
that is all.
oh, now and then you will hear grown-ups say, "can the ethiopian change his skin or the leopard his spots?"
i do n't think even grown-ups would keep on saying such a silly thing if the leopard and the ethiopian had n't done it once -- do you?
but they will never do it again, best beloved.
they are quite contented as they are.
i am the most wise baviaan, saying in most wise tones, "let us melt into the landscape -- just us two by our lones."
people have come -- in a carriage -- calling.
but mummy is there... yes, i can go if you take me -- nurse says she do n't care.
let's go up to the pig-sties and sit on the farmyard rails!
let's say things to the bunnies, and watch'em skitter their tails!
let's -- oh, anything, daddy, so long as it's you and me, and going truly exploring, and not being in till tea!
here's your boots -lrb- i've brought'em -rrb-, and here's your cap and stick, and here's your pipe and tobacco.
oh, come along out of it -- quick.
the elephant's child in the high and far-off times the elephant, o best beloved, had no trunk.
he had only a blackish, bulgy nose, as big as a boot, that he could wriggle about from side to side; but he could n't pick up things with it.
but there was one elephant -- a new elephant -- an elephant's child -- who was full of "satiable curtiosity, and that means he asked ever so many questions.
and he lived in africa, and he filled all africa with his "satiable curtiosities.
he asked his tall aunt, the ostrich, why her tail-feathers grew just so, and his tall aunt the ostrich spanked him with her hard, hard claw.
he asked his tall uncle, the giraffe, what made his skin spotty, and his tall uncle, the giraffe, spanked him with his hard, hard hoof.
and still he was full of "satiable curtiosity!
he asked his broad aunt, the hippopotamus, why her eyes were red, and his broad aunt, the hippopotamus, spanked him with her broad, broad hoof; and he asked his hairy uncle, the baboon, why melons tasted just so, and his hairy uncle, the baboon, spanked him with his hairy, hairy paw.
and still he was full of "satiable curtiosity!
he asked questions about everything that he saw, or heard, or felt, or smelt, or touched, and all his uncles and his aunts spanked him.
and still he was full of "satiable curtiosity!
one fine morning in the middle of the precession of the equinoxes this "satiable elephant's child asked a new fine question that he had never asked before.
he asked, "what does the crocodile have for dinner?"
then everybody said, "hush!"
in a loud and dretful tone, and they spanked him immediately and directly, without stopping, for a long time.
by and by, when that was finished, he came upon kolokolo bird sitting in the middle of a wait-a-bit thorn-bush, and he said, "my father has spanked me, and my mother has spanked me; all my aunts and uncles have spanked me for my "satiable curtiosity; and still i want to know what the crocodile has for dinner!"
then kolokolo bird said, with a mournful cry, "go to the banks of the great grey-green, greasy limpopo river, all set about with fever-trees, and find out."
that very next morning, when there was nothing left of the equinoxes, because the precession had preceded according to precedent, this "satiable elephant's child took a hundred pounds of bananas -lrb- the little short red kind -rrb-, and a hundred pounds of sugar-cane -lrb- the long purple kind -rrb-, and seventeen melons -lrb- the greeny-crackly kind -rrb-, and said to all his dear families, "goodbye.
i am going to the great grey-green, greasy limpopo river, all set about with fever-trees, to find out what the crocodile has for dinner."
and they all spanked him once more for luck, though he asked them most politely to stop.
then he went away, a little warm, but not at all astonished, eating melons, and throwing the rind about, because he could not pick it up.
he went from graham's town to kimberley, and from kimberley to khama's country, and from khama's country he went east by north, eating melons all the time, till at last he came to the banks of the great grey-green, greasy limpopo river, all set about with fever-trees, precisely as kolokolo bird had said.
now you must know and understand, o best beloved, that till that very week, and day, and hour, and minute, this "satiable elephant's child had never seen a crocodile, and did not know what one was like.
it was all his "satiable curtiosity.
the first thing that he found was a bi-coloured-python-rock-snake curled round a rock."
scuse me," said the elephant's child most politely, "but have you seen such a thing as a crocodile in these promiscuous parts?"
"have i seen a crocodile?"
said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake, in a voice of dretful scorn.
"what will you ask me next?""
scuse me," said the elephant's child, "but could you kindly tell me what he has for dinner?"
then the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake uncoiled himself very quickly from the rock, and spanked the elephant's child with his scalesome, flailsome tail.
"that is odd," said the elephant's child, "because my father and my mother, and my uncle and my aunt, not to mention my other aunt, the hippopotamus, and my other uncle, the baboon, have all spanked me for my "satiable curtiosity -- and i suppose this is the same thing.
so he said good-bye very politely to the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake, and helped to coil him up on the rock again, and went on, a little warm, but not at all astonished, eating melons, and throwing the rind about, because he could not pick it up, till he trod on what he thought was a log of wood at the very edge of the great grey-green, greasy limpopo river, all set about with fever-trees.
but it was really the crocodile, o best beloved, and the crocodile winked one eye -- like this!"
scuse me," said the elephant's child most politely, "but do you happen to have seen a crocodile in these promiscuous parts?"
then the crocodile winked the other eye, and lifted half his tail out of the mud; and the elephant's child stepped back most politely, because he did not wish to be spanked again.
"come hither, little one," said the crocodile.
"why do you ask such things?""
scuse me," said the elephant's child most politely, "but my father has spanked me, my mother has spanked me, not to mention my tall aunt, the ostrich, and my tall uncle, the giraffe, who can kick ever so hard, as well as my broad aunt, the hippopotamus, and my hairy uncle, the baboon, and including the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake, with the scalesome, flailsome tail, just up the bank, who spanks harder than any of them; and so, if it's quite all the same to you, i do n't want to be spanked any more."
"come hither, little one," said the crocodile, "for i am the crocodile," and he wept crocodile-tears to show it was quite true.
then the elephant's child grew all breathless, and panted, and kneeled down on the bank and said, "you are the very person i have been looking for all these long days.
will you please tell me what you have for dinner?"
"come hither, little one," said the crocodile, "and i'll whisper."
then the elephant's child put his head down close to the crocodile's musky, tusky mouth, and the crocodile caught him by his little nose, which up to that very week, day, hour, and minute, had been no bigger than a boot, though much more useful."
i think, said the crocodile -- and he said it between his teeth, like this --" i think to-day i will begin with elephant's child!"
at this, o best beloved, the elephant's child was much annoyed, and he said, speaking through his nose, like this, "led go!
you are hurtig be!"
then the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake scuffled down from the bank and said, "my young friend, if you do not now, immediately and instantly, pull as hard as ever you can, it is my opinion that your acquaintance in the large-pattern leather ulster" -lrb- and by this he meant the crocodile -rrb- "will jerk you into yonder limpid stream before you can say jack robinson."
this is the way bi-coloured-python-rock-snakes always talk.
then the elephant's child sat back on his little haunches, and pulled, and pulled, and pulled, and his nose began to stretch.
and the crocodile floundered into the water, making it all creamy with great sweeps of his tail, and he pulled, and pulled, and pulled.
and the elephant's child's nose kept on stretching; and the elephant's child spread all his little four legs and pulled, and pulled, and pulled, and his nose kept on stretching; and the crocodile threshed his tail like an oar, and he pulled, and pulled, and pulled, and at each pull the elephant's child's nose grew longer and longer -- and it hurt him hijjus!
then the elephant's child felt his legs slipping, and he said through his nose, which was now nearly five feet long, "this is too butch for be!"
then the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake came down from the bank, and knotted himself in a double-clove-hitch round the elephant's child's hind legs, and said, "rash and inexperienced traveller, we will now seriously devote ourselves to a little high tension, because if we do not, it is my impression that yonder self-propelling man-of-war with the armour-plated upper deck" -lrb- and by this, o best beloved, he meant the crocodile -rrb-, "will permanently vitiate your future career.
that is the way all bi-coloured-python-rock-snakes always talk.
so he pulled, and the elephant's child pulled, and the crocodile pulled; but the elephant's child and the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake pulled hardest; and at last the crocodile let go of the elephant's child's nose with a plop that you could hear all up and down the limpopo.
then the elephant's child sat down most hard and sudden; but first he was careful to say "thank you" to the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake; and next he was kind to his poor pulled nose, and wrapped it all up in cool banana leaves, and hung it in the great grey-green, greasy limpopo to cool.
"what are you doing that for?"
said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake."
scuse me," said the elephant's child, "but my nose is badly out of shape, and i am waiting for it to shrink.
"then you will have to wait a long time, said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake.
"some people do not know what is good for them."
the elephant's child sat there for three days waiting for his nose to shrink.
but it never grew any shorter, and, besides, it made him squint.
for, o best beloved, you will see and understand that the crocodile had pulled it out into a really truly trunk same as all elephants have to-day.
at the end of the third day a fly came and stung him on the shoulder, and before he knew what he was doing he lifted up his trunk and hit that fly dead with the end of it."
vantage number one!"
said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake.
"you could n't have done that with a mere-smear nose.
try and eat a little now."
before he thought what he was doing the elephant's child put out his trunk and plucked a large bundle of grass, dusted it clean against his fore-legs, and stuffed it into his own mouth.
"vantage number two!"
said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake.
"you could n't have done that with a mear-smear nose.
do n't you think the sun is very hot here?"
"it is," said the elephant's child, and before he thought what he was doing he schlooped up a schloop of mud from the banks of the great grey-green, greasy limpopo, and slapped it on his head, where it made a cool schloopy-sloshy mud-cap all trickly behind his ears.
"vantage number three!"
said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake.
"you could n't have done that with a mere-smear nose.
now how do you feel about being spanked again?""
scuse me," said the elephant's child, "but i should not like it at all."
"how would you like to spank somebody?"
said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake."
i should like it very much indeed," said the elephant's child.
"well," said the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake, "you will find that new nose of yours very useful to spank people with."
"thank you," said the elephant's child, "i'll remember that; and now i think i'll go home to all my dear families and try."
so the elephant's child went home across africa frisking and whisking his trunk.
when he wanted fruit to eat he pulled fruit down from a tree, instead of waiting for it to fall as he used to do.
when he wanted grass he plucked grass up from the ground, instead of going on his knees as he used to do.
when the flies bit him he broke off the branch of a tree and used it as fly-whisk; and he made himself a new, cool, slushy-squshy mud-cap whenever the sun was hot.
when he felt lonely walking through africa he sang to himself down his trunk, and the noise was louder than several brass bands.
he went especially out of his way to find a broad hippopotamus -lrb- she was no relation of his -rrb-, and he spanked her very hard, to make sure that the bi-coloured-python-rock-snake had spoken the truth about his new trunk.
the rest of the time he picked up the melon rinds that he had dropped on his way to the limpopo -- for he was a tidy pachyderm.
one dark evening he came back to all his dear families, and he coiled up his trunk and said, "how do you do?"
they were very glad to see him, and immediately said, "come here and be spanked for your "satiable curtiosity."
"pooh," said the elephant's child."
i do n't think you peoples know anything about spanking; but i do, and i'll show you."
then he uncurled his trunk and knocked two of his dear brothers head over heels."
o bananas!"
said they, "where did you learn that trick, and what have you done to your nose?'"
i got a new one from the crocodile on the banks of the great grey-green, greasy limpopo river," said the elephant's child."
i asked him what he had for dinner, and he gave me this to keep."
"it looks very ugly," said his hairy uncle, the baboon.
"it does," said the elephant's child.
"but it's very useful," and he picked up his hairy uncle, the baboon, by one hairy leg, and hove him into a hornet's nest.
then that bad elephant's child spanked all his dear families for a long time, till they were very warm and greatly astonished.
he pulled out his tall ostrich aunt's tail-feathers; and he caught his tall uncle, the giraffe, by the hind-leg, and dragged him through a thorn-bush; and he shouted at his broad aunt, the hippopotamus, and blew bubbles into her ear when she was sleeping in the water after meals; but he never let any one touch kolokolo bird.
at last things grew so exciting that his dear families went off one by one in a hurry to the banks of the great grey-green, greasy limpopo river, all set about with fever-trees, to borrow new noses from the crocodile.
when they came back nobody spanked anybody any more; and ever since that day, o best beloved, all the elephants you will ever see, besides all those that you wo n't, have trunks precisely like the trunk of the "satiable elephant's child.
i keep six honest serving-men: -lrb- they taught me all i knew -rrb- their names are what and where and when and how and why and who.
i send them over land and sea, i send them east and west; but after they have worked for me, i give them all a rest.
i let them rest from nine till five.
for i am busy then, as well as breakfast, lunch, and tea, for they are hungry men: but different folk have different views: i know a person small -- she keeps ten million serving-men, who get no rest at all!
she sends'em abroad on her own affairs, from the second she opens her eyes -- one million hows, two million wheres, and seven million whys!
the sing-song of old man kangaroo not always was the kangaroo as now we do behold him, but a different animal with four short legs.
he was grey and he was woolly, and his pride was inordinate: he danced on an outcrop in the middle of australia, and he went to the little god nqa.
he went to nqa at six before breakfast, saying, "make me different from all other animals by five this afternoon."
up jumped nqa from his seat on the sandflat and shouted, "go away!"
he was grey and he was woolly, and his pride was inordinate: he danced on a rock-ledge in the middle of australia, and he went to the middle god nquing.
he went to nquing at eight after breakfast, saying, "make me different from all other animals; make me, also, wonderfully popular by five this afternoon."
up jumped nquing from his burrow in the spinifex and shouted, "go away!"
he was grey and he was woolly, and his pride was inordinate: he danced on a sandbank in the middle of australia, and he went to the big god nqong.
he went to nqong at ten before dinner-time, saying, "make me different from all other animals; make me popular and wonderfully run after by five this afternoon."
up jumped nqong from his bath in the salt-pan and shouted, "yes, i will!"
nqong called dingo -- yellow-dog dingo -- always hungry, dusty in the sunshine, and showed him kangaroo.
nqong said, "dingo!
wake up, dingo!
do you see that gentleman dancing on an ashpit?
he wants to be popular and very truly run after.
dingo, make him so!"
up jumped dingo -- yellow-dog dingo -- and said, "what, that cat-rabbit?"
off ran dingo -- yellow-dog dingo -- always hungry, grinning like a coal-scuttle, -- ran after kangaroo.
off went the proud kangaroo on his four little legs like a bunny.
this, o beloved of mine, ends the first part of the tale!
he ran through the desert; he ran through the mountains; he ran through the salt-pans; he ran through the reed-beds; he ran through the blue gums; he ran through the spinifex; he ran till his front legs ached.
he had to!
still ran dingo -- yellow-dog dingo -- always hungry, grinning like a rat-trap, never getting nearer, never getting farther, -- ran after kangaroo.
he had to!
still ran kangaroo -- old man kangaroo.
he ran through the ti-trees; he ran through the mulga; he ran through the long grass; he ran through the short grass; he ran through the tropics of capricorn and cancer; he ran till his hind legs ached.
he had to!
still ran dingo -- yellow-dog dingo -- hungrier and hungrier, grinning like a horse-collar, never getting nearer, never getting farther; and they came to the wollgong river.
now, there was n't any bridge, and there was n't any ferry-boat, and kangaroo did n't know how to get over; so he stood on his legs and hopped.
he had to!
he hopped through the flinders; he hopped through the cinders; he hopped through the deserts in the middle of australia.
he hopped like a kangaroo.
first he hopped one yard; then he hopped three yards; then he hopped five yards; his legs growing stronger; his legs growing longer.
he had n't any time for rest or refreshment, and he wanted them very much.
still ran dingo -- yellow-dog dingo -- very much bewildered, very much hungry, and wondering what in the world or out of it made old man kangaroo hop.
for he hopped like a cricket; like a pea in a saucepan; or a new rubber ball on a nursery floor.
he had to!
he tucked up his front legs; he hopped on his hind legs; he stuck out his tail for a balance-weight behind him; and he hopped through the darling downs.
he had to!
still ran dingo -- tired-dog dingo -- hungrier and hungrier, very much bewildered, and wondering when in the world or out of it would old man kangaroo stop.
then came nqong from his bath in the salt-pans, and said, "it's five o'clock."
down sat dingo -- poor dog dingo -- always hungry, dusky in the sunshine; hung out his tongue and howled.
down sat kangaroo -- old man kangaroo -- stuck out his tail like a milking-stool behind him, and said, "thank goodness that's finished!"
then said nqong, who is always a gentleman, "why are n't you grateful to yellow-dog dingo?
why do n't you thank him for all he has done for you?"
then said kangaroo -- tired old kangaroo -- he's chased me out of the homes of my childhood; he's chased me out of my regular meal-times; he's altered my shape so i'll never get it back; and he's played old scratch with my legs."
then said nqong, "perhaps i'm mistaken, but did n't you ask me to make you different from all other animals, as well as to make you very truly sought after?
and now it is five o'clock."
"yes," said kangaroo."
i wish that i had n't.
i thought you would do it by charms and incantations, but this is a practical joke."
"joke!"
said nqong from his bath in the blue gums.
"say that again and i'll whistle up dingo and run your hind legs off."
"no," said the kangaroo."
i must apologise.
legs are legs, and you need n't alter'em so far as i am concerned.
i only meant to explain to your lordliness that i've had nothing to eat since morning, and i'm very empty indeed."
"yes," said dingo -- yellow-dog dingo, --" i am just in the same situation.
i've made him different from all other animals; but what may i have for my tea?"
then said nqong from his bath in the salt-pan, "come and ask me about it tomorrow, because i'm going to wash."
so they were left in the middle of australia, old man kangaroo and yellow-dog dingo, and each said, "that's your fault."
this is the mouth-filling song of the race that was run by a boomer, run in a single burst -- only event of its kind -- started by big god nqong from warrigaborrigarooma, old man kangaroo first: yellow-dog dingo behind.
kangaroo bounded away, his back-legs working like pistons -- bounded from morning till dark, twenty-five feet to a bound.
yellow-dog dingo lay like a yellow cloud in the distance -- much too busy to bark.
my!
but they covered the ground!
nobody knows where they went, or followed the track that they flew in, for that continent had n't been given a name.
they ran thirty degrees, from torres straits to the leeuwin -lrb- look at the atlas, please -rrb-, and they ran back as they came.
s'posing you could trot from adelaide to the pacific, for an afternoon's run half what these gentlemen did you would feel rather hot, but your legs would develop terrific -- yes, my importunate son, you'd be a marvellous kid!
the beginning of the armadillos this, o best beloved, is another story of the high and far-off times.
in the very middle of those times was a stickly-prickly hedgehog, and he lived on the banks of the turbid amazon, eating shelly snails and things.
and he had a friend, a slow-solid tortoise, who lived on the banks of the turbid amazon, eating green lettuces and things.
and so that was all right, best beloved.
do you see?
but also, and at the same time, in those high and far-off times, there was a painted jaguar, and he lived on the banks of the turbid amazon too; and he ate everything that he could catch.
when he could not catch deer or monkeys he would eat frogs and beetles; and when he could not catch frogs and beetles he went to his mother jaguar, and she told him how to eat hedgehogs and tortoises.
she said to him ever so many times, graciously waving her tail, "my son, when you find a hedgehog you must drop him into the water and then he will uncoil, and when you catch a tortoise you must scoop him out of his shell with your paw."
and so that was all right, best beloved.
one beautiful night on the banks of the turbid amazon, painted jaguar found stickly-prickly hedgehog and slow-solid tortoise sitting under the trunk of a fallen tree.
they could not run away, and so stickly-prickly curled himself up into a ball, because he was a hedgehog, and slow-solid tortoise drew in his head and feet into his shell as far as they would go, because he was a tortoise; and so that was all right, best beloved.
do you see?
"now attend to me," said painted jaguar, "because this is very important.
my mother said that when i meet a hedgehog i am to drop him into the water and then he will uncoil, and when i meet a tortoise i am to scoop him out of his shell with my paw.
now which of you is hedgehog and which is tortoise?
because, to save my spots, i ca n't tell."
"are you sure of what your mummy told you?"
said stickly-prickly hedgehog.
"are you quite sure?
perhaps she said that when you uncoil a tortoise you must shell him out the water with a scoop, and when you paw a hedgehog you must drop him on the shell."
"are you sure of what your mummy told you?"
said slow-and-solid tortoise.
"are you quite sure?
perhaps she said that when you water a hedgehog you must drop him into your paw, and when you meet a tortoise you must shell him till he uncoils.'"
i do n't think it was at all like that," said painted jaguar, but he felt a little puzzled; "but, please, say it again more distinctly."
"when you scoop water with your paw you uncoil it with a hedgehog," said stickly-prickly.
"remember that, because it's important."
"but," said the tortoise, "when you paw your meat you drop it into a tortoise with a scoop.
why ca n't you understand?"
"you are making my spots ache," said painted jaguar; "and besides, i did n't want your advice at all.
i only wanted to know which of you is hedgehog and which is tortoise.'"
i sha n't tell you," said stickly-prickly, "but you can scoop me out of my shell if you like."
"aha!"
said painted jaguar.
"now i know you're tortoise.
you thought i would n't!
now i will."
painted jaguar darted out his paddy-paw just as stickly-prickly curled himself up, and of course jaguar's paddy-paw was just filled with prickles.
worse than that, he knocked stickly-prickly away and away into the woods and the bushes, where it was too dark to find him.
then he put his paddy-paw into his mouth, and of course the prickles hurt him worse than ever.
as soon as he could speak he said, "now i know he is n't tortoise at all.
but" -- and then he scratched his head with his un-prickly paw -- "how do i know that this other is tortoise?"
"but i am tortoise," said slow-and-solid.
your mother was quite right.
she said that you were to scoop me out of my shell with your paw.
begin."
"you did n't say she said that a minute ago, said painted jaguar, sucking the prickles out of his paddy-paw.
"you said she said something quite different."
"well, suppose you say that i said that she said something quite different, i do n't see that it makes any difference; because if she said what you said i said she said, it's just the same as if i said what she said she said.
on the other hand, if you think she said that you were to uncoil me with a scoop, instead of pawing me into drops with a shell, i ca n't help that, can i?"
"but you said you wanted to be scooped out of your shell with my paw," said painted jaguar.
"if you'll think again you'll find that i did n't say anything of the kind.
i said that your mother said that you were to scoop me out of my shell," said slow-and-solid.
"what will happen if i do?"
said the jaguar most sniffily and most cautious."
i do n't know, because i've never been scooped out of my shell before; but i tell you truly, if you want to see me swim away you've only got to drop me into the water."
i do n't believe it," said painted jaguar.
"you've mixed up all the things my mother told me to do with the things that you asked me whether i was sure that she did n't say, till i do n't know whether i'm on my head or my painted tail; and now you come and tell me something i can understand, and it makes me more mixy than before.
my mother told me that i was to drop one of you two into the water, and as you seem so anxious to be dropped i think you do n't want to be dropped.
so jump into the turbid amazon and be quick about it.'"
i warn you that your mummy wo n't be pleased.
do n't tell her i did n't tell you," said slow-solid.
"if you say another word about what my mother said --" the jaguar answered, but he had not finished the sentence before slow-and-solid quietly dived into the turbid amazon, swam under water for a long way, and came out on the bank where stickly-prickly was waiting for him.
"that was a very narrow escape," said stickly-prickly."
i do n't rib painted jaguar.
what did you tell him that you were?'"
i told him truthfully that i was a truthful tortoise, but he would n't believe it, and he made me jump into the river to see if i was, and i was, and he is surprised.
now he's gone to tell his mummy.
listen to him!"
they could hear painted jaguar roaring up and down among the trees and the bushes by the side of the turbid amazon, till his mummy came.
"son, son!"
said his mother ever so many times, graciously waving her tail, "what have you been doing that you should n't have done?'"
i tried to scoop something that said it wanted to be scooped out of its shell with my paw, and my paw is full of per-ickles," said painted jaguar.
"son, son!"
said his mother ever so many times, graciously waving her tail, "by the prickles in your paddy-paw i see that that must have been a hedgehog.
you should have dropped him into the water."
i did that to the other thing; and he said he was a tortoise, and i did n't believe him, and it was quite true, and he has dived under the turbid amazon, and he wo n't come up again, and i have n't anything at all to eat, and i think we had better find lodgings somewhere else.
they are too clever on the turbid amazon for poor me!"
"son, son!"
said his mother ever so many times, graciously waving her tail, "now attend to me and remember what i say.
a hedgehog curls himself up into a ball and his prickles stick out every which way at once.
by this you may know the hedgehog.'"
i do n't like this old lady one little bit," said stickly-prickly, under the shadow of a large leaf."
i wonder what else she knows?'"
a tortoise ca n't curl himself up," mother jaguar went on, ever so many times, graciously waving her tail.
"he only draws his head and legs into his shell.
by this you may know the tortoise.'"
i do n't like this old lady at all -- at all," said slow-and-solid tortoise.
"even painted jaguar ca n't forget those directions.
it's a great pity that you ca n't swim, stickly-prickly."
"do n't talk to me," said stickly-prickly.
"just think how much better it would be if you could curl up.
this is a mess!
listen to painted jaguar."
painted jaguar was sitting on the banks of the turbid amazon sucking prickles out of his paws and saying to himself -- "ca n't curl, but can swim -- slow-solid, that's him!
curls up, but ca n't swim -- stickly-prickly, that's him!"
"he'll never forget that this month of sundays," said stickly-prickly.
"hold up my chin, slow-and-solid.
i'm going to try to learn to swim.
it may be useful."
"excellent!"
said slow-and-solid; and he held up stickly-prickly's chin, while stickly-prickly kicked in the waters of the turbid amazon.
"you'll make a fine swimmer yet," said slow-and-solid.
"now, if you can unlace my back-plates a little, i'll see what i can do towards curling up.
it may be useful."
stickly-prickly helped to unlace tortoise's back-plates, so that by twisting and straining slow-and-solid actually managed to curl up a tiddy wee bit.
"excellent!"
said stickly-prickly; "but i should n't do any more just now.
it's making you black in the face.
kindly lead me into the water once again and i'll practice that side-stroke which you say is so easy."
and so stickly-prickly practiced, and slow-solid swam alongside.
"excellent!"
said slow-and-solid."
a little more practice will make you a regular whale.
now, if i may trouble you to unlace my back and front plates two holes more, i'll try that fascinating bend that you say is so easy.
wo n't painted jaguar be surprised!"
"excellent!"
said stickly-prickly, all wet from the turbid amazon."
i declare, i should n't know you from one of my own family.
two holes, i think, you said?
a little more expression, please, and do n't grunt quite so much, or painted jaguar may hear us.
when you've finished, i want to try that long dive which you say is so easy.
wo n't painted jaguar be surprised!"
and so stickly-prickly dived, and slow-and-solid dived alongside.
"excellent!"
said slow-and-solid."
a leetle more attention to holding your breath and you will be able to keep house at the bottom of the turbid amazon.
now i'll try that exercise of putting my hind legs round my ears which you say is so peculiarly comfortable.
wo n't painted jaguar be surprised!"
"excellent!"
said stickly-prickly.
"but it's straining your back-plates a little.
they are all overlapping now, instead of lying side by side."
"oh, that's the result of exercise," said slow-and-solid.
"i've noticed that your prickles seem to be melting into one another, and that you're growing to look rather more like a pinecone, and less like a chestnut-burr, than you used to."
"am i?"
said stickly-prickly.
"that comes from my soaking in the water.
oh, wo n't painted jaguar be surprised!"
they went on with their exercises, each helping the other, till morning came; and when the sun was high they rested and dried themselves.
then they saw that they were both of them quite different from what they had been.
"stickly-prickly," said tortoise after breakfast," i am not what i was yesterday; but i think that i may yet amuse painted jaguar.
"that was the very thing i was thinking just now," said stickly-prickly."
i think scales are a tremendous improvement on prickles -- to say nothing of being able to swim.
oh, wo n't painted jaguar be surprised!
let's go and find him."
by and by they found painted jaguar, still nursing his paddy-paw that had been hurt the night before.
he was so astonished that he fell three times backward over his own painted tail without stopping.
"good morning!"
said stickly-prickly.
"and how is your dear gracious mummy this morning?"
"she is quite well, thank you," said painted jaguar; "but you must forgive me if i do not at this precise moment recall your name."
"that's unkind of you," said stickly-prickly, "seeing that this time yesterday you tried to scoop me out of my shell with your paw."
"but you had n't any shell.
it was all prickles," said painted jaguar."
i know it was.
just look at my paw!"
"you told me to drop into the turbid amazon and be drowned," said slow-solid.
"why are you so rude and forgetful to-day?"
"do n't you remember what your mother told you?"
said stickly-prickly, -- "ca n't curl, but can swim -- stickly-prickly, that's him!
curls up, but ca n't swim -- slow-solid, that's him!"
then they both curled themselves up and rolled round and round painted jaguar till his eyes turned truly cart-wheels in his head.
then he went to fetch his mother.
"mother," he said, "there are two new animals in the woods to-day, and the one that you said could n't swim, swims, and the one that you said could n't curl up, curls; and they've gone shares in their prickles, i think, because both of them are scaly all over, instead of one being smooth and the other very prickly; and, besides that, they are rolling round and round in circles, and i do n't feel comfy."
"son, son!"
said mother jaguar ever so many times, graciously waving her tail," a hedgehog is a hedgehog, and ca n't be anything but a hedgehog; and a tortoise is a tortoise, and can never be anything else."
"but it is n't a hedgehog, and it is n't a tortoise.
it's a little bit of both, and i do n't know its proper name."
"nonsense!"
said mother jaguar.
"everything has its proper name.
i should call it "armadillo" till i found out the real one.
and i should leave it alone."
so painted jaguar did as he was told, especially about leaving them alone; but the curious thing is that from that day to this, o best beloved, no one on the banks of the turbid amazon has ever called stickly-prickly and slow-solid anything except armadillo.
there are hedgehogs and tortoises in other places, of course -lrb- there are some in my garden -rrb-; but the real old and clever kind, with their scales lying lippety-lappety one over the other, like pine-cone scales, that lived on the banks of the turbid amazon in the high and far-off days, are always called armadillos, because they were so clever.
so that; all right, best beloved.
do you see?
i've never sailed the amazon, i've never reached brazil; but the don and magdelana, they can go there when they will!
yes, weekly from southampton, great steamers, white and gold, go rolling down to rio -lrb- roll down -- roll down to rio! -rrb-
and i'd like to roll to rio some day before i'm old!
i've never seen a jaguar, nor yet an armadill o dilloing in his armour, and i s "pose i never will, unless i go to rio these wonders to behold -- roll down -- roll down to rio -- roll really down to rio!
oh, i'd love to roll to rio some day before i'm old!
how the first letter was written once upon a most early time was a neolithic man.
he was not a jute or an angle, or even a dravidian, which he might well have been, best beloved, but never mind why.
he was a primitive, and he lived cavily in a cave, and he wore very few clothes, and he could n't read and he could n't write and he did n't want to, and except when he was hungry he was quite happy.
his name was tegumai bopsulai, and that means, "man-who-does-not-put-his-foot-forward-in-a-hurry"; but we, o best beloved, will call him tegumai, for short.
and his wife's name was teshumai tewindrow, and that means, "lady-who-asks-a-very-many-questions"; but we, o best beloved, will call her teshumai, for short.
and his little girl-daughter's name was taffimai metallumai, and that means, "small-person-without-any-manners-who-ought-to-be-spanked"; but i'm going to call her taffy.
and she was tegumai bopsulai's best beloved and her own mummy's best beloved, and she was not spanked half as much as was good for her; and they were all three very happy.
as soon as taffy could run about she went everywhere with her daddy tegumai, and sometimes they would not come home to the cave till they were hungry, and then teshumai tewindrow would say, "where in the world have you two been to, to get so shocking dirty?
really, my tegumai, you're no better than my taffy."
now attend and listen!
one day tegumai bopsulai went down through the beaver-swamp to the wagai river to spear carp-fish for dinner, and taffy went too.
tegumai's spear was made of wood with shark's teeth at the end, and before he had caught any fish at all he accidentally broke it clean across by jabbing it down too hard on the bottom of the river.
they were miles and miles from home -lrb- of course they had their lunch with them in a little bag -rrb-, and tegumai had forgotten to bring any extra spears.
"here's a pretty kettle of fish!"
said tegumai.
"it will take me half the day to mend this."
"there's your big black spear at home," said taffy.
"let me run back to the cave and ask mummy to give it me."
"it's too far for your little fat legs," said tegumai.
"besides, you might fall into the beaver-swamp and be drowned.
we must make the best of a bad job."
he sat down and took out a little leather mendy-bag, full of reindeer-sinews and strips of leather, and lumps of bee's - wax and resin, and began to mend the spear.
taffy sat down too, with her toes in the water and her chin in her hand, and thought very hard.
then she said --" i say, daddy, it's an awful nuisance that you and i do n't know how to write, is n't it?
if we did we could send a message for the new spear."
"taffy," said tegumai, "how often have i told you not to use slang?
""awful" is n't a pretty word, but it could be a convenience, now you mention it, if we could write home."
just then a stranger-man came along the river, but he belonged to a far tribe, the tewaras, and he did not understand one word of tegumai's language.
he stood on the bank and smiled at taffy, because he had a little girl-daughter of his own at home.
tegumai drew a hank of deer-sinews from his mendy-bag and began to mend his spear.
"come here, said taffy.
"do you know where my mummy lives?"
and the stranger-man said "um!"
being, as you know, a tewara.
"silly!"
said taffy, and she stamped her foot, because she saw a shoal of very big carp going up the river just when her daddy could n't use his spear.
"do n't bother grown-ups," said tegumai, so busy with his spear-mending that he did not turn round."
i are n't, said taffy."
i only want him to do what i want him to do, and he wo n't understand."
"then do n't bother me, said tegumai, and he went on pulling and straining at the deer-sinews with his mouth full of loose ends.
the stranger-man -- a genuine tewara he was -- sat down on the grass, and taffy showed him what her daddy was doing.
the stranger-man thought, this is a very wonderful child.
she stamps her foot at me and she makes faces.
she must be the daughter of that noble chief who is so great that he wo n't take any notice of me."
so he smiled more politely than ever.
"now," said taffy," i want you to go to my mummy, because your legs are longer than mine, and you wo n't fall into the beaver-swamp, and ask for daddy's other spear -- the one with the black handle that hangs over our fireplace."
the stranger-man -lrb- and he was a tewara -rrb- thought, "this is a very, very wonderful child.
she waves her arms and she shouts at me, but i do n't understand a word of what she says.
but if i do n't do what she wants, i greatly fear that that haughty chief, man-who-turns-his-back-on-callers, will be angry."
he got up and twisted a big flat piece of bark off a birch-tree and gave it to taffy.
he did this, best beloved, to show that his heart was as white as the birch-bark and that he meant no harm; but taffy did n't quite understand.
"oh!"
said she.
"now i see!
you want my mummy's living-address?
of course i ca n't write, but i can draw pictures if i've anything sharp to scratch with.
please lend me the shark's tooth off your necklace."
the stranger-man -lrb- and he was a tewara -rrb- did n't say anything, so taffy put up her little hand and pulled at the beautiful bead and seed and shark-tooth necklace round his neck.
the stranger-man -lrb- and he was a tewara -rrb- thought, "this is a very, very, very wonderful child.
the shark's tooth on my necklace is a magic shark's tooth, and i was always told that if anybody touched it without my leave they would immediately swell up or burst, but this child does n't swell up or burst, and that important chief, man-who-attends-strictly-to-his-business, who has not yet taken any notice of me at all, does n't seem to be afraid that she will swell up or burst.
i had better be more polite."
so he gave taffy the shark's tooth, and she lay down flat on her tummy with her legs in the air, like some people on the drawing-room floor when they want to draw pictures, and she said, "now i'll draw you some beautiful pictures!
you can look over my shoulder, but you must n't joggle.
first i'll draw daddy fishing.
it is n't very like him; but mummy will know, because i've drawn his spear all broken.
well, now i'll draw the other spear that he wants, the black-handled spear.
it looks as if it was sticking in daddy's back, but that's because the shark's tooth slipped and this piece of bark is n't big enough.
that's the spear i want you to fetch; so i'll draw a picture of me myself "splaining to you.
my hair does n't stand up like i've drawn, but it's easier to draw that way.
now i'll draw you.
i think you're very nice really, but i ca n't make you pretty in the picture, so you must n't be "fended.
are you "fended?"
the stranger-man -lrb- and he was a tewara -rrb- smiled.
he thought, "there must be a big battle going to be fought somewhere, and this extraordinary child, who takes my magic shark's tooth but who does not swell up or burst, is telling me to call all the great chief's tribe to help him.
he is a great chief, or he would have noticed me.
"look," said taffy, drawing very hard and rather scratchily, "now i've drawn you, and i've put the spear that daddy wants into your hand, just to remind you that you're to bring it.
now i'll show you how to find my mummy's living-address.
you go along till you come to two trees -lrb- those are trees -rrb-, and then you go over a hill -lrb- that's a hill -rrb-, and then you come into a beaver-swamp all full of beavers.
i have n't put in all the beavers, because i ca n't draw beavers, but i've drawn their heads, and that's all you'll see of them when you cross the swamp.
mind you do n't fall in!
then our cave is just beyond the beaver-swamp.
it is n't as high as the hills really, but i ca n't draw things very small.
that's my mummy outside.
she is beautiful.
she is the most beautifullest mummy there ever was, but she wo n't be "fended when she sees i've drawn her so plain.
she'll be pleased of me because i can draw.
now, in case you forget, i've drawn the spear that daddy wants outside our cave.
it's inside really, but you show the picture to my mummy and she'll give it you.
i've made her holding up her hands, because i know she'll be so pleased to see you.
is n't it a beautiful picture?
and do you quite understand, or shall i "splain again?"
the stranger-man -lrb- and he was a tewara -rrb- looked at the picture and nodded very hard.
he said to himself," if i do not fetch this great chief's tribe to help him, he will be slain by his enemies who are coming up on all sides with spears.
now i see why the great chief pretended not to notice me!
he feared that his enemies were hiding in the bushes and would see him.
therefore he turned to me his back, and let the wise and wonderful child draw the terrible picture showing me his difficulties.
i will away and get help for him from his tribe."
he did not even ask taffy the road, but raced off into the bushes like the wind, with the birch-bark in his hand, and taffy sat down most pleased.
now this is the picture that taffy had drawn for him!
"what have you been doing, taffy?"
said tegumai.
he had mended his spear and was carefully waving it to and fro.
"it's a little berangement of my own, daddy dear," said taffy.
"if you wo n't ask me questions, you'll know all about it in a little time, and you'll be surprised.
you do n't know how surprised you'll be, daddy!
promise you'll be surprised."
"very well," said tegumai, and went on fishing.
the stranger-man -- did you know he was a tewara?
-- hurried away with the picture and ran for some miles, till quite by accident he found teshumai tewindrow at the door of her cave, talking to some other neolithic ladies who had come in to a primitive lunch.
taffy was very like teshumai, especially about the upper part of the face and the eyes, so the stranger-man -- always a pure tewara -- smiled politely and handed teshumai the birch-bark.
he had run hard, so that he panted, and his legs were scratched with brambles, but he still tried to be polite.
as soon as teshumai saw the picture she screamed like anything and flew at the stranger-man.
the other neolithic ladies at once knocked him down and sat on him in a long line of six, while teshumai pulled his hair.
"it's as plain as the nose on this stranger-man's face," she said.
"he has stuck my tegumai all full of spears, and frightened poor taffy so that her hair stands all on end; and not content with that, he brings me a horrid picture of how it was done.
look!"
she showed the picture to all the neolithic ladies sitting patiently on the stranger-man.
"here is my tegumai with his arm broken; here is a spear sticking into his back; here is a man with a spear ready to throw; here is another man throwing a spear from a cave, and here are a whole pack of people" -lrb- they were taffy's beavers really, but they did look rather like people -rrb- "coming up behind tegumai.
is n't it shocking!"
"most shocking!"
said the neolithic ladies, and they filled the stranger-man's hair with mud -lrb- at which he was surprised -rrb-, and they beat upon the reverberating tribal drums, and called together all the chiefs of the tribe of tegumai, with their hetmans and dolmans, all neguses, woons, and akhoonds of the organisation, in addition to the warlocks, angekoks, juju-men, bonzes, and the rest, who decided that before they chopped the stranger-man's head off he should instantly lead them down to the river and show them where he had hidden poor taffy.
by this time the stranger-man -lrb- in spite of being a tewara -rrb- was really annoyed.
they had filled his hair quite solid with mud; they had rolled him up and down on knobby pebbles; they had sat upon him in a long line of six; they had thumped him and bumped him till he could hardly breathe; and though he did not understand their language, he was almost sure that the names the neolithic ladies called him were not ladylike.
however, he said nothing till all the tribe of tegumai were assembled, and then he led them back to the bank of the wagai river, and there they found taffy making daisy-chains, and tegumai carefully spearing small carp with his mended spear.
"well, you have been quick!"
said taffy.
"but why did you bring so many people?
daddy dear, this is my surprise.
are you surprised, daddy?"
"very," said tegumai; "but it has ruined all my fishing for the day.
why, the whole dear, kind, nice, clean, quiet tribe is here, taffy."
and so they were.
first of all walked teshumai tewindrow and the neolithic ladies, tightly holding on to the stranger-man, whose hair was full of mud -lrb- although he was a tewara -rrb-.
behind them came the head chief, the vice-chief, the deputy and assistant chiefs -lrb- all armed to the upper teeth -rrb-, the hetmans and heads of hundreds, platoffs with their platoons, and dolmans with their detachments; woons, neguses, and akhoonds ranking in the rear -lrb- still armed to the teeth -rrb-.
behind them was the tribe in hierarchical order, from owners of four caves -lrb- one for each season -rrb-, a private reindeer-run, and two salmon-leaps, to feudal and prognathous villeins, semi-entitled to half a bearskin of winter nights, seven yards from the fire, and adscript serfs, holding the reversion of a scraped marrow-bone under heriot -lrb- are n't those beautiful words, best beloved? -rrb-
.
they were all there, prancing and shouting, and they frightened every fish for twenty miles, and tegumai thanked them in a fluid neolithic oration.
then teshumai tewindrow ran down and kissed and hugged taffy very much indeed; but the head chief of the tribe of tegumai took tegumai by the top-knot feathers and shook him severely.
"explain!
explain!
explain!"
cried all the tribe of tegumai.
"goodness" sakes alive!"
said tegumai.
"let go of my top-knot.
ca n't a man break his carp-spear without the whole countryside descending on him?
you're a very interfering people.'"
i do n't believe you've brought my daddy's black-handled spear after all," said taffy.
"and what are you doing to my nice stranger-man?"
they were thumping him by twos and threes and tens till his eyes turned round and round.
he could only gasp and point at taffy.
"where are the bad people who speared you, my darling?"
said teshumai tewindrow.
"there were n't any," said tegumai.
"my only visitor this morning was the poor fellow that you are trying to choke.
are n't you well, or are you ill, o tribe of tegumai?"
"he came with a horrible picture," said the head chief, --" a picture that showed you were full of spears."
"er-um-pr "aps i'd better "splain that i gave him that picture," said taffy, but she did not feel quite comfy.
"you!"
said the tribe of tegumai all together.
"small-person-with-no-manners-who-ought-to-be-spanked!
you?"
"taffy dear, i'm afraid we're in for a little trouble," said her daddy, and put his arm round her, so she did n't care.
"explain!
explain!
explain!"
said the head chief of the tribe of tegumai, and he hopped on one foot."
i wanted the stranger-man to fetch daddy's spear, so i drawded it," said taffy.
"there was n't lots of spears.
there was only one spear.
i drawded it three times to make sure.
i could n't help it looking as if it stuck into daddy's head -- there was n't room on the birch-bark; and those things that mummy called bad people are my beavers.
i drawded them to show him the way through the swamp; and i drawded mummy at the mouth of the cave looking pleased because he is a nice stranger-man, and i think you are just the stupidest people in the world," said taffy.
"he is a very nice man.
why have you filled his hair with mud?
wash him!"
nobody said anything at all for a longtime, till the head chief laughed; then the stranger-man -lrb- who was at least a tewara -rrb- laughed; then tegumai laughed till he fell down flat on the bank; then all the tribe laughed more and worse and louder.
the only people who did not laugh were teshumai tewindrow and all the neolithic ladies.
they were very polite to all their husbands, and said "idiot!"
ever so often.
then the head chief of the tribe of tegumai cried and said and sang," o small-person-with-out-any-manners-who-ought-to-be-spanked, you've hit upon a great invention!'"
i did n't intend to; i only wanted daddy's black-handled spear," said taffy.
"never mind.
it is a great invention, and some day men will call it writing.
at present it is only pictures, and, as we have seen to-day, pictures are not always properly understood.
but a time will come, o babe of tegumai, when we shall make letters -- all twenty-six of'em, -- and when we shall be able to read as well as to write, and then we shall always say exactly what we mean without any mistakes.
let the neolithic ladies wash the mud out of the stranger's hair.'"
i shall be glad of that," said taffy, "because, after all, though you've brought every single other spear in the tribe of tegumai, you've forgotten my daddy's black-handled spear."
then the head chief cried and said and sang, "taffy dear, the next time you write a picture-letter, you'd better send a man who can talk our language with it, to explain what it means.
i do n't mind it myself, because i am a head chief, but it's very bad for the rest of the tribe of tegumai, and, as you can see, it surprises the stranger."
then they adopted the stranger-man -lrb- a genuine tewara of tewar -rrb- into the tribe of tegumai, because he was a gentleman and did not make a fuss about the mud that the neolithic ladies had put into his hair.
but from that day to this -lrb- and i suppose it is all taffy's fault -rrb-, very few little girls have ever liked learning to read or write.
most of them prefer to draw pictures and play about with their daddies -- just like taffy.
there runs a road by merrow down -- a grassy track to-day it is an hour out of guildford town, above the river wey it is.
here, when they heard the horse-bells ring, the ancient britons dressed and rode to watch the dark phoenicians bring their goods along the western road.
and here, or hereabouts, they met to hold their racial talks and such -- to barter beads for whitby jet, and tin for gay shell torques and such.
but long and long before that time -lrb- when bison used to roam on it -rrb- did taffy and her daddy climb that down, and had their home on it.
then beavers built in broadstone brook and made a swamp where bramley stands: and hears from shere would come and look for taffimai where shamley stands.
the wey, that taffy called wagai, was more than six times bigger then; and all the tribe of tegumai they cut a noble figure then!
how the alphabet was made the week after taffimai metallumai -lrb- we will still call her taffy, best beloved -rrb- made that little mistake about her daddy's spear and the stranger-man and the picture-letter and all, she went carp-fishing again with her daddy.
her mummy wanted her to stay at home and help hang up hides to dry on the big drying-poles outside their neolithic cave, but taffy slipped away down to her daddy quite early, and they fished.
presently she began to giggle, and her daddy said, "do n't be silly, child."
"but was n't it inciting!"
said taffy.
"do n't you remember how the head chief puffed out his cheeks, and how funny the nice stranger-man looked with the mud in his hair?"
"well do i," said tegumai."
i had to pay two deerskins -- soft ones with fringes -- to the stranger-man for the things we did to him."
"we did n't do anything," said taffy.
"it was mummy and the other neolithic ladies -- and the mud."
"we wo n't talk about that," said her daddy, "let's have lunch."
taffy took a marrow-bone and sat mousy-quiet for ten whole minutes, while her daddy scratched on pieces of birch-bark with a shark's tooth.
then she said, "daddy, i've thinked of a secret surprise.
you make a noise -- any sort of noise."
"ah!"
said tegumai.
"will that do to begin with?"
"yes," said taffy.
"you look just like a carp-fish with its mouth open.
say it again, please."
"ah!
ah!
ah!"
said her daddy.
"do n't be rude, my daughter."
"i'm not meaning rude, really and truly," said taffy.
"it's part of my secret-surprise-think.
do say ah, daddy, and keep your mouth open at the end, and lend me that tooth.
i'm going to draw a carp-fish's mouth wide-open."
"what for?"
said her daddy.
"do n't you see?"
said taffy, scratching away on the bark.
"that will be our little secret s "prise.
when i draw a carp-fish with his mouth open in the smoke at the back of our cave -- if mummy does n't mind -- it will remind you of that ah-noise.
then we can play that it was me jumped out of the dark and s "prised you with that noise -- same as i did in the beaver-swamp last winter."
"really?"
said her daddy, in the voice that grown-ups use when they are truly attending.
"go on, taffy."
"oh bother!"
she said."
i ca n't draw all of a carp-fish, but i can draw something that means a carp-fish's mouth.
do n't you know how they stand on their heads rooting in the mud?
well, here's a pretence carp-fish -lrb- we can play that the rest of him is drawn -rrb-.
here's just his mouth, and that means ah."
and she drew this.
-lrb- 1. -rrb-
"that's not bad," said tegumai, and scratched on his own piece of bark for himself; but you've forgotten the feeler that hangs across his mouth."
"but i ca n't draw, daddy."
"you need n't draw anything of him except just the opening of his mouth and the feeler across.
then we'll know he's a carp-fish,'cause the perches and trouts have n't got feelers.
look here, taffy."
and he drew this.
-lrb- 2. -rrb-
"now i'll copy it."
said taffy.
"will you understand this when you see it?"
"perfectly," said her daddy.
and she drew this.
-lrb- 3. -rrb-
"and i'll be quite as s "prised when i see it anywhere, as if you had jumped out from behind a tree and said" "ah!""
"now, make another noise," said taffy, very proud.
"yah!"
said her daddy, very loud.
"h'm," said taffy.
"that's a mixy noise.
the end part is ah-carp-fish-mouth; but what can we do about the front part?
yer-yer-yer and ah!
ya!"
"it's very like the carp-fish-mouth noise.
let's draw another bit of the carp-fish and join'em," said her daddy.
he was quite incited too.
"no.
if they're joined, i'll forget.
draw it separate.
draw his tail.
if he's standing on his head the tail will come first.
"sides, i think i can draw tails easiest," said taffy."
a good notion," said tegumai.
"here's a carp-fish tail for the yer-noise."
and he drew this.
-lrb- 4. -rrb-
"i'll try now," said taffy."
member i ca n't draw like you, daddy.
will it do if i just draw the split part of the tail, and the sticky-down line for where it joins?"
and she drew this.
-lrb- 5. -rrb-
her daddy nodded, and his eyes were shiny bright with "citement.
"that's beautiful," she said.
"now make another noise, daddy."
"oh!"
said her daddy, very loud.
"that's quite easy," said taffy.
"you make your mouth all around like an egg or a stone.
so an egg or a stone will do for that."
"you ca n't always find eggs or stones.
we'll have to scratch a round something like one."
and he drew this.
-lrb- 6. -rrb-
"my gracious!"
said taffy, "what a lot of noise-pictures we've made, -- carp-mouth, carp-tail, and egg!
now, make another noise, daddy."
"ssh!"
said her daddy, and frowned to himself, but taffy was too incited to notice.
"that's quite easy," she said, scratching on the bark.
"eh, what?"
said her daddy."
i meant i was thinking, and did n't want to be disturbed."
"it's a noise just the same.
it's the noise a snake makes, daddy, when it is thinking and does n't want to be disturbed.
let's make the ssh-noise a snake.
will this do?"
and she drew this.
-lrb- 7. -rrb-
"there," she said.
"that's another s "prise-secret.
when you draw a hissy-snake by the door of your little back-cave where you mend the spears, i'll know you're thinking hard; and i'll come in most mousy-quiet.
and if you draw it on a tree by the river when you are fishing, i'll know you want me to walk most most mousy-quiet, so as not to shake the banks."
"perfectly true," said tegumai.
and there's more in this game than you think.
taffy, dear, i've a notion that your daddy's daughter has hit upon the finest thing that there ever was since the tribe of tegumai took to using shark's teeth instead of flints for their spear-heads.
i believe we've found out the big secret of the world."
"why?"
said taffy, and her eyes shone too with incitement.
"i'll show," said her daddy.
"what's water in the tegumai language?"
"ya, of course, and it means river too -- like wagai-ya -- the wagai river."
"what is bad water that gives you fever if you drink it -- black water -- swamp-water?"
"yo, of course."
"now look," said her daddy.
's "pose you saw this scratched by the side of a pool in the beaver-swamp?"
and he drew this.
-lrb- 8. -rrb-
"carp-tail and round egg.
two noises mixed!
yo, bad water," said taffy."
course i would n't drink that water because i'd know you said it was bad."
"but i need n't be near the water at all.
i might be miles away, hunting, and still --" "and still it would be just the same as if you stood there and said, "g'way, taffy, or you'll get fever."
all that in a carp-fish-tail and a round egg!
o daddy, we must tell mummy, quick!"
and taffy danced all round him.
"not yet," said tegumai; "not till we've gone a little further.
let's see.
yo is bad water, but so is food cooked on the fire, is n't it?"
and he drew this.
-lrb- 9. -rrb-
"yes.
snake and egg," said taffy "so that means dinner's ready.
if you saw that scratched on a tree you'd know it was time to come to the cave.
so'd i." "my winkie!"
said tegumai.
"that's true too.
but wait a minute.
i see a difficulty.
so means "come and have dinner," but sho means the drying-poles where we hang our hides."
"horrid old drying-poles!"
said taffy."
i hate helping to hang heavy, hot, hairy hides on them.
if you drew the snake and egg, and i thought it meant dinner, and i came in from the wood and found that it meant i was to help mummy hang the two hides on the drying-poles, what would i do?"
"you'd be cross.
so'd mummy.
we must make a new picture for sho.
we must draw a spotty snake that hisses sh-sh, and we'll play that the plain snake only hisses ssss.'"
i could n't be sure how to put in the spots," said taffy.
"and p "raps if you were in a hurry you might leave them out, and i'd think it was so when it was sho, and then mummy would catch me just the same.
no!
i think we'd better draw a picture of the horrid high drying-poles their very selves, and make quite sure.
i'll put them in just after the hissy-snake.
look!"
and she drew this.
-lrb- 10. -rrb-
"p'raps that's safest.
it's very like our drying-poles, anyhow," said her daddy, laughing.
"now i'll make a new noise with a snake and drying-pole sound in it.
i'll say shi.
that's tegumai for spear, taffy."
and he laughed.
"do n't make fun of me," said taffy, as she thought of her picture-letter and the mud in the stranger-man's hair.
"you draw it, daddy."
"we wo n't have beavers or hills this time, eh?"
said her daddy, "i'll just draw a straight line for my spear."
and he drew this.
-lrb- 11. -rrb-
"even mummy could n't mistake that for me being killed."
"please do n't, daddy.
it makes me uncomfy.
do some more noises.
we're getting on beautifully."
"er-hm!"
said tegumai, looking up.
"we'll say shu.
that means sky."
taffy drew the snake and the drying-pole.
then she stopped.
"we must make a new picture for that end sound, must n't we?"
"shu-shu-u-u-u!"
said her daddy.
"why, it's just like the round-egg-sound made thin."
"then s "pose we draw a thin round egg, and pretend it's a frog that has n't eaten anything for years."
"n-no," said her daddy.
"if we drew that in a hurry we might mistake it for the round egg itself.
shu-shu-shu!"
i tell you what we'll do.
we'll open a little hole at the end of the round egg to show how the o-noise runs out all thin, ooo-oo-oo.
like this."
and he drew this.
-lrb- 12. -rrb-
"oh, that's lovely!
much better than a thin frog.
go on," said taffy, using her shark's tooth.
her daddy went on drawing, and his hand shook with incitement.
he went on till he had drawn this.
-lrb- 13. -rrb-
"do n't look up, taffy," he said.
"try if you can make out what that means in the tegumai language.
if you can, we've found the secret."
"snake -- pole -- broken -- egg -- carp -- tail and carp-mouth," said taffy.
"shu-ya.
sky-water -lrb- rain -rrb-."
just then a drop fell on her hand, for the day had clouded over.
"why, daddy, it's raining.
was that what you meant to tell me?"
"of course," said her daddy.
"and i told it you without saying a word, did n't i?"
"well, i think i would have known it in a minute, but that raindrop made me quite sure.
i'll always remember now.
shu-ya means rain, or "it is going to rain."
why, daddy!"
she got up and danced round him.
's "pose you went out before i was awake, and drawed shu-ya in the smoke on the wall, i'd know it was going to rain and i'd take my beaver-skin hood.
would n't mummy be surprised?"
tegumai got up and danced.
-lrb- daddies did n't mind doing those things in those days. -rrb-
"more than that!
more than that!"
he said.
's "pose i wanted to tell you it was n't going to rain much and you must come down to the river, what would we draw?
say the words in tegumai-talk first."
"shu-ya-las, ya maru.
-lrb- sky-water ending.
river come to. -rrb-
what a lot of new sounds!
i do n't see how we can draw them."
"but i do -- but i do!"
said tegumai.
"just attend a minute, taffy, and we wo n't do any more to-day.
we've got shu-ya all right, have n't we?
but this las is a teaser.
la-la-la" and he waved his shark-tooth.
"there's the hissy-snake at the end and the carp-mouth before the snake -- as-as-as.
we only want la-la," said taffy."
i know it, but we have to make la-la.
and we're the first people in all the world who've ever tried to do it, taffimai!"
"well," said taffy, yawning, for she was rather tired.
"las means breaking or finishing as well as ending, does n't it?"
"so it does," said tegumai.
"to-las means that there's no water in the tank for mummy to cook with -- just when i'm going hunting, too."
"and shi-las means that your spear is broken.
if i'd only thought of that instead of drawing silly beaver pictures for the stranger!"
"la!
la!
la!"
said tegumai, waiving his stick and frowning.
"oh bother!'"
i could have drawn shi quite easily," taffy went on.
"then i'd have drawn your spear all broken -- this way!"
and she drew.
-lrb- 14. -rrb-
"the very thing," said tegumai.
"that's la all over.
it is n't like any of the other marks either."
and he drew this.
-lrb- 15. -rrb-
"now for ya.
oh, we've done that before.
now for maru.
mum-mum-mum.
mum shuts one's mouth up, does n't it?
we'll draw a shut mouth like this."
and he drew.
-lrb- 16. -rrb-
"then the carp-mouth open.
that makes ma-ma-ma!
but what about this rrrrr-thing, taffy?"
"it sounds all rough and edgy, like your shark-tooth saw when you're cutting out a plank for the canoe," said taffy.
"you mean all sharp at the edges, like this?"
said tegumai.
and he drew.
-lrb- 17. -rrb-"
xactly," said taffy.
"but we do n't want all those teeth: only put two."
"i'll only put in one," said tegumai.
"if this game of ours is going to be what i think it will, the easier we make our sound-pictures the better for everybody."
and he drew.
-lrb- 18. -rrb-
"now, we've got it," said tegumai, standing on one leg.
"i'll draw'em all in a string like fish."
"had n't we better put a little bit of stick or something between each word, so's they wo n't rub up against each other and jostle, same as if they were carps?"
"oh, i'll leave a space for that," said her daddy.
and very incitedly he drew them all without stopping, on a big new bit of birch-bark.
-lrb- 19. -rrb-
"shu-ya-las ya-maru," said taffy, reading it out sound by sound.
"that's enough for to-day," said tegumai.
"besides, you're getting tired, taffy.
never mind, dear.
we'll finish it all to-morrow, and then we'll be remembered for years and years after the biggest trees you can see are all chopped up for firewood."
so they went home, and all that evening tegumai sat on one side of the fire and taffy on the other, drawing ya's and yo's and shu's and shi's in the smoke on the wall and giggling together till her mummy said, "really, tegumai, you're worse than my taffy."
"please do n't mind," said taffy.
"it's only our secret-s "prise, mummy dear, and we'll tell you all about it the very minute it's done; but please do n't ask me what it is now, or else i'll have to tell."
so her mummy most carefully did n't; and bright and early next morning tegumai went down to the river to think about new sound pictures, and when taffy got up she saw ya-las -lrb- water is ending or running out -rrb- chalked on the side of the big stone water-tank, outside the cave.
"um," said taffy.
"these picture-sounds are rather a bother!
daddy's just as good as come here himself and told me to get more water for mummy to cook with."
she went to the spring at the back of the house and filled the tank from a bark bucket, and then she ran down to the river and pulled her daddy's left ear -- the one that belonged to her to pull when she was good.
"now come along and we'll draw all the left-over sound-pictures," said her daddy, and they had a most inciting day of it, and a beautiful lunch in the middle, and two games of romps.
when they came to t, taffy said that as her name, and her daddy's, and her mummy's all began with that sound, they should draw a sort of family group of themselves holding hands.
that was all very well to draw once or twice; but when it came to drawing it six or seven times, taffy and tegumai drew it scratchier and scratchier, till at last the t-sound was only a thin long tegumai with his arms out to hold taffy and teshumai.
you can see from these three pictures partly how it happened.
-lrb- 20, 21, 22. -rrb-
many of the other pictures were much too beautiful to begin with, especially before lunch, but as they were drawn over and over again on birch-bark, they became plainer and easier, till at last even tegumai said he could find no fault with them.
they turned the hissy-snake the other way round for the z-sound, to show it was hissing backwards in a soft and gentle way -lrb- 23 -rrb-; and they just made a twiddle for e, because it came into the pictures so often -lrb- 24 -rrb-; and they drew pictures of the sacred beaver of the tegumais for the b-sound -lrb- 25, 26, 27, 28 -rrb-; and because it was a nasty, nosy noise, they just drew noses for the n-sound, till they were tired -lrb- 29 -rrb-; and they drew a picture of the big lake-pike's mouth for the greedy ga-sound -lrb- 30 -rrb-; and they drew the pike's mouth again with a spear behind it for the scratchy, hurty ka-sound -lrb- 31 -rrb-; and they drew pictures of a little bit of the winding wagai river for the nice windy-windy wa-sound -lrb- 32, 33 -rrb-; and so on and so forth and so following till they had done and drawn all the sound-pictures that they wanted, and there was the alphabet, all complete.
and after thousands and thousands and thousands of years, and after hieroglyphics and demotics, and nilotics, and cryptics, and cufics, and runics, and dorics, and ionics, and all sorts of other ricks and tricks -lrb- because the woons, and the neguses, and the akhoonds, and the repositories of tradition would never leave a good thing alone when they saw it -rrb-, the fine old easy, understandable alphabet -- a, b, c, d, e, and the rest of'em -- got back into its proper shape again for all best beloveds to learn when they are old enough.
but i remember tegumai bopsulai, and taffimai metallumai and teshumai tewindrow, her dear mummy, and all the days gone by.
and it was so -- just so -- a little time ago -- on the banks of the big wagai!
of all the tribe of tegumai who cut that figure, none remain, -- on merrow down the cuckoos cry the silence and the sun remain.
but as the faithful years return and hearts unwounded sing again, comes taffy dancing through the fern to lead the surrey spring again.
her brows are bound with bracken-fronds, and golden elf-locks fly above; her eyes are bright as diamonds and bluer than the skies above.
in mocassins and deer-skin cloak, unfearing, free and fair she flits, and lights her little damp-wood smoke to show her daddy where she flits.
for far -- oh, very far behind, so far she can not call to him, comes tegumai alone to find the daughter that was all to him.
the crab that played with the sea before the high and far-off times, o my best beloved, came the time of the very beginnings; and that was in the days when the eldest magician was getting things ready.
first he got the earth ready; then he got the sea ready; and then he told all the animals that they could come out and play.
and the animals said," o eldest magician, what shall we play at?"
and he said," i will show you.
he took the elephant -- all-the-elephant-there-was -- and said, "play at being an elephant," and all-the-elephant-there-was played.
he took the beaver -- all-the-beaver-there-was and said, "play at being a beaver," and all-the beaver-there-was played.
he took the cow -- all-the cow-there-was -- and said, "play at being a cow," and all-the-cow-there-was played.
he took the turtle -- all-the-turtle there-was and said, "play at being a turtle," and all-the-turtle-there-was played.
one by one he took all the beasts and birds and fishes and told them what to play at.
but towards evening, when people and things grow restless and tired, there came up the man -lrb- with his own little girl-daughter? -rrb-
-- yes, with his own best beloved little girl-daughter sitting upon his shoulder, and he said, "what is this play, eldest magician?"
and the eldest magician said, "ho, son of adam, this is the play of the very beginning; but you are too wise for this play."
and the man saluted and said, "yes, i am too wise for this play; but see that you make all the animals obedient to me."
now, while the two were talking together, pau amma the crab, who was next in the game, scuttled off sideways and stepped into the sea, saying to himself," i will play my play alone in the deep waters, and i will never be obedient to this son of adam."
nobody saw him go away except the little girl-daughter where she leaned on the man's shoulder.
and the play went on till there were no more animals left without orders; and the eldest magician wiped the fine dust off his hands and walked about the world to see how the animals were playing.
he went north, best beloved, and he found all-the-elephant-there-was digging with his tusks and stamping with his feet in the nice new clean earth that had been made ready for him.
"kun?"
said all-the-elephant-there-was, meaning, "is this right?"
"payah kun," said the eldest magician, meaning, "that is quite right"; and he breathed upon the great rocks and lumps of earth that all-the-elephant-there-was had thrown up, and they became the great himalayan mountains, and you can look them out on the map.
he went east, and he found all-the-cow there-was feeding in the field that had been made ready for her, and she licked her tongue round a whole forest at a time, and swallowed it and sat down to chew her cud.
"kun?"
said all-the-cow-there-was.
"payah kun," said the eldest magician; and he breathed upon the bare patch where she had eaten, and upon the place where she had sat down, and one became the great indian desert, and the other became the desert of sahara, and you can look them out on the map.
he went west, and he found all-the-beaver-there-was making a beaver-dam across the mouths of broad rivers that had been got ready for him.
"kun?"
said all-the-beaver-there-was.
"payah kun," said the eldest magician; and he breathed upon the fallen trees and the still water, and they became the everglades in florida, and you may look them out on the map.
then he went south and found all-the-turtle-there-was scratching with his flippers in the sand that had been got ready for him, and the sand and the rocks whirled through the air and fell far off into the sea.
"kun?"
said all-the-turtle-there-was.
"payah kun," said the eldest magician; and he breathed upon the sand and the rocks, where they had fallen in the sea, and they became the most beautiful islands of borneo, celebes, sumatra, java, and the rest of the malay archipelago, and you can look them out on the map!
by and by the eldest magician met the man on the banks of the perak river, and said, "ho!
son of adam, are all the animals obedient to you?"
"yes," said the man.
"is all the earth obedient to you?"
"yes," said the man.
"is all the sea obedient to you?"
"no," said the man.
"once a day and once a night the sea runs up the perak river and drives the sweet-water back into the forest, so that my house is made wet; once a day and once a night it runs down the river and draws all the water after it, so that there is nothing left but mud, and my canoe is upset.
is that the play you told it to play?"
"no," said the eldest magician.
"that is a new and a bad play."
"look!"
said the man, and as he spoke the great sea came up the mouth of the perak river, driving the river backwards till it overflowed all the dark forests for miles and miles, and flooded the man's house.
"this is wrong.
launch your canoe and we will find out who is playing with the sea," said the eldest magician.
they stepped into the canoe; the little girl-daughter came with them; and the man took his kris -- a curving, wavy dagger with a blade like a flame, -- and they pushed out on the perak river.
then the sea began to run back and back, and the canoe was sucked out of the mouth of the perak river, past selangor, past malacca, past singapore, out and out to the island of bingtang, as though it had been pulled by a string.
then the eldest magician stood up and shouted, "ho!
beasts, birds, and fishes, that i took between my hands at the very beginning and taught the play that you should play, which one of you is playing with the sea?"
then all the beasts, birds, and fishes said together, "eldest magician, we play the plays that you taught us to play -- we and our children's children.
but not one of us plays with the sea."
then the moon rose big and full over the water, and the eldest magician said to the hunchbacked old man who sits in the moon spinning a fishing-line with which he hopes one day to catch the world, "ho!
fisher of the moon, are you playing with the sea?"
"no," said the fisherman," i am spinning a line with which i shall some day catch the world; but i do not play with the sea."
and he went on spinning his line.
now there is also a rat up in the moon who always bites the old fisherman's line as fast as it is made, and the eldest magician said to him, "ho!
rat of the moon, are you playing with the sea?"
and the rat said," i am too busy biting through the line that this old fisherman is spinning.
i do not play with the sea."
and he went on biting the line.
then the little girl-daughter put up her little soft brown arms with the beautiful white shell bracelets and said," o eldest magician!
when my father here talked to you at the very beginning, and i leaned upon his shoulder while the beasts were being taught their plays, one beast went away naughtily into the sea before you had taught him his play.
and the eldest magician said, "how wise are little children who see and are silent!
what was the beast like?"
and the little girl-daughter said, "he was round and he was flat; and his eyes grew upon stalks; and he walked sideways like this; and he was covered with strong armour upon his back."
and the eldest magician said, "how wise are little children who speak truth!
now i know where pau amma went.
give me the paddle!"
so he took the paddle; but there was no need to paddle, for the water flowed steadily past all the islands till they came to the place called pusat tasek -- the heart of the sea -- where the great hollow is that leads down to the heart of the world, and in that hollow grows the wonderful tree, pauh janggi, that bears the magic twin nuts.
then the eldest magician slid his arm up to the shoulder through the deep warm water, and under the roots of the wonderful tree he touched the broad back of pau amma the crab.
and pau amma settled down at the touch, and all the sea rose up as water rises in a basin when you put your hand into it.
"ah!"
said the eldest magician.
"now i know who has been playing with the sea;" and he called out, "what are you doing, pau amma?"
and pau amma, deep down below, answered, "once a day and once a night i go out to look for my food.
once a day and once a night i return.
leave me alone."
then the eldest magician said, "listen, pau amma.
when you go out from your cave the waters of the sea pour down into pusat tasek, and all the beaches of all the islands are left bare, and the little fish die, and raja moyang kaban, the king of the elephants, his legs are made muddy.
when you come back and sit in pusat tasek, the waters of the sea rise, and half the little islands are drowned, and the man's house is flooded, and raja abdullah, the king of the crocodiles, his mouth is filled with the salt water.
then pau amma, deep down below, laughed and said," i did not know i was so important.
henceforward i will go out seven times a day, and the waters shall never be still."
and the eldest magician said," i can not make you play the play you were meant to play, pau amma, because you escaped me at the very beginning; but if you are not afraid, come up and we will talk about it.'"
i am not afraid," said pau amma, and he rose to the top of the sea in the moonlight.
there was nobody in the world so big as pau amma -- for he was the king crab of all crabs.
not a common crab, but a king crab.
one side of his great shell touched the beach at sarawak; the other touched the beach at pahang; and he was taller than the smoke of three volcanoes!
as he rose up through the branches of the wonderful tree he tore off one of the great twin fruits -- the magic double kernelled nuts that make people young, -- and the little girl-daughter saw it bobbing alongside the canoe, and pulled it in and began to pick out the soft eyes of it with her little golden scissors.
"now," said the magician, "make a magic, pau amma, to show that you are really important."
pau amma rolled his eyes and waved his legs, but he could only stir up the sea, because, though he was a king crab, he was nothing more than a crab, and the eldest magician laughed.
"you are not so important after all, pau amma," he said.
"now, let me try," and he made a magic with his left hand -- with just the little finger of his left hand -- and -- lo and behold, best beloved, pau amma's hard, blue-green-black shell fell off him as a husk falls off a cocoa-nut, and pau amma was left all soft -- soft as the little crabs that you sometimes find on the beach, best beloved.
"indeed, you are very important," said the eldest magician.
"shall i ask the man here to cut you with kris?
shall i send for raja moyang kaban, the king of the elephants, to pierce you with his tusks, or shall i call raja abdullah, the king of the crocodiles, to bite you?"
and pau amma said," i am ashamed!
give me back my hard shell and let me go back to pusat tasek, and i will only stir out once a day and once a night to get my food."
and the eldest magician said, "no, pau amma, i will not give you back your shell, for you will grow bigger and prouder and stronger, and perhaps you will forget your promise, and you will play with the sea once more.
then pau amma said, "what shall i do?
i am so big that i can only hide in pusat tasek, and if i go anywhere else, all soft as i am now, the sharks and the dogfish will eat me.
and if i go to pusat tasek, all soft as i am now, though i may be safe, i can never stir out to get my food, and so i shall die."
then he waved his legs and lamented.
"listen, pau amma," said the eldest magician."
i can not make you play the play you were meant to play, because you escaped me at the very beginning; but if you choose, i can make every stone and every hole and every bunch of weed in all the seas a safe pusat tasek for you and your children for always."
then pau amma said, "that is good, but i do not choose yet.
look!
there is that man who talked to you at the very beginning.
if he had not taken up your attention i should not have grown tired of waiting and run away, and all this would never have happened.
what will he do for me?"
and the man said, "if you choose, i will make a magic, so that both the deep water and the dry ground will be a home for you and your children -- so that you shall be able to hide both on the land and in the sea."
and pau amma said," i do not choose yet.
look!
there is that girl who saw me running away at the very beginning.
if she had spoken then, the eldest magician would have called me back, and all this would never have happened.
what will she do for me?"
and the little girl-daughter said, "this is a good nut that i am eating.
if you choose, i will make a magic and i will give you this pair of scissors, very sharp and strong, so that you and your children can eat cocoa-nuts like this all day long when you come up from the sea to the land; or you can dig a pusat tasek for yourself with the scissors that belong to you when there is no stone or hole near by; and when the earth is too hard, by the help of these same scissors you can run up a tree."
and pau amma said," i do not choose yet, for, all soft as i am, these gifts would not help me.
give me back my shell, o eldest magician, and then i will play your play."
and the eldest magician said," i will give it back, pau amma, for eleven months of the year; but on the twelfth month of every year it shall grow soft again, to remind you and all your children that i can make magics, and to keep you humble, pau amma; for i see that if you can run both under the water and on land, you will grow too bold; and if you can climb trees and crack nuts and dig holes with your scissors, you will grow too greedy, pau amma."
then pau amma thought a little and said," i have made my choice.
i will take all the gifts."
then the eldest magician made a magic with the right hand, with all five fingers of his right hand, and lo and behold, best beloved, pau amma grew smaller and smaller and smaller, till at last there was only a little green crab swimming in the water alongside the canoe, crying in a very small voice, "give me the scissors!"
and the girl-daughter picked him up on the palm of her little brown hand, and sat him in the bottom of the canoe and gave him her scissors, and he waved them in his little arms, and opened them and shut them and snapped them, and said," i can eat nuts.
i can crack shells.
i can dig holes.
i can climb trees.
i can breathe in the dry air, and i can find a safe pusat tasek under every stone.
i did not know i was so important.
kun?"
-lrb- is this right? -rrb-
"payah-kun," said the eldest magician, and he laughed and gave him his blessing; and little pau amma scuttled over the side of the canoe into the water; and he was so tiny that he could have hidden under the shadow of a dry leaf on land or of a dead shell at the bottom of the sea.
"was that well done?"
said the eldest magician.
"yes," said the man.
"but now we must go back to perak, and that is a weary way to paddle.
if we had waited till pau amma had gone out of pusat tasek and come home, the water would have carried us there by itself."
"you are lazy," said the eldest magician.
"so your children shall be lazy.
they shall be the laziest people in the world.
they shall be called the malazy -- the lazy people;" and he held up his finger to the moon and said," o fisherman, here is the man too lazy to row home.
pull his canoe home with your line, fisherman."
"no," said the man.
"if i am to be lazy all my days, let the sea work for me twice a day for ever.
that will save paddling."
and the eldest magician laughed and said, "payah kun" -lrb- that is right -rrb-.
and the rat of the moon stopped biting the line; and the fisherman let his line down till it touched the sea, and he pulled the whole deep sea along, past the island of bintang, past singapore, past malacca, past selangor, till the canoe whirled into the mouth of the perak river again.
kun?"
said the fisherman of the moon.
"payah kun," said the eldest magician.
"see now that you pull the sea twice a day and twice a night for ever, so that the malazy fishermen may be saved paddling.
but be careful not to do it too hard, or i shall make a magic on you as i did to pau amma."
then they all went up the perak river and went to bed, best beloved.
now listen and attend!
from that day to this the moon has always pulled the sea up and down and made what we call the tides.
sometimes the fisher of the sea pulls a little too hard, and then we get spring tides; and sometimes he pulls a little too softly, and then we get what are called neap-tides; but nearly always he is careful, because of the eldest magician.
and pau amma?
you can see when you go to the beach, how all pau amma's babies make little pusat taseks for themselves under every stone and bunch of weed on the sands; you can see them waving their little scissors; and in some parts of the world they truly live on the dry land and run up the palm trees and eat cocoa-nuts, exactly as the girl-daughter promised.
but once a year all pau ammas must shake off their hard armour and be soft-to remind them of what the eldest magician could do.
and so it is n't fair to kill or hunt pau amma's babies just because old pau amma was stupidly rude a very long time ago.
oh yes!
and pau amma's babies hate being taken out of their little pusat taseks and brought home in pickle-bottles.
that is why they nip you with their scissors, and it serves you right!
china-going p's and o's pass pau amma's playground close, and his pusat tasek lies near the track of most b.i.'s.
u.y.k. and n.d.l. know pau amma's home as well as the fisher of the sea knows "bens," m.m.'s, and rubattinos.
but -lrb- and this is rather queer -rrb- a.t.l.'s can not come here; o. and o. and d.o.a. must go round another way.
orient, anchor, bibby, hall, never go that way at all.
u.c.s. would have a fit if it found itself on it.
and if "beavers" took their cargoes to penang instead of lagos, or a fat shaw-savill bore passengers to singapore, or a white star were to try a little trip to sourabaya, or a b.s.a. went on past natal to cheribon, then great mr. lloyds would come with a wire and drag them home!
you'll know what my riddle means when you've eaten mangosteens.
or if you ca n't wait till then, ask them to let you have the outside page of the times; turn over to page 2 where it is marked "shipping" on the top left hand; then take the atlas -lrb- and that is the finest picture-book in the world -rrb- and see how the names of the places that the steamers go to fit into the names of the places on the map.
any steamer-kiddy ought to be able to do that; but if you ca n't read, ask some one to show it you.
the cat that walked by himself hear and attend and listen; for this befell and behappened and became and was, o my best beloved, when the tame animals were wild.
the dog was wild, and the horse was wild, and the cow was wild, and the sheep was wild, and the pig was wild -- as wild as wild could be -- and they walked in the wet wild woods by their wild lones.
but the wildest of all the wild animals was the cat.
he walked by himself, and all places were alike to him.
of course the man was wild too.
he was dreadfully wild.
he did n't even begin to be tame till he met the woman, and she told him that she did not like living in his wild ways.
she picked out a nice dry cave, instead of a heap of wet leaves, to lie down in; and she strewed clean sand on the floor; and she lit a nice fire of wood at the back of the cave; and she hung a dried wild-horse skin, tail-down, across the opening of the cave; and she said, "wipe you feet, dear, when you come in, and now we'll keep house."
that night, best beloved, they ate wild sheep roasted on the hot stones, and flavoured with wild garlic and wild pepper; and wild duck stuffed with wild rice and wild fenugreek and wild coriander; and marrow-bones of wild oxen; and wild cherries, and wild grenadillas.
then the man went to sleep in front of the fire ever so happy; but the woman sat up, combing her hair.
she took the bone of the shoulder of mutton -- the big fat blade-bone -- and she looked at the wonderful marks on it, and she threw more wood on the fire, and she made a magic.
she made the first singing magic in the world.
out in the wet wild woods all the wild animals gathered together where they could see the light of the fire a long way off, and they wondered what it meant.
then wild horse stamped with his wild foot and said," o my friends and o my enemies, why have the man and the woman made that great light in that great cave, and what harm will it do us?"
wild dog lifted up his wild nose and smelled the smell of roast mutton, and said," i will go up and see and look, and say; for i think it is good.
cat, come with me."
"nenni!"
said the cat."
i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.
i will not come."
"then we can never be friends again," said wild dog, and he trotted off to the cave.
but when he had gone a little way the cat said to himself, "all places are alike to me.
why should i not go too and see and look and come away at my own liking."
so he slipped after wild dog softly, very softly, and hid himself where he could hear everything.
when wild dog reached the mouth of the cave he lifted up the dried horse-skin with his nose and sniffed the beautiful smell of the roast mutton, and the woman, looking at the blade-bone, heard him, and laughed, and said, "here comes the first.
wild thing out of the wild woods, what do you want?"
wild dog said," o my enemy and wife of my enemy, what is this that smells so good in the wild woods?"
then the woman picked up a roasted mutton-bone and threw it to wild dog, and said, "wild thing out of the wild woods, taste and try."
wild dog gnawed the bone, and it was more delicious than anything he had ever tasted, and he said," o my enemy and wife of my enemy, give me another."
the woman said, "wild thing out of the wild woods, help my man to hunt through the day and guard this cave at night, and i will give you as many roast bones as you need."
"ah!"
said the cat, listening.
"this is a very wise woman, but she is not so wise as i am."
wild dog crawled into the cave and laid his head on the woman's lap, and said," o my friend and wife of my friend, i will help your man to hunt through the day, and at night i will guard your cave."
"ah!"
said the cat, listening.
"that is a very foolish dog."
and he went back through the wet wild woods waving his wild tail, and walking by his wild lone.
but he never told anybody.
when the man waked up he said, "what is wild dog doing here?"
and the woman said, "his name is not wild dog any more, but the first friend, because he will be our friend for always and always and always.
take him with you when you go hunting."
next night the woman cut great green armfuls of fresh grass from the water-meadows, and dried it before the fire, so that it smelt like new-mown hay, and she sat at the mouth of the cave and plaited a halter out of horse-hide, and she looked at the shoulder of mutton-bone -- at the big broad blade-bone -- and she made a magic.
she made the second singing magic in the world.
out in the wild woods all the wild animals wondered what had happened to wild dog, and at last wild horse stamped with his foot and said," i will go and see and say why wild dog has not returned.
cat, come with me."
"nenni!"
said the cat."
i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.
i will not come."
but all the same he followed wild horse softly, very softly, and hid himself where he could hear everything.
when the woman heard wild horse tripping and stumbling on his long mane, she laughed and said, "here comes the second.
wild thing out of the wild woods what do you want?"
wild horse said," o my enemy and wife of my enemy, where is wild dog?"
the woman laughed, and picked up the blade-bone and looked at it, and said, "wild thing out of the wild woods, you did not come here for wild dog, but for the sake of this good grass."
and wild horse, tripping and stumbling on his long mane, said, "that is true; give it me to eat."
the woman said, "wild thing out of the wild woods, bend your wild head and wear what i give you, and you shall eat the wonderful grass three times a day."
"ah," said the cat, listening, "this is a clever woman, but she is not so clever as i am."
wild horse bent his wild head, and the woman slipped the plaited hide halter over it, and wild horse breathed on the woman's feet and said," o my mistress, and wife of my master, i will be your servant for the sake of the wonderful grass."
"ah," said the cat, listening, "that is a very foolish horse."
and he went back through the wet wild woods, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.
but he never told anybody.
when the man and the dog came back from hunting, the man said, "what is wild horse doing here?"
and the woman said, "his name is not wild horse any more, but the first servant, because he will carry us from place to place for always and always and always.
ride on his back when you go hunting.
next day, holding her wild head high that her wild horns should not catch in the wild trees, wild cow came up to the cave, and the cat followed, and hid himself just the same as before; and everything happened just the same as before; and the cat said the same things as before, and when wild cow had promised to give her milk to the woman every day in exchange for the wonderful grass, the cat went back through the wet wild woods waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone, just the same as before.
but he never told anybody.
and when the man and the horse and the dog came home from hunting and asked the same questions same as before, the woman said, "her name is not wild cow any more, but the giver of good food.
she will give us the warm white milk for always and always and always, and i will take care of her while you and the first friend and the first servant go hunting.
next day the cat waited to see if any other wild thing would go up to the cave, but no one moved in the wet wild woods, so the cat walked there by himself; and he saw the woman milking the cow, and he saw the light of the fire in the cave, and he smelt the smell of the warm white milk.
cat said," o my enemy and wife of my enemy, where did wild cow go?"
the woman laughed and said, "wild thing out of the wild woods, go back to the woods again, for i have braided up my hair, and i have put away the magic blade-bone, and we have no more need of either friends or servants in our cave.
cat said," i am not a friend, and i am not a servant.
i am the cat who walks by himself, and i wish to come into your cave."
woman said, "then why did you not come with first friend on the first night?"
cat grew very angry and said, "has wild dog told tales of me?"
then the woman laughed and said, "you are the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to you.
your are neither a friend nor a servant.
you have said it yourself.
go away and walk by yourself in all places alike."
then cat pretended to be sorry and said, "must i never come into the cave?
must i never sit by the warm fire?
must i never drink the warm white milk?
you are very wise and very beautiful.
you should not be cruel even to a cat."
woman said," i knew i was wise, but i did not know i was beautiful.
so i will make a bargain with you.
if ever i say one word in your praise you may come into the cave."
"and if you say two words in my praise?"
said the cat."
i never shall," said the woman, "but if i say two words in your praise, you may sit by the fire in the cave."
"and if you say three words?"
said the cat."
i never shall," said the woman, "but if i say three words in your praise, you may drink the warm white milk three times a day for always and always and always."
then the cat arched his back and said, "now let the curtain at the mouth of the cave, and the fire at the back of the cave, and the milk-pots that stand beside the fire, remember what my enemy and the wife of my enemy has said."
and he went away through the wet wild woods waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.
that night when the man and the horse and the dog came home from hunting, the woman did not tell them of the bargain that she had made with the cat, because she was afraid that they might not like it.
cat went far and far away and hid himself in the wet wild woods by his wild lone for a long time till the woman forgot all about him.
only the bat -- the little upside-down bat -- that hung inside the cave, knew where cat hid; and every evening bat would fly to cat with news of what was happening.
one evening bat said, "there is a baby in the cave.
he is new and pink and fat and small, and the woman is very fond of him."
"ah," said the cat, listening, "but what is the baby fond of?"
"he is fond of things that are soft and tickle," said the bat.
"he is fond of warm things to hold in his arms when he goes to sleep.
he is fond of being played with.
he is fond of all those things."
"ah," said the cat, listening, "then my time has come."
next night cat walked through the wet wild woods and hid very near the cave till morning-time, and man and dog and horse went hunting.
the woman was busy cooking that morning, and the baby cried and interrupted.
so she carried him outside the cave and gave him a handful of pebbles to play with.
but still the baby cried.
then the cat put out his paddy paw and patted the baby on the cheek, and it cooed; and the cat rubbed against its fat knees and tickled it under its fat chin with his tail.
and the baby laughed; and the woman heard him and smiled.
then the bat -- the little upside-down bat -- that hung in the mouth of the cave said," o my hostess and wife of my host and mother of my host's son, a wild thing from the wild woods is most beautifully playing with your baby.'"
a blessing on that wild thing whoever he may be," said the woman, straightening her back, "for i was a busy woman this morning and he has done me a service."
that very minute and second, best beloved, the dried horse-skin curtain that was stretched tail-down at the mouth of the cave fell down -- whoosh!
-- because it remembered the bargain she had made with the cat, and when the woman went to pick it up -- lo and behold!
-- the cat was sitting quite comfy inside the cave."
o my enemy and wife of my enemy and mother of my enemy," said the cat, "it is i: for you have spoken a word in my praise, and now i can sit within the cave for always and always and always.
but still i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me."
the woman was very angry, and shut her lips tight and took up her spinning-wheel and began to spin.
but the baby cried because the cat had gone away, and the woman could not hush it, for it struggled and kicked and grew black in the face."
o my enemy and wife of my enemy and mother of my enemy," said the cat, "take a strand of the wire that you are spinning and tie it to your spinning-whorl and drag it along the floor, and i will show you a magic that shall make your baby laugh as loudly as he is now crying.'"
i will do so," said the woman, "because i am at my wits" end; but i will not thank you for it."
she tied the thread to the little clay spindle whorl and drew it across the floor, and the cat ran after it and patted it with his paws and rolled head over heels, and tossed it backward over his shoulder and chased it between his hind-legs and pretended to lose it, and pounced down upon it again, till the baby laughed as loudly as it had been crying, and scrambled after the cat and frolicked all over the cave till it grew tired and settled down to sleep with the cat in its arms.
"now," said the cat," i will sing the baby a song that shall keep him asleep for an hour.
and he began to purr, loud and low, low and loud, till the baby fell fast asleep.
the woman smiled as she looked down upon the two of them and said, "that was wonderfully done.
no question but you are very clever, o cat."
that very minute and second, best beloved, the smoke of the fire at the back of the cave came down in clouds from the roof -- puff!
-- because it remembered the bargain she had made with the cat, and when it had cleared away -- lo and behold!
-- the cat was sitting quite comfy close to the fire."
o my enemy and wife of my enemy and mother of my enemy," said the cat, "it is i, for you have spoken a second word in my praise, and now i can sit by the warm fire at the back of the cave for always and always and always.
but still i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me."
then the woman was very very angry, and let down her hair and put more wood on the fire and brought out the broad blade-bone of the shoulder of mutton and began to make a magic that should prevent her from saying a third word in praise of the cat.
it was not a singing magic, best beloved, it was a still magic; and by and by the cave grew so still that a little wee-wee mouse crept out of a corner and ran across the floor."
o my enemy and wife of my enemy and mother of my enemy," said the cat, "is that little mouse part of your magic?"
"ouh!
chee!
no indeed!"
said the woman, and she dropped the blade-bone and jumped upon the footstool in front of the fire and braided up her hair very quick for fear that the mouse should run up it.
"ah," said the cat, watching, "then the mouse will do me no harm if i eat it?"
"no," said the woman, braiding up her hair, "eat it quickly and i will ever be grateful to you."
cat made one jump and caught the little mouse, and the woman said," a hundred thanks.
even the first friend is not quick enough to catch little mice as you have done.
you must be very wise."
that very moment and second, o best beloved, the milk-pot that stood by the fire cracked in two pieces -- ffft -- because it remembered the bargain she had made with the cat, and when the woman jumped down from the footstool -- lo and behold!
-- the cat was lapping up the warm white milk that lay in one of the broken pieces."
o my enemy and wife of my enemy and mother of my enemy, said the cat, "it is i; for you have spoken three words in my praise, and now i can drink the warm white milk three times a day for always and always and always.
but still i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me."
then the woman laughed and set the cat a bowl of the warm white milk and said," o cat, you are as clever as a man, but remember that your bargain was not made with the man or the dog, and i do not know what they will do when they come home."
"what is that to me?"
said the cat.
"if i have my place in the cave by the fire and my warm white milk three times a day i do not care what the man or the dog can do."
that evening when the man and the dog came into the cave, the woman told them all the story of the bargain while the cat sat by the fire and smiled.
then the man said, "yes, but he has not made a bargain with me or with all proper men after me."
then he took off his two leather boots and he took up his little stone axe -lrb- that makes three -rrb- and he fetched a piece of wood and a hatchet -lrb- that is five altogether -rrb-, and he set them out in a row and he said, "now we will make our bargain.
if you do not catch mice when you are in the cave for always and always and always, i will throw these five things at you whenever i see you, and so shall all proper men do after me."
"ah," said the woman, listening, "this is a very clever cat, but he is not so clever as my man."
the cat counted the five things -lrb- and they looked very knobby -rrb- and he said," i will catch mice when i am in the cave for always and always and always; but still i am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me."
"not when i am near," said the man.
"if you had not said that last i would have put all these things away for always and always and always; but i am now going to throw my two boots and my little stone axe -lrb- that makes three -rrb- at you whenever i meet you.
and so shall all proper men do after me!"
then the dog said, "wait a minute.
he has not made a bargain with me or with all proper dogs after me."
and he showed his teeth and said, "if you are not kind to the baby while i am in the cave for always and always and always, i will hunt you till i catch you, and when i catch you i will bite you.
and so shall all proper dogs do after me."
"ah," said the woman, listening, "this is a very clever cat, but he is not so clever as the dog."
cat counted the dog's teeth -lrb- and they looked very pointed -rrb- and he said," i will be kind to the baby while i am in the cave, as long as he does not pull my tail too hard, for always and always and always.
but still i am the cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to me."
"not when i am near," said the dog.
"if you had not said that last i would have shut my mouth for always and always and always; but now i am going to hunt you up a tree whenever i meet you.
and so shall all proper dogs do after me."
then the man threw his two boots and his little stone axe -lrb- that makes three -rrb- at the cat, and the cat ran out of the cave and the dog chased him up a tree; and from that day to this, best beloved, three proper men out of five will always throw things at a cat whenever they meet him, and all proper dogs will chase him up a tree.
but the cat keeps his side of the bargain too.
he will kill mice and he will be kind to babies when he is in the house, just as long as they do not pull his tail too hard.
but when he has done that, and between times, and when the moon gets up and night comes, he is the cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him.
then he goes out to the wet wild woods or up the wet wild trees or on the wet wild roofs, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.
pussy can sit by the fire and sing, pussy can climb a tree, or play with a silly old cork and string to "muse herself, not me.
but i like binkie my dog, because he lnows how to behave; so, binkie's the same as the first friend was, and i am the man in the cave.
pussy will play man-friday till it's time to wet her paw and make her walk on the window-sill -lrb- for the footprint crusoe saw -rrb-; then she fluffles her tail and mews, and scratches and wo n't attend.
but binkie will play whatever i choose, and he is my true first friend.
pussy will rub my knees with her head pretending she loves me hard; but the very minute i go to my bed pussy runs out in the yard, and there she stays till the morning-light; so i know it is only pretend; but binkie, he snores at my feet all night, and he is my firstest friend!
the butterfly that stamped this, o my best beloved, is a story -- a new and a wonderful story -- a story quite different from the other stories -- a story about the most wise sovereign suleiman-bin-daoud -- solomon the son of david.
there are three hundred and fifty-five stories about suleiman-bin-daoud; but this is not one of them.
it is not the story of the lapwing who found the water; or the hoopoe who shaded suleimanbin-daoud from the heat.
it is not the story of the glass pavement, or the ruby with the crooked hole, or the gold bars of balkis.
it is the story of the butterfly that stamped.
now attend all over again and listen!
suleiman-bin-daoud was wise.
he understood what the beasts said, what the birds said, what the fishes said, and what the insects said.
he understood what the rocks said deep under the earth when they bowed in towards each other and groaned; and he understood what the trees said when they rustled in the middle of the morning.
he understood everything, from the bishop on the bench to the hyssop on the wall, and balkis, his head queen, the most beautiful queen balkis, was nearly as wise as he was.
suleiman-bin-daoud was strong.
upon the third finger of the right hand he wore a ring.
when he turned it once, afrits and djinns came out of the earth to do whatever he told them.
when he turned it twice, fairies came down from the sky to do whatever he told them; and when he turned it three times, the very great angel azrael of the sword came dressed as a water-carrier, and told him the news of the three worlds, above -- below -- and here.
and yet suleiman-bin-daoud was not proud.
he very seldom showed off, and when he did he was sorry for it.
once he tried to feed all the animals in all the world in one day, but when the food was ready an animal came out of the deep sea and ate it up in three mouthfuls.
suleiman-bin-daoud was very surprised and said," o animal, who are you?"
and the animal said," o king, live for ever!
i am the smallest of thirty thousand brothers, and our home is at the bottom of the sea.
we heard that you were going to feed all the animals in all the world, and my brothers sent me to ask when dinner would be ready."
suleiman-bin-daoud was more surprised than ever and said," o animal, you have eaten all the dinner that i made ready for all the animals in the world."
and the animal said," o king, live for ever, but do you really call that a dinner?
where i come from we each eat twice as much as that between meals."
then suleiman-bin-daoud fell flat on his face and said," o animal!
i gave that dinner to show what a great and rich king i was, and not because i really wanted to be kind to the animals.
now i am ashamed, and it serves me right.
suleiman-bin-daoud was a really truly wise man, best beloved.
after that he never forgot that it was silly to show off; and now the real story part of my story begins.
he married ever so many wifes.
he married nine hundred and ninety-nine wives, besides the most beautiful balkis; and they all lived in a great golden palace in the middle of a lovely garden with fountains.
he did n't really want nine-hundred and ninety-nine wives, but in those days everybody married ever so many wives, and of course the king had to marry ever so many more just to show that he was the king.
some of the wives were nice, but some were simply horrid, and the horrid ones quarrelled with the nice ones and made them horrid too, and then they would all quarrel with suleiman-bin-daoud, and that was horrid for him.
but balkis the most beautiful never quarrelled with suleiman-bin-daoud.
she loved him too much.
she sat in her rooms in the golden palace, or walked in the palace garden, and was truly sorry for him.
of course if he had chosen to turn his ring on his finger and call up the djinns and the afrits they would have magicked all those nine hundred and ninety-nine quarrelsome wives into white mules of the desert or greyhounds or pomegranate seeds; but suleiman-bin-daoud thought that that would be showing off.
so, when they quarrelled too much, he only walked by himself in one part of the beautiful palace gardens and wished he had never been born.
one day, when they had quarrelled for three weeks -- all nine hundred and ninety-nine wives together -- suleiman-bin-daoud went out for peace and quiet as usual; and among the orange trees he met balkis the most beautiful, very sorrowful because suleiman-bin-daoud was so worried.
and she said to him," o my lord and light of my eyes, turn the ring upon your finger and show these queens of egypt and mesopotamia and persia and china that you are the great and terrible king."
but suleiman-bin-daoud shook his head and said," o my lady and delight of my life, remember the animal that came out of the sea and made me ashamed before all the animals in all the world because i showed off.
now, if i showed off before these queens of persia and egypt and abyssinia and china, merely because they worry me, i might be made even more ashamed than i have been."
and balkis the most beautiful said," o my lord and treasure of my soul, what will you do?"
and suleiman-bin-daoud said," o my lady and content of my heart, i shall continue to endure my fate at the hands of these nine hundred and ninety-nine queens who vex me with their continual quarrelling."
so he went on between the lilies and the loquats and the roses and the cannas and the heavy-scented ginger-plants that grew in the garden, till he came to the great camphor-tree that was called the camphor tree of suleiman-bin-daoud.
but balkis hid among the tall irises and the spotted bamboos and the red lillies behind the camphor-tree, so as to be near her own true love, suleiman-bin-daoud.
presently two butterflies flew under the tree, quarrelling.
suleiman-bin-daoud heard one say to the other," i wonder at your presumption in talking like this to me.
do n't you know that if i stamped with my foot all suleiman-bin-daoud's palace and this garden here would immediately vanish in a clap of thunder."
then suleiman-bin-daoud forgot his nine hundred and ninety-nine bothersome wives, and laughed, till the camphor-tree shook, at the butterfly's boast.
and he held out his finger and said, "little man, come here."
the butterfly was dreadfully frightened, but he managed to fly up to the hand of suleiman-bin-daoud, and clung there, fanning himself.
suleiman-bin-daoud bent his head and whispered very softly, "little man, you know that all your stamping would n't bend one blade of grass.
what made you tell that awful fib to your wife?
-- for doubtless she is your wife."
the butterfly looked at suleiman-bin-daoud and saw the most wise king's eye twinkle like stars on a frosty night, and he picked up his courage with both wings, and he put his head on one side and said," o king, live for ever.
she is my wife; and you know what wives are like.
suleiman-bin-daoud smiled in his beard and said, "yes, i know, little brother.
"one must keep them in order somehow, said the butterfly, and she has been quarrelling with me all the morning.
i said that to quiet her."
and suleiman-bin-daoud said, "may it quiet her.
go back to your wife, little brother, and let me hear what you say."
back flew the butterfly to his wife, who was all of a twitter behind a leaf, and she said, "he heard you!
suleiman-bin-daoud himself heard you!"
"heard me!"
said the butterfly.
"of course he did.
i meant him to hear me."
"and what did he say?
oh, what did he say?"
"well," said the butterfly, fanning himself most importantly, "between you and me, my dear -- of course i do n't blame him, because his palace must have cost a great deal and the oranges are just ripening, -- he asked me not to stamp, and i promised i would n't."
"gracious!"
said his wife, and sat quite quiet; but suleiman-bin-daoud laughed till the tears ran down his face at the impudence of the bad little butterfly.
balkis the most beautiful stood up behind the tree among the red lilies and smiled to herself, for she had heard all this talk.
she thought, "if i am wise i can yet save my lord from the persecutions of these quarrelsome queens," and she held out her finger and whispered softly to the butterfly's wife, "little woman, come here."
up flew the butterfly's wife, very frightened, and clung to balkis's white hand.
balkis bent her beautiful head down and whispered, "little woman, do you believe what your husband has just said?"
the butterfly's wife looked at balkis, and saw the most beautiful queen's eyes shining like deep pools with starlight on them, and she picked up her courage with both wings and said," o queen, be lovely for ever.
you know what men-folk are like."
and the queen balkis, the wise balkis of sheba, put her hand to her lips to hide a smile and said, "little sister, i know."
"they get angry," said the butterfly's wife, fanning herself quickly, "over nothing at all, but we must humour them, o queen.
they never mean half they say.
if it pleases my husband to believe that i believe he can make suleiman-bin-daoud's palace disappear by stamping his foot, i'm sure i do n't care.
he'll forget all about it to-morrow."
"little sister," said balkis, "you are quite right; but next time he begins to boast, take him at his word.
ask him to stamp, and see what will happen.
we know what men-folk are like, do n't we?
he'll be very much ashamed."
away flew the butterfly's wife to her husband, and in five minutes they were quarrelling worse than ever.
"remember!"
said the butterfly.
"remember what i can do if i stamp my foot.'"
i do n't believe you one little bit," said the butterfly's wife."
i should very much like to see it done.
suppose you stamp now.'"
i promised suleiman-bin-daoud that i would n't," said the butterfly, "and i do n't want to break my promise."
"it would n't matter if you did," said his wife.
"you could n't bend a blade of grass with your stamping.
i dare you to do it," she said.
stamp!
stamp!
stamp!"
suleiman-bin-daoud, sitting under the camphor-tree, heard every word of this, and he laughed as he had never laughed in his life before.
he forgot all about his queens; he forgot all about the animal that came out of the sea; he forgot about showing off.
he just laughed with joy, and balkis, on the other side of the tree, smiled because her own true love was so joyful.
presently the butterfly, very hot and puffy, came whirling back under the shadow of the camphor-tree and said to suleiman, "she wants me to stamp!
she wants to see what will happen, o suleiman-bin-daoud!
you know i ca n't do it, and now she'll never believe a word i say.
she'll laugh at me to the end of my days!"
"no, little brother," said suleiman-bin-daoud, "she will never laugh at you again," and he turned the ring on his finger -- just for the little butterfly's sake, not for the sake of showing off, -- and, lo and behold, four huge djinns came out of the earth!
"slaves," said suleiman-bin-daoud, "when this gentleman on my finger" -lrb- that was where the impudent butterfly was sitting -rrb- "stamps his left front forefoot you will make my palace and these gardens disappear in a clap of thunder.
when he stamps again you will bring them back carefully."
"now, little brother," he said, "go back to your wife and stamp all you've a mind to."
away flew the butterfly to his wife, who was crying," i dare you to do it!
i dare you to do it!
stamp!
stamp now!
stamp!"
balkis saw the four vast djinns stoop down to the four corners of the gardens with the palace in the middle, and she clapped her hands softly and said, "at last suleiman-bin-daoud will do for the sake of a butterfly what he ought to have done long ago for his own sake, and the quarrelsome queens will be frightened!"
the the butterfly stamped.
the djinns jerked the palace and the gardens a thousand miles into the air: there was a most awful thunder-clap, and everything grew inky-black.
the butterfly's wife fluttered about in the dark, crying, "oh, i'll be good!
i'm so sorry i spoke.
only bring the gardens back, my dear darling husband, and i'll never contradict again."
the butterfly was nearly as frightened as his wife, and suleiman-bin-daoud laughed so much that it was several minutes before he found breath enough to whisper to the butterfly, "stamp again, little brother.
give me back my palace, most great magician."
"yes, give him back his palace," said the butterfly's wife, still flying about in the dark like a moth.
"give him back his palace, and do n't let's have any more horrid.magic."
"well, my dear," said the butterfly as bravely as he could, "you see what your nagging has led to.
of course it does n't make any difference to me -- i'm used to this kind of thing -- but as a favour to you and to suleiman-bin-daoud i do n't mind putting things right."
so he stamped once more, and that instant the djinns let down the palace and the gardens, without even a bump.
the sun shone on the dark-green orange leaves; the fountains played among the pink egyptian lilies; the birds went on singing, and the butterfly's wife lay on her side under the camphor-tree waggling her wings and panting, "oh, i'll be good!
i'll be good!"
suleiman-bin-daolld could hardly speak for laughing.
he leaned back all weak and hiccoughy, and shook his finger at the butterfly and said," o great wizard, what is the sense of returning to me my palace if at the same time you slay me with mirth!"
then came a terrible noise, for all the nine hundred and ninety-nine queens ran out of the palace shrieking and shouting and calling for their babies.
they hurried down the great marble steps below the fountain, one hundred abreast, and the most wise balkis went statelily forward to meet them and said, "what is your trouble, o queens?"
they stood on the marble steps one hundred abreast and shouted, "what is our trouble?
we were living peacefully in our golden palace, as is our custom, when upon a sudden the palace disappeared, and we were left sitting in a thick and noisome darkness; and it thundered, and djinns and afrits moved about in the darkness!
that is our trouble, o head queen, and we are most extremely troubled on account of that trouble, for it was a troublesome trouble, unlike any trouble we have known."
then balkis the most beautiful queen -- suleiman-bin-daoud's very best beloved -- queen that was of sheba and sable and the rivers of the gold of the south -- from the desert of zinn to the towers of zimbabwe -- balkis, almost as wise as the most wise suleiman-bin-daoud himself, said, "it is nothing, o queens!
a butterfly has made complaint against his wife because she quarrelled with him, and it has pleased our lord suleiman-bin-daoud to teach her a lesson in low-speaking and humbleness, for that is counted a virtue among the wives of the butterflies."
then up and spoke an egyptian queen -- the daughter of a pharoah -- and she said, "our palace can not be plucked up by the roots like a leek for the sake of a little insect.
no!
suleiman-bin-daoud must be dead, and what we heard and saw was the earth thundering and darkening at the news."
then balkis beckoned that bold queen without looking at her, and said to her and to the others, "come and see."
they came down the marble steps, one hundred abreast, and beneath his camphor-tree, still weak with laughing, they saw the most wise king suleiman-bin-daoud rocking back and forth with a butterfly on either hand, and they heard him say," o wife of my brother in the air, remember after this, to please your husband in all things, lest he be provoked to stamp his foot yet again; for he has said that he is used to this magic, and he is most eminently a great magician -- one who steals away the very palace of suleirnan-bin-daoud himself.
go in peace, little folk!"
and he kissed them on the wings, and they flew away.
then all the queens except balkis -- the most beautiful and splendid balkis, who stood apart smiling -- fell flat on their faces, for they said, "if these things are done when a butterfly is displeased with his wife, what shall be done to us who have vexed our king with our loud-speaking and open quarrelling through many days?"
then they put their veils over their heads, and they put their hands over their mouths, and they tiptoed back to the palace most mousy-quiet.
then balkis -- the most beautiful and excellent balkis -- went forward through the red lilies into the shade of the camphor-tree and laid her hand upon suleiman-bin-daoud's shoulder and said," o my lord and treasure of my soul, rejoice, for we have taught the queens of egypt and ethiopia and abyssinia and persia and india and china with a great and a memorable teaching."
and suleiman-bin-daoud, still looking after the butterflies where they played in the sunlight, said," o my lady and jewel of my felicity, when did this happen?
for i have been jesting with a butterfly ever since i came into the garden."
and he told balkis what he had done.
balkis -- the tender and most lovely balkis -- said," o my lord and regent of my existence, i hid behind the camphor-tree and saw it all.
it was i who told the butterfly's wife to ask the butterfly to stamp, because i hoped that for the sake of the jest my lord would make some great magic and that the queens would see it and be frightened."
and she told him what the queens had said and seen and thought.
then suleiman-bin-daoud rose up from his seat under the camphor-tree, and stretched his arms and rejoiced and said," o my lady and sweetener of my days, know that if i had made a magic against my queens for the sake of pride or anger, as i made that feast for all the animals, i should certainly have been put to shame.
but by means of your wisdom i made the magic for the sake of a jest and for the sake of a little butterfly, and -- behold -- it has also delivered me from the vexations of my vexatious wives!
tell me, therefore, o my lady and heart of my heart, how did you come to be so wise?"
and balkis the queen, beautiful and tall, looked up into suleiman-bin-daoud's eyes and put her head a little on one side, just like the butterfly, and said, "first, o my lord, because i loved you; and secondly, o my lord, because i know what women-folk are."
then they went up to the palace and lived happily ever afterwards.
but was n't it clever of balkis?
there was never a queen like balkis, from here to the wide world's end; but balkis tailed to a butterfly as you would talk to a friend.
there was never a king like solomon, not since the world began; but solomon talked to a butterfly as a man would talk to a man.
_book_title_: rudyard_kipling___kim.txt.out
chapter 1 o ye who tread the narrow way by tophet-flare to judgment day, be gentle when "the heathen" pray to buddha at kamakura!
buddha at kamakura.
he sat, in defiance of municipal orders, astride the gun zam zammah on her brick platform opposite the old ajaib-gher -- the wonder house, as the natives call the lahore museum.
who hold zam-zammah, that "fire-breathing dragon", hold the punjab, for the great green-bronze piece is always first of the conqueror's loot.
there was some justification for kim -- he had kicked lala dinanath's boy off the trunnions -- since the english held the punjab and kim was english.
though he was burned black as any native; though he spoke the vernacular by preference, and his mother-tongue in a clipped uncertain sing-song; though he consorted on terms of perfect equality with the small boys of the bazar; kim was white -- a poor white of the very poorest.
the half-caste woman who looked after him -lrb- she smoked opium, and pretended to keep a second-hand furniture shop by the square where the cheap cabs wait -rrb- told the missionaries that she was kim's mother's sister; but his mother had been nursemaid in a colonel's family and had married kimball o'hara, a young colour-sergeant of the mavericks, an irish regiment.
he afterwards took a post on the sind, punjab, and delhi railway, and his regiment went home without him.
the wife died of cholera in ferozepore, and o'hara fell to drink and loafing up and down the line with the keen-eyed three-year-old baby.
societies and chaplains, anxious for the child, tried to catch him, but o'hara drifted away, till he came across the woman who took opium and learned the taste from her, and died as poor whites die in india.
his estate at death consisted of three papers -- one he called his "ne varietur" because those words were written below his signature thereon, and another his "clearance-certificate".
the third was kim's birth-certificate.
those things, he was used to say, in his glorious opium-hours, would yet make little kimball a man.
on no account was kim to part with them, for they belonged to a great piece of magic -- such magic as men practised over yonder behind the museum, in the big blue-and-white jadoo-gher -- the magic house, as we name the masonic lodge.
it would, he said, all come right some day, and kim's horn would be exalted between pillars -- monstrous pillars -- of beauty and strength.
the colonel himself, riding on a horse, at the head of the finest regiment in the world, would attend to kim -- little kim that should have been better off than his father.
nine hundred first-class devils, whose god was a red bull on a green field, would attend to kim, if they had not forgotten o'hara -- poor o'hara that was gang-foreman on the ferozepore line.
then he would weep bitterly in the broken rush chair on the veranda.
so it came about after his death that the woman sewed parchment, paper, and birth-certificate into a leather amulet-case which she strung round kim's neck.
"and some day," she said, confusedly remembering o'hara's prophecies, "there will come for you a great red bull on a green field, and the colonel riding on his tall horse, yes, and" dropping into english -- "nine hundred devils."
"ah," said kim," i shall remember.
a red bull and a colonel on a horse will come, but first, my father said, will come the two men making ready the ground for these matters.
that is how my father said they always did; and it is always so when men work magic."
if the woman had sent kim up to the local jadoo-gher with those papers, he would, of course, have been taken over by the provincial lodge, and sent to the masonic orphanage in the hills; but what she had heard of magic she distrusted.
kim, too, held views of his own.
as he reached the years of indiscretion, he learned to avoid missionaries and white men of serious aspect who asked who he was, and what he did.
for kim did nothing with an immense success.
true, he knew the wonderful walled city of lahore from the delhi gate to the outer fort ditch; was hand in glove with men who led lives stranger than anything haroun al raschid dreamed of; and he lived in a life wild as that of the arabian nights, but missionaries and secretaries of charitable societies could not see the beauty of it.
his nickname through the wards was "little friend of all the world"; and very often, being lithe and inconspicuous, he executed commissions by night on the crowded housetops for sleek and shiny young men of fashion.
it was intrigue, -- of course he knew that much, as he had known all evil since he could speak, -- but what he loved was the game for its own sake -- the stealthy prowl through the dark gullies and lanes, the crawl up a waterpipe, the sights and sounds of the women's world on the flat roofs, and the headlong flight from housetop to housetop under cover of the hot dark.
then there were holy men, ash-smeared fakirs by their brick shrines under the trees at the riverside, with whom he was quite familiar -- greeting them as they returned from begging-tours, and, when no one was by, eating from the same dish.
the woman who looked after him insisted with tears that he should wear european clothes -- trousers, a shirt and a battered hat.
kim found it easier to slip into hindu or mohammedan garb when engaged on certain businesses.
one of the young men of fashion -- he who was found dead at the bottom of a well on the night of the earthquake -- had once given him a complete suit of hindu kit, the costume of a lowcaste street boy, and kim stored it in a secret place under some baulks in nila ram's timber-yard, beyond the punjab high court, where the fragrant deodar logs lie seasoning after they have driven down the ravi.
when there was business or frolic afoot, kim would use his properties, returning at dawn to the veranda, all tired out from shouting at the heels of a marriage procession, or yelling at a hindu festival.
sometimes there was food in the house, more often there was not, and then kim went out again to eat with his native friends.
as he drummed his heels against zam-zammah he turned now and again from his king-of-the-castle game with little chota lal and abdullah the sweetmeat-seller's son, to make a rude remark to the native policeman on guard over rows of shoes at the museum door.
the big punjabi grinned tolerantly: he knew kim of old.
so did the water-carrier, sluicing water on the dry road from his goat-skin bag.
so did jawahir singh, the museum carpenter, bent over new packing-cases.
so did everybody in sight except the peasants from the country, hurrying up to the wonder house to view the things that men made in their own province and elsewhere.
the museum was given up to indian arts and manufactures, and anybody who sought wisdom could ask the curator to explain.
"off!
off!
let me up!"
cried abdullah, climbing up zam-zammah's wheel.
"thy father was a pastry-cook, thy mother stole the ghi," sang kim.
"all mussalmans fell off zam-zammah long ago!"
"let me up!"
shrilled little chota lal in his gilt-embroidered cap.
his father was worth perhaps half a million sterling, but india is the only democratic land in the world.
"the hindus fell off zam-zammah too.
the mussalmans pushed them off.
thy father was a pastry-cook --" he stopped; for there shuffled round the corner, from the roaring motee bazar, such a man as kim, who thought he knew all castes, had never seen.
he was nearly six feet high, dressed in fold upon fold of dingy stuff like horse-blanketing, and not one fold of it could kim refer to any known trade or profession.
at his belt hung a long open-work iron pencase and a wooden rosary such as holy men wear.
on his head was a gigantic sort of tam-o" - shanter.
his face was yellow and wrinkled, like that of fook shing, the chinese bootmaker in the bazar.
his eyes turned up at the corners and looked like little slits of onyx.
"who is that?"
said kim to his companions.
"perhaps it is a man," said abdullah, finger in mouth, staring.
"without doubt," returned kim; "but he is no man of india that i have ever seen.'"
a priest, perhaps," said chota lal, spying the rosary.
"see!
he goes into the wonder house!"
"nay, nay," said the policeman, shaking his head."
i do not understand your talk."
the constable spoke punjabi."
o friend of all the world, what does he say?"
"send him hither," said kim, dropping from zam-zammah, flourishing his bare heels.
"he is a foreigner, and thou art a buffalo."
the man turned helplessly and drifted towards the boys.
he was old, and his woollen gaberdine still reeked of the stinking artemisia of the mountain passes."
o children, what is that big house?"
he said in very fair urdu.
"the ajaib-gher, the wonder house!"
kim gave him no title -- such as lala or mian.
he could not divine the man's creed.
"ah!
the wonder house!
can any enter?"
"it is written above the door -- all can enter."
"without payment?'"
i go in and out.
i am no banker," laughed kim.
"alas!
i am an old man.
i did not know."
then, fingering his rosary, he half turned to the museum.
"what is your caste?
where is your house?
have you come far?"
kim asked."
i came by kulu -- from beyond the kailas -- but what know you?
from the hills where" -- he sighed -- "the air and water are fresh and cool."
"aha!
khitai -lsb- a chinaman -rsb-," said abdullah proudly.
fook shing had once chased him out of his shop for spitting at the joss above the boots.
"pahari -lsb- a hillman -rsb-," said little chota lal.
"aye, child -- a hillman from hills thou "lt never see.
didst hear of bhotiyal -lsb- tibet -rsb-?
i am no khitai, but a bhotiya -lsb- tibetan -rsb-, since you must know -- a lama -- or, say, a guru in your tongue.'"
a guru from tibet," said kim."
i have not seen such a man.
they be hindus in tibet, then?"
"we be followers of the middle way, living in peace in our lamasseries, and i go to see the four holy places before i die.
now do you, who are children, know as much as i do who am old."
he smiled benignantly on the boys.
"hast thou eaten?"
he fumbled in his bosom and drew forth a worn, wooden begging-bowl.
the boys nodded.
all priests of their acquaintance begged."
i do not wish to eat yet."
he turned his head like an old tortoise in the sunlight.
"is it true that there are many images in the wonder house of lahore?"
he repeated the last words as one making sure of an address.
"that is true," said abdullah.
"it is full of heathen busts.
thou also art an idolater."
"never mind him," said.
kim.
"that is the government's house and there is no idolatry in it, but only a sahib with a white beard.
come with me and i will show."
"strange priests eat boys," whispered chota lal.
"and he is a stranger and a but-parast -lsb- idolater -rsb-," said abdullah, the mohammedan.
kim laughed.
"he is new.
run to your mothers" laps, and be safe.
come!"
kim clicked round the self-registering turnstile; the old man followed and halted amazed.
in the entrance-hall stood the larger figures of the greco-buddhist sculptures done, savants know how long since, by forgotten workmen whose hands were feeling, and not unskilfully, for the mysteriously transmitted grecian touch.
there were hundreds of pieces, friezes of figures in relief, fragments of statues and slabs crowded with figures that had encrusted the brick walls of the buddhist stupas and viharas of the north country and now, dug up and labelled, made the pride of the museum.
in open-mouthed wonder the lama turned to this and that, and finally checked in rapt attention before a large alto-relief representing a coronation or apotheosis of the lord buddha.
the master was represented seated on a lotus the petals of which were so deeply undercut as to show almost detached.
round him was an adoring hierarchy of kings, elders, and old-time buddhas.
below were lotus-covered waters with fishes and water-birds.
two butterfly-winged devas held a wreath over his head; above them another pair supported an umbrella surmounted by the jewelled headdress of the bodhisat.
"the lord!
the lord!
it is sakya muni himself," the lama half sobbed; and under his breath began the wonderful buddhist invocation: to him the way, the law, apart, whom maya held beneath her heart, ananda's lord, the bodhisat.
"and he is here!
the most excellent law is here also.
my pilgrimage is well begun.
and what work!
what work!"
"yonder is the sahib."
said kim, and dodged sideways among the cases of the arts and manufacturers wing.
a white-bearded englishman was looking at the lama, who gravely turned and saluted him and after some fumbling drew forth a note-book and a scrap of paper.
"yes, that is my name," smiling at the clumsy, childish print.
"one of us who had made pilgrimage to the holy places -- he is now abbot of the lung-cho monastery -- gave it me," stammered the lama.
"he spoke of these."
his lean hand moved tremulously round.
"welcome, then, o lama from tibet.
here be the images, and i am here" -- he glanced at the lama's face -- "to gather knowledge.
come to my office awhile."
the old man was trembling with excitement.
the office was but a little wooden cubicle partitioned off from the sculpture-lined gallery.
kim laid himself down, his ear against a crack in the heat-split cedar door, and, following his instinct, stretched out to listen and watch.
most of the talk was altogether above his head.
the lama, haltingly at first, spoke to the curator of his own lamassery, the such-zen, opposite the painted rocks, four months" march away.
the curator brought out a huge book of photos and showed him that very place, perched on its crag, overlooking the gigantic valley of many-hued strata.
"ay, ay!"
the lama mounted a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles of chinese work.
"here is the little door through which we bring wood before winter.
and thou -- the english know of these things?
he who is now abbot of lung-cho told me, but i did not believe.
the lord -- the excellent one -- he has honour here too?
and his life is known?"
"it is all carven upon the stones.
come and see, if thou art rested."
out shuffled the lama to the main hall, and, the curator beside him, went through the collection with the reverence of a devotee and the appreciative instinct of a craftsman.
incident by incident in the beautiful story he identified on the blurred stone, puzzled here and there by the unfamiliar greek convention, but delighted as a child at each new trove.
where the sequence failed, as in the annunciation, the curator supplied it from his mound of books -- french and german, with photographs and reproductions.
here was the devout asita, the pendant of simeon in the christian story, holding the holy child on his knee while mother and father listened; and here were incidents in the legend of the cousin devadatta.
here was the wicked woman who accused the master of impurity, all confounded; here was the teaching in the deer-park; the miracle that stunned the fire-worshippers; here was the bodhisat in royal state as a prince; the miraculous birth; the death at kusinagara, where the weak disciple fainted; while there were almost countless repetitions of the meditation under the bodhi tree; and the adoration of the alms-bowl was everywhere.
in a few minutes the curator saw that his guest was no mere bead-telling mendicant, but a scholar of parts.
and they went at it all over again, the lama taking snuff, wiping his spectacles, and talking at railway speed in a bewildering mixture of urdu and tibetan.
he had heard of the travels of the chinese pilgrims, fu-hiouen and hwen-tsiang, and was anxious to know if there was any translation of their record.
he drew in his breath as he turned helplessly over the pages of beal and stanislas julien."
tis all here.
a treasure locked."
then he composed himself reverently to listen to fragments hastily rendered into urdu.
for the first time he heard of the labours of european scholars, who by the help of these and a hundred other documents have identified the holy places of buddhism.
then he was shown a mighty map, spotted and traced with yellow.
the brown finger followed the curator's pencil from point to point.
here was kapilavastu, here the middle kingdom, and here mahabodhi, the mecca of buddhism; and here was kusinagara, sad place of the holy one's death.
the old man bowed his head over the sheets in silence for a while, and the curator lit another pipe.
kim had fallen asleep.
when he waked, the talk, still in spate, was more within his comprehension.
"and thus it was, o fountain of wisdom, that i decided to go to the holy places which his foot had trod -- to the birthplace, even to kapila; then to mahabodhi, which is buddh gaya -- to the monastery -- to the deer-park -- to the place of his death."
the lama lowered his voice.
"and i come here alone.
for five -- seven -- eighteen -- forty years it was in my mind that the old law was not well followed; being overlaid, as thou knowest, with devildom, charms, and idolatry.
even as the child outside said but now.
ay, even as the child said, with but-parasti."
"so it comes with all faiths."
"thinkest thou?
the books of my lamassery i read, and they were dried pith; and the later ritual with which we of the reformed law have cumbered ourselves -- that, too, had no worth to these old eyes.
even the followers of the excellent one are at feud on feud with one another.
it is all illusion.
ay, maya, illusion.
but i have another desire" -- the seamed yellow face drew within three inches of the curator, and the long forefinger-nail tapped on the table.
"your scholars, by these books, have followed the blessed feet in all their wanderings; but there are things which they have not sought out.
i know nothing -- nothing do i know -- but i go to free myself from the wheel of things by a broad and open road."
he smiled with most simple triumph.
"as a pilgrim to the holy places i acquire merit.
but there is more.
listen to a true thing.
when our gracious lord, being as yet a youth, sought a mate, men said, in his father's court, that he was too tender for marriage.
thou knowest?"
the curator nodded, wondering what would come next.
"so they made the triple trial of strength against all comers.
and at the test of the bow, our lord first breaking that which they gave him, called for such a bow as none might bend.
thou knowest?"
"it is written.
i have read."
"and, overshooting all other marks, the arrow passed far and far beyond sight.
at the last it fell; and, where it touched earth, there broke out a stream which presently became a river, whose nature, by our lord's beneficence, and that merit he acquired ere he freed himself, is that whoso bathes in it washes away all taint and speckle of sin."
"so it is written," said the curator sadly.
the lama drew a long breath.
"where is that river?
fountain of wisdom, where fell the arrow?"
"alas, my brother, i do not know," said the curator.
"nay, if it please thee to forget -- the one thing only that thou hast not told me.
surely thou must know?
see, i am an old man!
i ask with my head between thy feet, o fountain of wisdom.
we know he drew the bow!
we know the arrow fell!
we know the stream gushed!
where, then, is the river?
my dream told me to find it.
so i came.
i am here.
but where is the river?"
"if i knew, think you i would not cry it aloud?"
"by it one attains freedom from the wheel of things," the lama went on, unheeding.
"the river of the arrow!
think again!
some little stream, maybe -- dried in the heats?
but the holy one would never so cheat an old man.'"
i do not know.
i do not know."
the lama brought his thousand-wrinkled face once more a handsbreadth from the englishman's."
i see thou dost not know.
not being of the law, the matter is hid from thee."
"ay -- hidden -- hidden."
"we are both bound, thou and i, my brother.
but i" -- he rose with a sweep of the soft thick drapery --" i go to cut myself free.
come also!'"
i am bound," said the curator.
"but whither goest thou?"
"first to kashi -lsb- benares -rsb-: where else?
there i shall meet one of the pure faith in a jain temple of that city.
he also is a seeker in secret, and from him haply i may learn.
maybe he will go with me to buddh gaya.
thence north and west to kapilavastu, and there will i seek for the river.
nay, i will seek everywhere as i go -- for the place is not known where the arrow fell."
"and how wilt thou go?
it is a far cry to delhi, and farther to benares."
"by road and the trains.
from pathankot, having left the hills, i came hither in a te-rain.
it goes swiftly.
at first i was amazed to see those tall poles by the side of the road snatching up and snatching up their threads," -- he illustrated the stoop and whirl of a telegraph-pole flashing past the train.
"but later, i was cramped and desired to walk, as i am used."
"and thou art sure of thy road?"
said the curator.
"oh, for that one but asks a question and pays money, and the appointed persons despatch all to the appointed place.
that much i knew in my lamassery from sure report," said the lama proudly.
"and when dost thou go?"
the curator smiled at the mixture of old-world piety and modern progress that is the note of india today.
"as soon as may be.
i follow the places of his life till i come to the river of the arrow.
there is, moreover, a written paper of the hours of the trains that go south."
"and for food?"
lamas, as a rule, have good store of money somewhere about them, but the curator wished to make sure.
"for the journey, i take up the master's begging-bowl.
yes.
even as he went so go i, forsaking the ease of my monastery.
there was with me when i left the hills a chela -lsb- disciple -rsb- who begged for me as the rule demands, but halting in kulu awhile a fever took him and he died.
i have now no chela, but i will take the alms-bowl and thus enable the charitable to acquire merit."
he nodded his head valiantly.
learned doctors of a lamassery do not beg, but the lama was an enthusiast in this quest.
"be it so," said the curator, smiling.
"suffer me now to acquire merit.
we be craftsmen together, thou and i.
here is a new book of white english paper: here be sharpened pencils two and three -- thick and thin, all good for a scribe.
now lend me thy spectacles."
the curator looked through them.
they were heavily scratched, but the power was almost exactly that of his own pair, which he slid into the lama's hand, saying: "try these.'"
a feather!
a very feather upon the face."
the old man turned his head delightedly and wrinkled up his nose.
"how scarcely do i feel them!
how clearly do i see!"
"they be bilaur -- crystal -- and will never scratch.
may they help thee to thy river, for they are thine.'"
i will take them and the pencils and the white note-book," said the lama, "as a sign of friendship between priest and priest -- and now --" he fumbled at his belt, detached the open-work iron pincers, and laid it on the curator's table.
"that is for a memory between thee and me -- my pencase.
it is something old -- even as i am."
it was a piece of ancient design, chinese, of an iron that is not smelted these days; and the collector's heart in the curator's bosom had gone out to it from the first.
for no persuasion would the lama resume his gift.
"when i return, having found the river, i will bring thee a written picture of the padma samthora such as i used to make on silk at the lamassery.
yes -- and of the wheel of life," he chuckled, "for we be craftsmen together, thou and i." the curator would have detained him: they are few in the world who still have the secret of the conventional brush-pen buddhist pictures which are, as it were, half written and half drawn.
but the lama strode out, head high in air, and pausing an instant before the great statue of a bodhisat in meditation, brushed through the turnstiles.
kim followed like a shadow.
what he had overheard excited him wildly.
this man was entirely new to all his experience, and he meant to investigate further, precisely as he would have investigated a new building or a strange festival in lahore city.
the lama was his trove, and he purposed to take possession.
kim's mother had been irish, too.
the old man halted by zam-zammah and looked round till his eye fell on kim.
the inspiration of his pilgrimage had left him for awhile, and he felt old, forlorn, and very empty.
"do not sit under that gun," said the policeman loftily.
"huh!
owl!"
was kim's retort on the lama's behalf.
"sit under that gun if it please thee.
when didst thou steal the milkwoman's slippers, dunnoo?"
that was an utterly unfounded charge sprung on the spur of the moment, but it silenced dunnoo, who knew that kim's clear yell could call up legions of bad bazaar boys if need arose.
"and whom didst thou worship within?"
said kim affably, squatting in the shade beside the lama."
i worshipped none, child.
i bowed before the excellent law."
kim accepted this new god without emotion.
he knew already a few score.
"and what dost thou do?'"
i beg.
i remember now it is long since i have eaten or drunk.
what is the custom of charity in this town?
in silence, as we do of tibet, or speaking aloud?"
"those who beg in silence starve in silence," said kim, quoting a native proverb.
the lama tried to rise, but sank back again, sighing for his disciple, dead in far-away kulu.
kim watched head to one side, considering and interested.
"give me the bowl.
i know the people of this city -- all who are charitable.
give, and i will bring it back filled."
simply as a child the old man handed him the bowl.
"rest, thou.
i know the people."
he trotted off to the open shop of a kunjri, a low-caste vegetable-seller, which lay opposite the belt-tramway line down the motee bazar.
she knew kim of old.
"oho, hast thou turned yogi with thy begging-bowl?"
she cried.
"nay."
said kim proudly.
"there is a new priest in the city -- a man such as i have never seen."
"old priest -- young tiger," said the woman angrily."
i am tired of new priests!
they settle on our wares like flies.
is the father of my son a well of charity to give to all who ask?"
"no," said kim.
"thy man is rather yagi -lsb- bad-tempered -rsb- than yogi -lsb- a holy man -rsb-.
but this priest is new.
the sahib in the wonder house has talked to him like a brother.
o my mother, fill me this bowl.
he waits."
"that bowl indeed!
that cow-bellied basket!
thou hast as much grace as the holy bull of shiv.
he has taken the best of a basket of onions already, this morn; and forsooth, i must fill thy bowl.
he comes here again."
the huge, mouse-coloured brahmini bull of the ward was shouldering his way through the many-coloured crowd, a stolen plantain hanging out of his mouth.
he headed straight for the shop, well knowing his privileges as a sacred beast, lowered his head, and puffed heavily along the line of baskets ere making his choice.
up flew kim's hard little heel and caught him on his moist blue nose.
he snorted indignantly, and walked away across the tram-rails, his hump quivering with rage.
"see!
i have saved more than the bowl will cost thrice over.
now, mother, a little rice and some dried fish atop -- yes, and some vegetable curry."
a growl came out of the back of the shop, where a man lay.
"he drove away the bull," said the woman in an undertone.
"it is good to give to the poor."
she took the bowl and returned it full of hot rice.
"but my yogi is not a cow," said kim gravely, making a hole with his fingers in the top of the mound."
a little curry is good, and a fried cake, and a morsel of conserve would please him, i think."
"it is a hole as big as thy head," said the woman fretfully.
but she filled it, none the less, with good, steaming vegetable curry, clapped a fried cake atop, and a morsel of clarified butter on the cake, dabbed a lump of sour tamarind conserve at the side; and kim looked at the load lovingly.
"that is good.
when i am in the bazar the bull shall not come to this house.
he is a bold beggar-man."
"and thou?"
laughed the woman.
"but speak well of bulls.
hast thou not told me that some day a red bull will come out of a field to help thee?
now hold all straight and ask for the holy man's blessing upon me.
perhaps, too, he knows a cure for my daughter's sore eyes.
ask.
him that also, o thou little friend of all the world."
but kim had danced off ere the end of the sentence, dodging pariah dogs and hungry acquaintances.
"thus do we beg who know the way of it," said he proudly to the lama, who opened his eyes at the contents of the bowl.
"eat now and -- i will eat with thee.
ohe, bhisti!"
he called to the water-carrier, sluicing the crotons by the museum.
"give water here.
we men are thirsty."
"we men!"
said the bhisti, laughing.
"is one skinful enough for such a pair?
drink, then, in the name of the compassionate."
he loosed a thin stream into kim's hands, who drank native fashion; but the lama must needs pull out a cup from his inexhaustible upper draperies and drink ceremonially.
"pardesi -lsb- a foreigner -rsb-," kim explained, as the old man delivered in an unknown tongue what was evidently a blessing.
they ate together in great content, clearing the beggingbowl.
then the lama took snuff from a portentous wooden snuff-gourd, fingered his rosary awhile, and so dropped into the easy sleep of age, as the shadow of zam-zammah grew long.
kim loafed over to the nearest tobacco-seller, a rather lively young mohammedan woman, and begged a rank cigar of the brand that they sell to students of the punjab university who copy english customs.
then he smoked and thought, knees to chin, under the belly of the gun, and the outcome of his thoughts was a sudden and stealthy departure in the direction of nila ram's timber-yard.
the lama did not wake till the evening life of the city had begun with lamp-lighting and the return of white-robed clerks and subordinates from the government offices.
he stared dizzily in all directions, but none looked at him save a hindu urchin in a dirty turban and isabella-coloured clothes.
suddenly he bowed his head on his knees and wailed.
"what is this?"
said the boy, standing before him.
"hast thou been robbed?"
"it is my new chela -lsb- disciple -rsb- that is gone away from me, and i know not where he is."
"and what like of man was thy disciple?"
"it was a boy who came to me in place of him who died, on account of the merit which i had gained when i bowed before the law within there."
he pointed towards the museum.
"he came upon me to show me a road which i had lost.
he led me into the wonder house, and by his talk emboldened me to speak to the keeper of the images, so that i was cheered and made strong.
and when i was faint with hunger he begged for me, as would a chela for his teacher.
suddenly was he sent.
suddenly has he gone away.
it was in my mind to have taught him the law upon the road to benares."
kim stood amazed at this, because he had overheard the talk in the museum, and knew that the old man was speaking the truth, which is a thing a native on the road seldom presents to a stranger.
"but i see now that he was but sent for a purpose.
by this i know that i shall find a certain river for which i seek."
"the river of the arrow?"
said kim, with a superior smile.
"is this yet another sending?"
cried the lama.
"to none have i spoken of my search, save to the priest of the images.
who art thou?"
"thy chela," said kim simply, sitting on his heels."
i have never seen anyone like to thee in all this my life.
i go with thee to benares.
and, too, i think that so old a man as thou, speaking the truth to chance-met people at dusk, is in great need of a disciple."
"but the river -- the river of the arrow?"
"oh, that i heard when thou wast speaking to the englishman.
i lay against the door."
the lama sighed."
i thought thou hadst been a guide permitted.
such things fall sometimes -- but i am not worthy.
thou dost not, then, know the river?"
"not i," kim laughed uneasily."
i go to look for -- for a bull -- a red.
bull on a green field who shall help me."
boylike, if an acquaintance had a scheme, kim was quite ready with one of his own; and, boylike, he had really thought for as much as twenty minutes at a time of his father's prophecy.
"to what, child?"
said the lama.
"god knows, but so my father told me".
i heard thy talk in the wonder house of all those new strange places in the hills, and if one so old and so little -- so used to truth-telling -- may go out for the small matter of a river, it seemed to me that i too must go a-travelling.
if it is our fate to find those things we shall find them -- thou, thy river; and i, my bull, and the strong pillars and some other matters that i forget."
"it is not pillars but a wheel from which i would be free," said the lama.
"that is all one.
perhaps they will make me a king," said kim, serenely prepared for anything."
i will teach thee other and better desires upon the road," the lama replied in the voice of authority.
"let us go to benares."
"not by night.
thieves are abroad.
wait till the day."
"but there is no place to sleep."
the old man was used to the order of his monastery, and though he slept on the ground, as the rule decrees, preferred a decency in these things.
"we shall get good lodging at the kashmir serai," said kim, laughing at his perplexity."
i have a friend there.
come!"
the hot and crowded bazars blazed with light as they made their way through the press of all the races in upper india, and the lama mooned through it like a man in a dream.
it was his first experience of a large manufacturing city, and the crowded tram-car with its continually squealing brakes frightened him.
half pushed, half towed, he arrived at the high gate of the kashmir serai: that huge open square over against the railway station, surrounded with arched cloisters, where the camel and horse caravans put up on their return from central asia.
here were all manner of northern folk, tending tethered ponies and kneeling camels; loading and unloading bales and bundles; drawing water for the evening meal at the creaking well-windlasses; piling grass before the shrieking, wild-eyed stallions; cuffing the surly caravan dogs; paying off camel-drivers; taking on new grooms; swearing, shouting, arguing, and chaffering in the packed square.
the cloisters, reached by three or four masonry steps, made a haven of refuge around this turbulent sea.
most of them were rented to traders, as we rent the arches of a viaduct; the space between pillar and pillar being bricked or boarded off into rooms, which were guarded by heavy wooden doors and cumbrous native padlocks.
locked doors showed that the owner was away, and a few rude -- sometimes very rude -- chalk or paint scratches told where he had gone.
thus: "lutuf ullah is gone to kurdistan."
below, in coarse verse: "o allah, who sufferest lice to live on the coat of a kabuli, why hast thou allowed this louse lutuf to live so long?"
kim, fending the lama between excited men and excited beasts, sidled along the cloisters to the far end, nearest therailway station, where mahbub ali, the horse-trader, lived when he came in from that mysterious land beyond the passes of the north.
kim had had many dealings with mahbub in his little life, especially between his tenth and his thirteenth year -- and the big burly afghan, his beard dyed scarlet with lime -lrb- for he was elderly and did not wish his grey hairs to show -rrb-, knew the boy's value as a gossip.
sometimes he would tell kim to watch a man who had nothing whatever to do with horses: to follow him for one whole day and report every soul with whom he talked.
kim would deliver himself of his tale at evening, and mahbub would listen without a word or gesture.
it was intrigue of some kind, kim knew; but its worth lay in saying nothing whatever to anyone except mahbub, who gave him beautiful meals all hot from the cookshop at the head of the serai, and once as much as eight annas in money.
"he is here," said kim, hitting a bad-tempered camel on the nose.
"ohe.
mahbub ali!"
he halted at a dark arch and slipped behind the bewildered lama.
the horse-trader, his deep, embroidered bokhariot belt unloosed, was lying on a pair of silk carpet saddle-bags, pulling lazily at an immense silver hookah.
he turned his head very slightly at the cry; and seeing only the tall silent figure, chuckled in his deep chest.
"allah!
a lama!
a red lama!
it is far from lahore to the passes.
what dost thou do here?"
the lama held out the begging-bowl mechanically.
"god's curse on all unbelievers!"
said mahbub."
i do not give to a lousy tibetan; but ask my baltis over yonder behind the camels.
they may value your blessings.
oh, horseboys, here is a countryman of yours.
see if he be hungry."
a shaven, crouching balti, who had come down with the horses, and who was nominally some sort of degraded buddhist, fawned upon the priest, and in thick gutturals besought the holy one to sit at the horseboys" fire.
"go!"
said kim, pushing him lightly, and the lama strode away, leaving kim at the edge of the cloister.
"go!"
said mahbub ali, returning to his hookah.
"little hindu, run away.
god's curse on all unbelievers!
beg from those of my tail who are of thy faith."
"maharaj," whined kim, using the hindu form of address, and thoroughly enjoying the situation; "my father is dead -- my mother is dead -- my stomach is empty."
"beg from my men among the horses, i say.
there must be some hindus in my tail."
"oh, mahbub ali, but am i a hindu?"
said kim in english.
the trader gave no sign of astonishment, but looked under shaggy eyebrows.
"little friend of all the world," said he, "what is this?"
"nothing.
i am now that holy man's disciple; and we go a pilgrimage together -- to benares, he says.
he is quite mad, and i am tired of lahore city.
i wish new air and water."
"but for whom dost thou work?
why come to me?"
the voice was harsh with suspicion.
"to whom else should i come?
i have no money.
it is not good to go about without money.
thou wilt sell many horses to the officers.
they are very fine horses, these new ones: i have seen them.
give me a rupee, mahbub ali, and when i come to my wealth i will give thee a bond and pay."
"um!"
said mahbub ali, thinking swiftly.
"thou hast never before lied to me.
call that lama -- stand back in the dark."
"oh, our tales will agree," said kim, laughing.
"we go to benares," said the lama, as soon as he understood the drift of mahbub ali's questions.
"the boy and i, i go to seek for a certain river."
"maybe -- but the boy?"
"he is my disciple.
he was sent, i think, to guide me to that river.
sitting under a gun was i when he came suddenly.
such things have befallen the fortunate to whom guidance was allowed.
but i remember now, he said he was of this world -- a hindu."
"and his name?"
"that i did not ask.
is he not my disciple?"
"his country -- his race -- his village?
mussalman -- sikh hindu -- jain -- low caste or high?"
"why should i ask?
there is neither high nor low in the middle way.
if he is my chela -- does -- will -- can anyone take him from me?
for, look you, without him i shall not find my river."
he wagged his head solemnly.
"none shall take him from thee.
go, sit among my baltis," said mahbub ali, and the lama drifted off, soothed by the promise.
"is he not quite mad?"
said kim, coming forward to the light again.
"why should i lie to thee, hajji?"
mahbub puffed his hookah in silence.
then he began, almost whispering: "umballa is on the road to benares -- if indeed ye two go there."
"tck!
tck!
i tell thee he does not know how to lie -- as we two know."
"and if thou wilt carry a message for me as far as umballa, i will give thee money.
it concerns a horse -- a white stallion which i have sold to an officer upon the last time i returned from the passes.
but then -- stand nearer and hold up hands as begging -- the pedigree of the white stallion was not fully established, and that officer, who is now at umballa, bade me make it clear."
-lrb- mahbub here described the horse and the appearance of the officer. -rrb-
"so the message to that officer will be: "the pedigree of the white stallion is fully established."
by this will he know that thou comest from me.
he will then say "what proof hast thou?"
and thou wilt answer: "mahbub ali has given me the proof.""
"and all for the sake of a white stallion," said kim, with a giggle, his eyes aflame.
"that pedigree i will give thee now -- in my own fashion and some hard words as well."
a shadow passed behind kim, and a feeding camel.
mahbub ali raised his voice.
"allah!
art thou the only beggar in the city?
thy mother is dead.
thy father is dead.
so is it with all of them.
well, well --" he turned as feeling on the floor beside him and tossed a flap of soft, greasy mussalman bread to the boy.
"go and lie down among my horseboys for tonight -- thou and the lama.
tomorrow i may give thee service."
kim slunk away, his teeth in the bread, and, as he expected, he found a small wad of folded tissue-paper wrapped in oilskin, with three silver rupees -- enormous largesse.
he smiled and thrust money and paper into his leather amulet-case.
the lama, sumptuously fed by mahbub's baltis, was already asleep in a corner of one of the stalls.
kim lay down beside him and laughed.
he knew he had rendered a service to mahbub ali, and not for one little minute did he believe the tale of the stallion's pedigree.
but kim did not suspect that mahbub ali, known as one of the best horse-dealers in the punjab, a wealthy and enterprising trader, whose caravans penetrated far and far into the back of beyond, was registered in one of the locked books of the indian survey department as c25 ib.
twice or thrice yearly c25 would send in a little story, baldly told but most interesting, and generally -- it was checked by the statements of r17 and m4 -- quite true.
it concerned all manner of out-of-the-way mountain principalities, explorers of nationalities other than english, and the guntrade -- was, in brief, a small portion of that vast mass of "information received" on which the indian government acts.
but, recently, five confederated kings, who had no business to confederate, had been informed by a kindly northern power that there was a leakage of news from their territories into british india.
so those kings" prime ministers were seriously annoyed and took steps, after the oriental fashion.
they suspected, among many others, the bullying, red-bearded horsedealer whose caravans ploughed through their fastnesses belly-deep in snow.
at least, his caravan that season had been ambushed and shot at twice on the way down, when mahbub's men accounted for three strange ruffians who might, or might not, have been hired for the job.
therefore mahbub had avoided halting at the insalubrious city of peshawur, and had come through without stop to lahore, where, knowing his country-people, he anticipated curious developments.
and there was that on mahbub ali which he did not wish to keep an hour longer than was necessary -- a wad of closely folded tissue-paper, wrapped in oilskin -- an impersonal, unaddressed statement, with five microscopic pin-holes in one corner, that most scandalously betrayed the five confederated kings, the sympathetic northern power, a hindu banker in peshawur, a firm of gun-makers in belgium, and an important, semi-independent mohammedan ruler to the south.
this last was r17's work, which mahbub had picked up beyond the dora pass and was carrying in for r17, who, owing to circumstances over which he had no control, could not leave his post of observation.
dynamite was milky and innocuous beside that report of c25; and even an oriental, with an oriental's views of the value of time, could see that the sooner it was in the proper hands the better.
mahbub had no particular desire to die by violence, because two or three family blood-feuds across the border hung unfinished on his hands, and when these scores were cleared he intended to settle down as a more or less virtuous citizen.
he had never passed the serai gate since his arrival two days ago, but had been ostentatious in sending telegrams to bombay, where he banked some of his money; to delhi, where a sub-partner of his own clan was selling horses to the agent of a rajputana state; and to umballa, where an englishman was excitedly demanding the pedigree of a white stallion.
the public letter-writer, who knew english, composed excellent telegrams, such as: "creighton, laurel bank, umballa.
horse is arabian as already advised.
sorrowful delayed pedigree which am translating."
and later to the same address: "much sorrowful delay.
will forward pedigree."
to his sub-partner at delhi he wired: "lutuf ullah.
have wired two thousand rupees your credit luchman narain's bank --" this was entirely in the way of trade, but every one of those telegrams was discussed and rediscussed, by parties who conceived themselves to be interested, before they went over to the railway station in charge of a foolish balti, who allowed all sorts of people to read them on the road.
when, in mahbub's own picturesque language, he had muddied the wells of inquiry with the stick of precaution, kim had dropped on him, sent from heaven; and, being as prompt as he was unscrupulous, mahbub ali used to taking all sorts of gusty chances, pressed him into service on the spot.
a wandering lama with a low-caste boy-servant might attract a moment's interest as they wandered about india, the land of pilgrims; but no one would suspect them or, what was more to the point, rob.
he called for a new light-ball to his hookah, and considered the case.
if the worst came to the worst, and the boy came to harm, the paper would incriminate nobody.
and he would go up to umballa leisurely and -- at a certain risk of exciting fresh suspicion -- repeat his tale by word of mouth to the people concerned.
but r17's report was the kernel of the whole affair, and it would be distinctly inconvenient if that failed to come to hand.
however, god was great, and mahbub ali felt he had done all he could for the time being.
kim was the one soul in the world who had never told him a lie.
that would have been a fatal blot on kim's character if mahbub had not known that to others, for his own ends or mahbub's business, kim could lie like an oriental.
then mahbub ali rolled across the serai to the gate of the harpies who paint their eyes and trap the stranger, and was at some pains to call on the one girl who, he had reason to believe, was a particular friend of a smooth-faced kashmiri pundit who had waylaid his simple balti in the matter of the telegrams.
it was an utterly foolish thing to do; because they fell to drinking perfumed brandy against the law of the prophet, and mahbub grew wonderfully drunk, and the gates of his mouth were loosened, and he pursued the flower of delight with the feet of intoxication till he fell flat among the cushions, where the flower of delight, aided by a smooth-faced kashmiri pundit, searched him from head to foot most thoroughly.
about the same hour kim heard soft feet in mahbub's deserted stall.
the horse-trader, curiously enough, had left his door unlocked, and his men were busy celebrating their return to india with a whole sheep of mahbub's bounty.
a sleek young gentleman from delhi, armed with a bunch of keys which the flower had unshackled from the senseless one's belt, went through every single box, bundle, mat, and saddle-bag in mahbub's possession even more systematically than the flower and the pundit were searching the owner.
"and i think."
said the flower scornfully an hour later, one rounded elbow on the snoring carcass, "that he is no more than a pig of an afghan horse-dealer, with no thought except women and horses.
moreover, he may have sent it away by now -- if ever there were such a thing."
"nay -- in a matter touching five kings it would be next his black heart," said the pundit.
"was there nothing?"
the delhi man laughed and resettled his turban as he entered."
i searched between the soles of his slippers as the flower searched his clothes.
this is not the man but another.
i leave little unseen."
"they did not say he was the very man," said the pundit thoughtfully.
"they said, "look if he be the man, since our counsels are troubled.""
"that north country is full of horse-dealers as an old coat of lice.
there is sikandar khan, nur ali beg, and farrukh shah all heads of kafilas -lsb- caravans -rsb- -- who deal there," said the flower.
"they have not yet come in," said the pundit.
"thou must ensnare them later."
phew!"
said the flower with deep disgust, rolling mahbub's head from her lap."
i earn my money.
farrukh shah is a bear, ali beg a swashbuckler, and old sikandar khan -- yaie!
go!
i sleep now.
this swine will not stir till dawn."
when mahbub woke, the flower talked to him severely on the sin of drunkenness.
asiatics do not wink when they have outmanoeuvred an enemy, but as mahbub ali cleared his throat, tightened his belt, and staggered forth under the early morning stars, he came very near to it.
"what a colt's trick!"
said he to himself.
"as if every girl in peshawur did not use it!
but't was prettily done.
now god he knows how many more there be upon the road who have orders to test me -- perhaps with the knife.
so it stands that the boy must go to umballa -- and by rail -- for the writing is something urgent.
i abide here, following the flower and drinking wine as an afghan coper should."
he halted at the stall next but one to his own.
his men lay there heavy with sleep.
there was no sign of kim or the lama.
"up!"
he stirred a sleeper.
"whither went those who lay here last even -- the lama and the boy?
is aught missing?"
"nay," grunted the man, "the old madman rose at second cockcrow saying he would go to benares, and the young one led him away."
"the curse of allah on all unbelievers!"
said mahbub heartily, and climbed into his own stall, growling in his beard.
but it was kim who had wakened the lama -- kim with one eye laid against a knot-hole in the planking, who had seen the delhi man's search through the boxes.
this was no common thief that turned over letters, bills, and saddles -- no mere burglar who ran a little knife sideways into the soles of mahbub's slippers, or picked the seams of the saddle-bags so deftly.
at first kim had been minded to give the alarm -- the long-drawn choor -- choor!
-lsb- thief!
thief! -rsb-
that sets the serai ablaze of nights; but he looked more carefully, and, hand on amulet, drew his own conclusions.
"it must be the pedigree of that made-up horse-lie," said he, "the thing that i carry to umballa.
better that we go now.
those who search bags with knives may presently search bellies with knives.
surely there is a woman behind this.
hai!
hai!
in a whisper to the light-sleeping old man.
"come.
it is time -- time to go to benares."
the lama rose obediently, and they passed out of the serai like shadows.
chapter 2 and whoso will, from pride released; contemning neither creed nor priest, may feel the soul of all the east.
about him at kamakura.
buddha at kamakura.
they entered the fort-like railway station, black in the end of night; the electrics sizzling over the goods-yard where they handle the heavy northern grain-traffic.
"this is the work of devils!"
said the lama, recoiling from the hollow echoing darkness, the glimmer of rails between the masonry platforms, and the maze of girders above.
he stood in a gigantic stone hall paved, it seemed, with the sheeted dead third-class passengers who had taken their tickets overnight and were sleeping in the waiting-rooms.
all hours of the twenty-four are alike to orientals, and their passenger traffic is regulated accordingly.
"this is where the fire-carriages come.
one stands behind that hole" -- kim pointed to the ticket-office -- "who will give thee a paper to take thee to umballa."
"but we go to benares," he replied petulantly.
"all one.
benares then.
quick: she comes!"
"take thou the purse."
the lama, not so well used to trains as he had pretended, started as the 3.25 a.m. south-bound roared in.
the sleepers sprang to life, and the station filled with clamour and shoutings, cries of water and sweetmeat vendors, shouts of native policemen, and shrill yells of women gathering up their baskets, their families, and their husbands.
"it is the train -- only the te-rain.
it will not come here.
wait!"
amazed at the lama's immense simplicity -lrb- he had handed him a small bag full of rupees -rrb-, kim asked and paid for a ticket to umballa.
a sleepy clerk grunted and flung out a ticket to the next station, just six miles distant.
"nay," said kim, scanning it with a grin.
"this may serve for farmers, but i live in the city of lahore.
it was cleverly done, babu.
now give the ticket to umballa."
the babu scowled and dealt the proper ticket.
"now another to amritzar," said kim, who had no notion of spending mahbub ali's money on anything so crude as a paid ride to umballa.
"the price is so much.
the small money in return is just so much.
i know the ways of the te-rain... never did yogi need chela as thou dost," he went on merrily to the bewildered lama.
"they would have flung thee out at mian mir but for me.
this way!
come!"
he returned the money, keeping only one anna in each rupee of the price of the umballa ticket as his commission -- the immemorial commission of asia.
the lama jibbed at the open door of a crowded third-class carriage.
"were it not better to walk?"
said he weakly.
a burly sikh artisan thrust forth his bearded head.
"is he afraid?
do not be afraid.
i remember the time when i was afraid of the te-rain.
enter!
this thing is the work of the government.'"
i do not fear," said the lama.
"have ye room within for two?"
"there is no room even for a mouse," shrilled the wife of a well-to-do cultivator -- a hindu jat from the rich jullundur, district.
our night trains are not as well looked after as the day ones, where the sexes are very strictly kept to separate carriages.
"oh, mother of my son, we can make space," said the blueturbaned husband.
"pick up the child.
it is a holy man, see "st thou?"
"and my lap full of seventy times seven bundles!
why not bid him sit on my knee, shameless?
but men are ever thus!"
she looked round for approval.
an amritzar courtesan near the window sniffed behind her head drapery.
"enter!
enter!"
cried a fat hindu money-lender, his folded account-book in a cloth under his arm.
with an oily smirk: "it is well to be kind to the poor."
"ay, at seven per cent a month with a mortgage on the unborn calf," said a young dogra soldier going south on leave; and they all laughed.
"will it travel to benares?"
said the lama.
"assuredly.
else why should we come?
enter, or we are left," cried kim.
"see!"
shrilled the amritzar girl.
"he has never entered a train.
oh, see!"
"nay, help," said the cultivator, putting out a large brown hand and hauling him in.
"thus is it done, father."
"but -- but -- i sit on the floor.
it is against the rule to sit on a bench," said the lama.
"moreover, it cramps me.'"
i say," began the money-lender, pursing his lips, "that there is not one rule of right living which these te-rains do not cause us to break.
we sit, for example, side by side with all castes and peoples."
"yea, and with most outrageously shameless ones," said the wife, scowling at the amritzar girl making eyes at the young sepoy."
i said we might have gone by cart along the road," said the husband, "and thus have saved some money."
"yes -- and spent twice over what we saved on food by the way.
that was talked out ten thousand times."
"ay, by ten thousand tongues," grunted he.
"the gods help us poor women if we may not speak.
oho!
he is of that sort which may not look at or reply to a woman."
for the lama, constrained by his rule, took not the faintest notice of her.
"and his disciple is like him?"
"nay, mother," said kim most promptly.
"not when the woman is well-looking and above all charitable to the hungry.'"
a beggar's answer," said the sikh, laughing.
"thou hast brought it on thyself, sister!"
kim's hands were crooked in supplication.
"and whither goest thou?"
said the woman, handing him the half of a cake from a greasy package.
"even to benares."
"jugglers belike?"
the young soldier suggested.
"have ye any tricks to pass the time?
why does not that yellow man answer?"
"because," said kim stoutly, "he is holy, and thinks upon matters hidden from thee."
"that may be well.
we of the ludhiana sikhs" -- he rolled it out sonorously -- "do not trouble our heads with doctrine.
we fight."
"my sister's brother's son is naik -lsb- corporal -rsb- in that regiment," said the sikh craftsman quietly.
"there are also some dogra companies there."
the soldier glared, for a dogra is of other caste than a sikh, and the banker tittered.
"they are all one to me," said the amritzar girl.
"that we believe," snorted the cultivator's wife malignantly.
"nay, but all who serve the sirkar with weapons in their hands are, as it were, one brotherhood.
there is one brotherhood of the caste, but beyond that again" -- she looked round timidly -- "the bond of the pulton -- the regiment -- eh?"
"my brother is in a jat regiment," said the cultivator.
"dogras be good men."
"thy sikhs at least were of that opinion," said the soldier, with a scowl at the placid old man in the corner.
"thy sikhs thought so when our two companies came to help them at the pirzai kotal in the face of eight afridi standards on the ridge not three months gone."
he told the story of a border action in which the dogra companies of the ludhiana sikhs had acquitted themselves well.
the amritzar girl smiled; for she knew the talk was to win her approval.
"alas!"
said the cultivator's wife at the end.
"so their villages were burnt and their little children made homeless?"
"they had marked our dead.
they paid a great payment after we of the sikhs had schooled them.
so it was.
is this amritzar?"
"ay, and here they cut our tickets," said the banker, fumbling at his belt.
the lamps were paling in the dawn when the half-caste guard came round.
ticket-collecting is a slow business in the east, where people secrete their tickets in all sorts of curious places.
kim produced his and was told to get out.
"but i go to umballa," he protested."
i go with this holy man."
"thou canst go to jehannum for aught i care.
this ticket is only --" kim burst into a flood of tears, protesting that the lama was his father and his mother, that he was the prop of the lama's declining years, and that the lama would die without his care.
all the carriage bade the guard be merciful -- the banker was specially eloquent here -- but the guard hauled kim on to the platform.
the lama blinked -- he could not overtake the situation and kim lifted up his voice and wept outside the carriage window."
i am very poor.
my father is dead -- my mother is dead.
o charitable ones, if i am left here, who shall tend that old man?"
"what -- what is this?"
the lama repeated.
"he must go to benares.
he must come with me.
he is my chela.
if there is money to be paid --" "oh, be silent," whispered kim; "are we rajahs to throw away good silver when the world is so charitable?"
the amritzar girl stepped out with her bundles, and it was on her that kim kept his watchful eye.
ladies of that persuasion, he knew, were generous."
a ticket -- a little tikkut to umballa -- o breaker of hearts!"
she laughed.
"hast thou no charity?"
"does the holy man come from the north?"
"from far and far in the north he comes," cried kim.
"from among the hills."
"there is snow among the pine-trees in the north -- in the hills there is snow.
my mother was from kulu.
get thee a ticket.
ask him for a blessing."
"ten thousand blessings," shrilled kim."
o holy one, a woman has given us in charity so that i can come with thee -- a woman with a golden heart.
i run for the tikkut."
the girl looked up at the lama, who had mechanically followed kim to the platform.
he bowed his head that he might not see her, and muttered in tibetan as she passed on with the crowd.
"light come -- light go," said the cultivator's wife viciously.
"she has acquired merit," returned the lama.
"beyond doubt it was a nun."
"there be ten thousand such nuns in amritzar alone.
return, old man, or the te-rain may depart without thee," cried the banker.
"not only was it sufficient for the ticket, but for a little food also," said kim, leaping to his place.
"now eat, holy one.
look.
day comes!"
golden, rose, saffron, and pink, the morning mists smoked away across the flat green levels.
all the rich punjab lay out in the splendour of the keen sun.
the lama flinched a little as the telegraph-posts swung by.
"great is the speed of the te-rain," said the banker, with a patronizing grin.
"we have gone farther since lahore than thou couldst walk in two days: at even, we shall enter umballa."
"and that is still far from benares," said the lama wearily, mumbling over the cakes that kim offered.
they all unloosed their bundles and made their morning meal.
then the banker, the cultivator, and the soldier prepared their pipes and wrapped the compartment in choking, acrid smoke, spitting and coughing and enjoying themselves.
the sikh and the cultivator's wife chewed pan; the lama took snuff and told his beads, while kim, cross-legged, smiled over the comfort of a full stomach.
"what rivers have ye by benares?"
said the lama of a sudden to the carriage at large.
"we have gunga," returned the banker, when the little titter had subsided.
"what others?"
"what other than gunga?"
"nay, but in my mind was the thought of a certain river of healing."
"that is gunga.
who bathes in her is made clean and goes to the gods.
thrice have i made pilgrimage to gunga."
he looked round proudly.
"there was need," said the young sepoy drily, and the travellers" laugh turned against the banker.
"clean -- to return again to the gods," the lama muttered.
"and to go forth on the round of lives anew -- still tied to the wheel."
he shook his head testily.
"but maybe there is a mistake.
who, then, made gunga in the beginning?"
"the gods.
of what known faith art thou?"
the banker said, appalled."
i follow the law -- the most excellent law.
so it was the gods that made gunga.
what like of gods were they?"
the carriage looked at him in amazement.
it was inconceivable that anyone should be ignorant of gunga.
"what -- what is thy god?"
said the money-lender at last.
"hear!"
said the lama, shifting the rosary to his hand.
"hear: for i speak of him now!
o people of hind, listen!"
he began in urdu the tale of the lord buddha, but, borne by his own thoughts, slid into tibetan and long-droned texts from a chinese book of the buddha's life.
the gentle, tolerant folk looked on reverently.
all india is full of holy men stammering gospels in strange tongues; shaken and consumed in the fires of their own zeal; dreamers, babblers, and visionaries: as it has been from the beginning and will continue to the end.
"um!"
said the soldier of the ludhiana sikhs.
"there was a mohammedan regiment lay next to us at the pirzai kotal, and a priest of theirs -- he was, as i remember, a naik -- when the fit was on him, spake prophecies.
but the mad all are in god's keeping.
his officers overlooked much in that man."
the lama fell back on urdu, remembering that he was in a strange land.
"hear the tale of the arrow which our lord loosed from the bow," he said.
this was much more to their taste, and they listened curiously while he told it.
"now, o people of hind, i go to seek that river.
know ye aught that may guide me, for we be all men and women in evil case."
"there is gunga -- and gunga alone -- who washes away sin."
ran the murmur round the carriage.
"though past question we have good gods jullundur-way," said the cultivator's wife, looking out of the window.
"see how they have blessed the crops."
"to search every river in the punjab is no small matter," said her husband.
"for me, a stream that leaves good silt on my land suffices, and i thank bhumia, the god of the home-stead."
he shrugged one knotted, bronzed shoulder.
"think you our lord came so far north?"
said the lama, turning to kim.
"it may be," kim replied soothingly, as he spat red pan-juice on the floor.
"the last of the great ones," said the sikh with authority, "was sikander julkarn -lsb- alexander the great -rsb-.
he paved the streets of jullundur and built a great tank near umballa.
that pavement holds to this day; and the tank is there also.
i never heard of thy god."
"let thy hair grow long and talk punjabi," said the young soldier jestingly to kim, quoting a northern proverb.
"that is all that makes a sikh."
but he did not say this very loud.
the lama sighed and shrank into himself, a dingy, shapeless mass.
in the pauses of their talk they could hear the low droning "om mane pudme hum!
om mane pudme hum!"
-- and the thick click of the wooden rosary beads.
"it irks me," he said at last.
"the speed and the clatter irk me.
moreover, my chela, i think that maybe we have over-passed that river."
"peace, peace," said kim.
"was not the river near benares?
we are yet far from the place."
"but -- if our lord came north, it may be any one of these little ones that we have run across.'"
i do not know."
"but thou wast sent to me -- wast thou sent to me?
-- for the merit i had acquired over yonder at such-zen.
from beside the cannon didst thou come -- bearing two faces -- and two garbs."
"peace.
one must not speak of these things here," whispered kim.
"there was but one of me.
think again and thou wilt remember.
a boy -- a hindu boy -- by the great green cannon."
"but was there not also an englishman with a white beard holy among images -- who himself made more sure my assurance of the river of the arrow?"
"he -- we -- went to the ajaib-gher in lahore to pray before the gods there," kim explained to the openly listening company.
"and the sahib of the wonder house talked to him -- yes, this is truth as a brother.
he is a very holy man, from far beyond the hills.
rest, thou.
in time we come to umballa."
"but my river -- the river of my healing?"
"and then, if it please thee, we will go hunting for that river on foot.
so that we miss nothing -- not even a little rivulet in a field-side."
"but thou hast a search of thine own?"
the lama -- very pleased that he remembered so well -- sat bolt upright.
"ay," said kim, humouring him.
the boy was entirely happy to be out chewing pan and seeing new people in the great good-tempered world.
"it was a bull -- a red bull that shall come and help thee and carry thee -- whither?
i have forgotten.
a red bull on a green field, was it not?"
"nay, it will carry me nowhere," said kim.
"it is but a tale i told thee."
"what is this?"
the cultivator's wife leaned forward, her bracelets clinking on her arm.
"do ye both dream dreams?
a red bull on a green field, that shall carry thee to the heavens or what?
was it a vision?
did one make a prophecy?
we have a red bull in our village behind jullundur city, and he grazes by choice in the very greenest of our fields!"
"give a woman an old wife's tale and a weaver-bird a leaf and a thread", they will weave wonderful things," said the sikh.
"all holy men dream dreams, and by following holy men their disciples attain that power.'"
a red bull on a green field, was it?"
the lama repeated.
"in a former life it may be thou hast acquired merit, and the bull will come to reward thee."
"nay -- nay -- it was but a tale one told to me -- for a jest belike.
but i will seek the bull about umballa, and thou canst look for thy river and rest from the clatter of the train."
"it may be that the bull knows -- that he is sent to guide us both."
said the lama, hopefully as a child.
then to the company, indicating kim: "this one was sent to me but yesterday.
he is not, i think, of this world."
"beggars aplenty have i met, and holy men to boot, but never such a yogi nor such a disciple," said the woman.
her husband touched his forehead lightly with one finger and smiled.
but the next time the lama would eat they took care to give him of their best.
and at last -- tired, sleepy, and dusty -- they reached umballa city station.
"we abide here upon a law-suit," said the cultivator's wife to kim.
"we lodge with my man's cousin's younger brother.
there is room also in the courtyard for thy yogi and for thee.
will -- will he give me a blessing?'"
o holy man!
a woman with a heart of gold gives us lodging for the night.
it is a kindly land, this land of the south.
see how we have been helped since the dawn!"
the lama bowed his head in benediction.
"to fill my cousin's younger brother's house with wastrels --" the husband began, as he shouldered his heavy bamboo staff.
"thy cousin's younger brother owes my father's cousin something yet on his daughter's marriage-feast," said the woman crisply.
"let him put their food to that account.
the yogi will beg, i doubt not."
"ay, i beg for him," said kim, anxious only to get the lama under shelter for the night, that he might seek mahbub ali's englishman and deliver himself of the white stallion's pedigree.
"now," said he, when the lama had come to an anchor in the inner courtyard of a decent hindu house behind the cantonments," i go away for a while -- to -- to buy us victual in the bazar.
do not stray abroad till i return."
"thou wilt return?
thou wilt surely return?"
the old man caught at his wrist.
"and thou wilt return in this very same shape?
is it too late to look tonight for the river?"
"too late and too dark.
be comforted.
think how far thou art on the road -- an hundred miles from lahore already."
"yea -- and farther from my monastery.
alas!
it is a great and terrible world."
kim stole out and away, as unremarkable a figure as ever carried his own and a few score thousand other folk's fate slung round his neck.
mahbub ali's directions left him little doubt of the house in which his englishman lived; and a groom, bringing a dog-cart home from the club, made him quite sure.
it remained only to identify his man, and kim slipped through the garden hedge and hid in a clump of plumed grass close to the veranda.
the house blazed with lights, and servants moved about tables dressed with flowers, glass, and silver.
presently forth came an englishman, dressed in black and white, humming a tune.
it was too dark to see his face, so kim, beggar-wise, tried an old experiment.
"protector of the poor!"
the man backed towards the voice.
"mahbub ali says --" "hah!
what says mahbub ali?"
he made no attempt to look for the speaker, and that showed kim that he knew.
"the pedigree of the white stallion is fully established."
"what proof is there?"
the englishman switched at the rose-hedge in the side of the drive.
"mahbub ali has given me this proof."
kim flipped the wad of folded paper into the air, and it fell in the path beside the man, who put his foot on it as a gardener came round the corner.
when the servant passed he picked it up, dropped a rupee -- kim could hear the clink -- and strode into the house, never turning round.
swiftly kim took up the money; but for all his training, he was irish enough by birth to reckon silver the least part of any game.
what he desired was the visible effect of action; so, instead of slinking away, he lay close in the grass and wormed nearer to the house.
he saw -- indian bungalows are open through and through -- the englishman return to a small dressing-room, in a comer of the veranda, that was half office, littered with papers and despatch-boxes, and sit down to study mahbub ali's message.
his face, by the full ray of the kerosene lamp, changed and darkened, and kim, used as every beggar must be to watching countenances, took good note.
"will!
will, dear!"
called a woman's voice.
"you ought to be in the drawing-room.
they'll be here in a minute."
the man still read intently.
"will!"
said the voice, five minutes later.
"he's come.
i can hear the troopers in the drive."
the man dashed out bareheaded as a big landau with four native troopers behind it halted at the veranda, and a tall, black haired man, erect as an arrow, swung out, preceded by a young officer who laughed pleasantly.
flat on his belly lay kim, almost touching the high wheels.
his man and the black stranger exchanged two sentences.
"certainly, sir," said the young officer promptly.
"everything waits while a horse is concerned."
"we sha n't be more than twenty minutes," said kim's man.
"you can do the honours -- keep'em amused, and all that."
"tell one of the troopers to wait," said the tall man, and they both passed into the dressing-room together as the landau rolled away.
kim saw their heads bent over mahbub ali's message, and heard the voices -- one low and deferential, the other sharp and decisive.
"it is n't a question of weeks.
it is a question of days -- hours almost," said the elder.
"i'd been expecting it for some time, but this" -- he tapped mahbub ali's paper -- "clinches it.
grogan's dining here to-night, is n't he?"
"yes, sir, and macklin too."
"very good.
i'll speak to them myself.
the matter will be referred to the council, of course, but this is a case where one is justified in assuming that we take action at once.
warn the pined and peshawar brigades.
it will disorganize all the summer reliefs, but we ca n't help that.
this comes of not smashing them thoroughly the first time.
eight thousand should be enough."
"what about artillery, sir?'"
i must consult macklin."
"then it means war?"
"no.
punishment.
when a man is bound by the action of his predecessor --" "but c25 may have lied."
"he bears out the other's information.
practically, they showed their hand six months back.
but devenish would have it there was a chance of peace.
of course they used it to make themselves stronger.
send off those telegrams at once -- the new code, not the old -- mine and wharton's.
i do n't think we need keep the ladies waiting any longer.
we can settle the rest over the cigars.
i thought it was coming.
it's punishment -- not war."
as the trooper cantered off, kim crawled round to the back of the house, where, going on his lahore experiences, he judged there would be food -- and information.
the kitchen was crowded with excited scullions, one of whom kicked him.
"aie," said kim, feigning tears."
i came only to wash dishes in return for a bellyful."
"all umballa is on the same errand.
get hence.
they go in now with the soup.
think you that we who serve creighton sahib need strange scullions to help us through a big dinner?"
"it is a very big dinner," said kim, looking at the plates.
"small wonder.
the guest of honour is none other than the jang-i-lat sahib -lsb- the commander-in-chief -rsb-."
"ho!"
said kim, with the correct guttural note of wonder.
he had learned what he wanted, and when the scullion turned he was gone.
"and all that trouble," said he to himself, thinking as usual in hindustani, "for a horse's pedigree!
mahbub ali should have come to me to learn a little lying.
every time before that i have borne a message it concerned a woman.
now it is men.
better.
the tall man said that they will loose a great army to punish someone -- somewhere -- the news goes to pindi and peshawur.
there are also guns.
would i had crept nearer.
it is big news!"
he returned to find the cultivator's cousin's younger brother discussing the family law-suit in all its bearings with the cultivator and his wife and a few friends, while the lama dozed.
after the evening meal some one passed him a water-pipe; and kim felt very much of a man as he pulled at the smooth coconut-shell, his legs spread abroad in the moonlight, his tongue clicking in remarks from time to time.
his hosts were most polite; for the cultivator's wife had told them of his vision of the red bull, and of his probable descent from another world.
moreover, the lama was a great and venerable curiosity.
the family priest, an old, tolerant sarsut brahmin, dropped in later, and naturally started a theological argument to impress the family.
by creed, of course, they were all on their priest's side, but the lama was the guest and the novelty.
his gentle kindliness, and his impressive chinese quotations, that sounded like spells, delighted them hugely; and in this sympathetic, simple air, he expanded like the bodhisat's own lotus, speaking of his life in the great hills of such-zen, before, as he said," i rose up to seek enlightenment."
then it came out that in those worldly days he had been a master-hand at casting horoscopes and nativities; and the family priest led him on to describe his methods; each giving the planets names that the other could not understand, and pointing upwards as the big stars sailed across the dark.
the children of the house tugged unrebuked at his rosary; and he clean forgot the rule which forbids looking at women as he talked of enduring snows, landslips, blocked passes, the remote cliffs where men find sapphires and turquoise, and that wonderful upland road that leads at last into great china itself.
"how thinkest thou of this one?"
said the cultivator aside to the priest."
a holy man -- a holy man indeed.
his gods are not the gods, but his feet are upon the way," was the answer.
"and his methods of nativities, though that is beyond thee, are wise and sure."
"tell me," said kim lazily, "whether i find my red bull on a green field, as was promised me."
"what knowledge hast thou of thy birth-hour?"
the priest asked, swelling with importance.
"between first and second cockcrow of the first night in may."
"of what year?'"
i do not know; but upon the hour that i cried first fell the great earthquake in srinagar which is in kashmir."
this kim had from the woman who took care of him, and she again from kimball o'hara.
the earthquake had been felt in india, and for long stood a leading date in the punjab.
"ai!"
said a woman excitedly.
this seemed to make kim's supernatural origin more certain.
"was not such an one's daughter born then --" "and her mother bore her husband four sons in four years all likely boys," cried the cultivator's wife, sitting outside the circle in the shadow.
"none reared in the knowledge," said the family priest, "forget how the planets stood in their houses upon that night."
he began to draw in the dust of the courtyard.
"at least thou hast good claim to a half of the house of the bull.
how runs thy prophecy?"
"upon a day," said kim, delighted at the sensation he was creating," i shall be made great by means of a red bull on a green field, but first there will enter two men making all things ready."
"yes: thus ever at the opening of a vision.
a thick darkness that clears slowly; anon one enters with a broom making ready the place.
then begins the sight.
two men -- thou sayest?
ay, ay.
the sun, leaving the house of the bull, enters that of the twins.
hence the two men of the prophecy.
let us now consider.
fetch me a twig, little one."
he knitted his brows, scratched, smoothed out, and scratched again in the dust mysterious signs -- to the wonder of all save the lama, who, with fine instinct, forbore to interfere.
at the end of half an hour, he tossed the twig from him with a grunt.
"hm!
thus say the stars.
within three days come the two men to make all things ready.
after them follows the bull; but the sign over against him is the sign of war and armed men."
"there was indeed a man of the ludhiana sikhs in the carriage from lahore," said the cultivator's wife hopefully.
"tck!
armed men -- many hundreds.
what concern hast thou with war?"
said the priest to kim.
"thine is a red and an angry sign of war to be loosed very soon."
"none -- none."
said the lama earnestly.
"we seek only peace and our river."
kim smiled, remembering what he had overheard in the dressing-room.
decidedly he was a favourite of the stars.
the priest brushed his foot over the rude horoscope.
"more than this i can not see.
in three days comes the bull to thee, boy."
"and my river, my river," pleaded the lama."
i had hoped his bull would lead us both to the river."
"alas, for that wondrous river, my brother," the priest replied.
"such things are not common."
next morning, though they were pressed to stay, the lama insisted on departure.
they gave kim a large bundle of good food and nearly three annas in copper money for the needs of the road, and with many blessings watched the two go southward in the dawn.
"pity it is that these and such as these could not be freed from --" "nay, then would only evil people be left on the earth, and who would give us meat and shelter?"
quoth kim, stepping merrily under his burden.
"yonder is a small stream.
let us look," said the lama, and he led from the white road across the fields; walking into a very hornets" nest of pariah dogs.
chapter 3 yea, voice of every soul that clung to life that strove from rung to rung when devadatta's rule was young, the warm wind brings kamakura.
buddha at kamakura.
behind them an angry farmer brandished a bamboo pole.
he was a market-gardener, arain by caste, growing vegetables and flowers for umballa city, and well kim knew the breed.
"such an one," said the lama, disregarding the dogs, "is impolite to strangers, intemperate of speech and uncharitable.
be warned by his demeanour, my disciple."
"ho, shameless beggars!"
shouted the farmer.
"begone!
get hence!"
"we go," the lama returned, with quiet dignity.
"we go from these unblessed fields."
"ah," said kim, sucking in his breath.
"if the next crops fail, thou canst only blame thine own tongue."
the man shuffled uneasily in his slippers.
"the land is full of beggars," he began, half apologetically.
"and by what sign didst thou know that we would beg from thee, o mali?"
said kim tartly, using the name that a market-gardener least likes.
"all we sought was to look at that river beyond the field there."
"river, forsooth!"
the man snorted.
"what city do ye hail from not to know a canal-cut?
it runs as straight as an arrow, and i pay for the water as though it were molten silver.
there is a branch of a river beyond.
but if ye need water i can give that -- and milk."
"nay, we will go to the river," said the lama, striding out.
"milk and a meal."
the man stammered, as he looked at the strange tall figure.
"i -- i would not draw evil upon myself -- or my crops.
but beggars are so many in these hard days."
"take notice."
the lama turned to kim.
"he was led to speak harshly by the red mist of anger.
that clearing from his eyes, he becomes courteous and of an affable heart.
may his fields be blessed!
beware not to judge men too hastily, o farmer.'"
i have met holy ones who would have cursed thee from hearthstone to byre," said kim to the abashed man.
"is he not wise and holy?
i am his disciple."
he cocked his nose in the air loftily and stepped across the narrow field-borders with great dignity.
"there is no pride," said the lama, after a pause, "there is no pride among such as follow the middle way."
"but thou hast said he was low-caste and discourteous."
"low-caste i did not say, for how can that be which is not?
afterwards he amended his discourtesy, and i forgot the offence.
moreover, he is as we are, bound upon the wheel of things; but he does not tread the way of deliverance."
he halted at a little runlet among the fields, and considered the hoof-pitted bank.
"now, how wilt thou know thy river?"
said kim, squatting in the shade of some tall sugar-cane.
"when i find it, an enlightenment will surely be given.
this, i feel, is not the place.
o littlest among the waters, if only thou couldst tell me where runs my river!
but be thou blessed to make the fields bear!"
"look!
look!"
kim sprang to his side and dragged him back.
a yellow-and-brown streak glided from the purple rustling stems to the bank, stretched its neck to the water, drank, and lay still -- a big cobra with fixed, lidless eyes."
i have no stick -- i have no stick," said kim."
i will get me one and break his back."
"why?
he is upon the wheel as we are -- a life ascending or descending -- very far from deliverance.
great evil must the soul have done that is cast into this shape.'"
i hate all snakes," said kim.
no native training can quench the white man's horror of the serpent.
"let him live out his life."
the coiled thing hissed and half opened its hood.
"may thy release come soon, brother!"
the lama continued placidly.
"hast thou knowledge, by chance, of my river?"
"never have i seen such a man as thou art," kim whispered, overwhelmed.
"do the very snakes understand thy talk?"
"who knows?"
he passed within a foot of the cobra's poised head.
it flattened itself among the dusty coils.
"come, thou!"
he called over his shoulder.
"not i," said kim"."
i go round."
"come.
he does no hurt."
kim hesitated for a moment.
the lama backed his order by some droned chinese quotation which kim took for a charm.
he obeyed and bounded across the rivulet, and the snake, indeed, made no sign.
"never have i seen such a man."
kim wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"and now, whither go we?"
"that is for thee to say.
i am old, and a stranger -- far from my own place.
but that the rail-carriage fills my head with noises of devil-drums i would go in it to benares now... yet by so going we may miss the river.
let us find another river."
where the hard-worked soil gives three and even four crops a year through patches of sugar-cane, tobacco, long white radishes, and nol-kol, all that day they strolled on, turning aside to every glimpse of water; rousing village dogs and sleeping villages at noonday; the lama replying to the volleyed questions with an unswerving simplicity.
they sought a river: a river of miraculous healing.
had any one knowledge of such a stream?
sometimes men laughed, but more often heard the story out to the end and offered them a place in the shade, a drink of milk, and a meal.
the women were always kind, and the little children as children are the world over, alternately shy and venturesome.
evening found them at rest under the village tree of a mud-walled, mud-roofed hamlet, talking to the headman as the cattle came in from the grazing-grounds and the women prepared the day's last meal.
they had passed beyond the belt of market-gardens round hungry umballa, and were among the mile-wide green of the staple crops.
he was a white-bearded and affable elder, used to entertaining strangers.
he dragged out a string bedstead for the lama, set warm cooked food before him, prepared him a pipe, and, the evening ceremonies being finished in the village temple, sent for the village priest.
kim told the older children tales of the size and beauty of lahore, of railway travel, and such-like city things, while the men talked, slowly as their cattle chew the cud."
i can not fathom it," said the headman at last to the priest.
"how readest thou this talk?"
the lama, his tale told, was silently telling his beads.
"he is a seeker."
the priest answered.
"the land is full of such.
remember him who came only last, month -- the fakir with the tortoise?"
"ay, but that man had right and reason, for krishna himself appeared in a vision promising him paradise without the burning-pyre if he journeyed to prayag.
this man seeks no god who is within my knowledge."
"peace, he is old: he comes from far off, and he is mad," the smooth-shaven priest replied.
"hear me."
he turned to the lama.
"three koss -lsb- six miles -rsb- to the westward runs the great road to calcutta."
"but i would go to benares -- to benares."
"and to benares also.
it crosses all streams on this side of hind.
now my word to thee, holy one, is rest here till tomorrow.
then take the road" -lrb- it was the grand trunk road he meant -rrb- "and test each stream that it overpasses; for, as i understand, the virtue of thy river lies neither in one pool nor place, but throughout its length.
then, if thy gods will, be assured that thou wilt come upon thy freedom."
"that is well said."
the lama was much impressed by the plan.
"we will begin tomorrow, and a blessing on thee for showing old feet such a near road."
a deep, sing-song chinese half-chant closed the sentence.
even the priest was impressed, and the headman feared an evil spell: but none could look at the lama's simple, eager face and doubt him long.
"seest thou my chela?"
he said, diving into his snuff-gourd with an important sniff.
it was his duty to repay courtesy with courtesy."
i see -- and hear."
the headman rolled his eye where kim was chatting to a girl in blue as she laid crackling thorns on a fire.
"he also has a search of his own.
no river, but a bull.
yea, a red bull on a green field will some day raise him to honour.
he is, i think, not altogether of this world.
he was sent of a sudden to aid me in this search, and his name is friend of all the world."
the priest smiled.
"ho, there, friend of all the world," he cried across the sharp-smelling smoke, "what art thou?"
"this holy one's disciple," said kim.
"he says thou are a but -lsb- a spirit -rsb-."
"can buts eat?"
said kim, with a twinkle.
"for i am hungry."
"it is no jest," cried the lama."
a certain astrologer of that city whose name i have forgotten --" "that is no more than the city of umballa where we slept last night," kim whispered to the priest.
"ay, umballa was it?
he cast a horoscope and declared that my chela should find his desire within two days.
but what said he of the meaning of the stars, friend of all the world?"
kim cleared his throat and looked around at the village greybeards.
"the meaning of my star is war," he replied pompously.
somebody laughed at the little tattered figure strutting on the brickwork plinth under the great tree.
where a native would have lain down, kim's white blood set him upon his feet.
"ay, war," he answered.
"that is a sure prophecy," rumbled a deep voice.
"for there is always war along the border -- as i know."
it was an old, withered man, who had served the government in the days of the mutiny as a native officer in a newly raised cavalry regiment.
the government had given him a good holding in the village, and though the demands of his sons, now grey-bearded officers on their own account, had impoverished him, he was still a person of consequence.
english officials -- deputy commissioners even -- turned aside from the main road to visit him, and on those occasions he dressed himself in the uniform of ancient days, and stood up like a ramrod.
"but this shall be a great war -- a war of eight thousand."
kim's voice shrilled across the quick-gathering crowd, astonishing himself.
"redcoats or our own regiments?"
the old man snapped, as though he were asking an equal.
his tone made men respect kim.
"redcoats," said kim at a venture.
"redcoats and guns."
"but -- but the astrologer said no word of this," cried the lama, snuffing prodigiously in his excitement.
"but i know.
the word has come to me, who am this holy one's disciple.
there will rise a war -- a war of eight thousand redcoats.
from pindi and peshawur they will be drawn.
this is sure."
"the boy has heard bazar-talk," said the priest.
"but he was always by my side," said the lama.
"how should he know?
i did not know."
"he will make a clever juggler when the old man is dead," muttered the priest to the headman.
"what new trick is this?'"
a sign.
give me a sign," thundered the old soldier suddenly.
"if there were war my sons would have told me."
"when all is ready, thy sons, doubt not, will be told.
but it is a long road from thy sons to the man in whose hands these things lie."
kim warmed to the game, for it reminded him of experiences in the letter-carrying line, when, for the sake of a few pice, he pretended to know more than he knew.
but now he was playing for larger things -- the sheer excitement and the sense of power.
he drew a new breath and went on.
"old man, give me a sign.
do underlings order the goings of eight thousand redcoats -- with guns?"
"no."
still the old man answered as though kim were an equal.
"dost thou know who he is, then, that gives the order?'"
i have seen him."
"to know again?'"
i have known him since he was a lieutenant in the topkhana -lrb- the artillery -rrb-.'"
a tall man.
a tall man with black hair, walking thus?"
kim took a few paces in a stiff, wooden style.
"ay.
but that anyone may have seen."
the crowd were breathless -- still through all this talk.
"that is true," said kim.
"but i will say more.
look now.
first the great man walks thus.
then he thinks thus."
-lrb- kim drew a forefinger over his forehead and downwards till it came to rest by the angle of the jaw. -rrb-
"anon he twitches his fingers thus.
anon he thrusts his hat under his left armpit."
kim illustrated the motion and stood like a stork.
the old man groaned, inarticulate with amazement; and the crowd shivered.
"so -- so -- so.
but what does he when he is about to give an order?"
"he rubs the skin at the back of his neck -- thus.
then falls one finger on the table and he makes a small sniffing noise through his nose.
then he speaks, saying: "loose such and such a regiment.
call out such guns.""
the old man rose stiffly and saluted."
""for"" -- kim translated into the vernacular the clinching sentences he had heard in the dressing-room at umballa --" "for," says he, "we should have done this long ago.
it is not war -- it is a chastisement.
snff!""
"enough.
i believe.
i have seen him thus in the smoke of battles.
seen and heard.
it is he!'"
i saw no smoke" -- kim's voice shifted to the rapt sing-song of the wayside fortune-teller."
i saw this in darkness.
first came a man to make things clear.
then came horsemen.
then came he standing in a ring of light.
the rest followed as i have said.
old man, have i spoken truth?"
"it is he.
past all doubt it is he."
the crowd drew a long, quavering breath, staring alternately at the old man, still at attention, and ragged kim against the purple twilight.
"said i not -- said i not he was from the other world?"
cried the lama proudly.
"he is the friend of all the world.
he is the friend of the stars!"
"at least it does not concern us," a man cried."
o thou young soothsayer, if the gift abides with thee at all seasons, i have a red-spotted cow.
she may be sister to thy bull for aught i know --" "or i care," said kim.
"my stars do not concern themselves with thy cattle."
"nay, but she is very sick," a woman struck in.
"my man is a buffalo, or he would have chosen his words better.
tell me if she recover?"
had kim been at all an ordinary boy, he would have carried on the play; but one does not know lahore city, and least of all the fakirs by the taksali gate, for thirteen years without also knowing human nature.
the priest looked at him sideways, something bitterly -- a dry and blighting smile.
"is there no priest, then, in the village?
i thought i had seen a great one even now," cried kim.
"ay -- but --" the woman began.
"but thou and thy husband hoped to get the cow cured for a handful of thanks."
the shot told: they were notoriously the closest-fisted couple in the village.
"it is not well to cheat the temples.
give a young calf to thine own priest, and, unless thy gods are angry past recall, she will give milk within a month.'"
a master-beggar art thou," purred the priest approvingly.
"not the cunning of forty years could have done better.
surely thou hast made the old man rich?'"
a little flour, a little butter and a mouthful of cardamoms," kim retorted, flushed with the praise, but still cautious -- "does one grow rich on that?
and, as thou canst see, he is mad.
but it serves me while i learn the road at least."
he knew what the fakirs of the taksali gate were like when they talked among themselves, and copied the very inflection of their lewd disciples.
"is his search, then, truth or a cloak to other ends?
it may be treasure."
"he is mad -- many times mad.
there is nothing else."
here the old soldier bobbled up and asked if kim would accept his hospitality for the night.
the priest recommended him to do so, but insisted that the honour of entertaining the lama belonged to the temple -- at which the lama smiled guilelessly.
kim glanced from one face to the other, and drew his own conclusions.
"where is the money?"
he whispered, beckoning the old man off into the darkness.
"in my bosom.
where else?"
"give it me.
quietly and swiftly give it me."
"but why?
here is no ticket to buy."
"am i thy chela, or am i not?
do i not safeguard thy old feet about the ways?
give me the money and at dawn i will return it."
he slipped his hand above the lama's girdle and brought away the purse.
"be it so -- be it so."
the old man nodded his head.
"this is a great and terrible world.
i never knew there were so many men alive in it."
next morning the priest was in a very bad temper, but the lama was quite happy; and kim had enjoyed a most interesting evening with the old man, who brought out his cavalry sabre and, balancing it on his dry knees, told tales of the mutiny and young captains thirty years in their graves, till kim dropped off to sleep.
"certainly the air of this country is good," said the lama."
i sleep lightly, as do all old men; but last night i slept unwaking till broad day.
even now i am heavy."
"drink a draught of hot milk," said kim, who had carried not a few such remedies to opium-smokers of his acquaintance.
"it is time to take the road again."
"the long road that overpasses all the rivers of hind," said the lama gaily.
"let us go.
but how thinkest thou, chela, to recompense these people, and especially the priest, for their great kindness?
truly they are but parast, but in other lives, maybe, they will receive enlightenment.
a rupee to the temple?
the thing within is no more than stone and red paint, but the heart of man we must acknowledge when and where it is good."
"holy one, hast thou ever taken the road alone?"
kim looked up sharply, like the indian crows so busy about the fields.
"surely, child: from kulu to pathankot -- from kulu, where my first chela died.
when men were kind to us we made offerings, and all men were well-disposed throughout all the hills."
"it is otherwise in hind," said kim drily.
"their gods are many-armed and malignant.
let them alone.'"
i would set thee on thy road for a little, friend of all the world, thou and thy yellow man."
the old soldier ambled up the village street, all shadowy in the dawn, on a punt, scissor-hocked pony.
"last night broke up the fountains of remembrance in my so-dried heart, and it was as a blessing to me.
truly there is war abroad in the air.
i smell it.
see!
i have brought my sword."
he sat long-legged on the little beast, with the big sword at his side -- hand dropped on the pommel -- staring fiercely over the flat lands towards the north.
"tell me again how he showed in thy vision.
come up and sit behind me.
the beast will carry two.'"
i am this holy one's disciple," said kim, as they cleared the village-gate.
the villagers seemed almost sorry to be rid of them, but the priest's farewell was cold and distant.
he had wasted some opium on a man who carried no money.
"that is well spoken.
i am not much used to holy men, but respect is always good.
there is no respect in these days -- not even when a commissioner sahib comes to see me.
but why should one whose star leads him to war follow a holy man?"
"but he is a holy man," said kim earnestly.
"in truth, and in talk and in act, holy.
he is not like the others.
i have never seen such an one.
we be not fortune-tellers, or jugglers, or beggars."
"thou art not.
that i can see.
but i do not know that other.
he marches well, though."
the first freshness of the day carried the lama forward with long, easy, camel-like strides.
he was deep in meditation, mechanically clicking his rosary.
they followed the rutted and worn country road that wound across the flat between the great dark-green mango-groves, the line of the snowcapped himalayas faint to the eastward.
all india was at work in the fields, to the creaking of well-wheels, the shouting of ploughmen behind their cattle, and the clamour of the crows.
even the pony felt the good influence and almost broke into a trot as kim laid a hand on the stirrup-leather.
"it repents me that i did not give a rupee to the shrine," said the lama on the last bead of his eighty-one.
the old soldier growled in his beard, so that the lama for the first time was aware of him.
"seekest thou the river also?"
said he, turning.
"the day is new," was the reply.
"what need of a river save to water at before sundown?
i come to show thee a short lane to the big road."
"that is a courtesy to be remembered, o man of good will.
but why the sword?"
the old soldier looked as abashed as a child interrupted in his game of make-believe.
"the sword," he said, fumbling it.
"oh, that was a fancy of mine an old man's fancy.
truly the police orders are that no man must bear weapons throughout hind, but" -- he cheered up and slapped the hilt -- "all the constabeels hereabout know me."
"it is not a good fancy," said the lama.
"what profit to kill men?"
"very little -- as i know; but if evil men were not now and then slain it would not be a good world for weaponless dreamers.
i do not speak without knowledge who have seen the land from delhi south awash with blood."
"what madness was that, then?"
"the gods, who sent it for a plague, alone know.
a madness ate into all the army, and they turned against their officers.
that was the first evil, but not past remedy if they had then held their hands.
but they chose to kill the sahibs" wives and children.
then came the sahibs from over the sea and called them to most strict account."
"some such rumour, i believe, reached me once long ago.
they called it the black year, as i remember."
"what manner of life hast thou led, not to know the year?
a rumour indeed!
all earth knew, and trembled!"
"our earth never shook but once -- upon the day that the excellent one received enlightenment."
"umph!
i saw delhi shake at least -- and delhi is the navel of the world."
"so they turned against women and children?
that was a bad deed, for which the punishment can not be avoided."
"many strove to do so, but with very small profit.
i was then in a regiment of cavalry.
it broke.
of six hundred and eighty sabres stood fast to their salt -- how many, think you?
three.
of whom i was one."
"the greater merit."
"merit!
we did not consider it merit in those days.
my people, my friends, my brothers fell from me.
they said: "the time of the english is accomplished.
let each strike out a little holding for himself."
but i had talked with the men of sobraon, of chilianwallah, of moodkee and ferozeshah.
i said: "abide a little and the wind turns.
there is no blessing in this work."
in those days i rode seventy miles with an english memsahib and her babe on my saddle-bow.
-lrb- wow!
that was a horse fit for a man! -rrb-
i placed them in safety, and back came i to my officer -- the one that was not killed of our five.
""give me work," said i, "for i am an outcast among my own kind, and my cousin's blood is wet on my sabre."
""be content," said he.
""there is great work forward.
when this madness is over there is a recompense.""
"ay, there is a recompense when the madness is over, surely?"
the lama muttered half to himself.
"they did not hang medals in those days on all who by accident had heard a gun fired.
no!
in nineteen pitched battles was i; in six-and-forty skirmishes of horse; and in small affairs without number.
nine wounds i bear; a medal and four clasps and the medal of an order, for my captains, who are now generals, remembered me when the kaisar-i-hind had accomplished fifty years of her reign, and all the land rejoiced.
they said: "give him the order of berittish india."
i carry it upon my neck now.
i have also my jaghir -lsb- holding -rsb- from the hands of the state -- a free gift to me and mine.
the men of the old days -- they are now commissioners -- come riding to me through the crops -- high upon horses so that all the village sees -- and we talk out the old skirmishes, one dead man's name leading to another."
"and after?"
said the lama.
"oh, afterwards they go away, but not before my village has seen."
"and at the last what wilt thou do?"
"at the last i shall die."
"and after?"
"let the gods order it.
i have never pestered them with prayers.
i do not think they will pester me.
look you, i have noticed in my long life that those who eternally break in upon those above with complaints and reports and bellowings and weepings are presently sent for in haste, as our colonel used to send for slack-jawed down-country men who talked too much.
no, i have never wearied the gods.
they will remember this, and give me a quiet place where i can drive my lance in the shade, and wait to welcome my sons: i have no less than three rissaldar -- majors all -- in the regiments."
"and they likewise, bound upon the wheel, go forth from life to life -- from despair to despair," said the lama below his breath, "hot, uneasy, snatching."
"ay," the old soldier chuckled.
"three rissaldar -- majors in three regiments.
gamblers a little, but so am i.
they must be well mounted; and one can not take the horses as in the old days one took women.
well, well, my holding can pay for all.
how thinkest thou?
it is a well-watered strip, but my men cheat me.
i do not know how to ask save at the lance's point.
ugh!
i grow angry and i curse them, and they feign penitence, but behind my back i know they call me a toothless old ape."
"hast thou never desired any other thing?"
"yes -- yes -- a thousand times!
a straight back and a close-clinging knee once more; a quick wrist and a keen eye; and the marrow that makes a man.
oh, the old days -- the good days of my strength!"
"that strength is weakness."
"it has turned so; but fifty years since i could have proved it otherwise," the old soldier retorted, driving his stirrup-edge into the pony's lean flank.
"but i know a river of great healing.'"
i have drank gunga-water to the edge of dropsy.
all she gave me was a flux, and no sort of strength."
"it is not gunga.
the river that i know washes from all taint of sin.
ascending the far bank one is assured of freedom.
i do not know thy life, but thy face is the face of the honourable and courteous.
thou hast clung to thy way, rendering fidelity when it was hard to give, in that black year of which i now remember other tales.
enter now upon the middle way which is the path to freedom.
hear the most excellent law, and do not follow dreams."
"speak, then, old man," the soldier smiled, half saluting.
"we be all babblers at our age."
the lama squatted under the shade of a mango, whose shadow played checkerwise over his face; the soldier sat stiffly on the pony; and kim, making sure that there were no snakes, lay down in the crotch of the twisted roots.
there was a drowsy buzz of small life in hot sunshine, a cooing of doves, and a sleepy drone of well-wheels across the fields.
slowly and impressively the lama began.
at the end of ten minutes the old soldier slid from his pony, to hear better as he said, and sat with the reins round his wrist.
the lama's voice faltered, the periods lengthened.
kim was busy watching a grey squirrel.
when the little scolding bunch of fur, close pressed to the branch, disappeared, preacher and audience were fast asleep, the old officer's strong-cut head pillowed on his arm, the lama's thrown back against the tree-bole, where it showed like yellow ivory.
a naked child toddled up, stared, and, moved by some quick impulse of reverence, made a solemn little obeisance before the lama -- only the child was so short and fat that it toppled over sideways, and kim laughed at the sprawling, chubby legs.
the child, scared and indignant, yelled aloud.
"hai!
hai!"
said the soldier, leaping to his feet.
"what is it?
what orders?
... it is... a child!
i dreamed it was an alarm.
little one -- little one -- do not cry.
have i slept?
that was discourteous indeed!'"
i fear!
i am afraid!"
roared the child.
"what is it to fear?
two old men and a boy?
how wilt thou ever make a soldier, princeling?"
the lama had waked too, but, taking no direct notice of the child, clicked his rosary.
"what is that?"
said the child, stopping a yell midway."
i have never seen such things.
give them me."
"aha."
said the lama, smiling, and trailing a loop of it on the grass: this is a handful of cardamoms, this is a lump of ghi: this is millet and chillies and rice, a supper for thee and me!
the child shrieked with joy, and snatched at the dark, glancing beads.
"oho!"
said the old soldier.
"whence hadst thou that song, despiser of this world?'"
i learned it in pathankot -- sitting on a doorstep," said the lama shyly.
"it is good to be kind to babes."
"as i remember, before the sleep came on us, thou hadst told me that marriage and bearing were darkeners of the true light, stumbling-blocks upon the way.
do children drop from heaven in thy country?
is it the way to sing them songs?"
"no man is all perfect," said the lama gravely, recoiling the rosary.
"run now to thy mother, little one."
"hear him!"
said the soldier to kim.
"he is ashamed for that he has made a child happy.
there was a very good householder lost in thee, my brother.
hai, child!"
he threw it a pice.
"sweetmeats are always sweet."
and as the little figure capered away into the sunshine: "they grow up and become men.
holy one, i grieve that i slept in the midst of thy preaching.
forgive me."
"we be two old men," said the lama.
"the fault is mine.
i listened to thy talk of the world and its madness, and one fault led to the next."
"hear him!
what harm do thy gods suffer from play with a babe?
and that song was very well sung.
let us go on and i will sing thee the song of nikal seyn before delhi -- the old song."
and they fared out from the gloom of the mango tope, the old man's high, shrill voice ringing across the field, as wail by long-drawn wail he unfolded the story of nikal seyn -lsb- nicholson -rsb- -- the song that men sing in the punjab to this day.
kim was delighted, and the lama listened with deep interest.
"ahi!
nikal seyn is dead -- he died before delhi!
lances of the north, take vengeance for nikal seyn."
he quavered it out to the end, marking the trills with the flat of his sword on the pony's rump.
"and now we come to the big road," said he, after receiving the compliments of kim; for the lama was markedly silent.
"it is long since i have ridden this way, but thy boy's talk stirred me.
see, holy one -- the great road which is the backbone of all hind.
for the most part it is shaded, as here, with four lines of trees; the middle road -- all hard -- takes the quick traffic.
in the days before rail-carriages the sahibs travelled up and down here in hundreds.
now there are only country-carts and such like.
left and right is the rougher road for the heavy carts -- grain and cotton and timber, fodder, lime and hides.
a man goes in safety here for at every few koss is a police-station.
the police are thieves and extortioners -lrb- i myself would patrol it with cavalry -- young recruits under a strong captain -rrb-, but at least they do not suffer any rivals.
all castes and kinds of men move here.
"look!
brahmins and chumars, bankers and tinkers, barbers and bunnias, pilgrims and potters -- all the world going and coming.
it is to me as a river from which i am withdrawn like a log after a flood."
and truly the grand trunk road is a wonderful spectacle.
it runs straight, bearing without crowding india's traffic for fifteen hundred miles -- such a river of life as nowhere else exists in the world.
they looked at the green-arched, shade-flecked length of it, the white breadth speckled with slow-pacing folk; and the two-roomed police-station opposite.
"who bears arms against the law?"
a constable called out laughingly, as he caught sight of the soldier's sword.
"are not the police enough to destroy evil-doers?"
"it was because of the police i bought it," was the answer.
"does all go well in hind?"
"rissaldar sahib, all goes well.'"
i am like an old tortoise, look you, who puts his head out from the bank and draws it in again.
ay, this is the road of hindustan.
all men come by this way..." "son of a swine, is the soft part of the road meant for thee to scratch thy back upon?
father of all the daughters of shame and husband of ten thousand virtueless ones, thy mother was devoted to a devil, being led thereto by her mother.
thy aunts have never had a nose for seven generations!
thy sister -- what owl's folly told thee to draw thy carts across the road?
a broken wheel?
then take a broken head and put the two together at leisure!"
the voice and a venomous whip-cracking came out of a pillar of dust fifty yards away, where a cart had broken down.
a thin, high kathiawar mare, with eyes and nostrils aflame, rocketed out of the jam, snorting and wincing as her rider bent her across the road in chase of a shouting man.
he was tall and grey-bearded, sitting the almost mad beast as a piece of her, and scientifically lashing his victim between plunges.
the old man's face lit with pride.
"my child!"
said he briefly, and strove to rein the pony's neck to a fitting arch.
"am i to be beaten before the police?"
cried the carter.
"justice!
i will have justice --" "am i to be blocked by a shouting ape who upsets ten thousand sacks under a young horse's nose?
that is the way to ruin a mare."
"he speaks truth.
he speaks truth.
but she follows her man close," said the old man.
the carter ran under the wheels of his cart and thence threatened all sorts of vengeance.
"they are strong men, thy sons," said the policeman serenely, picking his teeth.
the horseman delivered one last vicious cut with his whip and came on at a canter.
"my father!"
he reigned back ten yards and dismounted.
the old man was off his pony in an instant, and they embraced as do father and son in the east.
chapter 4 good luck, she is never a lady, but the cursedest quean alive, tricksy, wincing, and jady -- kittle to lead or drive.
greet her -- she's hailing a stranger!
meet her -- she's busking to leave!
let her alone for a shrew to the bone and the hussy comes plucking your sleeve!
largesse!
largesse, o fortune!
give or hold at your will.
if i've no care for fortune, fortune must follow me still!
the wishing-caps.
then, lowering their voices, they spoke together.
kim came to rest under a tree, but the lama tugged impatiently at his elbow.
"let us go on.
the river is not here."
"hai mai!
have we not walked enough for a little?
our river will not run away.
patience, and he will give us a dole."
"this."
said the old soldier suddenly, "is the friend of the stars.
he brought me the news yesterday.
having seen the very man himself, in a vision, giving orders for the war."
"hm!"
said his son, all deep in his broad chest.
"he came by a bazar-rumour and made profit of it."
his father laughed.
"at least he did not ride to me begging for a new charger, and the gods know how many rupees.
are thy brothers" regiments also under orders?'"
i do not know.
i took leave and came swiftly to thee in case --" "in case they ran before thee to beg.
o gamblers and spendthrifts all!
but thou hast never yet ridden in a charge.
a good horse is needed there, truly.
a good follower and a good pony also for the marching.
let us see -- let us see."
he thrummed on the pommel.
"this is no place to cast accounts in, my father.
let us go to thy house."
"at least pay the boy, then: i have no pice with me, and he brought auspicious news.
ho!
friend of all the world, a war is toward as thou hast said."
"nay, as i know, the war," returned kim composedly.
"eh?"
said the lama, fingering his beads, all eager for the road.
"my master does not trouble the stars for hire.
we brought the news bear witness, we brought the news, and now we go."
kim half-crooked his hand at his side.
the son tossed a silver coin through the sunlight, grumbling something about beggars and jugglers.
it was a four-anna piece, and would feed them well for days.
the lama, seeing the flash of the metal, droned a blessing.
"go thy way, friend of all the world," piped the old soldier, wheeling his scrawny mount.
"for once in all my days i have met a true prophet -- who was not in the army."
father and son swung round together: the old man sitting as erect as the younger.
a punjabi constable in yellow linen trousers slouched across the road.
he had seen the money pass.
"halt!"
he cried in impressive english.
"know ye not that there is a takkus of two annas a head, which is four annas, on those who enter the road from this side-road?
it is the order of the sirkar, and the money is spent for the planting of trees and the beautification of the ways."
"and the bellies of the police," said kim, slipping out of arm's reach.
"consider for a while, man with a mud head.
think you we came from the nearest pond like the frog, thy father-in-law?
hast thou ever heard the name of thy brother?"
"and who was he?
leave the boy alone," cried a senior constable, immensely delighted, as he squatted down to smoke his pipe in the veranda.
"he took a label from a bottle of belaitee-pani -lsb- soda-water -rsb-, and, affixing it to a bridge, collected taxes for a month from those who passed, saying that it was the sirkar's order.
then came an englishman and broke his head.
ah, brother, i am a town-crow, not a village-crow!"
the policeman drew back abashed, and kim hooted at him all down the road.
"was there ever such a disciple as i?"
he cried merrily to the lama.
"all earth would have picked thy bones within ten mile of lahore city if i had not guarded thee.'"
i consider in my own mind whether thou art a spirit, sometimes, or sometimes an evil imp," said the lama, smiling slowly."
i am thy chela."
kim dropped into step at his side -- that indescribable gait of the long-distance tramp all the world over.
"now let us walk," muttered the lama, and to the click of his rosary they walked in silence mile upon mile.
the lama as usual, was deep in meditation, but kim's bright eyes were open wide.
this broad, smiling river of life, he considered, was a vast improvement on the cramped and crowded lahore streets.
there were new people and new sights at every stride -- castes he knew and castes that were altogether out of his experience.
they met a troop of long-haired, strong-scented sansis with baskets of lizards and other unclean food on their backs, their lean dogs sniffing at their heels.
these people kept their own side of the road", moving at a quick, furtive jog-trot, and all other castes gave them ample room; for the sansi is deep pollution.
behind them, walking wide and stiffly across the strong shadows, the memory of his leg-irons still on him, strode one newly released from the jail; his full stomach and shiny skin to prove that the government fed its prisoners better than most honest men could feed themselves.
kim knew that walk well, and made broad jest of it as they passed.
then an akali, a wild-eyed, wild-haired sikh devotee in the blue-checked clothes of his faith, with polished-steel quoits glistening on the cone of his tall blue turban, stalked past, returning from a visit to one of the independent sikh states, where he had been singing the ancient glories of the khalsa to college-trained princelings in top-boots and white-cord breeches.
kim was careful not to irritate that man; for the akali's temper is short and his arm quick.
here and there they met or were overtaken by the gaily dressed crowds of whole villages turning out to some local fair; the women, with their babes on their hips, walking behind the men, the older boys prancing on sticks of sugar-cane, dragging rude brass models of locomotives such as they sell for a halfpenny, or flashing the sun into the eyes of their betters from cheap toy mirrors.
one could see at a glance what each had bought; and if there were any doubt it needed only to watch the wives comparing, brown arm against brown arm, the newly purchased dull glass bracelets that come from the north-west.
these merry-makers stepped slowly, calling one to the other and stopping to haggle with sweetmeat-sellers, or to make a prayer before one of the wayside shrines -- sometimes hindu, sometimes mussalman -- which the low-caste of both creeds share with beautiful impartiality.
a solid line of blue, rising and falling like the back of a caterpillar in haste, would swing up through the quivering dust and trot past to a chorus of quick cackling.
that was a gang of changars -- the women who have taken all the embankments of all the northern railways under their charge -- a flat-footed, big-bosomed, strong-limbed, blue-petticoated clan of earth-carriers, hurrying north on news of a job, and wasting no time by the road.
they belong to the caste whose men do not count, and they walked with squared elbows, swinging hips, and heads on high, as suits women who carry heavy weights.
a little later a marriage procession would strike into the grand trunk with music and shoutings, and a smell of marigold and jasmine stronger even than the reek of the dust.
one could see the bride's litter, a blur of red and tinsel, staggering through the haze, while the bridegroom's bewreathed pony turned aside to snatch a mouthful from a passing fodder-cart.
then kim would join the kentish-fire of good wishes and bad jokes, wishing the couple a hundred sons and no daughters, as the saying is.
still more interesting and more to be shouted over it was when a strolling juggler with some half-trained monkeys, or a panting, feeble bear, or a woman who tied goats" horns to her feet, and with these danced on a slack-rope, set the horses to shying and the women to shrill, long-drawn quavers of amazement.
the lama never raised his eyes.
he did not note the money-lender on his goose-rumped pony, hastening along to collect the cruel interest; or the long-shouting, deep-voiced little mob -- still in military formation -- of native soldiers on leave, rejoicing to be rid of their breeches and puttees, and saying the most outrageous things to the most respectable women in sight.
even the seller of ganges-water he did not see, and kim expected that he would at least buy a bottle of that precious stuff.
he looked steadily at the ground, and strode as steadily hour after hour, his soul busied elsewhere.
but kim was in the seventh heaven of joy.
the grand trunk at this point was built on an embankment to guard against winter floods from the foothills, so that one walked, as it were, a little above the country, along a stately corridor, seeing all india spread out to left and right.
it was beautiful to behold the many-yoked grain and cotton wagons crawling over the country roads: one could hear their axles, complaining a mile away, coming nearer, till with shouts and yells and bad words they climbed up the steep incline and plunged on to the hard main road, carter reviling carter.
it was equally beautiful to watch the people, little clumps of red and blue and pink and white and saffron, turning aside to go to their own villages, dispersing and growing small by twos and threes across the level plain.
kim felt these things, though he could not give tongue to his feelings, and so contented himself with buying peeled sugar-cane and spitting the pith generously about his path.
from time to time the lama took snuff, and at last kim could endure the silence no longer.
"this is a good land -- the land of the south!"
said he.
"the air is good; the water is good.
eh?"
"and they are all bound upon the wheel," said the lama.
"bound from life after life.
to none of these has the way been shown."
he shook himself back to this world.
"and now we have walked a weary way," said kim.
"surely we shall soon come to a parao -lsb- a resting-place -rsb-.
shall we stay there?
look, the sun is sloping."
"who will receive us this evening?"
"that is all one.
this country is full of good folk.
besides" he sunk his voice beneath a whisper -- "we have money."
the crowd thickened as they neared the resting-place which marked the end of their day's journey.
a line of stalls selling very simple food and tobacco, a stack of firewood, a police-station, a well, a horse-trough, a few trees, and, under them, some trampled ground dotted with the black ashes of old fires, are all that mark a parao on the grand trunk; if you except the beggars and the crows -- both hungry.
by this time the sun was driving broad golden spokes through the lower branches of the mango-trees; the parakeets and doves were coming home in their hundreds; the chattering, grey-backed seven sisters, talking over the day's adventures, walked back and forth in twos and threes almost under the feet of the travellers; and shufflings and scufflings in the branches showed that the bats were ready to go out on the night-picket.
swiftly the light gathered itself together, painted for an instant the faces and the cartwheels and the bullocks" horns as red as blood.
then the night fell, changing the touch of the air, drawing a low, even haze, like a gossamer veil of blue, across the face of the country, and bringing out, keen and distinct, the smell of wood-smoke and cattle and the good scent of wheaten cakes cooked on ashes.
the evening patrol hurried out of the police-station with important coughings and reiterated orders; and a live charcoal ball in the cup of a wayside carter's hookah glowed red while kim's eye mechanically watched the last flicker of the sun on the brass tweezers.
the life of the parao was very like that of the kashmir serai on a small scale.
kim dived into the happy asiatic disorder which, if you only allow time, will bring you everything that a simple man needs.
his wants were few, because, since the lama had no caste scruples, cooked food from the nearest stall would serve; but, for luxury's sake, kim bought a handful of dung-cakes to build a fire.
all about, coming and going round the little flames, men cried for oil, or grain, or sweetmeats, or tobacco, jostling one another while they waited their turn at the well; and under the men's voices you heard from halted, shuttered carts the high squeals and giggles of women whose faces should not be seen in public.
nowadays, well-educated natives are of opinion that when their womenfolk travel -- and they visit a good deal -- it is better to take them quickly by rail in a properly screened compartment; and that custom is spreading.
but there are always those of the old rock who hold by the use of their forefathers; and, above all, there are always the old women -- more conservative than the men -- who toward the end of their days go on a pilgrimage.
they, being withered and undesirable, do not, under certain circumstances, object to unveiling.
after their long seclusion, during which they have always been in business touch with a thousand outside interests, they love the bustle and stir of the open road, the gatherings at the shrines, and the infinite possibilities of gossip with like-minded dowagers.
very often it suits a longsuffering family that a strong-tongued, iron-willed old lady should disport herself about india in this fashion; for certainly pilgrimage is grateful to the gods.
so all about india, in the most remote places, as in the most public, you find some knot of grizzled servitors in nominal charge of an old lady who is more or less curtained and hid away in a bullock-cart.
such men are staid and discreet, and when a european or a high-caste native is near will net their charge with most elaborate precautions; but in the ordinary haphazard chances of pilgrimage the precautions are not taken.
the old lady is, after all, intensely human, and lives to look upon life.
kim marked down a gaily ornamented ruth or family bullock-cart, with a broidered canopy of two domes, like a double-humped camel, which had just been drawn into the par.
eight men made its retinue, and two of the eight were armed with rusty sabres -- sure signs that they followed a person of distinction, for the common folk do not bear arms.
an increasing cackle of complaints, orders, and jests, and what to a european would have been bad language, came from behind the curtains.
here was evidently a woman used to command.
kim looked over the retinue critically.
half of them were thin-legged, grey-bearded ooryas from down country.
the other half were duffle-clad, felt-hatted hillmen of the north; and that mixture told its own tale, even if he had not overheard the incessant sparring between the two divisions.
the old lady was going south on a visit -- probably to a rich relative, most probably to a son-in-law, who had sent up an escort as a mark of respect.
the hillmen would be of her own people -- kulu or kangra folk.
it was quite clear that she was not taking her daughter down to be wedded, or the curtains would have been laced home and the guard would have allowed no one near the car.
a merry and a high-spirited dame, thought kim, balancing the dung-cake in one hand, the cooked food in the other, and piloting the lama with a nudging shoulder.
something might be made out of the meeting.
the lama would give him no help, but, as a conscientious chela, kim was delighted to beg for two.
he built his fire as close to the cart as he dared, waiting for one of the escort to order him away.
the lama dropped wearily to the ground, much as a heavy fruit-eating bat cowers, and returned to his rosary.
"stand farther off, beggar!"
the order was shouted in broken hindustani by one of the hillmen.
"huh!
it is only a pahari -lsb- a hillman -rsb-", said kim over his shoulder.
"since when have the hill-asses owned all hindustan?"
the retort was a swift and brilliant sketch of kim's pedigree for three generations.
"ah!"
kim's voice was sweeter than ever, as he broke the dung-cake into fit pieces.
"in my country we call that the beginning of love-talk."
a harsh, thin cackle behind the curtains put the hillman on his mettle for a second shot.
"not so bad -- not so bad," said kim with calm.
"but have a care, my brother, lest we -- we, i say -- be minded to give a curse or so in return.
and our curses have the knack of biting home."
the ooryas laughed; the hillman sprang forward threateningly.
the lama suddenly raised his head, bringing his huge tam-o" - shanter hat into the full light of kim's new-started fire.
"what is it?"
said he.
the man halted as though struck to stone.
"i -- i -- am saved from a great sin," he stammered.
"the foreigner has found him a priest at last," whispered one of the ooryas.
"hai!
why is that beggar-brat not well beaten?"
the old woman cried.
the hillman drew back to the cart and whispered something to the curtain.
there was dead silence, then a muttering.
"this goes well," thought kim, pretending neither to see nor hear.
"when -- when -- he has eaten" -- the hillman fawned on kim -- "it -- it is requested that the holy one will do the honour to talk to one who would speak to him."
"after he has eaten he will sleep," kim returned loftily.
he could not quite see what new turn the game had taken, but stood resolute to profit by it.
"now i will get him his food."
the last sentence, spoken loudly, ended with a sigh as of faintness.
"i -- i myself and the others of my people will look to that -- if it is permitted."
"it is permitted," said kim, more loftily than ever.
"holy one, these people will bring us food."
"the land is good.
all the country of the south is good -- a great and a terrible world," mumbled the lama drowsily.
"let him sleep," said kim, "but look to it that we are well fed when he wakes.
he is a very holy man."
again one of the ooryas said something contemptuously.
"he is not a fakir.
he is not a down-country beggar," kim went on severely, addressing the stars.
"he is the most holy of holy men.
he is above all castes.
i am his chela."
"come here!"
said the flat thin voice behind the curtain; and kim came, conscious that eyes he could not see were staring at him.
one skinny brown finger heavy with rings lay on the edge of the cart, and the talk went this way: "who is that one?"
"an exceedingly holy one.
he comes from far off.
he comes from tibet."
"where in tibet?"
"from behind the snows -- from a very far place.
he knows the stars; he makes horoscopes; he reads nativities.
but he does not do this for money.
he does it for kindness and great charity.
i am his disciple.
i am called also the friend of the stars."
"thou art no hillman."
"ask him.
he will tell thee i was sent to him from the stars to show him an end to his pilgrimage."
"humph!
consider, brat, that i am an old woman and not altogether a fool.
lamas i know, and to these i give reverence, but thou art no more a lawful chela than this my finger is the pole of this wagon.
thou art a casteless hindu -- a bold and unblushing beggar, attached, belike, to the holy one for the sake of gain."
"do we not all work for gain?"
kim changed his tone promptly to match that altered voice."
i have heard" -- this was a bow drawn at a venture --" i have heard --" "what hast thou heard?"
she snapped, rapping with the finger.
"nothing that i well remember, but some talk in the bazars, which is doubtless a lie, that even rajahs -- small hill rajahs --" "but none the less of good rajput blood."
"assuredly of good blood.
that these even sell the more comely of their womenfolk for gain.
down south they sell them -- to zemindars and such -- all of oudh."
if there be one thing in the world that the small hill rajahs deny it is just this charge; but it happens to be one thing that the bazars believe, when they discuss the mysterious slave-traffics of india.
the old lady explained to kim, in a tense, indignant whisper, precisely what manner and fashion of malignant liar he was.
had kim hinted this when she was a girl, he would have been pommelled to death that same evening by an elephant.
this was perfectly true.
"ahai!
i am only a beggar's brat, as the eye of beauty has said," he wailed in extravagant terror.
"eye of beauty, forsooth!
who am i that thou shouldst fling beggar-endearments at me?"
and yet she laughed at the long-forgotten word.
"forty years ago that might have been said, and not without truth.
ay.
thirty years ago.
but it is the fault of this gadding up and down hind that a king's widow must jostle all the scum of the land, and be made a mock by beggars."
"great queen," said kim promptly, for he heard her shaking with indignation," i am even what the great queen says i am; but none the less is my master holy.
he has not yet heard the great queen's order that --" "order?
i order a holy one -- a teacher of the law -- to come and speak to a woman?
never!"
"pity my stupidity.
i thought it was given as an order --" "it was not.
it was a petition.
does this make all clear?"
a silver coin clicked on the edge of the cart.
kim took it and salaamed profoundly.
the old lady recognized that, as the eyes and the ears of the lama, he was to be propitiated."
i am but the holy one's disciple.
when he has eaten perhaps he will come."
"oh, villain and shameless rogue!"
the jewelled forefinger shook itself at him reprovingly; but he could hear the old lady's chuckle.
"nay, what is it?"
he said, dropping into his most caressing and confidential tone -- the one, he well knew, that few could resist.
"is -- is there any need of a son in thy family?
speak freely, for we priests --" that last was a direct plagiarism from a fakir by the taksali gate.
"we priests!
thou art not yet old enough to --" she checked the joke with another laugh.
"believe me, now and again, we women, o priest, think of other matters than sons.
moreover, my daughter has borne her man-child."
"two arrows in the quiver are better than one; and three are better still."
kim quoted the proverb with a meditative cough, looking discreetly earthward.
"true -- oh, true.
but perhaps that will come.
certainly those down-country brahmins are utterly useless.
i sent gifts and monies and gifts again to them, and they prophesied."
"ah," drawled kim, with infinite contempt, "they prophesied!"
a professional could have done no better.
"and it was not till i remembered my own gods that my prayers were heard.
i chose an auspicious hour, and -- perhaps thy holy one has heard of the abbot of the lung-cho lamassery.
it was to him i put the matter, and behold in the due time all came about as i desired.
the brahmin in the house of the father of my daughter's son has since said that it was through his prayers -- which is a little error that i will explain to him when we reach our journey's end.
and so afterwards i go to buddh gaya, to make shraddha for the father of my children."
"thither go we."
"doubly auspicious," chirruped the old lady."
a second son at least!'"
o friend of all the world!"
the lama had waked, and, simply as a child bewildered in a strange bed, called for kim."
i come!
i come, holy one!"
he dashed to the fire, where he found the lama already surrounded by dishes of food, the hillmen visibly adoring him and the southerners looking sourly.
"go back!
withdraw!"
kim cried.
"do we eat publicly like dogs?"
they finished the meal in silence, each turned a little from the other, and kim topped it with a native-made cigarette.
"have i not said an hundred times that the south is a good land?
here is a virtuous and high-born widow of a hill rajah on pilgrimage, she says, to buddha gay.
she it is sends us those dishes; and when thou art well rested she would speak to thee."
"is this also thy work?"
the lama dipped deep into his snuff-gourd.
"who else watched over thee since our wonderful journey began?"
kim's eyes danced in his head as he blew the rank smoke through his nostrils and stretched him on the dusty ground.
"have i failed to oversee thy comforts, holy one?'"
a blessing on thee."
the lama inclined his solemn head."
i have known many men in my so long life, and disciples not a few.
but to none among men, if so be thou art woman-born, has my heart gone out as it has to thee -- thoughtful, wise, and courteous; but something of a small imp."
"and i have never seen such a priest as thou."
kim considered the benevolent yellow face wrinkle by wrinkle.
"it is less than three days since we took the road together, and it is as though it were a hundred years."
"perhaps in a former life it was permitted that i should have rendered thee some service.
maybe" -- he smiled --" i freed thee from a trap; or, having caught thee on a hook in the days when i was not enlightened, cast thee back into the river."
"maybe," said kim quietly.
he had heard this sort of speculation again and again, from the mouths of many whom the english would not consider imaginative.
"now, as regards that woman in the bullock-cart.
i think she needs a second son for her daughter."
"that is no part of the way," sighed the lama.
"but at least she is from the hills.
ah, the hills, and the snow of the hills!"
he rose and stalked to the cart.
kim would have given his ears to come too, but the lama did not invite him; and the few words he caught were in an unknown tongue, for they spoke some common speech of the mountains.
the woman seemed to ask questions which the lama turned over in his mind before answering.
now and again he heard the singsong cadence of a chinese quotation.
it was a strange picture that kim watched between drooped eyelids.
the lama, very straight and erect, the deep folds of his yellow clothing slashed with black in the light of the parao fires precisely as a knotted tree-trunk is slashed with the shadows of the low sun, addressed a tinsel and lacquered ruth which burned like a many-coloured jewel in the same uncertain light.
the patterns on the gold-worked curtains ran up and down, melting and reforming as the folds shook and quivered to the night wind; and when the talk grew more earnest the jewelled forefinger snapped out little sparks of light between the embroideries.
behind the cart was a wall of uncertain darkness speckled with little flames and alive with half-caught forms and faces and shadows.
the voices of early evening had settled down to one soothing hum whose deepest note was the steady chumping of the bullocks above their chopped straw, and whose highest was the tinkle of a bengali dancing-girl's sitar.
most men had eaten and pulled deep at their gurgling, grunting hookahs, which in full blast sound like bull-frogs.
at last the lama returned.
a hillman walked behind him with a wadded cotton-quilt and spread it carefully by the fire.
"she deserves ten thousand grandchildren," thought kim.
"none the less, but for me, those gifts would not have come.'"
a virtuous woman -- and a wise one."
the lama slackened off, joint by joint, like a slow camel.
"the world is full of charity to those who follow the way."
he flung a fair half of the quilt over kim.
"and what said she?"
kim rolled up in his share of it.
"she asked me many questions and propounded many problems -- the most of which were idle tales which she had heard from devil-serving priests who pretend to follow the way.
some i answered, and some i said were foolish.
many wear the robe, but few keep the way."
"true.
that is true."
kim used the thoughtful, conciliatory tone of those who wish to draw confidences.
"but by her lights she is most right-minded.
she desires greatly that we should go with her to buddh gaya; her road being ours, as i understand, for many days" journey to the southward."
"and?"
"patience a little.
to this i said that my search came before all things.
she had heard many foolish legends, but this great truth of my river she had never heard.
such are the priests of the lower hills!
she knew the abbot of lung-cho, but she did not know of my river -- nor the tale of the arrow."
"and?'"
i spoke therefore of the search, and of the way, and of matters that were profitable; she desiring only that i should accompany her and make prayer for a second son."
"aha!
""we women" do not think of anything save children," said kim sleepily.
"now, since our roads run together for a while, i do not see that we in any way depart from our search if so be we accompany her -- at least as far as -- i have forgotten the name of the city."
"ohe!"
said kim, turning and speaking in a sharp whisper to one of the ooryas a few yards away.
"where is your master's house?'"
a little behind saharunpore, among the fruit gardens."
he named the village.
"that was the place," said the lama.
"so far, at least, we can go with her."
"flies go to carrion," said the oorya, in an abstracted voice.
"for the sick cow a crow; for the sick man a brahmin."
kim breathed the proverb impersonally to the shadow-tops of the trees overhead.
the oorya grunted and held his peace.
"so then we go with her, holy one?"
"is there any reason against?
i can still step aside and try all the rivers that the road overpasses.
she desires that i should come.
she very greatly desires it."
kim stifled a laugh in the quilt.
when once that imperious old lady had recovered from her natural awe of a lama he thought it probable that she would be worth listening to.
he was nearly asleep when the lama suddenly quoted a proverb: "the husbands of the talkative have a great reward hereafter."
then kim heard him snuff thrice, and dozed off, still laughing.
the diamond-bright dawn woke men and crows and bullocks together.
kim sat up and yawned, shook himself, and thrilled with delight.
this was seeing the world in real truth; this was life as he would have it -- bustling and shouting, the buckling of belts, and beating of bullocks and creaking of wheels, lighting of fires and cooking of food, and new sights at every turn of the approving eye.
the morning mist swept off in a whorl of silver, the parrots shot away to some distant river in shrieking green hosts: all the well-wheels within ear-shot went to work.
india was awake, and kim was in the middle of it, more awake and more excited than anyone, chewing on a twig that he would presently use as a toothbrush; for he borrowed right - and left-handedly from all the customs of the country he knew and loved.
there was no need to worry about food -- no need to spend a cowrie at the crowded stalls.
he was the disciple of a holy man annexed by a strong-willed old lady.
all things would be prepared for them, and when they were respectfully invited so to do they would sit and eat.
for the rest -- kim giggled here as he cleaned his teeth -- his hostess would rather heighten the enjoyment of the road.
he inspected her bullocks critically, as they came up grunting and blowing under the yokes.
if they went too fast -- it was not likely -- there would be a pleasant seat for himself along the pole; the lama would sit beside the driver.
the escort, of course, would walk.
the old lady, equally of course, would talk a great deal, and by what he had heard that conversation would not lack salt.
she was already ordering, haranguing, rebuking, and, it must be said, cursing her servants for delays.
"get her her pipe.
in the name of the gods, get her her pipe and stop her ill-omened mouth," cried an oorya, tying up his shapeless bundles of bedding.
"she and the parrots are alike.
they screech in the dawn."
"the lead-bullocks!
hai!
look to the lead-bullocks!"
they were backing and wheeling as a grain-cart's axle caught them by the horns.
"son of an owl, where dost thou go?"
this to the grinning carter.
"ai!
yai!
yai!
that within there is the queen of delhi going to pray for a son," the man called back over his high load.
"room for the queen of delhi and her prime minister the grey monkey climbing up his own sword!"
another cart loaded with bark for a down-country tannery followed close behind, and its driver added a few compliments as the ruth-bullocks backed and backed again.
from behind the shaking curtains came one volley of invective.
it did not last long, but in kind and quality, in blistering, biting appropriateness, it was beyond anything that even kim had heard.
he could see the carter's bare chest collapse with amazement, as the man salaamed reverently to the voice, leaped from the pole, and helped the escort haul their volcano on to the main road.
here the voice told him truthfully what sort of wife he had wedded, and what she was doing in his absence.
"oh, shabash!"
murmured kim, unable to contain himself, as the man slunk away.
"well done, indeed?
it is a shame and a scandal that a poor woman may not go to make prayer to her gods except she be jostled and insulted by all the refuse of hindustan -- that she must eat gali -lsb- abuse -rsb- as men eat ghi.
but i have yet a wag left to my tongue -- a word or two well spoken that serves the occasion.
and still am i without my tobacco!
who is the one-eyed and luckless son of shame that has not yet prepared my pipe?"
it was hastily thrust in by a hillman, and a trickle of thick smoke from each corner of the curtains showed that peace was restored.
if kim had walked proudly the day before, disciple of a holy man, today he paced with tenfold pride in the train of a semi-royal procession, with a recognized place under the patronage of an old lady of charming manners and infinite resource.
the escort, their heads tied up native-fashion, fell in on either side the cart, shuffling enormous clouds of dust.
the lama and kim walked a little to one side; kim chewing his stick of sugarcane, and making way for no one under the status of a priest.
they could hear the old lady's tongue clack as steadily as a rice-husker.
she bade the escort tell her what was going on on the road; and so soon as they were clear of the parao she flung back the curtains and peered out, her veil a third across her face.
her men did not eye her directly when she addressed them, and thus the proprieties were more or less observed.
a dark, sallowish district superintendent of police, faultlessly uniformed, an englishman, trotted by on a tired horse, and, seeing from her retinue what manner of person she was, chaffed her."
o mother," he cried, "do they do this in the zenanas?
suppose an englishman came by and saw that thou hast no nose?"
"what?"
she shrilled back.
"thine own mother has no nose?
why say so, then, on the open road?"
it was a fair counter.
the englishman threw up his hand with the gesture of a man hit at sword-play.
she laughed and nodded.
"is this a face to tempt virtue aside?"
she withdrew all her veil and stared at him.
it was by no means lovely, but as the man gathered up his reins he called it a moon of paradise, a disturber of integrity, and a few other fantastic epithets which doubled her up with mirth.
"that is a nut-cut -lsb- rogue -rsb-," she said.
"all police-constables are nut-cuts; but the police-wallahs are the worst.
hai, my son, thou hast never learned all that since thou camest from belait -lsb- europe -rsb-.
who suckled thee?'"
a pahareen -- a hillwoman of dalhousie, my mother.
keep thy beauty under a shade -- o dispenser of delights," and he was gone.
"these be the sort" -- she took a fine judicial tone, and stuffed her mouth with pan -- "these be the sort to oversee justice.
they know the land and the customs of the land.
the others, all new from europe, suckled by white women and learning our tongues from books, are worse than the pestilence.
they do harm to kings."
then she told a long, long tale to the world at large, of an ignorant young policeman who had disturbed some small hill rajah, a ninth cousin of her own, in the matter of a trivial land-case, winding up with a quotation from a work by no means devotional.
then her mood changed, and she bade one of the escort ask whether the lama would walk alongside and discuss matters of religion.
so kim dropped back into the dust and returned to his sugar-cane.
for an hour or more the lama's tam-o'shanter showed like a moon through the haze; and, from all he heard, kim gathered that the old woman wept.
one of the ooryas half apologized for his rudeness overnight, saying that he had never known his mistress of so bland a temper, and he ascribed it to the presence of the strange priest.
personally, he believed in brahmins, though, like all natives, he was acutely aware of their cunning and their greed.
still, when brahmins but irritated with begging demands the mother of his master's wife, and when she sent them away so angry that they cursed the whole retinue -lrb- which was the real reason of the second off-side bullock going lame, and of the pole breaking the night before -rrb-, he was prepared to accept any priest of any other denomination in or out of india.
to this kim assented with wise nods, and bade the oorya observe that the lama took no money, and that the cost of his and kim's food would be repaid a hundred times in the good luck that would attend the caravan henceforward.
he also told stories of lahore city, and sang a song or two which made the escort laugh.
as a town-mouse well acquainted with the latest songs by the most fashionable composers -- they are women for the most part -- kim had a distinct advantage over men from a little fruit-village behind saharunpore, but he let that advantage be inferred.
at noon they turned aside to eat, and the meal was good, plentiful, and well-served on plates of clean leaves, in decency, out of drift of the dust.
they gave the scraps to certain beggars, that all requirements might be fulfilled, and sat down to a long, luxurious smoke.
the old lady had retreated behind her curtains, but mixed most freely in the talk, her servants arguing with and contradicting her as servants do throughout the east.
she compared the cool and the pines of the kangra and kulu hills with the dust and the mangoes of the south; she told a tale of some old local gods at the edge of her husband's territory; she roundly abused the tobacco which she was then smoking, reviled all brahmins, and speculated without reserve on the coming of many grandsons.
chapter 5 here come i to my own again fed, forgiven, and known again claimed by bone of my bone again, and sib to flesh of my flesh!
the fatted calf is dressed for me, but the husks have greater zest for me... i think my pigs will be best for me, so i'm off to the styes afresh.
the prodigal son.
once more the lazy, string-tied, shuffling procession got under way, and she slept till they reached the next halting-stage.
it was a very short march, and time lacked an hour to sundown, so kim cast about for means of amusement.
"but why not sit and rest?"
said one of the escort.
"only the devils and the english walk to and fro without reason."
"never make friends with the devil, a monkey, or a boy.
no man knows what they will do next," said his fellow.
kim turned a scornful back -- he did not want to hear the old story how the devil played with the boys and repented of it and walked idly across country.
the lama strode after him.
all that day, whenever they passed a stream, he had turned aside to look at it, but in no case had he received any warning that he had found his river.
insensibly, too, the comfort of speaking to someone in a reasonable tongue, and of being properly considered and respected as her spiritual adviser by a well-born woman, had weaned his thoughts a little from the search.
and further, he was prepared to spend serene years in his quest; having nothing of the white man's impatience, but a great faith.
"where goest thou?"
he called after kim.
"nowhither -- it was a small march, and all this" -- kim waved his hands abroad -- "is new to me."
"she is beyond question a wise and a discerning woman.
but it is hard to meditate when --" "all women are thus."
kim spoke as might have solomon.
"before the lamassery was a broad platform," the lama muttered, looping up the well-worn rosary, "of stone.
on that i have left the marks of my feet -- pacing to and fro with these."
he clicked the beads, and began the "om mane pudme hum's of his devotion; grateful for the cool, the quiet, and the absence of dust.
one thing after another drew kim's idle eye across the plain.
there was no purpose in his wanderings, except that the build of the huts near by seemed new, and he wished to investigate.
they came out on a broad tract of grazing-ground, brown and purple in the afternoon light, with a heavy clump of mangoes in the centre.
it struck kim as curious that no shrine stood in so eligible a spot: the boy was observing as any priest for these things.
far across the plain walked side by side four men, made small by the distance.
he looked intently under his curved palms and caught the sheen of brass.
"soldiers.
white soldiers!"
said he.
"let us see."
"it is always soldiers when thou and i go out alone together.
but i have never seen the white soldiers."
"they do no harm except when they are drunk.
keep behind this tree."
they stepped behind the thick trunks in the cool dark of the mango-tope.
two little figures halted; the other two came forward uncertainly.
they were the advance-party of a regiment on the march, sent out, as usual, to mark the camp.
they bore five-foot sticks with fluttering flags, and called to each other as they spread over the flat earth.
at last they entered the mango-grove, walking heavily.
"it's here or hereabouts -- officers" tents under the trees, i take it, an" the rest of us can stay outside.
have they marked out for the baggage-wagons behind?"
they cried again to their comrades in the distance, and the rough answer came back faint and mellowed.
"shove the flag in here, then," said one.
"what do they prepare?"
said the lama, wonderstruck.
"this is a great and terrible world.
what is the device on the flag?"
a soldier thrust a stave within a few feet of them, grunted discontentedly, pulled it up again, conferred with his companion, who looked up and down the shaded cave of greenery, and returned it.
kim stared with all his eyes, his breath coming short and sharp between his teeth.
the soldiers stamped off into the sunshine."
o holy one!"
he gasped.
"my horoscope!
the drawing in the dust by the priest at umballa!
remember what he said.
first come two -- ferashes -- to make all things ready -- in a dark place, as it is always at the beginning of a vision."
"but this is not vision," said the lama.
"it is the world's illusion, and no more."
"and after them comes the bull -- the red bull on the green field.
look!
it is he!"
he pointed to the flag that was snap snapping in the evening breeze not ten feet away.
it was no more than an ordinary camp marking-flag; but the regiment, always punctilious in matters of millinery, had charged it with the regimental device, the red bull, which is the crest of the mavericks -- the great red bull on a background of irish green."
i see, and now i remember."
said the lama.
"certainly it is thy bull.
certainly, also, the two men came to make all ready."
"they are soldiers -- white soldiers.
what said the priest?
""the sign over against the bull is the sign of war and armed men."
holy one, this thing touches my search."
"true.
it is true."
the lama stared fixedly at the device that flamed like a ruby in the dusk.
"the priest at umballa said that thine was the sign of war."
"what is to do now?"
"wait.
let us wait."
"even now the darkness clears," said kim.
it was only natural that the descending sun should at last strike through the tree-trunks, across the grove, filling it with mealy gold light for a few minutes; but to kim it was the crown of the umballa brahmin's prophecy.
"hark!"
said the lama.
"one beats a drum -- far off!"
at first the sound, carrying diluted through the still air, resembled the beating of an artery in the head.
soon a sharpness was added.
"ah!
the music," kim explained.
he knew the sound of a regimental band, but it amazed the lama.
at the far end of the plain a heavy, dusty column crawled in sight.
then the wind brought the tune: we crave your condescension to tell you what we know of marching in the mulligan guards to sligo port below!
here broke in the shrill-tongued fifes: we shouldered arms, we marched -- we marched away.
from phoenix park we marched to dublin bay.
the drums and the fifes, oh, sweetly they did play, as we marched -- marched -- marched -- with the mulligan guards!
it was the band of the mavericks playing the regiment to camp; for the men were route-marching with their baggage.
the rippling column swung into the level -- carts behind it divided left and right, ran about like an ant-hill, and... "but this is sorcery!"
said the lama.
the plain dotted itself with tents that seemed to rise, all spread, from the carts.
another rush of men invaded the grove, pitched a huge tent in silence, ran up yet eight or nine more by the side of it, unearthed cooking-pots, pans, and bundles, which were taken possession of by a crowd of native servants; and behold the mango-tope turned into an orderly town as they watched!
"let us go," said the lama, sinking back afraid, as the fires twinkled and white officers with jingling swords stalked into the mess-tent.
"stand back in the shadow.
no one can see beyond the light of a fire," said kim, his eyes still on the flag.
he had never before watched the routine of a seasoned regiment pitching camp in thirty minutes.
"look!
look!
look!"
clucked the lama.
"yonder comes a priest."
it was bennett, the church of england chaplain of the regiment, limping in dusty black.
one of his flock had made some rude remarks about the chaplain's mettle; and to abash him bennett had marched step by step with the men that day.
the black dress, gold cross on the watch-chain, the hairless face, and the soft, black wideawake hat would have marked him as a holy man anywhere in all india.
he dropped into a camp-chair by the door of the mess-tent and slid off his boots.
three or four officers gathered round him, laughing and joking over his exploit.
"the talk of white men is wholly lacking in dignity," said the lama, who judged only by tone.
"but i considered the countenance of that priest and i think he is learned.
is it likely that he will understand our talk?
i would talk to him of my search."
"never speak to a white man till he is fed," said kim, quoting a well-known proverb.
"they will eat now, and -- and i do not think they are good to beg from.
let us go back to the resting-place.
after we have eaten we will come again.
it certainly was a red bull -- my red bull."
they were both noticeably absent-minded when the old lady's retinue set their meal before them; so none broke their reserve, for it is not lucky to annoy guests.
"now," said kim, picking his teeth, "we will return to that place; but thou, o holy one, must wait a little way off, because thy feet are heavier than mine and i am anxious to see more of that red bull."
"but how canst thou understand the talk?
walk slowly.
the road is dark," the lama replied uneasily.
kim put the question aside."
i marked a place near to the trees," said he, "where thou canst sit till i call.
nay," as the lama made some sort of protest, "remember this is my search -- the search for my red bull.
the sign in the stars was not for thee.
i know a little of the customs of white soldiers, and i always desire to see some new things."
"what dost thou not know of this world?"
the lama squatted obediently in a little hollow of the ground not a hundred yards from the hump of the mango-trees dark against the star-powdered sky.
"stay till i call."
kim flitted into the dusk.
he knew that in all probability there would be sentries round the camp, and smiled to himself as he heard the thick boots of one.
a boy who can dodge over the roofs of lahore city on a moonlight night, using every little patch and corner of darkness to discomfit his pursuer, is not likely to be checked by a line of well-trained soldiers.
he paid them the compliment of crawling between a couple, and, running and halting, crouching and dropping flat, worked his way toward the lighted mess-tent where, close pressed behind the mango-tree, he waited till some chance word should give him a returnable lead.
the one thing now in his mind was further information as to the red bull.
for aught he knew, and kim's limitations were as curious and sudden as his expansions, the men, the nine hundred thorough devils of his father's prophecy, might pray to the beast after dark, as hindus pray to the holy cow.
that at least would be entirely right and logical, and the padre with the gold cross would be therefore the man to consult in the matter.
on the other hand, remembering sober-faced padres whom he had avoided in lahore city, the priest might be an inquisitive nuisance who would bid him learn.
but had it not been proven at umballa that his sign in the high heavens portended war and armed men?
was he not the friend of the stars as well as of all the world, crammed to the teeth with dreadful secrets?
lastly -- and firstly as the undercurrent of all his quick thoughts -- this adventure, though he did not know the english word, was a stupendous lark -- a delightful continuation of his old flights across the housetops, as well as the fulfilment of sublime prophecy.
he lay belly-flat and wriggled towards the mess-tent door, a hand on the amulet round his neck.
it was as he suspected.
the sahibs prayed to their god; for in the centre of the mess-table -- its sole ornament when they were on the line of march -- stood a golden bull fashioned from old-time loot of the summer palace at pekin -- a red-gold bull with lowered head, ramping upon a field of irish green.
to him the sahibs held out their glasses and cried aloud confusedly.
now the reverend arthur bennett always left mess after that toast, and being rather tired by his march his movements were more abrupt than usual.
kim, with slightly raised head, was still staring at his totem on the table, when the chaplain stepped on his right shoulder-blade.
kim flinched under the leather, and, rolling sideways, brought down the chaplain, who, ever a man of action, caught him by the throat and nearly choked the life out of him.
kim then kicked him desperately in the stomach.
mr bennett gasped and doubled up, but without relaxing his grip, rolled over again, and silently hauled kim to his own tent.
the mavericks were incurable practical jokers; and it occurred to the englishman that silence was best till he had made complete inquiry.
"why, it's a boy!"
he said, as he drew his prize under the light of the tent-pole lantern, then shaking him severely cried: "what were you doing?
you're a thief.
choor?
mallum?"
his hindustani was very limited, and the ruffled and disgusted kim intended to keep to the character laid down for him.
as he recovered his breath he was inventing a beautifully plausible tale of his relations to some scullion, and at the same time keeping a keen eye on and a little under the chaplain's left arm-pit.
the chance came; he ducked for the doorway, but a long arm shot out and clutched at his neck, snapping the amulet-string and closing on the amulet.
"give it me.
o, give it me.
is it lost?
give me the papers."
the words were in english -- the tinny, saw-cut english of the native-bred, and the chaplain jumped."
a scapular," said he, opening his hand.
"no, some sort of heathen charm.
why -- why, do you speak english?
little boys who steal are beaten.
you know that?'"
i do not -- i did not steal."
kim danced in agony like a terrier at a lifted stick.
"oh, give it me.
it is my charm.
do not thieve it from me."
the chaplain took no heed, but, going to the tent door, called aloud.
a fattish, clean-shaven man appeared."
i want your advice, father victor," said bennett."
i found this boy in the dark outside the mess-tent.
ordinarily, i should have chastised him and let him go, because i believe him to be a thief.
but it seems he talks english, and he attaches some sort of value to a charm round his neck.
i thought perhaps you might help me."
between himself and the roman catholic chaplain of the irish contingent lay, as bennett believed, an unbridgeable gulf, but it was noticeable that whenever the church of england dealt with a human problem she was very likely to call in the church of rome.
bennett's official abhorrence of the scarlet woman and all her ways was only equalled by his private respect for father victor."
a thief talking english, is it?
let's look at his charm.
no, it's not a scapular, bennett."
he held out his hand.
"but have we any right to open it?
a sound whipping --"' i did not thieve," protested kim.
"you have hit me kicks all over my body.
now give me my charm and i will go away."
"not quite so fast.
we'll look first," said father victor, leisurely rolling out poor kimball o'hara's "ne varietur" parchment, his clearance-certificate, and kim's baptismal certificate.
on this last o'hara -- with some confused idea that he was doing wonders for his son -- had scrawled scores of times: "look after the boy.
please look after the boy" -- signing his name and regimental number in full.
"powers of darkness below!"
said father victor, passing all over to mr bennett.
"do you know what these things are?"
"yes."
said kim.
"they are mine, and i want to go away.'"
i do not quite understand," said mr bennett.
"he probably brought them on purpose.
it may be a begging trick of some kind.'"
i never saw a beggar less anxious to stay with his company, then.
there's the makings of a gay mystery here.
ye believe in providence, bennett?'"
i hope so."
"well, i believe in miracles, so it comes to the same thing.
powers of darkness!
kimball o'hara!
and his son!
but then he's a native, and i saw kimball married myself to annie shott.
how long have you had these things, boy?"
"ever since i was a little baby."
father victor stepped forward quickly and opened the front of kim's upper garment.
"you see, bennett, he's not very black.
what's your name?"
"kim."
"or kimball?"
"perhaps.
will you let me go away?"
"what else?"
"they call me kim rishti ke.
that is kim of the rishti."
"what is that -- "rishti"?"
"eye-rishti -- that was the regiment -- my father's."
"irish -- oh, i see."
"yess.
that was how my father told me.
my father, he has lived."
"has lived where?"
"has lived.
of course he is dead -- gone-out."
"oh!
that's your abrupt way of putting it, is it?"
bennett interrupted.
"it is possible i have done the boy an injustice.
he is certainly white, though evidently neglected.
i am sure i must have bruised him.
i do not think spirits --" "get him a glass of sherry, then, and let him squat on the cot.
now, kim," continued father victor, "no one is going to hurt you.
drink that down and tell us about yourself.
the truth, if you've no objection."
kim coughed a little as he put down the empty glass, and considered.
this seemed a time for caution and fancy.
small boys who prowl about camps are generally turned out after a whipping.
but he had received no stripes; the amulet was evidently working in his favour, and it looked as though the umballa horoscope and the few words that he could remember of his father's maunderings fitted in most miraculously.
else why did the fat padre seem so impressed, and why the glass of hot yellow drink from the lean one?
"my father, he is dead in lahore city since i was very little.
the woman, she kept kabarri shop near where the hire-carriages are."
kim began with a plunge, not quite sure how far the truth would serve him.
"your mother?"
"no!"
-- with a gesture of disgust.
"she went out when i was born.
my father, he got these papers from the jadoo-gher what do you call that?"
-lrb- bennett nodded -rrb- "because he was in good-standing.
what do you call that?"
-lrb- again bennett nodded -rrb-.
"my father told me that.
he said, too, and also the brahmin who made the drawing in the dust at umballa two days ago, he said, that i shall find a red bull on a green field and that the bull shall help me.'"
a phenomenal little liar," muttered bennett.
"powers of darkness below, what a country!"
murmured father victor.
"go on, kim.'"
i did not thieve.
besides, i am just now disciple of a very holy man.
he is sitting outside.
we saw two men come with flags, making the place ready.
that is always so in a dream, or on account of a -- a -- prophecy.
so i knew it was come true.
i saw the red bull on the green field, and my father he said: "nine hundred pukka devils and the colonel riding on a horse will look after you when you find the red bull!"
i did not know what to do when i saw the bull, but i went away and i came again when it was dark.
i wanted to see the bull again, and i saw the bull again with the -- the sahibs praying to it.
i think the bull shall help me.
the holy man said so too.
he is sitting outside.
will you hurt him, if i call him a shout now?
he is very holy.
he can witness to all the things i say, and he knows i am not a thief.'"
""sahibs praying to a bull!"
what in the world do you make of that?"
said bennett."
"disciple of a holy man!"
is the boy mad?"
"it's o'hara's boy, sure enough.
o'hara's boy leagued with all the powers of darkness.
it's very much what his father would have done if he was drunk.
we'd better invite the holy man.
he may know something."
"he does not know anything," said kim."
i will show you him if you come.
he is my master.
then afterwards we can go."
"powers of darkness!"
was all that father victor could say, as bennett marched off, with a firm hand on kim's shoulder.
they found the lama where he had dropped.
"the search is at an end for me," shouted kim in the vernacular."
i have found the bull, but god knows what comes next.
they will not hurt you.
come to the fat priest's tent with this thin man and see the end.
it is all new, and they can not talk hindi.
they are only uncurried donkeys."
"then it is not well to make a jest of their ignorance," the lama returned."
i am glad if thou art rejoiced, chela."
dignified and unsuspicious, he strode into the little tent, saluted the churches as a churchman, and sat down by the open charcoal brazier.
the yellow lining of the tent reflected in the lamplight made his face red-gold.
bennett looked at him with the triple-ringed uninterest of the creed that lumps nine-tenths of the world under the title of "heathen".
"and what was the end of the search?
what gift has the red bull brought?"
the lama addressed himself to kim.
"he says, "what are you going to do?""
bennett was staring uneasily at father victor, and kim, for his own ends, took upon himself the office of interpreter."
i do not see what concern this fakir has with the boy, who is probably his dupe or his confederate," bennett began.
"we can not allow an english boy -- assuming that he is the son of a mason, the sooner he goes to the masonic orphanage the better."
"ah!
that's your opinion as secretary to the regimental lodge," said father victor; "but we might as well tell the old man what we are going to do.
he does n't look like a villain."
"my experience is that one can never fathom the oriental mind.
now, kimball, i wish you to tell this man what i say word for word."
kim gathered the import of the next few sentences and began thus: "holy one, the thin fool who looks like a camel says that i am the son of a sahib."
"but how?"
"oh, it is true.
i knew it since my birth, but he could only find it out by rending the amulet from my neck and reading all the papers.
he thinks that once a sahib is always a sahib, and between the two of them they purpose to keep me in this regiment or to send me to a madrissah -lsb- a school -rsb-.
it has happened before.
i have always avoided it.
the fat fool is of one mind and the camel-like one of another.
but that is no odds.
i may spend one night here and perhaps the next.
it has happened before.
then i will run away and return to thee."
"but tell them that thou art my chela.
tell them how thou didst come to me when i was faint and bewildered.
tell them of our search, and they will surely let thee go now.'"
i have already told them.
they laugh, and they talk of the police."
"what are you saying?"
asked mr bennett.
"oah.
he only says that if you do not let me go it will stop him in his business -- his ur-gent private af-fairs."
this last was a reminiscence of some talk with a eurasian clerk in the canal department, but it only drew a smile, which nettled him.
"and if you did know what his business was you would not be in such a beastly hurry to interfere."
"what is it then?"
said father victor, not without feeling, as he watched the lama's face.
"there is a river in this country which he wishes to find so verree much.
it was put out by an arrow which --" kim tapped his foot impatiently as he translated in his own mind from the vernacular to his clumsy english.
"oah, it was made by our lord god buddha, you know, and if you wash there you are washed away from all your sins and made as white as cotton-wool."
-lrb- kim had heard mission-talk in his time. -rrb-"
i am his disciple, and we must find that river.
it is so verree valuable to us."
"say that again," said bennett.
kim obeyed, with amplifications.
"but this is gross blasphemy!"
cried the church of england.
"tck!
tck!"
said father victor sympathetically.
"i'd give a good deal to be able to talk the vernacular.
a river that washes away sin!
and how long have you two been looking for it?"
"oh, many days.
now we wish to go away and look for it again.
it is not here, you see.'"
i see," said father victor gravely.
"but he ca n't go on in that old man's company.
it would be different, kim, if you were not a soldier's son.
tell him that the regiment will take care of you and make you as good a man as your -- as good a man as can be.
tell him that if he believes in miracles he must believe that --" "there is no need to play on his credulity," bennett interrupted.
"i'm doing no such thing.
he must believe that the boy's coming here -- to his own regiment -- in search of his red bull is in the nature of a miracle.
consider the chances against it, bennett.
this one boy in all india, and our regiment of all others on the line o" march for him to meet with!
it's predestined on the face of it.
yes, tell him it's kismet.
kismet, mallum?
-lsb- do you understand? -rsb-"
he turned towards the lama, to whom he might as well have talked of mesopotamia.
"they say," -- the old man's eye lighted at kim's speech "they say that the meaning of my horoscope is now accomplished, and that being led back -- though as thou knowest i went out of curiosity -- to these people and their red bull i must needs go to a madrissah and be turned into a sahib.
now i make pretence of agreement, for at the worst it will be but a few meals eaten away from thee.
then i will slip away and follow down the road to saharunpore.
therefore, holy one, keep with that kulu woman -- on no account stray far from her cart till i come again.
past question, my sign is of war and of armed men.
see how they have given me wine to drink and set me upon a bed of honour!
my father must have been some great person.
so if they raise me to honour among them, good.
if not, good again.
however it goes, i will run back to thee when i am tired.
but stay with the rajputni, or i shall miss thy feet... oah yess," said the boy," i have told him everything you tell me to say."
"and i can not see any need why he should wait," said bennett, feeling in his trouser-pocket.
"we can investigate the details later -- and i will give him a ru --" "give him time.
maybe he's fond of the lad," said father victor, half arresting the clergyman's motion.
the lama dragged forth his rosary and pulled his huge hat-brim over his eyes.
"what can he want now?"
"he says" -- kim put up one hand.
"he says: "be quiet."
he wants to speak to me by himself.
you see, you do not know one little word of what he says, and i think if you talk he will perhaps give you very bad curses.
when he takes those beads like that, you see, he always wants to be quiet."
the two englishmen sat overwhelmed, but there was a look in bennett's eye that promised ill for kim when he should be relaxed to the religious arm."
a sahib and the son of a sahib --" the lama's voice was harsh with pain.
"but no white man knows the land and the customs of the land as thou knowest.
how comes it this is true?"
"what matter, holy one?
-- but remember it is only for a night or two.
remember, i can change swiftly.
it will all be as it was when i first spoke to thee under zam-zammah the great gun --" "as a boy in the dress of white men -- when i first went to the wonder house.
and a second time thou wast a hindu.
what shall the third incarnation be?"
he chuckled drearily.
"ah, chela, thou has done a wrong to an old man because my heart went out to thee."
"and mine to thee.
but how could i know that the red bull would bring me to this business?"
the lama covered his face afresh, and nervously rattled the rosary.
kim squatted beside him and laid hold upon a fold of his clothing.
"now it is understood that the boy is a sahib?"
he went on in a muffled tone.
"such a sahib as was he who kept the images in the wonder house."
the lama's experience of white men was limited.
he seemed to be repeating a lesson.
"so then it is not seemly that he should do other than as the sahibs do.
he must go back to his own people."
"for a day and a night and a day," kim pleaded.
"no, ye do n't!"
father victor saw kim edging towards the door, and interposed a strong leg."
i do not understand the customs of white men.
the priest of the images in the wonder house in lahore was more courteous than the thin one here.
this boy will be taken from me.
they will make a sahib of my disciple?
woe to me!
how shall i find my river?
have they no disciples?
ask."
"he says he is very sorree that he can not find the river now any more.
he says, why have you no disciples, and stop bothering him?
he wants to be washed of his sins."
neither bennett nor father victor found any answer ready.
said kim in english, distressed for the lama's agony: "i think if you will let me go now we will walk away quietly and not steal.
we will look for that river like before i was caught.
i wish i did not come here to find the red bull and all that sort of thing.
i do not want it."
"it's the very best day's work you ever did for yourself, young man," said bennett.
"good heavens, i do n't know how to console him," said father victor, watching the lama intently.
"he ca n't take the boy away with him, and yet he's a good man -- i'm sure he's a good man.
bennett, if you give him that rupee he'll curse you root and branch!"
they listened to each other's breathing -- three -- five full minutes.
then the lama raised his head, and looked forth across them into space and emptiness.
"and i am a follower of the way," he said bitterly.
"the sin is mine and the punishment is mine.
i made believe to myself for now i see it was but make-belief -- that thou wast sent to me to aid in the search.
so my heart went out to thee for thy charity and thy courtesy and the wisdom of thy little years.
but those who follow the way must permit not the fire of any desire or attachment, for that is all illusion.
as says..." he quoted an old, old chinese text, backed it with another, and reinforced these with a third."
i stepped aside from the way, my chela.
it was no fault of thine.
i delighted in the sight of life, the new people upon the roads, and in thy joy at seeing these things.
i was pleased with thee who should have considered my search and my search alone.
now i am sorrowful because thou art taken away and my river is far from me.
it is the law which i have broken!"
"powers of darkness below!"
said father victor, who, wise in the confessional, heard the pain in every sentence."
i see now that the sign of the red bull was a sign for me as well as for thee.
all desire is red -- and evil.
i will do penance and find my river alone."
"at least go back to the kulu woman," said kim, "otherwise thou wilt be lost upon the roads.
she will feed thee till i run back to thee."
the lama waved a hand to show that the matter was finally settled in his mind.
"now," -- his tone altered as he turned to kim, -- "what will they do with thee?
at least i may, acquiring merit, wipe out past ill."
"make me a sahib -- so they think.
the day after tomorrow i return.
do not grieve."
"of what sort?
such an one as this or that man?"
he pointed to father victor.
"such an one as those i saw this evening, men wearing swords and stamping heavily?"
"maybe."
"that is not well.
these men follow desire and come to emptiness.
thou must not be of their sort."
"the umballa priest said that my star was war," kim interjected."
i will ask these fools -- but there is truly no need.
i will run away this night, for all i wanted to see the new things."
kim put two or three questions in english to father victor, translating the replies to the lama.
then: "he says, "you take him from me and you can not say what you will make him."
he says, "tell me before i go, for it is not a small thing to make a child.""
"you will be sent to a school.
later on, we shall see.
kimball, i suppose you'd like to be a soldier?"
"gorah-log -lsb- white-folk -rsb-.
no-ah!
no-ah!"
kim shook his head violently.
there was nothing in his composition to which drill and routine appealed."
i will not be a soldier."
"you will be what you're told to be," said bennett; "and you should be grateful that we're going to help you."
kim smiled compassionately.
if these men lay under the delusion that he would do anything that he did not fancy, so much the better.
another long silence followed.
bennett fidgeted with impatience, and suggested calling a sentry to evict the fakir.
"do they give or sell learning among the sahibs?
ask them," said the lama, and kim interpreted.
"they say that money is paid to the teacher -- but that money the regiment will give... what need?
it is only for a night."
"and -- the more money is paid the better learning is given?"
the lama disregarded kim's plans for an early flight.
"it is no wrong to pay for learning.
to help the ignorant to wisdom is always a merit."
the rosary clicked furiously as an abacus.
then he faced his oppressors.
"ask them for how much money do they give a wise and suitable teaching?
and in what city is that teaching given?"
"well," said father victor in english, when kim had translated, "that depends.
the regiment would pay for you all the time you are at the military orphanage; or you might go on the punjab masonic orphanage's list -lrb- not that he or you "ud understand what that means -rrb-; but the best schooling a boy can get in india is, of course, at st xavier's in partibus at lucknow."
this took some time to interpret, for bennett wished to cut it short.
"he wants to know how much?"
said kim placidly.
"two or three hundred rupees a year."
father victor was long past any sense of amazement.
bennett, impatient, did not understand.
"he says: "write that name and the money upon a paper and give it him."
and he says you must write your name below, because he is going to write a letter in some days to you.
he says you are a good man.
he says the other man is a fool.
he is going away."
the lama rose suddenly."
i follow my search," he cried, and was gone.
"he'll run slap into the sentries," cried father victor, jumping up as the lama stalked out; "but i ca n't leave the boy."
kim made swift motion to follow, but checked himself.
there was no sound of challenge outside.
the lama had disappeared.
kim settled himself composedly on the chaplain's cot.
at least the lama had promised that he would stay with the raiput woman from kulu, and the rest was of the smallest importance.
it pleased him that the two padres were so evidently excited.
they talked long in undertones, father victor urging some scheme on mr bennett, who seemed incredulous.
all this was very new and fascinating, but kim felt sleepy.
they called men into the tent -- one of them certainly was the colonel, as his father had prophesied -- and they asked him an infinity of questions, chiefly about the woman who looked after him, all of which kim answered truthfully.
they did not seem to think the woman a good guardian.
after all, this was the newest of his experiences.
sooner or later, if he chose, he could escape into great, grey, formless india, beyond tents and padres and colonels.
meantime, if the sahibs were to be impressed, he would do his best to impress them.
he too was a white man.
after much talk that he could not comprehend, they handed him over to a sergeant, who had strict instructions not to let him escape.
the regiment would go on to umballa, and kim would be sent up, partly at the expense of the lodge and in part by subscription, to a place called sanawar.
"it's miraculous past all whooping, colonel," said father victor, when he had talked without a break for ten minutes.
"his buddhist friend has levanted after taking my name and address.
i ca n't quite make out whether he'll pay for the boy's education or whether he is preparing some sort of witchcraft on his own account."
then to kim: "you'll live to be grateful to your friend the red bull yet.
we'll make a man of you at sanawar -- even at the price o" making you a protestant."
"certainly -- most certainly," said bennett.
"but you will not go to sanawar," said kim.
"but we will go to sanawar, little man.
that's the order of the commander-in-chief, who's a trifle more important than o'hara's son."
"you will not go to sanawar.
you will go to thee war."
there was a shout of laughter from the full tent.
"when you know your own regiment a trifle better you wo n't confuse the line of march with line of battle, kim.
we hope to go to "thee war" sometime."
"oah, i know all thatt."
kim drew his bow again at a venture.
if they were not going to the war, at least they did not know what he knew of the talk in the veranda at umballa."
i know you are not at thee war now; but i tell you that as soon as you get to umballa you will be sent to the war -- the new war.
it is a war of eight thousand men, besides the guns."
"that's explicit.
d'you add prophecy to your other gifts?
take him along, sergeant.
take up a suit for him from the drums, an" take care he does n't slip through your fingers.
who says the age of miracles is gone by?
i think i'll go to bed.
my poor mind's weakening."
at the far end of the camp, silent as a wild animal, an hour later sat kim, newly washed all over, in a horrible stiff suit that rasped his arms and legs."
a most amazin" young bird," said the sergeant.
"he turns up in charge of a yellow-headed buck-brahmin priest, with his father's lodge certificates round his neck, talkin" god knows what all of a red bull.
the buck-brahmin evaporates without explanations, an" the bhoy sets cross-legged on the chaplain's bed prophesyin" bloody war to the men at large.
injia's a wild land for a god-fearin" man.
i'll just tie his leg to the tent-pole in case he'll go through the roof.
what did ye say about the war?"
"eight thousand men, besides guns," said kim.
"very soon you will see."
"you're a consolin" little imp.
lie down between the drums an" go to bye-bye.
those two boys will watch your slumbers."
chapter 6 now i remember comrades -- old playmates on new seas -- whenas we traded orpiment among the savages.
ten thousand leagues to southward, and thirty years removed -- they knew not noble valdez, but me they knew and loved.
song of diego valdez.
very early in the morning the white tents came down and disappeared as the mavericks took a side-road to umballa.
it did not skirt the resting-place, and kim, trudging beside a baggage-cart under fire of comments from soldiers" wives, was not so confident as overnight.
he discovered that he was closely watched -- father victor on the one side, and mr bennett on the other.
in the forenoon the column checked.
a camel-orderly handed the colonel a letter.
he read it, and spoke to a major.
half a mile in the rear, kim heard a hoarse and joyful clamour rolling down on him through the thick dust.
then someone beat him on the back, crying: "tell us how ye knew, ye little limb of satan?
father dear, see if ye can make him tell."
a pony ranged alongside, and he was hauled on to the priest's saddlebow.
"now, my son, your prophecy of last night has come true.
our orders are to entrain at umballa for the front tomorrow."
"what is thatt?"
said kim, for "front" and "entrain" were newish words to him.
"we are going to "thee war," as you called it."
"of course you are going to thee war.
i said last night."
"ye did; but, powers o" darkness, how did ye know?"
kim's eyes sparkled.
he shut his lips, nodded his head, and looked unspeakable things.
the chaplain moved on through the dust, and privates, sergeants, and subalterns called one another's attention to the boy.
the colonel, at the head of the column, stared at him curiously.
"it was probably some bazar rumour."
he said; "but even then --" he referred to the paper in his hand.
"hang it all, the thing was only decided within the last forty-eight hours."
"are there many more like you in india?"
said father victor, "or are you by way o" being a lusus naturae?"
"now i have told you," said the boy, "will you let me go back to my old man?
if he has not stayed with that woman from kulu, i am afraid he will die."
"by what i saw of him he's as well able to take care of himself as you.
no.
ye've brought us luck, an" we're goin" to make a man of you.
i'll take ye back to your baggage-cart and ye'll come to me this evening."
for the rest of the day kim found himself an object of distinguished consideration among a few hundred white men.
the story of his appearance in camp, the discovery of his parentage, and his prophecy, had lost nothing in the telling.
a big, shapeless white woman on a pile of bedding asked him mysteriously whether he thought her husband would come back from the war.
kim reflected gravely, and said that he would, and the woman gave him food.
in many respects, this big procession that played music at intervals -- this crowd that talked and laughed so easily -- resembled a festival in lahore city.
so far, there was no sign of hard work, and he resolved to lend the spectacle his patronage.
at evening there came out to meet them bands of music, and played the mavericks into camp near umballa railway station.
that was an interesting night.
men of other regiments came to visit the mavericks.
the mavericks went visiting on their own account.
their pickets hurried forth to bring them back, met pickets of strange regiments on the same duty; and, after a while, the bugles blew madly for more pickets with officers to control the tumult.
the mavericks had a reputation for liveliness to live up to.
but they fell in on the platform next morning in perfect shape and condition; and kim, left behind with the sick, women, and boys, found himself shouting farewells excitedly as the trains drew away.
life as a sahib was amusing so far; but he touched it with a cautious hand.
then they marched him back in charge of a drummer-boy to empty, lime-washed barracks, whose floors were covered with rubbish and string and paper, and whose ceilings gave back his lonely footfall.
native-fashion, he curled himself up on a stripped cot and went to sleep.
an angry man stumped down the veranda, woke him up, and said he was a schoolmaster.
this was enough for kim, and he retired into his shell.
he could just puzzle out the various english police notices in lahore city, because they affected his comfort; and among the many guests of the woman who looked after him had been a queer german who painted scenery for the parsee travelling theatre.
he told kim that he had been "on the barricades in "forty-eight," and therefore -- at least that was how it struck kim -- he would teach the boy to write in return for food.
kim had been kicked as far as single letters, but did not think well of them."
i do not know anything.
go away!"
said kim, scenting evil.
hereupon the man caught him by the ear, dragged him to a room in a far-off wing where a dozen drummer-boys were sitting on forms, and told him to be still if he could do nothing else.
this he managed very successfully.
the man explained something or other with white lines on a black board for at least half an hour, and kim continued his interrupted nap.
he much disapproved of the present aspect of affairs, for this was the very school and discipline he had spent two-thirds of his young life in avoiding.
suddenly a beautiful idea occurred to him, and he wondered that he had not thought of it before.
the man dismissed them, and first to spring through the veranda into the open sunshine was kim."
ere, you!
"alt!
stop!"
said a high voice at his heels.
"i've got to look after you.
my orders are not to let you out of my sight.
where are you goin"?"
it was the drummer-boy who had been hanging round him all the forenoon -- a fat and freckled person of about fourteen, and kim loathed him from the soles of his boots to his cap-ribbons.
"to the bazar -- to get sweets -- for you," said kim, after thought.
"well, the bazar's out o" bounds.
if we go there we'll get a dressing-down.
you come back."
"how near can we go?"
kim did not know what bounds meant, but he wished to be polite -- for the present."
ow near?
"ow far, you mean!
we can go as far as that tree down the road."
"then i will go there."
"all right.
i ai n't goin".
it's too "ot.
i can watch you from "ere.
it's no good your runnin" away.
if you did, they'd spot you by your clothes.
that's regimental stuff you're wearin".
there ai n't a picket in umballa would n't "ead you back quicker than you started out."
this did not impress kim as much as the knowledge that his raiment would tire him out if he tried to run.
he slouched to the tree at the corner of a bare road leading towards the bazar, and eyed the natives passing.
most of them were barrack-servants of the lowest caste.
kim hailed a sweeper, who promptly retorted with a piece of unnecessary insolence, in the natural belief that the european boy could not follow it.
the low, quick answer undeceived him.
kim put his fettered soul into it, thankful for the late chance to abuse somebody in the tongue he knew best.
"and now, go to the nearest letter-writer in the bazar and tell him to come here.
i would write a letter."
"but -- but what manner of white man's son art thou to need a bazar letter-writer?
is there not a schoolmaster in the barracks?"
"ay; and hell is full of the same sort.
do my order, you -- you od!
thy mother was married under a basket!
servant of lal beg" -lrb- kim knew the god of the sweepers -rrb-, "run on my business or we will talk again."
the sweeper shuffled off in haste.
"there is a white boy by the barracks waiting under a tree who is not a white boy," he stammered to the first bazar letter-writer he came across.
"he needs thee."
"will he pay?"
said the spruce scribe, gathering up his desk and pens and sealing-wax all in order."
i do not know.
he is not like other boys.
go and see.
it is well worth."
kim danced with impatience when the slim young kayeth hove in sight.
as soon as his voice could carry he cursed him volubly.
"first i will take my pay," the letter-writer said.
"bad words have made the price higher.
but who art thou, dressed in that fashion, to speak in this fashion?"
"aha!
that is in the letter which thou shalt write.
never was such a tale.
but i am in no haste.
another writer will serve me.
umballa city is as full of them as is lahore."
"four annas," said the writer, sitting down and spreading his cloth in the shade of a deserted barrack-wing.
mechanically kim squatted beside him -- squatted as only the natives can -- in spite of the abominable clinging trousers.
the writer regarded him sideways.
"that is the price to ask of sahibs," said kim.
"now fix me a true one."
"an anna and a half.
how do i know, having written the letter, that thou wilt not run away?"
i must not go beyond this tree, and there is also the stamp to be considered.'"
i get no commission on the price of the stamp.
once more, what manner of white boy art thou?"
"that shall be said in the letter, which is to mahbub ali, the horse-dealer in the kashmir serai, at lahore.
he is my friend."
"wonder on wonder!"
murmured the letter-writer, dipping a reed in the inkstand.
"to be written in hindi?"
"assuredly.
to mahbub ali then.
begin!
i have come down with the old man as far as umballa in the train.
at umballa i carried the news of the bay mare's pedigree."
after what he had seen in the garden, he was not going to write of white stallions.
"slower a little.
what has a bay mare to do... is it mahbub ali, the great dealer?"
"who else?
i have been in his service.
take more ink.
again.
as the order was, so i did it.
we then went on foot towards benares, but on the third day we found a certain regiment.
is that down?"
"ay, pulton," murmured the writer, all ears."
i went into their camp and was caught, and by means of the charm about my neck, which thou knowest, it was established that i was the son of some man in the regiment: according to the prophecy of the red bull, which thou knowest was common talk of our bazar."
kim waited for this shaft to sink into the letter-writer's heart, cleared his throat, and continued: "a priest clothed me and gave me a new name... one priest, however, was a fool.
the clothes are very heavy, but i am a sahib and my heart is heavy too.
they send me to a school and beat me.
i do not like the air and water here.
come then and help me, mahbub ali, or send me some money, for i have not sufficient to pay the writer who writes this.'"
""who writes this."
it is my own fault that i was tricked.
thou art as clever as husain bux that forged the treasury stamps at nucklao.
but what a tale!
what a tale!
is it true by any chance?"
"it does not profit to tell lies to mahbub ali.
it is better to help his friends by lending them a stamp.
when the money comes i will repay."
the writer grunted doubtfully, but took a stamp out of his desk, sealed the letter, handed it over to kim, and departed.
mahbub ali's was a name of power in umballa.
"that is the way to win a good account with the gods," kim shouted after him.
"pay me twice over when the money comes," the man cried over his shoulder.
"what was you bukkin" to that nigger about?"
said the drummer-boy when kim returned to the veranda."
i was watch-in" you.'"
i was only talkin" to him."
"you talk the same as a nigger, do n't you?"
"no-ah!
no-ah!
i onlee speak a little.
what shall we do now?"
"the bugles'll go for dinner in arf a minute.
my gawd!
i wish i'd gone up to the front with the regiment.
it's awful doin" nothin" but school down "ere.
do n't you "ate it?"
"oah yess!"
i'd run away if i knew where to go to, but, as the men say, in this bloomin" injia you're only a prisoner at large.
you ca n't desert without bein" took back at once.
i'm fair sick of it."
"you have been in be -- england?"
"w "y, i only come out last troopin" season with my mother.
i should think i "ave been in england.
what a ignorant little beggar you are!
you was brought up in the gutter, was n't you?"
"oah yess.
tell me something about england.
my father he came from there."
though he would not say so, kim of course disbelieved every word the drummer-boy spoke about the liverpool suburb which was his england.
it passed the heavy time till dinner -- a most unappetizing meal served to the boys and a few invalids in a corner of a barrack-room.
but that he had written to mahbub ali, kim would have been almost depressed.
the indifference of native crowds he was used to; but this strong loneliness among white men preyed on him.
he was grateful when, in the course of the afternoon, a big soldier took him over to father victor, who lived in another wing across another dusty parade-ground.
the priest was reading an english letter written in purple ink.
he looked at kim more curiously than ever.
"an" how do you like it, my son, as far as you've gone?
not much, eh?
it must be hard -- very hard on a wild animal.
listen now.
i've an amazin" epistle from your friend."
"where is he?
is he well?
oah!
if he knows to write me letters, it is all right."
"you're fond of him then?"
"of course i am fond of him.
he was fond of me."
"it seems so by the look of this.
he ca n't write english, can he?"
"oah no.
not that i know, but of course he found a letter-writer who can write english verree well, and so he wrote.
i do hope you understand."
"that accounts for it.
d'you know anything about his money affairs?"
kim's face showed that he did not.
"how can i tell?"
"that's what i'm askin".
now listen if you can make head or tail o" this.
we'll skip the first part... it's written from jagadhir road... "sitting on wayside in grave meditation, trusting to be favoured with your honour's applause of present step, which recommend your honour to execute for almighty god's sake.
education is greatest blessing if of best sorts.
otherwise no earthly use."
faith, the old man's hit the bull's - eye that time!
""if your honour condescending giving my boy best educations xavier" -lrb- i suppose that's st xavier's in partibus -rrb- "in terms of our conversation dated in your tent 15th instant" -lrb- a business-like touch there! -rrb-
""then almighty god blessing your honour's succeedings to third an" fourth generation and" -- now listen!
-- "confide in your honour's humble servant for adequate remuneration per hoondi per annum three hundred rupees a year to one expensive education st xavier, lucknow, and allow small time to forward same per hoondi sent to any part of india as your honour shall address yourself.
this servant of your honour has presently no place to lay crown of his head, but going to benares by train on account of persecution of old woman talking so much and unanxious residing saharunpore in any domestic capacity."
now what in the world does that mean?"
"she has asked him to be her puro -- her clergyman -- at saharunpore, i think.
he would not do that on account of his river.
she did talk."
"it's clear to you, is it?
it beats me altogether.
""so going to benares, where will find address and forward rupees for boy who is apple of eye, and for almighty god's sake execute this education, and your petitioner as in duty bound shall ever awfully pray.
written by sobrao satai, failed entrance allahabad university, for venerable teshoo lama the priest of such-zen looking for a river, address care of tirthankars" temple, benares.
p. m. -- please note boy is apple of eye, and rupees shall be sent per hoondi three hundred per annum.
for god almighty's sake."
now, is that ravin" lunacy or a business proposition?
i ask you, because i'm fairly at my wits" end."
"he says he will give me three hundred rupees a year?
so he will give me them."
"oh, that's the way you look at it, is it?"
"of course.
if he says so!"
the priest whistled; then he addressed kim as an equal."
i do n't believe it; but we'll see.
you were goin" off today to the military orphanage at sanawar, where the regiment would keep you till you were old enough to enlist.
ye'd be brought up to the church of england.
bennett arranged for that.
on the other hand, if ye go to st xavier's ye'll get a better education an -- an can have the religion.
d'ye see my dilemma?
kim saw nothing save a vision of the lama going south in a train with none to beg for him.
"like most people, i'm going to temporize.
if your friend sends the money from benares -- powers of darkness below, where's a street-beggar to raise three hundred rupees?
-- ye'll go down to lucknow and i'll pay your fare, because i ca n't touch the subscription-money if i intend, as i do, to make ye a catholic.
if he does n't, ye'll go to the military orphanage at the regiment's expense.
i'll allow him three days" grace, though i do n't believe it at all.
even then, if he fails in his payments later on... but it's beyond me.
we can only walk one step at a time in this world, praise god!
an" they sent bennett to the front an" left me behind.
bennett ca n't expect everything."
"oah yess," said kim vaguely.
the priest leaned forward.
"i'd give a month's pay to find what's goin" on inside that little round head of yours."
"there is nothing," said kim, and scratched it.
he was wondering whether mahbub ali would send him as much as a whole rupee.
then he could pay the letter-writer and write letters to the lama at benares.
perhaps mahbub ali would visit him next time he came south with horses.
surely he must know that kim's delivery of the letter to the officer at umballa had caused the great war which the men and boys had discussed so loudly over the barrack dinner-tables.
but if mahbub ali did not know this, it would be very unsafe to tell him so.
mahbub ali was hard upon boys who knew, or thought they knew, too much.
"well, till i get further news" -- father victor's voice interrupted the reverie.
"ye can run along now and play with the other boys.
they'll teach ye something -- but i do n't think ye'll like it."
the day dragged to its weary end.
when he wished to sleep he was instructed how to fold up his clothes and set out his boots; the other boys deriding.
bugles waked him in the dawn; the schoolmaster caught him after breakfast, thrust a page of meaningless characters under his nose, gave them senseless names and whacked him without reason.
kim meditated poisoning him with opium borrowed from a barrack-sweeper, but reflected that, as they all ate at one table in public -lrb- this was peculiarly revolting to kim, who preferred to turn his back on the world at meals -rrb-, the stroke might be dangerous.
then he attempted running off to the village where the priest had tried to drug the lama -- the village where the old soldier lived.
but far-seeing sentries at every exit headed back the little scarlet figure.
trousers and jacket crippled body and mind alike so he abandoned the project and fell back, oriental-fashion, on time and chance.
three days of torment passed in the big, echoing white rooms.
he walked out of afternoons under escort of the drummer-boy, and all he heard from his companions were the few useless words which seemed to make two-thirds of the white man's abuse.
kim knew and despised them all long ago.
the boy resented his silence and lack of interest by beating him, as was only natural.
he did not care for any of the bazars which were in bounds.
he styled all natives "niggers"; yet servants and sweepers called him abominable names to his face, and, misled by their deferential attitude, he never understood.
this somewhat consoled kim for the beatings.
on the morning of the fourth day a judgement overtook that drummer.
they had gone out together towards umballa racecourse.
he returned alone, weeping, with news that young o'hara, to whom he had been doing nothing in particular, had hailed a scarlet-bearded nigger on horseback; that the nigger had then and there laid into him with a peculiarly adhesive quirt, picked up young o'hara, and borne him off at full gallop.
these tidings came to father victor, and he drew down his long upper lip.
he was already sufficiently startled by a letter from the temple of the tirthankars at benares, enclosing a native banker's note of hand for three hundred rupees, and an amazing prayer to "almighty god".
the lama would have been more annoyed than the priest had he known how the bazar letter-writer had translated his phrase "to acquire merit."
"powers of darkness below!"
father victor fumbled with the note.
"an" now he's off with another of his peep-o" - day friends.
i do n't know whether it will be a greater relief to me to get him back or to have him lost.
he's beyond my comprehension.
how the divil -- yes, he's the man i mean -- can a street-beggar raise money to educate white boys?"
three miles off, on umballa racecourse, mahbub ali, reining a grey kabuli stallion with kim in front of him, was saying: "but, little friend of all the world, there is my honour and reputation to be considered.
all the officer-sahibs in all the regiments, and all umballa, know mahbub ali.
men saw me pick thee up and chastise that boy.
we are seen now from far across this plain.
how can i take thee away, or account for thy disappearing if i set thee down and let thee run off into the crops?
they would put me in jail.
be patient.
once a sahib, always a sahib.
when thou art a man -- who knows?
-- thou wilt be grateful to mahbub ali."
"take me beyond their sentries where i can change this red.
give me money and i will go to benares and be with my lama again.
i do not want to be a sahib, and remember i did deliver that message."
the stallion bounded wildly.
mahbub ali had incautiously driven home the sharp-edged stirrup.
-lrb- he was not the new sort of fluent horse-dealer who wears english boots and spurs. -rrb-
kim drew his own conclusions from that betrayal.
"that was a small matter.
it lay on the straight road to benares.
i and the sahib have by this time forgotten it.
i send so many letters and messages to men who ask questions about horses, i can not well remember one from the other.
was it some matter of a bay mare that peters sahib wished the pedigree of?"
kim saw the trap at once.
if he had said "bay mare" mahbub would have known by his very readiness to fall in with the amendment that the boy suspected something.
kim replied therefore: "bay mare.
no.
i do not forget my messages thus.
it was a white stallion."
"ay, so it was.
a white arab stallion.
but thou didst write "bay mare" to me."
"who cares to tell truth to a letter-writer?"
kim answered, feeling mahbub's palm on his heart.
"hi!
mahbub, you old villain, pull up!"
cried a voice, and an englishman raced alongside on a little polo-pony.
"i've been chasing you half over the country.
that kabuli of yours can go.
for sale, i suppose?'"
i have some young stuff coming on made by heaven for the delicate and difficult polo-game.
he has no equal.
he --" "plays polo and waits at table.
yes.
we know all that.
what the deuce have you got there?"
"a. boy," said mahbub gravely.
"he was being beaten by another boy.
his father was once a white soldier in the big war.
the boy was a child in lahore city.
he played with my horses when he was a babe.
now i think they will make him a soldier.
he has been newly caught by his father's regiment that went up to the war last week.
but i do not think he wants to be a soldier.
i take him for a ride.
tell me where thy barracks are and i will set thee there."
"let me go.
i can find the barracks alone."
"and if thou runnest away who will say it is not my fault?"
"he'll run back to his dinner.
where has he to run to?"
the englishman asked.
"he was born in the land.
he has friends.
he goes where he chooses.
he is a chabuk sawai -lsb- a sharp chap -rsb-.
it needs only to change his clothing, and in a twinkling he would be a low-caste hindu boy."
"the deuce he would!"
the englishman looked critically at the boy as mahbub headed towards the barracks.
kim ground his teeth.
mahbub was mocking him, as faithless afghans will; for he went on: "they will send him to a school and put heavy boots on his feet and swaddle him in these clothes.
then he will forget all he knows.
now, which of the barracks is thine?"
kim pointed -- he could not speak -- to father victor's wing, all staring white near by.
"perhaps he will make a good soldier," said mahbub reflectively.
"he will make a good orderly at least.
i sent him to deliver a message once from lahore.
a message concerning the pedigree of a white stallion."
here was deadly insult on deadlier injury -- and the sahib to whom he had so craftily given that war-waking letter heard it all.
kim beheld mahbub ali frying in flame for his treachery, but for himself he saw one long grey vista of barracks, schools, and barracks again.
he gazed imploringly at the clear-cut face in which there was no glimmer of recognition; but even at this extremity it never occurred to him to throw himself on the white man's mercy or to denounce the afghan.
and mahbub stared deliberately at the englishman, who stared as deliberately at kim, quivering and tongue-tied.
"my horse is well trained," said the dealer.
"others would have kicked, sahib."
"ah," said the englishman at last, rubbing his pony's damp withers with his whip-butt.
"who makes the boy a soldier?"
"he says the regiment that found him, and especially the padre-sahib of that regiment.
"there is the padre!"
kim choked as bare-headed father victor sailed down upon them from the veranda.
"powers o" darkness below, o'hara!
how many more mixed friends do you keep in asia?"
he cried, as kim slid down and stood helplessly before him.
"good morning, padre," the englishman said cheerily."
i know you by reputation well enough.
meant to have come over and called before this.
i'm creighton."
"of the ethnological survey?"
said father victor.
the englishman nodded.
"faith, i'm glad to meet ye then; an" i owe you some thanks for bringing back the boy."
"no thanks to me, padre.
besides, the boy was n't going away.
you do n't know old mahbub ali."
the horse-dealer sat impassive in the sunlight.
"you will when you have been in the station a month.
he sells us all our crocks.
that boy is rather a curiosity.
can you tell me anything about him?"
"can i tell you?"
puffed father victor.
"you'll be the one man that could help me in my quandaries.
tell you!
powers o" darkness, i'm bursting to tell someone who knows something o" the native!"
a groom came round the corner.
colonel creighton raised his voice, speaking in urdu.
"very good, mahbub ali, but what is the use of telling me all those stories about the pony?
not one pice more than three hundred and fifty rupees will i give."
"the sahib is a little hot and angry after riding," the horse-dealer returned, with the leer of a privileged jester.
"presently, he will see my horse's points more clearly.
i will wait till he has finished his talk with the padre.
i will wait under that tree."
"confound you!"
the colonel laughed.
"that comes of looking at one of mahbub's horses.
he's a regular old leech, padre.
wait, then, if thou hast so much time to spare, mahbub.
now i'm at your service, padre.
where is the boy?
oh, he's gone off to collogue with mahbub.
queer sort of boy.
might i ask you to send my mare round under cover?"
he dropped into a chair which commanded a clear view of kim and mahbub ali in conference beneath the tree.
the padre went indoors for cheroots.
creighton heard kim say bitterly: "trust a brahmin before a snake, and a snake before an harlot, and an harlot before a pathan, mahbub ali."
"that is all one."
the great red beard wagged solemnly.
"children should not see a carpet on the loom till the pattern is made plain.
believe me, friend of all the world, i do thee great service.
they will not make a soldier of thee."
"you crafty old sinner!"
thought creighton.
"but you're not far wrong.
that boy must n't be wasted if he is as advertised."
"excuse me half a minute," cried the padre from within, "but i'm gettin" the documents in the case."
"if through me the favour of this bold and wise colonel sahib comes to thee, and thou art raised to honour, what thanks wilt thou give mahbub ali when thou art a man?"
"nay, nay!
i begged thee to let me take the road again, where i should have been safe; and thou hast sold me back to the english.
what will they give thee for blood-money?'"
a cheerful young demon!"
the colonel bit his cigar, and turned politely to father victor.
"what are the letters that the fat priest is waving before the colonel?
stand behind the stallion as though looking at my bridle!"
said mahbub ali."
a letter from my lama which he wrote from jagadhir road, saying that he will pay three hundred rupees by the year for my schooling."
"oho!
is old red hat of that sort?
at which school?"
"god knows.
i think in nucklao."
"yes.
there is a big school there for the sons of sahibs -- and half-sahibs.
i have seen it when i sell horses there.
so the lama also loved the friend of all the world?"
"ay; and he did not tell lies, or return me to captivity."
"small wonder the padre does not know how to unravel the thread.
how fast he talks to the colonel sahib!"
mahbub ali chuckled.
"by allah!"
the keen eyes swept the veranda for an instant -- "thy lama has sent what to me looks like a note of hand.
i have had some few dealings in hoondis.
the colonel sahib is looking at it."
"what good is all this to me?"
said kim wearily.
"thou wilt go away, and they will return me to those empty rooms where there is no good place to sleep and where the boys beat me.'"
i do not think that.
have patience, child.
all pathans are not faithless -- except in horseflesh."
five -- ten -- fifteen minutes passed, father victor talking energetically or asking questions which the colonel answered.
"now i've told you everything that i know about the boy from beginnin to end; and it's a blessed relief to me.
did ye ever hear the like?"
"at any rate, the old man has sent the money.
gobind sahai's notes of hand are good from here to china," said the colonel.
"the more one knows about natives the less can one say what they will or wo n't do."
"that's consolin" -- from the head of the ethnological survey.
it's this mixture of red bulls and rivers of healing -lrb- poor heathen, god help him! -rrb-
an" notes of hand and masonic certificates.
are you a mason, by any chance?"
"by jove, i am, now i come to think of it.
that's an additional reason," said the colonel absently.
"i'm glad ye see a reason in it.
but as i said, it's the mixture o" things that's beyond me.
an" his prophesyin" to our colonel, sitting on my bed with his little shimmy torn open showing his white skin; an" the prophecy comin" true!
they'll cure all that nonsense at st xavier's, eh?"
"sprinkle him with holy water," the colonel laughed.
"on my word, i fancy i ought to sometimes.
but i'm hoping he'll be brought up as a good catholic.
all that troubles me is what'll happen if the old beggar-man --" "lama, lama, my dear sir; and some of them are gentlemen in their own country."
"the lama, then, fails to pay next year.
he's a fine business head to plan on the spur of the moment, but he's bound to die some day.
an" takin" a heathen's money to give a child a christian education --" "but he said explicitly what he wanted.
as soon as he knew the boy was white he seems to have made his arrangements accordingly.
i'd give a month's pay to hear how he explained it all at the tirthankars" temple at benares.
look here, padre, i do n't pretend to know much about natives, but if he says he'll pay, he'll pay -- dead or alive.
i mean, his heirs will assume the debt.
my advice to you is, send the boy down to lucknow.
if your anglican chaplain thinks you've stolen a march on him --" "bad luck to bennett!
he was sent to the front instead o" me.
doughty certified me medically unfit.
i'll excommunicate doughty if he comes back alive!
surely bennett ought to be content with --" "glory, leaving you the religion.
quite so!
as a matter of fact i do n't think bennett will mind.
put the blame on me.
i -- er -- strongly recommend sending the boy to st xavier's.
he can go down on pass as a soldier's orphan, so the railway fare will be saved.
you can buy him an outfit from the regimental subscription.
the lodge will be saved the expense of his education, and that will put the lodge in a good temper.
it's perfectly easy.
i've got to go down to lucknow next week.
i'll look after the boy on the way -- give him in charge of my servants, and so on."
"you're a good man."
"not in the least.
do n't make that mistake.
the lama has sent us money for a definite end.
we ca n't very well return it.
we shall have to do as he says.
well, that's settled, is n't it?
shall we say that, tuesday next, you'll hand him over to me at the night train south?
that's only three days.
he ca n't do much harm in three days."
"it's a weight off my mind, but -- this thing here?"
-- he waved the note of hand --" i do n't know gobind sahai: or his bank, which may be a hole in a wall."
"you've never been a subaltern in debt.
i'll cash it if you like, and send you the vouchers in proper order."
"but with all your own work too!
it's askin" --" "it's not the least trouble indeed.
you see, as an ethnologist, the thing's very interesting to me.
i'd like to make a note of it for some government work that i'm doing.
the transformation of a regimental badge like your red bull into a sort of fetish that the boy follows is very interesting."
"but i ca n't thank you enough."
"there's one thing you can do.
all we ethnological men are as jealous as jackdaws of one another's discoveries.
they're of no interest to anyone but ourselves, of course, but you know what book-collectors are like.
well, do n't say a word, directly or indirectly, about the asiatic side of the boy's character -- his adventures and his prophecy, and so on.
i'll worm them out of the boy later on and -- you see?'"
i do.
ye'll make a wonderful account of it.
never a word will i say to anyone till i see it in print."
"thank you.
that goes straight to an ethnologist's heart.
well, i must be getting back to my breakfast.
good heavens!
old mahbub here still?"
he raised his voice, and the horse-dealer came out from under the shadow of the tree, "well, what is it?"
"as regards that young horse," said mahbub," i say that when a colt is born to be a polo-pony, closely following the ball without teaching -- when such a colt knows the game by divination -- then i say it is a great wrong to break that colt to a heavy cart, sahib!"
"so say i also, mahbub.
the colt will be entered for polo only.
-lrb- these fellows think of nothing in the world but horses, padre. -rrb-
i'll see you tomorrow, mahbub, if you've anything likely for sale."
the dealer saluted, horseman-fashion, with a sweep of the off hand.
"be patient a little, friend of all the world," he whispered to the agonized kim.
"thy fortune is made.
in a little while thou goest to nucklao, and -- here is something to pay the letter-writer.
i shall see thee again, i think, many times," and he cantered off down the road.
"listen to me," said the colonel from the veranda, speaking in the vernacular.
"in three days thou wilt go with me to lucknow, seeing and hearing new things all the while.
therefore sit still for three days and do not run away.
thou wilt go to school at lucknow."
"shall i meet my holy one there?"
kim whimpered.
"at least lucknow is nearer to benares than umballa.
it may be thou wilt go under my protection.
mahbub ali knows this, and he will be angry if thou returnest to the road now.
remember -- much has been told me which i do not forget.'"
i will wait," said kim, "but the boys will beat me."
then the bugles blew for dinner.
chapter 7 unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised with idiot moons and stars retracing stars?
creep thou betweene -- thy coming's all unnoised.
heaven hath her high, as earth her baser, wars.
heir to these tumults, this affright, that fraye -lrb- by adam's, fathers", own, sin bound alway -rrb-; peer up, draw out thy horoscope and say which planet mends thy threadbare fate or mars?
sir john christie.
in the afternoon the red-faced schoolmaster told kim that he had been "struck off the strength", which conveyed no meaning to him till he was ordered to go away and play.
then he ran to the bazar, and found the young letter-writer to whom he owed a stamp.
"now i pay," said kim royally, "and now i need another letter to be written."
"mahbub ali is in umballa," said the writer jauntily.
he was, by virtue of his office, a bureau of general misinformation.
"this is not to mahbub, but to a priest.
take thy pen and write quickly.
to teshoo lama, the holy one from bhotiyal seeking for a river, who is now in the temple of the tirthankars at benares.
take more ink!
in three days i am to go down to nucklao to the school at nucklao.
the name of the school is xavier.
i do not know where that school is, but it is at nucklao."
"but i know nucklao," the writer interrupted."
i know the school."
"tell him where it is, and i give half an anna."
the reed pen scratched busily.
"he can not mistake."
the man lifted his head.
"who watches us across the street?"
kim looked up hurriedly and saw colonel creighton in tennis-flannels.
"oh, that is some sahib who knows the fat priest in the barracks.
he is beckoning me."
"what dost thou?"
said the colonel, when kim trotted up.
"i -- i am not running away.
i send a letter to my holy one at benares.'"
i had not thought of that.
hast thou said that i take thee to lucknow?"
"nay, i have not.
read the letter, if there be a doubt."
"then why hast thou left out my name in writing to that holy one?"
the colonel smiled a queer smile.
kim took his courage in both hands.
"it was said once to me that it is inexpedient to write the names of strangers concerned in any matter, because by the naming of names many good plans are brought to confusion."
"thou hast been well taught," the colonel replied, and kim flushed."
i have left my cheroot-case in the padre's veranda.
bring it to my house this even."
"where is the house?"
said kim.
his quick wit told him that he was being tested in some fashion or another, and he stood on guard.
"ask anyone in the big bazar."
the colonel walked on.
"he has forgotten his cheroot-case," said kim, returning."
i must bring it to him this evening.
that is all my letter except, thrice over, come to me!
come to me!
come to me!
now i will pay for a stamp and put it in the post.
he rose to go, and as an afterthought asked: "who is that angry-faced sahib who lost the cheroot-case?"
"oh, he is only creighton sahib -- a very foolish sahib, who is a colonel sahib without a regiment."
"what is his business?"
"god knows.
he is always buying horses which he can not ride, and asking riddles about the works of god -- such as plants and stones and the customs of people.
the dealers call him the father of fools, because he is so easily cheated about a horse.
mahbub ali says he is madder than most other sahibs."
"oh!"
said kim, and departed.
his training had given him some small knowledge of character, and he argued that fools are not given information which leads to calling out eight thousand men besides guns.
the commander-in-chief of all india does not talk, as kim had heard him talk, to fools.
nor would mahbub ali's tone have changed, as it did every time he mentioned the colonel's name, if the colonel had been a fool.
consequently -- and this set kim to skipping -- there was a mystery somewhere, and mahbub ali probably spied for the colonel much as kim had spied for mahbub.
and, like the horse-dealer, the colonel evidently respected people who did not show themselves to be too clever.
he rejoiced that he had not betrayed his knowledge of the colonel's house; and when, on his return to barracks, he discovered that no cheroot-case had been left behind, he beamed with delight.
here was a man after his own heart -- a tortuous and indirect person playing a hidden game.
well, if he could be a fool, so could kim.
he showed nothing of his mind when father victor, for three long mornings, discoursed to him of an entirely new set of gods and godlings -- notably of a goddess called mary, who, he gathered, was one with bibi miriam of mahbub ali's theology.
he betrayed no emotion when, after the lecture, father victor dragged him from shop to shop buying articles of outfit, nor when envious drummer-boys kicked him because he was going to a superior school did he complain, but awaited the play of circumstances with an interested soul.
father victor, good man, took him to the station, put him into an empty second-class next to colonel creighton's first, and bade him farewell with genuine feeling.
"they'll make a man o" you, o'hara, at st xavier's -- a white man, an", i hope, a good man.
they know all about your comin", an" the colonel will see that ye're not lost or mislaid anywhere on the road.
i've given you a notion of religious matters, -- at least i hope so, -- and you'll remember, when they ask you your religion, that you're a cath "lic.
better say roman cath "lic, tho" i'm not fond of the word."
kim lit a rank cigarette -- he had been careful to buy a stock in the bazar -- and lay down to think.
this solitary passage was very different from that joyful down-journey in the third-class with the lama.
"sahibs get little pleasure of travel," he reflected.
"hai mai!
i go from one place to another as it might be a kickball.
it is my kismet.
no man can escape his kismet.
but i am to pray to bibi miriam, and i am a sahib."
he looked at his boots ruefully.
"no; i am kim.
this is the great world, and i am only kim.
who is kim?"
he considered his own identity, a thing he had never done before, till his head swam.
he was one insignificant person in all this roaring whirl of india, going southward to he knew not what fate.
presently the colonel sent for him, and talked for a long time.
so far as kim could gather, he was to be diligent and enter the survey of india as a chain-man.
if he were very good, and passed the proper examinations, he would be earning thirty rupees a month at seventeen years old, and colonel creighton would see that he found suitable employment.
kim pretended at first to understand perhaps one word in three of this talk.
then the colonel, seeing his mistake, turned to fluent and picturesque urdu and kim was contented.
no man could be a fool who knew the language so intimately, who moved so gently and silently, and whose eyes were so different from the dull fat eyes of other sahibs.
"yes, and thou must learn how to make pictures of roads and mountains and rivers, to carry these pictures in thine eye till a suitable time comes to set them upon paper.
perhaps some day, when thou art a chain-man, i may say to thee when we are working together: "go across those hills and see what lies beyond."
then one will say: "there are bad people living in those hills who will slay the chain-man if he be seen to look like a sahib."
what then?"
kim thought.
would it be safe to return the colonel's lead?"
i would tell what that other man had said."
"but if i answered: "i will give thee a hundred rupees for knowledge of what is behind those hills -- for a picture of a river and a little news of what the people say in the villages there"?"
"how can i tell?
i am only a boy.
wait till i am a man."
then, seeing the colonel's brow clouded, he went on: "but i think i should in a few days earn the hundred rupees."
"by what road?"
kim shook his head resolutely.
"if i said how i would earn them, another man might hear and forestall me.
it is not good to sell knowledge for nothing."
"tell now."
the colonel held up a rupee.
kim's hand half reached towards it, and dropped.
"nay, sahib; nay.
i know the price that will be paid for the answer, but i do not know why the question is asked."
"take it for a gift, then," said creighton, tossing it over.
"there is a good spirit in thee.
do not let it be blunted at st xavier's.
there are many boys there who despise the black men."
"their mothers were bazar-women," said kim.
he knew well there is no hatred like that of the half-caste for his brother-in-law.
"true; but thou art a sahib and the son of a sahib.
therefore, do not at any time be led to contemn the black men.
i have known boys newly entered into the service of the government who feigned not to understand the talk or the customs of black men.
their pay was cut for ignorance.
there is no sin so great as ignorance.
remember this."
several times in the course of the long twenty-four hours" run south did the colonel send for kim, always developing this latter text.
"we be all on one lead-rope, then," said kim at last, "the colonel, mahbub ali, and i -- when i become a chain-man.
he will use me as mahbub ali employed me, i think.
that is good, if it allows me to return to the road again.
this clothing grows no easier by wear."
when they came to the crowded lucknow station there was no sign of the lama.
he swallowed his disappointment, while the colonel bundled him into a ticca-gharri with his neat belongings and despatched him alone to st xavier's."
i do not say farewell, because we shall meet again," he cried.
"again, and many times, if thou art one of good spirit.
but thou art not yet tried."
"not when i brought thee" -- kim actually dared to use the turn of equals --" a white stallion's pedigree that night?"
"much is gained by forgetting, little brother," said the colonel, with a look that pierced through kim's shoulder-blades as he scuttled into the carriage.
it took him nearly five minutes to recover.
then he sniffed the new air appreciatively."
a rich city," he said.
"richer than lahore.
how good the bazars must be!
coachman, drive me a little through the bazars here."
"my order is to take thee to the school."
the driver used the "thou", which is rudeness when applied to a white man.
in the clearest and most fluent vernacular kim pointed out his error, climbed on to the box-seat, and, perfect understanding established, drove for a couple of hours up and down, estimating, comparing, and enjoying.
there is no city -- except bombay, the queen of all -- more beautiful in her garish style than lucknow, whether you see her from the bridge over the river, or from the top of the imambara looking down on the gilt umbrellas of the chutter munzil, and the trees in which the town is bedded.
kings have adorned her with fantastic buildings, endowed her with charities, crammed her with pensioners, and drenched her with blood.
she is the centre of all idleness, intrigue, and luxury, and shares with delhi the claim to talk the only pure urdu."
a fair city -- a beautiful city."
the driver, as a lucknow man, was pleased with the compliment, and told kim many astounding things where an english guide would have talked of the mutiny.
"now we will go to the school," said kim at last.
the great old school of st xavier's in partibus, block on block of low white buildings, stands in vast grounds over against the gumti river, at some distance from the city.
"what like of folk are they within?"
said kim.
"young sahibs -- all devils.
but to speak truth, and i drive many of them to and fro from the railway station, i have never seen one that had in him the making of a more perfect devil than thou -- this young sahib whom i am now driving."
naturally, for he was never trained to consider them in any way improper, kim had passed the time of day with one or two frivolous ladies at upper windows in a certain street, and naturally, in the exchange of compliments, had acquitted himself well.
he was about to acknowledge the driver's last insolence, when his eye -- it was growing dusk -- caught a figure sitting by one of the white plaster gate-pillars in the long sweep of wall.
"stop!"
he cried.
"stay here.
i do not go to the school at once."
"but what is to pay me for this coming and re-coming?"
said the driver petulantly.
"is the boy mad?
last time it was a dancing-girl.
this time it is a priest."
kim was in the road headlong, patting the dusty feet beneath the dirty yellow robe."
i have waited here a day and a half," the lama's level voice began.
"nay, i had a disciple with me.
he that was my friend at the temple of the tirthankars gave me a guide for this journey.
i came from benares in the te-rain, when thy letter was given me.
yes, i am well fed.
i need nothing."
"but why didst thou not stay with the kulu woman, o holy one?
in what way didst thou get to benares?
my heart has been heavy since we parted."
"the woman wearied me by constant flux of talk and requiring charms for children.
i separated myself from that company, permitting her to acquire merit by gifts.
she is at least a woman of open hands, and i made a promise to return to her house if need arose.
then, perceiving myself alone in this great and terrible world, i bethought me of the te-rain to benares, where i knew one abode in the tirthankars" temple who was a seeker, even as i." "ah!
thy river," said kim."
i had forgotten the river."
"so soon, my chela?
i have never forgotten it.
but when i had left thee it seemed better that i should go to the temple and take counsel, for, look you, india is very large, and it may be that wise men before us, some two or three, have left a record of the place of our river.
there is debate in the temple of the tirthankars on this matter; some saying one thing, and some another.
they are courteous folk."
"so be it; but what dost thou do now?'"
i acquire merit in that i help thee, my chela, to wisdom.
the priest of that body of men who serve the red bull wrote me that all should be as i desired for thee.
i sent the money to suffice for one year, and then i came, as thou seest me, to watch for thee going up into the gates of learning.
a day and a half have i waited, not because i was led by any affection towards thee -- that is no part of the way -- but, as they said at the tirthankars" temple, because, money having been paid for learning, it was right that i should oversee the end of the matter.
they resolved my doubts most clearly.
i had a fear that, perhaps, i came because i wished to see thee -- misguided by the red mist of affection.
it is not so... moreover, i am troubled by a dream."
"but surely, holy one, thou hast not forgotten the road and all that befell on it.
surely it was a little to see me that thou didst come?"
"the horses are cold, and it is past their feeding-time," whined the driver.
"go to jehannum and abide there with thy reputationless aunt!"
kim snarled over his shoulder."
i am all alone in this land; i know not where i go nor what shall befall me.
my heart was in that letter i sent thee.
except for mahbub ali, and he is a pathan, i have no friend save thee, holy one.
do not altogether go away.'"
i have considered that also," the lama replied, in a shaking voice.
"it is manifest that from time to time i shall acquire merit if before that i have not found my river -- by assuring myself that thy feet are set on wisdom.
what they will teach thee i do not know, but the priest wrote me that no son of a sahib in all india will be better taught than thou.
so from time to time, therefore, i will come again.
maybe thou wilt be such a sahib as he who gave me these spectacles" -- the lama wiped them elaborately -- "in the wonder house at lahore.
that is my hope, for he was a fountain of wisdom -- wiser than many abbots... again, maybe thou wilt forget me and our meetings."
"if i eat thy bread," cried kim passionately, "how shall i ever forget thee?"
"no -- no."
he put the boy aside."
i must go back to benares.
from time to time, now that i know the customs of letter-writers in this land, i will send thee a letter, and from time to time i will come and see thee."
"but whither shall i send my letters?"
wailed kim, clutching at the robe, all forgetful that he was a sahib.
"to the temple of the tirthankars at benares.
that is the place i have chosen till i find my river.
do not weep; for, look you, all desire is illusion and a new binding upon the wheel.
go up to the gates of learning.
let me see thee go... dost thou love me?
then go, or my heart cracks... i will come again.
surely i will come again.
the lama watched the ticca-gharri rumble into the compound, and strode off, snuffing between each long stride.
"the gates of learning" shut with a clang.
the country born and bred boy has his own manners and customs, which do not resemble those of any other land; and his teachers approach him by roads which an english master would not understand.
therefore, you would scarcely be interested in kim's experiences as a st xavier's boy among two or three hundred precocious youths, most of whom had never seen the sea.
he suffered the usual penalties for breaking out of bounds when there was cholera in the city.
this was before he had learned to write fair english, and so was obliged to find a bazar letter-writer.
he was, of course, indicted for smoking and for the use of abuse more full-flavoured than even st xavier's had ever heard.
he learned to wash himself with the levitical scrupulosity of the native-born, who in his heart considers the englishman rather dirty.
he played the usual tricks on the patient coolies pulling the punkahs in the sleeping-rooms where the boys threshed through the hot nights telling tales till the dawn; and quietly he measured himself against his self-reliant mates.
they were sons of subordinate officials in the railway, telegraph, and canal services; of warrant-officers, sometimes retired and sometimes acting as commanders-in-chief to a feudatory rajah's army; of captains of the indian marine government pensioners, planters, presidency shopkeepers, and missionaries.
a few were cadets of the old eurasian houses that have taken strong root in dhurrumtollah -- pereiras, de souzas, and d'silvas.
their parents could well have educated them in england, but they loved the school that had served their own youth, and generation followed sallow-hued generation at st xavier's.
their homes ranged from howrah of the railway people to abandoned cantonments like monghyr and chunar; lost tea-gardens shillong-way; villages where their fathers were large landholders in oudh or the deccan; mission-stations a week from the nearest railway line; seaports a thousand miles south, facing the brazen indian surf; and cinchona-plantations south of all.
the mere story of their adventures, which to them were no adventures, on their road to and from school would have crisped a western boy's hair.
they were used to jogging off alone through a hundred miles of jungle, where there was always the delightful chance of being delayed by tigers; but they would no more have bathed in the english channel in an english august than their brothers across the world would have lain still while a leopard snuffed at their palanquin.
there were boys of fifteen who had spent a day and a half on an islet in the middle of a flooded river, taking charge, as by right, of a camp of frantic pilgrims returning from a shrine.
there were seniors who had requisitioned a chance-met rajah's elephant, in the name of st francis xavier, when the rains once blotted out the cart-track that led to their father's estate, and had all but lost the huge beast in a quicksand.
there was a boy who, he said, and none doubted, had helped his father to beat off with rifles from the veranda a rush of akas in the days when those head-hunters were bold against lonely plantations.
and every tale was told in the even, passionless voice of the native-born, mixed with quaint reflections, borrowed unconsciously from native foster-mothers, and turns of speech that showed they had been that instant translated from the vernacular.
kim watched, listened, and approved.
this was not insipid, single-word talk of drummer-boys.
it dealt with a life he knew and in part understood.
the atmosphere suited him, and he throve by inches.
they gave him a white drill suit as the weather warmed, and he rejoiced in the new-found bodily comforts as he rejoiced to use his sharpened mind over the tasks they set him.
his quickness would have delighted an english master; but at st xavier's they know the first rush of minds developed by sun and surroundings, as they know the half-collapse that sets in at twenty-two or twenty-three.
none the less he remembered to hold himself lowly.
when tales were told of hot nights, kim did not sweep the board with his reminiscences; for st xavier's looks down on boys who "go native all-together."
one must never forget that one is a sahib, and that some day, when examinations are passed, one will command natives.
kim made a note of this, for he began to understand where examinations led.
then came the holidays from august to october -- the long holidays imposed by the heat and the rains.
kim was informed that he would go north to some station in the hills behind umballa, where father victor would arrange for him."
a barrack-school?"
said kim, who had asked many questions and thought more.
"yes, i suppose so," said the master.
"it will not do you any harm to keep you out of mischief.
you can go up with young de castro as far as delhi."
kim considered it in every possible light.
he had been diligent, even as the colonel advised.
a boy's holiday was his own property -- of so much the talk of his companions had advised him, -- and a barrack-school would be torment after st xavier's.
moreover -- this was magic worth anything else -- he could write.
in three months he had discovered how men can speak to each other without a third party, at the cost of half an anna and a little knowledge.
no word had come from the lama, but there remained the road.
kim yearned for the caress of soft mud squishing up between the toes, as his mouth watered for mutton stewed with butter and cabbages, for rice speckled with strong scented cardamoms, for the saffron-tinted rice, garlic and onions, and the forbidden greasy sweetmeats of the bazars.
they would feed him raw beef on a platter at the barrack-school, and he must smoke by stealth.
but again, he was a sahib and was at st xavier's, and that pig mahbub ali... no, he would not test mahbub's hospitality -- and yet... he thought it out alone in the dormitory, and came to the conclusion he had been unjust to mahbub.
the school was empty; nearly all the masters had gone away; colonel creighton's railway pass lay in his hand, and kim puffed himself that he had not spent colonel creighton's or mahbub's money in riotous living.
he was still lord of two rupees seven annas.
his new bullock-trunk, marked "k. o "h.", and bedding-roll lay in the empty sleeping-room.
"sahibs are always tied to their baggage," said kim, nodding at them.
"you will stay here" he went out into the warm rain, smiling sinfully, and sought a certain house whose outside he had noted down some time before... "arre"!
dost thou know what manner of women we be in this quarter?
oh, shame!"
"was i born yesterday?"
kim squatted native-fashion on the cushions of that upper room."
a little dyestuff and three yards of cloth to help out a jest.
is it much to ask?"
"who is she?
thou art full young, as sahibs go, for this devilry."
"oh, she?
she is the daughter of a certain schoolmaster of a regiment in the cantonments.
he has beaten me twice because i went over their wall in these clothes.
now i would go as a gardener's boy.
old men are very jealous."
"that is true.
hold thy face still while i dab on the juice."
"not too black, naikan.
i would not appear to her as a hubshi -lrb- nigger -rrb-."
"oh, love makes nought of these things.
and how old is she?"
"twelve years, i think," said the shameless kim.
"spread it also on the breast.
it may be her father will tear my clothes off me, and if i am piebald --" he laughed.
the girl worked busily, dabbing a twist of cloth into a little saucer of brown dye that holds longer than any walnut-juice.
"now send out and get me a cloth for the turban.
woe is me, my head is all unshaved!
and he will surely knock off my turban.'"
i am not a barber, but i will make shift.
thou wast born to be a breaker of hearts!
all this disguise for one evening?
remember, the stuff does not wash away."
she shook with laughter till her bracelets and anklets jingled.
"but who is to pay me for this?
huneefa herself could not have given thee better stuff."
"trust in the gods, my sister," said kim gravely, screwing his face round as the stain dried.
"besides, hast thou ever helped to paint a sahib thus before?"
"never indeed.
but a jest is not money."
"it is worth much more."
"child, thou art beyond all dispute the most shameless son of shaitan that i have ever known to take up a poor girl's time with this play, and then to say: "is not the jest enough?"
thou wilt go very far in this world."
she gave the dancing-girls" salutation in mockery.
"all one.
make haste and rough-cut my head."
kim shifted from foot to foot, his eyes ablaze with mirth as he thought of the fat days before him.
he gave the girl four annas, and ran down the stairs in the likeness of a low-caste hindu boy -- perfect in every detail.
a cookshop was his next point of call, where he feasted in extravagance and greasy luxury.
on lucknow station platform he watched young de castro, all covered with prickly-heat, get into a second-class compartment.
kim patronized a third, and was the life and soul of it.
he explained to the company that he was assistant to a juggler who had left him behind sick with fever, and that he would pick up his master at umballa.
as the occupants of the carriage changed, he varied this tale, or adorned it with all the shoots of a budding fancy, the more rampant for being held off native speech so long.
in all india that night was no human being so joyful as kim.
at umballa he got out and headed eastward, plashing over the sodden fields to the village where the old soldier lived.
about this time colonel creighton at simla was advised from lucknow by wire that young o'hara had disappeared.
mahbub ali was in town selling horses, and to him the colonel confided the affair one morning cantering round annandale racecourse.
"oh, that is nothing," said the horse-dealer.
"men are like horses.
at certain times they need salt, and if that salt is not in the mangers they will lick it up from the earth.
he has gone back to the road again for a while.
the madrissak wearied him.
i knew it would.
another time, i will take him upon the road myself.
do not be troubled, creighton sahib.
it is as though a polo-pony, breaking loose, ran out to learn the game alone."
"then he is not dead, think you?"
"fever might kill him.
i do not fear for the boy otherwise.
a monkey does not fall among trees."
next morning, on the same course, mahbub's stallion ranged alongside the colonel.
"it is as i had thought," said the horse-dealer.
"he has come through umballa at least, and there he has written a letter to me, having learned in the bazar that i was here."
"read," said the colonel, with a sigh of relief.
it was absurd that a man of his position should take an interest in a little country-bred vagabond; but the colonel remembered the conversation in the train, and often in the past few months had caught himself thinking of the queer, silent, self-possessed boy.
his evasion, of course, was the height of insolence, but it argued some resource and nerve.
mahbub's eyes twinkled as he reined out into the centre of the cramped little plain, where none could come near unseen."
""the friend of the stars, who is the friend of all the world --"" "what is this?'"
a name we give him in lahore city.
""the friend of all the world takes leave to go to his own places.
he will come back upon the appointed day.
let the box and the bedding-roll be sent for; and if there has been a fault, let the hand of friendship turn aside the whip of calamity."
there is yet a little more, but --" "no matter, read.'"
""certain things are not known to those who eat with forks.
it is better to eat with both hands for a while.
speak soft words to those who do not understand this that the return may be propitious."
now the manner in which that was cast is, of course, the work of the letter-writer, but see how wisely the boy has devised the matter of it so that no hint is given except to those who know!"
"is this the hand of friendship to avert the whip of calamity?"
laughed the colonel.
"see how wise is the boy.
he would go back to the road again, as i said.
not knowing yet thy trade --"' i am not at all sure of that," the colonel muttered.
"he turns to me to make a peace between you.
is he not wise?
he says he will return.
he is but perfecting his knowledge.
think, sahib!
he has been three months at the school.
and he is not mouthed to that bit.
for my part, i rejoice.
the pony learns the game."
"ay, but another time he must not go alone."
"why?
he went alone before he came under the colonel sahib's protection.
when he comes to the great game he must go alone -- alone, and at peril of his head.
then, if he spits, or sneezes, or sits down other than as the people do whom he watches, he may be slain.
why hinder him now?
remember how the persians say: the jackal that lives in the wilds of mazanderan can only be caught by the hounds of mazanderan."
"true.
it is true, mahbub ali.
and if he comes to no harm, i do not desire anything better.
but it is great insolence on his part."
"he does not tell me, even, whither he goes," said mahbub.
"he is no fool.
when his time is accomplished he will come to me.
it is time the healer of pearls took him in hand.
he ripens too quickly -- as sahibs reckon."
this prophecy was fulfilled to the letter a month later.
mahbub had gone down to umballa to bring up a fresh consignment of horses, and kim met him on the kalka road at dusk riding alone, begged an alms of him, was sworn at, and replied in english.
there was nobody within earshot to hear mahbub's gasp of amazement.
"oho!
and where hast thou been?"
"up and down -- down and up."
"come under a tree, out of the wet, and tell.'"
i stayed for a while with an old man near umballa; anon with a household of my acquaintance in umballa.
with one of these i went as far as delhi to the southward.
that is a wondrous city.
then i drove a bullock for a teli -lsb- an oilman -rsb- coming north; but i heard of a great feast forward in patiala, and thither went i in the company of a firework-maker.
it was a great feast" -lrb- kim rubbed his stomach -rrb-."
i saw rajahs, and elephants with gold and silver trappings; and they lit all the fireworks at once, whereby eleven men were killed, my fire-work-maker among them, and i was blown across a tent but took no harm.
then i came back to the rel with a sikh horseman, to whom i was groom for my bread; and so here."
"shabash!"
said mahbub ali.
"but what does the colonel sahib say?
i do not wish to be beaten."
"the hand of friendship has averted the whip of calamity; but another time, when thou takest the road it will be with me.
this is too early."
"late enough for me.
i have learned to read and to write english a little at the madrissah.
i shall soon be altogether a sahib."
"hear him!"
laughed mahbub, looking at the little drenched figure dancing in the wet.
"salaam -- sahib," and he saluted ironically.
"well, art tired of the road, or wilt thou come on to umballa with me and work back with the horses?'"
i come with thee, mahbub ali."
chapter 8 something i owe to the soil that grew -- more to the life that fed -- but most to allah who gave me two separate sides to my head.
i would go without shirts or shoes, friends, tobacco or bread sooner than for an instant lose either side of my head."
the two-sided man.
"then in god's name take blue for red," said mahbub, alluding to the hindu colour of kim's disreputable turban.
kim countered with the old proverb," i will change my faith and my bedding, but thou must pay for it."
the dealer laughed till he nearly fell from his horse.
at a shop on the outskirts of the city the change was made, and kim stood up, externally at least, a mohammedan.
mahbub hired a room over against the railway station, sent for a cooked meal of the finest with the almond-curd sweet-meats -lsb- balushai we call it -rsb- and fine-chopped lucknow tobacco.
"this is better than some other meat that i ate with the sikh," said kim, grinning as he squatted, "and assuredly they give no such victuals at my madrissah.'"
i have a desire to hear of that same madrissah."
mahbub stuffed himself with great boluses of spiced mutton fried in fat with cabbage and golden-brown onions.
"but tell me first, altogether and truthfully, the manner of thy escape.
for, o friend of all the world," -- he loosed his cracking belt --" i do not think it is often that a sahib and the son of a sahib runs away from there."
"how should they?
they do not know the land.
it was nothing," said kim, and began his tale.
when he came to the disguisement and the interview with the girl in the bazar, mahbub ali's gravity went from him.
he laughed aloud and beat his hand on his thigh.
"shabash!
shabash!
oh, well done, little one!
what will the healer of turquoises say to this?
now, slowly, let us hear what befell afterwards -- step by step, omitting nothing."
step by step then, kim told his adventures between coughs as the full-flavoured tobacco caught his lungs."
i said," growled mahbub ali to himself," i said it was the pony breaking out to play polo.
the fruit is ripe already -- except that he must learn his distances and his pacings, and his rods and his compasses.
listen now.
i have turned aside the colonel's whip from thy skin, and that is no small service."
"true."
kim pulled serenely.
"that is true."
"but it is not to be thought that this running out and in is any way good."
"it was my holiday, hajji.
i was a slave for many weeks.
why should i not run away when the school was shut?
look, too, how i, living upon my friends or working for my bread, as i did with the sikh, have saved the colonel sahib a great expense."
mahbub's lips twitched under his well-pruned mohammedan moustache.
"what are a few rupees" -- the pathan threw out his open hand carelessly -- "to the colonel sahib?
he spends them for a purpose, not in any way for love of thee."
"that," said kim slowly," i knew a very long time ago."
"who told?"
"the colonel sahib himself.
not in those many words, but plainly enough for one who is not altogether a mud-head.
yea, he told me in the te-rain when we went down to lucknow."
"be it so.
then i will tell thee more, friend of all the world, though in the telling i lend thee my head."
"it was forfeit to me," said kim, with deep relish, "in umballa, when thou didst pick me up on the horse after the drummer-boy beat me."
"speak a little plainer.
all the world may tell lies save thou and i. for equally is thy life forfeit to me if i chose to raise my finger here."
"and this is known to me also," said kim, readjusting the live charcoal-ball on the weed.
"it is a very sure tie between us.
indeed, thy hold is surer even than mine; for who would miss a boy beaten to death, or, it may be, thrown into a well by the roadside?
most people here and in simla and across the passes behind the hills would, on the other hand, say: "what has come to mahbub ali?"
if he were found dead among his horses.
surely, too, the colonel sahib would make inquiries.
but again," -- kim's face puckered with cunning, -- "he would not make overlong inquiry, lest people should ask: "what has this colonel sahib to do with that horse-dealer?"
but i -- if i lived --" "as thou wouldst surely die --" "maybe; but i say, if i lived, i, and i alone, would know that one had come by night, as a common thief perhaps, to mahbub ali's bulkhead in the serai, and there had slain him, either before or after that thief had made a full search into his saddlebags and between the soles of his slippers.
is that news to tell to the colonel, or would he say to me -- -lrb- i have not forgotten when he sent me back for a cigar-case that he had not left behind him -rrb- -- "what is mahbub ali to me?"
?"
up went a gout of heavy smoke.
there was a long pause: then mahbub ali spoke in admiration: "and with these things on thy mind, dost thou lie down and rise again among all the sahibs" little sons at the madrissah and meekly take instruction from thy teachers?"
"it is an order," said kim blandly.
"who am i to dispute an order?'"
a most finished son of eblis," said mahbub ali.
"but what is this tale of the thief and the search?"
"that which i saw," said kim, "the night that my lama and i lay next thy place in the kashmir seral.
the door was left unlocked, which i think is not thy custom, mahbub.
he came in as one assured that thou wouldst not soon return.
my eye was against a knot-hole in the plank.
he searched as it were for something -- not a rug, not stirrups, nor a bridle, nor brass pots -- something little and most carefully hid.
else why did he prick with an iron between the soles of thy slippers?"
"ha!"
mahbub ali smiled gently.
"and seeing these things, what tale didst thou fashion to thyself, well of the truth?"
"none.
i put my hand upon my amulet, which lies always next to my skin, and, remembering the pedigree of a white stallion that i had bitten out of a piece of mussalmani bread, i went away to umballa perceiving that a heavy trust was laid upon me.
at that hour, had i chosen, thy head was forfeit.
it needed only to say to that man, "i have here a paper concerning a horse which i can not read."
and then?"
kim peered at mahbub under his eyebrows.
"then thou wouldst have drunk water twice -- perhaps thrice, afterwards.
i do not think more than thrice," said mahbub simply.
"it is true.
i thought of that a little, but most i thought that i loved thee, mahbub.
therefore i went to umballa, as thou knowest, but -lrb- and this thou dost not know -rrb- i lay hid in the garden-grass to see what colonel creighton sahib might do upon reading the white stallion's pedigree."
"and what did he?"
for kim had bitten off the conversation.
"dost thou give news for love, or dost thou sell it?"
kim asked."
i sell and -- i buy."
mahbub took a four-anna piece out of his belt and held it up.
"eight!"
said kim, mechanically following the huckster instinct of the east.
mahbub laughed, and put away the coin.
"it is too easy to deal in that market, friend of all the world.
tell me for love.
our lives lie in each other's hand."
"very good.
i saw the jang-i-lat sahib -lsb- the commander-in-chief -rsb- come to a big dinner.
i saw him in creighton sahib's office.
i saw the two read the white stallion's pedigree.
i heard the very orders given for the opening of a great war."
"hah!"
mahbub nodded with deepest eyes afire.
"the game is well played.
that war is done now, and the evil, we hope, nipped before the flower -- thanks to me -- and thee.
what didst thou later?'"
i made the news as it were a hook to catch me victual and honour among the villagers in a village whose priest drugged my lama.
but i bore away the old man's purse, and the brahmin found nothing.
so next morning he was angry.
ho!
ho!
and i also used the news when i fell into the hands of that white regiment with their bull!"
"that was foolishness."
mahbub scowled.
"news is not meant to be thrown about like dung-cakes, but used sparingly -- like bhang."
"so i think now, and moreover, it did me no sort of good.
but that was very long ago," he made as to brush it all away with a thin brown hand -- "and since then, and especially in the nights under the punkah at the madrissah, i have thought very greatly."
"is it permitted to ask whither the heaven-born's thought might have led?"
said mahbub, with an elaborate sarcasm, smoothing his scarlet beard.
"it is permitted," said kim, and threw back the very tone.
"they say at nucklao that no sahib must tell a black man that he has made a fault."
mahbub's hand shot into his bosom, for to call a pathan a "black man" -lsb- kala admi -rsb- is a blood-insult.
then he remembered and laughed.
"speak, sahib.
thy black man hears."
"but," said kim," i am not a sahib, and i say i made a fault to curse thee, mahbub ali, on that day at umballa when i thought i was betrayed by a pathan.
i was senseless; for i was but newly caught, and i wished to kill that low-caste drummer-boy.
i say now, hajji, that it was well done; and i see my road all clear before me to a good service.
i will stay in the madrissah till i am ripe."
"well said.
especially are distances and numbers and the manner of using compasses to be learned in that game.
one waits in the hills above to show thee.'"
i will learn their teaching upon a condition -- that my time is given to me without question when the madrissah is shut.
ask that for me of the colonel."
"but why not ask the colonel in the sahibs" tongue?"
"the colonel is the servant of the government.
he is sent hither and yon at a word, and must consider his own advancement.
-lrb- see how much i have already learned at nucklao! -rrb-
moreover, the colonel i know since three months only.
i have known one mahbub ali for six years.
so!
to the madrissah i will go.
at the madrissah i will learn.
in the madrissah i will be a sahib.
but when the madrissah is shut, then must i be free and go among my people.
otherwise i die!"
"and who are thy people, friend of all the world?"
"this great and beautiful land," said kim, waving his paw round the little clay-walled room where the oil-lamp in its niche burned heavily through the tobacco-smoke.
"and, further, i would see my lama again.
and, further, i need money."
"that is the need of everyone," said mahbub ruefully."
i will give thee eight annas, for much money is not picked out of horses" hooves, and it must suffice for many days.
as to all the rest, i am well pleased, and no further talk is needed.
make haste to learn, and in three years, or it may be less, thou wilt be an aid -- even to me."
"have i been such a hindrance till now?"
said kim, with a boy's giggle.
"do not give answers," mahbub grunted.
"thou art my new horse-boy.
go and bed among my men.
they are near the north end of the station, with the horses."
"they will beat me to the south end of the station if i come without authority."
mahbub felt in his belt, wetted his thumb on a cake of chinese ink, and dabbed the impression on a piece of soft native paper.
from balkh to bombay men know that rough-ridged print with the old scar running diagonally across it.
"that is enough to show my headman.
i come in the morning."
"by which road?"
said kim.
"by the road from the city.
there is but one, and then we return to creighton sahib.
i have saved thee a beating."
"allah!
what is a beating when the very head is loose on the shoulders?"
kim slid out quietly into the night, walked half round the house, keeping close to the walls, and headed away from the station for a mile or so.
then, fetching a wide compass, he worked back at leisure, for he needed time to invent a story if any of mahbub's retainers asked questions.
they were camped on a piece of waste ground beside the railway, and, being natives, had not, of course, unloaded the two trucks in which mahbub's animals stood among a consignment of country-breds bought by the bombay tram-company.
the headman, a broken-down, consumptive-looking mohammedan, promptly challenged kim, but was pacified at sight of mahbub's sign-manual.
"the hajji has of his favour given me service," said kim testily.
"if this be doubted, wait till he comes in the morning.
meantime, a place by the fire."
followed the usual aimless babble that every low-caste native must raise on every occasion.
it died down, and kim lay out behind the little knot of mahbub's followers, almost under the wheels of a horse-truck, a borrowed blanket for covering.
now a bed among brickbats and ballast-refuse on a damp night, between overcrowded horses and unwashed baltis, would not appeal to many white boys; but kim was utterly happy.
change of scene, service, and surroundings were the breath of his little nostrils, and thinking of the neat white cots of st xavier's all arow under the punkah gave him joy as keen as the repetition of the multiplication-table in english."
i am very old," he thought sleepily.
"every month i become a year more old.
i was very young, and a fool to boot, when i took mahbub's message to umballa.
even when i was with that white regiment i was very young and small and had no wisdom.
but now i learn every day, and in three years the colonel will take me out of the madrissah and let me go upon the road with mahbub hunting for horses" pedigrees, or maybe i shall go by myself; or maybe i shall find the lama and go with him.
yes; that is best.
to walk again as a chela with my lama when he comes back to benares."
the thoughts came more slowly and disconnectedly.
he was plunging into a beautiful dreamland when his ears caught a whisper, thin and sharp, above the monotonous babble round the fire.
it came from behind the iron-skinned horse-truck.
"he is not here, then?"
"where should he be but roystering in the city.
who looks for a rat in a frog-pond?
come away.
he is not our man."
"he must not go back beyond the passes a second time.
it is the order."
"hire some woman to drug him.
it is a few rupees only, and there is no evidence."
"except the woman.
it must be more certain; and remember the price upon his head."
"ay, but the police have a long arm, and we are far from the border.
if it were in peshawur, now!"
"yes -- in peshawur," the second voice sneered.
"peshawur, full of his blood-kin -- full of bolt-holes and women behind whose clothes he will hide.
yes, peshawur or jehannum would suit us equally well."
"then what is the plan?'"
o fool, have i not told it a hundred times?
wait till he comes to lie down, and then one sure shot.
the trucks are between us and pursuit.
we have but to run back over the lines and go our way.
they will not see whence the shot came.
wait here at least till the dawn.
what manner of fakir art thou, to shiver at a little watching?"
"oho!"
thought kim, behind close-shut eyes.
"once again it is mahbub.
indeed a white stallion's pedigree is not a good thing to peddle to sahibs!
or maybe mahbub has been selling other news.
now what is to do, kim?
i know not where mahbub houses, and if he comes here before the dawn they will shoot him.
that would be no profit for thee, kim.
and this is not a matter for the police.
that would be no profit for mahbub; and" -- he giggled almost aloud --" i do not remember any lesson at nucklao which will help me.
allah!
here is kim and yonder are they.
first, then, kim must wake and go away, so that they shall not suspect.
a bad dream wakes a man -- thus --" he threw the blanket off his face, and raised himself suddenly with the terrible, bubbling, meaningless yell of the asiatic roused by nightmare.
"urr-urr-urr-urr!
ya-la-la-la-la!
narain!
the churel!
the churel!"
a churel is the peculiarly malignant ghost of a woman who has died in child-bed.
she haunts lonely roads, her feet are turned backwards on the ankles, and she leads men to torment.
louder rose kim's quavering howl, till at last he leaped to his feet and staggered off sleepily, while the camp cursed him for waking them.
some twenty yards farther up the line he lay down again, taking care that the whisperers should hear his grunts and groans as he recomposed himself.
after a few minutes he rolled towards the road and stole away into the thick darkness.
he paddled along swiftly till he came to a culvert, and dropped behind it, his chin on a level with the coping-stone.
here he could command all the night-traffic, himself unseen.
two or three carts passed, jingling out to the suburbs; a coughing policeman and a hurrying foot-passenger or two who sang to keep off evil spirits.
then rapped the shod feet of a horse.
"ah!
this is more like mahbub," thought kim, as the beast shied at the little head above the culvert.
"ohe", mahbub ali," he whispered, "have a care!"
the horse was reined back almost on its haunches, and forced towards the culvert.
"never again," said mahbub, "will i take a shod horse for night-work.
they pick up all the bones and nails in the city."
he stooped to lift its forefoot, and that brought his head within a foot of kim's.
"down -- keep down," he muttered.
"the night is full of eyes."
"two men wait thy coming behind the horse-trucks.
they will shoot thee at thy lying down, because there is a price on thy head.
i heard, sleeping near the horses."
"didst thou see them?
... hold still, sire of devils!"
this furiously to the horse.
"no."
"was one dressed belike as a fakir?"
"one said to the other, "what manner of fakir art thou, to shiver at a little watching?""
"good.
go back to the camp and lie down.
i do not die tonight."
mahbub wheeled his horse and vanished.
kim tore back down the ditch till he reached a point opposite his second resting-place, slipped across the road like a weasel, and re-coiled himself in the blanket.
"at least mahbub knows," he thought contentedly.
"and certainly he spoke as one expecting it.
i do not think those two men will profit by tonight's watch."
an hour passed, and, with the best will in the world to keep awake all night, he slept deeply.
now and again a night train roared along the metals within twenty feet of him; but he had all the oriental's indifference to mere noise, and it did not even weave a dream through his slumber.
mahbub was anything but asleep.
it annoyed him vehemently that people outside his tribe and unaffected by his casual amours should pursue him for the life.
his first and natural impulse was to cross the line lower down, work up again, and, catching his well-wishers from behind, summarily slay them.
here, he reflected with sorrow, another branch of the government, totally unconnected with colonel creighton, might demand explanations which would be hard to supply; and he knew that south of the border a perfectly ridiculous fuss is made about a corpse or so.
he had not been troubled in this way since he sent kim to umballa with the message, and hoped that suspicion had been finally diverted.
then a most brilliant notion struck him.
"the english do eternally tell the truth," he said, "therefore we of this country are eternally made foolish.
by allah, i will tell the truth to an englishman!
of what use is the government police if a poor kabuli be robbed of his horses in their very trucks.
this is as bad as peshawur!
i should lay a complaint at the station.
better still, some young sahib on the railway!
they are zealous, and if they catch thieves it is remembered to their honour."
he tied up his horse outside the station, and strode on to the platform.
"hullo, mahbub ali" said a young assistant district traffic superintendent who was waiting to go down the line -- a tall, tow-haired, horsey youth in dingy white linen.
"what are you doing here?
selling weeds -- eh?"
"no; i am not troubled for my horses.
i come to look for lutuf ullah.
i have a truck-load up the line.
could anyone take them out without the railway's knowledge?"
"should n't think so, mahbub.
you can claim against us if they do.'"
i have seen two men crouching under the wheels of one of the trucks nearly all night.
fakirs do not steal horses, so i gave them no more thought.
i would find lutuf ullah, my partner."
"the deuce you did?
and you did n't bother your head about it?
"pon my word, it's just almost as well that i met you.
what were they like, eh?"
"they were only fakirs.
they will no more than take a little grain, perhaps, from one of the trucks.
there are many up the line.
the state will never miss the dole.
i came here seeking for my partner, lutuf ullah."
"never mind your partner.
where are your horse-trucks?'"
a little to this side of the farthest place where they make lamps for the trains."
-- "the signal-box!
yes."
"and upon the rail nearest to the road upon the right-hand side -- looking up the line thus.
but as regards lutuf ullah -- a tall man with a broken nose, and a persian greyhound aie!"
the boy had hurried off to wake up a young and enthusiastic policeman; for, as he said, the railway had suffered much from depredations in the goods-yard.
mahbub ali chuckled in his dyed beard.
"they will walk in their boots, making a noise, and then they will wonder why there are no fakirs.
they are very clever boys -- barton sahib and young sahib."
he waited idly for a few minutes, expecting to see them hurry up the line girt for action.
a light engine slid through the station, and he caught a glimpse of young barton in the cab."
i did that child an injustice.
he is not altogether a fool," said mahbub ali.
"to take a fire-carriage for a thief is a new game!"
when mahbub ali came to his camp in the dawn, no one thought it worth while to tell him any news of the night.
no one, at least, but one small horseboy, newly advanced to the great man's service, whom mahbub called to his tiny tent to assist in some packing.
"it is all known to me," whispered kim, bending above saddlebags.
"two sahibs came up on a te-train.
i was running to and fro in the dark on this side of the trucks as the te-train moved up and down slowly.
they fell upon two men sitting under this truck -- hajji, what shall i do with this lump of tobacco?
wrap it in paper and put it under the salt-bag?
yes -- and struck them down.
but one man struck at a sahib with a fakir's buck's horn" -lrb- kim meant the conjoined black-buck horns, which are a fakir's sole temporal weapon -rrb- -- "the blood came.
so the other sahib, first smiting his own man senseless, smote the stabber with a short gun which had rolled from the first man's hand.
they all raged as though mad together."
mahbub smiled with heavenly resignation.
"no!
that is not so much dewanee -lsb- madness, or a case for the civil court -- the word can be punned upon both ways -rsb- as nizamut -lsb- a criminal case -rsb-.
a gun, sayest thou?
ten good years in jail."
"then they both lay still, but i think they were nearly dead when they were put on the te-train.
their heads moved thus.
and there is much blood on the line.
come and see?'"
i have seen blood before.
jail is the sure place -- and assuredly they will give false names, and assuredly no man will find them for a long time.
they were unfriends of mine.
thy fate and mine seem on one string.
what a tale for the healer of pearls!
now swiftly with the saddle-bags and the cooking-platter.
we will take out the horses and away to simla."
swiftly -- as orientals understand speed -- with long explanations, with abuse and windy talk, carelessly, amid a hundred checks for little things forgotten, the untidy camp broke up and led the half-dozen stiff and fretful horses along the kalka road in the fresh of the rain-swept dawn.
kim, regarded as mahbub ali's favourite by all who wished to stand well with the pathan, was not called upon to work.
they strolled on by the easiest of stages, halting every few hours at a wayside shelter.
very many sahibs travel along the kalka road; and, as mahbub ali says, every young sahib must needs esteem himself a judge of a horse, and, though he be over head in debt to the money-lender, must make as if to buy.
that was the reason that sahib after sahib, rolling along in a stage-carriage, would stop and open talk.
some would even descend from their vehicles and feel the horses" legs; asking inane questions, or, through sheer ignorance of the vernacular, grossly insulting the imperturbable trader.
"when first i dealt with sahibs, and that was when colonel soady sahib was governor of fort abazai and flooded the commissioner's camping-ground for spite," mahbub confided to kim as the boy filled his pipe under a tree," i did not know how greatly they were fools, and this made me wroth.
as thus --," and he told kim a tale of an expression, misused in all innocence, that doubled kim up with mirth.
"now i see, however," -- he exhaled smoke slowly -- "that it is with them as with all men -- in certain matters they are wise, and in others most foolish.
very foolish it is to use the wrong word to a stranger; for though the heart may be clean of offence, how is the stranger to know that?
he is more like to search truth with a dagger."
"true.
true talk," said kim solemnly.
"fools speak of a cat when a woman is brought to bed, for instance.
i have heard them."
"therefore, in one situate as thou art, it particularly behoves thee to remember this with both kinds of faces.
among sahibs, never forgetting thou art a sahib; among the folk of hind, always remembering thou art --" he paused, with a puzzled smile.
"what am i?
mussalman, hindu, jain, or buddhist?
that is a hard knot."
"thou art beyond question an unbeliever, and therefore thou wilt be damned.
so says my law -- or i think it does.
but thou art also my little friend of all the world, and i love thee.
so says my heart.
this matter of creeds is like horseflesh.
the wise man knows horses are good -- that there is a profit to be made from all; and for myself -- but that i am a good sunni and hate the men of tirah -- i could believe the same of all the faiths.
now manifestly a kathiawar mare taken from the sands of her birthplace and removed to the west of bengal founders -- nor is even a balkh stallion -lrb- and there are no better horses than those of balkh, were they not so heavy in the shoulder -rrb- of any account in the great northern deserts beside the snow-camels i have seen.
therefore i say in my heart the faiths are like the horses.
each has merit in its own country."
"but my lama said altogether a different thing."
"oh, he is an old dreamer of dreams from bhotiyal.
my heart is a little angry, friend of all the world, that thou shouldst see such worth in a man so little known."
"it is true, hajji; but that worth do i see, and to him my heart is drawn."
"and his to thine, i hear.
hearts are like horses.
they come and they go against bit or spur.
shout gul sher khan yonder to drive in that bay stallion's pickets more firmly.
we do not want a horse-fight at every resting-stage, and the dun and the black will be locked in a little... now hear me.
is it necessary to the comfort of thy heart to see that lama?"
"it is one part of my bond," said kim.
"if i do not see him, and if he is taken from me, i will go out of that madrissah in nucklao and, and -- once gone, who is to find me again?"
"it is true.
never was colt held on a lighter heel-rope than thou."
mahbub nodded his head.
"do not be afraid."
kim spoke as though he could have vanished on the moment.
"my lama has said that he will come to see me at the madrissah --"' a beggar and his bowl in the presence of those young sa --" "not all!"
kim cut in with a snort.
"their eyes are blued and their nails are blackened with low-caste blood, many of them.
sons of mehteranees -- brothers-in-law to the bhungi -lsb- sweeper -rsb-."
we need not follow the rest of the pedigree; but kim made his little point clearly and without heat, chewing a piece of sugar-cane the while.
"friend of all the world," said mahbub, pushing over the pipe for the boy to clean," i have met many men, women, and boys, and not a few sahibs.
i have never in all my days met such an imp as thou art."
"and why?
when i always tell thee the truth."
"perhaps the very reason, for this is a world of danger to honest men."
mahbub ali hauled himself off the ground, girt in his belt, and went over to the horses.
"or sell it?"
there was that in the tone that made mahbub halt and turn.
"what new devilry?"
"eight annas, and i will tell," said kim, grinning.
"it touches thy peace.'"
o shaitan!"
mahbub gave the money.
"rememberest thou the little business of the thieves in the dark, down yonder at umballa?"
"seeing they sought my life, i have not altogether forgotten.
why?"
"rememberest thou the kashmir serai?'"
i will twist thy ears in a moment -- sahib."
"no need -- pathan.
only, the second fakir, whom the sahibs beat senseless, was the man who came to search thy bulkhead at lahore.
i saw his face as they helped him on the engine.
the very same man."
"why didst thou not tell before?"
"oh, he will go to jail, and be safe for some years.
there is no need to tell more than is necessary at any one time.
besides, i did not then need money for sweetmeats."
"allah kerim!"
said mahbub ah.
"wilt thou some day sell my head for a few sweetmeats if the fit takes thee?"
kim will remember till he dies that long, lazy journey from umballa, through kalka and the pinjore gardens near by, up to simla.
a sudden spate in the gugger river swept down one horse -lrb- the most valuable, be sure -rrb-, and nearly drowned kim among the dancing boulders.
farther up the road the horses were stampeded by a government elephant, and being in high condition of grass food, it cost a day and a half to get them together again.
then they met sikandar khan coming down with a few unsaleable screws -- remnants of his string -- and mahbub, who has more of horse-coping in his little fingernail than sikandar khan in all his tents, must needs buy two of the worst, and that meant eight hours" laborious diplomacy and untold tobacco.
but it was all pure delight -- the wandering road, climbing, dipping, and sweeping about the growing spurs; the flush of the morning laid along the distant snows; the branched cacti, tier upon tier on the stony hillsides; the voices of a thousand water-channels; the chatter of the monkeys; the solemn deodars, climbing one after another with down-drooped branches; the vista of the plains rolled out far beneath them; the incessant twanging of the tonga-horns and the wild rush of the led horses when a tonga swung round a curve; the halts for prayers -lrb- mahbub was very religious in dry-washings and bellowings when time did not press -rrb-; the evening conferences by the halting-places, when camels and bullocks chewed solemnly together and the stolid drivers told the news of the road -- all these things lifted kim's heart to song within him.
"but, when the singing and dancing is done," said mahbub ali, "comes the colonel sahib's, and that is not so sweet.'"
a fair land -- a most beautiful land is this of hind -- and the land of the five rivers is fairer than all," kim half chanted.
"into it i will go again if mahbub ali or the colonel lift hand or foot against me.
once gone, who shall find me?
look, hajji, is yonder the city of simla?
allah, what a city!"
"my father's brother, and he was an old man when mackerson sahib's well was new at peshawur, could recall when there were but two houses in it."
he led the horses below the main road into the lower simla bazar -- the crowded rabbit-warren that climbs up from the valley to the town hall at an angle of forty-five.
a man who knows his way there can defy all the police of india's summer capital, so cunningly does veranda communicate with veranda, alley-way with alley-way, and bolt-hole with bolt-hole.
here live those who minister to the wants of the glad city -- jhampanis who pull the pretty ladies" "rickshaws by night and gamble till the dawn; grocers, oil-sellers, curio-vendors, firewood-dealers, priests, pickpockets, and native employees of the government.
here are discussed by courtesans the things which are supposed to be profoundest secrets of the india council; and here gather all the sub-sub-agents of half the native states.
here, too, mahbub ali rented a room, much more securely locked than his bulkhead at lahore, in the house of a mohammedan cattle-dealer.
it was a place of miracles, too, for there went in at twilight a mohammedan horseboy, and there came out an hour later a eurasian lad -- the lucknow girl's dye was of the best -- in badly-fitting shop-clothes."
i have spoken with creighton sahib," quoth mahbub ali, "and a second time has the hand of friendship averted the whip of calamity.
he says that thou hast altogether wasted sixty days upon the road, and it is too late, therefore, to send thee to any hill-school.'"
i have said that my holidays are my own.
i do not go to school twice over.
that is one part of my bond."
"the colonel sahib is not yet aware of that contract.
thou art to lodge in lurgan sahib's house till it is time to go again to nucklao.'"
i had sooner lodge with thee, mahbub."
"thou dost not know the honour.
lurgan sahib himself asked for thee.
thou wilt go up the hill and along the road atop, and there thou must forget for a while that thou hast ever seen or spoken to me, mahbub ali, who sells horses to creighton sahib, whom thou dost not know.
remember this order."
kim nodded.
"good," said he, "and who is lurgan sahib?
nay" -- he caught mahbub's sword-keen glance -- "indeed i have never heard his name.
is he by chance -- he lowered his voice -- "one of us?"
"what talk is this of us, sahib?"
mahbub ali returned, in the tone he used towards europeans."
i am a pathan; thou art a sahib and the son of a sahib.
lurgan sahib has a shop among the european shops.
all simla knows it.
ask there... and, friend of all the world, he is one to be obeyed to the last wink of his eyelashes.
men say he does magic, but that should not touch thee.
go up the hill and ask.
here begins the great game."
chapter 9 s" doaks was son of yelth the wise -- chief of the raven clan.
itswoot the bear had him in care to make him a medicine-man.
he was quick and quicker to learn -- bold and bolder to dare: he danced the dread kloo-kwallie dance to tickle itswoot the bear!
oregon legend kim flung himself whole-heartedly upon the next turn of the wheel.
he would be a sahib again for a while.
in that idea, so soon as he had reached the broad road under simla town hall, he cast about for one to impress.
a hindu child, some ten years old, squatted under a lamp-post.
"where is mr lurgan's house?"
demanded kim."
i do not understand english," was the answer, and kim shifted his speech accordingly."
i will show."
together they set off through the mysterious dusk, full of the noises of a city below the hillside, and the breath of a cool wind in deodar-crowned jakko, shouldering the stars.
the house-lights, scattered on every level, made, as it were, a double firmament.
some were fixed, others belonged to the "rickshaws of the careless, open-spoken english folk, going out to dinner.
"it is here," said kim's guide, and halted in a veranda flush with the main road.
no door stayed them, but a curtain of beaded reeds that split up the lamplight beyond.
"he is come," said the boy, in a voice little louder than a sigh, and vanished.
kim felt sure that the boy had been posted to guide him from the first, but, putting a bold face on it, parted the curtain.
a black-bearded man, with a green shade over his eyes, sat at a table, and, one by one, with short, white hands, picked up globules of light from a tray before him, threaded them on a glancing silken string, and hummed to himself the while.
kim was conscious that beyond the circle of light the room was full of things that smelt like all the temples of all the east.
a whiff of musk, a puff of sandal-wood, and a breath of sickly jessamine-oil caught his opened nostrils."
i am here," said kim at last, speaking in the vernacular: the smells made him forget that he was to be a sahib.
"seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one," the man counted to himself, stringing pearl after pearl so quickly that kim could scarcely follow his fingers.
he slid off the green shade and looked fixedly at kim for a full half-minute.
the pupils of the eye dilated and closed to pin-pricks, as if at will.
there was a fakir by the taksali gate who had just this gift and made money by it, especially when cursing silly women.
kim stared with interest.
his disreputable friend could further twitch his ears, almost like a goat, and kim was disappointed that this new man could not imitate him.
"do not be afraid," said lurgan sahib suddenly.
"why should i fear?"
"thou wilt sleep here tonight, and stay with me till it is time to go again to nucklao.
it is an order."
"it is an order," kim repeated.
"but where shall i sleep?"
"here, in this room."
lurgan sahib waved his hand towards the darkness behind him.
"so be it," said kim composedly.
"now?"
he nodded and held the lamp above his head.
as the light swept them, there leaped out from the walls a collection of tibetan devil-dance masks, hanging above the fiend-embroidered draperies of those ghastly functions -- horned masks, scowling masks, and masks of idiotic terror.
in a corner, a japanese warrior, mailed and plumed, menaced him with a halberd, and a score of lances and khandas and kuttars gave back the unsteady gleam.
but what interested kim more than all these things -- he had seen devil-dance masks at the lahore museum -- was a glimpse of the soft-eyed hindu child who had left him in the doorway, sitting cross-legged under the table of pearls with a little smile on his scarlet lips."
i think that lurgan sahib wishes to make me afraid.
and i am sure that that devil's brat below the table wishes to see me afraid.
"this place," he said aloud, "is like a wonder house.
where is my bed?"
lurgan sahib pointed to a native quilt in a corner by the loathsome masks, picked up the lamp, and left the room black.
"was that lurgan sahib?"
kim asked as he cuddled down.
no answer.
he could hear the hindu boy breathing, however, and, guided by the sound, crawled across the floor, and cuffed into the darkness, crying: "give answer, devil!
is this the way to lie to a sahib?"
from the darkness he fancied he could hear the echo of a chuckle.
it could not be his soft-fleshed companion, because he was weeping.
so kim lifted up his voice and called aloud: "lurgan sahib!
o lurgan sahib!
is it an order that thy servant does not speak to me?"
"it is an order."
the voice came from behind him and he started.
"very good.
but remember," he muttered, as he resought the quilt," i will beat thee in the morning.
i do not love hindus."
that was no cheerful night; the room being overfull of voices and music.
kim was waked twice by someone calling his name.
the second time he set out in search, and ended by bruising his nose against a box that certainly spoke with a human tongue, but in no sort of human accent.
it seemed to end in a tin trumpet and to be joined by wires to a smaller box on the floor -- so far, at least, as he could judge by touch.
and the voice, very hard and whirring, came out of the trumpet.
kim rubbed his nose and grew furious, thinking, as usual, in hindi.
"this with a beggar from the bazar might be good, but -- i am a sahib and the son of a sahib and, which is twice as much more beside, a student of nucklao.
yess" -lrb- here he turned to english -rrb-," a boy of st xavier's.
damn mr lurgan's eyes!
-- it is some sort of machinery like a sewing-machine.
oh, it is a great cheek of him -- we are not frightened that way at lucknow -- no!"
then in hindi: "but what does he gain?
he is only a trader -- i am in his shop.
but creighton sahib is a colonel -- and i think creighton sahib gave orders that it should be done.
how i will beat that hindu in the morning!
what is this?"
the trumpet-box was pouring out a string of the most elaborate abuse that even kim had ever heard, in a high uninterested voice, that for a moment lifted the short hairs of his neck.
when the vile thing drew breath, kim was reassured by the soft, sewing-machine-like whirr.
"chup!
-lsb- be still -rsb-" he cried, and again he heard a chuckle that decided him.
"chup -- or i break your head."
the box took no heed.
kim wrenched at the tin trumpet and something lifted with a click.
he had evidently raised a lid.
if there were a devil inside, now was its time, for -- he sniffed -- thus did the sewing-machines of the bazar smell.
he would clean that shaitan.
he slipped off his jacket, and plunged it into the box's mouth.
something long and round bent under the pressure, there was a whirr and the voice stopped -- as voices must if you ram a thrice-doubled coat on to the wax cylinder and into the works of an expensive phonograph.
kim finished his slumbers with a serene mind.
in the morning he was aware of lurgan sahib looking down on him.
"oah!"
said kim, firmly resolved to cling to his sahib-dom.
"there was a box in the night that gave me bad talk.
so i stopped it.
was it your box?"
the man held out his hand.
"shake hands, o'hara," he said.
"yes, it was my box.
i keep such things because my friends the rajahs like them.
that one is broken, but it was cheap at the price.
yes, my friends, the kings, are very fond of toys -- and so am i sometimes."
kim looked him over out of the corners of his eyes.
he was a sahib in that he wore sahib's clothes; the accent of his urdu, the intonation of his english, showed that he was anything but a sahib.
he seemed to understand what moved in kim's mind ere the boy opened his mouth, and he took no pains to explain himself as did father victor or the lucknow masters.
sweetest of all -- he treated kim as an equal on the asiatic side."
i am sorry you can not beat my boy this morning.
he says he will kill you with a knife or poison.
he is jealous, so i have put him in the corner and i shall not speak to him today.
he has just tried to kill me.
you must help me with the breakfast.
he is almost too jealous to trust, just now."
now a genuine imported sahib from england would have made a great to-do over this tale.
lurgan sahib stated it as simply as mahbub ali was used to record his little affairs in the north.
the back veranda of the shop was built out over the sheer hillside, and they looked down into their neighbours" chimney-pots, as is the custom of simla.
but even more than the purely persian meal cooked by lurgan sahib with his own hands, the shop fascinated kim.
the lahore museum was larger, but here were more wonders -- ghost-daggers and prayer-wheels from tibet; turquoise and raw amber necklaces; green jade bangles; curiously packed incense-sticks in jars crusted over with raw garnets; the devil-masks of overnight and a wall full of peacock-blue draperies; gilt figures of buddha, and little portable lacquer altars; russian samovars with turquoises on the lid; egg-shell china sets in quaint octagonal cane boxes; yellow ivory crucifixes -- from japan of all places in the world, so lurgan sahib said; carpets in dusty bales, smelling atrociously, pushed back behind torn and rotten screens of geometrical work; persian water-jugs for the hands after meals; dull copper incense-burners neither chinese nor persian, with friezes of fantastic devils running round them; tarnished silver belts that knotted like raw hide; hairpins of jade, ivory, and plasma; arms of all sorts and kinds, and a thousand other oddments were cased, or piled, or merely thrown into the room, leaving a clear space only round the rickety deal table, where lurgan sahib worked.
"those things are nothing," said his host, following kim's glance."
i buy them because they are pretty, and sometimes i sell -- if i like the buyer's look.
my work is on the table -- some of it."
it blazed in the morning light -- all red and blue and green flashes, picked out with the vicious blue-white spurt of a diamond here and there.
kim opened his eyes.
"oh, they are quite well, those stones.
it will not hurt them to take the sun.
besides, they are cheap.
but with sick stones it is very different."
he piled kim's plate anew.
"there is no one but me can doctor a sick pearl and re-blue turquoises.
i grant you opals -- any fool can cure an opal -- but for a sick pearl there is only me.
suppose i were to die!
then there would be no one... oh no!
you can not do anything with jewels.
it will be quite enough if you understand a little about the turquoise -- some day."
he moved to the end of the veranda to refill the heavy, porous clay water-jug from the filter.
"do you want drink?"
kim nodded.
lurgan sahib, fifteen feet off, laid one hand on the jar.
next instant, it stood at kim's elbow, full to within half an inch of the brim -- the white cloth only showing, by a small wrinkle, where it had slid into place.
"wah!"
said kim in most utter amazement.
"that is magic."
lurgan sahib's smile showed that the compliment had gone home.
"throw it back."
"it will break.'"
i say, throw it back."
kim pitched it at random.
it fell short and crashed into fifty pieces, while the water dripped through the rough veranda boarding."
i said it would break."
"all one.
look at it.
look at the largest piece."
that lay with a sparkle of water in its curve, as it were a star on the floor.
kim looked intently.
lurgan sahib laid one hand gently on the nape of his neck, stroked it twice or thrice, and whispered: "look!
it shall come to life again, piece by piece.
first the big piece shall join itself to two others on the right and the left -- on the right and the left.
look!"
to save his life, kim could not have turned his head.
the light touch held him as in a vice, and his blood tingled pleasantly through him.
there was one large piece of the jar where there had been three, and above them the shadowy outline of the entire vessel.
he could see the veranda through it, but it was thickening and darkening with each beat of his pulse.
yet the jar -- how slowly the thoughts came!
-- the jar had been smashed before his eyes.
another wave of prickling fire raced down his neck, as lurgan sahib moved his hand.
"look!
it is coming into shape," said lurgan sahib.
so far kim had been thinking in hindi, but a tremor came on him, and with an effort like that of a swimmer before sharks, who hurls himself half out of the water, his mind leaped up from a darkness that was swallowing it and took refuge in -- the multiplication-table in english!
"look!
it is coming into shape," whispered lurgan sahib.
the jar had been smashed -- yess, smashed -- not the native word, he would not think of that -- but smashed -- into fifty pieces, and twice three was six, and thrice three was nine, and four times three was twelve.
he clung desperately to the repetition.
the shadow-outline of the jar cleared like a mist after rubbing eyes.
there were the broken shards; there was the spilt water drying in the sun, and through the cracks of the veranda showed, all ribbed, the white house-wall below -- and thrice twelve was thirty-six!
"look!
is it coming into shape?"
asked lurgan sahib.
"but it is smashed -- smashed," he gasped -- lurgan sahib had been muttering softly for the last half-minute.
kim wrenched his head aside.
"look!
dekho!
it is there as it was there."
"it is there as it was there," said lurgan, watching kim closely while the boy rubbed his neck.
"but you are the first of many who has ever seen it so."
he wiped his broad forehead.
"was that more magic?"
kim asked suspiciously.
the tingle had gone from his veins; he felt unusually wide awake.
"no, that was not magic.
it was only to see if there was -- a flaw in a jewel.
sometimes very fine jewels will fly all to pieces if a man holds them in his hand, and knows the proper way.
that is why one must be careful before one sets them.
tell me, did you see the shape of the pot?"
"for a little time.
it began to grow like a flower from the ground."
"and then what did you do?
i mean, how did you think?"
"oah!
i knew it was broken, and so, i think, that was what i thought -- and it was broken."
"hm!
has anyone ever done that same sort of magic to you before?"
"if it was," said kim "do you think i should let it again?
i should run away."
"and now you are not afraid -- eh?"
"not now."
lurgan sahib looked at him more closely than ever."
i shall ask mahbub ali -- not now, but some day later," he muttered."
i am pleased with you -- yes; and i am pleased with you -- no.
you are the first that ever saved himself.
i wish i knew what it was that... but you are right.
you should not tell that -- not even to me."
he turned into the dusky gloom of the shop, and sat down at the table, rubbing his hands softly.
a small, husky sob came from behind a pile of carpets.
it was the hindu child obediently facing towards the wall.
his thin shoulders worked with grief.
"ah!
he is jealous, so jealous.
i wonder if he will try to poison me again in my breakfast, and make me cook it twice.
"kubbee -- kubbee nahin -lsb- never -- never.
no! -rsb-"
, came the broken answer.
"and whether he will kill this other boy?"
"kubbee -- kubbee nahin."
"what do you think he will do?"
he turned suddenly on kim.
"oah!
i do not know.
let him go, perhaps.
why did he want to poison you?"
"because he is so fond of me.
suppose you were fond of someone, and you saw someone come, and the man you were fond of was more pleased with him than he was with you, what would you do?"
kim thought.
lurgan repeated the sentence slowly in the vernacular."
i should not poison that man," said kim reflectively, "but i should beat that boy -- if that boy was fond of my man.
but first, i would ask that boy if it were true."
"ah!
he thinks everyone must be fond of me."
"then i think he is a fool."
"hearest thou?"
said lurgan sahib to the shaking shoulders.
"the sahib's son thinks thou art a little fool.
come out, and next time thy heart is troubled, do not try white arsenic quite so openly.
surely the devil dasim was lord of our table-cloth that day!
it might have made me ill, child, and then a stranger would have guarded the jewels.
come!"
the child, heavy-eyed with much weeping, crept out from behind the bale and flung himself passionately at lurgan sahib's feet, with an extravagance of remorse that impressed even kim."
i will look into the ink-pools -- i will faithfully guard the jewels!
oh, my father and my mother, send him away!"
he indicated kim with a backward jerk of his bare heel.
"not yet -- not yet.
in a little while he will go away again.
but now he is at school -- at a new madrissah -- and thou shalt be his teacher.
play the play of the jewels against him.
i will keep tally."
the child dried his tears at once, and dashed to the back of the shop, whence he returned with a copper tray.
"give me!"
he said to lurgan sahib.
"let them come from thy hand, for he may say that i knew them before."
"gently -- gently," the man replied, and from a drawer under the table dealt a half-handful of clattering trifles into the tray.
"now," said the child, waving an old newspaper.
"look on them as long as thou wilt, stranger.
count and, if need be, handle.
one look is enough for me."
he turned his back proudly.
"but what is the game?"
"when thou hast counted and handled and art sure that thou canst remember them all, i cover them with this paper, and thou must tell over the tally to lurgan sahib.
i will write mine."
"oah!"
the instinct of competition waked in his breast.
he bent over the tray.
there were but fifteen stones on it.
"that is easy," he said after a minute.
the child slipped the paper over the winking jewels and scribbled in a native account-book.
"there are under that paper five blue stones -- one big, one smaller, and three small," said kim, all in haste.
"there are four green stones, and one with a hole in it; there is one yellow stone that i can see through, and one like a pipe-stem.
there are two red stones, and -- and -- i made the count fifteen, but two i have forgotten.
no!
give me time.
one was of ivory, little and brownish; and -- and -- give me time..." "one -- two" -- lurgan sahib counted him out up to ten.
kim shook his head.
"hear my count!"
the child burst in, trilling with laughter.
"first, are two flawed sapphires -- one of two ruttees and one of four as i should judge.
the four-ruttee sapphire is chipped at the edge.
there is one turkestan turquoise, plain with black veins, and there are two inscribed -- one with a name of god in gilt, and the other being cracked across, for it came out of an old ring, i can not read.
we have now all five blue stones.
four flawed emeralds there are, but one is drilled in two places, and one is a little carven -" "their weights?"
said lurgan sahib impassively.
"three -- five -- five -- and four ruttees as i judge it.
there is one piece of old greenish pipe amber, and a cut topaz from europe.
there is one ruby of burma, of two ruttees, without a flaw, and there is a balas-ruby, flawed, of two ruttees.
there is a carved ivory from china representing a rat sucking an egg; and there is last -- ah ha!
-- a ball of crystal as big as a bean set on a gold leaf."
he clapped his hands at the close.
"he is thy master," said lurgan sahib, smiling.
"huh!
he knew the names of the stones," said kim, flushing.
"try again!
with common things such as he and i both know."
they heaped the tray again with odds and ends gathered from the shop, and even the kitchen, and every time the child won, till kim marvelled.
"bind my eyes -- let me feel once with my fingers, and even then i will leave thee opened-eyed behind," he challenged.
kim stamped with vexation when the lad made his boast good.
"if it were men -- or horses," he said," i could do better.
this playing with tweezers and knives and scissors is too little."
"learn first -- teach later," said lurgan sahib.
"is he thy master?"
"truly.
but how is it done?"
"by doing it many times over till it is done perfectly -- for it is worth doing."
the hindu boy, in highest feather, actually patted kim on the back.
"do not despair," he said."
i myself will teach thee."
"and i will see that thou art well taught," said lurgan sahib, still speaking in the vernacular, "for except my boy here -- it was foolish of him to buy so much white arsenic when, if he had asked, i could have given it -- except my boy here i have not in a long time met with one better worth teaching.
and there are ten days more ere thou canst return to lucknao where they teach nothing -- at the long price.
we shall, i think, be friends."
they were a most mad ten days, but kim enjoyed himself too much to reflect on their craziness.
in the morning they played the jewel game -- sometimes with veritable stones, sometimes with piles of swords and daggers, sometimes with photo-graphs of natives.
through the afternoons he and the hindu boy would mount guard in the shop, sitting dumb behind a carpet-bale or a screen and watching mr lurgan's many and very curious visitors.
there were small rajahs, escorts coughing in the veranda, who came to buy curiosities -- such as phonographs and mechanical toys.
there were ladies in search of necklaces, and men, it seemed to kim -- but his mind may have been vitiated by early training -- in search of the ladies; natives from independent and feudatory courts whose ostensible business was the repair of broken necklaces -- rivers of light poured out upon the table -- but whose true end seemed to be to raise money for angry maharanees or young rajahs.
there were babus to whom lurgan sahib talked with austerity and authority, but at the end of each interview he gave them money in coined silver and currency notes.
there were occasional gatherings of long-coated theatrical natives who discussed metaphysics in english and bengali, to mr lurgan's great edification.
he was always interested in religions.
at the end of the day, kim and the hindu boy -- whose name varied at lurgan's pleasure -- were expected to give a detailed account of all that they had seen and heard -- their view of each man's character, as shown in his face, talk, and manner, and their notions of his real errand.
after dinner, lurgan sahib's fancy turned more to what might be called dressing-up, in which game he took a most informing interest.
he could paint faces to a marvel; with a brush-dab here and a line there changing them past recognition.
the shop was full of all manner of dresses and turbans, and kim was apparelled variously as a young mohammedan of good family, an oilman, and once -- which was a joyous evening -- as the son of an oudh landholder in the fullest of full dress.
lurgan sahib had a hawk's eye to detect the least flaw in the make-up; and lying on a worn teak-wood couch, would explain by the half-hour together how such and such a caste talked, or walked, or coughed, or spat, or sneezed, and, since "hows" matter little in this world, the "why" of everything.
the hindu child played this game clumsily.
that little mind, keen as an icicle where tally of jewels was concerned, could not temper itself to enter another's soul; but a demon in kim woke up and sang with joy as he put on the changing dresses, and changed speech and gesture therewith.
carried away by enthusiasm, he volunteered to show lurgan sahib one evening how the disciples of a certain caste of fakir, old lahore acquaintances, begged doles by the roadside; and what sort of language he would use to an englishman, to a punjabi farmer going to a fair, and to a woman without a veil.
lurgan sahib laughed immensely, and begged kim to stay as he was, immobile for half an hour -- cross-legged, ash-smeared, and wild-eyed, in the back room.
at the end of that time entered a hulking, obese babu whose stockinged legs shook with fat, and kim opened on him with a shower of wayside chaff.
lurgan sahib -- this annoyed kim -- watched the babu and not the play."
i think," said the babu heavily, lighting a cigarette," i am of opeenion that it is most extraordinary and effeecient performance.
except that you had told me i should have opined that -- that -- that you were pulling my legs.
how soon can he become approximately effeecient chain-man?
because then i shall indent for him."
"that is what he must learn at lucknow."
"then order him to be jolly-dam" - quick.
good-night, lurgan."
the babu swung out with the gait of a bogged cow.
when they were telling over the day's list of visitors, lurgan sahib asked kim who he thought the man might be.
"god knows!"
said kim cheerily.
the tone might almost have deceived mahbub ali, but it failed entirely with the healer of sick pearls.
"that is true.
god, he knows; but i wish to know what you think."
kim glanced sideways at his companion, whose eye had a way of compelling truth.
"i -- i think he will want me when i come from the school, but" -- confidentially, as lurgan sahib nodded approval --" i do not understand how he can wear many dresses and talk many tongues."
"thou wilt understand many things later.
he is a writer of tales for a certain colonel.
his honour is great only in simla, and it is noticeable that he has no name, but only a number and a letter -- that is a custom among us."
"and is there a price upon his head too -- as upon mah -- all the others?"
"not yet; but if a boy rose up who is now sitting here and went -- look, the door is open!
-- as far as a certain house with a red-painted veranda, behind that which was the old theatre in the lower bazar, and whispered through the shutters: "hurree chunder mookerjee bore the bad news of last month", that boy might take away a belt full of rupees."
"how many?"
said kim promptly.
"five hundred -- a thousand -- as many as he might ask for."
"good.
and for how long might such a boy live after the news was told?"
he smiled merrily at lurgan's sahib's very beard.
"ah!
that is to be well thought of.
perhaps if he were very clever, he might live out the day -- but not the night.
by no means the night."
"then what is the babu's pay if so much is put upon his head?"
"eighty -- perhaps a hundred -- perhaps a hundred and fifty rupees; but the pay is the least part of the work.
from time to time, god causes men to be born -- and thou art one of them -- who have a lust to go abroad at the risk of their lives and discover news -- today it may be of far-off things, tomorrow of some hidden mountain, and the next day of some near-by men who have done a foolishness against the state.
these souls are very few; and of these few, not more than ten are of the best.
among these ten i count the babu, and that is curious.
how great, therefore, and desirable must be a business that brazens the heart of a bengali!"
"true.
but the days go slowly for me.
i am yet a boy, and it is only within two months i learned to write angrezi.
even now i can not read it well.
and there are yet years and years and long years before i can be even a chain-man."
"have patience, friend of all the world" -- kim started at the title.
"would i had a few of the years that so irk thee.
i have proved thee in several small ways.
this will not be forgotten when i make my report to the colonel sahib."
then, changing suddenly into english with a deep laugh: "by jove!
o'hara, i think there is a great deal in you; but you must not become proud and you must not talk.
you must go back to lucknow and be a good little boy and mind your book, as the english say, and perhaps, next holidays if you care, you can come back to me!"
kim's face fell.
"oh, i mean if you like.
i know where you want to go."
four days later a seat was booked for kim and his small trunk at the rear of a kalka tonga.
his companion was the whale-like babu, who, with a fringed shawl wrapped round his head, and his fat openwork-stockinged left leg tucked under him, shivered and grunted in the morning chill.
"how comes it that this man is one of us?"
thought kim considering the jelly back as they jolted down the road; and the reflection threw him into most pleasant day-dreams.
lurgan sahib had given him five rupees -- a splendid sum -- as well as the assurance of his protection if he worked.
unlike mahbub, lurgan sahib had spoken most explicitly of the reward that would follow obedience, and kim was content.
if only, like the babu, he could enjoy the dignity of a letter and a number -- and a price upon his head!
some day he would be all that and more.
some day he might be almost as great as mahbub ali!
the housetops of his search should be half india; he would follow kings and ministers, as in the old days he had followed vakils and lawyers" touts across lahore city for mahbub ali's sake.
meantime, there was the present, and not at all unpleasant, fact of st xavier's immediately before him.
there would be new boys to condescend to, and there would be tales of holiday adventures to hear.
young martin, son of the tea-planter at manipur, had boasted that he would go to war, with a rifle, against the head-hunters.
that might be, but it was certain young martin had not been blown half across the forecourt of a patiala palace by an explosion of fireworks; nor had he... kim fell to telling himself the story of his own adventures through the last three months.
he could paralyse st xavier's -- even the biggest boys who shaved -- with the recital, were that permitted.
but it was, of course, out of the question.
there would be a price upon his head in good time, as lurgan sahib had assured him; and if he talked foolishly now, not only would that price never be set, but colonel creighton would cast him off -- and he would be left to the wrath of lurgan sahib and mahbub ali -- for the short space of life that would remain to him.
"so i should lose delhi for the sake of a fish," was his proverbial philosophy.
it behoved him to forget his holidays -lrb- there would always remain the fun of inventing imaginary adventures -rrb- and, as lurgan sahib had said, to work.
of all the boys hurrying back to st xavier's, from sukkur in the sands to galle beneath the palms, none was so filled with virtue as kimball o'hara, jiggeting down to umballa behind hurree chunder mookerjee, whose name on the books of one section of the ethnological survey was r. 17.
and if additional spur were needed, the babu supplied it.
after a huge meal at kalka, he spoke uninterruptedly.
was kim going to school?
then he, an m a of calcutta university, would explain the advantages of education.
there were marks to be gained by due attention to latin and wordsworth's excursion -lrb- all this was greek to kim -rrb-.
french, too was vital, and the best was to be picked up in chandernagore a few miles from calcutta.
also a man might go far, as he himself had done, by strict attention to plays called lear and julius caesar, both much in demand by examiners.
lear was not so full of historical allusions as julius caesar; the book cost four annas, but could be bought second-hand in bow bazar for two.
still more important than wordsworth, or the eminent authors, burke and hare, was the art and science of mensuration.
a boy who had passed his examination in these branches -- for which, by the way, there were no cram-books -- could, by merely marching over a country with a compass and a level and a straight eye, carry away a picture of that country which might be sold for large sums in coined silver.
but as it was occasionally inexpedient to carry about measuring-chains a boy would do well to know the precise length of his own foot-pace, so that when he was deprived of what hurree chunder called adventitious aids" he might still tread his distances.
to keep count of thousands of paces, hurree chunder's experience had shown him nothing more valuable than a rosary of eighty-one or a hundred and eight beads, for "it was divisible and sub-divisible into many multiples and sub-multiples".
through the volleying drifts of english, kim caught the general trend of the talk, and it interested him very much.
here was a new craft that a man could tuck away in his head and by the look of the large wide world unfolding itself before him, it seemed that the more a man knew the better for him.
said the babu when he had talked for an hour and a half" i hope some day to enjoy your offeecial acquaintance.
ad interim, if i may be pardoned that expression, i shall give you this betel-box, which is highly valuable article and cost me two rupees only four years ago."
it was a cheap, heart-shaped brass thing with three compartments for carrying the eternal betel-nut, lime and pan-leaf; but it was filled with little tabloid-bottles.
"that is reward of merit for your performance in character of that holy man.
you see, you are so young you think you will last for ever and not take care of your body.
it is great nuisance to go sick in the middle of business.
i am fond of drugs myself, and they are handy to cure poor people too.
these are good departmental drugs -- quinine and so on.
i give it you for souvenir.
now good-bye.
i have urgent private business here by the roadside."
he slipped out noiselessly as a cat, on the umballa road, hailed a passing cart and jingled away, while kim, tongue-tied, twiddled the brass betel-box in his hands.
the record of a boy's education interests few save his parents, and, as you know, kim was an orphan.
it is written in the books of st xavier's in partibus that a report of kim's progress was forwarded at the end of each term to colonel creighton and to father victor, from whose hands duly came the money for his schooling.
it is further recorded in the same books that he showed a great aptitude for mathematical studies as well as map-making, and carried away a prize -lrb- the life of lord lawrence, tree-calf, two vols., nine rupees, eight annas -rrb- for proficiency therein; and the same term played in st xavier's eleven against the alighur mohammedan college, his age being fourteen years and ten months.
he was also re-vaccinated -lrb- from which we may assume that there had been another epidemic of smallpox at lucknow -rrb- about the same time.
pencil notes on the edge of an old muster-roll record that he was punished several times for "conversing with improper persons", and it seems that he was once sentenced to heavy pains for "absenting himself for a day in the company of a street beggar".
that was when he got over the gate and pleaded with the lama through a whole day down the banks of the gumti to accompany him on the road next holidays -- for one month -- for a little week; and the lama set his face as a flint against it, averring that the time had not yet come.
kim's business, said the old man as they ate cakes together, was to get all the wisdom of the sahibs and then he would see.
the hand of friendship must in some way have averted the whip of calamity, for six weeks later kim seems to have passed an examination in elementary surveying "with great credit", his age being fifteen years and eight months.
from this date the record is silent.
his name does not appear in the year's batch of those who entered for the subordinate survey of india, but against it stand the words "removed on appointment."
several times in those three years, cast up at the temple of the tirthankars in benares the lama, a little thinner and a shade yellower, if that were possible, but gentle and untainted as ever.
sometimes it was from the south that he came -- from south of tuticorin, whence the wonderful fire-boats go to ceylon where are priests who know pali; sometimes it was from the wet green west and the thousand cotton-factory chimneys that ring bombay; and once from the north, where he had doubled back eight hundred miles to talk for a day with the keeper of the images in the wonder house.
he would stride to his cell in the cool, cut marble -- the priests of the temple were good to the old man, -- wash off the dust of travel, make prayer, and depart for lucknow, well accustomed now to the way of the rail, in a third-class carriage.
returning, it was noticeable, as his friend the seeker pointed out to the head-priest, that he ceased for a while to mourn the loss of his river, or to draw wondrous pictures of the wheel of life, but preferred to talk of the beauty and wisdom of a certain mysterious chela whom no man of the temple had ever seen.
yes, he had followed the traces of the blessed feet throughout all india.
-lrb- the curator has still in his possession a most marvellous account of his wanderings and meditations. -rrb-
there remained nothing more in life but to find the river of the arrow.
yet it was shown to him in dreams that it was a matter not to be undertaken with any hope of success unless that seeker had with him the one chela appointed to bring the event to a happy issue, and versed in great wisdom -- such wisdom as white-haired keepers of images possess.
for example -lrb- here came out the snuff-gourd, and the kindly jain priests made haste to be silent -rrb-: "long and long ago, when devadatta was king of benares -- let all listen to the tataka!
-- an elephant was captured for a time by the king's hunters and ere he broke free, beringed with a grievous legiron.
this he strove to remove with hate and frenzy in his heart, and hurrying up and down the forests, besought his brother-elephants to wrench it asunder.
one by one, with their strong trunks, they tried and failed.
at the last they gave it as their opinion that the ring was not to be broken by any bestial power.
and in a thicket, new-born, wet with moisture of birth, lay a day-old calf of the herd whose mother had died.
the fettered elephant, forgetting his own agony, said: "if i do not help this suckling it will perish under our feet."
so he stood above the young thing, making his legs buttresses against the uneasily moving herd; and he begged milk of a virtuous cow, and the calf throve, and the ringed elephant was the calf's guide and defence.
now the days of an elephant -- let all listen to the tataka!
-- are thirty-five years to his full strength, and through thirty-five rains the ringed elephant befriended the younger, and all the while the fetter ate into the flesh.
"then one day the young elephant saw the half-buried iron, and turning to the elder said: "what is this?"
""it is even my sorrow," said he who had befriended him.
then that other put out his trunk and in the twinkling of an eyelash abolished the ring, saying: "the appointed time has come."
so the virtuous elephant who had waited temperately and done kind acts was relieved, at the appointed time, by the very calf whom he had turned aside to cherish -- let all listen to the tataka!
for the elephant was ananda, and the calf that broke the ring was none other than the lord himself..." then he would shake his head benignly, and over the ever-clicking rosary point out how free that elephant-calf was from the sin of pride.
he was as humble as a chela who, seeing his master sitting in the dust outside the gates of learning, over-leapt the gates -lrb- though they were locked -rrb- and took his master to his heart in the presence of the proud-stomached city.
rich would be the reward of such a master and such a chela when the time came for them to seek freedom together!
so did the lama speak, coming and going across india as softly as a bat.
a sharp-tongued old woman in a house among the fruit-trees behind saharunpore honoured him as the woman honoured the prophet, but his chamber was by no means upon the wall.
in an apartment of the forecourt overlooked by cooing doves he would sit, while she laid aside her useless veil and chattered of spirits and fiends of kulu, of grandchildren unborn, and of the free-tongued brat who had talked to her in the resting-place.
once, too, he strayed alone from the grand trunk road below umballa to the very village whose priest had tried to drug him; but the kind heaven that guards lamas sent him at twilight through the crops, absorbed and unsuspicious, to the rissaldar's door.
here was like to have been a grave misunderstanding, for the old soldier asked him why the friend of the stars had gone that way only six days before.
"that may not be," said the lama.
"he has gone back to his own people."
"he sat in that corner telling a hundred merry tales five nights ago," his host insisted.
"true, he vanished somewhat suddenly in the dawn after foolish talk with my granddaughter.
he grows apace, but he is the same friend of the stars as brought me true word of the war.
have ye parted?"
"yes -- and no," the lama replied.
"we -- we have not altogether parted, but the time is not ripe that we should take the road together.
he acquires wisdom in another place.
we must wait."
"all one -- but if it were not the boy how did he come to speak so continually of thee?"
"and what said he?"
asked the lama eagerly.
"sweet words -- an hundred thousand -- that thou art his father and mother and such all.
pity that he does not take the qpeen's service.
he is fearless."
this news amazed the lama, who did not then know how religiously kim kept to the contract made with mahbub ali, and perforce ratified by colonel creighton... "there is no holding the young pony from the game," said the horse-dealer when the colonel pointed out that vagabonding over india in holiday time was absurd.
"if permission be refused to go and come as he chooses, he will make light of the refusal.
then who is to catch him?
colonel sahib, only once in a thousand years is a horse born so well fitted for the game as this our colt.
and we need men."
chapter 10 your tiercel's too long at hack, sire.
he's no eyass but a passage-hawk that footed ere we caught him, dangerously free o" the air.
faith!
were he mine -lrb- as mine's the glove he binds to for his tirings -rrb- i'd fly him with a make-hawk.
he's in yarak plumed to the very point -- so manned, so weathered... give him the firmament god made him for, and what shall take the air of him?
gow's watch lurgan sahib did not use as direct speech, but his advice tallied with mahbub's; and the upshot was good for kim.
he knew better now than to leave lucknow city in native garb, and if mahbub were anywhere within reach of a letter, it was to mahbub's camp he headed, and made his change under the pathan's wary eye.
could the little survey paint-box that he used for map-tinting in term-time have found a tongue to tell of holiday doings, he might have been expelled.
once mahbub and he went together as far as the beautiful city of bombay, with three truckloads of tram-horses, and mahbub nearly melted when kim proposed a sail in a dhow across the indian ocean to buy gulf arabs, which, he understood from a hanger-on of the dealer abdul rahman, fetched better prices than mere kabulis.
he dipped his hand into the dish with that great trader when mahbub and a few co-religionists were invited to a big haj dinner.
they came back by way of karachi by sea, when kim took his first experience of sea-sickness sitting on the fore-hatch of a coasting-steamer, well persuaded he had been poisoned.
the babu's famous drug-box proved useless, though kim had restocked it at bombay.
mahbub had business at quetta, and there kim, as mahbub admitted, earned his keep, and perhaps a little over, by spending four curious days as scullion in the house of a fat commissariat sergeant, from whose office-box, in an auspicious moment, he removed a little vellum ledger which he copied out -- it seemed to deal entirely with cattle and camel sales -- by moonlight, lying behind an outhouse, all through one hot night.
then he returned the ledger to its place, and, at mahbub's word, left that service unpaid, rejoining him six miles down the road, the clean copy in his bosom.
"that soldier is a small fish," mahbub ali explained, "but in time we shall catch the larger one.
he only sells oxen at two prices -- one for himself and one for the government -- which i do not think is a sin."
"why could not i take away the little book and be done with it?"
"then he would have been frightened, and he would have told his master.
then we should miss, perhaps, a great number of new rifles which seek their way up from quetta to the north.
the game is so large that one sees but a little at a time."
"oho!"
said kim, and held his tongue.
that was in the monsoon holidays, after he had taken the prize for mathematics.
the christmas holidays he spent -- deducting ten days for private amusements -- with lurgan sahib, where he sat for the most part in front of a roaring wood-fire -- jakko road was four feet deep in snow that year -- and -- the small hindu had gone away to be married -- helped lurgan to thread pearls.
he made kim learn whole chapters of the koran by heart, till he could deliver them with the very roll and cadence of a mullah.
moreover, he told kim the names and properties of many native drugs, as well as the runes proper to recite when you administer them.
and in the evenings he wrote charms on parchment -- elaborate pentagrams crowned with the names of devils -- murra, and awan the companion of kings -- all fantastically written in the corners.
more to the point, he advised kim as to the care of his own body, the cure of fever-fits, and simple remedies of the road.
a week before it was time to go down, colonel creighton sahib -- this was unfair -- sent kim a written examination paper that concerned itself solely with rods and chains and links and angles.
next holidays he was out with mahbub, and here, by the way, he nearly died of thirst, plodding through the sand on a camel to the mysterious city of bikanir, where the wells are four hundred feet deep, and lined throughout with camel-bone.
it was not an amusing trip from kim's point of view, because -- in defiance of the contract -- the colonel ordered him to make a map of that wild, walled city; and since mohammedan horse-boys and pipe-tenders are not expected to drag survey-chains round the capital of an independent native state, kim was forced to pace all his distances by means of a bead rosary.
he used the compass for bearings as occasion served -- after dark chiefly, when the camels had been fed -- and by the help of his little survey paint-box of six colour-cakes and three brushes, he achieved something not remotely unlike the city of jeysulmir.
mahbub laughed a great deal, and advised him to make up a written report as well; and in the back of the big account-book that lay under the flap of mahbub's pet saddle kim fell to work.
.
"it must hold everything that thou hast seen or touched or considered.
write as though the jung-i-lat sahib himself had come by stealth with a vast army outsetting to war."
"how great an army?"
"oh, half a lakh of men."
"folly!
remember how few and bad were the wells in the sand.
not a thousand thirsty men could come near by here."
"then write that down -- also all the old breaches in the walls and whence the firewood is cut -- and what is the temper and disposition of the king.
i stay here till all my horses are sold.
i will hire a room by the gateway, and thou shalt be my accountant.
there is a good lock to the door."
the report in its unmistakable st xavier's running script, and the brown, yellow, and lake-daubed map, was on hand a few years ago -lrb- a careless clerk filed it with the rough notes of e's second seistan survey -rrb-, but by now the pencil characters must be almost illegible.
kim translated it, sweating under the light of an oil-lamp, to mahbub, the second day of their return-journey.
the pathan rose and stooped over his dappled saddle-bags."
i knew it would be worthy a dress of honour, and so i made one ready," he said, smiling.
"were i amir of afghanistan -lrb- and some day we may see him -rrb-, i would fill thy mouth with gold."
he laid the garments formally at kim's feet.
there was a gold-embroidered peshawur turban-cap, rising to a cone, and a big turban-cloth ending in a broad fringe of gold.
there was a delhi embroidered waistcoat to slip over a milky white shirt, fastening to the right, ample and flowing; green pyjamas with twisted silk waist-string; and that nothing might be lacking, russia-leather slippers, smelling divinely, with arrogantly curled tips.
"upon a wednesday, and in the morning, to put on new clothes is auspicious," said mahbub solemnly.
"but we must not forget the wicked folk in the world.
so!"
he capped all the splendour, that was taking kim's delighted breath away, with a mother-of-pearl, nickel-plated, self-extracting.450 revolver."
i had thought of a smaller bore, but reflected that this takes government bullets.
a man can always come by those -- especially across the border.
stand up and let me look."
he clapped kim on the shoulder.
"may you never be tired, pathan!
oh, the hearts to be broken!
oh, the eyes under the eyelashes, looking sideways!"
kim turned about, pointed his toes, stretched, and felt mechanically for the moustache that was just beginning.
then he stooped towards mahbub's feet to make proper acknowledgment with fluttering, quick-patting hands; his heart too full for words.
mahbub forestalled and embraced him.
"my son, said he, "what need of words between us?
but is not the little gun a delight?
all six cartridges come out at one twist.
it is borne in the bosom next the skin, which, as it were, keeps it oiled.
never put it elsewhere, and please god, thou shalt some day kill a man with it."
"hai mai!"
said kim ruefully.
"if a sahib kills a man he is hanged in the jail."
"true: but one pace beyond the border, men are wiser.
put it away; but fill it first.
of what use is a gun unfed?"
"when i go back to the madrissah i must return it.
they do not allow little guns.
thou wilt keep it for me?"
"son, i am wearied of that madrissah, where they take the best years of a man to teach him what he can only learn upon the road.
the folly of the sahibs has neither top nor bottom.
no matter.
maybe thy written report shall save thee further bondage; and god he knows we need men more and more in the game."
they marched, jaw-bound against blowing sand, across the salt desert to jodhpur, where mahbub and his handsome nephew habib ullah did much trading; and then sorrowfully, in european clothes, which he was fast outgrowing, kim went second-class to st xavier's.
three weeks later, colonel creighton, pricing tibetan ghost-daggers at lurgan's shop, faced mahbub ali openly mutinous.
lurgan sahib operated as support in reserve.
"the pony is made -- finished -- mouthed and paced, sahib!
from now on, day by day, he will lose his manners if he is kept at tricks.
drop the rein on his back and let go," said the horse-dealer.
"we need him."
"but he is so young, mahbub -- not more than sixteen -- is he?"
"when i was fifteen, i had shot my man and begot my man, sahib."
"you impenitent old heathen!"
creighton turned to lurgan.
the black beard nodded assent to the wisdom of the afghan's dyed scarlet."
i should have used him long ago," said lurgan.
"the younger the better.
that is why i always have my really valuable jewels watched by a child.
you sent him to me to try.
i tried him in every way: he is the only boy i could not make to see things."
"in the crystal -- in the ink-pool?"
demanded mahbub.
"no.
under my hand, as i told you.
that has never happened before.
it means that he is strong enough -- but you think it skittles, colonel creighton -- to make anyone do anything he wants.
and that is three years ago.
i have taught him a good deal since, colonel creighton.
i think you waste him now."
"hmm!
maybe you're right.
but, as you know, there is no survey work for him at present."
"let him out let him go," mahbub interrupted.
"who expects any colt to carry heavy weight at first?
let him run with the caravans -- like our white camel-colts -- for luck.
i would take him myself, but --" "there is a little business where he would be most useful -- in the south," said lurgan, with peculiar suavity, dropping his heavy blued eyelids.
"e. 23 has that in hand," said creighton quickly.
"he must not go down there.
besides, he knows no turki."
"only tell him the shape and the smell of the letters we want and he will bring them back," lurgan insisted.
"no.
that is a man's job," said creighton.
it was a wry-necked matter of unauthorized and incendiary correspondence between a person who claimed to be the ultimate authority in all matters of the mohammedan religion throughout the world, and a younger member of a royal house who had been brought to book for kidnapping women within british territory.
the moslem archbishop had been emphatic and over-arrogant; the young prince was merely sulky at the curtailment of his privileges, but there was no need he should continue a correspondence which might some day compromise him.
one letter indeed had been procured, but the finder was later found dead by the roadside in the habit of an arab trader, as e. 23, taking up the work, duly reported.
these facts, and a few others not to be published, made both mahbub and creighton shake their heads.
"let him go out with his red lama," said the horse-dealer with visible effort.
"he is fond of the old man.
he can learn his paces by the rosary at least.'"
i have had some dealings with the old man -- by letter," said colonel creighton, smiling to himself.
"whither goes he?"
"up and down the land, as he has these three years.
he seeks a river of healing.
god's curse upon all --" mahbub checked himself.
"he beds down at the temple of the tirthankars or at buddh gaya when he is in from the road.
then he goes to see the boy at the madrissah, as we know for the boy was punished for it twice or thrice.
he is quite mad, but a peaceful man.
i have met him.
the babu also has had dealings with him.
we have watched him for three years.
red lamas are not so common in hind that one loses track."
"babus are very curious," said lurgan meditatively.
"do you know what hurree babu really wants?
he wants to be made a member of the royal society by taking ethnological notes.
i tell you, i tell him about the lama everything which mahbub and the boy have told me.
hurree babu goes down to benares -- at his own expense, i think.'"
i do n't," said creighton briefly.
he had paid hurree's travelling expenses, out of a most lively curiosity to learn what the lama might be.
"and he applies to the lama for information on lamaism, and devil-dances, and spells and charms, several times in these few years.
holy virgin!
i could have told him all that yeears ago.
i think hurree babu is getting too old for the road.
he likes better to collect manners and customs information.
yes, he wants to be an frs.
"hurree thinks well of the boy, does n't he?"
"oh, very indeed -- we have had some pleasant evenings at my little place -- but i think it would be waste to throw him away with hurree on the ethnological side."
"not for a first experience.
how does that strike you, mahbub?
let the boy run with the lama for six months.
after that we can see.
he will get experience."
"he has it already, sahib -- as a fish controls the water he swims in.
but for every reason it will be well to loose him from the school."
"very good, then," said creighton, half to himself.
"he can go with the lama, and if hurree babu cares to keep an eye on them so much the better.
he wo n't lead the boy into any danger as mahbub would.
curious -- his wish to be an f r s. very human, too.
he is best on the ethnological side -- hurree."
no money and no preferment would have drawn creighton from his work on the indian survey, but deep in his heart also lay the ambition to write" f r s" after his name.
honours of a sort he knew could be obtained by ingenuity and the help of friends, but, to the best of his belief, nothing save work -- papers representing a life of it -- took a man into the society which he had bombarded for years with monographs on strange asiatic cults and unknown customs.
nine men out of ten would flee from a royal society soiree in extremity of boredom; but creighton was the tenth, and at times his soul yearned for the crowded rooms in easy london where silver-haired, bald-headed gentlemen who know nothing of the army move among spectroscopic experiments, the lesser plants of the frozen tundras, electric flight-measuring machines, and apparatus for slicing into fractional millimetres the left eye of the female mosquito.
by all right and reason, it was the royal geographical that should have appealed to him, but men are as chancy as children in their choice of playthings.
so creighton smiled, and thought the better of hurree babu, moved by like desire.
he dropped the ghost-dagger and looked up at mahbub.
"how soon can we get the colt from the stable?"
said the horse-dealer, reading his eyes.
"hmm!
if i withdraw him by order now -- what will he do, think you?
i have never before assisted at the teaching of such an one."
"he will come to me," said mahbub promptly.
"lurgan sahib and i will prepare him for the road."
"so be it, then.
for six months he shall run at his choice.
but who will be his sponsor?"
lurgan slightly inclined his head.
"he will not tell anything, if that is what you are afraid of, colonel creighton."
"it's only a boy, after all."
"ye-es; but first, he has nothing to tell; and secondly, he knows what would happen.
also, he is very fond of mahbub, and of me a little."
"will he draw pay?"
demanded the practical horse-dealer.
"food and water allowance only.
twenty rupees a month."
one advantage of the secret service is that it has no worrying audit.
that service is ludicrously starved, of course, but the funds are administered by a few men who do not call for vouchers or present itemized accounts.
mahbub's eyes lighted with almost a sikh's love of money.
even lurgan's impassive face changed.
he considered the years to come when kim would have been entered and made to the great game that never ceases day and night, throughout india.
he foresaw honour and credit in the mouths of a chosen few, coming to him from his pupil.
lurgan sahib had made e. 23 what e. 23 was, out of a bewildered, impertinent, lying, little north-west province man.
but the joy of these masters was pale and smoky beside the joy of kim when st xavier's head called him aside, with word that colonel creighton had sent for him."
i understand, o'hara, that he has found you a place as an assistant chain-man in the canal department: that comes of taking up mathematics.
it is great luck for you, for you are only sixteen; but of course you understand that you do not become pukka -lsb- permanent -rsb- till you have passed the autumn examination.
so you must not think you are going out into the world to enjoy yourself, or that your fortune is made.
there is a great deal of hard work before you.
only, if you succeed in becoming pukka, you can rise, you know, to four hundred and fifty a month."
whereat the principal gave him much good advice as to his conduct, and his manners, and his morals; and others, his elders, who had not been wafted into billets, talked as only anglo-indian lads can, of favouritism and corruption.
indeed, young cazalet, whose father was a pensioner at chunar, hinted very broadly that colonel creighton's interest in kim was directly paternal; and kim, instead of retaliating, did not even use language.
he was thinking of the immense fun to come, of mahbub's letter of the day before, all neatly written in english, making appointment for that afternoon in a house the very name of which would have crisped the principal's hair with horror... said kim to mahbub in lucknow railway station that evening, above the luggage-scales: "i feared lest at the last, the roof would fall upon me and cheat me.
it is indeed all finished, o my father?"
mahbub snapped his fingers to show the utterness of that end, and his eyes blazed like red coals.
"then where is the pistol that i may wear it?"
"softly!
a half-year, to run without heel-ropes.
i begged that much from colonel creighton sahib.
at twenty rupees a month.
old red hat knows that thou art coming.'"
i will pay thee dustoorie -lsb- commission -rsb- on my pay for three months," said kim gravely.
"yea, two rupees a month.
but first we must get rid of these."
he plucked his thin linen trousers and dragged at his collar."
i have brought with me all that i need on the road.
my trunk has gone up to lurgan sahib's."
"who sends his salaams to thee -- sahib."
"lurgan sahib is a very clever man.
but what dost thou do?'"
i go north again, upon the great game.
what else?
is thy mind still set on following old red hat?"
"do not forget he made me that i am -- though he did not know it.
year by year, he sent the money that taught me.'"
i would have done as much -- had it struck my thick head," mahbub growled.
"come away.
the lamps are lit now, and none will mark thee in the bazar.
we go to huneefa's house."
on the way thither, mahbub gave him much the same sort of advice as his mother gave to lemuel, and curiously enough, mahbub was exact to point out how huneefa and her likes destroyed kings.
"and i remember," he quoted maliciously, "one who said, "trust a snake before an harlot, and an harlot before a pathan, mahbub ali."
now, excepting as to pathans, of whom i am one, all that is true.
most true is it in the great game, for it is by means of women that all plans come to ruin and we lie out in the dawning with our throats cut.
so it happened to such a one."
he gave the reddest particulars.
"then why --?"
kim paused before a filthy staircase that climbed to the warm darkness of an upper chamber, in the ward that is behind azim ullah's tobacco-shop.
those who know it call it the birdcage -- it is so full of whisperings and whistlings and chirrupings.
the room, with its dirty cushions and half-smoked hookahs, smelt abominably of stale tobacco.
in one corner lay a huge and shapeless woman clad in greenish gauzes, and decked, brow, nose, ear, neck, wrist, arm, waist, and ankle with heavy native jewellery.
when she turned it was like the clashing of copper pots.
a lean cat in the balcony outside the window mewed hungrily.
kim checked, bewildered, at the door-curtain.
"is that the new stuff, mahbub?"
said huneefa lazily, scarce troubling to remove the mouthpiece from her lips."
o buktanoos!"
-- like most of her kind, she swore by the djinns --" o buktanoos!
he is very good to look upon."
"that is part of the selling of the horse," mahbub explained to kim, who laughed."
i have heard that talk since my sixth day," he replied, squatting by the light.
"whither does it lead?"
"to protection.
tonight we change thy colour.
this sleeping under roofs has blanched thee like an almond.
but huneefa has the secret of a colour that catches.
no painting of a day or two.
also, we fortify thee against the chances of the road.
that is my gift to thee, my son.
take out all metals on thee and lay them here.
make ready, huneefa."
kim dragged forth his compass, survey paint-box, and the new-filled medicine-box.
they had all accompanied his travels, and boylike he valued them immensely.
the woman rose slowly and moved with her hands a little spread before her.
then kim saw that she was blind.
"no, no," she muttered, "the pathan speaks truth -- my colour does not go in a week or a month, and those whom i protect are under strong guard."
"when one is far off and alone, it would not be well to grow blotched and leprous of a sudden," said mahbub.
"when thou wast with me i could oversee the matter.
besides, a pathan is a fair-skin.
strip to the waist now and look how thou art whitened."
huneefa felt her way back from an inner room.
"it is no matter, she can not see."
he took a pewter bowl from her ringed hand.
the dye-stuff showed blue and gummy.
kim experimented on the back of his wrist, with a dab of cotton-wool; but huneefa heard him.
"no, no," she cried, "the thing is not done thus, but with the proper ceremonies.
the colouring is the least part.
i give thee the full protection of the road."
"tadoo?
-lsb- magic -rsb-, "said kim, with a half start.
he did not like the white, sightless eyes.
mahbub's hand on his neck bowed him to the floor, nose within an inch of the boards.
"be still.
no harm comes to thee, my son.
i am thy sacrifice!"
he could not see what the woman was about, but heard the dish-clash of her jewellery for many minutes.
a match lit up the darkness; he caught the well-known purr and fizzle of grains of incense.
then the room filled with smoke -- heavy aromatic, and stupefying.
through growing drowse he heard the names of devils -- of zulbazan, son of eblis, who lives in bazars and paraos, making all the sudden lewd wickedness of wayside halts; of dulhan, invisible about mosques, the dweller among the slippers of the faithful, who hinders folk from their prayers; and musboot, lord of lies and panic.
huneefa, now whispering in his ear, now talking as from an immense distance, touched him with horrible soft fingers, but mahbub's grip never shifted from his neck till, relaxing with a sigh, the boy lost his senses.
"allah!
how he fought!
we should never have done it but for the drugs.
that was his white blood, i take it," said mahbub testily.
"go on with the dawut -lsb- invocation -rsb-.
give him full protection.'"
o hearer!
thou that hearest with ears, be present.
listen, o hearer!"
huneefa moaned, her dead eyes turned to the west.
the dark room filled with moanings and snortings.
from the outer balcony, a ponderous figure raised a round bullet head and coughed nervously.
"do not interrupt this ventriloquial necromanciss, my friend," it said in english."
i opine that it is very disturbing to you, but no enlightened observer is jolly-well upset.'"
...... i will lay a plot for their ruin!
o prophet, bear with the unbelievers.
let them alone awhile!"
huneefa's face, turned to the northward, worked horribly, and it was as though voices from the ceiling answered her.
hurree babu returned to his note-book, balanced on the window-sill, but his hand shook.
huneefa, in some sort of drugged ecstasy, wrenched herself to and fro as she sat cross-legged by kim's still head, and called upon devil after devil, in the ancient order of the ritual, binding them to avoid the boy's every action.
"with him are the keys of the secret things!
none knoweth them besides himself he knoweth that which is in the dry land and in the sea!"
again broke out the unearthly whistling responses.
"i -- i apprehend it is not at all malignant in its operation?"
said the babu, watching the throat-muscles quiver and jerk as huneefa spoke with tongues.
"it -- it is not likely that she has killed the boy?
if so, i decline to be witness at the trial... what was the last hypothetical devil mentioned?"
"babuji," said mahbub in the vernacular."
i have no regard for the devils of hind, but the sons of eblis are far otherwise, and whether they be jumalee -lsb- well-affected -rsb- or jullalee -lsb- terrible -rsb- they love not kafirs."
"then you think i had better go?"
said hurree babu, half rising.
"they are, of course, dematerialized phenomena.
spencer says."
huneefa's crisis passed, as these things must, in a paroxysm of howling, with a touch of froth at the lips.
she lay spent and motionless beside kim, and the crazy voices ceased.
"wah!
that work is done.
may the boy be better for it; and huneefa is surely a mistress of dawut.
help haul her aside, babu.
do not be afraid."
"how am i to fear the absolutely non-existent?"
said hurree babu, talking english to reassure himself.
it is an awful thing still to dread the magic that you contemptuously investigate -- to collect folk-lore for the royal society with a lively belief in all powers of darkness.
mahbub chuckled.
he had been out with hurree on the road ere now.
"let us finish the colouring," said he.
"the boy is well protected if -- if the lords of the air have ears to hear.
i am a sufi -lsb- free-thinker -rsb-, but when one can get blind-sides of a woman, a stallion, or a devil, why go round to invite a kick?
set him upon the way, babu, and see that old red hat does not lead him beyond our reach.
i must get back to my horses."
"all raight," said hurree babu.
"he is at present curious spectacle."
about third cockcrow, kim woke after a sleep of thousands of years.
huneefa, in her corner, snored heavily, but mahbub was gone."
i hope you were not frightened," said an oily voice at his elbow."
i superintended entire operation, which was most interesting from ethnological point of view.
it was high-class dawut."
"huh!"
said kim, recognizing hurree babu, who smiled ingratiatingly.
"and also i had honour to bring down from lurgan your present costume.
i am not in the habit offeecially of carrying such gauds to subordinates, but" -- he giggled -- "your case is noted as exceptional on the books.
i hope mr lurgan will note my action."
kim yawned and stretched himself.
it was good to turn and twist within loose clothes once again.
"what is this?"
he looked curiously at the heavy duffle-stuff loaded with the scents of the far north.
"oho!
that is inconspicuous dress of chela attached to service of lamaistic lama.
complete in every particular," said hurree babu, rolling into the balcony to clean his teeth at a goglet."
i am of opeenion it is not your old gentleman's precise releegion, but rather sub-variant of same.
i have contributed rejected notes to whom it may concern: asiatic quarterly review on these subjects.
now it is curious that the old gentleman himself is totally devoid of releegiosity.
he is not a dam" particular."
"do you know him?"
hurree babu held up his hand to show he was engaged in the prescribed rites that accompany tooth-cleaning and such things among decently bred bengalis.
then he recited in english an arya-somaj prayer of a theistical nature, and stuffed his mouth with pan and betel.
"oah yes.
i have met him several times at benares, and also at buddh gaya, to interrogate him on releegious points and devil-worship.
he is pure agnostic -- same as me."
huneefa stirred in her sleep, and hurree babu jumped nervously to the copper incense-burner, all black and discoloured in morning-light, rubbed a finger in the accumulated lamp-black, and drew it diagonally across his face.
"who has died in thy house?"
asked kim in the vernacular.
"none.
but she may have the evil eye -- that sorceress," the babu replied.
"what dost thou do now, then?'"
i will set thee on thy way to benares, if thou goest thither, and tell thee what must be known by us.'"
i go.
at what hour runs the te-rain?"
he rose to his feet, looked round the desolate chamber and at the yellow-wax face of huneefa as the low sun stole across the floor.
"is there money to be paid that witch?"
"no.
she has charmed thee against all devils and all dangers in the name of her devils.
it was mahbub's desire."
in english: "he is highly obsolete, i think, to indulge in such supersteetion.
why, it is all ventriloquy.
belly-speak -- eh?"
kim snapped his fingers mechanically to avert whatever evil -- mahbub, he knew, meditated none -- might have crept in through huneefa's ministrations; and hurree giggled once more.
but as he crossed the room he was careful not to step in huneefa's blotched, squat shadow on the boards.
witches -- when their time is on them -- can lay hold of the heels of a man's soul if he does that.
"now you must well listen," said the babu when they were in the fresh air.
"part of these ceremonies which we witnessed they include supply of effeecient amulet to those of our department.
if you feel in your neck you will find one small silver amulet, verree cheap.
that is ours.
do you understand?"
"oah yes, hawa-dilli -lsb- a heart-lifter -rsb-," said kim, feeling at his neck.
"huneefa she makes them for two rupees twelve annas with -- oh, all sorts of exorcisms.
they are quite common, except they are partially black enamel, and there is a paper inside each one full of names of local saints and such things.
thatt is huneefa's look-out, you see?
huneefa makes them onlee for us, but in case she does not, when we get them we put in, before issue, one small piece of turquoise.
mr lurgan he gives them.
there is no other source of supply; but it was me invented all this.
it is strictly unoffeecial of course, but convenient for subordinates.
colonel creighton he does not know.
he is european.
the turquoise is wrapped in the paper... yes, that is road to railway station... now suppose you go with the lama, or with me, i hope, some day, or with mahbub.
suppose we get into a dam" - tight place.
i am a fearful man -- most fearful -- but i tell you i have been in dam" - tight places more than hairs on my head.
you say: "i am son of the charm."
verree good.'"
i do not understand quite.
we must not be heard talking english here."
"that is all raight.
i am only babu showing off my english to you.
all we babus talk english to show off;" said hurree, flinging his shoulder-cloth jauntily.
"as i was about to say, "son of the charm" means that you may be member of the sat bhai -- the seven brothers, which is hindi and tantric.
it is popularly supposed to be extinct society, but i have written notes to show it is still extant.
you see, it is all my invention.
verree good.
sat bhai has many members, and perhaps before they jolly-well-cut-your-throat they may give you just a chance of life.
that is useful, anyhow.
and moreover, these foolish natives -- if they are not too excited -- they always stop to think before they kill a man who says he belongs to any speecific organization.
you see?
you say then when you are in tight place, "i am son of the charm", and you get -- perhaps -- ah -- your second wind.
that is only in extreme instances, or to open negotiations with a stranger.
can you quite see?
verree good.
but suppose now, i, or any one of the department, come to you dressed quite different.
you would not know me at all unless i choose, i bet you.
some day i will prove it.
i come as ladakhi trader -- oh, anything -- and i say to you: "you want to buy precious stones?"
you say: "do i look like a man who buys precious stones?"
then i say: "even verree poor man can buy a turquoise or tarkeean.""
"that is kichree -- vegetable curry," said kim.
"of course it is.
you say: "let me see the tarkeean."
then i say: "it was cooked by a woman, and perhaps it is bad for your caste."
then you say: "there is no caste when men go to -- look for tarkeean."
you stop a little between those words, "to -- look".
that is thee whole secret.
the little stop before the words."
kim repeated the test-sentence.
"that is all right.
then i will show you my turquoise if there is time, and then you know who i am, and then we exchange views and documents and those-all things.
and so it is with any other man of us.
we talk sometimes about turquoises and sometimes about tarkeean, but always with that little stop in the words.
it is verree easy.
first, "son of the charm", if you are in a tight place.
perhaps that may help you -- perhaps not.
then what i have told you about the tarkeean, if you want to transact offeecial business with a strange man.
of course, at present, you have no offeecial business.
you are -- ah ha!
-- supernumerary on probation.
quite unique specimen.
if you were asiatic of birth you might be employed right off; but this half-year of leave is to make you de-englishized, you see?
the lama he expects you, because i have demi-offeecially informed him you have passed all your examinations, and will soon obtain government appointment.
oh ho!
you are on acting-allowance, you see: so if you are called upon to help sons of the charm mind you jolly-well try.
now i shall say good-bye, my dear fellow, and i hope you -- ah -- will come out top-side all raight."
hurree babu stepped back a pace or two into the crowd at the entrance of lucknow station and -- was gone.
kim drew a deep breath and hugged himself all over.
the nickel-plated revolver he could feel in the bosom of his sad-coloured robe, the amulet was on his neck; begging-gourd, rosary, and ghost-dagger -lrb- mr lurgan had forgotten nothing -rrb- were all to hand, with medicine, paint-box, and compass, and in a worn old purse-belt embroidered with porcupine-quill patterns lay a month's pay.
kings could be no richer.
he bought sweetmeats in a leaf-cup from a hindu trader, and ate them with glad rapture till a policeman ordered him off the steps.
chapter 11 give the man who is not made to his trade swords to fling and catch again, coins to ring and snatch again, men to harm and cure again, snakes to charm and lure again -- he'll be hurt by his own blade, by his serpents disobeyed, by his clumsiness bewrayed," by the people mocked to scorn -- so't is not with juggler born!
pinch of dust or withered flower, chance-flung fruit or borrowed staff, serve his need and shore his power, bind the spell, or loose the laugh!
but a man who, etc..
the juggler's song, op. 15 followed a sudden natural reaction.
"now am i alone -- all alone," he thought.
"in all india is no one so alone as i!
if i die today, who shall bring the news -- and to whom?
if i live and god is good, there will be a price upon my head, for i am a son of the charm -- i, kim."
a very few white people, but many asiatics, can throw themselves into a mazement as it were by repeating their own names over and over again to themselves, letting the mind go free upon speculation as to what is called personal identity.
when one grows older, the power, usually, departs, but while it lasts it may descend upon a man at any moment.
"who is kim -- kim -- kim?"
he squatted in a corner of the clanging waiting-room, rapt from all other thoughts; hands folded in lap, and pupils contracted to pin-points.
in a minute -- in another half-second -- he felt he would arrive at the solution of the tremendous puzzle; but here, as always happens, his mind dropped away from those heights with a rush of a wounded bird, and passing his hand before his eyes, he shook his head.
a long-haired hindu bairagi -lsb- holy man -rsb-, who had just bought a ticket, halted before him at that moment and stared intently."
i also have lost it," he said sadly.
"it is one of the gates to the way, but for me it has been shut many years."
"what is the talk?"
said kim, abashed.
"thou wast wondering there in thy spirit what manner of thing thy soul might be.
the seizure came of a sudden.
i know.
who should know but i?
whither goest thou?"
"toward kashi -lsb- benares -rsb-."
"there are no gods there.
i have proved them.
i go to prayag -lsb- allahabad -rsb- for the fifth time -- seeking the road to enlightenment.
of what faith art thou?'"
i too am a seeker," said kim, using one of the lama's pet words.
"though" -- he forgot his northern dress for the moment -- "though allah alone knoweth what i seek."
the old fellow slipped the bairagi's crutch under his armpit and sat down on a patch of ruddy leopard's skin as kim rose at the call for the benares train.
"go in hope, little brother," he said.
"it is a long road to the feet of the one; but thither do we all travel."
kim did not feel so lonely after this, and ere he had sat out twenty miles in the crowded compartment, was cheering his neighbours with a string of most wonderful yarns about his own and his master's magical gifts.
benares struck him as a peculiarly filthy city, though it was pleasant to find how his cloth was respected.
at least one-third of the population prays eternally to some group or other of the many million deities, and so reveres every sort of holy man.
kim was guided to the temple of the tirthankars, about a mile outside the city, near sarnath, by a chance-met punjabi farmer -- a kamboh from jullundur-way who had appealed in vain to every god of his homestead to cure his small son, and was trying benares as a last resort.
"thou art from the north?"
he asked, shouldering through the press of the narrow, stinking streets much like his own pet bull at home.
"ay, i know the punjab.
my mother was a pahareen, but my father came from amritzar -- by jandiala," said kim, oiling his ready tongue for the needs of the road.
"jandiala -- jullundur?
oho!
then we be neighbours in some sort, as it were."
he nodded tenderly to the wailing child in his arms.
"whom dost thou serve?'"
a most holy man at the temple of the tirthankers."
"they are all most holy and -- most greedy," said the jat with bitterness."
i have walked the pillars and trodden the temples till my feet are flayed, and the child is no whit better.
and the mother being sick too... hush, then, little one... we changed his name when the fever came.
we put him into girl's clothes.
there was nothing we did not do, except -- i said to his mother when she bundled me off to benares -- she should have come with me -- i said sakhi sarwar sultan would serve us best.
we know his generosity, but these down-country gods are strangers."
the child turned on the cushion of the huge corded arms and looked at kim through heavy eyelids.
"and was it all worthless?"
kim asked, with easy interest.
"all worthless -- all worthless," said the child, lips cracking with fever.
"the gods have given him a good mind, at least" said the father proudly.
"to think he should have listened so cleverly.
yonder is thy temple.
now i am a poor man -- many priests have dealt with me -- but my son is my son, and if a gift to thy master can cure him -- i am at my very wits" end."
kim considered for a while, tingling with pride.
three years ago he would have made prompt profit on the situation and gone his way without a thought; but now, the very respect the jat paid him proved that he was a man.
moreover, he had tasted fever once or twice already, and knew enough to recognize starvation when he saw it.
"call him forth and i will give him a bond on my best yoke, so that the child is cured."
kim halted at the carved outer door of the temple.
a white-clad oswal banker from ajmir, his sins of usury new wiped out, asked him what he did."
i am chela to teshoo lama, an holy one from bhotiyal -- within there.
he bade me come.
i wait.
tell him."
"do not forget the child," cried the importunate jat over his shoulder, and then bellowed in punjabi;" o holy one -- o disciple of the holy one -- o gods above all the worlds -- behold affliction sitting at the gate!"
that cry is so common in benares that the passers never turned their heads.
the oswal, at peace with mankind, carried the message into the darkness behind him, and the easy, uncounted eastern minutes slid by; for the lama was asleep in his cell, and no priest would wake him.
when the click of his rosary again broke the hush of the inner court where the calm images of the arhats stand, a novice whispered, "thy chela is here," and the old man strode forth, forgetting the end of that prayer.
hardly had the tall figure shown in the doorway than the jat ran before him, and, lifting up the child, cried: "look upon this, holy one; and if the gods will, he lives -- he lives!"
he fumbled in his waist-belt and drew out a small silver coin.
"what is now?"
the lama's eyes turned to kim.
it was noticeable he spoke far clearer urdu than long ago, under zamzammah; but father would allow no private talk.
"it is no more than a fever," said kim.
"the child is not well fed."
"he sickens at everything, and his mother is not here."
"if it be permitted, i may cure, holy one."
"what!
have they made thee a healer?
wait here," said the lama, and he sat down by the jat upon the lowest step of the temple, while kim, looking out of the corner of his eyes, slowly opened the little betel-box.
he had dreamed dreams at school of returning to the lama as a sahib -- of chaffing the old man before he revealed himself -- boy's dreams all.
there was more drama in this abstracted, brow-puckered search through the tabloid-bottles, with a pause here and there for thought and a muttered invocation between whiles.
quinine he had in tablets, and dark brown meat-lozenges -- beef most probably, but that was not his business.
the little thing would not eat, but it sucked at a lozenge greedily, and said it liked the salt taste.
"take then these six."
kim handed them to the man.
"praise the gods, and boil three in milk; other three in water.
after he has drunk the milk give him this" -lrb- it was the half of a quinine pill -rrb-, "and wrap him warm.
give him the water of the other three, and the other half of this white pill when he wakes.
meantime, here is another brown medicine that he may suck at on the way home."
"gods, what wisdom!"
said the kamboh, snatching.
it was as much as kim could remember of his own treatment in a bout of autumn malaria -- if you except the patter that he added to impress the lama.
"now go!
come again in the morning."
"but the price -- the price," said the jat, and threw back his sturdy shoulders.
"my son is my son.
now that he will be whole again, how shall i go back to his mother and say i took help by the wayside and did not even give a bowl of curds in return?"
"they are alike, these jats," said kim softly.
"the jat stood on his dunghill and the king's elephants went by.
""o driver," said he, "what will you sell those little donkeys for?""
the jat burst into a roar of laughter, stifled with apologies to the lama.
"it is the saying of my own country the very talk of it.
so are we jats all.
i will come tomorrow with the child; and the blessing of the gods of the homesteads -- who are good little gods -- be on you both... now, son, we grow strong again.
do not spit it out, little princeling!
king of my heart, do not spit it out, and we shall be strong men, wrestlers and club-wielders, by morning."
he moved away, crooning and mumbling.
the lama turned to kim, and all the loving old soul of him looked out through his narrow eyes.
"to heal the sick is to acquire merit; but first one gets knowledge.
that was wisely done, o friend of all the world.'"
i was made wise by thee, holy one," said kim, forgetting the little play just ended; forgetting st xavier's; forgetting his white blood; forgetting even the great game as he stooped, mohammedan-fashion, to touch his master's feet in the dust of the jain temple.
"my teaching i owe to thee.
i have eaten thy bread three years.
my time is finished.
i am loosed from the schools.
i come to thee."
"herein is my reward.
enter!
enter!
and is all well?"
they passed to the inner court, where the afternoon sun sloped golden across.
"stand that i may see.
so!"
he peered critically.
"it is no longer a child, but a man, ripened in wisdom, walking as a physician.
i did well -- i did well when i gave thee up to the armed men on that black night.
dost thou remember our first day under zam-zammah?"
"ay," said kim.
"dost thou remember when i leapt off the carriage the first day i went to --" "the gates of learning?
truly.
and the day that we ate the cakes together at the back of the river by nucklao.
aha!
many times hast thou begged for me, but that day i begged for thee."
"good reason," quoth kim."
i was then a scholar in the gates of learning, and attired as a sahib.
do not forget, holy one," he went on playfully."
i am still a sahib -- by thy favour."
"true.
and a sahib in most high esteem.
come to my cell, chela."
"how is that known to thee?"
the lama smiled.
"first by means of letters from the kindly priest whom we met in the camp of armed men; but he is now gone to his own country, and i sent the money to his brother."
colonel creighton, who had succeeded to the trusteeship when father victor went to england with the mavericks, was hardly the chaplain's brother.
"but i do not well understand sahibs" letters.
they must be interpreted to me.
i chose a surer way.
many times when i returned from my search to this temple, which has always been a nest to me, there came one seeking enlightenment -- a man from leh -- that had been, he said, a hindu, but wearied of all those gods."
the lama pointed to the arhats."
a fat man?"
said kim, a twinkle in his eye.
"very fat; but i perceived in a little his mind was wholly given up to useless things -- such as devils and charms and the form and fashion of our tea-drinkings in the monasteries, and by what road we initiated the novices.
a man abounding in questions; but he was a friend of thine, chela.
he told me that thou wast on the road to much honour as a scribe.
and i see thou art a physician."
"yes, that am i -- a scribe, when i am a sahib, but it is set aside when i come as thy disciple.
i have accomplished the years appointed for a sahib."
"as it were a novice?"
said the lama, nodding his head.
"art thou freed from the schools?
i would not have thee unripe.'"
i am all free.
in due time i take service under the government as a scribe --" "not as a warrior.
that is well."
"but first i come to wander with thee.
therefore i am here.
who begs for thee, these days?"
he went on quickly.
the ice was thin.
"very often i beg myself; but, as thou knowest, i am seldom here, except when i come to look again at my disciple.
from one end to another of hind have i travelled afoot and in the te-rain.
a great and a wonderful land!
but here, when i put in, is as though i were in my own bhotiyal."
he looked round the little clean cell complacently.
a low cushion gave him a seat, on which he had disposed himself in the cross-legged attitude of the bodhisat emerging from meditation; a black teak-wood table, not twenty inches high, set with copper tea-cups, was before him.
in one corner stood a tiny altar, also of heavily carved teak, bearing a copper-gilt image of the seated buddha and fronted by a lamp, an incense-holder, and a pair of copper flower-pots.
"the keeper of the images in the wonder house acquired merit by giving me these a year since," he said, following kim's eye.
"when one is far from one's own land such things carry remembrance; and we must reverence the lord for that he showed the way.
see!"
he pointed to a curiously-built mound of coloured rice crowned with a fantastic metal ornament.
"when i was abbot in my own place -- before i came to better knowledge i made that offering daily.
it is the sacrifice of the universe to the lord.
thus do we of bhotiyal offer all the world daily to the excellent law.
and i do it even now, though i know that the excellent one is beyond all pinchings and pattings."
he snuffed from his gourd.
"it is well done, holy one," kim murmured, sinking at ease on the cushions, very happy and rather tired.
"and also," the old man chuckled," i write pictures of the wheel of life.
three days to a picture.
i was busied on it -- or it may be i shut my eyes a little -- when they brought word of thee.
it is good to have thee here: i will show thee my art -- not for pride's sake, but because thou must learn.
the sahibs have not all this world's wisdom."
he drew from under the table a sheet of strangely scented yellow chinese paper, the brushes, and slab of indian ink.
in cleanest, severest outline he had traced the great wheel with its six spokes, whose centre is the conjoined hog, snake, and dove -lrb- ignorance, anger, and lust -rrb-, and whose compartments are all the heavens and hells, and all the chances of human life.
men say that the bodhisat himself first drew it with grains of rice upon dust, to teach his disciples the cause of things.
many ages have crystallized it into a most wonderful convention crowded with hundreds of little figures whose every line carries a meaning.
few can translate the picture-parable; there are not twenty in all the world who can draw it surely without a copy: of those who can both draw and expound are but three."
i have a little learned to draw," said kim.
"but this is a marvel beyond marvels.'"
i have written it for many years," said the lama.
"time was when i could write it all between one lamp-lighting and the next.
i will teach thee the art -- after due preparation; and i will show thee the meaning of the wheel."
"we take the road, then?"
"the road and our search.
i was but waiting for thee.
it was made plain to me in a hundred dreams -- notably one that came upon the night of the day that the gates of learning first shut that without thee i should never find my river.
again and again, as thou knowest, i put this from me, fearing an illusion.
therefore i would not take thee with me that day at lucknow, when we ate the cakes.
i would not take thee till the time was ripe and auspicious.
from the hills to the sea, from the sea to the hills have i gone, but it was vain.
then i remembered the tataka."
he told kim the story of the elephant with the leg-iron, as he had told it so often to the jam priests.
"further testimony is not needed," he ended serenely.
"thou wast sent for an aid.
that aid removed, my search came to naught.
therefore we will go out again together, and our search sure."
"whither go we?"
"what matters, friend of all the world?
the search, i say, is sure.
if need be, the river will break from the ground before us.
i acquired merit when i sent thee to the gates of learning, and gave thee the jewel that is wisdom.
thou didst return, i saw even now, a follower of sakyamuni, the physician, whose altars are many in bhotiyal.
it is sufficient.
we are together, and all things are as they were -- friend of all the world -- friend of the stars -- my chela!"
then they talked of matters secular; but it was noticeable that the lama never demanded any details of life at st xavier's, nor showed the faintest curiosity as to the manners and customs of sahibs.
his mind moved all in the past, and he revived every step of their wonderful first journey together, rubbing his hands and chuckling, till it pleased him to curl himself up into the sudden sleep of old age.
kim watched the last dusty sunshine fade out of the court, and played with his ghost-dagger and rosary.
the clamour of benares, oldest of all earth's cities awake before the gods, day and night, beat round the walls as the sea's roar round a breakwater.
now and again, a jain priest crossed the court, with some small offering to the images, and swept the path about him lest by chance he should take the life of a living thing.
a lamp twinkled, and there followed the sound of a prayer.
kim watched the stars as they rose one after another in the still, sticky dark, till he fell asleep at the foot of the altar.
that night he dreamed in hindustani, with never an english word... "holy one, there is the child to whom we gave the medicine," he said, about three o'clock in the morning, when the lama, also waking from dreams, would have fared forth on pilgrimage.
"the jat will be here at the light.'"
i am well answered.
in my haste i would have done a wrong."
he sat down on the cushions and returned to his rosary.
"surely old folk are as children," he said pathetically.
"they desire a matter -- behold, it must be done at once, or they fret and weep!
many times when i was upon the road i have been ready to stamp with my feet at the hindrance of an ox-cart in the way, or a mere cloud of dust.
it was not so when i was a man -- a long time ago.
none the less it is wrongful --" "but thou art indeed old, holy one."
"the thing was done.
a cause was put out into the world, and, old or young, sick or sound, knowing or unknowing, who can rein in the effect of that cause?
does the wheel hang still if a child spin it -- or a drunkard?
chela, this is a great and a terrible world.'"
i think it good," kim yawned.
"what is there to eat?
i have not eaten since yesterday even.'"
i had forgotten thy need.
yonder is good bhotiyal tea and cold rice."
"we can not walk far on such stuff."
kim felt all the european's lust for flesh-meat, which is not accessible in a jain temple.
yet, instead of going out at once with the begging-bowl, he stayed his stomach on slabs of cold rice till the full dawn.
it brought the farmer, voluble, stuttering with gratitude.
"in the night the fever broke and the sweat came," he cried.
"feel here -- his skin is fresh and new!
he esteemed the salt lozenges, and took milk with greed."
he drew the cloth from the child's face, and it smiled sleepily at kim.
a little knot of jain priests, silent but all-observant, gathered by the temple door.
they knew, and kim knew that they knew, how the old lama had met his disciple.
being courteous folk, they had not obtruded themselves overnight by presence, word, or gesture.
wherefore kim repaid them as the sun rose.
"thank the gods of the jains, brother," he said, not knowing how those gods were named.
"the fever is indeed broken."
"look!
see!"
the lama beamed in the background upon his hosts of three years.
"was there ever such a chela?
he follows our lord the healer."
now the jains officially recognize all the gods of the hindu creed, as well as the lingam and the snake.
they wear the brahminical thread; they adhere to every claim of hindu caste-law.
but, because they knew and loved the lama, because he was an old man, because he sought the way, because he was their guest, and because he collogued long of nights with the head-priest -- as free-thinking a metaphysician as ever split one hair into seventy -- they murmured assent.
"remember," -- kim bent over the child --.
"this trouble may come again."
"not if thou hast the proper spell," said the father.
"but in a little while we go away."
"true," said the lama to all the jains.
"we go now together upon the search whereof i have often spoken.
i waited till my chela was ripe.
behold him!
we go north.
never again shall i look upon this place of my rest, o people of good will."
"but i am not a beggar."
the cultivator rose to his feet, clutching the child.
"be still.
do not trouble the holy one," a priest cried.
"go," kim whispered.
"meet us again under the big railway bridge, and for the sake of all the gods of our punjab, bring food -- curry, pulse, cakes fried in fat, and sweetmeats.
specially sweetmeats.
be swift!"
the pallor of hunger suited kim very well as he stood, tall and slim, in his sand-coloured, sweeping robes, one hand on his rosary and the other in the attitude of benediction, faithfully copied from the lama.
an english observer might have said that he looked rather like the young saint of a stained-glass window, whereas he was but a growing lad faint with emptiness.
long and formal were the farewells, thrice ended and thrice renewed.
the seeker -- he who had invited the lama to that haven from far-away tibet, a silver-faced, hairless ascetic -- took no part in it, but meditated, as always, alone among the images.
the others were very human; pressing small comforts upon the old man -- a betel-box, a fine new iron pencase, a food-bag, and such-like -- warning him against the dangers of the world without, and prophesying a happy end to the search.
meantime kim, lonelier than ever, squatted on the steps, and swore to himself in the language of st xavier's.
"but it is my own fault," he concluded.
"with mahbub, i ate mahbub's bread, or lurgan sahib's.
at st xavier's, three meals a day.
here i must jolly-well look out for myself.
besides, i am not in good training.
how i could eat a plate of beef now!
... is it finished, holy one?"
the lama, both hands raised, intoned a final blessing in ornate chinese."
i must lean on thy shoulder," said he, as the temple gates closed.
"we grow stiff, i think."
the weight of a six-foot man is not light to steady through miles of crowded streets, and kim, loaded down with bundles and packages for the way, was glad to reach the shadow of the railway bridge.
"here we eat," he said resolutely, as the kamboh, blue-robed and smiling, hove in sight, a basket in one hand and the child in the other.
"fall to, holy ones!"
he cried from fifty yards.
-lrb- they were by the shoal under the first bridge-span, out of sight of hungry priests. -rrb-
"rice and good curry, cakes all warm and well scented with hing -lsb- asafoetida -rsb-, curds and sugar.
king of my fields," -- this to the small son -- "let us show these holy men that we jats of jullundur can pay a service... i had heard the jains would eat nothing that they had not cooked, but truly" -- he looked away politely over the broad river -- "where there is no eye there is no caste."
"and we," said kim, turning his back and heaping a leafplatter for the lama, "are beyond all castes."
they gorged themselves on the good food in silence.
nor till he had licked the last of the sticky sweetstuff from his little finger did kim note that the kamboh too was girt for travel.
"if our roads lie together," he said roughly," i go with thee.
one does not often find a worker of miracles, and the child is still weak.
but i am not altogether a reed."
he picked up his lathi -- a five-foot male-bamboo ringed with bands of polished iron -- and flourished it in the air.
"the jats are called quarrel-some, but that is not true.
except when we are crossed, we are like our own buffaloes."
"so be it," said kim."
a good stick is a good reason."
the lama gazed placidly up-stream, where in long, smudged perspective the ceaseless columns of smoke go up from the burning-ghats by the river.
now and again, despite all municipal regulations, the fragment of a half-burned body bobbed by on the full current.
"but for thee," said the kamboh to kim, drawing the child into his hairy breast," i might today have gone thither -- with this one.
the priests tell us that benares is holy -- which none doubt -- and desirable to die in.
but i do not know their gods, and they ask for money; and when one has done one worship a shaved-head vows it is of none effect except one do another.
wash here!
wash there!
pour, drink, lave, and scatter flowers -- but always pay the priests.
no, the punjab for me, and the soil of the jullundur-doab for the best soil in it.'"
i have said many times -- in the temple, i think -- that if need be, the river will open at our feet.
we will therefore go north," said the lama, rising."
i remember a pleasant place, set about with fruit-trees, where one can walk in meditation -- and the air is cooler there.
it comes from the hills and the snow of the hills."
"what is the name?"
said kim.
"how should i know?
didst thou not -- no, that was after the army rose out of the earth and took thee away.
i abode there in meditation in a room against the dovecot -- except when she talked eternally."
"oho!
the woman from kulu.
that is by saharunpore."
kim laughed.
"how does the spirit move thy master?
does he go afoot, for the sake of past sins?"
the jat demanded cautiously.
"it is a far cry to delhi."
"no," said kim."
i will beg a tikkut for the te-rain."
one does not own to the possession of money in india.
"then, in the name of the gods, let us take the fire-carriage.
my son is best in his mother's arms.
the government has brought on us many taxes, but it gives us one good thing -- the te-rain that joins friends and unites the anxious.
a wonderful matter is the te-rain."
they all piled into it a couple of hours later, and slept through the heat of the day.
the kamboh plied kim with ten thousand questions as to the lama's walk and work in life, and received some curious answers.
kim was content to be where he was, to look out upon the flat north-western landscape, and to talk to the changing mob of fellow-passengers.
even today, tickets and ticket-clipping are dark oppression to indian rustics.
they do not understand why, when they have paid for a magic piece of paper, strangers should punch great pieces out of the charm.
so, long and furious are the debates between travellers and eurasian ticket-collectors.
kim assisted at two or three with grave advice, meant to darken counsel and to show off his wisdom before the lama and the admiring kamboh.
but at somna road the fates sent him a matter to think upon.
there tumbled into the compartment, as the train was moving off, a mean, lean little person -- a mahratta, so far as kim could judge by the cock of the tight turban.
his face was cut, his muslin upper-garment was badly torn, and one leg was bandaged.
he told them that a country-cart had upset and nearly slain him: he was going to delhi, where his son lived.
kim watched him closely.
if, as he asserted, he had been rolled over and over on the earth, there should have been signs of gravel-rash on the skin.
but all his injuries seemed clean cuts, and a mere fall from a cart could not cast a man into such extremity of terror.
as, with shaking fingers, he knotted up the torn cloth about his neck he laid bare an amulet of the kind called a keeper-up of the heart.
now, amulets are common enough, but they are not generally strung on square-plaited copper wire, and still fewer amulets bear black enamel on silver.
there were none except the kamboh and the lama in the compartment, which, luckily, was of an old type with solid ends.
kim made as to scratch in his bosom, and thereby lifted his own amulet.
the mahratta's face changed altogether at the sight, and he disposed the amulet fairly on his breast.
"yes," he went on to the kamboh," i was in haste, and the cart, driven by a bastard, bound its wheel in a water-cut, and besides the harm done to me there was lost a full dish of tarkeean.
i was not a son of the charm -lsb- a lucky man -rsb- that day."
"that was a great loss," said the kamboh, withdrawing interest.
his experience of benares had made him suspicious.
"who cooked it?"
said kim."
a woman."
the mahratta raised his eyes.
"but all women can cook tarkeean," said the kamboh.
"it is a good curry, as i know."
"oh yes, it is a good curry," said the mahratta.
"and cheap," said kim.
"but what about caste?"
"oh, there is no caste where men go to -- look for tarkeean," the mahratta replied, in the prescribed cadence.
"of whose service art thou?"
"of the service of this holy one."
kim pointed to the happy, drowsy lama, who woke with a jerk at the well-loved word.
"ah, he was sent from heaven to aid me.
he is called the friend of all the world.
he is also called the friend of the stars.
he walks as a physician -- his time being ripe.
great is his wisdom."
"and a son of the charm," said kim under his breath, as the kamboh made haste to prepare a pipe lest the mahratta should beg.
"and who is that?"
the mahratta asked, glancing sideways nervously.
"one whose child i -- we have cured, who lies under great debt to us.
sit by the window, man from jullundur.
here is a sick one."
"humph!
i have no desire to mix with chance-met wastrels.
my ears are not long.
i am not a woman wishing to overhear secrets."
the jat slid himself heavily into a far corner.
"art thou anything of a healer?
i am ten leagues deep in calamity," cried the mahratta, picking up the cue.
"this man is cut and bruised all over.
i go about to cure him," kim retorted.
"none interfered between thy babe and me.'"
i am rebuked," said the kamboh meekly."
i am thy debtor for the life of my son.
thou art a miracle-worker -- i know it."
"show me the cuts."
kim bent over the mahratta's neck, his heart nearly choking him; for this was the great game with a vengeance.
"now, tell thy tale swiftly, brother, while i say a charm.'"
i come from the south, where my work lay.
one of us they slew by the roadside.
hast thou heard?"
kim shook his head.
he, of course, knew nothing of e's predecessor, slain down south in the habit of an arab trader.
"having found a certain letter which i was sent to seek, i came away.
i escaped from the city and ran to mhow.
so sure was i that none knew, i did not change my face.
at mhow a woman brought charge against me of theft of jewellery in that city which i had left.
then i saw the cry was out against me.
i ran from mhow by night, bribing the police, who had been bribed to hand me over without question to my enemies in the south.
then i lay in old chitor city a week, a penitent in a temple, but i could not get rid of the letter which was my charge.
i buried it under the queen's stone, at chitor, in the place known to us all."
kim did not know, but not for worlds would he have broken the thread.
"at chitor, look you, i was all in kings" country; for kotah to the east is beyond the queen's law, and east again lie jaipur and gwalior.
neither love spies, and there is no justice.
i was hunted like a wet jackal; but i broke through at bandakui, where i heard there was a charge against me of murder in the city i had left -- of the murder of a boy.
they have both the corpse and the witnesses waiting."
"but can not the government protect?"
"we of the game are beyond protection.
if we die, we die.
our names are blotted from the book.
that is all.
at bandakui, where lives one of us, i thought to slip the scent by changing my face, and so made me a mahratta.
then i came to agra, and would have turned back to chitor to recover the letter.
so sure i was i had slipped them.
therefore i did not send a tar -lsb- telegram -rsb- to any one saying where the letter lay.
i wished the credit of it all."
kim nodded.
he understood that feeling well.
"but at agra, walking in the streets, a man cried a debt against me, and approaching with many witnesses, would hale me to the courts then and there.
oh, they are clever in the south!
he recognized me as his agent for cotton.
may he burn in hell for it!"
"and wast thou?'"
o fool!
i was the man they sought for the matter of the letter!
i ran into the fleshers" ward and came out by the house of the jew, who feared a riot and pushed me forth.
i came afoot to somna road -- i had only money for my tikkut to delhi -- and there, while i lay in a ditch with a fever, one sprang out of the bushes and beat me and cut me and searched me from head to foot.
within earshot of the terain it was!"
"why did he not slay thee out of hand?"
"they are not so foolish.
if i am taken in delhi at the instance of lawyers, upon a proven charge of murder, my body is handed over to the state that desires it.
i go back guarded, and then -- i die slowly for an example to the rest of us.
the south is not my country.
i run in circles -- like a goat with one eye.
i have not eaten for two days.
i am marked" -- he touched the filthy bandage on his leg -- "so that they will know me at delhi."
"thou art safe in the te-rain, at least."
"live a year at the great game and tell me that again!
the wires will be out against me at delhi, describing every tear and rag upon me.
twenty -- a hundred, if need be -- will have seen me slay that boy.
and thou art useless!"
kim knew enough of native methods of attack not to doubt that the case would be deadly complete -- even to the corpse.
the mahratta twitched his fingers with pain from time to time.
the kamboh in his corner glared sullenly; the lama was busy over his beads; and kim, fumbling doctor-fashion at the man's neck, thought out his plan between invocations.
"hast thou a charm to change my shape?
else i am dead.
five -- ten minutes alone, if i had not been so pressed, and i might --" "is he cured yet, miracle-worker?"
said the kamboh jealously.
"thou hast chanted long enough."
"nay.
there is no cure for his hurts, as i see, except he sit for three days in the habit of a bairagi."
this is a common penance, often imposed on a fat trader by his spiritual teacher.
"one priest always goes about to make another priest," was the retort.
like most grossly superstitious folk, the kamboh could not keep his tongue from deriding his church.
"will thy son be a priest, then?
it is time he took more of my quinine."
"we jats are all buffaloes," said the kamboh, softening anew.
kim rubbed a finger-tip of bitterness on the child's trusting little lips."
i have asked for nothing," he said sternly to the father, "except food.
dost thou grudge me that?
i go to heal another man.
have i thy leave -- prince?"
up flew the man's huge paws in supplication.
"nay -- nay.
do not mock me thus."
"it pleases me to cure this sick one.
thou shalt acquire merit by aiding.
what colour ash is there in thy pipe-bowl?
white.
that is auspicious.
was there raw turmeric among thy foodstuffs?"
"i -- i --" "open thy bundle!"
it was the usual collection of small oddments: bits of cloth, quack medicines, cheap fairings, a clothful of atta -- greyish, rough-ground native flour -- twists of down-country tobacco, tawdry pipe-stems, and a packet of curry-stuff, all wrapped in a quilt.
kim turned it over with the air of a wise warlock, muttering a mohammedan invocation.
"this is wisdom i learned from the sahibs," he whispered to the lama; and here, when one thinks of his training at lurgan's, he spoke no more than the truth.
"there is a great evil in this man's fortune, as shown by the stars, which -- which troubles him.
shall i take it away?"
"friend of the stars, thou hast done well in all things.
let it be at thy pleasure.
is it another healing?"
"quick!
be quick!"
gasped the mahratta.
"the train may stop.'"
a healing against the shadow of death," said kim, mixing the kamboh's flour with the mingled charcoal and tobacco ash in the red-earth bowl of the pipe.
e, without a word, slipped off his turban and shook down his long black hair.
"that is my food -- priest," the jat growled."
a buffalo in the temple!
hast thou dared to look even thus far?"
said kim."
i must do mysteries before fools; but have a care for thine eyes.
is there a film before them already?
i save the babe, and for return thou -- oh, shameless!"
the man flinched at the direct gaze, for kim was wholly in earnest.
"shall i curse thee, or shall i --" he picked up the outer cloth of the bundle and threw it over the bowed head.
"dare so much as to think a wish to see, and -- and -- even i can not save thee.
sit!
be dumb!'"
i am blind -- dumb.
forbear to curse!
co -- come, child; we will play a game of hiding.
do not, for my sake, look from under the cloth.'"
i see hope," said e23.
"what is thy scheme?"
"this comes next," said kim, plucking the thin body-shirt.
e23 hesitated, with all a north-west man's dislike of baring his body.
"what is caste to a cut throat?"
said kim, rending it to the waist.
"we must make thee a yellow saddhu all over.
strip -- strip swiftly, and shake thy hair over thine eyes while i scatter the ash.
now, a caste-mark on thy forehead."
he drew from his bosom the little survey paint-box and a cake of crimson lake.
"art thou only a beginner?"
said e23, labouring literally for the dear life, as he slid out of his body-wrappings and stood clear in the loin-cloth while kim splashed in a noble caste-mark on the ash-smeared brow.
"but two days entered to the game, brother," kim replied.
"smear more ash on the bosom."
"hast thou met -- a physician of sick pearls?"
he switched out his long, tight-rolled turban-cloth and, with swiftest hands, rolled it over and under about his loins into the intricate devices of a saddhu's cincture.
"hah!
dost thou know his touch, then?
he was my teacher for a while.
we must bar thy legs.
ash cures wounds.
smear it again.'"
i was his pride once, but thou art almost better.
the gods are kind to us!
give me that."
it was a tin box of opium pills among the rubbish of the jat's bundle.
e23 gulped down a half handful.
"they are good against hunger, fear, and chill.
and they make the eyes red too," he explained.
"now i shall have heart to play the game.
we lack only a saddhu's tongs.
what of the old clothes?"
kim rolled them small, and stuffed them into the slack folds of his tunic.
with a yellow-ochre paint cake he smeared the legs and the breast, great streaks against the background of flour, ash, and turmeric.
"the blood on them is enough to hang thee, brother."
"maybe; but no need to throw them out of the window... it is finished."
his voice thrilled with a boy's pure delight in the game.
"turn and look, o jat!"
"the gods protect us," said the hooded kamboh, emerging like a buffalo from the reeds.
"but -- whither went the mahratta?
what hast thou done?"
kim had been trained by lurgan sahib; e23, by virtue of his business, was no bad actor.
in place of the tremulous, shrinking trader there lolled against the corner an all but naked, ash-smeared, ochre-barred, dusty-haired saddhu, his swollen eyes -- opium takes quick effect on an empty stomach -- luminous with insolence and bestial lust, his legs crossed under him, kim's brown rosary round his neck, and a scant yard of worn, flowered chintz on his shoulders.
the child buried his face in his amazed father's arms.
"look up, princeling!
we travel with warlocks, but they will not hurt thee.
oh, do not cry... what is the sense of curing a child one day and killing him with fright the next?"
"the child will be fortunate all his life.
he has seen a great healing.
when i was a child i made clay men and horses.'"
i have made them too.
sir banas, he comes in the night and makes them all alive at the back of our kitchen-midden," piped the child.
"and so thou art not frightened at anything.
eh, prince?'"
i was frightened because my father was frightened.
i felt his arms shake."
"oh, chicken-man!"
said kim, and even the abashed jat laughed."
i have done a healing on this poor trader.
he must forsake his gains and his account-books, and sit by the wayside three nights to overcome the malignity of his enemies.
the stars are against him."
"the fewer money-lenders the better, say i; but, saddhu or no saddhu, he should pay for my stuff on his shoulders."
"so?
but that is thy child on thy shoulder -- given over to the burning-ghat not two days ago.
there remains one thing more.
i did this charm in thy presence because need was great.
i changed his shape and his soul.
none the less, if, by any chance, o man from jullundur, thou rememberest what thou hast seen, either among the elders sitting under the village tree, or in thine own house, or in company of thy priest when he blesses thy cattle, a murrain will come among the buffaloes, and a fire in thy thatch, and rats in the corn-bins, and the curse of our gods upon thy fields that they may be barren before thy feet and after thy ploughshare."
this was part of an old curse picked up from a fakir by the taksali gate in the days of kim's innocence.
it lost nothing by repetition.
"cease, holy one!
in mercy, cease!"
cried the jat.
"do not curse the household.
i saw nothing!
i heard nothing!
i am thy cow!"
and he made to grab at kim's bare foot beating rhythmically on the carriage floor.
"but since thou hast been permitted to aid me in the matter of a pinch of flour and a little opium and such trifles as i have honoured by using in my art, so will the gods return a blessing," and he gave it at length, to the man's immense relief.
it was one that he had learned from lurgan sahib.
the lama stared through his spectacles as he had not stared at the business of disguisement.
"friend of the stars," he said at last, "thou hast acquired great wisdom.
beware that it do not give birth to pride.
no man having the law before his eyes speaks hastily of any matter which he has seen or encountered."
"no -- no -- no, indeed," cried the farmer, fearful lest the master should be minded to improve on the pupil.
e23, with relaxed mouth, gave himself up to the opium that is meat, tobacco, and medicine to the spent asiatic.
so, in a silence of awe and great miscomprehension, they slid into delhi about lamp-lighting time.
chapter 12 who hath desired the sea -- the sight of salt-water unbounded?
the heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber wind-hounded?
the sleek-barrelled swell before storm -- grey, foamless, enormous, and growing?
stark calm on the lap of the line -- or the crazy-eyed hurricane blowing?
his sea in no showing the same -- his sea and the same "neath all showing -- his sea that his being fulfils?
so and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise hill-men desire their hills!
the sea and the hills."
i have found my heart again," said e23, under cover of the platform's tumult.
"hunger and fear make men dazed, or i might have thought of this escape before.
i was right.
they come to hunt for me.
thou hast saved my head."
a group of yellow-trousered punjab policemen, headed by a hot and perspiring young englishman, parted the crowd about the carriages.
behind them, inconspicuous as a cat, ambled a small fat person who looked like a lawyer's tout.
"see the young sahib reading from a paper.
my description is in his hand," said e23.
"thev go carriage by carriage, like fisher-folk netting a pool."
when the procession reached their compartment, e23 was counting his beads with a steady jerk of the wrist; while kim jeered at him for being so drugged as to have lost the ringed fire-tongs which are the saddhu's distinguishing mark.
the lama, deep in meditation, stared straight before him; and the farmer, glancing furtively, gathered up his belongings.
"nothing here but a parcel of holy-bolies," said the englishman aloud, and passed on amid a ripple of uneasiness; for native police mean extortion to the native all india over.
"the trouble now," whispered e23, "lies in sending a wire as to the place where i hid that letter i was sent to find.
i can not go to the tar-office in this guise."
"is it not enough i have saved thy neck?"
"not if the work be left unfinished.
did never the healer of sick pearls tell thee so?
comes another sahib!
ah!"
this was a tallish, sallowish district superintendent of police -- belt, helmet, polished spurs and all -- strutting and twirling his dark moustache.
"what fools are these police sahibs!"
said kim genially.
e23 glanced up under his eyelids.
"it is well said," he muttered in a changed voice."
i go to drink water.
keep my place."
he blundered out almost into the englishman's arms, and was bad-worded in clumsy urdu.
"tum mut?
you drunk?
you must n't bang about as though delhi station belonged to you, my friend."
e23, not moving a muscle of his countenance, answered with a stream of the filthiest abuse, at which kim naturally rejoiced.
it reminded him of the drummer-boys and the barrack-sweepers at umballa in the terrible time of his first schooling.
"my good fool," the englishman drawled.
"nickle-jao!
go back to your carriage."
step by step, withdrawing deferentially and dropping his voice, the yellow saddhu clomb back to the carriage, cursing the d.s.p. to remotest posterity, by -- here kim almost jumped -- by the curse of the queen's stone, by the writing under the queen's stone, and by an assortment of gods with wholly, new names."
i do n't know what you're saying," -- the englishman flushed angrily -- "but it's some piece of blasted impertinence.
come out of that!"
e23, affecting to misunderstand, gravely produced his ticket, which the englishman wrenched angrily from his hand.
"oh, zoolum!
what oppression!"
growled the jat from his corner.
"all for the sake of a jest too."
he had been grinning at the freedom of the saddhu's tongue.
"thy charms do not work well today, holy one!"
the saddhu followed the policeman, fawning and supplicating.
the ruck of passengers, busy, with their babies and their bundles, had not noticed the affair.
kim slipped out behind him; for it flashed through his head that he had heard this angry, stupid sahib discoursing loud personalities to an old lady near umballa three years ago.
"it is well", the saddhu whispered, jammed in the calling, shouting, bewildered press -- a persian greyhound between his feet and a cageful of yelling hawks under charge of a rajput falconer in the small of his back.
"he has gone now to send word of the letter which i hid.
they told me he was in peshawur.
i might have known that he is like the crocodile -- always at the other ford.
he has saved me from present calamity, but i owe my life to thee."
"is he also one of us?"
kim ducked under a mewar camel-driver's greasy armpit and cannoned off a covey of jabbering sikh matrons.
"not less than the greatest.
we are both fortunate!
i will make report to him of what thou hast done.
i am safe under his protection."
he bored through the edge of the crowd besieging the carriages, and squatted by the bench near the telegraph-office.
"return, or they take thy place!
have no fear for the work, brother -- or my life.
thou hast given me breathing-space, and strickland sahib has pulled me to land.
we may work together at the game yet.
farewell!"
kim hurried to his carriage: elated, bewildered, but a little nettled in that he had no key to the secrets about him."
i am only a beginner at the game, that is sure.
i could not have leaped into safety as did the saddhu.
he knew it was darkest under the lamp.
i could not have thought to tell news under pretence of cursing... and how clever was the sahib!
no matter, i saved the life of one... where is the kamboh gone, holy one?"
he whispered, as he took his seat in the now crowded compartment."
a fear gripped him," the lama replied, with a touch of tender malice.
"he saw thee change the mahratta to a saddhu in the twinkling of an eye, as a protection against evil.
that shook him.
then he saw the saddhu fall sheer into the hands of the polis -- all the effect of thy art.
then he gathered up his son and fled; for he said that thou didst change a quiet trader into an impudent bandier of words with the sahibs, and he feared a like fate.
where is the saddhu?"
"with the polis," said kim... "yet i saved the kamboh's child."
the lama snuffed blandly.
"ah, chela, see how thou art overtaken!
thou didst cure the kamboh's child solely to acquire merit.
but thou didst put a spell on the mahratta with prideful workings -- i watched thee -- and with sidelong glances to bewilder an old old man and a foolish farmer: whence calamity and suspicion."
kim controlled himself with an effort beyond his years.
not more than any other youngster did he like to eat dirt or to be misjudged, but he saw himself in a cleft stick.
the train rolled out of delhi into the night.
"it is true," he murmured.
"where i have offended thee i have done wrong."
"it is more, chela.
thou hast loosed an act upon the world, and as a stone thrown into a pool so spread the consequences thou canst not tell how far."
this ignorance was well both for kim's vanity and for the lama's peace of mind, when we think that there was then being handed in at simla a code-wire reporting the arrival of e23 at delhi, and, more important, the whereabouts of a letter he had been commissioned to -- abstract.
incidentally, an over-zealous policeman had arrested, on charge of murder done in a far southern state, a horribly indignant ajmir cotton-broker, who was explaining himself to a mr strickland on delhi platform, while e23 was paddling through byways into the locked heart of delhi city.
in two hours several telegrams had reached the angry minister of a southern state reporting that all trace of a somewhat bruised mahratta had been lost; and by the time the leisurely train halted at saharunpore the last ripple of the stone kim had helped to heave was lapping against the steps of a mosque in far-away roum -- where it disturbed a pious man at prayers.
the lama made his in ample form near the dewy bougainvillea-trellis near the platform, cheered by the clear sunshine and the presence of his disciple.
"we will put these things behind us," he said, indicating the brazen engine and the gleaming track.
"the jolting of the te-rain -- though a wonderful thing -- has turned my bones to water.
we will use clean air henceforward."
"let us go to the kulu woman's house" said kim, and stepped forth cheerily under the bundles.
early morning saharunpore-way is clean and well scented.
he thought of the other mornings at st xavier's, and it topped his already thrice-heaped contentment.
"where is this new haste born from?
wise men do not run about like chickens in the sun.
we have come hundreds upon hundreds of koss already, and, till now, i have scarcely been alone with thee an instant.
how canst thou receive instruction all jostled of crowds?
how can i, whelmed by a flux of talk, meditate upon the way?"
"her tongue grows no shorter with the years, then?"
the disciple smiled.
"nor her desire for charms.
i remember once when i spoke of the wheel of life" -- the lama fumbled in his bosom for his latest copy -- "she was only curious about the devils that besiege children.
she shall acquire merit by entertaining us -- in a little while -- at an after-occasion -- softly, softly.
now we will wander loose-foot, waiting upon the chain of things.
the search is sure."
so they travelled very easily across and among the broad bloomful fruit-gardens -- by way of aminabad, sahaigunge, akrola of the ford, and little phulesa -- the line of the siwaliks always to the north, and behind them again the snows.
after long, sweet sleep under the dry stars came the lordly, leisurely passage through a waking village -- begging-bowl held forth in silence, but eyes roving in defiance of the law from sky's edge to sky's edge.
then would kim return soft-footed through the soft dust to his master under the shadow of a mango-tree or the thinner shade of a white doon siris, to eat and drink at ease.
at mid-day, after talk and a little wayfaring, they slept; meeting the world refreshed when the air was cooler.
night found them adventuring into new territory -- some chosen village spied three hours before across the fat land, and much discussed upon the road.
there they told their tale -- a new one each evening so far as kim was concerned -- and there were they made welcome, either by priest or headman, after the custom of the kindly east.
when the shadows shortened and the lama leaned more heavily upon kim, there was always the wheel of life to draw forth, to hold flat under wiped stones, and with a long straw to expound cycle by cycle.
here sat the gods on high -- and they were dreams of dreams.
here was our heaven and the world of the demi-gods -- horsemen fighting among the hills.
here were the agonies done upon the beasts, souls ascending or descending the ladder and therefore not to be interfered with.
here were the hells, hot and cold, and the abodes of tormented ghosts.
let the chela study the troubles that come from over-eating -- bloated stomach and burning bowels.
obediently, then, with bowed head and brown finger alert to follow the pointer, did the chela study; but when they came to the human world, busy and profitless, that is just above the hells, his mind was distracted; for by the roadside trundled the very wheel itself, eating, drinking, trading, marrying, and quarrelling -- all warmly alive.
often the lama made the living pictures the matter of his text, bidding kim -- too ready -- note how the flesh takes a thousand shapes, desirable or detestable as men reckon, but in truth of no account either way; and how the stupid spirit, bond-slave to the hog, the dove, and the serpent -- lusting after betel-nut, a new yoke of oxen, women, or the favour of kings -- is bound to follow the body through all the heavens and all the hells, and strictly round again.
sometimes a woman or a poor man, watching the ritual -- it was nothing less -- when the great yellow chart was unfolded, would throw a few flowers or a handful of cowries upon its edge.
it sufficed these humble ones that they had met a holy one who might be moved to remember them in his prayers.
"cure them if they are sick," said the lama, when kim's sporting instincts woke.
"cure them if they have fever, but by no means work charms.
remember what befell the mahratta."
"then all doing is evil?"
kim replied, lying out under a big tree at the fork of the doon road, watching the little ants run over his hand.
"to abstain from action is well -- except to acquire merit."
"at the gates of learning we were taught that to abstain from action was unbefitting a sahib.
and i am a sahib."
"friend of all the world," -- the lama looked directly at kim --" i am an old man -- pleased with shows as are children.
to those who follow the way there is neither black nor white, hind nor bhotiyal.
we be all souls seeking escape.
no matter what thy wisdom learned among sahibs, when we come to my river thou wilt be freed from all illusion -- at my side.
hai!
my bones ache for that river, as they ached in the te-rain; but my spirit sits above my bones, waiting.
the search is sure!'"
i am answered.
is it permitted to ask a question?"
the lama inclined his stately head."
i ate thy bread for three years -- as thou knowest.
holy one, whence came --?"
"there is much wealth, as men count it, in bhotiyal," the lama returned with composure.
"in my own place i have the illusion of honour.
i ask for that i need.
i am not concerned with the account.
that is for my monastery.
ai!
the black high seats in the monastery, and novices all in order!"
and he told stories, tracing with a finger in the dust, of the immense and sumptuous ritual of avalanche-guarded cathedrals; of processions and devil-dances; of the changing of monks and nuns into swine; of holy cities fifteen thousand feet in the air; of intrigue between monastery and monastery; of voices among the hills, and of that mysterious mirage that dances on dry snow.
he spoke even of lhassa and of the dalai lama, whom he had seen and adored.
each long, perfect day rose behind kim for a barrier to cut him off from his race and his mother-tongue.
he slipped back to thinking and dreaming in the vernacular, and mechanically followed the lama's ceremonial observances at eating, drinking, and the like.
the old man's mind turned more and more to his monastery as his eyes turned to the steadfast snows.
his river troubled him nothing.
now and again, indeed, he would gaze long and long at a tuft or a twig, expecting, he said, the earth to cleave and deliver its blessing; but he was content to be with his disciple, at ease in the temperate wind that comes down from the doon.
this was not ceylon, nor buddh gaya, nor bombay, nor some grass-tangled ruins that he seemed to have stumbled upon two years ago.
he spoke of those places as a scholar removed from vanity, as a seeker walking in humility, as an old man, wise and temperate, illumining knowledge with brilliant insight.
bit by bit, disconnectedly, each tale called up by some wayside thing, he spoke of all his wanderings up and down hind; till kim, who had loved him without reason, now loved him for fifty good reasons.
so they enjoyed themselves in high felicity, abstaining, as the rule demands, from evil words, covetous desires; not over-eating, not lying on high beds, nor wearing rich clothes.
their stomachs told them the time, and the people brought them their food, as the saying is.
they were lords of the villages of aminabad, sahaigunge, akrola of the ford, and little phulesa, where kim gave the soulless woman a blessing.
but news travels fast in india, and too soon shuffled across the crop-land, bearing a basket of fruits with a box of kabul grapes and gilt oranges, a white-whiskered servitor -- a lean, dry oorya -- begging them to bring the honour of their presence to his mistress, distressed in her mind that the lama had neglected her so long.
"now do i remember" -- the lama spoke as though it were a wholly new proposition.
"she is virtuous, but an inordinate talker."
kim was sitting on the edge of a cow's manger, telling stories to a village smith's children.
"she will only ask for another son for her daughter.
i have not forgotten her," he said.
"let her acquire merit.
send word that we will come."
they covered eleven miles through the fields in two days, and were overwhelmed with attentions at the end; for the old lady held a fine tradition of hospitality, to which she forced her son-in-law, who was under the thumb of his women-folk and bought peace by borrowing of the money-lender.
age had not weakened her tongue or her memory, and from a discreetly barred upper window, in the hearing of not less than a dozen servants, she paid kim compliments that would have flung european audiences into unclean dismay.
"but thou art still the shameless beggar-brat of the parao," she shrilled."
i have not forgotten thee.
wash ye and eat.
the father of my daughter's son is gone away awhile.
so we poor women are dumb and useless."
for proof, she harangued the entire household unsparingly till food and drink were brought; and in the evening -- the smoke-scented evening, copper-dun and turquoise across the fields -- it pleased her to order her palanquin to be set down in the untidy forecourt by smoky torchlight; and there, behind not too closely drawn curtains, she gossiped.
"had the holy one come alone, i should have received him otherwise; but with this rogue, who can be too careful?"
"maharanee," said kim, choosing as always the amplest title, "is it my fault that none other than a sahib -- a polis-sahib -- called the maharanee whose face he --" "chutt!
that was on the pilgrimage.
when we travel -- thou knowest the proverb."
"called the maharanee a breaker of hearts and a dispenser of delights?"
"to remember that!
it was true.
so he did.
that was in the time of the bloom of my beauty."
she chuckled like a contented parrot above the sugar lump.
"now tell me of thy goings and comings -- as much as may be without shame.
how many maids, and whose wives, hang upon thine eyelashes?
ye hail from benares?
i would have gone there again this year, but my daughter -- we have only two sons.
phaii!
such is the effect of these low plains.
now in kulu men are elephants.
but i would ask thy holy one -- stand aside, rogue -- a charm against most lamentable windy colics that in mango-time overtake my daughter's eldest.
two years back he gave me a powerful spell."
"oh, holy one!"
said kim, bubbling with mirth at the lama's rueful face.
"it is true.
i gave her one against wind."
"teeth -- teeth -- teeth," snapped the old woman."
"cure them if they are sick,"" kim quoted relishingly," "but by no means work charms.
remember what befell the mahratta.""
"that was two rains ago; she wearied me with her continual importunity."
the lama groaned as the unjust judge had groaned before him.
"thus it comes -- take note, my chela -- that even those who would follow the way are thrust aside by idle women.
three days through, when the child was sick, she talked to me."
"arre!
and to whom else should i talk?
the boy's mother knew nothing, and the father -- in the nights of the cold weather it was -- "pray to the gods," said he, forsooth, and turning over, snored!'"
i gave her the charm.
what is an old man to do?""
"to abstain from action is well -- except to acquire merit.""
"ah chela, if thou desertest me, i am all alone."
"he found his milk-teeth easily at any rate," said the old lady.
"but all priests are alike."
kim coughed severely.
being young, he did not approve of her flippancy.
"to importune the wise out of season is to invite calamity."
"there is a talking mynah" -- the thrust came back with the well-remembered snap of the jewelled fore-finger -- "over the stables which has picked up the very tone of the family priest.
maybe i forget honour to my guests, but if ye had seen him double his fists into his belly, which was like a half-grown gourd, and cry: "here is the pain!"
ye would forgive.
i am half minded to take the hakim's medicine.
he sells it cheap, and certainly it makes him fat as shiv's own bull.
he does not deny remedies, but i doubted for the child because of the in-auspicious colour of the bottles."
the lama, under cover of the monologue, had faded out into the darkness towards the room prepared.
"thou hast angered him, belike," said kim.
"not he.
he is wearied, and i forgot, being a grandmother.
-lrb- none but a grandmother should ever oversee a child.
mothers are only fit for bearing. -rrb-
tomorrow, when he sees how my daughter's son is grown, he will write the charm.
then, too, he can judge of the new hakim's drugs."
"who is the hakim, maharanee?'"
a wanderer, as thou art, but a most sober bengali from dacca -- a master of medicine.
he relieved me of an oppression after meat by means of a small pill that wrought like a devil unchained.
he travels about now, vending preparations of great value.
he has even papers, printed in angrezi, telling what things he has done for weak-backed men and slack women.
he has been here four days; but hearing ye were coming -lrb- hakims and priests are snake and tiger the world over -rrb- he has, as i take it, gone to cover."
while she drew breath after this volley, the ancient servant, sitting unrebuked on the edge of the torchlight, muttered: "this house is a cattle-pound, as it were, for all charlatans and -- priests.
let the boy stop eating mangoes... but who can argue with a grandmother?"
he raised his voice respectfully: "sahiba, the hakim sleeps after his meat.
he is in the quarters behind the dovecote."
kim bristled like an expectant terrier.
to outface and down-talk a calcutta-taught bengali, a voluble dacca drug-vendor, would be a good game.
it was not seemly that the lama, and incidentally himself, should be thrown aside for such an one.
he knew those curious bastard english advertisements at the backs of native newspapers.
st xavier's boys sometimes brought them in by stealth to snigger over among their mates; for the language of the grateful patient recounting his symptoms is most simple and revealing.
the oorya, not unanxious to play off one parasite against the other, slunk away towards the dovecote.
"yes," said kim, with measured scorn.
"their stock-in-trade is a little coloured water and a very great shamelessness.
their prey are broken-down kings and overfed bengalis.
their profit is in children -- who are not born."
the old lady chuckled.
"do not be envious.
charms are better, eh?
i never gainsaid it.
see that thy holy one writes me a good amulet by the morning."
"none but the ignorant deny" -- a thick, heavy voice boomed through the darkness, as a figure came to rest squatting -- "none but the ignorant deny the value of charms.
none but the ignorant deny the value of medicines.'"
a rat found a piece of turmeric.
said he: "i will open a grocer's shop,"" kim retorted.
battle was fairly joined now, and they heard the old lady stiffen to attention.
"the priest's son knows the names of his nurse and three gods.
says he: "hear me, or i will curse you by the three million great ones.""
decidedly this invisible had an arrow or two in his quiver.
he went on: "i am but a teacher of the alphabet.
i have learned all the wisdom of the sahibs."
"the sahibs never grow old.
they dance and they play like children when they are grandfathers.
a strong-backed breed," piped the voice inside the palanquin."
i have, too, our drugs which loosen humours of the head in hot and angry men.
sina well compounded when the moon stands in the proper house; yellow earths i have -- arplan from china that makes a man renew his youth and astonish his household; saffron from kashmir, and the best salep of kabul.
many people have died before --" "that i surely believe," said kim.
"they knew the value of my drugs.
i do not give my sick the mere ink in which a charm is written, but hot and rending drugs which descend and wrestle with the evil."
"very mightily they do so," sighed the old lady.
the voice launched into an immense tale of misfortune and bankruptcy, studded with plentiful petitions to the government.
"but for my fate, which overrules all, i had been now in government employ.
i bear a degree from the great school at calcutta -- whither, maybe, the son of this house shall go."
"he shall indeed.
if our neighbour's brat can in a few years be made an f a" -lrb- first arts -- she used the english word, of which she had heard so often -rrb-, "how much more shall children clever as some that i know bear away prizes at rich calcutta."
"never," said the voice, "have i seen such a child!
born in an auspicious hour, and -- but for that colic which, alas!
turning into black cholers, may carry him off like a pigeon -- destined to many years, he is enviable."
"hai mai!"
said the old lady.
"to praise children is inauspicious, or i could listen to this talk.
but the back of the house is unguarded, and even in this soft air men think themselves to be men, and women we know... the child's father is away too, and i must be chowkedar -lsb- watchman -rsb- in my old age.
up!
up!
take up the palanquin.
let the hakim and the young priest settle between them whether charms or medicine most avail.
ho!
worthless people, fetch tobacco for the guests, and -- round the homestead go i!"
the palanquin reeled off, followed by straggling torches and a horde of dogs.
twenty villages knew the sahiba -- her failings, her tongue, and her large charity.
twenty villages cheated her after immemorial custom, but no man would have stolen or robbed within her jurisdiction for any gift under heaven.
none the less, she made great parade of her formal inspections, the riot of which could be heard half-way to mussoorie.
kim relaxed, as one augur must when he meets another.
the hakim, still squatting, slid over his hookah with a friendly foot, and kim pulled at the good weed.
the hangers-on expected grave professional debate, and perhaps a little free doctoring.
"to discuss medicine before the ignorant is of one piece with teaching the peacock to sing," said the hakim.
"true courtesy," kim echoed, "is very often inattention."
these, be it understood, were company-manners, designed to impress.
"hi!
i have an ulcer on my leg," cried a scullion.
"look at it!"
"get hence!
remove!"
said the hakim.
"is it the habit of the place to pester honoured guests?
ye crowd in like buffaloes."
"if the sahiba knew --" kim began.
"ai!
ai!
come away.
they are meat for our mistress.
when her young shaitan's colics are cured perhaps we poor people may be suffered to --" "the mistress fed thy wife when thou wast in jail for breaking the money-lender's head.
who speaks against her?"
the old servitor curled his white moustaches savagely in the young moonlight."
i am responsible for the honour of this house.
go!"
and he drove the underlings before him.
said the hakim, hardly more than shaping the words with his lips: "how do you do, mister o'hara?
i am jolly glad to see you again."
kim's hand clenched about the pipe-stem.
anywhere on the open road, perhaps, he would not have been astonished; but here, in this quiet backwater of life, he was not prepared for hurree babu.
it annoyed him, too, that he had been hoodwinked.
"ah ha!
i told you at lucknow -- resurgam -- i shall rise again and you shall not know me.
how much did you bet -- eh?"
he chewed leisurely upon a few cardamom seeds, but he breathed uneasily.
"but why come here, babuji?"
"ah!
thatt is the question, as shakespeare hath it.
i come to congratulate you on your extraordinary effeecient performance at delhi.
oah!
i tell you we are all proud of you.
it was verree neat and handy.
our mutual friend, he is old friend of mine.
he has been in some dam" - tight places.
now he will be in some more.
he told me; i tell mr lurgan; and he is pleased you graduate so nicely.
all the department is pleased."
for the first time in his life, kim thrilled to the clean pride -lrb- it can be a deadly pitfall, none the less -rrb- of departmental praise -- ensnaring praise from an equal of work appreciated by fellow-workers.
earth has nothing on the same plane to compare with it.
but, cried the oriental in him, babus do not travel far to retail compliments.
"tell thy tale, babu," he said authoritatively.
"oah, it is nothing.
onlee i was at simla when the wire came in about what our mutual friend said he had hidden, and old creighton --" he looked to see how kim would take this piece of audacity.
"the colonel sahib," the boy from st xavier's corrected.
"of course.
he found me at a loose string, and i had to go down to chitor to find that beastly letter.
i do not like the south -- too much railway travel; but i drew good travelling allowance.
ha!
ha!
i meet our mutual at delhi on the way back.
he lies quiett just now, and says saddhu-disguise suits him to the ground.
well, there i hear what you have done so well, so quickly, upon the instantaneous spur of the moment.
i tell our mutual you take the bally bun, by jove!
it was splendid.
i come to tell you so."
"umm!"
the frogs were busy in the ditches, and the moon slid to her setting.
some happy servant had gone out to commune with the night and to beat upon a drum.
kim's next sentence was in the vernacular.
"how didst thou follow us?"
"oah.
thatt was nothing.
i know from our mutual friend you go to saharunpore.
so i come on.
red lamas are not inconspicuous persons.
i buy myself my drug-box, and i am very good doctor really.
i go to akrola of the ford, and hear all about you, and i talk here and talk there.
all the common people know what you do.
i knew when the hospitable old lady sent the dooli.
they have great recollections of the old lama's visits here.
i know old ladies can not keep their hands from medicines.
so i am a doctor, and -- you hear my talk?
i think it is verree good.
my word, mister o'hara, they know about you and the lama for fifty miles -- the common people.
so i come.
do you mind?"
"babuji," said kim, looking up at the broad, grinning face," i am a sahib."
"my dear mister o'hara --" "and i hope to play the great game."
"you are subordinate to me departmentally at present."
"then why talk like an ape in a tree?
men do not come after one from simla and change their dress, for the sake of a few sweet words.
i am not a child.
talk hindi and let us get to the yolk of the egg.
thou art here -- speaking not one word of truth in ten.
why art thou here?
give a straight answer."
"that is so verree disconcerting of the europeans, mister o'hara.
you should know a heap better at your time of life."
"but i want to know," said kim, laughing.
"if it is the game, i may help.
how can i do anything if you bukh -lsb- babble -rsb- all round the shop?"
hurree babu reached for the pipe, and sucked it till it gurgled again.
"now i will speak vernacular.
you sit tight, mister o'hara... it concerns the pedigree of a white stallion."
"still?
that was finished long ago."
"when everyone is dead the great game is finished.
not before.
listen to me till the end.
there were five kings who prepared a sudden war three years ago, when thou wast given the stallion's pedigree by mahbub ali.
upon them, because of that news, and ere they were ready, fell our army."
"ay -- eight thousand men with guns.
i remember that night."
"but the war was not pushed.
that is the government custom.
the troops were recalled because the government believed the five kings were cowed; and it is not cheap to feed men among the high passes.
hilas and bunar -- rajahs with guns -- undertook for a price to guard the passes against all coming from the north.
they protested both fear and friendship."
he broke off with a giggle into english: "of course, i tell you this unoffeecially to elucidate political situation, mister o'hara.
offeecially, i am debarred from criticizing any action of superiors.
now i go on.
-- this pleased the government, anxious to avoid expense, and a bond was made for so many rupees a month that hilas and bunar should guard the passes as soon as the state's troops were withdrawn.
at that time -- it was after we two met -- i, who had been selling tea in leh, became a clerk of accounts in the army.
when the troops were withdrawn, i was left behind to pay the coolies who made new roads in the hills.
this road-making was part of the bond between bunar, hilas, and the government."
"so?
and then?'"
i tell you, it was jolly-beastly cold up there too, after summer," said hurree babu confidentially."
i was afraid these bunar men would cut my throat every night for thee pay-chest.
my native sepoy-guard, they laughed at me!
by jove!
i was such a fearful man.
nevar mind thatt.
i go on colloquially... i send word many times that these two kings were sold to the north; and mahbub ali, who was yet farther north, amply confirmed it.
nothing was done.
only my feet were frozen, and a toe dropped off.
i sent word that the roads for which i was paying money to the diggers were being made for the feet of strangers and enemies."
"for?"
"for the russians.
the thing was an open jest among the coolies.
then i was called down to tell what i knew by speech of tongue.
mahbub came south too.
see the end!
over the passes this year after snow-melting" -- he shivered afresh -- "come two strangers under cover of shooting wild goats.
they bear guns, but they bear also chains and levels and compasses."
"oho!
the thing gets clearer."
"they are well received by hilas and bunar.
they make great promises; they speak as the mouthpiece of a kaisar with gifts.
up the valleys, down the valleys go they, saying, "here is a place to build a breastwork; here can ye pitch a fort.
here can ye hold the road against an army" -- the very roads for which i paid out the rupees monthly.
the government knows, but does nothing.
the three other kings, who were not paid for guarding the passes, tell them by runner of the bad faith of bunar and hilas.
when all the evil is done, look you -- when these two strangers with the levels and the compasses make the five kings to believe that a great army will sweep the passes tomorrow or the next day -- hill-people are all fools -- comes the order to me, hurree babu, "go north and see what those strangers do."
i say to creighton sahib, "this is not a lawsuit, that we go about to collect evidence.""
hurree returned to his english with a jerk:" "by jove," i said, "why the dooce do you not issue demi-offeecial orders to some brave man to poison them, for an example?
it is, if you permit the observation, most reprehensible laxity on your part."
and colonel creighton, he laughed at me!
it is all your beastly english pride.
you think no one dare conspire!
that is all tommy-rott."
kim smoked slowly, revolving the business, so far as he understood it, in his quick mind.
"then thou goest forth to follow the strangers?"
"no.
to meet them.
they are coming in to simla to send down their horns and heads to be dressed at calcutta.
they are exclusively sporting gentlemen, and they are allowed special faceelities by the government.
of course, we always do that.
it is our british pride."
"then what is to fear from them?"
"by jove, they are not black people.
i can do all sorts of things with black people, of course.
they are russians, and highly unscrupulous people.
i -- i do not want to consort with them without a witness."
"will they kill thee?"
"oah, thatt is nothing.
i am good enough herbert spencerian, i trust, to meet little thing like death, which is all in my fate, you know.
but -- but they may beat me."
"why?"
hurree babu snapped his fingers with irritation.
"of course i shall affeeliate myself to their camp in supernumerary capacity as perhaps interpreter, or person mentally impotent and hungree, or some such thing.
and then i must pick up what i can, i suppose.
that is as easy for me as playing mister doctor to the old lady.
onlee -- onlee -- you see, mister o'hara, i am unfortunately asiatic, which is serious detriment in some respects.
and all-so i am bengali -- a fearful man."
"god made the hare and the bengali.
what shame?"
said kim, quoting the proverb.
"it was process of evolution, i think, from primal necessity, but the fact remains in all the cui bono.
i am, oh, awfully fearful!
-- i remember once they wanted to cut off my head on the road to lhassa.
-lrb- no, i have never reached to lhassa. -rrb-
i sat down and cried, mister o'hara, anticipating chinese tortures.
i do not suppose these two gentlemen will torture me, but i like to provide for possible contingency with european assistance in emergency."
he coughed and spat out the cardamoms.
"it is purely unoffeecial indent, to which you can say "no, babu".
if you have no pressing engagement with your old man -- perhaps you might divert him; perhaps i can seduce his fancies -- i should like you to keep in departmental touch with me till i find those sporting coves.
i have great opeenion of you since i met my friend at delhi.
and also i will embody your name in my offeecial report when matter is finally adjudicated.
it will be a great feather in your cap.
that is why i come really."
"humph!
the end of the tale, i think, is true; but what of the fore-part?"
"about the five kings?
oah!
there is ever so much truth in it.
a lots more than you would suppose," said hurree earnestly.
"you come -- eh?
i go from here straight into the doon.
it is verree verdant and painted meads.
i shall go to mussoorie to good old munsoorie pahar, as the gentlemen and ladies say.
then by rampur into chini.
that is the only way they can come.
i do not like waiting in the cold, but we must wait for them.
i want to walk with them to simla.
you see, one russian is a frenchman, and i know my french pretty well.
i have friends in chandernagore."
"he would certainly rejoice to see the hills again," said kim meditatively.
"all his speech these ten days past has been of little else.
if we go together --" "oah!
we can be quite strangers on the road, if your lama prefers.
i shall just be four or five miles ahead.
there is no hurry for hurree -- that is an europe pun, ha!
ha!
-- and you come after.
there is plenty of time; they will plot and survey and map, of course.
i shall go tomorrow, and you the next day, if you choose.
eh?
you go think on it till morning.
by jove, it is near morning now."
he yawned ponderously, and with never a civil word lumbered off to his sleeping-place.
but kim slept little, and his thoughts ran in hindustani: "well is the game called great!
i was four days a scullion at quetta, waiting on the wife of the man whose book i stole.
and that was part of the great game!
from the south -- god knows how far -- came up the mahratta, playing the great game in fear of his life.
now i shall go far and far into the north playing the great game.
truly, it runs like a shuttle throughout all hind.
and my share and my joy" -- he smiled to the darkness --" i owe to the lama here.
also to mahbub ali -- also to creighton sahib, but chiefly to the holy one.
he is right -- a great and a wonderful world -- and i am kim -- kim -- kim -- alone -- one person -- in the middle of it all.
but i will see these strangers with their levels and chains..." "what was the upshot of last night's babble?"
said the lama, after his orisons.
"there came a strolling seller of drugs -- a hanger-on of the sahiba's.
him i abolished by arguments and prayers, proving that our charms are worthier than his coloured waters."
"alas, my charms!
is the virtuous woman still bent upon a new one?"
"very strictly."
"then it must be written, or she will deafen me with her clamour."
he fumbled at his pencase.
"in the plains," said kim, "are always too many people.
in the hills, as i understand, there are fewer."
"oh!
the hills, and the snows upon the hills."
the lami tore off a tiny square of paper fit to go in an amulet.
"but what dost thou know of the hills?"
"they are very close."
kim thrust open the door and looked at the long, peaceful line of the himalayas flushed in morning-gold.
"except in the dress of a sahib, i have never set foot among them."
the lama snuffed the wind wistfully.
"if we go north," -- kim put the question to the waking sunrise -- "would not much mid-day heat be avoided by walking among the lower hills at least?
... is the charm made, holy one?'"
i have written the names of seven silly devils -- not one of whom is worth a grain of dust in the eye.
thus do foolish women drag us from the way!"
hurree babu came out from behind the dovecote washing his teeth with ostentatious ritual.
full-fleshed, heavy-haunched, bull-necked, and deep-voiced, he did not look like" a fearful man".
kim signed almost imperceptibly that matters were in good train, and when the morning toilet was over, hurree babu, in flowery speech, came to do honour to the lama.
they ate, of course, apart, and afterwards the old lady, more or less veiled behind a window, returned to the vital business of green-mango colics in the young.
the lama's knowledge of medicine was, of course, sympathetic only.
he believed that the dung of a black horse, mixed with sulphur, and carried in a snake-skin, was a sound remedy for cholera; but the symbolism interested him far more than the science.
hurree babu deferred to these views with enchanting politeness, so that the lama called him a courteous physician.
hurree babu replied that he was no more than an inexpert dabbler in the mysteries; but at least -- he thanked the gods therefore -- he knew when he sat in the presence of a master.
he himself had been taught by the sahibs, who do not consider expense, in the lordly halls of calcutta; but, as he was ever first to acknowledge, there lay a wisdom behind earthly wisdom -- the high and lonely lore of meditation.
kim looked on with envy.
the hurree babu of his knowledge -- oily, effusive, and nervous -- was gone; gone, too, was the brazen drug-vendor of overnight.
there remained -- polished, polite, attentive -- a sober, learned son of experience and adversity, gathering wisdom from the lama's lips.
the old lady confided to kim that these rare levels were beyond her.
she liked charms with plenty of ink that one could wash off in water, swallow, and be done with.
else what was the use of the gods?
she liked men and women, and she spoke of them -- of kinglets she had known in the past; of her own youth and beauty; of the depredations of leopards and the eccentricities of love asiatic; of the incidence of taxation, rack-renting, funeral ceremonies, her son-in-law -lrb- this by allusion, easy to be followed -rrb-, the care of the young, and the age's lack of decency.
and kim, as interested in the life of this world as she soon to leave it, squatted with his feet under the hem of his robe, drinking all in, while the lama demolished one after another every theory of body-curing put forward by hurree babu.
at noon the babu strapped up his brass-bound drug-box, took his patent-leather shoes of ceremony in one hand, a gay blue-and-white umbrella in the other, and set off northwards to the doon, where, he said, he was in demand among the lesser kings of those parts.
"we will go in the cool of the evening, chela," said the lama.
"that doctor, learned in physic and courtesy, affirms that the people among these lower hills are devout, generous, and much in need of a teacher.
in a very short time -- so says the hakim -- we come to cool air and the smell of pines."
"ye go to the hills?
and by kulu road?
oh, thrice happy!"
shrilled the old lady.
"but that i am a little pressed with the care of the homestead i would take palanquin... but that would be shameless, and my reputation would be cracked.
ho!
ho!
i know the road -- every march of the road i know.
ye will find charity throughout -- it is not denied to the well-looking.
i will give orders for provision.
a servant to set you forth upon your journey?
no... then i will at least cook ye good food."
"what a woman is the sahiba!"
said the white-bearded oorya, when a tumult rose by the kitchen quarters.
"she has never forgotten a friend: she has never forgotten an enemy in all her years.
and her cookery -- wah!"
he rubbed his slim stomach.
there were cakes, there were sweetmeats, there was cold fowl stewed to rags with rice and prunes -- enough to burden kim like a mule."
i am old and useless," she said.
"none now love me -- and none respect -- but there are few to compare with me when i call on the gods and squat to my cooking-pots.
come again, o people of good will.
holy one and disciple, come again.
the room is always prepared; the welcome is always ready... see the women do not follow thy chela too openly.
i know the women of kulu.
take heed, chela, lest he run away when he smells his hills again... hai!
do not tilt the rice-bag upside down... bless the household, holy one, and forgive thy servant her stupidities."
she wiped her red old eyes on a corner of her veil, and clucked throatily.
"women talk," said the lama at last, "but that is a woman's infirmity.
i gave her a charm.
she is upon the wheel and wholly given over to the shows of this life, but none the less, chela, she is virtuous, kindly, hospitable -- of a whole and zealous heart.
who shall say she does not acquire merit?"
"not i, holy one," said kim, reslinging the bountiful provision on his shoulders.
"in my mind -- behind my eyes -- i have tried to picture such an one altogether freed from the wheel -- desiring nothing, causing nothing -- a nun, as it were."
"and, o imp?"
the lama almost laughed aloud."
i can not make the picture."
"nor i.
but there are many, many millions of lives before her.
she will get wisdom a little, it may be, in each one."
"and will she forget how to make stews with saffron upon that road?"
"thy mind is set on things unworthy.
but she has skill.
i am refreshed all over.
when we reach the lower hills i shall be yet stronger.
the hakim spoke truly to me this morn when he said a breath from the snows blows away twenty years from the life of a man.
we will go up into the hills -- the high hills -- up to the sound of snow-waters and the sound of the trees -- for a little while.
the hakim said that at any time we may return to the plains, for we do no more than skirt the pleasant places.
the hakim is full of learning; but he is in no way proud.
i spoke to him -- when thou wast talking to the sahiba -- of a certain dizziness that lays hold upon the back of my neck in the night, and he said it rose from excessive heat -- to be cured by cool air.
upon consideration, i marvelled that i had not thought of such a simple remedy."
"didst thou tell him of thy search?"
said kim, a little jealously.
he preferred to sway the lama by his own speech -- not through the wiles of hurree babu.
"assuredly.
i told him of my dream, and of the manner by which i had acquired merit by causing thee to be taught wisdom."
"thou didst not say i was a sahib?"
"what need?
i have told thee many times we be but two souls seeking escape.
he said -- and he is just herein -- that the river of healing will break forth even as i dreamed -- at my feet, if need be.
having found the way, seest thou, that shall free me from the wheel, need i trouble to find a way about the mere fields of earth -- which are illusion?
that were senseless.
i have my dreams, night upon night repeated; i have jataka; and i have thee, friend of all the world.
it was written in thy horoscope that a red bull on a green field -- i have not forgotten -- should bring thee to honour.
who but i saw that prophecy accomplished?
indeed, i was the instrument.
thou shalt find me my river, being in return the instrument.
the search is sure!"
he set his ivory-yellow face, serene and untroubled, towards the beckoning hills; his shadow shouldering far before him in the dust.
chapter 13 who hath desired the sea -- the immense and contemptuous surges?
the shudder, the stumble, the swerve ere the star-stabbing bowsprit merges -- the orderly clouds of the trades and the ridged roaring sapphire thereunder -- unheralded cliff-lurking flaws and the head-sails" low-volleying thunder?
his sea in no wonder the same -- his sea and the same in each wonder -- his sea that his being fulfils?
so and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise hill-men desire their hills!
the sea and the hills.
"who goes to the hills goes to his mother."
they had crossed the siwaliks and the half-tropical doon, left mussoorie behind them, and headed north along the narrow hill-roads.
day after day they struck deeper into the huddled mountains, and day after day kim watched the lama return to a man's strength.
among the terraces of the doon he had leaned on the boy's shoulder, ready to profit by wayside halts.
under the great ramp to mussoorie he drew himself together as an old hunter faces a well-remembered bank, and where he should have sunk exhausted swung his long draperies about him, drew a deep double-lungful of the diamond air, and walked as only a hillman can.
kim, plains-bred and plains-fed, sweated and panted astonished.
"this is my country," said the lama.
"beside such-zen, this is flatter than a rice-field"; and with steady, driving strokes from the loins he strode upwards.
but it was on the steep downhill marches, three thousand feet in three hours, that he went utterly away from kim, whose back ached with holding back, and whose big toe was nigh cut off by his grass sandal-string.
through the speckled shadow of the great deodar-forests; through oak feathered and plumed with ferns; birch, ilex, rhododendron, and pine, out on to the bare hillsides" slippery sunburnt grass, and back into the woodlands" coolth again, till oak gave way to bamboo and palm of the valley, the lama swung untiring.
glancing back in the twilight at the huge ridges behind him and the faint, thin line of the road whereby they had come, he would lay out, with a hillman's generous breadth of vision, fresh marches for the morrow; or, halting in the neck of some uplifted pass that gave on spiti and kulu, would stretch out his hands yearningly towards the high snows of the horizon.
in the dawns they flared windy-red above stark blue, as kedarnath and badrinath -- kings of that wilderness -- took the first sunlight.
all day long they lay like molten silver under the sun, and at evening put on their jewels again.
at first they breathed temperately upon the travellers, winds good to meet when one crawled over some gigantic hog's - back; but in a few days, at a height of nine or ten thousand feet, those breezes bit; and kim kindly allowed a village of hillmen to acquire merit by giving him a rough blanket-coat.
the lama was mildly surprised that anyone should object to the knife-edged breezes which had cut the years off his shoulders.
"these are but the lower hills, chela.
there is no cold till we come to the true hills."
"air and water are good, and the people are devout enough, but the food is very bad," kim growled; "and we walk as though we were mad -- or english.
it freezes at night, too.'"
a little, maybe; but only enough to make old bones rejoice in the sun.
we must not always delight in soft beds and rich food."
"we might at least keep to the road."
kim had all a plainsman's affection for the well-trodden track, not six feet wide, that snaked among the mountains; but the lama, being tibetan, could not refrain from short cuts over spurs and the rims of gravel-strewn slopes.
as he explained to his limping disciple, a man bred among mountains can prophesy the course of a mountain-road, and though low-lying clouds might be a hindrance to a short-cutting stranger, they made no earthly difference to a thoughtful man.
thus, after long hours of what would be reckoned very fair mountaineering in civilized countries, they would pant over a saddle-back, sidle past a few landslips, and drop through forest at an angle of forty-five onto the road again.
along their track lay the villages of the hillfolk -- mud and earth huts, timbers now and then rudely carved with an axe -- clinging like swallows" nests against the steeps, huddled on tiny flats half-way down a three-thousand-foot glissade; jammed into a corner between cliffs that funnelled and focused every wandering blast; or, for the sake of summer pasture, cowering down on a neck that in winter would be ten feet deep in snow.
and the people -- the sallow, greasy, duffle-clad people, with short bare legs and faces almost esquimaux -- would flock out and adore.
the plains -- kindly and gentle -- had treated the lama as a holy man among holy men.
but the hills worshipped him as one in the confidence of all their devils.
theirs was an almost obliterated buddhism, overlaid with a nature-worship fantastic as their own landscapes, elaborate as the terracing of their tiny fields; but they recognized the big hat, the clicking rosary, and the rare chinese texts for great authority; and they respected the man beneath the hat.
"we saw thee come down over the black breasts of eua," said a betah who gave them cheese, sour milk, and stone-hard bread one evening.
"we do not use that often -- except when calving cows stray in summer.
there is a sudden wind among those stones that casts men down on the stillest day.
but what should such folk care for the devil of eua!"
then did kim, aching in every fibre, dizzy with looking down, footsore with cramping desperate toes into inadequate crannies, take joy in the day's march -- such joy as a boy of st xavier's who had won the quarter-mile on the flat might take in the praises of his friends.
the hills sweated the ghi and sugar suet off his bones; the dry air, taken sobbingly at the head of cruel passes, firmed and built out his upper ribs; and the tilted levels put new hard muscles into calf and thigh.
they meditated often on the wheel of life -- the more so since, as the lama said, they were freed from its visible temptations.
except the grey eagle and an occasional far-seen bear grubbing and rooting on the hillside; a vision of a furious painted leopard met at dawn in a still valley devouring a goat; and now and again a bright-coloured bird, they were alone with the winds and the grass singing under the wind.
the women of the smoky huts over whose roofs the two walked as they descended the mountains, were unlovely and unclean, wives of many husbands, and afflicted with goitre.
the men were woodcutters when they were not farmers -- meek, and of an incredible simplicity.
but that suitable discourse might not fail, fate sent them, overtaking and overtaken upon the road, the courteous dacca physician, who paid for his food in ointments good for goitre and counsels that restore peace between men and women.
he seemed to know these hills as well as he knew the hill dialects, and gave the lama the lie of the land towards ladakh and tibet.
he said they could return to the plains at any moment.
meantime, for such as loved mountains, yonder road might amuse.
this was not all revealed in a breath, but at evening encounters on the stone threshing-floors, when, patients disposed of, the doctor would smoke and the lama snuff, while kim watched the wee cows grazing on the housetops, or threw his soul after his eyes across the deep blue gulfs between range and range.
and there were talks apart in the dark woods, when the doctor would seek herbs, and kim, as budding physician, must accompany him.
"you see, mister o'hara, i do not know what the deuce-an" all i shall do when i find our sporting friends; but if you will kindly keep within sight of my umbrella, which is fine fixed point for cadastral survey, i shall feel much better."
kim looked out across the jungle of peaks.
"this is not my country, hakim.
easier, i think, to find one louse in a bear-skin."
"oah, thatt is my strong points.
there is no hurry for hurree.
they were at leh not so long ago.
they said they had come down from the karakorum with their heads and horns and all.
i am onlee afraid they will have sent back all their letters and compromising things from leh into russian territoree.
of course they will walk away as far to the east as possible -- just to show that they were never among the western states.
you do not know the hills?"
he scratched with a twig on the earth.
"look!
they should have come in by srinagar or abbottabad.
thatt is their short road -- down the river by bunji and astor.
but they have made mischief in the west.
so" -- he drew a furrow from left to right -- "they march and they march away east to leh -lrb- ah!
it is cold there -rrb-, and down the indus to hanle -lrb- i know that road -rrb-, and then down, you see, to bushahr and chini valley.
that is ascertained by process of elimination, and also by asking questions from people that i cure so well.
our friends have been a long time playing about and producing impressions.
so they are well known from far off.
you will see me catch them somewhere in chini valley.
please keep your eye on the umbrella."
it nodded like a wind-blown harebell down the valleys and round the mountain sides, and in due time the lama and kim, who steered by compass, would overhaul it, vending ointments and powders at eventide.
"we came by such and such a way!"
the lama would throw a careless finger backward at the ridges, and the umbrella would expend itself in compliments.
they crossed a snowy pass in cold moonlight, when the lama, mildly chaffing kim, went through up to his knees, like a bactrian camel -- the snow-bred, shag-haired sort that came into the kashmir serai.
they dipped across beds of light snow and snow-powdered shale, where they took refuge from a gale in a camp of tibetans hurrying down tiny sheep, each laden with a bag of borax.
they came out upon grassy shoulders still snow-speckled, and through forest, to grass anew.
for all their marchings, kedarnath and badrinath were not impressed; and it was only after days of travel that kim, uplifted upon some insignificant ten-thousand-foot hummock, could see that a shoulder-knot or horn of the two great lords had -- ever so slightly -- changed outline.
at last they entered a world within a world -- a valley of leagues where the high hills were fashioned of a mere rubble and refuse from off the knees of the mountains.
here one day's march carried them no farther, it seemed, than a dreamer's clogged pace bears him in a nightmare.
they skirted a shoulder painfully for hours, and, behold, it was but an outlying boss in an outlying buttress of the main pile!
a rounded meadow revealed itself, when they had reached it, for a vast tableland running far into the valley.
three days later, it was a dim fold in the earth to southward.
"surely the gods live here!"
said kim, beaten down by the silence and the appalling sweep and dispersal of the cloud-shadows after rain.
"this is no place for men!"
"long and long ago," said the lama, as to himself, "it was asked of the lord whether the world were everlasting.
on this the excellent one returned no answer... when i was in ceylon, a wise seeker confirmed that from the gospel which is written in pali.
certainly, since we know the way to freedom, the question were unprofitable, but -- look, and know illusion, chela!
these -- are the true hills!
they are like my hills by suchzen.
never were such hills!"
above them, still enormously above them, earth towered away towards the snow-line, where from east to west across hundreds of miles, ruled as with a ruler, the last of the bold birches stopped.
above that, in scarps and blocks upheaved, the rocks strove to fight their heads above the white smother.
above these again, changeless since the world's beginning, but changing to every mood of sun and cloud, lay out the eternal snow.
they could see blots and blurs on its face where storm and wandering wullie-wa got up to dance.
below them, as they stood, the forest slid away in a sheet of blue-green for mile upon mile; below the forest was a village in its sprinkle of terraced fields and steep grazing-grounds.
below the village they knew, though a thunderstorm worried and growled there for the moment, a pitch of twelve or fifteen hundred feet gave to the moist valley where the streams gather that are the mothers of young sutluj.
as usual, the lama had led kim by cow-track and by-road, far from the main route along which hurree babu, that "fearful man", had bucketed three days before through a storm to which nine englishmen out of ten would have given full right of way.
hurree was no game-shot -- the snick of a trigger made him change colour -- but, as he himself would have said, he was "fairly effeecient stalker", and he had raked the huge valley with a pair of cheap binoculars to some purpose.
moreover, the white of worn canvas tents against green carries far.
hurree babu had seen all he wanted to see when he sat on the threshing-floor of ziglaur, twenty miles away as the eagle flies, and forty by road -- that is to say, two small dots which one day were just below the snow-line, and the next had moved downward perhaps six inches on the hillside.
once cleaned out and set to the work, his fat bare legs could cover a surprising amount of ground, and this was the reason why, while kim and the lama lay in a leaky hut at ziglaur till the storm should be over-past, an oily, wet, but always smiling bengali, talking the best of english with the vilest of phrases, was ingratiating himself with two sodden and rather rheumatic foreigners.
he had arrived, revolving many wild schemes, on the heels of a thunderstorm which had split a pine over against their camp, and so convinced a dozen or two forcibly impressed baggage-coolies the day was inauspicious for farther travel that with one accord they had thrown down their loads and jibbed.
they were subjects of a hill rajah who farmed out their services, as is the custom, for his private gain; and, to add to their personal distresses, the strange sahibs had already threatened them with rifles.
the most of them knew rifles and sahibs of old: they were trackers and shikarris of the northern valleys, keen after bear and wild goat; but they had never been thus treated in their lives.
so the forest took them to her bosom, and, for all oaths and clamour, refused to restore.
there was no need to feign madness or -- the babu had thought of another means of securing a welcome.
he wrung out his wet clothes, slipped on his patent-leather shoes, opened the blue-and-white umbrella, and with mincing gait and a heart beating against his tonsils appeared as "agent for his royal highness, the rajah of rampur, gentlemen.
what can i do for you, please?"
the gentlemen were delighted.
one was visibly french, the other russian, but they spoke english not much inferior to the babu's.
they begged his kind offices.
their native servants had gone sick at leh.
they had hurried on because they were anxious to bring the spoils of the chase to simla ere the skins grew moth-eaten.
they bore a general letter of introduction -lrb- the babu salaamed to it orientally -rrb- to all government officials.
no, they had not met any other shooting-parties en route.
they did for themselves.
they had plenty of supplies.
they only wished to push on as soon as might be.
at this he waylaid a cowering hillman among the trees, and after three minutes" talk and a little silver -lrb- one can not be economical upon state service, though hurree's heart bled at the waste -rrb- the eleven coolies and the three hangers-on reappeared.
at least the babu would be a witness to their oppression.
"my royal master, he will be much annoyed, but these people are onlee common people and grossly ignorant.
if your honours will kindly overlook unfortunate affair, i shall be much pleased.
in a little while rain will stop and we can then proceed.
you have been shooting, eh?
that is fine performance!"
he skipped nimbly from one kilta to the next, making pretence to adjust each conical basket.
the englishman is not, as a rule, familiar with the asiatic, but he would not strike across the wrist a kindly babu who had accidentally upset a kilta with a red oilskin top.
on the other hand, he would not press drink upon a babu were he never so friendly, nor would he invite him to meat.
the strangers did all these things, and asked many questions -- about women mostly -- to which hurree returned gay and unstudied answers.
they gave him a glass of whitish fluid like to gin, and then more; and in a little time his gravity departed from him.
he became thickly treasonous, and spoke in terms of sweeping indecency of a government which had forced upon him a white man's education and neglected to supply him with a white man's salary.
he babbled tales of oppression and wrong till the tears ran down his cheeks for the miseries of his land.
then he staggered off, singing love-songs of lower bengal, and collapsed upon a wet tree-trunk.
never was so unfortunate a product of english rule in india more unhappily thrust upon aliens.
"they are all just of that pattern," said one sportsman to the other in french.
"when we get into india proper thou wilt see.
i should like to visit his rajah.
one might speak the good word there.
it is possible that he has heard of us and wishes to signify his good-will."
"we have not time.
we must get into simla as soon as may be," his companion replied.
"for my own part, i wish our reports had been sent back from hilas, or even leh."
"the english post is better and safer.
remember we are given all facilities -- and name of god!
-- they give them to us too!
is it unbelievable stupidity?"
"it is pride -- pride that deserves and will receive punishment."
"yes!
to fight a fellow-continental in our game is something.
there is a risk attached, but these people -- bah!
it is too easy."
"pride -- all pride, my friend."
"now what the deuce is good of chandernagore being so close to calcutta and all," said hurree, snoring open-mouthed on the sodden moss, "if i can not understand their french?
they talk so particularly fast!
it would have been much better to cut their beastly throats."
when he presented himself again he was racked with a headache -- penitent, and volubly afraid that in his drunkenness he might have been indiscreet.
he loved the british government -- it was the source of all prosperity and honour, and his master at rampur held the very same opinion.
upon this the men began to deride him and to quote past words, till step by step, with deprecating smirks, oily grins, and leers of infinite cunning, the poor babu was beaten out of his defences and forced to speak -- truth.
when lurgan was told the tale later, he mourned aloud that he could not have been in the place of the stubborn, inattentive coolies, who with grass mats over their heads and the raindrops puddling in their footprints, waited on the weather.
all the sahibs of their acquaintance -- rough-clad men joyously returning year after year to their chosen gullies -- had servants and cooks and orderlies, very often hillmen.
these sahibs travelled without any retinue.
therefore they were poor sahibs, and ignorant; for no sahib in his senses would follow a bengali's advice.
but the bengali, appearing from somewhere, had given them money, and could make shift with their dialect.
used to comprehensive ill-treatment from their own colour, they suspected a trap somewhere, and stood by to run if occasion offered.
then through the new-washed air, steaming with delicious earth-smells, the babu led the way down the slopes -- walking ahead of the coolies in pride; walking behind the foreigners in humility.
his thoughts were many and various.
the least of them would have interested his companions beyond words.
but he was an agreeable guide, ever keen to point out the beauties of his royal master's domain.
he peopled the hills with anything thev had a mind to slay -- thar, ibex, or markhor, and bear by elisha's allowance.
he discoursed of botany and ethnology with unimpeachable inaccuracy, and his store of local legends -- he had been a trusted agent of the state for fifteen years, remember -- was inexhaustible.
"decidedly this fellow is an original," said the taller of the two foreigners.
"he is like the nightmare of a viennese courier."
"he represents in little india in transition -- the monstrous hybridism of east and west," the russian replied.
"it is we who can deal with orientals."
"he has lost his own country and has not acquired any other.
but he has a most complete hatred of his conquerors.
listen.
he confided to me last night," said the other.
under the striped umbrella hurree babu was straining ear and brain to follow the quick-poured french, and keeping both eyes on a kilta full of maps and documents -- an extra-large one with a double red oil-skin cover.
he did not wish to steal anything.
he only desired to know what to steal, and, incidentally, how to get away when he had stolen it.
he thanked all the gods of hindustan, and herbert spencer, that there remained some valuables to steal.
on the second day the road rose steeply to a grass spur above the forest; and it was here, about sunset, that they came across an aged lama -- but they called him a bonze -- sitting cross-legged above a mysterious chart held down by stones, which he was explaining to a young man, evidently a neophyte, of singular, though unwashen, beauty.
the striped umbrella had been sighted half a march away, and kim had suggested a halt till it came up to them.
"ha!"
said hurree babu, resourceful as puss-in-boots.
"that is eminent local holy man.
probably subject of my royal master."
"what is he doing?
it is very curious."
"he is expounding holy picture -- all hand-worked."
the two men stood bareheaded in the wash of the afternoon sunlight low across the gold-coloured grass.
the sullen coolies, glad of the check, halted and slid down their loads.
"look!"
said the frenchman.
"it is like a picture for the birth of a religion -- the first teacher and the first disciple.
is he a buddhist?"
"of some debased kind," the other answered.
"there are no true buddhists among the hills.
but look at the folds of the drapery.
look at his eyes -- how insolent!
why does this make one feel that we are so young a people?"
the speaker struck passionately at a tall weed.
"we have nowhere left our mark yet.
nowhere!
that, do you understand, is what disquiets me."
he scowled at the placid face, and the monumental calm of the pose.
"have patience.
we shall make your mark together -- we and you young people.
meantime, draw his picture."
the babu advanced loftily; his back out of all keeping with his deferential speech, or his wink towards kim.
"holy one, these be sahibs.
my medicines cured one of a flux, and i go into simla to oversee his recovery.
they wish to see thy picture --" "to heal the sick is always good.
this is the wheel of life," said the lama, "the same i showed thee in the hut at ziglaur when the rain fell."
"and to hear thee expound it."
the lama's eyes lighted at the prospect of new listeners.
"to expound the most excellent way is good.
have they any knowledge of hindi, such as had the keeper of images?'"
a little, maybe."
hereat, simply as a child engrossed with a new game, the lama threw back his head and began the full-throated invocation of the doctor of divinity ere he opens the full doctrine.
the strangers leaned on their alpenstocks and listened.
kim, squatting humbly, watched the red sunlight on their faces, and the blend and parting of their long shadows.
they wore un-english leggings and curious girt-in belts that reminded him hazily of the pictures in a book in st xavier's library "the adventures of a young naturalist in mexico" was its name.
yes, they looked very like the wonderful m. sumichrast of that tale, and very unlike the "highly unscrupulous folk" of hurree babu's imagining.
the coolies, earth-coloured and mute, crouched reverently some twenty or thirty yards away, and the babu, the slack of his thin gear snapping like a marking-flag in the chill breeze, stood by with an air of happy proprietorship.
"these are the men," hurree whispered, as the ritual went on and the two whites followed the grass-blade sweeping from hell to heaven and back again.
"all their books are in the large kilta with the reddish top -- books and reports and maps -- and i have seen a king's letter that either hilas or bunar has written.
they guard it most carefully.
they have sent nothing back from hilas or leh.
that is sure."
"who is with them?"
"only the beegar-coolies.
they have no servants.
they are so close they cook their own food."
"but what am i to do?"
"wait and see.
only if any chance comes to me thou wilt know where to seek for the papers."
"this were better in mahbub ali's hands than a bengali's," said kim scornfully.
"there are more ways of getting to a sweetheart than butting down a wall."
"see here the hell appointed for avarice and greed.
flanked upon the one side by desire and on the other by weariness."
the lama warmed to his work, and one of the strangers sketched him in the quick-fading light.
"that is enough," the man said at last brusquely."
i can not understand him, but i want that picture.
he is a better artist than i. ask him if he will sell it."
"he says "no, sar,"" the babu replied.
the lama, of course, would no more have parted with his chart to a casual wayfarer than an archbishop would pawn the holy vessels of his cathedral.
all tibet is full of cheap reproductions of the wheel; but the lama was an artist, as well as a wealthy abbot in his own place.
"perhaps in three days, or four, or ten, if i perceive that the sahib is a seeker and of good understanding, i may myself draw him another.
but this was used for the initiation of a novice.
tell him so, hakim."
"he wishes it now -- for money."
the lama shook his head slowly and began to fold up the wheel.
the russian, on his side, saw no more than an unclean old man haggling over a dirty piece of paper.
he drew out a handful of rupees, and snatched half-jestingly at the chart, which tore in the lama's grip.
a low murmur of horror went up from the coolies -- some of whom were spiti men and, by their lights, good buddhists.
the lama rose at the insult; his hand went to the heavy iron pencase that is the priest's weapon, and the babu danced in agony.
"now you see -- you see why i wanted witnesses.
they are highly unscrupulous people.
oh, sar!
sar!
you must not hit holyman!"
"chela!
he has defiled the written word!"
it was too late.
before kim could ward him off, the russian struck the old man full on the face.
next instant he was rolling over and over downhill with kim at his throat.
the blow had waked every unknown irish devil in the boy's blood, and the sudden fall of his enemy did the rest.
the lama dropped to his knees, half-stunned; the coolies under their loads fled up the hill as fast as plainsmen run aross the level.
they had seen sacrilege unspeakable, and it behoved them to get away before the gods and devils of the hills took vengeance.
the frenchman ran towards the lama, fumbling at his revolver with some notion of making him a hostage for his companion.
a shower of cutting stones -- hillmen are very straight shots -- drove him away, and a coolie from ao-chung snatched the lama into the stampede.
all came about as swiftly as the sudden mountain-darkness.
"they have taken the baggage and all the guns," yelled the frenchman, firing blindly into the twilight.
"all right, sar!
all right!
do n't shoot.
i go to rescue," and hurree, pounding down the slope, cast himself bodily upon the delighted and astonished kim, who was banging his breathless foe's head against a boulder.
"go back to the coolies," whispered the babu in his ear.
"they have the baggage.
the papers are in the kilta with the red top, but look through all.
take their papers, and specially the murasla -lsb- king's letter -rsb-.
go!
the other man comes!"
kim tore uphill.
a revolver-bullet rang on a rock by his side, and he cowered partridge-wise.
"if you shoot," shouted hurree, "they will descend and annihilate us.
i have rescued the gentleman, sar.
this is particularly dangerous."
"by jove!"
kim was thinking hard in english.
"this is dam" - tight place, but i think it is self-defence."
he felt in his bosom for mahbub's gift, and uncertainly -- save for a few practice shots in the bikanir desert, he had never used the little gun -- pulled the trigger.
"what did i say, sar!"
the babu seemed to be in tears.
"come down here and assist to resuscitate.
we are all up a tree, i tell you."
the shots ceased.
there was a sound of stumbling feet, and kim hurried upward through the gloom, swearing like a cat -- or a country-bred.
"did they wound thee, chela?"
called the lama above him.
"no.
and thou?"
he dived into a clump of stunted firs.
"unhurt.
come away.
we go with these folk to shamlegh-under-the-snow."
"but not before we have done justice," a voice cried."
i have got the sahibs" guns -- all four.
let us go down."
"he struck the holy one -- we saw it!
our cattle will be barren -- our wives will cease to bear!
the snows will slide upon us as we go home... atop of all other oppression too!"
the little fir-clump filled with clamouring coolies -- panic-stricken, and in their terror capable of anything.
the man from ao-chung clicked the breech-bolt of his gun impatiently, and made as to go downhill.
"wait a little, holy one; they can not go far.
wait till i return," said he.
"it is this person who has suffered wrong," said the lama, his hand over his brow.
"for that very reason," was the reply.
"if this person overlooks it, your hands are clean.
moreover, ye acquire merit by obedience."
"wait, and we will all go to shamlegh together," the man insisted.
for a moment, for just so long as it needs to stuff a cartridge into a breech-loader, the lama hesitated.
then he rose to his feet, and laid a finger on the man's shoulder.
"hast thou heard?
i say there shall be no killing -- i who was abbot of such-zen.
is it any lust of thine to be re-born as a rat, or a snake under the eaves -- a worm in the belly of the most mean beast?
is it thy wish to --" the man from ao-chung fell to his knees, for the voice boomed like a tibetan devil-gong.
"ai!
ai!"
cried the spiti men.
"do not curse us -- do not curse him.
it was but his zeal, holy one!
... put down the rifle, fool!"
"anger on anger!
evil on evil!
there will be no killing.
let the priest-beaters go in bondage to their own acts.
just and sure is the wheel, swerving not a hair!
they will be born many times -- in torment."
his head drooped, and he leaned heavily on kim's shoulder."
i have come near to great evil, chela," he whispered in that dead hush under the pines."
i was tempted to loose the bullet; and truly, in tibet there would have been a heavy and a slow death for them... he struck me across the face... upon the flesh..." he slid to the ground, breathing heavily, and kim could hear the over-driven heart bump and check.
"have they hurt him to the death?"
said the ao-chung man, while the others stood mute.
kim knelt over the body in deadly fear.
"nay," he cried passionately, "this is only a weakness."
then he remembered that he was a white man, with a white man's camp-fittings at his service.
"open the kiltas!
the sahibs may have a medicine."
"oho!
then i know it," said the ao-chung man with a laugh.
"not for five years was i yankling sahib's shikarri without knowing that medicine.
i too have tasted it.
behold!"
he drew from his breast a bottle of cheap whisky -- such as is sold to explorers at leh -- and cleverly forced a little between the lama's teeth.
"so i did when yankling sahib twisted his foot beyond astor.
aha!
i have already looked into their baskets -- but we will make fair division at shamlegh.
give him a little more.
it is good medicine.
feel!
his heart goes better now.
lay his head down and rub a little on the chest.
if he had waited quietly while i accounted for the sahibs this would never have come.
but perhaps the sahibs may chase us here.
then it would not be wrong to shoot them with their own guns, heh?"
"one is paid, i think, already," said kim between his teeth."
i kicked him in the groin as we went downhill.
would i had killed him!"
"it is well to be brave when one does not live in rampur," said one whose hut lay within a few miles of the rajah's rickety palace.
"if we get a bad name among the sahibs, none will employ us as shikarris any more."
"oh, but these are not angrezi sahibs -- not merry-minded men like fostum sahib or yankling sahib.
they are foreigners -- they can not speak angrezi as do sahibs."
here the lama coughed and sat up, groping for the rosary.
"there shall be no killing," he murmured.
"just is the wheel!
evil on evil --" "nay, holy one.
we are all here."
the ao-chung man timidly patted his feet.
"except by thy order, no one shall be slain.
rest awhile.
we will make a little camp here, and later, as the moon rises, we go to shamlegh-under-the-snow."
"after a blow," said a spiti man sententiously, "it is best to sleep."
"there is, as it were, a dizziness at the back of my neck, and a pinching in it.
let me lay my head on thy lap, chela.
i am an old man, but not free from passion... we must think of the cause of things."
"give him a blanket.
we dare not light a fire lest the sahibs see."
"better get away to shamlegh.
none will follow us to shamlegh."
this was the nervous rampur man."
i have been fostum sahib's shikarri, and i am yankling sahib's shikarri.
i should have been with yankling sahib now but for this cursed beegar -lsb- the corvee -rsb-.
let two men watch below with the guns lest the sahibs do more foolishness.
i shall not leave this holy one."
they sat down a little apart from the lama, and, after listening awhile, passed round a water-pipe whose receiver was an old day and martin blacking-bottle.
the glow of the red charcoal as it went from hand to hand lit up the narrow, blinking eyes, the high chinese cheek-bones, and the bull-throats that melted away into the dark duffle folds round the shoulders.
they looked like kobolds from some magic mine -- gnomes of the hills in conclave.
and while they talked, the voices of the snow-waters round them diminished one by one as the night-frost choked and clogged the runnels.
"how he stood up against us!"
said a spiti man admiring."
i remember an old ibex, out ladakh-way, that dupont sahib missed on a shoulder-shot, seven seasons back, standing up just like him.
dupont sahib was a good shikarri."
"not as good as yankling sahib."
the ao-chung man took a pull at the whisky-bottle and passed it over.
"now hear me -- unless any other man thinks he knows more."
the challenge was not taken up.
"we go to shamlegh when the moon rises.
there we will fairly divide the baggage between us.
i am content with this new little rifle and all its cartridges."
"are the bears only bad on thy holding?
said a mate, sucking at the pipe.
"no; but musk-pods are worth six rupees apiece now, and thy women can have the canvas of the tents and some of the cooking-gear.
we will do all that at shamlegh before dawn.
then we all go our ways, remembering that we have never seen or taken service with these sahibs, who may, indeed, say that we have stolen their baggage."
"that is well for thee, but what will our rajah say?"
"who is to tell him?
those sahibs, who can not speak our talk, or the babu, who for his own ends gave us money?
will he lead an army against us?
what evidence will remain?
that we do not need we shall throw on shamlegh-midden, where no man has yet set foot."
"who is at shamlegh this summer?"
the place was only a grazing centre of three or four huts."
"the woman of shamlegh.
she has no love for sahibs, as we know.
the others can be pleased with little presents; and here is enough for us all."
he patted the fat sides of the nearest basket.
"but -- but --"' i have said they are not true sahibs.
all their skins and heads were bought in the bazar at leh.
i know the marks.
i showed them to ye last march."
"true.
they were all bought skins and heads.
some had even the moth in them."
that was a shrewd argument, and the ao-chung man knew his fellows.
"if the worst comes to the worst, i shall tell yankling sahib, who is a man of a merry mind, and he will laugh.
we are not doing any wrong to any sahibs whom we know.
they are priest-beaters.
they frightened us.
we fled!
who knows where we dropped the baggage?
do ye think yankling sahib will permit down-country police to wander all over the hills, disturbing his game?
it is a far cry from simla to chini, and farther from shamlegh to shamlegh-midden."
"so be it, but i carry the big kilta.
the basket with the red top that the sahibs pack themselves every morning."
"thus it is proved," said the shamlegh man adroitly, "that they are sahibs of no account.
who ever heard of fostum sahib, or yankling sahib, or even the little peel sahib that sits up of nights to shoot serow -- i say, who, ever heard of these sahibs coming into the hills without a down-country cook, and a bearer, and -- and all manner of well-paid, high-handed and oppressive folk in their tail?
how can they make trouble?
what of the kilta?"
"nothing, but that it is full of the written word -- books and papers in which they wrote, and strange instruments, as of worship."
"shamlegh-midden will take them all."
"true!
but how if we insult the sahibs" gods thereby!
i do not like to handle the written word in that fashion.
and their brass idols are beyond my comprehension.
it is no plunder for simple hill-folk."
"the old man still sleeps.
hst!
we will ask his chela."
the ao-chung man refreshed himself, and swelled with pride of leadership.
"we have here," he whispered," a kilta whose nature we do not know."
"but i do," said kim cautiously.
the lama drew breath in natural, easy sleep, and kim had been thinking of hurree's last words.
as a player of the great game, he was disposed just then to reverence the babu.
"it is a kilta with a red top full of very wonderful things, not to be handled by fools.'"
i said it; i said it," cried the bearer of that burden.
"thinkest thou it will betray us?"
"not if it be given to me.
i can draw out its magic.
otherwise it will do great harm.'"
a priest always takes his share."
whisky was demoralizing the ao-chung man.
"it is no matter to me."
kim answered, with the craft of his mother-country.
"share it among you, and see what comes!"
"not i. i was only jesting.
give the order.
there is more than enough for us all.
we go our way from shamlegh in the dawn."
they arranged and re-arranged their artless little plans for another hour, while kim shivered with cold and pride.
the humour of the situation tickled the irish and the oriental in his soul.
here were the emissaries of the dread power of the north, very possibly as great in their own land as mahbub or colonel creighton, suddenly smitten helpless.
one of them, he privately knew, would be lame for a time.
they had made promises to kings.
tonight they lay out somewhere below him, chartless, foodless, tentless, gunless -- except for hurree babu, guideless.
and this collapse of their great game -lrb- kim wondered to whom they would report it -rrb-, this panicky bolt into the night, had come about through no craft of hurree's or contrivance of kim's, but simply, beautifully, and inevitably as the capture of mahbub's fakir-friends by the zealous young policeman at umballa.
"they are there -- with nothing; and, by jove, it is cold!
i am here with all their things.
oh, they will be angry!
i am sorry for hurree babu."
kim might have saved his pity, for though at that moment the bengali suffered acutely in the flesh, his soul was puffed and lofty.
a mile down the hill, on the edge of the pine-forest, two half-frozen men -- one powerfully sick at intervals -- were varying mutual recriminations with the most poignant abuse of the babu, who seemed distraught with terror.
they demanded a plan of action.
he explained that they were very lucky to be alive; that their coolies, if not then stalking them, had passed beyond recall; that the rajah, his master, was ninety miles away, and, so far from lending them money and a retinue for the simla journey, would surely cast them into prison if he heard that they had hit a priest.
he enlarged on this sin and its consequences till they bade him change the subject.
their one hope, said he, was unostentatious flight from village to village till they reached civilization; and, for the hundredth time dissolved in tears, he demanded of the high stars why the sahibs "had beaten holy man".
ten steps would have taken hurree into the creaking gloom utterly beyond their reach -- to the shelter and food of the nearest village, where glib-tongued doctors were scarce.
but he preferred to endure cold, belly-pinch, bad words, and occasional blows in the company of his honoured employers.
crouched against a tree-trunk, he sniffed dolefully.
"and have you thought," said the uninjured man hotly, "what sort of spectacle we shall present wandering through these hills among these aborigines?"
hurree babu had thought of little else for some hours, but the remark was not to his address.
"we can not wander!
i can hardly walk," groaned kim's victim.
"perhaps the holy man will be merciful in loving-kindness, sar, otherwise --"' i promise myself a peculiar pleasure in emptying my revolver into that young bonze when next we meet," was the unchristian answer.
"revolvers!
vengeance!
bonzes!"
hurree crouched lower.
the war was breaking out afresh.
"have you no consideration for our loss?
the baggage!
the baggage!"
he could hear the speaker literally dancing on the grass.
"everything we bore!
everything we have secured!
our gains!
eight months" work!
do you know what that means?
""decidedly it is we who can deal with orientals!"
oh, you have done well."
they fell to it in several tongues, and hurree smiled.
kim was with the kiltas, and in the kiltas lay eight months of good diplomacy.
there was no means of communicating with the boy, but he could be trusted.
for the rest, hurree could so stage-manage the journey through the hills that hilas, bunar, and four hundred miles of hill-roads should tell the tale for a generation.
men who can not control their own coolies are little respected in the hills, and the hillman has a very keen sense of humour.
"if i had done it myself," thought hurree, "it would not have been better; and, by jove, now i think of it, of course i arranged it myself.
how quick i have been!
just when i ran downhill i thought it!
thee outrage was accidental, but onlee me could have worked it -- ah -- for all it was dam" - well worth.
consider the moral effect upon these ignorant peoples!
no treaties -- no papers -- no written documents at all -- and me to interpret for them.
how i shall laugh with the colonel!
i wish i had their papers also: but you can not occupy two places in space simultaneously.
thatt is axiomatic."
chapter 14 my brother kneels -lrb- so saith kabir -rrb- to stone and brass in heathen wise, but in my brother's voice i hear my own unanswered agonies.
his god is as his fates assign -- his prayer is all the world's -- and mine.
the prayer.
at moonrise the cautious coolies got under way.
the lama, refreshed by his sleep and the spirit, needed no more than kim's shoulder to bear him along -- a silent, swift-striding man.
they held the shale-sprinkled grass for an hour, swept round the shoulder of an immortal cliff, and climbed into a new country entirely blocked off from all sight of chini valley.
a huge pasture-ground ran up fan-shaped to the living snow.
at its base was perhaps half an acre of flat land, on which stood a few soil and timber huts.
behind them -- for, hill-fashion, they were perched on the edge of all things -- the ground fell sheer two thousand feet to shamlegh-midden, where never yet man has set foot.
the men made no motion to divide the plunder till they had seen the lama bedded down in the best room of the place, with kim shampooing his feet, mohammedan-fashion.
"we will send food," said the ao-chung man, "and the red-topped kilta.
by dawn there will be none to give evidence, one way or the other.
if anything is not needed in the kilta -- see here!"
he pointed through the window -- opening into space that was filled with moonlight reflected from the snow -- and threw out an empty whisky-bottle.
"no need to listen for the fall.
this is the world's end," he said, and went out.
the lama looked forth, a hand on either sill, with eyes that shone like yellow opals.
from the enormous pit before him white peaks lifted themselves yearning to the moonlight.
the rest was as the darkness of interstellar space.
"these," he said slowly, "are indeed my hills.
thus should a man abide, perched above the world, separated from delights, considering vast matters."
"yes; if he has a chela to prepare tea for him, and to fold a blanket for his head, and to chase out calving cows."
a smoky lamp burned in a niche, but the full moonlight beat it down; and by the mixed light, stooping above the food-bag and cups, kim moved like a tall ghost.
"ai!
but now i have let the blood cool, my head still beats and drums, and there is a cord round the back of my neck."
"no wonder.
it was a strong blow.
may he who dealt it --" "but for my own passions there would have been no evil."
"what evil?
thou hast saved the sahibs from the death they deserved a hundred times."
"the lesson is not well learnt, chela."
the lama came to rest on a folded blanket, as kim went forward with his evening routine.
"the blow was but a shadow upon a shadow.
evil in itself -- my legs weary apace these latter days!
-- it met evil in me: anger, rage, and a lust to return evil.
these wrought in my blood, woke tumult in my stomach, and dazzled my ears."
here he drank scalding black-tea ceremonially, taking the hot cup from kim's hand.
"had i been passionless, the evil blow would have done only bodily evil -- a scar, or a bruise -- which is illusion.
but my mind was not abstracted, for rushed in straightway a lust to let the spiti men kill.
in fighting that lust, my soul was torn and wrenched beyond a thousand blows.
not till i had repeated the blessings" -lrb- he meant the buddhist beatitudes -rrb- "did i achieve calm.
but the evil planted in me by that moment's carelessness works out to its end.
just is the wheel, swerving not a hair!
learn the lesson, chela."
"it is too high for me," kim muttered."
i am still all shaken.
i am glad i hurt the man.'"
i felt that, sleeping upon thy knees, in the wood below.
it disquieted me in my dreams -- the evil in thy soul working through to mine.
yet on the other hand" -- he loosed his rosary --" i have acquired merit by saving two lives -- the lives of those that wronged me.
now i must see into the cause of things.
the boat of my soul staggers."
"sleep, and be strong.
that is wisest.'"
i meditate.
there is a need greater than thou knowest."
till the dawn, hour after hour, as the moonlight paled on the high peaks, and that which had been belted blackness on the sides of the far hills showed as tender green forest, the lama stared fixedly at the wall.
from time to time he groaned.
outside the barred door, where discomfited kine came to ask for their old stable, shamlegh and the coolies gave itself up to plunder and riotous living.
the ao-chung man was their leader, and once they had opened the sahibs" tinned foods and found that they were very good they dared not turn back.
shamlegh kitchen-midden took the dunnage.
when kim, after a night of bad dreams, stole forth to brush his teeth in the morning chill, a fair-coloured woman with turquoise-studded headgear drew him aside.
"the others have gone.
they left thee this kilta as the promise was.
i do not love sahibs, but thou wilt make us a charm in return for it.
we do not wish little shamlegh to get a bad name on account of the -- accident.
i am the woman of shamlegh."
she looked him over with bold, bright eyes, unlike the usual furtive glance of hillwomen.
"assuredly.
but it must be done in secret."
she raised the heavy kilta like a toy and slung it into her own hut.
"out and bar the door!
let none come near till it is finished," said kim.
"but afterwards -- we may talk?"
kim tilted the kilta on the floor -- a cascade of survey-instruments, books, diaries, letters, maps, and queerly scented native correspondence.
at the very bottom was an embroidered bag covering a sealed, gilded, and illuminated document such as one king sends to another.
kim caught his breath with delight, and reviewed the situation from a sahib's point of view.
"the books i do not want.
besides, they are logarithms -- survey, i suppose."
he laid them aside.
"the letters i do not understand, but colonel creighton will.
they must all be kept.
the maps -- they draw better maps than me -- of course.
all the native letters -- oho!
-- and particularly the murasla."
he sniffed the embroidered bag.
"that must be from hilas or bunar, and hurree babu spoke truth.
by jove!
it is a fine haul.
i wish hurree could know... the rest must go out of the window."
he fingered a superb prismatic compass and the shiny top of a theodolite.
but after all, a sahib can not very well steal, and the things might be inconvenient evidence later.
he sorted out every scrap of manuscript, every map, and the native letters.
they made one softish slab.
the three locked ferril-backed books, with five worn pocket-books, he put aside.
"the letters and the murasla i must carry inside my coat and under my belt, and the hand-written books i must put into the food-bag.
it will be very heavy.
no.
i do not think there is anything more.
if there is, the coolies have thrown it down the khud, so thatt is all right.
now you go too."
he repacked the kilta with all he meant to lose, and hove it up on to the windowsill.
a thousand feet below lay a long, lazy, round-shouldered bank of mist, as yet untouched by the morning sun.
a thousand feet below that was a hundred-year-old pine-forest.
he could see the green tops looking like a bed of moss when a wind-eddy thinned the cloud.
"no!
i do n't think any one will go after you!"
the wheeling basket vomited its contents as it dropped.
the theodolite hit a jutting cliff-ledge and exploded like a shell; the books, inkstands, paint-boxes, compasses, and rulers showed for a few seconds like a swarm of bees.
then they vanished; and, though kim, hanging half out of the window, strained his young ears, never a sound came up from the gulf.
"five hundred -- a thousand rupees could not buy them," he thought sorrowfully.
"it was verree wasteful, but i have all their other stuff -- everything they did -- i hope.
now how the deuce am i to tell hurree babu, and whatt the deuce am i to do?
and my old man is sick.
i must tie up the letters in oilskin.
that is something to do first -- else they will get all sweated... and i am all alone!"
he bound them into a neat packet, swedging down the stiff, sticky oilskin at the comers, for his roving life had made him as methodical as an old hunter in matters of the road.
then with double care he packed away the books at the bottom of the food-bag.
the woman rapped at the door.
"but thou hast made no charm," she said, looking about.
"there is no need."
kim had completely overlooked the necessity for a little patter-talk.
the woman laughed at his confusion irreverently.
"none -- for thee.
thou canst cast a spell by the mere winking of an eye.
but think of us poor people when thou art gone.
they were all too drunk last night to hear a woman.
thou art not drunk?'"
i am a priest."
kim had recovered himself, and, the woman being aught but unlovely, thought best to stand on his office."
i warned them that the sahibs will be angry and will make an inquisition and a report to the rajah.
there is also the babu with them.
clerks have long tongues."
"is that all thy trouble?"
the plan rose fully formed in kim's mind, and he smiled ravishingly.
"not all," quoth the woman, putting out a hard brown hand all covered with turquoises set in silver."
i can finish that in a breath," he went on quickly.
"the babu is the very hakim -lrb- thou hast heard of him? -rrb-
who was wandering among the hills by ziglaur.
i know him."
"he will tell for the sake of a reward.
sahibs can not distinguish one hillman from another, but babus have eyes for men -- and women."
"carry a word to him from me."
"there is nothing i would not do for thee."
he accepted the compliment calmly, as men must in lands where women make the love, tore a leaf from a note-book, and with a patent indelible pencil wrote in gross shikast -- the script that bad little boys use when they write dirt on walls: "i have everything that they have written: their pictures of the country, and many letters.
especially the murasla.
tell me what to do.
i am at shamlegh-under-the-snow.
the old man is sick."
"take this to him.
it will altogether shut his mouth.
he can not have gone far."
"indeed no.
they are still in the forest across the spur.
our children went to watch them when the light came, and have cried the news as they moved."
kim looked his astonishment; but from the edge of the sheep-pasture floated a shrill, kite-like trill.
a child tending cattle had picked it up from a brother or sister on the far side of the slope that commanded chini valley.
"my husbands are also out there gathering wood."
she drew a handful of walnuts from her bosom, split one neatly, and began to eat.
kim affected blank ignorance.
"dost thou not know the meaning of the walnut -- priest?"
she said coyly, and handed him the half-shells.
"well thought of."
he slipped the piece of paper between them quickly.
"hast thou a little wax to close them on this letter?"
the woman sighed aloud, and kim relented.
"there is no payment till service has been rendered.
carry this to the babu, and say it was sent by the son of the charm."
"ai!
truly!
truly!
by a magician -- who is like a sahib."
"nay, a son of the charm: and ask if there be any answer."
"but if he offer a rudeness?
i -- i am afraid."
kim laughed.
"he is, i have no doubt, very tired and very hungry.
the hills make cold bedfellows.
hai, my" -- it was on the tip of his tongue to say mother, but he turned it to sister -- "thou art a wise and witty woman.
by this time all the villages know what has befallen the sahibs -- eh?"
"true.
news was at ziglaur by midnight, and by tomorrow should be at kotgarh.
the villages are both afraid and angry."
"no need.
tell the villages to feed the sahibs and pass them on, in peace.
we must get them quietly away from our valleys.
to steal is one thing -- to kill another.
the babu will understand, and there will be no after-complaints.
be swift.
i must tend my master when he wakes."
"so be it.
after service -- thou hast said?
-- comes the reward.
i am the woman of shamlegh, and i hold from the rajah.
i am no common bearer of babes.
shamlegh is thine: hoof and horn and hide, milk and butter.
take or leave."
she turned resolutely uphill, her silver necklaces clicking on her broad breast, to meet the morning sun fifteen hundred feet above them.
this time kim thought in the vernacular as he waxed down the oilskin edges of the packets.
"how can a man follow the way or the great game when he is so -- always pestered by women?
there was that girl at akrola of the ford; and there was the scullion's wife behind the dovecot -- not counting the others -- and now comes this one!
when i was a child it was well enough, but now i am a man and they will not regard me as a man.
walnuts, indeed!
ho!
ho!
it is almonds in the plains!"
he went out to levy on the village -- not with a begging-bowl, which might do for down-country, but in the manner of a prince.
shamlegh's summer population is only three families -- four women and eight or nine men.
they were all full of tinned meats and mixed drinks, from ammoniated quinine to white vodka, for they had taken their full share in the overnight loot.
the neat continental tents had been cut up and shared long ago, and there were patent aluminium saucepans abroad.
but they considered the lama's presence a perfect safeguard against all consequences, and impenitently brought kim of their best -- even to a drink of chang -- the barley-beer that comes from ladakh-way.
then they thawed out in the sun, and sat with their legs hanging over infinite abysses, chattering, laughing, and smoking.
they judged india and its government solely from their experience of wandering sahibs who had employed them or their friends as shikarris.
kim heard tales of shots missed upon ibex, serow, or markhor, by sahibs twenty years in their graves -- every detail lighted from behind like twigs on tree-tops seen against lightning.
they told him of their little diseases, and, more important, the diseases of their tiny, sure-footed cattle; of trips as far as kotgarh, where the strange missionaries live, and beyond even to marvellous simla, where the streets are paved with silver, and anyone, look you, can get service with the sahibs, who ride about in two-wheeled carts and spend money with a spade.
presently, grave and aloof, walking very heavily, the lama joined himself to the chatter under the eaves, and they gave him great room.
the thin air refreshed him, and he sat on the edge of precipices with the best of them, and, when talk languished, flung pebbles into the void.
thirty miles away, as the eagle flies, lay the next range, seamed and channelled and pitted with little patches of brush -- forests, each a day's dark march.
behind the village, shamlegh hill itself cut off all view to southward.
it was like sitting in a swallow's nest under the eaves of the roof of the world.
from time to time the lama stretched out his hand, and with a little low-voiced prompting would point out the road to spiti and north across the parungla.
"beyond, where the hills lie thickest, lies de-ch "en" -lrb- he meant han-le" -rrb-, "the great monastery.
s "tag-stan-ras-ch "en built it, and of him there runs this tale."
whereupon he told it: a fantastic piled narrative of bewitchment and miracles that set shamlegh a-gasping.
turning west a little, he steered for the green hills of kulu, and sought kailung under the glaciers.
"for thither came i in the old, old days.
from leh i came, over the baralachi."
"yes, yes; we know it," said the far-faring people of shamlegh.
"and i slept two nights with the priests of kailung.
these are the hills of my delight!
shadows blessed above all other shadows!
there my eyes opened on this world; there my eyes were opened to this world; there i found enlightenment; and there i girt my loins for my search.
out of the hills i came -- the high hills and the strong winds.
oh, just is the wheel!"
he blessed them in detail -- the great glaciers, the naked rocks, the piled moraines and tumbled shale; dry upland, hidden salt-lake, age-old timber and fruitful water-shot valley one after the other, as a dying man blesses his folk; and kim marvelled at his passion.
"yes -- yes.
there is no place like our hills," said the people of shamlegh.
and they fell to wondering how a man could live in the hot terrible plains where the cattle run as big as elephants, unfit to plough on a hillside; where village touches village, they had heard, for a hundred miles; where folk went about stealing in gangs, and what the robbers spared the police carried utterly away.
so the still forenoon wore through, and at the end of it kim's messenger dropped from the steep pasture as unbreathed as when she had set out."
i sent a word to the hakim," kim explained, while she made reverence.
"he joined himself to the idolaters?
nay, i remember he did a healing upon one of them.
he has acquired merit, though the healed employed his strength for evil.
just is the wheel!
what of the hakim?'"
i feared that thou hadst been bruised and -- and i knew he was wise."
kim took the waxed walnut-shell and read in english on the back of his note: your favour received.
can not get away from present company at present, but shall take them into simla.
after which, hope to rejoin you.
inexpedient to follow angry gentlemen.
return by same road you came, and will overtake.
highly gratified about correspondence due to my forethought.
"he says, holy one, that he will escape from the idolaters, and will return to us.
shall we wait awhile at shamlegh, then?"
the lama looked long and lovingly upon the hills and shook his head.
"that may not be, chela.
from my bones outward i do desire it, but it is forbidden.
i have seen the cause of things."
"why?
when the hills give thee back thy strength day by day?
remember we were weak and fainting down below there in the doon.'"
i became strong to do evil and to forget.
a brawler and a swashbuckler upon the hillsides was i." kim bit back a smile.
"just and perfect is the wheel, swerving not a hair.
when i was a man -- a long time ago -- i did pilgrimage to guru ch "wan among the poplars" -lrb- he pointed bhotanwards -rrb-, "where they keep the sacred horse."
"quiet, be quiet!"
said shamlegh, all arow.
"he speaks of jam-lin-nin-k "or, the horse that can go round the world in a day.'"
i speak to my chela only," said the lama, in gentle reproof, and they scattered like frost on south eaves of a morning."
i did not seek truth in those days, but the talk of doctrine.
all illusion!
i drank the beer and ate the bread of guru ch "wan.
next day one said: "we go out to fight sangor gutok down the valley to discover" -lrb- mark again how lust is tied to anger! -rrb-
""which abbot shall bear rule in the valley and take the profit of the prayers they print at sangor gutok."
i went, and we fought a day."
"but how, holy one?"
"with our long pencases as i could have shown... i say, we fought under the poplars, both abbots and all the monks, and one laid open my forehead to the bone.
see!"
he tilted back his cap and showed a puckered silvery scar.
"just and perfect is the wheel!
yesterday the scar itched, and after fifty years i recalled how it was dealt and the face of him who dealt it; dwelling a little in illusion.
followed that which thou didst see -- strife and stupidity.
just is the wheel!
the idolater's blow fell upon the scar.
then i was shaken in my soul: my soul was darkened, and the boat of my soul rocked upon the waters of illusion.
not till i came to shamlegh could i meditate upon the cause of things, or trace the running grass-roots of evil.
i strove all the long night."
"but, holy one, thou art innocent of all evil.
may i be thy sacrifice!"
kim was genuinely distressed at the old man's sorrow, and mahbub ali's phrase slipped out unawares.
"in the dawn," the lama went on more gravely, ready rosary clicking between the slow sentences, "came enlightenment.
it is here... i am an old man... hill-bred, hill-fed, never to sit down among my hills.
three years i travelled through hind, but -- can earth be stronger than mother earth?
my stupid body yearned to the hills and the snows of the hills, from below there.
i said, and it is true, my search is sure.
so, at the kulu woman's house i turned hillward, over-persuaded by myself.
there is no blame to the hakim.
he -- following desire -- foretold that the hills would make me strong.
they strengthened me to do evil, to forget my search.
i delighted in life and the lust of life.
i desired strong slopes to climb.
i cast about to find them.
i measured the strength of my body, which is evil, against the high hills, i made a mock of thee when thy breath came short under jamnotri.
i jested when thou wouldst not face the snow of the pass."
"but what harm?
i was afraid.
it was just.
i am not a hillman; and i loved thee for thy new strength."
"more than once i remember" -- he rested his cheek dolefully on his hand --" i sought thy praise and the hakim's for the mere strength of my legs.
thus evil followed evil till the cup was full.
just is the wheel!
all hind for three years did me all honour.
from the fountain of wisdom in the wonder house to" -- he smiled --" a little child playing by a big gun -- the world prepared my road.
and why?"
"because we loved thee.
it is only the fever of the blow.
i myself am still sick and shaken."
"no!
it was because i was upon the way -- tuned as are si-nen -lsb- cymbals -rsb- to the purpose of the law.
i departed from that ordinance.
the tune was broken: followed the punishment.
in my own hills, on the edge of my own country, in the very place of my evil desire, comes the buffet -- here!"
-lrb- he touched his brow. -rrb-
"as a novice is beaten when he misplaces the cups, so am i beaten, who was abbot of such-zen.
no word, look you, but a blow, chela."
"but the sahibs did not know thee, holy one?"
"we were well matched.
ignorance and lust met ignorance and lust upon the road, and they begat anger.
the blow was a sign to me, who am no better than a strayed yak, that my place is not here.
who can read the cause of an act is halfway to freedom!
""back to the path," says the blow.
""the hills are not for thee.
thou canst not choose freedom and go in bondage to the delight of life.""
"would we had never met that cursed russian!"
"our lord himself can not make the wheel swing backward.
and for my merit that i had acquired i gain yet another sign."
he put his hand in his bosom, and drew forth the wheel of life.
"look!
i considered this after i had meditated.
there remains untorn by the idolater no more than the breadth of my fingernail.'"
i see."
"so much, then, is the span of my life in this body.
i have served the wheel all my days.
now the wheel serves me.
but for the merit i have acquired in guiding thee upon the way, there would have been added to me yet another life ere i had found my river.
is it plain, chela?"
kim stared at the brutally disfigured chart.
from left to right diagonally the rent ran -- from the eleventh house where desire gives birth to the child -lrb- as it is drawn by tibetans -rrb- -- across the human and animal worlds, to the fifth house -- the empty house of the senses.
the logic was unanswerable.
"before our lord won enlightenment" -- the lama folded all away with reverence -- "he was tempted.
i too have been tempted, but it is finished.
the arrow fell in the plains -- not in the hills.
therefore, what make we here?"
"shall we at least wait for the hakim?'"
i know how long i shall live in this body.
what can a hakim do?"
"but thou art all sick and shaken.
thou canst not walk."
"how can i be sick if i see freedom?"
he rose unsteadily to his feet.
"then i must get food from the village.
oh, the weary road!"
kim felt that he too needed rest.
"that is lawful.
let us eat and go.
the arrow fell in the plains... but i yielded to desire.
make ready, chela."
kim turned to the woman with the turquoise headgear who had been idly pitching pebbles over the cliff.
she smiled very kindly."
i found him like a strayed buffalo in a cornfield -- the babu; snorting and sneezing with cold.
he was so hungry that he forgot his dignity and gave me sweet words.
the sahibs have nothing."
she flung out an empty palm.
"one is very sick about the stomach.
thy work?"
kim nodded, with a bright eye."
i spoke to the bengali first -- and to the people of a near-by village after.
the sahibs will be given food as they need it -- nor will the people ask money.
the plunder is already distributed.
the babu makes lying speeches to the sahibs.
why does he not leave them?"
"out of the greatness of his heart."
"was never a bengali yet had one bigger than a dried walnut.
but it is no matter... now as to walnuts.
after service comes reward.
i have said the village is thine."
"it is my loss," kim began.
"even now i had planned desirable things in my heart which" -- there is no need to go through the compliments proper to these occasions.
he sighed deeply... "but my master, led by a vision --" "huh!
what can old eyes see except a full begging-bowl?'"
-- turns from this village to the plains again."
"bid him stay."
kim shook his head."
i know my holy one, and his rage if he be crossed," he replied impressively.
"his curses shake the hills."
"pity they did not save him from a broken head!
i heard that thou wast the tiger-hearted one who smote the sahib.
let him dream a little longer.
stay!"
"hillwoman," said kim, with austerity that could not harden the outlines of his young oval face, "these matters are too high for thee."
"the gods be good to us!
since when have men and women been other than men and women?'"
a priest is a priest.
he says he will go upon this hour.
i am his chela, and i go with him.
we need food for the road.
he is an honoured guest in all the villages, but" -- he broke into a pure boy's grin -- "the food here is good.
give me some."
"what if i do not give it thee?
i am the woman of this village."
"then i curse thee -- a little -- not greatly, but enough to remember."
he could not help smiling.
"thou hast cursed me already by the down-dropped eyelash and the uplifted chin.
curses?
what should i care for mere words?"
she clenched her hands upon her bosom... "but i would not have thee to go in anger, thinking hardly of me -- a gatherer of cow-dung and grass at shamlegh, but still a woman of substance.'"
i think nothing," said kim, "but that i am grieved to go, for i am very weary; and that we need food.
here is the bag."
the woman snatched it angrily."
i was foolish," said she.
"who is thy woman in the plains?
fair or black?
i was fair once.
laughest thou?
once, long ago, if thou canst believe, a sahib looked on me with favour.
once, long ago, i wore european clothes at the mission-house yonder."
she pointed towards kotgarh.
"once, long ago.
i was ker-lis-ti-an and spoke english -- as the sahibs speak it.
yes.
my sahib said he would return and wed me -- yes, wed me.
he went away -- i had nursed him when he was sick -- but he never returned.
then i saw that the gods of the kerlistians lied, and i went back to my own people... i have never set eyes on a sahib since.
-lrb- do not laugh at me.
the fit is past, little priestling. -rrb-
thy face and thy walk and thy fashion of speech put me in mind of my sahib, though thou art only a wandering mendicant to whom i give a dole.
curse me?
thou canst neither curse nor bless!"
she set her hands on her hips and laughed bitterly.
"thy gods are lies; thy works are lies; thy words are lies.
there are no gods under all the heavens.
i know it... but for awhile i thought it was my sahib come back, and he was my god.
yes, once i made music on a pianno in the mission-house at kotgarh.
now i give alms to priests who are heatthen."
she wound up with the english word, and tied the mouth of the brimming bag."
i wait for thee, chela," said the lama, leaning against the door-post.
the woman swept the tall figure with her eyes.
"he walk!
he can not cover half a mile.
whither would old bones go?"
at this kim, already perplexed by the lama's collapse and foreseeing the weight of the bag, fairly lost his temper.
"what is it to thee, woman of ill-omen, where he goes?"
"nothing -- but something to thee, priest with a sahib's face.
wilt thou carry him on thy shoulders?'"
i go to the plains.
none must hinder my return.
i have wrestled with my soul till i am strengthless.
the stupid body is spent, and we are far from the plains."
"behold!"
she said simply, and drew aside to let kim see his own utter helplessness.
"curse me.
maybe it will give him strength.
make a charm!
call on thy great god.
thou art a priest."
she turned away.
the lama had squatted limply, still holding by the door-post.
one can not strike down an old man that he recovers again like a boy in the night.
weakness bowed him to the earth, but his eyes that hung on kim were alive and imploring.
"it is all well," said kim.
"it is the thin air that weakens thee.
in a little while we go!
it is the mountain-sickness.
i too am a little sick at stomach," -- and he knelt and comforted with such poor words as came first to his lips.
then the woman returned, more erect than ever.
"thy gods useless, heh?
try mine.
i am the woman of shamlegh."
she hailed hoarsely, and there came out of a cow-pen her two husbands and three others with a dooli, the rude native litter of the hills, that they use for carrying the sick and for visits of state.
"these cattle" -- she did not condescend to look at them -- "are thine for so long as thou shalt need."
"but we will not go simla-way.
we will not go near the sahibs," cried the first husband.
"they will not run away as the others did, nor will they steal baggage.
two i know for weaklings.
stand to the rear-pole, sonoo and taree."
they obeyed swiftly.
"lower now, and lift in that holy man.
i will see to the village and your virtuous wives till ye return."
"when will that be?"
"ask the priests.
do not pester me.
lay the food-bag at the foot, it balances better so."
"oh, holy one, thy hills are kinder than our plains!"
cried kim, relieved, as the lama tottered to the litter.
"it is a very king's bed -- a place of honour and ease.
and we owe it to --"' a woman of ill-omen.
i need thy blessings as much as i do thy curses.
it is my order and none of thine.
lift and away!
here!
hast thou money for the road?"
she beckoned kim to her hut, and stooped above a battered english cash-box under her cot."
i do not need anything," said kim, angered where he should have been grateful."
i am already rudely loaded with favours."
she looked up with a curious smile and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"at least, thank me.
i am foul-faced and a hillwoman, but, as thy talk goes, i have acquired merit.
shall i show thee how the sahibs render thanks?"
and her hard eyes softened."
i am but a wandering priest," said kim, his eyes lighting in answer.
"thou needest neither my blessings nor my curses."
"nay.
but for one little moment -- thou canst overtake the dooli in ten strides -- if thou wast a sahib, shall i show thee what thou wouldst do?"
"how if i guess, though?"
said kim, and putting his arm round her waist, he kissed her on the cheek, adding in english: "thank you verree much, my dear."
kissing is practically unknown among asiatics, which may have been the reason that she leaned back with wide-open eyes and a face of panic.
"next time," kim went on, "you must not be so sure of your heatthen priests.
now i say good-bye."
he held out his hand english-fashion.
she took it mechanically.
"good-bye, my dear."
"good-bye, and -- and" -- she was remembering her english words one by one -- "you will come back again?
good-bye, and -- thee god bless you."
half an hour later, as the creaking litter jolted up the hill path that leads south-easterly from shamlegh, kim saw a tiny figure at the hut door waving a white rag.
"she has acquired merit beyond all others," said the lama.
"for to set a man upon the way to freedom is half as great as though she had herself found it."
"umm," said kim thoughtfully, considering the past.
"it may be that i have acquired merit also... at least she did not treat me like a child."
he hitched the front of his robe, where lay the slab of documents and maps, re-stowed the precious food-bag at the lama's feet, laid his hand on the litter's edge, and buckled down to the slow pace of the grunting husbands.
"these also acquire merit," said the lama after three miles.
"more than that, they shall be paid in silver," quoth kim.
the woman of shamlegh had given it to him; and it was only fair, he argued, that her men should earn it back again.
chapter 15 i'd not give room for an emperor -- i'd hold my road for a king.
to the triple crown i'd not bow down -- but this is a different thing!
i'll not fight with the powers of air -- sentry, pass him through!
drawbridge let fall -- he's the lord of us all -- the dreamer whose dream came true!
the siege of the fairies.
two hundred miles north of chini, on the blue shale of ladakh, lies yankling sahib, the merry-minded man, spy-glassing wrathfully across the ridges for some sign of his pet tracker -- a man from ao-chung.
but that renegade, with a new mannlicher rifle and two hundred cartridges, is elsewhere, shooting musk-deer for the market, and yankling sahib will learn next season how very ill he has been.
up the valleys of bushahr -- the far-beholding eagles of the himalayas swerve at his new blue-and-white gored umbrella -- hurries a bengali, once fat and well-looking, now lean and weather-worn.
he has received the thanks of two foreigners of distinction, piloted not unskilfully to mashobra tunnel, which leads to the great and gay capital of india.
it was not his fault that, blanketed by wet mists, he conveyed them past the telegraph-station and european colony of kotgarh.
it was not his fault, but that of the gods, of whom he discoursed so engagingly, that he led them into the borders of nahan, where the rahah of that state mistook them for deserting british soldiery.
hurree babu explained the greatness and glory, in their own country, of his companions, till the drowsy kinglet smiled.
he explained it to everyone who asked -- many times -- aloud -- variously.
he begged food, arranged accommodation, proved a skilful leech for an injury of the groin -- such a blow as one may receive rolling down a rock-covered hillside in the dark -- and in all things indispensable.
the reason of his friendliness did him credit.
with millions of fellow-serfs, he had learned to look upon russia as the great deliverer from the north.
he was a fearful man.
he had been afraid that he could not save his illustrious employers from the anger of an excited peasantry.
he himself would just as lief hit a holy man as not, but... he was deeply grateful and sincerely rejoiced that he had done his "little possible" towards bringing their venture to -- barring the lost baggage -- a successful issue, he had forgotten the blows; denied that any blows had been dealt that unseemly first night under the pines.
he asked neither pension nor retaining fee, but, if they deemed him worthy, would they write him a testimonial?
it might be useful to him later, if others, their friends, came over the passes.
he begged them to remember him in their future greatnesses, for he "opined subtly" that he, even he, mohendro lal dutt, ma of calcutta, had "done the state some service".
they gave him a certificate praising his courtesy, helpfulness, and unerring skill as a guide.
he put it in his waist-belt and sobbed with emotion; they had endured so many dangers together.
he led them at high noon along crowded simla mall to the alliance bank of simla, where they wished to establish their identity.
thence he vanished like a dawn-cloud on jakko.
behold him, too fine-drawn to sweat, too pressed to vaunt the drugs in his little brass-bound box, ascending shamlegh slope, a just man made perfect.
watch him, all babudom laid aside, smoking at noon on a cot, while a woman with turquoise-studded headgear points south-easterly across the bare grass.
litters, she says, do not travel as fast as single men, but his birds should now be in the plains.
the holy man would not stay though lispeth pressed him.
the babu groans heavily, girds up his huge loins, and is off again.
he does not care to travel after dusk; but his days" marches -- there is none to enter them in a book -- would astonish folk who mock at his race.
kindly villagers, remembering the dacca drug-vendor of two months ago, give him shelter against evil spirits of the wood.
he dreams of bengali gods, university text-books of education, and the royal society, london, england.
next dawn the bobbing blue-and-white umbrella goes forward.
on the edge of the doon, mussoorie well behind them and the plains spread out in golden dust before, rests a worn litter in which -- all the hills know it -- lies a sick lama who seeks a river for his healing.
villages have almost come to blows over the honour of bearing it, for not only has the lama given them blessings, but his disciple good money -- full one-third sahibs" prices.
twelve miles a day has the dooli travelled, as the greasy, rubbed pole-ends show, and by roads that few sahibs use.
over the nilang pass in storm when the driven snow-dust filled every fold of the impassive lama's drapery; between the black horns of raieng where they heard the whistle of the wild goats through the clouds; pitching and strained on the shale below; hard-held between shoulder and clenched jaw when they rounded the hideous curves of the cut road under bhagirati; swinging and creaking to the steady jog-trot of the descent into the valley of the waters; pressed along the steamy levels of that locked valley; up, up and out again, to meet the roaring gusts off kedarnath; set down of mid-days in the dun gloom of kindly oak-forests; passed from village to village in dawn-chill, when even devotees may be forgiven for swearing at impatient holy men; or by torchlight, when the least fearful think of ghosts -- the dooli has reached her last stage.
the little hill-folk sweat in the modified heat of the lower siwaliks, and gather round the priests for their blessing and their wage.
"ye have acquired merit," says the lama.
"merit greater than your knowing.
and ye will return to the hills," he sighs.
"surely.
the high hills as soon as may be."
the bearer rubs his shoulder, drinks water, spits it out again, and readjusts his grass sandal.
kim -- his face is drawn and tired -- pays very small silver from his belt, heaves out the food-bag, crams an oilskin packet -- they are holy writings -- into his bosom, and helps the lama to his feet.
the peace has come again into the old man's eyes, and he does not look for the hills to fall down and crush him as he did that terrible night when they were delayed by the flooded river.
the men pick up the dooli and swing out of sight between the scrub clumps.
the lama raises a hand toward the rampart of the himalayas.
"not with you, o blessed among all hills, fell the arrow of our lord!
and never shall i breathe your airs again!"
"but thou art ten times the stronger man in this good air," says kim, for to his wearied soul appeal the well-cropped, kindly plains.
"here, or hereabouts, fell the arrow, yes.
we will go very softly, perhaps, a koss a day, for the search is sure.
but the bag weighs heavy."
"ay, our search is sure.
i have come out of great temptation."
it was never more than a couple of miles a day now, and kim's shoulders bore all the weight of it -- the burden of an old man, the burden of the heavy food-bag with the locked books, the load of the writings on his heart, and the details of the daily routine.
he begged in the dawn, set blankets for the lama's meditation, held the weary head on his lap through the noonday heats, fanning away the flies till his wrists ached, begged again in the evenings, and rubbed the lama's feet, who rewarded him with promise of freedom -- today, tomorrow, or, at furthest, the next day.
"never was such a chela.
i doubt at times whether ananda more faithfully nursed our lord.
and thou art a sahib?
when i was a man -- a long time ago -- i forgot that.
now i look upon thee often, and every time i remember that thou art a sahib.
it is strange."
"thou hast said there is neither black nor white.
why plague me with this talk, holy one?
let me rub the other foot.
it vexes me.
i am not a sahib.
i am thy chela, and my head is heavy on my shoulders."
"patience a little!
we reach freedom together.
then thou and i, upon the far bank of the river, will look back upon our lives as in the hills we saw our days" marches laid out behind us.
perhaps i was once a sahib."
"was never a sahib like thee, i swear it.'"
i am certain the keeper of the images in the wonder house was in past life a very wise abbot.
but even his spectacles do not make my eyes see.
there fall shadows when i would look steadily.
no matter -- we know the tricks of the poor stupid carcass -- shadow changing to another shadow.
i am bound by the illusion of time and space.
how far came we today in the flesh?"
"perhaps half a koss."
-lrb- three quarters of a mile, and it was a weary march. -rrb-
"half a koss.
ha!
i went ten thousand thousand in the spirit.
how, we are all lapped and swathed and swaddled in these senseless things."
he looked at his thin blue-veined hand that found the beads so heavy.
"chela, hast thou never a wish to leave me?"
kim thought of the oilskin packet and the books in the food-bag.
if someone duly authorized would only take delivery of them the great game might play itself for aught he then cared.
he was tired and hot in his head, and a cough that came from the stomach worried him.
"no."
he said almost sternly."
i am not a dog or a snake to bite when i have learned to love."
"thou art too tender towards me."
"not that either.
i have moved in one matter without consulting thee.
i have sent a message to the kulu woman by that woman who gave us the goat's milk this morn, saying that thou wast a little feeble and wouldst need a litter.
i beat myself in my mind that i did not do it when we entered the doon.
we stay in this place till the litter returns.'"
i am content.
she is a woman with a heart of gold, as thou sayest, but a talker -- something of a talker."
"she will not weary thee.
i have looked to that also.
holy one, my heart is very heavy for my many carelessnesses towards thee."
an hysterical catch rose in his throat."
i have walked thee too far: i have not picked good food always for thee; i have not considered the heat; i have talked to people on the road and left thee alone... i have -- i have... hai mai!
but i love thee... and it is all too late... i was a child... oh, why was i not a man?
..." overborne by strain, fatigue, and the weight beyond his years, kim broke down and sobbed at the lama's feet.
"what a to-do is here!"
said the old man gently.
"thou hast never stepped a hair's breadth from the way of obedience.
neglect me?
child, i have lived on thy strength as an old tree lives on the lime of a new wall.
day by day, since shamlegh down, i have stolen strength from thee.
therefore, not through any sin of thine, art thou weakened.
it is the body -- the silly, stupid body -- that speaks now.
not the assured soul.
be comforted!
know at least the devils that thou fightest.
they are earth-born -- children of illusion.
we will go to the woman from kulu.
she shall acquire merit in housing us, and specially in tending me.
thou shalt run free till strength returns.
i had forgotten the stupid body.
if there be any blame, i bear it.
but we are too close to the gates of deliverance to weigh blame.
i could praise thee, but what need?
in a little -- in a very little -- we shall sit beyond all needs."
and so he petted and comforted kim with wise saws and grave texts on that little-understood beast, our body, who, being but a delusion, insists on posing as the soul, to the darkening of the way, and the immense multiplication of unnecessary devils.
"hai!
hai!
let us talk of the woman from kulu.
think you she will ask another charm for her grandsons?
when i was a young man, a very long time ago, i was plagued with these vapours -- and some others -- and i went to an abbot -- a very holy man and a seeker after truth, though then i knew it not.
sit up and listen, child of my soul!
my tale was told.
said he to me, "chela, know this.
there are many lies in the world, and not a few liars, but there are no liars like our bodies, except it be the sensations of our bodies."
considering this i was comforted, and of his great favour he suffered me to drink tea in his presence.
suffer me now to drink tea, for i am thirsty."
with a laugh across his tears, kim kissed the lama's feet, and set about the tea-making.
"thou leanest on me in the body, holy one, but i lean on thee for some other things.
dost know it?'"
i have guessed maybe," and the lama's eyes twinkled.
"we must change that."
so, when with scufflings and scrapings and a hot air of importance, paddled up nothing less than the sahiba's pet palanquin sent twenty miles, with that same grizzled old oorya servant in charge, and when they reached the disorderly order of the long white rambling house behind saharunpore, the lama took his own measures.
said the sahiba cheerily from an upper window, after compliments: "what is the good of an old woman's advice to an old man?
i told thee -- i told thee, holy one, to keep an eye upon the chela.
how didst thou do it?
never answer me!
i know.
he has been running among the women.
look at his eyes -- hollow and sunk -- and the betraying line from the nose down!
he has been sifted out!
fie!
fie!
and a priest, too!"
kim looked up, over-weary to smile, shaking his head in denial.
"do not jest," said the lama.
"that time is done.
we are here upon great matters.
a sickness of soul took me in the hills, and him a sickness of the body.
since then i have lived upon his strength -- eating him."
"children together -- young and old," she sniffed, but forbore to make any new jokes.
"may this present hospitality restore ye!
hold awhile and i will come to gossip of the high good hills."
at evening time -- her son-in-law was returned, so she did not need to go on inspection round the farm -- she won to the meat of the matter, explained low-voicedly by the lama.
the two old heads nodded wisely together.
kim had reeled to a room with a cot in it, and was dozing soddenly.
the lama had forbidden him to set blankets or get food."
i know -- i know.
who but i?"
she cackled.
"we who go down to the burning-ghats clutch at the hands of those coming up from the river of life with full water-jars -- yes, brimming water-jars.
i did the boy wrong.
he lent thee his strength?
it is true that the old eat the young daily.
stands now we must restore him."
"thou hast many times acquired merit --" "my merit.
what is it?
old bag of bones making curries for men who do not ask "who cooked this?"
now if it were stored up for my grandson --" "he that had the belly-pain?"
"to think the holy one remembers that!
i must tell his mother.
it is most singular honour!
""he that had the belly-pain" -- straightway the holy one remembered.
she will be proud."
"my chela is to me as is a son to the unenlightened."
"say grandson, rather.
mothers have not the wisdom of our years.
if a child cries they say the heavens are falling.
now a grandmother is far enough separated from the pain of bearing and the pleasure of giving the breast to consider whether a cry is wickedness pure or the wind.
and since thou speakest once again of wind, when last the holy one was here, maybe i offended in pressing for charms."
"sister," said the lama, using that form of address a buddhist monk may sometimes employ towards a nun, "if charms comfort thee --" "they are better than ten thousand doctors.'"
i say, if they comfort thee, i who was abbot of such-zen, will make as many as thou mayest desire.
i have never seen thy face --" "that even the monkeys who steal our loquats count for again.
hee!
hee!"
"but as he who sleeps there said," -- he nodded at the shut door of the guest-chamber across the forecourt -- "thou hast a heart of gold... and he is in the spirit my very "grandson" to me."
"good!
i am the holy one's cow."
this was pure hinduism, but the lama never heeded."
i am old.
i have borne sons in the body.
oh, once i could please men!
now i can cure them."
he heard her armlets tinkle as though she bared arms for action."
i will take over the boy and dose him, and stuff him, and make him all whole.
hai!
hai!
we old people know something yet."
wherefore when kim, aching in every bone, opened his eyes, and would go to the cook-house to get his master's food, he found strong coercion about him, and a veiled old figure at the door, flanked by the grizzled manservant, who told him very precisely the things that he was on no account to do.
"thou must have?
thou shalt have nothing.
what?
a locked box in which to keep holy books?
oh, that is another matter.
heavens forbid i should come between a priest and his prayers!
it shall be brought, and thou shalt keep the key."
they pushed the coffer under his cot, and kim shut away mahbub's pistol, the oilskin packet of letters, and the locked books and diaries, with a groan of relief.
for some absurd reason their weight on his shoulders was nothing to their weight on his poor mind.
his neck ached under it of nights.
"thine is a sickness uncommon in youth these days: since young folk have given up tending their betters.
the remedy is sleep, and certain drugs," said the sahiba; and he was glad to give himself up to the blankness that half menaced and half soothed him.
she brewed drinks, in some mysterious asiatic equivalent to the still-room -- drenches that smelt pestilently and tasted worse.
she stood over kim till they went down, and inquired exhaustively after they had come up.
she laid a taboo upon the forecourt, and enforced it by means of an armed man.
it is true he was seventy odd, that his scabbarded sword ceased at the hilt; but he represented the authority of the sahiba, and loaded wains, chattering servants, calves, dogs, hens, and the like, fetched a wide compass by those parts.
best of all, when the body was cleared, she cut out from the mass of poor relations that crowded the back of the buildings -- house-hold dogs, we name them -- a cousin's widow, skilled in what europeans, who know nothing about it, call massage.
and the two of them, laying him east and west, that the mysterious earth-currents which thrill the clay of our bodies might help and not hinder, took him to pieces all one long afternoon -- bone by bone, muscle by muscle, ligament by ligament, and lastly, nerve by nerve.
kneaded to irresponsible pulp, half hypnotized by the perpetual flick and readjustment of the uneasy chudders that veiled their eyes, kim slid ten thousand miles into slumber -- thirty-six hours of it -- sleep that soaked like rain after drought.
then she fed him, and the house spun to her clamour.
she caused fowls to be slain; she sent for vegetables, and the sober, slow-thinking gardener, nigh as old as she, sweated for it; she took spices, and milk, and onion, with little fish from the brooks -- anon limes for sherbets, fat quails from the pits, then chicken-livers upon a skewer, with sliced ginger between."
i have seen something of this world," she said over the crowded trays, "and there are but two sorts of women in it -- those who take the strength out of a man and those who put it back.
once i was that one, and now i am this.
nay -- do not play the priestling with me.
mine was but a jest.
if it does not hold good now, it will when thou takest the road again.
cousin," -- this to the poor relation, never wearied of extolling her patroness's charity -- "he is getting a bloom on the skin of a new-curried horse.
our work is like polishing jewels to be thrown to a dance-girl -- eh?"
kim sat up and smiled.
the terrible weakness had dropped from him like an old shoe.
his tongue itched for free speech again, and but a week back the lightest word clogged it like ashes.
the pain in his neck -lrb- he must have caught it from the lama -rrb- had gone with the heavy dengue-aches and the evil taste in the mouth.
the two old women, a little, but not much, more careful about their veils now, clucked as merrily as the hens that had entered pecking through the open door.
"where is my holy one?"
he demanded.
"hear him!
thy holy one is well," she snapped viciously.
"though that is none of his merit.
knew i a charm to make him wise, i'd sell my jewels and buy it.
to refuse good food that i cooked myself -- and go roving into the fields for two nights on an empty belly -- and to tumble into a brook at the end of it -- call you that holiness?
then, when he has nearly broken what thou hast left of my heart with anxiety, he tells me that he has acquired merit.
oh, how like are all men!
no, that was not it -- he tells me that he is freed from all sin.
i could have told him that before he wetted himself all over.
he is well now -- this happened a week ago -- but burn me such holiness!
a babe of three would do better.
do not fret thyself for the holy one.
he keeps both eyes on thee when he is not wading our brooks.'"
i do not remember to have seen him.
i remember that the days and nights passed like bars of white and black, opening and shutting.
i was not sick: i was but tired.'"
a lethargy that comes by right some few score years later.
but it is done now."
"maharanee," kim began, but led by the look in her eye, changed it to the title of plain love -- "mother, i owe my life to thee.
how shall i make thanks?
ten thousand blessings upon thy house and --" "the house be unblessed!"
-lrb- it is impossible to give exactly the old lady's word. -rrb-
"thank the gods as a priest if thou wilt, but thank me, if thou carest, as a son.
heavens above!
have i shifted thee and lifted thee and slapped and twisted thy ten toes to find texts flung at my head?
somewhere a mother must have borne thee to break her heart.
what used thou to her -- son?'"
i had no mother, my mother," said kim.
"she died, they tell me, when i was young."
"hai mai!
then none can say i have robbed her of any right if -- when thou takest the road again and this house is but one of a thousand used for shelter and forgotten, after an easy-flung blessing.
no matter.
i need no blessings, but -- but --" she stamped her foot at the poor relation.
"take up the trays to the house.
what is the good of stale food in the room, o woman of ill-omen?'"
i ha -- have borne a son in my time too, but he died," whimpered the bowed sister-figure behind the chudder.
"thou knowest he died!
i only waited for the order to take away the tray."
"it is i that am the woman of ill-omen," cried the old lady penitently.
"we that go down to the chattris -lsb- the big umbrellas above the burning-ghats where the priests take their last dues -rsb- clutch hard at the bearers of the chattis -lsb- water-jars -- young folk full of the pride of life, she meant; but the pun is clumsy -rsb-.
when one can not dance in the festival one must e "en look out of the window, and grandmothering takes all a woman's time.
thy master gives me all the charms i now desire for my daughter's eldest, by reason -- is it?
-- that he is wholly free from sin.
the hakim is brought very low these days.
he goes about poisoning my servants for lack of their betters."
"what hakim, mother?"
"that very dacca man who gave me the pill which rent me in three pieces.
he cast up like a strayed camel a week ago, vowing that he and thou had been blood-brothers together up kulu-way, and feigning great anxiety for thy health.
he was very thin and hungry, so i gave orders to have him stuffed too -- him and his anxiety!'"
i would see him if he is here."
"he eats five times a day, and lances boils for my hinds to save himself from an apoplexy.
he is so full of anxiety for thy health that he sticks to the cook-house door and stays himself with scraps.
he will keep.
we shall never get rid of him."
"send him here, mother" -- the twinkle returned to kim's eye for a flash -- "and i will try."
"i'll send him, but to chase him off is an ill turn.
at least he had the sense to fish the holy one out of the brook; thus, as the holy one did not say, acquiring merit."
"he is a very wise hakim.
send him, mother."
"priest praising priest?
a miracle!
if he is any friend of thine -lrb- ye squabbled at your last meeting -rrb- i'll hale him here with horse-ropes and -- and give him a caste-dinner afterwards, my son... get up and see the world!
this lying abed is the mother of seventy devils... my son!
my son!"
she trotted forth to raise a typhoon off the cook-house, and almost on her shadow rolled in the babu, robed as to the shoulders like a roman emperor, jowled like titus, bare-headed, with new patent-leather shoes, in highest condition of fat, exuding joy and salutations.
"by jove, mister o'hara, but i are jolly-glad to see you.
i will kindly shut the door.
it is a pity you are sick.
are you very sick?"
"the papers -- the papers from the kilta.
the maps and the murasla!"
he held out the key impatiently; for the present need on his soul was to get rid of the loot.
"you are quite right.
that is correct departmental view to take.
you have got everything?"
"all that was handwritten in the kilta i took.
the rest i threw down the hill."
he could hear the key's grate in the lock, the sticky pull of the slow-rending oilskin, and a quick shuffling of papers.
he had been annoyed out of all reason by the knowledge that they lay below him through the sick idle days -- a burden incommunicable.
for that reason the blood tingled through his body, when hurree, skipping elephantinely, shook hands again.
"this is fine!
this is finest!
mister o'hara!
you have -- ha!
ha!
swiped the whole bag of tricks -- locks, stocks, and barrels.
they told me it was eight months" work gone up the spouts!
by jove, how they beat me!
... look, here is the letter from hilas!"
he intoned a line or two of court persian, which is the language of authorized and unauthorized diplomacy.
"mister rajah sahib has just about put his foot in the holes.
he will have to explain offeecially how the deuce-an" - all he is writing love-letters to the czar.
and they are very clever maps... and there is three or four prime ministers of these parts implicated by the correspondence.
by gad, sar!
the british government will change the succession in hilas and bunar, and nominate new heirs to the throne.
""trea-son most base"... but you do not understand?
eh?"
"are they in thy hands?"
said kim.
it was all he cared for.
"just you jolly-well bet yourself they are."
he stowed the entire trove about his body, as only orientals can.
"they are going up to the office, too.
the old lady thinks i am permanent fixture here, but i shall go away with these straight off -- immediately.
mr lurgan will be proud man.
you are offeecially subordinate to me, but i shall embody your name in my verbal report.
it is a pity we are not allowed written reports.
we bengalis excel in thee exact science."
he tossed back the key and showed the box empty.
"good.
that is good.
i was very tired.
my holy one was sick, too.
and did he fall into --" "oah yess.
i am his good friend, i tell you.
he was behaving very strange when i came down after you, and i thought perhaps he might have the papers.
i followed him on his meditations, and to discuss ethnological points also.
you see, i am verree small person here nowadays, in comparison with all his charms.
by jove, o'hara, do you know, he is afflicted with infirmity of fits.
yess, i tell you.
cataleptic, too, if not also epileptic.
i found him in such a state under a tree in articulo mortem, and he jumped up and walked into a brook and he was nearly drowned but for me.
i pulled him out."
"because i was not there!"
said kim.
"he might have died."
"yes, he might have died, but he is dry now, and asserts he has undergone transfiguration."
the babu tapped his forehead knowingly."
i took notes of his statements for royal society -- in posse.
you must make haste and be quite well and come back to simla, and i will tell you all my tale at lurgan's.
it was splendid.
the bottoms of their trousers were quite torn, and old nahan rajah, he thought they were european soldiers deserting."
"oh, the russians?
how long were they with thee?"
"one was a frenchman.
oh, days and days and days!
now all the hill-people believe all russians are all beggars.
by jove!
they had not one dam" - thing that i did not get them.
and i told the common people -- oah, such tales and anecdotes!
-- i will tell you at old lurgan's when you come up.
we will have -- ah -- a night out!
it is feather in both our caps!
yess, and they gave me a certificate.
that is creaming joke.
you should have seen them at the alliance bank identifying themselves!
and thank almighty god you got their papers so well!
you do not laugh verree much, but you shall laugh when you are well.
now i will go straight to the railway and get out.
you shall have all sorts of credits for your game.
when do you come along?
we are very proud of you though you gave us great frights.
and especially mahbub."
"ay, mahbub.
and where is he?"
"selling horses in this vi-cinity, of course."
"here!
why?
speak slowly.
there is a thickness in my head still."
the babu looked shyly down his nose.
"well, you see, i am fearful man, and i do not like responsibility.
you were sick, you see, and i did not know where deuce-an" - all the papers were, and if so, how many.
so when i had come down here i slipped in private wire to mahbub -- he was at meerut for races -- and i tell him how case stands.
he comes up with his men and he consorts with the lama, and then he calls me a fool, and is very rude --" "but wherefore -- wherefore?"
"that is what i ask.
i only suggest that if anyone steals the papers i should like some good strong, brave men to rob them back again.
you see, they are vitally important, and mahbub ali he did not know where you were."
"mahbub ali to rob the sahiba's house?
thou art mad, babu," said kim with indignation."
i wanted the papers.
suppose she had stole them?
it was only practical suggestion, i think.
you are not pleased, eh?"
a native proverb -- unquotable -- showed the blackness of kim's disapproval.
"well," -- hurree shrugged his shoulders -- "there is no accounting for thee taste.
mahbub was angry too.
he has sold horses all about here, and he says old lady is pukka -lsb- thorough -rsb- old lady and would not condescend to such ungentlemanly things.
i do not care.
i have got the papers, and i was very glad of moral support from mahbub.
i tell you, i am fearful man, but, somehow or other, the more fearful i am the more dam" - tight places i get into.
so i was glad you came with me to chini, and i am glad mahbub was close by.
the old lady she is sometimes very rude to me and my beautiful pills."
"allah be merciful!"
said kim on his elbow, rejoicing.
"what a beast of wonder is a babu!
and that man walked alone -- if he did walk -- with robbed and angry foreigners!"
"oah, thatt was nothing, after they had done beating me; but if i lost the papers it was pretty-jolly serious.
mahbub he nearly beat me too, and he went and consorted with the lama no end.
i shall stick to ethnological investigations henceforwards.
now good-bye, mister o'hara.
i can catch 4.25 p.m. to umballa if i am quick.
it will be good times when we all tell thee tale up at mr lurgan's.
i shall report you offeecially better.
good-bye, my dear fallow, and when next you are under thee emotions please do not use the mohammedan terms with the tibetan dress."
he shook hands twice -- a babu to his boot-heels -- and opened the door.
with the fall of the sunlight upon his still triumphant face he returned to the humble dacca quack.
"he robbed them," thought kim, forgetting his own share in the game.
"he tricked them.
he lied to them like a bengali.
they give him a chit -lsb- a testimonial -rsb-.
he makes them a mock at the risk of his life -- i never would have gone down to them after the pistol-shots -- and then he says he is a fearful man... and he is a fearful man.
i must get into the world again."
at first his legs bent like bad pipe-stems, and the flood and rush of the sunlit air dazzled him.
he squatted by the white wall, the mind rummaging among the incidents of the long dooli journey, the lama's weaknesses, and, now that the stimulus of talk was removed, his own self-pity, of which, like the sick, he had great store.
the unnerved brain edged away from all the outside, as a raw horse, once rowelled, sidles from the spur.
it was enough, amply enough, that the spoil of the kilta was away -- off his hands -- out of his possession.
he tried to think of the lama -- to wonder why he had tumbled into a brook -- but the bigness of the world, seen between the forecourt gates, swept linked thought aside.
then he looked upon the trees and the broad fields, with the thatched huts hidden among crops -- looked with strange eyes unable to take up the size and proportion and use of things -- stared for a still half-hour.
all that while he felt, though he could not put it into words, that his soul was out of gear with its surroundings -- a cog-wheel unconnected with any machinery, just like the idle cog-wheel of a cheap beheea sugar-crusher laid by in a corner.
the breezes fanned over him, the parrots shrieked at him, the noises of the populated house behind -- squabbles, orders, and reproofs -- hit on dead ears."
i am kim.
i am kim.
and what is kim?"
his soul repeated it again and again.
he did not want to cry -- had never felt less like crying in his life -- but of a sudden easy, stupid tears trickled down his nose, and with an almost audible click he felt the wheels of his being lock up anew on the world without.
things that rode meaningless on the eyeball an instant before slid into proper proportion.
roads were meant to be walked upon, houses to be lived in, cattle to be driven, fields to be tilled, and men and women to be talked to.
they were all real and true -- solidly planted upon the feet -- perfectly comprehensible -- clay of his clay, neither more nor less.
he shook himself like a dog with a flea in his ear, and rambled out of the gate.
said the sahiba, to whom watchful eyes reported this move: "let him go.
i have done my share.
mother earth must do the rest.
when the holy one comes back from meditation, tell him."
there stood an empty bullock-cart on a little knoll half a mile away, with a young banyan tree behind -- a look-out, as it were, above some new-ploughed levels; and his eyelids, bathed in soft air, grew heavy as he neared it.
the ground was good clean dust -- no new herbage that, living, is half-way to death already, but the hopeful dust that holds the seeds of all life.
he felt it between his toes, patted it with his palms, and joint by joint, sighing luxuriously, laid him down full length along in the shadow of the wooden-pinned cart.
and mother earth was as faithful as the sahiba.
she breathed through him to restore the poise he had lost lying so long on a cot cut off from her good currents.
his head lay powerless upon her breast, and his opened hands surrendered to her strength.
the many-rooted tree above him, and even the dead manhandled wood beside, knew what he sought, as he himself did not know.
hour upon hour he lay deeper than sleep.
towards evening, when the dust of returning kine made all the horizons smoke, came the lama and mahbub ali, both afoot, walking cautiously, for the house had told them where he had gone.
"allah!
what a fool's trick to play in open country!"
muttered the horse-dealer.
"he could be shot a hundred times -- but this is not the border."
"and," said the lama, repeating a many-times-told tale, "never was such a chela.
temperate, kindly, wise, of ungrudging disposition, a merry heart upon the road, never forgetting, learned, truthful, courteous.
great is his reward!'"
i know the boy -- as i have said."
"and he was all those things?"
"some of them -- but i have not yet found a red hat's charm for making him overly truthful.
he has certainly been well nursed."
"the sahiba is a heart of gold," said the lama earnestly.
"she looks upon him as her son."
"hmph!
half hind seems that way disposed.
i only wished to see that the boy had come to no harm and was a free agent.
as thou knowest, he and i were old friends in the first days of your pilgrimage together."
"that is a bond between us."
the lama sat down.
"we are at the end of the pilgrimage."
"no thanks to thee thine was not cut off for good and all a week back.
i heard what the sahiba said to thee when we bore thee up on the cot."
mahbub laughed, and tugged his newly dyed beard."
i was meditating upon other matters that tide.
it was the hakim from dacca broke my meditations."
"otherwise" -- this was in pushtu for decency's sake -- "thou wouldst have ended thy meditations upon the sultry side of hell -- being an unbeliever and an idolater for all thy child's simplicity.
but now, red hat, what is to be done?"
"this very night," -- the words came slowly, vibrating with triumph -- "this very night he will be as free as i am from all taint of sin -- assured as i am, when he quits this body, of freedom from the wheel of things.
i have a sign" -- he laid his hand above the torn chart in his bosom -- "that my time is short; but i shall have safeguarded him throughout the years.
remember, i have reached knowledge, as i told thee only three nights back."
"it must be true, as the tirah priest said when i stole his cousin's wife, that i am a sufi -lsb- a free-thinker -rsb-; for here i sit," said mahbub to himself, "drinking in blasphemy unthinkable... i remember the tale.
on that, then, he goes to fannatu l'adn -lsb- the gardens of eden -rsb-.
but how?
wilt thou slay him or drown him in that wonderful river from which the babu dragged thee?'"
i was dragged from no river," said the lama simply.
"thou hast forgotten what befell.
i found it by knowledge."
"oh, ay.
true," stammered mahbub, divided between high indignation and enormous mirth."
i had forgotten the exact run of what happened.
thou didst find it knowingly."
"and to say that i would take life is -- not a sin, but a madness simple.
my chela aided me to the river.
it is his right to be cleansed from sin -- with me."
"ay, he needs cleansing.
but afterwards, old man -- afterwards?"
"what matter under all the heavens?
he is sure of nibban -- enlightened -- as i am."
"well said.
i had a fear he might mount mohammed's horse and fly away."
"nay -- he must go forth as a teacher."
"aha!
now i see!
that is the right gait for the colt.
certainly he must go forth as a teacher.
he is somewhat urgently needed as a scribe by the state, for instance."
"to that end he was prepared.
i acquired merit in that i gave alms for his sake.
a good deed does not die.
he aided me in my search.
i aided him in his.
just is the wheel, o horse-seller from the north.
let him be a teacher; let him be a scribe -- what matter?
he will have attained freedom at the end.
the rest is illusion."
"what matter?
when i must have him with me beyond balkh in six months!
i come up with ten lame horses and three strong-backed men -- thanks to that chicken of a babu -- to break a sick boy by force out of an old trot's house.
it seems that i stand by while a young sahib is hoisted into allah knows what of an idolater's heaven by means of old red hat.
and i am reckoned something of a player of the game myself!
but the madman is fond of the boy; and i must be very reasonably mad too."
"what is the prayer?"
said the lama, as the rough pushtu rumbled into the red beard.
"no matter at all; but now i understand that the boy, sure of paradise, can yet enter government service, my mind is easier.
i must get to my horses.
it grows dark.
do not wake him.
i have no wish to hear him call thee master."
"but he is my disciple.
what else?"
"he has told me."
mahbub choked down his touch of spleen and rose laughing."
i am not altogether of thy faith, red hat -- if so small a matter concern thee."
"it is nothing," said the lama."
i thought not.
therefore it will not move thee, sinless, new-washed and three parts drowned to boot, when i call thee a good man -- a very good man.
we have talked together some four or five evenings now, and for all i am a horse-coper i can still, as the saying is, see holiness beyond the legs of a horse.
yea, can see, too, how our friend of all the world put his hand in thine at the first.
use him well, and suffer him to return to the world as a teacher, when thou hast -- bathed his legs, if that be the proper medicine for the colt."
"why not follow the way thyself, and so accompany the boy?"
mahbub stared stupefied at the magnificent insolence of the demand, which across the border he would have paid with more than a blow.
then the humour of it touched his worldly soul.
"softly -- softly -- one foot at a time, as the lame gelding went over the umballa jumps.
i may come to paradise later -- i have workings that way -- great motions -- and i owe them to thy simplicity.
thou hast never lied?"
"what need?'"
o allah, hear him!
""what need" in this thy world!
nor ever harmed a man?"
"once -- with a pencase -- before i was wise."
"so?
i think the better of thee.
thy teachings are good.
thou hast turned one man that i know from the path of strife."
he laughed immensely.
"he came here open-minded to commit a dacoity -lsb- a house-robbery with violence -rsb-.
yes, to cut, rob, kill, and carry off what he desired.'"
a great foolishness!"
"oh!
black shame too.
so he thought after he had seen thee -- and a few others, male and female.
so he abandoned it; and now he goes to beat a big fat babu man.'"
i do not understand."
"allah forbid it!
some men are strong in knowledge, red hat.
thy strength is stronger still.
keep it -- i think thou wilt.
if the boy be not a good servant, pull his ears off."
with a hitch of his broad bokhariot belt the pathan swaggered off into the gloaming, and the lama came down from his clouds so far as to look at the broad back.
"that person lacks courtesy, and is deceived by the shadow of appearances.
but he spoke well of my chela, who now enters upon his reward.
let me make the prayer!
... wake, o fortunate above all born of women.
wake!
it is found!"
kim came up from those deep wells, and the lama attended his yawning pleasure; duly snapping fingers to head off evil spirits."
i have slept a hundred years.
where --?
holy one, hast thou been here long?
i went out to look for thee, but" -- he laughed drowsily --" i slept by the way.
i am all well now.
hast thou eaten?
let us go to the house.
it is many days since i tended thee.
and the sahiba fed thee well?
who shampooed thy legs?
what of the weaknesses -- the belly and the neck, and the beating in the ears?"
"gone -- all gone.
dost thou not know?'"
i know nothing, but that i have not seen thee in a monkey's age.
know what?"
"strange the knowledge did not reach out to thee, when all my thoughts were theeward.'"
i can not see the face, but the voice is like a gong.
has the sahiba made a young man of thee by her cookery?"
he peered at the cross-legged figure, outlined jet-black against the lemon-coloured drift of light.
so does the stone bodhisat sit who looks down upon the patent self-registering turnstiles of the lahore museum.
the lama held his peace.
except for the click of the rosary and a faint clop-clop of mahbub's retreating feet, the soft, smoky silence of evening in india wrapped them close.
"hear me!
i bring news."
"but let us --" out shot the long yellow hand compelling silence.
kim tucked his feet under his robe-edge obediently.
"hear me!
i bring news!
the search is finished.
comes now the reward... thus.
when we were among the hills, i lived on thy strength till the young branch bowed and nigh broke.
when we came out of the hills, i was troubled for thee and for other matters which i held in my heart.
the boat of my soul lacked direction; i could not see into the cause of things.
so i gave thee over to the virtuous woman altogether.
i took no food.
i drank no water.
still i saw not the way.
they pressed food upon me and cried at my shut door.
so i removed myself to a hollow under a tree.
i took no food.
i took no water.
i sat in meditation two days and two nights, abstracting my mind; inbreathing and outbreathing in the required manner... upon the second night -- so great was my reward -- the wise soul loosed itself from the silly body and went free.
this i have never before attained, though i have stood on the threshold of it.
consider, for it is a marvel!'"
a marvel indeed.
two days and two nights without food!
where was the sahiba?"
said kim under his breath.
"yea, my soul went free, and, wheeling like an eagle, saw indeed that there was no teshoo lama nor any other soul.
as a drop draws to water, so my soul drew near to the great soul which is beyond all things.
at that point, exalted in contemplation, i saw all hind, from ceylon in the sea to the hills, and my own painted rocks at such-zen; i saw every camp and village, to the least, where we have ever rested.
i saw them at one time and in one place; for they were within the soul.
by this i knew the soul had passed beyond the illusion of time and space and of things.
by this i knew that i was free.
i saw thee lying in thy cot, and i saw thee falling downhill under the idolater -- at one time, in one place, in my soul, which, as i say, had touched the great soul.
also i saw the stupid body of teshoo lama lying down, and the hakim from dacca kneeled beside, shouting in its ear.
then my soul was all alone, and i saw nothing, for i was all things, having reached the great soul.
and i meditated a thousand thousand years, passionless, well aware of the causes of all things.
then a voice cried: "what shall come to the boy if thou art dead?"
and i was shaken back and forth in myself with pity for thee; and i said: "i will return to my chela, lest he miss the way."
upon this my soul, which is the soul of teshoo lama, withdrew itself from the great soul with strivings and yearnings and retchings and agonies not to be told.
as the egg from the fish, as the fish from the water, as the water from the cloud, as the cloud from the thick air, so put forth, so leaped out, so drew away, so fumed up the soul of teshoo lama from the great soul.
then a voice cried: "the river!
take heed to the river!"
and i looked down upon all the world, which was as i had seen it before -- one in time, one in place -- and i saw plainly the river of the arrow at my feet.
at that hour my soul was hampered by some evil or other whereof i was not wholly cleansed, and it lay upon my arms and coiled round my waist; but i put it aside, and i cast forth as an eagle in my flight for the very place of the river.
i pushed aside world upon world for thy sake.
i saw the river below me -- the river of the arrow -- and, descending, the waters of it closed over me; and behold i was again in the body of teshoo lama, but free from sin, and the hakim from decca bore up my head in the waters of the river.
it is here!
it is behind the mango-tope here -- even here!"
"allah kerim!
oh, well that the babu was by!
wast thou very wet?"
"why should i regard?
i remember the hakim was concerned for the body of teshoo lama.
he haled it out of the holy water in his hands, and there came afterwards thy horse-seller from the north with a cot and men, and they put the body on the cot and bore it up to the sahiba's house."
"what said the sahiba?'"
i was meditating in that body, and did not hear.
so thus the search is ended.
for the merit that i have acquired, the river of the arrow is here.
it broke forth at our feet, as i have said.
i have found it.
son of my soul, i have wrenched my soul back from the threshold of freedom to free thee from all sin -- as i am free, and sinless!
just is the wheel!
certain is our deliverance!
come!"
_book_title_: rudyard_kipling___puck_of_pook's_hill.txt.out
weland's sword puck's song see you the dimpled track that runs, all hollow through the wheat?
o that was where they hauled the guns that smote king philip's fleet!
see you our little mill that clacks, so busy by the brook?
she has ground her corn and paid her tax ever since domesday book.
see you our stilly woods of oak, and the dread ditch beside?
o that was where the saxons broke, on the day that harold died!
see you the windy levels spread about the gates of rye?
o that was where the northmen fled, when alfred's ships came by!
see you our pastures wide and lone, where the red oxen browse?
o there was a city thronged and known, ere london boasted a house!
and see you, after rain, the trace of mound and ditch and wall?
o that was a legion's camping-place, when cæsar sailed from gaul!
and see you marks that show and fade, like shadows on the downs?
o they are the lines the flint men made, to guard their wondrous towns!
trackway and camp and city lost, salt marsh where now is corn; old wars, old peace, old arts that cease, and so was england born!
she is not any common earth, water or wood or air, but merlin's isle of gramarye, where you and i will fare.
the children were at the theatre, acting to three cows as much as they could remember of midsummer night's dream.
their father had made them a small play out of the big shakespeare one, and they had rehearsed it with him and with their mother till they could say it by heart.
they began when nick bottom the weaver comes out of the bushes with a donkey's head on his shoulders, and finds titania, queen of the fairies, asleep.
then they skipped to the part where bottom asks three little fairies to scratch his head and bring him honey, and they ended where he falls asleep in titania's arms.
dan was puck and nick bottom, as well as all three fairies.
he wore a pointy-eared cloth cap for puck, and a paper donkey's head out of a christmas cracker -- but it tore if you were not careful -- for bottom.
una was titania, with a wreath of columbines and a foxglove wand.
the theatre lay in a meadow called the long slip.
a little mill-stream, carrying water to a mill two or three fields away, bent round one corner of it, and in the middle of the bend lay a large old fairy ring of darkened grass, which was the stage.
the millstream banks, overgrown with willow, hazel, and guelder-rose, made convenient places to wait in till your turn came; and a grown-up who had seen it said that shakespeare himself could not have imagined a more suitable setting for his play.
they were not, of course, allowed to act on midsummer night itself, but they went down after tea on midsummer eve, when the shadows were growing, and they took their supper -- hard-boiled eggs, bath oliver biscuits, and salt in an envelope -- with them.
three cows had been milked and were grazing steadily with a tearing noise that one could hear all down the meadow; and the noise of the mill at work sounded like bare feet running on hard ground.
a cuckoo sat on a gate-post singing his broken june tune, "cuckoo-cuk", while a busy kingfisher crossed from the mill-stream, to the brook which ran on the other side of the meadow.
everything else was a sort of thick, sleepy stillness smelling of meadow-sweet and dry grass.
their play went beautifully.
dan remembered all his parts -- puck, bottom, and the three fairies -- and una never forgot a word of titania -- not even the difficult piece where she tells the fairies how to feed bottom with "apricocks, green figs, and dewberries", and all the lines end in "ies".
they were both so pleased that they acted it three times over from beginning to end before they sat down in the unthistly centre of the ring to eat eggs and bath olivers.
this was when they heard a whistle among the alders on the bank, and they jumped.
the bushes parted.
in the very spot where dan had stood as puck they saw a small, brown, broad-shouldered, pointy-eared person with a snub nose, slanting blue eyes, and a grin that ran right across his freckled face.
he shaded his forehead as though he were watching quince, snout, bottom, and the others rehearsing pyramus and thisbe, and, in a voice as deep as three cows asking to be milked, he began: "what hempen homespuns have we swaggering here, so near the cradle of our fairy queen?"
he stopped, hollowed one hand round his ear, and, with a wicked twinkle in his eye, went on: "what, a play toward?
i'll be auditor; an actor, too, perhaps, if i see cause."
the children looked and gasped.
the small thing -- he was no taller than dan's shoulder -- stepped quietly into the ring.
"i'm rather out of practice," said he; "but that's the way my part ought to be played."
still the children stared at him -- from his dark-blue cap, like a big columbine flower, to his bare, hairy feet.
at last he laughed.
"please do n't look like that.
it is n't my fault.
what else could you expect?"
he said.
"we did n't expect any one," dan answered, slowly.
"this is our field."
"is it?"
said their visitor, sitting down.
"then what on human earth made you act midsummer night's dream three times over, on midsummer eve, in the middle of a ring, and under -- right under one of my oldest hills in old england?
pook's hill -- puck's hill -- puck's hill -- pook's hill!
it's as plain as the nose on my face."
he pointed to the bare, fern-covered slope of pook's hill that runs up from the far side of the mill-stream to a dark wood.
beyond that wood the ground rises and rises for five hundred feet, till at last you climb out on the bare top of beacon hill, to look over the pevensey levels and the channel and half the naked south downs.
"by oak, ash, and thorn!"
he cried, still laughing.
"if this had happened a few hundred years ago you'd have had all the people of the hills out like bees in june!"
"we did n't know it was wrong," said dan.
"wrong!"
the little fellow shook with laughter.
"indeed, it is n't wrong.
you've done something that kings and knights and scholars in old days would have given their crowns and spurs and books to find out.
if merlin himself had helped you, you could n't have managed better!
you've broken the hills -- you've broken the hills!
it has n't happened in a thousand years."
"we -- we did n't mean to," said una.
"of course you did n't!
that's just why you did it.
unluckily the hills are empty now, and all the people of the hills are gone.
i'm the only one left.
i'm puck, the oldest old thing in england, very much at your service if -- if you care to have anything to do with me.
if you do n't, of course you've only to say so, and i'll go."
he looked at the children, and the children looked at him for quite half a minute.
his eyes did not twinkle any more.
they were very kind, and there was the beginning of a good smile on his lips.
una put out her hand.
"do n't go," she said.
"we like you."
"have a bath oliver," said dan, and he passed over the squashy envelope with the eggs.
"by oak, ash and thorn," cried puck, taking off his blue cap," i like you too.
sprinkle a plenty salt on the biscuit, dan, and i'll eat it with you.
that'll show you the sort of person i am.
some of us" -- he went on, with his mouth full -- "could n't abide salt, or horse-shoes over a door, or mountain-ash berries, or running water, or cold iron, or the sound of church bells.
but i'm puck!"
he brushed the crumbs carefully from his doublet and shook hands.
"we always said, dan and i," una stammered, "that if it ever happened we'd know ex-actly what to do; but -- but now it seems all different somehow."
"she means meeting a fairy," said dan."
i never believed in'em -- not after i was six, anyhow.'"
i did," said una.
"at least, i sort of half believed till we learned "farewell rewards".
do you know "farewell rewards and fairies"?"
"do you mean this?"
said puck.
he threw his big head back and began at the second line: "good housewives now may say, for now foul sluts in dairies do fare as well as they; and though they sweep their hearths no less -lrb- "join in, una!" -rrb-
than maids were wont to do, yet who of late for cleanliness finds sixpence in her shoe?"
the echoes flapped all along the flat meadow.
"of course i know it," he said.
"and then there's the verse about the rings," said dan.
"when i was little it always made me feel unhappy in my inside.'"
""witness those rings and roundelays", do you mean?"
boomed puck, with a voice like a great church organ.
"of theirs which yet remain, were footed in queen mary's days on many a grassy plain, but since of late elizabeth, and, later, james came in, are never seen on any heath as when the time hath been."
"it's some time since i heard that sung, but there's no good beating about the bush: it's true.
the people of the hills have all left.
i saw them come into old england and i saw them go.
giants, trolls, kelpies, brownies, goblins, imps; wood, tree, mound, and water spirits; heath-people, hill-watchers, treasure-guards, good people, little people, pishogues, leprechauns, night-riders, pixies, nixies, gnomes, and the rest -- gone, all gone!
i came into england with oak, ash and thorn, and when oak, ash and thorn are gone i shall go too."
dan looked round the meadow -- at una's oak by the lower gate; at the line of ash trees that overhang otter pool where the mill-stream spills over when the mill does not need it, and at the gnarled old white-thorn where three cows scratched their necks.
"it's all right," he said; and added, "i'm planting a lot of acorns this autumn too."
"then are n't you most awfully old?"
said una.
"not old -- fairly long-lived, as folk say hereabouts.
let me see -- my friends used to set my dish of cream for me o" nights when stonehenge was new.
yes, before the flint men made the dewpond under chanctonbury ring."
una clasped her hands, cried "oh!"
and nodded her head.
"she's thought a plan," dan explained.
"she always does like that when she thinks a plan.'"
i was thinking -- suppose we saved some of our porridge and put it in the attic for you?
they'd notice if we left it in the nursery."
"schoolroom," said dan quickly, and una flushed, because they had made a solemn treaty that summer not to call the schoolroom the nursery any more.
"bless your heart o" gold!"
said puck.
"you'll make a fine considering wench some market-day.
i really do n't want you to put out a bowl for me; but if ever i need a bite, be sure i'll tell you."
he stretched himself at length on the dry grass, and the children stretched out beside him, their bare legs waving happily in the air.
they felt they could not be afraid of him any more than of their particular friend old hobden the hedger.
he did not bother them with grown-up questions, or laugh at the donkey's head, but lay and smiled to himself in the most sensible way.
"have you a knife on you?"
he said at last.
dan handed over his big one-bladed outdoor knife, and puck began to carve out a piece of turf from the centre of the ring.
"what's that for -- magic?"
said una, as he pressed up the square of chocolate loam that cut like so much cheese.
"one of my little magics," he answered, and cut another.
"you see, i ca n't let you into the hills because the people of the hills have gone; but if you care to take seizin from me, i may be able to show you something out of the common here on human earth.
you certainly deserve it."
"what's taking seizin?"
said dan, cautiously.
"it's an old custom the people had when they bought and sold land.
they used to cut out a clod and hand it over to the buyer, and you were n't lawfully seized of your land -- it did n't really belong to you -- till the other fellow had actually given you a piece of it -- like this."
he held out the turves.
"but it's our own meadow," said dan, drawing back.
"are you going to magic it away?"
puck laughed."
i know it's your meadow, but there's a great deal more in it than you or your father ever guessed.
try!"
he turned his eyes on una.
"i'll do it," she said.
dan followed her example at once.
"now are you two lawfully seized and possessed of all old england," began puck, in a sing-song voice.
"by right of oak, ash, and thorn are you free to come and go and look and know where i shall show or best you please.
you shall see what you shall see and you shall hear what you shall hear, though it shall have happened three thousand year; and you shall know neither doubt nor fear.
fast!
hold fast all i give you."
the children shut their eyes, but nothing happened.
"well?"
said una, disappointedly opening them."
i thought there would be dragons.'"
""though it shall have happened three thousand year,"" said puck, and counted on his fingers.
"no; i'm afraid there were no dragons three thousand years ago."
"but there has n't happened anything at all," said dan.
"wait awhile," said puck.
"you do n't grow an oak in a year -- and old england's older than twenty oaks.
let's sit down again and think.
i can do that for a century at a time."
"ah, but you're a fairy," said dan.
"have you ever heard me say that word yet?"
said puck quickly.
"no.
you talk about "the people of the hills", but you never say "fairies"," said una."
i was wondering at that.
do n't you like it?"
"how would you like to be called "mortal" or "human being" all the time?"
said puck; "or "son of adam" or "daughter of eve"?'"
i should n't like it at all," said dan.
"that's how the djinns and afrits talk in the arabian nights."
"and that's how i feel about saying -- that word that i do n't say.
besides, what you call them are made-up things the people of the hills have never heard of -- little buzzflies with butterfly wings and gauze petticoats, and shiny stars in their hair, and a wand like a schoolteacher's cane for punishing bad boys and rewarding good ones.
i know'em!"
"we do n't mean that sort," said dan.
"we hate'em too."
"exactly," said puck.
"can you wonder that the people of the hills do n't care to be confused with that painty-winged, wand-waving, sugar-and-shake-your-head set of impostors?
butterfly wings, indeed!
i've seen sir huon and a troop of his people setting off from tintagel castle for hy-brasil in the teeth of a sou" - westerly gale, with the spray flying all over the castle, and the horses of the hills wild with fright.
out they'd go in a lull, screaming like gulls, and back they'd be driven five good miles inland before they could come head to wind again.
butterfly-wings!
it was magic -- magic as black as merlin could make it, and the whole sea was green fire and white foam with singing mermaids in it.
and the horses of the hills picked their way from one wave to another by the lightning flashes!
that was how it was in the old days!"
"splendid," said dan, but una shuddered.
"i'm glad they're gone, then; but what made the people of the hills go away?"
una asked.
"different things.
i'll tell you one of them some day -- the thing that made the biggest flit of any," said puck.
"but they did n't all flit at once.
they dropped off, one by one, through the centuries.
most of them were foreigners who could n't stand our climate.
they flitted early."
"how early?"
said dan."
a couple of thousand years or more.
the fact is they began as gods.
the phoenicians brought some over when they came to buy tin; and the gauls, and the jutes, and the danes, and the frisians, and the angles brought more when they landed.
they were always landing in those days, or being driven back to their ships, and they always brought their gods with them.
england is a bad country for gods.
now, i began as i mean to go on.
a bowl of porridge, a dish of milk, and a little quiet fun with the country folk in the lanes was enough for me then, as it is now.
i belong here, you see, and i have been mixed up with people all my days.
but most of the others insisted on being gods, and having temples, and altars, and priests, and sacrifices of their own."
"people burned in wicker baskets?"
said dan.
"like miss blake tells us about?"
"all sorts of sacrifices," said puck.
"if it was n't men, it was horses, or cattle, or pigs, or metheglin -- that's a sticky, sweet sort of beer.
i never liked it.
they were a stiff-necked, extravagant set of idols, the old things.
but what was the result?
men do n't like being sacrificed at the best of times; they do n't even like sacrificing their farm-horses.
after a while, men simply left the old things alone, and the roofs of their temples fell in, and the old things had to scuttle out and pick up a living as they could.
some of them took to hanging about trees, and hiding in graves and groaning o" nights.
if they groaned loud enough and long enough they might frighten a poor countryman into sacrificing a hen, or leaving a pound of butter for them.
i remember one goddess called belisama.
she became a common wet water-spirit somewhere in lancashire.
and there were hundreds of other friends of mine.
first they were gods.
then they were people of the hills, and then they flitted to other places because they could n't get on with the english for one reason or another.
there was only one old thing, i remember, who honestly worked for his living after he came down in the world.
he was called weland, and he was a smith to some gods.
i've forgotten their names, but he used to make them swords and spears.
i think he claimed kin with thor of the scandinavians.'"
heroes of asgard thor?"
said una.
she had been reading the book.
"perhaps," answered puck.
"none the less, when bad times came, he did n't beg or steal.
he worked; and i was lucky enough to be able to do him a good turn."
"tell us about it," said dan."
i think i like hearing of old things."
they rearranged themselves comfortably, each chewing a grass stem.
puck propped himself on one strong arm and went on: "let's think!
i met weland first on a november afternoon in a sleet storm, on pevensey level --" "pevensey?
over the hill, you mean?"
dan pointed south.
"yes; but it was all marsh in those days, right up to horsebridge and hydeneye.
i was on beacon hill -- they called it brunanburgh then -- when i saw the pale flame that burning thatch makes, and i went down to look.
some pirates -- i think they must have been peofn's men -- were burning a village on the levels, and weland's image -- a big, black wooden thing with amber beads round his neck -- lay in the bows of a black thirty-two-oar galley that they had just beached.
bitter cold it was!
there were icicles hanging from her deck and the oars were glazed over with ice, and there was ice on weland's lips.
when he saw me he began a long chant in his own tongue, telling me how he was going to rule england, and how i should smell the smoke of his altars from lincolnshire to the isle of wight.
i did n't care!
i'd seen too many gods charging into old england to be upset about it.
i let him sing himself out while his men were burning the village, and then i said -lrb- i do n't know what put it into my head -rrb-, "smith of the gods," i said, "the time comes when i shall meet you plying your trade for hire by the wayside.""
"what did weland say?"
said una.
"was he angry?"
"he called me names and rolled his eyes, and i went away to wake up the people inland.
but the pirates conquered the country, and for centuries weland was a most important god.
he had temples everywhere -- from lincolnshire to the isle of wight, as he said -- and his sacrifices were simply scandalous.
to do him justice, he preferred horses to men; but men or horses, i knew that presently he'd have to come down in the world -- like the other old things.
i gave him lots of time -- i gave him about a thousand years -- and at the end of'em i went into one of his temples near andover to see how he prospered.
there was his altar, and there was his image, and there were his priests, and there were the congregation, and everybody seemed quite happy, except weland and the priests.
in the old days the congregation were unhappy until the priests had chosen their sacrifices; and so would you have been.
when the service began a priest rushed out, dragged a man up to the altar, pretended to hit him on the head with a little gilt axe, and the man fell down and pretended to die.
then everybody shouted: "a sacrifice to weland!
a sacrifice to weland!""
"and the man was n't really dead?"
said una.
"not a bit.
all as much pretence as a dolls" tea-party.
then they brought out a splendid white horse, and the priest cut some hair from its mane and tail and burned it on the altar, shouting, "a sacrifice!"
that counted the same as if a man and a horse had been killed.
i saw poor weland's face through the smoke, and i could n't help laughing.
he looked so disgusted and so hungry, and all he had to satisfy himself was a horrid smell of burning hair.
just a dolls" tea-party!"
i judged it better not to say anything then -lrb- "twould n't have been fair -rrb-, and the next time i came to andover, a few hundred years later, weland and his temple were gone, and there was a christian bishop in a church there.
none of the people of the hills could tell me anything about him, and i supposed that he had left england."
puck turned; lay on the other elbow, and thought for a long time.
"let's see," he said at last.
"it must have been some few years later -- a year or two before the conquest, i think -- that i came back to pook's hill here, and one evening i heard old hobden talking about weland's ford."
"if you mean old hobden the hedger, he's only seventy-two.
he told me so himself," said dan.
"he's a intimate friend of ours."
"you're quite right," puck replied."
i meant old hobden's ninth great-grandfather.
he was a free man and burned charcoal hereabouts.
i've known the family, father and son, so long that i get confused sometimes.
hob of the dene was my hobden's name, and he lived at the forge cottage.
of course, i pricked up my ears when i heard weland mentioned, and i scuttled through the woods to the ford just beyond bog wood yonder."
he jerked his head westward, where the valley narrows between wooded hills and steep hop-fields.
"why, that's willingford bridge," said una.
"we go there for walks often.
there's a kingfisher there."
"it was weland's ford then, dear.
a road led down to it from the beacon on the top of the hill -- a shocking bad road it was -- and all the hillside was thick, thick oak-forest, with deer in it.
there was no trace of weland, but presently i saw a fat old farmer riding down from the beacon under the greenwood tree.
his horse had cast a shoe in the clay, and when he came to the ford he dismounted, took a penny out of his purse, laid it on a stone, tied the old horse to an oak, and called out: "smith, smith, here is work for you!"
then he sat down and went to sleep.
you can imagine how i felt when i saw a white-bearded, bent old blacksmith in a leather apron creep out from behind the oak and begin to shoe the horse.
it was weland himself.
i was so astonished that i jumped out and said: "what on human earth are you doing here, weland?""
"poor weland!"
sighed una.
"he pushed the long hair back from his forehead -lrb- he did n't recognize me at first -rrb-.
then he said:" you ought to know.
you foretold it, old thing.
i'm shoeing horses for hire.
i'm not even weland now," he said.
""they call me wayland-smith.""
"poor chap!"
said dan.
"what did you say?"
"what could i say?
he looked up, with the horse's foot on his lap, and he said, smiling, "i remember the time when i would n't have accepted this old bag of bones as a sacrifice, and now i'm glad enough to shoe him for a penny.""
""is n't there any way for you to get back to valhalla, or wherever you come from?"
i said."
""i'm afraid not," he said, rasping away at the hoof.
he had a wonderful touch with horses.
the old beast was whinnying on his shoulder.
""you may remember that i was not a gentle god in my day and my time and my power.
i shall never be released till some human being truly wishes me well.""
""surely," said i, "the farmer ca n't do less than that.
you're shoeing the horse all round for him.""
""yes," said he, "and my nails will hold a shoe from one full moon to the next.
but farmers and weald clay," said he, "are both uncommon cold and sour."
"would you believe it, that when that farmer woke and found his horse shod he rode away without one word of thanks?
i was so angry that i wheeled his horse right round and walked him back three miles to the beacon, just to teach the old sinner politeness."
"were you invisible?"
said una.
puck nodded, gravely.
"the beacon was always laid in those days ready to light, in case the french landed at pevensey; and i walked the horse about and about it that lee-long summer night.
the farmer thought he was bewitched -- well, he was, of course -- and began to pray and shout.
i did n't care!
i was as good a christian as he any fair-day in the county, and about four o'clock in the morning a young novice came along from the monastery that used to stand on the top of beacon hill."
"what's a novice?"
said dan.
"it really means a man who is beginning to be a monk, but in those days people sent their sons to a monastery just the same as a school.
this young fellow had been to a monastery in france for a few months every year, and he was finishing his studies in the monastery close to his home here.
hugh was his name, and he had got up to go fishing hereabouts.
his people owned all this valley.
hugh heard the farmer shouting, and asked him what in the world he meant.
the old man spun him a wonderful tale about fairies and goblins and witches; and i know he had n't seen a thing except rabbits and red deer all that night.
-lrb- the people of the hills are like otters -- they do n't show except when they choose. -rrb-
but the novice was n't a fool.
he looked down at the horse's feet, and saw the new shoes fastened as only weland knew how to fasten'em.
-lrb- weland had a way of turning down the nails that folks called the smith's clinch. -rrb-"
""h'm!"
said the novice.
""where did you get your horse shod?"
"the farmer would n't tell him at first, because the priests never liked their people to have any dealings with the old things.
at last he confessed that the smith had done it.
""what did you pay him?"
said the novice.
""penny," said the farmer, very sulkily.
""that's less than a christian would have charged," said the novice.
""i hope you threw a "thank you" into the bargain."
""no," said the farmer; "wayland-smith's a heathen."
""heathen or no heathen," said the novice, "you took his help, and where you get help there you must give thanks."
""what?"
said the farmer -- he was in a furious temper because i was walking the old horse in circles all this time -- "what, you young jackanapes?"
said he.
""then by your reasoning i ought to say "thank you" to satan if he helped me?"
""do n't roll about up there splitting reasons with me," said the novice.
""come back to the ford and thank the smith, or you'll be sorry."
"back the farmer had to go.
i led the horse, though no one saw me, and the novice walked beside us, his gown swishing through the shiny dew and his fishing-rod across his shoulders, spear-wise.
when we reached the ford again -- it was five o'clock and misty still under the oaks -- the farmer simply would n't say "thank you."
he said he'd tell the abbot that the novice wanted him to worship heathen gods.
then hugh the novice lost his temper.
he just cried, "out!"
put his arm under the farmer's fat leg, and heaved him from his saddle on to the turf, and before he could rise he caught him by the back of the neck and shook him like a rat till the farmer growled, "thank you, wayland-smith.""
"did weland see all this?"
said dan.
"oh yes, and he shouted his old war-cry when the farmer thudded on to the ground.
he was delighted.
then the novice turned to the oak tree and said, "ho, smith of the gods!
i am ashamed of this rude farmer; but for all you have done in kindness and charity to him and to others of our people, i thank you and wish you well."
then he picked up his fishing-rod -- it looked more like a tall spear than ever -- and tramped off down your valley."
"and what did poor weland do?"
said una.
"he laughed and he cried with joy, because he had been released at last, and could go away.
but he was an honest old thing.
he had worked for his living and he paid his debts before he left.
""i shall give that novice a gift," said weland.
""a gift that shall do him good the wide world over and old england after him.
blow up my fire, old thing, while i get the iron for my last task."
then he made a sword -- a dark-grey, wavy-lined sword -- and i blew the fire while he hammered.
by oak, ash and thorn, i tell you, weland was a smith of the gods!
he cooled that sword in running water twice, and the third time he cooled it in the evening dew, and he laid it out in the moonlight and said runes -lrb- that's charms -rrb- over it, and he carved runes of prophecy on the blade.
""old thing," he said to me, wiping his forehead, "this is the best blade that weland ever made.
even the user will never know how good it is.
come to the monastery."
"we went to the dormitory where the monks slept, we saw the novice fast asleep in his cot, and weland put the sword into his hand, and i remember the young fellow gripped it in his sleep.
then weland strode as far as he dared into the chapel and threw down all his shoeing-tools -- his hammers and pincers and rasps -- to show that he had done with them for ever.
it sounded like suits of armour falling, and the sleepy monks ran in, for they thought the monastery had been attacked by the french.
the novice came first of all, waving his new sword and shouting saxon battle-cries.
when they saw the shoeing-tools they were very bewildered, till the novice asked leave to speak, and told what he had done to the farmer, and what he had said to wayland-smith, and how, though the dormitory light was burning, he had found the wonderful rune-carved sword in his cot.
"the abbot shook his head at first, and then he laughed and said to the novice: "son hugh, it needed no sign from a heathen god to show me that you will never be a monk.
take your sword, and keep your sword, and go with your sword, and be as gentle as you are strong and courteous.
we will hang up the smith's tools before the altar," he said, "because, whatever the smith of the gods may have been, in the old days, we know that he worked honestly for his living and made gifts to mother church."
then they went to bed again, all except the novice, and he sat up in the garth playing with his sword.
then weland said to me by the stables: "farewell, old thing; you had the right of it.
you saw me come to england, and you see me go.
farewell!"
"with that he strode down the hill to the corner of the great woods -- woods corner, you call it now -- to the very place where he had first landed -- and i heard him moving through the thickets towards horsebridge for a little, and then he was gone.
that was how it happened.
i saw it."
both children drew a long breath.
"but what happened to hugh the novice?"
said una.
"and the sword?"
said dan.
puck looked down the meadow that lay all quiet and cool in the shadow of pook's hill.
a corncrake jarred in a hay-field near by, and the small trouts of the brook began to jump.
a big white moth flew unsteadily from the alders and flapped round the children's heads, and the least little haze of water-mist rose from the brook.
"do you really want to know?"
puck said.
"we do," cried the children.
"awfully!"
"very good.
i promised you that you shall see what you shall see, and you shall hear what you shall hear, though it shall have happened three thousand year; but just now it seems to me that, unless you go back to the house, people will be looking for you.
i'll walk with you as far as the gate."
"will you be here when we come again?"
they asked.
"surely, sure-ly," said puck.
"i've been here some time already.
one minute first, please."
he gave them each three leaves -- one of oak, one of ash and one of thorn.
"bite these," said he.
"otherwise you might be talking at home of what you've seen and heard, and -- if i know human beings -- they'd send for the doctor.
bite!"
they bit hard, and found themselves walking side by side to the lower gate.
their father was leaning over it.
"and how did your play go?"
he asked.
"oh, splendidly," said dan.
"only afterwards, i think, we went to sleep.
it was very hot and quiet.
do n't you remember, una?"
una shook her head and said nothing."
i see," said her father.
"late -- late in the evening kilmeny came home, for kilmeny had been she could not tell where, and kilmeny had seen what she could not declare.
but why are you chewing leaves at your time of life, daughter?
for fun?"
"no.
it was for something, but i ca n't azactly remember," said una.
and neither of them could till -- a tree song of all the trees that grow so fair, old england to adorn, greater are none beneath the sun, than oak, and ash, and thorn.
sing oak, and ash, and thorn, good sirs -lrb- all of a midsummer morn -rrb-!
surely we sing no little thing, in oak, and ash, and thorn!
oak of the clay lived many a day, or ever æneas began; ash of the loam was a lady at home, when brut was an outlaw man; thorn of the down saw new troy town -lrb- from which was london born -rrb-; witness hereby the ancientry of oak, and ash, and thorn!
yew that is old in churchyard mould, he breedeth a mighty bow; alder for shoes do wise men choose, and beech for cups also.
but when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled, and your shoes are clean outworn, back ye must speed for all that ye need, to oak and ash and thorn!
ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth till every gust be laid, to drop a limb on the head of him that anyway trusts her shade: but whether a lad be sober or sad, or mellow with ale from the horn, he will take no wrong when he lieth along "neath oak, and ash, and thorn!
oh, do not tell the priest our plight, or he would call it a sin; but -- we have been out in the woods all night, a-conjuring summer in!
and we bring you news by word of mouth -- good news for cattle and corn -- now is the sun come up from the south, with oak, and ash, and thorn!
sing oak, and ash, and thorn, good sirs -lrb- all of a midsummer morn -rrb-!
england shall bide till judgement tide, by oak and ash and thorn!
young men at the manor they were fishing, a few days later, in the bed of the brook that for centuries had cut deep into the soft valley soil.
the trees closing overhead made long tunnels through which the sunshine worked in blobs and patches.
down in the tunnels were bars of sand and gravel, old roots and trunks covered with moss or painted red by the irony water; foxgloves growing lean and pale towards the light; clumps of fern and thirsty shy flowers who could not live away from moisture and shade.
in the pools you could see the wave thrown up by the trouts as they charged hither and yon, and the pools were joined to each other -- except in flood time, when all was one brown rush -- by sheets of thin broken water that poured themselves chuckling round the darkness of the next bend.
this was one of the children's most secret hunting-grounds, and their particular friend, old hobden the hedger, had shown them how to use it.
except for the click of a rod hitting a low willow, or a switch and tussle among the young ash-leaves as a line hung up for the minute, nobody in the hot pasture could have guessed what game was going on among the trouts below the banks.
"we've got half-a-dozen," said dan, after a warm, wet hour."
i vote we go up to stone bay and try long pool."
una nodded -- most of her talk was by nods -- and they crept from the gloom of the tunnels towards the tiny weir that turns the brook into the mill-stream.
here the banks are low and bare, and the glare of the afternoon sun on the long pool below the weir makes your eyes ache.
when they were in the open they nearly fell down with astonishment.
a huge grey horse, whose tail-hairs crinkled the glassy water, was drinking in the pool, and the ripples about his muzzle flashed like melted gold.
on his back sat an old, white-haired man dressed in a loose glimmery gown of chain-mail.
he was bare-headed, and a nut-shaped iron helmet hung at his saddle-bow.
his reins were of red leather five or six inches deep, scalloped at the edges, and his high padded saddle with its red girths was held fore and aft by a red leather breastband and crupper.
"look!"
said una, as though dan were not staring his very eyes out.
"it's like the picture in your room -- "sir isumbras at the ford"."
the rider turned towards them, and his thin, long face was just as sweet and gentle as that of the knight who carries the children in that picture.
"they should be here now, sir richard," said puck's deep voice among the willow-herb.
"they are here," the knight said, and he smiled at dan with the string of trouts in his hand.
"there seems no great change in boys since mine fished this water."
"if your horse has drunk, we shall be more at ease in the ring," said puck; and he nodded to the children as though he had never magicked away their memories a week before.
the great horse turned and hoisted himself into the pasture with a kick and a scramble that tore the clods down rattling.
"your pardon!"
said sir richard to dan.
"when these lands were mine, i never loved that mounted men should cross the brook except by the paved ford.
but my swallow here was thirsty, and i wished to meet you."
"we're very glad you've come, sir," said dan.
"it does n't matter in the least about the banks."
he trotted across the pasture on the sword side of the mighty horse, and it was a mighty iron-handled sword that swung from sir richard's belt.
una walked behind with puck.
she remembered everything now.
"i'm sorry about the leaves," he said, "but it would never have done if you had gone home and told, would it?'"
i s "pose not," una answered.
"but you said that all the fair -- people of the hills had left england."
"so they have; but i told you that you should come and go and look and know, did n't i?
the knight is n't a fairy.
he's sir richard dalyngridge, a very old friend of mine.
he came over with william the conqueror, and he wants to see you particularly."
"what for?"
said una.
"on account of your great wisdom and learning," puck replied, without a twinkle.
"us?"
said una.
"why, i do n't know my nine times -- not to say it dodging, and dan makes the most awful mess of fractions.
he ca n't mean us!"
"una!"
dan called back.
"sir richard says he is going to tell what happened to weland's sword.
he's got it.
is n't it splendid?"
"nay -- nay," said sir richard, dismounting as they reached the ring, in the bend of the mill-stream bank.
"it is you that must tell me, for i hear the youngest child in our england today is as wise as our wisest clerk."
he slipped the bit out of swallow's mouth, dropped the ruby-red reins over his head, and the wise horse moved off to graze.
sir richard -lrb- they noticed he limped a little -rrb- unslung his great sword.
"that's it," dan whispered to una.
"this is the sword that brother hugh had from wayland-smith," sir richard said.
"once he gave it me, but i would not take it; but at the last it became mine after such a fight as never christened man fought.
see!"
he half drew it from its sheath and turned it before them.
on either side just below the handle, where the runic letters shivered as though they were alive, were two deep gouges in the dull, deadly steel.
"now, what thing made those?"
said he."
i know not, but you, perhaps, can say."
"tell them all the tale, sir richard," said puck.
"it concerns their land somewhat."
"yes, from the very beginning," una pleaded, for the knight's good face and the smile on it more than ever reminded her of "sir isumbras at the ford".
they settled down to listen, sir richard bare-headed to the sunshine, dandling the sword in both hands, while the grey horse cropped outside the ring, and the helmet on the saddle-bow clinged softly each time he jerked his head.
"from the beginning, then," sir richard said, "since it concerns your land, i will tell the tale.
when our duke came out of normandy to take his england, great knights -lrb- have ye heard? -rrb-
came and strove hard to serve the duke, because he promised them lands here, and small knights followed the great ones.
my folk in normandy were poor; but a great knight, engerrard of the eagle -- engenulf de aquila -- who was kin to my father, followed the earl of mortain, who followed william the duke, and i followed de aquila.
yes, with thirty men-at-arms out of my father's house and a new sword, i set out to conquer england three days after i was made knight.
i did not then know that england would conquer me.
we went up to santlache with the rest -- a very great host of us."
"does that mean the battle of hastings -- ten sixty-six?"
una whispered, and puck nodded, so as not to interrupt.
"at santlache, over the hill yonder" -- he pointed south-eastward towards fairlight -- "we found harold's men.
we fought.
at the day's end they ran.
my men went with de aquila's to chase and plunder, and in that chase engerrard of the eagle was slain, and his son gilbert took his banner and his men forward.
this i did not know till after, for swallow here was cut in the flank, so i stayed to wash the wound at a brook by a thorn.
there a single saxon cried out to me in french, and we fought together.
i should have known his voice, but we fought together.
for a long time neither had any advantage, till by pure ill-fortune his foot slipped and his sword flew from his hand.
now i had but newly been made knight, and wished, above all, to be courteous and fameworthy, so i forbore to strike and bade him get his sword again.
""a plague on my sword," said he.
""it has lost me my first fight.
you have spared my life.
take my sword."
he held it out to me, but as i stretched my hand the sword groaned like a stricken man, and i leaped back crying, "sorcery!""
-lsb- the children looked at the sword as though it might speak again. -rsb-
"suddenly a clump of saxons ran out upon me and, seeing a norman alone, would have killed me, but my saxon cried out that i was his prisoner, and beat them off.
thus, see you, he saved my life.
he put me on my horse and led me through the woods ten long miles to this valley."
"to here, d'you mean?"
said una.
"to this very valley.
we came in by the lower ford under the king's hill yonder" -- he pointed eastward where the valley widens.
"and was that saxon hugh the novice?"
dan asked.
"yes, and more than that.
he had been for three years at the monastery at bec by rouen, where" -- sir richard chuckled -- "the abbot herluin would not suffer me to remain."
"why would n't he?"
said dan.
"because i rode my horse into the refectory, when the scholars were at meat, to show the saxon boys we normans were not afraid of an abbot.
it was that very saxon hugh tempted me to do it, and we had not met since that day.
i thought i knew his voice even inside my helmet, and, for all that our lords fought, we each rejoiced we had not slain the other.
he walked by my side, and he told me how a heathen god, as he believed, had given him his sword, but he said he had never heard it sing before.
i remember i warned him to beware of sorcery and quick enchantments."
sir richard smiled to himself."
i was very young -- very young!
"when we came to his house here we had almost forgotten that we had been at blows.
it was near midnight, and the great hall was full of men and women waiting news.
there i first saw his sister, the lady ælueva, of whom he had spoken to us in france.
she cried out fiercely at me, and would have had me hanged in that hour, but her brother said that i had spared his life -- he said not how he saved mine from the saxons -- and that our duke had won the day; and even while they wrangled over my poor body, of a sudden he fell down in a swoon from his wounds."
""this is thy fault," said the lady ælueva to me, and she kneeled above him and called for wine and cloths."
""if i had known," i answered, "he should have ridden and i walked.
but he set me on my horse; he made no complaint; he walked beside me and spoke merrily throughout.
i pray i have done him no harm.""
""thou hast need to pray," she said, catching up her underlip.
""if he dies, thou shalt hang."
"they bore off hugh to his chamber; but three tall men of the house bound me and set me under the beam of the great hall with a rope round my neck.
the end of the rope they flung over the beam, and they sat them down by the fire to wait word whether hugh lived or died.
they cracked nuts with their knife-hilts the while."
"and how did you feel?"
said dan.
"very weary; but i did heartily pray for my schoolmate hugh his health.
about noon i heard horses in the valley, and the three men loosed my ropes and fled out, and de aquila's men rode up.
gilbert de aquila came with them, for it was his boast that, like his father, he forgot no man that served him.
he was little, like his father, but terrible, with a nose like an eagle's nose and yellow eyes like an eagle.
he rode tall warhorses -- roans, which he bred himself -- and he could never abide to be helped into the saddle.
he saw the rope hanging from the beam and laughed, and his men laughed, for i was too stiff to rise."
""this is poor entertainment for a norman knight," he said, "but, such as it is, let us be grateful.
show me, boy, to whom thou owest most, and we will pay them out of hand.""
"what did he mean?
to kill'em?"
said dan.
"assuredly.
but i looked at the lady ælueva where she stood among her maids, and her brother beside her.
de aquila's men had driven them all into the great hall."
"was she pretty?"
said una.
"in all my long life i have never seen woman fit to strew rushes before my lady ælueva," the knight replied, quite simply and quietly.
"as i looked at her i thought i might save her and her house by a jest."
""seeing that i came somewhat hastily and without warning," said i to de aquila, "i have no fault to find with the courtesy that these saxons have shown me."
but my voice shook.
it is -- it was not good to jest with that little man.
"all were silent awhile, till de aquila laughed.
""look, men -- a miracle," said he.
""the fight is scarce sped, my father is not yet buried, and here we find our youngest knight already set down in his manor, while his saxons -- ye can see it in their fat faces -- have paid him homage and service!
by the saints," he said, rubbing his nose, "i never thought england would be so easy won!
surely i can do no less than give the lad what he has taken.
this manor shall be thine, boy," he said, "till i come again, or till thou art slain.
now, mount, men, and ride.
we follow our duke into kent to make him king of england."
"he drew me with him to the door while they brought his horse -- a lean roan, taller than my swallow here, but not so well girthed."
""hark to me," he said, fretting with his great war-gloves.
""i have given thee this manor, which is a saxon hornets" nest, and i think thou wilt be slain in a month -- as my father was slain.
yet if thou canst keep the roof on the hall, the thatch on the barn, and the plough in the furrow till i come back, thou shalt hold the manor from me; for the duke has promised our earl mortain all the lands by pevensey, and mortain will give me of them what he would have given my father.
god knows if thou or i shall live till england is won; but remember, boy, that here and now fighting is foolishness and" -- he reached for the reins -- "craft and cunning is all.""
""alas, i have no cunning," said i." "not yet," said he, hopping abroad, foot in stirrup, and poking his horse in the belly with his toe.
""not yet, but i think thou hast a good teacher.
farewell!
hold the manor and live.
lose the manor and hang," he said, and spurred out, his shield-straps squeaking behind him.
"so, children, here was i, little more than a boy, and santlache fight not two days old, left alone with my thirty men-at-arms, in a land i knew not, among a people whose tongue i could not speak, to hold down the land which i had taken from them."
"and that was here at home?"
said una.
"yes, here.
see!
from the upper ford, weland's ford, to the lower ford, by the belle allée, west and east it ran half a league.
from the beacon of brunanburgh behind us here, south and north it ran a full league -- and all the woods were full of broken men from santlache, saxon thieves, norman plunderers, robbers, and deer-stealers.
a hornets" nest indeed!
"when de aquila had gone, hugh would have thanked me for saving their lives; but the lady ælueva said that i had done it only for the sake of receiving the manor."
""how could i know that de aquila would give it me?"
i said.
""if i had told him i had spent my night in your halter he would have burned the place twice over by now.""
""if any man had put my neck in a rope," she said, "i would have seen his house burned thrice over before i would have made terms.""
""but it was a woman," i said; and i laughed, and she wept and said that i mocked her in her captivity."
""lady," said i, "there is no captive in this valley except one, and he is not a saxon."
"at this she cried that i was a norman thief, who came with false, sweet words, having intended from the first to turn her out in the fields to beg her bread.
into the fields!
she had never seen the face of war!"
i was angry, and answered, "this much at least i can disprove, for i swear" -- and on my sword-hilt i swore it in that place -- "i swear i will never set foot in the great hall till the lady ælueva herself shall summon me there."
"she went away, saying nothing, and i walked out, and hugh limped after me, whistling dolorously -lrb- that is a custom of the english -rrb-, and we came upon the three saxons that had bound me.
they were now bound by my men-at-arms, and behind them stood some fifty stark and sullen churls of the house and the manor, waiting to see what should fall.
we heard de aquila's trumpets blow thin through the woods kentward."
""shall we hang these?"
said my men."
""then my churls will fight," said hugh, beneath his breath; but i bade him ask the three what mercy they hoped for."
""none," said they all.
""she bade us hang thee if our master died.
and we would have hanged thee.
there is no more to it."
"as i stood doubting, a woman ran down from the oak wood above the king's hill yonder, and cried out that some normans were driving off the swine there."
""norman or saxon," said i, "we must beat them back, or they will rob us every day.
out at them with any arms ye have!"
so i loosed those three carles and we ran together, my men-at-arms and the saxons with bills and axes which they had hidden in the thatch of their huts, and hugh led them.
half-way up the king's hill we found a false fellow from picardy -- a sutler that sold wine in the duke's camp -- with a dead knight's shield on his arm, a stolen horse under him, and some ten or twelve wastrels at his tail, all cutting and slashing at the pigs.
we beat them off, and saved our pork.
one hundred and seventy pigs we saved in that great battle."
sir richard laughed.
"that, then, was our first work together, and i bade hugh tell his folk that so would i deal with any man, knight or churl, norman or saxon, who stole as much as one egg from our valley.
said he to me, riding home: "thou hast gone far to conquer england this evening."
i answered: "england must be thine and mine, then.
help me, hugh, to deal aright with these people.
make them to know that if they slay me de aquila will surely send to slay them, and he will put a worse man in my place."
""that may well be true," said he, and gave me his hand.
""better the devil we know than the devil we know not, till we can pack you normans home."
and so, too, said his saxons; and they laughed as we drove the pigs downhill.
but i think some of them, even then, began not to hate me.'"
i like brother hugh," said una, softly.
"beyond question he was the most perfect, courteous, valiant, tender, and wise knight that ever drew breath," said sir richard, caressing the sword.
"he hung up his sword -- this sword -- on the wall of the great hall, because he said it was fairly mine, and never he took it down till de aquila returned, as i shall presently show.
for three months his men and mine guarded the valley, till all robbers and nightwalkers learned there was nothing to get from us save hard tack and a hanging.
side by side we fought against all who came -- thrice a week sometimes we fought -- against thieves and landless knights looking for good manors.
then we were in some peace, and i made shift by hugh's help to govern the valley -- for all this valley of yours was my manor -- as a knight should.
i kept the roof on the hall and the thatch on the barn, but... the english are a bold people.
his saxons would laugh and jest with hugh, and hugh with them, and -- this was marvellous to me -- if even the meanest of them said that such and such a thing was the custom of the manor, then straightway would hugh and such old men of the manor as might be near forsake everything else to debate the matter -- i have seen them stop the mill with the corn half ground -- and if the custom or usage were proven to be as it was said, why, that was the end of it, even though it were flat against hugh, his wish and command.
wonderful!"
"aye," said puck, breaking in for the first time.
"the custom of old england was here before your norman knights came, and it outlasted them, though they fought against it cruel."
"not i," said sir richard."
i let the saxons go their stubborn way, but when my own men-at-arms, normans not six months in england, stood up and told me what was the custom of the country, then i was angry.
ah, good days!
ah, wonderful people!
and i loved them all."
the knight lifted his arms as though he would hug the whole dear valley, and swallow, hearing the chink of his chain-mail, looked up and whinnied softly.
"at last," he went on, "after a year of striving and contriving and some little driving, de aquila came to the valley, alone and without warning.
i saw him first at the lower ford, with a swineherd's brat on his saddle-bow."
""there is no need for thee to give any account of thy stewardship," said he.
""i have it all from the child here."
and he told me how the young thing had stopped his tall horse at the ford, by waving of a branch, and crying that the way was barred.
""and if one bold, bare babe be enough to guard the ford in these days, thou hast done well," said he, and puffed and wiped his head.
"he pinched the child's cheek, and looked at our cattle in the flat by the river."
""both fat," said he, rubbing his nose.
""this is craft and cunning such as i love.
what did i tell thee when i rode away, boy?""
""hold the manor or hang," said i. i had never forgotten it."
""true.
and thou hast held."
he clambered from his saddle and with his sword's point cut out a turf from the bank and gave it me where i kneeled."
dan looked at una, and una looked at dan.
"that's seizin," said puck, in a whisper."
""now thou art lawfully seized of the manor, sir richard," said he --'t was the first time he ever called me that -- "thou and thy heirs for ever.
this must serve till the king's clerks write out thy title on a parchment.
england is all ours -- if we can hold it.""
""what service shall i pay?"
i asked, and i remember i was proud beyond words."
""knight's fee, boy, knight's fee!"
said he, hopping round his horse on one foot.
-lrb- have i said he was little, and could not endure to be helped to his saddle? -rrb-
""six mounted men or twelve archers thou shalt send me whenever i call for them, and -- where got you that corn?"
said he, for it was near harvest, and our corn stood well.
""i have never seen such bright straw.
send me three bags of the same seed yearly, and furthermore, in memory of our last meeting -- with the rope round thy neck -- entertain me and my men for two days of each year in the great hall of thy manor.""
""alas!"
said i, "then my manor is already forfeit.
i am under vow not to enter the great hall."
and i told him what i had sworn to the lady ælueva."
"and had n't you ever been into the house since?"
said una.
"never," sir richard answered, smiling."
i had made me a little hut of wood up the hill, and there i did justice and slept... de aquila wheeled aside, and his shield shook on his back.
""no matter, boy," said he.
""i will remit the homage for a year.""
"he meant sir richard need n't give him dinner there the first year," puck explained.
"de aquila stayed with me in the hut, and hugh, who could read and write and cast accounts, showed him the roll of the manor, in which were written all the names of our fields and men, and he asked a thousand questions touching the land, the timber, the grazing, the mill, and the fish-ponds, and the worth of every man in the valley.
but never he named the lady ælueva's name, nor went he near the great hall.
by night he drank with us in the hut.
yes, he sat on the straw like an eagle ruffled in her feathers, his yellow eyes rolling above the cup, and he pounced in his talk like an eagle, swooping from one thing to another, but always binding fast.
yes; he would lie still awhile, and then rustle in the straw, and speak sometimes as though he were king william himself, and anon he would speak in parables and tales, and if at once we saw not his meaning he would yerk us in the ribs with his scabbarded sword."
""look you, boys," said he, "i am born out of my due time.
five hundred years ago i would have made all england such an england as neither dane, saxon, nor norman should have conquered.
five hundred years hence i should have been such a counsellor to kings as the world hath never dreamed of.
't is all here," said he, tapping his big head, "but it hath no play in this black age.
now hugh here is a better man than thou art, richard."
he had made his voice harsh and croaking, like a raven's."
""truth," said i. "but for hugh, his help and patience and long-suffering, i could never have kept the manor.""
""nor thy life either," said de aquila.
""hugh has saved thee not once, but a hundred times.
be still, hugh!"
he said.
""dost thou know, richard, why hugh slept, and why he still sleeps, among thy norman men-at-arms?""
""to be near me," said i, for i thought this was truth."
""fool!"
said de aquila.
""it is because his saxons have begged him to rise against thee, and to sweep every norman out of the valley.
no matter how i know.
it is truth.
therefore hugh hath made himself an hostage for thy life, well knowing that if any harm befell thee from his saxons thy normans would slay him without remedy.
and this his saxons know.
is it true, hugh?""
""in some sort," said hugh shamefacedly; "at least, it was true half a year ago.
my saxons would not harm richard now.
i think they know him -- but i judged it best to make sure."
"look, children, what that man had done -- and i had never guessed it!
night after night had he lain down among my men-at-arms, knowing that if one saxon had lifted knife against me, his life would have answered for mine."
""yes," said de aquila.
""and he is a swordless man."
he pointed to hugh's belt, for hugh had put away his sword -- did i tell you?
-- the day after it flew from his hand at santlache.
he carried only the short knife and the long-bow.
""swordless and landless art thou, hugh; and they call thee kin to earl godwin."
-lrb- hugh was indeed of godwin's blood. -rrb-
""the manor that was thine is given to this boy and to his children for ever.
sit up and beg, for he can turn thee out like a dog, hugh."
"hugh said nothing, but i heard his teeth grind, and i bade de aquila, my own overlord, hold his peace, or i would stuff his words down his throat.
then de aquila laughed till the tears ran down his face."
""i warned the king," said he, "what would come of giving england to us norman thieves.
here art thou, richard, less than two days confirmed in thy manor, and already thou hast risen against thy overlord.
what shall we do to him, sir hugh?""
""i am a swordless man," said hugh.
""do not jest with me," and he laid his head on his knees and groaned."
""the greater fool thou," said de aquila, and all his voice changed; "for i have given thee the manor of dallington up the hill this half-hour since," and he yerked at hugh with his scabbard across the straw."
""to me?"
said hugh.
""i am a saxon, and, except that i love richard here, i have not sworn fealty to any norman.""
""in god's good time, which because of my sins i shall not live to see, there will be neither saxon nor norman in england," said de aquila.
""if i know men, thou art more faithful unsworn than a score of normans i could name.
take dallington, and join sir richard to fight me tomorrow, if it please thee!""
""nay," said hugh.
""i am no child.
where i take a gift, there i render service"; and he put his hands between de aquila's, and swore to be faithful, and, as i remember, i kissed him, and de aquila kissed us both.
"we sat afterwards outside the hut while the sun rose, and de aquila marked our churls going to their work in the fields, and talked of holy things, and how we should govern our manors in time to come, and of hunting and of horse-breeding, and of the king's wisdom and unwisdom; for he spoke to us as though we were in all sorts now his brothers.
anon a churl stole up to me -- he was one of the three i had not hanged a year ago -- and he bellowed -- which is the saxon for whispering -- that the lady ælueva would speak to me at the great house.
she walked abroad daily in the manor, and it was her custom to send me word whither she went, that i might set an archer or two behind and in front to guard her.
very often i myself lay up in the woods and watched on her also."
i went swiftly, and as i passed the great door it opened from within, and there stood my lady ælueva, and she said to me: "sir richard, will it please you enter your great hall?"
then she wept, but we were alone."
the knight was silent for a long time, his face turned across the valley, smiling.
"oh, well done!"
said una, and clapped her hands very softly.
"she was sorry, and she said so."
"aye, she was sorry, and she said so," said sir richard, coming back with a little start.
"very soon -- but he said it was two full hours later -- de aquila rode to the door, with his shield new scoured -lrb- hugh had cleansed it -rrb-, and demanded entertainment, and called me a false knight, that would starve his overlord to death.
then hugh cried out that no man should work in the valley that day, and our saxons blew horns, and set about feasting and drinking, and running of races, and dancing and singing; and de aquila climbed upon a horse-block and spoke to them in what he swore was good saxon, but no man understood it.
at night we feasted in the great hall, and when the harpers and the singers were gone we four sat late at the high table.
as i remember, it was a warm night with a full moon, and de aquila bade hugh take down his sword from the wall again, for the honour of the manor of dallington, and hugh took it gladly enough.
dust lay on the hilt, for i saw him blow it off.
"she and i sat talking a little apart, and at first we thought the harpers had come back, for the great hall was filled with a rushing noise of music.
de aquila leaped up; but there was only the moonlight fretty on the floor."
""hearken!"
said hugh.
""it is my sword," and as he belted it on the music ceased."
""over gods, forbid that i should ever belt blade like that," said de aquila.
""what does it foretell?""
""the gods that made it may know.
last time it spoke was at hastings, when i lost all my lands.
belike it sings now that i have new lands and am a man again," said hugh.
"he loosed the blade a little and drove it back happily into the sheath, and the sword answered him low and crooningly, as -- as a woman would speak to a man, her head on his shoulder.
"now that was the second time in all my life i heard this sword sing."
... "look!"
said una.
"there's mother coming down the long slip.
what will she say to sir richard?
she ca n't help seeing him."
"and puck ca n't magic us this time," said dan.
"are you sure?"
said puck; and he leaned forward and whispered to sir richard, who, smiling, bowed his head.
"but what befell the sword and my brother hugh i will tell on another time," said he, rising.
"ohé, swallow!"
the great horse cantered up from the far end of the meadow, close to mother.
they heard mother say: "children, gleason's old horse has broken into the meadow again.
where did he get through?"
"just below stone bay," said dan.
"he tore down simple flobs of the bank!
we noticed it just now.
and we've caught no end of fish.
we've been at it all the afternoon."
and they honestly believed that they had.
they never noticed the oak, ash and thorn leaves that puck had slyly thrown into their laps.
sir richard's song i followed my duke ere i was a lover, to take from england fief and fee; but now this game is the other way over -- but now england hath taken me!
i had my horse, my shield and banner, and a boy's heart, so whole and free; but now i sing in another manner -- but now england hath taken me!
as for my father in his tower, asking news of my ship at sea; he will remember his own hour -- tell him england hath taken me!
as for my mother in her bower, that rules my father so cunningly; she will remember a maiden's power -- tell her england hath taken me!
as for my brother in rouen city, a nimble and naughty page is he; but he will come to suffer and pity -- tell him england hath taken me!
as for my little sister waiting in the pleasant orchards of normandie; tell her youth is the time of mating -- tell her england hath taken me!
as for my comrades in camp and highway, that lift their eyebrows scornfully; tell them their way is not my way -- tell them england hath taken me!
kings and princes and barons famed, knights and captains in your degree; hear me a little before i am blamed -- seeing england hath taken me!
howso great man's strength be reckoned, there are two things he can not flee; love is the first, and death is the second -- and love, in england, hath taken me!
the knights of the joyous venture harp song of the dane women what is a woman that you forsake her, and the hearth-fire and the home-acre, to go with the old grey widow-maker?
she has no house to lay a guest in -- but one chill bed for all to rest in, that the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.
she has no strong white arms to fold you, but the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you bound on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.
yet, when the signs of summer thicken, and the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken, yearly you turn from our side, and sicken -- sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters, -- you steal away to the lapping waters, and look at your ship in her winter quarters.
you forget our mirth, and talk at the tables, the kine in the shed and the horse in the stables -- to pitch her sides and go over her cables!
then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow: and the sound of your oar-blades falling hollow is all we have left through the months to follow.
ah, what is a woman that you forsake her, and the hearth-fire and the home-acre, to go with the old grey widow-maker?
it was too hot to run about in the open, so dan asked their friend, old hobden, to take their own dinghy from the pond and put her on the brook at the bottom of the garden.
her painted name was the daisy, but for exploring expeditions she was the golden hind or the long serpent, or some such suitable name.
dan hiked and howked with a boat-hook -lrb- the brook was too narrow for sculls -rrb-, and una punted with a piece of hop-pole.
when they came to a very shallow place -lrb- the golden hind drew quite three inches of water -rrb- they disembarked and scuffled her over the gravel by her tow-rope, and when they reached the overgrown banks beyond the garden they pulled themselves up stream by the low branches.
that day they intended to discover the north cape like "othere, the old sea-captain", in the book of verses which una had brought with her; but on account of the heat they changed it to a voyage up the amazon and the sources of the nile.
even on the shaded water the air was hot and heavy with drowsy scents, while outside, through breaks in the trees, the sunshine burned the pasture like fire.
the kingfisher was asleep on his watching-branch, and the blackbirds scarcely took the trouble to dive into the next bush.
dragonflies wheeling and clashing were the only things at work, except the moorhens and a big red admiral, who flapped down out of the sunshine for a drink.
when they reached otter pool the golden hind grounded comfortably on a shallow, and they lay beneath a roof of close green, watching the water trickle over the flood-gates down the mossy brick chute from the mill-stream to the brook.
a big trout -- the children knew him well -- rolled head and shoulders at some fly that sailed round the bend, while, once in just so often, the brook rose a fraction of an inch against all the wet pebbles, and they watched the slow draw and shiver of a breath of air through the tree-tops.
then the little voices of the slipping water began again.
"it's like the shadows talking, is n't it?"
said una.
she had given up trying to read.
dan lay over the bows, trailing his hands in the current.
they heard feet on the gravel-bar that runs half across the pool and saw sir richard dalyngridge standing over them.
"was yours a dangerous voyage?"
he asked, smiling.
"she bumped a lot, sir," said dan.
"there's hardly any water this summer."
"ah, the brook was deeper and wider when my children played at danish pirates.
are you pirate-folk?"
"oh no.
we gave up being pirates years ago," explained una.
"we're nearly always explorers now.
sailing round the world, you know."
"round?"
said sir richard.
he sat him in the comfortable crotch of an old ash-root on the bank.
"how can it be round?"
"was n't it in your books?"
dan suggested.
he had been doing geography at his last lesson."
i can neither write nor read," he replied.
"canst thou read, child?"
"yes," said dan, "barring the very long words."
"wonderful!
read to me, that i may hear for myself."
dan flushed, but opened the book and began -- gabbling a little -- at "the discoverer of the north cape."
"othere, the old sea-captain, who dwelt in helgoland, to king alfred, the lover of truth, brought a snow-white walrus tooth, that he held in his brown right hand."
"but -- but -- this i know!
this is an old song!
this i have heard sung!
this is a miracle," sir richard interrupted.
"nay, do not stop!"
he leaned forward, and the shadows of the leaves slipped and slid upon his chain-mail."
""i ploughed the land with horses, but my heart was ill at ease, for the old sea-faring men came to me now and then with their sagas of the seas.""
his hand fell on the hilt of the great sword.
"this is truth," he cried, "for so did it happen to me," and he beat time delightedly to the tramp of verse after verse."
""and now the land," said othere, "bent southward suddenly, and i followed the curving shore, and ever southward bore into a nameless sea."'"
a nameless sea!"
he repeated.
"so did i -- so did hugh and i." "where did you go?
tell us," said una.
"wait.
let me hear all first."
so dan read to the poem's very end.
"good," said the knight.
"that is othere's tale -- even as i have heard the men in the dane ships sing it.
not in those same valiant words, but something like to them."
"have you ever explored north?"
dan shut the book.
"nay.
my venture was south.
farther south than any man has fared, hugh and i went down with witta and his heathen."
he jerked the tall sword forward, and leaned on it with both hands; but his eyes looked long past them."
i thought you always lived here," said una, timidly.
"yes; while my lady ælueva lived.
but she died.
she died.
then, my eldest son being a man, i asked de aquila's leave that he should hold the manor while i went on some journey or pilgrimage -- to forget.
de aquila, whom the second william had made warden of pevensey in earl mortain's place, was very old then, but still he rode his tall, roan horses, and in the saddle he looked like a little white falcon.
when hugh, at dallington, over yonder, heard what i did, he sent for my second son, whom being unmarried he had ever looked upon as his own child, and, by de aquila's leave, gave him the manor of dallington to hold till he should return.
then hugh came with me."
"when did this happen?"
said dan.
"that i can answer to the very day, for as we rode with de aquila by pevensey -- have i said that he was lord of pevensey and of the honour of the eagle?
-- to the bordeaux ship that fetched him his wines yearly out of france, a marsh man ran to us crying that he had seen a great black goat which bore on his back the body of the king, and that the goat had spoken to him.
on that same day red william our king, the conqueror's son, died of a secret arrow while he hunted in a forest.
""this is a cross matter," said de aquila, "to meet on the threshold of a journey.
if red william be dead i may have to fight for my lands.
wait a little."
"my lady being dead, i cared nothing for signs and omens, nor hugh either.
we took that wine-ship to go to bordeaux; but the wind failed while we were yet in sight of pevensey, a thick mist hid us, and we drifted with the tide along the cliffs to the west.
our company was, for the most part, merchants returning to france, and we were laden with wool and there were three couple of tall hunting-dogs chained to the rail.
their master was a knight of artois.
his name i never learned, but his shield bore gold pieces on a red ground, and he limped, much as i do, from a wound which he had got in his youth at mantes siege.
he served the duke of burgundy against the moors in spain, and was returning to that war with his dogs.
he sang us strange moorish songs that first night, and half persuaded us to go with him.
i was on pilgrimage to forget -- which is what no pilgrimage brings.
i think i would have gone, but... "look you how the life and fortune of man changes!
towards morning a dane ship, rowing silently, struck against us in the mist, and while we rolled hither and yon hugh, leaning over the rail, fell outboard.
i leaped after him, and we two tumbled aboard the dane, and were caught and bound ere we could rise.
our own ship was swallowed up in the mist.
i judge the knight of the gold pieces muzzled his dogs with his cloak, lest they should give tongue and betray the merchants, for i heard their baying suddenly stop.
"we lay bound among the benches till morning, when the danes dragged us to the high deck by the steering-place, and their captain -- witta, he was called -- turned us over with his foot.
bracelets of gold from elbow to armpit he wore, and his red hair was long as a woman's, and came down in plaited locks on his shoulder.
he was stout, with bowed legs and long arms.
he spoiled us of all we had, but when he laid hand on hugh's sword and saw the runes on the blade hastily he thrust it back.
yet his covetousness overcame him and he tried again and again, and the third time the sword sang loud and angrily, so that the rowers leaned on their oars to listen.
here they all spoke together, screaming like gulls, and a yellow man, such as i have never seen, came to the high deck and cut our bonds.
he was yellow -- not from sickness, but by nature -- yellow as honey, and his eyes stood endwise in his head."
"how do you mean?"
said una, her chin on her hand.
"thus," said sir richard.
he put a finger to the corner of each eye, and pushed it up till his eyes narrowed to slits.
"why, you look just like a chinaman!"
cried dan.
"was the man a chinaman?'"
i know not what that may be.
witta had found him half dead among ice on the shores of muscovy.
we thought he was a devil.
he crawled before us and brought food in a silver dish which these sea-wolves had robbed from some rich abbey, and witta with his own hands gave us wine.
he spoke a little in french, a little in south saxon, and much in the northman's tongue.
we asked him to set us ashore, promising to pay him better ransom than he would get price if he sold us to the moors -- as once befell a knight of my acquaintance sailing from flushing."
""not by my father guthrum's head," said he.
""the gods sent ye into my ship for a luck-offering."
"at this i quaked, for i knew it was still the danes" custom to sacrifice captives to their gods for fair weather."
""a plague on thy four long bones!"
said hugh.
""what profit canst thou make of poor old pilgrims that can neither work nor fight?""
""gods forbid i should fight against thee, poor pilgrim with the singing sword," said he.
""come with us and be poor no more.
thy teeth are far apart, which is a sure sign thou wilt travel and grow rich.""
""what if we will not come?"
said hugh."
""swim to england or france," said witta.
""we are midway between the two.
unless ye choose to drown yourselves no hair of your head will be harmed here aboard.
we think ye bring us luck, and i myself know the runes on that sword are good."
he turned and bade them hoist sail.
"hereafter all made way for us as we walked about the ship, and the ship was full of wonders."
"what was she like?"
said dan.
"long, low, and narrow, bearing one mast with a red sail, and rowed by fifteen oars a-side," the knight answered.
"at her bows was a deck under which men might lie, and at her stern another shut off by a painted door from the rowers" benches.
here hugh and i slept, with witta and the yellow man, upon tapestries as soft as wool.
i remember" -- he laughed to himself -- "when first we entered there a loud voice cried, "out swords!
out swords!
kill, kill!"
seeing us start witta laughed, and showed us it was but a great-beaked grey bird with a red tail.
he sat her on his shoulder, and she called for bread and wine hoarsely, and prayed him to kiss her.
yet she was no more than a silly bird.
but -- ye knew this?"
he looked at their smiling faces.
"we were n't laughing at you," said una.
"that must have been a parrot.
it's just what pollies do."
"so we learned later.
but here is another marvel.
the yellow man, whose name was kitai, had with him a brown box.
in the box was a blue bowl with red marks upon the rim, and within the bowl, hanging from a fine thread, was a piece of iron no thicker than that grass stem, and as long, maybe, as my spur, but straight.
in this iron, said witta, abode an evil spirit which kitai, the yellow man, had brought by art magic out of his own country that lay three years" journey southward.
the evil spirit strove day and night to return to his country, and therefore, look you, the iron needle pointed continually to the south."
"south?"
said dan suddenly, and put his hand into his pocket.
"with my own eyes i saw it.
every day and all day long, though the ship rolled, though the sun and the moon and the stars were hid, this blind spirit in the iron knew whither it would go, and strained to the south.
witta called it the wise iron, because it showed him his way across the unknowable seas."
again sir richard looked keenly at the children.
"how think ye?
was it sorcery?"
"was it anything like this?"
dan fished out his old brass pocket-compass, that generally lived with his knife and key-ring.
"the glass has got cracked, but the needle waggles all right, sir."
the knight drew a long breath of wonder.
"yes, yes!
the wise iron shook and swung in just this fashion.
now it is still.
now it points to the south."
"north," said dan.
"nay, south!
there is the south," said sir richard.
then they both laughed, for naturally when one end of a straight compass-needle points to the north, the other must point to the south.
"té," said sir richard, clicking his tongue.
"there can be no sorcery if a child carries it.
wherefore does it point south -- or north?"
"father says that nobody knows," said una.
sir richard looked relieved.
"then it may still be magic.
it was magic to us.
and so we voyaged.
when the wind served we hoisted sail, and lay all up along the windward rail, our shields on our backs to break the spray.
when it failed, they rowed with long oars; the yellow man sat by the wise iron, and witta steered.
at first i feared the great white-flowering waves, but as i saw how wisely witta led his ship among them i grew bolder.
hugh liked it well from the first.
my skill is not upon the water; and rocks and whirlpools such as we saw by the west isles of france, where an oar caught on a rock and broke, are much against my stomach.
we sailed south across a stormy sea, where by moonlight, between clouds, we saw a flanders ship roll clean over and sink.
again, though hugh laboured with witta all night, i lay under the deck with the talking bird, and cared not whether i lived or died.
there is a sickness of the sea which for three days is pure death!
when we next saw land witta said it was spain, and we stood out to sea.
that coast was full of ships busy in the duke's war against the moors, and we feared to be hanged by the duke's men or sold into slavery by the moors.
so we put into a small harbour which witta knew.
at night men came down with loaded mules, and witta exchanged amber out of the north against little wedges of iron and packets of beads in earthen pots.
the pots he put under the decks, and the wedges of iron he laid on the bottom of the ship after he had cast out the stones and shingle which till then had been our ballast.
wine, too, he bought for lumps of sweet-smelling grey amber -- a little morsel no bigger than a thumbnail purchased a cask of wine.
but i speak like a merchant."
"no, no!
tell us what you had to eat," cried dan.
"meat dried in the sun, and dried fish and ground beans, witta took in; and corded frails of a certain sweet, soft fruit, which the moors use, which is like paste of figs, but with thin, long stones.
aha!
dates is the name."
""now," said witta, when the ship was loaded, "i counsel you strangers to pray to your gods, for from here on, our road is no man's road."
he and his men killed a black goat for sacrifice on the bows; and the yellow man brought out a small, smiling image of dull-green stone and burned incense before it.
hugh and i commended ourselves to god, and saint barnabas, and our lady of the assumption, who was specially dear to my lady.
we were not young, but i think no shame to say whenas we drove out of that secret harbour at sunrise over a still sea, we two rejoiced and sang as did the knights of old when they followed our great duke to england.
yet was our leader an heathen pirate; all our proud fleet but one galley perilously overloaded; for guidance we leaned on a pagan sorcerer; and our port was beyond the world's end.
witta told us that his father guthrum had once in his life rowed along the shores of africa to a land where naked men sold gold for iron and beads.
there had he bought much gold, and no few elephants" teeth, and thither by help of the wise iron would witta go.
witta feared nothing -- except to be poor."
""my father told me," said witta, "that a great shoal runs three days" sail out from that land, and south of the shoal lies a forest which grows in the sea.
south and east of the forest my father came to a place where the men hid gold in their hair; but all that country, he said, was full of devils who lived in trees, and tore folk limb from limb.
how think ye?""
""gold or no gold," said hugh, fingering his sword, "it is a joyous venture.
have at these devils of thine, witta!""
""venture!"
said witta sourly.
""i am only a poor sea-thief.
i do not set my life adrift on a plank for joy, or the venture.
once i beach ship again at stavanger, and feel the wife's arms round my neck, i'll seek no more ventures.
a ship is heavier care than a wife or cattle."
"he leaped down among the rowers, chiding them for their little strength and their great stomachs.
yet witta was a wolf in fight, and a very fox in cunning.
"we were driven south by a storm, and for three days and three nights he took the stern-oar, and threddled the longship through the sea.
when it rose beyond measure he brake a pot of whale's oil upon the water, which wonderfully smoothed it, and in that anointed patch he turned her head to the wind and threw out oars at the end of a rope, to make, he said, an anchor at which we lay rolling sorely, but dry.
this craft his father guthrum had shown him.
he knew, too, all the leech-book of bald, who was a wise doctor, and he knew the ship-book of hlaf the woman, who robbed egypt.
he knew all the care of a ship.
"after the storm we saw a mountain whose top was covered with snow and pierced the clouds.
the grasses under this mountain, boiled and eaten, are a good cure for soreness of the gums and swelled ankles.
we lay there eight days, till men in skins threw stones at us.
when the heat increased witta spread a cloth on bent sticks above the rowers, for the wind failed between the island of the mountain and the shore of africa, which is east of it.
that shore is sandy, and we rowed along it within three bowshots.
here we saw whales, and fish in the shape of shields, but longer than our ship.
some slept, some opened their mouths at us, and some danced on the hot waters.
the water was hot to the hand, and the sky was hidden by hot, grey mists, out of which blew a fine dust that whitened our hair and beards of a morning.
here, too, were fish that flew in the air like birds.
they would fall on the laps of the rowers, and when we went ashore we would roast and eat them."
the knight paused to see if the children doubted him, but they only nodded and said, "go on."
"the yellow land lay on our left, the grey sea on our right.
knight though i was, i pulled my oar amongst the rowers.
i caught seaweed and dried it, and stuffed it between the pots of beads lest they should break.
knighthood is for the land.
at sea, look you, a man is but a spurless rider on a bridleless horse.
i learned to make strong knots in ropes -- yes, and to join two ropes end to end, so that even witta could scarcely see where they had been married.
but hugh had tenfold more sea-cunning than i. witta gave him charge of the rowers of the left side.
thorkild of borkum, a man with a broken nose, that wore a norman steel cap, had the rowers of the right, and each side rowed and sang against the other.
they saw that no man was idle.
truly, as hugh said, and witta would laugh at him, a ship is all more care than a manor.
"how?
thus.
there was water to fetch from the shore when we could find it, as well as wild fruit and grasses, and sand for scrubbing of the decks and benches to keep them sweet.
also we hauled the ship out on low islands and emptied all her gear, even to the iron wedges, and burned off the weed, that had grown on her, with torches of rush, and smoked below the decks with rushes dampened in salt water, as hlaf the woman orders in her ship-book.
once when we were thus stripped, and the ship lay propped on her keel, the bird cried, "out swords!"
as though she saw an enemy.
witta vowed he would wring her neck."
"poor polly!
did he?"
said una.
"nay.
she was the ship's bird.
she could call all the rowers by name... those were good days -- for a wifeless man -- with witta and his heathen -- beyond the world's end.
... after many weeks we came on the great shoal which stretched, as witta's father had said, far out to sea.
we skirted it till we were giddy with the sight and dizzy with the sound of bars and breakers, and when we reached land again we found a naked black people dwelling among woods, who for one wedge of iron loaded us with fruits and grasses and eggs.
witta scratched his head at them in sign he would buy gold.
they had no gold, but they understood the sign -lrb- all the gold-traders hide their gold in their thick hair -rrb-, for they pointed along the coast.
they beat, too, on their chests with their clenched hands, and that, if we had known it, was an evil sign."
"what did it mean?"
said dan.
"patience.
ye shall hear.
we followed the coast eastward sixteen days -lrb- counting time by sword-cuts on the helm-rail -rrb- till we came to the forest in the sea.
trees grew there out of mud, arched upon lean and high roots, and many muddy waterways ran all whither into darkness, under the trees.
here we lost the sun.
we followed the winding channels between the trees, and where we could not row we laid hold of the crusted roots and hauled ourselves along.
the water was foul, and great glittering flies tormented us.
morning and evening a blue mist covered the mud, which bred fevers.
four of our rowers sickened, and were bound to their benches, lest they should leap overboard and be eaten by the monsters of the mud.
the yellow man lay sick beside the wise iron, rolling his head and talking in his own tongue.
only the bird throve.
she sat on witta's shoulder and screamed in that noisome, silent darkness.
yes; i think it was the silence we most feared."
he paused to listen to the comfortable home noises of the brook.
"when we had lost count of time among those black gullies and swashes we heard, as it were, a drum beat far off, and following it we broke into a broad, brown river by a hut in a clearing among fields of pumpkins.
we thanked god to see the sun again.
the people of the village gave the good welcome, and witta scratched his head at them -lrb- for gold -rrb-, and showed them our iron and beads.
they ran to the bank -- we were still in the ship -- and pointed to our swords and bows, for always when near shore we lay armed.
soon they fetched store of gold in bars and in dust from their huts, and some great blackened elephants" teeth.
these they piled on the bank, as though to tempt us, and made signs of dealing blows in battle, and pointed up to the tree-tops, and to the forest behind.
their captain or chief sorcerer then beat on his chest with his fists, and gnashed his teeth.
"said thorkild of borkum: "do they mean we must fight for all this gear?"
and he half drew sword."
""nay," said hugh.
""i think they ask us to league against some enemy.""
""i like this not," said witta, of a sudden.
""back into mid-stream."
"so we did, and sat still all, watching the black folk and the gold they piled on the bank.
again we heard drums beat in the forest, and the people fled to their huts, leaving the gold unguarded.
"then hugh, at the bows, pointed without speech, and we saw a great devil come out of the forest.
he shaded his brows with his hand, and moistened his pink tongue between his lips -- thus.'"
a devil!"
said dan, delightfully horrified.
"yea.
taller than a man; covered with reddish hair.
when he had well regarded our ship, he beat on his chest with his fists till it sounded like rolling drums, and came to the bank swinging all his body between his long arms, and gnashed his teeth at us.
hugh loosed arrow, and pierced him through the throat.
he fell roaring, and three other devils ran out of the forest and hauled him into a tall tree out of sight.
anon they cast down the blood-stained arrow, and lamented together among the leaves.
witta saw the gold on the bank; he was loath to leave it.
""sirs," said he -lrb- no man had spoken till then -rrb-, "yonder is what we have come so far and so painfully to find, laid out to our very hand.
let us row in while these devils bewail themselves, and at least bear off what we may."
"bold as a wolf, cunning as a fox was witta!
he set four archers on the foredeck to shoot the devils if they should leap from the tree, which was close to the bank.
he manned ten oars a-side, and bade them watch his hand to row in or back out, and so coaxed he them toward the bank.
but none would set foot ashore, though the gold was within ten paces.
no man is hasty to his hanging!
they whimpered at their oars like beaten hounds, and witta bit his fingers for rage.
"said hugh of a sudden, "hark!"
at first we thought it was the buzzing of the glittering flies on the water; but it grew loud and fierce, so that all men heard."
"what?"
said dan and una.
"it was the sword."
sir richard patted the smooth hilt.
"it sang as a dane sings before battle.
""i go," said hugh, and he leaped from the bows and fell among the gold.
i was afraid to my four bones" marrow, but for shame's sake i followed, and thorkild of borkum leaped after me.
none other came.
""blame me not," cried witta behind us, "i must abide by my ship."
we three had no time to blame or praise.
we stooped to the gold and threw it back over our shoulders, one hand on our swords and one eye on the tree, which nigh overhung us."
i know not how the devils leaped down, or how the fight began.
i heard hugh cry: "out!
out!"
as though he were at santlache again; i saw thorkild's steel cap smitten off his head by a great hairy hand, and i felt an arrow from the ship whistle past my ear.
they say that till witta took his sword to the rowers he could not bring his ship inshore; and each one of the four archers said afterwards that he alone had pierced the devil that fought me.
i do not know.
i went to it in my mail-shirt, which saved my skin.
with long-sword and belt-dagger i fought for the life against a devil whose very feet were hands, and who whirled me back and forth like a dead branch.
he had me by the waist, my arms to my side, when an arrow from the ship pierced him between the shoulders, and he loosened grip.
i passed my sword twice through him, and he crutched himself away between his long arms, coughing and moaning.
next, as i remember, i saw thorkild of borkum, bare-headed and smiling, leaping up and down before a devil that leaped and gnashed his teeth.
then hugh passed, his sword shifted to his left hand, and i wondered why i had not known that hugh was a left-handed man; and thereafter i remembered nothing till i felt spray on my face, and we were in sunshine on the open sea.
that was twenty days after."
"what had happened?
did hugh die?
"the children asked.
"never was such a fight fought by christened man," said sir richard.
"an arrow from the ship had saved me from my devil, and thorkild of borkum had given back before his devil, till the bowmen on the ship could shoot it all full of arrows from near by; but hugh's devil was cunning, and had kept behind trees, where no arrow could reach.
body to body there, by stark strength of sword and hand, had hugh slain him, and, dying, the thing had clenched his teeth on the sword.
judge what teeth they were!"
sir richard turned the sword again that the children might see the two great chiselled gouges on either side of the blade.
"those same teeth met in hugh's right arm and side," sir richard went on.
"i?
oh, i had no more than a broken foot and a fever.
thorkild's ear was bitten, but hugh's arm and side clean withered away.
i saw him where he lay along, sucking a fruit in his left hand.
his flesh was wasted off his bones, his hair was patched with white, and his hand was blue-veined like a woman's.
he put his left arm round my neck and whispered, "take my sword.
it has been thine since hastings, o my brother, but i can never hold hilt again."
we lay there on the high deck talking of santlache, and, i think, of every day since santlache, and it came so that we both wept.
i was weak, and he little more than a shadow."
""nay -- nay," said witta, at the helm-rail.
""gold is a good right arm to any man.
look -- look at the gold!"
he bade thorkild show us the gold and the elephants" teeth, as though we had been children.
he had brought away all the gold on the bank, and twice as much more, that the people of the village gave him for slaying the devils.
they worshipped us as gods, thorkild told me: it was one of their old women healed up hugh's poor arm."
"how much gold did you get?
"asked dan.
"how can i say?
where we came out with wedges of iron under the rowers" feet we returned with wedges of gold hidden beneath planks.
there was dust of gold in packages where we slept and along the side, and crosswise under the benches we lashed the blackened elephants" teeth."
""i had sooner have my right arm," said hugh, when he had seen all."
""ahai!
that was my fault," said witta.
""i should have taken ransom and landed you in france when first you came aboard, ten months ago.""
""it is over-late now," said hugh, laughing.
"witta plucked at his long shoulder-lock.
""but think!"
said he.
""if i had let ye go -- which i swear i would never have done, for i love ye more than brothers -- if i had let ye go, by now ye might have been horribly slain by some mere moor in the duke of burgundy's war, or ye might have been murdered by land-thieves, or ye might have died of the plague at an inn.
think of this and do not blame me overmuch, hugh.
see!
i will only take a half of the gold.""
""i blame thee not at all, witta," said hugh.
""it was a joyous venture, and we thirty-five here have done what never men have done.
if i live till england, i will build me a stout keep over dallington out of my share.""
""i will buy cattle and amber and warm red cloth for the wife," said witta, "and i will hold all the land at the head of stavanger fiord.
many will fight for me now.
but first we must turn north, and with this honest treasure aboard i pray we meet no pirate ships."
"we did not laugh.
we were careful.
we were afraid lest we should lose one grain of our gold, for which we had fought devils."
""where is the sorcerer?"
said i, for witta was looking at the wise iron in the box, and i could not see the yellow man."
""he has gone to his own country," said he.
""he rose up in the night while we were beating out of that forest in the mud, and said that he could see it behind the trees.
he leaped out on the mud, and did not answer when we called; so we called no more.
he left the wise iron, which is all that i care for -- and see, the spirit still points to the south."
"we were troubled for fear that the wise iron should fail us now that its yellow man had gone, and when we saw the spirit still served us we grew afraid of too strong winds, and of shoals, and of careless leaping fish, and of all the people on all the shores where we landed."
"why?"
said dan.
"because of the gold -- because of our gold.
gold changes men altogether.
thorkild of borkum did not change.
he laughed at witta for his fears, and at us for our counselling witta to furl sail when the ship pitched at all."
""better be drowned out of hand," said thorkild of borkum, "than go tied to a deck-load of yellow dust."
"he was a landless man, and had been slave to some king in the east.
he would have beaten out the gold into deep bands to put round the oars, and round the prow.
"yet, though he vexed himself for the gold, witta waited upon hugh like a woman, lending him his shoulder when the ship rolled, and tying of ropes from side to side that hugh might hold by them.
but for hugh, he said -- and so did all his men -- they would never have won the gold.
i remember witta made a little, thin gold ring for our bird to swing in.
"three months we rowed and sailed and went ashore for fruits or to clean the ship.
when we saw wild horsemen, riding among sand-dunes, flourishing spears, we knew we were on the moors" coast, and stood over north to spain; and a strong south-west wind bore us in ten days to a coast of high red rocks, where we heard a hunting-horn blow among the yellow gorse and knew it was england."
""now find ye pevensey yourselves," said witta.
""i love not these narrow ship-filled seas."
"he set the dried, salted head of the devil, which hugh had killed, high on our prow, and all boats fled from us.
yet, for our gold's sake, we were more afraid than they.
we crept along the coast by night till we came to the chalk cliffs, and so east to pevensey.
witta would not come ashore with us, though hugh promised him wine at dallington enough to swim in.
he was on fire to see his wife, and ran into the marsh after sunset, and there he left us and our share of gold, and backed out on the same tide.
he made no promise; he swore no oath; he looked for no thanks; but to hugh, an armless man, and to me, an old cripple whom he could have flung into the sea, he passed over wedge upon wedge, packet upon packet of gold and dust of gold, and only ceased when we would take no more.
as he stooped from the rail to bid us farewell he stripped off his right-arm bracelets and put them all on hugh's left, and he kissed hugh on the cheek.
i think when thorkild of borkum bade the rowers give way we were near weeping.
it is true that witta was an heathen and a pirate; true it is he held us by force many months in his ship, but i loved that bow-legged, blue-eyed man for his great boldness, his cunning, his skill, and, beyond all, for his simplicity."
"did he get home all right?"
said dan."
i never knew.
we saw him hoist sail under the moon-track and stand away.
i have prayed that he found his wife and the children."
"and what did you do?"
"we waited on the marsh till the day.
then i sat by the gold, all tied in an old sail, while hugh went to pevensey, and de aquila sent us horses."
sir richard crossed hands on his sword-hilt, and stared down stream through the soft warm shadows."
a whole shipload of gold!"
said una, looking at the little golden hind.
"but i'm glad i did n't see the devils.'"
i do n't believe they were devils, "dan whispered back.
"eh?"
said sir richard.
"witta's father warned him they were unquestionable devils.
one must believe one's father, and not one's children.
what were my devils, then?"
dan flushed all over.
"i -- i only thought," he stammered; "i've got a book called the gorilla hunters -- it's a continuation of coral island, sir -- and it says there that the gorillas -lrb- they're big monkeys, you know -rrb- were always chewing iron up."
"not always," said una.
"only twice."
they had been reading the gorilla hunters in the orchard.
"well, anyhow, they always drummed on their chests, like sir richard's did, before they went for people.
and they built houses in trees, too."
"ha!"
sir richard opened his eyes.
"houses like flat nests did our devils make, where their imps lay and looked at us.
i did not see them -lrb- i was sick after the fight -rrb-, but witta told me, and, lo, ye know it also?
wonderful!
were our devils only nest-building apes?
is there no sorcery left in the world?'"
i do n't know," answered dan, uncomfortably.
"i've seen a man take rabbits out of a hat, and he told us we could see how he did it, if we watched hard.
and we did."
"but we did n't," said una, sighing.
"oh!
there's puck!"
the little fellow, brown and smiling, peered between two stems of an ash, nodded, and slid down the bank into the cool beside them.
"no sorcery, sir richard?"
he laughed, and blew on a full dandelion head he had picked.
"they tell me that witta's wise iron was a toy.
the boy carries such an iron with him.
they tell me our devils were apes, called gorillas!"
said sir richard, indignantly.
"that is the sorcery of books," said puck."
i warned thee they were wise children.
all people can be wise by reading of books."
"but are the books true?"
sir richard frowned."
i like not all this reading and writing."
"ye-es," said puck, holding the naked dandelion head at arm's length.
"but if we hang all fellows who write falsely, why did de aquila not begin with gilbert the clerk?
he was false enough."
"poor false gilbert.
yet, in his fashion, he was bold," said sir richard.
"what did he do?"
said dan.
"he wrote," said sir richard.
"is the tale meet for children, think you?"
he looked at puck; but "tell us!
tell us!"
cried dan and una together.
thorkild's song there's no wind along these seas, out oars for stavanger!
forward all for stavanger!
so we must wake the white-ash breeze, let fall for stavanger!
a long pull for stavanger!
oh, hear the benches creak and strain!
-lrb- a long pull for stavanger! -rrb-
she thinks she smells the northland rain!
-lrb- a long pull for stavanger! -rrb-
she thinks she smells the northland snow, and she's as glad as we to go.
she thinks she smells the northland rime, and the dear dark nights of winter-time.
her very bolts are sick for shore, and we -- we want it ten times more!
so all you gods that love brave men, send us a three-reef gale again!
send us a gale, and watch us come, with close-cropped canvas slashing home!
but -- there's no wind in all these seas.
a long pull for stavanger!
so we must wake the white-ash breeze, a long pull for stavanger!
old men at pevensey "it has naught to do with apes or devils, "sir richard went on, in an undertone.
"it concerns de aquila, than whom there was never bolder nor craftier, nor more hardy knight born.
and remember he was an old, old man at that time."
"when?"
said dan.
"when we came back from sailing with witta."
"what did you do with your gold?"
said dan.
"have patience.
link by link is chain-mail made.
i will tell all in its place.
we bore the gold to pevensey on horseback -- three loads of it -- and then up to the north chamber, above the great hall of pevensey castle, where de aquila lay in winter.
he sat on his bed like a little white falcon, turning his head swiftly from one to the other as we told our tale.
jehan the crab, an old sour man-at-arms, guarded the stairway, but de aquila bade him wait at the stair-foot, and let down both leather curtains over the door.
it was jehan whom de aquila had sent to us with the horses, and only jehan had loaded the gold.
when our story was told, de aquila gave us the news of england, for we were as men waked from a year-long sleep.
the red king was dead -- slain -lrb- ye remember? -rrb-
the day we set sail -- and henry, his younger brother, had made himself king of england over the head of robert of normandy.
this was the very thing that the red king had done to robert when our great william died.
then robert of normandy, mad, as de aquila said, at twice missing of this kingdom, had sent an army against england, which army had been well beaten back to their ships at portsmouth.
a little earlier, and witta's ship would have rowed through them."
""and now," said de aquila, "half the great barons of the north and west are out against the king between salisbury and shrewsbury, and half the other half wait to see which way the game shall go.
they say henry is overly english for their stomachs, because he hath married an english wife and she hath coaxed him to give back their old laws to our saxons.
-lrb- better ride a horse on the bit he knows, i say! -rrb-
but that is only a cloak to their falsehood."
he cracked his finger on the table, where the wine was spilt, and thus he spoke: --" "william crammed us norman barons full of good english acres after santlache.
i had my share too," he said, and clapped hugh on the shoulder; "but i warned him -- i warned him before odo rebelled -- that he should have bidden the barons give up their lands and lordships in normandy if they would be english lords.
now they are all but princes both in england and normandy -- trencher-fed hounds, with a foot in one trough and both eyes on the other!
robert of normandy has sent them word that if they do not fight for him in england he will sack and harry out their lands in normandy.
therefore clare has risen, fitzosborne has risen, montgomery has risen -- whom our first william made an english earl.
even d'arcy is out with his men, whose father i remember a little hedge-sparrow knight nearby caen.
if henry wins, the barons can still flee to normandy, where robert will welcome them.
if henry loses, robert, he says, will give them more lands in england.
oh, a pest -- a pest on normandy, for she will be our england's curse this many a long year!""
""amen," said hugh.
""but will the war come our ways, think you?""
""not from the north," said de aquila.
""but the sea is always open.
if the barons gain the upper hand robert will send another army into england for sure, and this time i think he will land here -- where his father, the conqueror, landed.
ye have brought your pigs to a pretty market!
half england alight, and gold enough on the ground" -- he stamped on the bars beneath the table -- "to set every sword in christendom fighting.""
""what is to do?"
said hugh.
""i have no keep at dallington; and if we buried it, whom could we trust?""
""me," said de aquila.
""pevensey walls are strong.
no man but jehan, who is my dog, knows what is between them."
he drew a curtain by the shot-window and showed us the shaft of a well in the thickness of the wall."
""i made it for a drinking-well," he said, "but we found salt water, and it rises and falls with the tide.
hark!"
we heard the water whistle and blow at the bottom.
""will it serve?"
said he."
""needs must," said hugh.
""our lives are in thy hands."
so we lowered all the gold down except one small chest of it by de aquila's bed, which we kept as much for his delight in its weight and colour as for any of our needs.
"in the morning, ere we rode to our manors, he said: "i do not say farewell; because ye will return and bide here.
not for love nor for sorrow, but to be with the gold.
have a care," he said, laughing, "lest i use it to make myself pope.
trust me not, but return!""
sir richard paused and smiled sadly.
"in seven days, then, we returned from our manors -- from the manors which had been ours."
"and were the children quite well?"
said una.
"my sons were young.
land and governance belong by right to young men."
sir richard was talking to himself.
"it would have broken their hearts if we had taken back our manors.
they made us great welcome, but we could see -- hugh and i could see -- that our day was done.
i was a cripple and he a one-armed man.
no!"
he shook his head.
"and therefore" -- he raised his voice -- "we rode back to pevensey."
"i'm sorry," said una, for the knight seemed very sorrowful.
"little maid, it all passed long ago.
they were young; we were old.
we let them rule the manors.
""aha!"
cried de aquila from his shot-window, when we dismounted.
""back again to earth, old foxes?"
but when we were in his chamber above the hall he puts his arms about us and says, "welcome, ghosts!
welcome, poor ghosts!"
... thus it fell out that we were rich beyond belief, and lonely.
and lonely!"
"what did you do?"
said dan.
"we watched for robert of normandy," said the knight.
"de aquila was like witta.
he suffered no idleness.
in fair weather we would ride along between bexlei on the one side, to cuckmere on the other -- sometimes with hawk, sometimes with hound -lrb- there are stout hares both on the marsh and the downland -rrb-, but always with an eye to the sea, for fear of fleets from normandy.
in foul weather he would walk on the top of his tower, frowning against the rain -- peering here and pointing there.
it always vexed him to think how witta's ship had come and gone without his knowledge.
when the wind ceased and ships anchored, to the wharf's edge he would go and, leaning on his sword among the stinking fish, would call to the mariners for their news from france.
his other eye he kept landward for word of henry's war against the barons.
"many brought him news -- jongleurs, harpers, pedlars, sutlers, priests and the like; and, though he was secret enough in small things, yet, if their news misliked him, then, regarding neither time nor place nor people, he would curse our king henry for a fool or a babe.
i have heard him cry aloud by the fishing boats: "if i were king of england i would do thus and thus"; and when i rode out to see that the warning-beacons were laid and dry, he hath often called to me from the shot-window: "look to it, richard!
do not copy our blind king, but see with thine own eyes and feel with thine own hands."
i do not think he knew any sort of fear.
and so we lived at pevensey, in the little chamber above the hall.
"one foul night came word that a messenger of the king waited below.
we were chilled after a long riding in the fog towards bexlei, which is an easy place for ships to land.
de aquila sent word the man might either eat with us or wait till we had fed.
anon jehan, at the stair-head, cried that he had called for horse, and was gone.
""pest on him!"
said de aquila.
""i have more to do than to shiver in the great hall for every gadling the king sends.
left he no word?""
""none," said jehan, "except" -- he had been with de aquila at santlache -- "except he said that if an old dog could not learn new tricks it was time to sweep out the kennel.""
""oho!"
said de aquila, rubbing his nose, "to whom did he say that?""
""to his beard, chiefly, but some to his horse's flank as he was girthing up.
i followed him out," said jehan the crab."
""what was his shield-mark?""
""gold horseshoes on black," said the crab."
""that is one of fulke's men," said de aquila."
puck broke in very gently, "gold horseshoes on black is not the fulkes" shield.
the fulkes" arms are --" the knight waved one hand statelily.
"thou knowest that evil man's true name," he replied, "but i have chosen to call him fulke because i promised him i would not tell the story of his wickedness so that any man might guess it.
i have changed all the names in my tale.
his children's children may be still alive."
"true -- true," said puck, smiling softly.
"it is knightly to keep faith -- even after a thousand years."
sir richard bowed a little and went on: --" "gold horseshoes on black?"
said de aquila.
""i had heard fulke had joined the barons, but if this is true our king must be of the upper hand.
no matter, all fulkes are faithless.
still, i would not have sent the man away empty.""
""he fed," said jehan.
""gilbert the clerk fetched him meat and wine from the kitchens.
he ate at gilbert's table."
"this gilbert was a clerk from battle abbey, who kept the accounts of the manor of pevensey.
he was tall and pale-coloured, and carried those new-fashioned beads for counting of prayers.
they were large brown nuts or seeds, and hanging from his girdle with his pen and inkhorn they clashed when he walked.
his place was in the great fireplace.
there was his table of accounts, and there he lay o" nights.
he feared the hounds in the hall that came nosing after bones or to sleep on the warm ashes, and would slash at them with his beads -- like a woman.
when de aquila sat in hall to do justice, take fines, or grant lands, gilbert would so write it in the manor-roll.
but it was none of his work to feed our guests, or to let them depart without his lord's knowledge.
"said de aquila, after jehan was gone down the stair: "hugh, hast thou ever told my gilbert thou canst read latin hand-of-write?""
""no," said hugh.
""he is no friend to me, or to odo my hound either.""
""no matter," said de aquila.
""let him never know thou canst tell one letter from its fellow, and" -- here he jerked us in the ribs with his scabbard -- "watch him, both of ye.
there be devils in africa, as i have heard, but by the saints, there be greater devils in pevensey!"
and that was all he would say.
"it chanced, some small while afterwards, a norman man-at-arms would wed a saxon wench of the manor, and gilbert -lrb- we had watched him well since de aquila spoke -rrb- doubted whether her folk were free or slave.
since de aquila would give them a field of good land, if she were free, the matter came up at the justice in great hall before de aquila.
first the wench's father spoke; then her mother; then all together, till the hall rang and the hounds bayed.
de aquila held up his hands.
""write her free," he called to gilbert by the fireplace.
""a" god's name write her free, before she deafens me!
yes, yes," he said to the wench that was on her knees at him; "thou art cerdic's sister, and own cousin to the lady of mercia, if thou wilt be silent.
in fifty years there will be neither norman nor saxon, but all english," said he, "and these are the men that do our work!"
he clapped the man-at-arms that was jehan's nephew on the shoulder, and kissed the wench, and fretted with his feet among the rushes to show it was finished.
-lrb- the great hall is always bitter cold. -rrb-
i stood at his side; hugh was behind gilbert in the fireplace making to play with wise rough odo.
he signed to de aquila, who bade gilbert measure the new field for the new couple.
out then runs our gilbert between man and maid, his beads clashing at his waist, and the hall being empty, we three sit by the fire.
"said hugh, leaning down to the hearthstones, "i saw this stone move under gilbert's foot when odo snuffed at it.
look!"
de aquila digged in the ashes with his sword; the stone tilted; beneath it lay a parchment folden, and the writing atop was: "words spoken against the king by our lord of pevensey -- the second part."
"here was set out -lrb- hugh read it us whispering -rrb- every jest de aquila had made to us touching the king; every time he had called out to me from the shot-window, and every time he had said what he would do if he were king of england.
yes, day by day had his daily speech, which he never stinted, been set down by gilbert, tricked out and twisted from its true meaning, yet withal so cunningly that none could deny who knew him that de aquila had in some sort spoken those words.
ye see?"
dan and una nodded.
"yes," said una gravely.
"it is n't what you say so much.
it's what you mean when you say it.
like calling dan a beast in fun.
only grown-ups do n't always understand.'"
""he hath done this day by day before our very face?"
said de aquila."
""nay, hour by hour," said hugh.
""when de aquila spoke even now, in the hall, of saxons and normans, i saw gilbert write on a parchment, which he kept beside the manor-roll, that de aquila said soon there would be no normans left in england if his men-at-arms did their work aright.""
""bones of the saints!"
said de aquila.
""what avail is honour or a sword against a pen?
where did gilbert hide that writing?
he shall eat it.""
""in his breast when he ran out," said hugh.
""which made me look to see where he kept his finished stuff.
when odo scratched at this stone here, i saw his face change.
so i was sure.""
""he is bold," said de aquila.
""do him justice.
in his own fashion, my gilbert is bold.""
""overbold," said hugh.
""hearken here," and he read: "upon the feast of st agatha, our lord of pevensey, lying in his upper chamber, being clothed in his second fur gown reversed with rabbit --"" "pest on him!
he is not my tire-woman!"
said de aquila, and hugh and i laughed."
""reversed with rabbit, seeing a fog over the marshes, did wake sir richard dalyngridge, his drunken cup-mate" -lrb- here they laughed at me -rrb- "and said, "peer out, old fox, for god is on the duke of normandy's side."'"
""so did i.
it was a black fog.
robert could have landed ten thousand men, and we none the wiser.
does he tell how we were out all day riding the marsh, and how i near perished in a quicksand, and coughed like a sick ewe for ten days after?"
cried de aquila."
""no," said hugh.
""but here is the prayer of gilbert himself to his master fulke.""
""ah," said de aquila.
""well i knew it was fulke.
what is the price of my blood?""
""gilbert prayeth that when our lord of pevensey is stripped of his lands on this evidence which gilbert hath, with fear and pains, collected --"" "fear and pains is a true word," said de aquila, and sucked in his cheeks.
""but how excellent a weapon is a pen!
i must learn it.""
""he prays that fulke will advance him from his present service to that honour in the church which fulke promised him.
and lest fulke should forget, he has written below, "to be sacristan of battle"."
"at this de aquila whistled.
""a man who can plot against one lord can plot against another.
when i am stripped of my lands fulke will whip off my gilbert's foolish head.
none the less battle needs a new sacristan.
they tell me the abbot henry keeps no sort of rule there.""
""let the abbot wait," said hugh.
""it is our heads and our lands that are in danger.
this parchment is the second part of the tale.
the first has gone to fulke, and so to the king, who will hold us traitors."
""assuredly," said de aquila.
""fulke's man took the first part that evening when gilbert fed him, and our king is so beset by his brother and his barons -lrb- small blame, too! -rrb-
that he is mad with mistrust.
fulke has his ear, and pours poison into it.
presently the king gives him my land and yours.
this is old," and he leaned back and yawned."
""and thou wilt surrender pevensey without word or blow?"
said hugh.
""we saxons will fight your king then.
i will go warn my nephew at dallington.
give me a horse!""
""give thee a toy and a rattle," said de aquila.
""put back the parchment, and rake over the ashes.
if fulke is given my pevensey, which is england's gate, what will he do with it?
he is norman at heart, and his heart is in normandy, where he can kill peasants at his pleasure.
he will open england's gate to our sleepy robert, as odo and mortain tried to do, and then there will be another landing and another santlache.
therefore i can not give up pevensey.""
""good," said we two."
""ah, but wait!
if my king be made, on gilbert's evidence, to mistrust me, he will send his men against me here, and while we fight, england's gate is left unguarded.
who will be the first to come through thereby?
even robert of normandy.
therefore i can not fight my king."
he nursed his sword -- thus."
""this is saying and unsaying like a norman," said hugh.
""what of our manors?""
""i do not think for myself," said de aquila, "nor for our king, nor for your lands.
i think for england, for whom neither king nor baron thinks.
i am not norman, sir richard, nor saxon, sir hugh.
english am i."" "saxon, norman or english," said hugh, "our lives are thine, however the game goes.
when do we hang gilbert?""
""never," said de aquila.
""who knows, he may yet be sacristan of battle, for, to do him justice, he is a good writer.
dead men make dumb witnesses.
wait.""
""but the king may give pevensey to fulke.
and our manors go with it," said i. "shall we tell our sons?""
""no.
the king will not wake up a hornets" nest in the south till he has smoked out the bees in the north.
he may hold me a traitor; but at least he sees i am not fighting against him; and every day that i lie still is so much gain to him while he fights the barons.
if he were wise he would wait till that war were over before he made new enemies.
but i think fulke will play upon him to send for me, and if i do not obey the summons, that will, to henry's mind, be proof of my treason.
but mere talk, such as gilbert sends, is no proof nowadays.
we barons follow the church, and, like anselm, we speak what we please.
let us go about our day's dealings, and say naught to gilbert.""
""then we do nothing?"
said hugh."
""we wait," said de aquila.
""i am old, but still i find that the most grievous work i know."
"and so we found it, but in the end de aquila was right."
a little later in the year, armed men rode over the hill, the golden horseshoes flying behind the king's banner.
said de aquila, at the window of our chamber: "how did i tell you?
here comes fulke himself to spy out his new lands which our king hath promised him if he can bring proof of my treason.""
""how dost thou know?"
said hugh."
""because that is what i would do if i were fulke, but i should have brought more men.
my roan horse to your old shoes," said he, "fulke brings me the king's summons to leave pevensey and join the war."
he sucked in his cheeks and drummed on the edge of the shaft, where the water sounded all hollow."
""shall we go?"
said i." "go!
at this time of year?
stark madness," said he.
""take me from pevensey to fisk and flyte through fern and forest, and in three days robert's keels would be lying on pevensey mud with ten thousand men!
who would stop them -- fulke?"
"the horns blew without, and anon fulke cried the king's summons at the great door, that de aquila with all men and horse should join the king's camp at salisbury."
""how did i tell you?"
said de aquila.
""there are twenty barons "twixt here and salisbury could give king henry good land service, but he has been worked upon by fulke to send south and call me -- me!
-- off the gate of england, when his enemies stand about to batter it in.
see that fulke's men lie in the big south barn," said he.
""give them drink, and when fulke has eaten we will drink in my chamber.
the great hall is too cold for old bones."
"as soon as he was off-horse fulke went to the chapel with gilbert to give thanks for his safe coming, and when he had eaten -- he was a fat man, and rolled his eyes greedily at our good roast sussex wheatears -- we led him to the little upper chamber, whither gilbert had already gone with the manor-roll.
i remember when fulke heard the tide blow and whistle in the shaft he leaped back, and his long down-turned stirrup-shoes caught in the rushes and he stumbled, so that jehan behind him found it easy to knock his head against the wall."
"did you know it was going to happen?"
said dan.
"assuredly," said sir richard, with a sweet smile."
i put my foot on his sword and plucked away his dagger, but he knew not whether it was day or night for awhile.
he lay rolling his eyes and bubbling with his mouth, and jehan roped him like a calf.
he was cased all in that newfangled armour which we call lizard-mail.
not rings like my hauberk here" -- sir richard tapped his chest -- but little pieces of dagger-proof steel overlapping on stout leather.
we stripped it off -lrb- no need to spoil good harness by wetting it -rrb-, and in the neck-piece de aquila found the same folden piece of parchment which we had put back under the hearthstone.
"at this gilbert would have run out.
i laid my hand on his shoulder.
it sufficed.
he fell to trembling and praying on his beads."
""gilbert," said de aquila, "here be more notable sayings and doings of our lord of pevensey for thee to write down.
take pen and ink-horn, gilbert.
we can not all be sacristans of battle."
"said fulke from the floor, "ye have bound a king's messenger.
pevensey shall burn for this.""
""maybe.
i have seen it besieged once," said de aquila, "but heart up, fulke.
i promise thee that thou shalt be hanged in the middle of the flames at the end of that siege, if i have to share my last loaf with thee; and that is more than odo would have done when we starved out him and mortain."
"then fulke sat up and looked long and cunningly at de aquila."
""by the saints," said he, "why didst thou not say thou wast on the duke robert's side at the first?""
""am i?"
said de aquila.
"fulke laughed and said, "no man who serves king henry dare do this much to his messenger.
when didst thou come over to the duke?
let me up and we can smooth it out together."
and he smiled and becked and winked."
""yes, we will smooth it out," said de aquila.
he nodded to me, and jehan and i heaved up fulke -- he was a heavy man -- and lowered him into the shaft by a rope, not so as to stand on our gold, but dangling by his shoulders a little above.
it was turn of ebb, and the water came to his knees.
he said nothing, but shivered somewhat.
"then jehan of a sudden beat down gilbert's wrist with his sheathed dagger.
""stop!"
he said.
""he swallows his beads.""
""poison, belike," said de aquila.
""it is good for men who know too much.
i have carried it these thirty years.
give me!"
"then gilbert wept and howled.
de aquila ran the beads through his fingers.
the last one -- i have said they were large nuts -- opened in two halves on a pin, and there was a small folded parchment within.
on it was written:" the old dog goes to salisbury to be beaten.
i have his kennel.
come quickly.""
""this is worse than poison," said de aquila, very softly, and sucked in his cheeks.
then gilbert grovelled in the rushes, and told us all he knew.
the letter, as we guessed, was from fulke to the duke -lrb- and not the first that had passed between them -rrb-; fulke had given it to gilbert in the chapel, and gilbert thought to have taken it by morning to a certain fishing boat at the wharf, which trafficked between pevensey and the french shore.
gilbert was a false fellow, but he found time between his quakings and shakings to swear that the master of the boat knew nothing of the matter."
""he hath called me shaved head," said gilbert, "and he hath thrown haddock-guts at me; but for all that, he is no traitor.""
""i will have no clerk of mine mishandled or miscalled," said de aquila.
""that seaman shall be whipped at his own mast.
write me first a letter, and thou shalt bear it, with the order for the whipping, to-morrow to the boat."
"at this gilbert would have kissed de aquila's hand -- he had not hoped to live until the morning -- and when he trembled less he wrote a letter as from fulke to the duke, saying that the kennel, which signified pevensey, was shut, and that the old dog -lrb- which was de aquila -rrb- sat outside it, and, moreover, that all had been betrayed."
""write to any man that all is betrayed," said de aquila, "and even the pope himself would sleep uneasily.
eh, jehan?
if one told thee all was betrayed, what wouldst thou do?""
""i would run away," said jehan.
""it might be true.""
""well said," quoth de aquila.
""write, gilbert, that montgomery, the great earl, hath made his peace with the king, and that little d'arcy, whom i hate, hath been hanged by the heels.
we will give robert full measure to chew upon.
write also that fulke himself is sick to death of a dropsy.""
""nay!"
cried fulke, hanging in the well-shaft.
""drown me out of hand, but do not make a jest of me.""
""jest?
i?"
said de aquila.
""i am but fighting for life and lands with a pen, as thou hast shown me, fulke."
"then fulke groaned, for he was cold, and, "let me confess," said he."
""now, this is right neighbourly," said de aquila, leaning over the shaft.
""thou hast read my sayings and doings -- or at least the first part of them -- and thou art minded to repay me with thy own doings and sayings.
take pen and inkhorn, gilbert.
here is work that will not irk thee.""
""let my men go without hurt, and i will confess my treason against the king," said fulke."
""now, why has he grown so tender of his men of a sudden?"
said hugh to me; for fulke had no name for mercy to his men.
plunder he gave them, but pity, none."
""té!
té!"
said de aquila.
""thy treason was all confessed long ago by gilbert.
it would be enough to hang montgomery himself.""
""nay; but spare my men," said fulke; and we heard him splash like a fish in a pond, for the tide was rising."
""all in good time," said de aquila.
""the night is young; the wine is old; and we need only the merry tale.
begin the story of thy life since when thou wast a lad at tours.
tell it nimbly!""
""ye shame me to my soul," said fulke."
""then i have done what neither king nor duke could do," said de aquila.
""but begin, and forget nothing.""
""send thy man away," said fulke."
""that much can i do," said de aquila.
""but, remember, i am like the danes" king; i can not turn the tide.""
""how long will it rise?"
said fulke, and splashed anew."
""for three hours," said de aquila.
""time to tell all thy good deeds.
begin, and gilbert, -- i have heard thou art somewhat careless -- do not twist his words from his true meaning."
"so -- fear of death in the dark being upon him -- fulke began, and gilbert, not knowing what his fate might be, wrote it word by word.
i have heard many tales, but never heard i aught to match the tale of fulke his black life, as fulke told it hollowly, hanging in the shaft."
"was it bad?"
said dan, awestruck.
"beyond belief," sir richard answered.
"none the less, there was that in it which forced even gilbert to laugh.
we three laughed till we ached.
at one place his teeth so chattered that we could not well hear, and we reached him down a cup of wine.
then he warmed to it, and smoothly set out all his shifts, malices, and treacheries, his extreme boldnesses -lrb- he was desperate bold -rrb-; his retreats, shufflings, and counterfeitings -lrb- he was also inconceivably a coward -rrb-; his lack of gear and honour; his despair at their loss; his remedies, and well-coloured contrivances.
yes, he waved the filthy rags of his life before us, as though they had been some proud banner.
when he ceased, we saw by torches that the tide stood at the corners of his mouth, and he breathed strongly through his nose.
"we had him out, and rubbed him; we wrapped him in a cloak, and gave him wine, and we leaned and looked upon him, the while he drank.
he was shivering, but shameless.
"of a sudden we heard jehan at the stairway wake, but a boy pushed past him, and stood before us, the hall rushes in his hair, all slubbered with sleep.
""my father!
my father!
i dreamed of treachery," he cried, and babbled thickly."
""there is no treachery here," said fulke.
""go!"
and the boy turned, even then not fully awake, and jehan led him by the hand to the great hall."
""thy only son!"
said de aquila.
""why didst thou bring the child here?""
""he is my heir.
i dared not trust him to my brother," said fulke, and now he was ashamed.
de aquila said nothing, but sat weighing a wine cup in his two hands -- thus.
anon, fulke touched him on the knee."
""let the boy escape to normandy," said he, "and do with me at thy pleasure.
yea, hang me tomorrow, with my letter to robert round my neck, but let the boy go.""
""be still," said de aquila.
""i think for england."
"so we waited what our lord of pevensey should devise; and the sweat ran down fulke's forehead.
"at last said de aquila: "i am too old to judge, or to trust any man.
i do not covet thy lands, as thou hast coveted mine; and whether thou art any better or any worse than any other black angevin thief, it is for thy king to find out.
therefore, go back to thy king, fulke.""
""and thou wilt say nothing of what has passed?"
said fulke."
""why should i?
thy son will stay with me.
if the king calls me again to leave pevensey, which i must guard against england's enemies; if the king sends his men against me for a traitor; or if i hear that the king in his bed thinks any evil of me or my two knights, thy son will be hanged from out this window, fulke.""
"but it had n't anything to do with his son," cried una, startled.
"how could we have hanged fulke?"
said sir richard.
"we needed him to make our peace with the king.
he would have betrayed half england for the boy's sake.
of that we were sure.'"
i do n't understand," said una.
"but i think it was simply awful."
"so did not fulke.
he was well pleased."
"what?
because his son was going to be killed?"
"nay.
because de aquila had shown him how he might save the boy's life and his own lands and honours.
""i will do it," he said.
""i swear i will do it.
i will tell the king thou art no traitor, but the most excellent, valiant, and perfect of us all.
yes, i will save thee."
"de aquila looked still into the bottom of the cup, rolling the wine-dregs to and fro."
""ay," he said.
""if i had a son, i would, i think, save him.
but do not by any means tell me how thou wilt go about it.""
""nay, nay," said fulke, nodding his bald head wisely.
""that is my secret.
but rest at ease, de aquila, no hair of thy head nor rood of thy land shall be forfeited," and he smiled like one planning great good deeds."
""and henceforward," said de aquila, "i counsel thee to serve one master -- not two.""
""what?"
said fulke.
""can i work no more honest trading between the two sides these troublous times?""
""serve robert or the king -- england or normandy," said de aquila.
""i care not which it is, but make thy choice here and now.""
""the king, then," said fulke, "for i see he is better served than robert.
shall i swear it?""
""no need," said de aquila, and he laid his hand on the parchments which gilbert had written.
""it shall be some part of my gilbert's penance to copy out the savoury tale of thy life, till we have made ten, twenty, an hundred, maybe, copies.
how many cattle, think you, would the bishop of tours give for that tale?
or thy brother?
or the monks of blois?
minstrels will turn it into songs which thy own saxon serfs shall sing behind their plough-stilts, and men-at-arms riding through thy norman towns.
from here to rome, fulke, men will make very merry over that tale, and how fulke told it, hanging in a well, like a drowned puppy.
this shall be thy punishment, if ever i find thee double-dealing with thy king any more.
meantime, the parchments stay here with thy son.
him i will return to thee when thou hast made my peace with the king.
the parchments never."
"fulke hid his face and groaned."
""bones of the saints!"
said de aquila, laughing.
""the pen cuts deep.
i could never have fetched that grunt out of thee with any sword.""
""but so long as i do not anger thee, my tale will be secret?"
said fulke."
""just so long.
does that comfort thee, fulke?"
said de aquila."
""what other comfort have ye left me?"
he said, and of a sudden he wept hopelessly like a child, dropping his face on his knees."
"poor fulke," said una."
i pitied him also," said sir richard."
""after the spur, corn," said de aquila, and he threw fulke three wedges of gold that he had taken from our little chest by the bedplace."
""if i had known this," said fulke, catching his breath, "i would never have lifted hand against pevensey.
only lack of this yellow stuff has made me so unlucky in my dealings."
"it was dawn then, and they stirred in the great hall below.
we sent down fulke's mail to be scoured, and when he rode away at noon under his own and the king's banner, very splendid and stately did he show.
he smoothed his long beard, and called his son to his stirrup and kissed him.
de aquila rode with him as far as the new mill landward.
we thought the night had been all a dream."
"but did he make it right with the king?"
dan asked.
"about your not being traitors, i mean."
sir richard smiled.
"the king sent no second summons to pevensey, nor did he ask why de aquila had not obeyed the first.
yes, that was fulke's work.
i know not how he did it, but it was well and swiftly done."
"then you did n't do anything to his son?"
said una.
"the boy?
oh, he was an imp!
he turned the keep doors out of dortoirs while we had him.
he sang foul songs, learned in the barons" camps -- poor fool; he set the hounds fighting in hall; he lit the rushes to drive out, as he said, the fleas; he drew his dagger on jehan, who threw him down the stairway for it; and he rode his horse through crops and among sheep.
but when we had beaten him, and showed him wolf and deer, he followed us old men like a young, eager hound, and called us "uncle".
his father came the summer's end to take him away, but the boy had no lust to go, because of the otter-hunting, and he stayed on till the fox-hunting.
i gave him a bittern's claw to bring him good luck at shooting.
an imp, if ever there was!"
"and what happened to gilbert?"
said dan.
"not even a whipping.
de aquila said he would sooner a clerk, however false, that knew the manor-roll than a fool, however true, that must be taught his work afresh.
moreover, after that night i think gilbert loved as much as he feared de aquila.
at least he would not leave us -- not even when vivian, the king's clerk, would have made him sacristan of battle abbey.
a false fellow, but, in his fashion, bold."
"did robert ever land in pevensey after all?"
dan went on.
"we guarded the coast too well while henry was fighting his barons; and three or four years later, when england had peace, henry crossed to normandy and showed his brother some work at tenchebrai that cured robert of fighting.
many of henry's men sailed from pevensey to that war.
fulke came, i remember, and we all four lay in the little chamber once again, and drank together.
de aquila was right.
one should not judge men.
fulke was merry.
yes, always merry -- with a catch in his breath."
"and what did you do afterwards?"
said una.
"we talked together of times past.
that is all men can do when they grow old, little maid."
the bell for tea rang faintly across the meadows.
dan lay in the bows of the golden hind; una in the stern, the book of verses open in her lap, was reading from "the slave's dream": "again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, he saw his native land.'"
i do n't know when you began that," said dan, sleepily.
on the middle thwart of the boat, beside una's sun-bonnet, lay an oak leaf, an ash leaf, and a thorn leaf, that must have dropped down from the trees above; and the brook giggled as though it had just seen some joke.
the runes on weland's sword a smith makes me to betray my man in my first fight.
to gather gold at the world's end i am sent.
the gold i gather comes into england out of deep water.
like a shining fish then it descends into deep water.
it is not given for goods or gear, but for the thing.
the gold i gather a king covets for an ill use.
the gold i gather is drawn up out of deep water.
like a shining fish then it descends into deep water.
it is not given for goods or gear, but for the thing.
a centurion of the thirtieth cities and thrones and powers stand in time's eye, almost as long as flowers, which daily die.
but, as new buds put forth to glad new men, out of the spent and unconsidered earth, the cities rise again.
this season's daffodil, she never hears, what change, what chance, what chill, cut down last year's: but with bold countenance, and knowledge small, esteems her seven days" continuance to be perpetual.
so time that is o'er-kind, to all that be, ordains us e "en as blind, as bold as she: that in our very death, and burial sure, shadow to shadow, well persuaded, saith, "see how our works endure!"
a centurion of the thirtieth dan had come to grief over his latin, and was kept in; so una went alone to far wood.
dan's big catapult and the lead bullets that hobden had made for him were hidden in an old hollow beech-stub on the west of the wood.
they had named the place out of the verse in lays of ancient rome: from lordly volaterrae, where scowls the far-famed hold piled by the hands of giants for godlike kings of old.
they were the "godlike kings", and when old hobden piled some comfortable brushwood between the big wooden knees of volaterrae, they called him "hands of giants".
una slipped through their private gap in the fence, and sat still awhile, scowling as scowlily and lordlily as she knew how; for volaterrae is an important watch-tower that juts out of far wood just as far wood juts out of the hillside.
pook's hill lay below her and all the turns of the brook as it wanders out of the willingford woods, between hop-gardens, to old hobden's cottage at the forge.
the sou" - west wind -lrb- there is always a wind by volaterrae -rrb- blew from the bare ridge where cherry clack windmill stands.
now wind prowling through woods sounds like exciting things going to happen, and that is why on blowy days you stand up in volaterrae and shout bits of the lays to suit its noises.
una took dan's catapult from its secret place, and made ready to meet lars porsena's army stealing through the wind-whitened aspens by the brook.
a gust boomed up the valley, and una chanted sorrowfully: "verbenna down to ostia hath wasted all the plain: astur hath stormed janiculum, and the stout guards are slain."
but the wind, not charging fair to the wood, started aside and shook a single oak in gleason's pasture.
here it made itself all small and crouched among the grasses, waving the tips of them as a cat waves the tip of her tail before she springs.
"now welcome -- welcome, sextus," sang una, loading the catapult -- "now welcome to thy home!
why dost thou stay, and turn away?
here lies the road to rome."
she fired into the face of the lull, to wake up the cowardly wind, and heard a grunt from behind a thorn in the pasture.
"oh, my winkie!"
she said aloud, and that was something she had picked up from dan."
i b "lieve i've tickled up a gleason cow."
"you little painted beast!"
a voice cried.
"i'll teach you to sling your masters!"
she looked down most cautiously, and saw a young man covered with hoopy bronze armour all glowing among the late broom.
but what una admired beyond all was his great bronze helmet with a red horse-tail that flicked in the wind.
she could hear the long hairs rasp on his shimmery shoulder-plates.
"what does the faun mean," he said, half aloud to himself, "by telling me that the painted people have changed?"
he caught sight of una's yellow head.
"have you seen a painted lead-slinger?"
he called.
"no-o," said una.
"but if you've seen a bullet --" "seen?"
cried the man.
"it passed within a hair's breadth of my ear."
"well, that was me.
i'm most awfully sorry."
"did n't the faun tell you i was coming?"
he smiled.
"not if you mean puck.
i thought you were a gleason cow.
i -- i did n't know you were a -- a -- what are you?"
he laughed outright, showing a set of splendid teeth.
his face and eyes were dark, and his eyebrows met above his big nose in one bushy black bar.
"they call me parnesius.
i have been a centurion of the seventh cohort of the thirtieth legion -- the ulpia victrix.
did you sling that bullet?'"
i did.
i was using dan's catapult," said una.
"catapults!"
said he."
i ought to know something about them.
show me!"
he leaped the rough fence with a rattle of spear, shield, and armour, and hoisted himself into volaterrae as quickly as a shadow."
a sling on a forked stick.
i understand!"
he cried, and pulled at the elastic.
"but what wonderful beast yields this stretching leather?"
"it's laccy -- elastic.
you put the bullet into that loop, and then you pull hard."
the man pulled, and hit himself square on his thumb-nail.
"each to his own weapon," he said gravely, handing it back."
i am better with the bigger machine, little maiden.
but it's a pretty toy.
a wolf would laugh at it.
are n't you afraid of wolves?"
"there are n't any," said una.
"never believe it!
a wolf's like a winged hat.
he comes when he is n't expected.
do n't they hunt wolves here?"
"we do n't hunt," said una, remembering what she had heard from grown-ups.
"we preserve -- pheasants.
do you know them?'"
i ought to," said the young man, smiling again, and he imitated the cry of the cock-pheasant so perfectly that a bird answered out of the wood.
"what a big painted clucking fool is a pheasant!"
he said.
"just like some romans."
"but you're a roman yourself, are n't you?"
said una.
"ye-es and no.
i'm one of a good few thousands who have never seen rome except in a picture.
my people have lived at vectis for generations.
vectis -- that island west yonder that you can see from so far in clear weather."
"do you mean the isle of wight?
it lifts up just before rain, and you see it from the downs."
"very likely.
our villa's on the south edge of the island, by the broken cliffs.
most of it is three hundred years old, but the cow-stables, where our first ancestor lived, must be a hundred years older.
oh, quite that, because the founder of our family had his land given him by agricola at the settlement.
it's not a bad little place for its size.
in spring-time violets grow down to the very beach.
i've gathered sea-weeds for myself and violets for my mother many a time with our old nurse."
"was your nurse a -- a romaness too?"
"no, a numidian.
gods be good to her!
a dear, fat, brown thing with a tongue like a cowbell.
she was a free woman.
by the way, are you free, maiden?"
"oh, quite," said una.
"at least, till tea-time; and in summer our governess does n't say much if we're late."
the young man laughed again -- a proper understanding laugh."
i see," said he.
"that accounts for your being in the wood.
we hid among the cliffs."
"did you have a governess, then?"
"did we not?
a greek, too.
she had a way of clutching her dress when she hunted us among the gorse-bushes that made us laugh.
then she'd say she'd get us whipped.
she never did, though, bless her!
aglaia was a thorough sportswoman, for all her learning."
"but what lessons did you do -- when -- when you were little?"
"ancient history, the classics, arithmetic and so on," he answered.
"my sister and i were thick-heads, but my two brothers -lrb- i'm the middle one -rrb- liked those things, and, of course, mother was clever enough for any six.
she was nearly as tall as i am, and she looked like the new statue on the western road -- the demeter of the baskets, you know.
and funny!
roma dea!
how mother could make us laugh!"
"what at?"
"little jokes and sayings that every family has.
do n't you know?'"
i know we have, but i did n't know other people had them too," said una.
"tell me about all your family, please."
"good families are very much alike.
mother would sit spinning of evenings while aglaia read in her corner, and father did accounts, and we four romped about the passages.
when our noise grew too loud the pater would say, "less tumult!
less tumult!
have you never heard of a father's right over his children?
he can slay them, my loves -- slay them dead, and the gods highly approve of the action!"
then mother would prim up her dear mouth over the wheel and answer: "h'm!
i'm afraid there ca n't be much of the roman father about you!"
then the pater would roll up his accounts, and say, "i'll show you!"
and then -- then, he'd be worse than any of us!"
"fathers can -- if they like," said una, her eyes dancing.
"did n't i say all good families are very much the same?"
"what did you do in summer?"
said una.
"play about, like us?"
"yes, and we visited our friends.
there are no wolves in vectis.
we had many friends, and as many ponies as we wished."
"it must have been lovely," said una."
i hope it lasted for ever."
"not quite, little maid.
when i was about sixteen or seventeen, the father felt gouty, and we all went to the waters."
"what waters?"
"at aquae solis.
every one goes there.
you ought to get your father to take you some day."
"but where?
i do n't know," said una.
the young man looked astonished for a moment.
"aquae solis," he repeated.
"the best baths in britain.
just as good, i'm told, as rome.
all the old gluttons sit in hot water, and talk scandal and politics.
and the generals come through the streets with their guards behind them; and the magistrates come in their chairs with their stiff guards behind them; and you meet fortune-tellers, and goldsmiths, and merchants, and philosophers, and feather-sellers, and ultra-roman britons, and ultra-british romans, and tame tribesmen pretending to be civilised, and jew lecturers, and -- oh, everybody interesting.
we young people, of course, took no interest in politics.
we had not the gout: there were many of our age like us.
we did not find life sad.
"but while we were enjoying ourselves without thinking, my sister met the son of a magistrate in the west -- and a year afterwards she was married to him.
my young brother, who was always interested in plants and roots, met the first doctor of a legion from the city of the legions, and he decided that he would be an army doctor.
i do not think it is a profession for a well-born man, but then -- i'm not my brother.
he went to rome to study medicine, and now he's first doctor of a legion in egypt -- at antinoe, i think, but i have not heard from him for some time.
"my eldest brother came across a greek philosopher, and told my father that he intended to settle down on the estate as a farmer and a philosopher.
you see," -- the young man's eyes twinkled -- "his philosopher was a long-haired one!'"
i thought philosophers were bald," said una.
"not all.
she was very pretty.
i do n't blame him.
nothing could have suited me better than my eldest brother's doing this, for i was only too keen to join the army.
i had always feared i should have to stay at home and look after the estate while my brother took this."
he rapped on his great glistening shield that never seemed to be in his way.
"so we were well contented -- we young people -- and we rode back to clausentum along the wood road very quietly.
but when we reached home, aglaia, our governess, saw what had come to us.
i remember her at the door, the torch over her head, watching us climb the cliff-path from the boat.
""aie!
aie!"
she said.
""children you went away.
men and a woman you return!"
then she kissed mother, and mother wept.
thus our visit to the waters settled our fates for each of us, maiden."
he rose to his feet and listened, leaning on the shield-rim."
i think that's dan -- my brother," said una.
"yes; and the faun is with him," he replied, as dan with puck stumbled through the copse.
"we should have come sooner," puck called, "but the beauties of your native tongue, o parnesius, have enthralled this young citizen."
parnesius looked bewildered, even when una explained.
"dan said the plural of "dominus" was "dominoes", and when miss blake said it was n't he said he supposed it was "backgammon", and so he had to write it out twice -- for cheek, you know."
dan had climbed into volaterrae, hot and panting.
"i've run nearly all the way," he gasped, "and then puck met me.
how do you do, sir?'"
i am in good health," parnesius answered.
"see!
i have tried to bend the bow of ulysses, but --" he held up his thumb.
"i'm sorry.
you must have pulled off too soon," said dan.
"but puck said you were telling una a story."
"continue, o parnesius," said puck, who had perched himself on a dead branch above them."
i will be chorus.
has he puzzled you much, una?"
"not a bit, except -- i did n't know where ak -- ak something was," she answered.
"oh, aquae solis.
that's bath, where the buns come from.
let the hero tell his own tale."
parnesius pretended to thrust his spear at puck's legs, but puck reached down, caught at the horse-tail plume, and pulled off the tall helmet.
"thanks, jester," said parnesius, shaking his curly dark head.
"that is cooler.
now hang it up for me..." i was telling your sister how i joined the army," he said to dan.
"did you have to pass an exam?"
dan asked eagerly.
"no.
i went to my father, and said i should like to enter the dacian horse -lrb- i had seen some at aquae solis -rrb-; but he said i had better begin service in a regular legion from rome.
now, like many of our youngsters, i was not too fond of anything roman.
the roman-born officers and magistrates looked down on us british-born as though we were barbarians.
i told my father so."
""i know they do," he said; "but remember, after all, we are the people of the old stock, and our duty is to the empire.""
""to which empire?"
i asked.
""we split the eagle before i was born.""
""what thieves" talk is that?"
said my father.
he hated slang."
""well, sir," i said, "we've one emperor in rome, and i do n't know how many emperors the outlying provinces have set up from time to time.
which am i to follow?""
""gratian," said he.
""at least he's a sportsman.""
""he's all that," i said.
""has n't he turned himself into a raw-beef-eating scythian?""
""where did you hear of it?"
said the pater."
""at aquae solis," i said.
it was perfectly true.
this precious emperor gratian of ours had a bodyguard of fur-cloaked scythians, and he was so crazy about them that he dressed like them.
in rome of all places in the world!
it was as bad as if my own father had painted himself blue!"
""no matter for the clothes," said the pater.
""they are only the fringe of the trouble.
it began before your time or mine.
rome has forsaken her gods, and must be punished.
the great war with the painted people broke out in the very year the temples of our gods were destroyed.
we beat the painted people in the very year our temples were rebuilt.
go back further still."
... he went back to the time of diocletian; and to listen to him you would have thought eternal rome herself was on the edge of destruction, just because a few people had become a little large-minded."
i knew nothing about it.
aglaia never taught us the history of our own country.
she was so full of her ancient greeks."
""there is no hope for rome," said the pater, at last.
""she has forsaken her gods, but if the gods forgive us here, we may save britain.
to do that, we must keep the painted people back.
therefore, i tell you, parnesius, as a father, that if your heart is set on service, your place is among men on the wall -- and not with women among the cities.""
"what wall?"
asked dan and una at once.
"father meant the one we call hadrian's wall.
i'll tell you about it later.
it was built long ago, across north britain, to keep out the painted people -- picts, you call them.
father had fought in the great pict war that lasted more than twenty years, and he knew what fighting meant.
theodosius, one of our great generals, had chased the little beasts back far into the north before i was born.
down at vectis, of course, we never troubled our heads about them.
but when my father spoke as he did, i kissed his hand, and waited for orders.
we british-born romans know what is due to our parents."
"if i kissed my father's hand, he'd laugh," said dan.
"customs change; but if you do not obey your father, the gods remember it.
you may be quite sure of that.
"after our talk, seeing i was in earnest, the pater sent me over to clausentum to learn my foot-drill in a barrack full of foreign auxiliaries -- as unwashed and unshaved a mob of mixed barbarians as ever scrubbed a breastplate.
it was your stick in their stomachs and your shield in their faces to push them into any sort of formation.
when i had learned my work the instructor gave me a handful -- and they were a handful!
-- of gauls and iberians to polish up till they were sent to their stations up-country.
i did my best, and one night a villa in the suburbs caught fire, and i had my handful out and at work before any of the other troops.
i noticed a quiet-looking man on the lawn, leaning on a stick.
he watched us passing buckets from the pond, and at last he said to me: "who are you?""
""a probationer, waiting for a command," i answered.
i did n't know who he was from deucalion!"
""born in britain?"
he said."
""yes, if you were born in spain," i said, for he neighed his words like an iberian mule."
""and what might you call yourself when you are at home?"
he said, laughing."
""that depends," i answered; "sometimes one thing and sometimes another.
but now i'm busy."
"he said no more till we had saved the family gods -lrb- they were respectable householders -rrb-, and then he grunted across the laurels: "listen, young sometimes-one-thing-and-sometimes-another.
in future call yourself centurion of the seventh cohort of the thirtieth, the ulpia victrix.
that will help me to remember you.
your father and a few other people call me maximus."
"he tossed me the polished stick he was leaning on, and went away.
you might have knocked me down with it!"
"who was he?"
said dan.
"maximus himself, our great general!
the general of britain who had been theodosius's right hand in the pict war!
not only had he given me my centurion's stick direct, but three steps in a good legion as well!
a new man generally begins in the tenth cohort of his legion, and works up."
"and were you pleased?"
said una.
"very.
i thought maximus had chosen me for my good looks and fine style in marching, but, when i went home, the pater told me he had served under maximus in the great pict war, and had asked him to befriend me.'"
a child you were!"
said puck, from above."
i was," said parnesius.
"do n't begrudge it me, faun.
afterwards -- the gods know i put aside the games!"
and puck nodded, brown chin on brown hand, his big eyes still.
"the night before i left we sacrificed to our ancestors -- the usual little home sacrifice -- but i never prayed so earnestly to all the good shades, and then i went with my father by boat to regnum, and across the chalk eastwards to anderida yonder."
"regnum?
anderida?"
the children turned their faces to puck.
"regnum's chichester," he said, pointing towards cherry clack, "and" -- he threw his arm south behind him -- "anderida's pevensey."
"pevensey again!"
said dan.
"where weland landed?"
"weland and a few others," said puck.
"pevensey is n't young -- even compared to me!"
"the headquarters of the thirtieth lay at anderida in summer, but my own cohort, the seventh, was on the wall up north.
maximus was inspecting auxiliaries -- the abulci, i think -- at anderida, and we stayed with him, for he and my father were very old friends.
i was only there ten days when i was ordered to go up with thirty men to my cohort."
he laughed merrily."
a man never forgets his first march.
i was happier than any emperor when i led my handful through the north gate of the camp, and we saluted the guard and the altar of victory there."
"how?
how?"
said dan and una.
parnesius smiled, and stood up, flashing in his armour.
"so!"
said he; and he moved slowly through the beautiful movements of the roman salute, that ends with a hollow clang of the shield coming into its place between the shoulders.
"hai!"
said puck.
"that sets one thinking!"
"we went out fully armed," said parnesius, sitting down; "but as soon as the road entered the great forest, my men expected the pack-horses to hang their shields on.
""no!"
i said; "you can dress like women in anderida, but while you're with me you will carry your own weapons and armour.""
""but it's hot," said one of them, "and we have n't a doctor.
suppose we get sunstroke, or a fever?""
""then die," i said, "and a good riddance to rome!
up shield -- up spears, and tighten your foot-wear!""
""do n't think yourself emperor of britain already," a fellow shouted.
i knocked him over with the butt of my spear, and explained to these roman-born romans that, if there were any further trouble, we should go on with one man short.
and, by the light of the sun, i meant it too!
my raw gauls at clausentum had never treated me so.
"then, quietly as a cloud, maximus rode out of the fern -lrb- my father behind him -rrb-, and reined up across the road.
he wore the purple, as though he were already emperor; his leggings were of white buckskin laced with gold.
"my men dropped like -- like partridges.
"he said nothing for some time, only looked, with his eyes puckered.
then he crooked his forefinger, and my men walked -- crawled, i mean -- to one side."
""stand in the sun, children," he said, and they formed up on the hard road."
""what would you have done," he said to me, "if i had not been here?""
""i should have killed that man," i answered."
""kill him now," he said.
""he will not move a limb.""
""no," i said.
""you've taken my men out of my command.
i should only be your butcher if i killed him now."
do you see what i meant?"
parnesius turned to dan.
"yes," said dan.
"it would n't have been fair, somehow."
"that was what i thought," said parnesius.
"but maximus frowned.
""you'll never be an emperor," he said.
""not even a general will you be.""
i was silent, but my father seemed pleased."
""i came here to see the last of you," he said."
""you have seen it," said maximus.
""i shall never need your son any more.
he will live and he will die an officer of a legion -- and he might have been prefect of one of my provinces.
now eat and drink with us," he said.
""your men will wait till you have finished."
"my miserable thirty stood like wine-skins glistening in the hot sun, and maximus led us to where his people had set a meal.
himself he mixed the wine."
""a year from now," he said, "you will remember that you have sat with the emperor of britain -- and gaul.""
""yes," said the pater, "you can drive two mules -- gaul and britain.""
""five years hence you will remember that you have drunk" -- he passed me the cup and there was blue borage in it -- "with the emperor of rome!""
""no; you ca n't drive three mules.
they will tear you in pieces," said my father."
""and you on the wall, among the heather, will weep because your notion of justice was more to you than the favour of the emperor of rome.""
i sat quite still.
one does not answer a general who wears the purple."
""i am not angry with you," he went on; "i owe too much to your father --"" "you owe me nothing but advice that you never took," said the pater.""
-- to be unjust to any of your family.
indeed, i say you may make a good tribune, but, so far as i am concerned, on the wall you will live, and on the wall you will die," said maximus."
""very like," said my father.
""but we shall have the picts and their friends breaking through before long.
you can not move all troops out of britain to make you emperor, and expect the north to sit quiet.""
""i follow my destiny," said maximus."
""follow it, then," said my father, pulling up a fern root; "and die as theodosius died.""
""ah!"
said maximus.
""my old general was killed because he served the empire too well.
i may be killed, but not for that reason," and he smiled a little pale grey smile that made my blood run cold."
""then i had better follow my destiny," i said, "and take my men to the wall."
"he looked at me a long time, and bowed his head slanting like a spaniard.
""follow it, boy," he said.
that was all.
i was only too glad to get away, though i had many messages for home.
i found my men standing as they had been put -- they had not even shifted their feet in the dust, and off i marched, still feeling that terrific smile like an east wind up my back.
i never halted them till sunset, and" -- he turned about and looked at pook's hill below him -- "then i halted yonder."
he pointed to the broken, bracken-covered shoulder of the forge hill behind old hobden's cottage.
"there?
why, that's only the old forge -- where they made iron once," said dan.
"very good stuff it was too," said parnesius calmly.
"we mended three shoulder-straps here and had a spear-head riveted.
the forge was rented from the government by a one-eyed smith from carthage.
i remember we called him cyclops.
he sold me a beaver-skin rug for my sister's room."
"but it could n't have been here," dan insisted.
"but it was!
from the altar of victory at anderida to the first forge in the forest here is twelve miles seven hundred paces.
it is all in the road book.
a man does n't forget his first march.
i think i could tell you every station between this and --" he leaned forward, but his eye was caught by the setting sun.
it had come down to the top of cherry clack hill, and the light poured in between the tree trunks so that you could see red and gold and black deep into the heart of far wood; and parnesius in his armour shone as though he had been afire.
"wait!"
he said, lifting a hand, and the sunlight jinked on his glass bracelet.
"wait!
i pray to mithras!"
he rose and stretched his arms westward, with deep, splendid-sounding words.
then puck began to sing too, in a voice like bells tolling, and as he sang he slipped from volaterrae to the ground, and beckoned the children to follow.
they obeyed; it seemed as though the voices were pushing them along; and through the goldy-brown light on the beech leaves they walked, while puck between them chanted something like this: "cur mundus militat sub vana gloria cujus prosperitas est transitoria?
tam cito labitur ejus potentia quam vasa figuli quæ sunt fragilia."
they found themselves at the little locked gates of the wood.
"quo cæsar abiit celsus imperio?
vel dives splendidus totus in prandio?
dic ubi tullius --" still singing, he took dan's hand and wheeled him round to face una as she came out of the gate.
it shut behind her, at the same time as puck threw the memory-magicking oak, ash and thorn leaves over their heads.
"well, you are jolly late," said una.
"could n't you get away before?'"
i did," said dan."
i got away in lots of time, but -- but i did n't know it was so late.
where've you been?"
"in volaterrae -- waiting for you."
"sorry," said dan.
"it was all that beastly latin."
a british-roman song -lrb- a.d. 406 -rrb- my father's father saw it not, and i, belike, shall never come, to look on that so-holy spot -- the very rome -- crowned by all time, all art, all might, the equal work of gods and man, city beneath whose oldest height -- the race began!
soon to send forth again a brood, unshakeable, we pray, that clings, to rome's thrice-hammered hardihood -- in arduous things.
strong heart with triple armour bound, beat strongly, for thy life-blood runs, age after age, the empire round -- in us thy sons, who, distant from the seven hills, loving and serving much, require thee, -- thee to guard "gainst home-born ills the imperial fire!
on the great wall "when i left rome for lalage's sake by the legions" road to rimini, she vowed her heart was mine to take with me and my shield to rimini -- -lrb- till the eagles flew from rimini! -rrb-
and i've tramped britain, and i've tramped gaul, and the pontic shore where the snow-flakes fall as white as the neck of lalage -- -lrb- as cold as the heart of lalage! -rrb-
and i've lost britain, and i've lost gaul," -lrb- the voice seemed very cheerful about it -rrb-, "and i've lost rome, and, worst of all, i've lost lalage!"
they were standing by the gate to far wood when they heard this song.
without a word they hurried to their private gap and wriggled through the hedge almost atop of a jay that was feeding from puck's hand.
"gently!"
said puck.
"what are you looking for?"
"parnesius, of course," dan answered.
"we've only just remembered yesterday.
it is n't fair."
puck chuckled as he rose.
"i'm sorry, but children who spend the afternoon with me and a roman centurion need a little settling dose of magic before they go to tea with their governess.
ohé, parnesius!"
he called.
"here, faun!"
came the answer from volaterrae.
they could see the shimmer of bronze armour in the beech crotch, and the friendly flash of the great shield uplifted."
i have driven out the britons."
parnesius laughed like a boy."
i occupy their high forts.
but rome is merciful!
you may come up."
and up they three all scrambled.
"what was the song you were singing just now?"
said una, as soon as she had settled herself.
"that?
oh, rimini.
it's one of the tunes that are always being born somewhere in the empire.
they run like a pestilence for six months or a year, till another one pleases the legions, and then they march to that."
"tell them about the marching, parnesius.
few people nowadays walk from end to end of this country," said puck.
"the greater their loss.
i know nothing better than the long march when your feet are hardened.
you begin after the mists have risen, and you end, perhaps, an hour after sundown."
"and what do you have to eat?"
dan asked promptly.
"fat bacon, beans, and bread, and whatever wine happens to be in the rest-houses.
but soldiers are born grumblers.
their very first day out, my men complained of our water-ground british corn.
they said it was n't so filling as the rough stuff that is ground in the roman ox-mills.
however, they had to fetch and eat it."
"fetch it?
where from?"
said una.
"from that newly invented water-mill below the forge."
"that's forge mill -- our mill!"
una looked at puck.
"yes; yours," puck put in.
"how old did you think it was?'"
i do n't know.
did n't sir richard dalyngridge talk about it?"
"he did, and it was old in his day," puck answered.
"hundreds of years old."
"it was new in mine," said parnesius.
"my men looked at the flour in their helmets as though it had been a nest of adders.
they did it to try my patience.
but i -- addressed them, and we became friends.
to tell the truth, they taught me the roman step.
you see, i'd only served with quick-marching auxiliaries.
a legion's pace is altogether different.
it is a long, slow stride, that never varies from sunrise to sunset.
""rome's race -- rome's pace," as the proverb says.
twenty-four miles in eight hours, neither more nor less.
head and spear up, shield on your back, cuirass-collar open one hand's breadth -- and that's how you take the eagles through britain."
"and did you meet any adventures?"
said dan.
"there are no adventures south the wall," said parnesius.
"the worst thing that happened me was having to appear before a magistrate up north, where a wandering philosopher had jeered at the eagles.
i was able to show that the old man had deliberately blocked our road; and the magistrate told him, out of his own book, i believe, that, whatever his gods might be, he should pay proper respect to cæsar."
"what did you do?"
said dan.
"went on.
why should i care for such things, my business being to reach my station?
it took me twenty days.
"of course, the farther north you go the emptier are the roads.
at last you fetch clear of the forests and climb bare hills, where wolves howl in the ruins of our cities that have been.
no more pretty girls; no more jolly magistrates who knew your father when he was young, and invite you to stay with them; no news at the temples and way-stations except bad news of wild beasts.
there's where you meet hunters, and trappers for the circuses, prodding along chained bears and muzzled wolves.
your pony shies at them, and your men laugh.
"the houses change from gardened villas to shut forts with watch-towers of grey stone, and great stone-walled sheepfolds, guarded by armed britons of the north shore.
in the naked hills beyond the naked houses, where the shadows of the clouds play like cavalry charging, you see puffs of black smoke from the mines.
the hard road goes on and on -- and the wind sings through your helmet-plume -- past altars to legions and generals forgotten, and broken statues of gods and heroes, and thousands of graves where the mountain foxes and hares peep at you.
red-hot in summer, freezing in winter, is that big, purple heather country of broken stone.
"just when you think you are at the world's end, you see a smoke from east to west as far as the eye can turn, and then, under it, also as far as the eye can stretch, houses and temples, shops and theatres, barracks and granaries, trickling along like dice behind -- always behind -- one long, low, rising and falling, and hiding and showing line of towers.
and that is the wall!"
"ah!"
said the children, taking breath.
"you may well," said parnesius.
"old men who have followed the eagles since boyhood say nothing in the empire is more wonderful than first sight of the wall!"
"is it just a wall?
like the one round the kitchen-garden?"
said dan.
"no, no!
it is the wall.
along the top are towers with guard-houses, small towers, between.
even on the narrowest part of it three men with shields can walk abreast, from guard-house to guard-house.
a little curtain wall, no higher than a man's neck, runs along the top of the thick wall, so that from a distance you see the helmets of the sentries sliding back and forth like beads.
thirty feet high is the wall, and on the picts" side, the north, is a ditch, strewn with blades of old swords and spear-heads set in wood, and tyres of wheels joined by chains.
the little people come there to steal iron for their arrow-heads.
"but the wall itself is not more wonderful than the town behind it.
long ago there were great ramparts and ditches on the south side, and no one was allowed to build there.
now the ramparts are partly pulled down and built over, from end to end of the wall; making a thin town eighty miles long.
think of it!
one roaring, rioting, cock-fighting, wolf-baiting, horse-racing town, from ituna on the west to segedunum on the cold eastern beach!
on one side heather, woods and ruins where picts hide, and on the other, a vast town -- long like a snake, and wicked like a snake.
yes, a snake basking beside a warm wall!
"my cohort, i was told, lay at hunno, where the great north road runs through the wall into the province of valentia."
parnesius laughed scornfully.
"the province of valentia!
we followed the road, therefore, into hunno town, and stood astonished.
the place was a fair -- a fair of peoples from every corner of the empire.
some were racing horses: some sat in wine-shops: some watched dogs baiting bears, and many gathered in a ditch to see cocks fight.
a boy not much older than myself, but i could see he was an officer, reined up before me and asked what i wanted."
""my station," i said, and showed him my shield."
parnesius held up his broad shield with its three x's like letters on a beer-cask."
""lucky omen!"
said he.
""your cohort's the next tower to us, but they're all at the cock-fight.
this is a happy place.
come and wet the eagles."
he meant to offer me a drink."
""when i've handed over my men," i said.
i felt angry and ashamed."
""oh, you'll soon outgrow that sort of nonsense," he answered.
""but do n't let me interfere with your hopes.
go on to the statue of roma dea.
you ca n't miss it.
the main road into valentia!"
and he laughed and rode off.
i could see the statue not a quarter of a mile away, and there i went.
at some time or other the great north road ran under it into valentia; but the far end had been blocked up because of the picts, and on the plaster a man had scratched, "finish!"
it was like marching into a cave.
we grounded spears together, my little thirty, and it echoed in the barrel of the arch, but none came.
there was a door at one side painted with our number.
we prowled in, and i found a cook asleep, and ordered him to give us food.
then i climbed to the top of the wall, and looked out over the pict country, and i -- thought," said parnesius.
"the bricked-up arch with "finish!"
on the plaster was what shook me, for i was not much more than a boy."
"what a shame!"
said una.
"but did you feel happy after you'd had a good --" dan stopped her with a nudge.
"happy?"
said parnesius.
"when the men of the cohort i was to command came back unhelmeted from the cock-fight, their birds under their arms, and asked me who i was?
no, i was not happy; but i made my new cohort unhappy too... i wrote my mother i was happy, but, oh, my friends" -- he stretched arms over bare knees --" i would not wish my worst enemy to suffer as i suffered through my first months on the wall.
remember this: among the officers was scarcely one, except myself -lrb- and i thought i had lost the favour of maximus, my general -rrb-, scarcely one who had not done something of wrong or folly.
either he had killed a man, or taken money, or insulted the magistrates, or blasphemed the gods, and so had been sent to the wall as a hiding-place from shame or fear.
and the men were as the officers.
remember, also, that the wall was manned by every breed and race in the empire.
no two towers spoke the same tongue, or worshipped the same gods.
in one thing only we were all equal.
no matter what arms we had used before we came to the wall, on the wall we were all archers, like the scythians.
the pict can not run away from the arrow, or crawl under it.
he is a bowman himself.
he knows!'"
i suppose you were fighting picts all the time," said dan.
"picts seldom fight.
i never saw a fighting pict for half a year.
the tame picts told us they had all gone north."
"what is a tame pict?"
said dan."
a pict -- there were many such -- who speaks a few words of our tongue, and slips across the wall to sell ponies and wolf-hounds.
without a horse and a dog, and a friend, man would perish.
the gods gave me all three, and there is no gift like friendship.
remember this" -- parnesius turned to dan -- "when you become a young man.
for your fate will turn on the first true friend you make."
"he means," said puck, grinning, "that if you try to make yourself a decent chap when you're young, you'll make rather decent friends when you grow up.
if you're a beast, you'll have beastly friends.
listen to the pious parnesius on friendship!'"
i am not pious," parnesius answered, "but i know what goodness means; and my friend, though he was without hope, was ten thousand times better than i. stop laughing, faun!"
"oh, youth eternal and all-believing," cried puck, as he rocked on the branch above.
"tell them about your pertinax."
"he was that friend the gods sent me -- the boy who spoke to me when i first came.
little older than myself, commanding the augusta victoria cohort on the tower next to us and the numidians.
in virtue he was far my superior."
"then why was he on the wall?"
una asked, quickly.
"they'd all done something bad.
you said so yourself."
"he was the nephew, his father had died, of a great rich man in gaul who was not always kind to his mother.
when pertinax grew up, he discovered this, and so his uncle shipped him off, by trickery and force, to the wall.
we came to know each other at a ceremony in our temple -- in the dark.
it was the bull-killing," parnesius explained to puck."
i see, said puck, and turned to the children.
"that's something you would n't quite understand.
parnesius means he met pertinax in church."
"yes -- in the cave we first met, and we were both raised to the degree of gryphons together."
parnesius lifted his hand towards his neck for an instant.
"he had been on the wall two years, and knew the picts well.
he taught me first how to take heather."
"what's that?"
said dan.
"going out hunting in the pict country with a tame pict.
you are quite safe so long as you are his guest, and wear a sprig of heather where it can be seen.
if you went alone you would surely be killed, if you were not smothered first in the bogs.
only the picts know their way about those black and hidden bogs.
old allo, the one-eyed, withered little pict from whom we bought our ponies, was our special friend.
at first we went only to escape from the terrible town, and to talk together about our homes.
then he showed us how to hunt wolves and those great red deer with horns like jewish candlesticks.
the roman-born officers rather looked down on us for doing this, but we preferred the heather to their amusements.
believe me," parnesius turned again to dan," a boy is safe from all things that really harm when he is astride a pony or after a deer.
do you remember, o faun," -- he turned to puck -- "the little altar i built to the sylvan pan by the pine-forest beyond the brook?"
"which?
the stone one with the line from xenophon?"
said puck, in quite a new voice.
"no!
what do i know of xenophon?
that was pertinax -- after he had shot his first mountain-hare with an arrow -- by chance!
mine i made of round pebbles, in memory of my first bear.
it took me one happy day to build."
parnesius faced the children quickly.
"and that was how we lived on the wall for two years -- a little scuffling with the picts, and a great deal of hunting with old allo in the pict country.
he called us his children sometimes, and we were fond of him and his barbarians, though we never let them paint us pict fashion.
the marks endure till you die."
"how's it done?"
said dan.
"anything like tattooing?"
"they prick the skin till the blood runs, and rub in coloured juices.
allo was painted blue, green, and red from his forehead to his ankles.
he said it was part of his religion.
he told us about his religion -lrb- pertinax was always interested in such things -rrb-, and as we came to know him well, he told us what was happening in britain behind the wall.
many things took place behind us in those days.
and by the light of the sun," said parnesius, earnestly, "there was not much that those little people did not know!
he told me when maximus crossed over to gaul, after he had made himself emperor of britain, and what troops and emigrants he had taken with him.
we did not get the news on the wall till fifteen days later.
he told me what troops maximus was taking out of britain every month to help him to conquer gaul; and i always found the numbers were as he said.
wonderful!
and i tell another strange thing!"
he joined his hands across his knees, and leaned his head on the curve of the shield behind him.
"late in the summer, when the first frosts begin and the picts kill their bees, we three rode out after wolf with some new hounds.
rutilianus, our general, had given us ten days" leave, and we had pushed beyond the second wall -- beyond the province of valentia -- into the higher hills, where there are not even any of old rome's ruins.
we killed a she-wolf before noon, and while allo was skinning her he looked up and said to me, "when you are captain of the wall, my child, you wo n't be able to do this any more!""
i might as well have been made prefect of lower gaul, so i laughed and said, "wait till i am captain.""
""no, do n't wait," said allo.
""take my advice and go home -- both of you.""
""we have no homes," said pertinax.
""you know that as well as we do.
we're finished men -- thumbs down against both of us.
only men without hope would risk their necks on your ponies."
the old man laughed one of those short pict laughs -- like a fox barking on a frosty night.
""i'm fond of you two," he said.
""besides, i've taught you what little you know about hunting.
take my advice and go home.""
""we ca n't," i said.
""i'm out of favour with my general, for one thing; and for another, pertinax has an uncle.""
""i do n't know about his uncle," said allo, "but the trouble with you, parnesius, is that your general thinks well of you.""
""roma dea!"
said pertinax, sitting up.
""what can you guess what maximus thinks, you old horse-coper?"
"just then -lrb- you know how near the brutes creep when one is eating? -rrb-
a great dog-wolf jumped out behind us, and away our rested hounds tore after him, with us at their tails.
he ran us far out of any country we'd ever heard of, straight as an arrow till sunset, towards the sunset.
we came at last to long capes stretching into winding waters, and on a grey beach below us we saw ships drawn up.
forty-seven we counted -- not roman galleys but the raven-winged ships from the north where rome does not rule.
men moved in the ships, and the sun flashed on their helmets -- winged helmets of the red-haired men from the north where rome does not rule.
we watched, and we counted, and we wondered, for though we had heard rumours concerning these winged hats, as the picts called them, never before had we looked upon them."
""come away!
come away!"
said allo.
""my heather wo n't protect you here.
we shall all be killed!"
his legs trembled like his voice.
back we went -- back across the heather under the moon, till it was nearly morning, and our poor beasts stumbled on some ruins.
"when we woke, very stiff and cold, allo was mixing the meal and water.
one does not light fires in the pict country except near a village.
the little men are always signalling to each other with smokes, and a strange smoke brings them out buzzing like bees.
they can sting, too!"
""what we saw last night was a trading-station," said allo.
""nothing but a trading-station.""
""i do not like lies on an empty stomach," said pertinax.
""i suppose" -lrb- he had eyes like an eagle's -rrb- -- "i suppose that is a trading-station also?"
he pointed to a smoke far off on a hill-top, ascending in what we call the picts" call: -- puff -- double-puff: double-puff -- puff!
they make it by raising and dropping a wet hide on a fire."
""no," said allo, pushing the platter back into the bag.
""that is for you and me.
your fate is fixed.
come."
"we came.
when one takes heather, one must obey one's pict -- but that wretched smoke was twenty miles distant, well over on the east coast, and the day was as hot as a bath."
""whatever happens," said allo, while our ponies grunted along, "i want you to remember me.""
""i shall not forget," said pertinax.
""you have cheated me out of my breakfast."
""what is a handful of crushed oats to a roman?"
he said.
then he laughed his laugh that was not a laugh.
""what would you do if you were a handful of oats being crushed between the upper and lower stones of a mill?""
""i'm pertinax, not a riddle-guesser," said pertinax."
""you're a fool," said allo.
""your gods and my gods are threatened by strange gods, and all you can do is to laugh.""
""threatened men live long," i said."
""i pray the gods that may be true," he said.
""but i ask you again not to forget me."
"we climbed the last hot hill and looked out on the eastern sea, three or four miles off.
there was a small sailing-galley of the north gaul pattern at anchor, her landing-plank down and her sail half up; and below us, alone in a hollow, holding his pony, sat maximus, emperor of britain!
he was dressed like a hunter, and he leaned on his little stick; but i knew that back as far as i could see it, and i told pertinax."
""you're madder than allo!"
he said.
""it must be the sun!"
"maximus never stirred till we stood before him.
then he looked me up and down, and said: "hungry again?
it seems to be my destiny to feed you whenever we meet.
i have food here.
allo shall cook it.""
""no," said allo.
""a prince in his own land does not wait on wandering emperors.
i feed my two children without asking your leave."
he began to blow up the ashes."
""i was wrong," said pertinax.
""we are all mad.
speak up, o madman called emperor!"
"maximus smiled his terrible tight-lipped smile, but two years on the wall do not make a man afraid of mere looks.
so i was not afraid."
""i meant you, parnesius, to live and die a centurion of the wall," said maximus.
""but it seems from these," -- he fumbled in his breast -- "you can think as well as draw."
he pulled out a roll of letters i had written to my people, full of drawings of picts, and bears, and men i had met on the wall.
mother and my sister always liked my pictures.
"he handed me one that i had called "maximus's soldiers".
it showed a row of fat wine-skins, and our old doctor of the hunno hospital snuffing at them.
each time that maximus had taken troops out of britain to help him to conquer gaul, he used to send the garrisons more wine -- to keep them quiet, i suppose.
on the wall, we always called a wine-skin a "maximus".
oh, yes; and i had drawn them in imperial helmets."
""not long since," he went on, "men's names were sent up to cæsar for smaller jokes than this.""
""true, cæsar," said pertinax; "but you forget that was before i, your friend's friend, became such a good spear-thrower."
"he did not actually point his hunting-spear at maximus, but balanced it on his palm -- so!"
""i was speaking of time past," said maximus, never fluttering an eyelid.
""nowadays one is only too pleased to find boys who can think for themselves, and their friends."
he nodded at pertinax.
""your father lent me the letters, parnesius, so you run no risk from me.""
""none whatever," said pertinax, and rubbed the spear-point on his sleeve."
""i have been forced to reduce the garrisons in britain, because i need troops in gaul.
now i come to take troops from the wall itself," said he."
""i wish you joy of us," said pertinax.
""we're the last sweepings of the empire -- the men without hope.
myself, i'd sooner trust condemned criminals.""
""you think so?"
he said, quite seriously.
""but it will only be till i win gaul.
one must always risk one's life, or one's soul, or one's peace -- or some little thing."
"allo passed round the fire with the sizzling deer's meat.
he served us two first."
""ah!"
said maximus, waiting his turn.
""i perceive you are in your own country.
well, you deserve it.
they tell me you have quite a following among the picts, parnesius.""
""i have hunted with them," i said.
""maybe i have a few friends among the heather.""
""he is the only armoured man of you all who understands us," said allo, and he began a long speech about our virtues, and how we had saved one of his grandchildren from a wolf the year before."
"had you?"
said una.
"yes; but that was neither here nor there.
the little green man orated like a -- like cicero.
he made us out to be magnificent fellows.
maximus never took his eyes off our faces."
""enough," he said.
""i have heard allo on you.
i wish to hear you on the picts.""
i told him as much as i knew, and pertinax helped me out.
there is never harm in a pict if you but take the trouble to find out what he wants.
their real grievance against us came from our burning their heather.
the whole garrison of the wall moved out twice a year, and solemnly burned the heather for ten miles north.
rutilianus, our general, called it clearing the country.
the picts, of course, scampered away, and all we did was to destroy their bee-bloom in the summer, and ruin their sheep-food in the spring."
""true, quite true," said allo.
""how can we make our holy heather-wine, if you burn our bee-pasture?"
"we talked long, maximus asking keen questions that showed he knew much and had thought more about the picts.
he said presently to me: "if i gave you the old province of valentia to govern, could you keep the picts contented till i won gaul?
stand away, so that you do not see allo's face; and speak your own thoughts.""
""no," i said.
""you can not remake that province.
the picts have been free too long.""
""leave them their village councils, and let them furnish their own soldiers," he said.
""you, i am sure, would hold the reins very lightly."
""even then, no," i said.
""at least not now.
they have been too oppressed by us to trust anything with a roman name for years and years.""
i heard old allo behind me mutter: "good child!""
""then what do you recommend," said maximus, "to keep the north quiet till i win gaul?""
""leave the picts alone," i said.
""stop the heather-burning at once, and -- they are improvident little animals -- send them a shipload or two of corn now and then.""
""their own men must distribute it -- not some cheating greek accountant," said pertinax."
""yes, and allow them to come to our hospitals when they are sick," i said."
""surely they would die first," said maximus."
""not if parnesius brought them in," said allo.
""i could show you twenty wolf-bitten, bear-clawed picts within twenty miles of here.
but parnesius must stay with them in hospital, else they would go mad with fear.""
""i see," said maximus.
""like everything else in the world, it is one man's work.
you, i think, are that one man.""
""pertinax and i are one," i said."
""as you please, so long as you work.
now, allo, you know that i mean your people no harm.
leave us to talk together," said maximus."
""no need!"
said allo.
""i am the corn between the upper and lower millstones.
i must know what the lower millstone means to do.
these boys have spoken the truth as far as they know it.
i, a prince, will tell you the rest.
i am troubled about the men of the north."
he squatted like a hare in the heather, and looked over his shoulder."
""i also," said maximus, "or i should not be here.""
""listen," said allo.
""long and long ago the winged hats" -- he meant the northmen -- "came to our beaches and said, "rome falls!
push her down!"
we fought you.
you sent men.
we were beaten.
after that we said to the winged hats, "you are liars!
make our men alive that rome killed, and we will believe you."
they went away ashamed.
now they come back bold, and they tell the old tale, which we begin to believe -- that rome falls!""
""give me three years" peace on the wall," cried maximus, "and i will show you and all the ravens how they lie!""
""ah, i wish it too!
i wish to save what is left of the corn from the millstones.
but you shoot us picts when we come to borrow a little iron from the iron ditch; you burn our heather, which is all our crop; you trouble us with your great catapults.
then you hide behind the wall, and scorch us with greek fire.
how can i keep my young men from listening to the winged hats -- in winter especially, when we are hungry?
my young men will say, "rome can neither fight nor rule.
she is taking her men out of britain.
the winged hats will help us to push down the wall.
let us show them the secret roads across the bogs."
do i want that?
no!"
he spat like an adder.
""i would keep the secrets of my people though i were burned alive.
my two children here have spoken truth.
leave us picts alone.
comfort us, and cherish us, and feed us from far off -- with the hand behind the back.
parnesius understands us.
let him have rule on the wall, and i will hold my young men quiet for" -- he ticked it off on his fingers -- "one year easily: the next year not so easily: the third year, perhaps!
see, i give you three years.
if then you do not show us that rome is strong in men and terrible in arms, the winged hats, i tell you, will sweep down the wall from either sea till they meet in the middle, and you will go.
i shall not grieve over that, but well i know tribe never helps tribe except for one price.
we picts will go too.
the winged hats will grind us to this!"
he tossed a handful of dust in the air."
""oh, roma dea!"
said maximus, half aloud.
""it is always one man's work -- always and everywhere!"
""and one man's life," said allo.
""you are emperor, but not a god.
you may die.""
""i have thought of that too," said he.
""very good.
if this wind holds, i shall be at the east end of the wall by morning.
to-morrow, then, i shall see you two when i inspect, and i will make you captains of the wall for this work.""
""one instant, cæsar," said pertinax.
""all men have their price.
i am not bought yet.""
""do you also begin to bargain so early?"
said maximus.
""well?""
""give me justice against my uncle icenus, the duumvir of divio in gaul," he said."
""only a life?
i thought it would be money or an office.
certainly you shall have him.
write his name on these tablets -- on the red side; the other is for the living!"
and maximus held out his tablets."
""he is of no use to me dead," said pertinax.
""my mother is a widow.
i am far off.
i am not sure he pays her all her dowry.""
""no matter.
my arm is reasonably long.
we will look through your uncle's accounts in due time.
now, farewell till to-morrow, o captains of the wall!"
"we saw him grow small across the heather as he walked to the galley.
there were picts, scores, each side of him, hidden behind stones.
he never looked left or right.
he sailed away southerly, full spread before the evening breeze, and when we had watched him out to sea, we were silent.
we understood that earth bred few men like to this man.
"presently allo brought the ponies and held them for us to mount -- a thing he had never done before."
""wait awhile," said pertinax, and he made a little altar of cut turf, and strewed heather-bloom atop, and laid upon it a letter from a girl in gaul."
""what do you do, o my friend?"
i said."
""i sacrifice to my dead youth," he answered, and, when the flames had consumed the letter, he ground them out with his heel.
then we rode back to that wall of which we were to be captains."
parnesius stopped.
the children sat still, not even asking if that were all the tale.
puck beckoned, and pointed the way out of the wood.
"sorry," he whispered, "but you must go now."
"we have n't made him angry, have we?"
said una.
"he looks so far off, and -- and -- thinky."
"bless your heart, no.
wait till tomorrow.
it wo n't be long.
remember, you've been playing lays of ancient rome."
and as soon as they had scrambled through their gap where oak, ash, and thorn grew, that was all they remembered.
a song to mithras mithras, god of the morning, our trumpets waken the wall!
"rome is above the nations, but thou art over all!"
now as the names are answered, and the guards are marched away, mithras, also a soldier, give us strength for the day!
mithras, god of the noontide, the heather swims in the heat, our helmets scorch our foreheads, our sandals burn our feet.
now in the ungirt hour; now ere we blink and drowse, mithras, also a soldier, keep us true to our vows!
mithras, god of the sunset, low on the western main, thou descending immortal, immortal to rise again!
now when the watch is ended, now when the wine is drawn, mithras, also a soldier, keep us pure till the dawn!
mithras, god of the midnight, here where the great bull dies, look on thy children in darkness.
oh, take our sacrifice!
many roads thou hast fashioned: all of them lead to the light!
mithras, also a soldier, teach us to die aright!
the winged hats the next day happened to be what they called a wild afternoon.
father and mother went out to pay calls; miss blake went for a ride on her bicycle, and they were left all alone till eight o'clock.
when they had seen their dear parents and their dear preceptress politely off the premises they got a cabbage-leaf full of raspberries from the gardener, and a wild tea from ellen.
they ate the raspberries to prevent their squashing, and they meant to divide the cabbage-leaf with three cows down at the theatre, but they came across a dead hedgehog which they simply had to bury, and the leaf was too useful to waste.
then they went on to the forge and found old hobden the hedger at home with his son, the bee boy, who is not quite right in his head, but who can pick up swarms of bees in his naked hands; and the bee boy told them the rhyme about the slow-worm: -- "if i had eyes as i could see, no mortal man would trouble me."
they all had tea together by the hives, and hobden said the loaf-cake which ellen had given them was almost as good as what his wife used to make, and he showed them how to set a wire at the right height for hares.
they knew about rabbits already.
then they climbed up long ditch into the lower end of far wood.
this is sadder and darker than the volaterrae end because of an old marlpit full of black water, where weepy, hairy moss hangs round the stumps of the willows and alders.
but the birds come to perch on the dead branches, and hobden says that the bitter willow-water is a sort of medicine for sick animals.
they sat down on a felled oak-trunk in the shadows of the beech undergrowth, and were looping the wires hobden had given them, when they saw parnesius.
"how quietly you came!"
said una, moving up to make room.
"where's puck?"
"the faun and i have disputed whether it is better that i should tell you all my tale, or leave it untold," he replied."
i only said that if he told it as it happened you would n't understand it," said puck, jumping up like a squirrel from behind the log."
i do n't understand all of it," said una, "but i like hearing about the little picts."
"what i ca n't understand," said dan, "is how maximus knew all about the picts when he was over in gaul."
"he who makes himself emperor anywhere must know everything, everywhere," said parnesius.
"we had this much from maximus's mouth after the games."
"games?
what games?"
said dan.
parnesius stretched his arm out stiffly, thumb pointed to the ground.
"gladiators!
that sort of game," he said.
"there were two days" games in his honour when he landed all unexpected at segedunum on the east end of the wall.
yes, the day after we had met him we held two days" games; but i think the greatest risk was run, not by the poor wretches on the sand, but by maximus.
in the old days the legions kept silence before their emperor.
so did not we!
you could hear the solid roar run west along the wall as his chair was carried rocking through the crowds.
the garrison beat round him -- clamouring, clowning, asking for pay, for change of quarters, for anything that came into their wild heads.
that chair was like a little boat among waves, dipping and falling, but always rising again after one had shut the eyes."
parnesius shivered.
"were they angry with him?"
said dan.
"no more angry than wolves in a cage when their trainer walks among them.
if he had turned his back an instant, or for an instant had ceased to hold their eyes, there would have been another emperor made on the wall that hour.
was it not so, faun?"
"so it was.
so it always will be," said puck.
"late in the evening his messenger came for us, and we followed to the temple of victory, where he lodged with rutilianus, the general of the wall.
i had hardly seen the general before, but he always gave me leave when i wished to take heather.
he was a great glutton, and kept five asian cooks, and he came of a family that believed in oracles.
we could smell his good dinner when we entered, but the tables were empty.
he lay snorting on a couch.
maximus sat apart among long rolls of accounts.
then the doors were shut."
""these are your men," said maximus to the general, who propped his eye-corners open with his gouty fingers, and stared at us like a fish."
""i shall know them again, cæsar," said rutilianus.
""very good," said maximus.
""now hear!
you are not to move man or shield on the wall except as these boys shall tell you.
you will do nothing, except eat, without their permission.
they are the head and arms.
you are the belly!""
""as cæsar pleases," the old man grunted.
""if my pay and profits are not cut, you may make my ancestors" oracle my master.
rome has been!
rome has been!"
then he turned on his side to sleep."
""he has it," said maximus.
""we will get to what i need."
"he unrolled full copies of the number of men and supplies on the wall -- down to the sick that very day in hunno hospital.
oh, but i groaned when his pen marked off detachment after detachment of our best -- of our least worthless men!
he took two towers of our scythians, two of our north british auxiliaries, two numidian cohorts, the dacians all, and half the belgians.
it was like an eagle pecking a carcass."
""and now, how many catapults have you?"
he turned up a new list, but pertinax laid his open hand there."
""no, cæsar," said he.
""do not tempt the gods too far.
take men, or engines, but not both; else we refuse.""
"engines?"
said una.
"the catapults of the wall -- huge things forty feet high to the head -- firing nets of raw stone or forged bolts.
nothing can stand against them.
he left us our catapults at last, but he took a cæsar's half of our men without pity.
we were a shell when he rolled up the lists!"
""hail, cæsar!
we, about to die, salute you!"
said pertinax, laughing.
""if any enemy even leans against the wall now, it will tumble.""
""give me the three years allo spoke of," he answered, "and you shall have twenty thousand men of your own choosing up here.
but now it is a gamble -- a game played against the gods, and the stakes are britain, gaul, and perhaps rome.
you play on my side?""
""we will play, cæsar," i said, for i had never met a man like this man."
""good.
tomorrow," said he, "i proclaim you captains of the wall before the troops."
"so we went into the moonlight, where they were cleaning the ground after the games.
we saw great roma dea atop of the wall, the frost on her helmet, and her spear pointed towards the north star.
we saw the twinkle of night-fires all along the guard towers, and the line of the black catapults growing smaller and smaller in the distance.
all these things we knew till we were weary; but that night they seemed very strange to us, because the next day we knew we were to be their masters.
"the men took the news well; but when maximus went away with half our strength, and we had to spread ourselves into the emptied towers, and the townspeople complained that trade would be ruined, and the autumn gales blew -- it was dark days for us two.
here pertinax was more than my right hand.
being born and bred among the great country-houses in gaul, he knew the proper words to address to all -- from roman-born centurions to those dogs of the third -- the libyans.
and he spoke to each as though that man were as high-minded as himself.
now i saw so strongly what things were needed to be done, that i forgot things are only accomplished by means of men.
that was a mistake."
i feared nothing from the picts, at least for that year, but allo warned me that the winged hats would soon come in from the sea at each end of the wall to prove to the picts how weak we were.
so i made ready in haste, and none too soon.
i shifted our best men to the ends of the wall, and set up screened catapults by the beach.
the winged hats would drive in before the snow-squalls -- ten or twenty boats at a time -- on segedunum or ituna, according as the wind blew.
"now a ship coming in to land men must furl her sail.
if you wait till you see her men gather up the sail's foot, your catapults can jerk a net of loose stones -lrb- bolts only cut through the cloth -rrb- into the bag of it.
then she turns over, and the sea makes everything clean again.
a few men may come ashore, but very few.
... it was not hard work, except the waiting on the beach in blowing sand and snow.
and that was how we dealt with the winged hats that winter.
"early in the spring, when the east winds blow like skinning-knives, they gathered again off segedunum with many ships.
allo told me they would never rest till they had taken a tower in open fight.
certainly they fought in the open.
we dealt with them thoroughly through a long day: and when all was finished, one man dived clear of the wreckage of his ship, and swam towards shore.
i waited, and a wave tumbled him at my feet.
"as i stooped, i saw he wore such a medal as i wear."
parnesius raised his hand to his neck.
"therefore, when he could speak, i addressed him a certain question which can only be answered in a certain manner.
he answered with the necessary word -- the word that belongs to the degree of gryphons in the science of mithras my god.
i put my shield over him till he could stand up.
you see i am not short, but he was a head taller than i.
he said: "what now?"
i said: "at your pleasure, my brother, to stay or go."
"he looked out across the surf.
there remained one ship unhurt, beyond range of our catapults.
i checked the catapults and he waved her in.
she came as a hound comes to a master.
when she was yet a hundred paces from the beach, he flung back his hair, and swam out.
they hauled him in, and went away.
i knew that those who worship mithras are many and of all races, so i did not think much more upon the matter."
a month later i saw allo with his horses -- by the temple of pan, o faun -- and he gave me a great necklace of gold studded with coral.
"at first i thought it was a bribe from some tradesman in the town -- meant for old rutilianus.
""nay," said allo.
""this is a gift from amal, that winged hat whom you saved on the beach.
he says you are a man.""
""he is a man, too.
tell him i can wear his gift," i answered."
""oh, amal is a young fool; but, speaking as sensible men, your emperor is doing such great things in gaul that the winged hats are anxious to be his friends, or, better still, the friends of his servants.
they think you and pertinax could lead them to victories."
allo looked at me like a one-eyed raven."
""allo," i said, "you are the corn between the two millstones.
be content if they grind evenly, and do n't thrust your hand between them.""
""i?"
said allo.
""i hate rome and the winged hats equally; but if the winged hats thought that some day you and pertinax might join them against maximus, they would leave you in peace while you considered.
time is what we need -- you and i and maximus.
let me carry a pleasant message back to the winged hats -- something for them to make a council over.
we barbarians are all alike.
we sit up half the night to discuss anything a roman says.
eh?""
""we have no men.
we must fight with words," said pertinax.
""leave it to allo and me."
"so allo carried word back to the winged hats that we would not fight them if they did not fight us; and they -lrb- i think they were a little tired of losing men in the sea -rrb- agreed to a sort of truce.
i believe allo, who being a horse-dealer loved lies, also told them we might some day rise against maximus as maximus had risen against rome.
"indeed, they permitted the corn-ships which i sent to the picts to pass north that season without harm.
therefore the picts were well fed that winter, and since they were in some sort my children, i was glad of it.
we had only two thousand men on the wall, and i wrote many times to maximus and begged -- prayed -- him to send me only one cohort of my old north british troops.
he could not spare them.
he needed them to win more victories in gaul.
"then came news that he had defeated and slain the emperor gratian, and thinking he must now be secure, i wrote again for men.
he answered: "you will learn that i have at last settled accounts with the pup gratian.
there was no need that he should have died, but he became confused and lost his head, which is a bad thing to befall any emperor.
tell your father i am content to drive two mules only; for unless my old general's son thinks himself destined to destroy me, i shall rest emperor of gaul and britain, and then you, my two children, will presently get all the men you need.
just now i can spare none.""
"what did he mean by his general's son?"
said dan.
"he meant theodosius emperor of rome, who was the son of theodosius the general under whom maximus had fought in the old pict war.
the two men never loved each other, and when gratian made the younger theodosius emperor of the east -lrb- at least, so i've heard -rrb-, maximus carried on the war to the second generation.
it was his fate, and it was his fall.
but theodosius the emperor is a good man.
as i know."
parnesius was silent for a moment and then continued."
i wrote back to maximus that, though we had peace on the wall, i should be happier with a few more men and some new catapults.
he answered: "you must live a little longer under the shadow of my victories, till i can see what young theodosius intends.
he may welcome me as a brother-emperor, or he may be preparing an army.
in either case i can not spare men just now."
"but he was always saying that," cried una.
"it was true.
he did not make excuses; but thanks, as he said, to the news of his victories, we had no trouble on the wall for a long, long time.
the picts grew fat as their own sheep among the heather, and as many of my men as lived were well exercised in their weapons.
yes, the wall looked strong.
for myself, i knew how weak we were.
i knew that if even a false rumour of any defeat to maximus broke loose among the winged hats, they might come down in earnest, and then -- the wall must go!
for the picts i never cared, but in those years i learned something of the strength of the winged hats.
they increased their strength every day, but i could not increase my men.
maximus had emptied britain behind us, and i felt myself to be a man with a rotten stick standing before a broken fence to turn bulls.
"thus, my friends, we lived on the wall, waiting -- waiting -- waiting for the men that maximus never sent.
"presently he wrote that he was preparing an army against theodosius.
he wrote -- and pertinax read it over my shoulder in our quarters:" tell your father that my destiny orders me to drive three mules or be torn in pieces by them.
i hope within a year to finish with theodosius, son of theodosius, once and for all.
then you shall have britain to rule, and pertinax, if he chooses, gaul.
to-day i wish strongly you were with me to beat my auxiliaries into shape.
do not, i pray you, believe any rumour of my sickness.
i have a little evil in my old body which i shall cure by riding swiftly into rome.
" "said pertinax: "it is finished with maximus.
he writes as a man without hope.
i, a man without hope, can see this.
what does he add at the bottom of the roll?"
tell pertinax i have met his late uncle, the duumvir of divio, and that he accounted to me quite truthfully for all his mother's monies.
i have sent her with a fitting escort, for she is the mother of a hero, to nicaea, where the climate is warm.'"
""that is proof," said pertinax.
""nicaea is not far by sea from rome.
a woman there could take ship and fly to rome in time of war.
yes, maximus foresees his death, and is fulfilling his promises one by one.
but i am glad my uncle met him."'"
""you think blackly to-day?"
i asked."
""i think truth.
the gods weary of the play we have played against them.
theodosius will destroy maximus.
it is finished!""
""will you write him that?"
i said."
""see what i shall write," he answered, and he took pen and wrote a letter cheerful as the light of day, tender as a woman's and full of jests.
even i, reading over his shoulder, took comfort from it till -- i saw his face!"
""and now," he said, sealing it, "we be two dead men, my brother.
let us go to the temple."
"we prayed awhile to mithras, where we had many times prayed before.
after that, we lived day by day among evil rumours till winter came again.
"it happened one morning that we rode to the east shore, and found on the beach a fair-haired man, half frozen, bound to some broken planks.
turning him over, we saw by his belt-buckle that he was a goth of an eastern legion.
suddenly he opened his eyes and cried loudly, "he is dead!
the letters were with me, but the winged hats sank the ship."
so saying, he died between our hands.
"we asked not who was dead.
we knew!
we raced before the driving snow to hunno, thinking perhaps allo might be there.
we found him already at our stables, and he saw by our faces what we had heard."
""it was in a tent by the sea," he stammered.
""he was beheaded by theodosius.
he sent a letter to you, written while he waited to be slain.
the winged hats met the ship and took it.
the news is running through the heather like fire.
blame me not!
i can not hold back my young men any more.""
""i would we could say as much for our men," said pertinax, laughing.
""but, gods be praised, they can not run away.""
""what do you do?"
said allo.
""i bring an order -- a message -- from the winged hats that you join them with your men, and march south to plunder britain.""
""it grieves me," said pertinax, "but we are stationed here to stop that thing.""
""if i carry back such an answer they will kill me," said allo.
""i always promised the winged hats that you would rise when maximus fell.
i -- i did not think he could fall.""
""alas!
my poor barbarian," said pertinax, still laughing.
""well, you have sold us too many good ponies to be thrown back to your friends.
we will make you a prisoner, although you are an ambassador.""
""yes, that will be best," said allo, holding out a halter.
we bound him lightly, for he was an old man."
""presently the winged hats may come to look for you, and that will give us more time.
see how the habit of playing for time sticks to a man!"
said pertinax, as he tied the rope."
""no," i said.
""time may help.
if maximus wrote us a letter while he was a prisoner, theodosius must have sent the ship that brought it.
if he can send ships, he can send men.""
""how will that profit us?"
said pertinax.
""we serve maximus, not theodosius.
even if by some miracle of the gods theodosius down south sent and saved the wall, we could not expect more than the death maximus died.""
""it concerns us to defend the wall, no matter what emperor dies, or makes die," i said."
""that is worthy of your brother the philosopher," said pertinax.
""myself i am without hope, so i do not say solemn and stupid things!
rouse the wall!"
"we armed the wall from end to end; we told the officers that there was a rumour of maximus's death which might bring down the winged hats, but we were sure, even if it were true, that theodosius, for the sake of britain, would send us help.
therefore, we must stand fast.
... my friends, it is above all things strange to see how men bear ill news!
often the strongest till then become the weakest, while the weakest, as it were, reach up and steal strength from the gods.
so it was with us.
yet my pertinax by his jests and his courtesy and his labours had put heart and training into our poor numbers during the past years -- more than i should have thought possible.
even our libyan cohort -- the third -- stood up in their padded cuirasses and did not whimper.
"in three days came seven chiefs and elders of the winged hats.
among them was that tall young man, amal, whom i had met on the beach, and he smiled when he saw my necklace.
we made them welcome, for they were ambassadors.
we showed them allo, alive but bound.
they thought we had killed him, and i saw it would not have vexed them if we had.
allo saw it too, and it vexed him.
then in our quarters at hunno we came to council.
"they said that rome was falling, and that we must join them.
they offered me all south britain to govern after they had taken a tribute out of it."
i answered, "patience.
this wall is not weighed off like plunder.
give me proof that my general is dead.""
""nay," said one elder, "prove to us that he lives"; and another said cunningly, "what will you give us if we read you his last words?""
""we are not merchants to bargain," cried amal.
""moreover, i owe this man my life.
he shall have his proof."
he threw across to me a letter -lrb- well i knew the seal -rrb- from maximus."
""we took this out of the ship we sank," he cried.
""i can not read, but i know one sign, at least, which makes me believe."
he showed me a dark stain on the outer roll that my heavy heart perceived was the valiant blood of maximus."
""read!"
said amal.
""read, and then let us hear whose servants you are!"
"said pertinax, very softly, after he had looked through it: "i will read it all.
listen, barbarians!"
he read that which i have carried next my heart ever since."
parnesius drew from his neck a folded and spotted piece of parchment, and began in a hushed voice: --"" to parnesius and pertinax, the not unworthy captains of the wall, from maximus, once emperor of gaul and britain, now prisoner waiting death by the sea in the camp of theodosius -- greeting and good-bye!
"" "enough," said young amal; "there is your proof!
you must join us now!"
"pertinax looked long and silently at him, till that fair man blushed like a girl.
then read pertinax: --"" i have joyfully done much evil in my life to those who have wished me evil, but if ever i did any evil to you two i repent, and i ask your forgiveness.
the three mules which i strove to drive have torn me in pieces as your father prophesied.
the naked swords wait at the tent door to give me the death i gave to gratian.
therefore i, your general and your emperor, send you free and honourable dismissal from my service, which you entered, not for money or office, but, as it makes me warm to believe, because you loved me!
"" "by the light of the sun," amal broke in.
""this was in some sort a man!
we may have been mistaken in his servants!"
"and pertinax read on:" you gave me the time for which i asked.
if i have failed to use it, do not lament.
we have gambled very splendidly against the gods, but they hold weighted dice, and i must pay the forfeit.
remember, i have been; but rome is; and rome will be.
tell pertinax his mother is in safety at nicaea, and her monies are in charge of the prefect at antipolis.
make my remembrances to your father and to your mother, whose friendship was great gain to me.
give also to my little picts and to the winged hats such messages as their thick heads can understand.
i would have sent you three legions this very day if all had gone aright.
do not forget me.
we have worked together.
farewell!
farewell!
farewell!
" "now, that was my emperor's last letter."
-lrb- the children heard the parchment crackle as parnesius returned it to its place. -rrb-"
""i was mistaken," said amal.
""the servants of such a man will sell nothing except over the sword.
i am glad of it."
he held out his hand to me."
""but maximus has given you your dismissal," said an elder.
""you are certainly free to serve -- or to rule -- whom you please.
join -- do not follow -- join us!""
""we thank you," said pertinax.
""but maximus tells us to give you such messages as -- pardon me, but i use his words -- your thick heads can understand."
he pointed through the door to the foot of a catapult wound up."
""we understand," said an elder.
""the wall must be won at a price?""
""it grieves me," said pertinax, laughing, "but so it must be won," and he gave them of our best southern wine.
"they drank, and wiped their yellow beards in silence till they rose to go.
"said amal, stretching himself -lrb- for they were barbarians -rrb-: "we be a goodly company; i wonder what the ravens and the dogfish will make of some of us before this snow melts.""
""think rather what theodosius may send," i answered; and though they laughed, i saw that my chance shot troubled them.
"only old allo lingered behind a little."
""you see," he said, winking and blinking, "i am no more than their dog.
when i have shown their men the secret short ways across our bogs, they will kick me like one.""
""then i should not be in haste to show them those ways," said pertinax, "till i was sure that rome could not save the wall.""
""you think so?
woe is me!"
said the old man.
""i only wanted peace for my people," and he went out stumbling through the snow behind the tall winged hats.
"in this fashion then, slowly, a day at a time, which is very bad for doubting troops, the war came upon us.
at first the winged hats swept in from the sea as they had done before, and there we met them as before -- with the catapults; and they sickened of it.
yet for a long time they would not trust their duck-legs on land, and i think, when it came to revealing the secrets of the tribe, the little picts were afraid or ashamed to show them all the roads across the heather.
i had this from a pict prisoner.
they were as much our spies as our enemies, for the winged hats oppressed them, and took their winter stores.
ah, foolish little people!
"then the winged hats began to roll us up from each end of the wall.
i sent runners southward to see what the news might be in britain, but the wolves were very bold that winter, among the deserted stations where the troops had once been, and none came back.
we had trouble, too, with the forage for the ponies along the wall.
i kept ten, and so did pertinax.
we lived and slept in the saddle, riding east or west, and we ate our worn-out ponies.
the people of the town also made us some trouble till i gathered them all in one quarter behind hunno.
we broke down the wall on either side of it to make as it were a citadel.
our men fought better in close order.
"by the end of the second month we were deep in the war as a man is deep in a snowdrift, or in a dream.
i think we fought in our sleep.
at least i know i have gone on the wall and come off again, remembering nothing between, though my throat was harsh with giving orders, and my sword, i could see, had been used.
"the winged hats fought like wolves -- all in a pack.
where they had suffered most, there they charged in most hotly.
this was hard for the defenders, but it held them from sweeping on into britain.
"in those days pertinax and i wrote on the plaster of the bricked archway into valentia the names of the towers, and the days on which they fell one by one.
we wished for some record.
"and the fighting?
the fight was always hottest to left and right of the great statue of roma dea, near to rutilianus's house.
by the light of the sun, that old fat man, whom we had not considered at all, grew young again among the trumpets!
i remember he said his sword was an oracle!
""let us consult the oracle," he would say, and put the handle against his ear, and shake his head wisely.
""and this day is allowed rutilianus to live," he would say, and, tucking up his cloak, he would puff and pant and fight well.
oh, there were jests in plenty on the wall to take the place of food!
"we endured for two months and seventeen days -- always being pressed from three sides into a smaller space.
several times allo sent in word that help was at hand.
we did not believe it, but it cheered our men.
"the end came not with shoutings of joy, but, like the rest, as in a dream.
the winged hats suddenly left us in peace for one night and the next day; which is too long for spent men.
we slept at first lightly, expecting to be roused, and then like logs, each where he lay.
may you never need such sleep!
when i waked our towers were full of strange, armed men, who watched us snoring.
i roused pertinax, and we leaped up together."
""what?"
said a young man in clean armour.
""do you fight against theodosius?
look!"
"north we looked over the red snow.
no winged hats were there.
south we looked over the white snow, and behold there were the eagles of two strong legions encamped.
east and west we saw flame and fighting, but by hunno all was still."
""trouble no more," said the young man.
""rome's arm is long.
where are the captains of the wall?"
"we said we were those men."
""but you are old and grey-haired," he cried.
""maximus said that they were boys.""
""yes, that was true some years ago," said pertinax.
""what is our fate to be, you fine and well-fed child?""
""i am called ambrosius, a secretary of the emperor," he answered.
""show me a certain letter which maximus wrote from a tent at aquileia, and perhaps i will believe.""
i took it from my breast, and when he had read it he saluted us, saying: "your fate is in your own hands.
if you choose to serve theodosius, he will give you a legion.
if it suits you to go to your homes, we will give you a triumph.""
""i would like better a bath, wine, food, razors, soaps, oils, and scents," said pertinax, laughing."
""oh, i see you are a boy," said ambrosius.
""and you?"
turning to me."
""we bear no ill-will against theodosius, but in war --" i began."
""in war it is as it is in love," said pertinax.
""whether she be good or bad, one gives one's best once, to one only.
that given, there remains no second worth giving or taking.""
""that is true," said ambrosius.
""i was with maximus before he died.
he warned theodosius that you would never serve him, and frankly i say i am sorry for my emperor.""
""he has rome to console him," said pertinax.
""i ask you of your kindness to let us go to our homes and get this smell out of our nostrils."
"none the less they gave us a triumph!"
"it was well earned," said puck, throwing some leaves into the still water of the marlpit.
the black, oily circles spread dizzily as the children watched them."
i want to know, oh, ever so many things," said dan.
"what happened to old allo?
did the winged hats ever come back?
and what did amal do?"
"and what happened to the fat old general with the five cooks?"
said una.
"and what did your mother say when you came home?
..." "she'd say you're settin" too long over this old pit, so late as't is already," said old hobden's voice behind them.
"hst!"
he whispered.
he stood still, for not twenty paces away a magnificent dog-fox sat on his haunches and looked at the children as though he were an old friend of theirs.
"oh, mus" reynolds, mus" reynolds!"
said hobden, under his breath.
"if i knowed all was inside your head, i'd know something wuth knowin".
mus" dan an" miss una, come along o" me while i lock up my liddle hen-house."
a pict song rome never looks where she treads, always her heavy hooves fall on our stomachs, our hearts or our heads; and rome never heeds when we bawl.
her sentries pass on -- that is all, and we gather behind them in hordes, and plot to reconquer the wall, with only our tongues for our swords.
we are the little folk -- we!
too little to love or to hate.
leave us alone and you'll see how we can drag down the great!
we are the worm in the wood!
we are the rot at the root!
we are the germ in the blood!
we are the thorn in the foot!
mistletoe killing an oak -- rats gnawing cables in two -- moths making holes in a cloak -- how they must love what they do!
yes -- and we little folk too, we are as busy as they -- working our works out of view -- watch, and you'll see it some day!
no indeed!
we are not strong, but we know peoples that are.
yes, and we'll guide them along, to smash and destroy you in war!
we shall be slaves just the same?
yes, we have always been slaves, but you -- you will die of the shame, and then we shall dance on your graves!
we are the little folk, we, etc..
hal o" the draft prophets have honour all over the earth, except in the village where they were born, where such as knew them boys from birth nature-ally hold'em in scorn.
when prophets are naughty and young and vain, they make a won "erful grievance of it; -lrb- you can see by their writings how they complain -rrb-, but oh,'t is won "erful good for the prophet!
there's nothing nineveh town can give -lrb- nor being swallowed by whales between -rrb-, makes up for the place where a man's folk live, that do n't care nothing what he has been.
he might ha" been that, or he might ha" been this, but they love and they hate him for what he is.
a rainy afternoon drove dan and una over to play pirates in the little mill.
if you do n't mind rats on the rafters and oats in your shoes, the mill-attic, with its trap-doors and inscriptions on beams about floods and sweethearts, is a splendid place.
it is lighted by a foot-square window, called duck window, that looks across to little lindens farm, and the spot where jack cade was killed.
when they had climbed the attic ladder -lrb- they called it "the mainmast tree", out of the ballad of sir andrew barton, and dan "swarved it with might and main", as the ballad says -rrb- they saw a man sitting on duck window-sill.
he was dressed in a plum-coloured doublet and tight plum-coloured hose, and he drew busily in a red-edged book.
"sit ye!
sit ye!"
puck cried from a rafter overhead.
"see what it is to be beautiful!
sir harry dawe -- pardon, hal -- says i am the very image of a head for a gargoyle."
the man laughed and raised his dark velvet cap to the children, and his grizzled hair bristled out in a stormy fringe.
he was old -- forty at least -- but his eyes were young, with funny little wrinkles all round them.
a satchel of embroidered leather hung from his broad belt, which looked interesting.
"may we see?"
said una, coming forward.
"surely -- sure-ly!"
he said, moving up on the window-seat, and returned to his work with a silver-pointed pencil.
puck sat as though the grin were fixed for ever on his broad face, while they watched the quick, certain fingers that copied it.
presently the man took a reed pen from his satchel, and trimmed it with a little ivory knife, carved in the semblance of a fish.
"oh, what a beauty!"
cried dan."
ware fingers!
that blade is perilous sharp.
i made it myself of the best low country cross-bow steel.
and so, too, this fish.
when his back-fin travels to his tail -- so -- he swallows up the blade, even as the whale swallowed gaffer jonah... yes, and that's my ink-horn.
i made the four silver saints round it.
press barnabas's head.
it opens, and then --" he dipped the trimmed pen, and with careful boldness began to put in the essential lines of puck's rugged face, that had been but faintly revealed by the silver-point.
the children gasped, for it fairly leaped from the page.
as he worked, and the rain fell on the tiles, he talked -- now clearly, now muttering, now breaking off to frown or smile at his work.
he told them he was born at little lindens farm, and his father used to beat him for drawing things instead of doing things, till an old priest called father roger, who drew illuminated letters in rich people's books, coaxed the parents to let him take the boy as a sort of painter's apprentice.
then he went with father roger to oxford, where he cleaned plates and carried cloaks and shoes for the scholars of a college called merton.
"did n't you hate that?"
said dan after a great many other questions."
i never thought o n't.
half oxford was building new colleges or beautifying the old, and she had called to her aid the master-craftsmen of all christendie -- kings in their trade and honoured of kings.
i knew them.
i worked for them: that was enough.
no wonder --" he stopped and laughed.
"you became a great man, hal," said puck.
"they said so, robin.
even bramante said so."
"why?
what did you do?"
dan asked.
the artist looked at him queerly.
"things in stone and such, up and down england.
you would not have heard of'em.
to come nearer home, i rebuilded this little st barnabas" church of ours.
it cost me more trouble and sorrow than aught i've touched in my life.
but't was a sound lesson."
"um," said dan.
"we've had lessons this morning."
"i'll not afflict ye, lad," said hal, while puck roared.
"only't is strange to think how that little church was rebuilt, re-roofed, and made glorious, thanks to some few godly sussex iron-masters, a bristow sailor lad, a proud ass called hal o" the draft because, d'you see, he was always drawing and drafting; and" -- he dragged the words slowly --" and a scotch pirate."
"pirate?"
said dan.
he wriggled like a hooked fish.
"even that andrew barton you were singing of on the stair just now."
he dipped again in the ink-well, and held his breath over a sweeping line, as though he had forgotten everything else.
"pirates do n't build churches, do they?"
said dan.
"or do they?"
"they help mightily," hal laughed.
"but you were at your lessons this morn, jack scholar."
"oh, pirates are n't lessons.
it was only bruce and his silly old spider," said una.
"why did sir andrew barton help you?'"
i question if he ever knew it," said hal, twinkling.
"robin, how a" mischief's name am i to tell these innocents what comes of sinful pride?"
"oh, we know all about that," said una pertly.
"if you get too beany -- that's cheeky -- you get sat upon, of course."
hal considered a moment, pen in air, and puck said some long words.
"aha!
that was my case too," he cried.
"beany -- you say -- but certainly i did not conduct myself well.
i was proud of -- of such things as porches -- a galilee porch at lincoln for choice -- proud of one torrigiano's arm on my shoulder, proud of my knighthood when i made the gilt scroll-work for the sovereign -- our king's ship.
but father roger sitting in merton library, he did not forget me.
at the top of my pride, when i and no other should have builded the porch at lincoln, he laid it on me with a terrible forefinger to go back to my sussex clays and rebuild, at my own charges, my own church, where us dawes have been buried for six generations.
""out!
son of my art!"
said he.
""fight the devil at home ere you call yourself a man and a craftsman."
and i quaked, and i went... how's yon, robin?"
he flourished the finished sketch before puck.
"me!
me past peradventure," said puck, smirking like a man at a mirror.
"ah, see!
the rain has took off!
i hate housen in daylight."
"whoop!
holiday!"
cried hal, leaping up.
"who's for my little lindens?
we can talk there."
they tumbled downstairs, and turned past the dripping willows by the sunny mill-dam.
"body o" me," said hal, staring at the hop-garden, where the hops were just ready to blossom.
"what are these?
vines?
no, not vines, and they twine the wrong way to beans."
he began to draw in his ready book.
"hops.
new since your day," said puck.
"they're an herb of mars, and their flowers dried flavour ale.
we say -- "turkeys, heresy, hops, and beer came into england all in one year."
"heresy i know.
i've seen hops -- god be praised for their beauty!
what is your turkis?"
the children laughed.
they knew the lindens turkeys, and as soon as they reached lindens orchard on the hill the full flock charged at them.
out came hal's book at once.
"hoity-toity!"
he cried.
"here's pride in purple feathers!
here's wrathy contempt and the pomps of the flesh!
how d'you call them?"
"turkeys!
turkeys!"
the children shouted, as the old gobbler raved and flamed against hal's plum-coloured hose."
save your magnificence!"
he said.
"i've drafted two good new things today."
and he doffed his cap to the bubbling bird.
then they walked through the grass to the knoll where little lindens stands.
the old farmhouse, weather-tiled to the ground, took almost the colour of a blood-ruby in the afternoon light.
the pigeons pecked at the mortar in the chimney-stacks; the bees that had lived under the tiles since it was built filled the hot august air with their booming; and the smell of the box-tree by the dairy-window mixed with the smell of earth after rain, bread after baking, and a tickle of wood-smoke.
the farmer's wife came to the door, baby on arm, shaded her brows against the sun, stooped to pluck a sprig of rosemary, and turned down the orchard.
the old spaniel in his barrel barked once or twice to show he was in charge of the empty house.
puck clicked back the garden-gate.
'd "you marvel that i love it?"
said hal, in a whisper.
"what can town folk know of the nature of housen -- or land?"
they perched themselves arow on the old hacked oak bench in lindens garden, looking across the valley of the brook at the fern-covered dimples and hollows of the forge behind hobden's cottage.
the old man was cutting a faggot in his garden by the hives.
it was quite a second after his chopper fell that the chump of the blow reached their lazy ears.
"eh -- yeh!"
said hal."
i mind when where that old gaffer stands was nether forge -- master john collins's foundry.
many a night has his big trip-hammer shook me in my bed here.
boom-bitty!
boom-bitty!
if the wind was east, i could hear master tom collins's forge at stockens answering his brother, boom-oop!
boom-oop!
and midway between, sir john pelham's sledge-hammers at brightling would strike in like a pack o" scholars, and" hic-haec-hoc" they'd say," hic-haec-hoc," till i fell asleep.
yes.
the valley was as full o" forges and fineries as a may shaw o" cuckoos.
all gone to grass now!"
"what did they make?"
said dan.
"guns for the king's ships -- and for others.
serpentines and cannon mostly.
when the guns were cast, down would come the king's officers, and take our plough-oxen to haul them to the coast.
look!
here's one of the first and finest craftsmen of the sea!"
he fluttered back a page of his book, and showed them a young man's head.
underneath was written: "sebastianus."
"he came down with a king's order on master john collins for twenty serpentines -lrb- wicked little cannon they be! -rrb-
to furnish a venture of ships.
i drafted him thus sitting by our fire telling mother of the new lands he'd find the far side the world.
and he found them, too!
there's a nose to cleave through unknown seas!
cabot was his name -- a bristol lad -- half a foreigner.
i set a heap by him.
he helped me to my church-building.'"
i thought that was sir andrew barton," said dan.
"ay, but foundations before roofs," hal answered.
"sebastian first put me in the way of it.
i had come down here, not to serve god as a craftsman should, but to show my people how great a craftsman i was.
they cared not, and it served me right, one split straw for my craft or my greatness.
what a murrain call had i, they said, to mell with old st barnabas"?
ruinous the church had been since the black death, and ruinous she would remain; and i could hang myself in my new scaffold-ropes!
gentle and simple, high and low -- the hayes, the fowles, the fenners, the collinses -- they were all in a tale against me.
only sir john pelham up yonder at brightling bade me heart-up and go on.
yet how could i?
did i ask master collins for his timber-tug to haul beams?
the oxen had gone to lewes after lime.
did he promise me a set of iron cramps or ties for the roof?
they never came to hand, or else they were spaulty or cracked.
so with everything.
nothing said, but naught done except i stood by them, and then done amiss.
i thought the countryside was fair bewitched."
"it was, sure-ly," said puck, knees under chin.
"did you never suspect ary one?"
"not till sebastian came for his guns, and john collins played him the same dog's tricks as he'd played me with my ironwork.
week in, week out, two of three serpentines would be flawed in the casting, and only fit, they said, to be re-melted.
then john collins would shake his head, and vow he could pass no cannon for the king's service that were not perfect.
saints!
how sebastian stormed!
i know, for we sat on this bench sharing our sorrows inter-common.
"when sebastian had fumed away six weeks at lindens and gotten just six serpentines, dirk brenzett, master of the cygnet hoy, sends me word that the block of stone he was fetching me from france for our new font he'd hove overboard to lighten his ship, chased by andrew barton up to rye port."
"ah!
the pirate!"
said dan.
"yes.
and while i am tearing my hair over this, ticehurst will, my best mason, comes to me shaking, and vowing that the devil, horned, tailed, and chained, has run out on him from the church-tower, and the men would work there no more.
so i took'em off the foundations, which we were strengthening, and went into the bell tavern for a cup of ale.
says master john collins: "have it your own way, lad; but if i was you, i'd take the sinnification o" the sign, and leave old barnabas" church alone!"
and they all wagged their sinful heads, and agreed.
less afraid of the devil than of me -- as i saw later.
"when i brought my sweet news to lindens, sebastian was limewashing the kitchen-beams for mother.
he loved her like a son."
""cheer up, lad," he says.
""god's where he was.
only you and i chance to be pure pute asses.
we've been tricked, hal, and more shame to me, a sailor, that i did not guess it before!
you must leave your belfry alone, forsooth, because the devil is adrift there; and i can not get my serpentines because john collins can not cast them aright.
meantime andrew barton hawks off the port of rye.
and why?
to take those very serpentines which poor cabot must whistle for; the said serpentines, i'll wager my share of new continents, being now hid away in st barnabas" church-tower.
clear as the irish coast at noonday!"
""they'd sure never dare to do it," i said; "and, for another thing, selling cannon to the king's enemies is black treason -- hanging and fine.""
""it is sure, large profit.
men'll dare any gallows for that.
i have been a trader myself," says he.
""we must be upsides with'em for the honour of bristol."
"then he hatched a plot, sitting on the limewash bucket.
we gave out to ride o" tuesday to london and made a show of taking farewells of our friends -- especially of master john collins.
but at wadhurst woods we turned; rode home to the watermeadows; hid our horses in a willow-tot at the foot of the glebe, and, come night, stole a-tiptoe up hill to barnabas" church again.
a thick mist, and a moon striking through."
i had no sooner locked the tower-door behind us than over goes sebastian full length in the dark."
""pest!"
he says.
""step high and feel low, hal.
i've stumbled over guns before.""
i groped, and one by one -- the tower was pitchy dark -- i counted the lither barrels of twenty serpentines laid out on pease straw.
no conceal at all!"
""there's two demi-cannon my end," says sebastian, slapping metal.
""they'll be for andrew barton's lower deck.
honest -- honest john collins!
so this is his warehouse, his arsenal, his armoury!
now see you why your pokings and pryings have raised the devil in sussex?
you've hindered john's lawful trade for months," and he laughed where he lay."
a clay-cold tower is no fireside at midnight, so we climbed the belfry stairs, and there sebastian trips over a cow-hide with its horns and tail."
""aha!
your devil has left his doublet!
does it become me, hal?"
he draws it on and capers in the shafts of window-moonlight -- won "erful devilish-like.
then he sits on the stairs, rapping with his tail on a board, and his back-aspect was dreader than his front, and a howlet lit in, and screeched at the horns of him."
""if you'd keep out the devil, shut the door," he whispered.
""and that's another false proverb, hal, for i can hear your tower-door opening.""
""i locked it.
who a-plague has another key, then?"
i said."
""all the congregation, to judge by their feet," he says, and peers into the blackness.
""still!
still, hal!
hear'em grunt!
that's more o" my serpentines, i'll be bound.
one -- two -- three -- four they bear in!
faith, andrew equips himself like an admiral!
twenty-four serpentines in all!"
"as if it had been an echo, we heard john collins's voice come up all hollow: "twenty-four serpentines and two demi-cannon.
that's the full tally for sir andrew barton.""
""courtesy costs naught," whispers sebastian.
""shall i drop my dagger on his head?""
""they go over to rye o" thursday in the wool-wains, hid under the wool-packs.
dirk brenzett meets them at udimore, as before," says john."
""lord!
what a worn, handsmooth trade it is!"
says sebastian.
""i lay we are the sole two babes in the village that have not our lawful share in the venture."
"there was a full score folk below, talking like all robertsbridge market.
we counted them by voice.
"master john collins pipes: "the guns for the french carrack must lie here next month.
will, when does your young fool" -lrb- me, so please you! -rrb-
""come back from lunnon?""
""no odds," i heard ticehurst will answer.
""lay'em just where you've a mind, mus" collins.
we're all too afraid o" the devil to mell with the tower now."
and the long knave laughed."
""ah!
't is easy enow for you to raise the devil, will," says another -- ralph hobden of the forge."
""aaa-men!"
roars sebastian, and ere i could hold him, he leaps down the stairs -- won "erful devilish-like howling no bounds.
he had scarce time to lay out for the nearest than they ran.
saints, how they ran!
we heard them pound on the door of the bell tavern, and then we ran too."
""what's next?"
says sebastian, looping up his cow-tail as he leaped the briars.
""i've broke honest john's face.""
""ride to sir john pelham's," i said.
""he is the only one that ever stood by me."
"we rode to brightling, and past sir john's lodges, where the keepers would have shot at us for deer-stealers, and we had sir john down into his justice's chair, and when we had told him our tale and showed him the cow-hide which sebastian wore still girt about him, he laughed till the tears ran."
""wel-a-well!"
he says.
""i'll see justice done before daylight.
what's your complaint?
master collins is my old friend.""
""he's none of mine," i cried.
""when i think how he and his likes have baulked and dozened and cozened me at every turn over the church" -- and i choked at the thought."
""ah, but ye see now they needed it for another use," says he smoothly."
""so they did my serpentines," sebastian cries.
""i should be half across the western ocean by now if my guns had been ready.
but they're sold to a scotch pirate by your old friend --"" "where's your proof?"
says sir john, stroking his beard."
""i broke my shins over them not an hour since, and i heard john give order where they were to be taken," says sebastian."
""words!
words only," says sir john.
""master collins is somewhat of a liar at best."
"he carried it so gravely that, for the moment, i thought he was dipped in this secret traffick too, and that there was not an honest ironmaster in sussex."
""name o" reason!"
says sebastian, and raps with his cow-tail on the table, "whose guns are they, then?""
""yours, manifestly," says sir john.
""you come with the king's order for'em, and master collins casts them in his foundry.
if he chooses to bring them up from nether forge and lay'em out in the church-tower, why, they are e "en so much the nearer to the main road and you are saved a day's hauling.
what a coil to make of a mere act of neighbourly kindness, lad!""
""i fear i have requited him very scurvily," says sebastian, looking at his knuckles.
""but what of the demi-cannon?
i could do with'em well, but they are not in the king's order.""
""kindness -- loving-kindness," says sir john.
""questionless, in his zeal for the king and his love for you, john adds those two cannon as a gift.
't is plain as this coming daylight, ye stockfish!""
""so it is," says sebastian.
""oh, sir john, sir john, why did you never use the sea?
you are lost ashore."
and he looked on him with great love."
""i do my best in my station."
sir john strokes his beard again and rolls forth his deep drumming justice's voice thus: "but -- suffer me!
-- you two lads, on some midnight frolic into which i probe not, roystering around the taverns, surprise master collins at his" -- he thinks a moment -- "at his good deeds done by stealth.
ye surprise him, i say, cruelly.""
""truth, sir john.
if you had seen him run!"
says sebastian."
""on this you ride breakneck to me with a tale of pirates, and wool-wains, and cow-hides, which, though it hath moved my mirth as a man, offendeth my reason as a magistrate.
so i will e "en accompany you back to the tower with, perhaps, some few of my own people, and three-four wagons, and i'll be your warrant that master john collins will freely give you your guns and your demi-cannon, master sebastian."
he breaks into his proper voice -- "i warned the old tod and his neighbours long ago that they'd come to trouble with their side-sellings and bye-dealings; but we can not have half sussex hanged for a little gun-running.
are ye content, lads?""
""i'd commit any treason for two demi-cannon," said sebastian, and rubs his hands."
""ye have just compounded with rank treason-felony for the same bribe," says sir john.
""wherefore to horse, and get the guns.""
"but master collins meant the guns for sir andrew barton all along, did n't he?"
said dan.
"questionless, that he did," said hal.
"but he lost them.
we poured into the village on the red edge of dawn, sir john horsed, in half-armour, his pennon flying; behind him thirty stout brightling knaves, five abreast; behind them four wool-wains, and behind them four trumpets to triumph over the jest, blowing: our king went forth to normandie.
when we halted and rolled the ringing guns out of the tower,'t was for all the world like friar roger's picture of the french siege in the queen's missal-book."
"and what did we -- i mean, what did our village do?"
said dan.
"oh!
bore it nobly -- nobly," cried hal.
"though they had tricked me, i was proud of them.
they came out of their housen, looked at that little army as though it had been a post, and went their shut-mouthed way.
never a sign!
never a word!
they'd ha" perished sooner than let brightling overcrow us.
even that villain, ticehurst will, coming out of the bell for his morning ale, he all but runs under sir john's horse.""
"ware, sirrah devil!"
cries sir john, reining back."
""oh!"
says will.
""market-day, is it?
and all the bullocks from brightling here?""
i spared him his belting for that -- the brazen knave!
"but john collins was our masterpiece!
he happened along-street -lrb- his jaw tied up where sebastian had clouted him -rrb- when we were trundling the first demi-cannon through the lych-gate."
""i reckon you'll find her middlin" heavy," he says.
""if you've a mind to pay, i'll loan ye my timber-tug.
she wo n't lie easy on ary wool-wain."
"that was the one time i ever saw sebastian taken flat aback.
he opened and shut his mouth, fishy-like."
""no offence," says master john.
""you've got her reasonable good cheap.
i thought ye might not grudge me a groat if i helped move her."
ah, he was a masterpiece!
they say that morning's work cost our john two hundred pounds, and he never winked an eyelid, not even when he saw the guns all carted off to lewes."
"neither then nor later?"
said puck.
"once.
't was after he gave st barnabas" the new chime of bells.
-lrb- oh, there was nothing the collinses, or the hayes, or the fowles, or the fenners would not do for the church then!
""ask and have" was their song. -rrb-
we had rung'em in, and he was in the tower with black nick fowle, that gave us our rood-screen.
the old man pinches the bell-rope one hand and scratches his neck with t "other.
""sooner she was pulling yon clapper than my neck, he says.
that was all!
that was sussex -- seely sussex for everlastin"!"
"and what happened after?"
said una."
i went back into england," said hal, slowly.
"i'd had my lesson against pride.
but they tell me i left st barnabas" a jewel -- justabout a jewel!
wel-a-well!
't was done for and among my own people, and -- father roger was right -- i never knew such trouble or such triumph since.
that's the nature o" things.
a dear -- dear land."
he dropped his chin on his chest.
"there's your father at the forge.
what's he talking to old hobden about?"
said puck, opening his hand with three leaves in it.
dan looked towards the cottage.
"oh, i know.
it's that old oak lying across the brook.
pater always wants it grubbed."
in the still valley they could hear old hobden's deep tones.
"have it as you've a mind to," he was saying.
"but the vivers of her roots they hold the bank together.
if you grub her out, the bank she'll all come tearin" down, an" next floods the brook'll swarve up.
but have it as you've a mind.
the mistuss she sets a heap by the ferns on her trunk.
"oh!
i'll think it over," said the pater.
una laughed a little bubbling chuckle.
"what devil's in that belfry?"
said hal, with a lazy laugh.
"that should be a hobden by his voice."
"why, the oak is the regular bridge for all the rabbits between the three acre and our meadow.
the best place for wires on the farm, hobden says.
he's got two there now," una answered."
he wo n't ever let it be grubbed!"
"ah, sussex!
sillly sussex for everlastin"," murmured hal; and the next moment their father's voice calling across to little lindens broke the spell as little st barnabas" clock struck five.
a smugglers" song if you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet, do n't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street, them that asks no questions is n't told a lie.
watch the wall, my darling, while the gentlemen go by!
five-and-twenty ponies, trotting through the dark -- brandy for the parson, "baccy for the clerk; laces for a lady; letters for a spy, and watch the wall, my darling, while the gentlemen go by!
running round the woodlump if you chance to find little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine; do n't you shout to come and look, nor take'em for your play; put the brishwood back again, -- and they'll be gone next day!
if you see the stable-door setting open wide; if you see a tired horse lying down inside; if your mother mends a coat cut about and tore; if the lining's wet and warm -- do n't you ask no more!
if you meet king george's men, dressed in blue and red, you be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.
if they call you "pretty maid," and chuck you "neath the chin, do n't you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one's been!
knocks and footsteps round the house -- whistles after dark -- you've no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.
trusty's here, and pincher's here, and see how dumb they lie -- they do n't fret to follow when the gentlemen go by!
if you do as you've been told, "likely there's a chance, you'll be give a dainty doll, all the way from france, with a cap of valenciennes, and a velvet hood -- a present from the gentlemen, along o" being good!
five-and-twenty ponies, trotting through the dark -- brandy for the parson, "baccy for the clerk.
them that asks no questions is n't told a lie -- watch the wall, my darling, while the gentlemen go by!
"dymchurch flit" the bee boy's song bees!
bees!
hark to your bees!
"hide from your neighbours as much as you please, but all that has happened, to us you must tell, or else we will give you no honey to sell!"
a maiden in her glory, upon her wedding-day, must tell her bees the story, or else they'll fly away.
fly away -- die away -- dwindle down and leave you!
but if you do n't deceive your bees, your bees will not deceive you.
marriage, birth or buryin", news across the seas, all you're sad or merry in, you must tell the bees.
tell'em coming in an" out, where the fanners fan,'cause the bees are justabout as curious as a man!
do n't you wait where trees are, when the lightnings play; nor do n't you hate where bees are, or else they'll pine away.
pine away -- dwine away -- anything to leave you!
but if you never grieve your bees, your bees'll never grieve you!
just at dusk, a soft september rain began to fall on the hop-pickers.
the mothers wheeled the bouncing perambulators out of the gardens; bins were put away, and tally-books made up.
the young couples strolled home, two to each umbrella, and the single men walked behind them laughing.
dan and una, who had been picking after their lessons, marched off to roast potatoes at the oast-house, where old hobden, with blue-eyed bess, his lurcher dog, lived all the month through, drying the hops.
they settled themselves, as usual, on the sack-strewn cot in front of the fires, and, when hobden drew up the shutter, stared, as usual, at the flameless bed of coals spouting its heat up the dark well of the old-fashioned roundel.
slowly he cracked off a few fresh pieces of coal, packed them, with fingers that never flinched, exactly where they would do most good; slowly he reached behind him till dan tilted the potatoes into his iron scoop of a hand; carefully he arranged them round the fire, and then stood for a moment, black against the glare.
as he closed the shutter, the oast-house seemed dark before the day's end, and he lit the candle in the lanthorn.
the children liked all these things because they knew them so well.
the bee boy, hobden's son, who is not quite right in his head, though he can do anything with bees, slipped in like a shadow.
they only guessed it when bess's stump-tail wagged against them.
a big voice began singing outside in the drizzle: "old mother laidinwool had nigh twelve months been dead, she heard the hops were doin" well, and then popped up her head."
"there ca n't be two people made to holler like that!"
cried old hobden, wheeling round.
"for," says she, "the boys i've picked with when i was young and fair, they're bound to be at hoppin", and i'm --" a man showed at the doorway.
"well, well!
they do say hoppin"'ll draw the very deadest, and now i belieft'em.
you, tom?
tom shoesmith?"
hobden lowered his lanthorn.
"you're a hem of a time makin" your mind to it, ralph!"
the stranger strode in -- three full inches taller than hobden, a grey-whiskered, brown-faced giant with clear blue eyes.
they shook hands, and the children could hear the hard palms rasp together.
"you ai n't lost none o" your grip," said hobden.
"was it thirty or forty year back you broke my head at peasmarsh fair?"
"only thirty, an" no odds "tween us regardin" heads, neither.
you had it back at me with a hop-pole.
how did we get home that night?
swimmin"?"
"same way the pheasant come into gubbs's pocket -- by a little luck an" a deal o" conjurin"."
old hobden laughed in his deep chest."
i see you've not forgot your way about the woods.
d'ye do any o" this still?"
the stranger pretended to look along a gun.
hobden answered with a quick movement of the hand as though he were pegging down a rabbit-wire.
"no.
that's all that's left me now.
age she must as age she can.
an" what's your news since all these years?"
"oh, i've bin to plymouth, i've bin to dover -- i've bin ramblin", boys, the wide world over," the man answered cheerily."
i reckon i know as much of old england as most."
he turned towards the children and winked boldly."
i lay they told you a sight o" lies, then.
i've been into england fur as wiltsheer once.
i was cheated proper over a pair of hedgin" - gloves," said hobden.
"there's fancy-talkin" everywhere.
you've cleaved to your own parts pretty middlin" close, ralph."
"ca n't shift an old tree "thout it dyin"," hobden chuckled.
"an" i be no more anxious to die than you look to be to help me with my hops tonight."
the great man leaned against the brickwork of the roundel, and swung his arms abroad.
"hire me!"
was all he said, and they stumped upstairs laughing.
the children heard their shovels rasp on the cloth where the yellow hops lie drying above the fires, and all the oast-house filled with the sweet, sleepy smell as they were turned.
"who is it?"
una whispered to the bee boy.
"dunno, no more'n you -- if you dunno," said he, and smiled.
the voices on the drying-floor talked and chuckled together, and the heavy footsteps moved back and forth.
presently a hop-pocket dropped through the press-hole overhead, and stiffened and fattened as they shovelled it full.
"clank!"
went the press, and rammed the loose stuff into tight cake.
"gently!"
they heard hobden cry.
"you'll bust her crop if you lay on so.
you be as careless as gleason's bull, tom.
come an" sit by the fires.
she'll do now."
they came down, and as hobden opened the shutter to see if the potatoes were done tom shoesmith said to the children, "put a plenty salt on'em.
that'll show you the sort o" man i be."
again he winked, and again the bee boy laughed and una stared at dan."
i know what sort o" man you be," old hobden grunted, groping for the potatoes round the fire.
"do ye?"
tom went on behind his back.
"some of us ca n't abide horseshoes, or church bells, or running water; an", talkin" o" runnin" water" -- he turned to hobden, who was backing out of the roundel --'d "you mind the great floods at robertsbridge, when the miller's man was drowned in the street?"
"middlin" well."
old hobden let himself down on the coals by the fire-door."
i was courtin" my woman on the marsh that year.
carter to mus" plum i was, gettin" ten shillin's week.
mine was a marsh woman."
"won "erful odd-gates place -- romney marsh," said tom shoesmith.
"i've heard say the world's divided like into europe, ashy, afriky, ameriky, australy, an" romney marsh."
"the marsh folk think so," said hobden."
i had a hem o" trouble to get my woman to leave it."
"where did she come out of?
i've forgot, ralph."
"dymchurch under the wall," hobden answered, a potato in his hand.
"then she'd be a pett -- or a whitgift, would she?"
"whitgift."
hobden broke open the potato and ate it with the curious neatness of men who make most of their meals in the blowy open.
"she growed to be quite reasonable-like after livin" in the weald awhile, but our first twenty year or two she was odd-fashioned, no bounds.
and she was a won "erful hand with bees."
he cut away a little piece of potato and threw it out to the door.
"ah!
i've heard say the whitgifts could see further through a millstone than most," said shoesmith.
"did she, now?"
"she was honest-innocent of any nigromancin"," said hobden.
"only she'd read signs and sinnifications out o" birds flyin", stars fallin", bees hivin", and such.
an, she'd lie awake -- listenin" for calls, she said."
"that do n't prove naught," said tom.
"all marsh folk has been smugglers since time everlastin".
"twould be in her blood to listen out o" nights."
"nature-ally," old hobden replied, smiling."
i mind when there was smugglin" a sight nearer us than what the marsh be.
but that was n't my woman's trouble.
't was a passel o" no-sense talk" -- he dropped his voice -- "about pharisees."
"yes.
i've heard marsh men belieft in'em."
tom looked straight at the wide-eyed children beside bess.
"pharisees," cried una.
"fairies?
oh, i see!"
"people o" the hills," said the bee boy, throwing half of his potato towards the door.
"there you be!"
said hobden, pointing at him.
my boy -- he has her eyes and her out-gate sense.
that's what she called'em!"
"and what did you think of it all?"
"um -- um," hobden rumbled."
a man that uses fields an" shaws after dark as much as i've done, he do n't go out of his road excep" for keepers."
"but settin" that aside?"
said tom, coaxingly."
i saw ye throw the good piece out-at-doors just now.
do ye believe or -- do ye?"
"there was a great black eye to that tater," said hobden indignantly.
"my liddle eye did n't see un, then.
it looked as if you meant it for -- for any one that might need it.
but settin" that aside, d'ye believe or -- do ye?'"
i ai n't sayin" nothin", because i've heard naught, an" i've see naught.
but if you was to say there was more things after dark in the shaws than men, or fur, or feather, or fin, i dunno as i'd go far about to call you a liar.
now turnagain, tom.
what's your say?"
"i'm like you.
i say nothin".
but i'll tell you a tale, an" you can fit it as how you please."
"passel o" no-sense stuff," growled hobden, but he filled his pipe.
"the marsh men they call it dymchurch flit," tom went on slowly.
"hap you have heard it?"
"my woman she've told it me scores o" times.
dunno as i did n't end by belieftin" it -- sometimes."
hobden crossed over as he spoke, and sucked with his pipe at the yellow lanthorn flame.
tom rested one great elbow on one great knee, where he sat among the coal.
"have you ever bin in the marsh?"
he said to dan.
"only as far as rye, once," dan answered.
"ah, that's but the edge.
back behind of her there's steeples settin" beside churches, an" wise women settin" beside their doors, an" the sea settin" above the land, an" ducks herdin" wild in the diks" -lrb- he meant ditches -rrb-.
"the marsh is justabout riddled with diks an" sluices, an" tide-gates an" water-lets.
you can hear'em bubblin" an" grummelin" when the tide works in'em, an" then you hear the sea rangin" left and right-handed all up along the wall.
you've seen how flat she is -- the marsh?
you'd think nothin" easier than to walk eend-on acrost her?
ah, but the diks an" the water-lets, they twists the roads about as ravelly as witch-yarn on the spindles.
so ye get all turned round in broad daylight."
"that's because they've dreened the waters into the diks," said hobden.
"when i courted my woman the rushes was green -- eh me!
the rushes was green -- an" the bailiff o" the marshes he rode up and down as free as the fog."
"who was he?"
said dan.
"why, the marsh fever an" ague.
he've clapped me on the shoulder once or twice till i shook proper.
but now the dreenin" off of the waters have done away with the fevers; so they make a joke, like, that the bailiff o" the marshes broke his neck in a dik.
a won "erful place for bees an" ducks't is too."
"an" old," tom went on.
"flesh an" blood have been there since time everlastin" beyond.
well, now, speakin" among themselves, the marsh men say that from time everlastin" beyond, the pharisees favoured the marsh above the rest of old england.
i lay the marsh men ought to know.
they've been out after dark, father an" son, smugglin" some one thing or t "other, since ever wool grew to sheep's backs.
they say there was always a middlin" few pharisees to be seen on the marsh.
impident as rabbits, they was.
they'd dance on the nakid roads in the nakid daytime; they'd flash their liddle green lights along the diks, comin" an" goin", like honest smugglers.
yes, an" times they'd lock the church doors against parson an" clerk of sundays."
"that "ud be smugglers layin" in the lace or the brandy till they could run it out o" the marsh.
i've told my woman so," said hobden.
"i'll lay she did n't belieft it, then -- not if she was a whitgift.
a won "erful choice place for pharisees, the marsh, by all accounts, till queen bess's father he come in with his reformatories."
"would that be a act of parliament like?"
hobden asked.
"sure-ly.
ca n't do nothing in old england without act, warrant an" summons.
he got his act allowed him, an", they say, queen bess's father he used the parish churches something shameful.
justabout tore the gizzards out of i dunnamany.
some folk in england they held with "en; but some they saw it different, an" it eended in'em takin" sides an" burnin" each other no bounds, accordin" which side was top, time bein".
that tarrified the pharisees: for goodwill among flesh an" blood is meat an" drink to'em, an" ill-will is poison."
"same as bees," said the bee boy.
"bees wo n't stay by a house where there's hating."
"true," said tom.
"this reformatories tarrified the pharisees same as the reaper goin" round a last stand o" wheat tarrifies rabbits.
they packed into the marsh from all parts, and they says, "fair or foul, we must flit out o" this, for merry england's done with, an" we're reckoned among the images.""
"did they all see it that way?"
said hobden.
"all but one that was called robin -- if you've heard of him.
what are you laughin" at?"
tom turned to dan.
"the pharisees's trouble did n't tech robin, because he'd cleaved middlin" close to people, like.
no more he never meant to go out of old england -- not he; so he was sent messagin" for help among flesh an" blood.
but flesh an" blood must always think of their own concerns, an" robin could n't get through at'em, ye see.
they thought it was tide-echoes off the marsh."
"what did you -- what did the fai -- pharisees want?"
una asked."
a boat, to be sure.
their liddle wings could no more cross channel than so many tired butterflies.
a boat an" a crew they desired to sail'em over to france, where yet awhile folks had n't tore down the images.
they could n't abide cruel canterbury bells ringin" to bulverhithe for more pore men an" women to be burnded, nor the king's proud messenger ridin" through the land givin" orders to tear down the images.
they could n't abide it no shape.
nor yet they could n't get their boat an" crew to flit by without leave an" good-will from flesh an" blood; an" flesh an" blood came an" went about its own business the while the marsh was swarvin" up, an" swarvin" up with pharisees from all england over, strivin" all means to get through at flesh an" blood to tell'em their sore need... i do n't know as you've ever heard say pharisees are like chickens?"
"my woman used to say that too," said hobden, folding his brown arms.
"they be.
you run too many chickens together, an" the ground sickens, like, an" you get a squat, an" your chickens die.
same way, you crowd pharisees all in one place -- they do n't die, but flesh an" blood walkin" among'em is apt to sick up an" pine off.
they do n't mean it, an" flesh an" blood do n't know it, but that's the truth -- as i've heard.
the pharisees through bein" all stenched up an" frighted, an" trying" to come through with their supplications, they nature-ally changed the thin airs an" humours in flesh an" blood.
it lay on the marsh like thunder.
men saw their churches ablaze with the wildfire in the windows after dark; they saw their cattle scatterin" an" no man scarin"; their sheep flockin" an" no man drivin"; their horses latherin" an" no man leadin"; they saw the liddle low green lights more than ever in the dik-sides; they heard the liddle feet patterin" more than ever round the houses; an" night an" day, day an" night,'t was all as though they were bein" creeped up on, an" hinted at by some one or other that could n't rightly shape their trouble.
oh, i lay they sweated!
man an" maid, woman an" child, their nature done'em no service all the weeks while the marsh was swarvin" up with pharisees.
but they was flesh an" blood, an" marsh men before all.
they reckoned the signs sinnified trouble for the marsh.
or that the sea "ud rear up against dymchurch wall an" they'd be drownded like old winchelsea; or that the plague was comin".
so they looked for the meanin" in the sea or in the clouds -- far an" high up.
they never thought to look near an" knee-high, where they could see naught.
"now there was a poor widow at dymchurch under the wall, which, lacking man or property, she had the more time for feeling; and she come to feel there was a trouble outside her doorstep bigger an" heavier than aught she'd ever carried over it.
she had two sons -- one born blind, an" t "other struck dumb through fallin" off the wall when he was liddle.
they was men grown, but not wage-earnin", an" she worked for'em, keepin" bees and answerin" questions."
"what sort of questions?"
said dan.
"like where lost things might be found, an" what to put about a crooked baby's neck, an" how to join parted sweethearts.
she felt the trouble on the marsh same as eels feel thunder.
she was a wise woman."
"my woman was won "erful weather-tender, too," said hobden.
"i've seen her brish sparks like off an anvil out of her hair in thunderstorms.
but she never laid out to answer questions."
"this woman was a seeker, like, an" seekers they sometimes find.
one night, while she lay abed, hot an" achin", there come a dream an" tapped at her window, an" "widow whitgift," it said, "widow whitgift!"
"first, by the wings an" the whistlin", she thought it was peewits, but last she arose an" dressed herself, an" opened her door to the marsh, an" she felt the trouble an" the groanin" all about her, strong as fever an" ague, an" she calls: "what is it?
oh, what is it?"
"then't was all like the frogs in the diks peepin"; then't was all like the reeds in the diks clip-clappin"; an" then the great tide-wave rummelled along the wall, an" she could n't hear proper.
"three times she called, an" three times the tide-wave did her down.
but she catched the quiet between, an" she cries out, "what is the trouble on the marsh that's been lying down with my heart an" arising with my body this month gone?"
she felt a liddle hand lay hold on her gown-hem, an" she stooped to the pull o" that liddle hand."
tom shoesmith spread his huge fist before the fire and smiled at it."
""will the sea drown the marsh?"
she says.
she was a marsh woman first an" foremost."
""no," says the liddle voice.
""sleep sound for all o" that.""
""is the plague comin" to the marsh?"
she says.
them was all the ills she knowed."
""no.
sleep sound for all o" that," says robin.
"she turned about, half mindful to go in, but the liddle voices grieved that shrill an" sorrowful she turns back, an" she cries: "if it is not a trouble of flesh an" blood, what can i do?"
"the pharisees cried out upon her from all round to fetch them a boat to sail to france, an" come back no more."
""there's a boat on the wall," she says, "but i ca n't push it down to the sea, nor sail it when't is there.""
""lend us your sons," says all the pharisees.
""give'em leave an" good-will to sail it for us, mother -- o mother!""
""one's dumb, an" t "other's blind," she says.
""but all the dearer me for that; and you'll lose them in the big sea."
the voices justabout pierced through her; an" there was children's voices too.
she stood out all she could, but she could n't rightly stand against that.
so she says: "if you can draw my sons for your job, i'll not hinder'em.
you ca n't ask no more of a mother."
"she saw them liddle green lights dance an" cross till she was dizzy; she heard them liddle feet patterin" by the thousand; she heard cruel canterbury bells ringing to bulverhithe, an" she heard the great tide-wave ranging along the wall.
that was while the pharisees was workin" a dream to wake her two sons asleep: an" while she bit on her fingers she saw them two she'd bore come out an" pass her with never a word.
she followed'em, cryin" pitiful, to the old boat on the wall, an" that they took an" runned down to the sea.
"when they'd stepped mast an" sail the blind son speaks: "mother, we're waitin" your leave an" good-will to take them over.""
tom shoesmith threw back his head and half shut his eyes.
"eh, me!"
he said.
"she was a fine, valiant woman, the widow whitgift.
she stood twistin" the eends of her long hair over her fingers, an" she shook like a poplar, makin" up her mind.
the pharisees all about they hushed their children from cryin" an" they waited dumb-still.
she was all their dependence.
"thout her leave an" good-will they could not pass; for she was the mother.
so she shook like a aps-tree makin" up her mind.
"last she drives the word past her teeth, an" "go!"
she says.
""go with my leave an" goodwill."
"then i saw -- then, they say, she had to brace back same as if she was wadin" in tide-water; for the pharisees just about flowed past her -- down the beach to the boat, i dunnamany of'em -- with their wives an" childern an" valooables, all escapin" out of cruel old england.
silver you could hear chinkin", an" liddle bundles hove down dunt on the bottom-boards, an" passels o" liddle swords an" shields raklin", an" liddle fingers an" toes scratchin" on the boatside to board her when the two sons pushed her off.
that boat she sunk lower an" lower, but all the widow could see in it was her boys movin" hampered-like to get at the tackle.
up sail they did, an" away they went, deep as a rye barge, away into the off-shore mists, an" the widow whitgift she sat down an" eased her grief till mornin" light.'"
i never heard she was all alone," said hobden."
i remember now.
the one called robin, he stayed with her, they tell.
she was all too grievious to listen to his promises."
"ah!
she should ha" made her bargain beforehand.
i allus told my woman so!"
hobden cried.
"no.
she loaned her sons for a pure love-loan, bein" as she sensed the trouble on the marshes, an" was simple good-willin" to ease it."
tom laughed softly.
"she done that.
yes, she done that!
from hithe to bulverhithe, fretty man an" maid, ailin" woman an" wailin" child, they took the advantage of the change in the thin airs just about as soon as the pharisees flitted.
folks come out fresh an" shinin" all over the marsh like snails after wet.
an" that while the widow whitgift sat grievin" on the wall.
she might have belieft us -- she might have trusted her sons would be sent back!
she fussed, no bounds, when their boat come in after three days."
"and, of course, the sons were both quite cured?"
said una.
"no-o.
that would have been out o" nature.
she got'em back as she sent'em.
the blind man he had n't seen naught of anythin", an" the dumb man nature-ally he could n't say aught of what he'd seen.
i reckon that was why the pharisees pitched on'em for the ferryin" job."
"but what did you -- what did robin promise the widow?"
said dan.
"what did he promise, now?"
tom pretended to think.
"was n't your woman a whitgift, ralph?
did n't she ever say?"
"she told me a passel o" no-sense stuff when he was born."
hobden pointed at his son.
"there was always to be one of'em that could see further into a millstone than most."
"me!
that's me!"
said the bee boy so suddenly that they all laughed.
"i've got it now!"
cried tom, slapping his knee.
"so long as whitgift blood lasted, robin promised there would allers be one o" her stock that -- that no trouble "ud lie on, no maid "ud sigh on, no night could frighten, no fright could harm, no harm could make sin, an" no woman could make a fool of."
"well, ai n't that just me?"
said the bee boy, where he sat in the silver square of the great september moon that was staring into the oast-house door.
"they was the exact words she told me when we first found he was n't like others.
but it beats me how you known'em," said hobden.
"aha!
there's more under my hat besides hair?"
tom laughed and stretched himself.
"when i've seen these two young folk home, we'll make a night of old days, ralph, with passin" old tales -- eh?
an" where might you live?"
he said, gravely, to dan.
"an" do you think your pa "ud give me a drink for takin" you there, missy?"
they giggled so at this that they had to run out.
tom picked them both up, set one on each broad shoulder, and tramped across the ferny pasture where the cows puffed milky puffs at them in the moonlight.
"oh, puck!
puck!
i guessed you right from when you talked about the salt.
how could you ever do it?"
una cried, swinging along delighted.
"do what?"
he said, and climbed the stile by the pollard oak.
"pretend to be tom shoesmith," said dan, and they ducked to avoid the two little ashes that grow by the bridge over the brook.
tom was almost running.
"yes.
that's my name, mus" dan," he said, hurrying over the silent shining lawn, where a rabbit sat by the big white-thorn near the croquet ground.
"here you be."
he strode into the old kitchen yard, and slid them down as ellen came to ask questions.
"i'm helping in mus" spray's oast-house," he said to her.
"no, i'm no foreigner.
i knowed this country "fore your mother was born; an" -- yes, it's dry work oastin", miss..
thank you."
ellen went to get a jug, and the children went in -- magicked once more by oak, ash, and thorn!
a three-part song i'm just in love with all these three, the weald an" the marsh an" the down countrie; nor i do n't know which i love the most, the weald or the marsh or the white chalk coast!
i've buried my heart in a ferny hill, twix" a liddle low shaw an" a great high gill.
oh, hop-bine yaller an" woodsmoke blue, i reckon you'll keep her middling true!
i've loosed my mind for to out an" run on a marsh that was old when kings begun: oh, romney level an" brenzett reeds, i reckon you know what my mind needs!
i've given my soul to the southdown grass, an" sheep-bells tinkled where you pass.
oh, firle an" ditchling an" sails at sea, i reckon you keep my soul for me!
the treasure and the law song of the fifth river when first by eden tree the four great rivers ran, to each was appointed a man her prince and ruler to be.
but after this was ordained, -lrb- the ancient legends tell -rrb-, there came dark israel, for whom no river remained.
then he that is wholly just said to him: "fling on the ground a handful of yellow dust, and a fifth great river shall run, mightier than these four, in secret the earth around; and her secret evermore shall be shown to thee and thy race.
so it was said and done.
and, deep in the veins of earth, and, fed by a thousand springs that comfort the market-place, or sap the power of kings, the fifth great river had birth, even as it was foretold -- the secret river of gold!
and israel laid down his sceptre and his crown, to brood on that river bank, where the waters flashed and sank, and burrowed in earth and fell, and bided a season below; for reason that none might know, save only israel.
he is lord of the last -- the fifth, most wonderful, flood.
he hears her thunder past and her song is in his blood.
he can foresay: "she will fall," for he knows which fountain dries behind which desert-belt a thousand leagues to the south.
he can foresay: "she will rise."
he knows what far snows melt; along what mountain-wall a thousand leagues to the north.
he snuffs the coming drought as he snuffs the coming rain, he knows what each will bring forth, and turns it to his gain.
a prince without a sword, a ruler without a throne; israel follows his quest.
in every land a guest, of many lands a lord, in no land king is he.
but the fifth great river keeps the secret of her deeps for israel alone, as it was ordered to be.
the treasure and the law now it was the third week in november, and the woods rang with the noise of pheasant-shooting.
no one hunted that steep, cramped country except the village beagles, who, as often as not, escaped from their kennels and made a day of their own.
dan and una found a couple of them towling round the kitchen-garden after the laundry cat.
the little brutes were only too pleased to go rabbiting, so the children ran them all along the brook pastures and into little lindens farm-yard, where the old sow vanquished them -- and up to the quarry-hole, where they started a fox.
he headed for far wood, and there they frightened out all the pheasants, who were sheltering from a big beat across the valley.
then the cruel guns began again, and they grabbed the beagles lest they should stray and get hurt."
i would n't be a pheasant -- in november -- for a lot," dan panted, as he caught folly by the neck.
"why did you laugh that horrid way?'"
i did n't," said una, sitting on flora, the fat lady-dog.
"oh, look!
the silly birds are going back to their own woods instead of ours, where they would be safe."
"safe till it pleased you to kill them."
an old man, so tall he was almost a giant, stepped from behind the clump of hollies by volaterrae.
the children jumped, and the dogs dropped like setters.
he wore a sweeping gown of dark thick stuff, lined and edged with yellowish fur, and he bowed a bent-down bow that made them feel both proud and ashamed.
then he looked at them steadily, and they stared back without doubt or fear.
"you are not afraid?"
he said, running his hands through his splendid grey beard.
"not afraid that those men yonder" -- he jerked his head towards the incessant pop-pop of the guns from the lower woods -- "will do you hurt?"
"we-ell" -- dan liked to be accurate, especially when he was shy -- "old hobd -- a friend of mine told me that one of the beaters got peppered last week -- hit in the leg, i mean.
you see, mr meyer will fire at rabbits.
but he gave waxy garnett a quid -- sovereign, i mean -- and waxy told hobden he'd have stood both barrels for half the money."
"he does n't understand," una cried, watching the pale, troubled face.
"oh, i wish --" she had scarcely said it when puck rustled out of the hollies and spoke to the man quickly in foreign words.
puck wore a long cloak too -- the afternoon was just frosting down -- and it changed his appearance altogether.
"nay, nay!"
he said at last.
"you did not understand the boy.
a freeman was a little hurt, by pure mischance, at the hunting.'"
i know that mischance!
what did his lord do?
laugh and ride over him?"
the old man sneered.
"it was one of your own people did the hurt, kadmiel."
puck's eyes twinkled maliciously.
"so he gave the freeman a piece of gold, and no more was said.'"
a jew drew blood from a christian and no more was said?"
kadmiel cried.
"never!
when did they torture him?"
"no man may be bound, or fined, or slain till he has been judged by his peers," puck insisted.
"there is but one law in old england for jew or christian -- the law that was signed at runnymede."
"why, that's magna charta!"
dan whispered.
it was one of the few history dates that he could remember.
kadmiel turned on him with a sweep and a whirr of his spicy-scented gown.
"dost thou know of that, babe?"
he cried, and lifted his hands in wonder.
"yes," said dan firmly.
"magna charta was signed by john, that henry the third put his heel upon.
and old hobden says that if it had n't been for her -lrb- he calls everything "her", you know -rrb-, the keepers would have him clapped in lewes gaol all the year round."
again puck translated to kadmiel in the strange, solemn-sounding language, and at last kadmiel laughed.
"out of the mouths of babes do we learn," said he.
"but tell me now, and i will not call you a babe but a rabbi, why did the king sign the roll of the new law at runnymede?
for he was a king."
dan looked sideways at his sister.
it was her turn.
"because he jolly well had to," said una softly.
"the barons made him."
"nay," kadmiel answered, shaking his head.
"you christians always forget that gold does more than the sword.
our good king signed because he could not borrow more money from us bad jews."
he curved his shoulders as he spoke."
a king without gold is a snake with a broken back, and" -- his nose sneered up and his eyebrows frowned down -- "it is a good deed to break a snake's back.
that was my work," he cried, triumphantly, to puck.
"spirit of earth, bear witness that that was my work!"
he shot up to his full towering height, and his words rang like a trumpet.
he had a voice that changed its tone almost as an opal changes colour -- sometimes deep and thundery, sometimes thin and waily, but always it made you listen.
"many people can bear witness to that," puck answered.
"tell these babes how it was done.
remember, master, they do not know doubt or fear."
"so i saw in their faces when we met," said kadmiel.
"yet surely, surely they are taught to spit upon jews?"
"are they?"
said dan, much interested.
"where at?"
puck fell back a pace, laughing.
"kadmiel is thinking of king john's reign," he explained.
"his people were badly treated then."
"oh, we know that."
they answered, and -lrb- it was very rude of them, but they could not help it -rrb- they stared straight at kadmiel's mouth to see if his teeth were all there.
it stuck in their lesson-memory that king john used to pull out jews" teeth to make them lend him money.
kadmiel understood the look and smiled bitterly.
"no.
your king never drew my teeth: i think, perhaps, i drew his.
listen!
i was not born among christians, but among moors -- in spain -- in a little white town under the mountains.
yes, the moors are cruel, but at least their learned men dare to think.
it was prophesied of me at my birth that i should be a lawgiver to a people of a strange speech and a hard language.
we jews are always looking for the prince and the lawgiver to come.
why not?
my people in the town -lrb- we were very few -rrb- set me apart as a child of the prophecy -- the chosen of the chosen.
we jews dream so many dreams.
you would never guess it to see us slink about the rubbish-heaps in our quarter; but at the day's end -- doors shut, candles lit -- aha!
then we became the chosen again."
he paced back and forth through the wood as he talked.
the rattle of the shot-guns never ceased, and the dogs whimpered a little and lay flat on the leaves."
i was a prince.
yes!
think of a little prince who had never known rough words in his own house handed over to shouting, bearded rabbis, who pulled his ears and filliped his nose, all that he might learn -- learn -- learn to be king when his time came.
hé!
such a little prince it was!
one eye he kept on the stone-throwing moorish boys, and the other it roved about the streets looking for his kingdom.
yes, and he learned to cry softly when he was hunted up and down those streets.
he learned to do all things without noise.
he played beneath his father's table when the great candle was lit, and he listened as children listen to the talk of his father's friends above the table.
they came across the mountains, from out of all the world, for my prince's father was their counsellor.
they came from behind the armies of sala-ud-din: from rome: from venice: from england.
they stole down our alley, they tapped secretly at our door, they took off their rags, they arrayed themselves, and they talked to my father at the wine.
all over the world the heathen fought each other.
they brought news of these wars, and while he played beneath the table, my prince heard these meanly dressed ones decide between themselves how, and when, and for how long king should draw sword against king, and people rise up against people.
why not?
there can be no war without gold, and we jews know how the earth's gold moves with the seasons, and the crops, and the winds; circling and looping and rising and sinking away like a river -- a wonderful underground river.
how should the foolish kings know that while they fight and steal and kill?"
the children's faces showed that they knew nothing at all as, with open eyes, they trotted and turned beside the long-striding old man.
he twitched his gown over his shoulders, and a square plate of gold, studded with jewels, gleamed for an instant through the fur, like a star through flying snow.
"no matter," he said.
"but, credit me, my prince saw peace or war decided not once, but many times, by the fall of a coin spun between a jew from bury and a jewess from alexandria, in his father's house, when the great candle was lit.
such power had we jews among the gentiles.
ah, my little prince!
do you wonder that he learned quickly?
why not?"
he muttered to himself and went on: -- "my trade was that of a physician.
when i had learned it in spain i went to the east to find my kingdom.
why not?
a jew is as free as a sparrow -- or a dog.
he goes where he is hunted.
in the east i found libraries where men dared to think -- schools of medicine where they dared to learn.
i was diligent in my business.
therefore i stood before kings.
i have been a brother to princes and a companion to beggars, and i have walked between the living and the dead.
there was no profit in it.
i did not find my kingdom.
so, in the tenth year of my travels, when i had reached the uttermost eastern sea, i returned to my father's house.
god had wonderfully preserved my people.
none had been slain, none even wounded, and only a few scourged.
i became once more a son in my father's house.
again the great candle was lit; again the meanly apparelled ones tapped on our door after dusk; and again i heard them weigh out peace and war, as they weighed out the gold on the table.
but i was not rich -- not very rich.
therefore, when those that had power and knowledge and wealth talked together, i sat in the shadow.
why not?
"yet all my wanderings had shown me one sure thing, which is, that a king without money is like a spear without a head.
he can not do much harm.
i said, therefore, to elias of bury, a great one among our people: "why do our people lend any more to the kings that oppress us?"
""because," said elias, "if we refuse they stir up their people against us, and the people are tenfold more cruel than kings.
if thou doubtest, come with me to bury in england and live as i live.""
i saw my mother's face across the candle flame, and i said, "i will come with thee to bury.
maybe my kingdom shall be there."
"so i sailed with elias to the darkness and the cruelty of bury in england, where there are no learned men.
how can a man be wise if he hate?
at bury i kept his accounts for elias, and i saw men kill jews there by the tower.
no -- none laid hands on elias.
he lent money to the king, and the king's favour was about him.
a king will not take the life so long as there is any gold.
this king -- yes, john -- oppressed his people bitterly because they would not give him money.
yet his land was a good land.
if he had only given it rest he might have cropped it as a christian crops his beard.
but even that little he did not know, for god had deprived him of all understanding, and had multiplied pestilence, and famine, and despair upon the people.
therefore his people turned against us jews, who are all people's dogs.
why not?
lastly the barons and the people rose together against the king because of his cruelties.
nay -- nay -- the barons did not love the people, but they saw that if the king cut up and destroyed the common people, he would presently destroy the barons.
they joined then, as cats and pigs will join to slay a snake.
i kept the accounts, and i watched all these things, for i remembered the prophecy."
a great gathering of barons -lrb- to most of whom we had lent money -rrb- came to bury, and there, after much talk and a thousand runnings-about, they made a roll of the new laws that they would force on the king.
if he swore to keep those laws, they would allow him a little money.
that was the king's god -- money -- to waste.
they showed us the roll of the new laws.
why not?
we had lent them money.
we knew all their counsels -- we jews shivering behind our doors in bury."
he threw out his hands suddenly.
"we did not seek to be paid all in money.
we sought power -- power -- power!
that is our god in our captivity.
power to use!"
i said to elias: "these new laws are good.
lend no more money to the king: so long as he has money he will lie and slay the people.""
""nay," said elias.
""i know this people.
they are madly cruel.
better one king than a thousand butchers.
i have lent a little money to the barons, or they would torture us, but my most i will lend to the king.
he hath promised me a place near him at court, where my wife and i shall be safe.""
""but if the king be made to keep these new laws," i said, "the land will have peace, and our trade will grow.
if we lend he will fight again.""
""who made thee a lawgiver in england?"
said elias.
""i know this people.
let the dogs tear one another!
i will lend the king ten thousand pieces of gold, and he can fight the barons at his pleasure.""
""there are not two thousand pieces of gold in all england this summer," i said, for i kept the accounts, and i knew how the earth's gold moved -- that wonderful underground river.
elias barred home the windows, and, his hands about his mouth, he told me how, when he was trading with small wares in a french ship, he had come to the castle of pevensey."
"oh!"
said dan.
"pevensey again!"
and looked at una, who nodded and skipped.
"there, after they had scattered his pack up and down the great hall, some young knights carried him to an upper room, and dropped him into a well in a wall, that rose and fell with the tide.
they called him joseph, and threw torches at his wet head.
why not?"
"why, of course!"
cried dan.
"did n't you know it was --" puck held up his hand to stop him, and kadmiel, who never noticed, went on.
"when the tide dropped he thought he stood on old armour, but feeling with his toes, he raked up bar on bar of soft gold.
some wicked treasure of the old days put away, and the secret cut off by the sword.
i have heard the like before."
"so have we," una whispered.
"but it was n't wicked a bit."
"elias took a little of the stuff with him, and thrice yearly he would return to pevensey as a chapman, selling at no price or profit, till they suffered him to sleep in the empty room, where he would plumb and grope, and steal away a few bars.
the great store of it still remained, and by long brooding he had come to look on it as his own.
yet when we thought how we should lift and convey it, we saw no way.
this was before the word of the lord had come to me.
a walled fortress possessed by normans; in the midst a forty-foot tide-well out of which to remove secretly many horse-loads of gold!
hopeless!
so elias wept.
adah, his wife, wept too.
she had hoped to stand beside the queen's christian tiring-maids at court when the king should give them that place at court which he had promised.
why not?
she was born in england -- an odious woman.
"the present evil to us was that elias, out of his strong folly, had, as it were, promised the king that he would arm him with more gold.
wherefore the king in his camp stopped his ears against the barons and the people.
wherefore men died daily.
adah so desired her place at court, she besought elias to tell the king where the treasure lay, that the king might take it by force, and -- they would trust in his gratitude.
why not?
this elias refused to do, for he looked on the gold as his own.
they quarrelled, and they wept at the evening meal, and late in the night came one langton -- a priest, almost learned -- to borrow more money for the barons.
elias and adah went to their chamber."
kadmiel laughed scornfully in his beard.
the shots across the valley stopped as the shooting party changed their ground for the last beat.
"so it was i, not elias," he went on quietly, "that made terms with langton touching the fortieth of the new laws."
"what terms?"
said puck quickly.
"the fortieth of the great charter says: "to none will we sell, refuse, or delay right or justice.""
"true, but the barons had written first: to no free man.
it cost me two hundred broad pieces of gold to change those narrow words.
langton, the priest, understood.
""jew though thou art," said he, "the change is just, and if ever christian and jew came to be equal in england thy people may thank thee."
then he went out stealthily, as men do who deal with israel by night.
i think he spent my gift upon his altar.
why not?
i have spoken with langton.
he was such a man as i might have been if -- if we jews had been a people.
but yet, in many things, a child."
i heard elias and adah abovestairs quarrel, and, knowing the woman was the stronger, i saw that elias would tell the king of the gold and that the king would continue in his stubbornness.
therefore i saw that the gold must be put away from the reach of any man.
of a sudden, the word of the lord came to me saying, "the morning is come, o thou that dwellest in the land.""
kadmiel halted, all black against the pale green sky beyond the wood -- a huge robed figure, like the moses in the picture-bible."
i rose.
i went out, and as i shut the door on that house of foolishness, the woman looked from the window and whispered, "i have prevailed on my husband to tell the king!"
i answered: "there is no need.
the lord is with me."
"in that hour the lord gave me full understanding of all that i must do; and his hand covered me in my ways.
first i went to london, to a physician of our people, who sold me certain drugs that i needed.
you shall see why.
thence i went swiftly to pevensey.
men fought all around me, for there were neither rulers nor judges in the abominable land.
yet when i walked by them they cried out that i was one ahasuerus, a jew, condemned, as they believe, to live for ever, and they fled from me everyways.
thus the lord saved me for my work, and at pevensey i bought me a little boat and moored it on the mud beneath the marsh-gate of the castle.
that also god showed me."
he was as calm as though he were speaking of some stranger, and his voice filled the little bare wood with rolling music."
i cast" -- his hand went to his breast, and again the strange jewel gleamed --" i cast the drugs which i had prepared into the common well of the castle.
nay, i did no harm.
the more we physicians know, the less do we do.
only the fool says: "i dare."
i caused a blotched and itching rash to break out upon their skins, but i knew it would fade in fifteen days.
i did not stretch out my hand against their life.
they in the castle thought it was the plague, and they ran out, taking with them their very dogs."
a christian physician, seeing that i was a jew and a stranger, vowed that i had brought the sickness from london.
this is the one time i have ever heard a christian leech speak truth of any disease.
thereupon the people beat me, but a merciful woman said: "do not kill him now.
push him into our castle with his plague, and if, as he says, it will abate on the fifteenth day, we can kill him then."
why not?
they drove me across the drawbridge of the castle, and fled back to their booths.
thus i came to be alone with the treasure."
"but did you know this was all going to happen just right?"
said una.
"my prophecy was that i should be a lawgiver to a people of a strange land and a hard speech.
i knew i should not die.
i washed my cuts.
i found the tide-well in the wall, and from sabbath to sabbath i dove and dug there in that empty, christian-smelling fortress.
hé!
i spoiled the egyptians!
hé!
if they had only known!
i drew up many good loads of gold, which i loaded by night into my boat.
there had been gold-dust too, but that had been washed out by the tides."
"did n't you ever wonder who had put it there?"
said dan, stealing a glance at puck's calm, dark face under the hood of his gown.
puck shook his head and pursed his lips.
"often; for the gold was new to me," kadmiel replied."
i know the golds.
i can judge them in the dark; but this was heavier and redder than any we deal in.
perhaps it was the very gold of parvaim.
eh, why not?
it went to my heart to heave it on to the mud, but i saw well that if the evil thing remained, or if even the hope of finding it remained, the king would not sign the new laws, and the land would perish."
"oh, marvel!"
said puck, beneath his breath, rustling in the dead leaves.
"when the boat was loaded i washed my hands seven times, and pared beneath my nails, for i would not keep one grain.
i went out by the little gate where the castle's refuse is thrown.
i dared not hoist sail lest men should see me; but the lord commanded the tide to bear me carefully, and i was far from land before the morning."
"were n't you afraid?"
said una.
"why?
there were no christians in the boat.
at sunrise i made my prayer, and cast the gold -- all -- all that gold -- into the deep sea!
a king's ransom -- no, the ransom of a people!
when i had loosed hold of the last bar, the lord commanded the tide to return me to a haven at the mouth of a river, and thence i walked across a wilderness to lewes, where i have brethren.
they opened the door to me, and they say -- i had not eaten for two days -- they say that i fell across the threshold, crying: "i have sunk an army with horsemen in the sea!""
"but you had n't," said una.
"oh, yes!
i see!
you meant that king john might have spent it on that?"
"even so," said kadmiel.
the firing broke out again close behind them.
the pheasants poured over the top of a belt of tall firs.
they could see young mr meyer, in his new yellow gaiters, very busy and excited at the end of the line, and they could hear the thud of the falling birds.
"but what did elias of bury do?"
puck demanded.
"he had promised money to the king."
kadmiel smiled grimly."
i sent him word from london that the lord was on my side.
when he heard that the plague had broken out in pevensey, and that a jew had been thrust into the castle to cure it, he understood my word was true.
he and adah hurried to lewes and asked me for an accounting.
he still looked on the gold as his own.
i told them where i had laid it, and i gave them full leave to pick it up... eh, well!
the curses of a fool and the dust of a journey are two things no wise man can escape... but i pitied elias!
the king was wroth with him because he could not lend; the barons were wroth too because they heard that he would have lent to the king; and adah was wroth with him because she was an odious woman.
they took ship from lewes to spain.
that was wise!"
"and you?
did you see the signing of the law at runnymede?"
said puck, as kadmiel laughed noiselessly.
"nay.
who am i to meddle with things too high for me?
i returned to bury, and lent money on the autumn crops.
why not?"
there was a crackle overhead.
a cock-pheasant that had sheered aside after being hit spattered down almost on top of them, driving up the dry leaves like a shell.
flora and folly threw themselves at it; the children rushed forward, and when they had beaten them off and smoothed down the plumage kadmiel had disappeared.
"well," said puck calmly, "what did you think of it?
weland gave the sword!
the sword gave the treasure, and the treasure gave the law.
it's as natural as an oak growing.'"
i do n't understand.
did n't he know it was sir richard's old treasure?"
said dan.
"and why did sir richard and brother hugh leave it lying about?
and -- and --" "never mind," said una politely.
"he'll let us come and go and look and know another time.
wo n't you, puck?"
"another time maybe," puck answered.
"brr!
it's cold -- and late.
i'll race you towards home!"
they hurried down into the sheltered valley.
the sun had almost sunk behind cherry clack, the trodden ground by the cattle-gates was freezing at the edges, and the new-waked north wind blew the night on them from over the hills.
they picked up their feet and flew across the browned pastures, and when they halted, panting in the steam of their own breath, the dead leaves whirled up behind them.
there was oak and ash and thorn enough in that year-end shower to magic away a thousand memories.
so they trotted to the brook at the bottom of the lawn, wondering why flora and folly had missed the quarry-hole fox.
old hobden was just finishing some hedge-work.
they saw his white smock glimmer in the twilight where he faggoted the rubbish.
"winter, he's come, i reckon, mus" dan," he called.
"hard times now till heffle cuckoo fair.
yes, we'll all be glad to see the old woman let the cuckoo out o" the basket for to start lawful spring in england."
they heard a crash, and a stamp and a splash of water as though a heavy old cow were crossing almost under their noses.
hobden ran forward angrily to the ford.
"gleason's bull again, playin" robin all over the farm!
oh, look, mus" dan -- his great footmark as big as a trencher.
no bounds to his impidence!
he might count himself to be a man or -- or somebody --" a voice the other side of the brook boomed: "i wonder who his cloak would turn when puck had led him round, or where those walking fires would burn --" then the children went in singing "farewell rewards and fairies" at the tops of their voices.
they had forgotten that they had not even said good-night to puck.
the children's song land of our birth, we pledge to thee our love and toil in the years to be; when we are grown and take our place, as men and women with our race.
father in heaven who lovest all, oh, help thy children when they call; that they may build from age to age, an undefiled heritage.
teach us to bear the yoke in youth, with steadfastness and careful truth; that, in our time, thy grace may give the truth whereby the nations live.
teach us to rule ourselves alway, controlled and cleanly night and day; that we may bring, if need arise, no maimed or worthless sacrifice.
teach us to look in all our ends, on thee for judge, and not our friends; that we, with thee, may walk uncowed by fear or favour of the crowd.
teach us the strength that can not seek, by deed or thought, to hurt the weak; that, under thee, we may possess man's strength to comfort man's distress.
teach us delight in simple things, and mirth that has no bitter springs; forgiveness free of evil done, and love to all men "neath the sun!
_book_title_: rudyard_kipling___the_second_jungle_book.txt.out
how fear came the stream is shrunk -- the pool is dry, and we be comrades, thou and i; with fevered jowl and dusty flank each jostling each along the bank; and by one drouthy fear made still, forgoing thought of quest or kill.
now "neath his dam the fawn may see, the lean pack-wolf as cowed as he, and the tall buck, unflinching, note the fangs that tore his father's throat.
the pools are shrunk -- the streams are dry, and we be playmates, thou and i, till yonder cloud -- good hunting!
-- loose the rain that breaks our water truce.
the law of the jungle -- which is by far the oldest law in the world -- has arranged for almost every kind of accident that may befall the jungle people, till now its code is as perfect as time and custom can make it.
you will remember that mowgli spent a great part of his life in the seeonee wolf-pack, learning the law from baloo, the brown bear; and it was baloo who told him, when the boy grew impatient at the constant orders, that the law was like the giant creeper, because it dropped across every one's back and no one could escape.
""when thou hast lived as long as i have, little brother, thou wilt see how all the jungle obeys at least one law.
and that will be no pleasant sight," said baloo.
this talk went in at one ear and out at the other, for a boy who spends his life eating and sleeping does not worry about anything till it actually stares him in the face.
but, one year, baloo's words came true, and mowgli saw all the jungle working under the law.
it began when the winter rains failed almost entirely, and ikki, the porcupine, meeting mowgli in a bamboo-thicket, told him that the wild yams were drying up.
now everybody knows that ikki is ridiculously fastidious in his choice of food, and will eat nothing but the very best and ripest.
so mowgli laughed and said, "what is that to me?"
""not much now," said ikki, rattling his quills in a stiff, uncomfortable way, "but later we shall see.
is there any more diving into the deep rock-pool below the bee-rocks, little brother?"
""no.
the foolish water is going all away, and i do not wish to break my head," said mowgli, who, in those days, was quite sure that he knew as much as any five of the jungle people put together.
""that is thy loss.
a small crack might let in some wisdom."
ikki ducked quickly to prevent mowgli from pulling his nose-bristles, and mowgli told baloo what ikki had said.
baloo looked very grave, and mumbled half to himself: "if i were alone i would change my hunting-grounds now, before the others began to think.
and yet -- hunting among strangers ends in fighting; and they might hurt the man-cub.
we must wait and see how the mohwa blooms."
that spring the mohwa tree, that baloo was so fond of, never flowered.
the greeny, cream-coloured, waxy blossoms were heat-killed before they were born, and only a few bad-smelling petals came down when he stood on his hind legs and shook the tree.
then, inch by inch, the untempered heat crept into the heart of the jungle, turning it yellow, brown, and at last black.
the green growths in the sides of the ravines burned up to broken wires and curled films of dead stuff; the hidden pools sank down and caked over, keeping the last least footmark on their edges as if it had been cast in iron; the juicy-stemmed creepers fell away from the trees they clung to and died at their feet; the bamboos withered, clanking when the hot winds blew, and the moss peeled off the rocks deep in the jungle, till they were as bare and as hot as the quivering blue boulders in the bed of the stream.
the birds and the monkey-people went north early in the year, for they knew what was coming; and the deer and the wild pig broke far away to the perished fields of the villages, dying sometimes before the eyes of men too weak to kill them.
chil, the kite, stayed and grew fat, for there was a great deal of carrion, and evening after evening he brought the news to the beasts, too weak to force their way to fresh hunting-grounds, that the sun was killing the jungle for three days" flight in every direction.
mowgli, who had never known what real hunger meant, fell back on stale honey, three years old, scraped out of deserted rock-hives -- honey black as a sloe, and dusty with dried sugar.
he hunted, too, for deep-boring grubs under the bark of the trees, and robbed the wasps of their new broods.
all the game in the jungle was no more than skin and bone, and bagheera could kill thrice in a night, and hardly get a full meal.
but the want of water was the worst, for though the jungle people drink seldom they must drink deep.
and the heat went on and on, and sucked up all the moisture, till at last the main channel of the waingunga was the only stream that carried a trickle of water between its dead banks; and when hathi, the wild elephant, who lives for a hundred years and more, saw a long, lean blue ridge of rock show dry in the very centre of the stream, he knew that he was looking at the peace rock, and then and there he lifted up his trunk and proclaimed the water truce, as his father before him had proclaimed it fifty years ago.
the deer, wild pig, and buffalo took up the cry hoarsely; and chil, the kite, flew in great circles far and wide, whistling and shrieking the warning.
by the law of the jungle it is death to kill at the drinking-places when once the water truce has been declared.
the reason of this is that drinking comes before eating.
every one in the jungle can scramble along somehow when only game is scarce; but water is water, and when there is but one source of supply, all hunting stops while the jungle people go there for their needs.
in good seasons, when water was plentiful, those who came down to drink at the waingunga -- or anywhere else, for that matter -- did so at the risk of their lives, and that risk made no small part of the fascination of the night's doings.
to move down so cunningly that never a leaf stirred; to wade knee-deep in the roaring shallows that drown all noise from behind; to drink, looking backward over one shoulder, every muscle ready for the first desperate bound of keen terror; to roll on the sandy margin, and return, wet-muzzled and well plumped out, to the admiring herd, was a thing that all tall-antlered young bucks took a delight in, precisely because they knew that at any moment bagheera or shere khan might leap upon them and bear them down.
but now all that life-and-death fun was ended, and the jungle people came up, starved and weary, to the shrunken river, -- tiger, bear, deer, buffalo, and pig, all together, -- drank the fouled waters, and hung above them, too exhausted to move off.
the deer and the pig had tramped all day in search of something better than dried bark and withered leaves.
the buffaloes had found no wallows to be cool in, and no green crops to steal.
the snakes had left the jungle and come down to the river in the hope of finding a stray frog.
they curled round wet stones, and never offered to strike when the nose of a rooting pig dislodged them.
the river-turtles had long ago been killed by bagheera, cleverest of hunters, and the fish had buried themselves deep in the dry mud.
only the peace rock lay across the shallows like a long snake, and the little tired ripples hissed as they dried on its hot side.
it was here that mowgli came nightly for the cool and the companionship.
the most hungry of his enemies would hardly have cared for the boy then, his naked hide made him seem more lean and wretched than any of his fellows.
his hair was bleached to tow colour by the sun; his ribs stood out like the ribs of a basket, and the lumps on his knees and elbows, where he was used to track on all fours, gave his shrunken limbs the look of knotted grass-stems.
but his eye, under his matted forelock, was cool and quiet, for bagheera was his adviser in this time of trouble, and told him to go quietly, hunt slowly, and never, on any account, to lose his temper.
""it is an evil time," said the black panther, one furnace-hot evening, "but it will go if we can live till the end.
is thy stomach full, man-cub?"
""there is stuff in my stomach, but i get no good of it.
think you, bagheera, the rains have forgotten us and will never come again?"
""not i!
we shall see the mohwa in blossom yet, and the little fawns all fat with new grass.
come down to the peace rock and hear the news.
on my back, little brother."
""this is no time to carry weight.
i can still stand alone, but -- indeed we be no fatted bullocks, we two."
bagheera looked along his ragged, dusty flank and whispered.
""last night i killed a bullock under the yoke.
so low was i brought that i think i should not have dared to spring if he had been loose.
wou!"
mowgli laughed.
""yes, we be great hunters now," said he.
""i am very bold -- to eat grubs," and the two came down together through the crackling undergrowth to the river-bank and the lace-work of shoals that ran out from it in every direction.
""the water can not live long," said baloo, joining them.
""look across.
yonder are trails like the roads of man."
on the level plain of the farther bank the stiff jungle-grass had died standing, and, dying, had mummied.
the beaten tracks of the deer and the pig, all heading toward the river, had striped that colourless plain with dusty gullies driven through the ten-foot grass, and, early as it was, each long avenue was full of first-comers hastening to the water.
you could hear the does and fawns coughing in the snuff-like dust.
up-stream, at the bend of the sluggish pool round the peace rock, and warden of the water truce, stood hathi, the wild elephant, with his sons, gaunt and gray in the moonlight, rocking to and fro -- always rocking.
below him a little were the vanguard of the deer; below these, again, the pig and the wild buffalo; and on the opposite bank, where the tall trees came down to the water's edge, was the place set apart for the eaters of flesh -- the tiger, the wolves, the panther, the bear, and the others.
""we are under one law, indeed," said bagheera, wading into the water and looking across at the lines of clicking horns and starting eyes where the deer and the pig pushed each other to and fro.
""good hunting, all you of my blood," he added, lying own at full length, one flank thrust out of the shallows; and then, between his teeth, "but for that which is the law it would be very good hunting."
the quick-spread ears of the deer caught the last sentence, and a frightened whisper ran along the ranks.
""the truce!
remember the truce!"
""peace there, peace!"
gurgled hathi, the wild elephant.
""the truce holds, bagheera.
this is no time to talk of hunting."
""who should know better than i?"
bagheera answered, rolling his yellow eyes up-stream.
""i am an eater of turtles -- a fisher of frogs.
ngaayah!
would i could get good from chewing branches!"
""we wish so, very greatly," bleated a young fawn, who had only been born that spring, and did not at all like it.
wretched as the jungle people were, even hathi could not help chuckling; while mowgli, lying on his elbows in the warm water, laughed aloud, and beat up the scum with his feet.
""well spoken, little bud-horn," bagheera purred.
""when the truce ends that shall be remembered in thy favour," and he looked keenly through the darkness to make sure of recognising the fawn again.
gradually the talking spread up and down the drinking-places.
one could hear the scuffling, snorting pig asking for more room; the buffaloes grunting among themselves as they lurched out across the sand-bars, and the deer telling pitiful stories of their long foot-sore wanderings in quest of food.
now and again they asked some question of the eaters of flesh across the river, but all the news was bad, and the roaring hot wind of the jungle came and went between the rocks and the rattling branches, and scattered twigs, and dust on the water.
""the men-folk, too, they die beside their ploughs," said a young sambhur.
""i passed three between sunset and night.
they lay still, and their bullocks with them.
we also shall lie still in a little."
""the river has fallen since last night," said baloo.
""o hathi, hast thou ever seen the like of this drought?"
""it will pass, it will pass," said hathi, squirting water along his back and sides.
""we have one here that can not endure long," said baloo; and he looked toward the boy he loved.
""i?"
said mowgli indignantly, sitting up in the water.
""i have no long fur to cover my bones, but -- but if thy hide were taken off, baloo --" hathi shook all over at the idea, and baloo said severely: "man-cub, that is not seemly to tell a teacher of the law.
never have i been seen without my hide."
""nay, i meant no harm, baloo; but only that thou art, as it were, like the cocoanut in the husk, and i am the same cocoanut all naked.
now that brown husk of thine --" mowgli was sitting cross-legged, and explaining things with his forefinger in his usual way, when bagheera put out a paddy paw and pulled him over backward into the water.
""worse and worse," said the black panther, as the boy rose spluttering.
""first baloo is to be skinned, and now he is a cocoanut.
be careful that he does not do what the ripe cocoanuts do."
""and what is that?"
said mowgli, off his guard for the minute, though that is one of the oldest catches in the jungle.
""break thy head," said bagheera quietly, pulling him under again.
""it is not good to make a jest of thy teacher," said the bear, when mowgli had been ducked for the third time.
""not good!
what would ye have?
that naked thing running to and fro makes a monkey-jest of those who have once been good hunters, and pulls the best of us by the whiskers for sport."
this was shere khan, the lame tiger, limping down to the water.
he waited a little to enjoy the sensation he made among the deer on the opposite to lap, growling: "the jungle has become a whelping-ground for naked cubs now.
look at me, man-cub!"
mowgli looked -- stared, rather -- as insolently as he knew how, and in a minute shere khan turned away uneasily.
""man-cub this, and man-cub that," he rumbled, going on with his drink, "the cub is neither man nor cub, or he would have been afraid.
next season i shall have to beg his leave for a drink.
augrh!"
""that may come, too," said bagheera, looking him steadily between the eyes.
""that may come, too -- faugh, shere khan!
-- what new shame hast thou brought here?"
the lame tiger had dipped his chin and jowl in the water, and dark, oily streaks were floating from it down-stream.
""man!"
said shere khan coolly, "i killed an hour since."
he went on purring and growling to himself.
the line of beasts shook and wavered to and fro, and a whisper went up that grew to a cry.
""man!
man!
he has killed man!"
then all looked towards hathi, the wild elephant, but he seemed not to hear.
hathi never does anything till the time comes, and that is one of the reasons why he lives so long.
""at such a season as this to kill man!
was no other game afoot?"
said bagheera scornfully, drawing himself out of the tainted water, and shaking each paw, cat-fashion, as he did so.
""i killed for choice -- not for food."
the horrified whisper began again, and hathi's watchful little white eye cocked itself in shere khan's direction.
""for choice," shere khan drawled.
""now come i to drink and make me clean again.
is there any to forbid?"
bagheera's back began to curve like a bamboo in a high wind, but hathi lifted up his trunk and spoke quietly.
""thy kill was from choice?"
he asked; and when hathi asks a question it is best to answer.
""even so.
it was my right and my night.
thou knowest, o hathi."
shere khan spoke almost courteously.
""yes, i know," hathi answered; and, after a little silence, "hast thou drunk thy fill?"
""for to-night, yes."
""go, then.
the river is to drink, and not to defile.
none but the lame tiger would so have boasted of his right at this season when -- when we suffer together -- man and jungle people alike.
clean or unclean, get to thy lair, shere khan!"
the last words rang out like silver trumpets, and hathi's three sons rolled forward half a pace, though there was no need.
shere khan slunk away, not daring to growl, for he knew -- what every one else knows -- that when the last comes to the last, hathi is the master of the jungle.
""what is this right shere khan speaks of?"
mowgli whispered in bagheera's ear.
""to kill man is always, shameful.
the law says so.
and yet hathi says --" "ask him.
i do not know, little brother.
right or no right, if hathi had not spoken i would have taught that lame butcher his lesson.
to come to the peace rock fresh from a kill of man -- and to boast of it -- is a jackal's trick.
besides, he tainted the good water."
mowgli waited for a minute to pick up his courage, because no one cared to address hathi directly, and then he cried: "what is shere khan's right, o hathi?"
both banks echoed his words, for all the people of the jungle are intensely curious, and they had just seen something that none except baloo, who looked very thoughtful, seemed to understand.
""it is an old tale," said hathi; "a tale older than the jungle.
keep silence along the banks and i will tell that tale."
there was a minute or two of pushing a shouldering among the pigs and the buffalo, and then the leaders of the herds grunted, one after another, "we wait," and hathi strode forward, till he was nearly knee-deep in the pool by the peace rock.
lean and wrinkled and yellow-tusked though he was, he looked what the jungle knew him to be -- their master.
""ye know, children," he began, "that of all things ye most fear man;" and there was a mutter of agreement.
""this tale touches thee, little brother," said bagheera to mowgli.
""i?
i am of the pack -- a hunter of the free people," mowgli answered.
""what have i to do with man?"
""and ye do not know why ye fear man?"
hathi went on.
""this is the reason.
in the beginning of the jungle, and none know when that was, we of the jungle walked together, having no fear of one another.
in those days there was no drought, and leaves and flowers and fruit grew on the same tree, and we ate nothing at all except leaves and flowers and grass and fruit and bark."
""i am glad i was not born in those days," said bagheera.
""bark is only good to sharpen claws."
""and the lord of the jungle was tha, the first of the elephants.
he drew the jungle out of deep waters with his trunk; and where he made furrows in the ground with his tusks, there the rivers ran; and where he struck with his foot, there rose ponds of good water; and when he blew through his trunk, -- thus, -- the trees fell.
that was the manner in which the jungle was made by tha; and so the tale was told to me."
""it has not lost fat in the telling," bagheera whispered, and mowgli laughed behind his hand.
""in those days there was no corn or melons or pepper or sugar-cane, nor were there any little huts such as ye have all seen; and the jungle people knew nothing of man, but lived in the jungle together, making one people.
but presently they began to dispute over their food, though there was grazing enough for all.
they were lazy.
each wished to eat where he lay, as sometimes we can do now when the spring rains are good.
tha, the first of the elephants, was busy making new jungles and leading the rivers in their beds.
he could not walk in all places; therefore he made the first of the tigers the master and the judge of the jungle, to whom the jungle people should bring their disputes.
in those days the first of the tigers ate fruit and grass with the others.
he was as large as i am, and he was very beautiful, in colour all over like the blossom of the yellow creeper.
there was never stripe nor bar upon his hide in those good days when this the jungle was new.
all the jungle people came before him without fear, and his word was the law of all the jungle.
we were then, remember ye, one people.
""yet upon a night there was a dispute between two bucks -- a grazing-quarrel such as ye now settle with the horns and the fore-feet -- and it is said that as the two spoke together before the first of the first of the tigers lying among the flowers, a buck pushed him with his horns, and the first of the tigers forgot that he was the master and judge of the jungle, and, leaping upon that buck, broke his neck.
""till that night never one of us had died, and the first of the tigers, seeing what he had done, and being made foolish by the scent of the blood, ran away into the marshes of the north, and we of the jungle, left without a judge, fell to fighting among ourselves; and tha heard the noise of it and came back.
then some of us said this and some of us said that, but he saw the dead buck among the flowers, and asked who had killed, and we of the jungle would not tell because the smell of the blood made us foolish.
we ran to and fro in circles, capering and crying out and shaking our heads.
then tha gave an order to the trees that hang low, and to the trailing creepers of the jungle, that they should mark the killer of the buck so that he should know him again, and he said, "who will now be master of the jungle people?"
then up leaped the gray ape who lives in the branches, and said," i will now be master of the jungle.""
at this tha laughed, and said, "so be it," and went away very angry.
""children, ye know the gray ape.
he was then as he is now.
at the first he made a wise face for himself, but in a little while he began to scratch and to leap up and down, and when tha came back he found the gray ape hanging, head down, from a bough, mocking those who stood below; and they mocked him again.
and so there was no law in the jungle -- only foolish talk and senseless words.
""then tha called us all together and said: "the first of your masters has brought death into the jungle, and the second shame.
now it is time there was a law, and a law that ye must not break.
now ye shall know fear, and when ye have found him ye shall know that he is your master, and the rest shall follow."
then we of the jungle said, "what is fear?"
and tha said, "seek till ye find."
so we went up and down the jungle seeking for fear, and presently the buffaloes --" "ugh!"
said mysa, the leader of the buffaloes, from their sand-bank.
""yes, mysa, it was the buffaloes.
they came back with the news that in a cave in the jungle sat fear, and that he had no hair, and went upon his hind legs.
then we of the jungle followed the herd till we came to that cave, and fear stood at the mouth of it, and he was, as the buffaloes had said, hairless, and he walked upon his hinder legs.
when he saw us he cried out, and his voice filled us with the fear that we have now of that voice when we hear it, and we ran away, tramping upon and tearing each other because we were afraid.
that night, so it was told to me, we of the jungle did not lie down together as used to be our custom, but each tribe drew off by itself -- the pig with the pig, the deer with the deer; horn to horn, hoof to hoof, -- like keeping to like, and so lay shaking in the jungle.
""only the first of the tigers was not with us, for he was still hidden in the marshes of the north, and when word was brought to him of the thing we had seen in the cave, he said."
i will go to this thing and break his neck."
so he ran all the night till he came to the cave; but the trees and the creepers on his path, remembering the order that tha had given, let down their branches and marked him as he ran, drawing their fingers across his back, his flank, his forehead, and his jowl.
wherever they touched him there was a mark and a stripe upon his yellow hide.
and those stripes do this children wear to this day!
when he came to the cave, fear, the hairless one, put out his hand and called him "the striped one that comes by night," and the first of the tigers was afraid of the hairless one, and ran back to the swamps howling."
mowgli chuckled quietly here, his chin in the water.
""so loud did he howl that tha heard him and said, "what is the sorrow?"
and the first of the tigers, lifting up his muzzle to the new-made sky, which is now so old, said: "give me back my power, o tha.
i am made ashamed before all the jungle, and i have run away from a hairless one, and he has called me a shameful name."
"and why?"
said tha.
"because i am smeared with the mud of the marshes," said the first of the tigers.
"swim, then, and roll on the wet grass, and if it be mud it will wash away," said tha; and the first of the tigers swam, and rolled and rolled upon the grass, till the jungle ran round and round before his eyes, but not one little bar upon all his hide was changed, and tha, watching him, laughed.
then the first of the tigers said: "what have i done that this comes to me?"
tha said, "thou hast killed the buck, and thou hast let death loose in the jungle, and with death has come fear, so that the people of the jungle are afraid one of the other, as thou art afraid of the hairless one."
the first of the tigers said, "they will never fear me, for i knew them since the beginning."
tha said, "go and see."
and the first of the tigers ran to and fro, calling aloud to the deer and the pig and the sambhur and the porcupine and all the jungle peoples, and they all ran away from him who had been their judge, because they were afraid.
""then the first of the tigers came back, and his pride was broken in him, and, beating his head upon the ground, he tore up the earth with all his feet and said: "remember that i was once the master of the jungle.
do not forget me, o tha!
let my children remember that i was once without shame or fear!"
and tha said: "this much i will do, because thou and i together saw the jungle made.
for one night in each year it shall be as it was before the buck was killed -- for thee and for thy children.
in that one night, if ye meet the hairless one -- and his name is man -- ye shall not be afraid of him, but he shall be afraid of you, as though ye were judges of the jungle and masters of all things.
show him mercy in that night of his fear, for thou hast known what fear is."
""then the first of the tigers answered," i am content"; but when next he drank he saw the black stripes upon his flank and his side, and he remembered the name that the hairless one had given him, and he was angry.
for a year he lived in the marshes waiting till tha should keep his promise.
and upon a night when the jackal of the moon -lsb- the evening star -rsb- stood clear of the jungle, he felt that his night was upon him, and he went to that cave to meet the hairless one.
then it happened as tha promised, for the hairless one fell down before him and lay along the ground, and the first of the tigers struck him and broke his back, for he thought that there was but one such thing in the jungle, and that he had killed fear.
then, nosing above the kill, he heard tha coming down from the woods of the north, and presently the voice of the first of the elephants, which is the voice that we hear now --" the thunder was rolling up and down the dry, scarred hills, but it brought no rain -- only heat -- lightning that flickered along the ridges -- and hathi went on: "that was the voice he heard, and it said: "is this thy mercy?"
the first of the tigers licked his lips and said: "what matter?
i have killed fear."
and tha said: "o blind and foolish!
thou hast untied the feet of death, and he will follow thy trail till thou diest.
thou hast taught man to kill!"
""the first of the tigers, standing stiffly to his kill, said.
"he is as the buck was.
there is no fear.
now i will judge the jungle peoples once more."
""and tha said: "never again shall the jungle peoples come to thee.
they shall never cross thy trail, nor sleep near thee, nor follow after thee, nor browse by thy lair.
only fear shall follow thee, and with a blow that thou canst not see he shall bid thee wait his pleasure.
he shall make the ground to open under thy feet, and the creeper to twist about thy neck, and the tree-trunks to grow together about thee higher than thou canst leap, and at the last he shall take thy hide to wrap his cubs when they are cold.
thou hast shown him no mercy, and none will he show thee."
""the first of the tigers was very bold, for his night was still on him, and he said: "the promise of tha is the promise of tha.
he will not take away my night?"
and tha said: "the one night is thine, as i have said, but there is a price to pay.
thou hast taught man to kill, and he is no slow learner."
""the first of the tigers said: "he is here under my foot, and his back is broken.
let the jungle know i have killed fear."
""then tha laughed, and said: "thou hast killed one of many, but thou thyself shalt tell the jungle -- for thy night is ended."
""so the day came; and from the mouth of the cave went out another hairless one, and he saw the kill in the path, and the first of the tigers above it, and he took a pointed stick --" "they throw a thing that cuts now," said ikki, rustling down the bank; for ikki was considered uncommonly good eating by the gonds -- they called him ho-igoo -- and he knew something of the wicked little gondee axe that whirls across a clearing like a dragon-fly.
""it was a pointed stick, such as they put in the foot of a pit-trap," said hathi, "and throwing it, he struck the first of the tigers deep in the flank.
thus it happened as tha said, for the first of the tigers ran howling up and down the jungle till he tore out the stick, and all the jungle knew that the hairless one could strike from far off, and they feared more than before.
so it came about that the first of the tigers taught the hairless one to kill -- and ye know what harm that has since done to all our peoples -- through the noose, and the pitfall, and the hidden trap, and the flying stick and the stinging fly that comes out of white smoke -lsb- hathi meant the rifle -rsb-, and the red flower that drives us into the open.
yet for one night in the year the hairless one fears the tiger, as tha promised, and never has the tiger given him cause to be less afraid.
where he finds him, there he kills him, remembering how the first of the tigers was made ashamed.
for the rest, fear walks up and down the jungle by day and by night."
""ahi!
aoo!"
said the deer, thinking of what it all meant to them.
""and only when there is one great fear over all, as there is now, can we of the jungle lay aside our little fears, and meet together in one place as we do now."
""for one night only does man fear the tiger?"
said mowgli.
""for one night only," said hathi.
""but i -- but we -- but all the jungle knows that shere khan kills man twice and thrice in a moon."
""even so.
then he springs from behind and turns his head aside as he strikes, for he is full of fear.
if man looked at him he would run.
but on his one night he goes openly down to the village.
he walks between the houses and thrusts his head into the doorway, and the men fall on their faces, and there he does his kill.
one kill in that night."
""oh!"
said mowgli to himself, rolling over in the water.
""now i see why it was shere khan bade me look at him!
he got no good of it, for he could not hold his eyes steady, and -- and i certainly did not fall down at his feet.
but then i am not a man, being of the free people."
""umm!"
said bagheera deep in his furry throat.
""does the tiger know his night?"
""never till the jackal of the moon stands clear of the evening mist.
sometimes it falls in the dry summer and sometimes in the wet rains -- this one night of the tiger.
but for the first of the tigers, this would never have been, nor would any of us have known fear."
the deer grunted sorrowfully and bagheera's lips curled in a wicked smile.
""do men know this -- tale?"
said he.
""none know it except the tigers, and we, the elephants -- the children of tha.
now ye by the pools have heard it, and i have spoken."
hathi dipped his trunk into the water as a sign that he did not wish to talk.
""but -- but -- but," said mowgli, turning to baloo, "why did not the first of the tigers continue to eat grass and leaves and trees?
he did but break the buck's neck.
he did not eat.
what led him to the hot meat?"
""the trees and the creepers marked him, little brother, and made him the striped thing that we see.
never again would he eat their fruit; but from that day he revenged himself upon the deer, and the others, the eaters of grass," said baloo.
""then thou knowest the tale.
heh?
why have i never heard?"
""because the jungle is full of such tales.
if i made a beginning there would never be an end to them.
let go my ear, little brother."
the law of the jungle just to give you an idea of the immense variety of the jungle law, i have translated into verse -lrb- baloo always recited them in a sort of sing-song -rrb- a few of the laws that apply to the wolves.
there are, of course, hundreds and hundreds more, but these will do for specimens of the simpler rulings.
now this is the law of the jungle -- as old and as true as the sky; and the wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the wolf that shall break it must die.
as the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the law runneth forward and back -- for the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.
wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never too deep; and remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep.
the jackal may follow the tiger, but, cub, when thy whiskers are grown, remember the wolf is a hunter -- go forth and get food of thine own.
keep peace with the lords of the jungle -- the tiger, the panther, the bear; and trouble not hathi the silent, and mock not the boar in his lair.
when pack meets with pack in the jungle, and neither will go from the trail, lie down till the leaders have spoken -- it may be fair words shall prevail.
when ye fight with a wolf of the pack, ye must fight him alone and afar, lest others take part in the quarrel, and the pack be diminished by war.
the lair of the wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home, not even the head wolf may enter, not even the council may come.
the lair of the wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain, the council shall send him a message, and so he shall change it again.
if ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay, lest ye frighten the deer from the crops, and the brothers go empty away.
ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can; but kill not for pleasure of killing, and seven times never kill man.
if ye plunder his kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride; pack-right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head and the hide.
the kill of the pack is the meat of the pack.
ye must eat where it lies; and no one may carry away of that meat to his lair, or he dies.
the kill of the wolf is the meat of the wolf.
he may do what he will, but, till he has given permission, the pack may not eat of that kill.
cub-right is the right of the yearling.
from all of his pack he may claim full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse him the same.
lair-right is the right of the mother.
from all of her year she may claim one haunch of each kill for her litter, and none may deny her the same.
cave-right is the right of the father -- to hunt by himself for his own.
he is freed of all calls to the pack; he is judged by the council alone.
because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw, in all that the law leaveth open, the word of the head wolf is law.
now these are the laws of the jungle, and many and mighty are they; but the head and the hoof of the law and the haunch and the hump is -- obey!
the miracle of purun bhagat the night we felt the earth would move we stole and plucked him by the hand, because we loved him with the love that knows but can not understand.
and when the roaring hillside broke, and all our world fell down in rain, we saved him, we the little folk; but lo!
he does not come again!
mourn now, we saved him for the sake of such poor love as wild ones may.
mourn ye!
our brother will not wake, and his own kind drive us away!
dirge of the langurs.
there was once a man in india who was prime minister of one of the semi-independent native states in the north-western part of the country.
he was a brahmin, so high-caste that caste ceased to have any particular meaning for him; and his father had been an important official in the gay-coloured tag-rag and bobtail of an old-fashioned hindu court.
but as purun dass grew up he felt that the old order of things was changing, and that if any one wished to get on in the world he must stand well with the english, and imitate all that the english believed to be good.
at the same time a native official must keep his own master's favour.
this was a difficult game, but the quiet, close-mouthed young brahmin, helped by a good english education at a bombay university, played it coolly, and rose, step by step, to be prime minister of the kingdom.
that is to say, he held more real power than his master the maharajah.
when the old king -- who was suspicious of the english, their railways and telegraphs -- died, purun dass stood high with his young successor, who had been tutored by an englishman; and between them, though he always took care that his master should have the credit, they established schools for little girls, made roads, and started state dispensaries and shows of agricultural implements, and published a yearly blue-book on the "moral and material progress of the state," and the foreign office and the government of india were delighted.
very few native states take up english progress altogether, for they will not believe, as purun dass showed he did, that what was good for the englishman must be twice as good for the asiatic.
the prime minister became the honoured friend of viceroys, and governors, and lieutenant-governors, and medical missionaries, and common missionaries, and hard-riding english officers who came to shoot in the state preserves, as well as of whole hosts of tourists who travelled up and down india in the cold weather, showing how things ought to be managed.
in his spare time he would endow scholarships for the study of medicine and manufactures on strictly english lines, and write letters to the "pioneer", the greatest indian daily paper, explaining his master's aims and objects.
at last he went to england on a visit, and had to pay enormous sums to the priests when he came back; for even so high-caste a brahmin as purun dass lost caste by crossing the black sea.
in london he met and talked with every one worth knowing -- men whose names go all over the world -- and saw a great deal more than he said.
he was given honorary degrees by learned universities, and he made speeches and talked of hindu social reform to english ladies in evening dress, till all london cried, "this is the most fascinating man we have ever met at dinner since cloths were first laid."
when he returned to india there was a blaze of glory, for the viceroy himself made a special visit to confer upon the maharajah the grand cross of the star of india -- all diamonds and ribbons and enamel; and at the same ceremony, while the cannon boomed, purun dass was made a knight commander of the order of the indian empire; so that his name stood sir purun dass, k.c.i.e..
that evening, at dinner in the big viceregal tent, he stood up with the badge and the collar of the order on his breast, and replying to the toast of his master's health, made a speech few englishmen could have bettered.
next month, when the city had returned to its sun-baked quiet, he did a thing no englishman would have dreamed of doing; for, so far as the world's affairs went, he died.
the jewelled order of his knighthood went back to the indian government, and a new prime minister was appointed to the charge of affairs, and a great game of general post began in all the subordinate appointments.
the priests knew what had happened, and the people guessed; but india is the one place in the world where a man can do as he pleases and nobody asks why; and the fact that dewan sir purun dass, k.c.i.e., had resigned position, palace, and power, and taken up the begging-bowl and ochre-coloured dress of a sunnyasi, or holy man, was considered nothing extraordinary.
he had been, as the old law recommends, twenty years a youth, twenty years a fighter, -- though he had never carried a weapon in his life, -- and twenty years head of a household.
he had used his wealth and his power for what he knew both to be worth; he had taken honour when it came his way; he had seen men and cities far and near, and men and cities had stood up and honoured him.
now he would let those things go, as a man drops the cloak he no longer needs.
behind him, as he walked through the city gates, an antelope skin and brass-handled crutch under his arm, and a begging-bowl of polished brown coco-de-mer in his hand, barefoot, alone, with eyes cast on the ground -- behind him they were firing salutes from the bastions in honour of his happy successor.
purun dass nodded.
all that life was ended; and he bore it no more ill-will or good-will than a man bears to a colourless dream of the night.
he was a sunnyasi -- a houseless, wandering mendicant, depending on his neighbours for his daily bread; and so long as there is a morsel to divide in india, neither priest nor beggar starves.
he had never in his life tasted meat, and very seldom eaten even fish.
a five-pound note would have covered his personal expenses for food through any one of the many years in which he had been absolute master of millions of money.
even when he was being lionised in london he had held before him his dream of peace and quiet -- the long, white, dusty indian road, printed all over with bare feet, the incessant, slow-moving traffic, and the sharp-smelling wood smoke curling up under the fig-trees in the twilight, where the wayfarers sit at their evening meal.
when the time came to make that dream true the prime minister took the proper steps, and in three days you might more easily have found a bubble in the trough of the long atlantic seas, than purun dass among the roving, gathering, separating millions of india.
at night his antelope skin was spread where the darkness overtook him -- sometimes in a sunnyasi monastery by the roadside; sometimes by a mud-pillar shrine of kala pir, where the jogis, who are another misty division of holy men, would receive him as they do those who know what castes and divisions are worth; sometimes on the outskirts of a little hindu village, where the children would steal up with the food their parents had prepared; and sometimes on the pitch of the bare grazing-grounds, where the flame of his stick fire waked the drowsy camels.
it was all one to purun dass -- or purun bhagat, as he called himself now.
earth, people, and food were all one.
but unconsciously his feet drew him away northward and eastward; from the south to rohtak; from rohtak to kurnool; from kurnool to ruined samanah, and then up-stream along the dried bed of the gugger river that fills only when the rain falls in the hills, till one day he saw the far line of the great himalayas.
then purun bhagat smiled, for he remembered that his mother was of rajput brahmin birth, from kulu way -- a hill-woman, always home-sick for the snows -- and that the least touch of hill blood draws a man in the end back to where he belongs.
""yonder," said purun bhagat, breasting the lower slopes of the sewaliks, where the cacti stand up like seven-branched candlesticks - "yonder i shall sit down and get knowledge"; and the cool wind of the himalayas whistled about his ears as he trod the road that led to simla.
the last time he had come that way it had been in state, with a clattering cavalry escort, to visit the gentlest and most affable of viceroys; and the two had talked for an hour together about mutual friends in london, and what the indian common folk really thought of things.
this time purun bhagat paid no calls, but leaned on the rail of the mall, watching that glorious view of the plains spread out forty miles below, till a native mohammedan policeman told him he was obstructing traffic; and purun bhagat salaamed reverently to the law, because he knew the value of it, and was seeking for a law of his own.
then he moved on, and slept that night in an empty hut at chota simla, which looks like the very last end of the earth, but it was only the beginning of his journey.
he followed the himalaya-thibet road, the little ten-foot track that is blasted out of solid rock, or strutted out on timbers over gulfs a thousand feet deep; that dips into warm, wet, shut-in valleys, and climbs out across bare, grassy hill-shoulders where the sun strikes like a burning-glass; or turns through dripping, dark forests where the tree-ferns dress the trunks from head to heel, and the pheasant calls to his mate.
and he met thibetan herdsmen with their dogs and flocks of sheep, each sheep with a little bag of borax on his back, and wandering wood-cutters, and cloaked and blanketed lamas from thibet, coming into india on pilgrimage, and envoys of little solitary hill-states, posting furiously on ring-streaked and piebald ponies, or the cavalcade of a rajah paying a visit; or else for a long, clear day he would see nothing more than a black bear grunting and rooting below in the valley.
when he first started, the roar of the world he had left still rang in his ears, as the roar of a tunnel rings long after the train has passed through; but when he had put the mutteeanee pass behind him that was all done, and purun bhagat was alone with himself, walking, wondering, and thinking, his eyes on the ground, and his thoughts with the clouds.
one evening he crossed the highest pass he had met till then -- it had been a two-day's climb -- and came out on a line of snow-peaks that banded all the horizon -- mountains from fifteen to twenty thousand feet high, looking almost near enough to hit with a stone, though they were fifty or sixty miles away.
the pass was crowned with dense, dark forest -- deodar, walnut, wild cherry, wild olive, and wild pear, but mostly deodar, which is the himalayan cedar; and under the shadow of the deodars stood a deserted shrine to kali -- who is durga, who is sitala, who is sometimes worshipped against the smallpox.
purun dass swept the stone floor clean, smiled at the grinning statue, made himself a little mud fireplace at the back of the shrine, spread his antelope skin on a bed of fresh pine-needles, tucked his bairagi -- his brass-handled crutch -- under his armpit, and sat down to rest.
immediately below him the hillside fell away, clean and cleared for fifteen hundred feet, where a little village of stone-walled houses, with roofs of beaten earth, clung to the steep tilt.
all round it the tiny terraced fields lay out like aprons of patchwork on the knees of the mountain, and cows no bigger than beetles grazed between the smooth stone circles of the threshing-floors.
looking across the valley, the eye was deceived by the size of things, and could not at first realise that what seemed to be low scrub, on the opposite mountain-flank, was in truth a forest of hundred-foot pines.
purun bhagat saw an eagle swoop across the gigantic hollow, but the great bird dwindled to a dot ere it was half-way over.
a few bands of scattered clouds strung up and down the valley, catching on a shoulder of the hills, or rising up and dying out when they were level with the head of the pass.
and "here shall i find peace," said purun bhagat.
now, a hill-man makes nothing of a few hundred feet up or down, and as soon as the villagers saw the smoke in the deserted shrine, the village priest climbed up the terraced hillside to welcome the stranger.
when he met purun bhagat's eyes -- the eyes of a man used to control thousands -- he bowed to the earth, took the begging-bowl without a word, and returned to the village, saying, "we have at last a holy man.
never have i seen such a man.
he is of the plains -- but pale-coloured -- a brahmin of the brahmins."
then all the housewives of the village said, "think you he will stay with us?"
and each did her best to cook the most savoury meal for the bhagat.
hill-food is very simple, but with buckwheat and indian corn, and rice and red pepper, and little fish out of the stream in the valley, and honey from the flue-like hives built in the stone walls, and dried apricots, and turmeric, and wild ginger, and bannocks of flour, a devout woman can make good things, and it was a full bowl that the priest carried to the bhagat.
was he going to stay?
asked the priest.
would he need a chela -- a disciple -- to beg for him?
had he a blanket against the cold weather?
was the food good?
purun bhagat ate, and thanked the giver.
it was in his mind to stay.
that was sufficient, said the priest.
let the begging-bowl be placed outside the shrine, in the hollow made by those two twisted roots, and daily should the bhagat be fed; for the village felt honoured that such a man -- he looked timidly into the bhagat's face -- should tarry among them.
that day saw the end of purun bhagat's wanderings.
he had come to the place appointed for him -- the silence and the space.
after this, time stopped, and he, sitting at the mouth of the shrine, could not tell whether he were alive or dead; a man with control of his limbs, or a part of the hills, and the clouds, and the shifting rain and sunlight.
he would repeat a name softly to himself a hundred hundred times, till, at each repetition, he seemed to move more and more out of his body, sweeping up to the doors of some tremendous discovery; but, just as the door was opening, his body would drag him back, and, with grief, he felt he was locked up again in the flesh and bones of purun bhagat.
every morning the filled begging-bowl was laid silently in the crutch of the roots outside the shrine.
sometimes the priest brought it; sometimes a ladakhi trader, lodging in the village, and anxious to get merit, trudged up the path; but, more often, it was the woman who had cooked the meal overnight; and she would murmur, hardly above her breath.
""speak for me before the gods, bhagat.
speak for such a one, the wife of so-and-so!"
now and then some bold child would be allowed the honour, and purun bhagat would hear him drop the bowl and run as fast as his little legs could carry him, but the bhagat never came down to the village.
it was laid out like a map at his feet.
he could see the evening gatherings, held on the circle of the threshing-floors, because that was the only level ground; could see the wonderful unnamed green of the young rice, the indigo blues of the indian corn, the dock-like patches of buckwheat, and, in its season, the red bloom of the amaranth, whose tiny seeds, being neither grain nor pulse, make a food that can be lawfully eaten by hindus in time of fasts.
when the year turned, the roofs of the huts were all little squares of purest gold, for it was on the roofs that they laid out their cobs of the corn to dry.
hiving and harvest, rice-sowing and husking, passed before his eyes, all embroidered down there on the many-sided plots of fields, and he thought of them all, and wondered what they all led to at the long last.
even in populated india a man can not a day sit still before the wild things run over him as though he were a rock; and in that wilderness very soon the wild things, who knew kali's shrine well, came back to look at the intruder.
the langurs, the big gray-whiskered monkeys of the himalayas, were, naturally, the first, for they are alive with curiosity; and when they had upset the begging-bowl, and rolled it round the floor, and tried their teeth on the brass-handled crutch, and made faces at the antelope skin, they decided that the human being who sat so still was harmless.
at evening, they would leap down from the pines, and beg with their hands for things to eat, and then swing off in graceful curves.
they liked the warmth of the fire, too, and huddled round it till purun bhagat had to push them aside to throw on more fuel; and in the morning, as often as not, he would find a furry ape sharing his blanket.
all day long, one or other of the tribe would sit by his side, staring out at the snows, crooning and looking unspeakably wise and sorrowful.
after the monkeys came the barasingh, that big deer which is like our red deer, but stronger.
he wished to rub off the velvet of his horns against the cold stones of kali's statue, and stamped his feet when he saw the man at the shrine.
but purun bhagat never moved, and, little by little, the royal stag edged up and nuzzled his shoulder.
purun bhagat slid one cool hand along the hot antlers, and the touch soothed the fretted beast, who bowed his head, and purun bhagat very softly rubbed and ravelled off the velvet.
afterward, the barasingh brought his doe and fawn -- gentle things that mumbled on the holy man's blanket -- or would come alone at night, his eyes green in the fire-flicker, to take his share of fresh walnuts.
at last, the musk-deer, the shyest and almost the smallest of the deerlets, came, too, her big rabbity ears erect; even brindled, silent mushick-nabha must needs find out what the light in the shrine meant, and drop out her moose-like nose into purun bhagat's lap, coming and going with the shadows of the fire.
purun bhagat called them all "my brothers," and his low call of "bhai!
bhai!"
would draw them from the forest at noon if they were within ear shot.
the himalayan black bear, moody and suspicious -- sona, who has the v-shaped white mark under his chin -- passed that way more than once; and since the bhagat showed no fear, sona showed no anger, but watched him, and came closer, and begged a share of the caresses, and a dole of bread or wild berries.
often, in the still dawns, when the bhagat would climb to the very crest of the pass to watch the red day walking along the peaks of the snows, he would find sona shuffling and grunting at his heels, thrusting, a curious fore-paw under fallen trunks, and bringing it away with a whoof of impatience; or his early steps would wake sona where he lay curled up, and the great brute, rising erect, would think to fight, till he heard the bhagat's voice and knew his best friend.
nearly all hermits and holy men who live apart from the big cities have the reputation of being able to work miracles with the wild things, but all the miracle lies in keeping still, in never making a hasty movement, and, for a long time, at least, in never looking directly at a visitor.
the villagers saw the outline of the barasingh stalking like a shadow through the dark forest behind the shrine; saw the minaul, the himalayan pheasant, blazing in her best colours before kali's statue; and the langurs on their haunches, inside, playing with the walnut shells.
some of the children, too, had heard sona singing to himself, bear-fashion, behind the fallen rocks, and the bhagat's reputation as miracle-worker stood firm.
yet nothing was farther from his mind than miracles.
he believed that all things were one big miracle, and when a man knows that much he knows something to go upon.
he knew for a certainty that there was nothing great and nothing little in this world: and day and night he strove to think out his way into the heart of things, back to the place whence his soul had come.
so thinking, his untrimmed hair fell down about his shoulders, the stone slab at the side of the antelope skin was dented into a little hole by the foot of his brass-handled crutch, and the place between the tree-trunks, where the begging-bowl rested day after day, sunk and wore into a hollow almost as smooth as the brown shell itself; and each beast knew his exact place at the fire.
the fields changed their colours with the seasons; the threshing-floors filled and emptied, and filled again and again; and again and again, when winter came, the langurs frisked among the branches feathered with light snow, till the mother-monkeys brought their sad-eyed little babies up from the warmer valleys with the spring.
there were few changes in the village.
the priest was older, and many of the little children who used to come with the begging-dish sent their own children now; and when you asked of the villagers how long their holy man had lived in kali's shrine at the head of the pass, they answered, "always."
then came such summer rains as had not been known in the hills for many seasons.
through three good months the valley was wrapped in cloud and soaking mist -- steady, unrelenting downfall, breaking off into thunder-shower after thunder-shower.
kali's shrine stood above the clouds, for the most part, and there was a whole month in which the bhagat never caught a glimpse of his village.
it was packed away under a white floor of cloud that swayed and shifted and rolled on itself and bulged upward, but never broke from its piers -- the streaming flanks of the valley.
all that time he heard nothing but the sound of a million little waters, overhead from the trees, and underfoot along the ground, soaking through the pine-needles, dripping from the tongues of draggled fern, and spouting in newly-torn muddy channels down the slopes.
then the sun came out, and drew forth the good incense of the deodars and the rhododendrons, and that far-off, clean smell which the hill people call "the smell of the snows."
the hot sunshine lasted for a week, and then the rains gathered together for their last downpour, and the water fell in sheets that flayed off the skin of the ground and leaped back in mud.
purun bhagat heaped his fire high that night, for he was sure his brothers would need warmth; but never a beast came to the shrine, though he called and called till he dropped asleep, wondering what had happened in the woods.
it was in the black heart of the night, the rain drumming like a thousand drums, that he was roused by a plucking at his blanket, and, stretching out, felt the little hand of a langur.
""it is better here than in the trees," he said sleepily, loosening a fold of blanket; "take it and be warm."
the monkey caught his hand and pulled hard.
""is it food, then?"
said purun bhagat.
""wait awhile, and i will prepare some."
as he kneeled to throw fuel on the fire the langur ran to the door of the shrine, crooned and ran back again, plucking at the man's knee.
""what is it?
what is thy trouble, brother?"
said purun bhagat, for the langur's eyes were full of things that he could not tell.
""unless one of thy caste be in a trap -- and none set traps here -- i will not go into that weather.
look, brother, even the barasingh comes for shelter!"
the deer's antlers clashed as he strode into the shrine, clashed against the grinning statue of kali.
he lowered them in purun bhagat's direction and stamped uneasily, hissing through his half-shut nostrils.
""hai!
hai!
hai!"
said the bhagat, snapping his fingers, "is this payment for a night's lodging?"
but the deer pushed him toward the door, and as he did so purun bhagat heard the sound of something opening with a sigh, and saw two slabs of the floor draw away from each other, while the sticky earth below smacked its lips.
""now i see," said purun bhagat.
""no blame to my brothers that they did not sit by the fire to-night.
the mountain is falling.
and yet -- why should i go?"
his eye fell on the empty begging-bowl, and his face changed.
""they have given me good food daily since -- since i came, and, if i am not swift, to-morrow there will not be one mouth in the valley.
indeed, i must go and warn them below.
back there, brother!
let me get to the fire."
the barasingh backed unwillingly as purun bhagat drove a pine torch deep into the flame, twirling it till it was well lit.
""ah!
ye came to warn me," he said, rising.
""better than that we shall do; better than that.
out, now, and lend me thy neck, brother, for i have but two feet."
he clutched the bristling withers of the barasingh with his right hand, held the torch away with his left, and stepped out of the shrine into the desperate night.
there was no breath of wind, but the rain nearly drowned the flare as the great deer hurried down the slope, sliding on his haunches.
as soon as they were clear of the forest more of the bhagat's brothers joined them.
he heard, though he could not see, the langurs pressing about him, and behind them the uhh!
uhh!
of sona.
the rain matted his long white hair into ropes; the water splashed beneath his bare feet, and his yellow robe clung to his frail old body, but he stepped down steadily, leaning against the barasingh.
he was no longer a holy man, but sir purun dass, k.c.i.e., prime minister of no small state, a man accustomed to command, going out to save life.
down the steep, plashy path they poured all together, the bhagat and his brothers, down and down till the deer's feet clicked and stumbled on the wall of a threshing-floor, and he snorted because he smelt man.
now they were at the head of the one crooked village street, and the bhagat beat with his crutch on the barred windows of the blacksmith's house, as his torch blazed up in the shelter of the eaves.
""up and out!"
cried purun bhagat; and he did not know his own voice, for it was years since he had spoken aloud to a man.
""the hill falls!
the hill is falling!
up and out, oh, you within!"
""it is our bhagat," said the blacksmith's wife.
""he stands among his beasts.
gather the little ones and give the call."
it ran from house to house, while the beasts, cramped in the narrow way, surged and huddled round the bhagat, and sona puffed impatiently.
the people hurried into the street -- they were no more than seventy souls all told -- and in the glare of the torches they saw their bhagat holding back the terrified barasingh, while the monkeys plucked piteously at his skirts, and sona sat on his haunches and roared.
""across the valley and up the next hill!"
shouted purun bhagat.
""leave none behind!
we follow!"
then the people ran as only hill folk can run, for they knew that in a landslip you must climb for the highest ground across the valley.
they fled, splashing through the little river at the bottom, and panted up the terraced fields on the far side, while the bhagat and his brethren followed.
up and up the opposite mountain they climbed, calling to each other by name -- the roll-call of the village -- and at their heels toiled the big barasingh, weighted by the failing strength of purun bhagat.
at last the deer stopped in the shadow of a deep pinewood, five hundred feet up the hillside.
his instinct, that had warned him of the coming slide, told him he would he safe here.
purun bhagat dropped fainting by his side, for the chill of the rain and that fierce climb were killing him; but first he called to the scattered torches ahead, "stay and count your numbers"; then, whispering to the deer as he saw the lights gather in a cluster: "stay with me, brother.
stay -- till -- i -- go!"
there was a sigh in the air that grew to a mutter, and a mutter that grew to a roar, and a roar that passed all sense of hearing, and the hillside on which the villagers stood was hit in the darkness, and rocked to the blow.
then a note as steady, deep, and true as the deep c of the organ drowned everything for perhaps five minutes, while the very roots of the pines quivered to it.
it died away, and the sound of the rain falling on miles of hard ground and grass changed to the muffled drum of water on soft earth.
that told its own tale.
never a villager -- not even the priest -- was bold enough to speak to the bhagat who had saved their lives.
they crouched under the pines and waited till the day.
when it came they looked across the valley and saw that what had been forest, and terraced field, and track-threaded grazing-ground was one raw, red, fan-shaped smear, with a few trees flung head-down on the scarp.
that red ran high up the hill of their refuge, damming back the little river, which had begun to spread into a brick-coloured lake.
of the village, of the road to the shrine, of the shrine itself, and the forest behind, there was no trace.
for one mile in width and two thousand feet in sheer depth the mountain-side had come away bodily, planed clean from head to heel.
and the villagers, one by one, crept through the wood to pray before their bhagat.
they saw the barasingh standing over him, who fled when they came near, and they heard the langurs wailing in the branches, and sona moaning up the hill; but their bhagat was dead, sitting cross-legged, his back against a tree, his crutch under his armpit, and his face turned to the north-east.
the priest said: "behold a miracle after a miracle, for in this very attitude must all sunnyasis be buried!
therefore where he now is we will build the temple to our holy man."
they built the temple before a year was ended -- a little stone-and-earth shrine -- and they called the hill the bhagat's hill, and they worship there with lights and flowers and offerings to this day.
but they do not know that the saint of their worship is the late sir purun dass, k.c.i.e., d.c.l., ph.d., etc., once prime minister of the progressive and enlightened state of mohiniwala, and honorary or corresponding member of more learned and scientific societies than will ever do any good in this world or the next.
a song of kabir oh, light was the world that he weighed in his hands!
oh, heavy the tale of his fiefs and his lands!
he has gone from the guddee and put on the shroud, and departed in guise of bairagi avowed!
now the white road to delhi is mat for his feet, the sal and the kikar must guard him from heat; his home is the camp, and the waste, and the crowd -- he is seeking the way as bairagi avowed!
he has looked upon man, and his eyeballs are clear -lrb- there was one; there is one, and but one, saith kabir -rrb-; the red mist of doing has thinned to a cloud -- he has taken the path for bairagi avowed!
to learn and discern of his brother the clod, of his brother the brute, and his brother the god.
he has gone from the council and put on the shroud -lrb- "can ye hear?"
saith kabir -rrb-, a bairagi avowed!
letting in the jungle veil them, cover them, wall them round -- blossom, and creeper, and weed -- let us forget the sight and the sound, the smell and the touch of the breed!
fat black ash by the altar-stone, here is the white-foot rain, and the does bring forth in the fields unsown, and none shall affright them again; and the blind walls crumble, unknown, o'erthrown and none shall inhabit again!
you will remember that after mowgli had pinned shere khan's hide to the council rock, he told as many as were left of the seeonee pack that henceforward he would hunt in the jungle alone; and the four children of mother and father wolf said that they would hunt with him.
but it is not easy to change one's life all in a minute -- particularly in the jungle.
the first thing mowgli did, when the disorderly pack had slunk off, was to go to the home-cave, and sleep for a day and a night.
then he told mother wolf and father wolf as much as they could understand of his adventures among men; and when he made the morning sun flicker up and down the blade of his skinning-knife, -- the same he had skinned shere khan with, -- they said he had learned something.
then akela and gray brother had to explain their share of the great buffalo-drive in the ravine, and baloo toiled up the hill to hear all about it, and bagheera scratched himself all over with pure delight at the way in which mowgli had managed his war.
it was long after sunrise, but no one dreamed of going to sleep, and from time to time, during the talk, mother wolf would throw up her head, and sniff a deep snuff of satisfaction as the wind brought her the smell of the tiger-skin on the council rock.
""but for akela and gray brother here," mowgli said, at the end, "i could have done nothing.
oh, mother, mother!
if thou hadst seen the black herd-bulls pour down the ravine, or hurry through the gates when the man-pack flung stones at me!"
""i am glad i did not see that last," said mother wolf stiffly.
""it is not my custom to suffer my cubs to be driven to and fro like jackals.
i would have taken a price from the man-pack; but i would have spared the woman who gave thee the milk.
yes, i would have spared her alone."
""peace, peace, raksha!"
said father wolf, lazily.
""our frog has come back again -- so wise that his own father must lick his feet; and what is a cut, more or less, on the head?
leave men alone."
baloo and bagheera both echoed: "leave men alone."
mowgli, his head on mother wolf's side, smiled contentedly, and said that, for his own part, he never wished to see, or hear, or smell man again.
""but what," said akela, cocking one ear -- "but what if men do not leave thee alone, little brother?"
""we be five," said gray brother, looking round at the company, and snapping his jaws on the last word.
""we also might attend to that hunting," said bagheera, with a little switch-switch of his tail, looking at baloo.
""but why think of men now, akela?"
""for this reason," the lone wolf answered: "when that yellow chief's hide was hung up on the rock, i went back along our trail to the village, stepping in my tracks, turning aside, and lying down, to make a mixed trail in case one should follow us.
but when i had fouled the trail so that i myself hardly knew it again, mang, the bat, came hawking between the trees, and hung up above me."
said mang, "the village of the man-pack, where they cast out the man-cub, hums like a hornet's nest."
""it was a big stone that i threw," chuckled mowgli, who had often amused himself by throwing ripe paw-paws into a hornet's nest, and racing off to the nearest pool before the hornets caught him.
""i asked of mang what he had seen.
he said that the red flower blossomed at the gate of the village, and men sat about it carrying guns.
now i know, for i have good cause," -- akela looked down at the old dry scars on his flank and side, -- "that men do not carry guns for pleasure.
presently, little brother, a man with a gun follows our trail -- if, indeed, he be not already on it."
""but why should he?
men have cast me out.
what more do they need?"
said mowgli angrily.
""thou art a man, little brother," akela returned.
""it is not for us, the free hunters, to tell thee what thy brethren do, or why."
he had just time to snatch up his paw as the skinning-knife cut deep into the ground below.
mowgli struck quicker than an average human eye could follow but akela was a wolf; and even a dog, who is very far removed from the wild wolf, his ancestor, can be waked out of deep sleep by a cart-wheel touching his flank, and can spring away unharmed before that wheel comes on.
""another time," mowgli said quietly, returning the knife to its sheath, "speak of the man-pack and of mowgli in two breaths -- not one."
""phff!
that is a sharp tooth," said akela, snuffing at the blade's cut in the earth, "but living with the man-pack has spoiled thine eye, little brother.
i could have killed a buck while thou wast striking."
bagheera sprang to his feet, thrust up his head as far as he could, sniffed, and stiffened through every curve in his body.
gray brother followed his example quickly, keeping a little to his left to get the wind that was blowing from the right, while akela bounded fifty yards up wind, and, half-crouching, stiffened too.
mowgli looked on enviously.
he could smell things as very few human beings could, but he had never reached the hair-trigger-like sensitiveness of a jungle nose; and his three months in the smoky village had set him back sadly.
however, he dampened his finger, rubbed it on his nose, and stood erect to catch the upper scent, which, though it is the faintest, is the truest.
""man!"
akela growled, dropping on his haunches.
""buldeo!"
said mowgli, sitting down.
""he follows our trail, and yonder is the sunlight on his gun.
look!"
it was no more than a splash of sunlight, for a fraction of a second, on the brass clamps of the old tower musket, but nothing in the jungle winks with just that flash, except when the clouds race over the sky.
then a piece of mica, or a little pool, or even a highly-polished leaf will flash like a heliograph.
but that day was cloudless and still.
""i knew men would follow," said akela triumphantly.
""not for nothing have i led the pack."
the four cubs said nothing, but ran down hill on their bellies, melting into the thorn and under-brush as a mole melts into a lawn.
""where go ye, and without word?"
mowgli called.
""h'sh!
we roll his skull here before mid-day!"
gray brother answered.
""back!
back and wait!
man does not eat man!"
mowgli shrieked.
""who was a wolf but now?
who drove the knife at me for thinking he might be man?"
said akela, as the four wolves turned back sullenly and dropped to heel.
""am i to give reason for all i choose to, do?"
said mowgli furiously.
""that is man!
there speaks man!"
bagheera muttered under his whiskers.
""even so did men talk round the king's cages at oodeypore.
we of the jungle know that man is wisest of all.
if we trusted our ears we should know that of all things he is most foolish."
raising his voice, he added, "the man-cub is right in this.
men hunt in packs.
to kill one, unless we know what the others will do, is bad hunting.
come, let us see what this man means toward us."
""we will not come," gray brother growled.
""hunt alone, little brother.
we know our own minds.
the skull would have been ready to bring by now."
mowgli had been looking from one to the other of his friends, his chest heaving and his eyes full of tears.
he strode forward to the wolves, and, dropping on one knee, said: "do i not know my mind?
look at me!"
they looked uneasily, and when their eyes wandered, he called them back again and again, till their hair stood up all over their bodies, and they trembled in every limb, while mowgli stared and stared.
""now," said he, "of us five, which is leader?"
""thou art leader, little brother," said gray brother, and he licked mowgli's foot.
""follow, then," said mowgli, and the four followed at his heels with their tails between their legs.
""this comes of living with the man-pack," said bagheera, slipping down after them.
""there is more in the jungle now than jungle law, baloo."
the old bear said nothing, but he thought many things.
mowgli cut across noiselessly through the jungle, at right angles to buldeo's path, till, parting the undergrowth, he saw the old man, his musket on his shoulder, running up the trail of overnight at a dog-trot.
you will remember that mowgli had left the village with the heavy weight of shere khan's raw hide on his shoulders, while akela and gray brother trotted behind, so that the triple trail was very clearly marked.
presently buldeo came to where akela, as you know, had gone back and mixed it all up.
then he sat down, and coughed and grunted, and made little casts round and about into the jungle to pick it up again, and, all the time he could have thrown a stone over those who were watching him.
no one can be so silent as a wolf when he does not care to be heard; and mowgli, though the wolves thought he moved very clumsily, could come and go like a shadow.
they ringed the old man as a school of porpoises ring a steamer at full speed, and as they ringed him they talked unconcernedly, for their speech began below the lowest end of the scale that untrained human beings can hear.
-lsb- the other end is bounded by the high squeak of mang, the bat, which very many people can not catch at all.
from that note all the bird and bat and insect talk takes on. -rsb-
""this is better than any kill," said gray brother, as buldeo stooped and peered and puffed.
""he looks like a lost pig in the jungles by the river.
what does he say?"
buldeo was muttering savagely.
mowgli translated.
""he says that packs of wolves must have danced round me.
he says that he never saw such a trail in his life.
he says he is tired."
""he will be rested before he picks it up again," said bagheera coolly, as he slipped round a tree-trunk, in the game of blindman's - buff that they were playing.
""now, what does the lean thing do?"
""eat or blow smoke out of his mouth.
men always play with their mouths," said mowgli; and the silent trailers saw the old man fill and light and puff at a water-pipe, and they took good note of the smell of the tobacco, so as to be sure of buldeo in the darkest night, if necessary.
then a little knot of charcoal-burners came down the path, and naturally halted to speak to buldeo, whose fame as a hunter reached for at least twenty miles round.
they all sat down and smoked, and bagheera and the others came up and watched while buldeo began to tell the story of mowgli, the devil-child, from one end to another, with additions and inventions.
how he himself had really killed shere khan; and how mowgli had turned himself into a wolf, and fought with him all the afternoon, and changed into a boy again and bewitched buldeo's rifle, so that the bullet turned the corner, when he pointed it at mowgli, and killed one of buldeo's own buffaloes; and how the village, knowing him to be the bravest hunter in seeonee, had sent him out to kill this devil-child.
but meantime the village had got hold of messua and her husband, who were undoubtedly the father and mother of this devil-child, and had barricaded them in their own hut, and presently would torture them to make them confess they were witch and wizard, and then they would be burned to death.
""when?"
said the charcoal-burners, because they would very much like to be present at the ceremony.
buldeo said that nothing would be done till he returned, because the village wished him to kill the jungle boy first.
after that they would dispose of messua and her husband, and divide their lands and buffaloes among the village.
messua's husband had some remarkably fine buffaloes, too.
it was an excellent thing to destroy wizards, buldeo thought; and people who entertained wolf-children out of the jungle were clearly the worst kind of witches.
but, said the charcoal-burners, what would happen if the english heard of it?
the english, they had heard, were a perfectly mad people, who would not let honest farmers kill witches in peace.
why, said buldeo, the head-man of the village would report that messua and her husband had died of snake-bite.
that was all arranged, and the only thing now was to kill the wolf-child.
they did not happen to have seen anything of such a creature?
the charcoal-burners looked round cautiously, and thanked their stars they had not; but they had no doubt that so brave a man as buldeo would find him if any one could.
the sun was getting rather low, and they had an idea that they would push on to buldeo's village and see that wicked witch.
buldeo said that, though it was his duty to kill the devil-child, he could not think of letting a party of unarmed men go through the jungle, which might produce the wolf-demon at any minute, without his escort.
he, therefore, would accompany them, and if the sorcerer's child appeared -- well, he would show them how the best hunter in seeonee dealt with such things.
the brahmin, he said, had given him a charm against the creature that made everything perfectly safe.
""what says he?
what says he?
what says he?"
the wolves repeated every few minutes; and mowgli translated until he came to the witch part of the story, which was a little beyond him, and then he said that the man and woman who had been so kind to him were trapped.
""does man trap man?"
said bagheera.
""so he says.
i can not understand the talk.
they are all mad together.
what have messua and her man to do with me that they should be put in a trap; and what is all this talk about the red flower?
i must look to this.
whatever they would do to messua they will not do till buldeo returns.
and so --" mowgli thought hard, with his fingers playing round the haft of the skinning-knife, while buldeo and the charcoal-burners went off very valiantly in single file.
""i go hot-foot back to the man-pack," mowgli said at last.
""and those?"
said gray brother, looking hungrily after the brown backs of the charcoal-burners.
""sing them home," said mowgli, with a grin; "i do not wish them to be at the village gates till it is dark.
can ye hold them?"
gray brother bared his white teeth in contempt.
""we can head them round and round in circles like tethered goats -- if i know man."
""that i do not need.
sing to them a little, lest they be lonely on the road, and, gray brother, the song need not be of the sweetest.
go with them, bagheera, and help make that song.
when night is shut down, meet me by the village -- gray brother knows the place."
""it is no light hunting to work for a man-cub.
when shall i sleep?"
said bagheera, yawning, though his eyes showed that he was delighted with the amusement.
""me to sing to naked men!
but let us try."
he lowered his head so that the sound would travel, and cried a long, long, "good hunting" -- a midnight call in the afternoon, which was quite awful enough to begin with.
mowgli heard it rumble, and rise, and fall, and die off in a creepy sort of whine behind him, and laughed to himself as he ran through the jungle.
he could see the charcoal-burners huddled in a knot; old buldeo's gun-barrel waving, like a banana-leaf, to every point of the compass at once.
then gray brother gave the ya-la-hi!
yalaha!
call for the buck-driving, when the pack drives the nilghai, the big blue cow, before them, and it seemed to come from the very ends of the earth, nearer, and nearer, and nearer, till it ended in a shriek snapped off short.
the other three answered, till even mowgli could have vowed that the full pack was in full cry, and then they all broke into the magnificent morning-song in the jungle, with every turn, and flourish, and grace-note that a deep-mouthed wolf of the pack knows.
this is a rough rendering of the song, but you must imagine what it sounds like when it breaks the afternoon hush of the jungle: -- one moment past our bodies cast no shadow on the plain; now clear and black they stride our track, and we run home again.
in morning hush, each rock and bush stands hard, and high, and raw: then give the call: "good rest to all that keep the jungle law!"
now horn and pelt our peoples melt in covert to abide; now, crouched and still, to cave and hill our jungle barons glide.
now, stark and plain, man's oxen strain, that draw the new-yoked plough; now, stripped and dread, the dawn is red above the lit talao.
ho!
get to lair!
the sun's aflare behind the breathing grass: and cracking through the young bamboo the warning whispers pass.
by day made strange, the woods we range with blinking eyes we scan; while down the skies the wild duck cries "the day -- the day to man!"
the dew is dried that drenched our hide or washed about our way; and where we drank, the puddled bank is crisping into clay.
the traitor dark gives up each mark of stretched or hooded claw; then hear the call: "good rest to all that keep the jungle law!"
but no translation can give the effect of it, or the yelping scorn the four threw into every word of it, as they heard the trees crash when the men hastily climbed up into the branches, and buldeo began repeating incantations and charms.
then they lay down and slept, for, like all who live by their own exertions, they were of a methodical cast of mind; and no one can work well without sleep.
meantime, mowgli was putting the miles behind him, nine to the hour, swinging on, delighted to find himself so fit after all his cramped months among men.
the one idea in his head was to get messua and her husband out of the trap, whatever it was; for he had a natural mistrust of traps.
later on, he promised himself, he would pay his debts to the village at large.
it was at twilight when he saw the well-remembered grazing-grounds, and the dhak-tree where gray brother had waited for him on the morning that he killed shere khan.
angry as he was at the whole breed and community of man, something jumped up in his throat and made him catch his breath when he looked at the village roofs.
he noticed that every one had come in from the fields unusually early, and that, instead of getting to their evening cooking, they gathered in a crowd under the village tree, and chattered, and shouted.
""men must always be making traps for men, or they are not content," said mowgli.
""last night it was mowgli -- but that night seems many rains ago.
to-night it is messua and her man.
to-morrow, and for very many nights after, it will be mowgli's turn again."
he crept along outside the wall till he came to messua's hut, and looked through the window into the room.
there lay messua, gagged, and bound hand and foot, breathing hard, and groaning: her husband was tied to the gaily-painted bedstead.
the door of the hut that opened into the street was shut fast, and three or four people were sitting with their backs to it.
mowgli knew the manners and customs of the villagers very fairly.
he argued that so long as they could eat, and talk, and smoke, they would not do anything else; but as soon as they had fed they would begin to be dangerous.
buldeo would be coming in before long, and if his escort had done its duty, buldeo would have a very interesting tale to tell.
so he went in through the window, and, stooping over the man and the woman, cut their thongs, pulling out the gags, and looked round the hut for some milk.
messua was half wild with pain and fear -lrb- she had been beaten and stoned all the morning -rrb-, and mowgli put his hand over her mouth just in time to stop a scream.
her husband was only bewildered and angry, and sat picking dust and things out of his torn beard.
""i knew -- i knew he would come," messua sobbed at last.
""now do i know that he is my son!"
and she hugged mowgli to her heart.
up to that time mowgli had been perfectly steady, but now he began to tremble all over, and that surprised him immensely.
""why are these thongs?
why have they tied thee?"
he asked, after a pause.
""to be put to the death for making a son of thee -- what else?"
said the man sullenly.
""look!
i bleed."
messua said nothing, but it was at her wounds that mowgli looked, and they heard him grit his teeth when he saw the blood.
""whose work is this?"
said he.
""there is a price to pay."
""the work of all the village.
i was too rich.
i had too many cattle.
therefore she and i are witches, because we gave thee shelter."
""i do not understand.
let messua tell the tale."
""i gave thee milk, nathoo; dost thou remember?"
messua said timidly.
""because thou wast my son, whom the tiger took, and because i loved thee very dearly.
they said that i was thy mother, the mother of a devil, and therefore worthy of death."
""and what is a devil?"
said mowgli.
""death i have seen."
the man looked up gloomily, but messua laughed.
""see!"
she said to her husband, "i knew -- i said that he was no sorcerer.
he is my son -- my son!"
""son or sorcerer, what good will that do us?"
the man answered.
""we be as dead already."
""yonder is the road to the jungle" -- mowgli pointed through the window.
""your hands and feet are free.
go now."
""we do not know the jungle, my son, as -- as thou knowest," messua began.
""i do not think that i could walk far."
""and the men and women would be upon our backs and drag us here again," said the husband.
""h'm!"
said mowgli, and he tickled the palm of his hand with the tip of his skinning-knife; "i have no wish to do harm to any one of this village -- yet.
but i do not think they will stay thee.
in a little while they will have much else to think upon.
ah!"
he lifted his head and listened to shouting and trampling outside.
""so they have let buldeo come home at last?"
""he was sent out this morning to kill thee," messua cried.
""didst thou meet him?"
""yes -- we -- i met him.
he has a tale to tell and while he is telling it there is time to do much.
but first i will learn what they mean.
think where ye would go, and tell me when i come back."
he bounded through the window and ran along again outside the wall of the village till he came within ear-shot of the crowd round the peepul-tree.
buldeo was lying on the ground, coughing and groaning, and every one was asking him questions.
his hair had fallen about his shoulders; his hands and legs were skinned from climbing up trees, and he could hardly speak, but he felt the importance of his position keenly.
from time to time he said something about devils and singing devils, and magic enchantment, just to give the crowd a taste of what was coming.
then he called for water.
""bah!"
said mowgli.
""chatter -- chatter!
talk, talk!
men are blood-brothers of the bandar-log.
now he must wash his mouth with water; now he must blow smoke; and when all that is done he has still his story to tell.
they are very wise people -- men.
they will leave no one to guard messua till their ears are stuffed with buldeo's tales.
and -- i grow as lazy as they!"
he shook himself and glided back to the hut.
just as he was at the window he felt a touch on his foot.
""mother," said he, for he knew that tongue well, "what dost thou here?"
""i heard my children singing through the woods, and i followed the one i loved best.
little frog, i have a desire to see that woman who gave thee milk," said mother wolf, all wet with the dew.
""they have bound and mean to kill her.
i have cut those ties, and she goes with her man through the jungle."
""i also will follow.
i am old, but not yet toothless."
mother wolf reared herself up on end, and looked through the window into the dark of the hut.
in a minute she dropped noiselessly, and all she said was: "i gave thee thy first milk; but bagheera speaks truth: man goes to man at the last."
""maybe," said mowgli, with a very unpleasant look on his face; "but to-night i am very far from that trail.
wait here, but do not let her see."
""thou wast never afraid of me, little frog," said mother wolf, backing into the high grass, and blotting herself out, as she knew how.
""and now," said mowgli cheerfully, as he swung into the hut again, "they are all sitting round buldeo, who is saying that which did not happen.
when his talk is finished, they say they will assuredly come here with the red -- with fire and burn you both.
and then?"
""i have spoken to my man," said messua.
""khanhiwara is thirty miles from here, but at khanhiwara we may find the english --" "and what pack are they?"
said mowgli.
""i do not know.
they be white, and it is said that they govern all the land, and do not suffer people to burn or beat each other without witnesses.
if we can get thither to-night, we live.
otherwise we die."
""live, then.
no man passes the gates to-night.
but what does he do?"
messua's husband was on his hands and knees digging up the earth in one corner of the hut.
""it is his little money," said messua.
""we can take nothing else."
""ah, yes.
the stuff that passes from hand to hand and never grows warmer.
do they need it outside this place also?"
said mowgli.
the man stared angrily.
""he is a fool, and no devil," he muttered.
""with the money i can buy a horse.
we are too bruised to walk far, and the village will follow us in an hour."
""i say they will not follow till i choose; but a horse is well thought of, for messua is tired."
her husband stood up and knotted the last of the rupees into his waist-cloth.
mowgli helped messua through the window, and the cool night air revived her, but the jungle in the starlight looked very dark and terrible.
""ye know the trail to khanhiwara?"
mowgli whispered.
they nodded.
""good.
remember, now, not to be afraid.
and there is no need to go quickly.
only -- only there may be some small singing in the jungle behind you and before."
""think you we would have risked a night in the jungle through anything less than the fear of burning?
it is better to be killed by beasts than by men," said messua's husband; but messua looked at mowgli and smiled.
""i say," mowgli went on, just as though he were baloo repeating an old jungle law for the hundredth time to a foolish cub -- "i say that not a tooth in the jungle is bared against you; not a foot in the jungle is lifted against you.
neither man nor beast shall stay you till you come within eye-shot of khanhiwara.
there will be a watch about you."
he turned quickly to messua, saying, "he does not believe, but thou wilt believe?"
""ay, surely, my son.
man, ghost, or wolf of the jungle, i believe."
""he will be afraid when he hears my people singing.
thou wilt know and understand.
go now, and slowly, for there is no need of any haste.
the gates are shut."
messua flung herself sobbing at mowgli's feet, but he lifted her very quickly with a shiver.
then she hung about his neck and called him every name of blessing she could think of, but her husband looked enviously across his fields, and said: "if we reach khanhiwara, and i get the ear of the english, i will bring such a lawsuit against the brahmin and old buldeo and the others as shall eat the village to the bone.
they shall pay me twice over for my crops untilled and my buffaloes unfed.
i will have a great justice."
mowgli laughed.
""i do not know what justice is, but -- come next rains.
and see what is left."
they went off toward the jungle, and mother wolf leaped from her place of hiding.
""follow!"
said mowgli; "and look to it that all the jungle knows these two are safe.
give tongue a little.
i would call bagheera."
the long, low howl rose and fell, and mowgli saw messua's husband flinch and turn, half minded to run back to the hut.
""go on," mowgli called cheerfully.
""i said there might be singing.
that call will follow up to khanhiwara.
it is favour of the jungle."
messua urged her husband forward, and the darkness shut down on them and mother wolf as bagheera rose up almost under mowgli's feet, trembling with delight of the night that drives the jungle people wild.
""i am ashamed of thy brethren," he said, purring.
""what?
did they not sing sweetly to buldeo?"
said mowgli.
""too well!
too well!
they made even me forget my pride, and, by the broken lock that freed me, i went singing through the jungle as though i were out wooing in the spring!
didst thou not hear us?"
""i had other game afoot.
ask buldeo if he liked the song.
but where are the four?
i do not wish one of the man-pack to leave the gates to-night."
""what need of the four, then?"
said bagheera, shifting from foot to foot, his eyes ablaze, and purring louder than ever.
""i can hold them, little brother.
is it killing at last?
the singing and the sight of the men climbing up the trees have made me very ready.
who is man that we should care for him -- the naked brown digger, the hairless and toothless, the eater of earth?
i have followed him all day -- at noon -- in the white sunlight.
i herded him as the wolves herd buck.
i am bagheera!
bagheera!
bagheera!
as i dance with my shadow, so danced i with those men.
look!"
the great panther leaped as a kitten leaps at a dead leaf whirling overhead, struck left and right into the empty air, that sang under the strokes, landed noiselessly, and leaped again and again, while the half purr, half growl gathered head as steam rumbles in a boiler.
""i am bagheera -- in the jungle -- in the night, and my strength is in me.
who shall stay my stroke?
man-cub, with one blow of my paw i could beat thy head flat as a dead frog in the summer!"
""strike, then!"
said mowgli, in the dialect of the village, not the talk of the jungle, and the human words brought bagheera to a full stop, flung back on haunches that quivered under him, his head just at the level of mowgli's.
once more mowgli stared, as he had stared at the rebellious cubs, full into the beryl-green eyes till the red glare behind their green went out like the light of a lighthouse shut off twenty miles across the sea; till the eyes dropped, and the big head with them -- dropped lower and lower, and the red rasp of a tongue grated on mowgli's instep.
""brother -- brother -- brother!"
the boy whispered, stroking steadily and lightly from the neck along the heaving back.
""be still, be still!
it is the fault of the night, and no fault of thine."
""it was the smells of the night," said bagheera penitently.
""this air cries aloud to me.
but how dost thou know?"
of course the air round an indian village is full of all kinds of smells, and to any creature who does nearly all his thinking through his nose, smells are as maddening as music and drugs are to human beings.
mowgli gentled the panther for a few minutes longer, and he lay down like a cat before a fire, his paws tucked under his breast, and his eyes half shut.
""thou art of the jungle and not of the jungle," he said at last.
""and i am only a black panther.
but i love thee, little brother."
""they are very long at their talk under the tree," mowgli said, without noticing the last sentence.
""buldeo must have told many tales.
they should come soon to drag the woman and her man out of the trap and put them into the red flower.
they will find that trap sprung.
ho!
ho!"
""nay, listen," said bagheera.
""the fever is out of my blood now.
let them find me there!
few would leave their houses after meeting me.
it is not the first time i have been in a cage; and i do not think they will tie me with cords."
""be wise, then," said mowgli, laughing; for he was beginning to feel as reckless as the panther, who had glided into the hut.
""pah!"
bagheera grunted.
""this place is rank with man, but here is just such a bed as they gave me to lie upon in the king's cages at oodeypore.
now i lie down."
mowgli heard the strings of the cot crack under the great brute's weight.
""by the broken lock that freed me, they will think they have caught big game!
come and sit beside me, little brother; we will give them "good hunting" together!"
""no; i have another thought in my stomach.
the man-pack shall not know what share i have in the sport.
make thine own hunt.
i do not wish to see them."
""be it so," said bagheera.
""ah, now they come!"
the conference under the peepul-tree had been growing noisier and noisier, at the far end of the village.
it broke in wild yells, and a rush up the street of men and women, waving clubs and bamboos and sickles and knives.
buldeo and the brahmin were at the head of it, but the mob was close at their heels, and they cried, "the witch and the wizard!
let us see if hot coins will make them confess!
burn the hut over their heads!
we will teach them to shelter wolf-devils!
nay, beat them first!
torches!
more torches!
buldeo, heat the gun-barrels!"
here was some little difficulty with the catch of the door.
it had been very firmly fastened, but the crowd tore it away bodily, and the light of the torches streamed into the room where, stretched at full length on the bed, his paws crossed and lightly hung down over one end, black as the pit, and terrible as a demon, was bagheera.
there was one half-minute of desperate silence, as the front ranks of the crowd clawed and tore their way back from the threshold, and in that minute bagheera raised his head and yawned -- elaborately, carefully, and ostentatiously -- as he would yawn when he wished to insult an equal.
the fringed lips drew back and up; the red tongue curled; the lower jaw dropped and dropped till you could see half-way down the hot gullet; and the gigantic dog-teeth stood clear to the pit of the gums till they rang together, upper and under, with the snick of steel-faced wards shooting home round the edges of a safe.
next instant the street was empty; bagheera had leaped back through the window, and stood at mowgli's side, while a yelling, screaming torrent scrambled and tumbled one over another in their panic haste to get to their own huts.
""they will not stir till day comes," said bagheera quietly.
""and now?"
the silence of the afternoon sleep seemed to have overtaken the village; but, as they listened, they could hear the sound of heavy grain-boxes being dragged over earthen floors and set down against doors.
bagheera was quite right; the village would not stir till daylight.
mowgli sat still, and thought, and his face grew darker and darker.
""what have i done?"
said bagheera, at last coming to his feet, fawning.
""nothing but great good.
watch them now till the day.
i sleep."
mowgli ran off into the jungle, and dropped like a dead man across a rock, and slept and slept the day round, and the night back again.
when he waked, bagheera was at his side, and there was a newly-killed buck at his feet.
bagheera watched curiously while mowgli went to work with his skinning-knife, ate and drank, and turned over with his chin in his hands.
""the man and the woman are come safe within eye-shot of khanhiwara," bagheera said.
""thy lair mother sent the word back by chil, the kite.
they found a horse before midnight of the night they were freed, and went very quickly.
is not that well?"
""that is well," said mowgli.
""and thy man-pack in the village did not stir till the sun was high this morning.
then they ate their food and ran back quickly to their houses."
""did they, by chance, see thee?"
""it may have been.
i was rolling in the dust before the gate at dawn, and i may have made also some small song to myself.
now, little brother, there is nothing more to do.
come hunting with me and baloo.
he has new hives that he wishes to show, and we all desire thee back again as of old.
take off that look which makes even me afraid!
the man and woman will not be put into the red flower, and all goes well in the jungle.
is it not true?
let us forget the man-pack."
""they shall be forgotten in a little while.
where does hathi feed to-night?"
""where he chooses.
who can answer for the silent one?
but why?
what is there hathi can do which we can not?"
""bid him and his three sons come here to me."
""but, indeed, and truly, little brother, it is not -- it is not seemly to say "come," and "go," to hathi.
remember, he is the master of the jungle, and before the man-pack changed the look on thy face, he taught thee the master-words of the jungle."
""that is all one.
i have a master-word for him now.
bid him come to mowgli, the frog: and if he does not hear at first, bid him come because of the sack of the fields of bhurtpore."
""the sack of the fields of bhurtpore," bagheera repeated two or three times to make sure.
""i go.
hathi can but be angry at the worst, and i would give a moon's hunting to hear a master-word that compels the silent one."
he went away, leaving mowgli stabbing furiously with his skinning-knife into the earth.
mowgli had never seen human blood in his life before till he had seen, and -- what meant much more to him -- smelled messua's blood on the thongs that bound her.
and messua had been kind to him, and, so far as he knew anything about love, he loved messua as completely as he hated the rest of mankind.
but deeply as he loathed them, their talk, their cruelty, and their cowardice, not for anything the jungle had to offer could he bring himself to take a human life, and have that terrible scent of blood back again in his nostrils.
his plan was simpler, but much more thorough; and he laughed to himself when he thought that it was one of old buldeo's tales told under the peepul-tree in the evening that had put the idea into his head.
""it was a master-word," bagheera whispered in his ear.
""they were feeding by the river, and they obeyed as though they were bullocks.
look where they come now!"
hathi and his three sons had arrived, in their usual way, without a sound.
the mud of the river was still fresh on their flanks, and hathi was thoughtfully chewing the green stem of a young plantain-tree that he had gouged up with his tusks.
but every line in his vast body showed to bagheera, who could see things when he came across them, that it was not the master of the jungle speaking to a man-cub, but one who was afraid coming before one who was not.
his three sons rolled side by side, behind their father.
mowgli hardly lifted his head as hathi gave him "good hunting."
he kept him swinging and rocking, and shifting from one foot to another, for a long time before he spoke; and when he opened his mouth it was to bagheera, not to the elephants.
""i will tell a tale that was told to me by the hunter ye hunted to-day," said mowgli.
""it concerns an elephant, old and wise, who fell into a trap, and the sharpened stake in the pit scarred him from a little above his heel to the crest of his shoulder, leaving a white mark."
mowgli threw out his hand, and as hathi wheeled the moonlight showed a long white scar on his slaty side, as though he had been struck with a red-hot whip.
""men came to take him from the trap," mowgli continued, "but he broke his ropes, for he was strong, and went away till his wound was healed.
then came he, angry, by night to the fields of those hunters.
and i remember now that he had three sons.
these things happened many, many rains ago, and very far away -- among the fields of bhurtpore.
what came to those fields at the next reaping, hathi?"
""they were reaped by me and by my three sons," said hathi.
""and to the ploughing that follows the reaping?"
said mowgli.
""there was no ploughing," said hathi.
""and to the men that live by the green crops on the ground?"
said mowgli.
""they went away."
""and to the huts in which the men slept?"
said mowgli.
""we tore the roofs to pieces, and the jungle swallowed up the walls," said hathi.
""and what more?"
said mowgli.
""as much good ground as i can walk over in two nights from the east to the west, and from the north to the south as much as i can walk over in three nights, the jungle took.
we let in the jungle upon five villages; and in those villages, and in their lands, the grazing-ground and the soft crop-grounds, there is not one man to-day who takes his food from the ground.
that was the sack of the fields of bhurtpore, which i and my three sons did; and now i ask, man-cub, how the news of it came to thee?"
said hathi.
""a man told me, and now i see even buldeo can speak truth.
it was well done, hathi with the white mark; but the second time it shall be done better, for the reason that there is a man to direct.
thou knowest the village of the man-pack that cast me out?
they are idle, senseless, and cruel; they play with their mouths, and they do not kill the weaker for food, but for sport.
when they are full-fed they would throw their own breed into the red flower.
this i have seen.
it is not well that they should live here any more.
i hate them!"
""kill, then," said the youngest of hathi's three sons, picking up a tuft of grass, dusting it against his fore-legs, and throwing it away, while his little red eyes glanced furtively from side to side.
""what good are white bones to me?"
mowgli answered angrily.
""am i the cub of a wolf to play in the sun with a raw head?
i have killed shere khan, and his hide rots on the council rock; but -- but i do not know whither shere khan is gone, and my stomach is still empty.
now i will take that which i can see and touch.
let in the jungle upon that village, hathi!"
bagheera shivered, and cowered down.
he could understand, if the worst came to the worst, a quick rush down the village street, and a right and left blow into a crowd, or a crafty killing of men as they ploughed in the twilight; but this scheme for deliberately blotting out an entire village from the eyes of man and beast frightened him.
now he saw why mowgli had sent for hathi.
no one but the long-lived elephant could plan and carry through such a war.
""let them run as the men ran from the fields of bhurtpore, till we have the rain-water for the only plough, and the noise of the rain on the thick leaves for the pattering of their spindles -- till bagheera and i lair in the house of the brahmin, and the buck drink at the tank behind the temple!
let in the jungle, hathi!"
""but i -- but we have no quarrel with them, and it needs the red rage of great pain ere we tear down the places where men sleep," said hathi doubtfully.
""are ye the only eaters of grass in the jungle?
drive in your peoples.
let the deer and the pig and the nilghai look to it.
ye need never show a hand's - breadth of hide till the fields are naked.
let in the jungle, hathi!"
""there will be no killing?
my tusks were red at the sack of the fields of bhurtpore, and i would not wake that smell again."
""nor i. i do not wish even their bones to lie on the clean earth.
let them go and find a fresh lair.
they can not stay here.
i have seen and smelled the blood of the woman that gave me food -- the woman whom they would have killed but for me.
only the smell of the new grass on their door-steps can take away that smell.
it burns in my mouth.
let in the jungle, hathi!"
""ah!"
said hathi.
""so did the scar of the stake burn on my hide till we watched the villages die under in the spring growth.
now i see.
thy war shall be our war.
we will let in the jungle!"
mowgli had hardly time to catch his breath -- he was shaking all over with rage and hate before the place where the elephants had stood was empty, and bagheera was looking at him with terror.
""by the broken lock that freed me!"
said the black panther at last.
""art thou the naked thing i spoke for in the pack when all was young?
master of the jungle, when my strength goes, speak for me -- speak for baloo -- speak for us all!
we are cubs before thee!
snapped twigs under foot!
fawns that have lost their doe!"
the idea of bagheera being a stray fawn upset mowgli altogether, and he laughed and caught his breath, and sobbed and laughed again, till he had to jump into a pool to make himself stop.
then he swam round and round, ducking in and out of the bars of the moonlight like the frog, his namesake.
by this time hathi and his three sons had turned, each to one point of the compass, and were striding silently down the valleys a mile away.
they went on and on for two days" march -- that is to say, a long sixty miles -- through the jungle; and every step they took, and every wave of their trunks, was known and noted and talked over by mang and chil and the monkey people and all the birds.
then they began to feed, and fed quietly for a week or so.
hathi and his sons are like kaa, the rock python.
they never hurry till they have to.
at the end of that time -- and none knew who had started it -- a rumour went through the jungle that there was better food and water to be found in such and such a valley.
the pig -- who, of course, will go to the ends of the earth for a full meal -- moved first by companies, scuffling over the rocks, and the deer followed, with the small wild foxes that live on the dead and dying of the herds; and the heavy-shouldered nilghai moved parallel with the deer, and the wild buffaloes of the swamps came after the nilghai.
the least little thing would have turned the scattered, straggling droves that grazed and sauntered and drank and grazed again; but whenever there was an alarm some one would rise up and soothe them.
at one time it would be ikki the porcupine, full of news of good feed just a little farther on; at another mang would cry cheerily and flap down a glade to show it was all empty; or baloo, his mouth full of roots, would shamble alongside a wavering line and half frighten, half romp it clumsily back to the proper road.
very many creatures broke back or ran away or lost interest, but very many were left to go forward.
at the end of another ten days or so the situation was this.
the deer and the pig and the nilghai were milling round and round in a circle of eight or ten miles radius, while the eaters of flesh skirmished round its edge.
and the centre of that circle was the village, and round the village the crops were ripening, and in the crops sat men on what they call machans -- platforms like pigeon-perches, made of sticks at the top of four poles -- to scare away birds and other stealers.
then the deer were coaxed no more.
the eaters of flesh were close behind them, and forced them forward and inward.
it was a dark night when hathi and his three sons slipped down from the jungle, and broke off the poles of the machans with their trunks; they fell as a snapped stalk of hemlock in bloom falls, and the men that tumbled from them heard the deep gurgling of the elephants in their ears.
then the vanguard of the bewildered armies of the deer broke down and flooded into the village grazing-grounds and the ploughed fields; and the sharp-hoofed, rooting wild pig came with them, and what the deer left the pig spoiled, and from time to time an alarm of wolves would shake the herds, and they would rush to and fro desperately, treading down the young barley, and cutting flat the banks of the irrigating channels.
before the dawn broke the pressure on the outside of the circle gave way at one point.
the eaters of flesh had fallen back and left an open path to the south, and drove upon drove of buck fled along it.
others, who were bolder, lay up in the thickets to finish their meal next night.
but the work was practically done.
when the villagers looked in the morning they saw their crops were lost.
and that meant death if they did not get away, for they lived year in and year out as near to starvation as the jungle was near to them.
when the buffaloes were sent to graze the hungry brutes found that the deer had cleared the grazing-grounds, and so wandered into the jungle and drifted off with their wild mates; and when twilight fell the three or four ponies that belonged to the village lay in their stables with their heads beaten in.
only bagheera could have given those strokes, and only bagheera would have thought of insolently dragging the last carcass to the open street.
the villagers had no heart to make fires in the fields that night, so hathi and his three sons went gleaning among what was left; and where hathi gleans there is no need to follow.
the men decided to live on their stored seed-corn until the rains had fallen, and then to take work as servants till they could catch up with the lost year; but as the grain-dealer was thinking of his well-filled crates of corn, and the prices he would levy at the sale of it, hathi's sharp tusks were picking out the corner of his mud-house, and smashing open the big wicker chest, leeped with cow-dung, where the precious stuff lay.
when that last loss was discovered, it was the brahmin's turn to speak.
he had prayed to his own gods without answer.
it might be, he said, that, unconsciously, the village had offended some one of the gods of the jungle, for, beyond doubt, the jungle was against them.
so they sent for the head-man of the nearest tribe of wandering gonds -- little, wise, and very black hunters, living in the deep jungle, whose fathers came of the oldest race in india -- the aboriginal owners of the land.
they made the gond welcome with what they had, and he stood on one leg, his bow in his hand, and two or three poisoned arrows stuck through his top-knot, looking half afraid and half contemptuously at the anxious villagers and their ruined fields.
they wished to know whether his gods -- the old gods -- were angry with them and what sacrifices should be offered.
the gond said nothing, but picked up a trail of the karela, the vine that bears the bitter wild gourd, and laced it to and fro across the temple door in the face of the staring red hindu image.
then he pushed with his hand in the open air along the road to khanhiwara, and went back to his jungle, and watched the jungle people drifting through it.
he knew that when the jungle moves only white men can hope to turn it aside.
there was no need to ask his meaning.
the wild gourd would grow where they had worshipped their god, and the sooner they saved themselves the better.
but it is hard to tear a village from its moorings.
they stayed on as long as any summer food was left to them, and they tried to gather nuts in the jungle, but shadows with glaring eyes watched them, and rolled before them even at mid-day; and when they ran back afraid to their walls, on the tree-trunks they had passed not five minutes before the bark would be stripped and chiselled with the stroke of some great taloned paw.
the more they kept to their village, the bolder grew the wild things that gambolled and bellowed on the grazing-grounds by the waingunga.
they had no time to patch and plaster the rear walls of the empty byres that backed on to the jungle; the wild pig trampled them down, and the knotty-rooted vines hurried after and threw their elbows over the new-won ground, and the coarse grass bristled behind the vines like the lances of a goblin army following a retreat.
the unmarried men ran away first, and carried the news far and near that the village was doomed.
who could fight, they said, against the jungle, or the gods of the jungle, when the very village cobra had left his hole in the platform under the peepul-tree?
so their little commerce with the outside world shrunk as the trodden paths across the open grew fewer and fainter.
at last the nightly trumpetings of hathi and his three sons ceased to trouble them; for they had no more to be robbed of.
the crop on the ground and the seed in the ground had been taken.
the outlying fields were already losing their shape, and it was time to throw themselves on the charity of the english at khanhiwara.
native fashion, they delayed their departure from one day to another till the first rains caught them and the unmended roofs let in a flood, and the grazing-ground stood ankle deep, and all life came on with a rush after the heat of the summer.
then they waded out -- men, women, and children -- through the blinding hot rain of the morning, but turned naturally for one farewell look at their homes.
they heard, as the last burdened family filed through the gate, a crash of falling beams and thatch behind the walls.
they saw a shiny, snaky black trunk lifted for an instant, scattering sodden thatch.
it disappeared, and there was another crash, followed by a squeal.
hathi had been plucking off the roofs of the huts as you pluck water-lilies, and a rebounding beam had pricked him.
he needed only this to unchain his full strength, for of all things in the jungle the wild elephant enraged is the most wantonly destructive.
he kicked backward at a mud wall that crumbled at the stroke, and, crumbling, melted to yellow mud under the torrent of rain.
then he wheeled and squealed, and tore through the narrow streets, leaning against the huts right and left, shivering the crazy doors, and crumpling up the caves; while his three sons raged behind as they had raged at the sack of the fields of bhurtpore.
""the jungle will swallow these shells," said a quiet voice in the wreckage.
""it is the outer wall that must lie down," and mowgli, with the rain sluicing over his bare shoulders and arms, leaped back from a wall that was settling like a tired buffalo.
""all in good time," panted hathi.
""oh, but my tusks were red at bhurtpore; to the outer wall, children!
with the head!
together!
now!"
the four pushed side by side; the outer wall bulged, split, and fell, and the villagers, dumb with horror, saw the savage, clay-streaked heads of the wreckers in the ragged gap.
then they fled, houseless and foodless, down the valley, as their village, shredded and tossed and trampled, melted behind them.
a month later the place was a dimpled mound, covered with soft, green young stuff; and by the end of the rains there was the roaring jungle in full blast on the spot that had been under plough not six months before.
mowgli's song against people i will let loose against you the fleet-footed vines -- i will call in the jungle to stamp out your lines!
the roofs shall fade before it, the house-beams shall fall, and the karela, the bitter karela, shall cover it all!
in the gates of these your councils my people shall sing, in the doors of these your garners the bat-folk shall cling; and the snake shall be your watchman, by a hearthstone unswept; for the karela, the bitter karela, shall fruit where ye slept!
ye shall not see my strikers; ye shall hear them and guess; by night, before the moon-rise, i will send for my cess, and the wolf shall be your herdsman by a landmark removed, for the karela, the bitter karela, shall seed where ye loved!
i will reap your fields before you at the hands of a host; ye shall glean behind my reapers, for the bread that is lost, and the deer shall be your oxen by a headland untilled, for the karela, the bitter karela, shall leaf where ye build!
i have untied against you the club-footed vines, i have sent in the jungle to swamp out your lines.
the trees -- the trees are on you!
the house-beams shall fall, and the karela, the bitter karela, shall cover you all!
the undertakers when ye say to tabaqui, "my brother!"
when ye call the hyena to meat, ye may cry the full truce with jacala -- the belly that runs on four feet.
jungle law "respect the aged!"
""it was a thick voice -- a muddy voice that would have made you shudder -- a voice like something soft breaking in two.
there was a quaver in it, a croak and a whine.
""respect the aged!
o companions of the river -- respect the aged!"
nothing could be seen on the broad reach of the river except a little fleet of square-sailed, wooden-pinned barges, loaded with building-stone, that had just come under the railway bridge, and were driving down-stream.
they put their clumsy helms over to avoid the sand-bar made by the scour of the bridge-piers, and as they passed, three abreast, the horrible voice began again: "o brahmins of the river -- respect the aged and infirm!"
a boatman turned where he sat on the gunwale, lifted up his hand, said something that was not a blessing, and the boats creaked on through the twilight.
the broad indian river, that looked more like a chain of little lakes than a stream, was as smooth as glass, reflecting the sandy-red sky in mid-channel, but splashed with patches of yellow and dusky purple near and under the low banks.
little creeks ran into the river in the wet season, but now their dry mouths hung clear above water-line.
on the left shore, and almost under the railway bridge, stood a mud-and-brick and thatch-and-stick village, whose main street, full of cattle going back to their byres, ran straight to the river, and ended in a sort of rude brick pier-head, where people who wanted to wash could wade in step by step.
that was the ghaut of the village of mugger-ghaut.
night was falling fast over the fields of lentils and rice and cotton in the low-lying ground yearly flooded by the river; over the reeds that fringed the elbow of the bend, and the tangled jungle of the grazing-grounds behind the still reeds.
the parrots and crows, who had been chattering and shouting over their evening drink, had flown inland to roost, crossing the out-going battalions of the flying-foxes; and cloud upon cloud of water-birds came whistling and "honking" to the cover of the reed-beds.
there were geese, barrel-headed and black-backed, teal, widgeon, mallard, and sheldrake, with curlews, and here and there a flamingo.
a lumbering adjutant-crane brought up the rear, flying as though each slow stroke would be his last.
""respect the aged!
brahmins of the river -- respect the aged!"
the adjutant half turned his head, sheered a little in the direction of the voice, and landed stiffly on the sand-bar below the bridge.
then you saw what a ruffianly brute he really was.
his back view was immensely respectable, for he stood nearly six feet high, and looked rather like a very proper bald-headed parson.
in front it was different, for his ally sloper-like head and neck had not a feather to them, and there was a horrible raw-skin pouch on his neck under his chin -- a hold-all for the things his pick-axe beak might steal.
his legs were long and thin and skinny, but he moved them delicately, and looked at them with pride as he preened down his ashy-gray tail-feathers, glanced over the smooth of his shoulder, and stiffened into "stand at attention."
a mangy little jackal, who had been yapping hungrily on a low bluff, cocked up his ears and tail, and scuttered across the shallows to join the adjutant.
he was the lowest of his caste -- not that the best of jackals are good for much, but this one was peculiarly low, being half a beggar, half a criminal -- a cleaner-up of village rubbish-heaps, desperately timid or wildly bold, everlastingly hungry, and full of cunning that never did him any good.
""ugh!"
he said, shaking himself dolefully as he landed.
""may the red mange destroy the dogs of this village!
i have three bites for each flea upon me, and all because i looked -- only looked, mark you -- at an old shoe in a cow-byre.
can i eat mud?"
he scratched himself under his left ear.
""i heard," said the adjutant, in a voice like a blunt saw going through a thick board -- "i heard there was a new-born puppy in that same shoe."
""to hear is one thing; to know is another," said the jackal, who had a very fair knowledge of proverbs, picked up by listening to men round the village fires of an evening.
""quite true.
so, to make sure, i took care of that puppy while the dogs were busy elsewhere."
""they were very busy," said the jackal.
""well, i must not go to the village hunting for scraps yet awhile.
and so there truly was a blind puppy in that shoe?"
""it is here," said the adjutant, squinting over his beak at his full pouch.
""a small thing, but acceptable now that charity is dead in the world."
""ahai!
the world is iron in these days," wailed the jackal.
then his restless eye caught the least possible ripple on the water, and he went on quickly: "life is hard for us all, and i doubt not that even our excellent master, the pride of the ghaut and the envy of the river --" "a liar, a flatterer, and a jackal were all hatched out of the same egg," said the adjutant to nobody in particular; for he was rather a fine sort of a liar on his own account when he took the trouble.
""yes, the envy of the river," the jackal repeated, raising his voice.
""even he, i doubt not, finds that since the bridge has been built good food is more scarce.
but on the other hand, though i would by no means say this to his noble face, he is so wise and so virtuous -- as i, alas i am not --" "when the jackal owns he is gray, how black must the jackal be!"
muttered the adjutant.
he could not see what was coming.
""that his food never fails, and in consequence --" there was a soft grating sound, as though a boat had just touched in shoal water.
the jackal spun round quickly and faced -lrb- it is always best to face -rrb- the creature he had been talking about.
it was a twenty-four-foot crocodile, cased in what looked like treble-riveted boiler-plate, studded and keeled and crested; the yellow points of his upper teeth just overhanging his beautifully fluted lower jaw.
it was the blunt-nosed mugger of mugger-ghaut, older than any man in the village, who had given his name to the village; the demon of the ford before the railway bridge, came -- murderer, man-eater, and local fetish in one.
he lay with his chin in the shallows, keeping his place by an almost invisible rippling of his tail, and well the jackal knew that one stroke of that same tail in the water would carry the mugger up the bank with the rush of a steam-engine.
""auspiciously met, protector of the poor!"
he fawned, backing at every word.
""a delectable voice was heard, and we came in the hopes of sweet conversation.
my tailless presumption, while waiting here, led me, indeed, to speak of thee.
it is my hope that nothing was overheard."
now the jackal had spoken just to be listened to, for he knew flattery was the best way of getting things to eat, and the mugger knew that the jackal had spoken for this end, and the jackal knew that the mugger knew, and the mugger knew that the jackal knew that the mugger knew, and so they were all very contented together.
the old brute pushed and panted and grunted up the bank, mumbling, "respect the aged and infirm!"
and all the time his little eyes burned like coals under the heavy, horny eyelids on the top of his triangular head, as he shoved his bloated barrel-body along between his crutched legs.
then he settled down, and, accustomed as the jackal was to his ways, he could not help starting, for the hundredth time, when he saw how exactly the mugger imitated a log adrift on the bar.
he had even taken pains to lie at the exact angle a naturally stranded log would make with the water, having regard to the current of the season at the time and place.
all this was only a matter of habit, of course, because the mugger had come ashore for pleasure; but a crocodile is never quite full, and if the jackal had been deceived by the likeness he would not have lived to philosophise over it.
""my child, i heard nothing," said the mugger, shutting one eye.
""the water was in my ears, and also i was faint with hunger.
since the railway bridge was built my people at my village have ceased to love me; and that is breaking my heart."
""ah, shame!"
said the jackal.
""so noble a heart, too!
but men are all alike, to my mind."
""nay, there are very great differences indeed," the mugger answered gently.
""some are as lean as boat-poles.
others again are fat as young ja -- dogs.
never would i causelessly revile men.
they are of all fashions, but the long years have shown me that, one with another, they are very good.
men, women, and children -- i have no fault to find with them.
and remember, child, he who rebukes the world is rebuked by the world."
""flattery is worse than an empty tin can in the belly.
but that which we have just heard is wisdom," said the adjutant, bringing down one foot.
""consider, though, their ingratitude to this excellent one," began the jackal tenderly.
""nay, nay, not ingratitude!"
the mugger said.
""they do not think for others; that is all.
but i have noticed, lying at my station below the ford, that the stairs of the new bridge are cruelly hard to climb, both for old people and young children.
the old, indeed, are not so worthy of consideration, but i am grieved -- i am truly grieved -- on account of the fat children.
still, i think, in a little while, when the newness of the bridge has worn away, we shall see my people's bare brown legs bravely splashing through the ford as before.
then the old mugger will be honoured again."
""but surely i saw marigold wreaths floating off the edge of the ghaut only this noon," said the adjutant.
marigold wreaths are a sign of reverence all india over.
""an error -- an error.
it was the wife of the sweetmeat-seller.
she loses her eyesight year by year, and can not tell a log from me -- the mugger of the ghaut.
i saw the mistake when she threw the garland, for i was lying at the very foot of the ghaut, and had she taken another step i might have shown her some little difference.
yet she meant well, and we must consider the spirit of the offering."
""what good are marigold wreaths when one is on the rubbish-heap?"
said the jackal, hunting for fleas, but keeping one wary eye on his protector of the poor.
""true, but they have not yet begun to make the rubbish-heap that shall carry me.
five times have i seen the river draw back from the village and make new land at the foot of the street.
five times have i seen the village rebuilt on the banks, and i shall see it built yet five times more.
i am no faithless, fish-hunting gavial, i, at kasi to-day and prayag to-morrow, as the saying is, but the true and constant watcher of the ford.
it is not for nothing, child, that the village bears my name, and "he who watches long," as the saying is, "shall at last have his reward."""
i have watched long -- very long -- nearly all my life, and my reward has been bites and blows," said the jackal.
""ho!
ho!
ho!"
roared the adjutant.
""in august was the jackal born; the rains fell in september; "now such a fearful flood as this," says he," i ca n't remember!""
there is one very unpleasant peculiarity about the adjutant.
at uncertain times he suffers from acute attacks of the fidgets or cramp in his legs, and though he is more virtuous to behold than any of the cranes, who are all immensely respectable, he flies off into wild, cripple-stilt war-dances, half opening his wings and bobbing his bald head up and down; while for reasons best known to himself he is very careful to time his worst attacks with his nastiest remarks.
at the last word of his song he came to attention again, ten times adjutaunter than before.
the jackal winced, though he was full three seasons old, but you can not resent an insult from a person with a beak a yard long, and the power of driving it like a javelin.
the adjutant was a most notorious coward, but the jackal was worse.
""we must live before we can learn," said the mugger, "and there is this to say: little jackals are very common, child, but such a mugger as i am is not common.
for all that, i am not proud, since pride is destruction; but take notice, it is fate, and against his fate no one who swims or walks or runs should say anything at all.
i am well contented with fate.
with good luck, a keen eye, and the custom of considering whether a creek or a backwater has an outlet to it ere you ascend, much may be done."
""once i heard that even the protector of the poor made a mistake," said the jackal viciously.
""true; but there my fate helped me.
it was before i had come to my full growth -- before the last famine but three -lrb- by the right and left of gunga, how full used the streams to be in those days! -rrb-
.
yes, i was young and unthinking, and when the flood came, who so pleased as i?
a little made me very happy then.
the village was deep in flood, and i swam above the ghaut and went far inland, up to the rice-fields, and they were deep in good mud.
i remember also a pair of bracelets -lrb- glass they were, and troubled me not a little -rrb- that i found that evening.
yes, glass bracelets; and, if my memory serves me well, a shoe.
i should have shaken off both shoes, but i was hungry.
i learned better later.
yes.
and so i fed and rested me; but when i was ready to go to the river again the flood had fallen, and i walked through the mud of the main street.
who but i?
came out all my people, priests and women and children, and i looked upon them with benevolence.
the mud is not a good place to fight in.
said a boatman, "get axes and kill him, for he is the mugger of the ford."
"not so," said the brahmin.
"look, he is driving the flood before him!
he is the godling of the village."
then they threw many flowers at me, and by happy thought one led a goat across the road."
""how good -- how very good is goat!"
said the jackal.
""hairy -- too hairy, and when found in the water more than likely to hide a cross-shaped hook.
but that goat i accepted, and went down to the ghaut in great honour.
later, my fate sent me the boatman who had desired to cut off my tail with an axe.
his boat grounded upon an old shoal which you would not remember."
""we are not all jackals here," said the adjutant.
""was it the shoal made where the stone-boats sank in the year of the great drouth -- a long shoal that lasted three floods?"
""there were two," said the mugger; "an upper and a lower shoal."
""ay, i forgot.
a channel divided them, and later dried up again," said the adjutant, who prided himself on his memory.
""on the lower shoal my well-wisher's craft grounded.
he was sleeping in the bows, and, half awake, leaped over to his waist -- no, it was no more than to his knees -- to push off.
his empty boat went on and touched again below the next reach, as the river ran then.
i followed, because i knew men would come out to drag it ashore."
""and did they do so?"
said the jackal, a little awe-stricken.
this was hunting on a scale that impressed him.
""there and lower down they did.
i went no farther, but that gave me three in one day -- well-fed manjis -lrb- boatmen -rrb- all, and, except in the case of the last -lrb- then i was careless -rrb-, never a cry to warn those on the bank."
""ah, noble sport!
but what cleverness and great judgment it requires!"
said the jackal.
""not cleverness, child, but only thought.
a little thought in life is like salt upon rice, as the boatmen say, and i have thought deeply always.
the gavial, my cousin, the fish-eater, has told me how hard it is for him to follow his fish, and how one fish differs from the other, and how he must know them all, both together and apart.
i say that is wisdom; but, on the other hand, my cousin, the gavial, lives among his people.
my people do not swim in companies, with their mouths out of the water, as rewa does; nor do they constantly rise to the surface of the water, and turn over on their sides, like mohoo and little chapta; nor do they gather in shoals after flood, like batchua and chilwa."
""all are very good eating," said the adjutant, clattering his beak.
""so my cousin says, and makes a great to-do over hunting them, but they do not climb the banks to escape his sharp nose.
my people are otherwise.
their life is on the land, in the houses, among the cattle.
i must know what they do, and what they are about to do; and adding the tail to the trunk, as the saying is, i make up the whole elephant.
is there a green branch and an iron ring hanging over a doorway?
the old mugger knows that a boy has been born in that house, and must some day come down to the ghaut to play.
is a maiden to be married?
the old mugger knows, for he sees the men carry gifts back and forth; and she, too, comes down to the ghaut to bathe before her wedding, and -- he is there.
has the river changed its channel, and made new land where there was only sand before?
the mugger knows."
""now, of what use is that knowledge?"
said the jackal.
""the river has shifted even in my little life."
indian rivers are nearly always moving about in their beds, and will shift, sometimes, as much as two or three miles in a season, drowning the fields on one bank, and spreading good silt on the other.
""there is no knowledge so useful," said the mugger, "for new land means new quarrels.
the mugger knows.
oho!
the mugger knows.
as soon as the water has drained off, he creeps up the little creeks that men think would not hide a dog, and there he waits.
presently comes a farmer saying he will plant cucumbers here, and melons there, in the new land that the river has given him.
he feels the good mud with his bare toes.
anon comes another, saying he will put onions, and carrots, and sugar-cane in such and such places.
they meet as boats adrift meet, and each rolls his eye at the other under the big blue turban.
the old mugger sees and hears.
each calls the other "brother," and they go to mark out the boundaries of the new land.
the mugger hurries with them from point to point, shuffling very low through the mud.
now they begin to quarrel!
now they say hot words!
now they pull turbans!
now they lift up their lathis -lrb- clubs -rrb-, and, at last, one falls backward into the mud, and the other runs away.
when he comes back the dispute is settled, as the iron-bound bamboo of the loser witnesses.
yet they are not grateful to the mugger.
no, they cry "murder!"
and their families fight with sticks, twenty a-side.
my people are good people -- upland jats -- malwais of the bet.
they do not give blows for sport, and, when the fight is done, the old mugger waits far down the river, out of sight of the village, behind the kikar-scrub yonder.
then come they down, my broad-shouldered jats -- eight or nine together under the stars, bearing the dead man upon a bed.
they are old men with gray beards, and voices as deep as mine.
they light a little fire -- ah!
how well i know that fire!
-- and they drink tobacco, and they nod their heads together forward in a ring, or sideways toward the dead man upon the bank.
they say the english law will come with a rope for this matter, and that such a man's family will be ashamed, because such a man must be hanged in the great square of the jail.
then say the friends of the dead, "let him hang!"
and the talk is all to do over again -- once, twice, twenty times in the long night.
then says one, at last, "the fight was a fair fight.
let us take blood-money, a little more than is offered by the slayer, and we will say no more about it."
then do they haggle over the blood-money, for the dead was a strong man, leaving many sons.
yet before amratvela -lrb- sunrise -rrb- they put the fire to him a little, as the custom is, and the dead man comes to me, and he says no more about it.
aha!
my children, the mugger knows -- the mugger knows -- and my malwah jats are a good people!"
""they are too close -- too narrow in the hand for my crop," croaked the adjutant.
""they waste not the polish on the cow's horn, as the saying is; and, again, who can glean after a malwai?"
""ah, i -- glean -- them," said the mugger.
""now, in calcutta of the south, in the old days," the adjutant went on, "everything was thrown into the streets, and we picked and chose.
those wore dainty seasons.
but to-day they keep their streets as clean as the outside of an egg, and my people fly away.
to be clean is one thing; to dust, sweep, and sprinkle seven times a day wearies the very gods themselves."
""there was a down-country jackal had it from a brother, who told me, that in calcutta of the south all the jackals were as fat as otters in the rains," said the jackal, his mouth watering at the bare thought of it.
""ah, but the white-faces are there -- the english, and they bring dogs from somewhere down the river in boats -- big fat dogs -- to keep those same jackals lean," said the adjutant.
""they are, then, as hard-hearted as these people?
i might have known.
neither earth, sky, nor water shows charity to a jackal.
i saw the tents of a white-face last season, after the rains, and i also took a new yellow bridle to eat.
the white-faces do not dress their leather in the proper way.
it made me very sick."
""that was better than my case," said the adjutant.
""when i was in my third season, a young and a bold bird, i went down to the river where the big boats come in.
the boats of the english are thrice as big as this village."
""he has been as far as delhi, and says all the people there walk on their heads," muttered the jackal.
the mugger opened his left eye, and looked keenly at the adjutant.
""it is true," the big bird insisted.
""a liar only lies when he hopes to be believed.
no one who had not seen those boats could believe this truth."
""that is more reasonable," said the mugger.
""and then?"
""from the insides of this boat they were taking out great pieces of white stuff, which, in a little while, turned to water.
much split off, and fell about on the shore, and the rest they swiftly put into a house with thick walls.
but a boatman, who laughed, took a piece no larger than a small dog, and threw it to me.
i -- all my people -- swallow without reflection, and that piece i swallowed as is our custom.
immediately i was afflicted with an excessive cold which, beginning in my crop, ran down to the extreme end of my toes, and deprived me even of speech, while the boatmen laughed at me.
never have i felt such cold.
i danced in my grief and amazement till i could recover my breath and then i danced and cried out against the falseness of this world; and the boatmen derided me till they fell down.
the chief wonder of the matter, setting aside that marvellous coldness, was that there was nothing at all in my crop when i had finished my lamentings!"
the adjutant had done his very best to describe his feelings after swallowing a seven-pound lump of wenham lake ice, off an american ice-ship, in the days before calcutta made her ice by machinery; but as he did not know what ice was, and as the mugger and the jackal knew rather less, the tale missed fire.
""anything," said the mugger, shutting his left eye again -- "anything is possible that comes out of a boat thrice the size of mugger-ghaut.
my village is not a small one."
there was a whistle overhead on the bridge, and the delhi mail slid across, all the carriages gleaming with light, and the shadows faithfully following along the river.
it clanked away into the dark again; but the mugger and the jackal were so well used to it that they never turned their heads.
""is that anything less wonderful than a boat thrice the size of mugger-ghaut?"
said the bird, looking up.
""i saw that built, child.
stone by stone i saw the bridge-piers rise, and when the men fell off -lrb- they were wondrous sure-footed for the most part -- but when they fell -rrb- i was ready.
after the first pier was made they never thought to look down the stream for the body to burn.
there, again, i saved much trouble.
there was nothing strange in the building of the bridge," said the mugger.
""but that which goes across, pulling the roofed carts!
that is strange," the adjutant repeated.
""it is, past any doubt, a new breed of bullock.
some day it will not be able to keep its foothold up yonder, and will fall as the men did.
the old mugger will then be ready."
the jackal looked at the adjutant and the adjutant looked at the jackal.
if there was one thing they were more certain of than another, it was that the engine was everything in the wide world except a bullock.
the jackal had watched it time and again from the aloe hedges by the side of the line, and the adjutant had seen engines since the first locomotive ran in india.
but the mugger had only looked up at the thing from below, where the brass dome seemed rather like a bullock's hump.
""m -- yes, a new kind of bullock," the mugger repeated ponderously, to make himself quite sure in his own mind; and "certainly it is a bullock," said the jackal.
""and again it might be --" began the mugger pettishly.
""certainly -- most certainly," said the jackal, without waiting for the other to finish.
""what?"
said the mugger angrily, for he could feel that the others knew more than he did.
""what might it be?
i never finished my words.
you said it was a bullock."
""it is anything the protector of the poor pleases.
i am his servant -- not the servant of the thing that crosses the river."
""whatever it is, it is white-face work," said the adjutant; "and for my own part, i would not lie out upon a place so near to it as this bar."
""you do not know the english as i do," said the mugger.
""there was a white-face here when the bridge was built, and he would take a boat in the evenings and shuffle with his feet on the bottom-boards, and whisper: "is he here?
is he there?
bring me my gun."
i could hear him before i could see him -- each sound that he made -- creaking and puffing and rattling his gun, up and down the river.
as surely as i had picked up one of his workmen, and thus saved great expense in wood for the burning, so surely would he come down to the ghaut, and shout in a loud voice that he would hunt me, and rid the river of me -- the mugger of mugger-ghaut!
me!
children, i have swum under the bottom of his boat for hour after hour, and heard him fire his gun at logs; and when i was well sure he was wearied, i have risen by his side and snapped my jaws in his face.
when the bridge was finished he went away.
all the english hunt in that fashion, except when they are hunted."
""who hunts the white-faces?"
yapped the jackal excitedly.
""no one now, but i have hunted them in my time."
""i remember a little of that hunting.
i was young then," said the adjutant, clattering his beak significantly.
""i was well established here.
my village was being builded for the third time, as i remember, when my cousin, the gavial, brought me word of rich waters above benares.
at first i would not go, for my cousin, who is a fish-eater, does not always know the good from the bad; but i heard my people talking in the evenings, and what they said made me certain."
""and what did they say?"
the jackal asked.
""they said enough to make me, the mugger of mugger-ghaut, leave water and take to my feet.
i went by night, using the littlest streams as they served me; but it was the beginning of the hot weather, and all streams were low.
i crossed dusty roads; i went through tall grass; i climbed hills in the moonlight.
even rocks did i climb, children -- consider this well.
i crossed the tail of sirhind, the waterless, before i could find the set of the little rivers that flow gungaward.
i was a month's journey from my own people and the river that i knew.
that was very marvellous!"
""what food on the way?"
said the jackal, who kept his soul in his little stomach, and was not a bit impressed by the mugger's land travels.
""that which i could find -- cousin," said the mugger slowly, dragging each word.
now you do not call a man a cousin in india unless you think you can establish some kind of blood-relationship, and as it is only in old fairy-tales that the mugger ever marries a jackal, the jackal knew for what reason he had been suddenly lifted into the mugger's family circle.
if they had been alone he would not have cared, but the adjutant's eyes twinkled with mirth at the ugly jest.
""assuredly, father, i might have known," said the jackal.
a mugger does not care to be called a father of jackals, and the mugger of mugger-ghaut said as much -- and a great deal more which there is no use in repeating here.
""the protector of the poor has claimed kinship.
how can i remember the precise degree?
moreover, we eat the same food.
he has said it," was the jackal's reply.
that made matters rather worse, for what the jackal hinted at was that the mugger must have eaten his food on that land-march fresh and fresh every day, instead of keeping it by him till it was in a fit and proper condition, as every self-respecting mugger and most wild beasts do when they can.
indeed, one of the worst terms of contempt along the river-bed is "eater of fresh meat."
it is nearly as bad as calling a man a cannibal.
""that food was eaten thirty seasons ago," said the adjutant quietly.
""if we talk for thirty seasons more it will never come back.
tell us, now, what happened when the good waters were reached after thy most wonderful land journey.
if we listened to the howling of every jackal the business of the town would stop, as the saying is."
the mugger must have been grateful for the interruption, because he went on, with a rush: "by the right and left of gunga!
when i came there never did i see such waters!"
""were they better, then, than the big flood of last season?"
said the jackal.
""better!
that flood was no more than comes every five years -- a handful of drowned strangers, some chickens, and a dead bullock in muddy water with cross-currents.
but the season i think of, the river was low, smooth, and even, and, as the gavial had warned me, the dead english came down, touching each other.
i got my girth in that season -- my girth and my depth.
from agra, by etawah and the broad waters by allahabad --" "oh, the eddy that set under the walls of the fort at allahabad!"
said the adjutant.
""they came in there like widgeon to the reeds, and round and round they swung -- thus!"
he went off into his horrible dance again, while the jackal looked on enviously.
he naturally could not remember the terrible year of the mutiny they were talking about.
the mugger continued: "yes, by allahabad one lay still in the slack-water and let twenty go by to pick one; and, above all, the english were not cumbered with jewellery and nose-rings and anklets as my women are nowadays.
to delight in ornaments is to end with a rope for a necklace, as the saying is.
all the muggers of all the rivers grew fat then, but it was my fate to be fatter than them all.
the news was that the english were being hunted into the rivers, and by the right and left of gunga!
we believed it was true.
so far as i went south i believed it to be true; and i went down-stream beyond monghyr and the tombs that look over the river."
""i know that place," said the adjutant.
""since those days monghyr is a lost city.
very few live there now."
""thereafter i worked up-stream very slowly and lazily, and a little above monghyr there came down a boatful of white-faces -- alive!
they were, as i remember, women, lying under a cloth spread over sticks, and crying aloud.
there was never a gun fired at us, the watchers of the fords in those days.
all the guns were busy elsewhere.
we could hear them day and night inland, coming and going as the wind shifted.
i rose up full before the boat, because i had never seen white-faces alive, though i knew them well -- otherwise.
a naked white child kneeled by the side of the boat, and, stooping over, must needs try to trail his hands in the river.
it is a pretty thing to see how a child loves running water.
i had fed that day, but there was yet a little unfilled space within me.
still, it was for sport and not for food that i rose at the child's hands.
they were so clear a mark that i did not even look when i closed; but they were so small that though my jaws rang true -- i am sure of that -- the child drew them up swiftly, unhurt.
they must have passed between tooth and tooth -- those small white hands.
i should have caught him cross-wise at the elbows; but, as i said, it was only for sport and desire to see new things that i rose at all.
they cried out one after another in the boat, and presently i rose again to watch them.
the boat was too heavy to push over.
they were only women, but he who trusts a woman will walk on duckweed in a pool, as the saying is: and by the right and left of gunga, that is truth!"
""once a woman gave me some dried skin from a fish," said the jackal.
""i had hoped to get her baby, but horse-food is better than the kick of a horse, as the saying is.
what did thy woman do?"
""she fired at me with a short gun of a kind i have never seen before or since.
five times, one after another" -lrb- the mugger must have met with an old-fashioned revolver -rrb-; "and i stayed open-mouthed and gaping, my head in the smoke.
never did i see such a thing.
five times, as swiftly as i wave my tail -- thus!"
the jackal, who had been growing more and more interested in the story, had just time to leap back as the huge tail swung by like a scythe.
""not before the fifth shot," said the mugger, as though he had never dreamed of stunning one of his listeners -- "not before the fifth shot did i sink, and i rose in time to hear a boatman telling all those white women that i was most certainly dead.
one bullet had gone under a neck-plate of mine.
i know not if it is there still, for the reason i can not turn my head.
look and see, child.
it will show that my tale is true."
""i?"
said the jackal.
""shall an eater of old shoes, a bone-cracker, presume, to doubt the word of the envy of the river?
may my tail be bitten off by blind puppies if the shadow of such a thought has crossed my humble mind!
the protector of the poor has condescended to inform me, his slave, that once in his life he has been wounded by a woman.
that is sufficient, and i will tell the tale to all my children, asking for no proof."
""over-much civility is sometimes no better than over-much discourtesy, for, as the saying is, one can choke a guest with curds.
i do not desire that any children of thine should know that the mugger of mugger-ghaut took his only wound from a woman.
they will have much else to think of if they get their meat as miserably as does their father."
""it is forgotten long ago!
it was never said!
there never was a white woman!
there was no boat!
nothing whatever happened at all."
the jackal waved his brush to show how completely everything was wiped out of his memory, and sat down with an air.
""indeed, very many things happened," said the mugger, beaten in his second attempt that night to get the better of his friend.
-lrb- neither bore malice, however.
eat and be eaten was fair law along the river, and the jackal came in for his share of plunder when the mugger had finished a meal. -rrb-
""i left that boat and went up-stream, and, when i had reached arrah and the back-waters behind it, there were no more dead english.
the river was empty for a while.
then came one or two dead, in red coats, not english, but of one kind all -- hindus and purbeeahs -- then five and six abreast, and at last, from arrah to the north beyond agra, it was as though whole villages had walked into the water.
they came out of little creeks one after another, as the logs come down in the rains.
when the river rose they rose also in companies from the shoals they had rested upon; and the falling flood dragged them with it across the fields and through the jungle by the long hair.
all night, too, going north, i heard the guns, and by day the shod feet of men crossing fords, and that noise which a heavy cart-wheel makes on sand under water; and every ripple brought more dead.
at last even i was afraid, for i said: "if this thing happen to men, how shall the mugger of mugger-ghaut escape?"
there were boats, too, that came up behind me without sails, burning continually, as the cotton-boats sometimes burn, but never sinking."
""ah!"
said the adjutant.
""boats like those come to calcutta of the south.
they are tall and black, they beat up the water behind them with a tail, and they --" "are thrice as big as my village.
my boats were low and white; they beat up the water on either side of them and were no larger than the boats of one who speaks truth should be.
they made me very afraid, and i left water and went back to this my river, hiding by day and walking by night, when i could not find little streams to help me.
i came to my village again, but i did not hope to see any of my people there.
yet they were ploughing and sowing and reaping, and going to and fro in their fields, as quietly as their own cattle."
""was there still good food in the river?"
said the jackal.
""more than i had any desire for.
even i -- and i do not eat mud -- even i was tired, and, as i remember, a little frightened of this constant coming down of the silent ones.
i heard my people say in my village that all the english were dead; but those that came, face down, with the current were not english, as my people saw.
then my people said that it was best to say nothing at all, but to pay the tax and plough the land.
after a long time the river cleared, and those that came down it had been clearly drowned by the floods, as i could well see; and though it was not so easy then to get food, i was heartily glad of it.
a little killing here and there is no bad thing -- but even the mugger is sometimes satisfied, as the saying is."
""marvellous!
most truly marvellous!"
said the jackal.
""i am become fat through merely hearing about so much good eating.
and afterward what, if it be permitted to ask, did the protector of the poor do?"
""i said to myself -- and by the right and left of gunga!
i locked my jaws on that vow -- i said i would never go roving any more.
so i lived by the ghaut, very close to my own people, and i watched over them year after year; and they loved me so much that they threw marigold wreaths at my head whenever they saw it lift.
yes, and my fate has been very kind to me, and the river is good enough to respect my poor and infirm presence; only --" "no one is all happy from his beak to his tail," said the adjutant sympathetically.
""what does the mugger of mugger-ghaut need more?"
""that little white child which i did not get," said the mugger, with a deep sigh.
""he was very small, but i have not forgotten.
i am old now, but before i die it is my desire to try one new thing.
it is true they are a heavy-footed, noisy, and foolish people, and the sport would be small, but i remember the old days above benares, and, if the child lives, he will remember still.
it may be he goes up and down the bank of some river, telling how he once passed his hands between the teeth of the mugger of mugger-ghaut, and lived to make a tale of it.
my fate has been very kind, but that plagues me sometimes in my dreams -- the thought of the little white child in the bows of that boat."
he yawned, and closed his jaws.
""and now i will rest and think.
keep silent, my children, and respect the aged."
he turned stiffly, and shuffled to the top of the sand-bar, while the jackal drew back with the adjutant to the shelter of a tree stranded on the end nearest the railway bridge.
""that was a pleasant and profitable life," he grinned, looking up inquiringly at the bird who towered above him.
""and not once, mark you, did he think fit to tell me where a morsel might have been left along the banks.
yet i have told him a hundred times of good things wallowing down-stream.
how true is the saying, "all the world forgets the jackal and the barber when the news has been told!"
now he is going to sleep!
arrh!"
""how can a jackal hunt with a mugger?"
said the adjutant coolly.
""big thief and little thief; it is easy to say who gets the pickings."
the jackal turned, whining impatiently, and was going to curl himself up under the tree-trunk, when suddenly he cowered, and looked up through the draggled branches at the bridge almost above his head.
""what now?"
said the adjutant, opening his wings uneasily.
""wait till we see.
the wind blows from us to them, but they are not looking for us -- those two men."
""men, is it?
my office protects me.
all india knows i am holy."
the adjutant, being a first-class scavenger, is allowed to go where he pleases, and so this one never flinched.
""i am not worth a blow from anything better than an old shoe," said the jackal, and listened again.
""hark to that footfall!"
he went on.
""that was no country leather, but the shod foot of a white-face.
listen again!
iron hits iron up there!
it is a gun!
friend, those heavy-footed, foolish english are coming to speak with the mugger."
""warn him, then.
he was called protector of the poor by some one not unlike a starving jackal but a little time ago."
""let my cousin protect his own hide.
he has told me again and again there is nothing to fear from the white-faces.
they must be white-faces.
not a villager of mugger-ghaut would dare to come after him.
see, i said it was a gun!
now, with good luck, we shall feed before daylight.
he can not hear well out of water, and -- this time it is not a woman!"
a shiny barrel glittered for a minute in the moonlight on the girders.
the mugger was lying on the sand-bar as still as his own shadow, his fore-feet spread out a little, his head dropped between them, snoring like a -- mugger.
a voice on the bridge whispered: "it's an odd shot -- straight down almost -- but as safe as houses.
better try behind the neck.
golly!
what a brute!
the villagers will be wild if he's shot, though.
he's the deota -lsb- godling -rsb- of these parts."
""do n't care a rap," another voice answered; "he took about fifteen of my best coolies while the bridge was building, and it's time he was put a stop to.
i've been after him in a boat for weeks.
stand by with the martini as soon as i've given him both barrels of this."
""mind the kick, then.
a double four-bore's no joke."
""that's for him to decide.
here goes!"
there was a roar like the sound of a small cannon -lrb- the biggest sort of elephant-rifle is not very different from some artillery -rrb-, and a double streak of flame, followed by the stinging crack of a martini, whose long bullet makes nothing of a crocodile's plates.
but the explosive bullets did the work.
one of them struck just behind the mugger's neck, a hand's - breadth to the left of the backbone, while the other burst a little lower down, at the beginning of the tail.
in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred a mortally-wounded crocodile can scramble to deep water and get away; but the mugger of mugger-ghaut was literally broken into three pieces.
he hardly moved his head before the life went out of him, and he lay as flat as the jackal.
""thunder and lightning!
lightning and thunder!"
said that miserable little beast.
""has the thing that pulls the covered carts over the bridge tumbled at last?"
""it is no more than a gun," said the adjutant, though his very tail-feathers quivered.
""nothing more than a gun.
he is certainly dead.
here come the white-faces."
the two englishmen had hurried down from the bridge and across to the sand-bar, where they stood admiring the length of the mugger.
then a native with an axe cut off the big head, and four men dragged it across the spit.
""the last time that i had my hand in a mugger's mouth," said one of the englishmen, stooping down -lrb- he was the man who had built the bridge -rrb-, "it was when i was about five years old -- coming down the river by boat to monghyr.
i was a mutiny baby, as they call it.
poor mother was in the boat, too, and she often told me how she fired dad's old pistol at the beast's head."
""well, you've certainly had your revenge on the chief of the clan -- even if the gun has made your nose bleed.
hi, you boatmen!
haul that head up the bank, and we'll boil it for the skull.
the skin's too knocked about to keep.
come along to bed now.
this was worth sitting up all night for, was n't it?"
***** curiously enough, the jackal and the adjutant made the very same remark not three minutes after the men had left.
a ripple song once a ripple came to land in the golden sunset burning -- lapped against a maiden's hand, by the ford returning.
dainty foot and gentle breast -- here, across, be glad and rest.
""maiden, wait," the ripple saith.
""wait awhile, for i am death!"
""where my lover calls i go -- shame it were to treat him coldly --'t was a fish that circled so, turning over boldly."
dainty foot and tender heart, wait the loaded ferry-cart.
""wait, ah, wait!"
the ripple saith; "maiden, wait, for i am death!"
""when my lover calls i haste -- dame disdain was never wedded!"
ripple-ripple round her waist, clear the current eddied.
foolish heart and faithful hand, little feet that touched no land.
far away the ripple sped, ripple -- ripple -- running red!
the king's ankus these are the four that are never content, that have never been filled since the dews began -- jacala's mouth, and the glut of the kite, and the hands of the ape, and the eyes of man.
jungle saying.
kaa, the big rock python, had changed his skin for perhaps the two-hundredth time since his birth; and mowgli, who never forgot that he owed his life to kaa for a night's work at cold lairs, which you may perhaps remember, went to congratulate him.
skin-changing always makes a snake moody and depressed till the new skin begins to shine and look beautiful.
kaa never made fun of mowgli any more, but accepted him, as the other jungle people did, for the master of the jungle, and brought him all the news that a python of his size would naturally hear.
what kaa did not know about the middle jungle, as they call it, -- the life that runs close to the earth or under it, the boulder, burrow, and the tree-bole life, -- might have been written upon the smallest of his scales.
that afternoon mowgli was sitting in the circle of kaa's great coils, fingering the flaked and broken old skin that lay all looped and twisted among the rocks just as kaa had left it.
kaa had very courteously packed himself under mowgli's broad, bare shoulders, so that the boy was really resting in a living arm-chair.
""even to the scales of the eyes it is perfect," said mowgli, under his breath, playing with the old skin.
""strange to see the covering of one's own head at one's own feet!"
""ay, but i lack feet," said kaa; "and since this is the custom of all my people, i do not find it strange.
does thy skin never feel old and harsh?"
""then go i and wash, flathead; but, it is true, in the great heats i have wished i could slough my skin without pain, and run skinless."
""i wash, and also i take off my skin.
how looks the new coat?"
mowgli ran his hand down the diagonal checkerings of the immense back.
""the turtle is harder-backed, but not so gay," he said judgmatically.
""the frog, my name-bearer, is more gay, but not so hard.
it is very beautiful to see -- like the mottling in the mouth of a lily."
""it needs water.
a new skin never comes to full colour before the first bath.
let us go bathe."
""i will carry thee," said mowgli; and he stooped down, laughing, to lift the middle section of kaa's great body, just where the barrel was thickest.
a man might just, as well have tried to heave up a two-foot water-main; and kaa lay still, puffing with quiet amusement.
then the regular evening game began -- the boy in the flush of his great strength, and the python in his sumptuous new skin, standing up one against the other for a wrestling match -- a trial of eye and strength.
of course, kaa could have crushed a dozen mowglis if he had let himself go; but he played carefully, and never loosed one-tenth of his power.
ever since mowgli was strong enough to endure a little rough handling, kaa had taught him this game, and it suppled his limbs as nothing else could.
sometimes mowgli would stand lapped almost to his throat in kaa's shifting coils, striving to get one arm free and catch him by the throat.
then kaa would give way limply, and mowgli, with both quick-moving feet, would try to cramp the purchase of that huge tail as it flung backward feeling for a rock or a stump.
they would rock to and fro, head to head, each waiting for his chance, till the beautiful, statue-like group melted in a whirl of black-and-yellow coils and struggling legs and arms, to rise up again and again.
""now!
now!
now!"
said kaa, making feints with his head that even mowgli's quick hand could not turn aside.
""look!
i touch thee here, little brother!
here, and here!
are thy hands numb?
here again!"
the game always ended in one way -- with a straight, driving blow of the head that knocked the boy over and over.
mowgli could never learn the guard for that lightning lunge, and, as kaa said, there was not the least use in trying.
""good hunting!"
kaa grunted at last; and mowgli, as usual, was shot away half a dozen yards, gasping and laughing.
he rose with his fingers full of grass, and followed kaa to the wise snake's pet bathing-place -- a deep, pitchy-black pool surrounded with rocks, and made interesting by sunken tree-stumps.
the boy slipped in, jungle-fashion, without a sound, and dived across; rose, too, without a sound, and turned on his back, his arms behind his head, watching the moon rising above the rocks, and breaking up her reflection in the water with his toes.
kaa's diamond-shaped head cut the pool like a razor, and came out to rest on mowgli's shoulder.
they lay still, soaking luxuriously in the cool water.
""it is very good," said mowgli at last, sleepily.
""now, in the man-pack, at this hour, as i remember, they laid them down upon hard pieces of wood in the inside of a mud-trap, and, having carefully shut out all the clean winds, drew foul cloth over their heavy heads and made evil songs through their noses.
it is better in the jungle."
a hurrying cobra slipped down over a rock and drank, gave them "good hunting!"
and went away.
""sssh!"
said kaa, as though he had suddenly remembered something.
""so the jungle gives thee all that thou hast ever desired, little brother?"
""not all," said mowgli, laughing; "else there would be a new and strong shere khan to kill once a moon.
now, i could kill with my own hands, asking no help of buffaloes.
and also i have wished the sun to shine in the middle of the rains, and the rains to cover the sun in the deep of summer; and also i have never gone empty but i wished that i had killed a goat; and also i have never killed a goat but i wished it had been buck; nor buck but i wished it had been nilghai.
but thus do we feel, all of us."
""thou hast no other desire?"
the big snake demanded.
""what more can i wish?
i have the jungle, and the favour of the jungle!
is there more anywhere between sunrise and sunset?"
""now, the cobra said --" kaa began.
""what cobra?
he that went away just now said nothing.
he was hunting."
""it was another."
""hast thou many dealings with the poison people?
i give them their own path.
they carry death in the fore-tooth, and that is not good -- for they are so small.
but what hood is this thou hast spoken with?"
kaa rolled slowly in the water like a steamer in a beam sea.
""three or four moons since," said he, "i hunted in cold lairs, which place thou hast not forgotten.
and the thing i hunted fled shrieking past the tanks and to that house whose side i once broke for thy sake, and ran into the ground."
""but the people of cold lairs do not live in burrows."
mowgli knew that kaa was telling of the monkey people.
""this thing was not living, but seeking to live," kaa replied, with a quiver of his tongue.
""he ran into a burrow that led very far.
i followed, and having killed, i slept.
when i waked i went forward."
""under the earth?"
""even so, coming at last upon a white hood -lsb- a white cobra -rsb-, who spoke of things beyond my knowledge, and showed me many things i had never before seen."
""new game?
was it good hunting?"
mowgli turned quickly on his side.
""it was no game, and would have broken all my teeth; but the white hood said that a man -- he spoke as one that knew the breed -- that a man would give the breath under his ribs for only the sight of those things."
""we will look," said mowgli.
""i now remember that i was once a man."
""slowly -- slowly.
it was haste killed the yellow snake that ate the sun.
we two spoke together under the earth, and i spoke of thee, naming thee as a man.
said the white hood -lrb- and he is indeed as old as the jungle -rrb-: "it is long since i have seen a man.
let him come, and he shall see all these things, for the least of which very many men would die.""
""that must be new game.
and yet the poison people do not tell us when game is afoot.
they are an unfriendly folk."
""it is not game.
it is -- it is -- i can not say what it is."
""we will go there.
i have never seen a white hood, and i wish to see the other things.
did he kill them?"
""they are all dead things.
he says he is the keeper of them all."
""ah!
as a wolf stands above meat he has taken to his own lair.
let us go."
mowgli swam to bank, rolled on the grass to dry himself, and the two set off for cold lairs, the deserted city of which you may have heard.
mowgli was not the least afraid of the monkey people in those days, but the monkey people had the liveliest horror of mowgli.
their tribes, however, were raiding in the jungle, and so cold lairs stood empty and silent in the moonlight.
kaa led up to the ruins of the queens" pavilion that stood on the terrace, slipped over the rubbish, and dived down the half-choked staircase that went underground from the centre of the pavilion.
mowgli gave the snake-call, -- "we be of one blood, ye and i," -- and followed on his hands and knees.
they crawled a long distance down a sloping passage that turned and twisted several times, and at last came to where the root of some great tree, growing thirty feet overhead, had forced out a solid stone in the wall.
they crept through the gap, and found themselves in a large vault, whose domed roof had been also broken away by tree-roots so that a few streaks of light dropped down into the darkness.
""a safe lair," said mowgli, rising to his firm feet, "but over-far to visit daily.
and now what do we see?"
""am i nothing?"
said a voice in the middle of the vault; and mowgli saw something white move till, little by little, there stood up the hugest cobra he had ever set eyes on -- a creature nearly eight feet long, and bleached by being in darkness to an old ivory-white.
even the spectacle-marks of his spread hood had faded to faint yellow.
his eyes were as red as rubies, and altogether he was most wonderful.
""good hunting!"
said mowgli, who carried his manners with his knife, and that never left him.
""what of the city?"
said the white cobra, without answering the greeting.
""what of the great, the walled city -- the city of a hundred elephants and twenty thousand horses, and cattle past counting -- the city of the king of twenty kings?
i grow deaf here, and it is long since i heard their war-gongs."
""the jungle is above our heads," said mowgli.
""i know only hathi and his sons among elephants.
bagheera has slain all the horses in one village, and -- what is a king?"
""i told thee," said kaa softly to the cobra, -- "i told thee, four moons ago, that thy city was not."
""the city -- the great city of the forest whose gates are guarded by the king's towers -- can never pass.
they builded it before my father's father came from the egg, and it shall endure when my son's sons are as white as i!
salomdhi, son of chandrabija, son of viyeja, son of yegasuri, made it in the days of bappa rawal.
whose cattle are ye?"
""it is a lost trail," said mowgli, turning to kaa.
""i know not his talk."
""nor i.
he is very old.
father of cobras, there is only the jungle here, as it has been since the beginning."
""then who is he," said the white cobra, "sitting down before me, unafraid, knowing not the name of the king, talking our talk through a man's lips?
who is he with the knife and the snake's tongue?"
""mowgli they call me," was the answer.
""i am of the jungle.
the wolves are my people, and kaa here is my brother.
father of cobras, who art thou?"
""i am the warden of the king's treasure.
kurrun raja builded the stone above me, in the days when my skin was dark, that i might teach death to those who came to steal.
then they let down the treasure through the stone, and i heard the song of the brahmins my masters."
""umm!"
said mowgli to himself.
""i have dealt with one brahmin already, in the man-pack, and -- i know what i know.
evil comes here in a little."
""five times since i came here has the stone been lifted, but always to let down more, and never to take away.
there are no riches like these riches -- the treasures of a hundred kings.
but it is long and long since the stone was last moved, and i think that my city has forgotten."
""there is no city.
look up.
yonder are roots of the great trees tearing the stones apart.
trees and men do not grow together," kaa insisted.
""twice and thrice have men found their way here," the white cobra answered savagely; "but they never spoke till i came upon them groping in the dark, and then they cried only a little time.
but ye come with lies, man and snake both, and would have me believe the city is not, and that my wardship ends.
little do men change in the years.
but i change never!
till the stone is lifted, and the brahmins come down singing the songs that i know, and feed me with warm milk, and take me to the light again, i -- i -- i, and no other, am the warden of the king's treasure!
the city is dead, ye say, and here are the roots of the trees?
stoop down, then, and take what ye will.
earth has no treasure like to these.
man with the snake's tongue, if thou canst go alive by the way that thou hast entered it, the lesser kings will be thy servants!"
""again the trail is lost," said mowgli coolly.
""can any jackal have burrowed so deep and bitten this great white hood?
he is surely mad.
father of cobras, i see nothing here to take away."
""by the gods of the sun and moon, it is the madness of death upon the boy!"
hissed the cobra.
""before thine eyes close i will allow thee this favour.
look thou, and see what man has never seen before!"
""they do not well in the jungle who speak to mowgli of favours," said the boy, between his teeth; "but the dark changes all, as i know.
i will look, if that please thee."
he stared with puckered-up eyes round the vault, and then lifted up from the floor a handful of something that glittered.
""oho!"
said he, "this is like the stuff they play with in the man-pack: only this is yellow and the other was brown."
he let the gold pieces fall, and move forward.
the floor of the vault was buried some five or six feet deep in coined gold and silver that had burst from the sacks it had been originally stored in, and, in the long years, the metal had packed and settled as sand packs at low tide.
on it and in it and rising through it, as wrecks lift through the sand, were jewelled elephant-howdahs of embossed silver, studded with plates of hammered gold, and adorned with carbuncles and turquoises.
there were palanquins and litters for carrying queens, framed and braced with silver and enamel, with jade-handled poles and amber curtain-rings; there were golden candlesticks hung with pierced emeralds that quivered on the branches; there were studded images, five feet high, of forgotten gods, silver with jewelled eyes; there were coats of mail, gold inlaid on steel, and fringed with rotted and blackened seed-pearls; there were helmets, crested and beaded with pigeon's - blood rubies; there were shields of lacquer, of tortoise-shell and rhinoceros-hide, strapped and bossed with red gold and set with emeralds at the edge; there were sheaves of diamond-hilted swords, daggers, and hunting-knives; there were golden sacrificial bowls and ladles, and portable altars of a shape that never sees the light of day; there were jade cups and bracelets; there were incense-burners, combs, and pots for perfume, henna, and eye-powder, all in embossed gold; there were nose-rings, armlets, head-bands, finger-rings, and girdles past any counting; there were belts, seven fingers broad, of square-cut diamonds and rubies, and wooden boxes, trebly clamped with iron, from which the wood had fallen away in powder, showing the pile of uncut star-sapphires, opals, cat's - eyes, sapphires, rubies, diamonds, emeralds, and garnets within.
the white cobra was right.
no mere money would begin to pay the value of this treasure, the sifted pickings of centuries of war, plunder, trade, and taxation.
the coins alone were priceless, leaving out of count all the precious stones; and the dead weight of the gold and silver alone might be two or three hundred tons.
every native ruler in india to-day, however poor, has a hoard to which he is always adding; and though, once in a long while, some enlightened prince may send off forty or fifty bullock-cart loads of silver to be exchanged for government securities, the bulk of them keep their treasure and the knowledge of it very closely to themselves.
but mowgli naturally did not understand what these things meant.
the knives interested him a little, but they did not balance so well as his own, and so he dropped them.
at last he found something really fascinating laid on the front of a howdah half buried in the coins.
it was a three-foot ankus, or elephant-goad -- something like a small boat-hook.
the top was one round, shining ruby, and eight inches of the handle below it were studded with rough turquoises close together, giving a most satisfactory grip.
below them was a rim of jade with a flower-pattern running round it -- only the leaves were emeralds, and the blossoms were rubies sunk in the cool, green stone.
the rest of the handle was a shaft of pure ivory, while the point -- the spike and hook -- was gold-inlaid steel with pictures of elephant-catching; and the pictures attracted mowgli, who saw that they had something to do with his friend hathi the silent.
the white cobra had been following him closely.
""is this not worth dying to behold?"
he said.
""have i not done thee a great favour?"
""i do not understand," said mowgli.
""the things are hard and cold, and by no means good to eat.
but this" -- he lifted the ankus -- "i desire to take away, that i may see it in the sun.
thou sayest they are all thine?
wilt thou give it to me, and i will bring thee frogs to eat?"
the white cobra fairly shook with evil delight.
""assuredly i will give it," he said.
""all that is here i will give thee -- till thou goest away."
""but i go now.
this place is dark and cold, and i wish to take the thorn-pointed thing to the jungle."
""look by thy foot!
what is that there?"
mowgli picked up something white and smooth.
""it is the bone of a man's head," he said quietly.
""and here are two more."
""they came to take the treasure away many years ago.
i spoke to them in the dark, and they lay still."
""but what do i need of this that is called treasure?
if thou wilt give me the ankus to take away, it is good hunting.
if not, it is good hunting none the less.
i do not fight with the poison people, and i was also taught the master-word of thy tribe."
""there is but one master-word here.
it is mine!"
kaa flung himself forward with blazing eyes.
""who bade me bring the man?"
he hissed.
""i surely," the old cobra lisped.
""it is long since i have seen man, and this man speaks our tongue."
""but there was no talk of killing.
how can i go to the jungle and say that i have led him to his death?"
said kaa.
""i talk not of killing till the time.
and as to thy going or not going, there is the hole in the wall.
peace, now, thou fat monkey-killer!
i have but to touch thy neck, and the jungle will know thee no longer.
never man came here that went away with the breath under his ribs.
i am the warden of the treasure of the king's city!"
""but, thou white worm of the dark, i tell thee there is neither king nor city!
the jungle is all about us!"
cried kaa.
""there is still the treasure.
but this can be done.
wait awhile, kaa of the rocks, and see the boy run.
there is room for great sport here.
life is good.
run to and fro awhile, and make sport, boy!"
mowgli put his hand on kaa's head quietly.
""the white thing has dealt with men of the man-pack until now.
he does not know me," he whispered.
""he has asked for this hunting.
let him have it."
mowgli had been standing with the ankus held point down.
he flung it from him quickly and it dropped crossways just behind the great snake's hood, pinning him to the floor.
in a flash, kaa's weight was upon the writhing body, paralysing it from hood to tail.
the red eyes burned, and the six spare inches of the head struck furiously right and left.
""kill!"
said kaa, as mowgli's hand went to his knife.
""no," he said, as he drew the blade; "i will never kill again save for food.
but look you, kaa!"
he caught the snake behind the hood, forced the mouth open with the blade of the knife, and showed the terrible poison-fangs of the upper jaw lying black and withered in the gum.
the white cobra had outlived his poison, as a snake will.
""thuu" -lrb- "it is dried up" -- literally, a rotted out tree-stump -rrb-, said mowgli; and motioning kaa away, he picked up the ankus, setting the white cobra free.
""the king's treasure needs a new warden," he said gravely.
""thuu, thou hast not done well.
run to and fro and make sport, thuu!"
""i am ashamed.
kill me!"
hissed the white cobra.
""there has been too much talk of killing.
we will go now.
i take the thorn-pointed thing, thuu, because i have fought and worsted thee."
""see, then, that the thing does not kill thee at last.
it is death!
remember, it is death!
there is enough in that thing to kill the men of all my city.
not long wilt thou hold it, jungle man, nor he who takes it from thee.
they will kill, and kill, and kill for its sake!
my strength is dried up, but the ankus will do my work.
it is death!
it is death!
it is death!"
mowgli crawled out through the hole into the passage again, and the last that he saw was the white cobra striking furiously with his harmless fangs at the stolid golden faces of the gods that lay on the floor, and hissing, "it is death!"
they were glad to get to the light of day once more; and when they were back in their own jungle and mowgli made the ankus glitter in the morning light, he was almost as pleased as though he had found a bunch of new flowers to stick in his hair.
""this is brighter than bagheera's eyes," he said delightedly, as he twirled the ruby.
""i will show it to him; but what did the thuu mean when he talked of death?"
""i can not say.
i am sorrowful to my tail's tail that he felt not thy knife.
there is always evil at cold lairs -- above ground or below.
but now i am hungry.
dost thou hunt with me this dawn?"
said kaa.
""no; bagheera must see this thing.
good hunting!"
mowgli danced off, flourishing the great ankus, and stopping from time to time to admire it, till he came to that part of the jungle bagheera chiefly used, and found him drinking after a heavy kill.
mowgli told him all his adventures from beginning to end, and bagheera sniffed at the ankus between whiles.
when mowgli came to the white cobra's last words, the panther purred approvingly.
""then the white hood spoke the thing which is?"
mowgli asked quickly.
""i was born in the king's cages at oodeypore, and it is in my stomach that i know some little of man.
very many men would kill thrice in a night for the sake of that one big red stone alone."
""but the stone makes it heavy to the hand.
my little bright knife is better; and -- see!
the red stone is not good to eat.
then why would they kill?"
""mowgli, go thou and sleep.
thou hast lived among men, and --" "i remember.
men kill because they are not hunting; -- for idleness and pleasure.
wake again, bagheera.
for what use was this thorn-pointed thing made?"
bagheera half opened his eyes -- he was very sleepy -- with a malicious twinkle.
""it was made by men to thrust into the head of the sons of hathi, so that the blood should pour out.
i have seen the like in the street of oodeypore, before our cages.
that thing has tasted the blood of many such as hathi."
""but why do they thrust into the heads of elephants?"
""to teach them man's law.
having neither claws nor teeth, men make these things -- and worse."
""always more blood when i come near, even to the things the man-pack have made," said mowgli disgustedly.
he was getting a little tired of the weight of the ankus.
""if i had known this, i would not have taken it.
first it was messua's blood on the thongs, and now it is hathi's.
i will use it no more.
look!"
the ankus flew sparkling, and buried itself point down thirty yards away, between the trees.
""so my hands are clean of death," said mowgli, rubbing his palms on the fresh, moist earth.
""the thuu said death would follow me.
he is old and white and mad."
""white or black, or death or life, i am going to sleep, little brother.
i can not hunt all night and howl all day, as do some folk."
bagheera went off to a hunting-lair that he knew, about two miles off.
mowgli made an easy way for himself up a convenient tree, knotted three or four creepers together, and in less time than it takes to tell was swinging in a hammock fifty feet above ground.
though he had no positive objection to strong daylight, mowgli followed the custom of his friends, and used it as little as he could.
when he waked among the very loud-voiced peoples that live in the trees, it was twilight once more, and he had been dreaming of the beautiful pebbles he had thrown away.
""at least i will look at the thing again," he said, and slid down a creeper to the earth; but bagheera was before him.
mowgli could hear him snuffing in the half light.
""where is the thorn-pointed thing?"
cried mowgli.
""a man has taken it.
here is the trail."
""now we shall see whether the thuu spoke truth.
if the pointed thing is death, that man will die.
let us follow."
""kill first," said bagheera.
""an empty stomach makes a careless eye.
men go very slowly, and the jungle is wet enough to hold the lightest mark."
they killed as soon as they could, but it was nearly three hours before they finished their meat and drink and buckled down to the trail.
the jungle people know that nothing makes up for being hurried over your meals.
""think you the pointed thing will turn in the man's hand and kill him?"
mowgli asked.
""the thuu said it was death."
""we shall see when we find," said bagheera, trotting with his head low.
""it is single-foot" -lrb- he meant that there was only one man -rrb-, "and the weight of the thing has pressed his heel far into the ground."
""hai!
this is as clear as summer lightning," mowgli answered; and they fell into the quick, choppy trail-trot in and out through the checkers of the moonlight, following the marks of those two bare feet.
""now he runs swiftly," said mowgli.
""the toes are spread apart."
they went on over some wet ground.
""now why does he turn aside here?"
""wait!"
said bagheera, and flung himself forward with one superb bound as far as ever he could.
the first thing to do when a trail ceases to explain itself is to cast forward without leaving, your own confusing foot-marks on the ground.
bagheera turned as he landed, and faced mowgli, crying, "here comes another trail to meet him.
it is a smaller foot, this second trail, and the toes turn inward."
then mowgli ran up and looked.
""it is the foot of a gond hunter," he said.
""look!
here he dragged his bow on the grass.
that is why the first trail turned aside so quickly.
big foot hid from little foot."
""that is true," said bagheera.
""now, lest by crossing each other's tracks we foul the signs, let each take one trail.
i am big foot, little brother, and thou art little foot, the gond."
bagheera leaped back to the original trail, leaving mowgli stooping above the curious narrow track of the wild little man of the woods.
""now," said bagheera, moving step by step along the chain of footprints, "i, big foot, turn aside here.
now i hide me behind a rock and stand still, not daring to shift my feet.
cry thy trail, little brother."
""now, i, little foot, come to the rock," said mowgli, running up his trail.
""now, i sit down under the rock, leaning upon my right hand, and resting my bow between my toes.
i wait long, for the mark of my feet is deep here."
""i also," said bagheera, hidden behind the rock.
""i wait, resting the end of the thorn-pointed thing upon a stone.
it slips, for here is a scratch upon the stone.
cry thy trail, little brother."
""one, two twigs and a big branch are broken here," said mowgli, in an undertone.
""now, how shall i cry that?
ah!
it is plain now.
i, little foot, go away making noises and tramplings so that big foot may hear me."
he moved away from the rock pace by pace among the trees, his voice rising in the distance as he approached a little cascade.
""i -- go, far -- away -- to -- where -- the -- noise -- of -- falling-water -- covers -- my -- noise; and -- here -- i -- wait.
cry thy trail, bagheera, big foot!"
the panther had been casting in every direction to see how big foot's trail led away from behind the rock.
then he gave tongue: "i come from behind the rock upon my knees, dragging the thorn-pointed thing.
seeing no one, i run.
i, big foot, run swiftly.
the trail is clear.
let each follow his own.
i run!"
bagheera swept on along the clearly-marked trail, and mowgli followed the steps of the gond.
for some time there was silence in the jungle.
""where art thou, little foot?"
cried bagheera.
mowgli's voice answered him not fifty yards to the right.
""um!"
said the panther, with a deep cough.
""the two run side by side, drawing nearer!"
they raced on another half-mile, always keeping about the same distance, till mowgli, whose head was not so close to the ground as bagheera's, cried: "they have met.
good hunting -- look!
here stood little foot, with his knee on a rock -- and yonder is big foot indeed!"
not ten yards in front of them, stretched across a pile of broken rocks, lay the body of a villager of the district, a long, small-feathered gond arrow through his back and breast.
""was the thuu so old and so mad, little brother?"
said bagheera gently.
""here is one death, at least."
""follow on.
but where is the drinker of elephant's blood -- the red-eyed thorn?"
""little foot has it -- perhaps.
it is single-foot again now."
the single trail of a light man who had been running quickly and bearing a burden on his left shoulder held on round a long, low spur of dried grass, where each footfall seemed, to the sharp eyes of the trackers, marked in hot iron.
neither spoke till the trail ran up to the ashes of a camp-fire hidden in a ravine.
""again!"
said bagheera, checking as though he had been turned into stone.
the body of a little wizened gond lay with its feet in the ashes, and bagheera looked inquiringly at mowgli.
""that was done with a bamboo," said the boy, after one glance.
""i have used such a thing among the buffaloes when i served in the man-pack.
the father of cobras -- i am sorrowful that i made a jest of him -- knew the breed well, as i might have known.
said i not that men kill for idleness?"
""indeed, they killed for the sake of the red and blue stones," bagheera answered.
""remember, i was in the king's cages at oodeypore."
""one, two, three, four tracks," said mowgli, stooping over the ashes.
""four tracks of men with shod feet.
they do not go so quickly as gonds.
now, what evil had the little woodman done to them?
see, they talked together, all five, standing up, before they killed him.
bagheera, let us go back.
my stomach is heavy in me, and yet it heaves up and down like an oriole's nest at the end of a branch."
""it is not good hunting to leave game afoot.
follow!"
said the panther.
""those eight shod feet have not gone far."
no more was said for fully an hour, as they worked up the broad trail of the four men with shod feet.
it was clear, hot daylight now, and bagheera said, "i smell smoke."
men are always more ready to eat than to run, mowgli answered, trotting in and out between the low scrub bushes of the new jungle they were exploring.
bagheera, a little to his left, made an indescribable noise in his throat.
""here is one that has done with feeding," said he.
a tumbled bundle of gay-coloured clothes lay under a bush, and round it was some spilt flour.
""that was done by the bamboo again," said mowgli.
""see!
that white dust is what men eat.
they have taken the kill from this one, -- he carried their food, -- and given him for a kill to chil, the kite."
""it is the third," said bagheera.
""i will go with new, big frogs to the father of cobras, and feed him fat," said mowgli to himself.
""the drinker of elephant's blood is death himself -- but still i do not understand!"
""follow!"
said bagheera.
they had not gone half a mile farther when they heard ko, the crow, singing the death-song in the top of a tamarisk under whose shade three men were lying.
a half-dead fire smoked in the centre of the circle, under an iron plate which held a blackened and burned cake of unleavened bread.
close to the fire, and blazing in the sunshine, lay the ruby-and-turquoise ankus.
""the thing works quickly; all ends here," said bagheera.
""how did these die, mowgli?
there is no mark on any."
a jungle-dweller gets to learn by experience as much as many doctors know of poisonous plants and berries.
mowgli sniffed the smoke that came up from the fire, broke off a morsel of the blackened bread, tasted it, and spat it out again.
""apple of death," he coughed.
""the first must have made it ready in the food for these, who killed him, having first killed the gond."
""good hunting, indeed!
the kills follow close," said bagheera.
""apple of death" is what the jungle call thorn-apple or dhatura, the readiest poison in all india.
""what now?"
said the panther.
""must thou and i kill each other for yonder red-eyed slayer?"
""can it speak?"
said mowgli in a whisper.
""did i do it a wrong when i threw it away?
between us two it can do no wrong, for we do not desire what men desire.
if it be left here, it will assuredly continue to kill men one after another as fast as nuts fall in a high wind.
i have no love to men, but even i would not have them die six in a night."
""what matter?
they are only men.
they killed one another, and were well pleased," said bagheera.
""that first little woodman hunted well."
""they are cubs none the less; and a cub will drown himself to bite the moon's light on the water.
the fault was mine," said mowgli, who spoke as though he knew all about everything.
""i will never again bring into the jungle strange things -- not though they be as beautiful as flowers.
this" -- he handled the ankus gingerly -- "goes back to the father of cobras.
but first we must sleep, and we can not sleep near these sleepers.
also we must bury him, lest he run away and kill another six.
dig me a hole under that tree."
""but, little brother," said bagheera, moving off to the spot, "i tell thee it is no fault of the blood-drinker.
the trouble is with the men."
""all one," said mowgli.
""dig the hole deep.
when we wake i will take him up and carry him back."
***** two nights later, as the white cobra sat mourning in the darkness of the vault, ashamed, and robbed, and alone, the turquoise ankus whirled through the hole in the wall, and clashed on the floor of golden coins.
""father of cobras," said mowgli -lrb- he was careful to keep the other side of the wall -rrb-, "get thee a young and ripe one of thine own people to help thee guard the king's treasure, so that no man may come away alive any more."
""ah-ha!
it returns, then.
i said the thing was death.
how comes it that thou art still alive?"
the old cobra mumbled, twining lovingly round the ankus-haft.
""by the bull that bought me, i do not know!
that thing has killed six times in a night.
let him go out no more."
the song of the little hunter ere mor the peacock flutters, ere the monkey people cry, ere chil the kite swoops down a furlong sheer, through the jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh -- he is fear, o little hunter, he is fear!
very softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade, and the whisper spreads and widens far and near; and the sweat is on thy brow, for he passes even now -- he is fear, o little hunter, he is fear!
ere the moon has climbed the mountain, ere the rocks are ribbed with light, when the downward-dipping trails are dank and drear, comes a breathing hard behind thee -- snuffle-snuffle through the night -- it is fear, o little hunter, it is fear!
on thy knees and draw the bow; bid the shrilling arrow go; in the empty, mocking thicket plunge the spear; but thy hands are loosed and weak, and the blood has left thy cheek -- it is fear, o little hunter, it is fear!
when the heat-cloud sucks the tempest, when the slivered pine-trees fall, when the blinding, blaring rain-squalls lash and veer; through the war-gongs of the thunder rings a voice more loud than all -- it is fear, o little hunter, it is fear!
now the spates are banked and deep; now the footless boulders leap -- now the lightning shows each littlest leaf-rib clear -- but thy throat is shut and dried, and thy heart against thy side hammers: fear, o little hunter -- this is fear!
quiquern the people of the eastern ice, they are melting like the snow -- they beg for coffee and sugar; they go where the white men go.
the people of the western ice, they learn to steal and fight; "they sell their furs to the trading-post: they sell their souls to the white.
the people of the southern ice, they trade with the whaler's crew; their women have many ribbons, but their tents are torn and few.
but the people of the elder ice, beyond the white man's ken -- their spears are made of the narwhal-horn, and they are the last of the men!
translation.
""he has opened his eyes.
look!"
""put him in the skin again.
he will be a strong dog.
on the fourth month we will name him."
""for whom?"
said amoraq.
kadlu's eye rolled round the skin-lined snow-house till it fell on fourteen-year-old kotuko sitting on the sleeping-bench, making a button out of walrus ivory.
""name him for me," said kotuko, with a grin.
""i shall need him one day."
kadlu grinned back till his eyes were almost buried in the fat of his flat cheeks, and nodded to amoraq, while the puppy's fierce mother whined to see her baby wriggling far out of reach in the little sealskin pouch hung above the warmth of the blubber-lamp.
kotuko went on with his carving, and kadlu threw a rolled bundle of leather dog-harnesses into a tiny little room that opened from one side of the house, slipped off his heavy deerskin hunting-suit, put it into a whalebone-net that hung above another lamp, and dropped down on the sleeping-bench to whittle at a piece of frozen seal-meat till amoraq, his wife, should bring the regular dinner of boiled meat and blood-soup.
he had been out since early dawn at the seal-holes, eight miles away, and had come home with three big seal.
half-way down the long, low snow passage or tunnel that led to the inner door of the house you could hear snappings and yelpings, as the dogs of his sleigh-team, released from the day's work, scuffled for warm places.
when the yelpings grew too loud kotuko lazily rolled off the sleeping-bench, and picked up a whip with an eighteen-inch handle of springy whalebone, and twenty-five feet of heavy, plaited thong.
he dived into the passage, where it sounded as though all the dogs were eating him alive; but that was no more than their regular grace before meals.
when he crawled out at the far end, half a dozen furry heads followed him with their eyes as he went to a sort of gallows of whale-jawbones, from which the dog's meat was hung; split off the frozen stuff in big lumps with a broad-headed spear; and stood, his whip in one hand and the meat in the other.
each beast was called by name, the weakest first, and woe betide any dog that moved out of his turn; for the tapering lash would shoot out like thonged lightning, and flick away an inch or so of hair and hide.
each beast growled, snapped, choked once over his portion, and hurried back to the protection of the passage, while the boy stood upon the snow under the blazing northern lights and dealt out justice.
the last to be served was the big black leader of the team, who kept order when the dogs were harnessed; and to him kotuko gave a double allowance of meat as well as an extra crack of the whip.
""ah!"
said kotuko, coiling up the lash, "i have a little one over the lamp that will make a great many howlings.
sarpok!
get in!"
he crawled back over the huddled dogs, dusted the dry snow from his furs with the whalebone beater that amoraq kept by the door, tapped the skin-lined roof of the house to shake off any icicles that might have fallen from the dome of snow above, and curled up on the bench.
the dogs in the passage snored and whined in their sleep, the boy-baby in amoraq's deep fur hood kicked and choked and gurgled, and the mother of the newly-named puppy lay at kotuko's side, her eyes fixed on the bundle of sealskin, warm and safe above the broad yellow flame of the lamp.
and all this happened far away to the north, beyond labrador, beyond hudson's strait, where the great tides heave the ice about, north of melville peninsula -- north even of the narrow fury and hecla straits -- on the north shore of baffin land, where bylot's island stands above the ice of lancaster sound like a pudding-bowl wrong side up.
north of lancaster sound there is little we know anything about, except north devon and ellesmere land; but even there live a few scattered people, next door, as it were, to the very pole.
kadlu was an inuit, -- what you call an esquimau, -- and his tribe, some thirty persons all told, belonged to the tununirmiut -- "the country lying at the back of something."
in the maps that desolate coast is written navy board inlet, but the inuit name is best, because the country lies at the very back of everything in the world.
for nine months of the year there is only ice and snow, and gale after gale, with a cold that no one can realise who has never seen the thermometer even at zero.
for six months of those nine it is dark; and that is what makes it so horrible.
in the three months of the summer it only freezes every other day and every night, and then the snow begins to weep off on the southerly slopes, and a few ground-willows put out their woolly buds, a tiny stonecrop or so makes believe to blossom, beaches of fine gravel and rounded stones run down to the open sea, and polished boulders and streaked rocks lift up above the granulated snow.
but all that is gone in a few weeks, and the wild winter locks down again on the land; while at sea the ice tears up and down the offing, jamming and ramming, and splitting and hitting, and pounding and grounding, till it all freezes together, ten feet thick, from the land outward to deep water.
in the winter kadlu would follow the seal to the edge of this land-ice, and spear them as they came up to breathe at their blow-holes.
the seal must have open water to live and catch fish in, and in the deep of winter the ice would sometimes run eighty miles without a break from the nearest shore.
in the spring he and his people retreated from the floes to the rocky mainland, where they put up tents of skins, and snared the sea-birds, or speared the young seal basking on the beaches.
later, they would go south into baffin land after the reindeer, and to get their year's store of salmon from the hundreds of streams and lakes of the interior; coming back north in september or october for the musk-ox hunting and the regular winter sealery.
this travelling was done with dog-sleighs, twenty and thirty miles a day, or sometimes down the coast in big skin "woman-boats," when the dogs and the babies lay among the feet of the rowers, and the women sang songs as they glided from cape to cape over the glassy, cold waters.
all the luxuries that the tununirmiut knew came from the south -- driftwood for sleigh-runners, rod-iron for harpoon-tips, steel knives, tin kettles that cooked food much better than the old soap-stone affairs, flint and steel, and even matches, as well as coloured ribbons for the women's hair, little cheap mirrors, and red cloth for the edging of deerskin dress-jackets.
kadlu traded the rich, creamy, twisted narwhal horn and musk-ox teeth -lrb- these are just as valuable as pearls -rrb- to the southern inuit, and they, in turn, traded with the whalers and the missionary-posts of exeter and cumberland sounds; and so the chain went on, till a kettle picked up by a ship's cook in the bhendy bazaar might end its days over a blubber-lamp somewhere on the cool side of the arctic circle.
kadlu, being a good hunter, was rich in iron harpoons, snow-knives, bird-darts, and all the other things that make life easy up there in the great cold; and he was the head of his tribe, or, as they say, "the man who knows all about it by practice."
this did not give him any authority, except now and then he could advise his friends to change their hunting-grounds; but kotuko used it to domineer a little, in the lazy, fat inuit fashion, over the other boys, when they came out at night to play ball in the moonlight, or to sing the child's song to the aurora borealis.
but at fourteen an inuit feels himself a man, and kotuko was tired of making snares for wild-fowl and kit-foxes, and most tired of all of helping the women to chew seal-and deer-skins -lrb- that supples them as nothing else can -rrb- the long day through, while the men were out hunting.
he wanted to go into the quaggi, the singing-house, when the hunters gathered there for their mysteries, and the angekok, the sorcerer, frightened them into the most delightful fits after the lamps were put out, and you could hear the spirit of the reindeer stamping on the roof; and when a spear was thrust out into the open black night it came back covered with hot blood.
he wanted to throw his big boots into the net with the tired air of the head of a family, and to gamble with the hunters when they dropped in of an evening and played a sort of home-made roulette with a tin pot and a nail.
there were hundreds of things that he wanted to do, but the grown men laughed at him and said, "wait till you have been in the buckle, kotuko.
hunting is not all catching."
now that his father had named a puppy for him, things looked brighter.
an inuit does not waste a good dog on his son till the boy knows something of dog-driving; and kotuko was more than sure that he knew more than everything.
if the puppy had not had an iron constitution he would have died from over-stuffing and over-handling.
kotuko made him a tiny harness with a trace to it, and hauled him all over the house-floor, shouting: "aua!
ja aua!"
-lrb- go to the right -rrb-.
""choiachoi!
ja choiachoi!"
-lrb- go to the left -rrb-.
""ohaha!"
-lrb- stop -rrb-.
the puppy did not like it at all, but being fished for in this way was pure happiness beside being put to the sleigh for the first time.
he just sat down on the snow, and played with the seal-hide trace that ran from his harness to the pitu, the big thong in the bows of the sleigh.
then the team started, and the puppy found the heavy ten-foot sleigh running up his back, and dragging him along the snow, while kotuko laughed till the tears ran down his face.
there followed days and days of the cruel whip that hisses like the wind over ice, and his companions all bit him because he did not know his work, and the harness chafed him, and he was dot allowed to sleep with kotuko any more, but had to take the coldest place in the passage.
it was a sad time for the puppy.
the boy learned, too, as fast as the dog; though a dog-sleigh is a heart-breaking thing to manage.
each beast is harnessed, the weakest nearest to the driver, by his own separate trace, which runs under his left fore-leg to the main thong, where it is fastened by a sort of button and loop which can be slipped by a turn of the wrist, thus freeing one dog at a time.
this is very necessary, because young dogs often get the trace between their hind legs, where it cuts to the bone.
and they one and all will go visiting their friends as they run, jumping in and out among the traces.
then they fight, and the result is more mixed than a wet fishing-line next morning.
a great deal of trouble can be avoided by scientific use of the whip.
every inuit boy prides himself as being a master of the long lash; but it is easy to flick at a mark on the ground, and difficult to lean forward and catch a shirking dog just behind the shoulders when the sleigh is going at full speed.
if you call one dog's name for "visiting," and accidentally lash another, the two will fight it out at once, and stop all the others.
again, if you travel with a companion and begin to talk, or by yourself and sing, the dogs will halt, turn round, and sit down to hear what you have to say.
kotuko was run away from once or twice through forgetting to block the sleigh when he stopped; and he broke many lashings, and ruined a few thongs before he could be trusted with a full team of eight and the light sleigh.
then he felt himself a person of consequence, and on smooth, black ice, with a bold heart and a quick elbow, he smoked along over the levels as fast as a pack in full cry.
he would go ten miles to the seal-holes, and when he was on the hunting-grounds he would twitch a trace loose from the pitu, and free the big black leader, who was the cleverest dog in the team.
as soon as the dog had scented a breathing-hole, kotuko would reverse the sleigh, driving a couple of sawed-off antlers, that stuck up like perambulator-handles from the back-rest, deep into the snow, so that the team could not get away.
then he would crawl forward inch by inch, and wait till the seal came up to breathe.
then he would stab down swiftly with his spear and running-line, and presently would haul his seal up to the lip of the ice, while the black leader came up and helped to pull the carcass across the ice to the sleigh.
that was the time when the harnessed dogs yelled and foamed with excitement, and kotuko laid the long lash like a red-hot bar across all their faces, till the carcass froze stiff.
going home was the heavy work.
the loaded sleigh had to be humoured among the rough ice, and the dogs sat down and looked hungrily at the seal instead of pulling.
at last they would strike the well-worn sleigh-road to the village, and toodle-kiyi along the ringing ice, heads down and tails up, while kotuko struck up the "an-gutivaun tai-na tau-na-ne taina" -lrb- the song of the returning hunter -rrb-, and voices hailed him from house to house under all that dim, star-littern sky.
when kotuko the dog came to his full growth he enjoyed himself too.
he fought his way up the team steadily, fight after fight, till one fine evening, over their food, he tackled the big, black leader -lrb- kotuko the boy saw fair play -rrb-, and made second dog of him, as they say.
so he was promoted to the long thong of the leading dog, running five feet in advance of all the others: it was his bounden duty to stop all fighting, in harness or out of it, and he wore a collar of copper wire, very thick and heavy.
on special occasions he was fed with cooked food inside the house, and sometimes was allowed to sleep on the bench with kotuko.
he was a good seal-dog, and would keep a musk-ox at bay by running round him and snapping at his heels.
he would even -- and this for a sleigh-dog is the last proof of bravery -- he would even stand up to the gaunt arctic wolf, whom all dogs of the north, as a rule, fear beyond anything that walks the snow.
he and his master -- they did not count the team of ordinary dogs as company -- hunted together, day after day and night after night, fur-wrapped boy and savage, long-haired, narrow-eyed, white-fanged, yellow brute.
all an inuit has to do is to get food and skins for himself and his family.
the women-folk make the skins into clothing, and occasionally help in trapping small game; but the bulk of the food -- and they eat enormously -- must be found by the men.
if the supply fails there is no one up there to buy or beg or borrow from.
the people must die.
an inuit does not think of these chances till he is forced to.
kadlu, kotuko, amoraq, and the boy-baby who kicked about in amoraq's fur hood and chewed pieces of blubber all day, were as happy together as any family in the world.
they came of a very gentle race -- an inuit seldom loses his temper, and almost never strikes a child -- who did not know exactly what telling a real lie meant, still less how to steal.
they were content to spear their living out of the heart of the bitter, hopeless cold; to smile oily smiles, and tell queer ghost and fairy tales of evenings, and eat till they could eat no more, and sing the endless woman's song: "amna aya, aya amna, ah!
ah!"
through the long lamp-lighted days as they mended their clothes and their hunting-gear.
but one terrible winter everything betrayed them.
the tununirmiut returned from the yearly salmon-fishing, and made their houses on the early ice to the north of bylot's island, ready to go after the seal as soon as the sea froze.
but it was an early and savage autumn.
all through september there were continuous gales that broke up the smooth seal-ice when it was only four or five feet thick, and forced it inland, and piled a great barrier, some twenty miles broad, of lumped and ragged and needly ice, over which it was impossible to draw the dog-sleighs.
the edge of the floe off which the seal were used to fish in winter lay perhaps twenty miles beyond this barrier, and out of reach of the tununirmiut.
even so, they might have managed to scrape through the winter on their stock of frozen salmon and stored blubber, and what the traps gave them, but in december one of their hunters came across a tupik -lrb- a skin-tent -rrb- of three women and a girl nearly dead, whose men had come down from the far north and been crushed in their little skin hunting-boats while they were out after the long-horned narwhal.
kadlu, of course, could only distribute the women among the huts of the winter village, for no inuit dare refuse a meal to a stranger.
he never knows when his own turn may come to beg.
amoraq took the girl, who was about fourteen, into her own house as a sort of servant.
from the cut of her sharp-pointed hood, and the long diamond pattern of her white deer-skin leggings, they supposed she came from ellesmere land.
she had never seen tin cooking-pots or wooden-shod sleighs before; but kotuko the boy and kotuko the dog were rather fond of her.
then all the foxes went south, and even the wolverine, that growling, blunt-headed little thief of the snow, did not take the trouble to follow the line of empty traps that kotuko set.
the tribe lost a couple of their best hunters, who were badly crippled in a fight with a musk-ox, and this threw more work on the others.
kotuko went out, day after day, with a light hunting-sleigh and six or seven of the strongest dogs, looking till his eyes ached for some patch of clear ice where a seal might perhaps have scratched a breathing-hole.
kotuko the dog ranged far and wide, and in the dead stillness of the ice-fields kotuko the boy could hear his half-choked whine of excitement, above a seal-hole three miles away, as plainly as though he were at his elbow.
when the dog found a hole the boy would build himself a little, low snow wall to keep off the worst of the bitter wind, and there he would wait ten, twelve, twenty hours for the seal to come up to breathe, his eyes glued to the tiny mark he had made above the hole to guide the downward thrust of his harpoon, a little seal-skin mat under his feet, and his legs tied together in the tutareang -lrb- the buckle that the old hunters had talked about -rrb-.
this helps to keep a man's legs from twitching as he waits and waits and waits for the quick-eared seal to rise.
though there is no excitement in it, you can easily believe that the sitting still in the buckle with the thermometer perhaps forty degrees below zero is the hardest work an inuit knows.
when a seal was caught, kotuko the dog would bound forward, his trace trailing behind him, and help to pull the body to the sleigh, where the tired and hungry dogs lay sullenly under the lee of the broken ice.
a seal did not go very far, for each mouth in the little village had a right to be filled, and neither bone, hide, nor sinew was wasted.
the dogs" meat was taken for human use, and amoraq fed the team with pieces of old summer skin-tents raked out from under the sleeping-bench, and they howled and howled again, and waked to howl hungrily.
one could tell by the soap-stone lamps in the huts that famine was near.
in good seasons, when blubber was plentiful, the light in the boat-shaped lamps would be two feet high -- cheerful, oily, and yellow.
now it was a bare six inches: amoraq carefully pricked down the moss wick, when an unwatched flame brightened for a moment, and the eyes of all the family followed her hand.
the horror of famine up there in the great cold is not so much dying, as dying in the dark.
all the inuit dread the dark that presses on them without a break for six months in each year; and when the lamps are low in the houses the minds of people begin to be shaken and confused.
but worse was to come.
the underfed dogs snapped and growled in the passages, glaring at the cold stars, and snuffing into the bitter wind, night after night.
when they stopped howling the silence fell down again as solid and heavy as a snowdrift against a door, and men could hear the beating of their blood in the thin passages of the ear, and the thumping of their own hearts, that sounded as loud as the noise of sorcerers" drums beaten across the snow.
one night kotuko the dog, who had been unusually sullen in harness, leaped up and pushed his head against kotuko's knee.
kotuko patted him, but the dog still pushed blindly forward, fawning.
then kadlu waked, and gripped the heavy wolf-like head, and stared into the glassy eyes.
the dog whimpered and shivered between kadlu's knees.
the hair rose about his neck, and he growled as though a stranger were at the door; then he barked joyously, and rolled on the ground, and bit at kotuko's boot like a puppy.
""what is it?"
said kotuko; for he was beginning to be afraid.
""the sickness," kadlu answered.
""it is the dog sickness."
kotuko the dog lifted his nose and howled and howled again.
""i have not seen this before.
what will he do?"
said kotuko.
kadlu shrugged one shoulder a little, and crossed the hut for his short stabbing-harpoon.
the big dog looked at him, howled again, and slunk away down the passage, while the other dogs drew aside right and left to give him ample room.
when he was out on the snow he barked furiously, as though on the trail of a musk-ox, and, barking and leaping and frisking, passed out of sight.
his trouble was not hydrophobia, but simple, plain madness.
the cold and the hunger, and, above all, the dark, had turned his head; and when the terrible dog-sickness once shows itself in a team, it spreads like wild-fire.
next hunting-day another dog sickened, and was killed then and there by kotuko as he bit and struggled among the traces.
then the black second dog, who had been the leader in the old days, suddenly gave tongue on an imaginary reindeer-track, and when they slipped him from the pitu he flew at the throat of an ice-cliff, and ran away as his leader had done, his harness on his back.
after that no one would take the dogs out again.
they needed them for something else, and the dogs knew it; and though they were tied down and fed by hand, their eyes were full of despair and fear.
to make things worse, the old women began to tell ghost-tales, and to say that they had met the spirits of the dead hunters lost that autumn, who prophesied all sorts of horrible things.
kotuko grieved more for the loss of his dog than anything else; for though an inuit eats enormously he also knows how to starve.
but the hunger, the darkness, the cold, and the exposure told on his strength, and he began to hear voices inside his head, and to see people who were not there, out of the tail of his eye.
one night -- he had unbuckled himself after ten hours" waiting above a "blind" seal-hole, and was staggering back to the village faint and dizzy -- he halted to lean his back against a boulder which happened to be supported like a rocking-stone on a single jutting point of ice.
his weight disturbed the balance of the thing, it rolled over ponderously, and as kotuko sprang aside to avoid it, slid after him, squeaking and hissing on the ice-slope.
that was enough for kotuko.
he had been brought up to believe that every rock and boulder had its owner -lrb- its inua -rrb-, who was generally a one-eyed kind of a woman-thing called a tornaq, and that when a tornaq meant to help a man she rolled after him inside her stone house, and asked him whether he would take her for a guardian spirit.
-lrb- in summer thaws the ice-propped rocks and boulders roll and slip all over the face of the land, so you can easily see how the idea of live stones arose. -rrb-
kotuko heard the blood beating in his ears as he had heard it all day, and he thought that was the tornaq of the stone speaking to him.
before he reached home he was quite certain that he had held a long conversation with her, and as all his people believed that this was quite possible, no one contradicted him.
""she said to me," i jump down, i jump down from my place on the snow,"" cried kotuko, with hollow eyes, leaning forward in the half-lighted hut.
""she said," i will be a guide."
she said," i will guide you to the good seal-holes."
to-morrow i go out, and the tornaq will guide me."
then the angekok, the village sorcerer, came in, and kotuko told him the tale a second time.
it lost nothing in the telling.
""follow the tornait -lsb- the spirits of the stones -rsb-, and they will bring us food again," said the angekok.
now the girl from the north had been lying near the lamp, eating very little and saying less for days past; but when amoraq and kadlu next morning packed and lashed a little hand-sleigh for kotuko, and loaded it with his hunting-gear and as much blubber and frozen seal-meat as they could spare, she took the pulling-rope, and stepped out boldly at the boy's side.
""your house is my house," she said, as the little bone-shod sleigh squeaked and bumped behind them in the awful arctic night.
""my house is your house," said kotuko; "but i think that we shall both go to sedna together."
now sedna is the mistress of the underworld, and the inuit believe that every one who dies must spend a year in her horrible country before going to quadliparmiut, the happy place, where it never freezes and the fat reindeer trot up when you call.
through the village people were shouting: "the tornait have spoken to kotuko.
they will show him open ice.
he will bring us the seal again!"
their voices were soon swallowed up by the cold, empty dark, and kotuko and the girl shouldered close together as they strained on the pulling-rope or humoured the sleigh through the ice in the direction of the polar sea.
kotuko insisted that the tornaq of the stone had told him to go north, and north they went under tuktuqdjung the reindeer -- those stars that we call the great bear.
no european could have made five miles a day over the ice-rubbish and the sharp-edged drifts; but those two knew exactly the turn of the wrist that coaxes a sleigh round a hummock, the jerk that nearly lifts it out of an ice-crack, and the exact strength that goes to the few quiet strokes of the spear-head that make a path possible when everything looks hopeless.
the girl said nothing, but bowed her head, and the long wolverine-fur fringe of her ermine hood blew across her broad, dark face.
the sky above them was an intense velvety black, changing to bands of indian red on the horizon, where the great stars burned like street-lamps.
from time to time a greenish wave of the northern lights would roll across the hollow of the high heavens, flick like a flag, and disappear; or a meteor would crackle from darkness to darkness, trailing a shower of sparks behind.
then they could see the ridged and furrowed surface of the floe tipped and laced with strange colours -- red, copper, and bluish; but in the ordinary starlight everything turned to one frost-bitten gray.
the floe, as you will remember, had been battered and tormented by the autumn gales till it was one frozen earthquake.
there were gullies and ravines, and holes like gravel-pits, cut in ice; lumps and scattered pieces frozen down to the original floor of the floe; blotches of old black ice that had been thrust under the floe in some gale and heaved up again; roundish boulders of ice; saw-like edges of ice carved by the snow that flies before the wind; and sunken pits where thirty or forty acres lay below the level of the rest of the field.
from a little distance you might have taken the lumps for seal or walrus, overturned sleighs or men on a hunting expedition, or even the great ten-legged white spirit-bear himself; but in spite of these fantastic shapes, all on the very edge of starting into life, there was neither sound nor the least faint echo of sound.
and through this silence and through this waste, where the sudden lights flapped and went out again, the sleigh and the two that pulled it crawled like things in a nightmare -- a nightmare of the end of the world at the end of the world.
when they were tired kotuko would make what the hunters call a "half-house," a very small snow hut, into which they would huddle with the travelling-lamp, and try to thaw out the frozen seal-meat.
when they had slept, the march began again -- thirty miles a day to get ten miles northward.
the girl was always very silent, but kotuko muttered to himself and broke out into songs he had learned in the singing-house -- summer songs, and reindeer and salmon songs -- all horribly out of place at that season.
he would declare that he heard the tornaq growling to him, and would run wildly up a hummock, tossing his arms and speaking in loud, threatening tones.
to tell the truth, kotuko was very nearly crazy for the time being; but the girl was sure that he was being guided by his guardian spirit, and that everything would come right.
she was not surprised, therefore, when at the end of the fourth march kotuko, whose eyes were burning like fire-balls in his head, told her that his tornaq was following them across the snow in the shape of a two-headed dog.
the girl looked where kotuko pointed, and something seemed to slip into a ravine.
it was certainly not human, but everybody knew that the tornait preferred to appear in the shape of bear and seal, and such like.
it might have been the ten-legged white spirit-bear himself, or it might have been anything, for kotuko and the girl were so starved that their eyes were untrustworthy.
they had trapped nothing, and seen no trace of game since they had left the village; their food would not hold out for another week, and there was a gale coming.
a polar storm can blow for ten days without a break, and all that while it is certain death to be abroad.
kotuko laid up a snow-house large enough to take in the hand-sleigh -lrb- never be separated from your meat -rrb-, and while he was shaping the last irregular block of ice that makes the key-stone of the roof, he saw a thing looking at him from a little cliff of ice half a mile away.
the air was hazy, and the thing seemed to be forty feet long and ten feet high, with twenty feet of tail and a shape that quivered all along the outlines.
the girl saw it too, but instead of crying aloud with terror, said quietly, "that is quiquern.
what comes after?"
""he will speak to me," said kotuko; but the snow-knife trembled in his hand as he spoke, because however much a man may believe that he is a friend of strange and ugly spirits, he seldom likes to be taken quite at his word.
quiquern, too, is the phantom of a gigantic toothless dog without any hair, who is supposed to live in the far north, and to wander about the country just before things are going to happen.
they may be pleasant or unpleasant things, but not even the sorcerers care to speak about quiquern.
he makes the dogs go mad.
like the spirit-bear, he has several extra pairs of legs, -- six or eight, -- and this thing jumping up and down in the haze had more legs than any real dog needed.
kotuko and the girl huddled into their hut quickly.
of course if quiquern had wanted them, he could have torn it to pieces above their heads, but the sense of a foot-thick snow-wall between themselves and the wicked dark was great comfort.
the gale broke with a shriek of wind like the shriek of a train, and for three days and three nights it held, never varying one point, and never lulling even for a minute.
they fed the stone lamp between their knees, and nibbled at the half-warm seal-meat, and watched the black soot gather on the roof for seventy-two long hours.
the girl counted up the food in the sleigh; there was not more than two days" supply, and kotuko looked over the iron heads and the deer-sinew fastenings of his harpoon and his seal-lance and his bird-dart.
there was nothing else to do.
""we shall go to sedna soon -- very soon," the girl whispered.
""in three days we shall lie down and go.
will your tornaq do nothing?
sing her an angekok's song to make her come here."
he began to sing in the high-pitched howl of the magic songs, and the gale went down slowly.
in the middle of his song the girl started, laid her mittened hand and then her head to the ice floor of the hut.
kotuko followed her example, and the two kneeled, staring into each other's eyes, and listening with every nerve.
he ripped a thin sliver of whalebone from the rim of a bird-snare that lay on the sleigh, and, after straightening, set it upright in a little hole in the ice, firming it down with his mitten.
it was almost as delicately adjusted as a compass-needle, and now instead of listening they watched.
the thin rod quivered a little -- the least little jar in the world; then it vibrated steadily for a few seconds, came to rest, and vibrated again, this time nodding to another point of the compass.
""too soon!"
said kotuko.
""some big floe has broken far away outside."
the girl pointed at the rod, and shook her head.
""it is the big breaking," she said.
""listen to the ground-ice.
it knocks."
when they kneeled this time they heard the most curious muffled grunts and knockings, apparently under their feet.
sometimes it sounded as though a blind puppy were squeaking above the lamp; then as if a stone were being ground on hard ice; and again, like muffled blows on a drum; but all dragged out and made small, as though they travelled through a little horn a weary distance away.
""we shall not go to sedna lying down," said kotuko.
""it is the breaking.
the tornaq has cheated us.
we shall die."
all this may sound absurd enough, but the two were face to face with a very real danger.
the three days" gale had driven the deep water of baffin's bay southerly, and piled it on to the edge of the far-reaching land-ice that stretches from bylot's island to the west.
also, the strong current which sets east out of lancaster sound carried with it mile upon mile of what they call pack-ice -- rough ice that has not frozen into fields; and this pack was bombarding the floe at the same time that the swell and heave of the storm-worked sea was weakening and undermining it.
what kotuko and the girl had been listening to were the faint echoes of that fight thirty or forty miles away, and the little tell-tale rod quivered to the shock of it.
now, as the inuit say, when the ice once wakes after its long winter sleep, there is no knowing what may happen, for solid floe-ice changes shape almost as quickly as a cloud.
the gale was evidently a spring gale sent out of time, and anything was possible.
yet the two were happier in their minds than before.
if the floe broke up there would be no more waiting and suffering.
spirits, goblins, and witch-people were moving about on the racking ice, and they might find themselves stepping into sedna's country side by side with all sorts of wild things, the flush of excitement still on them.
when they left the hut after the gale, the noise on the horizon was steadily growing, and the tough ice moaned and buzzed all round them.
""it is still waiting," said kotuko.
on the top of a hummock sat or crouched the eight-legged thing that they had seen three days before -- and it howled horribly.
""let us follow," said the girl.
""it may know some way that does not lead to sedna"; but she reeled from weakness as she took the pulling-rope.
the thing moved off slowly and clumsily across the ridges, heading always toward the westward and the land, and they followed, while the growling thunder at the edge of the floe rolled nearer and nearer.
the floe's lip was split and cracked in every direction for three or four miles inland, and great pans of ten-foot-thick ice, from a few yards to twenty acres square, were jolting and ducking and surging into one another, and into the yet unbroken floe, as the heavy swell took and shook and spouted between them.
this battering-ram ice was, so to speak, the first army that the sea was flinging against the floe.
the incessant crash and jar of these cakes almost drowned the ripping sound of sheets of pack-ice driven bodily under the floe as cards are hastily pushed under a tablecloth.
where the water was shallow these sheets would be piled one atop of the other till the bottommost touched mud fifty feet down, and the discoloured sea banked behind the muddy ice till the increasing pressure drove all forward again.
in addition to the floe and the pack-ice, the gale and the currents were bringing down true bergs, sailing mountains of ice, snapped off from the greenland side of the water or the north shore of melville bay.
they pounded in solemnly, the waves breaking white round them, and advanced on the floe like an old-time fleet under full sail.
a berg that seemed ready to carry the world before it would ground helplessly in deep water, reel over, and wallow in a lather of foam and mud and flying frozen spray, while a much smaller and lower one would rip and ride into the flat floe, flinging tons of ice on either side, and cutting a track half a mile long before it was stopped.
some fell like swords, shearing a raw-edged canal; and others splintered into a shower of blocks, weighing scores of tons apiece, that whirled and skirted among the hummocks.
others, again, rose up bodily out of the water when they shoaled, twisted as though in pain, and fell solidly on their sides, while the sea threshed over their shoulders.
this trampling and crowding and bending and buckling and arching of the ice into every possible shape was going on as far as the eye could reach all along the north line of the floe.
from where kotuko and the girl were, the confusion looked no more than an uneasy, rippling, crawling movement under the horizon; but it came toward them each moment, and they could hear, far away to landward a heavy booming, as it might have been the boom of artillery through a fog.
that showed that the floe was being jammed home against the iron cliffs of bylot's island, the land to the southward behind them.
""this has never been before," said kotuko, staring stupidly.
""this is not the time.
how can the floe break now?"
""follow that!"
the girl cried, pointing to the thing half limping, half running distractedly before them.
they followed, tugging at the hand-sleigh, while nearer and nearer came the roaring march of the ice.
at last the fields round them cracked and starred in every direction, and the cracks opened and snapped like the teeth of wolves.
but where the thing rested, on a mound of old and scattered ice-blocks some fifty feet high, there was no motion.
kotuko leaped forward wildly, dragging the girl after him, and crawled to the bottom of the mound.
the talking of the ice grew louder and louder round them, but the mound stayed fast, and, as the girl looked at him, he threw his right elbow upward and outward, making the inuit sign for land in the shape of an island.
and land it was that the eight-legged, limping thing had led them to -- some granite-tipped, sand-beached islet off the coast, shod and sheathed and masked with ice so that no man could have told it from the floe, but at the bottom solid earth, and not shifting ice!
the smashing and rebound of the floes as they grounded and splintered marked the borders of it, and a friendly shoal ran out to the northward, and turned aside the rush of the heaviest ice, exactly as a ploughshare turns over loam.
there was danger, of course, that some heavily squeezed ice-field might shoot up the beach, and plane off the top of the islet bodily; but that did not trouble kotuko and the girl when they made their snow-house and began to eat, and heard the ice hammer and skid along the beach.
the thing had disappeared, and kotuko was talking excitedly about his power over spirits as he crouched round the lamp.
in the middle of his wild sayings the girl began to laugh, and rock herself backward and forward.
behind her shoulder, crawling into the hut crawl by crawl, there were two heads, one yellow and one black, that belonged to two of the most sorrowful and ashamed dogs that ever you saw.
kotuko the dog was one, and the black leader was the other.
both were now fat, well-looking, and quite restored to their proper minds, but coupled to each other in an extraordinary fashion.
when the black leader ran off, you remember, his harness was still on him.
he must have met kotuko the dog, and played or fought with him, for his shoulder-loop had caught in the plaited copper wire of kotuko's collar, and had drawn tight, so that neither could get at the trace to gnaw it apart, but each was fastened sidelong to his neighbour's neck.
that, with the freedom of hunting on their own account, must have helped to cure their madness.
they were very sober.
the girl pushed the two shamefaced creatures towards kotuko, and, sobbing with laughter, cried, "that is quiquern, who led us to safe ground.
look at his eight legs and double head!"
kotuko cut them free, and they fell into his arms, yellow and black together, trying to explain how they had got their senses back again.
kotuko ran a hand down their ribs, which were round and well clothed.
""they have found food," he said, with a grin.
""i do not think we shall go to sedna so soon.
my tornaq sent these.
the sickness has left them."
as soon as they had greeted kotuko, these two, who had been forced to sleep and eat and hunt together for the past few weeks, flew at each other's throat, and there was a beautiful battle in the snow-house.
""empty dogs do not fight," kotuko said.
""they have found the seal.
let us sleep.
we shall find food."
when they waked there was open water on the north beach of the island, and all the loosened ice had been driven landward.
the first sound of the surf is one of the most delightful that the inuit can hear, for it means that spring is on the road.
kotuko and the girl took hold of hands and smiled, for the clear, full roar of the surge among the ice reminded them of salmon and reindeer time and the smell of blossoming ground-willows.
even as they looked, the sea began to skim over between the floating cakes of ice, so intense was the cold; but on the horizon there was a vast red glare, and that was the light of the sunken sun.
it was more like hearing him yawn in his sleep than seeing him rise, and the glare lasted for only a few minutes, but it marked the turn of the year.
nothing, they felt, could alter that.
kotuko found the dogs fighting over a fresh-killed seal who was following the fish that a gale always disturbs.
he was the first of some twenty or thirty seal that landed on the island in the course of the day, and till the sea froze hard there were hundreds of keen black heads rejoicing in the shallow free water and floating about with the floating ice.
it was good to eat seal-liver again; to fill the lamps recklessly with blubber, and watch the flame blaze three feet in the air; but as soon as the new sea-ice bore, kotuko and the girl loaded the hand-sleigh, and made the two dogs pull as they had never pulled in their lives, for they feared what might have happened in their village.
the weather was as pitiless as usual; but it is easier to draw a sleigh loaded with good food than to hunt starving.
they left five-and-twenty seal carcasses buried in the ice of the beach, all ready for use, and hurried back to their people.
the dogs showed them the way as soon as kotuko told them what was expected, and though there was no sign of a landmark, in two days they were giving tongue outside kadlu's house.
only three dogs answered them; the others had been eaten, and the houses were all dark.
but when kotuko shouted, "ojo!"
-lrb- boiled meat -rrb-, weak voices replied, and when he called the muster of the village name by name, very distinctly, there were no gaps in it.
an hour later the lamps blazed in kadlu's house; snow-water was heating; the pots were beginning to simmer, and the snow was dripping from the roof, as amoraq made ready a meal for all the village, and the boy-baby in the hood chewed at a strip of rich nutty blubber, and the hunters slowly and methodically filled themselves to the very brim with seal-meat.
kotuko and the girl told their tale.
the two dogs sat between them, and whenever their names came in, they cocked an ear apiece and looked most thoroughly ashamed of themselves.
a dog who has once gone mad and recovered, the inuit say, is safe against all further attacks.
""so the tornaq did not forget us," said kotuko.
""the storm blew, the ice broke, and the seal swam in behind the fish that were frightened by the storm.
now the new seal-holes are not two days distant.
let the good hunters go to-morrow and bring back the seal i have speared -- twenty-five seal buried in the ice.
when we have eaten those we will all follow the seal on the floe."
""what do you do?"
said the sorcerer in the same sort of voice as he used to kadlu, richest of the tununirmiut.
kadlu looked at the girl from the north, and said quietly, "we build a house."
he pointed to the north-west side of kadlu's house, for that is the side on which the married son or daughter always lives.
the girl turned her hands palm upward, with a little despairing shake of her head.
she was a foreigner, picked up starving, and could bring nothing to the housekeeping.
amoraq jumped from the bench where she sat, and began to sweep things into the girl's lap -- stone lamps, iron skin-scrapers, tin kettles, deer-skins embroidered with musk-ox teeth, and real canvas-needles such as sailors use -- the finest dowry that has ever been given on the far edge of the arctic circle, and the girl from the north bowed her head down to the very floor.
""also these!"
said kotuko, laughing and signing to the dogs, who thrust their cold muzzles into the girl's face.
""ah," said the angekok, with an important cough, as though he had been thinking it all over.
""as soon as kotuko left the village i went to the singing-house and sang magic.
i sang all the long nights, and called upon the spirit of the reindeer.
my singing made the gale blow that broke the ice and drew the two dogs toward kotuko when the ice would have crushed his bones.
my song drew the seal in behind the broken ice.
my body lay still in the quaggi, but my spirit ran about on the ice, and guided kotuko and the dogs in all the things they did.
i did it."
everybody was full and sleepy, so no one contradicted; and the angekok, by virtue of his office, helped himself to yet another lump of boiled meat, and lay down to sleep with the others in the warm, well-lighted, oil-smelling home.
***** now kotuko, who drew very well in the inuit fashion, scratched pictures of all these adventures on a long, flat piece of ivory with a hole at one end.
when he and the girl went north to ellesmere land in the year of the wonderful open winter, he left the picture-story with kadlu, who lost it in the shingle when his dog-sleigh broke down one summer on the beach of lake netilling at nikosiring, and there a lake inuit found it next spring and sold it to a man at imigen who was interpreter on a cumberland sound whaler, and he sold it to hans olsen, who was afterward a quartermaster on board a big steamer that took tourists to the north cape in norway.
when the tourist season was over, the steamer ran between london and australia, stopping at ceylon, and there olsen sold the ivory to a cingalese jeweller for two imitation sapphires.
i found it under some rubbish in a house at colombo, and have translated it from one end to the other.
"angutivaun taina" -lsb- this is a very free translation of the song of the returning hunter, as the men used to sing it after seal-spearing.
the inuit always repeat things over and over again. -rsb-
our gloves are stiff with the frozen blood, our furs with the drifted snow, as we come in with the seal -- the seal!
in from the edge of the floe.
au jana!
aua!
oha!
haq!
and the yelping dog-teams go, and the long whips crack, and the men come back, back from the edge of the floe!
we tracked our seal to his secret place, we heard him scratch below, we made our mark, and we watched beside, out on the edge of the floe.
we raised our lance when he rose to breathe, we drove it downward -- so!
and we played him thus, and we killed him thus, out on the edge of the floe.
our gloves are glued with the frozen blood, our eyes with the drifting snow; but we come back to our wives again, back from the edge of the floe!
au jana!
aua!
oha!
haq!
and the loaded dog-teams go, and the wives can hear their men come back.
back from the edge of the floe!
red dog for our white and our excellent nights -- for the nights of swift running.
fair ranging, far seeing, good hunting, sure cunning!
for the smells of the dawning, untainted, ere dew has departed!
for the rush through the mist, and the quarry blind-started!
for the cry of our mates when the sambhur has wheeled and is standing at bay, for the risk and the riot of night!
for the sleep at the lair-mouth by day, it is met, and we go to the fight.
bay!
o bay!
it was after the letting in of the jungle that the pleasantest part of mowgli's life began.
he had the good conscience that comes from paying debts; all the jungle was his friend, and just a little afraid of him.
the things that he did and saw and heard when he was wandering from one people to another, with or without his four companions, would make many many stories, each as long as this one.
so you will never be told how he met the mad elephant of mandla, who killed two-and-twenty bullocks drawing eleven carts of coined silver to the government treasury, and scattered the shiny rupees in the dust; how he fought jacala, the crocodile, all one long night in the marshes of the north, and broke his skinning-knife on the brute's back-plates; how he found a new and longer knife round the neck of a man who had been killed by a wild boar, and how he tracked that boar and killed him as a fair price for the knife; how he was caught up once in the great famine, by the moving of the deer, and nearly crushed to death in the swaying hot herds; how he saved hathi the silent from being once more trapped in a pit with a stake at the bottom, and how, next day, he himself fell into a very cunning leopard-trap, and how hathi broke the thick wooden bars to pieces above him; how he milked the wild buffaloes in the swamp, and how -- but we must tell one tale at a time.
father and mother wolf died, and mowgli rolled a big boulder against the mouth of their cave, and cried the death song over them; baloo grew very old and stiff, and even bagheera, whose nerves were steel and whose muscles were iron, was a shade slower on the kill than he had been.
akela turned from gray to milky white with pure age; his ribs stuck out, and he walked as though he had been made of wood, and mowgli killed for him.
but the young wolves, the children of the disbanded seeonee pack, throve and increased, and when there were about forty of them, masterless, full-voiced, clean-footed five-year-olds, akela told them that they ought to gather themselves together and follow the law, and run under one head, as befitted the free people.
this was not a question in which mowgli concerned himself, for, as he said, he had eaten sour fruit, and he knew the tree it hung from; but when phao, son of phaona -lrb- his father was the gray tracker in the days of akela's headship -rrb-, fought his way to the leadership of the pack, according to the jungle law, and the old calls and songs began to ring under the stars once more, mowgli came to the council rock for memory's sake.
when he chose to speak the pack waited till he had finished, and he sat at akela's side on the rock above phao.
those were days of good hunting and good sleeping.
no stranger cared to break into the jungles that belonged to mowgli's people, as they called the pack, and the young wolves grew fat and strong, and there were many cubs to bring to the looking-over.
mowgli always attended a looking-over, remembering the night when a black panther bought a naked brown baby into the pack, and the long call, "look, look well, o wolves," made his heart flutter.
otherwise, he would be far away in the jungle with his four brothers, tasting, touching, seeing, and feeling new things.
one twilight when he was trotting leisurely across the ranges to give akela the half of a buck that he had killed, while the four jogged behind him, sparring a little, and tumbling one another over for joy of being alive, he heard a cry that had never been heard since the bad days of shere khan.
it was what they call in the jungle the pheeal, a hideous kind of shriek that the jackal gives when he is hunting behind a tiger, or when there is a big killing afoot.
if you can imagine a mixture of hate, triumph, fear, and despair, with a kind of leer running through it, you will get some notion of the pheeal that rose and sank and wavered and quavered far away across the waingunga.
the four stopped at once, bristling and growling.
mowgli's hand went to his knife, and he checked, the blood in his face, his eyebrows knotted.
""there is no striped one dare kill here," he said.
""that is not the cry of the forerunner," answered gray brother.
""it is some great killing.
listen!"
it broke out again, half sobbing and half chuckling, just as though the jackal had soft human lips.
then mowgli drew deep breath, and ran to the council rock, overtaking on his way hurrying wolves of the pack.
phao and akela were on the rock together, and below them, every nerve strained, sat the others.
the mothers and the cubs were cantering off to their lairs; for when the pheeal cries it is no time for weak things to be abroad.
they could hear nothing except the waingunga rushing and gurgling in the dark, and the light evening winds among the tree-tops, till suddenly across the river a wolf called.
it was no wolf of the pack, for they were all at the rock.
the note changed to a long, despairing bay; and "dhole!"
it said, "dhole!
dhole!
dhole!"
they heard tired feet on the rocks, and a gaunt wolf, streaked with red on his flanks, his right fore-paw useless, and his jaws white with foam, flung himself into the circle and lay gasping at mowgli's feet.
""good hunting!
under whose headship?"
said phao gravely.
""good hunting!
won-tolla am i," was the answer.
he meant that he was a solitary wolf, fending for himself, his mate, and his cubs in some lonely lair, as do many wolves in the south.
won-tolla means an outlier -- one who lies out from any pack.
then he panted, and they could see his heart-beats shake him backward and forward.
""what moves?"
said phao, for that is the question all the jungle asks after the pheeal cries.
""the dhole, the dhole of the dekkan -- red dog, the killer!
they came north from the south saying the dekkan was empty and killing out by the way.
when this moon was new there were four to me -- my mate and three cubs.
she would teach them to kill on the grass plains, hiding to drive the buck, as we do who are of the open.
at midnight i heard them together, full tongue on the trail.
at the dawn-wind i found them stiff in the grass -- four, free people, four when this moon was new.
then sought i my blood-right and found the dhole."
""how many?"
said mowgli quickly; the pack growled deep in their throats.
""i do not know.
three of them will kill no more, but at the last they drove me like the buck; on my three legs they drove me.
look, free people!"
he thrust out his mangled fore-foot, all dark with dried blood.
there were cruel bites low down on his side, and his throat was torn and worried.
""eat," said akela, rising up from the meat mowgli had brought him, and the outlier flung himself on it.
""this shall be no loss," he said humbly, when he had taken off the first edge of his hunger.
""give me a little strength, free people, and i also will kill.
my lair is empty that was full when this moon was new, and the blood debt is not all paid."
phao heard his teeth crack on a haunch-bone and grunted approvingly.
""we shall need those jaws," said he.
""were there cubs with the dhole?"
""nay, nay.
red hunters all: grown dogs of their pack, heavy and strong for all that they eat lizards in the dekkan."
what won-tolla had said meant that the dhole, the red hunting-dog of the dekkan, was moving to kill, and the pack knew well that even the tiger will surrender a new kill to the dhole.
they drive straight through the jungle, and what they meet they pull down and tear to pieces.
though they are not as big nor half as cunning as the wolf, they are very strong and very numerous.
the dhole, for instance, do not begin to call themselves a pack till they are a hundred strong; whereas forty wolves make a very fair pack indeed.
mowgli's wanderings had taken him to the edge of the high grassy downs of the dekkan, and he had seen the fearless dholes sleeping and playing and scratching themselves in the little hollows and tussocks that they use for lairs.
he despised and hated them because they did not smell like the free people, because they did not live in caves, and, above all, because they had hair between their toes while he and his friends were clean-footed.
but he knew, for hathi had told him, what a terrible thing a dhole hunting-pack was.
even hathi moves aside from their line, and until they are killed, or till game is scarce, they will go forward.
akela knew something of the dholes, too, for he said to mowgli quietly, "it is better to die in a full pack than leaderless and alone.
this is good hunting, and -- my last.
but, as men live, thou hast very many more nights and days, little brother.
go north and lie down, and if any live after the dhole has gone by he shall bring thee word of the fight."
""ah," said mowgli, quite gravely, "must i go to the marshes and catch little fish and sleep in a tree, or must i ask help of the bandar-log and crack nuts, while the pack fight below?"
""it is to the death," said akela.
""thou hast never met the dhole -- the red killer.
even the striped one --" "aowa!
aowa!"
said mowgli pettingly.
""i have killed one striped ape, and sure am i in my stomach that shere khan would have left his own mate for meat to the dhole if he had winded a pack across three ranges.
listen now: there was a wolf, my father, and there was a wolf, my mother, and there was an old gray wolf -lrb- not too wise: he is white now -rrb- was my father and my mother.
therefore i --" he raised his voice, "i say that when the dhole come, and if the dhole come, mowgli and the free people are of one skin for that hunting; and i say, by the bull that bought me -- by the bull bagheera paid for me in the old days which ye of the pack do not remember -- i say, that the trees and the river may hear and hold fast if i forget; i say that this my knife shall be as a tooth to the pack -- and i do not think it is so blunt.
this is my word which has gone from me."
""thou dost not know the dhole, man with a wolf's tongue," said won-tolla.
""i look only to clear the blood debt against them ere they have me in many pieces.
they move slowly, killing out as they go, but in two days a little strength will come back to me and i turn again for the blood debt.
but for ye, free people, my word is that ye go north and eat but little for a while till the dhole are gone.
there is no meat in this hunting."
""hear the outlier!"
said mowgli with a laugh.
""free people, we must go north and dig lizards and rats from the bank, lest by any chance we meet the dhole.
he must kill out our hunting-grounds, while we lie hid in the north till it please him to give us our own again.
he is a dog -- and the pup of a dog -- red, yellow-bellied, lairless, and haired between every toe!
he counts his cubs six and eight at the litter, as though he were chikai, the little leaping rat.
surely we must run away, free people, and beg leave of the peoples of the north for the offal of dead cattle!
ye know the saying: "north are the vermin; south are the lice.
we are the jungle."
choose ye, o choose.
it is good hunting!
for the pack -- for the full pack -- for the lair and the litter; for the in-kill and the out-kill; for the mate that drives the doe and the little, little cub within the cave; it is met!
-- it is met!
-- it is met!"
the pack answered with one deep, crashing bark that sounded in the night like a big tree falling.
""it is met!"
they cried.
""stay with these," said mowgli to the four.
""we shall need every tooth.
phao and akela must make ready the battle.
i go to count the dogs."
""it is death!"
won-tolla cried, half rising.
""what can such a hairless one do against the red dog?
even the striped one, remember --" "thou art indeed an outlier," mowgli called back; "but we will speak when the dholes are dead.
good hunting all!"
he hurried off into the darkness, wild with excitement, hardly looking where he set foot, and the natural consequence was that he tripped full length over kaa's great coils where the python lay watching a deer-path near the river.
""kssha!"
said kaa angrily.
""is this jungle-work, to stamp and tramp and undo a night's hunting -- when the game are moving so well, too?"
""the fault was mine," said mowgli, picking himself up.
""indeed i was seeking thee, flathead, but each time we meet thou art longer and broader by the length of my arm.
there is none like thee in the jungle, wise, old, strong, and most beautiful kaa."
""now whither does this trail lead?"
kaa's voice was gentler.
""not a moon since there was a manling with a knife threw stones at my head and called me bad little tree-cat names, because i lay asleep in the open."
""ay, and turned every driven deer to all the winds, and mowgli was hunting, and this same flathead was too deaf to hear his whistle, and leave the deer-roads free," mowgli answered composedly, sitting down among the painted coils.
""now this same manling comes with soft, tickling words to this same flathead, telling him that he is wise and strong and beautiful, and this same old flathead believes and makes a place, thus, for this same stone-throwing manling, and -- art thou at ease now?
could bagheera give thee so good a resting-place?"
kaa had, as usual, made a sort of soft half-hammock of himself under mowgli's weight.
the boy reached out in the darkness, and gathered in the supple cable-like neck till kaa's head rested on his shoulder, and then he told him all that had happened in the jungle that night.
""wise i may be," said kaa at the end; "but deaf i surely am.
else i should have heard the pheeal.
small wonder the eaters of grass are uneasy.
how many be the dhole?"
""i have not yet seen.
i came hot-foot to thee.
thou art older than hathi.
but oh, kaa," -- here mowgli wriggled with sheerjoy, -- "it will be good hunting.
few of us will see another moon."
""dost thou strike in this?
remember thou art a man; and remember what pack cast thee out.
let the wolf look to the dog.
thou art a man."
""last year's nuts are this year's black earth," said mowgli.
""it is true that i am a man, but it is in my stomach that this night i have said that i am a wolf.
i called the river and the trees to remember.
i am of the free people, kaa, till the dhole has gone by."
""free people," kaa grunted.
""free thieves!
and thou hast tied thyself into the death-knot for the sake of the memory of the dead wolves?
this is no good hunting."
""it is my word which i have spoken.
the trees know, the river knows.
till the dhole have gone by my word comes not back to me."
""ngssh!
this changes all trails.
i had thought to take thee away with me to the northern marshes, but the word -- even the word of a little, naked, hairless manling -- is the word.
now i, kaa, say --" "think well, flathead, lest thou tie thyself into the death-knot also.
i need no word from thee, for well i know --" "be it so, then," said kaa.
""i will give no word; but what is in thy stomach to do when the dhole come?"
""they must swim the waingunga.
i thought to meet them with my knife in the shallows, the pack behind me; and so stabbing and thrusting, we a little might turn them down-stream, or cool their throats."
""the dhole do not turn and their throats are hot," said kaa.
""there will be neither manling nor wolf-cub when that hunting is done, but only dry bones."
""alala!
if we die, we die.
it will be most good hunting.
but my stomach is young, and i have not seen many rains.
i am not wise nor strong.
hast thou a better plan, kaa?"
""i have seen a hundred and a hundred rains.
ere hathi cast his milk-tushes my trail was big in the dust.
by the first egg, i am older than many trees, and i have seen all that the jungle has done."
""but this is new hunting," said mowgli.
""never before have the dhole crossed our trail."
""what is has been.
what will be is no more than a forgotten year striking backward.
be still while i count those my years."
for a long hour mowgli lay back among the coils, while kaa, his head motionless on the ground, thought of all that he had seen and known since the day he came from the egg.
the light seemed to go out of his eyes and leave them like stale opals, and now and again he made little stiff passes with his head, right and left, as though he were hunting in his sleep.
mowgli dozed quietly, for he knew that there is nothing like sleep before hunting, and he was trained to take it at any hour of the day or night.
then he felt kaa's back grow bigger and broader below him as the huge python puffed himself out, hissing with the noise of a sword drawn from a steel scabbard.
""i have seen all the dead seasons," kaa said at last, "and the great trees and the old elephants, and the rocks that were bare and sharp-pointed ere the moss grew.
art thou still alive, manling?"
""it is only a little after moonset," said mowgli.
""i do not understand --" "hssh!
i am again kaa.
i knew it was but a little time.
now we will go to the river, and i will show thee what is to be done against the dhole."
he turned, straight as an arrow, for the main stream of the waingunga, plunging in a little above the pool that hid the peace rock, mowgli at his side.
""nay, do not swim.
i go swiftly.
my back, little brother."
mowgli tucked his left arm round kaa's neck, dropped his right close to his body, and straightened his feet.
then kaa breasted the current as he alone could, and the ripple of the checked water stood up in a frill round mowgli's neck, and his feet were waved to and fro in the eddy under the python's lashing sides.
a mile or two above the peace rock the waingunga narrows between a gorge of marble rocks from eighty to a hundred feet high, and the current runs like a mill-race between and over all manner of ugly stones.
but mowgli did not trouble his head about the water; little water in the world could have given him a moment's fear.
he was looking at the gorge on either side and sniffing uneasily, for there was a sweetish-sourish smell in the air, very like the smell of a big ant-hill on a hot day.
instinctively he lowered himself in the water, only raising his head to breathe from time to time, and kaa came to anchor with a double twist of his tail round a sunken rock, holding mowgli in the hollow of a coil, while the water raced on.
""this is the place of death," said the boy.
""why do we come here?"
""they sleep," said kaa.
""hathi will not turn aside for the striped one.
yet hathi and the striped one together turn aside for the dhole, and the dhole they say turn aside for nothing.
and yet for whom do the little people of the rocks turn aside?
tell me, master of the jungle, who is the master of the jungle?"
""these," mowgli whispered.
""it is the place of death.
let us go."
""nay, look well, for they are asleep.
it is as it was when i was not the length of thy arm."
the split and weatherworn rocks of the gorge of the waingunga had been used since the beginning of the jungle by the little people of the rocks -- the busy, furious, black wild bees of india; and, as mowgli knew well, all trails turned off half a mile before they reached the gorge.
for centuries the little people had hived and swarmed from cleft to cleft, and swarmed again, staining the white marble with stale honey, and made their combs tall and deep in the dark of the inner caves, where neither man nor beast nor fire nor water had ever touched them.
the length of the gorge on both siaes was hung as it were with black shimmery velvet curtains, and mowgli sank as he looked, for those were the clotted millions of the sleeping bees.
there were other lumps and festoons and things like decayed tree-trunks studded on the face of the rock, the old combs of past years, or new cities built in the shadow of the windless gorge, and huge masses of spongy, rotten trash had rolled down and stuck among the trees and creepers that clung to the rock-face.
as he listened he heard more than once the rustle and slide of a honey-loaded comb turning over or failing away somewhere in the dark galleries; then a booming of angry wings, and the sullen drip, drip, drip, of the wasted honey, guttering along till it lipped over some ledge in the open air and sluggishly trickled down on the twigs.
there was a tiny little beach, not five feet broad, on one side of the river, and that was piled high with the rubbish of uncounted years.
there were dead bees, drones, sweepings, and stale combs, and wings of marauding moths that had strayed in after honey, all tumbled in smooth piles of the finest black dust.
the mere sharp smell of it was enough to frighten anything that had no wings, and knew what the little people were.
kaa moved up-stream again till he came to a sandy bar at the head of the gorge.
""here is this season's kill," said he.
""look!"
on the bank lay the skeletons of a couple of young deer and a buffalo.
mowgli could see that neither wolf nor jackal had touched the hones, which were laid out naturally.
""they came beyond the line; they did not know the law," murmured mowgli, "and the little people killed them.
let us go ere they wake."
""they do not wake till the dawn," said kaa.
""now i will tell thee.
a hunted buck from the south, many, many rains ago, came hither from the south, not knowing the jungle, a pack on his trail.
being made blind by fear, he leaped from above, the pack running by sight, for they were hot and blind on the trail.
the sun was high, and the little people were many and very angry.
many, too, were those of the pack who leaped into the waingunga, but they were dead ere they took water.
those who did not leap died also in the rocks above.
but the buck lived."
""how?"
""because he came first, running for his life, leaping ere the little people were aware, and was in the river when they gathered to kill.
the pack, following, was altogether lost under the weight of the little people."
""the buck lived?"
mowgli repeated slowly.
""at least he did not die then, though none waited his coming down with a strong body to hold him safe against the water, as a certain old fat, deaf, yellow flathead would wait for a manling -- yea, though there were all the dholes of the dekkan on his trail.
what is in thy stomach?"
kaa's head was close to mowgli's ear; and it was a little time before the boy answered.
""it is to pull the very whiskers of death, but -- kaa, thou art, indeed, the wisest of all the jungle."
""so many have said.
look now, if the dhole follow thee --" "as surely they will follow.
ho!
ho!
i have many little thorns under my tongue to prick into their hides."
""if they follow thee hot and blind, looking only at thy shoulders, those who do not die up above will take water either here or lower down, for the little people will rise up and cover them.
now the waingunga is hungry water, and they will have no kaa to hold them, but will go down, such as live, to the shallows by the seeonee lairs, and there thy pack may meet them by the throat."
""ahai!
eowawa!
better could not be till the rains fall in the dry season.
there is now only the little matter of the run and the leap.
i will make me known to the dholes, so that they shall follow me very closely."
""hast thou seen the rocks above thee?
from the landward side?"
""indeed, no.
that i had forgotten."
""go look.
it is all rotten ground, cut and full of holes.
one of thy clumsy feet set down without seeing would end the hunt.
see, i leave thee here, and for thy sake only i will carry word to the pack that they may know where to look for the dhole.
for myself, i am not of one skin with any wolf."
when kaa disliked an acquaintance he could be more unpleasant than any of the jungle people, except perhaps bagheera.
he swam down-stream, and opposite the rock he came on phao and akela listening to the night noises.
""hssh!
dogs," he said cheerfully.
""the dholes will come down-stream.
if ye be not afraid ye can kill them in the shallows."
""when come they?"
said phao.
""and where is my man-cub?"
said akela.
""they come when they come," said kaa.
""wait and see.
as for thy man-cub, from whom thou hast taken a word and so laid him open to death, thy man-cub is with me, and if he be not already dead the fault is none of thine, bleached dog!
wait here for the dhole, and be glad that the man-cub and i strike on thy side."
kaa flashed up-stream again, and moored himself in the middle of the gorge, looking upward at the line of the cliff.
presently he saw mowgli's head move against the stars, and then there was a whizz in the air, the keen, clean schloop of a body falling feet first, and next minute the boy was at rest again in the loop of kaa's body.
""it is no leap by night," said mowgli quietly.
""i have jumped twice as far for sport; but that is an evil place above -- low bushes and gullies that go down very deep, all full of the little people.
i have put big stones one above the other by the side of three gullies.
these i shall throw down with my feet in running, and the little people will rise up behind me, very angry."
""that is man's talk and man's cunning," said kaa.
""thou art wise, but the little people are always angry."
""nay, at twilight all wings near and far rest for a while.
i will play with the dhole at twilight, for the dhole hunts best by day.
he follows now won-tolla's blood-trail."
""chil does not leave a dead ox, nor the dhole the blood-trail," said kaa.
""then i will make him a new blood-trail, of his own blood, if i can, and give him dirt to eat.
thou wilt stay here, kaa, till i come again with my dholes?"
""ay, but what if they kill thee in the jungle, or the little people kill thee before thou canst leap down to the river?"
""when to-morrow comes we will kill for to-morrow," said mowgli, quoting a jungle saying; and again, "when i am dead it is time to sing the death song.
good hunting, kaa!"
he loosed his arm from the python's neck and went down the gorge like a log in a freshet, paddling toward the far bank, where he found slack-water, and laughing aloud from sheer happiness.
there was nothing mowgli liked better than, as he himself said, "to pull the whiskers of death," and make the jungle know that he was their overlord.
he had often, with baloo's help, robbed bees" nests in single trees, and he knew that the little people hated the smell of wild garlic.
so he gathered a small bundle of it, tied it up with a bark string, and then followed won-tolla's blood-trail, as it ran southerly from the lairs, for some five miles, looking at the trees with his head on one side, and chuckling as he looked.
""mowgli the frog have i been," said he to himself; "mowgli the wolf have i said that i am.
now mowgli the ape must i be before i am mowgli the buck.
at the end i shall be mowgli the man.
ho!"
and he slid his thumb along the eighteen-inch blade of his knife.
won-tolla's trail, all rank with dark blood-spots, ran under a forest of thick trees that grew close together and stretched away north-eastward, gradually growing thinner and thinner to within two miles of the bee rocks.
from the last tree to the low scrub of the bee rocks was open country, where there was hardly cover enough to hide a wolf.
mowgli trotted along under the trees, judging distances between branch and branch, occasionally climbing up a trunk and taking a trial leap from one tree to another till he came to the open ground, which he studied very carefully for an hour.
then he turned, picked up won-tolla's trail where he had left it, settled himself in a tree with an outrunning branch some eight feet from the ground, and sat still, sharpening his knife on the sole of his foot and singing to himself.
a little before mid-day, when the sun was very warm, he heard the patter of feet and smelt the abominable smell of the dhole-pack as they trotted pitilessly along won-tolla's trail.
seen from above, the red dhole does not look half the size of a wolf, but mowgli knew how strong his feet and jaws were.
he watched the sharp bay head of the leader snuffing along the trail, and gave him "good hunting!"
the brute looked up, and his companions halted behind him, scores and scores of red dogs with low-hung tails, heavy shoulders, weak quarters, and bloody mouths.
the dholes are a very silent people as a rule, and they have no manners even in their own jungle.
fully two hundred must have gathered below him, but he could see that the leaders sniffed hungrily on won-tolla's trail, and tried to drag the pack forward.
that would never do, or they would be at the lairs in broad daylight, and mowgli meant to hold them under his tree till dusk.
""by whose leave do ye come here?"
said mowgli.
""all jungles are our jungle," was the reply, and the dhole that gave it bared his white teeth.
mowgli looked down with a smile, and imitated perfectly the sharp chitter-chatter of chikai, the leaping rat of the dekkan, meaning the dholes to understand that he considered them no better than chikai.
the pack closed up round the tree-trunk and the leader bayed savagely, calling mowgli a tree-ape.
for an answer mowgli stretched down one naked leg and wriggled his bare toes just above the leader's head.
that was enough, and more than enough, to wake the pack to stupid rage.
those who have hair between their toes do not care to be reminded of it.
mowgli caught his foot away as the leader leaped up, and said sweetly: "dog, red dog!
go back to the dekkan and eat lizards.
go to chikai thy brother -- dog, dog -- red, red dog!
there is hair between every toe!"
he twiddled his toes a second time.
""come down ere we starve thee out, hairless ape!"
yelled the pack, and this was exactly what mowgli wanted.
he laid himself down along the branch, his cheek to the bark, his right arm free, and there he told the pack what he thought and knew about them, their manners, their customs, their mates, and their puppies.
there is no speech in the world so rancorous and so stinging as the language the jungle people use to show scorn and contempt.
when you come to think of it you will see how this must be so.
as mowgli told kaa, he had many little thorns under his tongue, and slowly and deliberately he drove the dholes from silence to growls, from growls to yells, and from yells to hoarse slavery ravings.
they tried to answer his taunts, but a cub might as well have tried to answer kaa in a rage; and all the while mowgli's right hand lay crooked at his side, ready for action, his feet locked round the branch.
the big bay leader had leaped many times in the air, but mowgli dared not risk a false blow.
at last, made furious beyond his natural strength, he bounded up seven or eight feet clear of the ground.
then mowgli's hand shot out like the head of a tree-snake, and gripped him by the scruff of his neck, and the branch shook with the jar as his weight fell back, almost wrenching mowgli to the ground.
but he never loosed his grip, and inch by inch he hauled the beast, hanging like a drowned jackal, up on the branch.
with his left hand he reached for his knife and cut off the red, bushy tail, flinging the dhole back to earth again.
that was all he needed.
the pack would not go forward on won-tolla's trail now till they had killed mowgli or mowgli had killed them.
he saw them settle down in circles with a quiver of the haunches that meant they were going to stay, and so he climbed to a higher crotch, settled his back comfortably, and went to sleep.
after three or four hours he waked and counted the pack.
they were all there, silent, husky, and dry, with eyes of steel.
the sun was beginning to sink.
in half an hour the little people of the rocks would be ending their labours, and, as you know, the dhole does not fight best in the twilight.
""i did not need such faithful watchers," he said politely, standing up on a branch, "but i will remember this.
ye be true dholes, but to my thinking over much of one kind.
for that reason i do not give the big lizard-eater his tail again.
art thou not pleased, red dog?"
""i myself will tear out thy stomach!"
yelled the leader, scratching at the foot of the tree.
""nay, but consider, wise rat of the dekkan.
there will now be many litters of little tailless red dogs, yea, with raw red stumps that sting when the sand is hot.
go home, red dog, and cry that an ape has done this.
ye will not go?
come, then, with me, and i will make you very wise!"
he moved, bandar-log fashion, into the next tree, and so on into the next and the next, the pack following with lifted hungry heads.
now and then he would pretend to fall, and the pack would tumble one over the other in their haste to be at the death.
it was a curious sight -- the boy with the knife that shone in the low sunlight as it sifted through the upper branches, and the silent pack with their red coats all aflame, huddling and following below.
when he came to the last tree he took the garlic and rubbed himself all over carefully, and the dholes yelled with scorn.
""ape with a wolf's tongue, dost thou think to cover thy scent?"
they said.
""we follow to the death."
""take thy tail," said mowgli, flinging it back along the course he had taken.
the pack instinctively rushed after it.
""and follow now -- to the death."
he had slipped down the tree-trunk, and headed like the wind in bare feet for the bee rocks, before the dholes saw what he would do.
they gave one deep howl, and settled down to the long, lobbing canter that can at the last run down anything that runs.
mowgli knew their pack-pace to be much slower than that of the wolves, or he would never have risked a two-mile run in full sight.
they were sure that the boy was theirs at last, and he was sure that he held them to play with as he pleased.
all his trouble was to keep them sufficiently hot behind him to prevent their turning off too soon.
he ran cleanly, evenly, and springily; the tailless leader not five yards behind him; and the pack tailing out over perhaps a quarter of a mile of ground, crazy and blind with the rage of slaughter.
so he kept his distance by ear, reserving his last effort for the rush across the bee rocks.
the little people had gone to sleep in the early twilight, for it was not the season of late blossoming flowers; but as mowgli's first foot-falls rang hollow on the hollow ground he heard a sound as though all the earth were humming.
then he ran as he had never run in his life before, spurned aside one -- two -- three of the piles of stones into the dark, sweet-smelling gullies; heard a roar like the roar of the sea in a cave; saw with the tail of his eye the air grow dark behind him; saw the current of the waingunga far below, and a flat, diamond-shaped head in the water; leaped outward with all his strength, the tailless dhole snapping at his shoulder in mid-air, and dropped feet first to the safety of the river, breathless and triumphant.
there was not a sting upon him, for the smell of the garlic had checked the little people for just the few seconds that he was among them.
when he rose kaa's coils were steadying him and things were bounding over the edge of the cliff -- great lumps, it seemed, of clustered bees falling like plummets; but before any lump touched water the bees flew upward and the body of a dhole whirled down-stream.
overhead they could hear furious short yells that were drowned in a roar like breakers -- the roar of the wings of the little people of the rocks.
some of the dholes, too, had fallen into the gullies that communicated with the underground caves, and there choked and fought and snapped among the tumbled honeycombs, and at last, borne up, even when they were dead, on the heaving waves of bees beneath them, shot out of some hole in the river-face, to roll over on the black rubbish-heaps.
there were dholes who had leaped short into the trees on the cliffs, and the bees blotted out their shapes; but the greater number of them, maddened by the stings, had flung themselves into the river; and, as kaa said, the waingunga was hungry water.
kaa held mowgli fast till the boy had recovered his breath.
""we may not stay here," he said.
""the little people are roused indeed.
come!"
swimming low and diving as often as he could, mowgli went down the river, knife in hand.
""slowly, slowly," said kaa.
""one tooth does not kill a hundred unless it be a cobra's, and many of the dholes took water swiftly when they saw the little people rise."
""the more work for my knife, then.
phai!
how the little people follow!"
mowgli sank again.
the face of the water was blanketed with wild bees, buzzing sullenly and stinging all they found.
""nothing was ever yet lost by silence," said kaa -- no sting could penetrate his scales -- "and thou hast all the long night for the hunting.
hear them howl!"
nearly half the pack had seen the trap their fellows rushed into, and turning sharp aside had flung themselves into the water where the gorge broke down in steep banks.
their cries of rage and their threats against the "tree-ape" who had brought them to their shame mixed with the yells and growls of those who had been punished by the little people.
to remain ashore was death, and every dhole knew it.
their pack was swept along the current, down to the deep eddies of the peace pool, but even there the angry little people followed and forced them to the water again.
mowgli could hear the voice of the tailless leader bidding his people hold on and kill out every wolf in seeonee.
but he did not waste his time in listening.
""one kills in the dark behind us!"
snapped a dhole.
""here is tainted water!"
mowgli had dived forward like an otter, twitched a struggling dhole under water before he could open his mouth, and dark rings rose as the body plopped up, turning on its side.
the dholes tried to turn, but the current prevented them, and the little people darted at the heads and ears, and they could hear the challenge of the seeonee pack growing louder and deeper in the gathering darkness.
again mowgli dived, and again a dhole went under, and rose dead, and again the clamour broke out at the rear of the pack; some howling that it was best to go ashore, others calling on their leader to lead them back to the dekkan, and others bidding mowgli show himself and be killed.
""they come to the fight with two stomachs and several voices," said kaa.
""the rest is with thy brethren below yonder, the little people go back to sleep.
they have chased us far.
now i, too, turn back, for i am not of one skin with any wolf.
good hunting, little brother, and remember the dhole bites low."
a wolf came running along the bank on three legs, leaping up and down, laying his head sideways close to the ground, hunching his back, and breaking high into the air, as though he were playing with his cubs.
it was won-tolla, the outlier, and he said never a word, but continued his horrible sport beside the dholes.
they had been long in the water now, and were swimming wearily, their coats drenched and heavy, their bushy tails dragging like sponges, so tired and shaken that they, too, were silent, watching the pair of blazing eyes that moved abreast.
""this is no good hunting," said one, panting.
""good hunting!"
said mowgli, as he rose boldly at the brute's side, and sent the long knife home behind the shoulder, pushing hard to avoid his dying snap.
""art thou there, man-cub?"
said won-tolla across the water.
""ask of the dead, outlier," mowgli replied.
""have none come down-stream?
i have filled these dogs" mouths with dirt; i have tricked them in the broad daylight, and their leader lacks his tail, but here be some few for thee still.
whither shall i drive them?"
""i will wait," said won-tolla.
""the night is before me."
nearer and nearer came the bay of the seeonee wolves.
""for the pack, for the full pack it is met!"
and a bend in the river drove the dholes forward among the sands and shoals opposite the lairs.
then they saw their mistake.
they should have landed half a mile higher up, and rushed the wolves on dry ground.
now it was too late.
the bank was lined with burning eyes, and except for the horrible pheeal that had never stopped since sundown, there was no sound in the jungle.
it seemed as though won-tolla were fawning on them to come ashore; and "turn and take hold!"
said the leader of the dholes.
the entire pack flung themselves at the shore, threshing and squattering through the shoal water, till the face of the waingunga was all white and torn, and the great ripples went from side to side, like bow-waves from a boat.
mowgli followed the rush, stabbing and slicing as the dholes, huddled together, rushed up the river-beach in one wave.
then the long fight began, heaving and straining and splitting and scattering and narrowing and broadening along the red, wet sands, and over and between the tangled tree-roots, and through and among the bushes, and in and out of the grass clumps; for even now the dholes were two to one.
but they met wolves fighting for all that made the pack, and not only the short, high, deep-chested, white-tusked hunters of the pack, but the anxious-eyed lahinis -- the she-wolves of the lair, as the saying is -- fighting for their litters, with here and there a yearling wolf, his first coat still half woolly, tugging and grappling by their sides.
a wolf, you must know, flies at the throat or snaps at the flank, while a dhole, by preference, bites at the belly; so when the dholes were struggling out of the water and had to raise their heads, the odds were with the wolves.
on dry land the wolves suffered; but in the water or ashore, mowgli's knife came and went without ceasing.
the four had worried their way to his side.
gray brother, crouched between the boy's knees, was protecting his stomach, while the others guarded his back and either side, or stood over him when the shock of a leaping, yelling dhole who had thrown himself full on the steady blade bore him down.
for the rest, it was one tangled confusion -- a locked and swaying mob that moved from right to left and from left to right along the bank; and also ground round and round slowly on its own centre.
here would be a heaving mound, like a water-blister in a whirlpool, which would break like a water-blister, and throw up four or five mangled dogs, each striving to get back to the centre; here would be a single wolf borne down by two or three dholes, laboriously dragging them forward, and sinking the while; here a yearling cub would be held up by the pressure round him, though he had been killed early, while his mother, crazed with dumb rage, rolled over and over, snapping, and passing on; and in the middle of the thickest press, perhaps, one wolf and one dhole, forgetting everything else, would be manoeuvring for first hold till they were whirled away by a rush of furious fighters.
once mowgli passed akela, a dhole on either flank, and his all but toothless jaws closed over the loins of a third; and once he saw phao, his teeth set in the throat of a dhole, tugging the unwilling beast forward till the yearlings could finish him.
but the bulk of the fight was blind flurry and smother in the dark; hit, trip, and tumble, yelp, groan, and worry-worry-worry, round him and behind him and above him.
as the night wore on, the quick, giddy-go-round motion increased.
the dholes were cowed and afraid to attack the stronger wolves, but did not yet dare to run away.
mowgli felt that the end was coming soon, and contented himself with striking merely to cripple.
the yearlings were growing bolder; there was time now and again to breathe, and pass a word to a friend, and the mere flicker of the knife would sometimes turn a dog aside.
""the meat is very near the bone," gray brother yelled.
he was bleeding from a score of flesh-wounds.
""but the bone is yet to be cracked," said mowgli.
""eowawa!
thus do we do in the jungle!"
the red blade ran like a flame along the side of a dhole whose hind-quarters were hidden by the weight of a clinging wolf.
""my kill!"
snorted the wolf through his wrinkled nostrils.
""leave him to me."
""is thy stomach still empty, outlier?"
said mowgli.
won-tolla was fearfully punished, but his grip had paralysed the dhole, who could not turn round and reach him.
""by the bull that bought me," said mowgli, with a bitter laugh, "it is the tailless one!"
and indeed it was the big bay-coloured leader.
""it is not wise to kill cubs and lahinis," mowgli went on philosophically, wiping the blood out of his eyes, "unless one has also killed the outlier; and it is in my stomach that this won-tolla kills thee."
a dhole leaped to his leader's aid; but before his teeth had found won-tolla's flank, mowgli's knife was in his throat, and gray brother took what was left.
""and thus do we do in the jungle," said mowgli.
won-tolla said not a word, only his jaws were closing and closing on the backbone as his life ebbed.
the dhole shuddered, his head dropped, and he lay still, and won-tolla dropped above him.
""huh!
the blood debt is paid," said mowgli.
""sing the song, won-tolla."
""he hunts no more," said gray brother; "and akela, too, is silent this long time."
""the bone is cracked!"
thundered phao, son of phaona.
""they go!
kill, kill out, o hunters of the free people!"
dhole after dhole was slinking away from those dark and bloody sands to the river, to the thick jungle, up-stream or down-stream as he saw the road clear.
""the debt!
the debt!"
shouted mowgli.
""pay the debt!
they have slain the lone wolf!
let not a dog go!"
he was flying to the river, knife in hand, to check any dhole who dared to take water, when, from under a mound of nine dead, rose akela's head and fore-quarters, and mowgli dropped on his knees beside the lone wolf.
""said i not it would be my last fight?"
akela gasped.
""it is good hunting.
and thou, little brother?"
""i live, having killed many."
""even so.
i die, and i would -- i would die by thee, little brother."
mowgli took the terrible scarred head on his knees, and put his arms round the torn neck.
""it is long since the old days of shere khan, and a man-cub that rolled naked in the dust."
""nay, nay, i am a wolf.
i am of one skin with the free people," mowgli cried.
""it is no will of mine that i am a man."
""thou art a man, little brother, wolfling of my watching.
thou art a man, or else the pack had fled before the dhole.
my life i owe to thee, and to-day thou hast saved the pack even as once i saved thee.
hast thou forgotten?
all debts are paid now.
go to thine own people.
i tell thee again, eye of my eye, this hunting is ended.
go to thine own people."
""i will never go.
i will hunt alone in the jungle.
i have said it."
""after the summer come the rains, and after the rains comes the spring.
go back before thou art driven."
""who will drive me?"
""mowgli will drive mowgli.
go back to thy people.
go to man."
""when mowgli drives mowgli i will go," mowgli answered.
""there is no more to say," said akela.
""little brother, canst thou raise me to my feet?
i also was a leader of the free people."
very carefully and gently mowgli lifted the bodies aside, and raised akela to his feet, both arms round him, and the lone wolf drew a long breath, and began the death song that a leader of the pack should sing when he dies.
it gathered strength as he went on, lifting and lifting, and ringing far across the river, till it came to the last "good hunting!"
and akela shook himself clear of mowgli for an instant, and, leaping into the air, fell backward dead upon his last and most terrible kill.
mowgli sat with his head on his knees, careless of anything else, while the remnant of the flying dholes were being overtaken and run down by the merciless lahinis.
little by little the cries died away, and the wolves returned limping, as their wounds stiffened, to take stock of the losses.
fifteen of the pack, as well as half a dozen lahinis, lay dead by the river, and of the others not one was unmarked.
and mowgli sat through it all till the cold daybreak, when phao's wet, red muzzle was dropped in his hand, and mowgli drew back to show the gaunt body of akela.
""good hunting!"
said phao, as though akela were still alive, and then over his bitten shoulder to the others: "howl, dogs!
a wolf has died to-night!"
but of all the pack of two hundred fighting dholes, whose boast was that all jungles were their jungle, and that no living thing could stand before them, not one returned to the dekkan to carry that word.
chil's song -lsb- this is the song that chil sang as the kites dropped down one after another to the river-bed, when the great fight was finished.
chil is good friends with everybody, but he is a cold-blooded kind of creature at heart, because he knows that almost everybody in the jungle comes to him in the long-run. -rsb-
these were my companions going forth by night -- -lrb- for chil!
look you, for chil! -rrb-
now come i to whistle them the ending of the fight.
-lrb- chil!
vanguards of chil! -rrb-
word they gave me overhead of quarry newly slain, word i gave them underfoot of buck upon the plain.
here's an end of every trail -- they shall not speak again!
they that called the hunting-cry -- they that followed fast -- -lrb- for chil!
look you, for chil! -rrb-
they that bade the sambhur wheel, or pinned him as he passed -- -lrb- chil!
vanguards of chil! -rrb-
they that lagged behind the scent -- they that ran before, they that shunned the level horn -- they that overbore.
here's an end of every trail -- they shall not follow more.
these were my companions.
pity't was they died!
-lrb- for chil!
look you, for chil! -rrb-
now come i to comfort them that knew them in their pride.
-lrb- chil!
vanguards of chil! -rrb-
tattered flank and sunken eye, open mouth and red, locked and lank and lone they lie, the dead upon their dead.
here's an end of every trail -- and here my hosts are fed.
the spring running man goes to man!
cry the challenge through the jungle!
he that was our brother goes away.
hear, now, and judge, o ye people of the jungle, -- answer, who shall turn him -- who shall stay?
man goes to man!
he is weeping in the jungle: he that was our brother sorrows sore!
man goes to man!
-lrb- oh, we loved him in the jungle! -rrb-
to the man-trail where we may not follow more.
the second year after the great fight with red dog and the death of akela, mowgli must have been nearly seventeen years old.
he looked older, for hard exercise, the best of good eating, and baths whenever he felt in the least hot or dusty, had given him strength and growth far beyond his age.
he could swing by one hand from a top branch for half an hour at a time, when he had occasion to look along the tree-roads.
he could stop a young buck in mid-gallop and throw him sideways by the head.
he could even jerk over the big, blue wild boars that lived in the marshes of the north.
the jungle people who used to fear him for his wits feared him now for his strength, and when he moved quietly on his own affairs the mere whisper of his coming cleared the wood-paths.
and yet the look in his eyes was always gentle.
even when he fought, his eyes never blazed as bagheera's did.
they only grew more and more interested and excited; and that was one of the things that bagheera himself did not understand.
he asked mowgli about it, and the boy laughed and said.
""when i miss the kill i am angry.
when i must go empty for two days i am very angry.
do not my eyes talk then?"
""the mouth is hungry," said bagheera, "but the eyes say nothing.
hunting, eating, or swimming, it is all one -- like a stone in wet or dry weather."
mowgli looked at him lazily from under his long eyelashes, and, as usual, the panther's head dropped.
bagheera knew his master.
they were lying out far up the side of a hill overlooking the waingunga, and the morning mists hung below them in bands of white and green.
as the sun rose it changed into bubbling seas of red gold, churned off, and let the low rays stripe the dried grass on which mowgli and bagheera were resting.
it was the end of the cold weather, the leaves and the trees looked worn and faded, and there was a dry, ticking rustle everywhere when the wind blew.
a little leaf tap-tap-tapped furiously against a twig, as a single leaf caught in a current will.
it roused bagheera, for he snuffed the morning air with a deep, hollow cough, threw himself on his back, and struck with his fore-paws at the nodding leaf above.
""the year turns," he said.
""the jungle goes forward.
the time of new talk is near.
that leaf knows.
it is very good."
""the grass is dry," mowgli answered, pulling up a tuft.
""even eye-of-the-spring -lsb- that is a little trumpet-shaped, waxy red flower that runs in and out among the grasses -rsb- -- even eye-of-the spring is shut, and... bagheera, is it well for the black panther so to lie on his back and beat with his paws in the air, as though he were the tree-cat?"
""aowh?"
said bagheera.
he seemed to be thinking of other things.
""i say, is it well for the black panther so to mouth and cough, and howl and roll?
remember, we be the masters of the jungle, thou and i." "indeed, yes; i hear, man-cub."
bagheera rolled over hurriedly and sat up, the dust on his ragged black flanks.
-lrb- he was just casting his winter coat. -rrb-
""we be surely the masters of the jungle!
who is so strong as mowgli?
who so wise?"
there was a curious drawl in the voice that made mowgli turn to see whether by any chance the black panther were making fun of him, for the jungle is full of words that sound like one thing, but mean another.
""i said we be beyond question the masters of the jungle," bagheera repeated.
""have i done wrong?
i did not know that the man-cub no longer lay upon the ground.
does he fly, then?"
mowgli sat with his elbows on his knees, looking out across the valley at the daylight.
somewhere down in the woods below a bird was trying over in a husky, reedy voice the first few notes of his spring song.
it was no more than a shadow of the liquid, tumbling call he would be pouring later, but bagheera heard it.
""i said the time of new talk is near," growled the panther, switching his tail.
""i hear," mowgli answered.
""bagheera, why dost thou shake all over?
the sun is warm."
""that is ferao, the scarlet woodpecker," said bagheera.
""he has not forgotten.
now i, too, must remember my song," and he began purring and crooning to himself, harking back dissatisfied again and again.
""there is no game afoot," said mowgli.
""little brother, are both thine ears stopped?
that is no killing-word, but my song that i make ready against the need."
""i had forgotten.
i shall know when the time of new talk is here, because then thou and the others all run away and leave me alone."
mowgli spoke rather savagely.
""but, indeed, little brother," bagheera began, "we do not always --" "i say ye do," said mowgli, shooting out his forefinger angrily.
""ye do run away, and i, who am the master of the jungle, must needs walk alone.
how was it last season, when i would gather sugar-cane from the fields of a man-pack?
i sent a runner -- i sent thee!
-- to hathi, bidding him to come upon such a night and pluck the sweet grass for me with his trunk."
""he came only two nights later," said bagheera, cowering a little; "and of that long, sweet grass that pleased thee so he gathered more than any man-cub could eat in all the nights of the rains.
that was no fault of mine."
""he did not come upon the night when i sent him the word.
no, he was trumpeting and running and roaring through the valleys in the moonlight.
his trail was like the trail of three elephants, for he would not hide among the trees.
he danced in the moonlight before the houses of the man-pack.
i saw him, and yet he would not come to me; and i am the master of the jungle!"
""it was the time of new talk," said the panther, always very humble.
""perhaps, little brother, thou didst not that time call him by a master-word?
listen to ferao, and be glad!"
mowgli's bad temper seemed to have boiled itself away.
he lay back with his head on his arms, his eyes shut.
""i do not know -- nor do i care," he said sleepily.
""let us sleep, bagheera.
my stomach is heavy in me.
make me a rest for my head."
the panther lay down again with a sigh, because he could hear ferao practising and repractising his song against the springtime of new talk, as they say.
in an indian jungle the seasons slide one into the other almost without division.
there seem to be only two -- the wet and the dry; but if you look closely below the torrents of rain and the clouds of char and dust you will find all four going round in their regular ring.
spring is the most wonderful, because she has not to cover a clean, bare field with new leaves and flowers, but to drive before her and to put away the hanging-on, over-surviving raffle of half-green things which the gentle winter has suffered to live, and to make the partly-dressed stale earth feel new and young once more.
and this she does so well that there is no spring in the world like the jungle spring.
there is one day when all things are tired, and the very smells, as they drift on the heavy air, are old and used.
one can not explain this, but it feels so.
then there is another day -- to the eye nothing whatever has changed -- when all the smells are new and delightful, and the whiskers of the jungle people quiver to their roots, and the winter hair comes away from their sides in long, draggled locks.
then, perhaps, a little rain falls, and all the trees and the bushes and the bamboos and the mosses and the juicy-leaved plants wake with a noise of growing that you can almost hear, and under this noise runs, day and night, a deep hum.
that is the noise of the spring -- a vibrating boom which is neither bees, nor falling water, nor the wind in tree-tops, but the purring of the warm, happy world.
up to this year mowgli had always delighted in the turn of the seasons.
it was he who generally saw the first eye-of-the-spring deep down among the grasses, and the first bank of spring clouds, which are like nothing else in the jungle.
his voice could be heard in all sorts of wet, star-lighted, blossoming places, helping the big frogs through their choruses, or mocking the little upside-down owls that hoot through the white nights.
like all his people, spring was the season he chose for his flittings -- moving, for the mere joy of rushing through the warm air, thirty, forty, or fifty miles between twilight and the morning star, and coming back panting and laughing and wreathed with strange flowers.
the four did not follow him on these wild ringings of the jungle, but went off to sing songs with other wolves.
the jungle people are very busy in the spring, and mowgli could hear them grunting and screaming and whistling according to their kind.
their voices then are different from their voices at other times of the year, and that is one of the reasons why spring in the jungle is called the time of new talk.
but that spring, as he told bagheera, his stomach was changed in him.
ever since the bamboo shoots turned spotty-brown he had been looking forward to the morning when the smells should change.
but when the morning came, and mor the peacock, blazing in bronze and blue and gold, cried it aloud all along the misty woods, and mowgli opened his mouth to send on the cry, the words choked between his teeth, and a feeling came over him that began at his toes and ended in his hair -- a feeling of pure unhappiness, so that he looked himself over to be sure that he had not trod on a thorn.
mor cried the new smells, the other birds took it over, and from the rocks by the waingunga he heard bagheera's hoarse scream -- something between the scream of an eagle and the neighing of a horse.
there was a yelling and scattering of bandar-log in the new-budding branches above, and there stood mowgli, his chest, filled to answer mor, sinking in little gasps as the breath was driven out of it by this unhappiness.
he stared all round him, but he could see no more than the mocking bandar-log scudding through the trees, and mor, his tail spread in full splendour, dancing on the slopes below.
""the smells have changed," screamed mor.
""good hunting, little brother!
where is thy answer?"
""little brother, good hunting!"
whistled chil the kite and his mate, swooping down together.
the two baffed under mowgli's nose so close that a pinch of downy white feathers brushed away.
a light spring rain -- elephant-rain they call it -- drove across the jungle in a belt half a mile wide, left the new leaves wet and nodding behind, and died out in a double rainbow and a light roll of thunder.
the spring hum broke out for a minute, and was silent, but all the jungle folk seemed to be giving tongue at once.
all except mowgli.
""i have eaten good food," he said to himself.
""i have drunk good water.
nor does my throat burn and grow small, as it did when i bit the blue-spotted root that oo the turtle said was clean food.
but my stomach is heavy, and i have given very bad talk to bagheera and others, people of the jungle and my people.
now, too, i am hot and now i am cold, and now i am neither hot nor cold, but angry with that which i can not see.
huhu!
it is time to make a running!
to-night i will cross the ranges; yes, i will make a spring running to the marshes of the north, and back again.
i have hunted too easily too long.
the four shall come with me, for they grow as fat as white grubs."
he called, but never one of the four answered.
they were far beyond earshot, singing over the spring songs -- the moon and sambhur songs -- with the wolves of the pack; for in the spring-time the jungle people make very little difference between the day and the night.
he gave the sharp, barking note, but his only answer was the mocking maiou of the little spotted tree-cat winding in and out among the branches for early birds" nests.
at this he shook all over with rage, and half drew his knife.
then he became very haughty, though there was no one to see him, and stalked severely down the hillside, chin up and eyebrows down.
but never a single one of his people asked him a question, for they were all too busy with their own affairs.
""yes," said mowgli to himself, though in his heart he knew that he had no reason.
""let the red dhole come from the dekkan, or the red flower dance among the bamboos, and all the jungle runs whining to mowgli, calling him great elephant-names.
but now, because eye-of-the-spring is red, and mor, forsooth, must show his naked legs in some spring dance, the jungle goes mad as tabaqui... by the bull that bought me!
am i the master of the jungle, or am i not?
be silent!
what do ye here?"
a couple of young wolves of the pack were cantering down a path, looking for open ground in which to fight.
-lrb- you will remember that the law of the jungle forbids fighting where the pack can see. -rrb-
their neck-bristles were as stiff as wire, and they bayed furiously, crouching for the first grapple.
mowgli leaped forward, caught one outstretched throat in either hand, expecting to fling the creatures backward as he had often done in games or pack hunts.
but he had never before interfered with a spring fight.
the two leaped forward and dashed him aside, and without word to waste rolled over and over close locked.
mowgli was on his feet almost before he fell, his knife and his white teeth were bared, and at that minute he would have killed both for no reason but that they were fighting when he wished them to be quiet, although every wolf has full right under the law to fight.
he danced round them with lowered shoulders and quivering hand, ready to send in a double blow when the first flurry of the scuffle should be over; but while he waited the strength seemed to ebb from his body, the knife-point lowered, and he sheathed the knife and watched.
""i have surely eaten poison," he sighed at last.
""since i broke up the council with the red flower -- since i killed shere khan -- none of the pack could fling me aside.
and these be only tail-wolves in the pack, little hunters!
my strength is gone from me, and presently i shall die.
oh, mowgli, why dost thou not kill them both?"
the fight went on till one wolf ran away, and mowgli was left alone on the torn and bloody ground, looking now at his knife, and now at his legs and arms, while the feeling of unhappiness he had never known before covered him as water covers a log.
he killed early that evening and ate but little, so as to be in good fettle for his spring running, and he ate alone because all the jungle people were away singing or fighting.
it was a perfect white night, as they call it.
all green things seemed to have made a month's growth since the morning.
the branch that was yellow-leaved the day before dripped sap when mowgli broke it.
the mosses curled deep and warm over his feet, the young grass had no cutting edges, and all the voices of the jungle boomed like one deep harp-string touched by the moon -- the moon of new talk, who splashed her light full on rock and pool, slipped it between trunk and creeper, and sifted it through a million leaves.
forgetting his unhappiness, mowgli sang aloud with pure delight as he settled into his stride.
it was more like flying than anything else, for he had chosen the long downward slope that leads to the northern marshes through the heart of the main jungle, where the springy ground deadened the fall of his feet.
a man-taught man would have picked his way with many stumbles through the cheating moonlight, but mowgli's muscles, trained by years of experience, bore him up as though he were a feather.
when a rotten log or a hidden stone turned under his foot he saved himself, never checking his pace, without effort and without thought.
when he tired of ground-going he threw up his hands monkey-fashion to the nearest creeper, and seemed to float rather than to climb up into the thin branches, whence he would follow a tree-road till his mood changed, and he shot downward in a long, leafy curve to the levels again.
there were still, hot hollows surrounded by wet rocks where he could hardly breathe for the heavy scents of the night flowers and the bloom along the creeper buds; dark avenues where the moonlight lay in belts as regular as checkered marbles in a church aisle; thickets where the wet young growth stood breast-high about him and threw its arms round his waist; and hilltops crowned with broken rock, where he leaped from stone to stone above the lairs of the frightened little foxes.
he would hear, very faint and far off, the chug-drug of a boar sharpening his tusks on a bole; and would come across the great gray brute all alone, scribing and rending the bark of a tall tree, his mouth dripping with foam, and his eyes blazing like fire.
or he would turn aside to the sound of clashing horns and hissing grunts, and dash past a couple of furious sambhur, staggering to and fro with lowered heads, striped with blood that showed black in the moonlight.
or at some rushing ford he would hear jacala the crocodile bellowing like a bull, or disturb a twined knot of the poison people, but before they could strike he would be away and across the glistening shingle, and deep in the jungle again.
so he ran, sometimes shouting, sometimes singing to himself, the happiest thing in all the jungle that night, till the smell of the flowers warned him that he was near the marshes, and those lay far beyond his farthest hunting-grounds.
here, again, a man-trained man would have sunk overhead in three strides, but mowgli's feet had eyes in them, and they passed him from tussock to tussock and clump to quaking clump without asking help from the eyes in his head.
he ran out to the middle of the swamp, disturbing the duck as he ran, and sat down on a moss-coated tree-trunk lapped in the black water.
the marsh was awake all round him, for in the spring the bird people sleep very lightly, and companies of them were coming or going the night through.
but no one took any notice of mowgli sitting among the tall reeds humming songs without words, and looking at the soles of his hard brown feet in case of neglected thorns.
all his unhappiness seemed to have been left behind in his own jungle, and he was just beginning a full-throat song when it came back again -- ten times worse than before.
this time mowgli was frightened.
""it is here also!"
he said half aloud.
""it has followed me," and he looked over his shoulder to see whether the it were not standing behind him.
""there is no one here."
the night noises of the marsh went on, but never a bird or beast spoke to him, and the new feeling of misery grew.
""i have surely eaten poison," he said in an awe-stricken voice.
""it must be that carelessly i have eaten poison, and my strength is going from me.
i was afraid -- and yet it was not i that was afraid -- mowgli was afraid when the two wolves fought.
akela, or even phao, would have silenced them; yet mowgli was afraid.
that is true sign i have eaten poison... but what do they care in the jungle?
they sing and howl and fight, and run in companies under the moon, and i -- hai-mai!
-- i am dying in the marshes, of that poison which i have eaten."
he was so sorry for himself that he nearly wept.
""and after," he went on, "they will find me lying in the black water.
nay, i will go back to my own jungle, and i will die upon the council rock, and bagheera, whom i love, if he is not screaming in the valley -- bagheera, perhaps, may watch by what is left for a little, lest chil use me as he used akela."
a large, warm tear splashed down on his knee, and, miserable as he was, mowgli felt happy that he was so miserable, if you can understand that upside-down sort of happiness.
""as chil the kite used akela," he repeated, "on the night i saved the pack from red dog."
he was quiet for a little, thinking of the last words of the lone wolf, which you, of course, remember.
""now akela said to me many foolish things before he died, for when we die our stomachs change.
he said... none the less, i am of the jungle!"
in his excitement, as he remembered the fight on waingunga bank, he shouted the last words aloud, and a wild buffalo-cow among the reeds sprang to her knees, snorting, "man!"
""uhh!"
said mysa the wild buffalo -lrb- mowgli could hear him turn in his wallow -rrb-, "that is no man.
it is only the hairless wolf of the seeonee pack.
on such nights runs he to and fro."
""uhh!"
said the cow, dropping her head again to graze, "i thought it was man."
""i say no.
oh, mowgli, is it danger?"
lowed mysa.
""oh, mowgli, is it danger?"
the boy called back mockingly.
""that is all mysa thinks for: is it danger?
but for mowgli, who goes to and fro in the jungle by night, watching, what do ye care?"
""how loud he cries!"
said the cow.
""thus do they cry," mysa answered contemptuously, "who, having torn up the grass, know not how to eat it."
""for less than this," mowgli groaned to himself, "for less than this even last rains i had pricked mysa out of his wallow, and ridden him through the swamp on a rush halter."
he stretched a hand to break one of the feathery reeds, but drew it back with a sigh.
mysa went on steadily chewing the cud, and the long grass ripped where the cow grazed.
""i will not die here," he said angrily.
""mysa, who is of one blood with jacala and the pig, would see me.
let us go beyond the swamp and see what comes.
never have i run such a spring running -- hot and cold together.
up, mowgli!"
he could not resist the temptation of stealing across the reeds to mysa and pricking him with the point of his knife.
the great dripping bull broke out of his wallow like a shell exploding, while mowgli laughed till he sat down.
""say now that the hairless wolf of the seeonee pack once herded thee, mysa," he called.
""wolf!
thou?"
the bull snorted, stamping in the mud.
""all the jungle knows thou wast a herder of tame cattle -- such a man's brat as shouts in the dust by the crops yonder.
thou of the jungle!
what hunter would have crawled like a snake among the leeches, and for a muddy jest -- a jackal's jest -- have shamed me before my cow?
come to firm ground, and i will -- i will..." mysa frothed at the mouth, for mysa has nearly the worst temper of any one in the jungle.
mowgli watched him puff and blow with eyes that never changed.
when he could make himself heard through the pattering mud, he said: "what man-pack lair here by the marshes, mysa?
this is new jungle to me."
""go north, then," roared the angry bull, for mowgli had pricked him rather sharply.
""it was a naked cow-herd's jest.
go and tell them at the village at the foot of the marsh."
""the man-pack do not love jungle-tales, nor do i think, mysa, that a scratch more or less on thy hide is any matter for a council.
but i will go and look at this village.
yes, i will go.
softly now.
it is not every night that the master of the jungle comes to herd thee."
he stepped out to the shivering ground on the edge of the marsh, well knowing that mysa would never charge over it and laughed, as he ran, to think of the bull's anger.
""my strength is not altogether gone," he said.
""it may be that the poison is not to the bone.
there is a star sitting low yonder."
he looked at it between his half-shut hands.
""by the bull that bought me, it is the red flower -- the red flower that i lay beside before -- before i came even to the first seeonee pack!
now that i have seen, i will finish the running."
the marsh ended in a broad plain where a light twinkled.
it was a long time since mowgli had concerned himself with the doings of men, but this night the glimmer of the red flower drew him forward.
""i will look," said he, "as i did in the old days, and i will see how far the man-pack has changed."
forgetting that he was no longer in his own jungle, where he could do what he pleased, he trod carelessly through the dew-loaded grasses till he came to the hut where the light stood.
three or four yelping dogs gave tongue, for he was on the outskirts of a village.
""ho!"
said mowgli, sitting down noiselessly, after sending back a deep wolf-growl that silenced the curs.
""what comes will come.
mowgli, what hast thou to do any more with the lairs of the man-pack?"
he rubbed his mouth, remembering where a stone had struck it years ago when the other man-pack had cast him out.
the door of the hut opened, and a woman stood peering out into the darkness.
a child cried, and the woman said over her shoulder, "sleep.
it was but a jackal that waked the dogs.
in a little time morning comes."
mowgli in the grass began to shake as though he had fever.
he knew that voice well, but to make sure he cried softly, surprised to find how man's talk came back, "messua!
o messua!"
""who calls?"
said the woman, a quiver in her voice.
""hast thou forgotten?"
said mowgli.
his throat was dry as he spoke.
""if it be thou, what name did i give thee?
say!"
she had half shut the door, and her hand was clutching at her breast.
""nathoo!
ohe, nathoo!"
said mowgli, for, as you remember, that was the name messua gave him when he first came to the man-pack.
""come, my son," she called, and mowgli stepped into the light, and looked full at messua, the woman who had been good to him, and whose life he had saved from the man-pack so long before.
she was older, and her hair was gray, but her eyes and her voice had not changed.
woman-like, she expected to find mowgli where she had left him, and her eyes travelled upward in a puzzled way from his chest to his head, that touched the top of the door.
""my son," she stammered; and then, sinking to his feet: "but it is no longer my son.
it is a godling of the woods!
ahai!"
as he stood in the red light of the oil-lamp, strong, tall, and beautiful, his long black hair sweeping over his shoulders, the knife swinging at his neck, and his head crowned with a wreath of white jasmine, he might easily have been mistaken for some wild god of a jungle legend.
the child half asleep on a cot sprang up and shrieked aloud with terror.
messua turned to soothe him, while mowgli stood still, looking in at the water-jars and the cooking-pots, the grain-bin, and all the other human belongings that he found himself remembering so well.
""what wilt thou eat or drink?"
messua murmured.
""this is all thine.
we owe our lives to thee.
but art thou him i called nathoo, or a godling, indeed?"
""i am nathoo," said mowgli, "i am very far from my own place.
i saw this light, and came hither.
i did not know thou wast here."
""after we came to khanhiwara," messua said timidly, "the english would have helped us against those villagers that sought to burn us.
rememberest thou?"
""indeed, i have not forgotten."
""but when the english law was made ready, we went to the village of those evil people, and it was no more to be found."
""that also i remember," said mowgli, with a quiver of his nostril.
""my man, therefore, took service in the fields, and at last -- for, indeed, he was a strong man -- we held a little land here.
it is not so rich as the old village, but we do not need much -- we two."
""where is he the man that dug in the dirt when he was afraid on that night?"
""he is dead -- a year."
""and he?"
mowgli pointed to the child.
""my son that was born two rains ago.
if thou art a godling, give him the favour of the jungle, that he may be safe among thy -- thy people, as we were safe on that night."
she lifted up the child, who, forgetting his fright, reached out to play with the knife that hung on mowgli's chest, and mowgli put the little fingers aside very carefully.
""and if thou art nathoo whom the tiger carried away," messua went on, choking, "he is then thy younger brother.
give him an elder brother's blessing."
""hai-mai!
what do i know of the thing called a blessing?
i am neither a godling nor his brother, and -- o mother, mother, my heart is heavy in me."
he shivered as he set down the child.
""like enough," said messua, bustling among the cooking-pots.
""this comes of running about the marshes by night.
beyond question, the fever had soaked thee to the marrow."
mowgli smiled a little at the idea of anything in the jungle hurting him.
""i will make a fire, and thou shalt drink warm milk.
put away the jasmine wreath: the smell is heavy in so small a place."
mowgli sat down, muttering, with his face in his hands.
all manner of strange feelings that he had never felt before were running over him, exactly as though he had been poisoned, and he felt dizzy and a little sick.
he drank the warm milk in long gulps, messua patting him on the shoulder from time to time, not quite sure whether he were her son nathoo of the long ago days, or some wonderful jungle being, but glad to feel that he was at least flesh and blood.
""son," she said at last, -- her eyes were full of pride, -- "have any told thee that thou art beautiful beyond all men?"
""hah?"
said mowgli, for naturally he had never heard anything of the kind.
messua laughed softly and happily.
the look in his face was enough for her.
""i am the first, then?
it is right, though it comes seldom, that a mother should tell her son these good things.
thou art very beautiful.
never have i looked upon such a man."
mowgli twisted his head and tried to see over his own hard shoulder, and messua laughed again so long that mowgli, not knowing why, was forced to laugh with her, and the child ran from one to the other, laughing too.
""nay, thou must not mock thy brother," said messua, catching him to her breast.
""when thou art one-half as fair we will marry thee to the youngest daughter of a king, and thou shalt ride great elephants."
mowgli could not understand one word in three of the talk here; the warm milk was taking effect on him after his long run, so he curled up and in a minute was deep asleep, and messua put the hair back from his eyes, threw a cloth over him, and was happy.
jungle-fashion, he slept out the rest of that night and all the next day; for his instincts, which never wholly slept, warned him there was nothing to fear.
he waked at last with a bound that shook the hut, for the cloth over his face made him dream of traps; and there he stood, his hand on his knife, the sleep all heavy in his rolling eyes, ready for any fight.
messua laughed, and set the evening meal before him.
there were only a few coarse cakes baked over the smoky fire, some rice, and a lump of sour preserved tamarinds -- just enough to go on with till he could get to his evening kill.
the smell of the dew in the marshes made him hungry and restless.
he wanted to finish his spring running, but the child insisted on sitting in his arms, and messua would have it that his long, blue-black hair must be combed out.
so she sang, as she combed, foolish little baby-songs, now calling mowgli her son, and now begging him to give some of his jungle power to the child.
the hut door was closed, but mowgli heard a sound he knew well, and saw messua's jaw drop with horror as a great gray paw came under the bottom of the door, and gray brother outside whined a muffled and penitent whine of anxiety and fear.
""out and wait!
ye would not come when i called," said mowgli in jungle-talk, without turning his head, and the great gray paw disappeared.
""do not -- do not bring thy -- thy servants with thee," said messua.
""i -- we have always lived at peace with the jungle."
""it is peace," said mowgli, rising.
""think of that night on the road to khanhiwara.
there were scores of such folk before thee and behind thee.
but i see that even in springtime the jungle people do not always forget.
mother, i go."
messua drew aside humbly -- he was indeed a wood-god, she thought; but as his hand was on the door the mother in her made her throw her arms round mowgli's neck again and again.
""come back!"
she whispered.
""son or no son, come back, for i love thee -- look, he too grieves."
the child was crying because the man with the shiny knife was going away.
""come back again," messua repeated.
""by night or by day this door is never shut to thee."
mowgli's throat worked as though the cords in it were being pulled, and his voice seemed to be dragged from it as he answered, "i will surely come back."
""and now," he said, as he put by the head of the fawning wolf on the threshold, "i have a little cry against thee, gray brother.
why came ye not all four when i called so long ago?"
""so long ago?
it was but last night.
i -- we -- were singing in the jungle the new songs, for this is the time of new talk.
rememberest thou?"
""truly, truly."
""and as soon as the songs were sung," gray brother went on earnestly, "i followed thy trail.
i ran from all the others and followed hot-foot.
but, o little brother, what hast thou done, eating and sleeping with the man-pack?"
""if ye had come when i called, this had never been," said mowgli, running much faster.
""and now what is to be?"
said gray brother.
mowgli was going to answer when a girl in a white cloth came down some path that led from the outskirts of the village.
gray brother dropped out of sight at once, and mowgli backed noiselessly into a field of high-springing crops.
he could almost have touched her with his hand when the warm, green stalks closed before his face and he disappeared like a ghost.
the girl screamed, for she thought she had seen a spirit, and then she gave a deep sigh.
mowgli parted the stalks with his hands and watched her till she was out of sight.
""and now i do not know," he said, sighing in his turn.
""why did ye not come when i called?"
""we follow thee -- we follow thee," gray brother mumbled, licking at mowgli's heel.
""we follow thee always, except in the time of the new talk."
""and would ye follow me to the man-pack?"
mowgli whispered.
""did i not follow thee on the night our old pack cast thee out?
who waked thee lying among the crops?"
""ay, but again?"
""have i not followed thee to-night?"
""ay, but again and again, and it may be again, gray brother?"
gray brother was silent.
when he spoke he growled to himself, "the black one spoke truth."
""and he said?"
""man goes to man at the last.
raksha, our mother, said --" "so also said akela on the night of red dog," mowgli muttered.
""so also says kaa, who is wiser than us all."
""what dost thou say, gray brother?"
""they cast thee out once, with bad talk.
they cut thy mouth with stones.
they sent buldeo to slay thee.
they would have thrown thee into the red flower.
thou, and not i, hast said that they are evil and senseless.
thou, and not i -- i follow my own people -- didst let in the jungle upon them.
thou, and not i, didst make song against them more bitter even than our song against red dog."
""i ask thee what thou sayest?"
they were talking as they ran.
gray brother cantered on a while without replying, and then he said, -- between bound and bound as it were, -- "man-cub -- master of the jungle -- son of raksha, lair-brother to me -- though i forget for a little while in the spring, thy trail is my trail, thy lair is my lair, thy kill is my kill, and thy death-fight is my death-fight.
i speak for the three.
but what wilt thou say to the jungle?"
""that is well thought.
between the sight and the kill it is not good to wait.
go before and cry them all to the council rock, and i will tell them what is in my stomach.
but they may not come -- in the time of new talk they may forget me."
""hast thou, then, forgotten nothing?"
snapped gray brother over his shoulder, as he laid himself down to gallop, and mowgli followed, thinking.
at any other season the news would have called all the jungle together with bristling necks, but now they were busy hunting and fighting and killing and singing.
from one to another gray brother ran, crying, "the master of the jungle goes back to man!
come to the council rock."
and the happy, eager people only answered, "he will return in the summer heats.
the rains will drive him to lair.
run and sing with us, gray brother."
""but the master of the jungle goes back to man," gray brother would repeat.
""eee -- yoawa?
is the time of new talk any less sweet for that?"
they would reply.
so when mowgli, heavy-hearted, came up through the well-remembered rocks to the place where he had been brought into the council, he found only the four, baloo, who was nearly blind with age, and the heavy, cold-blooded kaa coiled around akela's empty seat.
""thy trail ends here, then, manling?"
said kaa, as mowgli threw himself down, his face in his hands.
""cry thy cry.
we be of one blood, thou and i -- man and snake together."
""why did i not die under red dog?"
the boy moaned.
""my strength is gone from me, and it is not any poison.
by night and by day i hear a double step upon my trail.
when i turn my head it is as though one had hidden himself from me that instant.
i go to look behind the trees and he is not there.
i call and none cry again; but it is as though one listened and kept back the answer.
i lie down, but i do not rest.
i run the spring running, but i am not made still.
i bathe, but i am not made cool.
the kill sickens me, but i have no heart to fight except i kill.
the red flower is in my body, my bones are water -- and -- i know not what i know."
""what need of talk?"
said baloo slowly, turning his head to where mowgli lay.
""akela by the river said it, that mowgli should drive mowgli back to the man-pack.
i said it.
but who listens now to baloo?
bagheera -- where is bagheera this night?
-- he knows also.
it is the law."
""when we met at cold lairs, manling, i knew it," said kaa, turning a little in his mighty coils.
""man goes to man at the last, though the jungle does not cast him out."
the four looked at one another and at mowgli, puzzled but obedient.
""the jungle does not cast me out, then?"
mowgli stammered.
gray brother and the three growled furiously, beginning, "so long as we live none shall dare --" but baloo checked them.
""i taught thee the law.
it is for me to speak," he said; "and, though i can not now see the rocks before me, i see far.
little frog, take thine own trail; make thy lair with thine own blood and pack and people; but when there is need of foot or tooth or eye, or a word carried swiftly by night, remember, master of the jungle, the jungle is thine at call."
""the middle jungle is thine also," said kaa.
""i speak for no small people."
""hai-mai, my brothers," cried mowgli, throwing up his arms with a sob.
""i know not what i know!
i would not go; but i am drawn by both feet.
how shall i leave these nights?"
""nay, look up, little brother," baloo repeated.
""there is no shame in this hunting.
when the honey is eaten we leave the empty hive."
""having cast the skin," said kaa, "we may not creep into it afresh.
it is the law."
""listen, dearest of all to me," said baloo.
there is neither word nor will here to hold thee back.
look up!
who may question the master of the jungle?
i saw thee playing among the white pebbles yonder when thou wast a little frog; and bagheera, that bought thee for the price of a young bull newly killed, saw thee also.
of that looking over we two only remain; for raksha, thy lair-mother, is dead with thy lair-father; the old wolf-pack is long since dead; thou knowest whither shere khan went, and akela died among the dholes, where, but for thy wisdom and strength, the second seeonee pack would also have died.
there remains nothing but old bones.
it is no longer the man-cub that asks leave of his pack, but the master of the jungle that changes his trail.
who shall question man in his ways?"
""but bagheera and the bull that bought me," said mowgli.
""i would not --" his words were cut short by a roar and a crash in the thicket below, and bagheera, light, strong, and terrible as always, stood before him.
""therefore," he said, stretching out a dripping right paw, "i did not come.
it was a long hunt, but he lies dead in the bushes now -- a bull in his second year -- the bull that frees thee, little brother.
all debts are paid now.
for the rest, my word is baloo's word."
he licked mowgli's foot.
""remember, bagheera loved thee," he cried, and bounded away.
at the foot of the hill he cried again long and loud, "good hunting on a new trail, master of the jungle!
remember, bagheera loved thee."
""thou hast heard," said baloo.
""there is no more.
go now; but first come to me.
o wise little frog, come to me!"
""it is hard to cast the skin," said kaa as mowgli sobbed and sobbed, with his head on the blind bear's side and his arms round his neck, while baloo tried feebly to lick his feet.
""the stars are thin," said gray brother, snuffing at the dawn wind.
""where shall we lair to-day?
for from now, we follow new trails."
***** and this is the last of the mowgli stories.
the outsong -lsb- this is the song that mowgli heard behind him in the jungle till he came to messua's door again. -rsb-
baloo for the sake of him who showed one wise frog the jungle-road, keep the law the man-pack make -- for thy blind old baloo's sake!
clean or tainted, hot or stale, hold it as it were the trail, through the day and through the night, questing neither left nor right.
for the sake of him who loves thee beyond all else that moves, when thy pack would make thee pain, say: "tabaqui sings again."
when thy pack would work thee ill, say: "shere khan is yet to kill."
when the knife is drawn to slay, keep the law and go thy way.
-lrb- root and honey, palm and spathe, guard a cub from harm and scathe! -rrb-
wood and water, wind and tree, jungle-favour go with thee!
kaa anger is the egg of fear -- only lidless eyes are clear.
cobra-poison none may leech.
even so with cobra-speech.
open talk shall call to thee strength, whose mate is courtesy.
send no lunge beyond thy length; lend no rotten bough thy strength.
gauge thy gape with buck or goat, lest thine eye should choke thy throat, after gorging, wouldst thou sleep?
look thy den is hid and deep, lest a wrong, by thee forgot, draw thy killer to the spot.
east and west and north and south, wash thy hide and close thy mouth.
-lrb- pit and rift and blue pool-brim, middle-jungle follow him! -rrb-
wood and water, wind and tree, jungle-favour go with thee!
bagheera in the cage my life began; well i know the worth of man.
by the broken lock that freed -- man-cub, "ware the man-cub's breed!
scenting-dew or starlight pale, choose no tangled tree-cat trail.
pack or council, hunt or den, cry no truce with jackal-men.
feed them silence when they say: "come with us an easy way."
feed them silence when they seek help of thine to hurt the weak.
make no banaar's boast of skill; hold thy peace above the kill.
let nor call nor song nor sign turn thee from thy hunting-line.
-lrb- morning mist or twilight clear, serve him, wardens of the deer! -rrb-
wood and water, wind and tree, jungle-favour go with thee!
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___blacky_the_crow.txt.out
chapter i: blacky the crow makes a discovery blacky the crow is always watching for things not intended for his sharp eyes.
the result is that he gets into no end of trouble which he could avoid.
in this respect he is just like his cousin, sammy jay.
between them they see a great deal with which they have no business and which it would be better for them not to see.
now blacky the crow finds it no easy matter to pick up a living when snow covers the green meadows and the green forest, and ice binds the big river and the smiling pool.
he has to use his sharp eyes for all they are worth in order to find enough to fill his stomach, and he will eat anything in the way of food that he can swallow.
often he travels long distances looking for food, but at night he always comes back to the same place in the green forest, to sleep in company with others of his family.
blacky dearly loves company, particularly at night, and about the time jolly, round, red mr. sun is beginning to think about his bed behind the purple hills, you will find blacky heading for a certain part of the green forest where he knows he will have neighbors of his own kind.
peter rabbit says that it is because blacky's conscience troubles him so that he does n't dare sleep alone, but happy jack squirrel says that blacky has n't any conscience.
you can believe just which you please, though i suspect that neither of them really knows.
as i have said, blacky is quite a traveler at this time of year, and sometimes his search for food takes him to out-of-the-way places.
one day toward the very last of winter, the notion entered his black head that he would have a look in a certain lonesome corner of the green forest where once upon a time redtail the hawk had lived.
blacky knew well enough that redtail was n't there now; he had gone south in the fell and would n't be back until he was sure that mistress spring had arrived on the green meadows and in the green forest.
like the black imp he is, blacky flew over the tree-tops, his sharp eyes watching for something interesting below.
presently he saw ahead of him the old nest of red-tail.
he knew all about that nest.
he had visited it before when red-tail was away.
still it might be worth another visit.
you never can tell what you may find in old houses.
now, of course, blacky knew perfectly well that redtail was miles and miles, hundreds of miles away, and so there was nothing to fear from him.
but blacky learned ever so long ago that there is nothing like making sure that there is no danger.
so, instead of flying straight to that old nest, he first flew over the tree so that he could look down into it.
right away he saw something that made him gasp and blink his eyes.
it was quite large and white, and it looked -- it looked very much indeed like an egg!
do you wonder that blacky gasped and blinked?
here was snow on the ground, and rough brother north wind and jack frost had given no hint that they were even thinking of going back to the far north.
the idea of any one laying an egg at this time of year!
blacky flew over to a tall pine-tree to think it over.
""must be it was a little lump of snow," thought he.
""yet if ever i saw an egg, that looked like one.
jumping grasshoppers, how good an egg would taste right now!"
you know blacky has a weakness for eggs.
the more he thought about it, the hungrier he grew.
several times he almost made up his mind to fly straight over there and make sure, but he did n't quite dare.
if it were an egg, it must belong to somebody, and perhaps it would be best to find out who.
suddenly blacky shook himself.
""i must be dreaming," said he.
""there could n't, there just could n't be an egg at this time of year, or in that old tumble-down nest!
i'll just fly away and forget it."
so he flew away, but he could n't forget it.
he kept thinking of it all day, and when he went to sleep that night he made up his mind to have another look at that old nest.
chapter ii: blacky makes sure "as true as ever i've cawed a caw that was a new-laid egg i saw."
""what are you talking about?"
demanded sammy jay, coming up just in time to hear the last part of what blacky the crow was mumbling to himself.
""oh nothing, cousin, nothing at all," replied blacky.
""i was just talking foolishness to myself."
sammy looked at him sharply.
""you are n't feeling sick, are you, cousin blacky?"
he asked.
""must be something the matter with you when you begin talking about new-laid eggs, when everything's covered with snow and ice.
foolishness is no name for it.
whoever heard of such a thing as a new-laid egg this time of year."
""nobody, i guess," replied blacky.
""i told you i was just talking foolishness.
you see, i'm so hungry that i just got to thinking what i'd have if i could have anything i wanted.
that made me think of eggs, and i tried to think just how i would feel if i should suddenly see a great big egg right in front of me.
i guess i must have said something about it."
""i guess you must have.
it is n't egg time yet, and it wo n't be for a long time.
take my advice and just forget about impossible things.
i'm going over to farmer brown's corncrib.
corn may not be as good as eggs, but it is very good and very filling.
better come along," said sammy.
""not this morning, thank you.
some other time, perhaps," replied blacky.
he watched sammy disappear through the trees.
then he flew to the top of the tallest pine-tree to make sure that no one was about.
when he was quite sure that no one was watching him, he spread his wings and headed for the most lonesome corner of the green forest.
""i'm foolish.
i know i'm foolish," he muttered.
""but i've just got to have another look in that old nest of redtail the hawk.
i just ca n't get it out of my head that that was an egg, a great, big, white egg, that i saw there yesterday.
it wo n't do any harm to have another look, anyway."
straight toward the tree in which was the great tumble-down nest of redtail the hawk he flew, and as he drew near, he flew high, for blacky is too shrewd and smart to take any chances.
not that he thought that there could be any danger there; but you never can tell, and it is always the part of wisdom to be on the safe side.
as he passed over the top of the tree, he looked down eagerly.
just imagine how he felt when instead of one, he saw two white things in the old nest -- two white things that looked for all the world like eggs!
the day before there had been but one; now there were two.
that settled it in blacky's mind; they were eggs!
they could n't be anything else.
blacky kept right on flying.
somehow he did n't dare stop just then.
he was too much excited by what he had discovered to think clearly.
he had got to have time to get his wits together.
whoever had laid those eggs was big and strong.
he felt sure of that.
it must be some one a great deal bigger than himself, and he was of no mind to get into trouble, even for a dinner of fresh eggs.
he must first find out whose they were; then he would know better what to do.
he felt sure that no one else knew about them, and he knew that they could n't run away.
so he kept right on flying until he reached a certain tall pine-tree where he could sit and think without being disturbed.
""eggs!"
he muttered.
""real eggs!
now who under the sun can have moved into redtail's old house?
and what can they mean by laying eggs before mistress spring has even sent word that she has started?
it's too much for me.
it certainly is too much for me."
chapter iii: blacky finds out who owns the eggs two big white eggs in a tumbledown nest, and snow and ice everywhere!
did ever anybody hear of such a thing before?
""would n't believe it, if i had n't seen it with my own eyes," muttered blacky the crow.
""have to believe them.
if i ca n't believe them, it's of no use to try to believe anything in this world.
as sure as i sit here, that old nest has two eggs in it.
whoever laid them must be crazy to start housekeeping at this time of year.
i must find out whose eggs they are and then --" blacky did n't finish, but there was a hungry look in his eyes that would have told any who saw it, had there been any to see it, that he had a use for those eggs.
but there was none to see it, and he took the greatest care that there should be none to see him when he once again started for a certain lonesome corner of the green forest.
""first i'll make sure that the eggs are still there," thought he, and flew high above the tree tops, so that as he passed over the tree in which was the old nest of red-tail the hawk, he might look down into it.
to have seen him, you would never have guessed that he was looking for anything in particular.
he seemed to be just flying over on his way to some distant place.
if the eggs were still there, he meant to come back and hide in the top of a near-by pine-tree to watch until he was sure that he might safely steal those eggs, or to find out whose they were.
blacky's heart beat fast with excitement as he drew near that old tumble-down nest.
would those two big white eggs be there?
perhaps there would be three!
the very thought made him flap his wings a little faster.
a few more wing strokes and he would be right over the tree.
how he did hope to see those eggs!
he could almost see into the nest now.
one stroke!
two strokes!
three strokes!
blacky bit his tongue to keep from giving a sharp caw of disappointment and surprise.
there were no eggs to be seen.
no, sir, there was n't a sign of eggs in that old nest.
there was n't because -- why, do you think?
there was n't because blacky looked straight down on a great mass of feathers which quite covered them from sight, and he did n't have to look twice to know that that great mass of feathers was really a great bird, the bird to whom those eggs belonged.
blacky did n't turn to come back as he had planned.
he kept right on, just as if he had n't seen anything, and as he flew he shivered a little.
he shivered at the thought of what might have happened to him if he had tried to steal those eggs the day before and had been caught doing it.
""i'm thankful i knew enough to leave them alone," said he.
""funny i never once guessed whose eggs they are.
i might have known that no one but hooty the horned owl would think of nesting at this time of year.
and that was mrs. hooty i saw on the nest just now.
my, but she's big!
she's bigger than hooty himself!
yes, sir, it's a lucky thing i did n't try to get those eggs yesterday.
probably both hooty and mrs. hooty were sitting close by, only they were sitting so still that i thought they were parts of the tree they were in.
blacky, blacky, the sooner you forget those eggs the better."
some things are best forgotten as soon as they are learned.
who never plays with fire will surely not get burned.
chapter iv: the cunning of blacky now when blacky the crow discovered that the eggs in the old tumble-down nest of redtail the hawk in a lonesome corner of the green forest belonged to hooty the owl, he straightway made the best of resolutions; he would simply forget all about those eggs.
he would forget that he ever had seen them, and he would stay away from that corner of the green forest.
that was a very wise resolution.
of all the people who live in the green forest, none is fiercer or more savage than hooty the owl, unless it is mrs. hooty.
she is bigger than hooty and certainly quite as much to be feared by the little people.
all this blacky knows.
no one knows it better.
and blacky is not one to poke his head into trouble with his eyes open.
so he very wisely resolved to forget all about those eggs.
now it is one thing to make a resolution and quite another thing to live up to it, as you all know.
it was easy enough to say that he would forget, but not at all easy to forget.
it would have been different if it had been spring or early summer, when there were plenty of other eggs to be had by any one smart enough to find them and steal them.
but now, when it was still winter -lrb- such an unheard-of time for any one to have eggs! -rrb-
, and it was hard work to find enough to keep a hungry crow's stomach filled, the thought of those eggs would keep popping into his head.
he just could n't seem to forget them.
after a little, he did n't try.
now blacky the crow is very, very cunning.
he is one of the smartest of all the little people who fly.
no one can get into more mischief and still keep out of trouble than can blacky the crow.
that is because he uses the wits in that black head of his.
in fact, some people are unkind enough to say that he spends all his spare time in planning mischief.
the more he thought of those eggs, the more he wanted them, and it was n't long before he began to try to plan some way to get them without risking his own precious skin.
""i ca n't do it alone," thought he, "and yet if i take any one into my secret, i'll have to share those eggs.
that wo n't do at all, because i want them myself.
i found them, and i ought to have them."
he quite forgot or overlooked the fact that those eggs really belonged to hooty and mrs. hooty and to no one else.
""now let me see, what can i do?"
he thought and he thought and he thought and he thought, and little by little a plan worked out in his little black head.
then he chuckled.
he chuckled right out loud, then hurriedly looked around to see if any one had heard him.
no one had, so he chuckled again.
he cocked his head on one side and half closed his eyes, as if that plan was something he could see and he was looking at it very hard.
then he cocked his head on the other side and did the same thing.
""it's all right," said he at last.
""it'll give my relatives a lot of fun, and of course they will be very grateful to me for that.
it wo n't hurt hooty or mrs. hooty a bit, but it will make them very angry.
they have very short tempers, and people with short tempers usually forget everything else when they are angry.
we'll pay them a visit while the sun is bright, because then perhaps they can not see well enough to catch us, and we'll tease them until they lose their tempers and forget all about keeping guard over those eggs.
then i'll slip in and get one and perhaps both of them.
without knowing that they are doing anything of the kind, my friends and relatives will help me to get a good meal.
my, how good those eggs will taste!"
it was a very clever and cunning plan, for blacky is a very clever and cunning rascal, but of course it did n't deserve success because nothing that means needless worry and trouble for others deserves to succeed.
chapter v: blacky calls his friends when blacky cries "caw, caw, caw, caw!"
as if he'd dislocate his jaw, his relatives all hasten where he waits them with a crafty air.
they know that there is mischief afoot, and the crow family is always ready for mischief.
so on this particular morning when they heard blacky cawing at the top of his lungs from the tallest pine-tree in the green forest, they hastened over there as fast as they could fly, calling to each other excitedly and sure that they were going to have a good time of some kind.
blacky chuckled as he saw them coming.
""come on!
come on!
caw, caw, caw!
hurry up and flap your wings faster.
i know where hooty the owl is, and we'll have no end of fun with him," he cried.
""caw, caw, caw, caw, caw, caw!"
shouted all his relatives in great glee.
""where is he?
lead us to him.
we'll drive him out of the green forest!"
so blacky led the way over to the most lonesome corner of the green forest, straight to the tree in which hooty the owl was comfortably sleeping.
blacky had taken pains to slip over early that morning and make sure just where he was.
he had discovered hooty fast asleep, and he knew that he would remain right where he was until dark.
you know hooty's eyes are not meant for much use in bright light, and the brighter the light, the more uncomfortable his eyes feel.
blacky knows this, too, and he had chosen the very brightest part of the morning to call his relatives over to torment poor hooty.
jolly, round, bright mr. sun was shining his very brightest, and the white snow on the ground made it seem brighter still.
even blacky had to blink, and he knew that poor hooty would find it harder still.
but one thing blacky was very careful not to even hint of, and that was that mrs. hooty was right close at hand.
mrs. hooty is bigger and even more fierce than hooty, and blacky did n't want to frighten any of the more timid of his relatives.
what he hoped down deep in his crafty heart was that when they got to teasing and tormenting hooty and making the great racket which he knew they would, mrs. hooty would lose her temper and fly over to join hooty in trying to drive away the black tormentors.
then blacky would slip over to the nest which she had left unguarded and steal one and perhaps both of the eggs he knew were there.
when they reached the tree where hooty was, he was blinking his great yellow eyes and had fluffed out all his feathers, which is a way he has when he is angry, to make himself look twice as big as he really is.
of course, he had heard the noisy crew coming, and he knew well enough what to expect.
as soon as they saw him, they began to scream as loud as ever they could and to call him all manner of names.
the boldest of them would dart at him as if to pull out a mouthful of feathers, but took the greatest care not to get too near.
you see, the way hooty hissed and snapped his great bill was very threatening, and they knew that if once he got hold of one of them with those big cruel claws of his, that would be the end.
so they were content to simply scold and scream at him and fly around him, just out of reach, and make him generally uncomfortable, and they were so busy doing this that no one noticed that blacky was not joining in the fun, and no one paid any attention to the old tumble-down nest of redtail the hawk only a few trees distant.
so far blacky's plans were working out just as he had hoped.
chapter vi: hooty the owl does n't stay still now what's the good of being smart when others do not do their part?
if blacky the crow did n't say this to himself, he thought it.
he knew that he had made a very cunning plan to get the eggs of hooty the owl, a plan so shrewd and cunning that no one else in the green forest or on the green meadows would have thought of it.
there was only one weakness in it, and that was that it depended for success on having hooty the owl do as he usually did when tormented by a crowd of noisy crows, -- stay where he was until they got tired and flew away.
now blacky sometimes makes a mistake that smart people are very apt to make; he thinks that because he is so smart, other people are stupid.
that is where he proves that smart as he is, he is n't as smart as he thinks he is.
he always thought of hooty the owl as stupid.
that is, he always thought of him that way in daytime.
at night, when he was waked out of a sound sleep by the fierce hunting cry of hooty, he was n't so sure about hooty being stupid, and he always took care to sit perfectly still in the darkness, lest hooty's great ears should hear him and hooty's great eyes, made for seeing in the dark, should find him.
no, in the night blacky was not at all sure that hooty was stupid.
but in the daytime he was sure.
you see, he quite forgot the fact that the brightness of day is to hooty what the blackness of night is to him.
so, because hooty would simply sit still and hiss and snap his bill, instead of trying to catch his tormentors or flying away, blacky called him stupid.
he felt sure that hooty would stay right where he was now, and he hoped that mrs. hooty would lose her temper and leave the nest where she was sitting on those two eggs and join hooty to help him try to drive away that noisy crew.
but hooty is n't stupid.
not a bit of it.
the minute he found out that blacky and his friends had discovered him, he thought of mrs. hooty and the two precious eggs in the old nest of redtail the hawk close by.
""mrs. hooty must n't be disturbed," thought he.
""that will never do at all.
i must lead these black rascals away where they wo n't discover mrs. hooty.
i certainly must."
so he spread his broad wings and blundered away among the trees a little way.
he did n't fly far because the instant he started to fly that whole noisy crew with the exception of blacky were after him.
because he could n't use his claws or bill while flying, they grew bold enough to pull a few feathers out of his back.
so he flew only a little way to a thick hemlock-tree, where it was n't easy for the crows to get at him, and where the light did n't hurt his eyes so much.
there he rested a few minutes and then did the same thing over again.
he meant to lead those bothersome crows into the darkest part of the green forest and there -- well, he could see better there, and it might be that one of them would be careless enough to come within reach.
no, hooty was n't stupid.
certainly not.
blacky awoke to that fact as he sat in the top of a tall pine-tree silently watching.
he could see mrs. hooty on the nest, and as the noise of hooty's tormentors sounded from farther and farther away, she settled herself more comfortably and closed her eyes.
blacky could imagine that she was smiling to herself.
it was clear that she had no intention of going to help hooty.
his splendid plan had failed just because stupid hooty, who was n't stupid at all, had flown away when he ought to have sat still.
it was very provoking.
chapter vii: blacky tries another plan when one plan fails, just try another; declare you'll win some way or other.
people who succeed are those who do not give up because they fail the first time they try.
they are the ones who, as soon as one plan fails, get busy right away and think of another plan and try that.
if the thing they are trying to do is a good thing, sooner or later they succeed.
if they are trying to do a wrong thing, very likely all their plans fail, as they should.
now blacky the crow knows all about the value of trying and trying.
he is n't easily discouraged.
sometimes it is a pity that he is n't, because he plans so much mischief.
but the fact remains that he is n't, and he tries and tries until he can not think of another plan and just has to give up.
when he invited all his relatives to join him in tormenting hooty the owl, he thought he had a plan that just could n't fail.
he felt sure that mrs. hooty would leave her nest and help hooty try to drive away his tormentors.
but mrs. hooty did n't do anything of the kind, because hooty was smart enough and thoughtful enough to lead his tormentors away from the nest into the darkest part of the green forest where their noise would n't bother mrs. hooty.
so she just settled herself more comfortably than ever on those eggs which blacky had hoped she would give him a chance to steal, and his fine plan was quite upset.
not one of his relatives had noticed that nest.
they had been too busy teasing hooty.
this was just as blacky had hoped.
he did n't want them to know about that nest because he was selfish and wanted to get those eggs just for himself alone.
but now he knew that the only way he could get mrs. hooty off of them would be by teasing her so that she would lose her temper and try to catch some of her tormentors.
if she did that, there would be a chance that he might slip in and get at least one of those eggs.
he would try it.
for a few minutes he listened to the noise of his relatives growing fainter and fainter, as hooty led them farther and farther into the green forest.
then he opened his mouth.
""caw, caw, caw, caw!"
he screamed.
""caw, caw, caw, caw!
come back, everybody!
here is mrs. hooty on her nest!
caw, caw, caw, caw!"
now as soon as they heard that, all blacky's relatives stopped chasing and tormenting hooty and started back as fast as they could fly.
they did n't like the dark part of the green forest into which hooty was leading them.
besides, they wanted to see that nest.
so back they came, cawing at the top of their lungs, for they were very much excited.
some of them never had seen a nest of hooty's.
and anyway, it would be just as much fun to tease mrs. hooty as it was to tease hooty.
""where is the nest?"
they screamed, as they came back to where blacky was cawing and pretending to be very much excited.
""why," exclaimed one, "that is the old nest of redtail the hawk.
i know all about that nest."
and he looked at blacky as if he thought blacky was playing a joke on them.
""it was redtail's, but it is hooty's now.
if you do n't believe me, just look in it," retorted blacky.
at once they all began to fly over the top of the tree where they could look down into the nest and there, sure enough, was mrs. hooty, her great, round, yellow eyes glaring up at them angrily.
such a racket!
right away hooty was forgotten, and the whole crowd at once began to torment mrs. hooty.
only blacky sat watchful and silent, waiting for mrs. hooty to lose her temper and try to catch one of her tormentors.
he had hope, a great hope, that he would get one of those eggs.
chapter viii: hooty comes to mrs. hooty's aid no one can live just for self alone.
a lot of people think they can, but they are very much mistaken.
they are making one of the greatest mistakes in the world.
every teeny, weeny act, no matter what it is, affects somebody else.
that is one of old mother nature's great laws.
and it is just as true among the little people of the green forest and the green meadows as with boys and girls and grown people.
it is old mother nature's way of making each of us responsible for the good of all and of teaching us that always we should help each other.
as you know, when blacky the crow called all his relatives over to the nest where mrs. hooty was sitting on her eggs, they at once stopped tormenting hooty and left him alone in a thick hemlock-tree in the darkest part of the green forest.
of course hooty was very, very glad to be left in peace, and he might have spent the rest of the day there sleeping in comfort.
but he did n't.
no, sir, he did n't.
at first he gave a great sigh of relief and settled himself as if he meant to stay.
he listened to the voices of those noisy crows growing fainter and fainter and was glad.
but it was only for a few minutes.
presently those voices stopped growing fainter.
they grew more excited-sounding than ever, and they came right from one place.
hooty knew then that his tormentors had found the nest where mrs. hooty was, and that they were tormenting her just as they had tormented him.
he snapped his bill angrily and then more angrily.
""i guess mrs. hooty is quite able to take care of herself," he grumbled, "but she ought not to be disturbed while she is sitting on those eggs.
i hate to go back there in that bright sunshine.
it hurts my eyes, and i do n't like it, but i guess i'll have to go back there.
mrs. hooty needs my help.
i'd rather stay here, but --" he did n't finish.
instead, he spread his broad wings and flew back towards the nest and mrs. hooty.
his great wings made no noise, for they are made so that he can fly without making a sound.
""if i once get hold of one of those crows!"
he muttered to himself.
""if i once get hold of one of those crows, i'll --" he did n't say what he would do, but if you had been near enough to hear the snap of his bill, you could have guessed the rest.
all this time the crows were having what they called fun with mrs. hooty.
nothing is true fun which makes others uncomfortable, but somehow a great many people seem to forget this.
so, while blacky sat watching, his relatives made a tremendous racket around mrs. hooty, and the more angry she grew, the more they screamed and called her names and darted down almost in her face, as they pretended that they were going to fight her.
they were so busy doing this, and blacky was so busy watching them, hoping that mrs. hooty would leave her nest and give him a chance to steal the eggs he knew were under her, that no one gave hooty a thought.
all of a sudden he was there, right in the tree close to the nest!
no one had heard a sound, but there he was, and in the claws of one foot he held the tail feathers of one of blacky's relatives.
it was lucky, very lucky indeed for that one that the sun was in hooty's eyes and so he had missed his aim.
otherwise there would have been one less crow.
now it is one thing to tease one lone owl and quite another to tease two together.
besides, there were those black tail feathers floating down to the snow-covered ground.
quite suddenly those crows decided that they had had fun enough for one day, and in spite of all blacky could do to stop them, away they flew, cawing loudly and talking it all over noisily.
blacky was the last to go, and his heart was sorrowful.
however could he get those eggs?
chapter ix: blacky thinks of farmer brown's boy "such luck!"
grumbled blacky, as he flew over to his favorite tree to do a little thinking.
""such luck!
now all my neighbors know about the nest of hooty the owl, and sooner or later one of them will find out that there are eggs in it.
there is one thing about it, though, and that is that if i ca n't get them, nobody can.
that is to say, none of my relatives can.
i've tried every way i can think of, and those eggs are still there.
my, my, my, how i would like one of them right now!"
then blacky the crow did a thing which disappointed scamps often do, -- began to blame the ones he was trying to wrong because his plans had failed.
to have heard him talking to himself, you would have supposed that those eggs really belonged to him and that hooty and mrs. hooty had cheated him out of them.
yes, sir, that is what you would have thought if you could have heard him muttering to himself there in the tree-top.
in his disappointment over not getting those eggs, he was so sorry for himself that he actually did feel that he was the one wronged, -- that hooty and mrs. hooty should have let him have those eggs.
of course, that was absolute foolishness, but he made himself believe it just the same.
at least, he pretended to believe it.
and the more he pretended, the angrier he grew.
this is often the way with people who try to wrong others.
they grow angry with the ones they have tried to wrong.
when at last blacky had to confess to himself that he could think of no other way to get those eggs, he began to wonder if there was some way to make trouble for hooty and mrs. hooty.
it was right then that he thought of farmer brown's boy.
blacky's eyes snapped.
he remembered how, once upon a time, farmer brown's boy had delighted to rob nests.
blacky had seen him take the eggs from the nests of blacky's own relatives and from many other feathered people.
what he did with the eggs, blacky had no idea.
just now he did n't care.
if farmer brown's boy would just happen to find hooty's nest, he would be sure to take those eggs, and then he, blacky, would feel better.
he would feel that he was even with hooty.
right away he began to try to think of some way to bring farmer brown's boy over to the lonesome corner of the green forest where hooty's nest was.
if he could once get him there, he felt sure that farmer brown's boy would see the nest and climb up to it, and then of course he would take the eggs.
if he could n't have those eggs himself, the next best thing would be to see some one else get them.
dear me, dear me, such dreadful thoughts!
i am afraid that blacky's heart was as black as his coat.
and the worst of it was, he seemed to get a lot of pleasure in his wicked plans.
now right down in his heart he knew that they were wicked plans, but he tried to make excuses to himself.
""hooty the owl is a robber," said he.
""everybody is afraid of him.
he lives on other people, and so far as i know he does no good in the world.
he is big and fierce, and no one loves him.
the green forest would be better off without him.
if those eggs hatch, there will be little owls to be fed, and they will grow up into big fierce owls, like their father and mother.
so if i show farmer brown's boy that nest and he takes those eggs, i will be doing a kindness to my neighbors."
so blacky talked to himself and tried to hush the still, small voice down inside that tried to tell him that what he was planning to do was really a dreadful thing.
and all the time he watched for farmer brown's boy.
chapter x: farmer brown's boy and hooty farmer brown's boy had taken it into his head to visit the green forest.
it was partly because he had n't anything else to do, and it was partly because now that it was very near the end of winter he wanted to see how things were there and if there were any signs of the coming of spring.
blacky the crow saw him coming, and blacky chuckled to himself.
he had watched every day for a week for just this thing.
now he would tell farmer brown's boy about that nest of hooty the owl.
he flew over to the lonesome corner of the green forest where hooty and mrs. hooty had made their home and at once began to caw at the top of his voice and pretend that he was terribly excited over something.
""caw, caw, caw, caw, caw!"
shouted blacky.
at once all his relatives within hearing hurried over to join him.
they knew that he was tormenting hooty, and they wanted to join in the fun.
it was n't long before there was a great racket going on over in that lonesome corner of the green forest.
of course farmer brown's boy heard it.
he stopped and listened.
""now i wonder what blacky and his friends have found this time," said he.
""whenever they make a fuss like that, there is usually something to see there.
i believe i'll so over and have a look."
so he turned in the direction of the lonesome corner of the green forest, and as he drew near, he moved very carefully, so as to see all that he could without frightening the crows.
he knew that as soon as they saw him, they would fly away, and that might alarm the one they were tormenting, for he knew enough of crow ways to know that when they were making such a noise as they were now making, they were plaguing some one.
blacky was the first to see him because he was watching for him.
but he did n't say anything until farmer brown's boy was so near that he could n't help but see that nest and hooty himself, sitting up very straight and snapping his bill angrily at his tormentors.
then blacky gave the alarm, and at once all the crows rose in the air and headed for the green meadows, cawing at the top of their lungs.
blacky went with them a little way.
the first chance he got he dropped out of the flock and silently flew back to a place where he could see all that might happen at the nest of hooty the owl.
when farmer brown's boy first caught sight of the nest and saw the crows darting down toward it and acting so excited, he was puzzled.
""that's an old nest of red-tail the hawk," thought he.
""i found that last spring.
now what can there be there to excite those crows so?"
then he caught sight of hooty the owl.
""ha, so that's it!"
he exclaimed.
""those scamps have discovered hooty and have been having no end of fun tormenting him.
i wonder what he's doing there."
he no longer tried to keep out of sight, but walked right up to the foot of the tree, all the time looking up.
hooty saw him, but instead of flying away, he snapped his bill just as he had at the crows and hissed.
""that's funny," thought farmer brown's boy.
""if i did n't know that to be the old nest of redtail the hawk, and if it were n't still the tail-end of winter, i would think that was hooty's nest."
he walked in a circle around the tree, looking up.
suddenly he gave a little start.
was that a tail sticking over the edge of the nest?
he found a stick and threw it up.
it struck the bottom of the nest, and out flew a great bird.
it was mrs. hooty!
blacky the crow chuckled.
chapter xi: farmer brown's boy is tempted when you're tempted to do wrong is the time to prove you're strong.
shut your eyes and clench each fist; it will help you to resist.
when a bird is found sitting on a nest, it is a pretty sure sign that that nest holds something worth while.
it is a sign that that bird has set up housekeeping.
so when farmer brown's boy discovered mrs. hooty sitting so close on the old nest of redtail the hawk, in the most lonesome corner of the green forest, he knew what it meant.
perhaps i should say that he knew what it ought to mean.
it ought to mean that there were eggs in that nest.
but it was hard for farmer brown's boy to believe that.
why, spring had not come yet!
there was still snow, and the smiling pool was still covered with ice.
who ever heard of birds nesting at this time of year?
certainly not farmer brown's boy.
and yet hooty the owl and mrs. hooty were acting for all the world as feathered folks do act when they have eggs and are afraid that something is going to happen to them.
it was very puzzling.
""that nest was built by red-tail the hawk, and it has n't even been repaired," muttered farmer brown's boy, as he stared up at it.
""if hooty and his wife have taken it for their home, they are mighty poor housekeepers.
and if mrs. hooty has laid eggs this time of year, she must be crazy.
i suppose the way to find out is to climb up there.
it seems foolish, but i'm going to do it.
those owls certainly act as if they are mighty anxious about something, and i'm going to find out what it is."
he looked at hooty and mrs. hooty, at their hooked bills and great claws, and decided that he would take a stout stick along with him.
he had no desire to feel these great claws.
when he had found a stick to suit him, he began to climb the tree.
hooty and mrs. hooty snapped their bills and hissed fiercely.
they drew nearer.
farmer brown's boy kept a watchful eye on them.
they looked so big and fierce that he was almost tempted to give up and leave them in peace.
but he just had to find out if there was anything in that nest, so he kept on.
as he drew near it, mrs. hooty swooped very near to him, and the snap of her bill made an ugly sound.
he held his stick ready to strike and kept on.
the nest was simply a great platform of sticks.
when farmer brown's boy reached it, he found that he could not get where he could look into it, so he reached over and felt inside.
almost at once his fingers touched something that made him tingle all over.
it was an egg, a great big egg!
there was no doubt about it.
it was just as hard for him to believe as it had been for blacky the crow to believe, when he first saw those eggs.
farmer brown's boy's fingers closed over that egg and took it out of the nest.
mrs. hooty swooped very close, and farmer brown's boy nearly dropped the egg as he struck at her with his stick.
then mrs. hooty and hooty seemed to lose courage and withdrew to a tree near by, where they snapped their bills and hissed.
then farmer brown's boy looked at the prize in his hand.
it was a big, dirty-white egg.
his eyes shone.
what a splendid prize to add to his collection of birds" eggs!
it was the first egg of the great horned owl, the largest of all owls, that he ever had seen.
once more he felt in the nest and found there was another egg there.
""i'll take both of them," said he.
""it's the first nest of hooty's that i've ever found, and perhaps i'll never find another.
gee, i'm glad i came over here to find out what those crows were making such a fuss about.
i wonder if i can get these clown without breaking them."
just at that very minute he remembered something.
he remembered that he had stopped collecting eggs.
he remembered that he had resolved never to take another bird's egg.
""but this is different," whispered the tempter.
""this is n't like taking the eggs of the little song birds."
chapter xii: a tree-top battle as black is black and white is white, so wrong is wrong and right is right.
there is n't any half way about it.
a thing is wrong or it is right, and that is all there is to it.
but most people have hard work to see this when they want very much to do a thing that the still small voice way down inside tells them is n't right.
they try to compromise.
to compromise is to do neither one thing nor the other but a little of both.
but you ca n't do that with right and wrong.
it is a queer thing, but a half right never is as good as a whole right, while a half wrong often, very often, is as bad as a whole wrong.
farmer brown's boy, up in the tree by the nest of hooty the owl in the lonesome corner of the green forest, was fighting a battle.
no, he was n't fighting with hooty or mrs. hooty.
he was fighting a battle right inside himself.
it was a battle between right and wrong.
once upon a time he had taken great delight in collecting the eggs of birds, in trying to see how many kinds he could get.
then as he had come to know the little forest and meadow people better, he had seen that taking the eggs of birds is very, very wrong, and he had stopped stealing them.
he bad declared that never again would he steal an egg from a bird.
but never before had he found a nest of hooty the owl.
those two big eggs would add ever so much to his collection.
""take'em," said a little voice inside.
""hooty is a robber.
you will be doing a kindness to the other birds by taking them."
""do n't do it," said another little voice.
""hooty may be a robber, but he has a place in the green forest, or old mother nature never would have put him here.
it is just as much stealing to take his eggs as to take the eggs of any other bird.
he has just as much right to them as jenny wren has to hers."
""take one and leave one," said the first voice.
""that will be just as much stealing as if you took both," said the second voice.
""besides, you will be breaking your own word.
you said that you never would take another egg."
""i did n't promise anybody but myself," declared farmer brown's boy right out loud.
at the sound of his voice, hooty and mrs. hooty, sitting in the next tree, snapped their bills and hissed louder than ever.
""a promise to yourself ought to be just as good as a promise to any one else.
i do n't wonder hooty hisses at you," said the good little voice.
""think how fine those eggs will look in your collection and how proud you will be to show them to the other fellows who never have found a nest of hooty's," said the first little voice.
""and think how mean and small and cheap you'll feel every time you look at them," added the good little voice.
""you'll get a lot more fun if you leave them to hatch out and then watch the little owls grow up and learn all about their ways.
just think what a stout, brave fellow hooty is to start housekeeping at this time of year, and how wonderful it is that mrs. hooty can keep these eggs warm and when they have hatched take care of the baby owls before others have even begun to build their nests.
besides, wrong is wrong and right is right, always."
slowly farmer brown's boy reached over the edge of the nest and put back the egg.
then he began to climb down the tree.
when he reached the ground he went off a little way and watched.
almost at once mrs. hooty flew to the nest and settled down on the eggs, while hooty mounted guard close by.
""i'm glad i did n't take'em," said farmer brown's boy.
""yes, sir, i'm glad i did n't take'em."
as he turned back toward home, he saw blacky the crow flying over the green forest, and little did he guess how he had upset blacky's plans.
chapter xiii: blacky has a change of heart blacky the crow is n't all black.
no, indeed.
his coat is black, and sometimes it seems as if his heart is all black, but this is n't so.
it certainly seemed as if his heart was all black when he tried so hard to make trouble for hooty the owl.
it would seem as if only a black heart could have urged him to try so hard to steal the eggs of hooty and mrs. hooty, but this was n't really so.
you see, it did n't seem at all wrong to try to get those eggs.
blacky was hungry, and those eggs would have given him a good meal.
he knew that hooty would n't hesitate to catch him and eat him if he had the chance, and so it seemed to him perfectly right and fair to steal hooty's eggs if he was smart enough to do so.
and most of the other little people of the green forest and the green meadows would have felt the same way about it.
you see, it is one of the laws of old mother nature that each one must learn to look out for himself.
but when blacky showed that nest of hooty's to farmer brown's boy with the hope that farmer brown's boy would steal those eggs, there was blackness in his heart.
he was doing something then which was pure meanness.
he was just trying to make trouble for hooty, to get even because hooty had been too smart for him.
he had sat in the top of a tall pine-tree where he could see all that happened, and he had chuckled wickedly as he had seen farmer brown's boy climb to hooty's nest and take out an egg.
he felt sure that he would take both eggs.
he hoped so, anyway.
when he saw farmer brown's boy put the eggs back and climb down the tree without any, he had to blink his eyes to make sure that he saw straight.
he just could n't believe what he saw.
at first he was dreadfully disappointed and angry.
it looked very much as if he were n't going to get even with hooty after all.
he flew over to his favorite tree to think things over.
now sometimes it is a good thing to sit by oneself and think things over.
it gives the little small voice deep down inside a chance to be heard.
it was just that way with blacky now.
the longer he thought, the meaner his action in calling farmer brown's boy looked.
it was one thing to try to steal those eggs himself, but it was quite another matter to try to have them stolen by some one against whom hooty had no protection whatever.
""if it had been any one but hooty, you would have done your best to have kept farmer brown's boy away," said the little voice inside.
blacky hung his head.
he knew that it was true.
more than once, in fact many times, he had warned other feathered folks when farmer brown's boy had been hunting for their nests, and had helped to lead him away.
at last blacky threw up his head and chuckled, and this time his chuckle was good to hear.
""i'm glad that farmer brown's boy did n't take those eggs," said he right out loud.
""yes, sir, i'm glad.
i'll never do such a thing as that again.
i'm ashamed of what i did; yet i'm glad i did it.
i'm glad because i've learned some things.
i've learned that farmer brown's boy is n't as much to be feared as he used to be.
i've learned that hooty is n't as stupid as i thought he was.
i've learned that while it may be all right for us people of the green forest to try to outwit each other we ought to protect each other against common dangers.
and i've learned something i did n't know before, and that is that hooty the owl is the very first of us to set up housekeeping.
now i think i'll go hunt for an honest meal."
and he did.
chapter xiv: blacky makes a call judge no one by his style of dress; your ignorance you thus confess.
-- blacky the crow.
""caw, caw, caw, caw."
there was no need of looking to see who that was.
peter rabbit knew without looking.
mrs. quack knew without looking.
just the same, both looked up.
just alighting in the top of a tall tree was blacky the crow.
""caw, caw, caw, caw," he repeated, looking down at peter and mrs. quack and mr. quack and the six young quacks.
""i hope i am not interrupting any secret gossip."
""not at all," peter hastened to say.
""mrs. quack was just telling me of the troubles and clangers in bringing up a young family in the far north.
how did you know the quacks had arrived?"
blacky chuckled hoarsely.
""i did n't," said he.
""i simply thought there might be something going on i did n't know about over here in the pond of paddy the beaver, so i came over to find out.
mr. quack, you and mrs. quack are looking very fine this fall.
and those handsome young quacks, you do n't mean to tell me that they are your children!"
mrs. quack nodded proudly.
""they are," said she.
""you do n't say so!"
exclaimed blacky, as if he were very much surprised, when all the time he was n't surprised at all.
""they are a credit to their parents.
yes, indeed, they are a credit to their parents.
never have i seen finer young ducks in all my life.
how glad the hunters with terrible guns will be to see them."
mrs. quack shivered at that, and blacky saw it.
he chuckled softly.
you know he dearly loves to make others uncomfortable.
""i saw three hunters over on the edge of the big river early this very morning," said he.
mrs. quack looked more anxious than ever.
blacky's sharp eyes noted this.
""that is why i came over here," he added kindly.
""i wanted to give you warning."
""but you did n't know the quacks were here!"
spoke up peter.
""true enough, peter.
true enough," replied blacky, his eyes twinkling.
""but i thought they might be.
i had heard a rumor that those who go south are traveling earlier than usual this fall, so i knew i might find mr. and mrs. quack over here any time now.
is it true, mrs. quack, that we are going to have a long, hard, cold winter?"
""that is what they say up in the far north," replied mrs. quack.
""and it is true that jack frost had started down earlier than usual.
that is how it happens we are here now.
but about those hunters over by the big river, do you suppose they will come over here?"
there was an anxious note in mrs. quack's voice.
""no," replied blacky promptly.
""farmer brown's boy wo n't let them.
i know.
i've been watching him and he has been watching those hunters.
as long as you stay here, you will be safe.
what a great world this would be if all those two-legged creatures were like farmer brown's boy."
""would n't it!"
cried peter.
then he added, "i wish they were."
""you do n't wish it half as much as i do," declared mrs. quack.
""yet i can remember when he used to hunt with a terrible gun and was as bad as the worst of them," said blacky.
""what changed him?"
asked mrs. quack, looking interested.
""just getting really acquainted with some of the little people of the green forest and the green meadows," replied blacky.
""he found them ready to meet him more than halfway in friendship and that some of them really are his best friends."
""and now he is their best friend," spoke up peter.
blacky nodded.
""right, peter," said he.
""that is why the quacks are safe here and will be as long as they stay."
chapter xv: blacky does a little looking about do not take the word of others that things are or are not so when there is a chance that you may find out for yourself and know.
-- blacky the crow.
blacky the crow is a shrewd fellow.
he is one of the smartest and shrewdest of all the little people in the green forest and on the green meadows.
everybody knows it.
and because of this, all his neighbors have a great deal of respect for him, despite his mischievous ways.
of course, blacky had noticed that johnny chuck had dug his house deeper than usual and had stuffed himself until he was fatter than ever before.
he had noticed that jerry muskrat was making the walls of his house thicker than in other years, and that paddy the beaver was doing the same thing to his house.
you know there is very little that escapes the sharp eyes of blacky the crow.
he had guessed what these things meant.
""they think we are going to have a long, hard, cold winter," muttered blacky to himself.
""perhaps they know, but i want to see some signs of it for myself.
they may be only guessing.
anybody can do that, and one guess is as good as another."
then he found mr. and mrs. quack, the mallard ducks, and their children in the pond of paddy the beaver and remembered that they never had come down from their home in the far north as early in the fall as this.
mrs. quack explained that jack frost had already started south, and so they had started earlier to keep well ahead of him.
""looks as if there may be something in this idea of a long, hard, cold winter," thought blacky, "but perhaps the quacks are only guessing, too.
i would n't take their word for it any more than i would the word of johnny chuck or jerry muskrat or paddy the beaver.
i'll look about a little."
so after warning the quacks to remain in the pond of paddy the beaver if they would be safe, blacky bade them good-by and flew away.
he headed straight for the green meadows and farmer brown's cornfield.
a little of that yellow corn would make a good breakfast.
when he reached the cornfield, blacky perched on top of a shock of corn, for it already had been cut and put in shocks in readiness to be carted up to farmer brown's barn.
for a few minutes he sat there silent and motionless, but all the time his sharp eyes were making sure that no enemy was hiding behind one of those brown shocks.
when he was quite certain that things were as safe as they seemed, he picked out a plump ear of corn and began to tear open the husks, so as to get at the yellow grains.
""seems to me these husks are unusually thick," muttered blacky, as he tore at them with his stout bill.
""do n't remember ever having seen them as thick as these.
wonder if it just happens to be so on this ear."
then, as a sudden thought popped into his black head, he left that ear and went to another.
the husks of this were as thick as those on the first.
he flew to another shock and found the husks there just the same.
he tried a third shock with the same result.
""huh, they are all alike," said he.
then he looked thoughtful and for a few minutes sat perfectly still like a black statue.
""they are right," said he at last.
""yes, sir, they are right."
of course he meant johnny chuck and jerry muskrat and paddy the beaver and the quacks.
""i do n't know how they know it, but they are right; we are going to have a long, hard, cold winter.
i know it myself now.
i've found a sign.
old mother nature has wrapped this corn in extra thick husks, and of course she has done it to protect it.
she does n't do things without a reason.
we are going to have a cold winter, or my name is n't blacky the crow."
chapter xvi: blacky finds other signs a single fact may fail to prove you either right or wrong; confirm it with another and your proof will then be strong.
-- blacky the crow.
after his discovery that old mother nature had wrapped all the ears of corn in extra thick husks, blacky had no doubt in his own mind that johnny chuck and jerry muskrat and paddy the beaver and the quacks were quite right in feeling that the coming winter would be long, hard and cold.
but blacky long ago learned that it is n't wise or wholly safe to depend altogether on one thing.
""old mother nature never does things by halves," thought blacky, as he sat on the fence post on the green meadows, thinking over his discovery of the thick husks on the corn.
""she would n't take care to protect the corn that way and not do as much for other things.
there must be other signs, if i am smart enough to find them."
he lifted one black wing and began to set in order the feathers beneath it.
suddenly he made a funny little hop straight up.
""well, i never!"
he exclaimed, as he spread his wings to regain his balance.
""i never did!"
""is that so?"
piped a squeaky little voice.
""if you say you never did, i suppose you never did, though i want the word of some one else before i will believe it.
what is it you never did?"
blacky looked down.
peeping up at him from the brown grass were two bright little eyes.
""hello, danny meadow mouse!"
exclaimed blacky.
""i have n't seen you for a long time.
i've looked for you several times lately."
""i do n't doubt it.
i do n't doubt it at all," squeaked danny.
""you'll never see me when you are looking for me.
that is, you wo n't if i can help it.
you wo n't if i see you first."
blacky chuckled.
he knew what danny meant.
when blacky goes looking for danny meadow mouse, it usually is in hope of having a meadow mouse dinner, and he knew that danny knew this.
""i've had my breakfast," said blacky, "and it is n't dinner time yet."
""what is it you never did?"
persisted danny, in his squeaky voice.
""that was just an exclamation," explained blacky.
""i made a discovery that surprised me so i exclaimed right out."
""what was it?"
demanded danny.
""it was that the feathers of my coat are coming in thicker than i ever knew them to before.
i had n't noticed it until i started to set them in order a minute ago."
he buried his bill in the feathers of his breast.
""yes, sir," said he in a muffled voice, "they are coming in thicker than i ever knew them to before.
there is a lot of down around the roots of them.
i am going to have the warmest coat i've ever had."
""well, do n't think you are the only one," retorted danny.
""my fur never was so thick at this time of year as it is now, and it is the same way with nanny meadow mouse and all our children.
i suppose you know what it means."
""what does it mean?"
asked blacky, just as if he did n't have the least idea, although he had guessed the instant he discovered those extra feathers.
""it means we are going to have a long, hard, cold winter, and old mother nature is preparing us for it," replied danny, quite as if he knew all about it.
""you'll find that everybody who does n't go south or sleep all winter has a thicker coat than usual.
hello!
there is old roughleg the hawk!
he has come extra early this year.
i think i'll go back to warn nanny."
without another word danny disappeared in the brown grass.
again blacky chuckled.
""more signs," said he to himself.
""more signs.
there is n't a doubt that we are going to have a hard winter.
i wonder if i can stand it or if i'd better go a little way south, where it will be warmer."
chapter xvii: blacky watches a queer performance this much to me is very clear: a thing not understood is queer.
-- blacky the crow.
blacky the crow may be right.
again he may not be.
if he is right, it will account for a lot of the queer people in the world.
they are not understood, and so they are queer.
at least, that is what other people say, and never once think that perhaps they are the queer ones for not understanding.
but blacky is n't like those people who are satisfied not to understand and to think other people and things queer.
he does his best to understand.
he waits and watches and uses those sharp eyes of his and those quick wits of his until at last usually he does understand.
the day of his discovery of old mother nature's signs that the coming winter would be long, hard and cold, blacky paid a visit to the big river.
long ago he discovered that many things are to be seen on or beside the big river, things not to be seen elsewhere.
so there are few clays in which he does not get over there.
as he drew near the big river, he was very watchful and careful, was blacky, for this was the season when hunters with terrible guns were abroad, and he had discovered that they were likely to be hiding along the big river, hoping to shoot mr. or mrs. quack or some of their relatives.
so he was very watchful as he drew near the big river, for he had learned that it was dangerous to pass too near a hunter with a terrible gun.
more than once he had been shot at.
but he had learned by these experiences.
oh, yes, blacky had learned.
for one thing, he had learned to know a gun when he saw it.
for another thing, he had learned just how far away one of these dreadful guns could be and still hurt the one it was pointed at, and to always keep just a little farther away.
also he had learned that a man or boy without a terrible gun is quite harmless, and he had learned that hunters with terrible guns are tricky and sometimes hide from those they seek to kill, so that in the dreadful hunting season it is best to look sharply before approaching any place.
on this afternoon, as he drew near the big river, he saw a man who seemed to be very busy on the shore of the big river, at a place where wild rice and rushes grew for some distance out in the water, for just there it was shallow far out from the shore.
blacky looked sharply for a terrible gun.
but the man had none with him and therefore was not to be feared.
blacky boldly drew near until he was able to see what the man was doing.
then blacky's eyes stretched their widest and he almost cawed right out with surprise.
the man was taking yellow corn from a bag, a handful at a time, and throwing it out in the water.
yes, sir, that is what he was doing, scattering nice yellow corn among the rushes and wild rice in the water!
""that's a queer performance," muttered blacky, as he watched.
""what is he throwing perfectly good corn out in the water for?
he is n't planting it, for this is n't the planting season.
besides, it would n't grow in the water, anyway.
it is a shame to waste nice corn like that.
what is he doing it for?"
blacky flew over to a tree some distance away and alighted in the top of it to watch the queer performance.
you know blacky has very keen eyes and he can see a long distance.
for a while the man continued to scatter corn and blacky continued to wonder what he was doing it for.
at last the man went away in a boat.
blacky watched him until he was out of sight.
then he spread his wings and slowly flew back and forth just above the rushes and wild rice, at the place where the man had been scattering the corn.
he could see some of the yellow grains on the bottom.
presently he saw something else.
""ha!"
exclaimed blacky.
chapter xviii: blacky becomes very suspicious of things you do not understand, beware!
they may be wholly harmless but -- beware!
you'll find the older that you grow that only things and folks you know are fully to be trusted, so beware!
-- blacky the crow.
that is one of blacky's wise sayings, and he lives up to it.
it is one reason why he has come to be regarded by all his neighbors as one of the smartest of all who live in the green forest and on the green meadow.
he seldom gets into any real trouble because he first makes sure there is no trouble to get into.
when he discovers something he does not understand, he is at once distrustful of it.
as he watched a man scattering yellow corn in the water from the shore of the big river he at once became suspicious.
he could n't understand why a man should throw good corn among the rushes and wild rice in the water, and because he could n't understand, he at once began to suspect that it was for no good purpose.
when the man left in a boat, blacky slowly flew over the rushes where the man had thrown the corn, and presently his sharp eyes made a discovery that caused him to exclaim right out.
what was it blacky had discovered?
only a few feathers.
no one with eyes less sharp than blacky's would have noticed them.
and few would have given them a thought if they had noticed them.
but blacky knew right away that those were feathers from a duck.
he knew that a duck, or perhaps a flock of ducks, had been resting or feeding in there among those rushes, and that in moving about they had left those two or three downy feathers.
""ha!"
exclaimed blacky.
""mr. and mrs. quack or some of their relatives have been here.
it is just the kind of a place ducks like.
also some ducks like corn.
if they should come back here and find this corn, they would have a feast, and they would be sure to come again.
that man who scattered the corn here did n't have a terrible gun, but that does n't mean that he is n't a hunter.
he may come back again, and then he may have a terrible gun.
i'm suspicious of that man.
i am so.
i believe he put that corn here for ducks and i do n't believe he did it out of the kindness of his heart.
if it was farmer brown's boy i would know that all is well; that he was thinking of hungry ducks, with few places where they can feed in safety, as they make the long journey from the far north to the sunny south.
but it was n't farmer brown's boy.
i do n't like the looks of it.
i do n't indeed.
i'll keep watch of this place and see what happens."
all the way to his favorite perch in a certain big hemlock-tree in the green forest, blacky kept thinking about that corn and the man who had seemed to be generous with it, and the more he thought, the more suspicious he became.
he did n't like the looks of it at all.
""i'll warn the quacks to keep away from there.
i'll do it the very first thing in the morning," he muttered, as he prepared to go to sleep.
""if they have any sense at all, they will stay in the pond of paddy the beaver.
but if they should go over to the big river, they would be almost sure to find that corn, and if they should once find it, they would keep going back for more.
it may be all right, but i do n't like the looks of it."
and still full of suspicions, blacky went to sleep.
chapter xix: blacky makes more discoveries little things you fail to see may important prove to be.
-- blacky the crow.
one of the secrets of blacky's success in life is the fact that he never fails to take note of little things.
long ago he learned that little things which in themselves seem harmless and not worth noticing may together prove the most important things in life.
so, no matter how unimportant a thing may appear, blacky examines it closely with those sharp eyes of his and remembers it.
the very first thing blacky did, as soon as he was awake the morning after he discovered the man scattering corn in the rushes at a certain place on the edge of the big river, was to fly over to the pond of paddy the beaver and again warn mr. and mrs. quack to keep away from the big river, if they and their six children would remain safe.
then he got some breakfast.
he ate it in a hurry and flew straight over to the big river to the place where he had seen that yellow corn scattered.
blacky was n't wholly surprised to find dusky the black duck, own cousin to mr. and mrs. quack the mallard ducks, with a number of his relatives in among the rushes and wild rice at the very place where that corn had been scattered.
they seemed quite contented and in the best of spirits.
blacky guessed why.
not a single grain of that yellow corn could blacky see.
he knew the ways of dusky and his relatives.
he knew that they must have come in there just at dusk the night before and at once had found that corn.
he knew that they would remain hiding there until frightened out, and that then they would spend the day in some little pond where they would not be likely to be disturbed or where at least no danger could approach them without being seen in plenty of time.
there they would rest all day, and when the black shadows came creeping out from the purple hills, they would return to that place on the big river to feed, for that is the time when they like best to hunt for their food.
dusky looked up as blacky flew over him, but blacky said nothing, and dusky said nothing.
but if blacky did n't use his tongue, he did use his eyes.
he saw just on the edge of the shore what looked like a lot of small bushes growing close together on the very edge of the water.
mixed in with them were a lot of the brown rushes.
they looked very harmless and innocent.
but blacky knew every foot of that shore along the big river, and he knew that those bushes had n't been there during the summer.
he knew that they had n't grown there.
he flew directly over them.
just back of them were a couple of logs.
those logs had n't been there when he passed that way a few days before.
he was sure of it.
""ha!"
exclaimed blacky under his breath.
""those look to me as if they might be very handy, very handy indeed, for a hunter to sit on.
sitting there behind those bushes, he would be hidden from any duck who might come in to look for nice yellow corn scattered out there among the rushes.
it does n't look right to me.
no, sir, it does n't look right to me.
i think i'll keep an eye on this place."
so blacky came back to the big river several times that day.
the second time back he found that dusky the black duck and his relatives had left.
when he returned in the afternoon, he saw the same man he had seen there the afternoon before, and he was doing the same thing, -- scattering yellow corn out in the rushes.
and as before, he went away in a boat.
""i do n't like it," muttered blacky, shaking his black head.
""i do n't like it."
chapter xx: blacky drops a hint when you see another's danger warn him though he be a stranger.
-- blacky the crow.
every day for a week a man came in a boat to scatter corn in the rushes at a certain point along the bank of the big river, and every day blacky the crow watched him and shook his black head and talked to himself and told himself that he did n't like it, and that he was sure that it was for no good purpose.
sometimes blacky watched from a distance, and sometimes he flew right over the man.
but never once did the man have a gun with him.
every morning, very early, blacky flew over there, and every morning he found dusky the black duck and his flock in the rushes and wild rice at that particular place, and he knew that they had been there all night, he knew that they had come in there just at dusk the night before, to feast on the yellow corn the man had scattered there in the afternoon.
""it is no business of mine what those ducks do," muttered blacky to himself, "but as surely as my tail feathers are black, something is going to happen to some of them one of these days.
that man may be fooling them, but he is n't fooling me.
not a bit of it.
he has n't had a gun with him once when i have seen him, but just the same he is a hunter.
i feel it in my bones.
he knows those silly ducks come in here every night for that corn he puts out.
he knows that after they have been here a few times and nothing has frightened them, they will be so sure that it is a safe place that they will not be the least bit suspicious.
then he will hide behind those bushes he has placed close to the edge of the water and wait for them with his terrible gun.
that is what he will do, or my name is n't blacky."
finally blacky decided to drop a hint to dusky the black duck.
so the next morning he stopped for a call.
""good morning," said he, as dusky swam in just in front of him.
""i hope you are feeling as fine as you look."
""quack, quack," replied dusky.
""when blacky the crow flatters, he hopes to gain something.
what is it this time?"
""not a thing," replied blacky.
""on my honor, not a thing.
there is nothing for me here, though there seems to be plenty for you and your relatives, to judge by the fact that i find you in this same place every morning.
what is it?"
""corn," replied dusky in a low voice, as if afraid some one might overhear him.
""nice yellow corn."
""corn!"
exclaimed blacky, as if very much astonished.
""how does corn happen to be way over here in the water?"
dusky shook his head.
""do n't ask me, for i ca n't tell you," said he.
""i have n't the least idea.
all i know is that every evening when we arrive, we find it here.
how it gets here, i do n't know, and furthermore i do n't care.
it is enough for me that it is here."
""i've seen a man over here every afternoon," said blacky.
""i thought he might be a hunter."
""did he have a terrible gun?"
asked dusky suspiciously.
""no-o," replied blacky.
""then he is n't a hunter," declared dusky, looking much relieved.
""but perhaps one of these days he will have one and will wait for you to come in for your dinner," suggested blacky.
""he could hide behind these bushes, you know."
""nonsense," retorted dusky, tossing his head.
""there has n't been a sign of danger here since we have been here.
i know you, blacky; you are jealous because we find plenty to eat here, and you find nothing.
you are trying to scare us.
but i'll tell you right now, you ca n't scare us away from such splendid eating as we have had here.
so there!"
chapter xxi: at last blacky is sure who for another conquers fear is truly brave, it is most clear.
-- blacky the crow.
it was late in the afternoon, and blacky the crow was on his way to the green forest.
as usual, he went around by the big river to see if that man was scattering corn for the ducks.
he was n't there.
no one was to be seen along the bank of the big river.
""he has n't come to-day, or else he came early and has left," thought blacky.
and then his sharp eyes caught sight of something that made him turn aside and make straight for a certain tree, from the top of which he could see all that went on for a long distance.
what was it blacky saw?
it was a boat coming down the big river.
blacky sat still and watched.
presently the boat turned in among the rushes, and a moment later a man stepped out on the shore.
it was the same man blacky had watched scatter corn in the rushes every day for a week.
there was n't the least doubt about it, it was the same man.
""ha, ha!"
exclaimed blacky, and nearly lost his balance in his excitement.
""ha, ha!
it is just as i thought!"
you see blacky's sharp eyes had seen that the man was carrying something, and that something was a gun, a terrible gun.
blacky knows a terrible gun as far as he can see it.
the hunter, for of course that is what he was, tramped along the shore until he reached the bushes which blacky had noticed close to the water and which he knew had not grown there.
the hunter looked out over the big river.
then he walked along where he had scattered corn the day before.
not a grain was to be seen.
this seemed to please him.
then he went back to the bushes and sat down on a log behind them, his terrible gun across his knees.
""i was sure of it," muttered blacky.
""he is going to wait there for those ducks to come in, and then something dreadful will happen.
what terrible creatures these hunters are!
they do n't know what fairness is.
no, sir, they do n't know what fairness is.
he has put food there day after day, where dusky the black duck and his flock would be sure to find it, and has waited until they have become so sure there is no danger that they are no longer suspicious.
he knows they will feel so sure that all is safe that they will come in without looking for danger.
then he will fire that terrible gun and kill them without giving them any chance at all.
""reddy fox is a sly, clever hunter, but he would n't do a thing like that.
neither would old man coyote or anybody else who wears fur or feathers.
they might hide and try to catch some one by surprise.
that is all right, because each of us is supposed to be on the watch for things of that sort.
oh, dear, what's to be done?
it is time i was getting home to the green forest.
the black shadows will soon come creeping out from the purple hills, and i must be safe in my hemlock-tree by then.
i would be scared to death to be out after dark.
yet those ducks ought to be warned.
oh, dear, what shall i do?"
blacky peered over at the green forest and then over toward the purple hills, behind which jolly, round, red mr. sun would go to bed very shortly.
he shivered as he thought of the black shadows that soon would come swiftly out from the purple hills across the big river and over the green meadows.
with them might come hooty the owl, and hooty would n't object in the least to a crow dinner.
he wished he was in that hemlock-tree that very minute.
then blacky looked at the hunter with his terrible gun and thought of what might happen, what would be almost sure to happen, unless those ducks were warned.
""i'll wait a little while longer," muttered blacky, and tried to feel brave.
but instead he shivered.
chapter xxii: blacky goes home happy no greater happiness is won than through a deed for others done.
-- blacky the crow.
blacky sat in the top of a tree near the bank of the big river and could n't make up his mind what to do.
he wanted to get home to the big, thick hemlock-tree in the green forest before dusk, for blacky is afraid of the dark.
that is, he is afraid to be out after dark.
""go along home," said a voice inside him, "there is hardly time now for you to get there before the black shadows arrive.
do n't waste any more time here.
what may happen to those silly ducks is no business of yours, and there is nothing you can do, anyway.
go along home."
""wait a few minutes," said another little voice down inside him.
""do n't be a coward.
you ought to warn dusky the black duck and his flock that a hunter with a terrible gun is waiting for them.
is it true that it is no business of yours what happens to those ducks?
think again, blacky; think again.
it is the duty of each one who sees a common danger to warn his neighbors.
if something dreadful should happen to dusky because you were afraid of the dark, you never would be comfortable in your own mind.
stay a little while and keep watch."
not five minutes later blacky saw something that made him, oh, so glad he had kept watch.
it was a swiftly moving black line just above the water far down the big river, and it was coming up.
he knew what that black line was.
he looked over at the hunter hiding behind some bushes close to the edge of the water.
the hunter was crouching with his terrible gun in his hands and was peeping over the bushes, watching that black line.
he, too, knew what it was.
it was a flock of ducks flying.
blacky was all ashake again, but this time it was n't with fear of being caught away from home in the dark; it was with excitement.
he knew that those ducks had become so eager for more of that corn, that delicious yellow corn which every night for a week they had found scattered in the rushes just in front of the place where that hunter was now hiding, that they could n't wait for the coming of the black shadows.
they were so sure there was no danger that they were coming in to eat without waiting for the black shadows, as they usually did.
and blacky was glad.
perhaps now he could give them warning.
up the middle of the big river, flying just above the water, swept the flock with dusky at its head.
how swiftly they flew, those nine big birds!
blacky envied them their swift wings.
on past the hidden hunter but far out over the big river they swept.
for just a minute blacky thought they were going on up the river and not coming in to eat, after all.
then they turned toward the other shore, swept around in a circle and headed straight in toward that hidden hunter.
blacky glanced at him and saw that he was ready to shoot.
almost without thinking, blacky spread his wings and started out from that tree.
""caw, caw, caw, caw, caw!"
he shrieked at the top of his lungs.
""caw, caw, caw, caw, caw!"
it was his danger cry that everybody on the green meadows and in the green forest knows.
instantly dusky turned and began to climb up, up, up, the other ducks following him until, as they passed over the hidden hunter, they were so high it was useless for him to shoot.
he did put up his gun and aim at them, but he did n't shoot.
you see, he did n't want to frighten them so that they would not return.
then the flock turned and started off in the direction from which they had come, and in a few minutes they were merely a black line disappearing far down the big river.
blacky headed straight for the green forest, chuckling as he flew.
he knew that those ducks would not return until after dark.
he had saved them this time, and he was so happy he did n't even notice the black shadows.
and the hunter stood up and shook his fist at blacky the crow.
chapter xxiii: blacky calls farmer brown's boy blacky awoke in the best of spirits.
late the afternoon before he had saved dusky the black duck and his flock from a hunter with a terrible gun.
he was n't quite sure whether he was most happy in having saved those ducks by warning them just in time, or in having spoiled the plans of that hunter.
he hates a hunter with a terrible gun, does blacky.
for that matter, so do all the little people of the green forest and the green meadows.
so blacky started out for his breakfast in high spirits.
after breakfast, he flew over to the big river to see if dusky the black duck was feeding in the rushes along the shore.
dusky was n't, and blacky guessed that he and his flock had been so frightened by that warning that they had kept away from there the night before.
""but they'll come back after a night or so," muttered blacky, as he alighted in the top of a tree, the same tree from which he had watched the hunter the afternoon before.
""they'll come back, and so will that hunter.
if he sees me around again, he'll try to shoot me.
i've done all i can do.
anyway, dusky ought to have sense enough to be suspicious of this place after that warning.
hello, who is that?
i do believe it is farmer brown's boy.
i wish he would come over here.
if he should find out about that hunter, perhaps he would do something to drive him away.
i'll see if i can call him over here."
blacky began to call in the way he does when he has discovered something and wants others to know about it.
""caw, caw, caaw, caaw, caw, caw, caaw!"
screamed blacky, as if greatly excited.
now farmer brown's boy, having no work to do that morning, had started for a tramp over the green meadows, hoping to see some of his little friends in feathers and fur.
he heard the excited cawing of blacky and at once turned in that direction.
""that black rascal has found something over on the shore of the big river," said farmer brown's boy to himself.
""i'll go over there to see what it is.
there is n't much escapes the sharp eyes of that black busybody.
he has led me to a lot of interesting things, one time and another.
there he is on the top of that tree over by the big river."
as farmer brown's boy drew near, blacky flew down and disappeared below the bank.
fanner brown's boy chuckled.
""whatever it is, it is right down there," he muttered.
he walked forward rapidly but quietly, and presently he reached the edge of the bank.
up flew blacky cawing wildly, and pretending to be scared half to death.
again farmer brown's boy chuckled.
""you're just making believe," he declared.
""you're trying to make me believe that i have surprised you, when all the time you knew i was coming and have been waiting for me.
now, what have you found over here?"
he looked eagerly along the shore, and at once he saw a row of low bushes close to the edge of the water.
he knew what it was instantly.
""a duck blind!"
he exclaimed.
""a hunter has built a blind over here from which to shoot ducks.
i wonder if he has killed any yet.
i hope not."
he went down to the blind, for that is what a duck hunter's hiding-place is called, and looked about.
a couple of grains of corn just inside the blind caught his eyes, and his face darkened.
""that fellow has been baiting ducks," thought he.
""he has been putting out corn to get them to come here regularly.
my, how i hate that sort of thing!
it is bad enough to hunt them fairly, but to feed them and then kill them -- ugh!
i wonder if he has shot any yet."
he looked all about keenly, and his face cleared.
he knew that if that hunter had killed any ducks, there would be tell-tale feathers in the blind, and there were none.
chapter xxiv: farmer brown's boy does some thinking farmer brown's boy sat on the bank of the big river in a brown study.
that means that he was thinking very hard.
blacky the crow sat in the top of a tall tree a short distance away and watched him.
blacky was silent now, and there was a knowing look in his shrewd little eyes.
in calling farmer brown's boy over there, he had done all he could, and he was quite satisfied to leave the matter to farmer brown's boy.
""a hunter has made that blind to shoot black ducks from," thought farmer brown's boy, "and he has been baiting them in here by scattering corn for them.
black ducks are about the smartest ducks that fly, but if they have been coming in here every evening and finding corn and no sign of danger, they probably think it perfectly safe here and come straight in without being at all suspicious.
to-night, or some night soon, that hunter will be waiting for them.
""i guess the law that permits hunting ducks is all right, but there ought to be a law against baiting them in.
that is n't hunting.
no, sir, that is n't hunting.
if this land were my father's, i would know what to do.
i would put up a sign saying that this was private property and no shooting was allowed.
but it is n't my father's land, and that hunter has a perfect right to shoot here.
he has just as much right here as i have.
i wish i could stop him, but i do n't see how i can."
a frown puckered the freckled face of farmer brown's boy.
you see, he was thinking very hard, and when he does that he is very apt to frown.
""i suppose," he muttered, "i can tear down his blind.
he would n't know who did it.
but that would n't do much good; he would build another.
besides, it would n't be right.
he has a perfect right to make a blind here, and having made it, it is his and i have n't any right to touch it.
i wo n't do a thing i have n't a right to do.
that would n't be honest.
i've got to think of some other way of saving those ducks."
the frown on his freckled face grew deeper, and for a long time he sat without moving.
suddenly his face cleared, and he jumped to his feet.
he began to chuckle.
""i have it!"
he exclaimed.
""i'll do a little shooting myself!"
then he chuckled again and started for home.
presently he began to whistle, a way he has when he is in good spirits.
blacky the crow watched him go, and blacky was well satisfied.
he did n't know what farmer brown's boy was planning to do, but he had a feeling that he was planning to do something, and that all would be well.
perhaps blacky would n't have felt so sure could he have understood what farmer brown's boy had said about doing a little shooting himself.
as it was, blacky flew off about his own business, quite satisfied that now all would be well, and he need worry no more about those ducks.
none of the little people of the green forest and the green meadows knew farmer brown's boy better than did blacky the crow.
none knew better than he that farmer brown's boy was their best friend.
""it is all right now," chuckled blacky.
""it is all right now."
and as the cheery whistle of farmer brown's boy floated back to him on the merry little breezes, he repeated it: "it is all right now."
chapter xxv: blacky gets a dreadful shock when friends prove false, whom may we trust?
the springs of faith are turned to dust.
-- blacky the crow.
blacky the crow was in the top of his favorite tree over near the big river early this afternoon.
he did n't know what was going to happen, but he felt in his bones that something was, and he meant to be on hand to see.
for a long time he sat there, seeing nothing unusual.
at last he spied a tiny figure far away across the green meadows.
even at that distance he knew who it was; it was farmer brown's boy, and he was coming toward the big river.
""i thought as much," chuckled blacky.
""he is coming over here to drive that hunter away."
the tiny figure grew larger.
it was farmer brown's boy beyond a doubt.
suddenly blacky's eyes opened so wide that they looked as if they were in danger of popping out of his head.
he had discovered that farmer brown's boy was carrying something and that that something was a gun!
yes, sir, farmer brown's boy was carrying a terrible gun!
if blacky could have rubbed his eyes, he would have done so, just to make sure that there was nothing the matter with them.
""a gun!"
croaked blacky.
""farmer brown's boy with a terrible gun!
what does it mean?"
nearer came farmer brown's boy, and blacky could see that terrible gun plainly now.
suddenly an idea popped into his head.
""perhaps he is going to shoot that hunter!"
thought blacky, and somehow he felt better.
farmer brown's boy reached the big river at a point some distance below the blind built by the hunter.
he laid his gun down on the bank and went down to the edge of the water.
the rushes grew very thick there, and for a while farmer brown's boy was very busy among them.
blacky from his high perch could watch him, and as he watched, he grew more and more puzzled.
it looked very much as if farmer brown's boy was building a blind much like that of the hunter's.
at last he carried an old log down there, got his gun, and sat down just as the hunter had done in his blind the afternoon before.
he was quite hidden there, excepting from a place high up like blacky's perch.
""i -- i -- i do believe he is going to try to shoot those ducks himself," gasped blacky.
""i would n't have believed it if any one had told me.
no, sir, i would n't have believed it.
i -- i -- ca n't believe it now.
farmer brown's boy hunting with a terrible gun!
yet i've got to believe my own eyes."
a noise up river caught his attention.
it was the noise of oars in a boat.
there was the hunter, rowing down the big river.
just as he had done the day before, he came ashore above his blind and walked down to it.
""this is no place for me," muttered blacky.
""he'll remember that i scared those ducks yesterday, and as likely as not he'll try to shoot me."
blacky spread his black wings and hurriedly left the tree-top, heading for another tree farther back on the green meadows where he would be safe, but from which he could not see as well.
there he sat until the black shadows warned him that it was high time for him to be getting back to the green forest.
he had to hurry, for it was later than usual, and he was afraid to be out after dark.
just as he reached the green forest he heard a faint "bang, bang" from over by the big river, and he knew that it came from the place where farmer brown's boy was hiding in the rushes.
""it is true," croaked blacky.
""farmer brown's boy has turned hunter."
it was such a dreadful shock to blacky that it was a long time before he could go to sleep.
chapter xxvi: why the hunter got no ducks the hunter who had come down the big river in a boat and landed near the place where dusky the black duck and his flock had found nice yellow corn scattered in the rushes night after night saw blacky the crow leave the top of a certain tree as he approached.
""it is well for you that you did n't wait for me to get nearer," said the hunter.
""you are smart enough to know that you ca n't play the same trick on me twice.
you frightened those ducks away last night, but if you try it again, you'll be shot as surely as your coat is black."
then the hunter went to his blind which, you know, was the hiding-place he had made of bushes and rushes, and behind this he sat down with his terrible gun to wait and watch for dusky the black duck and his flock.
now you remember that farther along the shore of the big river was farmer brown's boy, hiding in a blind he had made that afternoon.
the hunter could n't see him at all.
he did n't have the least idea that any one else was anywhere near.
""with that crow out of the way, i think i will get some ducks to-night," thought the hunter and looked at his gun to make sure that it was ready.
over in the west, jolly, round, red mr. sun started to go to bed behind the purple hills, and the black shadows came creeping out.
far down the big river the hunter saw a swiftly moving black line just above the water.
""here they come," he muttered, as he eagerly watched that black line draw nearer.
twice those big black birds circled around over the big river opposite where the hunter was crouching behind his blind.
it was plain that dusky, their leader, remembered blacky's warning the night before.
but this time there was no warning.
everything appeared safe.
once more the flock circled and then headed straight for that place where they hoped to find more corn.
the hunter crouched lower.
they were almost near enough for him to shoot when "bang, bang" went a gun a short distance away.
instantly dusky and his flock turned and on swift wings swung off and up the river.
if ever there was a disappointed hunter, it was the one crouching in that blind.
""somebody else is hunting, and he spoiled my shot that time," he muttered.
""he must have a blind farther down.
probably some other ducks i did n't see came in to him.
i wonder if he got them.
here's hoping that next time those ducks come in here first."
he once more made himself comfortable and settled down for a long wait.
the black shadows crept out from the farther bank of the big river.
jolly, round red mr. sun had gone to bed, and the first little star was twinkling high overhead.
it was very still and peaceful.
from out in the middle of the big river sounded a low "quack"; dusky and his flock were swimming in this time.
presently the hunter could see a silver line on the water, and then he made out nine black spots.
in a few minutes those ducks would be where he could shoot them.
""bang, bang" went that gun below him again.
with a roar of wings, dusky and his flock were in the air and away.
that hunter stood up and said things, and they were not nice things.
he knew that those ducks would not come back again that night, and that once more he must go home empty-handed.
but first he would find out who that other hunter was and what luck he had had, so he tramped down the shore to where that gun had seemed to be.
he found the blind of farmer brown's boy, but there was no one there.
you see, as soon as he had fired his gun the last time, farmer brown's boy had slipped out and away.
and as he tramped across the green meadows toward home with his gun, he chuckled.
""he did n't get those ducks this time," said farmer brown's boy.
chapter xxvii: the hunter gives up blacky the crow did n't know what to think.
he could n't make himself believe that farmer brown's boy had really turned hunter, yet what else could he believe?
had n't he with his own eyes seen farmer brown's boy with a terrible gun hide in rushes along the big river and wait for dusky the black duck and his flock to come in?
and had n't he with his own ears heard the "bang, bang" of that very gun?
the very first thing the next morning blacky had hastened over to the place where farmer brown's boy had hidden in the rushes.
with sharp eyes he looked for feathers, that would tell the tale of a duck killed.
but there were no feathers.
there was n't a thing to show that anything so dreadful had happened.
perhaps farmer brown's boy had missed when he shot at those ducks.
blacky shook his head and decided to say nothing to anybody about farmer brown's boy and that terrible gun.
you may be sure that early in the afternoon he was perched in the top of his favorite tree over by the big river.
his heart sank, just as on the afternoon before, when he saw farmer brown's boy with his terrible gun trudging across the green meadows to the big river.
instead of going to the same hiding place he made a new one farther down.
then came the hunter a little earlier than usual.
instead of stopping at his blind, he walked straight to the blind farmer brown's boy had first made.
of course, there was no one there.
the hunter looked both glad and disappointed.
he went back to his own blind and sat down, and while he watched for the coming of the ducks, he also watched that other blind to see if the unknown hunter of the night before would appear.
of course he did n't, and when at last the hunter saw the ducks coming, he was sure that this time he would get some of them.
but the same thing happened as on the night before.
just as those ducks were almost near enough, a gun went "bang, bang," and away went the ducks.
they did n't come back again, and once more a disappointed hunter went home without any.
the next afternoon he was on hand very early.
he was there before farmer brown's boy arrived, and when he did come, of course the hunter saw him.
he walked down to where farmer brown's boy was hiding in the rushes.
""hello!"
said he.
""are you the one who was shooting here last night and the night before?"
farmer brown's boy grinned.
""yes," said he.
""what luck did you have?"
asked the hunter.
""fine," replied farmer brown's boy.
""how many ducks did you get?"
asked the hunter.
farmer brown's boy grinned more broadly than before.
""none," said he.
""i guess i'm not a very good shot."
""then what did you mean by saying you had fine luck?"
demanded the hunter.
""oh," replied farmer brown's boy, "i had the luck to see those ducks and the fun of shooting," and he grinned again.
the hunter lost patience.
he tried to order farmer brown's boy away.
but the latter said he had as much right there as the hunter had, and the hunter knew that this was so.
finally he gave up, and muttering angrily, he went back to his blind.
again the gun of farmer brown's boy frightened away the ducks just as they were coming in.
the next afternoon there was no hunter nor the next, though farmer brown's boy was there.
the hunter had decided that it was a waste of time to hunt there while farmer brown's boy was about.
chapter xxviii: blacky has a talk with dusky the black duck doubt not a friend, but to the last grip hard on faith and hold it fast.
-- blacky the crow.
every morning blacky the crow visited the rushes along the shore of the big river, hoping to find dusky the black duck.
he was anxious, was blacky.
he feared that dusky or some of his flock had been killed, and he wanted to know.
you see, he knew that farmer brown's boy had been shooting over there.
at last, early one morning, he found dusky and his flock in the rushes and wild rice.
eagerly he counted them.
there were nine.
not one was missing.
blacky sighed with relief and dropped down on the shore close to where dusky was taking a nap.
""hello!"
said blacky.
dusky awoke with a start.
""hello, yourself," said he.
""i've heard a terrible gun banging over here, and i was afraid you or some of your flock had been shot," said blacky.
""we have n't lost a feather," declared dusky.
""that gun was n't fired at us, anyway."
""then who was it fired at?"
demanded blacky.
""i have n't the least idea," replied dusky.
""have you seen any other ducks about here?"
inquired blacky.
""not one," was dusky's prompt reply.
""if there had been any, i guess we would have known it."
""did you know that when that terrible gun was fired there was another terrible gun right over behind those bushes?"
asked blacky.
dusky shook his head.
""no," said he, "but i learned long ago that where there is one terrible gun there is likely to be more, and so when i heard that one bang, i led my flock away from here in a hurry.
we did n't want to take any chances."
""it is a lucky thing you did," replied blacky.
""there was a hunter hiding behind those bushes all the time.
i warned you of him once."
""that reminds me that i have n't thanked you," said dusky.
""i knew there was something wrong over here, but i did n't know what.
so it was a hunter.
i guess it is a good thing that i heeded your warn-ing."
""i guess it is," retorted blacky dryly.
""do you come here in daytime instead of night now?"
""no," replied dusky.
""we come in after dark and spend the night here.
there is nothing to fear from hunters after dark.
we've given up coming here until late in the evening.
and since we did that, we have n't heard a gun."
blacky gossiped a while longer, then flew off to look for his breakfast; and as he flew his heart was light.
his shrewd little eyes twinkled.
""i ought to have known farmer brown's boy better than even to suspect him," thought he.
""i know now why he had that terrible gun.
it was to frighten those ducks away so that the hunter would not have a chance to shoot them.
he was n't shooting at anything.
he just fired in the air to scare those ducks away.
i know it just as well as if i had seen him do it.
i'll never doubt farmer brown's boy again.
and i'm glad i did n't say a word to anybody about seeing him with a terrible gun."
blacky was right.
farmer brown's boy had taken that way of making sure that the hunter who had first baited those ducks with yellow corn scattered in the rushes in front of his hiding place should have no chance to kill any of them.
while appearing to be an enemy, he really had been a friend of dusky the black duck and his flock.
chapter xxix: blacky discovers an egg blacky is fond of eggs, as you know.
in this he is a great deal like other people, farmer brown's boy for instance.
but as blacky can not keep hens, as farmer brown's boy does, he is obliged to steal eggs or else go without.
if you come right down to plain, everyday truth, i suppose blacky is n't so far wrong when he insists that he is no more of a thief than farmer brown's boy.
blacky says that the eggs which the bens lay belong to the hens, and that he, blacky has just as much right to take them as farmer brown's boy.
he quite overlooks the fact that farmer brown's boy feeds the biddies and takes the eggs as pay.
anyway, that is what farmer brown's boy says, but i do not know whether or not the biddies understand it that way.
so blacky the crow can not see why he should not help himself to an egg when he gets the chance.
he does n't get the chance very often to steal eggs from the hens, because usually they lay their eggs in the henhouse, and blacky is too suspicious to venture inside.
the eggs he does get are mostly those of his neighbors in the green forest and the old orchard.
but once in a great while some foolish hen will make a nest outside the henhouse somewhere, and if blacky happens to find it the black scamp watches every minute he can spare from other mischief for a chance to steal an egg.
now blacky knows just what a rogue farmer brown's boy thinks he is, and for this reason blacky is very careful about approaching farmer brown or any other man until he has made sure that he runs no risk of being shot.
blacky knows quite as well as any one what a gun looks like.
he also knows that without a terrible gun, there is little farmer brown or any one else can do to him.
so when he sees farmer brown out in his fields, blacky often will fly right over him and shout "caw, caw, caw, ca-a-w!"
in the most provoking way, and fanner brown's boy insists that he has seen blacky wink when he was doing it.
but blacky does n't do anything of this kind around the buildings of farmer brown.
you see, he has learned that there are doors and windows in buildings, and out of one of these a terrible gun may bang at any time.
though he has suspected that farmer brown's boy would not now try to harm him, blacky is naturally cautious and takes no chances.
so when he comes spying around farmer brown's house and barn, he does it when he is quite sure that no one is about, and he makes no noise about it.
first he sits in a tall tree from which he can watch farmer brown's home.
when he is quite sure that the way is clear, he flies over to the old orchard, and from there he inspects the barnyard, never once making a sound.
if he is quite sure that no one is about, he sometimes drops down into the henyard and helps himself to corn, if any happens to be there.
it was on one of these silent visits that blacky spied something which he could n't forget.
it was a box just inside the henhouse door.
in the box was some hay and in that hay he was sure that he had seen an egg.
in fact, he was sure that he saw two eggs there.
he might not have noticed them but for the fact that a hen had jumped down from that box, making a terrible fuss.
she did n't seem frightened, but very proud.
what under the sun she had to be proud about blacky could n't understand, but he did n't stay to find out.
the noise she was making made him nervous.
he was afraid that it would bring some one to find out what was going on.
so he spread his black wings and flew away as silently as he had come.
as he was flying away he saw those eggs.
you see, as he rose into the air, he managed to pass that open door in such a way that he could glance in.
that one glance was enough.
you know blacky's eyes are very sharp.
he saw the hay in the box and the two eggs in the hay, and that was enough for him.
from that instant blacky the crow began to scheme and plan to get one or both of those eggs.
it seemed to him that he never, never, had wanted anything quite so much, and he was sure that he would not and could not be happy until he succeeded in getting one.
chapter xxx: blacky screws up his courage if out of sight, then out of mind.
this is a saying which you often hear.
it may be true sometimes, but it is very far from true at other times.
take the case of blacky.
he had had only a glance into that nest just inside the door of farmer brown's henhouse, but that glance had been enough to show him two eggs there.
then, as he flew away toward the green forest, those eggs were out of sight, of course.
but do you think they were out of mind?
not much!
no, indeed!
in fact, those eggs were very much in blacky's mind.
he could n't think of anything else.
he flew straight to a certain tall pine-tree in a lonely part of the green forest.
whenever blacky wants to think or to plan mischief, he seeks that particular tree, and in the shelter of its broad branches he keeps out of sight of curious eyes, and there he sits as still as still can be.
""i want one of those eggs," muttered blacky, as he settled himself in comfort on a certain particular spot on a certain particular branch of that tall pine-tree.
indeed, that particular branch might well be called the "mischief branch," for on it blacky has thought out and planned most of the mischief he is so famous for.
""yes, sir," he continued, "i want one of those eggs, and what is more, i am going to have one."
he half closed his eyes and tipped his head back and swallowed a couple of times, as if he already tasted one of those eggs.
""there is more in one of those eggs than in a whole nestful of welcome robin's eggs.
it is a very long time since i have been lucky enough to taste a hen's egg, and now is my chance.
i do n't like having to go inside that henhouse, even though it is barely inside the door.
i'm suspicious of doors.
they have a way of closing most unexpectedly.
i might see if i can not get unc" billy possum to bring one of those eggs out for me.
but that plan wo n't do, come to think of it, because i ca n't trust unc" billy.
the old sinner is too fond of eggs himself.
i would be willing to divide with him, but he would be sure to eat his first, and i fear that it would taste so good that he would eat the other.
no.
i've got to get one of those eggs myself.
it is the only way i can be sure of it.
""the thing to do is to make sure that farmer brown's boy and farmer brown himself are nowhere about.
they ought to be down in the cornfield pretty soon.
with them down there, i have only to watch my chance and slip in.
it wo n't take but a second.
just a little courage, blacky, just a little courage!
nothing in this world worth having is gained without some risk.
the thing to do is to make sure that the risk is as small as possible."
blacky shook out his feathers and then flew out of the tall pine-tree as silently as he had flown into it.
he headed straight toward farmer brown's cornfield.
when he was near enough to see all over the field, he dropped down to the top of a fence post, and there he waited.
he did n't have long to wait.
in fact, he had been there but a few minutes when he spied two people coming down the long lane toward the cornfield.
he looked at them sharply, and then gave a little sigh of satisfaction.
they were farmer brown and farmer brown's boy.
presently they reached the cornfield and turned into it.
then they went to work, and blacky knew that so far as they were concerned, the way was clear for him to visit the henyard.
he did n't fly straight there.
oh, my, no!
blacky is too clever to do anything like that.
he flew toward the green forest.
when he knew that he was out of sight of those in the cornfield, he turned and flew over to the old orchard, and from the top of one of the old apple-trees he studied the henyard and the barnyard and farmer brown's house and the barn, to make absolutely sure that there was no danger near.
when he was quite sure, he silently flew down into the henyard as he had done many times before.
he pretended to be looking for scattered grains of corn, but all the time he was edging nearer and nearer to the open door of the henhouse.
at last he could see the box with the hay in it.
he walked right up to the open door and peered inside.
there was nothing to be afraid of that he could see.
still he hesitated.
he did hate to go inside that door, even for a minute, and that is all it would take to fly up to that nest and get one of those eggs.
blacky closed his eyes for just a second, and when he did that he seemed to see himself eating one of those eggs.
""what are you afraid of?"
he muttered to himself as he opened his eyes.
then with a hurried look in all directions, he flew up to the edge of the box.
there lay the two eggs!
chapter xxxi: an egg that would n't behave if you had an egg and it would n't behave just what would you do with that egg, may i ask?
to make an egg do what it do n't want to do strikes me like a difficult sort of a task.
all of which is pure nonsense.
of course.
who ever heard of an egg either behaving or misbehaving?
nobody.
that is, nobody that i know, unless it be blacky.
it is best not to mention eggs in blacky's presence these days.
they are a forbidden topic when he is about.
blacky is apt to be a little resentful at the mere mention of an egg.
i do n't know as i wholly blame him.
how would you feel if you knew you knew all there was to know about a thing, and then found out that you did n't know anything at all?
well, that is the way it is with blacky the crow.
if any one had told blacky that he did n't know all there is to know about eggs, he would have laughed at the idea.
was n't he, blacky, hatched from an egg himself?
and had n't he, ever since he was big enough, hunted eggs and stolen eggs and eaten eggs?
if he did n't know about eggs, who did?
that is the way he would have talked before his visit to farmer brown's henhouse.
it is since then that it has been unwise to mention eggs.
when blacky saw the two eggs in the nest in farmer brown's henhouse how blacky did wish that he could take both.
but he could n't.
one would be all that he could manage.
he must take his choice and go away while the going was good.
which should he take?
it often happens in this life that things which seem to be unimportant, mere trifles in themselves, prove to be just the opposite.
now, so far as blacky could see, it did n't make the least difference which egg he took, excepting that one was a little bigger than the other.
as a matter of fact, it made all the difference in the world.
one was brown and very good to look at.
the other, the larger of the two, was white and also very good to look at.
in fact, blacky thought it the better of the two to look at, for it was very smooth and shiny.
so, partly on this account, and partly because it was the largest, blacky chose the white egg.
he seized it in his claws and started to fly with it, but somehow he could not seem to get a good grip on it.
he fluttered to the ground just outside the door, and there he got a better grip.
just as old dandy-cock the rooster, with head down and all the feathers on his neck standing out with anger, came charging at him, blacky rose into the air and started over the old orchard toward the green forest.
never had blacky felt more like cawing at the top of his lungs.
you see, he felt that he had been very smart, and i suspect that he also felt that he had been very brave.
he would have liked to boast a little.
but he did n't.
he wisely held his tongue.
it would be time enough to do his boasting after he had reached a place of safety and had eaten that egg.
he was halfway across the old orchard when he felt that egg beginning to slip.
now at best it is n't easy to carry an egg without breaking it.
you know how very careful you have to be.
just imagine how blacky felt when that egg began to slip.
do what he would, he could n't get a better grip on it.
it slipped a wee bit more.
blacky started down towards the ground.
but he was n't quick enough.
striped chipmunk, watching blacky from the old stone wall, saw something white drop from blacky's claws.
he saw blacky dash after it and clutch at it only to miss it.
then the white thing struck a branch of an old apple tree, bounced off and fell to the ground.
blacky followed it.
striped chipmunk stole very softly through the grass to see what blacky was doing.
blacky was standing close beside a white thing that looked very much like an egg.
he was looking at it with the queerest expression.
now and then he would reach out and rap it sharply with his bill, and then look as if he did n't know what to make of it.
he did n't.
that egg was n't behaving right.
it should have broken when it hit the branch of the apple tree.
certainly it should have broken when he struck it that way with his bill.
however was he to eat that egg, if he could n't break the shell?
blacky did n't know.
chapter xxxii: what blacky did with the stolen egg blacky was puzzled.
he did n't know what to make of that egg he had stolen from farmer brown's henhouse.
it was n't like any egg he ever had seen or even heard of.
it was a beautiful-looking egg, and he had been sure that it would taste as good, quite as good as it looked.
even now he was n't sure that if he could only taste it, it would be all that he had hoped.
but how could he taste it, when he could n't break that shell?
he never had heard of such a shell.
he doubted if anybody else ever had, either.
he had hammered at it with his stout bill until he was afraid that he would break that, instead of the egg.
the more he tried to break into it and could n't, the hungrier he grew, and the more certain that nothing else in all the world could possibly taste so good.
but the old orchard was not the place for him to work on that egg.
in the first place, it was too near farmer brown's house.
this made blacky uneasy.
you see, he had something of a guilty conscience.
not that he felt at all a sense of having done wrong.
to his way of thinking, if he were smart enough to get that egg, he had just as much right to it as any one else, particularly farmer brown's boy.
yet he was n't at all sure that farmer brown's boy would look at the matter quite that way.
in fact, he had a feeling that farmer brown's boy would call him a thief if he should be discovered with that egg.
then, too, there were too many sharp eyes in the old orchard.
he wanted to get away where he could be sure of being alone.
then if he could n't break that shell, no one would be the wiser.
so he picked up the egg and flew straight over to the green forest, and this time he managed to get there without dropping it.
now you would never suspect blacky the crow, he of the sharp wits and crafty ways, of being amused by bright things, would you?
but he is.
in fact, blacky is quite like a little child in this matter.
anything that is bright and shiny interests blacky right away.
if he finds anything of this kind, he will take it away to a certain secret place, and there he will admire it and play with it and finally hide it.
if i did n't know that it is n't so, because it could n't possibly be so, i should think that blacky was some relation to certain small boys i know.
always their pockets are filled with all sorts of useless odds and ends which they have picked up here and there.
blacky has no pockets, so he keeps his treasures of this kind in a secret hiding-place, a sort of treasure storehouse.
he visits this secretly every day, uncovers his treasures, and gloats over them and plays with them, then carefully covers them up again.
first blacky took this egg over near his home, and there he once more tried and tried and tried to break the shell.
but the shell would n't break, not even when blacky quite lost his temper and hammered at it for all he was worth.
then he gave the thing up as a bad matter and flew up to his favorite roost in the top of a tall pine-tree, leaving the egg on the ground.
but from where he sat on his favorite roost in the tall pine-tree he could see that provoking egg, a little spot of shining white.
when a jolly little sunbeam found it and rested on it, it was so very bright and shiny that blacky could n't keep his eyes off it.
little by little he forgot that it was an egg.
at least, he forgot that he wanted to eat it.
he began to find pleasure in just looking at it.
it might not satisfy his stomach, but it certainly was very satisfying to his eyes.
he forgot to think of it as a thing to eat, but began to think of it wholly as a thing to look at and admire.
he was glad he had n't been able to break that shell.
once more he spread his black wings and flew down to the egg.
he cocked his head to one side and looked at it.
he cocked his head to the other side and looked at it.
he walked all around it, chuckling and saying to himself, "pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty and all mine, mine, mine, mine!
pretty, pretty, and all mine!"
than he craftily looked all about to make sure that no one was watching him.
having made quite sure, he rolled the egg over and turned it around and admired it to his heart's content.
at last he picked it up and carried it to his treasure-house and covered it over very carefully.
and there that china nest-egg, for that is what he had stolen, is still his chief treasure to this day, and blacky still sometimes wonders what kind of a hen laid such a hard-shelled egg.
blacky has had very many other adventures, but it would take another book to tell about all of them.
that would be hardly fair to some of the other little people who also have had adventures and want them told to you.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___bowser_the_hound.txt.out
chapter i old man coyote leads bowser away though great or small the matter prove be faithful in whate'er you do.
't is thus and only thus you may to others and yourself be true.
bowser the hound.
old man coyote is full of tricks.
people with such clever wits as his usually are full of tricks.
on the other hand bowser the hound is n't tricky at all.
he just goes straight ahead with the thing he has to do and does it in the most earnest way.
not being tricky himself, he sometimes forgets to watch out for tricks in others.
one day he found the fresh trail of old man coyote and made up his mind that he would run down old man coyote if he had to run his legs off to do it.
he always makes up his mind like that whenever he starts out to hunt.
you know there is nothing in the world bowser enjoys quite so much as to hunt some one who will give him a long, hard run.
any time he will go without eating for the pleasure of chasing reddy or granny fox, or old man coyote.
now old man coyote was annoyed.
he was and he was n't afraid of bowser the hound.
that is to say he was afraid to fight bowser, but he was n't afraid to be hunted by bowser, because he was so sure that he was smart enough to get away from bowser.
if bowser had appeared at almost any other time old man coyote would n't have been so annoyed.
but to have bowser appear just then made him angry clear through.
you see he had just started out to get his dinner.
""what business has that good-for-nothing dog over here anyway, i'd like to know," he muttered, as he ran swiftly through the green forest.
""what right has he to meddle in other folks" business?
i'll just teach that fellow a lesson; that's what i'll do!
i'll teach him that he ca n't interfere with me not be sorry for it."
so old man coyote ran and ran and ran, and never once did he try to break his trail.
in fact, he took pains to leave a trail that bowser could follow easily.
after him bowser ran and ran and ran, and all the time his great voice rang out joyously.
this was the kind of a hunt he loved.
out of the green forest into the old pasture, old man coyote led bowser the hound.
across the old pasture and out on the other side they raced.
farther and farther away from home old man coyote led bowser the hound.
instead of circling back as usual, he kept on.
bowser kept on after him.
by and by he was in strange country, country he had never visited before.
he did n't notice this.
he did n't notice anything but the splendid trail old man coyote was making.
he did n't even realize that he was getting tired.
always in his nose was the tantalizing scent of old man coyote.
bowser was sure that this time he would catch this fellow who had fooled him so often before.
chapter ii old man coyote plays a trick of people who play tricks beware, lest they may get you in a snare.
you can not trust them, so watch out whenever one may be about.
bowser the hound.
there is such a thing as being too much interested in the thing you are doing.
that is the way accidents very often happen.
a person will get so interested in something that he will be blind and deaf to everything else, and so will walk straight into danger or trouble of some kind.
now just take the case of bowser the hound.
bowser was so interested in the chase of old man coyote that he paid no attention whatever to anything but the warm scent of old man coyote which the latter was taking pains to leave.
bowser ran with his nose in old man coyote's tracks and never looked either to left or right.
he would lift his head only to look straight ahead in the hope of seeing old man coyote.
then down would go his nose again to follow that scent.
so bowser did n't notice that old man coyote was leading him far, far away from home into country with which he was quite unacquainted.
bowser has a great, deep, wonderful voice which can be heard a very long distance when he bays on the tracks of some one he is hunting.
it can be heard a very long distance indeed.
but far as it can be heard, bowser was far, far beyond hearing distance from farmer brown's house before old man coyote began to even think of playing one of his clever tricks in order to make bowser lose his scent.
you see, old man coyote intended to lead bowser into strange country and there lose him, hoping that he would not be able to find the way home.
old man coyote is himself a tireless runner.
he is not so heavy as is bowser, so does not tire as easily.
then, too, he had not wasted his breath as had bowser with his steady baying.
old man coyote could tell by the sound of bowser's voice when the latter was beginning to grow tired, and he could tell by the fact that he often had a moment or two to sit down and rest before bowser got dangerously near.
so at last old man coyote decided that the time had come to play a trick.
by and by he came to a river.
at that point there was a high, overhanging bank.
on the very edge of this bank old man coyote made a long leap to one side.
then he made another long leap to the big trunk of a fallen tree.
he ran along this and from the end of it made still another long leap, as long a leap as he could.
then he hid in a little thicket to see what would happen.
chapter iii what happened to bowser when a coyote seems most honest, watch him closest.
bowser the hound.
bowser was very, very tired.
he would n't admit it even to himself, for when he is hunting he will keep on until he drops if his wonderful nose can still catch the scent of the one he is following.
bowser is wonderfully persistent.
so, though he was very, very tired, he kept his nose to the ground and tried to run even faster, for the scent of old man coyote was so strong that bowser felt sure he would soon catch him.
bowser did n't look to see where he was going.
he did n't care.
it was enough for him to know that old man coyote had gone that way, and where old man coyote could go bowser felt sure he could follow.
so, still baying with all his might and making the hills ring with the sound of his great voice, bowser kept on.
hidden in a little thicket, stretched out so that he might rest better, old man coyote listened to that great voice drawing nearer and nearer.
there was a wicked grin on old man coyote's face, and in his yellow eyes a look of great eagerness.
in a few minutes bowser came in sight, his nose in the trail old man coyote had left.
into bowser's voice crept a new note of eagerness as his nose picked up the scent stronger than ever.
straight on he raced and it seemed as if he had gained new strength.
his whole thought was on just one thing -- catching old man coyote, and old man coyote knew it.
bowser did n't see that he was coming to a steep bank.
he did n't see it at all until he reached the edge of it, and then he was going so fast that he could n't stop.
over he went with a frightened yelp!
down, down he fell, and landed with a thump on the ice below.
he landed so hard that he broke the ice, and went through into the cold, black water.
old man coyote crept to the edge of the bank and peeped over.
poor bowser was having a terrible time.
you see, the cold water had taken what little breath his fall had not knocked out of him.
he does n't like to go in water anyway.
you know the hair of his coat is short and does n't protect him as it would if it were long.
old man coyote grinned wickedly as he watched bowser struggling feebly to climb out on the ice.
each time he tried he slipped back, and all the time he was whimpering.
old man coyote grinned more wickedly than ever.
i suspect that he hoped that bowser would not be able to get out.
but after a little bowser did manage to crawl out, and stood on the ice, shivering shaking.
once more old man coyote grinned, then, turning, he trotted back towards farmer brown's.
chapter iv poor bowser follow a crooked trail and you will find a scamp at the end.
bowser the hound.
poor bowser!
he stood shivering and shaking on the ice of the strange river to which old man coyote had led him, and he knew not which way to turn.
not only was he shivering and shaking from his cold bath, but he was bruised by his fall from the top of the steep bank, and he was so tired by his long run after old man coyote that he could hardly stand.
old man coyote had stayed only long enough to see that bowser had managed to get out of the water, then had turned back towards the old pasture, the green meadows and the green forest near farmer brown's.
you see, old man coyote knew the way back.
he would take his time about getting there, for it really made no particular difference to him when he reached home.
he felt sure he would be able to find something to eat on the way.
but with bowser it was very different.
poor bowser did n't know where he was.
it would have been bad enough under any circumstances to have been lost, but to be lost and at the same time tired almost to death, bruised and lame, wet and chilled through, was almost too much to bear.
he had n't the least idea which way to turn.
he could n't climb up the bank to find his own trail and follow it back home if he wanted to.
you see, that bank was very steep for some distance in each direction, and so it was impossible for bowser to climb it.
for a few minutes he stood shivering, shaking and whimpering, not knowing which way to turn.
then he started down the river on the ice, for he knew he would freeze if he continued to stand still.
he limped badly because one leg had been hurt in his fall.
after a while he came to a place where he could get up on the bank.
it was in the midst of deep woods and a very, very lonely place.
hard crusted snow covered the ground, but it was better than walking on the ice and for this bowser was thankful.
which way should he turn?
where should he go?
night was coming on; he was wet, cold and hungry, and as utterly lost as ever a dog was.
poor bowser!
for a minute or two he sat down and howled from sheer lonesomeness and discouragement.
how he did wish he had left old man coyote alone!
how he did long for his snug, warm, little house in farmer brown's dooryard, and for the good meal he knew was awaiting him there.
now that the excitement of the hunt was over, he realized how very, very hungry he was, and he began to wonder where he would be able to get anything to eat.
do you wonder that he howled?
old man coyote, trotting along on his way home, heard that howl and understood it.
again he grinned that wicked grin of his, and stopped to listen.
""i do n't think he'll hunt me again in a hurry," he muttered, then trotted on.
poor bowser!
hunting for anything but his home was farthest from his thoughts.
chapter v bowser spends a bad night there's nothing like just sticking to the thing you undertake to do.
there'll be no cause then, though you fail, to hang your head or drop your tail.
bowser the hound.
bowser was lost, utterly lost.
he had n't the least idea in which direction farmer brown's house was.
in fact he had n't the least idea which way to turn to find any house.
it was the most lonely kind of a lonely place to which old man coyote had led him and there played the trick on him which had caused him to tumble into the strange river.
but bowser could n't stand still for long.
already jolly, round, red mr. sun was going to bed behind the purple hills, and bowser knew that cold as had been the day, the night would be still colder.
he must keep moving until he found a shelter.
if he did n't he would freeze.
so whimpering and whining, bowser limped along.
bowser was not afraid to be out at night as some folks are.
goodness, no!
in fact, on many a moonlight night bowser had hunted reddy fox or granny fox all night long.
never once had he felt lonesome then.
but now it was very, very different.
you see, on those nights when he had hunted he always had known where he was.
he had known that at any time he could go straight home if he wanted to.
that made all the difference in the world.
it would have been bad enough, being lost this way, had he been feeling at his best.
being lost always makes one feel terribly lonesome.
lonesomeness is one of the worst parts of the feeling of being lost.
but added to this was the fact that bowser was really not in fit condition to be out at all.
he was wet, tired, lame and hungry.
do you wonder that he whimpered and whined as he limped along over the hard snow, and had n't the least idea whether he was headed towards home or deeper into the great woods?
for a long time he kept on until it seemed to him he could n't drag one foot after another.
then quite suddenly something big and dark loomed up in front of him.
it really was n't as big as it seemed.
it was a little house, a sugar camp, just such a one as farmer brown has near his home.
bowser crept to the door.
it was closed.
bowser sniffed and sniffed and his heart sank, for there was no scent of human beings.
then he knew that that little house was deserted and empty.
still he whined and scratched at the door.
by and by the door opened ever so little, for it had not been locked.
bowser crept in.
in one corner he found some hay, and in this he curled up.
it was cold, very cold, but not nearly as cold as outside that little house.
so bowser curled up in the hay and shivered and shook and slept a little and wished with all his might that he never had found the tracks of old man coyote.
chapter vi the surprise of blacky the crow the harder it is to follow a trail the greater the reason you should not fail.
bowser the hound.
at all seasons of the year blacky the crow is something of a traveler.
but in winter he is much more of a traveler than in summer.
you see, in winter it is not nearly so easy to pick up a living.
food is quite as scarce for blacky the crow in winter as for any of the other little people who neither sleep the winter away nor go south.
all of the feathered folks have to work and work hard to find food enough to keep them warm.
you know it is food that makes heat in the body.
so in the winter blacky is in the habit of flying long distances in search of food.
he often goes some miles from the thick hemlock-tree in the green forest where he spends his nights.
you may see him starting out early in the morning and returning late in the afternoon.
now blacky knew all about that river into which bowser the hound had fallen.
there was a certain place on that river where jack frost never did succeed in making ice.
sometimes things good to eat would be washed up along the edge of this open place.
blacky visited it regularly.
he was on the way there now, flying low over the tree-tops.
presently he came to a little opening among the trees.
in the middle of it was a little house, a rough little house.
blacky knew all about it.
it was a sugar camp.
he knew that only in the spring of the year was he likely to find anybody about there.
all the rest of the year it was shut up.
every time he passed that way blacky flew over it.
blacky's eyes are very sharp indeed, as everybody knows.
now, as he drew near, he noticed right away that the door was partly open.
it had n't been that way the last time he passed.
""ho!"
exclaimed blacky.
""i wonder if the wind blew that open, or if there is some one inside.
i think i'll watch a while."
so blacky flew to the top of a tall tree from which he could look all over the little clearing and could watch the door of the little house.
for a long time he sat there as silent as the trees themselves.
nothing happened.
he began to grow tired.
rather, he began to grow so hungry that he became impatient.
""if there is anybody in there he must be asleep," muttered blacky to himself.
""i'll see if i can wake him up.
caw, caw, ca-a-w, caw, caw!"
blacky waited a few minutes, then repeated his cry.
he did this three times and had just made up his mind that there was nobody inside that little house when a head appeared in the doorway.
blacky was so surprised that he nearly fell from his perch.
""as i live," he muttered, "that is bowser the hound!
it certainly is.
now what is he doing way over here?
i've never known him to go so far from home before."
chapter vii blacky the crow takes pity on bowser beneath a coat of ebon hue may beat a heart that's kind and true.
the worst of scamps in time of need will often do a kindly deed.
bowser the hound.
""caw, ca-a-w!"
exclaimed blacky the crow.
bowser looked up to the top of the tall tree where blacky sat, and in his great, soft eyes was such a look of friendliness that it gave blacky a funny feeling.
you know blacky is not used to friendly looks.
he is used to quite the other kind.
bowser came out of the old sugar house where he had spent the night and whined softly as he looked up at blacky, and as he whined he wagged his tail ever so slightly.
blacky did n't know what to make of it.
he had never been more surprised in his life.
he did n't know which surprised him most, finding bowser "way over here where he had no business to be, or bowser's friendliness.
as for bowser, he had spent such a forlorn, miserable night, and he was so terribly lonesome, that the very sound of blacky's voice had given him a queer thrill.
never had he thought of blacky the crow as a friend.
in fact, he never thought much about blacky at all.
sometimes he had chased blacky out of farmer brown's corn-field early in the spring but that is all he ever had had to do with him.
now, however, lonesome and lost as he was, the sound of a familiar voice made him tingle all over with a friendly feeling.
so he whined softly and wagged his tail feebly as he looked up at blacky sitting in the top of a tall tree.
presently bowser limped out to the middle of the little clearing and turned first this way and then that way.
then he sat down and howled dismally.
in an instant blacky the crow understood; bowser was lost.
""so that's the trouble," muttered blacky to himself.
""that silly dog has got himself lost.
i never will be able to understand how anybody can get lost.
i never in my life was lost, and never expect to be.
but it is easy enough to see that bowser is lost and badly lost.
my goodness, how lame he is!
i wonder what's happened to him.
serves him right for hunting other people, but i'm sorry for him just the same.
what a helpless creature a lost dog is, anyway.
i suppose if he does n't find a house pretty soon he will starve to death.
old man coyote would n't.
reddy fox would n't.
they would catch something to eat, no matter where they were.
i suppose they would n't thank me for doing it, but just the same i think i'll take pity on bowser and help him out of his trouble."
chapter viii how blacky the crow helped bowser the blackest coat may cover the kindest heart.
bowser the hound.
when blacky the crow said to himself that he guessed he would take pity on bowser and help him out of his trouble, he knew that he could do it without very much trouble to himself.
perhaps if there had been very much trouble in it, blacky would not have been quite so ready and willing.
then again, perhaps it is n't fair to blacky to think that he might not have been willing.
even the most selfish people are sometimes kindly and unselfish.
blacky knew just where the nearest house was.
you can always trust blacky to know not only where every house is within sight of the places he frequents, but all about the people who live in each house.
blacky makes it his business to know these things.
he could, if he would, tell you which houses have terrible guns in them and which have not.
it is by knowing such things that blacky manages to avoid danger.
""if that dog knows enough to follow me, i'll take him where he can at least get something to eat," muttered blacky.
""it wo n't be far out of my way, anyway, because if he has any sense at all, i wo n't have to go all the way over there."
so blacky spread his black wings and disappeared over the tree-tops in the direction of the nearest farmhouse.
bowser watched him disappear and whined sadly, for somehow it made him feel more lonesome than before.
but for one thing he would have gone back to his bed of hay in the corner of that sugar camp.
that one thing was hunger.
it seemed to bowser that his stomach was so empty that the very sides of it had fallen in.
he just must get something to eat.
so, after waiting a moment or two, bowser turned and limped away through the trees, and he limped in the direction which blacky the crow had taken.
you see, he could still hear blacky's voice calling "caw, caw, caw", and somehow it made him feel better, less lonesome, you know, to be within hearing of a voice he knew.
bowser had to go on three legs, for one leg had been so hurt in the fall over the bank that he could not put his foot to the ground.
then, too, he was very, very stiff from the cold and the wetting he had received the night before.
so poor bowser made slow work of it, and blacky the crow almost lost patience waiting for him to appear.
as soon as bowser came in sight, blacky gave what was intended for a cheery caw and then headed straight for the place he had started for that morning, giving no more thought to bowser the hound.
you see, he knew that bowser would shortly come to a road.
""if he does n't know enough to follow that road, he deserves to starve," thought blacky.
bowser did know enough to follow that road.
the instant he saw that road, he knew that if he kept on following it, it would lead him somewhere.
so with new hope in his heart, bowser limped along.
chapter ix old man coyote gives out dark hints a little hint dropped there or here, is like a seed in spring of year; it sprouts and grows, and none may say how big "twill be some future day.
bowser the hound.
after leading bowser the hound far, far away and getting him lost in strange country, old man coyote trotted back to the old pasture, the green forest, and the green meadows near farmer brown's.
he did n't have any trouble at all in finding his way back.
you see, all the time he was leading bowser away, he himself was using his eyes and taking note of where he was going.
you ca n't lose old man coyote.
no, sir, you ca n't lose old man coyote, and it is of no use to try.
so, stopping two or three times to hunt a little by the way, old man coyote trotted back.
he managed to pick up a good meal on the way, and when at last he reached his home in the old pasture he was feeling very well satisfied with the great world in general and himself in particular.
he grinned as only old man coyote can grin.
""i do n't think any of us will be bothered by that meddlesome bowser very soon again," said he, as he crept into his house for a nap.
""if he had drowned in that river, i should n't have cried over it.
but even as it is, i do n't think he will get back here in a hurry.
i must pass the word along."
so a day or so later, when sammy jay happened along, old man coyote asked him, in quite a matter-of-fact way, if he had seen anything of bowser the hound for a day or two.
""why do you ask?"
said sammy sharply.
old man coyote grinned slyly.
""for no reason at all, sammy.
for no reason at all," he replied.
""it just popped into my head that i had n't heard bowser's voice for two or three days.
it set me to wondering if he is sick, or if anything has happened to him."
that was enough to start sammy jay straight for farmer brown's dooryard.
of course bowser was n't to be seen.
sammy hung around and watched.
twice he saw farmer brown's boy come to the door with a worried look on his face and heard him whistle and call for bowser.
then there was n't the slightest doubt in sammy's mind that something had happened to bowser.
""old man coyote knows something about it, too," muttered sammy, as he turned his head on one side and scratched his pointed cap thoughtfully.
""he ca n't fool me.
that old rascal knows where bowser is, or what has happened to him, and i would n't be a bit surprised if he had something to do with it.
i almost know he did from the way he grinned."
the day was not half over before all through the green forest and over the green meadows had spread the report that bowser the hound was no more.
chapter x how reddy fox investigated in-vest-i-gate if you would know that something is or is n't so.
bowser the hound.
to in-vest-i-gate something means to try to find out about it.
reddy fox had heard from so many different ones about the disappearance of bowser that he finally made up his mind that he would in-vest-i-gate and find out for himself if it were true that bowser was no longer at home in farmer brown's dooryard.
if it were true, -- well, reddy had certain plans of his own in regard to farmer brown's henhouse.
reddy had begun by doubting that story because it seemed to have come first from old man coyote.
reddy would doubt anything with which old man coyote was concerned.
but reddy had finally come to believe that something certainly had happened because half a dozen times during the day he had heard farmer brown's boy whistle and whistle and call and call.
just as soon as the black shadows came creeping out from the purple hills, reddy started up towards farmer brown's.
he did n't go directly there, because he never goes directly anywhere if there is the least chance in the world that any one may be watching him.
but as he slipped along in the blackest of the black shadows, he was all the time working nearer and nearer to farmer brown's dooryard.
although he was inclined to think it was true that bowser was not there, he was far too wise to take any unnecessary risk.
he approached farmer brown's dooryard just as carefully as if he knew bowser to be in his little house as usual.
he kept in the black shadows.
he crouched so low that he seemed hardly more than a black shadow himself.
every two or three steps he stopped to look, listen, and test the air with his keen nose.
as he drew near bowser's own little house, reddy circled out around it until he could see the doorway.
then he sat down where he could peek around from behind a tree and watch.
he had been there only a few moments when the back door of farmer brown's house opened and farmer brown's boy stepped out.
reddy did n't run.
he knew that farmer brown's boy would never dream that he would dare come so near.
besides, it was very clear that farmer brown's boy was thinking of no one but bowser.
he whistled and called just as he had done several times during the day.
but no bowser came, so after a while farmer brown's boy went back into the house.
there was a worried look on his face.
as soon as he heard the door close, reddy trotted right out in the open and sat down only a few feet from the black doorway of bowser's little house.
reddy barked softly.
then he barked a little louder.
he knew that if bowser were at home, that bark would bring him out if nothing else did.
bowser did n't appear.
reddy grinned.
he was sure now that bowser was nowhere about.
chuckling to himself, he turned and trotted towards farmer brown's henhouse.
chapter xi a little unpleasantness watch a coyote most closely when it appears that he least needs watching.
bowser the hound.
never in his life had reddy fox visited farmer brown's henhouse with quite such a comfortable feeling as he now had.
he knew for a certainty that bowser the hound was not at home.
he knew because he had finally crept up and peeped in the door of bowser's little house.
what had become of bowser he did n't know, and he did n't care.
it was enough to know that he was n't about.
""i hope farmer brown's boy has forgotten to close that little doorway where the hens run in and out," muttered reddy, as he trotted across farmer brown's dooryard.
once he stopped, and looking up at the lighted windows of the house, grinned.
you see, with bowser gone, reddy was n't the least bit afraid.
""if i can get into that henhouse," thought reddy, "i certainly will have one good feast to-night.
that is, i will if those stupid hens are not roosting so high that i ca n't get them.
i'll eat one right there."
reddy's mouth watered at the very thought.
""then i'll take one home to mrs. reddy.
if there is time we both will come back for a couple more."
so reddy made pleasant plans as he approached farmer brown's henhouse.
when he reached it he paused to listen to certain sounds within, certain fretful little cluckings.
reddy sat down for a minute with his tongue hanging out and the water actually dripping from it.
he could shut his eyes and see those roosts with the hens crowded together so that every once in a while one would be wakened and fretfully protest against being crowded so.
but reddy sat there only for a minute.
he was too eager to find out if it would prove to be possible to get inside that henhouse.
running swiftly but cautiously past the henhouse and along one side of the henyard, he peeped around the corner to see if by any chance the yard gate had been left open.
his heart gave a leap of joy as he saw that the gate was not quite closed.
all he would have to do would be to push it and enter.
reddy turned the corner quickly.
just as he put up one paw to push the gate open, a low but decidedly ugly growl made him jump back with every hair of his coat standing on end.
his first thought was of bowser.
it must be that bowser had returned!
believing in safety first, reddy did not stop to see who had growled, but ran swiftly a short distance.
then he looked behind him.
over at the gate of farmer brown's henyard he could see a dark form.
at once reddy knew that it was n't bowser the hound, for it had a bushy tail, while bowser's was smooth.
reddy knew who it was.
it was old man coyote.
-lsb- illustration: over at the gate of farmer brown's henyard he could see a dark form -rsb- chapter xii the cleverness of old man coyote who thinks the quickest and the best is bound to win in every test.
bowser the hound.
the meeting of reddy fox and old man coyote just outside the gate to farmer brown's henyard had been wholly unexpected to both.
reddy had been so eager to get inside that gate that when he turned the corner at the henyard he had n't looked beyond the gate.
if he had looked beyond, he would have seen old man coyote just coming around the other corner.
as for old man coyote, he had been so surprised at sight of reddy fox that he had growled before he had had time to think.
he was sorry the very instant he did it.
""that certainly was a stupid thing to do," muttered old man coyote to himself, as he watched reddy fox run away in a panic.
""i should have kept out of sight and let him open that gate and go inside first.
there may be traps in there, for all i know.
when there's likely to be danger, always let some one else find it out for you if you can."
old man coyote grinned as he said this.
reddy fox sat down at a safe distance to watch what old man coyote would do.
inside, reddy was fairly boiling with disappointment and anger.
he felt that he hated old man coyote more than he hated anybody else he knew of.
he hated him, yet there was n't a thing he could do about it.
he did n't dare fight old man coyote.
all he could do was to sit there at a safe distance and watch.
the gate of the henyard was open two or three inches.
for a long time old man coyote stood looking through that little opening.
once or twice he thrust his nose out and sniffed cautiously around the gate, but he took the greatest care not to touch it.
finally he turned and trotted away towards the green forest.
reddy sat right where he was, so surprised that he could n't even think.
he waited a long time to see if old man coyote would return, but old man coyote did n't return, and at last reddy cautiously crept towards that unlocked gate.
""i do believe that fellow did n't know enough to push that gate open," muttered reddy to himself.
""i always supposed old man coyote was smart, but if this is an example of his smartness i'll match my wits against his any day."
all this time old man coyote was not so far away as reddy thought.
he had gone only fat enough to make sure that reddy could n't see him.
then, creeping along in the blackest of the black shadows, he had returned to a place where he could watch reddy.
""it's queer that gate should have been left unlocked," thought old man coyote.
""it may have been an accident, and again it may have been done purposely.
there may not be any danger inside; then again there may.
i'm not going to push that gate open or step inside when there is some one to do it for me.
i'll just leave it for reddy fox to do."
chapter xiii the mischievous little night breeze a little act of mischief can upset the deepest, best laid plan.
bowser the hound.
reddy fox was very pleased with himself as he thought how much smarter he was than old man coyote.
he did n't waste any time in pushing open the henyard gate.
it did n't enter his head that there might be a trap inside.
he was so eager to find out if the little door where in daytime the hens ran in and out of the henhouse was open, that he jumped inside the henyard just as soon as the gate was pushed open wide enough for him to enter.
old man coyote, watching from his hiding place, saw reddy push the gate open and enter the henyard.
""so far, so good," muttered old man coyote to himself.
""there is n't any trap just inside that gate, so it will be safe enough for me to follow reddy in there.
i think i'll wait a bit, however, and see what luck he has in getting into the henhouse.
if he catches a chicken he wo n't stop to eat it there.
he wo n't dare to.
all i need do is to wait right here around the corner, and if he brings a chicken out, i'll simply tell him to drop it.
then i will have the chicken and will have run no risk."
you see old man coyote is a very, very clever old sinner.
so old man coyote peeked through the wires and watched reddy fox, who thought himself so much smarter, steal swiftly across to the henhouse and try that little door.
it was closed, but it was n't fastened, as reddy could tell by poking at it.
""it is just a matter of time and patience," muttered reddy to himself.
""if i keep at it long enough, i can work it open."
you see reddy had done that very thing once before a great while ago.
so he set himself to work with such patience as he could, and all the time old man coyote watched and wondered what reddy was doing.
he guessed that reddy was having some trouble, but also he knew from reddy's actions that reddy hoped to get inside that henhouse.
now reddy had left the henyard gate ajar.
if he had pushed it wide open things might have been different.
but he did n't push it wide open.
he left it only halfway open.
by and by there happened along a mischievous little night breeze.
there is nothing that a mischievous little night breeze enjoys more than making things move.
this mischievous little night breeze found that that gate would swing, so it blew against that gate and blew and blew until suddenly, with a sharp little click, the gate closed and the spring latch snapped into place.
reddy fox was a prisoner!
chapter xiv the difference between being inside and outside you'll find "twill often come about that he who's in fain would be out.
bowser the hound.
it certainly is queer what a difference there is between being inside and outside.
sometimes happiness is inside and sometimes it is outside.
sometimes the one who is inside wishes with all his might that he were outside, and sometimes the one who is outside would give anything in the world to be inside.
just take the case of reddy fox.
he had stolen inside of farmer brown's henyard, leaving the gate halfway open.
he had set himself to work to open the little sliding door through which in the daytime the hens passed in and out of the henhouse.
as he worked he had been filled with great contentment and joy.
he knew that bowser the hound had disappeared.
he felt sure that there was nothing to fear, and he fully expected to dine that night on chicken.
then along came a mischievous little night breeze and swung that gate shut.
at the click of the latch reddy turned his head, and in a flash he saw what had happened.
all in an instant everything had changed for reddy fox.
fear and despair took the place of contentment and happy anticipations.
he was a prisoner inside that henyard.
frantically reddy rushed over to the gate.
there was n't even a crack through which he could thrust his sharp little nose.
then, beside himself with fear, he raced around that henyard, seeking a hole through which he might escape.
there was n't any hole.
that fence had been built to keep out such people as reddy fox, and of course a fence that would keep reddy out would also keep him in, if he happened to be caught inside as he now was.
he could n't dig down under it, because, you know, the ground was frozen hard and covered with snow and an icy crust.
he was caught, and that was all there was to it.
suddenly reddy became aware of some one just outside the wire fence, looking in and grinning wickedly.
it was old man coyote.
between them was nothing but that wire, but, oh, what a difference!
reddy was inside and a prisoner.
old man coyote was outside and free.
""good evening, reddy," said old man coyote.
""i hope you'll enjoy your chicken dinner.
when you are eating it, just think over this bit of advice: never take a risk when you can get some one else to take it for you.
i would like a chicken dinner myself, but as it is, i think i will enjoy a mouse or two better.
pay my respects to farmer brown's boy when he comes in the morning."
with this, old man coyote once more grinned that wicked grin of his and trotted away towards the green forest.
reddy watched him disappear and would have given anything in the world to have been outside the fence in his place instead of inside, where he then was.
chapter xv reddy's forlorn chance this saying is both true and terse: there's nothing bad but might be worse.
bowser the hound.
if any one had said this to reddy fox during the first half hour after he discovered that he was a prisoner in farmer brown's henyard, he would n't have believed it.
he would n't have believed a word of it.
he would have said that he could n't possibly have been worse off than he was.
he was a prisoner, and he could n't possibly get out.
he knew that in the morning farmer brown's boy would certainly discover him.
it could n't be otherwise.
that is, it could n't be otherwise as long as he remained in that henyard.
there was n't a thing, not one solitary thing, under or behind which he could hide.
so, to reddy's way of thinking, things could n't possibly have been worse.
but after a while, having nothing else to do, reddy began to think.
now it is surprising how thinking will change matters.
one of the first thoughts that came to reddy was that he might have been caught in a trap, -- one of those cruel traps that close like a pair of jaws and sometimes break the bones of the foot or leg, and from which there is no escape.
right away reddy realized that to have been so caught would have been much worse than being a prisoner in farmer brown's henyard.
this made him feel just a wee, wee bit better, and he began to do some more thinking.
for a long time his thinking did n't help him in the least.
at last, however, he remembered the chicken dinner he had felt so sure he was going to enjoy.
the thought of the chicken dinner reminded him that inside the henhouse it was dark.
he had been inside that henhouse before, and he knew that there were boxes in there.
if he were inside the henhouse, it might be, it just might possibly be, that he could hide when farmer brown's boy came in the morning.
so once more reddy went to work at that little sliding door where the hens ran in and out during the day.
he already had found out that it was n't fastened, and he felt sure that with patience he could open it.
so he worked away and worked away, until at last there was a little crack.
he got his claws in the little crack and pulled and pulled.
the little crack became a little wider.
by and by it was wide enough for him to get his whole paw in.
then it became wide enough for him to get his head half in.
after this, all he had to do was to force himself through, for as he pushed and shoved, the little door opened.
he was inside at last!
there was a chance, just a forlorn chance, that he might be able to escape the notice of farmer brown's boy in the morning.
chapter xvi why reddy went without a chicken dinner a dinner is far better lost than eaten at too great a cost.
bowser the hound.
can you imagine reddy fox with a chicken dinner right before him and not touching it?
well, that is just what happened in farmer brown's henhouse.
it was n't because reddy had no appetite.
he was hungry, very hungry.
he always is in winter.
then it does n't often happen that he gets enough to eat at one meal to really fill his stomach.
yet here he was with a chicken dinner right before him, and he did n't touch it.
you see it was this way: reddy's wits were working very fast there in farmer brown's henhouse.
he knew that he had only a forlorn chance of escaping when farmer brown's boy should come to open the henhouse in the morning.
he knew that he must make the most of that forlorn chance.
he knew that freedom is a thousand times better than a full stomach.
on one of the lower roosts sat a fat hen.
she was within easy jumping distance.
reddy knew that with one quick spring she would be his.
if the henyard gate had been open, he would have wasted no time in making that one quick spring.
but the henyard gate, as you know, was closed fast.
""i'm awfully hungry," muttered reddy to himself, "but if i should catch and eat that fat hen, farmer brown's boy would be sure to notice the feathers on the floor the very minute he opened the door.
it wo n't do, reddy; it wo n't do.
you ca n't afford to have the least little thing seem wrong in this henhouse.
what you have got to do is to swallow your appetite and keep quiet in the darkest corner you can find," so reddy fox spent the rest of the night curled up in the darkest corner, partly behind a box.
all the time his nose was filled with the smell of fat hens.
every little while a hen who was being crowded too much on the roost would stir uneasily and protest in a sleepy voice.
just think of what reddy suffered.
just think how you would feel to be very, very hungry and have right within reach the one thing you like best in all the world to eat and then not dare touch it.
some foolish folks in reddy's place would have eaten that dinner and trusted to luck to get out of trouble later.
but reddy was far too wise to do anything of that kind.
doing as reddy did that night is called exercising self-restraint.
everybody should be able to do it.
but it sometimes seems as if very many people can not do it.
anyway, they do n't do it, and because they do n't do it they are forever getting into trouble.
reddy knew when morning came, although the henhouse was still dark.
somehow or other hens always know just when jolly, round, red mr. sun kicks his blankets off and begins his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky.
the big rooster on the topmost perch stretched his long neck, flapped his wings, and crowed at the top of his voice.
reddy shivered.
""it wo n't be long now before farmer brown's boy comes," thought he.
chapter xvii farmer brown's boy drops a pan of corn who when surprised keeps calm and cool is one most difficult to fool.
bowser the hound.
in his lifetime reddy fox has spent many anxious moments, but none more anxious than those in which he waited for farmer brown's boy to open the henhouse and feed the biddies on this particular morning.
from the moment when the big rooster on the topmost perch stretched forth his neck, flapped his wings, and crowed as only he can crow, reddy was on pins and needles, as the saying is.
hiding behind a box in the darkest corner of the henhouse, he hardly dared to breathe.
you see, he did n't want those hens to discover him.
he knew that if they did they would make such a racket that they would bring farmer brown's boy hurrying out to find out what the trouble was.
reddy had had experience with hens before.
he knew that if farmer brown's boy heard them making a great racket, he would know that something was wrong, and he would come all prepared.
this was the one thing that reddy did not want.
his one chance to escape would be to take farmer brown's boy entirely by surprise.
never had time dragged more slowly.
the hens were awake, and several of them flew down to the floor of the henhouse.
they passed so close to where reddy was hiding that merely by reaching out a black paw he could have touched them.
because he took particular pains not to move, not even to twitch a black ear, they did not see him.
anyway, if they did see him, they took no notice of him.
how the moments did drag!
all the time he lay there listening, wishing that farmer brown's boy would come, yet dreading to have him come.
it seemed ages before he heard sounds which told him that people were awake in farmer brown's house.
finally he heard a distant door slam.
then he heard a whistle, a merry whistle.
it drew nearer and nearer; farmer brown's boy was coming to feed the hens.
reddy tried to hold his breath.
he heard the click of the henyard gate as farmer brown's boy opened it, then he heard the crunch, crunch, crunch of farmer brown's boy's feet on the snow.
suddenly the henhouse door was thrown open and farmer brown's boy stepped inside.
in his hand he held a pan filled with the breakfast he had brought for the hens.
suddenly a box in the darkest corner of the henhouse moved.
farmer brown's boy turned to look, and as he did so a slim form dashed fairly between his legs.
it startled him so that he dropped the pan and spilled the corn all over the henhouse floor.
""great scott!"
he exclaimed.
""what under the sun was that?"
and rushed to the door to see.
he was just in time to get a glimpse of a red coat and a bushy tail disappearing around a corner of the barn.
chapter xviii mutual relief the wise fox knows that with every chicken he steals he puts an increased price on his own skin.
bowser the hound.
when reddy fox dashed between the legs of farmer brown's boy and out of the open door of the henhouse, it was with his heart in his mouth.
at least, it seemed that way.
would he find the henyard gate open?
supposing farmer brown's boy had closed it after he entered!
reddy would then be a prisoner just as he had been all night, and all hope would end.
just imagine with what terrible anxiety and eagerness reddy looked towards that gate as he dashed out of the open door.
just imagine the relief that was his when he saw that the gate was open.
in that very instant the snowy outside world became more beautiful and wonderful than ever it had been in all his life before.
he was free!
free!
free!
if ever there was a surprised boy, that boy was farmer brown's as he watched reddy twist around a corner of the barn and disappear.
""reddy fox!"
he exclaimed.
""now how under the sun did that rascal get in here?"
then, as he realized that reddy had actually been inside the henhouse, anxiety for the biddies swept over him.
hastily he turned, fully expecting to see either the bodies of two or three hens on the floor, or scattered feathers to show that reddy had enjoyed a midnight feast.
there were no feathers, and so far as he could see, all the hens were standing or walking about.
at once farmer brown's boy began to count them.
of course, he knew exactly how many there should be.
when he got through counting, not one was missing.
farmer brown's boy was puzzled.
he counted them again.
then he counted them a third time.
he began to think there must be something wrong with his counting.
after the fourth count, however, he was forced to believe that not a single one was missing.
if reddy fox had been relieved when he discovered that henyard gate open, farmer brown's boy was equally relieved when he found that not a single biddie had been taken.
when two people are relieved at the same time, it is called mutual relief.
but there was this difference between reddy fox and farmer brown's boy: reddy knew all about what had happened, and farmer brown's boy could n't even guess.
he went all around that henhouse, trying to find a way by which reddy fox had managed to get in.
of course, he discovered that the little sliding door where the biddies go in and out of the henhouse was open.
he guessed that this was the way by which reddy had entered.
but this did n't explain matters at all.
he knew that the gate had been latched when he entered the henyard that morning.
how had reddy managed to get into that henyard with that gate closed?
to this day, farmer brown's boy is still wondering.
chapter xix where was bowser the hound?
a good hound never barks on a cold trail.
bowser the hound.
where was bowser the hound?
that was the question which was puzzling all the little people who knew him.
also it was puzzling farmer brown's boy and farmer brown and mrs. brown.
i have said that it was puzzling all the little people who knew him.
this is not quite true, because there were two who could at least guess what had become of bowser.
one was old man coyote, who had, as you remember, led bowser far away and got him lost.
the other was blacky the crow, who had discovered bowser in his trouble and had helped him.
old man coyote did n't know exactly where bowser was, and he was n't interested enough to think much about it.
he hoped that bowser had been so badly lost that he never would return.
blacky the crow knew exactly where bowser was, but he kept it to himself.
it pleases blacky to have a secret which other people would give much to know.
blacky is one of those people who can keep a secret.
he is n't at all like peter rabbit.
reddy fox was one who was very much interested in the fate of bowser the hound.
as day after day went by and bowser did not appear, reddy had a growing hope that he never would appear.
""i ca n't imagine what old man coyote could have done to bowser," said reddy to himself.
""he certainly could n't have killed bowser in a fight, for that old rascal would never in the world dare face bowser the hound in a fight.
but he certainly has caused something to happen to bowser.
if that bothersome dog never returns, it certainly will make things a lot easier for granny fox and myself."
as for farmer brown's boy, he was as much puzzled as any of the little people and a whole lot more worried.
he drove all about the neighborhood, asking at every house if anything had been seen of bowser, nowhere did he get any trace of him.
no one had seen him.
it was very mysterious.
farmer brown's boy had begun to suspect that bowser had met with an accident somewhere off in the woods and had been unable to get help.
it made farmer brown's boy very sad indeed.
his cheery whistle was no longer heard, for he did not feel like whistling.
at last he quite gave up hope of ever again seeing bowser.
chapter xx where bowser was when things are at their very worst, as bad, you think, as they can be, just lay aside your feelings sad; the road ahead may turn, you see.
bowser the hound.
you remember that blacky the crow led poor bowser to an old road and there left him.
blacky reasoned that if bowser had any sense at all, he would know that that road must lead somewhere and would follow it.
if he did n't have sense enough to do this, he deserved to starve or freeze, was the way blacky reasoned it out.
of course blacky knew exactly where the road would lead.
now bowser did have sense.
of course he did.
the minute he found that road, a great load was taken from his mind.
he no longer felt wholly lost.
he was certain that all he had to do was to keep in that road, and sooner or later he would come to a house.
the thing that worried him most was whether or not he would have strength enough to keep going until he reached that house.
you remember that he was weak from lack of food, lame, and half frozen.
poor old bowser!
he certainly was the picture of misery as he limped along that road.
his tail hung down as if he had n't strength enough to hold it up.
his head also hung low.
he walked on three legs and limped with one of these.
in his eyes was such a look of pain and suffering as would have touched the hardest heart.
he whined and whimpered as he limped along.
it seemed to him that he had gone a terribly long distance, though really it was not far at all, when something tickled his nose, that wonderful nose which can smell the tracks of others long after they have passed.
but this time it was n't the smell of a track that tickled his nose; it was something in the air.
bowser lifted his head and sniffed long and hard.
what he smelled was smoke.
he knew what that meant.
somewhere not very far ahead of him was a house.
-lsb- illustration: somewhere not very far ahead of him was a house.
page 96.
-rsb- with new hope and courage bowser tried to hurry on.
presently around a turn of the road he saw a farmyard.
the smell of the smoke from the chimney of the farmhouse was stronger now, and with it was mingled an appetizing smell of things cooking.
into bowser's whimper there now crept a little note of eagerness as he dragged himself across the farmyard and up to the back door.
there his strength quite left him.
he did n't have enough left to even bark.
all he could do was whine.
after what seemed a long, long time the door opened, and a motherly woman stood looking down at him.
two minutes later bowser lay on a mat close by the kitchen stove.
chapter xxi bowser becomes a prisoner there is no one in all the great world more faithful than a faithful dog.
bowser the hound.
bowser the hound was a prisoner.
yes, sir, bowser was a sure-enough prisoner.
but there is a great difference in prisons.
bowser was a prisoner of kindness.
it seems funny that kindness should ever make any one a prisoner, but it is so sometimes.
you see, it was this way: when bowser had been taken in to that strange farmhouse, he had been so used up that he had had only strength enough to very feebly wag his tail.
right away the people in that farmhouse knew what had happened to bowser.
that is, they knew part of what had happened to him.
they knew that he had been lost and had somehow hurt one leg.
they were very, very good to him.
they fed him, and made a comfortable bed for him, and rubbed something on the leg which he had hurt and which had swollen.
almost right away after eating bowser went to sleep and slept and slept and slept.
it was the very best thing he could have done.
the next day he felt a whole lot better, but he was so stiff and lame that he could hardly move.
he did n't try very much.
he was petted and cared for quite as tenderly as he would have been at his own home.
so several days passed, and bowser was beginning to feel more like himself.
the more he felt like himself, the more he wanted to go home.
it was n't that there he would receive any greater kindness than he was now receiving, but home is home and there is no place like it.
so bowser began to be uneasy.
""this dog does n't belong anywhere around here," said the man of the house.
""i know every hound for miles around, and i never have seen this one before.
he has come a long distance.
it will not do to let him go, for he will try to find his way home and the chances are that he will again get lost.
we must keep him in the house or chained up.
perhaps some day we may be able to find his owner.
if not, we will keep him.
i am sure he will soon become contented here."
now that man knew dogs.
had bowser had the chance, he would have done exactly what that man had said.
he would have tried to find his way home, and he had n't the least idea in the world in which direction home lay.
but he did n't get the chance to try.
when he was allowed to run out of doors it was always with some one to watch him.
he was petted and babied and made a great deal of, but he knew all the time that he was a prisoner.
he knew that if he was to get away at all he would have to sneak away, and somehow there never seemed a chance to do this.
he was grateful to these kindly people, but down in his heart was a great longing for farmer brown's boy and home.
he always felt this longing just a wee bit stronger when blacky the crow passed over and cawed.
chapter xxii farmer brown's boy looks in vain loyalty is priceless and is neither sold nor bought.
alas, how few who seem to know its value as they ought.
bowser the hound.
as i have told you, farmer brown's boy had been all about the neighborhood asking at each farmhouse if anything had been seen of bowser.
of course nothing had been seen of him, and so at last farmer brown's boy felt sure that something dreadful had happened to bowser in the woods.
for several days he tramped through the green forest and up through the old pasture, looking for signs of bowser.
his heart was heavy, for you know bowser was quite one of the family.
he visited every place he could think of where he and bowser had hunted together.
he knew that by this time bowser could n't possibly be alive if he had been caught by a foot in a trap or had met with an accident in the woods.
he had quite given up all hope of ever seeing bowser alive again.
but he did want to know just what had happened to him, and so he kept searching and searching.
one day farmer brown's boy heard that a strange dog had been found over in the next township.
that afternoon he drove over there, his heart filled with great hope.
but he had his long ride for nothing, for when he got there he found that the strange dog was not bowser at all.
meanwhile old man coyote and reddy fox and old granny fox had become very bold.
they even came up around the henyard in broad daylight.
""i believe you know something about what has become of bowser," farmer brown's boy said, as he chased old man coyote away one day.
""you certainly know that he is n't home, and i more than suspect that you know why he is n't home.
i certainly shall have to get another dog to teach you not to be so bold."
but somehow farmer brown's boy could n't bring himself quite to taking such a step as getting a new dog.
he felt that no other dog ever could take bowser's place, and in spite of the fact that he thought he had given up all hope of ever seeing bowser again, "way down deep inside was something which, if it were not hope, was something enough like it to keep him from getting another dog in bowser's place.
whenever he went about away from home, he kept an eye out for dogs in the farmyards he passed.
he did it without really thinking anything about it.
he had given up hope of finding bowser, yet he was always looking for him.
chapter xxiii bowser's great voice to long for home when far away will rob of joy the brightest day.
bowser the hound.
there is as much difference in the voices of dogs as in the voices of human beings.
for that matter, this is true of many of the little people who wear fur.
bowser the hound had a wonderful, deep, clear voice, a voice that could be heard a great distance.
no one who knew it would ever mistake it for the voice of any other hound.
as a rule, bowser seldom used that great voice of his save when he was hunting some one.
then, when the scent was strong, he gave tongue so fast that you wondered how he had breath enough left to run.
but now that he was a prisoner of kindness, in the home of the people who had taken him in when he had crept to their doorstep, bowser sometimes bayed from sheer homesickness.
when he was tied out in the yard, he would sometimes get to thinking of his home and long to see farmer brown and mrs. brown and especially his master, farmer brown's boy.
then, when he could stand it no longer, he would open his mouth and send his great voice rolling across to the woods with a tone of mournfulness which never had been there before.
but great as was bowser's voice, and far as it would carry, there was none who knew him to hear it, save blacky the crow.
you remember that blacky knew just where bowser was and often flew over that farmyard to make sure that bowser was still there.
so more than once blacky heard bowser's great voice with its mournful note, and understood it.
it troubled blacky.
yes, sir, it actually troubled blacky.
he knew just what was the matter with bowser, but for the life of him he could n't think of any way of helping bowser.
""that dog is homesick," croaked blacky, as he sat in the top of a tall tree, scratching his head as if he thought he might scratch an idea out of it.
""of course he does n't know how to get home, and if he tried he probably would get as badly lost as he was before.
anyway, they do n't give him a chance to try.
i ca n't lead farmer brown's boy over here because he does n't understand my talk, and i do n't understand his.
there is n't a thing i can do but keep watch.
i wish bowser would stop barking.
it makes me feel uncomfortable.
yes, sir, it makes me feel uncomfortable.
old man coyote got bowser into this trouble, and he ought to get him out again, but i do n't suppose it is the least bit of use to ask him.
it wo n't do any harm to try, anyway."
so blacky started back for the green forest and the old pasture near farmer brown's to look for old man coyote, and for a long time as he flew he could hear bowser's voice with its note of homesickness and longing.
chapter xxiv blacky tries to get help you'll find that nothing more worth while can be than helping others whose distress you see.
bowser the hound.
on his way back to the green forest near farmer brown's home, blacky the crow kept a sharp watch for old man coyote.
but old man coyote was nowhere to be seen, and it was too late to go look for him, because jolly, round, red mr. sun had already gone to bed behind the purple hills and the black shadows were hurrying towards the green forest.
blacky never is out after dark.
you might think that one with so black a coat would be fond of the black shadows, but it is n't so at all.
the fact is, bold and impudent as blacky the crow is in daylight, he is afraid of the dark.
he is quite as timid as anybody i know of in the dark.
so blacky always contrives to go to bed early and is securely hidden away in his secret roosting-place by the time the black shadows reach the edge of the green forest.
perhaps it is n't quite fair to say that blacky is afraid of the dark.
it is n't the dark itself that blacky fears, but it is one who is abroad in the dark.
it is hooty the owl.
hooty would just as soon dine on blacky the crow as he would on any one else, and blacky knows it.
the next morning, bright and early, blacky flew over to the old pasture to the home of old man coyote.
just as he got there he saw old man coyote coming home from an all-night hunt.
""i hope you have had good hunting," said blacky politely.
old man coyote looked up at blacky sharply.
blacky is polite only when he wants to get something.
""there was plenty of hunting, but little enough reward for it," replied old man coyote.
""what brings you over here so early?
i should suppose you would be looking for a breakfast."
now blacky the crow is a very wise fellow.
he knows when it is to be sly and crafty and when it is best to be frank and out-spoken.
this was a time for the latter.
""i know where bowser the hound is," said blacky.
""i saw him yesterday."
old man coyote pricked up his ears and grinned.
""i thought he was dead," said he.
""it's a long time since we've heard from bowser.
is he well?"
""quite well," replied blacky, "but unhappy.
he is homesick.
i suspect that the trouble with bowser is that he has n't the least idea in which direction home lies.
you enjoy running, so why not go with me to pay bowser a visit and then lead him back home?"
old man coyote threw back his head and laughed in that crazy fashion of his till the very hills rang with the sound of his voice.
chapter xxv blacky calls on reddy fox saying what you mean, and meaning what you say are matters quite as different as night is from the day.
bowser the hound.
blacky the crow wasted no time with old man coyote after he heard old man coyote laugh.
there was a note in that crazy laugh of old man coyote's that told blacky he might just as well talk to the rocks or the trees about helping bowser the hound.
old man coyote had led bowser into his trouble, and it was quite clear that not only did he have no regrets, but he was actually glad that bowser was not likely to return.
""you're a hard-hearted old sinner," declared blacky, as he prepared to fly in search of reddy fox.
old man coyote grinned.
""it is every one for himself, you know," said he.
""bowser would do his best to catch me if he had the chance.
so if he is in trouble, he can stay there for all of me."
it did n't take blacky long to find reddy fox.
you see, it was so early in the morning that reddy had not retired for his daily nap.
like old man coyote, he was just returning from a night's hunt when blacky arrived.
""hello, reddy!"
exclaimed blacky.
""you certainly are looking in mighty fine condition.
that red coat of yours is the handsomest coat i've ever seen.
if i had a coat like that i know i should be so swelled up with pride that i just would n't be able to see common folks.
i'm glad you're not that way, reddy.
one of the things i like about you is the fact that you never allow your fine coat to make you proud.
that is more than i can say for some folks i know."
reddy fox sat down with his big bushy tail curled around to keep his toes warm, cocked his head on one side, and looked up at blacky the crow as if he were trying to see right inside that black head to find out what was going on there.
""now what has that black scamp got in his mind," thought reddy.
""he never pays compliments unless he wants something in return.
that old black rascal has the smoothest tongue in the green forest.
he has n't come "way over here just to tell me that i have a handsome coat.
he would n't fly over a fence to tell anybody that unless it was for a purpose."
aloud he said, "good morning, blacky.
i suppose i must admit i have a fine coat.
perhaps i do look very fine, but if you could see under this red coat of mine, you would find mighty little meat on my ribs.
to be quite honest, i am not feeling half as fine as i look.
you lucky fellows who can fly and do n't have to think about distances may be able to live well these days, but as for me, i've forgotten when last i had a good meal."
chapter xxvi red wits and black wits this fact you'll find is always so: he's quick of wit who fools a crow.
bowser the hound.
there is no greater flatterer in the green forest or on the green meadows than blacky the crow when he hopes to gain something thereby.
his tongue is so smooth that it is a wonder it does not drip oil.
he is crafty, is blacky.
but these same things are true of reddy fox.
no one ever yet had a chance to accuse reddy fox of lacking in sharp wits.
mistakes he makes, as everybody does, but reddy's wits are always keen and active.
now reddy knew perfectly well that blacky wanted something of him, and this was why he was saying such pleasant things.
blacky the crow knew that reddy knew this thing, and that if he would make use of reddy as he hoped to, he must contrive to keep reddy wholly in the dark as to what he wanted done.
so as they sat there, reddy fox on the snow with his tail curled around his feet to keep them warm, and blacky the crow in the top of a little tree above reddy's head, they were playing a sort of game.
it was red wits against black wits.
reddy was trying to outguess blacky, and blacky was trying to outguess reddy, and both were enjoying it.
people with sharp wits always enjoy matching their wits against other sharp wits.
when reddy fox said that in spite of his fine appearance he had forgotten when last he had had a good meal, blacky pretended to think he was joking.
""you surprise me," said he.
""whatever is the matter with my good friend reddy, that he goes hungry when he no longer has anything to fear from bowser the hound.
by the way, i saw bowser the other day."
at this, just for an instant, reddy's eyes flew wide open.
then they half closed again until they were just two yellow slits.
but quickly as he closed them, blacky had seen that startled surprise.
""yes," said blacky, "i saw bowser the other day, or at least some one who looked just like him.
would n't you like to have him back here, reddy?"
""most decidedly no," replied reddy with great promptness.
""a dog is a nuisance.
he is n't of any use in the wide, wide world."
""not even to drive off old man coyote?"
asked blacky slyly, for he knew that more than once bowser the hound had helped reddy out of trouble with old man coyote.
reddy pretended not to hear this.
""i do n't believe you saw bowser," said he.
""i do n't believe anybody will ever see bowser again.
i hope not, anyway."
and blacky knew by the way reddy said this that it would be quite useless to ask reddy to help get bowser home.
chapter xxvii the artfulness of blacky who runs in circles never gets far.
bowser the hound.
to be artful is to be very clever.
it is to do things in a way so clever that people will not see what you are really doing.
no one can be more artful than blacky the crow when he sets out to be.
blacky was smart enough not to let reddy know that he was seeking reddy's help for bowser.
he soon found out that reddy would not knowingly help the least little bit, so he decided at once that the only thing for him to do was to get reddy to help unsuspectingly.
he changed the subject very abruptly.
""how are the chickens at farmer brown's?"
inquired he.
reddy looked up and grinned.
""they seem to be in just as good health as ever," said he, "so far as i can judge.
farmer brown's boy seems to be terribly suspicious.
he locks them up at night so tight that not even shadow the weasel could get his nose inside that henhouse."
blacky's eyes twinkled, but he took care that reddy should not see them.
""farmer brown's boy is different from some folks i know," said he.
""how's that?"
demanded reddy fox.
""why," replied blacky, "there is a certain farmyard i know of where the hens are not kept shut up at all in the daytime, but run around where they please.
i see them every day when i am flying over.
they certainly are fine-looking hens.
i do n't think i've ever seen fatter ones.
some of them are so fat they can hardly run."
as reddy fox listened, a look of eagerness crept into his eyes, and his mouth began to water.
he just could n't help it.
""where did you say those hens are?"
he asked, trying to speak carelessly.
""i did n't say," replied blacky, turning his head aside to hide a grin.
""it is a long way from here, reddy, so i do n't believe you would really be interested."
""that all depends," replied reddy.
""i would go a long way if it were worth while.
i do n't suppose you noticed if there were any dogs about where those hens are?"
blacky pretended not to hear this.
""i've often thought," said he, "of you and mrs. reddy as i have looked down at those fat hens.
it is too bad that they are so far away."
chapter xxviii reddy fox dreams of chickens it's a poor watch-dog who sleeps with both eyes closed.
bowser the hound.
reddy fox watched blacky the crow grow smaller and smaller until he was just a black speck in the distance.
finally he disappeared.
reddy looked very thoughtful.
he looked that way because he was thoughtful.
in fact, reddy was doing a lot of hard thinking.
he was thinking about those chickens blacky had told him of.
the more he thought of them, the hungrier he grew.
you see, reddy had been having rather a hard time to get enough to eat.
""yes, sir," said reddy to himself, "i would go a long, long distance to get a good plump hen.
i wish i knew just where that farm is that that black rascal talked about.
i wonder if he has gone that way now.
if i were sure that he has, i would make a little journey in that direction myself.
but i'm not sure.
that black rascal flies all over the country.
that farm may lie in the direction he has gone now, and it may be in quite the opposite direction.
somehow i've got to find out in just which direction it is."
reddy yawned, for he had been out all night, and he was sleepy.
he decided that the best thing he could do would be to get a good rest.
one must always be fit if one is to get on in this life.
the harder one must work, the more fit one should keep, and a proper amount of sleep is one of the most necessary things in keeping fit.
so reddy curled up to sleep.
hardly had his eyes closed when he began to dream.
you see, he had been thinking so hard about those fat hens, and he was so hungry for one of them, that right away he began to dream of fat hens.
it was a beautiful dream.
at least, it was a beautiful dream to reddy.
fat hens were all about him.
they were so fat that they could hardly walk.
not only were they fat, but they seemed to think that their one object in life was to fill the stomachs of hungry foxes, for they just stood about waiting to be caught.
never in all his life had reddy fox known anything so wonderful as was that dream.
there were no dogs to worry him.
there were no hunters with dreadful guns.
all he had to do was to reach out and help himself to as many fat hens as he wanted.
he ate and ate and ate, all in his dream, you know, and when he could eat no more he started for home.
when he started for home the fat hens that were left started along with him.
he led a procession of fat hens straight over to his home in the old pasture.
just imagine how reddy felt when at last he awoke and there was not so much as a feather from a fat hen anywhere about, while his stomach fairly ached with emptiness.
chapter xxix reddy tries to arouse blacky's pity trust a fox only as far as you can see him, and lock the chickens up before you do that.
bowser the hound.
all the next night, as reddy fox hunted and hunted for something to eat, he kept thinking of that dream of fat hens, and he kept wondering how he could get blacky the crow to tell him just where that farm with fat hens was.
blacky on his part had spent a whole day wondering how he could induce reddy fox to make that long journey over to where bowser the hound was a prisoner of kindness.
blacky was smart enough to know that if he seemed too anxious for reddy to make that long journey, reddy would at once suspect something.
he knew well enough that if reddy had any idea that bowser the hound was over there, nothing would tempt him to make the trip.
early the next morning, just as on the morning before, blacky stopped over by reddy's house.
this time reddy was already home.
actually he was waiting for blacky, though he would n't have had blacky know it for the world.
as soon as he saw blacky coming, he lay down on his doorstep and pretended not to see blacky at all.
""good morning, reddy," said blacky, as he alighted in the top of a little tree close by.
reddy raised his head as if it were all he could do to lift it.
""good morning, blacky," said he in a feeble voice.
blacky looked at him sharply.
""what's the matter, reddy?"
he demanded.
""you seem to be feeling badly."
reddy sighed.
it was a long, doleful sigh.
""i am feeling badly, blacky," said he.
""i never felt worse in my life.
the truth is i -- i -- i --" reddy paused.
""you what?"
demanded blacky, looking at reddy more sharply than ever.
""i am starving," said reddy very feebly.
""i certainly shall starve to death unless i can find some way of getting at least one good meal soon.
you have no idea, blacky, how dreadful it is to be hungry all the time."
again reddy sighed, and followed this with a second sigh and then a third sigh.
blacky looked behind him so that reddy might not see the twinkle in his eyes.
for blacky understood perfectly what reddy was trying to do.
reddy was n't fooling him a bit.
when he looked back at reddy he was very grave.
he was doing his best to look very sympathetic.
""i'm right sorry to hear this, reddy," said he.
""i certainly am.
i've been hungry myself more than once.
it seems a pity that you should be starving here when over on that farm i told you about yesterday are fat hens to be had for the taking.
if you were not so weak, i would be tempted to show you where they are."
chapter xxx blacky the crow is all pity people who think that they are fooling others very often discover that they have been fooling themselves.
bowser the hound.
to have seen and heard blacky the crow as he talked to reddy fox, you would have thought that there was nothing under the sun in his heart or mind but pity.
""yes, sir," said he, "i certainly would be tempted to show you where those fat hens are if you were not too weak.
i just ca n't bear to see an old friend starve.
it is too bad that those fat hens are so far away.
i feel sure that one of them would make you quite yourself again."
""do n't -- do n't talk about them," said reddy feebly.
""if i could have just one fat hen that is all i would ask.
are they so very far from here?"
blacky nodded his head vigorously.
""yes," said he, "they are a long way from here.
they are such a long way that i'm afraid you are too weak to make the journey.
if you were quite yourself you could do it nicely, but for one in your condition it is, i fear, altogether too long a journey."
""it would n't do any harm to try it, perhaps," suggested reddy, in a hesitating way.
""it is no worse to starve to death in one place than another, and i never was one to give up without trying.
if you do n't mind showing me the way, brother blacky, i would at least like to try to reach that place where the fat hens are.
of course i can not keep up with you.
in fact, i could n't if i were feeling well and strong.
perhaps you can tell me just how to find that place, and then i need n't bother you at all."
blacky pretended to be lost in thought while reddy watched him anxiously.
finally blacky spoke.
""it certainly makes my heart ache to see you in such a condition, brother reddy," said he.
""i tell you what i'll do.
you know crows are famous for flying in a straight line when we want to get to any place in particular.
i will fly straight towards that farm where the fat hens are.
you follow along as best you can.
in your feeble condition it will take you a long time to get anywhere near there.
this will give me time to go hunt for my own dinner, and then i will come back until i meet you.
after that, i will show you the way.
now i will start along and you follow."
reddy got to his feet as if it were hard work.
then blacky spread his wings and started off, cawing encouragement.
all the time inside he was laughing to think that reddy fox should think he had fooled him.
""he forgot to ask again if there is a dog there," chuckled blacky to himself.
as for reddy, no sooner was blacky well on his way than he started off at his swiftest pace.
there was nothing weak or feeble in the way reddy ran then.
he was in a hurry to get to those fat hens.
chapter xxxi blacky is much pleased with himself you can not tell from a single feather what a bird looks like, nor from a lone hair how big a dog is.
bowser the hound.
straight away towards the farm where bowser the hound was flew blacky the crow.
every few minutes he would caw encouragement to reddy fox, who, as you know, was following, but who of course could not travel as fast as did blacky.
in between times blacky would chuckle to himself.
he was mightily pleased with himself, was blacky.
in the first place his plan was working beautifully.
you know what he was after was to get reddy fox over to that farm where bowser was.
he hoped that if reddy should catch one of those fat hens, the farmer would put bowser on reddy's trail.
he knew that reddy would probably return straight home, and bowser, following reddy's trail, would thus find his way back home to farmer brown's.
of course, it all depended on whether reddy would catch one of those fat hens and whether bowser would be allowed to hunt him.
blacky had a plan for making sure that if reddy did get one of those hens the folks in the farmhouse would know it.
but what tickled blacky most the knowledge that reddy fox thought he was fooling blacky.
you remember that reddy had pretended to be very weak.
blacky knew that reddy was nothing of the kind.
at the very first opportunity blacky stopped in the top of a tall tree as if to rest.
his real reason for stopping was to have a chance to look back.
you see, while he was flying he could n't look behind him.
presently, just as he expected, he saw in the distance a little red speck, and that little red speck was moving very fast indeed.
there was nothing weak or feeble in the way that red speck was coming across the snow-covered fields.
blacky chuckled hoarsely.
nearer and nearer came the red speck, and of course the nearer it came the larger it grew.
presently it stopped moving fast.
it began to move slowly and stop every once in a while, as if to rest.
blacky laughed right out.
he knew then that reddy fox had discovered him sitting in the top of that tall tree and was once more pretending.
it was a sort of a game, a game that blacky thoroughly enjoyed.
as soon as he knew that reddy had discovered him, he once more spread his black wings and started on.
the same thing happened over again.
in fact, blacky did not fly far this time before once more waiting.
it was great fun to see reddy suddenly pretend that he was too weak to run.
it was such fun that blacky quite forgot that he had had no breakfast.
yes, blacky the crow was very much pleased with himself.
it looked very much as if he would succeed in helping bowser the hound.
this pleased him.
but it pleased him still more to know that he was fooling clever reddy fox while reddy thought he was the one who was doing the fooling.
chapter xxxii blacky waits for reddy be wise, my friends, and do not fail to trust a dog who wags his tail.
bowser the hound.
just before reaching the farm where the fat hens and bowser the hound were, blacky waited for reddy fox to catch up.
it was some time before reddy appeared, for he was n't traveling as fast now as when he had started out.
you see, that farm really was a very long way from the old pasture where reddy lives and reddy had run very hard, because, you know, he was so anxious to get one of those fat hens.
as soon as blacky saw him he hid in the thick branches of a tall pine-tree.
reddy did n't see him.
in fact, blacky had been so far ahead that reddy had lost sight of him some time before.
out of the bushes trotted reddy.
his tongue was hanging out just a little, and he was panting.
blacky was just about to speak when reddy stopped.
he stood as still as if he had suddenly been frozen stiff.
his sharp black ears were cocked forward, and his head was turned just a little to one side.
reddy was listening.
he was listening for the voice of blacky.
you see, he thought blacky was still far ahead of him.
for several minutes reddy stood listening with all his might, and blacky's sharp eyes twinkled as he looked down, watching reddy.
suddenly reddy sat down.
there was an expression on his sharp face which blacky understood perfectly.
it was quite plain that reddy was becoming suspicious.
he had begun to suspect that he had been tricked by blacky and led so far away from home for nothing.
down inside blacky chuckled.
it was a noiseless chuckle, for blacky did not intend to give himself away until he had to.
but when at last he saw that reddy was beginning to get uneasy, blacky spoke.
""you seem to be feeling better, brother reddy," said he.
""you must excuse me for keeping you waiting, but i did not suppose that any one so weak and feeble as you appeared to be early this morning could possibly get here so soon."
at the sound of blacky's voice, reddy was so startled that he jumped quite as if he had sat down on a prickly briar.
he was sharp enough to know that it was no longer of any use to pretend.
""i'm feeling better," said he.
""the thought of those fat hens has quite restored my strength.
did you say that they are near here?"
""i did n't say, but --" blacky did n't finish.
he did n't need to.
from the other side of a little swamp in front of them a rooster crowed.
that was answer enough!
reddy's yellow eyes gleamed.
in an instant he was on his feet, the picture of alertness.
""are you satisfied that i told the truth?"
asked blacky.
reddy nodded.
chapter xxxiii reddy watches the fat hens sooner or later the crookedest trail will straighten.
bowser the hound.
at the sound of that rooster's voice on the other side of the little swamp, reddy became a changed fox.
could you have been sitting where you could have seen him, as did blacky the crow, you never, never would have guessed that reddy had run a very long distance and was tired.
he did not even glance up at blacky.
he did not even say thank you to blacky for having shown him the way.
he looked neither to the right nor to the left, but with eyes fixed eagerly ahead, began to steal forward swiftly.
making no sound, for reddy can step very lightly when he chooses to, he trotted quickly through the little swamp until he drew near the other side.
then he crouched close to the snow-covered ground and began to steal from bush to bush until he reached the trunk of a fallen tree on the very edge of the swamp.
to this he crawled on his stomach and peeped around the end of it.
everything was as blacky the crow had said.
not far away was a farmyard, and walking about in it was a big rooster, lording it over a large flock of fat hens.
they were not shut in by a wire fence as were farmer brown's hens.
some were taking a sun bath just in front of the barn door.
others were scattered about, picking up bits of food which had been thrown out for them.
a few were scratching in some straw in the cowyard.
in the barn a horse stamped.
from the farmhouse sounded the voice of a woman singing.
once the door of the farmhouse opened, and an appetizing odor floated out to tickle the nose of reddy.
reddy looked sharply for signs of a dog.
not one could he see.
if there was a dog, he must be either in the barn or in the house.
it was quite clear to reddy that no fox had bothered this flock of fat hens.
he was sorely tempted to rush out and grab one of them at once, but he did n't.
he was far too clever to do anything like that until he was absolutely sure that it would be safe.
so reddy lay flat behind the old tree trunk, with just his nose and his eyes showing around the end of it, and studied what would be best to do.
he was sure that he could get one of those fat hens, but he wanted more.
early that morning reddy would have been quite contented with one, but now that he was sure that he could get one, he wanted more.
if he were too bold and frightened those hens while catching one, they would make such a racket that they would be sure to bring some one from the farmhouse.
the thing to do was to be patient until he could catch one without alarming the others.
then perhaps he would be able to catch another.
reddy decided to be patient and wait.
chapter xxxiv patience and impatience patience is a virtue in a cause that's right.
in a cause that is n't, it's a cause for fright.
bowser the hound.
one of the first things that the little people of the green forest and the green meadows who hunt other little people learn is patience.
sometimes it takes a long time to learn this, but it is a necessary lesson.
reddy fox had learned it.
reddy knew that often even his cleverness would not succeed without patience.
when he was young he had lost many a good meal through impatience.
reddy could not remember when he had been more hungry than he was now.
lying there behind the fallen tree, watching the fat hens walking about unsuspectingly just a little way from him, it seemed to him that he simply must rush out and catch one of them.
but reddy was smart enough to know that if he did this there would at once be such a screaming and squawking that some one would be sure to rush out from the farmhouse to find out what was going on.
if he were discovered, there would be small chance for him to get another fat hen.
reddy is keen enough to make the most of an opportunity.
he knew that if he could get one of these hens without frightening the others, he would have a chance to get another.
he might have a chance to get several in this way.
so, though he was so eager and so hungry, he made himself keep perfectly still, while he studied out a plan.
by and by he stole ever so carefully around back of the barn to the cowyard.
some of those fat hens were scratching in the straw of the cowyard.
just outside the cowyard was a pile of old boards.
reddy crawled behind this pile of old boards and then crouched and settled himself to be patient.
he knew that sooner or later one of those fat hens would be likely to come out of the cowyard.
in this way he might be able to catch one without the others knowing a thing about it.
blacky the crow sat in the top of a tall tree where he could see all that was going on.
blacky was as impatient as reddy was patient.
""why does n't the red rascal rush in and get one of those fat hens?"
muttered blacky.
""what is the matter with him, anyway?
i wonder if he is afraid.
he could catch one of them without half trying, and there he lies as if he expected them to run right into his mouth.
i do n't want to sit here all day.
yet i ca n't do a thing until he catches one of those hens."
so reddy waited patiently and blacky waited impatiently, and the fat hens wandered about unsuspectingly, and for a long, long time nothing happened.
chapter xxxv things happen all at once the cleverest fox is almost certain to visit the chicken yard once too often.
bowser the hound.
jolly, round, bright mr. sun, high in the blue, blue sky, looked down on as peaceful a scene as ever was.
in the cowyard back of the barn of this particular farm stood several cows contentedly chewing their cuds as they took their daily airing.
half a dozen fat hens were walking about among them and scratching in the straw.
out in the farmyard in front of the barn were many more fat hens.
behind a pile of old boards just outside the cowyard was a spot of red.
in the top of a tall tree not far distant was a spot of black.
the smoke from the chimney of the farmhouse floated skyward in a lazy way.
looking down on the great world, jolly, round, bright mr. sun saw no more peaceful scene anywhere.
by and by a fat hen walked over to the bars of the cowyard and hopped up on the lower bar.
there she sat for some time.
then, making up her mind that she would see what was outside, she hopped down and walked over to the pile of old boards.
right then things happened all at once.
that red spot behind the pile of old boards suddenly came to life.
there was a quick spring, and that fat hen was seized by the neck so suddenly that she did n't have time to make a sound.
at the same instant the black spot in the top of the tall tree came to life, and blacky the crow flew over to the roof of the barn, screaming at the top of his lungs.
now those who know blacky well, know when he is screaming "fox!
fox!
fox!"
although it sounds as if he were saying "caw!
caw!
caw!"
in a moment the door of the farmhouse flew open, and a man stepped out with a dog at his heels.
the man looked up at blacky, and he knew by blacky's actions that something was going on back of the barn.
right away he guessed that there must be a fox there, and calling the dog to follow, he ran around to see what was happening.
of course reddy heard him coming, and with a little snarl of anger at blacky the crow, he seized the fat hen by the neck, threw her body over his shoulder, and started for the near-by swamp as fast as his legs could take him.
just as reddy reached the edge of the swamp, he heard the roar of a great voice behind him.
he knew that voice.
it was the voice of bowser the hound.
it could be no one else but bowser who was behind him, for there was no other voice quite like his.
dismay awoke in reddy's heart.
he knew that bowser was wise to the tricks of foxes, and that he would have to use all his cunning to get rid of bowser.
to do it he would have to drop that fat hen he had come so far to get.
do you wonder that reddy was dismayed?
chapter xxxvi reddy hides the fat hen dishonesty will run away where honesty will boldly stay.
bowser the hound.
reddy fox was in a fix!
he certainly was in a fix!
here he was with the fat hen which he had come such a long, long way to get, and no chance to eat it, for bowser the hound was on his trail.
ordinarily reddy fox can run faster than can bowser, but it is one thing to run with nothing to carry, and another thing altogether to with a burden as heavy as a fat hen.
reddy's wits were working quite as fast as his legs.
""i ca n't carry this fat hen far," thought reddy, "for bowser will surely catch me.
i do n't want to drop it, because i have come such a long way to get it, and goodness knows when i will be able to catch another.
the thing for me to do is to hide it where i can come back and get it after i get rid of that pesky dog.
goodness, what a noise he makes!"
as he ran, reddy watched sharply this way and that way for a place to hide the fat hen.
he knew he must find a place soon, because already that fat hen was growing very heavy.
presently he spied the hollow stump of a tree.
he did n't know it was hollow when he first saw it, but from its looks he thought it might be.
the top of it was only about two feet above the ground.
reddy stopped and stood up on his hind legs so as to see if the top of that stump was hollow.
it was.
with a quick look this way and that way to make sure he was n't seen, he tossed the fat hen over into the hollow and then, with a sigh of relief, darted away.
with the weight of that fat hen off his shoulders, and the worry about it off his mind, reddy could give all his attention to getting rid of bowser the hound.
he had no intention of running any farther than he must.
in the first place he had traveled so far that he did not feel like running.
in the second place he wanted to get back to that hollow stump and the fat hen just as soon as possible.
it was n't long before reddy realized that it was not going to be so easy to fool bowser the hound.
bowser was too wise to be fooled by common tricks such as breaking the trail by jumping far to one side after running back on his own tracks a little way; or by running along a fallen tree and jumping from the end of it as far as he could.
of course he tried these tricks, but each time bowser simply made a big circle with his nose to the ground and picked up reddy's new trail.
reddy did n't know that country about there at all, and little by little he began to realize how much this meant.
at home he knew every foot of the ground for a long distance in every direction.
this made all the difference in the world, because he knew just how to play all kinds of tricks.
but here it was different.
it seemed to him that all he could do was to run and run.
chapter xxxvii farmer brown's boy has a glad surprise the sweetest sound in the world is the voice of one you love.
bowser the hound.
farmer brown's boy had an errand which took him far from home.
he harnessed the horse to a sleigh and started off right after dinner.
now it happened that his errand took him in the direction of the farm where bowser the hound had been taken such good care of, and where reddy fox had that very day caught the fat hen.
farmer brown's boy was not thinking of bowser.
you see, he had already visited most of the farms in that direction in his search for bowser and had found no trace of him.
it was a beautiful day to be sleighing, and farmer brown's boy was whistling merrily, for there is nothing he enjoys more than a sleigh ride.
he had almost reached the place he had started for when "way off across the fields to his right he heard a dog.
now farmer brown's boy enjoys listening to the sound of a hound chasing a fox.
there is something about it which stirs the blood.
he stopped whistling and stopped the horse in order that he might listen better.
at first that sound was very, very faint, but as farmer brown's boy listened, it grew louder and clearer.
suddenly farmer brown's boy leaped up excitedly.
""that's bowser!"
he cried.
""as sure as i live that's good old bowser!
i would know that voice among a million!"
he leaped from the sleigh and tied the horse.
then he climbed over the fence and began to run across the snow-covered fields.
he could tell from the sound in what direction bowser was running.
he could tell from the appearance of the country about where reddy fox would be likely to lead bowser, and he ran for a place which he felt sure reddy would be likely to pass.
louder and louder sounded the great voice of bowser, and faster and faster ran farmer brown's boy to reach that place before bowser should pass.
the louder that great voice sounded, the more absolutely certain farmer brown's boy became that it was the voice of bowser, and a great joy filled his heart.
at last he reached an old road.
he felt certain that reddy would follow that road.
so he hid behind an old stone wall on the edge of it.
he did not have long to wait.
a red form appeared around a turn in the old road, running swiftly.
then it stopped and stood perfectly still.
of course it was reddy fox.
he was listening to make sure just how far behind him bowser was.
he listened for only a moment and then started on as swiftly as before.
right down the road past farmer brown's boy reddy ran, and never once suspected he was being watched.
a few minutes later another form appeared around the turn in the road.
it was bowser!
yes, sir, it was bowser!
with a glad cry farmer brown's boy jumped over the stone wall and waited.
chapter xxxviii reddy goes back for his fat hen joy will make a puppy of an old dog.
bowser the hound.
when bowser the hound is following the trail of reddy fox, it takes a great deal to make him leave that trail.
his love of the hunt is so great that, as a rule, nothing short of losing the trail will make him stop.
he will follow it until he can not follow it any longer.
but for once bowser actually forgot that he was following reddy fox.
yes, sir, he did.
as he came down that old road with his nose in reddy's tracks, he was so intent on what he was doing that he did n't see farmer brown's boy waiting for him.
he did n't see him until he almost ran into him.
for just a second bowser stared in utter surprise.
then with a little yelp of pure joy he leaped up and did his best to lick his master's face.
could you have seen bowser, you might have thought that he was just a foolish young puppy, he cut up such wild antics to express his joy.
he yelped and whined and barked.
he nearly knocked farmer brown's boy down by leaping up on him.
he raced around in circles.
when at last he was still long enough, farmer brown's boy just threw his arms around him and hugged him.
he hugged him so hard he made bowser squeal.
then two of the happiest folks in all the great world started back across the snow-covered fields to the sleigh.
bowser and farmer brown's boy were not the only ones who rejoiced.
reddy fox had been badly worried.
although he had tried every trick he could think of, he had not been able to get rid of bowser, and he had just about made up his mind that there was nothing for it but to start back to the old pasture which was so far away.
that would mean giving up the fat hen which he had hidden in the hollow stump.
of course, reddy knew the instant that bowser began to yelp and bark that something had happened.
what it was he could n't imagine.
he sat down to wait and listen.
then he heard the voice of farmer brown's boy.
reddy knew that voice and he grinned, for he felt sure that bowser would give up the hunt.
he grinned because now he would have a chance to go back for that fat hen.
at the same time that grin was not wholly a happy grin, because reddy knew that now bowser would return to his home.
presently reddy very carefully crept back to a place where he could see what was going on.
he watched farmer brown's boy start back for the road and the sleigh, with bowser jumping up on him and racing around him like a foolish young puppy.
he waited only long enough to make sure that bowser would not come back; then he turned and trotted swiftly along his own back trail towards that hollow stump into which he had tossed that fat hen.
reddy's thoughts were very pleasant thoughts, for they were all of the fine dinner of which he now felt sure.
chapter xxxix a vanished dinner this fact you'll find where'er you go is true of fox or dog or man: dishonesty has never paid, and, what is more, it never can.
bowser the hound.
very pleasant were the thoughts of reddy fox as he trotted back to the swamp where was the hollow stump in which he had hidden the fat hen he had stolen.
yes, sir, very pleasant were the thoughts of reddy fox.
he felt sure that no dinner he had ever eaten had tasted anywhere near as good as would the dinner he was about to enjoy.
in the first place his stomach had not been really filled for a long time.
food had been scarce, and while reddy had always obtained enough to keep from starving, it was a long time since he had had a really good meal.
he had, you remember, traveled a very long distance to catch that fat hen, and it had been many hours since he had had a bite of anything.
there is nothing like a good appetite to make things taste good.
reddy certainly had the appetite to make that fat hen the finest dinner a fox ever ate.
so, with pleasant thoughts of the feast to come, reddy trotted along swiftly.
presently he reached the little swamp in which was the hollow stump.
as he drew near it, he moved very carefully.
you see, he was not quite sure that all was safe.
he knew that the farmer from whom he had stolen that fat hen had seen him run away with it, and he feared that that farmer might be hiding somewhere about with a terrible gun.
so reddy used his eyes and his ears and his nose as only he can use them.
all seemed safe.
it was as still in that little swamp as if no living creature had ever visited it.
stopping every few steps to look, listen, and sniff, reddy approached that hollow stump.
quite certain in his own mind that there was no danger, reddy lightly leaped up on the old stump and peeped into the hollow in the top.
then he blinked his eyes very fast indeed.
if ever there has been a surprised fox in all the great world that one was reddy.
there was no fat hen in that hollow!
reddy could n't believe it.
he would n't believe it.
that fat hen just had to be there.
he blinked his eyes some more and looked again.
all he saw in that hollow stump was a feather.
the fat hen had vanished.
all reddy's dreams of a good dinner vanished too.
a great rage took their place.
somebody had stolen his fat hen!
reddy looked about him hurriedly and anxiously.
there was n't a sign of anybody about, or that anybody had been there.
reddy's anger began to give place to wonder and then to something very like fear.
how could anybody have taken that fat hen and left no trace?
and how could a fat hen with a broken neck disappear of its own accord?
it gave reddy a creepy feeling.
chapter xl where was reddy's dinner?
often it is better to look for a new trail than to waste time hunting for an old one.
bowser the hound.
reddy fox is used to all sorts of queer happenings.
yes, sir, he is used to all sorts of queer happenings, and as a rule reddy is seldom puzzled for long.
you see he is such a clever fellow himself that any one clever enough to fool him for long must be very clever indeed.
this time, however, all the cleverness of his sharp wits did him no good.
the fat hen he had hidden in a hollow stump had disappeared without leaving trace.
reddy's first thought was that probably the farmer from whom he had stolen the fat hen had found it and taken it away.
at once he began to use that wonderful nose of his searching for the scent of that farmer.
very carefully he sniffed all about the top of that old stump and inside the hollow.
there was n't the faintest scent of anybody there.
then he jumped down, and with his nose to the ground, ran all around the stump, sniffing, sniffing, sniffing.
the only thing he discovered was the scent of bowser the hound, and he knew that bowser had not taken that fat hen, because, as you remember, bowser had kept right on chasing him.
reddy began to feel afraid of that old stump.
people usually are afraid of mysterious things, and it certainly was very mysterious that a fat hen with a broken neck should disappear without leaving any trace at all.
reddy sat down at a little distance and did a lot of hard thinking.
he looked every which way even up in the tree tops, but all his looking was in vain.
it was so mysterious that if he had n't known positively that he was awake he would have thought it was all a dream.
but reddy is something of a philosopher.
that fat hen was gone, and there was no use in wasting time puzzling over it.
there were other fat hens where that one came from, and he would just have to catch another.
so reddy trotted through the swamp till he came to the edge of it.
there his keen nose found the scent of the farmer.
it did n't take him two minutes to discover that the farmer had followed bowser the hound to the edge of the swamp and then gone back.
eagerly reddy looked over to the farmyard for those fat hens.
they, too, had disappeared.
not one was to be seen.
but there was no mystery about the disappearance of these other fat hens.
he heard the muffled crow of the big rooster.
it came from the henhouse.
all those fat hens had been shut up.
it was perfectly plain to reddy that the farmer suspected reddy might return, and he did n't intend to lose another fat hen.
with a little yelp of disappointment, reddy turned his back on the farm and trotted off into the woods.
chapter xli what blacky the crow saw the greatest puzzle is simple enough when you know the answer.
bowser the hound.
there were just two people to whom the disappearance of that fat hen reddy fox had hidden in the hollow stump was not a mystery.
one of them was blacky the crow.
when the farmer and bowser the hound had rushed out at the sound of blacky's excited cawing, blacky had flown to the top of a tall tree from which he could see all that went on.
everything had happened just as blacky had hoped it would.
bowser had taken the trail of reddy fox, and blacky felt sure that sooner or later reddy would lead him back home to farmer brown's.
blacky was doubly pleased with himself.
he was pleased to think that he had found a way of getting bowser back home, and he was quite as much pleased because he had been smart enough to outwit reddy fox.
he did n't wish reddy any harm, and he felt sure that no harm would come to him.
he did n't even wish him to lose that dinner reddy had come so far to get, but he did n't care if reddy did lose it, if only his plan worked out as he hoped it would.
""i wonder what he'll do with that fat hen," muttered blacky, as he watched reddy race away with it thrown over his shoulders.
""he ca n't carry that hen far and keep out of the way of bowser.
i think i'll follow and see what he does with it."
so blacky followed, and his eyes twinkled when he saw reddy hide the fat hen in the hollow stump.
he knew that no matter how far bowser might chase reddy, reddy would come back for that fat hen, and he was rather glad to think that reddy would have that good dinner after all.
""no one will ever think to look in that hollow stump," thought blacky, "and i certainly will not tell any one.
reddy has earned that dinner.
now i think i'll go get something to eat myself."
at that very instant blacky's sharp eyes caught a glimpse of a gray form with broad wings, and in a perfect panic of fear blacky began to fly as fast as he knew how for a thick spruce-tree not far away.
he plunged in among the branches and hid in the thickest part he could find.
with little shivers of fear running all over him, he peeked out and watched that big gray form.
on broad wings it sailed over to that hollow stump.
two long legs with great curving claws reached down in, and a moment later that fat hen was disappearing over the tree tops.
blacky sighed with relief.
-lsb- illustration: on broad wings it sailed over to that hollow stump.
page 199.
-rsb- "it's a lucky thing for me that robber, mr. goshawk, saw reddy hide that fat hen," muttered blacky.
""if he had n't, he might have caught me, for i did n't see him at all."
chapter xlii all is well that ends well when things go wrong, just patient be until the end you plainly see.
for often things that seem all bad will end by making all hands glad.
bowser the hound.
reddy fox, trotting homeward, had nothing but bitterness in his heart, and nothing at all in his stomach.
he was tired and hungry and bitterly disappointed.
he was in a country with which he was not familiar, and so he did not know where to hunt, and he felt that he just must get something to eat.
do what he would, he could n't help thinking about that fat hen he had hidden and which had so mysteriously disappeared.
the more he thought of it, the worse he felt.
it was bad enough to be hungry and have no idea where the next meal was coming from, but it was many times worse to have had that meal and then lose it.
to reddy, everything was all wrong.
now on his way home ready had to pass several farms.
hunger made him bold, and at each farm he stole softly as near as possible to the farmyard, hoping that he might find more fat hens unguarded.
now it happened that that afternoon a farmer at one of these farms was preparing some chickens to be taken to market early the next morning.
he was picking these chickens in a shed attached to the barn.
he had several all picked when he was called to the house on an errand.
it happened that just after he had disappeared reddy fox came stealing around from behind the barn, and at once he smelled those chickens.
just imagine how reddy felt when he peeped in that shed and saw those fine chickens just waiting for him.
two minutes later reddy was racing back to the woods with one of them.
this time there was no dog behind him.
and in a little hollow reddy ate the finest dinner he ever had had.
you see there were no feathers to bother him on that chicken, for it had been picked.
when the last bit had disappeared, reddy once more started for home, and this time he was happy, for his stomach was full.
long before reddy got back to the old pasture farmer brown's boy and bowser the hound had reached home.
such a fuss as everybody did make over bowser.
it seemed as if each one at farmer brown's was trying to spoil bowser.
as for bowser himself, he was the happiest dog in all the great world.
blacky the crow got back to the green forest near farmer brown's just before jolly, round mr. sun went to bed.
blacky had found plenty to eat and he had seen no more of fierce mr. goshawk.
as blacky settled himself on his roost he heard from the direction of farmer brown's house a great voice.
it was the voice of bowser the hound trying to express his joy in being home.
blacky chuckled contentedly.
he, too, was happy, for it always makes one happy to have one's plans succeed.
""all's well that end's well," he chuckled, and closed his eyes sleepily.
blacky never could have fooled old granny fox as he did reddy.
she is far too smart to be fooled even by so clever a scamp as blacky.
she is so smart that she deserves a book all her own, and so the next volume in this series will be old granny fox.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___lightfoot_the_deer.txt.out
chapter i: peter rabbit meets lightfoot peter rabbit was on his way back from the pond of paddy the beaver deep in the green forest.
he had just seen mr. and mrs. quack start toward the big river for a brief visit before leaving on their long, difficult journey to the far-away southland.
farewells are always rather sad, and this particular farewell had left peter with a lump in his throat, -- a queer, choky feeling.
""if i were sure that they would return next spring, it would n't be so bad," he muttered.
""it's those terrible guns.
i know what it is to have to watch out for them.
farmer brown's boy used to hunt me with one of them, but he does n't any more.
but even when he did hunt me it was n't anything like what the ducks have to go through.
if i kept my eyes and ears open, i could tell when a hunter was coming and could hide in a hole if i wanted to.
i never had to worry about my meals.
but with the ducks it is a thousand times worse.
they've got to eat while making that long journey, and they can eat only where there is the right kind of food.
hunters with terrible guns know where those places are and hide there until the ducks come, and the ducks have no way of knowing whether the hunters are waiting for them or not.
that is n't hunting.
it's -- it's --" "well, what is it?
what are you talking to yourself about, peter rabbit?"
peter looked up with a start to find the soft, beautiful eyes of lightfoot the deer gazing down at him over the top of a little hemlock tree.
""it's awful," declared peter.
""it's worse than unfair.
it does n't give them any chance at all."
""i suppose it must be so if you say so," replied lightfoot, "but you might tell me what all this awfulness is about."
peter grinned.
then he began at the beginning and told lightfoot all about mr. and mrs. quack and the many dangers they must face on their long journey to the far-away southland and back again in the spring, all because of the heartless hunters with terrible guns.
lightfoot listened and his great soft eyes were filled with pity for the quack family.
""i hope they will get through all right," said he, "and i hope they will get back in the spring.
it is bad enough to be hunted by men at one time of the year, as no one knows better than i do, but to be hunted in the spring as well as in the fall is more than twice as bad.
men are strange creatures.
i do not understand them at all.
none of the people of the green forest would think of doing such terrible things.
i suppose it is quite right to hunt others in order to get enough to eat, though i am thankful to say that i never have had to do that, but to hunt others just for the fun of hunting is something i can not understand at all.
and yet that is what men seem to do it for.
i guess the trouble is they never have been hunted themselves and do n't know how it feels.
sometimes i think i'll hunt one some day just to teach him a lesson.
what are you laughing at, peter?"
""at the idea of you hunting a man," replied peter.
""your heart is all right, lightfoot, but you are too timid and gentle to frighten any one.
big as you are i would n't fear you."
with a single swift bound lightfoot sprang out in front of peter.
he stamped his sharp hoofs, lowered his handsome head until the sharp points of his antlers, which people call horns, pointed straight at peter, lifted the hair along the back of his neck, and made a motion as if to plunge at him.
his eyes, which peter had always thought so soft and gentle, seemed to flash fire.
""oh!"
cried peter in a faint, frightened-sounding voice and leaped to one side before it entered his foolish little head that lightfoot was just pretending.
lightfoot chuckled.
""did you say i could n't frighten any one?"
he demanded.
""i -- i did n't know you could look so terribly fierce," stammered peter.
""those antlers look really dangerous when you point them that way.
why -- why -- what is that hanging to them?
it looks like bits of old fur.
have you been tearing somebody's coat, lightfoot?"
peter's eyes were wide with wonder and suspicion.
chapter ii: lightfoot's new antlers peter rabbit was puzzled.
he stared at lightfoot the deer a wee bit suspiciously.
""have you been tearing somebody's coat?"
he asked again.
he did n't like to think it of lightfoot, whom he always had believed quite as gentle, harmless, and timid as himself.
but what else could he think?
lightfoot slowly shook his head.
""no," said he, "i have n't torn anybody's coat."
""then what are those rags hanging on your antlers?"
demanded peter.
lightfoot chuckled.
""they are what is left of the coverings of my new antlers," he explained.
""what's that?
what do you mean by new antlers?"
peter was sitting up very straight, with his eyes fixed on lightfoot's antlers as though he never had seen them before.
""just what i said," retorted lightfoot.
""what do you think of them?
i think they are the finest antlers i've ever had.
when i get the rest of those rags off, they will be as handsome a set as ever was grown in the green forest."
lightfoot rubbed his antlers against the trunk of a tree till some of the rags hanging to them dropped off.
peter blinked very hard.
he was trying to understand and he could n't.
finally he said so.
""what kind of a story are you trying to fill me up with?"
he demanded indignantly.
""do you mean to tell me that those are not the antlers that you have had as long as i've known you?
how can anything hard like those antlers grow?
and if those are new ones, where are the old ones?
show me the old ones, and perhaps i'll believe that these are new ones.
the idea of trying to make me believe that antlers grow just like plants!
i've seen bossy the cow all summer and i know she has got the same horns she had last summer.
new antlers indeed!"
""you are quite right, peter, quite right about bossy the cow.
she never has new horns, but that is n't any reason why i should n't have new antlers, is it?"
replied lightfoot patiently.
""her horns are quite different from my antlers.
i have a new pair every year.
you have n't seen me all summer, have you, peter?"
""no, i do n't remember that i have," replied peter, trying very hard to remember when he had last seen lightfoot.
""i know you have n't," retorted lightfoot.
""i know it because i have been hiding in a place you never visit."
""what have you been hiding for?"
demanded peter.
""for my new antlers to grow," replied lightfoot.
""when my new antlers are growing, i want to be away by myself.
i do n't like to be seen without them or with halfgrown ones.
besides, i am very uncomfortable while the new antlers are growing and i want to be alone."
lightfoot spoke as if he really meant every word he said, but still peter could n't, he just could n't believe that those wonderful great antlers had grown out of lightfoot's head in a single summer.
""where did you leave your old ones and when did they come off?"
he asked, and there was doubt in the very tone of his voice.
""they dropped off last spring, but i do n't remember just where," replied lightfoot.
""i was too glad to be rid of them to notice where they dropped.
you see they were loose and uncomfortable, and i had n't any more use for them because i knew that my new ones would be bigger and better.
i've got one more point on each than i had last year."
lightfoot began once more to rub his antlers against the tree to get off the queer rags hanging to them and to polish the points.
peter watched in silence for a few minutes.
then, all his suspicions returning, he said: "but you have n't told me anything about those rags hanging to your antlers."
""and you have n't believed what i have already told you," retorted lightfoot.
""i do n't like telling things to people who wo n't believe me."
chapter iii: lightfoot tells how his antlers grew it is hard to believe what seems impossible.
and yet what seems impossible to you may be a very commonplace matter to some one else.
so it does not do to say that a thing can not be possible just because you can not understand how it can be.
peter rabbit wanted to believe what lightfoot the deer had just told him, but somehow he could n't.
if he had seen those antlers growing, it would have been another matter.
but he had n't seen lightfoot since the very last of winter, and then lightfoot had worn just such handsome antlers as he now had.
so peter really could n't be blamed for not being able to believe that those old ones had been lost and in their place new ones had grown in just the few months of spring and summer.
but peter did n't blame lightfoot in the least, because he had told peter that he did n't like to tell things to people who would n't believe what he told them when peter had asked him about the rags hanging to his antlers.
""i'm trying to believe it," he said, quite humbly.
""it's all true," broke in another voice.
peter jumped and turned to find his big cousin, jumper the hare.
unseen and unheard, he had stolen up and had overheard what peter and lightfoot had said.
""how do you know it is true?"
snapped peter a little crossly, for jumper had startled him.
""because i saw lightfoot's old antlers after they had fallen off, and i often saw lightfoot while his new ones were growing," retorted jumper.
""all right!
i'll believe anything that lightfoot tells me if you say it is true," declared peter, who greatly admires his cousin, jumper.
""now tell me about those rags, lightfoot.
please do."
lightfoot could n't resist that "please."
""those rags are what is left of a kind of covering which protected the antlers while they were growing, as i told you before," said he.
""very soon after my old ones dropped off the new ones began to grow.
they were not hard, not at all like they are now.
they were soft and very tender, and the blood ran through them just as it does through our bodies.
they were covered with a sort of skin with hairs on it like thin fur.
the ends were not sharply pointed they now are, but were big and rounded, like knobs.
they were not like antlers at all, and they made my head hot and were very uncomfortable.
that is why i hid away.
they grew very fast, so fast that every day i could see by looking at my reflection in water that they were a little longer.
it seemed to me sometimes as if all my strength went into those new antlers.
and i had to be very careful not to hit them against anything.
in the first place it would have hurt, and in the second place it might have spoiled the shape of them.
""when they had grown to the length you now see, they began to shrink and grow hard.
the knobs on the ends shrank until they became pointed.
as soon as they stopped growing the blood stopped flowing up in them, and as they became hard they were no longer tender.
the skin which had covered them grew dry and split, and i rubbed it off on trees and bushes.
the little rags you see are what is left, but i will soon be rid of those.
then i shall be ready to fight if need be and will fear no one save man, and will fear him only when he has a terrible gun with him."
lightfoot tossed his head proudly and rattled his wonderful antlers against the nearest tree.
""is n't he handsome," whispered peter to jumper the hare; "and did you ever hear of anything so wonderful as the growing of those new antlers in such a short time?
it is hard to believe, but i suppose it must be true."
""it is," replied jumper, "and i tell you, peter, i would hate to have lightfoot try those antlers on me, even though i were big as a man.
you've always thought of lightfoot as timid and afraid, but you should see him when he is angry.
few people care to face him then."
chapter iv: the spirit of fear when the days grow cold and the nights are clear, there stalks abroad the spirit of fear.
-- lightfoot the deer.
it is sad but true.
autumn is often called the sad time of the year, and it is the sad time.
but it should n't be.
old mother nature never intended that it should be.
she meant it to be the glad time.
it is the time when all the little people of the green forest and the green meadows have got over the cares and worries of bringing up families and teaching their children how to look out for themselves.
it is the season when food is plentiful, and every one is fat and is, or ought to be, care free.
it is the season when old mother nature intended all her little people to be happy, to have nothing to worry them for the little time before the coming of cold weather and the hard times which cold weather always brings.
but instead of this, a grim, dark figure goes stalking over the green meadows and through the green forest, and it is called the spirit of fear.
it peers into every hiding-place and wherever it finds one of the little people it sends little cold chills over him, little chills which jolly, round, bright mr. sun can not chase away, though he shine his brightest.
all night as well as all day the spirit of fear searches out the little people of the green meadows and the green forest.
it will not let them sleep.
it will not let them eat in peace.
it drives them to seek new hiding-places and then drives them out of those.
it keeps them ever ready to fly or run at the slightest sound.
peter rabbit was thinking of this as he sat at the edge of the dear old briar-patch, looking over to the green forest.
the green forest was no longer just green; it was of many colors, for old mother nature had set jack frost to painting the leaves of the maple-trees and the beech-trees, and the birch-trees and the poplar-trees and the chestnut-trees, and he had done his work well.
very, very lovely were the reds and yellows and browns against the dark green of the pines and the spruces and the hemlocks.
the purple hills were more softly purple than at any other season of the year.
it was all very, very beautiful.
but peter had no thought for the beauty of it all, for the spirit of fear had visited even the dear old briar-patch, and peter was afraid.
it was n't fear of reddy fox, or redtail the hawk, or hooty the owl, or old man coyote.
they were forever trying to catch him, but they did not strike terror to his heart because he felt quite smart enough to keep out of their clutches.
to be sure, they gave him sudden frights sometimes, when they happened to surprise him, but these frights lasted only until he reached the nearest bramble-tangle or hollow log where they could not get at him.
but the fear that chilled his heart now never left him even for a moment.
and peter knew that this same fear was clutching at the hearts of bob white, hiding in the brown stubble; of mrs. grouse, squatting in the thickest bramble-tangle in the green forest; of uncle billy possum and bobby coon in their hollow trees; of jerry muskrat in the smiling pool; of happy jack squirrel, hiding in the tree tops; of lightfoot the deer, lying in the closest thicket he could find.
it was even clutching at the hearts of granny and reddy fox and of great, big buster bear.
it seemed to peter that no one was so big or so small that this terrible spirit of fear had not searched him out.
far in the distance sounded a sudden bang.
peter jumped and shivered.
he knew that every one else who had heard that bang had jumped and shivered just as he had.
it was the season of hunters with terrible guns.
it was man who had sent this terrible spirit of fear to chill the hearts of the little meadow and forest people at this very time when old mother nature had made all things so beautiful and had intended that they should be happiest and most free from care and worry.
it was man who had made the autumn a sad time instead of a glad time, the very saddest time of all the year, when old mother nature had done her best to make it the most beautiful.
""i do n't understand these men creatures," said peter to little mrs. peter, as they stared fearfully out from the dear old briar-patch.
""they seem to find pleasure, actually find pleasure, in trying to kill us.
i do n't understand them at all.
they have n't any hearts.
that must be the reason; they have n't any hearts."
chapter v: sammy jay brings lightfoot word sammy jay is one of those who believe in the wisdom of the old saying, "early to bed and early to rise."
sammy needs no alarm clock to get up early in the morning.
he is awake as soon as it is light enough to see and wastes no time wishing he could sleep a little longer.
his stomach would n't let him if he wanted to.
sammy always wakes up hungry.
in this he is no different from all his feathered neighbors.
so the minute sammy gets his eyes open he makes his toilet, for sammy is very neat, and starts out to hunt for his breakfast.
long ago sammy discovered that there is no safer time of day to visit the dooryards of those two-legged creatures called men than very early in the morning.
on this particular morning he had planned to fly over to farmer brown's dooryard, but at the last minute he changed his mind.
instead, he flew over to the dooryard of another farm.
it was so very early in the morning that sammy did n't expect to find anybody stirring, so you can guess how surprised he was when, just as he came in sight of that dooryard, he saw the door of the house open and a man step out.
sammy stopped on the top of the nearest tree.
""now what is that man doing up as early as this?"
muttered sammy.
then he caught sight of something under the man's arm.
he did n't have to look twice to know what it was.
it was a gun!
yes, sir, it was a gun, a terrible gun.
""ha!"
exclaimed sammy, and quite forgot that his stomach was empty.
""now who can that fellow be after so early in the morning?
i wonder if he is going to the dear old briar-patch to look for peter rabbit, or if he is going to the old pasture in search of reddy fox, or if it is mr. and mrs. grouse he hopes to kill.
i think i'll sit right here and watch."
so sammy sat in the top of the tree and watched the hunter with the terrible gun.
he saw him head straight for the green forest.
""it's mr. and mrs. grouse after all, i guess," thought sammy.
""if i knew just where they were i'd go over and warn them."
but sammy did n't know just where they were and he knew that it might take him a long time to find them, so he once more began to think of breakfast and then, right then, another thought popped into his head.
he thought of lightfoot the deer.
sammy watched the hunter enter the green forest, then he silently followed him.
from the way the hunter moved, sammy decided that he was n't thinking of mr. and mrs. grouse.
""it's lightfoot the deer, sure as i live," muttered sammy.
""he ought to be warned.
he certainly ought to be warned.
i know right where he is.
i believe i'll warn him myself."
sammy found lightfoot right where he had expected to.
""he's coming!"
cried sammy.
""a hunter with a terrible gun is coming!"
chapter vi: a game of hide and seek there was a game of hide and seek that danny meadow mouse once played with buster bear.
it was a very dreadful game for danny.
but hard as it was for danny, it did n't begin to be as hard as the game lightfoot the deer was playing with the hunter in the green forest.
in the case of buster bear and danny, the latter had simply to keep out of reach of buster.
as long as buster did n't get his great paws on danny, the latter was safe.
then, too, danny is a very small person.
he is so small that he can hide under two or three leaves.
wherever he is, he is pretty sure to find a hiding-place of some sort.
his small size gives him advantages in a game of hide and seek.
it certainly does.
but lightfoot the deer is big.
he is one of the largest of the people who live in the green forest.
being so big, it is not easy to hide.
moreover, a hunter with a terrible gun does not have to get close in order to kill.
lightfoot knew all this as he waited for the coming of the hunter of whom sammy jay had warned him.
he had learned many lessons in the hunting season of the year before and he remembered every one of them.
he knew that to forget even one of them might cost him his life.
so, standing motionless behind a tangle of fallen trees, lightfoot listened and watched.
presently over in the distance he heard sammy jay screaming, "thief, thief, thief!"
a little sigh of relief escaped lightfoot.
he knew that that screaming of sammy jay's was a warning to tell him where the hunter was.
knowing just where the hunter was made it easier for lightfoot to know what to do.
a merry little breeze came stealing through the green forest.
it came from behind lightfoot and danced on towards the hunter with the terrible gun.
instantly lightfoot began to steal softly away through the green forest.
he took the greatest care to make no sound.
he went in a half-circle, stopping every few steps to listen and test the air with his wonderful nose.
can you guess what lightfoot was trying to do?
he was trying to get behind the hunter so that the merry little breezes would bring to him the dreaded man-scent.
so long as lightfoot could get that scent, he would know where the hunter was, though he could neither see nor hear him.
if he had remained where sammy jay had found him, the hunter might have come within shooting distance before lightfoot could have located him.
so the hunter with the terrible gun walked noiselessly through the green forest, stepping with the greatest care to avoid snapping a stick underfoot, searching with keen eye every thicket and likely hiding-place for a glimpse of lightfoot, and studying the ground for traces to show that lightfoot had been there.
chapter vii: the merry little breezes help lightfoot could you have seen the hunter with the terrible gun and lightfoot the deer that morning on which the hunting season opened you might have thought that lightfoot was hunting the hunter instead of the hunter hunting lightfoot.
you see, lightfoot was behind the hunter instead of in front of him.
he was following the hunter, so as to keep track of him.
as long as he knew just where the hunter was, he felt reasonably safe.
the merry little breezes are lightfoot's best friends.
they always bring to him all the different scents they find as they wander through the green forest.
and lightfoot's delicate nose is so wonderful that he can take these scents, even though they be very faint, and tell just who or what has made them.
so, though he makes the best possible use of his big ears and his beautiful eyes, he trusts more to his nose to warn him of danger.
for this reason, during the hunting season when he moves about, he moves in the direction from which the merry little breezes may be blowing.
he knows that they will bring to him warning of any danger which may lie in that direction.
now the hunter with the terrible gun who was looking for lightfoot knew all this, for he was wise in the ways of lightfoot and of the other little people of the green forest.
when he had entered the green forest that morning he had first of all made sure of the direction from which the merry little breezes were coming.
then he had begun to hunt in that direction, knowing that thus his scent would be carried behind him.
it is more than likely that he would have reached the hiding-place of lightfoot the deer before the latter would have known that he was in the green forest, had it not been for sammy jay's warning.
when he reached the tangle of fallen trees behind which lightfoot had been hiding, he worked around it slowly and with the greatest care, holding his terrible gun ready to use instantly should lightfoot leap out.
presently he found lightfoot's footprints in the soft ground and studying them he knew that lightfoot had known of his coming.
""it was that confounded jay," muttered the hunter.
""lightfoot heard him and knew what it meant.
i know what he has done; he has circled round so as to get behind me and get my scent.
it is a clever trick, a very clever trick, but two can play at that game.
i'll just try that little trick myself."
so the hunter in his turn made a wide circle back, and presently there was none of the dreaded man-smell among the scents which the merry little breezes brought to lightfoot.
lightfoot had lost track of the hunter.
chapter viii: wit against wit it was a dreadful game the hunter with the terrible gun and lightfoot the deer were playing in the green forest.
it was a matching of wit against wit, the hunter seeking to take lightfoot's life, and lightfoot seeking to save it.
the experience of other years had taught lightfoot much of the ways of hunters and not one of the things he had learned about them was forgotten.
but the hunter in his turn knew much of the ways of deer.
so it was that each was trying his best to outguess the other.
when the hunter found the hiding-place lightfoot had left at the warning of sammy jay he followed lightfoot's tracks for a short distance.
it was slow work, and only one whose eyes had been trained to notice little things could have done it.
you see, there was no snow, and only now and then, when he had stepped on a bit of soft ground, had lightfoot left a footprint.
but there were other signs which the hunter knew how to read, -- a freshly upturned leaf here, and here, a bit of moss lightly crushed.
these things told the hunter which way lightfoot had gone.
slowly, patiently, watchfully, the hunter followed.
after a while he stopped with a satisfied grin.
""i thought as much," he muttered.
""he heard that pesky jay and circled around so as to get my scent.
i'll just cut across to my old trail and unless i am greatly mistaken, i'll find his tracks there."
so, swiftly but silently, the hunter cut across to his old trail, and in a few moments he found just what he expected, -- one of lightfoot's footprints.
once more he grinned.
""well, old fellow, i've outguessed you this time," said he to himself.
""i am behind you and the wind is from you to me, so that you can not get my scent.
i would n't be a bit surprised if you're back right where you started from, behind that old windfall."
he at once began to move forward silently and cautiously, with eyes and ears alert and his terrible gun ready for instant use.
now when lightfoot, following behind the hunter, had lost the scent of the latter, he guessed right away that the latter had found his tracks and had started to follow them.
lightfoot stood still and listened with all his might for some little sound to tell him where the hunter was.
but there was no sound and after a little lightfoot began to move on.
he did n't dare remain still, lest the hunter should creep up within shooting distance.
there was only one direction in which it was safe for lightfoot to move, and that was the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing.
so long as they brought him none of the dreaded man-smell, he knew that he was safe.
the hunter might be behind him -- probably he was -- but ahead of him, so long as the merry little breezes were blowing in his face and brought no man-smell, was safety.
chapter ix: lightfoot becomes uncertain lightfoot the deer traveled on through the green forest, straight ahead in the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing.
every few steps he would raise his delicate nose and test all the scents that the merry little breezes were bringing.
so long as he kept the merry little breezes blowing in his face, he could be sure whether or not there was danger ahead of him.
lightfoot uses his nose very much as you and i use our eyes.
it tells him the things he wants to know.
he knew that reddy fox had been along ahead of him, although he did n't get so much as a glimpse of reddy's red coat.
once he caught just the faintest of scents which caused him to stop abruptly and test the air more carefully than ever.
it was the scent of buster bear.
but it was so very faint that lightfoot knew buster was not near, so he went ahead again, but even more carefully than before.
after a little he could n't smell buster at all, so he knew then that buster had merely passed that way when he was going to some other part of the green forest.
lightfoot knew that he had nothing to fear in that direction so long as the merry little breezes brought him none of the dreaded man-scent, and he knew that he could trust the merry little breezes to bring him that scent if there should be a man anywhere in front of him.
you know the merry little breezes are lightfoot's best friends.
but lightfoot did n't want to keep going in that direction all day.
it would take him far away from that part of the green forest with which he was familiar and which he called home.
it might in time take him out of the green forest and that would n't do at all.
so after a while lightfoot became uncertain.
he did n't know just what to do.
you see, he could n't tell whether or not that hunter with the terrible gun was still following him.
every once in a while he would stop in a thicket of young trees or behind a tangle of fallen trees uprooted by the wind.
there he would stand, facing the direction from which he had come, and watch and listen for some sign that the hunter was still following.
but after a few minutes of this he would grow uneasy and then bound away in the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing, so as to be sure of not running into danger.
""if only i could know if that hunter is still following, i would know better what to do," thought lightfoot.
""i've got to find out."
chapter x: lightfoot's clever trick lightfoot the deer is smart.
yes, sir, lightfoot the deer is smart.
he has to be, especially in the hunting season, to save his life.
if he were not smart he would have been killed long ago.
he never makes the foolish mistake of thinking that other people are not smart.
he knew that the hunter who had started out to follow him early that morning was not one to be easily discouraged or to be fooled by simple tricks.
he had a very great respect for the smartness of that hunter.
he knew that he could n't afford to be careless for one little minute.
the certainty of danger is sometimes easier to bear than the uncertainty of not knowing whether or not there really is any danger.
lightfoot felt that if he could know just where the hunter was, he himself would know better what to do.
the hunter might have become discouraged and given up following him.
in that case he could rest and stop worrying.
it would be better to know that he was being followed than not to know.
but how was he to find out?
lightfoot kept turning this over and over in his mind as he traveled through the green forest.
then an idea came to him.
""i know what i'll do.
i know just what i'll do," said lightfoot to himself.
""i'll find out whether or not that hunter is still following me and i'll get a little rest.
goodness knows, i need a rest."
lightfoot bounded away swiftly and ran for some distance, then he turned and quickly, but very, very quietly, returned in the direction from which he had just come but a little to one side of his old trail.
after a while he saw what he was looking for, a pile of branches which woodchoppers had left when they had trimmed the trees they had cut down.
this was near the top of a little hill.
lightfoot went up the hill and stopped behind the pile of brush.
for a few moments he stood there perfectly still, looking and listening.
then, with a little sigh of relief, he lay down, where, without being in any danger of being seen himself, he could watch his old trail through the hollow at the bottom of the hill.
if the hunter were still following him, he would pass through that hollow in plain sight.
for a long tune lightfoot rested comfortably behind the pile of brush.
there was not a suspicious movement or a suspicious sound to show that danger was abroad in the green forest.
he saw mr. and mrs. grouse fly down across the hollow and disappear among the trees on the other side.
he saw unc" billy possum looking over a hollow tree and guessed that unc" billy was getting ready to go into winter quarters.
he saw jumper the hare squat down under a low-hanging branch of a hemlock-tree and prepare to take a nap.
he heard drummer the woodpecker at work drilling after worms in a tree not far away.
little by little lightfoot grew easy in his mind.
it must be that that hunter had become discouraged and was no longer following him.
chapter xi: the hunted watches the hunter it was so quiet and peaceful and altogether lovely there in the green forest, where lightfoot the deer lay resting behind a pile of brush near the top of a little hill, that it did n't seem possible such a thing as sudden death could be anywhere near.
it did n't seem possible that there could be any need for watchfulness.
but lightfoot long ago had learned that often danger is nearest when it seems least to be expected.
so, though he would have liked very much to have taken a nap, lightfoot was too wise to do anything so foolish.
he kept his beautiful, great, soft eyes fixed in the direction from which the hunter with the terrible gun would come if he were still following that trail.
he kept his great ears gently moving to catch every little sound.
lightfoot had about decided that the hunter had given up hunting for that day, but he did n't let this keep him from being any the less watchful.
it was better to be overwatchful than the least bit careless.
by and by, lightfoot's keen ears caught the sound of the snapping of a little stick in the distance.
it was so faint a sound that you or i would have missed it altogether.
but lightfoot heard it and instantly he was doubly alert, watching in the direction from which that faint sound had come.
after what seemed a long, long time he saw something moving, and a moment later a man came into view.
it was the hunter and across one arm he carried the terrible gun.
lightfoot knew now that this hunter had patience and perseverance and had not yet given up hope of getting near enough to shoot lightfoot.
he moved forward slowly, setting each foot down with the greatest care, so as not to snap a stick or rustle the leaves.
he was watching sharply ahead, ready to shoot should he catch a glimpse of lightfoot within range.
right along through the hollow at the foot of the little hill below lightfoot the hunter passed.
he was no longer studying the ground for lightfoot's tracks, because the ground was so hard and dry down there that lightfoot had left no tracks.
he was simply hunting in the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing because he knew that lightfoot had gone in that direction, and he also knew that if lightfoot were still ahead of him, his scent could not be carried to lightfoot.
he was doing what is called "hunting up-wind."
lightfoot kept perfectly still and watched the hunter disappear among the trees.
then he silently got to his feet, shook himself lightly, and noiselessly stole away over the hilltop towards another part of the green forest.
he felt sure that that hunter would not find him again that day.
chapter xii: lightfoot visits paddy the beaver deep in the green forest is the pond where lives paddy the beaver.
it is paddy's own pond, for he made it himself.
he made it by building a dam across the laughing brook.
when lightfoot bounded away through the green forest, after watching the hunter pass through the hollow below him, he remembered paddy's pond.
""that's where i'll go," thought lightfoot.
""it is such a lonesome part of the green forest that i do not believe that hunter will come there.
i'll just run over and make paddy a friendly call."
so lightfoot bounded along deeper and deeper into the green forest.
presently through the trees he caught the gleam of water.
it was paddy's pond.
lightfoot approached it cautiously.
he felt sure he was rid of the hunter who had followed him so far that day, but he knew that there might be other hunters in the green forest.
he knew that he could n't afford to be careless for even one little minute.
lightfoot had lived long enough to know that most of the sad things and dreadful things that happen in the green forest and on the green meadows are due to carelessness.
no one who is hunted, be he big or little, can afford ever to be careless.
now lightfoot had known of hunters hiding near water, hoping to shoot him when he came to drink.
that always seemed to lightfoot a dreadful thing, an unfair thing.
but hunters had done it before and they might do it again.
so lightfoot was careful to approach paddy's pond upwind.
that is, he approached the side of the pond from which the merry little breezes were blowing toward him, and all the time he kept his nose working.
he knew that if any hunters were hidden there, the merry little breezes would bring him their scent and thus warn him.
he had almost reached the edge of paddy's pond when from the farther shore there came a sudden crash.
it startled lightfoot terribly for just an instant.
then he guessed what it meant.
that crash was the falling of a tree.
there was n't enough wind to blow over even the most shaky dead tree.
there had been no sound of axes, so he knew it could not have been chopped down by men.
it must be that paddy the beaver had cut it, and if paddy had been working in daylight, it was certain that no one had been around that pond for a long time.
so lightfoot hurried forward eagerly, cautiously.
when he reached the bank he looked across towards where the sound of that falling tree had come from; a branch of a tree was moving along in the water and half hidden by it was a brown head.
it was paddy the beaver taking the branch to his food pile.
chapter xiii: lightfoot and paddy become partners the instant lightfoot saw paddy the beaver he knew that for the time being, at least, there was no danger.
he knew that paddy is one of the shyest of all the little people of the green forest and that when he is found working in the daytime it means that he has been undisturbed for a long time; otherwise he would work only at night.
paddy saw lightfoot almost as soon as he stepped out on the bank.
he kept right on swimming with the branch of a poplar-tree until he reached his food pile, which, you know, is in the water.
there he forced the branch down until it was held by other branches already sunken in the pond.
this done, he swam over to where lightfoot was watching.
""hello, lightfoot!"
he exclaimed.
""you are looking handsomer than ever.
how are you feeling these fine autumn days?"
""anxious," replied lightfoot.
""i am feeling terribly anxious.
do you know what day this is?"
""no," replied paddy, "i do n't know what day it is, and i do n't particularly care.
it is enough for me that it is one of the finest days we've had for a long time."
""i wish i could feel that way," said lightfoot wistfully.
""i wish i could feel that way, paddy, but i ca n't.
no, sir, i ca n't.
you see, this is the first of the most dreadful days in all the year for me.
the hunters started looking for me before mr. sun was really out of bed.
at least one hunter did, and i do n't doubt there are others.
i fooled that one, but from now to the end of the hunting season there will not be a single moment of daylight when i will feel absolutely safe."
paddy crept out on the bank and chewed a little twig of poplar thoughtfully.
paddy says he can always think better if he is chewing something.
""that's bad news, lightfoot.
i'm sorry to hear it.
i certainly am sorry to hear it," said paddy.
""why anybody wants to hunt such a handsome fellow as you are, i can not understand.
my, but that's a beautiful set of antlers you have!"
""they are the best i've ever had; but do you know, paddy, i suspect that they may be one of the reasons i am hunted so," replied lightfoot a little sadly.
""good looks are not always to be desired.
have you seen any hunters around here lately?"
paddy shook his lead.
""not a single hunter," he replied.
""i tell you what it is, lightfoot, let's be partners for a while.
you stay right around my pond.
if i see or hear or smell anything suspicious, i'll warn you.
you do the same for me.
two sets of eyes, ears and noses are better than one.
what do you say, lightfoot?"
""i'll do it," replied lightfoot.
chapter xiv: how paddy warned lightfoot it was a queer partnership, that partnership between lightfoot and paddy, but it was a good partnership.
they had been the best of friends for a long time.
paddy had always been glad to have lightfoot visit his pond.
to tell the truth, he was rather fond of handsome lightfoot.
you know paddy is himself not at all handsome.
on land he is a rather clumsy-looking fellow and really homely.
so he admired lightfoot greatly.
that is one reason why he proposed that they be partners.
lightfoot himself thought the idea a splendid one.
he spent that night browsing not far from paddy's pond.
with the coming of daylight he lay down in a thicket of young hemlock-trees near the upper end of the pond.
it was a quiet, peaceful day.
it was so quiet and peaceful and beautiful it was hard to believe that hunters with terrible guns were searching the green forest for beautiful lightfoot.
but they were, and lightfoot knew that sooner or later one of them would be sure to visit paddy's pond.
so, though he rested and took short naps all through that beautiful day, he was anxious.
he could n't help but be.
the next morning found lightfoot back in the same place.
but this morning he took no naps.
he rested, but all the time he was watchful and alert.
a feeling of uneasiness possessed him.
he felt in his bones that danger in the shape of a hunter with a terrible gun was not far distant.
but the hours slipped away, and little by little he grew less uneasy.
he began to hope that that day would prove as peaceful as the previous day had been.
then suddenly there was a sharp report from the farther end of paddy's pond.
it was almost like a pistol shot.
however, it was n't a pistol shot.
it was n't a shot at all.
it was the slap of paddy's broad tail on the surface of the water.
instantly lightfoot was on his feet.
he knew just what that meant.
he knew that paddy had seen or heard or smelled a hunter.
it was even so.
paddy had heard a dry stick snap.
it was a very tiny snap, but it was enough to warn paddy.
with only his head above water he had watched in the direction from which that sound had come.
presently, stealing quietly along towards the pond, a hunter had come in view.
instantly paddy had brought his broad tail down on the water with all his force.
he knew that lightfoot would know that that meant danger.
then paddy had dived, and swimming under water, had sought the safety of his house.
he had done his part, and there was nothing more he could do.
chapter xv: the three watchers when paddy the beaver slapped the water with his broad tail, making a noise like a pistol shot, lightfoot understood that this was meant as a warning of danger.
he was on his feet instantly, with eyes, ears and nose seeking the cause of paddy's warning.
after a moment or two he stole softly up to the top of a little ridge some distance back from paddy's pond, but from the top of which he could see the whole of the pond.
there he hid among some close-growing young hemlock-trees.
it was n't long before he saw a hunter with a terrible gun come down to the shore of the pond.
now the hunter had heard paddy slap the water with his broad tail.
of course.
there would have been something very wrong with his ears had he failed to hear it.
""confound that beaver!"
muttered the hunter crossly.
""if there was a deer anywhere around this pond, he probably is on his way now.
i'll have a look around and see if there are any signs."
so the hunter went on to the edge of paddy's pond and then began to walk around it, studying the ground as he walked.
presently he found the footprints of lightfoot in the mud where lightfoot had gone down to the pond to drink.
""i thought as much," muttered the hunter.
""those tracks were made last night.
that deer probably was lying down somewhere near here, and i might have had a shot but for that pesky beaver.
i'll just look the land over, and then i think i'll wait here awhile.
if that deer is n't too badly scared, he may come back."
so the hunter went quite around the pond, looking into all likely hiding-places.
he found where lightfoot had been lying, and he knew that in all probability lightfoot had been there when paddy gave the danger signal.
""it's of no use for me to try to follow him," thought the hunter.
""it is too dry for me to track him.
he may not be so badly scared, after all.
i'll just find a good place and wait."
so the hunter found an old log behind some small trees and there sat down.
he could see all around paddy's pond.
he sat perfectly still.
he was a clever hunter and he knew that so long as he did not move he was not likely to be noticed by any sharp eyes that might come that way.
what he did n't know was that lightfoot had been watching him all the time and was even then standing where he could see him.
and another thing he did n't know was that paddy the beaver had come out of his house and, swimming under water, had reached a hiding-place on the opposite shore from which he too had seen the hunter sit down on the log.
so the hunter watched for lightfoot, and lightfoot and paddy watched the hunter.
chapter xvi: visitors to paddy's pond that hunter was a man of patience.
also he was a man who understood the little people of the green forest and the green meadows.
he knew that if he would not be seen he must not move.
so he did n't move.
he kept as motionless as if he were a part of the very log on which he was sitting.
for some time there was no sign of any living thing.
then, from over the tree tops in the direction of the big river, came the whistle of swift wings, and mr. and mrs. quack alighted with a splash in the pond.
for a few moments they sat on the water, a picture of watchful suspicion.
they were looking and listening to make sure that no danger was near.
satisfied at last, they began to clean their feathers.
it was plain that they felt safe.
paddy the beaver was tempted to warn them that they were not as safe as they thought, but as long as the hunter did not move paddy decided to wait.
now the hunter was sorely tempted to shoot these ducks, but he knew that if he did he would have no chance that day to get lightfoot the deer, and it was lightfoot he wanted.
so mr. and mrs. quack swam about within easy range of that terrible gun without once suspecting that danger was anywhere near.
by and by the hunter's keen eyes caught a movement at one end of paddy's dam.
an instant later bobby coon appeared.
it was clear that bobby was quite unsuspicious.
he carried something, but just what the hunter could not make out.
he took it down to the edge of the water and there carefully washed it.
then he climbed up on paddy's dam and began to eat.
you know bobby coon is very particular about his food.
whenever there is water near, bobby washes his food before eating.
once more the hunter was tempted, but did not yield to the temptation, which was a very good thing for bobby coon.
all this lightfoot saw as he stood among the little hemlock-trees at the top of the ridge behind the hunter.
he saw and he understood.
""it is because he wants to kill me that he does n't shoot at mr. and mrs. quack or bobby coon," thought lightfoot a little bitterly.
""what have i ever done that he should be so anxious to kill me?"
still the hunter sat without moving.
mr. and mrs. quack contentedly hunted for food in the mud at the bottom of paddy's pond.
bobby coon finished his meal, crossed the dam and disappeared in the green forest.
he had gone off to take a nap somewhere.
time slipped away.
the hunter continued to watch patiently for lightfoot, and lightfoot and paddy the beaver watched the hunter.
finally, another visitor appeared at the upper end of the pond -- a visitor in a wonderful coat of red.
it was reddy fox.
chapter xvii: sammy jay arrives when reddy fox arrived at the pond of paddy the beaver, the hunter who was hiding there saw him instantly.
so did lightfoot.
but no one else did.
he approached in that cautious, careful way that he always uses when he is hunting.
the instant he reached a place where he could see all over paddy's pond, he stopped as suddenly as if he had been turned to stone.
he stopped with one foot lifted in the act of taking a step.
he had seen mr. and mrs. quack.
now you know there is nothing reddy fox likes better for a dinner than a duck.
the instant he saw mr. and mrs. quack, a gleam of longing crept into his eyes and his mouth began to water.
he stood motionless until both mr. and mrs. quack had their heads under water as they searched for food in the mud in the bottom of the pond.
then like a red flash he bounded out of sight behind the dam of paddy the beaver.
presently the hunter saw reddy's black nose at the end of the dam as reddy peeped around it to watch mr. and mrs. quack.
the latter were slowly moving along in that direction as they fed.
reddy was quick to see this.
if he remained right where he was, and mr. and mrs. quack kept on feeding in that direction, the chances were that he would have a dinner of fat duck.
all he need do was to be patient and wait.
so, with his eyes fixed fast on mr. and mrs. quack, reddy fox crouched behind paddy's dam and waited.
watching reddy and the ducks, the hunter almost forgot lightfoot the deer.
mr. and mrs. quack were getting very near to where reddy was waiting for them.
the hunter was tempted to get up and frighten those ducks.
he did n't want reddy fox to have them, because he hoped some day to get them himself.
""i suppose," thought he, "i was foolish not to shoot them when i had the chance.
they are too far away now, and it looks very much as if that red rascal will get one of them.
i believe i'll spoil that red scamp's plans by frightening them away.
i do n't believe that deer will be back here to-day anyway, so i may as well save those ducks."
but the hunter did nothing of the kind.
you see, just as he was getting ready to step out from his hiding-place, sammy jay arrived.
he perched in a tree close to the end of paddy's dam and at once he spied reddy fox.
it did n't take him a second to discover what reddy was hiding there for.
""thief, thief, thief!"
screamed sammy, and then looked down at reddy with a mischievous look in his sharp eyes.
there is nothing sammy jay delights in more than in upsetting the plans of reddy fox.
at the sound of sammy's voice, mr. and mrs. quack swam hurriedly towards the middle of the pond.
they knew exactly what that warning meant.
reddy fox looked up at sammy jay and snarled angrily.
then, knowing it was useless to hide longer, he bounded away through the green forest to hunt elsewhere.
chapter xviii: the hunter loses his temper the hunter, hidden near the pond of paddy the beaver, chuckled silently.
that is to say, he laughed without making any sound.
the hunter thought the warning of mr. and mrs. quack by sammy jay was a great joke on reddy.
to tell the truth, he was very much pleased.
as you know, he wanted those ducks himself.
he suspected that they would stay in that little pond for some days, and he planned to return there and shoot them after he had got lightfoot the deer.
he wanted to get lightfoot first, and he knew that to shoot at anything else might spoil his chance of getting a shot at lightfoot.
""sammy jay did me a good turn," thought the hunter, "although he does n't know it.
reddy fox certainly would have caught one of those ducks had sammy not come along just when he did.
it would have been a shame to have had one of them caught by that fox.
i mean to get one, and i hope both of them, myself."
now when you come to think of it, it would have been a far greater shame for the hunter to have killed mr. and mrs. quack than for reddy fox to have done so.
reddy was hunting them because he was hungry.
the hunter would have shot them for sport.
he did n't need them.
he had plenty of other food.
reddy fox does n't kill just for the pleasure of killing.
so the hunter continued to sit in his hiding-place with very friendly feelings for sammy jay.
sammy watched reddy fox disappear and then flew over to that side of the pond where the hunter was.
mr. and mrs. quack called their thanks to sammy, to which he replied, that he had done no more for them than he would do for anybody, or than they would have done for him.
for some time sammy sat quietly in the top of the tree, but all the time his sharp eyes were very busy.
by and by he spied the hunter sitting on the log.
at first he could n't make out just what it was he was looking at.
it did n't move, but nevertheless sammy was suspicious.
presently he flew over to a tree where he could see better.
right away he spied the terrible gun, and he knew just what that was.
once more he began to yell, "thief!
thief!
thief!"
at the top of his lungs.
it was then that the hunter lost his temper.
he knew that now he had been discovered by sammy jay, and it was useless to remain there longer.
he was angry clear through.
chapter xix: sammy jay is modest as soon as the angry hunter with the terrible gun had disappeared among the trees of the green forest, and lightfoot was sure that he had gone for good, lightfoot came out from his hiding-place on top of the ridge and walked down to the pond of paddy the beaver for a drink.
he knew that it was quite safe to do so, for sammy jay had followed the hunter, all the time screaming, "thief!
thief!
thief!"
every one within hearing could tell just where that hunter was by sammy's voice.
it kept growing fainter and fainter, and by that lightfoot knew that the hunter was getting farther and farther away.
paddy the beaver swam out from his hiding-place and climbed out on the bank near lightfoot.
there was a twinkle in his eyes.
""that blue-coated mischief-maker is n't such a bad fellow at heart, after all, is he?"
said he.
lightfoot lifted his beautiful head and set his ears forward to catch the sound of sammy's voice in the distance.
""sammy jay may be a mischief-maker, as some people say," said he, "but you can always count on him to prove a true friend in time of danger.
he brought me warning of the coming of the hunter the other morning.
you saw him save mr. and mrs. quack a little while ago, and then he actually drove that hunter away.
i suppose sammy jay has saved more lives than any one i know of.
i wish he would come back here and let me thank him."
some time later sammy jay did come back.
""well," said he, as he smoothed his feathers, "i chased that fellow clear to the edge of the green forest, so i guess there will be nothing more to fear from him today.
i'm glad to see he has n't got you yet, lightfoot.
i've been a bit worried about you."
""sammy," said lightfoot, "you are one of the best friends i have.
i do n't know how i can ever thank you for what you have done for me."
""do n't try," replied sammy shortly.
""i have n't done anything but what anybody else would have done.
old mother nature gave me a pair of good eyes and a strong voice.
i simply make the best use of them i can.
just to see a hunter with a terrible gun makes me angry clear through.
i'd rather spoil his hunting than eat."
""you want to watch out, sammy.
one of these days a hunter will lose his temper and shoot you, just to get even with you," warned paddy the beaver.
""do n't worry about me," replied sammy.
""i know just how far those terrible guns can shoot, and i do n't take any chances.
by the way, lightfoot, the green forest is full of hunters looking for you.
i've seen a lot of them, and i know they are looking for you because they do not shoot at anybody else even when they have a chance."
chapter xx: lightfoot hears a dreadful sound day after day, lightfoot the deer played hide and seek for his life with the hunters who were seeking to kill him.
he saw them many times, though not one of them saw him.
more than once a hunter passed close to lightfoot's hiding-place without once suspecting it.
but poor lightfoot was feeling the strain.
he was growing thin, and he was so nervous that the falling of a dead leaf from a tree would startle him.
there is nothing quite so terrible as being continually hunted.
it was getting so that lightfoot half expected a hunter to step out from behind every tree.
only when the black shadows wrapped the green forest in darkness did he know a moment of peace.
and those hours of safety were filled with dread of what the next day might bring.
early one morning a terrible sound rang through the green forest and brought lightfoot to his feet with a startled jump.
it was the baying of hounds following a trail.
at first it did not sound so terrible.
lightfoot had often heard it before.
many times he had listened to the baying of bowser the hound, as he followed reddy fox.
it had not sounded so terrible then because it meant no danger to lightfoot.
at first, as he listened early that morning, he took it for granted that those hounds were after reddy, and so, though startled, he was not worried.
but suddenly a dreadful suspicion came to him and he grew more and more anxious as he listened.
in a few minutes there was no longer any doubt in his mind.
those hounds were following his trail.
it was then that the sound of that baying became terrible.
he must run for his life!
those hounds would give him no rest.
and he knew that in running from them, he would no longer be able to watch so closely for the hunters with terrible guns.
he would no longer be able to hide in thickets.
at any time he might be driven right past one of those hunters.
lightfoot bounded away with such leaps as only lightfoot can make.
in a little while the voices of the hounds grew fainter.
lightfoot stopped to get his breath and stood trembling as he listened.
the baying of the hounds again grew louder and louder.
those wonderful noses of theirs were following his trail without the least difficulty.
in a panic of fear, lightfoot bounded away again.
as he crossed an old road, the green forest rang with the roar of a terrible gun.
something tore a strip of bark from the trunk of a tree just above lightfoot's back.
it was a bullet and it had just missed lightfoot.
it added to his terror and this in turn added to his speed.
so lightfoot ran and ran, and behind him the voices of the hounds continued to ring through the green forest.
chapter xxi: how lightfoot got rid of the hounds poor lightfoot!
it seemed to him that there were no such things as justice and fair play.
had it been just one hunter at a time against whom he had to match his wits it would not have been so bad.
but there were many hunters with terrible guns looking for him, and in dodging one he was likely at any time to meet another.
this in itself seemed terribly unfair and unjust.
but now, added to this was the greater unfairness of being trailed by hounds.
do you wonder that lightfoot thought of men as utterly heartless?
you see, he could not know that those hounds had not been put on his trail, but had left home to hunt for their own pleasure.
he could not know that it was against the law to hunt him with dogs.
but though none of those hunters looking for him were guilty of having put the hounds on his trail, each one of them was willing and eager to take advantage of the fact that the hounds were on his trail.
already he had been shot at once and he knew that he would be shot at again if he should be driven where a hunter was hidden.
the ground was damp and scent always lies best on damp ground.
this made it easy for the hounds to follow him with their wonderful noses.
lightfoot tried every trick he could think of to make those hounds lose the scent.
""if only i could make them lose it long enough for me to get a little rest, it would help," panted lightfoot, as he paused for just an instant to listen to the baying of the hounds.
but he could n't.
they allowed him no rest.
he was becoming very, very tired.
he could no longer bound lightly over fallen logs or brush, as he had done at first.
his lungs ached as he panted for breath.
he realized that even though he should escape the hunters he would meet an even more terrible death unless he could get rid of those hounds.
there would come a time when he would have to stop.
then those hounds would catch up with him and tear him to pieces.
it was then that he remembered the big river.
he turned towards it.
it was his only chance and he knew it.
straight through the green forest, out across the green meadows to the bank of the big river, lightfoot ran.
for just a second he paused to look behind.
the hounds were almost at his heels.
lightfoot hesitated no longer but plunged into the big river and began to swim.
on the banks the hounds stopped and bayed their disappointment, for they did not dare follow lightfoot out into the big river.
chapter xxii: lightfoot's long swim the big river was very wide.
it would have been a long swim for lightfoot had he been fresh and at his best.
strange as it may seem, lightfoot is a splendid swimmer, despite his small, delicate feet.
he enjoys swimming.
but now lightfoot was terribly tired from his long run ahead of the hounds.
for a time he swam rapidly, but those weary muscles grew still more weary, and by the time he reached the middle of the big river it seemed to him that he was not getting ahead at all.
at first he had tried to swim towards a clump of trees he could see on the opposite bank above the point where he had entered the water, but to do this he had to swim against the current and he soon found that he had n't the strength to do this.
then he turned and headed for a point down the big river.
this made the swimming easier, for the current helped him instead of hindering him.
even then he could feel his strength leaving him.
had he escaped those hounds and the terrible hunters only to be drowned in the big river?
this new fear gave him more strength for a little while.
but it did not last long.
he was three fourths of the way across the big river but still that other shore seemed a long distance away.
little by little hope died in the heart of lightfoot the deer.
he would keep on just as long as he could and then, -- well, it was better to drown than to be torn to pieces by dogs.
just as lightfoot felt that he could not take another stroke and that the end was at hand, one foot touched something.
then, all four feet touched.
a second later he had found solid footing and was standing with the water only up to his knees.
he had found a little sand bar out in the big river.
with a little gasp of returning hope, lightfoot waded along until the water began to grow deeper again.
he had hoped that he would be able to wade ashore, but he saw now that he would have to swim again.
so for a long time he remained right where he was.
he was so tired that he trembled all over, and he was as frightened as he was tired.
he knew that standing out there in the water he could be seen for a long distance, and that made him nervous and fearful.
supposing a hunter on the shore he was trying to reach should see him.
then he would have no chance at all, for the hunter would simply wait for him and shoot him as he came out of the water.
but rest he must, and so he stood for a long time on the little sand bar in the big river.
and little by little he felt his strength returning.
chapter xxiii: lightfoot finds a friend as lightfoot rested, trying to recover his breath, out there on the little sand bar in the big river, his great, soft, beautiful eyes watched first one bank and then the other.
on the bank he had left, he could see two black-and-white specks moving about, and across the water came the barking of dogs.
those two specks were the hounds who had driven him into the big river.
they were barking now, instead of baying.
presently a brown form joined the black-and-white specks.
it was a hunter drawn there by the barking of the dogs.
he was too far away to be dangerous, but the mere sight of him filled lightfoot with terror again.
he watched the hunter walk along the bank and disappear in the bushes.
presently out of the bushes came a boat, and in it was the hunter.
he headed straight towards lightfoot, and then lightfoot knew that his brief rest was at an end.
he must once more swim or be shot by the hunter in the boat.
so lightfoot again struck out for the shore.
his rest had given him new strength, but still he was very, very tired and swimming was hard work.
slowly, oh so slowly, he drew nearer to the bank.
what new dangers might be waiting there, he did not know.
he had never been on that side of the big river.
he knew nothing of the country on that side.
but the uncertainty was better than the certainty behind him.
he could hear the sound of the oars as the hunter in the boat did his best to get to him before he should reach the shore.
on lightfoot struggled.
at last he felt bottom beneath his feet.
he staggered up through some bushes along the bank and then for an instant it seemed to him his heart stopped beating.
right in front of him stood a man.
he had come out into the back yard of the home of that man.
it is doubtful which was the more surprised, lightfoot or the man.
right then and there lightfoot gave up in despair.
he could n't run.
it was all he could do to walk.
the long chase by the hounds on the other side of the big river and the long swim across the big river had taken all his strength.
not a spark of hope remained to lightfoot.
he simply stood still and trembled, partly with fear and partly with weariness.
then a surprising thing happened.
the man spoke softly.
he advanced, not threateningly but slowly, and in a friendly way.
he walked around back of lightfoot and then straight towards him.
lightfoot walked on a few steps, and the man followed, still talking softly.
little by little he urged lightfoot on, driving him towards an open shed in which was a pile of hay.
without understanding just how, lightfoot knew that he had found a friend.
so he entered the open shed and with a long sigh lay down in the soft hay.
chapter xxiv: the hunter is disappointed how he knew he was safe, lightfoot the deer could n't have told you.
he just knew it, that was all.
he could n't understand a word said by the man in whose yard he found himself when he climbed the bank after his long swim across the big river.
but he did n't have to understand words to know that he had found a friend.
so he allowed the man to drive him gently over to an open shed where there was a pile of soft hay and there he lay down, so tired that it seemed to him he could n't move another step.
it was only a few minutes later that the hunter who had followed lightfoot across the river reached the bank and scrambled out of his boat.
lightfoot's friend was waiting just at the top of the bank.
of course the hunter saw him at once.
""hello, friend!"
cried the hunter.
""did you see a deer pass this way a few minutes ago?
he swam across the river, and if i know anything about it he's too tired to travel far now.
i've been hunting that fellow for several days, and if i have any luck at all i ought to get him this time."
""i'm afraid you wo n't have any luck at all," said lightfoot's friend.
""you see, i do n't allow any hunting on my land."
the hunter looked surprised, and then his surprise gave way to anger.
""you mean," said he, "that you intend to get that deer yourself."
lightfoot's friend shook his head.
""no," said he, "i do n't mean anything of the kind.
i mean that that deer is not to be killed if i can prevent it, and while it is on my land, i think i can.
the best thing for you to do, my friend, is to get into your boat and row back where you came from.
are those your hounds barking over there?"
""no," replied the hunter promptly.
""i know the law just as well as you do, and it is against the law to hunt deer with dogs.
i do n't even know who owns those two hounds over there."
""that may be true," replied lightfoot's friend.
""i do n't doubt it is true.
but you are willing to take advantage of the fact that the dogs of some one else have broken the law.
you knew that those dogs had driven that deer into the big river and you promptly took advantage of the fact to try to reach that deer before he could get across.
you are not hunting for the pleasure of hunting but just to kill.
you do n't know the meaning of justice or fairness.
now get off my land.
get back into your boat and off my land as quick as you can.
that deer is not very far from here and so tired that he can not move.
just as long as he will stay here, he will be safe, and i hope he will stay until this miserable hunting season is ended.
now go."
muttering angrily, the hunter got back into his boat and pushed off, but he did n't row back across the river.
chapter xxv: the hunter lies in wait if ever there was an angry hunter, it was the one who had followed lightfoot the deer across the big river.
when he was ordered to get off the land where lightfoot had climbed out, he got back into his boat, but he did n't row back to the other side.
instead, he rowed down the river, finally landing on the same side but on land which lightfoot's friend did not own.
""when that deer has become rested he'll become uneasy," thought the hunter.
""he wo n't stay on that man's land.
he'll start for the nearest woods.
i'll go up there and wait for him.
i'll get that deer if only to spite that fellow back there who drove me off.
had it not been for him, i'd have that deer right now.
he was too tired to have gone far.
he's got the handsomest pair of antlers i've seen for years.
i can sell that head of his for a good price."
so the hunter tied his boat to a tree and once more climbed out.
he climbed up the bank and studied the land.
across a wide meadow he could see a brushy old pasture and back of that some thick woods.
he grinned.
""that's where that deer will head for," he decided.
""there is n't any other place for him to go.
all i've got to do is be patient and wait."
so the hunter took his terrible gun and tramped across the meadow to the brush-grown pasture.
there he hid among the bushes where he could peep out and watch the land of lightfoot's friend.
he was still angry because he had been prevented from shooting lightfoot.
at the same time he chuckled, because he thought himself very smart.
lightfoot could n't possibly reach the shelter of the woods without giving him a shot, and he had n't the least doubt that lightfoot would start for the woods just as soon as he felt able to travel.
so he made himself comfortable and prepared to wait the rest of the day, if necessary.
now lightfoot's friend who had driven the hunter off had seen him row down the river and he had guessed just what was in that hunter's mind.
""we'll fool him," said he, chuckling to himself, as he walked back towards the shed where poor lightfoot was resting.
he did not go too near lightfoot, for he did not want to alarm him.
he just kept within sight of lightfoot, paying no attention to him but going about his work.
you see, this man loved and understood the little people of the green forest and the green meadows, and he knew that there was no surer way of winning lightfoot's confidence and trust than by appearing to take no notice of him.
lightfoot, watching him, understood.
he knew that this man was a friend and would do him no harm.
little by little, the wonderful, blessed feeling of safety crept over lightfoot.
no hunter could harm him here.
chapter xxvi: lightfoot does the wise thing all the rest of that day the hunter with the terrible gun lay hidden in the bushes of the pasture where he could watch for lightfoot the deer to leave the place of safety he had found.
it required a lot of patience on the part of the hunter, but the hunter had plenty of patience.
it sometimes seems as if hunters have more patience than any other people.
but this hunter waited in vain.
jolly, round, red mr. sun sank down in the west to his bed behind the purple hills.
the black shadows crept out and grew blacker.
one by one the stars began to twinkle.
still the hunter waited, and still there was no sign of lightfoot.
at last it became so dark that it was useless for the hunter to remain longer.
disappointed and once more becoming angry, he tramped back to the big river, climbed into his boat and rowed across to the other side.
then he tramped home and his thoughts were very bitter.
he knew that he could have shot lightfoot had it not been for the man who had protected the deer.
he even began to suspect that this man had himself killed lightfoot, for he had been sure that as soon as he had become rested lightfoot would start for the woods, and lightfoot had done nothing of the kind.
in fact, the hunter had not had so much as another glimpse of lightfoot.
the reason that the hunter had been so disappointed was that lightfoot was smart.
he was smart enough to understand that the man who was saving him from the hunter had done it because he was a true friend.
all the afternoon lightfoot had rested on a bed of soft hay in an open shed and had watched this man going about his work and taking the utmost care to do nothing to frighten lightfoot.
""he not only will let no one else harm me, but he himself will not harm me," thought lightfoot.
""as long as he is near, i am safe.
i'll stay right around here until the hunting season is over, then i'll swim back across the big river to my home in the dear green forest."
so all afternoon lightfoot rested and did not so much as put his nose outside that open shed.
that is why the hunter got no glimpse of him.
when it became dark, so dark that he knew there was no longer danger, lightfoot got up and stepped out under the stars.
he was feeling quite himself again.
his splendid strength had returned.
he bounded lightly across the meadow and up into the brushy pasture where the hunter had been hidden.
there and in the woods back of the pasture he browsed, but at the first hint of the coming of another day, lightfoot turned back, and when his friend, the farmer, came out early in the morning to milk the cows, there was lightfoot back in the open shed.
the farmer smiled.
""you are as wise as you are handsome, old fellow," said he.
chapter xxvii: sammy jay worries it is n't often sammy jay worries about anybody but himself.
truth to tell, he does n't worry about himself very often.
you see, sammy is smart, and he knows he is smart.
under that pointed cap of his are some of the cleverest wits in all the green forest.
sammy seldom worries about himself because he feels quite able to take care of himself.
but sammy jay was worrying now.
he was worrying about lightfoot the deer.
yes, sir, sammy jay was worrying about lightfoot the deer.
for two days he had been unable to find lightfoot or any trace of lightfoot.
but he did find plenty of hunters with terrible guns.
it seemed to him that they were everywhere in the green forest.
sammy began to suspect that one of them must have succeeded in killing lightfoot the deer.
sammy knew all of lightfoot's hiding-places.
he visited every one of them.
lightfoot was n't to be found, and no one whom sammy met had seen lightfoot for two days.
sammy felt badly.
you see, he was very fond of lightfoot.
you remember it was sammy who warned lightfoot of the coming of the hunter on the morning when the dreadful hunting season began.
ever since the hunting season had opened, sammy had done his best to make trouble for the hunters.
whenever he had found one of them he had screamed at the top of his voice to warn every one within hearing just where that hunter was.
once a hunter had lost his temper and shot at sammy, but sammy had suspected that something of the kind might happen, and he had taken care to keep just out of reach.
sammy had known all about the chasing of lightfoot by the hounds.
everybody in the green forest had known about it.
you see, everybody had heard the voices of those hounds.
once, lightfoot had passed right under the tree in which sammy was sitting, and a few moments later the two hounds had passed with their noses to the ground as they followed lightfoot's trail.
that was the last sammy had seen of lightfoot.
he had been able to save lightfoot from the hunters, but he could n't save him from the hounds.
the more sammy thought things over, the more he worried.
""i am afraid those hounds drove him out where a hunter could get a shot and kill him, or else that they tired him out and killed him themselves," thought sammy.
""if he were alive, somebody certainly would have seen him and nobody has, since the day those hounds chased him.
i declare, i have quite lost my appetite worrying about him.
if lightfoot is dead, and i am almost sure he is, the green forest will never seem the same."
chapter xxviii: the hunting season ends the very worst things come to an end at last.
no matter how bad a thing is, it can not last forever.
so it was with the hunting season for lightfoot the deer.
there came a day when the law protected all deer, -- a day when the hunters could no longer go searching for lightfoot.
usually there was great rejoicing among the little people of the green forest and the green meadows when the hunting season ended and they knew that lightfoot would be in no more danger until the next hunting season.
but this year there was no rejoicing.
you see, no one could find lightfoot.
the last seen of him was when he was running for his life with two hounds baying on his trail and the green forest filled with hunters watching for a chance to shoot him.
sammy jay had hunted everywhere through the green forest.
blacky the crow, whose eyes are quite as sharp as those of sammy jay, had joined in the search.
they had found no trace of lightfoot.
paddy the beaver said that for three days lightfoot had not visited his pond for a drink.
billy mink, who travels up and down the laughing brook, had looked for lightfoot's footprints in the soft earth along the banks and had found only old ones.
jumper the hare had visited lightfoot's favorite eating places at night, but lightfoot had not been in any of them.
""i tell you what it is," said sammy jay to bobby coon, "something has happened to lightfoot.
either those hounds caught him and killed him, or he was shot by one of those hunters.
the green forest will never be the same without him.
i do n't think i shall want to come over here very much.
there is n't one of all the other people who live in the green forest who would be missed as lightfoot will be."
bobby coon nodded.
""that's true, sammy," said he.
""without lightfoot, the green forest will never be the same.
he never harmed anybody.
why those hunters should have been so anxious to kill one so beautiful is something i ca n't understand.
for that matter, i do n't understand why they want to kill any of us.
if they really needed us for food, it would be a different matter, but they do n't.
have you been up in the old pasture and asked old man coyote if he has seen anything of lightfoot?"
sammy nodded.
""i've been up there twice," said he.
""old man coyote has been lying very low during the days, but nights he has done a lot of traveling.
you know old man coyote has a mighty good nose, but not once since the day those hounds chased lightfoot has he found so much as a tiny whiff of lightfoot's scent.
i thought he might have found the place where lightfoot was killed, but he has n't, although he has looked for it.
well, the hunting season for lightfoot is over, but i am afraid it has ended too late."
chapter xxix: mr. and mrs. quack are startled it was the evening of the day after the closing of the hunting season for lightfoot the deer.
jolly, round, red mr. sun had gone to bed behind the purple hills, and the black shadows had crept out across the big river.
mr. and mrs. quack were getting their evening meal among the brown stalks of the wild rice along the edge of the big river.
they took turns in searching for the rice grains in the mud.
while mrs. quack tipped up and seemed to stand on her head as she searched in the mud for rice, mr. quack kept watch for possible danger.
then mrs. quack took her turn at keeping watch, while mr. quack stood on his head and hunted for rice.
it was wonderfully quiet and peaceful.
there was not even a ripple on the big river.
it was so quiet that they could hear the barking of a dog at a farmhouse a mile away.
they were far enough out from the bank to have nothing to fear from reddy fox or old man coyote.
so they had nothing to fear from any one save hooty the owl.
it was for hooty that they took turns in watching.
it was just the hour when hooty likes best to hunt.
by and by they heard booty's hunting call.
it was far away in the green forest, then mr. and mrs. quack felt easier, and they talked in low, contented voices.
they felt that for a while at least there was nothing to fear.
suddenly a little splash out in the big river caught mr. quack's quick ear.
as mrs. quack brought her head up out of the water, mr. quack warned her to keep quiet.
noiselessly they swam among the brown stalks until they could see out across the big river.
there was another little splash out there in the middle.
it was n't the splash made by a fish; it was a splash made by something much bigger than any fish.
presently they made out a silver line moving towards them from the black shadows.
they knew exactly what it meant.
it meant that some one was out there in the big river moving towards them.
could it be a boat containing a hunter?
with their necks stretched high, mr. and mrs. quack watched.
they were ready to take to their strong wings the instant they discovered danger.
but they did not want to fly until they were sure that it was danger approaching.
they were startled, very much startled.
presently they made out what looked like the branch of a tree moving over the water towards them.
that was queer, very queer.
mr. quack said so.
mrs. quack said so.
both were growing more and more suspicious.
they could n't understand it at all, and it is always best to be suspicious of things you can not understand.
mr. and mrs. quack half lifted their wings to fly.
chapter xxx: the mystery is solved it was very mysterious.
yes, sir, it was very mysterious.
mr. quack thought so.
mrs. quack thought so.
there, out in the big river, in the midst of the black shadows, was something which looked like the branch of a tree.
but instead of moving down the river, as the branch of a tree would if it were floating, this was coming straight across the river as if it were swimming.
but how could the branch of a tree swim?
that was too much for mr. quack.
it was too much for mrs. quack.
so they sat perfectly still among the brown stalks of the wild rice along the edge of the big river, and not for a second did they take their eyes from that strange thing moving towards them.
they were ready to spring into the air and trust to their swift wings the instant they should detect danger.
but they did not want to fly unless they had to.
besides, they were curious.
they were very curious indeed.
they wanted to find out what that mysterious thing moving through the water towards them was.
so mr. and mrs. quack watched that thing that looked like a swimming branch draw nearer and nearer, and the nearer it drew the more they were puzzled, and the more curious they felt.
if it had been the pond of paddy the beaver instead of the big river, they would have thought it was paddy swimming with a branch for his winter food pile.
but paddy the beaver was way back in his own pond, deep in the green forest, and they knew it.
so this thing became more and more of a mystery.
the nearer it came, the more nervous and anxious they grew, and at the same time the greater became their curiosity.
at last mr. quack felt that not even to gratify his curiosity would it be safe to wait longer.
he prepared to spring into the air, knowing that mrs. quack would follow him.
it was just then that a funny little sound reached him.
it was half snort, half cough, as if some one had sniffed some water up his nose.
there was something familiar about that sound.
mr. quack decided to wait a few minutes longer.
""i'll wait," thought mr. quack, "until that thing, whatever it is, comes out of those black shadows into the moonlight.
somehow i have a feeling that we are in no danger."
so mr. and mrs. quack waited and watched.
in a few minutes the thing that looked like the branch of a tree came out of the black shadows into the moonlight, and then the mystery was solved.
it was a mystery no longer.
they saw that they had mistaken the antlers of lightfoot the deer for the branch of a tree.
lightfoot was swimming across the big river on his way back to his home in the green forest.
at once mr. and mrs. quack swam out to meet him and to tell him how glad they were that he was alive and safe.
chapter xxxi: a surprising discovery probably there was no happier thanksgiving in all the great world than the thanksgiving of lightfoot the deer, when the dreadful hunting season ended and he was once more back in his beloved green forest with nothing to fear.
all his neighbors called on him to tell him how glad they were that he had escaped and how the green forest would not have been the same if he had not returned.
so lightfoot roamed about without fear and was happy.
it seemed to him that he could not be happier.
there was plenty to eat and that blessed feeling of nothing to fear.
what more could any one ask?
he began to grow sleek and fat and handsomer than ever.
the days were growing colder and the frosty air made him feel good.
just at dusk one evening he went down to his favorite drinking place at the laughing brook.
as he put down his head to drink he saw something which so surprised him that he quite forgot he was thirsty.
what do you think it was he saw?
it was a footprint in the soft mud.
yes, sir, it was a footprint.
for a long time lightfoot stood staring at that footprint.
in his great, soft eyes was a look of wonder and surprise.
you see, that footprint was exactly like one of his own, only smaller.
to lightfoot it was a very wonderful footprint.
he was quite sure that never had he seen such a dainty footprint.
he forgot to drink.
instead, he began to search for other footprints, and presently he found them.
each was as dainty as that first one.
who could have made them?
that is what lightfoot wanted to know and what he meant to find out.
it was clear to him that there was a stranger in the green forest, and somehow he did n't resent it in the least.
in fact, he was glad.
he could n't have told why, but it was true.
lightfoot put his nose to the footprints and sniffed of them.
even had he not known by looking at those prints that they had been made by a stranger, his nose would have told him this.
a great longing to find the maker of those footprints took possession of him.
he lifted his handsome head and listened for some slight sound which might show that the stranger was near.
with his delicate nostrils he tested the wandering little night breezes for a stray whiff of scent to tell him which way to go.
but there was no sound and the wandering little night breezes told him nothing.
lightfoot followed the dainty footprints up the bank.
there they disappeared, for the ground was hard.
lightfoot paused, undecided which way to go.
chapter xxxii: lightfoot sees the stranger lightfoot the deer was unhappy.
it was a strange unhappiness, an unhappiness such as he had never known before.
you see, he had discovered that there was a stranger in the green forest, a stranger of his own kind, another deer.
he knew it by dainty footprints in the mud along the laughing brook and on the edge of the pond of paddy the beaver.
he knew it by other signs which he ran across every now and then.
but search as he would, he was unable to find that newcomer.
he had searched everywhere but always he was just too late.
the stranger had been and gone.
now there was no anger in lightfoot's desire to find that stranger.
instead, there was a great longing.
for the first time in his life lightfoot felt lonely.
so he hunted and hunted and was unhappy.
he lost his appetite.
he slept little.
he roamed about uneasily, looking, listening, testing every merry little breeze, but all in vain.
then, one never-to-be-forgotten night, as he drank at the laughing brook, a strange feeling swept over him.
it was the feeling of being watched.
lightfoot lifted his beautiful head and a slight movement caught his quick eye and drew it to a thicket not far away.
the silvery light of gentle mistress moon fell full on that thicket, and thrust out from it was the most beautiful head in all the great world.
at least, that is the way it seemed to lightfoot, though to tell the truth it was not as beautiful as his own, for it was uncrowned by antlers.
for a long minute lightfoot stood gazing.
a pair of wonderful, great, soft eyes gazed back at him.
then that beautiful head disappeared.
with a mighty bound, lightfoot cleared the laughing brook and rushed over to the thicket in which that beautiful head had disappeared.
he plunged in, but there was no one there.
frantically he searched, but that thicket was empty.
then he stood still and listened.
not a sound reached him.
it was as still as if there were no other living things in all the green forest.
the beautiful stranger had slipped away as silently as a shadow.
all the rest of that night lightfoot searched through the green forest but his search was in vain.
the longing to find that beautiful stranger had become so great that he fairly ached with it.
it seemed to him that until he found her he could know no happiness.
chapter xxxiii: a different game of hide and seek once more lightfoot the deer was playing hide and seek in the green forest.
but it was a very different game from the one he had played just a short time before.
you remember that then it had been for his life that he had played, and he was the one who had done all the hiding.
now, he was "it", and some one else was doing the hiding.
instead of the dreadful fear which had filled him in that other game, he was now filled with longing, -- longing to find and make friends with the beautiful stranger of whom he had just once caught a glimpse, but of whom every day he found tracks.
at times lightfoot would lose his temper.
yes, sir, lightfoot would lose his temper.
that was a foolish thing to do, but it seemed to him that he just could n't help it.
he would stamp his feet angrily and thrash the bushes with his great spreading antlers as if they were an enemy with whom he was fighting.
more than once when he did this a pair of great, soft, gentle eyes were watching him, though he did n't know it.
if he could have seen them and the look of admiration in them, he would have been more eager than ever to find that beautiful stranger.
at other times lightfoot would steal about through the green forest as noiselessly as a shadow.
he would peer into thickets and behind tangles of fallen trees and brush piles, hoping to surprise the one he sought.
he would be very, very patient.
perhaps he would come to the thicket which he knew from the signs the stranger had left only a few moments before.
then his patience would vanish in impatience, and he would dash ahead, eager to catch up with the shy stranger.
but always it was in vain.
he had thought himself very clever but this stranger was proving herself more clever.
of course it was n't long before all the little people in the green forest knew what was going on.
they knew all about that game of hide and seek just as they had known all about that other game of hide and seek with the hunters.
but now, instead of trying to help lightfoot as they did then, they gave him no help at all.
the fact is, they were enjoying that game.
mischievous sammy jay even went so far as to warn the stranger several times when lightfoot was approaching.
of course lightfoot knew when sammy did this, and each time he lost his temper.
for the time being, he quite forgot all that sammy had done for him when he was the one that was being hunted.
once lightfoot almost ran smack into buster bear and was so provoked by his own carelessness that instead of bounding away he actually threatened to fight buster.
but when buster grinned good-naturedly at him, lightfoot thought better of it and bounded away to continue his search.
then there were times when lightfoot would sulk and would declare over and over to himself, "i do n't care anything about that stranger.
i wo n't spend another minute looking for her."
and then within five minutes he would be watching, listening and seeking some sign that she was still in the green forest.
chapter xxxiv: a startling new footprint the game of hide and seek between lightfoot the deer and the beautiful stranger whose dainty footprints had first started lightfoot to seeking her had been going on for several days and nights when lightfoot found something which gave him a shock.
he had stolen very softly clown to the laughing brook, hoping to surprise the beautiful stranger drinking there.
she was n't to be seen.
lightfoot wondered if she had been there, so looked in the mud at the edge of the laughing brook to see if there were any fresh prints of those dainty feet.
almost at once he discovered fresh footprints.
they were not the prints he was looking for.
no, sir, they were not the dainty prints he had learned to know so well.
they were prints very near the size of his own big ones, and they had been made only a short time before.
the finding of those prints was a dreadful shock to lightfoot.
he understood instantly what they meant.
they meant that a second stranger had come into the green forest, one who had antlers like his own.
jealousy took possession of lightfoot the deer; jealousy that filled his heart with rage.
""he has come here to seek that beautiful stranger i have been hunting for," thought lightfoot.
""he has come here to try to steal her away from me.
he has no right here in my green forest.
he belongs back up on the great mountain from which he must have come, for there is no other place he could have come from.
that is where that beautiful stranger must have come from, too.
i want her to stay, but i must drive this fellow out.
i'll make him fight.
that's what i'll do; i'll make him fight!
i'm not afraid of him, but i'll make him fear me."
lightfoot stamped his feet and with his great antlers thrashed the bushes as if he felt that they were the enemy he sought.
could you have looked into his great eyes then, you would have found nothing soft and beautiful about them.
they became almost red with anger.
lightfoot quivered all over with rage.
the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
lightfoot the deer looked anything but gentle.
after he had vented his spite for a few minutes on the harmless, helpless bushes, he threw his head high in the air and whistled angrily.
then he leaped over the laughing brook and once more began to search through the green forest.
but this time it was not for the beautiful stranger with the dainty feet.
he had no time to think of her now.
he must first find this newcomer and he meant to waste no time in doing it.
chapter xxxv: lightfoot is reckless in his search for the new stranger who had come to the green forest, lightfoot the deer was wholly reckless.
he no longer stole like a gray shadow from thicket to thicket as he had done when searching for the beautiful stranger with the dainty feet.
he bounded along, careless of how much noise he made.
from time to time he would stop to whistle a challenge and to clash his horns against the trees and stamp the ground with his feet.
after such exhibitions of anger he would pause to listen, hoping to hear some sound which would tell him where the stranger was.
now and then he found the stranger's tracks, and from them he knew that this stranger was doing: just what he had been doing, seeking to find the beautiful newcomer with the dainty feet.
each time he found these signs lightfoot's rage increased.
of course it did n't take sammy jay long to discover what was going on.
there is little that escapes those sharp eyes of sammy jay.
as you know, he had early discovered the game of hide and seek lightfoot had been playing with the beautiful young visitor who had come down to the green forest from the great mountain.
then, by chance, sammy had visited the laughing brook just as the big stranger had come down there to drink.
for once sammy had kept his tongue still.
""there is going to be excitement here when lightfoot discovers this fellow," thought sammy.
""if they ever meet, and i have a feeling that they will, there is going to be a fight worth seeing.
i must pass the word around."
so sammy jay hunted up his cousin, blacky the crow, and told him what he had discovered.
then he hunted up bobby coon and told him.
he saw unc" billy possum sitting in the doorway of his hollow tree and told him.
he discovered jumper the hare sitting under a little hemlock-tree and told him.
then he flew over to the dear old briar-patch to tell peter rabbit.
of course he told drummer the woodpecker, tommy tit the chickadee, and yank yank the nuthatch, who were over in the old orchard, and they at once hurried to the green forest, for they could n't think of missing anything so exciting as would be the meeting between lightfoot and the big stranger from the great mountain.
sammy did n't forget to tell paddy the beaver, but it was no news to paddy.
paddy had seen the big stranger on the edge of his pond early the night before.
of course, lightfoot knew nothing about all this.
his one thought was to find that big stranger and drive him from the green forest, and so he continued his search tirelessly.
chapter xxxvi: sammy jay takes a hand sammy jay was bubbling over with excitement as he flew about through the green forest, following lightfoot the deer.
he was so excited he wanted to scream.
but he did n't.
he kept his tongue still.
you see, he did n't want lightfoot to know that he was being followed.
under that pointed cap of sammy jay's are quick wits.
it did n't take him long to discover that the big stranger whom lightfoot was seeking was doing his best to keep out of lightfoot's way and that he was having no difficulty in doing so because of the reckless way in which lightfoot was searching for him.
lightfoot made so much noise that it was quite easy to know just where he was and so keep out of his sight.
""that stranger is nearly as big as lightfoot, but it is very plain that he does n't want to fight," thought sammy.
""he must be a coward."
now the truth is, the stranger was not a coward.
he was ready and willing to fight if he had to, but if he could avoid fighting he meant to.
you see, big as he was, he was n't quite so big as lightfoot, and he knew it.
he had seen lightfoot's big footprints, and from their size he knew that lightfoot must be bigger and heavier than he.
then, too, he knew that he really had no right to be there in the green forest.
that was lightfoot's home and so he was an intruder.
he knew that lightfoot would feel this way about it and that this would make him fight all the harder.
so the big stranger wanted to avoid a fight if possible.
but he wanted still more to find that beautiful young visitor with the dainty feet for whom lightfoot had been looking.
he wanted to find her just as lightfoot wanted to find her, and he hoped that if he did find her, he could take her away with him back to the great mountain.
if he had to, he would fight for her, but until he had to he would keep out of the fight.
so he dodged lightfoot and at the same time looked for the beautiful stranger.
all this sammy jay guessed, and after a while he grew tired of following lightfoot for nothing.
""i'll have to take a hand in this thing myself," muttered sammy.
""at this rate, lightfoot never will find that big stranger!"
so sammy stopped following lightfoot and began to search through the green forest for the big stranger.
it did n't take very long to find him.
he was over near the pond of paddy the beaver.
as soon as he saw him, sammy began to scream at the top of his lungs.
at once he heard the sound of snapping twigs at the top of a little ridge back of paddy's pond and knew that lightfoot had heard and understood.
chapter xxxvii: the great fight down from the top of the ridge back of the pond of paddy the beaver plunged lightfoot the deer, his eyes blazing with rage.
he had understood the screaming of sammy jay.
he knew that somewhere down there was the big stranger he had been looking for.
the big stranger had understood sammy's screaming quite as well as lightfoot.
he knew that to run away now would be to prove himself a coward and forever disgrace himself in the eyes of miss daintyfoot, for that was the name of the beautiful stranger he had been seeking.
he must fight.
there was no way out of it, he must fight.
the hair on the back of his neck stood up with anger just as did the hair on the neck of lightfoot.
his eyes also blazed.
he bounded out into a little open place by the pond of paddy the beaver and there he waited.
meanwhile sammy jay was flying about in the greatest excitement, screaming at the top of his lungs, "a fight!
a fight!
a fight!"
blacky the crow, over in another part of the green forest, heard him and took up the cry and at once hurried over to paddy's pond.
everybody who was near enough hurried there.
bobby coon and unc" billy possum climbed trees from which they could see and at the same time be safe.
billy mink hurried to a safe place on the dam of paddy the beaver.
paddy himself climbed up on the roof of his house out in the pond.
peter rabbit and jumper the hare, who happened to be not far away, hurried over where they could peep out from under some young hemlock-trees.
buster bear shuffled down the hill and watched from the other side of the pond.
reddy and granny fox were both there.
for what seemed like the longest time, but which was for only a minute, lightfoot and the big stranger stood still, glaring at each other.
then, snorting with rage, they lowered their heads and plunged together.
their antlers clashed with a noise that rang through the green forest, and both fell to their knees.
there they pushed and struggled.
then they separated and backed away, to repeat the movement over again.
it was a terrible fight.
everybody said so.
if they had not known before, everybody knew now what those great antlers were for.
once the big stranger managed to reach lightfoot's right shoulder with one of the sharp points of his antlers and made a long tear in lightfoot's gray coat.
it only made lightfoot fight harder.
sometimes they would rear up and strike with their sharp hoofs.
back and forth they plunged, and the ground was torn up by their feet.
both were getting out of breath, and from time to time they had to stop for a moment's rest.
then they would come together again more fiercely than ever.
never had such a fight been seen in the green forest.
chapter xxxviii: an unseen watcher as lightfoot the deer and the big stranger from the great mountain fought in the little opening near the pond of paddy the beaver, neither knew or cared who saw them.
each was filled fully with rage and determined to drive the other from the green forest.
each was fighting for the right to win the love of miss daintyfoot.
neither of them knew that miss daintyfoot herself was watching them.
but she was.
she had heard the clash of their great antlers as they had come together the first time, and she had known exactly what it meant.
timidly she had stolen forward to a thicket where, safely hidden, she could watch that terrible fight.
she knew that they were fighting for her.
of course.
she knew it just as she had known how both had been hunting for her.
what she did n't know for some time was which one she wanted to win that fight.
both lightfoot and the big stranger were handsome.
yes, indeed, they were very handsome.
lightfoot was just a little bit the bigger and it seemed to her just a little bit the handsomer.
she almost wanted him to win.
then, when she saw how bravely the big stranger was fighting and how well he was holding his own, even though he was a little smaller than lightfoot, she almost hoped he would win.
that great fight lasted a long time.
to pretty miss daintyfoot it seemed that it never would end.
but after a while lightfoot's greater size and strength began to tell.
little by little the big stranger was forced back towards the edge of the open place.
now he would be thrown to his knees when lightfoot was n't.
as lightfoot saw this, he seemed to gain new strength.
at last he caught the stranger in such a way that he threw him over.
while the stranger struggled to get to his feet again, lightfoot's sharp antlers made long tears in his gray coat.
the stranger was beaten and he knew it.
the instant he succeeded in getting to his feet he turned tail and plunged for the shelter of the green forest.
with a snort of triumph, lightfoot plunged after him.
but now that he was beaten, fear took possession of the stranger.
all desire to fight left him.
his one thought was to get away, and fear gave him speed.
straight back towards the great mountain from which he had come the stranger headed.
lightfoot followed only a short distance.
he knew that that stranger was going for good and would not come back.
then lightfoot turned back to the open place where they had fought.
there he threw up his beautiful head, crowned by its great antlers, and whistled a challenge to all the green forest.
as she looked at him, miss daintyfoot knew that she had wanted him to win.
she knew that there simply could n't be anybody else so handsome and strong and brave in all the great world.
chapter xxxix: lightfoot discovers love wonderfully handsome was lightfoot the deer as he stood in the little opening by the pond of paddy the beaver, his head thrown back proudly, as he received the congratulations of his neighbors of the green forest who had seen him win the great fight with the big stranger who had come down from the great mountain.
to beautiful miss daintyfoot, peeping out from the thicket where she had hidden to watch the great fight, lightfoot was the most wonderful person in all the great world.
she adored him, which means that she loved him just as much as it was possible for her to love.
but lightfoot did n't know this.
in fact, he did n't know that miss daintyfoot was there.
his one thought had been to drive out of the green forest the big stranger who had come down from the great mountain.
he had been jealous of that big stranger, though he had n't known that he was jealous.
the real cause of his anger and desire to fight had been the fear that the big stranger would find miss daintyfoot and take her away.
of course this was nothing but jealousy.
now that the great fight was over, and he knew that the big stranger was hurrying back to the great mountain, all lightfoot's anger melted away.
in its place was a great longing to find miss daintyfoot.
his great eyes became once more soft and beautiful.
in them was a look of wistfulness.
lightfoot walked down to the edge of the water and drank, for he was very, very thirsty.
then he turned, intending to take up once more his search for beautiful miss daintyfoot.
when he turned he faced the thicket in which miss daintyfoot was hiding.
his keen eyes caught a little movement of the branches.
a beautiful head was slowly thrust out, and lightfoot gazed again into a pair of soft eyes which he was sure were the most beautiful eyes in all the great world.
he wondered if she would disappear and run away as she had the last time he saw her.
he took a step or two forward.
the beautiful head was withdrawn.
lightfoot's heart sank.
then he bounded forward into that thicket.
he more than half expected to find no one there, but when he entered that thicket he received the most wonderful surprise in all his life.
there stood miss daintyfoot, timid, bashful, but with a look in her eyes which lightfoot could not mistake.
in that instant light-foot understood the meaning of that longing which had kept him hunting for her and of the rage which had filled him when he had discovered the presence of the big stranger from the great mountain.
it was love.
lightfoot knew that he loved miss daintyfoot and, looking into her soft, gentle eyes, he knew that miss daintyfoot loved him.
chapter xl: happy days in the green forest these were happy days in the green forest.
at least, they were happy for lightfoot the deer.
they were the happiest days he had ever known.
you see, he had won beautiful, slender, young miss daintyfoot, and now she was no longer miss daintyfoot but mrs. lightfoot.
lightfoot was sure that there was no one anywhere so beautiful as she, and mrs. lightfoot knew that there was no one so handsome and brave as he.
wherever lightfoot went, mrs. lightfoot went.
he showed her all his favorite hiding-places.
he led her to his favorite eating-places.
she did not tell him that she was already acquainted with every one of them, that she knew the green forest quite as well as he did.
if he had stopped to think how day after day she had managed to keep out of his sight while he hunted for her, he would have realized that there was little he could show her which she did not already know.
but he did n't stop to think and proudly led her from place to place.
and mrs. lightfoot wisely expressed delight with all she saw quite as if it were all new.
of course, all the little people of the green forest hurried to pay their respects to mrs. lightfoot and to tell lightfoot how glad they felt for him.
and they really did feel glad.
you see, they all loved lightfoot and they knew that now he would be happier than ever, and that there would be no danger of his leaving the green forest because of loneliness.
the green forest would not be the same at all without lightfoot the deer.
lightfoot told mrs. lightfoot all about the terrible days of the hunting season and how glad he was that she had not been in the green forest then.
he told her how the hunters with terrible guns had given him no rest and how he had had to swim the big river to get away from the hounds.
""i know," replied mrs. lightfoot softly.
""i know all about it.
you see, there were hunters on the great mountain.
in fact, that is how i happened to come down to the green forest.
they hunted me so up there that i did not dare stay, and i came down here thinking that there might be fewer hunters.
i would n't have believed that i could ever be thankful to hunters for anything, but i am, truly i am."
there was a puzzled look on lightfoot's face.
""what for?"
he demanded.
""i ca n't imagine anybody being thankful to hunters for anything."
""oh, you stupid," cried mrs. lightfoot.
""do n't you see that if i had n't been driven down from the great mountain, i never would have found you?"
""you mean, i never would have found you," retorted lightfoot.
""i guess i owe these hunters more than you do.
i owe them the greatest happiness i have ever known, but i never would have thought of it myself.
is n't it queer how things which seem the very worst possible sometimes turn out to be the very best possible?"
blacky the crow is one of lightfoot's friends, but sometimes even friends are envious.
it is so with blacky.
he insists that he is quite as important in the green forest as is lightfoot and that his doings are quite as interesting.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___mother_west_wind's_children.txt.out
i danny meadow mouse learns why his tail is short danny meadow mouse sat in his doorway and looked down the lone little path across the green meadows.
way, way over near the smiling pool he could see old mother west wind's children, the merry little breezes, at play.
sammy jay was sitting on a fence post.
he pretended to be taking a sun bath, but really he was planning mischief.
you never see sammy jay that he is n't in mischief or planning it.
reddy fox had trotted past an hour before in a great hurry.
up on the hill danny meadow mouse could just see jimmy skunk pulling over every old stick and stone he could find, no matter whose house it might be, and excusing himself because he was hungry and was looking for beetles.
jolly, round, red mr. sun was playing at hide and seek behind some fleecy white clouds.
all the birds were singing and singing, and the world was happy -- all but danny meadow mouse.
no, danny meadow mouse was not happy.
indeed, he was very far from happy, and all because his tail was short.
by and by up came old mr. toad.
it was a warm day and mr. toad was very hot and very, very thirsty.
he stopped to rest beside the house of danny meadow mouse.
""good morning, danny meadow mouse," said old mr. toad, "it's a fine morning."
""morning," said danny meadow mouse, grumpily.
""i hope your health is good this morning," continued old mr. toad, just as if he had n't noticed how short and cross danny meadow mouse had answered.
now old mr. toad is very ugly to look upon, but the ugliness is all in his looks.
he has the sunniest of hearts and always he is looking for a chance to help someone.
""danny meadow mouse," said old mr. toad, "you make me think of your grandfather a thousand times removed.
you do indeed.
you look just as he did when he lost the half of his tail and realized that he never, never could get it back again."
danny meadow mouse sat up suddenly.
""what are you talking about, old mr. toad?
what are you talking about?"
he asked.
""did my grandfather a thousand times removed lose the half of his tail, and was it shorter then than mine is now?
was it, old mr. toad?
and how did he come to lose the half of it?"
old mr. toad laughed a funny silent laugh.
""it's a long story," said old mr. toad, "and i'm afraid i ca n't tell it.
go down to the smiling pool and ask great-grandfather frog, who is my first cousin, how it happened your grandfather a thousand times removed lost the half of his tail.
but before you go catch three fat, foolish, green flies and take them with you as a present to grandfather frog."
danny meadow mouse could hardly wait for old mr. toad to stop speaking.
in fact, he was in such a hurry that he almost forgot his manners.
not quite, however, for he shouted "thank you, mr. toad, thank you!"
over his shoulder as he rushed off down the lone little path.
you see his short tail had always been a matter of mortification to danny meadow mouse.
all his cousins in the mouse family and the rat family have long, smooth, tapering tails, and they have always been a source of envy to danny meadow mouse.
he had felt his queer short tail to be a sort of disgrace.
so when he would meet one of his cousins dancing down the lone little path, with his long, slim, tapering tail behind him, danny meadow mouse would slip out of sight under the long grass, he was so ashamed of his own little tail.
it looked so mean and small!
he had wondered and wondered if the meadow mice had always had short tails.
he used to ask everyone who came his way if they had ever seen a meadow mouse with a long tail, but he had never found any one who had.
""perhaps," thought danny meadow mouse as he hurried down the lone little path, "perhaps grandfather frog, who is very wise, will know why my tail is short."
so he hurried this way and he hurried that way over the green meadows in search of fat, foolish, green flies.
and when he had caught three, he caught one more for good measure.
then he started for the smiling pool as fast as his short legs would take him.
when finally he reached the edge of the smiling pool he was quite out of breath.
there sat great-grandfather frog on his big, green lily pad.
he was blinking his great goggle eyes at jolly, round, red mr. sun.
""oh, grandfather frog," said danny meadow mouse in a very small voice, for you know he was quite out of breath with running, "oh, grandfather frog, i've brought you four fat, foolish, green flies."
grandfather frog put a hand behind an ear and listened.
""did i hear someone say "foolish, green flies?""
asked grandfather frog.
""yes, grandfather frog, here they are," said danny meadow mouse, still in a very small voice.
then he gave grandfather frog the four fat, foolish, green flies.
""what is it that you want me to do for you, danny meadow mouse?"
asked grandfather frog as he smacked his lips, for he knew that danny meadow mouse must want something to bring him four fat, foolish, green flies.
""if you please," said danny meadow mouse, very politely, "if you please, grandfather frog, old mr. toad told me that you could tell me how grandfather meadow mouse a thousand times removed lost half of his tail.
will you, grandfather frog -- will you?"
""chug-a-rum," said grandfather frog.
""my cousin, mr. toad, talks too much."
but he settled himself comfortably on the big lily pad, and this is what he told danny meadow mouse: "once upon a time, when the world was young, mr. meadow mouse, your grandfather a thousand times removed, was a very fine gentleman.
he took a great deal of pride in his appearance, did mr. meadow mouse, and they used to say on the green meadows that he spent an hour, a full hour, every day combing his whiskers and brushing his coat.
""anyway, he was very fine to look upon, was mr. meadow mouse, and not the least attractive thing about him was his beautiful, long, slim tail, of which he was very proud.
""now about this time there was a great deal of trouble on the green meadows and in the green forest, for some one was stealing -- yes, stealing!
mr. rabbit complained first.
to be sure, mr. rabbit was lazy and his cabbage patch had grown little more than weeds while he had been minding other folks" affairs rather than his own, but, then, that was no reason why he should lose half of the little which he did raise.
and that is just what he said had happened.
""no one really believed what mr. rabbit said, for he had such a bad name for telling things which were not so that when he did tell the truth no one could be quite sure of it.
""so no one paid much heed to what mr. rabbit said until happy jack squirrel one day went to his snug little hollow in the big chestnut tree where he stores his nuts and discovered half had been stolen.
then striped chipmunk lost the greater part of his winter store of corn.
a fat trout was stolen from billy mink.
""it was a terrible time, for every one suspected every one else, and no one on the green meadows was happy.
""one evening mr. meadow mouse went for a stroll along the crooked little path up the hill.
it was dark, very dark indeed.
but just as he passed striped chipmunk's granary, the place where he stores his supply of corn and acorns for the winter, mr. meadow mouse met his cousin, mr. wharf rat.
now mr. wharf rat was very big and strong and mr. meadow mouse had for a long time looked up to and admired him."
"good evening, cousin meadow mouse," said mr. wharf rat, swinging a bag down from his shoulder.
"will you do a favor for me?"
""now mr. meadow mouse felt very much flattered, and as he was a very obliging fellow anyway, he promptly said he would."
"all right," said mr. wharf rat.
"i'm going to get you to tote this bag down the crooked little path to the hollow chestnut tree.
i've got an errand back on top of the hill."
""so mr. meadow mouse picked up the bag, which was very heavy, and swung it over his shoulder.
then he started down the crooked little path.
half way down he met striped chipmunk."
"good evening, mr. meadow mouse," said striped chipmunk.
"what are you toting in the bag across your shoulder?"
""now, of course, mr. meadow mouse did n't know what was in the bag and he did n't like to admit that he was working for another, for he was very proud, was mr. meadow mouse.
""so he said: "just a planting of potatoes i begged from jimmy skunk, just a planting of potatoes, striped chipmunk."
""now no one had ever suspected mr. meadow mouse of stealing -- no indeed!
striped chipmunk would have gone his way and thought no more about it, had it not happened that there was a hole in the bag and from it something dropped at his feet.
striped chipmunk picked it up and it was n't a potato.
it was a fat acorn.
striped chipmunk said nothing but slipped it into his pocket."
"good night," said mr. meadow mouse, once more shouldering the bag."
"good night," said striped chipmunk.
""no sooner had mr. meadow mouse disappeared in the darkness down the crooked little path than striped chipmunk hurried to his granary.
some one had been there and stolen all his acorns!
""then striped chipmunk ran to the house of his cousin, happy jack squirrel, and told him how the acorns had been stolen from his granary and how he had met mr. meadow mouse with a bag over his shoulder and how mr. meadow mouse had said that he was toting home a planting of potatoes he had begged from jimmy skunk.
"and this," said striped chipmunk, holding out the fat acorn, "is what fell out of the bag."
""then striped chipmunk and happy jack squirrel hurried over to jimmy skunk's house, and, just as they expected, they found that mr. meadow mouse had not begged a planting of potatoes of jimmy skunk.
""so striped chipmunk and happy jack squirrel and jimmy skunk hurried over to mr. rabbit's and told him all about mr. meadow mouse and the bag of potatoes that dropped acorns.
mr. rabbit looked very grave, very grave indeed.
then striped chipmunk and happy jack squirrel and jimmy skunk and mr. rabbit started to tell mr. coon, who was cousin to old king bear.
""on the way they met hooty the owl, and because he could fly softly and quickly, they sent hooty the owl to tell all the meadow people who were awake to come to the hollow chestnut tree.
so hooty the owl flew away to tell all the little meadow people who were awake to meet at the hollow chestnut tree.
""when they reached the hollow chestnut tree whom should they find there but mr. meadow mouse fast asleep beside the bag he had brought for mr. wharf rat, who had wisely stayed away.
""very softly striped chipmunk stole up and opened the bag.
out fell his store of fat acorns.
then they waked mr. meadow mouse and marched him off to old mother nature, where they charged him with being a thief.
""old mother nature listened to all they had to say.
she saw the bag of acorns and she heard how mr. meadow mouse had said that he had a planting of potatoes.
then she asked him if he had stolen the acorns.
yes, sir, she asked him right out if he had stolen the acorns.
""of course mr. meadow mouse said that he had not stolen the acorns."
"then where did you get the bag of acorns?"
asked old mother nature.
""when she asked this, mr. wharf rat, who was sitting in the crowd of meadow people, got up and softly tiptoed away when he thought no one was looking.
but old mother nature saw him.
you ca n't fool old mother nature.
no, sir, you ca n't fool old mother nature, and it's of no use to try.
""mr. meadow mouse did n't know what to say.
he knew now that mr. wharf rat must be the thief, but mr. wharf rat was his cousin, and he had always looked up to him as a very fine gentleman.
he could n't tell the world that mr. wharf rat was a thief.
so mr. meadow mouse said nothing.
""three times old mother nature asked mr. meadow mouse where he got the bag of acorns, and each time mr. meadow mouse said nothing."
"mr. meadow mouse," said old mother nature, and her voice was very stern," i know that you did not steal the acorns of striped chipmunk.
i know that you did not even guess that there were stolen acorns in that bag.
everyone else thinks that you are the thief who caused so much trouble on the green meadows and in the green forest.
but i know who the real thief is and he is stealing away as fast as he can go down the lone little path this very minute."
""all of the little meadow people and forest folks turned to look down the lone little path, but it was so dark none could see, none but hooty the owl, whose eyes are made to see in the dark.""
i see him!"
cried hooty the owl.
"it's mr. wharf rat!""
"yes," said old mother nature, "it's mr. wharf rat -- he is the thief.
and this shall be his punishment: always hereafter he will be driven out wherever he is found.
he shall no longer live in the green meadows or the green forest.
everyone will turn their backs upon him.
he will live on what others throw away.
he will live in filth and there will be no one to say a good word for him.
he will become an outcast instead of a fine gentleman.""
"and you, mr. meadow mouse, in order that you may remember always to avoid bad company, and that while it is a splendid thing to be loyal to your friends and not to tell tales, it is also a very, very wrong thing to shield those who have done wrong when by so doing you simply help them to keep on doing wrong -- you shall no longer have the splendid long tail of which you are so proud, but it shall be short and stubby."
""even while old mother nature was speaking, mr. meadow mouse felt his tail grow shorter and shorter, and when she had finished he had just a little mean stub of a tail.
""of course he felt terribly.
and while striped chipmunk hurried to tell him how sorry he felt, and while all the other little meadow people also hurried to tell him how sorry they felt, he could not be comforted.
so he slipped away as quickly as he could, and because he was so ashamed he crept along underneath the long grass that no one should see his short tail.
and ever since that long ago time when the world was young," concluded grandfather frog, "the meadow mice have had short tails and have always scurried along under cover of the long grass where no one will see them.
and the wharf rats have never again lived in the green meadows or in the green forest, but have lived on filth and garbage around the homes of men, with every man's hand against them."
""thank you, grandfather frog," said danny meadow mouse, very soberly.
""now i understand why my tail is short and i shall not forget."
""but it is n't your fault at all, danny meadow mouse," cried the merry little breezes, who had been listening, "and we love you just as much as if your tail was long!"
then they played tag with him all the way up the lone little path to his house, till danny meadow mouse quite forgot that he had wished that his tail was long.
ii why reddy fox has no friends the green meadows lay peaceful and still.
mother moon, sailing high overhead, looked down upon them and smiled and smiled, flooding them with her silvery light.
all day long the merry little breezes of old mother west wind had romped there among the asters and goldenrod.
they had played tag through the cat rushes around the smiling pool.
for very mischief they had rubbed the fur of the field mice babies the wrong way and had blown a fat green fly right out of grandfather frog's mouth just as his lips came together with a smack.
now they were safely tucked in bed behind the purple hills, and so they missed the midnight feast at the foot of the lone pine.
but reddy fox was there.
you can always count on reddy fox to be about when mischief or good times are afoot, especially after mr. sun has pulled his nightcap on.
jimmy skunk was there.
if there is any mischief reddy fox does not think of jimmy skunk will be sure to discover it.
billy mink was there.
yes indeed, billy mink was there!
billy mink is another mischief maker.
when reddy fox and jimmy skunk are playing pranks or in trouble of any kind you are certain to find billy mink close by.
that is, you are certain to find him if you look sharp enough.
but billy mink is so slim, he moves so quickly, and his wits are so sharp, that he is not seen half so often as the others.
with billy mink came his cousin, shadow the weasel, who is sly and cruel.
no one likes shadow the weasel.
little joe otter and jerry muskrat came.
they were late, for the legs of little joe otter are so short that he is a slow traveler on land, while jerry muskrat feels much more at home in the water than on the dry ground.
of course peter rabbit was there.
without him no party on the green meadows would be complete, and peter likes to be abroad at night even better than by day.
with peter came his cousin, jumper the hare, who had come down from the pine forest for a visit.
boomer the nighthawk and hooty the owl completed the party, though hooty had not been invited and no one knew that he was there.
each was to contribute something to the feast -- the thing that he liked best.
such an array as mother moon looked down upon!
reddy fox had brought a plump, tender chicken, stolen from farmer brown's dooryard.
very quietly, like a thin, brown shadow, billy mink had slipped up to the duck pond and -- alas!
now mother quack had one less in her pretty little flock than when as jolly, round, red mr. sun went to bed behind the purple hills, she had counted her babies as they tucked their heads under their wings.
little joe otter had been fishing and he brought a great fat brother of the lamented tommy trout, who did n't mind.
jerry muskrat brought up from the mud of the river bottom some fine fresh water clams, of which he is very fond.
jimmy skunk stole three big eggs from the nest of old gray goose.
peter rabbit and jumper the hare rolled up a great, tender, fresh cabbage.
boomer the nighthawk said that he was very sorry, but he was on a diet of insects, which he must swallow one at a time, so to save trouble he had swallowed them as he caught them.
now hooty the owl is a glutton and is lazy.
""reddy fox and jimmy skunk and billy mink are sure to bring somethink -lsb- transcriber's note: something? -rsb-
i like, so what is the use of spending my time hunting for what someone else will get for me?"
said he to himself.
so hooty the owl went very early to the lone pine and hid among the thick branches where no one could see him.
shadow the weasel is sly and a thief and lives by his wits.
so because he had rather steal than be honest, he too went to the midnight spread with nothing but his appetite.
now reddy fox is also a glutton and very, very crafty.
when he saw the plump duck brought by billy mink, his mouth watered, for reddy fox is very, very fond of young spring ducks.
so straightway he began to plan how he could get possession of billy mink's duck.
and when billy mink saw the fat trout little joe otter had brought, his eyes danced and his heart swelled with envy, for billy mink is very, very fond of fish.
at once he began to plan how he could secure that particular fat trout little joe otter guarded so carefully.
jimmy skunk was quite contented with the eggs he had stolen from old gray goose -- that is, he was until he saw the plump chicken reddy fox had brought from farmer brown's dooryard.
then suddenly his stomach became very empty, very empty indeed for chicken, and jimmy skunk began to think of a way to add the chicken of reddy fox to his own stolen eggs.
because reddy fox is the largest he was given the place of honor at the head of the table under the lone pine.
on his right sat little joe otter and on his left jerry muskrat.
shadow the weasel was next to little joe otter, while right across from him was jimmy skunk.
peter rabbit was next, sitting opposite his cousin, jumper the hare.
at the extreme end, facing reddy fox, sat billy mink, with the plump duck right under his sharp little nose.
boomer the nighthawk excused himself on the plea that he needed exercise to aid digestion, and as he had brought nothing to the feast, his excuse was politely accepted.
reddy fox is very, very cunning, and his crafty brain had been busily working out a plan to get all these good things for himself.
""little brothers of the green meadows," began reddy fox, "we have met here to-night for a feast of brotherly love."
reddy fox paused a moment to look hungrily at billy mink's duck.
billy mink cast a longing eye at little joe otter's trout, while jimmy skunk stole an envious glance at reddy fox's chicken.
""but there is one missing to make our joy complete," continued reddy fox.
""who has seen bobby coon?"
no one had seen bobby coon.
somehow happy-go-lucky bobby coon had been overlooked when the invitations were sent out.
""i move," continued reddy fox, "that because billy mink runs swiftly, and because he knows where bobby coon usually is to be found, he be appointed a committee of one to find bobby coon and bring him to the feast."
now nothing could have been less to the liking of billy mink, but there was nothing for him to do but to yield as gracefully as he could and go in search of bobby coon.
no sooner had billy mink disappeared down the lone little path than reddy fox recalled a nest of grouse eggs he had seen that day under a big hemlock, and he proposed that inasmuch as jimmy skunk already wore stripes for having stolen a nest of eggs from mrs. grouse, he was just the one to go steal these eggs and bring them to the feast.
of course there was nothing for jimmy skunk to do but to yield as gracefully as he could and go in search of the nest of eggs under the big hemlock.
no sooner had jimmy skunk started off than reddy fox remembered a big shining sucker farmer brown's boy had caught that afternoon and tossed among the rushes beside the smiling pool.
little joe otter listened and his mouth watered and watered until he could sit still no longer.
""if you please," said little joe otter, "i'll run down to the smiling pool and get that sucker to add to the feast."
no sooner was little joe otter out of sight than reddy fox was reminded of a field of carrots on the other side of the green meadows.
now peter rabbit and jumper the hare are very fond of tender young carrots and they volunteered to bring a supply for the feast.
so away they hurried with big jumps down the lone little path and out across the green meadows.
no sooner were peter rabbit and jumper the hare fairly started than reddy fox began to tell of some luscious sweet apples he had noticed under a wild apple tree a little way back on the hill.
now jerry muskrat is quite as fond of luscious sweet apples as of fresh-water clams, so quietly slipping away, he set out in quest of the wild apple tree a little way back on the hill.
no sooner was jerry muskrat lost in the black shadows than reddy fox turned to speak to shadow the weasel.
but shadow the weasel believes that a feast in the stomach is worth two banquets untasted, so while the others had been talking, he had quietly sucked dry the three big eggs stolen by jimmy skunk from old gray goose, and then because he is so slim and so quick and so sly, he slipped away without anyone seeing him.
so when reddy fox turned to speak to shadow the weasel, he found himself alone.
at least he thought himself alone, and he smiled a wicked, selfish smile as he walked over to billy mink's duck.
he was thinking how smart he had been to get rid of all the others, and of how he would enjoy the feast all by himself.
as reddy fox stooped to pick up billy mink's duck, a great shadow dropped softly, oh so softly, out of the lone pine down onto the plump chicken.
then without the teeniest, weeniest bit of noise, it floated back into the lone pine and with it went the plump chicken.
reddy fox, still with his wicked, selfish smile, trotted back with billy mink's duck, but he dropped it in sheer surprise when he discovered that his plump chicken had disappeared.
now reddy fox is very suspicious, as people who are not honest themselves are very apt to be.
so he left billy mink's duck where he had dropped it and trotted very, very softly up the lone little path to try to catch the thief who had stolen his plump chicken.
no sooner was his back turned than down out of the lone pine floated the great shadow, and when a minute later reddy fox returned, billy mink's duck had also disappeared.
reddy fox could hardly believe his eyes.
he did n't smile now.
he was too angry and too frightened.
yes, reddy fox was frightened.
he walked in a big circle round and round the place where the plump chicken and the duck had been, and the more he walked, the more suspicious he became.
he wrinkled and wrinkled his little black nose in an effort to smell the intruder, but not a whiff could he get.
all was as still and peaceful as could be.
little joe otter's trout lay shining in the moonlight.
the big head of cabbage lay just where peter rabbit and jumper the hare had left it.
reddy fox rubbed his eyes to make sure that he was not dreaming and that the plump chicken and the duck were not there too.
just then bowser the hound, over at farmer brown's, bayed at the moon.
reddy fox always is nervous and by this time he was so fidgety that he could n't stand still.
when bowser the hound bayed at the moon reddy fox jumped a foot off the ground and whirled about in the direction of farmer brown's house.
then he remembered that bowser the hound is always chained up at night, so that he had nothing to fear from him.
after listening and looking a moment reddy fox decided that all was safe.
""well," said he to himself, "i'll have that fat trout anyway," and turned to get it.
but the fat trout he had seen a minute before shining in the moonlight had also disappeared.
reddy fox looked and looked until his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
then he did what all cowards do -- ran home as fast as his legs could carry him.
now of course billy mink did n't find bobby coon, and when he came back up the lone little path he was very tired, very hungry and very cross.
and of course jimmy skunk failed to find the nest of mrs. grouse, and little joe otter could find no trace of the shining big sucker among the rushes beside the smiling pool.
they also were very tired, very hungry and very cross.
when the three returned to the lone pine and found nothing there but the big head of cabbage, which none of them liked, the empty egg shells of old gray goose and jerry muskrat's clams, they straightway fell to accusing each other of having stolen the duck and the fat trout and the eggs and began to quarrel dreadfully.
pretty soon up came peter rabbit and jumper the hare, who had failed to find the tender young carrots.
and up came jerry muskrat, who had found no luscious sweet apples.
""where is reddy fox?"
asked peter rabbit.
sure enough, where was reddy fox?
billy mink and little joe otter and jimmy skunk stopped quarreling and looked at each other.
""reddy fox is the thief!"
they cried all together.
peter rabbit and jumper the hare and jerry muskrat agreed that reddy fox must be the thief, and had sent them all away on false errands that he might have the feast all to himself.
so because there was nothing else to do, billy mink and little joe otter, tired and hungry and angry, started for their homes beside the laughing brook.
and jimmy skunk, also tired and hungry and angry, started off up the crooked little path to look for some beetles.
but peter rabbit and jumper the hare sat down to enjoy the big head of cabbage, while close beside them sat jerry muskrat smacking his lips over his clams, they tasted so good.
mother moon looked down and smiled and smiled, for she knew that each had a clear conscience, for they had done no harm to anyone.
and up in the thick top of the great pine hooty the owl nodded sleepily, for his stomach was very full of chicken and duck and trout, although he had not been invited to the party.
and this is why reddy fox has no true friends on the green meadows.
iii why peter rabbit's ears are long the merry little breezes of old mother west wind were tired.
ever since she had turned them out of her big bag onto the green meadows early that morning they had romped and played tag and chased butterflies while old mother west wind herself went to hunt for a raincloud which had wandered away before it had watered the thirsty little plants who were bravely trying to keep the green meadows lovely and truly green.
jolly, round, red mr. sun wore his broadest smile and the more he smiled the warmer it grew.
mr. sun is never thirsty himself, never the least little bit, or perhaps he would have helped old mother west wind find the wandering raincloud.
the merry little breezes threw themselves down on the edge of the smiling pool, where the rushes grow tall, and there they took turns rocking the cradle which held mrs. redwing's four babies.
pretty soon one of the merry little breezes, peeping through the rushes, spied peter rabbit sitting up very straight on the edge of the green meadows.
his long ears were pointed straight up, his big eyes were very wide open and he seemed to be looking and listening with a great deal of curiosity.
""i wonder why it is that peter rabbit has such long ears," said the merry little breeze.
""chug-a-rum!"
replied a great, deep voice right behind him.
all the merry little breezes jumped up and ran through the rushes to the very edge of the smiling pool.
there on a great green lily pad sat great-grandfather frog, his hands folded across his white and yellow waistcoat and his green coat shining spick and span.
""chug-a-rum," said grandfather frog.
""oh, grandfather frog," cried the merry little breezes all together, "do tell us why it is that peter rabbit has such long ears."
grandfather frog cleared his throat.
he looked to the east and cleared his throat again.
then he looked to the west, and cleared his throat.
he looked north and he looked south, and each time he cleared his throat, but said nothing.
finally he folded his hands once more over his white and yellow waistcoat, and looking straight up at jolly, round, red mr. sun he remarked in his very deepest voice and to no one in particular: "if i had four fat, foolish, green flies, it is just possible that i might remember how it happens that peter rabbit has such long ears."
then up jumped all the merry little breezes and away they raced.
some of them went east, some of them went west, some of them went north, some of them went south, all looking for fat, foolish, green flies for grandfather frog.
by and by they came skipping back, one by one, to the edge of the smiling pool, each with a fat, foolish, green fly, and each stopping to give mrs. redwing's cradle a gentle push.
when grandfather frog had swallowed all the fat, foolish, green flies brought by the merry little breezes, he settled himself comfortably on his big lily pad once more and began: "once upon a time, very long ago, when the world was young, mr. rabbit -- not our peter rabbit, but his grandfather a thousand times removed -- had short ears like all the other meadow people, and also his four legs were all of the same length, just exactly the same length.
""now mr. rabbit had a great deal of curiosity, a very great deal, indeed.
he was forever pushing his prying little nose into other people's affairs, which, you know, is a most unpleasant habit.
in fact, mr. rabbit had become a nuisance."
-lsb- illustration: mr. rabbit had a great deal of curiosity, a very great deal, indeed. -rsb-
""whenever billy mink stopped to pass the time of day with jerry muskrat they were sure to find mr. rabbit standing close by, listening to all they said.
if johnny chuck's mother ran over to have a few minutes" chat with jimmy skunk's mother, the first thing they knew mr. rabbit would be squatting down in the grass right behind them.
""the older he grew the worse mr. rabbit became.
he would spend his evenings going from house to house, tiptoeing softly up to the windows to listen to what the folks inside were saying.
and the more he heard the more mr. rabbit's curiosity grew.
""now, like most people who meddle in other folks" affairs, mr. rabbit had no time to tend to his own business.
his cabbage patch grew up to weeds.
his house leaked, his fences fell to pieces, and altogether his was the worst looking place on the green meadows.
""worse still, mr. rabbit was a trouble maker.
he just could n't keep his tongue still.
and like most gossips, he never could tell the exact truth.
""dear me!
dear me!"
said grandfather frog, shaking his head solemnly.
""things had come to a dreadful pass on the green meadows.
reddy fox and bobby coon never met without fighting.
jimmy skunk and johnny chuck turned their backs on each other.
jerry muskrat, little joe otter, and billy mink called each other bad names.
all because mr. rabbit had told so many stories that were not true.
""now when old mother nature visited the green meadows she soon saw what a dreadful state all the meadow people were in, and she began to inquire how it all came about."
"it's all because of mr. rabbit," said reddy fox."
"no one is to blame but mr. rabbit," said striped chipmunk.
""everywhere old mother nature inquired it was the same -- mr. rabbit, mr. rabbit, mr. rabbit.
""so then old mother nature sent for blustering great mr. north wind, who is very strong.
and she sent for mr. rabbit.
""mr. rabbit trembled in his shoes when he got old mother nature's message.
he would have liked to run away and hide.
but he did not dare do that, for he knew that there was nowhere he could hide that mother nature would not find him sooner or later.
and besides, his curiosity would give him no peace.
he just had to know what old mother nature wanted.
""so peter rabbit put on his best suit, which was very shabby, and set out for the lone pine to see what old mother nature wanted.
when he got there, he found all the little people of the green meadows and all the little folks of the green forest there before him.
there were reddy fox, johnny chuck, striped chipmunk, happy jack squirrel, mr. black snake, old mr. crow, sammy jay, billy mink, little joe otter, jerry muskrat, spotty the turtle, old king bear, his cousin, mr. coon, and all the other little people.
""when he saw all who had gathered under the lone pine, and how they all looked crossly at him, mr. rabbit was so frightened that his heart went pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, and he wanted more than ever to run away.
but he did n't dare to.
no, sir, he did n't dare to.
and then he was so curious to know what it all meant that he would n't have run if he had dared.
""old mother nature made mr. rabbit sit up on an old log where all could see him.
then in turn she asked each present who was the cause of all the trouble on the green meadows.
and each in turn answered "mr. rabbit.""
"mr. rabbit," said old mother nature, "you are lazy, for your cabbage patch has all gone to weeds.
you are shiftless, for your house leaks.
you are a sneak, for you creep up where you are not wanted and listen to things which do not concern you.
you are a thief, for you steal the secrets of others.
you are a prevaricator, for you tell things which are not so.
mr. rabbit, you are all these -- a lazy, shiftless sneak, thief and prevaricator."
""it was dreadful.
mother nature paused, and mr. rabbit felt oh so ashamed.
he did not look up, but he felt, he just felt, all the eyes of all the little meadow people and forest folk burning right into him.
so he hung his head and two great tears fell splash, right at his feet.
you see mr. rabbit was n't altogether bad.
it was just this dreadful curiosity.
""old mother nature knew this and down in her heart she loved mr. rabbit and was oh so sorry for him."
"mr. rabbit," continued old mother nature, "because your curiosity is so great, your ears shall be made long, that every one who sees you may know that it is not safe to talk when you are near.
because you are a sneak and steal up to people unseen, your-hind legs shall be made long, so that whenever you sit up straight you will be tall and every one can see you, and whenever you run, you will go with great jumps, and every one will know who it is running away.
and because you are shiftless and your house leaks, you will hereafter live in a hole in the ground."
""then old mother nature took mr. rabbit by his two ears and big, strong mr. north wind took peter rabbit by his hind legs, and they both pulled.
and when they put him down peter rabbit's ears and his hind legs were long, many times longer than they used to be.
when he tried to run away to hide his shame, he found that the only way he could go was with great jumps, and you may be sure he jumped as fast as he could.
""and ever since that long ago time, when the world was young, rabbits have had long ears and long hind legs, all because of the curiosity of their grandfather a thousand times removed.
and now you know why peter rabbit's ears are long, and why he is always sitting up and listening," concluded great-grandfather frog.
""thank you, thank you, grandfather frog!"
shouted all the merry little breezes, and raced away to help old mother west wind drive up the wandering raincloud, which she had found at last.
iv reddy fox disobeys on the brow of the hill by the lone pine sat reddy fox.
every few moments he pointed his little black nose up at the round, yellow moon and barked.
way over across the broad white meadows, which in summer time are green, you know, in the dooryard of farmer brown's house, bowser the hound sat and barked at the moon, too.
""yap-yap-yap," barked reddy fox, as loud as he could.
""bow-wow-wow," said bowser the hound in his deepest voice.
then both would listen and watch the million little stars twinkle and twinkle in the frosty sky.
now just why reddy fox should bark at the moon he did not know.
he just had to.
every night for a week he had sat at the foot of the lone pine and barked and barked until his throat was sore.
every night old mother fox had warned him that noisy children would come to no good end, and every night reddy had promised that he would bark no more.
but every night when the first silver flood of witching light crept over the hill and cast strange shadows from the naked branches of the trees, reddy forgot all about his promise.
deep down under his little red coat was a strange feeling which he could not explain.
he simply must bark, so up to the lone pine he would go and yap and yap and yap, until all the little meadow people who were not asleep knew just where reddy fox was.
bowser the hound knew, too, and he made up his mind that reddy fox was making fun of him.
now bowser did not like to be made fun of any more than little boys and girls do, and he made up his mind that if ever he could break his chain, or that if ever farmer brown forgot to chain him up, he would teach reddy fox a lesson that reddy would never forget.
""yap-yap-yap," barked reddy fox, and then listened to hear bowser's deep voice reply.
but this time there was no reply.
reddy listened, and listened, and then tried it again.
way off on a distant hill he could hear hooty the owl.
close by him jack frost was busy snapping sticks.
down on the white meadows he could see jimmy skunk prowling about.
once he heard a rooster crow sleepily in farmer brown's hen-house, but he thought of bowser the hound, and though his mouth watered, he did not dare risk a closer acquaintance with the big dog.
so he sat still and barked, and pretty soon he forgot all else but the moon and the sound of his own voice.
now bowser the hound had managed to slip his collar.
""aha," thought bowser, "now i'll teach reddy fox to make fun of me," and like a shadow he slipped through the fence and across the white meadows towards the lone pine.
reddy fox had just barked for the hundreth time when he heard a twig crack just back of him.
it had a different sound from the noisy crack of jack frost, and reddy stopped a yap right in the middle and whirled about to see what it might be.
there was bowser the hound almost upon him, his eyes flashing fire, his great, red jaws wide open, and every hair on his back bristling with rage.
reddy fox did n't wait to say "good evening," or to see more.
oh, no!
he turned a back somersault and away he sped over the hard, snowy crust as fast as his legs could carry him.
bowser baying at the moon he liked to hear, but bowser baying at his heels was another matter, and reddy ran as he had never run before.
down across the white meadows he sped, bowser frightening all the echoes with the roar of his big voice as he followed in full cry.
how reddy did wish that he had minded mother fox!
how safe and snug and warm was his home under the roots of the old hickory tree, and how he did wish that he was safely there!
but it would never do to go there now, for that would tell bowser where he lived, and bowser would take farmer brown there, and that would be the end of reddy fox and of mother fox and of all the brother and sister foxes.
so reddy twisted and turned, and ran this way and ran that way, and the longer he ran, the shorter his breath grew.
it was coming in great pants now.
his bushy tail, of which he was so proud, had become very heavy.
how reddy fox did wish and wish that he had minded mother fox!
he twisted and turned, and doubled this way and that way, and all the time bowser the hound got closer and closer.
now way off on the hill behind the white meadows mother fox had been hunting for her supper.
she had heard the "yap-yap-yap" of reddy fox as he barked at the moon, and she had heard bowser baying over in the barnyard of farmer brown.
then she had heard the "yap" of reddy fox cut short in the middle and the roar of bowser's big voice as he started to chase reddy fox.
she knew that reddy could run fast, but she also knew that bowser the hound had a wonderful nose, and that bowser would never give up.
so mother fox pattered down the crooked little path onto the white meadows, where she could see the chase.
when she got near enough, she barked twice to tell reddy that she would help him.
now reddy fox was so tired that he was almost in despair when he heard mother fox bark.
but he knew that mother fox was so wise, and she had so often fooled bowser the hound, that if he could hold out just a little longer she would help him.
so for a few minutes he ran faster than ever and he gained a long way on bowser the hound.
as he passed a shock of corn that had been left standing on the white meadows, mother fox stepped out from behind it.
""go home, reddy fox," said she, sharply, "go home and stay there until i come."
then she deliberately sat down in front of the shock of corn to wait until bowser the hound should come in sight.
now bowser the hound kept his eyes and nose on the track of reddy fox, looking up only once in a while to see where he was going, so he did not see reddy fox slip behind the corn shock, and when he did look up, he saw only mother fox sitting there waiting for him.
now bowser the hound thinks slowly.
when he saw old mother fox sitting there, he did not stop to think that it was not reddy fox whom he had been following, or he would have known better than to waste his time following old mother fox.
he would have just hunted around until he had found where reddy had gone to.
but bowser the hound thinks slowly.
when he saw old mother fox sitting there, he thought it was reddy fox and that now he had him.
with a great roar of his big voice, he sprang forward.
mother fox waited until he was almost upon her, then springing to one side, she trotted off a little way.
at once bowser the hound started after her.
she pretended to be very tired.
every time he rushed forward she managed to just slip out of his grasp.
little by little she led him across the white meadows back towards farmer brown's barnyard.
pretty soon old mother fox began to run as fast as she could, and that is very fast indeed.
she left bowser the hound a long, long way behind.
when she came to a stone wall she jumped up on the stone wall and ran along it, just like a squirrel.
every once in a while she would make a long jump and then trot along a little way again.
she knew that stones do not carry the scent well, and that bowser the hound would have hard work to smell her on the stone wall.
way down at the end of the pasture an old apple tree stretched a long limb out towards the stone wall.
when she got opposite to this she jumped onto this long limb and ran up into the tree.
there in the crotch, close to the trunk, she sat and watched.
bowser the hound, making a tremendous noise, followed her trail up to the stone wall.
then he was puzzled.
he sniffed this way, and he sniffed that way, but he could not tell where mother fox had disappeared to.
he looked up at old mother moon and bayed and bayed, but old mother moon did not help him a bit.
then he jumped over the stone wall and looked, and looked, and smelled, and smelled, but no track of mother fox could he find.
then he ran up along the stone wall a little way, and then down along the stone wall a little way, but still he could not find a track of mother fox.
the longer he hunted, the angrier he grew.
old mother fox, sitting in the apple tree, watched him and laughed and laughed to herself.
then when she grew tired of watching him, she made a long jump out into the field and trotted off home to punish reddy fox for his disobedience.
when she got there she found reddy fox very much ashamed, very tired and very sorrowful, and since that time reddy fox has never barked at the moon.
v striped chipmunk's pockets it was one of striped chipmunk's busy days.
every day is a busy day with striped chipmunk at this season of the year, for the sweet acorns are ripe and the hickory nuts rattle down whenever old mother west wind shakes the trees, while every night jack frost opens chestnut burrs just to see the squirrels scamper for the plump brown nuts the next morning.
so striped chipmunk was very busy, very busy indeed!
he whisked in and out of the old stone wall along one edge of the green meadows.
back and forth, back and forth, sometimes to the old hickory tree, sometimes to the hollow chestnut tree, sometimes to the great oak on the edge of the green forest striped chipmunk scampered.
old mother west wind, coming down from the purple hills very early in the morning, had found striped chipmunk up before her and hard at work.
later, when jolly, round, red mr. sun had climbed up into the sky, the merry little breezes had spied striped chipmunk whisking along the old stone wall and had raced over to play with him, for the merry little breezes are very fond of striped chipmunk.
they got there just in time to see him disappear under a great stone in the old wall.
in a minute he was out again and off as fast as he could go to the old hickory tree.
""oh, striped chipmunk, come play with us," shouted the merry little breezes, running after him.
but striped chipmunk just flirted his funny little tail and winked with both his bright eyes at them.
""busy!
busy!
busy!"
said striped chipmunk, hurrying along as fast as his short legs could take him.
the merry little breezes laughed, and one of them, dancing ahead, pulled the funny little tail of striped chipmunk.
""it's a beautiful day; do come and play with us," cried the merry little breeze.
but striped chipmunk flirted his tail over his back once more.
""busy!
busy!
busy!"
he shouted over his shoulder and ran faster than ever.
in a few minutes he was back again, but such a queer-looking fellow as he was!
his head was twice as big as it had been before and you would hardly have known that it was striped chipmunk but for the saucy way he twitched his funny little tail and the spry way he scampered along the old stone wall.
""oh, striped chipmunk's got the mumps!"
shouted the merry little breezes.
but striped chipmunk said never a word.
he could n't.
he ran faster than ever until he disappeared under the big stone.
when he popped his head out again he was just his usual saucy little self.
""say, striped chipmunk," cried the merry little breezes, rushing over to him, "tell us how you happen to have pockets in your cheeks."
but striped chipmunk just snapped his bright eyes at them and said "busy!
busy!
busy!"
as he scuttled over to the hollow chestnut tree.
the merry little breezes saw that it was no use at all to try to tempt striped chipmunk to play with them or to answer questions.
""i tell you what," cried one, "let's go ask great-grandfather frog how striped chipmunk happens to have pockets in his cheeks.
he'll know."
so away they started, after they had raced over to the big hollow chestnut tree and sent a shower of brown nuts rattling down to striped chipmunk from the burrs that jack frost had opened the night before.
""good-bye, striped chipmunk," they shouted as they romped across the green meadows.
and striped chipmunk stopped long enough to shout "good-bye" before he filled his pockets with the brown nuts.
old grandfather frog sat on his big green lily pad blinking in the sun.
it was very still, very, very still indeed.
suddenly out of the brown bulrushes burst the merry little breezes and surrounded old grandfather frog.
and every one of them had brought to him a fat, foolish, green fly.
grandfather's big goggly eyes sparkled and he gave a funny little hop up into the air as he caught each foolish green fly.
when the last one was safely inside his white and yellow waistcoat he settled himself comfortably on the big green lily pad and folded his hands over the foolish green flies.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog.
""what is it you want this morning?"
""oh, grandfather frog," cried the merry little breezes, "tell us how it happens that striped chipmunk has pockets in his cheeks.
do tell us, grandfather frog.
please do!"
""chug-a-rum," said grandfather frog.
""how should i know?"
""but you do know, grandfather frog, you know you do.
please tell us!"
cried the merry little breezes as they settled themselves among the rushes.
and presently grandfather frog began: "once upon a time -- a long, long while ago --" "when the world was young?"
asked a mischievous little breeze.
grandfather frog pretended to be very much put out by the interruption, and tried to look very severe.
but the merry little breezes were all giggling, so that presently he had to smile too.
""yes," said he, "it was when the world was young, before old king bear became king.
mr. chipmunk, striped chipmunk's great-great-great-grandfather a thousand times removed, was the smallest of the squirrels, just as striped chipmunk is now.
but he did n't mind that, not the least little bit.
mr. gray squirrel was four times as big and had a handsome tail, mr. fox squirrel was four times as big and he also had a handsome tail, mr. red squirrel was twice as big and he thought his tail was very good to see.
but mr. chipmunk did n't envy his big cousins their fine tails; not he!
you see he had himself a beautiful striped coat of which he was very proud and which he thought much more to be desired than a big tail.
""so mr. chipmunk went his way happy and contented and he was such a merry little fellow and so full of fun and cut such funny capers that everybody loved mr. chipmunk.
""one day, when the nights were cool and all the trees had put on their brilliant colors, old mother nature sent word down across the green meadows that every squirrel should gather for her and store away until she came a thousand nuts.
now the squirrels had grown fat and lazy through the long summer, all but mr. chipmunk, who frisked about so much that he had no chance to grow fat.
""mr. gray squirrel grumbled.
mr. fox squirrel grumbled.
mr. red squirrel grumbled.
but they did n't dare disobey old mother nature, so they all set out, each to gather a thousand nuts.
and mr. chipmunk alone was pleasant and cheerful.
""when they reached the nut trees, what do you suppose they discovered?
why, that they had been so greedy that they had eaten most of the nuts and it was going to be hard work to find and store a thousand nuts for old mother nature.
then they began to hurry, did mr. gray squirrel and mr. fox squirrel and mr. red squirrel, each trying to make sure of his thousand nuts.
they quarreled and they fought over the nuts on the ground and even up in the trees.
and because they were so big and so strong, they pushed mr. chipmunk this way and they pushed him that way and often just as he was going to pick up a fat nut one of them would knock him over and make off with the prize.
""poor mr. chipmunk kept his temper and was as polite as ever, but how he did work!
his cousins are great climbers and could get the nuts still left on the trees, but mr. chipmunk is a poor climber, so he had to be content with those on the ground.
of course he could carry only one nut at a time and his legs were so short that he had to run as fast as ever he could to store each nut in his secret store-house and get back for another.
and while the others quarreled and fought, he hurried back and forth, back and forth, from early morning until jolly, round, red mr. sun pulled his night cap on behind the purple hills, hunting for nuts and putting them away in his secret store-house.
""but the nuts grew scarcer and scarcer on the ground and harder to find, for the other squirrels were picking them up too, and then they did not have so far to carry them.
""sometimes one of his cousins up in the trees would drop a nut, but mr. chipmunk never would take it, not even when he was having hard work to find any, "for," said he to himself, "if my cousin drops a nut, it is his nut just the same."
""finally mr. gray squirrel announced that he had got his thousand nuts.
then mr. fox squirrel announced that he had got his thousand nuts.
the next day mr. red squirrel stopped hunting because he had his thousand nuts.
""but mr. chipmunk had hardly more than half as many.
and that night he made a dreadful discovery -- some one had found his secret store-house and had stolen some of his precious nuts."
"it's of no use to cry over what ca n't be helped," said mr. chipmunk, and the next morning he bravely started out again.
he had worked so hard that he had grown thinner and thinner until now he was only a shadow of his old self.
but he was as cheerful as ever and kept right on hunting and hunting for stray nuts.
mr. gray squirrel and mr. fox squirrel and mr. red squirrel sat around and rested and made fun of him.
way up in the tops of the tallest trees a few nuts still clung, but his cousins did not once offer to go up and shake them down for mr. chipmunk.
""and then old mother nature came down across the green meadows.
first mr. gray squirrel took her to his storehouse and she counted his thousand nuts.
then mr. fox squirrel led her to his storehouse and she counted his thousand nuts.
then mr. red squirrel showed her his store-house and she counted his thousand nuts.
""last of all mr. chipmunk led her to his secret store-house and showed her the pile of nuts he had worked so hard to get.
old mother nature did n't need to count them to see that there were not a thousand there."
"i've done the best i could," said mr. chipmunk bravely, and he trembled all over, he was so tired.
""old mother nature said never a word but went out on the green meadows and sent the merry little breezes to call together all the little meadow people and all the little forest folks.
when they had all gathered before her she suddenly turned to mr. gray squirrel."
"go bring me a hundred nuts from your store-house," said she.
""then she turned to mr. fox squirrel."
"go bring me a hundred nuts from your store-house," said she.
""last of all she called mr. red squirrel out where all could see him.
mr. red squirrel crept out very slowly.
his teeth chattered and his tail, of which he was so proud, dragged on the ground, for you see mr. red squirrel had something on his mind.
""then old mother nature told how she had ordered each squirrel to get and store for her a thousand nuts.
she told just how selfish mr. gray squirrel and mr. fox squirrel had been.
she told just how hard mr. chipmunk had worked and then she told how part of his precious store had been stolen."
"and there," said old mother nature in a loud voice so that every one should hear, "there is the thief!"
""then she commanded mr. red squirrel to go to his store-house and bring her half of the biggest and best nuts he had there!
""mr. red squirrel sneaked off with his head hanging, and began to bring the nuts.
and as he tramped back and forth, back and forth, all the little meadow people and all the little forest folks pointed their fingers at him and cried "thief!
thief!
thief!"
""when all the nuts had been brought to her by mr. gray squirrel and mr. fox squirrel and mr. red squirrel, old mother nature gathered them all up and put them in the secret store-house of mr. chipmunk.
then she set mr. chipmunk up on an old stump where all could see him and she said:" "mr. chipmunk, because you have been faithful, because you have been cheerful, because you have done your best, henceforth you shall have two pockets, one in each cheek, so that you can carry two nuts at once, that you may not have to work so hard the next time i tell you to store a thousand nuts."
""and all the little meadow people and all the little forest folks shouted "hurrah for mr. chipmunk!"
all but his cousins, mr. gray squirrel and mr. fox squirrel and mr. red squirrel, who hid themselves for shame.
""and ever since that time long ago, when the world was young, the chipmunks have had pockets in their cheeks.
""you ca n't fool old mother nature," concluded great-grandfather frog.
""no, sir, you ca n't fool old mother nature and it's no use to try."
""thank you, thank you," cried the merry little breezes, clapping their hands.
then they all raced across the green meadows to shake down some more nuts for striped chipmunk.
vi reddy fox, the boaster johnny chuck waddled down the lone little path across the green meadows.
johnny chuck was very fat and rolly-poly.
his yellow brown coat fitted him so snugly that it seemed as if it must burst.
johnny chuck was feeling very happy -- very happy indeed, for you see johnny chuck long ago found the best thing in the world, which is contentment.
jolly, round, red mr. sun, looking down from the sky, smiled and smiled to see johnny chuck waddling down the lone little path, for he loved the merry-hearted little fellow, as do all the little meadow people -- all but reddy fox, for reddy fox has not forgotten the surprise johnny chuck once gave him and how he called him a" "fraid cat."
once in a while johnny chuck stopped to brush his coat carefully, for he is very particular about his appearance, is johnny chuck.
by and by he came to the old butternut tree down by the smiling pool.
he could see it a long time before he reached it, and up in the top of it he could see blacky the crow flapping his wings and cawing at the top of his voice.
""there must be something going on," said johnny chuck to himself, and began to waddle faster.
he looked so very queer when he tried to hurry that jolly round, red mr. sun smiled more than ever.
when he was almost to the old butter-nut tree johnny chuck sat up very straight so that his head came just above the tall meadow grasses beside the lone little path.
he could see the merry little breezes dancing and racing under the old butternut tree and having such a good time!
and he could see the long ears of peter rabbit standing up straight above the tall meadow grasses.
one of the merry little breezes spied johnny chuck.
""hurry up, johnny chuck!"
he shouted, and johnny chuck hurried.
when he reached the old butternut tree he was all out of breath.
he was puffing and blowing and he was so warm that he wished just for a minute, a single little minute, that he could swim like billy mink and jerry muskrat and little joe otter, so that he could jump into the smiling pool and cool off.
""hello, johnny chuck!"
shouted peter rabbit.
""hello yourself, and see how you like it!"
replied johnny chuck.
""hello myself!"
said peter rabbit.
and then because it was so very foolish everybody laughed.
it is a good thing to feel foolishly happy on a beautiful sunshiny day, especially down on the green meadows.
jimmy skunk was there.
he was feeling very, very good indeed, was jimmy skunk, for he had found some very fine beetles for his breakfast.
little joe otter was there, and billy mink and jerry muskrat and happy jack squirrel, and of course reddy fox was there.
oh my, yes, of course reddy fox was there!
reddy fox never misses a chance to show off.
he was wearing his very newest red coat and his whitest waistcoat.
he had brushed his tail till it looked very handsome, and every few minutes he would turn and admire it.
reddy fox thought himself a very fine gentleman.
he admired himself and he wanted every one else to admire him.
""let's do stunts," said peter rabbit.
""i can jump farther than anybody here!"
then peter rabbit jumped a tremendously long jump.
then everybody jumped, everybody but reddy fox.
even johnny chuck jumped, and because he was so rolly-poly he tumbled over and over and everybody laughed and johnny chuck laughed loudest of all.
and because his hind legs are long and meant for jumping peter rabbit had jumped farther than any one else.
""i can climb to the top of the old butternut tree quicker than anybody else," cried happy jack squirrel, and away he started with bobby coon and billy mink after him, for though billy mink is a famous swimmer and can run swiftly, he can also climb when he has to.
but happy jack squirrel was at the top of the old butternut tree almost before the others had started.
the merry little breezes clapped their hands and everybody shouted for happy jack squirrel, everybody but reddy fox.
""i can swim faster than anybody here," shouted little joe otter.
in a flash three little brown coats splashed into the smiling pool so suddenly that they almost upset great-grandfather frog watching from his big green lily pad.
they belonged to little joe otter, billy mink and jerry muskrat.
across the smiling pool and back again they raced and little joe otter was first out on the bank.
""hurrah for little joe otter!"
shouted blacky the crow.
and everybody shouted "hurrah!"
everybody but reddy fox.
""what can you do, jimmy skunk?"
asked peter rabbit, dancing up and down, he was so excited.
jimmy skunk yawned lazily.
""i can throw a wonderful perfume farther than anybody here," said jimmy skunk.
""we know it!
we know it!"
shouted the merry little breezes as everybody tumbled heels over head away from jimmy skunk, even reddy fox.
""but please do n't!"
and jimmy skunk did n't.
then they all came back, reddy fox carefully brushing his handsome red coat which had become sadly mussed, he had fled in such a hurry.
now for the first time in his life johnny chuck began to feel just a wee, wee bit discontented.
what was there he could do better than any one else?
he could n't jump and he could n't climb and he could n't swim.
he could n't even run fast, because he was so fat and round and rolly-poly.
he quite forgot that he was so sunny-hearted and good-natured that everybody loved him, everybody but reddy fox.
just then reddy fox began to boast, for reddy fox is a great boaster.
""pooh!"
said reddy fox, "pooh!
anybody could jump if their legs were made for jumping.
and what's the good of climbing trees anyway?
now i can run faster than anybody here -- faster than anybody in the whole world!"
said reddy fox, puffing himself out.
""chug-a-rum," said grandfather frog.
""you ca n't beat spotty the turtle."
then everyone shouted and rolled over and over in the grass, they were so tickled, for every one remembered how spotty the turtle had once won a race from reddy fox.
for a minute reddy fox looked very foolish.
then he lost his temper, which is a very unwise thing to do, for it is hard to find again.
he swelled himself out until every hair stood on end and he looked twice as big as he did before.
he strutted up and down and glared at each in turn.
""and i'm not afraid of any living thing on the green meadows!"
boasted reddy fox.
""chug-a-rum," said grandfather frog.
""do i see bowser the hound?"
every hair on reddy fox suddenly fell back into place.
he whirled about nervously and anxiously looked over the green meadows.
then everybody shouted again and rolled over and over in the grass and held on to their sides, for you see bowser the hound was n't there at all.
but everybody took good care to keep away from reddy fox, everybody but johnny chuck.
he just sat still and chuckled and chuckled till his fat sides shook.
""what are you laughing at?"
demanded reddy fox.
""i was just thinking," said johnny chuck, "that though you can run so fast, you ca n't even catch me."
reddy fox just glared at him for a minute, he was so mad.
then he sprang straight at johnny chuck.
""i'll show you!"
he snarled.
now johnny chuck had been sitting close beside a hole that grandfather chuck had dug a long time before and which was empty.
in a flash johnny chuck disappeared head first in the hole.
now the hole was too small for reddy fox to enter, but he was so angry that he straightway began to dig it larger.
my, how the sand did fly!
it poured out behind reddy fox in a stream of shining yellow.
johnny chuck ran down the long tunnel underground until he reached the end.
then when he heard reddy fox digging and knew that he was really coming, johnny chuck began to dig, too, only instead of digging down he dug up towards the sunshine and the blue sky.
my, how his short legs did fly and his stout little claws dug into the soft earth!
his little forepaws flew so fast that if you had been there you could hardly have seen them at all.
and with his strong hind legs he kicked the sand right back into the face of reddy fox.
all the little meadow people gathered around the hole where johnny chuck and reddy fox had disappeared.
they were very anxious, very anxious indeed.
would reddy fox catch johnny chuck?
and what would he do to him?
was all their fun to end in something terrible to sunny-hearted, merry johnny chuck, whom everybody loved?
all of a sudden, pop!
right out of the solid earth among the daisies and buttercups, just like a jack-in-the-box, came johnny chuck!
he looked very warm and a little tired, but he was still chuckling as he scampered across to another hole of grandfather chuck's.
by and by something else crawled out of the hole johnny chuck had made.
could it be reddy fox?
where were his white waistcoat and beautiful red coat?
and was that thing dragging behind him his splendid tail?
he crept out of the hole and then just lay down and panted for breath.
he was almost too tired to move.
then he began to spit sand out of his mouth and blow it out of his nose and try to wipe it out of his eyes.
the long hair of his fine coat was filled full of sand and no one would ever have guessed that this was reddy fox.
""haw!
haw!
haw!"
shouted blacky the crow.
then everybody shouted "haw!
haw!
haw!"
and began to roll in the grass and hold on to their sides once more; everybody but reddy fox.
when he could get his breath he did n't look this way or that way, but just sneaked off to his home under the big hickory.
-lsb- illustration: then everybody shouted "haw!
haw!
haw!" -rsb-
and when old mother west wind came with her big bag to take the merry little breezes to their home behind the purple hills, johnny chuck waddled back up the lone little path chuckling to himself, for that little feeling of discontent was all gone.
he had found that after all he could do something better than anybody else on the green meadows, for in his heart he knew that none could dig so fast as he.
vii johnny chuck's secret johnny chuck pushed up the last bit of gravel from the hole he had dug between the roots of the old apple tree in a corner of the green meadows.
he smoothed it down on the big, yellow mound he had made in front of his door.
then he sat up very straight on top of the mound, brushed his coat, shook the sand from his trousers and carefully cleaned his hands.
after he had rested a bit, he turned around and looked at his new home, for that is what it was, although he had not come there to live yet, and no one knew of it, no one but jolly, round, red mr. sun, who, peeping between the branches of the old apple tree, had caught johnny chuck at work.
but he would n't tell, not jolly mr. sun!
looking down from the blue sky every day he sees all sorts of queer things and he learns all kinds of secrets, does mr. sun, but he never, never tells.
no, sir!
mr. sun never tells one of them, not even to old mother west wind when at night they go down together behind the purple hills.
so jolly, round, red mr. sun just smiled and smiled when he discovered johnny chuck's secret, for that is just what the new home under the apple tree was -- a secret.
not even the merry little breezes, who find out almost everything, had discovered it.
johnny chuck chuckled to himself as he planned a back door, a beautiful back door, hidden behind a tall clump of meadow grass where no one would think to look for a door.
when he had satisfied himself as to just where he would put it, he once more sat up very straight on his nice, new mound and looked this way and looked that way to be sure that no one was near.
then he started for his old home along a secret little path he had made for himself.
pretty soon he came to the lone little path that went past his own home.
he danced and he skipped along the lone little path, and, because he was so happy, he tried to turn a somersault.
but johnny chuck was so round and fat and rolly-poly that he just tumbled over in a heap.
""well, well, well!
what's the matter with you?"
said a voice close beside him before he could pick himself up.
it was jimmy skunk, who was out looking for some beetles for his dinner.
johnny chuck scrambled to his feet and looked foolish, very foolish indeed.
""there's nothing the matter with me, jimmy skunk," said johnny.
""there's nothing the matter with me.
it's just because i've got a secret."
""a secret!"
cried jimmy skunk.
""what is it?"
""yes, a secret, a really, truly secret," said johnny chuck, and looked very important.
""tell me, johnny chuck.
come on, tell just me, and then we'll have the secret together," begged jimmy skunk.
now johnny chuck was so tickled with his secret that it seemed as if he must share it with some one.
he just could n't keep it to himself any longer.
""you wo n't tell any one?"
said johnny chuck.
jimmy skunk promised that he would n't tell a soul.
""cross your heart," commanded johnny chuck.
jimmy skunk crossed his heart.
then johnny chuck looked this way and looked that way to be sure that no one was listening.
finally he whispered in jimmy skunk's ear: "i've got a new home under the old apple tree in a corner of the green meadows," said johnny chuck.
of course jimmy skunk was very much surprised and very much interested, so johnny chuck told him all about it.
""now, remember, it's a secret," said johnny chuck, as jimmy skunk started off down the lone little path across the green meadows, to look for some beetles.
""i'll remember," said jimmy skunk.
""and do n't tell!"
called johnny chuck.
jimmy skunk promised that he would n't tell.
then johnny chuck started off up the lone little path, whistling, and jimmy skunk trotted down the lone little path onto the green meadows.
jimmy skunk was thinking so much about johnny chuck's new home that he quite forgot to look for beetles, and he almost ran into peter rabbit.
""hello, jimmy skunk," said peter rabbit, "ca n't you see where you are going?
it must be you have something on your mind; what is it?"
""i was thinking of johnny chuck's new home," said jimmy skunk.
""johnny chuck's new home!"
exclaimed peter rabbit.
""has johnny chuck got a new home?
where is it?"
""under the roots of the old apple tree in a corner of the green meadows," said jimmy skunk, and then he clapped both hands over his mouth.
you see he had n't really meant to tell.
it just slipped out.
""oh, but it's a secret!"
cried jimmy skunk.
""it's a secret, and you must n't tell.
i guess johnny chuck wo n't mind if you know, peter rabbit, but you must n't tell any one else."
peter rabbit promised he would n't.
now peter rabbit is very inquisitive, very inquisitive indeed.
so as soon as he had parted from jimmy skunk he made up his mind that he must see the new home of johnny chuck.
so off he started as fast as he could go towards the old apple tree in a corner of the green meadows.
half way there he met reddy fox.
""hello, peter rabbit!
where are you going in such a hurry?"
asked reddy fox.
""over to the old apple tree to see johnny chuck's new home," replied peter rabbit as he tried to dodge past reddy fox.
then of a sudden he remembered and clapped both hands over his mouth.
""oh, but it's a secret, reddy fox.
it's a secret, and you must n't tell!"
cried peter rabbit.
but reddy fox would n't promise that he would n't tell, for in spite of his handsome coat and fine manners, reddy fox is a scamp.
and, besides, he has no love for johnny chuck, for he has not forgotten how johnny chuck once made him run and called him a" "fraid cat."
so when reddy fox left peter rabbit he grinned a wicked grin and hurried off to find bobby coon.
he met him on his way to the laughing brook.
reddy fox told bobby coon all about johnny chuck's secret and then hurried away after peter rabbit, for reddy fox also is very inquisitive.
bobby coon went on down to the laughing brook.
there he met billy mink and told him about the new home johnny chuck had made under the old apple tree in a corner of the green meadows.
pretty soon billy mink met little joe otter and told him.
then little joe otter met jerry muskrat and told him.
jerry muskrat saw blacky the crow and told him, and great-grandfather frog heard him.
blacky the crow met his first cousin, sammy jay, and told him.
sammy jay met happy jack squirrel and told him.
happy jack met his cousin, striped chipmunk, and told him.
striped chipmunk passed the house of old mr. toad and told him.
the next morning, very early, before old mother west wind had come down from the purple hills, johnny chuck stole over to his new home to begin work on his new back door.
he had hardly begun to dig when he heard some one cough right behind him.
he whirled around and there sat peter rabbit looking as innocent and surprised as if he had really just discovered the new home for the first time.
""what a splendid new home you have, johnny chuck!"
said peter rabbit.
""y -- e -- s," said johnny chuck, slowly.
""it's a secret," he added suddenly.
""you wo n't tell, will you, peter rabbit?"
peter rabbit promised that he would n't tell.
then johnny chuck felt better and went back to work as soon as peter rabbit left.
he had hardly begun, however, when some one just above him said: "good morning, johnny chuck."
johnny chuck looked up and there in the old apple tree sat blacky the crow and his cousin, sammy jay.
just then there was a rustle in the grass and out popped billy mink and little joe otter and jerry muskrat and happy jack squirrel and striped chipmunk and bobby coon.
when johnny chuck had recovered from his surprise and looked over to the doorway of his new home there sat reddy fox on johnny chuck's precious new mound.
it seemed as if all the little meadow people were there, all but jimmy skunk, who wisely stayed away.
""we've come to see your new home," said striped chipmunk, "and we think it's the nicest home we've seen for a long time."
""it's so nicely hidden away, it's really quite secret," said reddy fox, grinning wickedly.
just then up raced the merry little breezes and one of them had a message for johnny chuck from great-grandfather frog.
it was this: "whisper a secret to a friend and you shout it in the ear of the whole world."
after every one had admired the new home, they said good-bye and scattered over the green meadows.
then johnny chuck began to dig again, but this time he was n't making his new back door.
no indeed!
johnny chuck was digging at that new mound of yellow gravel of which he had been so proud.
jolly, round, red mr. sun blinked to be sure that he saw aright, for johnny chuck was filling up his new home between the roots of the old apple tree.
when he got through, there was n't any new home.
then johnny chuck brushed his coat carefully, shook the sand out of his trousers, wiped his hands and started off for his old home.
and this time he did n't take his special hidden path, for johnny chuck did n't care who saw him go.
late that afternoon, johnny chuck sat on his old doorstep, with his chin in his hands, watching old mother west wind gathering her merry little breezes into the big bag in which she carries them to their home behind the purple hills."
"whisper a secret to a friend and you shout it in the ear of the whole world."
now what did grandfather frog mean by that?"
thought johnny chuck.
""now i did n't tell anybody but jimmy skunk and jimmy skunk did n't tell anyone but peter rabbit and -- and --" then johnny chuck began to chuckle and finally to laugh."
"whisper a secret to a friend and you shout it in the ear of the whole world."
my gracious, what a loud voice i must have had and did n't know it!"
said johnny chuck, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.
and the next day johnny chuck started to make a new home.
where?
oh, that's johnny chuck's secret.
and no one but jolly, round, red mr. sun has found it out yet.
viii johnny chuck's great fight johnny chuck sat on the doorstep of his new home, looking away across the green meadows.
johnny chuck felt very well satisfied with himself and with all the world.
he yawned lazily and stretched and stretched and then settled himself comfortably to watch the merry little breezes playing down by the smiling pool.
by and by he saw peter rabbit go bobbing along down the lone little path.
lipperty, lipperty, lip, went peter rabbit and every other jump he looked behind him.
""now what is peter rabbit up to?"
said johnny chuck to himself, "and what does he keep looking behind him for?"
johnny chuck sat up a little straighter to watch peter rabbit hop down the lone little path.
then of a sudden he caught sight of something that made him sit up straighter than ever and open his eyes very wide.
something was following peter rabbit.
yes, sir, something was bobbing along right at peter rabbit's heels.
johnny chuck forgot the merry little breezes.
he forgot how warm it was and how lazy he felt.
he forgot everything else in his curiosity to learn what it could be following so closely at peter rabbit's heels.
presently peter rabbit stopped and sat up very straight and then -- johnny chuck nearly tumbled over in sheer surprise!
he rubbed his eyes to make sure that he saw aright, for there were two peter rabbits!
yes, sir, there were two peter rabbits, only one was very small, very small indeed.
""oh!"
said johnny chuck, "that must be peter rabbit's baby brother!"
then he began to chuckle till his fat sides shook.
there sat peter rabbit with his funny long ears standing straight up, and there right behind him, dressed exactly like him, sat peter rabbit's baby brother with his funny little long ears standing straight up.
when peter rabbit wiggled his right ear, his baby brother wiggled his right ear.
when peter rabbit scratched his left ear, his baby brother scratched his left ear.
whatever peter rabbit did, his baby brother did too.
presently peter rabbit started on down the lone little path -- lipperty, lipperty, lip, and right at his heels went his baby brother -- lipperty, lipperty, lip.
johnny chuck watched them out of sight, and then he settled himself on his doorstep once more to enjoy a sun bath.
every once in a while he chuckled to himself as he remembered how funny peter rabbit's baby brother had looked.
presently johnny chuck fell asleep.
jolly, round, red mr. sun had climbed quite high in the sky when johnny chuck awoke.
he yawned and stretched and stretched and yawned, and then he sat up to look over the green meadows.
then he became wide awake, very wide awake indeed!
way down on the green meadows he caught a glimpse of something red jumping about in the long meadow grass.
""that must be reddy fox," thought johnny chuck.
""yes, it surely is reddy fox.
now i wonder what mischief he is up to."
then he saw all the merry little breezes racing towards reddy fox as fast as they could go.
and there was sammy jay screaming at the top of his voice, and his cousin, blacky the crow.
happy jack squirrel was dancing up and down excitedly on the branch of an old elm close by.
johnny chuck waited to see no more, but started down the lone little path to find out what it all was about.
half way down the lone little path he met peter rabbit running as hard as he could.
his long ears were laid flat back, his big eyes seemed to pop right out of his head, and he was running as johnny chuck had never seen him run before.
""what are you running so for, peter rabbit?"
asked johnny chuck.
""to get bowser the hound," shouted peter rabbit over his shoulder, as he tried to run faster.
""now what can be the matter?"
said johnny chuck to himself, "to send peter rabbit after bowser the hound?"
he knew that, like all the other little meadow people, there was nothing of which peter rabbit was so afraid as farmer brown's great dog, bowser the hound.
johnny chuck hurried down the lone little path as fast as his short legs could take his fat, rolly-poly self.
presently he came out onto the green meadows, and there he saw a sight that set every nerve in his round little body a-tingle with rage.
reddy fox had found peter rabbit's baby brother and was doing his best to frighten him to death.
""i'm going to eat you now," shouted reddy fox, and then he sprang on peter rabbit's baby brother and gave him a cuff that sent him heels over head sprawling in the grass.
""coward!
coward, reddy fox!"
shrieked sammy jay.
""shame!
shame!"
shouted the merry little breezes.
""you're nothing but a great big bully!"
yelled blacky the crow.
but no one did anything to help peter rabbit's baby brother, for reddy fox is so much bigger than any of the rest of them, except bobby coon, that all the little meadow people are afraid of him.
but reddy fox just laughed at them, and nipped the long ears of peter rabbit's little brother so hard that he cried with the pain.
now all were so intent watching reddy fox torment the baby brother of peter rabbit that no one had seen johnny chuck coming down the lone little path.
and for a few minutes no one recognized the furious little yellow-brown bundle that suddenly knocked reddy fox over and seized him by the throat.
you see it did n't look a bit like johnny chuck.
every hair was standing on end, he was so mad, and this made him appear twice as big as they had ever seen him before.
""coward!
coward!
coward!"
shrieked johnny chuck as he shook reddy fox by the throat.
and then began the greatest fight that the green meadows had ever seen.
now johnny chuck is not naturally a fighter.
oh my, no!
he is so good-natured and so sunny-hearted that he seldom quarrels with any one.
but when he has to fight, there is n't a cowardly hair on him, not the teeniest, weeniest one.
no one ever has a chance to cry," "fraid cat!
cry baby!"
after johnny chuck.
so though, like all the other little meadow people, he was usually just a little afraid of reddy fox, because reddy is so much bigger, he forgot all about it as soon as he caught sight of reddy fox tormenting peter rabbit's little brother.
he did n't stop to think of what might happen to himself.
he did n't stop to think at all.
he just gritted his teeth and in a flash had reddy fox on his back.
such a fight was never seen before on the green meadows!
reddy fox is a bully and a coward, for he never fights with any one of his own size if he can help it, but when he has to fight, he fights hard.
and he certainly had to fight now.
""bully!"
hissed johnny chuck as with his stout little hind feet he ripped the bright red coat of reddy fox.
""you great big bully!"
over and over they rolled, johnny chuck on top, then reddy fox on top, then johnny chuck up again, clawing and snarling.
it seemed as if news of the fight had gone over all the green meadows, for the little meadow people came running from every direction -- billy mink, little joe otter, jerry muskrat, striped chipmunk, jimmy skunk, old mr. toad.
even great-grandfather frog, who left his big lily pad, and came hurrying with great jumps across the green meadows.
they formed a ring around reddy fox and johnny chuck and danced with excitement.
and all wanted johnny chuck to win.
peter rabbit's poor little brother, so sore and lame from the knocking about from reddy fox, and so frightened that he hardly dared breathe, lay flat on the ground under a little bush and was forgotten by all but the merry little breezes, who covered him up with some dead grass, and kissed him and whispered to him not to be afraid now.
how peter rabbit's little brother did hope that johnny chuck would win!
his great, big, round, soft eyes were wide with terror as he thought of what might happen to him if reddy fox should whip johnny chuck.
but reddy fox was n't whipping johnny chuck.
try as he would, he could not get a good hold on that round, fat, little body.
and johnny chuck's stout claws were ripping his red coat and white vest and johnny chuck's sharp teeth were gripping him so that they could not be shaken loose.
pretty soon reddy fox began to think of nothing but getting away.
every one was shouting for johnny chuck.
every time reddy fox was underneath, he would hear a great shout from all the little meadow people, and he knew that they were glad.
now johnny chuck was round and fat and rolly-poly, and when one is round and fat and rolly-poly, one's breath is apt to be short.
so it was with johnny chuck.
he had fought so hard that his breath was nearly gone.
finally he loosed his hold on reddy fox for just a second to draw in a good breath.
reddy fox saw his chance, and, with a quick pull and spring, he broke away.
how all the little meadow people did scatter!
you see they were very brave, very brave indeed, so long as johnny chuck had reddy fox down, but now that reddy fox was free, each one was suddenly afraid and thought only of himself.
jimmy skunk knocked jerry muskrat flat in his hurry to get away.
billy mink trod on great-grandfather frog's big feet and did n't even say "excuse me."
striped chipmunk ran head first into a big thistle and squealed as much from fear as pain.
but reddy fox paid no attention to any of them.
he just wanted to get away, and off he started, limping as fast as he could go up the lone little path.
such a looking sight!
his beautiful red coat was in tatters.
his face was scratched.
he hobbled as he ran.
and just as he broke away, johnny chuck made a grab and pulled a great mouthful of hair out of the splendid tail reddy fox was so proud of.
when the little meadow people saw that reddy fox was actually running away, they stopped running themselves, and all began to shout: "reddy fox is a coward and a bully!
coward!
coward!"
then they crowded around johnny chuck and all began talking at once about his great fight.
just then they heard a great noise up on the hill.
they saw reddy fox coming back down the lone little path, and he was using his legs just as well as he knew how.
right behind him, his great mouth open and waking all the echoes with his big voice, was bowser the hound.
you see, although peter rabbit could n't fight for his little baby brother and is usually very, very timid, he is n't altogether a coward.
indeed, he had been very brave, very brave indeed.
he had gone up to farmer brown's and had jumped right under the nose of bowser the hound.
now that is something that bowser the hound never can stand.
so off he had started after peter rabbit.
and peter rabbit had started back for the green meadows as fast as his long legs could take him, for he knew that if once bowser the hound caught sight of reddy fox, he would forget all about such a little thing as a saucy rabbit.
sure enough, half way down the lone little path they met reddy fox sneaking off home, and, when bowser the hound saw him, he straightway forgot all about peter rabbit, and, with a great roar, started after reddy fox.
when johnny chuck had carefully brushed his coat and all the little meadow people had wished him good luck, he started off up the lone little path for home, the merry little breezes dancing ahead and peter rabbit coming lipperty, lipperty, lip behind, and right between them hopped peter rabbit's little brother, who thought johnny chuck the greatest hero in the world.
when they reached johnny chuck's old home, peter rabbit and peter rabbit's little brother tried to tell him how thankful they were to him, but johnny chuck just laughed and said: "it was nothing at all, just nothing at all."
when at last all had gone, even the merry little breezes, johnny chuck slipped away to his new home, which is his secret, you know, which no one knows but jolly, round, red mr. sun, who wo n't tell.
""i hope," said johnny chuck, as he stretched himself out on the mound of warm sand by his doorway, for he was very tired, "i hope," said johnny chuck, sighing contentedly, "that reddy fox got away from bowser the hound!"
and reddy fox did.
ix mr. toad's old suit peter rabbit was tired and very sleepy as he hopped along the crooked little path down the hill.
he could see old mother west wind just emptying her merry little breezes out of her big bag onto the green meadows to play all the bright summer day.
peter rabbit yawned and yawned again as he watched them dance over to the smiling pool.
then he hopped on down the crooked little path towards home.
sammy jay, sitting on a fence post, saw him coming.
""peter rabbit out all night!
oh my goodness what a sight!
peter rabbit, reprobate!
no good end will be your fate!"
shouted sammy jay.
peter rabbit ran out his tongue at sammy jay.
""who stole happy jack's nuts?
thief!
thief!
thief!"
shouted peter rabbit at sammy jay, and kept on down the crooked little path.
it was true -- peter rabbit had been out all night playing in the moonlight, stealing a midnight feast in farmer brown's cabbage patch and getting into mischief with bobby coon.
now when most of the little meadow people were just waking up peter rabbit was thinking of bed.
presently he came to a big piece of bark which is the roof of mr. toad's house.
mr. toad was sitting in his doorway blinking at jolly, round, red mr. sun, who had just begun to climb up the sky.
""good morning, mr. toad," said peter rabbit.
""good morning," said mr. toad.
""you're looking very fine this morning, mr. toad," said peter rabbit.
""i'm feeling very fine this morning," said mr. toad.
""why, my gracious, you have on a new suit, mr. toad!"
exclaimed peter rabbit.
""well, what if i have, peter rabbit?"
demanded mr. toad.
""oh, nothing, nothing, nothing at all, mr. toad, nothing at all," said peter rabbit hastily, "only i did n't know you ever had a new suit.
what have you done with your old suit, mr. toad?"
""swallowed it," said mr. toad shortly, turning his back on peter rabbit.
and that was all peter rabbit could get out of mr. toad, so he started on down the crooked little path.
now peter rabbit has a great deal of curiosity and is forever poking into other people's affairs.
the more he thought about it the more he wondered what mr. toad could have done with his old suit.
of course he had n't swallowed it!
who ever heard of such a thing!
the more he thought of it the more peter rabbit felt that he must know what mr. toad had done with his old suit.
by this time he had forgotten that he had been out all night.
he had forgotten that he was sleepy.
he had got to find out about mr. toad's old suit.
""i'll just run over to the smiling pool and ask grandfather frog.
he'll surely know what mr. toad does with his old suits," said peter rabbit, and began to hop faster.
when he reached the smiling pool there sat great-grandfather frog on his big green lily pad as usual.
there was a hungry look in his big goggly eyes, for it was so early that no foolish, green flies had come his way yet.
but peter rabbit was too full of curiosity in mr. toad's affairs to notice this.
""good morning, grandfather frog," said peter rabbit.
""good morning," replied grandfather frog a wee bit gruffly.
""you're looking very fine this morning, grandfather frog," said peter rabbit.
""not so fine as i'd feel if i had a few fat, foolish, green flies," said grandfather frog.
""i've just met your cousin, mr. toad, and he has on a new suit," said peter rabbit.
""indeed!"
replied grandfather frog.
""well, i think it's high time."
""what does mr. toad do with his old suit, grandfather frog?"
asked peter rabbit.
""chug-a-rum!
it's none of my business.
maybe he swallows it," replied grandfather frog crossly, and turned his back on peter rabbit.
peter rabbit saw that his curiosity must remain unsatisfied.
he suddenly remembered that he had been out all night and was very, very sleepy, so he started off home across the green meadows.
now the merry little breezes had heard all that peter rabbit and grandfather frog had said, and they made up their minds that they would find out from grandfather frog what mr. toad really did do with his old suit.
first of all they scattered over the green meadows.
presently back they all came, each blowing ahead of him a fat, foolish, green fly.
right over to the big green lily pad they blew the green flies.
""chug-a-rum!
chug-a-rum!
chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog, as each fat, foolish, green fly disappeared inside his white and yellow waistcoat.
when the last one was out of sight, all but a leg which was left sticking out of a corner of grandfather frog's big mouth, one of the merry little breezes ventured to ask him what became of mr. toad's old suit.
grandfather frog settled himself comfortably on the big green lily pad and folded his hands across his white and yellow waistcoat.
""chug-a-rum," began grandfather frog.
""once upon a time --" the merry little breezes clapped their hands and settled themselves among the buttercups and daisies, for they knew that soon they would know what mr. toad did with his old suit.
""once upon a time," began grandfather frog again, "when the world was young, old king bear received word that old mother nature would visit the green meadows and the green forest.
of course old king bear wanted his kingdom and his subjects to look their very best, so he issued a royal order that every one of the little meadow people and every one of the little forest folk should wear a new suit on the day that old mother nature was to pay her visit.
""now like old king bear, every one wanted to appear his very best before old mother nature, but as no one knew the exact day she was to come, every one began at once to wear his best suit, and to take the greatest care of it.
old king bear appeared every day in a suit of glossy black.
lightfoot the deer, threw away his dingy gray suit, and put on a coat of beautiful red and fawn.
mr. mink, mr. otter, mr. muskrat, mr. rabbit, mr. woodchuck, mr. coon, who you know was first cousin to old king bear, mr. gray squirrel, mr. fox squirrel, mr. red squirrel, all put on brand new suits.
mr. skunk changed his black and white stripes for a suit of all black, very handsome, very handsome indeed.
mr. chipmunk took care to see that his new suit had the most beautiful stripes to be obtained.
""mr. jay, who was something of a dandy, had a wonderful new coat that looked for all the world as it if had been cut from the bluest patch of sky and trimmed with edging taken from the whitest clouds.
even mr. crow and mr. owl took pains to look their very best.
""but mr. toad could n't see the need of such a fuss.
he thought his neighbors spent altogether too much time and thought on dress.
to be sure he was anxious to look his best when old mother nature came, so he got a new suit all ready.
but mr. toad could n't afford to sit around in idleness admiring his new clothes.
no indeed!
mr. toad had too much to do.
he was altogether too busy.
he had a large garden to take care of, had mr. toad, and work in a garden is very hard on clothes.
so mr. toad just wore his old suit over his new one and went on about his business.
""by and by the great day came when old mother nature arrived to inspect the kingdom of old king bear.
all the little meadow people and all the little forest folk hastened to pay their respects to old mother nature and to strut about in their fine clothes -- all but mr. toad.
he was so busy that he did n't even know that old mother nature had arrived.
""late in the afternoon, mr. toad stopped to rest.
he had just cleared his cabbage patch of the slugs which threatened to eat up his crop and he was very tired.
presently he happened to look up the road, and who should he see but old mother nature herself coming to visit his garden and to find out why mr. toad had not been to pay her his respects.
""suddenly mr. toad remembered that he had on his working clothes, which were very old, very dirty and very ragged.
for just a minute he did n't know what to do.
then he dived under a cabbage leaf and began to pull off his old suit.
but the old suit stuck!
he was in such a hurry and so excited that he could n't find the buttons.
finally he got his trousers off.
then he reached over and got hold of the back of his coat and tugged and hauled until finally he pulled his old coat off right over his head just as if it were a shirt.
""mr. toad gave a great sigh of relief as he stepped out in his new suit, for you remember that he had been wearing that new suit underneath the old one all the time.
""mr. toad was very well pleased with himself until he thought how terribly untidy that ragged old suit looked lying on the ground.
what should he do with it?
he could n't hide it in the garden, for old mother nature's eyes are so sharp that she would be sure to see it.
what should he do?
""then mr. toad had a happy thought.
every one made fun of his big mouth.
but what was a big mouth for if not to use?
he would swallow his old suit!
in a flash mr. toad dived under the cabbage leaf and crammed his old suit into his mouth.
""when old mother nature came into the garden, mr. toad was waiting in the path to receive her.
very fine he looked in his new suit and you would have thought he had been waiting all day to receive old mother nature, but for one thing -- swallow as much and as hard as he would, he could n't get down quite all of his old suit, and a leg of his trousers hung out of a corner of his big mouth.
""of course old mother nature saw it right away.
and how she did laugh!
and of course mr. toad felt very much mortified.
but mother nature was so pleased with mr. toad's garden and with mr. toad's industry that she quite overlooked the ragged trousers leg hanging from the corner of mr. toad's mouth."
"fine clothes arc not to be compared with fine work," said old mother nature."
i herewith appoint you my chief gardener, mr. toad.
and as a sign that all may know that this is so, hereafter you shall always swallow your old suit whenever you change your clothes!"
""and from that day to this the toads have been the very best of gardeners.
and in memory of their great, great, great-grandfather a thousand times removed they have always swallowed their old suits.
""now you know what my cousin, old mr. toad, did with his old suit just before peter rabbit passed his house this morning," concluded great-grandfather frog.
""oh," cried the merry little breezes, "thank you, thank you, grandfather frog!"
then they raced away across the green meadows and up the crooked little path to see if old mr. toad was gardening.
and peter rabbit still wonders what old mr. toad did with his old suit.
x grandfather frog gets even old grandfather frog sat on his big green lily pad in the smiling pool dreaming of the days when the world was young and the frogs ruled the world.
his hands were folded across his white and yellow waistcoat.
round, red, smiling mr. sun sent down his warmest rays on the back of grandfather frog's green coat.
very early that morning old mother west wind, hurrying down from the purple hills on her way to help the white-sailed ships across the great ocean, had stopped long enough to blow three or four fat, foolish, green flies over to the big lily pad, and they were now safely inside the white and yellow waistcoat.
a thousand little tadpoles, the great, great-grandchildren of grandfather frog, were playing in the smiling pool, and every once in a while wriggling up to the big lily pad to look with awe at grandfather frog and wonder if they would ever be as handsome and big and wise as he.
and still old grandfather frog sat dreaming and dreaming of the days when all the frogs had tails and ruled the world.
presently billy mink came hopping and skipping down the laughing brook.
sometimes he swam a little way and sometimes he ran a little way along the bank, and sometimes he jumped from stone to stone.
billy mink was feeling very good -- very good indeed.
he had caught a fine fat trout for breakfast.
he had hidden two more away for dinner in a snug little hole no one knew of but himself.
now he had nothing to do but get into mischief.
you can always depend upon billy mink to get into mischief.
he just ca n't help it.
so billy mink came hopping and skipping down the laughing brook to the smiling pool.
then he stopped, as still as the rock he was standing on, and peeped through the bulrushes.
billy mink is very cautious, very cautious indeed.
he always looks well before he shows himself, that nothing may surprise him.
so billy mink looked all over the smiling pool and the grassy banks.
he saw the sunbeams dancing on the water.
he saw the tadpoles having such a good time in the smiling pool.
he saw the merry little breezes kissing the buttercups and daisies on the bank, and he saw old grandfather frog with his hands folded across his white, and yellow waistcoat sitting on the green lily pad, dreaming of the days when the world was young.
then billy mink took a long breath, a very long breath, and dived into the smiling pool.
now, billy mink can swim very fast, very fast indeed.
for a little way he can swim even faster than mr. trout.
and he can stay under water a long time.
straight across the smiling pool, with not even the tip of his nose out of water, swam billy mink.
the thousand little tadpoles saw him coming and fled in all directions to bury themselves in the mud at the bottom of the smiling pool, for when he thinks no one is looking billy mink sometimes gobbles up a fat tadpole for breakfast.
straight across the smiling pool swam billy mink toward the big green lily pad where grandfather frog sat dreaming of the days when the world was young.
when he was right under the big green lily pad he suddenly kicked up hard with his hind feet.
up went the big green lily pad, and, of course, up went grandfather frog -- up and over flat on his back, with a great splash into the smiling pool!
now, grandfather frog's mouth is very big.
indeed, no one else has so big a mouth, unless it be his cousin, old mr. toad.
and when grandfather frog went over flat on his back, splash in the smiling pool, his mouth was wide open.
you see he was so surprised he forgot to close it.
so, of course, grandfather frog swallowed a great deal of water, and he choked and spluttered and swam around in foolish little circles trying to find himself.
finally he climbed out on his big green lily pad.
-lsb- illustration: he was so surprised he forgot to close it. -rsb-
""chug-a-rum?"
said grandfather frog, and looked this way and looked that way.
then he gave a funny hop and turned about in the opposite direction and looked this way and looked that way, but all he saw was the smiling pool dimpling and smiling, mrs. redwing bringing a fat worm to her hungry little babies in their snug nest in the bulrushes, and the merry little breezes hurrying over to see what the trouble might be.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog.
""it is very strange.
i must have fallen asleep and had a bad dream."
then he once more settled himself comfortably on the big green lily pad, folded his hands across his white and yellow waistcoat, and seemed to be dreaming again, only his big goggly eyes were not dreaming.
no, indeed!
they were very much awake, and they saw all that was going on in the smiling pool.
great-grandfather frog was just pretending.
you may fool him once, but grandfather frog has lived so long that he has become very wise, and though billy mink is very smart, it takes some one a great deal smarter than billy mink to fool grandfather frog twice in the same way.
billy mink, hiding behind the big rock, had laughed and laughed till he had to hold his sides when grandfather frog had choked and spluttered and hopped about on the big lily pad trying to find out what it all meant.
he thought it such a good joke that he could n't keep it to himself, so when he saw little joe otter coming to try his slippery slide he swam across to tell him all about it.
little joe otter laughed and laughed until he had to hold his sides.
then they both swam back to hide behind the big rock to watch until grandfather frog should forget all about it, and they could play the trick over again.
now, out of the corner of one of his big goggly eyes, grandfather frog had seen billy mink and little joe otter with their heads close together, laughing and holding their sides, and he saw them swim over behind the big rock.
pretty soon one of the merry little breezes danced over to see if grandfather frog had really gone to sleep.
grandfather frog did n't move, not the teeniest, weeniest bit, but he whispered something to the merry little breeze, and the merry little breeze flew away, shaking with laughter, to where the other merry little breezes were playing with the buttercups and daisies.
then all the merry little breezes clapped their hands and laughed too.
they left the buttercups and daisies and began to play tag across the smiling pool.
now, right on the edge of the big rock lay a big stick.
pretty soon the merry little breezes danced over to the big rock, and then, suddenly, all together they gave the big stick a push.
off it went, and then such a splashing and squealing as there was behind the big rock!
in a few moments little joe otter crept out beside his slippery slide and slipped away holding on to his head.
and, sneaking through the bulrushes, so as not to be seen, crawled billy mink, back towards his home on the laughing brook.
billy mink was n't laughing now.
oh, no!
he was limping and he was holding on to his head.
little joe otter and billy mink had been sitting right underneath the big stick.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog and held on to his sides and opened his mouth very wide in a noiseless laugh, for grandfather frog never makes a sound when he laughs.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog once more.
then he folded his hands across his white and yellow waistcoat and began again to dream of the days when the frogs had long tails and ruled the world.
xi the disappointed bush way down beside the laughing brook grew a little bush.
it looked a whole lot like other little bushes all around it.
but really it was quite different, as you shall see.
when in the spring warm, jolly, round mr. sun brought back the birds and set them singing, when the little flowers popped their heads out of the ground to have a look around, then all the little bushes put out their green leaves.
this little bush of which i am telling you put out its green leaves with the rest.
the little leaves grew bigger and bigger on all the little bushes.
by and by on some of the other little bushes, little brown buds began to appear and grow and grow.
then on more and more of the little bushes the little brown buds came and grew and grew.
but on this little bush of which i am telling you no little brown buds appeared.
the little bush felt very sad indeed.
pretty soon all the little brown buds on the other little brown bushes burst their brown coats, and then all the little bushes were covered with little flowers.
some were white and some were yellow and some were pink; and the air was filled with the sweet odor of all the little flowers.
it brought the bees from far, far away to gather the honey, and all the little bushes were very happy indeed.
but the little bush of which i am telling you had no little flowers, for you see it had had no little buds, and it felt lonely and shut away from the other little bushes, and very sad indeed.
but it bravely kept on growing and growing and growing.
its little leaves grew bigger and bigger and bigger, and it tried its best not to mind because it had no little flowers.
then one by one, and two by two, and three by three, and finally in whole showers, the little flowers of all the other little bushes fell off, and they looked very much like the little bush of which i am telling you, so that the little bush no longer felt sad.
all summer long all the little bushes grew and grew and grew.
the birds came and built their nests among them.
peter rabbit and his brothers and sisters scampered under them.
the butterflies flew over them.
by and by came the fall, and with the fall came jack frost.
he went about among the little bushes, pinching the leaves.
then the little green leaves turned to brown and red and yellow and pretty soon they fluttered down to the ground, the merry little breezes blew them about and all the little bushes were bare.
they had no leaves at all to cover their little naked brown limbs.
the little bush of which i am telling you lost its leaves with the rest.
but all the summer long this little bush had been growing some of those little brown buds, which the other bushes had had in the spring, and now, when all the other little bushes had lost all the green leaves, and had nothing at all upon their little brown twigs, behold!
one beautiful day, the little bush of which i am telling you was covered with gold, for each little brown bud had burst its little brown coat and there was a beautiful little yellow flower.
such a multitude of these little yellow flowers!
they covered the little bush from top to bottom.
then the little bush felt very happy indeed, for it was the only bush which had any flowers.
and every one who passed that way stopped to look at it and to praise it.
colder grew the weather and colder.
johnny chuck tucked himself away to sleep all winter.
grandfather frog went deep, deep down in the mud, not to come out again until spring.
by and by the little yellow flowers dropped off the little bush, just as the other little flowers in spring had dropped off the other bushes.
but they left behind them tiny little packages, one for every little flower that had been on the bush.
all winter long these little packages clung to the little bush.
in the spring when the little leaves burst forth in all the little bushes, these little packages on the little bush of which i am telling you grew and grew and grew.
while the other little bushes had a lot of little flowers as they had had the year before, these little brown packages on the little bush of which i am telling you kept on growing.
and they comforted the little bush because it felt that it really had something worth while.
all the summer long the little brown packages grew and grew until they looked like little nuts.
when the fall came again and all the little leaves dropped off all the little bushes, and the little bush of which i am telling you was covered with another lot of little yellow flowers and was very happy, then these little brown nuts, one bright autumn day, suddenly popped open!
and out of each one flew two brown shiny little seeds.
you never saw such a popping and a snapping and a jumping!
pop!
pop!
snap!
snap!
hippetty hop!
they went, faster than the corn pops in the corn popper.
reddy fox, who always is suspicious, thought some one was shooting at him.
down on the ground fell the little brown shining seeds and tucked themselves into the warm earth under the warm leaves, there to stay all winter long.
and when the third spring came with all its little birds and all its little flowers and the warm sunshine, every one of these little brown seeds which had tucked themselves into the warm earth, burst its little brown skin, and up into the sunshine came a little green plant, which would grow and grow and grow, and by and by become just like the little bush i am telling you about.
when the little bush looked down and saw all these little green children popping out of the ground, it was very happy indeed, for it knew that it would no longer be lonely.
it no longer felt bad when all the other bushes were covered with flowers, for it knew that by and by when all the other little bushes had lost all their leaves and all their flowers, then would come its turn, and it knew that for a whole year its little brown children would be held safe on its branches.
now, what do you think is the name of this little bush?
why, it is the witch hazel.
and sometime when you fall down and bump yourself hard grandma will go to the medicine closet and will bring out a bottle, and from that bottle she will pour something on that little sore place and it will make it feel better.
do you know what it is?
it is the gift of the witch hazel bush to little boys and big men to make them feel better when they are hurt.
xii why bobby coon washes his food happy-go-lucky bobby coon sat on the edge of the laughing brook just as round, red mr. sun popped up from behind the purple hills and old mother west wind turned all her merry little breezes out to romp on the green meadows.
bobby coon had been out all night.
you see bobby coon is very apt to get into mischief, and because usually it is safer to get into mischief under cover of the darkness bobby coon prefers the night wherein to go abroad.
not that bobby coon is really bad!
oh my, no!
everybody likes bobby coon.
but he can no more keep out of mischief than a duck can keep out of water.
so bobby coon sat on the edge of the laughing brook and he was very busy, very busy indeed.
he was washing his breakfast.
really, it was his dinner, for turning night into day just turns everything topsy-turvy.
so bobby coon eats dinner when most of the little meadow people are eating breakfast.
this morning he was very busy washing a luscious ear of sweet corn just in the milk.
he dipped it in the water and with one little black paw rubbed it thoroughly.
then he looked it over carefully before, with a sigh of contentment, he sat down to put it in his empty little stomach.
when he had finished it to the last sweet, juicy kernel, he ambled sleepily up the lone little path to the big hollow chestnut tree where he lives, and in its great hollow in a soft bed of leaves bobby coon curled himself up in a tight little ball to sleep the long, bright day away.
one of the merry little breezes softly followed him.
when he had crawled into the hollow chestnut and only his funny, ringed tail hung out, the merry little breezes tweaked it sharply just for fun, and then danced away down the lone little path to join the other merry little breezes around the smiling pool.
""oh!
grandfather frog," cried a merry little breeze, "tell us why it is that bobby coon always washes his food.
he never eats it where he gets it or takes it home to his hollow in the big chestnut, but always comes to the laughing brook to wash it.
none of the other meadow people do that."
now great-grandfather frog is counted very wise.
he is very, very old and he knows the history of all the tribes of little meadow people way back to the time when the frogs ruled the world.
when the merry little breeze asked him why bobby coon always washes his food, grandfather frog stopped to snap up a particularly fat, foolish, green fly that came his way.
then, while all the merry little breezes gathered around him, he settled himself on his big green lily pad and began: "once upon a time, when the world was young, old king bear ruled in the green forest.
of course old mother nature, who was even more beautiful then than she is now, was the real ruler, but she let old king bear think he ruled so long as he ruled wisely.
""all the little green forest folk and all the little people of the green meadows used to take presents of food to old king bear, so that he never had to hunt for things to eat.
he grew fatter and fatter and fatter until it seemed as if his skin must burst.
and the fatter he grew the lazier he grew."
grandfather frog paused with an expectant far-away look in his great bulging eyes.
then he leaped into the air so far that when he came down it was with a great splash in the smiling pool.
but as he swam back to his big lily pad the leg of a foolish green fly could be seen sticking out of one corner of his big mouth, and he settled himself with a sigh of great contentment.
""old king bear," continued grandfather frog, just as if there had been no interruption, "grew fatter and lazier every day, and like a great many other fat and lazy people who have nothing to do for themselves but are always waited on by others, he grew shorter and shorter in temper and harder and harder to please.
""now perhaps you do n't know it, but the bear family and the coon family are very closely related.
in fact, they are second cousins.
old mr. coon, bobby coon's father with a thousand greats tacked on before, was young then, and he was very, very proud of being related to old king bear.
he began to pass some of his old playfellows on the green meadows without seeing them.
he spent a great deal of time brushing his coat and combing his whiskers and caring for his big ringed tail.
he held his head very high and he put on such airs that pretty soon he could see no one at all but members of his own family and of the royal family of bear.
""now as old king bear grew fat and lazy he grew fussy, so that he was no longer content to take everything brought him, but picked out the choicest portions for himself and left the rest.
mr. coon took charge of all the things brought as tribute to old king bear and of course where there were so many goodies left he got all he wanted without working.
""so just as old king bear had grown fat and lazy and selfish, mr. coon grew fat and lazy and selfish.
pretty soon he began to pick out the best things for himself and hide them before old king bear saw them.
when old king bear was asleep he would go get them and stuff himself like a greedy pig.
and because he was stealing and wanted no one to see him he always ate his stolen feasts at night.
""now old mother nature is, as you all know, very, very wise, oh very wise indeed.
one of the first laws she made when the world was young is that every living thing shall work for what it has, and the harder it works the stronger it shall grow.
so when old mother nature saw how fat and lazy and selfish old king bear was getting and how fat and lazy and dishonest his cousin, mr. coon, was becoming, she determined that they should be taught a lesson which they would remember for ever and ever and ever.
""first she proclaimed that old king bear should be king no longer, and no more need the little folks of the green forest and the little people of the green meadows bring him tribute.
""now when old mother nature made this proclamation old king bear was fast asleep.
it was just on the edge of winter and he had picked out a nice warm cave with a great pile of leaves for a bed.
old mother nature peeped in at him.
he was snoring and probably dreaming of more good things to eat.
"if he is to be king no longer, there is no use in waking him now," said old mother nature to herself, "he is so fat and so stupid.
he shall sleep until gentle sister south wind comes in the spring to kiss away the snow and ice.
then he shall waken with a lean stomach and a great appetite and there shall be none to feed him."
""now old mother nature always has a warm heart and she was very fond of bobby coon's grandfather a thousand times removed.
so when she saw what a selfish glutton and thief he had become she decided to put him to sleep just as she had old king bear.
but first she would teach mr. coon that stolen food is not the sweetest.
""so old mother nature found some tender, juicy corn just in the milk which mr. coon had stolen from old king bear.
then she went down on the green meadows where the wild mustard grows and gathering a lot of this she rubbed the juice into the corn and then put it back where mr. coon had left it.
""now i have told you that it was night when mr. coon had his stolen feasts, for he wanted no one to see him.
so no one was there when he took a great bite of the tender, juicy corn old mother nature had put back for him.
being greedy and a glutton, he swallowed the first mouthful before he had fairly tasted it, and took a second, and then such a time as there was on the edge of the green forest!
mr. coon rolled over and over with both of his forepaws clasped over his stomach and groaned and groaned and groaned.
he had rubbed his eyes and of course had got mustard into them and could not see.
he waked up all the little green forest folk who sleep through the night, as good people should, and they all gathered around to see what was the matter with mr. coon.
""finally old mother nature came to his relief and brought him some water.
then she led him to his home in the great hollow in the big chestnut tree, and when she had seen him curled up in a tight little ball among the dried leaves she put him into the long sleep as she had old king bear.
""in the spring, when gentle sister south wind kissed away all the snow and ice, old king bear, who was king no longer, and mr. coon awoke and both were very thin, and both were very hungry, oh very, very hungry indeed.
old king bear, who was king no longer, was n't the least mite fussy about what he had to eat, but ate gladly any food he could find.
""but mr. coon remembered the burning of his stomach and mouth and could not forget it.
so whenever he found anything to eat he first took it to the laughing brook or the smiling pool and washed it very carefully, lest there be some mustard on it.
""and ever since that long ago time, when the world was young, the coon family has remembered that experience of mr. coon, who was second cousin to old king bear, and that is why bobby coon washes his food, travels about at night, and sleeps all winter," concluded grandfather frog, fixing his great goggle eyes on a foolish green fly headed his way.
""oh thank you, thank you, grandfather frog," cried the merry little breezes as they danced away over the green meadows.
but one of them slipped back long enough to get behind the foolish green fly and blow him right up to grandfather frog's big lily pad.
""chug-a-rum," said grandfather frog, smacking his lips.
xiii the merry little breezes have a busy day old mother west wind came down from the purple hills in the shadowy coolness of the early morning, before even jolly, round, red mr. sun had thrown off his rosy coverlids for his daily climb up through the blue sky.
the last little star was blinking sleepily as old mother west wind turned her big bag upside down on the green meadows and all her children, the merry little breezes, tumbled out on the soft green grass.
then old mother west wind kissed them all around and hurried away to hunt for a rain cloud which had gone astray.
the merry little breezes watched her go.
then they played hide and seek until jolly, round, red mr. sun had climbed out of bed and was smiling down on the green meadows.
pretty soon along came peter rabbit, lipperty-lipperty-lip.
""hello, peter rabbit!"
shouted the merry little breezes.
""come play with us!"
""ca n't," said peter rabbit.
""i have to go find some tender young carrots for my breakfast," and away be hurried, lipperty-lipperty-lip.
in a few minutes jimmy skunk came in sight and he seemed to be almost hurrying along the crooked little path down the hill.
the merry little breezes danced over to meet him.
""hello, jimmy skunk!"
they cried.
""come play with us!"
jimmy skunk shook his head.
""ca n't," said he.
""i have to go look for some beetles for my breakfast," and off he went looking under every old stick and pulling over every stone not too big for his strength.
the merry little breezes watched him for a few minutes and then raced over to the laughing brook.
there they found billy mink stealing softly down towards the smiling pool.
""oh, billy mink, come play with us," begged the merry little breezes.
""ca n't," said billy mink.
""i have to catch a trout for grandfather mink's breakfast," and he crept on towards the smiling pool.
just then along came bumble the bee.
now bumble the bee is a lazy fellow who always makes a great fuss, as if he was the busiest and most important fellow in the world.
""good morning, bumble," cried the merry little breezes.
""come play with us!"
""buzz, buzz, buzz," grumbled bumble the bee.
""ca n't, for i have to get a sack of honey," and off he hurried to the nearest dandelion.
then the merry little breezes hunted up johnny chuck.
but johnny chuck was busy, too busy to play.
bobby coon was asleep, for he had been out all night.
reddy fox also was asleep.
striped chipmunk was in such a hurry to fill the pockets in his cheeks that he could hardly stop to say good morning.
happy jack squirrel just flirted his big tail and rushed away as if he had many important things to attend to.
finally the merry little breezes gave it up and sat down among the buttercups and daisies to talk it over.
every one seemed to have something to do, every one but themselves.
it was such a busy world that sunshiny morning!
pretty soon one of the merry little breezes hopped up very suddenly and began the maddest little dance among the buttercups.
""as we have n't anything to do for ourselves let's do something for somebody else!"
he shouted.
up jumped all the little breezes, clapping their hands.
""oh let's!"
they shouted.
way over across the green meadows they could see two long ears above the nodding daisies.
""there's peter rabbit," cried one.
""let's help him find those tender young carrots!"
no sooner proposed than off they all raced to see who could reach peter first.
peter was sitting up very straight, looking this way and looking that way for some tender young carrots, but not one had he found, and his stomach was empty.
the merry little breezes stopped just long enough to tickle his long ears and pull his whiskers, then away they raced, scattering in all directions, to see who could first find a tender young carrot for peter rabbit.
by and by when one of them did find a field of tender young carrots he rushed off, taking the smell of them with him to tickle the nose of peter rabbit.
peter wriggled his nose, his funny little nose, very fast when it was tickled with the smell of tender young carrots, and the merry little breeze laughed to see him.
""come on, peter rabbit, for this is my busy day!"
he cried.
peter rabbit did n't have to be invited twice.
away he went, lipperty-lipperty-lip, as fast as his long legs could take him after the merry little breeze.
and presently they came to the field of tender young carrots.
""oh thank you, merry little breeze!"
cried peter rabbit, and straightway began to eat his breakfast.
another merry little breeze, slipping up the crooked little path on the hill, spied the hind legs of a fat beetle sticking out from under a flat stone.
at once the little breeze remembered jimmy skunk, who was hunting for beetles for his breakfast.
off rushed the little breeze in merry whirls that made the grasses sway and bend and the daisies nod.
when after a long, long hunt he found jimmy skunk, jimmy was very much out of sorts.
in fact jimmy skunk was positively cross.
you see, he had n't had any breakfast, for hunt as he would he could n't find a single beetle.
when the merry little breeze danced up behind jimmy skunk and, just in fun, rumpled up his black and white coat, jimmy quite lost his temper.
in fact he said some things not at all nice to the merry little breeze.
but the merry little breeze just laughed.
the more he laughed the crosser jimmy skunk grew, and the crosser jimmy skunk grew the more the merry little breeze laughed.
it was such a jolly laugh that pretty soon jimmy skunk began to grin a little sheepishly, then to really smile and finally to laugh outright in spite of his empty stomach.
you see it is very hard, very hard indeed and very foolish, to remain cross when someone else is perfectly good natured.
suddenly the merry little breeze danced up to jimmy skunk and whispered in his right ear.
then he danced around and whispered in his left ear.
jimmy skunk's eyes snapped and his mouth began to water.
""where, little breeze, where?"
he begged.
""follow me," cried the merry little breeze, racing off up the crooked little path so fast that jimmy skunk lost his breath trying to keep up, for you know jimmy skunk seldom hurries.
when they came to the big flat stone jimmy skunk grasped it with both hands and pulled and pulled.
up came the stone so suddenly that jimmy skunk fell over flat on his back.
when he had scrambled to his feet there were beetles and beetles, running in every direction to find a place to hide.
""thank you, thank you, little breeze," shouted jimmy skunk as he started to catch beetles for his breakfast.
and the little breeze laughed happily as he danced away to join the other merry little breezes on the green meadows.
there he found them very, very busy, very busy indeed, so busy that they could hardly find time to nod to him.
what do you think they were doing?
they were toting gold!
yes, sir, toting gold!
and this is how it happened: while the first little breeze was showing peter rabbit the field of tender young carrots, and while the second little breeze was leading jimmy skunk to the flat stone and the beetles, the other merry little breezes had found bumble the bee.
now bumble the bee is a lazy fellow, though he pretends to be the busiest fellow in the world, and they found him grumbling as he buzzed with a great deal of fuss from one flower to another.
""what's the matter, bumble?"
cried the merry little breezes.
""matter enough," grumbled bumble the bee.
""i've got to make a sack of honey, and as if that is n't enough, old mother nature has ordered me to carry a sack of gold from each flower i visit to the next flower i visit.
if i do n't i can get no honey.
buzz-buzz-buzz," grumbled bumble the bee.
the merry little breezes looked at the million little flowers on the green meadows, each waiting a sack of gold to give and a sack of gold to receive.
then they looked at each other and shouted happily, for they too would now be able to cry "busy, busy, busy."
from flower to flower they hurried, each with a bag of gold over his shoulder.
wherever they left a bag they took a bag, and all the little flowers nodded happily to see the merry little breezes at work.
jolly, round, red mr. sun climbed higher and higher and higher in the blue sky, where he can look down and see all things, great and small.
his smile was broader than ever as he watched the hurrying, scurrying little breezes working instead of playing.
yet after all it was a kind of play, for they danced from flower to flower and ran races across bare places where no flowers grew.
by and by the merry little breezes met peter rabbit.
now peter rabbit had made a good breakfast of tender young carrots, so he felt very good, very good indeed.
""hi!"
shouted peter rabbit, "come play with me."
""ca n't," cried the merry little breezes all together, "we have work to do!"
off they hurried, while peter rabbit stretched himself out full length in a sunny spot, for peter rabbit also is a lazy fellow.
down the crooked little path onto the green meadows came jimmy skunk.
""ho!"
shouted jimmy skunk as soon as he saw the little breezes, "come play with me."
""ca n't," cried the little breezes, "for we are busy, busy, busy," and they laughed happily.
when they reached the laughing brook they found billy mink curled up in a round ball, fast asleep.
it is n't often that billy mink is caught napping, but he had had a good breakfast of trout, he had found no one to play with and, as he never works and the day was so bright and warm, he had first looked for a place where he thought no one would find him and had then curled himself up to sleep, one of the little breezes laid down the bag of gold he was carrying and creeping ever so softly over to billy mink began to tickle one of billy's ears with a straw.
at first billy mink did n't open his eyes, but rubbed his ear with a little black hand.
finally he jumped to his feet wide awake and ready to fight whoever was bothering him.
but all he saw was a laughing little breeze running away with a bag of gold on his back.
so all day long, till old mother west wind came with her big bag to carry them to their home behind the purple hills, the merry little breezes hurried this way and that way over the green meadows.
no wee flower was too tiny to give and receive its share of gold, and not one was overlooked by the merry little breezes.
old mother nature, who knows everything, heard of the busy day of the merry little breezes.
nobody knows how she heard of it.
perhaps jolly, round, red mr. sun told her.
perhaps -- but never mind.
you ca n't fool old mother nature anyway and it's of no use to try.
so old mother nature visited the green meadows to see for herself, and when she found how the merry little breezes had distributed the gold she was so pleased that straightway she announced to all the world that thenceforth and for all time the merry little breezes of old mother west wind should have charge of the distribution of the gold of the flowers on the green meadows, which they have to this day.
and since that day the merry little breezes have been merrier than ever, for they have found that it is not nearly so much fun to play all the time, but that to work for some good in the world is the greatest fun of all.
so every year when the gold of the flowers, which some people do not know is gold at all but call pollen, is ready you will find the merry little breezes of old mother west wind very, very busy among the flowers on the green meadows.
and this is the happiest time of all.
xiv why hooty the owl does not play on the green meadows the merry little breezes of old mother west wind were having a good-night game of tag down on the green meadows.
they were having such a jolly time while they waited for old mother west wind and her big bag to take them to their home behind the purple hills.
jolly, round, red mr. sun had already put his nightcap on.
black shadows crept softly out from the purple hills onto the green meadows.
the merry little breezes grew sleepy, almost too sleepy to play, for old mother west wind was very, very late.
farther and farther and farther out onto the green meadows crept the black shadows.
suddenly one seemed to separate from the others.
softly, oh so softly, yet swiftly, it floated over towards the merry little breezes.
one of them happened to look up and saw it coming.
it was the same little breeze who one time stayed out all night.
when he looked up and saw this seeming shadow moving so swiftly he knew that it was no shadow at all.
""here comes hooty the owl," cried the little breeze.
then all the merry little breezes stopped their game of tag to look at hooty the owl.
it is seldom they have a chance to see him, for usually hooty the owl does not come out on the green meadows until after the merry little breezes are snugly tucked in bed behind the purple hills.
""perhaps hooty the owl will tell us why it is that he never comes out to play with us," said one of the little breezes.
but just as hooty the owl floated over to them up came old mother west wind, and she was in a great hurry, for she was late, and she was tired.
she had had a busy day, a very busy day indeed, hunting for a rain cloud which had gone astray.
so now she just opened her big bag and tumbled all the merry little breezes into it as fast as she could without giving them so much as a chance to say "good evening" to hooty the owl.
then she took them off home behind the purple hills.
of course the merry little breezes were disappointed, very much disappointed.
but they were also very sleepy, for they had played hard all day.
""never mind," said one of them, drowsily, "to-morrow we'll ask great-grandfather frog why it is that hooty the owl never comes out to play with us on the green meadows.
he'll know."
the next morning old mother west wind was late in coming down from the purple hills.
when she finally did turn the merry little breezes out of her big bag onto the green meadows jolly, round, red mr. sun was already quite high in the blue sky.
the merry little breezes waited just long enough to say "good-by" to old mother west wind, and then started a mad race to see who could reach the smiling pool first.
there they found great-grandfather frog sitting on his big green lily pad as usual.
he was very contented with the world, was grandfather frog, for fat green flies had been more foolish than usual that morning and already he had all that he could safely tuck inside his white and yellow waistcoat.
""good morning, grandfather frog," shouted the merry little breezes.
""will you tell us why it is that hooty the owl never comes out to play with us on the green meadows?"
""chug-a-rum," said great-grandfather frog, gruffly, "how should i know?"
you see, grandfather frog likes to be teased a little.
""oh, but you do know, for you are so old and so very wise," cried the merry little breezes all together.
grandfather frog smiled, for he likes to be thought very wise, and also he was feeling very good, very good indeed that morning.
""chug-a-rum," said grandfather frog.
""if you'll sit perfectly still i'll tell you what i know about hooty the owl.
but remember, you must sit perfectly still, per-fect-ly still."
the merry little breezes sighed, for it is the hardest thing in the world for them to keep perfectly still unless they are asleep.
but they promised that they would, and when they had settled down, each one in the heart of a great white water lily, grandfather frog began: "once upon a time, when the world was young, hooty the owl's grandfather a thousand times removed used to fly about in daylight with the other birds.
he was very big and very strong and very fierce, was mr. owl.
he had great big claws and a hooked bill, just as hooty the owl has now, and he was afraid of nothing and nobody.
""now when people are very big and very strong and afraid of nothing and nobody they are very apt to care for nothing and nobody but themselves.
so it was with mr. owl.
whatever he saw that he wanted he took, no matter to whom it belonged, for there was no one to stop him.
""as i have already told you, mr. owl was very big and very strong and very fierce and he was a very great glutton.
it took a great many little birds and little animals to satisfy his appetite.
but he did n't stop there!
no, sir, he did n't stop there!
he used to kill harmless little meadow people just for the fun of killing, and because he could.
every day he grew more savage.
finally no one smaller than himself dared stir on the green meadows when he was around.
the little birds no longer sang.
the fieldmice children no longer played among the meadow grasses.
those were sad days, very sad days indeed on the green meadows," said grandfather frog, with a sigh.
""at last old mother nature came to visit the green meadows and she soon saw what a terrible state things were in.
no one came to meet her, for you see no one dared to show himself for fear of fierce old mr. owl.
""now i have told you that mr. owl was afraid of nothing and nobody, but this is not quite true, for he was afraid, very much afraid of old mother nature.
when he saw her coming he was sitting on top of a tall dead stump and he at once tried to look very meek and very innocent.
""old mother nature wasted no time.
"where are all my little meadow people and why do they not come to give me greeting?"
demanded old mother nature of mr. owl.
""mr. owl bowed very low.
"i'm sure i do n't know.
i think they must all be taking a nap," said he.
""now you ca n't fool old mother nature and it's of no use to try.
no, sir, you ca n't fool old mother nature.
she just looked at mr. owl and she looked at the feathers and fur scattered about the foot of the dead stump.
mr. owl stood first on one foot and then on the other.
he tried to look old mother nature in the face, but he could n't.
you see, mr. owl had a guilty conscience and a guilty conscience never looks anyone straight in the face.
he did wish that mother nature would say something, did mr. owl.
but she did n't.
she just looked and looked and looked and looked straight at mr. owl.
the longer she looked the uneasier he got and the faster he shifted from one foot to the other.
finally he shifted so fast that he seemed to be dancing on top of the old stump.
""gradually, a few at a time, the little meadow people crept out from their hiding places and formed a great circle around the old dead stump.
with old mother nature there they felt sure that no harm could come to them.
then they began to laugh at the funny sight of fierce old mr. owl hopping from one foot to the other on top of the old dead stump.
it was the first laugh on the green meadows for a long, long, long time.
""of course mr. owl saw them laughing at him, but he could think of nothing but the sharp eyes of old mother nature boring straight through him, and he danced faster than ever.
the faster he danced the funnier he looked, and the funnier he looked the harder the little meadow people laughed.
""finally old mother nature slowly raised a hand and pointed a long forefinger at mr. owl.
all the little meadow people stopped laughing to hear what she would say."
"mr. owl," she began," i know and you know why none of my little meadow people were here to give me greeting.
and this shall be your punishment: from now on your eyes shall become so tender that they can not stand the light of day, so that hereafter you shall fly about only after round, red mr. sun has gone to bed behind the purple hills.
no more shall my little people who play on the green meadows all the day long have cause to fear you, for no more shall you see to do them harm."
""when she ceased speaking all the little meadow people gave a great shout, for they knew that it would be even as mother nature had said.
then began such a frolic as the green meadows had not known for many a long day.
""but mr. owl flew slowly and with difficulty over to the darkest part of the deep wood, for the light hurt his eyes dreadfully and he could hardly see.
and as he flew the little birds flew around him in a great cloud and plucked out his feathers and tormented him for he could not see to harm them."
grandfather frog paused and looked dreamily across the smiling pool.
suddenly he opened his big mouth and then closed it with a snap.
one more foolish green fly had disappeared inside the white and yellow waistcoat.
""chug-a-rum," said grandfather frog, "those were sad days, sad days indeed for mr. owl.
he could n't hunt for his meals by day, for the light blinded him.
at night he could see but little in the darkness.
so he got little to eat and he grew thinner and thinner and thinner until he was but a shadow of his former self.
he was always hungry, was mr. owl, always hungry.
no one was afraid of him now, for it was the easiest thing in the world to keep out of his way.
""at last old mother nature came again to visit the green meadows and the green forest.
far, far in the darkest part of the deep wood she found mr. owl.
when she saw how very thin and how very, very miserable he was her heart was moved to pity, for old mother nature loves all her subjects, even the worst of them.
all the fierceness was gone from mr. owl.
he was so weak that he just sat huddled in the thickest part of the great pine.
you see he had been able to catch very little to eat."
"mr. owl," said old mother nature gently, "you now know something of the misery and the suffering which you have caused others, and i think you have been punished enough.
no more may you fly abroad over the green meadows while the day is bright, for still is the fear of you in the hearts of all my little meadow people, but hereafter you shall not find it so difficult to get enough to eat.
your eyes shall grow big, bigger than the eyes of any other bird, so that you shall be able to see in the dusk and even in the dark.
your ears shall grow large, larger than the ears of any of the little forest or meadow people, so that you can hear the very least sound.
your feathers shall become as soft as down, so that when you fly none shall hear you."
""and from that day it was even so.
mr. owl's eyes grew big and bigger until he could see as well in the dusk as he used to see in the full light of day.
his ears grew large and larger until his hearing became so keen that he could hear the least rustle, even at a long distance.
and when he flew he made no sound, but floated like a great shadow.
""the little meadow people no longer feared him by day, but when the shadows began to creep out from the purple hills each night and they heard his voice "whoo-too-whoo-hoo-hoo" they felt all the old fear of him.
if they were wise they did not stir, but if they were foolish and so much as shivered mr. owl was sure to hear them and silently pounce upon them.
""so once more mr. owl grew strong and fierce.
but only at night had anyone cause to fear him, and then only the foolish and timid.
""and now you know," concluded grandfather frog, "why it is that hooty the owl never comes out to play with you on the green meadows, and why his eyes are so big and his ears so large."
""thank you, thank you, grandfather frog!"
cried the merry little breezes, springing up from the white water lilies and stretching themselves.
""we'll bring you the first foolish green fly we can find."
then away they rushed to hunt for it.
xv danny meadow mouse learns to laugh danny meadow mouse sat on his doorstep and sulked.
the merry little breezes of old mother west wind ran past, one after another, and pointing their fingers at him cried: "fie, danny meadow mouse!
better go inside the house!
babies cry -- oh my!
oh my!
you're a baby -- go and cry!"
pretty soon along the lone little path came peter rabbit.
peter rabbit looked at danny meadow mouse.
then he pointed a finger at him and said: "cry, danny, cry!
mammy'll whip you by and by!
then we'll all come "round to see how big a baby you can be.
cry, danny, cry!"
danny meadow mouse began to snivel.
he cried softly to himself as peter rabbit hopped off down the lone little path.
soon along came reddy fox.
he saw danny meadow mouse sitting on his doorstep crying all by himself.
reddy fox crept up behind a tall bunch of grass.
then suddenly he jumped out right in front of danny meadow mouse.
""boo!"
cried reddy fox.
it frightened danny meadow mouse.
he jumped almost out of his skin, and ran into the house crying at the top of his voice.
""ha, ha, ha," laughed reddy fox "danny, danny, crying dan boo-hoo-hooed and off he ran!"
then reddy fox chased his tail all the way down the lone little path onto the green meadows.
by and by danny meadow mouse came out again and sat on his doorstep.
he had stopped crying, but he looked very unhappy and cross and sulky.
hopping and skipping down the lone little path came striped chipmunk.
""come play with me," called danny meadow mouse.
striped chipmunk kept right on hopping and skipping down the lone little path.
""do n't want to," said striped chipmunk, sticking his tongue in his cheek.
""cry-baby danny never'll be a manny!
run to mamma, danny, dear, and she will wipe away your tear!"
striped chipmunk hopped and skipped out of sight, and danny meadow mouse began to cry again because striped chipmunk would not play with him.
it was true, dreadfully true!
danny meadow mouse was a cry-baby and no one wanted to play with him.
if he stubbed his toe he cried.
if striped chipmunk beat him in a race he cried.
if the merry little breezes pulled his whiskers just in fun he cried.
it had come to such a pass that all the little meadow people delighted to tease him just to make him cry.
nowhere on all the green meadows was there such a cry-baby as danny meadow mouse.
so danny sat on his doorstep and cried because no one would play with him and he was lonely.
the more he thought how lonely he was, the more he cried.
presently along came old mr. toad.
now mr. toad looks very grumpy and out of sorts, but that is because you do not know old mr. toad.
when he reached the house of danny meadow mouse he stopped right in front of danny.
he put his right hand behind his right ear and listened.
then he put his left hand behind his left ear and listened some more.
finally he put both hands on his hips and began to laugh.
now mr. toad's mouth is very big indeed, and when he opens it to laugh he opens it very wide indeed.
""ha, ha, ha!
ha, ha, ha!"
laughed mr. toad.
danny meadow mouse cried harder than ever, and the harder he cried the harder old mr. toad laughed.
by and by danny meadow mouse stopped crying long enough to say to mr. toad: "what are you laughing for, mr. toad?"
mr. toad stopped laughing long enough to reply: "i'm laughing, danny meadow mouse, because you are crying at me.
what are you crying for?"
""i'm crying," said danny meadow mouse, "because you are laughing at me."
then danny began to cry again, and mr. toad began to laugh again.
""what's all this about?"
demanded some one right behind them.
it was jimmy skunk.
""it's a new kind of game," said old mr. toad.
""danny meadow mouse is trying to see if he can cry longer than i can laugh."
then old mr. toad once more opened his big mouth and began to laugh harder than ever.
jimmy skunk looked at him for just a minute and he looked so funny that jimmy skunk began to laugh too.
now a good honest laugh is like whooping cough -- it is catching.
the first thing danny meadow mouse knew his tears would not come.
it's a fact, danny meadow mouse had run short of tears.
the next thing he knew he was n't crying at all -- he was laughing.
yes, sir, he actually was laughing.
he tried to cry, but it was of no use at all; he just had to laugh.
the more he laughed the harder old mr. toad laughed.
and the harder mr. toad laughed the funnier he looked.
pretty soon all three of them, danny meadow mouse, old mr. toad and jimmy skunk, were holding their sides and rolling over and over in the grass, they were laughing so hard.
by and by mr. toad stopped laughing.
""dear me, dear me, this will never do!"
said mr. toad.
""i must get busy in my garden.
""the little slugs, they creep and crawl and eat and eat from spring to fall they never stop to laugh nor cry, and really could n't if they'd try.
so if you'll excuse me i'll hurry along to get them out of my garden."
mr. toad started down the lone little path.
after a few hops he paused and turned around.
""danny meadow mouse," said old mr. toad, "an honest laugh is like sunshine; it brightens the whole world.
do n't forget it."
jimmy skunk remembered that he had started out to find some beetles, so still chuckling he started for the crooked little path up the hill.
danny meadow mouse, once more alone, sat down on his doorstep.
his sides were sore, he had laughed so hard, and somehow the whole world had changed.
the grass seemed greener than he had ever seen it before.
the sunshine was brighter and the songs of the birds were sweeter.
altogether it was a very nice world, a very nice world indeed to live in.
somehow he felt as if he never wanted to cry again.
pretty soon along came the merry little breezes again, chasing butterflies.
when they saw danny meadow mouse sitting on his doorstep they pointed their fingers at him, just as before, and shouted: "fie, danny meadow mouse!
better go inside the house!
babies cry -- oh my!
oh my!
you're a baby -- go and cry!"
for just a little minute danny meadow mouse wanted to cry.
then he remembered old mr. toad and instead began to laugh.
the merry little breezes did n't know just what to make of it.
they stopped chasing butterflies and crowded around danny meadow mouse.
they began to tease him.
they pulled his whiskers and rumpled his hair.
the more they teased the more danny meadow mouse laughed.
when they found that danny meadow mouse really was n't going to cry, they stopped teasing and invited him to come play with them in the long meadow grass.
such a good frolic as they did have!
when it was over danny meadow mouse once more sat down on his doorstep to rest.
hopping and skipping back up the lone little path came striped chipmunk.
when he saw danny meadow mouse he stuck his tongue in his cheek and cried: "cry-baby danny never'll be a manny!
run to mamma, danny dear, and she will wipe away your tear!"
instead of crying danny meadow mouse began to laugh.
striped chipmunk stopped and took his tongue out of his cheek.
then he began to laugh too.
""do you want me to play with you?"
asked striped chipmunk, suddenly.
of course danny did, and soon they were having the merriest kind of a game of hide and seek.
right in the midst of it danny meadow mouse caught his left foot in a root and twisted his ankle.
my, how it did hurt!
in spite of himself tears did come into his eyes.
but he winked them back and bravely began to laugh.
striped chipmunk helped him back to his doorstep and cut funny capers while mother meadow mouse bound up the hurt foot, and all the time danny meadow mouse laughed until pretty soon he forgot that his foot ached at all.
when peter rabbit came jumping along up the lone little path he began to shout as soon as he saw danny meadow mouse: "cry, danny, cry!
mammy'll whip you by and by!
then we'll all come "round to see how big a baby you can be.
cry, danny, cry!"
but danny did n't cry.
my, no!
he laughed instead.
peter rabbit was so surprised that he stopped to see what had come over danny meadow mouse.
when he saw the bandaged foot and heard how danny had twisted his ankle peter rabbit sat right down on the doorstep beside danny meadow mouse and told him how sorry he was, for happy-go-lucky peter rabbit is very tender-hearted.
then he told danny all about the wonderful things he had seen in his travels, and of all the scrapes he had gotten into.
when peter rabbit finally started off home danny meadow mouse still sat on his doorstep.
but no longer was he lonely.
he watched old mother west wind trying to gather her merry little breezes into her big bag to take to their home behind the purple hills, and he laughed right out when he saw her catch the last mischievous little breeze and tumble him, heels over head, in with the others.
""old mr. toad was right, just exactly right," thought danny meadow mouse, as he rocked to and fro on his doorstep.
""it is much better, oh very much better, to laugh than to cry."
and since that day when danny meadow mouse learned to laugh, no one has had a chance to point a finger at him and call him a cry-baby.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___mother_west_wind_"how"_stories.txt.out
i how old king eagle won his white head mother west wind "how" stories i how old king eagle won his white head peter rabbit sat on the edge of the dear old briar-patch, staring up into the sky with his head tipped back until it made his neck ache.
way, way up in the sky was a black speck sailing across the snowy white face of a cloud.
it did n't seem possible that it could be alive way up there.
but it was.
peter knew that it was, and he knew who it was.
it was king eagle.
by and by it disappeared over towards the great mountain.
peter rubbed the back of his neck, which ached because he had tipped his head back so long.
then he gave a little sigh.
""i wonder what it seems like to be able to fly like that," said he out loud, a way he sometimes has.
""are you envious?"
asked a voice so close to him that peter jumped.
there was sammy jay sitting in a little tree just over his head.
""no!"
snapped peter, for it made him a wee bit cross to be so startled.
""no, i'm not envious, sammy jay.
i'm not envious of any bird.
the ground is good enough for me.
i was just wondering, that's all."
""have you ever seen king eagle close to?"
asked sammy.
""once," replied peter.
""once he came down to the green meadows and sat in that lone tree over there, and i was squatting in a bunch of grass quite near and could see him very plainly.
he is big and fierce-looking, but he looks his name, every inch a king.
i've wondered a good many times since how it happens that he has a white head."
""because," replied sammy, "he is just what he looks to be, -- king of the birds, -- and that white head is the sign of his royalty given his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather by old mother nature, way back in the beginning of things."
peter's eyes sparkled.
""tell me about it, sammy," he begged.
""tell me about it, and i wo n't quarrel with you any more."
""all right, peter.
i'll tell you the story, because it will do you good to hear it.
i supposed everybody knew it.
all birds do.
that is why we all look up to king eagle," replied sammy.
""way back in the beginning of things, old king bear ruled in the green forest, as you know.
that is, he ruled the animals and all the little people who lived on the ground, but he did n't rule the birds.
you see the birds were not willing to be ruled over by an animal.
they wanted one of their own kind.
so they refused to have old king bear as their king and went to old mother nature to ask her to appoint a king of the air.
now mr. eagle was one of the biggest and strongest and most respected of all the birds of the air.
there were some, like mr. goose and mr. swan, who were bigger, but they spent most of their time on the water or the earth, and they had no great claws or hooked beak to command respect as did mr. eagle.
so old mother nature made mr. eagle king of the air, and as was quite right and proper, all the birds hastened to pay him homage.
""so king eagle ruled the air and none dared to cross him or to disobey him.
unlike old king bear, he accepted no tribute from his subjects but hunted for himself, and instead of growing fat and lazy, as did old king bear, he grew stronger of wing and feared no one and nothing.
now this was in the days when the world was young, and old mother nature was very busy trying to make the world a good place to live in, so she had very little time to look after the birds and the animals.
thus she left matters very much to king eagle and old king bear.
they settled all the quarrels between their subjects, and for a while everything went smoothly.
""king eagle made his home on the cliff of a mountain, so that he could look down on all below and see what was going on.
every day he went down to the green forest and sat on the tallest tree while he listened to the complaints of the other birds and settled their disputes, and none questioned his decisions.
now after a while, this little part of the earth where the animals and the birds first lived became overcrowded.
it became harder and harder to get enough to eat.
quarrels became more frequent, until king eagle had little time for anything but straightening out these troubles and trying to keep peace.
""old mother nature had been away a long time trying to make other parts of the world fit to live in.
no one knew when she was coming back or just where she was.
king eagle, sitting on the edge of the cliff on the mountain, thought it all over.
old mother nature ought to know how things were.
he would send a messenger to try to find her.
so the next day he called all the birds together and asked who would go out into the unknown great world to look for old mother nature and take a message to her.
""no one offered.
this one had a family to look after.
that one was not feeling well.
another had a pain in his wings.
one and all they had an excuse until hummer, the tiniest of all the birds, was reached.
he darted into the air before king eagle.
"i'll go," said he.
""all the others laughed.
the very idea of such a tiny fellow going out to dare the dangers of the unknown great world seemed to them so absurd that they just had to laugh.
but king eagle did n't laugh.
he thanked hummer and told him that his heart was as big as his body was small, but that he would not send him out into the great world, for he would go himself.
he had been but trying out his subjects, and he had found but one who was worthy, and that one was the smallest of them all.
then king eagle said things that made all the other birds hang their heads for shame and want to sneak out of sight.
""after that, he told them that no king who was worthy to be king would ask his subjects to do what he would not do himself, and that where there was danger to be faced or something hard to do, it was the king's place to do it, so he himself was going out into the unknown great world to find mother nature and see what could be done to make things better and happier for them.
then he spread his great wings and sailed away, every inch a king.
they watched him until he was a speck in the sky, and finally he disappeared altogether.
""day after day they watched for him to come back, but there was no sign of him; they began to shake their heads and openly talk of choosing a new king.
only little mr. hummer kept his faith and day after day flew away in the direction old king eagle had gone, hoping to meet him coming back.
at last a day was set to choose a new king.
that morning, as soon as it was light enough to see, little mr. hummer darted away, and his heart was heavy.
he would take no part in choosing a new king.
he would go until he found king eagle or until something happened to him.
pretty soon he saw a speck way up against a cloud, a speck no bigger than himself.
it grew bigger and bigger, and at last he knew that it was king eagle himself.
little mr. hummer turned and flew as he never had flown before.
he wanted to get back before a new king was chosen, so that king eagle might never know that his subjects had lost faith in him.
""he was so out of breath when he reached the other birds that he could n't say a word for a few minutes.
then he told them that king eagle was coming.
the other birds had proved that they were not brave when they had refused to go out in search of old mother nature, and now they proved it again.
instead of waiting to give king eagle a royal welcome, they hurried away, one after another.
they were afraid to meet him, because in their hearts they knew that they had done a cowardly thing in deciding to choose a new king.
so when king eagle, weary and with torn wings and broken tail feathers, dropped down to the tall tree in the green forest, there was none to give him greeting save little mr. hummer.
""king eagle said nothing about the failure of the other birds to give him greeting but at once sent little mr. hummer around to tell all the others that far away he had found old mother nature preparing a new land for them, and that when she gave the word, he would lead them to it.
then king eagle flew to his home on the cliff of the mountain, and not one word did he ever say of his terrible journey, of how he had gone hungry, had been beaten by storms, and had suffered from cold and weariness, yet never once had turned back.
""but when old mother nature came later and announced that the new land was ready for the birds, she first called them together and told them all that king eagle had suffered, and how he had proved himself a royal king.
as a reward she promised that his family should be rulers over the birds forever, and as a sign that this should be so, she reached forth and touched his black head, and it became snowy white, and all the birds cried "long live the king!"
""then old mother nature turned to tiny mr. hummer and touched his throat, and behold a shining ruby was there, the reward of loyalty, faith, and bravery.
""then king eagle mounted into the air and proudly led the way to the promised land.
and so the birds went forth and peopled the great world, and king eagle and his children and his children's children have ruled the air ever since and have worn the snowy crown which king eagle of long ago so bravely won."
ii how old mr. mink taught himself to swim ii how old mr. mink taught himself to swim of all the little people who live in the green forest or on the green meadows or around the smiling pool, billy mink has the most accomplishments.
at least, it seems that way to his friends and neighbors.
he can run very swiftly; he can climb very nimbly; his eyes and his ears and his nose are all wonderfully keen, and -- he can swim like a fish.
yes, sir, billy mink is just as much at home in the water as out of it.
so, wherever he happens to be, in the green forest, out on the green meadows, along the laughing brook, or in the smiling pool, he feels perfectly at home and quite able to look out for himself.
once billy mink had boasted that he could do anything that any one else who wore fur could do, but boasters almost always come to grief, and grandfather frog had brought billy to grief that time.
he had invited every one to meet at the smiling pool and see billy mink do whatever any one else who wore fur could do, and then, when billy had run and jumped and climbed and swum, grandfather frog had called flitter the bat.
there was some one wearing fur who could fly, and of course billy mink could n't do that.
it cured billy of boasting, -- for a while, anyway.
now peter rabbit, who can do little but run and jump, used sometimes to feel a wee bit of envy in his heart when he thought of all the things that billy mink could do and do well.
somehow peter could never make it seem quite right that one person should be able to do so many things when others could do only one or two things.
he said as much to grandfather frog one day, as they watched billy mink catch a fat trout.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog and looked sharply at peter.
""chug-a-rum!
people never know what they can do till they try.
once upon a time billy mink's great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather could n't swim any more than you can, but he did n't waste any time foolishly wishing that he could."
""what did he do?"
asked peter eagerly.
""learned how," replied grandfather frog gruffly.
""made it his business to learn how.
then he taught his children, and they taught their children, and after a long time it came natural to the mink family to swim."
""did it take old mr. mink very long to learn how?"
asked peter wistfully.
""quite a while," replied grandfather frog.
""quite a while.
perhaps you would like to hear about it."
""oh, if you please, grandfather frog," cried peter.
""if you please.
i should love dearly to hear about it.
perhaps then i can learn to swim."
grandfather frog snapped up a foolish green fly that happened his way, and peter heard something that sounded very much like a chuckle.
he looked at grandfather frog suspiciously.
was that chuckle because of the foolish green fly, or was grandfather frog laughing at him?
peter was n't sure.
""it all happened a long time ago when the world was young, as a great many other things happened," began grandfather frog.
""old mr. mink, the ever-so-great-grandfather of billy mink, could n't do all the things that billy can now.
for instance, he could n't swim.
but he could do a great many things, and he was very smart.
it has always run in the mink family to be smart.
he dressed very much as billy does now, except that he did n't have the waterproof coat that billy has.
and he was a great traveler, just as billy is.
everybody smaller than he and some who were bigger were a little bit afraid of old mr. mink, for he was quite as sly and cunning as mr. fox, and it was suspected that he knew a great deal more than he ever admitted about eggs that were stolen and nests that were broken up, and other strange things that happened in the green forest and along the laughing brook.
but he never was caught doing anything wrong and always seemed to be minding his own business, so, all things considered, he got along very well with his neighbors.
""now mr. mink was small and spry, and his wits were as nimble as his feet.
he saw all that was going on about him, and he was wise enough to keep his tongue still, so that it never got him into trouble as gossipy tongues do some people i know."
peter rabbit fidgeted uneasily.
it seemed to him that grandfather frog had looked at him very hard when he said this.
but grandfather frog just cleared his throat and went on with his story.
""yes, sir, old mr. mink kept his eyes wide open and his ears wide open and the wits in his little brown head always working.
he noticed that those who were fussy about what they ate and insisted on having a special kind of food often went hungry or had to hunt long and hard to find what they liked, so he made up his mind to learn to eat many kinds of food.
this is how it happens that he learned to like fish.
his big cousin, mr. otter, often caught a bigger fish than he could eat all himself and would leave some of it on the bank.
mr. mink would find it and help himself.
""but having to depend on mr. otter to get the fish for him did n't suit mr. mink at all.
in the first place, he did n't have as much as he wanted.
and then again he did n't have it when he wanted it.
"if i could learn to catch fish for myself, i would be much better off," thought mr. mink.
after this he spent a great deal of time on the banks of the smiling pool watching mr. otter swim to see just how he did it.
"if he can swim, i can swim," said mr. mink to himself, and went off up the laughing brook to a quiet little pool where the water was not deep.
""at first he did n't like it at all.
the water got in his ears and up his nose and choked him.
and then it was so dreadfully wet!
but he would grit his teeth and keep at it.
after a while he got so that he could paddle around a little.
gradually he lost his fear of the water.
then he found that because he naturally moved so quickly he could sometimes catch foolish minnows who swam in where the water was very shallow.
this was great sport, and he quite often had fish for dinner now.
""but he was n't satisfied.
no, sir, he was n't satisfied.
whatever mr. mink did, he wanted to do well.
he could run well and climb well, and there was no better hunter in all the green forest.
he was bound that he would swim well.
so he kept trying and trying.
he learned to fill his lungs with air and hold his breath for a long time, while he swam as fast as ever he could with his head under water as he had seen his cousin, mr. otter, swim.
the more he did this, the longer he could hold his breath.
after a while he found that because he was slim and trim and moved so fast, he could out-swim mr. muskrat, and this made him feel very good indeed, for mr. muskrat spent nearly all his time in the water and was accounted a very good swimmer.
there was only one thing that bothered mr. mink.
the water was so dreadfully wet!
every time he came out of it, he had to run his hardest to dry off and keep from getting cold.
this was very tiresome and he did wish that there was an easier way of drying off.
""then came the bad time, the sad time, when food was scarce, and most of the little people in the green forest and on the green meadow went hungry.
but mr. mink did n't go hungry.
oh, my, no!
you see, he had learned to catch fish, and so he had plenty to eat.
when old mother nature came to see how all the little people were getting along, she was very much surprised to find that mr. mink had become a famous swimmer.
she watched him catch a fish.
then she watched him run about to dry off and keep from getting cold, and her eyes twinkled."
"he who helps himself deserves to be helped," said old mother nature.
mr. mink did n't know what she meant by that, but the next morning he found out.
yes, sir, the next morning he found out.
he found that he had a brand new coat over his old one, and the new one was waterproof.
he could swim as much as he pleased and not get the least bit wet, because the water could n't get through that new coat.
and ever since that long-ago day when the world was young, the minks have had waterproof coats and have been famous fishermen.
hello, peter rabbit!
what under the sun are you trying to do, swelling yourself up that way?"
""i -- i was just practising holding my breath," replied peter and looked very, very foolish.
""ho, ho, ho!
ha, ha, ha!"
laughed grandfather frog.
""you ca n't learn to swim by holding your breath on dry land, peter rabbit."
iii how old mr. toad learned to sing iii how old mr. toad learned to sing peter rabbit never will forget how he laughed the first time he heard old mr. toad say that he could sing and was going to sing.
why, peter would as soon think of singing himself, and that is something he can no more do than he can fly.
peter had known old mr. toad ever since he could remember.
he was rather fond of him, even if he did play jokes on him once in a while.
but he always thought of old mr. toad as one of the homeliest of all his friends, -- slow, awkward, and too commonplace to be very interesting.
so when, in the glad joyousness of the spring, old mr. toad had told jimmy skunk that he was going down to the smiling pool to sing because without him the great chorus there would lack one of its sweetest voices, peter and jimmy had laughed till the tears came.
a few days later peter happened over to the smiling pool for a call on grandfather frog.
a mighty chorus of joy from unseen singers rose from all about the smiling pool.
peter knew about those singers.
they were hylas, the little cousins of sticky-toes the tree toad.
peter sat very still on the edge of the bank trying to see one of them.
suddenly he became aware of a new note, one he never had noticed before and sweeter than any of the others.
indeed it was one of the sweetest of all the spring songs, as sweet as the love notes of tommy tit the chickadee, than which there is none sweeter.
it seemed to come from the shallow water just in front of peter, and he looked eagerly for the singer.
then his eyes opened until it seemed as if they would pop right out of his head, and he dropped his lower jaw foolishly.
there was old mr. toad with a queer bag peter never had seen before swelled out under his chin, and as surely as peter was sitting on that bank, it was old mr. toad who was the sweet singer!
old mr. toad paid no attention to peter, not even when he was spoken to.
he was so absorbed in his singing that he just did n't hear.
peter sat there a while to listen; then he called jimmy skunk and unc" billy possum, who were also listening to the music, and they were just as surprised as peter.
then he spied jerry muskrat at the other end of the smiling pool and hurried over there.
peter was so full of the discovery he had made that he could think of nothing else.
he fairly ached to tell.
""jerry!"
he cried.
""oh, jerry muskrat!
do you know that old mr. toad can sing?"
jerry looked surprised that peter should ask such a question.
""of course i know it," said he.
""it would be mighty funny if i did n't know it, seeing that he is the sweetest singer in the smiling pool and has sung here every spring since i can remember."
peter looked very much chagrined.
""i did n't know it until just how," he confessed.
""i did n't believe him when he told me that he could sing.
i wonder how he ever learned."
""he did n't learn any more than you learned how to jump," replied jerry.
""it just came to him naturally.
his father sang, and his grandfather, and his great grandfather, way back to the beginning of things.
i thought everybody knew about that."
""i do n't.
tell me about it.
please do, jerry," begged peter.
""all right, i will," replied jerry good-naturedly.
""it's something you ought to know about, anyway.
in the first place, old mr. toad belongs to a very old and honorable family, one of the very oldest.
i've heard say that it goes way back almost to the very beginning of things when there was n't much land.
anyway, the first toad, the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of old mr. toad and own cousin to the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of grandfather frog, was one of the first to leave the water for the dry land.
""old mother nature met him hopping along and making hard work of it because, of course, it was so new.
she looked at him sharply.
"what are you doing here?"
she demanded.
"are n't you contented with the water where you were born?"
""mr. toad bowed very low.
"yes'm," said he very humbly.
"i'll go right back there if you say so.
i thought there must be some things worth finding out on the land, and that i might be of some use in the great world."
""his answer pleased old mother nature.
she was worried.
she had planted all kinds of things on the land, and they were springing up everywhere, but she had discovered that bugs of many kinds liked the tender green things and were increasing so fast and were so greedy that they threatened to strip the land of all that she had planted.
she had so many things to attend to that she had n't time to take care of the bugs.
"if you truly want to be of some use," said she, "you can attend to some of those bugs."
""mr. toad went right to work, and old mother nature went about some other business.
having so many other things to look after, she quite forgot about mr. toad, and it was several weeks before she came that way again.
right in the middle of a great bare place where the bugs had eaten everything was a beautiful green spot, and patiently hopping from plant to plant was mr. toad, snapping up every bug he could see.
he did n't see old mother nature and kept right on working.
she watched him a while as he hopped from plant to plant catching bugs as fast as he could, and then she spoke."
"have you stayed right here ever since i last saw you?"
she asked.
""mr. toad gave a start of surprise.
"yes'm," said he."
"but i thought you wanted to see the great world and learn things," said she.
""mr. toad looked a little embarrassed.
"so i did," he replied, "but i wanted to be of some use, and the bugs have kept me so busy there was no time to travel.
besides, i have learned a great deal right here.
i -- i could n't get around fast enough to save all the plants, but i have saved what i could."
""old mother nature was more pleased than she was willing to show, for mr. toad was the first of all the little people who had tried to help her, and he had done what he could willingly and faithfully.""
i suppose," said she, speaking a little gruffly, "you expect me to reward you."
""mr. toad looked surprised and a little hurt."
i do n't want any reward," said he."
i did n't do it for that.
it will be reward enough to know that i really have helped and to be allowed to continue to help."
""at that old mother nature's face lighted with one of her most beautiful smiles.
"mr. toad," said she, "if you could have just what you want, what would it be?"
""mr. toad hesitated a few minutes and then said shyly," a beautiful voice."
""it was old mother nature's turn to look surprised."
a beautiful voice!"
she exclaimed.
"pray, why do you want a beautiful voice?""
"so that i can express my happiness in the most beautiful way i know of, -- by singing," replied mr. toad."
"you shall have it," declared old mother nature, "but not all the time lest you be tempted to forget your work, which, you know, is the real source of true happiness.
in the spring of each year you shall go back to your home in the water, and there for a time you shall sing to your heart's content, and there shall be no sweeter voice than yours."
""sure enough, when the next spring came, mr. toad was filled with a great longing to go home.
when he got there, he found that in his throat was a little music bag; and when he swelled it out, he had one of the sweetest voices in the world.
and so it has been ever since with the toad family.
old mr. toad is one of the sweetest singers in the smiling pool, but when it is time to go back to work he never grumbles, but is one of the most faithful workers in mother nature's garden," concluded jerry muskrat.
peter sighed.
""i never could work," said he.
""perhaps that is why i can not sing."
""very likely," replied jerry muskrat, quite forgetting that he can not sing himself although he is a great worker.
iv how old mr. crow lost his double tongue iv how old mr. crow lost his double tongue "caw, caw, caw, caw!"
blacky the crow sat in the top of a tall tree and seemed trying to see just how much noise he could make with that harsh voice of his.
peter rabbit peered out from the dear old briar-patch and frowned.
""if i had a voice as unpleasant as that, i'd forget i could talk.
yes, sir, i'd forget i had a tongue," declared peter.
somebody laughed, and peter turned quickly to find jimmy skunk.
""what are you laughing at?"
demanded peter.
""at the idea of you forgetting that you had a tongue," replied jimmy.
""well, i would if i had a voice like blacky's," persisted peter, although he grinned a wee bit foolishly as he looked at jimmy skunk, for you know peter is a great gossip.
""it's lucky for you that you have n't then," retorted jimmy.
""i'm afraid that you would lose your tongue just as old mr. crow did."
that sounded like a story.
right away peter sat up and took notice.
""did old mr. crow really lose his tongue?
how did he lose it?
why did he lose it?
when --" jimmy skunk clapped a hand over each ear and pretended that he was going to run away.
peter jumped in front of him.
""no, you do n't!"
he cried.
""you've just got to tell me that story, jimmy skunk."
""what story?"
asked jimmy, as if he had n't the least idea in the world what peter was talking about, though of course he knew perfectly well.
""caw, caw, caw, caw!"
shouted blacky the crow from the distant tree-top.
""the story of how old mr. crow lost his tongue.
you may as well tell me first as last, because i'll give you no peace until you do," insisted peter.
jimmy grinned.
""if that's the case, i guess i'll have to," said he.
""wait until i find a comfortable place to sit down.
i never could tell a story standing up."
at last he found a place to suit him and after changing his position two or three times to make sure that he was perfectly comfortable, he began.
""once upon a time --" "never mind about that," interrupted peter.
""i do n't see why all stories have to begin "once upon a time."
it seems as if everything interesting happened long ago."
""if you do n't watch out, this story wo n't begin at all," declared jimmy.
peter looked properly ashamed for interrupting, and jimmy started again.
""once upon a time old mr. crow, the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of blacky, over there, possessed the most wonderful tongue of any of the little people who ran, walked, crawled, or flew.
he could imitate any and everybody, and he did.
he could sing like mr. meadow lark, or he could bark like mr. wolf.
he could whistle like mr. quail, or he could growl like old king bear.
there was n't anybody whose voice he could n't imitate and do it so well that if you had been there and heard but not seen him, you never would have guessed that it was an imitation.
""now the imp of mischief was in old mr. crow, just as it is in blacky to-day, and he was smart too.
there was n't anybody smarter than old mr. crow.
it's from him that blacky gets his smartness.
it did n't take him long to discover that no one else had such a wonderful tongue.
it was even more wonderful than the tongue of old mr. mocker the mocking bird.
mr. mocker could imitate the songs of other birds, but old mr. crow could imitate anybody, as i have said.
he puzzled over it a good deal himself for a while.
he could n't understand how he could make any sound he pleased, while his neighbors could make only a few special sounds.
""being very smart and shrewd, just as blacky is, he finally made up his mind that it must be in his tongue.
as soon as he thought of that, he started out to find out, and on one excuse or another he managed to get all his neighbors to show him their tongues.
sure enough, his own tongue was different from any of the others.
it was split a little, so that it was almost like two tongues in one."
"that's it," he chuckled."
i knew it.
it's this little old tongue of mine.
nobody else has got one like it, but nobody knows that but me.
i must make good use of it.
yes, sir, i must make good use of it."
""now when old mr. crow said that, he did n't really mean good use at all.
that is, he did n't mean what you or i or any of his neighbors would have called good use.
what he did mean was the use that would bring to himself the greatest gain in pleasure, and being a great joker, he began by having a lot of fun with his neighbors.
when he saw mr. rabbit, your grandfather a thousand times removed, coming along, he would hide, and just as mr. rabbit was passing, he would snarl like mr. lynx.
of course mr. rabbit would be scared almost to death, and away he would go, lipperty-lipperty-lip, and old mr. crow would laugh so that he had to hold his black sides.
he would hide in the top of a tree near mr. squirrel's home, and just when mr. squirrel had found a fat nut and started to eat it, he would scream like mr. hawk and then laugh to see mr. squirrel drop his nut and dive headfirst into the nearest hole.
he would squeak like a mouse when mr. fox was passing, just to see mr. fox hunt and hunt for the dinner he felt sure was close at hand.
""but after a while mr. crow was n't satisfied with harmless jokes.
times were getting hard, and everybody had to work to get enough to eat.
this did n't suit mr. crow at all, and one day when he chanced to discover one of his neighbors just sitting down to a good meal, a new idea came to him.
he stole as near as he could without being seen and suddenly growled like old king bear.
of course that meal was left in a hurry.
"it is too bad to see all that good food go to waste," said mr. crow and promptly ate it.
""after that, instead of hunting for food himself, he just kept a sharp eye on his neighbors, and when they had found something he wanted, he frightened them away and helped himself.
all the time he was so sly about it that never once was he suspected.
he was a great talker, was mr. crow, and spent a great deal of time gossiping, and he was always one of the first to offer sympathy to those who had lost a meal.
""now all this time, unknown to old mr. crow, old mother nature knew just what was going on, for you ca n't fool her, and it's of no use to try.
one morning mr. crow discovered mr. coon just sitting down to a good breakfast.
he stole up behind mr. coon and opened his mouth to bark like mr. coyote, but instead of a bark, there came forth a harsh "caw, caw, caw."
it is a question which was the more surprised, mr. coon or mr. crow.
mr. coon did n't forget his manners.
he politely invited mr. crow to sit down and take breakfast with him.
but mr. crow had lost his appetite.
somehow his tongue felt very queer.
he thanked mr. coon and begged to be excused.
then he hurried over to the nearest pool of water in which he could see his reflection and stuck out his tongue.
it was no longer split into a double tongue.
then old mr. crow guessed that old mother nature had found him out and punished him, but to make sure, he flew to the most lonesome place he knew of, and there he tried to imitate the voices of his neighbors; but try as he would, all he could say was "caw, caw, caw."
""for a long, long time after that no one ever heard mr. crow say a word.
his neighbors did n't know what to make of it, for you remember he had been a great gossip.
they said that he must have lost his tongue.
of course he had n't, but he felt that he might as well have.
and ever since then the crow family has had the harshest of all voices."
""caw, caw, caw!"
shouted blacky from the top of the tree where he was sitting.
""i wonder," said peter rabbit thoughtfully, "if he could imitate other people if his tongue should be split."
""i've heard say that he could," replied jimmy skunk, "but i do n't know.
one thing is sure, and that is that he is just as smart and sly as his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather was, and i guess it is just as well that his tongue is just as it is."
v how howler the wolf got his name v how howler the wolf got his name peter rabbit never had seen howler the wolf, but he had heard his voice in the distance, and the mere sound had given him cold shivers.
it just went all through him.
it was very different from the voice of old man coyote.
the latter is bad enough, sounding as it does like many voices, but there is not in it that terrible fierceness which the voice of his big cousin contains.
peter had no desire to hear it any nearer.
the first time he met his cousin, jumper the hare, he asked him about howler, for jumper had come down to the green forest from the great woods where howler lives and is feared.
""did you hear him?"
exclaimed jumper.
""i hope he wo n't take it into his head to come down here.
i do n't believe he will, because it is too near the homes of men.
if the sound of his voice way off there gave you cold shivers, i'm afraid you'd shake all to pieces if you heard him close by.
he's just as fierce as his voice sounds.
there is one thing about him that i like, though, and that is that he gives fair warning when he is hunting.
he does n't come sneaking about without a sound, like tufty the lynx.
he hunts like bowser the hound and lets you know that he is out hunting.
did you ever hear how he got his name?"
""no.
how did he get his name?"
asked peter eagerly.
""well, of course it's a family name now and is handed down and has been for years and years, ever since the first wolf began hunting way back when the world was young," explained jumper.
""for a long time the first wolf had no name.
most of the other animals and birds had names, but nothing seemed to just fit the big gray wolf.
he looked a great deal like his cousin, mr. dog, and still more like his other cousin, mr. coyote.
but he was stronger than either, could run farther and faster than either, and had quite as wonderful a nose as either.
""with mr. wolf, as with all the other animals, life was an easy matter at first.
there was plenty to eat, and everybody was on good terms with everybody else.
but there came a time, as you know, when food became scarce.
it was then that the big learned to hunt the small, and fear was born into the world.
mr. wolf was swift of leg and keen of nose.
his teeth were long and sharp, and he was so strong that there were few he feared to fight with.
in fact, he did n't know fear at all, for he simply kept out of the way of those who were too big and strong for him to fight.
""most people like to do the things they know they can do well.
mr. wolf early learned the joy of hunting.
i ca n't understand it myself.
can you?"
peter shook his head.
you see neither jumper nor peter ever have hunted any one in all their lives.
it is always they who are hunted.
""perhaps it was because he was so strong of wind and leg that he enjoyed running, and because he was so keen of nose that he enjoyed following a trail.
anyway, he scorned to spend his time sneaking about as did his cousin, mr. coyote, but chose to follow the swiftest runners and to match his nose and speed and skill against their speed and wits.
he did n't bother to hunt little people like us when there were big people like mr. deer.
the longer and harder the hunt, the more mr. wolf seemed to enjoy it.
""at first he hunted silently, running swiftly with his nose to the ground.
but this gave the ones he hunted very little chance; he was upon them before they even suspected that he was on their trail.
it always made mr. wolf feel mean.
he never could hold his head and his tail up after that kind of a hunt.
he felt so like a sneak that he just had to put his tail between his legs for very shame.
there was nothing to be proud about in such a hunt.
""one night he sat thinking about it.
gentle mistress moon looked down at him through the tree-tops, and something inside him urged him to tell her his troubles.
he pointed his sharp nose up at her, opened his mouth and, because she was so far away, did his best to make her hear.
that was the very first wolf howl ever heard.
there was something very lonely and shivery and terrible in the sound, and all who heard it shook with fear.
mr. wolf did n't know this, but he did know that he felt better for howling.
so every night he pointed his nose up at mistress moon and howled.
""it happened that once as he did this, a deer jumped at the first sound and rushed away in great fright.
this gave mr. wolf an idea.
the next day when he went hunting he threw up his head and howled at the very first smell of fresh tracks.
that day he had the longest hunt he ever had known, for the deer had had fair warning.
mr. wolf did n't get the deer, because the latter swam across a lake and so got away, but he returned home in high spirits in spite of an empty stomach.
you see, he felt that it had been a fair hunt.
after that he always gave fair warning.
as he ran, he howled for very joy.
no longer did he carry his bushy tail between his legs, for no longer did he feel like a coward and a sneak.
instead, he carried it proudly.
of all the animals who hunted, he was the only one who gave fair warning, and he felt that he had a right to be proud.
all the others hunted by stealth.
he alone hunted openly and boldly.
-lsb- illustration: "old king bear, who was king no longer, would growl a deep, rumbly-grumbly growl."
page 66. -rsb-
""now this earned for him first the dislike and then the hatred of the other hunters.
you see, when he was hunting, he spoiled the hunting of those who stole soft-footed through the green forest and caught their victims by surprise.
the little people heard his voice and either hid away or were on guard, so that it was hard work for the silent hunters to surprise them.
at the sound of his hunting cry, old king bear, who was king no longer, would growl a deep, rumbly-grumbly growl, though he did n't mind so much as some, because he did very little hunting.
he would n't have done any if food had not been so scarce, because he would have been entirely satisfied with berries and roots, if he could have found enough.
mr. lynx and mr. panther would snarl angrily.
mr. coyote and mr. fox would show their teeth and mutter about what they would do to mr. wolf if only they were big enough and strong enough and brave enough.
""of course, it was n't long before mr. wolf discovered that he had no friends.
the little people feared him, and the big people hated him because he spoiled their hunting.
but he did n't mind.
in fact, he looked down on mr. lynx and mr. panther and mr. coyote and mr. fox, and when he met them, he lifted his tail a little more proudly than ever.
sometimes he would howl out of pure mischief just to spoil the hunting of the others.
so, little by little, he began to be spoken of as howler the wolf, and after a while everybody called him howler.
""of course, howler taught his children how to hunt and that the only honorable and fair way was to give those they hunted fair warning.
so it grew to be a fixed habit of the wolf family to give fair warning that they were abroad and then trust to their wind and wits and speed and noses to catch those they were after.
the result was that they grew strong, able to travel long distances, keen of nose, and sharp of wit.
because the big people hated them, and the little people feared them, they lived by themselves and so formed the habit of hunting together for company.
""it has been so ever since, and the name howler has been handed down to this day.
no sound in all the great woods carries with it more fear than does the voice of howler the wolf, and no one hunts so openly, boldly, and honorably.
be thankful, peter, that howler never comes down to the green forest, but stays far from the homes of men."
""i am," replied peter.
""just the same, i think he deserves a better name for the fair way in which he hunts, though his name certainly does fit him.
i would a lot rather be caught by some one who had given me fair warning than by some one who came sneaking after me and gave me no warning.
but i do n't want to be caught at all, so i think i'll hurry back to the dear old briar-patch."
and peter did.
vi how old mr. squirrel became thrifty vi how old mr. squirrel became thrifty grandfather frog sat on his big green lily-pad in the smiling pool and shook his head reprovingly at peter rabbit.
peter is such a happy-go-lucky little fellow that he never thinks of anything but the good time he can have in the present.
he never looks ahead to the future.
so of course peter seldom worries.
if the sun shines to-day, peter takes it for granted that it will shine to-morrow; so he hops and skips and has a good time and just trusts to luck.
now grandfather frog is very old and very wise, and he does n't believe in luck.
no, sir, grandfather frog does n't believe in luck.
""chug-a-rum!"
says grandfather frog, "luck never just happens.
what people call bad luck is just the result of their own foolishness or carelessness or both, and what people call good luck is just the result of their own wisdom and carefulness and common sense."
peter rabbit had been making fun of happy jack squirrel because happy jack said that he had too much to do to stop and play that morning.
here it was summer, and winter was a long way off.
what was summer for if not to play in and have a good time?
yet happy jack was already thinking of winter and was hunting for a new storehouse so as to have it ready when the time to fill it with nuts should come.
it was much better to play and take sun-naps among the buttercups and daisies and just have a good time all day long.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog, "did you ever hear how old mr. squirrel learned thrift?"
""no," cried peter rabbit, stretching himself out in the soft grass on the edge of the smiling pool.
""do tell us about it.
please do, grandfather frog!"
you know peter dearly loves a story.
all the other little meadow and forest people who were about the smiling pool joined peter rabbit in begging grandfather frog for the story, and after they had teased for it a long time -lrb- grandfather frog dearly loves to be teased -rrb-, he cleared his throat and began.
""once upon a time when the world was young, in the days when old king bear ruled in the green forest, everybody had to take king bear presents of things to eat.
that was because he was king.
you know kings never have to work like other people to get enough to eat; everybody brings them a little of their best, and so kings have the best in the land without the trouble of working for it.
it was just this way with old king bear.
that was before he grew so fat and lazy and selfish that old mother nature declared that he should be king no longer.
""now in those days lived old mr. squirrel, the grandfather a thousand times removed of happy jack squirrel whom you all know.
of course, he was n't old then.
he was young and frisky, just like happy jack, and he was a great favorite with old king bear.
he was a saucy fellow, was mr. squirrel, and he used to spend most of his time playing tricks on the other meadow and forest people.
he even dared to play jokes on old king bear.
sometimes old king bear would lose his temper, and then mr. squirrel would whisk up in the top of a tall tree and keep out of sight until old king bear had recovered his good nature.
""those were happy days, very happy days indeed, and old king bear was a very wise ruler.
there was plenty of everything to eat, and so nobody missed the little they brought to old king bear.
having so much brought to him, he grew very particular.
yes, sir, old king bear grew very particular indeed.
some began to whisper behind his back that he was fussy.
he would pick out the very best of everything for himself and give the rest to his family and special friends or else just let it go to waste.
""now old king bear was very fond of lively little mr. squirrel, and often he would give mr. squirrel some of the good things for which he had no room in his own stomach.
mr. squirrel was smart.
he soon found out that the more he amused old king bear, the more of king bear's good things he had.
it was a lot easier to get his living this way than to hunt for his food as he always had in the past.
besides, it was a lot more fun.
so little mr. squirrel studied how to please old king bear, and he grew fat on the good things which other people had earned.
""one day old king bear gave little mr. squirrel six big, fat nuts.
you see, old king bear did n't care for nuts himself, not the kind with the hard shells, anyway, so he really was n't as generous as he seemed, which is the way with a great many people.
it is easy to give what you do n't want yourself.
little mr. squirrel bowed very low and thanked old king bear in his best manner.
he really did n't want those nuts, for his stomach was full at the time, but it would n't do to refuse a gift from the king.
so he took the nuts and pretended to be delighted with them."
"what shall i do with them?"
said little mr. squirrel as soon as he was alone.
"it wo n't do for me to leave them where old king bear will find them, for it might make him very angry."
at last he remembered a certain hollow tree.
"the very place!"
cried little mr. squirrel.
"i'll drop them in there, and no one will be any the wiser."
""no sooner thought of than it was done, and little mr. squirrel frisked away in his usual happy-go-lucky fashion and forgot all about the nuts in the hollow tree.
it was n't very long after this that old mother nature began to hear complaints of old king bear and his rule in the green forest.
he had grown fat and lazy, and all his relatives had grown fat and lazy because, you see, none of them had to work for the things they ate.
the little forest and meadow people were growing tired of feeding the bear family.
it was just at the beginning of winter when old mother nature came to see for herself what the trouble was.
it did n't take her long to find out.
no, sir, it did n't take her long.
you ca n't fool old mother nature, and it's of no use to try.
she took one good look at old king bear nodding in the cave where he used to sleep.
he was so fat he looked as if he would burst his skin.
""old mother nature frowned.
"you are such a lazy fellow that you shall be king no longer.
instead, you shall sleep all winter and grow thin and thinner till you awake in the spring, and then you will have to hunt for your own food, for never again shall you live on the gifts of others," said she.
""all the little forest and meadow people who had been bringing tribute, that is things to eat, to old king bear rejoiced that they need do so no longer and went about their business.
all of old king bear's family, including his cousin mr. coon, had been put to sleep just like old king bear himself.
yes, sir, they were all asleep, fast asleep.
""little mr. squirrel felt lonesome.
he grew more lonesome every day.
none of the other little people would have anything to do with him because they remembered how he had lived without working when he was the favorite of king bear.
the weather was cold, and it was hard work to find anything to eat.
mr. squirrel was hungry all the time.
he could n't think of anything but his stomach and how empty it was.
he grew thin and thinner.
""one cold day when the snow covered the earth, little mr. squirrel went without breakfast.
then he went without dinner.
you see, he could n't find so much as a pine-seed to eat.
late in the afternoon he crept into a hollow tree to get away from the cold, bitter wind.
he was very tired and very cold and very, very hungry.
tears filled his eyes and ran over and dripped from his nose.
he curled up on the leaves at the bottom of the hollow to try to go to sleep and forget.
under him was something hard.
he twisted and turned, but he could n't get in a comfortable position.
finally he looked to see what the trouble was caused by.
what do you think he found?
six big, fat nuts!
yes, sir, six big, fat nuts!
little mr. squirrel was so glad that he cried for very joy.
""when he had eaten two, he felt better and decided to keep the others for the next day.
then he began to wonder how those nuts happened to be in that hollow tree.
he thought and thought, and at last he remembered how he had hidden six nuts in this very hollow a long time before, when he had had more than he knew what to do with.
these were the very nuts, the present of old king bear.
""right then as he thought about it, little mr. squirrel had a bright idea.
he made up his mind that thereafter he would stop his happy-go-lucky idleness, and the first time that ever he found plenty of food, he would fill that hollow tree just as full as he could pack it, and then if there should come a time when food was scarce, he would have plenty.
and that is just what he did do.
the next fall when nuts were plentiful, he worked from morning till night storing them away in the hollow tree, and all that winter he was happy and fat, for he had plenty to eat.
he never had to beg of any one.
he had learned to save.
""and ever since then the squirrels have been among the wisest of all the little forest people and always the busiest.
""the squirrel family long since learned that things are best when duly earned; that play and fun are found in work by him who does not try to shirk.
""and that's all," finished grandfather frog.
""thank you!
thank you, grandfather frog!"
cried peter rabbit.
vii how lightfoot the deer learned to jump vii how lightfoot the deer learned to jump it is n't often that peter rabbit is filled with envy.
as a rule, peter is very free from anything like envy.
usually he is quite content with the gifts bestowed upon him by old mother nature, and if others have more than he has, he is glad for them and wastes no time fretting because he has not been so fortunate.
but once in a great while peter becomes really and truly envious.
it was that way the first time he saw lightfoot the deer leap over a fallen tree, and ever after, when he saw lightfoot, a little of that same feeling stirred in his heart.
you see, peter always had been very proud of his own powers of jumping.
to be sure jumper the hare could jump higher and farther than he could, but jumper is his own cousin, so it was all in the family, so to speak, and peter did n't mind.
but to see lightfoot the deer go sailing over the tops of the bushes and over the fallen trees as if he had springs in his legs was quite another matter.
""i wish i could jump like that," said peter right out loud one day, as he stood with his hands on his hips watching lightfoot leap over a pile of brush.
""why do n't you learn to?"
asked jimmy skunk with a mischievous twinkle in the eye which peter could n't see.
""lightfoot could n't always jump like that; he had to learn.
why do n't you find out how?
probably grandfather frog knows all about it.
he knows about almost everything.
if i were you, i'd ask him."
""i -- i -- i do n't just like to," replied peter.
""i've asked him so many questions that i am afraid he'll think me a nuisance.
i tell you what, jimmy, you ask him!"
peter's eyes brightened as he said this.
jimmy chuckled.
""no, you do n't!"
said he.
""if there is anything you want to know from grandfather frog, ask him yourself.
i do n't want to know how lightfoot learned to jump.
he may jump over the moon, for all i care.
have you seen any fat beetles this morning, peter?"
""no," replied peter shortly.
""i'm not interested in beetles.
there may never be any fat beetles, for all i care."
jimmy laughed.
it was a good-natured, chuckling kind of a laugh.
""do n't get huffy, peter," said he.
""here's hoping that you learn how to jump like lightfoot the deer, and that i get a stomachful of fat beetles."
with that jimmy skunk slowly ambled along down the crooked little path.
peter watched him out of sight, sighed, started for the dear old briar-patch, stopped, sighed again, and then headed straight for the smiling pool.
grandfather frog was there on his big green lily-pad, and peter wasted no time.
""how did lightfoot the deer learn to jump so splendidly, grandfather frog?"
he blurted out almost before he had stopped running.
grandfather frog blinked his great, goggly eyes.
""chug-a-rum!"
said he.
""if you'll jump across the laughing brook over there where it comes into the smiling pool, i'll tell you."
peter looked at the laughing brook in dismay.
it was quite wide at that point.
""i -- i ca n't," he stammered.
""then i ca n't tell you how lightfoot learned to jump," replied grandfather frog, quite as if the matter were settled.
""i -- i'll try!"
peter hastened to blurt out.
""all right.
while you are trying, i'll see if i can remember the story," replied grandfather frog.
peter went back a little so as to get a good start.
then he ran as hard as he knew how, and when he reached the bank of the laughing brook, he jumped with all his might.
it was a good jump -- a splendid jump -- but it was n't quite enough of a jump, and peter landed with a great splash in the water!
grandfather frog opened his great mouth as wide as he could, which is very wide indeed, and laughed until the tears rolled down from his great, goggly eyes.
jerry muskrat and billy mink rolled over and over on the bank, laughing until their sides ached.
even spotty the turtle smiled, which is very unusual for spotty.
now peter does not like the water, and though he can swim, he does n't feel at all at home in it.
he paddled for the shore as fast as he could, and in his heart was something very like anger.
no one likes to be laughed at.
peter intended to start for home the very minute he reached the shore.
but just before his feet touched bottom, he heard the great, deep voice of grandfather frog.
""that is just the way lightfoot the deer learned to jump -- trying to do what he could n't do and keeping at it until he could.
it all happened a great while ago when the world was young."
grandfather frog was talking quite as if nothing had happened, and he had never thought of laughing.
peter was so put out that he wanted to keep right on, but he just could n't miss that story.
his curiosity would n't let him.
so he shook himself and then lay down in the sunniest spot he could find within hearing.
""lightfoot's great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather was named lightfoot too, and was not a whit less handsome than lightfoot is now," continued grandfather frog in his best story-telling voice.
""he had just such slim legs as lightfoot has now and just such wonderful, branching horns.
when he had the latter, he was not much afraid of anybody.
those enemies swift enough of foot to catch him he could successfully fight with his horns, and those too big and strong for him to fight were not swift enough to catch him.
but there was a season in every year when he had no horns, as is the case with lightfoot.
you know, or ought to know, that every spring lightfoot loses his horns and through the summer a new pair grows.
it was so with mr. deer of that long-ago time, and when he lost those great horns, he felt very helpless and timid.
""now old mr. deer loved the open meadows and spent most of his time there.
when he had to run, he wanted nothing in the way of his slim legs.
and how he could run!
my, my, my, how he could run!
but there were others who could run swiftly in those days too, -- mr. wolf and mr. dog.
mr. deer always had a feeling that some day one or the other would catch him.
when he had his horns, this thought did n't worry him much, but when he had lost his horns, it worried him a great deal.
he felt perfectly helpless then.
"the thing for me to do is to keep out of sight," said he to himself, and so instead of going out on the meadows and in the open places, he hid among the bushes and in the brush on the edge of the green forest and behind the fallen trees in the green forest.
""but one thing troubled old mr. deer, who was n't old then, you know.
yes, sir, one thing troubled him a great deal.
he could n't run fast at all among the bushes and the fallen trees and the old logs.
this was a new worry, and it troubled him almost as much as the old worry.
he felt that he was in a dreadful fix.
you see, hard times had come, and the big and strong were preying on the weak and small in order to live."
"if i stay out on the meadows, i can not fight if i am caught; and if i stay here, i can not run fast if i am found by my enemies.
oh, dear!
oh, dear!
what shall i do?"
cried mr. deer, as he lay hidden among the branches of a fallen hemlock-tree.
""just at that very minute along came mr. hare, the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of your cousin jumper.
a big log was in his path, and he jumped over it as lightly as a feather.
mr. deer watched him and sighed.
if only he could jump like that in proportion to his size, he would just jump over the bushes and the fallen logs and the fallen trees instead of trying to run around them or squeeze between them.
right then he had an idea.
why should n't he learn to jump?
he could try, anyway.
so when he was sure that no one was around to see him, he practised jumping over little low bushes.
at first he could n't do much, but he kept trying and trying, and little by little he jumped higher.
it was hard work, and he scraped his slim legs many times when he tried to jump over old logs and stumps.
""now all this time some one had been watching him, though he did n't know it.
it was old mother nature.
one day she stopped him as he was trotting along a path.
"what is this you are doing when you think no one is watching?"
she demanded, looking very cross.
"have n't i given you beauty and speed?
and yet you are not satisfied!"
mr. deer hung his head.
then suddenly he threw it up proudly and told old mother nature that he had not complained, but that through his own efforts he was just trying to add to the blessings which he did have, and he explained why he wanted to learn to jump.
old mother nature heard him through.
"let me see you jump over that bush," she snapped crossly, pointing to a bush almost as high as mr. deer himself."
"oh, i ca n't jump nearly as high as that!"
he cried.
then tossing his head proudly, he added, "but i'll try."
so just as peter rabbit tried to jump the laughing brook when he felt sure that he could n't, mr. deer tried to jump the bush.
just imagine how surprised he was when he sailed over it without even touching the top of it with his hoofs!
old mother nature had given him the gift of jumping as a reward for his perseverance and because she saw that he really had need of it.
""so ever since that long-ago day, the deer have lived where the brush is thickest and the green forest most tangled, because they are such great jumpers that they can travel faster there than their enemies, and they are no longer so swift of foot in the open meadows.
now, peter, let's see you jump over the laughing brook."
what do you think peter did?
why, he tried again, and laughed just as hard as the others when once more he landed in the water with a great splash.
viii how mr. flying squirrel almost got wings viii how mr. flying squirrel almost got wings jimmy skunk and peter rabbit were having a dispute.
it was a good-natured dispute, but both jimmy and peter are very decided in their opinions, and neither would give in to the other.
finally they decided that as neither could convince the other, they should leave it for grandfather frog to decide which was right.
so they straightway started for the smiling pool, where on his big green lily-pad grandfather frog was enjoying the twilight and leading the great frog chorus.
both agreed that they would accept grandfather frog's decision.
you see, each was sure that he was right.
when they reached the smiling pool, they found grandfather frog looking very comfortable and old and wise.
""good evening, grandfather frog.
i hope you are feeling just as fine as you look," said jimmy skunk, who never forgets to be polite.
""chug-a-rum!
i'm feeling very well, thank you," replied grandfather frog.
""what brings you to the smiling pool this fine evening?"
he looked very hard at peter rabbit, for he suspected that peter had come for a story.
""to get the wisest person of whom we know to decide a matter on which peter and i can not agree; and who is there so wise as grandfather frog?"
replied jimmy.
grandfather frog looked immensely pleased.
it always pleases him to be considered wise.
""chug-a-rum!"
said he gruffly.
""you have a very smooth tongue, jimmy skunk.
but what is this matter on which you can not agree?"
""how many animals can fly?"
returned jimmy, by way of answer.
""one," replied grandfather frog.
""i thought everybody knew that.
flitter the bat is the only animal who can fly."
""you forget timmy, the flying squirrel!"
cried peter excitedly.
""that makes two."
grandfather frog shook his head.
""peter, peter, whatever is the matter with those eyes of yours?"
he exclaimed.
""they certainly are big enough.
i wonder if you ever will learn to use them.
half-seeing is sometimes worse than not seeing at all.
timmy can not fly any more than i can."
""what did i tell you?"
cried jimmy skunk triumphantly.
""but i've seen him fly lots of times!"
persisted peter.
""i guess that any one who has envied him as often as i have ought to know."
""hump!"
grunted grandfather frog.
""i guess that's the trouble.
there was so much envy that it got into your eyes, and you could n't see straight.
envy is a bad thing."
jimmy skunk chuckled.
""did you ever see him away from trees?"
continued grandfather frog.
""no," confessed peter.
""did you ever see him cut circles in the air like flitter the bat?"
""no-o," replied peter slowly.
""of course not," retorted grandfather frog.
""the reason is because he does n't fly.
he has n't any wings.
what he does do is to coast on the air.
he's the greatest jumper and coaster in the green forest."
""coast on the air!"
exclaimed peter.
""i never heard of such a thing."
""there are many things you never have heard of," replied grandfather frog.
""sit down, peter, and stop fidgeting, and i'll tell you a story."
the very word story was enough to make peter forget everything else, and he promptly sat down with his big eyes fixed on grandfather frog.
""it happened," began grandfather frog, "that way back in the beginning of things, there lived a very timid member of the squirrel family, own cousin to mr. red squirrel and mr. gray squirrel, but not at all like them, for he was very gentle and very shy.
perhaps this was partly because he was very small and was not big enough or strong enough to fight his way as the others did.
in fact, this little mr. squirrel was so timid that he preferred to stay out of sight during the day, when so many were abroad.
he felt safer in the dusk of evening, and so he used to wait until jolly, round, red mr. sun had gone to bed behind the purple hills before he ventured out to hunt for his food.
then his quarrelsome cousins had gone to bed, and there was no one to drive him away when he found a feast of good things.
""but even at night there was plenty of danger.
there was mr. owl to be watched out for, and other night prowlers.
in fact, little mr. squirrel did n't feel safe on the ground a minute, and so he kept to the trees as much as possible.
of course, when the branches of one tree reached to the branches of another tree, it was an easy matter to travel through the tree-tops, but every once in a while there would be open places to cross, and many a fright did timid little mr. squirrel have as he scampered across these open places.
he used to sit and watch old mr. bat flying about and wish that he had wings.
then he thought how foolish it was to wish for something he had n't got and could n't have."
"the thing to do," said little mr. squirrel to himself, "is to make the most of what i have got.
now i am a pretty good jumper, but if i keep jumping, perhaps i can learn to jump better than i do now."
""so every night mr. squirrel used to go off by himself, where he was sure no one would see him, and practise jumping.
he would climb an old stump and then jump as far as he could.
then he would do it all over again ever so many times, and after a little he found that he went farther, quite a little farther, than when he began.
then one night he made a discovery.
he found that by spreading his arms and legs out just as far as possible and making himself as flat as he could, he could go almost twice as far as he had been able to go before, and he landed a great deal easier.
it was like sliding down on the air.
it was great fun, and pretty soon he was spending all his spare time doing it.
""one moonlight night, old mother nature happened along and sat down on a log to watch him.
little mr. squirrel did n't see her, and when at last she asked him what he was doing, he was so surprised and confused that he could hardly find his tongue.
at last he told her that he was trying to learn to jump better that he might better take care of himself.
the idea pleased old mother nature.
you know she is always pleased when she finds people trying to help themselves."
"that's a splendid idea," said she.
"i'll help you.
i'll make you the greatest jumper in the green forest."
""then she gave to little mr. squirrel something almost but not quite like wings.
between his fore legs and hind legs on each side she stretched a piece of skin that folded right down against his body when he was walking or running so as to hardly show and was n't in the way at all."
"now," said she, "climb that tall tree over yonder clear to the top and then jump with all your might for that tree over there across that open place."
""it was ten times as far as little mr. squirrel ever had jumped before, and the tree was so tall that he felt sure that he would break his neck when he struck the ground.
he was afraid, very much afraid.
but old mother nature had told him to do it.
he knew that he ought to trust her.
so he climbed the tall tree.
it was a frightful distance down to the ground, and that other tree was so far away that it was foolish to even think of reaching it."
"jump!"
commanded old mother nature.
""little mr. squirrel gulped very hard, trying to swallow his fear.
then he jumped with all his might, and just as he had taught himself to do, spread himself out as flat as he could.
just imagine how surprised he was and how tickled when he just coasted down on the air clear across the open place and landed as lightly as a feather on the foot of that distant tree!
you see, the skin between his legs when he spread them out had kept him from falling straight down.
of course if he had n't jumped with all his might, as old mother nature had told him to, even though he thought it would n't be of any use, he would n't have reached that other tree.
""he was so delighted that he wanted to do it right over again, but he did n't forget his manners.
he first thanked old mother nature.
""she smiled.
"see that you keep out of danger, for that is why i have made you the greatest jumper in the green forest," said she.
""little mr. squirrel did.
people who, like peter, did not use their eyes, thought that he could fly, and he was called the flying squirrel.
he was the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of timmy whom you both know."
""and timmy does n't really fly at all, does he?"
asked jimmy skunk.
""certainly not.
he jumps and slides on the air," replied grandfather frog.
""what did i tell you?"
cried jimmy triumphantly to peter.
""well, anyway, it's next thing to flying.
i wish i could do it," replied peter.
ix how mr. weasel was made an outcast ix how mr. weasel was made an outcast chatterer the red squirrel peered down from the edge of an old nest built long ago in a big hemlock-tree in the green forest, and if you could have looked into chatterer's eyes, you would have seen there a great fear.
he looked this way; he looked that way.
little by little, the fear left him, and when at last he saw peter rabbit coming his way, he gave a little sigh of relief and ran down the tree.
peter saw him and headed straight toward him to pass the time of day.
""peter," whispered chatterer, as soon as peter was near enough to hear, "have you seen shadow the weasel?"
it was peter's turn to look frightened, and he hastily glanced this way and that way.
""no," he replied.
""is he anywhere about here?"
""i saw him pass about five minutes ago, but he seemed to be in a hurry, and i guess he has gone now," returned chatterer, still whispering.
""i hope so!
my goodness, i hope so!"
exclaimed peter, still looking this way and that way uneasily.
""i hate him!"
declared chatterer fiercely.
""so do i," replied peter.
""i guess everybody does.
it must be dreadful to be hated by everybody.
i do n't believe he has got a single friend in the wide, wide world, not even among his own relatives.
i wonder why it is he never tries to make any friends."
""here comes jimmy skunk.
let's ask him.
he ought to know, for he is shadow's cousin," said chatterer.
jimmy came ambling up in his usual lazy way, for you know he never hurries.
it seemed to chatterer and peter that he was slower than usual.
but he got there at last.
""why is it, jimmy skunk, that your cousin, shadow the weasel, never tries to make any friends?"
cried chatterer, as soon as jimmy was near enough.
""i've never asked him, but i suppose it's because he does n't want them," replied jimmy.
""but why?"
asked peter.
""i guess it's because he is an outcast," replied jimmy.
""what is an outcast," demanded peter.
""why, somebody with whom nobody else will have anything to do, stupid," replied jimmy.
""i thought everybody knew that."
""but how did it happen that he became an outcast in the first place?"
persisted peter.
""he's always been an outcast, ever since he was born, and i suppose he is used to it," declared jimmy.
""his father was an outcast, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfathers way back to the days when the world was young."
""tell us about it.
do tell us about it!"
begged peter.
jimmy smiled good-naturedly.
""well, seeing that i have n't anything else to do just now, i will.
perhaps you fellows may learn something from the story," said he.
then he settled himself comfortably with his back to an old stump and began.
-lsb- illustration: "one day mr. rabbit surprised mr. weasel making a meal of young mice."
page 124. -rsb-
""when old king bear ruled in the forest long, long ago, and the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfathers of all of us and of everybody else lived in peace and happiness with each other, slim, trim, spry mr. weasel lived with the rest.
he was small, just as shadow is now, and he looked just the same as shadow does now.
he was on the best of terms with all his neighbors, and no one had a word to say against him.
in fact, he was rather liked and had quite as many friends as anybody.
but all the time he had a mean disposition.
he hid it from his neighbors, but he had it just the same.
now mean dispositions are easily hidden when everything is pleasant and there are no worries, and that is the way it was then.
no one suspected any one else of meanness, for with plenty to eat and nothing to worry about, there was no cause for meanness.
""with his mean disposition, mr. weasel was also very crafty.
being small and moving so swiftly, he was hard to keep track of.
you know how it is with shadow -- now you see him, and now you do n't."
chatterer and peter nodded.
they knew that it is because of this that he is called shadow.
""well," continued jimmy, "it did n't take him long to find that if he were careful, he could go where he pleased, and no one would be the wiser.
they say that he used to practise dodging out of sight when he saw any one coming, and after a while he got so that he could disappear right under the very noses of his neighbors.
being so slim, he could go where any of his four-footed neighbors could, and it was n't long before he knew all about every hole and nook and corner anywhere around.
there were no secrets that he did n't find out, and all the time no one suspected him.
""of course hard times came to mr. weasel at last, just as to everybody else, but they did n't worry him much.
you see, he knew all about the secret hiding-places in which some of his neighbors had stored away food, so when he was hungry, all he had to do was to help himself.
so mr. weasel became a thief, and still no one suspected him.
now one bad habit almost always leads to another.
mr. weasel developed a great fondness for eggs.
our whole family has always had rather a weakness that way."
jimmy grinned, for he knew that peter and chatterer knew that he himself never could pass a fresh egg when he found it.
""one day he found a nest in which were four little baby birds instead of the eggs he had been expecting to find there and, having a mean disposition, he flew into a rage and killed those four little birds.
yes, sir, that's what he did.
he found the taste of young birds very much to his liking, and he began to hunt for more.
then he discovered a nest of young mice, and he found these quite as good as young birds.
then came a great fear upon the littlest people, but not once did they suspect mr. weasel.
he was very crafty and went and came among them just as always.
they suspected only the larger and stronger people of the forest who, because food was getting very scarce, had begun to hunt the smaller people.
""but you know wrongdoing is bound to be found out sooner or later.
one day mr. rabbit surprised mr. weasel making a meal of young mice, and of course he hurried to tell all his neighbors.
then mr. weasel knew that it was no longer of use to pretend that he was what he was not, and he boldly joined the bigger animals in hunting the smaller ones.
it makes most people angry to be caught in wrongdoing and it was just that way with mr. weasel.
he flew into a great rage and vowed that he would kill mr. rabbit, and when he could n't catch mr. rabbit, he hunted others of his neighbors until there was no one, not even fierce mr. wolf or mr. panther or mr. lynx, of whom the littlest people were in such fear.
you see, they could hide from the big hunters, but they could n't hide from mr. weasel because he knew all their hiding-places, and he was so slim and small that wherever they could go, he could go.
""now the big people, like mr. wolf and mr. panther, killed only for food that they might live, and when they found mr. weasel killing more than he could eat, they would have nothing to do with him and even threatened to kill him if they caught him.
so pretty soon mr. weasel found that he had n't a friend in the world.
this made him more savage than ever, and he hunted and killed just for the pleasure of it.
he took pleasure in the fear which he read in the eyes of his neighbors when they saw him.
""old mother nature was terribly shocked when she discovered what was going on, but she found that she could do nothing with mr. weasel.
he was n't sorry for what he had done and he would n't promise to do better.
"very well," said old mother nature, "from this time on you and your children and your children's children forever and ever shall be outcasts among the people of the green forest and the green meadows, hated by all, little and big."
and it has been so to this day.
even i am not on speaking terms with shadow, although he is my own cousin," concluded jimmy skunk.
peter rabbit shuddered.
""is n't it dreadful not to have a single friend?"
he exclaimed.
""i would rather have to run for my life twenty times a day than to be hated and feared and without a single friend.
i would n't be an outcast for all the world."
""there's not the least bit of danger of that for you, peter," laughed jimmy skunk.
x how the eyes of old mr. owl became fixed x how the eyes of old mr. owl became fixed blacky the crow had discovered hooty the owl dozing the bright day away in a thick hemlock-tree.
blacky knew that the bright light hurt hooty's big eyes and half blinded him.
this meant that he could have no end of fun teasing hooty, and that hooty would have to sit still and take it all, because he could n't see well enough to fly away or to try to catch blacky.
now if the day had been dark, as it sometimes is on cloudy days, or if the dusk of evening had been settling over the green meadows and the green forest, matters would have been very different.
blacky would have taken care, the very greatest care, not to let hooty know that he was anywhere around.
but as it was, here was a splendid chance to spoil hooty's sleep and to see him grow very, very angry and do it without running any great risk.
""caw, caw, caw, caw, caw!"
yelled blacky at the top of his voice, and at once all his relatives came flocking over to join in the fun.
dear me, dear me, such a racket as there was then!
they flew over his head, and they settled in the tree all around him, all yelling as hard as ever they could.
everybody within hearing knew what it meant, and everybody who dared to hurried over to watch the fun.
somehow most people seem to take pleasure in seeing some one else made uncomfortable, especially if it is some one of whom they stand in fear and who is for the time being helpless.
most of the little meadow and forest people are very much afraid of hooty the owl as soon as it begins to grow dark, for that is when he can see best and does all his hunting.
so, though it was n't at all nice of them, they enjoyed seeing him tormented by blacky and his relatives.
but all the time they took the greatest care to keep out of sight themselves.
peter rabbit was there.
so was jumper the hare and happy jack the gray squirrel and chatterer the red squirrel and whitefoot the wood mouse and striped chipmunk and a lot more.
of course, sammy jay was there, but sammy did n't try to keep out of sight.
oh, my, no!
he joined right in with the crows, calling hooty all sorts of bad names and flying about just out of reach in the most impudent way.
you see he knew just how helpless hooty was.
hooty was very, very angry.
he hissed, and he snapped his bill, and he told his tormentors what he would do to them if he caught them after dark.
and all the time he kept turning his head with its great, round, glaring, yellow eyes so as not to give his tormentors a chance to pull out any of his feathers, as the boldest of them tried to do.
now hooty can turn his head as no one else can.
he can turn it so that he looks straight back over his tail, so that his head looks as if it were put on the wrong way.
then he can snap it around in the other direction so quickly that you can hardly see him do it, and sometimes it seems as if he turned his head clear around.
that interested peter rabbit immensely.
he could n't think of anything else.
he kept trying to do the same thing himself, but of course he could n't.
he could turn his head sideways, but that was all.
he puzzled over it all the rest of the day, and that night, when his cousin, jumper the hare, called at the dear old briar-patch, the first thing he did was to ask a question.
""cousin jumper, do you know why it is that hooty the owl can turn his head way around, and nobody else can?"
""of course i know," replied jumper.
""i thought everybody knew that.
it's because his eyes are fixed in their sockets, and he ca n't turn them.
so he turns his whole head in order to see in all directions.
the rest of us can roll our eyes, but hooty ca n't."
peter scratched his long left ear with his long right hindfoot, a way he has when he is thinking or is puzzled.
""that's funny," said he.
""i wonder why his eyes are fixed."
""because his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather rolled his eyes too much," replied jumper, yawning.
""he saw too much.
it's a bad thing to see too much."
""tell me about it.
please do, cousin jumper," begged peter.
jumper looked up at the moon to see what time of night it was.
""all right," said he, settling himself comfortably.
""all the owl family, way back to the very beginning, have had very big eyes.
old mr. owl had them.
he could move them just as we can ours.
and because they were so big, and because he could roll them, there was very little going on that mr. owl did n't see.
it happened one day that old mother nature took it into her wise old head to put the little people of the green meadows and the green forest to a test.
she wanted to see just how many of them she could trust to obey her orders.
so she lined them all up in a row.
then she made them turn so that their backs were to her."
"now," said she, "everybody is to keep eyes to the front.
i am going to be very busy back here for a few minutes, but not one of you is to peek.
i shall know if you do, and i shall see to it that you never forget it as long as you live."
""that sounded as if something dreadful might happen, so everybody sat perfectly still looking straight before them.
some of them felt as if they would die of curiosity to know what old mother nature was doing, but for a while no one thought of disobeying.
old mr. rabbit just itched all over with curiosity.
it seemed to him that he just must turn his head.
but for once he managed to get the best of his curiosity and stared straight ahead.
""now mr. owl had tremendous great ears, just as hooty has to-day.
you ca n't see them because the feathers cover them, but they are there just the same."
peter nodded.
he knew all about those wonderful ears and how they heard the teeniest, weeniest noise when hooty was flying at night.
""those, big ears," continued jumper, "heard every little sound that old mother nature made, and they sounded queer to mr. owl.
"if i roll back my eyes without turning my head, i believe i can see what she is doing, and she wo n't be any the wiser," thought he.
so he rolled his eyes back and then looked straight ahead again.
what he had seen made him want to see more.
he tried it again.
just imagine how he felt when he found that his eyes would n't roll.
he could n't move them a bit.
all he could do was to stare straight ahead.
it frightened him dreadfully, and he kept trying and trying to roll his eyes, but they were fixed fast.
he could see in only one direction, the way his head was turned.
""when at last old mother nature told all the little people that they might look, mr. owl did n't want to look.
he did n't want to face old mother nature, for he knew perfectly well what had happened to his eyes.
he knew that old mother nature had seen him roll them back, and that as a punishment she had fixed them so that he would always stare straight ahead.
he did n't say anything.
he was too ashamed to.
he flew away home the very first chance he got.
for a long time after that, mr. owl never could see behind him at all.
he could only turn his head part way, the same as most folks, and he could n't roll his eyes to see the rest of the way.
it made him dreadfully nervous and unhappy.
he felt all the time as if people were doing things behind his back.
but he did n't complain.
he was ashamed to do that.
""old mother nature was watching him all the time.
after a long, long while, she decided that he had been punished enough.
but she did n't want him to forget, so she kept his eyes fixed so that they would look straight ahead; but she gave him the power to turn his head farther than any one else, so that he could look straight behind him without turning his body at all.
and ever since that time, all owls have had fixed eyes, but have been able to turn their heads so as to make them look as if they were facing the wrong way."
""thank you, cousin jumper," cried peter.
""but there is one thing you forgot to tell.
what was it that old mother nature was doing when mr. owl rolled his eyes to look back."
""that," replied jumper, "mr. owl never told, and nobody else knew, so i ca n't tell you."
xi how it happens johnny chuck sleeps all winter xi how it happens johnny chuck sleeps all winter peter rabbit was bothered.
he was bothered in his mind, and when peter is bothered in his mind, he loses his appetite.
it was so now.
he had been up in the old orchard and, as is his way, had stopped at johnny chuck's for a bit of gossip.
as he sat there talking, it suddenly came over him that johnny was looking unusually fat.
he said so.
johnny yawned in a very sleepy way as he replied: "one has to get fat in order to sleep comfortably all winter.
i've got to get fatter than i am now before i turn in."
and with that, johnny chuck fell to eating as if his sides were falling in instead of threatening to burst, and peter could get no more from him.
so he went home to think it over, and the more he thought, the more troubled he became.
how could anybody sleep all winter?
and what good did just getting fat do?
johnny chuck could n't eat his own fat, so what was the use of it?
""must be it's to keep him warm," thought peter and brightened up.
but why was n't a good thick coat of fur just as good or even better?
he did n't have any trouble keeping warm.
neither did billy mink or little joe otter or reddy fox.
no, it could n't be that johnny chuck put on all that fat just to keep warm.
besides, he would spend the winter way down deep in the ground, and there was no excuse for being cold there.
""i could n't sleep all winter if i wanted to, and i would n't if i could, for there is too much fun to miss," muttered peter, as he started for the smiling pool in search of grandfather frog.
he found him sitting on his big lily-pad, but somehow grandfather frog did n't look as chipper and smart as usual.
""he certainly is growing old," thought peter.
""he is n't as spry as he used to be.
seems as if he had grown old in the last two or three weeks.
too bad, too bad."
aloud, peter said: "why, grandfather frog, how well you are looking!
you are enough to make us young fellows envious."
grandfather frog looked at peter sharply.
perhaps he read the truth in peter's eyes.
""chug-a-rum!"
said he.
""be honest, peter.
be honest.
do n't try to flatter, because it is a bad habit to get into.
i know how i look.
i look old and tired.
now is n't that so?"
peter looked a little shamefaced.
he did n't know just what to say, so he said nothing and just nodded his head.
""that's better," said grandfather frog gruffly.
""always tell the truth.
the fact is i am tired.
i am so tired that i'm going to sleep for the winter, and i'm going to do it this very day."
""oh, grandfather frog," -lrb- peter had found his tongue -rrb-, "please tell me something before you go.
i can understand how you may want to sleep all winter because you have no nice fur coat to keep you warm, but why does johnny chuck do it, and how does he do it?
why does n't he starve to death?"
grandfather frog had to smile at the eager curiosity in peter's voice.
""i see you are just as full of questions as ever, peter," said he.
""i suppose i may as well tell you one more story, because it will be a long time before you will get another from me.
johnny chuck sleeps all winter because he is sensible, and he is sensible because it runs in the family to be sensible.
his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather was sensible.
it's a very good thing to have good sound common sense run in the family, peter."
once more peter nodded his head.
jerry muskrat, who was sitting on the big rock, listening, winked at peter, and peter winked back.
then he made himself comfortable and prepared not to miss a word of grandfather frog's story.
""you must know, peter, that a long time ago when the world was young, there was a time when there was no winter," began grandfather frog.
""that was before the hard times of which i have told you before.
everybody had plenty to eat, and everybody was on the best of terms with all his neighbors.
then came the hard times, and the beginning of the hard times was the coming of rough brother north wind and jack frost.
their coming made the first winter.
it was n't a very long or a very hard winter, but it was long enough and hard enough to make a great deal of discomfort, particularly for those little people who lived altogether on tender young green plants.
yes, sir, it certainly was hard on them.
some of them nearly starved to death that first winter, short as it was.
old mr. chuck, who, of course, was n't old then, was one of them.
by the time the tender, young, green things began to grow again, he was just a shadow of what he used to be.
he was so thin that sometimes he used to listen to see if he could n't hear his bones rattle inside his skin.
""of course he could n't, but he was quite sure that when the wind blew, it went right through him.
at last warm weather returned, just as it does now every summer, and once more there was plenty to eat.
some of the little people seemed to forget all about the hard times of the cold weather, but not mr. chuck.
he had been too cold and too hungry to ever forget.
of course, with plenty to eat, he soon grew fat and comfortable again, but all the time he kept thinking about the terrible visit of rough brother north wind and jack frost and wondering if they would come again.
he talked about it with his neighbors but most of them laughed and told him that he was borrowing trouble, and that they did n't believe that brother north wind and jack frost ever would come again.
""so after a while mr. chuck kept his thoughts to himself and went about his business as usual.
but all the time he was turning over and over in his mind the possibility of another period of cold and starvation and trying to think of some way to prepare for it.
he did n't once think of going to old mother nature and begging her to take care of him, for he was very independent, was mr. chuck, and believed that those are best helped who help themselves.
so he kept studying and studying how he could live through another cold spell, if it should come.""
i have n't got as thick a fur coat as mr. mink or mr. otter or mr. squirrel or some others, and i ca n't run around as fast as they can, so of course i ca n't keep as warm," said he to himself, as he sat taking a sun-bath one day."
i must find some other way of keeping warm.
now i do n't believe the cold can get very deep down in the ground, so if i build me a house way down deep in the ground, it always will be comfortable.
anyway, it never will be very cold.
i believe that is a good idea.
i'll try it at once."
""so without wasting any time, mr. chuck began to dig.
he dug and he dug and he dug.
when his neighbors grew curious and asked questions, he smiled good-naturedly and said that he was trying an experiment.
when he had made a long hall which went down so deep that he was quite sure that jack frost could not get down there, he made a bedroom and put in it a bed of soft grass.
when it was finished, he was so pleased with it that he retired to it every night as soon as the sun went down and did n't come out again until morning."
"anyway, i wo n't freeze to death," said he.
then he sighed as he remembered how hungry, how terribly hungry he had been.
"now if only i can think of some way to get food enough to carry me through, i'll be all right."
""at first he thought of storing up food, but when he tried that, he soon found that the tender green things on which he lived would n't keep.
they shriveled and dried, so that he could n't eat them at all.
he was still trying to think of some plan when old mother nature sent warning that rough brother north wind and jack frost were coming again.
mr. chuck's heart sank.
he thought of how soon all the tender green things would disappear.
right then an idea was born in mr. chuck's head.
he would eat all he could while he could, and then he would go down into his bedroom and sleep just as long as he could!
""so day after day he spent stuffing himself, and his neighbors called him mr. greedy.
but he did n't mind that.
he kept right on eating, and of course he grew fatter and fatter, so that at last he was so fat he could hardly get about.
the days grew cooler and cooler, and then mr. chuck noticed that because he was so fat, he did n't feel the cold as he had before.
there came a morning at last when mr. chuck stuck his nose out to find jack frost waiting to pinch it.
all the tender green things were black and dead.
back to his bed scrambled mr. chuck and curled up to sleep just as long as he could.
he made up his mind that he would n't worry until he had to.
he had done his best, and that was all he could do.
""when old mother nature came to see how the little people were faring, she missed mr. chuck.
she asked his neighbors what had become of him, but no one knew.
at length she came to his house and looking inside found him fast asleep.
she saw right away what he had done and how fat he had grown.
she knew without being told what it all meant, and the idea amused her.
instead of wakening him, as she had at first intended to do, she touched mr. chuck and put him into a deeper sleep, saying:" "you shall sleep, mr. chuck, through the time of frost and snow.
for your courage and your pluck you shall no discomfort know."
""and so mr. chuck slept on until the tender young green things began once more to grow.
the cold could not reach him, and the fat he had stored under his skin took the place of food.
when he awoke in the spring, he knew nothing of the hard times his neighbors were talking about.
and ever since then the chuck family has slept through the winter, because it is the most comfortable and sensible thing to do.
i know, because i have done the same thing for years.
good-by, peter rabbit!
no more stories until spring."
before peter could say a word, there was a splash in the smiling pool, and grandfather frog was nowhere to be seen.
""i -- i do n't see how they do it," said peter, shaking his head in a puzzled way as he slowly hopped towards the dear old briar-patch.
xii how old mr. otter learned to slide xii how old mr. otter learned to slide little joe otter was having the jolliest kind of a time.
little joe otter is a jolly little chap, anyway, and just now he was extra happy.
you see, he had a brand new slippery-slide.
yes, sir, little joe had just built a new slippery-slide down the steepest part of the bank into the smiling pool.
it was longer and smoother than his old slippery-slide, and it seemed to little joe as if he could slide and slide all day long.
of course he enjoyed it more because he had built it himself.
he would stretch out full length at the top of the slippery-slide, give a kick to start himself, shoot down the slippery-slide, disappear headfirst with a great splash into the smiling pool, and then climb up the bank and do it all over again.
peter rabbit and johnny chuck sat watching him from the bank on the other side of the smiling pool.
right down below them, sitting on his big green lily-pad, was grandfather frog, and there was a sparkle in his big, goggly eyes and his great mouth was stretched in a broad grin as he watched little joe otter.
he even let a foolish green fly brush the tip of his nose and did n't snap at it.
""chug-a-rum!"
exclaimed grandfather frog to no one in particular.
""that reminds me of the days when i was young and the greatest diver in the smiling pool.
my goodness, it makes me feel young just to watch little joe shoot down that slippery-slide.
if i were n't so old, i'd try it myself.
wheee!"
with, that, grandfather frog suddenly jumped.
it was a great, long, beautiful jump, and with his long hind legs straight out behind him, grandfather frog disappeared in the smiling pool so neatly that he made hardly a splash at all, only a whole lot of rings on the surface of the water that grew bigger and bigger until they met the rings made by little joe otter and then became all mixed up.
half a minute later grandfather frog's head bobbed up out of the water, and for the first time he saw johnny chuck and peter rabbit.
""come on in; the water's fine!"
he cried, and rolled one big, goggly eye up at jolly, round, bright mr. sun and winked it in the most comical way, for he knew, and he knew that mr. sun knew, just how johnny chuck and peter rabbit dislike the water.
""no, thanks," replied peter, but there was a wistful look in his big eyes as he watched little joe otter splash into the smiling pool.
little joe was having such a good time!
peter actually was wishing that he did like the water.
grandfather frog climbed out on his big green lily-pad.
he settled himself comfortably so as to face johnny chuck and peter and at the same time watch little joe out of the corner of one big, goggly eye.
""chug-a-rum!"
said he, as once more little joe splashed into the smiling pool.
""did you ever hear about little joe's family secret?"
he asked in his deep gruff voice.
""no," cried peter rabbit.
""do tell us about it!
i just love secrets."
there was a great deal of eagerness in peter's voice, and it made grandfather frog smile.
""is that the reason you never can keep them?"
he asked.
peter looked a wee bit foolish, but he kept still and waited patiently.
after what seemed a long, long time, grandfather frog cleared his throat two or three times, and this is the story he told johnny chuck and peter rabbit: "once upon a time when the world was young, the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of little joe otter got into a peck of trouble.
yes, sir, he certainly did get into a peck of trouble.
you see, it was winter, and everything was covered with snow, so that food was hard to get.
most of the little forest and meadow people found little to eat, and it took a great deal of hunting to find that little.
only those who, like old mr. squirrel, had been wise enough to lay up a store of food when there was plenty, and two or three others like mr. mink and mr. otter, who could go fishing in the spring-holes which had not frozen over, had full stomachs.
""now an empty stomach almost always makes a short temper.
it is hard, very hard indeed to be hungry and good-natured at the same time.
so as most of the people of the green forest were hungry all the time, they were also short-tempered all the time.
mr. otter knew this.
when any of them came prowling around the spring-hole where he was fishing, he would tease them by letting them see how fat he was.
sometimes he would bring up a fine fish and eat it right before them without offering to share so much as a mouthful.
he had done this several times to mr. lynx, and though mr. lynx had begged and begged for just a bite, mr. otter had refused the teeniest, weeniest bit and had even made fun of mr. lynx for not being smart enough to get sufficient to eat.
""now it happened that one fine morning mr. otter took it into his head to take a walk in the green forest.
it was a beautiful morning, and mr. otter went farther than he intended.
he was just trying to make up his mind whether to turn back or go just a little farther, when he heard stealthy footsteps behind him.
he looked over his shoulder, and what he saw helped him to make up his mind in a hurry.
there, creeping over the frozen snow, was mr. lynx, and the sides of mr. lynx were very thin, and the eyes of mr. lynx looked very hungry and fierce, and the claws of mr. lynx were very long and strong and cruel looking.
mr. otter made up his mind right away that the cold, black water of that open spring-hole was the only place for him, and he started for it without even passing the time of day with mr. lynx.
""now mr. otter's legs were very short, just as little joe's are, but it was surprising how fast he got over the snow that beautiful morning.
when he came to the top of a little hill, he would slide down, because he found that he could go faster that way.
but in spite of all he could do, mr. lynx traveled faster, coming with great jumps and snarling and spitting with every jump.
mr. otter was almost out of breath when he reached the high bank just above the open spring-hole.
it was very steep, very steep indeed.
mr. otter threw a hasty glance over his shoulder.
mr. lynx was so near that in one more jump he would catch him.
there was n't time to run around to the place where the bank was low.
mr. otter threw himself flat, gave a frantic kick with his hind legs, shut his eyes, and shot down, down, down the slippery bank so fast that he lost what little breath he had left.
then he landed with a great splash in the cold, black water and was safe, for mr. lynx was afraid of the water.
he stopped right on the very edge of the steep bank, where he growled and screeched and told mr. otter what dreadful things he would do to him if ever he caught him.
""now in spite of his dreadful fright, mr. otter had enjoyed that exciting slide down the steep bank.
he got to thinking about it after mr. lynx had slunk away into the green forest, and when he was rested and could breathe comfortably again, he made up his mind to try it once more.
so he climbed out where the bank was low and ran around to the steep place and once more slid down into the water.
it was great fun, the greatest fun mr. otter ever had had.
he did it again and again.
in fact, he kept doing it all the rest of that day.
and he found that the more he slid, the smoother and more slippery became the slippery-slide, for the water dripped from his brown coat and froze on the slide.
""after that, as long as the snow lasted, mr. otter spent all his time, between eating and sleeping, sliding down his slippery-slide.
he learned just how to hold his legs so that they would not be hurt.
when gentle sister south wind came in the spring and took away all the snow, mr. otter hardly knew what to do with himself, until one day a bright idea popped into his head and made him laugh aloud.
why not make a slippery-slide of mud and clay?
right away he tried it.
it was n't as good as the snow slide, but by trying and trying, he found a way to make it better than at first.
after that mr. otter was perfectly happy, for summer and winter he had a slippery-slide.
he taught his children, and they taught their children how to make slippery-slides, and ever since that long-ago day when the world was young, the making of slippery-slides has been the family secret of the otters."
""and it's the best secret in the world," said little joe otter, swimming up behind grandfather frog just then.
""i wish -- i wish i had a slippery-slide," said peter rabbit wistfully.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog.
""chug-a-rum!
be content with the blessings you have got, peter rabbit.
be content with the blessings you have got.
no good comes of wishing for things which it never was meant that you should have.
it is a bad habit and it makes discontent."
xiii how drummer the woodpecker came by his red cap xiii how drummer the woodpecker came by his red cap drummer the woodpecker was beating his long roll on a hollow tree in the green forest.
rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!
rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!
drummer thought it the most beautiful sound in the world.
after each long roll he would stop and listen for a reply.
you see, sometimes one of his family in another part of the green forest, or over in the old orchard, would hear him drumming and would hasten to find a hollow tree himself and drum too.
then they would drum back and forth to each other for the longest time, until all the other little people would scold because of the racket and would wish they could stop their ears.
but it was music, real music to drummer and all the members of his family, and drummer never was happier than when beating his long roll as he was doing now.
rat-a-tat-tat-tat!
rat-a-tat-tat-tat!
suddenly drummer heard a scratching sound inside the hollow tree.
once more he beat the long roll and the scratching sound grew louder.
then he heard a voice just a little way above him.
""do ah hear some one knocking?"
asked the voice.
drummer looked up.
there was unc" billy possum's sharp little face sticking out of his doorway, and unc" billy looked very sleepy and very cross and at the same time as if he were trying very hard to be polite and pleasant.
""hello, unc" billy!
is this your house?
i did n't know it when i began to drum.
i was n't knocking; i was drumming.
i just love to drum," replied drummer.
""ah reckons yo" do by the noise yo" have been making, but ah do n't like being inside the drum.
ah'm feelin" powerful bad in the haid just now, brer drummer, and ah cert "nly will take it kindly if yo" will find another drum," said unc" billy, holding his head in both hands as if he had a terrible headache.
drummer looked disappointed and a little bit hurt, but he is one of the best-natured little people in the green forest and always willing to be obliging.
""i'm sorry if i have disturbed you, unc" billy," he replied promptly.
""of course i wo n't drum here any longer, if you do n't like it.
i'll look for another hollow tree, though i do n't believe i can find another as good.
it is one of the best sounding trees i have ever drummed on.
it's simply beautiful!"
there was a great deal of regret in his voice, as if it were the hardest work to give up that tree.
""ah'll tell yo" where there's another just as good," replied unc" billy.
""yo" see the top of that ol' chestnut-tree way down there in the holler?
well, yo" try that.
ah'm sure yo" will like it."
drummer thanked unc" billy politely and bobbed his red-capped head as he spread his wings and started in the direction of the big chestnut-tree.
unc" billy grinned as he watched him.
then he slowly and solemnly winked one eye at peter rabbit, who had just come along.
""what's the joke?"
asked peter.
""ah done just sent brer drummer down to the big chestnut-tree to drum," unc" billy replied, winking again.
""why, that's bobby coon's house!"
cried peter, and then he saw the joke and began to grin too.
in a few minutes they heard drummer's long roll.
then again and again.
the third time it broke off right in the middle, and right away a terrible fuss started down at the big chestnut-tree.
they could hear drummer's voice, and it sounded very angry.
""ah reckon brer coon was waked up and lost his temper," chuckled unc" billy.
""it's a bad habit to lose one's temper.
yes, sah, it cert "nly is a bad habit.
ah reckons ah better be turning in fo" another nap, brer rabbit."
with that unc" billy disappeared, still chuckling.
hardly was he out of sight when peter saw drummer heading that way, and drummer looked very much put out about something.
he just nodded to peter and flew straight to unc" billy's tree.
then he began to drum.
how he did drum!
his red-capped head flew back and forth as peter never had seen it fly before.
rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!
rat-a-tat-tat-tat!
rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!
drummer hardly paused for breath.
there was too much noise for peter, and he kicked up his heels and started for the smiling pool, and all the way there he laughed.
""i hope unc" billy is enjoying a good nap," he chuckled.
""drummer certainly has turned the joke back on unc" billy this time, and i guess it serves him right."
he was still laughing when he reached the smiling pool.
grandfather frog watched him until he began to smile too.
you know laughter is catching.
""ha, ha, ha!
ho, ho, ho!"
laughed peter and held his sides.
""what is the joke?"
demanded grandfather frog in his deepest voice.
when peter could get his breath, he told grandfather frog all about the joke on unc" billy possum.
""listen!"
said peter at the end of the story.
they both listened.
rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!
the long roll of drummer the woodpecker could be heard clear down to the smiling pool, and peter and grandfather frog knew by the sound that it still came from unc" billy's house.
""chug-a-rum!
that reminds me," said grandfather frog.
""did you ever hear how drummer came by his red cap?"
""no," replied peter.
""how did he?"
there was great eagerness in peter's voice.
""well," said grandfather frog, settling himself in a way that peter knew meant a story, "of course drummer over there came by his red cap because it was handed down in the family, but of course there's a reason."
""of course," said peter, quite as if he knew all about it.
grandfather frog rolled his great, goggly eyes and looked at peter suspiciously, but peter looked so innocent and eager that he went on with his story.
""of course, it all happened way back in the days when the world was young."
""of course!"
said peter.
this time grandfather frog took no notice.
""drummer's grandfather a thousand times removed was just a plain little black and white bird without the least bit of bright color on him.
he did n't have any sweeter voice than drummer has to-day.
altogether he seemed to his neighbors a no-account little fellow, and they did n't have much to do with him.
so mr. woodpecker lived pretty much alone.
in fact, he lived alone so much that when he found a hollow tree he used to pound on it just to make a noise and keep from being lonesome, and that is how he learned to drum.
you see, he had n't any voice for singing, and so he got in the habit of drumming to keep his spirits up.
""now all the time, right down in his heart, mr. woodpecker envied the birds who had handsome coats.
he used to wish and wish that he had something bright, if it were no more than a pretty necktie.
but he never said anything about it, and no one suspected it but old mother nature, and mr. woodpecker did n't know that she knew it.
whenever he got to wishing too much, he would try to forget it by hunting for worms that bored into the trees of the green forest and which other birds could not get because they did not have the stout bill and the long tongue mr. woodpecker possessed.
""now it happened that while old mother nature was busy elsewhere, a great number of worms settled in the green forest and began to bore into the trees, so that after a while many trees grew sickly and then died.
none of the other little people seemed to notice it, or if they did, they said it was none of their business and that old mother nature ought to look out for such things.
they shrugged their shoulders and went on playing and having a good time.
but mr. woodpecker was worried.
he loved the green forest dearly, and he began to fear that if something was n't done, there would n't be any green forest.
he said as much to some of his neighbors, but they only laughed at him.
the more he thought about it, the more mr. woodpecker worried."
"something must be done," said he to himself.
"yes, sir, something must be done.
if old mother nature does n't come to attend to things pretty soon, it will be too late."
then he made up his mind that he would do what he could.
from early morning until night he hunted worms and dug them out of the trees.
he would start at the bottom of a tree and work up, going all over it until he was sure that there was n't another worm left.
then he would fly to the next tree.
he pounded with his bill until his neck ached.
he did n't even take time to drum.
his neighbors laughed at him at first, but he kept right on working, working, working every hour of the day.
""at last old mother nature appeared very unexpectedly.
she went all through the green forest, and her sharp eyes saw all that mr. woodpecker had done.
she did n't say a word to him, but she called all the little people of the green forest before her, and when they were all gathered around, she sent for mr. woodpecker.
she made him sit up on a dead limb of a tall chestnut-tree where all could see him.
then she told just what he had done, and how he had saved the green forest, and how great a debt the other little people owed to him."
"and now that you may never forget it," she concluded," i herewith make mr. woodpecker the policeman of the trees, and this is his reward to be worn by him and his children forever and ever."
with that she called mr. woodpecker down before her and put on his head a beautiful red cap, for she knew how in his heart he had longed to wear something bright.
mr. woodpecker thanked old mother nature as best he could and then slipped away where he could be alone with his happiness.
all the rest of the day the other little people heard him drumming off by himself in the green forest and smiled, for they knew that that was the way he was expressing his joy, having no voice to sing.
""and that," concluded grandfather frog, "is how drummer whom you know came by his red cap."
""is n't it splendid!"
cried peter rabbit, and then he and grandfather frog both smiled as they heard a long rat-a-tat-tat-tat roll out from the green forest.
xiv how old mr. tree toad found out how to climb xiv how old mr. tree toad found out how to climb of all the puzzling things over which peter rabbit had sat and thought and wondered until the brains in that funny little head of his were topsy-turvy, none was more puzzling than the fact that sticky-toes the tree toad could climb.
often peter had watched him climb up the trunk of a tree or jump from one branch to another and then thought of old mr. toad, own cousin to sticky-toes, and of grandfather frog, another own cousin, who could n't climb at all, and wondered how it had all come about that one cousin could climb and be just as much at home in the trees as the birds, while the others could n't climb at all.
he had it on his mind one morning when he met old mr. toad solemnly hopping down the lone little path.
right then and there peter resolved to ask old mr. toad.
""good morning, mr. toad," said peter politely.
""have you a few minutes to spare?"
old mr. toad hopped into the shade of a big mullein leaf.
""i guess so, if it is anything important," said he.
""phew!
hot, is n't it?
i simply ca n't stand the sun.
now what is that you've got on your mind, peter?"
peter hesitated a minute, for he was n't at all sure that old mr. toad would think the matter sufficiently important for him to spend his time in story telling.
then he blurted out the whole matter and how he had puzzled and puzzled why sticky-toes was able to climb when none of the rest of the toad family could.
old mr. toad chuckled.
""looking for a story as usual, i see," said he.
""you ought to go to grandfather frog for this one, because sticky-toes is really a frog and not a toad.
but we are all cousins, and i do n't mind telling you about sticky-toes, or rather about his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, who was the first of the family ever to climb a tree.
you see, it is all in the family, and i am very proud of my family, which is one of the very oldest."
peter settled himself comfortably and prepared to listen.
old mr. toad snapped up a foolish spider who came too near and then cleared his throat.
""once on a time," he began, "when old mother nature made the first land and the first trees and plants, the toads and the frogs were the first to leave the water to see what dry land was like.
the toads, being bolder than the frogs, went all over the new land while the frogs kept within jumping distance of the water, just as grandfather frog does to this day.
there was one frog, however, who, seeing how bravely and boldly the toads went forth to see all that was to be seen in the new land, made up his mind that he too would see the great world.
he was the smallest of the frogs, and his friends and relatives warned him not to go, saying that he would come to no good end.
""but he would n't listen to their dismal croakings and hurried after the toads.
being able to make longer jumps than they could, he soon caught up with them, and they all journeyed on together.
the toads were so pleased that one of their cousins was brave enough to join them that they made him very welcome and treated him as one of themselves, so that they soon got to thinking of him as a toad and not as a frog at all.
""now the toads soon found that old mother nature was having a hard time to make plants grow, because as fast as they came up, they were eaten by insects.
you see, she had so many things to attend to in those days when the world was young that she had to leave a great many things to take care of themselves and get along the best they could, and it was this way with the plants.
it was then that the great idea came to my great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, and he called all the toads together and proposed that they help old mother nature by catching the bugs and worms that were destroying the plants.
""little mr. frog, who had been adopted by the toads, was one of the most eager to help, and he was busy every minute.
after a while the toads had caught most of the bugs and worms on the ground and within reach, and the plants began to grow.
but when the plants got above the reach of the toads, the bugs and the worms were safe once more and began to multiply so that the plants suffered and stopped growing.
you see, there were no birds in those days to help.
one day little mr. frog sat under a bush on which most of the leaves had been eaten.
he saw a worm eating a leaf on one of the lower branches.
it was quite a way above his head.
it worried him.
he kept his eyes on that worm and thought and thought until his head ached.
at last he got an idea."
i wonder," thought he, "if i jump as hard as i can, if i can catch that fellow.
i'll try it.
it will do no harm to try."
""so he drew his long legs close under him, and then he jumped up with all his might.
he did n't quite reach the bug, but he got his hands on the branch and by pulling and struggling, he managed to get up on it.
it was a very uncertain seat, but he hung on and crept along until he could dart his tongue out and catch that worm.
then he saw another, and in trying to catch that one he lost his balance and fell to the ground with a thump.
it quite knocked the wind from his body.
""that night little mr. frog studied and studied, trying to think of some way by which he could get up in the bushes and trees and clear them of bugs and worms.
"if only i could hold on once i get up there, i would be all right," thought he.
"then i could leave the bugs and worms on the ground for my cousins the toads to look after, while i look after those beyond their reach."
""the next day and the next, and for many days thereafter, little mr. frog kept jumping for bugs on the bushes.
he got many thumps and bumps, but he did n't mind these, for little by little he was learning how to hang on to the branches once he got up in them.
then one day, just by accident, he put one hand against the trunk of a young pine-tree, and when he started to take it away, he found it stuck fast.
he had to pull to get it free.
like a flash an idea popped into his head.
he rubbed a little of the pitch, for that was what had made his hand stick, on both hands, and then he started to climb a tree.
as long as the pitch lasted, he could climb.
""little mr. frog was tickled to death, with his discovery, but he did n't say a word to any one about it.
every day he rubbed pitch on his hands and then climbed about in the bushes and low trees, ridding them of bugs and worms.
of course, it was n't very pleasant to have that pitch on his hands, because dirt and all sorts of things which he happened to touch stuck to them, but he made the best of a bad matter and washed them carefully when he was through with his day's work.
""quite unexpectedly old mother nature returned to see how the trees and the plants were getting on.
you see, she was worried about them.
when she found what the toads had been doing, she was mightily pleased.
then she noticed that some of the bushes and low trees had very few leaves left, while others looked thrifty and strong."
"that's queer," said old mother nature to herself and went over to examine a bush.
hanging on to a branch for dear life she saw a queer little fellow who was so busy that he did n't see her at all.
it was little mr. frog.
he was catching bugs as fast as he could.
old mother nature wrinkled up her brows.
"now however did he learn to climb?"
thought she.
then she hid where she could watch.
by and by she saw little mr. frog tumble out of the bush, because, you know, the pitch on his hands had worn off.
he hurried over to a pine-tree and rubbed more pitch on and then jumped up into the bush and went to work again.
""you can guess how astonished old mother nature was when she saw this performance.
and she was pleased.
oh, yes, indeed, old mother nature was wonderfully pleased.
she was pleased because little mr. frog was trying so hard to help her, and she was pleased because he had been so smart in finding a way to climb.
when she had laughed until she could laugh no more at the way little mr. frog had managed to stick to his work, she took him down very gently and wiped the pitch from his hands.
then she gently pinched the end of each finger and each toe so that they ended in little round discs instead of being pointed as before, and in each little disc was a clean, sticky substance.
then she tossed him up in a tree, and when he touched a branch, he found that he could hold on without the least danger of falling.""
i appoint you caretaker of my trees," said old mother nature, and from that day on little mr. frog lived in the trees, as did his children and his children's children, even as sticky-toes does to-day.
and though he was really a frog, he was called the tree toad, and the toads have always been proud to have him so called.
and this is the end of the story," concluded old mr. toad.
xv how old mr. heron learned patience xv how old mr. heron learned patience whenever in the spring or summer peter rabbit visited the smiling pool or the laughing brook, he was pretty sure to run across longlegs the heron.
the first tune peter saw him, he thought that never in all his life had he seen such a homely fellow.
longlegs was standing with his feet in the water and his head drawn back on his shoulders so that he did n't seem to have any neck at all.
peter sat and stared at him most impolitely.
he knew that he was impolite, but for the life of him he could n't help staring.
""he's all legs," thought peter.
""old mother nature must have been in a hurry when she made his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather way back when the world was young and forgot to give him a neck.
i wonder why he does n't move."
but longlegs did n't move.
peter stared as long as his patience held out.
then he gave up and went on to see what else he could find.
but in a little while peter was back again at the place where he had seen longlegs.
he did n't really expect to find him there, but he did.
so far as peter could see, longlegs had n't moved.
""must be asleep," thought peter, and after watching for a few minutes, went away again.
half an hour later peter was once more back.
there stood longlegs just as before.
""now i know he is asleep," muttered peter.
no sooner were the words out of his mouth than something happened, something so sudden and surprising that peter lost his balance and nearly fell over backward.
the long bill which peter had seen sticking forth from between those humped-up shoulders darted out and down into the water like a flash.
behind that bill was the longest neck peter ever had seen!
it was so long that peter blinked to be perfectly sure that his eyes had not been playing him a trick.
but they had n't, for longlegs was gulping down a little fish he had just caught, and when at last it was down, he stretched his neck up very straight while he looked this way and that way, and peter just gasped.
""i thought he was all legs, but instead of that he's all neck," muttered peter.
then longlegs slowly drew his head down, and it seemed to peter as if he must somehow wind that long neck up inside his body to get it so completely out of the way.
in a minute longlegs was standing just as before, with seemingly no neck at all.
peter watched until he grew tired, but longlegs did n't move again.
after that peter went every chance he had to watch longlegs, but he never had patience to watch long enough to see longlegs catch another fish.
he spoke of it one day to grandfather frog.
at the mere mention of longlegs, grandfather frog sat up and took notice.
""where did you see him?"
asked grandfather frog, and peter thought his voice sounded anxious.
""down the laughing brook," replied peter.
""why?"
""oh, nothing," said grandfather frog, trying to make his voice sound as if he were n't interested.
""i just wondered where the long-legged nuisance might be."
""he's the laziest fellow i ever saw," declared peter.
""he just stands doing nothing all day."
""huh!"
exclaimed grandfather frog.
""if your family had suffered from him as much as mine has, you would say that he was altogether too busy.
ask the trout what they think, or the minnow family."
""oh," said peter, "you mean that when he stands still that way he is fishing."
grandfather frog nodded.
""well," said peter, "all i can say is that he is the most patient fellow i ever saw.
i did n't suppose there was such patience."
""he comes rightly by it," returned grandfather frog.
""he gets it from his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, who lived when the world was young.
he learned it then."
""how?"
demanded peter, eager for a story.
grandfather frog's eyes took on a far-away look, as if he were seeing into that long-ago past.
""chug-a-rum!"
he began.
""it always seemed to old mr. heron as if old mother nature must have made him last of all the birds and was in such a hurry that she did n't care how he looked.
his legs were so long and his neck was so long that all his neighbors laughed at him and made fun of him.
he was just as awkward as he looked.
his long legs were in his way.
he did n't know what to do with his long neck.
when he tried to run, everybody shouted with laughter.
when he tried to fly, he stretched his long neck out, and then he could n't keep his balance and just flopped about, while all his neighbors laughed harder than ever.
poor mr. heron was ashamed of himself, actually ashamed of himself.
he quite overlooked the fact that old mother nature had given him a really beautiful coat of feathers.
some of those who laughed at him would have given anything to have possessed such a beautiful coat.
but mr. heron did n't know this.
he could n't bear to be laughed at, wherein he was very like most people.
""so he tried his best to keep out of sight as much as possible.
now in those days, as at present, the rushes grew tall beside the smiling pool, and among them mr. heron found a hiding-place.
because his legs were long, he could wade out in the water and keep quite out of sight of those who lived on the land.
so he found a use for his long legs and was glad that they were long.
at first he used to go ashore to hunt for food.
one day as he was wading ashore, he surprised a school of little fish and managed to catch one.
it tasted so good that he wanted more, and every day he went fishing.
whenever he saw little fish swimming where the water was shallow, he would rush in among them and do his best to catch one.
sometimes he did, but more often he did n't.
you see, he was so clumsy and awkward that he made a great splashing, and the fish would hear him coming and get away.
""one day after he had tried and tried without catching even one, he stopped just at the edge of the rushes to rest.
his long neck ached, and to rest it he laid it back on his shoulders.
for a long time he stood there, resting.
the water around his feet was cool and comforting.
he was very comfortable but for one thing, -- he was hungry.
he was just making up his mind to go on and hunt for something to eat when he saw a school of little fish swimming straight towards him.
"perhaps," thought he, "if i keep perfectly still, they will come near enough for me to catch one."
so he kept perfectly still.
he did n't dare even stretch his long neck up.
sure enough, the little fish swam almost to his very feet.
they did n't see him at all.
when they were near enough, he darted his long neck forward and caught one without any trouble at all.
mr. heron was almost as surprised as the fish he had caught.
you see, he discovered that with his neck laid back on his shoulders that way, he could dart his head forward ever so much quicker than when he was holding it up straight.
it really was a great discovery for mr. heron.
""of course all the other fish darted away in great fright, but mr. heron did n't mind.
he settled himself in great contentment, for now he was less hungry.
by and by some foolish tadpoles came wriggling along.
"i'll just try catching one of them for practice.
maybe they are good to eat," thought mr. heron, and just as before darted his head and great bill downward and caught a tadpole."
"um-m, they are good!"
exclaimed mr. heron, and once more settled himself to watch and wait.
""that was a sad day for the frog family, but a great day for mr. heron when he discovered that tadpoles were good to eat."
grandfather frog sighed mournfully.
""yes," he continued, "that was a great day for mr. heron.
he had discovered that he could gain more by patient waiting than by frantic hunting, and he had found that his long neck really was a blessing.
after that, whenever he was hungry, he would stand perfectly still beside some little pool where foolish young fish or careless tadpoles were at play and wait patiently until they came within reach.
""one day he was startled into an attempt to fly by hearing the stealthy footsteps of mr. fox behind him.
his head was drawn back on his shoulders at the time, and he was so excited that he forgot to straighten it out.
just imagine how surprised he was, and how surprised mr. fox was, when he sailed away in beautiful flight, his long legs trailing behind him.
with his neck carried that way, he could fly as well as any one.
from that day on, no one laughed at mr. heron because of his long legs and long neck.
mr. heron himself became proud of them.
you see, he had learned how to use what he had been given.
also he had learned the value of patience.
so he was happy and envied no one.
but he still liked best to keep by himself and became known as the lone fisherman, just as longlegs is to-day.
chug-a-rum!
is n't that longlegs coming this way this very minute?
this is no place for me!"
with a great splash grandfather frog dived into the smiling pool.
-lsb- illustration: "his legs were so long, and his neck was so long that all his neighbors laughed at him."
page 210. -rsb-
xvi how tufty the lynx happens to have a stump of a tail xvi how tufty the lynx happens to have a stump of a tail in all his life peter rabbit had seen tufty the lynx but once, but that once was enough.
tufty, you know, lives in the great woods.
but once, when the winter was very cold, he had ventured down into the green forest, hoping that it would be easier to get a living there.
it was then that peter had seen him.
in fact, peter had had the narrowest of escapes, and the very memory of it made him shiver.
he never would forget that great, gray, skulking form that slipped like a shadow through the trees, that fierce, bearded face, those cruel, pale yellow-green eyes, or that switching stump of a tail.
that tail fascinated peter.
it was just an apology for a tail.
for tufty's size it was hardly as much of a tail as peter himself has.
it made peter feel a lot better.
also it made him very curious.
the first chance he got, he asked his cousin, jumper the hare, about it.
you know jumper used to live in the great woods where tufty lives, and peter felt sure that he must know the reason why tufty has such a ridiculous stub of a tail.
jumper did know, and this is the story he told peter: "way back in the beginning of things lived old mr. lynx."
""i know," interrupted peter.
""he was the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of tufty, and he was n't old then."
""who's telling this story?"
demanded jumper crossly.
""if you know it why did you ask me?"
""i beg your pardon.
indeed i do.
i wo n't say another word," replied peter hastily.
""all right, see that you do n't.
interruptions always spoil a story," said jumper.
""you are quite right about old mr. lynx.
he was n't old then.
no one was old, because it was in the beginning of things.
at that time mr. lynx boasted a long tail, quite as fine a tail as his cousin, mr. panther.
he was very proud of it.
you know there is a saying that pride goes before a fall.
it was so with mr. lynx.
he boasted about his tail.
he said that it was the finest tail in the world.
he said so much that his neighbors got tired of hearing about it.
he made a perfect nuisance of himself.
he switched and waved his long tail about continually.
it seemed as if that tail were never still.
he made fun of those whose tails were shorter or of different shape or less handsome.
he quite forgot that that tail had been given him by old mother nature, but talked and acted as if he had grown that tail himself.
""when at last his neighbors could stand it no longer, they decided to teach him a lesson.
one day while he was off hunting, they held a meeting, and it was decided that the very next time that mr. lynx boasted of his tail old king bear should slip up behind him and step on it as close to his body as he could, and then each of the others should pull a little tuft of hair from it, so that it would be a long time before mr. lynx would be able to boast of its beauty again.
""the chance came that very evening.
mr. lynx had had a very successful day, and he was feeling very fine.
he began to boast of what a great hunter he was, and of how very clever and very smart he was, and then, as usual, he got to boasting about his tail.
he was so intent on his boasting that he did n't notice old king bear slipping around behind him.
old king bear waited until that long tail was still for just an instant, and then he stepped on it as close to the roots of it as he could.
then all the other little people shouted with glee and began to pull little tufts of hair from it, until it was the most disreputable-looking tail ever seen.
""old mr. lynx let out a yowl and a screech that was enough to make your blood run cold.
but he could n't do a thing, though he tore the ground up with his great claws and pulled with all his might.
you see, old king bear was very big and very heavy, and mr. lynx could n't budge his tail a bit.
and he could n't turn to fight old king bear, though it seemed as if he would turn himself inside out trying to.
""at last, when old king bear thought he had been punished enough, he gave the word to the others, and they all scattered to safe hiding-places, for they were of no mind to be within reach of those great claws of mr. lynx.
then old king bear let him go."
"by the looks of it, i hardly think that you will boast of that tail for a long time to come, mr. lynx," said he in his deep, rumbly-grumbly voice.
""mr. lynx turned and screamed in old king bear's face, but that was all he dared do, for you know old king bear was very big and strong.
then he turned and slunk away in the shadows by himself.
now mr. lynx had a terrible temper, and when he saw how ragged and disreputable his once beautiful tail looked, he flew into a terrible rage, and he swore that no one should laugh at his tail.
what do you think he did?"
""what?"
asked peter eagerly.
""he bit it off," replied jumper slowly.
""yes, sir, he bit it off right at the place where old king bear had stepped on it.
of course he was sorry the minute he had done it, but it was done, and that was all there was to it.
after that he kept out of sight of all his neighbors.
he prowled around mostly at night and was very stealthy and soft-footed, always keeping in the shadows.
his temper grew worse and worse from brooding over his lost tail.
when any one chanced to surprise him, he would switch his stub of a tail just as he used to switch his long tail.
you see he would forget.
then when he was laughed at by those bigger than he, he would scream angrily and slink away like a great, gray shadow.
""once he besought old mother nature to give him a new tail, but in vain.
she gave him a lecture which he never forgot.
she told him that it was no one's fault but his own that he had lost the beautiful tail that he did have and had nothing but a stub left.
mr. lynx crawled on his stomach to the feet of old mother nature and begged with tears in his eyes.
old mother nature looked him straight in the eyes, but he could n't look straight back.
he tried, but he could n't do it.
he would shift his eyes from side to side."
"look me straight in the face, mr. lynx, and tell me that if i give you a handsome new tail, you will never boast about it or take undue pride in it," said she.
""mr. lynx looked her straight in the face and said "i --" then his eyes shifted.
he brought them back to old mother nature's face with a jerk and began again."
i promise --" once more his eyes shifted.
then he gave up and sneaked away into the darkest shadows he could find.
you see, he could n't look old mother nature in the face and tell a lie, and that was just what he had been trying to do.
the only reason he wanted a new tail was so that he could be proud of it and boast of it as he had of the old one.
he had n't a single real use for it, as he had found out since he had had only that stub.
""old mother nature knew this perfectly well, for you ca n't fool her, and it's of no use to try.
so mr. lynx never did get a new tail.
he continued to live very much by himself in the darkest parts of the green forest, never showing himself to others if he could help it.
to the little people, he was like a fearsome shadow to be watched out for at all times.
his children were just like him, and his children's children.
tufty is the same way.
no one likes him.
all who are smaller than he fear him.
and if he knows why he has only a stub of a tail, he never mentions it.
but you will notice that he switches it just as if it were a real tail.
i think he likes to imagine that it is a real one."
""i've noticed," replied peter.
he was silent for a few minutes.
then he added: "is n't it curious how often we want things we do n't need at all, and how those are the things that make us the most trouble in this world?"
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___mother_west_wind_"where"_stories.txt.out
i where grandfather frog got his big mouth everybody knows that grandfather frog has a big mouth.
of course!
it would n't be possible to look him straight in the face and not know that he has a big mouth.
in fact, about all you see when you look grandfather frog full in the face are his great big mouth and two great big goggly eyes.
he seems then to be all mouth and eyes.
anyway, that is what peter rabbit says.
peter never will forget the first time he saw grandfather frog.
peter was very young then.
he had run away from home to see the great world, and in the course of his wanderings he came to the smiling pool.
never before had he seen so much water.
the most water he had ever seen before was a little puddle in the lone little path.
so when peter, who was only half grown then, hopped out on the bank of the smiling pool and saw it dimpling and smiling in the sunshine, he thought it the most wonderful thing he ever had seen.
the truth is that in those days peter was in the habit of thinking everything he saw for the first time the most wonderful thing yet, and as he was continually seeing new things, and as his eyes always nearly popped out of his head whenever he saw something new, it is a wonder that he did n't become pop-eyed.
peter stared and stared at the smiling pool, and little by little he began to see other things.
first he noticed the bulrushes growing with their feet in the water.
they looked to him like giant grass, and he began to be a little fearful lest this should prove to be a sort of magic place -- a place of giants.
then he noticed the lily-pads, and he stared very hard at these.
they looked like growing things, and yet they seemed to be floating right on top of the water.
it was n't until a merry little breeze came along and turned the edge of one up so that peter saw the long stem running down in the water out of sight, that he was able to understand how those lily-pads could be growing there.
he was still staring at those lily-pads when a great deep voice said: "chug-a-rum!
chug-a-rum!
do n't you know it is n't polite to stare at people?"
that voice was so unexpected and so deep that peter was startled.
he jumped, started to run, then stopped.
he wanted to run, but curiosity would n't let him.
he simply could n't run away until he had found out where that voice came from and to whom it belonged.
it seemed to peter that it had come from right out of the smiling pool, but look as he would, he could n't see any one there.
""if you please," said peter timidly, "i'm not staring at anybody."
all the time he was staring down into the smiling pool with eyes fairly popping out of his head.
""chug-a-rum!
have a care, young fellow!
have a care how you talk to your elders.
do you mean to be impudent enough to tell me to my face that i am not anybody?"
the voice was deeper and gruffer than ever, and it made peter more uncomfortable than ever.
""oh, no, sir!
no, indeed!"
exclaimed peter.
""i do n't mean anything of the kind.
i -- i -- well, if you please, sir, i do n't see you at all, so how can i be staring at you?
i'm sure from the sound of your voice that you must be somebody very important.
please excuse me for seeming to stare.
i was just looking for you, that is all."
a little movement in the water close to a big green lily-pad caught peter's eyes, and then out on the big green lily-pad climbed grandfather frog.
if peter had stared before he doubly stared now, eyes and mouth wide open.
grandfather frog was looking his very best in his handsome green coat and white-and-yellow waistcoat.
but peter had hardly noticed these at all.
""why, you're all mouth!"
he exclaimed, and then looked very much ashamed of his impoliteness.
grandfather frog's great goggly eyes twinkled.
he knew that peter was very young and innocent and just starting out in the great world.
he knew that peter did n't intend to be impolite.
""not quite," said he good-naturedly.
""not quite all mouth, though i must admit that it is of good size.
the fact is, i would n't have it a bit smaller if i could.
if it were any smaller, i should miss many a good meal, and if i were forced to do that, i am afraid i should be very ill-tempered indeed.
the truth is, i am very proud of my big mouth.
i do n't know of any one who has a bigger one for their size."
he opened his mouth wide, and it seemed to peter that grandfather frog's whole head simply split in halves.
he had n't supposed anybody in all the great world possessed such a mouth.
""where did you get it?"
gasped peter, and then felt that he had asked a very foolish question.
grandfather frog chuckled.
""i got it from my father, and he got his from his father, and so on, way back to the days when the world was young and the frogs ruled the world," said he.
""would you like to hear about it?"
""i'd love to!"
cried peter.
so he settled himself comfortably on the bank of the smiling pool for the first of many, many stories he was to hear from grandfather frog.
""chug-a-rum!"
began grandfather frog.
you know he always begins a story that way.
""chug-a-rum!
once upon a time the great world was mostly water, and most of the people lived in the water.
it was in those days that my great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather lived.
those were happy days for the frogs.
yes, indeed, those were happy days for the frogs.
of course they had enemies, but those enemies were all in the water.
they did n't have to be watching out for danger from the air and from the land, as i do now.
there was plenty to eat and little to do, and the frog tribe increased very fast.
in fact, the frogs increased so fast that after a while there was n't plenty to eat.
that is, there was n't plenty of the kind of food they had been used to, which was mostly water plants, and water bugs and such things.
""of course there were many fish, and these also increased very fast, and the big fish ate the frogs whenever they could catch them, just as they do to this day.
the big fish also ate the little fish, and it was n't long before the frogs and the little fish took to living where the water was not deep enough for the big fish to swim, and this made it all the harder to get enough to eat.
the mouths of the frogs in those days were not big.
in fact, they were quite small.
you see, living on the kind of food they did, they had no need of big mouths.
""one day as a great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather frog sat with just his head out of water, wondering what it would seem like to have his stomach really filled, a school of little fish came swimming about him, and it popped into his head that if little fish were good for big fish to eat, they might be good for a frog to eat.
so he caught the first one that came within reach, and he found it was good to eat.
he liked it so well that after that he caught fish whenever he could.
of course he swallowed them whole.
he had to, because he had no chewing or biting teeth.
""now the frogs always have been famous for their appetites, and great-grandfather frog found that it took a great many of these teeny weeny fish to make a comfortable meal.
he was thinking of this one day when a larger fish came within reach, and almost without realizing what he was doing great-grandfather snapped at and caught him.
he caught the fish by the tail and at once began to swallow it, which, of course, was no way to swallow a fish.
but great-grandfather frog had much to learn in those day, and so he tried to swallow that fish tail first instead of head first.
he got the tail down and the smallest part of the body, and then that fish stuck.
yes, sir, that fish stuck.
the fact was, great-grandfather frog's mouth was n't wide enough.
it was bad enough not to be able to swallow all of that fish, but what was worse was the discovery that he could n't get up again what he had swallowed.
that fish was stuck!
it would go neither down nor up.
""poor great-grandfather frog was in a terrible fix.
big tears rolled down his cheeks.
he choked and choked and choked, until it looked very much as if he might choke to death.
just in time, in the very nick of time, who should come along but old mother nature.
she saw right away what the trouble was, and she pulled out the fish.
then she asked how that fish had happened to be in such a place as great-grandfather frog's mouth.
when he could get his breath, he told her all about it -- how food had been getting scarce and how he had discovered that fish were good to eat, and how he had make a mistake in catching a fish too big for his mouth.
old mother nature looked thoughtful.
she saw the great numbers of young fish.
suddenly she reached over and put a finger in great-grandfather frog's mouth and stretched it sideways.
then she did the same thing to the other corner.
great-grandfather frog's mouth was three times as big as it had been before."
"now," said she," i do n't believe you'll have any more trouble, and i'm going to do the same thing for all the other frogs."
""she did that very day, and from then on the frogs no longer had any trouble in getting plenty to eat.
so that is where i got my big mouth, and i tell you right now i would n't trade it for anything anybody else has got," concluded grandfather frog, as he snapped up a foolish green fly who came too near.
""i think it is splendid, perfectly splendid," cried peter.
""i wish i had one just like it."
and then he wondered why grandfather frog laughed so hard.
ii where miser the trade rat first set up shop it was quite by accident that peter rabbit first heard of miser the trade rat.
you know how it is with peter; he is forever using those big ears of his to learn interesting things.
that is what ears are for; but there is a right way and a wrong way to use them, and i am afraid that peter is n't always over-particular in this respect.
i suspect, in fact i know, that peter sometimes listens when he has no business to listen and knows he has no business to listen.
again he sometimes overhears things quite by accident when he can not very well help hearing.
it was in this way that he first heard of miser the trade rat.
peter had crept into a hollow log in the green forest to rest and to feel absolutely safe while he was doing it.
he had been there only a little while when he heard light footsteps outside and a moment later a voice which made him shiver a little in spite of himself and the knowledge that he was perfectly safe.
the footsteps and the voice were old man coyote's.
very carefully peter peeped out.
old man coyote had sat down close by the log in which peter was hiding.
on a dead tree close at hand sat ol' mistah buzzard, who had come up from way down south for the summer, and it was to him that old man coyote was talking.
""i was over by farmer brown's barn last night," said old man coyote, "and i caught a glimpse of robber the brown eat.
what a disgrace he is to the whole rat tribe!
for that matter, he is a disgrace to all who live on the green meadows and in the green forest.
he is n't much like his cousin, miser the trade rat."
""mah goodness!
do yo" know miser?"
exclaimed ol' mistah buzzard.
""do i know miser?
i should say i do!"
replied old man coyote.
""i've tried to catch him enough times to know him.
he kept a junk shop very near where i used to live way out west.
do you know him, mr. buzzard?"
""ah cert "nly does," chuckled ol' mistah buzzard.
""ah cert "nly does.
ah never did see such a busy fellow as he is.
ah done see his junk shop many times, and always it done be growin" bigger.
ah wonders, brer coyote, if yo" ever heard the story of his great-great-ever-so-great-gran" - daddy, the first of the family, and how and where he started the business that's been kept in the family ever since."
""no," said old man coyote, "i never did, and i've wondered about it a great deal."
peter rabbit almost forgot that he was hiding.
he was so eager to hear that story that he was right on the point of speaking up and begging ol' mistah buzzard to tell it when he remembered old man coyote.
just in the nick of time he clapped a hand over his mouth.
it seemed to peter a long, long time before old man coyote said: "i'd like to hear that story, mr. buzzard, if it is n't too much to ask of you."
""not at all, brer coyote; not at all.
ah'll be mor'n pleased to tell it to yo".
ah cert "nly will," said ol' mistah buzzard, and peter settled himself comfortably to listen.
""yo" see it was this way," began ol' mistah buzzard.
""ah got it from mah gran "daddy, and he got it from his gran "daddy, and his gran "daddy got it from --" "i know," interrupted old man coyote.
""it was handed down from your greatest-great-grandfather, who lived in the days when the world was young and what you are going to tell me about happened.
is n't that it?"
""yes, suh," replied ol' mistah buzzard.
""yes, suh, that's it.
ol' mother nature treat'em all alike in those days.
she's a right smart busy person, and she ai n't got no time fo" to answer foolish questions.
no, suh, she ai n't.
so, quick as she get a new kind of critter made, she turn him loose and tell him if he want to live he got to be right smart and find out for hisself how to do it.
ah reckons yo" know all about that, brer coyote."
old man coyote nodded, and ol' mistah buzzard scratched his bald head gently as if trying to stir up his memory.
peter rabbit almost squealed aloud in his impatience while he waited for ol' mistah buzzard to go on.
""when ol' mother nature made brer trade rat in the beginning and turned him loose in the great world, he was just plain mistah rat and nothing more, same as his no "count cousin, robber the brown rat," continued ol' mistah buzzard.
""he had to win a name for hisself same as ev "ybody else.
he had mighty sharp wits, had this mistah rat, and directly he found he had to shift for hisself he began to study and study and study what he gwine to do to live well and be happy.
he watched his neighbors to see what they did, and it did n't take him long to find out that if he would be respected he must have a home.
those without homes were mostly no "count folks, same as they are today.
""so brer rat made a nest close to the trunk of a tree on the edge of the green forest, a soft, warm nest, and in collectin" the stuff to make it of he learned the joy of bein" busy.
person "ly, yo" understand, ah thinks he was all wrong.
ah never am so happy as when ah can take a sun-bath with nothin" to do.
but brer rat was never so happy as when he was busy, and when he got that li'l nest finished time began to hang heavy on his hands.
yes, suh, it cert "nly did.
just because he did n't have anything else to do he began to add a little more to his house.
one day he stepped on a thorn.
"ouch!"
cried brer rat, and then right away forgot the pain in a new idea.
he would cover his house with thorns, leavin" just a little secret entrance for hisself!
then he would be safe, wholly safe from his big neighbors, some of whom had begun to look at him with such a hungry look in their eyes that they made him right smart uncomfortable.
so he spent his time, did brer rat, in huntin" for the longest and sharpest thorns and in cuttin" the branches on which they grew.
these he carried to his house and piled them around it and on it until it had become a great pile with sharp thorns stickin" out in every direction, and the hungriest of the big people of the forest passed it at a respectful distance.
""when brer rat had all the thorns he needed and more, he began to collect other things and added these to his pile.
yo" see, he had found that it was great fun to collect things; to find the queerest things he could and bring them home and look at them and wonder about them.
so little by little his house became a sort of junk shop, the very first one in all the great world.
bright stones and shells, bones, anything that caught his bright eyes and pleased them, he brought home.
when he was tired of huntin" fo" food or more strange things he would sit and gloat over his treasures and play with them.
and then the first thing he knew he had a name.
yes, suh, he had a name.
he was called miser.
""of course brer miser had n't lived ve" y long befo" he found out that one law of the great world was that things belonged to whoever could get them and keep them.
he saw that some thought themselves ve" y smart when they stole from their neighbors.
brer miser did n't like this at all.
he was ve "y, ye" y honest, was brer miser.
perhaps he was n't really much tempted, not fo" a long time anyway.
""but at last came a time when he was tempted.
quite by accident he found one of mr. squirrel's storehouses.
in it were some nuts different from any he ever had seen befo".
"brer squirrel wo n't mind if ah taste just one," said he, and did it.
it tasted good; it tasted ve" y good indeed.
brer miser began to wish he had some nuts like those.
when he got home he could n't think of anything but how good those nuts tasted.
he knew that all he had to do was to watch until brer squirrel was away and then go he" p hisself.
he knew that was just what any of his neighbors would do in his place.
but brer miser could n't make it seem just right any way he looked at it.
he was too honest, was brer miser, to do anything like that.
""he was sitting staring at his treasures but thinking about those nuts when an idea popped into his head, an idea that made him smile until ah reckons he most split his cheeks.
"ah knows what ah'll do," said he.
"ah'll just he" p mahself to some of those nuts and ah'll leave something of mine in place of them.
that's what ah'll do."
""and that's what he did do.
he picked out a bright shell of which he was very fond and he left it in brer squirrel's storehouse to pay fo" the nuts that he took.
after that he always helped himself to anything he wanted, but he always left something to pay fo" it.
it was n't long befo" his neighbors found out what he was doing, and then they called him miser the trade rat.
whenever anybody found something he did n't want hisself, he took it to the little junk shop of miser the trade rat and traded it fo" something else, or left it where miser would find it, knowing that miser would leave something in its place.
""and it's been just so with miser's family ever since.
there is one rat who is a credit to his family instead of a disgrace," concluded ol' mistah buzzard.
iii where yap-yap the prairie dog used his wits peter rabbit had just had a great fright.
he is used to having great frights, but this time it was a different kind of a fright.
it was not for himself that he had been afraid but for one of his old friends and neighbors.
now that it was over, peter drew a little breath of sheer relief.
you see it was this way: peter had started over for a call on johnny chuck.
when he reached johnny chuck's house he found no one at home.
at first he thought he would go look for johnny, for he knew that johnny must be somewhere near, as he never goes far from his own doorstep.
then he changed his mind and decided to wait for johnny to return.
so he stretched himself out in some tall grass beside johnny chuck's house, intending to jump out and give johnny a scare when he came home.
hardly had he settled himself when he heard johnny coming, and he knew by the sounds that johnny was running from some danger.
very, very carefully peter raised his head to see.
then he ducked it again and held his breath.
johnny chuck was running as peter never had seen him run before and with very good reason.
just a few jumps behind johnny's twinkling little black heels was old man coyote.
it looked to peter as if old man coyote certainly would catch johnny chuck this time.
he was so frightened for johnny that he quite forgot that he himself might be in danger.
head first through his doorway plunged johnny, and old man coyote's teeth snapped together on nothing.
old man coyote backed away a few steps and sat down with his head on one side as he studied johnny chuck's house in the ground.
it was plain to be seen that he was trying to make up his mind whether it would be worth while to try to dig johnny out.
presently johnny came half-way up his long hall where he could look out.
then he began to scold old man coyote.
old man coyote grinned.
""i give up, johnny chuck," said he.
""you did well when you made your home between the roots of this old tree.
if it was n't for those roots, i certainly would dig you out.
as it is you are safe.
you remind me very much of your cousin, yap-yap the prairie dog, who lives out where i came from.
there's a fellow who certainly knows how to make a house in the ground.
he does n't have to depend on the roots of trees to keep from being dug out.
well, i guess it is a waste of time to hang around here.
you'll make just as good a dinner some other time as you would now, so i'll wait until then."
old man coyote grinned wickedly and trotted off.
now at the mention of yap-yap the prairie dog, the long ears of peter rabbit had pricked up at once.
it was the first time he had heard of yap-yap, and when at last johnny chuck ventured out peter was as full of questions as a pea-pod is of peas.
but johnny chuck knew nothing about his cousin, yap-yap, and was n't even interested in him.
so finally peter left him and went back home to the dear old briar-patch.
but he could n't get yap-yap out of his mind, and he resolved that the first chance he got he would ask old man coyote about him.
the chance came that very night.
old man coyote came along by the dear old briar-patch and stopped to peer in and grin at peter.
peter grinned back, for he knew that under those friendly brambles he was quite safe.
""i heard what you said to johnny chuck about his cousin, yap-yap," said peter.
old man coyote looked as surprised as he felt.
""where were you?"
he demanded gruffly.
""lying flat in the grass close by johnny chuck's house," replied peter, and grinned more broadly than ever.
""and to think i did n't know it!"
sighed old man coyote.
""when i failed to catch johnny chuck, i thought i had missed only one dinner, but it seems i missed two.
next time i shall look around a little more sharply.
do you know, the sight of johnny chuck always makes me homesick, he reminds me so much of his cousin, yap-yap, and the days when i was young."
""i did n't know that johnny chuck had a cousin until you mentioned it," said peter.
""does he look like johnny?
wo n't you tell me about him, mr. coyote?"
""seeing that i have n't anything in particular to do, i do n't know but i will," replied old man coyote, who happened to be feeling very good-natured.
""many and many a time i have chased yap-yap into his house.
seems as if i can hear the rascal scolding me and calling me names right this minute.
he used to get me so provoked that it was all i could do to keep from trying to dig him out."
""why did n't you?"
asked peter.
""because it would have meant a waste of time, sore feet, and nothing to show for my trouble," retorted old man coyote.
""yap-yap never has forgotten what his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather learned when he first took to living on the open prairie."
""what did he learn?
tell me about it, mr. coyote," begged peter.
""he learned to use his wits," replied old man coyote, with a provoking grin.
""he learned to use his wits, that's all."
""please tell me about it, mr. coyote.
please," begged peter.
""once upon a time," began old man coyote, "so my grandfather told me, and he got it from his grandfather, who got it from his grandfather, who --" "i know," interrupted peter.
""it happened in the days when the world was young."
old man coyote looked at peter very hard as if he had half a mind not to tell the story, but peter looked so innocent and so eager that he began again.
""once upon a time lived the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of yap-yap, the very first of all the prairie dogs, and his name was yap-yap too.
he was own cousin to old mr. woodchuck, who of course was n't old then, and the two cousins looked much alike, save that yap-yap was a little smaller than mr. woodchuck and perhaps a little smarter looking.
""from the very beginning yap-yap was a keen lover of the great open spaces.
trees were all very well for those who liked them, but he preferred to have nothing above him but the blue, blue sky.
it seemed to him that he never could find a big enough open space, so he never stayed very long in any one place, but kept pushing on and on, looking for a spot in the great world that would just suit him.
at last he came to the edge of the green forest, and before him, as far as he could see, stretched the green meadows.
at least it was like the green meadows, only a million thousand times as big as the green meadows we are on now, peter, and was really the great prairie.
""yap-yap looked and looked, then he drew a long breath of pure joy and started out across the green grass.
on and on he went, until when he sat up and looked this way or that way or the other way he could see nothing but grass and flowers, and over him was naught but the blue, blue sky.
he had found the great open space of which he had dreamed, and he was happy.
so he ate and slept and played with the merry little breezes and grew fat.
""then one day came skimmer the swallow and brought him news of the hard times which had come to the rest of the great world and how as a result the big and the strong were hunting the small and the weak in order that they themselves might live.
when skimmer had gone, yap-yap grew uneasy.
what if some of the big and strong people he had known should come out there in quest of food and should find him?
there was no place in which to hide.
there was no cave or hollow log.
""yap-yap looked at the strong claws old mother nature had given him and an idea came to him.
he would dig a hole in the ground.
so he dug a hole on a long slant very much like the hole of johnny chuck; but when it was finished a little doubt crept into his head and grew and grew.
what was to prevent some one who was very hungry from digging him out?
so he moved on a little way and started another hole, and this time he made it almost straight down.
every day he made that hole deeper until it was many feet deep.
then he made a turn in it and dug a long tunnel, at the end of which he hollowed out a comfortable bedroom and lined it with grass.
when it was finished he was quite satisfied.""
i do n't believe," said he, "that any one will have the patience to dig to the bottom of this."
""so at night he slept in his bed at the end of his long hall far below the surface, but all day he spent above ground, for he dearly loved the sunshine.
all went well until there came a time of heavy rains.
then yap-yap discovered that the water ran down his hole, and if he did n't do something, he was likely to be drowned out.
right away he set his sharp wits to work.
he noticed that when the water on the surface reached the little piles of sand he had made, it ran around them.
so he made a great mound of sand around his hole with the entrance in the middle and pressed it firm on the inside so that the rain would not wash it down in.
then, although the water stood all around, it no longer ran down in his house.
in fair weather that mound was a splendid place on which to sit and watch for danger.
so once more yap-yap was happy and care-free, all because he had used his wits.
""and from that day to this the prairie dogs have made their houses in just that way, and no one that i know cares to try to dig one out," concluded old man coyote.
iv where yellow-wing got his liking for the ground peter rabbit was hopping along on the edge of the green meadows, looking for a new patch of sweet clover.
it was very beautiful that morning, and peter was in the best of spirits.
it was good just to be alive.
every once in a while peter would jump up and kick his long heels together just from pure happiness.
he was so happy that he did n't pay particular attention to where he was going or what was about him.
the result was that peter got a fright.
right from under his very nose something sprang out of the grass so suddenly and so wholly unexpectedly that peter very nearly tumbled over backward.
he made two long jumps off to one side and then turned to see what had startled him so.
but all he saw was an old feathered acquaintance headed towards the old orchard.
he seemed to bound along through the air much as peter bounds along over the ground when he is in a hurry.
it was yellow-wing the flicker.
peter grinned and looked a little foolish.
he felt a little foolish.
you know it always makes you feel foolish to be frightened when there is nothing to be afraid of.
peter watched yellow-wing until he disappeared among the trees of the old orchard, from which presently his voice sounded clear and loud, and in it there was a mocking note as if yellow-wing were laughing at him.
peter suspected that he was.
but peter was feeling too happy to mind being laughed at.
in fact, he chuckled himself.
it was something of a joke to be frightened by one who was so wholly harmless.
peter recalled how many times he had frightened other people and thought it the best of jokes.
peter went on until he found a new patch of sweet clover.
then he forgot all about yellow-wing.
he was too busy filling that big stomach of his to think of anything else.
when he could n't find room for another leaf of clover he went home to the dear old briar-patch, and there in his favorite spot he settled himself to rest and think or dream as the case might be.
presently his thoughts returned to yellow-wing, and he chuckled again at the memory of his fright that morning.
and then for the first time it struck peter as queer that yellow-wing should have been out there on the green meadows on the ground.
he often had seen yellow-wing on the ground, but until that moment there never had seemed anything queer about that.
now, however, it suddenly came to peter that yellow-wing belonged in trees, not on the ground.
peter scratched his long left ear with his long left hind foot, which was a sign that he was thinking of something that puzzled him.
""he belongs to the woodpecker family," thought peter, "and never have i seen any of his relatives on the ground.
they get all their food in the trees.
now why is yellow-wing so different from his relatives?"
the more peter thought about it, the queerer it seemed that a woodpecker should spend so much time on the ground, or visit the ground at all, for that matter.
but just wondering about it did n't get him anywhere, and at last peter decided that the only way to find out would be to ask questions.
so peter made up his mind to watch for yellow-wing and ask him all about it the first chance he got.
the chance came the very next day in the very same place where peter had been so startled.
this time he was on the watch and saw yellow-wing very busy about something.
peter stole up within speaking distance.
""good morning, yellow-wing," said he.
""i wonder if you will tell me something."
it was yellow-wing's turn to be startled, for he had not seen peter approaching.
he half lifted his wings to fly, but when he saw who it was, he changed his mind.
""it all depends on what it is you want me to tell you," he replied rather shortly.
""it is just this," replied peter.
""why do you spend so much time on the ground?"
""that's easily answered," laughed fellow-wing.
""i do it because it is the easiest way to get enough to eat."
peter looked as surprised as he felt.
""i thought that all your family got their living in the trees!"
he exclaimed.
""all do but me," replied yellow-wing a wee bit testily.
""but i do n't have to do what they do just because they do it.
no, siree, i'm independent!
do you like ants, peter?"
""what?"
exclaimed peter.
""i asked if you like ants," repeated yellow-wing.
""i've never tried them," peter replied, "but i've heard old mr. toad say they are very nice."
""they are," said yellow-wing.
""they are more than nice -- they are de-li-cious.
it is because of them that i spend so much time on the ground.
ants changed the habits of the flicker branch of the woodpecker family.
i would n't be surprised if we became regular ground birds one of these days."
peter looked puzzled.
he kept turning it over in his mind as he watched yellow-wing plunge his long stout bill into an ant hill and then gobble up the ants as they came rushing out to see what the trouble was.
""i do n't see how ants could change the habits of anybody," he ventured after a while.
yellow-wing's eyes twinkled.
""why do n't you learn to eat them?"
he demanded.
""if you would, they might change your habits.
the beginning of the change in the habits of my folks began a long time ago."
""way back in the beginning of things, when the world was young?"
asked peter.
""no, not quite so far back as that," replied yellow-wing.
""great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, who was the first flicker, was, of course, a member of the woodpecker family, and he got his living in regular woodpecker fashion.
it never entered his head to look for food anywhere but in the trees, and i do n't suppose that it ever entered his head to set foot on the ground.
it was the same with his children and his children's children for a long time.
""but though they lived as true woodpeckers should, the flickers always were a bit sharper-witted and more independent than most of their relatives.
for one thing they had discovered that ants were fine eating and that great numbers of them were to be found running up and down the trunks of certain trees.
so the flickers used to look for these trees and feast on the ants.
it saved a lot of labor.
a stomachful of ants could be picked from the trunk of a tree in the time it would take to dig out one worm in the wood, to say nothing of the saving of hard work.
""one day a few years ago my great-great-great-grandfather, so the story goes, had stuffed himself with ants from the trunk of a tree and had settled himself for a rest.
from where he sat he could see a procession of ants going up and down the tree, and he got to wondering where they all came from and where they all went to.
so he watched and presently discovered that that double line of ants led out along the ground from the foot of the tree.
this made him still more curious and he followed it, flying along just over it.
he had gone but a short distance when he came to a little mound of sand, and there the line of ants ended.
grandfather flicker flew up in a tree from which he could look right down on that mound, and it did n't take him long to discover that those ants were going in and out of little holes in that mound."
"as i live, that must be their home!"
exclaimed he.
"that place is alive with them.
what a place to fill one's stomach!
i never was on the ground in my life, but the next time i'm hungry, i'm going to see what the ground is like.
i wo n't have to stay on it long to get my dinner here."
""grandfather flicker was as good as his word.
when he was ready for another meal, he flew down to that ant hill.
he found that when he plunged his bill into it, the ants fairly poured out to see what was happening, and all he had to do was to thrust out his long sticky tongue and lick them up.
never in all his life before had he filled his stomach so easily.
after that, instead of wasting time hunting for worms and insects in the trees where he could find only one at a time, grandfather flicker kept his eyes open for ant hills on the ground.
he taught his children to do the same thing.
that was the beginning of the change of habits with the flickers.
ever since we have spent more and more time on the ground, so that now we feel quite at home there.
we still get some of our food in the trees by way of variety, and we make our homes there, but a good big part of our food we get just as i am doing now."
with this yellow-wing once more plunged his bill into the ant hill and licked up a dozen ants who had come rushing out to see what was going on.
and so once more the curiosity of peter rabbit was satisfied, and he had learned something.
v where little chief learned to make hay no one in all the great world thinks more of the present and less of the future than does careless, happy-go-lucky peter rabbit.
everybody who knows peter at all knows that peter does n't waste any time worrying over what may happen in a day that may never be.
so peter is n't thrifty as are happy jack squirrel and chatterer the red squirrel and whitefoot the wood mouse and paddy the beaver and striped chipmunk.
""i've got enough to eat today, and enough is enough, so what is the use of working when i do n't have to?"
says peter.
""i do n't believe in working today so that i wo n't have to work tomorrow, because when tomorrow comes there may be no need of working, and then i would feel that i had wasted all this good time today."
no, peter is n't the least bit thrifty.
it is the same way with peter's big cousin, jumper the hare.
the truth is the whole family is happy-go-lucky.
happy jack squirrel says that every blessed one of them is shiftless.
it does look that way.
it is a pity that peter and jumper never have learned a lesson from little chief hare, who is commonly supposed to be a relative of theirs, although, as a matter of fact, he is neither a hare nor a rabbit, but is a pika, which is another family altogether.
he is also called a coney and sometimes the calling hare.
but if you want sure-enough proof that he is neither a rabbit nor a hare, just watch him, if you are lucky enough to have a chance, cut and dry and store away a great pile of hay for winter use.
no true member of peter's family ever would think of doing such a thing as that, more is the pity.
peter never has seen little chief, because little chief lives high up on a mountain of the far west among the rocks where peter would never go, even if he could, but he has heard all about him.
old man coyote told him all about him, and he got the story from his grandfather, who got it from his grandfather, who had one time visited the great mountain where little chief's ever-so-great-grandfather lived in the very place where little chief lives now.
old man coyote had chased peter into the dear old briar-patch one cold winter day, and as he peered through the brambles at peter he noticed that peter was very thin, very thin indeed.
old man coyote grinned.
""i'm just as well pleased not to have caught you this time, peter," said he.
""you would n't make much of a dinner just now.
when i dine i want something more than skin and bones.
it must be that you are having as hard work as i am to get a living these days."
""i am," replied peter.
""with all this snow and ice on the ground, there is nothing to eat but bark and such tender twigs as i can reach, and they are not very filling.
but they'll keep me alive until better times come, and then perhaps i'll get fat enough to suit you."
it was peter's turn to grin.
old man coyote grinned back good-naturedly.
""i should think, peter," said he, "that when there is so much sweet grass and clover in the summer, you would make some of it into hay and store it away for winter, as little chief hare does.
there's the thrifty little hay-maker for you!"
""who is little chief, and where did he learn to make hay?"
demanded peter, his ears standing straight up with curiosity.
old man coyote likes to tell a story once in a while, and having nothing else to do just then, he sat down just outside the dear old briar-patch and told peter all about little chief and his hay-making.
""of course," said he, "little chief's father taught him how to make hay, and his father's father taught him, and so on way back to the days when the world was young and old mother nature made the first pika or coney, whichever you please to call him, and set him free on a great mountain to prove whether he was worthy to live or was so helpless that there was no place for him in the great world.
now mr. pika, who was promptly called little chief, no one remembers now just why, was exactly like little chief of today.
he was just about a fourth as big as you, peter.
in fact, he looked a lot like one of your babies, excepting his legs and his ears.
his legs were short and rather weak, and his ears were short and rounded.
he was very gentle and timid.
he had neither the kind of teeth and claws for fighting nor long legs for running away, and it did seem as if little chief's chances of a long life and a happy one were very slim indeed, especially as it happened that he was set free to shift for himself just at the beginning of the hard times, when the big and strong had begun to hunt the small and weak.
""for a while little chief had a hard time of it and so many narrow escapes that his heart was in his mouth most of the time.
in trying to keep out of the way of his enemies he kept climbing higher and higher up the mountain, for the higher he got the fewer enemies he found.
at last he came to a big rock-slide above where the trees grew, and where there was nothing but broken stone and big rocks.
the sun lay there very warm, and little chief crept out among the stones to take a sun-bath; as he squatted there it would have taken keen eyes indeed to tell him from a stone himself, though he did n't know this.
""after he had had a good rest, and jolly mr. sun had moved so that little chief was no longer in the warm rays, little chief decided to look about a little.
it did n't take him long to discover that there were wonderful little winding galleries and hiding-places down among the stones.
these led to little cracks and caves deep down in the mountain side.
little chief was tickled almost to death."
"this is the place for me!"
he cried.
"no one ever will think to look for me up here, and if they should they could n't find me, for no one, not even king bear, could pull away these stones fast enough to catch me.
all day long i can enjoy the sun, and at night i can sleep in perfect safety in one of these little caves."
""so little chief made his home in the rock-slide high up on the mountain and was happy, for it was just as he thought it would be -- no one thought of looking in that bare place for him.
for food he ate the pea vines and grasses and other green things that grew just at the edge of the rock-slide and was perfectly happy.
one day he decided he would take some of his dinner into his little cave and eat it there.
so he cut a little bundle of pea vine and other green things.
he left his little bundle on a flat rock in the sun while he went to look for something else and then forgot all about it.
it did n't enter his head again until a few days later he happened along by that flat rock and discovered that little bundle.
the pea vines and grasses were quite dry, just like the hay farmer brown's boy helps his father store away in the barn every summer.""
i guess i do n't want to eat that," said little chief, "but it will make me a very nice bed."
so he carried it home and made a bed of it.
there was n't quite enough, so the next day he cut some more and carried it home at once.
but this, being green, soon soured and smelled so badly that he was forced to take it out and throw it away.
that set him to thinking.
why was the first he had brought in so dry and sweet and pleasant?
why did n't it spoil as the other had done?
he cut some more and spread it out on the big flat rock and once again he forgot.
when he remembered and went to look at it two or three days later, he found it just like the first, dry and sweet and very pleasant to smell.
this he took home to add to his bed.
then he took home some more that was green, and this spoiled just as the other had done.
""little chief was puzzling over this as he squatted on a rock taking a sun-bath.
the sun was very warm and comforting.
after a while the rock on which he sat grew almost hot.
little chief had brought along a couple of pieces of pea vine on which to lunch, but not being hungry he left them beside him on the rock.
by and by he happened to glance at them.
they had wilted and already they were beginning to dry.
an idea popped into his funny little head."
"it's the sun that does it!"
he cried.
""up he jumped and scampered away to cut some more and spread it out on the rocks.
then he discovered that the pea vine which he spread in the sun dried as he wanted it to, while any that happened to be left in the shadow of a rock did n't dry so well.
he had learned how to make hay.
he was the first hay-maker in the great world.
he soon had more than enough for a bed, but he kept on making hay and storing it away just for fun.
then came cold weather and all the green things died.
there was no food for little chief.
he hunted and hunted, but there was nothing.
then because he was so hungry he began to nibble at his hay.
it tasted good, very good indeed.
it tasted almost as good as the fresh green things.
little chief's heart gave a great leap.
he had food in plenty!
he had nothing to worry about, for his hay would last him until the green things came again, as come they would, he felt sure.
""and so it proved.
and that is how little chief the pika learned to make hay while the sun shone in the days of plenty.
he taught his children and they taught their children, and little chief of today does it just as his great-great-ever-so-great-grand-daddy did.
i do n't see why you do n't do the same thing, peter.
you would make me a great deal finer dinner if you did."
""perhaps that is the reason i do n't," replied peter with a grin.
-lsb- illustration: "little chief's father taught him how to make hay."
page 67.
-rsb- vi where glutton the wolverine got his name glutton the wolverine is a dweller in the depths of the great forests of the far north, and it is doubtful if peter rabbit would ever have known that there is such a person but for his acquaintance with honker the goose, who spends his summers in the far north, but each spring and fall stops over for a day or two in a little pond in the green forest, a pond peter often visits.
this acquaintance with honker and peter's everlasting curiosity have resulted in many strange stories.
at least they have seemed strange to peter because they have been about furred and feathered people whom peter has never seen.
and one of the strangest of these is the story of how glutton the wolverine got his name.
of course you know what a glutton is.
it is one who is very, very, very greedy and eats and eats as if eating were the only thing in life worth while.
it is one who is all the time thinking of his stomach.
no one likes to be called a glutton.
so when honker the goose happened to mention glutton, it caused peter to prick up his ears at once.
""who's a glutton?"
he demanded.
""i did n't say any one was a glutton," replied honker.
""i was speaking of glutton the wolverine who lives in the great forests of the far north, and whom everybody hates."
""is glutton his name?"
asked peter, wrinkling his brows in perplexity, for it seemed a very queer name for any one.
""certainly," replied honker.
""certainly that is his name, and a very good name for him it is.
but then of course it is because he is a glutton that he is named glutton.
rather i should say that is the reason the first wolverine was named glutton.
the name has been handed down ever since, and it fits mr. wolverine of today quite as well as ever it did his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather."
""tell me about it," peter begged.
""please tell me about it."
""tell you about what?"
asked honker, pretending not to understand.
""about how the first wolverine got the name of glutton," replied peter promptly.
""there must have been a very good reason, and if there was a very good reason, there must be a story.
please, honker, tell me all about it."
honker swam a little way out from shore, and with head held high and very still, he looked and listened and listened and looked until he was quite certain that no danger lurked near.
then he swam back to where peter was sitting on the bank.
""peter," said he, "i never in all my born days have seen such a fellow for questions as you are.
if i lived about here, i think i should swim away every time i saw you coming.
but as i only stop here for a day or two twice a year, i guess i can stand it.
besides, you really ought to know something about some of the people who live in the great forest.
it is shameful, peter, that you should be so ignorant.
and so if you will promise not to ask for another story while i am here, i will tell you about glutton the wolverine."
of course peter promised.
he wanted that story so much that he would have promised anything.
so honker told the story, and here it is just as peter heard it.
""once upon a time long, long, long ago, the first wolverine was sent out to find a place for himself in the great world just as every one else had been sent out.
old mother nature had told him that he was related to mr. weasel and mr. mink and mr. fisher and mr. skunk, but no one would have guessed it just to look at him.
in fact, some of his new neighbors were inclined to think that he was related to old king bear.
certainly he looked more like king bear than he did like little mr. weasel.
but for his bushy tail he would have looked still more like a member of the bear family.
he was clumsy-looking.
he was rather slow moving, but he was strong, very strong for his size.
and he had a mean disposition.
yes, sir, mr. wolverine had a mean disposition.
he had such a mean disposition that he would snarl at his own reflection in a pool of water.
""now you know as well as i do that no one with a mean disposition has any friends.
it was so with mr. wolverine.
when his neighbors found out what a mean disposition he had, they let him severely alone.
they would go out of their way to avoid meeting him.
this made his disposition all the meaner.
he did n't really care because his neighbors would have nothing to do with him.
no, he did n't really care, for the simple reason that he did n't want anything to do with them.
but just the same it made him angry to have them show that they did n't want to have anything to do with him.
every time he would see one of them turn aside to avoid meeting him, he would snarl under his breath, and his eyes would glow with anger; he would resolve to get even.
""being slow in his movements because of his stout build, he early realized that he must make nimble wits make up for the lack of nimble legs.
he also learned very early in life that patience is a virtue few possess, and that patience and nimble wits will accomplish almost anything.
so, living alone in the great forest, he practised patience until no one in all the great world could be more patient than he.
no one knew this because, you see, everybody kept away from him.
and all the time he was practising patience, he was studying and studying the other people of the great forest, both large and small, learning all their habits, how they lived, where they lived, what they ate, and all about them."
"one never knows when such knowledge may be useful," he would say to himself.
"the more i know about other people and the less they know about me the better."
""so mr. wolverine kept out of sight as much as possible, and none knew how he lived or where he lived or anything about him save that he had a mean disposition.
patiently he watched the other people, especially those of nimble wits who lived largely by their cunning and cleverness -- mr. fox, mr. coyote, mr. lynx and his own cousins, mr. mink and mr. weasel.
from each one he learned something, and at last he was more cunning and more clever than any of them or even than all of them, for that matter.
""living alone as he did, and having a mean disposition, he grew more and more sullen and savage until those who at first had avoided him simply because of his mean disposition now kept out of his way through fear, for his claws were long and his strength was great and his teeth were sharp.
it did n't take him long to discover that there were few who did not fear him, and he cunningly contrived to increase this fear, for he had a feeling that the time might come when it would be of use to him.
""the time did come.
as you know, there came a time when food was scarce, and everybody, or almost everybody, had hard work to get enough to keep alive.
mr. wolverine did n't.
the fact is, mr. wolverine lived very well indeed.
he simply reaped the reward of his patience in learning all about the ways of his neighbors, of his nimble wits and of the fear which he inspired.
instead of hunting for food himself, he depended on his neighbors to hunt for him.
they did n't know they were hunting for him, but somehow whenever one of them had secured a good meal, mr. wolverine was almost sure to happen along.
a growl from him was enough, and that meal was left in his possession.
""knowing how scarce food was and the uncertainty of when he would get the next meal, mr. wolverine always made it a point on these occasions to stuff himself until it was a wonder his skin did n't burst.
if there was more than he could eat, he would take a nap right there, and because of fear of him the rightful owner of the food would not dare take what was left.
when he awoke mr. wolverine would finish what remained.
""those who secured more food than they could eat and tried to store away the rest found that no matter how cunningly they chose a hiding-place for it and covered their tracks, mr. wolverine was sure to find it.
in fact, he made a business of robbing storehouses, and the habit of greediness became so strong that he would stuff himself at one storehouse and immediately start for another.
when it did happen that he could n't eat all he found and yet did n't want to stay until he could finish it, he would tear to bits all that remained and scatter it all about.
you know i told you he had a mean disposition.
""even when good times returned and there was no possible excuse for such greed, mr. wolverine continued to stuff himself until it seemed that instead of eating in order to live, as the rest of us do, he lived in order to eat.
of course it was n't long before some one called him a glutton, and presently he was named glutton, and no one called him anything else.
glutton by name and a glutton in habit he remained as long as he lived.
both name and habits he handed down to his children and they to their children.
so it is that today there is no more cunning thief, no greedier rascal, and no one with a meaner disposition in all the great woods of the far north than glutton the wolverine."
""queer how a habit will stick, is n't it?"
said peter thoughtfully.
""particularly a bad habit," added honker.
vii where old mrs. "gator made the first incubator peter rabbit and mrs. quack the mallard duck are great friends.
they have been great friends ever since peter tried to help mrs. quack when she and mr. quack had spent a whole summer on a little pond hidden deep in the green forest because mr. quack had a broken wing and so he and mrs. quack simply could n't keep on to their home in the far north for which they had started.
during that long summer peter had become very well acquainted with them.
in fact he visited them very often, for as you know, peter is simply brimming over with curiosity, and there were wonderful things which mr. and mrs. quack could tell him, for they are great travelers.
now once, as mrs. quack was telling peter about the far-away southland where she and mr. quack and many other birds spend each winter, she mentioned old ally the "gator.
people who live where he does call him just "gator, but you and i would call him alligator.
at the mention of old ally, all peter's curiosity was awakened, for mrs. quack had said that foolish young ducks sometimes mistook him for an old log floating in the water and did n't find out the difference until his great mouth flew open and he swallowed them whole.
at that peter's eyes threatened to pop right out of his head and every time he visited that little pond he pestered mrs. quack with questions about old ally the "gator and mrs. "gator.
it seemed as if he could n't think of anything else.
and when mrs. quack just happened to mention that little "gators are hatched from eggs just as her own children are, it was almost too much for peter to believe.
""what?"
he squealed, hopping up and down in excitement.
""do you mean to tell me that anything as big as old ally, big enough to swallow you whole, can come from an egg?
i do n't believe it!
besides, only birds lay eggs."
""quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, peter, you must take that back!"
cried mrs. quack.
""why must i take it back?"
demanded peter.
""because as usual you've let your tongue run loose, and that is a bad habit, peter.
it certainly is a bad habit.
how about the snake family?"
""oh!"
said peter, looking very foolish.
""i forgot all about the snakes.
they do lay eggs."
""and how about spotty the turtle?
did n't he come from an egg?"
persisted mrs. quack.
peter looked more foolish than before, if that were possible.
""y-e-s," he replied slowly and reluctantly.
""then do n't be so quick to doubt a thing just because you've never seen it," retorted mrs. quack.
""i've seen mrs. "gator build her nest more than once, and i've seen her eggs, and i've seen the baby "gators; and what is more, i'm not in the habit of telling things that i do n't know are so."
""i beg your pardon, mrs. quack."
peter was very humble.
""i do indeed.
please forgive me.
is -- is mrs. "gator's nest at all like yours?"
peter seemed so truly sorry for having doubted her that mrs. quack recovered her good nature at once.
""no," said she, "it is n't.
if i had n't seen her make it, i would n't have known it was a nest.
you see, one spring i got hurt so that i could n't take my usual long journey to the far north and had to spend the summer way down in the southland where i always lived in the winter, and that is how i happened to learn about mrs. "gator's nest and eggs and a lot of other things.
mrs. "gator is lazy, but she is smart.
she's smart enough to make mr. sun do her work.
what do you think of that?"
right away peter was all excitement.
you see, that sounded as if there might be a story behind it.
""i never have heard of such a thing!"
he cried.
""how did she learn to do such a smart thing as that?
of course i do n't for a minute believe that she herself discovered a way to get mr. sun to work for her.
probably it was her ever-so-great-grandmother who first did it.
is n't that so, mrs. quack?"
mrs. quack nodded.
""you've guessed it, peter," said she.
""it all happened way, way back in the days when the world was young."
""tell me about it!
please, please tell me about it, mrs. quack, and the first chance i get, i'll do something for you," begged peter.
mrs. quack carefully went over all her feathers to see that every one was in place, for she is very particular about how she looks.
when she was quite satisfied, she turned to peter, fidgeting on the bank.
""way back in the days when the world was young," said she, "old mother nature made the first alligators before she made the first birds, or the first animals, so old ally and mrs. "gator, who live way down south now, belong to a very old family and are proud of it.
in the beginning of things there was very little dry land, as you may have heard, so old mr. and mrs. "gator, who of course were not old then, were made to live in the water with the fish.
old mother nature was experimenting then.
she was planning to make a great deal more land, and she wanted living creatures on it, so she gave the "gators legs and feet instead of fins, and lungs to breathe air instead of gills for breathing in the water as fish do.
then, having many other things to attend to, she told them they would have to take care of themselves, and went about her business.
""it did n't take mr. and mrs. "gator long to discover that their legs were not of much use in the water, for they used their powerful tails for swimming.
then one day mrs. "gator crawled out on land and right away discovered what those legs were for.
she could go on dry land while fishes could not.
it did n't take her long to find out that nothing was quite so fine as a sun-bath, as she lay stretched out on the bank, so she and mr. "gator spent most of their time on sunny days taking sun-baths.
""one day old mother nature came along and whispered a wonderful secret to mrs. "gator."
i am going to give you some eggs," whispered old mother nature, "some eggs of your very own, and if you watch over them and keep them warm, out of each one a baby "gator will some day creep.
but if you let those eggs get cold, there will be no babies.
do n't forget that you must keep them warm."
""old mother nature was as good as her word.
she gave mrs. "gator twenty beautiful white eggs, and mrs. "gator was perfectly happy.
those eggs were the most precious things in all the great world.
it seemed as if she never would grow tired of looking at them and admiring them and of dreaming of the day when her babies should come out of them.
it was very pleasant to lie there in the sun and dream of the babies to come from those wonderful eggs.
suddenly, right into the midst of those pleasant dreams, broke the memory of what old mother nature had said about keeping those eggs warm.
all in a twinkling happiness was turned to worry."
"what can i do?
what can i do?"
mrs. "gator kept saying over and over.
"however can i keep them warm when mr. sun goes to bed at night?
oh, dear!
oh, dear!
my beautiful eggs never, never will turn to darling babies!
what can i do?"
""all this time mr. "gator was a great deal more interested in making himself comfortable than he was in those eggs.
he had picked out a place where all day long mr. sun poured down his warmest rays, and he had dug a place to sprawl out in comfortably.
the sand he had thrown in a pile at one side.
when mrs. "gator went to consult mr. "gator about those precious eggs and her worries when the cool of evening had come, she happened to put one foot in that loose pile of sand, and she found that while the sand on the outside was already cool, that down inside the pile was still warm.
a clever idea came to her like a flash.
""first she sent mr. "gator into the water to get his supper.
then she scooped a hole in that pile of warm sand, and in it she put her precious eggs and carefully covered them up with sand.
when this was done she stretched out close by to keep watch and see that nothing disturbed those treasures.
that was a very anxious night for mrs. "gator.
the sand on which she lay grew very cool.
when at last day came and mr. sun once more began to shine, she opened that pile of sand and great was her joy to find that inside it was still warm.
when mr. "gator came crawling out of the water to spend the day in that comfortable bed he had dug, she chased him away and was so cross that he went off grumbling and dug another bed.
mrs. "gator waited until mr. sun had made the sand very warm indeed, and then she made a great mound of it, and in the middle of it were her precious eggs.
night and day she kept guard, and all the time she worried lest those eggs should not be warm enough.
then one day twenty baby "gators dug their way out of that mound of sand.
yes, sir, they did.
""all this happened long, long ago when the world was young, and ever since then "gators have lived only way down south, where it is very warm and where mr. sun will hatch their eggs for them.
and today it is done just as i've told you, for i've seen with my own eyes mrs. "gator build her nest, cover her eggs, and then lie around while mr. sun did the work for her.
what do you think of that?"
""i think that if you had n't told me that you had seen it with your own eyes, mrs. quack, i should think it a fairy story," replied peter.
viii where mr. quack got his webbed feet twice every year, in the early spring and in the late fall, peter rabbit watches the smiling pool with a great deal of eagerness.
can you guess why?
it is because two very good friends of peter's are in the habit of stopping there for a few days for rest and refreshment before continuing the long journey which they are obliged to make.
they are mr. and mrs. quack, the mallard ducks.
peter is very fond of them, and when the time for their arrival draws near, peter watches for them with a great deal of anxiety.
you see they have told him something of the terrible dangers which they always encounter on these long journeys, and so peter is always afraid that something terrible may have happened to them, and it is a great relief when he finds them swimming about in the smiling pool.
one reason peter is so fond of mr. and mrs. quack is because they always have a story for him.
sometimes it is a story of adventure, a tale of terrible danger and narrow escapes.
sometimes it is about their home in the far northland, and again it is about the wonderful southland where they spend the winter.
but the story that peter likes best is the one about where and how the quack family got their funny, webbed feet.
mr. quack does n't think those feet funny at all, but peter does.
he never grows tired of watching mr. and mrs. quack use them, because, you know, they are used so differently from other feet.
and always he goes back to the dear old briar-patch with renewed admiration for the wisdom of old mother nature.
peter noticed those feet the first time he met mr. and mrs. quack.
he could n't help but notice them.
it happened that mr. and mrs. quack were out on the bank of the smiling pool as peter came hurrying over in his usual way, lipperty-lipperty-lip.
they heard him coming and not knowing at first who it was they at once started for the water.
peter never will forget the funny way in which they waddled.
he never had seen anybody quite so awkward.
but when they reached the water he forgot to laugh.
he simply stared open-mouthed in astonishment.
you see there they were as graceful as they had been awkward on land.
afterward, when peter had become acquainted with them and they were the best of friends, he ventured to speak of their queer feet.
""do you know," said he, "you have the most interesting feet of anybody i know of.
they are so broad that the first time i saw them i could n't believe my own eyes.
i did n't suppose anybody had such broad feet.
i suppose there is some special reason why they are so broad and why your legs are so short.
do you know how mother nature happened to give you feet so different from the feet of other birds, mr. quack?"
mr. quack chuckled.
""i tell you what it is, peter," said he, "if you'll tell me why it is you have such long hind legs and such a funny short tail, i'll tell you why it is that mrs. quack and i have such broad feet, though i must confess that i do n't see anything odd about them."
peter agreed at once.
he told mr. and mrs. quack all about what happened to his grandfather a thousand times removed, the very first rabbit, way back when the world was young, and how ever since then all rabbits have had long hind legs and short tails.
when he had finished mr. quack thoughtfully scratched his handsome green head, looked at his reflection in the smiling pool to make sure that he was looking his very best, looked behind to see that the feathers in the tip of his tail had the proper curl, and then gazed off over the green meadows with a far-away look in his eyes as if he were looking way back to the time he was to tell about.
at last, just as peter rabbit was beginning to lose patience mr. quack began.
""it must be, peter," said he, "that my great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather lived just about the same time as your great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, way back in the days when the world was young.
perhaps they knew each other.
perhaps they were acquainted just as you and i are now.
anyway, according to what has been handed down in the family, grandfather quack was very much such a looking fellow as i am now, except in the matter of his bill and feet.
his bill was not broad like mine but more like the bills of other birds, and his feet were like the feet of mr. grouse and bob white.
they were made for scratching, and there was nothing between the toes.
you see, old mother nature was experimenting.
she made everybody a little different from everybody else and then started them forth in the great world to shift for themselves and to find out what they really needed that they had n't got.
""old mr. quack, my great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, soon discovered one thing, and that was that his legs were too short for him to get around very fast.
when he walked, everybody laughed at him.
when he tried to run, they laughed harder than ever.
he did n't mind this so very much, though he did a little.
nobody likes to be laughed at, especially when it is because of something they can not help.
but what he did mind was the fact that his neighbors could run about so much faster than he that they got all the best of the food, and quite often he went hungry.
""one day he happened to be sitting on the bank of the smiling pool, thinking the matter over and wondering what he had best do, when mr. fox stole up behind him and startled him so that he lost his balance and tumbled down the bank into the water.
this frightened him more than ever, and he flapped about and squawked and squawked and flapped until mr. fox nearly split his sides laughing at him.
and when he was quite out of breath, mr. quack discovered that he was making all this fuss for nothing.
he did n't sink, but floated on the water, and what was more the water did n't get under his feathers at all.
when he tried to walk, of course he could n't, and he had a funny feeling because his feet did n't touch anything and felt so very useless.
but he kept moving them back and forth, and pretty soon he discovered that he moved ahead.
of course he moved very slowly, because his feet were not made for use in the water, but he moved, and that was enough.
he knew then that he could get back to land.
then he tried his wings and he found that he could rise into the air from the water quite as easily as from the land.
right then and there all fear of the water left him.
in fact, he liked it.
""little by little, grandfather quack began to understand that he had made a great discovery.
he had discovered the safest place in all the great world for him.
out on the water he was safe from mr. fox and mr. wolf and all the other four-footed hunters.
so he took to spending most of his time on the water or near it.
when he wanted a nap, he would hide among the rushes that grew in the water.
"if only i did n't have to leave the water for food!"
sighed grandfather quack.
"if only i could find food here, i would never leave the water."
""at the time he was squatting at the very edge of the smiling pool.
presently he noticed a funny water bug crawling on the bottom where the water was only an inch or two deep."
i wonder if that fellow is good to eat," thought he, and almost without thinking he plunged his head under water and caught the bug.
it was good.
grandfather quack at once started to look for more, and while doing this he discovered that there were a great many seeds from the rushes scattered about in the mud at the bottom of the smiling pool, and that these also were good to eat.
then quite by accident he got hold of a tender root in the mud and found that this was especially good.
""this was enough for grandfather quack.
he had found that he could get plenty to eat without leaving the smiling pool.
moreover, he did n't have to share it with anybody, because there was no one else who thought of looking for food there.
he knew when he was well off.
so grandfather quack grew fat and was happy.
the only things that bothered him were the slowness with which he had to pick up seeds, one at a time, and the slowness with which he could paddle about, for you could n't really call it swimming.
but in spite of these things he was happy and made the best of his lot.
""one day he tugged and tugged at a root with his head under water.
when at last he had to bring his head up for a breath, whom should he discover but old mother nature watching him from the opposite bank.
"come over here, mr. quack, and tell me all about it," she commanded.
""grandfather quack started across the smiling pool, but because his feet were not made for swimming, it took him a long time to get there.
old mother nature smiled as she watched him.
"you look better on the water than you do on land," said she.
"in fact, i believe that is just where you belong.
now tell me how you happened to take to the water."
""grandfather quack told her the whole story and how old mother nature did laugh when he described how frightened he was when he fell in that time.
suddenly she reached out and caught him by the bill."
i do n't think much of that bill for poking about in the mud," said she.
"how will this do?"
she let go, and grandfather quack found he had a broad bill just suited for getting food out of the mud.
then old mother nature bade him hold forth first one foot and then the other.
between the toes she stretched a tough skin clear to the toe nails.
"now let me see you swim," said she.
""grandfather quack tried.
he kicked one foot and then the other, and to his great joy he shot along swiftly.
when he drew his feet back for another kick his toes closed together, and so his feet came through the water easily.
but when he kicked back they were wide spread, and the skin between them pushed against the water, and drove him ahead.
it was wonderful!
it was splendid!
he hurried over to old mother nature, and with tears of joy in his eyes he thanked her.
and from that day to this members of my family have had the same broad bills and webbed feet, and have lived on the water," concluded mr. quack.
-lsb- illustration: peter noticed those feet the first time he met mr. and mrs. quack.
page 111.
-rsb- ix where thunderfoot the bison got his hump thunderfoot the bison, often called buffalo, is not a handsome fellow, as you very well know if you have seen him or a picture of him.
his head is carried low, very near the ground, and on his shoulders is a great hump.
no, you would n't call him handsome.
you would hardly call him good-looking even.
in fact, you would, i suspect, call him homely.
certainly there is nothing about him to suggest pride.
yet according to the story digger the badger once told peter rabbit, pride and nothing less was the cause of that big hump which makes thunderfoot appear so clumsy and homely.
peter rabbit, as you know, is very fond of stories.
in this respect he is very like some other folks i know.
anyway, he never misses a chance for a story if he can help it.
he had discovered that digger the badger and old man coyote, both of whom had come to the green meadows from the far west, were full of stories about their neighbors of the distant prairies, folk whom peter never had seen.
sometimes when he had nothing else to do, old man coyote would come over to the dear old briar-patch and tell stories to peter, who sat safe behind the brambles.
perhaps old man coyote hoped that peter would become so interested that he would forget and come out of the dear old briar-patch.
but peter never did.
but most of the stories of the people of the far west peter got from digger the badger because, you see, he was n't afraid to go beg for them.
he knew that digger could n't catch him if he wanted to, and so when grandfather frog had n't a story for him, peter would go tease digger for one.
it was thus that he heard about thunderfoot the bison and where he got that great hump of his.
""i do n't suppose," said peter, "that there are any very big people out there on those prairies where you used to live any more than there are here on the green meadows.
all the very big people seem to prefer to live in the green forest."
""it is that way now, i must admit," said digger the badger, "but it was n't so in the old days, in the good old days when there were no terrible guns, and thunderfoot and his followers shook the ground with their feet."
digger shook his head sadly.
instantly peter pricked up his ears.
""who was thunderfoot?"
he demanded.
digger looked at peter with such a look of pity for peter's ignorance that peter felt almost ashamed.
""he does n't live here and never did, so far as i have heard, so how should i know anything about him?"
he added a wee bit defiantly.
""if that's the case," replied digger, "it is time you learned about the lord of the prairies."
""but i want to know about thunderfoot first!"
cried peter.
""you can tell me about the lord of the prairies another time."
""were you born stupid or have you grown so?"
asked digger impatiently.
then without waiting for an answer he added: "thunderfoot was the lord of the prairies.
he ruled over the wide prairies just as old king bear ruled in the green forest.
he ruled by might.
he ruled because no one dared deny him the right to rule.
he ruled because of his great size and his great strength.
and all who lived on the wide prairies looked up to him and admired him and bowed before him and paid him the utmost respect.
when he and his followers ran the earth shook, and the noise was like thunder, and everybody hastened to get out of the way and to warn his neighbors, crying: "here comes my lord of the prairies!
make way!
make way!"
and truly thunderfoot and his followers were a magnificent sight, so my great-grandfather told me, and he had it from his great-grandfather, who was told so by his great-grandfather, who saw it all with his own eyes.
but that was in the days before thunderfoot's head was brought low, and he was given the great hump which none of his descendants have ever been able to get rid of."
""tell me about that hump and where my lord of the prairies, thunderfoot the bison, got it!"
begged peter, with shining eyes.
that there was a story he had n't the least doubt.
digger the badger flattened himself out on the ground, and into his eyes crept a dreamy, far-away look as if he were seeing things a great, great way off.
""way back in the days when the world was young, so my great-grandfather said," he began, "thunderfoot, the first bison, was given the wide prairies for a kingdom by old mother nature and strode forth to take possession.
big was he, the biggest of all living creatures thereabouts.
strong was he with a strength none cared to test.
and he was handsome.
he held his head proudly.
all who lived on the wide prairies admired him with a great admiration and hastened to pay homage to him.
""for a long time he ruled wisely.
all the other people brought their disputes to him to be settled, and so wisely did he decide them that the fame of his wisdom spread even beyond the wide prairies and was talked about in the green forest.
the humblest of his subjects could come to him freely and be sure of a hearing and that justice would be done.
big as he was and mighty as he was, he took the greatest care never to forget the rights of others.
""but there came a time when flattery turned his head, as the saying is.
mr. coyote and mr. fox were the chief flatterers, and in all the great world there were no smoother tongues than theirs.
they never lost an opportunity to tell him how handsome he was, and how mighty he was, and how they admired him and looked up to him, and how unequaled was his wisdom.
you see, being themselves dishonest and mischief-makers, they frequently were in trouble with their neighbors and would have to appear before thunderfoot for judgment.
even when it went against them they praised the wisdom of it, admitting that they were in the wrong and begging forgiveness, all of which was very flattering to thunderfoot.
""little by little, without knowing it, he yielded to the flattery of mr. coyote and mr. fox.
he liked to hear the pleasant things they said.
little by little it became easier to find them in the right than in the wrong when they were accused of wronging their neighbors.
of course they flattered him still more.
they hinted to him that it was beneath the dignity of one so big and strong and handsome to take notice of the very small and humble people like mr. meadow mouse and mr. toad and mr. meadow lark and others of his subjects.
""gradually the little people of the wide prairies began to notice a change in thunderfoot.
he became proud and vain.
he openly boasted of his strength and fine appearance.
when he met them he passed them haughtily, not seeing them at all, or at least appearing not to.
no longer did he regard the rights of others.
no longer did he watch out not to crush the nest of mrs. meadow lark or to step on the babies of danny meadow mouse.
it came about that when the thunder of his feet was heard, those with homes on the ground shivered with fright and hoped that my lord of the prairies would not come their way.
""one day, as he raced over the wide prairies for no reason but that he felt like running, mr. meadow lark flew to meet him.
mr. meadow lark was in great distress.
"turn aside, my lord!"
he begged.
"turn aside, my lord of the prairies, for before you lies my nest with four precious eggs, and i fear you will step on them!"
""thunderfoot the bison, lord of the wide prairies, tossed his head.
"if you will build your nest where it can be trodden on, you ca n't expect me to look out for it," said he.
"if anything so unfortunate happens to it, it is your own fault, and you must n't blame me."
and he neither looked down to see where he was putting his feet nor turned aside so much as an inch.
on he galloped, and presently with a cry of fright out from beneath his feet flew mrs. meadow lark, and at the very next step he trod on the little nest in the grass and crushed the four eggs.
""mr. coyote, who was racing beside him on one side and saw what had happened, grinned.
mr. fox, who was racing beside him on the other side and saw what had happened, grinned.
seeing them grin, thunderfoot himself grinned.
thus grinning heartlessly, they continued to run until they came to a place where mother nature walked among the flowers of the wide prairies.
mr. coyote and mr. fox, whose heads were not held so high, saw her in time to put their tails between their legs and slink away.
thunderfoot, holding his head high, failed to see her until he was so close to her that it was with difficulty he stopped before running her down."
"my lord of the prairies seems in fine spirits," said mother nature softly.
"is all well with my lord?"
""thunderfoot tossed his head proudly.
"all is well," said he.""
i am sorry that others can not say as much," replied mother nature, and all the softness was gone from her voice, and it was sharp."
i seem to hear the sobs of a broken-hearted little meadow lark," she continued.
"little though she be and humble, she is as much to me as is my lord of the prairies who has made her suffer."
""stooping swiftly, mother nature picked up her staff and with it struck thunderfoot on the neck, so that his head was brought low, and in fear of another blow he humped his shoulders up.
"thus shall you be, still big, still strong, but hump-shouldered and carrying your head low in shame, no longer lord of the prairies, until such time as you restore to mrs. meadow lark the eggs you destroyed," said she, and turned her back on him.
""it was so.
from that day on, thunderfoot ceased to rule over the wide prairies.
he was hump-shouldered and he carried his head low, looking and looking for the eggs he never could find to restore to mrs. meadow lark.
and though his children and his children's children became many, there never was one without the hump or who ceased to carry his head low in shame," concluded digger the badger.
x where limberheels got his long tail.
have you ever seen limberheels the jumping mouse when he was in a hurry?
if you have, very likely the first time you felt very much as peter rabbit did when he saw limberheels for the first time.
he was hopping along across the green meadows with nothing much on his mind when from right under his wobbly nose something shot into the air over the tops of the grasses for eight or ten feet and then down and out of sight.
peter rubbed his eyes.
""did i see it, or did n't i?
and if i did, what was it?"
gasped peter.
a squeaky little laugh answered him.
""you saw it all right, peter, but it is n't polite to call any one it.
he would be quite provoked if he had heard you.
that was my cousin, limberheels," replied a voice quite as squeaky as the laugh had been.
peter turned to see the bright eyes of danny meadow mouse twinkling at him from the entrance to a tiny little path that joined the bigger path in which peter was sitting.
""hello, danny!"
he exclaimed.
""do you mean to tell me that was a relative of yours?
since when have any of your relatives taken to flying?"
danny chuckled.
""he was n't flying," he retorted.
""he just jumped, that was all."
danny chuckled again, for he knows that peter considers himself quite a jumper and is inclined to be a bit jealous of any one else who pretends to jump save his cousin, jumper the hare.
""jumped!"
snorted peter.
""jumped!
do you expect me to believe that any mouse can jump like that?
i did n't get a good look at that fellow, but whoever he is i tell you he flew.
nobody can jump like that."
danny chuckled again.
""wait a minute, peter," said he.
he disappeared, and peter waited.
he waited one minute, two minutes, three minutes, and then suddenly danny poked his head out from the grass beside the path.
""here he is, peter," said he, coming wholly out into the path.
""let me introduce my cousin, limberheels."
as he spoke the grass beside him rustled, and out crept some one beside whom danny meadow mouse looked big, clumsy and homely.
one glance was enough to tell peter that the stranger was a sure-enough member of the mouse family, but such a member as he never had seen before.
he was trim and slender.
he wore a reddish-brown coat with a white waistcoat.
but the things that made peter stare very impolitely were his tail and his legs.
his tail was nearly twice as long as his body, slim and tapering, and his hind legs were very long, while his fore legs were short.
it took only one glance to convince peter that here was a born jumper.
any one built like that must jump.
""you two must become acquainted and be friends," continued danny meadow mouse.
""peter is one of my best friends, limberheels.
he would n't hurt a flea.
i'm sure that from now on he will be one of your best friends."
""i'll be happy to," said peter promptly.
""danny has been telling me what a wonderful jumper you are.
would you mind showing me how you jump?
i guess you jumped right in front of me a few minutes ago, but i was so surprised that i did n't really see you."
""i guess i did," replied limberheels rather timidly.
""you see, i did n't hear you coming until you were almost on top of me, and then i did n't know who it was so i got away as quickly as i could.
i'll be ever so glad to have you for a friend and next time i wo n't run away."
""show him how you can jump," interrupted danny meadow mouse.
""he would n't believe me when i told him that you did n't fly."
limberheels grinned rather sheepishly.
""of course i did n't fly," said he.
""no animal can fly but flitter the bat.
i just jumped like this."
with a tremendous spring from his long hind legs limberheels leaped, while peter rabbit stared, his mouth wide open with astonishment.
he had n't dreamed that any one could jump so far in proportion to his size as this slim, trim little cousin of danny's.
later, after limberheels had jumped for peter's benefit until he was tired and had gone to hunt for a lunch of grass seeds, peter wanted to know all about limberheels.
""never in my life have i seen such jumping," he declared.
""and never have i seen such a tail.
i thought whitefoot the wood mouse had a fine tail, but it does n't compare with that of limberheels."
""it is a fine tail," replied danny, whose own tail, as you know, is very short.
""it is a fine tail," he repeated rather wistfully.
""would you like to hear where he got it?"
""i know," retorted peter with a grin.
""he got it from his father, who got it from his father, and so on way back to the days when the world was young."
then, seeing a look of disappointment on danny's face, and eager for a story as usual, he added: "but i would like to know how such a tail as that came in the family."
danny brightened up at once.
""it's funny how things come about in this world," he began.
""the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of limberheels, the first one, you know, was quite an ordinary mouse when old mother nature made him and started him out to make his way in the great world.
he was little, one of the smallest of the family, and his tail was short, no longer than mine.
his hind legs were like those of all his relatives.
he ran about just as his relatives did.
he was so small and kept out of sight so much that he did n't even have a name.
there was nothing about him to suggest a name.
""for a long time he was contented and happy.
then one day he happened to see mr. hare jump.
it seemed to him the most wonderful thing in the world that any one should be able to jump like that.
so he began to spend most of his spare time where he could watch mr. hare.
one day old mother nature happened along unseen by him, as he was watching mr. hare jump, and she overheard him say very, very wistfully, "how i wish i could jump like that!
i wish i had long hind legs like mr. hare."
""old mother nature's kindly eyes twinkled.
"that's easily arranged," said she.
"if you think long hind legs will be of more use to you than the ones you have, you shall have them."
""the next morning when little mr. mouse awoke, he discovered that in the night something had happened to his hind legs.
they were very long and strong, regular jumping legs like those of mr. hare.
of course he was in such a great hurry to try them that he could n't wait for his breakfast.
he began by making little short hops, and in no time at all he was getting about splendidly.
at last he got up his courage to try a long jump.
up in the air he shot, and then something happened.
yes, sir, something happened.
he could n't kept his balance.
he turned two or three somersaults and landed on his back.""
i guess," said he to himself, "i've got to learn to make long jumps."
so he kept trying and trying, but always with the same result -- he never knew when, where, or how he was going to land.
as long as he made short jumps he had no trouble, but every time he tried a long jump he lost his balance, and try as he would he could n't discover why.
so at last he gave up trying and contented himself with short jumps.
finally old mother nature came that way again."
"how do you like your long hind legs?"
she asked."
"very much, thank you," replied little mr. mouse politely."
"let me see you jump," said old mother nature.
""little mr. mouse made half a dozen little jumps.
they were not much more than hops.
"you do n't call that jumping, do you?"
laughed old mother nature.
"with such long, strong legs as i've given you, you ought to be one of the best jumpers anywhere about.
now let me see you make a long jump."
""little mr. mouse tried his best to think of some excuse, but he could n't.
so he made a long jump, and the usual thing happened -- he turned two or three somersaults and landed on his back.
old mother nature looked astonished.
then she laughed until she had to hold her sides.
"do it again," she commanded.
""with the most shamefaced air that you can imagine, little mr. mouse jumped again.
old mother nature watched him closely.
"come here to me," said she as he scrambled to his feet after his tumble.
"it's all my fault," said she kindly, as he obeyed her.
"it was very stupid of me.
what you need is a long tail to balance you on a long jump.
that short tail is all right for short jumps, but it wo n't do for long jumps.
it wo n't do at all.
i should have thought of that when i made your legs long."
""she reached down and took hold of the tip of that little short tail and drew it out until it was long, almost twice as long as the body of little mr. mouse.
"now jump," she commanded, "and jump with all your might."
""a little fearfully but with the beginning of a little hope mr. mouse jumped with all his might.
away he sailed straight and true and landed lightly on his feet so far from where he had left the ground that he could hardly believe his own eyes as he looked back.
mother nature was smiling."
"there you are, mr. limberheels.
i guess that that will make you quite the most wonderful jumper of all my children," said she.
""and so it was that little mr. mouse, all at one time, became possessed of a long tail, a name, and the ability to out jump all his neighbors," concluded danny meadow mouse.
""do you know," he added wistfully, "sometimes i envy my cousin limberheels."
""i envy him myself," declared peter.
xi where old mr. gobbler got the strutting habit peter rabbit never will forget the first time he saw big tom gobbler.
it was very early one spring morning, when peter was not yet old enough to have made the acquaintance of all the people who live in the green forest, and when it seemed as if the chief thing in life with him was to satisfy his curiosity about the ways of the great world.
several times when he had been hopping along, lipperty-lipperty-lip, through the green forest just after sun-up, he had heard a strange sound quite unlike any other of all the many sounds his long ears had learned to know.
he knew that it was the voice of some one who lived in the green forest, but though he had looked and looked he had been unable to discover the owner of that voice.
on this particular morning peter happened to be sitting under some ferns on the edge of a little open space among the trees when again he heard that strange voice.
it seemed to come from somewhere back in the woods in the very direction from which he had just come.
""gobble-obble-obble!"
said the voice, and again a moment later "gobble-obble-obble!"
peter was just preparing to go back to see if he could find the owner of that voice when the noise of great wings caused him to look up just in time to see a bigger bird than he ever had even dreamed of coming swiftly over the tree-tops.
with his eyes popping out and his mouth wide open with astonishment, peter saw the great bird set its wings and sail down into the little opening on the edge of which peter was sitting.
the instant this great bird was on the ground, he stood as still as if he were made of stone, his long neck stretched up.
only the shine of a pair of the sharpest eyes peter ever had seen showed that he was alive.
peter held his breath, and it was so still that you could have heard a leaf drop had you been there.
when at last the stranger moved, it was his head only.
he turned it suddenly to the right and a moment later to the left.
it was plain that he was listening for suspicious sounds.
all the time his bright eyes searched the edge of the opening until peter, although he was well hidden, felt that he must be seen.
at last, satisfied that all was safe, the stranger drew in his neck and began to walk about, pecking at the ground here and there and swallowing what he picked up, though what it was peter could n't tell.
a sound seemed to catch the stranger's quick ears, for he stopped and stared very hard at a little clump of brush.
peter stared at it too.
at first he saw nothing, but presently he saw a head poked out, and this also was a stranger.
peter glanced at the big stranger in the opening, and for a minute he wondered if it could be that something was wrong with his eyes.
never had he seen such a change in anybody.
this stranger did n't look like the same bird at all.
he was swelled up until peter was afraid he would burst.
his tail was spread out like a great fan.
his head was laid back on his humped shoulders.
his wings were dropped until the stiffly spread feathers brushed the ground.
his head and neck were as red as blood, and there were no feathers on either.
all the feathers of his body were ruffed out so that the sun shone on them and made them shimmer and shine in colors that seemed to constantly change.
back and forth in front of the brush from which the other stranger was peeping very shyly this great bird strutted.
he would stand still so that the sun would fall full on his shining coat and show it off to the best advantage, and at the same time he would draw in a great deal of air and then puff it out all at once.
then he would walk a few steps, turn, drag his wings on the ground to make them rustle, wheel, and run a few steps.
never had peter seen such vanity, such conceit, such imposing, puffed-up pride.
he watched until he grew tired, and then he stole away and hurried over to the smiling pool to tell grandfather frog all about it and ask who these strangers were.
""chug-a-rum!"
exclaimed grandfather frog, opening his big mouth very wide to laugh at peter and his excitement.
""that was big tom gobbler, and he was doing all that for the benefit of mrs. gobbler, who was hiding in that brush.
it was her head you saw.
big tom is the most conceited fellow in the green forest.
he dearly loves to strut.
he is just like his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather.
the gobblers never have gotten over strutting since old mr. gobbler, the first of the family, got the habit."
""tell me about it.
please, grandfather frog, tell me about it," begged peter.
""how did old mr. gobbler get the habit?"
grandfather frog chuckled.
""he got it from admiring his own reflection in a pool of water," said he.
""you see, in those days way back when the world was young, people had more time to form habits than they do now.
with plenty to eat and little to do, they had more time to think about themselves than they do now.
old mr. gobbler soon discovered that he was the biggest of all the birds in that part of the great world where he lived, and this discovery was, i suspect, the beginning of his vanity.
then one day as he was walking along, he came to a little pool of water.
it was very clear, and there was n't a ripple on the surface.
there for the first time mr. gobbler saw his reflection.
the more he looked, the better he liked his own appearance.
he spread his tail just to see how it would look in the water.
then he puffed himself out and strutted."
"there is nobody to compare with me," thought he, and strutted more than ever.
""after that he used to steal away every day to admire himself in that little pool of water.
he tried new ways of strutting and of puffing himself out.
after a while he was no longer content to admire himself.
he wanted others to admire him.
so the first chance he got he began to strut and show off all his grand airs before mrs. gobbler.
at first she paid no attention to him.
at least that is the way she appeared.
she would turn her back on him and walk off into the bushes.
this made old mr. gobbler very angry until he discovered that she would tiptoe back and watch him admiringly when she thought he did n't know it.
that made him strut all the more.
""at first all the neighbors used to gather around and admire him and tell him how handsome he was until his head was quite turned, as the saying is, and he spent most of his time strutting and showing off.
then he took to bragging and boasting that there was no bird to compare with him.
thus he became quite unbearable, and all his neighbors would turn their backs on him when they saw him coming.
only mrs. gobbler continued to watch in secret and to admire him.
""now in those days mr. gobbler did n't have a red head and neck.
one day old mother nature happened along when mr. gobbler was strutting and boasting how big and brave he was.
he did n't see her, and she watched him quietly for a few minutes.
then she slipped away and hunted up mr. wolf.""
i want you to steal over where mr. gobbler is strutting," said she, "and suddenly spring out at him as if you intended to catch him."
""mr. wolf grinned and trotted off to do her bidding.
he found mr. gobbler swelled up until he looked as if he must burst, and bragging to mrs. gobbler."
"i'm the biggest of all the birds," bragged mr. gobbler.
"i'm afraid of no one.
while you have me with you, my dear, you have nothing in all the great world to fear."
""just then out sprang mr. wolf with all his long, sharp teeth showing.
mr. gobbler gave a yelp of fright.
he lost his swelled-up appearance as suddenly as a bubble flattens out when it is pricked.
with a frantic beating of his wings he took to the air.
being in such a fright, he did n't see where he was going, and struck his head against a sharp twig, which tore the skin, for there were no feathers to protect it, and made it bleed.
the blood ran all over his head and down his neck, though he really was hardly hurt at all.
from the top of a tall tree he looked down.
there stood old mother nature, looking up at him."
"mr. gobbler," said she, "you have acquired a bad habit, a very bad habit.
hereafter, whenever you become vain and strut, your head and neck shall become as red as they now are, as a reminder to you and all who see you of how silly it is to be vain and boastful."
""and so it was.
and so it is with big tom gobbler to this day.
there is nothing in the world more foolish than vanity," concluded grandfather frog.
-lsb- illustration: "do n't call me striped chipmunk, and do n't call me gopher!"
said he.
page 172.
-rsb- xii where seek-seek got his pretty coat peter rabbit never will forget the first time he saw seek-seek the ground squirrel, often wrongly called gopher or gopher squirrel, but whose real name is spermophile, which means seed eater.
peter wo n't forget that meeting, because of the funny mistake he made and the foolish feeling he had as a result of it.
you see, peter did n't know that there was such a person as seek-seek.
he was hopping along across the green meadows in his usual happy-go-lucky way when, right in front of him, he saw what at first he took to be a stake, a small stake, driven in the ground.
but as he drew nearer, it suddenly moved.
it was n't a stake at all, but a very lively small person in a striped coat who had been sitting up very straight and motionless.
""hello, striped chipmunk!
what are you doing way out here so far from the old stone wall?"
exclaimed peter.
the small person in the striped coat whirled and faced peter with snapping eyes.
""do n't call me striped chipmunk, and do n't call me gopher!"
said he very fiercely for so small a person.
""i am neither one.
i am seek-seek the ground squirrel, and i'll thank you to call me by my own name.
i am getting everlastingly tired of being called the names of other people."
peter looked very foolish.
""i beg your pardon," said he.
""i do indeed.
i'm sorry.
perhaps you do n't know it, but you look very much like striped chipmunk, who is one of my best friends.
you look so much like him that i thought you must be him.
i wonder if you are related to him."
""certainly i'm related to him, or he is related to me, whichever way you please to put it," snapped seek-seek.
""we are cousins.
but he is a rock squirrel, and i am a ground squirrel which is altogether different.
you do n't find me where there are rocks and stones in the way if i know it.
besides, if you used your eyes, you would see that we are not dressed alike either.
just because we both happen to wear stripes is no reason why we should be mistaken for each other."
peter looked at seek-seek more closely than he had, and at once he made a discovery.
""why!"
he exclaimed, "your coat has more stripes than striped chipmunk's has, has n't it?"
""i should hope so," retorted seek-seek.
""and it has little rows of spots, too!"
cried peter.
""if i had noticed those spots at first, i would n't have made such a foolish mistake.
i do believe that your coat is prettier than striped chipmunk's, and i had thought his as pretty as a coat can be."
seek-seek looked rather pleased, though he tried not to.
""huh!"
he sniffed.
""of course it's prettier.
it took you a long time to find it out.
i would n't trade coats with striped chipmunk or anybody else of my acquaintance."
""neither would i if i were in your place," declared peter.
""i wish old mother nature had given me a coat like that."
he said this so wistfully that seek-seek, who had started to laugh, turned his head so that peter might not know it.
""i'm afraid it would n't look so well on one as big as you," he replied.
""anyway, you would n't be able to hide from your enemies as you can now."
""that's so," said peter thoughtfully.
""i would be easily seen in a coat like that, for a fact.
i had n't thought of that.
i guess old mother nature knows best.
i -- i wonder how she ever happened to think of a coat like yours."
seek-seek chuckled.
he had quite forgotten that he had felt offended because peter had mistaken him for his cousin, striped chipmunk.
he enjoyed peter's admiration of his coat.
he is naturally rather talkative, and like most folks he enjoyed talking about himself.
""this coat," said he, "has been in the family a very great while.
of course, i do n't mean this particular coat that i am wearing," he hastened to add, as he saw peter beginning to grin.
""i mean this style of coat has been in the family a very long time.
my father was dressed just as i am.
so was his father and --" "i know," interrupted peter.
""you were going to say that so were all your grandfathers way back to the days when the world was young, and old mother nature made the very first one of your family.
it's funny to me that all the interesting things happened such a long time ago.
now was n't that what you were going to say?"
seek-seek admitted that it was, and looked a little disappointed that peter had guessed it.
but a second later he felt better when peter asked him very politely but very earnestly for the story of how the first ground squirrel got such a pretty coat.
""there is a story.
i know there is a story," declared peter.
""wo n't you tell it to me please, seek-seek?"
now peter did n't want to hear it any more than seek-seek wanted to tell it, so while peter squatted down comfortably, seek-seek sat up very straight and began the story.
""first of all, you must know that seek-seek is an old family name which has been handed down just as the pattern of my coat has been.
the very first of all my great-great-grandfathers was called seek-seek.
when old mother nature made seek-seek she must have had two families in mind at one time, the marmot family and the squirrel family, for she made him a little like each, so that in his looks he sort of fitted in between the two.
mother nature told him that he was a member of the squirrel family and set him free to find a place for himself in the great world.
""now it did n't take grandfather seek-seek long to find out that though he might be a member of the squirrel family, old mother nature had failed to furnish him with the right kind of claws for climbing trees, as most of his cousins did.
true, he could climb a little, but it was not easy, and he felt anything but comfortable off the ground.
but if those claws were of little use for climbing they were splendid tools for digging, just as are the claws of the marmot family.
so old mother nature must have been thinking of the marmots when she fashioned those claws.
""at first seek-seek wandered about trying to find a place for himself in the great world.
being a squirrel, he tried to live as did his cousins, mr. red squirrel and mr. gray squirrel, but on account of those claws he did n't make much of a success of it.
then one day he met mr. chipmunk.
they stopped and stared at each other in surprise because, you know, their coats were so much alike.
at that time seek-seek was wearing plain stripes, just as striped chipmunk does to this day."
"what do you mean by stealing my coat?"
demanded mr. chipmunk angrily.""
i was just about to ask you the same question," retorted seek-seek.
""mr. chipmunk had a sharp reply right on the tip of his tongue, but he checked it just in time.
"what's the use of quarreling over something neither of us had anything to do with?"
said he.
"it must be that we are cousins.
where do you live?"
""seek-seek explained that he did n't live anywhere in particular but was trying to find his place in the great world.
he told how he had tried to live like the other squirrels and failed."
i know!
i know all about it," interrupted mr. chipmunk.
"i've been all through it.
the place for us is on the ground or at least close to it.
come see how i live."
""so seek-seek went with mr. chipmunk and saw how he lived among the rocks and stones.
for a time he tried living there too, but he did n't like the rocks and stones much better than he did the trees.
besides, all the neighbors were forever mistaking him for mr. chipmunk because they looked so much alike, and he did n't like this.
one day he wandered out on the green meadows.
it was very lovely out there among the grasses and flowers.
he wandered farther and farther, and the farther he wandered the better he liked it.
by and by he came to the home of yap-yap the prairie dog, who is one of the marmot family, as you know.""
a home like that would suit me," thought grandfather seek-seek wistfully, as he journeyed on."
i wonder if i could dig one.
i believe i'll try."
""so when he found a place to suit him he began to dig.
there were no stones to hurt his feet and dull his nails, and he actually enjoyed digging.
so he dug and dug until he had a wonderful underground home.
all about were plenty of seeds and tender grasses to eat, and he was happy.
he had found his place in the great world.
then one day along came old mother nature.
"hello, mr. chipmunk," she exclaimed, as she caught sight of his striped coat, "what are you doing way out here?"
""then she discovered her mistake.
"dear me," said she, "this will never do at all.
if i ca n't tell my own children apart, how can i expect others to?
your coat is altogether too much like that of mr. chipmunk.
i must change it.
i certainly must change it."
""she leaned over and lightly tapped seek-seek right down the length of the broadest brown stripe of his coat.
wherever her finger touched a little spot of yellow was left.
then she did the same thing to each of the other brown stripes.
when she had finished grandfather seek-seek had a coat exactly like the one i am now wearing, and his cup of happiness was filled to the brim.
from that day on he never was mistaken for mr. chipmunk or any one else.
that's the story of my coat, and now i must get busy collecting seeds for my storehouse," concluded seek-seek.
""come and see me again, peter rabbit."
""i will," replied peter, as he started for the dear old briar-patch to tell mrs. peter all about seek-seek and his pretty coat.
xiii where old mr. osprey learned to fish peter rabbit had seen a very strange thing.
it was strange to peter, anyway.
it gave him something to think about, and this, i am sure you will agree, was a most excellent thing, for it kept him out of mischief for a while.
he had been over to the smiling pool for a call on jerry muskrat and had just started back for the dear old briar-patch when he chanced to look over in the direction of the big river.
coming straight towards him, but high in the air, was a big bird, a bird with broad wings.
peter did n't have to look twice to know that it was a member of the hawk family.
at first he thought it was redtail.
then he caught a flash of white, and he thought it was whitetail the marsh hawk, in spite of the fact that it did n't fly like him.
peter did n't stop to think of that.
it was enough for him that a member of the hawk family was headed that way, and he did n't care a twitch of his funny little tail which member it was.
he felt that the stomach of one was quite as undesirable a place for peter rabbit as the stomach of another, and he had no intention of filling any if he could help it.
he remembered that there was an old house of johnny chuck's under the big hickory-tree on the bank of the smiling pool, and he wasted no time in getting there, lipperty-lipperty-lip, as fast as he could go.
he would stay there until the way was clear to get home to the dear old briar-patch.
as soon as he was safe in the old house of johnny chuck, he turned and poked his head out of the doorway.
he wanted to see if any one would be caught.
he hoped not, but if any one was caught, he wanted to see.
you know peter never misses anything if he can help it.
on came mr. hawk, and when he was right over the smiling pool, he turned and made a short circle high in the air.
then peter saw that he had a white waist-coat and was a stranger.
""i wonder who he is?"
thought peter, staring very hard.
""he's bigger than either redtail or whitetail.
i hope he is n't going to make his home here, because we have trouble enough as it is."
suddenly mr. hawk paused high up in the air, then closed his wings and shot straight down like an arrow.
plunge!
peter could n't believe his own eyes.
mr. hawk actually had disappeared in the smiling pool!
a second later there was a great splashing, and out of the water rose mr. hawk, flapping his great wings heavily, scattering spray in all directions.
up, up he went, and then peter saw that in his great claws was a fish.
peter watched him fly away with the fish, and when he felt that it was quite safe to do so, he came out.
over on the end of an old log among the bulrushes sat jerry muskrat just where peter had left him.
it was very plain that jerry had n't been the least bit frightened by mr. hawk.
peter could n't understand it.
his eyes fairly popped out of his head with excitement and curiosity.
""who was that?"
he asked eagerly.
""that?
why, that was plunger the osprey, though some people call him fish hawk," replied jerry.
""i thought everybody knew him.
why did you run away, peter?
he would n't hurt you."
""huh!
i would n't trust any hawk!"
snapped peter.
""which goes to show how little you know!"
retorted jerry muskrat.
""plunger never bothers anybody but the fish, but he surely is a terror to them.
old mother nature knew what she was doing when she made fishermen out of that family, did n't she?"
""she certainly did, though i've never heard how she came to do it.
how did it happen, jerry?"
peter was doing some fishing himself.
he was fishing for a story.
jerry muskrat grinned.
""think you'll sleep any better if i tell you?"
he inquired.
peter grinned back and nodded.
so jerry muskrat told him this story: "way back in the days when the world was young, and the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfathers of all the little people of the green meadows and the green forest of today were being started out in life by old mother nature, they had everything to learn.
the great world was a new place, and they were new in it.
no one knew exactly his place or what was expected of him, and old mother nature was too busy to be bothered with questions.
she expected each one to work out for himself a way in which to make himself useful, or at least to take care of himself, without bothering her.
if he could n't do that, she did n't want him around at all, and the sooner something happened to him the better.
so the great world began to be peopled with birds and animals.
""it did n't take them long to learn that it would n't be possible for all to live if they all ate the same kind of food.
so some learned to eat one thing and some another, and all went happily until there came a time when all food was scarce, and more stomachs were empty than full.
you've heard about that hard time and sad time?"
peter nodded, and jerry took a drink of water and then went on with his tale.
""of course, that was really a very dreadful time, for it was then that the strong began to hunt the weak, and fear was born into the world.
and yet i guess it was n't wholly bad.
nothing is, so far as i can find out.
anyway, because of that hard time, everybody became a little smarter than before.
you know an empty stomach sharpens wit, and fear puts a fine edge on it.
now mr. osprey, who was one of the biggest of the cousins of old king eagle, could n't get over a feeling of meanness whenever he hunted those smaller than himself.
one day he caught little mr. sparrow when little mr. sparrow was so busy that he forgot to watch out."
"i'm powerful sorry, mr. sparrow," apologized mr. osprey, "but there's an emptiness just about your size in my stomach, and it wo n't give me any peace of mind until it's filled.
i hate to make a neighbor uncomfortable, and i'll be just as quick and accommodating about this little matter as i can.
if you'll just shut your eyes, you wo n't see anything unpleasant, and i wo n't be a minute in getting that peace of mind i've been without so long.
i just must have it, or i would n't bother you at all.
i hope you wo n't hold it against me, mr. sparrow."
""mr. osprey was so nice and polite about it that little mr. sparrow perked up a little and started his wits working.
he tried to be just as nice and polite as mr. osprey."
i know just how you feel, mr. osprey," said he, in a trembling voice, "and during these hard times i've had that same ailment of the mind because of lonesomeness of the stomach, which is troubling you.
so long as that emptiness is filled, i do n't suppose it matters to you if i should n't happen to fill it.""
"not at all," replied mr. osprey."
"mr. osprey," said little mr. sparrow very earnestly, "if i were in your place, i never would go hungry.
no, sir, i never would go hungry.
and i certainly never, never would trouble any of my neighbors who wear feathers.
i certainly would feel most happy if old mother nature had given me what she has given you.
indeed i would."
""mr. osprey looked down at little mr. sparrow and blinked at him in a puzzled way.
"what has old mother nature given me that you would be happy to have?"
he asked."
"fishhooks!"
replied little mr. sparrow, pointing to mr. osprey's great claws, "the finest fishhooks in the world.
you do n't hear billy mink or little joe otter or mr. heron complaining about hard times.
why?
because they do n't know what hard times are.
there are plenty of fish to be caught, and when they are hungry they go fishing.
fish are very filling and satisfying, i've heard say.
when i flew across the smiling pool a little while ago, i saw a fat fish taking a sun-bath right close to the top of the water.
seemed like he was just waiting for some one with hooks to come along and snatch him right out of the water.""
"where'd you say that fish was?"
asked mr. osprey."
"if you'll let me go, i'll show you," replied little mr. sparrow.
""so mr. osprey let little mr. sparrow go, but he followed him right close.
mr. sparrow led the way straight to the smiling pool.
sure enough, there was the big fish taking a sun-bath.
mr. osprey hardly wet his feet putting those big hooks into that fish.
he flew away with it, and presently he was rid of that emptiness in his stomach and had back his peace of mind.
after that, whenever he was hungry, he went fishing instead of hunting the birds and the animals.
by practice he learned how to use those big fishhooks of his and became one of the smartest of all fishermen.
he and little mr. sparrow became great friends, in fact, such friends that when mr. osprey built a great nest, little mr. sparrow built his right in the side of it, and there he was perfectly safe from others who might be hunting him.
and it's been just that way ever since.
if you wore scales instead of fur, and lived in the water instead of on the land, peter rabbit, you would have reason to fear plunger the osprey, but as it is, you are safer when he is about than when he is n't.
there comes old redtail the hawk.
you'd better get out of sight, peter."
peter did.
xiv where old mr. bob-cat left his honor of all those who are forever trying to catch peter rabbit, he fears none more than yowler the bob-cat.
and from that fear has grown hate.
you will find it true all through life that hate often springs from great fear.
peter is n't much given to hate, but he does hate yowler the bob-cat.
it is partly because of his fear of yowler, but it is still more because he feels that yowler is not fair in his hunting.
he has no honor.
there are many others whom peter fears, -- reddy fox, old man coyote, hooty the owl, -- and with very good reason.
but peter considers that these hunt him fairly.
he knows when and where to be on the watch for them.
but with yowler it is altogether different.
yowler hides beside one of peter's favorite little paths, and there he waits patiently for unsuspecting peter to come along.
he waits and watches much as black pussy, who is a cousin of yowler, waits and watches at a mousehole.
peter feels that it does n't give him a chance, and everybody is entitled to at least a chance to live.
""i hate him!
hate him!
hate him!"
exclaimed peter fiercely, as he crawled under the very middle of a great pile of brush after the narrowest of narrow escapes.
he had been hopping along one of his favorite little paths without a thought of danger.
presently he came to a little branch path.
there he hesitated.
he had intended to keep on along the main path, but suddenly he had a feeling that it would be better to take the branch path.
he knew no reason why he should n't keep on as he had planned.
it was just a feeling that it would be better to take the other path, a feeling without any real reason.
so he hesitated and finally turned down the little branch path.
as he did so he caught a glimpse of a brown form moving stealthily from behind a log farther up the main little path.
it was moving swiftly in the direction of the little branch path.
that glimpse was enough for peter.
that stealthy form could be but one person -- yowler the bob-cat.
he turned and darted back the way he had come and then off to one side to the great pile of brush under which he had crawled.
""who is it you hate?"
asked a voice.
for just a second peter was startled, then he recognized the voice of mrs. grouse, one of his very best friends.
""yowler the bob-cat," said he as fiercely as before.
""i do n't love him myself," replied mrs. grouse.
""i suspected that he was somewhere about, and that is why i am here.
did you see him?"
""yes," said peter, "i saw him.
he was hiding beside my favorite little path, and it is a wonder i did n't hop straight into his jaws.
that fellow does n't hunt fairly.
he does n't give us a chance.
he has n't any honor."
""honor!"
exclaimed mrs. grouse.
""honor!
of course he has n't any honor.
there has n't been any honor in yowler's family since old mr. bob-cat, the first of all the bob-cats, left his honor in turkey wood, way back in the days when the world was young, and failed to get it again.
honor!
of course yowler has n't any.
what could you expect?"
at once peter was all ears.
""i've never heard about that," said he.
""tell me about it, mrs. grouse.
we've got to stay right where we are for a long time to make sure that yowler has given us up and gone away, so you will have plenty of time to tell me the story.
where was turkey wood, and how did old mr. bob-cat happen to leave his honor there?"
""he did n't happen to; he did it deliberately," replied mrs. grouse.
""you see, it was like this: in the beginning of things, when old mother nature made the first little people and the first big people of the green forest and the green meadows, she was too busy to watch over them all the time, so for a while she put them on their honor not to harm one another or interfere with one another in any way, for she wanted them to live in peace and happiness and raise families to people the great world.
""now it chanced that mr. and mrs. gobbler, the first of the turkey family, chose a certain little grove of trees in which to make their home, and it became known as turkey wood.
there, in course of time, mrs. turkey made her nest on the ground, well hidden among some bushes, and in it laid twelve big eggs.
it was the day on which she laid the twelfth big egg that old mr. bob-cat, who, of course, was n't old then, took it into his head to prowl about in turkey wood.
already mr. bob-cat had begun to form a sneaky habit of stealth.
he was very fond of watching his neighbors to find out what they were about, and it was this fondness of minding the business of other people instead of his own that was making him sneaky and stealthy, for of course he did n't want any one to know what he was doing.
""it happened that as he stole into turkey wood, mrs. gobbler left her nest to get a bite to eat.
mr. bob-cat saw her, but she did n't see him.
he crouched flat until she was out of sight."
"she seemed mighty careful about how she slipped out of those bushes," thought mr. bob-cat.
"she acted as if she did n't want to be seen.
i wonder why.
i wonder if she has a secret hidden in those bushes.
i suppose the way to find out is to look."
""first making sure that no one saw him, mr. bob-cat crept in his sneaky way into the bushes, and it did n't take him long to find that nest with the twelve big eggs.
he did n't know what they were, for they were the first eggs he had ever seen.
he stared at them and wondered if they were good to eat.
he glanced this way and that way to be sure that no one was watching him."
"do n't touch them," warned something inside of him.
"these belong to mrs. gobbler, and old mother nature has put you on your honor not to interfere with others or their affairs.""
"it wo n't do any harm just to touch them and see what they are like," said another little tempting voice inside of him."
"remember your honor," warned the first little voice."
"bother my honor!
i'm not going to do any harm," muttered mr. bob-cat, and picked up one of the eggs in his mouth.
he tried it with his teeth to see if it was hard, and of course he put his teeth right through the shell.
he started to put it back in a hurry, but just then he noticed a good taste in his mouth.
the inside of that egg was good to eat, very good indeed!"
"one wo n't be missed," thought mr. bob-cat, and then, fearing that mrs. gobbler would return, he bounded away, taking the egg with him.
""when mrs. gobbler returned, she did miss that egg.
she looked all about for it, but there was nothing to show what had become of it.
with a troubled mind she began to sit on her eggs.
she was so worried that she did n't leave them until she simply had to get something to eat.
""meanwhile mr. bob-cat had eaten that egg, and it had tasted so good that he could think of nothing but how he could get another.
so at the first opportunity he sneaked back to turkey wood, and without making a sound crept in among the bushes until he could see mrs. gobbler sitting on her eggs.
there he lay and watched and watched until mrs. gobbler left to get something to eat.
no sooner was she out of sight than mr. bob-cat stole to the nest."
"remember your honor," warned the little voice inside."
"bother honor.
i'd rather have an egg," muttered mr. bob-cat, and pulled one out of the nest.
he bit a hole in one end and sucked out the contents.
it was so good he took another.
this led to a third, and finally mr. bob-cat had sucked every one of those eggs.
then silently he sneaked away -- away from turkey wood to a distant part of the green forest.
behind him in turkey wood he left a nestful of empty shells and his honor."
"nobody knows who did it, and nobody ever will find out," thought mr. bob-cat, but all the time he knew that he had left his honor behind, and this made him more sneaky than ever.
he never would meet any one face to face.
you know that is something that one who has lost his honor never can do.
it was n't long before all his neighbors knew that he was without honor, and so would have nothing to do with him.
they shunned him.
he grew to be more and more of a sneak.
and all the time he believed that no one knew what he had done or where he had left his honor.
""but old mother nature knew.
of course mrs. gobbler told her what had happened to her eggs.
old mother nature told her to make a new nest and hide it more carefully than before, which mrs. gobbler did and hatched out ten fine young gobblers.
meanwhile old mother nature went about her business, but all the time she was watching to see who would fail to look her straight in the face.
the first time she met mr. bob-cat he tried to slip past unseen.
when old mother nature stepped in front of him, he could n't look her in the face, try as he would."
"ah-ha!"
said she.
"you are the one who left his honor in turkey wood.
from this time forth you shall be an outcast, friendless and alone, hated by every one."
""and so it was, and has been ever since.
and so it is with yowler today.
you said truly, peter, that he has n't any honor.
is n't it dreadful?"
and peter agreed that it is.
xv where dippy the loon got the name of being crazy as you all know, peter rabbit is out and about at a time when most folks are snugly tucked in bed.
the fact is, peter is very fond of roaming around at night.
he says he feels safer then in spite of the fact that some of his smartest enemies are also out and about, among them hooty the owl and reddy fox and old man coyote.
the two latter also hunt by day when the fancy takes them or they have been so unsuccessful at night that their stomachs wo n't give them any peace, and peter is sure that though they can see very well at night, they can see still better in the light of day.
anyway, that is one of the reasons he gives for his own liking for roaming after jolly, round, red mr. sun has gone to bed behind the purple hills.
now it happened one moonlight night that peter had ventured way over almost to the big river.
he had heard hooty the owl's fierce hunting call far off in the green forest.
he had heard reddy fox barking up in the old pasture.
so peter felt quite safe.
he felt so safe that he had almost forgotten that there could be such a thing as fear.
and then, from the direction of the big river, there came such a sound as peter never had heard before.
it was a sound that made his heart seem to quite stop beating for an instant.
it was a sound that sent cold chills racing and chasing all over him.
it was a sound that made him wish with all his might that he was that instant right in the heart of the dear old briar-patch instead of way over there near the bank of the big river.
he did n't waste much time getting back to the dear old briar-patch, once he was sure his heart had n't really stopped beating.
the way he went across the green meadows, lipperty-lipperty-lip, lipperty-lipperty-lip, was positive proof that in spite of his fright his heart was quite all right.
he did n't run a little way, stop, run a little farther and stop again, as is his usual way.
he kept lipperty-lipperty-lipping without a single stop until he reached the edge of the dear old briar-patch and once more felt really safe.
two or three times he had felt that he must stop to get his breath, but each time that sound, that dreadful sound, had seemed to be following right at his heels, and he had suddenly discovered that he did n't need to stop after all.
but having reached the dear old briar-patch peter stopped and panted for breath while he anxiously watched for the appearance of some unknown enemy following him.
it was then that he realized that that sound came from the big river, and that whoever made it had not left the big river at all.
it made peter feel a wee bit foolish as he thought how he had been sure that there was danger right at his very heels all the way home, when all the time there had n't been any danger at all.
peter sat there and listened, and despite the fact that he now felt absolutely safe, the cold chills ran over him every time he heard it.
it was a voice; peter was sure of that.
it was a voice, but such a voice as peter never in his life had heard before.
it was quite as bad if not worse than the voice of old man coyote.
in a way it reminded him of old man coyote's voice, but while old man coyote's voice sounded like many voices in one, it was not so fearsome as this voice, for this voice sounded like a human voice, yet was n't.
something inside peter told him that it was n't a human voice, in spite of its sounding so.
the next morning peter ran over to the smiling pool to ask grandfather frog if he had any idea who could have such a voice as that.
when he tried to tell grandfather frog what that voice was like, he could n't.
he just could n't describe it.
""it was the lonesomest and craziest sound i've ever heard," declared peter, "and that is all i can tell you.
it was crazier than the voice of old man coyote."
""that is all you need tell me," chuckled grandfather frog.
""that was the voice of dippy the loon.
and let me tell you something, peter: you are not the first one to think his voice has a crazy sound.
oh, my, no!
no, indeed!
why, a lot of people think dippy is crazy, and when any one does queer things they say of him that he is "crazy as a loon."
""but is he crazy?"
asked peter.
""chug-a-rum!"
exclaimed grandfather frog.
""chug-a-rum!
not half so crazy as you are, peter, coming over here to the smiling pool in broad daylight.
he likes to be thought crazy, just as his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather did before him, that's all.
everybody thought his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather was crazy, and it paid mr. loon to have them think so.
so he did his best to make them keep thinking so."
""tell me about it.
do please tell me about it, grandfather frog," begged peter.
""please, please, please."
now how could grandfather frog resist that?
he could n't.
he did n't even try to.
he just cleared his throat once or twice and began.
""once on a time, long, long ago, lived the very first of all the loons, the ever-and-ever-and-ever-so-great-grandfather of dippy, whose voice frightened you so last night."
""how did you know it frightened me?"
exclaimed peter, for he had taken care not to tell grandfather frog anything about that.
grandfather frog chuckled and went right on with his story.
""right from the beginning mr. loon was a mighty independent fellow.
it did n't take him long to find out that old mother nature had too much to do to waste any time on those who did n't try to take care of themselves, and that those would live longest who were smartest and most independent.
he had sharp eyes, had old mr. loon, just as dippy has today, and he used them to good account.
he saw at once that with so many birds and animals living on the land it was likely to get crowded after a while, and that when such became the case, it was going to be mighty hard work for some to get a living.
so mr. loon went to mother nature and told her that if she had no objections he would like a pair of swimming feet and would live on the water.
""now old mother nature had just fitted out mr. duck with a pair of webbed feet that he might swim, so she was quite prepared to fit mr. loon out in like manner.""
i suppose," said she, "that you want a bill like mr. duck's."
""mr. loon shook his head.
"thank you," said he, "but i would prefer a sharp bill to a broad one.""
"how is that?"
exclaimed mother nature.
"mr. duck has been delighted with his bill ever since i gave it to him.""
"and with good reason," replied mr. loon.
"did i propose to live as mr. duck lives, i should want a bill just like his, but i find that fish are more to my liking.
also i have noticed that there are fewer who eat fish."
""so mother nature gave him the kind of bill he wanted, and mr. loon went about his business.
he managed to get fish enough to keep from going hungry, but he found that the only way he could do it was to sit perfectly still until a fish swam within reach and then strike swiftly.
in fact, his fishing was much like that of mr. heron, save that the latter stood instead of sitting.
success was chiefly the result of luck and patience.
""now this sort of thing was not at all to the liking of mr. loon.
he gloried in his strength and he wanted to hunt for his fish and catch them in fair chase instead of waiting for them to unsuspectingly swim within reach.
he practised and practised swimming and diving, but he soon made up his mind that he never would be able to move through the water fast enough to catch a fish unless there was some change.
he watched the fish swim, and he saw that the power which drove them through the water came from their tails.
mr. loon grew very thoughtful.
""the next time mother nature came around to see how everybody was getting on, to hear complaints, and to grant such requests as seemed wise, mr. loon was on hand.
"if you please," said he when his turn came," i would like my legs moved back to the lower end of my body."
""mother nature was surprised.
she looked it.
"but you'll hardly be able to walk at all with your legs there!"
she exclaimed.
""mr. loon said that he knew that, and that he did n't want to walk.
he would far rather spend all his time on the water.
so mother nature granted his request.
mr. loon thanked her and started for the water.
he could n't keep his balance.
he simply flopped along, while all his neighbors, who had heard his queer request, jeered at him and called him crazy.
he just did n't pay any attention, but flopped along until he reached the water.
then he swam away swiftly.
when he was quite by himself with none to see, he dived, and as he had hoped, he found that he could drive himself through the water at great speed.
he practised a while and then he went fishing.
when he caught his first fish in a fair chase, he was so delighted that he shrieked and shouted and laughed in the wildest fashion far into the night.
and those who had heard his strange request and thought him crazy were sure of it, as they listened to his wild laughter.
""so little by little it was spread about among all the other people that mr. loon was crazy, and he was left much to himself, which was just what he desired.
he was quick to note that the sound of his voice sent shivers over some of his neighbors, and so he would shriek and laugh just to drive them away.
it pleased him to have them think him crazy, and he kept it up.
""so it is with dippy today, and last night you ran from the voice of a crazy loon who is n't crazy at all, but likes to make people think he is," concluded grandfather frog.
xvi where big-horn got his curved horns it was digger the badger who told peter rabbit the story of the great ram who was the first of all the wild sheep who live on the tops of the mountains bounding the great plains of the far west on which digger was born.
it happened that farmer brown's flock of sheep were grazing in the old pasture in plain sight of digger as he sat on his doorstep watching his shadow grow longer.
at the head of the flock was a ram whose horns curved around in almost a circle, and whom peter rabbit often had admired.
peter happened along as digger sat there on his doorstep watching his shadow grow longer, so he sat down at a safe and respectful distance and helped digger watch his shadow grow longer.
peter delights in doing things like this, because it is n't hard work at all.
it is only when there is real work concerned that peter loses interest.
a lot of people are just like peter in this respect.
peter gazed over at the old pasture and he, too, saw farmer brown's sheep and the big ram with the curving horns at his head.
for a long time peter had greatly admired those horns, though he never had told any one so.
he had admired those horns because they were different from any other horns peter ever had seen.
they looked perfectly useless for fighting because they curved so that the points never could be made to hurt any one, but just the same peter admired them.
now as he watched he spoke aloud, without thinking what he was doing.
""i wish i had a pair of horns like those," said he wistfully.
digger the badger stopped watching his shadow, and turned to stare at peter.
then he laughed until finally he choked.
peter looked at him in surprise.
""what's the matter with you, mr. badger?"
asked he.
""what is there to laugh at?"
""only you, peter.
only you," replied digger faintly, for he had laughed so hard that he had almost lost his voice.
""i am afraid you would find a pair of horns like those rather heavy, peter, rather heavy."
peter grinned.
""of course i did n't really mean that," said he.
""of course not.
i was just thinking how nice it would be to have such fine horns, if one were big enough to have horns.
i do n't believe there are any other such horns in all the great world."
""and that shows how little you know about the great world, peter," retorted digger the badger.
""did you ever see such horns before?"
demanded peter.
""no, i never did," confessed digger, "but i've heard my grandfather tell of sheep that live on the tops of the great mountains as free as light-foot the deer or any other of the green forest people, and with horns so large that they, the sheep, are called big-horns.
from what i have heard my grandfather say, those horns over there of mr. ram's are nothing to brag about.
no, sir, they are nothing to brag about.
one of those wild, free cousins of mr. ram over there would laugh at those horns.
but they are funny horns, and they've been like that always since the days of the first great ram, the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of all the sheep, so my grandfather told me.
it was way back in those long-ago days that they became curved and quite useless for fighting, and all because of old big-horn going about with a chip on his shoulder."
peter pricked up his ears.
""that was a funny thing for big-horn to be doing," said he.
""what under the sun did he have a chip on his shoulder for?
and what harm was there in that, even if he did?"
once more digger began to laugh.
""peter," said he, "you certainly are the funniest fellow i know.
of course old big-horn did n't really have a chip on his shoulder.
that is just a saying, peter, just a saying.
when any one goes about looking for trouble and ready to quarrel at the least pretext, he is said to be carrying a chip on his shoulder and daring anybody to knock it off."
""oh!"
said peter.
""and so," continued digger, "big-horn did n't have anything to do with a really, truly chip, but just went about always trying to get somebody to fight with him.
it was n't that big-horn was ugly.
he was n't.
you see old mother nature had given him great strength.
yes, sir, for his size big-horn was very strong, and in that strength be took great pride.
and mother nature had given him a pair of very large and strong horns with which to defend himself if there should be need.
those horns were almost straight, and with big-horn's great strength behind them, they were truly dangerous weapons.
he did n't think of that.
no, sir, he did n't think of that.
he was just brimming full of life, and he dearly loved to try his strength against the strength of others.
it got so that the instant he saw anybody, down would go his head and at them he would go full tilt.
""it was great fun -- for him.
sometimes he got the worst of it, as when old king bear stepped aside at the very last instant and hit him such a clip with his great paw that big-horn was sent rolling over and over and lost his breath for a few minutes.
but usually it was the other who got the worst of it, for those great, sharp-pointed horns of big-horn's tore and hurt.
indeed, even when he tried to be gentle with those smaller than himself he was forever hurting some one.
""finally some of his neighbors wished to go to old mother nature and complain about big-horn, but others were against this plan because they knew that old mother nature was quite loaded down with cares and worries as it was.
so instead they called a meeting to which everybody except big-horn was invited.
if big-horn could have heard all that was said about him, his ears surely would have burned.
every one was of the opinion that something must be done, but just what no one could suggest.
at last, just when it seemed that the meeting would break up without anything being done, old man coyote stepped forward.
now old man coyote already was known as a very clever fellow, more clever even than mr. fox, though it would never have done to say so where it would get back to the ears of mr. fox."
"friends and neighbors," said old man coyote, "it seems to me a very simple matter to teach neighbor big-horn a lesson that he will not soon forget.
being rather bashful, i have n't liked to suggest it before, because i thought surely some one else would do it.
i suggest that some one be selected to fight big-horn, and when that one can fight no longer, some one else be selected to fight him, and so on until he gets tired, and some one can whip him.
then i think he will have had enough of fighting."
""up spoke mr. fox and he winked at his neighbor on the right and he winked at his neighbor on the left.
"that is a very good idea of neighbor coyote's," said he," a very good idea indeed, and i suggest that mr. coyote be selected for the honor of being the first one to fight big-horn."
mr. fox grinned in a sly way, and everybody else grinned, for everybody knew that old man coyote never was known to fight when there was a chance to run away.
so with one accord everybody agreed with mr. fox, and old man coyote was selected as the first one to face big-horn.
to everybody's surprise, old man coyote made no objections.
instead he expressed himself as highly honored, and said that he hoped to do so well that there would be no need for others to fight big-horn.
so it was arranged that big-horn should be invited to fight old man coyote the very next day.
""you may be sure that everybody was on hand the next day to see that fight.
no one expected old man coyote to appear.
but he did.
yes, sir, he did.
he was right on hand at the appointed time.
big-horn had n't been told whom he was to fight, and when he found that it was old man coyote, he was disappointed.
you see, there was no anger in big-horn's fighting; he fought just for the love of using his great strength and big horns.
fighting was fun to him, and he wanted some one who would stand up to him.
as soon as it was explained to him that when he had disposed of old man coyote there would be some one else for him to fight -lrb- mr. deer had offered to be the next -rrb-, he felt better.
mr. deer had horns and was somewhere near his size.
""old man coyote slipped around until he had his back to a great rock.
"i'm ready any time," said he.
""big-horn, who had been stamping with impatience, lowered his head so that his horns pointed straight at old man coyote.
he grinned as he did it, for he saw that with that great rock behind him, old man coyote would have no chance to run away as he always had done in the past.
everybody else saw the same thing, and wondered what could have happened to make old man coyote so stupid as to do such a thing as that, he who always had been accounted so clever.
but they had hardly time to think of this, for with a snort big-horn bounded forward.
all the others held their breath as they saw those great horns driving straight at old man coyote, who was crouched with his back to the great rock.
then everybody closed their eyes for a second, for nobody wanted to see old man coyote killed, and everybody knew that that was what was going to happen.
""then there was a crash, and everybody's eyes flew open.
there lay big-horn on the ground, looking mighty puzzled, as if he was n't quite sure what had happened.
and there sat old man coyote, grinning at him!
they were still staring at old man coyote as if they could n't believe their own eyes when some one cried, "look at the horns of big-horn!"
""instead of being long and straight, those great horns were curved over and round into almost a circle, and there was no longer danger from their sharp points.
what had happened?
why, at just the right instant old man coyote had leaped over big-horn, and big-horn had butted into that great rock with all his might.
he had hit so hard, biff!
bang!
that he had bent his horns, just as crafty, clever old man coyote had hoped he would.
""when old mother nature heard of the affair and saw those bent horns, she chuckled at the cleverness of old man coyote and decided to leave those horns just as they were for the safety of big-horn's neighbors.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___mother_west_wind_'why'_stories.txt.out
i why striped chipmunk is proud of his stripes the merry little breezes of old mother west wind are great friends of striped chipmunk.
they hurry to call on him the very first thing every morning after old mother west wind has brought them down from the purple hills.
they always beg him to stop and play with them, but often he refuses.
but he does it in such a merry way and with such a twinkle in his eyes that the merry little breezes never get cross because he wo n't play.
no, sir, they never get cross.
if anything, they think just a little bit more of striped chipmunk because he wo n't play.
you see, they know that the reason he wo n't play is because he has work to do, and striped chipmunk believes and says: "when there is work for me to do the sooner started, sooner through."
so every morning they ask him to play, and every morning they laugh when he says he has too much to do.
then they rumple up his hair and pull his whiskers and give him last tag and race down to the smiling pool to see grandfather frog and beg him for a story.
now grandfather frog is very old and very wise, and he knows all about the days when the world was young.
when he is feeling just right, he dearly loves to tell about those long-ago days.
one morning the merry little breezes found grandfather frog sitting as usual on his big green lily-pad, and they knew by the way he folded his hands across his white and yellow waistcoat that it was full of foolish green flies.
""oh, grandfather frog, please do tell us why it is that striped chipmunk has such beautiful stripes on his coat," begged one of the merry little breezes.
""chug-a-rum!
they are stripes of honor," replied grandfather frog, in his deep, gruff voice.
""honor!
oh, how lovely!
do tell us about it!
please do!"
begged the merry little breezes.
""chug-a-rum!"
began grandfather frog, his big, goggly eyes twinkling.
""once upon a time, when the world was young, old mr. chipmunk, the grandfather a thousand times removed of striped chipmunk, lived very much as striped chipmunk does now.
he was always very busy, very busy, indeed, and it was always about his own affairs.
"by attending strictly to my own business, i have no time to meddle with the affairs of my neighbors, and so i keep out of trouble," said old mr. chipmunk," "just what striped chipmunk says now," broke in one of the merry little breezes.
""that shows that he is just as wise as was his grandfather a thousand times removed, about whom i am telling you," replied grandfather frog.
""old mr. chipmunk wore just a little, plain brown coat.
it did n't worry him a bit, not a bit, that his coat was just plain brown.
it kept him just as warm as if it were a beautiful red, like that of mr. fox, or handsome black and white, like that of mr. skunk.
he was perfectly satisfied with his little plain brown coat and took the best of care of it.
""one day as he was hurrying home to dinner, he climbed up on an old stump to look around and make sure that the way was clear.
over in a little path in the meadow grass was walking old mr. meadow mouse.
he was strolling along as if there was nothing in the world to fear.
way back behind him in the same little path, walking very fast but very quietly, was big mr. bob cat.
his eyes were yellow, and a hungry look was in them.
he did n't see mr. meadow mouse, but he would in a few minutes.
mr. chipmunk saw that he would, and that there was no place for mr. meadow mouse to hide."
"humph!
i never meddle in other people's affairs, and this is none of my business," said little mr. chipmunk.
""but old mr. meadow mouse was a friend.
he thought a great deal of mr. meadow mouse, did little mr. chipmunk.
he could n't bear to think of what would happen to mr. meadow mouse if big mr. bob cat should catch him.
then, almost without realizing what he was doing, little mr. chipmunk began to shout at big mr. bob cat and to call him names.
of course big mr. bob cat looked up right away and saw little mr. chipmunk sitting on the old stump.
his eyes grew yellower and yellower, he drew his lips back from his long, sharp teeth in a very angry way, and his little bob tail twitched and twitched.
then, with great leaps, he came straight for the old stump on which little mr. chipmunk was sitting.
""little mr. chipmunk did n't wait for him to get there.
oh, my, no!
he took one good look at those fierce, hungry, yellow eyes and long, cruel teeth, and then he whisked into a hole in the old stump.
you see, there was n't time to go anywhere else.
big mr. bob cat found the hole in the stump right away.
he snarled when he saw it.
you see it was too small, very much too small, for him to get into himself.
but he could get one hand and arm in, and he did, feeling all around inside for little mr. chipmunk.
little mr. chipmunk was frightened almost to death.
yes, sir, he was frightened almost to death.
he made himself just as flat as he could on the bottom of the hollow and held his breath."
"you'd better come out of there, mr. chipmunk, or i'll pull you out!"
snarled mr. bob cat.
""little mr. chipmunk just snuggled down flatter than ever and did n't say a word.
mr. bob cat felt round and round inside the hollow stump and raked his long claws on the sides until little mr. chipmunk's hair fairly stood up.
yes, sir, it stood right up on end, he was so scared.
when it did that, it tickled the claws of mr. bob cat.
mr. bob cat grinned.
it was an ugly grin to see.
then he reached in a little farther and made a grab for little mr. chipmunk.
his wide-spread, sharp claws caught in little mr. chipmunk's coat near the neck and tore little strips the whole length of it.
""of course little mr. chipmunk squealed with pain, for those claws hurt dreadfully, but he was glad that his coat tore.
if it had n't, mr. bob cat would surely have pulled him out.
after a long time, mr. bob cat gave up and went off, growling and snarling.
when he thought it was safe, little mr. chipmunk crawled out of the old stump and hurried home.
he ached and smarted terribly, and his little plain brown coat was torn in long strips."
"this is what i get for meddling in the affairs of other folks!"
said little mr. chipmunk bitterly.
"if i'd just minded my own business, it would n't have happened."
""just then he happened to look over to the house of mr. meadow mouse.
there was mr. meadow mouse playing with his children.
he did n't know a thing about what his neighbor, little mr. chipmunk, had done for him, for you remember he had n't seen mr. bob cat at all.
little mr. chipmunk grinned as well as he could for the pain."
"i'm glad i did it," he muttered.
"yes, sir, i'm glad i did it, and i'm glad that neighbor meadow mouse does n't know about it.
i'm glad that nobody knows about it."
a kindly deed's most kindly done in secret wrought, and seen of none.
and so i'm glad that no one knows."
""now just imagine how surprised little mr. chipmunk was, when in the fall it came time to put on a new coat, to have old mother nature hand him out a beautiful striped coat instead of the little plain brown coat he had expected.
old mother nature's eyes twinkled as she said:" "there's a stripe for every tear made in your old coat by the claws of mr. bob cat the day you saved mr. meadow mouse.
they are honor stripes, and hereafter you and your children and your children's children shall always wear stripes."
""and that is how it happens that striped chipmunk comes by his striped coat, and why he is so proud of it, and takes such good care of it," concluded grandfather frog.
ii why peter rabbit can not fold his hands happy jack squirrel sat with his hands folded across his white waistcoat.
he is very fond of sitting with his hands folded that way.
a little way from him sat peter rabbit.
peter was sitting up very straight, but his hands dropped right down in front.
happy jack noticed it.
""why do n't you fold your hands the way i do, peter rabbit?"
shouted happy jack.
""i -- i -- do n't want to," stammered peter.
""you mean you ca n't!"
jeered happy jack.
peter pretended not to hear, and a few minutes later he hopped away towards the dear old briar-patch, lipperty-lipperty-lip.
happy jack watched him go, and there was a puzzled look in happy jack's eyes.
""i really believe he ca n't fold his hands," said happy jack to himself, but speaking aloud.
""he ca n't, and none of his family can," said a gruff voice.
happy jack turned to find old mr. toad sitting in the lone little path.
""why not?"
asked happy jack.
""ask grandfather frog; he knows," replied old mr. toad, and started on about his business.
and this is how it happens that grandfather frog told this story to the little meadow and forest people gathered around him on the bank of the smiling pool.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog.
""old mr. rabbit, the grandfather a thousand times removed of peter rabbit, was always getting into trouble.
yes, sir, old mr. rabbit was always getting into trouble.
seemed like he would n't be happy if he could n't get into trouble.
it was all because he was so dreadfully curious about other people's business, just as peter rabbit is now.
it seemed that he was just born to be curious and so, of course, to get into trouble.
""one day word came to the green forest and to the green meadows that old mother nature was coming to see how all the little meadow and forest people were getting along, to settle all the little troubles and fusses between them, and to find out who were and who were not obeying the orders she had given them when she had visited them last.
my, my, my, such a hurrying and scurrying and worrying as there was!
you see, everybody wanted to look his best when old mother nature arrived, yes, sir, everybody wanted to look his best.
""there was the greatest changing of clothes you ever did see.
old king bear put on his blackest coat.
mr. coon and mr. mink and mr. otter sat up half the night brushing their suits and making them look as fine and handsome as they could.
even old mr. toad put on a new suit under his old one, and planned to pull the old one off and throw it away as soon as old mother nature should arrive.
then everybody began to fix up their homes and make them as neat and nice as they knew how -- everybody but mr. rabbit.
""now mr. rabbit was lazy.
he did n't like to work any more than peter rabbit does now.
no, sir, old mr. rabbit was afraid of work.
the very sight of work scared old mr. rabbit.
you see, he was so busy minding other people's business that he did n't have time to attend to his own.
so his brown and gray coat always was rumpled and tumbled and dirty.
his house was a tumble-down affair in which no one but mr. rabbit would ever have thought of living, and his garden -- oh, dear me, such a garden you never did see!
it was all weeds and brambles.
they filled up the yard, and old mr. rabbit actually could n't have gotten into his own house if he had n't cut a path through the brambles.
""now when old mr. rabbit heard that old mother nature was coming, his heart sank way, way down, for he knew just how angry she would be when she saw his house, his garden and his shabby suit."
"oh, dear!
oh, dear!
what shall i do?"
wailed mr. rabbit, wringing his hands."
"get busy and clean up," advised mr. woodchuck, hurrying about his own work.
""now mr. woodchuck was a worker and very, very neat.
he meant to have his home looking just as fine as he could make it.
he brought up some clean yellow sand from deep down in the ground and sprinkled it smoothly over his doorstep."
"i'll help you, if i get through my own work in time," shouted mr. woodchuck over his shoulder.
""that gave mr. rabbit an idea.
he would ask all his neighbors to help him, and perhaps then he could get his house and garden in order by the time old mother nature arrived.
so mr. rabbit called on mr. skunk and mr. coon and mr. mink and mr. squirrel and mr. chipmunk, and all the rest of his neighbors, telling them of his trouble and asking them to help.
now, in spite of the trouble mr. rabbit was forever making for other people by his dreadful curiosity and meddling with other people's affairs, all his neighbors had a warm place in their hearts for mr. rabbit, and they all promised that they would help him as soon as they had their own work finished.
""instead of hurrying home and getting to work himself, mr. rabbit stopped a while after each call and sat with his arms folded, watching the one he was calling on work.
mr. rabbit was very fond of sitting with folded arms.
it was very comfortable.
but this was no time to be doing it, and mr. skunk told him so."
"if you want the rest of us to help you, you'd better get things started yourself," said old mr. skunk, carefully combing out his big, plumy tail."
"that's right, mr. skunk!
that's right!"
said mr. rabbit, starting along briskly, just as if he was going to hurry right home and begin work that very instant.
""but half an hour later, when mr. skunk happened to pass the home of mr. chipmunk, there sat mr. rabbit with his arms folded, watching mr. chipmunk hurrying about as only mr. chipmunk can.
""finally mr. rabbit had made the round of all his friends and neighbors, and he once more reached his tumble-down house.
"oh, dear," sighed mr. rabbit, as he looked at the tangle of brambles which almost hid the little old house," i never, never can clear away all this!
it will be a lot easier to work when all my friends are here to help," so he sighed once more and folded his arms, instead of beginning work as he should have done.
and then, because the sun was bright and warm, and he was very, very comfortable, old mr. rabbit began to nod, and presently he was fast asleep.
""now old mother nature likes to take people by surprise, and it happened that she chose this very day to make her promised visit.
she was greatly pleased with all she saw as she went along, until she came to the home of mr. rabbit."
"mercy me!"
exclaimed old mother nature, throwing up her hands as she saw the tumble-down house almost hidden by the brambles and weeds.
"can it be possible that any one really lives here?"
then, peering through the tangle of brambles, she spied old mr. rabbit sitting on his broken-down doorstep with his arms folded and fast asleep.
""at first she was very indignant, oh, very indignant, indeed!
she decided that mr. rabbit should be punished very severely.
but as she watched him sitting there, dreaming in the warm sunshine, her anger began to melt away.
the fact is, old mother nature was like all the rest of mr. rabbit's neighbors -- she just could n't help loving happy-go-lucky mr. rabbit in spite of all his faults.
with a long stick she reached in and tickled the end of his nose.
""mr. rabbit sneezed, and this made him wake up.
he yawned and blinked, and then his eyes suddenly flew wide open with fright.
he had discovered old mother nature frowning at him.
she pointed a long forefinger at him and said: "in every single blessed day there's time for work and time for play.
who folds his arms with work undone doth cheat himself and spoil his fun.""
"hereafter, mr. rabbit, you and your children and your children's children will never again be able to sit with folded arms until you or they have learned to work."
""and that is why peter rabbit can not fold his arms and still lives in a tumble-down house among the brambles," concluded grandfather frog.
iii why unc" billy possum plays dead one thing puzzled peter rabbit and johnny chuck and striped chipmunk a great deal after they had come to know unc" billy possum and his funny ways.
they had talked it over and wondered and wondered about it, and tried to understand it, and even had asked unc" billy about it.
unc" billy had just grinned and said that they would have to ask his mammy.
of course they could n't do that, and unc" billy knew they could n't, for unc" billy's mammy had died long before he even thought of coming up from ol' virginny to the green forest and the green meadows where they lived.
he said it just to tease them, and when he said it, he chuckled until they chuckled too, just as if it really were the best kind of a joke.
now you know it always is the thing that you try and try to find out and ca n't find out that you most want to find out.
it was just so with peter rabbit and johnny chuck and striped chipmunk.
the more they talked about it, the more they wanted to know.
why was it that unc" billy possum played dead instead of trying to run away when he was surprised by his enemies?
they always tried to run away.
so did everybody else of their acquaintance excepting unc" billy possum.
""there must be a reason" said peter gravely, as he pulled thoughtfully at one of his long ears.
""of course there is a reason," asserted johnny chuck, chewing the end of a blade of grass.
""there's a reason for everything," added striped chipmunk, combing out the hair of his funny little tail.
""then of course grandfather frog knows it," said peter.
""of course!
why did n't we think of him before?"
exclaimed the others.
""i'll beat you to the smiling pool!"
shouted peter.
of course he did, for his legs are long and made for running, but striped chipmunk was not far behind.
johnny chuck took his time, for he knew that he could not keep up with the others.
besides he was so fat that to run made him puff and blow.
grandfather frog sat just as usual on his big green lily-pad, and he grinned when he saw who his visitors were, for he guessed right away what they had come for.
""chug-a-rum!
what is it you want to know now?"
he demanded, before peter could fairly get his breath.
""if you please, grandfather frog, we want to know why it is that unc" billy possum plays dead," replied peter as politely as he knew how.
grandfather frog chuckled.
""just to fool people, stupid!"
said he.
""of course we know that," replied striped chipmunk, "but what we want to know is how he ever found out that he could fool people that way, and how he knows that he will fool them."
""i suspect that his mammy taught him," said grandfather frog, with another chuckle way down deep in his throat.
""but who taught his mammy?"
persisted striped chipmunk.
grandfather frog snapped at a foolish green fly, and when it was safely tucked away inside his white and yellow waistcoat, he turned once more to his three little visitors, and there was a twinkle in his big, goggly eyes.
""i see," said he, "that you will have a story, and i suppose that the sooner i tell it to you, the sooner you will leave me in peace.
unc" billy possum's grandfather a thousand times removed was --" "was this way back in the days when the world was young?"
interrupted peter.
grandfather frog scowled at peter.
""if i have any more interruptions, there will be no story to-day" said he severely.
peter looked ashamed and promised that he would hold his tongue right between his teeth until grandfather frog was through.
grandfather frog cleared his throat and began again.
""unc" billy possum's grandfather a thousand times removed was very much as unc" billy is now, only he was a little more spry and knew better than to stuff himself so full that he could n't run.
he was always very sly, and he played a great many tricks on his neighbors, and sometimes he got them into trouble.
but when he did, he always managed to keep out of their way until they had forgotten all about their anger.
""one morning the very imp of mischief seemed to get into old mr. possum's head.
yes, sir, it certainly did seem that way.
and when you see mischief trotting along the lone little path, if you look sharp enough, you'll see trouble following at his heels like a shadow.
i never knew it to fail.
it's just as sure as a stomach-ache is to follow overeating."
just here grandfather frog paused and looked very hard at peter rabbit.
but peter pretended not to notice, and after slowly winking one of his big, goggly eyes at johnny chuck, grandfather frog continued: "anyway, as i said before, the imp of mischief seemed to be in old mr. possum's head that morning, for he began to play tricks on his neighbors as soon as they were out of bed.
he hid old king bear's breakfast, while the latter had his head turned, and then pretended that he had just come along.
he was very polite and offered to help old king bear hunt for his lost breakfast.
then, whenever old king bear came near the place where it was hidden, old mr. possum would hide it somewhere else.
old king bear was hungry, and he worked himself up into a terrible rage, for he was in a hurry for his breakfast.
old mr. possum was very sympathetic and seemed to be doing his very best to find the lost meal.
at last old king bear turned his head suddenly and caught sight of old mr. possum hiding that breakfast in a new place.
my, my, but his temper did boil over!
it certainly did.
and if he could have laid hands on old mr. possum that minute, it surely would have been the end of him.
""but old mr. possum was mighty spry, and he went off through the green forest laughing fit to kill himself.
pretty soon he met mr. panther.
he was very polite to mr. panther.
he told him that he had just come from a call on old king bear, and hinted that old king bear was then enjoying a feast and that there might be enough for mr. panther, if he hurried up there at once.
""now, mr. panther was hungry, for he had found nothing for his breakfast that morning.
so he thanked old mr. possum and hurried away to find old king bear and share in the good things old mr. possum had told about.
""old mr. possum himself hurried on, chuckling as he thought of the way mr. panther was likely to be received, with old king bear in such a temper.
pretty soon along came mr. lynx.
old mr. possum told him the same story he had told mr. panther, and mr. lynx went bounding off in a terrible hurry, for fear that he would not be in time to share in that good breakfast.
it was such a good joke that old mr. possum tried it on mr. wolf and mr. fisher and mr. fox.
in fact, he hunted up every one he could think of and sent them to call on old king bear, and without really telling them so, he made each one think that he would get a share in that breakfast."
""now, there was n't any more breakfast than old king bear wanted himself, and by the time mr. panther arrived, there was n't so much as a crumb left.
then, one after another, the others came dropping in, each licking his chops, and all very polite to old king bear.
at first he did n't know what to make of it, but pretty soon mr. fox delicately hinted that they had come in response to the invitation sent by mr. possum, and that as they were all very hungry, they would like to know when the feast would be ready.
right away old king bear knew that old mr. possum had been up to some of his tricks, and he told his visitors that they were the victims of a practical joke.
-lsb- illustration: "as they were all very hungry, they would like to know when the feast would be ready." -rsb-
""my, my, my, how angry everybody grew!
with old king bear at their head, they started out to hunt for old mr. possum.
when he saw them coming, he realized that what he had thought was a joke had become no longer a laughing matter for him.
he was too frightened to run, so he scrambled up a tree.
he quite forgot that mr. panther and mr. lynx could climb just as fast as he.
up the tree after him they scrambled, and he crept as far out as he could get on one of the branches.
mr. panther did n't dare go out there, so he just shook the branch.
he shook and shook and shook and shook, and the first thing old mr. possum knew, he was flying through the air down to where the others were all ready to pounce on him.
""old mr. possum was frightened almost to death.
he shut his eyes, and then he landed with a thump that knocked all the wind from his body.
when he got his breath again, he still kept his eyes closed, for he could n't bear the thought of looking at the cruel teeth and claws of old king bear and the others.
presently, while he was wondering why they did n't jump on him and tear him to pieces, old king bear spoke:"" i guess mr. possum wo n't play any more jokes, mr. panther," said he.
"you just knocked the life out of him when you shook him off that branch."
""mr. panther came over and sniffed at mr. possum and turned him over with one paw.
all the time mr. possum lay just as if he were dead, because he was too frightened to move."
i did n't mean to kill him," said mr. panther.
"we certainly will miss him.
what will we do with him?""
"leave him here as a warning to others," growled old king bear.
""each in turn came up and sniffed of mr. possum, and then they all went about their business.
he waited long enough to make sure that they were out of sight, and then took the shortest way home.
when he got there and thought it all over, he thought that the best joke of all was the way he had made everybody think that he was dead.
and then a bright idea struck him: he would try the same trick whenever he was caught.
so the next time he got in trouble, instead of running away, he tried playing dead.
it was such a success that he taught his children how to do it, and they taught their children, and so on down to unc" billy, whom you know.
unc" billy says it is a lot easier than running away, and safer, too.
besides, it is always such a joke.
now, do n't bother me any more, for i want to take a nap," concluded grandfather frog.
""thank you!"
cried peter rabbit and johnny chuck and striped chipmunk, and started off to hunt up unc" billy possum.
iv why reddy fox wears red peter rabbit sat in the middle of the dear old briar-patch making faces and laughing at reddy fox.
of course that was n't a nice thing to do, not a bit nice.
but peter had just had a narrow escape, a very narrow escape, for reddy fox had sprung out from behind a bush as peter came down the lone little path, and had so nearly caught peter that he had actually pulled some fur out of peter's coat.
now peter was safe in the dear old briar-patch.
he was a little out of breath, because he had had to use his long legs as fast as he knew how, but he was safe.
you see, reddy fox would n't run the risk of tearing his handsome red coat on the brambles.
besides, they scratched terribly.
""never mind, peter rabbit, i'll get you yet!"
snarled reddy, as he gave up and started back for the green forest.
""reddy fox is very sly!
reddy fox is very spry!
but sly and spry,'t is vain to try to be as sly and spry as i." when peter rabbit shouted this, reddy looked back and showed all his teeth, but peter only laughed, and reddy trotted on.
peter watched him out of sight.
""my!
i wish i had such a handsome coat," he said, with a long sigh, for you know peter's coat is very plain, very plain, indeed.
""you would n't, if you had to wear it for the same reason that reddy fox has to wear his.
a good heart and honest ways are better than fine clothes, peter rabbit."
peter looked up.
there was saucy, pert, little jenny wren fussing around in one of the old bramble bushes.
""hello, jenny!"
said peter.
""why does reddy wear a red coat?"
""do you mean to say that you do n't know?"
jenny wren looked very hard at peter with her sharp eyes.
""i thought everybody knew that!
you certainly are slow, peter rabbit.
i have n't time to tell you about it now.
go ask grandfather frog; he knows all about it."
jenny wren bustled off before peter could find his tongue.
now, you all know how full of curiosity peter rabbit is.
jenny wren's busy tongue had set that curiosity fairly boiling over.
he just could n't sit still for wondering and wondering why reddy fox wears a red coat.
he had never thought anything about it before, but now he could n't get it out of his head.
he just had to know.
so, making sure that reddy fox had disappeared in the green forest, peter started for the smiling pool, lipperty-lipperty-lip, as fast as he could go.
there he found grandfather frog setting on his big green lily-pad, just as usual.
""if you please, grandfather frog, why does reddy fox wear a red coat?"
panted peter, quite out of breath.
""chug-a-rum!"
grunted grandfather frog crossly.
""do n't you know that it is very impolite to disturb people when they are having a nap?"
""i -- i'm very sorry.
indeed i am, grandfather frog," said peter very humbly.
""will you tell me if i come again some time when you are not so sleepy?"
now, like everybody else, grandfather frog is rather fond of peter rabbit, and now peter looked so truly sorry, and at the same time there was such a look of disappointment in peter's eyes, that grandfather frog forgot all about his crossness.
""chug-a-rum!"
said he.
""you and your questions are a nuisance, peter rabbit, and i may as well get rid of you now as to have you keep coming down here and pestering me to death.
besides, any one who has to keep such a sharp watch for reddy fox as you do ought to know why he wears a red coat.
if you'll promise to sit perfectly still and ask no foolish questions, i'll tell you the story."
of course peter promised, and settled himself comfortably to listen.
and this is the story that grandfather frog told: "a long time ago, when the world was young, old mr. fox, the grandfather a thousand times removed of reddy fox, was one of the smartest of all the forest and meadow people, just as reddy is now.
he was so smart that he knew enough not to appear smart, and the fact is his neighbors thought him rather dull.
he wore just a common, everyday suit of dull brown, like most of the others, and there was n't anything about him to attract attention.
he was always very polite, very polite indeed, to every one.
yes, sir, mr. fox was very polite.
he always seemed to be minding his own business, and he never went around asking foolish questions or poking his nose into other people's affairs."
grandfather frog stopped a minute and looked very hard at peter after he said this, and peter looked uncomfortable.
""now, although mr. fox did n't appear to take any interest in other people's affairs and never asked questions, he had two of the sharpest ears among all the little meadow and forest people, and while he was going about seeming to be just minding his own business, he was listening and listening to all that was said.
everything he heard he remembered, so that it was n't long before he knew more about what was going on than all his neighbors together.
but he kept his mouth tight closed, did mr. fox, and was very humble and polite to everybody.
every night he came home early and went to bed by sundown, and everybody said what good habits mr. fox had.
""but when everybody else was asleep, mr. fox used to steal out and be gone half the night.
yes, sir, sometimes he'd be gone until almost morning.
but he always took care to get home before any of his neighbors were awake, and then he'd wait until everybody was up before he showed himself.
when he came out and started to hunt for his breakfast, some one was sure to tell him of mischief done during the darkness of the night.
sometimes it was a storehouse broken into, and the best things taken.
sometimes it was of terrible frights that some of the littlest people had received by being wakened in the night and seeing a fierce face with long, sharp teeth grinning at them.
sometimes it was of worse things that were told in whispers.
mr. fox used to listen as if very much shocked, and say that something ought to be done about it, and wonder who it could be who would do such dreadful things.
""by and by things got so bad that they reached the ears of old mother nature, and she came to find out what it all meant.
now, the very night before she arrived, mrs. quack, who lived on the river bank, had a terrible fright.
somebody sprang upon her as she was sleeping, and in the struggle she lost all her tail feathers.
she hurried to tell old mother nature all about it, and big tears rolled down her cheeks as she told how she had lost all her beautiful tail feathers.
mother nature called all the people of the forest and the meadows together.
she made them all pass before her, and she looked sharply at each one as they went by.
mr. fox looked meeker than ever, and he was very humble and polite.
""now when mr. fox had paid his respects and turned his back, old mother nature saw something red on the tail of his coat.
it was nothing but a little smear of red clay, but that was enough for old mother nature.
you see, she knew that mrs. quack's home was right at the foot of a red claybank.
she did n't say a word until everybody had paid their respects and passed before her.
then she told them how grieved she was to hear of all the trouble there had been, but that she could n't watch over each one all the time; they must learn to watch out for themselves.
""and so that you may know who to watch out for, from now on never trust the one who wears a bright red coat," concluded old mother nature.
""all of a sudden mr. fox became aware that everybody was looking at him, and in every face was hate.
he glanced at his coat.
it was bright red!
then mr. fox knew that he had been found out, and he sneaked away with his tail between his legs.
the first chance he got, he went to old mother nature and begged her to give him back his old coat.
she promised that she would when his heart changed, and he changed his ways.
but his heart never did change, and his children and his children's children were just like him.
they have always been the smartest and the sliest and the most feared and disliked of all the little people on the meadows or in the forest.
and now you know why reddy fox wears a red coat," concluded grandfather frog.
peter rabbit drew a long breath.
""thank you, thank you, grandfather frog!"
said he.
""i -- i think hereafter i'll be quite content with my own suit, even if it is n't handsome.
jenny wren was right.
a good heart and honest ways are better than fine clothes."
v why jimmy skunk never hurries the merry little breezes of old mother west wind had just been released from the big bag in which she carries them every night to their home behind the purple hills and every morning brings them back to the green meadows to romp and play all day.
they romped and raced and danced away, some one way, some another, to see whom they could find to play with.
presently some of them spied jimmy skunk slowly ambling down the crooked little path, stopping every few steps to pull over a loose stone or stick.
they knew what he was doing that for.
they knew that he was looking for fat beetles for his breakfast.
they danced over to him and formed a ring around him while they sang: "who is it never, never hurries?
who is it never, never worries?
who is it does just what he pleases, just like us merry little breezes?
jimmy skunk!
jimmy skunk!"
now not so far away but that he could hear them very plainly sat peter rabbit, just finishing his breakfast in a sweet-clover patch.
he sat up very straight, so as to hear better.
of course some of the merry little breezes saw him right away.
they left jimmy to come over and dance in a circle around peter, for peter is a great favorite with them.
and as they danced they sang: "who is it hops and skips and jumps?
who is it sometimes loudly thumps?
who is it dearly loves to play, but when there's danger runs away?
peter rabbit!
peter rabbit!"
peter grinned good-naturedly.
he is quite used to being laughed at for always running away, and he does n't mind it in the least.
""when danger's near, who runs away will live to run another day," retorted peter promptly.
then he began the maddest kind of a frolic with the merry little breezes until they and he were quite tired out and ready for a good rest.
""i wish," said peter, as he stretched himself out in the middle of the patch of sweet clover, "that you would tell me why it is that jimmy skunk never hurries."
""and we wish that you would tell us the same thing," cried one of the merry little breezes.
""but i ca n't," protested peter.
""everybody else seems to hurry, at times anyway, but jimmy never does.
he says it is a waste of energy, whatever that means."
""i tell you what -- let's go over to the smiling pool and ask grandfather frog about it now.
he'll be sure to know," spoke up one of the merry little breezes.
""all right," replied peter, hopping to his feet.
""but you'll have to ask him.
i've asked him for so many stories that i do n't dare ask for another right away, for fear that he will say that i am a nuisance."
so it was agreed that the merry little breezes should ask grandfather frog why it is that jimmy skunk never hurries, and that peter should keep out of sight until grandfather frog had begun the story, for they were sure that there would be a story.
away they all hurried to the smiling pool.
the merry little breezes raced so hard that they were quite out of breath when they burst through the bulrushes and surrounded grandfather frog, as he sat on his big green lily-pad.
""oh, grandfather frog, why is it that jimmy skunk never hurries?"
they panted.
""chug-a-rum!"
replied grandfather frog in his deepest, gruffest voice.
""chug-a-rum!
probably because he has learned better."
""oh!"
said one of the merry little breezes, in a rather faint, disappointed sort of voice.
just then he spied a fat, foolish, green fly and blew it right over to grandfather frog, who snapped it up in a flash.
right away all the merry little breezes began to hunt for foolish green flies and blow them over to grandfather frog, until he did n't have room for another one inside his white and yellow waistcoat.
indeed the legs of the last one he tried to swallow stuck out of one corner of his big mouth.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog, trying very hard to get those legs out of sight.
""chug-a-rum!
i always like to do something for those who do something for me, and i suppose now that i ought to tell you why it is that jimmy skunk never hurries.
i would, if peter rabbit were here.
if i tell you the story, peter will be sure to hear of it, and then he will give me no peace until i tell it to him, and i do n't like to tell stories twice."
""but he is here!"
cried one of the little breezes.
""he's right over behind that little clump of tall grass."
""humph!
i thought he was n't very far away," grunted grandfather frog, with a twinkle in his great, goggly eyes.
peter crept out of his hiding-place, looking rather shamefaced and very foolish.
then the merry little breezes settled themselves on the lily-pads in a big circle around grandfather frog, and peter sat down as close to the edge of the bank of the smiling pool as he dared to get.
after what seemed to them a very long time, grandfather frog swallowed the legs of the last foolish green fly, opened his big mouth, and began: "of course you all know that long, long ago, when the world was young, things were very different from what they are now, very different indeed.
the great-great-ever-so-great grandfather of jimmy skunk was slimmer and trimmer than jimmy is.
he was more like his cousins, mr. weasel and mr. mink.
he was just as quick moving as they were.
yes, sir, mr. skunk was very lively on his feet.
he had to be to keep out of the way of his big neighbors, for in those days he did n't have any means of protecting himself, as jimmy has now.
he was dressed all in black.
you know it was n't until old mother nature found out that he was taking advantage of that black suit to get into mischief on dark nights that she gave him white stripes, so that the darker the night, the harder it would be for him to keep from being seen.
""now mr. skunk was very smart and shrewd, oh, very!
when the hard times came, which made so many changes in the lives of the people who lived in the green forest and on the green meadows, mr. skunk was very quick to see that unless he could think of some way to protect himself, it was only a matter of time when he would furnish a dinner for one of his fierce big neighbors, and of course mr. skunk had no desire to do that.
it was then that he asked old mother nature to give him a bag of perfume so strong that it would make everybody ill but himself.
mother nature thought it all over, and then she did, but she made him promise that he would never use it unless he was in great danger.
""mr. skunk had to try his new defence only once or twice before his enemies took the greatest care to let him alone.
he found that he no longer had to run for a safe hiding-place when he met mr. wolf or mr. lynx or mr. panther.
they just snarled at him and passed without offering to touch him.
so mr. skunk grew very independent and went where he pleased when he pleased.
and, because he no longer had to run from his enemies, he got out of the habit of running.
then he made a discovery.
he watched those of his neighbors who were forever hurrying about looking for food, hurrying because all the time there was great fear upon them that an enemy might be near, hurrying because each was fearful that his neighbor would get more than he.
it was n't long before mr. skunk saw that in their hurry they overlooked a great deal.
in fact, by just following after them slowly, he found all he wanted to eat.
""so mr. skunk began to grow fat.
his neighbors, who were having hard work to make a living, grew envious, and said unkind things about him, and hinted that he must be stealing, or he never could have so much to eat.
but mr. skunk did n't mind.
he went right on about his business.
he never worried, because, you know, he feared nobody.
and he never hurried, because he found that it paid best to go slowly.
in that way he never missed any of the good things that his hurrying, worrying neighbors did.
so he grew fatter and fatter, while others grew thinner.
after a while he almost forgot how to run.
being fat and never hurrying or worrying made him good-natured.
he kept right on minding his own affairs and never meddling in the affairs of others, so that by and by his neighbors began to respect him.
""of course he taught his children to do as he did, and they taught their children.
and so, ever since that long-ago day, when the world was young, that little bag of perfume has been handed down in the skunk family, and none of them has ever been afraid.
now you know why jimmy skunk, whom you all know, is so independent and never hurries."
""thank you!
thank you, grandfather frog!"
cried the merry little breezes.
""when you want some more foolish green flies, just let us know, and we'll get them for you."
""chug-a-rum!
what are you looking so wistful for, peter rabbit?"
demanded grandfather frog.
""i -- i was just wishing that i had a --" began peter.
then suddenly he made a face.
""no, i do n't either!"
he declared.
""i guess i'd better be getting home to the dear old briar-patch now.
mrs. peter probably thinks something has happened to me."
and away he went, lipperty-lipperty-lip.
vi why sammy jay has a fine coat sammy jay has a very fine coat, a very beautiful coat.
everybody knows that.
in fact, sammy's coat has long been the envy of a great many of his neighbors in the green forest.
some of them, you know, have very modest coats.
they are not beautiful at all.
and yet the owners of some of these plain coats are among the most honest and hard-working of all the little people who live in the green forest.
they find it hard, very hard indeed, to understand why such a scamp and mischiefmaker as sammy jay should be given such a wonderful blue coat with white trimmings.
peter rabbit often had thought about it.
he has a number of feathered friends whom he likes ever so much better than he does sammy jay.
in fact, he and sammy are forever falling out, because sammy delights to tease peter.
he sometimes makes up for it by warning peter when granny or reddy fox happens to be about, and peter is honest enough to recognize this and put it to sammy's credit.
but in spite of this, it never seemed to him quite right that sammy jay should be so handsomely dressed.
""of course," said peter to grandfather frog, "old mother nature knows a great deal more than i do --" "really!
you do n't mean to say so!
chug-a-rum!
you do n't mean to say so, peter!"
interrupted grandfather frog, pretending to be very much surprised at what peter said.
-lsb- illustration: "you do n't mean to say so, peter," interrupted grandfather frog. -rsb-
peter grinned and wrinkled his nose at grandfather frog.
""yes," said he, "old mother nature knows a great deal more than i do, but it seems to me as if she had made a mistake in giving sammy jay such a handsome coat.
there must be a reason, i suppose, but for the life of me i can not understand it.
i should think that she would give such a thief as sammy jay the very homeliest suit she could find.
you may depend i would, if i were in her place."
grandfather frog chuckled until he shook all over.
""it's lucky for some of us that you are not in her place!"
said he.
""chug-a-rum!
it certainly is lucky!"
""if i were, i would give you a handsome coat, too, grandfather frog," replied peter.
grandfather frog suddenly swelled out with indignation.
""chug-a-rum!
chug-a-rum!
what's the matter with the coat i have got, peter rabbit?
tell me that!
who's got a handsomer one?"
grandfather frog glared with his great, goggly eyes at peter.
""i did n't mean to say that you have n't got a handsome coat.
your coat is handsome, very handsome indeed, grandfather frog," peter hastened to say.
""i always did like green.
i just love it!
and i should think you would be ever so proud of your white and yellow waistcoat.
i would if it were mine.
what i meant to say is, that if i were in old mother nature's place, i would give some plain folks handsome suits.
certainly, i would n't give such a rascal as sammy jay one of the handsomest coats in all the green forest.
knowing sammy as well as i do, it is hard work to believe that he came by it honestly."
grandfather frog chuckled way down deep in his throat.
""sammy came by it honestly enough, peter.
yes, sir, he came by it honestly enough, because it was handed down to him by his father, who got it from his father, who got it from his father, and so on, way back to the days when the world was young, but --" grandfather frog paused, and that dreamy, far-away look which peter had seen so often came into his great, goggly eyes.
""but what, grandfather frog?"
asked peter eagerly, when he could keep still no longer.
grandfather frog settled himself comfortably on his big green lily-pad and looked very hard at peter.
""i'm going to tell you a story, peter rabbit," said he, "so that never again will you be led to doubt that old mother nature knows exactly what she is about.
in the first place, sammy jay is not wholly to blame for all his bad habits.
some of them were handed down to him with his fine coat, just the same as your troublesome curiosity was handed down to you with the white patch on the seat of your trousers."
peter nodded.
he had felt a great many times that he just could n't help this habit of poking that wobbly little nose of his in where it had no business to be, any more than he could change that funny little bunch of white cotton, which he called a tail, for a really, truly tail.
""of course, you have heard all about what a very fine gentleman sammy jay's great-great-ever-so-great grandfather was thought to be until it was discovered that he was all the time stealing from his neighbors and putting the blame on others, and how old mother nature punished him by taking away the beautiful voice of which he was so proud, and giving him instead the harsh voice which sammy has now, and making him tell just what he is by screaming "thief, thief, thief!"
every time he opens his mouth to speak.
""at first old mother nature had intended to take away the fine coat of which mr. jay was so proud, but when he discovered that he had lost his fine voice, he was so ashamed that he hurried away to hide himself from the eyes of his neighbors, so that old mother nature did n't have time to change his coat just then.
"i'll wait a bit," said she to herself, "and see how he behaves.
perhaps he is truly sorry for what he has done, and i will not have to punish him more."
""but if mr. jay was truly sorry, he gave no signs of it.
you see, he had cheated his neighbors, and had stolen from them for so long, that he found this the easiest way to get a living.
his bad habits had become fixed, as bad habits have a way of doing.
besides, right down in his heart, he was n't sorry for what he had done, only angry at having been found out.
now that he had been found out, of course every one was on the watch for him, and it was n't so easy to steal as it had been before.
so now, instead of going about openly, with his head held high, he grew very crafty, and sneaked quietly about through the green forest, trying to keep out of sight, that he might the easier steal from his neighbors and make trouble for them.
""when old mother nature saw this, she changed her mind about taking away his handsome suit.
"if i do that," thought she, "it will make it all the easier for him to keep out of sight, and all the harder for his neighbors to know when he is about."
""so instead of giving him the plain, homely suit that she had thought of giving him, she made his coat of blue brighter than before and trimmed it with the whitest of white trimmings, so that mr. jay had one of the very handsomest coats in all the green forest.
at first he was very proud of it, but it was n't long before he found that it was very hard work to keep out of sight when he wanted to.
that bright blue coat was forever giving him away when he was out on mischief.
everybody was all the time on the watch for it, and so where in the past mr. jay had been able, without any trouble, to steal all he wanted to eat, now he sometimes actually had to work for his food, and get it honestly or else go hungry.
""you would suppose that he would have mended him ways, would n't you?"
peter nodded.
""but he did n't.
he grew more sly and crafty than ever.
but in spite of this, he did n't begin to make as much trouble as before.
he could n't, you know, because of his bright coat.
when old mother nature found that mr. jay had passed along his bad habits to his children, she passed along his handsome blue coat, too, and so it has been from that long-ago day right down to this.
sammy jay's fine coat is n't a reward for goodness, as is winsome bluebird's, but is to help the other little people of the green forest and the green meadows to protect themselves, and keep track of sammy when he is sneaking and snooping around looking for mischief.
now what do you think, peter rabbit?"
peter scratched one long ear and then the other long ear thoughtfully, and he looked a wee bit ashamed as he replied: "i guess old mother nature makes no mistakes and always knows just what she is doing."
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog in his deepest voice.
""you may be sure she does.
and another thing, peter rabbit: never judge any one by his clothes.
it is a great mistake, a very great mistake.
plain clothes sometimes cover the kindest hearts, and fine clothes often are a warning to beware of mischief."
""i -- i do n't know but you are right," admitted peter.
""i know i am," said grandfather frog.
vii why jerry muskrat builds his house in the water peter rabbit and johnny chuck had gone down to the smiling pool for a call on their old friend, jerry muskrat.
but jerry was nowhere to be seen.
they waited and waited, but no jerry muskrat.
""probably he is taking a nap in that big house of his," said johnny chuck, "and if he is we'll have to sit here until he wakes up, or else go back home and visit him some other time."
""that's so," replied peter.
""i do n't see what he has his house in the water for, anyway.
if he had built it on land, like sensible people, we might be able to waken him.
funny place to build a house, is n't it?"
johnny chuck scratched his head thoughtfully.
""it does seem a funny place," he admitted.
""it certainly does seem a funny place.
but then, jerry muskrat is a funny fellow.
you know how much of the time he stays in the water.
that seems funny to me.
i suppose there is a reason for it, and probably there is a reason for building his house where it is.
i've found that there is a reason for most things.
probably jerry's great-great-grandfather built his house that way, and so jerry does the same thing."
peter rabbit suddenly brightened up.
""i do believe you are right, johnny chuck, and if you are, there must be a story about it, and if there is a story, grandfather frog will be sure to know it.
there he is, over on his big green lily-pad, and he looks as if he might be feeling very good-natured this morning.
let's go ask him why jerry muskrat builds his house in the water."
grandfather frog saw them coming, and he guessed right away that they were coming for a story.
he grinned to himself and pretended to go to sleep.
""good morning, grandfather frog," said johnny chuck.
grandfather frog did n't answer.
johnny tried again, and still no reply.
""he's asleep," said johnny, looking dreadfully disappointed, "and i guess we'd better not disturb him, for he might wake up cross, and of course we would n't get a story if he did."
peter looked at grandfather frog sharply.
he was n't so sure that that was a real nap.
it seemed to him that there was just the least little hint of a smile in the corners of grandfather frog's big mouth.
""you sit here a minute," he whispered in johnny chuck's ear.
so johnny chuck sat down where he was, which was right where grandfather frog could see him by lifting one eyelid just the teeniest bit, and peter hopped along the bank until he was right behind grandfather frog.
now just at that place on the bank was growing a toadstool.
peter looked over at johnny chuck and winked.
then he turned around, and with one of his long hind-feet, he kicked the toadstool with all his might.
now toadstools, as you all know, are not very well fastened at the roots, and this one was no different from the rest.
when peter kicked it it flew out into the air and landed with a great splash in the smiling pool, close beside the big green lily-pad on which grandfather frog was sitting.
of course he did n't see it coming, and of course it gave him a great start.
""chug-a-rum!"
exclaimed grandfather frog and dived head first into the water.
a minute later peter's sharp eyes saw him peeping out from under a lily-pad to see what had frightened him so.
""ha, ha, ha!"
shouted peter, dancing about on the bank.
""ha, ha, ha!
grandfather frog, afraid of a toadstool!
ha, ha, ha!"
at first grandfather frog was angry, very angry indeed.
but he is too old and too wise to lose his temper for long over a joke, especially when he has been fairly caught trying to play a joke himself.
so presently he climbed back on to his big green lily-pad, blinking his great, goggly eyes and looking just a wee bit foolish.
""chug-a-rum!
i might have known that that was some of your work, peter rabbit," said he, "but i thought it surely was a stone thrown by farmer brown's boy.
what do you mean by frightening an old fellow like me this way?"
""just trying to get even with you for trying to fool us into thinking that you were asleep when you were wide awake," replied peter.
""oh, grandfather frog, do tell us why it is that jerry muskrat builds his house in the water.
please do!"
""i have a mind not to, just to get even with you," said grandfather frog, settling himself comfortably, "but i believe i will, to show you that there are some folks who can take a joke without losing their temper."
""goody!"
cried peter and johnny chuck together, sitting down side by side on the very edge of the bank.
grandfather frog folded his hands across his white and yellow waistcoat and half closed his eyes, as if looking way, way back into the past.
""chug-a-rum!"
he began.
""a long, long time ago, when the world was young, there was very little dry land, and most of the animals lived in the water.
yes, sir, most of the animals lived in the water, as sensible animals do to-day."
peter nudged johnny chuck.
""he means himself and his family," he whispered with a chuckle.
""after a time," continued grandfather frog, "there began to be more land and still more.
then some of the animals began to spend most of their time on the land.
as there got to be more and more land, more and more of the animals left the water, until finally most of them were spending nearly all of the time on land.
now old mother nature had been keeping a sharp watch, as she always does, and when she found that they were foolish enough to like the land best, she did all that she could to make things comfortable for them.
she taught them how to run and jump and climb and dig, according to which things they liked best to do, so that it was n't very long before a lot of them forgot that they ever had lived in the water, and they began to look down on those who still lived in the water, and to put on airs and hold their heads very high.
""now, of course, old mother nature did n't like this, and to punish them she said that they should no longer be able to live in the water, even if they wanted to.
at first they only laughed, but after a while they found that quite often there were times when it would be very nice to be at home in the water as they once had been.
but it was of no use.
some could swim as long as they could keep their heads above water, but as soon as they put their heads under water they were likely to drown.
you know that is the way with you to-day, peter rabbit."
peter nodded.
he knew that he could swim if he had to, but only for a very little way, and he hated the thought of it.
""now there were a few animals, of whom old mr. muskrat, the grandfather a thousand times removed of jerry muskrat, was one, who learned to walk and run on dry land, but who still loved the water," continued grandfather frog.
""one day old mother nature found mr. muskrat sitting on a rock, looking very mournful."
"what's the matter, mr. muskrat?"
she asked.
""mr. muskrat looked very much ashamed as he finally owned up that he was envious of his cousins and some of the other animals, because they had such fine houses on the land."
"then why do n't you build you a fine house on the land?"
asked old mother nature.
""mr. muskrat hesitated.
"i -- i -- love the water too well to want to stay on land all the time," said he, "and -- and -- well, i was put in the water in the first place, and i ought to be contented with what i have got and make the best of it."
""old mother nature was so pleased with mr. muskrat's reply that right away she made up her mind that he should have a finer house than any of the others, so she took him over to a quiet little pool, where the water was not too deep and she showed him how to build a wonderful house of mud and rushes and twigs, with a nice warm bedroom lined with grass above the water, and an entrance down under the water, so that no one except those who still lived most of the time in the water could possibly get into it.
none of his friends on land had such a big, fine house, and mr. muskrat was very proud of it.
but with all his pride he never forgot that it was a reward for trying to be content with his surroundings and making the best of them.
""so from that day to this, the muskrats have built their houses in the water, and have been among the most industrious, contented, and happy of all the animals.
and that is why jerry muskrat has built that fine house in the smiling pool and has so few enemies," concluded grandfather frog.
peter rabbit drew a long breath, which was almost a sigh.
""i almost wish my grandfather a thousand times removed had been content to stay in the water, too," he said.
""chug-a-rum!"
retorted grandfather frog.
""if he had, you would n't have the dear old briar-patch.
be content with what you've got," "i think i will," said peter.
viii why old man coyote has many voices of course old man coyote has only one voice, but that one is such a wonderful voice that he can make it sound like a great many voices, all yelping and howling and shouting and laughing at the same time.
so those who hear him always say that he has many voices, and that certainly is the way it seems.
the first time peter rabbit heard old man coyote, he was sure, absolutely sure, that there was a whole crowd of strangers on the green meadows, and you may be sure that he kept very close to his dear old briar-patch.
if you had been there and tried to tell peter that all that noise was made by just one voice, he would n't have believed you.
no, sir, he would n't have believed you.
and you could n't have blamed him.
it was the merry little breezes of old mother west wind who first told peter who the stranger was and warned him to watch out, because old man coyote is just as fond of rabbit as granny or reddy fox, and is even more crafty and sly than they.
peter thanked the merry little breezes for the warning, and then he asked them how many of his family old man coyote had brought with him.
of course the merry little breezes told peter that old man coyote was all alone, and they became very indignant when peter laughed at them.
he just could n't help it.
""why," said he, "every night i hear a whole crowd yelping and howling together."
""but you do n't!"
insisted the merry little breezes.
""it is old man coyote alone who makes all that noise."
""do n't you suppose i know what i hear?"
demanded peter.
""no!"
retorted the merry little breezes.
""you may have big ears and be able to hear a great deal, sometimes a great deal more than you have any business to hear, but you are old enough by this time to have learned that you can not believe all you hear."
and with that the merry little breezes indignantly raced away to spread the news all over the green meadows.
now peter was quite as indignant because they thought he could n't or should n't believe his own ears, as they were because he would n't believe what they told him, and all the rest of that day he could n't put the matter out of his mind.
he was still thinking of it as the black shadows came creeping down from the purple hills across the green meadows.
suddenly peter saw a dark form skulking among the black shadows.
at first he thought it was reddy fox, only somehow it looked bigger.
peter, safe in the dear old briar-patch, watched.
presently the dark form came out from among the black shadows where peter could see it clearly, sat down, pointed a sharp nose up at the first twinkling little stars, opened a big mouth, and out of it poured such a yelping and howling as made peter shiver with fright.
and now peter had to believe his eyes rather than his ears.
his ears told him that there were many voices, but his eyes told him that all that dreadful sound was coming out of one mouth.
it was hard, very hard, to believe, but it was so.
""the merry little breezes were right," muttered peter to himself, as old man coyote trotted away in the direction of the green forest, and he felt a wee bit ashamed to think that he had refused to believe them.
after that, peter could think of nothing but old man coyote's wonderful voice that sounded like many voices, and at the very first opportunity he hurried over to the smiling pool to ask grandfather frog what it meant.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog.
""it means simply that old man coyote comes of a very smart family, and that he knows how to make the most of the gift of old mother nature to his grandfather a thousand times removed."
this sounded so much like a story that peter straightway teased grandfather frog to tell him all about it.
at last, to get rid of him and enjoy a little quiet and peace, grandfather frog did so.
""chug-a-rum!"
he began, as he always does.
""the great-great-ever-so-great grandfather of old man coyote, who lived long, long ago when the world was young, was very much as old man coyote is to-day.
he was just as smart and just as clever.
indeed, he was smart enough and clever enough not to let his neighbors know that he was smart and clever at all.
those were very peaceful times at first, and everybody was on the best of terms with everybody else, as you know.
there was plenty to eat without the trouble to steal, and everybody was honest simply because it was easier to be honest than it was to be dishonest.
so old king bear ruled in the green forest, and everybody was happy and contented.
""but there came a time when food was scarce, and it was no longer easy to get plenty to eat.
it was then that the stronger began to steal from the weaker, and by and by even to prey upon those smaller than themselves.
the times grew harder and harder, and because hunger is a hard and cruel master, it made the larger and stronger people hard and cruel, too.
some of them it made very sly and cunning, like old mr. fox.
mr. coyote was another whom it made sly and cunning.
he was smart in the first place, even smarter than mr. fox, and he very early made up his mind that if he would live, it must be by his wits, for he was n't big enough or strong enough to fight with his neighbors such as his big cousin, mr. timber wolf, or mr. lynx, or mr. panther or old king bear, who was king no longer.
and yet he liked the same things to eat.
""so he used to study and plan how he could outwit them without danger to himself."
a whole skin is better than a full stomach, but both a whole skin and a full stomach are better still," said he to himself; as he thought and schemed.
for a while he was content to catch what he could without danger to himself, and to eat what his bigger and stronger neighbors left when they happened to get more than they wanted for themselves.
little by little he got the habit of slyly following them when they were hunting, always keeping out of sight.
in this way, he managed to get many meals of scraps.
but these scraps never wholly satisfied him, and his mouth used to water as he watched the others feast on the very best when they had had a successful hunt.
he knew it would n't be of the least use to go out and boldly ask for some, for in those hard times everybody was very, very selfish.
""the times grew harder and harder, until it seemed as if old mother nature had wholly forgotten her little people of the green meadows and the green forest.
mr. coyote still managed to pick up a living, but he was hungry most of the time, and the less he had to put in his stomach, the sharper his wits grew.
at last one day, as he stole soft-footed through the green forest, he discovered mr. lynx having a great feast.
to keep still and watch him was almost more than mr. coyote could stand, for he was so hungry that it seemed as if the sides of his stomach almost met, it was so empty."
"if i could make myself into three, we could take that dinner away from mr. lynx!"
thought he, and right on top of that thought came a great idea.
why not make mr. lynx think he had a lot of friends with him?
it would do no harm to try.
so mr. coyote put his nose up in the air and howled.
mr. lynx looked up and grinned.
he had no fear of mr. coyote.
then mr. coyote hurried around to the other side of mr. lynx, all the time keeping out of sight, and howled again, and this time he tried to make his voice sound different.
mr. lynx stopped eating and looked up a little surprised."
i wonder if mr. coyote has got a brother with him," thought he.
a minute later mr. coyote howled again from the place where he had howled in the first place.
"he certainly has," thought mr. lynx, "but i'm a match for two of them," and once more he went on eating.
""then mr. coyote began to run in a circle around mr. lynx, always keeping out of sight in the thick brush, and every few steps he yelped or howled, and each yelp or howl he tried to make sound different.
now mr. coyote could run very fast, and he ran now as hard as ever he could in a big circle, yelping and howling and making his voice sound as different as possible each time.
mr. lynx grew anxious and lost his appetite.
"mr. coyote must have a whole crowd of brothers," thought he."
i guess this is no place for me!"
with that he started to sneak away.
""mr. coyote followed him, still trying to make his voice sound like the voices of many.
mr. lynx gave a hurried look over his shoulder and began to run.
mr. coyote kept after him, yelping and howling, until he was sure that mr. lynx was so frightened that he would n't dare come back.
then mr. coyote returned to the dinner mr. lynx had left, and ate and ate until he could n't hold another mouthful.
his throat was very raw and sore because he had strained it trying to make his voice change so often, but he did n't mind this, because, you know, it felt so good to have all he could eat at one time once more.
""now it just happened that old mother nature had come along just in time to see and hear mr. coyote, and it tickled her so to think that mr. coyote had been so smart that what do you think she did?
why, while he slept that night, she healed his sore throat, and she gave him a new voice; and this voice was very wonderful, for it sounded for all the world like many voices, all yelping and howling at the same time.
after that, all mr. coyote had to do when he wanted to frighten some one bigger and stronger than himself was to open his mouth and send forth his new voice, which sounded like many voices.
""so he had plenty to eat from that time on.
and all his children and his children's children had that same wonderful voice, just as old man coyote has now.
chug-a-rum!
now scamper home, peter rabbit, and see that you do n't let old man coyote's sharp wits get you into trouble."
""thank you, grandfather frog!"
cried peter and scampered as fast as he could go for the dear, safe old briar-patch.
ix why miner the mole lives under ground striped chipmunk sat staring at a little ridge where the grass was raised up.
he had often seen little ridges like that without thinking much about them.
he knew that they were made by miner the mole.
he had known that ever since he was big enough to begin to ask questions.
but now as he looked at this one, it suddenly struck him that he had not seen miner the mole more than once or twice in all his life.
""what a queer way of living!"
thought striped chipmunk.
""it's all very well to have a snug house under the ground, where one can sleep the long cold winter away and be perfectly safe, but what any one wants to live under the ground all the time for, in the beautiful springtime and summertime and autumntime, i ca n't understand.
just think of all that miner misses -- the sunshine, the flowers, the songs of the birds, and the merry little breezes to play with!
i wonder --" "what do you wonder?"
the voice was so close to striped chipmunk that it made him jump.
he whirled about.
there was johnny chuck, who had tiptoed up as softly as he knew how, to give striped chipmunk a scare.
johnny grinned.
""what do you wonder?"
he repeated.
striped chipmunk made a face at johnny.
""i wonder something that i bet you do n't know," he replied.
""that's easy," replied johnny.
""there are more things i do n't know than i do know, but i'm always ready to learn.
what is it this time?"
""why does miner the mole live under ground all the time?"
striped chipmunk pointed to the ridge made by miner.
johnny chuck scratched his head thoughtfully.
""i do n't know," he confessed finally.
""i never thought of it before.
of course there must be a reason.
he never comes out to play with the rest of us -- just spends all his time by himself down in the dark, digging and digging.
i wonder --" "well, what do you wonder?"
""the same thing you wonder," laughed johnny chuck.
""if you have n't got anything else to do, let's go down to the smiling pool and ask grandfather frog; he'll be sure to know."
striped chipmunk had n't anything else to do, so off they started.
on the way they met jimmy skunk and danny meadow mouse.
neither of them knew why miner the mole lives under ground, and because they had n't anything better to do, they also started for the smiling pool.
grandfather frog was sitting on his big green lily-pad in the warm sunshine, and for once he did n't have to be teased for a story.
""chug-a-rum!"
said he in his deep voice.
""it's very strange to me how little some folks know about their nearest neighbors."
he looked up and winked at jolly, round, bright mr. sun.
striped chipmunk, johnny chuck, jimmy skunk, and danny meadow mouse looked as though they felt very foolish, as indeed they did.
you see, all their lives miner the mole had been one of their nearest neighbors, and yet they did n't know the first thing about him.
""it happened a long time ago," continued grandfather frog.
""when the world was young?"
interrupted danny meadow mouse.
""of course," replied grandfather frog, pretending to be very much put out at such a foolish question.
danny hung his head and resolved that he would bite his tongue before he asked another question.
""in those days miner's great-great-grandfather a thousand times removed did n't live under ground," continued grandfather frog.
""nobody did.
he was n't so very different from a lot of other animals.
food was plenty, and everybody was on the best of terms with everybody else.
mr. mole lived just as the rest did.
he went and came as he pleased, and enjoyed the sunshine and took part in all the good times of his neighbors.
everybody liked him, and whenever he made a call, he was sure of a welcome.
but one thing mr. mole never did; he never meddled in other people's affairs.
no, sir, mr. mole never poked his nose in where he had no business.
""for a long time everything went smoothly with all the people of the green forest and the green meadows.
then came hard times.
they grew harder and harder.
food was scarce and kept growing more scarce.
everybody was hungry, and you know how it is with hungry people -- they grow ugly and quarrelsome.
matters grew worse and worse, and then it was that fear was born.
the big people, like old king bear and mr. wolf and mr. panther and mr. lynx, began to look with hungry eyes on the little people, and the little people began to grow afraid and hide from the big people, and all the time they were continually quarreling among themselves and stealing from each other to get enough to eat.
""now, as i said before, mr. mole never had meddled with other people's business, and he did n't now.
he went off by himself to think things over.
"it is n't safe to run around any more," said he."
i met mr. wolf this morning, and he looked at me with such a hungry look in his eyes that it gave me the cold shivers.
i believe he would have eaten me, if i had n't crawled into an old hollow stump.
now i ca n't run fast, because my legs are too short.
i ca n't climb trees like mr. squirrel, and i ca n't swim like mr. muskrat.
the only thing i can do is to dig."
""you see, mr. mole always had been very fond of digging, and he had done so much of it that his front legs and claws had grown very stout."
"now if i dig a hole and keep out of sight, i wo n't have to worry about mr. wolf or anybody else," continued mr. mole to himself.
so he went to work at once and dug a hole on the green meadows, and, because he wanted to be comfortable, he made a big hole.
when it was finished, he was tired, so he curled up at the bottom for a nap.
he was awakened by hearing voices outside.
he knew those voices right away.
they were the voices of mr. fox and mr. badger."
"these are terrible times," said mr. fox.
"i'm so hungry that i'm wasting away to a shadow.
i wonder who has dug this hole.""
"mr. mole," replied mr. badger."
i saw him at work here this morning.
have you noticed how very plump he looks?""
"yes," replied mr. fox.
"he made my mouth water the very last time i saw him.
seems to me i can smell him now.
if he had made this hole just a little bit bigger i would go down and pull him out, but i am too tired to do any digging now."""
i tell you what," replied mr. badger.
"we'll hunt together a little longer, and then if we ca n't find anything to eat, we'll come back, and i'll help you dig, i hate to hurt mr. mole, because he always minds his own business, but these are hard times, and each one must look out for himself."
""with that they went away, leaving mr. mole shaking with fright at the bottom of his hole.
"it's of no use," thought mr. mole.
"if i go outside, they will soon find me, and if i stay here, they will dig me out.
oh, dear, oh, dear!
what ever can i do?"
""he lay there feeling very helpless and miserable, when all of a sudden a thought came to him.
if he had made his hole small, just big enough for him to crawl into, mr. badger and mr. fox would have had to do a great deal of digging to make it big enough for either of them to get in!
he would make a little tunnel off one side and hide in that.
so he went to work and made a little tunnel off one side just big enough for him to squeeze into.
he worked very hard and very fast, and by the time mr. badger and mr. fox returned, mr. mole was at the end of a long tunnel, so far from the hole he had first dug that he knew it would take them a long time to dig him out, even if they noticed his tunnel.
""but they did n't.
they dug down to the bottom of his hole and then, because they did n't find him there, they straightway fell to quarreling, each blaming the other for suggesting such a lot of hard work for nothing.
finally they went away, still calling each other names, and from that day to this, foxes and badgers have never been friends.
""mr. mole was very thankful for his narrow escape, and it set him to thinking.
if he had a lot of these underground tunnels, no one would be able to catch him.
it was a splendid idea!
he went to work on it at once.
and then he made a discovery -- such a splendid discovery!
there was plenty of food to eat right down under ground -- worms and grubs -- all he needed.
after that, mr. mole spent all his time in his tunnels and seldom put his nose outside.
he was safe, and he was comfortable, and he could always find something to eat by digging for it.
""little by little his old neighbors forgot all about him.
because he had little use for them, his eyes grew smaller and smaller, and when he did come up into the light, they hurt him so that he was glad to go back into the dark again.
he was perfectly happy and satisfied there, and what is there in life better than to be happy and satisfied?"
""nothing," replied striped chipmunk, at whom grandfather frog happened to be looking when he asked the question.
""right!"
replied grandfather frog.
""and now you know why miner the mole lives under ground -- because he is perfectly happy and satisfied there."
just then up came peter rabbit, all out of breath.
""has grandfather frog been telling a story?"
he panted.
""yes," replied striped chipmunk, winking at grandfather frog, "and now we are going back home perfectly happy and satisfied."
and to this day peter rabbit wonders what the story was that he missed.
x why mr. snake can not wink peter rabbit and johnny chuck were playing tag on the green meadows.
of course peter can run so much faster than johnny chuck that he would never have been "it" if he had tried his best to keep out of the way.
but he did n't.
no, sir, peter rabbit did n't do anything of the kind.
he pretended that one of his long hind-legs was lame so that he had to run on three legs, while johnny chuck could use all four.
it was great fun.
they raced and dodged and twisted and turned.
sometimes peter was so excited that he would forget and use all four legs.
then johnny chuck would shout "no fair!"
peter would say that he did n't mean to, and to make up for it would be "it" and try to catch johnny.
now it happened that curled up on a little grassy tussock, taking an early morning sun-bath, lay little mr. greensnake.
of course peter rabbit and johnny chuck were not afraid of him.
if it had been mr. rattlesnake or mr. gophersnake, it would have been different.
but from little mr. greensnake there was nothing to fear, and sometimes, just for fun, peter would jump right over him.
when he did that, peter always winked good-naturedly.
but mr. greensnake never winked back.
instead he would raise his head, run his tongue out at peter, and hiss in what he tried to make a very fierce and angry manner.
then peter would laugh and wink at him again.
but never once did mr. greensnake wink back.
-lsb- illustration: he would make no reply, save to run out his tongue at them. -rsb-
peter was thinking of this as he and johnny chuck stretched out in a sunny spot to get their breath and rest.
he had never thought of it before, but now that he had noticed it, he could n't remember that he ever had seen little mr. greensnake wink, nor any of mr. greensnake's relatives.
he mentioned the matter to johnny chuck.
""that's so," replied johnny thoughtfully.
""i never have seen any of them wink, either.
do you suppose they can wink?"
""let's go ask mr. greensnake," said peter.
up they hopped and raced over to the grassy tussock where mr. greensnake lay, but to all their questions he would make no reply save to run out his tongue at them.
finally they gave up asking him.
""i tell you what, let's go over to the smiling pool and ask grandfather frog.
he'll be sure to know, and perhaps, if he is feeling good, he'll tell us a story," said peter.
so off they scampered to the smiling pool.
there they found grandfather frog sitting on his big green lily-pad just as usual, and peter knew by the look in his great, goggly eyes that grandfather frog had a good breakfast of foolish green flies tucked away inside his white and yellow waistcoat.
his eyes twinkled as peter and johnny very politely wished him good morning.
""good morning," said he gruffly.
but peter had seen that twinkle in his eyes and knew that grandfather frog was feeling good-natured in spite of his gruff greeting.
""if you please, grandfather frog, why does n't mr. greensnake wink at us when we wink at him?"
he asked.
""chug-a-rum!
because he ca n't," replied grandfather frog.
""ca n't!"
cried peter rabbit and johnny chuck together.
""that's what i said -- ca n't," replied grandfather frog.
""and no more can mr. blacksnake, or mr. rattlesnake, or mr. gophersnake, or any other member of the snake family."
""why not?"
cried peter and johnny, all in the same breath.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog, folding his hands across his white and yellow waistcoat, "if you will sit still until i finish, i'll tell you; but if you move or ask any foolish questions, i'll stop right where i am, and you'll never hear the end of the story, for no one else knows it."
of course peter and johnny promised to sit perfectly still and not say a word.
after they had made themselves comfortable, grandfather frog cleared his throat as if to begin, but for a long time he did n't say a word.
once peter opened his mouth to ask why, but remembered in time and closed it again without making a sound.
at last grandfather frog cleared his throat once more, and with a far-away look in his great, goggly eyes began: "once upon a time, long, long ago, when the world was young, lived old mr. snake, the grandfather a thousand times removed of little mr. greensnake and all the other snakes whom you know.
of course he was n't old then.
he was young and spry and smart, was mr. snake.
now there is such a thing as being too smart.
that was the trouble with mr. snake.
yes, sir, that was the trouble with mr. snake.
he was so smart that he soon found out that he was the smartest of all the meadow and forest people, and that was a bad thing.
it certainly was a very bad thing."
grandfather frog shook his head gravely.
""you see," he continued, "as soon as he found that out, he began to take advantage of his neighbors and cheat them, but he would do it so smoothly that they never once suspected that they were being cheated.
mr. snake would go about all day cheating everybody he met.
at night he would go home and chuckle over his smartness.
it was n't long before he began to look down on his neighbors for being so honest that they did n't suspect other people of being dishonest, and for being so easily cheated.
""now one bad habit almost always leads to another.
from cheating, mr. snake just naturally slipped to stealing.
yes, sir, he became a thief.
of course that made trouble right away, but still no one suspected mr. snake.
he was always very polite to every one and always offering to do favors for his neighbors.
in fact, mr. snake was very well liked and much respected.
when any one had been robbed, he was always the first to offer sympathy and join in the hunt for the thief.
he was so spry and slim, and could slip through the tall grass so fast, that he could go almost where he pleased without being seen, and this made him very bold.
if he did happen to be found near the scene of trouble, he always had a story ready to account for his presence, and it sounded so true, and he told it in such an honest manner, that no one thought of doubting it.
""so mr. snake found that lying helped him to cheat and steal, and all the time he kept thinking how smart he was.
but even mr. snake had a little bit of conscience, and once in a while it would trouble him.
so what do you think he did?
why, cheating had become such a habit with him that he actually tried to cheat himself -- to cheat his conscience!
when he was telling a lie, he would wink one eye.
"that," said he to himself, "means that it is n't true, and if these folks are not smart enough to see me wink and know what it means, it is their own fault if they believe what i am telling them."
but always he took care to wink the eye that was turned away from the one he was talking to.
""dear me, dear me, such terrible times as there were on the green meadows and in the green forest!
they grew worse and worse, and when at last old mother nature came to see how all the little people were getting along, she heard so many complaints that she hardly knew where to begin to straighten matters out.
she had all the little people come before her in turn and tell their troubles.
when it came mr. snake's turn, he had no complaint to make.
he seemed to be the only one who had no troubles.
she asked him a great many questions, and for each one he had a ready reply.
of course a great many of these replies were lies, and every time he told one of these, he winked without knowing it.
you see, it had become a habit.
""now, with all his smartness, mr. snake had forgotten one thing, one very important thing.
it was this: you ca n't fool old mother nature, and it is of no use to try.
he had n't been talking three minutes before she knew who was at the bottom of all the trouble.
she let him finish, then called all the others about her and told them who had made all the trouble.
mr. snake was very bold.
he held his head very high in the air and pretended not to care.
when old mother nature turned her head, he even ran out his tongue at her, just as all the snake family do at you and me to-day.
when she had finished telling them how cheating and stealing and lying is n't smart at all, but very, very dreadful, she turned to mr. snake and said:" "from this time on, no one will believe anything you say, and you shall have no friends.
you will never wink again, for you and your children and your children's children forever will have no eyelids, that all the world may know that those who make a wrong use of the things given them shall have them taken away."
""and now you know why little mr. greensnake can not wink at you; he has n't any eyelids to wink with" finished grandfather frog.
peter rabbit drew a long breath.
""thank you, oh, thank you ever so much, grandfather frog," he said.
""will you tell us next time why bobby coon wears rings on his tail?"
""perhaps," replied grandfather frog.
xi why bobby coon has rings on his tail peter rabbit would give grandfather frog no peace.
every day peter visited the smiling pool to tease grandfather frog for a story -- for one particular story.
he wanted to know why it is that bobby coon wears rings on his tail.
you see, peter had admired bobby coon's tail for a long time.
peter has such a funny little tail himself, just a little white bunch of cotton, that such a handsome tail as bobby coon's sometimes stirs just a wee bit of envy in peter's heart.
but it was n't envy so much as curiosity that prompted peter to tease for that story.
bobby coon's tail is very handsome, you know.
it has beautiful rings of black and gray, and peter did n't know of any other tail at all like it.
somehow, he felt right down deep in his heart that there must be a reason for those rings, just as there is a reason for his own long ears and long legs.
the more he thought about it, the more he felt that he simply must know, and the only way he could find out was from grandfather frog, who is very old and very wise.
so he teased and he teased until finally grandfather frog promised him that on the next afternoon he would tell peter why bobby coon has rings on his tail.
peter hurried away to tell all the little meadow and forest people, and the next afternoon they were all on hand on the bank of the smiling pool to hear the story about bobby coon's tail.
""chug-a-rum!"
began grandfather frog, smoothing down his white and yellow waistcoat.
""chug-a-rum!
some folks seem to think that what they do does n't matter to anybody but themselves.
that was the way with old mr. rabbit, who lived a long time ago when the world was young.
he thought he could make all the trouble he pleased by his dreadful curiosity, and if he was found out, no one would suffer but himself.
but it was n't so.
here is peter rabbit, his grandchild a thousand times removed, with long legs and long ears, and the bad habit of curiosity, all because old mr. rabbit had a bad habit and did n't try to overcome it.
""it was the same way with old mr. coon.
he was dishonest and stole from old king bear.
old mother nature punished him by putting mustard in his food, and mr. coon thought he was so smart that he could get ahead of old mother nature by washing all his food before he ate it.
old mother nature did n't say anything, but watched him and smiled to herself.
you see, she knew that mr. coon was beginning a good habit, a very good habit indeed -- the habit of neatness.
so, though she knew perfectly well that he was doing it just to get ahead of her, she was glad, for she was fond of mr. coon in spite of the bad ways he had grown into, and she knew that good habits are like bad habits -- once started they grow and grow, and are very likely to lead to more good habits.
""it was so with mr. coon.
he found that his food tasted better for being so clean, and he grew very fussy about what he ate.
no matter where he found it or how tempting it looked, he would n't eat it until he had carried it to the nearest water and washed it.
he still remembered the mustard and tried to fool himself into thinking that he was simply spiting old mother nature, but right down in his heart he knew that even if he should be told that never again would there be mustard in his food, he would wash it just the same.
""one day, as he sat beside the laughing brook eating his supper, he noticed that while his food had been washed clean, his hands were dirty.
they spoiled his supper.
yes, sir, they spoiled his supper."
"what good does it do to wash my food, if i eat it out of dirty hands?"
said mr. coon to himself, and he hurried to a quiet little pool to give them a good scrubbing.
then he washed his face and brushed his coat.
"now i feel better, and i know my supper will taste better," said he.
""from that time he began to be particular, very particular, about keeping himself clean, until finally there was no one on the green meadows or in the green forest quite so neat as mr. coon.
""now at this time mr. coon had a very plain tail.
it was all of one color, a grayish white, not at all pretty.
mr. coon used to think a great deal about that tail and wish and wish that it was handsome.
sometimes he used to envy mr. fox his beautiful red tail with its black and white tip.
one day, as he sat on an old log with his chin in his hands, thinking about his tail, who should come along but old mother nature."
"good morning, mr. coon," said she in her pleasantest voice.
""mr. coon got up and made a very low bow.
"good morning, mother nature," he replied in his politest manner, which was very polite indeed."
"what were you thinking about so hard?"
asked old mother nature.
""mr. coon looked a little bit ashamed.
then he sighed."
i was wishing that my tail was handsomer," said he.
"but it is a very good tail as it is," he added hastily.
""old mother nature's eyes twinkled.
she sat down beside mr. coon and asked him all about his affairs, just as if she did n't know all about them already.
she told him how pleased she was to find him so neat and clean, and mr. coon just tingled all over with pleasure.
at last she got up to go, and her eyes twinkled more than ever, as she said:" "by the way, mr. coon, i am so pleased with your neatness that i am leaving you a reward.
i hope you will like it."
""mr. coon did n't see any reward, but he thanked her just the same, and old mother nature went on her way.
mr. coon watched her out of sight.
then he sat down on the old log again and scratched his head thoughtfully as he looked this way and that.""
i wonder what she meant by reward.
i do n't see any anywhere," he said to himself.
""by and by he just happened to glance at his tail.
"oh!"
cried mr. coon, and then for a long time he could n't say another word, but just looked and looked with shining eyes and such a queer feeling of happiness in his heart.
you see, old mother nature had left a beautiful, broad, black ring around his tail.
mr. coon could n't do anything the rest of that day but look at and admire that ring, until his neck ached from twisting it around so long.
""after that he was neater than ever, you may be sure, and the next time old mother nature came around, she left another handsome black ring on his tail, because he had n't grown careless, but had kept up his good habits.
""now about this time, hard times came to all the little people of the green forest and the green meadows.
every one began to grumble.
mr. bear grumbled.
mr. fox grumbled.
mr. rabbit grumbled.
mr. jay grumbled.
mr. squirrel grumbled.
even mr. chuck grumbled.
and one and all they began to blame old mother nature.
then they began to quarrel among themselves and to steal from each other.
some even left their homes and went out into the great world to try to find a better place to live, only to find that the great world was a harder place to live in than the green forest and the green meadows.
""but mr. coon did n't grumble, and he did n't go away.
no, sir, mr. coon just stuck to his home and did the best he could to find enough to eat.
he kept himself as neat as ever and was always cheerful.
whenever he met one of his grumbling neighbors, he would say:" "better times coming!
better times coming!
old mother nature is doing the best she can.
better times coming!"
""the others would laugh at him for his faith in old mother nature, and say ugly things about her, and urge mr. coon to go with them out into the great world.
but he kept right on minding his own business and keeping neat and cheerful, until at last old mother nature, all worried and troubled, came to see what she could do to straighten matters out.
it did n't take her long to find out how all the little meadow and forest people, except mr. coon, had grumbled and been discontented and said ugly things about her, for you ca n't fool old mother nature, and it's of no use to try.
some she punished one way, and some she punished another way, for of course she had n't been to blame for the hard times, but had been working night and day to put an end to them.
""mr. coon was the last to be called before her, and instead of being frowning and cross, as she had been to the others, she was all smiles.
she said a lot of nice things to him, and when at last she sent him away, what do you think she had given him?"
""more rings," cried peter rabbit.
""yes," replied grandfather frog, "mr. coon's tail was ringed way to the tip.
there was one for cheerfulness, and one for faith, and one for persistence in making the best of a bad matter and staying at home.
and ever since that long-ago day when the world was young, the coons have been very proud of their beautiful tails and have kept up the good habits of old mr. coon.
now you know, peter rabbit, why bobby coon wears rings on his tail," concluded grandfather frog.
peter gave a long sigh.
""i think it's perfectly beautiful," he said.
""i wish i had rings on my tail."
and then he wondered why everybody laughed.
xii why there is a black head in the buzzard family ol' mistah buzzard had just told the story of why he has a bald head and is proud of it.
you know he has n't a feather on it, and it is very, very red.
it was a very interesting story, and it had been listened to with the closest attention by a lot of the little meadow and forest people.
unc" billy possum, who is ol' mistah buzzard's particular friend, both having come from "way down souf," happened along just in time to hear the end of it.
""may ah ask yo" a question, brer buzzard?"
said he.
""cert "nly, brer possum.
cert "nly," replied ol' mistah buzzard.
""is buzzard really your fam "ly name?"
asked unc" billy.
""no, brer possum, it is n't," replied ol' mistah buzzard.
everybody looked surprised.
you see, no one ever had heard him called anything but buzzard.
but no one said anything, and after a minute or two ol' mistah buzzard explained.
""mah fam "ly name is vulture," said he.
""yes, sah, mah fam "ly name is vulture, but we-uns done been called buzzards so long, that ah don" know as ah would know ah was being spoken to, if ah was called mistah vulture."
""an" do ah understand that all of your fam "ly have red haids?"
inquired unc" billy.
ol' mistah buzzard looked down at unc" billy, and he saw a twinkle in unc" billy's shrewd little eyes.
ol' mistah buzzard grinned.
""ah knows jes" what yo" done got in your mind, brer possum," said he.
""it's that trifling, no "count cousin of mine.
he's a buzzard, or a vulture, if yo" like that better, jes" like ah am, but he belongs to another branch of the fam "ly.
he has a bald haid, jes" like ah have, but his haid is black instead of red.
that's because his grandpap was trifling an" po" trash, jes" like he is."
peter rabbit pricked up his ears.
this sounded like another story.
he was curious about that black-headed cousin of ol' mistah buzzard, very curious indeed.
he wondered if ol' mistah buzzard would have to be teased for a story, like grandfather frog.
anyway, he would find out.
there would be no harm in trying.
""if you please, how does your cousin happen to have a black head?"
asked peter as politely as he knew how.
""because his grandpap asked too many questions," replied ol' mistah buzzard, slyly winking at the others.
everybody laughed, for everybody knows that no one asks more questions than peter rabbit.
peter laughed with the rest, although he looked a wee bit foolish.
but he did n't mean to give up just because he was laughed at.
oh, my, no!
""please, mr. buzzard, please tell us the story," he begged.
now ol' mistah buzzard is naturally good-natured and accommodating, and when peter begged so hard, he just could n't find it in his heart to refuse.
besides, he rather enjoys telling stories.
so he shook his feathers out, half spread his wings to let the air blow under them, looked down at all the little meadow and forest people gathered about the foot of the tall, dead tree where he delights to roost, grinned at them in the funniest way, and then began this story: "way back in the days when grandpap buzzard had his lil falling out with ol' king eagle and done fly so high he sco "tch the feathers offen his haid, he had a cousin, did grandpap buzzard, and this cousin was jes" naturally lazy and no "count.
like most no "count people, he used to make a regular nuisance of hisself, poking his nose into ev "ybody's business and never "tending to his own.
was n't anything going on that this trifling member of the buzzard fam "ly did n't find out about and meddle in.
he could ask mo" questions than peter rabbit can, an" anybody that can do that has got to ask a lot."
everybody looked at peter and laughed.
peter made a funny face and laughed too.
""seemed like he jes" went "round from mo "ning to night asking questions," continued ol' mistah buzzard, "got so that eve "ybody dreaded to see that no "count buzzard coming, because he bound to pester with questions about things what do n't concern him no ways.
""now yo" know that way down in ol' virginny where ah done come from, mah fam "ly done got the habit of sitting on the tops of chimneys in the wintertime to warm their toes."
""why, i thought it was warm down south!"
interrupted peter rabbit.
""so it is, brer rabbit!
so it is!"
ol' mistah buzzard hastened to say.
""but yo" see, ol' jack frost try to come down there sometimes, an" he cool the air off a right smart lot before he turn tail an" run back where he belong.
so we-uns sit on the chimney-tops whenever ol' jack frost gets to straying down where he have no business.
yo" see, if we-uns keep our toes warm, we-uns are warm all over.
""one day this no "count, trifling cousin of grandpap buzzard get cold in his feet.
he look "round right smart fo" a chimney fo" to warm his toes, an" pretty soon he see one where he never been before.
it was on a lil ol' house, a lil ol' tumble-down house.
mistah buzzard fly right over an" sit on that chimney-top fo" to warm his toes.
of course he right smart curious about that lil ol' tumble-down house and who live there.
he hear somebody inside talking to theirself, but he ca n't hear what they say, jes" a mumbling sound that come up the chimney to him.
""he listen an" listen.
then he shift "round to the other side of the chimney an" listen.
no matter where he sit, he ca n't hear what being said down inside that lil ol' tumble-down house.
then what do yo" think mistah buzzard do?
why, he jes" stretch his fool haid as far down that chimney as he can an" listen an" listen.
yes, sah, that is jes" what that no "count buzzard do.
but all he hear is jes" a mumbling and a mumbling, an" that make him more curious than ever.
it seem to him that he must go clean outen his haid "less he hear what going on down inside that lil ol' house.
""now when he stretch his haid an" neck down the chimney that way, he get'em all black with soot.
but he do n't mind that.
no, sah, he don" mind that a bit.
fact is, he don" notice it.
he so curious he don" notice anything, an" pretty soon he plumb fo "get where he is an" that he is listening where he have no business.
he plumb fo "get all about this, an" he holler down that chimney.
yes, sah, he holler right down that chimney!"
"will yo" - alls please speak a lil louder," he holler down the chimney, jes" like that.
""now the lil ol' woman what lived by herself in that lil ol' tumble-down house had n't seen that no "count buzzard light on the chimney fo" to warm his toes, an" when she hear that voice coming right outen the fireplace, she was some flustrated and scared, was that lil ol' woman.
yes, sah, she sho "ly was plumb scared.
she so scared she tip over a whole kettleful of soup right in the fire.
of course that make a terrible mess an" a powerful lot of smoke an" hot ashes fly up the chimney.
they like to choke that no "count buzzard to death.
they burn the feathers offen his haid an" neck, an" the soot make him black, all but his feet an" laigs an" the inside of his wings, which he keep closed.
""mistah buzzard he give a mighty squawk an" fly away.
when he get home, he try an" try to brush that soot off, but it done get into the skin an" it stay there.
an" from that day his haid an" neck stay black, an" he never speak lessen he spoken to, an" then he only grunt.
his chillen jes" like him, an" his chillen's chillen the same way.
an" that is the reason that mah cousin who lives down souf done have a black haid," concluded ol' mistah buzzard.
a little sigh of satisfaction went around the circle of listeners.
as usual, peter rabbit was the first to speak.
""that was a splendid story, mr. buzzard," said he, "and i'm ever and ever so much obliged to you.
it was just as good as one of grandfather frog's."
ol' mistah buzzard grinned and slowly winked one eye at unc" billy possum as he replied: "thank yo", brer rabbit.
that's quite the nicest thing yo" could say."
""but it's true!"
shouted all together, and then everybody gave three cheers for ol' mistah buzzard before starting off to attend to their own private affairs.
xiii why buster bear appears to have no tail peter rabbit had something new to bother his bump of curiosity.
and it did bother it a lot.
he had just seen buster bear for the first time, and what do you think had impressed him most?
well, it was n't buster's great size, or wonderful strength, or big claws, or deep, grumbly-rumbly voice.
no, sir, it was n't one of these.
it was the fact that buster bear seemed to have no tail!
peter could n't get over that.
he almost pitied buster bear.
you see, peter has a great admiration for fine tails.
he has always been rather ashamed of the funny little one he has himself.
still, it is a real tail, and he has often comforted himself with that thought.
so the first thing peter did when he saw buster bear was to look to see what kind of a tail he had.
just imagine how surprised he was when he could n't make sure that buster had any tail at all.
there was something that might, just might, be meant for a tail, and peter was n't even sure of that.
if it was, it was so ridiculously small that peter felt that he had no reason to be ashamed of his own tail.
he was still thinking about this when he started for home.
half way there, he paused, saw that the way to the smiling pool was clear, and suddenly made up his mind to ask grandfather frog about buster bear's tail.
off he started, lipperty-lipperty-lip.
""oh, grandfather frog," he panted, as soon as he reached the edge of the smiling pool, "has buster bear got a tail?"
grandfather frog regarded peter in silence for a minute or two.
then very slowly he asked: "what are your eyes for, peter rabbit?
could n't you see whether or not he has a tail?"
""no, grandfather frog.
i really could n't tell whether he has a tail or not," replied peter quite truthfully.
""at first i thought he had n't, and then i thought he might have.
if he has, it does n't seem to me that it is enough to call a really truly tail."
""well, it is a really truly tail, even if you do n't think so," retorted grandfather frog, "and he has it for a reminder."
""a reminder!"
exclaimed peter, looking very much puzzled.
""a reminder of what?"
grandfather frog cleared his throat two or three times.
""sit down, peter, and learn a lesson from the tale of the tail of old king bear," said he very seriously.
""you remember that once upon a time, long ago, when the world was young, old king bear ruled in the green forest, and everybody brought tribute to him."
peter nodded and grandfather frog went on.
""now old king bear was the great-great-ever-so-great grandfather of buster bear, and he looked very much as buster does, except that he did n't have any tail at all, not the least sign of a tail.
at first, before he was made king of the green forest, he did n't mind this at all.
in fact, he was rather pleased that he did n't have a tail.
you see, he could n't think of any earthly use he would have for a tail, and so he was glad that he had n't got one to bother with.
""this was just old mother nature's view of the matter.
she had done her very best to give everybody everything that they really needed, and not to give them things which they did n't need.
she could n't see that mr. bear had the least need of a tail, and so she had n't given him one.
mr. bear was perfectly happy without one, and was so busy getting enough to eat that he did n't have time for silly thoughts or vain wishes.
""then he was made king over all the people of the green forest, and his word was law.
it was a very great honor, and for a while he felt it so and did his best to rule wisely.
he went about just as before, hunting for his living, and had no more time than before for foolish thoughts or vain wishes.
but after a little, the little people over whom he ruled began to bring him tribute, so that he no longer had to hunt for enough to eat.
indeed, he had so much brought to him, that he could n't begin to eat all of it, and he grew very dainty and fussy about what he did eat.
having nothing to do but eat and sleep, he grew very fat and lazy, as is the case with most people who have nothing to do.
he grew so fat that when he walked, he puffed and wheezed.
he grew so lazy that he wanted to be waited on all the time.
""it happened about this time that he overheard mr. fox talking to mr. wolf when they both thought him asleep."
a pretty kind of a king, he is!"
sneered mr. fox.
"the idea of a king without a tail!""
"that's so," assented mr. wolf.
"why, even that little upstart, mr. rabbit, has got a make-believe tail.""
grandfather frog's eyes twinkled as he said this, and peter looked very much embarrassed.
but he did n't say anything, so grandfather frog went on.
""old king bear pretended to wake up just then, and right away mr. fox and mr. wolf were as polite and smiling as you please and began to flatter him.
they told him how proud they were of their king, and how handsome he was, and a lot of other nice things, all of which he had heard often before and had believed.
he pretended to believe them now, but after they were through paying their respects and had gone away, he kept turning over and over in his mind what he had overheard them say when they thought he was asleep.
""after that he could n't think of anything but the fact that he had n't any tail.
he took particular notice of all who came to pay him tribute, and he saw that every one of them had a tail.
some had long tails; some had short tails; some had handsome tails and some had homely tails; but everybody had a tail of some kind.
the more he tried not to think of these tails, the more he did think of them.
the more he thought of them, the more discontented he grew because he had none.
he did n't stop to think that probably all of them had use for their tails.
no, sir, he did n't think of that.
everybody else had a tail, and he had n't.
he felt that it was a disgrace that he, the king, should have no tail.
he brooded over it so much that he lost his appetite and grew cross and peevish.
""then along came old mother nature to see how things were going in the green forest.
of course she saw right away that something was wrong with old king bear.
when she asked him what the matter was, he was ashamed to tell her at first.
but after a little he told her that he wanted a tail; that he could never again be happy unless he had a tail.
she told him that he had n't the least use in the world for a tail, and that he would n't be any happier if he had one.
nothing that she could say made any difference -- he wanted a tail.
finally she gave him one.
""for a few days old king bear was perfectly happy.
he spent all his spare time admiring his new tail.
he called the attention of all his subjects to it, and they all told him that it was a very wonderful tail and was very becoming to him.
but it was n't long before he found that his new tail was very much in the way.
it bothered him when he walked.
it was in the way when he sat down.
it was a nuisance when he climbed a tree.
he did n't have a single use for it, and yet he had to carry it with him wherever he went.
worse still, he overheard little mr. squirrel and mr. possum making fun of it.
and then he discovered that the very ones who admired his tail so to his face were laughing at him and poking fun at him behind his back.
""and then old king bear wished that he had n't a tail more than ever he wished that he did have a tail.
again he lost his appetite and grew cross and peevish, so that no one dared come near him.
so matters went from bad to worse, until once more old mother nature visited the green forest to see how things were.
very humbly old king bear went down on his knees and begged her to take away his tail.
at first old mother nature refused, but he begged so hard and promised so faithfully never again to be discontented, that finally she relented and took away his tail, all but just a wee little bit.
that she left as a reminder lest he should forget the lesson he had learned and should again grow envious.
-lsb- illustration: "then old king bear wished that he had n't a tail." -rsb-
""and every bear since that long-ago day has carried about with him a reminder -- you can hardly call it a real tail -- of the silly, foolish discontent of old king bear," concluded grandfather frog.
peter rabbit scratched one long ear thoughtfully as he replied: "thank you, grandfather frog.
i think that hereafter i will be quite content with what i've got and never want things it is not meant that i should have."
xiv why flitter the bat flies at night -lsb- illustration: "it must be fine to fly," thought peter.
""i wish i could fly." -rsb-
flitter the bat made peter rabbit's head dizzy.
peter could n't help watching him.
he just had to.
it seemed so wonderful that flitter could really fly, that whenever he saw him, peter had to stop and watch.
and then, as he saw flitter twist and turn, fly high, fly low, and go round and round, peter's head would begin to swim and grow dizzy, and he wondered and wondered how it was that flitter himself did n't grow dizzy.
""it must be fine to fly," thought peter.
""i wish i could fly.
if i could, i would n't spend all my time flying around the way flitter does.
i'd go on long journeys and see the great world.
i'd fly way, way up in the blue, blue sky, the way ol' mistah buzzard does, where i could look down and see all that is going on in the green forest and on the green meadows.
and i'd fly in the daytime, because there is more going on then.
i wonder, now, why it is that flitter never comes out until after jolly, round, red mr. sun has gone to bed behind the purple hills.
i never see him in the daytime, and i do n't even know where he keeps himself.
i never thought of it before, but i wonder why it is that he flies only at night.
i believe i'll ask grandfather frog the very next time i see him."
now you know that once peter rabbit's curiosity is aroused, it just has to be satisfied.
no sooner did he begin to wonder about flitter the bat than he could think of nothing else.
so he watched until the way was clear, and then he started for the smiling pool as fast as he could go, lipperty-lipperty-lip.
he hoped he would find grandfather frog sitting as usual on his big green lily-pad, and that he would be good-natured.
if he was n't feeling good-natured, it would be of no use to ask him for a story.
when peter reached the smiling pool he was disappointed, terribly disappointed.
the big green lily-pad was there, but there was no one sitting on it.
somehow the smiling pool did n't seem quite like itself without grandfather frog sitting there watching for foolish green flies.
peter's face showed just how disappointed he felt.
he was just going to turn away when a great, deep voice said: "chug-a-rum!
where are your manners, peter rabbit, that you forget to speak to your elders?"
peter stared eagerly into the smiling pool, and presently he saw two great, goggly eyes and the top of a green head, way out almost in the middle of the smiling pool.
it was grandfather frog himself, having his morning swim.
""oh, grandfather frog, i did n't see you at all!"
cried peter, "if i had, of course i would have spoken.
the fact is, i -- i --" "you want a story," finished grandfather frog for him.
""you ca n't fool me, peter rabbit.
you came over here just to ask me for a story.
i know you, peter!
i know you!
well, what is it this time?"
""if you please," replied peter politely and happily, for he saw that grandfather frog was feeling good-natured, "why is it that flitter the bat flies only at night?"
grandfather frog climbed out on his big green lily-pad and made himself comfortable.
peter sat still and tried not to show how impatient he felt.
grandfather frog took his time.
it tickled him to see how hard impatient peter was trying to be patient, and his big, goggly eyes twinkled.
""chug-a-rum!"
said he at last, with a suddenness that made peter jump.
""that's very good, peter, very good indeed!
now i'll tell you the story."
of course he meant that peter's effort to keep still was very good, but peter did n't know this, and he could n't imagine what grandfather frog meant.
however, what he cared most about was the story, so he settled himself to listen, his long ears standing straight up, and his eyes stretched wide open as he watched grandfather frog.
the latter cleared his throat two or three times, each time as if he intended to begin right then.
it was one of grandfather frog's little jokes.
he did it just to tease peter.
at last he really did begin, and the very first thing he did was to ask peter a question.
""what is the reason that you stay in the dear old briar-patch when reddy fox is around?"
""so that he wo n't catch me, of course," replied peter.
""very good," said grandfather frog.
""now, why do you go over to the sweet-clover patch every day?"
""why, because there is plenty to eat there," replied peter, looking very, very much puzzled.
""well, now you've answered your own question," grunted grandfather frog.
""flitter flies at night because he is safest then, and because he can find plenty to eat."
""oh," said peter, and his voice sounded dreadfully disappointed.
he had found out what he had wanted to know, but he had n't had a story.
he fidgeted about and looked very hard at grandfather frog, but the latter seemed to think that he had told peter what he wanted to know, and that was all there was to it.
finally peter sighed, and it was such a heavy sigh!
then very slowly he turned his back on the smiling pool and started to hop away.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog in his deepest, story-telling voice.
""a long time ago when the world was young, the great-great-ever-so-great grandfather of flitter the bat first learned to fly."
""i know!"
cried peter eagerly.
""you told me about that, and it was a splendid story."
""but when he learned to fly, he found that old mother nature never gives all her blessings to any single one of her little people," continued grandfather frog, without paying the least attention to peter's interruption.
""old mr. bat had wings; something no other animal had, but he found that he could no longer run and jump.
he could just flop about on the ground, and was almost helpless.
of course that meant that he could very easily be caught, and so the ground was no longer a safe place for him.
but he soon found that he was not safe in the air in daytime.
old mr. hawk could fly even faster than he, and mr. hawk was always watching for him.
at first, mr. bat did n't know what to do.
he did n't like to go to old mother nature and complain that his new wings were not all that he had thought they would be.
that would look as if he were ungrateful for her kindness in giving him the wings."
"i've got to think of some way out of my troubles myself," thought old mr. bat.
"when i'm sure that i ca n't, it will be time enough to go to old mother nature."
""now of course it is very hard to think when you are twisting and dodging and turning in the air."
""of course!"
said peter rabbit, just as if he knew all about it.
""so mr. bat went looking for a place where he could be quiet all by himself and think without danger of being gobbled up for some one's dinner," continued grandfather frog.
""he flew and he flew and had almost given up hope of finding any such place when he saw a cave.
it looked very black inside, but it was big enough for mr. bat to fly into, and in he went.
he knew that mr. hawk would never come in there, and when he found a little shelf up near the roof, he knew that he was safe from any four-footed enemies who might follow him there.
it was just the place to rest and think.
so he rested, and while he rested, he thought and thought.
""by and by he noticed that it was growing dark outside.
"my goodness!
if i am going to get anything to eat to-day, i shall have to hurry," thought he.
when he got outside, he found that mr. sun had gone to bed.
so had all the birds, except mr. owl and mr. nighthawk.
now mr. nighthawk does n't belong to the hawk family at all, so there was nothing to fear from him.
then mr. bat had a very pleasant surprise.
he found the air full of insects, ever so many more than in the daytime.
by being very smart and quick he caught a few before it was too dark for him to see.
they did n't fill his stomach, but they kept him from starving.
as he flew back to the cave, a great idea came to him, the idea for which he had been thinking so hard.
he would sleep days in the cave, where he was perfectly safe, and come out to hunt bugs and insects just as soon as mr. hawk had gone to bed!
then he would be safe and would not have to complain to old mother nature.
""at first old mr. bat, who was n't old then, you know, had hard work to catch enough insects before it grew too dark, but he found that every night he could see a little longer and a little better than the night before, until by and by he could see as well in the dusk as he used to see in the daytime.
then he realized that old mother nature had once more been very good to him, and that she had helped him just as she always helps those who help themselves.
she had given him night-seeing eyes, and he no more had to go hungry.
""mr. bat was very grateful, and from that day to this, bats have been content to live in caves and fly in the evening.
you ask flitter if it is n't so."
peter grinned.
""he never stays in one place long enough for me to ask him anything," said he.
""i'm ever so much obliged for the story, grandfather frog.
it pays to make the best of what we have, does n't it?"
""it certainly does.
chug-a-rum!
it certainly does!"
replied grandfather frog.
xv why spotty the turtle carries his house with him spotty the turtle sat on an old log on the bank of the smiling pool, taking a sun-bath.
he had sat that way for the longest time without once moving.
peter rabbit had seen him when he went by on his way to the laughing brook and the green forest to look for some one to pass the time of day with.
spotty was still there when peter returned a long time after, and he did n't look as if he had moved.
a sudden thought struck peter.
he could n't remember that he ever had seen spotty's house.
he had seen the houses of most of his other friends, but think as hard as ever he could, he did n't remember having seen spotty's.
""hi, spotty!"
he shouted.
""where do you live?"
spotty slowly turned his head and looked up at peter.
there was a twinkle in his eyes, though peter did n't see it.
""right here in the smiling pool.
where else should i live?"
he replied.
""i mean, where is your house?"
returned peter.
""of course i know you live in the smiling pool, but where is your house?
is it in the bank or down under water?"
""it is just wherever i happen to be.
just now it is right here," said spotty.
""i always take it with me wherever i go; i find it much the handiest way."
-lsb- illustration: "hi, spotty!"
he shouted.
""where do you live?" -rsb-
with that spotty disappeared.
that is to say, his head and legs and tail disappeared.
peter stared very hard.
then he began to laugh, for it came to him that what spotty had said was true.
his house was with him, and now he had simply retired inside.
he did n't need any other house than just that hard, spotted shell, inside of which he was now so cosily tucked away.
""that's a great idea!
ho, ho, ho!
that's a great idea!"
shouted peter.
""of course it is," replied spotty, putting nothing but his head out, "you will always find me at home whenever you call, peter, and that is more than you can say of most other people."
all the way to his own home in the dear old briar-patch, peter thought about spotty and how queer it was that he should carry his house around with him.
""i wonder how it happens that he does it," thought he.
""no wonder he is so slow.
of course, it is very handy to have his house always with him.
as he says, he is always at home.
still, when he is in a hurry to get away from an enemy, it must be very awkward to have to carry his house on his back.
i -- i -- why, how stupid of me!
he does n't have to run away at all!
all he has got to do is to go inside his house and stay there until the danger is past!
i never thought of that before.
why, that is the handiest thing i ever heard of."
now peter knew that there must be a good story about spotty and his house, and you know peter dearly loves a good story.
so at the very first opportunity the next day, he hurried over to the smiling pool to ask grandfather frog about it.
as usual, grandfather frog was sitting on his big green lily-pad.
no sooner did peter pop his head above the edge of the bank of the smiling pool than grandfather frog exclaimed: "chug-a-rum!
you've kept me waiting a long time, peter rabbit.
i do n't like to be kept waiting.
if you wanted to know about spotty the turtle, why did n't you come earlier?"
all the time there was a twinkle in the big, goggly eyes of grandfather frog.
peter was so surprised that he could n't find his tongue.
he had n't said a word to any one about spotty, so how could grandfather frog know what he had come for?
for a long time he had had a great deal of respect for grandfather frog, who, as you know, is very old and very wise, but now peter felt almost afraid of him.
you see, it seemed to peter as if grandfather frog had read his very thoughts.
""i -- i did n't know you were waiting.
truly i did n't," stammered peter.
""if i had, i would have been here long ago.
if you please, how did you know that i was coming and what i was coming for?"
""never mind how i knew.
i know a great deal that i do n't tell, which is more than some folks can say," replied grandfather frog.
peter wondered if he meant him, for you know peter is a great gossip.
but he did n't say anything, because he did n't know just what to say, and in a minute grandfather frog began the story peter so much wanted.
""of course you know, without me telling you, that there is a reason for spotty's carrying his house around with him, because there is a reason for everything in this world.
and of course you know that that reason is because of something that happened a long time ago, way back in the days when the world was young.
almost everything to-day is the result of things that happened in those long-ago days.
the great-great-ever-so-great grandfather of spotty the turtle lived then, and unlike spotty, whom you know, he had no house.
he was very quiet and bashful, was mr. turtle, and he never meddled with any one's business, because he believed that the best way of keeping out of trouble was to attend strictly to his own affairs.
""he was a good deal like spotty, just as fond of the water and just as slow moving, but he did n't have the house which spotty has now.
if he had had, he would have been saved a great deal of trouble and worry.
for a long time everybody lived at peace with everybody else.
then came the trying time, of which you already know, when those who lived on the green meadows and in the green forest had the very hardest kind of work to find enough to eat, and were hungry most of the time.
now mr. turtle, living in the smiling pool, had plenty to eat.
he had nothing to worry about on that score.
everybody who lives in the smiling pool knows that it is the best place in the world, anyway."
grandfather frog winked at jerry muskrat, who was listening, and jerry nodded his head.
""but presently mr. turtle discovered that the big people were eating the little people whenever they could catch them, and that he was n't safe a minute when on shore, and not always safe in the water," continued grandfather frog.
""he had two or three very narrow escapes, and these set him to thinking.
he was too slow and awkward to run or to fight.
the only thing he could do was to keep out of sight as much as possible.
so he learned to swim with only his head out of water, and sometimes with only the end of his nose out of water.
when he went on land, he would cover himself with mud, and then when he heard anybody coming, he would lie perfectly still, with his legs and his tail and his head drawn in just as close as possible, so that he looked for all the world like just a little lump of brown earth.
""one day he had crawled under a piece of bark to rest and at the same time keep out of sight of any who might happen along.
when he got ready to go on his way, he found that the piece of bark had caught on his back, and that he was carrying it with him.
at first he was annoyed and started to shake it off.
before he succeeded, he heard someone coming, so he promptly drew in his head and legs and tail.
it was mr. fisher, and he was very hungry and fierce.
he looked at the piece of bark under which mr. turtle was hiding, but all he saw was the bark, because, you know, mr. turtle had drawn himself wholly under.""
i believe," said mr. fisher, talking out loud to himself, "that i'll have a look around the smiling pool and see if i can catch that slow-moving turtle who lives there.
i believe he'll make me a good dinner."
""of course mr. turtle heard just what he said, and he blessed the piece of bark which had hidden him from mr. fisher's sight.
for a long time he lay very still.
when he did go on, he took the greatest care not to shake off that piece of bark, for he did n't know but that any minute he might want to hide under it again.
at last he reached the smiling pool and slipped into the water, leaving the piece of bark on the bank.
thereafter, when he wanted to go on land, he would first make sure that no one was watching.
then he would crawl under the piece of bark and get it on his back.
wherever he went he carried the piece of bark so as to have it handy to hide under.
""now all this time old mother nature had been watching mr. turtle, and it pleased her to see that he was smart enough to think of such a clever way of fooling his enemies.
so she began to study how she could help mr. turtle.
one day she came up behind him just as he sat down to rest.
the piece of bark was uncomfortable and scratched his back," i wish," said he, talking to himself, for he did n't know that any one else was near," i wish that i had a house of my own that i could carry on my back all the time and be perfectly safe when i was inside of it.""
"you shall have," said old mother nature, and reaching out, she touched his back and turned the skin into hard shell.
then she touched the skin of his stomach and turned that into hard shell.
"now draw in your head and your legs and your tail," said she.
""mr. turtle did as he was told to do, and there he was in the very best and safest kind of a house, perfectly hidden from all his enemies!"
"oh, mother nature, how can i ever thank you?"
he cried."
"by doing as you always have done, attending wholly to your own affairs," replied old mother nature.
""so ever since that long-ago day when the world was young, all turtles have carried their houses with them and never have meddled in things that do n't concern them," concluded grandfather frog.
""oh, thank you, grandfather frog," exclaimed peter, drawing a long breath.
""that was a perfectly splendid thing for old mother nature to do."
then he started for his own home in the dear old briar-patch, and all the way there he wondered and wondered how grandfather frog knew that he wanted that story, and to this day he has n't found out.
you see, he did n't notice that grandfather frog was listening when he asked spotty about his house.
of course, grandfather frog knows peter and his curiosity so well that he had guessed right away that peter would come to him for the story, just as peter did.
xvi why paddy the beaver has a broad tail usually the thing that interests us most is something that we have n't got ourselves.
it is that way with peter rabbit.
peter is not naturally envious.
oh, my, no!
peter is pretty well satisfied with what he has, which is quite as it should be.
there is only one thing with which peter is really dissatisfied, and it is only once in a while, when he has n't much of anything else to think about, that he is dissatisfied with this.
can you guess what it is?
well, it is his tail.
yes, sir, that is the one thing that ever really troubles peter.
you see, peter's tail is, nothing but a funny little bunch of cotton, which does n't look like a tail at all.
the only time he ever sees it is when he is back to the smiling pool and looks over his shoulder at his reflection in the water, and then, of course, he really does n't see his tail itself.
so sometimes when peter sees the fine tails of his neighbors, a little bit of envy creeps into his heart for just a little while.
why, even little danny meadow mouse has a real tail, short as it is.
and as for happy jack squirrel and reddy fox and bobby coon and jimmy skunk, everybody knows what beautiful tails they have.
once peter thought about it so much that grandfather frog noticed how sober he was and asked peter what the trouble was.
when peter told him that it seemed to him that old mother nature had not been fair in giving him such a foolish little tail when she had given others such beautiful ones, grandfather frog just opened his big mouth and laughed until he had to hold his sides.
""why, peter," said he, "you look so sober, that i thought you really had something to worry about.
what would you do with a big tail, if you had one?
it would always be in your way.
just think how many times reddy fox or old granny fox have almost caught you.
they certainly would have before this, if you had had a long tail sticking out behind for them to get hold of.
i had a long tail when i was young, and i was mighty glad to get rid of it."
after he heard that, peter felt better.
but he did n't lose interest in tails, and he spent a great deal of time in wondering why some of his neighbors had big, bushy tails and some had long, slim tails and why he himself had almost no tail at all.
so when paddy the beaver came to live in the green forest, and made a pond there by building a wonderful dam across the laughing brook, the first thing peter looked to see was what kind of a tail paddy has, and the first time he got a good look at it, his eyes popped almost out of his head.
he just stared and stared.
he hardly noticed the wonderful dam or the equally wonderful canals which paddy had made.
all he could think of was that great, broad, flat, thick tail, which is so unlike any tail he had ever seen or heard of.
the very next morning he hurried over to the smiling pool to tell grandfather frog about it.
grandfather frog's big, goggly eyes twinkled.
""chug-a-rum!"
said he.
""paddy the beaver has one of the most useful tails i know of.
would you like to know how he comes by such a queer tail?"
-lsb- illustration: the first thing peter looked to see was what kind of a tail paddy has. -rsb-
""oh, if you please!
if you please, grandfather frog!
i did n't suppose there was such a queer tail in all the world, and i do n't see what possible use it can be.
do tell me about it!"
cried peter.
""chug-a-rum!
if you had used your eyes when you visited paddy, you might have guessed for yourself how he came by it," replied grandfather frog gruffly.
""some people never do learn to use their eyes."
peter looked a bit sheepish, but he said nothing and waited patiently.
presently grandfather frog cleared his throat two or three times and began to talk.
""once upon a time, long, long ago, when the world was young --" "it seems to me that everything wonderful happened long ago when the world was young," interrupted peter.
grandfather frog looked at peter severely, and peter hastened to beg his pardon.
after a long time grandfather frog began again.
""once on a time, long, long ago, lived mr. beaver, the great-great-ever-so-great grandfather of paddy up there in the green forest.
old mr. beaver was one of the hardest working of all of old mother nature's big family and one of the smartest, just as paddy is to-day.
he always seemed happiest when he was busiest, and because he liked to be happy all the time, he tried to keep busy all the time.
""he was very thrifty, was mr. beaver; not at all like some people i know.
he believed in preparing to-day for what might happen to-morrow, and so when he had all the food he needed for the present, he stored away food for the time when it might not be so easy to get.
and he believed in helping himself, did mr. beaver, and not in leaving everything to old mother nature, as did most of his neighbors.
that is how he first came to think of making a dam and a pond.
like his small cousin, mr. muskrat, he was very fond of the water, and felt most at home and safest there.
but he found that sometimes the food which he liked best, which was the bark of certain kinds of trees, grew some distance from the water, and it was the hardest kind of hard work to roll and drag the logs down to the water, where he could eat the bark from them in safety.
""he thought about this a great deal, but instead of going to old mother nature and complaining, as most of his neighbors would have done in his place, he studied and studied to find some way to make the work easier.
one day he noticed that a lot of sticks had caught in the stream where he made his home, and that because the water could not work its way between them as fast as where nothing hindered it, it made a little pool just above the sticks.
that made him think harder than ever.
he brought some of the logs and sticks from which he had gnawed the bark and fastened them with the others, and right away the pool grew bigger.
the more sticks he added, the bigger the pool grew.
mr. beaver had discovered what a dam is for and how to build it."
"why," thought he, "if i make a pond at the place nearest to my food trees, i can carry the water to the trees instead of the trees to the water; and that will be easier and ever so much safer as well."
""so mr. beaver built a dam at just the right place, while all the other little people laughed at him and made fun of him for working so hard.
just as he had thought it would do, the dam made a pond, and the pond grew bigger and bigger, until it reached the very place where his food trees grew.
mr. beaver built him a big, comfortable house out in the pond, and then he went to work as hard as ever he could to cut down trees and then cut them up into the right sized pieces to store away in his big food pile for the winter.
""now cutting down trees is hard work.
yes, siree, cutting down trees is the hardest kind of hard work.
mr. beaver had to sit up on his hind legs to do it, and his legs grew very, very tired.
in those days he had a tail very much like the tail of jerry muskrat.
it was very useful when he was swimming, but it was of no use at all at any other time.
sometimes he tried to brace himself with it -- when he was sitting up to cut trees, and found it of no help.
but he did n't complain; he just kept right on working, and only stopped to rest when his legs ached so that he had to.
""he was working just as usual one day when old mother nature came along to see how he was getting on.
she saw the new dam and the new pond, and she asked mr. beaver who had made them.
he told her that he had and explained why.
old mother nature was greatly pleased, but she did n't say so.
she just passed the time of day with him and then sat down to watch him cut a tree.
she saw him try to brace himself with his useless tail, and she saw him stop to rest his tired legs."
"that looks to me like pretty hard work," said old mother nature."
"so it is," replied mr. beaver, stretching first one leg and then another.
"but things worth having are worth working for," and with that he began cutting again."
"you ought to have something to sit on," said old mother nature, her eyes twinkling.
""mr. beaver grinned.
"it would be very nice," he confessed, "but i never waste time wishing for things i have n't got and ca n't get," and went right on cutting.
""the next morning when he awoke, he had the greatest surprise of his life.
he had a new tail!
it was broad and thick and flat.
it was n't like any tail he had ever seen or heard of.
at first he did n't know how to manage it, but when he tried to swim, he found that it was even better than his old tail for swimming.
he hurried over to begin his day's work, and there he made another discovery; his new tail was just the most splendid brace!
it was almost like a stool to sit on, and he could work all day long without tiring his legs.
then was mr. beaver very happy, and to show how happy he was, he worked harder than ever.
later, he found that his new tail was just what he needed to pat down the mud with which he covered the roof of his house."
"why," he cried," i believe it is the most useful tail in all the world!"
""and then he wished with all his might that old mother nature would return so that he might thank her for it.
and that," concluded grandfather frog, "is how mr. beaver came by his broad tail.
you see, old mother nature always helps those who help themselves.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___mother_west_wind's_animal_friends.txt.out
i the merry little breezes save the green meadows old mother west wind's family is very big, very big indeed.
there are dozens and dozens of merry little breezes, all children of old mother west wind.
every morning she comes down from the purple hills and tumbles them out of a great bag on to the green meadows.
every night she gathers them into the great bag and, putting it over her shoulder, takes them to their home behind the purple hills.
one morning, just as usual, old mother west wind turned the merry little breezes out to play on the green meadows.
then she hurried away to fill the sails of the ships and blow them across the great ocean.
the merry little breezes hopped and skipped over the green meadows looking for some one to play with.
it was then that one of them discovered something -- something very dreadful.
it was a fire!
yes, sir, it was a fire in the meadow grass!
some one had dropped a lighted match, and now little red flames were running through the grass in all directions.
the merry little breeze hastened to tell all the other little breezes and all rushed over as fast as they could to see for themselves.
they saw how the little red flames were turning to smoke and ashes everything they touched, and how black and ugly, with nothing alive there, became that part of the green meadows where the little flames ran.
it was dreadful!
then one of them noticed that the little red flames were running in the direction of johnny chuck's new house.
would the little red flames burn up johnny chuck, as they burned up the grass and the flowers?
""hi!"
cried the merry little breeze, "we must warn johnny chuck and all the other little meadow people!"
so he caught up a capful of smoke and raced off as fast as he could go to johnny chuck's house.
then each of the merry little breezes caught up a capful of smoke and started to warn one of the little meadow people or forest folks.
so pretty soon jolly, round, red mr. sun, looking down from the blue sky, saw johnny chuck, jimmy skunk, peter rabbit, striped chipmunk, danny meadow mouse, reddy fox, bobby coon, happy jack squirrel, chatterer the red squirrel, jumper the hare and old mr. toad all hurrying as fast as they could to the smiling pool where live billy mink and little joe otter and jerry muskrat and spotty the turtle and grandfather frog.
there they would be quite safe from the little red flames.
""oh," gasped johnny chuck, puffing very hard, for you know he is round and fat and roly-poly and it was hard work for him to run, "what will become of my nice new house and what will there be left to eat?"
the merry little breeze who had brought him the warning in a capful of smoke thought for a minute.
then he called all the other little breezes to him.
""we must get farmer brown's help or we will have no beautiful green meadows to play on," said the merry little breeze.
so together they rushed back to where the little red flames had grown into great, angry, red flames that were licking up everything in their way.
the merry little breezes gathered a great cloud of smoke and, lifting all together, they carried it over and dropped it in farmer brown's dooryard.
then one of them blew a little of the smoke in at an open window, near which farmer brown was eating breakfast.
farmer brown coughed and strangled and sprang from his chair.
""phew!"
cried farmer brown, "i smell smoke!
there must be a fire on the meadows."
then he shouted for his boy and for his hired man and the three, with shovels in their hands, started for the green meadows to try to put the fire out.
the merry little breezes sighed with relief and followed to the fire.
but when they saw how fierce and angry the red flames had become they knew that farmer brown and his boy and his hired man would not be able to put the fire out.
choking with smoke, they hurried over to tell the dreadful news to the little meadow people and forest folks gathered at the smiling pool.
""chug-a-rum!
why do n't you help put the fire out?"
asked grandfather frog.
""we warned farmer brown and his boy and his hired man; what more can we do?"
asked one of the merry little breezes.
""go find and drive up a rain cloud," replied grandfather frog.
""splendid!"
cried all the little meadow people and forest folks.
""hurry!
hurry!
oh, do hurry!"
so the merry little breezes scattered in all directions to hunt for a rain cloud.
""it is a good thing that old mother west wind has such a big family," said grandfather frog, "for one of them is sure to find a wandering rain cloud somewhere."
then all the little meadow people and forest folks sat down around the smiling pool to wait.
they watched the smoke roll up until it hid the face of jolly, round, red mr. sun.
their hearts almost stood still with fear as they saw the fierce, angry, red flames leap into the air and climb tall trees on the edge of the green forest.
splash!
something struck in the smiling pool right beside grandfather frog's big, green, lily-pad.
spat!
something hit johnny chuck right on the end of his funny little, black nose.
they were drops of water.
""hurrah!"
cried johnny chuck, whirling about.
sure enough, they were drops of water -- rain drops.
and there, coming just as fast as the merry little breezes could push it, and they were pushing very hard, very hard indeed, was a great, black, rain cloud, spilling down rain as it came.
when it was just over the fire, the great, black, rain cloud split wide open, and the water poured down so that the fierce, angry, red flames were drowned in a few minutes.
""phew!"
said farmer brown, mopping his face with his handkerchief, "that was warm work!
that shower came up just in time and it is lucky it did."
but you know and i know and all the little meadow people and forest folks know that it was n't luck at all, but the quick work and hard work of old mother west wind's big family of merry little breezes, which saved the green meadows.
and this, too, is one reason why peter rabbit and johnny chuck and bobby coon and all the other little meadow and forest people love the merry little breezes who play every day on the green meadows.
ii the stranger in the green forest old mother west wind, hurrying down from the purple hills with her merry little breezes, discovered the newcomer in the green forest on the edge of the green meadows.
of course the merry little breezes saw him, too, and as soon as old mother west wind had turned them loose on the green meadows they started out to spread the news.
as they hurried along the crooked little path up the hill, they met reddy fox.
""oh, reddy fox," cried the merry little breezes, so excited that all talked together, "there's a stranger in the green forest!"
reddy fox sat down and grinned at the merry little breezes.
the grin of reddy fox is not pleasant.
it irritates and exasperates.
it made the merry little breezes feel very uncomfortable.
""you do n't say so," drawled reddy fox.
""do you mean to say that you've just discovered him?
why, your news is so old that it is stale; it is no news at all.
i thought you had something really new to tell me."
the merry little breezes were disappointed.
their faces fell.
they had thought it would be such fun to carry the news through the green forest and over the green meadows, and now the very first one they met knew all about it.
""who is he, reddy fox?"
asked one of the merry little breezes.
reddy fox pretended not to hear.
""i must be going," said he, rising and stretching.
""i have an engagement with billy mink down at the smiling pool."
reddy fox started down the crooked little path while the merry little breezes hurried up the crooked little path to tell the news to jimmy skunk, who was looking for beetles for his breakfast.
now reddy fox had not told the truth.
he had known nothing whatever of the stranger in the green forest.
in fact he had been as surprised as the merry little breezes could have wished, but he would not show it.
and he had told another untruth, for he had no intention of going down to the smiling pool.
no, indeed!
he just waited until the merry little breezes were out of sight, then he slipped into the green forest to look for the stranger seen by the merry little breezes.
now reddy fox does nothing openly.
instead of walking through the green forest like a gentleman, he sneaked along under the bushes and crept from tree to tree, all the time looking for the stranger of whom the merry little breezes had told him.
all around through the green forest sneaked reddy fox, but nothing of the stranger could he see.
it did n't occur to him to look anywhere but on the ground.
""i do n't believe there is a stranger here," said reddy to himself.
just then he noticed some scraps of bark around the foot of a tall maple.
looking up to see where it came from he saw -- what do you think?
why, the stranger who had come to the green forest.
reddy fox dodged back out of sight, for he wanted to find out all he could about the stranger before the stranger saw him.
reddy sat down behind a big stump and rubbed his eyes.
he could hardly believe what he saw.
there at the top of the tall maple, stripping the branches of their bark and eating it, was the stranger, sure enough.
he was big, much bigger than reddy.
could he be a relative of happy jack squirrel?
he did n't look a bit, not the least little bit like happy jack.
and he moved slowly, very slowly, indeed, while happy jack and his cousins move quickly.
reddy decided that the stranger could not be related to happy jack.
the longer reddy looked the more he was puzzled.
also, reddy began to feel just a little bit jealous.
you see all the little meadow people and forest folks are afraid of reddy fox, but this stranger was so big that reddy began to feel something very like fear in his own heart.
the merry little breezes had told the news to jimmy skunk and then hurried over the green meadows telling every one they met of the stranger in the green forest -- billy mink, little joe otter, johnny chuck, peter rabbit, happy jack squirrel, danny meadow mouse, striped chipmunk, old mr. toad, grandfather frog, sammy jay, blacky the crow, and each as soon as he heard the news started for the green forest to welcome the newcomer.
even grandfather frog left his beloved big, green lily-pad and started for the green forest.
so it was that when finally the stranger decided that he had eaten enough bark for his breakfast, and climbed slowly down the tall maple, he found all the little meadow people and forest folks sitting in a big circle waiting for him.
the stranger was anything but handsome, but his size filled them with respect.
the nearer he got to the ground the bigger he looked.
down he came, and reddy fox, noting how slow and clumsy in his movements was the stranger, decided that there was nothing to fear.
if the stranger was slow and clumsy in the tree, he was clumsier still on the ground.
his eyes were small and dull.
his coat was rough, long and almost black.
his legs were short and stout.
his tail was rather short and broad.
altogether he was anything but handsome.
but when the little meadow people and forest folks saw his huge front teeth they regarded him with greater respect than ever, all but reddy fox.
reddy strutted out in front of him.
""who are you?"
he demanded.
-lsb- illustration: reddy strutted out in front of him.
""who are you?"
he demanded. -rsb-
the stranger paid no attention to reddy fox.
""what business have you in our green forest?"
demanded reddy, showing all his teeth.
the stranger just grunted and appeared not to see reddy fox.
reddy swelled himself out until every hair stood on end and he looked twice as big as he really is.
he strutted back and forth in front of the stranger.
""do n't you know that i'm afraid of nothing and nobody?"
snarled reddy fox.
the stranger refused to give him so much as a glance.
he just grunted and kept right on about his business.
all the little meadow people and forest folks began to giggle and then to laugh.
reddy knew that they were laughing at him and he grew very angry, for no one likes to be laughed at, least of all reddy fox.
""you're a pig!"
taunted reddy.
""you're afraid to fight.
i bet you're afraid of danny meadow mouse!"
still the stranger just grunted and paid no further attention to reddy fox.
now, with all his boasting reddy fox had kept at a safe distance from the stranger.
happy jack squirrel had noticed this.
""if you're so brave, why do n't you drive him out, reddy fox?"
asked happy jack, skipping behind a tree.
""you do n't dare to!"
reddy turned and glared at happy jack.
""i'm not afraid!"
he shouted.
""i'm not afraid of anything nor anybody!"
but though he spoke so bravely it was noticed that he went no nearer the stranger.
now it happened that that morning bowser the hound took it into his head to take a walk in the green forest.
blacky the crow, sitting on the tip-top of a big pine, was the first to see him coming.
from pure love of mischief blacky waited until bowser was close to the circle around the stranger.
then he gave the alarm.
""here's bowser the hound!
run!"
screamed blacky the crow.
then he laughed so that he had to hold his sides to see the fright down below.
reddy fox forgot that he was afraid of nothing and nobody.
he was the first one out of sight, running so fast that his feet seemed hardly to touch the ground.
peter rabbit turned a back somersault and suddenly remembered that he had important business down on the green meadows.
johnny chuck dodged into a convenient hole.
billy mink ran into a hollow tree.
striped chipmunk hid in an old stump.
happy jack squirrel climbed the nearest tree.
in a twinkling the stranger was alone, facing bowser the hound.
bowser stopped and looked at the stranger in sheer surprise.
then the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he growled a deep, ugly growl.
still the stranger did not run.
bowser did n't know just what to make of it.
never before had he had such an experience.
could it be that the stranger was not afraid of him?
bowser walked around the stranger, growling fiercely.
as he walked the stranger turned, so as always to face him.
it was perplexing and very provoking.
it really seemed as if the stranger had no fear of him.
""bow, wow, wow!"
cried bowser the hound in his deepest voice, and sprang at the stranger.
then something happened, so surprising that blacky the crow lost his balance on the top of the pine where he was watching.
the instant that bowser sprang, the stranger rolled himself into a tight round ball and out of the long hair of his coat sprang hundreds of sharp little yellowish white barbed spears.
the stranger looked for all the world like a huge black and yellow chestnut burr.
bowser the hound was as surprised as blacky the crow.
he stopped short and his eyes looked as if they would pop out of his head.
he looked so puzzled and so funny that happy jack squirrel laughed aloud.
the stranger did not move.
bowser backed away and began to circle around again, sniffing and snuffing.
once in a while he barked.
still the stranger did not move.
for all the sign of life he made he might in truth have been a giant chestnut burr.
bowser sat down and looked at him.
then he walked around to the other side and sat down.
""what a queer thing," thought bowser.
""what a very queer thing."
bowser took a step nearer.
then he took another step.
nothing happened.
finally bowser reached out, and with his nose gingerly touched the prickly ball.
slap!
the stranger's tail had struck bowser full in the face.
bowser yelled with pain and rolled over and over on the ground.
sticking in his tender lips were a dozen sharp little spears, and claw and rub at them as he would, bowser could not get them out.
every time he touched them he yelped with pain.
finally he gave it up and started for home with his tail between his legs like a whipped puppy, and with every step he yelped.
when he had disappeared and his yelps had died away in the distance, the stranger unrolled, the sharp little spears disappeared in the long hair of his coat and, just as if nothing at all had happened, the stranger walked slowly over to a tall maple and began to climb it.
and this is how prickly porky the porcupine came to the green forest, and won the respect and admiration of all the little meadow people and forest folks, including reddy fox.
since that day no one has tried to meddle with prickly porky or his business.
iii how prickly porky got his quills the newcomer in the green forest was a source of great interest to the merry little breezes.
ever since they had seen him turn himself into a huge prickly ball, like a giant chestnut burr, and with a slap of his tail send bowser the hound yelping home with his lips stuck full of little barbed spears, they had visited the green forest every day to watch prickly porky.
he was not very social.
indeed, he was not social at all, but attended strictly to his own business, which consisted chiefly of stripping bark from the trees and eating it.
never had the merry little breezes seen such an appetite!
already that part of the green forest where he had chosen to live had many bare stark trees, killed that prickly porky the porcupine might live.
you see a tree can not live without bark, and prickly porky had stripped them clean to fill his stomach.
but if prickly porky was not social he was not unfriendly.
he seemed to enjoy having the merry little breezes about, and did not in the least mind having them rumple up the long hair of his coat to feel the sharp little barbed spears underneath.
some of these were so loose that they dropped out.
peter rabbit's curiosity led him to examine some of these among bits of bark at the foot of a tree.
peter wished that he had left them alone.
one of the sharp little barbs pierced his tender skin and peter could not get it out.
he had to ask johnny chuck to do it for him, and it had hurt dreadfully.
after that the little meadow people and forest folks held prickly porky in greater respect than ever and left him severely alone, which was just what he seemed to want.
one morning the merry little breezes failed to find prickly porky in the green forest.
could he have left as mysteriously as he had come?
they hurried down to the smiling pool to tell grandfather frog.
bursting through the bulrushes on the edge of the smiling pool, they nearly upset jerry muskrat, who was sitting on an old log intently watching something out in the middle of the smiling pool.
it was prickly porky.
some of the sharp little barbed spears were standing on end; altogether he was the queerest sight the smiling pool had seen for a long time.
he was swimming easily and you may be sure no one tried to bother him.
little joe otter and billy mink sat on the big rock and for once they had forgotten to play tricks.
when prickly porky headed towards the big rock, little joe otter suddenly remembered that he had business down the laughing brook, and billy mink recalled that mother mink had forbidden him to play at the smiling pool.
prickly porky had the smiling pool quite to himself.
when he had swum to his heart's content he climbed out, shook himself and slowly ambled up the lone little path to the green forest.
the merry little breezes watched him out of sight.
then they danced over to the big green lily-pad on which sat grandfather frog.
the merry little breezes are great favorites with grandfather frog.
as usual they brought him some foolish green flies.
grandfather frog's eyes twinkled as he snapped up the last foolish green fly.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog, "and now i suppose you want a story."
and he folded his hands across his white and yellow waistcoat.
""if you please!"
shouted the merry little breezes.
""if you please, do tell us how it is that prickly porky has spears on his back!"
grandfather settled himself comfortably.
""chug-a-rum!"
said he.
""once upon a time when the world was young, mr. porcupine, the grandfather a thousand times removed of prickly porky, whom you all know, lived in the green forest where old king bear ruled.
mr. porcupine was a slow clumsy fellow, just as his grandson a thousand times removed is to-day.
he was so slow moving, and when he tried to hurry tumbled over himself so much, that he had hard work to get enough to eat.
always some one reached the berry patch before he did.
the beetles and the bugs were so spry that seldom could he catch them.
hunger was in his stomach, and little else most of the time.
mr. porcupine grew thin and thinner and still more thin.
his long, shaggy coat looked twice too big for him.
because he was so hungry he could sleep little, and night as well as day he roamed the forest, thinking of nothing but his empty stomach, and looking for something to put in it.
so he learned to see by night as well as by day.
""one day he could not find a single berry and not a beetle or a bug could he catch.
he was so hungry that he sat down with his back against a big black birch, and clasping both hands over his lean stomach, he wept.
there sister south wind found him, and her heart was moved to pity, for she knew that his wits were as slow as his body.
softly she stole up behind him."
"try the bark of the black birch; it's sweet and good," whispered sister south wind.
then she hurried on her way.
""mr. porcupine still sat with his hands clasped over his lean stomach, for it took a long time for his slow wit to understand what sister south wind meant.
"bark, bark, try bark," said mr. porcupine over and over to himself.
he rolled his dull little eyes up at the big black birch."
i believe i will try it," said mr. porcupine at last.
""slowly he turned and began to gnaw the bark of the big black birch.
it was tough, but it tasted good.
clumsily he began to climb, tearing off a mouthful of bark here and there as he climbed.
the higher he got the tenderer and sweeter the bark became.
finally he reached the top of the tree, and there on the small branches the bark was so tender and so sweet that he ate and ate and ate until for the first time in many days mr. porcupine had a full stomach.
that night he curled up in a hollow log and slept all the night through, dreaming of great forests of black birch and all he wanted to eat.
""the next day he hunted for and found another black birch, and climbing to the top, he ate and ate until his stomach was full.
from that time on mr. porcupine ceased to hunt for berries or beetles or bugs.
he grew stout and stouter.
he filled his shaggy coat until it was so tight it threatened to burst.
""now while mr. porcupine was so thin and lean he had no enemies, but when he grew stout and then fat, mr. panther and mr. fisher and mr. bobcat and even old king bear began to cast longing eyes upon him, for times were hard and they were hungry.
mr. porcupine began to grow afraid.
by night he hid in hollow trees and by day he went abroad to eat only when he was sure that no one bigger than himself was about.
and because he no longer dared to move about as before, he no longer depended upon the black birch alone, but learned to eat and to like all kinds of bark.
""one day he had made his breakfast on the bark of a honey-locust.
when he came down the tree he brought with him a strip of bark, and attached to it were some of the long thorns with which the honey-locust seeks to protect itself.
when he reached the ground whom should he find waiting for him but mr. panther.
mr. panther was very lean and very hungry, for hunting had been poor and the times were hard."
"good morning, mr. porcupine," said mr. panther, with a wicked grin.
"how fat you are!""
"good morning, mr. panther," said mr. porcupine politely, but his long hair stood on end with fright, as he looked into mr. panther's cruel yellow eyes.""
i say, how fat you are," said mr. panther, licking his chops and showing all his long teeth.
"what do you find to eat these hard times?""
"bark, mr. panther, just bark," said mr. porcupine, while his teeth chattered with fear.
"it really is very nice and sweet.
wo n't you try a piece, mr. panther?"
mr. porcupine held out the strip of locust bark which he had brought down the tree for his lunch.
""now mr. panther had never tried bark, but he thought to himself that if it made mr. porcupine so fat it must be good.
he would try the piece of bark first and eat mr. porcupine afterward.
so he reached out and snapped up the strip of bark.
""now the locust thorns were long and they were sharp.
they pierced mr. panther's tender lips and his tongue.
they stuck in the roof of his mouth.
mr. panther spat and yelled with pain and rage and clawed frantically at his mouth.
he rolled over and over trying to get rid of the thorns.
mr. porcupine did n't stay to watch him.
for once in his life he hurried.
by the time mr. panther was rid of the last thorn, mr. porcupine was nowhere to be seen.
he was safely hidden inside a hollow log.
""mr. porcupine did n't sleep that night.
he just lay and thought and thought and thought.
the next morning, very early, before any one else was astir, he started out to call on old mother nature."
"good morning, mr. porcupine, what brings you out so early?"
asked old mother nature.
""mr. porcupine bowed very low.
"if you please, mother nature, i want you to help me," said he.
""then he told her all about his meeting with mr. panther and how helpless he was when he met his enemies, and he begged her to give him stout claws and a big mouth full of long teeth that he might protect himself.
""old mother nature thought a few minutes.
"mr. porcupine," said she, "you have always minded your own business.
you do not know how to fight.
if i should give you a big mouth full of long teeth you would not know how to use them.
you move too slowly.
instead, i will give you a thousand little spurs.
they shall be hidden in the long hair of your coat and only when you are in danger shall you use them.
go back to the green forest, and the next time you meet mr. panther or mr. fisher or mr. bobcat or old king bear roll yourself into a ball and the thousand little spears will protect you.
now go!"
""mr. porcupine thanked old mother nature and started back for the green forest.
once he stopped to smooth down his long, rough coat.
sure enough, there, under the long hair, he felt a thousand little spears.
he went along happily until suddenly he met mr. panther.
yes, sir, he met mr. panther.
""mr. panther was feeling very ugly, for his mouth was sore.
he grinned wickedly when he saw mr. porcupine and stepped right out in front of him, all the time licking his lips.
mr. porcupine trembled all over, but he remembered what old mother nature had told him.
in a flash he had rolled up into a tight ball.
sure enough, the thousand little spears sprang out of his long coat, and he looked like a huge chestnut burr.
""mr. panther was so surprised he did n't know just what to do.
he reached out a paw and touched mr. porcupine.
mr. porcupine was nervous.
he switched his tail around and it struck mr. panther's paw.
mr. panther yelled, for there were spears on mr. porcupine's tail and they were worse than the locust thorns.
he backed away hurriedly and limped off up the lone little path, growling horribly.
mr. porcupine waited until mr. panther was out of sight, then he unrolled, and slowly and happily he walked back to his home in the green forest.
""and since that long-ago day when the world was young, the porcupines have feared nothing and have attended strictly to their own business.
and that is how they happen to have a thousand little barbed spears, which are called quills," concluded grandfather frog.
the merry little breezes drew a long breath.
""thank you, grandfather frog, thank you ever so much!"
they cried all together.
""we are going back now to tell prickly porky that we know all about his little spears and how he happens to have them."
but first they blew a dozen fat, foolish, green flies over to grandfather frog.
iv peter rabbit's egg rolling it was spring.
drummer the woodpecker was beating the long roll on the hollow limb of the old hickory, that all the world might know.
old mother west wind, hurrying down from the purple hills across the green meadows, stopped long enough to kiss the smiling little bluets that crowded along the lone little path.
all up and down the laughing brook were shy violets turning joyful faces up to jolly, round, red mr. sun.
johnny chuck was sitting on his doorstep, stretching one short leg and then another, to get the kinks out, after his long, long winter sleep.
very beautiful, very beautiful indeed, were the green meadows, and very happy were all the little meadow people -- all but peter rabbit, who sat at the top of the crooked little path that winds down the hill.
no, sir, peter rabbit, happy-go-lucky peter, who usually carries the lightest heart on the green meadows, was not happy.
indeed, he was very unhappy.
as he sat there at the top of the crooked little path and looked down on the green meadows, he saw nothing beautiful at all because, why, because his big soft eyes were full of tears.
splash!
a big tear fell at his feet in the crooked little path.
splash!
that was another tear.
splash!
splash!
""my gracious!
my gracious!
what is the matter, peter rabbit?"
asked a gruff voice close to one of peter's long ears.
peter jumped.
then he winked the tears back and looked around.
there sat old mr. toad.
he looked very solemn, very solemn indeed.
he was wearing a shabby old suit, the very one he had slept in all winter.
peter forgot his troubles long enough to wonder if old mr. toad would swallow his old clothes when he got a new suit.
""what's the matter, peter rabbit, what's the matter?"
repeated old mr. toad.
peter looked a little foolish.
he hesitated, coughed, looked this way and looked that way, hitched his trousers up, and then, why then he found his tongue and told old mr. toad all his troubles.
""you see," said peter rabbit, "it's almost easter and i have n't found a single egg."
""an egg!"
exclaimed old mr. toad.
""bless my stars!
what do you want of an egg, peter rabbit?
you do n't eat eggs."
""i do n't want just one egg, oh, no, no indeed!
i want a lot of eggs," said peter.
""you see, mr. toad, i was going to have an easter egg rolling, and here it is almost easter and not an egg to be found!"
peter's eyes filled with tears again.
old mr. toad rolled one eye up at jolly, round, red mr. sun and winked.
""have you seen mrs. grouse and mrs. pheasant?"
asked old mr. toad.
""yes," said peter rabbit, "and they wo n't have any eggs until after easter."
""have you been to see mrs. quack?"
asked old mr. toad.
""yes," said peter rabbit, "and she says she ca n't spare a single one."
old mr. toad looked very thoughtful.
he scratched the tip of his nose with his left hind foot.
then he winked once more at jolly, round, red mr. sun.
""have you been to see jimmy skunk?"
he inquired.
peter rabbit's big eyes opened very wide.
""jimmy skunk!"
he exclaimed.
""jimmy skunk!
what does jimmy skunk have to do with eggs?"
old mr. toad chuckled deep down in his throat.
he chuckled and chuckled until he shook all over.
""jimmy skunk knows more about eggs than all the other little meadow people put together," said old mr. toad.
""you take my advice, peter rabbit, and ask jimmy skunk to help you get the eggs for your easter egg rolling."
then old mr. toad picked up his cane and started down the crooked little path to the green meadows.
there he found the merry little breezes stealing kisses from the bashful little wind flowers.
old mr. toad puffed out his throat and pretended that he disapproved, disapproved very much indeed, but at the same time he rolled one eye up at jolly, round, red mr. sun and winked.
""have n't you anything better to do than make bashful little flowers hang their heads?"
asked old mr. toad gruffly.
the merry little breezes stopped their dancing and gathered about old mr. toad.
""what's the matter with you this morning, mr. toad?"
asked one of them.
""do you want us to go find a breakfast for you?"
""no," replied old mr. toad sourly.
""i am quite able to get breakfast for myself.
but peter rabbit is up on the hill crying because he can not find any eggs."
""crying because he can not find any eggs!
now what does peter rabbit want of eggs?"
cried the merry little breezes all together.
""supposing you go ask him," replied old mr. toad tartly, once more picking up his cane and starting for the smiling pool to call on his cousin, grandfather frog.
the merry little breezes stared after him for a few minutes, then they started in a mad race up the crooked little path to find peter rabbit.
he was n't at the top of the crooked little path.
they looked everywhere, but not so much as the tip of one of his long ears could they see.
finally they met him just coming away from jimmy skunk's house.
peter was hopping, skipping, jumping up in the air and kicking his long heels as only peter can.
there was no trace of tears in his big, soft eyes.
plainly peter rabbit was in good spirits, in the very best of spirits.
when he saw the merry little breezes he jumped twice as high as he had jumped before, then sat up very straight.
""hello!"
said peter rabbit.
""hello yourself," replied the merry little breezes.
""tell us what under the sun you want of eggs, peter rabbit, and we'll try to find some for you."
peter's eyes sparkled.
""i'm going to have an easter egg rolling," said he, "but you need n't look for any eggs, for i am going to have all i want; jimmy skunk has promised to get them for me."
""what is an easter egg rolling?"
asked the merry little breezes.
peter looked very mysterious.
""wait and see," he replied.
then a sudden thought popped into his head.
""will you do something for me?"
he asked.
of course the merry little breezes were delighted to do anything they could for peter rabbit, and told him so.
so in a few minutes peter had them scattering in every direction with invitations to all the little people of the green meadows and all the little folks of the green forest to attend his egg rolling on easter morning.
very, very early on easter morning old mother west wind hurried down from the purple hills and swept all the rain clouds out of the sky.
jolly, round, red mr. sun climbed up in the sky, smiling his broadest.
all the little song birds sang their sweetest, and some who really can not sing at all tried to just because they were so happy.
across the beautiful green meadows came all the little meadow people and forest folks to the smooth, grassy bank where the big hickory grows.
peter rabbit was there waiting for them.
he had brushed his clothes until you would hardly have known him.
he felt very much excited and very important and very, very happy, for this was to be the very first egg rolling the green meadows had ever known, and it was all his very own.
hidden behind the old hickory, tucked under pieces of bark, scattered among the bluets and wind flowers were big eggs, little eggs and middle-sized eggs, for jimmy skunk had been true to his promise.
where they came from jimmy would n't tell.
perhaps if old gray goose and mrs. quack could have been there, they would have understood why it took so long to fill their nests.
perhaps if farmer brown's boy had happened along, he would have guessed why he had to hunt so long in the barn and under the henhouse to get enough eggs for breakfast.
but jimmy skunk held his tongue and just smiled to see how happy peter rabbit was.
first came peter's cousin, jumper the hare.
then up from the smiling pool came jerry muskrat, little joe otter, billy mink, grandfather frog and spotty the turtle.
johnny chuck, danny meadow mouse, and old mr. toad came together.
of course reddy fox was on hand promptly.
striped chipmunk came dancing out from the home no one has been able to find.
out from the green forest trotted bobby coon, happy jack squirrel and chatterer the red squirrel.
behind them shuffled prickly porky.
last of all came jimmy skunk, who never hurries, and jimmy wore his very best suit of black and white.
up in the old hickory sat blacky the crow, sammy jay and drummer the woodpecker, to watch the fun.
when all had arrived, peter rabbit started them to hunting for the eggs.
everybody got in the way of everybody else.
even old mr. toad caught the excitement and hopped this way and hopped that way hunting for eggs.
danny meadow mouse found a goose egg bigger than himself and had to get help to bring it in.
bobby coon stubbed his toes and fell down with an egg under each arm.
such a looking sight as he was!
he had to go down to the smiling pool to wash.
by and by, when all the eggs had been found, peter rabbit sent a big goose egg rolling down the grassy bank and then raced after it to bring it back and roll it down again.
in a few minutes the green grassy bank was covered with eggs -- big eggs, little eggs, all kinds of eggs.
some were nearly round and rolled swiftly to the bottom.
some were sharp pointed at one end and rolled crookedly and sometimes turned end over end.
a big egg knocked johnny chuck's legs from under him and, because johnny chuck is round and roly-poly, he just rolled over and over after the egg clear to the bottom of the green grassy bank.
and it was such fun that he scrambled up and did it all over again.
then bobby coon tried it.
pretty soon every one was trying it, even reddy fox, who seldom forgets his dignity.
for once blacky the crow and sammy jay almost wished that they had n't got wings, so that they might join in the fun.
but the greatest fun of all was when prickly porky decided that he, too, would join in the rolling.
he tucked his head down in his vest and made himself into a perfectly round ball.
now when he did this, all his hidden spears stood out straight, until he looked like a great, giant, chestnut burr, and every one hurried to get out of his way.
over and over, faster and faster, he rolled down the green, grassy bank until he landed -- where do you think?
why right in the midst of a lot of eggs that had been left when the other little people had scampered out of his way.
now, having his head tucked into his vest, prickly porky could n't see where he was going, so when he reached the bottom and hopped to his feet he did n't know what to make of the shout that went up from all the little meadow people.
so foolish prickly porky lost his temper because he was being laughed at, and started off up the lone little path to his home in the green forest.
and what do you think?
why, stuck fast in a row on the spears on his back, prickly porky carried off six of peter rabbit's easter eggs, and did n't know it.
v how johnny chuck ran away johnny chuck stood on the doorstep of his house and watched old mrs. chuck start down the lone little path across the green meadows towards farmer brown's garden.
she had her market basket on her arm, and johnny knew that when she returned it would be full of the things he liked best.
but not even the thought of these could chase away the frown that darkened johnny chuck's face.
he had never been to farmer brown's garden and he had begged very hard to go that morning with old mrs. chuck.
but she had said "no.
it is n't safe for such a little chap as you."
and when mrs. chuck said "no," johnny knew that she meant it, and that it was of no use at all to beg.
so he stood with his hands in his pockets and scowled and scowled as he thought of old mrs. chuck's very last words: "now, johnny, do n't you dare put a foot outside of the yard until i get back."
pretty soon along came peter rabbit.
peter was trying to jump over his own shadow.
when he saw johnny chuck he stopped abruptly.
then he looked up at the blue sky and winked at jolly, round, red mr. sun.
""looks mighty showery "round here," he remarked to no one in particular.
johnny chuck smiled in spite of himself.
then he told peter rabbit how he had got to stay at home and mind the house and could n't put his foot outside the yard.
now peter has n't had the best bringing up in the world, for his mother has such a big family that she is kept busy just getting them something to eat.
so peter has been allowed to bring himself up and do just about as he pleases.
""how long will your mother be gone?"
asked peter.
""most all the morning," said johnny chuck mournfully.
peter hopped a couple of steps nearer.
""say, johnny," he whispered, "how is she going to know whether you stay in the yard all the time or not, so long as you are here when she gets home?
i know where there's the dandiest sweet-clover patch.
we can go over there and back easy before old mrs. chuck gets home, and she wo n't know anything about it.
come on!"
johnny chuck's mouth watered at the thought of the sweet-clover, but still he hesitated, for johnny chuck had been taught to mind."
"fraid cat!
"fraid cat!
tied to your mother's apron strings!"
jeered peter rabbit.
""i ai n't either!"
cried johnny chuck.
and then, just to prove it, he thrust his hands into his pockets and swaggered out into the lone little path.
""where's your old clover patch?"
asked he.
""i'll show you," said peter rabbit, and off he started, lipperty-lipperty-lip, so fast that johnny chuck lost his breath trying to make his short legs keep up.
and all the time johnny's conscience was pricking him.
peter rabbit left the lone little path across the green meadows for some secret little paths of his own.
his long legs took him over the ground very fast.
johnny chuck, running behind him, grew tired and hot, for johnny's legs are short and he is fat and roly-poly.
at times all he could see was the white patch on the seat of peter rabbit's pants.
he began to wish that he had minded old mrs. chuck and stayed at home.
it was too late to go back now, for he did n't know the way.
""wait up, peter rabbit!"
he called.
peter rabbit just flirted his tail and ran faster.
""please, please wait for me, peter rabbit," panted johnny chuck, and began to cry.
yes, sir, he began to cry.
you see he was so hot and tired, and then he was so afraid that he would lose sight of peter rabbit.
if he did he would surely be lost, and then what should he do?
the very thought made him run just a little faster.
-lsb- illustration: "please, please wait for me, peter rabbit," panted johnny chuck. -rsb-
now peter rabbit is really one of the best-hearted little fellows in the world, just happy-go-lucky and careless.
so when finally he looked back and saw johnny chuck way, way behind, with the tears running down his cheeks, and how hot and tired he looked, peter sat down and waited.
pretty soon johnny chuck came up, puffing and blowing, and threw himself flat on the ground.
""please, peter rabbit, is it very much farther to the sweet-clover patch?"
he panted, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands.
""no," replied peter rabbit, "just a little way more.
we'll rest here a few minutes and then i wo n't run so fast."
so peter rabbit and johnny chuck lay down in the grass to rest while johnny chuck recovered his breath.
every minute or two peter would sit up very straight, prick up his long ears and look this way and look that way as if he expected to see something unusual.
it made johnny chuck nervous.
""what do you keep doing that for, peter rabbit?"
he asked.
""oh, nothin"," replied peter rabbit.
but he kept right on doing it just the same.
then suddenly, after one of these looks abroad, he crouched down very flat and whispered in johnny chuck's ear in great excitement.
""old whitetail is down here and he's headed this way.
we'd better be moving," he said.
johnny chuck felt a chill of fear.
""who is old whitetail?"
he asked, as he prepared to follow peter rabbit.
""do n't you know?"
asked peter in surprise.
""say, you are green!
why, he's mr. marsh hawk, and if he once gets the chance he'll gobble you up, skin, bones and all.
there's an old stone wall just a little way from here, and the sooner we get there the better!"
peter rabbit led the way, and if he had run fast before it was nothing to the way he ran now.
a great fear made johnny chuck forget that he was tired, and he ran as he had never run before in all his short life.
just as he dived head-first into a hole between two big stones, a shadow swept over the grass and something sharp tore a gap in the seat of his pants and made him squeal with fright and pain.
but he wriggled in beside peter rabbit and was safe, while mr. marsh hawk flew off with a scream of rage and disappointment.
johnny chuck had never been so frightened in all his short life.
he made himself as small as possible and crept as far as he could underneath a friendly stone in the old wall.
his pants were torn and his leg smarted dreadfully where one of mr. marsh hawk's cruel, sharp claws had scratched him.
how he did wish that he had minded old mrs. chuck and stayed in his own yard, as she had told him to.
peter rabbit looked at the tear in johnny chuck's pants.
""pooh!"
said peter rabbit, "do n't mind a little thing like that."
""but i'm afraid to go home with my pants torn," said johnny chuck.
""do n't go home," replied peter rabbit.
""i do n't unless i feel like it.
you stay away a long time and then your mother will be so glad to see you that she wo n't ever think of the pants."
johnny chuck looked doubtful, but before he could say anything peter rabbit stuck his head out to see if the way was clear.
it was, and peter's long legs followed his head.
""come on, johnny chuck," he shouted.
""i'm going over to the sweet-clover patch."
but johnny chuck was afraid.
he was almost sure that old whitetail was waiting just outside to gobble him up.
it was a long time before he would put so much as the tip of his wee black nose out.
but without peter rabbit it grew lonesomer and lonesomer in under the old stone wall.
besides, he was afraid that he would lose peter rabbit, and then he would be lost indeed, for he did n't know the way home.
finally johnny chuck ventured to peep out.
there was jolly, round, red mr. sun smiling down just as if he was used to seeing little runaway chucks every day.
johnny looked and looked for peter rabbit, but it was a long time before he saw him, and when he did all he saw were peter rabbit's funny long ears above the tops of the waving grass, for peter rabbit was hidden in the sweet-clover patch, eating away for dear life.
it was only a little distance, but johnny chuck had had such a fright that he tried three times before he grew brave enough to scurry through the tall grass and join peter rabbit.
my, how good that sweet-clover did taste!
johnny chuck forgot all about old whitetail.
he forgot all about his torn pants.
he forgot that he had run away and did n't know the way home.
he just ate and ate and ate until his stomach was so full he could n't stuff another piece of sweet-clover into it.
suddenly peter rabbit grabbed him by a sleeve and pulled him down flat.
""sh-h-h," said peter rabbit, "do n't move."
johnny chuck's heart almost stopped beating.
what new danger could there be now?
in a minute he heard a queer noise.
peeping between the stems of sweet-clover he saw -- what do you think?
why, old mrs. chuck cutting sweet-clover to put in the basket of vegetables she was taking home from farmer brown's garden.
johnny chuck gave a great sigh of relief, but he kept very still for he did not want her to find him there after she had told him not to put foot outside his own dooryard.
""you wait here," whispered peter rabbit, and crept off through the clover.
pretty soon johnny chuck saw peter rabbit steal up behind old mrs. chuck and pull four big lettuce leaves out of her basket.
vi peter rabbit's run for life "i wish i had n't run away," said johnny chuck dolefully, as he and peter rabbit peeped out from the sweet-clover patch and watched old mrs. chuck start for home with her market basket on her arm.
""you ought to think yourself lucky that your mother did n't find you here in the sweet-clover patch.
if it had n't been for me she would have," said peter rabbit.
johnny chuck's face grew longer and longer.
his pants were torn, his leg was stiff and sore where old mr. marsh hawk had scratched him that morning, but worse still his conscience pricked him.
yes, sir, johnny chuck's conscience was pricking him hard, very hard indeed, because he had run away from home with peter rabbit after old mrs. chuck had told him not to leave the yard while she was away.
now he did n't know the way home.
""peter rabbit, i want to go home," said johnny chuck suddenly.
""is n't there a short cut so that i can get home before my mother does?"
""no, there is n't," said peter rabbit.
""and if there was what good would it do you?
old mrs. chuck would see that tear in your pants and then you'd catch it!"
""i do n't care.
please wo n't you show me the way home, peter rabbit?"
begged johnny chuck.
peter rabbit yawned lazily as he replied: "what's the use of going now?
you'll catch it anyway, so you might as well stay and have all fun you can.
say, i know a dandy old house up on the hill.
jimmy skunk used to live there, but no one lives in it now.
let's go up and see it.
it's a dandy place."
now right down in his heart johnny chuck knew that he ought to go home, but he could n't go unless peter rabbit would show him the way, and then he did want to see that old house.
perhaps peter rabbit was right -lrb- in his heart he knew that he was n't -rrb- and he had better have all the fun he could.
so johnny chuck followed peter rabbit up the hill to the old house of jimmy skunk.
cobwebs covered the doorway.
johnny chuck was going to brush them away, but peter rabbit stopped him.
""let's see if there is n't a back door," said he.
""then we can use that, and if bowser the hound or farmer brown's boy comes along and finds this door they'll think no one ever lives here any more and you'll be safer than if you were right in your own home."
so they hunted and hunted, and by and by johnny chuck found the back door way off at one side and cunningly hidden under a tangle of grass.
inside was a long dark hall and at the end of that a nice big room.
it was very dirty, and johnny chuck, who is very neat, at once began to clean house and soon had it spick and span.
suddenly they heard a voice outside the front door.
""does n't look as if anybody lives here, but seems as if i smell young rabbit and -- yes, i'm sure i smell young chuck, too.
guess i'll have a look inside."
""it's old granny fox," whispered peter rabbit, trembling with fright.
then peter rabbit did a very brave thing.
he remembered that johnny chuck could not run very fast and that if it had n't been for him, johnny chuck would be safe at home.
""you stay right here," whispered peter rabbit.
then he slipped out the back door.
half-way down the hill he stopped and shouted: "old granny fox is slower than an ox!"
then he started for the old brier patch as fast as his long legs could take him, and after him ran granny fox.
peter rabbit was running for his life.
there was no doubt about it.
right behind him, grinding her long white teeth, her eyes snapping, ran old granny fox.
peter rabbit did not like to think what would happen to him if she should catch him.
peter rabbit was used to running for his life.
he had to do it at least once every day.
but usually he was near a safe hiding place and he rather enjoyed the excitement.
this time, however, the only place of safety he could think of was the friendly old brier patch, and that was a long way off.
back at the old house on the hill, where granny fox had discovered peter rabbit, was little johnny chuck, trembling with fright.
he crept to the back door of the old house to watch.
he saw granny fox getting nearer and nearer to peter rabbit.
""oh, dear!
oh, dear!
she'll catch peter rabbit!
she'll catch peter rabbit!"
wailed johnny chuck, wringing his hands in despair.
it certainly looked as if granny fox would.
she was right at peter rabbit's heels.
poor, happy-go-lucky, little peter rabbit!
two more jumps and granny fox would have him!
johnny chuck shut his eyes tight, for he did n't want to see.
but peter rabbit had no intention of being caught so easily.
while he had seemed to be running his very hardest, really he was not.
and all the time he was watching granny fox, for peter rabbit's big eyes are so placed that he can see behind him without turning his head.
so he knew when granny fox was near enough to catch him in one more jump.
then peter rabbit dodged.
yes, sir, peter rabbit dodged like a flash, and away he went in another direction lipperty-lipperty-lip, as fast as he could go.
old granny fox had been so sure that in another minute she would have tender young rabbit for her dinner that she had begun to smile and her mouth actually watered.
she did not see where she was going.
all she saw was the white patch on the seat of peter rabbit's trousers bobbing up and down right in front of her nose.
when peter rabbit dodged, something surprising happened.
johnny chuck, who had opened his eyes to see if all was over, jumped up and shouted for joy, and did a funny little dance in the doorway of the old house on the hill.
peter had dodged right in front of a wire fence, a fence with ugly, sharp barbs, and right smack into it ran granny fox!
it scratched her face and tore her bright red cloak.
it threw her back flat on the ground, with all the wind knocked out of her body.
when finally she had gotten her breath and scrambled to her feet, peter rabbit was almost over to the friendly old brier patch.
he stopped and sat up very straight.
then he put his hands on his hips and shouted: "run, granny, run!
here comes a man who's got a gun!"
granny fox started nervously and looked this way and looked that way.
there was no one in sight.
then she shook a fist at peter rabbit and started to limp off home.
johnny chuck gave a great sigh of relief.
""my," said he, "i wish i was as smart as peter rabbit!"
""you will be if you live long enough," said a voice right behind him.
it was old mr. toad.
mr. toad and johnny chuck sat in the doorway of the old house on the hill and watched old granny fox limp off home.
""i wonder what it would seem like not to be afraid of anything in the whole world," said johnny chuck.
""people who mind their own business and do n't get into mischief do n't need to be afraid of anything," said mr. toad.
johnny chuck remembered how safe he had always felt at home with old mrs. chuck and how many times and how badly he had been frightened since he ran away that morning.
""i guess perhaps you are right, mr. toad," said johnny chuck doubtfully.
""of course i'm right," replied mr. toad.
""of course i'm right.
look at me; i attend strictly to my own affairs and no one ever bothers me."
""that's because you are so homely that no one wants you for a dinner when he can find anything else," said peter rabbit, who had come up from the friendly old brier patch.
""better be homely than to need eyes in the back of my head to keep my skin whole," retorted mr. toad.
""now i do n't know what it is to be afraid."
""not of old granny fox?"
asked johnny chuck.
""no," said mr. toad.
""nor bowser the hound?"
""no," said mr. toad.
""he's a friend of mine."
then mr. toad swelled himself up very big.
""i'm not afraid of anything under the sun," boasted mr. toad.
peter rabbit looked at johnny chuck and slowly winked one eye.
""i guess i'll go up the hill and have a look around," said peter rabbit, hitching up his trousers.
so peter rabbit went off up the hill, while mr. toad smoothed down his dingy white waistcoat and told johnny chuck what a foolish thing fear is.
by and by there was a queer rustling in the grass back of them.
mr. toad hopped around awkwardly.
""what was that?"
he whispered.
""just the wind in the grass, i guess," said johnny chuck.
for a while all was still and mr. toad settled himself comfortably and began to talk once more.
""no, sir," said mr. toad, "i'm not afraid of anything."
just then there was another rustle in the grass, a little nearer than before.
mr. toad certainly was nervous.
he stretched up on the tips of his toes and looked in the direction of the sound.
then mr. toad turned pale.
yes, sir, mr. toad actually turned pale!
his big, bulging eyes looked as if they would pop out of his head.
""i -- i must be going," said mr. toad hastily.
""i quite forgot an important engagement down on the green meadows.
if mr. blacksnake should happen to call, do n't mention that you have seen me, will you, johnny chuck?"
johnny chuck looked over in the grass.
something long and slim and black was wriggling through it.
when he turned about again, mr. toad was half-way down the hill, going with such big hops that three times he fell flat on his face, and when he picked himself up he did n't even stop to brush off his clothes.
""i wonder what it seems like not to be afraid of anything in the world?"
said a voice right behind johnny chuck.
there stood peter rabbit laughing so that he had to hold his sides, and in one hand was the end of an old leather strap which he had fooled mr. toad into thinking was mr. blacksnake.
vii a joker fooled peter rabbit and johnny chuck sat in the doorway of jimmy skunk's deserted old house on the hill and looked down across the green meadows.
every few minutes peter rabbit would chuckle as he thought of how he had fooled mr. toad into thinking that an old leather strap was mr. blacksnake.
""is mr. blacksnake so very dangerous?"
asked johnny chuck, who had seen very little of the world.
""not for you or me," replied peter rabbit, "because we've grown too big for him to swallow.
but he would like nothing better than to catch mr. toad for his dinner.
but if you ever meet mr. blacksnake, be polite to him.
he is very quick tempered, is mr. blacksnake, but if you do n't bother him he'll not bother you.
my goodness, i wonder what's going on down there in the alders!"
johnny chuck looked over to the alder thicket.
he saw sammy jay, blacky the crow and mrs. redwing sitting in the alders.
they were calling back and forth, apparently very much excited.
peter rabbit looked this way and that way to see if the coast was clear.
""come on, johnny chuck, let's go down and see what the trouble is," said he, for you know peter rabbit has a great deal of curiosity.
so down to the alder thicket skipped peter rabbit and johnny chuck as fast as they could go.
half-way there they were joined by danny meadow mouse, for he too had heard the fuss and wanted to know what it all meant.
""what's the matter?"
asked peter rabbit of sammy jay, but sammy was too excited to answer and simply pointed down into the middle of the alder thicket.
so the three of them, one behind the other, very softly crept in among the alders.
a great commotion was going on among the dead leaves.
danny meadow mouse gave one look, then he turned as pale as did mr. toad when peter rabbit fooled him with the old leather strap.
""this is no place for me!"
exclaimed danny meadow mouse, and started for home as fast as he could run.
partly under an old log lay mr. blacksnake.
there seemed to be something the matter with him.
he looked sick, and threshed and struggled till he made the leaves fly.
sammy jay and blacky the crow and mrs. redwing called all sorts of insulting things to him, but he paid no attention to them.
once mrs. redwing darted down and pecked him sharply.
but mr. blacksnake seemed quite helpless.
""what's the matter with him?"
asked johnny chuck in a whisper.
""nothing.
wait and you'll see.
sammy jay and mrs. redwing better watch out or they'll be sorry," replied peter rabbit.
just then mr. blacksnake wedged his head in under the old log and began to push and wriggle harder than ever.
then johnny chuck gasped.
mr. blacksnake was crawling out of his clothes!
yes, sir, his old suit was coming off wrong side out, just like a glove, and underneath he wore a splendid new suit of shiny black!
""it's time for us to be moving," whispered peter rabbit.
""after mr. blacksnake has changed his clothes he is pretty short tempered.
just hear him hiss at mrs. redwing and sammy jay!"
they tiptoed out of the alder thicket and started back for the old house on the hill.
peter rabbit suddenly giggled out loud.
""to-morrow," said peter rabbit "we'll come back and get mr. blacksnake's old suit and have some fun with danny meadow mouse."
the next morning danny meadow mouse sat on his doorstep nodding.
he was dreaming that his tail was long like the tails of all his cousins.
one of old mother west wind's merry little breezes stole up and whispered in his ear.
danny meadow mouse was awake, wide awake in an instant.
""so peter rabbit is going to play a joke on me and scare me into fits!"
said danny meadow mouse.
""yes," said the merry little breeze, "for i overheard him telling johnny chuck all about it."
danny meadow mouse began to laugh softly to himself.
""will you do something for me?"
he asked the merry little breeze.
""sure," replied the merry little breeze.
""then go find cresty the fly-catcher and tell him that i want to see him," said danny meadow mouse.
the merry little breeze hurried away, and pretty soon back he came with cresty the fly-catcher.
now all this time peter rabbit had been very busy planning his joke on danny meadow mouse.
he and johnny chuck had gone down to the alder thicket, where they had seen mr. blacksnake change his clothes, and they had found his old suit just as he had left it.
""we'll take this up and stretch it out behind a big tussock of grass near the home of danny meadow mouse," chuckled peter rabbit.
""then i'll invite danny meadow mouse to take a walk, and when we come by the tussock of grass he will think he sees mr. blacksnake himself all ready to swallow him.
then we'll see some fun."
so they carried mr. blacksnake's old suit of clothes and hid it behind the big tussock of grass, and arranged it to look as much like mr. blacksnake as they could.
then johnny chuck went back to the old house on the hill to watch the fun, while peter rabbit went to call on danny meadow mouse.
""good morning, peter rabbit," said danny meadow mouse politely.
""good morning, danny meadow mouse," replied peter rabbit.
""do n't you want to take a walk with me this fine morning?"
""i'll be delighted to go," said danny meadow mouse, reaching for his hat.
so they started out to walk and presently they came to the big tussock of grass.
peter rabbit stopped.
""excuse me, while i tie up my shoe.
you go ahead and i'll join you in a minute," said peter rabbit.
so danny meadow mouse went ahead.
as soon as his back was turned peter rabbit clapped both hands over his mouth to keep from laughing, for you see he expected to see danny meadow mouse come flying back in great fright the minute he turned the big tussock and saw mr. blacksnake's old suit.
peter rabbit waited and waited, but no danny meadow mouse.
what did it mean?
peter stopped laughing and peeped around the big tussock.
there sat danny meadow mouse with both hands clapped over his mouth, and laughing till the tears rolled down his cheeks, and mr. blacksnake's old suit was nowhere to be seen.
""he laughs best who laughs last," said danny meadow mouse to himself, late that afternoon, as he sat on his doorstep and chuckled softly.
when he had first heard from a merry little breeze that peter rabbit and johnny chuck were planning to play a joke on him and scare him into fits with a suit of mr. blacksnake's old clothes, he had tried very hard to think of some way to turn the joke on the jokers.
then he had remembered cresty the fly-catcher and had sent for him.
now cresty the fly-catcher is a handsome fellow.
in fact he is quite the gentleman, and does not look at all like one who would be at all interested in any one's old clothes.
but he is.
he is never satisfied until he has lined the hollow in the old apple-tree, which is his home, with the old clothes of mr. snake.
so when danny meadow mouse sent for him and whispered in his ear cresty the fly-catcher smiled broadly and winked knowingly.
""i certainly will be there, danny meadow mouse, i certainly will be there," said he.
and he was there.
he had hidden in a tree close by the big tussock of grass, behind which peter rabbit had planned to place mr. blacksnake's old suit so as to scare danny meadow mouse.
his eyes had sparkled when he saw what a fine big suit it was.
""my, but this will save me a lot of trouble," said he to himself.
""it's the finest old suit i've ever seen."
the minute peter rabbit and johnny chuck had turned their backs down dropped cresty the fly-catcher, picked up mr. blacksnake's old suit, and taking it with him, once more hid in the tree.
presently back came peter rabbit with danny meadow mouse.
you know what had happened then.
cresty the fly-catcher had nearly dropped his prize, it tickled him so to see peter rabbit on one side of the big tussock laughing fit to kill himself at the scare he thought danny meadow mouse would get when he first saw mr. blacksnake's old suit, and on the other side of the big tussock danny meadow mouse laughing fit to kill himself over the surprise peter rabbit would get when he found that mr. blacksnake's old clothes had disappeared.
pretty soon peter rabbit had stopped laughing and peeped around the big tussock.
there sat danny meadow mouse laughing fit to kill himself, but not a trace of the old suit which was to have given him such a scare.
peter could n't believe his own eyes, for he had left it there not three minutes before.
of course it would n't do to say anything about it, so he had hurried around the big tussock as if he was merely trying to catch up.
""what are you laughing at, danny meadow mouse?"
asked peter rabbit.
""i was thinking what a joke it would be if we could only find an old suit of mr. blacksnake's and fool old mr. toad into thinking that it was mr. blacksnake himself," replied danny meadow mouse.
""what are you looking for, peter rabbit?
have you lost something?"
""no," said peter rabbit.
""i thought i heard footsteps, and i was looking to see if it could be reddy fox creeping through the grass."
danny meadow mouse had stopped laughing.
""excuse me, peter rabbit," said he hurriedly, "i've just remembered an important engagement."
and off he started for home as fast as he could go.
and to this day peter rabbit does n't know what became of mr. blacksnake's old clothes.
viii the fuss in the big pine peter rabbit hopped down the crooked little path to the lone little path and down the lone little path to the home of johnny chuck.
johnny chuck sat on his doorstep dreaming.
they were very pleasant dreams, very pleasant dreams indeed.
they were such pleasant dreams that for once johnny chuck forgot to put his funny little ears on guard.
so johnny chuck sat on his doorstep dreaming and heard nothing.
lipperty-lipperty-lip down the lone little path came peter rabbit.
he saw johnny chuck and he stopped long enough to pluck a long stem of grass.
then very, very softly he stole up behind johnny chuck.
reaching out with the long stem of grass, he tickled one of johnny chuck's ears.
johnny chuck slapped at his ear with a little black hand, for he thought a fly was bothering him, just as peter rabbit meant that he should.
peter tickled the other ear.
johnny chuck shook his head and slapped at this with the other little black hand.
peter almost giggled.
he sat still a few minutes, then tickled johnny chuck again.
johnny slapped three or four times at the imaginary fly.
this time peter clapped both hands over his mouth to keep from laughing.
once more he tickled johnny chuck.
this time johnny jumped clear off his doorstep.
peter laughed before he could clap his hands over his mouth.
of course johnny chuck heard him and whirled about.
when he saw peter rabbit and the long stem of grass he laughed, too.
""hello, peter rabbit!
you fooled me that time.
where'd you come from?"
asked johnny chuck.
""down the lone little path from the crooked little path and down the crooked little path from the top of the hill," replied peter rabbit.
then they sat down side by side on johnny chuck's doorstep to watch reddy fox hunting for his dinner on the green meadows.
pretty soon they heard blacky the crow cawing very loudly.
they could see him on the tip-top of a big pine in the green forest on the edge of the green meadows.
""caw, caw, caw," shouted blacky the crow, at the top of his lungs.
in a few minutes they saw all of blacky's aunts and uncles and cousins flying over to join blacky at the big pine in the midst of the green forest.
soon there was a big crowd of crows around the big pine, all talking at once.
such a racket!
such a dreadful racket!
every few minutes one of them would fly into the big pine and yell at the top of his lungs.
then all would caw together.
another would fly into the big pine and they would do it all over again.
peter rabbit began to get interested, for you know peter has a very great deal of curiosity.
""now i wonder what blacky the crow and his aunts and his uncles and his cousins are making such a fuss about," said peter rabbit.
""i'm sure i do n't know," replied johnny chuck.
""they seem to be having a good time, anyway.
my gracious, how noisy they are!"
just then along came sammy jay, who is, as you know, first cousin to blacky the crow.
he was coming from the direction of the big pine.
""sammy!
oh, sammy jay!
what is all that fuss about over in the big pine?"
shouted peter rabbit.
sammy jay stopped and carefully brushed his handsome blue coat, for sammy jay is something of a dandy.
he appeared not to have heard peter rabbit.
""sammy jay, are you deaf?"
inquired peter rabbit.
now of course sammy jay had seen peter rabbit and johnny chuck all the time, but he looked up as if very much surprised to find them there.
""oh, hello, peter rabbit!"
said sammy jay.
""did you speak to me?"
""no, oh, no," replied peter rabbit in disgust.
""i was talking to myself, just thinking out loud.
i was wondering how many nuts a jay could steal if he had the chance."
johnny chuck chuckled and sammy jay looked foolish.
he could n't find a word to say, for he knew that all the little meadow people knew how he once was caught stealing happy jack's store of nuts.
""i asked what all that fuss over in the big pine is about," continued peter rabbit.
""oh," said sammy jay, "my cousin, blacky the crow, found hooty the owl asleep over there, and now he and his aunts and his uncles and his cousins are having no end of fun with him.
you know hooty the owl can not see in the daytime very well, and they can do almost anything to him that they want to.
it's great sport."
""i do n't see any sport in making other people uncomfortable," said johnny chuck.
""nor i," said peter rabbit.
""i'd be ashamed to own a cousin like blacky the crow.
i like people who mind their own affairs and leave other people alone."
sammy jay ran out his tongue at peter rabbit.
""you are a nice one to talk about minding other folk's affairs!"
jeered sammy jay.
""peter rabbit's ears are long; i wonder why!
i wonder why!
because to hear what others say he's bound to try!
he's bound to try."
it was peter rabbit's turn to look discomfited.
""anyway, i do n't try to bully and torment others and i do n't steal," he retorted.
""sammy jay's a handsome chap and wears a coat of blue.
i wonder if it's really his or if he stole that, too."
just then johnny chuck's sharp eyes caught sight of something stealing along the edge of the green meadows toward the green forest and the big pine.
""there's farmer brown's boy with a gun," cried johnny chuck.
""there's going to be trouble at the big pine if blacky the crow does n't watch out.
that's what comes of being so noisy."
peter rabbit and sammy jay stopped quarreling to look.
sure enough, there was farmer brown's boy with his gun.
he had heard blacky the crow and his aunts and his uncles and his cousins and he had hurried to get his gun, hoping to take them by surprise.
but blacky the crow has sharp eyes, too.
indeed, there are none sharper.
then, too, he is a mischief-maker.
mischief-makers are always on the watch lest they get caught in their mischief.
so blacky the crow, sitting on the tip-top of the big pine, kept one eye out for trouble while he enjoyed the tormenting of hooty the owl by his aunts and his uncles and his cousins.
he had seen farmer brown's boy even before johnny chuck had.
but he could n't bear to spoil the fun of tormenting hooty the owl, so he waited just as long as he dared.
then he gave the signal.
""caw, caw, caw, caw!"
shouted blacky at the top of his lungs.
""caw, caw, caw, caw!"
replied all his aunts and uncles and cousins, rising into the air in a black cloud.
then, with blacky in the lead, they flew over on to the green meadows, laughing and talking noisily as they went.
farmer brown's boy did not try to follow them, for he knew that it was of not the least bit of use.
but he was curious to learn what the crows had been making such a fuss about, so he kept on towards the big pine.
johnny chuck watched him go.
suddenly he remembered hooty the owl, and that hooty can not see well in the daytime.
very likely hooty would think that the crows had become tired of tormenting him and had gone off of their own accord.
farmer brown's boy would find him there and then -- johnny chuck shuddered as he thought of what might happen to hooty the owl.
""run, peter rabbit, run as fast as you can down on the green meadows where the merry little breezes are at play and send one of them to tell hooty the owl that farmer brown's boy is coming with a gun to the big pine!
hurry, peter, hurry!"
cried johnny chuck.
peter did not need to be told twice.
he saw the danger of hooty the owl, and he started down the lone little path on to the green meadows so fast that in a few minutes all johnny chuck and sammy jay could see of him was a little spot of white, which was the patch on the seat of peter's pants, bobbing through the grass on the green meadows.
johnny chuck would have gone himself, but he is round and fat and roly-poly and can not run fast, while peter rabbit's legs are long and meant for running.
in a few minutes johnny chuck saw one of the merry little breezes start for the big pine as fast as he could go.
johnny gave a great sigh of relief.
farmer brown's boy kept on to the big pine.
when he got there he found no one there, for hooty the owl had heeded the warning of the merry little breeze and had flown into the deepest, darkest part of the green forest, where not even the sharp eyes of blacky the crow were likely to find him.
and back on his doorstep johnny chuck chuckled to himself, for he was happy, was johnny chuck, happy because he possessed the best thing in the world, which is contentment.
and this is all i am going to tell you about the fuss in the big pine.
ix johnny chuck finds a use for his back door johnny chuck sat in his doorway looking over the green meadows.
he felt very fine.
he had had a good breakfast in the sweet-clover patch.
he had had a good nap on his own doorstep.
by and by he saw the merry little breezes of old mother west wind hurrying in his direction.
they seemed in a very great hurry.
they did n't stop to kiss the buttercups or tease the daisies.
johnny pricked up his small ears and watched them hurry up the hill.
""good morning, johnny chuck," panted the first merry little breeze to reach him, "have you heard the news?"
""what news?"
asked johnny chuck.
""the news about old mother chuck," replied the merry little breezes.
johnny shook his head.
""no," said he.
""what is it?"
the merry little breezes grew very, very sober.
""it is bad news," they replied.
""what is it?
tell me quick!"
begged johnny.
just then reddy fox came hopping and skipping down the lone little path.
""hi, johnny chuck, have you heard the news?"
""no," said johnny chuck, "do tell me quick!"
reddy fox grinned maliciously, for reddy likes to torment others.
""it's about old mrs. chuck," said reddy.
""i know that already," replied johnny, "but, please, what is it?"
""farmer brown's boy has caught old mrs. chuck, and now i would n't wonder but what he will come up here and catch you," replied reddy, turning a somersault.
johnny chuck grew pale.
he had not seen mother chuck to speak to since he ran away from home.
now he was glad that he had run away, and yet sorry, oh, so sorry that anything had happened to mrs. chuck.
two big tears came into his eyes and ran down his funny little black nose.
the merry little breezes saw this, and one of them hurried over and whispered in johnny chuck's ear.
""do n't cry, johnny chuck," whispered the merry little breeze.
""old mother chuck got away, and farmer brown's boy is still wondering how she did it."
johnny's heart gave a great throb of relief.
""i do n't believe that farmer brown's boy will catch me," said johnny chuck, "for my house has two back doors."
johnny chuck awoke very early the next morning.
he stretched and yawned and then just lay quietly enjoying himself for a few minutes.
his bedchamber, way down underground, was snug and warm and very, very comfortable.
by and by, johnny chuck heard a noise up by his front door.
""i wonder what is going on out there," said johnny chuck to himself, and jumping up, he tiptoed softly up the long hall until he had almost reached his doorway.
then he heard a voice which he had heard before, and it made little shivers run all over him.
it was the voice of granny fox.
""so this is where that fat little chuck has made his home," said granny fox.
""yes," replied another voice, "this is where johnny chuck lives, for i saw him here yesterday."
johnny pricked up his ears, for that was the voice of reddy fox.
""do you think he is in here now?"
inquired granny fox.
""i am sure of it," replied reddy, "for i have been watching ever since jolly, round, red mr. sun threw his nightcap off this morning, and johnny chuck has not put his nose out yet."
""good," said granny fox, "i think fat chuck will taste good for breakfast."
johnny felt the cold shivers run over him again as he heard granny fox and reddy fox smack their lips.
then granny fox spoke again: "you lie down behind that bunch of grass over there, reddy, and i will lie down behind the old apple-tree.
when he comes out, you just jump into his doorway and i will catch him before he can say jack robinson."
johnny waited and listened and listened, but all was as still as still could be.
then johnny chuck tiptoed back along the hall to his bedroom and sat down to think.
he felt sure that granny fox and reddy were waiting for him, just as he had heard them plan.
""however am i going to know when they leave?"
said johnny chuck to himself.
then he remembered the back doors which he had taken such care to make, and which peter rabbit had laughed at him for taking the trouble to make.
he had hidden one so cunningly in the long grass and had so carefully removed all sand from around it that he felt quite sure that no one had found it.
very softly johnny chuck crept along the back passageway.
very, very cautiously he stuck his little black nose out the doorway and sniffed.
yes, he could smell foxes, but he knew that they were not at his back door.
little by little he crept out until he could peep through the grass.
there lay reddy fox behind a big clump of grass, his eyes fixed on johnny chuck's front door, and there behind the apple-tree lay granny fox taking her ease, but all ready to jump when reddy should give the word.
johnny chuck almost giggled out loud as he saw how eagerly reddy fox was watching for him.
then johnny chuck had an idea that made him giggle harder.
his black eyes snapped and he chuckled to himself.
pretty soon along came bumble the bee, looking for honey.
he came bustling and humming through the tall grass and settled on a dandelion right on the doorstep of johnny chuck's back door.
""good morning," grumbled bumble the bee.
johnny put a hand on his lips and beckoned bumble to come inside.
now bumble the bee is a gruff and rough fellow, but he is a good fellow, too, when you know him.
johnny chuck had many times told him of places where the flowers grew thick and sweet, so when johnny beckoned to him, bumble came at once.
""will you do something for me, bumble?"
whispered johnny chuck.
""of course, i will," replied bumble, in his gruff voice.
""what is it?"
then johnny chuck told bumble the bee how granny and reddy fox were waiting for him to come out for his breakfast and how they had planned to gobble him up for their own breakfast.
bumble the bee grew very indignant.
""what do you want me to do, johnny chuck?"
he asked.
""if i can help you, just tell me how."
johnny whispered something to bumble the bee, and bumble laughed right out loud.
then he buzzed up out of the doorway, and johnny crept up to watch.
straight over to where reddy fox was squatting behind the clump of grass flew bumble the bee, so swiftly that johnny could hardly see him.
suddenly reddy gave a yelp and sprang into the air.
johnny chuck clapped both hands over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud, for you see bumble the bee had stuck his sharp little lance into one of the ears of reddy fox.
granny fox looked up and scowled.
""keep still," she whispered.
just then reddy yelped louder than before, for bumble had stung him in the other ear.
""what's the matter?"
snapped granny fox.
""i do n't know," cried reddy fox, hanging on to both ears.
""you are --" began granny fox, but johnny chuck never knew what she was going to say reddy fox was, for you see just then bumble the bee thrust his sharp little lance into one of her ears, and before she could turn around he had done the same thing to the other ear.
granny fox did n't wait for any more.
she started off as fast as she could go, with reddy fox after her, and every few steps they rubbed their ears and shook their heads as if they thought they could shake out the pain.
x billy mink goes dinnerless down the laughing brook came billy mink.
he was feeling very good that morning, was billy mink, pleased with the world in general and with himself in particular.
when he reached the smiling pool he swam out to the big rock.
little joe otter was already there, and not far away, lazily floating, with his head and back out of water, was jerry muskrat.
""hello, billy mink," cried little joe otter.
""hello yourself," replied billy mink, with a grin.
""where are you going?"
asked little joe otter.
""nowhere in particular," replied billy mink.
""let's go fishing down to the big river," said little joe otter.
""let's!"
cried billy, diving from the highest point on the big rock.
so off they started across the green meadows towards the big river.
half way there they met reddy fox.
""hello, reddy!
come on with us to the big river, fishing," called billy mink.
-lsb- illustration: "come on with us to the big river, fishing," called billy mink. -rsb-
now reddy fox is no fisherman, though he likes fish to eat well enough.
he remembered the last time he went fishing and how billy mink had laughed at him when he fell into the smiling pool.
he was just about to say "no" when he changed his mind.
""all right, i'll go," said reddy fox.
so the three of them raced merrily across the green meadows until they came to the big river.
now billy mink and little joe otter are famous fishermen and can swim even faster than the fish themselves.
but reddy fox is a poor swimmer and must depend upon his wits.
when they reached the bank of the big river they very carefully crawled down to a sandy beach.
there, just a little way out from shore, a school of little striped perch were at play.
billy mink and little joe otter prepared to dive in and each grab a fish, but reddy fox knew that he could not swim well enough for that.
""wait a minute," whispered reddy.
""billy mink, you go up the river a little way and swim out beyond where the fish are at play.
little joe otter, you go down the river a little way and swim out to join billy mink.
then both together rush in as fast as you can swim.
the fish will be so frightened they will rush in where the water is shallow.
of course you will each catch one, anyway, and perhaps i may be so lucky as to catch one in the shallow water."
billy mink and little joe otter agreed, and did just as reddy fox had told them to.
when they were between the playing fish and deep water they started in with a rush.
the little striped perch were young and foolish.
when they saw billy mink and little joe otter they rushed madly away from them without looking to see where they were going to.
as reddy fox had foreseen would be the case, a lot of them became stranded where the water was too shallow for swimming, and there they jumped and flapped helplessly.
reddy was waiting for them and in a twinkling his little black paw had scooped half a dozen fish high and dry on the beach.
billy mink and little joe otter were too busy watching the fish to see what reddy was doing.
he had caught six fish and these he hid under a log.
when billy mink and little joe otter swam ashore, reddy was the picture of disappointment, for he had nothing to show, while the others each had a plump little fish.
""never mind," said little joe otter, "i'll give you the next one i catch."
but billy mink jeered at reddy fox.
""pooh!
you're no fisherman, reddy fox!
if i could n't catch fish when they are chased right into my hands i'd never go fishing."
reddy fox pretended to be indignant.
""i tell you what, billy mink," said he, "if i do n't catch more fish than you do to-day i'll bring you the plumpest chicken in farmer brown's dooryard, but if i do catch more fish than you do you will give me the biggest one you catch.
do you agree?"
now billy mink is very fond of plump chicken and here was a chance to get one without danger of meeting bowser the hound, who guards farmer brown's chickens.
so billy mink agreed to give reddy fox the biggest fish he caught that day if reddy could show more fish than he could at the end of the day.
all the time he chuckled to himself, for you know billy mink is a famous fisherman, and he knew that reddy fox is a poor swimmer and does not like the water.
by and by they came to another sandy beach like the first one.
they could see another school of foolish young fish at play.
as before, reddy fox remained on shore while the others swam out and drove the fish in.
as before reddy caught half a dozen, while billy mink and little joe otter each caught one this time.
reddy hid five and then pretended to be so tickled over catching one, the smallest of the lot, that billy mink did n't once suspect a trick.
two or three times more reddy fox repeated this.
then he discovered a big pickerel sunning himself beside an old log floating in deep water.
reddy could n't catch mr. pickerel, for the water was deep.
what should he do?
reddy sat down to think.
finally he thought of a plan.
very cautiously he backed away so as not to scare the big fish.
then he called billy mink.
when billy saw the big pickerel, his mouth watered, too, and his little black eyes sparkled.
very quietly billy slipped into the water back of the old log.
there was not so much as a ripple to warn the big pickerel.
drawing a long breath, billy dived under the log, and coming up under the big pickerel, seized it by the middle.
there was a tremendous thrashing and splashing, and then billy mink swam ashore and proudly laid the big fish on the bank.
""do n't you wish it was yours?"
asked billy mink.
""it ought to be mine, for i saw it first," said reddy fox.
""but you did n't catch it and i did," retorted billy mink.
""i'm going to have it for my dinner.
my, but i do like fat pickerel!"
billy smacked his lips.
reddy fox said nothing, but tried his best to look disappointed and dejected.
all the time he was chuckling inwardly.
for the rest of the day the fishing was poor.
just as old mother west wind started for the green meadows to take her children, the merry little breezes, to their home behind the purple hills, the three little fishermen started to count up their catch.
then reddy brought out all the fish that he had hidden.
when they saw the pile of fish reddy fox had, billy mink and little joe otter were so surprised that their eyes popped out and their jaws dropped.
very foolish they looked, very foolish indeed, for reddy had four times as many as either of them.
reddy walked over to the big pickerel and picking it up, carried it over to his pile.
""what are you doing with my fish?"
shouted billy mink angrily.
""it is n't yours, it's mine!"
retorted reddy fox.
billy mink fairly danced up and down he was so angry.
""it's not yours!"
he shrieked.
""it's mine, for i caught it!"
""and you agreed that your biggest fish should be mine if i caught more fish than you did.
i've caught four times as many, so the pickerel is mine," retorted reddy, winking at little joe otter.
then billy mink did a very foolish thing; he lost his temper completely.
he called reddy fox bad names.
but he did not dare try to take the big pickerel away from reddy, for reddy is much bigger than he.
finally he worked himself into such a rage that he ran off home leaving his pile of fish behind.
reddy fox and little joe otter took care not to touch billy mink's fish, but reddy divided his big pile with little joe otter.
then they, too, started for home, reddy carrying the big pickerel.
late that night, when he had recovered his temper, billy mink began to grow hungry.
the more he thought of his fish the hungrier he grew.
finally he could stand it no longer and started for the big river to see what had become of his fish.
he reached the strip of beach where he had so foolishly left them just in time to see the last striped perch disappear down the long throat of mr. night heron.
and this is how it happened that billy mink went dinnerless to bed.
but he had learned three things, had billy, and he never forgot them -- that wit is often better than skill; that it is not only mean but is very foolish to sneer at another; and that to lose one's temper is the most foolish thing in the world.
xi grandfather frog's journey grandfather frog sat on his big green lily-pad in the smiling pool and -- grandfather frog was asleep!
there was no doubt about it, grandfather frog was really and truly asleep.
his hands were folded across his white and yellow waistcoat and his eyes were closed.
three times the merry little breezes blew a foolish green fly right past his nose; -- grandfather frog did n't so much as blink.
presently billy mink discovered that grandfather frog was asleep.
billy's little black eyes twinkled with mischief as he hurried over to the slippery slide in search of little joe otter.
then the two scamps hunted up jerry muskrat.
they found him very busy storing away a supply of food in his new house.
at first jerry refused to listen to what they had to say, but the more they talked the more jerry became interested.
""we wo n't hurt grandfather frog, not the least little bit," protested billy mink.
""it will be just the best joke and the greatest fun ever, and no harm done."
the more jerry thought over billy mink's plan, the funnier the joke seemed.
finally jerry agreed to join billy mink and little joe otter.
then the three put their heads together and with a lot of giggling and chuckling they planned their joke on grandfather frog.
now jerry muskrat can stay a very long time under water, and his teeth are long and sharp in order to cut the roots on which he depends for much of his food.
so jerry swam out to the big green lily-pad on which sat grandfather frog fast asleep.
diving way to the bottom of the smiling pool, jerry cut off the stem of the big green lily-pad close to its root way down in the mud.
while jerry was at work doing this, billy mink sent the merry little breezes hurrying over the green meadows to call all the little meadow people to the smiling pool.
then, when jerry muskrat came up for a breath of air, billy mink dived down and, getting hold of the end of the lily-pad stem, he began to swim, towing the big green lily-pad after him very slowly and gently so as not to waken grandfather frog.
when billy had to come up for air, little joe otter took his place.
then jerry muskrat took his turn.
across the smiling pool, past the big rock, they towed the big green lily-pad, while grandfather frog slept peacefully, his hands folded over his white and yellow waistcoat.
past the bulrushes and jerry muskrat's new house, past little joe otter's slippery slide sailed grandfather frog, and still he slept and dreamed of the days when the world was young.
out of the smiling pool and into the laughing brook, where the brown water flows smoothly, the three little swimmers towed the big green lily-pad.
it floated along of itself now, and all they had to do was to steer it clear of rocks and old logs.
once it almost got away from them, on the edge of a tiny waterfall, but all three pulling together towed it out of danger.
at last, in a dear little pool with a mossy green bank, they anchored the big green lily-pad.
then billy mink hurried back to the smiling pool to tell the little meadow people where to find grandfather frog.
little joe otter climbed out on the mossy green bank and jerry muskrat joined him there to rest and dry off.
one by one the little meadow people came hurrying up.
reddy fox was the first.
then came johnny chuck and striped chipmunk.
of course peter rabbit was on hand.
you can always count peter in, when there is anything going on among the little meadow people.
danny meadow mouse and happy jack squirrel arrived quite out of breath.
sammy jay and blacky the crow were not far behind.
last of all came jimmy skunk, who never hurries.
each in turn peeped over the edge of the mossy green bank to see grandfather frog still sleeping peacefully on his big green lily-pad in the dear little pool.
then all hid where they could see him when he awoke, but where he could not see them.
presently billy mink reached out with a long straw and tickled grandfather frog on the end of his nose.
grandfather frog opened his eyes and yawned sleepily.
right over his head he saw jolly, round, red mr. sun smiling down on him just as he last saw him before falling asleep.
he yawned again and then looked to see if billy mink was sitting on the big rock.
where was the big rock?
grandfather frog sat up very suddenly and rubbed his eyes.
there was n't any big rock!
grandfather frog pinched himself to make sure that he was awake.
then he rubbed his eyes again and looked down at the big green lily-pad.
yes, that was his, the very same lily-pad on which he sat every day.
grandfather frog was more perplexed than ever.
slowly he looked around.
where were the slippery slide and jerry muskrat's new house?
where were the bulrushes and where -- where was the smiling pool?
grandfather frog's jaw dropped as he looked about him.
his own big green lily-pad was the only lily-pad in sight.
had the world turned topsy-turvy while he slept?
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog.
""this is very strange, very strange, indeed!"
then he turned around three times and pinched himself again.
""very strange, very strange, indeed," muttered grandfather frog over and over again.
he scratched his head first with one hand and then with the other, and the more he scratched the stranger it all seemed.
just then he heard a giggle up on the mossy green bank.
grandfather frog whirled around.
""chug-a-rum!"
he exclaimed.
""billy mink, come out from behind that tall grass and tell me where i am and what this means!
i might have known that you were at the bottom of it."
then out jumped all the little meadow people and the merry little breezes to shout and laugh and dance and roll over and over on the mossy green bank.
grandfather frog looked at one and then at another and gradually he began to smile.
pretty soon he was laughing as hard as any of them, as billy mink told how they had towed him down to the dear little pool.
""and now, grandfather frog, we'll take you home again," concluded billy mink.
so, as before, billy mink and little joe otter and jerry muskrat took turns towing the big green lily-pad, while in the middle of it sat grandfather frog, catching foolish green flies which the merry little breezes blew over to him.
reddy fox, johnny chuck, peter rabbit, danny meadow mouse, striped chipmunk, happy jack squirrel and jimmy skunk raced and capered along the bank and shouted encouragement to the three little swimmers, while over-head flew sammy jay and blacky the crow.
and, never once losing his balance, grandfather frog sat on the big green lily-pad, enjoying his strange ride and smacking his lips over the foolish green flies.
and so they came once more to the smiling pool, past the slippery slide, past the bulrushes and jerry muskrat's new house and the big rock, until grandfather frog and his queer craft were once more anchored safe and sound in the old familiar place.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog.
""i think i'd like to go again."
xii why blacky the crow wears mourning grandfather frog sat on his big green lily-pad in the smiling pool.
grandfather frog felt very good that morning, very good indeed, because -- why, because his white and yellow waistcoat was full of foolish green flies.
it is doubtful, very, very doubtful if grandfather frog could have swallowed another foolish green fly to save his life.
so he sat with his hands folded across his white and yellow waistcoat, and into his eyes, his great goggly eyes, there crept a far, far, far away look.
grandfather frog was dreaming of the days when the world was young and the frogs ruled the world.
pretty soon the merry little breezes of old mother west wind came over to the smiling pool to rock mrs. redwing's babies to sleep in their cradle in the bulrushes.
but when they saw grandfather frog they forgot all about mrs. redwing and her babies.
""good morning, grandfather frog!"
they shouted.
grandfather frog awoke from his dream with a funny little jump.
""goodness, how you startled me!"
said grandfather frog, smoothing down his white and yellow waistcoat.
the merry little breezes giggled.
""we did n't mean to, truly we did n't," said the merriest one of all.
""we just wanted to know how you do this fine morning, and -- and --" "chug-a-rum," said grandfather frog, "you want me to tell you a story."
the merry little breezes giggled again.
""how did you ever guess it?"
they cried.
""it must be because you are so very, very wise.
will you tell us a story, grandfather frog?
will you please?"
grandfather frog looked up and winked one big, goggly eye at jolly, round, red mr. sun, who was smiling down from the blue sky.
then he sat still so long that the merry little breezes began to fear that grandfather frog was out of sorts and that there would be no story that morning.
they fidgeted about among the bulrushes and danced back and forth across the lily-pads.
they had even begun to think again of mrs. redwing's babies.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog suddenly.
""what shall i tell you about?"
just then a black shadow swept across the smiling pool.
""caw, caw, caw, caw!"
shouted blacky the crow noisily, as he flew over toward farmer brown's cornfield.
""tell us why blacky the crow always wears a coat of black, as if he were in mourning," shouted the merry little breezes.
grandfather frog watched blacky disappear behind the lone pine.
then, when the merry little breezes had settled down, each in the golden heart of a white water-lily, he began: "once upon a time, when the world was young, old mr. crow, the grandfather a thousand times removed of blacky, whom you all know, lived in the green forest on the edge of the green meadows, just as blacky does now, and with him lived his brothers and sisters, his uncles and aunts, his cousins and all his poor relations.
""now mr. crow was very smart.
indeed, he was the smartest of all the birds.
there was n't anything that old mr. crow could n't do or did n't know.
at least he thought there was n't.
all the little meadow people and forest folks began to think so, too, and one after another they got in the habit of coming to him for advice, until pretty soon they were bringing all their affairs to mr. crow for settlement.
""now for a while mr. crow showed great wisdom, and this so pleased old mother nature that she gave him a suit of pure, dazzling white, so that all seeing him might look up to him as a shining example of wisdom and virtue.
of course all his brothers and sisters, his uncles and aunts, his cousins and all his poor relations at once put on white, that all might know that they were of mr. crow's family.
and of course every one showed them the greatest attention out of respect to old mr. crow, so that presently they began to hold their heads very high and to think that because they were related to old mr. crow they were a little better than any of the other little meadow people and forest folks.
when they met old mr. rabbit they would pretend not to see him, because he wore a white patch on the seat of his trousers.
when old mr. woodchuck said "good morning," they would pretend not to hear, for you know mr. woodchuck wore a suit of dingy yellow and lived in a hole in the ground.
old mr. toad was ugly to look upon.
besides, he worked for his living in a garden.
so when they happened to meet him on the road they always turned their backs.
""for a long time old mr. crow himself continued to be a very fine gentleman and to hold the respect of all his neighbors.
he was polite to every one, and to all who came to him he freely gave of his advice as wisely as he knew how.
of course it was n't long before he knew all about his neighbors and their private affairs.
now it is n't safe to know too much about your neighbors and what they are doing.
it is dangerous knowledge, very dangerous knowledge indeed," said grandfather frog solemnly.
""to be sure it would have been safe enough," he continued, "if mr. crow had kept it to himself.
but after a while mr. crow became vain.
yes, sir, that is just what happened to old mr. crow -- he became vain.
he liked to feel that all the little meadow people and forest folks looked up to him with respect, and whenever he saw one of them coming he would brush his white coat, swell himself up and look very important.
after a while he began to brag among his relatives of how much he knew about his neighbors.
of course they were very much interested, very much interested indeed, and this flattered mr. crow so that almost before he knew it he was telling some of the private affairs which had been brought to him for his advice.
oh, dear me, mr. crow began to gossip.
""now, gossiping is one of the worst habits in all the world, one of the very worst.
no good ever comes of it.
it just makes trouble, trouble, trouble.
it was so now.
mr. crow's relatives repeated the stories that they heard.
but they took great care that no one should know where they came from.
my, my, my, how trouble did spread on the green meadows and in the green forest!
no one suspected old mr. crow, so he was more in demand than ever to straighten matters out.
his neighbors came to him so much that they began to be ashamed to ask his advice for nothing, so they brought him presents so that no more need mr. crow hunt for things to eat.
instead, he lived on the fat of the land without working, and grew fat and lazy.
""as i have told you, mr. crow was smart.
yes, indeed, he certainly was smart.
it did not take him long to see that the more trouble there was among his neighbors the more they would need his advice, and the more they needed his advice the more presents he would receive.
he grew very crafty.
he would tell tales just to make trouble, and sometimes, when he saw a chance, he would give advice that he knew would make more trouble.
the fact is, old mr. crow became a mischief-maker, the very worst kind of a mischief-maker.
and all the time he appeared to be the fine gentleman that he used to be.
he wore his fine white coat as proudly as ever.
""matters grew worse and worse.
never had there been so much trouble on the green meadows or so many quarrels in the green forest.
old mr. mink never met old mr. otter without picking a fight.
old mrs. skunk would n't speak to old mrs. coon.
old mr. chipmunk turned his back on his cousin, old mr. red squirrel, whenever their paths crossed.
even my grandfather a thousand times removed, old mr. frog, refused to see his nearest relative, old mr. toad.
and all the time old mr. crow wore his beautiful suit of white and grew rich and fat, chuckling to himself over his ill-gotten wealth.
""then one day came old mother nature to visit the green meadows.
it did n't take her long to find that something was wrong, very wrong indeed.
old mr. crow and all his relatives hastened to pay their respects and to tell her how much they appreciated their beautiful white suits.
old mr. crow made a full report of all the troubles that had been brought to him, but he took great care not to let her know that he had had any part in making trouble.
he looked very innocent, oh, very, very innocent, but not once did he look her straight in the face.
""now the eyes of old mother nature are wonderfully sharp and they seemed to bore right through old mr. crow.
you ca n't fool old mother nature.
no, sir, you ca n't fool old mother nature, and it's of no use to try.
she listened to all that mr. crow had to say.
then she sent mr. north wind to blow his great trumpet and call together all the little people of the green meadows and all the little folks of the green forest.
""when they had all come together she told them all that had happened.
she told just how mr. crow had started the stories in order to make trouble so that they would seek his advice and bring him presents to pay for it.
when the neighbors of old mr. crow heard this they were very angry, and they demanded of old mother nature that mr. crow be punished."
"look!"
said old mother nature, pointing at old mr. crow.
"he has been punished already."
""every one turned to look at mr. crow.
at first they hardly knew him.
instead of his suit of spotless white his clothes were black, as black as the blackest night.
so were the clothes of his uncles and aunts, his brothers and sisters, his cousins and all his poor relations.
""and ever since that long-ago day, when the world was young, the crows have been mischief-makers and have worn black, that all who look may know that they bring nothing but trouble," concluded grandfather frog.
""thank you!
thank you, grandfather frog," shouted the merry little breezes, jumping up to go rock the redwing babies.
""caw, caw, caw, caw!"
shouted blacky the crow, flying over their heads with a mouthful of corn he had stolen from farmer brown's cornfield.
xiii striped chipmunk fools peter rabbit peter rabbit sat at the top of the crooked little path where it starts down the hill.
he was sitting there when jolly, round, red mr. sun threw his nightcap off and began his daily climb up into the blue, blue sky.
he saw old mother west wind hurry down from the purple hills and turn her merry little breezes out to play on the green meadows.
peter yawned.
the fact is, peter had been out nearly all night, and now he did n't know just what to do with himself.
presently he saw striped chipmunk whisk up on top of an old log.
as usual the pockets in striped chipmunk's cheeks were stuffed so full that his head looked to be twice as big as it really is, and as usual he seemed to be very busy, very busy indeed.
he stopped just long enough to wink one of his saucy black eyes and shout: "good morning, peter rabbit!"
then he disappeared as suddenly as he had come.
a few minutes later he was back on the old log, but this time his cheeks were empty.
""fine day, peter rabbit," said striped chipmunk, and whisked out of sight.
peter rabbit yawned again.
then he closed his eyes for just a minute.
when he opened them there was striped chipmunk on the old log just as before, and the pockets in both cheeks were so full that it seemed as if they would burst.
""nice morning to work, peter rabbit," said striped chipmunk, in spite of his full cheeks.
then he was gone.
once more peter rabbit closed his eyes, but hardly were they shut when striped chipmunk shouted: "oh, you peter rabbit, been out all night?"
peter snapped his eyes open just in time to see the funny little tail of striped chipmunk vanish over the side of the old log.
peter scratched one of his long ears and yawned again, for peter was growing more and more sleepy.
it was a long yawn, but peter cut it off right in the middle, for there was striped chipmunk back on the old log, and both pockets in his cheeks were stuffed full.
now peter rabbit is as curious as he is lazy, and you know he is very, very lazy.
the fact is, peter rabbit's curiosity is his greatest fault, and it gets him into a great deal of trouble.
it is because of this and the bad, bad habit of meddling in the affairs of other people into which it has led him that peter rabbit has such long ears.
for a while peter watched busy striped chipmunk.
then he began to wonder what striped chipmunk could be doing.
the more he wondered the more he felt that he really must know.
the next time striped chipmunk appeared on the old log, peter shouted to him.
""hi, striped chipmunk, what are you so busy about?
why do n't you play a little?"
striped chipmunk stopped a minute.
""i'm building a new house," said he.
""where?"
asked peter rabbit.
""that's telling," replied striped chipmunk, and whisked out of sight.
now peter rabbit knew where reddy fox and jimmy skunk and bobby coon and happy jack squirrel and johnny chuck and danny meadow mouse lived.
he knew all the little paths leading to their homes.
but he did not know where striped chipmunk lived.
he never had known.
he thought of this as he watched striped chipmunk hurrying back and forth.
the more he thought of it the more curious he grew.
he really must know.
pretty soon along came jimmy skunk, looking for some beetles.
""hello, jimmy skunk," said peter rabbit.
""hello, peter rabbit," said jimmy skunk.
""do you know where striped chipmunk lives?"
asked peter rabbit.
""no, i do n't know where striped chipmunk lives, and i do n't care; it's none of my business," replied jimmy skunk.
""have you seen any beetles this morning?"
peter rabbit had n't seen any beetles, so jimmy skunk went on down the crooked little path, still looking for his breakfast.
by and by along came johnny chuck.
""hello, johnny chuck!"
said peter rabbit.
""hello, yourself!"
said johnny chuck.
""do you know where striped chipmunk lives?"
asked peter rabbit.
""no, i do n't, for it's none of my business," said johnny chuck, and started on down the crooked little path to the green meadows.
then along came bobby coon.
""hello, bobby coon!"
said peter rabbit.
""hello!"
replied bobby coon shortly, for he too had been out all night and was very sleepy.
""do you know where striped chipmunk lives?"
asked peter rabbit.
""do n't know and do n't want to; it's none of my business," said bobby coon even more shortly than before, and started on for his hollow chestnut tree to sleep the long, bright day away.
peter rabbit could stand it no longer.
curiosity had driven away all desire to sleep.
he simply had to know where striped chipmunk lived.
""i'll just follow striped chipmunk and see for myself where he lives," said peter to himself.
so peter rabbit hid behind a tuft of grass close by the old log and sat very, very still.
it was a very good place to hide, a very good place.
probably if peter rabbit had not been so brimming over with curiosity he would have succeeded in escaping the sharp eyes of striped chipmunk.
but people full of curiosity are forever pricking up their ears to hear things which do not in the least concern them.
it was so with peter rabbit.
he was so afraid that he would miss something that both his long ears were standing up straight, and they came above the grass behind which peter rabbit was hiding.
of course striped chipmunk saw them the very instant he jumped up on the old log with both pockets in his cheeks stuffed full.
he did n't say a word, but his sharp little eyes twinkled as he jumped off the end of the old log and scurried along under the bushes, for he guessed what peter rabbit was hiding for, and though he did not once turn his head he knew that peter was following him.
you see peter runs with big jumps, lipperty-lipperty-lip, and people who jump must make a noise.
so, though he tried very hard not to make a sound, peter was in such a hurry to keep striped chipmunk in sight that he really made a great deal of noise.
the more noise peter made, the more striped chipmunk chuckled to himself.
presently striped chipmunk stopped.
then he sat up very straight and looked this way and looked that way, just as if trying to make sure that no one was watching him.
then he emptied two pocketfuls of shining yellow gravel on to a nice new mound which he was building.
once more he sat up and looked this way and looked that way.
then he scuttled back towards the old log.
as he ran striped chipmunk chuckled and chuckled to himself, for all the time he had seen peter rabbit lying flat down behind a little bush and knew that peter rabbit was thinking to himself how smart he had been to find striped chipmunk's home when no one else knew where it was.
no sooner was striped chipmunk out of sight than up jumped peter rabbit.
he smiled to himself as he hurried over to the shining mound of yellow gravel.
you see peter's curiosity was so great that not once did he think how mean he was to spy on striped chipmunk.
""now," thought peter, "i know where striped chipmunk lives.
jimmy skunk does n't know.
johnny chuck does n't know.
bobby coon does n't know.
but i know.
striped chipmunk may fool all the others, but he ca n't fool me."
by this time peter rabbit had reached the shining mound of yellow gravel.
at once he began to hunt for the doorway to striped chipmunk's home.
but there was n't any doorway.
no, sir, there was n't any doorway!
look as he would, peter rabbit could not find the least sign of a doorway.
he walked "round and "round the mound and looked here and looked there, but not the least sign of a door was to be seen.
there was nothing but the shining mound of yellow gravel, the green grass, the green bushes and the blue, blue sky, with jolly, round, red mr. sun looking down and laughing at him.
peter rabbit sat down on striped chipmunk's shining mound of yellow gravel and scratched his left ear with his left hindfoot.
then he scratched his right ear with his right hindfoot.
it was very perplexing.
indeed, it was so perplexing that peter quite forgot that striped chipmunk would soon be coming back.
suddenly right behind peter's back striped chipmunk spoke.
""how do you like my sand pile, peter rabbit?
do n't you think it is a pretty nice sand pile?"
asked striped chipmunk politely.
and all the time he was chuckling away to himself.
peter was so surprised that he very nearly fell backward off the shining mound of yellow gravel.
for a minute he did n't know what to say.
then he found his tongue.
-lsb- illustration: peter was so surprised that he nearly fell backward. -rsb-
""oh," said peter rabbit, apparently in the greatest surprise, "is this your sand pile, striped chipmunk?
it's a very nice sand pile indeed.
is this where you live?"
striped chipmunk shook his head.
""no, oh, my, no!"
said he.
""i would n't think of living in such an exposed place!
my goodness, no indeed!
everybody knows where this is.
i'm building a new home, you know, and of course i do n't want the gravel to clutter up my dooryard.
so i've brought it all here.
makes a nice sand pile, does n't it?
you are very welcome to sit on my sand pile whenever you feel like it, peter rabbit.
it's a good place to take a sun bath; i hope you'll come often."
all the time striped chipmunk was saying this his sharp little eyes twinkled with mischief and he chuckled softly to himself.
peter rabbit was more curious than ever.
""where is your new home, striped chipmunk?"
he asked.
""not far from here; come call on me," said striped chipmunk.
then with a jerk of his funny little tail he was gone.
it seemed as if the earth must have swallowed him up.
striped chipmunk can move very quickly, and he had whisked out of sight in the bushes before peter rabbit could turn his head to watch him.
peter looked behind every bush and under every stone, but nowhere could he find striped chipmunk or a sign of striped chipmunk's home, excepting the shining mound of yellow gravel.
at last peter pushed his inquisitive nose right into the doorway of bumble the bee.
now bumble the bee happened to be at home, and being very short of temper, he thrust a sharp little needle into the inquisitive nose of peter rabbit.
""oh!
oh!
oh!"
shrieked peter, clapping both hands to his nose, and started off home as fast as he could go.
and though he did n't know it and does n't know it to this day, he went right across the doorstep of striped chipmunk's home.
so peter still wonders and wonders where striped chipmunk lives, and no one can tell him, not even the merry little breezes.
you see there is not even a sign of a path leading to his doorway, for striped chipmunk never goes or comes twice the same way.
his doorway is very small, just large enough for him to squeeze through, and it is so hidden in the grass that often the merry little breezes skip right over it without seeing it.
every grain of sand and gravel from the fine long halls and snug chambers striped chipmunk has built underground he has carefully carried in the pockets in his cheeks to the shining mound of yellow gravel found by peter rabbit.
not so much as a grain is dropped on his doorstep to let his secret out.
so in and out among the little meadow people skips striped chipmunk all the long day, and not one has found out where he lives.
but no one really cares excepting peter rabbit, who is still curious.
xiv jerry muskrat's new house jerry muskrat would n't play.
billy mink had tried to get him to.
little joe otter had tried to get him to.
the merry little breezes had tried to get him to.
it was of no use, no use at all.
jerry muskrat would n't play.
""come on, jerry, come on play with us," they begged all together.
but jerry shook his head.
""ca n't," said he.
""why not?
wo n't your mother let you?"
demanded billy mink, making a long dive into the smiling pool.
he was up again in time to hear jerry reply: "yes, my mother will let me.
it is n't that.
it's because we are going to have a long winter and a cold winter and i must prepare for it."
every one laughed, every one except grandfather frog, who sat on his big green lily-pad watching for foolish green flies.
""pooh!"
exclaimed little joe otter.
""a lot you know about it, jerry muskrat!
ho, ho, ho!
a lot you know about it!
are you clerk of the weather?
it is only fall now -- what can you know about what the winter will be?
oh come, jerry muskrat, do n't pretend to be so wise.
i can swim twice across the smiling pool while you are swimming across once -- come on!"
jerry muskrat shook his head.
""have n't time," said he.
""i tell you we are going to have a long winter and a hard winter, and i've got to prepare for it.
when it comes you'll remember what i have told you."
little joe otter made a wry face and slid down his slippery slide, splash into the smiling pool, throwing water all over jerry muskrat, who was sitting on the end of a log close by.
jerry shook the water from his coat, which is water-proof, you know.
everybody laughed, that is, everybody but grandfather frog.
he did not even smile.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog, who is very wise.
""jerry muskrat knows.
if jerry says that we are going to have a long cold winter you may be sure that he knows what he is talking about."
billy mink turned a back somersault into the smiling pool so close to the big green lily-pad on which grandfather frog sat that the waves almost threw grandfather frog into the water.
""pooh," said billy mink, "how can jerry muskrat know anything more about it than we do?"
grandfather frog looked at billy mink severely.
he does not like billy mink, who has been known to gobble up some of grandfather frog's children when he thought that no one was looking.
""old mother nature was here and told him," said grandfather frog gruffly.
""oh!"
exclaimed billy mink and little joe otter together.
""that's different," and they looked at jerry muskrat with greater respect.
""how are you going to prepare for the long cold winter, jerry muskrat?"
asked one of the merry little breezes.
""i'm going to build a house, a big, warm house," replied jerry muskrat, "and i'm going to begin right now."
-lsb- illustration: "i'm going, to build a house," replied jerry muskrat. -rsb-
splash!
jerry had disappeared into the smiling pool.
presently, over on the far side where the water was shallow, it began to bubble and boil as if a great fuss was going on underneath the surface.
jerry muskrat had begun work.
the water grew muddy, very muddy indeed, so muddy that little joe otter and billy mink climbed out on the big rock in disgust.
when finally jerry muskrat swam out to rest on the end of a log they shouted to him angrily.
""hi, jerry muskrat, you're spoiling our swimming water!
what are you doing anyway?"
""i'm digging for the foundations for my new house, and it is n't your water any more than it's mine," replied jerry muskrat, drawing a long breath before he disappeared under water again.
the water grew muddier and muddier, until even grandfather frog began to look annoyed.
billy mink and little joe otter started off up the laughing brook, where the water was clear.
the merry little breezes danced away across the green meadows to play with johnny chuck, and grandfather frog settled himself comfortably on his big green lily-pad to dream of the days when the world was young and the frogs ruled the world.
but jerry muskrat worked steadily, digging and piling sods in a circle for the foundation of his house.
in the center he dug out a chamber from which he planned a long tunnel to his secret burrow far away in the bank, and another to the deepest part of the smiling pool, where even in the coldest weather the water would not freeze to the bottom as it would do in the shallow places.
all day long while billy mink and little joe otter and the merry little breezes and johnny chuck and peter rabbit and danny meadow mouse and all the other little meadow people were playing or lazily taking sun naps, jerry muskrat worked steadily.
jolly, round, red mr. sun, looking down from the blue, blue sky, smiled to see how industrious the little fellow was.
that evening, when old mother west wind hurried across the green meadows on her way to her home behind the purple hills, she found jerry muskrat sitting on the end of a log eating his supper of fresh-water clams.
showing just above the water on the edge of the smiling pool was the foundation of jerry muskrat's new house.
the next morning jerry was up and at work even before old mother west wind, who is a very early riser, came down from the purple hills.
of course every one was interested to see how the new house was coming along and to offer advice.
""are you going to build it all of mud?"
asked one of the merry little breezes.
""no," said jerry muskrat, "i'm going to use green alder twigs and willow shoots and bulrush stalks.
it's going to be two stories high, with a room down deep under water and another room up above with a beautiful bed of grass and soft moss."
""that will be splendid!"
cried the merry little breezes.
then one of them had an idea.
he whispered to the other little breezes.
they all giggled and clapped their hands.
then they hurried off to find billy mink and little joe otter.
they even hunted up johnny chuck and peter rabbit and danny meadow mouse.
jerry muskrat was so busy that he paid no attention to any one or anything else.
he was attending strictly to the business of building a house that would keep him warm and comfortable when the long cold winter should freeze up tight the smiling pool.
pretty soon he was ready for some green twigs to use in the walls of the new house.
he swam across the smiling pool to the laughing brook, where the alders grow, to cut the green twigs which he needed.
what do you think he found when he got there?
why, the nicest little pile of green twigs, all cut ready to use, and johnny chuck cutting more.
""hello, jerry muskrat," said johnny chuck.
""i've cut all these green twigs for your new house.
i hope you can use them."
jerry was so surprised that he hardly knew what to say.
he thanked johnny chuck, and with the bundle of green twigs swam back to his new house.
when he had used the last one he swam across to the bulrushes on the edge of the smiling pool.
""good morning, jerry muskrat," said some one almost hidden by a big pile of bulrushes, all nicely cut.
""i want to help build the new house."
it was danny meadow mouse.
jerry muskrat was more surprised than ever.
""oh, thank you, danny meadow mouse, thank you!"
he said, and pushing the pile of bulrushes before him he swam back to his new house.
when he had used the rushes, jerry wanted some young willow shoots, so he started for the place where the willows grow.
before he reached them he heard some one shouting: "hi, jerry muskrat!
see the pile of willow shoots i've cut for your new house."
it was peter rabbit, who is never known to work.
jerry muskrat was more surprised than ever and so pleased that all he could say was, "thank you, thank you, peter rabbit!"
back to the new house he swam with the pile of young willow shoots.
when he had placed them to suit him he sat up on the walls of his house to rest.
he looked across the smiling pool.
then he rubbed his eyes and looked again.
could it be -- yes, it certainly was a bundle of green alder twigs floating straight across the smiling pool towards the new house!
when they got close to him jerry spied a sharp little black nose pushing them along, and back of the little black nose twinkled two little black eyes.
""what are you doing with those alder twigs, billy mink?"
cried jerry.
""bringing them for your new house," shouted billy mink, popping out from behind the bundle of alder twigs.
and that was the beginning of the busiest day that the smiling pool had ever known.
billy mink brought more alder twigs and willow shoots and bulrushes as fast as johnny chuck and peter rabbit and danny meadow mouse could cut them.
little joe otter brought sods and mud to hold them in place.
thick and high grew the walls of the new house.
in the upper part jerry built the nicest little room, and lined it with grass and soft moss, so that he could sleep warm and comfortable through the long cold winter.
over all he built a strong, thick roof beautifully rounded.
an hour before it was time for old mother west wind to come for the merry little breezes, jerry muskrat's new house was finished.
then such a frolic as there was in and around the smiling pool!
little joe otter made a new slippery slide down one side of the roof.
billy mink said that the new house was better to dive off of than the big rock.
then the two of them, with jerry muskrat, cut up all sorts of monkey-shines in the water, while johnny chuck, peter rabbit, danny meadow mouse and the merry little breezes danced on the shore and shouted themselves hoarse.
when at last jolly, round, red mr. sun went to bed behind the purple hills, and the black shadows crept ever so softly out across the smiling pool, jerry muskrat sat on the roof of his house eating his supper of fresh-water clams.
he was very tired, was jerry muskrat, very tired indeed, but he was very happy, for now he had no fear of the long cold winter.
best of all his heart was full of love -- love for his little playmates of the smiling pool and the green meadows.
xv peter rabbit's big cousin jumper the hare had come down out of the great woods to the green meadows.
he is first cousin to peter rabbit, you know, and he looks just like peter, only he is twice as big.
his legs are twice as long and he can jump twice as far.
all the little meadow people were very polite to jumper the hare, all but reddy fox, who is never polite to any one unless he has a favor to ask.
peter rabbit was very proud of his big cousin, very proud indeed.
he showed jumper the hare all the secret paths in the green forest and across the green meadows.
he took him to the smiling pool and the laughing brook, and everywhere jumper the hare was met with the greatest politeness.
but jumper the hare was timid, oh, very timid indeed.
every few jumps he sat up very straight to look this way and look that way, and to listen with his long ears.
he jumped nervously at the least little noise.
yes, sir, jumper the hare certainly was very timid.
""he's a coward!"
sneered reddy fox.
and billy mink and little joe otter and jimmy skunk, even johnny chuck, seeing jumper the hare duck and dodge at the shadow of blacky the crow, agreed with reddy fox.
still, they were polite to him for the sake of peter rabbit and because jumper really was such a big, handsome fellow.
but behind his back they laughed at him.
even little danny meadow mouse laughed.
now it happens that jumper the hare had lived all his life in the great woods, where mr. panther and tufty the lynx and fierce mr. fisher were always hunting him, but where the shadows were deep and where there were plenty of places to hide.
indeed, his whole life had been a game of hide and seek, and always he had been the one sought.
so on the green meadows, where hiding places were few and far between, jumper the hare was nervous.
but the little meadow people, not knowing this, thought him a coward, and while they were polite to him they had little to do with him, for no one really likes a coward.
peter rabbit, however, could see no fault in his big cousin.
he showed him where farmer brown's tender young carrots grow, and the shortest way to the cabbage patch.
he made him acquainted with all his own secret hiding places in the old brier patch.
then one bright sunny morning something happened.
johnny chuck saw it.
jimmy skunk saw it.
happy jack squirrel saw it.
sammy jay saw it.
and they told all the others.
very early that morning reddy fox had started out to hunt for his breakfast.
he was tiptoeing softly along the edge of the green forest looking for wood mice when whom should he see but peter rabbit.
peter was getting his breakfast in the sweet-clover bed, just beyond the old brier patch.
reddy fox squatted down behind a bush to watch.
peter rabbit looked plump and fat.
reddy fox licked his chops.
""peter rabbit would make a better breakfast than wood mice, a very much better breakfast," said reddy fox to himself.
beside, he owed peter rabbit a grudge.
he had not forgotten how peter had tried to save his little brother from reddy by bringing up bowser the hound.
reddy fox licked his chops again.
he looked this way and he looked that way, but he could see no one watching.
old mother west wind had gone about her business.
the merry little breezes were over at the smiling pool to pay their respects to grandfather frog.
even jolly, round, red mr. sun was behind a cloud.
from his hiding place reddy could not see johnny chuck or jimmy skunk or happy jack squirrel or sammy jay.
""no one will know what becomes of peter rabbit," thought reddy fox.
very cautiously reddy fox crept out from behind the bush into the tall meadow grass.
flat on his stomach he crawled inch by inch.
every few minutes he stopped to listen and to peep over at the sweet-clover bed.
there sat peter rabbit, eating, eating, eating the tender young clover as if he had n't a care in the world but to fill his little round stomach.
nearer and nearer crawled reddy fox.
now he was almost near enough to spring.
""thump, thump, thump!"
the sound came from the brier patch.
""thump, thump!"
this was peter rabbit hitting the ground with one of his hind feet.
he had stopped eating and was sitting up very straight.
""thump, thump, thump!"
came the signal from the brier patch.
""thump, thump!"
responded peter rabbit, and started to run.
with a snarl reddy fox sprang after him.
then the thing happened.
reddy fox caught a glimpse of something going over him and at the same time he received a blow that rolled him over and over in the grass.
in an instant he was on his feet and had whirled about, his eyes yellow with anger.
there right in front of him sat jumper the hare.
reddy fox could hardly believe his own eyes!
could it be that jumper the hare, the coward, had dared to strike him such a blow?
reddy forgot all about peter rabbit.
with a snarl he rushed at jumper the hare.
then it happened again.
as light as a feather jumper leaped over him, and as he passed, those big hind legs, at which reddy fox had laughed, came back with a kick that knocked all the breath out of reddy fox.
reddy fox was furious.
twice more he sprang, and twice more he was sent sprawling, with the breath knocked out of his body.
that was enough.
tucking his tail between his legs, reddy fox sneaked away towards the green forest.
as he ran he heard peter rabbit thumping in the old brier patch.
""i'm safe," signaled peter rabbit.
""thump, thump, thump, thump!
the coast is clear," replied jumper the hare.
reddy fox looked back from the edge of the green forest and gnashed his teeth.
peter rabbit and jumper the hare were rubbing noses and contentedly eating tender young clover leaves.
""now who's the coward?"
jeered sammy jay from the top of the lone pine.
reddy fox said nothing, but slunk out of sight.
late that afternoon he sat on the hill at the top of the crooked little path, and looked down on the green meadows.
over near the smiling pool were gathered all the little meadow people having the jolliest time in the world.
while he watched they joined hands in a big circle and began to dance, johnny chuck, jimmy skunk, bobby coon, little joe otter, billy mink, happy jack squirrel, striped chipmunk, danny meadow mouse, peter rabbit, spotty the turtle, even grandfather frog and old mr. toad.
and in the middle, sitting very straight, was jumper the hare.
and since that day peter rabbit has been prouder than ever of his big cousin, jumper the hare, for now no one calls him a coward.
the end * * * * * books by thornton w. burgess bedtime story-books 1.
the adventures of reddy fox 2.
the adventures of johnny chuck 3.
the adventures of peter cottontail 4.
the adventures of unc" billy possum 5.
the adventures of mr. mocker 6.
the adventures of jerry muskrat 7.
the adventures of danny meadow mouse 8.
the adventures of grandfather frog 9.
the adventures of chatterer, the red squirrel 10.
the adventures of sammy jay 11.
the adventures of buster bear 12.
the adventures of old mr. toad 13.
the adventures of prickly porky 14.
the adventures of old man coyote 15.
the adventures of paddy the beaver 16.
the adventures of poor mrs. quack 17.
the adventures of bobby coon 18.
the adventures of jimmy skunk 19.
the adventures of bob white 20.
the adventures of ol' mistah buzzard mother west wind series 1.
old mother west wind 2.
mother west wind's children 3.
mother west wind's animal friends 4.
mother west wind's neighbors 5.
mother west wind "why" stories 6.
mother west wind "how" stories 7.
mother west wind "when" stories 8.
mother west wind "where" stories green meadow series 1.
happy jack 2.
mrs. peter rabbit 3.
bowser the hound 4.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___mrs._peter_rabbit.txt.out
chapter i peter rabbit loses his appetite good appetite, you'll always find, depends upon your state of mind.
peter rabbit.
peter rabbit had lost his appetite.
now when peter rabbit loses his appetite, something is very wrong indeed with him.
peter has boasted that he can eat any time and all the time.
in fact, the two things that peter thinks most about are his stomach and satisfying his curiosity, and nearly all of the scrapes that peter has gotten into have been because of those two things.
so when peter loses his appetite or his curiosity, there is surely something the matter with him.
ever since old man coyote had come to live on the green meadows, peter had been afraid to go very far from the dear old briar-patch where he makes his home, and where he always feels safe.
now there was n't any reason why he should go far from the dear old briar-patch.
there was plenty to eat in it and all around it, for sweet clover grew almost up to the very edge of it, and you know peter is very fond of sweet clover.
so there was plenty for peter to eat without running any risk of danger.
with nothing to do but eat and sleep, peter should have grown fat and contented.
but he did n't.
now that is just the way with a lot of people.
the more they have and the less they have to worry about, the more discontented they become, and at last they are positively unhappy.
there was little danny meadow mouse, living out on the green meadows; he was happy all the livelong day, and yet he had no safe castle like the dear old briar-patch where he could always be safe.
every minute of every day danny had to keep his eyes wide open and his wits working their very quickest, for any minute he was likely to be in danger.
old man coyote or reddy fox or granny fox or digger the badger or mr. blacksnake was likely to come creeping through the grass any time, and they are always hungry for a fat meadow mouse.
and as if that were n't worry enough, danny had to watch the sky, too, for old whitetail the marsh hawk, or his cousin redtail, or blacky the crow, each of whom would be glad of a meadow mouse dinner.
yet in spite of all this, danny was happy and never once lost his appetite.
but peter rabbit, with nothing to worry him so long as he stayed in the old briar-patch, could n't eat and grew more and more unhappy.
""i do n't know what's the matter with me.
i really do n't know what's the matter with me," said peter, as he turned up his nose at a patch of sweet, tender young clover.
""i think i'll go and cut some new paths through the old briar-patch."
now, though he did n't know it, that was the very best thing he could do.
it gave him something to think about.
for two or three days he was very busy cutting new paths, and his appetite came back.
but when he had made all the paths he wanted, and there was nothing else to do, he lost his appetite again.
he just sat still all day long and moped and thought and thought and thought.
the trouble with peter rabbit's thinking was that it was all about himself and how unhappy he was.
of course, the more he thought about this, the more unhappy he grew.
""if i only had some one to talk to, i'd feel better," said he to himself.
that reminded him of johnny chuck and what good times they used to have together when johnny lived on the green meadows.
then he thought of how happy johnny seemed with his little family in his new home in the old orchard, in spite of all the worries his family made him.
and right then peter found out what was the matter with him.
""i believe i'm just lonesome," said peter.
""yes, sir, that's what's the matter with me.
""it is n't good to be alone, i've often heard my mother say.
it makes one selfish, grouchy, cross, and quite unhappy all the day.
one needs to think of other folks, and not of just one's self alone, to find the truest happiness, and joy and real content to own.
""now that i've found out what is the trouble with me, the question is, what am i going to do about it?"
chapter ii peter rabbit plans a journey it's a long jump that makes no landing.
peter rabbit.
""the trouble with me is that i'm lonesome," repeated peter rabbit as he sat in the dear old briar-patch.
""yes, sir, that's the only thing that's wrong with me.
i'm just tired of myself, and that's why i've lost my appetite.
and now i know what's the matter, what am i going to do about it?
if i were sure, absolutely sure, that old man coyote meant what he said about our being friends, i'd start out this very minute to call on all my old friends.
my, my, my, it seems an age since i visited the smiling pool and saw grandfather frog and jerry muskrat and billy mink and little joe otter!
mr. coyote sounded as if he really meant to leave me alone, but, but -- well, perhaps he did mean it when he saw me sitting here safe among the brambles, but if i should meet him out in the open, he might change his mind and -- oh, dear, his teeth are terrible long and sharp!"
peter sat a little longer, thinking and thinking.
then a bright idea popped into his head.
he kicked up his heels.
""i'll do it," said he.
""i'll make a journey!
that's what i'll do!
i'll make a journey and see the great world.
""by staying here and sitting still i'm sure i'll simply grow quite ill.
a change of scene is what i need to be from all my trouble freed."
of course if peter had really stopped to think the matter over thoroughly he would have known that running away from one kind of trouble is almost sure to lead to other troubles.
but peter is one of those who does his thinking afterward.
peter is what is called impulsive.
that is, he does things and then thinks about them later, and often wishes he had n't done them.
so now the minute the idea of making a journey popped into his head, he made up his mind that he would do it, and that was all there was to it.
you see, peter never looks ahead.
if he could get rid of the trouble that bothered him now, which, you know, was nothing but lonesomeness, he would n't worry about the troubles he might get into later.
now the minute peter made up his mind to make a journey, he began to feel better.
his lost appetite returned, and the first thing he did was to eat a good meal of sweet clover.
""let me see," said he, as he filled his big stomach, "i believe i'll visit the old pasture.
it's a long way off and i've never been there, but i've heard sammy jay say that it's a very wonderful place, and i do n't believe it is any more dangerous than the green meadows and the green forest, now that old man coyote and reddy and granny fox are all living here.
i'll start tonight when i am sure that old man coyote is nowhere around, and i wo n't tell a soul where i am going."
so peter settled himself and tried to sleep the long day away, but his mind was so full of the long journey he was going to make that he could n't sleep much, and when he did have a nap, he dreamed of wonderful sights and adventures out in the great world.
at last he saw jolly, round, red mr. sun drop down to his bed behind the purple hills.
old mother west wind came hurrying back from her day's work and gathered her children, the merry little breezes, into her big bag, and then she, too, started for her home behind the purple hills.
a little star came out and winked at peter, and then way over on the edge of the green forest he heard old man coyote laugh.
peter grinned.
that was what he had been waiting for, since it meant that old man coyote was so far away that there was nothing to fear from him.
peter hopped out from the dear, safe old briar-patch, looked this way and that way, and then, with his heart in his mouth, started towards the old pasture as fast as he could go, lipperty -- lipperty -- lip.
chapter iii hooty the owl changes his hunting grounds a full stomach makes a pleasant day; an empty stomach turns the whole world gray.
peter rabbit.
hooty the owl sat on the tip-top of a tall dead tree in the green forest while the black shadows crept swiftly among the trees.
he was talking to himself.
it would n't have done for him to have spoken aloud what he was saying to himself, for then the little people in feathers and fur on whom he likes to make his dinner would have heard him and known just where he was.
so he said it to himself, and sat so still that he looked for all the world like a part of the tree on which he was sitting.
what he was saying was this: "towhit, towhoo!
towhit, towhoo!
will some one tell me what to do?
my children have an appetite that keeps me hunting all the night, and though their stomachs i may stuff they never seem to have enough.
towhit, towhoo!
towhit, towhoo!
will some one tell me what to do?"
when it was dark enough he gave his fierce hunting call -- "whooo-hoo - hoo, whoo-hoo!"
now that is a terrible sound in the dark woods, very terrible indeed to the little forest people, because it sounds so fierce and hungry.
it makes them jump and shiver, and that is just what hooty wants them to do, for in doing it one of them is likely to make just the least scratching with his claws, or to rustle a leaf.
if he does, hooty, whose ears are very, very wonderful, is almost sure to hear, and with his great yellow eyes see him, and then -- hooty has his dinner.
the very night when peter rabbit started on his journey to the old pasture, hooty the owl had made up his mind that something had got to be done to get more food for those hungry babies of his up in the big hemlock-tree in the darkest corner of the green forest.
hunting was very poor, very poor indeed, and hooty was at his wits" end to know what he should do.
he had hooted and hooted in vain in the green forest, and he had sailed back and forth over the green meadows like a great black shadow without seeing so much as a single mouse.
""it's all because of old man coyote and granny and reddy fox," said hooty angrily.
""they've spoiled the hunting.
yes, sir, that's just what they have done!
if i expect to feed those hungry babies of mine, i must find new hunting grounds.
i believe i'll go up to the old pasture.
perhaps i'll have better luck up there."
so hooty the owl spread his broad wings and started for the old pasture just a little while after peter rabbit had started for the same place.
of course he did n't know that peter was on his way there, and of course peter did n't know that hooty even thought of the old pasture.
if he had, perhaps he would have thought twice before starting.
anyway, he would have kept a sharper watch on the sky.
but as it was his thoughts were all of old man coyote and granny fox, and that is where peter made a very grave mistake, a very grave mistake indeed, as he was soon to find out.
chaptee iv the shadow with sharp claws now what's the use, pray tell me this, when all is said and done; a thousand things and one to learn and then forget the one?
for when that one alone you need, and nothing else will do, what good are all the thousand then?
i do not see; do you?
peter rabbit.
forgetting leads to more trouble than almost anything under the sun.
peter rabbit knew this.
of course he knew it.
peter had had many a narrow escape just from forgetting something.
he knew just as well as you know that he might just as well not learn a thing as to learn it and then forget it.
but peter is such a happy-go-lucky little fellow that he is very apt to forget, and forgetting leads him into all kinds of difficulties, just as it does most folks.
now peter had learned when he was a very little fellow that when he went out at night, he must watch out quite as sharply for hooty the owl as for either granny or reddy fox, and usually he did.
but the night he started to make a journey to the old pasture, his mind was so full of old man coyote and granny and reddy fox that he wholly forgot hooty the owl.
so, as he scampered across the green meadows, lipperty -- lipperty -- lip, as fast as he could go, with his long ears and his big eyes and his wobbly nose all watching out for danger on the ground, not once did he think that there might be danger from the sky above him.
it was a moonlight night, and peter was sharp enough to keep in the shadows whenever he could.
he would scamper as fast as he knew how from one shadow to another and then sit down in the blackest part of each shadow to get his breath, and to look and listen and so make sure that no one was following him.
the nearer he got to the old pasture, the safer he felt from old man coyote and granny and reddy fox.
when he scampered across the patches of moonshine his heart did n't come up in his mouth the way it had at first.
he grew bolder and bolder.
once or twice he stopped for a mouthful of sweet clover.
he was tired, for he had come a long way, but he was almost to the old pasture now, and it looked very dark and safe, for it was covered with bushes and brambles.
""plenty of hiding places there," thought peter.
""it really looks as safe as the dear old briar-patch.
no one will ever think to look for me way off here."
just then he spied a patch of sweet clover out in the moonlight.
his mouth began to water.
""i'll just fill my stomach before i go into the old pasture, for there may not be any clover there," said peter.
""you'd better be careful, peter rabbit," said a wee warning voice inside him.
""pooh!"
said peter.
""there's nothing to be afraid of way up here!"
a shadow drifted across the sweet clover patch.
peter saw it.
""that must be made by a cloud crossing the moon," said peter, and he was so sure of it that he did n't even look up to see, but boldly hopped out to fill his stomach.
just as he reached the patch of clover, the shadow drifted over it again.
then all in a flash a terrible thought entered peter's head.
he did n't stop to look up.
he suddenly sprang sideways, and even as he did so, sharp claws tore his coat and hurt him dreadfully.
he twisted and dodged and jumped and turned this way and that way, and all the time the shadow followed him.
once again sharp claws tore his coat and made him squeal with pain.
-lsb- illustration: he dodged and jumped, and all the time the shadow followed him. -rsb-
at last, when his breath was almost gone, he reached the edge of the old pasture and dived under a friendly old bramble-bush.
""oh," sobbed peter, "i forgot all about hooty the owl!
besides, i did n't suppose he ever came way up here."
chapter v in the old pasture brambles never scratch those who understand and are considerate of them.
peter rabbit.
peter rabbit sat under a friendly bramble-bush on the edge of the old pasture and panted for breath, while his heart went pit-a-pat, pit-a - pat, as if it would thump its way right through his sides.
peter had had a terrible fright.
there were long tears in his coat, and he smarted and ached dreadfully where the cruel claws of hooty the owl had torn him.
and there he was in a strange place, not knowing which way to turn, for you know he never had visited the old pasture before.
but peter had had so many narrow escapes in his life that he had learned not to worry over dangers that are past.
peter is what wise men call a phi-los-o-pher.
that is a big word, but its meaning is very simple.
a philosopher is one who believes that it is foolish to think about things that have happened, except to learn some lesson from them, and that the best thing to do is to make the most of the present.
peter had learned his lesson.
he was sure of that.
""i never, never will forget again to watch out for hooty the owl," said he to himself, as he nursed his wounds, "and so perhaps it is a good thing that he so nearly caught me this time.
if he had n't, i might have forgotten all about him some time when he could catch me.
i certainly would n't have watched out for him way up here, for i did n't think he ever came up to the old pasture.
but now i know he does, mr. hooty'll have to be smarter than he's ever been before to catch me napping again.
my, how i do smart and ache!
i know now just how danny meadow mouse felt that time hooty caught him and dropped him into the old briar-patch.
ouch!
well, as my mother used to say: "yesterday has gone away; make the most of just to-day."
here i am up in the old pasture, and the question is, what shall i do next?"
peter felt a queer little thrill as he peeped out from under the friendly bramble-bush.
very strange and wonderful it seemed.
of course he could n't see very far, because the old pasture was all overgrown with bushes and briars, and they made the very blackest of black shadows in the moonlight.
peter wondered what dangers might be awaiting him there, but somehow he did n't feel much afraid.
no, sir, he did n't feel much afraid.
you see those briars looked good to him, for briars are always friendly to peter and unfriendly to those who would do harm to peter.
so when he saw them, he felt almost at home.
peter drew a long breath.
then he cried "ouch!"
you see, he had forgotten for a minute how sore he was.
he was eager to explore this new wonderland, for sammy jay had told him wonderful tales about it, and he knew that here old granny fox and reddy fox had found safety when farmer brown's boy had hunted for them so hard on the green meadows and in the green forest.
he felt sure that there must be the most splendid hiding - places, and it seemed as if he certainly must start right out to see them, for you know peter is very, very curious.
but the first move he made brought another "ouch" from him, and he made up a wry face.
""i guess the best thing for me to do is to stay right where i am," said he, "for here i am safe under this friendly old bramble."
so with a sigh peter settled down to make himself as comfortable as he could, and once, as far, far away on the green meadows he heard the voice of old man coyote, peter even smiled.
""i have n't anything to fear from him, anyway, for he'll never think of coming way up here," said he.
chapter vi peter rabbit is still lonesome a sympathetic word or two a wond "rous help is, when you're blue.
so pity him who sits alone his aches and troubles to bemoan.
peter rabbit.
all the rest of that night peter sat under a friendly old bramble-bush on the edge of the old pasture and nursed the sore places made by the claws of hooty the owl.
at last jolly, round, red mr. sun began to climb up in the blue, blue sky, just as he does every day.
peter looked up at him, and he felt sure that mr. sun winked at him.
somehow it made him feel better.
the fact is, peter was beginning to feel just a wee, wee bit homesick.
it is bad enough to be in a strange place alone, but to be sore and to smart and ache as peter did makes that lonesome feeling a whole lot harder to bear.
it is dreadful not to have any one to speak to, but to look around and not see a single thing you have ever seen before, -- my, my, my, it certainly does give you a strange, sinking feeling way down inside!
before that long night was over peter felt as if his heart had gone way down to his very toes.
yes, sir, that's the way he felt.
every time he moved at all he cried "ouch!"
he just knew that he was growing more stiff and sore every minute.
then he began to wonder what he should do for something to eat, for he was in a strange place, you remember.
and that made him think of all his private little paths through the dear old briar-patch, the little paths he had made all himself, and which no one used but himself, excepting danny meadow mouse when he came for a visit.
""perhaps i shall never, never see them again," moaned peter, and two big tears filled his eyes and were just ready to drop.
at that moment he looked up and saw jolly, round, red mr. sun wink.
peter tried to wink back, and that made the two tears fall.
but there were no more tears to follow.
you see that wink had made all the difference in the world, peter's heart had jumped right back where it belonged.
mr. sun was one of his oldest friends and you know when trouble comes, a friendly face makes bright the very darkest place.
and so, just as he made bright all the old pasture, mr. sun also made bright the dark little corners in peter's heart just because he was an old friend.
to be sure peter was still lonesome, but it was a different kind of lonesomeness.
he had n't anybody to talk to, which is always a dreadful thing to peter, but he had only to look up to catch a friendly wink, and somehow that not only made him feel better inside but it seemed to make his aches and smarts better too.
chapter vii peter finds tracks every day is different from every other day, and always there is something new to see along the way.
peter rabbit.
peter rabbit had sat still just as long as he could.
he was stiff and lame and sore from the wounds made by hooty the owl, but his curiosity would n't let him sit still a minute longer.
he just had to explore the old pasture.
so with many a wry face and many an "ouch" he limped out from the shelter of the friendly old bramble-bush and started out to see what the old pasture was like.
now hooty the owl had taught peter wisdom.
with his torn clothes and his aches and smarts he could n't very well forget to be careful.
first he made sure that there was no danger near, and this time he took pains to look all around in the sky as well as on the ground.
then he limped out to the very patch of sweet clover where hooty had so nearly caught him the night before.
""a good breakfast," said peter, "will make a new rabbit of me."
you know peter thinks a great deal of his stomach.
so he began to eat as fast as he could, stopping every other mouthful to look and listen.
""i know it's a bad habit to eat fast," said he, "but it's a whole lot worse to have an empty stomach."
so he ate and ate and ate as fast as he could make his little jaws go, which is very fast indeed.
when peter's stomach was stuffed full he gave a great sigh of relief and limped back to the friendly old bramble-bush to rest.
but he could n't sit still long, for he just had to find out all about the old pasture.
so pretty soon he started out to explore.
such a wonderful place as it seemed to peter!
there were clumps of bushes with little open spaces between, just the nicest kind of playgrounds.
then there were funny spreading, prickly juniper-trees, which made the very safest places to crawl out of harm's way and to hide.
everywhere were paths made by cows.
very wonderful they seemed to peter, who had never seen any like them before.
he liked to follow them because they led to all kinds of queer places.
sometimes he would come to places where tall trees made him think of the green forest, only there were never more than a few trees together.
once he found an old tumble-down stone wall all covered with vines, and he shouted right out with delight.
""it's a regular castle!"
cried peter, and he knew that there he would be safe from every one but shadow the weasel.
but he never was wholly safe from shadow the weasel anywhere, so he did n't let that thought worry him.
by and by he came to a wet place called a swamp.
the ground was soft, and there were little pools of water.
great ferns grew here just as they did along the bank of the laughing brook, only more of them.
there were pretty birch-trees and wild cherry-trees.
it was still and dark and oh, so peaceful!
peter liked that place and sat down under a big fern to rest.
he did n't hear a sound excepting the beautiful silvery voice of veery the thrush.
listening to it, peter fell asleep, for he was very tired.
by and by peter awoke.
for a minute he could n't think where he was.
then he remembered.
but for a long time he sat perfectly still, thinking of his adventures and wondering if he would be missed down on the green meadows.
then all of a sudden peter saw something that made him sit up so suddenly that he cried "ouch!"
for he had forgotten all about how stiff and sore he was.
what do you think peter saw?
tracks!
yes, sir, he saw tracks, rabbit tracks in the soft mud, and peter knew that he had n't made them!
chapter viii the strange tracks in the old pasture who has attentive ear and eye will learn a lot if he but try.
peter rabbit.
peter rabbit stared and stared at the tracks in the soft mud of the swamp in the old pasture.
he would look first at the tracks, then at his own feet, and finally back at the tracks again.
he scratched his long right ear with his long right hind foot.
then he scratched his long left ear with his long left hind foot, all the time staring his hardest at those strange tracks.
they certainly were the tracks of a rabbit, and it was equally certain that they were not his own.
""they are too big for mine, and they are too small for jumper the hare's.
besides, jumper is in the green forest and not way off up here," said peter to himself.
""i wonder -- well, i wonder if he will try to drive me away."
you see peter knew that if he had found a strange rabbit in his dear old briar-patch he certainly would have tried his best to drive him out, for he felt that the old briar-patch belonged to him.
now he wondered if the maker of these tracks would feel the same way about the old pasture.
peter looked troubled as he thought it over.
then his face cleared.
""perhaps," said he hopefully, "he is a new comer here, too, and if he is, i'll have just as much right here as he has.
perhaps he simply has big feet and is n't any bigger or stronger than i am, and if that's the case i'd like to see him drive me out!"
peter swelled himself out and tried to look as big as he could when he said this, but swelling himself out this way reminded him of how stiff and sore he was from the wounds given him by hooty the owl, and he made a wry face.
you see he realized all of a sudden that he did n't feel much like fighting.
""my," said peter, "i guess i'd better find out all about this other fellow before i have any trouble with him.
the old pasture looks big enough for a lot of rabbits, and perhaps if i do n't bother him, he wo n't bother me.
i wonder what he looks like.
i believe i'll follow these tracks and see what i can find."
so peter began to follow the tracks of the strange rabbit, and he was so interested that he almost forgot to limp.
they led him this way and they led him that way through the swamp and then out of it.
at the foot of a certain birch-tree peter stopped.
""ha!"
said he, "now i shall know just how big this fellow is."
how was he to know?
why, that tree was a kind of rabbit measuring - stick.
yes, sir, that is just what it was.
you see, rabbits like to keep a record of how they grow, just as some little boys and girls do, but as they have no doors or walls to stand against, they use trees.
and this was the measuring-tree of the rabbit whose tracks peter had been following.
peter stopped at the foot of it and sat down to think it over.
he knew what that tree meant perfectly well.
he had one or two measuring-trees of his own on the edge of the green forest.
he knew, too, that it was more than a mere measuring-tree.
it was a kind of "no trespassing" sign.
it meant that some other rabbit had lived here for some time and felt that he owned this part of the old pasture.
peter's nose told him that, for the tree smelled very, very strong of rabbit -- of the rabbit with the big feet.
this was because whoever used it for a measuring-tree used to rub himself against it as far up as he could reach.
peter hopped up close to it.
then he sat up very straight and stretched himself as tall as he could, but he wisely took care not to rub against the tree.
you see, he did n't want to leave his own mark there.
so he stretched and stretched, but stretch as he would, he could n't make his wobbly little nose reach the mark made by the other rabbit.
""my sakes, he is a big fellow!"
exclaimed peter.
""i guess i do n't want to meet him until i feel better and stronger than i do now."
chapter ix an unpleasant surprise legs are very useful when you want to run away; long, sharp teeth are splendid if to fight you want to stay; but a far, far greater blessing, whether one may stay or quit, is a clever, trusty, quick and ever ready wit.
peter rabbit.
peter rabbit sat in a snug hiding-place in the old pasture and thought over what he had found out about the strange rabbit whose tracks he had followed.
they had led him to a rubbing or measuring-tree, where the strange rabbit had placed his mark, and that mark was so high up on the tree that peter knew the strange rabbit must be a great deal bigger than himself.
""if he's bigger, of course he is stronger," thought peter, "and if he is both bigger and stronger, of course it wo n't be the least bit of use for me to fight him.
then, anyway, i'm too stiff and sore to fight.
and then, he has no business to think he owns the old pasture, because he does n't.
i have just as much right here as he has.
yes, sir, i have just as much right in this old pasture as he has, and if he thinks he can drive me out he is going to find that he was never more mistaken in his life!
i'll show him!
yes, sir-e-e, i'll show him!
i guess my wits are as sharp as his, and i would n't wonder if they are a little bit sharper."
foolish peter rabbit!
there he was boasting and bragging to himself of what he would do to some one whom he had n't even seen, all because he had found a sign that told him the old pasture, in which he had made up his mind to make his new home, was already the home of some one else.
peter was like a lot of other people; he was n't fair.
no, sir, he was n't fair.
he let his own desires destroy his sense of fair play.
it was all right for him to put up signs in the dear old briar-patch and the green forest, warning other rabbits that they must keep away, but it was all wrong for another rabbit to do the same thing in the old pasture.
oh, my, yes!
that was quite a different matter!
the very thought of it made peter very, very angry.
when he thought of this other rabbit, it was always as the stranger.
that shows just how unfair peter was, because, you see, peter himself was really the stranger.
it was his first visit to the old pasture, while it was very plain that the other had lived there for some time.
but peter could n't or would n't see that.
he had counted so much on having the old pasture to himself and doing as he pleased, that he was too upset and disappointed to be fair.
if the other rabbit had been smaller than he -- well, that might have made a difference.
the truth is, peter was just a wee bit afraid.
and perhaps it was that wee bit of fear that made him unfair and unjust.
anyway, the longer he sat and thought about it, the angrier he grew, and the more he bragged and boasted to himself about what he would do.
""i'll just keep out of sight until my wounds are healed, and then we'll see who owns the old pasture!"
thought peter.
no sooner had this thought popped into his head than he received a surprise, such an unpleasant surprise!
it was three heavy thumps right behind him.
peter knew what that meant.
of course he knew.
it meant that he must run or fight.
it meant that he had been so busy thinking about how smart he was going to be that he had forgotten to cover his own tracks, and so the maker of the big tracks he had followed had found him out.
thump!
thump!
thump!
there it was again.
peter knew by the sound that it was of no use to stay and fight, especially when he was so sore and stiff.
there was nothing to do but run away.
he simply had to.
and that is just what he did do, while his eyes were filled with tears of rage and bitterness.
chapter x peter rabbit almost decides to return home i have no doubt that you've been told how timid folks are sometimes bold.
peter rabbit.
in all his life peter rabbit had never been so disappointed.
here he was in the old pasture, about which he had dreamed and thought so long, and in reaching which he had had such a narrow escape from hooty the owl, and yet he was unhappy.
the fact is, peter was more unhappy than he could remember ever to have been before.
not only was he unhappy, but he was in great fear, and the worst of it was he was in fear of an enemy who could go wherever he could go himself.
you see, it was this way: peter had expected to find some enemies in the old pasture.
he had felt quite sure that fierce old mr. goshawk was to be watched for, and perhaps mr. redtail and one or two others of the hawk family.
he knew that granny and reddy fox had lived there once upon a time and might come back if things got too unpleasant for them on the green meadows, now that old man coyote had made his home there.
but peter did n't worry about any of these dangers.
he was used to them, was peter.
he had been dodging them ever since he could remember, a friendly bramble-bush, a little patch of briars, or an old stone wall near was all that peter needed to feel perfectly safe from these enemies, but now he was in danger wherever he went, for he had an enemy who could go everywhere he could, and it seemed to peter that this enemy was following him all the time.
who was it?
why, it was a great big old rabbit with a very short temper, who, because he had lived there for a long time, felt that he owned the old pasture and that peter had no right there.
now, in spite of all his trouble, peter had seen enough of the old pasture to think it a very wonderful place, a very wonderful place indeed.
he had seen just enough to want to see more.
you know how very curious peter is.
it seemed to him that he just could n't go back to the dear old briar-patch on the green meadows until he had seen everything to be seen in the old pasture.
so he could n't make up his mind to go back home, but stayed and stayed, hoping each day that the old gray rabbit would get tired of hunting for him, and would let him alone.
but the old gray rabbit did n't do anything of the kind.
he seemed to take the greatest delight in waiting until peter thought that he had found a corner of the old pasture where he would be safe, and then in stealing there when peter was trying to take a nap, and driving him out.
twice peter had tried to fight, but the old gray rabbit was too big for him.
he knocked all the wind out of poor peter with a kick from his big hind legs, and then with his sharp teeth he tore peter's coat.
poor peter!
his coat had already been badly torn by the cruel claws of hooty the owl, and old mother nature had n't had time to mend it when he fought with the old gray rabbit.
after the second time peter did n't try to fight again.
he just tried to keep out of the way.
and he did, too.
but in doing it he lost so much sleep and he had so little to eat that he grew thin and thin and thinner, until, with his torn clothes, he looked like a scarecrow.
and still he hated to give in when there was still so much to see.
""persistence, i was taught, will win, and so i will persist," said he.
and he did persist day after day, until at last he felt that he really must give it up.
he had stretched out wearily on a tiny sunning-bank in the farthest corner of the old pasture, and had just about made up his mind that he would go back that very night to the dear old briar-patch on the green meadows, when a tiny rustle behind him made him jump to his feet with his heart in his mouth.
but instead of the angry face of the old gray rabbit he saw -- what do you think?
why, two of the softest, gentlest eyes peeping at him from behind a big fern.
chapter xi peter rabbit has a sudden change of mind whatever you decide to do make up your mind to see it through.
peter rabbit.
peter rabbit stared at the two soft, gentle eyes peeping at him from behind the big fern just back of the sunning-bank in the far corner of the old pasture.
he had so fully expected to see the angry face of the big, gray, old rabbit who had made life so miserable for him that for a minute he could n't believe that he really saw what he did see.
and so he just stared and stared.
it was very rude.
of course it was.
it was very rude indeed.
it is always rude to stare at any one.
so it was no wonder that after a minute the two soft, gentle eyes disappeared behind one of the great green leaves of the fern.
peter gave a great sigh.
then he remembered how rude he had been to stare so.
""i -- i beg your pardon," said peter in his politest manner, which is very polite indeed, for peter can be very polite when he wants to be.
""i beg your pardon.
i did n't mean to frighten you.
please forgive me."
with the greatest eagerness peter waited for a reply.
you know it was because he had been so lonesome that he had left his home in the dear old briar-patch on the green meadows.
and since he had been in the old pasture he had been almost as lonesome, for he had had no one to talk to.
so now he waited eagerly for a reply.
you see, he felt sure that the owner of such soft, gentle eyes must have a soft, gentle voice and a soft, gentle heart, and there was nothing in the world that peter needed just then so much as sympathy.
but though he waited and waited, there was n't a sound from the big fern.
""perhaps you do n't know who i am.
i'm peter rabbit, and i've come up here from the green meadows, and i'd like very much to be your friend," continued peter after a while.
still there was no sound.
peter peeped from the corner of one eye at the place where he had seen the two soft, gentle eyes, but there was nothing to be seen but the gently waving leaf of the big fern.
peter did n't know just what to do.
he wanted to hop over to the big fern and peep behind it, but he did n't dare to.
he was afraid that whoever was hiding there would run away.
""i'm very lonesome; wo n't you speak to me?"
said peter, in his gentlest voice, and he sighed a deep, doleful sort of sigh.
still there was no reply.
peter had just about made up his mind that he would go over to the big fern when he saw those two soft, gentle eyes peeping from under a different leaf.
it seemed to peter that never in all his life had he seen such beautiful eyes.
they looked so shy and bashful that peter held his breath for fear that he would frighten them away.
after a time the eyes disappeared.
then peter saw a little movement among the ferns, and he knew that whoever was there was stealing away.
he wanted to follow, but something down inside him warned him that it was best to sit still.
so peter sat just where he was and kept perfectly still for the longest time.
but the eyes did n't appear again, and at last he felt sure that whoever they belonged to had really gone away.
then he sighed another great sigh, for suddenly he felt more lonesome than ever.
he hopped over to the big fern and looked behind it.
there in the soft earth was a footprint, the footprint of a rabbit, and it was smaller than his own.
it seemed to peter that it was the most wonderful little footprint he ever had seen.
""i believe," said peter right out loud, "that i'll change my mind.
i wo n't go back to the dear old briar-patch just yet, after all."
chapter xii peter learns something feom tommy tit when you find a friend in trouble pass along a word of cheer.
often it is very helpful just to feel a friend is near.
peter rabbit.
""hello, peter rabbit!
what are you doing way up here, and what are you looking so mournful about?"
peter gave a great start of pleased surprise.
that was the first friendly voice he had heard for days and days.
""hello yourself, tommy tit!"
shouted peter joyously.
""my, my, my, but i am glad to see you!
but what are you doing up here in the old pasture yourself?"
tommy tit the chickadee hung head down from the tip of a slender branch of a maple-tree and winked a saucy bright eye at peter.
""i've got a secret up here," he said.
now there is nothing in the world peter rabbit loves more than a secret.
but he can not keep one to save him.
no, sir, peter rabbit can no more keep a secret than he can fly.
he means to.
his intentions are the very best in the world, but -- alas!
alack!
poor peter's tongue is very, very loosely hung.
and so, because he must talk and will talk every chance he gets, he can not keep a secret.
people who talk too much never can.
""what is your secret?"
asked peter eagerly.
tommy tit looked down at peter, and his sharp little eyes twinkled.
""it's a nest with six of the dearest little babies in the world in it," he replied.
""oh, how lovely!"
cried peter.
""where is it, tommy tit?"
""in a hollow birch-stub," replied tommy, his eyes twinkling more than ever.
""but where is the hollow birch-stub?"
persisted peter.
tommy laughed.
""that's my real secret," said he, "and if i should tell you it would n't be a secret at all.
now tell me what you are doing up here in the old pasture, peter rabbit."
peter saw that it was of no use to tease tommy tit for his secret, so instead he poured out all his own troubles.
he told how lonesome he had been in the dear old briar-patch on the green meadows because he did n't dare to go about for fear of old man coyote, and how at last he had decided to visit the old pasture.
he told how hooty the owl had nearly caught him on his way, and then how, ever since his arrival, he had been hunted by the big, gray, old rabbit so that he could neither eat nor sleep and had become so miserable that at last he had made up his mind to go back to the dear old briar-patch.
""ho!"
interrupted tommy tit, "i know him.
he's old jed thumper, the oldest, biggest, crossest rabbit anywhere around.
he's lived in the old pasture so long that he thinks he owns it.
it's a wonder that he has n't killed you."
""i guess perhaps he would have only i can run faster than he can," replied peter, looking a little shamefaced because he had to own up that he ran away instead of fighting.
tommy tit laughed.
""that's the very wisest thing you could have done," said he.
""but why do n't you go back to the dear old briar-patch in the green meadows?"
peter hesitated and looked a wee bit foolish.
finally he told tommy tit all about the two soft, gentle eyes he had seen peeping at him from behind a big fern, and how he wanted to know who the eyes belonged to.
""if that's all you want to know, i can tell you," said tommy tit, jumping out into the air to catch a foolish little bug who tried to fly past.
""those eyes belong to little miss fuzzy-tail, and she's the favorite daughter of old jed thumper.
you take my advice, peter rabbit, and trot along home to the old briar-patch before you get into any more trouble.
there's my wife calling.
yes, my dear, i'm coming!
chickadee - dee-dee!"
and with a wink and a nod to peter rabbit, off flew tommy tit.
chapter xiii little miss fuzzytail foolish questions waste time, but wise questions lead to knowledge.
peter rabbit.
""little miss fuzzytail!"
peter said it over and over again, as he sat on the sunning-bank in the far corner of the old pasture, where tommy tit the chickadee had left him.
""it's a pretty name," said peter.
""yes, sir, it's a pretty name.
it's the prettiest name i've ever heard.
i wonder if she is just as pretty.
i -- i -- think she must be.
yes, i am quite sure she must be."
peter was thinking of the soft, gentle eyes he had seen peeping at him from behind the big fern, and of the dainty little footprint he had found there afterward.
so he sat on the sunning-bank, dreaming pleasant dreams and wondering if he could find little miss fuzzytail if he should go look for her.
now all the time, although peter did n't know it, little miss fuzzytail was very close by.
she was right back in her old hiding-place behind the big fern, shyly peeping out at him from under a great leaf, where she was sure he would n't see her.
she saw the long tears in peter's coat, made by the cruel claws of hooty the owl, and she saw the places where her father, old jed thumper, had pulled the hair out with his teeth.
she saw how thin and miserable peter looked, and tears of pity filled the soft, gentle eyes of little miss fuzzytail, for, you see, she had a very tender heart.
""he's got a very nice face," thought miss fuzzytail, "and he certainly was very polite, and i do love good manners.
and peter is such a nice sounding name!
it sounds so honest and good and true.
poor fellow!
poor peter rabbit!"
here little miss fuzzytail wiped her eyes.
""he looks so miserable i do wish i could do something for him.
i -- i -- oh, dear, i do believe he is coming right over here!
i guess i better be going.
how he limps!"
once more the tears filled her soft, gentle eyes as she stole away, making not the least little sound.
when she was sure she was far enough away to hurry without attracting peter's attention, she began to run.
""i saw him talking to my old friend tommy tit the chickadee, and i just know that tommy will tell me all about him," she thought, as she scampered along certain private little paths of her own.
just as she expected, she found tommy tit and his anxious little wife, phoebe, very busy hunting for food for six hungry little babies snugly hidden in a hollow near the top of the old birch-stub.
tommy was too busy to talk then, so little miss fuzzytail sat down under a friendly bramble-bush to rest and wait, and while she waited, she carefully washed her face and brushed her coat until it fairly shone.
you see, not in all the old pasture, or the green forest, was there so slim and trim and neat and dainty a rabbit as little miss fuzzytail, and she was very, very particular about her appearance.
by and by, tommy tit stopped to rest.
he looked down at miss fuzzytail and winked a saucy black eye.
miss fuzzytail winked back.
then both laughed, for they were very good friends, indeed.
""tell me, tommy tit, all about peter rabbit," commanded little miss fuzzytail.
and tommy did.
chapter xiv some one fools old jed thumper you can not judge a person's temper by his size.
there is more meanness in the head of a weasel than in the whole of a bear.
peter rabbit.
old jed thumper sat in his bull-briar castle in the middle of the old pasture, scowling fiercely and muttering to himself.
he was very angry, was old jed thumper.
he was so angry that presently he stopped muttering and began to chew rapidly on nothing at all but his temper, which is a way angry rabbits have.
the more he chewed his temper, the angrier he grew.
he was big and stout and strong and gray.
he had lived so long in the old pasture that he felt that it belonged to him and that no other rabbit had any right there unless he said so.
yet here was a strange rabbit who had had the impudence to come up from the green meadows and refused to be driven away.
such impudence!
of course it was peter rabbit of whom old jed thumper was thinking.
it was two days since he had caught a glimpse of peter, but he knew that peter was still in the old pasture, for he had found fresh tracks each day.
that very morning he had visited his favorite feeding ground, only to find peter's tracks there.
it had made him so angry that he had lost his appetite, and he had gone straight back to his bull-briar castle to think it over.
at last old jed thumper stopped chewing on his temper.
he scowled more fiercely than ever and stamped the ground impatiently.
""i'll hunt that fellow till i kill him, or drive him so far from the old pasture that he'll never think of coming back.
i certainly will!"
he said aloud, and started forth to hunt.
now it would have been better for the plans of old jed thumper if he had kept them to himself instead of speaking aloud.
two dainty little ears heard what he said, and two soft, gentle eyes watched him leave the bull-briar castle.
he started straight for the far corner of the old pasture where, although he did n't know it, peter rabbit had found a warm little sunning-bank.
but he had n't gone far when, from way off in the opposite direction, he heard a sound that made him stop short and prick up his long ears to listen.
there it was again -- thump, thump!
he was just going to thump back an angry reply, when he thought better of it.
""if do that," thought he, "i'll only warn him, and he'll run away, just as he has before."
so instead, he turned and hurried in the direction from which the thumps had come, taking the greatest care to make no noise.
every few jumps he would stop to listen.
twice more he heard those thumps, and each time new rage filled his heart, and for a minute or two he chewed his temper.
""he's down at my blueberry-patch," he muttered.
at last he reached the blueberry-patch.
very softly he crept to a place where he could see and not be seen.
no one was there.
no, sir, no one was there!
he waited and watched, and there was n't a hair of peter rabbit to be seen.
he was just getting ready to go look for peter's tracks when he heard that thump, thump again.
this time it came from his favorite clover-patch where he never allowed even his favorite daughter, little miss fuzzytail, to go.
anger nearly choked him as he hurried in that direction.
but when he got there, just as before no one was to be seen.
so, all the morning long, old jed thumper hurried from one place to another and never once caught sight of peter rabbit.
can you guess why?
well, the reason was that all the time peter was stretched out on his warm sunning-bank getting the rest he so much needed.
it was some one else who was fooling old jed thumper.
chapter xv a pleasant surprise for peter sticks will break and sticks will bend, and all things bad will have an end.
peter rabbit.
all morning, while someone was fooling old jed thumper, the cross old rabbit who thought he owned the old pasture, peter rabbit lay stretched out on the warm little sunning-bank, dreaming of soft, gentle eyes and beautiful little footprints.
it was a dangerous place to go to sleep, because at any time fierce mr. goshawk might have come that way, and if he had, and had found peter rabbit asleep, why, that would have been the end of peter and all the stories about him.
peter did go to sleep.
you see, the sunning-bank was so warm and comfortable, and he was so tired and had had so little sleep for such a long time that, in spite of all he could do, he nodded and nodded and finally slipped off into dreamland.
peter slept a long time, for no one came to disturb him.
it was past noon when he opened his eyes and blinked up at jolly, round, red mr. sun.
for a minute he could n't remember where he was.
when he did, he sprang to his feet and hastily looked this way and that way.
""my gracious!"
exclaimed peter.
""my gracious, what a careless fellow i am!
it's a wonder that old jed thumper did n't find me asleep.
my, but i'm hungry!
seems as if i had n't had a good square meal for a year."
peter stopped suddenly and began to wrinkle his nose.
""um-m!"
said he, "if i did n't know better, i should say that there is a patch of sweet clover close by.
um-m, my, my!
am i really awake, or am i still dreaming?
i certainly do smell sweet clover!"
slowly peter turned his head in the direction from which the delicious smell seemed to come.
then he whirled around and stared as hard as ever he could, his mouth gaping wide open in surprise.
he blinked, rubbed his eyes, then blinked again.
there could be no doubt of it; there on the edge of the sunning-bank was a neat little pile of tender, sweet clover.
yes, sir, there it was!
peter walked all around it, looking for all the world as if he could n't believe that it was real.
finally he reached out and nibbled a leaf of it.
it was real!
there was no doubt in peter's mind then.
some one had put it there while peter was asleep, and peter knew that it was meant for him.
who could it have been?
suddenly a thought popped into peter's head.
he stopped eating and hopped over to the big fern from behind which he had first seen the two soft, gentle eyes peeping at him the day before.
there in the soft earth was a fresh footprint, and it looked very, very much like the footprint of dainty little miss fuzzytail!
peter's heart gave a happy little jump.
he felt sure now who had put the clover there.
he looked wistfully about among the ferns, but she was nowhere to be seen.
finally he hopped back to the pile of clover and ate it, every bit, and it seemed to him that it was the sweetest, tenderest clover he had ever tasted in all his life.
chapter xvi peter rabbit's looking-glass if people by their looks are judged, as judged they're sure to be, why each should always look his best, i'm sure you will agree.
peter rabbit.
for the first time in his life peter rabbit had begun to think about his clothes.
always he had been such a happy-go-lucky fellow that it never had entered his head to care how he looked.
he laughed at sammy jay for thinking so much of that beautiful blue-and-white coat he wears, and he poked fun at reddy fox for bragging so much about his handsome suit.
as for himself, peter did n't care how he looked.
if his coat was whole, or in rags and tags, it was all the same to peter.
but now peter, sitting on the edge of his sunning-bank in the far corner of the old pasture, suddenly realized that he wanted to be good-looking.
yes, sir, he wanted to be good-looking.
he wished that he were bigger.
he wished that he were the biggest and strongest rabbit in the world.
he wished that he had a handsome coat.
and it was all because of the soft, gentle eyes of little miss fuzzytail that he had seen peeping out at him so often.
he felt sure that it was little miss fuzzytail herself who had left the pile of sweet clover close by his sunning-bank the other day while he was asleep.
the fact is, peter rabbit was falling in love.
yes, sir, peter rabbit was falling in love.
all he had seen of little miss fuzzytail were her soft, gentle eyes, for she was very shy and had kept out of sight.
but ever since he had first seen them, he had thought and dreamed of nothing else, until it seemed as if there were nothing in the world he wanted so much as to meet her.
perhaps he would have wanted this still more if he had known that it was she who had fooled her father, old jed thumper, the big, gray, old rabbit, so that peter might have the long nap on the sunning-bank he so needed.
""i've just got to meet her.
i've just got to!"
said peter to himself, and right then he began to wish that he were big and fine-looking.
""my, i must be a sight!"
he thought, "i wonder how i do look, anyway.
i must hunt up a looking-glass and find out."
now when peter rabbit thinks of doing a thing, he wastes very little time.
it was that way now.
he started at once for the bit of swamp where he had first seen the tracks of old jed thumper.
he still limped from the wounds made by hooty the owl.
but in spite of this he could travel pretty fast, and it did n't take him long to reach the swamp.
there, just as he expected, he found a looking-glass.
what was it like?
why, it was just a tiny pool of water.
yes, sir, it was a quiet pool of water that reflected the ferns growing around it and the branches of the trees hanging over it, and peter rabbit himself sitting on the edge of it.
that was peter's looking-glass.
for a long time he stared into it.
at last he gave a great sigh.
""my, but i am a sight!"
he exclaimed.
he was.
his coat was ragged and torn from the claws of hooty the owl and the teeth of old jed thumper.
the white patch on the seat of his trousers was stained and dirty from sitting down in the mud.
there were burrs tangled in his waistcoat.
he was thin and altogether a miserable looking rabbit.
""it must be that miss fuzzytail just pities me.
she certainly ca n't admire me," muttered peter, as he pulled out the burrs.
for the next hour peter was very busy.
he washed and he brushed and he combed.
when, at last, he had done all that he could, he took another look in his looking-glass, and what he saw was a very different looking rabbit.
""though i am homely, lank and lean, i can at least be neat and clean," said he, as he started back for the sunning-bank.
chapter xvii peter meets miss fuzzytail that this is true there's no denying -- there's nothing in the world like trying.
peter rabbit.
peter rabbit was feeling better.
certainly he was looking better.
you see, just as soon as old mother nature saw that peter was trying to look as well as he could, and was keeping himself as neat and tidy as he knew how, she was ready to help, as she always is.
she did her best with the rents in his coat, made by the claws of hooty the owl and the teeth of old jed thumper, and so it was n't long before peter's coat looked nearly as good as new.
then, too, peter was getting enough to eat these days.
days and days had passed since he had seen old jed thumper, and this had given him time to eat and sleep.
peter wondered what had become of old jed thumper.
""perhaps something has happened to him," thought peter.
""i -- i almost hope something has."
then, being ashamed of such a wish, he added, "something not very dreadful, but which will keep him from hunting me for a while and trying to drive me out of the old pasture."
now all this time peter had been trying to find little miss fuzzytail.
he was already in love with her, although all he had seen of her were her two soft, gentle eyes, shyly peeping at him from behind a big fern.
he had wandered here and sauntered there, looking for her, but although he found her footprints very often, she always managed to keep out of his sight, you see, she knew the old pasture so much better than he did, and all the little paths in it, that she had very little trouble in keeping out of his way.
then, too, she was very busy, for it was she who was keeping her cross father, old jed thumper, away from peter, because she was so sorry for peter.
but peter did n't know this.
if he had, i am afraid that he would have been more in love than ever.
the harder she was to find, the more peter wanted to find her.
he spent a great deal of time each day brushing his coat and making himself look as fine as he could, and while he was doing it, he kept wishing over and over again that something would happen so that he could show little miss fuzzytail what a smart, brave fellow he really was.
but one day followed another, and peter seemed no nearer than ever to meeting little miss fuzzytail.
he was thinking of this one morning and was really growing very down-hearted, as he sat under a friendly bramble-bush, when suddenly there was a sharp little scream of fright from behind a little juniper-tree.
somehow peter knew whose voice that was, although he never had heard it before.
he sprang around the little juniper-tree, and what he saw filled him with such rage that he did n't once stop to think of himself.
there was little miss fuzzytail in the clutches of black pussy, farmer brown's cat, who often stole away from home to hunt in the old pasture.
like a flash peter sprang over black pussy, and as he did so he kicked with all his might.
the cat had n't seen him coming, and the kick knocked her right into the prickly juniper-tree.
of course she lost her grip on little miss fuzzytail, who had n't been hurt so much as frightened.
by the time the cat got out of the juniper-tree, peter and miss fuzzytail were sitting side by side safe in the middle of a bull-briar patch.
""oh?
how brave you are!"
sobbed little miss fuzzytail.
and this is the way that peter rabbit at last got his heart's desire.
chapter xviii tommy tit proves a friend indeed nothing in all the world is so precious as a true friend.
peter rabbit.
after peter rabbit had saved little miss fuzzytail from black pussy, the cat who belonged way down at farmer brown's house and had no business hunting in the old pasture, he went with her as near to her home as she would let him.
she said that it was n't necessary that he should go a single step, but peter insisted that she needed him to see that no more harm came to her.
miss fuzzytail laughed at that, for she felt quite able to take care of herself.
it had been just stupid carelessness on her part that had given black pussy the chance to catch her, she said, and she was very sure that she never would be so careless again.
what she did n't tell peter was that she had been so busy peeping at him and admiring him that she had quite forgotten to watch out for danger for herself.
finally she said that he could go part way with her.
but when they were almost within sight of the bull-briar castle of her father, old jed thumper, the big, gray rabbit who thought he owned the old pasture, she made peter turn back.
you see, she was afraid of what old jed thumper might do to peter, and -- well, the truth is she was afraid of what he might do to her if he should find out that she had made friends with peter.
so peter was forced to go back, but he took with him a half promise that she would meet him the next night up near his sunning-bank in the far corner of the old pasture.
after that there were many pleasant days for peter rabbit.
sometimes little miss fuzzytail would meet him, and sometimes she would shyly hide from, him, but somehow, somewhere, he managed to see her every day, and so all the time in peter's heart was a little song: "the sky is blue; the leaves are green; the golden sunbeams peep between; my heart is joyful as can be, and all the world looks bright to me."
and then one day old jed thumper found out all about how his daughter, little miss fuzzytail, and peter rabbit had become such good friends.
old jed thumper went into a terrible rage.
he chewed and chewed with nothing in his mouth, that is, nothing but his temper, the way an angry rabbit will.
he vowed and declared that if he never ate another mouthful he would drive peter rabbit from the old pasture.
my, my, my, those were bad days for peter rabbit!
yes, sir, those certainly were bad days!
old jed thumper had found out how little miss fuzzytail had been fooling him by making him think peter was in parts of the old pasture in quite the opposite direction from where he really was.
worse still, he found peter's favorite sunning-bank in the far corner of the old pasture and would hide near it and try to catch peter every time peter tried to get a few minutes" rest there.
he did something worse than that.
one day he saw fierce mr. goshawk hunting.
he let mr. goshawk almost catch him.
and then ducked under a bramble-bush.
then he showed himself again and once more escaped in the same way.
so he led fierce mr. goshawk to a point where mr. goshawk could look down and see peter rabbit stretched out on his sunning-bank, trying to get a little rest.
right; away mr. goshawk forgot all about old jed thumper and sailed up in the sky from where he could swoop down on peter, while old jed thumper, chuckling to himself wickedly, hid where he could watch what would happen.
that certainly would have been the last of peter rabbit if it had n't been for tommy tit the chickadee.
tommy saw mr. goshawk and just in time warned peter, and so mr. goshawk got only his claws full of soft earth for his pains, while old jed thumper once more chewed on nothing in rage and disappointment.
dear me, dear me, those certainly were dreadful days for peter rabbit and little miss fuzzytail.
you see, all the time little miss fuzzytail was terribly worried for fear peter would be caught.
-lsb- illustration with caption: that night old man coyote started for the old pasture. -rsb-
chapter xix old man coyote pays a debt some little seeds of goodness you'll find in every heart, to sprout and keep on growing when once they get a start.
peter rabbit.
matters went from bad to worse with peter rabbit and little miss fuzzytail.
peter would have made up his mind to go back to his old home in the dear old briar-patch on the green meadows, but he felt that he just could n't leave little miss fuzzytail, and little miss fuzzytail could n't make up her mind to go with peter, because she felt that she just could n't leave the old pasture, which always had been her home.
so peter spent his days and nights ready to jump and run from jed thumper, the gray old rabbit who thought he owned the old pasture, and who had declared that he would drive peter out.
now peter, as you know, had an old friend in the old pasture, tommy tit the chickadee.
one day tommy took it into his head to fly down to the green meadows.
there he found everybody wondering what had become of peter rabbit, for you remember peter had stolen away from the dear old briar-patch in the night and had told no one where he was going.
now one of the first to ask tommy tit if he had seen peter rabbit was old man coyote.
tommy told him where peter was and of the dreadful time peter was having, old man coyote asked a lot of questions about the old pasture and thanked tommy very politely as tommy flew over to the smiling pool to call on grandfather frog and jerry muskrat.
that night, after jolly, round, red mr. sun had gone to bed behind the purple hills, and the black shadows had crept over the green meadows, old man coyote started for the old pasture, now, he had never been there before, but he had asked so many questions of tommy tit, and he is so smart anyway, that it did n't take him long to go all through the old pasture and to find the bull-briar castle of old jed thumper, who was making life so miserable for peter rabbit, he was n't at home, but old man coyote's wonderful nose soon found his tracks, and he followed them swiftly, without making a sound.
pretty soon he came to a bramble-bush, and under it he could see old jed thumper.
for just a minute he chuckled, a noiseless chuckle, to himself.
then he opened his mouth and out came that terrible sound which had so frightened all the little people on the green meadows when old man coyote had first come there to live.
""ha, ha, ha!
ho, ho, ho!
hee, hee, hee!
ha, ho, hee, ho!"
old jed thumper never had heard anything like that before.
it frightened him so that before he thought what he was doing he had jumped out from under the bramble-bush.
of course this was just what old man coyote wanted.
in a flash he was after him, and then began such a race as the old pasture never had seen before.
round and round, this way and that way, along the cow paths raced old jed thumper with old man coyote at his heels, until at last, out of breath, so tired that it seemed to him he could n't run another step, frightened almost out of his senses, old jed thumper reached his bull-briar castle and was safe.
then old man coyote laughed his terrible laugh once more and trotted over to the tumble-down stone-wall in which his keen nose told him peter rabbit was hiding.
""one good turn deserves another, and i always pay my debts, peter rabbit" said he.
""you did me a good turn some time ago down on the green meadows, when you told me how granny and reddy fox were planning to make trouble for me by leading bowser the hound to the place where i took my daily nap, and now we are even.
i do n't think that old gray rabbit will dare to poke so much as his nose out of his bull-briar castle for a week.
now i am going back to the green meadows, good night, peter rabbit, and do n't forget that i always pay my debts."
""good night, and thank you, mr. coyote," said peter, and then, when old man coyote had gone, he added to himself in a shame-faced way: "i did n't believe him when he said that he guessed we would be friends."
chapter xx little miss fuzzytail whispers "yes" love is a beautiful, wonderful thing.
there's nothing quite like it on all the green earth.
't is love in the heart teaches birdies to sing, and gives the wide world all its joy and its mirth.
peter rabbit.
peter rabbit was finding this out.
always he had been happy, for happiness had been born in him.
but the happiness he had known before was nothing to the happiness that was his when he found that he loved little miss fuzzytail and that little miss fuzzytail loved him, peter was sure that she did love him, although she would n't say so.
but love does n't need words, and peter had seen it shining in the two soft, gentle eyes of little miss fuzzytail.
so peter was happy in spite of the trouble that old led thumper, the big, gray rabbit who was the father of little miss fuzzytail, had made for him in the old pasture, he had tried very hard, very hard indeed, to get little miss fuzzytail to go back with him to the dear old briar-patch on the green meadows, but in spite of all he could say she could n't make up her mind to leave the old pasture, which, you know, had been her home ever since she was born.
and peter could n't make up his mind to go back there and leave her, because -- why, because he loved her so much that he felt that he could never, never be happy without her.
then, when old jed thumper was hunting peter so hard that he hardly had a chance to eat or sleep, had come old man coyote the wolf and given old jed thumper such a fright that for a week he did n't dare poke so much as his nose out of his bull - briar castle.
now, although old man coyote did n't know it, his terrible voice had frightened little miss fuzzytail almost as much as it had old jed thumper.
you see, she never had heard it before, she did n't even know what it was, and all that night she had crouched in her most secret hiding-place, shivering and shaking with fright.
the next morning peter had found her there.
she had n't slept a wink, and she was still too frightened to even go look for her breakfast.
""oh, peter rabbit, did you hear that terrible noise last night?"
she cried.
""what noise?"
asked peter, just as if he did n't know anything about it.
""why, that terrible voice!"
cried little miss fuzzytail, and shivered at the thought of it.
""what was it like?"
asked peter.
""oh, i ca n't tell you," said little miss fuzzy tall, "it was n't like anything i ever had heard before.
it was something like the voice of hooty the owl and the voice of dippy the loon and the voice of a little yelping dog all in one, and it was just terrible!"
""oh?"
replied peter, "you must mean the voice of my friend.
old man coyote.
he came up here last night just to do me a good turn because i once did him a good turn."
then he told all about how old man coyote had come to the green meadows to live, and how he was smarter than even old granny fox, but he did n't tell her how he himself had once been frightened almost out of a year's growth by that terrible voice, or that it was because he had n't really believed that old man coyote was his friend that had led him to leave the old briar-patch and come up to the old pasture.
""is -- is he fond of rabbits?"
asked little miss fuzzytail.
peter was quite sure that he was.
""and do you think he'll come up here hunting again?"
she asked.
peter did n't know, but he suspected that he would.
""oh, dear," wailed little miss fuzzytail.
""now, i never, never will feel safe again!"
then peter had a happy thought.
""i tell you what," said he, "the safest place in the world for you and me is my dear old briar-patch, wo n't you go there now?"
little miss fuzzytail sighed and dropped a tear or two.
then she nestled up close to peter.
""yes," she whispered.
chapter xxi peter and little miss fuzzytail leave the old pasture a danger past is a danger past, so why not just forget it?
watch out instead for the one ahead until you've safely met it, peter rabbit.
as soon as little miss fuzzytail had agreed to go with him to make her home in the dear old briar-patch down on the green meadows, peter rabbit fairly boiled over with impatience to start, he had had so much trouble in the old pasture that he was afraid if they waited too long little miss fuzzytail might change her mind, and if she should do that -- well, peter did n't know what he would do.
but peter, who always had been so happy-go-lucky, with no one to think about but himself, now felt for the first time re-sponsi-bil-ity.
that's a big word, but it is a word that everybody has to learn the meaning of sometime.
johnny chuck learned it when he made a home for polly chuck in farmer brown's orchard, and tried to keep it a secret, so that no harm would come to polly.
it means taking care of other people or other people's things, and feeling that you must take even greater care than you would of yourself or your own things, so, while peter himself would have been willing to take chances, and might even have made the journey down to the dear old briar-patch in broad daylight, he felt that that would n't do at all for little miss fuzzytail; that he must avoid every possible chance of danger for her.
so peter waited for a dark night, not too dark, you know, but a night when there was no moon to make great patches of light, but only the kindly little stars looking down and twinkling in the friendly way they have.
at last there was just such a night.
all the afternoon little miss fuzzytail went about in the old pasture saying good-by to her friends and visiting each one of her favorite little paths and hiding-places, and i suspect that in each one she dropped a tear or two, for you see she felt sure that she never would see them again, although peter had promised that he would bring her back to the old pasture for a visit whenever she wanted to come.
at last it was time to start.
peter led the way.
very big and brave and strong and important he felt, and very timid and frightened felt little miss fuzzytail, hopping after him close at his heels.
you see, she felt that she was going out into the great world, of which she knew nothing at all.
""oh, peter," she whispered, "supposing we should meet reddy fox!
i would n't know where to run or hide."
""we are not going to meet reddy fox," replied peter, "but if we should, all you have to do is to just keep your eyes on the white patch on the seat of my trousers and follow me.
i have fooled reddy so many times that i'm not afraid of him."
never in all his life had peter been so watchful and careful.
that was because he felt his re-sponsi-bil-ity.
every few jumps he would stop to sit up and look and listen.
then little miss fuzzytail would nestle up close to him, and peter's heart would swell with happiness, and he would feel, oh, so proud and important.
once they heard the sharp bark of reddy fox, but it was a long way off, and peter smiled, for he knew that reddy was hunting on the edge of the green forest.
once a dim shadow swept across the meadow grass ahead of them.
peter dropped flat in the grass and kept perfectly still, and little miss fuzzytail did just as he did, as she had promised she would.
""wha -- what was it?"
she whispered.
""i think it was hooty the owl," peter whispered back, "but he did n't see us."
after what seemed like a long, long time they heard hooty's fierce hunting call, but it came from way back of them on the edge of the old pasture.
peter hopped to his feet.
""come on," said he.
""there's nothing to fear from him now."
so slowly and watchfully peter led the way down across the green meadows while the little stars looked down and twinkled in the most friendly way, and just as jolly, round, red mr. sun started to kick off his bedclothes behind the purple hills they reached the dear old briar - patch.
""here we are!"
cried peter.
""oh, i'm so glad!"
cried little miss fuzzytail, hopping along one of peter's private little paths.
chapter xxii sammy jay becomes curious learn all you can about others, but keep your own affairs to yourself.
peter rabbit.
of course it was sammy jay who first found out that peter rabbit was back in the dear old briar-patch.
sammy took it into his head to fly over there the very morning of peter's home-coming.
indeed, little miss fuzzytail had n't had time to half see the clear old briar-patch which, you know, was to be her new home, when peter saw sammy jay coming.
now peter was not quite ready to have all the world know that there was a mrs. peter, for of course that was what little miss fuzzytail was now that she had come to make her home with peter.
they wanted to keep by themselves for a little while and just be happy with each other.
so as soon as peter saw sammy jay headed towards the old briar-patch, he hid little miss fuzzytail under the thickest sweet-briar bush, and then hurried out to the nearest sweet-clover patch.
of course sammy jay saw him right away, and of course sammy was very much surprised.
""hello, peter rabbit!
where'd you come from?"
he shouted, as he settled himself comfortably in a little poplar-tree growing on the edge of the old briar-patch.
""oh," said peter with a very grand air, "i've been on a long journey to see the great world."
""which means," said sammy jay with a chuckle, "that you've been in the old pasture all this time, and let me tell you, peter rabbit, the old pasture is a very small part of the great world.
by the way, tommy tit the chickadee was down here the other day and told us all about you.
he said that you had fallen in love with little miss fuzzytail, and he guessed that you were going to make your home up there.
what's the matter?
did her father, old jed thumper, drive you out?"
""no, he did n't!"
snapped peter angrily, "it's none of your business what i came home for, sammy jay, but i'll tell you just the same.
i came home because i wanted to."
sammy chuckled, for he dearly loves to tease peter and make him angry.
then the imp of mischief, who seems always to live just under that smart cap of sammy's, prompted him to ask: "did you come home alone?"
now peter could n't say "yes" for that would be an untruth, and whatever faults peter may have, he is at least truthful.
so he just pretended not to have heard sammy's question.
now when sammy had asked the question he had thought nothing about it.
it had just popped into his head by way of something to say.
but sammy jay is sharp, and he noticed right away that peter did n't answer but began to talk about other things, "ha, ha!"
thought sammy to himself, "i believe he did n't come alone, i wonder now if he brought miss fuzzytail with him."
right away sammy began to peer down into the old briar-patch, twisting and turning so that he could see in every direction, and all the time talking as fast as his tongue could go.
two or three times he flew out over the old briar-patch, pretending to try to catch moths, but really so that he could look down into certain hiding-places.
the last time that he did this he spied little mrs. peter, who was, you know, miss fuzzytail.
at once sammy jay started for the green forest, screaming at the top of his voice: "peter rabbit's married!
peter rabbit's married!"
chapter xxiii peter introduces mrs. peter it's what you do for others, not what they do for you, that makes you feel so happy all through and through and through.
peter rabbit.
peter rabbit made a wry face as he listened to sammy jay shrieking at the top of his voice as he flew through the green forest and over the green meadows," peter rabbit's married!"
""peter rabbit's married!"
he saw the merry little breezes who, you know, are the children of old mother west wind, start for the dear old briar-patch as soon as they heard sammy jay, and he knew that they would be only the first of a lot of visitors.
he hurried to where mrs. peter was hiding under a sweet - briar bush.
""do you hear what that mischief-maker, sammy jay, is screaming?"
asked peter.
mrs. peter nodded.
""do n't -- do n't you think it sounds kind of -- well, kind of nice, peter?"
she asked in a bashful sort of way.
peter chuckled.
""it sounds more than kind of nice to me," said he.
""do you know, i used to think that sammy jay never did and never could say anything nice, but i've just changed my mind.
though he is n't saying it to be nice, it really is the nicest thing i've ever heard him say.
we have n't been able to keep our secret, so i think the very best thing we can do is to invite everybody to call.
then we can get it over with and have a little time to ourselves.
here come the merry little breezes, and i know that they will be glad to take the invitations for us."
mrs. peter agreed, for she thought that anything peter did or suggested was just about right.
so the merry little breezes were soon skipping and dancing over the green meadows and through the green forest with this message: "mr. and mrs. peter rabbit will be at home in the old briar-patch to their friends to-morrow after-noon at shadow-time."
""why did you make it at shadow-time?"
asked mrs. peter.
""because that will give all our friends a chance to come," replied peter.
""those who sleep through the day will have waked up, and those who sleep through the night will not have gone to bed.
besides, it will be safer for some of the smallest of them if the black shadows are about for them to hide in on their way here."
""how thoughtful you are," said little mrs. peter with a little sigh of happiness.
of course, every one who could walk, creep, or fly headed for the old briar-patch the next day at shadow-time, for almost every one knows and loves peter rabbit, and of course every one was very anxious to meet mrs. peter.
from the smiling pool came billy mink, little joe otter, jerry muskrat, spotty the turtle, and old grandfather frog.
from the green forest came bobby coon, unc" billy possum and mrs. possum, prickly porky the porcupine, whitefoot the woodmouse, happy jack the gray squirrel, chatterer the red squirrel, blacky the crow, sammy jay, ol' mistah buzzard, mistah mockingbird, and sticky-toes the treetoad.
from the green meadows came danny meadow mouse, old mr. toad, digger the badger, jimmy skunk, and striped chipmunk, who lives near the old stone - wall between the edge of the green meadows and the green forest.
johnny and polly chuck came down from the old orchard and drummer the woodpecker came from the same place.
of course old man coyote paid his respects, and when he came everybody but prickly porky and digger the badger and jimmy skunk made way for him with great respect.
granny and reddy fox and hooty the owl did n't call, but they sat where they could look on and make fun.
you see, peter had fooled all three so many times that they felt none too friendly.
very proud looked peter as he stood under a bramble-bush with mrs. peter by his side and introduced her to his many friends, and very sweet and modest and retiring looked little mrs. peter as she sat beside him.
everybody said that she was "too sweet for anything", and when reddy fox overheard that remark he grinned and said: "not for me!
she ca n't be too sweet for me, and i hope i'll have a chance to find out just how sweet she is."
what do you suppose he meant?
chapter xxiv danny meadow mouse warns peter rabbit good advice is always needed but, alas!
is seldom heeded, peter rabbit.
danny meadow mouse waited until all the rest of peter rabbit's friends had left the old briar-patch after paying their respects to peter and mrs. peter, he waited for two reasons, did danny meadow mouse.
in the first place, he had seen old granny fox and reddy fox hanging about a little way off, and though they had disappeared after a while, danny had an idea that they were not far away, but were hiding so that they might catch him on his way home.
of course, he had n't the slightest intention of giving them the chance.
he had made up his mind to ask peter if he might spend the night in a corner of the old briar-patch, and he was very sure that peter would say he might, for he and peter are very good friends, very good friends indeed.
the second good reason danny had for waiting was this very friendship.
you see, peter had been away from the green meadows so long that danny felt sure he could n't know all about how things were there now, and so he wanted to warn peter that the green meadows were not nearly as safe as before old man coyote had come there to live.
so danny waited, and when all the rest of the callers had left he called peter to one side where little mrs. peter could n't hear.
danny stood up on his hind legs so as to whisper in one of peter's ears.
""do you know that old man coyote is the most dangerous enemy we have, peter rabbit?
do you know that?"
he asked.
peter rabbit shook his head.
""i do n't believe that, danny," said he.
""his terrible voice has frightened you so that you just think him as bad as he sounds.
why, old man coyote is a friend of mine."
then he told danny how old man coyote had done him a good turn in the old pasture in return for a good turn peter had once done him, and how he said that he always paid his debts.
danny meadow mouse looked doubtful.
""what else did he say?"
he demanded.
""nothing, excepting that we were even now," replied peter.
""ha!"
said danny meadow mouse.
the way he said it made peter turn to look at him sharply.
""ha!"
said danny again.
""if you are even, why you do n't owe him anything, and he does n't owe you anything.
watch out, peter rabbit!
watch out!
i would stick pretty close to the old briar-patch with mrs. peter if i were you.
i would indeed.
you used to think old granny fox pretty smart, but old man coyote is smarter.
yes, sir, he is smarter!
and every one of the rest of us has got to be smarter than ever before to keep out of his clutches.
watch out, peter rabbit, if you and old man coyote are even.
now, if you do n't mind, i'll curl up in my old hiding - place for the night.
i really do n't dare go back home to-night."
of course peter told danny meadow mouse that he was welcome to spend the night in the old briar-patch, and thanked danny for his warning as he bade him good-night.
but peter never carries his troubles with him for long, and by the time he had rejoined little mrs. peter he was very much inclined to laugh at danny's fear.
""what did that funny little meadow mouse have to say?"
asked mrs. peter.
peter told her and then added, "but i do n't believe we have anything to fear from old man coyote.
you know he is my friend."
""but i do n't know that he is mine!"
replied little mrs. peter, and the way she said it made peter look at her anxiously.
""i believe danny meadow mouse is right," she continued, "oh, peter, you will watch out, wo n't you?"
and peter promised her that he would.
chapter xxv peter rabbit's heedlessness heedlessness is just the twin of thoughtlessness, you know, and where you find them both at once, there trouble's sure to grow.
peter rabbit.
peter rabbit did n't mean to be heedless.
no, indeed!
oh, my, no!
peter thought so much of mrs. peter, he meant to be so thoughtful that she never would have a thing to worry about.
but peter was heedless.
he always was heedless.
this is the worst of a bad habit -- you can try to let go of it, but it wo n't let go of you.
so it was with peter.
he had been heedless so long that now he actually did n't know when he was heedless.
when there was nobody but himself to think about, and no one to worry about him, his heedlessness did n't so much matter.
if anything had happened to him then, there would have been no one to suffer.
but now all this was changed.
you see, there was little mrs. peter.
at first peter had been perfectly content to stay with her in the dear old briar - patch.
he had led her through all his private little paths, and they had planned where they would make two or three more.
he had showed her all his secret hiding-places and the shortest way to the sweet-clover patch.
he had pointed out where the lone little path came down to the edge of the green forest and so out on to the green meadows.
he had shown her where the crooked little path came down the hill.
little mrs. peter had been delighted with everything, and not once had she complained of being homesick for the old pasture.
but after a little while peter began to get uneasy.
you see in the days before old man coyote had come to live on the green meadows, peter had come and gone about as he pleased.
of course he had had to watch out for granny and reddy fox, but he had had to watch out for them ever since he was a baby, so he did n't fear them very much in spite of their smartness.
he felt quite as smart as they and perhaps a little bit smarter.
anyway, they never had caught him, and he did n't believe they ever would.
so he had come and gone as he pleased, and poked his nose into everybody's business, and gossiped with everybody.
of course it was quite natural that peter should want to call on all his old friends and visit the green forest, the old orchard, the laughing brook, and the smiling pool.
probably mrs. peter would n't have worried very much if it had n't been for the warning left by danny meadow mouse.
danny had said that old man coyote was more to be feared than all the hawk family and all the fox family together, because he was smarter and slyer than any of them.
at first peter had looked very serious, but after danny had gone back to his own home peter had laughed at danny for being so afraid, and he began to go farther and farther away from the safe old briar-patch.
one day he had ventured as far as halfway up the crooked little path.
he was thinking so hard of a surprise he was planning for little mrs. peter that he forgot to watch out and almost ran into old man coyote before he saw him.
there was a hungry look, such a hungry look in old man coyote's eyes as he grinned and said "good morning" that peter did n't even stop to be polite.
he remembered that jimmy skunk's old house was near, and he reached it just one jump ahead of old man coyote.
""i thought you said that we were friends," panted peter, as he heard mr. coyote sniffing at the doorway.
""so we were until i had paid my debt to you.
now that i've paid that, we are even, and it is everybody watch out for himself," replied old man coyote.
""but do n't forget that i always pay my debts, peter rabbit."
chapter xxvi peter rabbit listens to mrs. peter safety first is a wise rule for those who would live long.
peter rabbit.
peter rabbit was glad enough to get back to the dear old briar-patch after his narrow escape from old man coyote by dodging into jimmy skunk's old house halfway up the hill.
and little mrs. peter was glad enough to have him, you may be sure.
she had been watching peter when he so heedlessly almost ran into old man coyote, and it had seemed to her as if her heart stopped beating until peter reached the safety of that old house of jimmy skunk just one jump ahead.
then she saw old man coyote hide in the grass near by and she was terribly, terribly afraid that peter would be heedless again and come out, thinking that mr. coyote had gone.
poor little mrs. peter!
she was so anxious that she could n't sit still.
she felt that she just had to do something to warn peter.
she stole out from the dear old briar-patch and halfway to where old man coyote was hiding.
he was so busy watching the doorway of the old house where peter was hiding that he did n't notice her at all.
little mrs. peter found a bunch of tall grass behind which she could sit up and still not be seen.
so there she sat without moving for a long, long time, never once taking her eyes from old man coyote and the doorway of the old house.
by and by she saw peter poke his nose out to see if the way was clear.
old man coyote saw him too, and began to grin.
it was a hungry, wicked-looking grin, and it made little mrs. peter very, very angry indeed.
she waited just a minute longer to make sure that peter was where he could see her, and then she thumped the ground very hard, which, you know, is the way rabbits signal to each other.
peter heard it right away and thumped back that he would stay right where he was, though right down in his heart peter thought that little mrs. peter was just nervous and foolish, for he was sure that old man coyote had given up and gone away long ago.
now of course old man coyote heard those thumps, and he knew just what they meant.
he knew that he never, never could catch peter so long as mrs. peter was watching him and ready to warn peter, so he came out of his hiding-place with an ugly snarl and sprang toward little mrs. peter just to frighten her.
he laughed as he watched her run and, all breathless, dive into the dear, old briar-patch, and then he trotted away to his favorite napping-place.
as soon as peter was sure that he was safe he started for home, and there little mrs. peter scolded him soundly for being so heedless and thoughtless.
peter did n't have a word to say.
for a long time he sat thinking and thinking, every once in a while scratching his head as if puzzled.
little mrs. peter noticed it.
""what's the matter with you, peter?"
she asked finally.
""i'm just studying what old man coyote means by telling me one day that he is my friend, and proving it by doing me a good turn, and then trying to catch me the very next time he sees me.
i do n't understand it," said peter, shaking his head, "oh, you dear old stupid!"
replied little mrs. peter.
""now, you listen to me.
you did old man coyote a good turn and he paid you back by doing you a good turn.
that made you even, did n't it?"
peter nodded.
""well, then you are right back where you started from, and old man coyote does n't see any reason why he should treat you any differently than at first, and i do n't see why he should either, when i come to think it over.
i tell you what, peter, the thing for you to do is to keep doing good turns to old man coyote so that he will always be in debt to you.
then he will always be your friend," as little mrs. peter stopped speaking, peter sprang to his feet.
""the very thing!"
he cried.
""it's sort of a golden rule, and i do believe it will work."
""of course it will," replied little mrs. peter.
chapter xxvii mistah mocker plays a joke on mrs. peter this little point remember, please -- there's little gained by those who tease.
peter rabbit.
mistah mocker the mockingbird had been very late in coming up to the green meadows from way down south.
the truth is, he had almost decided not to come.
you see, he loves the sunny south-land so much, and all who live there love him so much, that if it had n't been for unc" billy possum and ol' mistah buzzard he never, never would have thought of leaving, even for a little while.
unc" billy and ol' mistah buzzard are particular friends of his, very particular friends, and he felt that he just had to come up for a little visit.
now mistah mocker reached the green meadows just after peter rabbit had brought little mrs. peter down from the old pasture to live with him in the dear old briar-patch.
he knew that little mrs. peter did n't know anything about him, for he never had visited the old pasture where she had spent her life.
but he knew all the bird people who do live there, for he had met them in the sunny southland, where they spent the winter, "i believe i'll go pay my respects to mrs. peter," said mistah mocker one day, winking at ol' mistah buzzard.
ol' mistah buzzard chuckled and winked back.
""ah cert "nly hopes yo'all will behave yo "self right proper and not forget that yo" is a member of one of the oldest families in the souf," said he.
mistah mocker looked quite solemn as he promised to behave himself, but there was a twinkle in his eyes as he flew toward the old briar-patch.
there he hid in a thick tangle of vines.
now it happened that peter rabbit had gone over to the sweet-clover patch, and little mrs. peter was quite alone.
somehow she got to thinking of her old home, and for the first time she began to feel just a wee, wee bit homesick.
it was just then that she heard a familiar voice.
little mrs. peter pricked up her ears and smiled happily.
""that's the voice of tommy tit the chickadee, and it must be that his wife is with him, for i hear him calling "phoebe!
phoebe!"
how lovely of them to come down to see me so soon."
just then she heard another voice, a deep, beautiful, ringing voice, a voice that she loved.
it was the voice of veery the thrush.
""oh!"
cried little mrs. peter, and then held her breath so as not to miss one note of the beautiful song.
hardly had the song ended when she heard the familiar voice of redeye the vireo.
little mrs. peter clapped her hands happily.
""it must be a surprise party by my old friends and neighbors of the old pasture!"
she cried.
""how good of them to come way down here, and how glad i shall be to see them!"
with that little mrs. peter hurried over to the tangle of vines from which all the voices seemed to come and eagerly peered this way and that way for a sight of her friends.
but all she saw was a stranger wearing a very sober-colored suit.
he was very polite and told her that he was an old friend of peter rabbit.
""if you are a friend of peter, then you are a friend of mine."
said little mrs. peter very prettily.
""have you seen anybody in this tangle of vines since you arrived?
i am sure some friends of mine are here, but i have n't been able to find them."
""no," said the stranger, who was, of course, mistah mocker the mockingbird.
""i have n't seen any one here, and i do n't think there has been any one here but myself."
""oh, yes, indeed there has!"
cried little mrs. peter.
""i heard their voices, and i could n't possibly be mistaken in those, especially the beautiful voice of veery the thrush, i -- i would like very much to find them."
mistah mocker had the grace to look ashamed of himself when saw how disappointed little mrs. peter was.
very softly he began to sing the song of veery the thrush.
little mrs. peter looked up quickly.
""there it is!"
she cried.
""there" -- she stopped with her mouth gaping wide open.
she suddenly realized that it was mistah mocker who was singing.
""i -- i'm very sorry," he stammered.
""i did it just for a joke and not to make you feel bad.
will you forgive me?"
""yes," replied little mrs. peter, "if you will come here often at shadow-time and sing to me."
and mistah mocker promised that he would.
chapter xxviii news from the old briar-patch to use your eyes is very wise and much to be commended; but never see what can not be for such as you intended.
peter rabbit.
jenny wren is a busybody.
yes, sir, she certainly is a busybody.
if there is anything going on in her neighborhood that she does n't know about, it is n't because she does n't try to find out.
she is so small and spry that it is hard work to keep track of her, and she pops out at the most unexpected times and places.
then, before you can say a word, she is gone.
and in all the old orchard or on the green meadows there is not to be found another tongue so busy as that of jenny wren.
it is sharp sometimes, but when she wants it to be so there is none smoother.
you see she is a great gossip, is jenny wren, a great gossip.
but if you get on the right side of jenny wren and ask her to keep a secret, she'll do it.
no one knows how to keep a secret better than she does.
how it happened nobody knows, but it did happen that when peter rabbit came home to the clear old briar-patch, bringing mrs. peter with him, jenny wren did n't hear about it.
probably it was because the new home which she had just completed was so carefully hidden that the messengers sent by peter to invite all his friends to call did n't find it, and afterward she was so busy with household affairs that she did n't have time to gossip.
anyway, peter had been back some time before jenny wren knew it.
she was quite upset to think that she was the last to hear the news, but she consoled herself with the thought that she had been attending strictly to her duties, and now that her children were able to look out for themselves she could make up for lost time.
just as soon as she could get away, she started for the old briar-patch.
she wanted to hear all about peter's adventures in the old pasture and to meet mrs. peter.
but like a great many other busybodies, she wanted to find out all she could about peter's affairs, and she thought that the surest way to do it was not to let peter know that she was about until she had had a chance to use her sharp little eyes all she wanted to.
so when she reached the old briar-patch, she did n't make a sound.
it did n't take her long to find peter.
he was sitting under one of his favorite bramble-bushes smiling to himself.
he smiled and smiled until jenny wren had to bite her tongue to keep from asking what was pleasing him so.
-lsb- illustration with caption: "the quickest way for me to know is for you to tell me," replied jimmy. -rsb-
""he looks tickled almost to death over something, but very likely if i should ask him what it is he would n't tell me," thought jenny wren.
""i guess i'll look around a bit first.
i wonder where mrs. peter is."
so leaving peter to smile to his heart's content, she went peeking and peering through the old briar-patch.
of course it was n't a nice thing to do, not a bit nice.
but jenny wren did n't stop to think of that.
by and by she saw something that made her flutter all over with excitement.
she looked and looked until she could sit still no longer.
then she hurried back to where peter was sitting.
he was still smiling.
""oh, peter rabbit, it's perfectly lovely!"
she cried.
peter looked up quickly, and a worried look chased the smile away.
""hello, jenny wren!
where did you come from?
i have n't seen you since i got back," said he.
""i've been so busy that i have n't had time to call before," replied jenny.
""i know what you've been smiling about, peter, and it's perfectly splendid.
has everybody heard the news?"
""no," said peter, "nobody knows it but you, and i do n't want anybody else to know it just yet.
will you keep it a secret, jenny wren?"
now jenny was just bursting with desire to spread the news, but peter looked so anxious that finally she promised that she would keep it to herself, and she really meant to.
but though peter looked greatly relieved as he watched her start for home, he did n't smile as he had before.
""i wish her tongue did n't wag so much," said he.
chapter xxix jimmy skunk visits peter rabbit it's hard to keep a secret which you fairly ache to tell; so not to know such secrets is often quite as well.
peter rabbit.
on her way home from the old briar-patch, jenny wren stopped to rest in a bush beside the crooked little path that comes down the hill, when who should come along but jimmy skunk.
now just as usual jenny wren was fidgeting and fussing about, and jimmy skunk grinned as he watched her.
""hello, jenny wren!"
said he.
""what are you doing here?"
""i'm resting on my way home from the old briar-patch, if you must know, jimmy skunk!"
replied jenny wren, changing her position half a dozen times while she was speaking.
""ho, ho, ho!"
laughed jimmy skunk.
""do you call that resting!
that's a joke, jenny wren.
resting!
why, you could n't sit still and rest if you tried!"
""i could so!
i'm resting right now, so there, jimmy skunk!"
protested jenny wren in a very indignant tone of voice, and hopped all over the little bush while she was speaking.
""i guess if you knew what i know, you'd be excited too."
""well, i guess the quickest way for me to know is for you to tell me," replied jimmy.
""i'm just aching to be excited."
jimmy grinned, for you know jimmy skunk never does get excited and never hurries, no matter what happens.
""you'll have to keep right on aching then," replied jenny wren, with a saucy flirt of her funny little tail.
""there's great news in the old briar-patch, and i'm the only one that knows it, but i've promised not to tell."
jimmy pricked up his ears.
""news in the old briar-patch must have something to do with peter rabbit," said he.
""what has peter done now?"
""i'll never tell!
i'll never tell!"
cried jenny wren, growing so excited that it seemed to jimmy as if there was danger that she would turn herself inside out.
""i promised not to and i never will!"
then, for fear that she would in spite of herself, she flew on her way home.
jimmy watched her out of sight with a puzzled frown.
""if i did n't know that she gets so terribly excited over nothing, i'd think that there really is some news in the old briar-patch," he muttered to himself.
""anyway, i have n't anything better to do, so i believe i'll drop around that way and make peter rabbit a call."
he found peter in some sweet clover just outside the old briar-patch, and it struck jimmy that peter looked uncommonly happy.
he said as much.
""i am," replied peter, before he thought.
then he added hastily, "you see, i've been uncommonly happy ever since i returned with mrs. peter from the old pasture."
""but i hear there's great news over here in the old briar-patch," persisted jimmy skunk.
""what is it, peter?"
peter pretended to be very much surprised.
""great news!"
he repeated.
""great news!
why, what news can there be over here?
who told you that?"
""a little bird told me," replied jimmy slyly.
""it must have been jenny wren!"
said peter, once more speaking before he thought.
""then there is news over here!"
cried jimmy triumphantly.
""what is it, peter?"
but peter shook his head as if he had n't the slightest idea and could n't imagine.
jimmy coaxed and teased, but all in vain.
finally he started for home no wiser than before.
""just the same, i believe that jenny wren told the truth and that there is news over in the old briar-patch," he muttered to himself.
""something has happened over there, and peter wo n't tell.
i wonder what it can be."
chapter xxx reddy fox learns the secret nothing that you ever do, nothing good or nothing bad, but has effect on other folks -- gives them pain or makes them glad.
peter rabbit.
of course jenny wren did n't mean to tell the secret of the old briar - patch, because she had promised peter rabbit that she would n't.
but she did n't see any harm in telling every one she met that there was a secret there, at least that there was great news there, and so, because jenny wren is a great gossip, it was n't long before all the little people on the green meadows and in the green forest and around the smiling pool had heard it and were wondering what the news could be.
after jimmy skunk's visit came a whole string of visitors to the old briar-patch.
one would hardly have left before another would appear.
each one tried to act as if he had just happened around that way and did n't want to pass peter's home without making a call, but each one asked so many questions that peter knew what had really brought him there was the desire to find out what the news in the old briar-patch could be.
but peter was too smart for them, and they all went away no wiser than they came, that is, all but one, and that one was reddy fox.
there is n't much going on in the green forest or on the green meadows that reddy does n't know about.
he is sly, is reddy fox, and his eyes are sharp and his ears are keen, so little happens that he does n't see or hear about.
of course he heard the foolish gossip of jenny wren and he pricked up his ears.
""so there's news down in the old briar-patch, is there?
a secret that jenny wren wo n't tell?
i think i'll trot down there and make peter a call.
of course he'll be glad to see me."
reddy grinned wickedly as he said this to himself, for he knew that there was no one for whom peter rabbit had less love, unless it was old granny fox.
so reddy trotted down to the old briar-patch.
peter saw him coming and scowled, for he guessed right away what reddy was coming for, and he made ready to answer all reddy's questions and still tell him nothing, as he had with all the others who had called.
but reddy asked no questions.
he did n't once mention the fact that he had heard there was news in the old briar-patch.
he did n't once speak of jenny wren.
he just talked about the weather and the old pasture, where peter had made such a long visit, and all the time was as pleasant and polite as if he and peter were the dearest of friends.
but while he was talking, reddy was using those sharp eyes and those keen ears of his the best he knew how.
but the old briar-patch was very thick, and he could see only a little way into it, and out of it came no sound to hint of a secret there.
then reddy began to walk around the old briar-patch in quite the most matter-of-fact way, but as he walked that wonderful nose of his was testing every little breath of air that came out of the old briar-patch.
at last he reached a certain place where a little stronger breath of air tickled his nose.
he stopped for a few minutes, and slowly a smile grew and grew.
then, without saying a word, he turned and trotted back towards the green forest.
peter rabbit watched him go.
then he joined mrs. peter in the heart of the old briar-patch.
""my dear," he said, with a sigh that was almost a sob, "reddy fox has found out our secret."
""never mind," said little mrs. peter brightly.
""it would have to be found out soon, anyway."
trotting back up the lone little path, reddy fox was grinning broadly.
""it is news!"
said he.
""jenny wren was right, it is news!
but i do n't believe anybody else knows it yet, and i hope they wo n't find it out right away, least of all old man coyote.
what a wonderful thing a good nose is!
it tells me what my eyes can not see nor my ears hear."
chapter xxxi blacky the crow has sharp eyes mischief always waits to greet idle hands and idle feet.
peter rabbit.
that is what a lot of people say about blacky the crow.
of course it is true that blacky does get into a lot of mischief, but if people really knew him they would find that he is n't as black as he looks.
in fact, blacky the crow does a whole lot of good in his own peculiar way, but people are always looking for him to do bad things, and you know you most always see what you expect to see.
thus the good blacky does is n't seen, while the bad is, and so he has grown to have a reputation blacker than the coat he wears.
but this does n't worry blacky the crow.
no, sir, it does n't worry him a bit.
you see he has grown used to it.
and then he is so smart that he is never afraid of being caught when he does do wrong things.
no one has sharper eyes than blacky, and no one knows better how to use them.
there is very little going on in the green forest or on the green meadows that he misses when he is about.
the day after reddy fox visited the old briar-patch and with his wonderful nose found out peter rabbit's secret, blacky just happened to fly over the old briar-patch on his way to farmer brown's cornfield.
now, being over the old briar-patch, he could look right down into it and see all through it.
just as he reached it, he remembered having heard sammy jay say something about gossipy little jenny wren's having said that there was great news there.
he had n't thought much about it at the time, but now that he was right there, he might as well have a look for himself and see if there was any truth in it.
so blacky the crow flew a little lower, and his sharp eyes looked this way and that way through all the bramble-bushes of the old briar-patch.
he saw peter rabbit right away and winked at him.
he thought peter looked worried and anxious.
""peter must have something on his mind," thought blacky.
""i wonder where mrs. peter is."
just then he caught sight of her under the thickest growing sweet-briar bush.
he had opened his mouth to shout, "hello, mrs. peter," when he saw something that surprised him so that he did n't speak at all.
he almost forgot to flap his wings to keep himself in the air.
he hovered right where he was for a few minutes, looking down through the brambles.
then with a hoarse chuckle, he started for the smiling pool, forgetting all about farmer brown's cornfield.
""caw, caw, caw!"
he shrieked, "peter rabbit's got a family!
peter rabbit's got a family!"
reddy fox heard him and ground his teeth.
""now old man coyote will know and will try to catch those young rabbits, when they ought to be mine because i found out about them first," he grumbled.
jimmy skunk heard blacky and grinned broadly.
""so that's the great news jenny wren found out!"
said he.
""i hope peter will take better care of his babies than he ever has of himself.
i must call at once."
redtail the hawk heard, and he smiled too, but it was n't a kindly smile like jimmy skunk's.
""i think young rabbit will taste very good for a change," said he.
chapter xxxii peter rabbit's nursery with home, the home you call your own, it really does n't matter where, there is no place, in all the world, that ever will or can compare.
peter rabbit.
the news was out at last, thanks to blacky the crow.
peter rabbit had a family!
yes, sir, peter rabbit had a family!
right away the old briar - patch became the most interesting place on the green meadows to all the little people who live there and in the near-by green forest.
of course all of peter's friends called as soon as ever they could.
they found peter looking very proud, and very important, and very happy.
mrs. peter looked just as proud, and just as happy, but she also looked very anxious.
you see, while she was very glad to have so many friends call, there were also other visitors.
that is, they were not exactly callers, but they hung around the outside of the old briar-patch, and they seemed quite as much interested as the friends who really called.
indeed, they seemed more interested.
who were they?
why, reddy fox was one.
then there was old man coyote, also redtail the hawk and digger the badger, and just at dusk hooty the owl.
they all seemed very much interested indeed, but every time little mrs. peter saw them, she shivered.
you see, she could n't help thinking that there was a dreadful, hungry look in their eyes, and if the truth is to be told, there probably was.
but happy-go-lucky peter rabbit did n't let this worry him.
had n't he grown up from a teeny-weeny baby and been smart enough to escape all these dangers which worried mrs. peter so?
and if he could do it, of course his own babies could do it, with him to teach them and show them how.
besides, they were too little to go outside of the old briar-patch now.
indeed, they were too little to go outside their nursery, which was in a clump of sweet-briar bushes in the very middle of the old briar - patch, and peter felt that there they were perfectly safe.
""it is n't time to worry yet," said peter to little mrs. peter, as he saw the fright in her eyes as the shadow of redtail passed over them.
""i do n't believe in borrowing trouble.
time enough to worry when there is something to worry about, and that wo n't be until these little scallawags of ours are big enough to run around and get into mischief.
did you ever see such beautiful babies in all your life?"
for a minute the worried look left little mrs. peter, and she gazed at the four little helpless babies fondly.
""no," she replied softly, "i never did.
oh, peter, they are perfectly lovely!
this one is the perfect image of you, and i'm going to call him little pete.
and do n't you think his brother looks like his grandfather?
i think we'll call him little jed."
peter coughed behind his hand as if something had stuck in his throat.
he had no love for little jed's grandfather, old jed thumper, the big, gray, old rabbit who had tried so hard to drive him from the old pasture, but he did n't say anything.
if mrs. peter wanted to name this one little jed, he would n't say a word.
aloud he said: "i think, my dear, that this one looks just as you must have looked when you were little, and so we'll call her fuzzy.
and her sister we'll call wuzzy," continued peter.
""was ever there such a splendid nursery for baby rabbits?"
""i do n't believe there ever was, peter.
it's better than my old nursery in the old pasture," replied little mrs. peter, as with a sigh of perfect happiness she stretched out beside their four babies.
and peter softly tiptoed away to the nearest sweet-clover patch with his heart almost bursting with pride.
of the doings of peter and mrs. peter rabbit and their four children there are many more stories, so many that one book will not hold all of them.
besides, bowser the hound insists that i must write a book about him, and i have promised to do it right away.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___old_granny_fox.txt.out
chapter i: reddy fox brings granny news pray who is there who would refuse to bearer be of happy news?
-- old granny fox.
snow covered the green meadows and the green forest, and ice bound the smiling pool and the laughing brook.
reddy and granny fox were hungry most of the time.
it was not easy to find enough to eat these days, and so they spent nearly every minute they were awake in hunting.
sometimes they hunted together, but usually one went one way, and the other went another way so as to have a greater chance of finding something.
if either found enough for two, the one finding it took the food back to their home if it could be carried.
if not, the other was told where to find it.
for several days they had had very little indeed to eat, and they were so hungry that they were willing to take almost any chance to get a good meal.
for two nights they had visited farmer brown's henhouse, hoping that they would be able to find a way inside.
but the biddies had been securely locked up, and try as they would, they could n't find a way in.
""it's of no use," said granny, as they started back home after the second try, "to hope to get one of those hens at night.
if we are going to get any at all, we will have to do it in broad daylight.
it can be done, for i have done it before, but i do n't like the idea.
we are likely to be seen, and that means that bowser the hound will be set to hunting us."
""pooh!"
exclaimed reddy.
""what of it?
it's easy enough to fool him."
""you think so, do you?"
snapped granny.
""i never yet saw a young fox who did n't think he knew all there is to know, and you're just like the rest.
when you've lived as long as i have you will have learned not to be quite so sure of your own opinions.
i grant you that when there is no snow on the ground, any fox with a reasonable amount of fox sense in his head can fool bowser, but with snow everywhere it is a very different matter.
if bowser once takes it into his head to follow your trail these days, you will have to be smarter than i think you are to fool him.
the only way you will be able to get away from him will be by going into a hole in the ground, and when you do that you will have given away a secret that will mean we will never have any peace at all.
we will never know when farmer brown's boy will take it into his head to smoke us out.
i've seen it done.
no, sir, we are not going to try for one of those hens in the daytime unless we are starving."
""i'm starving now," whined reddy.
""no such thing!"
granny snapped.
""i've been without food longer than this many a time.
have you been over to the big river lately?"
""no," replied reddy.
""what's the use?
it's frozen over.
there is n't anything there."
""perhaps not," replied granny, "but i learned a long time ago that it is a poor plan to overlook any chance.
there is a place in the big river which never freezes because the water runs too swiftly to freeze, and i've found more than one meal washed ashore there.
you go over there now while i see what i can find in the green forest.
if neither of us finds anything, it will be time enough to think about farmer brown's hens to-morrow."
much against his will reddy obeyed.
""it is n't the least bit of use," he grumbled, as he trotted towards the big river.
""there wo n't be anything there.
it is just a waste of time."
late that afternoon he came hurrying back, and granny knew by the way that he cocked his ears and carried his tail that he had news of some kind.
""well, what is it?"
she demanded.
""i found a dead fish that had been washed ashore," replied reddy.
""it was n't big enough for two, so i ate it."
""anything else?"
asked granny.
""no-o," replied reddy slowly; "that is, nothing that will do us any good.
quacker the wild duck was swimming about out in the open water, but though i watched and watched he never once came ashore."
""ha!"
exclaimed granny.
""that is good news.
i think we'll go duck hunting."
chapter ii: granny and reddy fox go hunting when you're in doubt what course is right, the thing to do is just sit tight.
-- old granny fox.
jolly, round, bright mr. sun had just got well started on his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky that morning when he spied two figures trotting across the snow-covered green meadows, one behind the other.
they were trotting along quite as if they had made up their minds just where they were going.
they had.
you see they were granny and reddy fox, and they were bound for the big river at the place where the water ran too swiftly to freeze.
the day before reddy had discovered quacker the wild duck swimming about there, and now they were on their way to try to catch him.
granny led the way and reddy meekly followed her.
to tell the truth, reddy had n't the least idea that they would have a chance to catch quacker, because quacker kept out in the water where he was as safe from them as if they were a thousand miles away.
the only reason that reddy had willingly started with granny was the hope that he might find a dead fish washed up on the shore as he had the day before.
""granny certainly is growing foolish in her old age," thought reddy, as he trotted along behind her.
""i told her that quacker never once came ashore all the time i watched yesterday.
i do n't believe he ever comes ashore, and if she knows anything at all she ought to know that she ca n't catch him out there in the water.
granny used to be smart enough when she was young, i guess, but she certainly is losing her mind now.
it's a pity, a great pity.
i can just imagine how quacker will laugh at her.
i have to laugh myself."
he did laugh, but you may be sure he took great pains that granny should not see him laughing.
whenever she looked around he was as sober as could be.
in fact, he appeared to be quite as eager as if he felt sure they would catch quacker.
now old granny fox is very wise in the ways of the great world, and if reddy could have known what was going on in her mind as she led the way to the big river, he might not have felt quite so sure of his own smartness.
granny was doing some quiet laughing herself.
""he thinks i'm old and foolish and do n't know what i'm about, the young scamp!"
thought she.
""he thinks he has learned all there is to learn.
it is n't the least use in the world to try to tell him anything.
when young folks feel the way he does, it is a waste of time to talk to them.
he has got to be shown.
there is nothing like experience to take the conceit out of these youngsters."
now conceit is the feeling that you know more than any one else.
perhaps you do.
then again, perhaps you do n't.
so sometimes it is best not to be too sure of your own opinion.
reddy was sure.
he trotted along behind old granny fox and planned smart things to say to her when she found that there was n't a chance to catch quacker the duck.
i am afraid, very much afraid, that reddy was planning to be saucy.
people who think themselves smart are quite apt to be saucy.
presently they came to the bank of the big river.
old granny fox told reddy to sit still while she crept up behind some bushes where she could peek out over the big river.
he grinned as he watched her.
he was still grinning when she tiptoed back.
he expected to see her face long with disappointment.
instead she looked very much pleased.
""quacker is there," said she, "and i think he will make us a very good dinner.
creep up behind those bushes and see for yourself, then come back here and tell me what you think we'd better do to get him."
so reddy stole up behind the bushes, and this time it was granny who grinned as she watched.
as he crept along, reddy wondered if it could be that for once quacker had come ashore.
granny seemed so sure they could catch him that this must be the case.
but when he peeped through the hushes, there was quacker way out in the middle of the open water just where he had been the day before.
chapter iii: reddy is sure granny has lost her senses perhaps't is just as well that we ca n't see ourselves as others see.
-- old granny fox.
""just as i thought," muttered reddy fox as he peeped through the bushes on the bank of the big river and saw quacker swimming about in the water where it ran too swiftly to freeze.
""we've got just as much chance of catching him as i have of jumping over the moon.
that's what i'll tell granny."
he crept back carefully so as not to be seen by quacker, and when he had reached the place where granny was waiting for him, his face wore a very impudent look.
""well," said granny fox, "what shall we do to catch him?"
""learn to swim like a fish and fly like a bird," replied reddy in such a saucy tone that granny had hard work to keep from boxing his ears.
""you mean that you think he ca n't be caught?"
said she quietly.
""i do n't think anything about it; i know he ca n't!"
snapped reddy.
""not by us, anyway," he added.
""i suppose you would n't even try?"
retorted granny.
""i'm old enough to know when i'm wasting my time," replied reddy with a toss of his head.
""in other words you think i'm a silly old fox who has lost her senses," said granny sharply.
""no-o.
i did n't say that," protested reddy, looking very uncomfortable.
""but you think it," declared granny.
""now look here, mr. smarty, you do just as i tell you.
you creep back there where you can watch quacker and all that happens, and mind that you keep out of his sight.
now go."
reddy went.
there was nothing else to do.
he did n't dare disobey.
granny watched until reddy had readied his hiding-place.
then what do you think she did?
why, she walked right out on the little beach just below reddy and in plain sight of quacker!
yes, sir, that is what she did!
then began such a queer performance that it is no wonder that reddy was sure granny had lost her senses.
she rolled over and over.
she chased her tail round and round until it made reddy dizzy to watch her.
she jumped up in the air.
she raced back and forth.
she played with a bit of stick.
and all the time she did n't pay the least attention to quacker the duck.
reddy stared and stared.
whatever had come over granny?
she was crazy.
yes, sir, that must be the matter.
it must be that she had gone without food so long that she had gone crazy.
poor granny!
she was in her second childhood.
reddy could remember how he had done such things when he was very young, just by way of showing how fine he felt.
but for a grown-up fox to do such things was undignified, to say the least.
you know reddy thinks a great deal of dignity.
it was worse than undignified; it was positively disgraceful.
he did hope that none of his neighbors would happen along and see granny cutting up so.
he never would hear the end of it if they did.
over and over rolled granny, and around and around she chased her tail.
the snow flew up in a cloud.
and all the time she made no sound.
reddy was just trying to decide whether to go off and leave her until she had regained her common sense, or to go out and try to stop her, when he happened to look out in the open water where quacker was.
quacker was sitting up as straight as he could.
in fact, he had his wings raised to help him sit up on his tail, the better to see what old granny fox was doing.
""as i live," muttered reddy, "i believe that fellow is nearer than he was!"
reddy crouched lower than ever, and instead of watching granny he watched quacker the duck.
chapter iv: quacker the duck grows curious the most curious thing in the world is curiosity.
-- old granny fox.
old granny fox never said a truer thing than that.
it is curious, very curious, how sometimes curiosity will get the best of even the wisest and most sensible of people.
even old granny fox herself has been known to be led into trouble by it.
we expect it of peter rabbit, but peter is n't a bit more curious than some others of whom we do not expect it.
now quacker the wild duck is the last one in the world you would expect to be led into trouble by curiosity.
quacker had spent the summer in the far north with honker the goose.
in fact, he had been born there.
he had started for the far away southland at the same time honker had, but when he reached the big river he had found plenty to eat and had decided to stay until he had to move on.
the big river had frozen over everywhere except in this one place where the water was too swift to freeze, and there quacker had remained.
you see, he was a good diver and on the bottom of the river he found plenty to eat.
no one could get at him out there, unless it were roughleg the hawk, and if roughleg did happen along, all he had to do was to dive and come up far away to laugh and make fun of roughleg.
the water could n't get through his oily feathers, and so he did n't mind how cold it was.
now in his home in the far north there were so many dangers that quacker had early learned to be always on the watch and to take the best of care of himself.
on his way down to the big river he had been hunted by men with terrible guns, and he had learned all about them.
in fact, he felt quite able to keep out of harm's way.
he rather prided himself that there was no one smart enough to catch him.
i suspect he thought he knew all there was to know.
in this respect he was a good deal like reddy fox himself.
that was because he was young.
it is the way with young ducks and foxes and with some other youngsters i know.
when quacker first saw granny fox on the little beach, he flirted his absurd little tail and smiled as he thought how she must wish she could catch him.
but so far as he could see, granny did n't once look at him.
""she does n't know i'm out here at all," thought quacker.
then suddenly he sat up very straight and looked with all his might.
what under the sun was the matter with that fox?
she was acting as if she had suddenly lost her senses.
over and over she rolled.
around and around she spun.
she turned somersaults.
she lay on her back and kicked her heels in the air.
never in his life had he known any one to act like that.
there must be something the matter with her.
quacker began to get excited.
he could n't keep his eyes off old granny fox.
he began to swim nearer.
he wanted to see better.
he quite forgot she was a fox.
she moved so fast that she was just a queer red spot on the beach.
whatever she was doing was very curious and very exciting.
he swam nearer and nearer.
the excitement was catching.
he began to swim in circles himself.
all the time he drew nearer and nearer to the shore.
he did n't have the least bit of fear.
he was just curious.
he wanted to see better.
all the time granny was cutting up her antics, she was watching quacker, though he did n't suspect it.
as he swam nearer and nearer to the shore, granny rolled and tumbled farther and farther back.
at last quacker was close to the shore.
if he kept on, he would be right on the land in a few minutes.
and all the time he stared and stared.
no thought of danger entered his head.
you see, there was no room because it was so filled with curiosity.
""in a minute more i'll have him," thought granny, and whirled faster than ever.
and just then something happened.
chapter v: reddy fox is afraid to go home yes, sir, a chicken track is good to see, but it often puts nothing but water in my mouth.
-- old granny fox.
reddy fox thought of that saying many times as he hunted through the green forest that night, afraid to go home.
you see, he had almost dined on quacker the duck over at the big river that day and then had n't, and it was all his own fault.
that was why he was afraid to go home.
from his hiding-place on the bank he had watched quacker swim in and in until he was almost on the shore where old granny fox was whirling and rolling and tumbling about as if she had entirely lost her senses.
indeed, reddy had been quite sure that she had when she began.
it was n't until he saw that curiosity was drawing quacker right in so that in a minute or two granny would be able to catch him, that he understood that granny was anything but crazy, and really was teaching him a new trick as well as trying to catch a dinner.
when he realized this, he should have been ashamed of himself for doubting the smartness of granny and for thinking that he knew all there was to know.
but he was too much excited for any such thoughts.
nearer and nearer to the shore came quacker, his eyes fixed on the red, whirling form of granny.
reddy's own eyes gleamed with excitement.
would quacker keep on right up to the shore?
nearer and nearer and nearer he came.
reddy squirmed uneasily.
he could n't see as well as he wanted to.
the bushes behind which he was lying were in his way.
he wanted to see granny make that jump which would mean a dinner for both.
forgetting what granny had charged him, reddy eagerly raised his head to look over the edge of the bank.
now it just happened that at that very minute quacker chanced to look that way.
his quick eyes caught the movement of reddy's head and in an instant all his curiosity vanished.
that sharp face peering at him over the edge of the bank could mean but one thing -- danger!
it was all a trick!
he saw through it now.
like a flash he turned.
there was the whistle of stiff wings beating the air and the patter of feet striking the water as he got under way.
then he flew out to the safety of the open water.
granny sprang, but she was just too late and succeeded in doing no more than wet her feet.
of course, granny did n't know what had frightened quacker, not at first, anyway.
but she had her suspicions.
she turned and looked up at the place where reddy had been hiding.
she could n't see him.
then she bounded up the bank.
there was no reddy there, but far away across the snow-covered green meadows was a red spot growing smaller and smaller.
reddy was running away.
then she knew.
at first granny was very angry.
you know it is a dreadful thing to be hungry and have a good dinner disappear just as it is almost within reach.
""i'll teach that young scamp a lesson he wo n't soon forget when i get home," she muttered, as she watched him.
then she went back to the edge of the big river and there she found a dead fish which had been washed ashore.
it was a very good fish, and when she had eaten it granny felt better.
""anyway," thought she, "i have taught him a new trick and one he is n't likely to forget.
he knows now that granny still knows a few tricks that he does n't, and next time he wo n't feel so sure he knows it all.
i guess it was worth while even if i did n't catch quacker.
my, but he would have tasted good!"
granny smacked her lips and started for home.
but reddy, with a guilty conscience, was afraid to go home.
and so, miserable and hungry, he hunted through the green forest all the long night and wished and wished that he had heeded what old granny fox had told him.
chapter vi: old granny fox is caught napping the wisest folks will make mistakes, but if they are truly wise they will profit from them.
-- old granny fox.
there is a saying among the little people of the green forest and the green meadows which runs something like this: "you must your eyes wide open keep to catch old granny fox asleep."
of course this means that old granny fox is so smart, so clever, so keenly on the watch at all times, that he must be very smart indeed who fools her or gets ahead of her.
reddy fox is smart, very smart.
but reddy is n't nearly as smart as old granny fox.
you see, he has n't lived nearly as long, so of course there is much knowledge of many things stored away in granny's head of which reddy knows little.
but once in a while even the smartest people are caught napping.
yes, sir, that does happen.
they will be careless sometimes.
it was just so with old granny fox.
with all her smartness and cleverness and wisdom she grew careless, and all the smartness and cleverness and wisdom in the world is useless if the possessor becomes careless.
you see, old granny fox had become so used to thinking that she was smarter than any one else, unless it was old man coyote, that she actually believed that no one was smart enough ever to surprise her.
yes, sir, she actually believed that.
now, you know when a person reaches the point of thinking that no one else in all the great world is quite so smart, that person is like peter rabbit when he made ready one winter day to jump out on the smooth ice of the smiling pool, -- getting ready for a fall.
it was this way with old granny fox.
because she had lived near farmer brown's so long and had been hunted so often by farmer brown's boy and by bowser the hound, she had got the idea in her head that no matter what she did they would not be able to catch her.
so at last she grew careless.
yes, sir, she grew careless.
and that is something no fox or anybody else can afford to do.
now on the edge of the green forest was a warm, sunny knoll, which, as you know, is a sort of little hill.
it overlooked the green meadows and was quite the most pleasant and comfortable place for a sun-nap that ever was.
at least, that is what old granny fox thought.
she took sun-naps there very often.
it was her favorite resting place.
when bowser the hound had found her trail and had chased her until she was tired of running and had had quite all the exercise she needed or wanted, she would play one of her clever tricks by which to make bowser lose her trail.
then she would hurry straight to that knoll to rest and grin at her own smartness.
it happened that she did this one day when there was fresh snow on the ground.
of course, every time she put a foot down she left a print in the snow.
and where she curled up in the sun she left the print of her body.
they were very plain to see, were these prints, and farmer brown's boy saw them.
he had been tramping through the green forest late in the afternoon and just by chance happened across granny's footprints.
just for fun he followed them and so came to the sunny knoll.
granny had left some time before, but of course she could n't take the print of her body with her.
that remained in the snow, and farmer brown's boy saw it and knew instantly what it meant.
he grinned, and could granny fox have seen that grin, she would have been uncomfortable.
you see, he knew that he had found the place where granny was in the habit of taking a sun-nap.
""so," said he, "this is the place where you rest, old mrs. fox, after running bowser almost off his feet.
i think we will give you a surprise one of these days.
yes, indeed, i think we will give you a surprise.
you have fooled us many times, and now it is our turn."
the next day farmer brown's boy shouldered his terrible gun and sent bowser the hound to hunt for the trail of old granny fox.
it was n't long before bowser's great voice told all the great world that he had found granny's tracks.
farmer brown's boy grinned just as he had the day before.
then with his terrible gun he went over to the green forest and hid under some pine boughs right on the edge of that sunny knoll.
he waited patiently a long, long time.
he heard bowser's great voice growing more and more excited as he followed old granny fox.
by and by bowser stopped baying and began to yelp impatiently.
farmer brown's boy knew exactly what that meant.
it meant that granny had played one of her smart tricks and bowser had lost her trail.
a few minutes later out of the green forest came old granny fox, and she was grinning, for once more she had fooled bowser the hound and now could take a nap in peace.
still grinning, she turned around two or three times to make herself comfortable and then, with a sigh of contentment, curled up for a sun-nap, and in a few minutes was asleep.
and just a little way off behind the pine boughs sat farmer brown's boy holding his terrible gun and grinning.
at last he had caught old granny fox napping.
chapter vii: granny fox has a bad dream nothing ever simply happens; bear that point in mind.
if you look long and hard enough a cause you'll always find.
-- old granny fox.
old granny fox was dreaming.
yes, sir, she was dreaming.
there she lay, curled up on the sunny little knoll on the edge of the green forest, fast asleep and dreaming.
it was a very pleasant and very comfortable place indeed.
you see, jolly, round, bright mr. sun poured his warmest rays right down there from the blue, blue sky.
when old granny fox was tired, she often slipped over there for a short nap and sun-bath even in winter.
she was quite sure that no one knew anything about it.
it was one of her secrets.
this morning old granny fox was very tired, unusually so.
in the first place she had been out hunting all night.
then, before she could reach home, bowser the hound had found her tracks and started to follow them.
of course, it would n't have done to go home then.
it would n't have done at all.
bowser would have followed her straight there and so found out where she lived.
so she had led bowser far away across the green meadows and through the green forest and finally played one of her smart tricks which had so mixed her tracks that bowser could no longer follow them.
while he had sniffed and snuffed and snuffed and sniffed with that wonderful nose of his, trying to find out where she had gone, old granny fox had trotted straight to the sunny knoll and there curled up to rest.
right away she fell asleep.
now old granny fox, like most of the other little people of the green forest and the green meadows, sleeps with her ears wide open.
her eyes may be closed, but not her ears.
those are always on guard, even when she is asleep, and at the least sound open fly her eyes, and she is ready to run.
if it were not for the way her sharp ears keep guard, she would n't dare take naps in the open right in broad daylight.
if you ever want to catch a fox asleep, you must n't make the teeniest, weeniest noise.
just remember that.
now old granny fox had no sooner closed her eyes than she began to dream.
at first it was a very pleasant dream, the pleasantest dream a fox can have.
it was of a chicken dinner, all the chicken she could eat.
granny certainly enjoyed that dream.
it made her smack her lips quite as if it were a real and not a dream dinner she was enjoying.
but presently the dream changed and became a bad dream.
yes, indeed, it became a bad dream.
it was as bad as at first it had been good.
it seemed to granny that bowser the hound had become very smart, smarter than she had ever known him to be before.
do what she would, she could n't fool him.
not one of all the tricks she knew, and she knew a great many, fooled him at all.
they did n't puzzle him long enough for her to get her breath.
bowser kept getting nearer and nearer and nearer, all in the dream, you know, until it seemed as if his great voice sounded right at her very heels.
she was so tired that it seemed to her that she could n't run another step.
it was a very, very real dream.
you know dreams sometimes do seem very real indeed.
this was the way it was with the bad dream of old granny fox.
it seemed to her that she could feel the breath of bowser the hound and that his great jaws were just going to close on her and shake her to death.
""oh!
oh!"
cried granny and waked herself up.
her eyes flew open.
then she gave a great sigh of relief as she realized that her terrible fright was only a bad dream and that she was curled up right on the dear, familiar, old, sunny knoll and not running for her life at all.
old granny fox smiled to think what a fright she had had and then, -- well, she did n't know whether she was really awake or still dreaming!
no, sir, she did n't.
for a full minute she could n't be sure whether what she saw was real or part of that dreadful dream.
you see, she was staring into the face of farmer brown's boy and the muzzle of his dreadful gun!
for just a few seconds she did n't move.
she could n't.
she was too frightened to move.
then she knew what she saw was real and not a dream at all.
there was n't the least bit of doubt about it.
that was farmer brown's boy, and that was his dreadful gun!
all in a flash she knew that farmer brown's boy must have been hiding behind those pine boughs.
poor old granny fox!
for once in her life she had been caught napping.
she had n't the least hope in the world.
farmer brown's boy had only to fire that dreadful gun, and that would be the end of her.
she knew it.
chapter viii: what farmer brown's boy did in time of danger heed this rule: think hard and fast, but pray keep cool.
-- old granny fox.
poor old granny fox!
she had thought that she had been in tight places before, but never, never had she been in such a tight place as this.
there stood farmer brown's boy looking along the barrel of his dreadful gun straight at her, and only such a short distance, such a very short distance away!
it was n't the least bit of use to run.
granny knew that.
that dreadful gun would go "bang!"
and that would be the end of her.
for a few seconds she stared at farmer brown's boy, too frightened to move or even think.
then she began to wonder why that dreadful gun did n't go off.
what was farmer brown's boy waiting for?
she got to her feet.
she was sure that the first step would be her last, yet she could n't stay there.
how could fanner brown's boy do such a dreadful thing?
somehow, his freckled face did n't look cruel.
he was even beginning to grin.
that must be because he had caught her napping and knew that this time she could n't possibly get away from him as she had so many times before.
""oh!"
sobbed old granny fox under her breath.
and right at that very instant farmer brown's boy did something.
what do you think it was?
no, he did n't shoot her.
he did n't fire his dreadful gun.
what do you think he did do?
why, he threw a snowball at old granny fox and shouted "boo!"
that is what he did and all he did, except to laugh as granny gave a great leap and then made those black legs of hers fly as never before.
every instant granny expected to hear that dreadful gun, and it seemed as if her heart would burst with fright as she ran, thinking each jump would be the last one.
but the dreadful gun did n't bang, and after a little, when she felt she was safe, she turned to look back over her shoulder.
farmer brown's boy was standing right where she had last seen him, and he was laughing harder than ever.
yes, sir, he was laughing, and though old granny fox did n't think so at the time, his laugh was good to hear, for it was good-natured and merry and all that an honest laugh should be.
""go it, granny!
go it!"
shouted farmer brown's boy.
""and the next time you are tempted to steal my chickens, just remember that i caught you napping and let you off when i might have shot you.
just remember that and leave my chickens alone."
now it happened that tommy tit the chickadee had seen all that had happened, and he fairly bubbled over with joy.
""dee, dee, dee, chickadee!
it is just as i have always said -- farmer brown's boy is n't bad.
he'd be friends with every one if every one would let him," he cried.
""maybe, maybe," grumbled sammy jay, who also had seen all that had happened.
""but he's altogether too smart for me to trust.
oh, my!
oh, my!
what news this will be to tell!
old granny fox will never hear the end of it.
if ever again she boasts of how smart she is, all we will have to do will be to remind her of the time farmer brown's boy caught her napping.
ho!
ho!
ho!
i must hurry along and find my cousin, blacky the crow.
this will tickle him half to death."
as for old granny fox, she feared farmer brown's boy more than ever, not because of what he had done to her but because of what he had not done.
you see, nothing could make her believe that he wanted to be her friend.
she thought he had let her get away just to show her that he was smarter than she.
instead of thankfulness, hate and fear filled granny's heart.
you know -- people who themselves do ill for others seldom have good will.
chapter ix: reddy fox hears about granny fox though you may think another wrong and be quite positive you're right, do n't let your temper get away; and try at least to be polite.
-- old granny fox.
sammy jay hurried through the green forest, chuckling as he flew.
sammy was brimming over with the news he had to tell, -- how old granny fox had been caught napping by farmer brown's boy.
sammy would n't have believed it if any one had told him.
no, sir, he would n't.
but he had seen it with his own eyes, and it tickled him almost to pieces to think that old granny fox, whom everybody thought so sly and clever and smart, had been caught actually asleep by the very one of whom she was most afraid, but at whom she always had turned up her nose.
presently sammy spied reddy fox trotting along the lone little path.
reddy was forever boasting of how smart granny fox was.
he had boasted of it so much that everybody was sick of hearing him.
when he saw reddy trotting along the lone little path, sammy chuckled harder than ever.
he hid in a thick hemlock-tree and as reddy passed he shouted: "had i such a stupid old granny as some folks who think they are smart, i never would boast of my granny, but live by myself quite apart!"
reddy looked up angrily.
he could n't see sammy jay, but he knew sammy's voice.
there is no mistaking that.
everybody knows the voice of sammy jay.
of course it was foolish, very foolish of reddy to be angry, and still more foolish to show that he was angry.
had he stopped a minute to think, he would have known that sammy was saying such a mean, provoking thing just to make him angry, and that the angrier he became the better pleased sammy jay would be.
but like a great many people, reddy allowed his temper to get the better of his common sense.
""who says granny fox is stupid?"
he snarled.
""i do," replied sammy jay promptly.
""i say she is stupid."
""she is smarter than anybody else in all the green forest and on all the green meadows.
she is smarter than anybody else in all the great world," boasted reddy, and he really believed it.
""she is n't smart enough to fool farmer brown's boy," taunted sammy.
""what's that?
who says so?
has anything happened to granny fox?"
reddy forgot his anger in a sudden great fear.
could granny have been shot by farmer brown's boy?
""nothing much, only farmer brown's boy caught her napping in broad daylight," replied sammy, and chuckled so that reddy heard him.
""i do n't believe it!"
snapped reddy.
""i do n't believe a word of it!
nobody ever yet caught old granny fox napping, and nobody ever will."
""i do n't care whether you believe it or not; it's so, for i saw him," retorted sammy jay.
""you -- you -- you --" began reddy fox.
""go ask tommy tit the chickadee if it is n't true.
he saw him too," interrupted sammy jay.
""dee, dee, dee, chickadee!
it's so, and farmer brown's boy only threw a snowball at her and let her run away without shooting at her," declared a new voice.
there sat tommy tit himself.
reddy did n't know what to think or say.
he just could n't believe it, yet he had never known tommy tit to tell an untruth.
sammy jay alone he would n't have believed.
then tommy tit and sammy jay told reddy all about what they had seen, how farmer brown's boy had surprised old granny fox and then allowed her to go unharmed.
reddy had to believe it.
if tommy tit said it was so, it must be so.
reddy fox started off to hunt up old granny fox and ask her about it.
but a sudden thought popped into his red head, and he changed his mind.
""i wo n't say a thing about it until some time when granny scolds me for being careless," muttered reddy, with a sly grin.
""then i'll see what she has to say.
i guess she wo n't scold me so much after this."
reddy grinned more than ever, which was n't a bit nice of him.
instead of being sorry that old granny fox had had such a fright, he was planning how he would get even with her when she should scold him for his own carelessness.
chapter x: reddy fox is impudent a saucy tongue is dangerous to possess; be sure some day" t will get you in a mess.
-- old granny fox.
reddy fox is headstrong and, like most headstrong people, is given to thinking that his way is the best way just because it is his way.
he is smart, is reddy fox.
yes, indeed, reddy fox is very, very smart.
he has to be in order to live.
but a great deal of what he knows he learned from old granny fox.
the very best tricks he knows she taught him.
she began teaching him when he was so little that he tumbled over his own feet.
it was she who taught him how to hunt, that it is better never to steal chickens near home but to go a long way off for them, and how to fool bowser the hound.
it was granny who taught reddy how to use his little black nose to follow the tracks of careless young rabbits, and how to catch meadow mice under the snow.
in fact, there is little reddy knows which he did n't learn from wise, shrewd old granny fox.
but as he grew bigger and bigger, until he was quite as big as granny herself, he forgot what he owed to her.
he grew to have a very good opinion of himself and to feel that he knew just about all there was to know.
so sometimes when he had done foolish or careless things and granny had scolded him, telling him he was big enough and old enough to know better, he would sulk and go off muttering to himself.
but he never quite dared to be openly disrespectful to granny, and this, of course, was quite as it should have been.
""if only i could catch granny doing something foolish or careless," he would say to himself.
but he never could, and he had begun to think that he never would.
but now at last granny, clever old granny fox, had been careless!
she had allowed farmer brown's boy to catch her napping!
reddy did wish he had been there to see it himself.
but anyway, he had been told about it, and he made up his mind that the next time granny said anything sharp to him about his carelessness he would have something to say back.
yes, sir, reddy fox was deliberately planning to answer back, which, as you know, is always disrespectful to one's elders.
at last the chance came.
reddy did a thing no truly wise fox ever will do.
he went two nights in succession to the same henhouse, and the second time he barely escaped being shot.
old granny fox found out about it.
how she found out reddy does n't know to this day, but find out she did, and she gave him such a scolding as even her sharp tongue had seldom given him.
""you are the stupidest fox i ever heard of," scolded granny.
""i'm no more stupid than you are!"
retorted reddy in the most impudent way.
""what's that?"
demanded granny.
""what's that you said?"
""i said i'm no more stupid than you are, and what is more, i hope i'm not so stupid.
i know better than to take a nap in broad daylight right under the very nose of farmer brown's boy."
reddy grinned in the most impudent way as he said this.
granny's eyes snapped.
then things happened.
reddy was cuffed this way and cuffed that way and cuffed the other way until it seemed to him that the air was full of black paws, every one of which landed on his head or face with a sting that made him whimper and put his tail between his legs, and finally howl.
""there!"
cried granny, when at last she had to stop because she was quite out of breath.
""perhaps that will teach you to be respectful to your elders.
i was careless and stupid, and i am perfectly ready to admit it, because it has taught me a lesson.
wisdom often is gained through mistakes, but never when one is not willing to admit the mistakes.
no fox lives long who makes the same mistake twice.
and those who are impudent to their elders come to no good end.
i've got a fat goose hidden away for dinner, but you will get none of it."
""i -- i wish i'd never heard of granny's mistake," whined reddy to himself as he crept dinnerless to bed.
""you ought to wish that you had n't been impudent," whispered a small voice down inside him.
chapter xi: after the storm the joys and the sunshine that make us glad; the worries and troubles that makes us sad must come to an end; so why complain of too little sun or too much rain?
-- old granny fox.
the thing to do is to make the most of the sunshine while it lasts, and when it rains to look forward to the corning of the sun again, knowing that conic it surely will.
a dreadful storm was keeping the little people of the green forest, the green meadows, and the old orchard prisoners in their own homes or in such places of shelter as they had been able to find.
but it could n't last forever, and they knew it.
knowing this was all that kept some of them alive.
you see, they were starving.
yes, sir, they were starving.
you and i would be very hungry, very hungry indeed, if we had to go without food for two whole days, but if we were snug and warm it would n't do us any real harm.
with the little wild friends, especially the little feathered folks, it is a very different matter.
you see, they are naturally so active that they have to fill their stomachs very often in order to supply their little bodies with heat and energy.
so when their food supply is wholly cut off, they starve or else freeze to death in a very short time.
a great many little lives are ended this way in every long, hard winter storm.
it was late in the afternoon of the second day when rough brother north wind decided that he had shown his strength and fierceness long enough, and rumbling and grumbling retired from the green meadows and the green forest, blowing the snow clouds away with him.
for just a little while before it was time for him to go to bed behind the purple hills, jolly, round, red mr. sun smiled down on the white land, and never was his smile more welcome.
out from their shelters hurried all the little prisoners, for they must make the most of the short time before the coming of the cold night.
little tommy tit the chickadee was so weak that he could hardly fly, and he shook with chills.
he made straight for the apple-tree where farmer brown's boy always keeps a piece of suet tied to a branch for tommy and his friends.
drummer the woodpecker was there before him.
now it is one of the laws of politeness among the feathered folk that when one is eating from a piece of suet a newcomer shall await his turn.
""dee, dee, dee!"
said tommy tit faintly but cheerfully, for he could n't be other than cheery if he tried.
""dee, dee, dee!
that looks good to me."
""it is good," mumbled drummer, pecking away at the suet greedily.
""come on, tommy tit.
do n't wait for me, for i wo n't be through for a long time.
i'm nearly starved, and i guess you must be."
""i am," confessed tommy, as he flew over beside drummer.
""thank you ever so much for not making me wait."
""do n't mention it," replied drummer, with his mouth full.
""this is no time for politeness.
here comes yank yank the nuthatch.
i guess there is room for him too."
yank yank was promptly invited to join them and did so after apologizing for seeming so greedy.
""if i could n't get my stomach full before night, i certainly should freeze to death before morning," said he.
""what a blessing it is to have all this good food waiting for us.
if i had to hunt for my usual food on the trees, i certainly should have to give up and die.
it took all my strength to get over here.
my, i feel like a new bird already!
here comes sammy jay.
i wonder if he will try to drive us away as he usually does."
sammy did nothing of the kind.
he was very meek and most polite.
""can you make room for a starving fellow to get a bite?"
he asked.
""i would n't ask it but that i could n't last another night without food."
""dee, dee, dee!
always room for one more," replied tommy tit, crowding over to give sammy room.
""was n't that a dreadful storm?"
""worst i ever knew," mumbled sammy.
""i wonder if i ever will be warm again."
until their stomachs were full, not another word was said.
meanwhile chatterer the red squirrel had discovered that the storm was over.
as he floundered through the snow to another apple-tree he saw tommy tit and his friends, and in his heart he rejoiced that they had found food waiting for them.
his own troubles were at an end, for in the tree he was headed for was a store of corn.
chapter xii: granny and reddy fox hunt in vain old mother nature's plans for good quite often are not understood.
-- old granny fox.
tommy tit and drummer the woodpecker and yank yank the nuthatch and sammy jay and chatterer the red squirrel were not the only ones who were out and about as soon as the great storm ended.
oh, my, no!
no, indeed!
everybody who was not sleeping the winter away, or who had not a store of food right at hand, was out.
but not all were so fortunate as tommy tit and his friends in finding a good meal.
peter rabbit and mrs. peter came out of the hole in the heart of the dear old briar-patch, where they had managed to keep comfortably warm, and at once began to fill their stomachs with bark from young trees and tender tips of twigs.
it was very coarse food, but it would take away that empty feeling.
mrs. grouse burst out of the snow and hurried to get a meal before dark.
she had no time to be particular, and so she ate spruce buds.
they were very bitter and not much to her liking, but she was too hungry, and night was too near for her to be fussy.
she was thankful to have that much.
granny fox and reddy were out too.
they did n't need to hurry because, as you know, they could hunt all night, but they were so hungry that they just had to be looking for something to eat.
they knew, of course, that everybody else would be out, and they hoped that some of these little people would be so weak that they could easily be caught.
that seems like a dreadful hope, does n't it?
but one of the first laws of old mother nature is self-preservation.
that means to save your own life first.
so perhaps granny and reddy are not to be blamed for hoping that some of their neighbors might be caught easily because of the great storm.
they were very hungry indeed, and they could not eat bark like peter rabbit, or buds like mrs. grouse, or seeds like whitefoot the woodmouse.
their teeth and stomachs are not made for such food.
it was hard going for granny and reddy fox.
the snow was soft and deep in many places, and they had to keep pretty close to those places where rough brother north wind had blown away enough of the snow to make walking fairly easy.
they soon found that their hope that they would find some of their neighbors too weak to escape was quite in vain.
when jolly, round, red mr. sun dropped clown behind the purple hills to go to bed, their stomachs were quite as empty as when they had started out.
""we'll go down to the old briar-patch.
i do n't believe it will be of much use, but you never can tell until you try.
peter rabbit may take it into his silly head to come outside," said granny, leading the way.
when they reached the dear old briar-patch they found that peter was not outside.
in fact, peering between the brambles and bushes, they could see his little brown form bobbing about as he hunted for tender bark.
he had already made little paths along which he could hop easily.
peter saw them almost as soon as they saw him.
""hard times these," said peter pleasantly.
""i hope your stomachs are not as empty as mine."
he pulled a strip of bark from a young tree and began to chew it.
this was more than reddy could stand.
to see peter eating while his own stomach was just one great big ache from emptiness was too much.
""i'm going in there and catch him, or drive him out where you can catch him, if i tear my coat all to pieces!"
snarled reddy.
peter stopped chewing and sat up.
""come right along, reddy.
come right along if you want to, but i would advise you to save your skin and your coat," said he.
reddy's only reply was a snarl as he pushed his way under the brambles.
he yelped as they tore his coat and scratched his face, but he kept on.
now peter's paths were very cunningly made.
he had cut them through the very thickest of the briars just big enough for himself and mrs. peter to hop along comfortably.
but reddy is so much bigger that he had to force his way through and in places crawl flat on his stomach, which was very slow work, to say nothing of the painful scratches from the briars.
it was no trouble at all for peter to keep out of his way, and before long reddy gave up.
without a word granny fox led the way to the green forest.
they would try to find where mrs. grouse was sleeping under the snow.
but though they hunted all night, they failed to find her, for she wisely had gone to bed in a spruce-tree.
chapter xiii: granny fox admits growing old who will not admit he is older each day fools no one but himself.
-- old granny fox.
old granny fox is a spry old lady for her age.
if you do n't believe it just try to catch her.
but spry as she is, she is n't as spry as she used to be.
no, sir, granny fox is n't as spry as she used to be.
the truth is, granny is getting old.
she never would admit it, and reddy never had realized it until the day after the great storm.
all that night they had hunted in vain for something to eat and at daylight had crept into their house to rest awhile before starting on another hunt.
they had neither the strength nor the courage to search any longer then.
wading through snow is very hard work at best and very tiresome, but when your stomach has been empty for so long that you almost begin to wonder what food tastes like, it becomes harder work still.
you see, it is food that makes strength, and lack of food takes away strength.
this was why granny and reddy fox just had to rest.
hungry as they were, they had to give up for awhile.
reddy flung himself down, and if ever there was a discouraged young fox he was that one.
""i wish i were dead," he moaned.
""tut, tut, tut!"
said granny fox sharply.
""that's no way for a young fox to talk!
i'm ashamed of you.
i am indeed."
then she added more kindly: "i know just how you feel.
just try to forget your empty stomach and rest awhile.
we have had a tiresome, disappointing, discouraging night, but when you are rested things will not look quite so bad.
you know the old saying: "never a road so long is there but it reaches a turn at last; never a cloud that gathers swift but disappears as fast."
you think you could n't possibly feel any worse than you do right now, but you could.
many a time i have had to go hungry longer than this.
after we have rested awhile we will go over to the old pasture.
perhaps we will have better luck there."
so reddy tried to forget the emptiness of his stomach and actually had a nap, for he was very, very tired.
when he awoke he felt better.
""well, granny," said he, "let's start for the old pasture.
the snow has crusted over, and we wo n't find it such hard going as it was last night."
granny arose and followed reddy out to the doorstep.
she walked stiffly.
the truth is, she ached in every one of her old bones.
at least, that is the way it seemed to her.
she looked towards the old pasture.
it seemed very far away.
she sighed wearily.
""i do n't believe i'll go, reddy," said she.
""you run along and luck go with you."
reddy turned and stared at granny suspiciously.
you know his is a very suspicious nature.
could it be that granny had some secret plan of her own to get a meal and wanted to get rid of him?
""what's the matter with you?"
he demanded roughly.
""it was you who proposed going over to the old pasture."
granny smiled.
it was a sad sort of smile.
she is wonderfully sharp and smart, is granny fox, and she knew what was in reddy's mind as well as if he had told her.
""old bones do n't rest and recover as quickly as young bones, and i just do n't feel equal to going over there now," said she.
""the truth is, reddy, i am growing old.
i am going to stay right here and rest.
perhaps then i'll feel able to go hunting to-night.
you trot along now, and if you get more than a stomachful, just remember old granny and bring her a bite."
there was something in the way granny spoke that told reddy she was speaking the truth.
it was the very first time she ever had admitted that she was growing old and was no longer the equal of any fox.
never before had he noticed how gray she had grown.
reddy felt a feeling of shame creep over him, -- shame that he had suspected granny of playing a sharp trick.
and this little feeling of shame was followed instantly by a splendid thought.
he would go out and find food of some kind, and he would bring it straight back to granny.
he had been taken care of by granny when he was little, and now he would repay granny for all she had done for him by taking care of her in her old age.
""go back in the house and lie down, granny," said he kindly.
""i am going to get something, and whatever it may be you shall have your share."
with this he trotted off towards the old pasture and somehow he did n't mind the ache in his stomach as he had before.
chapter xiv: three vain and foolish wishes there's nothing so foolishly silly and vain as to wish for a thing you can never attain.
-- old granny fox.
we all know that, yet most of us are just foolish enough to make such a wish now and then.
i guess you have done it.
i know i have.
peter rabbit has done it often and then laughed at himself afterwards.
i suspect that even shrewd, clever old granny fox has been guilty of it more than once.
so it is not surprising that reddy fox, terribly hungry as he was, should do a little foolish wishing.
when he left home to go to the old pasture, in the hope that he would be able to find something to eat there, he started off bravely.
it was cold, very cold indeed, but his fur coat kept him warm as long as he was moving.
the green meadows were glistening white with snow.
all the world, at least all that part of it with which reddy was acquainted, was white.
it was beautiful, very beautiful, as millions of sparkles flashed in the sun.
but reddy had no thought for beauty; the only thought he had room for was to get something to put in the empty stomachs of himself and granny fox.
jack frost had hardened the snow so that reddy no longer had to wade through it.
he could run on the crust now without breaking through.
this made it much easier, so he trotted along swiftly.
he had intended to go straight to the old pasture, but there suddenly popped into his head a memory of the shelter down in a far corner of the old orchard which farmer brown's boy had built for bob white.
probably the bob white family were there now, and he might surprise them.
he would go there first.
reddy stopped and looked carefully to make sure that farmer brown's boy and bowser the hound were nowhere in sight.
then he ran swiftly towards the old orchard.
just as he entered it he heard a merry voice just over his head: "dee, dee, dee, dee!"
reddy stopped and looked up.
there was tommy tit the chickadee clinging tightly to a big piece of fresh suet tied fast to a branch of a tree, and tommy was stuffing himself.
reddy sat down right underneath that suet and looked up longingly.
the sight of it made his mouth water so that it was almost more than he could stand.
he jumped once.
he jumped twice.
he jumped three times.
but all his jumping was in vain.
that suet was beyond his reach.
there was no possible way of reaching it save by flying or climbing.
reddy's tongue hung out of his mouth with longing.
""i wish i could climb," said reddy.
but he could n't climb, and all the wishing in the world would n't enable him to, as he very well knew.
so after a little he started on.
as he drew near the far corner of the old orchard, he saw bob white and mrs. bob and all the young bobs picking up grain which farmer brown's boy had scattered for them just in front of the shelter he had built for them.
reddy crouched down and very slowly, an inch at a time, he crept forward, his eyes shining with eagerness.
just as he was almost within springing distance, bob white gave a signal, and away flew the bob whites to the safety of a hemlock-tree on the edge of the green forest.
tears of rage and disappointment welled up in reddy's eyes.
""i wish i could fly," he muttered, as he watched the brown birds disappear in the big hemlock-tree.
this was quite as foolish a wish as the other, so reddy trotted on and decided to go down past the smiling pool.
when he got there he found it, as he expected, frozen over.
but just where the laughing brook joins it there was a little place where there was open water.
billy mink was on the ice at its edge, and just as reddy got there billy dived in.
a minute later he climbed out with a fish in his mouth.
""give me a bite," begged reddy.
""catch your own fish," retorted billy mink.
""i have to work hard enough for what i get as it is."
reddy was afraid to go out on the ice where billy was, and so he sat and watched him eat that fine fish.
then billy dived into the water again and disappeared.
reddy waited a long time, but billy did not return.
""i wish i could dive," gulped reddy, thinking of the fine fish somewhere under the ice.
and this wish was quite as foolish as the other wishes.
chapter xv: reddy fights a battle" t is not the foes that are without but those that are within that give us battles that we find the hardest are to win.
-- old granny fox after the last of his three foolish wishes, reddy fox left the smiling pool and headed straight for the old pasture for which he had started in the first place.
he wished now that he had gone straight there.
then he would n't have seen the suet tied out of reach to the branch of a tree in the old orchard; he would n't have seen the bob whites fly away to safety just as he felt almost sure of catching one; he would n't have seen billy mink bring a fine fish out of the water and eat it right before him.
it is bad enough to be starving with no food in sight, but to be as hungry as reddy fox was and to see food just out of reach, to smell it, and not be able to get it is, -- well, it is more than most folks can stand patiently.
so reddy fox was grumbling to himself as he hurried to the old pasture and his heart was very bitter.
it seemed to him that everything was against him.
his neighbors had food, but he had none, not so much as a crumb.
it was unfair.
old mother nature was unjust.
if he could climb he could get food.
if he could fly he could get food.
if he could dive he could get food.
but he could neither climb, fly, nor dive.
he did n't stop to think that old mother nature had given him some of the sharpest wits in all the green forest or on all the green meadows; that she had given him a wonderful nose; that she had given him the keenest of ears; that she had given him speed excelled by few.
he forgot these things and was so busy thinking bitterly of the things he did n't have that he forgot to use his wits and nose and ears when he reached the old pasture.
the result was that he trotted right past old jed thumper, the big gray rabbit, who was sitting behind a little bush holding his breath.
the minute old jed saw that reddy was safely past, he started for his bull-briar castle as fast as he could.
it was not until then that reddy discovered him.
of course, reddy started after him, and this time he made good use of his speed.
but he was too late.
old jed thumper reached his castle with reddy two jumps behind him.
reddy knew now that there was no chance to catch old jed that day, and for a few minutes he felt more bitter than ever.
then all in a flash reddy fox became the shrewd, clever fellow that he really is.
he grinned.
""it's of no use to try to fill an empty stomach on wishes," said he.
""if i had come straight here and minded my own business, i'd have caught old jed thumper.
now i'm going to get some food and i'm not going home until i do."
very wisely reddy put all unpleasant thoughts out of his head and settled down to using his wits and his eyes and his ears and his nose for all they were worth, as old mother nature had intended he should.
all through the old pasture he hunted, taking care not to miss a single place where there was the least chance of finding food.
but it was all in vain.
reddy gulped down his disappointment.
""now for the big river," said he, and started off bravely.
when he reached the edge of the big river, he hurried along the bank until he reached a place where the water seldom freezes.
as he had hoped, he found that it was not frozen now.
it looked so black and cold that it made him shiver just to see it.
back and forth with his nose to the ground he ran.
suddenly he stopped and sniffed.
then he sniffed again.
then he followed his nose straight to the very edge of the big river.
there, floating in the black water, was a dead fish!
by wading in he could get it.
reddy shivered at the touch of the cold water, but what were wet feet compared with such an empty stomach as his?
in a minute he had that fish and was back on the shore.
it was n't a very big fish, but it would stop the ache in his stomach until he could get something more.
with a sigh of pure happiness he sank his teeth into it and then -- well, then he remembered poor old granny fox.
reddy swallowed a mouthful and tried to forget granny.
but he could n't.
he swallowed another mouthful.
poor old granny was back there at home as hungry as he was and too stiff and tired to hunt.
reddy choked.
then he began a battle with himself.
his stomach demanded that fish.
if he ate it, no one would be the wiser.
but granny needed it even more than he did.
for a long time reddy fought with himself.
in the end he picked up the fish and started for home.
chapter xvi: reddy is made truly happy it's what you do for others, not what they do for you, that makes you feel so happy all through and through and through.
-- old granny fox.
reddy fox ran all the way home from the big river just as fast as he could go.
in his mouth he carried the fish he had found and from which he had taken just two bites.
you remember he had had a battle with himself over that fish, and now he was running away from himself.
that sounds funny, does n't it?
but it was true.
yes, sir, reddy fox was running away from himself.
he was afraid that if he did n't get home to old granny fox with that fish very soon, he would eat every last bit of it himself.
so he was running his very hardest so as to get there before this could happen.
so really he was running away from himself, from his selfish self.
old granny fox was on the doorstep watching for him, and he saw just how her hungry old eyes brightened when she saw him and what he had.
""i've brought you something to eat, granny," he panted, as he laid the fish at her feet.
he was quite out of breath with running.
""it is n't much, but it is something.
it is all i could find for you."
granny looked at the fish and then she looked sharply at reddy, and into those keen yellow eyes of hers crept a soft, tender look, such a look as you would never have believed they could have held.
""what have you had to eat?"
asked granny softly.
reddy turned his head that granny might not see his face.
""oh, i've had something," said he, trying to speak lightly.
it was true; he had had two bites from that fish.
now you know just how shrewd and smart and wise granny fox is.
reddy did n't fool her just the least little bit.
she took two small bites from the fish.
""now," said she, "we'll divide it," and she bit in two parts what remained.
in a twinkling she had gulped down the smallest part, for you know she was very, very hungry.
""that is your share," said she, as she pushed what remained over to reddy.
reddy tried to refuse it.
""i brought it all for you," said he.
""i know you did, reddy," replied granny, and it seemed to reddy that he never had known her voice to sound so gentle.
""you brought it to me when all you had had was the two little bites you had taken from it.
you ca n't fool me, reddy fox.
there was n't one good meal for either of us in that fish, but there was enough to give us both a little hope and keep us from starving.
now you mind what i say and eat your share."
granny said this last very sternly.
reddy looked at granny, and then he bolted down that little piece of fish without another word.
""that's better," said granny.
""we will feel better, both of us.
now that i've something in my stomach, i feel two years younger.
before you came, i did n't feel as if i should ever be able to go on another hunt.
if you had n't brought something, i -- i'm afraid i could n't have lasted much longer.
by another day you probably would n't have had old granny to think of.
you may not know it, but i know that you saved my life, reddy.
i had reached a point where i just had to have a little food.
you know there are times when a very little food is of more good than a lot of food could be later.
this was one of those times."
never in all his life had reddy fox felt so truly happy.
he was still hungry, -- very, very hungry.
but he gave it no thought.
he had saved granny fox, good old granny who had taught him all he knew.
and he knew that granny knew how he had had to fight with himself to do it.
reddy was happy through and through with the great happiness that comes from having done something for some one else.
""it was nothing," he muttered.
""it was a very great deal," replied granny.
and then she changed the subject.
""how would you like to eat a dinner of bowser the hound's?"
she asked.
chapter xvii: granny fox promises reddy bowser's dinner to give her children what each needs to get the most from life he can, to work and play and live his best, is wise old mother nature's plan.
-- old granny fox.
old granny fox asked reddy how he would like to eat a dinner of bowser the hound's, reddy looked at her sharply to see if she were joking or really meant what she said.
granny looked so sober and so much in earnest that reddy decided she could n't be joking, even though it did sound that way.
""i certainly would like it, granny.
yes, indeed, i certainly would like it," said he.
""you -- you do n't suppose he will give us one, do you?"
granny chuckled.
""no, reddy," said she.
""bowser is n't so generous as all that, especially to foxes.
he is n't going to give us that dinner; we are going to take it away from him.
yes, sir, we just naturally are going to take it away from, him."
reddy did n't for the life of him see how it could be possible to take a dinner away from bowser the hound.
that seemed to him almost as impossible as it was for him to climb or fly or dive.
but he had great faith in granny's cleverness.
he remembered how she had so nearly caught quacker the duck.
he knew that all the time he had been away trying to find something for them to eat, old granny fox had been doing more than just rest her tired old bones.
he knew that not for one single minute had her sharp wits been idle.
he knew that all that time she had been studying and studying to find some way by which they could get something to eat.
so great was his faith in granny just then that if she had told him she would get him a slice of the moon he would have believed her.
""if you say we can take a dinner away from bowser the hound, i suppose we can," said reddy, "though i do n't see how.
but if we can, let's do it right away.
i'm hungry enough to dare almost anything for the sake of something to put in my stomach.
it is so empty that little bit of fish we divided is shaking around as if it were lost.
gracious, i could eat a million fish the size of that one!
have you thought of fanner brown's hens, granny?"
""of course, reddy!
of course!
what a silly question!"
replied granny.
""we may have to come to them yet."
""i wish i was at them right now," interrupted reddy with a sigh.
""but you know what i have told you," went on granny.
""the surest way of getting into trouble is to steal hens.
i'm not feeling quite up to being chased by bowser the hound just now, and if we came right home we would give away the secret of where we live and might be smoked out, and that would be the end of us.
besides, those hens will be hard to get this weather, because they will stay in their house, and there is no way for us to get in there unless we walk right in, in broad daylight, and that would never do.
it will be a great deal better to take bowser's dinner away from him.
in the first place, if we are careful, no one but bowser will know about it, and as long as he is chained up, we will have nothing to worry about from him.
besides, we will enjoy getting even with him for the times he has spoiled our chances of catching a fat chicken and for the way he has hunted us.
most decidedly it will be better and safer to try for bowser's dinner than to try for one of those hens."
""just as you say, granny; just as you say," returned reddy.
""you know best.
but how under the sun we can do it beats me."
""it is very simple," replied granny, "very simple indeed.
most things are simple enough when you find out how to do them.
neither of us could do it alone, but together we can do it without the least bit of risk.
listen."
granny went close to reddy and whispered to him, although there was n't a soul within hearing.
a slow grin spread over reddy's face as he listened.
when she had finished, he laughed right out.
""granny, you are a wonder!"
he exclaimed admiringly.
""i never should have thought of that.
of course we can do it.
my, wo n't bowser be surprised!
and how mad he'll be!
come on, let's be starting!"
""all right," said granny, and the two started towards farmer brown's.
chapter xviii: why bowser the hound did n't eat his dinner the thing you've puzzled most about is simple once you've found it out.
-- old granny fox.
bowser the hound dearly loves to hunt just for the pleasure of the chase.
it is n't so much the desire to kill as it is the pleasure of using that wonderful nose of his and the excitement of trying to catch some one, especially granny or reddy fox.
farmer brown's boy had put away his dreadful gun because he no longer wanted to kill the little people of the green forest and the green meadows, but rather to make them his friends.
bowser had missed the exciting hunts he used to enjoy so much with farmer brown's boy.
so bowser had formed the habit of slipping away alone for a hunt every once in a while.
when farmer brown's boy discovered this, he got a chain and chained bowser to his little house to keep him from running away and hunting on the sly.
of course bowser was n't kept chained all the time.
oh, my, no!
when his master was about, where he could keep an eye on bowser, he would let him go free.
but whenever he was going away and did n't want to take bowser with him, he would chain bowser up.
now bowser always had one good big meal a day.
to be sure, he had scraps or a bone now and then besides, but once a day he had one good big meal served to him in a large tin pan.
if he happened to be chained, it was brought out to him.
if not, it was given to him just outside the kitchen door.
granny fox knew all about this.
sly old granny makes it her business to know the affairs of other people around her because there is no telling when such knowledge may be of use to her.
so granny had watched bowser the hound when he and his master had no idea at all that she was anywhere about, and she had found out his ways, the usual hour for his dinner and just how far that chain would allow him to go.
it was such things which she had stored away in that shrewd old head of hers that made her so sure she and reddy could take bowser's dinner away from him.
it was just about bowser's dinner-time when granny and reddy trotted across the snow-covered fields and crept behind the barn until they could peep around the corner.
no one was in sight, not even bowser, who was inside his warm little house at the end of the long shed back of farmer brown's house.
granny saw that he was chained and a sly grin crept over her face.
""you stay right here and watch until his dinner is brought out to him," said she to reddy.
""as soon as whoever brings it has gone back to the house you walk right out where bowser will see you.
at the sight of you, he'll forget all about his dinner.
sit right down where he can see you and stay there until you see that i have got that dinner, or until you hear somebody coming, for you know bowser will make a great racket.
then slip around back of the barn and join me back of that shed."
so reddy sat down to watch, and granny left him.
by and by mrs. brown came out of the house with a pan full of good things.
she put it down in front of bowser's little house and called to him.
then she turned and hurried back, for it was very cold.
bowser came out of his little house, yawned and stretched lazily.
it was time for reddy to do his part.
out he walked and sat down right in front of bowser and grinned at him.
bowser stared for a minute as if he doubted his own eyes.
such impudence!
bowser growled.
then with a yelp he sprang towards reddy.
now the chain that held him was long, but reddy had taken care not to get too near, and of course bowser could n't reach him.
he tugged with all his might and yelped and barked frantically, but reddy just sat there and grinned in the most provoking manner.
it was great fun to tease bowser this way.
meanwhile old granny fox had stolen out from around the corner of the shed behind bowser.
getting hold of the edge of the pan with her teeth she pulled it back with her around the corner and out of sight.
if she made any noise, bowser did n't hear it.
he was making too much noise himself and was too excited.
presently reddy heard the sound of an opening door.
mrs. brown was coming to see what all the fuss was about.
like a flash reddy darted behind the barn, and all mrs. brown saw was bowser tugging at his chain as he whined and yelped excitedly.
""i guess he must have seen a stray cat or something," said mrs. brown and went back in the house.
bowser continued to whine and tug at his chain for a few minutes.
then he gave it up and, growling deep in his throat, turned to eat his dinner.
but there was n't any dinner!
it had disappeared, pan and all!
bowser could n't understand it at all.
back of the shed granny and reddy fox licked that pan clean; licked it until it was polished.
then, with little sighs of satisfaction, and every once in a while a chuckle, they trotted happily home.
chapter xix: old man coyote does a little thinking investigate and for yourself find out those things which most you want to know about.
-- old granny fox.
never in all his life had reddy fox enjoyed a dinner more than that one he and granny had stolen from bowser the hound.
of course it would have tasted delicious anyway, because they were so dreadfully hungry, but to reddy it tasted better still because it had been intended for bowser.
bowser has hunted reddy so often that reddy has no love for him at all, and it tickled him almost to death to think that they had taken his dinner from almost under his nose.
with that good dinner in their stomachs, reddy and granny fox felt so much better that the great world no longer seemed such a cold and cruel place.
funny how differently things look when your stomach is full from the way those same things look when it is empty.
best of all they knew they could play the same sharp trick again and steal another dinner from bowser if need be.
it is a comforting feeling, a very comforting feeling, to know for a certainty where you can get another meal.
it is a feeling that granny and reddy fox and many other little people of the green meadows and the green forest seldom have in winter.
as a rule, when they have eaten one meal, they have n't the least idea where the next one is coming from.
how would you like to live that way?
the very next day granny and reddy went up to farmer brown's at bowser's dinner hour.
but this time farmer brown's boy was at work near the barn, and bowser was not chained.
granny and reddy stole away as silently as they had come.
on the day following they found bowser chained and stole another dinner from him; then they went away laughing until their sides ached as they heard bowser's whines of surprise and disappointment when he discovered that his dinner had vanished.
they knew by the sound of his voice that he had n't the least idea what had become of that dinner.
now there was some one else roaming over the snow-covered meadows and through the green forest and the old pasture these days with a stomach so lean and empty that he could n't think of anything else.
it was old man coyote.
you know he is very clever, is old man coyote, and he managed to find enough food of one kind and another to keep him alive, but never enough to give him that comfortable feeling of a full stomach.
while he was n't actually starving, he was always hungry.
so he spent all the time when he was n't sleeping in hunting for something to eat.
of course he often ran across the tracks of granny and reddy fox, and once in a while he would meet them.
it struck old man coyote that they did n't seem as thin as he was.
that set him to thinking.
neither of them was a smarter hunter than he.
in fact, he prided himself on being smarter than either of them.
yet when he met them, they seemed to be in the best of spirits and not at all worried because food was so scarce.
why?
there must be a reason.
they must be getting food of which he knew nothing.
""i'll just keep an eye on them," muttered old man coyote.
so very slyly and cleverly old man coyote followed granny and reddy fox, taking the greatest care that they should not suspect that he was doing it.
all one night he followed them through the green forest and over the green meadows, and when at last he saw them go home, appearing not at all worried because they had caught nothing, he trotted off to his own home to do some more thinking.
""they are getting food somewhere, that is sure," he muttered, as he scratched first one ear and then the other.
somehow he could think better when he was scratching his ears.
""if they do n't get it in the night, and they certainly did n't get anything this night, they must get it in the daytime.
i've done considerable hunting myself in the daytime, and i have n't once met them in the green forest or seen them on the green meadows or up in the old pasture.
i wonder if they are stealing farmer brown's hens and have n't been found out yet.
i've kept away from there myself, but if they can steal hens and not be caught, i certainly can.
there never was a fox yet smart enough to do a thing that a coyote can not do if he tries.
i think i'll slip up where i can watch farmer brown's and see what is going on up there.
yes, sir, that's what i'll do."
with this, old man coyote grinned and then curled himself up for a short nap, for he was tired.
chapter xx: a twice stolen dinner no one ever is so smart that some one else may not prove to be smarter still.
-- old granny fox.
listen and you shall hear all about three rogues.
two were in red and were granny and reddy fox.
and one was in gray and was old man coyote.
they were the slyest, smartest rogues on all the green meadows or in all the green forest.
all three had started out to steal the same dinner, but the funny part is they did n't intend to steal it from the same person.
and still funnier is it that one of them did n't even know where that dinner was or what kind of a dinner it would be.
true to his resolve to know what granny and reddy fox were getting to eat, and where they were getting it, old man coyote hid where he could see what was going on about farmer brown's, for it was there he felt sure that granny and reddy were getting food.
he had waited only a little while when along came granny and reddy fox past the place where old man coyote was hiding.
they did n't see him.
of course not.
he took care that they should have no chance.
but anyway, they were not thinking of him.
their thoughts were all of that dinner they intended to have, and the smart trick by which they would get it.
so with their thoughts all on that dinner they slipped up behind the barn and prepared to work the trick which had been so successful before.
old man coyote crept after them.
he saw reddy fox lie down where he could peep around the corner of the barn to watch bowser the hound and to see that no one else was about.
he saw granny leave reddy there and hurry away.
old man coyote's wits worked fast.
""i ca n't be in two places at once," thought he, "so i ca n't watch both granny and reddy.
as i can watch but one, which one shall it be?
granny, of course.
granny is the smartest of the two, and whatever they are up to, she is at the bottom of it.
granny is the one to follow."
so, like a gray shadow, crafty old man coyote stole after granny fox and saw her hide behind the corner of the shed at the end of which was the little house of bowser the hound.
he crept as near as he dared and then lay flat down behind a little bunch of dead grass close to the shed.
for some time nothing happened, and old man coyote was puzzled.
every once in a while granny fox would look behind and all about to be sure that no danger was near, but she did n't see old man coyote.
after what seemed to him a long time, he heard a door open on the other side of the shed.
it was mrs. brown carrying bowser's dinner out to him.
of course, old man coyote did n't know this.
he knew by the sounds that some one had come out of the house, and it made him nervous.
he did n't like being so close to farmer brown's house in broad daylight.
but he kept his eyes on granny fox, and he saw her ears prick up in a way that he knew meant that those sounds were just what she had been waiting for.
""if she is n't afraid, i do n't need to be," thought he craftily.
after a few minutes he heard a door close and knew that whoever had come out had gone back into the house.
almost at once bowser the hound began to yelp and whine.
swiftly granny fox disappeared around the corner of the shed.
just as swiftly old man coyote ran forward and peeped around the corner.
there was bowser the hound tugging at his chain, and just beyond his reach was reddy fox, grinning in the most provoking manner.
and there was granny fox, backing and dragging after her bowser's dinner.
in a flash old man coyote understood the plan, and he almost chuckled aloud at the cleverness of it.
then he hastily backed behind the shed and waited.
in a minute granny fox appeared, dragging bowser's dinner.
she was so intent on getting that dinner that she almost backed into old man coyote without suspecting that he was anywhere about.
""thank you, granny.
you need n't bother about it any longer; i'll take it now," growled old man coyote in granny's ear.
granny let go of that dinner as if it burned her tongue, and with a frightened little yelp leaped to one side.
a minute later reddy came racing around from behind the barn eager for his share.
what he saw was old man coyote bolting down that twice-stolen dinner while granny fox fairly danced with rage.
chapter xxi: granny and reddy talk things over.
you'll find as on through life you go the thing you want may prove to be the very thing you should n't have.
then seeming loss is gain, you see.
-- old granny fox.
if ever two folks were mad away through, those two were granny and reddy fox as they watched old man coyote gobble up the dinner they had so cleverly stolen from bowser the hound.
it was bad enough to lose the dinner, but it was worse to see some one else eat it after they had worked so hard to get it.
""robber!"
snarled granny.
old man coyote stopped eating long enough to grin.
""thief!
sneak!
coward!"
snarled reddy.
once more old man coyote grinned.
when that dinner had disappeared down his throat to the last and smallest crumb, he licked his chops and turned to granny and reddy.
""i'm very much obliged for that dinner," said he pleasantly, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
""it was the best dinner i have had for a long time.
allow me to say that that trick of yours was as smart a trick as ever i have seen.
it was quite worthy of a coyote.
you are a very clever old lady, granny fox.
now i hear some one coming, and i would suggest that it will be better for all concerned if we are not seen about here."
he darted off behind the barn like a gray streak, and granny and reddy followed, for it was true that some one was coming.
you see bowser the hound had discovered that something was going on around the corner of the shed, and he made such a racket that mrs. brown had come out of the house to see what it was all about.
by the time she got around there, all she saw was the empty pan which had held bowser's dinner.
she was puzzled.
how that pan could be where it was she could n't understand, and bowser could n't tell her, although he tried his very best.
she had been puzzled about that pan two or three times before.
old man coyote lost no time in getting back home, for he never felt easy near the home of man in broad daylight.
granny and reddy fox went home too, and there was hate in their hearts, -- hate for old man coyote.
but once they reached home, old granny fox stopped growling, and presently she began to chuckle.
""what are you laughing at?"
demanded reddy.
""at the way old man coyote stole that dinner from us," replied granny.
""i hate him!
he's a sneaking robber!"
snapped reddy.
""tut, tut, reddy!
tut, tut!"
retorted granny.
""be fair-minded.
we stole that dinner from bowser the hound, and old man coyote stole it from us.
i guess he is no worse than we are, when you come to think it over.
now is he?"
""i -- i -- well, i do n't suppose he is, when you put it that way," reddy admitted grudgingly.
""and he was smart, very smart, to outwit two such clever people as we are," continued granny.
""you will have to agree to that."
""y-e-s," said reddy slowly.
""he was smart enough, but --" "there is n't any but, reddy," interrupted granny.
""you know the law of the green meadows and the green forest.
it is everybody for himself, and anything belongs to one who has the wit or the strength to take it.
we had the wit to take that dinner from bowser the hound, and old man coyote had the wit to take it from us and the strength to keep it.
it was all fair enough, and you know there is n't the least use in crying over spilled milk, as the saying is.
we simply have got to be smart enough not to let him fool us again.
i guess we wo n't get any more of bowser's dinners for a while.
we've got to think of some other way of filling our stomachs when the hunting is poor.
i think if i could have just one of those fat hens of farmer brown's, it would put new strength into my old bones.
all summer i warned you to keep away from that henyard, but the time has come now when i think we might try for a couple of those hens."
reddy pricked up his ears at the mention of fat hens.
""i think so too," said he.
""when shall we try for one?"
""to-morrow morning," replied granny.
""now do n't bother me while i think out a plan."
chapter xxii: granny fox plans to get a fat hen full half success for fox or man is won by working out a plan.
-- old granny fox.
granny fox knows this.
no one knows it better.
whatever she does is first carefully planned in her wise old head.
so now after she had decided that she and reddy would try for one of farmer brown's fat hens, she lay down to think out a plan to get that fat hen.
no one knew better than she how foolish it would be to go over to that henyard and just trust to luck for a chance to catch one of those biddies.
of course, they might be lucky and get a hen that way, but then again they might be unlucky and get in a peck of trouble.
""you see," said she to reddy, "we must not only plan how to get that fat hen, but we must also plan how to get away with it safely.
if only there was some way of getting in that henhouse at night, there would be no trouble at all.
i do n't suppose there is the least chance of that."
""not the least chance in the world," replied reddy.
""there is n't a hole anywhere big enough for even shadow the weasel to get through, and farmer brown's boy is very careful to lock the door every night."
""there's a little hole that the hens go in and out of during the day, which is big enough for one of us to slip through, i believe," said granny thoughtfully.
""sure!
but it's always closed at night," snapped reddy.
""besides, to get to that or the door either, you have got to get inside the henyard, and there's a gate to that which we ca n't open."
""people are sometimes careless, -- even you, reddy," said granny.
reddy squirmed uneasily, for he had been in trouble many times through carelessness.
""well, what of it?"
he demanded a wee bit crossly.
""nothing much, only if that hen-yard gate should happen to be left open, and if farmer brown's boy should happen to forget to close that little hole that the hens go through, and if we happened to be around at just that time --" "too many ifs to get a dinner with," interrupted reddy.
""perhaps," replied granny mildly, "but i've noticed that it is the one who has an eye open for all the little ifs in life that fares the best.
now i've kept an eye on that henyard, and i've noticed that very often farmer brown's boy does n't close the henyard gate at night.
i suppose he thinks that if the henhouse door is locked, the gate does n't matter.
any one who is careless about one thing, is likely to be careless about another.
sometime he may forget to close that hole.
i told you that we would try for one of those hens to-morrow morning, but the more i think about it, the more i think it will be wiser to visit that henhouse a few nights before we run the risk of trying to catch a hen in broad daylight.
in fact, i am pretty sure i can make farmer brown's boy forget to close that gate."
""how?"
demanded reddy eagerly.
granny grinned.
""i'll try it first and tell you afterwards," said she.
""i believe farmer brown's boy closes the henhouse up just before jolly, round, red mr. sun goes to bed behind the purple hills, does n't he?"
reddy nodded.
many times from a safe hiding-place he had hungrily watched farmer brown's boy shut the biddies up.
it was always just before the black shadows began to creep out from their hiding-places.
""i thought so," said granny.
the truth is, she knew so.
there was nothing about that henhouse and what went on there that granny did n't know quite as well as reddy.
""you stay right here this afternoon until i return.
i'll see what i can do."
""let me go along," begged reddy.
""no," replied granny in such a decided tone that reddy knew it would be of no use to tease.
""sometimes two can do what one can not do alone, and sometimes one can do what two might spoil.
now we may as well take a nap until it is time for mr. sun to go to bed.
just you leave it to your old granny to take care of the first of those ifs.
for the other one we'll have to trust to luck, but you know we are lucky sometimes."
with this granny curled up for a nap, and having nothing better to do, reddy followed her example.
chapter xxiii: farmer brown's boy forgets to close the gate how easy" t is to just forget until, alas, it is too late.
the most methodical of folks sometimes forget to shut the gate.
-- old granny fox.
farmer brown's boy is not usually the forgetful kind.
he is pretty good about not forgetting.
but farmer brown's boy is n't perfect by any means.
he does forget sometimes, and he is careless sometimes.
he would be a funny kind of boy otherwise.
but take it day in and day out, he is pretty thoughtful and careful.
the care of the hens is one of farmer brown's boy's duties.
it is one of those duties which most of the time is a pleasure.
he likes the biddies, and he likes to take care of them.
every morning one of the first things he does is to feed them and open the henhouse so that they can run in the henyard if they want to.
every night he goes out just before dark, collects the eggs and locks the henhouse so that no harm can come to the biddies while they are asleep on their roosts.
after the big snowstorm he had shovelled a place in the henyard where the hens could come out and exercise and get a sun-bath when they wanted to, and in the very warmest part of the clay they would do this.
always in the daytime he took the greatest care to see that the henyard gate was fastened, for no one knew better than he how bold granny and reddy fox can be when they are very hungry, and in winter they are very apt to be very hungry most of the time.
so he did n't intend to give them a chance to slip into that henyard while the biddies were out, or to give the biddies a chance to stray outside where they might be still more easily caught.
but at night he sometimes left that gate open, as granny fox had found out.
you see, he thought it did n't matter because the hens were locked in their warm house and so were safe, anyway.
it was just at dusk of the afternoon of the day when granny and reddy fox had talked over a plan to get one of those fat hens that farmer brown's boy collected the eggs and saw to it that the biddies had gone to roost for the night.
he had just started to close the little sliding door across the hole through which the hens went in and out in the daytime when bowser the hound began to make a great racket, as if terribly excited about something.
farmer brown's boy gave the little sliding door a hasty push, picked up his basket of eggs, locked the henhouse door and hurried out through the gate without stopping to close it.
you see, he was in a hurry to find out what bowser was making such a fuss about.
bowser was yelping and whining and tugging at his chain, and it was plain to see that he was terribly eager to be set free.
""what is it, bowser, old boy?
did you see something?"
asked farmer brown's boy as he patted bowser on the head.
""i ca n't let you go, you know, because you probably would go off hunting all night and come home in the morning all tired out and with sore feet.
whatever it was, i guess you've scared it out of a year's growth, old fellow, so we'll let it go at that."
bowser still tugged at his chain and whined, but after a little he quieted down.
his master looked around behind the barn to see if he could see what had so stirred up bowser, but nothing was to be seen, and he returned, patted bowser once more, and went into the house, never once giving that open henyard gate another thought.
half an hour later old granny fox joined reddy fox, who was waiting on the doorstep of their home.
""it is all right, reddy; that gate is open," said she.
""how did you do it, granny?"
asked reddy eagerly.
""easily enough," replied granny.
""i let bowser get a glimpse of me just as his master was locking up the henhouse.
bowser made a great fuss, and of course, farmer brown's boy hurried out to see what it was all about.
he was in too much of a hurry to close that gate, and afterwards he forgot all about it or else he thought it did n't matter.
of course, i did n't let him get so much as a glimpse of me."
""of course," said reddy.
chapter xxiv: a midnight visit by those who win" t is well agreed he'll try and try who would succeed.
-- old granny fox.
it seemed to reddy fox as if time never had dragged so slowly as it did this particular night while he and granny fox waited until granny thought it safe to visit farmer brown's henhouse and see if by any chance there was a way of getting into it.
reddy tried not to hope too much.
granny had found a way to get the gate to the henyard left open, but this would do them no good unless there was some way of getting into the house, and this he very much doubted.
but if there was a way he wanted to know it, and he was impatient to start.
but granny was in no hurry.
not that she was n't just as hungry for a fat hen as was reddy, but she was too wise and clever and altogether too sly to run any risks.
""there is nothing gained by being in too much of a hurry, reddy," said she, "and often a great deal is lost in that way.
a fat hen will taste just as good a little later as it would now, and it will be foolish to go up to farmer brown's until we are sure that everybody up there is asleep.
but to ease your mind, i'll tell you what we will do; we'll go where we can see farmer brown's house and watch until the last light winks out."
so they trotted to a point where they could see farmer brown's house, and there they sat down to watch.
it seemed to reddy that those lights never would wink out.
but at last they did.
""come on, granny!"
he cried, jumping to his feet.
""not yet, reddy.
not yet," replied granny.
""we've got to give folks time to get sound asleep.
if we should get into that henhouse, those hens might make a racket, and if anything like that is going to happen, we want to be sure that farmer brown and farmer brown's boy are asleep."
this was sound advice, and reddy knew it.
so with a groan he once more threw himself down on the snow to wait.
at last granny arose, stretched, and looked up at the twinkling stars.
""come on," said she and led the way.
up back of the barn and around it they stole like two shadows and quite as noiselessly as shadows.
they heard bowser the hound sighing in his sleep in his snug little house, and grinned at each other.
silently they stole over to the henyard.
the gate was open, just as granny had told reddy it would be.
across the henyard they trotted swiftly, straight to where more than once in the daytime they had seen the hens come out of the house through a little hole.
it was closed.
reddy had expected it would be.
still, he was dreadfully disappointed.
he gave it merely a glance.
""i knew it would n't be any use," said he with a half whine.
but granny paid no attention to him.
she went close to the hole and pushed gently against the little door that closed it.
it did n't move.
then she noticed that at one edge there was a tiny crack.
she tried to push her nose through, but the crack was too narrow.
then she tried a paw.
a claw caught on the edge of the door, and it moved ever so little.
then granny knew that the little door was n't fastened.
granny stretched herself flat on the ground and went to work, first with one paw, then with the other.
by and by she caught her claws in it just right again, and it moved a wee bit more.
no, most certainly that door was n't fastened, and that crack was a little wider.
""what are you wasting your time there for?"
demanded reddy crossly.
""we'd better be off hunting if we would have anything to eat this night."
granny said nothing but kept on working.
she had discovered that this was a sliding door.
presently the crack was wide enough for her to get her nose in.
then she pushed and twisted her head this way and that.
the little door slowly slid back, and when reddy turned to speak to her again, for he had had his back to her, she was nowhere to be seen.
reddy just gaped and gaped foolishly.
there was no granny fox, but there was a black hole where she had been working, and from it came the most delicious smell, -- the smell of fat hens!
it seemed to reddy that his stomach fairly flopped over with longing.
he rubbed his eyes to be sure that he was awake.
then in a twinkling he was inside that hole himself.
""sh-h-h, be still!"
whispered old granny fox.
chapter xxv: a dinner for two dark deeds are done in the stilly night, and who shall say if they're wrong or right?
-- old granny fox.
it all depends on how you look at things.
of course, granny and reddy fox had no business to be in farmer brown's henhouse in the middle of the night, or at any other time, for that matter.
that is, they had no business to be there, as farmer brown would look at the matter.
he would have called them two red thieves.
perhaps that is just what they were.
but looking at the matter as they did, i am not so sure about it.
to granny and reddy fox those hens were simply big, rather stupid birds, splendid eating if they could be caught, and bound to be eaten by somebody.
the fact that they were in farmer brown's henhouse did n't make them his any more than the fact that mrs. grouse was in a part of the green forest owned by farmer brown made her his.
you see, among the little meadow and forest people there is no such thing as property rights, excepting in the matter of storehouses, and because these hens were alive, it did n't occur to granny and reddy that the henhouse was a sort of storehouse.
it would have made no difference if it had.
among the little people it is considered quite right to help yourself from another's storehouse if you are smart enough to find it and really need the food.
besides, reddy and granny knew that fanner brown and his boy would eat some of those hens themselves, and they did n't begin to need them as reddy and granny did.
so as they looked at the matter, there was nothing wrong in being in that henhouse in the middle of the night.
they were there simply because they needed food very, very much, and food was there.
they stared up at the roosts where the biddies were huddled together, fast asleep.
they were too high up to be reached from the floor even when reddy and granny stood on their hind legs and stretched as far as they could.
""we've got to wake them up and scare them so that some of the silly things will fly down where we can catch them," said reddy, licking his lips hungrily.
""that wo n't do at all!"
snapped granny.
""they would make a great racket and waken bowser the hound, and he would waken his master, and that is just what we must n't do if we hope to ever get in here again.
i thought you had more sense, reddy."
reddy looked a little shamefaced.
""well, if we do n't do that, how are we going to get them?
we ca n't fly," he grumbled.
""you stay right here where you are," snapped granny, "and take care that you do n't make a sound."
then granny jumped lightly to a little shelf that ran along in front of the nesting boxes.
from this she could reach the lower roost on which four fat hens were asleep.
very gently she pushed her head in between two of these and crowded them apart.
sleepily they protested and moved along a little.
granny continued to crowd them.
at last one of them stretched out her head to see who was crowding so.
like a flash granny seized that head, and biddy never knew what had wakened her, nor did she have a chance to waken the others.
dropping this hen at reddy's feet, granny crowded another until she did the same thing, and just the same thing happened once more.
then granny jumped lightly down, picked up one of the hens by the neck, slung the body over her shoulder, and told reddy to do the same with the other and start for home.
""are n't you going to get any more while we have the chance?"
grumbled reddy.
""enough is enough," retorted granny.
""we've got a dinner for two, and so far no one is any the wiser.
perhaps these two wo n't be missed, and we'll have a chance to get some more another night.
now come on."
this was plain common sense, and reddy knew it, so without another word he followed old granny fox out by the way they had entered, and then home to the best dinner he had had for a long long time.
chapter xxvi: farmer brown's boy sets a trap the trouble is that troubles are, more frequently than not, brought on by naught but carelessness; by some one who forgot.
-- old granny fox.
granny fox had hoped that those two hens she and reddy had stolen from farmer brown's henhouse would not be missed, but they were.
they were missed the very first thing the next morning when farmer brown's boy went to feed the biddies.
he discovered right away that the little sliding door which should have closed the opening through which the hens went in and out of the house was open, and then he remembered that he had left the henyard gate open the night before.
carefully farmer brown's boy examined the hole with the sliding door.
""ha!"
said he presently, and held up two red hairs which he had found on the edge of the door.
""ha!
i thought as much.
i was careless last night and did n't fasten this door, and i left the gate open.
reddy fox has been here, and now i know what has become of those two hens.
i suppose it serves me right for my carelessness, and i suppose if the truth were known, those hens were of more real good to him than they ever could have been to me, because the poor fellow must be having pretty hard work to get a living these hard winter days.
still, i ca n't have him stealing any more.
that would never do at all.
if i shut them up every night and am not careless, he ca n't get them.
but accidents will happen, and i might do just as i did last night -- think i had locked up when i had n't.
i do n't like to set a trap for reddy, but i must teach the rascal a lesson.
if i do n't, he will get so bold that those chickens wo n't be safe even in broad daylight."
now at just that very time over in their home, granny and reddy fox were talking over plans for the future, and shrewd old granny was pointing out to reddy how necessary it was that they should keep away from that henyard for some time.
""we've had a good dinner, a splendid dinner, and if we are smart enough we may be able to get more good dinners where this one came from," said she.
""but we certainly wo n't if we are too greedy."
""but i do n't believe farmer brown's boy has missed those two chickens, and i do n't see any reason at all why we should n't go back there to-night and get two more if he is stupid enough to leave that gate and little door open," whined reddy.
""maybe he has n't missed those two, but if we should take two more he certainly would miss them, and he would guess what had become of them, and that might get us into no end of trouble," snapped granny.
""we are not starving now, and the best thing for us to do is to keep away from that henhouse until we ca n't get anything to eat anywhere else, now you mind what i tell you, reddy, and do n't you dare go near there."
reddy promised, and so it came about that farmer brown's boy hunted up a trap all for nothing so far as reddy and granny were concerned.
very carefully he bound strips of cloth around the jaws of the trap, for he could n't bear to think of those cruel jaws cutting into the leg of reddy, should he happen to get caught.
you see, farmer brown's boy did n't intend to kill reddy if he should catch him, but to make him a prisoner for a while and so keep him out of mischief.
that night he hid the trap very cunningly just inside the henhouse where any one creeping through that little hole made for the hens to go in and out would be sure to step in it.
then he purposely left the little sliding door open part way as if it had been forgotten, and he also left the henyard gate open just as he had done the night before.
""there now, master reddy," said he, talking to himself, "i rather think that you are going to get into trouble before morning."
and doubtless reddy would have done just that thing but for the wisdom of sly old granny.
chapter xxvii: prickly porky takes a sun bath danger comes when least expected;" t is often near when not expected.
-- old granny fox.
the long hard winter had passed, and spring had come.
prickly porky the porcupine came down from a tall poplar-tree and slowly stretched himself.
he was tired of eating.
he was tired of swinging in the tree-top.
""i believe i'll have a sun-bath," said prickly porky, and lazily walked toward the edge of the green forest in search of a place where the sun lay warm and bright.
now prickly porky's stomach was very, very full.
he was fat and naturally lazy, so when he came to the doorstep of an old house just on the edge of the green forest he sat down to rest.
it was sunny and warm there, and the longer he sat the less like moving he felt.
he looked about him with his dull eyes and grunted to himself.
""it's a deserted house.
nobody lives here, and i guess nobody'll care if i take a nap right here on the doorstep," said prickly porky to himself.
""and i do n't care if they do," he added, for prickly porky the porcupine was afraid of nobody and nothing.
so prickly porky made himself as comfortable as possible, yawned once or twice, tried to wink at jolly, round, red mr. sun, who was winking and smiling down at him and then fell fast asleep right on the doorstep of the old house.
now the old house had been deserted.
no one had lived in it for a long, long time, a very long time indeed.
but it happened that, the night before, old granny fox and reddy fox had had to move out of their nice home on the edge of the green meadows because farmer brown's boy had found it.
reddy was very stiff and sore, for he had been shot by a hunter.
he was so sore he could hardly walk, and could not go very far.
so old granny fox had led him to the old deserted house and put him to bed in that.
""no one will think of looking for us here, for every one knows that no one lives here," said old granny fox, as she made reddy as comfortable as possible.
as soon as it was daylight, granny fox slipped out to watch for farmer brown's boy, for she felt sure that he would come back to the house they had left, and sure enough he did.
he brought a spade and dug the house open, and all the time old granny fox was watching him from behind a fence corner and laughing to think that she had been smart enough to move in the night.
but reddy fox did n't know anything about this.
he was so tired that he slept and slept and slept.
it was the middle of the morning when finally he awoke.
he yawned and stretched, and when he stretched he groaned because he was so stiff and sore.
then he hobbled up toward the doorway to see if old granny fox had left any breakfast outside for him.
it was dark, very dark.
reddy was puzzled.
could it be that he had gotten up before daylight -- that he had n't slept as long as he thought?
perhaps he had slept the whole day through, and it was night again.
my, how hungry he was!
""i hope granny has caught a fine, fat chicken for me," thought reddy, and his mouth watered.
just then he ran bump into something.
""wow!"
screamed reddy fox, and clapped both hands to his nose.
something was sticking into it.
it was one of the sharp little spears that prickly porky hides in his coat.
reddy fox knew then why the old house was so dark.
prickly porky was blocking up the doorway.
chapter xxviii: prickly porky enjoys himself a boasting tongue, as sure as fate, will trip its owner soon or late.
-- old granny fox.
prickly porky the porcupine was enjoying himself.
there was no doubt about that.
he was stretched across the doorway of that old house, the very house in which old granny fox had been born.
when he had lain down on the doorstep for a nap and sun-bath, he had thought that the old house was still deserted.
then he had fallen asleep, only to be wakened by reddy fox, who bad been asleep in the old house and who could n't get out because prickly porky was in the way.
now prickly porky does not love reddy fox, and the more reddy begged and scolded and called him names, the more prickly porky chuckled.
it was such a good joke to think that he had trapped reddy fox, and he made up his mind that he would keep reddy in there a long time just to tease him and make him uncomfortable.
you see prickly porky remembered how often reddy fox played mean tricks on little meadow and forest folks who are smaller and weaker than himself.
""it will do him good.
it certainly will do him good," said prickly porky, and rattled the thousand little spears hidden in his long coat, for he knew that the very sound of them would make reddy fox shiver with fright.
suddenly prickly porky pricked up his funny little short ears.
he heard the deep voice of bowser the hound, and it was coming nearer and nearer.
prickly porky chuckled again.
""i guess mr. bowser is going to have a surprise; i certainly think he is," said prickly porky as he made all the thousand little spears stand out from his long coat till he looked like a funny great chestnut burr.
bowser the hound did have a surprise.
he was hunting reddy fox, and he almost ran into prickly porky before he saw him.
the very sight of those thousand little spears sent little cold chills chasing each other down bowser's backbone clear to the tip of his tail, for he remembered how he had gotten some of them in his lips and mouth once upon a time, and how it had hurt to have them pulled out.
ever since then he had had the greatest respect for prickly porky.
""wow!"
yelped bowser the hound, stopping short.
""i beg your pardon, prickly porky, i beg your pardon, i did n't know you were taking a nap here."
all the time bowser the hound was backing away as fast as he could.
then he turned around, put his tail between his legs and actually ran away.
slowly prickly porky unrolled, and his little eyes twinkled as he watched bowser the hound run away.
""bowser's very big and strong; his voice is deep; his legs are long; his bark scares some almost to death.
but as for me he wastes his breath; i just roll up and shake my spears and bowser is the one who fears."
so said prickly porky, and laughed aloud.
just then he heard a light footstep and turned to see who was coming.
it was old granny fox.
she had seen bowser run away, and now she was anxious to find out if reddy fox were safe.
""good morning," said granny fox, taking care not to come too near.
""good morning," replied prickly porky, hiding a smile.
""i'm very tired and would like to go inside my house; had you just as soon move?"
asked granny fox.
""oh!"
exclaimed prickly porky, "is this your house?
i thought you lived over on the green meadows."
""i did, but i've moved.
please let me in," replied granny fox.
""certainly, certainly.
do n't mind me, granny fox.
step right over me," said prickly porky, and smiled once more, and at the same time rattled his little spears.
instead of stepping over him, granny fox backed away.
chapter xxix: the new home in the old pasture who keeps a watch upon his toes need never fear he'll bump his nose.
-- old granny fox.
now there is nothing like being shut in alone in the dark to make one think.
a voice inside of reddy began to whisper to him.
""if you had n't tried to be smart and show off you would n't have brought all this trouble on yourself and old granny fox," said the voice.
""i know it," replied reddy right out loud, forgetting that it was only a small voice inside of him.
""what do you know?"
asked prickly porky.
he was still keeping reddy in and granny out and he had overheard what reddy said.
""it is none of your business!"
snapped reddy.
reddy could hear prickly porky chuckle.
then prickly porky repeated as if to himself in a queer cracked voice the following: "rudeness never, never pays, nor is there gain in saucy ways.
it's always best to be polite and ne'er give way to ugly spite.
if that's the way you feel inside you'd better all such feelings hide; for he must smile who hopes to win, and he who loses best will grin."
reddy pretended that he had n't heard.
prickly porky continued to chuckle for a while and finally reddy fell asleep.
when he awoke it was to find that prickly porky had left and old granny fox had brought him something to eat.
just as soon as reddy fox was able to travel he and granny had moved to the old pasture.
the old pasture is very different from the green meadows or the green forest.
yes, indeed, it is very, very different.
reddy fox thought so.
and reddy did n't like the change, -- not a bit.
all about were great rocks, and around and over them grew bushes and young trees and bull-briars with long ugly thorns, and blackberry and raspberry canes that seemed to have a million little hooked hands, reaching to catch in and tear his red coat and to scratch his face and hands.
there were little open places where wild-eyed young cattle fed on the short grass.
they had made many little paths all crisscross among the bushes, and when you tried to follow one of these paths you never could tell where you were coming out.
no, reddy fox did not like the old pasture at all.
there was no long, soft green grass to lie down in.
and it was lonesome up there.
he missed the little people of the green meadows and the green forest.
there was no one to bully and tease.
and it was such a long, long way from farmer brown's henyard that old granny fox would n't even try to bring him a fat hen.
at least, that's what she told reddy.
the truth is, wise old granny fox knew that the very best thing she could do was to stay away from farmer brown's for a long time.
she knew that reddy could n't go down there, because he was still too lame and sore to travel such a long way, and she hoped that by the time reddy was well enough to go, he would have learned better than to do such a foolish thing as to try to show off by stealing a chicken in broad daylight, as he had when he brought all this trouble on them.
down on the green meadows, the home of granny and reddy fox had been on a little knoll, which you know is a little low hill, right where they could sit on their doorstep and look all over the green meadows.
it had been very, very beautiful down there.
they had made lovely little paths through the tall green meadow grass, and the buttercups and daisies had grown close up to their very doorstep.
but up here in the old pasture granny fox had chosen the thickest clump of bushes and young trees she could find, and in the middle was a great pile of rocks.
way in among these rocks granny fox had dug their new house.
it was right down under the rocks.
even in the middle of the day jolly, round, red mr. sun could hardly find it with a few of his long, bright beams.
all the rest of the time it was dark and gloomy there.
no, reddy fox did n't like his new home at all, but when he said so old granny fox boxed his ears.
""it's your own fault that we've got to live here now," said she.
""it's the only place where we are safe.
farmer brown's boy never will find this home, and even if he did he could n't dig into it as he did into our old home on the green meadows.
here we are, and here we've got to stay, all because a foolish little fox thought himself smarter than anybody else and tried to show off."
reddy hung his head.
""i do n't care!"
he said, which was very, very foolish, because, you know, he did care a very great deal.
and here we will leave wise old granny fox and reddy, safe, even if they do not like their new home.
you see, lightfoot the deer is getting jealous.
he thinks there should be some books about the people of the green forest, and that the first one should be about him.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___old_mother_west_wind.txt.out
chapter i. mrs. redwing's speckled egg old mother west wind came down from the purple hills in the golden light of the early morning.
over her shoulders was slung a bag -- a great big bag -- and in the bag were all of old mother west wind's children, the merry little breezes.
old mother west wind came down from the purple hills to the green meadows and as she walked she crooned a song: "ships upon the ocean wait; i must hurry, hurry on!
mills are idle if i'm late; i must hurry, hurry on."
when she reached the green meadows old mother west wind opened her bag, turned it upside down and shook it.
out tumbled all the merry little breezes and began to spin round and round for very joy, for you see they were to lay in the green meadows all day long until old mother west wind should come back at night and take them all to their home behind the purple hills.
first they raced over to see johnny chuck.
they found johnny chuck sitting just outside his door eating his breakfast.
one, for very mischief, snatched right out of johnny chuck's mouth the green leaf of corn he was eating, and ran away with it.
another playfully pulled his whiskers, while a third rumpled up his hair.
johnny chuck pretended to be very cross indeed, but really he did n't mind a bit, for johnny chuck loved the merry little breezes and played with them everyday.
and if they teased johnny chuck they were good to him, too.
when they saw farmer brown coming across the green meadows with a gun one of them would dance over to johnny chuck and whisper to him that farmer brown was coming, and then johnny chuck would hide away, deep down in his snug little house under ground, and farmer brown would wonder and wonder why it was that he never, never could get near enough to shoot johnny chuck.
but he never, never could.
when the merry little breezes left johnny chuck they raced across the green meadows to the smiling pool to say good morning to grandfather frog who sat on a big lily pad watching for green flies for breakfast.
""chug-arum," said grandfather frog, which was his way of saying good morning.
just then along came a fat green fly and up jumped grandfather frog.
when he sat down again on the lily pad the fat green fly was nowhere to be seen, but grandfather frog looked very well satisfied indeed as he contentedly rubbed his white waistcoat with one hand.
""what is the news, grandfather frog?"
cried the merry little breezes.
""mrs. redwing has a new speckled egg in her nest in the bulrushes," said grandfather frog.
""we must see it," cried the merry little breezes, and away they all ran to the swamp where the bulrushes grow.
now someone else had heard of mrs. redwing's dear little nest in the bulrushes, and he had started out bright and early that morning to try and find it, for he wanted to steal the little speckled eggs just because they were pretty.
it was tommy brown, the farmer's boy.
when the merry little breezes reached the swamp where the bulrushes grow they found poor mrs. redwing in great distress.
she was afraid that tommy brown would find her dear little nest, for he was very, very near it, and his eyes were very, very sharp.
""oh," cried the merry little breezes, "we must help mrs. redwing save her pretty speckled eggs from bad tommy brown!"
so one of the merry little breezes whisked tommy brown's old straw hat off his head over into the green meadows.
of course tommy ran after it.
just as he stooped to pick it up another little breeze ran away with it.
then they took turns, first one little breeze, then another little breeze running away with the old straw hat just as tommy brown would almost get his hands on it.
down past the smiling pool and across the laughing brook they raced and chased the old straw hat, tommy brown running after it, very cross, very red in the face, and breathing very hard.
way across the green meadows they ran to the edge of the wood, where they hung the old straw hat in the middle of a thorn tree.
by the time tommy brown had it once more on his head he had forgotten all about mrs. redwing and her dear little nest.
besides, he heard the breakfast horn blowing just then, so off he started for home up the lone little path through the wood.
and all the merry little breezes danced away across the green meadows to the swamp where the bulrushes grow to see the new speckled egg in the dear little nest where mrs. redwing was singing for joy.
and while she sang the merry little breezes danced among the bulrushes, for they knew, and mrs. redwing knew, that some day out of that pretty new speckled egg would come a wee baby redwing.
chapter ii why grandfather frog has no tail old mother west wind had gone to her day's work, leaving all the merry little breezes to play in the green meadows.
they had played tag and run races with the bees and played hide and seek with the sun beams, and now they had gathered around the smiling pool where on a green lily pad sat grandfather frog.
grandfather frog was old, very old, indeed, and very, very wise.
he wore a green coat and his voice was very deep.
when grandfather frog spoke everybody listened very respectfully.
even billy mink treated grandfather frog with respect, for billy mink's father and his father's father could not remember when grandfather frog had not sat on the lily pad watching for green flies.
down in the smiling pool were some of grandfather frog's great-great-great-great-great grandchildren.
you would n't have known that they were his grandchildren unless some one told you.
they did n't look the least bit like grandfather frog.
they were round and fat and had long tails and perhaps this is why they were called pollywogs.
""oh grandfather frog, tell us why you do n't have a tail as you did when you were young," begged one of the merry little breezes.
grandfather frog snapped up a foolish green fly and settled himself on his big lily pad, while all the merry little breezes gathered round to listen.
""once on a time," began grandfather frog, "the frogs ruled the world, which was mostly water.
there was very little dry land -- oh, very little indeed!
there were no boys to throw stones and no hungry mink to gobble up foolish frog-babies who were taking a sun bath!"
billy mink, who had joined the merry little breezes and was listening, squirmed uneasily and looked away guiltily.
""in those days all the frogs had tails, long handsome tails of which they were very, very proud indeed," continued grandfather frog.
""the king of all the frogs was twice as big as any other frog, and his tail was three times as long.
he was very proud, oh, very proud indeed of his long tail.
he used to sit and admire it until he thought that there never had been and never could be another such tail.
he used to wave it back and forth in the water, and every time he waved it all the other frogs would cry "ah!"
and "oh!"
every day the king grew more vain.
he did nothing at all but eat and sleep and admire his tail.
""now all the other frogs did just as the king did, so pretty soon none of the frogs were doing anything but sitting about eating, sleeping and admiring their own tails and the king's.
""now you all know that people who do nothing worth while in this world are of no use and there is little room for them.
so when mother nature saw how useless had become the frog tribe she called the king frog before her and she said:" "because you can think of nothing but your beautiful tail it shall be taken away from you.
because you do nothing but eat and sleep your mouth shall become wide like a door, and your eyes shall start forth from your head.
you shall become bow-legged and ugly to look at, and all the world shall laugh at you."
""the king frog looked at his beautiful tail and already it seemed to have grown shorter.
he looked again and it was shorter still.
every time he looked his tail had grown shorter and smaller.
by and by when he looked there was nothing left but a little stub which he could n't even wriggle.
then even that disappeared, his eyes popped out of his head and his mouth grew bigger and bigger."
old grandfather frog stopped and looked sadly at a foolish green fly coming his way.
""chug-arum," said grandfather frog, opening his mouth very wide and hopping up in the air.
when he sat down again on his big lily pad the green fly was nowhere to be seen.
grandfather frog smacked his lips and continued: "and from that day to this every frog has started life with a big tail, and as he has grown bigger and bigger his tail has grown smaller and smaller, until finally it disappears, and then he remembers how foolish and useless it is to be vain of what nature has given us.
and that is how i came to lose my tail," finished grandfather frog.
""thank you," shouted all the merry little breezes.
""we wo n't forget."
then they ran a race to see who could reach johnny chuck's home first and tell him that farmer brown was coming down on the green meadows with a gun.
chapter iii how reddy fox was surprised johnny chuck and reddy fox lived very near together on the edge of the green meadows.
johnny chuck was fat and roly-poly.
reddy fox was slim and wore a bright red coat.
reddy fox used to like to frighten johnny chuck by suddenly popping out from behind a tree and making believe that he was going to eat johnny chuck all up.
one bright summer day johnny chuck was out looking for a good breakfast of nice tender clover.
he had wandered quite a long way from his snug little house in the long meadow grass, although his mother had told him never to go out of sight of the door.
but johnny was like some little boys i know, and forgot all he had been told.
he walked and walked and walked.
every few minutes johnny chuck saw something farther on that looked like a patch of nice fresh clover.
and every time when he reached it johnny chuck found that he had made a mistake.
so johnny chuck walked and walked and walked.
old mother west wind, coming across the green meadows, saw johnny chuck and asked him where he was going.
johnny chuck pretended not to hear and just walked faster.
one of the merry little breezes danced along in front of him.
""look out, johnny chuck, you will get lost," cried the merry little breeze then pulled johnny's whiskers and ran away.
higher and higher up in the sky climbed round, red mr. sun.
every time johnny chuck looked up at him mr. sun winked.
""so long as i can see great round, red mr. sun and he winks at me i ca n't be lost," thought johnny chuck, and trotted on looking for clover.
by and by johnny chuck really did find some clover -- just the sweetest clover that grew in the green meadows.
johnny chuck ate and ate and ate and then what do you think he did?
why, he curled right up in the nice sweet clover and went fast asleep.
great round, red mr. sun kept climbing higher and higher up in the sky, then by and by he began to go down on the other side, and long shadows began to creep out across the green meadows.
johnny chuck did n't know anything about them: he was fast asleep.
by and by one of the merry little breezes found johnny chuck all curled up in a funny round ball.
""wake up johnny chuck!
wake up!"
shouted the merry little breeze.
johnny chuck opened his eyes.
then he sat up and rubbed them.
for just a few, few minutes he could n't remember where he was at all.
by and by he sat up very straight to look over the grass and see where he was.
but he was so far from home that he did n't see a single thing that looked at all like the things he was used to.
the trees were all different.
the bushes were all different.
everything was different.
johnny chuck was lost.
now, when johnny sat up, reddy fox happened to be looking over the green meadows and he saw johnny's head where it popped above the grass.
""aha!"
said reddy fox, "i'll scare johnny chuck so he'll wish he'd never put his nose out of his house."
then reddy dropped down behind the long grass and crept softly, oh, ever so softly, through the paths of his own, until he was right behind johnny chuck.
johnny chuck had been so intent looking for home that he did n't see anything else.
reddy fox stole right up behind johnny and pulled johnny's little short tail hard.
how it did frighten johnny chuck!
he jumped right straight up in the air and when he came down he was the maddest little woodchuck that ever lived in the green meadows.
reddy fox had thought that johnny would run, and then reddy meant to run after him and pull his tail and tease him all the way home.
now, reddy fox got as big a surprise as johnny had had when reddy pulled his tail.
johnny did n't stop to think that reddy fox was twice as big as he, but with his eyes snapping, and chattering as only a little chuck can chatter, with every little hair on his little body standing right up on end, so that he seemed twice as big as he really was, he started for reddy fox.
it surprised reddy fox so that he did n't know what to do, and he simply ran.
johnny chuck ran after him, nipping reddy's heels every minute or two.
peter rabbit just happened to be down that way.
he was sitting up very straight looking to see what mischief he could get into when he caught sight of reddy fox running as hard as ever he could.
""it must be that bowser, the hound, is after reddy fox," said peter rabbit to himself.
""i must watch out that he does n't find me."
just then he caught sight of johnny chuck with every little hair standing up on end and running after reddy fox as fast as his short legs could go.
""ho!
ho!
ho!"
shouted peter rabbit.
""reddy fox afraid of johnny chuck!
ho!
ho!
ho!"
then peter rabbit scampered away to find jimmy skunk and bobby coon and happy jack squirrel to tell them all about how reddy fox had run away from johnny chuck, for you see they were all a little afraid of reddy fox.
straight home ran reddy fox as fast as he could go, and going home he passed the house of johnny chuck.
now johnny could n't run so fast as reddy fox and he was puffing and blowing as only a fat little woodchuck can puff and blow when he has to run hard.
moreover, he had lost his ill temper now and he thought it was the best joke ever to think that he had actually frightened reddy fox.
when he came to his own house he stopped and sat on his hind legs once more.
then he shrilled out after reddy fox: "reddy fox is a "fraid cat, "fraid-cat!
reddy fox is a "fraid-cat!"
and all the merry little breezes of old mother west wind, who were playing on the green meadows shouted: "reddy fox is a "fraid-cat, "fraid-cat!"
and this is the way that reddy fox was surprised and that johnny chuck found his way home.
chapter iv why jimmy skunk wears stripes jimmy skunk, as everybody knows, wears a striped suit, a suit of black and white.
there was a time, long, long ago, when all the skunk family wore black.
very handsome their coats were, too, a beautiful, glossy black.
they were very, very proud of them and took the greatest care of them, brushing them carefully ever so many times a day.
there was a jimmy skunk then, just as there is now, and he was head of all the skunk family.
now this jimmy skunk was very proud and thought himself very much of a gentleman.
he was very independent and cared for no one.
like a great many other independent people, he did not always consider the rights of others.
indeed, it was hinted in the wood and on the green meadows that not all of jimmy skunk's doings would bear the light of day.
it was openly said that he was altogether too fond of prowling about at night, but no one could prove that he was responsible for mischief done in the night, for no one saw him.
you see his coat was so black that in the darkness of the night it was not visible at all.
now about this time of which i am telling you mrs. ruffed grouse made a nest at the foot of the great pine and in it she laid fifteen beautiful buff eggs.
mrs. grouse was very happy, very happy indeed, and all the little meadow folks who knew of her happiness were happy too, for they all loved shy, demure, little mrs. grouse.
every morning when peter rabbit trotted down the lone little path through the wood past the great pine he would stop for a few minutes to chat with mrs. grouse.
happy jack squirrel would bring her the news every afternoon.
the merry little breezes of old mother west wind would run up a dozen times a day to see how she was getting along.
one morning peter rabbit, coming down the lone little path for his usual morning call, found a terrible state of affairs.
poor little mrs. grouse was heart-broken.
all about the foot of the great pine lay the empty shells of her beautiful eggs.
they had been broken and scattered this way and that.
""how did it happen?"
asked peter rabbit.
""i do n't know," sobbed poor little mrs. grouse.
""in the night when i was fast asleep something pounced upon me.
i managed to get away and fly up in the top of the great pine.
in the morning i found all my eggs broken, just as you see them here."
peter rabbit looked the ground over very carefully.
he hunted around behind the great pine, he looked under the bushes, he studied the ground with a very wise air.
then he hopped off down the lone little path to the green meadows.
he stopped at the house of johnny chuck.
""what makes your eyes so big and round?"
asked johnny chuck.
peter rabbit came very close so as to whisper in johnny chuck's ear, and told him all that he had seen.
together they went to jimmy skunk's house.
jimmy skunk was in bed.
he was very sleepy and very cross when he came to the door.
peter rabbit told him what he had seen.
""too bad!
too bad!"
said jimmy skunk, and yawned sleepily.
""wo n't you join us in trying to find out who did it?"
asked johnny chuck.
jimmy skunk said he would be delighted to come but that he had some other business that morning and that he would join them in the afternoon.
peter rabbit and johnny chuck went on.
pretty soon they met the merry little breezes and told them the dreadful story.
""what shall we do?"
asked johnny chuck.
""we'll hurry over and tell old dame nature," cried the merry little breezes, "and ask her what to do."
so away flew the merry little breezes to old dame nature and told her all the dreadful story.
old dame nature listened very attentively.
then she sent the merry little breezes to all the little meadow folks to tell every one to be at the great pine that afternoon.
now whatever old dame nature commanded all the meadow folks were obliged to do.
they did not dare to disobey her.
promptly at four o'clock that afternoon all the meadow folks were gathered around the foot of the great pine.
broken-hearted little mrs. ruffed grouse sat beside her empty nest, with all the broken shells about her.
reddy fox, peter rabbit, johnny chuck, billy mink, little joe otter, jerry muskrat, hooty the owl, bobby coon, sammy jay, blacky the crow, grandfather frog, mr. toad, spotty the turtle, the merry little breezes, all were there.
last of all came jimmy skunk.
very handsome he looked in his shining black coat and very sorry he appeared that such a dreadful thing should have happened.
he told mrs. grouse how badly he felt, and he loudly demanded that the culprit should be found out and severely punished.
old dame nature has the most smiling face in the world, but this time it was very, very grave indeed.
first she asked little mrs. grouse to tell her story all over again that all might hear.
then each in turn was asked to tell where he had been the night before.
johnny chuck, happy jack squirrel, striped chipmunk, sammy jay and blacky the crow had gone to bed when mr. sun went down behind the purple hills.
jerry muskrat, billy mink, little joe otter, grandfather frog and spotty the turtle had not left the smiling pool.
bobby coon had been down in farmer brown's cornfield.
hooty the owl had been hunting in the lower end of the green meadows.
peter rabbit had been down in the berry patch.
mr. toad had been under the piece of bark which he called a house.
old dame nature called on jimmy skunk last of all.
jimmy protested that he had been very, very tired and had gone to bed very early indeed and had slept the whole night through.
then old dame nature asked peter rabbit what he had found among the egg shells that morning.
peter rabbit hopped out and laid three long black hairs before old dame nature.
""these," said peter rabbit "are what i found among the egg shells."
then old dame nature called johnny chuck.
""tell us, johnny chuck," said she, "what you saw when you called at jimmy skunk's house this morning."
""i saw jimmy skunk," said johnny chuck, "and jimmy seemed very, very sleepy.
it seemed to me that his whiskers were yellow."
""that will do," said old dame nature, and then she called old mother west wind.
""what time did you come down on the green meadows this morning?"
""just at the break of day," said old mother west wind, "as mr. sun was coming up from behind the purple hills."
""and whom did you see so early in the morning?"
asked old dame nature.
""i saw bobby coon going home from old farmer brown's cornfield," said old mother west wind.
""i saw hooty the owl coming back from the lower end of the green meadows.
i saw peter rabbit down in the berry patch.
last of all i saw something like a black shadow coming down the lone little path toward the house of jimmy skunk."
every one was looking very hard at jimmy skunk.
jimmy began to look very unhappy and very uneasy.
""who wears a black coat?"
asked dame nature.
""jimmy skunk!"
shouted all the little meadow folks.
""what might make whiskers yellow?"
asked old dame nature.
no one seemed to know at first.
then peter rabbit spoke up.
""it might be the yolk of an egg," said peter rabbit.
""who are likely to be sleepy on a bright sunny morning?"
asked old dame nature.
""people who have been out all night," said johnny chuck, who himself always goes to bed with the sun.
""jimmy skunk," said old dame nature, and her voice was very stern, very stern indeed, and her face was very grave.
""jimmy skunk, i accuse you of having broken and eaten the eggs of mrs. grouse.
what have you to say for yourself?"
jimmy skunk hung his head.
he had n't a word to say.
he just wanted to sneak away by himself.
""jimmy skunk," said old dame nature, "because your handsome black coat of which you are so proud has made it possible for you to move about in the night without being seen, and because we can no longer trust you upon your honor, henceforth you and your descendants shall wear a striped coat, which is the sign that you can not be trusted.
your coat hereafter shall be black and white, that when you move about in the night you will always be visible."
and this is why that to this day jimmy skunk wears a striped suit of black and white.
chapter v the wilful little breeze old mother west wind was tired -- tired and just a wee bit cross -- cross because she was tired.
she had had a very busy day.
ever since early morning she had been puffing out the white sales of the ships on the big ocean so that they could go faster; she had kept all the big and little wind mills whirling and whirling to pump water for thirsty folks and grind corn for hungry folks; she had blown away all the smoke from tall chimneys and engines and steamboats.
yes, indeed, old mother west wind had been very, very busy.
now she was coming across the green meadows on her way to her home behind the purple hills, and as she came she opened the big bag she carried and called to her children, the merry little breezes, who had been playing hard on the green meadows all the long day.
one by one they crept into the big bag, for they were tired, too, and ready to go to their home behind the purple hills.
pretty soon all were in the bag but one, a willful little breeze, who was not quite ready to go home; he wanted to play just a little longer.
he danced ahead of old mother west wind.
he kissed the sleepy daisies.
he shook the nodding buttercups.
he set all the little poplar leaves a dancing, too, and he would n't come into the big bag.
so old mother west wind closed the big bag and slung it over her shoulder.
then she started on towards her home behind the purple hills.
when she had gone, the willful little breeze left behind suddenly felt very lonely -- very lonely indeed!
the sleepy daisies did n't want to play.
the nodding buttercups were cross.
great round bright mr. sun, who had been shining and shining all day long, went to bed and put on his night cap of golden clouds.
black shadows came creeping, creeping out into the green meadows.
the willful little breeze began to wish that he was safe in old mother west wind's big bag with all the other merry little breezes.
so he started across the green meadows to find the purple hills.
but all the hills were black now and he could not tell which he should look behind to find his home with old mother west wind and the merry little breezes.
how he did wish that he had minded old mother west wind.
by and by he curled up under a bayberry bush and tried to go to sleep, but he was lonely, oh, so lonely!
and he could n't go to sleep.
old mother moon came up and flooded all the green meadows with light, but it was n't like the bright light of jolly round mr. sun, for it was cold and white and it made many black shadows.
pretty soon the willful little breeze heard hooty the owl out hunting for a meadow mouse for his dinner.
then down the lone little path which ran close to the bayberry bush trotted reddy fox.
he was trotting very softly and every minute or so he turned his head and looked behind him to see if he was followed.
it was plain to see that reddy fox was bent on mischief.
when he reached the bayberry bush reddy fox sat down and barked twice.
hooty the owl answered him at once and flew over to join him.
they did n't see the willful little breeze curled up under the bayberry bush, so intent were these two rogues in plotting mischief.
they were planning to steal down across the green meadows to the edge of the brown pasture where mr. bob white and pretty mrs. bob white and a dozen little bob whites had their home.
""when they run along the ground i'll catch'em, and when they fly up in the air you'll catch'em, and we'll gobble'em all up," said reddy fox to hooty the owl.
then he licked his chops and hooty the owl snapped his bill, just as if they were tasting tender little bob whites that very minute.
it made the willful little breeze shiver to see them.
pretty soon they started on towards the brown pasture.
when they were out of sight the willful little breeze jumped up and shook himself.
then away he sped across the green meadows to the brown pasture.
and because he could go faster and because he went a shorter way he got there first.
he had to hunt and hunt to find mrs. and mr. bob white and all the little bob whites, but finally he did find them, all with their heads tucked under their wings fast asleep.
the willful little breeze shook mr. bob white very gently.
in an instant he was wide awake.
""sh-h-h," said the willful little breeze.
""reddy fox and hooty the owl are coming to the brown pasture to gobble up you and mrs. bob white and all the little bob whites."
""thank you, little breeze," said mr. bob white, "i think i'll move my family."
then he woke mrs. bob white and all the little bob whites.
with mr. bob white in the lead away they all flew to the far side of the brown pasture where they were soon safely hidden under a juniper tree.
the willful little breeze saw them safely there, and when they were nicely hidden hurried back to the place where the bob whites had been sleeping.
reddy fox was stealing up through the grass very, very softly.
hooty the owl was flying as silently as a shadow.
when reddy fox thought he was near enough he drew himself together, made a quick spring and landed right in mr. bob white's empty bed.
reddy fox and hooty the owl looked so surprised and foolish when they found the bob whites were not there that the willful little breeze nearly laughed out loud.
then reddy fox and hooty the owl hunted here and hunted there, all over the brown pasture, but they could n't find the bob whites.
and the willful little breeze went back to the juniper tree and curled himself beside mr. bob white to sleep, for he was lonely no longer.
chapter vi reddy fox goes fishing one morning when mr. sun was very, very bright and it was very, very warm, down on the green meadows reddy fox came hopping and skipping down the lone little path that leads to the laughing brook.
hoppity, skip, skippity hop!
reddy felt very much pleased with himself that sunny morning.
pretty soon he saw johnny chuck sitting up very straight close by the little house where he lives.
""johnny chuck, chuck, chuck!
johnny chuck, chuck, chuck!
johnny woodchuck!"
called reddy fox.
johnny chuck pretended not to hear.
his mother had told him not to play with reddy fox, for reddy fox was a bad boy.
""johnny chuck, chuck, chuck!
johnny woodchuck!"
called reddy again.
this time johnny turned and looked.
he could see reddy fox turning somersaults and chasing his tail and rolling over and over in the little path.
""come on!"
said reddy fox.
""let's go fishing!"
""ca n't," said johnny chuck, because you know, his mother had told him not to play with reddy fox.
""i'll show you how to catch a fish," said reddy fox, and tried to jump over his own shadow.
""ca n't," said good little johnny chuck again, and turned away so that he could n't see reddy fox chasing butterflies and playing catch with field mice children.
so reddy fox went down to the laughing brook all alone.
the brook was laughing and singing on its way to join the big river.
the sky was blue and the sun was bright.
reddy fox jumped on the big rock in the middle of the laughing brook and peeped over the other side.
what do you think he saw?
why, right down below in a dear little pool were mr. and mrs. trout and all the little trouts.
reddy fox wanted some of those little trouts to take home for his dinner, but he did n't know how to catch them.
he lay flat down on the big rock and reached way down into the dear little pool, but all the little trouts laughed at reddy fox and not one came within reach.
then mr. trout swam up so quickly that reddy fox did n't see him coming and bit reddy's little black paw hard.
""ouch!"
cried reddy fox, pulling his little black paw out of the water.
and all the little trouts laughed at reddy fox.
just then along came billy mink.
""hello, reddy fox!"
said billy mink.
""what are you doing here?"
""i'm trying to catch a fish," said reddy fox.
""pooh!
that's easy!"
said billy mink.
""i'll show you how."
so billy mink lay down on the big rock side of reddy fox and peeped over into the dear little pool where all the little trouts were laughing at reddy fox and having such a good time.
but billy mink took care, such very great care, that mr. trout and mrs. trout should not see him peeping over into the dear little pool.
when billy mink saw all those little trouts playing in the dear little pool he laughed.
""you count three, reddy fox," said he, "and i'll show you how to catch a fish."
""one!"
said reddy fox, "two!
three!"
splash!
billy mink had dived head first into the dear little pool.
he spattered water way up onto reddy fox, and he frightened old mr. frog so that he fell over backwards off the lily pad where he was taking a morning nap right into the water.
in a minute billy mink climbed out on the other side of the dear little pool and sure enough, he had caught one of the little trouts.
""give it to me," cried reddy fox.
""catch one yourself," said billy mink.
""old grandpa mink wants a fish for his dinner, so i am going to take this home.
you're afraid, reddy fox!
"fraid-cat!
fraid-cat!"
billy mink shook the water off of his little brown coat, picked up the little trout and ran off home.
reddy fox lay down again on the big rock and peeped into the dear little pool.
not a single trout could he see.
they were all hiding safely with mr. and mrs. trout.
reddy fox watched and watched.
the sun was warm, the laughing brook was singing a lullaby and -- what do you think?
why, reddy fox went fast asleep on the edge of the great big rock.
by and by reddy fox began to dream.
he dreamed that he had a nice little brown coat that was waterproof, just like the little brown coat that billy mink wore.
yes, and he dreamed that he had learned to swim and to catch fish just as billy mink did.
he dreamed that the dear little pool was full of little trouts and that he was just going to catch one when -- splash!
reddy fox had rolled right off of the big rock into the dear little pool.
the water went into the eyes of reddy fox, and it went up his nose and he swallowed so much that he felt as if he never, never would want another drink of water.
and his beautiful red coat, which old mother fox had told him to be very, very careful of because he could n't have another for a whole year, was oh so wet!
and his pants were wet and his beautiful bushy tail, of which he was so proud, was so full of water that he could n't hold it up, but had to drag it up the bank after him as he crawled out of the dear little pool.
""ha!
ha!
ha!"
laughed mr. kingfisher, sitting on a tree.
""ho!
ho!
ho!"
laughed old mr. frog, who had climbed back on his lily pad.
""he!
he!
he!"
laughed all the little trouts and mr. trout and mrs. trout, swimming round and round in the dear little pool.
""ha!
ha!
ha!
ho!
ho!
ho!
he!
he!
he!"
laughed billy mink, who had come back to the big rock just in time to see reddy fox tumble in.
reddy fox did n't say a word, he was so ashamed.
he just crept up the lone little path to his home, dragging his tail, all wet and muddy, behind him, and dripping water all the way.
johnny chuck was still sitting by his door as his mother had told him to.
reddy fox tried to go past without being seen, but johnny chuck's bright little eyes saw him.
""where are your fish, reddy fox?"
called johnny chuck.
""why do n't you turn somersaults, and jump over your shadow and chase butterflies and play with the little field mice, reddy fox?"
called johnny chuck.
but reddy fox just walked faster.
when he got almost home he saw old mother fox sitting in the doorway with a great big switch across her lap, for mother fox had told reddy fox not to go near the laughing brook.
and this is all i am going to tell you about how reddy fox went fishing.
chapter vii jimmy skunk looks for beetles jimmy skunk opened his eyes very early one morning and peeped out of his snug little house on the hill.
big, round mr. sun, with a very red, smiling face, had just begun to climb up into the sky.
old mother west wind was just starting down to the green meadows with her big bag over her shoulder.
in that bag jimmy skunk knew she carried all her children, the merry little breezes, whom she was taking down to the green meadows to play and frolic all day.
""good morning, mother west wind," said jimmy skunk, politely.
""did you see any beetles as you came down the hill?"
old mother west wind said, no, she had n't seen any beetles as she came down the hill.
""thank you," said jimmy skunk politely.
""i guess i'll have to go look myself, for i'm very, very hungry."
so jimmy skunk brushed his handsome black and white coat, and washed his face and hands, and started out to try to find some beetles for his breakfast.
first he went down to the green meadows and stopped at johnny chuck's house.
but johnny chuck was still in bed and fast asleep.
then jimmy skunk went over to see if reddy fox would go with him to help find some beetles for his breakfast.
but reddy fox had been out very, very late the night before and was still in bed fast asleep, too.
so jimmy skunk set out all alone along the crooked little path up the hill to find some beetles for his breakfast.
he walked very slowly, for jimmy skunk never hurries.
he stopped and peeped under every old log to see if there were any beetles.
by and by he came to a big piece of bark beside the crooked little path.
jimmy skunk took hold of the piece of bark with his two little black paws and pulled and pulled.
all of a sudden, the big piece of bark turned over so quickly that jimmy skunk fell flat on his back.
when jimmy skunk had rolled over onto his feet again, there sat old mr. toad right in the path, and old mr. toad was very, very cross indeed.
he swelled and he puffed and he puffed and he swelled, till he was twice as big as jimmy skunk had ever seen him before.
""good morning, mr. toad," said jimmy skunk.
""have you seen any beetles?"
but mr. toad blinked his great round goggly eyes and he said: "what do you mean, jimmy skunk, by pulling the roof off my house?"
""is that the roof of your house?"
asked jimmy skunk politely.
""i wo n't do it again."
then jimmy skunk stepped right over old mr. toad, and went on up the crooked little path to look for some beetles.
by and by he came to an old stump of a tree which was hollow and had the nicest little round hole in one side.
jimmy skunk took hold of one edge with his two little black paws and pulled and pulled.
all of a sudden the whole side of the old stump tore open and jimmy skunk fell flat on his back.
when jimmy skunk had rolled over onto his feet again there was striped chipmunk hopping up and down right in the middle of the path, he was so angry.
""good morning, striped chipmunk," said jimmy skunk.
""have you seen any beetles?"
but striped chipmunk hopped faster than ever and he said: "what do you mean, jimmy skunk, by pulling the side off my house?"
""is that the side of your house?"
asked jimmy skunk, politely.
""i wo n't do it again."
then jimmy skunk stepped right over striped chipmunk, and went on up the crooked little path to look for some beetles.
pretty soon he met peter rabbit hopping along down the crooked little path.
""good morning, jimmy skunk, where are you going so early in the morning?"
said peter rabbit.
""good morning, peter rabbit.
have you seen any beetles?"
asked jimmy skunk, politely.
""no, i have n't seen any beetles, but i'll help you find some," said peter rabbit.
so he turned about and hopped ahead of jimmy skunk up the crooked little path.
now because peter rabbit's legs are long and he is always in a hurry, he got to the top of the hill first.
when jimmy skunk reached the end of the crooked little path on the top of the hill he found peter rabbit sitting up very straight and looking and looking very hard at a great flat stone.
""what are you looking at, peter rabbit?"
asked jimmy skunk.
""sh-h-h!"
said peter rabbit, "i think there are some beetles under that great flat stone where that little black string is sticking out.
now when i count three you grab that string and pull hard perhaps you'll find a beetle at the other end."
so jimmy skunk got ready and peter rabbit began to count.
""one!"
said peter.
""two!"
said peter.
""three!"
jimmy skunk grabbed the black string and pulled as hard as ever he could and out came -- mr. black snake!
the string jimmy skunk had pulled was mr. black snake's tail, and mr. black snake was very, very angry indeed.
""ha!
ha!
ha!"
laughed peter rabbit.
""what do you mean, jimmy skunk," said mr. black snake, "by pulling my tail?"
""was that your tail?"
said jimmy skunk, politely.
""i wo n't do it again.
have you seen any beetles?"
but mr. black snake had n't seen any beetles, and he was so cross that jimmy skunk went on over the hill to look for some beetles.
peter rabbit was still laughing and laughing and laughing.
and the more he laughed the angrier grew mr. black snake, till finally he started after peter rabbit to teach him a lesson.
then peter rabbit stopped laughing, for mr. black snake can run very fast.
away went peter rabbit down the crooked little path as fast as he could go, and away went mr. black snake after him.
but jimmy skunk did n't even look once to see if mr. black snake had caught peter rabbit to teach him a lesson, for jimmy skunk had found some beetles and was eating his breakfast.
chapter viii billy mink's swimming party billy mink was coming down the bank of the laughing brook.
billy mink was feeling very good indeed.
he had had a good breakfast, the sun was warm, little white cloud ships were sailing across the blue sky and their shadows were sailing across the green meadows, the birds were singing and the bees were humming.
billy mink felt like singing too, but billy mink's voice was not meant for singing.
by and by billy mink came to the smiling pool.
here the laughing brook stopped and rested on its way to join the big river.
it stopped its noisy laughing and singing and just lay smiling and smiling in the warm sunshine.
the little flowers on the bank leaned over and nodded to it.
the beech tree, which was very old, sometimes dropped a leaf into it.
the cat-tails kept their feet cool in the edge of it.
billy mink jumped out on the big rock and looked down into the smiling pool.
over on a green lily pad he saw old grandfather frog.
""hello, grandfather frog," said billy mink.
""hello, billy mink," said grandfather frog.
""what mischief are you up to this fine sunny morning?"
just then billy mink saw a little brown head swimming along one edge of the smiling pool.
""hello, jerry muskrat!"
shouted billy mink.
""hello your own self, billy mink," shouted jerry muskrat, "come in and have a swim; the water's fine!"
""good," said billy mink.
""we'll have a swimming party."
so billy mink called all the merry little breezes of old mother west wind, who were playing with the flowers on the bank, and sent them to find little joe otter and invite him to come to the swimming party.
pretty soon back came the little breezes and with them came little joe otter.
""hello, billy mink," said little joe otter.
""here i am!"
""hello, little joe otter," said billy mink.
""come up here on the big rock and see who can dive the deepest into the smiling pool."
so little joe otter and jerry muskrat climbed up on the big rock side of billy mink and they all stood side by side in their little brown bathing suits looking down into the smiling pool.
""now when i count three we'll all dive into the smiling pool together and see who can dive the deepest.
one!"
said billy mink.
""two!"
said billy mink.
""three!"
said billy mink.
and when he said "three!"
in they all went head first.
my such a splash as they did make!
they upset old grandfather frog so that he fell off his lily pad.
they frightened mr. and mrs. trout so that they jumped right out of the water.
tiny tadpole had such a scare that he hid way, way down in the mud with only the tip of his funny little nose sticking out.
""chug-a-rum," said old grandfather frog, climbing out of his lily pad.
""if i was n't so old i would show you how to dive."
""come on, grandfather frog!"
cried billy mink.
""show us how to dive."
and what do you think?
why, old grandfather frog actually got so excited that he climbed up on the big rock to show them how to dive.
splash!
went grandfather frog into the smiling pool.
splash!
went billy mink right behind him.
splash!
splash!
went little joe otter and jerry muskrat, right at billy mink's heels.
""hurrah!"
shouted mr. kingfisher, sitting on a branch of the old beech tree.
and then just to show them that he could dive, too, splash!
he went into the smiling pool.
such a noise as they did make!
all the little breezes of old mother west wind danced for joy on the bank.
blacky the crow and sammy jay flew over to see what was going on.
""now let's see who can swim the farthest under water," cried billy mink.
so they all stood side by side on one edge of the smiling pool.
""go!"
shouted mr. kingfisher, and in they all plunged.
little ripples ran across the smiling pool and then the water became as smooth and smiling as if nothing had gone into it with a plunge.
now old grandfather frog began to realize that he was n't as young as he used to be, and he could n't swim as fast as the others anyway.
he began to get short of breath, so he swam up to the top and stuck just the tip of his nose out to get some more air.
sammy jay's sharp eyes saw him.
""there's grandfather frog!"
he shouted.
so then grandfather frog popped his head out and swam over to his green lily pad to rest.
way over beyond the big rock little bubbles in three long rows kept coming up to the top of the smiling pool.
they showed just where billy mink, little joe otter and jerry muskrat were swimming way down out of sight.
it was the air from their lungs making the bubbles.
straight across the smiling pool went the lines of little bubbles and then way out on the farther side two little heads bobbed out of water close together.
they were billy mink and little joe otter.
a moment later jerry muskrat bobbed up beside them.
you see, they had swum clear across the smiling pool and of course they could swim no farther.
so billy mink's swimming party was a great success.
chapter ix peter rabbit plays a joke one morning when big round mr. sun was climbing up in the sky and old mother west wind had sent all her merry little breezes to play in the green meadows, johnny chuck started out for a walk.
first he sat up very straight and looked and looked all around to see if reddy fox was anywhere about, for you know reddy fox liked to tease johnny chuck.
but reddy fox was nowhere to be seen, so johnny chuck trotted down the lone little path to the wood.
mr. sun was shining as brightly as ever he could and johnny chuck, who was very, very fat, grew very, very warm.
by and by he sat down on the end of a log under a big tree to rest.
thump!
something hit johnny chuck right on the top of his round little head.
it made johnny chuck jump.
""hello, johnny chuck!"
said a voice that seemed to come right out of the sky.
johnny chuck tipped his head way, way back and looked up.
he was just in time to see happy jack squirrel drop a nut.
down it came and hit johnny chuck right on the tip of his funny, black, little nose.
""oh!"
said johnny chuck, and tumbled right over back off the log.
but johnny chuck was so round and so fat and so roly-poly that it did n't hurt him a bit.
""ha!
ha!
ha!"
laughed happy jack up in the tree.
""ha!
ha!
ha!"
laughed johnny chuck, picking himself up.
then they both laughed together.
it was such a good joke.
""what are you laughing at?"
asked a voice so close to johnny chuck that he rolled over three times he was so surprised.
it was peter rabbit.
""what are you doing in my wood?"
asked peter rabbit.
""i'm taking a walk," said johnny chuck.
""good," said peter rabbit, "i'll come along too."
so johnny chuck and peter rabbit set out along the lone little path through the wood.
peter rabbit hopped along with great big jumps, for peter's legs are long and meant for jumping, but johnny chuck could n't keep up though he tried very hard, for johnny's legs are short.
pretty soon peter rabbit came back, walking very softly.
he whispered in johnny chuck's ear.
""i've found something," said peter rabbit.
""what is it?"
asked johnny chuck.
""i'll show you," said peter rabbit, "but you must be very, very still, and not make the least little bit of noise."
johnny chuck promised to be very, very still for he wanted very much to see what peter rabbit had found.
peter rabbit tip-toed down the lone little path through the wood, his funny long ears pointing right up to the sky.
and behind him tip-toed johnny chuck, wondering and wondering what it could be that peter rabbit had found.
pretty soon they came to a nice mossy green log right across the lone little path.
peter rabbit stopped and sat up very straight.
he looked this way and looked that way.
johnny chuck stopped too and he sat up very straight and looked this way and looked that way, but all he could see was the mossy green log across the lone little path.
""what is it, peter rabbit?"
whispered johnny chuck.
""you ca n't see it yet," whispered peter rabbit, "for first we have to jump over that mossy green log.
now i'll jump first, and then you jump just the way i do, and then you'll see what it is i've found," said peter rabbit.
so peter rabbit jumped first, and because his legs are long and meant for jumping, he jumped way, way over the mossy green log.
then he turned around and sat up to see johnny chuck jump over the mossy green log, too.
johnny chuck tried to jump very high and very far, just as he had seen peter rabbit jump, but johnny chuck's legs are very short and not meant for jumping.
besides, johnny chuck was very, very fat.
so though he tried very hard indeed to jump just like peter rabbit, he stubbed his toes on the top of the mossy green log and over he tumbled, head first, and landed with a great big thump right on reddy fox, who was lying fast asleep on the other side of the mossy green log.
peter rabbit laughed and laughed until he had to hold his sides.
my, how frightened johnny chuck was when he saw what he had done!
before he could get on his feet he had rolled right over behind a little bush, and there he lay very, very still.
reddy fox awoke with a grunt when johnny chuck fell on him so hard, and the first thing he saw was peter rabbit laughing so that he had to hold his sides.
reddy fox did n't stop to look around.
he thought that peter rabbit had jumped on him.
up jumped reddy fox and away ran peter rabbit.
away went reddy fox after peter rabbit.
peter dodged behind the trees, and jumped over the bushes, and ran this way and ran that way, just as hard as ever he could, for peter rabbit was very much afraid of reddy fox.
and reddy fox followed peter rabbit behind the trees and over the bushes this way and that way, but he could n't catch peter rabbit.
pretty soon peter rabbit came to the house of jimmy skunk.
he knew that jimmy skunk was over in the pasture, so he popped right in and then he was safe, for the door of jimmy skunk's house was too small for reddy fox to squeeze in.
reddy fox sat down and waited, but peter rabbit did n't come out.
by and by reddy fox gave it up and trotted off home where old mother fox was waiting for him.
all this time johnny chuck had sat very still, watching reddy fox try to catch peter rabbit.
and when he saw peter rabbit pop into the house of jimmy skunk and reddy fox trot away home, johnny chuck stood up and brushed his little coat very clean and then he trotted back up the lone little path through the wood to his own dear little path through the green meadows where the merry little breezes of old mother west wind were still playing, till he was safe in his own snug little house once more.
chapter x how sammy jay was found out sammy jay was very busy, very busy indeed.
when anyone happened that way sammy jay pretended to be doing nothing at all, for sammy jay thought himself a very fine gentleman.
he was very proud of his handsome blue coat with white trimmings and his high cap, and he would sit on a fence post and make fun of johnny chuck working at a new door for his snug little home in the green meadows, and of striped chipmunk storing up heaps of corn and nuts for the winter, for most of the time sammy jay was an idle fellow.
and when sammy jay was busy, he was pretty sure to be doing something that he ought not to do, for idle people almost always get into mischief.
sammy jay was in mischief now, and that is why he pretended to be doing nothing when he thought any one was looking.
old mother west wind had come down from her home behind the purple hills very early that morning.
indeed, jolly, round, red mr. sun had hardly gotten out of bed when she crossed the green meadows on her way to help the big ships across the ocean.
old mother west wind's eyes were sharp, and she saw sammy jay before sammy jay saw her.
""now what can sammy jay be so busy about, and why is he so very, very quiet?"
thought old mother west wind.
""he must be up to some mischief."
so when she opened her big bag and turned out all her merry little breezes to play on the green meadows she sent one of them to see what sammy jay was doing in the old chestnut tree.
the merry little breeze danced along over the tree tops just as if he had n't a thought in the world but to wake up all the little leaves and set them to dancing too, and sammy jay, watching old mother west wind and the other merry little breezes, did n't see this merry little breeze at all.
pretty soon it danced back to old mother west wind and whispered in her ear: "sammy jay is stealing the nuts happy jack squirrel had hidden in the hollow of the old chestnut tree, and is hiding them for himself in the tumble down nest that blacky the crow built in the great pine last year."
""aha!"
said old mother west wind.
then she went on across the green meadows.
""good morning, old mother west wind," said sammy jay as she passed the fence post where he was sitting.
""good morning, sammy jay," said old mother west wind.
""what brings you out so early in the morning?"
""i'm out for my health, old mother west wind," said sammy jay politely.
""the doctor has ordered me to take a bath in the dew at sunrise every morning."
old mother west wind said nothing, but went on her way across the green meadows to blow the ships across the ocean.
when she had passed, sammy jay hurried to take the last of happy jack's nuts to the old nest in the great pine.
poor happy jack!
soon he came dancing along with another nut to put in the hollow of the old chestnut tree.
when he peeped in and saw that all his big store of nuts had disappeared, he could n't believe his own eyes.
he put in one paw and felt all around but not a nut could he feel.
then he climbed in and sure enough, the hollow was empty.
poor happy jack!
there were tears in his eyes when he crept out again.
he looked all around but no one was to be seen but handsome sammy jay, very busy brushing his beautiful blue coat.
""good morning, sammy jay, have you seen any one pass this way?"
asked happy jack.
""some one has stolen a store of nuts from the hollow in the old chestnut tree."
sammy jay pretended to feel very badly indeed, and in his sweetest voice, for his voice was very sweet in those days, he offered to help happy jack try to catch the thief who had stolen the store of nuts from the hollow in the old chestnut tree.
together they went down cross the green meadows asking every one whom they met if they had seen the thief who had stolen happy jack's store of nuts from the hollow in the old chestnut tree.
all the merry little breezes joined in the search, and soon every one who lived in the green meadows or in the wood knew that some one had stolen all of happy jack squirrel's store of nuts from the hollow in the old chestnut tree.
and because every one liked happy jack, every one felt very sorry indeed for him.
the next morning all the merry little breezes of old mother west wind were turned out of the big bag into the green meadows very early indeed, for they had a lot of errands to do.
all over the green meadows they hurried, all through the wood, up and down the laughing brook and all around the smiling pool, inviting everybody to meet at the great pine on the hill at nine o'clock to form a committee of the whole -- to try to find the thief who stole happy jack's nuts from the hollow in the old chestnut tree.
and because every one liked happy jack every one went to the great pine on the hill -- reddy fox, bobby coon, jimmy skunk striped chipmunk, who is happy jack's cousin you know, billy mink, little joe otter, jerry muskrat, hooty the owl, who was almost too sleepy to keep his eyes open, blacky the crow, johnny chuck, peter rabbit, even old grandfather frog.
of course sammy jay was there, looking his handsomest.
when they had all gathered around the great pine, old mother west wind pointed to the old nest way up in the top of it.
""is that your nest?"
she asked blacky the crow.
""it was, but i gave it to my cousin, sammy jay," said blacky the crow.
""is that your nest, and may i have a stick out of it?"
asked old mother west wind of sammy jay.
""it is," said sammy jay, with his politest bow, "and you are welcome to a stick out of it."
to himself he thought, "she will only take one from the top and that wo n't matter."
old mother west wind suddenly puffed out her cheeks and blew so hard that she blew a big stick right out of the bottom of the old nest.
down it fell bumpity-bump on the branches of the great pine.
after it fell -- what do you think?
why, hickory nuts and chestnuts and acorns and hazel nuts, such a lot of them!
""why!
why -- e -- e!" cried happy jack.
""there are all my stolen nuts!"
everybody turned to look at sammy jay, but he was flying off through the wood as fast as he could go.
""stop thief!"
cried old mother west wind.
""stop thief!"
cried all the merry little breezes and johnny chuck and billy mink and all the rest.
but sammy jay did n't stop.
then all began to pick up the nuts that had fallen from the old nest where sammy jay had hidden them.
by and by, with happy jack leading the way, they all marched back to the old chestnut tree and there happy jack stored all the nuts away in his snug little hollow once more.
and ever since that day, sammy jay, whenever he tries to call, just screams: "thief!"
""thief!"
""thief!"
chapter xi jerry muskrat's party all the merry little breezes of old mother west wind were hurrying over the green meadows.
some flew this way and some ran that way and some danced the other way.
you see, jerry muskrat had asked them to carry his invitations to a party at the big rock in the smiling pool.
of course every one said that they would be delighted to go to jerry muskrat's party.
round mr. sun shone his very brightest.
the sky was its bluest and the little birds had promised to be there to sing for jerry muskrat, so of course all the little folks in the green meadows and in the wood wanted to go.
there were johnny chuck and reddy fox and jimmy skunk and bobby coon and happy jack squirrel and striped chipmunk and billy mink and little joe otter and grandfather frog and old mr. toad and mr. blacksnake -- all going to jerry muskrat's party.
when they reached the smiling pool they found jerry muskrat all ready.
his brothers and his sister, his aunts and his uncles and his cousins were all there.
such a merry, merry time as there was in the smiling pool!
how the water did splash!
billy mink and little joe otter and grandfather frog jumped right in as soon as they got there.
they played tag in the water and hid behind the big rock.
they turned somersaults down the slippery slide and they had such a good time!
but reddy fox and peter rabbit and bobby coon and johnny chuck and jimmy skunk and happy jack and striped chipmunk could n't swim, so of course they could n't play tag in the water or hide and seek or go down the slippery slide; all they could do was sit around to look on and wish that they knew how to swim, too.
so of course they did n't have a good time.
soon they began to wish that they had n't come to jerry muskrat's party.
when he found that they were not having a good time, poor jerry muskrat felt very badly indeed.
you see he lives in the water so much that he had quite forgotten that there was anyone who could n't swim, or he never, never would have invited all the little meadow folks who live on dry land.
""let's go home," said peter rabbit to johnny chuck.
""we can have more fun up on the hill," said jimmy skunk.
just then little joe otter came pushing a great big log across the smiling pool.
""here's a ship, bobby coon.
you get on one end and i'll give you a sail across the smiling pool," shouted little joe otter.
so bobby coon crawled out on the big log and held on very tight, while little joe otter swam behind and pushed the big log.
across the smiling pool they went and back again.
bobby coon had such a good ride that he wanted to go again, but jimmy skunk wanted a ride.
so bobby coon hopped off of the big log and jimmy skunk hopped on and away he went across the smiling pool with little joe otter pushing behind.
then jerry muskrat found another log and gave peter rabbit a ride.
jerry muskrat's brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins found logs and took reddy fox and johnny chuck and even mr. toad back and forth across the smiling pool.
happy jack squirrel sat up very straight on the end of his log and spread his great bushy tail for a sail.
all the little breezes blew and blew and happy jack squirrel sailed round and round the smiling pool.
sometimes someone would fall off into the water and get wet, but jerry muskrat or billy mink always pulled them out again, and no one cared the tiniest bit for a wetting.
in the bushes around the smiling pool the little birds sang and sang.
reddy fox barked his loudest.
happy jack squirrel chattered and chir -- r -- r -- ed.
all the muskrats squealed and squeaked, for jerry muskrat's party was such fun!
by and by when mr. sun went down behind the purple hills to his home and old mother west wind with all her merry little breezes went after him, and the little stars came out to twinkle and twinkle, the smiling pool lay all quiet and still, but smiling and smiling to think what a good time every one had had at jerry muskrat's party.
chapter xii bobby coon and reddy fox play tricks it was night.
all the little stars were looking down and twinkling and twinkling.
mother moon was doing her best to make the green meadows as light as mr. sun did in the daytime.
all the little birds except hooty the owl and boomer the night hawk, and noisy mr. whip-poor-will were fast asleep in their little nests.
old mother west wind's merry little breezes had all gone to sleep, too.
it was oh so still!
indeed it was so very still that bobby coon, coming down the lone little path through the wood, began to talk to himself.
""i do n't see what people want to play all day and sleep all night for," said bobby coon.
""night's the best time to be about.
now reddy fox --" "be careful what you say about reddy fox," said a voice right behind bobby coon.
bobby coon turned around very quickly indeed, for he had thought he was all alone.
there was reddy fox himself, trotting down the lone little path through the wood.
""i thought you were home and fast asleep, reddy fox," said bobby coon.
""you were mistaken," said reddy fox.
""for you see i'm out to take a walk in the moonlight."
so bobby coon and reddy fox walked together down the lone little path through the wood to the green meadows.
they met jimmy skunk, who had dreamed that there were a lot of beetles up on the hill, and was just going to climb the crooked little path to see.
""hello, jimmy skunk!"
said bobby coon and reddy fox.
""come down to the green meadows with us."
jimmy skunk said he would, so they all went down on the green meadows together, bobby coon first, reddy fox next and jimmy skunk last of all, for jimmy skunk never hurries.
pretty soon they came to the house of johnny chuck.
""listen," said bobby coon.
""johnny chuck is fast asleep."
they all listened and they could hear johnny chuck snoring away down in his snug little bed.
""let's give johnny chuck a surprise," said reddy fox.
""what shall it be?"
asked bobby coon.
""i know," said reddy fox.
""let's roll that big stone right over johnny chuck's doorway; then he'll have to dig his way out in the morning."
so bobby coon and reddy fox pulled and tugged and tugged and pulled at the big stone till they had rolled it over johnny chuck's doorway.
jimmy skunk pretended not to see what they were doing.
""now let's go down to the laughing brook and wake up old grandfather frog and hear him say "chug-a-rum,"" said bobby coon.
""come on!"
cried reddy fox, "i'll get there first!"
away raced reddy fox down the lone little path and after him ran bobby coon, going to wake old grandfather frog from a nice comfortable sleep on his green lily pad.
but jimmy skunk did n't go.
he watched reddy fox and bobby coon until they were nearly to the laughing brook.
then he began to dig at one side of the big stone which filled the doorway of johnny chuck's house.
my, how he made the dirt fly!
pretty soon he had made a hole big enough to call through to johnny chuck, who was snoring away, fast asleep in his snug little bed below.
""johnny chuck, chuck, chuck!
johnny woodchuck!"
called jimmy skunk.
but johnny chuck just snored.
""johnny chuck, chuck, chuck!
johnny woodchuck!"
called jimmy skunk once more.
but johnny chuck just snored.
then jimmy skunk called again, this time louder than before.
""who is it?"
asked a very sleepy voice.
""it's jimmy skunk.
put your coat on and come up here!"
called jimmy skunk.
""go away, jimmy skunk.
i want to sleep!"
said johnny chuck.
""i've got a surprise for you, johnny chuck.
you'd better come!"
called jimmy skunk through the little hole he had made.
when johnny chuck heard that jimmy skunk had a surprise for him he wanted to know right away what it could be, so though he was very, very sleepy, he put on his coat and started up for his door to see what the surprise was that jimmy skunk had.
and there he found the big stone reddy fox and bobby coon had put there, and of course he was very much surprised indeed.
he thought jimmy skunk had played him a mean trick and for a few minutes he was very mad.
but jimmy skunk soon told him who had filled up his doorway with the big stone.
""now you push from that side, johnny chuck, and i'll pull from this side, and we'll soon have this big stone out of your doorway," said jimmy skunk.
so johnny chuck pushed and jimmy skunk pulled, and sure enough they soon had the big stone out of johnny chuck's doorway.
""now," said jimmy skunk, "we'll roll this big stone down the lone little path to reddy fox's house and we'll give reddy fox a surprise."
so johnny chuck and jimmy skunk tugged and pulled and rolled the big stone down to the house of reddy fox, and sure enough, it filled his doorway.
""good night, jimmy skunk," said johnny chuck, and trotted down the lone little path toward home, chuckling to himself all the way.
jimmy skunk walked slowly up the lone little path to the wood, for jimmy skunk never hurries.
pretty soon he came to the big hollow tree where bobby coon lives, and there he met hooty the owl.
""hello, jimmy skunk, where have you been?"
asked hooty the owl.
""just for a walk," said jimmy skunk.
""who lives in this big hollow tree?"
now of course jimmy skunk knew all the time, but he pretended he did n't.
""oh, this is bobby coon's house," said hooty the owl.
""let's give bobby coon a surprise," said jimmy skunk.
""how?"
asked hooty the owl.
""we'll fill his house full of sticks and leaves," said jimmy skunk.
hooty the owl thought that would be a good joke so while jimmy skunk gathered all the old sticks and leaves he could find, hooty the owl stuffed them into the old hollow tree which was bobby coon's house, until he could n't get in another one.
""good night," said jimmy skunk as he began to climb the crooked little path up the hill to his own snug little home.
""good night," said hooty the owl, as he flew like a big soft shadow over to the great pine.
by and by when old mother moon was just going to bed and all the little stars were too sleepy to twinkle any longer, reddy fox and bobby coon, very tired and very wet from playing in the laughing brook, came up the lone little path, ready to tumble into their snug little beds.
they were chuckling over the trick they had played on johnny chuck, and the way they had waked up old grandfather frog, and all the other mischief they had done.
what do you suppose they said when they reached their homes and found that someone else had been playing jokes, too?
i'm sure i do n't know, but round, red mr. sun was laughing very hard as he peeped over the hill at reddy fox and bobby coon, and he wo n't tell why.
chapter xiii johnny chuck finds the best thing in the world old mother west wind had stopped to talk with the slender fir tree.
""i've just come across the green meadows," said old mother west wind, "and there i saw the best thing in the world."
striped chipmunk was sitting under the slender fir tree and he could n't help hearing what old mother west wind said.
""the best thing in the world -- now what can that be?"
thought striped chipmunk.
""why, it must be heaps and heaps of nuts and acorns!
i'll go and find it."
so striped chipmunk started down the lone little path through the wood as fast as he could run.
pretty soon he met peter rabbit.
""where are you going in such a hurry, striped chipmunk?"
asked peter rabbit.
""down in the green meadows to find the best thing in the world," replied striped chipmunk, and ran faster.
""the best thing in the world," said peter rabbit.
""why, that must be great piles of carrots and cabbage!
i think i'll go and find it."
so peter rabbit started down the lone little path through the wood as fast as he could go after striped chipmunk.
as they passed the great hollow tree bobby coon put his head out.
""where are you going in such a hurry?"
asked bobby coon.
""down in the green meadows to find the best thing in the world!"
shouted striped chipmunk and peter rabbit, and both began to run faster.
""the best thing in the world," said bobby coon to himself.
""why, that must be a whole field of sweet milky corn.
i think i'll go and find it."
so bobby coon climbed down out of the great hollow tree and started down the lone little path through the wood as fast as he could go after striped chipmunk and peter rabbit, for there is nothing that bobby coon likes to eat so well as sweet milky corn.
at the edge of the wood they met jimmy skunk.
""where are you going in such a hurry?"
asked jimmy skunk.
""down in the green meadows to find the best thing in the world!"
shouted striped chipmunk and peter rabbit and bobby coon.
then they all tried to run faster.
""the best thing in the world," said jimmy skunk.
""why, that must be packs and packs of beetles!"
and for once in his life jimmy skunk began to hurry down the lone little path after striped chipmunk and peter rabbit and bobby coon.
they were all running so fast that they did n't see reddy fox until he jumped out of the long grass and asked: "where are you going in such a hurry?"
""to find the best thing in the world!"
shouted striped chipmunk and peter rabbit and bobby coon and jimmy skunk, and each did his best to run faster.
""the best thing in the world," said reddy fox to himself.
""why, that must be a whole pen full of tender young chickens, and i must have them."
so away went reddy fox as fast as he could run down the lone little path after striped chipmunk, peter rabbit, bobby coon and jimmy skunk.
by and by they all came to the house of johnny chuck.
""where are you going in such a hurry?"
asked johnny chuck.
""to find the best thing in the world," shouted striped chipmunk and peter rabbit and bobby coon and jimmy skunk and reddy fox.
""the best thing in the world," said johnny chuck.
""why, i do n't know of anything better than my own little home and the warm sunshine and the beautiful blue sky."
so johnny chuck stayed at home and played all day among the flowers with the merry little breezes of old mother west wind and was as happy as could be.
but all day long striped chipmunk and peter rabbit and bobby coon and jimmy skunk and reddy fox ran this way and ran that way over the green meadows trying to find the best thing in the world.
the sun was very, very warm and they ran so far and they ran so fast that they were very, very hot and tired, and still they had n't found the best thing in the world.
when the long day was over they started up the lone little path past johnny chuck's house to their own homes.
they did n't hurry now for they were so very, very tired!
and they were cross -- oh so cross!
striped chipmunk had n't found a single nut.
peter rabbit had n't found so much as the leaf of a cabbage.
bobby coon had n't found the tiniest bit of sweet milky corn.
jimmy skunk had n't seen a single beetle.
reddy fox had n't heard so much as the peep of a chicken.
and all were as hungry as hungry could be.
half way up the lone little path they met old mother west wind going to her home behind the hill.
""did you find the best thing in the world?"
asked old mother west wind.
""no!"
shouted striped chipmunk and peter rabbit and bobby coon and jimmy skunk and reddy fox all together.
""johnny chuck has it," said old mother west wind.
""it is being happy with the things you have and not wanting things which some one else has.
and it is called con-tent-ment."
chapter xiv little joe otter's slippery slide little joe otter and billy mink had been playing together around the smiling pool all one sunshiny morning.
they had been fishing and had taken home a fine dinner of trout for old grandfather mink and blind old granny otter.
they had played tag with the merry little breezes.
they had been in all kinds of mischief and now they just did n't know what to do.
they were sitting side by side on the big rock trying to push each other off into the smiling pool.
round, smiling red mr. sun made the green meadows very warm indeed, and reddy fox, over in the tall grass, heard them splashing and shouting and having such a good time that he wished he liked the nice cool water and could swim, too.
""i've thought of something!"
cried little joe otter.
""what is it?"
asked billy mink.
little joe otter just looked wise and said nothing.
""something to eat?"
asked billy mink.
""no," said little joe otter.
""i do n't believe you've a thought of anything at all," said billy mink.
""i have too!"
said little joe otter.
""it's something to do."
""what?"
demanded billy mink.
just then little joe otter spied jerry muskrat.
""hi, jerry muskrat!
come over here!"
he called.
jerry muskrat swam across to the big rock and climbed up beside billy mink and little joe otter.
""what are you fellows doing?"
asked jerry muskrat.
""having some fun," said billy mink.
""little joe otter has thought of something to do, but i do n't know what it is."
""let's make a slide," cried little joe otter.
""you show us how," said billy mink.
so little joe otter found a nice smooth place on the bank, and billy mink and jerry muskrat brought mud and helped him pat it down smooth until they had the loveliest slippery slide in the world.
then little joe otter climbed up the bank to the top of the slippery slide and lay down flat on his stomach.
billy mink gave a push and away he went down, down the slippery slide, splash into the smiling pool.
then jerry muskrat tried it and after him billy mink.
then all did it over again.
sometimes they went down the slippery slide on their backs, sometimes flat on their stomachs, sometimes head first, sometimes feet first.
oh such fun as they did have!
even grandfather frog came over and tried the slippery slide.
johnny chuck, over in the green meadows, heard the noise and stole down the lone little path to see.
jimmy skunk, looking for beetles up on the hill, heard the noise and forgot that he had n't had his breakfast.
reddy fox, taking a nap, woke up and hurried over to watch the fun.
last of all came peter rabbit.
little joe otter saw him coming.
""hello, peter rabbit!"
he shouted.
""come and try the slippery slide."
now peter rabbit could n't swim, but he pretended that he did n't want to.
""i've left my bathing suit at home," said peter rabbit.
""never mind," said billy mink.
""mr. sun will dry you off."
""and we'll help," said all the merry little breezes of old mother west wind.
but peter rabbit shook his head and said, "no."
faster and faster went billy mink and little joe otter and jerry muskrat and old grandfather frog down the slippery slide into the smiling pool.
peter rabbit kept coming nearer and nearer until finally he stood right at the top of the slippery slide.
billy mink crept up behind him very softly and gave him a push.
peter rabbit's long legs flew out from under him and down he sat with a thump on the slippery slide.
""oh," cried peter rabbit, and tried to stop himself.
but he could n't do it and so away he went down the slippery slide, splash into the smiling pool.
""ha!
ha!
ha!"
laughed billy mink.
""ho!
ho!
ho!"
shouted little joe otter.
""he!
he!
he!"
laughed jerry muskrat and old grandfather frog and sammy jay and jimmy skunk and reddy fox and blacky the crow and mr. kingfisher, for you know peter rabbit was forever playing jokes on them.
poor peter rabbit!
the water got in his eyes and up his nose and into his mouth and made him choke and splutter, and then he could n't get back on the bank, for you know peter rabbit could n't swim.
when little joe otter saw what a dreadful time peter rabbit was having he dove into the smiling pool and took hold of one of peter rabbit's long ears.
billy mink swam out and took hold of the other long ear.
jerry muskrat swam right under peter rabbit and took him on his back.
then with old grandfather frog swimming ahead they took peter rabbit right across the smiling pool and pulled him out on the grassy bank, where it was nice and warm.
all the merry little breezes of old mother west wind came over and helped mr. sun dry peter rabbit off.
then they all sat down together and watched little joe otter turn a somersault down the slippery slide.
chapter xv the tail of tommy trout who did not mind in the laughing brook, which rippled and sings all day long, lived mr. trout and mrs. trout, and a whole lot of little trouts.
there were so many little trouts that mr. trout and mrs. trout were kept very busy indeed getting breakfast and dinner and supper for them, and watching out for them and teaching them how to swim and how to catch foolish little flies that sometimes fell on the water and how to keep out of the way of big hungry fish and sharp eyed mr. kingfisher and big men and little boys who came fishing with hooks and lines.
now all the little trouts were very, very good and minded just what mrs. trout told them -- all but tommy trout, for tommy trout -- oh, dear, dear!
tommy trout never could mind right away.
he always had to wait a little instead of minding when he was spoken to.
tommy trout did n't mean to be bad.
oh dear, no!
he just wanted to have his own way, and because tommy trout had his own way and did n't mind mrs. trout there is n't any tommy trout now.
no sir, there is n't as much as one little blue spot of his beautiful little coat left because -- why, just because tommy trout did n't mind.
one day when round, red mr. sun was shining and the laughing brook was singing on its way to join the big river, mrs. trout started to get some nice plump flies for dinner.
all the little trouts were playing in their dear little pool, safe behind the big rock.
before she started mrs. trout called all the little trouts around her and told them not to leave their little pool while she was gone, "for," said she, "something dreadful might happen to you."
all the little trouts, except tommy trout, promised that they would surely, surely stay inside their dear little pool.
then they all began to jump and chase each other and play as happy as could be, all but tommy trout.
as soon as mrs. trout had started, tommy trout swam off by himself to the edge of the pool.
""i wonder what is on the other side of the big rock," said tommy trout.
""the sun is shining and the brook is laughing and nothing could happen if i go just a little speck of a ways."
so, when no one was looking, tommy trout slipped out of the safe little pool where all the other little trouts were playing.
he swam just a little speck of a ways farther still.
now he could see almost around the big rock.
then he swam just a little speck of a ways farther and -- oh dear, dear!
he looked right into the mouth of a great big, big fish called mr. pickerel, who is very fond of little trouts and would like to eat one for breakfast every day.
""ah ha!"
said mr. pickerel, opening his big, big mouth very, very wide.
tommy trout turned to run back to the dear, dear safe little pool where all the other little trouts were playing so happily, but he was too late.
into that great big, big mouth he went instead, and mr. pickerel swallowed him whole.
""ah ha," said mr. pickerel, "i like little trouts."
and nothing more was ever heard of tommy trout, who did n't mind.
chapter xvi spotty the turtle wins a race all the little people who live on the green meadows and in the smiling pool and along the laughing brook were to have a holiday.
the merry little breezes of old mother west wind had been very busy, oh very busy indeed, in sending word to all the little meadow folks.
you see, peter rabbit had been boasting of how fast he could run.
reddy fox was quite sure that he could run faster than peter rabbit.
billy mink, who can move so quickly you hardly can see him, was quite sure that neither peter rabbit nor reddy fox could run as fast as he.
they all met one day beside the smiling pool and agreed that old grandfather frog should decide who was the swiftest.
now grandfather frog was accounted very wise.
you see he had lived a long time, oh, very much longer than any of the others, and therefore, because of the wisdom of age, grandfather frog was always called on to decide all disputes.
he sat on his green lily-pad while billy mink sat on the big rock, and peter rabbit and reddy fox sat on the bank.
each in turn told why he thought he was the fastest.
old grandfather frog listened and listened and said never a word until they were all through.
when they had finished, he stopped to catch a foolish green fly and then he said: "the best way to decide who is the swiftest is to have a race."
so it was agreed that peter rabbit and reddy fox and billy mink should start together from the old butternut tree on one edge of the green meadows, race away across the green meadows to the little hill on the other side and each bring back a nut from the big hickory which grew there.
the one who first reached the old butternut tree with a hickory nut would be declared the winner.
the merry little breezes flew about over the green meadows telling everyone about the race and everyone planned to be there.
it was a beautiful summer day.
mr. sun smiled and smiled, and the more he smiled the warmer it grew.
everyone was there to see the race -- striped chipmunk, happy jack squirrel, sammy jay, blacky the crow, hooty the owl and bobby coon all sat up in the old butternut tree where it was cool and shady.
johnny chuck, jerry muskrat, jimmy skunk, little joe otter, grandfather frog and even old mr. toad, were there.
last of all came spotty the turtle.
now spotty the turtle is a very slow walker, and he can not run at all.
when peter rabbit saw him coming up towards the old butternut tree he shouted: "come, spotty, do n't you want to race with us?"
everybody laughed because you know spotty is so very, very slow but spotty did n't laugh and he did n't get cross because everyone else laughed.
""there is a wise old saying, peter rabbit," said spotty the turtle, "which shows that those who run fastest do not always reach a place first.
i think i will enter this race."
every one thought that that was the best joke they had heard for a long time, and all laughed harder than ever.
they all agreed that spotty the turtle should start in the race too.
so they all stood in a row, peter rabbit first, the billy mink, then reddy fox, and right side of reddy fox spotty the turtle.
""are you ready?"
asked grandfather frog.
""go!"
away went peter rabbit with great big jumps.
after him went billy mink so fast that was just a little brown streak going through the tall grass, and side by side with him ran reddy fox.
now just as they started spotty the turtle reached up and grabbed the long hair on the end of reddy's big tail.
of course reddy could n't have stopped to shake him off, because peter rabbit and billy mink were running so fast that he had to run his very best to keep up with them.
but he did n't even know that spotty the turtle was there.
you see spotty is not very heavy and reddy fox was so excited that he did not notice that his big tail was heavier than usual.
the merry little breezes flew along, too, to see that the race was fair.
peter rabbit went with great big jumps.
whenever he came to a little bush he jumped right over it, for peter rabbit's legs are long and meant for jumping.
billy mink is so slim that he slipped between the bushes and through the long grass like a little brown streak.
reddy fox, who is bigger than either peter rabbit or billy mink, had no trouble in keeping up with them.
not one of them noticed that spotty the turtle was hanging fast to the end of reddy's tail.
now just at the foot of the little hill on which the big hickory tree grew was a little pond.
it was n't very wide but it was quite long.
billy mink remembered this pond and he chuckled to himself as he raced along, for he knew that peter rabbit could n't swim and he knew that reddy fox does not like the water, so therefore both would have to run around it.
he himself can swim even faster than he can run.
the more he thought of this, the more foolish it seemed that he should hurry so on such a warm day.
""for," said billy mink to himself, "even if they reach the pond first, they will have to run around it, while i can swim across it and cool off while i am swimming.
i will surely get there first."
so billy mink ran slower and slower, and pretty soon he had dropped behind.
mr. sun, round and red, looking down, smiled and smiled to see the race.
the more he smiled the warmer it grew.
now, peter rabbit had a thick gray coat and reddy fox had a thick red coat, and they both began to get very, very warm.
peter rabbit did not make such long jumps as when he first started.
reddy fox began to feel very thirsty, and his tongue hung out.
now that billy mink was behind them they thought they did not need to hurry so.
peter rabbit reached the little pond first.
he had not thought of that pond when he agreed to enter the race.
he stopped right on the edge of it and sat up on his hind legs.
right across he could see the big hickory tree, so near and yet so far, for he knew that he must run around the pond then back again, and it was a long, long way.
in just a moment reddy fox ran out of the bushes and reddy felt much as peter rabbit did.
way, way behind them was billy mink, trotting along comfortably and chuckling to himself.
peter rabbit looked at reddy fox in dismay, and reddy fox looked at peter rabbit in dismay.
then they both looked at billy mink and remembered that billy mink could swim right across.
then off peter rabbit started as fast as he could go around the pond one way, and reddy fox started around the pond the other way.
they were so excited that neither noticed a little splash in the pond.
that was spotty the turtle who had let go of reddy's tail and now was swimming across the pond, for you know that spotty is a splendid swimmer.
only once or twice he stuck his little black nose up to get some air.
the rest of the time he swam under water and no one but the merry little breezes saw him.
right across he swam, and climbed up the bank right under the big hickory tree.
now there were just three nuts left under the hickory trees.
two of these spotty took down to the edge of the pond and buried in the mud.
the other he took in his mouth and started back across the pond.
just as he reached the other shore up trotted billy mink, but billy mink did n't see spotty.
he was too intent watching reddy fox and peter rabbit, who were now half way around the pond.
in he jumped with a splash.
my!
how good that cool water did feel!
he did n't have to hurry now, because he felt sure that the race was his.
so he swam round and round and chased some fish and had a beautiful time in the water.
by and by he looked up and saw that peter rabbit was almost around the pond one way and reddy fox was almost around the pond the other way.
they both looked tired and hot and discouraged.
then billy mink swam slowly across and climbed out on the bank under the big hickory tree.
but where were the nuts?
look as he would, he could not see a nut anywhere, yet the merry little breezes had said there were three nuts lying under the hickory tree.
billy mink ran this way and ran that way.
he was still running around, poking over the leaves and looking under the twigs and pieces of bark when peter rabbit and reddy fox came up.
then they, too, began to look under the leaves and under the bark.
they pawed around in the grass, they hunted in every nook and cranny, but not a nut could they find.
they were tired and cross and hot and they accused billy mink of having hidden the nuts.
billy mink stoutly insisted that he had not hidden the nuts, that he had not found the nuts, and when they saw how hard he was hunting they believed him.
all the afternoon they hunted and hunted and hunted, and all the afternoon spotty the turtle, with the nut in his mouth, was slowly, oh, so slowly, crawling straight back across the green meadows towards the old butternut tree.
round, red mr. sun was getting very close to the purple hills, where he goes to bed every night, and all the little meadow folks were getting ready to go to their homes.
they were wondering and wondering what could have happened to the racers, when sammy jay spied the merry little breezes dancing across the green meadows.
""here come the merry little breezes; they'll tell us who wins the race," cried sammy jay.
when the merry little breezes reached the old butternut tree, all the little meadow folks crowded around them, but the merry little breezes just laughed and laughed and would n't say a word.
then all of a sudden, out of the tall meadow grass crept spotty the turtle and laid the hickory nut at the feet of old grandfather frog.
old grandfather frog was so surprised that he actually let a great green fly buzz right past his nose.
""where did you get that hickory nut?"
asked grandfather frog.
""under the big hickory tree on the hill on the other side of the green meadows," said spotty.
then all the merry little breezes clapped their hands and shouted: "he did!
he did!
spotty wins the race!"
then they told how spotty reached the pond by clinging to the tip of reddy fox's tail, and had hidden the other two nuts, and then how he had patiently crawled home while billy mink and reddy fox and peter rabbit were hunting and hunting and hunting for the nuts they could not find.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_buster_bear.txt.out
i buster bear goes fishing buster bear yawned as he lay on his comfortable bed of leaves and watched the first early morning sunbeams creeping through the green forest to chase out the black shadows.
once more he yawned, and slowly got to his feet and shook himself.
then he walked over to a big pine-tree, stood up on his hind legs, reached as high up on the trunk of the tree as he could, and scratched the bark with his great claws.
after that he yawned until it seemed as if his jaws would crack, and then sat down to think what he wanted for breakfast.
while he sat there, trying to make up his mind what would taste best, he was listening to the sounds that told of the waking of all the little people who live in the green forest.
he heard sammy jay way off in the distance screaming, "thief!
thief!"
and grinned.
""i wonder," thought buster, "if some one has stolen sammy's breakfast, or if he has stolen the breakfast of some one else.
probably he is the thief himself."
he heard chatterer the red squirrel scolding as fast as he could make his tongue go and working himself into a terrible rage.
""must be that chatterer got out of bed the wrong way this morning," thought he.
he heard blacky the crow cawing at the top of his lungs, and he knew by the sound that blacky was getting into mischief of some kind.
he heard the sweet voices of happy little singers, and they were good to hear.
but most of all he listened to a merry, low, silvery laugh that never stopped but went on and on, until he just felt as if he must laugh too.
it was the voice of the laughing brook.
and as buster listened it suddenly came to him just what he wanted for breakfast.
""i'm going fishing," said he in his deep grumbly-rumbly voice to no one in particular.
""yes, sir, i'm going fishing.
i want some fat trout for my breakfast."
he shuffled along over to the laughing brook, and straight to a little pool of which he knew, and as he drew near he took the greatest care not to make the teeniest, weeniest bit of noise.
now it just happened that early as he was, some one was before buster bear.
when he came in sight of the little pool, who should he see but another fisherman there, who had already caught a fine fat trout.
who was it?
why, little joe otter to be sure.
he was just climbing up the bank with the fat trout in his mouth.
buster bear's own mouth watered as he saw it.
little joe sat down on the bank and prepared to enjoy his breakfast.
he had n't seen buster bear, and he did n't know that he or any one else was anywhere near.
buster bear tiptoed up very softly until he was right behind little joe otter.
""woof, woof!"
said he in his deepest, most grumbly-rumbly voice.
""that's a very fine looking trout.
i would n't mind if i had it myself."
little joe otter gave a frightened squeal and without even turning to see who was speaking dropped his fish and dived headfirst into the laughing brook.
buster bear sprang forward and with one of his big paws caught the fat trout just as it was slipping back into the water.
""here's your trout, mr. otter," said he, as little joe put his head out of water to see who had frightened him so.
""come and get it."
-lsb- illustration: "here's your trout, mr. otter," said he.
page 5.
-rsb- but little joe would n't.
the fact is, he was afraid to.
he snarled at buster bear and called him a thief and everything bad he could think of.
buster did n't seem to mind.
he chuckled as if he thought it all a great joke and repeated his invitation to little joe to come and get his fish.
but little joe just turned his back and went off down the laughing brook in a great rage.
""it's too bad to waste such a fine fish," said buster thoughtfully.
""i wonder what i'd better do with it."
and while he was wondering, he ate it all up.
then he started down the laughing brook to try to catch some for himself.
ii little joe otter gets even with buster bear little joe otter was in a terrible rage.
it was a bad beginning for a beautiful day and little joe knew it.
but who would n't be in a rage if his breakfast was taken from him just as he was about to eat it?
anyway, that is what little joe told billy mink.
perhaps he did n't tell it quite exactly as it was, but you know he was very badly frightened at the time.
""i was sitting on the bank of the laughing brook beside one of the little pools," he told billy mink, "and was just going to eat a fat trout i had caught, when who should come along but that great big bully, buster bear.
he took that fat trout away from me and ate it just as if it belonged to him!
i hate him!
if i live long enough i'm going to get even with him!"
of course that was n't nice talk and anything but a nice spirit, but little joe otter's temper is sometimes pretty short, especially when he is hungry, and this time he had had no breakfast, you know.
buster bear had n't actually taken the fish away from little joe.
but looking at the matter as little joe did, it amounted to the same thing.
you see, buster knew perfectly well when he invited little joe to come back and get it that little joe would n't dare do anything of the kind.
""where is he now?"
asked billy mink.
""he's somewhere up the laughing brook.
i wish he'd fall in and get drowned!"
snapped little joe.
billy mink just had to laugh.
the idea of great big buster bear getting drowned in the laughing brook was too funny.
there was n't water enough in it anywhere except down in the smiling pool, and that was on the green meadows, where buster had never been known to go.
""let's go see what he is doing," said billy mink.
at first little joe did n't want to, but at last his curiosity got the better of his fear, and he agreed.
so the two little brown-coated scamps turned down the laughing brook, taking the greatest care to keep out of sight themselves.
they had gone only a little way when billy mink whispered: "sh-h!
there he is."
sure enough, there was buster bear sitting close beside a little pool and looking into it very intently.
""what's he doing?"
asked little joe otter, as buster bear sat for the longest time without moving.
just then one of buster's big paws went into the water as quick as a flash and scooped out a trout that had ventured too near.
""he's fishing!"
exclaimed billy mink.
and that is just what buster bear was doing, and it was very plain to see that he was having great fun.
when he had eaten the trout he had caught, he moved along to the next little pool.
""they are our fish!"
said little joe fiercely.
""he has no business catching our fish!"
""i do n't see how we are going to stop him," said billy mink.
""i do!"
cried little joe, into whose head an idea had just popped.
""i'm going to drive all the fish out of the little pools and muddy the water all up.
then we'll see how many fish he will get!
just you watch me get even with buster bear."
little joe slipped swiftly into the water and swam straight to the little pool that buster bear would try next.
he frightened the fish so that they fled in every direction.
then he stirred up the mud until the water was so dirty that buster could n't have seen a fish right under his nose.
he did the same thing in the next pool and the next.
buster bear's fishing was spoiled for that day.
iii buster bear is greatly puzzled buster bear had n't enjoyed himself so much since he came to the green forest to live.
his fun began when he surprised little joe otter on the bank of a little pool in the laughing brook and little joe was so frightened that he dropped a fat trout he had just caught.
it had seemed like a great joke to buster bear, and he had chuckled over it all the time he was eating the fat trout.
when he had finished it, he started on to do some fishing himself.
presently he came to another little pool.
he stole up to it very, very softly, so as not to frighten the fish.
then he sat down close to the edge of it and did n't move.
buster learned a long time ago that a fisherman must be patient unless, like little joe otter, he is just as much at home in the water as the fish themselves, and can swim fast enough to catch them by chasing them.
so he did n't move so much as an eye lash.
he was so still that he looked almost like the stump of an old tree.
perhaps that is what the fish thought he was, for pretty soon, two or three swam right in close to where he was sitting.
now buster bear may be big and clumsy looking, but there is n't anything that can move much quicker than one of those big paws of his when he wants it to.
one of them moved now, and quicker than a wink had scooped one of those foolish fish out on to the bank.
buster's little eyes twinkled, and he smacked his lips as he moved on to the next little pool, for he knew that it was of no use to stay longer at the first one.
the fish were so frightened that they would n't come back for a long, long time.
at the next little pool the same thing happened.
by this time buster bear was in fine spirits.
it was fun to catch the fish, and it was still more fun to eat them.
what finer breakfast could any one have than fresh-caught trout?
no wonder he felt good!
but it takes more than three trout to fill buster bear's stomach, so he kept on to the next little pool.
but this little pool, instead of being beautiful and clear so that buster could see right to the bottom of it and so tell if there were any fish there, was so muddy that he could n't see into it at all.
it looked as if some one had just stirred up all the mud at the bottom.
""huh!"
said buster bear.
""it's of no use to try to fish here.
i would just waste my time.
i'll try the next pool."
so he went on to the next little pool.
he found this just as muddy as the other.
then he went on to another, and this was no better.
buster sat down and scratched his head.
it was puzzling.
yes, sir, it was puzzling.
he looked this way and he looked that way suspiciously, but there was no one to be seen.
everything was still save for the laughter of the laughing brook.
somehow, it seemed to buster as if the brook were laughing at him.
""it's very curious," muttered buster, "very curious indeed.
it looks as if my fishing is spoiled for to-day.
i do n't understand it at all.
it's lucky i caught what i did.
it looks as if somebody is trying to -- ha!"
a sudden thought had popped into his head.
then he began to chuckle and finally to laugh.
""i do believe that scamp joe otter is trying to get even with me for eating that fat trout!"
and then, because buster bear always enjoys a good joke even when it is on himself, he laughed until he had to hold his sides, which is a whole lot better than going off in a rage as little joe otter had done.
""you're pretty smart, mr. otter!
you're pretty smart, but there are other people who are smart too," said buster bear, and still chuckling, he went off to think up a plan to get the best of little joe otter.
iv little joe otter supplies buster bear with a breakfast getting even just for spite does n't always pay.
fact is, it is very apt to work the other way.
that is just how it came about that little joe otter furnished buster bear with the best breakfast he had had for a long time.
he did n't mean to do it.
oh, my, no!
the truth is, he thought all the time that he was preventing buster bear from getting a breakfast.
you see he was n't well enough acquainted with buster to know that buster is quite as smart as he is, and perhaps a little bit smarter.
spite and selfishness were at the bottom of it.
you see little joe and billy mink had had all the fishing in the laughing brook to themselves so long that they thought no one else had any right to fish there.
to be sure bobby coon caught a few little fish there, but they did n't mind bobby.
farmer brown's boy fished there too, sometimes, and this always made little joe and billy mink very angry, but they were so afraid of him that they did n't dare do anything about it.
but when they discovered that buster bear was a fisherman, they made up their minds that something had got to be done.
at least, little joe did.
""he'll try it again to-morrow morning," said little joe.
""i'll keep watch, and as soon as i see him coming, i'll drive out all the fish, just as i did to-day.
i guess that'll teach him to let our fish alone."
so the next morning little joe hid before daylight close by the little pool where buster bear had given him such a fright.
sure enough, just as the jolly sunbeams began to creep through the green forest, he saw buster bear coming straight over to the little pool.
little joe slipped into the water and chased all the fish out of the little pool, and stirred up the mud on the bottom so that the water was so muddy that the bottom could n't be seen at all.
then he hurried down to the next little pool and did the same thing.
now buster bear is very smart.
you know he had guessed the day before who had spoiled his fishing.
so this morning he only went far enough to make sure that if little joe were watching for him, as he was sure he would be, he would see him coming.
then, instead of keeping on to the little pool, he hurried to a place way down the laughing brook, where the water was very shallow, hardly over his feet, and there he sat chuckling to himself.
things happened just as he had expected.
the frightened fish little joe chased out of the little pools up above swam down the laughing brook, because, you know, little joe was behind them, and there was nowhere else for them to go.
when they came to the place where buster was waiting, all he had to do was to scoop them out on to the bank.
it was great fun.
it did n't take buster long to catch all the fish he could eat.
then he saved a nice fat trout and waited.
by and by along came little joe otter, chuckling to think how he had spoiled buster bear's fishing.
he was so intent on looking behind him to see if buster was coming that he did n't see buster waiting there until he spoke.
""i'm much obliged for the fine breakfast you have given me," said buster in his deepest, most grumbly-rumbly voice.
""i've saved a fat trout for you to make up for the one i ate yesterday.
i hope we'll go fishing together often."
then he went off laughing fit to kill himself.
little joe could n't find a word to say.
he was so surprised and angry that he went off by himself and sulked.
and billy mink, who had been watching, ate the fat trout.
v grandfather frog's common-sense there is nothing quite like common sense to smooth out troubles.
people who have plenty of just plain common sense are often thought to be very wise.
their neighbors look up to them and are forever running to them for advice, and they are very much respected.
that is the way with grandfather frog.
he is very old and very wise.
anyway, that is what his neighbors think.
the truth is, he simply has a lot of common sense, which after all is the very best kind of wisdom.
now when little joe otter found that buster bear had been too smart for him and that instead of spoiling buster's fishing in the laughing brook he had really made it easier for buster to catch all the fish he wanted, little joe went off down to the smiling pool in a great rage.
billy mink stopped long enough to eat the fat fish buster had left on the bank and then he too went down to the smiling pool.
when little joe otter and billy mink reached the smiling pool, they climbed up on the big rock, and there little joe sulked and sulked, until finally grandfather frog asked what the matter was.
little joe would n't tell, but billy mink told the whole story.
when he told how buster had been too smart for little joe, it tickled him so that billy had to laugh in spite of himself.
so did grandfather frog.
so did jerry muskrat, who had been listening.
of course this made little joe angrier than ever.
he said a lot of unkind things about buster bear and about billy mink and grandfather frog and jerry muskrat, because they had laughed at the smartness of buster.
""he's nothing but a great big bully and thief!"
declared little joe.
""chug-a-rum!
he may be a bully, because great big people are very apt to be bullies, and though i have n't seen him, i guess buster bear is big enough from all i have heard, but i do n't see how he is a thief," said grandfather frog.
""did n't he catch my fish and eat them?"
snapped little joe.
""does n't that make him a thief?"
""they were no more your fish than mine," protested billy mink.
""well, our fish, then!
he stole our fish, if you like that any better.
that makes him just as much a thief, does n't it?"
growled little joe.
grandfather frog looked up at jolly, round, bright mr. sun and slowly winked one of his great, goggly eyes.
""there comes a foolish green fly," said he.
""who does he belong to?"
""nobody!"
snapped little joe.
""what have foolish green flies got to do with my -- i mean our fish?"
""nothing, nothing at all," replied grandfather frog mildly.
""i was just hoping that he would come near enough for me to snap him up; then he would belong to me.
as long as he does n't, he does n't belong to any one.
i suppose that if buster bear should happen along and catch him, he would be stealing from me, according to little joe."
""of course not!
what a silly idea!
you're getting foolish in your old age," retorted little joe.
""can you tell me the difference between the fish that you have n't caught and the foolish green flies that i have n't caught?"
asked grandfather frog.
little joe could n't find a word to say.
""you take my advice, little joe otter," continued grandfather frog, "and always make friends with those who are bigger and stronger and smarter than you are.
you'll find it pays."
-lsb- illustration: "you take my advice, little joe otter," continued grandfather frog.
page 26.
-rsb- vi little joe otter takes grandfather frog's advice who makes an enemy a friend, to fear and worry puts an end.
little joe otter found that out when he took grandfather frog's advice.
he would n't have admitted that he was afraid of buster bear.
no one ever likes to admit being afraid, least of all little joe otter.
and really little joe has a great deal of courage.
very few of the little people of the green forest or the green meadows would willingly quarrel with him, for little joe is a great fighter when he has to fight.
as for all those who live in or along the laughing brook or in the smiling pool, they let little joe have his own way in everything.
now having one's own way too much is a bad thing.
it is apt to make one selfish and thoughtless of other people and very hard to get along with.
little joe otter had his way too much.
grandfather frog knew it and shook his head very soberly when little joe had been disrespectful to him.
""too bad.
too bad!
too bad!
chug-a-rum!
it is too bad that such a fine young fellow as little joe should spoil a good disposition by such selfish heedlessness.
too bad," said he.
so, though he did n't let on that it was so, grandfather frog really was delighted when he heard how buster bear had been too smart for little joe otter.
it tickled him so that he had hard work to keep a straight face.
but he did and was as grave and solemn as you please as he advised little joe always to make friends with any one who was bigger and stronger and smarter than he.
that was good common sense advice, but little joe just sniffed and went off declaring that he would get even with buster bear yet.
now little joe is good-natured and full of fun as a rule, and after he had reached home and his temper had cooled off a little, he began to see the joke on himself, -- how when he had worked so hard to frighten the fish in the little pools of the laughing brook so that buster bear should not catch any, he had all the time been driving them right into buster's paws.
by and by he grinned.
it was a little sheepish grin at first, but at last it grew into a laugh.
""i believe," said little joe as he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, "that grandfather frog is right, and that the best thing i can do is to make friends with buster bear.
i'll try it to-morrow morning."
so very early the next morning little joe otter went to the best fishing pool he knew of in the laughing brook, and there he caught the biggest trout he could find.
it was so big and fat that it made little joe's mouth water, for you know fat trout are his favorite food.
but he did n't take so much as one bite.
instead he carefully laid it on an old log where buster bear would be sure to see it if he should come along that way.
then he hid near by, where he could watch.
buster was late that morning.
it seemed to little joe that he never would come.
once he nearly lost the fish.
he had turned his head for just a minute, and when he looked back again, the trout was nowhere to be seen.
buster could n't have stolen up and taken it, because such a big fellow could n't possibly have gotten out of sight again.
little joe darted over to the log and looked on the other side.
there was the fat trout, and there also was little joe's smallest cousin, shadow the weasel, who is a great thief and altogether bad.
little joe sprang at him angrily, but shadow was too quick and darted away.
little joe put the fish back on the log and waited.
this time he did n't take his eyes off it.
at last, when he was almost ready to give up, he saw buster bear shuffling along towards the laughing brook.
suddenly buster stopped and sniffed.
one of the merry little breezes had carried the scent of that fat trout over to him.
then he came straight over to where the fish lay, his nose wrinkling, and his eyes twinkling with pleasure.
""now i wonder who was so thoughtful as to leave this fine breakfast ready for me," said he out loud.
""me," said little joe in a rather faint voice.
""i caught it especially for you."
""thank you," replied buster, and his eyes twinkled more than ever.
""i think we are going to be friends."
""i -- i hope so," replied little joe.
vii farmer brown's boy has no luck at all farmer brown's boy tramped through the green forest, whistling merrily.
he always whistles when he feels light-hearted, and he always feels light-hearted when he goes fishing.
you see, he is just as fond of fishing as is little joe otter or billy mink or buster bear.
and now he was making his way through the green forest to the laughing brook, sure that by the time he had followed it down to the smiling pool he would have a fine lot of trout to take home.
he knew every pool in the laughing brook where the trout love to hide, did farmer brown's boy, and it was just the kind of a morning when the trout should be hungry.
so he whistled as he tramped along, and his whistle was good to hear.
when he reached the first little pool he baited his hook very carefully and then, taking the greatest care to keep out of sight of any trout that might be in the little pool, he began to fish.
now farmer brown's boy learned a long time ago that to be a successful fisherman one must have a great deal of patience, so though he did n't get a bite right away as he had expected to, he was n't the least bit discouraged.
he kept very quiet and fished and fished, patiently waiting for a foolish trout to take his hook.
but he did n't get so much as a nibble.
""either the trout have lost their appetite or they have grown very wise," muttered farmer brown's boy, as after a long time he moved on to the next little pool.
there the same thing happened.
he was very patient, very, very patient, but his patience brought no reward, not so much as the faintest kind of a nibble.
farmer brown's boy trudged on to the next pool, and there was a puzzled frown on his freckled face.
such a thing never had happened before.
he did n't know what to make of it.
all the night before he had dreamed about the delicious dinner of fried trout he would have the next day, and now -- well, if he did n't catch some trout pretty soon, that splendid dinner would never be anything but a dream.
""if i did n't know that nobody else comes fishing here, i should think that somebody had been here this very morning and caught all the fish or else frightened them so that they are all in hiding," said he, as he trudged on to the next little pool.
""i never had such bad luck in all my life before.
hello!
what's this?"
there, on the bank beside the little pool, were the heads of three trout.
farmer brown's boy scowled down at them more puzzled than ever.
""somebody has been fishing here, and they have had better luck than i have," thought he.
he looked up the laughing brook and down the laughing brook and this way and that way, but no one was to be seen.
then he picked up one of the little heads and looked at it sharply.
""it was n't cut off with a knife; it was bitten off!"
he exclaimed.
""i wonder now if billy mink is the scamp who has spoiled my fun."
thereafter he kept a sharp lookout for signs of billy mink, but though he found two or three more trout heads, he saw no other signs and he caught no fish.
this puzzled him more than ever.
it did n't seem possible that such a little fellow as billy mink could have caught or frightened all the fish or have eaten so many.
besides, he did n't remember ever having known billy to leave heads around that way.
billy sometimes catches more fish than he can eat, but then he usually hides them.
the farther he went down the laughing brook, the more puzzled farmer brown's boy grew.
it made him feel very queer.
he would have felt still more queer if he had known that all the time two other fishermen who had been before him were watching him and chuckling to themselves.
they were little joe otter and buster bear.
viii farmer brown's boy feels his hair rise't was just a sudden odd surprise made farmer brown's boy's hair to rise.
that's a funny thing for hair to do -- rise up all of a sudden -- is n't it?
but that is just what the hair on farmer brown's boy's head did the day he went fishing in the laughing brook and had no luck at all.
there are just two things that make hair rise -- anger and fear.
anger sometimes makes the hair on the back and neck of bowser the hound and of some other little people bristle and stand up, and you know the hair on the tail of black pussy stands on end until her tail looks twice as big as it really is.
both anger and fear make it do that.
but there is only one thing that can make the hair on the head of farmer brown's boy rise, and as it is n't anger, of course it must be fear.
it never had happened before.
you see, there is n't much of anything that farmer brown's boy is really afraid of.
perhaps he would n't have been afraid this time if it had n't been for the surprise of what he found.
you see when he had found the heads of those trout on the bank he knew right away that some one else had been fishing, and that was why he could n't catch any; but it did n't seem possible that little billy mink could have eaten all those trout, and farmer brown's boy did n't once think of little joe otter, and so he was very, very much puzzled.
he was turning it all over in his mind and studying what it could mean, when he came to a little muddy place on the bank of the laughing brook, and there he saw something that made his eyes look as if they would pop right out of his head, and it was right then that he felt his hair rise.
anyway, that is what he said when he told about it afterward.
what was it he saw?
what do you think?
why, it was a footprint in the soft mud.
yes, sir, that's what it was, and all it was.
but it was the biggest footprint farmer brown's boy ever had seen, and it looked as if it had been made only a few minutes before.
it was the footprint of buster bear.
now farmer brown's boy did n't know that buster bear had come down to the green forest to live.
he never had heard of a bear being in the green forest.
and so he was so surprised that he had hard work to believe his own eyes, and he had a queer feeling all over, -- a little chilly feeling, although it was a warm day.
somehow, he did n't feel like meeting buster bear.
if he had had his terrible gun with him, it might have been different.
but he did n't, and so he suddenly made up his mind that he did n't want to fish any more that day.
he had a funny feeling, too, that he was being watched, although he could n't see any one.
he was being watched.
little joe otter and buster bear were watching him and taking the greatest care to keep out of his sight.
all the way home through the green forest, farmer brown's boy kept looking behind him, and he did n't draw a long breath until he reached the edge of the green forest.
he had n't run, but he had wanted to.
""huh!"
said buster bear to little joe otter, "i believe he was afraid!"
and buster bear was just exactly right.
ix little joe otter has great news to tell little joe otter was fairly bursting with excitement.
he could hardly contain himself.
he felt that he had the greatest news to tell since peter rabbit had first found the tracks of buster bear in the green forest.
he could n't keep it to himself a minute longer than he had to.
so he hurried to the smiling pool, where he was sure he would find billy mink and jerry muskrat and grandfather frog and spotty the turtle, and he hoped that perhaps some of the little people who live in the green forest might be there too.
sure enough, peter rabbit was there on one side of the smiling pool, making faces at reddy fox, who was on the other side, which, of course, was not at all nice of peter.
mr. and mrs. redwing were there, and blacky the crow was sitting in the big hickory-tree.
little joe otter swam straight to the big rock and climbed up to the very highest part.
he looked so excited, and his eyes sparkled so, that every one knew right away that something had happened.
""hi!"
cried billy mink.
""look at little joe otter!
it must be that for once he has been smarter than buster bear."
little joe made a good-natured face at billy mink and shook his head.
""no, billy," said he, "you are wrong, altogether wrong.
i do n't believe anybody can be smarter than buster bear."
-lsb- illustration: reddy glared across the smiling pool at peter.
page 45.
-rsb- reddy fox rolled his lips back in an unpleasant grin.
""do n't be too sure of that!"
he snapped.
""i'm not through with him yet."
""boaster!
boaster!"
cried peter rabbit.
reddy glared across the smiling pool at peter.
""i'm not through with you either, peter rabbit!"
he snarled.
""you'll find it out one of these fine days!"
""reddy, reddy, smart and sly, could n't catch a buzzing fly!"
taunted peter.
""chug-a-rum!"
said grandfather frog in his deepest, gruffest voice.
""we know all about that.
what we want to know is what little joe otter has got on his mind."
""it's news -- great news!"
cried little joe.
""we can tell better how great it is when we hear what it is," replied grandfather frog testily.
""what is it?"
little joe otter looked around at all the eager faces watching him, and then in the slowest, most provoking way, he drawled: "farmer brown's boy is afraid of buster bear."
for a minute no one said a word.
then blacky the crow leaned down from his perch in the big hickory-tree and looked very hard at little joe as he said: "i do n't believe it.
i do n't believe a word of it.
farmer brown's boy is n't afraid of any one who lives in the green forest or on the green meadows or in the smiling pool, and you know it.
we are all afraid of him."
little joe glared back at blacky.
""i do n't care whether you believe it or not; it's true," he retorted.
then he told how early that very morning he and buster bear had been fishing together in the laughing brook, and how farmer brown's boy had been fishing there too, and had n't caught a single trout because they had all been caught or frightened before he got there.
then he told how farmer brown's boy had found a footprint of buster bear in the soft mud, and how he had stopped fishing right away and started for home, looking behind him with fear in his eyes all the way.
""now tell me that he is n't afraid!"
concluded little joe.
""for once he knows just how we feel when he comes prowling around where we are.
is n't that great news?
now we'll get even with him!"
""i'll believe it when i see it for myself!"
snapped blacky the crow.
x buster bear becomes a hero the news that little joe otter told at the smiling pool, -- how farmer brown's boy had run away from buster bear without even seeing him, -- soon spread all over the green meadows and through the green forest, until every one who lives there knew about it.
of course, peter rabbit helped spread it.
trust peter for that!
but everybody else helped too.
you see, they had all been afraid of farmer brown's boy for so long that they were tickled almost to pieces at the very thought of having some one in the green forest who could make farmer brown's boy feel fear as they had felt it.
and so it was that buster bear became a hero right away to most of them.
a few doubted little joe's story.
one of them was blacky the crow.
another was reddy fox.
blacky doubted because he knew farmer brown's boy so well that he could n't imagine him afraid.
reddy doubted because he did n't want to believe.
you see, he was jealous of buster bear, and at the same time he was afraid of him.
so reddy pretended not to believe a word of what little joe otter had said, and he agreed with blacky that only by seeing farmer brown's boy afraid could he ever be made to believe it.
but nearly everybody else believed it, and there was great rejoicing.
most of them were afraid of buster, very much afraid of him, because he was so big and strong.
but they were still more afraid of farmer brown's boy, because they did n't know him or understand him, and because in the past he had tried to catch some of them in traps and had hunted some of them with his terrible gun.
so now they were very proud to think that one of their own number actually had frightened him, and they began to look on buster bear as a real hero.
they tried in ever so many ways to show him how friendly they felt and went quite out of their way to do him favors.
whenever they met one another, all they could talk about was the smartness and the greatness of buster bear.
""now i guess farmer brown's boy will keep away from the green forest, and we wo n't have to be all the time watching out for him," said bobby coon, as he washed his dinner in the laughing brook, for you know he is very neat and particular.
""and he wo n't dare set any more traps for me," gloated billy mink.
""ah wish brer bear would go up to farmer brown's henhouse and scare farmer brown's boy so that he would keep away from there.
it would be a favor to me which ah cert "nly would appreciate," said unc" billy possum when he heard the news.
""let's all go together and tell buster bear how much obliged we are for what he has done," proposed jerry muskrat.
""that's a splendid idea!"
cried little joe otter.
""we'll do it right away."
""caw, caw caw!"
broke in blacky the crow.
""i say, let's wait and see for ourselves if it is all true."
""of course it's true!"
snapped little joe otter.
""do n't you believe i'm telling the truth?"
""certainly, certainly.
of course no one doubts your word," replied blacky, with the utmost politeness.
""but you say yourself that farmer brown's boy did n't see buster bear, but only his footprint.
perhaps he did n't know whose it was, and if he had he would n't have been afraid.
now i've got a plan by which we can see for ourselves if he really is afraid of buster bear."
""what is it?"
asked sammy jay eagerly.
blacky the crow shook his head and winked.
""that's telling," said he.
""i want to think it over.
if you meet me at the big hickory-tree at sun-up to-morrow morning, and get everybody else to come that you can, perhaps i will tell you."
xi blacky the crow tells his plan blacky is a dreamer!
blacky is a schemer!
his voice is strong; when things go wrong blacky is a screamer!
it's a fact.
blacky the crow is forever dreaming and scheming and almost always it is of mischief.
he is one of the smartest and cleverest of all the little people of the green meadows and the green forest, and all the others know it.
blacky likes excitement.
he wants something going on.
the more exciting it is, the better he likes it.
then he has a chance to use that harsh voice of his, and how he does use it!
so now, as he sat in the top of the big hickory-tree beside the smiling pool and looked down on all the little people gathered there, he was very happy.
in the first place he felt very important, and you know blacky dearly loves to feel important.
they had all come at his invitation to listen to a plan for seeing for themselves if it were really true that farmer brown's boy was afraid of buster bear.
on the big rock in the smiling pool sat little joe otter, billy mink, and jerry muskrat.
on his big, green lily-pad sat grandfather frog.
on another lily-pad sat spotty the turtle.
on the bank on one side of the smiling pool were peter rabbit, jumper the hare, danny meadow mouse, johnny chuck, jimmy skunk, unc" billy possum, striped chipmunk and old mr. toad.
on the other side of the smiling pool were reddy fox, digger the badger, and bobby coon.
in the big hickory-tree were chatterer the red squirrel, happy jack the gray squirrel, and sammy jay.
blacky waited until he was sure that no one else was coming.
then he cleared his throat very loudly and began to speak.
""friends," said he.
everybody grinned, for blacky has played so many sharp tricks that no one is really his friend unless it is that other mischief-maker, sammy jay, who, you know, is blacky's cousin.
but no one said anything, and blacky went on.
""little joe otter has told us how he saw farmer brown's boy hurry home when he found the footprint of buster bear on the edge of the laughing brook, and how all the way he kept looking behind him, as if he were afraid.
perhaps he was, and then again perhaps he was n't.
perhaps he had something else on his mind.
you have made a hero of buster bear, because you believe little joe's story.
now i do n't say that i do n't believe it, but i do say that i will be a lot more sure that farmer brown's boy is afraid of buster when i see him run away myself.
now here is my plan: "to-morrow morning, very early, sammy jay and i will make a great fuss near the edge of the green forest.
farmer brown's boy has a lot of curiosity, and he will be sure to come over to see what it is all about.
then we will lead him to where buster bear is.
if he runs away, i will be the first to admit that buster bear is as great a hero as some of you seem to think he is.
it is a very simple plan, and if you will all hide where you can watch, you will be able to see for yourselves if little joe otter is right.
now what do you say?"
right away everybody began to talk at the same time.
it was such a simple plan that everybody agreed to it.
and it promised to be so exciting that everybody promised to be there, that is, everybody but grandfather frog and spotty the turtle, who did n't care to go so far away from the smiling pool.
so it was agreed that blacky should try his plan the very next morning.
xii farmer brown's boy and buster bear grow curious ever since it was light enough to see at all, blacky the crow had been sitting in the top of the tallest tree on the edge of the green forest nearest to farmer brown's house, and never for an instant had he taken his eyes from farmer brown's back door.
what was he watching for?
why, for farmer brown's boy to come out on his way to milk the cows.
meanwhile, sammy jay was slipping silently through the green forest, looking for buster bear, so that when the time came he could let his cousin, blacky the crow, know just where buster was.
by and by the back door of farmer brown's house opened, and out stepped farmer brown's boy.
in each hand he carried a milk pail.
right away blacky began to scream at the top of his lungs.
""caw, caw, caw!"
shouted blacky.
""caw, caw, caw!"
and all the time he flew about among the trees near the edge of the green forest as if so excited that he could n't keep still.
farmer brown's boy looked over there as if he wondered what all that fuss was about, as indeed he did, but he did n't start to go over and see.
no, sir, he started straight for the barn.
blacky did n't know what to make of it.
you see, smart as he is and shrewd as he is, blacky does n't know anything about the meaning of duty, for he never has to work excepting to get enough to eat.
so, when farmer brown's boy started for the barn instead of for the green forest, blacky did n't know what to make of it.
he screamed harder and louder than ever, until his voice grew so hoarse he could n't scream any more, but farmer brown's boy kept right on to the barn.
""i'd like to know what you're making such a fuss about, mr. crow, but i've got to feed the cows and milk them first," said he.
now all this time the other little people of the green forest and the green meadows had been hiding where they could see all that went on.
when farmer brown's boy disappeared in the barn, chatterer the red squirrel snickered right out loud.
""ha, ha, ha!
this is a great plan of yours, blacky!
ha, ha, ha!"
he shouted.
blacky could n't find a word to say.
he just hung his head, which is something blacky seldom does.
""perhaps if we wait until he comes out again, he will come over here," said sammy jay, who had joined blacky.
so it was decided to wait.
it seemed as if farmer brown's boy never would come out, but at last he did.
blacky and sammy jay at once began to scream and make all the fuss they could.
farmer brown's boy took the two pails of milk into the house, then out he came and started straight for the green forest.
he was so curious to know what it all meant that he could n't wait another minute.
now there was some one else with a great deal of curiosity also.
he had heard the screaming of blacky the crow and sammy jay, and he had listened until he could n't stand it another minute.
he just had to know what it was all about.
so at the same time farmer brown's boy started for the green forest, this other listener started towards the place where blacky and sammy were making such a racket.
he walked very softly so as not to make a sound.
it was buster bear.
xiii farmer brown's boy and buster bear meet if you should meet with buster bear while walking through the wood, what would you do?
now tell me true, i'd run the best i could.
that is what farmer brown's boy did when he met buster bear, and a lot of the little people of the green forest and some from the green meadows saw him.
when farmer brown's boy came hurrying home from the laughing brook without any fish one day and told about the great footprint he had seen in a muddy place on the bank deep in the green forest, and had said his was sure that it was the footprint of a bear, he had been laughed at.
farmer brown had laughed and laughed.
""why," said he, "there has n't been a bear in the green forest for years and years and years, not since my own grandfather was a little boy, and that, you know, was a long, long, long time ago.
if you want to find mr. bear, you will have to go to the great woods.
i do n't know who made that footprint, but it certainly could n't have been a bear.
i think you must have imagined it."
then he had laughed some more, all of which goes to show how easy it is to be mistaken, and how foolish it is to laugh at things you really do n't know about.
buster bear had come to live in the green forest, and farmer brown's boy had seen his footprint.
but farmer brown laughed so much and made fun of him so much, that at last his boy began to think that he must have been mistaken after all.
so when he heard blacky the crow and sammy jay making a great fuss near the edge of the green forest, he never once thought of buster bear, as he started over to see what was going on.
when blacky and sammy saw him coming, they moved a little farther in to the green forest, still screaming in the most excited way.
they felt sure that farmer brown's boy would follow them, and they meant to lead him to where sammy had seen buster bear that morning.
then they would find out for sure if what little joe otter had said was true, -- that farmer brown's boy really was afraid of buster bear.
now all around, behind trees and stumps, and under thick branches, and even in tree tops, were other little people watching with round, wide-open eyes to see what would happen.
it was very exciting, the most exciting thing they could remember.
you see, they had come to believe that farmer brown's boy was n't afraid of anybody or anything, and as most of them were very much afraid of him, they had hard work to believe that he would really be afraid of even such a great, big, strong fellow as buster bear.
every one was so busy watching farmer brown's boy that no one saw buster coming from the other direction.
you see, buster walked very softly.
big as he is, he can walk without making the teeniest, weeniest sound.
and that is how it happened that no one saw him or heard him until just as farmer brown's boy stepped out from behind one side of a thick little hemlock-tree, buster bear stepped out from behind the other side of that same little tree, and there they were face to face!
then everybody held their breath, even blacky the crow and sammy jay.
for just a little minute it was so still there in the green forest that not the least little sound could be heard.
what was going to happen?
xiv a surprising thing happens blacky the crow and sammy jay, looking down from the top of a tall tree, held their breath.
happy jack the gray squirrel and his cousin, chatterer the red squirrel, looking down from another tree, held their breath.
unc" billy possum, sticking his head out from a hollow tree, held his breath.
bobby coon, looking through a hole in a hollow stump in which he was hiding, held his breath.
reddy fox, lying flat down behind a heap of brush, held his breath.
peter rabbit, sitting bolt upright under a thick hemlock branch, with eyes and ears wide open, held his breath.
and all the other little people who happened to be where they could see did the same thing.
you see, it was the most exciting moment ever was in the green forest.
farmer brown's boy had just stepped out from behind one side of a little hemlock-tree and buster bear had just stepped out from behind the opposite side of the little hemlock-tree and neither had known that the other was anywhere near.
for a whole minute they stood there face to face, gazing into each other's eyes, while everybody watched and waited, and it seemed as if the whole green forest was holding its breath.
then something happened.
yes, sir, something happened.
farmer brown's boy opened his mouth and yelled!
it was such a sudden yell and such a loud yell that it startled chatterer so that he nearly fell from his place in the tree, and it made reddy fox jump to his feet ready to run.
and that yell was a yell of fright.
there was no doubt about it, for with the yell farmer brown's boy turned and ran for home, as no one ever had seen him run before.
he ran just as peter rabbit runs when he has got to reach the dear old briar-patch before reddy fox can catch him, which, you know, is as fast as he can run.
once he stumbled and fell, but he scrambled to his feet in a twinkling, and away he went without once turning his head to see if buster bear was after him.
there was n't any doubt that he was afraid, very much afraid.
everybody leaned forward to watch him.
""what did i tell you?
did n't i say that he was afraid of buster bear?"
cried little joe otter, dancing about with excitement.
""you were right, little joe!
i'm sorry that i doubted it.
see him go!
caw, caw, caw!"
shrieked blacky the crow.
for a minute or two everybody forgot about buster bear.
then there was a great crash which made everybody turn to look the other way.
what do you think they saw?
why, buster bear was running away too, and he was running twice as fast as farmer brown's boy!
he bumped into trees and crashed through bushes and jumped over logs, and in almost no time at all he was out of sight.
altogether it was the most surprising thing that the little people of the green forest ever had seen.
-lsb- illustration: buster bear was running away, too.
page 71. -rsb-
sammy jay looked at blacky the crow, and blacky looked at chatterer, and chatterer looked at happy jack, and happy jack looked at peter rabbit, and peter looked at unc" billy possum, and unc" billy looked at bobby coon, and bobby looked at johnny chuck, and johnny looked at reddy fox, and reddy looked at jimmy skunk, and jimmy looked at billy mink, and billy looked at little joe otter, and for a minute nobody could say a word.
then little joe gave a funny little gasp.
""why, why-e-e!"
said he, "i believe buster bear is afraid too!"
unc" billy possum chuckled.
""ah believe yo" are right again, brer otter," said he.
""it cert "nly does look so.
if brer bear is n't scared, he must have remembered something impo "tant and has gone to attend to it in a powerful hurry."
then everybody began to laugh.
xv buster bear is a fallen hero a fallen hero is some one to whom every one has looked up as very brave and then proves to be less brave than he was supposed to be.
that was the way with buster bear.
when little joe otter had told how farmer brown's boy had been afraid at the mere sight of one of buster bear's big footprints, they had at once made a hero of buster.
at least some of them had.
as this was the first time, the very first time, that they had ever known any one who lives in the green forest to make farmer brown's boy run away, they looked on buster bear with a great deal of respect and were very proud of him.
but now they had seen buster bear and farmer brown's boy meet face to face; and while it was true that farmer brown's boy had run away as fast as ever he could, it was also true that buster bear had done the same thing.
he had run even faster than farmer brown's boy, and had hidden in the most lonely place he could find in the very deepest part of the green forest.
it was hard to believe, but it was true.
and right away everybody lost a great deal of the respect for buster which they had felt.
it is always that way.
they began to say unkind things about him.
they said them among themselves, and some of them even said them to buster when they met him, or said them so that he would hear them.
of course blacky the crow and sammy jay, who, because they can fly, have nothing to fear from buster, and who always delight in making other people uncomfortable, never let a chance go by to tell buster and everybody else within hearing what they thought of him.
they delighted in flying about through the green forest until they had found buster bear and then from the safety of the tree tops screaming at him.
""buster bear is big and strong; his teeth are big; his claws are long; in spite of these he runs away and hides himself the livelong day!"
a dozen times a day buster would hear them screaming this.
he would grind his teeth and glare up at them, but that was all he could do.
he could n't get at them.
he just had to stand it and do nothing.
but when impudent little chatterer the red squirrel shouted the same thing from a place just out of reach in a big pine-tree, buster could stand it no longer.
he gave a deep, angry growl that made little shivers run over chatterer, and then suddenly he started up that tree after chatterer.
with a frightened little shriek chatterer scampered to the top of the tree.
he had n't known that buster could climb.
but buster is a splendid climber, especially when the tree is big and stout as this one was, and now he went up after chatterer, growling angrily.
how chatterer did wish that he had kept his tongue still!
he ran to the very top of the tree, so frightened that his teeth chattered, and when he looked down and saw buster's great mouth coming nearer and nearer, he nearly tumbled down with terror.
the worst of it was there was n't another tree near enough for him to jump to.
he was in trouble this time, was chatterer, sure enough!
and there was no one to help him.
xvi chatterer the red squirrel jumps for his life it is n't very often that chatterer the red squirrel knows fear.
that is one reason that he is so often impudent and saucy.
but once in a while a great fear takes possession of him, as when he knows that shadow the weasel is looking for him.
you see, he knows that shadow can go wherever he can go.
there are very few of the little people of the green forest and the green meadows who do not know fear at some time or other, but it comes to chatterer as seldom as to any one, because he is very sure of himself and his ability to hide or run away from danger.
but now as he clung to a little branch near the top of a tall pine-tree in the green forest and looked down at the big sharp teeth of buster bear drawing nearer and nearer, and listened to the deep, angry growls that made his hair stand on end, chatterer was too frightened to think.
if only he had kept his tongue still instead of saying hateful things to buster bear!
if only he had known that buster could climb a tree!
if only he had chosen a tree near enough to other trees for him to jump across!
but he had said hateful things, he had chosen to sit in a tree which stood quite by itself, and buster bear could climb!
chatterer was in the worst kind of trouble, and there was no one to blame but himself.
that is usually the case with those who get into trouble.
nearer and nearer came buster bear, and deeper and angrier sounded his voice.
chatterer gave a little frightened gasp and looked this way and looked that way.
what should he do?
what could he do!
the ground seemed a terrible distance below.
if only he had wings like sammy jay!
but he had n't.
""gr-r-r-r!"
growled buster bear.
""i'll teach you manners!
i'll teach you to treat your betters with respect!
i'll swallow you whole, that's what i'll do.
gr-r-r-r!"
""oh!"
cried chatterer.
""gr-r-r-r!
i'll eat you all up to the last hair on your tail!"
growled buster, scrambling a little nearer.
""oh!
oh!"
cried chatterer, and ran out to the very tip of the little branch to which he had been clinging.
now if chatterer had only known it, buster bear could n't reach him way up there, because the tree was too small at the top for such a big fellow as buster.
but chatterer did n't think of that.
he gave one more frightened look down at those big teeth, then he shut his eyes and jumped -- jumped straight out for the far-away ground.
it was a long, long, long way down to the ground, and it certainly looked as if such a little fellow as chatterer must be killed.
but chatterer had learned from old mother nature that she had given him certain things to help him at just such times, and one of them is the power to spread himself very flat.
he did it now.
he spread his arms and legs out just as far as he could, and that kept him from falling as fast and as hard as he otherwise would have done, because being spread out so flat that way, the air held him up a little.
and then there was his tail, that funny little tail he is so fond of jerking when he scolds.
this helped him too.
it helped him keep his balance and keep from turning over and over.
down, down, down he sailed and landed on his feet.
of course, he hit the ground pretty hard, and for just a second he quite lost his breath.
but it was only for a second, and then he was scurrying off as fast as a frightened squirrel could.
buster bear watched him and grinned.
""i did n't catch him that time," he growled, "but i guess i gave him a good fright and taught him a lesson."
xvii buster bear goes berrying buster bear is a great hand to talk to himself when he thinks no one is around to overhear.
it's a habit.
however, it is n't a bad habit unless it is carried too far.
any habit becomes bad, if it is carried too far.
suppose you had a secret, a real secret, something that nobody else knew and that you did n't want anybody else to know.
and suppose you had the habit of talking to yourself.
you might, without thinking, you know, tell that secret out loud to yourself, and some one might, just might happen to overhear!
then there would n't be any secret.
that is the way that a habit which is n't bad in itself can become bad when it is carried too far.
now buster bear had lived by himself in the great woods so long that this habit of talking to himself had grown and grown.
he did it just to keep from being lonesome.
of course, when he came down to the green forest to live, he brought all his habits with him.
that is one thing about habits, -- you always take them with you wherever you go.
so buster brought this habit of talking to himself down to the green forest, where he had many more neighbors than he had in the great woods.
""let me see, let me see, what is there to tempt my appetite?"
said buster in his deep, grumbly-rumbly voice.
""i find my appetite is n't what it ought to be.
i need a change.
yes, sir, i need a change.
there is something i ought to have at this time of year, and i have n't got it.
there is something that i used to have and do n't have now.
ha!
i know!
i need some fresh fruit.
that's it -- fresh fruit!
it must be about berry time now, and i'd forgotten all about it.
my, my, my, how good some berries would taste!
now if i were back up there in the great woods i could have all i could eat.
um-m-m-m!
makes my mouth water just to think of it.
there ought to be some up in the old pasture.
there ought to be a lot of'em up there.
if i was n't afraid that some one would see me, i'd go up there."
buster sighed.
then he sighed again.
the more he thought about those berries he felt sure were growing in the old pasture, the more he wanted some.
it seemed to him that never in all his life had he wanted berries as he did now.
he wandered about uneasily.
he was hungry -- hungry for berries and nothing else.
by and by he began talking to himself again.
""if i was n't afraid of being seen, i'd go up to the old pasture this very minute.
seems as if i could taste those berries."
he licked his lips hungrily as he spoke.
then his face brightened.
""i know what i'll do!
i'll go up there at the very first peep of day to-morrow.
i can eat all i want and get back to the green forest before there is any danger that farmer brown's boy or any one else i'm afraid of will see me.
that's just what i'll do.
my, i wish to-morrow morning would hurry up and come."
now though buster did n't know it, some one had been listening, and that some one was none other than sammy jay.
when at last buster lay down for a nap, sammy flew away, chuckling to himself.
""i believe i'll visit the old pasture to-morrow morning myself," thought he.
""i have an idea that something interesting may happen if buster does n't change his mind."
sammy was on the lookout very early the next morning.
the first jolly little sunbeams had only reached the green meadows and had not started to creep into the green forest, when he saw a big, dark form steal out of the green forest where it joins the old pasture.
it moved very swiftly and silently, as if in a great hurry.
sammy knew who it was: it was buster bear, and he was going berrying.
sammy waited a little until he could see better.
then he too started for the old pasture.
xviii somebody else goes berrying is n't it funny how two people will often think of the same thing at the same time, and neither one know that the other is thinking of it?
that is just what happened the day that buster bear first thought of going berrying.
while he was walking around in the green forest, talking to himself about how hungry he was for some berries and how sure he was that there must be some up in the old pasture, some one else was thinking about berries and about the old pasture too.
""will you make me a berry pie if i will get the berries to-morrow?"
asked farmer brown's boy of his mother.
of course mrs. brown promised that she would, and so that night farmer brown's boy went to bed very early that he might get up early in the morning, and all night long he dreamed of berries and berry pies.
he was awake even before jolly, round, red mr. sun thought it was time to get up, and he was all ready to start for the old pasture when the first jolly little sunbeams came dancing across the green meadows.
he carried a big tin pail, and in the bottom of it, wrapped up in a piece of paper, was a lunch, for he meant to stay until he filled that pail, if it took all day.
now the old pasture is very large.
it lies at the foot of the big mountain, and even extends a little way up on the big mountain.
there is room in it for many people to pick berries all day without even seeing each other, unless they roam about a great deal.
you see, the bushes grow very thick there, and you can not see very far in any direction.
jolly, round, red mr. sun had climbed a little way up in the sky by the time farmer brown's boy reached the old pasture, and was smiling down on all the great world, and all the great world seemed to be smiling back.
farmer brown's boy started to whistle, and then he stopped.
""if i whistle," thought he, "everybody will know just where i am, and will keep out of sight, and i never can get acquainted with folks if they keep out of sight."
you see, farmer brown's boy was just beginning to understand something that peter rabbit and the other little people of the green meadows and the green forest learned almost as soon as they learned to walk, -- that if you do n't want to be seen, you must n't be heard.
so he did n't whistle as he felt like doing, and he tried not to make a bit of noise as he followed an old cow-path towards a place where he knew the berries grew thick and oh, so big, and all the time he kept his eyes wide open, and he kept his ears open too.
that is how he happened to hear a little cry, a very faint little cry.
if he had been whistling, he would n't have heard it at all.
he stopped to listen.
he never had heard a cry just like it before.
at first he could n't make out just what it was or where it came from.
but one thing he was sure of, and that was that it was a cry of fright.
he stood perfectly still and listened with all his might.
there it was again -- "help!
help!
help" -- and it was very faint and sounded terribly frightened.
he waited a minute or two, but heard nothing more.
then he put down his pail and began a hurried look here, there, and everywhere.
he was sure that it had come from somewhere on the ground, so he peered behind bushes and peeped behind logs and stones, and then just as he had about given up hope of finding where it came from, he went around a little turn in the old cow-path, and there right in front of him was little mr. gartersnake, and what do you think he was doing?
well, i do n't like to tell you, but he was trying to swallow one of the children of stickytoes the tree toad.
of course farmer brown's boy did n't let him.
he made little mr. gartersnake set master stickytoes free and held mr. gartersnake until master stickytoes was safely out of reach.
xix buster bear has a fine time buster bear was having the finest time he had had since he came down from the great woods to live in the green forest.
to be sure, he was n't in the green forest now, but he was n't far from it.
he was in the old pasture, one edge of which touches one edge of the green forest.
and where do you think he was, in the old pasture?
why, right in the middle of the biggest patch of the biggest blueberries he ever had seen in all his life!
now if there is any one thing that buster bear had rather have above another, it is all the berries he can eat, unless it be honey.
nothing can quite equal honey in buster's mind.
but next to honey give him berries.
he is n't particular what kind of berries.
raspberries, blackberries, or blueberries, either kind, will make him perfectly happy.
""um-m-m, my, my, but these are good!"
he mumbled in his deep grumbly-rumbly voice, as he sat on his haunches stripping off the berries greedily.
his little eyes twinkled with enjoyment, and he did n't mind at all if now and then he got leaves, and some green berries in his mouth with the big ripe berries.
he did n't try to get them out.
oh, my, no!
he just chomped them all up together and patted his stomach from sheer delight.
now buster had reached the old pasture just as jolly, round, red mr. sun had crept out of bed, and he had fully made up his mind that he would be back in the green forest before mr. sun had climbed very far up in the blue, blue sky.
you see, big as he is and strong as he is, buster bear is very shy and bashful, and he has no desire to meet farmer brown, or farmer brown's boy, or any other of those two-legged creatures called men.
it seems funny but he actually is afraid of them.
and he had a feeling that he was a great deal more likely to meet one of them in the old pasture than deep in the green forest.
so when he started to look for berries, he made up his mind that he would eat what he could in a great hurry and get back to the green forest before farmer brown's boy was more than out of bed.
but when he found those berries he was so hungry that he forgot his fears and everything else.
they tasted so good that he just had to eat and eat and eat.
now you know that buster is a very big fellow, and it takes a lot to fill him up.
he kept eating and eating and eating, and the more he ate the more he wanted.
you know how it is.
so he wandered from one patch of berries to another in the old pasture, and never once thought of the time.
somehow, time is the hardest thing in the world to remember, when you are having a good time.
jolly, round, red mr. sun climbed higher and higher in the blue, blue sky.
he looked down on all the great world and saw all that was going on.
he saw buster bear in the old pasture, and smiled as he saw what a perfectly glorious time buster was having.
and he saw something else in the old pasture that made his smile still broader.
he saw farmer brown's boy filling a great tin pail with blueberries, and he knew that farmer brown's boy did n't know that buster bear was anywhere about, and he knew that buster bear did n't know that farmer brown's boy was anywhere about, and somehow he felt very sure that he would see something funny happen if they should chance to meet.
""um-m-m, um-m-m," mumbled buster bear with his mouth full, as he moved along to another patch of berries.
and then he gave a little gasp of surprise and delight.
right in front of him was a shiny thing just full of the finest, biggest, bluest berries!
there were no leaves or green ones there.
buster blinked his greedy little eyes rapidly and looked again.
no, he was n't dreaming.
they were real berries, and all he had got to do was to help himself.
buster looked sharply at the shiny thing that held the berries.
it seemed perfectly harmless.
he reached out a big paw and pushed it gently.
it tipped over and spilled out a lot of the berries.
yes, it was perfectly harmless.
buster gave a little sigh of pure happiness.
he would eat those berries to the last one, and then he would go home to the green forest.
xx buster bear carries off the pail of farmer brown's boy the question is, did buster bear steal farmer brown's boy's pail?
to steal is to take something which belongs to some one else.
there is no doubt that he stole the berries that were in the pail when he found it, for he deliberately ate them.
he knew well enough that some one must have picked them -- for whoever heard of blueberries growing in tin pails?
so there is no doubt that when buster took them, he stole them.
but with the pail it was different.
he took the pail, but he did n't mean to take it.
in fact, he did n't want that pail at all.
you see it was this way: when buster found that big tin pail brimming full of delicious berries in the shade of that big bush in the old pasture, he did n't stop to think whether or not he had a right to them.
buster is so fond of berries that from the very second that his greedy little eyes saw that pailful, he forgot everything but the feast that was waiting for him right under his very nose.
he did n't think anything about the right or wrong of helping himself.
there before him were more berries than he had ever seen together at one time in all his life, and all he had to do was to eat and eat and eat.
and that is just what he did do.
of course he upset the pail, but he did n't mind a little thing like that.
when he had gobbled up all the berries that rolled out, he thrust his nose into the pail to get all that were left in it.
just then he heard a little noise, as if some one were coming.
he threw up his head to listen, and somehow, he never did know just how, the handle of the pail slipped back over his ears and caught there.
this was bad enough, but to make matters worse, just at that very minute he heard a shrill, angry voice shout, "hi, there!
get out of there!"
he did n't need to be told whose voice that was.
it was the voice of farmer brown's boy.
right then and there buster bear nearly had a fit.
there was that awful pail fast over his head so that he could n't see a thing.
of course, that meant that he could n't run away, which was the thing of all things he most wanted to do, for big as he is and strong as he is, buster is very shy and bashful when human beings are around.
he growled and whined and squealed.
he tried to back out of the pail and could n't.
he tried to shake it off and could n't.
he tried to pull it off, but somehow he could n't get hold of it.
then there was another yell.
if buster had n't been so frightened himself, he might have recognized that second yell as one of fright, for that is what it was.
you see farmer brown's boy had just discovered buster bear.
when he had yelled the first time, he had supposed that it was one of the young cattle who live in the old pasture all summer, but when he saw buster, he was just as badly frightened as buster himself.
in fact, he was too surprised and frightened even to run.
after that second yell he just stood still and stared.
buster clawed at that awful thing on his head more frantically than ever.
suddenly it slipped off, so that he could see.
he gave one frightened look at farmer brown's boy, and then with a mighty "woof!"
he started for the green forest as fast as his legs could take him, and this was very fast indeed, let me tell you.
he did n't stop to pick out a path, but just crashed through the bushes as if they were nothing at all, just nothing at all.
but the funniest thing of all is this -- he took that pail with him!
yes, sir, buster bear ran away with the big tin pail of farmer brown's boy!
you see when it slipped off his head, the handle was still around his neck, and there he was running away with a pail hanging from his neck!
he did n't want it.
he would have given anything to get rid of it.
but he took it because he could n't help it.
and that brings us back to the question, did buster steal farmer brown's boy's pail?
what do you think?
xxi sammy jay makes things worse for buster bear "thief, thief, thief!
thief, thief, thief!"
sammy jay was screaming at the top of his lungs, as he followed buster bear across the old pasture towards the green forest.
never had he screamed so loud, and never had his voice sounded so excited.
the little people of the green forest, the green meadows, and the smiling pool are so used to hearing sammy cry thief that usually they think very little about it.
but every blessed one who heard sammy this morning stopped whatever he was doing and pricked up his ears to listen.
sammy's cousin, blacky the crow, just happened to be flying along the edge of the old pasture, and the minute he heard sammy's voice, he turned and flew over to see what it was all about.
just as soon as he caught sight of buster bear running for the green forest as hard as ever he could, he understood what had excited sammy so.
he was so surprised that he almost forgot to keep his wings moving.
buster bear had what looked to blacky very much like a tin pail hanging from his neck!
no wonder sammy was excited.
blacky beat his wings fiercely and started after sammy.
and so they reached the edge of the green forest, buster bear running as hard as ever he could, sammy jay flying just behind him and screaming, "thief, thief, thief!"
at the top of his lungs, and behind him blacky the crow, trying to catch up and yelling as loud as he could, "caw, caw, caw!
come on, everybody!
come on!
come on!"
poor buster!
it was bad enough to be frightened almost to death as he had been up in the old pasture when the pail had caught over his head just as farmer brown's boy had yelled at him.
then to have the handle of the pail slip down around his neck so that he could n't get rid of the pail but had to take it with him as he ran, was making a bad matter worse.
now to have all his neighbors of the green forest see him in such a fix and make fun of him, was more than he could stand.
he felt humiliated.
that is just another way of saying shamed.
yes, sir, buster felt that he was shamed in the eyes of his neighbors, and he wanted nothing so much as to get away by himself, where no one could see him, and try to get rid of that dreadful pail.
but buster is so big that it is not easy for him to find a hiding place.
so, when he reached the green forest, he kept right on to the deepest, darkest, most lonesome part and crept under the thickest hemlock-tree he could find.
but it was of no use.
the sharp eyes of sammy jay and blacky the crow saw him.
they actually flew into the very tree under which he was hiding, and how they did scream!
pretty soon ol' mistah buzzard came dropping down out of the blue, blue sky and took a seat on a convenient dead tree, where he could see all that went on.
ol' mistah buzzard began to grin as soon as he saw that tin pail on buster's neck.
then came others, -- redtail the hawk, scrapper the kingbird, redwing the blackbird, drummer the woodpecker, welcome robin, tommy tit the chickadee, jenny wren, redeye the vireo, and ever so many more.
they came from the old orchard, the green meadows, and even down by the smiling pool, for the voices of sammy jay and blacky the crow carried far, and at the sound of them everybody hurried over, sure that something exciting was going on.
presently buster heard light footsteps, and peeping out, he saw billy mink and peter rabbit and jumper the hare and prickly porky and reddy fox and jimmy skunk.
even timid little whitefoot the wood mouse was where he could peer out and see without being seen.
of course, chatterer the red squirrel and happy jack the gray squirrel were there.
there they all sat in a great circle around him, each where he felt safe, but where he could see, and every one of them laughing and making fun of buster.
""thief, thief, thief!"
screamed sammy until his throat was sore.
the worst of it was buster knew that everybody knew that it was true.
that awful pail was proof of it.
""i wish i never had thought of berries," growled buster to himself.
xxii buster bear has a fit of temper a temper is a bad, bad thing when once it gets away.
there's nothing quite at all like it to spoil a pleasant day.
buster bear was in a terrible temper.
yes, sir, buster bear was having the worst fit of temper ever seen in the green forest.
and the worst part of it all was that all his neighbors of the green forest and a whole lot from the green meadows and the smiling pool were also there to see it.
it is bad enough to give way to temper when you are all alone, and there is no one to watch you, but when you let temper get the best of you right where others see you, oh, dear, dear, it certainly is a sorry sight.
now ordinarily buster is one of the most good-natured persons in the world.
it takes a great deal to rouse his temper.
he is n't one tenth so quick tempered as chatterer the red squirrel, or sammy jay, or reddy fox.
but when his temper is aroused and gets away from him, then watch out!
it seemed to buster that he had had all that he could stand that day and a little more.
first had come the fright back there in the old pasture.
then the pail had slipped down behind his ears and held fast, so he had run all the way to the green forest with it hanging about his neck.
this was bad enough, for he knew just how funny he must look, and besides, it was very uncomfortable.
but to have sammy jay call everybody within hearing to come and see him was more than he could stand.
it seemed to buster as if everybody who lives in the green forest, on the green meadows, or around the smiling brook, was sitting around his hiding place, laughing and making fun of him.
it was more than any self-respecting bear could stand.
with a roar of anger buster bear charged out of his hiding place.
he rushed this way and that way!
he roared with all his might!
he was very terrible to see.
those who could fly, flew.
those who could climb, climbed.
and those who were swift of foot, ran.
a few who could neither fly nor climb nor run fast, hid and lay shaking and trembling for fear that buster would find them.
in less time than it takes to tell about it, buster was alone.
at least, he could n't see any one.
-lsb- illustration: those who could fly, flew.
those who could climb, climbed.
page 112.
-rsb- then he vented his temper on the tin pail.
he cuffed at it and pulled at it, all the time growling angrily.
he lay down and clawed at it with his hind feet.
at last the handle broke, and he was free!
he shook himself.
then he jumped on the helpless pail.
with a blow of a big paw he sent it clattering against a tree.
he tried to bite it.
then he once more fell to knocking it this way and that way, until it was pounded flat, and no one would ever have guessed that it had once been a pail.
then, and not till then, did buster recover his usual good nature.
little by little, as he thought it all over, a look of shame crept into his face.
""i -- i guess it was n't the fault of that thing.
i ought to have known enough to keep my head out of it," he said slowly and thoughtfully.
""you got no more than you deserve for stealing farmer brown's boy's berries," said sammy jay, who had come back and was looking on from the top of a tree.
""you ought to know by this time that no good comes of stealing."
buster bear looked up and grinned, and there was a twinkle in his eyes.
""you ought to know, sammy jay," said he.
""i hope you'll always remember it."
""thief, thief, thief!"
screamed sammy, and flew away.
xxiii farmer brown's boy lunches on berries when things go wrong in spite of you to smile's the best thing you can do -- to smile and say, "i'm mighty glad they are no worse; they're not so bad!"
that is what farmer brown's boy said when he found that buster bear had stolen the berries he had worked so hard to pick and then had run off with the pail.
you see, farmer brown's boy is learning to be something of a philosopher, one of those people who accept bad things cheerfully and right away see how they are better than they might have been.
when he had first heard some one in the bushes where he had hidden his pail of berries, he had been very sure that it was one of the cows or young cattle who live in the old pasture during the summer.
he had been afraid that they might stupidly kick over the pail and spill the berries, and he had hurried to drive whoever it was away.
it had n't entered his head that it could be anybody who would eat those berries.
when he had yelled and buster bear had suddenly appeared, struggling to get off the pail which had caught over his head, farmer brown's boy had been too frightened to even move.
then he had seen buster tear away through the brush even more frightened than he was, and right away his courage had begun to come back.
""if he is so afraid of me, i guess i need n't be afraid of him," said he.
""i've lost my berries, but it is worth it to find out that he is afraid of me.
there are plenty more on the bushes, and all i've got to do is to pick them.
it might be worse."
he walked over to the place where the pail had been, and then he remembered that when buster ran away he had carried the pail with him, hanging about his neck.
he whistled.
it was a comical little whistle of chagrin as he realized that he had nothing in which to put more berries, even if he picked them.
""it's worse than i thought," cried he.
""that bear has cheated me out of that berry pie my mother promised me."
then he began to laugh, as he thought of how funny buster bear had looked with the pail about his neck, and then because, you know he is learning to be a philosopher, he once more repeated, "it might have been worse.
yes, indeed, it might have been worse.
that bear might have tried to eat me instead of the berries.
i guess i'll go eat that lunch i left back by the spring, and then i'll go home.
i can pick berries some other day."
chuckling happily over buster bear's great fright, farmer brown's boy tramped back to the spring where he had left two thick sandwiches on a flat stone when he started to save his pail of berries.
""my, but those sandwiches will taste good," thought he.
""i'm glad they are big and thick.
i never was hungrier in my life.
hello!"
this he exclaimed right out loud, for he had just come in sight of the flat stone where the sandwiches should have been, and they were not there.
no, sir, there was n't so much as a crumb left of those two thick sandwiches.
you see, old man coyote had found them and gobbled them up while farmer brown's boy was away.
but farmer brown's boy did n't know anything about old man coyote.
he rubbed his eyes and stared everywhere, even up in the trees, as if he thought those sandwiches might be hanging up there.
they had disappeared as completely as if they never had been, and old man coyote had taken care to leave no trace of his visit.
farmer brown's boy gaped foolishly this way and that way.
then, instead of growing angry, a slow smile stole over his freckled face.
""i guess some one else was hungry too," he muttered.
""wonder who it was?
guess this old pasture is no place for me to-day.
i'll fill up on berries and then i'll go home."
so farmer brown's boy made his lunch on blueberries and then rather sheepishly he started for home to tell of all the strange things that had happened to him in the old pasture.
two or three times, as he trudged along, he stopped to scratch his head thoughtfully.
""i guess," said he at last, "that i'm not so smart as i thought i was, and i've got a lot to learn yet."
this is the end of the adventures of buster bear in this book because -- guess why.
because old mr. toad insists that i must write a book about his adventures, and old mr. toad is such a good friend of all of us that i am going to do it.
the end * * * * * the adventures of buster bear books by thornton w. burgess * * * * * the bedtime story-books 1.
the adventures of reddy fox 2.
the adventures of johnny chuck 3.
the adventures of peter cottontail 4.
the adventures of unc" billy possum 5.
the adventures of mr. mocker 6.
the adventures of jerry muskrat 7.
the adventures of danny meadow mouse 8.
the adventures of grandfather frog 9.
the adventures of chatterer, the red squirrel 10.
the adventures of sammy jay 11.
the adventures of buster bear 12.
the adventures of old mr. toad 13.
the adventures of prickly porky 14.
the adventures of old man coyote 15.
the adventures of paddy the beaver 16.
the adventures of poor mrs. quack 17.
the adventures of bobby coon 18.
the adventures of jimmy skunk 19.
the adventures of bob white 20.
the adventures of ol' mistah buzzard * * * * * mother west wind series 1.
old mother west wind 2.
mother west wind's children 3.
mother west wind's animal friends 4.
mother west wind's neighbors 5.
mother west wind "why" stories 6.
mother west wind "how" stories 7.
mother west wind "when" stories 8.
mother west wind "where" stories * * * * * green meadow series 1.
happy jack 2.
mrs. peter rabbit 3.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_chatterer_the_red_squirrel.txt.out
i chatterer the red squirrel runs for his life chatterer the red squirrel had been scolding because there was no excitement.
he had even tried to make some excitement by waking bobby coon and making him so angry that bobby had threatened to eat him alive.
it had been great fun to dance around and call bobby names and make fun of him.
oh, yes, it had been great fun.
you see, he knew all the time that bobby could n't catch him if he should try.
but now things were different.
chatterer had all the excitement that he wanted.
indeed, he had more than he wanted.
the truth is, chatterer was running for his life, and he knew it.
it is a terrible thing, a very terrible thing to have to run for one's life.
peter rabbit knows all about it.
he has run for his life often.
sometimes it has been reddy fox behind him, sometimes bowser the hound, and once or twice old man coyote.
peter has known that on his long legs his life has depended, and more than once a terrible fear has filled his heart.
but peter has also known that if he could reach the old stone wall or the dear old briar-patch first, he would be safe, and he always has reached it.
so when he has been running with that terrible fear in his heart, there has always been hope there, too.
but chatterer the red squirrel was running without hope.
yes, sir, there was nothing but fear, terrible fear, in his heart, for he knew not where to go.
the hollow tree or the holes in the old stone wall where he would be safe from any one else, even farmer brown's boy, offered him no safety now, for the one who was following him with hunger in his anger-red eyes could go anywhere that he could go -- could go into any hole big enough for him to squeeze into.
you see, it was shadow the weasel from whom chatterer was running, and shadow is so slim that he can slip in and out of places that even chatterer can not get through.
chatterer knew all this, and so, because it was of no use to run to his usual safe hiding places, he ran in just the other direction.
he did n't know where he was going.
he had just one thought: to run and run as long as he could and then, well, he would try to fight, though he knew it would be of no use.
""oh, dear!
oh, dear!"
he sobbed, as he ran out on the branch of a tree and leaped across to the next tree, "i wish i had minded my own business!
i wish i had kept my tongue still.
shadow the weasel would n't have known where i was if he had n't heard my voice.
oh, dear!
oh, dear me!
what can i do?
what can i do?"
now in his great fright chatterer had run and jumped so hard that he was beginning to grow very tired.
presently he found that he must make a very long jump to reach the next tree.
he had often made as long a jump as this and thought nothing of it, but now he was so tired that the distance looked twice as great as it really was.
he did n't dare stop to run down the tree and scamper across.
so he took a long breath, ran swiftly along the branch, and leaped.
his hands just touched the tip of the nearest branch of the other tree.
he tried his very best to hold on, but he could n't.
then down, down, down he fell.
he spread himself out as flat as he could, and that saved him a little, but still it was a dreadful fall, and when he landed, it seemed for just a minute as if all the breath was gone from his body.
but it was n't quite, and in another minute he was scrambling up the tree.
ii chatterer's last chance chatterer, still running for his life and without the least hope, suddenly saw a last chance to escape from shadow the weasel.
that is, he saw something that might offer him a chance.
he could n't be sure until he had tried, and even then he might escape from one danger only to run right into another equally great.
what chatterer saw was a big brown bunch near the top of a tall chestnut-tree, and he headed for that tree as fast as ever he could go.
what was that big brown bunch?
why it was redtail the hawk, who was dozing there with his head drawn down between his shoulders dreaming.
now old redtail is one of chatterer's deadliest enemies.
he is quite as fond of red squirrel as is shadow the weasel, though he does n't often try to catch one, because there are other things to eat much easier to get.
chatterer had had more than one narrow escape from old redtail and was very much afraid of him, yet here he was running up the very tree in which redtail was sitting.
you see, a very daring idea had come into his head.
he had seen at once that redtail was dozing and had n't seen him at all.
he knew that redtail would just as soon have shadow the weasel for dinner as himself, and a very daring plan had popped into his head.
""i may as well be caught by redtail as shadow," he thought, as he ran up the tree, "but if my plan works out right, i wo n't be caught by either.
anyway, it is my very last chance."
up the tree he scrambled, and after him went shadow the weasel.
shadow had been so intent on catching chatterer that he had not noticed old redtail, which was just as chatterer had hoped.
up, up he scrambled, straight past old redtail, but as he passed, he pulled one of redtail's long tail feathers, and then ran on to the top of the tree, and with the last bit of strength he had left, leaped to a neighboring spruce-tree where, hidden by the thick branches, he stopped to rest and see what would happen.
of course, when he felt his tail pulled, old redtail was wide awake in a flash; and of course he looked down to see who had dared to pull his tail.
there just below him was shadow the weasel, who had just that minute discovered who was sitting there.
old redtail hissed sharply, and the feathers on the top of his head stood up in a way they do when he is angry.
and he was angry -- very angry.
shadow the weasel stopped short.
then, like a flash, he dodged around to the other side of the tree.
he had no thought of chatterer now.
things were changed all in an instant, quite changed.
instead of the hunter, he was now the hunted.
old redtail circled in the air just overhead, and every time he caught sight of shadow, he swooped at him with great, cruel claws spread to clutch him.
shadow dodged around the trunk of the tree.
he was more angry than frightened, for his sharp eyes had spied a little hollow in a branch of the chestnut-tree, and he knew that once inside of that, he would have nothing to fear.
but he was angry clear through to think that he should be cheated out of that dinner he had been so sure of only a few minutes before.
so he screeched angrily at old redtail and then, watching his chance, scampered out to the hollow and whisked inside, just in the nick of time.
chatterer, watching from the spruce-tree, gave a great sigh of relief.
he saw redtail the hawk post himself on the top of a tall tree where he could keep watch of that hollow in which shadow had disappeared, and he knew that it would be a long time before shadow would dare poke even his nose outside.
then, as soon as he was rested, chatterer stole softly, oh, so softly, away through the tree-tops until he was sure that redtail could not see him.
then he hurried.
he wanted to get just as far away from shadow the weasel as he could.
iii chatterer tells sammy jay about shadow the weasel chatterer hurried through the green forest.
he did n't know just where he was going.
he had but one thought, and that was to get as far away from shadow the weasel as he could.
it made him have cold shivers all over every time he thought of shadow.
""seems to me you are in a great hurry," said a voice from a pine-tree he was passing.
chatterer knew that voice without looking to see who was speaking.
everybody in the green forest knows that voice.
it was the voice of sammy jay.
""it looks to me as if you were running away from some one," jeered sammy.
chatterer wanted to stop and pick a quarrel with sammy, as he usually did when they met, but the fear of shadow the weasel was still upon him.
""i -- i -- am," he said in a very low voice.
sammy looked as if he thought he had n't heard right.
never before had he known chatterer to admit that he was afraid, for you know chatterer is a great boaster.
it must be something very serious to frighten chatterer like that.
""what's that?"
sammy asked sharply.
""i always knew you to be a coward, but this is the first time i have ever known you to admit it.
who are you running away from?"
illustration: "what's that?"
sammy asked sharply.
""shadow the weasel," replied chatterer, still in a very low voice, as if he were afraid of being overheard.
""shadow the weasel is back in the green forest, and i have just had such a narrow escape!"
""ho!"
cried sammy, "this is important.
i thought shadow was up in the old pasture.
if he has come back to the green forest, folks ought to know it.
where is he now?"
chatterer stopped and told sammy all about his narrow escape and how he had left shadow the weasel in a hollow of a chestnut-tree with redtail the hawk watching for him to come out.
sammy's eyes sparkled when chatterer told how he had pulled the tail of old redtail.
""and he does n't know now who did it; he thinks it was shadow," concluded chatterer, with a weak little grin.
""ho, ho, ho!
ha, ha, ha!"
laughed sammy jay.
""i wish i had been there to see it."
then he suddenly grew grave.
""other folks certainly ought to know that shadow is back in the green forest," said he, "so that they may be on their guard.
then if they get caught, it is their own fault.
i think i'll go spread the news."
you see, for all his mean ways, sammy jay does have some good in him, just as everybody does, and he dearly loves to tell important news.
""i -- i wish you would go first of all and tell my cousin, happy jack the gray squirrel," said chatterer, speaking in a hesitating way.
sammy jay leaned over and looked at chatterer sharply.
""i thought you and happy jack were not friends," said he.
""you always seem to be quarreling."
chatterer looked a little confused, but he is very quick with his tongue, is chatterer.
""that's just it," he replied quickly.
""that's just it!
if anything should happen to happy jack, i would n't have him to quarrel with, and it is such fun to see him get mad!"
now of course the real reason why chatterer wanted happy jack warned was because down inside he was ashamed of a dreadful thought that had come to him of leading shadow the weasel to happy jack's house, so that he himself might escape.
it had been a dreadful thought, a cowardly thought, and chatterer had been really ashamed that he should have ever had such a thought.
he thought now that if he could do something for happy jack, he would feel better about it.
sammy jay promised to go straight to happy jack and warn him that shadow the weasel was back in the green forest, and off he started, screaming the news as he flew, so that all the little people in the green forest might know.
chatterer listened a few minutes and then started on.
""where shall i go?"
he muttered.
""where shall i go?
i do n't dare stay in the green forest, for now shadow will never rest until he catches me."
iv chatterer leaves the green forest chatterer was in a peck of trouble.
yes, sir, he was in a peck of trouble.
there was no doubt about it.
""oh, dear!
oh, dear!
if only i had kept my tongue still!
if only i had kept my tongue still!"
he kept saying over and over to himself, as he hurried through the green forest.
you see, chatterer was just beginning to realize what a lot of trouble an unruly tongue can get one into.
here it was cold weather, the very edge of winter, and chatterer did n't dare stay in the green forest where he had always made his home.
his storehouses were full of nuts and seeds and corn, enough and more than enough to keep him in comfort all winter, and now he must turn his back on them and go he did n't know where, and all because of his mean disposition and bad tongue.
if he had n't called bobby coon names that morning at the top of his voice, shadow the weasel might not have found him.
he knew that shadow has a long memory, and that he would never forget the trick by which chatterer had escaped, and so the only way chatterer would ever be able to have a moment's peace would be to leave the green forest for as long as shadow the weasel chose to stay there.
chatterer shivered inside his warm, red fur coat as he thought of the long, cold winter and how hard it would be to find enough to eat.
was ever any one else in such a dreadful fix?
presently he came to the edge of the green forest.
he sat down to rest in the top of a tree where he could look off over the green meadows.
far, far away he could see the purple hills, behind which jolly, round, red mr. sun goes to bed every night.
he could see the old stone wall that separates farmer brown's cornfield from the green meadows.
he could see farmer brown's house and barn and near them the old orchard where johnny chuck had spent the summer with polly chuck and their baby chucks.
he knew every nook and corner in the old stone wall and many times he had been to the old orchard.
it was there that he had stolen the eggs of drummer the woodpecker.
he grinned at the thought of those eggs and how he had stolen them, and then he shivered as he remembered how he had finally been caught and how sharp the bills of drummer and mrs. drummer were.
but all that was in the past, and thinking about it was n't going to help him now.
he had got to do something right away.
perhaps he might find a place to live in the old stone wall, and there might, there just might, be enough grains of corn scattered over the ground of the cornfield for him to lay up a supply, if he worked very hard and fast.
anyway, he would have a look.
so he hurried down from the tree and out along the old stone wall.
his spirits began to rise as he whisked along, peering into every hole and jumping from stone to stone.
it really seemed as though he might find a snug home somewhere here.
then he remembered something that made his heart sink again.
he remembered having seen shadow the weasel more than once exploring that very wall.
just as likely as not he would do it again, for it was so very near the green forest.
no, the old stone wall would n't do.
just then along came peter rabbit.
peter saw right away that something was wrong with chatterer, and he wanted to know what it was.
chatterer told him.
he felt that he had just got to tell some one.
peter looked thoughtful.
he scratched his long left ear with his long right hind foot.
""you know there is another old stone wall up there by the old orchard," said he.
""it is pretty near farmer brown's house, and black pussy hunts there a great deal, but you ought to be smart enough to keep out of her clutches."
""i should hope so!"
exclaimed chatterer scornfully.
""i have never seen a cat yet that i was afraid of!
believe i'll go over and have a look at that old wall, peter rabbit."
""i'll go with you," said peter, and off they started together.
v chatterer finds a home when your plans are upset and all scattered about just make up your mind that you'll find a way out.
peter rabbit went straight over to the old stone wall on the edge of the old orchard, lipperty-lipperty-lip so fast that it did n't take him long to get there.
but chatterer the red squirrel never feels really safe on the ground unless there is something to climb close at hand, so he went a long way round by way of the rail fence.
he always did like to run along a rail fence, and he would n't have minded it a bit this morning if he had n't been in such a hurry.
it seemed to him that he never would get there.
but of course he did.
when he did get there, he found peter rabbit sitting on johnny chuck's doorstep, staring down johnny chuck's long hall.
""they're asleep," said he, as chatterer came up all out of breath.
""i've thumped and thumped and thumped, but it is n't the least bit of use.
they are asleep, and they'll stay asleep until mistress spring arrives.
i ca n't understand it at all.
no, sir, i ca n't understand how anybody can be willing to miss this splendid cold weather."
peter shook his head in a puzzled way and continued to stare down the long empty hall.
of course he was talking about johnny and polly chuck, who had gone to sleep for the winter.
that sleeping business always puzzles peter.
it seems to him like a terrible waste of time.
but chatterer had too much on his mind to waste time wondering how other people could sleep all winter.
he could n't himself, and now that he had been driven away from his own home in the green forest by fear of shadow the weasel, he could n't waste a minute.
he must find a new home and then spend every minute of daytime laying up a new store of food for the days when everything would be covered with snow.
up and down the length of the stone wall he scampered, looking for a place to make a home, but nothing suited him.
you know he likes best to make his home in a tree.
he is n't like striped chipmunk, who lives in the ground.
poor chatterer!
he just could n't see how he was going to live in the old stone wall.
he sat on top of a big stone to rest and think it over.
he was discouraged.
life did n't seem worth the living just then.
he felt as if his heart had gone way down to his toes.
just then his eyes saw something that made his heart come up again with a great bound right where it ought to be, and just then peter rabbit came hopping along.
""have you found a new home yet?"
asked peter.
""yes," replied chatterer, "i think i have.
""that's good," replied peter.
""i was sure you would find one over here.
where is it?"
illustration: "have you found a new home yet?"
asked peter.
chatterer opened his mouth to tell peter and then closed it with a snap.
he remembered just in time how hard it is for peter to keep a secret.
if he should tell peter, it would be just like peter to tell some one else without meaning to, and then it might get back to shadow the weasel.
""i'm not going to tell you now, peter rabbit," said he.
""you see, i do n't want anybody to know where it is until i am sure that it will do.
but i'll tell you this much," he added, as he saw how disappointed peter looked, "i'm going to live right here."
peter brightened up right away.
you see, he thought that of course chatterer meant that he had found a hole in the old stone wall, and he felt very sure that he could find it by keeping watch.
""that's good," he said again.
""i'll come see you often.
but watch out for black pussy; her claws are very sharp.
now i think i'll be going back to the old briar-patch."
""do n't tell where i am," called chatterer.
vi peter rabbit listens to the wrong voice peter rabbit did n't play fair.
no, sir, peter did n't play fair.
people who have too much curiosity about other people's affairs seldom do play fair.
he did n't mean to be unfair.
oh, my, no!
peter did n't mean to be unfair.
when he left chatterer the red squirrel sitting on the old stone wall on the edge of farmer brown's old orchard, he intended to go straight home to the dear old briar-patch.
he was a little disappointed, was peter, that chatterer had n't told him just where his new house was.
not that it really mattered; he just wanted to know, that was all.
with every jump away from the old stone wall, that desire to know just where chatterer's new house was seemed to grow.
peter stopped and looked back.
he could n't see chatterer now, because the bushes hid him.
and if he could n't see chatterer, why of course chatterer could n't see him.
peter sat down and began to pull his whiskers in a way he has when he is trying to decide something.
it seemed as if two little voices were quarreling inside him.
""go along home like the good fellow you are and mind your own business," said one.
""steal back to the old wall and watch chatterer and so find out just where his new house is; he'll never know anything about it, and there'll be no harm done," said the other little voice.
it was louder than the first voice, and peter liked the sound of it.
""i believe i will," said he, and without waiting to hear what the first little voice would say to that, he turned about and very carefully and softly tiptoed back to the old stone wall.
right near it was a thick little bush.
it seemed to peter that it must have grown there just to give him a hiding place.
he crawled under it and lay very flat.
he could see along the old stone wall in both directions.
chatterer was sitting just where he had left him.
he was looking in the direction that peter had gone when he had said good-by.
peter chuckled to himself.
""he's waiting to make sure i have gone before he goes to that new house of his," thought peter.
""this is the time i'll fool him."
""you ought to be ashamed of yourself, peter rabbit; this is none of your business," said that little small voice.
""you're not doing a bit of harm.
chatterer has no business to try to keep his new house a secret, anyway," said the other little voice inside.
and because of his dreadful curiosity, peter liked the sound of that voice best and listened to it, and after a while the first voice grew discouraged and stopped.
chatterer sat where he was for what seemed to peter a very long time.
but by and by he gave a sudden funny little flirt of his tail and ran along the old wall a little way.
then with a hasty look around, he disappeared in a hole.
a minute later he popped his head out for another look around and then disappeared again.
he did this two or three times as if anxious.
peter chuckled to himself.
""that's his new house right there," said he to himself, "and now that i know where it is, i think i'll hurry along home to the dear old briar-patch."
he was just getting ready to start when chatterer popped out of his hole and sat up on a big stone.
he was talking out loud, and peter listened.
then his long ears began to burn, for this is what he heard: "i'm glad that peter's not a spy, for spies are hateful as can be; it's dreadful how some people try affairs of other folks to see."
chatterer whisked out of sight, and peter hurried to get away.
his ears still burned, and somehow he did n't feel so tickled over the thought that he had discovered chatterer's secret as he had thought he would.
and over in the hole in the old stone wall chatterer the red squirrel was laughing as if there was some great joke.
there was, and the joke was on peter rabbit.
you see he had n't discovered chatterer's new house at all.
vii how chatterer had fooled peter rabbit chatterer the red squirrel is a scamp himself and not to be trusted.
nobody in the green forest or on the green meadows trusts him.
and people who can not be trusted themselves never trust any one else.
chatterer never does.
he is always suspicious.
so when peter rabbit had said good-by and started for the dear old briar-patch without knowing where chatterer's new house was, chatterer had made up his mind right away that peter would never be satisfied until he knew, or thought he knew, where that new house was.
you see, he knew all about peter's dreadful curiosity.
he watched peter out of sight, then he slipped down out of sight himself between the stones of the old wall.
""i know what peter will do," said he to himself.
""peter will come sneaking back, and hide where he can watch me, and so find out where my new house is.
i'll just stay here long enough to give him a chance to hide, and then i'll fool him."
you see, chatterer knew that if he had been in peter's place, he would have done just that thing.
so he waited a little while and then went back to the place where peter had left him.
there he sat and pretended to be looking in the direction in which peter had gone, as if to make sure that peter was really on his way home.
but all the time chatterer was watching out of the corners of his eyes to see if peter was hiding anywhere near.
he did n't see peter, but he did n't have the least doubt that peter was somewhere about.
after a while, he ran over to a hole between the stones of the old wall and pretended to be very busy there, just as if it really were the new house he had found.
he kept popping in and out and looking around as if afraid that some one was watching him.
he even got some dry leaves and took them inside, as if to make a bed.
all the time, although he had n't seen a sign of peter, he did n't have the least doubt in the world that peter was watching him.
when he grew tired, a new idea popped into his shrewd little head.
he popped out of the hole and sat up on the wall.
then he said aloud that verse which had made peter's ears burn so.
he had meant to make peter's ears burn.
he said that verse just as if he really did believe that peter was not spying on him and was glad of it.
when he had finished, he whisked out of sight again to give peter a chance to get away.
but this time chatterer did some peeking himself.
he hid where peter could n't see him, but where he himself could see both ways along the old stone wall, and so it was that he saw peter crawl out from under the little bush where he had been hiding and sneak away in the direction of the old briar-patch.
and he knew that this time peter had gone for good.
then chatterer laughed and laughed to think how he had fooled peter rabbit, and wished that he could pat himself on the back for being so smart.
he did n't once think of how dishonest and mean it was of peter to spy on him, because, you see, he would have done the same thing himself.
""one has to have one's wits very sharp these days to keep a secret," chuckled chatterer.
but over in the old briar-patch that afternoon peter rabbit sat very thoughtful and very much ashamed.
the thought that he had found out where chatterer's new house was did n't give him the pleasure that he had thought it would.
his ears still burned, for he thought that chatterer supposed him honest when he was n't.
""i believe i'll go over to-morrow and tell chatterer all about it and how mean i have been," said he at last.
and when he had made up his mind to do this, he felt better.
and all the time he had n't found chatterer's new house at all.
you see, it was the old home of drummer the woodpecker in an old apple-tree which chatterer had decided to live in.
viii chatterer grows careless when you grow careless even though it be in matters small, old mr. trouble you will find is bound to make a call.
some people never seem to learn that.
you would suppose that after all the trouble and worry chatterer the red squirrel had had, he would have learned a lesson.
for a while it seemed as if he had.
morning after morning, before anybody was up in farmer brown's house, he visited farmer brown's corn-crib, taking the greatest care not to be seen and to get back to his home in the old orchard before it was time for farmer brown's boy to come out and do his morning's work.
and in the corn-crib he took the greatest care to steal only where what he took would not be missed.
the empty cobs from which he had eaten the corn he hid in the darkest corner behind the great pile of yellow corn, where they would not be found until nearly all the corn had been taken from the crib.
oh, he was very sly and crafty, was chatterer the red squirrel -- at first.
but after a while, when nothing happened, chatterer grew careless.
at first it had seemed very dangerous to go over to the corn-crib, but after he had been there often, it did n't seem dangerous at all.
once inside, he would just give himself up to having a good time.
he raced about over the great pile of beautiful yellow corn and found the loveliest hiding places in it.
down in a dark corner he made a splendid bed from pieces of husk which had n't been stripped from some of the ears.
it was quite the nicest place he had ever dreamed of, was farmer brown's corn-crib.
he got to feeling that it was his own and not farmer brown's at all.
the more that feeling grew, the more careless chatterer became.
he dropped a grain of corn now and then and was too lazy to go down and pick it up, or else did n't think anything about it.
farmer brown's boy, coming every morning for corn for the hens, noticed these grains, but supposed they were some that had been rubbed from the ears during the handling of them.
then one morning chatterer dropped a cob from which he had eaten all the corn.
he meant to get it and hide it, as he had hidden other cobs, but he did n't want to do it just then.
and later -- well, then he forgot all about it.
yes, sir, he forgot all about it until he had reached his home in the old orchard.
""oh, well," thought chatterer, "it does n't matter.
i can get it and hide it to-morrow morning."
now a corn-cob is a very simple thing.
farmer brown's boy knew where there was a whole pile of them.
he added to that pile every day, after shelling enough corn for the biddies.
so it would seem that there was nothing about a corn-cob to make him open his eyes as he did that morning, when he saw the one left by chatterer the red squirrel.
but you see he knew that a bare corn-cob had no business inside the corn-crib, and suddenly those scattered grains of corn had a new meaning for him.
""ha, ha!"
he exclaimed, "a thief has been here, after all!
i thought we were safe from rats and mice, and i do n't see now how they got in, for i do n't, i really do n't, see how they could climb the stone legs of the corn-crib.
but some one with sharp teeth certainly has been in here.
it must be that i have left the door open some time, and a rat has slipped in.
i'll just have to get after you, mr. rat or mr. mouse.
we ca n't have you in our corn-crib."
with that he went into the house.
presently he came back, and in one hand was a rat-trap and in the other a mouse-trap.
ix chatterer grows too curious everybody knows how curious peter rabbit is.
he is forever poking his wobbly little nose in where it has no business to be, and as a result peter is forever getting into trouble.
whenever chatterer the red squirrel has heard a new story about peter and the scrapes his curiosity has got him into, chatterer has said that peter got no more than he deserved.
as for himself, he might be curious about a thing he saw for the first time, but he had too much sense to meddle with it until he knew all about it.
so chatterer has come to be thought very smart, quite too smart to be caught in a trap -- at least to be caught in an ordinary trap.
now a great many people manage to make their neighbors think they are a great deal smarter than they really are, and chatterer is one of this kind.
if some of his neighbors could have peeped into farmer brown's corn-crib the morning after farmer brown's boy found the telltale corn-cob so carelessly dropped by chatterer, they would have been surprised.
yes, sir, they would have been surprised.
they would have seen chatterer the red squirrel, the boaster, he of the sharp wits, showing quite as much curiosity as ever possessed peter rabbit.
chatterer had come over to the corn-crib as usual to get his daily supply of corn.
as usual, he had raced about over the great pile of yellow corn.
quite suddenly his sharp eyes spied something that they had n't seen before.
it was down on the floor of the corn-crib quite near the door.
chatterer was sure that it had n't been there the day before.
it was a very queer looking thing, very queer indeed.
and then he spied another queer looking thing near it, only this was very much smaller.
what could they be?
he looked at them suspiciously.
they looked harmless enough.
they did n't move.
he ran a few steps towards them and scolded, just as he scolds at anything new he finds out of doors.
still they did n't move.
he ran around on a little ledge where he could look right down on the queer things.
he was sure now that they were not alive.
the biggest one he could see all through.
inside was something to eat.
the littlest thing was round and flat with funny bits of wire on top.
it looked as if it were made of wood, and in the sides were little round holes too small for him to put his head through.
""leave them alone," said a small voice inside of chatterer.
""but i want to see what they are and find out all about them," said chatterer.
""no good ever comes of meddling with things you do n't know about," said the small voice.
""but they are such queer looking things, and they're not alive.
they ca n't hurt me," said chatterer.
nevertheless he ran back to the pile of corn and tried to eat.
somehow he had lost his appetite.
he could n't take his eyes off those two queer things down on the floor.
""better keep away," warned the small voice inside.
""it wo n't do any harm to have a closer look at them," said chatterer.
so once more he scrambled down from the pile of corn and little by little drew nearer to the two queer things.
the nearer he got, the more harmless they looked.
finally he reached out and smelled of the smallest.
then he turned up his nose.
""smells of mice," muttered chatterer, "just common barn mice."
then he reached out a paw and touched it.
""pooh!"
said he, "it's nothing to be afraid of."
just then he touched one of the little wires, and there was a sudden snap.
it frightened chatterer so that he scurried away.
but he could n't stay away.
that snap was such a funny thing, and it had n't done any harm.
you see, he had n't put his paw in at one of the little holes, or it might have done some harm.
pretty soon he was back again, meddling with those little wires on top.
every once in a while there would be a snap, and he would scamper away.
it was very scary and great fun.
by and by the thing would n't snap any more, and then chatterer grew tired of his queer plaything and began to wonder about the other queer thing.
no harm had come from the first one, and so he was sure no harm could come from the other.
x old mr. trouble gets chatterer at last of course you have guessed what it was that chatterer had been meddling with.
it was a mouse-trap, and he had sprung it without getting hurt.
chatterer did n't know that it was a trap.
he ought to have known, but he did n't.
you see, it was not at all like the traps farmer brown's boy had sometimes set for him in the green forest.
he knew all about those traps and never, never went near them.
now that there was nothing more exciting about the mouse-trap, chatterer turned his attention to the other queer thing.
he walked all around it and looked at it from every side.
it certainly was queer.
yes, sir, it certainly was queer!
it looked something like a little house only he could see all through it.
he put one paw out and touched it.
nothing happened.
he tried it again.
then he jumped right on top of it.
still nothing happened.
he tried his sharp teeth on it, but he could n't bite it.
you see, it was made of stout wire.
inside was something that looked good to eat.
it smelled good, too.
chatterer began to wonder what it would taste like.
the more he wondered, the more he wanted to know.
there must be some way of getting in, and if he could get in, of course he could get out again.
he jumped down to the floor and ran all around the queer little wire house.
at each end was a sort of little wire hallway.
chatterer stuck his head in one.
it seemed perfectly safe.
he crept a little way in and then backed out in a hurry.
nothing happened.
he tried it again.
still nothing happened.
""better keep away," said a small voice down inside of him.
""pooh!
who's afraid!"
said chatterer.
""this thing ca n't hurt me."
then he crept a little farther in.
right in front of him was a little round doorway with a little wire door.
chatterer pushed the little door with his nose, and it opened a teeny, weeny bit.
he drew back suspiciously.
then he tried it again, and this time pushed the little door a little farther open.
he did this two or three times until finally he had his head quite inside, and there, right down below him, was that food he so wanted to taste.
""i can hop right down and get it and then hop right up again," thought chatterer.
""do n't do it," said the small voice inside.
""corn is plenty good enough.
besides, it is time you were getting back to the old orchard."
""it wo n't take but a minute," said chatterer, "and i really must know what that tastes like."
with that he jumped down.
snap!
chatterer looked up.
the little wire door had closed.
old mr. trouble had got chatterer at last.
yes, sir, he certainly had got chatterer this time.
you see, he could n't open that little wire door from the inside.
he was in a trap -- the wire rat-trap set by farmer brown's boy.
xi what happened next to chatterer were you ever terribly, terribly frightened?
that was the way chatterer felt.
he was caught; there was no doubt about it!
his sharp teeth were of no use at all on those hard wires.
he could look out between them, but he could n't get out.
he was too frightened to think.
his heart pounded against his sides until it hurt.
he forgot all about that queer food he had so wanted to taste, and which was right before him now.
indeed, he felt as if he never, never would want to eat again.
what was going to happen to him now?
what would farmer brown's boy do to him when he found him there?
hark!
what was that?
it was a step just outside the door of the corn-crib.
farmer brown's boy was coming!
chatterer raced around his little wire prison and bit savagely at the hard wires.
but it was of no use, no use at all.
it only hurt his mouth cruelly.
then the door of the corn-crib swung open, a flood of light poured in, and with it came farmer brown's boy.
""hello!"
exclaimed farmer brown's boy, as he caught sight of chatterer.
""so you are the thief who has been stealing our corn, and i thought it was a rat or a mouse.
well, well, you little red rascal, did n't you know that thieves come to no good end?
you're pretty smart, for i never once thought of you, but you were not so smart as you thought.
now i wonder what we had better do with you."
he picked up the trap with chatterer in it and stepped out into the beautiful great out-of-doors.
chatterer could see across the dooryard to the old orchard and the familiar old stone wall along which he had scampered so often.
they looked just the same as ever, and yet -- well, they did n't look just the same, for he could n't look at them without seeing those cruel wires which were keeping him from them.
farmer brown's boy put the trap down on the ground and then began to call.
""puss, puss, puss," called farmer brown's boy.
chatterer's heart, which had been thumping so, almost stopped beating with fright.
there was black pussy, whom he had so often teased and made fun of.
her yellow eyes had a hungry gleam as she walked around the trap and sniffed and sniffed.
never had chatterer heard such a terrible sound as those hungry sniffs so close to him!
black pussy tried to put a paw between the wires, and chatterer saw the great, cruel claws.
but black pussy could n't get her paw between the wires.
""how would you like him for breakfast?"
asked farmer brown's boy.
""meow," said black pussy, arching her back and rubbing against his legs.
""i suppose that means that you would like him very much," laughed farmer brown's boy.
""do you think you can catch him if i let him out?"
""meow," replied black pussy again, and to poor chatterer it seemed the awfullest sound he ever had heard.
""well, we'll see about it by and by," said farmer brown's boy.
""there's the breakfast bell, and i have n't fed the biddies yet."
xii chatterer is sure that this is his last day there was no hope, not the teeniest, weeniest ray of hope in the heart of chatterer, as farmer brown's boy picked up the wire rat-trap and started for the house, black pussy, the cat, following at his heels and looking up at chatterer with cruel, hungry eyes.
chatterer took a farewell look at the old orchard and way beyond it the green forest, from which he had been driven by fear of shadow the weasel.
then the door of the farmhouse closed and shut it all out.
if there had been any hope in chatterer's heart, the closing of that door would have shut the last bit out.
but there was n't any hope.
chatterer was sure that he was to be given to black pussy for her breakfast.
farmer brown's boy put the trap on a table.
""what have you there?"
called a great voice.
it was the voice of farmer brown himself, who was eating his breakfast.
""i've got the thief who has been stealing our corn in the crib," replied farmer brown's boy, "and who do you think it is?"
""one of those pesky rats," replied farmer brown.
""i'm afraid you've been careless and left the door open some time, and that is how the rats have got in there."
""but it is n't a rat, and i do n't believe that there is a rat there," replied farmer brown's boy in triumph.
""it's that little scamp of a red squirrel we've seen racing along the wall at the edge of the old orchard lately.
i ca n't imagine how he got in there, but there he was, and now here he is."
""what are you going to do with him?"
asked farmer brown, coming over to look at chatterer.
""i do n't know," replied farmer brown's boy, "unless i give him to black puss for her breakfast.
she has been teasing me for him ever since i found him."
farmer brown's boy looked over to the other side of the table as he said this, and his eyes twinkled with mischief.
""oh, you must n't do that!
that would be cruel!"
cried a soft voice.
""you must take him down to the green forest and let him go."
a gentle face with pitying eyes was bent above the trap.
""just see how frightened the poor little thing is!
you must take him straight down to the green forest right after breakfast."
""is n't that just like mother?"
cried farmer brown's boy.
""i believe it would be just the same with the ugliest old rat that ever lived.
she would try to think of some excuse for letting it go."
""god made all the little people who wear fur, and they must have some place in his great plan," said mrs. brown.
farmer brown laughed a big, hearty laugh.
""true enough, mother!"
said he.
""the trouble is, they get out of place.
now this little rascal's place is down in the green forest and not up in our corn-crib."
""then put him back in his right place!"
was the prompt reply, and they all laughed.
now all this time poor chatterer was thinking that this surely was his last day.
you see, he knew that he had been a thief, and he knew that farmer brown's boy knew it.
he just crouched down in a little ball, too miserable to do anything but tremble every time any one came near.
he was sure that he had seen for the last time the green forest and the green meadows and jolly mr. sun and all the other beautiful things he loved so, and it seemed as if his heart would burst with despair.
xiii chatterer is put in prison who ever does a deed that's wrong will surely find some day that for that naughty act of his he'll surely have to pay.
that was the way with chatterer.
of course he had had no business to steal corn from farmer brown's corn-crib.
to be sure he had felt that he had just as much right to that corn as farmer brown had.
you see, the little people of the green meadows and the green forest feel that everything that grows belongs to them, if they want it and are smart enough to get it before some one else does.
but it is just there that chatterer went wrong.
farmer brown had harvested that corn and stored it in his corn-crib, and so, of course, no one else had any right to it.
right down deep in his heart chatterer knew this.
if he had n't known it, he would n't have been so sly in taking what he wanted.
he knew all the time that he was stealing, but he tried to make himself believe that it was all right.
so he had kept on stealing and stealing until at last he was caught in a trap, and now he had got to pay for his wrong-doing.
chatterer was very miserable, so miserable and frightened that he could do nothing but sit huddled up in a little shivery ball.
he had n't the least doubt in the world that this was his very last day, and that farmer brown's boy would turn him over to cruel black pussy for her breakfast.
farmer brown's boy had left him in the trap in the house and had gone out.
for a long time chatterer could hear pounding out in the woodshed, and farmer brown's boy was whistling as he pounded.
chatterer wondered how he could whistle and seem so happy when he meant to do such a dreadful thing as to give him to black pussy.
after what seemed a very long time, ages and ages, farmer brown's boy came back.
he had with him a queer looking box.
""there," said he, "is a new home for you, you little red imp!
i guess it will keep you out of trouble for a while."
he slid back a little door in the top of the box, and then, putting on a stout glove and opening a little door in the trap, he put in his big hand and closed it around chatterer.
poor little chatterer!
he was sure now that this was the end, and that he was to be given to black pussy, who was looking on with hungry, yellow eyes.
he struggled and did his best to bite, but the thick glove gave his sharp little teeth no chance to hurt the hand that held him.
even in his terror, he noticed that that big hand tried to be gentle and squeezed him no tighter than was necessary.
then he was lifted out of the trap and dropped through the little doorway in the top of the queer box, and the door was fastened.
nothing terrible had happened, after all.
at first, chatterer just sulked in one corner.
he still felt sure that something terrible was going to happen.
farmer brown's boy took the box out into the shed and put it where the sun shone into it.
for a little while he stayed watching, but chatterer still sulked and sulked.
by and by he went away, taking black pussy with him, and chatterer was alone.
when he was quite sure that no one was about, chatterer began to wonder what sort of a place he was in, and if there was n't some way to get out.
he found that one side and the top were of fine, stout wire, through which he could look out, and that the other sides and the bottom were of wood covered with wire, so that there was no chance for his sharp teeth to gnaw a way out.
in one corner was a stout piece of an apple-tree, with two little stubby branches to sit on, and half way up a little round hole.
very cautiously chatterer peeped inside the hole.
inside was a splendid hollow.
on the floor of the box was a little heap of shavings and bits of rag.
and there was a little pile of yellow corn.
how chatterer did hate the sight of that corn!
you see, it was corn that had got him into all this trouble.
at least, that is the way chatterer felt about it.
when he had examined everything, he knew that there was no way out.
chatterer was in a prison, though that is not what farmer brown's boy called it.
he said it was a cage.
illustration: very cautiously chatterer peeped inside the hole.
xiv chatterer decides to live at first chatterer decided that he had rather die than live in a prison, no matter how nice that prison might be.
it was a very foolish thing to do, but he made up his mind that he just would n't eat.
he would n't touch that nice, yellow corn farmer brown's boy had put in his prison for him.
he would starve himself to death.
yes, sir, he would starve himself to death.
so when he found that there was no way to get out of his prison, he curled up in the little hollow stump in his prison, where no one could see him, and made up his mind that he would stay there until he died.
life was n't worth living if he had got to spend all the rest of his days in a prison.
he would n't even make himself comfortable.
there was that little heap of nice shavings and bits of rag for him to make a nice comfortable bed of, but he did n't touch them.
no, sir, he just tried to make himself miserable.
not once that long day did he poke so much as the tip of his nose out of his little round doorway.
ever so many times farmer brown's boy came to see him, and whistled and called softly to him.
but chatterer did n't make a sound.
at last night came, and the woodshed where his prison was grew dark and darker and very still.
now it was about this time that chatterer's stomach began to make itself felt.
chatterer tried not to notice it, but his stomach would be noticed, and chatterer could n't help himself.
his stomach was empty, and it kept telling him so.
""i'm going to starve to death," said chatterer to himself over and over.
""i'm empty, and there is plenty of food to fill me up, if you'll only stop being silly," whispered his stomach.
the more chatterer tried not to think of how good something to eat would taste, the more he did think of it.
it made him restless and uneasy.
he twisted and squirmed and turned.
at last he decided that he would have one more look to see if he could n't find some way to get out of his prison.
he poked his head out of the little round doorway.
all was still and dark.
he listened, but not a sound could he hear.
then he softly crept out and hurriedly examined all the inside of his prison once more.
it was of no use!
there was n't a single place where he could use his sharp teeth.
""there's that little pile of corn waiting for me," whispered his stomach.
""i'll never touch it!"
said chatterer fiercely.
just then he hit something with his foot, and it rolled.
he picked it up and then put it down again.
it was a nut, a plump hickory nut.
two or three times he picked it up and put it down, and each time it was harder than before to put it down.
""i -- i -- i'd like to taste one more nut before i starve to death," muttered chatterer, and almost without knowing it, he began to gnaw the hard shell.
when that nut was finished, he found another; and when that was gone, still another.
then he just had to taste a grain of corn.
the first thing chatterer knew, the nuts and the corn were all gone, and his stomach was full.
somehow he felt ever so much better.
he did n't feel like starving to death now.
""i -- i believe i'll wait a bit and see what happens," said he to himself, "and while i'm waiting, i may as well be comfortable."
with that he began to carry the shavings and rags into the hollow stump and soon had as comfortable a bed as ever he had slept on.
chatterer had decided to live.
xv farmer brown's boy tries to make friends nobody lives who's wholly bad; some good you'll find in every heart.
your enemies will be your friends.
if only you will do your part.
all his life chatterer the red squirrel had looked on farmer brown's boy as his enemy, just as did all the other little people of the green meadows, the green forest, and the smiling pool.
they feared him, and because they feared him, they hated him.
so whenever he came near, they ran away.
now at first, farmer brown's boy used to run after them for just one thing -- because he wanted to make friends with them, and he could n't see how ever he was going to do it unless he caught them.
after a while, when he found that he could n't catch them by running after them, he made up his mind that they did n't want to be his friends, and so then he began to hunt them, because he thought it was fun to try to outwit them.
of course, when he began to do that, they hated him and feared him all the more.
you see, they did n't understand that really he had one of the kindest hearts in the world; and he did n't understand that they hated him just because they did n't know him.
so when chatterer had been caught in the trap in farmer brown's corn-crib, he had n't doubted in the least that farmer brown's boy would give him to black pussy or do something equally cruel; and even when he found that he was only to be kept a prisoner in a very comfortable prison, with plenty to eat and drink, he was n't willing to believe any good of farmer brown's boy.
indeed, he hated him more than ever, if that were possible.
but farmer brown's boy was very patient.
he came to chatterer's prison ever so many times a day and whistled and clucked and talked to chatterer.
and he brought good things to eat.
it seemed as if he were all the time trying to think of some new treat for chatterer.
he never came without bringing something.
at first, chatterer would hide in his hollow stump as soon as he saw farmer brown's boy coming and would n't so much as peek out until he had gone away.
when he was sure that the way was clear, he would come out again, and always he found some delicious fat nuts or some other dainty waiting for him.
after a little, as soon as he saw farmer brown's boy coming, chatterer would begin to wonder what good thing he had brought this time, and would grow terribly impatient for farmer brown's boy to go away so that he could find out.
by and by it got so that he could n't wait, but would slyly peep out of his little, round doorway to see what had been brought for him.
then one day farmer brown's boy did n't come at all.
chatterer tried to make himself believe that he was glad.
he told himself that he hated farmer brown's boy, and he hoped that he never, never would see him again.
but all the time he knew that it was n't true.
it was the longest day since chatterer had been a prisoner.
early the next morning, before chatterer was out of bed, he heard a step in the woodshed, and before he thought what he was doing, he was out of his hollow stump to see if it really was farmer brown's boy.
it was, and he had three great fat nuts which he dropped into chatterer's cage.
it seemed to chatterer that he just could n't wait for farmer brown's boy to go away.
finally he darted forward and seized one.
then he scampered to the shelter of his hollow stump to eat it.
when it was finished, he just had to have another.
farmer brown's boy was still watching, but somehow chatterer did n't feel so much afraid.
this time he sat up on one of the little branches of the stump and ate it in plain sight.
farmer brown's boy smiled, and it was a pleasant smile.
""i believe we shall be friends, after all," said he.
xvi chatterer has a pleasant surprise chatterer the red squirrel, the mischief maker of the green forest, had never been more comfortable in his life.
no matter how rough brother north wind roared across the green meadows and through the green forest, piling the snow in great drifts, he could n't send so much as one tiny shiver through the little red coat of chatterer.
and always right at hand was plenty to eat -- corn and nuts and other good things such as chatterer loves.
no, he never had been so comfortable in all his life.
but he was n't happy, not truly happy.
you see, he was in prison, and no matter how nice a prison may be, no one can be truly happy there.
since he had been a prisoner, chatterer had learned to think very differently of farmer brown's boy from what he used to think.
in fact, he and farmer brown's boy had become very good friends, for farmer brown's boy was always very gentle, and always brought him something good to eat.
""he is n't at all like what i had thought," said chatterer, "and if i were free, i would n't be afraid of him at all.
i -- i'd like to tell some of the other little green forest people about him.
if only --" chatterer did n't finish.
instead a great lump filled his throat.
you see, he was thinking of the green forest and the old orchard, and how he used to race through the tree-tops and along the stone wall.
half the fun in life had been in running and jumping, and now there was n't room in this little prison to stretch his legs.
if only he could run -- run as hard as ever he knew how -- once in a while, he felt that his prison would n't be quite so hard to put up with.
that very afternoon, while chatterer was taking a nap in his bed in the hollow stump, something was slipped over his little round doorway, and chatterer awoke in a terrible fright to find himself a prisoner inside his hollow stump.
there was nothing he could do about it but just lie there in his bed, and shake with fright, and wonder what dreadful thing was going to happen next.
he could hear farmer brown's boy very busy about something in his cage.
after a long, long time, his little round doorway let in the light once more.
the door had been opened.
at first chatterer did n't dare go out, but he heard the soft little whistle with which farmer brown's boy always called him when he had something especially nice for him to eat, so at last he peeped out.
there on the floor of the cage were some of the nicest nuts.
chatterer came out at once.
then his sharp eyes discovered something else.
it was a queer looking thing made of wire at one end of his cage.
chatterer looked at it with great suspicion.
could it be a new kind of trap?
but what would a trap be doing there, when he was already a prisoner?
he ate all the nuts, all the time watching this new, queer looking thing.
it seemed harmless enough.
he went a little nearer.
finally he hopped into it.
it moved.
of course that frightened him, and he started to run up.
but he did n't go up.
no, sir, he did n't go up.
you see, he was in a wire wheel; and as he ran, the wheel went around.
chatterer was terribly frightened, and the faster he tried to run, the faster the wheel went around.
finally he had to stop, because he was out of breath and too tired to run another step.
when he stopped, the wheel stopped.
little by little, chatterer began to understand.
farmer brown's boy had made that wheel to give him a chance to run all he wanted to and whenever he wanted to.
when he understood this, chatterer was as nearly happy as he could be in a prison.
it was such a pleasant surprise!
he would race and race in it until he just had to stop for breath.
farmer brown's boy looked on and laughed to see how much happier he had made chatterer.
xvii sammy jay's sharp eyes everybody knows that sammy jay has sharp eyes.
in fact, there are very few of the little forest people whose eyes are as sharp as sammy's.
that is because he uses them so much.
a long time ago he found out that the more he used his eyes, the sharper they became, and so there are very few minutes when sammy is awake that he is n't trying to see something.
he is always looking.
that is the reason he always knows so much about what is going on in the green forest and on the green meadows.
now of course chatterer the red squirrel could n't disappear without being missed, particularly by sammy jay.
and of course sammy could n't miss chatterer and not wonder what had become of him.
at first, sammy thought that chatterer was hiding, but after peeking and peering and watching in the old orchard for a few days, he was forced to think that either chatterer had once more moved or else that something had happened to him.
""perhaps shadow the weasel has caught him, after all," thought sammy, and straightway flew to a certain place in the green forest where he might find shadow the weasel.
sure enough, shadow was there.
now of course it would n't do to ask right out if shadow had caught chatterer, and sammy was smart enough to know it.
illustration: "you tell chatterer that i'll get him yet!"
snarled shadow.
""chatterer the red squirrel sends his respects and hopes you are enjoying your hunt for him," called sammy.
shadow looked up at sammy, and anger blazed in his little, red eyes.
""you tell chatterer that i'll get him yet!"
snarled shadow.
sammy's eyes sparkled with mischief.
he had made shadow angry, and he had found out what he wanted to know.
he was sure that shadow had not caught chatterer.
""but what can have become of him?"
thought sammy.
""i've got no love for him, but just the same i miss him.
i really must find out.
yes, sir, i really must."
so every minute that he could spare, sammy jay spent trying to find chatterer.
he asked every one he met if they had seen chatterer.
he peeked and peered into every hollow and hiding place he could think of.
but look as he would and ask as he would, he could find no trace of chatterer.
at last he happened to think of farmer brown's corn-crib.
could it be that chatterer had moved over there or had come to some dreadful end there?
very early the next morning, sammy flew over to the corn-crib.
he looked it all over with his sharp eyes and listened for sounds of chatterer inside.
but not a sound could he hear.
then he remembered the hole under the edge of the roof through which chatterer used to go in and out.
sammy hurried to look at it.
it was closed by a stout board nailed across it.
then sammy knew that farmer brown's boy had found it.
""he's killed chatterer, that's what he's done!"
cried sammy, and flew over to the old orchard filled with sad thoughts.
he meant to wait until farmer brown's boy came out and then tell him what he thought of him.
after that, he would fly through the green forest and over the green meadows to spread the sad news.
after a while, the door of the farmhouse opened, and farmer brown's boy stepped out.
sammy had his mouth open to scream, when his sharp eyes saw something queer.
farmer brown's boy had a queer looking box in his arms which he put on a shelf where the sun would shine on it.
it looked to sammy as if something moved inside that box.
he forgot to scream and say the bad things he had planned to say.
he waited until farmer brown's boy had gone to the barn.
then sammy flew where he could look right into the queer box.
there was chatterer the red squirrel!
xviii chatterer is made fun of "ha, ha, ha!
ho, ho, ho!
smarty caught at last!"
sammy jay fairly shrieked with glee, as he peered down from the top of an apple-tree at chatterer, in the cage farmer brown's boy had made for him.
sammy was so relieved to think that chatterer was not dead, and he was so tickled to think that chatterer, who always thought himself so smart, should have been caught, that he just had to torment chatterer by laughing at him and saying mean things to him, until chatterer lost his temper and said things back quite in the old way.
this tickled sammy more than ever, for it sounded so exactly like chatterer when he had been a free little imp of mischief in the green forest, that sammy felt sure that chatterer had nothing the matter with him.
but he could n't stop very long to make fun of poor chatterer.
in the first place farmer brown's boy had put his head out the barn door to see what all the fuss was about.
in the second place, sammy fairly ached all over to spread the news through the green forest and over the green meadows.
you know he is a great gossip.
and this was such unusual news.
sammy knew very well that no one would believe him.
he knew that they just could n't believe that smart mr. chatterer had really been caught.
and no one did believe it.
""all right," sammy would reply.
""it does n't make the least bit of difference in the world to me whether you believe it or not.
you can go up to farmer brown's house and see him in prison yourself, just as i did."
so late that afternoon, when all was quiet around the farmyard, chatterer saw something very familiar behind the old stone wall at the edge of the old orchard.
it bobbed up and then dropped out of sight again.
then it bobbed up again, only to drop out of sight just as quickly.
""it looks to me very much as if peter rabbit is over there and feeling very nervous," said chatterer to himself, and then he called sharply, just as when he was free in the green forest.
right away peter's head bobbed up for all the world like a jack-in-the-box, and this time it stayed up.
peter's eyes were round with surprise, as he stared across at chatterer's prison.
""oh, it's true!"
gasped peter, as if it were as hard work to believe his own eyes as it was to believe sammy jay.
""i must go right away and see what can be done to get chatterer out of trouble."
and then, because it was broad daylight, and he really did n't dare stay another minute, peter waved good-by to chatterer and started for the green forest as fast as his long legs could take him.
a little later who should appear peeping over the stone wall but reddy fox.
it seemed very bold of reddy, but really it was n't nearly as bold as it seemed.
you see, reddy knew that farmer brown's boy and bowser the hound were over in the old pasture, and that he had nothing to fear.
he grinned at chatterer in the most provoking way.
it made chatterer angry just to see him.
""smarty, smarty, mr. smarty, glad to see you looking hearty!
weather's fine, as you can see; wo n't you take a walk with me?"
so said reddy fox, knowing all the time that chatterer could n't take a walk with any one.
at first chatterer scolded and called reddy all the bad names he could think of, but after a little he did n't feel so much like scolding.
in fact, he did n't half hear the mean things reddy fox said to him.
you see, it was coming over him more and more that nothing could take the place of freedom.
he had a comfortable home, plenty to eat, and was safe from every harm, but he was a prisoner, and having these visitors made him realize it more than ever.
something very like tears filled his eyes, and he crept into his hollow stump where he could n't see or be seen.
xix peter rabbit tries to help peter rabbit is one of the kindest hearted little people of the green forest or the green meadows.
he is happy-go-lucky, and his dreadful curiosity is forever getting him into all kinds of trouble.
perhaps it is because he has been in so many scrapes himself that he always feels sorry for others who get into trouble.
anyway, no sooner does peter hear of some one in trouble, than he begins to wonder how he can help them.
so just as soon as he found out for himself that sammy jay had told the truth about chatterer the red squirrel, and that chatterer really was in a prison at farmer brown's house, he began to think and think to find some way to help chatterer.
now of course peter did n't know what kind of a prison chatterer was in.
he remembered right away how prickly porky the porcupine had gnawed a great hole in the box in which johnny chuck's lost baby was kept by farmer brown's boy.
why should n't prickly porky do as much for chatterer?
he would go see him at once.
the trouble with peter is that he does n't think of all sides of a question.
he is impulsive.
that is, he goes right ahead and does the thing that comes into his head first, and sometimes this is n't the wisest or best thing to do.
so now he scampered down into the green forest as fast as his long legs would carry him, to hunt for prickly porky.
it was no trouble at all to find him, for he had only to follow the line of trees that had been stripped of their bark.
""good afternoon, prickly porky.
have you heard the news about chatterer?"
said peter, talking very fast, for he was quite out of breath.
""yes," replied prickly porky.
""serves him right.
i hope it will teach him a lesson."
peter's heart sank.
""do n't you think it is dreadful?"
he asked.
""just think, he will never, never be able to run and play in the green forest again, unless we can get him out."
""so much the better," grunted prickly porky.
""so much the better.
he always was a nuisance.
never did see such a fellow for making trouble for other people.
no, sir, i never did.
the rest of us can have some peace now.
serves him right."
prickly porky went on chewing bark as if chatterer's trouble was no concern of his.
peter's heart sank lower still.
he scratched one long ear slowly with a long hind foot, which is a way he has when he is thinking very hard.
he was so busy thinking that he did n't see the twinkle in the dull little eyes of prickly porky, who really was not so hard-hearted as his words sounded.
after a long time, during which peter thought and thought, and prickly porky ate and ate, the latter spoke again.
""what have you got on your mind, peter?"
he asked.
""i -- i was just thinking how perfectly splendid it would be if you would go up there and gnaw a way out of his prison for chatterer," replied peter timidly.
""huh!"
grunted prickly porky.
""huh!
some folks think my wits are pretty slow, but even i know better than that.
put on your thinking cap again, peter rabbit."
""why ca n't you?
you are not afraid of bowser the hound or farmer brown's boy, and everybody else is, excepting jimmy skunk," persisted peter.
""for the very good reason that if i could gnaw into his prison, chatterer could gnaw out.
if he ca n't gnaw his way out with those sharp teeth of his, i certainly ca n't gnaw in.
where's your common sense, peter rabbit?"
""that's so.
i had n't thought of that," replied peter slowly and sorrowfully.
""i must try to think of some other way to help chatterer."
""i'd be willing to try if it was of any use.
but it is n't," said prickly porky, who did n't want peter to think that he really was as hard-hearted as he had seemed at first.
illustration: "i'd be willing to try it if it was of any use.
but it is n't," said prickly porky.
so peter bade prickly porky good-by and started for the dear old briar-patch to try to think of some other way to help chatterer.
on the way he waked up unc" billy possum and bobby coon, but they could n't give him any help.
""there really does n't seem to be any way i can help," sighed peter.
and there really was n't.
xx chatterer has another great surprise chatterer had never had so many surprises -- good surprises -- in all his life, as since the day he had been caught in a trap in farmer brown's corn-crib.
in the first place, it had been a great surprise to him that he had not been given to black pussy, as he had fully expected to be.
then had come the even greater surprise of finding that farmer brown's boy was ever and ever so much nicer than he had thought.
a later surprise had been the wire wheel in his cage, so that he could run to his heart's content.
it was such a pleasant and wholly unexpected surprise that it had quite changed chatterer's feelings towards farmer brown's boy.
the fact is, chatterer could have been truly happy but for one thing -- he was a prisoner.
yes, sir, he was a prisoner, and he could n't forget it for one minute while he was awake.
he used to watch farmer brown's boy and wish with all his might that he could make him understand how dreadful it was to be in a prison.
but farmer brown's boy could n't understand what chatterer said, no matter how hard chatterer tried to make him.
he seemed to think that chatterer was happy.
he just did n't understand that not all the good things in the world could make up for loss of freedom -- that it is better to be free, though hungry and cold, than in a prison with every comfort.
chatterer had stood it pretty well and made the best of things until sammy jay had found him, and reddy fox had made fun of him, and peter rabbit had peeped at him from behind the old stone wall.
the very sight of them going where they pleased and when they pleased had been too much for chatterer, and such a great longing for the green forest and the old orchard filled his heart that he could think of nothing else.
he just sat in a corner of his cage and looked as miserable as he felt.
he lost his appetite.
in vain farmer brown's boy brought him the fattest nuts and other dainties.
he could n't eat for the great longing for freedom that filled his heart until it seemed ready to burst.
he no longer cared to run in the new wire wheel which had given him so much pleasure at first.
he was homesick, terribly homesick, and he just could n't help it.
farmer brown's boy noticed it, and his face grew sober and thoughtful.
he watched chatterer when the latter did n't know that he was about, and if he could n't understand chatterer's talk, he could understand chatterer's actions.
he knew that he was unhappy and guessed why.
one morning chatterer did not come out of his hollow stump as he usually did when his cage was placed on the shelf outside the farmhouse door.
he just did n't feel like it.
he stayed curled up in his bed for a long, long time, too sad and miserable to move.
at last he crawled up and peeped out of his little round doorway.
chatterer gave a little gasp and rubbed his eyes.
was he dreaming?
he scrambled out in a hurry and peeped through the wires of his cage.
then he rubbed his eyes again and rushed over to the other side of the cage for another look.
his cage was n't on the usual shelf at all!
it was on the snow-covered stone wall at the edge of the old orchard.
chatterer was so excited he did n't know what to do.
he raced around the cage.
then he jumped into the wire wheel and made it spin round and round as never before.
when he was too tired to run any more, he jumped out.
and right then he discovered something he had n't noticed before.
the little door in the top of his cage was open!
it must be that farmer brown's boy had forgotten to close it when he put in chatterer's breakfast.
chatterer forgot that he was tired.
like a little red flash he was outside and whisking along the snow-covered stone wall straight for his home in the old orchard.
""chickaree!
chickaree!
chickaree!"
he shouted as he ran.
xxi chatterer hears the small voice the very first of the little meadow and forest people to see chatterer after he had safely reached the old orchard, was tommy tit the chickadee.
it just happened that tommy was very busy in the very apple-tree in which was the old home of drummer the woodpecker when chatterer reached it.
you know chatterer had moved into it for the winter just a little while before he had been caught in the corn-crib by farmer brown's boy.
yes, sir, tommy was very busy, indeed.
he was so busy that, sharp as his bright little eyes are, he had not seen chatterer racing along the snow-covered old stone wall.
it was n't until he heard chatterer's claws on the trunk of the apple-tree that tommy saw him at all.
then he was so surprised that he lost his balance and almost turned a somersault in the air before he caught another twig.
you see, he knew all about chatterer and how he had been kept a prisoner by farmer brown's boy.
""why!
whye-e!
is this really you, chatterer?"
he exclaimed.
""however did you get out of your prison?
i'm glad, ever and ever so glad, that you got away."
chatterer flirted his tail in the saucy way he has, and his eyes twinkled.
here was just the best chance ever to boast and brag.
he could tell tommy tit how smart he had been -- smart enough to get away from farmer brown's boy.
tommy tit would tell the other little people, and then everybody would think him just as smart as unc" billy possum; and you know unc" billy really was smart enough to get away from farmer brown's boy after being caught.
everybody knew that he had been a prisoner, and now that he was free, everybody would believe whatever he told them about how he got away.
was there ever such a chance to make his friends and neighbors say: "what a smart fellow he is!"
""i -- i --" chatterer stopped.
then he began again.
""you see, it was this way: i -- i --" somehow, chatterer could n't say what he had meant to say.
it seemed as if tommy tit's bright, merry eyes were looking right into his head and heart and could see his very thoughts.
of course they could n't.
the truth is that little small voice inside, which chatterer had so often refused to listen to when he was tempted to do wrong, was talking again.
it was saying: "for shame, chatterer!
for shame!
tell the truth.
tell the truth."
it was that little small voice that made chatterer hesitate and stop.
""you do n't mean to say that you were smart enough to fool farmer brown's boy and get out of that stout little prison he made for you, do you?"
asked tommy tit.
""no," replied chatterer, almost before he thought.
""no, i did n't.
the fact is, tommy tit, he left the door open purposely.
he let me go.
farmer brown's boy is n't half so bad as some people think."
""dee, dee, dee," laughed tommy tit.
""i've been telling a lot of you fellows that for a long time, but none of you would believe me.
now i guess you know it.
why, i'm not the least bit afraid of farmer brown's boy -- not the least little bit in the world.
if all the little forest and meadow people would only trust him, instead of running away from him, he would be the very best friend we have."
""perhaps so," replied chatterer doubtfully.
""he was very good to me while i was in his prison, and -- and i'm not so very much afraid of him now.
just the same, i do n't mean to let him get hands on me again."
""pooh!"
said tommy tit.
""pooh!
i'd just as soon eat out of his hand."
""that's all very well for you to say, when you are flying around free, but i do n't believe you dare go up to his house and prove it," retorted chatterer.
""ca n't now," replied tommy.
""i've got too much to do for him right now, but some day i'll show you.
dee, dee, dee, chickadee!
i'm wasting my time talking when there is such a lot to be done.
i am clearing his apple-trees of insect eggs."
""ha, ha, ha!
go it, you little red scamp!"
shouted a voice behind him.
then chatterer knew that farmer brown's boy had not left the little door open by mistake, but had given him his freedom, and right then he knew that they were going to be the best of friends.
xxii tommy tit makes good his boast "dee, dee, dee, chickadee!
see me!
see me!"
tommy tit the chickadee kept saying this over and over, as he flew from the green forest up through the old orchard on his way to farmer brown's dooryard, and his voice was merry.
in fact, his voice was the merriest, cheeriest sound to be heard that bright, snapping, cold morning.
to be sure there were other voices, but they were not merry, nor were they cheery.
there was the voice of sammy jay, but it sounded peevish and discontented.
and there was the voice of blacky the crow, but it sounded harsh and unpleasant.
and there was the voice of chatterer the red squirrel, but chatterer was scolding just from habit, and his voice was not pleasant to hear.
so every one who heard tommy tit's cheery voice that cold winter morning just had to smile.
yes, sir, they just had to smile, even sammy jay and blacky the crow.
they just could n't help themselves.
when tommy reached the stone wall that separated the old orchard from farmer brown's dooryard, his sharp eyes were not long in finding peter rabbit, and happy jack the gray squirrel, and chatterer hiding in the old wall where they could peep out and see all that happened in farmer brown's dooryard.
looking back through the old orchard, he saw what looked like a little bit of the blue, blue sky flitting silently from tree to tree.
it was sammy jay.
over in the very top of a tall maple-tree, a long way off, was a spot of black.
tommy did n't need to be told that it was blacky the crow, who did n't dare come any nearer.
tommy fairly bubbled over with joy.
he knew what it all meant.
he knew that peter rabbit and happy jack and chatterer and sammy jay and blacky the crow had come to see him make good his boast to chatterer that he would eat from the hand of farmer brown's boy, and that not one of them really believed that he would do it.
he tickled all over and cut up all sorts of capers, just for pure joy.
finally he flew over to the maple-tree that grows close by farmer brown's house.
""dee, dee, dee, chickadee!
see me!
see me!"
called tommy tit, and his voice sounded cheerier than ever and merrier than ever.
then the door of farmer brown's house opened, and out stepped farmer brown's boy and looked up at tommy tit, and the look in his eyes was gentle and good to see.
he pursed up his lips, and from them came the softest, sweetest whistle, and it sounded like "phoe-be."
peter rabbit pinched himself to be sure that he was awake, for it was tommy tit's own love note, and if peter had not been looking straight at farmer brown's boy, he would have been sure that it was tommy himself who had whistled.
""phoe-be," whistled farmer brown's boy again.
""phoe-be," replied tommy tit, and it was hard to say which whistle was the softest and sweetest.
""phoe-be," whistled farmer brown's boy once more and held out his hand.
in it was a cracked hickory nut.
""dee, dee, dee!
see me!
see me!"
cried tommy tit and flitted down from the maple-tree right on to the hand of farmer brown's boy, and his bright little eyes twinkled merrily as he helped himself to a bit of nut meat.
peter rabbit looked at happy jack, and happy jack looked at chatterer, and all three acted as if they could n't believe their own eyes.
then they looked back at farmer brown's boy, and there on his head sat tommy tit.
""dee, dee, dee, chickadee!
see me!
see me!"
called tommy tit, and his voice was merrier than ever, for he had made good his boast.
xxiii chatterer grows very, very bold "i'm not afraid.
i am afraid.
i'm not afraid.
i am afraid.
i'm not afraid."
chatterer kept saying these two things over and over and over again to himself.
you see, he really was afraid, and he was trying to make himself believe that he was n't afraid.
he thought that perhaps if he said ever and ever so many times that he was n't afraid, he might actually make himself believe it.
the trouble was that every time he said it, a little voice, a little, truthful voice down inside, seemed to speak right up and tell him that he was afraid.
poor chatterer!
it hurt his pride to have to own to himself that he was n't as brave as little tommy tit the chickadee.
his common sense told him that there was no reason in the world why he should n't be.
tommy tit went every day and took food from the hand of farmer brown's boy.
it seemed to chatterer, and to happy jack the gray squirrel, and to peter rabbit, and to sammy jay, and to blacky the crow, all of whom had seen him do it, as if it were the very bravest thing they ever had seen, and their respect for tommy tit grew wonderfully.
but tommy tit himself did n't think it brave at all.
no, sir, tommy knew better.
you see, he has a great deal of common sense under the little black cap he wears.
""it may have been brave of me to do it the first time," thought he to himself, when the others told him how brave they thought him, "but it is n't brave of me now, because i know that no harm is going to come to me from farmer brown's boy.
there is n't any bravery about it, and it might be just the same way with chatterer and all the other little forest and meadow people, if only they would think so, and give farmer brown's boy half a chance."
chatterer was beginning to have some such thoughts himself, as he tried to make himself think that he was n't afraid.
he heard the door of farmer brown's house slam and peeped out from the old stone wall.
there was farmer brown's boy with a big, fat hickory nut held out in the most tempting way, and farmer brown's boy was whistling the same gentle little whistle he had used when chatterer was his prisoner, and he had brought good things for chatterer to eat.
of course chatterer knew perfectly well that that whistle was a call for him, and that that big fat hickory nut was intended for him.
almost before he thought, he had left the old stone wall and was half way over to farmer brown's boy.
then he stopped short.
it seemed as if that little voice inside had fairly shouted in his ears: "i am afraid."
it was true; he was afraid.
he was right on the very point of turning to scurry back to the old stone wall, when he heard another voice.
this time it was n't a voice inside.
no, indeed!
it was a voice from the top of one of the apple-trees in the old orchard, and this is what it said: "coward!
coward!
coward!"
it was sammy jay speaking.
now it is one thing to tell yourself that you are afraid, and it is quite another thing to be told by some one else that you are afraid.
""no such thing!
no such thing!
i'm not afraid!"
scolded chatterer, and then to prove it, he suddenly raced forward, snatched the fat hickory nut from the hand of farmer brown's boy, and was back in the old stone wall.
it was hard to tell which was the most surprised -- chatterer himself, farmer brown's boy, or sammy jay.
""i did it!
i did it!
i did it!"
boasted chatterer.
""you do n't dare do it again, though!"
said sammy jay, in the most provoking and unpleasant way.
""i do too!"
snapped chatterer, and he did it.
and with the taking of that second fat nut from the hand of farmer brown's boy, the very last bit of fear of him left chatterer, and he knew that tommy tit the chickadee had been right all the time when he insisted that there was nothing to fear from farmer brown's boy.
""why," thought chatterer, "if i would have let him, he would have been my friend long ago!"
and so he would have.
and this is all about chatterer the red squirrel for now.
sammy jay insists that it is his turn now, and so the next book will be about his adventures.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_danny_meadow_mouse.txt.out
chapter i danny meadow mouse is worried danny meadow mouse sat on his door-step with his chin in his hands, and it was very plain to see that danny had something on his mind.
he had only a nod for jimmy skunk, and even peter rabbit could get no more than a grumpy "good morning."
it was n't that he had been caught napping the day before by reddy fox and nearly made an end of.
no, it was n't that.
danny had learned his lesson, and reddy would never catch him again.
it was n't that he was all alone with no one to play with.
danny was rather glad that he was alone.
the fact is, danny meadow mouse was worried.
now worry is one of the worst things in the world, and it did n't seem as if there was anything that danny meadow mouse need worry about.
but you know it is the easiest thing in the world to find something to worry over and make yourself uncomfortable about.
and when you make yourself uncomfortable, you are almost sure to make everyone around you equally uncomfortable.
it was so with danny meadow mouse.
striped chipmunk had twice called him "cross patch" that morning, and johnny chuck, who had fought reddy fox for him the day before, had called him "grumpy."
and what do you think was the matter with danny meadow mouse?
why, he was worrying because his tail was short.
yes, sir, that is all that ailed danny meadow mouse that bright morning.
you know some people let their looks make them miserable.
they worry because they are homely or freckled, or short or tall, or thin or stout, all of which is very foolish.
and danny meadow mouse was just as foolish in worrying because his tail was short.
it is short!
it certainly is all of that!
danny never had realized how short until he chanced to meet his cousin whitefoot, who lives in the green forest.
he was very elegantly dressed, but the most imposing thing about him was his long, slim, beautiful tail.
danny had at once become conscious of his own stubby little tail, and he had hardly had pride enough to hold his head up as became an honest meadow mouse.
ever since he had been thinking and thinking, and wondering how his family came to have such short tails.
then he grew envious and began to wish and wish and wish that he could have a long tail like his cousin whitefoot.
he was so busy wishing that he had a long tail that he quite forgot to take care of the tail he did have, and he pretty nearly lost it and his life with it.
old whitetail the marsh hawk spied danny sitting there moping on his doorstep, and came sailing over the tops of the meadow grasses so softly that he all but caught danny.
if it had n't been for one of the merry little breezes, danny would have been caught.
and all because he was envious.
it's a bad, bad habit.
chapter ii danny meadow mouse and his short tail all danny meadow mouse could think about was his short tail.
he was so ashamed of it that whenever anyone passed, he crawled out of sight so that they should not see how short his tail was.
instead of playing in the sunshine as he used to do, he sat and sulked.
pretty soon his friends began to pass without stopping.
finally one day old mr. toad sat down in front of danny and began to ask questions.
""what's the matter?"
asked old mr. toad.
""nothing," replied danny meadow mouse.
""i do n't suppose there really is anything the matter, but what do you think is the matter?"
said old mr. toad.
danny fidgeted, and old mr. toad looked up at jolly, round, red mr. sun and winked.
""sun is just as bright as ever, is n't it?"
he inquired.
""yes," said danny.
""got plenty to eat and drink, have n't you?"
continued mr. toad.
""yes," said danny.
""seems to me that that is a pretty good-looking suit of clothes you're wearing," said mr. toad, eyeing danny critically.
""sunny weather, plenty to eat and drink, and good clothes -- must be you do n't know when you're well off, danny meadow mouse."
danny hung his head.
finally he looked up and caught a kindly twinkle in old mr. toad's eyes.
""mr. toad, how can i get a long tail like my cousin whitefoot of the green forest?"
he asked.
""so that's what's the matter!
ha!
ha!
ha!
danny meadow mouse, i'm ashamed of you!
i certainly am ashamed of you!"
said mr. toad.
""what good would a long tail do you?
tell me that."
for a minute danny did n't know just what to say.
""i -- i -- i'd look so much better if i had a long tail," he ventured.
old mr. toad just laughed.
""you never saw a meadow mouse with a long tail, did you?
of course not.
what a sight it would be!
why, everybody on the green meadows would laugh themselves sick at the sight!
you see you need to be slim and trim and handsome to carry a long tail well.
and then what a nuisance it would be!
you would always have to be thinking of your tail and taking care to keep it out of harm's way.
look at me.
i'm homely.
some folks call me ugly to look at.
but no one tries to catch me as farmer brown's boy does billy mink because of his fine coat; and no one wants to put me in a cage because of a fine voice.
i am satisfied to be just as i am, and if you'll take my advice, danny meadow mouse, you'll be satisfied to be just as you are."
-lsb- illustration: old mr. toad gave danny some good advice. -rsb-
""perhaps you are right," said danny meadow mouse after a little.
""i'll try."
chapter iii danny meadow mouse plays hide and seek life is always a game of hide and seek to danny meadow mouse.
you see, he is such a fat little fellow that there are a great many other furry-coated people, and almost as many who wear feathers, who would gobble danny up for breakfast or for dinner if they could.
some of them pretend to be his friends, but danny always keeps his eyes open when they are around and always begins to play hide and seek.
peter rabbit and jimmy skunk and striped chipmunk and happy jack squirrel are all friends whom he can trust, but he always has a bright twinkling eye open for reddy fox and billy mink and shadow the weasel and old whitetail the marsh hawk, and several more, especially hooty the owl at night.
now danny meadow mouse is a stout-hearted little fellow, and when rough brother north wind came shouting across the green meadows, tearing to pieces the snow clouds and shaking out the snowflakes until they covered the green meadows deep, deep, deep, danny just snuggled down in his warm coat in his snug little house of grass and waited.
danny liked the snow.
yes, sir, danny meadow mouse liked the snow.
he just loved to dig in it and make tunnels.
through those tunnels in every direction he could go where he pleased and when he pleased without being seen by anybody.
it was great fun!
every little way he made a little round doorway up beside a stiff stalk of grass.
out of this he could peep at the white world, and he could get the fresh cold air.
sometimes, when he was quite sure that no one was around, he would scamper across on top of the snow from one doorway to another, and when he did this, he made the prettiest little footprints.
now reddy fox knew all about those doorways and who made them.
reddy was having hard work to get enough to eat this cold weather, and he was hungry most of the time.
one morning, as he came tiptoeing softly over the meadows, what should he see just ahead of him but the head of danny meadow mouse pop out of one of those little round doorways.
reddy's mouth watered, and he stole forward more softly than ever.
when he got within jumping distance, he drew his stout hind legs under him and made ready to spring.
presto!
danny meadow mouse had disappeared!
reddy fox jumped just the same and began to dig as fast as he could make his paws go.
he could smell danny meadow mouse and that made him almost frantic.
all the time danny meadow mouse was scurrying along one of his little tunnels, and when finally reddy fox stopped digging because he was quite out of breath, danny popped his head out of another little doorway and laughed at reddy.
of course reddy saw him, and of course reddy tried to catch him there, and dug frantically just as before.
and of course danny meadow mouse was n't there.
after a while reddy fox grew tired of this kind of a game and tried another plan.
the next time he saw danny meadow mouse stick his head out, reddy pretended not to see him.
he stretched himself out on the ground and made believe that he was very tired and sleepy.
he closed his eyes.
then he opened them just the tiniest bit, so that he could see danny meadow mouse and yet seem to be asleep.
danny watched him for a long time.
then he chuckled to himself and dropped out of sight.
no sooner was he gone than reddy fox stole over close to the little doorway and waited.
""he'll surely stick his head out again to see if i'm asleep, and then i'll have him," said reddy to himself.
so he waited and waited and waited.
by and by he turned his head.
there was danny meadow mouse at another little doorway laughing at him!
-lsb- illustration: danny meadow mouse was laughing from another little doorway. -rsb-
chapter iv old granny fox tries for danny meadow mouse danny meadow mouse had not enjoyed anything so much for a long time as he did that game of hide and seek.
he tickled and chuckled all the afternoon as he thought about it.
of course reddy had been "it."
he had been "it" all the time, for never once had he caught danny meadow mouse.
if he had -- well, there would n't have been any more stories about danny meadow mouse, because there would n't have been any danny meadow mouse any more.
but danny never let himself think about this.
he had enjoyed the game all the more because it had been such a dangerous game.
it had been such fun to dive into one of his little round doorways in the snow, run along one of his own little tunnels, and then peep out at another doorway and watch reddy fox digging as fast as ever he could at the doorway danny had just left.
finally reddy had given up in disgust and gone off muttering angrily to try to find something else for dinner.
danny had sat up on the snow and watched him go.
in his funny little squeaky voice danny shouted: "though reddy fox is smart and sly, hi-hum-diddle-de-o!
i'm just as smart and twice as spry.
hi-hum-diddle-de-o!"
that night reddy fox told old granny fox all about how he had tried to catch danny meadow mouse.
granny listened with her head cocked on one side.
when reddy told how fat danny meadow mouse was, her mouth watered.
you see now that snow covered the green meadows and the green forest, granny and reddy fox had hard work to get enough to eat, and they were hungry most of the time.
""i'll go with you down on the meadows to-morrow morning, and then we'll see if danny meadow mouse is as smart as he thinks he is," said granny fox.
so, bright and early the next morning, old granny fox and reddy fox went down on the meadows where danny meadow mouse lives.
danny had felt in his bones that reddy would come back, so he was watching, and he saw them as soon as they came out of the green forest.
when he saw old granny fox, danny's heart beat a little faster than before, for he knew that granny fox is very smart and very wise and has learned most of the tricks of all the other little meadow and forest people.
""this is going to be a more exciting game than the other," said danny to himself, and scurried down out of sight to see that all his little tunnels were clear so that he could run fast through them if he had to.
then he peeped out of one of his little doorways hidden in a clump of tall grass.
old granny fox set reddy to hunting for danny's little round doorways, and as fast as he found them, granny came up and sniffed at each.
she knew that she could tell by the smell which one he had been at last.
finally she came straight towards the tall bunch of grass.
danny ducked down and scurried along one of his little tunnels.
he heard granny fox sniff at the doorway he had just left.
suddenly something plunged down through the snow right at his very heels.
danny did n't have to look to know that it was granny fox herself, and he squeaked with fright.
chapter v what happened on the green meadows thick and fast things were happening to danny meadow mouse down on the snow-covered green meadows.
rather, they were almost happening.
he had n't minded when reddy fox all alone tried to catch him.
indeed, he had made a regular game of hide and seek of it and had enjoyed it immensely.
but now it was different.
granny fox was n't so easily fooled as reddy fox.
just granny alone would have made the game dangerous for danny meadow mouse.
but reddy was with her, and so danny had two to look out for, and he got so many frights that it seemed to him as if his heart had moved right up into his mouth and was going to stay there.
yes, sir, that is just how it seemed.
down in his little tunnels underneath the snow danny meadow mouse felt perfectly safe from reddy fox, who would stop and dig frantically at the little round doorway where he had last seen danny.
but old granny fox knew all about those little tunnels, and she did n't waste any time digging at the doorways.
instead she cocked her sharp little ears and listened with all her might.
now granny fox has very keen ears, oh, very keen ears, and she heard just what she hoped she would hear.
she heard danny meadow mouse running along one of his little tunnels under the snow.
plunge!
old granny fox dived right into the snow and right through into the tunnel of danny meadow mouse.
her two black paws actually touched danny's tail.
he was glad then that it was no longer.
""ha!"
cried granny fox, "i almost got him that time!"
then she ran ahead a little way over the snow, listening as before.
plunge!
into the snow she went again.
it was lucky for him that danny had just turned into another tunnel, for otherwise she would surely have caught him.
granny fox blew the snow out of her nose.
""next time i'll get him!"
said she.
now reddy fox is quick to learn, especially when it is a way to get something to eat.
he watched granny fox, and when he understood what she was doing, he made up his mind to have a try himself, for he was afraid that if she caught danny meadow mouse, she would think that he was not big enough to divide.
perhaps that was because reddy is very selfish himself.
so the next time granny plunged into the snow and missed danny meadow mouse just as before, reddy rushed in ahead of her, and the minute he heard danny running down below, he plunged in just as he had seen granny do.
but he did n't take the pains to make sure of just where danny was, and so of course he did n't come anywhere near him.
but he frightened danny still more and made old granny fox lose her temper.
poor danny meadow mouse!
he had never been so frightened in all his life.
he did n't know which way to turn or where to run.
and so he sat still, which, although he did n't know it, was the very best thing he could do.
when he sat still he made no noise, and so of course granny and reddy fox could not tell where he was.
old granny fox sat and listened and listened and listened, and wondered where danny meadow mouse was.
and down under the snow danny meadow mouse sat and listened and listened and listened, and wondered where granny and reddy fox were.
""pooh!"
said granny fox after a while, "that meadow mouse thinks he can fool me by sitting still.
i'll give him a scare."
then she began to plunge into the snow this way and that way, and sure enough, pretty soon she landed so close to danny meadow mouse that one of her claws scratched him.
chapter vi danny meadow mouse remembers and reddy fox forgets "there he goes!"
cried old granny fox.
""do n't let him sit still again!"
""i hear him!"
shouted reddy fox, and plunged down into the snow just as granny fox had done a minute before.
but he did n't catch anything, and when he had blown the snow out of his nose and wiped it out of his eyes, he saw granny fox dive into the snow with no better luck.
""never mind," said granny fox, "as long as we keep him running, we can hear him, and some one of these times we'll catch him.
pretty soon he'll get too tired to be so spry, and when he is --" granny did n't finish, but licked her chops and smacked her lips.
reddy fox grinned, then licked his chops and smacked his lips.
then once more they took turns diving into the snow.
and down underneath in the little tunnels he had made, danny meadow mouse was running for his life.
he was getting tired, just as old granny fox had said he would.
he was almost out of breath.
he was sore and one leg smarted, for in one of her jumps old granny fox had so nearly caught him that her claws had torn his pants and scratched him.
""oh, dear!
oh, dear!
if only i had time to think!"
panted danny meadow mouse, and then he squealed in still greater fright as reddy fox crashed down into his tunnel right at his very heels.
""i've got to get somewhere!
i've got to get somewhere where they ca n't get at me!"
he sobbed.
and right that very instant he remembered the old fence-post!
the old fence-post lay on the ground and was hollow.
fastened to it were long wires with sharp cruel barbs.
danny had made a tunnel over to that old fence-post the very first day after the snow came, for in that hollow in the old post he had a secret store of seeds.
why had n't he thought of it before?
it must have been because he was too frightened to think.
but he remembered now, and he dodged into the tunnel that led to the old fence-post, running faster than ever, for though his heart was in his mouth from fear, in his heart was hope, and hope is a wonderful thing.
now old granny fox knew all about that old fence-post and she remembered all about those barbed wires fastened to it.
although they were covered with snow she knew just about where they lay, and just before she reached them she stopped plunging down into the snow.
reddy fox knew about those wires; too, but he was so excited that he forgot all about them.
""stop!"
cried old granny fox sharply.
but reddy fox did n't hear, or if he heard he did n't heed.
his sharp ears could hear danny meadow mouse running almost underneath him.
granny fox could stop if she wanted to, but he was going to have danny meadow mouse for his breakfast!
down into the snow he plunged as hard as ever he could.
""oh!
oh!
wow!
wow!
oh, dear!
oh, dear!"
that was n't the voice of danny meadow mouse.
oh, my, no!
it was the voice of reddy fox.
yes, sir, it was the voice of reddy fox.
he had landed with one of his black paws right on one of those sharp wire barbs, and it did hurt dreadfully.
""i never did know a young fox who could get into as much trouble as you can!"
snapped old granny fox, as reddy hobbled along on three legs behind her, across the snow-covered green meadows.
""it serves you right for forgetting!"
""yes'm," said reddy meekly.
and safe in the hollow of the old fence-post, danny meadow mouse was dressing the scratch on his leg made by the claws of old granny fox.
chapter vii old granny fox tries a new plan old granny fox kept thinking about danny meadow mouse.
she knew that he was fat, and it made her mouth water every time she thought of him.
she made up her mind that she must and would have him.
she knew that danny had been very, very much frightened when she and reddy fox had tried so hard to catch him by plunging down through the snow into his little tunnels after him, and she felt pretty sure that he would n't go far away from the old fence-post, in the hollow of which he was snug and safe.
old granny fox is very smart.
""danny meadow mouse wo n't put his nose out of that old fence-post for a day or two.
then he'll get tired of staying inside all the time, and he'll peep out of one of his little round doorways to see if the way is clear.
if he does n't see any danger, he'll come out and run around on top of the snow to get some of the seeds in the tops of the tall grasses that stick out through the snow.
if nothing frightens him, he'll keep going, a little farther and a little farther from that old fence-post.
i must see to it that danny meadow mouse is n't frightened for a few days."
so said old granny fox to herself, as she lay under a hemlock tree, studying how she could best get the next meal.
then she called reddy fox to her and forbade him to go down on the meadows until she should tell him he might.
reddy grumbled and mumbled and did n't see why he should n't go where he pleased, but he did n't dare disobey.
you see he had a sore foot.
he had hurt it on a wire barb when he was plunging through the snow after danny meadow mouse, and now he had to run on three legs.
that meant that he must depend upon granny fox to help him get enough to eat.
so reddy did n't dare to disobey.
it all came out just as granny fox had thought it would.
danny meadow mouse did get tired of staying in the old fence-post.
he did peep out first, and then he did run a little way on the snow, and then a little farther and a little farther.
but all the time he took great care not to get more than a jump or two from one of his little round doorways leading down to his tunnels under the snow.
hidden on the edge of the green forest, granny fox watched him.
she looked up at the sky, and she knew that it was going to snow again.
""that's good," said she.
""tomorrow morning i'll have fat meadow mouse for breakfast," and she smiled a hungry smile.
the next morning, before jolly, round, red mr. sun was out of bed, old granny fox trotted down onto the meadows and straight over to where, down under the snow, lay the old fence-post.
it had snowed again, and all the little doorways of danny meadow mouse were covered up with soft, fleecy snow.
behind granny fox limped reddy fox, grumbling to himself.
when they reached the place where the old fence-post lay buried under the snow, old granny fox stretched out as flat as she could.
then she told reddy to cover her up with the new soft snow.
reddy did as he was told, but all the time he grumbled.
""now you go off to the green forest and keep out of sight," said granny fox.
""by and by i'll bring you some meadow mouse for your breakfast," and granny fox chuckled to think how smart she was and how she was going to catch danny meadow mouse.
chapter viii brother north wind proves a friend danny meadow mouse had seen nothing of old granny fox or reddy fox for several days.
every morning the first thing he did, even before he had breakfast, was to climb up to one of his little round doorways and peep out over the beautiful white meadows, to see if there was any danger near.
but every time he did this, danny used a different doorway.
""for," said danny to himself, "if any one should happen, just happen, to see me this morning, they might be waiting just outside my doorway to catch me to-morrow morning."
you see there is a great deal of wisdom in the little head that danny meadow mouse carries on his shoulders.
but the first day and the second day and the third day he saw nothing of old granny fox or of reddy fox, and he began to enjoy running through his tunnels under the snow and scurrying across from one doorway to another on top of the snow, just as he had before the foxes had tried so hard to catch him.
but he had n't forgotten, as granny fox had hoped he would.
no, indeed, danny meadow mouse had n't forgotten.
he was too wise for that.
one morning, when he started to climb up to one of his little doorways, he found that it was closed.
yes, sir, it was closed.
in fact, there was n't any doorway.
more snow had fallen from the clouds in the night and had covered up every one of the little round doorways of danny meadow mouse.
""ha!"
said danny, "i shall have a busy day, a very busy day, opening all my doorways.
i'll eat my breakfast, and then i'll go to work."
so danny meadow mouse ate a good breakfast of seeds which he had stored in the hollow in the old fence-post buried under the snow, and then he began work on the nearest doorway.
it really was n't work at all, for you see the snow was soft and light, and danny dearly loved to dig in it.
in a few minutes he had made a wee hole through which he could peep up at jolly, round mr. sun.
in a few minutes more he had made it big enough to put his head out.
he looked this way and he looked that way.
far, far off on the top of a tree he could see old roughleg the hawk, but he was so far away that danny did n't fear him at all.
""i do n't see anything or anybody to be afraid of," said danny and poked his head out a little farther.
then he sat and studied everything around him a long, long time.
it was a beautiful white world, a very beautiful white world.
everything was so white and pure and beautiful that it did n't seem possible that harm or danger for anyone could even be thought of.
but danny meadow mouse learned long ago that things are not always what they seem, and so he sat with just his little head sticking out of his doorway and studied and studied.
just a little way off was a little heap of snow.
""i do n't remember that," said danny.
""and i do n't remember anything that would make that.
there is n't any little bush or old log or anything underneath it.
perhaps rough brother north wind heaped it up, just for fun."
but all the time danny meadow mouse kept studying and studying that little heap of snow.
pretty soon he saw rough brother north wind coming his way and tossing the snow about as he came.
he caught a handful from the top of the little heap of snow that danny was studying, and when he had passed, danny's sharp eyes saw something red there.
it was just the color of the cloak old granny fox wears.
""granny fox, you ca n't fool me!
i see you plain as plain can be!"
shouted danny meadow mouse and dropped down out of sight, while old granny fox shook the snow from her red cloak and, with a snarl of disappointment and anger, slowly started for the green forest, where reddy fox was waiting for her.
chapter ix danny meadow mouse is caught at last "tippy-toppy-tippy-toe, play and frolic in the snow!
now you see me!
now you do n't!
think you'll catch me, but you wo n't!
tippy-toppy-tippy-toe, oh, such fun to play in snow!"
danny meadow mouse sang this, or at least he tried to sing it, as he skipped about on the snow that covered the green meadows.
but danny meadow mouse has such a little voice, such a funny little squeaky voice, that had you been there you probably would never have guessed that he was singing.
he thought he was, though, and was enjoying it just as much as if he had the most beautiful voice in the world.
you know singing is nothing in the world but happiness in the heart making itself heard.
oh, yes, danny meadow mouse was happy!
why should n't he have been?
had n't he proved himself smarter than old granny fox?
that is something to make anyone happy.
some folks may fool granny fox once; some may fool her twice; but there are very few who can keep right on fooling her until she gives up in disgust.
that is just what danny meadow mouse had done, and he felt very smart and of course he felt very happy.
so danny sang his little song and skipped about in the moonlight, and dodged in and out of his little round doorways, and all the time kept his sharp little eyes open for any sign of granny fox or reddy fox.
but with all his smartness, danny forgot.
yes, sir, danny forgot one thing.
he forgot to watch up in the sky.
he knew that of course old roughleg the hawk was asleep, so he had nothing to fear from him.
but he never once thought of hooty the owl.
dear me, dear me!
forgetting is a dreadful habit.
if nobody ever forgot, there would n't be nearly so much trouble in the world.
no, indeed, there would n't be nearly so much trouble.
and danny meadow mouse forgot.
he skipped and sang and was happy as could be, and never once thought to watch up in the sky.
over in the green forest hooty the owl had had poor hunting, and he was feeling cross.
you see, hooty was hungry, and hunger is apt to make one feel cross.
the longer he hunted, the hungrier and crosser he grew.
suddenly he thought of danny meadow mouse.
-lsb- illustration: hooty the owl was hungry and cross. -rsb-
""i suppose he is asleep somewhere safe and snug under the snow," grumbled hooty, "but he might be, he just might be out for a frolic in the moonlight.
i believe i'll go down on the meadows and see."
now hooty the owl can fly without making the teeniest, weeniest sound.
it seems as if he just drifts along through the air like a great shadow.
now he spread his great wings and floated out over the meadows.
you know hooty can see as well at night as most folks can by day, and it was not long before he saw danny meadow mouse skipping about on the snow and dodging in and out of his little round doorways.
hooty's great eyes grew brighter and fiercer.
without a sound he floated through the moonlight until he was just over danny meadow mouse.
too late danny looked up.
his little song ended in a tiny squeak of fear, and he started for his nearest little round doorway.
hooty the owl reached down with his long cruel claws and -- danny meadow mouse was caught at last!
chapter x a strange ride and how it ended danny meadow mouse often had sat watching skimmer the swallow sailing around up in the blue, blue sky.
he had watched ol' mistah buzzard go up, up, up, until he was nothing but a tiny speck, and danny had wondered how it would seem to be way up above the green meadows and the green forest and look down.
it had seemed to him that it must be very wonderful and beautiful.
sometimes he had wished that he had wings and could go up in the air and look down.
and now here he was, he, danny meadow mouse, actually doing that very thing!
but danny could see nothing wonderful or beautiful now.
no, indeed!
everything was terrible, for you see danny meadow mouse was n't flying himself.
he was being carried.
yes, sir, danny meadow mouse was being carried through the air in the cruel claws of hooty the owl!
and all because danny had forgotten -- forgotten to watch up in the sky for danger.
poor, poor danny meadow mouse!
hooty's great cruel claws hurt him dreadfully!
but it was n't the pain that was the worst.
no, indeed!
it was n't the pain!
it was the thought of what would happen when hooty reached his home in the green forest, for he knew that there hooty would gobble him up, bones and all.
as he flew, hooty kept chuckling, and danny meadow mouse knew just what those chuckles meant.
they meant that hooty was thinking of the good meal he was going to have.
hanging there in hooty's great cruel claws, danny looked down on the snow-covered green meadows he loved so well.
they seemed a frightfully long way below him, though really they were not far at all, for hooty was flying very low.
but danny meadow mouse had never in all his life been so high up before, and so it seemed to him that he was way, way up in the sky, and he shut his eyes so as not to see.
but he could n't keep them shut.
no, sir, he could n't keep them shut!
he just had to keep opening them.
there was the dear old green forest drawing nearer and nearer.
it always had looked very beautiful to danny meadow mouse, but now it looked terrible, very terrible indeed, because over in it, hidden away there in some dark place, was the home of hooty the owl.
just ahead of him was the old briar-patch where peter rabbit lives so safely.
every old bramble in it was covered with snow and it was very, very beautiful.
really everything was just as beautiful as ever -- the moonlight, the green forest, the snow-covered green meadows, the old briar-patch.
the only change was in danny meadow mouse himself, and it was all because he had forgotten.
suddenly danny began to wriggle and struggle.
""keep still!"
snapped hooty the owl.
but danny only struggled harder than ever.
it seemed to him that hooty was n't holding him as tightly as at first.
he felt one of hooty's claws slip.
it tore his coat and hurt dreadfully, but it slipped!
the fact is, hooty had only grabbed danny meadow mouse by the loose part of his coat, and up in the air he could n't get hold of danny any better.
danny kicked, squirmed and twisted, and twisted, squirmed, and kicked.
he felt his coat tear and of course the skin with it, but he kept right on, for now he was hanging almost free.
hooty had started down now, so as to get a better hold.
danny gave one more kick and then -- he felt himself falling!
danny meadow mouse shut his eyes and held his breath.
down, down, down he fell.
it seemed to him that he never would strike the snow-covered meadows!
really he fell only a very little distance.
but it seemed a terrible distance to danny.
he hit something that scratched him, and then plump!
he landed in the soft snow right in the very middle of the old briar-patch, and the last thing he remembered was hearing the scream of disappointment and rage of hooty the owl.
chapter xi peter rabbit gets a fright peter rabbit sat in his favorite place in the middle of the dear old briar-patch, trying to decide which way he would go on his travels that night.
the night before he had had a narrow escape from old granny fox over in the green forest.
there was nothing to eat around the smiling pool and no one to talk to there any more, and you know that peter must either eat or ask questions in order to be perfectly happy.
no, the smiling pool was too dull a place to interest peter on such a beautiful moonlight night, and peter had no mind to try his legs against those of old granny fox again in the green forest.
early that morning, just after peter had settled down for his morning nap, tommy tit the chickadee had dropped into the dear old briar-patch just to be neighborly.
peter was just dozing off when he heard the cheeriest little voice in the world.
it was saying: "dee-dee-chickadee!
i see you!
can you see me?"
peter began to smile even before he could get his eyes open and look up.
there, right over his head, was tommy tit hanging head down from a nodding old bramble.
in a twinkling he was down on the snow right in front of peter, then up in the brambles again, right side up, upside down, here, there, everywhere, never still a minute, and all the time chattering away in the cheeriest little voice in the world.
""dee-dee-chickadee!
i'm as happy as can be!
find it much the better way to be happy all the day.
dee-dee-chickadee!
everybody's good to me!"
""hello, tommy!"
said peter rabbit.
""where'd you come from?"
""from farmer brown's new orchard up on the hill.
it's a fine orchard, peter rabbit, a fine orchard.
i go there every morning for my breakfast.
if the winter lasts long enough, i'll have all the trees cleaned up for farmer brown."
peter looked puzzled.
""what do you mean?"
he asked.
""just what i say," replied tommy tit, almost turning a somersault in the air.
""there's a million eggs of insects on those young peach trees, but i'm clearing them all off as fast as i can.
they're mighty fine eating, peter rabbit, mighty fine eating!"
and with that tommy tit had said good-by and flitted away.
peter was thinking of that young orchard now, as he sat in the moonlight trying to make up his mind where to go.
the thought of those young peach trees made his mouth water.
it was a long way up to the orchard on the hill, a very long way, and peter was wondering if it really was safe to go.
he had just about made up his mind to try it, for peter is very, very fond of the bark of young peach trees, when thump!
something dropped out of the sky at his very feet.
it startled peter so that he nearly tumbled over backward.
and right at the same instant came the fierce, angry scream of hooty the owl.
that almost made peter's heart stop beating, although he knew that hooty could n't get him down there in the old briar-patch.
when peter got his wits together and his heart did n't go so jumpy, he looked to see what had dropped so close to him out of the sky.
his big eyes grew bigger than ever, and he rubbed them to make quite sure that he really saw what he thought he saw.
yes, there was no doubt about it -- there at his feet lay danny meadow mouse!
-lsb- illustration: peter rabbit was surprised to see danny. -rsb-
chapter xii the old briar-patch has a new tenant danny meadow mouse slowly opened his eyes and then closed them again quickly, as if afraid to look around.
he could hear someone talking.
it was a pleasant voice, not at all like the terrible voice of hooty the owl, which was the very last thing that danny meadow mouse could remember.
danny lay still a minute and listened.
""why, danny meadow mouse, where in the world did you drop from?"
asked the voice.
it sounded like -- why, very much like peter rabbit speaking.
danny opened his eyes again.
it was peter rabbit.
""where -- where am i?"
asked danny meadow mouse in a very weak and small voice.
""in the middle of the dear old briar-patch with me," replied peter rabbit.
""but how did you get here?
you seemed to drop right out of the sky."
danny meadow mouse shuddered.
suddenly he remembered everything: how hooty the owl had caught him in great cruel claws and had carried him through the moonlight across the snow-covered green meadows; how he had felt hooty's claws slip and then had struggled and kicked and twisted and turned until his coat had torn and he had dropped down, down, down until he had landed in the soft snow and knocked all the breath out of his little body.
the very last thing he could remember was hooty's fierce scream of rage and disappointment.
danny shuddered again.
then a new thought came to him.
he must get out of sight!
hooty might catch him again!
danny tried to scramble to his feet.
""ouch!
oh!"
groaned danny and lay still again.
""there, there.
keep still, danny meadow mouse.
there's nothing to be afraid of here," said peter rabbit gently.
his big eyes filled with tears as he looked at danny meadow mouse, for danny was all torn and hurt by the cruel claws of hooty the owl, and you know peter has a very tender heart.
so danny lay still, and while peter rabbit tried to make him comfortable and dress his hurts, he told peter all about how he had forgotten to watch up in the sky and so had been caught by hooty the owl, and all about his terrible ride in hooty's cruel claws.
""oh, dear, whatever shall i do now?"
he ended.
""however shall i get back home to my warm house of grass, my safe little tunnels under the snow, and my little store of seeds in the snug hollow in the old fence-post?"
peter rabbit looked thoughtful.
""you ca n't do it," said he.
""you simply ca n't do it.
it is such a long way for a little fellow like you that it would n't be safe to try.
if you went at night, hooty the owl might catch you again.
if you tried in daylight, old roughleg the hawk would be almost sure to see you.
and night or day old granny fox or reddy fox might come snooping around, and if they did, they would be sure to catch you.
i tell you what, you stay right here!
the dear old briar-patch is the safest place in the world.
why, just think, here you can come out in broad daylight and laugh at granny and reddy fox and at old roughleg the hawk, because the good old brambles will keep them out, if they try to get you.
you can make just as good tunnels under the snow here as you had there, and there are lots and lots of seeds on the ground to eat.
you know i do n't care for them myself.
i'm lonesome sometimes, living here all alone.
you stay here, and we'll have the old briar-patch to ourselves."
danny meadow mouse looked at peter gratefully.
""i will, and thank you ever so much, peter rabbit," he said.
and this is how the dear old briar-patch happened to have another tenant.
chapter xiii peter rabbit visits the peach orchard "do n't go, peter rabbit!
do n't go!"
begged danny meadow mouse.
peter hopped to the edge of the old briar-patch and looked over the moonlit, snow-covered meadows to the hill back of farmer brown's house.
on that hill was the young peach orchard of which tommy tit the chickadee had told him, and ever since peter's mouth had watered and watered every time he thought of those young peach trees and the tender bark on them.
""i think i will, danny, just this once," said peter.
""it's a long way, and i've never been there before; but i guess it's just as safe as the meadows or the green forest.
""oh i'm as bold as bold can be!
sing hoppy-hippy-hippy-hop-o!
i'll hie me forth the world to see!
sing hoppy-hippy-hippy-hop-o!
my ears are long, my legs are strong, so now good day; i'll hie away!
sing hoppy-hippy-hippy-hop-o!"
and with that, peter rabbit left the dear safe old briar-patch, and away he went lipperty-lipperty-lip, across the green meadows towards the hill and the young orchard back of farmer brown's house.
danny meadow mouse watched him go and shook his head in disapproval.
""foolish, foolish, foolish!"
he said over and over to himself.
""why ca n't peter be content with the good things that he has?"
peter rabbit hurried along through the moonlight, stopping every few minutes to sit up to look and listen.
he heard the fierce hunting call of hooty the owl way over in the green forest, so he felt sure that at present there was nothing to fear from him.
he knew that since their return to the green meadows and the green forest, granny and reddy fox had kept away from farmer brown's, so he did not worry about them.
all in good time peter came to the young orchard.
it was just as tommy tit the chickadee had told him.
peter hopped up to the nearest peach tree and nibbled the bark.
my, how good it tasted!
he went all around the tree, stripping off the bark.
he stood up on his long hind legs and reached as high as he could.
then he dug the snow away and ate down as far as he could.
when he could get no more tender young bark, he went on to the next tree.
now though peter did n't know it, he was in the very worst kind of mischief.
you see, when he took off all the bark all the way around the young peach tree he killed the tree, for you know it is on the inside of the bark that the sap which gives life to a tree and makes it grow goes up from the roots to all the branches.
so when peter ate the bark all the way around the trunk of the young tree, he had made it impossible for the sap to come up in the spring.
oh, it was the worst kind of mischief that peter rabbit was in.
but peter did n't know it, and he kept right on filling that big stomach of his and enjoying it so much that he forgot to watch out for danger.
suddenly, just as he had begun on another tree, a great roar right behind him made him jump almost out of his skin.
he knew that voice, and without waiting to even look behind him, he started for the stone wall on the other side of the orchard.
right at his heels, his great mouth wide open, was bowser the hound.
chapter xiv farmer brown sets a trap peter rabbit was in trouble.
he had got into mischief and now, like everyone who gets into mischief, he wished that he had n't.
the worst of it was that he was a long way from his home in the dear old briar-patch, and he did n't know how he ever could get back there again.
where was he?
why, in the stone wall on one side of farmer brown's young peach orchard.
how peter blessed the old stone wall in which he had found a safe hiding-place!
bowser had hung around nearly all night, so that peter had not dared to try to go home.
now it was daylight, and peter knew it would not be safe to put his nose outside.
peter was worried, so worried that he could n't go to sleep as he usually does in the daytime.
so he sat hidden in the old wall and waited and watched.
by and by he saw farmer brown and farmer brown's boy come out into the orchard.
right away they saw the mischief which peter had done, and he could tell by the sound of their voices that they were very, very angry.
they went away, but before long they were back again, and all day long peter watched them work putting something around each of the young peach-trees.
peter grew so curious that he forgot all about his troubles and how far away from home he was.
he could hardly wait for night to come so that he might see what they had been doing.
just as jolly, round, red mr. sun started to go to bed behind the purple hills, farmer brown and his boy started back to the house.
farmer brown was smiling now.
""i guess that will fix him!"
he said.
""now what does he mean by that?"
thought peter.
""whom will it fix?
can it be me?
i do n't need any fixing."
he waited just as long as he could.
when all was still, and the moonlight had begun to make shadows of the trees on the snow, peter very cautiously crept out of his hiding-place.
bowser the hound was nowhere in sight, and everything was as quiet and peaceful as it had been when he first came into the orchard the night before.
peter had fully made up his mind to go straight home as fast as his long legs would take him, but his dreadful curiosity insisted that first he must find out what farmer brown and his boy had been doing to the young peach trees.
so peter hurried over to the nearest tree.
all around the trunk of the tree, from the ground clear up higher than peter could reach, was wrapped wire netting.
peter could n't get so much as a nibble of the delicious bark.
he had n't intended to take any, for he had meant to go right straight home, but now that he could n't get any, he wanted some more than ever, -- just a bite.
peter looked around.
everything was quiet.
he would try the next tree, and then he would go home.
but the next tree was wrapped with wire.
peter hesitated, looked around, turned to go home, thought of how good that bark had tasted the night before, hesitated again, and then hurried over to the third tree.
it was protected just like the others.
then peter forgot all about going home.
he wanted some of that delicious bark, and he ran from one tree to another as fast as he could go.
-lsb- illustration: the tree trunks were wrapped in wire netting. -rsb-
at last, way down at the end of the orchard, peter found a tree that had no wire around it.
""they must have forgotten this one!"
he thought, and his eyes sparkled.
all around on the snow were a lot of little, shiny wires, but peter did n't notice them.
all he saw was that delicious bark on the young peach tree.
he hopped right into the middle of the wires, and then, just as he reached up to take the first bite of bark, he felt something tugging at one of his hind legs.
chapter xv peter rabbit is caught in a snare when peter rabbit, reaching up to nibble the bark of one of farmer brown's young trees, felt something tugging at one of his hind legs, he was so startled that he jumped to get away.
instead of doing this, he fell flat on his face.
the thing on his hind leg had tightened and held him fast.
a great fear came to peter rabbit, and lying there in the snow, he kicked and struggled with all his might.
but the more he kicked, the tighter grew that hateful thing on his leg!
finally he grew too tired to kick any more and lay still.
the dreadful thing that held him hurt his leg, but it did n't pull when he lay still.
when he had grown a little calmer, peter sat up to examine the thing which held him so fast.
it was something like one of the blackberry vines he had sometimes tripped over, only it was bright and shiny, and had no branches or tiny prickers, and one end was fastened to a stake.
peter tried to bite off the shiny thing, but even his great, sharp front teeth could n't cut it.
then peter knew what it was.
it was wire!
it was a snare which farmer brown had set to catch him, and which he had walked right into because he had been so greedy for the bark of the young peach tree that he had not used his eyes to look out for danger.
oh, how peter rabbit did wish that he had not been so curious to know what farmer brown had been doing that day, and that he had gone straight home as he had meant to do, instead of trying to get one more meal of young peach bark!
big tears rolled down peter's cheeks.
what should he do?
what could he do?
for a long time peter sat in the moonlight, trying to think of something to do.
at last he thought of the stake to which that hateful wire was fastened.
the stake was of wood, and peter's teeth would cut wood.
peter's heart gave a great leap of hope, and he began at once to dig away the snow from around the stake, and then settled himself to gnaw the stake in two.
peter had been hard at work on the stake a long time and had it a little more than half cut through, when he heard a loud sniff down at the other end of the orchard.
he looked up to see -- whom do you think?
why, bowser the hound!
he had n't seen peter yet, but he had already found peter's tracks, and it would be but a few minutes before he found peter himself.
poor peter rabbit!
there was n't time to finish cutting off the stake.
what could he do?
he made a frightened jump just as he had when he first felt the wire tugging at his leg.
just as before, he was thrown flat on his face.
he scrambled to his feet and jumped again, only to be thrown just as before.
just then bowser the hound saw him and opening his mouth sent forth a great roar.
peter made one more frantic jump.
snap!
the stake had broken!
peter pitched forward on his head, turned a somersault, and scrambled to his feet.
he was free at last!
that is, he could run, but after him dragged a piece of the stake.
how peter did run!
it was hard work, for you know he had to drag that piece of stake after him.
but he did it, and just in time he crawled into the old stone wall on one side of the orchard, while bowser the hound barked his disappointment to the moon.
chapter xvi peter rabbit's hard journey peter rabbit sat in the old stone wall along one side of farmer brown's orchard, waiting for mrs. moon to put out her light and leave the world in darkness until jolly, round, red mr. sun should kick off his rosy bedclothes and begin his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky.
in the winter, mr. sun is a late sleeper, and peter knew that there would be two or three hours after mrs. moon put out her light when it would be quite dark.
and peter also knew too that by this time hooty the owl would probably have caught his dinner.
so would old granny fox and reddy fox.
bowser the hound would be too sleepy to be on the watch.
it would be the very safest time for peter to try to get to his home in the dear old briar-patch.
so peter waited and waited.
twice bowser the hound, who had chased him into the old wall, came over and barked at him and tried to get at him.
but the old wall kept peter safe, and bowser gave it up.
and all the time peter sat waiting he was in great pain.
you see that shiny wire was drawn so tight that it cut into his flesh and hurt dreadfully, and to the other end of the wire was fastened a piece of wood, part of the stake to which the snare had been made fast and which peter had managed to gnaw and break off.
it was on account of this that peter was waiting for mrs. moon to put out her light.
he knew that with that stake dragging after him he would have to go very slowly, and he could not run any more risk of danger than he actually had to.
so he waited and waited, and by and by, sure enough, mrs. moon put out her light.
peter waited a little longer, listening with all his might.
everything was still.
then peter crept out of the old stone wall.
right away trouble began.
the stake dragging at the end of the wire fast to his leg caught among the stones and pulled peter up short.
my, how it did hurt!
it made the tears come.
but peter shut his teeth hard, and turning back, he worked until he got the stake free.
then he started on once more, dragging the stake after him.
very slowly across the orchard and under the fence on the other side crept peter rabbit, his leg so stiff and sore that he could hardly touch it to the snow, and all the time dragging that piece of stake, which seemed to grow heavier and harder to drag every minute.
peter did not dare to go out across the open fields, for fear some danger might happen along, and he would have no place to hide.
so he crept along close to the fences where bushes grow, and this made it very, very hard, for the dragging stake was forever catching in the bushes with a yank at the sore leg which brought peter up short with a squeal of pain.
this was bad enough, but all the time peter was filled with a dreadful fear that hooty the owl or granny fox might just happen along.
he had to stop to rest very, very often, and then he would listen and listen.
over and over again he said to himself: "oh, dear, whatever did i go up to the young peach orchard for when i knew i had no business there?
why could n't i have been content with all the good things that were mine in the green forest and on the green meadows?
oh, dear!
oh, dear!"
just as jolly, round, red mr. sun began to light up the green meadows, peter rabbit reached the dear old briar-patch.
danny meadow mouse was sitting on the edge of it anxiously watching for him.
peter crawled up and started to creep in along one of his little private paths.
he got in himself, but the dragging stake caught among the brambles, and peter just fell down in the snow right where he was, too tired and worn out to move.
chapter xvii danny meadow mouse becomes worried danny meadow mouse limped around through the dear old briar-patch, where he had lived with peter rabbit ever since he had squirmed out of the claws of hooty the owl and dropped there, right at the feet of peter rabbit.
danny limped because he was still lame and sore from hooty's terrible claws, but he did n't let himself think much about that, because he was so thankful to be alive at all.
so he limped around in the old briar-patch, picking up seed which had fallen on the snow, and sometimes pulling down a few of the red berries which cling all winter to the wild rose bushes.
the seeds in these were very nice indeed, and danny always felt especially good after a meal of them.
danny meadow mouse had grown very fond of peter rabbit, for peter had been very, very good to him.
danny felt that he never, never could repay all of peter's kindness.
it had been very good of peter to offer to share the old briar-patch with danny, because danny was so far from his own home that it would not be safe for him to try to get back there.
but peter had done more than that.
he had taken care of danny, such good care, during the first few days after danny's escape from hooty the owl.
he had brought good things to eat while danny was too weak and sore to get things for himself.
oh, peter had been very good indeed to him!
but now, as danny limped around, he was not happy.
no, sir, he was not happy.
the truth is, danny meadow mouse was worried.
it was a different kind of worry from any he had known before.
you see, for the first time in his life, danny was worrying about someone else.
he was worrying about peter rabbit.
peter had been gone from the old briar-patch a whole night and a whole day.
he often was gone all night, but never all day too.
danny was sure that something had happened to peter.
he thought of how he had begged peter not to go up to farmer brown's young peach orchard.
he had felt in his bones that it was not safe, that something dreadful would happen to peter.
how peter had laughed at him and bravely started off!
why had n't he come home?
as he limped around, danny talked to himself: "why can not people be content with all the good things that are sent, and mind their own affairs at home instead of going forth to roam?"
it was now the second night since peter rabbit had gone away.
danny meadow mouse could n't sleep at all.
round and round through the old briar-patch he limped, and finally sat down at the edge of it to wait and watch.
at last, just as jolly, round, red mr. sun sent his first long rays of light across the green meadows, danny saw something crawling towards the old briar-patch.
he rubbed his eyes and looked again.
it was -- no, it could n't be -- yes, it was peter rabbit!
but what was the matter with him?
always before peter had come home lipperty-lipperty-lipperty-lip, but now he was crawling, actually crawling!
danny meadow mouse did n't know what to make of it.
nearer and nearer came peter.
something was following him.
no, peter was dragging something after him.
at last peter started to crawl along one of his little private paths into the old briar-patch.
the thing dragging behind caught in the brambles, and peter fell headlong in the snow, too tired and worn out to move.
then danny saw what the trouble was.
a wire was fast to one of peter's long hind legs, and to the other end of the wire was fastened part of a stake.
peter had been caught in a snare!
danny hurried over to peter and tears stood in his eyes.
""poor peter rabbit!
oh, i'm so sorry, peter!"
he whispered.
chapter xviii danny meadow mouse returns a kindness there peter rabbit lay.
he had dragged that piece of stake a long way, a very long way, indeed.
but now he could drag it no farther, for it had caught in the bramble bushes.
so peter just dropped on the snow and cried.
yes, sir, he cried!
you see he was so tired and worn out and frightened, and his leg was so stiff and sore and hurt him so!
and then it was so dreadful to actually get home and be stopped right on your very own doorstep.
so peter just lay there and cried.
just supposing old granny fox should come poking around and find peter caught that way!
all she would have to do would be to get hold of that hateful stake caught in the bramble bushes and pull peter out where she could get him.
do you wonder that peter cried?
by and by he became aware that someone was wiping away his tears.
it was danny meadow mouse.
and danny was singing in a funny little voice.
pretty soon peter stopped crying and listened, and this is what he heard: "is n't any use to cry!
not a bit!
not a bit!
wipe your eyes and wipe'em dry!
use your wit!
use your wit!
just remember that to-morrow never brings a single sorrow.
yesterday has gone forever and to-morrow gets here never.
chase your worries all away; nothing's worse than just to-day."
peter smiled in spite of himself.
""that's right!
that's right!
smile away, peter rabbit.
smile away!
your troubles, sir, are all to-day.
and between you and me, i do n't believe they are so bad as you think they are.
now you lie still just where you are, while i go see what can be done."
with that off whisked danny meadow mouse as spry as you please, in spite of his lame leg, and in a few minutes peter knew by little twitches of the wire on his leg that danny was doing something at the other end.
he was.
danny meadow mouse had set out to gnaw that piece of stake all to splinters.
so there he sat and gnawed and gnawed and gnawed.
jolly, round, red mr. sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, and danny meadow mouse grew hungry, but still he kept right on gnawing at that bothersome stake.
-lsb- illustration: danny gnawed the stake which held peter. -rsb-
by and by, happening to look across the snow-covered green meadows, he saw something that made his heart jump.
it was farmer brown's boy coming straight over towards the dear old briar-patch.
danny did n't say a word to peter rabbit, but gnawed faster than ever.
farmer brown's boy was almost there when danny stopped gnawing.
there was only a tiny bit of the stake left now, and danny hurried to tell peter rabbit that there was nothing to stop him now from going to his most secret retreat in the very heart of the old briar-patch.
while peter slowly dragged his way along, danny trotted behind to see that the wire did not catch on the bushes.
they had safely reached peter rabbit's secretest retreat when farmer brown's boy came up to the edge of the dear old briar-patch.
""so this is where that rabbit that killed our peach tree lives!"
said he.
""we'll try a few snares and put you out of mischief."
and for the rest of the afternoon farmer brown's boy was very busy around the edge of the old briar-patch.
chapter xix peter rabbit and danny meadow mouse live high peter rabbit sat in his secretest place in the dear old briar-patch with one of his long hind legs all swelled up and terribly sore because of the fine wire fast around it and cutting into it.
he could hear farmer brown's boy going around on the edge of the dear old briar-patch and stopping every little while to do something.
in spite of his pain, peter was curious.
finally he called danny meadow mouse.
""danny, you are small and can keep out of sight easier than i can.
go as near as ever you dare to farmer brown's boy and find out what he is doing," said peter rabbit.
so danny meadow mouse crept out as near to farmer brown's boy as ever he dared and studied and studied to make out what farmer brown's boy was doing.
by and by he returned to peter rabbit.
""i do n't know what he's doing, peter, but he's putting something in every one of your private little paths leading into the briar-patch from the green meadows."
""ha!"
said peter rabbit.
""there are little loops of that queer stuff you've got hanging to your leg, peter," continued danny meadow mouse.
""just so!"
said peter rabbit.
""and he's put cabbage leaves and pieces of apple all around," said danny.
""we must be careful!"
said peter rabbit.
peter's leg was in a very bad way, indeed, and peter suffered a great deal of pain.
the worst of it was, he did n't know how to get off the wire that was cutting into it so.
he had tried to cut the wire with his big teeth, but he could n't do it.
danny meadow mouse had tried and tried to gnaw the wire, but it was n't the least bit of use.
but danny was n't easily discouraged, and he kept working and working at it.
once he thought he felt it slip a little.
he said nothing, but kept right on working.
pretty soon he was sure that it slipped.
he went right on working harder than ever.
by and by he had it so loose that he slipped it right off of peter's leg, and peter did n't know anything about it.
you see, that cruel wire snare had been so tight that peter did n't have any feeling except of pain left in his leg, and so when danny meadow mouse pulled the cruel wire snare off, peter did n't know it until danny held it up in front of him.
my, how thankful peter was, and how he did thank danny meadow mouse!
but danny said that it was nothing at all, just nothing at all, and that he owed more than that to peter rabbit for being so good to him and letting him live in the dear old briar-patch.
it was a long time before peter could hop as he used to, but after the first day he managed to get around.
he found that farmer brown's boy had spread those miserable wire snares in every one of his private little paths.
but peter knew what they were now.
he showed danny meadow mouse how he, because he was so small, could safely run about among the snares and steal all the cabbage leaves and apples which farmer brown's boy had put there for bait.
danny meadow mouse thought this great fun and a great joke on farmer brown's boy.
so every day he stole the bait, and he and peter rabbit lived high while peter's leg was getting well.
and all the time farmer brown's boy wondered why he could n't catch peter rabbit.
chapter xx timid danny meadow mouse danny meadow mouse is timid.
everybody says so, and what everybody says ought to be so.
but just as anybody can make a mistake sometimes, so can everybody.
still, in this case, it is quite likely that everybody is right.
danny meadow mouse is timid.
ask peter rabbit.
ask sammy jay.
ask striped chipmunk.
they will all tell you the same thing.
sammy jay might even tell you that danny is afraid of his own shadow, or that he tries to run away from his own tail.
of course this is n't true.
sammy jay likes to say mean things.
it is n't fair to danny meadow mouse to believe what sammy jay says.
but the fact is danny certainly is timid.
more than this, he is n't ashamed of it -- not the least little bit.
""you see, it's this way," said danny, as he sat on his doorstep one sunny morning talking to his friend, old mr. toad.
""if i were n't afraid, i would n't be all the time watching out, and if i were n't all the time watching out, i would n't have any more chance than that foolish red ant running across in front of you."
old mr. toad looked where danny was pointing, and his tongue darted out and back again so quickly that danny was n't sure that he saw it at all, but when he looked for the ant it was nowhere to be seen, and there was a satisfied twinkle in mr. toad's eyes.
there was an answering twinkle in danny's own eyes as he continued.
""no, sir," said he, "i would n't stand a particle more chance than that foolish ant did.
now if i were big and strong, like old man coyote, or had swift wings, like skimmer the swallow, or were so homely and ugly-looking that no one wanted me, like -- like --" danny hesitated and then finished rather lamely, "like some folks i know, i suppose i would n't be afraid."
old mr. toad looked up sharply when danny mentioned homely and ugly-looking people, but danny was gazing far out across the green meadows and looked so innocent that mr. toad concluded that he could n't have had him in mind.
""well," said he, thoughtfully scratching his nose, "i suppose you may be right, but for my part fear seems a very foolish thing.
now, i do n't know what it is.
i mind my own business, and no one ever bothers me.
i should think it would be a very uncomfortable feeling."
""it is," replied danny, "but, as i said before, it is a very good thing to keep one on guard when there are as many watching for one as there are for me.
now there's mr. blacksnake and --" "where?"
exclaimed old mr. toad, turning as pale as a toad can turn, and looking uneasily and anxiously in every direction.
danny turned his head to hide a smile.
if old mr. toad was n't showing fear, no one ever did.
""oh," said he, "i did n't mean that he is anywhere around here now.
what i was going to say was that there is mr. blacksnake and granny fox and reddy fox and redtail the hawk and hooty the owl and others i might name, always watching for a chance to make a dinner from poor little me.
do you wonder that i am afraid most of the time?"
""no," replied old mr. toad.
""no, i do n't wonder that you are afraid.
it must be dreadful to feel hungry eyes are watching for you every minute of the day and night, too."
""oh, it's not so bad," replied danny.
""it's rather exciting.
besides, it keeps my wits sharp all the time.
i am afraid i should find life very dull indeed if, like you, i feared nothing and nobody.
by the way, see how queerly that grass is moving over there.
it looks as if mr. blacksnake -- why, mr. toad, where are you going in such a hurry?"
""i've just remembered an important engagement with my cousin, grandfather frog, at the smiling pool," shouted old mr. toad over his shoulder, as he hurried so that he fell over his own feet.
danny chuckled as he sat alone on his doorstep.
""oh, no, old mr. toad does n't know what fear is!"
said he.
""funny how some people wo n't admit what everybody can see for themselves.
now, i am afraid, and i'm willing to say so."
chapter xxi an exciting day for danny meadow mouse danny meadow mouse started along one of his private little paths very early one morning.
he was on his way to get a supply of a certain kind of grass seed of which he is very fond.
he had been thinking about that seed for some time and waiting for it to get ripe.
now it was just right, as he had found out the day before by a visit to the place where this particular grass grew.
the only trouble was it grew a long way from danny's home, and to reach it he had to cross an open place where the grass was so short that he could n't make a path under it.
""i feel it in my bones that this is going to be an exciting day," said danny to himself as he trotted along.
""i suppose that if i were really wise, i would stay nearer home and do without that nice seed.
but nothing is really worth having unless it is worth working for, and that seed will taste all the better if i have hard work getting it."
so he trotted along his private little path, his ears wide open, and his eyes wide open, and his little nose carefully testing every merry little breeze who happened along for any scent of danger which it might carry.
most of all he depended upon his ears, for the grass was so tall that he could n't see over it, even when he sat up.
he had gone only a little way when he thought he heard a queer rustling behind him.
he stopped to listen.
there it was again, and it certainly was right in the path behind him!
he did n't need to be told who was making it.
there was only one who could make such a sound as that -- mr. blacksnake.
now danny can run very fast along his private little paths, but he knew that mr. blacksnake could run faster.
""if my legs ca n't save me, my wits must," thought danny as he started to run as fast as ever he could.
""i must reach that fallen old hollow fence-post."
he was almost out of breath when he reached the post and scurried into the open end.
he knew by the sound of the rustling that mr. blacksnake was right at his heels.
now the old post was hollow its whole length, but halfway there was an old knot-hole just big enough for danny to squeeze through.
mr. blacksnake did n't know anything about that hole; and because it was dark inside the old post, he did n't see danny pop through it.
danny ran back along the top of the log and was just in time to see the tip of mr. blacksnake's tail disappear inside.
then what do you think danny did?
why, he followed mr. blacksnake right into the old post, but in doing it he did n't make the least little bit of noise.
mr. blacksnake kept right on through the old post and out the other end, for he was sure that that was the way danny had gone.
he kept right on along the little path.
now danny knew that he would n't go very far before he found out that he had been fooled, and of course he would come back.
so danny waited only long enough to get his breath and then ran back along the path to where another little path branched off.
for just a minute he paused.
""if mr. blacksnake follows me, he will be sure to think that of course i have taken this other little path," thought danny, "so i wo n't do it."
then he ran harder than ever, until he came to a place where two little paths branched off, one to the right and one to the left.
he took the latter and scampered on, sure that by this time mr. blacksnake would be so badly fooled that he would give up the chase.
and danny was right.
""brains are better far than speed as wise men long ago agreed," said danny, as he trotted on his way for the grass seed he liked so well.
""i felt it in my bones that this would be an exciting day.
i wonder what next."
chapter xxii what happened next to danny meadow mouse danny is so used to narrow escapes that he does n't waste any time thinking about them.
he did n't this time.
""he who tries to look two ways at once is pretty sure to see nothing," says danny, and he knew that if he thought too much about the things that had already happened, he could n't keep a sharp watch for the things that might happen.
nothing more happened as he hurried along his private little path to the edge of a great patch of grass so short that he could n't hide under it.
he had to cross this, and all the way he would be in plain sight of anyone who happened to be near.
very cautiously he peeped out and looked this way and looked that way, not forgetting to look up in the sky.
he could see no one anywhere.
drawing a long breath, danny started across the open place as fast as his short legs could take him.
now all the time, redtail the hawk had been sitting in a tree some distance away, sitting so still that he looked like a part of the tree itself.
that is why danny had n't seen him.
but redtail saw danny the instant he started across the open place, for redtail's eyes are very keen, and he can see a great distance.
with a satisfied chuckle, he spread his broad wings and started after danny.
just about halfway to the safety of the long grass on the other side, danny gave a hurried look behind him, and his heart seemed to jump right into his mouth, for there was redtail with his cruel claws already set to seize him!
danny gave a frightened squeak, for he thought that surely this time he would be caught.
but he did n't mean to give up without trying to escape.
three jumps ahead of him was a queer-looking thing.
he did n't know what it was, but if there was a hole in it he might yet fool redtail.
one jump!
would he be able to reach it?
two jumps!
there was a hole in it!
three jumps!
with another frightened squeak, danny dived into the opening just in time.
and what do you think he was in?
why, an old tomato can farmer brown's boy had once used to carry bait in when he went fishing at the smiling pool.
he had dropped it there on his way home.
redtail screamed with rage and disappointment as he struck the old can with his great claws.
he had been sure, very sure of danny meadow mouse this time!
he tried to pick the can up, but he could n't get hold of it.
it just rolled away from him every time, try as he would.
finally, in disgust, he gave up and flew back to the tree from which he had first seen danny.
-lsb- illustration: redtail the hawk screamed with rage as danny escaped. -rsb-
of course danny had been terribly frightened when the can rolled, and by the noise the claws of redtail made when they struck his queer hiding-place.
but he wisely decided that the best thing he could do was to stay there for a while.
and it was very fortunate that he did so, as he was very soon to find out.
chapter xxiii reddy fox grows curious danny meadow mouse had sat perfectly still for a long time inside the old tomato can in which he had found a refuge from redtail the hawk.
he did n't dare so much as put his head out for a look around, lest redtail should be circling overhead ready to pounce on him.
""if i stay here long enough, he'll get tired and go away, if he has n't already," thought danny.
""this has been a pretty exciting morning so far, and i find that i am a little tired.
i may as well take a nap while i am waiting to make sure that the way is clear."
with that danny curled up in the old tomato can.
but it was n't meant that danny should have that nap.
he had closed his eyes, but his ears were still open, and presently he heard soft footsteps drawing near.
his eyes flew open, and he forgot all about sleep, you may be sure, for those footsteps sounded familiar.
they sounded to danny very, very much like the footsteps of -- whom do you think?
why, reddy fox!
danny's heart began to beat faster as he listened.
could it be?
he did n't dare peep out.
presently a little whiff of scent blew into the old tomato can.
then danny knew -- it was reddy fox.
""oh, dear!
i hope he does n't find that i am in here!"
thought danny.
""i wonder what under the sun has brought him up here just now."
if the truth were to be known, it was curiosity that had brought reddy up there.
reddy had been hunting for his breakfast some distance away on the green meadows when redtail the hawk had tried so hard to catch danny meadow mouse.
reddy's sharp eyes had seen redtail the minute he left the tree in pursuit of danny, and he had known by the way redtail flew that he saw something he wanted to catch.
he had watched redtail swoop down and had heard his scream of rage when he missed danny because danny had dodged into the old tomato can.
he had seen redtail strike and strike again at something on the ground, and finally fly off in disgust with empty claws.
""now, i wonder what it was redtail was after and why he did n't get it," thought reddy.
""he acts terribly put out and disappointed.
i believe i'll go over there and find out."
off he started at a smart trot towards the patch of short grass where he had seen redtail the hawk striking at something on the ground.
as he drew near, he crept very softly until he reached the very edge of the open patch.
there he stopped and looked sharply all over it.
there was nothing to be seen but an old tomato can.
reddy had seen it many times before.
""now what under the sun could redtail have been after here?"
thought reddy.
""the grass is n't long enough for a grasshopper to hide in, and yet redtail did n't get what he was after.
it's very queer.
it certainly is very queer."
he trotted out and began to run back and forth with his nose to the ground, hoping that his nose would tell him what his eyes could n't.
back and forth, back and forth he ran, and then suddenly he stopped.
""ha!"
exclaimed reddy.
he had found the scent left by danny meadow mouse when he ran across towards the old tomato can.
right up to the old can reddy's nose led him.
he hopped over the old can, but on the other side he could find no scent of danny meadow mouse.
in a flash he understood, and a gleam of satisfaction shone in his yellow eyes as he turned back to the old can.
he knew that danny must be hiding in there.
""i've got you this time!"
he snarled, as he sniffed at the opening in the end of the can.
chapter xxiv reddy fox loses his temper reddy fox had caught danny meadow mouse, and yet he had n't caught him.
he had found danny hiding in the old tomato can, and it did n't enter reddy's head that he could n't get danny out when he wanted to.
he was in no hurry.
he had had a pretty good breakfast of grasshoppers, and so he thought he would torment danny a while before gobbling him up.
he lay down so that he could peep in at the open end of the old can and see danny trying to make himself as small as possible at the other end.
reddy grinned until he showed all his long teeth.
reddy always is a bully, especially when his victim is a great deal smaller and weaker than himself.
""i've got you this time, mr. smarty, have n't i?"
taunted reddy.
danny did n't say anything.
""you think you've been very clever because you have fooled me two or three times, do n't you?
well, this time i've got you where your tricks wo n't work," continued reddy, "so what are you going to do about it?"
danny did n't answer.
the fact is, he was too frightened to answer.
besides, he did n't know what he could do.
so he just kept still, but his bright eyes never once left reddy's cruel face.
for all his fright, danny was doing some hard thinking.
he had been in tight places before and had learned never to give up hope.
something might happen to frighten reddy away.
anyway, reddy had to get him out of that old can before he would admit that he was really caught.
for a long time reddy lay there licking his chops and saying all the things he could think of to frighten poor danny meadow mouse.
at last he grew tired of this and made up his mind that it was time to end it and danny meadow mouse at the same time.
he thrust his sharp nose in at the opening in the end of the old can, but the opening was too small for him to get more than his nose in, and he only scratched it on the sharp edges without so much as touching danny.
""i'll pull you out," said reddy and thrust in one black paw.
danny promptly bit it so hard that reddy yelped with pain and pulled it out in a hurry.
presently he tried again with the other paw.
danny bit this one harder still, and reddy danced with pain and anger.
then he lost his temper completely, a very foolish thing to do, as it always is.
he hit the old can, and away it rolled with danny meadow mouse inside.
this seemed to make reddy angrier than ever.
he sprang after it and hit it again.
then he batted it first this way and then that way, growing angrier and angrier.
and all the time danny meadow mouse managed to keep inside, although he got a terrible shaking up.
back and forth across the patch of short grass reddy knocked the old can, and he was in such a rage that he did n't notice where he was knocking it to.
finally he sent it spinning into the long grass on the far side of the open patch, close to one of danny's private little paths.
like a flash danny was out and scurrying along the little path.
he dodged into another and presently into a third, which brought him to a tangle of barbed wire left there by farmer brown when he had built a new fence.
under this he was safe.
""phew!"
exclaimed danny, breathing very hard.
""that was the narrowest escape yet!
but i guess i'll get that special grass seed i started out for, after all."
and he did, while to this day reddy fox wonders how danny got out of the old tomato can without his knowing it.
and so you see what temper does for those who give it rein; it cheats them of the very thing they seek so hard to gain.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_grandfather_frog.txt.out
i billy mink finds little joe otter billy mink ran around the edge of the smiling pool and turned down by the laughing brook.
his eyes twinkled with mischief, and he hurried as only billy can.
as he passed jerry muskrat's house, jerry saw him.
""hi, billy mink!
where are you going in such a hurry this fine morning?"
he called.
""to find little joe otter.
have you seen anything of him?"
replied billy.
""no," said jerry.
""he's probably down to the big river fishing.
i heard him say last night that he was going."
""thanks," said billy mink, and without waiting to say more he was off like a little brown flash.
jerry watched him out of sight.
""hump!"
exclaimed jerry.
""billy mink is in a terrible hurry this morning.
now i wonder what he is so anxious to find little joe otter for.
when they get their heads together, it is usually for some mischief."
jerry climbed to the top of his house and looked over the smiling pool in the direction from which billy mink had just come.
almost at once he saw grandfather frog fast asleep on his big green lily-pad.
the legs of a foolish green fly were sticking out of one corner of his big mouth.
jerry could n't help laughing, for grandfather frog certainly did look funny.
""he's had a good breakfast this morning, and his full stomach has made him sleepy," thought jerry.
""but he's getting careless in his old age.
he certainly is getting careless.
the idea of going to sleep right out in plain sight like that!"
suddenly a new thought popped into his head.
""billy mink saw him, and that is why he is so anxious to find little joe otter.
he is planning to play some trick on grandfather frog as sure as pollywogs have tails!"
exclaimed jerry.
then his eyes began to twinkle as he added: "i think i'll have some fun myself."
without another word jerry slipped down into the water and swam over to the big green lily-pad of grandfather frog.
then he hit the water a smart blow with his tail.
grandfather frog's big goggly eyes flew open, and he was just about to make a frightened plunge into the smiling pool when he saw jerry.
""have a nice nap?"
inquired jerry, with a broad grin.
""i was n't asleep!"
protested grandfather frog indignantly.
""i was just thinking."
""do n't you think it a rather dangerous plan to think so long with your eyes closed?"
asked jerry.
""well, maybe i did just doze off," admitted grandfather frog sheepishly.
""maybe you did," replied jerry.
""now listen."
then jerry whispered in grandfather frog's ear, and both chuckled as if they were enjoying some joke, for they are great friends, you know.
afterward jerry swam back to his house, and grandfather frog closed his eyes so as to look just as he did when he was asleep.
meanwhile billy mink had hurried down the laughing brook.
half-way to the big river he met little joe otter bringing home a big fish, for you know little joe is a great fisherman.
billy mink hastened to tell him how grandfather frog had fallen fast asleep on his big green lily-pad.
""it's a splendid chance to have some fun with grandfather frog and give him a great scare," concluded billy.
little joe otter put his fish down and grinned.
he likes to play pranks almost as well as he likes to go fishing.
""what can we do?"
said he.
""i've thought of a plan," replied billy.
""do you happen to know where we can find longlegs the blue heron?"
""yes," said little joe.
""i saw him fishing not five minutes ago."
then billy told little joe his plan, and laughing and giggling, the two little scamps hurried off to find longlegs the blue heron.
ii longlegs the blue heron receives callers longlegs the blue heron felt decidedly out of sorts.
it was a beautiful morning, too beautiful for any one to be feeling that way.
indeed, it was the same beautiful morning in which grandfather frog had caught so many foolish green flies.
jolly, round, bright mr. sun was smiling his broadest.
the merry little breezes of old mother west wind were dancing happily here and there over the green meadows, looking for some good turn to do for others.
the little feathered people to whom old mother nature has given the great blessing of music in their throats were pouring out their sweetest songs.
so it seemed as if there was no good reason why longlegs should feel out of sorts.
the fact is the trouble with longlegs was an empty stomach.
yes, sir, that is what ailed longlegs the blue heron that sunshiny morning.
you know it is hard work to be hungry and happy at the same time.
so longlegs stood on the edge of a shallow little pool in the laughing brook, grumbling to himself.
just a little while before, he had seen little joe otter carrying home a big fish, and this had made him hungrier and more out of sorts than ever.
in the first place it made him envious, and envy, you know, always stirs up bad feelings.
he knew perfectly well that little joe had got that fish by boldly chasing it until he caught it, for little joe can swim even faster than a fish.
but longlegs chose to try to make himself think that it was all luck.
moreover, he wanted to blame some one for his own lack of success, as most people who fail do.
so when little joe had called out: "hi, longlegs, what luck this fine morning?"
longlegs just pretended not to hear.
but when little joe was out of sight and hearing, he began to grumble to himself.
""no wonder i have no luck with that fellow racing up and down the laughing brook," said he.
""he is n't content to catch what he wants himself, but frightens the rest of the fish so that an honest fisherman like me has no chance at all.
i do n't see what old mother nature was thinking of when she gave him a liking for fish.
he and billy mink are just two worthless little scamps, born to make trouble for other people."
he was still grumbling when these two same little scamps poked their heads out of the grass on the other side of the little pool.
""you look happy, longlegs.
must be that you have had a good breakfast," said little joe, nudging billy mink.
longlegs snapped his great bill angrily.
""what are you doing here, spoiling my fishing?"
he demanded.
""have n't you got the big river and all the rest of the laughing brook to fool around in?
this is my pool, and i'll thank you to keep away!"
billy mink chuckled so that longlegs heard him, and that did n't improve his temper a bit.
but before he could say anything more, little joe otter spoke.
""oh," said he, "we beg your pardon.
we just happen to know that grandfather frog is sound asleep, and we thought that if you had n't had good luck this morning, you might like to know about it.
as long as you think so ill of us, we'll just run over and tell blackcap the night heron."
little joe turned as if to start off in search of blackcap at once.
""hold on a minute!"
called longlegs, and tried to make his voice sound pleasant, a difficult thing to do, because, you know, his voice is very harsh and disagreeable.
""the truth is, i have n't had a mouthful of breakfast and to be hungry is apt to make me cross.
where did you say grandfather frog is?"
""i did n't say," replied little joe, "but if you really want to know, he is sitting on his big green lily-pad in the smiling pool fast asleep right in plain sight."
""thank you," said longlegs.
""i believe i have an errand up that way, now i think of it.
i believe i'll just go over and have a look at him.
i have never seen him asleep."
-lsb- illustration: "thank you," said longlegs.
""i believe i have an errand up that way."
page 10. -rsb-
iii longlegs visits the smiling pool longlegs the blue heron watched billy mink and little joe otter disappear down the laughing brook.
as long as they were in sight, he sat without moving, his head drawn down between his shoulders just as if he had nothing more important to think about than a morning nap.
but if you had been near enough to have seen his keen eyes, you would never have suspected him of even thinking of a nap.
just as soon as he felt sure that the two little brown-coated scamps were out of sight, he stretched his long neck up until he was almost twice as tall as he had been a minute before.
he looked this way and that way to make sure that no danger was near, spread his great wings, flapped heavily up into the air, and then, with his head once more tucked back between his shoulders and his long legs straight out behind him, he flew out over the green meadows, and making a big circle, headed straight for the smiling pool.
all this time billy mink and little joe otter had not been so far away as longlegs supposed.
they had been hiding where they could watch him, and the instant he spread his wings, they started back up the laughing brook towards the smiling pool to see what would happen there.
you see they knew perfectly well that longlegs was flying up to the smiling pool in the hope that he could catch grandfather frog for his breakfast.
they did n't really mean that any harm should come to grandfather frog, but they meant that he should have a great fright.
you see, they were like a great many other people, so heedless and thoughtless that they thought it fun to frighten others.
""of course we'll waken grandfather frog in time for him to get away with nothing more than a great scare," said little joe otter, as they hurried along.
""it will be such fun to see his big goggly eyes pop out when he opens them and sees longlegs just ready to gobble him up!
and wo n't longlegs be hopping mad when we cheat him out of the breakfast he is so sure he is going to have!"
they reached the smiling pool before longlegs, who had taken a roundabout way, and they hid among the bulrushes where they could see and not be seen.
""there's the old fellow just as i left him, fast asleep," whispered billy mink.
sure enough, there on his big green lily-pad sat grandfather frog with his eyes shut.
at least, they seemed to be shut.
and over on top of his big house sat jerry muskrat.
jerry seemed to be too busy opening a fresh-water clam to notice anything else; but the truth is he was watching all that was going on.
you see, he had suspected that billy mink was going to play some trick on grandfather frog, so he had warned him.
when he had seen longlegs coming towards the smiling pool, he had given grandfather frog another warning, and he knew that now he was only pretending to be asleep.
straight up to the smiling pool came longlegs the blue heron, and on the very edge of it, among the bulrushes, he dropped his long legs and stood with his toes in the water, his long neck stretched up so that he could look all over the smiling pool.
there, just as little joe otter had said, sat grandfather frog on his big green lily-pad, fast asleep.
at least, he seemed to be fast asleep.
the eyes of longlegs sparkled with hunger and the thought of what a splendid breakfast grandfather frog would make.
very slowly, putting each foot down as carefully as he knew how, longlegs began to walk along the shore so as to get opposite the big green lily-pad where grandfather frog was sitting.
and over in the bulrushes on the other side, little joe otter and billy mink nudged each other and clapped their hands over their mouths to keep from laughing aloud.
iv the patience of longlegs the blue heron patience often wins the day when over-haste has lost the way.
if there is one virtue which longlegs the heron possesses above another it is patience.
yes, sir, longlegs certainly has got patience.
he believes that if a thing is worth having, it is worth waiting for, and that if he waits long enough, he is sure to get it.
perhaps that is because he has been a fisherman all his life, and his father and his grandfather were fishermen.
you know a fisherman without patience rarely catches anything.
of course billy mink and little joe otter laugh at this and say that it is n't so, but the truth is they sometimes go hungry when they would n't if they had a little of the patience of longlegs.
now grandfather frog is another who is very, very patient.
he can sit still the longest time waiting for something to come to him.
indeed, he can sit perfectly still so long, and longlegs can stand perfectly still so long, that jerry muskrat and billy mink and little joe otter have had many long disputes as to which of the two can keep still the longest.
""he will make a splendid breakfast," thought longlegs, as very, very carefully he walked along the edge of the smiling pool so as to get right opposite grandfather frog.
there he stopped and looked very hard at grandfather frog.
yes, he certainly must be asleep, for his eyes were closed.
longlegs chuckled to himself right down inside without making a sound, and got ready to wade out so as to get within reach.
now all the time grandfather frog was doing some quiet chuckling himself.
you see, he was n't asleep at all.
he was just pretending to be asleep, and all the time he was watching longlegs out of a corner of one of his big goggly eyes.
very, very slowly and carefully, so as not to make the teeniest, weeniest sound, longlegs lifted one foot to wade out into the smiling pool.
grandfather frog pretended to yawn and opened his big goggly eyes.
longlegs stood on one foot without moving so much as a feather.
grandfather frog yawned again, nodded as if he were too sleepy to keep awake, and half closed his eyes.
longlegs waited and waited.
then, little by little, so slowly that if you had been there you would hardly have seen him move, he drew his long neck down until his head rested on his shoulders.
""i guess i must wait until he falls sound asleep again," said longlegs to himself.
but grandfather frog did n't go to sleep.
he would nod and nod and then, just when longlegs would make up his mind that this time he really was asleep, open would pop grandfather frog's eyes.
so all the long morning longlegs stood on one foot without moving, watching and waiting and growing hungrier and hungrier, and all the long morning grandfather frog sat on his big green lily-pad, pretending that he was oh, so sleepy, and all the time having such a comfortable sun-bath and rest, for very early he had had a good breakfast of foolish green flies.
over in the bulrushes on the other side of the smiling pool two little scamps in brown bathing suits waited and watched for the great fright they had planned for grandfather frog, when they had sent longlegs to try to catch him.
they were billy mink and little joe otter.
at first they laughed to themselves and nudged each other at the thought of the trick they had played.
then, as nothing happened, they began to grow tired and uneasy.
you see they do not possess patience.
finally they gave up in disgust and stole away to find some more exciting sport.
grandfather frog saw them go and chuckled harder than ever to himself.
v grandfather frog jumps just in time back and forth over the green meadows sailed whitetail the marsh hawk.
like longlegs the blue heron, he was hungry.
his sharp eyes peered down among the grasses, looking for something to eat, but some good fairy seemed to have warned the very little people who live there that whitetail was out hunting.
perhaps it was one of old mother west wind's children, the merry little breezes.
you know they are always flitting about trying to do some one a good turn.
they love to dance and romp and play from dawn to dusk the livelong day, but more than this they love to find a chance to do some favor kind.
anyway, little mr. green snake seemed to know that whitetail was out hunting and managed to keep out of sight.
danny meadow mouse was n't to be found.
only a few foolish grasshoppers rewarded his patient search, and these only served to make him feel hungrier than ever.
but old whitetail has a great deal of persistence, and in spite of his bad luck, he kept at his hunting, back and forth, back and forth, until he had been all over the green meadows.
at last he made up his mind that he was wasting time there.
""i'll just have a look over at the smiling pool, and if there is nothing there, i'll take a turn or two along the big river," thought he and straightway started for the smiling pool.
long before he reached it, his keen eyes saw longlegs the blue heron standing motionless on the edge of it, and he knew by the looks of longlegs that he was watching something which he hoped to catch.
""if it's a fish," thought whitetail, "it will do me no good, for i am no fisherman.
but if it's a frog -- well, frogs are not as good eating as fat meadow mice, but they are very filling."
with that he hurried a little faster, and then he saw what longlegs was watching so intently.
it was, as you know, grandfather frog sitting on his big green lily-pad.
old whitetail gave a great sigh of satisfaction.
grandfather frog certainly would be very filling, very filling, indeed.
now longlegs the blue heron was so intently watching grandfather frog that he saw nothing else, and grandfather frog was so busy watching longlegs that he quite forgot that there might be other dangers.
besides, his back was toward old whitetail.
of course whitetail saw this, and it made him almost chuckle aloud.
ever so many times he had tried to catch grandfather frog, but always grandfather frog had seen him long before he could get near him.
now, with all his keen sight, old whitetail had failed to see some one else who was sitting right in plain sight.
he had failed because his mind was so full of grandfather frog and longlegs that he forgot to look around, as he usually does.
just skimming the tops of the bulrushes he sailed swiftly out over the smiling pool and reached down with his great, cruel claws to clutch grandfather frog, who sat there pretending to be asleep, but all the time watching longlegs and deep down inside chuckling to think how he was fooling longlegs.
slap!
that was the tail of jerry muskrat hitting the water.
grandfather frog knew what that meant -- danger!
he did n't know what the danger was, and he did n't wait to find out.
there would be time enough for that later.
when jerry muskrat slapped the water with his tail that way, danger was very near indeed.
with a frightened "chugarum!"
grandfather frog dived head first into the smiling pool, and so close was old whitetail that the water was splashed right in his face.
he clutched frantically with his great claws, but all he got was a piece of the big green lily-pad on which grandfather frog had been sitting, and of course this was of no use for an empty stomach.
with a scream of disappointment and anger, he whirled in the air and made straight for jerry muskrat.
but jerry just laughed in the most provoking way and ducked under water.
vi longlegs and whitetail quarrel "you did!"
""i did n't!
i did n't!"
""you did!"
such a terrible fuss when grandfather hid!
you see longlegs the blue heron had stood very patiently on one foot all the long morning waiting for grandfather frog to go to sleep on his big green lily-pad.
he had felt sure he was to have grandfather frog for his breakfast and lunch, for he had had no breakfast, and it was now lunch time.
he was so hungry that it seemed to him that the sides of his stomach certainly would fall in because there was nothing to hold them up, and then, without any warning at all, old whitetail the marsh hawk had glided out across the smiling pool with his great claws stretched out to clutch grandfather frog, and grandfather frog had dived into the smiling pool with a great splash just in the very nick of time.
now is there anything in the world so hard on the temper as to lose a good meal when you are very, very, very hungry?
of course longlegs did n't really have that good meal, but he had thought that he was surely going to have it.
so when grandfather frog splashed into the smiling pool, of course longlegs lost his temper altogether.
his yellow eyes seemed to grow even more yellow.
""you robber!
you thief!"
he screamed harshly at old whitetail.
now old whitetail was just as hungry as longlegs, and he had come even nearer to catching grandfather frog.
he is even quicker tempered than longlegs.
he had whirled like a flash on jerry muskrat, but jerry had just laughed in the most provoking manner and ducked under water.
this had made old whitetail angrier than ever, and then to be called bad names -- robber and thief!
it was more than any self-respecting hawk could stand.
yes, sir, it certainly was!
he fairly shook with rage as he turned in the air once more and made straight for longlegs the blue heron.
""i'm no more robber and thief than you are!"
he shrieked.
""you frightened away my frog!"
screamed longlegs.
""i did n't!"
""you did!"
""i did n't!
it was n't your frog; it was mine!"
""chugarum!"
said grandfather frog to jerry muskrat, as they peeped out from under some lily-pads.
""i did n't know i belonged to anybody.
i really did n't.
did you?"
""no," replied jerry, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he watched longlegs and whitetail, "it's news to me."
""you're too lazy to hunt like honest people!"
taunted old whitetail, as he wheeled around longlegs, watching for a chance to strike with his great, cruel claws.
""i'm too honest to take the food out of other people's mouths!"
retorted longlegs, dancing around so as always to face whitetail, one of his great, broad wings held in front of him like a shield, and his long, strong bill ready to strike.
every feather on whitetail's head was standing erect with rage, and he looked very fierce and terrible.
at last he saw a chance, or thought he did, and shot down.
but all he got was a feather from that great wing which longlegs kept in front of him, and before he could get away, that long bill had struck him twice, so that he screamed with pain.
so they fought and fought, till the ground was covered with feathers, and they were too tired to fight any longer.
then, slowly and painfully, old whitetail flew away over the green meadows, and with torn and ragged wings, longlegs flew heavily down the laughing brook towards the big river, and both were sore and stiff and still hungry.
""dear me!
dear me!
what a terrible thing and how useless anger is," said grandfather frog, as he climbed back on his big green lily-pad in the warm sunshine.
vii grandfather frog's big mouth gets him in trouble grandfather frog has a great big mouth.
you know that.
everybody does.
his friends of the smiling pool, the laughing brook, and the green meadows have teased grandfather frog a great deal about the size of his mouth, but he has n't minded in the least, not the very least.
you see, he learned a long time ago that a big mouth is very handy for catching foolish green flies, especially when two happen to come along together.
so he is rather proud of his big mouth, just as he is of his goggly eyes.
but once in a while his big mouth gets him into trouble.
it's a way big mouths have.
it holds so much that it makes him greedy sometimes.
he stuffs it full after his stomach already has all that it can hold, and then of course he ca n't swallow.
then grandfather frog looks very foolish and silly and undignified, and everybody calls him a greedy fellow who is old enough to know better and who ought to be ashamed of himself.
perhaps he is, but he never says so, and he is almost sure to do the same thing over again the first chance he has.
now it happened that one morning when grandfather frog had had a very good breakfast of foolish green flies and really did n't need another single thing to eat, who should come along but little joe otter, who had been down to the big river fishing.
he had eaten all he could hold, and he was taking the rest of his catch to a secret hiding-place up the laughing brook.
now grandfather frog is very fond of fish for a change, and when he saw those that little joe otter had, his eyes glistened, and in spite of his full stomach his mouth watered.
""good morning, grandfather frog!
have you had your breakfast yet?"
called little joe otter.
grandfather frog wanted to say no, but he always tells the truth.
""ye-e-s," he replied.
""i've had my breakfast, such as it was.
why do you ask?"
""oh, for no reason in particular.
i just thought that if you had n't, you might like a fish.
but as long as you have breakfasted, of course you do n't want one," said little joe, his bright eyes beginning to twinkle.
he held the fish out so that grandfather frog could see just how plump and nice they were.
""chugarum!"
exclaimed grandfather frog.
""those certainly are very nice fish, very nice fish indeed.
it is very nice of you to think of a poor old fellow like me, and i -- er -- well, i might find room for just a little teeny, weeny one, if you can spare it."
little joe otter knows all about grandfather frog's greediness.
he looked at grandfather frog's white and yellow waistcoat and saw how it was already stuffed full to bursting.
the twinkle in his eyes grew more mischievous than ever as he said: "of course i can.
but i would n't think of giving such an old friend a teeny, weeny one."
with that, little joe picked out the biggest fish he had and tossed it over to grandfather frog.
it landed close by his nose with a great splash, and it was almost half as big as grandfather frog himself.
it was plump and looked so tempting that grandfather frog forgot all about his full stomach.
he even forgot to be polite and thank little joe otter.
he just opened his great mouth and seized the fish.
yes, sir, that is just what he did.
almost before you could wink an eye, the fish had started down grandfather frog's throat head first.
now you know grandfather frog has no teeth, and so he can not bite things in two.
he has to swallow them whole.
that is just what he started to do with the fish.
it went all right until the head reached his stomach.
but you ca n't put anything more into a thing already full, and grandfather frog's stomach was packed as full as it could be of foolish green flies.
there the fish stuck, and gulp and swallow as hard as he could, grandfather frog could n't make that fish go a bit farther.
then he tried to get it out again, but it had gone so far down his throat that he could n't get it back.
grandfather frog began to choke.
viii spotty the turtle plays doctor greed's a dreadful thing to see, as everybody will agree.
at first little joe otter, sitting on the bank of the smiling pool, laughed himself almost sick as he watched grandfather frog trying to swallow a fish almost as big as himself, when his white and yellow waistcoat was already stuffed so full of foolish green flies that there was n't room for anything more.
such greed would have been disgusting, if it had n't been so very, very funny.
at least, it was funny at first, for the fish had stuck, with the tail hanging out of grandfather frog's big mouth.
grandfather frog hitched this way and hitched that way on his big green lily-pad, trying his best to swallow.
twice he tumbled off with a splash into the smiling pool.
each time he scrambled back again and rolled his great goggly eyes in silent appeal to little joe otter to come to his aid.
-lsb- illustration: as soon as they saw grandfather frog, they began to laugh, too.
page 37.
-rsb- but little joe was laughing so that he had to hold his sides, and he did n't understand that grandfather frog really was in trouble.
billy mink and jerry muskrat came along, and as soon as they saw grandfather frog, they began to laugh, too.
they just laughed and laughed and laughed until the tears came.
they rolled over and over on the bank and kicked their heels from sheer enjoyment.
it was the funniest thing they had seen for a long, long time.
""did you ever see such greed?"
gasped billy mink.
""why do n't you pull it out and start over again?"
shouted little joe otter.
now this is just what grandfather frog was trying to do.
at least, he was trying to pull the fish out.
he had n't the least desire in the world to try swallowing it again.
in fact, he felt just then as if he never, never wanted to see another fish so long as he lived.
but grandfather frog's hands are not made for grasping slippery things, and the tail of a fish is very slippery indeed.
he tried first with one hand, then with the other, and at last with both.
it was of no use at all.
he just could n't budge that fish.
he could n't cough it up, because it had gone too far down for that.
the more he clawed at that waving tail with his hands, the funnier he looked, and the harder little joe otter and billy mink and jerry muskrat laughed.
they made such a noise that spotty the turtle, who had been taking a sun-bath on the end of an old log, slipped into the water and started to see what it was all about.
now spotty the turtle is very, very slow on land, but he is a good swimmer.
he hurried now because he did n't want to miss the fun.
at first he did n't see grandfather frog.
""what's the joke?"
he asked.
little joe otter simply pointed to grandfather frog.
little joe had laughed so much that he could n't even speak.
spotty looked over to the big green lily-pad and started to laugh too.
then he saw great tears rolling down from grandfather frog's eyes and heard little choky sounds.
he stopped laughing and started for grandfather frog as fast as he could swim.
he climbed right up on the big green lily-pad, and reaching out, grabbed the end of the fish tail in his beak-like mouth.
then spotty the turtle settled back and pulled, and grandfather frog settled back and pulled.
splash!
grandfather frog had fallen backward into the smiling pool on one side of the big green lily-pad.
splash!
spotty the turtle had fallen backward into the smiling pool on the opposite side of the big green lily-pad.
and the fish which had caused all the trouble lay floating on the water.
""thank you!
thank you!"
gasped grandfather frog, as he feebly crawled back on the lily-pad.
""a minute more, and i would have choked to death."
""do n't mention it," replied spotty the turtle.
""i never, never will," promised grandfather frog.
ix old mr. toad visits grandfather frog grandfather frog and old mr. toad are cousins.
of course you know that without being told.
everybody does.
but not everybody knows that they were born in the same place.
they were.
yes, sir, they were.
they were born in the smiling pool.
both had long tails and for a while no legs, and they played and swam together without ever going on shore.
in fact, when they were babies, they could n't live out of the water.
and people who saw them did n't know the difference between them and called them by the same names -- tadpoles or pollywogs.
but when they grew old enough to have legs and get along without tails, they parted company.
you see, it was this way: grandfather frog -lrb- of course he was n't grandfather then -rrb- loved the smiling pool so well that he could n't think of leaving it.
he heard all about the great world and what a wonderful place it was, but he could n't and would n't believe that there could be any nicer place than the smiling pool, and so he made up his mind that he would live there always.
but mr. toad could hardly wait to get rid of his tail before turning his back on the smiling pool and starting out to see the great world.
nothing that grandfather frog could say would stop him, and away mr. toad went, when he was so small that he could hide under a clover leaf.
grandfather frog did n't expect ever to see him again.
but he did, though it was n't for a long, long time.
and when he did come back, he had grown so that grandfather frog hardly knew him at first.
and right then and there began a dispute which they have kept up ever since: whether it was best to go out into the great world or remain in the home of childhood.
each was sure that what he had done was best, and each is sure of it to this day.
so whenever old mr. toad visits grandfather frog, as he does every once in a while, they are sure to argue and argue on this same old subject.
it was so on the day that grandfather frog had so nearly choked to death.
old mr. toad had heard about it from one of the merry little breezes of old mother west wind and right away had started for the smiling pool to pay his respects to grandfather frog, and to tell him how glad he was that spotty the turtle had come along just in time to pull the fish out of grandfather frog's throat.
now all day long grandfather frog had had to listen to unpleasant remarks about his greediness.
it was such a splendid chance to tease him that everybody around the smiling pool took advantage of it.
grandfather frog took it good-naturedly at first, but after a while it made him cross, and by the time his cousin, old mr. toad, arrived, he was sulky and just grunted when mr. toad told him how glad he was to find grandfather frog quite recovered.
old mr. toad pretended not to notice how out of sorts grandfather frog was but kept right on talking.
""if you had been out in the great world as much as i have been, you would have known that little joe otter was n't giving you that fish for nothing," said he.
grandfather frog swelled right out with anger.
""chugarum!"
he exclaimed in his deepest, gruffest voice.
""chugarum!
go back to your great world and learn to mind your own affairs, mr. toad."
right away old mr. toad began to swell with anger too.
for a whole minute he glared at grandfather frog, so indignant he could n't find his tongue.
when he did find it, he said some very unpleasant things, and right away they began to dispute.
""what good are you to anybody but yourself, never seeing anything of the great world and not knowing anything about what is going on or what other people are doing?"
asked old mr. toad.
""i'm minding my own affairs and not meddling with things that do n't concern me, as seems to be the way out in the great world you are so fond of talking about," retorted grandfather frog.
""wise people know enough to be content with what they have.
you've been out in the great world ever since you could hop, and what good has it done you?
tell me that!
you have n't even a decent suit of clothes to your back."
grandfather frog patted his white and yellow waistcoat as he spoke and looked admiringly at the reflection of his handsome green coat in the smiling pool.
old mr. toad's eyes snapped, for you know his suit is very plain and rough.
""people who do honest work for their living have no time to sit about in fine clothes admiring themselves," he replied sharply.
""i've learned this much out in the great world, that lazy people come to no good end, and i know enough not to choke myself to death."
grandfather frog almost choked again, he was so angry.
you see old mr. toad's remarks were very personal, and nobody likes personal remarks when they are unpleasant, especially if they happen to be true.
grandfather frog was trying his best to think of something sharp to say in reply, when mr. redwing, sitting in the top of the big hickory-tree, shouted: "here comes farmer brown's boy!"
grandfather frog forgot his anger and began to look anxious.
he moved about uneasily on his big green lily-pad and got ready to dive into the smiling pool, for he was afraid that farmer brown's boy had a pocketful of stones as he usually did have when he came over to the smiling pool.
old mr. toad did n't look troubled the least bit.
he did n't even look around for a hiding-place.
he just sat still and grinned.
""you'd better watch out, or you'll never visit the smiling pool again," called grandfather frog.
""oh," replied old mr. toad, "i'm not afraid.
farmer brown's boy is a friend of mine.
i help him in his garden.
how to make friends is one of the things the great world has taught me."
""chugarum!"
said grandfather frog.
""i'd have you to know that --" but what it was that he was to know old mr. toad never found out, for just then grandfather frog caught sight of farmer brown's boy and without waiting even to say good-by he dived into the smiling pool.
x grandfather frog starts out to see the great world grandfather frog looked very solemn as he sat on his big green lily-pad in the smiling pool.
he looked very much as if he had something on his mind.
a foolish green fly actually brushed grandfather frog's nose and he did n't even notice it.
the fact is he did have something on his mind.
it had been there ever since his cousin, old mr. toad, had called the day before and they had quarreled as usual over the question whether it was best never to leave home or to go out into the great world.
right in the midst of their quarrel along had come farmer brown's boy.
now grandfather frog is afraid of farmer brown's boy, so when he appeared, grandfather frog stopped arguing with old mr. toad and with a great splash dived into the smiling pool and hid under a lily-pad.
there he stayed and watched his cousin, old mr. toad, grinning in the most provoking way, for he was n't afraid of farmer brown's boy.
in fact, he had boasted that they were friends.
grandfather frog had thought that this was just an idle boast, but when he saw farmer brown's boy tickle old mr. toad under his chin with a straw, while mr. toad sat perfectly still and seemed to enjoy it, he knew that it was true.
grandfather frog had not come out of his hiding-place until after old mr. toad had gone back across the green meadows and farmer brown's boy had gone home for his supper.
then grandfather frog had climbed back on his big green lily-pad and had sat there half the night without once leading the chorus of the smiling pool with his great deep bass voice as he usually did.
he was thinking, thinking very hard.
and now, this bright, sunshiny morning, he was still thinking.
the fact is grandfather frog was beginning to wonder if perhaps, after all, mr. toad was right.
if the great world had taught him how to make friends with farmer brown's boy, there really must be some things worth learning there.
not for the world would grandfather frog have admitted to old mr. toad or to any one else that there was anything for him to learn, for you know he is very old and by his friends is accounted very wise.
but right down in his heart he was beginning to think that perhaps there were some things which he could n't learn in the smiling pool.
so he sat and thought and thought.
suddenly he made up his mind.
""chugarum!"
said he.
""i'll do it!"
""do what?"
asked jerry muskrat, who happened to be swimming past.
""i'll go out and see for myself what this great world my cousin, old mr. toad, is so fond of talking about is like," replied grandfather frog.
""do n't you do it," advised jerry muskrat.
""do n't you do anything so foolish as that.
you're too old, much too old, grandfather frog, to go out into the great world."
now few old people like to be told that they are too old to do what they please, and grandfather frog is no different from others.
""you just mind your own affairs, jerry muskrat," he retorted sharply.
""i guess i know what is best for me without being told.
if my cousin, old mr. toad, can take care of himself out in the great world, i can.
he is n't half so spry as i am.
i'm going, and that is all there is about it!"
with that grandfather frog dived into the smiling pool, swam across to a place where the bank was low, and without once looking back started across the green meadows to see the great world.
xi grandfather frog is stubborn "fee, fi, fe, fum!
chug, chug, chugarum!"
grandfather actually had started out to see the great world.
yes, sir, he had turned his back on the smiling pool, and nothing that jerry muskrat could say made the least bit of difference.
grandfather frog had made up his mind, and when he does that, it is just a waste of time and breath for any one to try to make him change it.
you see grandfather frog is stubborn.
yes, that is just the word -- stubborn.
he would see for himself what this great world was that his cousin, old mr. toad, talked so much about and said was so much better than the smiling pool where grandfather frog had spent his whole life.
""if old mr. toad can take care of himself, i can take care of myself out in the great world," said grandfather frog, to himself as, with great jumps, he started out on to the green meadows.
""i guess he is n't any smarter than i am!
he is n't half so spry as i am, and i can jump three times as far as he can.
i'll see for myself what this great world is like, and then i'll go back to the smiling pool and stay there the rest of my life.
chugarum, how warm it is!"
it was warm.
jolly, round, bright mr. sun was smiling his broadest and pouring his warmest rays down on the green meadows.
the merry little breezes of old mother west wind were taking a nap.
you see, they had played so hard early in the morning that they were tired.
so there was nobody and nothing to cool grandfather frog, and he just grew warmer and warmer with every jump.
he began to grow thirsty, and how he did long for a plunge in the dear, cool smiling pool!
but he was stubborn.
he would n't turn back, no matter how uncomfortable he felt.
he would see the great world if it killed him.
so he kept right on, jump, jump, jump, jump.
grandfather frog had been up the laughing brook and down the laughing brook, where he could swim when he grew tired of traveling on the bank, and where he could cool off whenever he became too warm, but never before had he been very far away from water, and he found this a very different matter.
at first he had made great jumps, for that is what his long legs were given him for; but the long grass bothered him, and after a little the jumps grew shorter and shorter and shorter, and with every jump he puffed and puffed and presently began to grunt.
you see he never before had made more than a few jumps at a time without resting, and his legs grew tired in a very little while.
now if grandfather frog had known as much about the green meadows as the little people who live there all the time do, he would have taken the lone little path, where the going was easy.
but he did n't.
he just started right out without knowing where he was going, and of course the way was hard, very hard indeed.
the grass was so tall that he could n't see over it, and the ground was so rough that it hurt his tender feet, which were used to the soft, mossy bank of the smiling pool.
he had gone only a little way before he wished with all his might that he had never thought of seeing the great world.
but he had said that he was going to and he would, so he kept right on -- jump, jump, rest, jump, jump, jump, rest, jump, and then a long rest.
it was during one of these rests that he heard footsteps, and then a dreadful sound that made cold chills run all over him.
sniff, sniff, sniff!
it was coming nearer.
grandfather frog flattened himself down as close to the ground as he could get.
but it was of no use, no use at all.
the sniffing came nearer and nearer, and then right over him stood bowser the hound!
bowser looked just as surprised as he felt.
he put out one paw and turned grandfather frog over on his back.
grandfather frog struggled to his feet and made two frightened jumps.
""bow, wow!"
cried bowser and rolled him over again.
bowser thought it great fun, but grandfather frog thought that his last day had come.
xii grandfather frog keeps on grandfather frog is old and wise, but even age is foolish.
i'm sure you'll all agree with me his stubbornness was mulish.
that his very last day had come grandfather frog was sure.
he did n't have the least doubt about it.
here he was at the mercy of bowser the hound out on the green meadows far from the dear, safe smiling pool.
every time he moved, bowser flipped him over on his back and danced around him, barking with joy.
every minute grandfather frog expected to feel bowser's terrible teeth, and he grew cold at the thought.
when he found that he could n't get away, he just lay still.
he was too tired and frightened to do much of anything else, anyway.
now when he lay still, he spoiled bowser's fun, for it was seeing him jump and kick his long legs that tickled bowser so.
bowser tossed him up in the air two or three times, but grandfather frog simply lay where he fell without moving.
""bow, wow, wow!"
cried bowser, in his great deep voice.
grandfather frog did n't so much as blink his great goggly eyes.
bowser sniffed him all over.
""i guess i've frightened him to death," said bowser, talking to himself.
""i did n't mean to do that.
i just wanted to have some fun with him."
with that, bowser took one more sniff and then trotted off to try to find something more exciting.
you see, he had n't had the least intention in the world of really hurting grandfather frog.
grandfather frog kept perfectly still until he was sure that bowser was nowhere near.
then he gave a great sigh of relief and crawled under a big mullein leaf to rest, and think things over.
""chugarum, that was a terrible experience; it was, indeed!"
said he to himself, shivering at the very thought of what he had been through.
""nothing like that ever happened to me in the smiling pool.
i've always said that the smiling pool is a better place in which to live than is the great world, and now i know it.
the question is, what had i best do now?"
now right down in his heart grandfather frog knew the answer.
of course the best thing to do was to go straight back to the smiling pool as fast as he could.
but grandfather frog is stubborn.
yes, sir, he certainly is stubborn.
and stubbornness is often just another name for foolishness.
he had told jerry muskrat that he was going out to see the great world.
now if he went back, jerry would laugh at him.
""i wo n't!"
said grandfather frog.
""what wo n't you do?"
asked a voice so close to him that grandfather frog made a long jump before he thought.
you see, at the smiling pool he always jumped at the least hint of danger, and because one jump always took him into the water, he was always safe.
but there was no water here, and that jump took him right out where anybody passing could see him.
then he turned around to see who had startled him so.
it was danny meadow mouse.
""i wo n't go back to the smiling pool until i have seen the great world," replied grandfather frog gruffly.
-lsb- illustration: "you wo n't see much of the great world if you jump like that every time you get a scare," said danny.
page 62.
-rsb- "you wo n't see much of the great world if you jump like that every time you get a scare," said danny, shaking his head.
""no, sir, you wo n't see much of the great world, because one of these times you'll jump right into the claws of old whitetail the marsh hawk, or his cousin redtail, or reddy fox.
you take my advice, grandfather frog, and go straight back to the smiling pool.
you do n't know enough about the great world to take care of yourself."
but grandfather frog was set in his ways, and nothing that danny meadow mouse could say changed his mind in the least.
""i started out to see the great world, and i'm going to keep right on," said he.
""all right," said danny at last.
""if you will, i suppose you will.
i'll go a little way with you just to get you started right."
""thank you," replied grandfather frog.
""let's start right away."
xiii danny meadow mouse feels responsible responsible is a great big word.
but it is just as big in its meaning as it is in its looks, and that is the way words should be, i think, do n't you?
anyway, re-spon-sible is the way danny meadow mouse felt when he found grandfather frog out on the green meadows so far from the smiling pool and so stubborn that he would keep on to see the great world instead of going back to his big green lily-pad in the smiling pool, where he could take care of himself.
you remember peter rabbit felt re-spon-sible when he brought little miss fuzzy tail down from the old pasture to the dear old briar-patch.
he felt that it was his business to see to it that no harm came to her, and that is just the way danny meadow mouse felt about grandfather frog.
you see, danny knew that if grandfather frog was going to jump like that every time he was frightened, he would n't get very far in the great world.
it might be the right thing to do in the smiling pool, where the friendly water would hide him from his enemies, but it was just the wrong thing to do on the green meadows or in the green forest.
danny had learned, when a very tiny fellow, that there the only safe thing to do when danger was near was to sit perfectly still and hardly breathe.
now danny meadow mouse is fond of grandfather frog, and he could n't bear to think that something dreadful might happen to him.
so when he found that he could n't get grandfather frog to go back to the smiling pool, he made up his mind that he just had to go along with grandfather frog to try to keep him out of danger.
yes, sir, he just had to do it.
he felt re-spon-sible for grandfather frog's safety.
so here they were, danny meadow mouse running ahead, anxious and worried and watching sharply for signs of danger, and grandfather frog puffing along behind, bound to see the great world which his cousin, old mr. toad, said was a better place to live in than the smiling pool.
now danny has a great many private little paths under the grass all over the green meadows, and along these he can scamper ever so fast without once showing himself to those who may be looking for him.
of course he started to take grandfather frog along one of these little paths.
but grandfather frog does n't walk or run; he jumps.
there was n't room in danny's little paths for jumping, as they soon found out.
grandfather frog simply could n't follow danny along those little paths.
danny sat down to think, and puckered his brows anxiously.
he was more worried than ever.
it was very clear that grandfather frog would have to travel out in the open, where there was room for him to jump, and where also he would be right out in plain sight of all who happened along.
once more danny urged him to go back to the smiling pool, but he might just as well have talked to a stick or a stone.
grandfather frog had started out to see the great world, and he was going to see it.
danny sighed.
""if you will, you will, i suppose," said he, "and i guess the only place you can travel in any comfort is the lone little path.
it is dangerous, very dangerous, but i guess you will have to do it."
""chugarum!"
replied grandfather frog, "i'm not afraid.
you show me the lone little path and then go about your business, danny meadow mouse."
so danny led the way to the lone little path, and grandfather frog sighed with relief, for here he could jump without getting all tangled up in long grass and without hurting his tender feet on sharp stubble where the grass had been cut.
but danny felt more worried than ever.
he would n't leave grandfather frog because, you know, he felt re-spon-sible for him, and at the same time he was terribly afraid, for he felt sure that some of their enemies would see them.
he wanted to go back, but he kept right on, and that shows just what a brave little fellow danny meadow mouse was.
xiv grandfather frog has a strange ride a thousand things may happen to, ten thousand things befall, the traveler who careless is, or thinks he knows it all.
grandfather frog, jumping along behind danny meadow mouse up the lone little path, was beginning to think that danny was the most timid and easiest frightened of all the little meadow people of his acquaintance.
danny kept as much under the grass that overhung the lone little path as he could.
when there were perfectly bare places, danny looked this way and looked that way anxiously and then scampered across as fast as he could make his little legs go.
when he was safely across, he would wait for grandfather frog.
if a shadow passed over the grass, danny would duck under the nearest leaf and hold his breath.
""foolish!"
muttered grandfather frog.
""foolish, foolish to be so afraid!
now, i'm not afraid until i see something to be afraid of.
time enough then.
what's the good of looking for trouble all the time?
now, here i am out in the great world, and i'm not afraid.
and here's danny meadow mouse, who has lived here all his life, acting as if he expected something dreadful to happen any minute.
pooh!
how very, very foolish!"
now grandfather frog is old and in the smiling pool he is accounted very, very wise.
but the wisest sometimes become foolish when they think that they know all there is to know.
it was so with grandfather frog.
it was he who was foolish and not danny meadow mouse.
you see danny knew all the dangers on the green meadows, and how many sharp eyes were all the time watching for him.
he had long ago learned that the only way to feel safe was to feel afraid.
you see, then he was watching for danger every minute, and so he was n't likely to be surprised by his hungry enemies.
so while grandfather frog was looking down on danny for being so timid, danny was really doing the wisest thing.
more than that, he was really very, very brave.
he was showing grandfather frog the way up the lone little path to see the great world, when he himself would never, never have thought of traveling anywhere but along his own secret little paths, just because grandfather frog could n't jump anywhere excepting where the way was fairly clear, as in the lone little path, and danny was afraid that unless grandfather frog had some one with him to watch out for him, he would surely come to a sad end.
the farther they went with nothing happening, the more foolish danny's timid way of running and hiding seemed to grandfather frog, and he was just about to tell danny just what he thought, when danny dived into the long grass and warned grandfather frog to do the same.
but grandfather frog did n't.
""chugarum!"
said he, "i do n't see anything to be afraid of, and i'm not going to hide until i do."
so he sat still right where he was, in the middle of the lone little path, looking this way and that way, and seeing nothing to be afraid of.
and just then around a turn in the lone little path came -- who do you think?
why farmer brown's boy!
he saw grandfather frog and with a whoop of joy he sprang for him.
grandfather frog gave a frightened croak and jumped, but he was too late.
before he could jump again farmer brown's boy had him by his long hind-legs.
""ha, ha!"
shouted farmer brown's boy, "i believe this is the very old chap i have tried so often to catch in the smiling pool.
these legs of yours will be mighty fine eating, mr. frog.
they will, indeed."
with that he tied grandfather frog's legs together and went on his way across the green meadows with poor old grandfather frog dangling from the end of a string.
it was a strange ride and a most uncomfortable one, and with all his might grandfather frog wished he had never thought of going out into the great world.
xv grandfather frog gives up hope with his legs tied together, hanging head down from the end of a string, grandfather frog was being carried he knew not where by farmer brown's boy.
it was dreadful.
half-way across the green meadows the merry little breezes of old mother west wind came dancing along.
at first they did n't see grandfather frog, but presently one of them, rushing up to tease farmer brown's boy by blowing off his hat, caught sight of grandfather frog.
now the merry little breezes are great friends of grandfather frog.
many, many times they have blown foolish green flies over to him as he sat on his big green lily-pad, and they are very fond of him.
so when this one caught sight of him in such a dreadful position, he forgot all about teasing farmer brown's boy.
he raced away to tell the other merry little breezes.
for a minute they were perfectly still.
they forgot all about being merry.
""it's awful, just perfectly awful!"
cried one.
""we must do something to help grandfather frog!"
cried another.
""of course we must," said a third.
""but what can we do?"
asked a fourth.
nobody replied.
they just thought and thought and thought.
finally the first one spoke.
""we might try to comfort him a little," said he.
""of course we will do that!"
they shouted all together.
""and if we throw dust in the face of farmer brown's boy and steal his hat, perhaps he will put grandfather frog down," continued the merry little breeze.
""the very thing!"
the others cried, dancing about with excitement.
""then we can rush about and tell all grandfather frog's friends what has happened to him and where he is.
perhaps some of them can help us," the little breeze continued.
they wasted no more time talking, but raced after farmer brown's boy as fast as they could go.
one of them, who was faster than the others, ran ahead and whispered in grandfather frog's ear that they were coming to help him.
but poor old grandfather frog could n't be comforted.
he could n't see what there was that the merry little breezes could do.
his legs smarted where the string cut into the skin, and his head ached, for you know he was hanging head down.
no, sir, grandfather frog could n't be comforted.
he was in a terrible fix, and he could n't see any way out of it.
he had n't the least bit of hope left.
and all the time farmer brown's boy was trudging along, whistling merrily.
you see, it did n't occur to him to think how grandfather frog must be suffering and how terribly frightened he must be.
he was n't cruel.
no, indeed, farmer brown's boy was n't cruel.
that is, he did n't mean to be cruel.
he was just thoughtless, like a great many other boys, and girls too.
so he went whistling on his way until he reached the long lane leading from the green meadows up to farmer brown's dooryard.
no sooner was he in the long lane than something happened.
a great cloud of dust and leaves and tiny sticks was dashed in his face and nearly choked him.
dirt got in his eyes.
his hat was snatched from his head and went sailing over into the garden.
he dropped grandfather frog and felt for his handkerchief to wipe the dirt from his eyes.
""phew!"
exclaimed farmer brown's boy, as he started after his hat.
""it's funny where that wind came from so suddenly!"
but you know and i know that it was the merry little breezes working together who made up that sudden wind.
and grandfather frog ought to have known it too, but he did n't.
you see the dust had got in his nose and eyes just as it had in those of farmer brown's boy, and he was so frightened and confused that he could n't think.
so he lay just where farmer brown's boy dropped him, and he did n't have any more hope than before.
xvi the merry little breezes work hard the merry little breezes almost shouted aloud with delight when they saw farmer brown's boy drop grandfather frog to feel for his handkerchief and wipe out the dust which they had thrown in his eyes.
then he had to climb the fence and chase his hat through the garden.
they would let him almost get his hands on it and then, just as he thought that he surely had it, they would snatch it away.
it was great fun for the merry little breezes.
but they were not doing it for fun.
no, indeed, they were not doing it for fun!
they were doing it to lead farmer brown's boy away from grandfather frog.
just as soon as they dared, they dropped the hat and then separated and rushed away in all directions across the green meadows, over to the green forest, and down to the smiling pool.
what were they going for?
why, to hunt for some of grandfather frog's friends and ask their help.
you see, the merry little breezes could make farmer brown's boy drop grandfather frog, but they could n't untie a knot or cut a string, and this is just what had got to be done to set grandfather frog free, for his hind-legs were tied together.
so now they were looking for some one with sharp teeth, who thought enough of grandfather frog to come and help him.
one thought of striped chipmunk and started for the old stone wall to look for him.
another went in search of danny meadow mouse.
a third headed for the dear old briar-patch after peter rabbit.
a fourth remembered jimmy skunk and how he had once set blacky the crow free from a snare.
a fifth remembered what sharp teeth happy jack squirrel has and hurried over to the green forest to look for him.
a sixth started straight for the smiling pool to tell jerry muskrat.
and every one of them raced as fast as he could.
all this time grandfather frog was without hope.
yes, sir, poor old grandfather frog was wholly in despair.
you see, he did n't know what the merry little breezes were trying to do, and he was so frightened and confused that he could n't think.
when farmer brown's boy dropped him, he lay right where he fell for a few minutes.
then, right close at hand, he saw an old board.
without really thinking, he tried to get to it, for there looked as if there might be room for him to hide under it.
it was hard work, for you know his long hind-legs, which he uses for jumping, were tied together.
the best he could do was to crawl and wriggle and pull himself along.
just as farmer brown's boy started to climb the fence back into the long lane, his hat in his hand, grandfather frog reached the old board and crawled under it.
now when the merry little breezes had thrown the dust in farmer brown's boy's face and snatched his hat, he had dropped grandfather frog in such a hurry that he did n't notice just where he did drop him, so now he did n't know the exact place to look for him.
but he knew pretty near, and he had n't the least doubt but that he would find him.
he had just started to look when the dinner horn sounded.
farmer brown's boy hesitated.
he was hungry.
if he was late, he might lose his dinner.
he could come back later to look for grandfather frog, for with his legs tied grandfather frog could n't get far.
so, with a last look to make sure of the place, farmer brown's boy started for the house.
if the merry little breezes had known this, they would have felt ever so much better.
but they did n't.
so they hurried as fast as ever they could to find grandfather frog's friends and worked until they were almost too tired to move, for it seemed as if every single one of grandfather frog's friends had taken that particular day to go away from home.
so while farmer brown's boy ate his dinner, and grandfather frog lay hiding under the old board in the long lane, the merry little breezes did their best to find help for him.
xvii striped chipmunk cuts the string "hippy hop!
flippy flop!
all on a summer day my mother turned me from the house and sent me out to play!"
striped chipmunk knew perfectly well that that was just nonsense, but striped chipmunk learned a long time ago that when you are just bubbling right over with good feeling, there is fun in saying and doing foolish things, and that is just how he was feeling.
so he ran along the old rail fence on one side of the long lane, saying foolish things and cutting up foolish capers just because he felt so good, and all the time seeing all that those bright little eyes of his could take in.
now striped chipmunk and the merry little breezes of old mother west wind are great friends, very great friends, indeed.
almost every morning they have a grand frolic together.
but this morning the merry little breezes had n't come over to the old stone wall where striped chipmunk makes his home.
anyway, they had n't come at the usual time.
striped chipmunk had waited a little while and then, because he was feeling so good, he had decided to take a run down the long lane to see if anything new had happened there.
that is how it happened that when one of the merry little breezes did go to look for him, and was terribly anxious to ask him to come to the help of grandfather frog, he was nowhere to be found.
but striped chipmunk did n't know anything about that.
he scampered along the top rails of the old fence, jumped up on top of a post, and sat up to wash his face and hands, for striped chipmunk is very neat and can not bear to be the least bit dirty.
he looked up and winked at ol' mistah buzzard, sailing round and round way, way up in the blue, blue sky.
he chased his own tail round and round until he nearly fell off of the post.
he made a wry face in the direction of redtail the hawk, whom he could see sitting in the top of a tall tree way over on the green meadows.
he scolded bowser the hound, who happened to come trotting up the long lane, and did n't stop scolding until bowser was out of sight.
then he kicked up his heels and whisked along the old fence again.
half-way across a shaky old rail, he suddenly stopped.
his bright eyes had seen something that filled him with curiosity, quite as much curiosity as peter rabbit would have had.
it was a piece of string.
yes, sir, it was a piece of string.
now striped chipmunk often had found pieces of string, so there was nothing particularly interesting in the string itself.
what did interest him and make him very curious was the fact that this piece of string kept moving.
every few seconds it gave a little jerk.
whoever heard of a piece of string moving all by itself?
certainly striped chipmunk never had.
he could n't understand it.
for a few minutes he watched it from the top rail of the old fence.
then he scurried down to the ground and, a few steps at a time, stopping to watch sharply between each little run, he drew nearer and nearer to that queer acting string.
it gave him a funny feeling inside to see a string acting like that, so he was very careful not to get too near.
he looked at it from one side, then ran around and looked at it from the other side.
at last he got where he could see that one end of the string was under an old board, and then he began to understand.
of course there was somebody hiding under that old board and jerking the string.
-lsb- illustration: he seized the other end of the string and began to pull.
page 88.
-rsb- striped chipmunk sat down and scratched his head thoughtfully.
whoever was pulling that string could n't be very big, or they would never have been able to crawl under that old board, therefore he need n't be afraid.
a gleam of mischief twinkled in striped chipmunk's eyes.
he seized the other end of the string and began to pull.
such a jerking and yanking as began right away!
but he held on and pulled harder.
then out from under the old board appeared the queer webbed feet of grandfather frog tied together.
striped chipmunk was so surprised that he let go of the string and nearly fell over backward.
""why, grandfather frog, what under the sun are you doing here?"
he shouted.
when striped chipmunk let go of the string, grandfather frog promptly drew his feet back under the old board, but when he heard striped chipmunk's voice, he slowly and painfully crawled out.
he told how he had been caught and tied by farmer brown's boy and finally dropped near the old board.
he told how terribly frightened he was, and how sore his legs were.
striped chipmunk did n't wait for him to finish.
in a flash he was at work with his sharp teeth and had cut the cruel string before grandfather frog had finished his story.
xviii grandfather frog hurries away when striped chipmunk cut the string that bound the long legs of grandfather frog together, grandfather frog was so relieved that he hardly knew what to do.
of course he thanked striped chipmunk over and over again.
striped chipmunk said that it was nothing, just nothing at all, and that he was very glad indeed to help grandfather frog.
""we folks who live out in the great world have to help one another," said striped chipmunk, "because we never know when we may need help ourselves.
now you take my advice, grandfather frog, and go back to the smiling pool as fast as you can.
the great world is no place for an old fellow like you, because you do n't know how to take care of yourself."
now when he said that, striped chipmunk made a great mistake.
old people never like to be told that they are old or that they do not know all there is to know.
grandfather frog straightened up and tried to look very dignified.
""chugarum!"
said he, "i'd have you to know, striped chipmunk, that people were coming to me for advice before you were born.
it was just an accident that farmer brown's boy caught me, and i'd like to see him do it again.
yes, sir, i'd like to see him do it again!"
dear me, dear me!
grandfather frog was boasting.
if he had been safe at home in the smiling pool, there might have been some excuse for boasting, but way over here in the long lane, not even knowing the way back to the smiling pool, it was foolish, very foolish indeed.
no one knew that better than striped chipmunk, but he has a great deal of respect for grandfather frog, and he knew too that grandfather frog was feeling very much out of sorts and very much mortified to think that he had been caught in such a scrape, so he put a hand over his mouth to hide a smile as he said: "of course he is n't going to catch you again.
i know how wise and smart you are, but you look to me very tired, and there are so many dangers out here in the great world that it seems to me that the very best thing you can do is to go back to the smiling pool."
but grandfather frog is stubborn, you know.
he had started out to see the great world, and he did n't want the little people of the green meadows and the green forest to think that he was afraid.
the truth is, grandfather frog was more afraid of being laughed at than he was of the dangers around him, which shows just how foolish wise people can be sometimes.
so he shook his head.
""chugarum!"
said he, "i am going to see the great world first, and then i am going back to the smiling pool.
do you happen to know where there is any water?
i am very thirsty."
now over on the other side of the long lane was a spring where farmer brown's boy filled his jug with clear cold water to take with him to the cornfield when he had to work there.
striped chipmunk knew all about that spring, for he had been there for a drink many times.
so he told grandfather frog just where the spring was and how to get to it.
he even offered to show the way, but grandfather frog said that he would rather go alone.
""watch out, grandfather frog, and do n't fall in, because you might not be able to get out again," warned striped chipmunk.
grandfather frog looked up sharply to see if striped chipmunk was making fun of him.
the very idea of any one thinking that he, who had lived in the water all his life, could n't get out when he pleased!
but striped chipmunk looked really in earnest, so grandfather frog swallowed the quick retort on the tip of his tongue, thanked striped chipmunk, and hurried away to look for the spring, for he was very, very thirsty.
besides, he was very, very hot, and he hurried still faster as he thought of the cool bath he would have when he found that spring.
xix grandfather frog jumps into more trouble some people are heedless and run into trouble.
some people are stupid and walk into trouble.
grandfather frog was both heedless and stupid and jumped into trouble.
when striped chipmunk told him where the spring was, it seemed to him that he could n't wait to reach it.
you see, grandfather frog had spent all his life in the smiling pool, where he could get a drink whenever he wanted it by just reaching over the edge of his big green lily-pad.
whenever he was too warm, all he had to do was to say "chugarum!"
and dive head first into the cool water.
so he was n't used to going a long time without water.
jump, jump, jump!
grandfather frog was going as fast as ever he could in the direction striped chipmunk had pointed out.
every three or four jumps he would stop for just a wee, wee bit of rest, then off he would go again, jump, jump, jump!
and each jump was a long one.
peter rabbit certainly would have been envious if he could have seen those long jumps of grandfather frog.
at last the ground began to grow damp.
the farther he went, the damper it grew.
presently it became fairly wet, and there was a great deal of soft, cool, wet moss.
how good it did feel to grandfather frog's poor tired feet!
""must be i'm most there," said grandfather frog to himself, as he scrambled up on a big mossy hummock, so as to look around.
right away he saw a little path from the direction of the long lane.
it led straight past the very hummock on which grandfather frog was sitting, and he noticed that where the ground was very soft and wet, old boards had been laid down.
that puzzled grandfather frog a great deal.
""it's a sure enough path," said he.
""but what under the blue, blue sky does any one want to spoil it for by putting those boards there?"
you see, grandfather frog likes the soft wet mud, and he could n't understand how any one, even farmer brown's boy, could prefer a hard dry path.
of course he never had worn shoes himself, so he could n't understand why any one should want dry feet when they could just as well have wet ones.
he was still puzzling over it when he heard a sound that made him nearly lose his balance and tumble off the hummock.
it was a whistle, the whistle of farmer brown's boy!
grandfather frog knew it right away, because he often had heard it over by the smiling pool.
the whistle came from over in the long lane.
farmer brown's boy had had his dinner and was on his way back to look for grandfather frog where he had been dropped.
grandfather frog actually grinned as he thought how surprised farmer brown's boy was going to be when he could find no trace of him.
suddenly the smile seemed to freeze on grandfather frog's face.
that whistle was coming nearer!
farmer brown's boy had left the long lane and was coming along the little path.
the truth is, he was coming for a drink at the spring, but grandfather frog did n't think of this.
he was sure that in some way farmer brown's boy had found out which way he had gone and was coming after him.
he crouched down as flat as he could on the big hummock and held his breath.
farmer brown's boy went straight past.
just a few steps beyond, he stopped and knelt down.
peeping through the grass, grandfather frog saw him dip up beautiful clear water in an old cup and drink.
then grandfather frog knew just where the spring was.
a few minutes later, farmer brown's boy passed again, still whistling, on his way to the long lane.
grandfather frog waited only long enough to be sure that he had really gone.
then, with bigger jumps than ever, he started for the spring.
a dozen long jumps, and he could see the water.
two more jumps and then a long jump, and he had landed in the spring with a splash!
""chugarum!"
cried grandfather frog.
""how good the water feels!"
and all the time, grandfather frog had jumped straight into more trouble.
xx grandfather frog loses heart look before you leap; the water may be deep.
that is the very best kind of advice, but most people find that out when it is too late.
grandfather frog did.
of course he had heard that little verse all his life.
indeed, he had been very fond of saying it to those who came to the smiling pool to ask his advice.
but grandfather frog seemed to have left all his wisdom behind him when he left the smiling pool to go out into the great world.
you see, it is very hard work for any one whose advice has been sought to turn right around and take advice themselves.
so grandfather frog had been getting into scrapes ever since he started out on his foolish journey, and now here he was in still another, and he had landed in it head first, with a great splash.
of course, when he had seen the cool, sparkling water of the spring, it had seemed to him that he just could n't wait another second to get into it.
he was so hot and dry and dreadfully thirsty and uncomfortable!
and so -- oh, dear me!
-- grandfather frog did n't look at all before he leaped.
no, sir, he did n't!
he just dived in with a great long jump.
oh, how good that water felt!
for a few minutes he could n't think of anything else.
it was cooler than the water of the smiling pool, because, as you know, it was a spring.
but it felt all the better for that, and grandfather frog just closed his eyes and floated there in pure happiness.
presently he opened his eyes to look around.
then he blinked them rapidly for a minute or so.
he rubbed them to make sure that he saw aright.
his heart seemed to sink way, way down towards his toes.
""chugarum!"
exclaimed grandfather frog, "chugarum!"
and after that for a long time he did n't say a word.
you see, it was this way.
all around him rose perfectly straight smooth walls.
he could look up and see a little of the blue, blue sky right overhead and whispering leaves of trees and bushes.
over the edge of the smooth straight wall grasses were bending.
but they were so far above his head, so dreadfully far!
there was n't any place to climb out!
grandfather frog was in a prison!
he did n't understand it at all, but it was so.
of course, farmer brown's boy could have told him all about it.
a long time before farmer brown himself had found that spring, and because the water was so clear and cold and pure, he had cleared away all the dirt and rubbish around it.
then he had knocked the bottom out of a nice clean barrel and had dug down where the water bubbled up out of the sand and had set the barrel down in this hole and had filled in the bottom with clean white sand for the water to bubble up through.
about half-way up the barrel he had cut a little hole for the water to run out as fast as it bubbled in at the bottom.
of course the water never could fill the barrel, because when it reached that hole, it ran out.
this left a straight, smooth wall up above, a wall altogether too high for grandfather frog to jump over from the inside.
poor old grandfather frog!
he wished more than ever that he never, never had thought of leaving the smiling pool to see the great world.
round and round he swam, but he could n't see any way out of it.
the little hole where the water ran out was too small for him to squeeze through, as he found out by trying and trying.
so far as he could see, he had just got to stay there all the rest of his life.
worse still, he knew that farmer brown's boy sometimes came to the spring for a drink, for he had seen him do it.
that meant that the very next time he came, he would find grandfather frog, because there was no place to hide.
when grandfather frog thought of that, he just lost heart.
yes, sir, he just lost heart.
he gave up all hope of ever seeing the smiling pool again, and two big tears ran out of his big goggly eyes.
xxi the merry little breezes try to comfort grandfather frog when the merry little breezes of old mother west wind had left grandfather frog in the long lane where farmer brown's boy had dropped him, and had hurried as fast as ever they could to try to find some of his friends to help him, not one of them had been successful.
no one was at home, and no one was in any of the places where they usually were to be found.
the merry little breezes looked and looked.
then, one by one, they sadly turned back to the long lane.
they felt so badly that they just hated to go back where they had left grandfather frog.
when they got there, they found striped chipmunk, who now was scolding farmer brown's boy as fast as his tongue could go.
""where is he?"
cried the merry little breezes excitedly.
striped chipmunk stopped scolding long enough to point to farmer brown's boy, who was hunting in the grass for some trace of grandfather frog.
""we do n't mean him, you stupid!
we can see him for ourselves.
where's grandfather frog?"
cried the merry little breezes, all speaking at once.
""i do n't know," replied striped chipmunk, "and what's more, i do n't care!"
now this was n't true, for striped chipmunk is n't that kind.
it was mostly talk, and the merry little breezes knew it.
they knew that striped chipmunk really thinks a great deal of grandfather frog, just as they do.
so they pretended not to notice what he said or how put out he seemed.
after a while, he told them that he had set grandfather frog free and that then he had started for the spring on the other side of the long lane.
the merry little breezes were delighted to hear the good news, and they said such a lot of nice things to striped chipmunk that he quite forgot to scold farmer brown's boy.
then they started for the spring, dancing merrily, for they felt sure that there grandfather frog was all right, and they expected to find him quite at home.
""hello, grandfather frog!"
they shouted, as they peeped into the spring.
""how do you like your new home?"
grandfather frog made no reply.
he just rolled his great goggly eyes up at them, and they were full of tears.
""why -- why -- why, grandfather frog, what is the matter now?"
they cried.
""chugarum," said grandfather frog, and his voice sounded all choky, "i ca n't get out."
then they noticed for the first time how straight and smooth the walls of the spring were and how far down grandfather frog was, and they knew that he spoke the truth.
they tried bending down the grasses that grew around the edge of the spring, but none were long enough to reach the water.
if they had stopped to think, they would have known that grandfather frog could n't have climbed up by them, anyway.
then they tried to lift a big stick into the spring, but it was too heavy for them, and they could n't move it.
however, they did manage to blow an old shingle in, and this gave grandfather frog something to sit on, so that he began to feel a little better.
then they said all the comforting things they could think of.
they told him that no harm could come to him there, unless farmer brown's boy should happen to see him.
-lsb- illustration: "that's just what i'm afraid of!"
croaked grandfather frog.
page 109. -rsb-
""that's just what i am afraid of!"
croaked grandfather frog.
""he is sure to see me if he comes for a drink, for there is no place for me to hide."
""perhaps he wo n't come," said one of the little breezes hopefully.
""if he does come, you can hide under the piece of shingle, and then he wo n't know you are here at all," said another.
grandfather frog brightened up.
""that's so!"
said he.
""that's a good idea, and i'll try it."
then one of the merry little breezes promised to keep watch for farmer brown's boy, and all the others started off on another hunt for some one to help grandfather frog out of this new trouble.
xxii grandfather frog's troubles grow head first in; no way out; it's best to know what you're about!
grandfather frog had had plenty of time to realize how very true this is.
as he sat on the old shingle which the merry little breezes had blown into the spring where he was a prisoner, he thought a great deal about that little word "if."
if he had n't left the smiling pool, if he had n't been stubborn and set in his ways, if he had n't been in such a hurry, if he had looked to see where he was leaping -- well, any one of these ifs would have kept him out of his present trouble.
it really was n't so bad in the spring.
that is, it would n't have been so bad but for the fear that farmer brown's boy might come for a drink and find him there.
that was grandfather frog's one great fear, and it gave him bad dreams whenever he tried to take a nap.
he grew cold all over at the very thought of being caught again by farmer brown's boy, and when at last one of the merry little breezes hurried up to tell him that farmer brown's boy actually was coming, poor old grandfather frog was so frightened that the merry little breeze had to tell him twice to hide under the old shingle as it floated on the water.
at last he got it through his head, and drawing a very long breath, he dived into the water and swam under the old shingle.
he was just in time.
yes, sir, he was just in time.
if farmer brown's boy had n't been thinking of something else, he certainly would have noticed the little rings on the water made by grandfather frog when he dived in.
but he was thinking of something else, and it was n't until he dipped a cup in for the second time that he even saw the old shingle.
""hello!"
he exclaimed.
""that must have blown in since i was here yesterday.
we ca n't have anything like that in our nice spring."
with that he reached out for the old shingle, and grandfather frog, hiding under it, gave himself up for lost.
but the anxious little breeze had been watching sharply and the instant he saw what farmer brown's boy was going to do, he played the old, old trick of snatching his hat from his head.
the truth is, he could n't think of anything else to do.
farmer brown's boy grabbed at his hat, and then, because he was in a hurry and had other things to do, he started off without once thinking of the old shingle again.
""chugarum!"
cried grandfather frog, as he swam out from under the shingle and climbed up on it, "that certainly was a close call.
if i have many more like it, i certainly shall die of fright."
nothing more happened for a long time, and grandfather frog was wondering if it would n't be safe to take a nap when he saw peeping over the edge above him two eyes.
they were greenish yellow eyes, and they stared and stared.
grandfather frog stared and stared back.
he just could n't help it.
he did n't know who they belonged to.
he could n't remember ever having seen them before.
he was afraid, and yet somehow he could n't make up his mind to jump.
he stared so hard at the eyes that he did n't notice a long furry paw slowly, very slowly, reaching down towards him.
nearer it crept and nearer.
then suddenly it moved like a flash.
grandfather frog felt sharp claws in his white and yellow waistcoat, and before he could even open his mouth to cry "chugarum," he was sent flying through the air and landed on his back in the grass.
pounce!
two paws pinned him down, and the greenish yellow eyes were not an inch from his own.
they belonged to black pussy, farmer brown's cat.
xxiii the dear old smiling pool once more black pussy was having a good time.
grandfather frog was n't.
it was great fun for black pussy to slip a paw under grandfather frog and toss him up in the air.
it was still more fun to pretend to go away, but to hide instead, and the instant grandfather frog started off, to pounce upon him and cuff him and roll him about.
but there was n't any fun in it for grandfather frog.
in the first place, he did n't know whether or not black pussy liked frogs to eat, and he was terribly frightened.
in the second place, black pussy did n't always cover up her claws, and they pricked right through grandfather frog's white and yellow waistcoat and hurt, for he is very tender there.
at last black pussy grew tired of playing, so catching up grandfather frog in her mouth, she started along the little path from the spring to the long lane.
grandfather frog did n't even kick, which was just as well, because if he had, black pussy would have held him tighter, and that would have been very uncomfortable indeed.
""it's all over, and this is the end," moaned grandfather frog.
""i'm going to be eaten now.
oh, why, why did i ever leave the smiling pool?"
just as black pussy slipped into the long lane, grandfather frog heard a familiar sound.
it was a whistle, a merry whistle.
it was the whistle of farmer brown's boy.
it was coming nearer and nearer.
a little bit of hope began to stir in the heart of grandfather frog.
he did n't know just why, but it did.
always he had been in the greatest fear of farmer brown's boy, but now -- well, if farmer brown's boy should take him, he might get away from him as he did before, but he was very sure that he never, never could get away from black pussy.
the whistle drew nearer.
black pussy stopped.
then she began to make a queer whirring sound deep down in her throat.
""hello, black pussy!
have you been hunting?
come here and show me what you've got," cried a voice.
black pussy arched up her back and began to rub against the legs of farmer brown's boy, and all the time the whir, ring sound in her throat grew louder and louder.
farmer brown's boy stooped down to see what she had in her mouth.
""why," he exclaimed, "i do believe this is the very same old frog that got away from me!
you do n't want him, puss.
i'll just put him in my pocket and take him up to the house by and by."
with that he took grandfather frog from black pussy and dropped him in his pocket.
he patted black pussy, called her a smart cat, and then started on his way, whistling merrily.
it was dark and rather close in that pocket, but grandfather frog did n't mind this.
it was a lot better than feeling sharp teeth and claws all the time.
he wondered how soon they would reach the house and what would happen to him then.
after what seemed like a long, long time, he felt himself swung through the air, and then he landed on the ground with a thump that made him grunt.
farmer brown's boy had taken off his coat and thrown it down.
the whistling stopped.
everything was quiet.
grandfather frog waited and listened, but not a sound could he hear.
then he saw a little ray of light creeping into his prison.
he squirmed and pushed, and all of a sudden he was out of the pocket.
the bright light made him blink.
as soon as he could see, he looked to see where he was.
then he rubbed his eyes with both hands and looked again.
he was n't at farmer brown's house at all.
where do you think he was?
why, right on the bank of the smiling pool, and a little way off was farmer brown's boy fishing!
""chugarum!"
cried grandfather frog, and it was the loudest, gladdest chugarum that the smiling pool ever had heard.
""chugarum!"
he cried again, and with a great leap he dived with a splash into the dear old smiling pool, which smiled more than ever.
and never again has grandfather frog tried to see the great world.
he is quite content to leave it to those who like to dwell there.
and since his own wonderful adventures, he has been ready to believe anything he is told about what happens there.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_jerry_muskrat.txt.out
chapter i: jerry muskrat has a fright what was it mother muskrat had said about farmer brown's boy and his traps?
jerry muskrat sat on the edge of the big rock and kicked his heels while he tried to remember.
the fact is, jerry had not half heeded.
he had been thinking of other things.
besides, it seemed to him that mother muskrat was altogether foolish about a great many things.
""pooh!"
said jerry, throwing out his chest, "i guess i can take care of myself without being tied to my mother's apron strings!
what if farmer brown's boy is setting traps around the smiling pool?
i guess he ca n't fool your uncle jerry.
he is n't so smart as he thinks he is; i can fool him any day."
jerry chuckled.
he was thinking of how he had once fooled farmer brown's boy into thinking a big trout was on his hook.
slowly jerry slid into the smiling pool and swam over towards his favorite log.
peter rabbit stuck his head over the edge of the bank.
""hi, jerry," he shouted, "last night i saw farmer brown's boy coming over this way with a lot of traps.
better watch out!"
""go chase yourself, peter rabbit.
i guess i can look out for myself," replied jerry, just a little crossly.
peter made a wry face and started for the sweet clover patch.
hardly was he out of sight when billy mink and bobby coon came down the laughing brook together.
they seemed very much excited.
when they saw jerry muskrat, they beckoned for him to come over where they were, and when he got there, they both talked at once, and it was all about farmer brown's boy and his traps.
""you'd better watch out, jerry," warned billy mink, who is a great traveler and has had wide experience.
""oh, i guess i'm able to take care of myself," said jerry airily, and once more started for his favorite log.
and what do you suppose he was thinking about as he swam along?
he was wishing that he knew what a trap looked like, for despite his boasting he did n't even know what he was to look out for.
as he drew near his favorite log, something tickled his nose.
he stopped swimming to sniff and sniff.
my, how good it did smell!
and it seemed to come right straight from the old log.
jerry began to swim as fast as he could.
in a few minutes he scrambled out on the old log.
then jerry rubbed his eyes three times to be sure that he saw aright.
there were luscious pieces of carrot lying right in front of him.
now there is nothing that jerry muskrat likes better than carrot.
so he did n't stop to wonder how it got there.
he just reached out for the nearest piece and ate it.
then he reached for the next piece and ate it.
then he did a funny little dance just for joy.
when he was quite out of breath, he sat down to rest.
snap!
something had jerry muskrat by the tail!
jerry squealed with fright and pain.
oh, how it did hurt!
he twisted and turned, but he was held fast and could not see what had him.
then he pulled and pulled, until it seemed as if his tail would pull off.
but it did n't.
so he kept pulling, and pretty soon the thing let go so suddenly that jerry tumbled head first into the water.
when he reached home, mother muskrat did his sore tail up for him.
""what did i tell you about traps?"
she asked severely.
jerry stopped crying.
""was that a trap?"
he asked.
then he remembered that in his fright he did n't even see it.
""oh, dear," he moaned, "i would n't know one to-day if i met it."
chapter ii: the convention at the big rock jolly round, red mr. sun looked down on the smiling pool.
he almost forgot to keep on climbing up in the blue sky, he was so interested in what he saw there.
what do you think it was?
why, it was a convention at the big rock, the queerest convention he ever had seen.
your papa would say that it was a mass-meeting of angry citizens.
maybe it was, but that is a pretty long term.
anyway, mother muskrat said it was a convention, and she ought to know, for she is the one who had called it.
of course jerry muskrat was there, and his uncles and aunts and all his cousins.
billy mink was there, and all his relations, even old grandfather mink, who has lost most of his teeth and is a little hard of hearing.
little joe otter was there, with his father and mother and all his relations even to his third cousins.
bobby coon was there, and he had brought with him every coon of his acquaintance who ever fished in the smiling pool or along the laughing brook.
and everybody was looking very solemn, very solemn indeed.
when the last one had arrived, mother muskrat climbed up on the big rock and called jerry muskrat up beside her, where all could see him.
then she made a speech.
""friends of the smiling pool and laughing brook," began mrs. muskrat, "i have called you together to show you what has happened to my son jerry and to ask your advice."
she stopped and pointed to jerry's sore tail.
""what do you think did that?"
she demanded.
""probably jerry's been in a fight and got whipped," said bobby coon to his neighbor, for bobby coon is a graceless young scamp and does not always show proper respect to his neighbors.
mrs. muskrat glared at him, for she had overheard the remark.
then she held up one hand to command silence.
""friends, it was a trap -- a trap set by farmer brown's boy!
a trap to catch you and me and our children!"
said she solemnly.
""it is no longer safe for our little folks to play around the smiling pool or along the laughing brook.
what are we going to do about it?"
everybody looked at everybody else in dismay.
then everybody began to talk at once, and if farmer brown's boy could have heard all the things said about him, his cheeks certainly would have burned.
indeed, i am afraid that they would have blistered.
such excitement!
everybody had a different idea, and nobody would listen to anybody else.
old mr. mink lost his temper and called grandpa otter a meddlesome know-nothing.
it looked very much as if the convention was going to break up in a sad quarrel.
then mr. coon climbed up on the big rock and with a stick pounded for silence.
""i move," said he, "that in as much as we can not agree, we tell great-grandfather frog all about the danger and ask his advice, for he is very old and very wise and remembers when the world was young.
all in favor please raise their right hands."
at once the air was full of hands, and everybody was good-natured once more.
so it was agreed to call in great-grandfather frog.
chapter iii: the oracle of the smiling pool grandfather frog sat on his big green lily-pad with his eyes half closed, for all the world as if he knew nothing about the meeting at the big rock.
of course he did know, for there is n't much going on around the smiling pool which he does n't see or at least hear all about.
the merry little breezes, who are here, there, and everywhere, told him all that was going on, so that when he saw jerry muskrat and little joe otter swimming towards him, he knew what they were coming for.
but he pretended to be very much surprised when jerry muskrat very politely said: "good morning, grandfather frog."
""good morning, jerry muskrat.
you're out early this morning," replied grandfather frog.
""if you please, you are wanted over at the big rock," said jerry.
grandfather frog's eyes twinkled, but he made his voice very deep and gruff as he replied: "chugarum!
you're a scamp, jerry muskrat, and little joe otter is another.
what trick are you trying to play on me now?"
jerry muskrat and little joe otter looked a wee bit sheepish, for it was true that they were forever trying to play tricks on grandfather frog.
""really and truly, grandfather frog, there is n't any trick this time," said jerry.
""there is a meeting at the big rock to try to decide what to do to keep farmer brown's boy from setting traps around the smiling pool and along the laughing brook, and everybody wants your advice, because you are so old and so wise.
please come."
grandfather frog smoothed down his white and yellow waistcoat and pretended to think the matter over very seriously, while jerry and little joe fidgeted impatiently.
finally he spoke.
""i am very old, as you have said, jerry muskrat, and it is a long way over to the big rock."
""get right on my back and i'll take you over there," said jerry eagerly.
""i'm afraid that you'll spill me off," replied grandfather frog.
""no, i wo n't; just try me and see," begged jerry.
so grandfather frog climbed on jerry muskrat's back, and jerry started for the big rock as fast as he could go.
when all the minks and the otters and the coons and the muskrats saw them coming, they gave a great shout, for grandfather frog is sometimes called the oracle of the smiling pool.
you know an oracle is one who is very wise.
bobby coon helped grandfather frog up on the big rock, and when he had made himself comfortable, mrs. muskrat told him all about farmer brown's boy and his traps, and how jerry had been caught in one by the tail, and she ended by asking for his advice, because they all knew that he was so wise.
when she said this, grandfather frog puffed himself up until it seemed as if his white and yellow waistcoat would surely burst.
he sat very still for a while and gazed straight at jolly, round, red mr. sun without blinking once.
then he spoke in a very deep voice.
""to-morrow morning at sunrise i will tell you what to do," said he.
and not another word could they get out of him.
chapter iv: grandfather frog's plan just as old mother west wind and her merry little breezes came down from the purple hills, and jolly, round, red mr. sun threw his nightcap off and began his daily climb up in the blue sky, great-grandfather frog climbed up on the big rock in the smiling pool.
early as he was, all the little people who live along the laughing brook and around the smiling pool were waiting for him.
bobby coon had found two traps set by farmer brown's boy, and billy mink had almost stepped in a third.
no one felt safe any more, yet no one knew what to do.
so they all waited for the advice of great-grandfather frog, who, you know, is accounted very, very wise.
grandfather frog cleared his throat.
""chugarum!"
said he.
""you must find all the traps that farmer brown's boy has set."
""how are we going to do it?"
asked bobby coon.
""by looking for them," replied grandfather frog tartly.
bobby coon looked foolish and slipped out of sight behind his mother.
""all the coons and all the minks must search along the banks of the laughing brook, and all the muskrats and all the otters must search along the banks of the smiling pool.
you must use your eyes and your noses.
when you find things good to eat where you have never found them before, watch out!
when you get the first whiff of the man-smell, watch out!
billy mink, you are small and quick, and your eyes are sharp.
you sit here on the big rock until you see farmer brown's boy coming.
then go hide in the bulrushes where you can watch him, but where he can not see you.
follow him everywhere he goes around the smiling pool or along the laughing brook.
without knowing it, he will show you where every trap is hidden.
""when all the traps have been found, drop a stick or a stone in each.
that will spring them, and then they will be harmless.
then you can bury them deep in the mud.
but do n't eat any of the food until you have sprung all of the traps, for just as likely as not you will get caught.
when all the traps have been sprung, why not bring all the good things to eat which you find around them to the big rock and have a grand feast?"
""hurrah for grandfather frog!
that's a great idea!"
shouted little joe otter, turning a somersault in the water.
every one agreed with little joe otter, and immediately they began to plan a grand hunt for the traps of farmer brown's boy.
the muskrats and the otters started to search the banks of the smiling pool, and the coons and the minks, all but billy, started for the laughing brook.
billy climbed up on the big rock to watch, and grandfather frog slowly swam back to his big green lily-pad to wait for some foolish green flies for his breakfast.
chapter v: a busy day at the smiling pool everybody was excited.
yes, sir, everybody in the smiling pool and along the laughing brook was just bubbling over with excitement.
even spotty the turtle, who usually takes everything so calmly that some people think him stupid, climbed up on the highest point of an old log where he could see what was going on.
only grandfather frog, sitting on his big green lily-pad and watching for foolish green flies for his breakfast, appeared not to know that something unusual was going on.
really, he was just as much excited as the rest, but because he is very old and accounted very, very wise, it would not do for him to show it.
what was it all about?
why, all the minks and the coons and the otters and the muskrats, who live and play around the smiling pool and the laughing brook, were hunting for traps.
yes, sir, they were hunting for traps set by farmer brown's boy, just as grandfather frog had advised them to.
jerry muskrat and little joe otter were hunting together.
they were swimming along close to shore just where the laughing brook leaves the smiling pool, when jerry wrinkled up his funny little nose and stopped swimming.
sniff, sniff, sniff, went jerry muskrat.
then little cold shivers ran down his backbone and way out to the tip of his tail.
""what is it?"
asked little joe otter.
""it's the man-smell," whispered jerry.
just then little joe otter gave a long sniff.
""my, i smell fish!"
he cried, his eyes sparkling, and started in the direction from which the smell came.
he swam faster than jerry, and in a minute he shouted in delight.
""hi, jerry!
some one's left a fish on the edge of the bank: what a feast!"
jerry hurried as fast as he could swim, his eyes popping out with fright, for the nearer he got, the stronger grew that dreadful man-smell.
""do n't touch it," he panted.
""do n't touch it, joe otter!"
little joe laughed.
""what's the matter, jerry?
"fraid i'll eat it all up before you get here?"
he asked, as he reached out for the fish.
""stop!"
shrieked jerry, and gave little joe a push, just as the latter touched the fish.
snap!
a pair of wicked steel jaws flew together and caught little joe otter by a claw of one toe.
if it had n't been for jerry's push, he would have been caught by a foot.
""oh!
oh!
oh!"
cried little joe otter.
""next time i guess you'll remember what grandfather frog said about watching out when you find things to eat where they never were before," said jerry, as he helped little joe pull himself free from the trap.
but he left the claw behind and had a dreadfully sore toe as a result.
then they buried the trap deep down in the mud and started to look for another.
all around the smiling pool and along the laughing brook their cousins and uncles and aunts and friends were just as busy, and every once in a while some one would have just as narrow an escape as little joe otter.
and all the time up at the farmhouse farmer brown's boy was planning what he would do with the skins of the little animals he was sure he would catch in his traps.
chapter vi: farmer brown's boy is puzzled farmer brown's boy was whistling merrily as he tramped down across the green meadows.
the merry little breezes saw him coming, and they raced over to the smiling pool to tell billy mink.
farmer brown's boy was coming to visit his traps.
he was very sure that he would find billy mink or little joe otter, or jerry muskrat, or perhaps bobby coon.
billy mink was sitting on top of the big rock.
he saw the merry little breezes racing across the green meadows, and behind them he saw farmer brown's boy.
billy mink dived head first into the smiling pool.
then he swam over to jerry muskrat's house and warned jerry.
together they hunted up little joe otter, and then the three little scamps in brown hid in the bulrushes, where they could watch farmer brown's boy.
the first place farmer brown's boy visited was jerry muskrat's old log.
very cautiously he peeped over the edge of the bank.
the trap was gone!
""hurrah!"
shouted farmer brown's boy.
he was very much excited, as he caught hold of the end of the chain, which fastened it to the old log.
he was sure that at last he had caught jerry muskrat.
when he pulled the trap up, it was empty.
between the jaws were a few hairs and a little bit of skin, which jerry muskrat had left there when he sprung the trap with his tail.
farmer brown's boy was disappointed.
""well, i'll get him to-morrow, anyway," said he to himself.
then he went on to his next trap; it was nowhere to be seen.
when he pulled the chain he was so excited that he trembled.
the trap did not come up at once.
he pulled and pulled, and then suddenly up it came, all covered with mud.
in it was one little claw from little joe otter.
very carefully farmer brown's boy set the trap again.
if he could have looked over in the bulrushes and have seen little joe otter and billy mink and jerry muskrat watching him and tickling and laughing, he would not have been so sure that next time he would catch little joe otter.
all around the smiling pool and then up and down the laughing brook farmer brown's boy tramped, and each trap he found sprung and buried in the mud.
he had stopped whistling by this time, and there was a puzzled frown on his freckled face.
what did it mean?
could some other boy have found all his traps and played a trick by springing all of them?
the more he thought about it, the more puzzled he became.
you see, he did not know anything about the busy day the minks and the otters and the muskrats and the coons had spent the day before.
old grandfather frog, sitting on his big green lily-pad, smoothed down his white and yellow waistcoat and winked up at jolly, round, red mr. sun as farmer brown's boy tramped off across the green meadows.
""chugarum!"
said grandfather frog, as he snapped up a foolish green fly.
""much good it will do you to set those traps again!"
then grandfather frog called to billy mink and sent him to tell all the other little people of the smiling pool and the laughing brook that they must hurry and spring all the traps again as they had before.
this time it was easy, because they knew just where the traps were, so all day long they dropped sticks and stones into the traps and once more sprung them.
then they prepared for a grand feast of the good things to eat which farmer brown's boy had left, scattered around the traps.
chapter vii: jerry muskrat makes a discovery the beautiful springtime had brought a great deal of happiness to the smiling pool, as it had to the green meadows and to the green forest.
great-grandfather frog, who had slept the long winter away in his own special bed way down in the mud, had waked up with an appetite so great that for a while it seemed as if he could think of nothing but his stomach.
jerry muskrat had felt the spring fever in his bones and had gone up and down the laughing brook, poking into all kinds of places just for the fun of seeing new things.
little joe otter had been more full of fun than ever, if that were possible.
mr. and mrs. redwing had come back to the bulrushes from their winter home way down in the warm southland.
everybody was happy, just as happy as could be.
one sunny morning jerry muskrat sat on the big rock in the middle of the smiling pool, just thinking of how happy everybody was and laughing at little joe otter, who was cutting up all sorts of capers in the water.
suddenly jerry's sharp eyes saw something that made him wrinkle his forehead in a puzzled frown and look and look at the opposite bank.
finally he called to little joe otter.
""hi, little joe!
come over here!"
shouted jerry.
""what for?"
asked little joe, turning a somersault in the water.
""i want you to see if there is anything wrong with my eyes," replied jerry.
little joe otter stopped swimming and stared up at jerry muskrat.
""they look all right to me," said he, as he started to climb up on the big rock.
""of course they look all right," replied jerry, "but what i want to know is if they see all right.
look over at that bank."
little joe otter looked over at the bank.
he stared and stared, but he did n't see anything unusual.
it looked just as it always did.
he told jerry muskrat so.
""then it must be my eyes," sighed jerry.
""it certainly must be my eyes.
it looks to me as if the water does not come as high up on the bank as it did yesterday."
little joe otter looked again and his eyes opened wide.
""you are right, jerry muskrat!"
he cried.
""there's nothing the matter with your eyes.
the water is as low as it ever gets, even in the very middle of summer.
what can it mean?"
""i do n't know," replied jerry muskrat.
""it is queer!
it certainly is very queer!
let's go ask grandfather frog.
you know he is very old and very wise, so perhaps he can tell us what it means."
splash!
jerry muskrat and little joe otter dived into the smiling pool and started a race to see who could reach grandfather frog first.
he was sitting among the bulrushes on the edge of the smiling pool, for the lily-pads were not yet big enough for him to sit on comfortably.
""oh, grandfather frog, what's the matter with the smiling pool?"
they shouted, as they came up quite out of breath.
""chugarum!
there's nothing the matter with the smiling pool; it's the best place in all the world," replied grandfather frog gruffly.
""but there is something the matter," insisted jerry muskrat, and then he told what he had discovered.
""i do n't believe it," said grandfather frog.
""i never heard of such a thing in the springtime."
chapter viii: grandfather frog watches his toes grandfather frog sat among the bulrushes on the edge of the smiling pool.
over his head mr. redwing was singing as if his heart would burst with the very joy of springtime.
""tra-la-la-lee, see me!
see me!
happy am i as i can be!
happy am i the whole day long and so i sing my gladsome song."
of course mr. redwing was happy.
why should n't he be?
here it was the beautiful springtime, the gladdest time of all the year, the time when happiness creeps into everybody's heart.
grandfather frog listened.
he nodded his head.
""chugarum!
i'm happy, too," said grandfather frog.
but even as he said it, a little worried look crept into his big goggly eyes and then down to the corners of his big mouth, which had been stretched in a smile.
little by little the smile grew smaller and smaller, until there was n't any smile.
no, sir, there was n't any smile.
instead of looking happy, as he said he felt, grandfather frog actually looked unhappy.
the fact is he could n't forget what jerry muskrat and little joe otter had told him -- that there was something the matter with the smiling pool.
he did n't believe it, not a word of it.
at least he tried to make himself think that he did n't believe it.
they had said that the water in the smiling pool was growing lower and lower, just as it did in the middle of summer, in the very hottest weather.
now grandfather frog is very old and very wise, and he had never heard of such a thing happening in the springtime.
so he would n't believe it now.
and yet -- and yet grandfather frog had an uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong.
ha!
he knew now what it was!
he had been sitting up to his middle in water, and now he was sitting with only his toes in the water, and he could n't remember having changed his position!
""of course, i moved without thinking what i was doing," muttered grandfather frog, but still the worried look did n't leave his face.
you see he just could n't make himself believe what he wanted to believe, try as he would.
""chugarum!
i know what i'll do; i'll watch my toes!"
exclaimed grandfather frog.
so grandfather frog waded out into the water until it covered his feet, and then he sat down and began to watch his toes.
mr. redwing looked down and saw him, and grandfather frog looked so funny gazing at his own toes that mr. redwing stopped singing long enough to ask: "what are you doing, grandfather frog?"
""watching my toes," replied grandfather frog gruffly.
""watching your toes!
ho, ho, ho!
watching your toes!
who ever heard of such a thing?
are you afraid that they will run away, grandfather frog?"
shouted mr. redwing.
grandfather frog did n't answer.
he kept right on watching his toes.
mr. redwing flew away to tell everybody he met how grandfather frog had become foolish and was watching his toes.
the sun shone down warm and bright, and pretty soon grandfather frog's big goggly eyes began to blink.
then his head began to nod, and then -- why, then grandfather frog fell fast asleep.
by and by grandfather frog awoke with a start.
he looked down at his toes.
they were not in the water at all!
indeed, the water was a good long jump away.
""chugarum!
there is something wrong with the smiling pool!"
cried grandfather frog, as he made a long jump into the water and started to swim out to the big rock.
chapter ix: the laughing brook stops laughing there was something wrong.
grandfather frog knew it the very minute he got up that morning.
at first he could n't think what it was.
he sat with just his head out of water and blinked his great goggly eyes, as he tried to think what it was that was wrong.
suddenly grandfather frog realized how still it was.
it was a different kind of stillness from anything he could ever remember.
he missed something, and he could n't think what it was.
it was n't the song of mr. redwing.
there were many times when he did n't hear that.
it was -- grand-father frog gave a startled jump out on to the shore.
""chugarum!
it's the laughing brook!
the laughing brook has stopped laughing!"
cried grandfather frog.
could it be?
who ever heard of such a thing, excepting when jack frost bound the laughing brook with hard black ice?
why, in the spring and in the summer and in the fall the laughing brook had laughed -- such a merry, happy laugh -- ever since grandfather frog could remember, and you know he can remember way back in the long ago, for he is very old and very wise.
never once in all that time had the laughing brook failed to laugh.
it could n't be true now!
grandfather frog put a hand behind one ear and listened and listened, but not a sound could he hear.
""chugarum!
it must be me," said grandfather frog.
""it must be that i am growing old and deaf.
i'll go over and ask jerry muskrat."
so grandfather frog dove into the water and swam out to the middle of the smiling pool, on his way to jerry muskrat's house.
it was then that he first fully realized the truth of what jerry muskrat and little joe otter had told him the day before -- that there was something very, very wrong with the smiling pool.
he stopped swimming to look around, and it seemed as if his great goggly eyes would pop right out of his head.
yes, sir, it seemed as if those great goggly eyes certainly would pop right out of grandfather frog's head.
the smiling pool had grown so small that there was n't enough of it left to smile!
""where are you going, grandfather frog?"
asked a voice over his head.
grandfather frog looked up.
looking down on him from over the edge of the big rock was jerry muskrat.
the edge of the big rock was twice as high above the water as grandfather frog had ever seen it before.
""i -- i -- was going to swim over to your house to see you," replied grandfather frog.
""it's of no use," replied jerry, "because i'm not there.
besides, you could n't swim there, anyway."
""why not?"
demanded grandfather frog in great surprise.
""because it is n't in the water any longer; it's way up on dry land," said jerry muskrat in the most mournful voice.
""what's that you say?"
cried grandfather frog, as if he could n't believe his own ears.
""it's just as true as that i'm sitting here," replied jerry sadly.
""listen, jerry muskrat, and tell me truly; is the laughing brook laughing?"
cried grandfather frog sharply.
""no," replied jerry, "the laughing brook has stopped laughing, and the smiling pool has stopped smiling, and i think the world is upside down."
chapter x: why the world seemed upside down to jerry muskrat jerry muskrat sat on the big rock in the smiling pool, which smiled no longer, and held his head in both hands, for his head ached.
he had thought and thought and thought, until it seemed to him that his head would split; and with all his thinking, he did n't understand things any more now than he had in the beginning.
you see, jerry muskrat's little world was topsy-turvy.
yes, sir, jerry's world was upside down!
anyway, it seemed so to him, and he could n't understand it at all.
the smiling pool, the laughing brook, and the green meadows are jerry muskrat's little world.
now, as he sat on the big rock and looked about him, the green meadows were as lovely as ever.
he could see no change in them.
but the laughing brook had stopped laughing, and the smiling pool had stopped smiling.
the truth is there was n't enough of the laughing brook left to laugh, and there was n't enough of the smiling pool left to smile.
it was dreadful!
jerry looked over to his house, of which he had once been so proud.
he had built it with the doorway under water.
he had felt perfectly safe there, because no one excepting billy mink or little joe otter, who can swim under water, could reach him.
now the smiling pool had grown so small that jerry's house was n't in the water at all.
anybody who wanted to could get into it.
there was the doorway plainly to be seen.
worse still, there was the secret entrance to the long tunnel leading to his castle under the roots of the big hickory-tree.
that had been jerry's most secret secret, and now there it was for all the world to see.
and there were all the wonderful caves and holes and hiding-places under the bank which had been known only to jerry muskrat and billy mink and little joe otter, because the openings had always been under water.
now anybody could find them, for they were plainly to be seen.
and where had always been smiling, dimpling water, jerry saw only mud.
it was mud, mud, mud everywhere!
the bulrushes, which had always grown with their feet in the water, now had them only in mud, and that was fast drying up.
the lily-pads lay half curled up at the ends of their long stems, stretched out on the mud, and looked very, very sick.
jerry turned towards the laughing brook.
there was just a little, teeny, weeny stream of water trickling down the middle of it, with here and there a tiny pool in which frightened trout and minnows were crowded.
all the secrets of the laughing brook were exposed, just as were the secrets of the smiling pool.
jerry knew that if he wanted to find billy mink's hiding-places, all he need do would be to walk up the laughing brook and look.
""yes, sir, the world has turned upside down," said jerry in a mournful voice.
""i believe it has," replied grandfather frog, looking up from the little pool of water left at the foot of the big rock.
""i know it has!"
cried jerry.
""i wonder if it will ever turn upside up again."
""if it does n't, what are you going to do?"
asked grandfather frog.
""i do n't know," replied jerry muskrat.
""here come little joe otter and billy mink; let's find out what they are going to do."
chapter xi: five heads together something had to be done.
jerry muskrat said so.
grandfather frog said so.
billy mink said so.
little joe otter said so.
even spotty the turtle said so.
the laughing brook could n't laugh, and the smiling pool could n't smile.
you see, there was n't water enough in either of them to laugh or smile, and nobody knew if there ever would be again.
nobody had ever known anything like it before, and so nobody knew what to think or do.
and yet they all felt that something must be done.
""what do you think, billy mink?"
asked grandfather frog.
billy mink looked down from the top of the big rock into the little pool of water that was all there was left of the smiling pool.
he could see a dozen fat trout in it, and he knew that he could catch them just as easily as not, because there was no place for them to swim away from him.
but somehow he did n't want to catch them.
he knew that they were frightened almost to death already by the running away of nearly all the water from the laughing brook and the smiling pool, and somehow he felt sorry for them.
""i think that the best thing we can do is to move down to the big river.
i've been down there, and that's all right," said billy mink.
""that's what i think," said little joe otter.
""there's no danger that the big river will go dry."
""how do you know?"
asked jerry muskrat.
""the laughing brook and the smiling pool never went dry before."
""it's a long, long way down to the big river," broke in spotty the turtle, who travels very, very slowly and carries his house with him.
""chugarum!
i, for one, do n't want to leave the smiling pool without finding out what the trouble is.
""there's nothing happens, as you know, but has a cause to make it so.
""now there must be some cause, some reason, for this terrible trouble with the smiling pool, and if we can find that out, perhaps we shall know better what to do," said grandfather frog.
jerry muskrat nodded his head.
""grandfather frog is right," said he.
""of course there must be a cause, but where are we to look for it?
i've been all over the smiling pool, and i'm sure it is n't there."
grandfather frog actually smiled.
""chugarum!"
said he.
""of course the cause of all the trouble is n't in the smiling pool.
any one would know that!"
""well, if you know so much, tell us where it is then!"
snapped jerry muskrat.
""in the laughing brook, of course," replied grandfather frog.
""no such thing!"
said billy mink.
""i've been all the way down the laughing brook to the big river, and i did n't find a thing."
""have you been all the way up the laughing brook to the place it starts from?"
asked grandfather frog.
""no-o," replied billy mink.
""well, that's where the cause of all the trouble is," said grandfather frog, just as if he knew all about it.
""it's the water that comes down the laughing brook that makes the smiling pool, and the smiling pool never could dry up if the laughing brook did n't first stop running."
""that's so!
i never had thought of that," cried little joe otter.
""i tell you what, billy mink and i will go way up the laughing brook and see what we can find."
""chugarum!
let us all go," said grandfather frog.
then the five put their heads together and decided that they would go up the laughing brook to hunt for the trouble.
chapter xii: a hunt for trouble ol' mistah buzzard, sailing high in the blue, blue sky, looked down on a funny sight.
yes, sir, it certainly was a funny sight.
it was a little procession of five of his friends of the smiling pool.
first was billy mink, who, because he is slim and nimble, moves so quickly it sometimes is hard to follow him.
behind him was little joe otter, whose legs are so short that he almost looks as if he had n't any.
behind little joe was jerry muskrat, who is a better traveler in the water than on land.
behind jerry was grandfather frog, who neither walks nor runs but travels with great jumps.
last of all was spotty the turtle, who travels very, very slowly because, you know, he carries his house with him.
and all five were headed up the laughing brook, which laughed no more, because there was not water enough in it.
now ol' mistah buzzard had n't been over near the smiling pool for some time, and he had n't heard how the smiling pool had stopped smiling, and the laughing brook had stopped laughing.
when he looked down and saw how the water was so nearly gone from them that the trout and the minnows had hardly enough in which to live, he was so surprised that he kept saying over and over to himself: "fo" the lan's sake!
fo" the lan's sake!"
then, when he saw his five little friends marching up the laughing brook, he guessed right away that it must be something to do with the trouble in the smiling pool.
ol' mistah buzzard just turned his broad wings and slid down, down out of the blue, blue sky until he was right over grandfather frog.
""where are yo'alls going?"
asked ol' mistah buzzard.
""chugarum!
to find out what is the trouble with the laughing brook," replied grandfather frog.
""i'll help you," said ol' mistah buzzard, once more sailing up in the blue, blue sky.
grandfather frog watched him until he was nothing but a speck.
""i wish i had wings," sighed grandfather frog, and once more began to hop along up the bed of the laughing brook.
the laughing brook came down from the green forest and wound through the green meadows for a little way before it reached the smiling pool.
there the sun shone down into it, and grandfather frog did n't mind, although his legs were getting tired.
but when they got into the green forest it was dark and gloomy.
at least grandfather frog thought so, and so did spotty the turtle, for both dearly love the sunshine.
but still they kept on, for they felt that they must find the trouble with the laughing brook.
if they found this, they would also find the trouble with the smiling pool.
so billy mink jumped and skipped far ahead; little joe otter ran; jerry muskrat walked, for he soon gets tired on land; grandfather frog hopped; spotty the turtle crawled, and way, way up in the blue, blue sky, of mistah buzzard flew, all looking for the trouble which had stopped the laughing of the laughing brook and the smiling of the smiling pool.
chapter xiii: ol' mistah buzzard sees something "wait for me!"
cried little joe otter to billy mink, but billy mink was in too much of a hurry and just ran faster.
""wait for me!"
cried jerry muskrat to little joe otter, but little joe was in too much of a hurry and just ran faster.
""wait for me!"
cried grandfather frog to jerry muskrat, but jerry was in too much of a hurry and just walked faster.
""wait for me!"
cried spotty the turtle to grandfather frog, but grandfather frog was in too much of a hurry and just jumped faster.
so running and walking and jumping and crawling, billy mink, little joe otter, jerry muskrat, grandfather frog, and spotty the turtle hurried up the laughing brook to try to find out why it laughed no more.
and high overhead in the blue, blue sky sailed ol' mistah buzzard, and he also was looking for the trouble that had taken away the laugh from the laughing brook and the smile from the smiling pool.
now ol' mistah buzzard's eyes are very sharp, and looking down from way up in the blue, blue sky he can see a great deal.
indeed, ol' mistah buzzard can see all that is going on below on the green meadows and in the green forest.
his wings are very broad, and he can sail through the air very swiftly when he makes up his mind to.
now, as he looked down, he saw that billy mink was selfish and would n't wait for little joe otter, and little joe otter was selfish and would n't wait for jerry muskrat, and jerry muskrat was selfish and would n't wait for grandfather frog, and grandfather frog was selfish and would n't wait for spotty the turtle.
""ah reckon ah will hurry up right smart and find out what the trouble is mahself, and then go back and tell brer turtle; it will save him a powerful lot of work, and it will serve brer mink right if brer turtle finds out first what is the trouble with the laughing brook," said ol' mistah buzzard and shot far ahead over the green forest towards that part of it from which the laughing brook comes.
in a few minutes he was as far ahead of billy mink as billy was ahead of spotty the turtle.
for wings are swifter far than legs, on whatsoever purpose bent, but doubly swift and tireless those wings on kindly deed intent.
and this is how it happened that ol' mistah buzzard was the first to find out what it was that had stopped the laughing of the laughing brook and the smiling of the smiling pool, but he was so surprised when he did find out, that he forgot all about going back to tell spotty the turtle.
he forgot everything but his own great surprise, and he blinked his eyes a great many times to make sure that he was n't dreaming.
then he sailed around and around in circles, looking down among the trees of the green forest and saying over and over to himself: "did yo" ever?
no, ah never!
did yo" ever?
no, ah never!"
chapter xiv: spotty the turtle keeps right on going "one step, two steps, three steps, so!
four steps, five steps, six steps go!
keep right on and do your best; mayhap you'll win while others rest."
spotty the turtle said this over to himself every time he felt a little down-hearted, as he plodded along the bed of the laughing brook.
and every time he said it, he felt better.
""one step, two steps," he kept saying over and over, and each time he said it, he took a step and then another.
they were very short steps, very short steps indeed, for spotty's legs are very short.
but each one carried him forward just so much, and he knew that he was just so much nearer the thing he was seeking.
anyway, he hoped he was.
you see, if the laughing brook would never laugh any more, and the smiling pool would never smile any more, there was nothing to do but to go down to the big river to live, and no one wanted to do that, especially grandfather frog and spotty the turtle.
now, because billy mink could go faster than little joe otter, and little joe otter could go faster than jerry muskrat, and jerry could go faster than grandfather frog, and grandfather frog could go faster than spotty the turtle, and because each one wanted to be the first to find the trouble, no one would wait for the one behind him.
so spotty the turtle, who has to carry his house with him, was a long, long way behind the others.
but he kept right on going.
""one step, two steps, three steps, so!"
and he did n't stop for anything.
he crawled over sticks and around big stones and sometimes, when he found a little pool of water, he swam.
he always felt better then, because he can swim faster than he can walk.
after a long, long time, spotty the turtle came to a little pool where the sunshine lay warm and inviting.
there, in the middle of it, on a mossy stone, sat grandfather frog fast asleep.
he had thought that he was so far ahead of spotty that he could safely rest his tired legs.
spotty wanted to climb right up beside him and take a nap too, but he did n't.
he just grinned and kept right on going.
""one step, two steps, three steps, so!"
while grandfather frog slept on.
by and by, after a long, long time spotty came to another little pool, and who should he see but jerry muskrat busily opening and eating some freshwater clams which he had found there.
he was so busy enjoying himself that he did n't see spotty, and spotty did n't say a word, but kept right on going, although the sight of jerry's feast had made him dreadfully hungry.
by and by, after a long, long time, he came to a third little pool with a high, smooth bank, and who should he see there but little joe otter, who had made a slippery slide down the smooth bank and was having a glorious time sliding down into the little pool.
spotty would have liked to take just one slide, but he did n't.
he did n't even let little joe otter see him, but kept right on going.
""one step, two steps, three steps, so!"
by and by, after a long, long time, he came to a hollow log, and just happening to peep in, he saw some one curled up fast asleep.
who was it?
why, billy mink, to be sure!
you see, billy thought that he was so far ahead that he might just as well take it easy, and that was what he was doing.
spotty the turtle did n't waken him.
he just kept right on going the same slow way he had come all day, and so, just as jolly, round, red mr. sun was going to bed behind the purple hills, spotty the turtle found the cause of the trouble in the laughing brook and the smiling pool.
chapter xv: what spotty the turtle found spotty the turtle stared and stared and stared, until it seemed as if his eyes surely would pop out of his funny little head.
of course he could believe his own eyes, and yet -- and yet -- well, if anybody else had seen what he was looking at and had told him about it, he would n't have believed it.
no, sir, he would n't have believed it.
you see, he could n't have believed it because -- why, because it did n't seem as if it could be really and truly so.
he wondered if the sun shining in his eyes made him think he saw more than he really did see, so he carefully changed his position.
it made no difference.
then spotty was sure that what he saw was real, and that he had found the cause of the trouble in the laughing brook, which had made it stop laughing and the smiling pool stop smiling.
spotty the turtle was feeling pretty good.
in fact, spotty was feeling very good indeed, because he had been the first to find out what was the matter with the laughing brook.
at least, he thought that he was the first, and he was of all the little people who live in the smiling pool.
only ol' mistah buzzard had been before him, and he did n't count because his wings are broad, and all he had to do was to sail over the green forest and look down.
the ones who really counted were billy mink and little joe otter and jerry muskrat and grandfather frog.
billy mink had stopped for a nap.
little joe otter had stopped to play.
jerry muskrat had stopped to eat.
grandfather frog had stopped for a sun-nap.
but spotty the turtle had kept right on going, and now here he was, the first one to find the cause of the trouble in the laughing brook.
do you wonder that he felt proud and very happy?
keeping at it, that's the way spotty won the race that day.
but now spotty was beginning to wish that some of the others would hurry up.
he wanted to know what they thought.
he wanted to talk it all over.
it was such a surprising thing that he could make neither head nor tail of it himself, and he wondered what the others would say.
and now the long black shadows were creeping through the green forest, and if they did n't get there pretty soon, they would have to wait until the next day.
so spotty the turtle found a good place to spend the night, and then he sat down to watch and wait.
right before him was the thing which he had found and which puzzled him so.
what was it?
why, it was a wall.
yes, sir, that is just what it was -- a wall of logs and sticks and mud, and it was right across the laughing brook, where the banks were steep and narrow.
of course the laughing brook could laugh no longer; there could n't enough water get through that wall of logs and sticks and mud to make even the beginning of a laugh.
spotty wondered what lay behind that wall, and who had built it, and what for, and a lot of other things.
and he was still wondering when he fell asleep.
chapter xvi: the pond in the green forest spotty the turtle was awake by the time the first rays of the rising sun began to creep through the green forest.
he was far, far up the laughing brook, very much farther than he had ever been before, and as he yawned and stretched, he wondered if after all he had n't dreamed about the wall of logs and sticks and mud across the laughing brook.
when he had rubbed the last sleepy-wink out of his eyes, he looked again.
there it was, just as he had seen it the night before!
then spotty knew that it was real, and he began to wonder what was on the other side of it.
""i can not climb it, for my legs were never made for climbing," said spotty mournfully as he looked at his funny little black feet.
""oh, dear, i wish that i could climb like happy jack squirrel!"
just then a thought popped into his head and chased away the little frown that had crept into spotty's face.
""perhaps happy jack sometimes wishes that he could swim as i can, so i guess we are even.
i ca n't climb, but he ca n't swim.
how foolish it is to wish for things never meant for you!"
and with that, all the discontent left spotty the turtle, and he began to study how he could make the most of his short legs and his perseverance, of which, as you already know, he had a great deal.
he looked this way, and he looked that way, and he saw that if he could climb to the top of the bank on one side of the laughing brook, he would be able to walk right out on the strange wall of logs and sticks and mud, and then, of course, he could see just what was on the other side.
so spotty the turtle wasted no more time wishing that he could do something it was never meant that he should do.
instead, he picked out what looked like the easiest place to climb the bank and started up.
my, my, my, it was hard work!
you see, he had to carry his house along with him, for he has to carry that wherever he goes, and it would have been hard enough to have climbed that bank without carrying anything.
every time he had climbed up three steps he slipped back two steps, but he kept at it, puffing and blowing, saying over and over to himself: "i can if i will, and will if i can!
i'm sure to get there if i follow this plan."
half-way up the bank spotty lost his balance, and the house he was carrying just tipped him right over backward, and down he rolled to the place he had started from.
""i needed to cool off," said spotty to himself and slid into a little pool of water.
then he tried the bank again, and just as before he slipped back two steps for every three he went up.
but he shut his mouth tight and kept at it, and by and by he was up to the place from which he had tumbled.
there he stopped to get his breath.
""i can if i will, and will if i can!
i'm sure to get there if i follow this plan," said he and started on again.
twice more he tumbled clear down to the place he had started from, but each time he laughed at himself and tried again.
and at last he reached the top of the bank.
""i said i could if i would, and i would if i could, and i have!"
he cried.
then he hurried to see what was behind the strange wall.
what do you think it was?
why, a pond!
yes, sir, there was a pond right in the middle of the green forest!
trees were coming up right out of the middle of it, but it was a sure enough pond.
spotty found it harder work to believe his own eyes now than when he had first seen the strange wall across the laughing brook.
""why, why, why, what does it mean?"
exclaimed spotty the turtle.
""that's what i want to know!"
cried billy mink, who came hurrying up just then.
chapter xvii: who had made the strange pond?
who had made the strange pond?
that is what spotty the turtle wanted to know.
that is what billy mink wanted to know.
so did little joe otter and jerry muskrat and grandfather frog, when they arrived.
so did ol' mistah buzzard, looking down from the blue, blue sky.
it was very strange, very strange indeed!
never had there been a pond in that part of the green forest before, not even in the days when sister south wind melted the snow so fast that the laughing brook ran over its banks and the smiling pool grew twice as large as it ought to be.
of course some one had made it.
spotty the turtle had known that as soon as he had seen the strange pond.
all in a flash he had understood what that wall of logs and brush and mud across the laughing brook was for.
it was to stop the water from running down the laughing brook.
and of course, if the water could n't keep on running and laughing on its way to the smiling pool, it would just stand still and grow and grow into a pond.
of course!
there was nothing else for it to do.
spotty felt very proud when he had thought that out all by himself.
""this wall we are sitting on has made the pond," said spotty the turtle, after a long time in which no one had spoken.
""you do n't say so!"
said billy mink.
""how ever, ever, did you guess it?
are you sure, quite sure that the pond did n't make the wall?"
spotty knew that billy mink was making fun of him, but he is too good-natured to lose his temper over a little thing like that.
he tried to think of something smart to say in reply, but spotty is a slow thinker as well as a slow walker, and before he could think of anything, billy was talking once more.
""this wall is what farmer brown's boy calls a dam," said billy mink, who is a great traveler.
""dams are usually built to keep water from running where it is n't wanted or to make it go where it is wanted.
now, what i want to know is, who under the sun wants a pond way back here in the green forest, and what is it for?
who do you think built this dam, grandfather frog?"
grandfather frog shook his head.
his big goggly eyes seemed more goggly than ever, as he stared at the new pond in the green forest.
""i do n't know," said grandfather frog.
""i do n't know what to think."
""why, it must be farmer brown's boy or farmer brown himself," said jerry muskrat.
""of course," said little joe otter, just as if he knew all about it.
still grandfather frog shook his head, as if he did n't agree.
""i do n't know," said grandfather frog, "i do n't know.
it does n't look so to me."
billy mink ran along the top of the dam and down the back side.
he looked it all over with those sharp little eyes of his.
""grandfather frog is right," said he, when he came back.
""it does n't look like the work of farmer brown or farmer brown's boy.
but if they did n't do it, who did?
who could have done it?"
""i do n't know," said grandfather frog again, in a dreamy sort of voice.
spotty the turtle looked at him, and saw that grandfather frog's face wore the far-away look that it always does when he tells a story of the days when the world was young.
""i do n't know," he repeated, "but it looks to me very much like the work of --" grandfather frog stopped short off and turned to jerry muskrat.
""jerry muskrat," said he, so sharply that jerry nearly lost his balance in his surprise, "has your big cousin come down from the north?"
chapter xviii: jerry muskrat's big cousin fiddle, faddle, feedle, fuddle!
was there ever such a muddle?
fuddle, feedle, faddle, fiddle!
who is there will solve the riddle?
here was the laughing brook laughing no longer.
here was the smiling pool smiling no longer.
here was a brand new pond deep in the green forest.
here was a wall of logs and bushes and mud called a dam, built by some one whom nobody had seen.
and here was grandfather frog asking jerry muskrat if his big cousin had come down from the north, when jerry did n't even know that he had a big cousin.
""i -- i have n't any big cousin," said jerry, when he had quite recovered from his surprise at grandfather frog's question.
""chugarum!"
exclaimed grandfather frog, and the scornful way in which he said it made jerry muskrat feel very small.
""chugarum!
of course you've got a big cousin in the north.
do you mean to tell me that you do n't know that, jerry muskrat?"
jerry had to admit that it was true that he did n't know anything about that big cousin.
if grandfather frog said that he had one, it must be so, for grandfather frog is very old and very wise, and he knows a great deal.
still, it was very hard for jerry to believe that he had a big cousin of whom he had never heard.
""did -- did you ever see him, grandfather frog?"
jerry asked.
""no!"
snapped grandfather frog.
""i never did, but i know all about him.
he is a great worker, is this big cousin of yours, and he builds dams like this one we are sitting on."
""i do n't believe it!"
cried billy mink.
""i do n't believe any cousin of jerry muskrat's ever built such a dam as this.
why, just look at that great tree trunk at the bottom!
no one but farmer brown or farmer brown's boy could ever have dragged that there.
you're crazy, grandfather frog, just plain crazy."
billy mink sometimes is very disrespectful to grandfather frog.
""chugarum!"
replied grandfather frog.
""i'm pretty old, but i'm not too old to learn as some folks seem to be," and he looked very hard at billy mink.
""did i say that that tree trunk was dragged here?"
""no," replied billy mink, "but if it was n't dragged here, how did it get here?
you are so smart, grandfather frog, tell me that!"
grandfather frog blinked his great goggly eyes at billy mink as he said, just as if he was very, very sorry for billy, "your eyes are very bright and very sharp, billy mink, and it is a great pity that you have never learned how to use them.
that tree was n't dragged here; it was cut so that it fell right where it lies."
as he spoke, grandfather frog pointed to the stump of the tree, and billy mink saw that he was right.
but billy mink is like a great many other people; he dearly loves to have the last word.
now he suddenly began to laugh.
""ha, ha, ha!
ho, ho, ho!"
laughed billy mink.
""ho, ho, ho!
ha, ha, ha!"
""what is it that is so funny?"
snapped grandfather frog, for nothing makes him so angry as to be laughed at.
""do you mean to say that anybody but farmer brown or farmer brown's boy could have cut down such a big tree as that?"
asked billy.
""why, that would be as hard as to drag the tree here."
""jerry muskrat's big cousin from the north could do it, and i believe he did," replied grandfather frog.
""now that we have found the cause of the trouble in the laughing brook and the smiling pool, what are we going to do about it?"
chapter xix: jerry muskrat has a busy day there was the strange pond in the green forest, and there was the dam of logs and sticks and mud which had made the strange pond, but look as they would, billy mink and little joe otter and jerry muskrat and grandfather frog and spotty the turtle could see nothing of the one who had built the dam.
it was very queer.
the more they thought about it, the queerer it seemed.
they looked this way, and they looked that way.
""there is one thing very sure, and that is that whoever built this dam had no thought for those who live in the laughing brook and the smiling pool," said grandfather frog.
""they are selfish, just plain, every-day selfish; that's what they are!
now the laughing brook can not laugh, and the smiling pool can not smile, while this dam stops the water from running, and so --" grandfather frog stopped and looked around at his four friends.
""and so what?"
cried billy mink impatiently.
""and so we must spoil this dam.
we must make a place for the water to run through," said grandfather frog very gravely.
""of course!
that's the very thing!"
cried little joe otter and billy mink and jerry muskrat and spotty the turtle.
then little joe otter looked at billy mink, and billy mink looked at jerry muskrat, and jerry muskrat looked at spotty the turtle, and after that they all looked very hard at grandfather frog, and all together they asked: "how are we going to do it?"
grandfather frog scratched his head thoughtfully and looked a long time at the dam of logs and sticks and mud.
then his big mouth widened in a big smile.
""why, that is very simple," said he, "jerry muskrat will make a big hole through the dam near the bottom, because he knows how, and the rest of us will keep watch to see that no harm comes near."
""the very thing!"
cried little joe otter and billy mink and spotty the turtle, but jerry muskrat thought it was n't fair.
you see, it gave him all of the real work to do.
however, jerry thought of his dear smiling pool, and how terrible it would be if it should smile no more, and so without another word he set to work.
now jerry muskrat is a great worker, and he had made many long tunnels into the bank around the smiling pool, so he had no doubt but that he could soon make a hole through this dam.
but almost right away he found trouble.
yes, sir, jerry had hardly begun before he found real trouble.
you see, that dam was made mostly of sticks instead of mud, and so, instead of digging his way in as he would have done into the bank of the smiling pool, he had to stop every few minutes to gnaw off sticks that were in the way.
it was hard work, the hardest kind of hard work.
but jerry muskrat is the kind that is the more determined to do the work the harder the work is to be done.
and so, while grandfather frog sat on one end of the dam and pretended to keep watch, but really took a nap in the warm sunshine, and while spotty the turtle sat on the other end of the dam doing the same thing, and while billy mink and little joe otter swam around in the strange pond and enjoyed themselves, jerry muskrat worked and worked and worked.
and just as jolly, round, red mr. sun started down behind the purple hills, jerry broke through into the strange pond, and the water began to run in the laughing brook once more.
chapter xx: jerry has a dreadful disappointment there's nothing in this world that's sure, no matter how we scheme and plan.
we simply have to be content with doing just the best we can.
jerry muskrat had curled himself up for the night, so tired that he could hardly keep his eyes open long enough to find a comfortable place to sleep.
but he was happy.
yes, indeed, jerry was happy.
he could hear the laughing brook beginning to laugh again.
it was just a little low, gurgling laugh, but jerry knew that in a little while it would grow into the full laugh that makes music through the green forest and puts happiness into the hearts of all who hear it.
so jerry was happy, for was it not because of him that the laughing brook was beginning to laugh?
he had worked all the long day to make a hole through the dam which some one had built across the laughing brook and so stopped its laughter.
now the water was running again, and soon the new, strange pond behind the dam there in the green forest would be gone, and the laughing brook and the smiling pool would be their own beautiful selves once more.
it was because he had worked so hard all day that he was going to sleep now.
usually he would rather sleep a part of the day and be abroad at night.
very pleasant dreams had jerry muskrat that night, dreams of the dear smiling pool, smiling just as it had as long as jerry could remember, before this trouble had come.
he was still dreaming when spotty the turtle found him and waked him, for it was broad daylight.
jerry yawned and stretched, and then he lay still for a minute to listen to the pleasant murmur of the laughing brook.
but there was n't any pleasant murmur.
there was n't any sound at all.
jerry began to wonder if he really was awake after all.
he looked at spotty the turtle, and he knew then that he was, for spotty's face had such a worried look.
""get up, jerry muskrat, and come look at the hole you made yesterday in the dam.
you could n't have done your work very well, for the hole has filled up so that the water does not run any more," said spotty.
""i did do it well!"
snapped jerry crossly.
""i did it just as well as i know how.
you lazy folks who just sit and take sun-naps while you pretend to keep watch had better get busy and do a little work yourselves, if you do n't like the way i work."
""i -- i beg your pardon, jerry muskrat.
i did n't mean to say just that," replied spotty.
""you see, we are all worried.
we thought last night that by this morning the laughing brook would be full of water again, and we could go back to the smiling pool as soon as we felt like it, and here it is as bad as ever."
""perhaps the trouble is just that some sticks and grass drifted down in the water and filled up the hole i made; that must be the trouble," said jerry hopefully, as he hurried towards the dam.
first he carefully examined it from the laughing brook side.
then he dived down under water on the other side.
he was gone a long time, and billy mink was just getting ready to dive to see what had become of him when he came up again.
""what is the trouble?"
cried spotty the turtle and grandfather frog and billy mink and little joe otter together.
""is the hole filled up with stuff that has drifted in?"
jerry shook his head, as he slowly climbed out of the water.
""no," said he.
""no, it is n't filled with drift stuff brought down by the water.
it is filled with sticks and mud that somebody has put there.
somebody has filled up the hole that i worked so hard to make yesterday, and it will take me all day to open it up again."
then grandfather frog and spotty the turtle and billy mink and little joe otter and jerry muskrat stared at one mother, and for a long time no one said a word.
chapter xxi: jerry muskrat keeps watch "the way in which to find things out, and what goes on all round about, is just to keep my two eyes peeled and two ears all the time unsealed."
so said jerry muskrat, as he settled himself comfortably on one end of the new dam across the laughing brook deep in the green forest and watched the dark shadows creep farther and farther out into the strange pond made by the new dam.
""i'm going to find out who it is that built this dam, and who it is that filled the hole i made in it!
i'm going to find out if i have to move up here and live all summer!"
the way in which jerry said this and snapped his teeth together showed that he meant just what he said.
you see jerry had spent another long, weary day opening the hole in the dam once more, only to have it closed again while he slept.
that had been enough for jerry.
he had n't tried again.
instead he had made up his mind that he would find out who was playing such a trick on him.
he would just watch until they came, and then if they were not bigger than he, or there were not too many of them, he would -- well, the way jerry gritted and clashed those sharp teeth of his sounded as if he meant to do something pretty bad.
billy mink and little joe otter had given up in disgust and started for the big river.
they are great travelers, anyway, and so did n't mind so much because there was no longer water enough in the laughing brook and the smiling pool.
grandfather frog and spotty the turtle, who are such very, very slow travelers, had decided that the big river was too far away, and so they would stay and live in the strange pond for a while, though it was n't nearly so nice as their dear smiling pool.
they bad gone to sleep now, each in his own secret place where he would be safe for the night.
so jerry muskrat sat alone and watched.
the black shadows crept farther and farther across the pond and grew blacker and blacker.
jerry did n't mind this, because, as you know, his eyes are made for seeing in the dark, and he dearly loves the night.
jerry had sat there a long time without moving.
he was listening and watching.
by and by he saw something that made him draw in his breath and anger leap into his eyes.
it was a little silver line on the water, and it was coming straight towards the dam where he sat.
jerry knew that it was made by some one swimming.
""ha!"
said jerry.
""now we shall see!"
nearer and nearer came the silver line.
then jerry made out the head of the swimmer.
suddenly all the anger left jerry.
he did n't have room for anger; a great fear had crowded it out.
the head was bigger than that of any muskrat jerry had ever seen.
it was bigger than the head of any of billy mink's relatives.
it was the head of a stranger, a stranger so big that jerry felt very, very small and hoped with all his might that the stranger would not see him.
jerry held his breath as the stranger swam past and then climbed out on the dam.
he looked very much like jerry himself, only ever and ever so much bigger.
and his tail!
jerry had never seen such a tail.
it was very broad and flat.
suddenly the big stranger turned and looked straight at jerry.
""hello, jerry muskrat!"
said he.
""do n't you know me?"
jerry was too frightened to speak.
""i'm your big cousin from the north; i'm paddy the beaver, and if you leave my dam alone, i think we'll be good friends," continued the stranger.
""i -- i -- i hope so," said jerry in a very faint voice, trying to be polite, but with his teeth chattering with fear.
chapter xxii: jerry loses his fear "oh, tell me, you and you and you, if it may hap you've ever heard of all that wond "rous is and great the greatest is the spoken word?"
it's true.
it's the truest thing that ever was.
if you do n't believe it, you just go ask jerry muskrat.
he'll tell you it's true, and jerry knows.
you see, it's this way: words are more than just sounds.
oh, my, yes!
they are little messengers, and once they have been sent out, you ca n't call them back.
no, sir, you ca n't call them back, and sometimes that is a very sad thing, because -- well, you see these little messengers always carry something to some one else, and that something may be anger or hate or fear or an untruth, and it is these things which make most of the trouble in this world.
or that something may be love or sympathy or helpfulness or kindness, and it is these things which put an end to most of the troubles in this world.
just take the ease of jerry muskrat.
there he sat on the new dam, which had made the strange pond in the green forest, shaking with fear until his teeth chattered, as he watched a stranger very, very much bigger than he climb up on the dam.
jerry was afraid, because he had seen that the stranger could swim as well as he could, and as jerry had no secret burrows there, he knew that he could n't get away from the stranger if he wanted to.
somehow, jerry knew without being told that the stranger had built the dam, and you know jerry had twice made a hole in the dam to let the water out of the strange pond into the laughing brook.
jerry knew right down in his heart that if he had built that dam, he would be very, very angry with any one who tried to spoil it, and that is just what he had tried to do.
so he sat with chattering teeth, too frightened to even try to run.
""i wish i had let some one else keep watch," said jerry to himself.
then the big stranger had spoken.
he had said: "hello, jerry muskrat!
do n't you know me?"
and his voice had n't sounded the least bit angry.
then he had told jerry that he was his big cousin, paddy the beaver, and he hoped that they would be friends.
now everything was just as it had been before -- the strange pond, the dam, jerry himself and the big stranger, and the black shadows of the night -- and yet somehow, everything was different, all because a few pleasant words had been spoken.
a great fear had fallen away from jerry's heart, and in its place was a great hope that after all there was n't to be any trouble.
so he replied to paddy the beaver as politely as he knew how.
paddy was just as polite, and the first thing jerry knew, instead of being enemies, as jerry had all along made up his mind would be the case when he found the builder of the dam, here they were becoming the best of friends, all because paddy the beaver had said the right thing in the right way.
""but you have n't told me yet what you made those holes in my dam for, cousin jerry," said paddy the beaver finally.
jerry did n't know just what to say.
he was so pleased with his big new cousin that he did n't want to hurt his feelings by telling him that he did n't think that dam had any business to be across the laughing brook, and at the same time he wanted paddy to know how he had spoiled the laughing brook and the smiling pool.
at last he made up his mind to tell the whole story.
chapter xxiii: paddy the beaver does a kind deed paddy the beaver listened to all that his small cousin, jerry muskrat, had to tell him about the trouble which paddy's dam had caused in the laughing brook and the smiling pool.
""you see, we who live in the smiling pool love it dearly, and we do n't want to have to leave it, but if the water can not run down the laughing brook, there can be no smiling pool, and so we will have to move off to the big river," concluded jerry muskrat.
""that is why i tried to spoil your dam."
there was a twinkle in the eyes of paddy the beaver as he replied: "well, now that you have found out that you ca n't do that, because i am bigger than you and can stop you, what are you going to do about it?"
""i do n't know," said jerry muskrat sadly.
""i do n't see what we can do about it.
of course you are big and strong and can do just as you please, but it does n't seem right that we who have lived here so long should have to move and go away from all that we love so just because you, a stranger, happen to want to live here.
i tell you what!"
jerry's eyes sparkled as a brand new thought came to him.
""could n't you come down and live in the smiling pool with us?
i'm sure there is room enough!"
paddy the beaver shook his head.
""no," said he, and jerry's heart sank.
""no, i ca n't do that because down there there is n't any of the kind of food i eat.
besides, i would n't feel at all safe in the smiling pool.
you see, i always live in the woods.
no, i could n't possibly come down to live in the smiling pool.
but i'm truly sorry that i have made you so much worry, cousin jerry, and i'm going to prove it to you.
now you sit right here until i come back."
before jerry realized what he was going to do, paddy the beaver dived into the pond, and as he disappeared, his broad tail hit the water such a slap that it made jerry jump.
then there began a great disturbance down under water.
in a few minutes up bobbed a stick, and then another and another, and the water grew so muddy that jerry could n't see what was going on.
paddy was gone a long time.
jerry wondered how he could stay under water so long without air.
all the time paddy was just fooling him.
he would come up to the surface, stick his nose out, nothing more, fill his lungs with fresh air, and go down again.
suddenly jerry muskrat heard a sound that made him prick up his funny little short ears and whirl about so that he could look over the other side of the dam into the laughing brook.
what do you think that sound was?
why, it was the sound of rushing water, the sweetest sound jerry had listened to for a long time.
there was a great hole in the dam, and already the brook was beginning to laugh as the water rushed down it.
""how do you like that, cousin jerry?"
said a voice right in his ear.
paddy the beaver had climbed up beside him, and his eyes were twinkling.
""it -- it's splendid!"
cried jerry.
""but -- but you've spoiled your dam!"
""oh, that's all right," replied paddy.
""i did n't really want it now, anyway.
i do n't usually build dams at this time of year, and i built this one just for fun because it seemed such a nice place to build one.
you see, i was traveling through here, and it seemed such a nice place, that i thought i would stay a while.
i did n't know anything about the smiling pool, you know.
now, i guess i'll have to move on and find a place where i can make a pond in the fall that will not trouble other people.
you see, i do n't like to be troubled myself, and so i do n't want to trouble other people.
this green forest is a very nice place."
""the very nicest place in all the world excepting the green meadows and the smiling pool!"
replied jerry promptly.
""wo n't you stay, cousin paddy?
i'm sure we would all like to have you."
""of course we would," said a gruff voice right beside them.
it was grandfather frog.
paddy the beaver looked thoughtful.
""perhaps i will," said he, "if i can find some good hiding-places in the laughing brook."
chapter xxiv: a merry home-going "the laughing brook is merry and so am i," cried jerry.
grandfather frog said he was too.
and spotty was, the others knew.
the trees stood with wet feet where just a little while before had been the strange pond in the green forest, the pond made by the dam of paddy the beaver.
in the dam was a great hole made by paddy himself.
through the green forest rang the laughter of the laughing brook, for once more the water ran deep between its banks.
and in the hearts of grandfather frog and jerry muskrat and spotty the turtle was laughter also, for now the smiling pool would smile once more, and they could go home in peace and happiness.
and there was one more who laughed.
who was it?
why, paddy the beaver to be sure, and his was the best laugh of all, for it was because he had brought happiness to others.
""you beat me up here to the dam, but you wo n't beat me back to the smiling pool," cried jerry muskrat to spotty the turtle.
spotty laughed good-naturedly.
""you'd better not stop to eat or play or sleep on the way then," said he, "for i shall keep right on going all the time.
i've found that is the only way to get anywhere."
""let us all go down together" said grandfather frog.
""we can help each other over the bad places."
jerry muskrat laughed until he had to hold his sides at the very thought of grandfather frog or spotty the turtle being able to help him, but he is very good-natured, and so he agreed that they should all go down together.
paddy the beaver said that he would go, too, so off the four started, jerry muskrat and paddy the beaver swimming side by side, and behind them grandfather frog and spotty the turtle.
now spotty the turtle is a very slow traveler on land, but in the water spotty is not so slow.
in fact, it was not long before grandfather frog found that he was the one who could not keep up.
you see, while he is a great diver and can swim fast for a short distance, he is soon tired out.
pretty soon he was puffing and blowing and dropping farther and farther behind.
by and by, spotty the turtle looked back.
there was grandfather frog just tumbling head first over a little waterfall.
he came up choking and gasping and kicking his long legs very feebly.
spotty climbed out on a rock and waited.
he helped grandfather frog out beside him, and when grandfather frog had once more gotten his breath, what do you think spotty did?
why, he took grandfather frog right on his back and started on again.
now jerry muskrat and paddy the beaver, being great swimmers, were soon out of sight.
all at once jerry remembered that they had agreed to go back together, and down in his heart he felt a little bit mean when he looked for grandfather frog and spotty the turtle and could see nothing of them.
so he and paddy sat down to wait.
after what seemed a long time, they saw something queer bobbing along in the water.
""it's grandfather frog," cried paddy the beaver.
""no, it's spotty the turtle," said jerry muskrat.
""it's both," replied paddy, beginning to laugh.
just then spotty tumbled over another waterfall which he had n't seen, and of course grandfather frog went with him and lost his hold on spotty's back.
""i have an idea!"
cried paddy.
""what is it?"
asked jerry.
""why, grandfather frog can ride on my flat tail," replied paddy, "and then we'll go slow enough for spotty to keep up with us."
and so it was that just as the first moonbeams kissed the smiling pool, out of the laughing brook swam the merriest party that ever was seen.
""chugarum!"
said grandfather frog.
""it is good to be home, but i think i would travel often, if i could have the tail of paddy the beaver for a boat."
chapter xxv: paddy the beaver decides to stay "the fair green meadows spreading wide, the smiling pool and laughing brook -- they fill our hearts with joy and pride; we love their every hidden nook."
so said jerry muskrat, as he climbed up on the big rock in the middle of the smiling pool, with paddy the beaver beside him, and watched the dear smiling pool dimpling and smiling in the moonlight, as he had so often seen it before the great trouble had come.
""chugarum!"
said grandfather frog in his great deep voice from the bulrushes.
""one never knows how great their blessings are until they have been lost and found again."
the bulrushes nodded, as if they too were thinking of this.
you see their feet were once more in the cool water.
paddy the beaver seemed to understand just how every one felt, and he smiled to himself as he saw how happy these new friends of his were.
""it surely is a very nice place here, and i do n't wonder that you could n't bear to leave it," said he.
""i'm sorry that i made you all that trouble and worry, but you see i did n't know."
""oh, that's all right," replied jerry muskrat, who was now very proud of his big cousin.
""i hope that now you see how nice it is, you will stay and make your home here."
paddy the beaver looked back at the great black shadow which he knew was the green forest.
way over in the middle of it he heard the hunting-call of hooty the owl.
then he looked out over the green meadows, and from way over on the far side of them sounded the bark of reddy fox, and it was answered by the deep voice of bowser the hound up in farmer brown's dooryard.
for some reason that last sound made paddy the beaver shiver a little, just as the voice of hooty the owl made the smaller people of the green forest and the green meadows shiver when they heard it.
paddy was n't afraid of hooty or of reddy fox, but bowser's great voice was new to him, and somehow the very sound of it made him afraid.
you see, the green meadows were so strange and open that he did n't feel at all at home, for he dearly loves the deepest part of the green forest.
""no," said paddy the beaver, "i ca n't possibly live here in the smiling pool.
it is a very nice pool, but it would n't do at all for me, cousin jerry.
i would n't feel safe here a minute.
besides, there is nothing to eat here."
""oh, yes, there is," jerry muskrat interrupted.
""there are lily-roots and the nicest fresh-water clams and --" "but there are no trees," said paddy the beaver, "and you know i have to have trees."
jerry stared at paddy as if he did n't understand.
""do -- do you eat trees?"
he asked finally.
paddy laughed.
""just the bark," said he, "and i have to have a great deal of it."
jerry looked as disappointed as he felt.
""of course you ca n't stay then," said he, "and -- and i had thought that we would have such good times together."
paddy's eyes twinkled.
""perhaps we may yet," said he.
""you see i have about made up my mind that i will stay a while along the laughing brook in the green forest, and you can come to see me there.
on our way down i saw a very nice hole in the bank that i think will make me a good house for the present, and you can come up there to see me.
but if i do stay, you and grandfather frog and spotty the turtle must keep my secret.
no one must know that i am there.
will you?"
""of course we will!"
cried jerry muskrat and grandfather frog and spotty the turtle together.
""then i'll stay," said paddy the beaver, diving into the smiling pool with a great splash.
and so one of jerry muskrat's greatest adventures ended in the finding of his biggest cousin, paddy the beaver.
now jerry has a lot of cousins, and one of them lives on the green meadows not far from the smiling pool.
his name is danny meadow mouse, and danny is forever having adventures too.
he has them every day.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_jimmy_skunk.txt.out
i peter rabbit plans a joke the imp of mischief, woe is me, is always busy as a bee.
that is why so many people are forever getting into trouble.
he wo n't keep still.
no, sir, he wo n't keep still unless he is made to.
once let him get started there is no knowing where he will stop.
peter rabbit had just seen jimmy skunk disappear inside an old barrel, lying on its side at the top of the hill, and at once the imp of mischief began to whisper to peter.
of course peter should n't have listened.
certainly not.
but he did.
you know peter dearly loves a joke when it is on some one else.
he sat right where he was and watched to see if jimmy would come out of the barrel.
jimmy did n't come out, and after a little peter stole over to the barrel and peeped inside.
there was jimmy skunk curled up for a nap.
peter tiptoed away very softly.
all the time the imp of mischief was whispering to him that this was a splendid chance to play a joke on jimmy.
you know it is very easy to play a joke on any one who is asleep.
peter does n't often have a chance to play a joke on jimmy skunk.
it is n't a very safe thing to do, not if jimmy is awake.
no one knows that better than peter.
he sat down some distance from the barrel but where he could keep an eye on it.
then he went into a brown study, which is one way of saying that he thought very hard.
he wanted to play a joke on jimmy, but like most jokers he did n't want the joke to come back on himself.
in fact, he felt that it would be a great deal better for him if jimmy should n't know that he had anything to do with the joke.
as he sat there in a brown study, he happened to glance over on the green meadows and there he saw something red.
he looked very hard, and in a minute he saw that it was reddy fox.
right away, peter's nimble wits began to plan how he could use reddy fox to play a joke on jimmy.
all in a flash an idea came to him, an idea that made him laugh right out.
you see, the imp of mischief was very, very busy whispering to peter.
""if reddy were only up here, i believe i could do it, and it would be a joke on reddy as well as on jimmy," thought peter, and laughed right out again.
""what are you laughing at?"
asked a voice.
it was the voice of sammy jay.
right away a plan for getting reddy up there flashed into peter's head.
he would get sammy angry, and that would make sammy scream.
reddy would be sure to come up there to see what sammy jay was making such a fuss about.
sammy, you know, is very quick-tempered.
no one knows this better than peter.
so instead of replying politely to sammy, as he should have done, peter spoke crossly: "fly away, sammy, fly away!
it is no business of yours what i am laughing at," said he.
right away sammy's quick temper flared up.
he began to call peter names, and peter answered back.
this angered sammy still more, and as he always screams when he is angry, he was soon making such a racket that reddy fox down on the green meadows could n't help but hear it.
peter saw him lift his head to listen.
in a few minutes he began to trot that way.
he was coming to find out what that fuss was about.
peter knew that reddy would n't come straight up there.
that is n't reddy's way.
he would steal around back of the old stone wall on the edge of the old orchard, which was back of peter, and would try to see what was going on without being seen himself.
""as soon as he sees me he will think that at last he has a chance to catch me," thought peter.
""i shall have to run my very fastest, but if everything goes right, he will soon forget all about me.
i do hope that the noise sammy jay is making will not waken jimmy skunk and bring him out to see what is going on."
so with one eye on the barrel where jimmy skunk was taking a nap, and the other eye on the old stone wall behind which he expected reddy fox to come stealing up, peter waited and did n't mind in the least the names that sammy jay was calling him.
ii peter makes a flying jump to risk your life unless there's need is downright foolishness indeed.
never forget that.
never do such a crazy thing as peter rabbit was doing.
what was he doing?
why, he was running the risk of being caught by reddy fox all for the sake of a joke.
did you ever hear of anything more foolish?
yet peter was no different from a lot of people who every day risk their lives in the most careless and heedless ways just to save a few minutes of time or for some other equally foolish reason.
the fact is, peter did n't stop to think what dreadful thing might happen if his plans did n't work out as he intended.
he did n't once think of little mrs. peter over in the dear old briar-patch and how she would feel if he never came home again.
that's the trouble with thoughtlessness; it never remembers other people.
all the time that reddy fox was creeping along behind the old stone wall on the edge of the old orchard, peter knew just where he was, though reddy did n't know that.
if he had known it, he would have suspected one of peter's tricks.
""he'll peep over that wall, and just as soon as he sees me, he will feel sure that this time he will catch me," thought peter.
""he will steal along to that place where the wall is lowest and will jump over it right there.
i must be ready to jump the very second he does."
it all happened just as peter had expected.
while seeming to be paying no attention to anything but to sammy jay, he kept his eyes on that low place in the old wall, and presently he saw reddy's sharp nose, as reddy peeped over to make sure that he was still there.
the instant that sharp nose dropped out of sight, peter made ready to run for his life.
a second later, reddy leaped over the wall, and peter was off as hard as he could go, with reddy almost at his heels.
sammy jay, who had been so busy calling peter names that he had n't seen reddy at all, forgot all about his quarrel with peter.
""go it, peter!
go it!"
he screamed excitedly.
that was just like sammy.
peter did go it.
he had to.
he ran with all his might.
reddy grinned as he saw peter start towards the green meadows.
it was a long way to the dear old briar-patch, and reddy did n't have any doubt at all that he would catch peter before he got there.
he watched sharply for peter to dodge and try to get back to the old stone wall.
he did n't mean to let peter do that.
but peter did n't even try.
he ran straight for the edge of the hill above the green meadows.
then, for the first time, reddy noticed an old barrel there lying on its side.
""i wonder if he thinks he can hide in that," thought reddy, and grinned again, for he remembered that he had passed that old barrel a few days before, and that one end was open while the other end was closed.
""if he tries that, i will get him without the trouble of much of a chase," thought reddy, and chuckled.
lipperty-lipperty-lip ran peter, lipperty-lipperty-lip, reddy right at his heels!
to sammy jay it looked as if in a few more jumps reddy certainly would catch peter.
""go it, peter!
oh, go it!
go it!"
screamed sammy, for in spite of his quarrels with peter, he did n't want to see him come to any real harm.
just as he reached the old barrel, reddy was so close to him that peter was almost sure that he could feel reddy's breath.
then peter made a splendid flying jump right over the old barrel and kept on down the hill, lipperty-lipperty-lip, as fast as ever he could, straight for an old house of johnny chuck's of which he knew.
when he reached it, he turned to see what was happening behind him, for he knew by the screaming of sammy jay and by other sounds that a great deal was happening.
in fact, he suspected that the joke which he had planned was working out just as he had hoped it would.
iii what happened at the old barrel peter rabbit's jump over the old barrel on the edge of the hill was unexpected to reddy fox.
in fact, reddy was so close on peter's heels that he had no thought of anything but catching peter.
he was running so fast that when peter made his flying jump over the barrel, reddy did not have time to jump too, and he ran right smack bang against that old barrel.
now you remember that that barrel was right on the edge of the hill.
when reddy ran against it, he hit it so hard that he rolled it over, and of course that started it down the hill.
you know a barrel is a very rolly sort of thing, and once it has started down a hill, nothing can stop it.
it was just so this time.
reddy fox had no more than picked himself up when the barrel was half way down the hill and going faster and faster.
it bounced along over the ground, and every time it hit a little hummock it seemed to jump right up in the air.
and all the time it was making the strangest noises.
reddy quite forgot the smarting sore places where he had bumped into the barrel.
he simply stood and stared at the runaway.
""as i live," he exclaimed, "i believe there was some one in that old barrel!"
there was.
you remember that jimmy skunk had curled up in there for a nap.
now jimmy was awake, very much awake.
you see, for once in his life he was moving fast, very much faster than ever he had moved before since he was born.
and it was n't at all comfortable.
no, sir, it was n't at all a comfortable way in which to travel.
he went over and over so fast that it made him dizzy.
first he was right side up and then wrong side up, so fast that he could n't tell which side up he was.
and every time that old barrel jumped when it went over a hummock, jimmy was tossed up so that he hit whatever part of the barrel happened to be above him.
of course, he could n't get out, because he was rolled over and over so fast that he did n't have a chance to try.
now reddy did n't know who was in the barrel.
he just knew by the sounds that some one was.
so he started down the hill after the barrel to see what would happen when it stopped.
all the time peter rabbit was dancing about in the greatest excitement, but taking the greatest care to keep close to that old house of johnny chuck's so as to pop into it in case of danger.
he saw that reddy fox had quite forgotten all about him in his curiosity as to who was in the barrel, and he chuckled as he thought of what might happen when the barrel stopped rolling and reddy found out.
sammy jay was flying overhead, screaming enough to split his throat.
altogether, it was quite the most exciting thing peter had ever seen.
now it just happened that old man coyote had started to cross the green meadows right at the foot of the hill just as the barrel started down.
of course, he heard the noise and looked up to see what it meant.
when he saw that barrel rushing right down at him, it frightened him so that he just gave one yelp and started for the old pasture like a gray streak.
he gave peter a chance to see just how fast he can run, and peter made up his mind right then that he never would run a race with old man coyote.
down at the bottom of the hill was a big stone, and when the barrel hit this, the hoops broke, and the barrel fell all apart.
peter decided that it was high time for him to get out of sight.
so he dodged into the old house of johnny chuck and lay low in the doorway, where he could watch.
he saw jimmy skunk lay perfectly still, and a great fear crept into his heart.
had jimmy been killed?
he had n't once thought of what might happen to jimmy when he planned that joke.
but presently jimmy began to wave first one leg and then another, as if to make sure that he had some legs left.
then slowly he rolled over and got on to his feet.
peter breathed a sigh of relief.
iv jimmy skunk is very mad indeed when jimmy skunk is angry then every one watch out!
it's better far at such a time to be nowhere about.
jimmy skunk was angry this time and no mistake.
he was just plain mad, and when jimmy skunk feels that way, no one wants to be very near him.
you know he is one of the very best-natured little fellows in the world ordinarily.
he minds his own business, and if no one interferes with him, he interferes with no one.
but once he is aroused and feels that he has n't been treated fairly, look out for him!
and this time jimmy was mad clear through, as he got to his feet and shook himself to see that he was all there.
i do n't know that any one could blame him.
to be wakened from a comfortable nap by being rolled over and over and shaken nearly to death as jimmy had been by that wild ride down the hill in the old barrel was enough to make any one mad.
so he really is not to be blamed for feeling as he did.
now jimmy can never be accused of being stupid.
he knew that an old barrel which has been lying in one place for a long time does n't move of its own accord.
he knew that that barrel could n't possibly have started off down the hill unless some one had made it start, and he did n't have a doubt in the world that whoever had done it, had known that he was inside and had done it to make him uncomfortable.
so just as soon as he had made sure that he was really alive and quite whole, he looked about to see who could have played such a trick on him.
the first person he saw was reddy fox.
in fact, reddy was right close at hand.
you see, he had raced down the hill after the barrel to see who was in it when he heard the strange noises coming from it as it rolled and bounded down.
if reddy had known that it was jimmy skunk, he would have been quite content to remain at the top of the hill.
but he did n't know, and if the truth be known, he had hopes that it might prove to be some one who would furnish him with a good breakfast.
so, quite out of breath with running, reddy arrived at the place where the old barrel had broken to pieces just as jimmy got to his feet.
now when jimmy skunk is angry, he does n't bite and he does n't scratch.
you know old mother nature has provided him with a little bag of perfume which jimmy does n't object to in the least, but which makes most people want to hold their noses and run.
he never uses it, excepting when he is angry or in danger, but when he does use it, his enemies always turn tail and run.
that is why he is afraid of no one, and why every one respects jimmy and his rights.
he used it now, and he did n't waste any time about it.
he threw some of that perfume right in the face of reddy fox before reddy had a chance to turn or to say a word.
""take that!"
snapped jimmy skunk.
""perhaps it will teach you not to play tricks on your honest neighbors!"
poor reddy!
some of that perfume got in his eyes and made them smart dreadfully.
in fact, for a little while he could n't see at all.
and then the smell of it was so strong that it made him quite sick.
he rolled over and over on the ground, choking and gasping and rubbing his eyes.
jimmy skunk just stood and looked on, and there was n't a bit of pity in his eyes.
""how do you like that?"
said he.
""you thought yourself very smart, rolling me down hill in a barrel, did n't you?
you might have broken my neck."
""i did n't know you were in that barrel, and i did n't mean to roll it down the hill anyway," whined reddy, when he could get his voice.
""huh!"
snorted jimmy skunk, who did n't believe a word of it.
""i did n't.
honestly i did n't," protested reddy.
""i ran against the barrel by accident, chasing peter rabbit.
i did n't have any idea that any one was in it."
""huh!"
said jimmy skunk again.
""if you were chasing peter rabbit, where is he now?"
reddy had to confess he did n't know.
he was nowhere in sight, and he certainly had n't had time to reach the dear old briar-patch.
jimmy looked this way and that way, but there was no sign of peter rabbit.
""huh!"
said he again, turning his back on reddy fox and walking away with a great deal of dignity.
v reddy fox sneaks away to sneak away is to steal away trying to keep out of sight of everybody, and is usually done only by those who for some reason or other are ashamed to be seen.
just as soon as reddy fox could see after jimmy skunk had thrown that terrible perfume in reddy's face he started for the green forest.
he wanted to get away by himself.
but he did n't trot with his head up and his big plumey tail carried proudly as is usual with him.
no indeed.
instead he hung his head, and his handsome tail was dropped between his legs; he was the very picture of shame.
you see that terrible perfume which jimmy skunk had thrown at him clung to his red coat and he knew that he could n't get rid of it, not for a long time anyway.
and he knew, too, that wherever he went his neighbors would hold their noses and make fun of him, and that no one would have anything to do with him.
so he sneaked away across the green meadows towards the green forest and he felt too sick and mean and unhappy to even be angry with sammy jay, who was making fun of him and saying that he had got no more than he deserved.
poor reddy!
he did n't know what to do or where to go.
he could n't go home, for old granny fox would drive him out of the house.
she had warned him time and again never to provoke jimmy skunk, and he knew that she never would forgive him if he should bring that terrible perfume near their home.
he knew, too, that it would not be long before all the little people of the green forest and the green meadows would know what had happened to him.
sammy jay would see to that.
he knew just how they would point at him and make fun of him.
he would never hear the last of it.
he felt as if he never, never would be able to hold his head and his tail up again.
every few minutes he stopped to roll over and over on the ground trying to get rid of that dreadful perfume.
when he reached the green forest he hurried over to the laughing brook to wash out his eyes.
it was just his luck to have billy mink come along while he was doing this.
billy did n't need to be told what had happened.
""phew!"
he exclaimed, holding on to his nose.
then he turned and hurried beyond the reach of that perfume.
there he stopped and made fun of reddy fox and said all the provoking things he could think of.
reddy took no notice at all.
he felt too miserable to quarrel.
after he had washed his face he felt better.
water would n't take away the awful smell, but it did take away the smart from his eyes.
then he tried to plan what to do next.
""the only thing i can do is to get as far away from everybody as i can," thought he.
""i guess i'll have to go up to the old pasture to live for a while."
so he started for the old pasture, keeping as much out of sight as possible.
on the way he remembered that old man coyote lived there.
of course it would never do to go near old man coyote's home for if he smelled that awful perfume and discovered that he, reddy, was the cause of it he would certainly drive him out of the old pasture and then where could he go?
so reddy went to the loneliest part of the old pasture and crept into an old house that he and granny had dug there long ago when they had been forced to live in the old pasture in the days when farmer brown's boy and bowser the hound had hunted them for stealing chickens.
there he stretched himself out and was perfectly miserable.
""it would n't be so bad if i had really been to blame, but i was n't.
i did n't know jimmy skunk was in that barrel and i did n't mean to start it rolling down the hill anyway," he muttered.
""it was all an accident and --" he stopped and into his yellow eyes crept a look of suspicion.
""i wonder," said he slowly, "if peter rabbit knew that jimmy skunk was there and planned to get me into all this trouble.
i wonder."
vi peter rabbit does n't enjoy his joke all the time that jimmy skunk was punishing reddy fox for rolling him down hill in a barrel, and while reddy was sneaking away to the green forest to get out of sight, peter rabbit was lying low in the old house of johnny chuck, right near the place where jimmy skunk's wild ride had come to an end.
it had been a great relief to peter when he had seen jimmy skunk get to his feet, and he knew that jimmy had n't been hurt in that wild ride.
lying flat in the doorway of johnny chuck's old house, peter could see all that went on without being seen himself, and he could hear all that was said.
he chuckled as he saw reddy fox come up and his eyes were popping right out with excitement as he waited for what would happen next.
he felt sure that reddy fox was in for something unpleasant, and he was glad.
of course, that was n't a bit nice of peter.
right down in his heart peter knew it, but he had been chased so often by reddy and given so many dreadful frights, that he felt now that he was getting even.
so he chuckled as he waited for what was to happen.
suddenly that chuckle broke right off in the middle, and peter cried "ouch!"
he had felt a pain as if a hot needle had been thrust into him.
it made him almost jump out of the doorway.
but he remembered in time that it would never, never do for him to show himself outside, for right away reddy fox and jimmy skunk would suspect that he had had something to do with that wild ride of jimmy's in the barrel.
so it would not do to show himself now.
no, indeed!
all he could do was to kick and squirm and twist his head around to see what was happening.
it did n't take long to find out.
even as he looked, he felt another sharp pain which brought another "ouch!"
from him and made him kick harder than ever.
two very angry little insects were just getting ready to sting him again, and more were coming.
they were yellow jackets, which you know belong to the wasp family and carry very sharp little lances in their tails.
the fact is, this old house of johnny chuck's had been deserted so long the yellow jackets had decided that as no one else was using it, they would, and they had begun to build their home just inside the hall.
poor peter!
what could he do?
he did n't dare go out, and he simply could n't stay where he was.
whatever he did must be done quickly, for it looked to him as if a regular army of yellow jackets was coming, and those little lances they carried were about the most painful things he knew of.
by this time he had lost all interest in what was going on outside.
there was quite enough going on inside; too much, in fact.
he remembered that johnny chuck digs his house deep down in the ground.
he looked down the long hall.
it was dark down there.
perhaps if he went down there, these angry little warriors would n't follow him.
it was worth trying, anyway.
so peter scrambled to his feet and scurried down the long hall, and as he ran, he cried "ouch!
ouch!
oh!
ohoo!"
those sharp little lances were very busy, and there was no way of fighting back.
at the end of the long hall was a snug little room, very dark but cool and comfortable.
it was just as he had hoped; the yellow jackets did not follow him down there.
they had driven him away from their home, which was right near the entrance, and they were satisfied.
but what a fix he was in!
what a dreadful fix!
he ached and smarted all over.
my goodness, how he did smart!
and to get out he would have to go right past the yellow jacket home again.
""oh, dear, i wish i had never thought of such a joke," moaned peter, trying in vain to find a comfortable position.
""i guess i am served just right."
i rather think he was, do n't you?
vii sammy jay does some guessing sammy jay is a queer fellow.
although he is a scamp and dearly loves to make trouble for his neighbors, he is always ready to take their part when others make trouble for them.
many are the times he has given them warning of danger.
this is one reason they are quite willing to overlook his own shortcomings.
so, though in many ways he is no better than reddy fox, he dearly loves to upset reddy's plans and is very apt to rejoice when reddy gets into trouble.
of course, being right there, he saw all that happened when reddy ran against the old barrel at the top of the hill and sent it rolling.
he had been quite as much surprised as reddy to find that there was some one inside, and he had followed reddy to see who it was.
so, of course, he had seen what happened to reddy.
now, instead of being sorry for reddy, he had openly rejoiced.
it seems to be just that way with a great many people.
they like to see others who are considered very smart get into trouble.
so sammy had laughed and made fun of poor reddy.
in the first place it was very exciting, and sammy dearly loves excitement.
and then it would make such a splendid story to tell, and no one likes to carry tales more than does sammy jay.
he watched reddy sneak away to the green forest, and jimmy skunk slowly walk away in a very dignified manner.
then sammy flew back to the old orchard to spread the news among the little people there.
it was n't until he reached the old orchard that he remembered peter rabbit.
instead of flying about telling every one what had happened to jimmy skunk and reddy fox, he found a comfortable perch in an old apple-tree and was strangely silent.
the fact is, sammy jay was doing some hard thinking.
he had suddenly begun to wonder.
it had popped into that shrewd little head of his that it was very strange how suddenly peter rabbit had disappeared.
""of course," thought sammy, "jimmy skunk is sure that reddy rolled that barrel down hill purposely, and i do n't wonder that he does think so.
but i saw it all, and i know that it was all an accident so far as reddy was concerned.
i did n't know that jimmy was in that barrel, and reddy could n't have known it, because he did n't come up here until after i did.
but peter rabbit may have known.
why did peter run so that he would have to jump over that barrel when he could have run right past it?
""of course, he may have thought that if he could make reddy run right slam bang against that barrel it would stop reddy long enough to give him a chance to get away.
that would have been pretty smart of peter and quite like him.
but somehow i have a feeling that he knew all the time that jimmy skunk was taking a nap inside and that something was bound to happen if he was disturbed.
the more i think of it, the more i believe that peter did know and that he planned the whole thing.
if he did, it was one of the smartest tricks i ever heard of.
i did n't think peter had it in him.
it was rather hard on jimmy skunk, but it got rid of reddy fox for a while.
he wo n't dare show his face around here for a long time.
that means that peter will have one less worry on his mind.
hello!
here comes jimmy skunk.
i'll ask him a few questions."
jimmy came ambling along in his usual lazy manner.
he had quite recovered his good nature.
he felt that he was more than even with reddy fox, and as he was none the worse for his wild ride in the barrel, he had quite forgotten that he had lost his temper.
""hello, jimmy.
have you seen peter rabbit this morning?"
cried sammy jay.
jimmy looked up and grinned.
""yes," said he.
""i saw him up here early this morning.
why?"
""did he see you go into that old barrel?"
persisted sammy.
""i do n't know," confessed jimmy.
""he may have.
what have you got on your mind, sammy jay?"
""nothing much, only reddy fox was chasing him when he ran against that barrel and sent you rolling down the hill," replied sammy.
jimmy pricked up his ears.
""then reddy did n't do it purposely!"
he exclaimed.
""no," replied sammy.
""he did n't do it purposely.
i am quite sure that he did n't know you were in it.
but how about peter rabbit?
i am wondering.
and i'm doing a little guessing, too."
viii jimmy skunk looks for peter jimmy skunk looked very hard at sammy jay.
sammy jay looked very hard at jimmy skunk.
then sammy slowly shut one eye and as slowly opened it again.
it was a wink.
""you mean," said jimmy skunk, "that you guess that peter rabbit knew that i was in that barrel, and that he jumped over it so as to make reddy fox run against it.
is that it?"
sammy jay said nothing, but winked again.
jimmy grinned.
then he looked thoughtful.
""i wonder," said he slowly, "if peter did it so as to gain time to get away from reddy fox."
""i wonder," said sammy jay.
""and i wonder if he did it just to get reddy into trouble," continued jimmy.
""i wonder," repeated sammy jay.
""and i wonder if he did it for a joke, a double joke on reddy and myself," jimmy went on, scratching his head thoughtfully.
""i wonder," said sammy jay once more, and burst out laughing.
now jimmy skunk has a very shrewd little head on his shoulders.
""so that is your guess, is it?
well, i would n't be a bit surprised if you are right," said he, nodding his head.
""i think i will go look for peter.
i think he needs a lesson.
jokes that put other people in danger or make them uncomfortable can have no excuse.
my neck might have been broken in that wild ride down the hill, and certainly i was made most uncomfortable.
i felt as if everything inside me was shaken out of place and all mixed up.
even now my stomach feels a bit queer, as if it might not be just where it ought to be.
by the way, what became of peter after he jumped over the barrel?"
sammy shook his head.
""i do n't know," he confessed.
""you see, it was very exciting when that barrel started rolling, and we knew by the sounds that there was some one inside it.
i guess reddy fox forgot all about peter.
i know i did.
and when the barrel broke to pieces against that stone down there, and you and reddy faced each other, it was still more exciting.
after it was over, i looked for peter, but he was nowhere in sight.
he had n't had time to reach the old briar-patch.
i really would like to know myself what became of him."
jimmy skunk turned and looked down the hill.
then in his usual slow way he started back towards the broken barrel.
""where are you going?"
asked sammy.
""to look for peter rabbit," replied jimmy.
""i want to ask him a few questions."
jimmy skunk ambled along down the hill.
at first he was very angry as he thought of what peter had done, and he made up his mind that peter should be taught a lesson he would never forget.
but as he ambled along, the funny side of the whole affair struck him, for jimmy skunk has a great sense of humor, and before he reached the bottom of the hill his anger had all gone and he was chuckling.
""i'm sorry if i did reddy fox an injustice," thought he, "but he makes so much trouble for other people that i guess no one else will be sorry.
he is n't likely to bother any one for some time.
peter really ought to be punished, but somehow i do n't feel so much like punishing him as i did.
i'll just give him a little scare and let the scamp off with that.
now, i wonder where he can be.
i have an idea he is n't very far away.
let me see.
seems to me i remember an old house of johnny chuck's not very far from here.
i'll have a look in that."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- ix jimmy visits johnny chuck's old house jimmy skunk was smiling as he ambled towards the old house of johnny chuck near the foot of the hill.
there was no one near to see him, and this made him smile still more.
you see, the odor of that perfume which he had thrown at reddy fox just a little while before was very, very strong there, and jimmy knew that until that had disappeared no one would come near the place because it was so unpleasant for every one.
to jimmy himself it was n't unpleasant at all, and he could n't understand why other people disliked it so.
he had puzzled over that a great deal.
he was glad that it was so, because on account of it every one treated him with respect and took special pains not to quarrel with him.
""i guess it's a good thing that old mother nature did n't make us all alike," said he to himself.
""i think there must be something the matter with their noses, and i suppose they think there is something the matter with mine.
but there is n't.
not a thing.
hello!
there is johnny chuck's old house just ahead of me.
now we will see what we shall see."
he walked softly as he drew near to the old house.
if peter was way down inside, it would n't matter how he approached.
but if peter should happen to be only just inside the doorway, he might take it into his head to run if he should hear footsteps, particularly if those footsteps were not heavy enough to be those of reddy or granny fox or old man coyote.
jimmy did n't intend to give peter a chance to do any such thing.
if peter once got outside that old house, his long legs would soon put him beyond jimmy's reach, and jimmy knew it.
if he was to give peter the fright that he had made up his mind to give him, he would first have to get him where he could n't run away.
so jimmy walked as softly as he knew how and approached the old house in such a way as to keep out of sight of peter, should he happen to be lying so as to look out of the doorway.
at last he reached a position where with one jump he could land right on the doorstep.
he waited a few minutes and cocked his head on one side to listen.
there was n't a sound to tell him whether peter was there or not.
then lightly he jumped over to the doorstep and looked in at the doorway.
there was no peter to be seen.
""if he is here, he is way down inside," thought jimmy.
""i wonder if he really is here.
i think i'll look about a bit before i go in."
now the doorstep was of sand, as johnny chuck's doorsteps always are.
almost at once jimmy chuckled.
there were peter's tracks, and they pointed straight towards the inside of johnny chuck's old house.
jimmy looked carefully, but not a single track pointing the other way could he find.
then he chuckled again.
""the scamp is here all right," he muttered.
""he hid here and watched all that happened and then decided to lie low and wait until he was sure that the way was clear and no one would see him."
in this jimmy was partly right and partly wrong, as you and i know.
he stared down the long dark doorway a minute.
then he made up his mind.
""i'll go down and make peter a call, and i wo n't bother to knock," he chuckled, and poked his head inside the doorway.
but that was as far as jimmy skunk went.
yes, sir, that was just as far as jimmy skunk went.
you see, no sooner did he start to enter that old house of johnny chuck's than he was met by a lot of those yellow jackets, and they were in a very bad temper.
jimmy skunk knows all about yellow jackets and the sharp little lances they carry in their tails; he has the greatest respect for them.
he backed out in a hurry and actually hurried away to a safe distance.
then he sat down to think.
after a little he began to chuckle again.
""i know what happened," said he, talking to himself.
""peter rabbit popped into that doorway.
those yellow jackets just naturally got after him.
he did n't dare come out for fear of reddy fox and me, and so he went on down to jimmy chuck's old bedroom, and he's down there now, wondering how ever he is to get out without getting stung.
i reckon i do n't need to scare peter to pay him for that joke.
i reckon he's been punished already."
-lsb- illustration -rsb- x peter rabbit is most uncomfortable if ever any one was sorry for having played pranks on other folks, that one was peter rabbit.
i am afraid it was n't quite the right kind of sorrow.
you see, he was n't sorry because of what had happened to jimmy skunk and reddy fox, but because of what had happened to himself.
there he was, down in the bedroom of johnny chuck's old house, smarting and aching all over from the sharp little lances of the yellow jackets who had driven him down there before he had had a chance to see what happened to reddy fox.
that was bad enough, but what troubled peter more was the thought that he could n't get out without once again facing those hot-tempered yellow jackets.
peter wished with all his might that he had known about their home in johnny chuck's old house before ever he thought of hiding there.
but wishes of that kind are about the most useless things in the world.
they would n't help him now.
he had so many aches and smarts that he did n't see how he could stand a single one more, and yet he could n't see how he was going to get out without receiving several more.
all at once he had a comforting thought.
he remembered that johnny chuck usually has a back door.
if that were the case here, he would be all right.
he would find out.
cautiously he poked his head out of the snug bedroom.
there was the long hall down which he had come.
and there -- yes, sir, there was another hall!
it must be the way to the back door.
carefully peter crept up it.
""funny," thought he, "that i do n't see any light ahead of me."
and then he bumped his nose.
yes, sir, peter bumped his nose against the end of that hall.
you see, it was an old house, and like most old houses it was rather a tumble-down affair.
anyway, the back door had been blocked with a great stone, and the walls of the back hall had fallen in.
there was no way out there.
sadly peter backed out to the little bedroom.
he would wait until night, and perhaps then the yellow jackets would be asleep, and he could steal out the front way without getting any more stings.
meanwhile he would try to get a nap and forget his aches and pains.
hardly had peter curled up for that nap when he heard a voice.
it sounded as if it came from a long way off, but he knew just where it came from.
it came from the doorway of that old house.
he knew, too, whose voice it was.
it was jimmy skunk's voice.
""i know where you are, peter rabbit," said the voice.
""and i know why you are hiding down there.
i know, too, how it happened that i was rolled down hill in that barrel.
i'm just giving you a little warning, peter.
there are a lot of very angry yellow jackets up here, as you will find out if you try to come out before dark.
i'm going away now, but i'm going to come back about dark to wait for you.
i may want to play a little joke on you to pay you back for the one you played on me."
that put an end to peter's hope of a nap.
he shivered as he thought of what might happen to him if jimmy skunk should catch him.
what with his aches and pains from the stings of the yellow jackets, and fear of being caught by jimmy skunk, it was quite impossible to sleep.
he was almost ready to face those yellow jackets rather than wait and meet jimmy skunk.
twice he started up the long hall, but turned back.
he just could n't stand any more stings.
he was miserable.
yes, sir, he was miserable and most uncomfortable in both body and mind.
""i wish i'd never thought of that joke," he half sobbed.
""i thought it was a great joke, but it was n't.
it was a horrid, mean joke.
why, oh, why did i ever think of it?"
meanwhile jimmy skunk had gone off, chuckling.
xi jimmy skunk keeps his word keep your word, whate'er you do, and to your inmost self be true.
when jimmy skunk shouted down the hall of johnny chuck's old house to peter rabbit that he would come back at dark, he was half joking.
he did it to make peter uneasy and to worry him.
the truth is, jimmy was no longer angry at all.
he had quite recovered his good nature and was very much inclined to laugh himself over peter's trick.
but he felt that it would n't do to let peter off without some kind of punishment, and so he decided to frighten peter a little.
he knew that peter would n't dare come out during the daytime because of the yellow jackets whose home was just inside the doorway of that old house; and he knew that peter would n't dare face him, for he would be afraid of being treated as reddy fox had been.
so that is why he told peter that he was coming back at dark.
he felt that if peter was kept a prisoner in there for a while, all the time worrying about how he was to get out, he would be very slow to try such a trick again.
as jimmy ambled away to look for some beetles, he chuckled and chuckled and chuckled.
""i guess that by this time peter wishes he had n't thought of that joke on reddy fox and myself," said he.
""perhaps i'll go back there tonight and perhaps i wo n't.
he wo n't know whether i do or not, and he wo n't dare come out."
then he stopped and scratched his head thoughtfully.
then he sighed.
then he scratched his head again and once more sighed.
""i really do n't want to go back there tonight," he muttered, "but i guess i'll have to.
i said i would, and so i'll have to do it.
i believe in keeping my word.
if i should n't and some day he should find it out, he would n't believe me the next time i happened to say i would do a thing.
yes, sir, i'll have to go back.
there is nothing like making people believe that when you say a thing you mean it.
there is nothing like keeping your word to make people respect you."
being naturally rather lazy, jimmy decided not to go any farther than the edge of the old orchard, which was only a little way above johnny chuck's old house, where peter was a prisoner.
there jimmy found a warm, sunny spot and curled up for a nap.
in fact, he spent all the day there.
when jolly, round, red mr. sun went to bed behind the purple hills, and the black shadows came trooping across the green meadows, jimmy got up, yawned, chuckled, and then slowly ambled down to johnny chuck's old house.
a look at the footprints in the sand on the doorstep told him that peter had not come out.
jimmy sat down and waited until it was quite dark.
then he poked his head in at the doorway.
the yellow jackets had gone to bed for the night.
""come out, peter.
i'm waiting for you!"
he called down the hall, and made his voice sound as angry as he could.
but inside he was chuckling.
then jimmy skunk calmly turned and went about his business.
he had kept his word.
as for peter rabbit, that had been one of the very worst days he could recall.
he had ached and smarted from the stings of the yellow jackets; he had worried all day about what would happen to him if he did meet jimmy skunk, and he was hungry.
he had had just a little bit of hope, and this was that jimmy skunk would n't come back when it grew dark.
he had crept part way up the hall at the first hint of night and stretched himself out to wait until he could be sure that those dreadful yellow jackets had gone to sleep.
he had just about made up his mind that it was safe for him to scamper out when jimmy skunk's voice came down the hall to him.
poor peter!
the sound of that voice almost broke his heart.
""he has come back.
he's kept his word," he half sobbed as he once more went back to johnny chuck's old bedroom.
there he stayed nearly all the rest of the night, though his stomach was so empty it ached.
just before it was time for mr. sun to rise, peter ventured to dash out of johnny chuck's old house.
he got past the home of the yellow jackets safely, for they were not yet awake.
with his heart in his mouth, he sprang out of the doorway.
jimmy skunk was n't there.
with a sigh of relief, peter started for the dear, safe old briar-patch, lipperty-lipperty-lip, as fast as he could go.
""i'll never, never play another joke," he said, over and over again as he ran.
xii jimmy skunk and unc" billy possum meet jimmy skunk ambled along down the lone little path through the green forest.
he did n't hurry.
jimmy never does hurry.
hurrying and worrying are two things he leaves for his neighbors.
now and then jimmy stopped to turn over a bit of bark or a stick, hoping to find some fat beetles.
but it was plain to see that he had something besides fat beetles on his mind.
up the lone little path through the green forest shuffled unc" billy possum.
he did n't hurry.
it was too warm to hurry.
unlike jimmy skunk, he does hurry sometimes, does unc" billy, especially when he suspects that bowser the hound is about.
and sometimes unc" billy does worry.
you see, there are people who think that unc" billy would make a very good dinner.
unc" billy does n't think he would.
anyway, he has no desire to have the experiment tried.
so occasionally, when he discovers one of these people who think he would make a good dinner, he worries a little.
but just now unc" billy was neither hurrying nor worrying.
there was no need of doing either, and unc" billy never does anything that there is no need of doing.
so unc" billy shuffled up the lone little path, and jimmy skunk ambled down the lone little path, and right at a bend in the lone little path they met.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- jimmy skunk grinned.
""hello, unc" billy!"
said he.
""have you seen any fat beetles this morning?"
unc" billy grinned.
""good mo "nin", brer skunk," he replied.
""ah ca n't rightly say ah have.
ah had it on mah mind to ask yo" the same thing."
jimmy sat down and looked at unc" billy with twinkling eyes.
his grin grew broader and became a chuckle.
""unc" billy," said he, "have you ever in your life combed your hair or brushed your coat?"
you know unc" billy usually looks as if every hair was trying to point in a different direction from every other hair, while jimmy skunk always appears as neat as if he spent half his time brushing and smoothing his handsome black and white coat.
unc" billy's eyes twinkled.
""ah reckons ah did such a thing once or twice when ah was very small, brer skunk," said he, without a trace of a smile.
""but it seems to me a powerful waste of time.
ah have mo" important things to worry about.
by the way, brer skunk, did yo" ever run away from anybody in all your life?"
jimmy looked surprised at the question.
he scratched his head thoughtfully.
""not that i remember of," said he after a little.
""most folks run away from me," he added with a little throaty chuckle.
""those who do n't run away always are polite and step aside.
it may be that when i was a very little fellow and did n't know much about the great world and the people who live in it, i might have run away from some one, but if i did, i ca n't remember it.
why do you ask, unc" billy?"
""oh, no reason in particular, brer skunk.
no reason in particular.
only ah wonder sometimes if yo" ever realize how lucky yo" are.
if ah never had to worry about mah hungry neighbors, ah reckons perhaps ah might brush mah coat oftener."
unc" billy's eyes twinkled more than ever.
""worry," replied jimmy skunk sagely, "is the result of being unprepared.
anybody who is prepared has no occasion to worry.
just think it over, unc" billy."
it was unc" billy's turn to scratch his head thoughtfully.
""ah fear ah do n't quite get your meaning, brer skunk," said he.
""sit down, unc" billy, and i'll explain," replied jimmy.
xiii jimmy skunk explains you'll find this true where'er you go that those prepared few troubles know.
""to begin with, i am not such a very big fellow, am i?"
said jimmy.
""ah reckons ah knows a right smart lot of folks bigger than yo", brer skunk," replied unc" billy, with a grin.
you know jimmy skunk really is a little fellow compared with some of his neighbors.
""and i have n't very long claws or very big teeth, have i?"
continued jimmy.
""ah reckons mine are about as long and about as big," returned unc" billy, looking more puzzled than ever.
""but you never see anybody bothering me, do you?"
went on jimmy.
""no," replied unc" billy.
""and it's the same way with prickly porky the porcupine.
you never see anybody bothering him or offering to do him any harm, do you?"
persisted jimmy.
""no," replied unc" billy once more.
""why?"
demanded jimmy.
unc" billy grinned broadly.
""ah reckons, brer skunk," said he, "that there is n't anybody wants to go fo" to meddle with yo" and brer porky.
ah reckons most folks knows what would happen if they did, and that yo" and brer porky are folks it's a sight mo" comfortable to leave alone.
leastways, ah does.
ah ai n't aiming fo" trouble with either of yo".
that li'l bag of scent yo" carry is cert "nly most powerful, brer skunk, and ah is n't hankering to brush against those little spears brer porky is so free with.
ah knows when ah's well off, and ah reckons most folks feel the same way."
jimmy skunk chuckled.
""one more question, unc" billy," said he.
""did you ever know me to pick a quarrel and use that bag of scent without being attacked?"
unc" billy considered for a few minutes.
""ah ca n't say ah ever did," he replied.
""and you never knew prickly porky to go hunting trouble either," declared jimmy.
""we do n't either of us go hunting trouble, and trouble never comes hunting us, and the reason is that we both are always prepared for trouble and everybody knows it.
buster bear could squash me by just stepping on me, but he does n't try it.
you notice he always is very polite when we meet.
prickly porky and i are armed for defence, but we never use our weapons for offence.
nobody bothers us, and we bother nobody.
that's the beauty of being prepared."
unc" billy thought it over for a few minutes.
then he sighed and sighed again.
""ah reckons yo" and brer porky are about the luckiest people ah knows," said he.
""yes, sah, ah reckons yo" is just that.
ah do n't fear anybody mah own size, but ah cert "nly does have some mighty scary times when ah meets some people ah might mention.
ah wish ol' mother nature had done gone and given me something fo" to make people as scary of me as they are of yo".
ah cert "nly believes in preparedness after seein" yo", brer skunk.
ah cert "nly does just that very thing.
have yo" found any nice fresh aiggs lately?"
xiv a little something about eggs "an egg," says jimmy skunk, "is good; it's very good indeed to eat."
""an egg," says mrs. grouse, "is dear; "twill hatch into a baby sweet."
so in the matter of eggs, as in a great many other matters, it all depends on the point of view.
to jimmy skunk and unc" billy possum eggs are looked on from the viewpoint of something to eat.
their stomachs prompt them to think of eggs.
eggs are good to fill empty stomachs.
the mere thought of eggs will make jimmy and unc" billy smack their lips.
they say they "love" eggs, but they do n't.
they "like" them, which is quite different.
but mrs. grouse and most of the other feathered people of the green forest and the green meadows and the old orchard really do "love" eggs.
it is the heart instead of the stomach that responds to the thought of eggs.
to them eggs are almost as precious as babies, because they know that some day, some day very soon, those eggs will become babies.
there are a few feathered folks, i am sorry to say, who "love" their own eggs, but "like" the eggs of other people -- like them just as jimmy skunk and unc" billy possum do, to eat.
blacky the crow is one and his cousin, sammy jay, is another.
so in the springtime there is always a great deal of matching of wits between the little people of the green forest and the green meadows and the old orchard.
those who have eggs try to keep them a secret or to build the nests that hold them where none who like to eat them can get them; and those who have an appetite for eggs try to find them.
when unc" billy possum suddenly changed the subject by asking jimmy skunk if he had found any nice fresh eggs lately, he touched a subject very close to jimmy's heart.
i should have said, rather, his stomach.
to tell the truth, it was a longing for some eggs that had brought jimmy to the green forest.
he knew that somewhere there mrs. grouse must be hiding a nestful of the very nicest of eggs, and it was to hunt for these that he had come.
""no," replied jimmy, "i have n't had any luck at all this spring.
i've almost forgotten what an egg tastes like.
either i'm growing dull and stupid, or some folks are smarter than they used to be.
by the way, have you seen mrs. grouse lately?"
jimmy looked very innocent as he asked this.
unc" billy chuckled until his sides shook.
""do yo" suppose ah'd tell yo" if ah had?"
he demanded.
""ah reckons mrs. grouse has n't got any mo" aiggs than ah could comfortably take care of mahself, not to mention mrs. possum."
here unc" billy looked back over his shoulder to make sure that old mrs. possum was n't within hearing, and jimmy skunk chuckled.
""seems to me, brer skunk, yo" might better do your aigg hunting on the green meadows and leave the green forest to me," continued unc" billy.
""that would be no mo" than fair.
yo" know ah never did hanker fo" to get far away from trees, but yo" do n't mind.
besides there are mo" aiggs for yo" to find on the green meadows than there are fo" me to find in the green forest.
a right smart lot of birds make their nests on the ground there.
there is brer bob white and brer meadowlark and brer bobolink and brer field sparrow and brer --" "never mind any more, unc" billy," interrupted jimmy skunk.
""i know all about them.
that is, i know all about them i want to know, except where their eggs are.
did n't i just tell you i have n't had any luck at all?
that's why i'm over here."
""well, yo" wo n't have any mo" luck here unless yo" are a right smart lot sharper than your unc" billy, and when it comes to hunting aiggs, ah do n't take mah hat off to anybody, not even to yo", brer skunk," replied unc" billy.
xv a second meeting jimmy skunk could n't think of anything but eggs.
the more he thought of them, the more he wanted some.
after parting from unc" billy possum in the green forest he went back to the green meadows and prowled about, hunting for the nests of his feathered neighbors who build on the ground, and having no more luck than he had had before.
unc" billy possum was faring about the same way.
he could n't, for the life of him, stop thinking about those eggs that belonged to mrs. grouse.
the more he tried to forget about them, the more he thought about them.
""ah feels it in mah bones that there is n't the least bit of use in huntin" fo" them," said he to himself, as he watched jimmy skunk amble out of sight up the lone little path.
""no, sah, there is n't the least bit of use.
ah done look every place ah can think of already.
still, ah have n't got anything else special on mah mind, and those aiggs cert "nly would taste good.
ah reckons it must be ah needs those aiggs, or ah would n't have them on mah mind so much.
ah finds it rather painful to carry aiggs on mah mind all the time, but ah would enjoy carrying them in mah stomach.
ah cert "nly would."
unc" billy grinned and started to ramble about aimlessly, hoping that chance would lead him to the nest of mrs. grouse.
do what he would, unc" billy could n't get the thought of eggs off his mind, and the more he thought about them the more he wanted some.
and that led him to think of farmer brown's henhouse.
he had long ago resolved never again to go there, but the longing for a taste of eggs was too much for his good resolutions, and as soon as jolly, round, red mr. sun sank to rest behind the purple hills, and the black shadows came creeping across the green meadows and through the green forest, unc" billy slipped away, taking pains that old mrs. possum should n't suspect where he was going.
out from the green forest, keeping among the black shadows along by the old stone wall on the edge of the old orchard, he stole, and so at last he reached farmer brown's henhouse.
he stopped to listen.
there was no sign of bowser the hound, and unc" billy sighed gently.
it was a sigh of relief.
then he crept around a corner of the henhouse towards a certain hole under it he remembered well.
just as he reached it, he saw something white.
it moved.
it was coming towards him from the other end of the henhouse.
unc" billy stopped right where he was.
he was undecided whether to run or stay.
then he heard a little grunt and decided to stay.
he even grinned.
a few seconds later up came jimmy skunk.
it was a white stripe on jimmy's coat that unc" billy had seen.
jimmy gave a little snort of surprise when he almost bumped into unc" billy.
""what are you doing here?"
he demanded.
""just taking a li'l walk fo" the good of mah appetite," replied unc" billy, grinning more broadly than ever.
""what are yo" doing here, brer skunk?"
""the same thing," replied jimmy.
then he chuckled.
""this is an unexpected meeting.
i guess you must have had the same thing on your mind all day that i have," he added.
""ah reckon so," replied unc" billy, and both grinned.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- xvi a matter of politeness it costs not much to be polite and, furthermore, it's always right.
unc" billy possum and jimmy skunk, facing each other among the black shadows close by a hole that led under farmer brown's henhouse, chuckled as each thought of what had brought the other there.
it is queer how a like thought often brings people together.
unc" billy had the same longing in his stomach that jimmy skunk had, and jimmy skunk had the same thing on his mind that unc" billy had.
more than this, it was the second time that day that they had met.
they had met in the morning in the green forest and now they had met again among the black shadows of the evening at farmer brown's henhouse.
and it was all on account of eggs.
yes, sir, it was all on account of eggs.
""are you just coming out, or are you just going in?"
jimmy inquired politely.
""ah was just going in, but ah'll follow yo", brer skunk," replied unc" billy just as politely.
""nothing of the kind," returned jimmy.
""i would n't for a minute think of going before you.
i hope i know my manners better than that."
""yo" cert "nly are most polite, brer skunk.
yo" cert "nly are most polite.
yo" are a credit to your bringing up, but politeness always did run in your family.
there is a saying that han "some is as han "some does, and your politeness is as fine as yo" are han "some, brer skunk.
ah'll just step one side and let yo" go first just to show that ah sho "ly does appreciate your friendship," said unc" billy.
jimmy skunk chuckled.
""i guess you've forgotten that other old saying, "age before beauty," unc" billy," said he.
""so you go first.
you know you are older than i. i could n't think of being so impolite as to go first.
i really could n't think of such a thing."
and so they argued and argued, each insisting in the most polite way that the other should go first.
if the truth were known, neither of them was insisting out of politeness at all.
no, sir, politeness had nothing to do with it jimmy skunk wanted unc" billy to go first because jimmy believes in safety first, and it had popped into jimmy's head that there might, there just might, happen to be a trap inside that hole.
if there was, he much preferred that unc" billy should be the one to find it out.
yes, sir, that is why jimmy skunk was so very polite.
unc" billy wanted jimmy to go first because he always feels safer behind jimmy than in front of him.
he has great respect for that little bag of scent that jimmy carries, and he knows that when jimmy makes use of it, he always throws it in front and never behind him.
jimmy seldom uses it, but sometimes he does if he happens to be startled and thinks danger near.
so unc" billy preferred that jimmy should go first.
it was n't politeness at all on the part of unc" billy.
in both cases it was a kind of selfishness.
each was thinking of self.
how long they would have continued to argue and try to appear polite if something had n't happened, nobody knows.
but something did happen.
there was a sudden loud sniff just around the corner of the henhouse.
it was from bowser the hound.
right then and there unc" billy possum and jimmy skunk forgot all about politeness, and both tried to get through that hole at the same time.
they could n't, because it was n't big enough, but, they tried hard.
bowser sniffed again, and this time unc" billy managed to squeeze jimmy aside and slip through.
jimmy was right at his heels.
xvii jimmy skunk gets a bump hardly had jimmy skunk entered the hole under farmer brown's henhouse, following close on the heels of unc" billy possum, than along came bowser the hound, sniffing and sniffing in a way that made unc" billy nervous.
when bowser reached that hole, of course he smelled the tracks of unc" billy and jimmy, and right away he became excited.
he began to dig.
goodness, how he did make the dirt fly!
all the time he whined with eagerness.
unc" billy wasted no time in squeezing through a hole in the floor way over in one corner, a hole that farmer brown's boy had intended to nail a board over long before.
unc" billy knew that bowser could n't get through that, even if he did manage to dig his way under the henhouse.
once through that and fairly in the henhouse, unc" billy drew a long breath.
he felt safe for the time being, anyway, and he did n't propose to worry over the future.
jimmy skunk hurried after unc" billy.
it was n't fear that caused jimmy to hurry.
no, indeed, it was n't fear.
he had been startled by the unexpectedness of bowser's appearance.
it was this that had caused him to struggle to be first through that hole under the henhouse.
but once through, he had felt a bit ashamed that he had been so undignified.
he was n't afraid of bowser.
he was sorely tempted to turn around and send bowser about his business, as he knew he very well could.
but he thought better of it.
besides, unc" billy was already through that hole in the floor, and jimmy did n't for a minute forget what had brought him there.
he had come for eggs, and so had unc" billy.
it would never do to let unc" billy be alone up there for long.
so jimmy skunk did what he very seldom does -- hurried.
yes, sir, he hurried after unc" billy possum.
he meant to make sure of his share of the eggs he was certain were up there.
there was a row of nesting boxes along one side close to the floor.
above these was another row and above these a third row.
jimmy does n't climb, but unc" billy is a famous climber.
""i'll take these lower nests," said jimmy, and lifted his tail in a way that made unc" billy nervous.
""all right," replied unc" billy promptly.
""all right, brer skunk.
it's just as yo" say."
with this, unc" billy scrambled up to the next row of nests.
jimmy grinned and started to look in the lower nests.
he took his time about it, for that is jimmy's way.
there was nothing in the first one and nothing in the second one and nothing in the third one.
this was disappointing, to say the least, and jimmy began to move a little faster.
meanwhile unc" billy had hurried from one nest to another in the second row with no better success.
by the time jimmy was half-way along his row unc" billy bad begun on the upper row, and the only eggs he had found were hard china nest-eggs put there by farmer brown's boy to tempt the hens to lay in those particular nests.
disappointment was making unc" billy lose his temper.
each time he peeped in a nest and saw one of those china eggs, he hoped it was a real egg, and each time when he found it was n't he grew angrier.
at last he so lost his temper that when he found another of those eggs he angrily kicked it out of the nest.
now it happened that jimmy skunk was just underneath.
down fell that hard china egg squarely on jimmy skunk's head.
for just a minute jimmy saw stars.
at least, he thought he did.
then he saw the egg, and knew that unc" billy had knocked it down, and that it was this that had hit him.
jimmy was sore at heart because he had found no eggs, and now he had a bump on the head that also was sore.
jimmy skunk lost his temper, a thing he rarely does.
xviii a sad, sad quarrel jimmy skunk sat on the floor of farmer brown's henhouse, rubbing his head and glaring up at the upper row of nests with eyes red with anger.
of course it was dark in the henhouse, for it was night, but jimmy can see in the dark, just as so many other little people who wear fur can.
what he saw was the anxious looking face of unc" billy possum staring down at him.
""you did that purposely!"
snapped jimmy.
""you did that purposely, and you need n't tell me you did n't."
""on mah honor ah did n't," protested unc" billy.
""it was an accident, just a sho" "nuff accident, and ah'm right sorry fo" it."
""that sounds very nice, but i do n't believe a word of it.
you did it purposely, and you ca n't make me believe anything else.
come down here and fight.
i dare you to!"
jimmy was getting more and more angry every minute.
unc" billy began to grow angry.
of course, it was wholly his fault that that egg had fallen, but it was n't his fault that jimmy had happened to be just beneath.
he had n't known that jimmy was there.
he had apologized, and he felt that no one could do more than that.
jimmy skunk had doubted his word, had refused to believe him, and that made him angry.
his little eyes glowed with rage.
""if yo" want to fight, come up here.
i'll wait fo" yo" right where ah am," he sputtered.
this made jimmy angrier than ever.
he could n't climb up there, and he knew that unc" billy knew it.
unc" billy was perfectly safe in promising to wait for him.
""you're a coward, just a plain no-account coward!"
snapped jimmy.
""i'm not going to climb up there, but i'll tell you what i am going to do; i'm going to wait right down here until you come down, if it is n't until next year.
nobody can drop things on my head and not get paid back.
i thought you were a friend, but now i know better."
""wait as long as yo" please.
ah reckons ah can stay as long as yo" can," retorted unc" billy, grinding and snapping his teeth.
""suit yourself," retorted jimmy.
""i'm going to pay you up for that bump on my head or know the reason why."
and so they kept on quarreling and calling each other names, for the time being quite forgetting that they were where they had no business to be, either of them.
it really was dreadful.
and it was all because both had been sadly disappointed.
they had found no eggs where they had been sure they would find plenty.
you see, farmer brown's boy had gathered every egg when he shut the biddies up for the night.
did you ever notice what a bad thing for the temper disappointment often is?
-lsb- illustration -rsb- xix jimmy skunk is true to his word unc" billy possum was having a bad night of it.
when he had grown tired of quarreling with jimmy skunk, he had tried to take a nap.
he had tried first one nest and then another, but none just suited him.
this was partly because he was n't sleepy.
he was hungry and not at all sleepy.
he wished with all his heart that he had n't foolishly yielded to that fit of temper which had resulted in kicking that china nest-egg out of a nest and down on the head of jimmy skunk, making jimmy so thoroughly angry.
unc" billy had no intention of going down while jimmy was there.
he thought that jimmy would soon grow tired of waiting and go away.
so for quite awhile unc" billy did n't worry.
but as it began to get towards morning he began to grow anxious.
unc" billy had no desire to be found in that henhouse when farmer brown's boy came to feed the biddies.
then, too, he was hungry.
he had counted on a good meal of eggs, and not one had he found.
now he wanted to get out to look for something else to eat, but he could n't without facing jimmy skunk, and it was better to go hungry than to do that.
yes, sir, it was a great deal better to go hungry.
several times, when he thought jimmy was asleep, he tried to steal down.
he was just as careful not to make a sound as he could be, but every time jimmy knew and was waiting for him.
unc" billy wished that there was no such place as farmer brown's henhouse.
he wished he had never thought of eggs.
he wished many other foolish wishes, but most of all he wished that he had n't lost his temper and kicked that egg down on jimmy skunk's head.
when the first light stole in under the door and the biddies began to stir uneasily on their roosts unc" billy's anxiety would allow him to keep still no longer.
""don" yo" think we-uns better make up and get out of here, brer skunk?"
he ventured.
""i do n't mind staying here; it's very comfortable," replied jimmy, looking up at unc" billy in a way that made him most uncomfortable.
it was plain to see that jimmy had n't forgiven him.
for some time unc" billy said no more, but he grew more and more restless.
you see, he knew it would soon be time for farmer brown's boy to come to let the hens out and feed them.
at last he ventured to speak again.
""ah reckons yo" done forget something," said he.
""what is that?"
asked jimmy.
""ah reckons yo" done fo "get that it's most time fo" farmer brown's boy to come, and it wo n't do fo" we-uns to be found in here," replied unc" billy.
""i'm not worrying about farmer brown's boy.
he can come as soon as he pleases," retorted jimmy skunk, and grinned.
that sounded like boasting, but it was n't.
no, sir, it was n't, and unc" billy knew it.
he knew that jimmy meant it.
unc" billy was in despair.
he did n't dare stay, and he did n't dare go down and face jimmy skunk, and there he was.
it certainly had been a bad night for unc" billy possum.
xx farmer brown's boy arrives the light crept farther under the door of farmer brown's henhouse, and by this time the hens were all awake.
furthermore, they had discovered jimmy skunk down below and were making a great fuss.
they were cackling so that unc" billy was sure farmer brown's boy would soon hear them and hurry out to find out what the noise was all about.
""if yo" would just get out of sight, brer skunk, ah reckons those fool hens would keep quiet," unc" billy ventured.
""i do n't mind their noise.
it does n't trouble me a bit," replied jimmy skunk, and grinned.
it was plain enough to unc" billy that jimmy was enjoying the situation.
but unc" billy was n't.
he was so anxious that he could n't keep still.
he paced back and forth along the shelf in front of the upper row of nests and tried to make up his mind whether it would be better to go down and face jimmy skunk or to try to hide under the hay in one of the nests, and all the time he kept listening and listening and listening for the footsteps of farmer brown's boy.
at last he heard them, and he knew by the sound that farmer brown's boy was coming in a hurry.
he had heard the noise of the hens and was coming to find out what it was all about.
unc" billy hoped that now jimmy skunk would retreat through the hole in the floor and give him a chance to escape.
""he's coming!
farmer brown's boy is coming, brer skunk!
yo" better get away while yo" can!"
whispered unc" billy.
""i hear him," replied jimmy calmly.
""i'm waiting for him to open the door for me to go out.
it will be much easier than squeezing through that hole."
unc" billy gasped.
he knew, of course, that it was jimmy skunk's boast that he feared no one, but it was hard to believe that jimmy really intended to face farmer brown's boy right in his own henhouse where jimmy had no business to be.
he hoped that at last jimmy's boldness would get him into trouble.
yes, he did.
you see, that might give him a chance to slip away himself.
otherwise, he would be in a bad fix.
the latch on the door rattled.
unc" billy crept into one of the nests, but frightened as he was, he could n't keep from peeping over the edge to see what would happen.
the door swung open, letting in a flood of light.
the hens stopped their noise.
farmer brown's boy stood in the doorway and looked in.
jimmy skunk lifted his big plume of a tail just a bit higher than usual and calmly and without the least sign of being in a hurry walked straight towards the open door.
of course farmer brown's boy saw him at once.
""so it's you, you black and white rascal!"
he exclaimed.
""i suppose you expect me to step out of your way, and i suppose i will do just that very thing.
you are the most impudent and independent fellow of my acquaintance.
that's what you are.
you did n't get any eggs, because i gathered all of them last night.
and you did n't get a chicken because they were wise enough to stay on their roosts, so i do n't know as i have any quarrel with you, and i'm sure i do n't want any.
come along out of there, you rascal."
farmer brown's boy stepped aside, and jimmy skunk calmly and without the least sign of hurry or worry walked out, stopped for a drink at the pan of water in the henyard, walked through the henyard gate, and turned towards the stone wall along the edge of the old orchard.
xxi the nest-egg gives unc" billy away't is little things that often seem scarce worth a passing thought which in the end may prove that they with big results are fraught.
farmer brown's boy watched jimmy skunk calmly and peacefully go his way and grinned as he watched him.
he scratched his head thoughtfully.
""i suppose," said he, "that that is as perfect an example of the value of preparedness as there is.
jimmy knew he was all ready for trouble if i chose to make it, and that because of that i would n't make it.
so he has calmly gone his way as if he were as much bigger than i as i am bigger than he.
there certainly is nothing like being prepared if you want to avoid trouble."
then farmer brown's boy once more turned to the henhouse and entered it.
he looked to make sure that no hen had been foolish enough to go to sleep where jimmy could have caught her, and satisfied of this, he would have gone about his usual morning work of feeding the hens but for one thing.
that one thing was the china nest-egg on the floor.
""hello!"
exclaimed farmer brown's boy when he saw it.
""now how did that come there?
it must be that jimmy skunk pulled it out of one of those lower nests."
now he knew just which nests had contained nest-eggs, and it did n't take but a minute to find that none was missing in any of the lower nests.
""that's queer," he muttered.
""that egg must have come from one of the upper nests.
jimmy could n't have got up to those.
none of the hens could have kicked it out last night, because they were all on the roosts when i shut them up.
they certainly did n't do it this morning, because they would n't have dared leave the roosts with jimmy skunk here.
i'll have to look into this."
so he began with the second row of nests and looked in each.
then he started on the upper row, and so he came to the nest in which unc" billy possum was hiding under the hay and holding his breath.
now unc" billy had covered himself up pretty well with the hay, but he had forgotten one thing; he had forgotten his tail.
yes, sir, unc" billy had forgotten his tail, and it hung just over the edge of the nest.
of course, farmer brown's boy saw it.
he could n't help but see it.
""ho, ho!"
he exclaimed right away.
""ho, ho!
so there was more than one visitor here last night.
this henhouse seems to be a very popular place.
i see that the first thing for me to do after breakfast is to nail a board over that hole in the floor.
so it was you, unc" billy possum, who kicked that nest-egg out.
found it a little hard for your teeth, did n't you?
lost your temper and kicked it out, did n't you?
that was foolish, unc" billy, very foolish indeed.
never lose your temper over trifles.
it does n't pay.
now i wonder what i'd better do with you."
all this time unc" billy had n't moved.
of course, he could n't understand what farmer brown's boy was saying.
nor could he see what farmer brown's boy was doing.
so he held his breath and hoped and hoped that he had n't been discovered.
and perhaps he would n't have been but for that telltale nest-egg on the floor.
that was the cause of all his troubles.
first it had angered jimmy skunk because as you remember, it had fallen on jimmy's head.
then it had led farmer brown's boy to look in all the nests.
it had seemed a trifle, kicking that egg out of that nest, but see what the results were.
truly, little things often are not so little as they seem.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- xxii unc" billy possum tries his old trick the first knowledge unc" billy possum had that he was discovered came to him through his tail.
yes, sir, it came to him through his tail.
farmer brown's boy pinched it.
it was rather a mean thing to do, but farmer brown's boy was curious.
he wanted to see what unc" billy would do.
and he did n't pinch very hard, not hard enough to really hurt.
farmer brown's boy is too good-hearted to hurt any one if he can help it.
now any other of the green forest and green meadows people would promptly have pulled their tail away had they been in unc" billy's place.
but unc" billy did n't.
no, sir, unc" billy did n't.
that tail might have belonged to any one but him so far as he made any sign.
of course, he felt like pulling it away.
any one would have in his place.
but he did n't move it the tiniest bit, which goes to show that unc" billy has great self-control when he wishes.
farmer brown's boy pinched again, just a little harder, but still unc" billy made no sign.
farmer brown's boy chuckled and began to pull on that tail.
he pulled and pulled until finally he had pulled unc" billy out of his hiding-place, and he swung by his tail from the hand of farmer brown's boy.
there was n't the least sign of life about unc" billy.
he looked as if he were dead, and he acted as if he were dead.
any one not knowing unc" billy would have supposed that he was dead.
farmer brown's boy dropped unc" billy on the floor.
he lay just as he fell.
farmer brown's boy rolled him over with his foot, but there was n't a sign of life in unc" billy.
he hoped that farmer brown's boy really did think him dead.
that was what he wanted.
farmer brown's boy picked him up again and laid him on a box, first putting a board over the hole in the floor and closing the henhouse door.
then he went about his work of cleaning out the henhouse and measuring out the grain for the biddies.
unc" billy lay there on the box, and he certainly was pathetic looking.
a dead animal or bird is always pathetic looking, and none was ever more so than unc" billy possum as he lay on that box.
his hair was all rumpled up, as it usually is.
it was filled with dust from the floor and bits of straw.
his lips were drawn back and his mouth partly open.
his eyes seemed to be closed.
as a matter of fact, they were open just a teeny, weeny bit, just enough for unc" billy to watch farmer brown's boy.
but to have looked at him you would have thought him as dead as the deadest thing that ever was.
as he went about his work farmer brown's boy kept an eye on unc" billy and chuckled.
""you old fraud," said he.
""you think you are fooling me, but i know you.
possums do n't die of nothing in hens" nests.
you certainly are a clever old rascal, and the best actor i've ever seen.
i wonder how long you will keep it up.
i wish i had half as much self-control."
when he had finished his work he picked unc" billy up by the tail once more, opened the door, and started for the house with unc" billy swinging from his hand and bumping against his legs.
still unc" billy gave no sign of life.
he wondered where he was being taken to.
he was terribly frightened.
but he stuck to his old trick of playing dead which had served him so well more than once before.
-lsb- illustration -rsb- xxiii unc" billy gives himself away never had unc" billy possum played that old trick of his better than he was playing it now.
farmer brown's boy knew that unc" billy was only pretending to be dead, yet so well did unc" billy pretend that it was hard work for farmer brown's boy to believe what he knew was the truth -- that unc" billy was very much alive and only waiting for a chance to slip away.
they were half-way from the henyard to the house when bowser the hound came to meet his master.
""now we shall see what we shall see," said farmer brown's boy, as bowser came trotting up.
""if unc" billy can stand this test, i'll take off my hat to him every time we meet hereafter."
he held unc" billy out to bowser, and bowser sniffed him all over.
just imagine that!
just think of being nosed and sniffed at by one of whom you were terribly afraid and not so much as twitching an ear!
farmer brown's boy dropped unc" billy on the ground, and bowser rolled him over and sniffed at him and then looked up at his master, as much as to say: "this fellow does n't interest me.
he's dead.
he must be the fellow i saw go under the henhouse last night.
how did you kill him?"
farmer brown's boy laughed and picked unc" billy up by the tail again.
""he's fooled you all right, old fellow, and you do n't know it," said he to bowser, as the latter pranced on ahead to the house.
the mother of farmer brown's boy was in the doorway, watching them approach.
""what have you got there?"
she demanded.
""i declare if it is n't a possum!
where did you kill him?
was he the cause of all that racket among the chickens?"
farmer brown's boy took unc" billy into the kitchen and dropped him on a chair.
mrs. brown came over to look at him closer.
""poor little fellow," said she.
""poor little fellow.
it was too bad he got into mischief and had to be killed.
i do n't suppose he knew any better.
somehow it always seems wrong to me to kill these little creatures just because they get into mischief when all the time they do n't know that they are in mischief."
she stroked unc" billy gently.
the eyes of farmer brown's boy twinkled.
he went over to a corner and pulled a straw from his mother's broom.
then he returned to unc" billy and began to tickle unc" billy's nose.
mrs. brown looked puzzled.
she was puzzled.
""what are you doing that for?"
she asked.
""just for fun," replied farmer brown's boy and kept on tickling unc" billy's nose.
now unc" billy could stand having his tail pinched, and being carried head down, and being dropped on the ground, but this was too much for him; he wanted to sneeze.
he had got to sneeze.
he did sneeze.
he could n't help it, though it were to cost him his life.
""land of love!"
exclaimed mrs. brown, jumping back and clutching her skirts in both hands as if she expected unc" billy would try to take refuge behind them.
""do you mean to say that that possum is alive?"
""seems that way," replied farmer brown's boy as unc" billy sneezed again, for that straw was still tickling his nose.
""i should certainly say it seems that way.
the old sinner is no more dead than i am.
he's just pretending.
he fooled you all right, mother, but he did n't fool me.
i have n't hurt a hair of him.
you ought to know me well enough by this time to know that i would n't hurt him."
he looked at his mother reproachfully, and she hastened to apologize.
""but what could i think?"
she demanded.
""if he is n't a dead-looking creature, i never have seen one.
what are you going to do with him, son?"
""take him over to the green forest after breakfast and let him go," replied farmer brown's boy.
this is just what he did do, and unc" billy wasted no time in getting home.
it was a long time before he met jimmy skunk again.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_lightfoot_the_deer.txt.out
chapter i peter rabbit meets lightfoot peter rabbit was on his way back from the pond of paddy the beaver deep in the green forest.
he had just seen mr. and mrs. quack start toward the big river for a brief visit before leaving on their long, difficult journey to the far-away southland.
farewells are always rather sad, and this particular farewell had left peter with a lump in his throat, -- a queer, choky feeling.
""if i were sure that they would return next spring, it would n't be so bad," he muttered.
""it's those terrible guns.
i know what it is to have to watch out for them.
farmer brown's boy used to hunt me with one of them, but he does n't any more.
but even when he did hunt me it was n't anything like what the ducks have to go through.
if i kept my eyes and ears open, i could tell when a hunter was coming and could hide in a hole if i wanted to.
i never had to worry about my meals.
but with the ducks it is a thousand times worse.
they've got to eat while making that long journey, and they can eat only where there is the right kind of food.
hunters with terrible guns know where those places are and hide there until the ducks come, and the ducks have no way of knowing whether the hunters are waiting for them or not.
that is n't hunting.
it's -- it's --" "well, what is it?
what are you talking to yourself about, peter rabbit?"
peter looked up with a start to find the soft, beautiful eyes of lightfoot the deer gazing down at him over the top of a little hemlock tree.
""it's awful," declared peter.
""it's worse than unfair.
it does n't give them any chance at all."
""i suppose it must be so if you say so," replied lightfoot, "but you might tell me what all this awfulness is about."
peter grinned.
then he began at the beginning and told lightfoot all about mr. and mrs. quack and the many dangers they must face on their long journey to the far-away southland and back again in the spring, all because of the heartless hunters with terrible guns.
lightfoot listened and his great soft eyes were filled with pity for the quack family.
""i hope they will get through all right," said he, "and i hope they will get back in the spring.
it is bad enough to be hunted by men at one time of the year, as no one knows better than i do, but to be hunted in the spring as well as in the fall is more than twice as bad.
men are strange creatures.
i do not understand them at all.
none of the people of the green forest would think of doing such terrible things.
i suppose it is quite right to hunt others in order to get enough to eat, though i am thankful to say that i never have had to do that, but to hunt others just for the fun of hunting is something i can not understand at all.
and yet that is what men seem to do it for.
i guess the trouble is they never have been hunted themselves and do n't know how it feels.
sometimes i think i'll hunt one some day just to teach him a lesson.
what are you laughing at, peter?"
""at the idea of you hunting a man," replied peter.
""your heart is all right, lightfoot, but you are too timid and gentle to frighten any one.
big as you are i would n't fear you."
with a single swift bound lightfoot sprang out in front of peter.
he stamped his sharp hoofs, lowered his handsome head until the sharp points of his antlers, which people call horns, pointed straight at peter, lifted the hair along the back of his neck, and made a motion as if to plunge at him.
his eyes, which peter had always thought so soft and gentle, seemed to flash fire.
""oh!"
cried peter in a faint, frightened-sounding voice and leaped to one side before it entered his foolish little head that lightfoot was just pretending.
lightfoot chuckled.
""did you say i could n't frighten any one?"
he demanded.
""i -- i did n't know you could look so terribly fierce," stammered peter.
""those antlers look really dangerous when you point them that way.
why -- why -- what is that hanging to them?
it looks like bits of old fur.
have you been tearing somebody's coat, lightfoot?"
peter's eyes were wide with wonder and suspicion.
chapter ii lightfoot's new antlers peter rabbit was puzzled.
he stared at lightfoot the deer a wee bit suspiciously.
""have you been tearing somebody's coat?"
he asked again.
he did n't like to think it of lightfoot, whom he always had believed quite as gentle, harmless, and timid as himself.
but what else could he think?
lightfoot slowly shook his head.
""no," said he, "i have n't torn anybody's coat."
""then what are those rags hanging on your antlers?"
demanded peter.
lightfoot chuckled.
""they are what is left of the coverings of my new antlers," he explained.
""what's that?
what do you mean by new antlers?"
peter was sitting up very straight, with his eyes fixed on lightfoot's antlers as though he never had seen them before.
""just what i said," retorted lightfoot.
""what do you think of them?
i think they are the finest antlers i've ever had.
when i get the rest of those rags off, they will be as handsome a set as ever was grown in the green forest."
lightfoot rubbed his antlers against the trunk of a tree till some of the rags hanging to them dropped off.
peter blinked very hard.
he was trying to understand and he could n't.
finally he said so.
""what kind of a story are you trying to fill me up with?"
he demanded indignantly.
""do you mean to tell me that those are not the antlers that you have had as long as i've known you?
how can anything hard like those antlers grow?
and if those are new ones, where are the old ones?
show me the old ones, and perhaps i'll believe that these are new ones.
the idea of trying to make me believe that antlers grow just like plants!
i've seen bossy the cow all summer and i know she has got the same horns she had last summer.
new antlers indeed!"
""you are quite right, peter, quite right about bossy the cow.
she never has new horns, but that is n't any reason why i should n't have new antlers, is it?"
replied lightfoot patiently.
""her horns are quite different from my antlers.
i have a new pair every year.
you have n't seen me all summer, have you, peter?"
""no, i do n't remember that i have," replied peter, trying very hard to remember when he had last seen lightfoot.
""i know you have n't," retorted lightfoot.
""i know it because i have been hiding in a place you never visit."
""what have you been hiding for?"
demanded peter.
""for my new antlers to grow," replied lightfoot.
""when my new antlers are growing, i want to be away by myself.
i do n't like to be seen without them or with half grown ones.
besides, i am very uncomfortable while the new antlers are growing and i want to be alone."
lightfoot spoke as if he really meant every word he said, but still peter could n't, he just could n't believe that those wonderful great antlers had grown out of lightfoot's head in a single summer.
""where did you leave your old ones and when did they come off?"
he asked, and there was doubt in the very tone of his voice.
""they dropped off last spring, but i do n't remember just where," replied lightfoot.
""i was too glad to be rid of them to notice where they dropped.
you see they were loose and uncomfortable, and i had n't any more use for them because i knew that my new ones would be bigger and better.
i've got one more point on each than i had last year."
lightfoot began once more to rub his antlers against the tree to get off the queer rags hanging to them and to polish the points.
peter watched in silence for a few minutes.
then, all his suspicions returning, he said: "but you have n't told me anything about those rags hanging to your antlers."
""and you have n't believed what i have already told you," retorted lightfoot.
""i do n't like telling things to people who wo n't believe me."
chapter iii lightfoot tells how his antlers grew it is hard to believe what seems impossible.
and yet what seems impossible to you may be a very commonplace matter to some one else.
so it does not do to say that a thing can not be possible just because you can not understand how it can be.
peter rabbit wanted to believe what lightfoot the deer had just told him, but somehow he could n't.
if he had seen those antlers growing, it would have been another matter.
but he had n't seen lightfoot since the very last of winter, and then lightfoot had worn just such handsome antlers as he now had.
so peter really could n't be blamed for not being able to believe that those old ones had been lost and in their place new ones had grown in just the few months of spring and summer.
but peter did n't blame lightfoot in the least, because he had told peter that he did n't like to tell things to people who would n't believe what he told them when peter had asked him about the rags hanging to his antlers.
""i'm trying to believe it," he said, quite humbly.
""it's all true," broke in another voice.
peter jumped and turned to find his big cousin, jumper the hare.
unseen and unheard, he had stolen up and had overheard what peter and lightfoot had said.
""how do you know it is true?"
snapped peter a little crossly, for jumper had startled him.
""because i saw lightfoot's old antlers after they had fallen off, and i often saw lightfoot while his new ones were growing," retorted jumper.
""all right!
i'll believe anything that lightfoot tells me if you say it is true," declared peter, who greatly admires his cousin, jumper.
""now tell me about those rags, lightfoot.
please do."
lightfoot could n't resist that "please."
""those rags are what is left of a kind of covering which protected the antlers while they were growing, as i told you before," said he.
""very soon after my old ones dropped off the new ones began to grow.
they were not hard, not at all like they are now.
they were soft and very tender, and the blood ran through them just as it does through our bodies.
they were covered with a sort of skin with hairs on it like thin fur.
the ends were not sharply pointed as they now are, but were big and rounded, like knobs.
they were not like antlers at all, and they made my head hot and were very uncomfortable.
that is why i hid away.
they grew very fast, so fast that every day i could see by looking at my reflection in water that they were a little longer.
it seemed to me sometimes as if all my strength went into those new antlers.
and i had to be very careful not to hit them against anything.
in the first place it would have hurt, and in the second place it might have spoiled the shape of them.
""when they had grown to the length you now see, they began to shrink and grow hard.
the knobs on the ends shrank until they became pointed.
as soon as they stopped growing the blood stopped flowing up in them, and as they became hard they were no longer tender.
the skin which had covered them grew dry and split, and i rubbed it off on trees and bushes.
the little rags you see are what is left, but i will soon be rid of those.
then i shall be ready to fight if need be and will fear no one save man, and will fear him only when he has a terrible gun with him."
lightfoot tossed his head proudly and rattled his wonderful antlers against the nearest tree.
""is n't he handsome," whispered peter to jumper the hare; "and did you ever hear of anything so wonderful as the growing of those new antlers in such a short time?
it is hard to believe, but i suppose it must be true."
""it is," replied jumper, "and i tell you, peter, i would hate to have lightfoot try those antlers on me, even though i were big as a man.
you've always thought of lightfoot as timid and afraid, but you should see him when he is angry.
few people care to face him then."
chapter iv the spirit of fear when the days grow cold and the nights are clear, there stalks abroad the spirit of fear.
lightfoot the deer.
it is sad but true.
autumn is often called the sad time of the year, and it is the sad time.
but it should n't be.
old mother nature never intended that it should be.
she meant it to be the glad time.
it is the time when all the little people of the green forest and the green meadows have got over the cares and worries of bringing up families and teaching their children how to look out for themselves.
it is the season when food is plentiful, and every one is fat and is, or ought to be, care free.
it is the season when old mother nature intended all her little people to be happy, to have nothing to worry them for the little time before the coming of cold weather and the hard times which cold weather always brings.
but instead of this, a grim, dark figure goes stalking over the green meadows and through the green forest, and it is called the spirit of fear.
it peers into every hiding-place and wherever it finds one of the little people it sends little cold chills over him, little chills which jolly, round, bright mr. sun can not chase away, though he shine his brightest.
all night as well as all day the spirit of fear searches out the little people of the green meadows and the green forest.
it will not let them sleep.
it will not let them eat in peace.
it drives them to seek new hiding-places and then drives them out of those.
it keeps them ever ready to fly or run at the slightest sound.
peter rabbit was thinking of this as he sat at the edge of the dear old briar-patch, looking over to the green forest.
the green forest was no longer just green; it was of many colors, for old mother nature had set jack frost to painting the leaves of the maple-trees and the beech-trees, and the birch-trees and the poplar-trees and the chestnut-trees, and he had done his work well.
very, very lovely were the reds and yellows and browns against the dark green of the pines and the spruces and the hemlocks.
the purple hills were more softly purple than at any other season of the year.
it was all very, very beautiful.
but peter had no thought for the beauty of it all, for the spirit of fear had visited even the dear old briar-patch, and peter was afraid.
it was n't fear of reddy fox, or redtail the hawk, or hooty the owl, or old man coyote.
they were forever trying to catch him, but they did not strike terror to his heart because he felt quite smart enough to keep out of their clutches.
to be sure, they gave him sudden frights sometimes, when they happened to surprise him, but these frights lasted only until he reached the nearest bramble-tangle or hollow log where they could not get at him.
but the fear that chilled his heart now never left him even for a moment.
and peter knew that this same fear was clutching at the hearts of bob white, hiding in the brown stubble; of mrs. grouse, squatting in the thickest bramble-tangle in the green forest; of uncle billy possum and bobby coon in their hollow trees; of jerry muskrat in the smiling pool; of happy jack squirrel, hiding in the tree tops; of lightfoot the deer, lying in the closest thicket he could find.
it was even clutching at the hearts of granny and reddy fox and of great, big buster bear.
it seemed to peter that no one was so big or so small that this terrible spirit of fear had not searched him out.
far in the distance sounded a sudden bang.
peter jumped and shivered.
he knew that every one else who had heard that bang had jumped and shivered just as he had.
it was the season of hunters with terrible guns.
it was man who had sent this terrible spirit of fear to chill the hearts of the little meadow and forest people at this very time when old mother nature had made all things so beautiful and had intended that they should be happiest and most free from care and worry.
it was man who had made the autumn a sad time instead of a glad time, the very saddest time of all the year, when old mother nature had done her best to make it the most beautiful.
""i do n't understand these men creatures," said peter to little mrs. peter, as they stared fearfully out from the dear old briar-patch.
""they seem to find pleasure, actually find pleasure, in trying to kill us.
i do n't understand them at all.
they have n't any hearts.
that must be the reason; they have n't any hearts."
-lsb- illustration: "i do n't understand these men creatures," said peter to little mrs. peter. -rsb-
chapter v sammy jay brings lightfoot word sammy jay is one of those who believe in the wisdom of the old saying, "early to bed and early to rise."
sammy needs no alarm clock to get up early in the morning.
he is awake as soon as it is light enough to see and wastes no time wishing he could sleep a little longer.
his stomach would n't let him if he wanted to.
sammy always wakes up hungry.
in this he is no different from all his feathered neighbors.
so the minute sammy gets his eyes open he makes his toilet, for sammy is very neat, and starts out to hunt for his breakfast.
long ago sammy discovered that there is no safer time of day to visit the dooryards of those two-legged creatures called men than very early in the morning.
on this particular morning he had planned to fly over to farmer brown's dooryard, but at the last minute he changed his mind.
instead, he flew over to the dooryard of another farm.
it was so very early in the morning that sammy did n't expect to find anybody stirring, so you can guess how surprised he was when, just as he came in sight of that dooryard, he saw the door of the house open and a man step out.
sammy stopped on the top of the nearest tree.
""now what is that man doing up as early as this?"
muttered sammy.
then he caught sight of something under the man's arm.
he did n't have to look twice to know what it was.
it was a gun!
yes, sir, it was a gun, a terrible gun.
""ha!"
exclaimed sammy, and quite forgot that his stomach was empty.
""now who can that fellow be after so early in the morning?
i wonder if he is going to the dear old briar-patch to look for peter rabbit, or if he is going to the old pasture in search of reddy fox, or if it is mr. and mrs. grouse he hopes to kill.
i think i'll sit right here and watch."
so sammy sat in the top of the tree and watched the hunter with the terrible gun.
he saw him head straight for the green forest.
""it's mr. and mrs. grouse after all, i guess," thought sammy.
""if i knew just where they were i'd go over and warn them."
but sammy did n't know just where they were and he knew that it might take him a long time to find them, so he once more began to think of breakfast and then, right then, another thought popped into his head.
he thought of lightfoot the deer.
sammy watched the hunter enter the green forest, then he silently followed him.
from the way the hunter moved, sammy decided that he was n't thinking of mr. and mrs. grouse.
""it's lightfoot the deer, sure as i live," muttered sammy.
""he ought to be warned.
he certainly ought to be warned.
i know right where he is.
i believe i'll warn him myself."
sammy found lightfoot right where he had expected to.
""he's coming!"
cried sammy.
""a hunter with a terrible gun is coming!"
chapter vi a game of hide and seek there was a game of hide and seek that danny meadow mouse once played with buster bear.
it was a very dreadful game for danny.
but hard as it was for danny, it did n't begin to be as hard as the game lightfoot the deer was playing with the hunter in the green forest.
in the case of buster bear and danny, the latter had simply to keep out of reach of buster.
as long as buster did n't get his great paws on danny, the latter was safe.
then, too, danny is a very small person.
he is so small that he can hide under two or three leaves.
wherever he is, he is pretty sure to find a hiding-place of some sort.
his small size gives him advantages in a game of hide and seek.
it certainly does.
but lightfoot the deer is big.
he is one of the largest of the people who live in the green forest.
being so big, it is not easy to hide.
moreover, a hunter with a terrible gun does not have to get close in order to kill.
lightfoot knew all this as he waited for the coming of the hunter of whom sammy jay had warned him.
he had learned many lessons in the hunting season of the year before and he remembered every one of them.
he knew that to forget even one of them might cost him his life.
so, standing motionless behind a tangle of fallen trees, lightfoot listened and watched.
presently over in the distance he heard sammy jay screaming, "thief, thief, thief!"
a little sigh of relief escaped lightfoot.
he knew that that screaming of sammy jay's was a warning to tell him where the hunter was.
knowing just where the hunter was made it easier for lightfoot to know what to do.
a merry little breeze came stealing through the green forest.
it came from behind lightfoot and danced on towards the hunter with the terrible gun.
instantly lightfoot began to steal softly away through the green forest.
he took the greatest care to make no sound.
he went in a half-circle, stopping every few steps to listen and test the air with his wonderful nose.
can you guess what lightfoot was trying to do?
he was trying to get behind the hunter so that the merry little breezes would bring to him the dreaded man-scent.
so long as lightfoot could get that scent, he would know where the hunter was, though he could neither see nor hear him.
if he had remained where sammy jay had found him, the hunter might have come within shooting distance before lightfoot could have located him.
so the hunter with the terrible gun walked noiselessly through the green forest, stepping with the greatest care to avoid snapping a stick underfoot, searching with keen eye every thicket and likely hiding-place for a glimpse of lightfoot, and studying the ground for traces to show that lightfoot had been there.
chapter vii the merry little breezes help lightfoot could you have seen the hunter with the terrible gun and lightfoot the deer that morning on which the hunting season opened you might have thought that lightfoot was hunting the hunter instead of the hunter hunting lightfoot.
you see, lightfoot was behind the hunter instead of in front of him.
he was following the hunter, so as to keep track of him.
as long as he knew just where the hunter was, he felt reasonably safe.
the merry little breezes are lightfoot's best friends.
they always bring to him all the different scents they find as they wander through the green forest.
and lightfoot's delicate nose is so wonderful that he can take these scents, even though they be very faint, and tell just who or what has made them.
so, though he makes the best possible use of his big ears and his beautiful eyes, he trusts more to his nose to warn him of danger.
for this reason, during the hunting season when he moves about, he moves in the direction from which the merry little breezes may be blowing.
he knows that they will bring to him warning of any danger which may lie in that direction.
now the hunter with the terrible gun who was looking for lightfoot knew all this, for he was wise in the ways of lightfoot and of the other little people of the green forest.
when he had entered the green forest that morning he had first of all made sure of the direction from which the merry little breezes were coming.
then he had begun to hunt in that direction, knowing that thus his scent would be carried behind him.
it is more than likely that he would have reached the hiding-place of lightfoot the deer before the latter would have known that he was in the green forest, had it not been for sammy jay's warning.
when he reached the tangle of fallen trees behind which lightfoot had been hiding, he worked around it slowly and with the greatest care, holding his terrible gun ready to use instantly should lightfoot leap out.
presently he found lightfoot's footprints in the soft ground and studying them he knew that lightfoot had known of his coming.
""it was that confounded jay," muttered the hunter.
""lightfoot heard him and knew what it meant.
i know what he has done; he has circled round so as to get behind me and get my scent.
it is a clever trick, a very clever trick, but two can play at that game.
i'll just try that little trick myself."
so the hunter in his turn made a wide circle back, and presently there was none of the dreaded man-smell among the scents which the merry little breezes brought to lightfoot.
lightfoot had lost track of the hunter.
chapter viii wit against wit it was a dreadful game the hunter with the terrible gun and lightfoot the deer were playing in the green forest.
it was a matching of wit against wit, the hunter seeking to take lightfoot's life, and lightfoot seeking to save it.
the experience of other years had taught lightfoot much of the ways of hunters and not one of the things he had learned about them was forgotten.
but the hunter in his turn knew much of the ways of deer.
so it was that each was trying his best to outguess the other.
when the hunter found the hiding-place lightfoot had left at the warning of sammy jay he followed lightfoot's tracks for a short distance.
it was slow work, and only one whose eyes had been trained to notice little things could have done it.
you see, there was no snow, and only now and then, when he had stepped on a bit of soft ground, had lightfoot left a footprint.
but there were other signs which the hunter knew how to read, -- a freshly upturned leaf here, and here, a bit of moss lightly crushed.
these things told the hunter which way lightfoot had gone.
slowly, patiently, watchfully, the hunter followed.
after a while he stopped with a satisfied grin.
""i thought as much," he muttered.
""he heard that pesky jay and circled around so as to get my scent.
i'll just cut across to my old trail and unless i am greatly mistaken, i'll find his tracks there."
so, swiftly but silently, the hunter cut across to his old trail, and in a few moments he found just what he expected, -- one of lightfoot's footprints.
once more he grinned.
""well, old fellow, i've out-guessed you this time," said he to himself.
""i am behind you and the wind is from you to me, so that you can not get my scent.
i would n't be a bit surprised if you're back right where you started from, behind that old windfall."
he at once began to move forward silently and cautiously, with eyes and ears alert and his terrible gun ready for instant use.
now when lightfoot, following behind the hunter, had lost the scent of the latter, he guessed right away that the latter had found his tracks and had started to follow them.
lightfoot stood still and listened with all his might for some little sound to tell him where the hunter was.
but there was no sound and after a little lightfoot began to move on.
he did n't dare remain still, lest the hunter should creep up within shooting distance.
there was only one direction in which it was safe for lightfoot to move, and that was the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing.
so long as they brought him none of the dreaded man-smell, he knew that he was safe.
the hunter might be behind him -- probably he was -- but ahead of him, so long as the merry little breezes were blowing in his face and brought no man-smell, was safety.
chapter ix lightfoot becomes uncertain lightfoot the deer traveled on through the green forest, straight ahead in the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing.
every few steps he would raise his delicate nose and test all the scents that the merry little breezes were bringing.
so long as he kept the merry little breezes blowing in his face, he could be sure whether or not there was danger ahead of him.
lightfoot uses his nose very much as you and i use our eyes.
it tells him the things he wants to know.
he knew that reddy fox had been along ahead of him, although he did n't get so much as a glimpse of reddy's red coat.
once he caught just the faintest of scents which caused him to stop abruptly and test the air more carefully than ever.
it was the scent of buster bear.
but it was so very faint that lightfoot knew buster was not near, so he went ahead again, but even more carefully than before.
after a little he could n't smell buster at all, so he knew then that buster had merely passed that way when he was going to some other part of the green forest.
lightfoot knew that he had nothing to fear in that direction so long as the merry little breezes brought him none of the dreaded man-scent, and he knew that he could trust the merry little breezes to bring him that scent if there should be a man anywhere in front of him.
you know the merry little breezes are lightfoot's best friends.
but lightfoot did n't want to keep going in that direction all day.
it would take him far away from that part of the green forest with which he was familiar and which he called home.
it might in time take him out of the green forest and that would n't do at all.
so after a while lightfoot became uncertain.
he did n't know just what to do.
you see, he could n't tell whether or not that hunter with the terrible gun was still following him.
every once in a while he would stop in a thicket of young trees or behind a tangle of fallen trees uprooted by the wind.
there he would stand, facing the direction from which he had come, and watch and listen for some sign that the hunter was still following.
but after a few minutes of this he would grow uneasy and then bound away in the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing, so as to be sure of not running into danger.
""if only i could know if that hunter is still following, i would know better what to do," thought lightfoot.
""i've got to find out."
chapter x lightfoot's clever trick lightfoot the deer is smart.
yes, sir, lightfoot the deer is smart.
he has to be, especially in the hunting season, to save his life.
if he were not smart he would have been killed long ago.
he never makes the foolish mistake of thinking that other people are not smart.
he knew that the hunter who had started out to follow him early that morning was not one to be easily discouraged or to be fooled by simple tricks.
he had a very great respect for the smartness of that hunter.
he knew that he could n't afford to be careless for one little minute.
the certainty of danger is sometimes easier to bear than the uncertainty of not knowing whether or not there really is any danger.
lightfoot felt that if he could know just where the hunter was, he himself would know better what to do.
the hunter might have become discouraged and given up following him.
in that case he could rest and stop worrying.
it would be better to know that he was being followed than not to know.
but how was he to find out?
lightfoot kept turning this over and over in his mind as he traveled through the green forest.
then an idea came to him.
""i know what i'll do.
i know just what i'll do," said lightfoot to himself.
""i'll find out whether or not that hunter is still following me and i'll get a little rest.
goodness knows, i need a rest."
lightfoot bounded away swiftly and ran for some distance, then he turned and quickly, but very, very quietly, returned in the direction from which he had just come but a little to one side of his old trail.
after a while he saw what he was looking for, a pile of branches which woodchoppers had left when they had trimmed the trees they had cut down.
this was near the top of a little hill.
lightfoot went up the hill and stopped behind the pile of brush.
for a few moments he stood there perfectly still, looking and listening.
then, with a little sigh of relief, he lay down, where, without being in any danger of being seen himself, he could watch his old trail through the hollow at the bottom of the hill.
if the hunter were still following him, he would pass through that hollow in plain sight.
for a long time lightfoot rested comfortably behind the pile of brush.
there was not a suspicious movement or a suspicious sound to show that danger was abroad in the green forest.
he saw mr. and mrs. grouse fly down across the hollow and disappear among the trees on the other side.
he saw unc" billy possum looking over a hollow tree and guessed that unc" billy was getting ready to go into winter quarters.
he saw jumper the hare squat down under a low-hanging branch of a hemlock-tree and prepare to take a nap.
he heard drummer the woodpecker at work drilling after worms in a tree not far away.
little by little lightfoot grew easy in his mind.
it must be that that hunter had become discouraged and was no longer following him.
chapter xi the hunted watches the hunter it was so quiet and peaceful and altogether lovely there in the green forest, where lightfoot the deer lay resting behind a pile of brush near the top of a little hill, that it did n't seem possible such a thing as sudden death could be anywhere near.
it did n't seem possible that there could be any need for watchfulness.
but lightfoot long ago had learned that often danger is nearest when it seems least to be expected.
so, though he would have liked very much to have taken a nap, lightfoot was too wise to do anything so foolish.
he kept his beautiful, great, soft eyes fixed in the direction from which the hunter with the terrible gun would come if he were still following that trail.
he kept his great ears gently moving to catch every little sound.
lightfoot had about decided that the hunter had given up hunting for that day, but he did n't let this keep him from being any the less watchful.
it was better to be overwatchful than the least bit careless.
by and by, lightfoot's keen ears caught the sound of the snapping of a little stick in the distance.
it was so faint a sound that you or i would have missed it altogether.
but lightfoot heard it and instantly he was doubly alert, watching in the direction from which that faint sound had come.
after what seemed a long, long time he saw something moving, and a moment later a man came into view.
it was the hunter and across one arm he carried the terrible gun.
lightfoot knew now that this hunter had patience and perseverance and had not yet given up hope of getting near enough to shoot lightfoot.
he moved forward slowly, setting each foot down with the greatest care, so as not to snap a stick or rustle the leaves.
he was watching sharply ahead, ready to shoot should he catch a glimpse of lightfoot within range.
right along through the hollow at the foot of the little hill below lightfoot the hunter passed.
he was no longer studying the ground for lightfoot's tracks, because the ground was so hard and dry down there that lightfoot had left no tracks.
he was simply hunting in the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing because he knew that lightfoot had gone in that direction, and he also knew that if lightfoot were still ahead of him, his scent could not be carried to lightfoot.
he was doing what is called "hunting up-wind."
lightfoot kept perfectly still and watched the hunter disappear among the trees.
then he silently got to his feet, shook himself lightly, and noiselessly stole away over the hilltop towards another part of the green forest.
he felt sure that that hunter would not find him again that day.
chapter xii lightfoot visits paddy the beaver deep in the green forest is the pond where lives paddy the beaver.
it is paddy's own pond, for he made it himself.
he made it by building a dam across the laughing brook.
when lightfoot bounded away through the green forest, after watching the hunter pass through the hollow below him, he remembered paddy's pond.
""that's where i'll go," thought lightfoot.
""it is such a lonesome part of the green forest that i do not believe that hunter will come there.
i'll just run over and make paddy a friendly call."
so lightfoot bounded along deeper and deeper into the green forest.
presently through the trees he caught the gleam of water.
it was paddy's pond.
lightfoot approached it cautiously.
he felt sure he was rid of the hunter who had followed him so far that day, but he knew that there might be other hunters in the green forest.
he knew that he could n't afford to be careless for even one little minute.
lightfoot had lived long enough to know that most of the sad things and dreadful things that happen in the green forest and on the green meadows are due to carelessness.
no one who is hunted, be he big or little, can afford ever to be careless.
now lightfoot had known of hunters hiding near water, hoping to shoot him when he came to drink.
that always seemed to lightfoot a dreadful thing, an unfair thing.
but hunters had done it before and they might do it again.
so lightfoot was careful to approach paddy's pond up-wind.
that is, he approached the side of the pond from which the merry little breezes were blowing toward him, and all the time he kept his nose working.
he knew that if any hunters were hidden there, the merry little breezes would bring him their scent and thus warn him.
he had almost reached the edge of paddy's pond when from the farther shore there came a sudden crash.
it startled lightfoot terribly for just an instant.
then he guessed what it meant.
that crash was the falling of a tree.
there was n't enough wind to blow over even the most shaky dead tree.
there had been no sound of axes, so he knew it could not have been chopped down by men.
it must be that paddy the beaver had cut it, and if paddy had been working in daylight, it was certain that no one had been around that pond for a long time.
so lightfoot hurried forward eagerly, cautiously.
when he reached the bank he looked across towards where the sound of that falling tree had come from; a branch of a tree was moving along in the water and half hidden by it was a brown head.
it was paddy the beaver taking the branch to his food pile.
chapter xiii lightfoot and paddy become partners the instant lightfoot saw paddy the beaver he knew that for the time being, at least, there was no danger.
he knew that paddy is one of the shyest of all the little people of the green forest and that when he is found working in the daytime it means that he has been undisturbed for a long time; otherwise he would work only at night.
paddy saw lightfoot almost as soon as he stepped out on the bank.
he kept right on swimming with the branch of a poplar-tree until he reached his food pile, which, you know, is in the water.
there he forced the branch down until it was held by other branches already sunken in the pond.
this done, he swam over to where lightfoot was watching.
""hello, lightfoot!"
he exclaimed.
""you are looking handsomer than ever.
how are you feeling these fine autumn days?"
""anxious," replied lightfoot.
""i am feeling terribly anxious.
do you know what day this is?"
""no," replied paddy, "i do n't know what day it is, and i do n't particularly care.
it is enough for me that it is one of the finest days we've had for a long time."
""i wish i could feel that way," said lightfoot wistfully.
""i wish i could feel that way, paddy, but i ca n't.
no, sir, i ca n't.
you see, this is the first of the most dreadful days in all the year for me.
the hunters started looking for me before mr. sun was really out of bed.
at least one hunter did, and i do n't doubt there are others.
i fooled that one, but from now to the end of the hunting season there will not be a single moment of daylight when i will feel absolutely safe."
paddy crept out on the bank and chewed a little twig of poplar thoughtfully.
paddy says he can always think better if he is chewing something.
""that's bad news, lightfoot.
i'm sorry to hear it.
i certainly am sorry to hear it," said paddy.
""why anybody wants to hunt such a handsome fellow as you are, i can not understand.
my, but that's a beautiful set of antlers you have!"
-lsb- illustration: "my, but that's a beautiful set of antlers you have!" -rsb-
""they are the best i've ever had; but do you know, paddy, i suspect that they may be one of the reasons i am hunted so," replied lightfoot a little sadly.
""good looks are not always to be desired.
have you seen any hunters around here lately?"
paddy shook his head.
""not a single hunter," he replied.
""i tell you what it is, lightfoot, let's be partners for a while.
you stay right around my pond.
if i see or hear or smell anything suspicious, i'll warn you.
you do the same for me.
two sets of eyes, ears and noses are better than one.
what do you say, lightfoot?"
""i'll do it," replied lightfoot.
chapter xiv how paddy warned lightfoot it was a queer partnership, that partnership between lightfoot and paddy, but it was a good partnership.
they had been the best of friends for a long time.
paddy had always been glad to have lightfoot visit his pond.
to tell the truth, he was rather fond of handsome lightfoot.
you know paddy is himself not at all handsome.
on land he is a rather clumsy-looking fellow and really homely.
so he admired lightfoot greatly.
that is one reason why he proposed that they be partners.
lightfoot himself thought the idea a splendid one.
he spent that night browsing not far from paddy's pond.
with the coming of daylight he lay down in a thicket of young hemlock-trees near the upper end of the pond.
it was a quiet, peaceful day.
it was so quiet and peaceful and beautiful it was hard to believe that hunters with terrible guns were searching the green forest for beautiful lightfoot.
but they were, and lightfoot knew that sooner or later one of them would be sure to visit paddy's pond.
so, though he rested and took short naps all through that beautiful day, he was anxious.
he could n't help but be.
the next morning found lightfoot back in the same place.
but this morning he took no naps.
he rested, but all the time he was watchful and alert.
a feeling of uneasiness possessed him.
he felt in his bones that danger in the shape of a hunter with a terrible gun was not far distant.
but the hours slipped away, and little by little he grew less uneasy.
he began to hope that that day would prove as peaceful as the previous day had been.
then suddenly there was a sharp report from the farther end of paddy's pond.
it was almost like a pistol shot.
however, it was n't a pistol shot.
it was n't a shot at all.
it was the slap of paddy's broad tail on the surface of the water.
instantly lightfoot was on his feet.
he knew just what that meant.
he knew that paddy had seen or heard or smelled a hunter.
it was even so.
paddy had heard a dry stick snap.
it was a very tiny snap, but it was enough to warn paddy.
with only his head above water he had watched in the direction from which that sound had come.
presently, stealing quietly along towards the pond, a hunter had come in view.
instantly, paddy had brought his broad tail down on the water with all his force.
he knew that lightfoot would know that that meant danger.
then paddy had dived, and swimming under water, had sought the safety of his house.
he had done his part, and there was nothing more he could do.
chapter xv the three watchers when paddy the beaver slapped the water with his broad tail, making a noise like a pistol shot, lightfoot understood that this was meant as a warning of danger.
he was on his feet instantly, with eyes, ears, and nose seeking the cause of paddy's warning.
after a moment or two he stole softly up to the top of a little ridge some distance back from paddy's pond, but from the top of which he could see the whole of the pond.
there he hid among some close-growing young hemlock-trees.
it was n't long before he saw a hunter with a terrible gun come down to the shore of the pond.
now the hunter had heard paddy slap the water with his broad tail.
of course.
there would have been something very wrong with his ears had he failed to hear it.
""confound that beaver!"
muttered the hunter crossly.
""if there was a deer anywhere around this pond, he probably is on his way now.
i'll have a look around and see if there are any signs."
so the hunter went on to the edge of paddy's pond and then began to walk around it, studying the ground as he walked.
presently he found the footprints of lightfoot in the mud where light foot had gone down to the pond to drink.
""i thought as much," muttered the hunter.
""those tracks were made last night.
that deer probably was lying down somewhere near here, and i might have had a shot but for that pesky beaver.
i'll just look the land over, and then i think i'll wait here awhile.
if that deer is n't too badly scared, he may come back."
so the hunter went quite around the pond, looking into all likely hiding-places.
he found where lightfoot had been lying, and he knew that in all probability lightfoot had been there when paddy gave the danger signal.
""it's of no use for me to try to follow him," thought the hunter.
""it is too dry for me to track him.
he may not be so badly scared, after all.
i'll just find a good place and wait."
so the hunter found an old log behind some small trees and there sat down.
he could see all around paddy's pond.
he sat perfectly still.
he was a clever hunter and he knew that so long as he did not move he was not likely to be noticed by any sharp eyes that might come that way.
what he did n't know was that lightfoot had been watching him all the time and was even then standing where he could see him.
and another thing he did n't know was that paddy the beaver had come out of his house and, swimming under water, had reached a hiding-place on the opposite shore from which he too had seen the hunter sit down on the log.
so the hunter watched for lightfoot, and lightfoot and paddy watched the hunter.
chapter xvi visitors to paddy's pond that hunter was a man of patience.
also he was a man who understood the little people of the green forest and the green meadows.
he knew that if he would not be seen he must not move.
so he did n't move.
he kept as motionless as if he were a part of the very log on which he was sitting.
for some time there was no sign of any living thing.
then, from over the tree tops in the direction of the big river, came the whistle of swift wings, and mr. and mrs. quack alighted with a splash in the pond.
for a few moments they sat on the water, a picture of watchful suspicion.
they were looking and listening to make sure that no danger was near.
satisfied at last, they began to clean their feathers.
it was plain that they felt safe.
paddy the beaver was tempted to warn them that they were not as safe as they thought, but as long as the hunter did not move paddy decided to wait.
now the hunter was sorely tempted to shoot these ducks, but he knew that if he did he would have no chance that day to get lightfoot the deer, and it was lightfoot he wanted.
so mr. and mrs. quack swam about within easy range of that terrible gun without once suspecting that danger was anywhere near.
by and by the hunter's keen eyes caught a movement at one end of paddy's dam.
an instant later bobby coon appeared.
it was clear that bobby was quite unsuspicious.
he carried something, but just what the hunter could not make out.
he took it down to the edge of the water and there carefully washed it.
then he climbed up on paddy's dam and began to eat.
you know bobby coon is very particular about his food.
whenever there is water near, bobby washes his food before eating.
once more the hunter was tempted, but did not yield to the temptation, which was a very good thing for bobby coon.
all this lightfoot saw as he stood among the little hemlock-trees at the top of the ridge behind the hunter.
he saw and he understood.
""it is because he wants to kill me that he does n't shoot at mr. and mrs. quack or bobby coon," thought lightfoot a little bitterly.
""what have i ever done that he should be so anxious to kill me?"
still the hunter sat without moving.
mr. and mrs. quack contentedly hunted for food in the mud at the bottom of paddy's pond.
bobby coon finished his meal, crossed the dam and disappeared in the green forest.
he had gone off to take a nap somewhere.
time slipped away.
the hunter continued to watch patiently for lightfoot, and lightfoot and paddy the beaver watched the hunter.
finally, another visitor appeared at the upper end of the pond -- a visitor in a wonderful coat of red.
it was reddy fox.
chapter xvii sammy jay arrives when reddy fox arrived at the pond of paddy the beaver, the hunter who was hiding there saw him instantly.
so did lightfoot.
but no one else did.
he approached in that cautious, careful way that he always uses when he is hunting.
the instant he reached a place where he could see all over paddy's pond, he stopped as suddenly as if he had been turned to stone.
he stopped with one foot lifted in the act of taking a step.
he had seen mr. and mrs. quack.
now you know there is nothing reddy fox likes better for a dinner than a duck.
the instant he saw mr. and mrs. quack, a gleam of longing crept into his eyes and his mouth began to water.
he stood motionless until both mr. and mrs. quack had their heads under water as they searched for food in the mud in the bottom of the pond.
then like a red flash he bounded out of sight behind the dam of paddy the beaver.
presently the hunter saw reddy's black nose at the end of the dam as reddy peeped around it to watch mr. and mrs. quack.
the latter were slowly moving along in that direction as they fed.
reddy was quick to see this.
if he remained right where he was, and mr. and mrs. quack kept on feeding in that direction, the chances were that he would have a dinner of fat duck.
all he need do was to be patient and wait.
so, with his eyes fixed fast on mr. and mrs. quack, reddy fox crouched behind paddy's dam and waited.
watching reddy and the ducks, the hunter almost forgot lightfoot the deer.
mr. and mrs. quack were getting very near to where reddy was waiting for them.
the hunter was tempted to get up and frighten those ducks.
he did n't want reddy fox to have them, because he hoped some day to get them himself.
""i suppose," thought he, "i was foolish not to shoot them when i had the chance.
they are too far away now, and it looks very much as if that red rascal will get one of them.
i believe i'll spoil that red scamp's plans by frightening them away.
i do n't believe that deer will be back here to-day anyway, so i may as well save those ducks."
but the hunter did nothing of the kind.
you see, just as he was getting ready to step out from his hiding-place, sammy jay arrived.
he perched in a tree close to the end of paddy's dam and at once he spied reddy fox.
it did n't take him a second to discover what reddy was hiding there for.
""thief, thief, thief!"
screamed sammy, and then looked down at reddy with a mischievous look in his sharp eyes.
there is nothing sammy jay delights in more than in upsetting the plans of reddy fox.
at the sound of sammy's voice, mr. and mrs. quack swam hurriedly towards the middle of the pond.
they knew exactly what that warning meant.
reddy fox looked up at sammy jay and snarled angrily.
then, knowing it was useless to hide longer, he bounded away through the green forest to hunt elsewhere.
chapter xviii the hunter loses his temper the hunter, hidden near the pond of paddy the beaver, chuckled silently.
that is to say, he laughed without making any sound.
the hunter thought the warning of mr. and mrs. quack by sammy jay was a great joke on reddy.
to tell the truth, he was very much pleased.
as you know, he wanted those ducks himself.
he suspected that they would stay in that little pond for some days, and he planned to return there and shoot them after he had got lightfoot the deer.
he wanted to get lightfoot first, and he knew that to shoot at anything else might spoil his chance of getting a shot at lightfoot.
""sammy jay did me a good turn," thought the hunter, "although he does n't know it.
reddy fox certainly would have caught one of those ducks had sammy not come along just when he did.
it would have been a shame to have had one of them caught by that fox.
i mean to get one, and i hope both of them, myself."
now when you come to think of it, it would have been a far greater shame for the hunter to have killed mr. and mrs. quack than for reddy fox to have done so.
reddy was hunting them because he was hungry.
the hunter would have shot them for sport.
he did n't need them.
he had plenty of other food.
reddy fox does n't kill just for the pleasure of killing.
so the hunter continued to sit in his hiding-place with very friendly feelings for sammy jay.
sammy watched reddy fox disappear and then flew over to that side of the pond where the hunter was.
mr. and mrs. quack called their thanks to sammy, to which he replied, that he had done no more for them than he would do for anybody, or than they would have done for him.
for some time sammy sat quietly in the top of the tree, but all the time his sharp eyes were very busy.
by and by he spied the hunter sitting on the log.
at first he could n't make out just what it was he was looking at.
it did n't move, but nevertheless sammy was suspicious.
presently he flew over to a tree where he could see better.
right away he spied the terrible gun, and he knew just what that was.
once more he began to yell, "thief!
thief!
thief!"
at the top of his lungs.
it was then that the hunter lost his temper.
he knew that now he had been discovered by sammy jay, and it was useless to remain there longer.
he was angry clear through.
chapter xix sammy jay is modest as soon as the angry hunter with the terrible gun had disappeared among the trees of the green forest, and lightfoot was sure that he had gone for good, lightfoot came out from his hiding-place on top of the ridge and walked down to the pond of paddy the beaver for a drink.
he knew that it was quite safe to do so, for sammy jay had followed the hunter, all the time screaming, "thief!
thief!
thief!"
every one within hearing could tell just where that hunter was by sammy's voice.
it kept growing fainter and fainter, and by that lightfoot knew that the hunter was getting farther and farther away.
paddy the beaver swam out from his hiding-place and climbed out on the bank near lightfoot.
there was a twinkle in his eyes.
""that blue-coated mischief-maker is n't such a bad fellow at heart, after all, is he?"
said he.
lightfoot lifted his beautiful head and set his ears forward to catch the sound of sammy's voice in the distance.
""sammy jay may be a mischief-maker, as some people say," said he, "but you can always count on him to prove a true friend in time of danger.
he brought me warning of the coming of the hunter the other morning.
you saw him save mr. and mrs. quack a little while ago, and then he actually drove that hunter away.
i suppose sammy jay has saved more lives than any one i know of.
i wish he would come back here and let me thank him."
some time later sammy jay did come back.
""well," said he, as he smoothed his feathers, "i chased that fellow clear to the edge of the green forest, so i guess there will be nothing more to fear from him to-day.
i'm glad to see he has n't got you yet, lightfoot.
i've been a bit worried about you."
""sammy," said lightfoot, "you are one of the best friends i have.
i do n't know how i can ever thank you for what you have done for me."
""do n't try," replied sammy shortly.
""i have n't done anything but what anybody else would have done.
old mother nature gave me a pair of good eyes and a strong voice.
i simply make the best use of them i can.
just to see a hunter with a terrible gun makes me angry clear through.
i'd rather spoil his hunting than eat."
""you want to watch out, sammy.
one of these days a hunter will lose his temper and shoot you, just to get even with you," warned paddy the beaver.
""do n't worry about me," replied sammy "i know just how far those terrible guns can shoot, and i do n't take any chances.
by the way, lightfoot, the green forest is full of hunters looking for you.
i've seen a lot of them, and i know they are looking for you because they do not shoot at anybody else even when they have a chance."
chapter xx lightfoot hears a dreadful sound day after day, lightfoot the deer played hide and seek for his life with the hunters who were seeking to kill him.
he saw them many times, though not one of them saw him.
more than once a hunter passed close to lightfoot's hiding-place without once suspecting it.
but poor lightfoot was feeling the strain.
he was growing thin, and he was so nervous that the falling of a dead leaf from a tree would startle him.
there is nothing quite so terrible as being continually hunted.
it was getting so that lightfoot half expected a hunter to step out from behind every tree.
only when the black shadows wrapped the green forest in darkness did he know a moment of peace.
and those hours of safety were filled with dread of what the next day might bring.
early one morning a terrible sound rang through the green forest and brought lightfoot to his feet with a startled jump.
it was the baying of hounds following a trail.
at first it did not sound so terrible.
lightfoot had often heard it before.
many times he had listened to the baying of bowser the hound, as he followed reddy fox.
it had not sounded so terrible then because it meant no danger to lightfoot.
at first, as he listened early that morning, he took it for granted that those hounds were after reddy, and so, though startled, he was not worried.
but suddenly a dreadful suspicion came to him and he grew more and more anxious as he listened.
in a few minutes there was no longer any doubt in his mind.
those hounds were following his trail.
it was then that the sound of that baying became terrible.
he must run for his life!
those hounds would give him no rest.
and he knew that in running from them, he would no longer be able to watch so closely for the hunters with terrible guns.
he would no longer be able to hide in thickets.
at any time he might be driven right past one of those hunters.
lightfoot bounded away with such leaps as only lightfoot can make.
in a little while the voices of the hounds grew fainter.
lightfoot stopped to get his breath and stood trembling as he listened.
the baying of the hounds again grew louder and louder.
those wonderful noses of theirs were following his trail without the least difficulty.
in a panic of fear, lightfoot bounded away again.
as he crossed an old road, the green forest rang with the roar of a terrible gun.
something tore a strip of bark from the trunk of a tree just above lightfoot's back.
it was a bullet and it had just missed lightfoot.
it added to his terror and this in turn added to his speed.
so lightfoot ran and ran, and behind him the voices of the hounds continued to ring through the green forest.
chapter xxi how lightfoot got rid of the hounds poor lightfoot!
it seemed to him that there were no such things as justice and fair play.
had it been just one hunter at a time against whom he had to match his wits it would not have been so bad.
but there were many hunters with terrible guns looking for him, and in dodging one he was likely at any time to meet another.
this in itself seemed terribly unfair and unjust.
but now, added to this was the greater unfairness of being trailed by hounds.
do you wonder that lightfoot thought of men as utterly heartless?
you see, he could not know that those hounds had not been put on his trail, but had left home to hunt for their own pleasure.
he could not know that it was against the law to hunt him with dogs.
but though none of those hunters looking for him were guilty of having put the hounds on his trail, each one of them was willing and eager to take advantage of the fact that the hounds were on his trail.
already he had been shot at once and he knew that he would be shot at again if he should be driven where a hunter was hidden.
the ground was damp and scent always lies best on damp ground.
this made it easy for the hounds to follow him with their wonderful noses.
lightfoot tried every trick he could think of to make those hounds lose the scent.
""if only i could make them lose it long enough for me to get a little rest, it would help," panted lightfoot, as he paused for just an instant to listen to the baying of the hounds.
but he could n't.
they allowed him no rest.
he was becoming very, very tired.
he could no longer bound lightly over fallen logs or brush, as he had done at first.
his lungs ached as he panted for breath.
he realized that even though he should escape the hunters he would meet an even more terrible death unless he could get rid of those hounds.
there would come a time when he would have to stop.
then those hounds would catch up with him and tear him to pieces.
it was then that he remembered the big river.
he turned towards it.
it was his only chance and he knew it.
straight through the green forest, out across the green meadows to the bank of the big river, lightfoot ran.
for just a second he paused to look behind.
the hounds were almost at his heels.
lightfoot hesitated no longer but plunged into the big river and began to swim.
on the banks the hounds stopped and bayed their disappointment, for they did not dare follow lightfoot out into the big river.
chapter xxii lightfoot's long swim the big river was very wide.
it would have been a long swim for lightfoot had he been fresh and at his best.
strange as it may seem, lightfoot is a splendid swimmer, despite his small, delicate feet.
he enjoys swimming.
but now lightfoot was terribly tired from his long run ahead of the hounds.
for a time he swam rapidly, but those weary muscles grew still more weary, and by the time he reached the middle of the big river it seemed to him that he was not getting ahead at all.
at first he had tried to swim towards a clump of trees he could see on the opposite bank above the point where he had entered the water, but to do this he had to swim against the current and he soon found that he had n't the strength to do this.
then he turned and headed for a point down the big river.
this made the swimming easier, for the current helped him instead of hindering him.
even then he could feel his strength leaving him.
had he escaped those hounds and the terrible hunters only to be drowned in the big river?
this new fear gave him more strength for a little while.
but it did not last long.
he was three fourths of the way across the big river but still that other shore seemed a long distance away.
little by little hope died in the heart of lightfoot the deer.
he would keep on just as long as he could and then, -- well, it was better to drown than to be torn to pieces by dogs.
just as lightfoot felt that he could not take another stroke and that the end was at hand, one foot touched something.
then, all four feet touched.
a second later he had found solid footing and was standing with the water only up to his knees.
he had found a little sand bar out in the big river.
with a little gasp of returning hope, lightfoot waded along until the water began to grow deeper again.
he had hoped that he would be able to wade ashore, but he saw now that he would have to swim again.
so for a long time he remained right where he was.
he was so tired that he trembled all over, and he was as frightened as he was tired.
he knew that standing out there in the water he could be seen for a long distance, and that made him nervous and fearful.
supposing a hunter on the shore he was trying to reach should see him.
then he would have no chance at all, for the hunter would simply wait for him and shoot him as he came out of the water.
but rest he must, and so he stood for a long time on the little sand bar in the big river.
and little by little he felt his strength returning.
chapter xxiii lightfoot finds a friend as lightfoot rested, trying to recover his breath, out there on the little sand bar in the big river, his great, soft, beautiful eyes watched first one bank and then the other.
on the bank he had left, he could see two black-and-white specks moving about, and across the water came the barking of dogs.
those two specks were the hounds who had driven him into the big river.
they were barking now, instead of baying.
presently a brown form joined the black-and-white specks.
it was a hunter drawn there by the barking of the dogs.
he was too far away to be dangerous, but the mere sight of him filled lightfoot with terror again.
he watched the hunter walk along the bank and disappear in the bushes.
presently out of the bushes came a boat, and in it was the hunter.
he headed straight towards lightfoot, and then lightfoot knew that his brief rest was at an end.
he must once more swim or be shot by the hunter in the boat.
so lightfoot again struck out for the shore.
his rest had given him new strength, but still he was very, very tired and swimming was hard work.
slowly, oh so slowly, he drew nearer to the bank.
what new dangers might be waiting there, he did not know.
he had never been on that side of the big river.
he knew nothing of the country on that side.
but the uncertainty was better than the certainty behind him.
he could hear the sound of the oars as the hunter in the boat did his best to get to him before he should reach the shore.
on lightfoot struggled.
at last he felt bottom beneath his feet.
he staggered up through some bushes along the bank and then for an instant it seemed to him his heart stopped beating.
right in front of him stood a man.
he had come out into the back yard of the home of that man.
it is doubtful which was the more surprised, lightfoot or the man.
right then and there lightfoot gave up in despair.
he could n't run.
it was all he could do to walk.
the long chase by the hounds on the other side of the big river and the long swim across the big river had taken all his strength.
not a spark of hope remained to lightfoot.
he simply stood still and trembled, partly with fear and partly with weariness.
then a surprising thing happened.
the man spoke softly.
he advanced, not threateningly but slowly, and in a friendly way.
he walked around back of lightfoot and then straight towards him.
lightfoot walked on a few steps, and the man followed, still talking softly.
little by little he urged lightfoot on, driving him towards an open shed in which was a pile of hay.
without understanding just how, lightfoot knew that he had found a friend.
so he entered the open shed and with a long sigh lay down in the soft hay.
chapter xxiv the hunter is disappointed how he knew he was safe, lightfoot the deer could n't have told you.
he just knew it, that was all.
he could n't understand a word said by the man in whose yard he found himself when he climbed the bank after his long swim across the big river.
but he did n't have to understand words to know that he had found a friend.
so he allowed the man to drive him gently over to an open shed where there was a pile of soft hay and there he lay down, so tired that it seemed to him he could n't move another step.
it was only a few minutes later that the hunter who had followed lightfoot across the river reached the bank and scrambled out of his boat.
lightfoot's friend was waiting just at the top of the bank.
of course the hunter saw him at once.
""hello, friend!"
cried the hunter.
""did you see a deer pass this way a few minutes ago?
he swam across the river, and if i know anything about it he's too tired to travel far now.
i've been hunting that fellow for several days, and if i have any luck at all i ought to get him this time."
""i'm afraid you wo n't have any luck at all," said lightfoot's friend.
""you see, i do n't allow any hunting on my land."
the hunter looked surprised, and then his surprise gave way to anger.
""you mean," said he, "that you intend to get that deer yourself."
lightfoot's friend shook his head.
""no," said he, "i do n't mean anything of the kind.
i mean that that deer is not to be killed if i can prevent it, and while it is on my land, i think i can.
the best thing for you to do, my friend, is to get into your boat and row back where you came from.
are those your hounds barking over there?"
""no," replied the hunter promptly.
""i know the law just as well as you do, and it is against the law to hunt deer with dogs.
i do n't even know who owns those two hounds over there."
""that may be true," replied lightfoot's friend.
""i do n't doubt it is true.
but you are willing to take advantage of the fact that the dogs of some one else have broken the law.
you knew that those dogs had driven that deer into the big river and you promptly took advantage of the fact to try to reach that deer before he could get across.
you are not hunting for the pleasure of hunting but just to kill.
you do n't know the meaning of justice or fairness.
now get off my land.
get back into your boat and off my land as quick as you can.
that deer is not very far from here and so tired that he can not move.
just as long as he will stay here, he will be safe, and i hope he will stay until this miserable hunting season is ended.
now go."
muttering angrily, the hunter got back into his boat and pushed off, but he did n't row back across the river.
chapter xxv the hunter lies in wait if ever there was an angry hunter, it was the one who had followed lightfoot the deer across the big river.
when he was ordered to get off the land where lightfoot had climbed out, he got back into his boat, but he did n't row back to the other side.
instead, he rowed down the river, finally landing on the same side but on land which lightfoot's friend did not own.
""when that deer has become rested he'll become uneasy," thought the hunter.
""he wo n't stay on that man's land.
he'll start for the nearest woods.
i'll go up there and wait for him.
i'll get that deer if only to spite that fellow back there who drove me off.
had it not been for him, i'd have that deer right now.
he was too tired to have gone far.
he's got the handsomest pair of antlers i've seen for years.
i can sell that head of his for a good price."
so the hunter tied his boat to a tree and once more climbed out.
he climbed up the bank and studied the land.
across a wide meadow he could see a brushy old pasture and back of that some thick woods.
he grinned.
""that's where that deer will head for," he decided.
""there is n't any other place for him to go.
all i've got to do is be patient and wait."
so the hunter took his terrible gun and tramped across the meadow to the brush-grown pasture.
there he hid among the bushes where he could peep out and watch the land of lightfoot's friend.
he was still angry because he had been prevented from shooting lightfoot.
at the same time he chuckled, because he thought himself very smart.
lightfoot could n't possibly reach the shelter of the woods without giving him a shot, and he had n't the least doubt that lightfoot would start for the woods just as soon as he felt able to travel.
so he made himself comfortable and prepared to wait the rest of the day, if necessary.
now lightfoot's friend who had driven the hunter off had seen him row down the river and he had guessed just what was in that hunter's mind.
""we'll fool him," said he, chuckling to himself, as he walked back towards the shed where poor lightfoot was resting.
he did not go too near lightfoot, for he did not want to alarm him.
he just kept within sight of lightfoot, paying no attention to him but going about his work.
you see, this man loved and understood the little people of the green forest and the green meadows, and he knew that there was no surer way of winning lightfoot's confidence and trust than by appearing to take no notice of him.
lightfoot, watching him, understood.
he knew that this man was a friend and would do him no harm.
little by little, the wonderful, blessed feeling of safety crept over lightfoot.
no hunter could harm him here.
chapter xxvi lightfoot does the wise thing all the rest of that day the hunter with the terrible gun lay hidden in the bushes of the pasture where he could watch for lightfoot the deer to leave the place of safety he had found.
it required a lot of patience on the part of the hunter, but the hunter had plenty of patience.
it sometimes seems as if hunters have more patience than any other people.
but this hunter waited in vain.
jolly, round, red mr. sun sank down in the west to his bed behind the purple hills.
the black shadows crept out and grew blacker.
one by one the stars began to twinkle.
still the hunter waited, and still there was no sign of lightfoot.
at last it became so dark that it was useless for the hunter to remain longer.
disappointed and once more becoming angry, he tramped back to the big river, climbed into his boat and rowed across to the other side.
then he tramped home and his thoughts were very bitter.
he knew that he could have shot lightfoot had it not been for the man who had protected the deer.
he even began to suspect that this man had himself killed lightfoot, for he had been sure that as soon as he had become rested lightfoot would start for the woods, and lightfoot had done nothing of the kind.
in fact, the hunter had not had so much as another glimpse of lightfoot.
the reason that the hunter had been so disappointed was that lightfoot was smart.
he was smart enough to understand that the man who was saving him from the hunter had done it because he was a true friend.
all the afternoon lightfoot had rested on a bed of soft hay in an open shed and had watched this man going about his work and taking the utmost care to do nothing to frighten lightfoot.
""he not only will let no one else harm me, but he himself will not harm me," thought lightfoot.
""as long as he is near, i am safe.
i'll stay right around here until the hunting season is over, then i'll swim back across the big river to my home in the dear green forest."
so all afternoon lightfoot rested and did not so much as put his nose outside that open shed.
that is why the hunter got no glimpse of him.
when it became dark, so dark that he knew there was no longer danger, lightfoot got up and stepped out under the stars.
he was feeling quite himself again.
his splendid strength had returned.
he bounded lightly across the meadow and up into the brushy pasture where the hunter had been hidden.
there and in the woods back of the pasture he browsed, but at the first hint of the coming of another day, lightfoot turned back, and when his friend, the farmer, came out early in the morning to milk the cows, there was lightfoot back in the open shed.
the farmer smiled.
""you are as wise as you are handsome, old fellow," said he.
chapter xxvii sammy jay worries it is n't often sammy jay worries about anybody but himself.
truth to tell, he does n't worry about himself very often.
you see, sammy is smart, and he knows he is smart.
under that pointed cap of his are some of the cleverest wits in all the green forest.
sammy seldom worries about himself because he feels quite able to take care of himself.
but sammy jay was worrying now.
he was worrying about lightfoot the deer.
yes, sir, sammy jay was worrying about lightfoot the deer.
for two days he had been unable to find lightfoot or any trace of lightfoot.
but he did find plenty of hunters with terrible guns.
it seemed to him that they were everywhere in the green forest.
sammy began to suspect that one of them must have succeeded in killing lightfoot the deer.
sammy knew all of lightfoot's hiding-places.
he visited every one of them.
lightfoot was n't to be found, and no one whom sammy met had seen lightfoot for two days.
sammy felt badly.
you see, he was very fond of lightfoot.
you remember it was sammy who warned lightfoot of the coming of the hunter on the morning when the dreadful hunting season began.
ever since the hunting season had opened, sammy had done his best to make trouble for the hunters.
whenever he had found one of them he had screamed at the top of his voice to warn every one within hearing just where that hunter was.
once a hunter had lost his temper and shot at sammy, but sammy had suspected that something of the kind might happen, and he had taken care to keep just out of reach.
sammy had known all about the chasing of lightfoot by the hounds.
everybody in the green forest had known about it.
you see, everybody had heard the voices of those hounds.
once, lightfoot had passed right under the tree in which sammy was sitting, and a few moments later the two hounds had passed with their noses to the ground as they followed lightfoot's trail.
that was the last sammy had seen of lightfoot.
he had been able to save lightfoot from the hunters, but he could n't save him from the hounds.
the more sammy thought things over, the more he worried.
""i am afraid those hounds drove him out where a hunter could get a shot and kill him, or else that they tired him out and killed him themselves," thought sammy.
""if he were alive, somebody certainly would have seen him and nobody has, since the day those hounds chased him.
i declare, i have quite lost my appetite worrying about him.
if lightfoot is dead, and i am almost sure he is, the green forest will never seem the same."
chapter xxviii the hunting season ends the very worst things come to an end at last.
no matter how bad a thing is, it can not last forever.
so it was with the hunting season for lightfoot the deer.
there came a day when the law protected all deer, -- a day when the hunters could no longer go searching for lightfoot.
usually there was great rejoicing among the little people of the green forest and the green meadows when the hunting season ended and they knew that lightfoot would be in no more danger until the next hunting season.
but this year there was no rejoicing.
you see, no one could find lightfoot.
the last seen of him was when he was running for his life with two hounds baying on his trail and the green forest filled with hunters watching for a chance to shoot him.
sammy jay had hunted everywhere through the green forest.
blacky the crow, whose eyes are quite as sharp as those of sammy jay, had joined in the search.
they had found no trace of lightfoot.
paddy the beaver said that for three days lightfoot had not visited his pond for a drink.
billy mink, who travels up and down the laughing brook, had looked for lightfoot's footprints in the soft earth along the banks and had found only old ones.
jumper the hare had visited lightfoot's favorite eating places at night, but lightfoot had not been in any of them.
-lsb- illustration: "i tell you what it is," said sammy jay to bobby coon, "something has happened to lightfoot." -rsb-
""i tell you what it is," said sammy jay to bobby coon, "something has happened to lightfoot.
either those hounds caught him and killed him, or he was shot by one of those hunters.
the green forest will never be the same without him.
i do n't think i shall want to come over here very much.
there is n't one of all the other people who live in the green forest who would be missed as lightfoot will be."
bobby coon nodded.
""that's true, sammy," said he.
""without lightfoot, the green forest will never be the same.
he never harmed anybody.
why those hunters should have been so anxious to kill one so beautiful is something i ca n't understand.
for that matter, i do n't understand why they want to kill any of us.
if they really needed us for food, it would be a different matter, but they do n't.
have you been up in the old pasture and asked old man coyote if he has seen anything of lightfoot?"
sammy nodded.
""i've been up there twice," said he.
""old man coyote has been lying very low during the days, but nights he has done a lot of traveling.
you know old man coyote has a mighty good nose, but not once since the day those hounds chased lightfoot has he found so much as a tiny whiff of lightfoot's scent.
i thought he might have found the place where lightfoot was killed, but he has n't, although he has looked for it.
well, the hunting season for lightfoot is over, but i am afraid it has ended too late."
chapter xxix mr. and mrs. quack are startled it was the evening of the day after the closing of the hunting season for lightfoot the deer.
jolly, round, red mr. sun had gone to bed behind the purple hills, and the black shadows had crept out across the big river.
mr. and mrs. quack were getting their evening meal among the brown stalks of the wild rice along the edge of the big river.
they took turns in searching for the rice grains in the mud.
while mrs. quack tipped up and seemed to stand on her head as she searched in the mud for rice, mr. quack kept watch for possible danger.
then mrs. quack took her turn at keeping watch, while mr. quack stood on his head and hunted for rice.
it was wonderfully quiet and peaceful.
there was not even a ripple on the big river.
it was so quiet that they could hear the barking of a dog at a farmhouse a mile away.
they were far enough out from the bank to have nothing to fear from reddy fox or old man coyote.
so they had nothing to fear from any one save hooty the owl.
it was for hooty that they took turns in watching.
it was just the hour when hooty likes best to hunt.
by and by they heard hooty's hunting call.
it was far away in the green forest.
then mr. and mrs. quack felt easier, and they talked in low, contented voices.
they felt that for a while at least there was nothing to fear.
suddenly a little splash out in the big river caught mr. quack's quick ear.
as mrs. quack brought her head up out of the water, mr. quack warned her to keep quiet.
noiselessly they swam among the brown stalks until they could see out across the big river.
there was another little splash out there in the middle.
it was n't the splash made by a fish; it was a splash made by something much bigger than any fish.
presently they made out a silver line moving towards them from the black shadows.
they knew exactly what it meant.
it meant that some one was out there in the big river moving towards them.
could it be a boat containing a hunter?
with their necks stretched high, mr. and mrs. quack watched.
they were ready to take to their strong wings the instant they discovered danger.
but they did not want to fly until they were sure that it was danger approaching.
they were startled, very much startled.
presently they made out what looked like the branch of a tree moving over the water towards them.
that was queer, very queer.
mr. quack said so.
mrs. quack said so.
both were growing more and more suspicious.
they could n't understand it at all, and it is always best to be suspicious of things you can not understand.
mr. and mrs. quack half lifted their wings to fly.
chapter xxx the mystery is solved it was very mysterious.
yes, sir, it was very mysterious.
mr. quack thought so.
mrs. quack thought so.
there, out in the big river, in the midst of the black shadows, was something which looked like the branch of a tree.
but instead of moving down the river, as the branch of a tree would if it were floating, this was coming straight across the river as if it were swimming.
but how could the branch of a tree swim?
that was too much for mr. quack.
it was too much for mrs. quack.
so they sat perfectly still among the brown stalks of the wild rice along the edge of the big river, and not for a second did they take their eyes from that strange thing moving towards them.
they were ready to spring into the air and trust to their swift wings the instant they should detect danger.
but they did not want to fly unless they had to.
besides, they were curious.
they were very curious indeed.
they wanted to find out what that mysterious thing moving through the water towards them was.
so mr. and mrs. quack watched that thing that looked like a swimming branch draw nearer and nearer, and the nearer it drew the more they were puzzled, and the more curious they felt.
if it had been the pond of paddy the beaver instead of the big river, they would have thought it was paddy swimming with a branch for his winter food pile.
but paddy the beaver was way back in his own pond, deep in the green forest, and they knew it.
so this thing became more and more of a mystery.
the nearer it came, the more nervous and anxious they grew, and at the same time the greater became their curiosity.
at last mr. quack felt that not even to gratify his curiosity would it be safe to wait longer.
he prepared to spring into the air, knowing that mrs. quack would follow him.
it was just then that a funny little sound reached him.
it was half snort, half cough, as if some one had sniffed some water up his nose.
there was something familiar about that sound.
mr. quack decided to wait a few minutes longer.
""i'll wait," thought mr. quack, "until that thing, whatever it is, comes out of those black shadows into the moonlight.
somehow i have a feeling that we are in no danger."
so mr. and mrs. quack waited and watched.
in a few minutes the thing that looked like the branch of a tree came out of the black shadows into the moonlight, and then the mystery was solved.
it was a mystery no longer.
they saw that they had mistaken the antlers of lightfoot the deer for the branch of a tree.
lightfoot was swimming across the big river on his way back to his home in the green forest.
at once mr. and mrs. quack swam out to meet him and to tell him how glad they were that he was alive and safe.
chapter xxxi a surprising discovery probably there was no happier thanksgiving in all the great world than the thanksgiving of lightfoot the deer, when the dreadful hunting season ended and he was once more back in his beloved green forest with nothing to fear.
all his neighbors called on him to tell him how glad they were that he had escaped and how the green forest would not have been the same if he had not returned.
so lightfoot roamed about without fear and was happy.
it seemed to him that he could not be happier.
there was plenty to eat and that blessed feeling of nothing to fear.
what more could any one ask?
he began to grow sleek and fat and handsomer than ever.
the days were growing colder and the frosty air made him feel good.
just at dusk one evening he went down to his favorite drinking place at the laughing brook.
as he put down his head to drink he saw something which so surprised him that he quite forgot he was thirsty.
what do you think it was he saw?
it was a footprint in the soft mud.
yes, sir, it was a footprint.
for a long time lightfoot stood staring at that footprint.
in his great, soft eyes was a look of wonder and surprise.
you see, that footprint was exactly like one of his own, only smaller.
to lightfoot it was a very wonderful footprint.
he was quite sure that never had he seen such a dainty footprint.
he forgot to drink.
instead, he began to search for other footprints, and presently he found them.
each was as dainty as that first one.
who could have made them?
that is what lightfoot wanted to know and what he meant to find out.
it was clear to him that there was a stranger in the green forest, and somehow he did n't resent it in the least.
in fact, he was glad.
he could n't have told why, but it was true.
lightfoot put his nose to the footprints and sniffed of them.
even had he not known by looking at those prints that they had been made by a stranger, his nose would have told him this.
a great longing to find the maker of those footprints took possession of him.
he lifted his handsome head and listened for some slight sound which might show that the stranger was near.
with his delicate nostrils he tested the wandering little night breezes for a stray whiff of scent to tell him which way to go.
but there was no sound and the wandering little night breezes told him nothing.
lightfoot followed the dainty footprints up the bank.
there they disappeared, for the ground was hard.
lightfoot paused, undecided which way to go.
chapter xxxii lightfoot sees the stranger lightfoot the deer was unhappy.
it was a strange unhappiness, an unhappiness such as he had never known before.
you see, he had discovered that there was a stranger in the green forest, a stranger of his own kind, another deer.
he knew it by dainty footprints in the mud along the laughing brook and on the edge of the pond of paddy the beaver.
he knew it by other signs which he ran across every now and then.
but search as he would, he was unable to find that newcomer.
he had searched everywhere but always he was just too late.
the stranger had been and gone.
now there was no anger in lightfoot's desire to find that stranger.
instead, there was a great longing.
for the first time in his life lightfoot felt lonely.
so he hunted and hunted and was unhappy.
he lost his appetite.
he slept little.
he roamed about uneasily, looking, listening, testing every merry little breeze, but all in vain.
then, one never-to-be-forgotten night, as he drank at the laughing brook, a strange feeling swept over him.
it was the feeling of being watched.
lightfoot lifted his beautiful head and a slight movement caught his quick eye and drew it to a thicket not far away.
the silvery light of gentle mistress moon fell full on that thicket, and thrust out from it was the most beautiful head in all the great world.
at least, that is the way it seemed to lightfoot, though to tell the truth it was not as beautiful as his own, for it was uncrowned by antlers.
for a long minute lightfoot stood gazing.
a pair of wonderful, great, soft eyes gazed back at him.
then that beautiful head disappeared.
with a mighty bound, lightfoot cleared the laughing brook and rushed over to the thicket in which that beautiful head had disappeared.
he plunged in, but there was no one there.
frantically he searched, but that thicket was empty.
then he stood still and listened.
not a sound reached him.
it was as still as if there were no other living things in all the green forest.
the beautiful stranger had slipped away as silently as a shadow.
all the rest of that night lightfoot searched through the green forest but his search was in vain.
the longing to find that beautiful stranger had become so great that he fairly ached with it.
it seemed to him that until he found her he could know no happiness.
chapter xxxiii a different game of hide and seek once more lightfoot the deer was playing hide and seek in the green forest.
but it was a very different game from the one he had played just a short time before.
you remember that then it had been for his life that he had played, and he was the one who had done all the hiding.
now, he was "it", and some one else was doing the hiding.
instead of the dreadful fear which had filled him in that other game, he was now filled with longing, -- longing to find and make friends with the beautiful stranger of whom he had just once caught a glimpse, but of whom every day he found tracks.
at times lightfoot would lose his temper.
yes, sir, lightfoot would lose his temper.
that was a foolish thing to do, but it seemed to him that he just could n't help it.
he would stamp his feet angrily and thrash the bushes with his great spreading antlers as if they were an enemy with whom he was fighting.
more than once when he did this a pair of great, soft, gentle eyes were watching him, though he did n't know it.
if he could have seen them and the look of admiration in them, he would have been more eager than ever to find that beautiful stranger.
at other times lightfoot would steal about through the green forest as noiselessly as a shadow.
he would peer into thickets and behind tangles of fallen trees and brush piles, hoping to surprise the one he sought.
he would be very, very patient.
perhaps he would come to the thicket which he knew from the signs the stranger had left only a few moments before.
then his patience would vanish in impatience, and he would dash ahead, eager to catch up with the shy stranger.
but always it was in vain.
he had thought himself very clever but this stranger was proving herself more clever.
of course it was n't long before all the little people in the green forest knew what was going on.
they knew all about that game of hide and seek just as they had known all about that other game of hide and seek with the hunters.
but now, instead of trying to help lightfoot as they did then, they gave him no help at all.
the fact is, they were enjoying that game.
mischievous sammy jay even went so far as to warn the stranger several times when lightfoot was approaching.
of course lightfoot knew when sammy did this, and each time he lost his temper.
for the time being, he quite forgot all that sammy had done for him when he was the one that was being hunted.
once lightfoot almost ran smack into buster bear and was so provoked by his own carelessness that instead of bounding away he actually threatened to fight buster.
but when buster grinned good-naturedly at him, lightfoot thought better of it and bounded away to continue his search.
then there were times when lightfoot would sulk and would declare over and over to himself, "i do n't care anything about that stranger.
i wo n't spend another minute looking for her," and then within five minutes he would be watching, listening and seeking some sign that she was still in the green forest.
chapter xxxiv a startling new footprint the game of hide and seek between lightfoot the deer and the beautiful stranger whose dainty footprints had first started lightfoot to seeking her had been going on for several days and nights when lightfoot found something which gave him a shock.
he had stolen very softly down to the laughing brook, hoping to surprise the beautiful stranger drinking there.
she was n't to be seen.
lightfoot wondered if she had been there, so looked in the mud at the edge of the laughing brook to see if there were any fresh prints of those dainty feet.
almost at once he discovered fresh footprints.
they were not the prints he was looking for.
no, sir, they were not the dainty prints he had learned to know so well.
they were prints very near the size of his own big ones, and they had been made only a short time before.
the finding of those prints was a dreadful shock to lightfoot.
he understood instantly what they meant.
they meant that a second stranger had come into the green forest, one who had antlers like his own.
jealousy took possession of lightfoot the deer; jealousy that filled his heart with rage.
""he has come here to seek that beautiful stranger i have been hunting for," thought lightfoot.
""he has come here to try to steal her away from me.
he has no right here in my green forest.
he belongs back up on the great mountain from which he must have come, for there is no other place he could have come from.
that is where that beautiful stranger must have come from, too.
i want her to stay, but i must drive this fellow out.
i'll make him fight.
that's what i'll do; i'll make him fight!
i'm not afraid of him, but i'll make him fear me."
lightfoot stamped his feet and with his great antlers thrashed the bushes as if he felt that they were the enemy he sought.
could you have looked into his great eyes then, you would have found nothing soft and beautiful about them.
they became almost red with anger.
lightfoot quivered all over with rage.
the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
lightfoot the deer looked anything but gentle.
after he had vented his spite for a few minutes on the harmless, helpless bushes, he threw his head high in the air and whistled angrily.
then he leaped over the laughing brook and once more began to search through the green forest.
but this time it was not for the beautiful stranger with the dainty feet.
he had no time to think of her now.
he must first find this newcomer and he meant to waste no time in doing it.
chapter xxxv lightfoot is reckless in his search for the new stranger who had come to the green forest, lightfoot the deer was wholly reckless.
he no longer stole like a gray shadow from thicket to thicket as he had done when searching for the beautiful stranger with the dainty feet.
he bounded along, careless of how much noise he made.
from time to time he would stop to whistle a challenge and to clash his horns against the trees and stamp the ground with his feet.
after such exhibitions of anger he would pause to listen, hoping to hear some sound which would tell him where the stranger was.
now and then he found the stranger's tracks, and from them he knew that this stranger was doing just what he had been doing, seeking to find the beautiful newcomer with the dainty feet.
each time he found these signs lightfoot's rage increased.
of course it did n't take sammy jay long to discover what was going on.
there is little that escapes those sharp eyes of sammy jay.
as you know, he had early discovered the game of hide and seek lightfoot had been playing with the beautiful young visitor who had come down to the green forest from the great mountain.
then, by chance, sammy had visited the laughing brook just as the big stranger had come down there to drink.
for once sammy had kept his tongue still.
""there is going to be excitement here when lightfoot discovers this fellow," thought sammy.
""if they ever meet, and i have a feeling that they will, there is going to be a fight worth seeing.
i must pass the word around."
so sammy jay hunted up his cousin, blacky the crow, and told him what he had discovered.
then he hunted up bobby coon and told him.
he saw unc" billy possum sitting in the doorway of his hollow tree and told him.
he discovered jumper the hare sitting under a little hemlock-tree and told him.
then he flew over to the dear old briar-patch to tell peter rabbit.
of course he told drummer the woodpecker, tommy tit the chickadee, and yank yank the nuthatch, who were over in the old orchard, and they at once hurried to the green forest, for they could n't think of missing anything so exciting as would be the meeting between lightfoot and the big stranger from the great mountain.
sammy did n't forget to tell paddy the beaver, but it was no news to paddy.
paddy had seen the big stranger on the edge of his pond early the night before.
of course, lightfoot knew nothing about all this.
his one thought was to find that big stranger and drive him from the green forest, and so he continued his search tirelessly.
chapter xxxvi sammy jay takes a hand sammy jay was bubbling over with excitement as he flew about through the green forest, following lightfoot the deer.
he was so excited he wanted to scream.
but he did n't.
he kept his tongue still.
you see, he did n't want lightfoot to know that he was being followed.
under that pointed cap of sammy jay's are quick wits.
it did n't take him long to discover that the big stranger whom lightfoot was seeking was doing his best to keep out of lightfoot's way and that he was having no difficulty in doing so because of the reckless way in which lightfoot was searching for him.
lightfoot made so much noise that it was quite easy to know just where he was and to keep out of his sight.
""that stranger is nearly as big as lightfoot, but it is very plain that he does n't want to fight," thought sammy.
""he must be a coward."
now the truth is, the stranger was not a coward.
he was ready and willing to fight if he had to, but if he could avoid fighting he meant to.
you see, big as he was, he was n't quite so big as lightfoot, and he knew it.
he had seen lightfoot's big footprints, and from their size he knew that lightfoot must be bigger and heavier than he.
then, too, he knew that he really had no right to be there in the green forest.
that was lightfoot's home and so he was an intruder.
he knew that lightfoot would feel this way about it and that this would make him fight all the harder.
so the big stranger wanted to avoid a fight if possible.
but he wanted still more to find that beautiful young visitor with the dainty feet for whom lightfoot had been looking.
he wanted to find her just as lightfoot wanted to find her, and he hoped that if he did find her, he could take her away with him back to the great mountain.
if he had to, he would fight for her, but until he had to he would keep out of the fight.
so he dodged lightfoot and at the same time looked for the beautiful stranger.
all this sammy jay guessed, and after a while he grew tired of following lightfoot for nothing.
""i'll have to take a hand in this thing myself," muttered sammy.
""at this rate, lightfoot never will find that big stranger!"
so sammy stopped following lightfoot and began to search through the green forest for the big stranger.
it did n't take very long to find him.
he was over near the pond of paddy the beaver.
as soon as he saw him, sammy began to scream at the top of his lungs.
at once he heard the sound of snapping twigs at the top of a little ridge back of paddy's pond and knew that lightfoot had heard and understood.
chapter xxxvii the great fight down from the top of the ridge back of the pond of paddy the beaver plunged lightfoot the deer, his eyes blazing with rage.
he had understood the screaming of sammy jay.
he knew that somewhere down there was the big stranger he had been looking for.
the big stranger had understood sammy's screaming quite as well as lightfoot.
he knew that to run away now would be to prove himself a coward and forever disgrace himself in the eyes of miss daintyfoot, for that was the name of the beautiful stranger he had been seeking.
he must fight.
there was no way out of it, he must fight.
the hair on the back of his neck stood up with anger just as did the hair on the neck of lightfoot.
his eyes also blazed.
he bounded out into a little open place by the pond of paddy the beaver and there he waited.
meanwhile sammy jay was flying about in the greatest excitement, screaming at the top of his lungs, "a fight!
a fight!
a fight!"
blacky the crow, over in another part of the green forest, heard him and took up the cry and at once hurried over to paddy's pond.
everybody who was near enough hurried there.
bobby coon and unc" billy possum climbed trees from which they could see and at the same time be safe.
billy mink hurried to a safe place on the dam of paddy the beaver.
paddy himself climbed up on the roof of his house out in the pond.
peter rabbit and jumper the hare, who happened to be not far away, hurried over where they could peep out from under some young hemlock-trees.
buster bear shuffled down the hill and watched from the other side of the pond.
reddy and granny fox were both there.
for what seemed like the longest time, but which was for only a minute, lightfoot and the big stranger stood still, glaring at each other.
then, snorting with rage, they lowered their heads and plunged together.
their antlers clashed with a noise that rang through the green forest, and both fell to their knees.
there they pushed and struggled.
then they separated and backed away, to repeat the movement over again.
it was a terrible fight.
everybody said so.
if they had not known before, everybody knew now what those great antlers were for.
once the big stranger managed to reach lightfoot's right shoulder with one of the sharp points of his antlers and made a long tear in lightfoot's gray coat.
it only made lightfoot fight harder.
sometimes they would rear up and strike with their sharp hoofs.
back and forth they plunged, and the ground was torn up by their feet.
both were getting out of breath, and from time to time they had to stop for a moment's rest.
then they would come together again more fiercely than ever.
never had such a fight been seen in the green forest.
chapter xxxviii an unseen watcher as lightfoot the deer and the big stranger from the great mountain fought in the little opening near the pond of paddy the beaver, neither knew or cared who saw them.
each was filled fully with rage and determined to drive the other from the green forest.
each was fighting for the right to win the love of miss daintyfoot.
neither of them knew that miss daintyfoot herself was watching them.
but she was.
she had heard the clash of their great antlers as they had come together the first time, and she had known exactly what it meant.
timidly she had stolen forward to a thicket where, safely hidden, she could watch that terrible fight.
she knew that they were fighting for her.
of course.
she knew it just as she had known how both had been hunting for her.
what she did n't know for some time was which one she wanted to win that fight.
both lightfoot and the big stranger were handsome.
yes, indeed, they were very handsome.
lightfoot was just a little bit the bigger and it seemed to her just a little bit the handsomer.
she almost wanted him to win.
then, when she saw how bravely the big stranger was fighting and how well he was holding his own, even though he was a little smaller than lightfoot, she almost hoped he would win.
that great fight lasted a long time.
to pretty miss daintyfoot it seemed that it never would end.
but after a while lightfoot's greater size and strength began to tell.
little by little the big stranger was forced back towards the edge of the open place.
now he would be thrown to his knees when lightfoot was n't.
as lightfoot saw this, he seemed to gain new strength.
at last he caught the stranger in such a way that he threw him over.
while the stranger struggled to get to his feet again, lightfoot's sharp antlers made long tears in his gray coat.
the stranger was beaten and he knew it.
the instant he succeeded in getting to his feet he turned tail and plunged for the shelter of the green forest.
with a snort of triumph, lightfoot plunged after him.
but now that he was beaten, fear took possession of the stranger.
all desire to fight left him.
his one thought was to get away, and fear gave him speed.
straight back towards the great mountain from which he had come the stranger headed.
lightfoot followed only a short distance.
he knew that that stranger was going for good and would not come back.
then lightfoot turned back to the open place where they had fought.
there he threw up his beautiful head, crowned by its great antlers, and whistled a challenge to all the green forest.
as she looked at him, miss daintyfoot knew that she had wanted him to win.
she knew that there simply could n't be anybody else so handsome and strong and brave in all the great world.
chapter xxxix lightfoot discovers love wonderfully handsome was lightfoot the deer as he stood in the little opening by the pond of paddy the beaver, his head thrown back proudly, as he received the congratulations of his neighbors of the green forest who had seen him win the great fight with the big stranger who had come down from the great mountain.
to beautiful miss daintyfoot, peeping out from the thicket where she had hidden to watch the great fight, lightfoot was the most wonderful person in all the great world.
she adored him, which means that she loved him just as much as it was possible for her to love.
but lightfoot did n't know this.
in fact, he did n't know that miss daintyfoot was there.
his one thought had been to drive out of the green forest the big stranger who had come down from the great mountain.
he had been jealous of that big stranger, though he had n't known that he was jealous.
the real cause of his anger and desire to fight had been the fear that the big stranger would find miss daintyfoot and take her away.
of course this was nothing but jealousy.
now that the great fight was over, and he knew that the big stranger was hurrying back to the great mountain, all lightfoot's anger melted away.
in its place was a great longing to find miss daintyfoot.
his great eyes became once more soft and beautiful.
in them was a look of wistfulness.
lightfoot walked down to the edge of the water and drank, for he was very, very thirsty.
then he turned, intending to take up once more his search for beautiful miss daintyfoot.
when he turned he faced the thicket in which miss daintyfoot was hiding.
his keen eyes caught a little movement of the branches.
a beautiful head was slowly thrust out, and lightfoot gazed again into a pair of soft eyes which he was sure were the most beautiful eyes in all the great world.
he wondered if she would disappear and run away as she had the last time he saw her.
he took a step or two forward.
the beautiful head was withdrawn.
lightfoot's heart sank.
then he bounded forward into that thicket.
he more than half expected to find no one there, but when he entered that thicket he received the most wonderful surprise in all his life.
there stood miss daintyfoot, timid, bashful, but with a look in her eyes which lightfoot could not mistake.
in that instant lightfoot understood the meaning of that longing which had kept him hunting for her and of the rage which had filled him when he had discovered the presence of the big stranger from the great mountain.
it was love.
lightfoot knew that he loved miss daintyfoot and, looking into her soft, gentle eyes, he knew that miss daintyfoot loved him.
chapter xl happy days in the green forest these were happy days in the green forest.
at least, they were happy for lightfoot the deer.
they were the happiest days he had ever known.
you see, he had won beautiful, slender, young miss daintyfoot, and now she was no longer miss daintyfoot but mrs. lightfoot.
lightfoot was sure that there was no one anywhere so beautiful as she, and mrs. lightfoot knew that there was no one so handsome and brave as he.
wherever lightfoot went, mrs. lightfoot went.
he showed her all his favorite hiding-places.
he led her to his favorite eating-places.
she did not tell him that she was already acquainted with every one of them, that she knew the green forest quite as well as he did.
if he had stopped to think how day after day she had managed to keep out of his sight while he hunted for her, he would have realized that there was little he could show her which she did not already know.
but he did n't stop to think and proudly led her from place to place.
and mrs. lightfoot wisely expressed delight with all she saw quite as if it were all new.
of course, all the little people of the green forest hurried to pay their respects to mrs. lightfoot and to tell lightfoot how glad they felt for him.
and they really did feel glad.
you see, they all loved lightfoot and they knew that now he would be happier than ever, and that there would be no danger of his leaving the green forest because of loneliness.
the green forest would not be the same at all without lightfoot the deer.
lightfoot told mrs. lightfoot all about the terrible days of the hunting season and how glad he was that she had not been in the green forest then.
he told her how the hunters with terrible guns had given him no rest and how he had had to swim the big river to get away from the hounds.
""i know," replied mrs. lightfoot softly.
""i know all about it.
you see, there were hunters on the great mountain.
in fact, that is how i happened to come down to the green forest.
they hunted me so up there that i did not dare stay, and i came down here thinking that there might be fewer hunters.
i would n't have believed that i could ever be thankful to hunters for anything, but i am, truly i am."
there was a puzzled look on lightfoot's face.
""what for?"
he demanded.
""i ca n't imagine anybody being thankful to hunters for anything."
""oh, you stupid," cried mrs. lightfoot.
""do n't you see that if i had n't been driven down from the great mountain, i never would have found you?"
""you mean, i never would have found you," retorted lightfoot.
""i guess i owe these hunters more than you do.
i owe them the greatest happiness i have ever known, but i never would have thought of it myself.
is n't it queer how things which seem the very worst possible sometimes turn out to be the very best possible?"
blacky the crow is one of lightfoot's friends, but sometimes even friends are envious.
it is so with blacky.
he insists that he is quite as important in the green forest as is lightfoot and that his doings are quite as interesting.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_mr._mocker.txt.out
i the lone traveler when mistress spring starts from way down south to bring joy and gladness to the green meadows and the green forest, the laughing brook and the smiling pool, a great many travelers start with her or follow her.
winsome bluebird goes just a little way ahead of her, for winsome is the herald of mistress spring.
then comes honker the goose, and all the world hearing his voice from way, way, up in the blue, blue sky knows that truly mistress spring is on her way.
and with her come little friend the song sparrow, and cheerful robin and mr. and mrs. redwing.
then follow other travelers, ever so many of them, all eager to get back to the beautiful green forest and green meadows.
now there are a few feathered folk who think the far away south is quite good enough for them to live there all the year round.
ol' mistah buzzard used to think that way.
indeed, he used to think that there was no place like the dear "ol' souf," and it was n't until he went looking for his old friend, unc" billy possum, who had come up to live in the green forest, that he found out how nice it is where the laughing brook dances down through the green forest to the smiling pool and then through the green meadows to the big river.
now, when he is sure that there is no danger that he will have cold feet or that he will catch cold in his bald head, he likes to come up to spend the summer near unc" billy possum.
of course ol' mistah buzzard has wonderful stories to tell when he goes back south in the fall, and all winter long he warms his toes on the chimney tops while he tells his friends about the wonderful things he has seen in his travels.
now there is a certain friend of his, and of unc" billy possum, who had listened to these stories for a long time without seeming in the least interested.
but he was.
yes, sir, he was.
he was so much interested that he began to wish he could see for himself all these things ol' mistah buzzard was telling about.
but he did n't say a word, not a word.
he just listened and listened and then went on about his business.
but when all the other little people in feathers had flown to that far away country ol' mistah buzzard had told about, even ol' mistah buzzard himself, then did this friend of his, and of unc" billy possum, make up his mind that he would go too.
he did n't say anything about it to any one, but he just started off by himself.
now of course he did n't know the way, never having been that way before, but he kept on going and going, keeping out of sight as much as he could, and asking no questions.
sometimes he wondered if he would know the green forest when he reached it, and then he would remember how ol' mistah buzzard dearly loves to fly round and round high up in the blue, blue sky.
""all ah done got to do is to keep on going till ah see brer buzzard," thought he.
so he traveled and traveled without speaking to any one, and always looking up in the blue, blue sky.
then one day he saw a black speck high up in the blue, blue sky, and it went round and round and round and round.
finally it dropped down, down, down until it disappeared among the trees.
""it's brer buzzard and that must be the green forest where unc" billy possum lives," thought the lone traveler, and chuckled.
""ah reckon ah'll give unc" billy a surprise.
yes, sah, ah reckon so."
and all the time unc" billy possum and ol' mistah buzzard knew nothing at all about the coming of their old friend and neighbor, but thought him far, far away down in ol' virginny where they had left him.
ii unc" billy possum grows excited unc" billy possum sat at the foot of the great hollow tree in which his home is.
unc" billy felt very fine that morning.
he had had a good breakfast, and you know a good breakfast is one of the best things in the world to make one feel fine.
then unc" billy's worries were at an end, for farmer brown's boy no longer hunted with his dreadful gun through the green forest or on the green meadows.
then, too, old granny fox and reddy fox had moved way, way off to the old pasture on the edge of the mountain, and so unc" billy felt that his eight little possums could play about without danger.
so he sat with his back to the great hollow tree, wondering if it would n't be perfectly safe for him to slip up to farmer brown's hen-house in the dark of the next night for some fresh eggs.
he could hear old mrs. possum cleaning house and scolding the little possums who kept climbing up on her back.
as he listened, unc" billy grinned and began to sing in a queer cracked voice: "mah ol' woman am a plain ol' dame -- "deed she am!
"deed she am!
quick with her broom, with her tongue the same -- "deed she am!
"deed she am!
but she keeps mah house all spick and span; she has good vittles fo" her ol' man; she spanks the chillun, but she loves'em, too; she sho" am sharp, but she's good and true -- "deed she am!
"deed she am!"
""you'all better stop lazing and hustle about fo" something fo" dinner," said old mrs. possum, sticking her sharp little face out of the doorway.
""yas'm, yas'm, ah was just aiming to do that very thing," replied unc" billy meekly, as he scrambled to his feet.
just then out tumbled his eight children, making such a racket that unc" billy clapped both hands over his ears.
""mah goodness gracious sakes alive!"
he exclaimed.
one pulled unc" billy's tail.
two scrambled up on his back.
in two minutes unc" billy was down on the ground, rolling and tumbling in the maddest kind of a frolic with his eight children.
right in the midst of it unc" billy sprang to his feet.
his eyes were shining, and his funny little ears were pricked up.
""hush, yo'alls!"
he commanded.
""how do yo'alls think ah can hear anything with yo'alls making such a racket?"
he boxed the ears of one and shook another, and then, when all were still, he stood with his right hand behind his right ear, listening and listening.
""ah cert "nly thought ah heard the voice of an ol' friend from way down souf!
ah cert "nly did!"
he muttered, and without another word he started off into the green forest, more excited than he had been since his family came up from "ol' virginny."
iii unc" billy's vain search unc" billy possum was excited.
any one would have known it just to look at him.
he hurried off up the lone little path through the green forest without even saying good-by to old mrs. possum and all the little possums.
they just stared after unc" billy and did n't know what to make of it, for such a thing as unc" billy forgetting to say good-by had never happened before.
yes, indeed, unc" billy certainly was excited.
old mrs. possum sat in the doorway of their home in the great hollow tree and watched unc" billy out of sight.
her sharp little eyes seemed to grow sharper as she watched.
""ah done sent that no-account possum to hunt fo" something fo" dinner, but "pears to me he's plumb forgot it already," she muttered.
""just look at him with his head up in the air like he thought dinner fo" we uns would drap right down to him out o" the sky!
if he's aiming to find a bird's nest with eggs in it this time o" year, he sho "ly am plumb foolish in his haid.
no, sah!
that onery possum has clean fo "gotten what ah just done tole him, and if we uns am going to have any dinner, ah cert "nly have got to flax "round right smart spry mahself!"
old mrs. possum chased the eight little possums into the house and warned them not to so much as put their heads outside the door while she was gone.
then she started out to hunt for their dinner, still muttering as she went.
old mrs. possum was quite right.
unc" billy had forgotten all about that dinner.
you see he had something else on his mind.
while he had been playing with his children, he had thought that he heard a voice way off in the distance, and it had sounded very, very much like the voice of an old friend from way down south in "ol' virginny."
he had listened and listened but did n't hear it again, and yet he was sure he had heard it that once.
the very thought that that old friend of his might be somewhere in the green forest excited unc" billy so that it fairly made him homesick.
he just had to go look for him.
so all the rest of that day unc" billy possum walked and walked through the green forest, peering up in the tree-tops and looking into the bushes until his neck ached.
but nowhere did he catch a glimpse of his old friend.
the longer he looked, the more excited he grew.
""what's the matter with you?"
asked jimmy skunk, meeting unc" billy on the crooked little path near the top of the hill.
""nuffin, nuffin, sah!
ah'm just walking fo" mah health," replied unc" billy over his shoulder, as he hurried on.
you see he did n't like to tell any one what he thought he had heard, for fear that it might not be true, and then they would laugh at him.
""did n't suppose unc" billy ever worried about his health," muttered jimmy skunk with a puzzled look, as he watched unc" billy disappear.
just as jolly, round, red mr. sun dropped out of sight behind the purple hills, unc" billy gave it up and turned toward home.
his neck ached from looking up in the tree-tops, and his feet were sore from walking.
and just then unc" billy for the first time thought of that dinner that old mrs. possum had sent him to get.
unc" billy sat down and mopped his brow in dismay.
""ah "specks ah'm in fo" it this time, sho" enough!"
he said.
iv unc" billy comes home unc" billy possum crept along in the darkest shadows he could find as he drew near to the great hollow tree which is his home.
""ah "specks ah'm in fo" it.
ah "specks ah sho "ly am in fo" it this time," he kept muttering.
so unc" billy crept along in the black shadows until he got where he could look up and see his own doorway.
then he sat down and watched a while.
all was still.
there was n't a sound in the great hollow tree.
""perhaps mah ol' woman am out calling, and ah can slip in and go to bed before she gets back," said unc" billy hopefully to himself, as he started to climb the great hollow tree.
but at the first scratch of his toe-nails on the bark the sharp face of old mrs. possum appeared in the doorway.
""good evening, mah dear," said unc" billy, in the mildest kind of a voice.
old mrs. possum said nothing, but unc" billy felt as if her sharp black eyes were looking right through him.
unc" billy grinned a sickly kind of grin as he said: "ah hopes yo'alls are feeling good tonight."
""where's that dinner ah sent yo" fo"?"
demanded old mrs. possum sharply.
unc" billy fidgeted uneasily.
""ah done brought yo" two eggs from farmer brown's hen-house," he replied meekly.
""two eggs!
two eggs!
how do yo" think ah am going to feed eight hungry mouths on two eggs?"
snapped old mrs. possum.
unc" billy hung his head.
he had n't a word to say.
he just could n't tell her that he had spent the whole day tramping through the green forest looking for an old friend, whose voice he had thought he heard, when he ought to have been helping her find a dinner for the eight little possums.
no, sir, unc" billy had n't a word to say.
my, my, my, how old mrs. possum did scold, as she came down the great hollow tree to get the two eggs.
unc" billy knew that he deserved every bit of it.
he felt very miserable, and he was too tired to have a bit of spirit left.
so he just sat at the foot of the great hollow tree and said nothing, while old mrs. possum bit a hole in the end of one egg and began to suck it.
all the time she was looking at unc" billy with those sharp eyes of hers.
when she had finished the egg, she pushed the other over to him.
""yo" eat that!"
she said shortly.
""yo" look as if yo" had n't had anything to eat to-day" -lrb- which was true -rrb-.
""then yo" hustle up to bed; it's all ready fo" yo"."
unc" billy did as he was bid, and as he tucked himself into his snug, warm bed he murmured sleepily: "ol' mrs. possum has a sharp, sharp tongue, but her bark is worse than her bite.
for ol' mrs. possum has a soft, soft heart though she hides it way out of sight."
v sammy jay is indignant sammy jay was indignant.
yes, sir, sammy jay was very much put out.
in fact, sammy was just plain downright mad!
it is bad enough to be found out and blamed for the things you really do, but to be blamed for things that you do n't do and do n't even know anything about is more than even mr. jaybird can stand.
it had begun when he met jimmy skunk early in the morning.
""hello, sammy jay!
what were you doing up so late last night?"
said jimmy skunk.
""i was n't up late; i went to bed at my usual hour, just after mr. sun went to bed behind the purple hills," replied sammy jay.
""oh, come, sammy jay, be honest for once in your life!
it was a long, long, long time after mr. sun went to bed that i heard you screaming and making a great fuss over in the green forest.
what was it all about?"
sammy jay stamped one foot.
he was beginning to lose his temper.
you know he loses it very easily.
""i am honest!"
he screamed.
""i tell you i went to bed just as i always do, and i did n't wake up until this morning."
""then you must talk something dreadful in your sleep," said jimmy skunk, turning his back on sammy jay, who was so mad by this time that for a few minutes he could n't find his tongue.
when he did, he flew off screaming at the top of his lungs.
he was still screaming when he flew over the old briar-patch where peter rabbit was just beginning to doze off.
peter was sleepy.
he did n't like to have his morning nap disturbed.
""hi, sammy jay!
did n't you make racket enough last night to give honest folks a little peace and quiet to-day?"
shouted peter rabbit.
sammy jay flew up into a young cherry tree on the edge of the old briar-patch, and his eyes were fairly red with anger as he glared down at peter rabbit.
""what's the joke, peter rabbit?
that's the second time this morning that i've been told that i was screaming last night, when all the time i was fast asleep," said sammy jay.
""then it's a funny way you have of sleeping," replied peter rabbit.
""come, sammy, be honest and tell me what you were yelling "thief" for, over in the green forest?"
""peter rabbit, you and jimmy skunk are crazy, just as crazy as loons!"
sputtered sammy jay.
""i tell you i was asleep, and i guess i ought to know!"
""and i guess i know your voice when i hear it!"
replied peter rabbit.
""it's bad enough in daytime, but if i was you, i'd quit yelling in the night.
some one of these times hooty the owl will hear you, and that will be the end of you and your noise.
now go away; i want to sleep."
sammy went.
he was mad clear through, and yet he did n't know what to make of it.
were they just trying to make him mad, or had he really been screaming in his sleep?
he flew over to the smiling pool.
jerry muskrat looked up and saw him.
""what were you yelling about in the night, sammy jay?"
asked jerry.
this was too much.
sammy jay let his wings and his tail droop dejectedly and hung his head.
""i do n't know.
i really do n't know anything about it," he said.
vi sammy jay thinks he's going crazy "sammy jay screams all day long, and now what do you think?
why, sammy sits and yells all night and does n't sleep a wink!"
everywhere he went sammy jay heard that shouted after him.
dozens and dozens of times a day he heard it.
at first he lost his temper and was the very maddest jaybird ever seen on the green meadows or in the green forest.
""it is n't true!
it is n't true!
it is n't true!"
he would scream at the top of his lungs.
and then everybody within hearing would shout: "it is true!"
sammy would just dance up and down and scream and scream and scream, he was so angry.
and then he was sure to hear some one pipe up: "sammy's mad and we are glad, and we know how to tease him!
but some dark night he'll get a fright, for hooty'll come and seize him!"
that really began to worry him.
at first he had thought that it was all a joke on the part of the little people of the green forest and the green meadows, and that they had made up the story about hearing him in the night.
then he began to think that it might be true that he did talk in his sleep, and this worried him a whole lot.
if he did that, hooty the owl would surely find him sooner or later, and in the morning there would n't be anything left of him but a few feathers from his fine coat.
the more he thought about it, the more worried sammy jay became.
he lost his appetite and began to grow thin.
he kept out of sight whenever possible and no longer screamed "thief!
thief!"
through the green forest.
in fact his voice was rarely heard during the day.
but it seemed that he must be talking just as much as ever in the night.
at least everybody said that he was.
worse still, different ones said that they heard him in different places in the green forest and even down on the green meadows.
could it be that he was flying about as well as talking in his sleep?
and nobody believed him when he said that he was asleep all night.
they thought that he was awake and doing it purposely.
they might have known that he could n't see in the night, for his eyes are made for daylight and not for darkness, like the eyes of boomer the nighthawk and hooty the owl.
but they did n't seem to think of this, and insisted that almost every night they heard him down in the alders along the laughing brook.
yet every morning when he awoke, sammy would find himself just where he went to sleep the night before, safely hidden in the thickest part of a big pine-tree.
""if they are not all crazy, then i must be," said.
sammy jay to himself, as he turned away from the breakfast which he could not eat.
then he had a happy idea.
""why did n't i think of it before?
i'll sleep all day, and then i'll keep awake all night and see what happens then!"
he exclaimed.
so sammy jay hurried away to the darkest part of the green forest and tried to sleep through the day.
vii sammy jay sits up all night sammy jay sat in the dark and shivered.
sammy was lonely, more lonely than he had ever supposed anybody could be.
and to tell the truth sammy jay was scared.
yes, sir, that was just the way sammy jay felt -- scared.
every time a leaf rustled, sammy jumped almost out of his skin.
his heart went pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat.
he could hear it himself, or at least he thought he could, and it seemed to him that if hooty the owl should happen to come along, he would surely hear it.
you see it was the first time in all his life that sammy jay had not gone to sleep just as soon as jolly, round, red mr. sun had pulled his rosy night-cap on and gone to bed behind the purple hills.
but to-night sammy sat in the darkest, thickest part of a big pine-tree and kept blinking his eyes to keep from going to sleep.
he had made up his mind that he would n't go to sleep at all that night, no matter how lonely and frightened he might be.
he just would keep his eyes and his ears wide open.
what was he doing it for?
why, because all the little meadow and forest people insisted that every night lately sammy jay had spent a great part of his time screaming in the harsh, unpleasant way he does during the day, and some of them were very cross, because they said that he waked them up when they wanted to sleep.
now sammy knew better.
he never in his life had screamed in the night unless -- well, unless he did it in his sleep and did n't know it.
so he had made up his mind to keep awake all of this night and see if in the morning any one would say that he had waked them up.
he had watched the black shadows creep through the green forest and grow blacker and blacker.
the blacker they grew, the lonesomer he became.
by and by it was so dark that he could n't see anything at all, and every little noise made him shiver.
it is easy to be brave in daylight, but in the dark, when you can not see a thing, every little sound seems twice as loud as it really is and gives you such a creepy, creepy feeling.
sammy jay had it now.
he felt so creepy that it seemed as if he would crawl right out of his skin.
he kept saying over and over to himself: "there's nothing to be afraid of.
there's nothing to be afraid of.
i'm just as safe as if i was fast asleep."
but still he shivered and shook.
by and by, looking up through the top of the big pine-tree, he saw the little stars come out one by one.
they seemed to be looking right down at him and winking at him in the jolliest way.
somehow, he did n't feel quite so lonely then, and he tried to wink back.
then little, soft, silvery bars of light began to creep through the branches of the trees and along the ground.
they were moonbeams, and sammy could see just a little, a very little.
he began to feel better.
""whooo-hoo-hoo, whooo-hoo!"
it was a terrible sound, fierce and hungry.
sammy jay nearly fell from his perch.
he opened his mouth to scream with fright.
then he remembered just in time and closed it without a sound.
it was the hunting-cry of hooty the owl.
sammy jay sat huddled in a little, forlorn, shivering heap, while twice more that fierce cry rang through the green forest.
then a shadow floated over the big pine-tree.
hooty the owl had flown away without seeing him, and sammy breathed easier.
viii sammy jay is glad he sat up all night sammy jay was having no trouble in keeping awake now.
not a bit!
he could n't have gone to sleep if he wanted to -- not since hooty the owl had frightened him almost out of his skin with his fierce, hungry hunting-call.
he was too frightened and shivery and creepy to sleep.
but he did n't want to, anyway.
so he sat in the thickest part of the big pine-tree, shivering and creepy and miserable.
he heard bobby coon go down the lone little path on his way to fanner brown's cornfield, where the corn was just beginning to get milky and sweet.
out in a patch of bright moonlight he saw peter rabbit jumping and dancing and having the greatest kind of a time all by himself.
pretty soon peter was joined by his cousin, jumper the hare.
such antics as they did cut up!
sammy jay almost laughed aloud as he watched.
it was less lonely with them there, and he did want to call to them dreadfully.
but that would never, never do, for no one must know that he was sitting up awake all night.
by and by along came jimmy skunk, walking out into the patch of bright moonlight.
he touched noses with peter rabbit and jumper the hare, which is one way of saying "good evening" in the green forest.
""is n't it most time for sammy jay to scream in his sleep?"
asked peter rabbit.
sammy pricked up his ears.
""scream in his sleep!
nonsense!
sammy jay is n't any more asleep than i am.
he just screams out of pure meanness to wake up and frighten good honest folks who want to sleep.
for my part, i do n't see what any one wants to sleep for on such a fine night as this, anyway.
it serves'em right if they do get waked up," replied jimmy skunk.
""but sammy jay says that he does n't do it and does n't know anything about it," said peter rabbit.
""have you ever seen him scream in the night, jimmy skunk?"
""no, i do n't have to," replied jimmy skunk.
""i guess i know his voice when i hear it, and i've heard it enough times the last few nights, goodness knows!
tell me this, peter rabbit: who else is there that cries "thief!
thief!
thief!"
and screams like sammy jay?"
peter shook his head.
""i guess you're right, jimmy skunk.
i guess you're right," he said.
""of course i'm right.
there, now!"
jimmy held up one hand to warn peter to keep still.
sure enough, there was sammy jay's voice, way over in the alders beside the laughing brook, and it was screaming "thief!
thief!
thief!"
they all heard it.
sammy jay heard it, too, and scratched himself to be sure that he was awake and sitting there in the big pine-tree.
""it's my voice, and it is n't my voice, for i have n't made a sound, and it's over in the alders while i'm here in my own big pine-tree," muttered sammy jay to himself.
""i'm glad i kept awake, but -- "maybe i'm going crazy!
my wits are getting hazy!
that's surely me, yet here i be!
oh, dear, i sure am crazy!"
ix the mystery grows "can a body be a body, yet not a body be?
tell a body, anybody, didst such a body see?"
of course it was sammy jay who was humming such a foolish-sounding rhyme as that.
but really, it was n't so foolish in sammy's case, after all.
he had sat up wide awake all night just to try to find out why it was that all the little meadow and forest people had complained that he spent part of each night screaming "thief!
thief!
thief!"
just as he does in the daytime.
now he knew.
sitting in the dark in his big pine-tree, he had heard his own voice, or what sounded like his own voice, screaming down in the alders by the laughing brook.
sammy had scratched himself to be sure that he was really and truly awake and not dreaming, for there was his voice down in the alders, and there was himself sitting in the big pine tree with his mouth closed as tight as he could shut it.
did ever a jaybird have anything so queer as that to puzzle him?
anyway, sammy jay knew that he did n't scream in his sleep, and there was a whole lot of comfort in that.
he could eat with a better appetite now.
you see, when he had been told that he was screaming in the night, sammy had been afraid that he was doing it in his sleep; and if he was doing that, why, some dark night hooty the owl might hear him and find him, and that would be the end of him.
now he knew that he could go to sleep in peace, just as he always had.
sammy jay brushed and smoothed out his handsome blue coat and made himself as pert and smart-appearing as possible.
he had been so worried lately that he had n't taken much care of himself, which is very unusual for sammy jay.
now, however, he felt so much better that he began to think about his looks.
when he had finished dressing, he started for the alders beside the laughing brook just to have a look around.
of course he did n't expect to find his voice down there, for who ever saw a voice?
still he thought that he might find something that would explain the mystery.
he hunted all around in the thicket of alders beside the laughing brook, but nothing unusual did he find.
then for a long time he sat as still as still can be, studying and thinking.
finally he thought to himself: "i'll just see how my voice really does sound down here," and opening his mouth he screamed: "thief!
thief!
thief!"
then out popped jenny wren, and she was so mad that she could n't sit still a second.
my, my, my, how she did scold!
""you ought to be ashamed of yourself, sammy jay!
you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
she sputtered.
""is n't it enough to keep us awake half the night without coming down and screaming all day?"
""i have n't been down here in the night, and i have n't kept anybody awake!"
replied sammy jay indignantly.
jenny wren came right up in front of sammy jay and hopped up and down.
she was so mad that with every word she jerked her funny little tail so that sammy jay almost had to laugh.
""do n't tell that to me, sammy jay!
do n't tell that to me!"
she cried.
""did n't i see you with my own eyes sitting in that alder over there?
do n't tell that to me!
you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
x sammy jay seeks advice sammy jay had a headache, such a headache!
he had thought and thought and thought, until now it seemed to him that the world surely had turned topsy-turvy.
his poor little head was all in a whirl, and that was what made it ache.
first he had been accused of screaming in the night to waken and scare the little meadow and forest people who wanted to sleep.
then he had kept awake all night to find out what it meant, and he had heard what sounded like his own voice screaming "thief!
thief!
thief!"
down by the laughing brook, when all the time he was sitting in the dark in his own big pine-tree in the green forest.
that was bad enough, but to have jenny wren tell him that she had seen him with her own eyes sitting in an alder tree and screaming, at the very time that he had been back there in the big pine-tree, was more than sammy jay could stand.
it was no wonder that his head ached.
hardly any of the little meadow and forest people would speak to him now.
they just turned their backs to him whenever he met them.
he did n't mind this so much, because he knew that none of them had ever liked him very well.
you see he had played too many mean tricks for any one to really like him.
but he did hate to have them blame him for something that he had n't done.
""it's too much for me!"
said sammy jay.
""it's too much for me!
i've thought and thought, until my brain just goes round and round and makes me dizzy, and my thoughts turn somersaults over each other.
i must get help somewhere.
now, who can i go to, so few will have anything to do with me?"
""caw, caw, caw!"
sammy jay pricked up his ears and spread his wings.
""my cousin, blacky the crow!"
he cried.
""why did n't i think of him before?
he's very smart, is blacky the crow, and perhaps he can tell me what to do."
so sammy jay hurried as fast as he could to lay his troubles before blacky the crow.
blacky's eyes twinkled as he listened to sammy jay's tale of woe.
when sammy had finished and had asked for blacky's advice, blacky went into a black study.
sammy sat and waited patiently, for he felt certain that blacky's shrewd head would find some plan to solve the mystery.
""i do n't know how you can find out who it is that's making you all this trouble, but i'll tell you how you can prove that it is n't you that screams in the night," said blacky the crow after a while.
""how?"
asked sammy jay eagerly.
""go away from the green meadows and the green forest and stay away for a week," replied blacky the crow.
""go up to the far-away old pasture on the edge of the mountain, where reddy and granny fox are living.
have boomer the nighthawk see you go to bed there, and then ask him to come straight down here and tell peter rabbit just where you are.
peter will tell every one else, for he ca n't keep his tongue still, and then they'll all know that it is n't you that screams in the night."
""the very thing!"
cried sammy jay.
""i'll move at once!"
and off he hurried to prepare to move up to the old pasture.
xi how blacky the crow's plan worked out "thief!
thief!
thief!"
old granny fox, trotting along a cow-path in the old pasture on the edge of the mountain, heard it and grinned.
reddy fox, sitting in the doorway of their new home under the great rocks in the midst of the thickest clump of bushes and young trees, heard it, too, and he grinned even more broadly than granny fox.
it sounded good to him, did that harsh scream, for it was the first time he had heard the voice of a single one of the little meadow and forest people since he and granny fox had moved up to the lonesome old pasture.
""now i wonder what has brought sammy jay way up here?"
said reddy, as he limped out to the edge of the thick tangle of bushes and young trees.
pretty soon he caught sight of a wonderful coat of bright blue with white trimmings.
""hi, sammy jay!
what are you doing up here?"
shouted reddy fox.
sammy jay heard him and hurried over to where reddy fox was sitting.
""hello, reddy fox!
how are you feeling?"
said sammy jay.
""better, thank you.
what are you doing way up here in this lonely place?"
replied reddy.
""it's a long story," said sammy jay.
""tell it to me," begged reddy fox.
so sammy jay told him all about the trouble he had had on the green meadows and in the green forest, and how hardly any one would speak to him because they said that he kept them awake by screaming in the night.
he told how he had sat up all night and had heard what sounded like his own voice, when all the time he was sitting with his mouth shut as tight as tight could be.
then he told about blacky the crow's plan, which was that sammy should come to the old pasture and live for a week.
then, if the little people of the green meadows and the green forest heard screams in the night, they would know that it was not sammy jay who was waking them up.
reddy fox chuckled as he listened.
you know misery likes company, and it tickled reddy to think that some one else had been forced to leave the green meadows and the green forest.
that night sammy jay found a comfortable place which seemed quite safe in which to go to sleep.
just after jolly, round, red mr. sun went to bed behind the purple hills, sammy saw boomer the nighthawk circling round high in the air catching his dinner.
sammy screamed twice.
boomer heard him and down he came with a rush.
""why, sammy jay, what under the sun are you doing way off here?"
exclaimed boomer.
""going to bed," replied sammy.
""say, boomer, will you do something for me?"
""that depends upon what it is," replied boomer.
""it's just an errand," replied sammy jay, and then he asked boomer to go down to the green meadows and tell peter rabbit how he, boomer, had seen sammy going to bed up in the far-away old pasture.
boomer promised that he would, and off he started.
he found peter and told him.
of course peter was very much surprised and, because he can not keep his tongue still, he started off at once to tell everybody he could find, just as blacky the crow had thought he would do.
xii no one believes peter rabbit peter rabbit sat in his secret place in the middle of the old briar-patch.
peter was doing some very hard thinking.
he ought to have been asleep, for he had been out the whole night long.
but instead of sleeping, he was wide awake and thinking and thinking.
you see early the night before boomer the nighthawk had told peter that sammy jay was up in the far-away old pasture.
boomer had seen him going to bed there and had come straight down to tell peter.
this was great news, and peter could hardly wait for boomer to stop talking, he was so anxious to spread the news over the green meadows and through the green forest, for peter is a great gossip and can not keep his tongue still.
so he had hurried this way and that way, telling every one he met how sammy jay had moved away to the old pasture.
but no one believed him.
""wait and see!
wait and see!"
said jimmy skunk.
""it's just a trick," said bobby coon.
""but boomer the nighthawk saw him up there going to bed and talked with him!"
cried peter rabbit.
""perhaps he did and then again perhaps he did n't," replied bobby coon, carefully washing an ear of sweet milky corn that he had brought down to the laughing brook from farmer brown's corn-field, for bobby coon is very, very neat and always washes his food before eating.
""for my part," he continued, "i believe that boomer the nighthawk just made up that story to help sammy jay fool us."
""but that would be a wrong story, and i do n't believe that boomer would do anything like that!"
cried peter.
just then there was a shrill scream of "thief!
thief!
thief!"
over in the alder bushes.
it certainly sounded like sammy jay's voice.
""what did i tell you?
now what do you think?"
cried bobby coon.
peter did n't know what to think, and he said so.
he left bobby to eat his corn and spent the rest of the night telling every one he met what boomer the nighthawk had said, but of course no one believed it, and every one laughed at him, for had n't they heard sammy jay screaming that very night?
so now peter sat in the old briar-patch thinking and thinking, when he should have been asleep.
finally he yawned and stretched and then started along one of his private little paths.
""i'll just run up to the green forest and try to find sammy jay," he said.
so peter hunted and hunted all through the green forest for sammy jay, and asked everybody he met if they had seen sammy.
but no one had, though every one took pains to tell peter that they had heard sammy in the night.
at last peter found sticky-toes the tree toad.
he was muttering and grumbling to himself, and he did n't see peter.
peter stopped to listen, which was, of course, a very wrong thing to do, and what he heard gave peter an idea.
xiii sticky-toes the tree toad pours out his troubles sticky-toes was quite upset.
there was no doubt about it.
either he had gotten out of the wrong side of his bed that morning, or his breakfast had disagreed with him, or something had happened to make him lose his temper completely.
""do n't know what it means!
do n't know what it means!
do n't know what it means!"
croaked sticky-toes the tree toad, over and over again.
""heard it last night and the night before that and before that and before that and before that, and i do n't know what it means!"
""do n't know what what means?"
asked peter rabbit, whose curiosity would not let him keep still.
""hello, long-ears!
i do n't know that it's any of your business!"
said sticky-toes.
peter allowed that it was n't, but that as he had so much on his own mind he could n't help being interested when he found that sticky-toes had troubles too.
then he told sticky-toes all about how boomer the nighthawk had said that he had seen sammy jay going to bed up in the far-away old pasture, and how that very night sammy jay's voice had been heard screaming down in the alders beside the laughing brook.
sticky-toes nodded his head.
""i heard it," said he.
""but how could sammy jay be down here if he went to bed way off there in the old pasture?
tell me that, sticky-toes?"
said peter rabbit.
sticky-toes shook his head.
""do n't ask me!
do n't ask me!
just tell me how it is that i hear my own voice when i do n't speak a word," said sticky-toes the tree toad.
""what's that?"
exclaimed peter rabbit.
then sticky-toes poured out all his troubles to peter rabbit.
they were very much like the troubles of sammy jay.
every night sticky-toes would hear what sounded like his own voice coming from a tree in which he was not sitting at all, and at a time when he was keeping his mouth shut as tight as he knew how.
in fact, he had been so worried that for several nights he had n't said a word, yet his neighbors had complained that he had been very noisy.
he was getting so worried that he could n't eat.
peter rabbit listened with his mouth wide open.
it was just the same kind of a story that sammy jay had told.
what under the sun could be going on?
peter could n't understand it at all.
it certainly was very, very curious.
he just must find out about it!
xiv peter rabbit meets unc" billy possum after sticky-toes the tree toad had poured out his troubles, peter went back to the old briar-patch, more puzzled than ever.
if sammy jay was asleep in the far-away old pasture on the edge of the mountain, how could he be at the same time down in the green forest screaming?
and if sticky-toes the tree toad sat all night with his mouth shut tight, how could the voice of sticky-toes be heard in an altogether different tree than the one sticky-toes was spending the night in?
was n't it enough to drive any one crazy?
the more peter studied over it, the more puzzled he grew.
the next night he started out for the green forest with a new plan in his head.
he would hide down among the alders by the laughing brook.
he would see for himself who was screaming with the voice of sammy jay and talking with the voice of sticky-toes the tree toad.
he just had to know!
so across the green meadows and up the lone little path hurried peter rabbit, so as to reach the laughing brook before jolly, round, red mr. sun had wholly turned out his light, after going to bed behind the purple hills.
he was hurrying so that he almost ran into unc" billy possum.
""yo" seem to be in a powerful hurry, brer rabbit," said unc" billy.
""i am," replied peter.
""i must get down to the laughing brook before dark.""
"pears to me it must be mighty impo "tant to make yo" hurry this way," said unc" billy possum.
""it is," replied peter rabbit.
""it's to keep me from going crazy."
unc" billy looked at peter very hard for a few minutes, just as if he thought that peter was crazy already.
then he put a hand behind one ear just as if he was hard of hearing.
""ah beg yo" pardon, brer rabbit, but ah don" seem to have it quite right in mah haid what yo'all am going down to the laughing brook for," said unc" billy in the politest way.
peter chuckled in spite of himself, as he once more replied: "it's to keep me from going crazy."
then peter told unc" billy all about sammy jay's troubles and all about the troubles of sticky-toes the tree toad.
it was the first unc" billy possum had heard about it, for unc" billy had been away from the green forest and the green meadows for a visit and had just returned.
he listened to all that peter rabbit had to say, and a funny, pleased sort of look came into his eyes.
""ah reckon ah will go along with yo'all," said he.
so unc" billy possum went with peter rabbit to the laughing brook, where they hid underneath the alders.
xv peter rabbit and unc" billy possum keep watch "now," said peter rabbit, as they settled themselves to watch, "we'll see for ourselves whether sammy jay and sticky-toes have been telling the truth, or if they have been dreaming.
if we hear sammy jay's voice down here in the alders to-night, we ought to be able to see who is using it, for pretty soon the moon will be up, and then we can see easily."
unc" billy possum did n't say anything, not a word, but if peter rabbit had noticed unc" billy's eyes, he would have seen a very knowing look there.
the fact is, unc" billy was thinking of the time when he thought he had heard the voice of an old friend of his from way down south, and he was beginning to suspect that he had been right, and that his old friend really was somewhere in the green forest.
""ah reckon he sho "ly is, and he's plumb full of his ol' tricks, just like he used to be," muttered unc" billy.
""what's that?"
asked peter, pricking up his ears.
""nothing, nothing, brer rabbit, nothing at all.
ah has a habit of just talking foolishness to mahself," replied unc" billy.
peter looked at him sharply, but unc" billy's shrewd little face looked so innocent that peter was ashamed to doubt what unc" billy said.
""i guess that we better not talk any more, for fear we might be heard and have our watch for nothing," said peter.
unc" billy agreed, and side by side they sat as still as if they were made of wood or stone.
the black shadows came early to the alders beside the laughing brook, and soon it was very dark, so dark that peter and unc" billy, whose eyes are meant for seeing in the dark as well as in the light, had hard work to make out much.
it grew later and later, and still there was not a sound of the voice of either sammy jay or sticky-toes the tree toad.
peter began to get hungry.
the more he thought about it, the hungrier he grew.
he was just about ready to give it up, when the moonbeams began to creep in among the alder trees just as they had crept through the green forest the night that sammy jay kept awake all night.
the moonbeams crept farther and farther into the thicket of alder trees and bushes where peter rabbit and unc" billy possum were hiding.
then it was that they heard the voice of sticky-toes the tree toad.
at any rate, peter was sure that it was the voice of sticky-toes until a fierce, angry whisper came down to him from the branch of an alder just over his head.
peter looked up.
there sat sticky-toes himself, but his voice was coming from an alder on the other side of the laughing brook.
""do you hear that?
do you hear that?
there's my voice over there, and here i am here!
what do you make of it?"
whispered sticky-toes.
peter did n't know what to make of it.
all he could do was to gaze at sticky-toes as if he thought sticky-toes was a ghost.
just then the voice of sammy jay, or what sounded for all the world like sammy's voice, screamed "thief!
thief!
thief!"
from the very spot where they had just heard the voice of sticky-toes.
peter turned to ask unc" billy possum what he thought, but unc" billy was n't there.
xvi unc" billy possum does a little surprising himself when unc" billy possum first heard what sounded like the voice of sticky-toes the tree toad, he had thought, just as peter rabbit did, that sticky-toes was over in an alder tree on the other side of the laughing brook.
but when he heard a whisper right over their heads and looked up to see sticky-toes himself, unc" billy almost chuckled out loud.
""yo" ca n't fool uncle billy, so do n't go fo" to try!
ah knows yo", yes, ah knows yo" -- ah knows yo", mistah sly."
he said that to himself and quite under his breath, for all the time that peter rabbit and sticky-toes the tree toad were whispering together, unc" billy possum was stealing away under the alder bushes.
unc" billy is very soft-footed, oh, very soft-footed indeed, when he wants to be.
you see one must needs be very soft-footed to steal eggs in farmer brown's hen-house.
so unc" billy stole away without making a sound, and when peter rabbit turned to speak to him, there was no unc" billy there.
peter rubbed his eyes and stared all around, this way and that way, but no sign of unc" billy could he see.
this so surprised peter rabbit that he felt queer all over.
first there was the voice of sticky-toes over on the other side of the laughing brook, when all the time sticky-toes was n't there at all.
now here unc" billy possum had disappeared, just as if the earth had swallowed him up.
""this is n't any place for me!"
said peter rabbit, and off he started for the green meadows as fast as he could go, lipperty-lipperty-lip!
all this time unc" billy possum had been crawling along without the tiniest sound.
when he came to the laughing brook, he went up a way until he found a big tree with a branch stretching clear across.
of course unc" billy could have swum across, but he did n't feel like swimming that night, so he climbed up the big tree, ran out along the branch, let himself down by the tail, and then dropped.
he was across the laughing brook without even wetting his feet.
unc" billy did n't waste any time.
just as soft-footed as before, he crept along in the darkest shadows, until he was right under the alder tree from which the complaining voice of sticky-toes the tree toad seemed to come.
unc" billy listened, and the longer he listened, the broader grew the smile on unc" billy's shrewd face.
""thief!
thief!
thief!"
it certainly sounded for all the world like sammy jay's voice, and it was right over unc" billy's head.
unc" billy peered up through the alders.
the leaves were so thick that he could not see very well, but what he did see was enough.
it was a long tail, a tail of feathers hanging down.
it was n't sammy jay's tail, either.
""don" yo'all think that yo'all have joked enough?"
asked unc" billy, trying hard to keep from chuckling aloud.
a cry of "thief" stopped right in the middle, and two sharp eyes looked down in surprise at unc" billy.
xvii the meeting of two old friends "why, unc" billy possum!
what are yo'all doing way up here?"
cried the owner of the long tail and sharp eyes.
""this is mah home now.
ah done moved up here," replied unc" billy."
"pears to me that the question is what am yo'all doing way off up here?
ah thought ah sho "ly done hear your voice the other day, and ah most wore mah po" feet out looking fo" yo".
ah thought ah was mistaken, but now ah reckon that ah was right, after all.
my, but ah am right smart glad to see yo"!"
""thank yo", unc" billy," replied the owner of the long tail and the sharp eyes.
""ah reckon yo" ca n't be any more glad to see me, than ah am to see yo".
fact is, ah was getting right smart lonesome.
ah done been lying low daytimes, because, yo" know, ah'm a stranger up here, and ah was afraid that strangers might not be welcome in the green forest and on the green meadows.""
"pears like if all ah hear am true, that yo" have n't done much lying low nights.
ah reckon yo" done make up fo" those lonesome feelings.
yes, sah, ah reckon so.
mah goodness, man, yo" done set everybody to running around like they was crazy!"
exclaimed unc" billy.
the owner of the long tail and sharp eyes threw back his head and laughed, and his laugh was like the most beautiful music.
it made unc" billy feel good just listening to it.
""sammy jay done moved away to the ol' pasture since things were so unpleasant here because everybody said he screamed all night," continued unc" billy possum.
""he sat up all of one night just to make sho" that he did n't scream in his sleep, and he did n't make a sound the whole night long.
the next mo "ning everybody said that he had been screaming just the same, and po" sammy jay just moved away.
yo" ought to be ashamed to play such jokes."
unc" billy grinned as he said it.
""thief!
thief!"
came in sammy jay's voice right out of the mouth of the owner of the long tail and sharp eyes.
then both little rascals laughed fit to kill themselves.
""yo" come over to my house," said unc" billy.
""my ol' woman sho" will be right smart glad to see yo", and she's gwine to be powerful surprised, deed she am!
she done been laughing at me fo" a week, because ah was sho" ah done hear yo" that day."
so off the two started to see old mrs. possum, and for the rest of that night sticky-toes the tree toad listened in vain for the sound of his own voice when his lips were closed tight.
xviii the mischief-makers there was a dreadful time on the green meadows and in the green forest.
oh, dear, dear, dear!
it really was dreadful!
first sammy jay had been accused of screaming in the night and keeping honest little meadow and forest people awake when they wanted to sleep.
and all the time sammy jay had n't made a sound.
then sticky-toes the tree toad had been accused of being noisy, when all the time he was sitting with his mouth closed as tight as tight could be.
all this was bad enough, but now things were so much worse that it was getting so that no one would have anything to do with any one else.
those who had been the very best of friends would pass without speaking.
you see, everybody on the green meadows and in the green forest knows everybody else by their voice.
so when jimmy skunk, happening along near the smiling pool, heard mrs. redwing's voice, he did n't waste any time trying to see mrs. redwing.
instead, he went straight over and told johnny chuck the unkind things that he had overheard mrs. redwing saying about johnny.
in the same way bobby coon heard the voice of blacky the crow in farmer brown's corn-field, and when bobby listened, he heard some things not at all nice about himself.
and so it was, all over the green meadows and through the green forest.
it seemed as if almost everybody was heard talking about some one else, and never saying nice things.
the only one who still managed to keep on good terms with everybody was unc" billy possum.
no one had ever heard him saying unkind things about others and so, because now there were so few others to talk to, everybody was glad to see unc" billy coming, and he soon was the best liked of all the little meadow and forest people.
he went about trying to smooth out the troubles, and to see him you never, never would have guessed that he had anything to do with making them.
my, my, no, indeed!
but every night when the moon was up, unc" billy would have a caller, who would come and sit just outside the doorway of unc" billy's house and scream "thief!
thief!
thief!"
then out would pop unc" billy's sharp little face, and then his fat little body would follow, and he and his friend with the long tail and the sharp eyes, for of course you have guessed that is who it was, would put their heads together and laugh and chuckle as if they were enjoying the best joke ever was.
then they would whisper and sometimes talk right out loud, when they felt sure that no one was near to hear.
what were they talking about?
why, about the trouble on the green meadows and in the green forest, and what a joke it all was, and what was the best way to keep it up.
you see, the reason that no one heard unc" billy saying mean things or heard any mean things said about unc" billy was because it was unc" billy himself and his friend with the long tail and the sharp eyes who were making all the trouble.
yes, sir, they were the mischief-makers.
it was great fun to fool everybody so.
they never once stopped to think how very, very uncomfortable it kept everybody feeling.
xix bobby coon makes a discovery bobby coon had overslept.
usually bobby is astir shortly after jolly, round, red mr. sun has gone to bed behind the purple hills.
but bobby is very irregular in his habits.
he is very fond of traveling about in the night, is bobby coon, and when he does that, he sleeps the greater part of the day.
but once in a while he takes a notion to travel about by daylight, and when he does that, why of course he has to sleep part of the night, anyway.
bobby coon is a very lucky chap, very lucky indeed, for he can see in the dark, and yet, unlike hooty the owl, he has no trouble in seeing in the broad daylight as well.
this night bobby coon had overslept because he had not gone to bed until the middle of the day.
he had been prowling about and getting into mischief all of the night before and had not started for home until jolly, round mr. sun was smiling down from right overhead.
by this time bobby coon had sticks in his eyes.
he was so sleepy that it seemed to him that he never, never could get home.
he was stumbling along through the green forest when he came to a hollow log.
what do you think he did?
why, he crawled in there, and in two minutes was fast asleep, just as comfortable as if he had been in his own hollow tree.
there bobby slept all the rest of the day and until long after mr. sun had pulled on his rosy nightcap.
perhaps he would have slept there all night, if he had n't been waked up.
it was the cry of "thief!
thief!
thief!"
that waked him.
it seemed to come from right over his head.
""sammy jay ought to be ashamed of himself, waking honest people like this!"
muttered bobby coon, as he yawned and stretched.
at first he could n't think where he was.
then he remembered.
he was just getting ready to crawl out of the hollow log, when he heard something which made him stop and try to sit up so suddenly that he bumped his head.
what he heard was the voice of unc" billy possum, and he knew by the sound that unc" billy was sitting on the very log in which he himself was hiding.
""this is the greatest joke that ever was!"
said unc" billy.
""pretty soon nobody on the green meadows or in the green forest will speak to anybody else excepting me.
yo" cert "nly have got all your ol' tricks with yo"."
""yes," replied a voice which bobby coon had never heard before, but which he knew right away must belong to some one who had come from way down south where unc" billy possum and ol' mistah buzzard had come from.
""yes," said the voice, "ah done got all mah ol' tricks and some more.
but it's easy, unc" billy, it's easy to fool your new friends, because ah reckon they never have been fooled this way before.
don" yo" think it is most time to stop?
ah do n't want to show mahself in daylight.
besides, if ah'm found out, nobody ai n't gwine to have anything to do with me."
""do n't yo" worry.
nobody's gwine to find yo" out.
we'll keep it up just a day or two longer.
yo" cert "nly am powerful good at imitating other people's voices.
ah wonder that ol' mistah buzzard has n't got his eye on yo" before now," said unc" billy possum.
bobby coon had become wide awake as he listened.
he tried hard to get a peep at the stranger with unc" billy, but all he could see was a long tail of feathers.
bobby waited until unc" billy and his friend had left.
then he crawled out of the hollow log, and he was chuckling to himself.
""i'll just have a little talk with ol' mistah buzzard," said bobby to himself.
xx bobby coon and ol' mistah buzzard have a talk bobby coon had spent the largest part of the forenoon sitting at the foot of the tall dead tree on which ol' mistah buzzard likes to roost.
all the time ol' mistah buzzard had been sailing "round and "round in circles way up in the blue, blue sky, sometimes so high that to bobby he looked like just a tiny speck.
bobby had watched him until his own neck ached.
mistah buzzard hardly ever moved his wings.
he just sailed and sailed and sailed up and down and "round and "round, just as if it was no work at all but pure fun, as indeed it was.
bobby coon had waited so long that it was almost more than he could do to be patient any longer, but if you really want a thing, it is worth waiting for, and so bobby gave a great sigh and tried to make himself more comfortable.
at last mistah buzzard came sailing down straight for the tall dead tree.
with two or three flaps of his great wings he settled down on his favorite perch and looked down at bobby coon.
""good mo "ning, brer coon," said ol' mistah buzzard.
""good morning, mistah buzzard; i hope you are feeling very well this morning," replied bobby coon as politely as he knew how.
""fair to middling well," said ol' mistah buzzard, with a twinkle in his eyes.
""what can ah do fo" yo'all?"
""if you please, mistah buzzard, you can tell me if there is anybody way down south where you come from who can make his voice sound just like the voices of other people.
is there?"
bobby was using his very politest manner.
""cert "nly!
cert "nly!"
chuckled ol' mistah buzzard.
""it's mistah mockah the mocking-bird.
why, that bird just likes to go around making trouble; he just naturally likes to.
he just goes around mocking everything and everybody he hears, until sometimes it seems like yo" could n't be sure of yo" own voice when yo" hear it.
why do yo" ask, brer coon?"
""because he is right here in the green forest now," replied bobby coon.
""what's that yo" am a-saying, brer coon?
what's that?"
cried ol' mistah buzzard, growing very excited.
then bobby coon told ol' mistah buzzard all about the trouble on the green meadows and in the green forest; how sammy jay had moved away to the old pasture so that no one could say that he screamed in the night, and yet how his voice was still heard; how sticky-toes the tree toad was almost crazy because his neighbors said he was noisy, when all the time he was sitting with his mouth tight closed; and finally, how all the little meadow and forest people refused to speak to one another because of the many unkind things which had been overheard.
and bobby told what he had overheard the night before when unc" billy possum and a stranger had sat on the very log in which bobby had been taking, a nap.
ol' mistah buzzard chuckled.
""yo" might have known unc" billy was behind all that trouble," said he.
""yes, sah, yo" might have known that ol' rascal was behind it.
when unc" billy possum and mockah get their haids together, there sho "ly is gwine to be something doing."
xxi bobby coon has a busy day bobby coon had left ol' mistah buzzard sitting on his favorite dead tree.
every few minutes ol' mistah buzzard would chuckle.
""brer coon is right smart, and ah reckon unc" billy possum is gwine to get a taste of his own medicine.
yes, sah, ah reckon he is!"
said ol' mistah buzzard.
then he chuckled and chuckled, as he spread his broad wings and said: "ah reckon ah better be up in the blue, blue sky where ah can look right down and see all the fun."
in the meantime bobby coon was hurrying back and forth across the green meadows and through the green forest, calling on all the little people who live there.
he whispered a few words in the ear of one and then hurried on to whisper to the next one.
when bobby would first begin to whisper, the one to whom he was whispering would shake his head and look as if he did n't believe a word of what bobby was saying.
then bobby would point to ol' mistah buzzard sailing "round and "round high up in the blue, blue sky where everybody could see him, and whisper some more.
when he got through, he always carried away with him a promise that just what he had asked should be done.
bobby coon had thought of a plan to turn the joke on unc" billy possum, and this was why he was hurrying back and forth whispering in the ears of every one who lived on the green meadows and in the green forest; that is everybody excepting unc" billy possum and his family.
it was the busiest day that bobby coon could remember.
it was the very next morning that unc" billy possum was trotting along the crooked little path down the hill.
he was just starting out on his daily round of calls, and he was grinning as only unc" billy possum can grin.
""mah name is billy possum and mah home's a hollow tree!
by day or night ah wander forth -- it's all the same to me!
ah fill mah stomach with an egg, or sometimes it is fish; in fact ah always helps mahself to anything ah wish.
fo" mah name is billy possum and mah other name is smart; to catch yo" uncle billy yo" must make an early start."
unc" billy was singing this to himself as he trotted along the crooked little path, and all the time he was thinking of the great joke that he and his old friend mr. mocker, from way down south, were playing on the little people of the green meadows and the green forest.
this morning he was on his way to call first on johnny chuck.
half-way down the hill he met bobby coon.
unc" billy stopped and held out one hand as he said "good mo "ning, brer coon.
how do yo'all do this fine mo "ning?"
bobby coon walked right past as if he did n't see unc" billy at all.
he did n't even look at him.
""what's the matter with yo" this mo "ning, brer coon?"
shouted unc" billy.
bobby coon kept right on, without so much as turning his head.
unc" billy watched him, and there was a puzzled look on unc" billy's face.
""must be that brer coon has something powerful impo "tant on his mind," muttered unc" billy, as he started on.
pretty soon he met jimmy skunk who had always been one of unc" billy's best friends.
jimmy was looking under every stick and stone for beetles for his breakfast.
""good mo "ning, neighbor skunk!"
said unc" billy in his heartiest voice.
jimmy skunk, who never hurries, kept right on pulling over sticks and stones just as if he did n't see or hear unc" billy at all.
in fact, when he pulled over one stone, he dropped it right on unc" billy's tail and did n't seem to hear unc" billy's "ouch!"
as he pulled his tail from under the stone.
jimmy just went right on about his business.
unc" billy sat down and scratched his head.
his face had lost the cheerful grin with which he had started out.
pretty soon he started on, but every few minutes he would stop and scratch his head thoughtfully.
he did n't know what to make of bobby coon and jimmy skunk.
he was so surprised that he had n't known whether to be angry or not.
""ah must find out what brer chuck knows about it," thought unc" billy, as he trotted on.
xxii unc" billy possum sees many backs unc" billy possum was very sober as he hurried down the lone little path to johnny chuck's house.
he was very sober indeed, and that is very unusual for unc" billy possum.
it was very plain to see that something was bothering him.
johnny chuck was sitting on his doorstep when unc" billy possum came in sight, trotting down the lone little path.
as soon as johnny saw him, he turned his back squarely towards unc" billy and pretended to be very much interested in something way off in the other direction.
unc" billy came to a stop about two feet behind johnny chuck.
""a-hem!"
said unc" billy.
johnny chuck sat there without moving, just as if he had n't heard.
""it's a fine mo "ning," said unc" billy in his pleasantest voice.
instead of replying, johnny chuck suddenly kicked up his heels and disappeared inside his house.
unc" billy scratched his head with one hand and then with the other, and all the time his face grew more and more puzzled-looking.
after a while he started on.
pretty soon he came to where danny meadow mouse was playing all by himself.
he did n't know that unc" billy was about until unc" billy said: "good mo "ning, brer meadow mouse."
now danny had always been delighted to see unc" billy possum and to have a chat with him whenever unc" billy would stop.
but this morning no sooner did danny hear unc" billy's voice than he turned his back to unc" billy.
this was more than unc" billy could stand.
he reached out to take danny meadow mouse by the ear to turn him around, but somehow danny must have guessed what unc" billy meant to do, for without a word he ducked out of sight under the long grass, and hunt as he would unc" billy could n't find him.
so unc" billy possum gave it up and went on down to the smiling pool.
there little joe otter and billy mink and jerry muskrat were at play.
they saw unc" billy coming, and when he reached the bank of the smiling pool there sat the three little scamps on the big rock, but all he could see was their backs.
""hello, yo'alls!"
shouted unc" billy.
splash!
all three had dived into the smiling pool, and though unc" billy waited and waited, he did n't see one of them again.
even grandfather frog turned his back to him and seemed very deaf that morning, though unc" billy tried and tried to make him hear.
all day long, wherever he went, unc" billy saw only the backs of his friends, and none of them seemed to see him at all.
so he went home to his hollow tree in the green forest early that day to try and study out what it all meant.
xxiii unc" billy possum consults ol' mistah buzzard ol' mistah buzzard has very sharp eyes.
nobody has sharper eyes than he.
swinging "round and "round and "round and "round in great circles way up in the blue, blue sky, so high that sometimes he looks like nothing but a little speck, he looks down and sees everything going on in the green meadows and a great deal that goes on in the green forest.
there is very little that ol' mistah buzzard misses.
so all the day that unc" billy possum had been tramping over the green meadows and through the green forest and finding everybody's back turned to him, ol' mistah buzzard had been watching and laughing fit to kill himself.
you see he knew all about bobby coon's visit to all the little meadow and forest people, and how bobby had whispered in the ear of each that unc" billy possum was partly to blame for all the trouble they had had lately.
ol' mistah buzzard watched unc" billy go home and sit down with his chin in his hands and study and study, just as if he had something on his mind.
by and by unc" billy looked up in the sky where ol' mistah buzzard was sailing "round and "round.
then unc" billy hopped up mighty spry.
""ah reckon unc" billy "lows he'll make me a visit," said ol' mistah buzzard with a chuckle, as he slid down, down out of the sky to the tall dead tree in the green forest, which is his favorite roosting-place.
he had n't been there long when unc" billy possum came shuffling along, just as if he was out walking for his health.
""howdy, mistah buzzard!
ah cert "nly hopes yo'all feel right smart," said unc" billy.
ol' mistah buzzard's eyes twinkled as he replied: "ah feel right pert, brer possum, thank yo".
ah hopes yo" feel the same.
yo" look like nothing ever bothers yo"."
unc" billy grinned, but at the same time he looked a little foolish as he said: "that's right, mistah buzzard, that's right!
nothing ever does bother me."
and all the time he was wondering however he should ask for ol' mistah buzzard's advice and not let him know that something really was bothering him a great deal.
""ah watched yo" take a long walk this mo "ning, brer possum," said ol' mistah buzzard.
""did yo", indeed; yo" have keen eyes, mistah buzzard!"
replied unc" billy.
""ah saw yo" meet a lot of yo" friends.
it's fine to have a lot of friends, is n't it, brer possum?"
said ol' mistah buzzard.
unc" billy looked at ol' mistah buzzard sharply.
he wondered if mistah buzzard had noticed that all those friends had turned their backs on unc" billy that morning, but mistah buzzard looked as sober and solemn as a judge.
all at once ol' mistah buzzard hopped up and turned around, so that all unc" billy could see of him was his back.
unc" billy stared, and for a minute he could n't find his tongue.
then he heard a noise that sounded very much like a chuckle.
in a few minutes it was a laugh.
finally unc" billy began to laugh too.
""yo" take mah advice and bring mah ol' friend mockah out of his hiding-place and introduce him to the green meadows and the green forest," said ol' mistah buzzard.
unc" billy shook his head doubtfully.
he was afraid that they might not forgive the tricks that mr. mocker had played on them, and then of course he could n't stay in the green forest.
so unc" billy scratched his head and thought and thought of how he could get mr. mocker out of the trouble he had got him into.
finally he went home and told all his troubles to old mrs. possum and asked her advice, as he should have done in the first place.
""serves yo'alls right!
it cert "nly does serve yo'alls right!"
grunted mrs. possum, who was so busy looking after her eight lively babies that she had little time for fooling.
""ah know it.
it cert "nly does," replied unc" billy meekly.
""mischief always trots ahead of grim ol' mistah trouble, they look and act enough alike to be each other's double.
whoever fools with mischief's gwine to wake some day or other and find that trouble's just the same as mischief's own twin brother."
unc" billy possum listened to this just as if he had never heard it before, and nodded his head as if he agreed with every word of it.
old mrs. possum grumbled and scolded, but all the time she was thinking, and unc" billy knew that she was.
finally she finished sweeping the doorsteps and looked thoughtfully at unc" billy.
""why do n't yo" give a party fo" mistah mocking-bird?"
she inquired.
""the very thing!"
cried unc" billy, and like a flash back came his old-time grin.
xxiv unc" billy possum gives a party unc" billy possum's party was the greatest event in the green forest since the famous surprise party which peter rabbit gave when unc" billy's family arrived from way down in ol' virginny.
at first unc" billy had been afraid that no one would come.
you see, he had been the cause of a lot of the trouble on the green meadows and in the green forest, and he knew that now all the little meadow and forest people had found him out.
so he did n't dare send his invitations around by the merry little breezes of old mother west wind, for fear that no one would pay any heed to them.
of course that meant that unc" billy must take them around himself.
my, but that was hard work!
it was the hardest work that unc" billy had ever done in all his life, for you know unc" billy is happy-go-lucky and takes things easy.
but getting those invitations around -- well, as unc" billy said, he "like to wore holes plumb through the soles of mah feet" before he got all of them delivered.
it took him two whole days.
in the first place there were so many to see.
and then it was such hard work to deliver the invitations, because when his old friends saw him, they would promptly turn their backs to him and pretend they did n't see him at all.
then unc" billy would take off his hat and make a sweeping bow just as if the one he was talking to was facing instead of back to him, and he would say: "ah begs yo" pardon, "deed ah do, fo" all the trouble ah've caused yo", and hopes that ah may sho "ly choke if it was meant fo" more'n a joke.
so please fo "give ol' uncle bill and show yo" friendship for him still by taking this as an invite to join with me next monday night aroun" mah famous hollow tree, and help me to full merry be, and also meet a friend of mine; ah'm sho" yo's bound to like him fine."
then unc" billy would make another low bow and hurry on to the next one.
of course he could n't tell whether or not any one would accept the invitation, but he went right on with his plans, just as if he expected everybody to be there.
and when the time came, sure enough everybody was there, even sammy jay, to whom unc" billy had sent a special invitation by ol' mistah buzzard.
mistah buzzard had found sammy jay in the far-away old pasture, and sammy had moved back to the green forest that very day.
such a good time as everybody did have!
there were heaps and heaps of good things to eat.
they danced and played hide and seek.
finally unc" billy climbed up on a stump.
he was dressed in his finest suit, and he wore his broadest grin.
everybody crowded around to hear what unc" billy was about to say.
""mah friends and neighbors," said unc" billy, "ah have a great surprise fo" yo'alls."
then he stepped down, and everybody began to wonder and to guess what the surprise could be.
xxv unc" billy possum's surprise everybody was asking everybody else what the surprise could be which unc" billy had said he had for them.
after he had made his speech, he had scurried out of sight, and no one could find him.
just about that time billy mink remembered that the party had been given to meet a friend of unc" billy possum, but no friend had appeared.
billy mink spoke of the matter to little joe otter, and little joe otter spoke of the matter to jerry muskrat, and jerry muskrat spoke of the matter to sammy jay, and right while he was speaking there came a shrill scream of "thief!
thief!
thief!"
from a thick hemlock-tree near by, and the voice was just like the voice of sammy jay.
sammy jay became greatly excited.
""there!"
he cried!
""you heard that when you was standing right in front of me and talking to me, jerry muskrat.
you know that i was n't making a sound!
i told you that i had n't been screaming in the night, and this proves it!"
jerry muskrat looked as if he could n't believe his own ears.
just then the voice of sticky-toes the tree toad began to croak "it's going to rain!
it's going to rain!
it's going to rain!"
the voice seemed to come out of that very same hemlock-tree.
everybody noticed it and looked up at the tree, and while they were all trying to see sticky-toes, something dropped plop right into their midst.
it was sticky-toes himself, and he had dropped from another tree altogether.
""you hear it!"
he shrieked, dancing up and down he was so angry.
""you hear it!
it is n't me, is it?
that's my voice, yet it is n't mine, because i'm right here!
how can i be here and over there too?
tell me that!"
no one could tell him, and sticky-toes continued to scold and sputter and swell himself up with anger.
but everybody forgot sticky-toes when they heard the voice of blacky the crow calling "caw, caw, caw!"
from the very same hemlock-tree.
now no one knew that blacky the crow had come to the party, for blacky never goes abroad at night.
""come out, blacky!"
they all shouted.
but no blacky appeared.
instead out of that magic hemlock-tree poured a beautiful song, so beautiful that when it ended everybody clapped their hands.
after that there was a perfect flood of music, as if all the singers of the green forest and the green meadows were in that hemlock-tree.
there was the song of mr. redwing and the song of jenny wren, and the sweet notes of carol the meadowlark and the beautiful happy song of little friend the song sparrow.
no one had ever heard anything like it, and when it ended every one shouted for more.
even sticky-toes the tree toad forgot his ill temper.
instead of more music, out from the hemlock-tree flew a stranger.
he was about the size of sammy jay and wore a modest gray suit with white trimmings.
he flew over to a tall stump in the moonlight, and no sooner had he alighted than up beside him scrambled unc" billy possum.
unc" billy wore his broadest grin.
""mah friends of the green forest and the green meadows, ah wants yo'alls to know mah friend, mistah mocking-bird, who has come up from mah ol' home way down in "ol' virginny."
he has the most wonderful voice in all the world, and when he wants to, he can make it sound just like the voice of any one of yo'alls.
we uns is right sorry fo" the trouble we uns have made.
it was all a joke, and now we asks yo" pardon.
mah friend mistah mockah would like to stay here and live, if yo'alls is willing," said unc" billy.
xxvi mr. mocker makes himself at home at first, when the little meadow and forest people were asked to pardon the tricks that mr. mocker and unc" billy possum had played, a few were inclined not to.
while they were talking the matter over, mr. mocker began to sing again that wonderful song of his.
it was so beautiful that by the time it was ended, every one was ready to grant the pardon.
they crowded around him, and because he is good-natured, he made his voice sound just like the voice of each one who spoke to him.
of course they thought that was great fun, and by the time unc" billy possum's moonlight party broke up, mr. mocker knew that he had made so many friends that he could stay in the green forest as long as he pleased.
but there were a lot of little people who were not at unc" billy possum's party, because they go to bed instead of going out nights.
of course they heard all about the party the next morning and were very anxious indeed to see the stranger with the wonderful voice.
so mr. mocker went calling with ol' mistah buzzard, and they visited all the little meadow and forest people who had not been at the party.
of course mr. mocker had to show off his wonderful voice to each one.
when he had finished, he was tuckered put, was mr. mocker, but he was happy, for now he had made friends and could live on the edge of the green forest with his old friends, unc" billy possum and ol' mistah buzzard.
so he soon made himself at home and, because he was happy, he would sing all day long.
and sometimes, when the moon was shining, he woke up in the night and would sing for very joy.
now peter rabbit thought the newcomer's voice such a wonderful thing that he used to follow him around just to hear him fool others by making his voice sound like theirs.
it was great fun.
peter and mocker became great friends, and so when peter heard it whispered around that mr. mocking-bird had not come by his wonderful voice honestly, he did n't believe a word of it and was very indignant.
of course he could n't go to mr. mocker himself and ask him, for he did n't want mr. mocker to know that such unkind things were being said.
finally he thought of grandfather frog, who is very old and very wise.
""he'll know," said peter, as off he posted to the smiling pool.
""if you please, grandfather frog, how does it happen that mr. mocker has such a wonderful voice and can make it sound like the voice of any one whom he hears?"
asked peter.
now grandfather frog was feeling out of sorts that morning.
he had n't heard the whisper that mr. mocker had not come by his voice honestly, and he thought that peter rabbit was asking just to hear a story.
""chugarum!"
replied grandfather frog crossly.
""go ask mr. buzzard," and that was all that peter could get out of him.
so, not knowing what else to do, off started peter rabbit to ask ol' mistah buzzard where his friend mr. mocking-bird got such a wonderful voice.
ol' mistah buzzard laughed when he heard that some folks said that mr. mocker had not come by his voice honestly.
""there is n't a word of truth in it, brer rabbit," he declared.
""yo" go tell all your friends that mistah mockah is the best loved of all the birds way down souf."
and this is all for the present about the adventures of mr. mocker the mocking-bird.
but others have had adventures, and one is jerry muskrat.
the next book will tell all about them.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_paddy_the_beaver.txt.out
chapter i paddy the beaver begins work.
work, work all the night while the stars are shining bright; work, work all the day; i have got no time to play.
this little rhyme paddy the beaver made up as he toiled at building the dam which was to make the pond he so much desired deep in the green forest.
of course it was n't quite true, that about working all night and all day.
nobody could do that, you know, and keep it up.
everybody has to rest and sleep.
yes, and everybody has to play a little to be at their best.
so it was n't quite true that paddy worked all day after working all night.
but it was true that paddy had no time to play.
he had too much to do.
he had had his playtime during the long summer, and now he had to get ready for the long, cold winter.
now, of all the little workers in the green forest, on the green meadows, and in the smiling pool, none can compare with paddy the beaver, not even his cousin, jerry muskrat.
happy jack squirrel and striped chipmunk store up food for the long, cold months when rough brother north wind and jack frost rule, and jerry muskrat builds a fine house wherein to keep warm and comfortable, but all this is as nothing to the work of paddy the beaver.
as i said before, paddy had had a long playtime through the summer.
he had wandered up and down the laughing brook.
he had followed it way up to the place where it started.
and all the time he had been studying and studying to make sure that he wanted to stay in the green forest.
in the first place, he had to be sure that there was plenty of the kind of food that he likes.
then he had to be equally sure that he could make a pond near where this particular food grew.
last of all, he had to satisfy himself that if he did make a pond and build a home, he would be reasonably safe in it.
and all these things he had done in his playtime.
now he was ready to go to work, and when paddy begins work, he sticks to it until it is finished.
he says that is the only way to succeed, and you know and i know that he is right.
now paddy the beaver can see at night just as reddy fox and peter rabbit and bobby coon can, and he likes the night best, because he feels safest then.
but he can see in the daytime too, and when he feels that he is perfectly safe and no one is watching, he works then too.
of course, the first thing to do was to build a dam across the laughing brook to make the pond he so much needed.
he chose a low, open place deep in the green forest, around the edge of which grew many young aspen trees, the bark of which is his favorite food.
through the middle of this open place flowed the laughing brook.
at the lower edge was just the place for a dam.
it would not have to be very long, and when it was finished and the water was stopped in the laughing brook, it would just have to flow over the low, open place and make a pond there.
paddy's eyes twinkled when he first saw it.
it was right then that he made up his mind to stay in the green forest.
so now that he was ready to begin his dam he went up the laughing brook to a place where alders and willows grew, and there he began work; that work was the cutting of a great number of trees by means of his big front teeth which were given him for just this purpose.
and as he worked, paddy was happy, for one can never be truly happy who does no work.
chapter ii paddy plans a pond.
paddy the beaver was busy cutting down trees for the dam he had planned to build.
up in the woods of the north from which he had come to the green forest, he had learned all about tree-cutting and dam-building and canal-digging and house-building.
paddy's father and mother had been very wise in the beaver world, and paddy had been quick to learn.
so now he knew just what to do and the best way of doing it.
you know, a great many people waste time and labor doing things the wrong way, so that they have to be done over again.
they forget to be sure they are right, and so they go ahead until they find they are wrong, and all their work goes for nothing.
but paddy the beaver is n't this kind.
paddy would never have leaped into the spring with the steep sides without looking, as grandfather frog did.
so now he carefully picked out the trees to cut.
he could not afford to waste time cutting down a tree that was n't going to be just what he wanted when it was down.
when he was sure that the tree was right, he looked up at the top to find out whether, when he had cut it, it would fall clear of other trees.
he had learned to do that when he was quite young and heedless.
he remembered just how he had felt when, after working hard, oh, so hard, to cut a big tree, he had warned all his friends to get out of the way so that they would not be hurt when it fell, and then it had n't fallen at all because the top had caught in another tree.
he was so mortified that he did n't get over it for a long time.
so now he made sure that a tree was going to fall clear and just where he wanted it.
then he sat up on his hind legs, and with his great broad tail for a brace, began to make the chips fly.
you know paddy has the most wonderful teeth for cutting.
they are long and broad and sharp.
he would begin by making a deep bite, and then another just a little way below.
then he would pry out the little piece of wood between.
when he had cut very deep on one side so that the tree would fall that way, he would work around to the other side.
just as soon as the tree began to lean and he was sure that it was going to fall, he would scamper away so as to be out of danger.
he loved to see those tall trees lean forward slowly, then faster and faster, till they struck the ground with a crash.
just as soon as they were down, he would trim off the branches until the trees where just long poles.
this was easy work, for he could take off a good-sized branch with one bite.
on many he left their bushy tops.
when he had trimmed them to suit him and had cut them into the right lengths, he would tug and pull them down to the place where he meant to build his dam.
there he placed the poles side by side, not across the laughing brook like a bridge, but with the big ends pointing up the laughing brook, which was quite broad but shallow right there.
to keep them from floating away, he rolled stones and piled mud on the bushy ends.
clear across on both sides he laid those poles until the water began to rise.
then he dragged more poles and piled them on top of these and wedged short sticks crosswise between them.
and all the time the laughing brook was having harder and harder work to run.
its merry laugh grew less merry and finally almost stopped, because, you see, the water could not get through between all those poles and sticks fast enough.
it was just about that time that the little people of the smiling pool decided that it was time to see just what paddy was doing, and they started up the laughing brook, leaving only grandfather frog and the tadpoles in the smiling pool, which for a little while would smile no more.
chapter iii paddy has many visitors.
paddy the beaver knew perfectly well that he would have visitors just as soon as he began to build his dam.
he expected a lot of them.
you see he knew that none of them ever had seen a beaver at work unless perhaps it was prickly porky the porcupine, who also had come down from the north.
so as he worked he kept his ears open, and he smiled to himself as he heard a little rustle here and then a little rustle there.
he knew just what those little rustles meant.
each one meant another visitor.
yes, sir, each rustle meant another visitor, and yet not one had shown himself.
paddy chuckled.
""seems to me that you are dreadfully afraid to show yourselves," said he in a loud voice, just as if he were talking to nobody in particular.
everything was still.
there was n't so much as a rustle after paddy spoke.
he chuckled again.
he could just feel ever so many eyes watching him, though he did n't see a single pair.
and he knew that the reason his visitors were hiding so carefully was because they were afraid of him.
you see, paddy was much bigger than most of the little meadow and forest people, and they did n't know what kind of a temper he might have.
it is always safest to be very distrustful of strangers.
that is one of the very first things taught all little meadow and forest children.
of course, paddy knew all about this.
he had been brought up that way.
""be sure, and then you'll never be sorry" had been one of his mother's favorite sayings, and he had always remembered it.
indeed, it had saved him a great deal of trouble.
so now he was perfectly willing to go right on working and let his hidden visitors watch him until they were sure that he meant them no harm.
you see, he himself felt quite sure that none of them was big enough to do him any harm.
little joe otter was the only one he had any doubts about, and he felt quite sure that little joe would n't try to pick a quarrel.
so he kept right on cutting trees, trimming off the branches, and hauling the trunks down to the dam he was building.
some of them he floated down the laughing brook.
this was easier.
now when the little people of the smiling pool, who were the first to find out that paddy the beaver had come to the green forest, had started up the laughing brook to see what he was doing, they had told the merry little breezes where they were going.
the merry little breezes had been greatly excited.
they could n't understand how a stranger could have been living in the green forest without their knowledge.
you see, they quite forgot that they very seldom wandered to the deepest part of the green forest.
of course they started at once, as fast as they could go, to tell all the other little people who live on or around the green meadows, all but old man coyote.
for some reason they thought it best not to tell him.
they were a little doubtful about old man coyote.
he was so big and strong and so sly and smart that all his neighbors were afraid of him.
perhaps the merry little breezes had this fact in mind, and knew that none would dare go to call on the stranger if they knew that old man coyote was going too.
anyway, they simply passed the time of day with old mr. coyote and hurried on to tell everyone else, and the very last one they met was sammy jay.
chapter iv sammy jay speaks his mind when sammy jay reached the place deep in the green forest where paddy the beaver was so hard at work, he did n't hide as had the little four-footed people.
you see, of course, he had no reason to hide, because he felt perfectly safe.
paddy had just cut a big tree, and it fell with a crash as sammy came hurrying up.
sammy was so surprised that for a minute he could n't find his tongue.
he had not supposed that anybody but farmer brown or farmer brown's boy could cut down so large a tree as that, and it quite took his breath away.
but he got it again in a minute.
he was boiling with anger, anyway, to think that he should have been the last to learn that paddy had come down from the north to make his home in the green forest, and here was a chance to speak his mind.
""thief!
thief!
thief!"
he screamed in his harshest voice.
paddy the beaver looked up with a twinkle in his eyes.
""hello, mr. jay.
i see you have n't any better manners than your cousin who lives up where i come from," said he.
""thief!
thief!
thief!"
screamed sammy, hopping up and down, he was so angry.
""meaning yourself, i suppose," said paddy.
""i never did see an honest jay, and i do n't suppose i ever will."
""ha, ha, ha!"
laughed peter rabbit, who had quite forgotten that he was hiding.
""oh, how do you do, mr. rabbit?
i'm very glad you have called on me this morning," said paddy, just as if he had n't known all the time just where peter was.
""mr. jay seems to have gotten out of the wrong side of his bed this morning."
peter laughed again.
""he always does," said he.
""if he did n't, he would n't be happy.
you would n't think it to look at him, but he is happy right now.
he does n't know it, but he is.
he always is happy when he can show what a bad temper he has."
sammy jay glared down at peter.
then he glared at paddy.
and all the time he still shrieked "thief!"
as hard as ever he could.
paddy kept right on working, paying no attention to sammy.
this made sammy more angry than ever.
he kept coming nearer and nearer until at last he was in the very tree that paddy happened to be cutting.
paddy's eyes twinkled.
""i'm no thief!"
he exclaimed suddenly.
""you are!
you are!
thief!
thief!"
shrieked sammy.
""you're steeling our trees!"
""they're not your trees," retorted paddy.
""they belong to the green forest, and the green forest belongs to all who love it, and we all have a perfect right to take what we need from it.
i need these trees, and i've just as much right to take them as you have to take the fat acorns that drop in the fall."
""no such thing!"
screamed sammy.
you know he ca n't talk without screaming, and the more excited he gets, the louder he screams.
""no such thing!
acorns are food.
they are meant to eat.
i have to have them to live.
but you are cutting down whole trees.
you are spoiling the green forest.
you do n't belong here.
nobody invited you, and nobody wants you.
you're a thief!"
then up spoke jerry muskrat who, you know, is cousin to paddy the beaver.
""do n't you mind him," said he, pointing at sammy jay.
""nobody does.
he's the greatest trouble-maker in the green forest or on the green meadows.
he would steal from his own relatives.
do n't mind what he says, cousin paddy."
now all this time paddy had been working away just as if no one was around.
just as jerry stopped speaking, paddy thumped the ground with his tail, which is his way of warning people to watch out, and suddenly scurried away as fast as he could run.
sammy jay was so surprised that he could n't find his tongue for a minute, and he did n't notice anything peculiar about that tree.
then suddenly he felt himself falling.
with a frightened scream, he spread his wings to fly, but branches of the tree swept him down with them right into the laughing brook.
you see, while sammy had been speaking his mind, paddy the beaver had cut down the very tree in which he was sitting.
sammy was n't hurt, but he was wet and muddy and terribly frightened -- the most miserable-looking jay that ever was seen.
it was too much for all the little people who were hiding.
they just had to laugh.
then they all came out to pay their respects to paddy the beaver.
chapter v paddy keeps his promise.
paddy the beaver kept right on working just as if he had n't any visitors.
you see, it is a big undertaking to build a dam.
and when that was done there was a house to build and a supply of food for the winter to cut and store.
oh, paddy the beaver had no time for idle gossip, you may be sure!
so he kept right on building his dam.
it did n't look much like a dam at first, and some of paddy's visitors turned up their noses when they first saw it.
they had heard stories of what a wonderful dam-builder paddy was, and they had expected to see something like the smooth, grass-covered bank with which farmer brown kept the big river from running back on his low lands.
instead, all they saw was a great pile of poles and sticks which looked like anything but a dam.
""pooh!"
exclaimed billy mink, "i guess we need n't worry about the laughing brook and the smiling pool, if that is the best paddy can do.
why, the water of the laughing brook will work through that in no time."
of course paddy heard him, but he said nothing, just kept right on working.
""just look at the way he has laid those sticks!"
continued billy mink.
""seems as if anyone would know enough to lay them across the laughing brook instead of just the other way.
i could build a better dam than that."
paddy said nothing; he just kept right on working.
""yes, sir," billy boasted.
""i could build a better dam than that.
why, that pile of sticks will never stop the water."
""is something the matter with your eyesight, billy mink?"
inquired jerry muskrat.
""of course not!"
retorted billy indignantly.
""why?"
""oh, nothing much, only you do n't seem to notice that already the laughing brook is over its banks above paddy's dam," replied jerry, who had been studying the dam with a great deal of interest.
billy looked a wee bit foolish, for sure enough there was a little pool just above the dam, and it was growing bigger.
sammy was terribly put out to think that anything should be going on that he did n't know about first.
you know he is very fond of prying into the affairs of other people, and he loves dearly to boast that there is nothing going on in the green forest or on the green meadows that he does n't know about.
so now his pride was hurt, and he was in a terrible rage as he started after the merry little breezes for the place deep in the green forest where they said paddy the beaver was at work.
he did n't believe a word of it, but he would see for himself.
paddy still kept at work, saying nothing.
he was digging in front of the dam now, and the mud and grass he dug up he stuffed in between the ends of the sticks and patted them down with his hands.
he did this all along the front of the dam and on top of it, too, wherever he thought it was needed.
of course this made it harder for the water to work through, and the little pond above the dam began to grow faster.
it was n't a great while before it was nearly to the top of the dam, which at first was very low.
then paddy brought more sticks.
this was easier now, because he could float them down from where he was cutting.
he would put them in place on the top of the dam, then hurry for more.
wherever it was needed, he would put in mud.
he even rolled a few stones in to help hold the mass.
so the dam grew and grew, and so did the pond above the dam.
of course, it took a good many days to build so big a dam, and a lot of hard work!
every morning the little people of the green forest and the green meadow would visit it, and every morning they would find that it had grown a great deal in the night, for that is when paddy likes best to work.
by this time, the laughing brook had stopped laughing, and down in the smiling pool there was hardly water enough for the minnows to feel safe a minute.
billy mink had stopped making fun of the dam, and all the little people who live in the laughing brook and smiling pool were terribly worried.
to be sure, paddy had warned them of what he was going to do, and had promised that as soon as his pond was big enough, the water would once more run in the laughing brook.
they tried to believe him, but they could n't help having just a wee bit of fear that he might not be wholly honest.
you see, they did n't know him, for he was a stranger.
jerry muskrat was the only one who seemed absolutely sure that everything would be all right.
perhaps that was because paddy is his cousin, and jerry could n't help feeling proud of such a big cousin and one who was so smart.
so day by day the dam grew, and pond grew, and one morning grandfather frog, down in what had once been the smiling pool, heard a sound that made his heart jump for joy.
it was a murmur that kept growing and growing, until at last it was the merry laugh of the laughing brook.
then he knew that paddy had kept his word, and water would once more fill the smiling pool.
chapter vi farmer brown's boy grows curious.
now it happened that the very day before paddy the beaver decided that his pond was big enough, and so allowed the water to run in the laughing brook once more, farmer brown's boy took it into his head to go fishing in the smiling pool.
just as usual he went whistling down across the green meadows.
somehow, when he goes fishing, he always feels like whistling.
grandfather frog heard him coming and dived into the little bit of water remaining in the smiling pool and stirred up the mud at the bottom so that farmer brown's boy should n't see him.
nearer and nearer drew the whistle.
suddenly it stopped right short off.
farmer brown's boy had come in sight of the smiling pool or rather, it was what used to be the smiling pool.
now there was n't any smiling pool, for the very little pool left was too small and sickly looking to smile.
there were great banks of mud, out of which grew the bulrushes.
the lily pads were forlornly stretched out toward the tiny pool of water remaining.
where the banks were steep and high, the holes that jerry muskrat and billy mink knew so well were plain to see.
over at one side stood jerry muskrat's house, wholly out of water.
somehow, it seemed to farmer brown's boy that he must be dreaming.
he never, never had seen anything like this before, not even in the very driest weather of the hottest part of the summer.
he looked this way and looked that way.
the green meadows looked just as usual.
the green forest looked just as usual.
the laughing brook -- ha!
what was the matter with the laughing brook?
he could n't hear it and that, you know, was very unusual.
he dropped his rod and ran over to the laughing brook.
there was n't any brook.
no, sir, there was n't any brook; just pools of water with the tiniest of streams trickling between.
big stones over which he had always seen the water running in the prettiest of little white falls were bare and dry.
in the little pools frightened minnows were darting about.
farmer brown's boy scratched his head in a puzzled way.
""i do n't understand it," said he.
""i do n't understand it at all.
something must have gone wrong with the springs that supply the water for the laughing brook.
they must have failed.
yes, sir, that is just what must have happened.
but i never heard of such a thing happening before, and i really do n't see how it could happen.
he stared up into the green forest just as if he thought he could see those springs.
of course, he did n't think anything of the kind.
he was just turning it all over in his mind.
""i know what i'll do, i'll go up to those springs this afternoon and find out what the trouble is," he said out loud.
""they are way over almost on the other side of the green forest, and the easiest way to get there will be to start from home and cut across the old pasture up to the edge of the mountain behind the green forest.
if i try to follow up the laughing brook now, it will take too long, because it winds and twists so.
besides, it is too hard work."
with that, farmer brown's boy went back and picked up his rod.
then he started for home across the green meadows, and for once he was n't whistling.
you see, he was too busy thinking.
in fact, he was so busy thinking that he did n't see jimmy skunk until he almost stepped on him, and then he gave a frightened jump and ran, for without a gun he was just as much afraid of jimmy as jimmy was of him when he did have a gun.
jimmy just grinned and went on about his business.
it always tickles jimmy to see people run away from him, especially people so much bigger than himself; they look so silly.
""i should think that they would have learned by this time that if they do n't bother me, i wo n't bother them, he muttered as he rolled over a stone to look for fat beetles.
""somehow, folks never seem to understand me."
chapter vii farmer brown's boy gets another surprise.
across the old pasture to the foot of the mountain back of the green forest tramped farmer brown's boy.
ahead of him trotted bowser the hound, sniffing and snuffing for the tracks of reddy or granny fox.
of course he did n't find them, for reddy and granny had n't been up in the old pasture for a long time.
but he did find old jed thumper, the big gray rabbit who had made things so uncomfortable for peter rabbit once upon a time and gave old jed such a fright that he did n't look where he was going and almost ran head-first into farmer brown's boy.
""hi, there, you old cottontail!"
yelled farmer brown's boy, and this frightened off jed still more, so that he actually ran right past his own castle of bullbriars without seeing it.
farmer brown's boy kept on his way, laughing at the fright of old jed thumper.
presently he reached the springs from which came the water that made the very beginning of the laughing brook.
he expected to find them dry, for way down on the green meadows the smiling pool was nearly dry, and the laughing brook was nearly dry, and he had supposed that of course the reason was that the springs where the laughing brook started were no longer bubbling.
but they were!
the clear cold water came bubbling up out of the ground just as it always had, and ran off down into the green forest in a little stream that would grow and grow as it ran and became the laughing brook.
farmer brown's boy took off his ragged old straw hat and scowled down at the bubbling water just as if it had no business to be bubbling there.
of course, he did n't think just that.
the fact is, he did n't know just what he did think.
here were the springs bubbling away just as they always had.
there was the little stream starting off down into the green forest with a gurgle that by and by would become a laugh, just as it always had.
and yet down on the green meadows on the other side of the green forest there was no longer a laughing brook or a smiling pool.
he felt as if he ought to pinch himself to make sure that he was awake and not dreaming.
""i do n't know what it means," said he, talking out loud.
""no, sir, i do n't know what it means at all, but i'm going to find out.
there's a cause for everything in this world, and when a fellow does n't know a thing, it is his business to find out all about it.
i'm going to find out what has happened to the laughing brook, if it takes me a year!"
with that he started to follow the little stream which ran gurgling down into the green forest.
he had followed that little stream more than once, and now he found it just as he remembered it.
the farther it ran, the larger it grew, until at last it became the laughing brook, merrily tumbling over rocks and making deep pools in which the trout loved to hide.
at last he came to the edge of a little open hollow in the very heart of the green forest.
he knew what splendid deep holes there were in the laughing brook here, and how the big trout loved to lie in them because they were deep and cool.
he was thinking of these trout now and wishing that he had brought along his fishing rod.
he pushed his way through a thicket of alders and then -- farmer brown's boy stopped suddenly and fairly gasped!
he had to stop because there right in front of him was a pond!
he rubbed his eyes and looked again.
then he stooped down and put his hand in the water to see if it was real.
there was no doubt about it.
it was real water -- a real pond where there never had been a pond before.
it was very still there in the heart of the green forest.
it was always very still there, but it seemed stiller than usual as he tramped around the edge of this strange pond.
he felt as if it were all a dream.
he wondered if pretty soon he would n't wake up and find it all untrue.
but he did n't, so he kept on tramping until presently he came to a dam -- a splendid dam of logs and sticks and mud.
over the top of it the water was running, and down in the green forest below he could hear the laughing brook just beginning to laugh once more.
farmer brown's boy sat down with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.
he was almost too much surprised to even think.
chapter viii peter rabbit gets a ducking.
farmer brown's boy sat with his chin in his hands staring at the new pond in the green forest and at the dam which had made it.
that dam puzzled him.
who could have built it?
what did they build it for?
why had n't he heard them chopping?
he looked carelessly at the stump of one of the trees, and then a still more puzzled look made deep furrows between his eyes.
it looked -- yes, it looked very much as if teeth, and not an axe, had cut down that tree.
farmer brown's boy stared and stared, his mouth gaping wide open.
he looked so funny that peter rabbit, who was hiding under an old pile of brush close by, nearly laughed right out.
but peter did n't laugh.
no, sir, peter did n't laugh, for just that very minute something happened.
sniff!
sniff!
that was right behind him at the very edge of the old brushpile, and every hair on peter stood on end with fright.
""bow, wow, wow!"
it seemed to peter that the great voice was right in his very ears.
it frightened him so that he just had to jump.
he did n't have time to think.
and so he jumped right out from under the pile of brush and of course right into plain sight.
and the very instant he jumped there came another great roar behind him.
of course it was from bowser the hound.
you see, bowser had been following the trail of his master, but as he always stops to sniff at everything he passes, he had been some distance behind.
when he came to the pile of brush under which peter was hiding he had sniffed at that, and of course he had smelled peter right away.
now when peter jumped out so suddenly, he had landed right at one end of the dam.
the second roar of bowser's great voice frightened him still more, and he jumped right up on the dam.
there was nothing for him to do now but go across, and it was n't the best of going.
no, indeed, it was n't the best of going.
you see, it was mostly a tangle of sticks.
happy jack squirrel or chatterer the red squirrel or striped chipmunk would have skipped across it without the least trouble.
but peter rabbit has no sharp little claws with which to cling to logs and sticks, and right away he was in a peck of trouble.
he slipped down between the sticks, scrambled out, slipped again, and then, trying to make a long jump, he lost his balance and -- tumbled heels over head into the water.
poor peter rabbit!
he gave himself up for lost this time.
he could swim, but at best he is a poor swimmer and does n't like the water.
he could n't dive and keep out of sight like jerry muskrat or billy mink.
all he could do was to paddle as fast as his legs would go.
the water had gone up his nose and down his throat so that he choked, and all the time he felt sure that bowser the hound would plunge in after him and catch him.
and if he should n't why farmer brown's boy would simply wait for him to come ashore and then catch him.
but farmer brown's boy did n't do anything of the kind.
no, sir, he did n't.
instead he shouted to bowser and called him away.
bowser did n't want to come, but he long ago learned to obey, and very slowly he walked over to where his master was sitting.
""you know it would n't be fair, old fellow, to try to catch peter now.
it would n't be fair at all, and we never want to do anything unfair, do we?"
said he.
perhaps bowser did n't agree, but he wagged his tail as if he did, and sat down beside his master to watch peter swim.
it seemed to peter as if he never, never would reach the shore, though really it was only a very little distance that he had to swim.
when he did scramble out, he was a sorry-looking rabbit.
he did n't waste any time, but started for home as fast as he could go, lipperty-lipperty-lip.
and farmer brown's boy and bowser the hound just laughed and did n't try to catch him at all.
""well, i never!"
exclaimed sammy jay, who had seen it all from the top of a pine tree.
""well, i never!
i guess farmer brown's boy is n't so bad, after all."
chapter ix paddy plans a house.
paddy the beaver sat on his dam, and his eyes shone with happiness as he looked out over the shining water of the pond he had made.
all around the edge of it grew the tall trees of the green forest.
it was very beautiful and very still and very lonesome.
that is, it would have seemed lonesome to almost anyone but paddy the beaver.
but paddy never is lonesome.
you see, he finds company in the trees and flowers and all the little plants.
it was still, very, very still.
over on one side was a beautiful rosy glow in the water.
it was the reflection from jolly, round, red mr. sun.
paddy could n't see him because of the tall trees, but he knew exactly what mr. sun was doing.
he was going to bed behind the purple hills.
pretty soon the little stars would come out and twinkle down at him.
he loves the little stars and always watches for the first one.
yes, paddy the beaver was very happy.
he would have been perfectly happy except for one thing.
farmer brown's boy had found his dam and pond that very afternoon, and paddy was n't quite sure what farmer brown's boy might do.
he had kept himself snugly hidden while farmer brown's boy was there, and he felt quite sure that farmer brown's boy did n't know who had built the dam.
but for this reason he might, he just might, try to find out all about it, and that would mean that paddy would always have to be on the watch.
""but what's the use of worrying over troubles that have n't come yet, and may never come?
time enough to worry when they do come," said paddy to himself, which shows that paddy has a great deal of wisdom in his little brown head.
""the thing for me to do now is to get ready for winter, and that means a great deal of work," he continued.
""let me see, i've got to build a house, a big, stout, warm house, where i will be warm and safe when my pond is frozen over.
and i've got to lay in a supply of food, enough to last me until gentle sister south wind comes to prepare the way for lovely mistress spring.
my, my, i ca n't afford to be sitting here dreaming when there is so much to be done!"
with that paddy slipped into the water and swam all around his new pond to make sure of just the best place to build his house.
now, placing one's house in just the right place is a very important matter.
some people are dreadfully careless about this.
jimmy skunk, for instance, often makes the mistake of digging his house -lrb- you know jimmy makes his house underground -rrb- right where everyone who happens along that way will see it.
perhaps that is because jimmy is so independent that he does n't care who knows where he lives.
but paddy the beaver never is careless.
he always chooses just the very best place.
he makes sure that it is best before he begins.
so now, although he was quite positive just where his house should be, he swam around the pond to make doubly sure.
then, when he was quite satisfied, he swam over to the place he had chosen.
it was where the water was quite deep.
""there must n't be the least chance that the ice will ever get thick enough too close up my doorway, said he, "and i'm sure it never will here.
i must make the foundations strong and the walls thick.
i must have plenty of mud to plaster with, and inside, up above the water, i must have the snuggest, warmest room where i can sleep in comfort.
this is the place to build it, and it is high time i was at work."
with that paddy swam over to the place where he had cut the trees for his dam, and his heart was light, for he had long ago learned that the surest way to be happy is to be busy.
chapter x paddy starts his house.
jerry muskrat was very much interested when he found that paddy the beaver, who you know, is his cousin, was building a house.
jerry is a house-builder himself, and down deep in his heart he very much doubted if paddy could build as good a house as he could.
his house was down in the smiling pool, and jerry thought it a very wonderful house indeed, and was very proud of it.
it was built of mud and sod and little alder and willow twigs and bulrushes.
jerry had spent one winter in it, and he had decided to spend another there after he had fixed it up a little.
so, as long as he did n't have to build a brand-new house, he could afford the time to watch his cousin paddy.
perhaps he hoped that paddy would ask his advice.
but paddy did nothing of the kind.
he had seen jerry muskrat's house, and he had smiled.
but he had taken great pains not to let jerry see that smile.
he would n't have hurt jerry's feelings for the world.
he is too polite and good-natured to do anything like that.
so jerry sat on the end of an old log and watched paddy work.
the first thing to build was the foundation.
this was of mud and grass with sticks worked into it to hold it together.
paddy dug the mud from the bottom of his new pond.
and because the pond was new, there was a great deal of grassy sod there, which was just what paddy needed.
it was very convenient.
jerry watched a little while and then, because jerry is a worker himself, he just had to get busy and help.
rather timidly he told his big cousin that he would like to have a share in building the new house.
""all right," replied paddy, "that will be fine.
you can bring mud while i am getting the sticks and grass."
so jerry dived down to the bottom of the pond and dug up mud and piled it on the foundation and was happy.
the little stars looked down and twinkled merrily as they watched the two workers.
so the foundation grew and grew down under the water.
jerry was very much surprised at the size of it.
it was ever and ever so much bigger than the foundation for his own house.
you see, he had forgotten how much bigger paddy is.
each night jerry and paddy worked, resting during the daytime.
occasionally bobby coon or reddy fox or unc" billy possum or jimmy skunk would come to the edge of the pond to see what was going on.
peter rabbit came every night.
but they could n't see much because, you know, paddy and jerry were working under water.
but at last peter was rewarded.
there, just above the water, was a splendid platform of mud and grass and sticks.
a great many sticks were carefully laid as soon as the platform was above the water, for paddy was very particular about this.
you see, it was to be the floor for the splendid room he was planning to build.
when it suited him, he began to pile mud in the very middle.
jerry puzzled and puzzled over this.
where was paddy's room going to be, if he piled up the mud that way?
but he did n't like to ask questions, so he kept right on helping.
paddy would dive down to the bottom and then come up with double handfuls of mud, which he held against his chest.
he would scramble out onto the platform and waddle over to the pile in the middle, where he would put the mud and pat it down.
then back to the bottom for more.
and so the mud pile grew and grew, until it was quite two feet high.
""now," said paddy, "i'll build the walls, and i guess you ca n't help me much with those.
i'm going to begin them tomorrow night.
perhaps you will like to see me do it, cousin jerry."
""i certainly will," replied jerry, still puzzling over that pile of mud in the middle.
chapter xi peter rabbit and jerry muskrat are puzzled.
jerry muskrat was more and more sure that his big cousin, paddy the beaver, did n't know quite so much as he might about house-building.
jerry would have liked to offer some suggestions, but he did n't quite dare.
you see, he was very anxious not to displease his big cousin.
but he felt that he simply had got to speak his mind to someone, so he swam across to where he had seen peter rabbit almost every night since paddy began to build.
sure enough, peter was there, sitting up very straight and staring with big round eyes at the platform of mud and sticks out in the water where paddy the beaver was at work.
""well, peter, what do you think of it?"
asked jerry "what is it?"
asked peter innocently.
""is it another dam?"
jerry threw back his head and laughed and laughed.
peter looked at him suspiciously.
""i do n't see anything to laugh at," said he.
""why, it's a house, you stupid.
it's paddy's new house," replied jerry, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.
""i'm not stupid!"
retorted peter.
""how was i to know that that pile of mud and sticks is meant for a house?
it certainly does n't look it.
where is the door?"
""to tell you the truth, i do n't think it is much of a house myself," replied jerry.
""it has got a door, all right.
in fact it has got three.
you ca n't see them because they are under water, and there is a passage from each right up through that platform of mud and sticks, which is the foundation of the house.
it really is a very fine foundation, peter; it really is.
but what i ca n't understand is what paddy is thinking of by building that great pile of mud right in the middle.
when he gets his walls built, where will his bedroom be?
there wo n't be any room at all.
it wo n't be a house at all -- just a big useless pile of sticks and mud.
peter scratched his head and then pulled his whiskers thoughtfully as he gazed out at the pile in the water where paddy the beaver was at work.
""it does look foolish, that's a fact," said he.
""why do n't you point out to him the mistake he is making, jerry?
you have built such a splendid house yourself that you ought to be able to help paddy and show him his mistakes."
jerry had smiled a very self-satisfied smile when peter mentioned his fine house, but he shook his head at the suggestion that he should give paddy advice.
""i -- i do n't just like to," he confessed.
""you know, he might not like it and -- and it does n't seem as if it would be quite polite.
peter sniffed.
""that would n't trouble me any if he were my cousin," said he.
jerry shook his head, "no, i do n't believe it would," he replied, "but it does trouble me and -- and -- well, i think i'll wait awhile."
now all this time paddy had been hard at work.
he was bringing the longest branches which he had cut from the trees out of which he had built his dam, and a lot of slender willow and alder poles.
he pushed these ahead of him as he swam.
when he reached the foundation of his house, he would lean them against the pile of mud in the middle with their big ends resting on the foundation.
so he worked all the way around until by and by the mud pile in the middle could n't be seen.
it was completely covered with sticks, and they were cunningly fastened together at the tops.
chapter xii jerry muskrat learns something if you think you know it all you are riding for a fall.
use your ears and use your eyes, but hold your tongue and you'll be wise.
jerry muskrat will tell you that is as true as true can be.
jerry knows.
he found it out for himself.
now he is very careful what he says about other people or what they are doing.
but he was n't so careful when his cousin, paddy the beaver, was building his house.
no, sir, jerry was n't so careful then.
he though he knew more about building a house than paddy did.
he was sure of it when he watched paddy heap up a great pile of mud right in the middle where his room ought to be, and then build a wall of sticks around it.
he said as much to peter rabbit.
now it is never safe to say anything to peter rabbit that you do n't care to have others know.
peter has a great deal of respect for jerry muskrat's opinion on house-building.
you see, he very much admires jerry's snug house in the smiling pool.
it really is a very fine house, and jerry may be excused for being proud of it.
but that does n't excuse jerry for thinking that he knows all there is to know about house-building.
of course peter told everyone he met that paddy the beaver was making a foolish mistake in building his house, and that jerry muskrat, who ought to know, said so.
so whenever they got the chance, the little people of the green forest and green meadows would steal up to the shore of paddy's new pond and chuckle as they looked out at the great pile of sticks and mud which paddy had built for a house, but in which he had forgotten to make a room.
at least they supposed that he had forgotten this very important thing.
he must have, for there was n't any room.
it was a great joke.
they laughed a lot about it, and they lost a great deal of the respect for paddy which they had had since he built his wonderful dam.
jerry and peter sat in the moonlight talking it over.
paddy had stopped bringing sticks for his wall.
he had dived down out of sight, and he was gone a long time.
suddenly jerry noticed that the water had grown very, very muddy all around paddy's new house.
he wrinkled his brows trying to think what paddy could be doing.
presently paddy came up for air.
then he went down again, and the water grew muddier than ever.
this went on for a long time.
every little while paddy would come up for air and a few minutes of rest.
then down he would go, and the water would grow muddier and muddier.
at last jerry could stand it no longer.
he just had to see what was going on.
he slipped into the water and swam over to where the water was muddiest.
just as he got there up came paddy.
""hello, cousin jerry!"
said he.
""i was just going to invite you over to see what you think of my house inside.
just follow me."
paddy dived, and jerry dived after him.
he followed paddy in at one of the three doorways under water and up a smooth hall right into the biggest, nicest bedroom jerry had ever seen in all his life.
he just gasped in sheer surprise.
he could n't do anything else.
he could n't find his tongue to say a word.
here he was in this splendid great room up above the water, and he had been so sure that there was n't any room at all!
he just did n't know what to make of it.
paddy's eyes twinkled.
""well," said he, "what do you think of it?"
""i -- i -- think it is splendid, just perfectly splendid!
but i do n't understand it at all, cousin paddy.
i -- i -- where is that great pile of mud i helped you build in the middle?"
jerry looked as foolish as he felt when he asked this.
""why, i've dug it all away.
that's what made the water so muddy," replied paddy.
""but what did you build it for in the first place?"
jerry asked.
""because i had to have something solid to rest my sticks against while i was building my walls, of course," replied paddy.
when i got the tops fastened together for a roof, they did n't need a support any longer, and then i dug it away to make this room.
i could n't have built such a big room any other way.
i see you do n't know very much about house-building, cousin jerry."
""i -- i'm afraid i do n't," confessed jerry sadly.
chapter xiii the queer storehouse.
everybody knew that paddy the beaver was laying up a supply of food for the winter, and everybody thought it was queer food.
that is, everybody but prickly porky the porcupine thought so.
prickly porky likes the same kind of food, but he never lays up a supply.
he just goes out and gets it when he wants it, winter or summer.
what kind of food was it?
why, bark, to be sure.
yes, sir, it was just bark -- the bark of certain kinds of trees.
now prickly porky can climb the trees and eat the bark right there, but paddy the beaver can not climb, and if he would just eat the bark that he can reach from the ground, it would take such a lot of trees to keep him filled up that he would soon spoil the green forest.
you know, when the bark is taken off a tree all the way around, the tree dies.
that is because all the things that a tree draws out of the ground to make it grow and keep it alive are carried up from the roots in the sap, and the sap can not go up the tree trunks and into the branches when the bark is taken off, because it is up the inside of the bark that it travels.
so when the bark is taken from a tree all the way around the trunk, the tree just starves to death.
now paddy the beaver loves the green forest as dearly as you and i do, and perhaps even a little more dearly.
you see, it is his home.
besides, paddy never is wasteful.
so he cuts down a tree so that he can get all the bark instead of killing a whole lot of trees for a very little bark, as he might do if he were lazy.
there is n't a lazy bone in him -- not one.
the bark he likes best is from the aspen.
when he can not get that, he will eat the bark from the poplar, the alder, the willow, and even the birch.
but he likes the aspen so much better that he will work very hard to get it.
perhaps it tastes better because he does have to work so hard for it.
there were some aspen trees growing right on the edge of the pond paddy had made in the green forest.
these he cut just as he had cut the trees for his dam.
as soon as a tree was down, he would cut it into short lengths, and with these swim out to where the water was deep, close to his new house.
he took them one by one and carried the first ones to the bottom, where he pushed them into the mud just enough to hold them.
then, as fast as he brought more, he piled them on the first ones.
and so the pile grew and grew.
jerry muskrat, peter rabbit, bobby coon, and the other little people of the green forest watched him with the greatest interest and curiosity.
they could n't quite make out what he was doing.
it was almost as if he were building the foundation for another house.
""what's he doing, jerry?"
demanded peter, when he could keep still no longer.
""i do n't exactly know," replied jerry.
""he said that he was going to lay in a supply of food for the winter, just as i told you, and i suppose that is what he is doing.
but i do n't quite understand what he is taking it all out into the pond for.
i believe i'll go ask him."
""do, and then come tell us," begged peter, who was growing so curious that he could n't sit still.
so jerry swam out to where paddy was so busy.
""is this your food supply, cousin paddy?"
he asked.
""yes," replied paddy, crawling up on the side of his house to rest.
""yes, this is my food supply.
is n't it splendid?"
""i guess it is," replied jerry, trying to be polite, "though i like lily roots and clams better.
but what are you going to do with it?
where is your storehouse?"
""this pond is my storehouse," replied paddy.
""i will make a great pile right here close to my house, and the water will keep it nice and fresh all winter.
when the pond is frozen over, all i will have to do is to slip out of one of my doorways down there on the bottom, swim over here and get a stick, and fill my stomach.
is n't it handy?"
chapter xiv a footprint in the mud.
very early one morning paddy the beaver heard sammy jay making a terrible fuss over in the aspen trees on the edge of the pond paddy had made in the green forest.
paddy could n't see because he was inside his house, and it has no window, but he could hear.
he wrinkled up his brows thoughtfully.
""seems to me that sammy is very much excited this morning," said he, a way he has because he is so much alone.
""when he screams like that, sammy is usually trying to do two things at once -- make trouble for somebody and keep somebody else out of trouble; and when you come to think of it, that's rather a funny way of doing.
it shows that he is n't all bad, and at the same time he is a long way from being all good.
now, i should say from the sounds that sammy has discovered reddy fox trying to steal up on someone over where my aspen trees are growing.
reddy is afraid of me, but i suspect that he knows that peter rabbit has been hanging around here a lot lately, watching me work, and he thinks perhaps he can watch peter.
i shall have to whisper in one of peter's long ears and tell him to watch out."
after a while he heard sammy jay's voice growing fainter and fainter in the green forest.
finally he could n't hear it at all.
""whoever was here has gone away, and sammy has followed just to torment them," thought paddy.
he was very busy making a bed.
he is very particular about his bed, is paddy the beaver.
he makes it of fine splinters of wood which he splits off with those wonderful great cutting teeth of his.
this makes the driest kind of a bed.
it requires a great deal of patience and work, but patience is one of the first things a little beaver learns, and honest work well done is one of the greatest pleasures in the world, as paddy long ago found out for himself.
so he kept at work on his bed for some time after all was still outside.
at last paddy decided that he would go over to his aspen trees and look them over to decide which ones he would cut the next night.
he slid down one of his long halls, out the doorway at the bottom on the pond, and then swam up to the surface, where he floated for a few minutes with just his head out of water.
and all the time his eyes and nose and ears were busy looking, smelling, and listening for any sign of danger.
everything was still.
sure that he was quite safe, paddy swam across to the place where the aspen trees grew, and waddled out on the shore.
paddy looked this way and looked that way.
he looked up in the treetops, and he looked off up the hill, but most of all he looked at the ground.
yes, sir, paddy just studied the ground.
you see, he had n't forgotten the fuss sammy jay had been making there, and he was trying to find out what it was all about.
at first he did n't see anything unusual, but by and by he happened to notice a little wet place, and right in the middle of it was something that made paddy's eyes open wide.
it was a footprint!
someone had carelessly stepped in the mud.
""ha!"
exclaimed paddy, and the hair on his back lifted ever so little, and for a minute he had a prickly feeling all over.
the footprint was very much like that of reddy fox, only it was larger.
""ha!"
said paddy again.
""that certainly is the foot print of old man coyote!
i see i have got to watch out more sharply than i had thought for.
all right, mr. coyote; now that i know you are about, you'll have to be smarter than i think you are to catch me.
you certainly will be back here tonight looking for me, so i think i'll do my cutting right now in the daytime."
chapter xv sammy jay makes paddy a call.
paddy the beaver was hard at work.
he had just cut down a good - sized aspen tree and now he was gnawing it into short lengths to put in his food pile in the pond.
as he worked, paddy was doing a lot of thinking about the footprint of old man coyote in a little patch of mud, for he knew that meant that old man coyote had discovered his pond, and would be hanging around, hoping to catch paddy off his guard.
paddy knew it just as well as if old man coyote had told him so.
that was why he was at work cutting his food supply in the daytime.
usually he works at night, and he knew that old man coyote knew it.
""he'll try to catch me then," thought paddy, "so i'll do my working on land now and fool him."
the tree he was cutting began to sway and crack.
paddy cut out one more big chip, then hurried away to a safe place while the tree fell with a crash.
""thief!
thief!
thief!"
screamed a voice just back of paddy.
""hello, sammy jay!
i see you do n't feel any better than usual this morning," said paddy.
""do n't you want to sit up in this tree while i cut it down?"
sammy grew black in the face with anger, for he knew that paddy was laughing at him.
you remember how only a few days before he had been so intent on calling paddy bad names that he actually had n't noticed that paddy was cutting the very tree in which he was sitting, and so when it fell he had had a terrible fright.
""you think you are very smart, mr. beaver, but you'll think differently one of these fine days!"
screamed sammy.
""if you knew what i know, you would n't be so well satisfied with yourself."
""what do you know?"
asked paddy, pretending to be very much alarmed.
""i'm not going to tell you what i know," retorted sammy jay.
""you'll find out soon enough.
and when you do find out, you'll never steal another tree from our green forest.
somebody is going to catch you, and it is n't farmer brown's boy either!"
paddy pretended to be terribly frightened.
""oh, who is it?
please tell me, mr. jay," he begged.
now to be called mr. jay made sammy feel very important.
nearly everybody else called him sammy.
he swelled himself out trying to look as important as he felt, and his eyes snapped with pleasure.
he was actually making paddy the beaver afraid.
at least, he thought he was.
""no, sir, i wo n't tell you," he replied.
""i would n't be you for a great deal, though!
somebody who is smarter than you are is going to catch you, and when he gets through with you, there wo n't be anything left but a few bones.
no, sir, nothing but a few bones!"
""oh, mr. jay, this is terrible news!
whatever am i to do?"
cried paddy, all the time keeping on at work cutting another tree.
""there's nothing you can do," replied sammy, grinning wickedly at paddy's fright.
""there's nothing you can do unless you go right straight back to the north where you came from.
you think you are very smart, but --" sammy did n't finish.
crack!
over fell the tree paddy had been cutting and the top of it fell straight into the alder in which sammy was sitting.
""oh!
oh!
help!"
shrieked sammy, spreading his wings and flying away just in time.
paddy sat down and laughed until his sides ached.
""come make me another call someday, sammy!"
he said.
""and when you do, please bring some real news.
i know all about old man coyote.
you can tell him for me that when he is planning to catch people he should be careful not to leave footprints to give himself away."
sammy did n't reply.
he just sneaked off through the green forest, looking quite as foolish as he felt.
chapter xvi old man coyote is very crafty.
coyote has a crafty brain; his wits are sharp his ends to gain.
there is nothing in the world more true than that.
old man coyote has the craftiest brain of all the little people of the green forest or the green meadows.
sharp as are the wits of old granny fox, they are not quite so sharp as the wits of old man coyote.
if you want to fool him, you will have to get up very early in the morning, and then it is more than likely that you will be the one fooled, not he.
there is very little going on around him that he does n't know about.
but once in a while something escapes him.
the coming of paddy the beaver to the green forest was one of these things.
he did n't know a thing about paddy until paddy had finished his dam and his house, and was cutting his supply of food for the winter.
you see, it was this way: when the merry little breezes of old mother west wind first heard what was going on in the green forest and hurried around over the green meadows and through the green forest to spread the news, as is their way, they took the greatest pains not to even hint it to old man coyote because they were afraid that he would make trouble and perhaps drive paddy away.
the place that paddy had chosen to build his dam was so deep in the green forest that old man coyote seldom went that way.
so it was that he knew nothing about paddy, and paddy knew nothing about him for some time.
but after awhile old man coyote noticed that the little people of the green meadows were not about as much as usual.
they seemed to have a secret of some kind.
he mentioned the matter to his friend, digger the badger.
digger had been so intent on his own affairs that he had n't noticed anything unusual, but when old man coyote mentioned the matter he remembered that blacky the crow headed straight for the green forest every morning.
several times he had seen sammy jay flying in the same direction as if in a great hurry to get somewhere.
old man coyote grinned.
""that's all i need to know, friend digger," said he.
""when blacky the crow and sammy jay visit a place more than once, something interesting is going on there.
i think i'll take a stroll up through the green forest and have a look around."
with that, off old man coyote started.
but he was too sly and crafty to go straight to the green forest.
he pretended to hunt around over the green meadows just as he usually did, all the time working nearer and nearer to the green forest.
when he reached the edge of it, he slipped in among the trees, and when he felt that no one was likely to see him, he began to run this way and that way with his nose to the ground.
""ha!"
he exclaimed presently, "reddy fox has been this way lately."
pretty soon he found another trail.
""so," said he, "peter rabbit has been over here a good deal of late, and his trail goes in the same direction as that of reddy fox.
i guess all i have to do now is to follow peter's trail, and it will lead me to what i want to find out."
so old man coyote followed peter's trail, and he presently came to the pond of paddy the beaver.
""ha!"
said he, as he looked out and saw paddy's new house.
""so there is a newcomer to the green forest!
i have always heard that beaver is very good eating.
my stomach begins to feel empty this very minute."
his mouth began to water, and a fierce, hungry look shone in his eyes.
it was just then that sammy jay saw him and began to scream at the top of his lungs so that paddy the beaver over in his house heard him.
old man coyote knew that it was of no use to stay longer with sammy jay about, so he took a hasty look at the pond and found where paddy came ashore to cut his food.
then, shaking his fist at sammy jay, he started straight back for the green meadows.
""i'll just pay a visit here in the night," said he, "and give mr. beaver a surprise while he is at work."
but with all his craft, old man coyote did n't notice that he left a footprint in the mud.
chapter xvii old man coyote is disappointed.
old man coyote lay stretched out in his favorite napping place on the green meadows.
he was thinking of what he had found out up in the green forest that morning -- that paddy the beaver was living there.
old man coyote's thoughts seemed very pleasant to himself, though really they were very dreadful thoughts.
you see, he was thinking how easy it was going to be to catch paddy the beaver, and what a splendid meal he would make.
he licked his chops at the thought.
""he does n't know i know he's here," thought old man coyote.
""in fact, i do n't believe heaven knows that i am anywhere around.
of course he wo n't be watching for me.
he cuts his trees at night, so all i will have to do is to hide right close by where he is at work, and he'll walk right into my mouth.
sammy jay knows i was up there this morning, but sammy sleeps at night, so he will not give the alarm.
my, my, how good that beaver will taste!"
he licked his chops once more, then yawned and closed his eyes for a nap.
old man coyote waited until jolly, round red mr. sun had gone to bed behind the purple hills, and the black shadows had crept out across the green meadows.
then, keeping in the blackest of them, and looking very much like a shadow of himself, he slipped into the green forest.
it was dark in there, and he made straight for paddy's new pond, trotting along swiftly without making a sound.
when he was near the aspen trees which he knew paddy was planning to cut, he crept forward very slowly and carefully.
everything was still as still could be.
""good!"
thought old man coyote.
""i am here first, and now all i need do is to hide and wait for paddy to come ashore."
so he stretched himself flat behind some brush close beside the little path paddy had made up from the edge of the water and waited.
it was very still, so still that it seemed almost as if he could hear his heart beat.
he could see the little stars twinkling in the sky and their own reflections twinkling back at them from the water of paddy's pond.
old man coyote waited and waited.
he is very patient when there is something to gain by it.
for such a splendid dinner as paddy the beaver would make, he felt that he could well afford to be patient.
so he waited and waited, and everything was as still as if no living thing but the trees where there.
even the trees seemed to be asleep.
at last, after a long, long time, he heard just the faintest splash.
he pricked up his ears and peeped out on the pond with the hungriest look in his yellow eyes.
there was a little line of silver coming straight toward him.
he knew that it was made by paddy the beaver swimming.
nearer and nearer it drew.
old man coyote chuckled way down deep inside, without making a sound.
he could see paddy's head now, and paddy was coming straight in, as if he had n't a fear in the world.
almost to the edge of the pond swam paddy.
then he stopped.
in a few minutes he began to swim again, but this time it was back in the direction of his house, and he seemed to be carrying something.
it was one of the little food logs he had cut that day, and he was taking it out to his storehouse.
then back he came for another.
and so he kept on, never once coming ashore.
old man coyote waited until paddy had carried the last log to his storehouse and then, with a loud whack on the water with his broad tail, had dived and disappeared in his house.
then old man coyote arose and started elsewhere to look for his dinner, and in his heart was bitter disappointment.
chapter xviii old man coyote tries another plan.
for three nights old man coyote had stolen up through the green forest with the coming of the black shadows and had hidden among the aspen trees where paddy the beaver cut his food, and for three nights paddy had failed to come ashore.
each night he had seemed to have enough food logs in the water to keep him busy without cutting more.
old man coyote lay there, and the hungry look in his eyes changed to one of doubt and then to suspicion.
could it be that paddy the beaver was smarter than he thought?
it began to look very much as if paddy knew perfectly well that he was hiding there each night.
yes, sir, that's the way it looked.
for three nights paddy had n't cut a single tree, and yet each night he had plenty of food logs ready to take to his storehouse in the pond.
""that means that he comes ashore in the daytime and cuts his trees," thought old man coyote as, tired and with black anger in his heart, he trotted home the third night.
""he could n't have found out about me himself; he is n't smart enough.
it must be that someone has told him.
and nobody knows that i have been over there but sammy jay.
it must be he who has been the tattletale.
i think i'll visit paddy by daylight tomorrow, and then we'll see!"
now the trouble with some smart people is that they are never able to believe that others may be as smart as they.
old man coyote did n't know that the first time he had visited paddy's pond he had left behind him a footprint in a little patch of soft mud.
if he had known it, he would n't have believed that paddy would be smart enough to guess what that footprint meant.
so old man coyote laid all the blame at the door of sammy jay, and that very morning, when sammy came flying over the green meadows, old man coyote accused him of being a tattletale and threatened the most dreadful things to sammy if ever he caught him.
now sammy had flown down to the green meadows to tell old man coyote how paddy was doing all his work on land in the daytime.
but when old man coyote began to call him a tattletale and accuse him of having warned paddy, and to threaten dreadful things, he straightway forgot all his anger at paddy and turned it all on old man coyote.
he called him everything he could think of, and this was a great deal, for sammy has a wicked tongue.
when he had n't any breath left, he flew over to the green forest, and there he hid where he could watch all that was going on.
that afternoon old man coyote tried his new plan.
he slipped into the green forest, looking this way and that way to be sure that no one saw him.
then very, very softly, he crept up through the green forest toward the pond of paddy the beaver.
as he drew near, he heard a crash, and it make him smile.
he knew what it meant.
it meant that paddy was at work cutting down trees.
with his stomach almost on the ground, he crept forward little by little, little by little, taking the greatest care not to rustle so much as a leaf.
presently he reached a place where he could see the aspen trees, and there, sure enough, was paddy, sitting up on his hind legs and hard at work cutting another tree.
old man coyote lay down for a few minutes to watch.
then he wriggled a little nearer.
slowly and carefully he drew his legs under him and made ready for a rush.
paddy the beaver was his at last!
at just that very minute a harsh scream rang out right over his head: "thief!
thief!
thief!"
it was sammy jay, who had followed him all the way.
paddy the beaver did n't stop to even look around.
he knew what that meant, and he scrambled down his little path to the water as he never had scrambled before.
and as he dived with a great splash, old man coyote landed with a great jump on the very edge of the pond.
chapter xix paddy and sammy jay become friends.
paddy the beaver floated in his pond and grinned in the most provoking way at old man coyote, who had so nearly caught him.
old man coyote fairly danced with anger on the bank.
he had felt so sure of paddy that time that it was hard work to believe that paddy had really gotten away from him.
he bared his long, cruel teeth, and he looked very fierce and ugly.
""come on in; the water's fine!"
called paddy.
now, of course this was n't a nice thing for paddy to do, for it only made old man coyote all the angrier.
you see, paddy knew perfectly well that he was absolutely safe, and he just could n't resist the temptation to say some unkind things.
he had had to be on the watch for days lest he should be caught, and so he had n't been able to work quite so well as he could have done with nothing to fear, and he still had a lot of preparations to make for winter.
so he told old man coyote just what he thought of him, and that he was n't as smart as he thought he was or he never would have left a foot print in the mud to give him away.
when sammy jay, who was listening and chuckling as he listened, heard that, he flew down where he would be just out of reach of old man coyote, and then he just turned that tongue of his loose, and you know that some people say that sammy's tongue is hung in the middle and wags at both ends.
of course this is n't really so, but when he gets to abusing people it seems as if it must be true.
he called old man coyote every bad name he could think of.
he called him a sneak, a thief, a coward, a bully, and a lot of other things.
""you said i had warned paddy that you were trying to catch him and that was why you failed to find him at work at night, and all the time you had warned him yourself!"
screamed sammy.
""i used to think that you were smart, but i know better now.
paddy is twice as smart as you are.
""mr. coyote is every so sly; mr. coyote is clever and spry; if you believe all you hear.
mr. coyote is naught of the kind; mr. coyote is stupid and blind; he ca n't catch a flea on his ear."
paddy the beaver laughed till the tears came at sammy's foolish verse, but it made old man coyote angrier than ever.
he was angry with paddy for escaping from him, and he was angry with sammy, terribly angry, and the worst of it was he could n't catch either one, for one was at home in the water and the other was at home in the air and he could n't follow in either place.
finally he saw it was of no use to stay there to be laughed at, so, muttering and grumbling, he started for the green meadows.
as soon as he was out of sight paddy turned to sammy jay.
""mr. jay," said he, knowing how it pleased sammy to be called mister.
""mr. jay, you have done me a mighty good turn today, and i am not going to forget it.
you can call me what you please and scream at me all you please, but you wo n't get any satisfaction out of it, because i simply wo n't get angry.
i will say to myself, "mr. jay saved my life the other day," and then i wo n't mind your tongue."
now this made sammy feel very proud and very happy.
you know it is very seldom that he hears anything nice said of him.
he flew down on the stump of one of the trees paddy had cut.
""let's be friends," said he.
""with all my heart!"
replied paddy.
chapter xx sammy jay offers to help paddy.
paddy sat looking thoughtfully at the aspen trees he would have to cut to complete his store of food for the winter.
all those near the edge of his pond had been cut.
the others were scattered about some little distance away.
""i do n't know," said paddy out loud.
""i do n't know."
""what do n't you know?"
asked sammy jay, who, now that he and paddy had become friends, was very much interested in what paddy was doing.
""why," replied paddy, "i do n't know just how i am going to get those trees.
now that old man coyote is watching for me, it is n't safe for me to go very far from my pond.
i suppose i could dig a canal up to some of the nearest trees and then float them down to the pond, but it is hard to work and keep watch for enemies at the same time.
i guess i'll have to be content with some of these alders growing close to the water, but he bark of aspens is so much better that i -- i wish i could get them."
""what's a canal?"
asked sammy abruptly.
""a canal?
why a canal is a kind of ditch in which water can run," replied paddy.
sammy nodded.
""i've seen farmer brown dig one over on the green meadows, but it looked like a great deal of work.
i did n't suppose that anyone else could do it.
do you really mean that you can dig a canal, paddy?"
""of course i mean it," replied paddy, in a surprised tone of voice.
""i have helped dig lots of canals.
you ought to see some of them back where i came from."
""i'd like to," replied sammy.
""i think it is perfectly wonderful.
i do n't see how you do it."
""it's easy enough when you know how," replied paddy.
""if i dared to, i'd show you."
sammy had a sudden idea.
it almost made him gasp.
""i tell you what, you work and i'll keep watch!"
he cried.
""you know my eyes are very sharp."
""will you?"
cried paddy eagerly.
""that would be perfectly splendid.
you have the sharpest eyes of anyone whom i know, and i would feel perfectly safe with you on watch.
but i do n't want to put you to all to that trouble, mr. jay."
""of course i will," replied sammy, "and it wo n't be any trouble at all.
i'll just love to do it."
you see, it made sammy feel very proud to have paddy say that he had such sharp eyes.
""when will you begin?"
""right away, if you will just take a look around and see that it is perfectly safe for me to come out on land."
sammy did n't wait to hear more.
he spread his beautiful blue wings and started off over the green forest straight for the green meadows.
paddy watched him go with a puzzled and disappointed air.
""that's funny," thought he.
""i thought he really meant it, and now off he goes without even saying good-by."
in a little while back came sammy, all out of breath.
""it's all right," he panted.
""you can go to work just as soon as you please."
paddy looked more puzzled than ever.
""how do you know?"
he asked.
""i have n't seen you looking around."
""i did better than that," replied sammy.
""if old man coyote had been hiding somewhere in the green forest, it might have taken me some time to find him.
but he is n't.
you see, i flew straight over to his home in the green meadows to see if he is there, and he is.
he's taking a sun bath and looking as cross as two sticks.
i do n't think he'll be back here this morning, but i'll keep a sharp watch while you work."
paddy made sammy a low bow.
""you certainly are smart, mr. jay," said he.
""i would n't have thought of going over to old man coyote's home to see if he was there.
i'll feel perfectly safe with you on guard.
now i'll get to work."
chapter xxi paddy and sammy jay work together.
jerry muskrat had been home at the smiling pool for several days.
but he could n't stay there long.
oh, my, no!
he just had to get back to see what his big cousin, paddy the beaver, was doing.
so as soon as he was sure that everything was all right at the smiling pool he hurried back up the laughing brook to paddy's pond, deep in the green forest.
as soon as he was in sight of it, he looked eagerly for paddy.
at first he did n't see him.
then he stopped and gazed over at the place where paddy had been cutting aspen trees for food.
something was going on there, something queer.
he could n't make it out.
jus then sammy jay came flying over.
""what's paddy doing?"
jerry asked.
sammy jay dropped down to the top of an alder tree and fluffed out all his feathers in a very important way.
""oh," said he, "paddy and i are building something!"
""you!
paddy and you!
ha, ha!
paddy and you building something!"
jerry laughed.
""yes, me!"
snapped sammy angrily.
""that's what i said; paddy and i are building something."
jerry had begun to swim across the pond by this time, and sammy was flying across.
""why do n't you tell the truth, sammy, and say that paddy is building something and you are making him all the trouble you can?"
called jerry.
sammy's eyes snapped angrily, and he darted down at jerry's little brown head.
""it is n't true!"
he shrieked.
""you ask paddy if i'm not helping!"
jerry ducked under water to escape sammy's sharp bill.
when he came up again, sammy was over in the little grove of aspen trees where paddy was at work.
then jerry discovered something.
what was it?
why a little water-path led right up to the aspen trees, and there, at the end of the little water-path, was paddy the beaver hard at work.
he was digging and piling the earth on one side very neatly.
in fact, he was making the water-path longer.
jerry swam right up the little water-path to where paddy was working.
""good morning, cousin paddy," said he.
""what are you doing?"
""oh," replied paddy, "sammy jay and i are building a canal."
sammy jay looked down at jerry in triumph, and jerry looked at paddy as if he thought that he was joking.
""sammy jay?
what's sammy jay got to do about it?"
demanded jerry.
""a whole lot," replied paddy.
""you see, he keeps watch while i work.
if he did n't, i could n't work, and there would n't be any canal.
old man coyote has been trying to catch me, and i would n't dare work on shore if it was n't that i am sure that the sharpest eyes in the green forest are watching for danger."
sammy jay looked very much pleased indeed and very proud.
""so you see, it takes both of us to make this canal; i dig while sammy watches.
so we are building it together," concluded paddy with a twinkle in his eyes.
""i see," said jerry slowly.
then he turned to sammy jay.
""i beg your pardon, sammy," said he.
""i do indeed."
""that's all right," replied sammy airily.
""what do you think of our canal?"
""i think it is wonderful," replied jerry.
and indeed it was a very fine canal, straight, wide, and deep enough for paddy to swim in and float his logs out to the pond.
yes, indeed, it was a very fine canal.
chapter xxii paddy finishes his harvest.
""sharp his tongue and sharp his eyes -- sammy guards against surprise.
if "twere not for sammy jay i could do no work today."
when sammy overheard paddy the beaver say that to jerry muskrat, it made him swell up all over with pure pride.
you see, sammy is so used to hearing bad things about himself that to hear something nice like that pleased him immensely.
he straightway forgot all the mean things he had said to paddy when he first saw him -- how he had called him a thief because he had cut the aspen trees he needed.
he forgot all this.
he forgot how paddy had made him the laughingstock of the green forest and the green meadows by cutting down the very tree in which he had been sitting.
he forgot everything but that paddy had trusted him to keep watch and now was saying nice things about him.
he made up his mind that he would deserve all the nice things that paddy could say, and he thought that paddy was the finest fellow in the world.
jerry muskrat looked doubtful.
he did n't trust sammy, and he took care not to go far from the water when he heard that old man coyote had been hanging around.
but paddy worked away just as if he had n't a fear in the world.
""the way to make people want to be trusted is to trust them" said he to himself.
""if i show sammy jay that i do n't really trust him, he will think it is of no use to try and will give it up.
but if i do trust him, and he knows that i do, he'll be the best watchman in the green forest."
and this shows that paddy the beaver has a great deal of wisdom, for it was just as he thought.
sammy was on hand bright and early every morning.
he made sure that old man coyote was nowhere in the green forest, and then he settled himself comfortably in the top of a tall pine tree where he could see all that was going on while paddy the beaver worked.
paddy had finished his canal, and a beautiful canal it was, leading straight from his pond up to the aspen trees.
as soon as he had finished it, he began to cut the trees.
as soon as one was down he would cut it into short lengths and roll them into the canal.
then he would float them out to his pond and over to his storehouse.
he took the larger branches, on which there was sweet, tender bark, in the same way, for paddy is never wasteful.
after a while he went over to his storehouse, which, you know, was nothing but a great pile of aspen logs and branches in his pond close by his house.
he studied it very carefully.
then he swam back and climbed up on the bank of his canal.
""mr. jay," said he, "i think our work is about finished."
""what!"
cried sammy, "are n't you going to cut the rest of those aspen trees?"
""no," replied paddy.
""enough is always enough, and i've got enough to last me all winter.
i want those trees for next year.
now i am fixed for the winter.
i think i'll take it easy for a while."
sammy looked disappointed.
you see, he had just begun to learn that the greatest pleasure in the world comes from doing things for other people.
for the first time since he could remember, someone wanted him around land it gave him such a good feeling down deep inside!
perhaps it was because he remembered that good feeling that the next spring he was so willing and anxious to help poor mrs. quack.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_poor_mrs._quack.txt.out
i peter rabbit becomes acquainted with mrs. quack make a new acquaintance every time you can; you'll find it interesting and a very helpful plan.
it means more knowledge.
you can not meet any one without learning something from him if you keep your ears open and your eyes open.
every one is at least a little different from every one else, and the more people you know, the more you may learn.
peter rabbit knows this, and that is one reason he always is so eager to find out about other people.
he had left jimmy skunk and bobby coon in the green forest and had headed for the smiling pool to see if grandfather frog was awake yet.
he had no idea of meeting a stranger there, and so you can imagine just how surprised he was when he got in sight of the smiling pool to see some one whom he never had seen before swimming about there.
he knew right away who it was.
he knew that it was mrs. quack the duck, because he had often heard about her.
and then, too, it was very clear from her looks that she was a cousin of the ducks he had seen in farmer brown's dooryard.
the difference was that while they were big and white and stupid-looking, mrs. quack was smaller, brown, very trim, and looked anything but stupid.
peter was so surprised to see her in the smiling pool that he almost forgot to be polite.
i am afraid he stared in a very impolite way as he hurried to the edge of the bank.
""i suppose," said peter, "that you are mrs. quack, but i never expected to see you unless i should go over to the big river, and that is a place i never have visited and hardly expect to because it is too far from the dear old briar-patch.
you are mrs. quack, are n't you?"
""yes," replied mrs. quack, "and you must be peter rabbit.
i've heard of you very often."
all the time mrs. quack was swimming back and forth and in little circles in the most uneasy way.
""i hope you've heard nothing but good of me," replied peter.
mrs. quack stopped her uneasy swimming for a minute and almost smiled as she looked at peter, "the worst i have heard is that you are very curious about other people's affairs," said she.
peter looked a wee, wee bit foolish, and then he laughed right out.
""i guess that is true enough," said he.
""i like to learn all i can, and how can i learn without being curious?
i'm curious right now.
i'm wondering what brings you to the smiling pool when you never have been here before.
it is the last place in the world i ever expected to find you."
""that's why i'm here," replied mrs. quack.
""i hope others feel the same way.
i came here because i just had to find some place where people would n't expect to find me and so would n't come looking for me.
little joe otter saw me yesterday on the big river and told me of this place, and so, because i just had to go somewhere, i came here."
peter's eyes opened very wide with surprise.
""why," he exclaimed, "i should think you would be perfectly safe on the big river!
i do n't see how any harm can possibly come to you out there."
the words were no sooner out of peter's mouth than a faint bang sounded from way off towards the big river.
mrs. quack gave a great start and half lifted her wings as if to fly.
but she thought better of it, and then peter saw that she was trembling all over.
""did you hear that?"
she asked in a faint voice.
peter nodded.
""that was a gun, a terrible gun, but it was a long way from here," said he.
""it was over on the big river," said mrs. quack.
""that's why it is n't safe for me over there.
that's why i just had to find some other place.
oh, dear, the very sound of a gun sets me to shaking and makes my heart feel as if it would stop beating.
are you sure i am perfectly safe here?"
""perfectly," spoke up jerry muskrat, who had been listening from the top of the big rock, where he was lunching on a clam, "unless you are not smart enough to keep out of the clutches of reddy fox or old man coyote or hooty the owl or redtail the hawk."
""i'm not afraid of them," declared mrs. quack.
""it's those two-legged creatures with terrible guns i'm afraid of," and she began to swim about more uneasily than ever.
ii mrs. quack is distrustful jerry muskrat thinks there is no place in the world like the smiling pool.
so, for the matter of that, does grandfather frog and also spotty the turtle.
you see, they have spent their lives there and know little about the rest of the great world.
when mrs. quack explained that all she feared was that a two-legged creature with a terrible gun might find her there, jerry muskrat hastened to tell her that she had nothing to worry about on that account.
""no one hunts here now that farmer brown's boy has put away his terrible gun," explained jerry.
""there was a time when he used to hunt here and set traps, which are worse than terrible guns, but that was long ago, before he knew any better."
""who is farmer brown's boy?"
demanded mrs. quack, looking more anxious than ever.
""is he one of those two-legged creatures?"
""yes," said peter rabbit, who had been listening with all his ears, "but he is the best friend we quaddies have got.
he is such a good friend that he ought to be a quaddy himself.
why, this last winter he fed some of us when food was scarce, and he saved mrs. grouse when she was caught in a snare, which you know is a kind of trap.
he wo n't let any harm come to you here, mrs. quack."
""i would n't trust him, not for one single little minute," declared mrs. quack.
""i would n't trust one of those two-legged creatures, not one.
you say he fed some of you last winter, but that does n't mean anything good.
do you know what i've known these two-legged creatures to do?"
""what?"
demanded peter and jerry together.
""i've known them to scatter food where we ducks would be sure to find it and to take the greatest care that nothing should frighten us while we were eating.
and then, after we had got in the habit of feeding in that particular place and had grown to feel perfectly safe there, they have hidden close by until a lot of us were feeding together and then fired their terrible guns and killed a lot of my friends and dreadfully hurt a lot more.
i would n't trust one of them, not one!"
""oh, how dreadful!"
cried peter, looking quite as shocked as he felt.
then he added eagerly, "but our farmer brown's boy would n't do anything like that.
you have n't the least thing to fear from him."
""perhaps not," said mrs. quack, shaking her head doubtfully, "but i would n't trust him.
i would n't trust him as far off as i could see him.
the smiling pool is a very nice place, although it is dreadfully small, but if farmer brown's boy is likely to come over here, i guess i better look for some other place, though goodness knows where i will find one where i will feel perfectly safe."
""you are safe right here, if you have sense enough to stay here," declared jerry muskrat rather testily.
""do n't you suppose peter and i know what we are talking about?"
""i wish i could believe so," returned mrs. quack sadly, "but if you had been through what i've been through, and suffered what i've suffered, you would n't believe any place safe, and you certainly would n't trust one of those two-legged creatures.
why, for weeks they have n't given me a chance to get a square meal, and -- and -- i do n't know what has become of mr. quack, and i'm all alone!"
there was a little sob in her voice and tears in her eyes.
""tell us all about it," begged peter.
""perhaps we can help you."
iii mrs. quack tells about her home "it's a long story," said mrs. quack, shaking the tears from her eyes, "and i hardly know where to begin."
""begin at the beginning," said jerry muskrat.
""your home is somewhere way up in the northland where honker the goose lives, is n't it?"
mrs. quack nodded.
""i wish i were there this very minute," she replied, the tears coming again.
""but sometimes i doubt if ever i'll get there again.
you folks who do n't have to leave your homes every year do n't know how well off you are or how much you have to be thankful for."
""i never could understand what people want to leave their homes for, anyway," declared peter.
""we do n't leave because we want to, but because we have to," replied mrs. quack, "and we go back just as soon as we can.
what would you do if you could n't find a single thing to eat?"
""i guess i'd starve," replied peter simply.
""i guess you would, and that is just what we would do, if we did n't take the long journey south when jack frost freezes everything tight up there where my home is," returned mrs. quack.
""he comes earlier up there and stays twice as long as he does here, and makes ten times as much ice and snow.
we get most of our food in the water or in the mud under the water, as of course you know, and when the water is frozen, there is n't a scrap of anything we can get to eat.
we just have to come south.
it is n't because we want to, but because we must!
there is nothing else for us to do."
""then i do n't see what you want to make your home in such a place for," said practical peter.
""i should think you would make it where you can live all the year around."
""i was born up there, and i love it just as you love the dear old briar-patch," replied mrs. quack simply.
""it is home, and there is no place like home.
besides, it is a very beautiful and a very wonderful place in summer.
there is everything that ducks and geese love.
we have all we want of the food we love best.
everywhere is shallow water with tall grass growing in it."
""huh!"
interrupted peter, "i would n't think much of a place like that."
""that's because you do n't know what is good," snapped jerry muskrat.
""it would suit me," he added, with shining eyes.
""there are the dearest little islands just made for safe nesting-places," continued mrs. quack, without heeding the interruptions.
""and the days are long, and it is easy to hide, and there is nothing to fear, for two-legged creatures with terrible guns never come there."
""if there is nothing to fear, why do you care about places to hide?"
demanded peter.
""well, of course, we have enemies, just as you do here, but they are natural enemies, -- foxes and minks and hawks and owls," explained mrs. quack.
""of course, we have to watch out for them and have places where we can hide from them, but it is our wits against their wits, and it is our own fault if we get caught.
that is perfectly fair, so we do n't mind that.
it is only men who are not fair.
they do n't know what fairness is."
peter nodded that he understood, and mrs. quack went on.
""last summer mr. quack and i had our nest on the dearest little island, and no one found it.
first we had twelve eggs, and then twelve of the dearest babies you ever saw."
""maybe," said peter doubtfully, thinking of his own babies.
""they grew so fast that by the time the cold weather came, they were as big as their father and mother," continued mrs. quack.
""and they were smart, too.
they had learned how to take care of themselves just as well as i could.
i certainly was proud of that family.
but now i do n't know where one of them is."
mrs. quack suddenly choked up with grief, and peter rabbit politely turned his head away.
iv mrs. quack continues her story when mrs. quack told of her twelve children and how she did n't know where one of them was, peter rabbit and jerry muskrat knew just how badly she was feeling, and they turned their heads away and pretended that they did n't see her tears.
in a few minutes she bravely went on with her story.
""when jack frost came and we knew it was time to begin the long journey, mr. quack and myself and our twelve children joined with some other duck families, and with mr. quack in the lead, we started for our winter home, which really is n't a home but just a place to stay.
for a while we had nothing much to fear.
we would fly by day and at night rest in some quiet lake or pond or on some river, with the great woods all about us or sometimes great marshes.
perhaps you do n't know what marshes are.
if the green meadows here had little streams of water running every which way through them, and the ground was all soft and muddy and full of water, and the grass grew tall, they would be marshes."
jerry muskrat's eyes sparkled.
""i would like a place like that!"
he exclaimed.
""you certainly would," replied mrs. quack.
""we always find lots of your relatives in such places."
""marshes must be something like swamps," ventured peter rabbit, who had been thinking the matter over.
""very much the same, only with grass and rushes in place of trees and bushes," replied mrs. quack.
""there is plenty to eat and the loveliest hiding-places.
in some of these we stayed days at a time.
in fact, we stayed until jack frost came to drive us out.
then as we flew, we began to see the homes of these terrible two-legged creatures called men, and from that time on we never knew a minute of peace, excepting when we were flying high in the air or far out over the water.
if we could have just kept flying all the time or never had to go near the shore, we would have been all right.
but we had to eat."
""of course," said peter.
""everybody has to eat."
""and we had to rest," said mrs. quack.
""certainly," said peter.
""everybody has to do that."
""and to eat we had to go in close to shore where the water was not at all deep, because it is only in such places that we can get food," continued mrs. quack.
""it takes a lot of strength to fly as we fly, and strength requires plenty of food.
mr. quack knew all the best feeding-places, for he had made the long journey several times, so every day he would lead the way to one of these.
he always chose the wildest and most lonely looking places he could find, as far as possible from the homes of men, but even then he was never careless.
he would lead us around back and forth over the place he had chosen, and we would all look with all our might for signs of danger.
if we saw none, we would drop down a little nearer and a little nearer.
but with all our watchfulness, we never could be sure, absolutely sure, that all was safe.
sometimes those terrible two-legged creatures would be hiding in the very middle of the wildest, most lonely looking marshes.
they would be covered with grass so that we could n't see them.
then, as we flew over them, would come the bang, bang, bang, bang of terrible guns, and always some of our flock would drop.
we would have to leave them behind, for we knew if we wanted to live we must get beyond the reach of those terrible guns.
so we would fly our hardest.
it was awful, just simply awful!"
mrs. quack paused and shuddered, and peter rabbit and jerry muskrat shuddered in sympathy.
""sometimes we would have to try three or four feeding-places before we found one where there were no terrible guns.
and when we did find one, we would be so tired and frightened that we could n't enjoy our food, and we did n't dare to sleep without some one on watch all the time.
it was like that every day.
the farther we got, the worse it became.
our flock grew smaller and smaller.
those who escaped the terrible guns would be so frightened that they would forget to follow their leader and would fly in different directions and later perhaps join other flocks.
so it was that when at last we reached the place in the sunny southland for which we had started, mr. quack and i were alone.
what became of our twelve children i do n't know.
i am afraid the terrible guns killed some.
i hope some joined other flocks and escaped, but i do n't know."
""i hope they did too," said peter.
v peter learns more of mrs. quack's troubles it often happens when we know the troubles that our friends pass through, our own seem very small indeed; you'll always find that this is true.
""my, you must have felt glad when you reached your winter home!"
exclaimed peter rabbit when mrs. quack finished the account of her long, terrible journey from her summer home in the far northland to her winter home in the far southland.
""i did," replied mrs. quack, "but all the time i could n't forget those to whom terrible things had happened on the way down, and then, too, i kept dreading the long journey back."
""i do n't see why you did n't stay right there.
i would have," said peter, nodding his head with an air of great wisdom.
""not if you were i," replied mrs. quack.
""in the first place it is n't a proper place in which to bring up young ducks and make them strong and healthy.
in the second place there are more dangers down there for young ducks than up in the far northland.
in the third place there is n't room for all the ducks to nest properly.
and lastly there is a great longing for our real home, which old mother nature has put in our hearts and which just makes us go.
we could n't be happy if we did n't."
""is the journey back as bad as the journey down?"
asked peter.
""worse, very much worse," replied mrs. quack sadly.
""you can see for yourself just how bad it is, for here i am all alone."
tears filled mrs. quack's eyes.
""it is almost too terrible to talk about," she continued after a minute.
""you see, for one thing, food is n't as plentiful as it is in the fall, and we just have to go wherever it is to be found.
those two-legged creatures know where those feeding-grounds are just as well as we do, and they hide there with their terrible guns just as they did when we were coming south.
but it is much worse now, very much worse.
you see, when we were going the other way, if we found them at one place we could go on to another, but when we are going north we can not always do that.
we can not go any faster than jack frost does.
sometimes we are driven out of a place by the bang, bang of the terrible guns and go on, only to find that we have caught up with jack frost, and that the ponds and the rivers are still covered with ice.
then there is nothing to do but to turn back to where those terrible guns are waiting for us.
we just have to do it."
mrs. quack stopped and shivered.
""it seems to me i have heard nothing but the noise of those terrible guns ever since we started," said she.
""i have n't had a good square meal for days and days, nor a good rest.
that is what makes me so dreadfully nervous.
sometimes, when we had been driven from place to place until we had caught up with jack frost, there would be nothing but ice excepting in small places in a river where the water runs too swiftly to freeze.
we would just have to drop into one of these to rest a little, because we had flown so far that our wings ached as if they would drop off.
then just as we would think we were safe for a little while, there would come the bang of a terrible gun.
then we would have to fly again as long as we could, and finally come back to the same place because there was no other place where we could go.
then we would have to do it all over again until night came.
sometimes i think that those men with terrible guns must hate us and want to kill every one of us.
if they did n't, they would have a little bit of pity.
they simply have n't any hearts at all."
""it does seem so," agreed peter.
""but wait until you know farmer brown's boy!
he's got a heart!"
he added brightly.
""i do n't want to know him," retorted mrs. quack.
""if he comes near here, you'll see me leave in a hurry.
i would n't trust one of them, not one minute.
you do n't think he will come, do you?"
peter sat up and looked across the green meadows, and his heart sank.
""he's coming now, but i'm sure he wo n't hurt you, mrs. quack," said he.
but mrs. quack would n't wait to see.
with a hasty promise to come back when the way was clear, she jumped into the air and on swift wings disappeared towards the big river.
vi farmer brown's boy visits the smiling pool farmer brown's boy had heard welcome robin singing in the old orchard quite as soon as peter rabbit had, and that song of "cheer up!
cheer up!
cheer up!
cheer!"
had awakened quite as much gladness in his heart as it had in peter's heart.
it meant that mistress spring really had arrived, and that over in the green forest and down on the green meadows there would soon be shy blue, and just as shy white violets to look for, and other flowers almost if not quite as sweet and lovely.
it meant that his feathered friends would soon be busy house-hunting and building.
it meant that his little friends in fur would also be doing something very similar, if they had not already done so.
it meant that soon there would be a million lovely things to see and a million joyous sounds to hear.
so the sound of welcome robin's voice made the heart of farmer brown's boy even more happy than it was before, and as welcome robin just had to sing, so farmer brown's boy just had to whistle.
when his work was finished, it seemed to farmer brown's boy that something was calling him, calling him to get out on the green meadows or over in the green forest and share in the happiness of all the little people there.
so presently he decided that he would go down to the smiling pool to find out how jerry muskrat was, and if grandfather frog was awake yet, and if the sweet singers of the smiling pool had begun their wonderful spring chorus.
down the crooked little path cross the green meadows he tramped, and as he drew near the smiling pool, he stopped whistling lest the sound should frighten some of the little people there.
he was still some distance from the smiling pool when out of it sprang a big bird and on swift, whistling wings flew away in the direction of the big river.
farmer brown's boy stopped and watched until the bird had disappeared, and on his face was a look of great surprise.
""as i live, that was a duck!"
he exclaimed.
""that is the first time i've ever known a wild duck to be in the smiling pool.
i wonder what under the sun could have brought her over here."
just then there was a distant bang in the direction of the big river.
farmer brown's boy scowled, and it made his face very angry-looking.
""that's it," he muttered.
""hunters are shooting the ducks on their way north and have driven the poor things to look for any little mudhole where they can get a little rest.
probably that duck has been shot at so many times on the big river that she felt safer over here in the smiling pool, little as it is."
farmer brown's boy had guessed exactly right, as you and i know, and as peter rabbit and jerry muskrat knew.
""it's a shame, a downright shame that any one should want to shoot birds on their way to their nesting-grounds and that the law should let them if they do want to.
some people have n't any hearts; they're all stomachs.
i hope that fellow who shot just now over there on the big river did n't hit anything, and i wish that gun of his might have kicked a little sense of what is right and fair into his head, but of course it did n't."
he grinned at the idea, and then he continued his way towards the smiling pool.
he hoped he might find another duck there, and he approached the smiling pool very, very carefully.
but when he reached a point where he could see all over the smiling pool, there was no one to be seen save jerry muskrat sitting on the big rock and peter rabbit on the bank on the other side.
farmer brown's boy smiled when he saw them.
""hello, jerry muskrat!"
said he.
""i wonder how a bite of carrot would taste to you."
he felt in his pocket and brought out a couple of carrots.
one he put on a little tussock in the water where he knew jerry would find it.
the other he tossed across the smiling pool where he felt sure peter would find it.
presently he noticed two or three feathers on the water close to the edge of the bank.
mrs. quack had left them there.
""i believe that was a mallard duck," said he, as he studied them.
""i know what i'll do.
i'll go straight back home and get some wheat and corn and put it here on the edge of the smiling pool.
perhaps she will come back and find it."
and this is just what farmer brown's boy did.
vii mrs. quack returns peter rabbit just could n't go back to the dear old briar-patch.
he just had to know if mrs. quack would come back to the smiling pool.
he had seen farmer brown's boy come there a second time and scatter wheat and corn among the brown stalks of last summer's rushes, and he had guessed why farmer brown's boy had done this.
he had guessed that they had been put there especially for mrs. quack, and if she should come back as she had promised to do, he wanted to be on hand when she found those good things to eat and hear what she would say.
so peter stayed over near the smiling pool and hoped with all his might that reddy fox or old man coyote would not take it into his head to come hunting over there.
as luck would have it, neither of them did, and peter had a very pleasant time gossiping with jerry muskrat, listening to the sweet voices of unseen singers in the smiling pool, -- the hylas, which some people call peepers, -- and eating the carrot which farmer brown's boy had left for him.
jolly, round, red mr. sun was just getting ready to go to bed behind the purple hills when mrs. quack returned.
the first peter knew of her coming was the whistle of her wings as she passed over him.
several times she circled around, high over the smiling pool, and peter simply stared in open-mouthed admiration at the speed with which she flew.
it did n't seem possible that one so big could move through the air so fast.
twice she set her wings and seemed to just slide down almost to the surface of the smiling pool, only to start her stout wings in motion once more and circle around again.
it was very clear that she was terribly nervous and suspicious.
the third time she landed in the water with a splash and sat perfectly still with her head stretched up, looking and listening with all her might.
""it's all right.
there's nothing to be afraid of," said jerry muskrat.
""are you sure?"
asked mrs. quack anxiously.
""i've been fooled too often by men with their terrible guns to ever feel absolutely sure that one is n't hiding and waiting to shoot me."
as she spoke she swam about nervously.
""peter rabbit and i have been here ever since you left, and i guess we ought to know," replied jerry muskrat rather shortly.
""there has n't been anybody near here excepting farmer brown's boy, and we told you he would n't hurt you."
""he brought us each a carrot," peter rabbit broke in eagerly.
""just the same, i would n't trust him," replied mrs. quack.
""where is he now?"
""he left ever so long ago, and he wo n't be back to-night," declared peter confidently.
""i hope not," said mrs. quack, with a sigh.
""did you hear the bang of that terrible gun just after i left here?"
""yes," replied jerry muskrat.
""was it fired at you?"
mrs. quack nodded and held up one wing.
peter and jerry could see that one of the long feathers was missing.
""i thought i was flying high enough to be safe," said she, "but when i reached the big river there was a bang from the bushes on the bank, and something cut that feather out of my wing, and i felt a sharp pain in my side.
it made me feel quite ill for a while, and the place is very sore now, but i guess i'm lucky that it was no worse.
it is very hard work to know just how far those terrible guns can throw things at you.
next time i will fly higher."
""where have you been since you left us?"
asked peter.
""eight in the middle of the big river," replied mrs. quack.
""it was the only safe place.
i did n't dare go near either shore, and i'm nearly starved.
i have n't had a mouthful to eat to-day."
peter opened his mouth to tell her of the wheat and corn left by farmer brown's boy and then closed it again.
he would let her find it for herself.
if he told her about it, she might suspect a trick and refuse to go near the place.
he never had seen any one so suspicious, not even old man coyote.
but he could n't blame her, after all she had been through.
so he kept still and waited.
he was learning, was peter rabbit.
he was learning a great deal about mrs. quack.
viii mrs. quack has a good meal and a rest there's nothing like a stomach full to make the heart feel light; to chase away the clouds of care and make the world seem bright.
that's a fact.
a full stomach makes the whole world seem different, brighter, better, and more worth living in.
it is the hardest kind of hard work to be cheerful and see only the bright side of things when your stomach is empty.
but once fill that empty stomach, and everything is changed.
it was just that way with mrs. quack.
for days at a time she had n't had a full stomach because of the hunters with their terrible guns, and when just before dark that night she returned to the smiling pool, her stomach was quite empty.
""i do n't suppose i'll find much to eat here, but a little in peace and safety is better than a feast with worry and danger," said she, swimming over to the brown, broken-down bulrushes on one side of the smiling pool and appearing to stand on her head as she plunged it under water and searched in the mud on the bottom for food.
peter rabbit looked over at jerry muskrat sitting on the big rock, and jerry winked.
in a minute up bobbed the head of mrs. quack, and there was both a pleased and a worried look on her face.
she had found some of the corn left there by farmer brown's boy.
at once she swam out to the middle of the smiling pool, looking suspiciously this way and that way.
""there is corn over there," said she.
""do you know how it came there?"
""i saw farmer brown's boy throwing something over there," replied peter.
""did n't we tell you that he would be good to you?"
""quack, quack, quack!
i've seen that kind of kindness too often to be fooled by it," snapped mrs. quack.
""he probably saw me leave in a hurry and put this corn here, hoping that i would come back and find it and make up my mind to stay here a while.
he thinks that if i do, he'll have a chance to hide near enough to shoot me.
i did n't believe this could be a safe place for me, and now i know it.
i'll stay here to-night, but to-morrow i'll try to find some other place.
oh, dear, it's dreadful not to have any place at all to feel safe in."
there were tears in her eyes.
peter thought of the dear old briar-patch and how safe he always felt there, and he felt a great pity for poor mrs. quack, who could n't feel safe anywhere.
and then right away he grew indignant that she should be so distrustful of farmer brown's boy, though if he had stopped to think, he would have remembered that once he was just as distrustful.
""i should think," said peter with a great deal of dignity, "that you might at least believe what jerry muskrat and i, who live here all the time, tell you.
we ought to know farmer brown's boy if any one does, and we tell you that he wo n't harm a feather of you."
""he wo n't get the chance!"
snapped mrs. quack.
jerry muskrat sniffed in disgust.
""i do n't doubt you have suffered a lot from men with terrible guns," said he, "but you do n't suppose peter and i have lived as long as we have without learning a little, do you?
i would n't trust many of those two-legged creatures myself, but farmer brown's boy is different.
if all of them were like him, we would n't have a thing to fear from them.
he has a heart.
yes, indeed, he has a heart.
now you take my advice and eat whatever he has put there for you, be thankful, and stop worrying.
peter and i will keep watch and warn you if there is any danger."
i do n't know as even this would have overcome mrs. quack's fears if it had n't been for the taste of that good corn in her mouth, and her empty stomach.
she could n't, she just could n't resist these, and presently she was back among the rushes, hunting out the corn and wheat as fast as ever she could.
when at last she could eat no more, she felt so comfortable that somehow the smiling pool did n't seem such a dangerous place after all, and she quite forgot farmer brown's boy.
she found a snug hiding-place among the rushes too far out from the bank for reddy fox to surprise her, and then with a sleepy "good night" to jerry and peter, she tucked her head under her wing and soon was fast asleep.
peter rabbit tiptoed away, and then he hurried lipperty-lipperty-lip to the dear old briar-patch to tell mrs. peter all about mrs. quack.
ix peter rabbit makes an early call peter rabbit was so full of interest in mrs. quack and her troubles that he was back at the smiling pool before mr. sun had kicked off his rosy blankets and begun his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky.
you see, he felt that he had heard only a part of mrs. quack's story, and he was dreadfully afraid that she would get away before he could hear the rest.
with the first bit of daylight, mrs. quack swam out from her hiding-place among the brown rushes.
it looked to peter as if she sat up on the end of her tail as she stretched her neck and wings just as far as she could, and he wanted to laugh right out.
then she quickly ducked her head under water two or three times so that the water rolled down over her back, and again peter wanted to laugh.
but he did n't.
he kept perfectly still.
mrs. quack shook herself and then began to carefully dress her feathers.
that is, she carefully put back in place every feather that had been rumpled up.
she took a great deal of time for this, for mrs. quack is very neat and tidy and takes the greatest pride in looking as fine as she can.
of course it was very impolite of peter to watch her make her toilet, but he did n't think of that.
he did n't mean to be impolite.
and then it was so interesting.
""huh!"
said he to himself, "i do n't see what any one wants to waste so much time on their clothes for."
you know peter does n't waste any time on his clothes.
in fact, he does n't seem to care a bit how he looks.
he has n't learned yet that it always pays to be as neat and clean as possible and that you must think well of yourself if you want others to think well of you.
when at last mrs. quack had taken a final shower bath and appeared satisfied that she was looking her best, peter opened his mouth to ask her the questions he was so full of, but closed it again as he remembered people are usually better natured when their stomachs are full, and mrs. quack had not yet breakfasted.
so he waited as patiently as he could, which was n't patiently at all.
at last mrs. quack finished her breakfast, and then she had to make her toilet all over again.
finally peter hopped to the edge of the bank where she would see him.
""good morning, mrs. quack," said he very politely.
""i hope you had a good rest and are feeling very well this morning."
""thank you," replied mrs. quack.
""i'm feeling as well as could be expected.
in fact, i'm feeling better than i have felt for some time in spite of the sore place made by that terrible gun yesterday.
you see, i have had a good rest and two square meals, and these are things i have n't had since goodness knows when.
this is a very nice place.
let me see, what is it you call it?"
""the smiling pool," said peter.
""that's a good name for it," returned mrs. quack.
""if only i could be sure that none of those hunters would find me here, and if only mr. quack were here, i would be content to stay a while."
at the mention of mr. quack, the eyes of mrs. quack suddenly filled with tears.
peter felt tears of sympathy in his own eyes.
""where is mr. quack?"
he asked.
""i do n't know," sobbed mrs. quack.
""i wish i did.
i have n't seen him since one of those terrible guns was fired at us over on the big river yesterday morning a little while before little joe otter told me about the smiling pool.
ever since we started for our home in the far north, i have been fearing that something of this kind might happen.
i ought to be on my way there now, but what is the use without mr. quack?
without him, i would be all alone up there and would n't have any home."
""wo n't you tell me all that has happened since you started on your long journey?"
asked peter.
""perhaps some of us can help you."
""i'm afraid you ca n't," replied mrs. quack sadly, "but i'll tell you all about it so that you may know just how thankful you ought to feel that you do not have to suffer what some of us do."
x how mr. and mrs. quack started north peter rabbit was eager to help mrs. quack in her trouble, though he had n't the least idea how he could help and neither had she.
how any one who dislikes water as peter does could help one who lives on the water all the time was more than either one of them could see.
and yet without knowing it, peter was helping mrs. quack.
he was giving her his sympathy, and sympathy often helps others a great deal more than we even guess.
it sometimes is a very good plan to tell your troubles to some one who will listen with sympathy.
it was so with mrs. quack.
she had kept her troubles locked in her own heart so long that it did her good to pour them all out to peter.
""mr. quack and i spent a very comfortable winter way down in the sunny southland," said she with a far-away look.
""it was very warm and nice down there, and there were a great many other ducks spending the winter with us.
the place where we were was far from the homes of men, and it was only once in a long while that we had to watch out for terrible guns.
of course, we had to have our wits with us all the time, because there are hawks and owls and minks down there just as there are up here, but any duck who ca n't keep out of their way deserves to furnish one of them a dinner.
""then there was another fellow we had to watch out for, a queer fellow whom we never see anywhere but down there.
it was never safe to swim too near an old log floating in the water or lying on the bank, because it might suddenly open a great mouth and swallow one of us whole."
""what's that?"
peter rabbit leaned forward and stared at mrs. quack with his eyes popping right out.
""what's that?"
he repeated.
""how can an old log have a mouth?"
mrs. quack just had to smile, peter was so in earnest and looked so astonished.
""of course," said she, "no really truly log has a mouth or is alive, but this queer fellow i was speaking of looks so much like an old log floating in the water unless you look at him very sharply, that many a heedless young duck has discovered the difference when it was too late.
then, too, he will swim under water and come up underneath and seize you without any warning.
he has the biggest mouth i've ever seen, with terrible-looking teeth, and could swallow me whole."
-lsb- illustration with caption: "some folks call him alligator and some just "gator." -rsb-
by this time peter's eyes looked as if they would fall out of his head.
""what is his name?"
whispered peter.
""it's old ally the "gator," replied mrs. quack.
""some folks call him alligator and some just "gator, but we call him old ally.
he's a very interesting old fellow.
some time perhaps i'll tell you more about him.
mr. quack and i kept out of his reach, you may be sure.
we lived quietly and tried to get in as good condition as possible for the long journey back to our home in the north.
when it was time to start, a lot of us got together, just as we did when we came down from the north, only this time the young ducks felt themselves quite grown up.
in fact, before we started there was a great deal of love-making, and each one chose a mate.
that was a very happy time, a very happy time indeed, but it was a sad time too for us older ducks, because we knew what dreadful things were likely to happen on the long journey.
it is hard enough to lose father or mother or brother or sister, but it is worse to lose a dear mate."
mrs. quack's eyes suddenly filled with tears again.
""oh, dear," she sobbed, "i wish i knew what became of mr. quack."
peter said nothing, but looked the sympathy he felt.
presently mrs. quack went on with her story.
""we had a splendid big flock when we started, made up wholly of pairs, each pair dreaming of the home they would build when they reached the far north.
mr. quack was the leader as usual, and i flew right behind him.
we had n't gone far before we began to hear the terrible guns, and the farther we went, the worse they got.
mr. quack led us to the safest feeding and resting grounds he knew of, and for a time our flock escaped the terrible guns.
but the farther we went, the more guns there were."
mrs. quack paused and peter waited.
xi the terrible, terrible guns "bang!
bang!
bang!
not a feather spare!
kill!
kill!
kill!
wound and rip and tear!"
that is what the terrible guns roar from morning to night at mrs. quack and her friends as they fly on their long journey to their home in the far north.
i do n't wonder that she was terribly uneasy and nervous as she sat in the smiling pool talking to peter rabbit; do you?
""yes," said she, continuing her story of her long journey from the sunny southland where she had spent the winter, "the farther we got, the more there were of those terrible guns.
it grew so bad that as well as mr. quack knew the places where we could find food, and no duck that ever flew knew them better, he could n't find one where we could feel perfectly sure that we were safe.
the very safest-looking places sometimes were the most dangerous.
if you saw a lot of rabbits playing together on the green meadows, you would feel perfectly safe in joining them, would n't you?"
peter nodded.
""i certainly would," said he.
""if it was safe for them it certainly would be safe for me."
""well, that is just the way we felt when we saw a lot of ducks swimming about on the edge of one of those feeding-places.
we were tired, for we had flown a long distance, and we were hungry.
it was still and peaceful there and not a thing to be seen that looked the least bit like danger.
so we went straight in to join those ducks, and then, just as we set our wings to drop down on the water among them, there was a terrible bang, bang, bang, bang!
my heart almost stopped beating.
then how we did fly!
when we were far out over the water where we could see that nothing was near us we stopped to rest, and there we found only half as many in our flock as there had been."
""where were the others?"
asked peter, although he guessed.
""killed or hurt by those terrible guns," replied mrs. quack sadly.
""and that was n't the worst of it.
i told you that when we started each of us had a mate.
now we found that of those who had escaped, four had lost their mates.
they were heartbroken.
when it came time for us to move on, they would n't go.
they said that if they did reach the nesting-place in the far north, they could n't have nests or eggs or young because they had no mates, so what was the use?
besides, they hoped that if they waited around they might find their mates.
they thought they might not have been killed, but just hurt, and might be able to get away from those hunters.
so they left us and swam back towards that terrible place, calling for their lost mates, and it was the saddest sound.
i know now just how they felt, for i have lost mr. quack, and that's why i'm here."
mrs. quack drew a wing across her eyes to wipe away the tears.
""but what happened to those ducks that were swimming about there and made you think it was safe?"
asked peter, with a puzzled look on his face.
""nothing," replied mrs. quack.
""they had been fastened out there in the water by the hunters so as to make us think it safe, and the terrible guns were fired at us and not at them.
the hunters were hidden under grass, and that is why we did n't see them."
peter blinked his eyes rapidly as if he were having hard work to believe what he had been told.
""why," said be at last, "i never heard of anything so dreadfully unfair in all my life!
do you mean to tell me that those hunters actually made other ducks lead you into danger?"
""that's just what i mean," returned mrs. quack.
""those two-legged creatures do n't know what fairness is.
why, some of them have learned our language and actually call us in where they can shoot us.
just think of that!
they tell us in our own language that there is plenty to eat and all is safe, so that we will think that other ducks are hidden and feeding there, and then when we go to join them, we are shot at!
you ought to be mighty thankful, peter rabbit, that you are not a duck."
""i am," replied peter.
he knew that not one of the meadow and forest people who were always trying to catch him would do a thing like that.
""it's all true," said mrs. quack, "and those hunters do other things just as unfair.
sometimes awful storms will come up, and we just have to find places where we can rest.
those hunters will hide near those places and shoot at us when we are so tired that we can hardly move a wing.
it would n't be so bad if a hunter would be satisfied to kill just one duck, just as reddy fox is, but he seems to want to kill every duck.
foxes and hawks and owls catch a good many young ducks, just as they do young rabbits, but you know how we feel about that.
they only hunt when they are hungry, and they hunt fairly.
when, they have got enough to make a dinner, they stop.
they keep our wits sharp.
if we do not keep out of their way, it is our own fault.
it is a kind of game -- the game of life.
i guess it is old mother nature's way of keeping us wide-awake and sharpening our wits, and so making us better fitted to live.
""with these two-legged creatures with terrible guns, it is all different.
we do n't have any chance at all.
if they hunted us as reddy fox does, tried to catch us themselves, it would be different.
but their terrible guns kill when we are a long way off, and there is n't any way for us to know of the danger.
and then, when one of them does kill a duck, he is n't satisfied, but keeps on killing and killing and killing.
i'm sure one would make him a dinner, if that is what he wants.
""and they often simply break the wings or otherwise terribly hurt the ones they shoot at, and then leave them to suffer, unable to take care of themselves.
oh, dear, i'm afraid that is what has happened to mr. quack."
once more poor mrs. quack was quite overcome with her troubles and sorrows.
peter wished with all his heart that he could do something to comfort her, but of course he could n't, so he just sat still and waited until she could tell him just what did happen to mr. quack.
xii what did happen to mr. quack "when did you last see mr. quack?"
asked jerry muskrat, who had been listening while mrs. quack told peter rabbit about her terrible journey.
""early yesterday morning," replied mrs. quack, the tears once more filling her eyes.
""we had reached the big river over there, just six of us out of the big flock that had started from the sunny southland.
how we got as far as that i do n't know.
but we did, and neither mr. quack nor i had lost a feather from those terrible guns that had banged at us all the way up and that had killed so many of our friends.
""we were flying up the big river, and everything seemed perfectly safe.
we were in a hurry, and when we came to a bend in the big river, we flew quite close to shore, so as not to have to go way out and around.
that was where mr. quack made a mistake.
even the smartest people will make mistakes sometimes, you know."
peter rabbit nodded, "i know," said he.
""i've made them myself."
and then he wondered why jerry muskrat laughed right out.
""yes," continued mrs. quack, "that is where mr. quack made a mistake, a great mistake.
i suppose that because not a single gun had been fired at us that morning he thought perhaps there were no hunters on the big river.
so to save time he led us close to shore.
and then it happened.
there was a bang, bang of a terrible gun, and down fell mr. quack just as we had seen so many fall before.
it was awful.
there was mr. quack flying in front of me on swift, strong wings, and there never was a swifter, stronger flier or a handsomer duck than mr. quack, and then all in the wink of an eye he was tumbling helplessly down, down to the water below, and i was flying on alone, for the other ducks turned off, and i do n't know what became of them.
i could n't stop to see what became of mr. quack, because if i had, that terrible gun would have killed me.
so i kept on a little way and then turned and went back, only i kept out in the middle of the big river.
i dropped down on the water and swam about, calling and calling, but i did n't get any answer, and so i do n't know what has become of mr. quack.
i am afraid he was killed, and if he was, i wish i had been killed myself."
here mrs. quack choked up so that she could n't say another word.
peter's own eyes were full of tears as he tried to comfort her.
""perhaps," said he, "mr. quack was n't killed and is hiding somewhere along the big river.
i do n't know why i feel so, but i feel sure that he was n't killed, and that you will find him yet."
""that's why i've waited instead of going on," replied mrs. quack between sobs, "though it would n't have been of any use to go on without my dear mate.
i'm going back to the big river now to look for him.
the trouble is, i do n't dare go near the shore, and if he is alive, he probably is hiding somewhere among the rushes along the banks.
i think i'll be going along now, but i'll be back to-night if nothing happens to me.
you folks who can always stay at home have a great deal to be thankful for."
""it's lucky for me that mrs. peter was n't here to hear her say that," said peter, as he and jerry muskrat watched mrs. quack fly swiftly towards the big river.
""mrs. peter is forever worrying and scolding because i do n't stay in the dear old briar-patch.
if she had heard mrs. quack say that, i never would have heard the last of it.
i wish there was something we could do for mrs. quack.
i'm going back to the dear old briar-patch to think it over, and i guess the sooner i start the better, for that looks to me like reddy fox over there, and he's headed this way."
so off for home started peter, lipperty-lipperty-lip, as fast as he could go, and all the way there he was turning over in his mind what mrs. quack had told him and trying to think of some way to help her.
xiii peter tells about mrs. quack to get things done, if you'll but try, you'll always find there is a way.
what you yourself ca n't do alone the chances are another may.
when peter rabbit was once more safely back in the dear old briar-patch, he told mrs. peter all about poor mrs. quack and her troubles.
then for a long, long time he sat in a brown study.
a brown study, you know, is sitting perfectly still and thinking very hard.
that was what peter did.
he sat so still that if you had happened along, you probably would have thought him asleep.
but he was n't asleep.
no, indeed!
he was just thinking and thinking.
he was trying to think of some way to help mrs. quack.
at last he gave a little sigh of disappointment.
-lsb- illustration with caption: "just tuck that fact away in that empty head of yours and never say ca n't." -rsb-
""it ca n't be done," said he.
""there is n't any way."
""what ca n't be done?"
demanded a voice right over his head.
peter looked up.
there sat sammy jay.
peter had been thinking so hard that he had n't seen sammy arrive.
""what ca n't be done?"
repeated sammy.
""there is n't anything that ca n't be done.
there are plenty of things that you ca n't do, but what you ca n't do some one else can.
just tuck that fact away in that empty head of yours and never say ca n't."
you know sammy dearly loves to tease peter.
peter made a good-natured face at sammy.
""which means, i suppose, that what i ca n't do you can.
you always did have a pretty good opinion of yourself, sammy," said he.
""nothing of the kind," retorted sammy.
""i simply mean that nobody can do everything, and that very often two heads are better than one.
it struck me that you had something on your mind, and i thought i might be able to help you get rid of it.
but of course, if you do n't want my help, supposing i could and would give it to you, that is an end of the matter, and i guess i'll be on my way.
the old briar-patch is rather a dull place anyway."
peter started to make a sharp retort, but thought better of it.
instead he replied mildly: "i was just trying to think of some way to help poor mrs. quack."
""help mrs. quack!"
exclaimed sammy in surprise.
""where under the sun did you get acquainted with mrs. quack?
what's the matter with her?
she always has looked to me quite able to help herself."
""well, she is n't.
that is, she needs others to help her just now," replied peter, "and i've been most thinking my head off trying to find a way to help her."
then he told sammy how he had met mrs. quack at the smiling pool and how terrible her long journey up from the sunny southland had been, and how mr. quack had been shot by a hunter with a terrible gun, and how poor mrs. quack was quite heartbroken, and how she had gone over to the big river to look for him but did n't dare go near the places where he might be hiding if he were still alive and hurt so that he could n't fly, and how cruel and terribly unfair were the men with terrible guns, and all the other things he had learned from mrs. quack.
sammy listened with his head cocked on one side, and for once he did n't interrupt peter or try to tease him or make fun of him.
in fact, as peter looked up at him, he could see that sammy was very serious and thoughtful, and that the more he heard of mrs. quack's story the more thoughtful he looked.
when peter finished, sammy flew down a little nearer to peter.
""i beg your pardon for saying your head is empty, peter," said he.
""your heart is right, anyway.
of course, there is n't anything you can do to help mrs. quack, but as i told you in the beginning, what you ca n't do others can.
now i do n't say that i can help mrs. quack, but i can try.
i believe i'll do a little thinking myself."
so sammy jay in his turn went into a brown study, and peter watched him anxiously and a little hopefully.
xiv sammy jay's plan to help mrs. quack sammy jay sat on the lowest branch of a little tree in the dear old briar-patch just over peter rabbit's head, thinking as hard as ever he could.
peter watched him and wondered if sammy would be able to think of any plan for helping poor mrs. quack.
he hoped so.
he himself had thought and thought until he felt as if his brains were all mixed up and he could n't think any more.
so he watched sammy and waited and hoped.
presently sammy flirted his wings in a way which peter knew meant that he had made up his mind.
""did i understand you to say that mrs. quack said that if mr. quack is alive, he probably is hiding among the rushes along the banks of the big river?"
he asked.
peter nodded.
""and that she said that she does n't dare go near the banks because of fear of the terrible guns?"
again peter nodded.
""well, if that's the case, what is the matter with some of us who are not afraid of the terrible guns looking for mr. quack?"
said sammy.
""i will, for one, and i'm quite sure that my cousin, blacky the crow, will, for another.
he surely will if he thinks it will spoil the plans of any hunters.
blacky would go a long distance to do that.
he hates terrible guns and the men who use them.
and he knows all about them.
he has very sharp eyes, has blacky, and he knows when a man has got a gun and when he has n't.
more than that, he can tell better than any one i know of just how near he can safely go to one of those terrible guns.
he is smart, my cousin blacky is, and if he will help me look for mr. quack, we'll find him if he is alive."
""that will be splendid!"
cried peter, clapping his hands.
""but are n't you afraid of those terrible guns, sammy?"
""not when the hunters are trying for ducks," replied sammy.
""if there is a duck anywhere in sight, they wo n't shoot at poor little me or even at blacky, though they would shoot at him any other time.
you see, they know that shooting at us would frighten the ducks.
blacky knows all about the big river.
in the winter he often gets considerable of his food along its banks.
i've been over there a number of times, but i do n't know so much about it as he does.
now here is my plan.
i'll go find blacky and tell him all about what we want to do for mrs. quack.
then, when mrs. quack comes back to the smiling pool, if she has n't found mr. quack, we'll tell her what we are going to do and what she must do.
she must swim right up the big river, keeping out in the middle where she will be safe.
if there are any hunters hiding along the bank, they will see her, and then they wo n't shoot at blacky or me because they will keep hoping that mrs. quack will swim in near enough for them to shoot her.
blacky will fly along over one bank of the big river, and i will do the same over the other bank, keeping as nearly opposite mrs. quack as we can.
being up in the air that way and looking down, we will be able to see the hunters and also mr. quack, if he is hiding among the rushes.
are you quite sure that mrs. quack will come back to the smiling pool to-night?"
""she said she would," replied peter.
""last night she came just a little while before dark, and i think she will do the same thing to-night, to see if any more corn has been left for her.
you know farmer brown's boy put some there yesterday, and it tasted so good to her that i do n't believe she will be able to stay away, even if she wants to.
i think your plan is perfectly splendid, sammy jay.
i do hope blacky the crow will help."
""he will.
do n't worry about that," replied sammy.
""hello!
there goes farmer brown's boy over to the smiling pool now."
""then there will be some more corn for mrs. quack.
i just know it!"
cried peter.
""he is going to see if mrs. quack is there, and i just know he has his pockets full of corn."
""i would n't mind a little of it myself," said sammy.
""well, i must go along to hunt up blacky.
good-by, peter."
""good-by and good luck," replied peter.
""i've always said you are not half such a bad fellow as you try to make folks think you are, sammy jay."
""thanks," said sammy, and started for the green forest to look for his cousin, blacky the crow.
xv the hunt for mr. quack in spite of her hopelessness in regard to mr. quack, there is no doubt that mrs. quack felt better that night after she had eaten the corn left among the rushes of the smiling pool by farmer brown's boy.
now she had that very comfortable feeling that goes with a full stomach, she could think better.
as the black shadows crept across the smiling pool, she turned over in her mind sammy jay's plan for helping her the next day.
the more she thought about it, the better it seemed, and she began to feel a little ashamed that she had not appeared more grateful to sammy when he told her.
at the time she had been tired and hungry and discouraged.
now she was beginning to feel rested, and she was no longer hungry.
these things made all the difference in the world.
as she thought over sammy's plan, she began to feel a little hope, and when at last she put her head under her wing to go to sleep, she had made up her mind that the plan was worth trying, and that she would do her part.
bright and early the next morning, sammy jay and blacky the crow were in the big hickory-tree near the smiling pool ready to start for the big river to hunt for mr. quack.
peter rabbit had been so afraid that he would miss something that he had stayed near the smiling pool all night, so he was on hand to see the start.
it had been agreed that mrs. quack was to go to a certain place on the big river and then swim up as far as she thought it would be of any use.
she was to stay in the middle of the river, where she would be quite safe from hunters with terrible guns, and where also these same hunters would be sure to see her and so not be tempted to shoot at blacky the crow if he happened to fly over them.
you see, they would hope that mrs. quack would swim in near enough to be shot and so would not risk frightening her by shooting at blacky.
when mrs. quack had finished her breakfast, she started for the big river, and her stout wings moved so swiftly that they made a whistling sound.
sammy jay and blacky the crow followed her, but though they flew as fast as they could, mrs. quack had reached the big river before they had gone half the way.
when they did get there, they saw mrs. quack out in the middle, swimming about and watching for them.
blacky flew across the river and pretended to be hunting for food along the farther bank, just as every hunter knows he often does.
sammy jay did the same thing on the other bank.
mrs. quack swam slowly up the big river, keeping in the middle, and blacky and sammy followed along up the two banks, all the time using their sharp eyes for all they were worth to find mr. quack hiding among the broken-down rushes or under the bushes in the water, for the big river had overflowed its banks, and in some places bushes and trees were in the water.
now sammy jay dearly loves to hunt for things.
whenever he knows that one of his neighbors in the green forest has hidden something, he likes to hunt for it.
it is n't so much that he wants what has been hidden, as it is that he wants to feel he is smart enough to find it.
when he does find it, he usually steals it, i'm sorry to say.
but it is the fun of hunting that sammy enjoys most.
so now sammy thoroughly enjoyed hunting for mr. quack.
he peered into every likely hiding-place and became so interested that he quite forgot about the hunters who might be waiting along the bank.
so it happened that he did n't see a boat drawn in among the bushes until he was right over it.
sitting in it was a man with a terrible gun, very intently watching mrs. quack out in the middle of the big river.
sammy was so startled that before he thought he opened his mouth and screamed "thief!
thief!
thief!"
at the top of his lungs, and flew away with all his might.
mrs. quack heard his scream and understood just what it meant.
a little later blacky the crow discovered another hunter hiding behind the bushes on his side.
""caw!
caw!
caw!"
shouted blacky, flying out over the water far enough to be safe from that terrible gun he could see.
""quack!
quack!"
replied mrs. quack, which meant that she understood.
and so the hunt went on without a sign of poor mr. quack.
xvi sammy jay sees something green for all their peeking and peering among the broken-down rushes and under the bushes along the banks of the big river, and no sharper eyes ever peeked and peered, sammy jay and blacky the crow had found no sign of the missing mr. quack.
""i guess mrs. quack was right and that mr. quack was killed when he was shot," muttered sammy to himself.
""probably one of those hunters had him for dinner long ago.
hello!
there's another hunter up where the laughing brook joins the big river!
i guess i wo n't take any chances.
i'd like to find mr. quack, but sammy jay is a lot more important to me than mr. quack, and that fellow just might happen to take it into his head to shoot at me."
so sammy silently flew around back of the hunter and stopped in a tree where he could watch all that the man did.
for some time sammy sat there watching.
the hunter was sitting behind a sort of fence of bushes which quite hid him from any one who might happen to be out on the big river.
but of course sammy could see him perfectly, because he was behind him.
out in front of that little fence, which was on the very edge of the water, were a number of what sammy at first took to be some of mrs. quack's relatives.
""why does n't he shoot them?"
thought sammy.
he puzzled over this as he watched them until suddenly it came into his head that he had n't seen one of them move since he began watching them.
the man changed his position, and still those ducks did n't move, although some of them were so near that they simply could n't have helped knowing when the hunter moved unless they were more stupid than any one of sammy's acquaintance.
this was very curious, very curious indeed.
sammy flew a little nearer and then a little nearer, taking the greatest care not to make a sound.
pretty soon he was so near that he could see those ducks very plainly, and he stared with all his might.
he could n't see any feathers!
no, sir, he could n't see any feathers!
then he understood.
""huh!"
said he to himself.
""those are not ducks at all.
they are just pieces of wood made to look like ducks.
now i wonder what they are for."
in a few minutes he found out.
he saw the hunter crouch down a little lower and look down the big river.
sammy looked too.
he saw a flock of real ducks flying swiftly just above the middle of the big river.
suddenly the leader turned straight towards the place where the hunter was hiding, and the others followed him.
he could hear mrs. quack calling excitedly out in the middle of the big river, but the strangers did not heed her.
they had their eyes on those wooden ducks and were coming straight in to join them.
""they think they are real ducks and so this place is perfectly safe!"
thought sammy.
he saw the hunter make ready to shoot with his terrible gun and then, without stopping to think what might happen to him, he opened his mouth and screamed at the top of his voice.
he saw the ducks suddenly swing out towards the middle of the big river and knew that they had heard his warning.
he saw the hunter suddenly rise and point his gun at the flying ducks.
he heard the bang, bang of the terrible gun, but not one of the flock was hit.
the distance was too great.
sammy chuckled happily.
then he remembered that he himself was within easy reach of that terrible gun, and probably the hunter was very angry.
in great fright sammy turned and flew, dodging behind trees and every second expecting to hear again the roar of that terrible gun.
but he did n't, and so when he thought he was safe, he stopped.
now in flying away from the hunter he had followed the laughing brook where it winds through a sort of swamp before it joins the big river.
because there was more water than could be kept between the banks of the big river, it had crept over the banks, and all the trees of the swamp were standing in water.
just beyond where sammy was sitting was a pile of brush in the water.
a jolly little sunbeam, dancing down through the tree tops, touched something under the edge of the brush, and sammy's sharp eyes caught a flash of green.
idly he watched it, and presently it moved.
instantly sammy was all curiosity.
he flew over where he could see better.
""now what can that be?"
thought sammy, as he peered down at the pile of brush and tried to see under it.
xvii mr. quack is found at last sammy jay's eyes sparkled as he watched that spot of green under the pile of brush in the swamp through which the laughing brook finds its way to join the big river.
all around was water, for you know it was spring, and the melting snows on the hills way up where the big river has its beginning were pouring more water into the big river than its banks would hold as it hurried down to the great ocean.
it just could n't hurry fast enough to take all that water down as fast as it ran into the big river, and so the water had crept over the banks in places.
it had done this right here in the little swamp where sammy was.
sammy sat perfectly still, for he learned long ago that only by keeping perfectly still may one see all that is to be seen.
that green spot had moved.
he was sure of that.
and if it moved, it must be something alive.
if it were alive, it must be somebody, and sammy wanted to know who it was.
try as he would he could n't remember any one who wore such glossy green as that.
so he sat perfectly still, for he knew that if whoever was hiding under that brush should even guess that he was being watched, he would not come out.
so, his eyes sparkling with excitement, sammy watched.
he was impatiently patient.
did you know that it is possible to be impatiently patient?
well, it is.
sammy was just boiling with impatience inside, but he did n't let that impatience spoil the patience of his waiting.
he sat there just as still as still, with his eyes fixed on that green spot, and you would never have guessed that he was fairly bursting with impatience to know who it was he was watching.
that is what is called self-control.
it means the power to make yourself do a certain thing, no matter how much you may want to do something else.
it is a splendid thing to have, is self-control.
after what seemed to sammy a very long time, the green spot moved again.
little by little something reached out from under the pile of brush.
it was a head, a very beautiful green head, and it was exactly like mrs. quack's head, only hers was a sober brown instead of green.
sammy choked back a little gasp of surprise as a sudden thought popped into his head.
could this be the lost mr. quack?
he had forgotten that probably mr. quack dressed differently from mrs. quack, and so of course he had been looking for some one all in brown.
there was the bang of a gun somewhere over on the big river, and the green head was hastily withdrawn under the bush, but not before sammy had seen a look of terrible fear in his eyes.
""i believe it is mr. quack!"
thought sammy.
""if it is, i'll have the best news ever to tell mrs. quack.
just trust sammy jay to find anything he goes looking for."
this was just plain boasting, and sammy knew it.
but sammy always does have a good opinion of himself.
it is one of his faults.
he quite lost sight of the fact that it was entirely by accident that he had come over to this swamp.
now that he had guessed who this might be, he was less impatient.
he waited as still as you please, and at last the green head was slowly stretched out again, and sammy could see that the neck was green, too, and that around the neck was a white collar.
sammy could keep still no longer.
-lsb- illustration with caption: "yes," said he in a low voice, "i am mr. quack." -rsb-
""are you mr. quack?"
he asked eagerly.
the beautiful head disappeared like a flash.
sammy waited a minute or two, before he repeated his question, adding: "you need n't be afraid.
there is n't anybody here but me, and i'm your friend.
i just want to know if you are mr. quack because i've been looking for you for mrs. quack.
are you?"
slowly, looking this way and that way with fear and suspicion in his eyes, a handsome duck came out from under the pile of brush.
""yes," said he in a low voice, "i am mr. quack.
where is mrs. quack?"
""safe and sound over on the big river," replied sammy joyfully.
""oh, i'm so glad i've found you!"
xviii sammy jay sends mrs. quack to the swamp when sammy jay left mr. quack in the swamp over by the bank of the big river, he flew straight back to the smiling pool.
at first he thought of flying out over the big river and screaming the news to mrs. quack, who, you know, was swimming about out there.
but he knew that if he did, she would very likely fly right over where mr. quack was, and that would n't do at all.
no, indeed, that would n't do at all.
one of the hunters would be sure to see her.
so sammy wisely flew back to the smiling pool to wait until mrs. quack should come back there for the night.
of course he told peter rabbit all about mr. quack, and peter was so delighted at the thought that mr. quack was alive that he capered about in quite the craziest way.
""does mrs. quack know yet?"
asked peter.
sammy shook his head.
""i'm going to tell her when she comes back here to-night," he explained.
""i was afraid if i told her before then she would fly straight to him and perhaps get them both in trouble."
""quite right, sammy!
quite right!"
peter exclaimed.
""i would n't have thought of that.
my, wo n't she be happy when you do tell her!
i wonder what she'll say and what she'll do.
i'm going to stay right here so as to see her when she hears the good news.
here comes your cousin, blacky the crow.
does he know yet?"
""no," replied sammy, "but i'm going to tell him as soon as he gets here."
they watched blacky draw nearer and nearer, and as soon as he was within hearing sammy shouted the news.
""caw, caw, caw," replied blacky, hurrying a little faster.
as soon as he reached the big hickory-tree, sammy told the whole story over again, and blacky was quite as glad as the others.
while they waited for mrs. quack he told how he had hunted and hunted along the farther bank of the big river and how he had seen the hunters with their terrible guns hiding and had warned mrs. quack just where each one was.
jolly, round, red mr. sun was getting ready to go to bed behind the purple hills and the black shadows were beginning to creep out over the green meadows before mrs. quack came.
in fact, sammy jay and blacky were getting very uneasy.
it was almost bed-time for them, for neither of them dared stay out after dark.
they had almost made up their minds to leave peter to tell the news when they saw mrs. quack coming swiftly from the direction of the big river.
she looked so sad and discouraged that even blacky the crow was sorry for her, and you know blacky is n't much given to such feelings.
""what's the news, mrs. quack?"
asked peter, his eyes dancing.
""there is n't any," replied mrs. quack.
""oh, yes, there is!"
cried sammy jay, who could n't possibly keep still any longer.
""what is it?"
demanded mrs. quack eagerly, and it seemed to peter that there was a wee bit of hope in her voice.
""did you happen to notice that just before the laughing brook joins the big river it flows through a little swamp?"
asked sammy.
mrs. quack nodded her head rapidly.
""what of it?"
she demanded.
""nothing much, only if i were you i would go down there after dark," replied sammy.
mrs. quack looked up at sammy sharply.
""why should i go down there?"
she asked.
""if i tell you, will you wait until i get quite through?"
asked sammy in his turn.
mrs. quack promised that she would.
""well, then," replied sammy, "this afternoon i found a stranger hiding in there, a stranger with a beautiful green head and neck and a white collar."
""mr. quack!
oh, it was mr. quack!"
cried mrs. quack joyfully and lifted her wings as if she would start for the swamp at once.
""stop!"
cried sammy sharply.
""you said you would wait until i am through.
it wo n't do for you to go there until after dark, because there is a hunter hiding very near mr. quack's hiding-place.
wait until it is dark and he has gone home.
then take my advice, and when you have found mr. quack, bring him right up here to the smiling pool.
he ca n't fly, but he can swim up the laughing brook, and this is the safest place for both of you.
now good night and good luck."
xix jerry muskrat's great idea a friendly friend is a friend indeed when he proves a friend in the time of need.
mr. and mrs. quack had been so much taken up with each other and with their troubles that they had quite forgotten they were not alone in the smiling pool, which they had reached by swimming up the laughing brook.
so it happened that when mrs. quack suggested that if mr. quack's wing got strong they might be able to find a lonesome pond not too far away where they could make their home for the summer, they were a little startled to hear a voice say: "i know where there is one, and you will not have to fly at all to get to it."
both jumped a little.
you see their nerves had been very much upset for a long time, and the least unexpected thing made them jump.
then both laughed.
""hello, jerry muskrat!
we'd forgotten all about you," said mrs. quack.
""what was that you said?"
jerry good-naturedly repeated what he had said.
mrs. quack's face brightened.
""do you really mean it?"
she asked eagerly.
""do you really mean that you know of a pond where we could live and not be likely to be seen by these two-legged creatures called men?"
""that's what i said," replied jerry briefly.
""oh, jerry, you're not joking, are you?
tell me you're not joking," begged mrs. quack.
""of course i'm not joking," returned jerry just a little bit indignantly, "i am not the kind of a fellow to joke people who are in such trouble as you and mr. quack seem to be in.
the idea came to me while you were talking.
i could n't help overhearing what you were saying, and the minute you mentioned a lonesome pond, the idea came to me, and i think it's a perfectly splendid idea.
i know of just the lonesomest kind of a lonesome pond, and you wo n't have to fly a stroke to get to it.
if you are smart enough not to be caught by reddy fox or hooty the owl or billy mink or any of those people who hunt for a living, there is n't any reason i know of why you should n't spend the summer there in peace and comfort."
mrs. quack's eyes fairly shone with hope and eagerness.
""oh, jerry, tell us where it is, and we'll start for it right away!"
she cried.
jerry's eyes twinkled.
""of course, the owner of that pond might not like to have neighbors.
i had n't thought of that," said he.
""perhaps he ought to be asked first."
mrs. quack's face fell.
""who is the owner?"
she asked.
""my cousin, paddy the beaver.
he made it," replied jerry proudly.
mrs. quack's face lighted up again at once.
""i'm sure he wo n't object," said she.
""we know a great many of the beaver family.
in fact, they are very good neighbors of ours in our home in the far northland.
i did n't suppose there was a beaver pond anywhere around here.
tell me where it is, jerry, and i'll go right up there and call on your cousin."
""all you've got to do is to follow the laughing brook way back into the green forest, and you'll come to paddy's pond," said he.
""he made that pond himself two years ago.
he came down from the great woods and built a dam across the laughing brook way back there in the green forest and gave us a great scare here in the smiling pool by cutting off the water for a few days.
he has got a very nice pond there now.
honker the goose and his flock spent a night in it on their way south last fall."
mrs. quack waited to hear no more.
she shot up into the air and disappeared over the tops of the trees in the green forest.
""what do you think of my idea?"
asked jerry, as he and mr. quack watched her out of sight.
""i think it is great, just simply great," replied mr. quack.
xx happy days for mr. and mrs. quack whose heart is true and brave and strong, who ne'er gives up to grim despair, will find some day that skies are blue and all the world is bright and fair.
if you do n't believe it, just ask mr. and mrs. quack.
they know.
certainly the world never looked darker for any one than it did for them when the terrible gun of a hunter broke mr. quack's wing on the big river and ended all their dreams of a home in the far northland.
then, through the help of jerry muskrat, they found the lonely pond of paddy the beaver deep in the green forest, and there, because their secret had been well kept, presently they found peace and hope and then happiness.
you see, the heart of mrs. quack was true and brave and strong.
she was the kind to make the best of things, and she at once decided that if they could n't have their home where they wanted it, they would have it where they could have it.
she was determined that they should have a home anyway, and paddy the beaver's little pond was not such a bad place after all.
so she wasted no time.
she examined every inch of the shore of that little pond.
at last, a little back from the water, she found a place to suit her, a place so well hidden by bushes that only the sharpest eyes ever would find it.
and a little later it would be still harder to find, as she well knew, for all about clumps of tall ferns were springing up, and when they had fully unfolded, not even the keen eyes of sammy jay looking down from a near-by tree would be able to discover her secret.
there she made a nest on the ground, a nest of dried grass and leaves, and lined it with the softest and most beautiful of linings, down plucked from her own breast.
in it she laid ten eggs.
then came long weeks of patient sitting on them, watching the wonder of growing things about her, the bursting into bloom of shy wood flowers, the unfolding of leaves on bush and tree, the springing up in a night of queer mushrooms, which people call toadstools, and all the time dreaming beautiful duck dreams of the babies which would one day hatch from those precious eggs.
she never left them save to get a little food and just enough exercise to keep her well and strong, and when she did leave them, she always carefully pulled soft down over them to keep them warm while she was away.
mr. quack knew all about that nest, though he had taken no part in building it and had no share in the care of those eggs.
he was very willing that she should do all the work and thought it quite sufficient that he should be on guard to give warning if danger should appear.
so he spent the long beautiful days lazily swimming about in the little pond, gossiping with paddy the beaver, and taking the best of care of himself.
the broken wing healed and grew strong again, for it had not been so badly broken, after all.
if he missed the company of others of his kind which he would have had during these long days of waiting had they been able to reach their usual nesting-place in the far northland, he never mentioned it.
unknown to them, farmer brown's boy discovered where they were.
later he came often to the pond and was content to sit quietly on the shore and watch mr. quack, so that mr. quack grew quite used to him and did not fear him at all.
in fact, after the first few times, he made no attempt to hide.
you see he discovered that farmer brown's boy was a friend.
always after he had left, there was something good to eat near where he had been sitting, for farmer brown's boy brought corn and oats and sometimes a handful of wheat.
he knew, and mr. quack knew that he knew, that somewhere near was a nest, but he did not try to find it much as he longed to, for he knew that would frighten and worry mrs. quack.
so the dear, precious secret of mr. and mrs. quack was kept, for not even paddy the beaver knew just where that nest was, and in due time, early one morning, mrs. quack proudly led forth for their first swim ten downy, funny ducklings.
-lsb- illustration with caption: those were happy days indeed for mr. and mrs. quack in the pond of paddy the beaver. -rsb-
oh, those were happy days indeed for mr. and mrs. quack in the pond of paddy the beaver, and in their joy they quite forgot for a time the terrible journey which had brought them there.
but finally the ducklings grew up, and when jack frost came in the fall, the whole family started on the long journey to the sunny southland.
i hope they got there safely, do n't you?
among those whom mr. and mrs. quack came to know very well while they lived in the pond of paddy the beaver was that funny fellow who wears rings on his tail -- bobby coon.
in the next book i will tell you of some of bobby's adventures.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_prickly_porky.txt.out
i happy jack squirrel makes a find happy jack squirrel had had a wonderful day.
he had found some big chestnut-trees that he had never seen before, and which promised to give him all the nuts he would want for all the next winter.
now he was thinking of going home, for it was getting late in the afternoon.
he looked out across the open field where mr. goshawk had nearly caught him that morning.
his home was on the other side.
""it's a long way "round," said happy jack to himself, "but it is best to be safe and sure."
so happy jack started on his long journey around the open field.
now, happy jack's eyes are bright, and there is very little that happy jack does not see.
so, as he was jumping from one tree to another, he spied something down on the ground which excited his curiosity.
""i must stop and see what that is," said happy jack.
so down the tree he ran, and in a few minutes he had found the queer thing, which had caught his eyes.
it was smooth and black and white, and at one end it was very sharp with a tiny little barb.
happy jack found it out by pricking himself with it.
""ooch," he cried, and dropped the queer thing.
pretty soon he noticed there were a lot more on the ground.
""i wonder what they are," said happy jack.
""they do n't grow, for they have n't any roots.
they are not thorns, for there is no plant from which they could come.
they are not alive, so what can they be?"
now, happy jack's eyes are bright, but sometimes he does n't use them to the very best advantage.
he was so busy examining the queer things on the ground that he never once thought to look up in the tops of the trees.
if he had, perhaps he would not have been so much puzzled.
as it was he just gathered up three or four of the queer things and started on again.
on the way he met peter rabbit and showed peter what he had.
now, you know peter rabbit is very curious.
he just could n't sit still, but must scamper over to the place happy jack squirrel told him about.
""you'd better be careful, peter rabbit; they're very sharp," shouted happy jack.
but as usual, peter was in too much of a hurry to heed what was said to him.
lipperty-lipperty-lip, lipperty-lipperty-lip, went peter rabbit through the woods, as fast as his long legs would take him.
then suddenly he squealed and sat down to nurse one of his feet.
but he was up again in a flash with another squeal louder than before.
peter rabbit had found the queer things that happy jack squirrel had told him about.
one was sticking in his foot, and one was in the white patch on the seat of his trousers.
ii the stranger from the north the merry little breezes of old mother west wind were excited.
yes, sir, they certainly were excited.
they had met happy jack squirrel and peter rabbit, and they were full of the news of the queer things that happy jack and peter rabbit had found over in the green forest.
they hurried this way and that way over the green meadows and told every one they met.
finally they reached the smiling pool and excitedly told grandfather frog all about it.
grandfather frog smoothed down his white and yellow waistcoat and looked very wise, for you know that grandfather frog is very old.
""pooh," said grandfather frog.
""i know what they are."
""what?"
cried all the merry little breezes together.
""happy jack says he is sure they do not grow, for there are no strange plants over there."
grandfather frog opened his big mouth and snapped up a foolish green fly that one of the merry little breezes blew over to him.
""chug-a-rum," said grandfather frog.
""things do not have to be on plants in order to grow.
now i am sure that those things grew, and that they did not grow on a plant."
the merry little breezes looked puzzled.
""what is there that grows and does n't grow on a plant?"
asked one of them.
""how about the claws on peter rabbit's toes and the hair of happy jack's tail?"
asked grandfather frog.
the merry little breezes looked foolish.
""of course," they cried.
""we did n't think of that.
but we are quite sure that these queer things that prick so are not claws, and certainly they are not hair."
""do n't you be too sure," said grandfather frog.
""you go over to the green forest and look up in the treetops instead of down on the ground; then come back and tell me what you find."
away raced the merry little breezes to the green forest and began to search among the treetops.
presently, way up in the top of a big poplar, they found a stranger.
he was bigger than any of the little meadow people, and he had long sharp teeth with which he was stripping the bark from the tree.
the hair of his coat was long, and out of it peeped a thousand little spears just like the queer things that happy jack and peter rabbit had told them about.
""good morning," said the merry little breezes politely.
""mornin"," grunted the stranger in the treetop.
""may we ask where you come from?"
said one of the merry little breezes politely.
""i come from the north woods," said the stranger and then went on about his business, which seemed to be to strip every bit of the bark from the tree and eat it.
iii prickly porky makes friends the merry little breezes soon spread the news over the green meadows and through the green forest that a stranger had come from the north.
at once all the little meadow people and forest folk made some excuse to go over to the big poplar tree where the stranger was so busy eating.
at first he was very shy and had nothing to say.
he was a queer fellow, and he was so big, and his teeth were so sharp and so long, that his visitors kept their distance.
reddy fox, who, you know, is a great boaster and likes to brag of how smart he is and how brave he is, came with the rest of the little meadow people.
""pooh," exclaimed reddy fox.
""who's afraid of that fellow?"
just then the stranger began to come down the tree.
reddy backed away.
""it looks as if you were afraid, reddy fox," said peter rabbit.
""i'm not afraid of anything," said reddy fox, and swelled himself up to look twice as big as he really is.
""it seems to me i hear bowser the hound," piped up striped chipmunk.
-lsb- illustration: "pooh," exclaimed reddy fox.
""who's afraid of that fellow?"
page 10.
-rsb- now striped chipmunk had not heard bowser the hound at all when he spoke, but just then there was the patter of heavy feet among the dried leaves, and sure enough there was bowser himself.
my, how everybody did run, -- everybody but the stranger from the north.
he kept on coming down the tree just the same.
bowser saw him and stopped in surprise.
he had never seen anything quite like this big dark fellow.
""bow, wow, wow!"
shouted bowser in his deepest voice.
now, when bowser used that great deep voice of his, he was accustomed to seeing all the little meadow people and forest folk run, but this stranger did not even hurry.
bowser was so surprised that he just stood still and stared.
then he growled his deepest growl.
still the stranger paid no attention to him.
bowser did not know what to make of it.
""i'll teach that fellow a lesson," said bowser to himself.
""i'll shake him, and shake him and shake him until he has n't any breath left."
by this time the stranger was down on the ground and starting for another tree, minding his own business.
then something happened.
bowser made a rush at him, and instead of running, what do you suppose the stranger did?
he just rolled himself up in a tight ball with his head tucked down in his waistcoat.
when he was rolled up that way, all the little spears hidden in the hair of his coat stood right out until he looked like a great chestnut-burr.
bowser stopped short.
then he reached out his nose and sniffed at this queer thing.
slap!
the tail of the stranger struck bowser the hound right across the side of his face, and a dozen of those little spears were left sticking there just like pins in a pin-cushion.
""wow!
wow!
wow!
wow!"
yelled bowser at the top of his lungs, and started for home with his tail between his legs, and yelling with every jump.
then the stranger unrolled himself and smiled, and all the little meadow people and forest folk who had been watching shouted aloud for joy.
and this is the way that prickly porky the porcupine made friends.
iv peter rabbit has some startling news little mrs. peter rabbit, who used to be little miss fuzzytail, sat at the edge of the dear old briar-patch, anxiously looking over towards the green forest.
she was worried.
there was no doubt about it.
little mrs. peter was very much worried.
why did n't peter come home?
she did wish that he would be content to stay close by the dear old briar-patch.
for her part, she could n't see why under the sun he wanted to go way over to the green forest.
he was always having dreadful adventures and narrow escapes over there, and yet, in spite of all she could say, he would persist in going there.
she did n't feel easy in her mind one minute while he was out of her sight.
to be sure he always turned up all right, but she could n't help feeling that sometime his dreadful curiosity would get him into trouble that he could n't get out of, and so every time he went to the green forest, she was sure, absolutely sure, that she would never see him again.
peter used to laugh at her and tell her that she was a foolish little dear, and that he was perfectly able to take care of himself.
then, when he saw how worried she was, he would promise to be very, very careful and never do anything rash or foolish.
but he would n't promise not to go to the green forest.
no, sir, peter would n't promise that.
you see, he has so many friends over there, and there is always so much news to be gathered that he just could n't keep away.
once or twice he had induced mrs. peter to go with him, but she had been frightened almost out of her skin every minute, for it seemed to her that there was danger lurking behind every tree and under every bush.
it was all very well for chatterer the red squirrel and happy jack the gray squirrel, who could jump from tree to tree, but she did n't think it a safe and proper place for a sensible rabbit, and she said so.
this particular morning she was unusually anxious.
peter had been gone all night.
usually he was home by the time old mother west wind came down from the purple hills and emptied her children, the merry little breezes, out of her big bag to play all day on the green meadows, but this morning old mother west wind had been a long time gone about her business, and still there was no sign of peter.
""something has happened.
i just know something has happened!"
she wailed.
""oh, peter, peter, peter rabbit why will you be so heedless?
why will you take such dreadful risks, so foolish and so needless?"
""do n't worry.
peter is smart enough to take care of himself," cried one of the merry little breezes, who happened along just in time to overhear her.
""he'll be home pretty soon.
in fact, i think i see him coming now."
mrs. peter looked in the direction that the merry little breeze was looking, and sure enough there was peter.
he was heading straight for the dear old briar-patch, and he was running as if he were trying to show how fast he could run.
mrs. peter's heart gave a frightened thump.
""it must be that reddy or granny fox or old man coyote is right at his heels," thought she, but look as hard as she would, she could see nothing to make peter run so.
in a few minutes he reached her side.
his eyes were very wide, and it was plain to see that he was bursting with important news.
""what is it, peter?
do tell me quick!
have you had another narrow escape?"
gasped little mrs. peter.
peter nodded while he panted for breath.
""there's another stranger in the green forest, a terrible looking fellow without legs or head or tail, and he almost caught me!"
panted peter.
v peter rabbit tells his story when peter rabbit could get his breath after his long hard run from the green forest to the dear old briar-patch, he had a wonderful story to tell.
it was all about a stranger in the green forest, and to have heard peter tell about it, you would have thought, as mrs. peter did, that it was a very terrible stranger, for it had no legs, and it had no head, and it had no tail.
at least, that is what peter said.
""you see, it was this way," declared peter.
""i had stopped longer than i meant to in the green forest, for you know, my dear, i always try to be home by the time jolly, round, red mr. sun gets out of bed and old mother west wind gets down on the green meadows."
mrs. peter nodded.
""but somehow time slipped away faster than i thought for, or else mr. sun got up earlier than usual," continued peter.
then he stopped.
that last idea was a new one, and it struck peter as a good one.
""i do believe that that is just what happened -- mr. sun must have made a mistake and crawled out of bed earlier than usual," he cried.
mrs. peter looked as if she very much doubted it, but she did n't say anything, and so peter went on with his story.
""i had just realized how light it was and had started for home, hurrying with all my might, when i heard a little noise at the top of the hill where prickly porky the porcupine lives.
of course i thought it was prickly himself starting out for his breakfast, and i looked up with my mouth open to say hello.
but i did n't say hello.
no, sir, i did n't say a word.
i was too scared.
there, just starting down the hill straight towards me, was the most dreadful creature that ever has been seen in the green forest!
it did n't have any legs, and it did n't have any head, and it did n't have any tail, and it was coming straight after me so fast that i had all i could do to get out of the way!"
peter's eyes grew very round and wide as he said this.
""i took one good look, and then i jumped.
my gracious, how i did jump!"
he continued.
""then i started for home just as fast as ever i could make my legs go, and here i am, and mighty glad to be here!"
mrs. peter had listened with her mouth wide open.
when peter finished, she closed it with a snap and hopped over and felt of his head.
""are you sick, peter?"
she asked anxiously.
peter stared at her.
""sick!
me sick!
not a bit of it!"
he exclaimed.
""never felt better in my life, save that i am a little tired from my long run.
what a silly question!
do i look sick?"
""no-o," replied little mrs. peter slowly.
""no-o, you do n't look sick, but you talk as if there were something the matter with your head.
i think you must be just a little light-headed, peter, or else you have taken a nap somewhere and had a bad dream.
did i understand you to say that this dreadful creature has no legs, and yet that it chased you?"
""that's what i said!"
snapped peter a wee bit crossly, for he saw that mrs. peter did n't believe a word of his story.
""will you please tell me how any creature in the green forest or out of it, for that matter, can possibly chase any one unless it has legs or wings, and you did n't say anything about its having wings," demanded mrs. peter.
peter scratched his head in great perplexity.
suddenly he had a happy thought.
""mr. blacksnake runs fast enough, but he does n't have legs, does he?"
he asked in triumph.
little mrs. peter looked a bit discomfited.
""no-o," she admitted slowly, "he does n't have legs; but i never could understand how he runs without them."
""well, then," snapped peter, "if he can run without legs, why ca n't other creatures?
besides, this one did n't run exactly; it rolled.
now i've told you all i'm going to.
i need a long nap, after all i've been through, so do n't let any one disturb me."
""i wo n't," replied mrs. peter meekly.
""but, peter, if i were you, i would n't tell that story to any one else."
vi peter has to tell his story many times once you start a story you can not call it back; it travels on and on and on and ever on, alack!
that is the reason why you should always be sure that a story you repeat is a good story.
then you will be glad to have it travel on and on and on, and will never want to call it back.
but if you tell a story that is n't true or nice, the time is almost sure to come when you will want to call it back and can not.
you see stories are just like rivers, -- they run on and on forever.
little mrs. peter rabbit knew this, and that is why she advised peter not to tell any one else the strange story he had told her of the dreadful creature without legs or head or tail that had chased him in the green forest.
peter knew by that that she did n't believe a word of it, but he was too tired and sleepy to argue with her then, so he settled himself comfortably for a nice long nap.
when peter awoke, the first thing he thought of was the terrible creature he had seen in the green forest.
the more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed, and he did n't wonder that mrs. peter had advised him not to repeat it.
""i wo n't," said peter to himself.
""i wo n't repeat it to a soul.
no one will believe it.
the truth is, i can hardly believe it myself.
i'll just keep my tongue still."
but unfortunately for peter, one of the merry little breezes of old mother west wind had heard peter tell the story to mrs. peter, and it was such a wonderful and curious and unbelievable story that the merry little breeze straightway repeated it to everybody he met, and soon peter rabbit began to receive callers who wanted to hear the story all over again from peter himself.
so peter was obliged to repeat it ever so many times, and every time it sounded to him more foolish than before.
he had to tell it to jimmy skunk and to johnny chuck and to danny meadow mouse and to digger the badger and to sammy jay and to blacky the crow and to striped chipmunk and to happy jack squirrel and to bobby coon and to unc" billy possum and to old mr. toad.
now, strange to say, no one laughed at peter, queer as the story sounded.
you see, they all remembered how they had laughed at him and made fun of him when he told about the great footprints he had found deep in the green forest, and how later it had been proven that he really did see them, for they were made by buster bear who had come down from the great woods to live in the green forest.
then it had been peter's turn to laugh at them.
so now, impossible as this new story sounded, they did n't dare laugh at it.
""i never heard of such a creature," said jimmy skunk, "and i ca n't quite believe that there is such a one, but it is very clear to me that peter has seen something strange.
you know the old saying that he laughs best who laughs last, and i'm not going to give peter another chance to have the last laugh and say," i told you so.""
""that is very true," replied old mr. toad solemnly.
""probably peter has seen something out of the ordinary, and in his excitement he has exaggerated it.
the thing to do is to make sure whether or not there is a stranger in the green forest.
peter says that it came down the hill where prickly porky the porcupine lives.
some one ought to go ask him what he knows about it.
if there is such a terrible creature up there, he ought to have seen it.
why do n't you go up there and ask him, jimmy skunk?
you're not afraid of anybody or anything."
""i will," replied jimmy promptly, and off he started.
you see, he felt very much flattered by old mr. toad's remark, and he could n't very well refuse, for that would look as if he were afraid, after all.
vii jimmy skunk calls on prickly porky "a plague upon old mr. toad!"
grumbled jimmy, as he ambled up the lone little path through the green forest on his way to the hill where prickly porky lives.
""of course i'm not afraid, but just the same i do n't like meddling with things i do n't know anything about.
i'm not afraid of anybody i know of, because everybody has the greatest respect for me, but it might be different with a creature without legs or head or tail.
whoever heard of such a thing?
it gives me a queer feeling inside."
however, he kept right on, and as he reached the foot of the hill where prickly porky lives, he looked sharply in every direction and listened with all his might for strange sounds.
but there was nothing unusual to be seen.
the green forest looked just as it always did.
it was very still and quiet there save for the cheerful voice of redeye the vireo telling over and over how happy he was.
""that does n't sound as if there were any terrible stranger around here," muttered jimmy.
then he heard a queer, grunting sound, a very queer sound, that seemed to come from somewhere on the top of the hill.
jimmy grinned as he listened.
""that's prickly porky telling himself how good his dinner tastes," laughed jimmy.
""funny how some people do like to hear their own voices."
the contented sound of prickly porky's voice made jimmy feel very sure that there could be nothing very terrible about just then, anyway, and so he slowly ambled up the hill, for you know he never hurries.
it was an easy matter to find the tree in which prickly porky was at work stripping off bark and eating it, because he made so much noise.
""hello!"
said jimmy skunk.
prickly porky took no notice.
he was so busy eating, and making so much noise about it, that he did n't hear jimmy at all.
""hello!"
shouted jimmy a little louder.
""hello, there!
are you deaf?"
of course this was n't polite at all, but jimmy was feeling a little out of sorts because he had had to make this call.
this time prickly porky looked down.
""hello yourself, and see how you like it, jimmy skunk!"
he cried.
""come on up and have some of this nice bark with me."
then prickly porky laughed at his own joke, for he knew perfectly well that jimmy could n't climb, and that he would n't eat bark if he could.
jimmy made a face at him.
""thank you, i've just dined.
come down here where i can talk to you without straining my voice," he replied.
""wait until i get another bite," replied prickly porky, stripping off a long piece of bark.
then with this to chew on, he came half way down the tree and made himself comfortable on a big limb.
""now, what is it you've got on your mind?"
he demanded.
at once jimmy told him the queer story peter rabbit had told.
""i've been sent up here to find out if you have seen this legless, headless, tailess creature.
have you?"
he concluded.
prickly porky slowly shook his head.
""no," said he.
""i've been right here all the time, and i have n't seen any such creature."
""that's all i want to know," replied jimmy.
""peter rabbit's got something the matter with his eyes, and i'm going straight back to the old briar-patch to tell him so.
much obliged."
with that jimmy started back the way he had come, grumbling to himself.
viii prickly porky nearly chokes hardly was jimmy skunk beyond sight and hearing after having made his call than redeye the vireo, whose home is in a tree just at the foot of the hill where prickly porky lives, heard a very strange noise.
he was very busy, was redeye, telling all who would listen how happy he was and what a beautiful world this is.
redeye seems to think that this is his special mission in life, that he was put in the green forest for this one special purpose, -- to sing all day long, even in the hottest weather when other birds forget to sing, his little song of gladness and happiness.
it never seems to enter his head that he is making other people happy just by being happy himself and saying so.
at first he hardly noticed the strange noise, but when he stopped singing for a bit of a rest, he heard it very plainly, and it sounded so very queer that he flew up the hill towards the place from which it seemed to come, and there his bright eyes soon discovered prickly porky.
right away he saw that prickly porky was in some kind of trouble, and that it was he who was making the queer noise.
prickly porky was on the ground at the foot of a tree, and he was rolling over and kicking and clawing at his mouth, from which a little piece of bark was hanging.
it was such a strange performance that redeye simply stared for a minute.
then in a flash it came to him what it meant.
prickly porky was choking, and if something was n't done to help him, he might choke to death!
now there was nothing that redeye himself could do to help, for he was too small.
he must get help somewhere else, and he must do it quickly.
anxiously he looked this way and that way, but there was no one in sight.
then he remembered that unc" billy possum's hollow tree was not far away.
perhaps unc" billy could help.
he hoped that unc" billy was at home, and he wasted no time in finding out.
unc" billy was at home, and when he heard that his old friend prickly porky was in trouble, he hurried up the hill as fast as ever he could.
he saw right away what was the trouble.
""yo" keep still just a minute, brer porky!"
he commanded, for he did not dare go very near while prickly porky was rolling and kicking around so, for fear that he would get against some of the thousand little spears prickly porky carries hidden in his coat.
prickly porky did as he was told.
indeed, he was so weak from his long struggle that he was glad to.
unc" billy caught hold of the piece of bark hanging from prickly porky's mouth.
then he braced himself and pulled with all his might.
for a minute the piece of bark held.
then it gave way so suddenly that unc" billy fell over flat on his back.
unc" billy scrambled to his feet and looked reprovingly at prickly porky, who lay panting for breath, and with big tears rolling down his face.
-lsb- illustration: then he braced himself and pulled with all his might.
page 30.
-rsb- "ah cert "nly am surprised, brer porky; ah cert "nly am surprised that yo" should be so greedy that yo" choke yo "self," said unc" billy, shaking his head.
prickly porky grinned weakly and rather foolishly.
""it was n't greed, unc" billy.
it was n't greed at all," he replied.
""then what was it, may ah ask?"
demanded unc" billy severely.
""i thought of something funny right in the middle of my meal, and i laughed just as i started to swallow, and the piece of bark went down the wrong way," explained prickly porky.
and then, as if the mere thought of the thing that had made him laugh before was too much for him, he began to laugh again.
he laughed and laughed and laughed, until finally unc" billy quite lost patience.
""yo" cert "nly have lost your manners, brer porky!"
he snapped.
prickly porky wiped the tears from his eyes.
""come closer so that i can whisper, unc" billy," said he.
a little bit suspiciously unc" billy came near enough for prickly porky to whisper, and when he had finished, unc" billy was wiping tears of laughter from his own eyes.
ix jimmy skunk and unc" billy possum tell different stories the little people of the green meadows and the green forest did n't know what to believe.
first came peter rabbit with the strangest kind of a story about being chased by a terrible creature without legs, head, or tail.
he said that it had come down the hill where prickly porky the porcupine lives in the green forest.
jimmy skunk had been sent to call on prickly porky and ask him if he had seen any strange creature such as peter rabbit had told about.
prickly porky had said that he had n't seen any stranger in that part of the green forest, and jimmy had straightway returned to the green meadows and told all his friends there that peter rabbit must have had something the matter with his eyes or else was crazy, for prickly porky had n't been away from home and yet had seen nothing unusual.
at the same time unc" billy possum was going about in the green forest telling everybody whom he met that he had called on prickly porky, and that prickly porky had told him that peter rabbit undoubtedly had seen something strange.
of course jimmy skunk's story soon spread through the green forest, and unc" billy possum's story soon spread over the green meadows, and so nobody knew what to believe or think.
if jimmy skunk was right, why peter rabbit's queer story was n't to be believed at all.
if unc" billy was right, why peter's story was n't as crazy as it sounded.
of course all this aroused a great deal of talk and curiosity, and those who had the most courage began to make visits to the hill where prickly porky lives to see if they could see for themselves anything out of the ordinary.
but they always found that part of the green forest just as usual and always, if they saw prickly porky at all, he seemed to be fast asleep, and no one liked to wake him to ask questions.
little by little they began to think that jimmy skunk was right, and that peter rabbit's terrible creature existed only in peter's imagination.
about this time unc" billy told of having just such an experience as peter had.
it happened exactly as it did with peter, very early in the morning, when he was passing the foot of the hill where prickly porky lives.
""ah was just passing along, minding mah own business, when ah heard a noise up on the hill behind me," said unc" billy, "and when ah looked up, there was something coming straight down at me, and ah could n't see any legs or head or tail."
""what did you do, unc" billy?"
asked bobby coon.
""what did ah do?
ah did just what yo'alls would have done, -- ah done run!"
replied unc" billy, looking around the little circle of forest and meadow people, listening with round eyes and open mouths.
""yes, sah, ah done run, and ah did n't turn around until ah was safe in mah holler tree."
""pooh!"
sneered reddy fox, who had been listening.
""you're a coward.
i would n't have run!
i would have waited and found out what it was.
you and peter rabbit would run away from your own shadows."
""you do n't dare go there yourself at daybreak to-morrow!"
retorted unc" billy.
""i do too!"
declared reddy angrily, though he did n't have the least intention of going.
""all right.
ah'm going to be in a tree where ah can watch to-morrow mo "ning and see if yo" are as brave as yo" talk," declared unc" billy.
then reddy knew that he would have to go or else be called a coward.
""i'll be there," he snarled angrily, as he slunk away.
x unc" billy possum tells jimmy skunk a secret be sure before you drop a friend that you've done nothing to offend.
a friend is always worth keeping.
unc" billy possum says so, and he knows.
he ought to, for he has made a lot of them in the green forest and on the green meadows, in spite of the pranks he has cut up and the tricks he has played.
and when unc" billy makes a friend, he keeps him.
he says that it is easier and a lot better to keep a friend than to make a new one.
and this is the way he goes about it: whenever he finds that a friend is angry with him, he refuses to be angry himself.
instead, he goes to that friend, finds out what the trouble is, explains it all away, and then does something nice.
jimmy skunk and unc" billy had been friends from the time that unc" billy came up from ol' virginny to live in the green forest.
in fact, they had been partners in stealing eggs from the hen-house of farmer brown's boy.
so when jimmy skunk, who had made a special call on prickly porky to find out if he had seen the strange creature without head, tail, or legs, told everybody that prickly porky had seen nothing of such a creature, he was very much put out and quite offended to hear that unc" billy was telling how prickly porky had said that peter might really have some reason for his queer story.
it seemed to him that either prickly porky had told an untruth or that unc" billy was telling an untruth.
it made him very angry.
the afternoon of the day when unc" billy had dared reddy fox to go at sun-up the next morning to the hill where prickly porky lives he met jimmy skunk coming down the crooked little path.
jimmy scowled and was going to pass without so much as speaking.
unc" billy's shrewd little eyes twinkled, and he grinned as only unc" billy can grin.
""howdy, brer skunk," said he.
jimmy just frowned harder than ever and tried to pass.
""howdy, brer skunk," repeated unc" billy possum.
""yo" must have something on your mind."
jimmy skunk stopped.
""i have!"
he snapped.
""i want to know whether it is you or prickly porky who has been telling an untruth.
he told me that he had n't seen anything like what peter rabbit said chased him, and you've been telling around how he told you that peter may have had good grounds for that foolish story.
if peter saw that thing, prickly porky would know it, for he has n't been away from home this summer.
why would he tell me that he has n't seen it if he has?"
""don" be hasty, brer skunk.
don" be hasty," replied unc" billy soothingly.
""ah have n't said that brer porky told me that he had seen the thing that peter says chased him.
he told the truth when he told you that he had n't seen any stranger around his hill.
what he told me was that --" here unc" billy whispered.
jimmy skunk's face cleared.
""that's different," said he.
""of course it is," replied unc" billy.
""yo" see peter did see something strange, even if brer porky did n't.
ah have seen it mahself, and now ah invites yo" to be over at the foot of brer porky's hill at sun-up to-morrow mo "ning and see what happens when brer fox tries to show how brave he is.
only don" forget that it's a secret."
jimmy was chuckling by this time.
""i wo n't forget, and i'll be there," he promised.
""i'm glad to know that nobody has been telling untruths, and i beg your pardon, unc" billy, for thinking you might have been."
""don" mention it, brer skunk, don" mention it.
ah'll be looking fo" yo" to-morrow mo "ning," replied unc" billy, with a sly wink that made jimmy laugh aloud.
xi what happened to reddy fox reddy fox wished with all his might that he had kept his tongue still about not being afraid to meet the strange creature that had given peter rabbit such a fright.
when he had boasted that he would stop and find out all about it if he happened to meet it, he did n't have the least intention of doing anything of the kind.
he was just idly boasting and nothing more.
you see, reddy is one of the greatest boasters in the green forest or on the green meadows.
he likes to strut around and talk big.
but like most boasters, he is a coward at heart.
unc" billy possum knew this, and that is why he dared reddy to go the next morning to the foot of the hill where prickly porky the porcupine lives, and where peter rabbit had had his strange adventure, and where unc" billy himself claimed to have seen the same strange creature without head, tail, or legs which had so frightened peter.
unc" billy had said that he would be there himself up in a tree where he could see whether reddy really did come or not, and so there was nothing for reddy to do but to go and make good his foolish boast, if the strange creature should appear.
you see, a number of little people had heard him boast and had heard unc" billy dare him, and he knew that if he did n't make good, he would never hear the end of it and would be called a coward by everybody.
reddy did n't sleep at all well that afternoon, and when at dusk he started to hunt for his supper, he found that he had lost his appetite.
instead of hunting, he spent most of the night in trying to think of some good reason for not appearing at prickly porky's hill at daybreak.
but think as he would, he could n't think of a single excuse that would sound reasonable.
""if only bowser the hound was n't chained up at night, i would get him to chase me, and then i would have the very best kind of an excuse," thought he.
but he knew that bowser was chained.
nevertheless he did go up to farmer brown's dooryard to make sure.
it was just as he expected, -- bowser was chained.
reddy sneaked away without even a look at farmer brown's hen-house.
he did n't see that the door had carelessly been left open, and even if he had, it would have made no difference.
he had n't a bit of appetite.
no, sir.
reddy fox would n't have eaten the fattest chicken there if it had been right before him.
all he could think of was that queer story told by peter rabbit and unc" billy possum, and the scrape he had got himself into by his foolish boasting.
he just wandered about restlessly, waiting for daybreak and hoping that something would turn up to prevent him from going to prickly porky's hill.
he did n't dare to tell old granny fox about it.
he knew just what she would say.
it seemed as if he could hear her sharp voice and the very words: "serves you right for boasting about something you do n't know anything about.
how many times have i told you that no good comes of boasting?
a wise fox never goes near strange things until he has found out all about them.
that is the only way to keep out of trouble and live to a ripe old age.
wisdom is nothing but knowledge, and a wise fox always knows what he is doing."
so reddy wandered about all the long night.
it seemed as if it never would pass, and yet he wished it would last forever.
the more he thought about it, the more afraid he grew.
at last he saw the first beams from jolly, round, red mr. sun creeping through the green forest.
the time had come, and he must choose between making his boast good or being called a coward by everybody.
very, very slowly, reddy fox began to walk towards the hill where prickly porky lives.
xii what reddy fox saw and did who guards his tongue as he would keep a treasure rich and rare, will keep himself from trouble free, and dodge both fear and care.
the trouble with a great many people is that they remember this too late.
reddy fox is one of these.
reddy is smart and sly and clever in some ways, but he has n't learned yet to guard his tongue, and half the trouble he gets into is because of that unruly member.
you see it is a boastful tongue and an untruthful tongue and that is the worst combination for making trouble that i know of.
it has landed him in all kinds of scrapes in the past, and here he was in another, all on account of that tongue.
jolly, round, red mr. sun had kicked his rosy blankets off and was smiling down on the great world as he began his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky.
the jolly little sunbeams were already dancing through the green forest, chasing out the black shadows, and reddy knew that it was high time for him to be over by the hill where prickly porky the porcupine lives.
with lagging steps he sneaked along from tree to tree, peering out from behind each anxiously, afraid to go on, and still more afraid not to, for fear that he would be called a coward.
he had almost reached the foot of the hill without seeing anything out of the usual and without any signs of unc" billy possum.
he was just beginning to hope that unc" billy was n't there, as he had said he would be, when a voice right over his head said: "ah cert "nly am glad to see that yo" are as good as your word, brer fox, fo" we need some one brave like yo" to find out what this strange creature is that has been chasing we-uns."
reddy looked up with a sickly grin.
there sat unc" billy possum in a pine tree right over his head.
he knew now that there was no backing out; he had got to go on.
he tried to swagger and look very bold and brave.
""i told you i'm not afraid.
if there's anything queer around here, i'll find out what it is," he once more boasted, but unc" billy noticed that his voice sounded just a wee bit trembly.
""keep right on to the foot of the hill; that's where ah saw it yesterday.
my, ah'm glad that we've got some one so truly brave!"
replied unc" billy.
reddy looked at him sharply, but there was n't a trace of a smile on unc" billy's face, and reddy could n't tell whether unc" billy was making fun of him or not.
so, there being nothing else to do, he went on.
he reached the foot of the hill without seeing or hearing a thing out of the usual.
the green forest seemed just as it always had seemed.
redeye the vireo was pouring out his little song of gladness, quite as if everything was just as it should be.
reddy's courage began to come back.
nothing had happened, and nothing was going to happen.
of course not!
it was all some of peter rabbit's foolishness.
some day he would catch peter rabbit and put an end to such silly tales.
""ah!
what was that?"
reddy's sharp ears had caught a sound up near the top of the hill.
he stopped short and looked up.
for just a little wee minute reddy could n't believe that his eyes saw right.
coming down the hill straight towards him was the strangest thing he ever had seen.
he could n't see any legs.
he could n't see any head.
he could n't see any tail.
it was round like a ball, but it was the strangest looking ball that ever was.
it was covered with old leaves.
reddy would n't have believed that it was alive but for the noises it was making.
for just a wee minute he stared, and then, what do you think he did?
why, he gave a frightened yelp, put his tail between his legs, and ran just as fast as he could make his legs go.
yes, sir, that's just what reddy fox did.
-lsb- illustration: reddy would n't have believed that it was alive.
page 69.
-rsb- xiii reddy fox is very miserable when reddy fox put his tail between his legs and started away from that terrible creature coming down the hill where prickly porky lives, he thought of nothing but of getting as far away as he could in the shortest time that he could, and so, with a little frightened yelp with every jump, he ran as he seldom had run before.
he forgot all about unc" billy possum watching from the safety of a big pine-tree.
he did n't see jimmy skunk poking his head out from behind an old stump and laughing fit to kill himself.
when he reached the edge of the green forest, he did n't even see peter rabbit jump out of his path and dodge into a hollow log.
when reddy was safely past, peter came out.
he sat up very straight, with his ears pointing right up to the sky and his eyes wide open with surprise as he stared after reddy.
""why!
why, my gracious, i do believe reddy has had a fright!"
exclaimed peter.
then, being peter, he right away began to wonder what could have frightened reddy so, and in a minute he thought of the strange creature which had frightened him a few days before.
""i do believe that was it!"
he cried.
""i do believe it was.
reddy is coming from the direction of prickly porky's, and that was where i got my fright.
i -- i --" peter hesitated.
the truth is he was wondering if he dared go up there and see if that strange creature without head, tail, or legs really was around again.
he knew it would be a foolish thing to do, for he might walk right into danger.
he knew that little mrs. peter was waiting for him over in the dear old briar-patch and that she would worry, for he ought to be there this very blessed minute.
but he was very curious to know what had frightened reddy so, and his curiosity, which has led him into so many scrapes, grew greater with every passing minute.
""it wo n't do any harm to go part way up there," thought peter.
""perhaps i will find out something without going way up there."
so, instead of starting for home as he should have done, he turned back through the green forest and, stopping every few hops to look and listen, made his way clear to the foot of the hill where prickly porky lives.
there he hid under a little hemlock-tree and looked in every direction for the strange creature which had frightened him so the last time he was there.
but nobody was to be seen but prickly porky, jimmy skunk, and unc" billy possum rolling around in the leaves at the top of the hill and laughing fit to kill themselves.
""there's no danger here; that is sure," thought peter shrewdly, "and i believe those fellows have been up to some trick."
with that he boldly hopped up the hill and joined them.
""what's the joke?"
he demanded.
""did you meet reddy fox?"
asked jimmy skunk, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.
""did i meet him?
why, he almost ran into me and did n't see me at all.
i guess he's running yet.
now, what's the joke?"
peter demanded.
when the others could stop laughing long enough, they gathered around peter and told him something that sent peter off into such a fit of laughter that it made his sides ache, "that's a good one on reddy, and it was just as good a one on me," he declared.
""now who else can we scare?"
all of which shows that there was something very like mischief being planned on the hill where prickly porky the porcupine lives.
xiv reddy fox tries to keep out of sight never in all his life was reddy fox more uncomfortable in his mind.
he knew that by this time everybody in the green forest, on the green meadows, around the smiling pool, and along the laughing brook, knew how he had put his tail between his legs and run with all his might at the first glimpse of the strange creature which had rolled down the hill of prickly porky.
and he was right; everybody did know it, and everybody was laughing about it.
unc" billy possum, jimmy skunk, prickly porky, and peter rabbit had seen him run, and you may be sure they told everybody they met about it, and news like that travels very fast.
it would n't have been so bad if he had n't boasted beforehand that if he met the strange creature he would wait for it and find out what it was.
as it was, he had run just as peter rabbit had run when he saw it, and he had been just as much frightened as peter had.
now, as he sneaked along trying to find something to eat, for he was hungry, he did his very best to keep out of sight.
usually he is very proud of his handsome red coat, but now he wished that he could get rid of it.
it is very hard to keep out of sight when you have bright colored clothes.
presently sammy jay's sharp eyes spied him as he tried to crawl up on the young family of mrs. grouse.
at once sammy flew over there screaming at the top of his lungs: "reddy fox is very brave when there's no danger near; but where there is, alas, alack!
he runs away in fear."
reddy looked up at sammy and snarled.
it was of no use at all now to try to surprise and catch any of the family of mrs. grouse, so he turned around and hurried away, trying to escape from sammy's sharp eyes.
he had gone only a little way when a sharp voice called: "coward!
coward!
coward!"
it was chatterer the red squirrel.
no sooner had he got out out of chatterer's sight than he heard another voice.
it was saying over and over: "dee, dee, dee!
oh, me, me!
some folks can talk so very brave and then such cowards be."
it was tommy tit the chickadee.
reddy could n't think of a thing to say in reply, and so he hurried on, trying to find a place where he would be left in peace.
but nowhere that he could go was he free from those taunting voices.
not even when he had crawled into his house was he free from them, for buzzing around his doorway was bumble bee and bumble was humming: "bumble, grumble, rumble, hum!
reddy surely can run some."
late that afternoon old granny fox called him out, and it was clear to see that granny was very much put out about something.
""what is this i hear everywhere i go about you being a coward?"
she demanded sharply, as soon as he put his head out of the doorway.
reddy hung his head, and in a very shamefaced way he told her about the terrible fright he had had and all about the strange creature without legs, head, or tail that had rolled down the hill where prickly porky lives.
""serves you right for boasting!"
snapped granny.
""how many times have i told you that no good comes of boasting?
probably somebody has played a trick on you.
i've lived a good many years, and i never before heard of such a creature.
if there were one, i'd have seen it before now.
you go back into the house and stay there.
you are a disgrace to the fox family.
i am going to have a look about and find out what is going on.
if this is some trick, they'll find that old granny fox is n't so easily fooled."
xv old granny fox investigates in-vest-i-gate is a great big word, but its meaning is very simple.
to in-vest-i-gate is to look into and try to find out all about something.
that is what old granny fox started to do after reddy had told her about the terrible fright he had had at the hill where prickly porky lives.
now old granny fox is very sly and smart and clever, as you all know.
compared with her, reddy fox is almost stupid.
he may be as sly and smart and clever some day, but he has got a lot to learn before then.
now if it had been reddy who was going to investigate, he would have gone straight over to prickly porky's hill and looked around and asked sly questions, and everybody whom he met would have known that he was trying to find out something.
but old granny fox did nothing of the kind.
oh, my, no!
she went about hunting her dinner just as usual and did n't appear to be paying the least attention to what was going on about her.
with her nose to the ground she ran this way and ran that way as if hunting for a trail.
she peered into old hollow logs and looked under little brush piles, and so, in course of time, she came to the hill where prickly porky lives.
now reddy had told granny that the terrible creature that had so frightened him had rolled down the hill at him, for he was at the bottom.
granny had heard that the same thing had happened to peter rabbit and to unc" billy possum.
so instead of coming to the hill along the hollow at the bottom, she came to it from the other way.
""if there is anything there, i'll be behind it instead of in front of it," she thought shrewdly.
as she drew near where prickly porky lives, she kept eyes and ears wide open, all the time pretending to pay attention to nothing but the hunt for her dinner.
no one would ever have guessed that she was thinking of anything else.
she ran this way and that way all over the hill, but nothing out of the usual did she see or hear excepting one thing: she did find some queer marks down the hill as if something might have rolled there.
she followed these down to the bottom, but there they disappeared.
as she was trotting home along the lone little path through the green forest, she met unc" billy possum.
no, she did n't exactly meet him, because he saw her before she saw him, and he promptly climbed a tree.
""ah suppose yo'all heard of the terrible creature that scared reddy almost out of his wits early this mo "ning," said unc" billy.
granny stopped and looked up.
""it does n't take much to scare the young and innocent, mr. possum," she replied.
""i do n't believe all i hear.
i've just been hunting all over the hill where prickly porky lives, and i could n't find so much as a wood mouse for dinner.
do you believe such a foolish tale, mr. possum?"
unc" billy coughed behind one hand.
""yes, mrs. fox, ah confess ah done have to believe it," he replied.
""yo" see, ah done see that thing mah own self, and ah just naturally has to believe mah own eyes."
""huh!
i'd like to see it!
maybe i'd believe it then!"
snapped granny fox.
""the only time to see it is just at sun-up," replied unc" billy.
""anybody that comes along through that hollow at the foot of brer porky's hill at sun-up is likely never to forget it.
ah would n't do it again.
no, sah, once is enough fo" your unc" billy."
""huh!"
snorted granny and trotted on.
unc" billy watched her out of sight and grinned broadly.
""as sho" as brer sun gets up to-morrow mo "ning, ol' granny fox will be there," he chuckled.
""ah must get word to brer porky and brer skunk and brer rabbit."
xvi old granny fox loses her dignity unc" billy possum had passed the word along to jimmy skunk, peter rabbit, and prickly porky that old granny fox would be on hand at sun-up to see for herself the strange creature which had frightened reddy fox at the foot of the hill where prickly porky lives.
how did unc" billy know?
well, he just guessed.
he is quite as shrewd and clever as granny fox herself, and when he told her that the only time the strange creature everybody was talking about was seen was at sun-up, he guessed by the very way she sniffed and pretended not to believe it at all that she would visit prickly porky's hill the next morning.
""the ol' lady suspects that there is some trick, and we-uns have got to be very careful," warned unc" billy, as he and his three friends put their heads together in the early evening.
""she is done bound to come snooping around before sun-up," he continued, "and we-uns must be out of sight, all excepting brer porky.
she'll come just the way she did this afternoon, -- from back of the hill instead of along the holler."
unc" billy was quite right.
old granny fox felt very sure that some one was playing tricks, so she did n't wait until jolly, round, red mr. sun was out of bed.
she was at the top of the hill where prickly porky lives a full hour before sun-up, and there she sat down to wait.
she could n't see or hear anything in the least suspicious.
you see, unc" billy possum was quite out of sight, as he sat in the thickest part of a hemlock-tree, and peter rabbit was sitting perfectly still in a hollow log, and jimmy skunk was n't showing so much as the tip of his nose, as he lay just inside the doorway of an old house under the roots of a big stump.
only prickly porky was to be seen, and he seemed to be asleep in his favorite tree.
everything seemed to be just as old granny fox had seen it a hundred times before.
at last the jolly little sunbeams began to dance through the green forest, chasing out the black shadows.
redeye the vireo awoke and at once began to sing, as is his way, not even waiting to get a mouthful of breakfast.
prickly porky yawned and grunted.
then he climbed down from the tree he had been sitting in, walked slowly over to another, started to climb it, changed his mind, and began to poke around in the dead leaves.
old granny fox arose and slowly stretched.
she glanced at prickly porky contemptuously.
she had seen him act in this stupid, uncertain way dozens of times before.
then slowly, watching out sharply on both sides of her, without appearing to do so, she walked down the hill to the hollow at the foot.
now old granny fox can be very dignified when she wants to be, and she was now.
she did n't hurry the least little bit.
she carried her big, plumey tail just so.
and she did n't once look behind her, for she felt sure that there was nothing out of the way there, and to have done so would have been quite undignified.
she had reached the bottom of the hill and was walking along the hollow, smiling to herself to think how easily some people are frightened, when her sharp ears caught a sound on the hill behind her.
she turned like a flash and then -- well, for a minute old granny fox was too surprised to do anything but stare.
there, rolling down the hill straight towards her, was the very thing reddy had told her about.
at first granny decided to stay right where she was and find out what this thing was, but the nearer it got, the stranger and more terrible it seemed.
it was just a great ball all covered with dried leaves, and yet somehow granny felt sure that it was alive, although she could see no head or tail or legs.
the nearer it got, the stranger and more terrible it seemed.
then granny forgot her dignity.
yes, sir, she forgot her dignity.
in fact, she quite lost it altogether.
granny fox ran just as reddy had run!
xvii granny fox catches peter rabbit now listen to this little tale that deals somewhat with folly, and shows how sometimes one may be a little bit too jolly.
no sooner was old granny fox out of sight, running as if she thought that every jump might be her last, than jimmy skunk came out from the hole under a big stump where he had been hiding, peter rabbit came out of the hollow log from which he had been peeping, and unc" billy possum dropped down from the hemlock-tree in which he had so carefully kept out of sight, and all three began to dance around prickly porky, laughing as if they were trying to split their sides.
""ho, ho, ho!"
shouted jimmy skunk.
""i wonder what reddy fox would have said if he could have seen old granny go down that hollow!"
""ha, ha, ha!"
shouted peter rabbit.
""did you see how her eyes popped out?"
""hee, hee, hee!"
squeaked unc" billy possum in his funny cracked voice.
""ah reckons she am bound to have sore feet if she keeps on running the way she started."
prickly porky did n't say a word.
he just smiled in a quiet sort of way as he slowly climbed up to the top of the hill.
now old granny fox had been badly frightened.
who would n't have been at seeing a strange creature without head, tail, or legs rolling down hill straight towards them?
but granny was too old and wise to run very far without cause.
she was hardly out of sight of the four little scamps who had been watching her when she stopped to see if that strange creature were following her.
it did n't take her long to decide that it was n't.
then she did some quick thinking.
""i said beforehand that there was some trick, and now i'm sure of it," she muttered.
""i have an idea that that good-for-nothing old billy possum knows something about it, and i'm just going back to find out."
she wasted no time thinking about it, but began to steal back the way she had come.
now, no one is lighter of foot than old granny fox, and no one knows better how to keep out of sight.
from tree to tree she crawled, sometimes flat on her stomach, until at last she reached the foot of the hill where she had just had such a fright.
there was nothing to be seen there, but up at the top of the hill she saw something that made a fierce, angry gleam come into her yellow eyes.
then she smiled grimly.
""the last laugh always is the best laugh, and this time i guess it is going to be mine," she said to herself.
very slowly and carefully, so as not to so much as rustle a leaf, she began to crawl around so as to come up on the back side of the hill.
now what old granny fox had seen was peter rabbit and jimmy skunk and unc" billy possum rolling over and over in the dried leaves, turning somersaults, and shouting and laughing, while prickly porky sat looking on and smiling.
granny knew well enough what was tickling them so, and she knew too that they did n't dream but that she was still running away in fright.
at last they were so tired with their good time that they just had to stop for a rest.
""oh, dear, i'm all out of breath," panted peter, as he threw himself flat on the ground.
""that was the funniest thing i ever saw.
i wonder who we --" peter did n't finish.
no, sir, peter did n't finish.
instead, he gave a frightened shriek as something red flashed out from under a low-growing hemlock-tree close behind him, and two black paws pinned him down, and sharp teeth caught him by the back of the neck.
old granny fox had caught peter rabbit at last!
xviii a friend in need is a friend indeed the friendship which is truest, best, is that which meets the trouble test.
no one really knows who his best friends are until he gets in trouble.
when everything is lovely and there is no sign of trouble anywhere, one may have ever and ever so many friends.
at least, it may seem so.
but let trouble come, and all too often these seeming friends disappear as if by magic, until only a few, sometimes a very few, are left.
these are the real friends, the true friends, and they are worth more than all the others put together.
remember that if you are a true friend to any one, you will stand by him and help him, no matter what happens.
sometimes it is almost worth while getting into trouble just to find out who your real friends are.
peter rabbit found out who some of his truest friends are when, because of his own carelessness, old granny fox caught him.
peter has been in many tight places and had many terrible frights in his life, but never did he feel quite so helpless and hopeless as when he felt the black paws of old granny fox pinning him down and granny's sharp teeth in the loose skin on the back of his neck.
all he could do was to kick with all his might, and kicking was quite useless, for granny took great care to keep out of the way of those stout hind legs of his.
many, many times granny fox had tried to catch peter, and always before peter had been too smart for her, and had just made fun of her and laughed at her.
now it was her turn to laugh, all because he had been careless and foolish.
you see, peter had been so sure that granny had had such a fright when she ran away from the strange creature that rolled down prickly porky's hill at her that she would n't think of coming back, and so he had just given himself up to enjoying granny's fright.
at peter's scream of fright, unc" billy possum scampered for the nearest tree, and jimmy skunk dodged behind a big stump.
you see, it was so sudden that they really did n't know what had happened.
but prickly porky, whom some people call stupid, made no move to run away.
he happened to be looking at peter when granny caught him, and so he knew just what it meant.
a spark of anger flashed in his usually dull eyes and for once in his life prickly porky moved quickly.
the thousand little spears hidden in his coat suddenly stood on end and prickly porky made a fierce little rush forward.
-lsb- illustration: "drop him!"
he grunted.
page 89.
-rsb- "drop him!"
he grunted.
granny fox just snarled and backed away, dragging peter with her and keeping him between prickly porky and herself.
by this time jimmy skunk had recovered himself.
you know he is not afraid of anybody or anything.
he sprang out from behind the stump, looking a wee bit shame-faced, and started for old granny fox.
""you let peter rabbit go!"
he commanded in a very threatening way.
now the reason jimmy skunk is afraid of nobody is because he carries with him a little bag of very strong perfume which makes everybody sick but himself.
granny fox knows all about this.
for just a minute she hesitated.
then she thought that if jimmy used it, it would be as bad for peter as for her, and she did n't believe jimmy would use it.
so she kept on backing away, dragging peter with her.
then unc" billy possum took a hand, and his was the bravest deed of all, for he knew that granny was more than a match for him in a fight.
he slipped down from the tree where he had sought safety, crept around behind granny, and bit her sharply on one heel.
granny let go of peter to turn and snap at unc" billy.
this was peter's chance.
he slipped out from under granny's paws and in a flash was behind prickly porky.
xix jimmy skunk takes word to mrs. peter when old granny fox found prickly porky, with his thousand little spears all pointing at her, standing between her and peter rabbit, she was the angriest old fox ever seen.
she did n't dare touch prickly porky, for she knew well enough what it would mean to get one of those sharp, barbed little spears in her skin.
to think that she actually had caught peter rabbit and then lost him was too provoking!
it was more than her temper, never of the best, could stand.
in her anger she dug up the leaves and earth with her hind feet, and all the time her tongue fairly flew as she called prickly porky, jimmy skunk, and unc" billy possum everything bad she could think of.
her yellow eyes snapped so that it seemed almost as if sparks of fire flew from them.
it made peter shiver just to look at her.
unc" billy possum, who, by slipping up behind her and biting one of her heels, had made her let go of peter, grinned down at her from a safe place in a tree.
jimmy skunk stood grinning at her in the most provoking manner, and she could n't do a thing about it, because she had no desire to have jimmy use his little bag of perfume.
so she talked herself out and then with many parting threats of what she would do, she started for home.
unc" billy noticed that she limped a little with the foot he had nipped so hard, and he could n't help feeling just a little bit sorry for her.
when she had gone, the others turned to peter rabbit to see how badly he had been hurt.
they looked him all over and found that he was n't much the worse for his rough experience.
he was rather stiff and lame, and the back of his neck was very sore where granny fox had seized him, but he would be quite himself in a day or two.
""i must get home now," said he in a rather faint voice.
""mrs. peter will be sure that something has happened to me and will be worried almost to death."
""no, you do n't!"
declared jimmy skunk.
""you are going to stay right here where we can take care of you.
it would n't be safe for you to try to go to the old briar-patch now, because if you should meet old man coyote or reddy fox or whitetail the marshhawk, you would not be able to run fast enough to get away.
i will go down and tell mrs. peter, and you will make yourself comfortable in the old house behind that stump where i was hiding."
peter tried to insist on going home, but the others would n't hear of it, and jimmy skunk settled the matter by starting for the dear old briar-patch.
he found little mrs. peter anxiously looking towards the green forest for some sign of peter.
""oh!"
she cried, "you have come to bring me bad news.
do tell me quickly what has happened to peter!"
""nothing much has happened to peter," replied jimmy promptly.
then in the drollest way he told all about the fright of granny fox when she first saw the terrible creature rolling down the hill and all that happened after, but he took great care to make light of peter's escape, and explained that he was just going to rest up there on prickly porky's hill for that day and would be home the next night.
but little mrs. peter was n't wholly satisfied.
""i've begged him and begged him to keep away from the green forest," said she, "but now if he is hurt so that he ca n't come home, he needs me, and i'm going straight up there myself!"
nothing that jimmy could say had the least effect, and so at last he agreed to take her to peter.
and so, hopping behind jimmy skunk, timid little mrs. peter rabbit actually went into the green forest of which she was so much afraid, which shows how brave love can be sometimes.
xx a plot to frighten old man coyote mischief leads to mischief, for it is almost sure to never, never be content without a little more.
now you would think that after peter rabbit's very, very, narrow escape from the clutches of old granny fox that jimmy skunk, unc" billy possum, peter rabbit, and prickly porky would have been satisfied with the pranks they already had played.
no, sir, they were not!
you see, when danger is over, it is quickly forgotten.
no sooner had peter been made comfortable in the old house behind the big stump on the hill where prickly porky lives than the four scamps began to wonder who else they could scare with the terrible creature without head, legs, or tail which had so frightened reddy and old granny fox.
""there is old man coyote; he is forever frightening those smaller and weaker than himself.
i'd just love to see him run," said peter rabbit.
""the very one!"
cried jimmy skunk.
""i wonder if he would be afraid.
you know he is even smarter than granny fox, and though she was frightened at first, she soon got over it.
how do you suppose we can get him over here?"
""we-uns will take brer jay into our secret.
brer jay will tell brer coyote that brer rabbit is up here on brer porky's hill, hurt so that he ca n't get home," said unc" billy possum.
""that's all brer jay need to say.
brer coyote is gwine to come up here hot foot with his tongue hanging out fo" that dinner he's sho" is waiting fo" him here."
""you wo n't do anything of the kind!"
spoke up little mrs. peter, who, you know, had bravely left the dear old briar-patch and come up here in the green forest to take care of peter.
""peter has had trouble enough already, and i'm not going to let him have any more, so there!"
""peter is n't going to get into any trouble," spoke up jimmy skunk.
""peter and you are going to be just as safe as if you were over in the old briar-patch, for you will be in that old house where nothing can harm you.
now, please, mrs. peter, do n't be foolish.
you do n't like old man coyote, do you?
you'd like to see him get a great scare to make up for the scares he has given peter and you, would n't you?"
little mrs. peter was forced to admit that she would, and after a little more teasing she finally agreed to let them try their plan for giving old man coyote a scare.
sammy jay happened along just as jimmy skunk was starting out to look for him, and when he was told what was wanted of him, he agreed to do his part.
you know sammy is always ready for any mischief.
just as he started to look for old man coyote, unc" billy possum made another suggestion.
""we-uns have had a lot of fun with reddy and granny fox," said he, "and now it seems to me that it is no more than fair to invite them over to see old man coyote and what he will do when he first sees the terrible creature that has frightened them so.
granny knows now that there is nothing to be afraid of, and perhaps she will forget her anger if she has a chance to see old man coyote run away.
yo" know she is n't wasting any love on him.
what do yo" alls say?"
peter and mrs. peter said "no!"
right away, but jimmy skunk and prickly porky thought it a good idea, and of course sammy jay was willing.
after a little, when it was once more pointed out to them how they would be perfectly safe in the old house behind the big stump, peter and mrs. peter agreed, and sammy started off on his errand.
xxi sammy jay delivers his message sammy jay has been the bearer of so many messages that no one knows better than he how to deliver one.
he knows when to be polite, and no one can be more polite than he.
first he went over to the home of reddy and granny fox and invited them to come over to the hill where prickly porky lives and see the terrible creature which had frightened them so give old man coyote a scare.
both reddy and granny promptly said they would do nothing of the kind, that probably sammy was engaged in some kind of mischief, and that anyway they knew that there was no such creature without head, legs, or tail, and though they had been fooled once, they did n't propose to be fooled again.
""all right," replied sammy, quite as if it made no difference to him.
""you admit that smart as you are you were fooled, and we thought you might like to see the same thing happen to old man coyote."
with this he flew on his way to the green meadows to look for old man coyote, and as he flew he chuckled to himself.
""they'll be there," he muttered.
""i know them well enough to know that nothing would keep them away when there is a chance to see some one else frightened, especially old man coyote.
they'll try to keep out of sight, but they'll be there."
sammy found old man coyote taking a sun-bath.
""good morning, mr. coyote.
i hope you are feeling well," said sammy in his politest manner.
""fairly, fairly, thank you," replied old man coyote, all the time watching sammy sharply out of the corners of his shrewd eyes.
""what's the news in the green forest?"
""there is n't any, that is, none to amount to anything," declared sammy.
""i never did see such a dull summer.
is there any news down here on the green meadows?
i hear danny meadow mouse has found his lost baby."
""so i hear," replied old man coyote.
""i tried to find it for him.
you know i believe in being neighborly."
sammy grinned, for as he said this, old man coyote had winked one eye ever so little, and sammy knew very well that if he had found that lost baby, danny meadow mouse would never have seen him again.
""by the way," said sammy in the most matter-of-fact tone, "as i was coming through the green forest, i saw peter rabbit over on the hill where prickly porky lives, and peter seems to have been in some kind of trouble.
he was so lame that he said he did n't dare try to go home to the old briar-patch for fear that he might meet some one looking for a rabbit dinner, and he knew that, feeling as he did, he would n't be able to save himself.
peter is going to come to a bad end some day if he does n't watch out."
""that depends on what you call a bad end," replied old man coyote with a sly grin.
""it might be bad for peter and at the same time be very good for some one else."
sammy laughed right out.
""that's one way of looking at it," said he.
""well, i should hate to have anything happen to peter, because i have lots of fun quarreling with him and should miss him dreadfully.
i think i'll go up to the old orchard and see what is going on there."
off flew sammy in the direction of the old orchard, and once more he chuckled as he flew.
he had seen old man coyote's ears prick up ever so little when he had mentioned that peter was over in the green forest so lame that he did n't dare go home.
""old man coyote will start for the green forest as soon as i am out of sight," thought sammy.
and that is just what old man coyote did.
xxii old man coyote loses his appetite hardly was sammy jay out of sight, flying towards the old orchard, before old man coyote started for the green forest.
he is very sharp, is old man coyote, so sharp that it is not very often that he is fooled.
if sammy jay had gone to him and told him what a splendid chance he would have to catch peter rabbit if he hurried up to the green forest right away, old man coyote would have suspected a trick of some kind.
sammy had been clever enough to know this.
so he had just mentioned in the most matter-of-fact way that he had seen peter over on prickly porky's hill and that peter appeared to have been in trouble, so that he was too lame to go to his home in the dear old briar-patch.
there was n't even a hint that old man coyote should go over there.
this was what made him sure that the news about peter was probably true.
now as soon as sammy was sure that old man coyote could n't see him, he headed straight for the green forest and the hill where prickly porky, jimmy skunk, unc" billy possum, and peter and mrs. peter rabbit were waiting.
as he flew, he saw reddy fox and old granny fox stretched flat behind an old log some distance away, but where they could see all that might happen.
""i knew they would be on hand," he chuckled.
when he reached the others, he reported that he had delivered the message to old man coyote, and that he was very sure, in fact he was positive, that old man coyote was already on his way there in the hope that he would be able to catch peter rabbit.
it was decided that everybody but peter should get out of sight at once.
so unc" billy possum climbed a tree.
jimmy skunk crawled into a hollow log.
sammy jay hid in the thickest part of a hemlock tree.
prickly porky got behind a big stump right at the top of the hill.
little mrs. peter, with her heart going pit-a-pat, crept into the old house between the roots of this same old stump, and only peter was to be seen when at last old man coyote came tiptoeing along the hollow at the foot of the hill, as noiseless as a gray shadow.
he saw peter almost as soon as peter saw him, and the instant he saw him, he stopped as still as if he were made of stone.
peter took a couple of steps, and it was very plain to see that he was lame, just as sammy jay had said.
""that good-for-nothing jay told the truth for once," thought old man coyote, with a hungry gleam in his eyes.
whenever old man coyote thought that peter was not looking his way, he would crawl on his stomach from one tree to another, always getting a little nearer to peter.
he would lie perfectly still when peter seemed to be looking towards him.
now of course peter knew just what was going on, and he took the greatest care not to get more than a couple of jumps away from the old house under the big stump, where mrs. peter was hiding and wishing with all her might that she and peter were back in the dear old briar-patch.
it was very still in the green forest save for the song of happiness of redeye the vireo who, if he knew what was going on, made no sign.
my, but it was exciting to those who were watching!
old man coyote had crept half-way up the hill, and peter was wondering how much nearer he could let him get with safety, when a sudden grunting broke out right behind him.
peter knew what it meant and jumped to one side.
then down the hill, rolling straight towards old man coyote, started the strange, headless, tailess, legless creature that had so frightened reddy and granny fox.
old man coyote took one good look, hesitated, looked again, and then turned tail and started for the green meadows as fast as his long legs would take him.
it was plain to see that he was afraid, very much afraid.
quite suddenly he had lost his appetite.
xxiii buster bear gives it all away it was very clear that old man coyote was n't thinking about his stomach just then, but about his legs and how fast they could go.
he had been half-way up the hill when he first saw the terrible creature without head, tail, or legs rolling down straight at him.
he stopped only long enough for one good look and then he started for the bottom of the hill as fast as he could make his legs go.
now, it is a very bad plan to run fast down-hill.
yes, sir, it is a very bad plan.
you see, once you are started, it is not the easiest thing in the world to stop.
and then again, you are quite likely to stub your toes.
this is what old man coyote did.
he stubbed his toes and turned a complete somersault.
he looked so funny that the little scamps watching him had all they could do to keep from shouting right out.
old granny fox and reddy fox, looking on from a safe distance, did laugh.
you know they had not been friendly with old man coyote since he came to live on the green meadows, and as they had themselves had a terrible fright when they first saw the strange creature, they rejoiced in seeing him frightened.
but old man coyote did n't stop for a little thing like a tumble.
oh, my, no!
he just rolled over on to his feet and was off again, harder than before.
now there are very few people who can see behind them without turning their heads as peter rabbit can, and old man coyote is not one of them.
trying to watch behind him, he did n't see where he was going, and the first thing he knew he ran bump into -- guess who!
why, buster bear, to be sure.
where buster had come from nobody knew, but there he was, as big as life.
when old man coyote ran into him, he growled a deep, provoked growl and whirled around with one big paw raised to cuff whoever had so nearly upset him.
old man coyote, more frightened than ever, yelped and ran harder than before, so that by the time buster bear saw who it was who had run into him, he was safely out of reach and still running.
then it was that buster bear first saw, rolling down the hill, the strange creature which had so frightened old man coyote.
unc" billy possum, jimmy skunk, sammy jay, peter rabbit and mrs. peter, watching from safe hiding places, wondered if buster would run too.
if he did, it would be almost too good to be true.
but he did n't.
he looked first at the strange creature rolling down the hill, then at old man coyote running as hard as ever he could, and his shrewd little eyes began to twinkle.
then he began to laugh.
""ha, ha, ha!
ho, ho, ho!
ha, ha, ho!
i see you are up to your old tricks, prickly porky!"
he shouted, as the strange creature rolled past, almost over his toes and brought up against a little tree at the foot of the hill.
-lsb- illustration: "i see you are up to your old tricks, prickly porky!"
he shouted.
page 114.
-rsb- old man coyote heard him and stopped short and turned to see what it meant.
very slowly the strange creature unrolled and turned over.
there was a head now and a tail and four legs.
it was none other than prickly porky himself!
there was no doubt about it, though he still looked very strange, for he was covered with dead leaves which clung to the thousand little spears hidden in his coat.
prickly porky grinned.
""you should n't have given me away, buster bear, just because you have seen me roll down hill before in the great woods where we both came from," said he.
""i think it was high time i did," replied buster bear, still chuckling.
""you might have scared somebody to death down here where they do n't know you."
then everybody came out of their hiding places, laughing and talking all at once, as they told buster bear of the joke they had played on old man coyote, and how it had all grown out of the fright peter rabbit had received when he just happened along as prickly porky was rolling down hill just for fun.
as for old man coyote, he sneaked away, grinding his teeth angrily.
like a great many other people, he could n't take a joke on himself.
so prickly porky made himself at home in the green forest and took his place among the little people who live there.
in just the same way old man coyote came as a stranger to the green meadows and established himself there.
in the next book you may read all about how he came to the green meadows and of some of his adventures there and in the green forest.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_reddy_fox.txt.out
i. granny fox gives reddy a scare reddy fox lived with granny fox.
you see, reddy was one of a large family, so large that mother fox had hard work to feed so many hungry little mouths and so she had let reddy go to live with old granny fox.
granny fox was the wisest, slyest, smartest fox in all the country round, and now that reddy had grown so big, she thought it about time that he began to learn the things that every fox should know.
so every day she took him hunting with her and taught him all the things that she had learned about hunting: about how to steal farmer brown's chickens without awakening bowser the hound, and all about the thousand and one ways of fooling a dog which she had learned.
this morning granny fox had taken reddy across the green meadows, up through the green forest, and over to the railroad track.
reddy had never been there before and he did n't know just what to make of it.
granny trotted ahead until they came to a long bridge.
then she stopped.
""come here, reddy, and look down," she commanded.
reddy did as he was told, but a glance down made him giddy, so giddy that he nearly fell.
granny fox grinned.
""come across," said she, and ran lightly across to the other side.
but reddy fox was afraid.
yes, sir, he was afraid to take one step on the long bridge.
he was afraid that he would fall through into the water or onto the cruel rocks below.
granny fox ran back to where reddy sat.
""for shame, reddy fox!"
said she.
""what are you afraid of?
just do n't look down and you will be safe enough.
now come along over with me."
but reddy fox hung back and begged to go home and whimpered.
suddenly granny fox sprang to her feet, as if in great fright.
""bowser the hound!
come, reddy, come!"
she cried, and started across the bridge as fast as she could go.
reddy did n't stop to look or to think.
his one idea was to get away from bowser the hound.
""wait, granny!
wait!"
he cried, and started after her as fast as he could run.
he was in the middle of the bridge before he remembered it at all.
when he was at last safely across, it was to find old granny fox sitting down laughing at him.
then for the first time reddy looked behind him to see where bowser the hound might be.
he was nowhere to be seen.
could he have fallen off the bridge?
""where is bowser the hound?"
cried reddy.
""home in farmer brown's dooryard," replied granny fox dryly.
reddy stared at her for a minute.
then he began to understand that granny fox had simply scared him into running across the bridge.
reddy felt very cheap, very cheap indeed.
""now we'll run back again," said granny fox.
and this time reddy did.
ii.
granny shows reddy a trick every day granny fox led reddy fox over to the long railroad bridge and made him run back and forth across it until he had no fear of it whatever.
at first it had made him dizzy, but now he could run across at the top of his speed and not mind it in the least.
""i do n't see what good it does to be able to run across a bridge; anyone can do that!"
exclaimed reddy one day.
granny fox smiled.
""do you remember the first time you tried to do it?"
she asked.
reddy hung his head.
of course he remembered -- remembered that granny had had to scare him into crossing that first time.
suddenly granny fox lifted her head.
""hark!"
she exclaimed.
reddy pricked up his sharp, pointed ears.
way off back, in the direction from which they had come, they heard the baying of a dog.
it was n't the voice of bowser the hound but of a younger dog.
granny listened for a few minutes.
the voice of the dog grew louder as it drew nearer.
""he certainly is following our track," said granny fox.
""now, reddy, you run across the bridge and watch from the top of the little hill over there.
perhaps i can show you a trick that will teach you why i have made you learn to run across the bridge."
reddy trotted across the long bridge and up to the top of the hill, as granny had told him to.
then he sat down to watch.
granny trotted out in the middle of a field and sat down.
pretty soon a young hound broke out of the bushes, his nose in granny's track.
then he looked up and saw her, and his voice grew still more savage and eager.
granny fox started to run as soon as she was sure that the hound had seen her, but she did not run very fast.
reddy did not know what to make of it, for granny seemed simply to be playing with the hound and not really trying to get away from him at all.
pretty soon reddy heard another sound.
it was a long, low rumble.
then there was a distant whistle.
it was a train.
granny heard it, too.
as she ran, she began to work back toward the long bridge.
the train was in sight now.
suddenly granny fox started across the bridge so fast that she looked like a little red streak.
the dog was close at her heels when she started and he was so eager to catch her that he did n't see either the bridge or the train.
but he could n't begin to run as fast as granny fox.
oh, my, no!
when she had reached the other side, he was n't halfway across, and right behind him, whistling for him to get out of the way, was the train.
the hound gave one frightened yelp, and then he did the only thing he could do; he leaped down, down into the swift water below, and the last reddy saw of him he was frantically trying to swim ashore.
""now you know why i wanted you to learn to cross a bridge; it's a very nice way of getting rid of dogs," said granny fox, as she climbed up beside reddy.
iii.
bowser the hound is n't fooled reddy fox had been taught so much by granny fox that he began to feel very wise and very important.
reddy is naturally smart and he had been very quick to learn the tricks that old granny fox had taught him.
but reddy fox is a boaster.
every day he swaggered about on the green meadows and bragged how smart he was.
blacky the crow grew tired of reddy's boasting.
""if you're so smart, what is the reason you always keep out of sight of bowser the hound?"
asked blacky.
""for my part, i do n't believe that you are smart enough to fool him."
a lot of little meadow people heard blacky say this, and reddy knew it.
he also knew that if he did n't prove blacky in the wrong he would be laughed at forever after.
suddenly he remembered the trick that granny fox had played on the young hound at the railroad bridge.
why not play the same trick on bowser and invite blacky the crow to see him do it?
he would.
""if you will be over at the railroad bridge when the train comes this afternoon, i'll show you how easy it is to fool bowser the hound," said reddy.
blacky agreed to be there, and reddy started off to find out where bowser was.
blacky told everyone he met how reddy fox had promised to fool bowser the hound, and every time he told it he chuckled as if he thought it the best joke ever.
blacky the crow was on hand promptly that afternoon and with him came his cousin, sammy jay.
presently they saw reddy fox hurrying across the fields, and behind him in full cry came bowser the hound.
just as old granny fox had done with the young hound, reddy allowed bowser to get very near him and then, as the train came roaring along, he raced across the long bridge just ahead of it.
he had thought that bowser would be so intent on catching him that he would not notice the train until he was on the bridge and it was too late, as had been the case with the young hound.
then bowser would have to jump down into the swift river or be run over.
as soon as reddy was across the bridge, he jumped off the track and turned to see what would happen to bowser the hound.
the train was halfway across the bridge, but bowser was nowhere to be seen.
he must have jumped already.
reddy sat down and grinned in the most self-satisfied way.
the long train roared past, and reddy closed his eyes to shut out the dust and smoke.
when he opened them again, he looked right into the wide-open mouth of bowser the hound, who was not ten feet away.
""did you think you could fool me with that old trick?"
roared bowser.
reddy did n't stop to make reply; he just started off at the top of his speed, a badly frightened little fox.
you see, bowser the hound knew all about that trick and he had just waited until the train had passed and then had run across the bridge right behind it.
and as reddy fox, out of breath and tired, ran to seek the aid of granny fox in getting rid of bowser the hound, he heard a sound that made him grind his teeth.
""haw, haw, haw!
how smart we are!"
it was blacky the crow.
iv.
reddy fox grows bold reddy fox was growing bold.
everybody said so, and what everybody says must be so.
reddy fox had always been very sly and not bold at all.
the truth is reddy fox had so many times fooled bowser the hound and farmer brown's boy that he had begun to think himself very smart indeed.
he had really fooled himself.
yes, sir, reddy fox had fooled himself.
he thought himself so smart that nobody could fool him.
now it is one of the worst habits in the world to think too much of one's self.
and reddy fox had the habit.
oh, my, yes!
reddy fox certainly did have the habit!
when anyone mentioned bowser the hound, reddy would turn up his nose and say: "pooh!
it's the easiest thing in the world to fool him."
you see, he had forgotten all about the time bowser had fooled him at the railroad bridge.
whenever reddy saw farmer brown's boy he would say with the greatest scorn: "who's afraid of him?
not i!"
so as reddy fox thought more and more of his own smartness, he grew bolder and bolder.
almost every night he visited farmer brown's henyard.
farmer brown set traps all around the yard, but reddy always found them and kept out of them.
it got so that unc" billy possum and jimmy skunk did n't dare go to the henhouse for eggs any more, for fear that they would get into one of the traps set for reddy fox.
of course they missed those fresh eggs and of course they blamed reddy fox.
""never mind," said jimmy skunk, scowling down on the green meadows where reddy fox was taking a sun bath, "farmer brown's boy will get him yet!
i hope he does!"
jimmy said this a little spitefully and just as if he really meant it.
now when people think that they are very, very smart, they like to show off.
you know it is n't any fun at all to feel smart unless others can see how smart you are.
so reddy fox, just to show off, grew very bold, very bold indeed.
he actually went up to farmer brown's henyard in broad daylight, and almost under the nose of bowser the hound he caught the pet chicken of farmer brown's boy.
"ol mistah buzzard, sailing overhead high up in the blue, blue sky, saw reddy fox and shook his bald head: "ah see trouble on the way; yes, ah do!
yes, ah do!
hope it ai n't a-gwine to stay; yes, ah do!
yes, ah do!
trouble am a spry ol' man, bound to find yo" if he can; if he finds yo" bound to stick.
when ah sees him, ah runs quick!
yes, ah do!
yes, ah do!"
but reddy fox thought himself so smart that it seemed as if he really were hunting for ol' mr. trouble.
and when he caught the pet chicken of farmer brown's boy, ol' mr. trouble was right at his heels.
v. reddy grows careless ol' mistah buzzard was right.
trouble was right at the heels of reddy fox, although reddy would n't have believed it if he had been told.
he had stolen that plump pet chicken of farmer brown's boy for no reason under the sun but to show off.
he wanted everyone to know how bold he was.
he thought himself so smart that he could do just exactly what he pleased and no one could stop him.
he liked to strut around through the green forest and over the green meadows and brag about what he had done and what he could do.
now people who brag and boast and who like to show off are almost sure to come to grief.
and when they do, very few people are sorry for them.
none of the little meadow and forest people liked reddy fox, anyway, and they were getting so tired of his boasting that they just ached to see him get into trouble.
yes, sir, they just ached to see reddy get into trouble.
peter rabbit, happy-go-lucky peter rabbit, shook his head gravely when he heard how reddy had stolen that pet chicken of farmer brown's boy, and was boasting about it to everyone.
""reddy fox is getting so puffed up that pretty soon he wo n't be able to see his own feet," said peter rabbit.
""well, what if he does n't?"
demanded jimmy skunk.
peter looked at jimmy in disgust: "he comes to grief, however fleet, who does n't watch his flying feet.
""jimmy skunk, if you did n't have that little bag of scent that everybody is afraid of, you would be a lot more careful where you step," replied peter.
""if reddy does n't watch out, someday he'll step right into a trap."
jimmy skunk chuckled.
""i wish he would!"
said he.
now when farmer brown's boy heard about the boldness of reddy fox, he shut his mouth tight in a way that was unpleasant to see and reached for his gun.
""i ca n't afford to raise chickens to feed foxes!"
said he.
then he whistled for bowser the hound, and together they started out.
it was n't long before bowser found reddy's tracks.
""bow, wow, wow, wow!"
roared bowser the hound.
reddy fox, taking a nap on the edge of the green forest, heard bowser's big, deep voice.
he pricked up his ears, then he grinned.
""i feel just like a good run today," said he, and trotted off along the crooked little path down the hill.
now this was a beautiful summer day and reddy knew that in summer men and boys seldom hunt foxes.
""it's only bowser the hound," thought reddy, "and when i've had a good run, i'll play a trick on him so that he will lose my track."
so reddy did n't use his eyes as he should have done.
you see, he thought himself so smart that he had grown careless.
yes, sir, reddy fox had grown careless.
he kept looking back to see where bowser the hound was, but did n't look around to make sure that no other danger was near.
ol' mistah buzzard, sailing round and round, way up in the blue, blue sky, could see everything going on down below.
he could see reddy fox running along the edge of the green forest and every few minutes stopping to chuckle and listen to bowser the hound trying to pick out the trail reddy had made so hard to follow by his twists and turns.
and he saw something else, did ol' mistah buzzard.
it looked to him very much like the barrel of a gun sticking out from behind an old tree just ahead of reddy.
""ah reckon it's just like ah said: reddy fox is gwine to meet trouble right smart soon," muttered ol' mistah buzzard.
vi.
drummer the woodpecker drums in vain once upon a time, before he had grown to think himself so very, very smart, reddy fox would never, never have thought of running without watching out in every direction.
he would have seen that thing that looked like the barrel of a gun sticking out from behind the old tree toward which he was running, and he would have been very suspicious, very suspicious indeed.
but now all reddy could think of was what a splendid chance he had to show all the little meadow and forest people what a bold, smart fellow he was.
so once more reddy sat down and waited until bowser the hound was almost up to him.
just then drummer the woodpecker began to make a tremendous noise -- rat-a-tat-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat-tat!
now everybody who heard that rat-a-tat-tat-tat knew that it was a danger signal.
drummer the woodpecker never drums just that way for pleasure.
but reddy fox paid no attention to it.
he did n't notice it at all.
you see, he was so full of the idea of his own smartness that he did n't have room for anything else.
""stupid thing!"
said drummer the woodpecker to himself.
""i do n't know what i am trying to warn him for, anyway.
the green meadows and the green forest would be better off without him, a lot better off!
nobody likes him.
he's a dreadful bully and is all the time trying to catch or scare to death those who are smaller than he.
still, he is so handsome!"
drummer cocked his head on one side and looked over at reddy fox.
reddy was laughing to see how hard bowser the hound was working to untangle reddy's mixed-up trail.
""yes, sir, he certainly is handsome," said drummer once more.
then he looked down at the foot of the old tree on which he was sitting, and what he saw caused drummer to make up his mind.
""i surely would miss seeing that beautiful red coat of his!
i surely would!"
he muttered.
""if he does n't hear and heed now, it wo n't be my fault!"
then drummer the woodpecker began such a furious rat-a-tat-tat-tat on the trunk of the old tree that it rang through the green forest and out across the green meadows almost to the purple hills.
down at the foot of the tree a freckled face on which there was a black scowl looked up.
it was the face of farmer brown's boy.
""what ails that pesky woodpecker?"
he muttered.
""if he does n't keep still, he'll scare that fox!"
he shook a fist at drummer, but drummer did n't appear to notice.
he kept right on, rat-a-tat-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat-tat!
vii.
too late reddy fox hears drummer the woodpecker was pounding out his danger signal so fast and so hard that his red head flew back and forth almost too fast to see.
rat-a-tat-tat-a-tat-tat, beat drummer on the old tree trunk on the edge of the green forest.
when he stopped for breath, he looked down into the scowling face of farmer brown's boy, who was hiding behind the old tree trunk.
drummer did n't like the looks of that scowl, not a bit.
and he did n't like the looks of the gun which farmer brown's boy had.
he knew that farmer brown's boy was hiding there to shoot reddy fox, but drummer was beginning to be afraid that farmer brown's boy might guess what all that drumming meant -- that it was a warning to reddy fox.
and if farmer brown's boy did guess that, why -- why -- anyway, on the other side of the tree there was a better place to drum.
so drummer the woodpecker crept around to the other side of the tree and in a minute was drumming harder than ever.
whenever he stopped for breath, he looked out over the green meadows to see if reddy fox had heard his warning.
but if reddy had heard, he had n't heeded.
just to show off before all the little meadow and forest people, reddy had waited until bowser the hound had almost reached him.
then, with a saucy flirt of his tail, reddy fox started to show how fast he could run, and that is very fast indeed.
it made bowser the hound seem very slow, as, with his nose to the ground, he came racing after reddy, making a tremendous noise with his great voice.
now reddy fox had grown as careless as he had grown bold.
instead of looking sharply ahead, he looked this way and that way to see who was watching and admiring him.
so he took no note of where he was going and started straight for the old tree trunk on which drummer the woodpecker was pounding out his warning of danger.
now reddy fox has sharp eyes and very quick ears.
my, my, indeed he has!
but just now reddy was as deaf as if he had cotton stuffed in his ears.
he was chuckling to himself to think how he was going to fool bowser the hound and how smart everyone would think him, when all of a sudden, he heard the rat-a-tat-tata-tat-tat of drummer the woodpecker and knew that that meant "danger!"
for just a wee little second it seemed to reddy fox that his heart stopped beating.
he could n't stop running, for he had let bowser the hound get too close for that.
reddy's sharp eyes saw drummer the woodpecker near the top of the old tree trunk and noticed that drummer seemed to be looking at something down below.
reddy fox gave one quick look at the foot of the old tree trunk and saw a gun pointed at him and behind the gun the freckled face of farmer brown's boy.
reddy fox gave a little gasp of fright and turned so suddenly that he almost fell flat.
then he began to run as never in his life had he run before.
it seemed as though his flying feet hardly touched the grass.
his eyes were popping out with fright as with every jump he tried to run just a wee bit faster.
bang!
bang!
two flashes of fire and two puffs of smoke darted from behind the old tree trunk.
drummer the woodpecker gave a frightened scream and flew deep into the green forest.
peter rabbit flattened himself under a friendly bramble bush.
johnny chuck dived headfirst down his doorway.
reddy fox gave a yelp, a shrill little yelp of pain, and suddenly began to go lame.
but farmer brown's boy did n't know that.
he thought he had missed and he growled to himself: "i'll get that fox yet for stealing my pet chicken!"
viii.
granny fox takes care of reddy reddy fox was so sore and lame that he could hardly hobble.
he had had the hardest kind of work to get far enough ahead of bowser the hound to mix his trail up so that bowser could n't follow it.
then he had limped home, big tears running down his nose, although he tried hard not to cry.
""oh!
oh!
oh!"
moaned reddy fox, as he crept in at the doorway of his home.
""what's the matter now?"
snapped old granny fox, who had just waked up from a sun nap.
""i -- i've got hurt," said reddy fox, and began to cry harder.
granny fox looked at reddy sharply.
""what have you been doing now -- tearing your clothes on a barbed-wire fence or trying to crawl through a bull-briar thicket?
i should think you were big enough by this time to look out for yourself!"
said granny fox crossly, as she came over to look at reddy's hurts.
""please do n't scold, please do n't, granny fox," begged reddy, who was beginning to feel sick to his stomach as well as lame, and to smart dreadfully.
granny fox took one look at reddy's wounds, and knew right away what had happened.
she made reddy stretch himself out at full length and then she went to work on him, washing his wounds with the greatest care and binding them up.
she was very gentle, was old granny fox, as she touched the sore places, but all the time she was at work her tongue flew, and that was n't gentle at all.
oh, my, no!
there was nothing gentle about that!
you see, old granny fox is wise and very, very sharp and shrewd.
just as soon as she saw reddy's hurts, she knew that they were made by shot from a gun, and that meant that reddy fox had been careless or he never, never would have been where he was in danger of being shot.
""i hope this will teach you a lesson!"
said granny fox.
""what are your eyes and your ears and your nose for?
to keep you out of just such trouble as this.
""a little fox must use his eyes or get someday a sad surprise.
""a little fox must use his ears and know what makes each sound he hears.
""a little fox must use his nose and try the wind where'er he goes.
""a little fox must use all three to live to grow as old as me.
""now tell me all about it, reddy fox.
this is summer and men do n't hunt foxes now.
i do n't see how it happens that farmer brown's boy was waiting for you with a gun."
so reddy fox told granny fox all about how he had run too near the old tree trunk behind which farmer brown's boy had been hiding, but reddy did n't tell how he had been trying to show off, or how in broad daylight he had stolen the pet chicken of farmer brown's boy.
you may be sure he was very careful not to mention that.
and so old granny fox puckered up her brows and thought and thought, trying to find some good reason why farmer brown's boy should have been hunting in the summertime.
""caw, caw, caw!"
shouted blacky the crow.
the face of granny fox cleared.
""blacky the crow has been stealing, and farmer brown's boy was out after him when reddy came along," said granny fox, talking out loud to herself.
reddy fox grew very red in the face, but he never said a word.
ix.
peter rabbit hears the news johnny chuck came running up to the edge of the old briarpatch quite out of breath.
you see, he is so round and fat and roly-poly that to run makes him puff and blow.
johnny chuck's eyes danced with excitement as he peered into the old briar-patch, trying to see peter rabbit.
""peter!
peter rabbit!
oh, peter!"
he called.
no one answered.
johnny chuck looked disappointed.
it was the middle of the morning, and he had thought that peter would surely be at home then.
he would try once more.
""oh, you peter rabbit!"
he shouted in such a high-pitched voice that it was almost a squeal.
""what you want?"
asked a sleepy voice from the middle of the old briar-patch.
johnny chuck's face lighted up.
""come out here, peter, where i can look at you," cried johnny.
""go away, johnny chuck!
i'm sleepy," said peter rabbit, and his voice sounded just a wee bit cross, for peter had been out all night, a habit which peter has.
""i've got some news for you, peter," called johnny chuck eagerly.
""how do you know it's news to me?"
asked peter, and johnny noticed that his voice was n't quite so cross.
""i'm almost sure it is, for i've just heard it myself, and i've hurried right down here to tell you because i think you'll want to know it," replied johnny chuck.
""pooh!"
said peter rabbit, "it's probably as old as the hills to me.
you folks who go to bed with the sun do n't hear the news until it's old.
what is it?"
""it's about reddy fox," began johnny chuck, but peter rabbit interrupted him.
""shucks, johnny chuck!
you are slow!
why, it was all over green meadows last night how reddy fox had been shot by farmer brown's boy!"
jeered peter rabbit.
""that's no news.
and here you've waked me up to tell me something i knew before you went to bed last night!
serves reddy fox right.
hope he'll be lame for a week," added peter rabbit.
""he ca n't walk at all!"
cried johnny chuck in triumph, sure now that peter rabbit had n't heard the news.
""what's that?"
demanded peter, and johnny chuck could hear him begin to hop along one of his little private paths in the heart of the old briar-patch.
he knew now that peter rabbit's curiosity was aroused, and he smiled to himself.
in a few minutes peter thrust a sleepy-looking face out from the old briar-patch and grinned rather sheepishly.
""what was that you were saying about reddy fox?"
he asked again.
""i've a good mind not to tell you, mr. know-it-all," exclaimed johnny chuck.
""oh, please, johnny chuck," pleaded peter rabbit.
finally johnny gave in.
""i said that reddy fox ca n't walk.
are n't you glad, peter?"
""how do you know?"
asked peter, for peter is very suspicious of reddy fox, and has to watch out for his tricks all the time.
""jimmy skunk told me.
he was up by reddy's house early this morning and saw reddy try to walk.
he tried and tried and could n't.
you wo n't have to watch out for reddy fox for some time, peter.
serves him right, does n't it?"
""let's go up and see if it really is true!"
said peter suddenly.
""all right," said johnny chuck, and off they started.
x. poor reddy fox peter rabbit and johnny chuck stole up the hill toward the home of reddy fox.
as they drew near, they crept from one bunch of grass to another and from bush to bush, stopping behind each to look and listen.
they were not taking any chances.
johnny chuck was not much afraid of reddy fox, for he had whipped him once, but he was afraid of old granny fox.
peter rabbit was afraid of both.
the nearer he got to the home of reddy fox, the more anxious and nervous he grew.
you see, reddy fox had played so many tricks to try and catch peter that peter was not quite sure that this was not another trick.
so he kept a sharp watch in every direction, ready to run at the least sign of danger.
when they had tiptoed and crawled to a point where they could see the doorstep of the fox home, peter rabbit and johnny chuck lay down in a clump of bushes and watched.
pretty soon they saw old granny fox come out.
she sniffed the wind and then she started off at a quick run down the lone little path.
johnny chuck gave a sigh of relief, for he was n't afraid of reddy and now he felt safe.
but peter rabbit was just as watchful as ever.
""i've got to see reddy for myself before i'll go a step nearer," he whispered.
just then johnny chuck put a hand on his lips and pointed with the other hand.
there was reddy fox crawling out of his doorway into the sun.
peter rabbit leaned forward to see better.
was reddy fox really so badly hurt, or was he only pretending?
reddy fox crawled painfully out onto his doorstep.
he tried to stand and walk, but he could n't because he was too stiff and sore.
so he just crawled.
he did n't know that anyone was watching him, and with every movement he made a face.
that was because it hurt so.
peter rabbit, watching from the clump of bushes, knew then that reddy was not pretending.
he knew that he had nothing, not the least little thing, to fear from reddy fox.
so peter gave a whoop of joy and sprang out into view.
reddy looked up and tried to grin, but made a face of pain instead.
you see, it hurt so to move.
""i suppose you're tickled to death to see me like this," he growled to peter rabbit.
now peter had every reason to be glad, for reddy fox had tried his best to catch peter rabbit to give to old granny fox for her dinner, and time and again peter had just barely escaped.
so at first peter rabbit had whooped with joy.
but as he saw how very helpless reddy really was and how much pain he felt, suddenly peter rabbit's big, soft eyes filled with tears of pity.
he forgot all about the threats of reddy fox and how reddy had tried to trick him.
he forgot all about how mean reddy had been.
""poor reddy fox," said peter rabbit.
""poor reddy fox."
xi.
granny fox returns up over the hill trotted old granny fox.
she was on her way home with a tender young chicken for reddy fox.
poor reddy!
of course, it was his own fault, for he had been showing off and he had been careless or he never would have gone so near to the old tree trunk behind which farmer brown's boy was hiding.
but old granny fox did n't know this.
she never makes such mistakes herself.
oh, my, no!
so now, as she came up over the hill to a place where she could see her home, she laid the chicken down and then she crept behind a little bush and looked all over the green meadows to see if the way was clear.
she knew that bowser the hound was chained up.
she had seen farmer brown and farmer brown's boy hoeing in the cornfield, so she had nothing to fear from them.
looking over to her doorstep, she saw reddy fox lying in the sun, and then she saw something else, something that made her eyes flash and her teeth come together with a snap.
it was peter rabbit sitting up very straight, not ten feet from reddy fox.
""so that's that young scamp of a peter rabbit whom reddy was going to catch for me when i was sick and could n't!
i'll just show reddy fox how easily it can be done, and he shall have tender young rabbit with his chicken!"
said granny fox to herself.
so first she studied and studied every clump of grass and every bush behind which she could creep.
she saw that she could get almost to where peter rabbit was sitting and never once show herself to him.
then she looked this way and looked that way to make sure that no one was watching her.
no one did she see on the green meadows who was looking her way.
then granny fox began to crawl from one clump of grass to another and from bush to bush.
sometimes she wriggled along flat on her stomach.
little by little she was drawing nearer and nearer to peter rabbit.
now with all her smartness old granny fox had forgotten one thing.
yes, sir, she had forgotten one thing.
never once had she thought to look up in the sky.
and there was ol' mistah buzzard sailing round and round and looking down and seeing all that was going on below.
ol' mistah buzzard is sharp.
he knew just what old granny fox was planning to do -- knew it as well as if he had read her thoughts.
his eyes twinkled.
""ah cert "nly ca n't allow li'l" brer rabbit to be hurt, ah cert "nly ca n't!"
muttered ol' mistah buzzard, and chuckled.
then he slanted his broad wings downward and without a sound slid down out of the sky till he was right behind granny fox.
""do yo" always crawl home, granny fox?"
asked ol' mistah buzzard.
granny fox was so startled, for she had n't heard a sound, that she jumped almost out of her skin.
of course peter rabbit saw her then, and was off like a shot.
granny fox showed all her teeth.
""i wish you would mind your own business, mistah buzzard!"
she snarled.
""cert "nly, cert "nly, ah sho "ly will!"
replied ol' mistah buzzard, and sailed up into the blue, blue sky.
xii.
the lost chicken when old granny fox had laid down the chicken she was bringing home to reddy fox to try to catch peter rabbit, she had meant to go right back and get it as soon as she had caught peter.
now she saw peter going across the green meadows, lipperty-lipperty-lip, as fast as he could go.
she was so angry that she hopped up and down.
she tore up the grass and ground her long, white teeth.
she glared up at ol' mistah buzzard, who had warned peter rabbit, but all she could do was to scold, and that did n't do her much good, for in a few minutes ol' mistah buzzard was so far up in the blue, blue sky that he could n't hear a word she was saying.
my, my, but old granny fox certainly was angry!
if she had n't been so angry she might have seen johnny chuck lying as flat as he could make himself behind a big clump of grass.
johnny chuck was scared.
yes, indeed, johnny chuck was dreadfully scared.
he had fought reddy fox and whipped him, but he knew that old granny fox would be too much for him.
so it was with great relief that johnny chuck saw her stop tearing up the grass and trot over to see how reddy fox was getting along.
then johnny chuck crept along until he was far enough away to run.
how he did run!
he was so fat and roly-poly that he was all out of breath when he reached home, and so tired that he just dropped down on his doorstep and panted.
""serves me right for having so much curiosity," said johnny chuck to himself.
reddy fox looked up as old granny fox came hurrying home.
he was weak and very, very hungry.
but he felt sure that old granny fox would bring him something nice for his breakfast, and as soon as he heard her footsteps his mouth began to water.
""did you bring me something nice, granny?"
asked reddy fox.
now old granny fox had been so put out by the scare she had had and by her failure to catch peter rabbit that she had forgotten all about the chicken she had left up on the hill.
when reddy spoke, she remembered it, and the thought of having to go way back after it did n't improve her temper a bit.
""no!"
she snapped.
""i have n't!
-- you do n't deserve any breakfast anyway.
if you had any gumption" -- that's the word granny fox used, gumption -- "if you had any gumption at all, you would n't have gotten in trouble, and could get your own breakfast."
reddy fox did n't know what gumption meant, but he did know that he was very, very hungry, and do what he would, he could n't keep back a couple of big tears of disappointment.
granny fox saw them.
""there, there, reddy!
do n't cry.
i've got a fine fat chicken for you up on the hill, and i'll run back and get it," said granny fox.
so off she started up the hill to the place where she had left the chicken when she started to try to catch peter rabbit.
when she got there, there was n't any chicken.
no, sir, there was no chicken at all -- just a few feathers.
granny fox could hardly believe her own eyes.
she looked this way and she looked that way, but there was no chicken, just a few feathers.
old granny fox flew into a greater rage than before.
xiii.
granny fox calls jimmy skunk names granny fox could n't believe her own eyes.
no, sir, she could n't believe her own eyes, and she rubbed them two or three times to make sure that she was seeing right.
that chicken certainly had disappeared, and left no trace of where it had gone.
it was very queer.
old granny fox sat down to think who would dare steal anything from her.
then she walked in a big circle with her nose to the ground, sniffing and sniffing.
what was she doing that for?
why, to see if she could find the tracks of anyone who might have stolen her chicken.
""aha!"
exclaimed old granny fox, starting to run along the top of the hill, her nose to the ground.
""aha!
i'll catch him this time!"
in a few minutes she began to run more slowly, and every two or three steps she would look ahead.
suddenly her eyes snapped, and she began to creep almost flat on her stomach, just as she had crept for peter rabbit.
but it was n't peter rabbit this time.
it was -- who do you think?
jimmy skunk!
yes, sir, it was jimmy skunk.
he was slowly ambling along, for jimmy skunk never hurries.
every big stick or stone that he could move, he would pull over or look under, for jimmy skunk was hunting for beetles.
old granny fox watched him.
""he must have a tremendous appetite to be hunting for beetles after eating my chicken!"
muttered she.
then she jumped out in front of jimmy skunk, her eyes snapping, her teeth showing, and the hair on her back standing on end so as to make her look very fierce.
but all the time old granny fox took the greatest care not to get too near to jimmy skunk.
""where's my chicken?"
snarled old granny fox, and she looked very, very fierce.
jimmy skunk looked up as if very much surprised.
""hello, granny fox!"
he exclaimed.
""have you lost a chicken?"
""you've stolen it!
you're a thief, jimmy skunk!"
snapped granny fox.
""words can never make black white; before you speak be sure you're right," said jimmy skunk.
""i'm not a thief."
""you are!"
cried granny working herself into a great rage.
""i'm not!"
""you are!"
all the time jimmy skunk was chuckling to himself, and the more he chuckled the angrier grew old granny fox.
and all the time jimmy skunk kept moving toward old granny fox and granny fox kept backing away, for, like all the other little meadow and forest people, she has very great respect for jimmy skunk's little bag of scent.
now, backing off that way, she could n't see where she was going, and the first thing she knew she had backed into a bramble bush.
it tore her skirts and scratched her legs.
""ooch!"
cried old granny fox.
""ha!
ha!
ha!"
laughed jimmy skunk.
""that's what you get for calling me names."
xiv.
granny fox finds what became of the chicken old granny fox was in a terrible temper.
dear, dear, it certainly was a dreadful temper!
jimmy skunk laughed at her, and that made it worse.
when he saw this, jimmy skunk just rolled over and over on the ground and shouted, he was so tickled.
of course, it was n't the least bit nice of jimmy skunk, but you know that granny fox had been calling jimmy a thief.
then jimmy does n't like granny fox anyway, nor do any of the other little meadow and forest people, for most of them are very much afraid of her.
when old granny fox finally got out of the bramble bush, she did n't stop to say anything more to jimmy skunk, but hurried away, muttering and grumbling and grinding her teeth.
old granny fox was n't pleasant to meet just then, and when bobby coon saw her coming, he just thought it best to get out of her way, so he climbed a tree.
it was n't that bobby coon was afraid of old granny fox.
bless you, no!
bobby coon is n't a bit afraid of her.
it was because he had a full stomach and was feeling too good-natured and lazy to quarrel.
""good morning, granny fox.
i hope you are feeling well this morning," said bobby coon, as old granny fox came trotting under the tree he was sitting in.
granny fox looked up and glared at him with yellow eyes.
""it is n't a good morning and i'm not feeling fine!"
she snapped.
""my goodness, how you have torn your skirts!"
exclaimed bobby coon.
old granny fox started to say something unpleasant.
then she changed her mind and instead she sat down and told bobby coon all her troubles.
as she talked, bobby coon kept ducking his head behind a branch of the tree to hide a smile.
finally granny fox noticed it.
""what do you keep ducking your head for, bobby coon?"
she asked suspiciously.
""i'm just looking to see if i can see any feathers from that chicken," replied bobby coon gravely, though his eyes were twinkling with mischief.
""well, do you?"
demanded old granny fox.
and just then bobby coon did.
they were not on the ground, however, but floating in the air.
bobby coon leaned out to see where they came from, and granny fox turned to look, too.
what do you think they saw?
why, sitting on a tall, dead tree was mr. goshawk, just then swallowing the last of granny's chicken.
""thief!
thief!
robber!
robber!"
shrieked old granny fox.
but mr. goshawk said nothing, just winked at bobby coon, puffed out his feathers, and settled himself for a comfortable nap.
xv.
reddy fox has a visitor hardly was old granny fox out of sight on her way to hunt for the chicken she had left on the hill, when unc" billy possum came strolling along the lone little path.
he was humming to himself, for he had just had a good breakfast.
one of the merry little breezes spied him and hurried to meet him and tell him about how reddy fox had been shot.
unc" billy listened, and the grin with which he had greeted the merry little breeze grew into a broad smile.
""are yo" all sure about that?"
he asked.
the merry little breeze was sure.
unc" billy possum stopped for a few minutes and considered.
""serves that no "count reddy fox right," chuckled unc" billy.
""he done spoil mah hunting at farmer brown's, he raised such a fuss among the hens up there.
't is n't safe to go there any mo"!
no, suh,'t is n't safe, and it wo n't be safe for a right smart while.
did yo" say that granny fox is home?"
the merry little breeze had n't said anything about granny fox, but now remembered that she had gone up the hill.
""ah believe ah will just tote my sympathy over to reddy fox," said unc" billy possum, as he started in the direction of reddy fox's house.
but he made sure that old granny fox was not at home before he showed himself.
reddy fox lay on his doorstep.
he was sick and sore and stiff.
indeed, he was so stiff he could n't walk at all.
and he was weak -- weak and hungry, dreadfully hungry.
when he heard footsteps, he thought old granny fox was bringing him the chicken after which she had gone.
he felt too ill even to turn his head.
""did you get the chicken, granny?"
he asked weakly.
no one answered.
""i say, did you get the chicken, granny?"
reddy's voice sounded a little sharp and cross as he asked this time.
still there was no reply, and reddy began to be a little bit suspicious.
he turned over and raised his head to look.
instead of old granny fox, there was unc" billy possum grinning at him.
""smarty, smarty is a thief!
smarty, smarty came to grief!
tried to show off just for fun and ran too near a loaded gun.
""yo" all certainly has got just what yo" deserve, and ah'm glad of it!
ah'm glad of it, suh!"
said unc" billy possum severely.
an angry light came into the eyes of reddy fox and made them an ugly yellow for just a minute.
but he felt too sick to quarrel.
unc" billy possum saw this.
he saw how reddy was really suffering, and down deep in his heart unc" billy was truly sorry for him.
but he did n't let reddy know it.
no, indeed!
he just pretended to be tickled to death to see reddy fox so helpless.
he did n't dare stay long, for fear granny fox would return.
so, after saying a few more things to make reddy feel uncomfortable, unc" billy started off up the lone little path toward the green forest.
""too bad!
too bad!"
he muttered to himself.
""if ol' granny fox is n't smart enough to get reddy enough to eat, ah'll have to see what we-alls can do.
ah cert "nly will."
xvi.
unc" billy possum visits the smiling pool joe otter and billy mink were sitting on the big rock in the smiling pool.
because they had nothing else to do, they were planning mischief.
jerry muskrat was busy filling his new house with food for the winter.
he was too busy to get into mischief.
suddenly billy mink put a finger on his lips as a warning to little joe otter to keep perfectly still.
billy's sharp eyes had seen something moving over in the bulrushes.
together he and little joe otter watched, ready to dive into the smiling pool at the first sign of danger.
in a few minutes the rushes parted and a sharp little old face peered out.
little joe otter and billy mink each sighed with relief, and their eyes began to dance.
""hi, unc" billy possum!"
shouted billy mink.
a grin crept over the sharp little old face peering out from the bulrushes.
""hi, yo "self!"
he shouted, for it really was unc" billy possum.
""what are you doing over here?"
called little joe otter.
""just a-looking round," replied unc" billy possum, his eyes twinkling.
""have you heard about reddy fox?"
shouted billy mink.
""ah done jes" come from his home," replied unc" billy possum.
""how is he?"
asked little joe otter.
""po "ly, he sho "ly is po "ly," replied unc" billy possum, shaking his head soberly.
then unc" billy told billy mink and little joe otter how reddy fox was so stiff and sore and sick that he could n't get anything to eat for himself, and how old granny fox had lost a chicken which she had caught for him.
""serves him right!"
exclaimed billy mink, who has never forgotten how reddy fox fooled him and caught the most fish once upon a time.
unc" billy nodded his head.
""yo" are right.
yo" cert "nly are right.
yes, suh, ah reckons yo" are right.
was yo" ever hungry, billy mink -- real hungry?"
asked unc" billy possum.
billy mink thought of the time when he went without his dinner because mr. night heron had gobbled it up, when billy had left it in a temper.
he nodded his head.
""ah was just a-wondering," continued une" billy possum, "how it would seem to be right smart powerful hungry and not be able to hunt fo" anything to eat."
for a few minutes no one said a word.
then billy mink stood up and stretched.
""good-by," said billy mink.
""where are you going so suddenly?"
demanded little joe otter.
""i'm going to catch a fish and take it up to reddy fox, if you must know!"
snapped billy mink.
""good!"
cried little joe otter.
""you need n't think that you can have all the fun to yourself either, billy mink.
i'm going with you."
there was a splash in the smiling pool, and unc" billy possum was left looking out on nothing but the smiling pool and the big rock.
he smiled to himself as he turned away.
""ah reckon ah'll sho" have to do my share, too," said he.
and so it happened that when old granny fox finally reached home with nothing but a little wood mouse for reddy, she found him taking a nap, his stomach as full as it could be.
and just a little way off were two fish tails and the feathers of a little duck.
xvii.
farmer brown's boy is determined farmer brown's boy had made up his mind.
when he shut his teeth with a click and drew his lips together into a thin, straight line, those who knew him were sure that farmer brown's boy had made up his mind.
that is just what he had done now.
he was cleaning his gun, and as he worked he was thinking of his pet chicken and of all the other chickens that reddy fox had taken.
""i'm going to get that fox if it takes all summer!"
exclaimed farmer brown's boy.
""i ought to have gotten him the other day when i had a shot at him.
next time well, we'll see, mr. fox, what will happen next time."
now someone heard farmer brown's boy, heard everything he said, though farmer brown's boy did n't know it.
it was unc" billy possum, who was hiding in the very pile of wood on which farmer brown's boy was sitting.
unc" billy pricked up his ears.
he did n't like the tone of voice in which farmer brown's boy spoke.
he thought of reddy fox still so stiff and sore and lame that he could hardly walk, all from the shot which farmer brown's boy thought had missed.
""there is n't gwine to be any next time.
no, suh, there is n't gwine to be any next time.
ah sho "ly doan love reddy fox, but ah ca n't nohow let him be shot again.
ah cert "nly ca n't!"
muttered unc" billy possum to himself.
of course, farmer brown's boy did n't hear him.
he did n't hear him and he did n't see him when unc" billy possum crept out of the back side of the woodpile and scurried under the henhouse.
he was too intent on his plan to catch reddy fox.
""i'm just going to hunt over the green meadows and through the green forest until i get that fox!"
said farmer brown's boy, and as he said it he looked very fierce, as if he really meant it.
""i'm not going to have my chickens stolen any more!
no, sir-e-e!
that fox has got a home somewhere on the green meadows or in the green forest, and i'm going to find it.
then watch out, mr. fox!"
farmer brown's boy whistled for bowser the hound and started for the green forest.
unc" billy possum poked his sharp little old face out from under the henhouse and watched them go.
usually unc" billy is grinning, but now there was n't any grin, not the least sign of one.
instead unc" billy possum looked worried.
""there goes that boy with a gun, and nobody knows what'll happen when it goes off.
if he ca n't find reddy fox, just as likely as not he'll point it at somebody else just fo" fun.
ah hope he doan meet up with mah ol' woman or any of mah li'l" pickaninnies.
ah'm plumb afraid of a boy with a gun, ah am.
"pears like he doan have any sense.
ah reckon ah better be moving along right smart and tell mah family to stay right close in the ol' hollow tree," muttered unc" billy possum, slipping out from his hiding place.
then unc" billy began to run as fast as he could toward the green forest.
xviii.
the hunt for reddy fox "trouble, trouble, trouble, i feel it in the air; trouble, trouble, trouble, it's round me everywhere."
old granny fox muttered this over and over, as she kept walking around uneasily and sniffing the air.
""i do n't see any trouble and i do n't feel any trouble in the air.
it's all in the sore places where i was shot," said reddy fox, who was stretched out on the doorstep of their home.
""that's because you have n't got any sense.
when you do get some and learn to look where you are going, you wo n't get shot from behind old tree trunks and you will be able to feel trouble when it is near, without waiting for it to show itself.
now i feel trouble.
you go down into the house and stay there!"
granny fox stopped to test the air with her nose, just as she had been testing it for the last ten minutes.
""i do n't want to go in," whined reddy fox.
""it's nice and warm out here, and i feel a lot better than when i am curled up way down there in the dark."
old granny fox turned, and her eyes blazed as she looked at reddy fox.
she did n't say a word.
she did n't have to.
reddy just crawled into his house, muttering to himself.
granny stuck her head in at the door.
""do n't you come out until i come back," she ordered.
then she added: "farmer brown's boy is coming with his gun."
reddy fox shivered when he heard that.
he did n't believe granny fox.
he thought she was saying that just to scare him and make him stay inside.
but he shivered just the same.
you see, he knew now what it meant to be shot, for he was still too stiff and sore to run, all because he had gone too near farmer brown's boy and his gun.
but old granny fox had not been fooling when she told reddy fox that farmer brown's boy was coming with a gun.
it was true.
he was coming down the lone little path, and ahead of him was trotting bowser the hound.
how did old granny fox know it?
she just felt it!
she did n't hear them, she did n't see them, and she did n't smell them; she just felt that they were coming.
so as soon as she saw that reddy fox had obeyed her, she was off like a little red flash.
""it wo n't do to let them find our home," said granny to herself, as she disappeared in the green forest.
first she hurried to a little point on the hill where she could look down the lone little path.
just as she expected, she saw farmer brown's boy, and ahead of him, sniffing at every bush and all along the lone little path, was bowser the hound.
old granny fox waited to see no more.
she ran as fast as she could in a big circle which brought her out on the lone little path below farmer brown's boy and bowser the hound, but where they could n't see her, because of a turn in the lone little path.
she trotted down the lone little path a very little way and then turned into the woods and hurried back up the hill, where she sat down and waited.
in a few minutes she heard bowser's great voice.
he had smelled her track in the lone little path and was following it.
old granny fox grinned.
you see, she was planning to lead them far, far away from the home where reddy fox was hiding, for it would not do to have them find it.
and farmer brown's boy also grinned, as he heard the voice of bowser the hound.
""i'll hunt that fox until i get him," he said.
you see, he did n't know anything about old granny fox; he thought bowser was following reddy fox.
xix unc" billy possum gives warning "what's the matter with you, unc" billy?
you look as if you had lost your last friend."
it was jimmy skunk who spoke.
unc" billy possum stopped short.
he had been hurrying so fast that he had n't seen jimmy skunk at all.
""matter enuff, suh!
matter enuff!"
said unc" billy possum, when he could get his breath.
""do you hear that noise?"
""sure, i hear that noise.
that's only bowser the hound chasing old granny fox.
when she gets tired she'll lose him," replied jimmy skunk.
""what are you worrying about bowser the hound for?"
""bowser the hound will have to be smarter than he is now befo" he can worry me, ah reckon," said unc" billy possum scornfully.
""it is n't bowser the hound; it's farmer brown's boy and his gun!"
then unc" billy told jimmy skunk how he had been hiding in the woodpile at farmer brown's and had heard farmer brown's boy say that he was going to hunt over the green meadows and through the green forest until he got reddy fox.
""what of it?"
asked jimmy skunk.
""if he gets reddy fox, so much the better.
reddy always did make trouble for other people.
i do n't see what you're worrying about reddy fox for.
he's big enough to take care of himself."
""yo" cert "nly are plumb slow in your wits this morning, jimmy skunk, yo" cert "nly are plumb slow!
supposing yo" should meet up with farmer brown's boy with that gun in his hands and supposing he had grown tired of watching fo" reddy fox.
that gun might go off, jimmy skunk; it might go off when it was pointing right straight at yo"!"
said unc" billy possum.
jimmy skunk looked serious.
""that's so, unc" billy, that's so!"
he said.
""boys with guns do get dreadfully careless, dreadfully careless.
they do n't seem to think anything about the feelings of those likely to get hurt when the gun goes off.
what was you thinking of doing, unc" billy?"
""just passing the word along so everybody in the green meadows and in the green forest will keep out of the way of farmer brown's boy," replied unc" billy possum.
""good idea, unc" billy!
i'll help you," said jimmy skunk.
so unc" billy possum went one way, and jimmy skunk went another way.
and everyone they told hurried to tell someone else.
happy jack squirrel told chatterer the red squirrel; chatterer told striped chipmunk, and striped chipmunk told danny meadow mouse.
danny meadow mouse told johnny chuck; johnny chuck told peter rabbit; peter rabbit told jumper the hare; jumper the hare told prickly porky; prickly porky told bobby coon; bobby coon told billy mink; billy mink told little joe otter; little joe otter told jerry muskrat, and jerry muskrat told grandfather frog.
and everybody hastened to hide from farmer brown's boy and his terrible gun.
by and by farmer brown's boy noticed how still it was in the green forest.
nowhere did he see or hear a bird.
nowhere could he catch a glimpse of anybody who wore fur.
""that fox must have scared away all the other animals and driven away all the birds.
i'll get him!
see if i do n't!"
muttered farmer brown's boy, and never once guessed that they were hiding from him.
xx.
old granny fox makes a mistake old granny fox was running through the overgrown old pasture, way up back of farmer brown's.
she was cross and tired and hot, for it was a very warm day.
behind her came bowser the hound, his nose in granny's tracks, and making a great noise with his big voice.
granny fox was cross because she was tired.
she had n't done much running lately.
she did n't mind running when the weather was cold, but now -- "oh dear, it is hot!"
sighed old granny fox, as she stopped a minute to rest.
now old granny fox is very, very smart and very, very wise.
she knows all the tricks with which foxes fool those who try to catch them.
she knew that she could fool bowser the hound and puzzle him so that he would n't be able to follow her track at all.
but she was n't ready to do that yet.
no, indeed!
old granny fox was taking great care to see that her tracks were easy to follow.
she wanted bowser the hound to follow them, although it made her tired and hot and cross.
why did she?
well, you see, she was trying to lead him, and with him farmer brown's boy, far, far away from the home where reddy fox was nursing the wounds that he had received when farmer brown's boy had shot at him a few days before.
""bow, wow, wow!"
roared bowser the hound, following every twist and turn which granny fox made, just as she wanted him to.
back and forth across the old pasture and way up among the rocks on the edge of the mountain granny fox led bowser the hound.
it was a long, long, long way from the green meadows and the green forest.
granny fox had made it a long way purposely.
she was willing to be tired herself if she could also tire bowser the hound and farmer brown's boy.
she wanted to tire them so that when she finally puzzled and fooled them and left them there, they would be too tired to go back to the green meadows.
by and by granny fox came to a hole in the ground, an old house that had once belonged to her grandfather.
now this old house had a back door hidden close beside the hollow trunk of a fallen tree.
old granny fox just ran through the house, out the back door, through the hollow tree, and then jumped into a little brook where there was hardly more than enough water to wet her feet.
walking in the water, she left no scent in her tracks.
bowser the hound came roaring up to the front door of the old house.
granny's tracks led right inside, and bowser grew so excited that he made a tremendous noise.
at last he had found where granny fox lived; at least he thought he had.
he was sure that she was inside, for there were her fresh tracks going inside and none coming out.
bowser the hound never once thought of looking for a back door.
if he had, he would n't have been any the wiser, because, you know, old granny fox had slipped away through the hollow tree trunk.
granny fox grinned as she listened to the terrible fuss bowser was making.
then, when she had rested a little, she stole up on the hill where she could look down and see the entrance to the old deserted house.
she watched bowser digging and barking.
after a while a worried look crept into the face of old granny fox.
""where's farmer brown's boy?
i thought surely he would follow bowser the hound," she muttered.
xxi.
reddy fox disobeys when old granny fox had sent reddy fox into the house and told him to stay there until she returned home, he had not wanted to mind, but he knew that granny fox meant just what she said, and so he had crawled slowly down the long hall to the bedroom, way underground.
pretty soon reddy fox heard a voice.
it was very faint, for you know reddy was in his bedroom way underground, but he knew it.
he pricked up his ears and listened.
it was the voice of bowser the hound, and reddy knew by the sound that bowser was chasing granny fox.
reddy grinned.
he was n't at all worried about granny fox, not the least little bit.
he knew how smart she was and that whenever she wanted to, she could get rid of bowser the hound.
then a sudden thought popped into reddy's head, and he grew sober.
""granny did feel trouble coming, just as she said," he thought.
then reddy fox curled himself up and tried to sleep.
he intended to mind and not put his little black nose outside until old granny fox returned.
but somehow reddy could n't get to sleep.
his bedroom was small, and he was so stiff and sore that he could not get comfortable.
he twisted and turned and fidgeted.
the more he fidgeted, the more uncomfortable he grew.
he thought of the warm sunshine outside and how comfortable he would be, stretched out full length on the doorstep.
it would take the soreness out of his legs.
something must have happened to granny to keep her so long.
if she had known that she was going to be gone such a long time, she would n't have told him to stay until she came back, thought reddy.
by and by reddy fox crept a little way up the long, dark hall.
he could just see the sunlight on the doorstep.
pretty soon he went a little bit nearer.
he was n't going to disobey old granny fox.
oh, no!
no, indeed!
she had told him to stay in the house until she returned.
she had n't said that he could n't look out!
reddy crawled a little nearer to the open door and the sunlight.
""granny fox is getting old and timid.
just as if my eyes are n't as sharp as hers!
i'd like to see farmer brown's boy get near me when i am really on the watch," said reddy fox to himself.
and then he crept a little nearer to the open door.
how bright and warm and pleasant it did look outside!
reddy just knew that he would feel ever and ever so much better if he could stretch out on the doorstep.
he could hear jenny wren fussing and scolding at someone or something, and he wondered what it could be.
he crept just a wee bit nearer.
he could hear bowser's voice, but it was so faint that he had to prick up his sharp little ears and listen with all his might to hear it at all.
""granny's led them way off on the mountain.
good old granny!"
thought reddy fox.
then he crawled right up to the very doorway.
he could still hear jenny wren scolding and fussing.
""what does ail her?
""if it's hot or if it's cold, jenny wren will always scold.
from morn till night the whole day long her limber tongue is going strong.
""i'm going to find out what it means," said reddy, talking to himself.
reddy fox poked his head out and -- looked straight into the freckled face of farmer brown's boy and the muzzle of that dreadful gun!
xxii.
ol' mistah buzzard's keen sight old granny fox had thought that when she fooled bowser the hound up in the old pasture on the edge of the mountain she could take her time going home.
she was tired and hot, and she had planned to pick out the shadiest paths going back.
she had thought that farmer brown's boy would soon join bowser the hound, when bowser made such a fuss about having found the old house into which granny fox had run.
but farmer brown's boy had not yet appeared, and granny fox was getting worried.
could it be that he had not followed bowser the hound, after all?
granny fox went out on a high point and looked, but she could see nothing of farmer brown's boy and his gun.
just then ol' mistah buzzard came sailing down out of the blue, blue sky and settled himself on a tall, dead tree.
now granny fox had n't forgotten how ol' mistah buzzard had warned peter rabbit just as she was about to pounce on him, but she suddenly thought that ol' mistah buzzard might be of use to her.
so old granny fox smoothed out her skirts and walked over to the foot of the tree where ol' mistah buzzard sat.
""how do you do today, neighbor buzzard?"
inquired granny fox, smiling up at ol' mistah buzzard.
""ah'm so as to be up and about, thank yo"," replied ol' mistah buzzard, spreading his wings out so that air could blow under them.
""my!"
exclaimed old granny fox, "what splendid great wings you have, mistah buzzard!
it must be grand to be able to fly.
i suppose you can see a great deal from way up there in the blue, blue sky, mistah buzzard."
ol' mistah buzzard felt flattered.
""yes," said he, "ah can see all that's going on on the green meadows and in the green forest."
""oh, mistah buzzard, you do n't really mean that!"
exclaimed old granny fox, just as if she wanted to believe it, but could n't.
""yes, ah can!"
replied ol' mistah buzzard.
""really, mistah buzzard?
really?
oh, i ca n't believe that your eyes are so sharp as all that!
now i know where bowser the hound is and where farmer brown's boy is, but i do n't believe you can see them," said granny fox.
ol' mistah buzzard never said a word but spread his broad wings and in a few minutes he had sailed up, up, up until he looked like just a tiny speck to old granny fox.
now old granny fox had not told the truth when she said she knew where farmer brown's boy was.
she thought she would trick ol' mistah buzzard into telling her.
in a few minutes down came ol' mistah buzzard.
""bowser the hound is up in the old back pasture," said he.
""right!"
cried old granny fox, clapping her hands.
""and where is farmer brown's boy?"
""farmer brown's boy is..." ol' mistah buzzard paused.
""where?
where?"
asked granny fox, so eagerly that ol' mistah buzzard looked at her sharply.
""yo" said you knew, so what's the use of telling yo"?"
said ol' mistah buzzard.
then he added: "but if ah was yo", ah cert "nly would get home right smart soon."
""why?
do, do tell me what you saw, mistah buzzard!"
begged granny fox.
but ol' mistah buzzard would n't say another word, so old granny fox started for home as fast as she could run.
""oh dear, i do hope reddy fox minded me and stayed in the house," she muttered.
xxii granny fox has a terrible scare old granny fox felt her heart sink way down to her toes, for she felt sure ol' mistah buzzard had seen farmer brown's boy and his gun over near the house where reddy fox was nursing his wounds, or he would n't have advised her to hurry home.
she was already very tired and hot from the long run to lead bowser the hound away from the green meadows.
she had thought to walk home along shady paths and cool off, but now she must run faster than ever, for she must know if farmer brown's boy had found her house.
""it's lucky i told reddy fox to go inside and not come out till i returned; it's very lucky i did that," thought granny fox as she ran.
presently she heard voices singing.
they seemed to be in the treetops over her head.
""happily we dance and play all the livelong sunny day!
happily we run and race and win or lose with smiling face!"
granny fox knew the voices, and she looked up.
just as she expected, she saw the merry little breezes of old mother west wind playing among the leaves.
just then one of them looked down and saw her.
""there's old granny fox!
just see how hot and tired she looks.
let's go down and cool her off!"
shouted the merry little breeze.
in a flash they were all down out of the treetops and dancing around old granny fox, cooling her off.
of course, granny fox kept right on running.
she was too worried not to.
but the merry little breezes kept right beside her, and it was not nearly as hard running now as it had been.
""have you seen farmer brown's boy?"
panted granny fox.
""oh, yes!
we saw him just a little while ago over near your house, granny fox.
we pulled his hat off, just to hear him scold," shouted the merry little breezes, and then they tickled and laughed as if they had had a good time with farmer brown's boy.
but old granny fox did n't laugh -- oh, my, no, indeed!
her heart went lower still, and she did her best to run faster.
pretty soon she came out on the top of the hill where she could look, and then it seemed as if her heart came right up in her mouth and stopped beating.
her eyes popped almost out of her head.
there was farmer brown's boy standing right in front of the door of her home.
and while she was watching, what should reddy fox do but stick his head out the door.
old granny fox saw the gun of farmer brown's boy pointed right at reddy and she clapped both hands over her eyes to shut out the dreadful sight.
then she waited for the bang of the gun.
it did n't come.
then granny peeped through her fingers.
farmer brown's boy was still there, but reddy fox had disappeared inside the house.
granny fox sighed in relief.
it had been a terrible scare, the worst she could remember.
xxiv.
granny and reddy have to move "i do n't want to move," whined reddy fox.
""i'm too sore to walk."
old granny fox gave him a shove.
""you go along and do as i say!"
she snapped.
""if you had minded me, we would n't have to move.
it's all your own fault.
the wonder is that you were n't killed when you poked your head out right in front of farmer brown's boy.
now that he knows where we live, he will give us no peace.
move along lively now!
this is the best home i have ever had, and now i've got to leave it.
oh dear!
oh dear!"
reddy fox hobbled along up the long hall and out the front door.
he was walking on three legs, and at every step he made a face because, you know, it hurt so to walk.
the little stars, looking down from the sky, saw reddy fox limp out the door of the house he had lived in so long, and right behind him came old granny fox.
granny sighed and wiped away a tear, as she said good-by to her old home.
reddy fox was thinking too much of his own troubles to notice how badly granny fox was feeling.
every few steps he had to sit down and rest because it hurt him so to walk.
""i do n't see the use of moving tonight, anyway.
it would be a lot easier and pleasanter when the sun is shining.
this night air makes me so stiff that i know i never will get over it," grumbled reddy fox.
old granny fox listened to him for a while, and then she lost patience.
yes, sir, granny fox lost patience.
she boxed reddy fox first on one ear and then on the other.
reddy began to snivel.
""stop that!"
said granny fox sharply.
""do you want all the neighbors to know that we have got to move?
they'll find it out soon enough.
now come along without any more fuss.
if you do n't, i'll just go off and leave you to shift for yourself.
then how will you get anything to eat?"
reddy fox wiped his eyes on his coat sleeve and hobbled along as best he could.
granny fox would run a little way ahead to see that the way was safe and then come back for reddy.
poor reddy.
he did his best not to complain, but it was such hard work.
and somehow reddy fox did n't believe that it was at all necessary.
he had been terribly frightened when he had disobeyed granny fox that afternoon and put his head out the door, only to look right into the freckled face of farmer brown's boy.
he had ducked back out of sight again too quickly for farmer brown's boy to shoot, and now he could n't see why old granny fox wanted to move that very night.
""she's getting old.
she's getting old and timid and fussy," muttered reddy fox, as he hobbled along behind her.
it seemed to reddy as if they had walked miles and miles.
he really thought that they had been walking nearly all night when old granny fox stopped in front of the worst-looking old fox house reddy had ever seen.
""here we are!"
said she.
""what!
are we going to live in that thing?"
cried reddy.
""it is n't fit for any respectable fox to put his nose into."
""it is where i was born!"
snapped old granny fox.
""if you want to keep out of harm's way, do n't go to putting on airs now.
""who scorns the simple things of life and tilts his nose at all he sees, is almost sure to feel the knife of want cut through his pleasant ease.
""now do n't let me hear another word from you, but get inside at once!"
reddy fox did n't quite understand all granny fox said, but he knew when she was to be obeyed, and so he crawled gingerly through the broken-down doorway.
xxv.
peter rabbit makes a discovery hardly had jolly, round, red mr. sun thrown off his nightcap and come out from his home behind the purple hills for his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky, when farmer brown's boy started down the lone little path through the green forest.
peter rabbit, who had been out all night and was just then on his way home, saw him.
peter stopped and sat up to rub his eyes and look again.
he was n't quite sure that he had seen aright the first time.
but he had.
there was farmer brown's boy, sure enough, and at his heels trotted bowser the hound.
peter rabbit rubbed his eyes once more and wrinkled up his eyebrows.
farmer brown's boy certainly had a gun over one shoulder and a spade over the other.
where could he be going down the lone little path with a spade?
farmer brown's garden certainly was not in that direction.
peter watched him out of sight and then he hurried down to the green meadows to tell johnny chuck what he had seen.
my, how peter's long legs did fly!
he was so excited that he had forgotten how sleepy he had felt a few minutes before.
halfway down to johnny chuck's house, peter rabbit almost ran plump into bobby coon and jimmy skunk, who had been quarreling and were calling each other names.
they stopped when they saw peter rabbit.
""peter rabbit runs away from his shadder, so they say.
peter, peter, what a sight!
tell us why this sudden fright," shouted bobby coon.
peter rabbit stopped short.
indeed, he stopped so short that he almost turned a somersault.
""say," he panted, "i've just seen farmer brown's boy."
""you do n't say so!"
said jimmy skunk, pretending to be very much surprised.
""you do n't say so!
why, now i think of it, i believe i've seen farmer brown's boy a few times myself."
peter rabbit made a good-natured face at jimmy skunk, and then he told all about how he had seen farmer brown's boy with gun and spade and bowser the hound going down the lone little path.
""you know there is n't any garden down that way," he concluded.
bobby coon's face wore a sober look.
yes, sir, all the fun was gone from bobby coon's face.
""what's the matter?"
asked jimmy skunk.
""i was just thinking that reddy fox lives over in that direction and he is so stiff that he can not run," replied bobby coon.
jimmy skunk hitched up his trousers and started toward the lone little path.
""come on!"
said he.
""let's follow him and see what he is about."
bobby coon followed at once, but peter rabbit said he would hurry over and get johnny chuck and then join the others.
all this time farmer brown's boy had been hurrying down the lone little path to the home old granny fox and reddy fox had moved out of the night before.
of course, he did n't know that they had moved.
he put down his gun, and by the time jimmy skunk and bobby coon and peter rabbit and johnny chuck reached a place where they could peep out and see what was going on, he had dug a great hole.
""oh!"
cried peter rabbit, "he's digging into the house of reddy fox, and he'll catch poor reddy!"
xxvi.
farmer brown's boy works for nothing the grass around the doorstep of the house where reddy fox had always lived was all wet with dew when farmer brown's boy laid his gun down, took off his coat, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and picked up his spade.
it was cool and beautiful there on the edge of the green meadows.
jolly, round, red mr. sun had just begun his long climb up in the blue, blue sky.
mr. redwing was singing for joy over in the bulrushes on the edge of the smiling pool.
yes, it was very beautiful, very beautiful indeed.
it did n't seem as if harm could come to anyone on such a beautiful morning.
but there was farmer brown's boy.
he had crawled on his hands and knees without making a sound to get near enough to the home of reddy fox to shoot if reddy was outside.
but there was no sign of reddy, so farmer brown's boy had hopped up, and now he was whistling as he began to dig.
his freckled face looked good-natured.
it did n't seem as if he could mean harm to anyone.
but there lay the gun, and he was working as if he meant to get to the very bottom of reddy fox's home!
deeper and deeper grew the hole, and bigger and bigger grew the pile of sand which he threw out.
he did n't know that anyone was watching him, except bowser the hound.
he did n't see johnny chuck peeping from behind a tall bunch of meadow grass, or peter rabbit peeping from behind a tree on the edge of the green forest, or bobby coon looking from a safe hiding place in the top of that same tree.
he did n't see jimmy skunk or unc" billy possum or happy jack squirrel or digger the badger.
he did n't see one of them, but they saw him.
they saw every shovelful of sand that he threw, and their hearts went pit-a-pat as they watched, for each one felt sure that something dreadful was going to happen to reddy fox.
only ol' mistah buzzard knew better.
from way up high in the blue, blue sky he could look down and see many things.
he could see all the little meadow and forest people who were watching farmer brown's boy.
the harder farmer brown's boy worked, the more ol' mistah buzzard chuckled to himself.
what was he laughing at?
why, he could see the sharp face of old granny fox, peeping out from behind an old fence corner, and she was grinning.
so ol' mistah buzzard knew reddy fox was safe.
but the other little people of the green forest and the green meadows did n't know that old granny fox and reddy fox had moved, and their faces grew longer and longer as they watched farmer brown's boy go deeper and deeper into the ground.
""reddy fox has worried me almost to death and would eat me if he could catch me, but somehow things would n't be quite the same without him around.
oh dear, i do n't want him killed," moaned peter rabbit.
""perhaps he is n't home," said jimmy skunk.
""of course he's home; he's so stiff and sore he can hardly walk at all and has to stay home," replied johnny chuck.
""hello, what's the matter now?"
everybody looked.
farmer brown's boy had climbed out of the hole.
he looked tired and cross.
he rested for a few minutes, and as he rested, he scowled.
then he began to shovel the sand back into the hole.
he had reached the bottom and found no one there.
""hurrah!"
shouted peter rabbit and struck his heels together as he jumped up in the air.
and the others were just as glad as peter rabbit.
johnny chuck was especially glad, for, you see, farmer brown's boy had once found johnny's snug home, and johnny had had to move as suddenly as did granny and reddy fox.
johnny knew just how reddy must feel, for he had had many narrow escapes in his short life.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___the_adventures_of_unc'_billy_possum.txt.out
i unc" billy possum is caught the green meadows were thrown into great excitement late one afternoon, just as the black shadows came creeping down from the purple hills.
reddy fox brought the news, and when he told it he grinned as if he enjoyed it and was glad of it.
""old billy possum is dead.
i know it because i saw farmer brown's boy carrying him home by the tail," said reddy.
""so you see he was n't so smart as you thought he was," he added maliciously.
no one really believed reddy fox, for every one knows that he seldom tells the truth, but when jimmy skunk came mournfully down the crooked little path and said that it was true, they had to believe it.
then everybody began to talk about unc" billy and say nice things about him and tell how much they had enjoyed having him live in the green forest since he came up from "ol' virginny."
that is, everybody but reddy fox said so.
reddy said that it served unc" billy right, because he was of no account, anyway.
then everybody began to hoot and hiss at reddy until he was glad enough to slink away.
and while they were all saying such nice things about him, unc" billy possum was having an exciting adventure.
for once he had been too bold.
he had gone up to farmer brown's hen-house before dark.
jimmy skunk had tried to stop him, but he had heeded jimmy skunk not at all.
he had said that he was hungry and wanted an egg, and he could n't wait till dark to get it.
so off he had started, for unc" billy possum is very headstrong and obstinate.
he had reached the hen-house and slipped inside without being seen.
the nests were full of eggs, and soon unc" billy was enjoying his feast so that he forgot to keep watch.
suddenly the door opened, and in stepped farmer brown's boy to get some eggs for supper.
there was no time to run.
unc" billy just dropped right down in his tracks as if he were dead.
when farmer brown's boy saw him, he did n't know what to make of him, for he had never seen unc" billy before.
""well, well, i wonder what happened to this fellow," said farmer brown's boy, turning unc" billy over with the toe of one foot.
""he certainly is dead enough, whatever killed him.
i wonder what he was doing in here."
then he saw some egg on unc" billy's lips.
""ho!
ho!"
shouted farmer brown's boy.
""so you are the thief who has been getting my eggs!"
and picking up unc" billy by the tail, he started with him for the house.
as they passed the woodpile, he tossed unc" billy on the chopping-block while he gathered an armful of kindlings to take to the house.
when he turned to pick up unc" billy again, unc" billy was n't there.
farmer brown's boy dropped his wood and hunted everywhere, but not a trace of unc" billy could he find.
ii reddy fox thinks he sees a ghost reddy fox came down the lone little path through the green forest on his way to the green meadows.
he had brushed his red coat until it shone.
his white waistcoat was spotless, and he carried his big tail high in the air, that it might not become soiled.
reddy was feeling as fine as he looked.
he would have liked to sing, but every time he tried his voice cracked, and he was afraid that some one would hear him and laugh at him.
if there is one thing that reddy fox dislikes more than another, it is being laughed at.
reddy chuckled at his thoughts, and what do you think he was thinking about?
why, about how he had seen farmer brown's boy carrying off unc" billy possum by the tail the afternoon before.
he knew how farmer brown's boy had caught unc" billy in the hen-house, and with his own eyes he had seen unc" billy carried off.
of course unc" billy was dead.
there could be no doubt about it.
and reddy was glad of it.
yes, sir, reddy was glad of it.
unc" billy possum had made altogether too many friends in the green forest and on the green meadows, and he had made reddy the laughing-stock of them all by the way he had dared reddy to meet bowser the hound, and actually had waited for bowser while reddy ran away.
reddy remembered that unc" billy's hollow tree was not far away.
he would go over that way, just to have another look at it.
so over he went.
there stood the old hollow tree, and half way up was the door out of which unc" billy used to look down on him and grin.
it was reddy's turn to grin now.
presently he sat down with his back against the foot of the tree, crossed his legs, looked this way and that way to make sure that no one was about, and then in a dreadfully cracked voice he began to sing: "ol' bill possum, he's gone before!
ol' bill possum, he is no more!
bill was a scamp, sir; bill was a thief!
bill stole an egg, sir; bill came to grief.
ol' bill possum, it served him right; and he is no more, for he died last night."
""very good, sah, very good.
ah cert "nly am obliged to yo'all for yo" serenade," said a voice that seemed to come out of the tree at reddy's back.
reddy fox sprang up as if some one had stuck a pin into him.
every hair stood on end, as he looked up at unc" billy's doorway.
then his teeth began to chatter with fright.
looking out of unc" billy's doorway and grinning down at him was something that looked for all the world like unc" billy himself.
""it must be his ghost!"
said reddy, and tucking his tail between his legs, he started up the crooked little path as fast as his legs could take him.
reddy never once looked back.
if he had, he might have seen unc" billy possum climb down from the hollow tree and shake hands with jimmy skunk, who had just come along.
""how did ah do it?
why, ah just pretended ah was daid, when farmer brown's boy caught me," explained unc" billy.
""of course he" would n't kill a daid possum.
so when he tossed me down on the chopping-block and turned his back, ah just naturally came to life again, and here ah am."
unc" billy possum grinned broader than ever, and jimmy skunk grinned, too.
iii unc" billy possum sends for his family the news that unc" billy possum was n't dead at all but was back in his hollow tree in the green forest soon spread through all the green forest and over the green meadows.
everybody hastened to pay their respects, that is everybody but reddy fox.
unc" billy and his partner, jimmy skunk, told every one who called how reddy fox had thought that unc" billy was a ghost and had been frightened almost to death, so that he ran away as fast as his legs could take him.
unc" billy grinned as he told how reddy had sat under the hollow tree and tried to sing because he was so glad that unc" billy was dead, and all the little people of the green forest and the green meadows laughed until their sides ached when in a funny, cracked voice unc" billy sang the song for them.
thereafter whenever one of them caught sight of reddy fox at a safe distance, he would shout: "ol' bill possum, he's gone before!
ol' bill possum, he is no more!"
it got so that reddy never came down on the green meadows in the daytime, and at night he avoided meeting any one if possible, even his old friend, bobby coon.
and of course reddy fox hated unc" billy possum more than ever.
but unc" billy did n't care, not he!
he knew that all the rest of the little people of the green forest and the green meadows thought him the smartest of them all, because of the way in which he had fooled bowser the hound and farmer brown's boy.
he liked his neighbors, he liked the green forest, and so he made up his mind that this was the place for him to stay.
but in spite of all his friends, unc" billy was lonesome.
the longer he stayed, the more lonesome he grew, unc" billy wanted his family, whom he had left way down in "ol' virginny."
finally he told jimmy skunk all about it, and for once unc" billy had forgotten how to grin.
yes, sir, unc" billy had forgotten how to grin.
instead he just wept, wept great big tears of lonesomeness.
""ah reckon ah'll have to go back to ol' virginny, ah cert "nly do," said unc" billy possum.
jimmy skunk grew very thoughtful.
since he and unc" billy possum had been in partnership, jimmy had had more eggs to eat than ever before in his whole life.
now unc" billy was talking about going away.
jimmy thought very hard.
then he had a bright idea.
""why not send for your family to come here and live in the green forest, uncle billy?"
he asked.
unc" billy stopped crying.
his two little eyes looked up sharply.
""how do yo'all reckon ah can send word?"
he asked.
jimmy scratched his head.
""there's mr. skimmer the swallow; he's fixing to go south.
perhaps he'll take the message to your family," said he.
""the very thing!"
cried unc" billy possum, wiping his eyes.
""ah thanks yo", sah.
ah does, indeed.
ah'll see mistah skimmer at once."
and without another word unc" billy possum started down the crooked little path for the green meadows to look for skimmer the swallow.
iv bobby coon enters the wrong house after unc" billy possum had arranged with skimmer the swallow, who was going south, to take a message to his family in "ol' virginny," telling them to come and join him in the green forest, he at once began to make preparations to receive them.
unc" billy is n't any too fond of work.
he had a lot rather that some one else should do the work for him, and he is smart enough to fix it so that usually some one else does.
but getting ready to receive his family was different.
no one else could arrange things to suit him.
this was unc" billy's own job, and he tended right to it every minute of the day.
first of all he had to clean house.
he had been keeping bachelor's hall so long in the big hollow tree that things were not very tidy.
so unc" billy cleaned house, and while he worked he whistled and sang.
peter rabbit, passing that way, overheard unc" billy singing: "mah ol' woman is away down souf -- come along!
come along!
ai n't nothin" sharper than the tongue in her mouf -- come along!
come along!
she once was pretty, but she ai n't no mo", but she cooks mah meals an" she sweeps mah flo"; she darns mah stockings an" she mends mah coat, an" she knows jes" how mah chillun fer to tote -- come along!
come along!
""mah pickaninnies am a-headin" dis way -- come along!
come along!
daddy am a-watchin" fo"'em day by day -- come along!
come along!
mah ol' haid aches when ah thinks ob de noise de's boun" to be wid dem gals an" boys, but ah doan care if it busts in two if de good lord brings dem chillun troo -- come along!
come along!"
every little while unc" billy possum would sit down to rest, for he was n't used to so much real work.
but finally he got his house clean and made as comfortable as possible, and about that time be began to think how good an egg would taste.
the more he thought about it, the more he wanted that egg.
""it's no use talking, ah just naturally has to have that egg," said unc" billy to himself, and off he started for farmer brown's.
now unc" billy was hardly out of sight when along came bobby coon.
bobby coon was absent-minded, or else he was so sleepy that he did n't know what he was doing, for bobby coon had been out all night.
anyway, when he reached unc" billy possum's hollow tree, he began to climb up it just as if it were his own.
he looked in at unc" billy's door.
there was the most comfortable bed that he had seen for a long time.
he looked this way and he looked that way.
nobody was in sight.
then he looked in at unc" billy's door once more.
that bed certainly did look soft and comfortable.
bobby coon chuckled to himself.
""i believe i'll just see if that bed is as comfortable as it looks," said he.
and two minutes later bobby coon was curled up fast asleep in unc" billy possum's bed.
v bobby coon is waked up "dey's a-coming, dey's a-coming, dey's a-coming mighty soon.
but dey ca n't come soon enuff fo" me!
dey's a-coming, dey's a-coming at de turning ob de moon, whar ah waits in mah ol' holler tree!"
unc" billy possum was singing to himself, as he slowly trudged home from farmer brown's hen-house.
he was feeling very good, very good indeed, was unc" billy possum.
no one appreciates strictly fresh eggs more than unc" billy does, and he had found more than he could eat waiting for him in farmer brown's hen-house.
now his stomach was full, his house had been cleaned and put to rights, ready for his family when they should arrive from "ol' virginny," and he had nothing to do but wait for them.
so he trudged along and sang in a funny, cracked voice.
presently he came to his big hollow tree and started to climb up to the door of his house.
half way up he broke off short in the middle of his song and sat down on a convenient branch.
he put one ear against the trunk of the tree and listened.
then he put the other ear against the tree and listened.
there certainly was a funny noise, and it seemed to come from right inside his hollow tree.
unc" billy turned and looked up at his doorway, scratching his head thoughtfully with one hand.
""mah goodness!"
said unc" billy, "it cert "nly sounds like there was somebody in mah house!"
then very softly unc" billy crept up to his doorway and peeped in.
it was dark inside, so that unc" billy could see little else than that his nice, freshly made, comfortable bed was all mussed up.
but if he could n't see, he could hear.
oh, yes, indeed, unc" billy could hear perfectly well, and what he heard was a snore!
there was some one in unc" billy's house, and more than that, they were fast asleep in unc" billy's bed.
""mah goodness!
mah goodness!"
exclaimed unc" billy possum, and his two sharp little eyes began to snap.
then he stuck his head in at the door and shouted: "hi, yo'all!
what yo" doing in mah house?"
the only answer was another snore.
unc" billy waited a minute.
then he put his head in once more.
""yo" better come out of mah house, mr. who-ever-yo" - are, before ah comes in and puts yo" out!"
shouted unc" billy.
the only answer was a snore louder than before.
then unc" billy quite lost his temper.
some one who had no business there was in his house!
he did n't know who it was, and he did n't care.
they were going to come out or he would know why not.
unc" billy gritted his teeth and in he went.
my!
my!
my!
such a rumpus as there was right away in that hollow tree!
peter rabbit happened to be coming along that way and heard it.
peter stopped and gazed at the hollow tree with eyes and mouth wide open.
such a snarling and growling!
then out of the doorway began to fly leaves and moss.
they were part of unc" billy's bed.
then peter saw a big ringed tail hanging out of the doorway.
peter recognized it right away.
no one possessed a tail like that but bobby coon.
in a minute bobby followed his tail, hastily backing down the tree.
then unc" billy's sharp little old face appeared at the doorway.
unc" billy looked down at peter rabbit and grinned.
""ah guess mistah coon done make a mistake when he went to bed in mah house," said he.
and bobby coon sheepishly admitted that he did.
vi sammy jay learns peter rabbit's secret "i'm mr. jaybird, tee-hee-hee!
i'm mr. jaybird; you watch me!
you've got to rise "fore break of day if you want to fool old mr. jay."
over and over sammy jay hummed this, as he brushed his handsome blue and white coat.
then he laughed as he remarked to no one in particular, for no one was near enough to hear: "peter rabbit's got a secret.
when peter goes about whispering, it's a sure sign that he's got a secret.
he thinks that he can keep it from me, but he ca n't.
oh, my, no!
i never knew of a secret that could be kept by more than two people, and already i've seen peter whisper to five.
i'll just see what reddy fox knows about it."
with a flirt of his tail sammy jay started for the green meadows, where reddy fox was busy hunting for his breakfast.
""it's a fine morning, reddy fox," said sammy jay.
""it would be finer, if i could fill my stomach faster," replied reddy.
""that's a pretty good secret of peter rabbit's, is n't it?"
asked sammy, pretending to look very wise.
reddy pricked up his sharp little ears.
""what secret?"
he demanded.
""if you do n't know, i'm not going to tell," retorted sammy jay, just as if he knew all about it, and off he flew to hunt up his cousin, blacky the crow.
blacky knew nothing about peter rabbit's secret, nor did shadow the weasel, whom he met by the way.
but sammy jay was not in the least bit discouraged.
""i'll try johnny chuck; he'll know," said sammy to himself.
he found johnny sitting on his doorstep, watching the world go by.
""good morning, johnny chuck," said sammy, with a low bow.
""good morning," replied johnny chuck, who always is polite.
""is n't that a fine secret of peter rabbit's?"
exclaimed sammy, just as if he knew all about it.
johnny chuck raised his eyebrows and put on the most surprised look.
""do tell me what it is!"
he begged.
""oh, if you do n't know, i wo n't tell, for that would n't be fair," replied sammy, and tried to look very honest and innocent, and then he flew over to the green forest.
and as he flew, he said to himself: "johnny chuck ca n't fool me; he does know peter rabbit's secret."
over in the green forest he found drummer the woodpecker making a great racket on the hollow limb of an old chestnut.
sammy sat down near by and listened.
""my, that's fine!
i wish i could do that.
you must be practising," said sammy at the end of a long rat-a-tat-tat.
drummer the woodpecker felt very much flattered.
""i am," said he.
""i'm practising for peter rabbit's party."
""i thought so," replied sammy jay.
of course he had n't thought anything of the kind.
""wo n't unc" billy possum be surprised?"
remarked drummer the woodpecker, as he sat down to rest.
""he surely will," replied sammy jay, and then he flattered and flattered drummer the woodpecker until finally drummer told all about peter's plan for a surprise party for unc" billy possum.
by and by, as he flew home, sammy jay chuckled and said: "you've got to rise "fore break of day if you want to fool old mr. jay."
vii four little scamps plan mischief "some folks think they're mighty smart -- oh, la me!
oh, la me!
like the knave who stole the tart -- oh, la me!
oh, la me!
some folks will waken up some day -- and find they ca n't fool mr. jay!"
sammy jay was mightily pleased with himself.
he had found out all about peter rabbit's plan to give unc" billy possum a surprise party when his family came up from "ol' virginny."
he had found out that all the little forest and meadow people but himself and his cousin, blacky the crow, and reddy fox and shadow the weasel had been invited, and that each was to bring something good to eat.
sammy jay smacked his lips as he thought of this.
then he looked up at jolly, round, red mr. sun and winked.
now on all the green meadows and in all the green forest, there live no greater scamps than sammy jay and blacky the crow and reddy fox and shadow the weasel.
the worst of it is, they are not honest.
they steal whenever they get a chance, and always they try to get others into trouble.
that was why peter rabbit had left them out, when he planned his surprise party for unc" billy possum.
sammy jay called the three others together under the lone pine and told them all about peter rabbit's plan and how they had been left out.
of course blacky the crow and reddy fox and shadow the weasel were angry, very angry indeed, for no one likes to be left out of a good time.
the more sammy jay told them, the angrier they grew; and the angrier they grew, the more sammy jay chuckled, way down inside.
sammy had a plan, and the angrier the others grew, the more likely were they to help him.
""you wait till i catch peter rabbit!"
said reddy fox and showed all his teeth.
he quite forgot that, despite all his smartness, he never yet had caught peter rabbit.
blacky the crow scratched his head thoughtfully.
""we can spoil his surprise by telling unc" billy possum all about it beforehand," said he.
sammy jay winked at each of the others.
he cleared his throat and looked all around, to make sure that no one else was near.
then he leaned forward and whispered: "let's invite ourselves to the party."
""what do you mean?"
exclaimed the others, all together.
""just what i say," replied sammy.
""we'll be the real surprise.
before the party begins, you will hide close to where it is to be.
when everybody has got there and brought all the good things to eat, i'll come flying along and scream: "here comes bowser the hound!"
of course every one will run away, and we'll have all the good things to eat."
""haw!
haw!
haw!
the very thing!
we'll all be there," cried blacky the crow.
the four little scamps shook hands and separated.
as they went across the green meadows, sammy jay's voice floated back to the lone pine.
he was singing, although he has a very poor voice for singing, and this was his song: -lsb- illustration: "what do you mean?"
exclaimed the others all together. -rsb-
""some folks think they're mighty smart -- oh, la me!
oh, la me!
like the knave who stole the tart -- oh, la me!
oh, la me!
some folks will waken up some day -- and find they ca n't fool mr. jay!"
""is that so?
really now, i want to know," said old mr. toad, crawling from under the very piece of bark on which sammy jay had sat when he told his plan.
then old mr. toad winked slowly and solemnly at jolly, round, red mr. sun and started off to find peter rabbit.
viii peter rabbit sends out word it was a beautiful morning.
everybody said so, and what everybody says is usually so.
peter rabbit wore the broadest kind of a smile.
he hopped and skipped all the way down the lone little path on to the green meadows and was waiting there when old mother west wind came down from the purple hills and, turning her big bag upside down, tumbled out all her children, the merry little breezes, to play.
peter stopped them before they had a chance to run away.
he whispered to each, and each in turn started to dance across the green meadows to carry the news that this was the day of peter rabbit's surprise party for unc" billy possum, whose family would arrive that very morning from way down in "ol' virginny."
sammy jay had risen very early that morning.
almost at once his sharp eyes had seen peter rabbit sending out the merry little breezes.
sammy's wits are as sharp as his eyes, and you know it is very hard to really fool sharp wits.
right away sammy had guessed what the merry little breezes were hurrying so for, but he sat and waited and listened.
pretty soon he heard drummer the woodpecker start a long rat-a-tat-tat over by unc" billy possum's hollow tree.
then sammy was sure that this was the day of peter rabbit's party.
sammy grinned as he hurried off to find blacky the crow and reddy fox and shadow the weasel.
reddy was not yet out of bed, but when he heard sammy jay at his door, he tumbled out in a hurry.
he did n't stop to get any breakfast, because he had planned to get all he could eat at the party.
so he hurried over to where the party was to be.
very cautiously he crept up, and when he was quite sure that no one was about, he crawled into a hollow log which was open at one end.
there he stretched himself out and made himself as comfortable as he could.
pretty soon shadow the weasel joined reddy fox in the hollow log, and they whispered and chuckled while they waited.
they knew that blacky the crow was safely hidden in the top of a tall pine, where he could see all that went on, and that sammy jay was flying about over the green meadows and through the green forest, pretending that he was attending wholly to his own business, but really watching all the preparations for peter rabbit's party.
at the foot of a tree, in the top of which prickly porky the porcupine was eating his breakfast, sat old mr. toad, nodding sleepily.
sammy jay saw him there but, smart as sammy is, he did n't once suspect innocent-looking old mr. toad.
you see, he did n't know that old mr. toad had overheard all of his plans.
ix mr. toad and prickly porky put their heads together slowly prickly porky the porcupine climbed down from the top of the tall poplar tree where he had been getting his breakfast of tender young bark.
he grunted as he worked his way down, for he had with him a bundle of bark to take over to peter rabbit's surprise party.
when he reached the ground, prickly porky shook himself until he rattled the thousand little spears hidden in his long coat.
""tee-hee-hee!"
""who dares to laugh at me?"
demanded pricky porky, shaking himself until all the little spears rattled again, and some of them began to peep out of his long coat.
""no one is laughing at you," replied a voice right behind him.
prickly porky turned around.
there sat old mr. toad.
his big mouth was stretched wide open, and he was laughing all to himself.
something was tickling old mr. toad mightily.
prickly porky scowled, and a few more little spears peeped out of his long coat.
you know no one likes to be laughed at, and it certainly did look as if old mr. toad was laughing at him.
mr. toad stopped laughing and hopped a step nearer.
""it's a joke," said he, and slowly winked one eye.
""i do n't see any joke," said prickly porky, and his voice was very fretful.
mr. toad hopped a step nearer.
""are you going to peter rabbit's party?"
""of course i am.
what a foolish question," replied prickly porky.
""to be sure, a very foolish question, a very foolish question, indeed," assented mr. toad.
""do you know that sammy jay and blacky the crow and reddy fox and shadow the weasel, who have not been invited, are planning to break up the party and then gobble up all the good things to eat?"
he continued.
prickly porky laid down his bundle of tender young bark and stared at old mr. toad, "how do you know?"
he demanded.
old mr. toad chuckled deep down in his throat.
""i was underneath a piece of bark on which sammy jay was sitting when the plan was made.
of course he did n't know i was there, and of course i did n't tell him."
""of course not," interrupted prickly porky, beginning to grin.
""of course not," continued mr. toad, grinning, too.
then he told prickly porky all about the plan he had overheard, how reddy fox and shadow the weasel and blacky the crow were to hide near unc" billy possum's hollow tree, and how sammy jay was to frighten away everybody else by pretending that bowser the hound was coming.
""have you told peter rabbit?"
asked prickly porky.
""not yet, but i'm going to, by and by," replied old mr. toad.
""but first, i want you to help me fool sammy jay and blacky the crow and reddy fox and shadow the weasel.
will you?"
""of course i will if i can, but how can i?"
answered prickly porky promptly.
old mr. toad hopped up, and stretching up on tiptoe, whispered in one of prickly porky's ears.
prickly porky began to smile.
then he began to chuckle.
finally he laughed until he had to hold his sides.
""will you do it?"
asked mr. toad.
prickly porky reached for his bundle of tender young bark.
""of course i will," said he, still chuckling.
""come on, mr. toad, it's time we were going."
x the runaway cabbage reddy fox, hiding with shadow the weasel in a hollow log near unc" billy possum's home, nudged shadow with his elbow.
""i hear some one coming," he whispered.
shadow peeped out.
""it's old mr. toad and prickly porky," he whispered back.
something that sounded very much like a growl sounded way down deep in the throat of reddy fox, for reddy has no love for prickly porky.
""and there comes jimmy skunk, with a big-goose egg under each arm!"
continued shadow, smacking his lips.
reddy fox wriggled up where he could peep out, too.
""my goodness!
what's that coming down the lone little path?"
whispered reddy.
shadow looked.
then he began to laugh, and reddy began to laugh, too.
but it was laughter that made no sound, for reddy and shadow did n't want any one to know that they were hiding there.
it was a funny sight they were peeping out at.
it certainly was a funny sight.
down the lone little path came peter rabbit and his cousin, juniper the hare, rolling a huge cabbage.
right at the top of a little hill the cabbage got away from them.
down it started, rolling and bounding along, with peter rabbit and jumper the hare frantically trying to catch it.
just ahead was johnny chuck with a big bundle of sweet clover, which he was bringing to peter rabbit's party.
he did n't see the big cabbage coming.
it knocked his feet from under him, and down he went with a thump, flat on his back.
right on top of him fell jumper the hare, who was close behind the runaway cabbage and had no time to turn aside.
over the two of them fell peter rabbit.
such a mix-up!
and the big cabbage kept right on running away.
jimmy skunk, who never hurries, heard the noise behind him and turned to see what it all meant.
but he did n't have time to more than blink his eyes before the runaway cabbage hit him full in the stomach.
down went jimmy skunk with a grunt.
one big egg flew over against a tree and broke.
jimmy landed on the other, and this broke, too.
such a sight as jimmy skunk was!
egg dripped from every part of his handsome black and white coat.
it was in his eyes and all over his face and dripped from his whiskers.
shadow the weasel and reddy fox, hiding in the hollow log, laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks, though down in the heart of shadow was bitter disappointment, for he had planned to steal those very eggs.
just a little way beyond jimmy skunk the runaway cabbage brought up with a thump against a stump on which sat striped chipmunk, with the pockets in his cheeks filled full of yellow corn.
the sudden bump of the big cabbage made striped chipmunk lose his balance, and off he tumbled, right down on to old mr. toad, who had just sat down behind the stump for a few minutes of rest.
it knocked all the wind out of mr. toad, and of course striped chipmunk spilled all his corn.
prickly porky the porcupine heard the noise.
he looked up to see a strange thing bounding down the lone little path.
prickly porky did n't wait to see what it was.
he did just what he always does when he thinks there may be danger; he rolled himself up with his face hidden in his waistcoat, and when he did that, the thousand little spears hidden in his coat stood out until he looked like a giant chestnut burr.
the runaway cabbage bounced off the stump and hit prickly porky.
then it stopped.
where it had touched prickly porky, the sharp little spears had stuck into it, so that when peter rabbit and jumper the hare hurried up, there lay the runaway cabbage, looking for all the world like a great green pincushion.
xi reddy fox goes hungry like a great green pincushion lay the runaway cabbage of peter rabbit and jumper the hare.
every one thought it was the very best joke ever.
jimmy skunk had gone off to take a bath and get two more eggs for peter rabbit's party.
reddy fox and shadow the weasel, peeping out from the hollow log where they were hiding, could see jimmy on his way back with a big goose egg under each arm.
shadow smacked his lips.
he meant to have those eggs himself.
pretty soon all the little forest and meadow people whom peter rabbit had invited were gathered around the foot of unc" billy possum's hollow tree, and each had brought something good to eat.
my, such a feast as was spread out there!
now they were waiting for unc" billy possum, who had gone to meet his family, coming up from "ol' virginny."
over in the top of a tall pine tree blacky the crow was hiding and chuckling to himself as he watched.
reddy fox was getting impatient.
he was hungry.
he had had no breakfast, and as he lay hiding in the hollow log, he could peep out and see all the good things, and he could smell them, too.
it seemed as if his stomach would just give him no peace at all.
he wished that sammy jay would bring the false message that bowser the hound was coming, so as to frighten all the rest away.
""i'm nearly starved!"
whispered reddy fox.
""i hope sammy jay will hurry up."
just then they noticed that peter rabbit was very busy.
he hopped from guest to guest and whispered in the ear of each.
""now i wonder what peter rabbit is whispering about," said reddy.
suddenly the light at the end of the hollow log disappeared.
there was a queer rattling sound that sent shivers up and down reddy's backbone.
prickly porky the porcupine had sat down with his back against the end of the hollow log, and the queer rattling sound was made by the thousand little spears in his long coat.
reddy fox and shadow the weasel were in a prison.
you see there was no other opening to the hollow log.
""never mind," whispered shadow the weasel, "he'll go away when sammy jay shouts that bowser the hound is coming."
blacky the crow, hidden in the top of the tall pine, was also wondering what peter was whispering.
his sharp eyes watched peter, and every time that peter whispered in the ear of one of the little meadow or forest people, they would laugh.
now, sammy jay knew nothing about all this.
by and by, when he thought that every one was there, sammy came flying through the green forest, just as if he knew nothing about peter rabbit's party.
now, sammy, with all his faults, is one of the best watchmen in the green forest.
if there is any danger which his sharp eyes discover, he always screams at the top of his lungs.
so, though he steals and plays tricks and makes life very uncomfortable for the others, they always stop to listen when sammy sounds a warning.
because sammy knew this he felt sure of breaking up this party.
as soon as he came in sight of all the little meadow and forest people, he began to shriek at the top of his lungs.
""run!
run!
run!
here comes bowser the hound," he shouted.
no one moved, and this puzzled sammy so that he hardly knew what to do, but he kept right on shrieking, just as if bowser was right close at hand.
still no one moved.
sammy stopped on a tall pine and pretended to be terribly excited.
""you had better run before bowser gets here," he shouted.
what do you think happened then?
why, everybody set up a great shout.
""ha!
ha!
ha!"
laughed peter rabbit.
""ho!
ho!
ho!"
shouted johnny chuck.
""hee!
hee!
hee!"
giggled danny meadow mouse.
""what time will bowser get here?"
asked bobby coon, gravely.
""tell bowser that we are all waiting for him," added jimmy skunk.
""is bowser quite out of breath?"
inquired jerry muskrat.
""i would like nothing better than to run a race with bowser the hound," said jumper the hare, sitting up very straight.
sammy jay did n't know what to do or what to say.
he was just the most disgusted looking jay that ever flew through the green forest, and all the time he wondered and wondered and wondered how it could be that peter rabbit and his friends knew that bowser the hound was not in the green forest at all.
you see, old mr. toad had told peter all about sammy's plan, and this is what peter had been whispering to the others.
xii prickly porky makes himself at home peter rabbit's party promised to be a great success.
when old mr. toad, who had overheard sammy jay's plan, had told peter rabbit all about it, he had also told peter that reddy fox and shadow the weasel were hiding in an old hollow log close by.
peter had whispered the news in the ear of each of the little forest and meadow people and had told them how prickly porky was even then sitting with his back against the opening in the hollow log.
every one had thought this the best joke ever, for, of course, they all knew that reddy fox and shadow the weasel could not get out past the thousand little spears hidden in the long coat of prickly porky.
prickly porky settled himself very comfortably and began to tell stories about his home, way up in the north woods.
every few minutes he would rattle the thousand little spears in his coat, and though no one could see reddy fox and shadow the weasel inside the hollow log, every one could guess just how little shivers were running up and down the backbones of the two little scamps held prisoners there.
prickly porky told how in the cold, cold winter the snow piled up and piled up in his far northern home, until nearly all the forest folk who lived there had to make a long journey into the south, or else went into warm, snug hollows in the trees or caves in the rocks and slept the long winter through, just as johnny chuck does.
he told how the indians came through the great forest on big webbed shoes, that kept them from sinking into the snow, and hunted for lightfoot the deer, and how they never bothered prickly porky, but always treated him with the greatest respect.
he told so many, many interesting things about the great north woods, that all the little meadow people and forest folk gathered close around to listen, but every few minutes, while he was talking, he would shake his thousand little spears, and then every one would smile.
inside the hollow log reddy fox was getting stiff and sore, because, you know, he did n't have room enough to even turn over.
worse still, he was so hungry that he could cry.
you see, he had crept in there very early in the morning without any breakfast, because he had planned that when sammy jay should break up peter rabbit's party, he would steal all the good things he wanted.
now, he could smell them, and hear the others talking about the feast they were going to have, and he knew that not so much as a tiny, tiny crumb would be left for him, when prickly porky should choose to let him out.
shadow the weasel felt just as uncomfortable as reddy fox, and shadow is very short-tempered.
every time reddy moved and squeezed shadow, shadow would snap at him.
now, of course, they could hear everything that was said outside, and the things that were said were not pleasant to listen to.
bobby coon and billy mink and johnny chuck and little joe otter and jimmy skunk told about all the mean things and all the sharp tricks that reddy fox and shadow had done.
it made the two little prisoners so angry that they ground their teeth, but every time they made the least little movement, prickly porky would shake his thousand little spears and settle himself still more firmly against the opening in the hollow log.
he certainly was enjoying himself.
it tickled him almost to pieces to think how easily he had trapped smart reddy fox, the boaster.
so they waited all the long day for the coming of unc" billy possum's family, and when at last they did arrive, there was the merriest surprise party ever seen.
only sammy jay, blacky the crow, reddy fox and shadow the weasel were unhappy, and of course no one cared for that.
xiii unc" billy possum grows hungry unc" billy possum spent the very coldest days of winter curled up in his warm, snug home in the big hollow tree in the green forest.
unc" billy did n't like the cold weather.
sometimes he would stick his head out of his doorway and then, as he heard rough brother north wind whooping through the green forest, he would turn right around and go back to his bed for another nap.
and all the time he would be saying: "way down souf de sun am shinin" -- yas, sah, dat am so!
fo" dat lan" mah heart am pinin" -- yas, sah, dat am so!
""de mocking-bird he sings all day, de alligators am at play, de flowers dey am bloomin" fair, and mah heart aches to be down there -- yas, sah, dat am so!"
now unc" billy had prepared for the winter by getting just as fat as he knew how.
he was so fat that he could hardly waddle when jack frost first came to the green forest.
you see he knew that if he was very, very fat he would n't have to worry about getting anything to eat, not for a long time, anyway.
so when the ice and snow came, and unc" billy decided that it was more comfortable indoors than outdoors, he was almost as fat as johnny chuck was when he went to sleep for the long winter.
now johnny chuck just slept and slept and slept, without waking once the whole winter long.
but unc" billy possum could n't sleep like that.
he had to stick his head out every little while to see how the world was getting along without him.
when the sun was bright and the air was not too cold, unc" billy would sometimes climb down from his hollow tree and walk about a little on the snow.
but he did n't enjoy it much.
it made his feet cold, and then he did n't like the tracks he made.
he scowled at them, for he knew well enough that if farmer brown's boy should happen along, he would know right away who had made those tracks, and then he would hunt for unc" billy's home in the hollow tree.
so unc" billy did n't go out very much, and very seldom indeed when the snow was soft.
it seemed to unc" billy possum as if the winter never, never would go.
he was beginning to grow thin now, and of course he was getting hungry.
he began to think about it, and the more he thought about it, the hungrier he grew.
one morning he stuck his head out of his doorway, and whom should he see trotting along below but jimmy skunk.
jimmy looked fat and comfortable and as if he did not mind the cold weather at all.
""good mo "ning, jimmy skunk," said unc" billy.
jimmy skunk looked up.
""hello, unc" billy!"
he exclaimed.
""i have n't seen you for a long time!"
""whar yo" been, jimmy skunk?"
asked unc" billy.
jimmy winked one eye.
""getting my breakfast of nice fresh eggs," he replied.
unc" billy possum's mouth began to water.
""did yo" leave any?"
he anxiously inquired.
jimmy skunk allowed that he did, and unc" billy gave a long sigh, as he watched jimmy skunk amble off up the lone little path.
unc" billy could n't sleep any more now.
no, sir, he could n't sleep a wink.
all he could do was to think how hungry he was.
he would shut his eyes, and then it seemed as if he could see right into farmer brown's hen-house, and there were eggs, eggs, eggs, everywhere.
finally unc" billy made up his mind.
""ah'm going up there the very first dark night!"
said he.
xiv old mrs. possum grows worried old mrs. possum counted her babies to be sure that they all were tucked snug and warm in their bed in the old hollow tree in the green forest.
""one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight."
they were all there.
mrs. possum looked at them with a great deal of pride and sighed as she thought of how soon they would be leaving the old hollow tree to see the great world and make homes for themselves.
just as soon as the beautiful spring came, they would one by one slip away.
mrs. possum sighed again.
she did n't like winter.
no, sir, she did n't like winter one bit.
but when she thought of how her babies would leave her, she almost wished that spring never would come.
sure that her babies were warm and comfortable, old mrs. possum went to the door and looked out.
it was plain to be seen that mrs. possum was worried.
that was the tenth time she had looked out in half an hour.
her sharp little old face looked sharper than ever.
it always looks sharper when she is worried, just as the tongues of some people always grow sharper when they are worried.
""ah don" see what can be keepin" mah ol' man!
ah'm plumb worried to death," muttered old mrs. possum.
right that very minute she heard a noise outside that made her hurry to the door and thrust her head out once more.
it was sammy jay, shrieking: "thief!
thief!
thief!"
at the top of his lungs.
""he's a thief himself and just a low-down mischief-maker, for all his smart clo'es, but he knows a powerful lot about what is going on in the green forest, and perhaps he has seen mah ol' man," said old mrs. possum, as she tried to make her sharp face as pleasant as possible.
she looked over at sammy jay, who was in the next tree, and smiled, and when she smiled she showed all her sharp teeth.
""good mo "ning, brer jay," said she.
""hello!"
exclaimed sammy jay, not at all politely.
""where's uncle billy possum?"
old mrs. possum shook her head, and the worried look came back into her face, although she tried hard, oh, so hard, not to let it.
""he done go out fo" a walk," replied old mrs. possum.
""ah reckons yo'all just got up, or yo" would have met up with him somewhere."
old mrs. possum said this just to try to make sammy jay talk, for sammy is very quick-tempered, and quick-tempered people often say a lot more than they mean to.
you see, mrs. possum was quite sure that if sammy jay knew how worried she was over unc" billy possum, he would refuse to tell her whether or not he had seen unc" billy, for sammy jay is mean and loves to torment others.
sammy's temper flared up right away.
""i've been up ever since sun-up!"
he sputtered.
""your old man is n't anywhere in the green forest, unless he's gone to sleep in some other hollow tree, and i would n't blame him a bit if he had!
no, sir, i would n't blame him the least bit!"
""keep your temper, brer jay!
keep your temper, do, oh pray!"
said old mrs. possum, grinning in the most aggravating way as she turned back to her babies.
she had found out what she wanted to know -- sammy jay had seen nothing of unc" billy possum.
old mrs. possum sat down with her head in her hands.
she was more worried than ever.
xv the foolishness of unc" billy possum if unc" billy possum had n't happened to look out of his doorway in the big hollow tree in the green forest, or if jimmy skunk had n't happened to come along just that very minute, or if unc" billy had n't asked jimmy where he had been, or if jimmy had n't mentioned nice fresh eggs, unc" billy would n't have been foolish, and old mrs. possum would n't have been worried.
but all those things did happen.
after jimmy skunk had mentioned his fine breakfast of fresh eggs, unc" billy possum could n't think of anything else.
he knew well enough where jimmy had found those eggs.
yes, indeed, unc" billy knew all about it.
he could shut his eyes and just see the inside of farmer brown's hen-house with the rows of hens and roosters sitting on the roosts at one end, their heads tucked under their wings.
he could see the rows of nests and the beautiful brown eggs in them.
jimmy skunk could n't climb, and so he could have gotten only the eggs in the lower nests.
now if he, unc" billy, had been there, he could have climbed to the very topmost nest and -- but what was the use of thinking about it?
he had n't been there, and he could n't go now, because it was daylight.
all the rest of the day unc" billy tried to sleep, but when he did sleep he dreamed about eggs, nice, fresh, delicious eggs, and when he was awake he though about eggs.
it made him more and more uneasy and fidgety.
old mrs. possum could n't stand it.
""what all am the matter with yo"?"
she snapped.
""ah do wish yo" would keep still a minute!"
unc" billy muttered something, but all that mrs. possum could hear was "eggs."
""now do n't yo'all get to thinking of such foolishness as eggs," she commanded.
""it is n't safe to be snooping around farmer brown's hen-house when there's snow on the ground.
yo" just fo "get all about eggs!
do yo" hear what ah say?"
unc" billy nodded that he did.
but just the same he could n't think of anything else.
he knew that old mrs. possum was right, and that it was n't safe to go fooling around farmer brown's hen-house and leaving his tracks for everybody who came along to see.
just the same, unc" billy felt that he had got to have a nice fresh egg.
he had got to have it.
that is all there was about it.
as soon as jolly, round, red mr. sun had gone to bed behind the purple hills that night, unc" billy crept out of his home in the hollow tree.
""where are yo" going?"
demanded mrs. possum.
""just to stretch the kinks out of mah legs," replied unc" billy.
old mrs. possum looked after him suspiciously.
""do n't yo" go fo" to do any foolishness!"
she called.
unc" billy did n't answer.
he was on his way to farmer brown's hen-house.
xvi why unc" billy possum did n't go home unc" billy possum had a very good reason for not going home, a very good reason, indeed.
even old mrs. possum would have thought it was a good reason, could she have known it.
but she did n't know it, and so she sat in the home in the big hollow tree in the green forest and worried herself almost sick, because unc" billy did n't come home, and she did n't know what might have happened to him.
sometimes unc" billy wished that he was back in the old hollow tree, and sometimes he was glad that he was right where he was.
sometimes he felt little shivers of fear run all over him as he thought of what might become of him if he should be found.
sometimes a little tickly feeling of pleasure ran all over him, as he bit a hole in the end of a freshly laid egg and sucked the egg out of the shell.
now unc" billy was very, very crafty.
he had found jimmy skunk's tracks boldly leading up to the hen-house, so unc" billy had stepped as carefully as he knew how in the footprints of jimmy skunk, in order that farmer brown's boy might think that jimmy skunk was the only visitor to the hen-house.
but with all his craft, there was one thing that unc" billy forgot.
yes, sir, there was one thing unc" billy forgot all about.
he forgot to keep his tail up.
he was trying so hard to step in the footprints of jimmy skunk, that he forgot all about that little, smooth, handy old tail of his, and he let it drag along the snow.
-lsb- illustration: he just ate and ate until he could n't eat another one. -rsb-
when unc" billy was safely in the hen-house, he hurried from one nest to another.
there were eggs, plenty of them.
it seemed to him that nothing he had ever seen before had looked half so good as those eggs.
he just ate and ate and ate until he could n't eat another one.
now a full stomach is very apt to make a sleepy head.
unc" billy knew that the thing for him to do was to hurry home as fast as he could go, but he did n't.
no, sir, he did n't do it.
the hen-house was warm and here were some of the nicest nests of hay.
he was tired after his long walk from the green forest, for unc" billy had done so little walking this winter that he was rather out of practice.
why not take a teeny, weeny nap before he started back home?
unc" billy climbed to the very last nest in the topmost row, way up in a dark corner.
it had n't been used for a long time, but it was full of nice, soft hay.
unc" billy curled himself up in it, and with a great sigh of contentment, closed his eyes for that teeny, weeny nap.
he did n't open them again until he heard an angry voice right close to him.
he peeped out.
it was broad daylight, and there, just below him, was farmer brown's boy, looking at the empty egg-shells left by unc" billy.
farmer brown's boy was angry.
yes, indeed, he was very, very angry.
unc" billy shivered as he listened.
then he snuggled down out of sight under the hay of the nest.
xvii unc" billy possum lies low farmer brown's boy was angry.
yes, sir, he was angry.
there was no doubt about that.
he had found the empty shells of the eggs which unc" billy had eaten in the night, and unc" billy knew by the sound of his voice that farmer brown's boy meant to find the thief.
it was a terrible position to be in, right there in the hen-house, with no chance to run.
unc" billy wished with all his might that he had never thought of eggs, and that he was safe back home in the dear old hollow tree in the green forest.
oh, dear!
oh, dear!
why had n't he gone right straight back there, after eating those eggs, instead of taking a nap?
but he had n't.
he had taken a nap and overslept, and here he was, right in the hen-house, in broad daylight.
""it must have been a skunk," said farmer brown's boy, "and if it was, he must have left some tracks in the snow outside.
i'll just look around a bit."
unc" billy almost chuckled as he heard farmer brown's boy go out.
""he'll find jimmy skunk's tracks, but he wo n't find mine," thought unc" billy.
""is n't it lucky that i thought to step right in jimmy skunk's tracks when i came here?"
he lay still and listened to farmer brown's boy poking around outside.
he heard him exclaim: "ah, i thought so!"
and knew that he had found the tracks jimmy skunk had made in the snow.
unc" billy almost chuckled again as he thought what a smart fellow he had been to step in jimmy skunk's tracks.
and right then he heard something that put an end to all his fine thoughts about his own smartness, and sent little cold shivers up and down his backbone.
""hello!"
said the voice of farmer brown's boy.
""these are queer tracks!
that skunk must have had a queer tail, for here are the marks of it in the snow, and they look as if they might have been made by the tail of a very big rat."
unc" billy remembered then for the first time that when he had thought he was so smart, he had forgotten to hold his tail up.
he had dragged it in the snow, and of course it had left a mark.
""i guess that there was more than one visitor here last night," continued the voice of farmer brown's boy.
""here are the tracks of the skunk going away from the hen-house, but i do n't see any of those other queer tracks going away.
whoever made them must be right around here now."
back into the hen-house came farmer brown's boy and began to poke around in all the corners.
he moved all the boxes and looked in the grain bin.
then he began to look in the nests.
unc" billy could hear him coming nearer and nearer.
he was looking in the very next nest to the one in which unc" billy was.
finally he looked into that very nest.
unc" billy possum held his breath.
now the nest in which unc" billy was hiding was on the topmost row in the darkest corner of the hen-house, and unc" billy had crawled down underneath the hay.
perhaps it was because that corner was so dark, or perhaps it was because that nest was so high up, that farmer brown's boy really did n't expect to find anything there.
anyway, all he saw was the hay, and he did n't take the trouble to put his hand in and feel for anything under the hay.
""it's queer," said farmer brown's boy.
""it's very queer!
i guess i shall have to set some traps."
and all the time unc" billy possum held his breath and lay low.
xviii unc" billy possum is a prisoner "mah home is in a holler tree -- it's a long way home!
ah wish ah's there, but here ah be -- it's a long way home!
if ah had only been content instead of out on mischief bent, ah'd have no reason to repent -- it's a long way home!"
unc" billy possum lay curled up under the hay in the highest nest in the darkest corner in farmer brown's hen-house.
unc" billy did n't dare go to sleep, because he was afraid that farmer brown's boy might find him.
and, anyway, he wanted to see just what farmer brown's boy was doing.
so peeping out, he watched farmer brown's boy, who seemed to be very busy indeed.
what do you think he was doing?
unc" billy knew.
yes, sir, unc" billy knew just what farmer brown's boy was doing.
he was setting traps.
unc" billy's eyes twinkled as he watched farmer brown's boy, for unc" billy knew that those traps were being set for him, and now that he knew just where each one was, of course he was n't a bit afraid.
it seemed to unc" billy that it was just the greatest kind of a joke to be watching farmer brown's boy set those traps, while all the time farmer brown's boy thought he was hiding them so cleverly that the only way they would be found would be by some one stepping into one and getting caught.
""there," said farmer brown's boy, as he set the last trap, "i'd like to see anything get into this hen-house now without getting caught!"
unc" billy almost chuckled aloud.
yes, sir, he almost chuckled aloud.
it was such a funny idea that farmer brown's boy should have taken all the trouble to set those traps to catch unc" billy trying to get into the hen-house, when all the time he was already in there.
unc" billy laughed under his breath as farmer brown's boy closed the door of the hen-house and went off whistling.
""ho, ho, ho!
ha, ha, ha!
hee, hee!"
unc" billy broke off short, right in the very middle of his laugh.
he had just thought of something, and it was n't funny at all.
with all those traps set at every opening to the hen-house, no one could get in without getting caught, and of course no one who was in could get out without getting caught!
the joke was n't on farmer brown's boy, after all; it was on unc" billy possum.
but unc" billy could n't see that it was any joke at all.
unc" billy was a prisoner, a prisoner in farmer brown's hen-house, and he did n't know how ever he was going to get out of there.
""it's a long way home," said unc" billy mournfully, as he peeped out of a crack toward the green forest.
xix what the snow did unc" billy possum did a lot of thinking.
he was a prisoner, just as much a prisoner as if he were in a cage.
now unc" billy possum would n't have minded being a prisoner in the hen-house but for two things; he was dreadfully afraid that his old friend and partner, jimmy skunk, would get hungry for eggs and would get caught in the traps, and he was still more afraid that farmer brown's boy would think to put his hand down under the hay in the last nest of the top row in the darkest corner.
so unc" billy spent most of his time studying and thinking of some way to get out, and if he could n't do that, of some way to warn jimmy skunk to keep away from farmer brown's hen-house.
if it had n't been for those two worries, unc" billy would have been willing to stay there the rest of the winter.
it was delightfully warm and cosy.
he knew which nest mrs. speckles always used and which one mrs. feathertoes liked best, and he knew that of all the eggs laid in farmer brown's hen-house those laid by mrs. speckles and mrs. feathertoes were the best.
having all the eggs he could eat, unc" billy had grown very particular.
nothing but the best, the very best, would do for him.
so he would lie curled up in the last nest of the top row in the darkest corner and wait until he heard the high-pitched voice of mrs. speckles proudly crying: "cut, cut, cut, cut, cut, cut-aa-cut!
i lay the finest eggs in the world!"
then unc" billy would chuckle to himself and wait a few minutes longer for the voice of mrs. feathertoes, saying: "cut, cut, cut, cut, cut-aa-cut, cut, cut, cut!
no one lays such splendid eggs as i do!"
then, while mrs. speckles and mrs. feathertoes were disputing as to which laid the best eggs, unc" billy would slip out and breakfast on both those newly laid eggs.
so for almost a week unc" billy lived in farmer brown's hen-house and ate the eggs of mrs. speckles and mrs. feathertoes and hid in the last nest of the top row in the darkest corner and shivered as he heard farmer brown's boy tell what would happen if he caught the one who was stealing those eggs.
sometimes the door was left open during the day, and unc" billy would peep out and wish that he dared to run.
but he did n't, for bowser the hound was always prowling around, and then again he was almost sure to be seen by some one.
at last one day it began to snow.
it snowed all day and it snowed all night.
rough brother north wind piled it up in great drifts in front of the hen-house door and all along one side of the hen-house.
it covered the traps so deep that they could n't possibly catch any one.
as soon as the snow stopped falling, unc" billy began to dig his way up to the top from the very hole by which he had entered the hen-house.
he did n't like it, for he does n't like snow, but now was his chance to get away, and he meant to make the most of it.
xx unc" billy possum wishes he had snowshoes unc" billy possum did n't know whether he liked the snow more than he hated it or hated it more than he liked it, just now.
usually he dislikes the snow very much, and does n't go out in it any more than he has to.
but this time the snow had done unc" billy a good turn, a very good turn, indeed.
once out of the hen-house, unc" billy lost no time in starting for the green forest.
but it was slow, hard work.
you see, the snow was newly fallen and very soft.
of course unc" billy sank into it almost up to his middle at every step.
he huffed and he puffed and he grunted and groaned.
you see unc" billy had slept so much through the winter that he was not at all used to hard work of any kind, and he was n't half way to the green forest before he was so tired it seemed to him that he could hardly move, and so out of breath that he could only gasp.
it was then that he was sure that he hated the snow more than he liked it, even if it had set him free from the hen-house of farmer brown.
now it never does to let one's wits go to sleep.
some folks call it forgetting, but forgetting is nothing but sleepy wits.
and sleepy wits get more people into trouble than anything else in the world.
unc" billy possum's wits were asleep when he left farmer brown's hen-house.
if they had n't been, he would have remembered this little saying: the wits that live within my head must never, never go to sleep, for if they should i might forget and trouble on me swiftly leap.
but unc" billy's wits certainly were asleep.
he was so tickled over the idea that he could get out of the hen-house, that he could n't think of anything else, and so he forgot.
yes, sir, unc" billy forgot!
what did he forget?
why, he forgot that that nice, soft snow, which so kindly buried the dreadful traps so that they could do no harm, could n't be waded through without leaving tracks.
unc" billy forgot all about that, until he was half way to the green forest, and then, as he sat down to rest and get his breath, he remembered.
-lsb- illustration: there all the way from farmer brown's hen-house was a broad trail in the smooth white snow. -rsb-
unc" billy looked behind him, and he turned pale.
yes, sir, unc" billy possum turned pale!
there, all the way from farmer brown's hen-house, was a broad trail in the smooth white snow, where he had plowed his way through.
if farmer brown's boy should come out to look at his traps, he would see that track at once, and all he would have to do would be to follow it until it led him to unc" billy.
""oh, dear!
oh, dear!
whatever did ah leave the hen-house for?"
wailed unc" billy.
his wits were all wide awake now.
it would n't do to go back.
farmer brown's boy would see that he had gone back, and then he would hunt that hen-house through until he found unc" billy.
no, there was nothing to do but to go on, and trust that farmer brown's boy was so snowed in and would be kept so busy shovelling out paths, that he would forget all about looking at his traps.
unc" billy drew a long breath and began to wade ahead toward the green forest.
""if ah only had snowshoes!"
he panted.
""if ah only had snowshoes like mrs. grouse."
xxi farmer brown's boy chops down a tree "there was an old possum lived up in a tree; hi, ho, see the chips fly!
the sliest old thief that you ever did see; hi, ho, see the chips fly!
he ate and he ate in the dark of the night, and when the day came not an egg was in sight, but now that i know where he's making his bed, i'll do without eggs and will eat him instead!
hi, ho, see the chips fly!"
farmer brown's boy sang as he swung his keen axe, and the chips did fly.
they flew out on the white snow in all directions.
and the louder farmer brown's boy sang, the faster the chips flew.
farmer brown's boy had come to the green forest bright and early that morning, and he had made up his mind that he would take home a fat possum for dinner.
he did n't have the least doubt about it, and that is why he sang as he made the chips fly.
he had tracked that possum right up to that tree, and there were no tracks going away from it.
right up near the top he could see a hollow, just such a hollow as a possum likes.
all he had to do was to cut the tree down and split it open, and mr. possum would be his.
so farmer brown's boy swung his axe, chop, chop, chop, and the chips flew out on the white snow, and farmer brown's boy sang, never once thinking of how the possum he was after might feel.
of course it was unc" billy possum whose tracks he had followed.
he had seen them outside of the hen-house, just as unc" billy had been afraid that he would.
he could n't very well have helped it, those tracks were so very plain to be seen.
that had been a long, hard, anxious journey for unc" billy from farmer brown's hen-house to the green forest.
the snow was so deep that he could hardly wade through it.
when he reached that hollow tree, he was so tired that it was all he could do to climb it.
of course it was n't his own hollow tree, where old mrs. possum and the eight little possums lived.
he knew better than to go there, leaving a plain track for farmer brown's boy to follow.
so he had been very thankful to climb up this hollow tree.
and, just as he had feared, there was farmer brown's boy.
chop, chop, chop!
the snow was covered with chips now.
chop, chop, chop!
the tree began to shiver and then to shake.
cra-a-ck!
with a great crash over it went!
bowser the hound barked excitedly, and with farmer brown's boy rushed to the hollow near the top to catch mr. possum, if he should run out.
but he did n't run out.
farmer brown's boy rapped on the tree with the handle of his axe, but no one ran out.
""i guess he's playing dead," said farmer brown's boy, and began to split open the tree, so as to get into the hollow.
and as he chopped, he began to sing again.
pretty soon he had split the tree wide open.
in the bottom of the hollow was an old nest of chatterer the red squirrel, and that was all.
farmer brown's boy rubbed his eyes and stared and stared and stared.
there were unc" billy's tracks leading straight up to that tree and none leading away.
did that possum have wings?
xxii where unc" billy possum was where was unc" billy possum?
that is what farmer brown's boy wanted to know.
that is what bowser the hound wanted to know.
where was unc" billy possum?
he was in another hollow tree all the time and laughing till his sides ached as he peeped out and saw how hard farmer brown's boy worked.
""ah done fool him that time," said unc" billy, as he watched farmer brown's boy wading off home through the snow, with bowser the hound at his heels.
""you certainly did, unc" billy!
how did you do it?"
asked a voice right over unc" billy's head.
unc" billy looked up in surprise.
there was tommy tit the chickadee.
unc" billy grinned.
""ah just naturally expected ah was gwine to have visitors, and so ah prepared a little surprise.
yes, sah, ah done prepare a little surprise.
yo" see, mah tracks in the snow was powerful plain.
yes, sah, they sho "ly was!
when ah had climbed up that tree and looked down and saw all those tracks what ah done made, ah began to get powerful anxious.
yes, sah, ah done get so anxious ah just could n't get any rest in mah mind.
ah knew farmer brown's boy was gwine to find those tracks, and when he did, he was gwine to follow'em right smart quick.
sho" enough, just before sundown, here he comes.
he followed mah tracks right up to the foot of the tree whar ah was hiding in the hollow, and ah heard him say: "so this is whar yo" live, is it, mistah possum?
ah reckon bowser and ah'll make yo" a call to-morrow."
""when i heard him say that, ah felt right bad.
yes, sah, ah sho "ly did feel right smart bad.
ah studied and ah studied how ah was gwine to fool farmer brown's boy and bowser the hound.
if ah climbed down and went somewhere else, ah would have to leave tracks, and that boy done bound to find me just the same.
ah done wish ah had wings like yo" and brer buzzard.
""so po" ol' unc" billy sat studying and studying and getting mo" and mo" troubled in his mind.
by and by ah noticed that a branch from that holler tree rubbed against a branch of another tree, and a branch of that tree rubbed against a branch of another tree, and if ah made a right smart jump from that ah could get into this tree, which had a holler just made fo" me.
ah did n't waste no mo" time studying.
no, sah, ah just moved right away, and here ah am."
""and you did n't leave any tracks, and you did n't have any wings," said tommy tit the chickadee.
""no," said unc" billy, "but ah done find that yo" can most always find a way out, if yo" look hard enough.
just now, ah am looking right smart hard fo" a way to get home, but ah reckon mah eyesight am failing; ah don" see any yet."
""dee, dee, dee!"
laughed tommy tit merrily.
""be patient, unc" billy, and perhaps you will."
xxiii happy jack squirrel makes an unexpected call happy jack squirrel likes the snow.
he always has liked the snow.
it makes him feel frisky.
he likes to run and jump in it and dig little holes in it after nuts, which he hid under the leaves before the snow fell.
when his feet get cold, all he has to do is to scamper up a tree and warm them in his own fur coat.
so the big snowstorm which made so much trouble for unc" billy possum just suited happy jack squirrel, and he had a whole lot of fun making his funny little tracks all through that part of the green forest in which he lives.
happy jack did n't know anything about unc" billy possum's troubles.
he supposed that unc" billy was safe at home in his own big hollow tree, fast asleep, as he had been most of the winter.
happy jack could n't understand how anybody could want to sleep such fine weather, but that was their own business, and happy jack had learned a long time ago not to worry about other people's business.
after frisking about he would stop to rest.
then he would sit up very straight and fold his hands across his breast, where they would get nice and warm in the fur of his coat.
his beautiful, great gray tail would be arched up over his back.
his bright eyes would snap and twinkle, and then he would shout just for joy, and every time he shouted he jerked his big tail.
farmer brown's boy called it barking, but it was happy jack's way of shouting.
""i love to romp!
i love to play!
i'm happy, happy, all the day!
i love the snow, so soft and white!
i love the sun that shines so bright!
i love the whole world, for, you see, the world is very good to me!"
by and by happy jack came to the hollow tree that farmer brown's boy had cut down because he thought that unc" billy possum was inside of it.
""hello!"
exclaimed happy jack.
""that's one of the old storehouses of my cousin, chatterer the red squirrel!
i've got an old storehouse near here, and i guess i'll see if i have left any nuts in it."
he scampered over to another hollow tree standing near.
he scampered up the tree as only happy jack can and whisked in at the open doorway of the hollow.
now happy jack had been in that hollow tree so often that he did n't once think of looking to see where he was going, and he landed plump on something that was soft and warm!
happy jack was so surprised that he did n't know what to do for a second.
and then all in a flash that something soft and warm was full of sharp claws and sharper teeth, and an angry growling tilled the hollow tree.
happy jack was so frightened that he scrambled out as fast as he could.
when he was safely outside, he grew very angry to think that any one should be in his storehouse, even if it was an old one.
he could hear a very angry voice inside, and in a minute who should appear at the doorway but unc" billy possum.
unc" billy had been waked out of a sound sleep, and that was enough to make any one cross.
besides, he had been badly frightened, and that made him crosser still.
""what do yo" mean by trying to frighten honest people?"
snapped unc" billy, when he caught sight of happy jack.
""what do you mean by stealing into other folk's houses?"
demanded happy jack, just as angrily.
xxiv happy jack squirrel helps unc" billy possum it is very startling, very startling indeed, to rush into your own storehouse, which you had supposed was empty, and run right into some one sleeping there as if he owned it.
it is enough to make any one lose his temper.
happy jack squirrel lost his.
and it is very startling, very startling, indeed, to be wakened out of pleasant dreams of warm summer days by having some one suddenly jump on you.
it is enough to make any one lose his temper.
unc" billy possum lost his.
so happy jack sat outside on a branch of the hollow tree where his old storehouse was and scolded, and called unc" billy possum names, and jerked his tail angrily with every word he said.
and unc" billy possum sat in the doorway of the hollow tree and showed his teeth to happy jack and said unpleasant things.
it really was very dreadful the way those two did talk.
but unc" billy possum is really very good-natured, and when he had gotten over the fright happy jack had given him and began to understand that he was in one of happy jack's storehouses, all his temper vanished, and presently he began to grin and then to laugh.
now it always takes two to make a quarrel, and one of the hardest things in the world is to keep cross when the one you are cross with wo n't keep cross, too.
happy jack tried hard to stay angry, but every time he looked at unc" billy possum's twinkling eyes and broad grin, happy jack lost a little of his own temper.
pretty soon he was laughing just as hard as unc" billy possum.
""ho, ho, ho!
ha, ha, ha!"
they laughed together.
finally they had to stop for breath.
""what are you doing in my storehouse, unc" billy?"
asked happy jack, when he could stop laughing.
then unc" billy told him all about how he had climbed there from another tree, so as to leave no tracks in the snow for farmer brown's boy to follow.
""but now ah want to go to mah own home in the big hollow tree way down in the green forest, but ah ca n't, on account of mah tracks in the snow," concluded unc" billy mournfully.
happy jack put his head on one side and thought very hard.
""why do n't you stay right here until the snow goes, unc" billy?"
he asked.
""because ah "spects that mah ol' woman am worried most to death," said unc" billy, in a mournful voice.
""besides," he added, "ah just done found out that this right nice lil" house belongs to one of mah neighbors."
there was a twinkle in unc" billy's eyes.
happy jack laughed.
""you're welcome to stay as long as you like, unc" billy," he said.
""you better stay right where you are, and i'll go tell old mrs. possum where you are."
""thank yo"!
thank yo"!
that is very kind of yo", brer squirrel.
that will be a great help, fo" it will lift a great load off mah mind," said unc" billy.
""do n't mention it, unc" billy!"
replied happy jack and started off with the message to old mrs. possum, and as he scampered through the snow he said: "to get yourself in trouble is a very easy thing.
i notice that to others it will always worries bring.
but getting out of trouble's always quite the other way -- the more you try to wriggle out, the longer you must stay."
xxv happy jack squirrel's bright idea happy jack squirrel frisked along through the snow on his way to unc" billy possum's house in the big hollow tree in the green forest to tell old mrs. possum that unc" billy was safe in another hollow tree on the edge of the green forest, but that he did n't dare to come home because he would leave tracks in the snow.
he found old mrs. possum very much worried and very much out of sorts.
you see unc" billy had been gone a long time for him, and she did n't know what had become of him.
now of course old mrs. possum was very much relieved when she heard that unc" billy was safe, for she had been afraid that something dreadful had happened to him.
but just as soon as she knew that he was safe, she forgot all about how worried she had been.
all she thought of was how unc" billy had gone to get some fresh eggs to put in his own stomach and left her to take care of herself and eight baby possums.
""yo" tell unc" billy possum that ah don" care if he never comes back.
ah done got other things to bother about more'n a worthless, no "count possum what don" take care of his fam "ly," she said crossly, and hurried into the house to see that the eight little possums were properly tucked in bed, for it was a cold day, and the eight little possums had to stay in bed to keep warm.
happy jack chuckled as he started back to tell unc" billy possum.
he knew perfectly well that old mrs. possum did n't mean what she said.
he knew that unc" billy would know that she did n't mean it.
but he knew, and he knew that unc" billy knew, that when he did get home, he would get a great scolding.
then all of a sudden happy jack thought of a way for unc" billy to get home without waiting until the snow melted away.
that might be a very long time, for there was a great deal of snow on the ground.
what do you suppose gave happy jack his idea?
why, a tiny little snowflake that hit happy jack right on the end of his nose!
yes, sir, it was that tiny little snowflake that gave happy jack squirrel his bright idea.
he hurried back to the hollow tree where unc" billy was hiding and scrambled up to the doorway.
""hello, unc" billy!
you can go home to-night!"
he shouted.
unc" billy possum stuck his head out of the doorway.
""what's that yo" say, brer squirrel?"
he said.
""ah don" see as the snow has gone away, and your tracks are powerful plain to see, and ah makes bigger tracks than yo", brer squirrel."
""just look up in the sky, unc" billy!"
said happy jack.
unc" billy looked.
the sky was full of dancing snowflakes.
they got in his eyes and clung to his whiskers.
unc" billy shook his head in disgust.
""ah don" see anything but mo" snow, and yo" know ah don" like snow!"
he said.
""what yo" driving at, brer squirrel?"
happy jack laughed.
""why, it's just as simple as can be, unc" billy!"
he cried.
""just as soon as it's dark, you start for home.
it's going to snow all night, and in the morning there wo n't be any tracks.
the snowflakes will have covered them all up."
unc" billy grinned.
""ah believe yo" are right, brer squirrel, ah believe yo" are right!"
said unc" billy.
and happy jack was right, for unc" billy got safely home that very night, and the next morning, when farmer brown's boy visited the green forest, there was n't a footprint to be seen anywhere.
so unc" billy possum learned how easy it is to get into trouble and how hard to get out of it.
but he is n't the only one who has found this out.
just ask unc" billy's particular friend, mistah mocker the mocking bird.
he will tell you the very same thing.
_book_title_: thornton_waldo_burgess___whitefoot_the_wood_mouse.txt.out
chapter i: whitefoot spends a happy winter in all his short life whitefoot the wood mouse never had spent such a happy winter.
whitefoot is one of those wise little people who never allow unpleasant things of the past to spoil their present happiness, and who never borrow trouble from the future.
whitefoot believes in getting the most from the present.
the things which are past are past, and that is all there is to it.
there is no use in thinking about them.
as for the things of the future, it will be time enough to think about them when they happen.
if you and i had as many things to worry about as does whitefoot the wood mouse, we probably never would be happy at all.
but whitefoot is happy whenever he has a chance to be, and in this he is wiser than most human beings.
you see, there is not one of all the little people in the green forest who has so many enemies to watch out for as has whitefoot.
there are ever so many who would like nothing better than to dine on plump little whitefoot.
there are buster bear and billy mink and shadow the weasel and unc" billy possum and hooty the owl and all the members of the hawk family, not to mention blacky the crow in times when other food is scarce.
reddy and granny fox and old man coyote are always looking for him.
so you see whitefoot never knows at what instant he may have to run for his life.
that is why he is such a timid little fellow and is always running away at the least little unexpected sound.
in spite of all this he is a happy little chap.
it was early in the winter that whitefoot found a little hole in a corner of farmer brown's sugar-house and crept inside to see what it was like in there.
it did n't take him long to decide that it was the most delightful place he ever had found.
he promptly decided to move in and spend the winter.
in one end of the sugar-house was a pile of wood.
down under this whitefoot made himself a warm, comfortable nest.
it was a regular castle to whitefoot.
he moved over to it the store of seeds he had laid up for winter use.
not one of his enemies ever thought of visiting the sugar-house in search of whitefoot, and they would n't have been able to get in if they had.
when rough brother north wind howled outside, and sleet and snow were making other little people shiver, whitefoot was warm and comfortable.
there was all the room he needed or wanted in which to run about and play.
he could go outside when he chose to, but he did n't choose to very often.
for days at a time he did n't have a single fright.
yes indeed, whitefoot spent a happy winter.
chapter ii: whitefoot sees queer things whitefoot had spent the winter undisturbed in farmer brown's sugar-house.
he had almost forgotten the meaning of fear.
he had come to look on that sugar-house as belonging to him.
it was n't until farmer brown's boy came over to prepare things for sugaring that whitefoot got a single real fright.
the instant farmer brown's boy opened the door, whitefoot scampered down under the pile of wood to his snug little nest, and there he lay, listening to the strange sounds.
at last he could stand it no longer and crept to a place where he could peep out and see what was going on.
it did n't take him long to discover that this great two-legged creature was not looking for him, and right away he felt better.
after a while farmer brown's boy went away, and whitefoot had the little sugar-house to himself again.
but farmer brown's boy had carelessly left the door wide open.
whitefoot did n't like that open door.
it made him nervous.
there was nothing to prevent those who hunt him from walking right in.
so the rest of that night whitefoot felt uncomfortable and anxious.
he felt still more anxious when next day farmer brown's boy returned and became very busy putting things to right.
then farmer brown himself came and strange things began to happen.
it became as warm as in summer.
you see farmer brown had built a fire under the evaporator.
whitefoot's curiosity kept him at a place where he could peep out and watch all that was done.
he saw farmer brown and farmer brown's boy pour pails of sap into a great pan.
by and by a delicious odor filled the sugar-house.
it did n't take him a great while to discover that these two-legged creatures were so busy that he had nothing to fear from them, and so he crept out to watch.
he saw them draw the golden syrup from one end of the evaporator and fill shining tin cans with it.
day after day they did the same thing.
at night when they had left and all was quiet inside the sugar-house, whitefoot stole out and found delicious crumbs where they had eaten their lunch.
he tasted that thick golden stuff and found it sweet and good.
later he watched them make sugar and nearly made himself sick that night when they had gone home, for they had left some of that sugar where he could get at it.
he did n't understand these queer doings at all.
but he was no longer afraid.
chapter iii: farmer brown's boy becomes acquainted it did n't take farmer brown's boy long to discover that whitefoot the wood mouse was living in the little sugar-house.
he caught glimpses of whitefoot peeping out at him.
now farmer brown's boy is wise in the ways of the little people of the green forest.
right away he made up his mind to get acquainted with whitefoot.
he knew that not in all the green forest is there a more timid little fellow than whitefoot, and he thought it would be a fine thing to be able to win the confidence of such a shy little chap.
so at first farmer brown's boy paid no attention whatever to whitefoot.
he took care that whitefoot should n't even know that he had been seen.
every day when he ate his lunch, farmer brown's boy scattered a lot of crumbs close to the pile of wood under which whitefoot had made his home.
then he and farmer brown would go out to collect sap.
when they returned not a crumb would be left.
one day farmer brown's boy scattered some particularly delicious crumbs.
then, instead of going out, he sat down on a bench and kept perfectly still.
farmer brown and bowser the hound went out.
of course whitefoot heard them go out, and right away he poked his little head out from under the pile of wood to see if the way was clear.
farmer brown's boy sat there right in plain sight, but whitefoot did n't see him.
that was because farmer brown's boy did n't move the least bit.
whitefoot ran out and at once began to eat those delicious crumbs.
when he had filled his little stomach, he began to carry the remainder back to his storehouse underneath the woodpile.
while he was gone on one of these trips, farmer brown's boy scattered more crumbs in a line that led right up to his foot.
right there he placed a big piece of bread crust.
whitefoot was working so hard and so fast to get all those delicious bits of food that he took no notice of anything else until he reached that piece of crust.
then he happened to look up right into the eyes of farmer brown's boy.
with a frightened little squeak whitefoot darted back, and for a long time he was afraid to come out again.
but farmer brown's boy did n't move, and at last whitefoot could stand the temptation no longer.
he darted out halfway, scurried back, came out again, and at last ventured right up to the crust.
then he began to drag it back to the woodpile.
still farmer brown's boy did not move.
for two or three days the same thing happened.
by this time, whitefoot had lost all fear.
he knew that farmer brown's boy would not harm him, and it was not long before he ventured to take a bit of food from farmer brown's boy's hand.
after that farmer brown's boy took care that no crumbs should be scattered on the ground.
whitefoot had to come to him for his food, and always farmer brown's boy had something delicious for him.
chapter iv: whitefoot grows anxious't is sad indeed to trust a friend then have that trust abruptly end.
-- whitefoot i know of nothing that is more sad than to feel that a friend is no longer to be trusted.
there came a time when whitefoot the wood mouse almost had this feeling.
it was a very, very anxious time for whitefoot.
you see, whitefoot and farmer brown's boy had become the very best of friends there in the little sugar-house.
they had become such good friends that whitefoot did not hesitate to take food from the hands of farmer brown's boy.
never in all his life had he had so much to eat or such good things to eat.
he was getting so fat that his handsome little coat was uncomfortably tight.
he ran about fearlessly while farmer brown and farmer brown's boy were making maple syrup and maple sugar.
he had even lost his fear of bowser the hound, for bowser had paid no attention to him whatever.
now you remember that whitefoot had made his home way down beneath the great pile of wood in the sugar-house.
of course farmer brown and farmer brown's boy used that wood for the fire to boil the sap to make the syrup and sugar.
whitefoot thought nothing of this until one day he discovered that his little home was no longer as dark as it had been.
a little ray of light crept down between the sticks.
presently another little ray of light crept down between the sticks.
it was then that whitefoot began to grow anxious.
it was then he realized that that pile of wood was growing smaller and smaller, and if it kept on growing smaller, by and by there would n't be any pile of wood and his little home would n't be hidden at all.
of course whitefoot did n't understand why that wood was slipping away.
in spite of himself he began to grow suspicious.
he could n't think of any reason why that wood should be taken away, unless it was to look for his little home.
farmer brown's boy was just as kind and friendly as ever, but all the time more and more light crept in, as the wood vanished.
""oh dear, what does it mean?"
cried whitefoot to himself.
""they must be looking for my home, yet they have been so good to me that it is hard to believe they mean any harm.
i do hope they will stop taking this wood away.
i wo n't have any hiding-place at all, and then i will have to go outside back to my old home in the hollow stump.
i do n't want to do that.
oh, dear!
oh, dear!
i was so happy and now i am so worried!
why ca n't happy times last always?"
chapter v: the end of whitefoot's worries you never can tell!
you never can tell!
things going wrong will often end well.
-- whitefoot.
the next time you meet him just ask whitefoot if this is n't so.
things had been going very wrong for whitefoot.
it had begun to look to whitefoot as if he would no longer have a snug, hidden little home in farmer brown's sugar-house.
the pile of wood under which he had made that snug little home was disappearing so fast that it began to look as if in a little while there would be no wood at all.
whitefoot quite lost his appetite.
he no longer came out to take food from farmer brown's boy's hand.
he stayed right in his snug little home and worried.
now farmer brown's boy had not once thought of the trouble he was making.
he wondered what had become of whitefoot, and in his turn he began to worry.
he was afraid that something had happened to his little friend.
he was thinking of this as he fed the sticks of wood to the fire for boiling the sap to make syrup and sugar.
finally, as he pulled away two big sticks, he saw something that made him whistle with surprise.
it was whitefoot's nest which he had so cleverly hidden way down underneath that pile of wood when he had first moved into the sugar-house.
with a frightened little squeak, whitefoot ran out, scurried across the little sugar-house and out though the open door.
farmer brown's boy understood.
he understood perfectly that little people like whitefoot want their homes hidden away in the dark.
""poor little chap," said farmer brown's boy.
""he had a regular castle here and we have destroyed it.
he's got the snuggest kind of a little nest here, but he wo n't come back to it so long as it is right out in plain sight.
he probably thinks we have been hunting for this little home of his.
hello!
here's his storehouse!
i've often wondered how the little rascal could eat so much, but now i understand.
he stored away here more than half of the good things i have given him.
i am glad he did.
if he had n't, he might not come back, but i feel sure that to-night, when all is quiet, he will come back to take away all his food.
i must do something to keep him here."
farmer brown's boy sat down to think things over.
then he got an old box and made a little round hole in one end of it.
very carefully he took up whitefoot's nest and placed it under the old box in the darkest corner of the sugar-house.
then he carried all whitefoot's supplies over there and put them under the box.
he went outside, and got some branches of hemlock and threw these in a little pile over the box.
after this he scattered some crumbs just outside.
late that night whitefoot did come back.
the crumbs led him to the old box.
he crept inside.
there was his snug little home!
all in a second whitefoot understood, and trust and happiness returned.
chapter vi: a very careless jump whitefoot once more was happy.
when he found his snug little nest and his store of food under that old box in the darkest corner of farmer brown's sugar-house, he knew that farmer brown's boy must have placed them there.
it was better than the old place under the woodpile.
it was the best place for a home whitefoot ever had had.
it did n't take him long to change his mind about leaving the little sugar-house.
somehow he seemed to know right down inside that his home would not again be disturbed.
so he proceeded to rearrange his nest and to put all his supplies of food in one corner of the old box.
when everything was placed to suit him he ventured out, for now that he no longer feared farmer brown's boy he wanted to see all that was going on.
he liked to jump up on the bench where farmer brown's boy sometimes sat.
he would climb up to where farmer brown's boy's coat hung and explore the pockets of it.
once he stole farmer brown's boy's handkerchief.
he wanted it to add to the material his nest was made of.
farmer brown's boy discovered it just as it was disappearing, and how he laughed as he pulled it away.
so, what with eating and sleeping and playing about, secure in the feeling that no harm could come to him, whitefoot was happier than ever before in his little life.
he knew that farmer brown's boy and farmer brown and bowser the hound were his friends.
he knew, too, that so long as they were about, none of his enemies would dare come near.
this being so, of course there was nothing to be afraid of.
no harm could possibly come to him.
at least, that is what whitefoot thought.
but you know, enemies are not the only dangers to watch out for.
accidents will happen.
when they do happen, it is very likely to be when the possibility of them is farthest from your thoughts.
almost always they are due to heedlessness or carelessness.
it was heedlessness that got whitefoot into one of the worst mishaps of his whole life.
he had been running and jumping all around the inside of the little sugar-house.
he loves to run and jump, and he had been having just the best time ever.
finally whitefoot ran along the old bench and jumped from the end of it for a box standing on end, which farmer brown's boy sometimes used to sit on.
it was n't a very long jump, but somehow whitefoot misjudged it.
he was heedless, and he did n't jump quite far enough.
right beside that box was a tin pail half filled with sap.
instead of landing on the box, whitefoot landed with a splash in that pail of sap.
chapter vii: whitefoot gives up hope whitefoot had been in many tight places.
yes, indeed, whitefoot had been in many tight places.
he had had narrow escapes of all kinds.
but never had he felt so utterly hopeless as now.
the moment he landed in that sap, whitefoot began to swim frantically.
he is n't a particularly good swimmer, but he could swim well enough to keep afloat for a while.
his first thought was to scramble up the side of the tin pail, but when he reached it and tried to fasten his sharp little claws into it in order to climb, he discovered that he could n't.
sharp as they were, his little claws just slipped, and his struggles to get up only resulted in tiring him out and in plunging him wholly beneath the sap.
he came up choking and gasping.
then round and round inside that pail he paddled, stopping every two or three seconds to try to climb up that hateful, smooth, shiny wall.
the more he tried to climb out, the more frightened he became.
he was in a perfect panic of fear.
he quite lost his head, did whitefoot.
the harder he struggled, the more tired he became, and the greater was his danger of drowning.
whitefoot squeaked pitifully.
he did n't want to drown.
of course not.
he wanted to live.
but unless he could get out of that pail very soon, he would drown.
he knew it.
he knew that he could n't hold on much longer.
he knew that just as soon as he stopped paddling, he would sink.
already he was so tired from his frantic efforts to escape that it seemed to him that he could n't hold out any longer.
but somehow he kept his legs moving, and so kept afloat.
just why he kept struggling, whitefoot could n't have told.
it was n't because he had any hope.
he did n't have the least bit of hope.
he knew now that he could n't climb the sides of that pail, and there was no other way of getting out.
still he kept on paddling.
it was the only way to keep from drowning, and though he felt sure that he had got to drown at last, he just would n't until he actually had to.
and all the time whitefoot squeaked hopelessly, despairingly, pitifully.
he did it without knowing that he did it, just as he kept paddling round and round.
chapter viii: the rescue when whitefoot made the heedless jump that landed him in a pail half filled with sap, no one else was in the little sugar-house.
whitefoot was quite alone.
you see, farmer brown and farmer brown's boy were out collecting sap from the trees, and bowser the hound was with them.
farmer brown's boy was the first to return.
he came in just after whitefoot had given up all hope.
he went at once to the fire to put more wood on.
as he finished this job he heard the faintest of little squeaks.
it was a very pitiful little squeak.
farmer brown's boy stood perfectly still and listened.
he heard it again.
he knew right away that it was the voice of whitefoot.
""hello!"
exclaimed farmer brown's boy.
""that sounds as if whitefoot is in trouble of some kind.
i wonder where the little rascal is.
i wonder what can have happened to him.
i must look into this."
again farmer brown's boy heard that faint little squeak.
it was so faint that he could n't tell where it came from.
hurriedly and anxiously he looked all over the little sugar-house, stopping every few seconds to listen for that pitiful little squeak.
it seemed to come from nowhere in particular.
also it was growing fainter.
at last farmer brown's boy happened to stand still close to that tin pail half filled with sap.
he heard the faint little squeak again and with it a little splash.
it was the sound of the little splash that led him to look down.
in a flash he understood what had happened.
he saw poor little whitefoot struggling feebly, and even as he looked whitefoot's head went under.
he was very nearly drowned.
stooping quickly, farmer brown's boy grabbed whitefoot's long tail and pulled him out.
whitefoot was so nearly drowned that he did n't have strength enough to even kick.
a great pity filled the eyes of farmer brown's boy as he held whitefoot's head down and gently shook him.
he was trying to shake some of the sap out of whitefoot.
it ran out of whitefoot's nose and out of his mouth.
whitefoot began to gasp.
then farmer brown's boy spread his coat close by the fire, rolled whitefoot up in his handkerchief and gently placed him on the coat.
for some time whitefoot lay just gasping.
but presently his breath came easier, and after a while he was breathing naturally.
but he was too weak and tired to move, so he just lay there while farmer brown's boy gently stroked his head and told him how sorry he was.
little by little whitefoot recovered his strength.
at last he could sit up, and finally he began to move about a little, although he was still wobbly on his legs.
farmer brown's boy put some bits of food where whitefoot could get them, and as he ate, whitefoot's beautiful soft eyes were filled with gratitude.
chapter ix: two timid persons meet thus always you will meet life's test -- to do the thing you can do best.
-- whitefoot.
jumper the hare sat crouched at the foot of a tree in the green forest.
had you happened along there, you would not have seen him.
at least, i doubt if you would.
if you had seen him, you probably would n't have known it.
you see, in his white coat jumper was so exactly the color of the snow that he looked like nothing more than a little heap of snow.
just in front of juniper was a little round hole.
he gave it no attention.
it did n't interest him in the least.
all through the green forest were little holes in the snow.
jumper was so used to them that he seldom noticed them.
so he took no notice of this one until something moved down in that hole.
jumper's eyes opened a little wider and he watched.
a sharp little face with very bright eyes filled that little round hole.
jumper moved just the tiniest bit, and in a flash that sharp little face with the bright eyes disappeared.
jumper sat still and waited.
after a long wait the sharp little face with bright eyes appeared again.
""do n't be frightened, whitefoot," said jumper softly.
at the first word the sharp little face disappeared, but in a moment it was back, and the sharp little eyes were fixed on jumper suspiciously.
after a long stare the suspicion left them, and out of the little round hole came trim little whitefoot in a soft brown coat with white waistcoat and with white feet and a long, slim tail.
this winter he was not living in farmer brown's sugarhouse.
""gracious, jumper, how you did scare me!"
said he.
jumper chuckled.
""whitefoot, i believe you are more timid than i am," he replied.
""why should n't i be?
i'm ever so much smaller, and i have more enemies," retorted whitefoot.
""it is true you are smaller, but i am not so sure that you have more enemies," replied jumper thoughtfully.
""it sometimes seems to me that i could n't have more, especially in winter."
""name them," commanded whitefoot.
""hooty the great horned owl, yowler the bob cat, old man coyote, reddy fox, terror the goshawk, shadow the weasel, billy mink."
jumper paused.
""is that all?"
demanded whitefoot.
""is n't that enough?"
retorted jumper rather sharply.
""i have all of those and blacky the crow and butcher the shrike and sammy jay in winter, and buster hear and jimmy skunk and several of the snake family in summer," replied whitefoot.
""it seems to me sometimes as if i need eyes and ears all over me.
night and day there is always some one hunting for poor little me.
and then some folks wonder why i am so timid.
if i were not as timid as i am, i would n't be alive now; i would have been caught long ago.
folks may laugh at me for being so easily frightened, but i do n't care.
that is what saves my life a dozen times a day."
jumper looked interested.
""i had n't thought of that," said he.
""i'm a very timid person myself, and sometimes i have been ashamed of being so easily frightened.
but come to think of it, i guess you are right; the more timid i am, the longer i am likely to live."
whitefoot suddenly darted into his hole.
jumper did n't move, but his eyes widened with fear.
a great white bird had just alighted on a stump a short distance away.
it was whitey the snowy owl, down from the far north.
""there is another enemy we both forgot," thought jumper, and tried not to shiver.
chapter x: the white watchers much may be gained by sitting still if you but have the strength of will.
-- whitefoot.
jumper the hare crouched at the foot of a tree in the green forest, and a little way from him on a stump sat whitey the snowy owl.
had you been there to see them, both would have appeared as white as the snow around them unless you had looked very closely.
then you might have seen two narrow black lines back of jumper's head.
they were the tips of his ears, for these remain black.
and near the upper part of the white mound which was whitey you might have seen two round yellow spots, his eyes.
there they were for all the world like two little heaps of snow.
jumper did n't move so much as a hair.
whitey did n't move so much as a feather.
both were waiting and watching.
jumper did n't move because he knew that whitey was there.
whitey did n't move because he did n't want any one to know he was there, and did n't know that jumper was there.
jumper was sitting still because he was afraid.
whitey was sitting still because he was hungry.
so there they sat, each in plain sight of the other but only one seeing the other.
this was because juniper had been fortunate enough to see whitey alight on that stump.
jumper had been sitting still when whitey arrived, and so those fierce yellow eyes had not yet seen him.
but had jumper so much as lifted one of those long ears, whitey would have seen, and his great claws would have been reaching for jumper.
jumper did n't want to sit still.
no, indeed!
he wanted to run.
you know it is on those long legs of his that jumper depends almost wholly for safety.
but there are times for running and times for sitting still, and this was a time for sitting still.
he knew that whitey did n't know that he was anywhere near.
but just the same it was hard, very hard to sit there with one he so greatly feared watching so near.
it seemed as if those fierce yellow eyes of whitey must see him.
they seemed to look right through him.
they made him shake inside.
""i want to run.
i want to run.
i want to run," jumper kept saying to himself.
then he would say, "but i must n't.
i must n't.
i must n't."
and so jumper did the hardest thing in the world, -- sat still and stared danger in the face.
he was sitting still to save his life.
whitey the snowy owl was sitting still to catch a dinner.
i know that sounds queer, but it was so.
he knew that so long as he sat still, he was not likely to be seen.
it was for this purpose that old mother nature had given him that coat of white.
in the far north, which was his real home, everything is white for months and months, and any one dressed in a dark suit can be seen a long distance.
so whitey had been given that white coat that he might have a better chance to catch food enough to keep him alive.
and he had learned how to make the best use of it.
yes, indeed, he knew how to make the best use of it.
it was by doing just what he was doing now, -- sitting perfectly still.
just before he had alighted on that stump he had seen something move at the entrance to a little round hole in the snow.
he was sure of it.
""a mouse," thought whitey, and alighted on that stump.
""he saw me flying, but he'll forget about it after a while and will come out again.
he wo n't see me then if i do n't move.
and i wo n't move until he is far enough from that hole for me to catch him before he can get back to it."
so the two watchers in white sat without moving for the longest time, one watching for a dinner and the other watching the other watcher.
chapter xi: jumper is in doubt when doubtful what course to pursue't is sometimes best to nothing do.
-- whitefoot.
jumper the hare was beginning to feel easier in his mind.
he was no longer shaking inside.
in fact, he was beginning to feel quite safe.
there he was in plain sight of whitey the snowy owl, sitting motionless on a stump only a short distance away, yet whitey had n't seen him.
whitey had looked straight at him many times, but because jumper had not moved so much as a hair whitey had mistaken him for a little heap of snow.
""all i have to do is to keep right on sitting perfectly still, and i'll be as safe as if whitey were nowhere about.
yes, sir, i will," thought jumper.
""by and by he will become tired and fly away.
i do hope he'll do that before whitefoot comes out again.
if whitefoot should come out, i could n't warn him because that would draw whitey's attention to me, and he would n't look twice at a wood mouse when there was a chance to get a hare for his dinner.
""this is a queer world.
it is so.
old mother nature does queer things.
here she has given me a white coat in winter so that i may not be easily seen when there is snow on the ground, and at the same time she has given one of those i fear most a white coat so that he may not be easily seen, either.
it certainly is a queer world."
jumper forgot that whitey was only a chance visitor from the far north and that it was only once in a great while that he came down there, while up in the far north where he belonged nearly everybody was dressed in white.
jumper had n't moved once, but once in a while whitey turned his great round head for a look all about in every direction.
but it was done in such a way that only eyes watching him sharply would have noticed it.
most of the time he kept his fierce yellow eyes fixed on the little hole in the snow in which whitefoot had disappeared.
you know whitey can see by day quite as well as any other bird.
jumper, having stopped worrying about himself, began to worry about whitefoot.
he knew that whitefoot had seen whitey arrive on that stump and that was why he had dodged back into his hole and since then had not even poked his nose out.
but that had been so long ago that by this time whitefoot must think that whitey had gone on about his business, and jumper expected to see whitefoot appear any moment.
what jumper did n't know was that whitefoot's bright little eyes had all the time been watching whitey from another little hole in the snow some distance away.
a tunnel led from this little hole to the first little hole.
suddenly off among the trees something moved.
at least, jumper thought he saw something move.
yes, there it was, a little black spot moving swiftly this way and that way over the snow.
jumper stared very hard.
and then his heart seemed to jump right up in his throat.
it did so.
he felt as if he would choke.
that black spot was the tip end of a tail, the tail of a small, very slim fellow dressed all in white, the only other one in all the green forest who dresses all in white.
it was shadow the weasel!
in his white winter coat he is called ermine.
he was running this way and that way, back and forth, with his nose to the snow.
he was hunting, and jumper knew that sooner or later shadow would find him.
safety from shadow lay in making the best possible use of those long legs of his, but to do that would bring whitey the owl swooping after him.
what to do jumper did n't know.
and so he did nothing.
it happened to be the wisest thing he could do.
chapter xii: whitey the owl saves jumper it often happens in the end an enemy may prove a friend.
-- whitefoot.
was ever any one in a worse position than jumper the hare?
to move would be to give himself away to whitey the snowy owl.
if he remained where he was very likely shadow the weasel would find him, and the result would be the same as if he were caught by whitey the owl.
neither whitey nor shadow knew he was there, but it would be only a few minutes before one of them knew it.
at least, that is the way it looked to jumper.
whitey would n't know it unless he moved, but shadow the weasel would find his tracks, and his nose would lead him straight there.
back and forth, back and forth, this way, that way and the other way, just a little distance off, shadow was running with his nose to the snow.
he was hunting -- hunting for the scent of some one whom he could kill.
in a few minutes he would be sure to find where jumper had been, and then his nose would lead him straight to that tree at the foot of which jumper was crouching.
nearer and nearer came shadow.
he was slim and trim and did n't look at all terrible.
yet there was no one in all the green forest more feared by the little people in fur, by jumper, by peter rabbit, by whitefoot, even by chatterer the red squirrel.
""perhaps," thought jumper, "he wo n't find my scent after all.
perhaps he'll go in another direction."
but all the time jumper felt in his bones that shadow would find that scent.
""when he does, i'll run," said jumper to himself.
""i'll have at least a chance to dodge whitey.
i am afraid he will catch me, but i'll have a chance.
i wo n't have any chance at all if shadow finds me."
suddenly shadow stopped running and sat up to look about with fierce little eyes, all the time testing the air with his nose.
jumper's heart sank.
he knew that shadow had caught a faint scent of some one.
then shadow began to run back and forth once more, but more carefully than before.
and then he started straight for where jumper was crouching!
jumper knew then that shadow had found his trail.
jumper drew a long breath and settled his long hind feet for a great jump, hoping to so take whitey the owl by surprise that he might be able to get away.
and as jumper did this, he looked over to that stump where whitey had been sitting so long.
whitey was just leaving it on his great silent wings, and his fierce yellow eyes were fixed in the direction of shadow the weasel.
he had seen that moving black spot which was the tip of shadow's tail.
jumper did n't have time to jump before whitey was swooping down at shadow.
so juniper just kept still and watched with eyes almost popping from his head with fear and excitement.
shadow had n't seen whitey until just as whitey was reaching for him with his great cruel claws.
now if there is any one who can move more quickly than shadow the weasel i do n't know who it is.
whitey's claws closed on nothing but snow; shadow had dodged.
then began a game, whitey swooping and shadow dodging, and all the time they were getting farther and farther from where jumper was.
the instant it was safe to do so, jumper took to his long heels and the way he disappeared, lipperty-lipperty-lip, was worth seeing.
whitey the snowy owl had saved him from shadow the weasel and did n't know it.
an enemy had proved to be a friend.
chapter xiii: whitefoot decides quickly your mind made up a certain way be swift to act; do not delay.
-- whitefoot.
when whitefoot had discovered whitey the snowy owl, he had dodged down in the little hole in the snow beside which he had been sitting.
he had not been badly frightened.
but he was somewhat upset.
yes, sir, he was somewhat upset.
you see, he had so many enemies to watch out for, and here was another.
""just as if i did n't have troubles enough without having this white robber to add to them," grumbled whitefoot.
""why does n't he stay where he belongs, way up in the far north?
it must be that food is scarce up there.
well, now that i know he is here, he will have to be smarter than i think he is to catch me.
i hope jumper the hare will have sense enough to keep perfectly still.
i've sometimes envied him his long legs, but i guess i am better off than he is, at that.
once he has been seen by an enemy, only those long legs of his can save him, but i have a hundred hiding-places down under the snow.
whitey is watching the hole where i disappeared; he thinks i'll come out there again after a while.
i'll fool him."
whitefoot scampered along through a little tunnel and presently very cautiously peeped out of another little round hole in the snow.
sure enough, there was whitey the snowy owl back to him on a stump, watching the hole down which he had disappeared a few minutes before.
whitefoot grinned.
then he looked over to where he had last seen jumper.
jumper was still there; it was clear that he had n't moved, and so whitey had n't seen him.
again whitefoot grinned.
then he settled himself to watch patiently for whitey to become tired of watching that hole and fly away.
so it was that whitefoot saw all that happened.
he saw whitey suddenly sail out on silent wings from that stump and swoop with great claws reaching for some one.
and then he saw who that some one was, -- shadow the weasel!
he saw shadow dodge in the very nick of time.
then he watched whitey swoop again and again as shadow dodged this way and that way.
finally both disappeared amongst the trees.
then he turned just in time to see jumper the hare bounding away with all the speed of his wonderful, long legs.
fear, the greatest fear he had known for a long time, took possession of whitefoot.
""shadow the weasel!"
he gasped and had such a thing been possible he certainly would have turned pale.
""whitey wo n't catch him; shadow is too quick for him.
and when whitey has given up and flown away, shadow will come back.
he probably had found the tracks of jumper the hare and he will come back.
i know him; he'll come back.
jumper is safe enough from him now, because he has such a long start, but shadow will be sure to find one of my holes in the snow.
oh, dear!
oh, dear!
what shall i do?"
you see shadow the weasel is the one enemy that can follow whitefoot into most of his hiding-places.
for a minute or two whitefoot sat there, shaking with fright.
then he made up his mind.
""i'll get away from here before he returns," thought whitefoot.
""i've got to.
i've spent a comfortable winter here so far, but there will be no safety for me here any longer.
i do n't know where to go, but anywhere will be better than here now."
without waiting another second, whitefoot scampered away.
and how he did hope that his scent would have disappeared by the time shadow returned.
if it had n't, there would be little hope for him and he knew it.
chapter xiv: shadows return he little gains and has no pride who from his purpose turns aside.
-- whitefoot.
shadow the weasel believes in persistence.
when he sets out to do a thing, he keeps at it until it is done or he knows for a certainty it can not be done.
he is not easily discouraged.
this is one reason he is so feared by the little people he delights to hunt.
they know that once he gets on their trail, they will be fortunate indeed if they escape him.
when whitey the snowy owl swooped at him and so nearly caught him, he was not afraid as he dodged this way and that way.
any other of the little people with the exception of his cousin, billy mink, would have been frightened half to death.
but shadow was simply angry.
he was angry that any one should try to catch him.
he was still more angry because his hunt for jumper the hare was interfered with.
you see, he had just found jumper's trail when whitey swooped at him.
so shadow's little eyes grew red with rage as he dodged this way and that and was gradually driven away from the place where he had found the trail of jumper the hare.
at last he saw a hole in an old log and into this he darted.
whitey could n't get him there.
whitey knew this and he knew, too, that waiting for shadow to come out again would be a waste of time.
so whitey promptly flew away.
hardly had he disappeared when shadow popped out of that hole, for he had been peeping out and watching whitey.
without a moment's pause he turned straight back for the place where he had found the trail of jumper the hare.
he had no intention of giving up that hunt just because he had been driven away.
straight to the very spot where whitey had first swooped at him he ran, and there once more his keen little nose took up the trail of jumper.
it led him straight to the foot of the tree where jumper had crouched so long.
but, as you know, jumper was n't there then.
shadow ran in a circle and presently he found where jumper had landed on the snow at the end of that first bound.
shadow snarled.
he understood exactly what had happened.
""jumper was under that tree when that white robber from the far north tried to catch me, and he took that chance to leave in a hurry.
i can tell that by the length of this jump.
probably he is still going.
it is useless to follow him because he has too long a start," said shadow, and he snarled again in rage and disappointment.
then, for such is his way, he wasted no more time or thought on jumper the hare.
instead he began to look for other trails.
so it was that he found one of the little holes of whitefoot the wood mouse.
""ha!
so this is where whitefoot has been living this winter!"
he exclaimed.
once more his eyes glowed red, but this time with eagerness and the joy of the hunt.
he plunged down into that little hole in the snow.
down there the scent of whitefoot was strong.
shadow followed it until it led out of another little hole in the snow.
but there he lost it.
you see, it was so long since whitefoot had hurriedly left that the scent on the surface had disappeared.
shadow ran swiftly this way and that way in a big circle, but he could n't find whitefoot's trail again.
snarling with anger and disappointment, he returned to the little hole in the snow and vanished.
then he followed all whitefoot's little tunnels.
he found whitefoot's nest.
he found his store of seeds.
but he did n't find whitefoot.
""he'll come back," muttered shadow, and curled up in whitefoot's nest to wait.
chapter xv: whitefoots dreadful journey danger may be anywhere, so i expect it everywhere.
-- whitefoot.
whitefoot the wood mouse was terribly frightened.
yes, sir, he was terribly frightened.
it was a long, long time since he had been as frightened as he now was.
he is used to frights, is whitefoot.
he has them every day and every night, but usually they are sudden frights, quickly over and as quickly forgotten.
this fright was different.
you see whitefoot had caught a glimpse of shadow the weasel.
and he knew that if shadow returned he would be sure to find the little round holes in the snow that led down to whitefoot's private little tunnels underneath.
the only thing for whitefoot to do was to get just as far from that place as he could before shadow should return.
and so poor little whitefoot started out on a journey that was to take him he knew not where.
all he could do was to go and go and go until he could find a safe hiding-place.
my, my, but that was a dreadful journey!
every time a twig snapped, whitefoot's heart seemed to jump right up in his throat.
every time he saw a moving shadow, and the branches of the trees moving in the wind were constantly making moving shadows on the snow, he dodged behind a tree trunk or under a piece of bark or wherever he could find a hiding-place.
you see, whitefoot has so many enemies always looking for him that he hides whenever he sees anything moving.
when at home, he is forever dodging in and out of his hiding-places.
so, because everything was strange to him, and because of the great fear of shadow the weasel, he suspected everything that moved and every sound he heard.
for a long way no one saw him, for no one was about.
yet all that way whitefoot twisted and dodged and darted from place to place and was just as badly frightened as if there had been enemies all about.
""oh, dear!
oh, dear me!"
he kept saying over and over to himself.
""wherever shall i go?
whatever shall i do?
however shall i get enough to eat?
i wo n't dare go back to get food from my little storehouses, and i shall have to live in a strange place where i wo n't know where to look for food.
i am getting tired.
my legs ache.
i'm getting hungry.
i want my nice, warm, soft bed.
oh, dear!
oh, dear!
oh, dear me!"
but in spite of his frights, whitefoot kept on.
you see, he was more afraid to stop than he was to go on.
he just had to get as far from shadow the weasel as he could.
being such a little fellow, what would be a short distance for you or me is a long distance for whitefoot.
and so that journey was to him very long indeed.
of course, it seemed longer because of the constant frights which came one right after another.
it really was a terrible journey.
yet if he had only known it, there was n't a thing along the whole way to be afraid of.
you know it often happens that people are frightened more by what they do n't know than by what they do know.
chapter xvi: whitefoot climbs a tree i'd rather be frightened with no cause for fear than fearful of nothing when danger is near.
-- whitefoot.
whitefoot kept on going and going.
every time he thought that he was so tired he must stop, he would think of shadow the weasel and then go on again.
by and by he became so tired that not even the thought of shadow the weasel could make him go much farther.
so he began to look about for a safe hiding-place in which to rest.
now the home which he had left had been a snug little room beneath the roots of a certain old stump.
there he had lived for a long time in the greatest comfort.
little tunnels led to his storehouses and up to the surface of the snow.
it had been a splendid place and one in which he had felt perfectly safe until shadow the weasel had appeared.
had you seen him playing about there, you would have thought him one of the little people of the ground, like his cousin danny meadow mouse.
but whitefoot is quite as much at home in trees as on the ground.
in fact, he is quite as much at home in trees as is chatterer the red squirrel, and a lot more at home in trees than is striped chipmunk, although striped chipmunk belongs to the squirrel family.
so now that he must find a hiding-place, whitefoot decided that he would feel much safer in a tree than on the ground.
""if only i can find a hollow tree," whimpered whitefoot.
""i will feel ever so much safer in a tree than hiding in or near the ground in a strange place."
so whitefoot began to look for a dead tree.
you see, he knew that there was more likely to be a hollow in a dead tree than in a living tree.
by and by he came to a tall, dead tree.
he knew it was a dead tree, because there was no bark on it.
but, of course, he could n't tell whether or not that tree was hollow.
i mean he could n't tell from the ground.
""oh, dear!"
he whimpered again.
""oh, dear!
i suppose i will have to climb this, and i am so tired.
it ought to be hollow.
there ought to be splendid holes in it.
it is just the kind of a tree that drummer the woodpecker likes to make his house in.
i shall be terribly disappointed if i do n't find one of his houses somewhere in it, but i wish i had n't got to climb it to find out.
well, here goes."
he looked anxiously this way.
he looked anxiously that way.
he looked anxiously the other way.
in fact, he looked anxiously every way.
but he saw no one and nothing to be afraid of, and so he started up the tree.
he was half-way up when, glancing down, he saw a shadow moving across the snow.
once more whitefoot's heart seemed to jump right up in his throat.
that shadow was the shadow of some one flying.
there could n't be the least bit of doubt about it.
whitefoot flattened himself against the side of the tree and peeked around it.
he was just in time to see a gray and black and white bird almost the size of sammy jay alight in the very next tree.
he had come along near the ground and then risen sharply into the tree.
his bill was black, and there was just a tiny hook on the end of it.
whitefoot knew who it was.
it was butcher the shrike.
whitefoot shivered.
chapter xvii: whitefoot finds a hole just in time just in time, not just too late, will make you master of your fate.
-- whitefoot.
whitefoot, half-way up that dead tree, flattened himself against the trunk and, with his heart going pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat with fright, peered around the tree at an enemy he had not seen for so long that he had quite forgotten there was such a one.
it was butcher the shrike.
often he is called just butcher bird.
he did not look at all terrible.
he was not quite as big as sammy jay.
he had no terrible claws like the hawks and owls.
there was a tiny hook at the end of his black bill, but it was n't big enough to look very dreadful.
but you can not always judge a person by looks, and whitefoot knew that butcher was one to be feared.
so his heart went pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat as he wondered if butcher had seen him.
he did n't have to wait long to find out.
butcher flew to a tree back of whitefoot and then straight at him.
whitefoot dodged around to the other side of the tree.
then began a dreadful game.
at least, it was dreadful to whitefoot.
this way and that way around the trunk of that tree he dodged, while butcher did his best to catch him.
whitefoot would not have minded this so much, had he not been so tired, and had he known of a hiding-place close at hand.
but he was tired, very tired, for you remember he had had what was a very long and terrible journey to him.
he had felt almost too tired to climb that tree in the first place to see if it had any holes in it higher up.
now he did n't know whether to keep on going up or to go down.
two or three times he dodged around the tree without doing either.
then he decided to go up.
now butcher was enjoying this game of dodge.
if he should catch whitefoot, he would have a good dinner.
if he did n't catch whitefoot, he would simply go hungry a little longer.
so you see, there was a very big difference in the feelings of whitefoot and butcher.
whitefoot had his life to lose, while butcher had only a dinner to lose.
dodging this way and dodging that way, whitefoot climbed higher and higher.
twice he whisked around that tree trunk barely in time.
all the time he was growing more and more tired, and more and more discouraged.
supposing he should find no hole in that tree!
""there must be one.
there must be one," he kept saying over and over to himself, to keep his courage up.
""i ca n't keep dodging much longer.
if i do n't find a hole pretty soon, butcher will surely catch me.
oh, dear!
oh, dear!"
just above whitefoot was a broken branch.
only the stub of it remained.
the next time he dodged around the trunk he found himself just below that stub.
oh, joy!
there, close under that stub, was a round hole.
whitefoot did n't hesitate a second.
he did n't wait to find out whether or not any one was in that hole.
he did n't even think that there might be some one in there.
with a tiny little squeak of relief he darted in.
he was just in time.
he was just in the nick of time.
butcher struck at him and just missed him as he disappeared in that hole.
whitefoot had saved his life and butcher had missed a dinner.
chapter xviii: an unpleasant surprise be careful never to be rude enough to thoughtlessly intrude.
-- whitefoot.
if ever anybody in the great world felt relief and thankfulness, it was whitefoot when he dodged into that hole in the dead tree just as butcher the shrike all but caught him.
for a few minutes he did nothing but pant, for he was quite out of breath.
""i was right," he said over and over to himself, "i was right.
i was sure there must be a hole in this tree.
it is one of the old houses of drummer the woodpecker.
now i am safe."
presently he peeped out.
he wanted to see if butcher was watching outside.
he was just in time to see butcher's gray and black and white coat disappearing among the trees.
butcher was not foolish enough to waste time watching for whitefoot to come out.
whitefoot sighed happily.
for the first time since he had started on his dreadful journey he felt safe.
nothing else mattered.
he was hungry, but he did n't mind that.
he was willing to go hungry for the sake of being safe.
whitefoot watched until butcher was out of sight.
then he turned to see what that house was like.
right away he discovered that there was a soft, warm bed in it.
it was made of leaves, grass, moss, and the lining of bark.
it was a very fine bed indeed.
""my, my, my, but i am lucky," said whitefoot to himself.
""i wonder who could have made this fine bed.
i certainly shall sleep comfortably here.
goodness knows, i need a rest.
if i can find food enough near here, i'll make this my home.
i could n't ask for a better one."
chuckling happily, whitefoot began to pull away the top of that bed so as to get to the middle of it.
and then he got a surprise.
it was an unpleasant surprise.
it was a most unpleasant surprise.
there was some one in that bed!
yes, sir, there was some one curled up in a little round ball in the middle of that fine bed.
it was some one with a coat of the softest, finest fur.
can you guess who it was?
it was timmy the flying squirrel.
it seemed to whitefoot as if his heart flopped right over.
you see at first he did n't recognize timmy.
whitefoot is himself so very timid that his thought was to run; to get out of there as quickly as possible.
but he had no place to run to, so he hesitated.
never in all his life had whitefoot had a greater disappointment.
he knew now that this splendid house was not for him.
timmy the flying squirrel did n't move.
he remained curled up in a soft little ball.
he was asleep.
whitefoot remembered that timmy sleeps during the day and seldom comes out until the black shadows come creeping out from the purple hills at the close of day.
whitefoot felt easier in his mind then.
timmy was so sound asleep that he knew nothing of his visitor.
and so whitefoot felt safe in staying long enough to get rested.
then he would go out and hunt for another home.
so down in the middle of that soft, warm bed timmy the flying squirrel, curled up in a little round ball with his flat tail wrapped around him, slept peacefully, and on top of that soft bed whitefoot the wood mouse rested and wondered what he should do next.
not in all the green forest could two more timid little people be found than the two in that old home of drummer the woodpecker.
chapter xix: whitefoot finds a home at last true independence he has known whose home has been his very own.
-- whitefoot.
curled up in his splendid warm bed, timmy the flying squirrel slept peacefully.
he did n't know he had a visitor.
he did n't know that on top of that same bed lay whitefoot the wood mouse.
whitefoot was n't asleep.
no, indeed!
whitefoot was too worried to sleep.
he knew he could n't stay in that fine house because it belonged to timmy.
he knew that as soon as timmy awoke, he, whitefoot, would have to get out.
where should he go?
he wished he knew.
how he did long for the old home he had left.
but when he thought of that, he remembered shadow the weasel.
it was better to be homeless than to feel that at any minute shadow the weasel might appear.
it was getting late in the afternoon.
before long, jolly, round, red mr. sun would go to bed behind the purple hills, and the black shadows would come creeping through the green forest.
then timmy the flying squirrel would awake.
""it wo n't do for me to be here then," said whitefoot to himself.
""i must find some other place before he wakes.
if only i knew this part of the green forest i might know where to go.
as it is, i shall have to go hunt for a new home and trust to luck.
did ever a poor little mouse have so much trouble?"
after awhile whitefoot felt rested and peeped out of the doorway.
no enemy was to be seen anywhere.
whitefoot crept out and climbed a little higher up in the tree.
presently he found another hole.
he peeped inside and listened long and carefully.
he did n't intend to make the mistake of going into another house where some one might be living.
at last, sure that there was no one in there, he crept in.
then he made a discovery.
there were beech nuts in there and there were seeds.
it was a storehouse!
whitefoot knew at once that it must be timmy's storehouse.
right away he realized how very, very hungry he was.
of course, he had no right to any of those seeds or nuts.
certainly not!
that is, he would n't have had any right had he been a boy or girl.
but it is the law of the green forest that whatever any one finds he may help himself to if he can.
so whitefoot began to fill his empty little stomach with some of those seeds.
he ate and ate and ate and quite forgot all his troubles.
just as he felt that he had n't room for another seed, he heard the sound of claws outside on the trunk of the tree.
in a flash he knew that timmy the flying squirrel was awake, and that it would n't do to be found in there by him.
in a jiffy whitefoot was outside.
he was just in time.
timmy was almost up to the entrance.
""hi, there!"
cried timmy.
""what were you doing in my storehouse?"
""i -- i -- i was looking for a new home," stammered whitefoot.
""you mean you were stealing some of my food," snapped timmy suspiciously.
""i -- i -- i did take a few seeds because i was almost starved.
but truly i was looking for a new home," replied whitefoot.
""what was the matter with your old home?"
demanded timmy.
then whitefoot told timmy all about how he had been obliged to leave his old home because of shadow the weasel, of the terrible journey he had had, and how he did n't know where to go or what to do.
timmy listened suspiciously at first, but soon he made up his mind that whitefoot was telling the truth.
the mere mention of shadow the weasel made him very sober.
he scratched his nose thoughtfully.
""over in that tall, dead stub you can see from here is an old home of mine," said he.
""no one lives in it now.
i guess you can live there until you can find a better home.
but remember to keep away from my storehouse."
so it was that whitefoot found a new home.
chapter xx: whitefoot makes himself at home look not too much on that behind lest to the future you be blind.
-- whitefoot.
whitefoot did n't wait to be told twice of that empty house.
he thanked timmy and then scampered over to that stub as fast as his legs would take him.
up the stub he climbed, and near the top he found a little round hole.
timmy had said no one was living there now, and so whitefoot did n't hesitate to pop inside.
there was even a bed in there.
it was an old bed, but it was dry and soft.
it was quite clear that no one had been in there for a long time.
with a little sigh of pure happiness, whitefoot curled up in that bed for the sleep he so much needed.
his stomach was full, and once more he felt safe.
the very fact that this was an old house in which no one had lived for a long time made it safer.
whitefoot knew that those who lived in that part of the green forest probably knew that no one lived in that old stub, and so no one was likely to visit it.
he was so tired that he slept all night.
whitefoot is one of those who sleeps when he feels sleepy, whether it be by day or night.
he prefers the night to be out and about in, because he feels safer then, but he often comes out by day.
so when he awoke in the early morning, he promptly went out for a look about and to get acquainted with his new surroundings.
just a little way off was the tall, dead tree in which timmy the flying squirrel had his home.
timmy was nowhere to be seen.
you see, he had been out most of the night and had gone to bed to sleep through the day.
whitefoot thought longingly of the good things in timmy's storehouse in that same tree, but decided that it would be wisest to keep away from there.
so he scurried about to see what he could find for a breakfast.
it did n't take him long to find some pine cones in which a few seeds were still clinging.
these would do nicely.
whitefoot ate what he wanted and then carried some of them back to his new home in the tall stub.
then he went to work to tear to pieces the old bed in there and make it over to suit himself.
it was an old bed of timmy the flying squirrel, for you know this was timmy's old house.
whitefoot soon had the bed made over to suit him.
and when this was done he felt quite at home.
then he started out to explore all about within a short distance of the old stub.
he wanted to know every hole and every possible hiding-place all around, for it is on such knowledge that his life depends.
when at last he returned home he was very well satisfied.
""it is going to be a good place to live," said he to himself.
""there are plenty of hiding-places and i am going to be able to find enough to eat.
it will be very nice to have timmy the flying squirrel for a neighbor.
i am sure he and i will get along together very nicely.
i do n't believe shadow the weasel, even if he should come around here, would bother to climb up this old stub.
he probably would expect to find me living down in the ground or close to it, anyway.
i certainly am glad that i am such a good climber.
now if buster bear does n't come along in the spring and pull this old stub over, i'll have as fine a home as any one could ask for."
and then, because happily it is the way with the little people of the green forest and the green meadows, whitefoot forgot all about his terrible journey and the dreadful time he had had in finding his new home.
chapter xxi: whitefoot envies timmy a useless thing is envy; a foolish thing to boot.
why should a fox who has a bark want like an owl to hoot?
whitefoot was beginning to feel quite at home.
he would have been wholly contented but for one thing, -- he had no well-filled storehouse.
this meant that each day he must hunt for his food.
it was n't that whitefoot minded hunting for food.
he would have done that anyway, even though he had had close at hand a store-house with plenty in it.
but he would have felt easier in his mind.
he would have had the comfortable feeling that if the weather turned so bad that he could not easily get out and about, he would not have to go hungry.
but whitefoot is a happy little fellow and wisely made the best of things.
at first he came out very little by day.
he knew that there were many sharp eyes watching for him, and that he was more likely to be seen in the light of day than when the black shadows had crept all through the green forest.
he would peek out of his doorway and watch for chance visitors in the daytime.
twice he saw butcher the shrike alight a short distance from the tree in which timmy lived.
he knew butcher had not forgotten that he had chased a badly frightened mouse into a hole in that tree.
once he saw whitey the snowy owl and so knew that whitey had not yet returned to the far north.
once reddy fox trotted along right past the foot of the old stub in which whitefoot lived, and did n't even suspect that he was anywhere near.
twice he saw old man coyote trotting past, and once terror the goshawk alighted on that very stub, and sat there for half an hour.
so whitefoot formed the habit of doing just what timmy the flying squirrel did; he remained in his house for most of the day and came out when the black shadows began to creep in among the trees.
timmy came out about the same time, and they had become the best of friends.
now whitefoot is not much given to envying others, but as night after night he watched timmy a little envy crept into his heart in spite of all he could do.
timmy would nimbly climb to the top of a tree and then jump.
down he would come in a long beautiful glide, for all the world as if he were sliding on the air.
the first time whitefoot saw him do it he held his breath.
he really did n't know what to make of it.
the nearest tree to the one from which timmy had jumped was so far away that it did n't seem possible any one without wings could reach it without first going to the ground.
""oh!"
squeaked whitefoot.
""oh!
he'll kill himself!
he surely will kill himself!
he'll break his neck!"
but timmy did nothing of the kind.
he sailed down, down, down and alighted on that distant tree a foot or two from the bottom; and without stopping a second scampered up to the top of that tree and once more jumped.
whitefoot had hard work to believe his own eyes.
timmy seemed to be jumping just for the pleasure of it.
as a matter of fact, he was.
he was getting his evening exercise.
whitefoot sighed.
""i wish i could jump like that," said he to himself.
""i would n't ever be afraid of anybody if i could jump like that.
i envy timmy.
i do so."
chapter xxii: timmy proves to be a true neighbor he proves himself a neighbor true who seeks a kindly deed to do.
-- whitefoot.
occasionally timmy the flying squirrel came over to visit whitefoot.
if whitefoot was in his house he always knew when timmy arrived.
he would hear a soft thump down near the bottom of the tall stub.
he would know instantly that thump was made by timmy striking the foot of the stub after a long jump from the top of a tree.
whitefoot would poke his head out of his doorway and there, sure enough, would be timmy scrambling up towards him.
whitefoot had grown to admire timmy with all his might.
it seemed to him that timmy was the most wonderful of all the people he knew.
you see there was none of the others who could jump as timmy could.
timmy on his part enjoyed having whitefoot for a neighbor.
few of the little people of the green forest are more timid than timmy the flying squirrel, but here was one beside whom timmy actually felt bold.
it was such a new feeling that timmy enjoyed it.
so it was that in the dusk of early evening, just after the black shadows had come creeping out from the purple hills across the green meadows and through the green forest, these two little neighbors would start out to hunt for food.
whitefoot never went far from the tall, dead stub in which he was now living.
he did n't dare to.
he wanted to be where at the first sign of danger he could scamper back there to safety.
timmy would go some distance, but he was seldom gone long.
he liked to be where he could watch and talk with whitefoot.
you see timmy is very much like other people, -- he likes to gossip a little.
one evening whitefoot had found it hard work to find enough food to fill his stomach.
he had kept going a little farther and a little farther from home.
finally he was farther from it than he had ever been before.
timmy had filled his stomach and from near the top of a tree was watching whitefoot.
suddenly what seemed like a great black shadow floated right over the tree in which timmy was sitting, and stopped on the top of a tall, dead tree.
it was hooty the owl, and it was simply good fortune that timmy happened to see him.
timmy did not move.
he knew that he was safe so long as he kept perfectly still.
he knew that hooty did n't know he was there.
unless he moved, those great eyes of hooty's, wonderful as they were, would not see him.
timmy looked over to where he had last seen whitefoot.
there he was picking out seeds from a pine cone on the ground.
the trunk of a tree was between him and hooty.
but timmy knew that whitefoot had n't seen hooty, and that any minute he might run out from behind that tree.
if he did hooty would see him, and silently as a shadow would swoop down and catch him.
what was to be done?
""it's no business of mine," said timmy to himself.
""whitefoot must look out for himself.
it is no business of mine at all.
perhaps hooty will fly away before whitefoot moves.
i do n't want anything to happen to whitefoot, but if something does, it will be his own fault; he should keep better watch."
for a few minutes nothing happened.
then whitefoot finished the last seed in that cone and started to look for more.
timmy knew that in a moment hooty would see whitefoot.
what do you think timmy did?
he jumped.
yes, sir, he jumped.
down, down, down, straight past the tree on which sat hooty the owl, timmy sailed.
hooty saw him.
of course.
he could n't help but see him.
he spread his great wings and was after timmy in an instant.
timmy struck near the foot of a tree and without wasting a second darted around to the other side.
he was just in time.
hooty was already reaching for him.
up the tree ran timmy and jumped again.
again hooty was too late.
and so timmy led hooty the owl away from whitefoot the wood mouse.
chapter xxiii: whitefoot spends a dreadful night pity those who suffer fright in the dark and stilly night.
-- whitefoot.
one night of his life whitefoot will never forget so long as he lives.
even now it makes him shiver just to think of it.
yes, sir, he shivers even now whenever he thinks of that night.
the black shadows had come early that evening, so that it was quite dusk when whitefoot crept out of his snug little bed and climbed up to the round hole which was the doorway of his home.
he had just poked his nose out that little round doorway when there was the most terrible sound.
it seemed to him as if it was in his very ears, so loud and terrible was it.
it frightened him so that he simply let go and tumbled backward down inside his house.
of course it did n't hurt him any, for he landed on his soft bed.
""whooo-hoo-hoo, whooo-hoo!"
came that terrible sound again, and whitefoot shook until his little teeth rattled.
at least, that is the way it seemed to him.
it was the voice of hooty the owl, and whitefoot knew that hooty was sitting on the top of that very stub.
he was, so to speak, on the roof of whitefoot's house.
now in all the green forest there is no sound that strikes terror to the hearts of the little people of feathers and fur equal to the hunting call of hooty the owl.
hooty knows this.
no one knows it better than he does.
that is why he uses it.
he knows that many of the little people are asleep, safely hidden away.
he knows that it would be quite useless for him to simply look for them.
he would starve before he could find a dinner in that way.
but he knows that any one wakened from sleep in great fright is sure to move, and if they do this they are almost equally sure to make some little sound.
his ears are so wonderful that they can catch the faintest sound and tell exactly where it comes from.
so he uses that terrible hunting cry to frighten the little people and make them move.
now whitefoot knew that he was safe.
hooty could n't possibly get at him, even should he find out that he was in there.
there was nothing to fear, but just the same, whitefoot shivered and shook and jumped almost out of his skin every time that hooty hooted.
he just could n't help it.
""he ca n't get me.
i know he ca n't get me.
i'm perfectly safe.
i'm just as safe as if he were miles away.
there's nothing to be afraid of.
it is silly to be afraid.
probably hooty does n't even know i am inside here.
even if he does, it does n't really matter."
whitefoot said these things to himself over and over again.
then hooty would send out that fierce, terrible hunting call and whitefoot would jump and shake just as before.
after awhile all was still.
gradually whitefoot stopped trembling.
he guessed that hooty had flown away.
still he remained right where he was for a very long time.
he did n't intend to foolishly take any chances.
so he waited and waited and waited.
at last he was sure that hooty had left.
once more he climbed up to his little round doorway and there he waited some time before poking even his nose outside.
then, just as he had made up his mind to go out, that terrible sound rang out again, and just as before he tumbled heels over head down on his bed.
whitefoot did n't go out that night at all.
it was a moonlight night and just the kind of a night to be out.
instead whitefoot lay in his little bed and shivered and shook, for all through that long night every once in a while hooty the owl would hoot from the top of that stub.
chapter xxiv: whitefoot the wood mouse is unhappy unhappiness without a cause you never, never find; it may be in the stomach, or it may be in the mind.
-- whitefoot.
whitefoot the wood mouse should have been happy, but he was n't.
winter had gone and sweet mistress spring had brought joy to all the green forest.
every one was happy, whitefoot no less so than his neighbors at first.
up from the sunny south came the feathered friends and at once began planning new homes.
twitterings and songs filled the air.
joy was everywhere.
food became plentiful, and whitefoot became sleek and fat.
that is, he became as fat as a lively wood mouse ever does become.
none of his enemies had discovered his new home, and he had little to worry about.
but by and by whitefoot began to feel less joyous.
day by day he grew more and more unhappy.
he no longer took pleasure in his fine home.
he began to wander about for no particular reason.
he wandered much farther from home than he had ever been in the habit of doing.
at times he would sit and listen, but what he was listening for he did n't know.
""there is something the matter with me, and i do n't know what it is," said whitefoot to himself forlornly.
""it ca n't be anything i have eaten.
i have nothing to worry about.
yet there is something wrong with me.
i'm losing my appetite.
nothing tastes good any more.
i want something, but i do n't know what it is i want."
he tried to tell his troubles to his nearest neighbor, timmy the flying squirrel, but timmy was too busy to listen.
when peter rabbit happened along, whitefoot tried to tell him.
but peter himself was too happy and too eager to learn all the news in the green forest to listen.
no one had any interest in whitefoot's troubles.
every one was too busy with his own affairs.
so day by day whitefoot the wood mouse grew more and more unhappy, and when the dusk of early evening came creeping through the green forest, he sat about and moped instead of running about and playing as he had been in the habit of doing.
the beautiful song of melody the wood thrush somehow filled him with sadness instead of with the joy he had always felt before.
the very happiness of those about him seemed to make him more unhappy.
once he almost decided to go hunt for another home, but somehow he could n't get interested even in this.
he did start out, but he had not gone far before he had forgotten all about what he had started for.
always he had loved to run about and climb and jump for the pure pleasure of it, but now he no longer did these things.
he was unhappy, was whitefoot.
yes, sir, he was unhappy; and for no cause at all so far as he could see.
chapter xxv: whitefoot finds out what the matter was pity the lonely, for deep in the heart is an ache that no doctor can heal by his art.
-- whitefoot.
of all the little people of the green forest whitefoot seemed to be the only one who was unhappy.
and because he did n't know why he felt so he became day by day more unhappy.
perhaps i should say that night by night he became more unhappy, for during the brightness of the day he slept most of the time.
""there is something wrong, something wrong," he would say over and over to himself.
""it must be with me, because everybody else is happy, and this is the happiest time of all the year.
i wish some one would tell me what ails me.
i want to be happy, but somehow i just ca n't be."
one evening he wandered a little farther from home than usual.
he was n't going anywhere in particular.
he had nothing in particular to do.
he was just wandering about because somehow he could n't remain at home.
not far away melody the wood thrush was pouring out his beautiful evening song.
whitefoot stopped to listen.
somehow it made him more unhappy than ever.
melody stopped singing for a few moments.
it was just then that whitefoot heard a faint sound.
it was a gentle drumming.
whitefoot pricked up his ears and listened.
there it was again.
he knew instantly how that sound was made.
it was made by dainty little feet beating very fast on an old log.
whitefoot had drummed that way himself many times.
it was soft, but clear, and it lasted only a moment.
right then something very strange happened to whitefoot.
yes, sir, something very strange happened to whitefoot.
all in a flash he felt better.
at first he did n't know why.
he just did, that was all.
without thinking what he was doing, he began to drum himself.
then he listened.
at first he heard nothing.
then, soft and low, came that drumming sound again.
whitefoot replied to it.
all the time he kept feeling better.
he ran a little nearer to the place from which that drumming sound had come and then once more drummed.
at first he got no reply.
then in a few minutes he heard it again, only this time it came from a different place.
whitefoot became quite excited.
he knew that that drumming was done by another wood mouse, and all in a flash it came over him what had been the matter with him.
""i have been lonely!"
exclaimed whitefoot.
""that is all that has been the trouble with me.
i have been lonely and did n't know it.
i wonder if that other wood mouse has felt the same way."
again he drummed and again came that soft reply.
once more whitefoot hurried in the direction of it, and once more he was disappointed when the next reply came from a different place.
by now he was getting quite excited.
he was bound to find that other wood mouse.
every time he heard that drumming, funny little thrills ran all over him.
he did n't know why.
they just did, that was all.
he simply must find that other wood mouse.
he forgot everything else.
he did n't even notice where he was going.
he would drum, then wait for a reply.
as soon as he heard it, he would scamper in the direction of it, and then pause to drum again.
sometimes the reply would be very near, then again it would be so far away that a great fear would fill whitefoot's heart that the stranger was running away.
chapter xxvi: love fills the heart of whitefoot joyous all the winds that blow to the heart with love aglow.
-- whitefoot.
it was a wonderful game of hide-and-seek that whitefoot the wood mouse was playing in the dusk of early evening.
whitefoot was "it" all the time.
that is, he was the one who had to do all the hunting.
just who he was hunting for he did n't know.
he knew it was another wood mouse, but it was a stranger, and do what he would, he could n't get so much as a glimpse of this little stranger.
he would drum with his feet and after a slight pause there would be an answering drum.
then whitefoot would run as fast as he could in that direction only to find no one at all.
then he would drum again and the reply would come from another direction.
every moment whitefoot became more excited.
he forgot everything, even danger, in his desire to see that little drummer.
once or twice he actually lost his temper in his disappointment.
but this was only for a moment.
he was too eager to find that little drummer to be angry very long.
at last there came a time when there was no reply to his drumming.
he drummed and listened, then drummed again and listened.
nothing was to be heard.
there was no reply.
whitefoot's heart sank.
all the old lonesomeness crept over him again.
he did n't know which way to turn to look for that stranger.
when he had drummed until he was tired, he sat on the end of an old log, a perfect picture of disappointment.
he was so disappointed that he could have cried if it would have done any good.
just as he had about made up his mind that there was nothing to do but to try to find his way home, his keen little ears caught the faintest rustle of dry leaves.
instantly whitefoot was alert and watchful.
long ago he had learned to be suspicious of rustling leaves.
they might have been rustled by the feet of an enemy stealing up on him.
no wood mouse who wants to live long is ever heedless of rustling leaves.
as still as if he could n't move, whitefoot sat staring at the place from which that faint sound had seemed to come.
for two or three minutes he heard and saw nothing.
then another leaf rustled a little bit to one side.
whitefoot turned like a flash, his feet gathered under him ready for a long jump for safety.
at first he saw nothing.
then he became aware of two bright, soft little eyes watching him.
he stared at them very hard and then all over him crept those funny thrills he had felt when he had first heard the drumming of the stranger.
he knew without being told that those eyes belonged to the little drummer with whom he had been playing hide and seek so long.
whitefoot held his breath, he was so afraid that those eyes would vanish.
finally he rather timidly jumped down from the log and started toward those two soft eyes.
they vanished.
whitefoot's heart sank.
he was tempted to rush forward, but he did n't.
he sat still.
there was a slight rustle off to the right.
a little ray of moonlight made its way down through the branches of the trees just there, and in the middle of the light spot it made sat a timid little person.
it seemed to whitefoot that he was looking at the most beautiful wood mouse in all the great world.
suddenly he felt very shy and timid himself.
""who -- who -- who are you?"
he stammered.
""i am little miss dainty," replied the stranger bashfully.
right then and there whitefoot's heart was filled so full of something that it seemed as if it would burst.
it was love.
all in that instant he knew that he had found the most wonderful thing in all the great world, which of course is love.
he knew that he just could n't live without little miss dainty.
chapter xxvii: mr. and mrs. whitefoot when all is said and all is done't is only love of two makes one.
-- whitefoot.
little miss dainty, the most beautiful and wonderful wood mouse in all the great world, according to whitefoot, was very shy and very timid.
it took whitefoot a long time to make her believe that he really could n't live without her.
at least, she pretended not to believe it.
if the truth were known, little miss dainty felt just the same way about whitefoot.
but whitefoot did n't know this, and i am afraid she teased him a great deal before she told him that she loved him just as he loved her.
but at last little miss dainty shyly admitted that she loved whitefoot just as much as he loved her and was willing to become mrs. whitefoot.
secretly she thought whitefoot the most wonderful wood mouse in the great world, but she did n't tell him so.
the truth is, she made him feel as if she were doing him a great favor.
as for whitefoot, he was so happy that he actually tried to sing.
yes, sir, whitefoot tried to sing, and he really did very well for a mouse.
he was ready and eager to do anything that mrs. whitefoot wanted to do.
together they scampered about in the moonlight, hunting for good things to eat, and poking their inquisitive little noses into every little place they could find.
whitefoot forgot that he had ever been sad and lonely.
he raced about and did all sorts of funny things from pure joy, but he never once forgot to watch out for danger.
in fact he was more watchful than ever, for now he was watching for mrs. whitefoot as well as for himself.
at last whitefoot rather timidly suggested that they should go see his fine home in a certain hollow stub.
mrs. whitefoot insisted that they should go to her home.
whitefoot agreed on condition that she would afterwards visit his home.
so together they went back to mrs. whitefoot's home.
whitefoot pretended that he liked it very much, but in his heart he thought his own home was very much better, and he felt quite sure that mrs. whitefoot would agree with him once she had seen it.
but mrs. whitefoot was very well satisfied with her old home and not at all anxious to leave it.
it was in an old hollow stump close to the ground.
it was just such a place as shadow the weasel would be sure to visit should he happen along that way.
it did n't seem at all safe to whitefoot.
in fact it worried him.
then, too, it was not in such a pleasant place as was his own home.
of course he did n't say this, but pretended to admire everything.
two days and nights they spent there.
then whitefoot suggested that they should visit his home.
""of course, my dear, we will not have to live there unless you want to, but i want you to see it," said he.
mrs. whitefoot did n't appear at all anxious to go.
she began to make excuses for staying right where they were.
you see, she had a great love for that old home.
they were sitting just outside the doorway talking about the matter when whitefoot caught a glimpse of a swiftly moving form not far off.
it was shadow the weasel.
neither of them breathed.
shadow passed without looking in their direction.
when he was out of sight, mrs. whitefoot shivered.
""let's go over to your home right away," she whispered.
""i've never seen shadow about here before, but now that he has been here once, he may come again."
""we'll start at once," replied whitefoot, and for once he was glad that shadow the weasel was about.
chapter xviii: mrs. whitefoot decides on a home when mrs. mouse makes up her mind then mr. mouse best get behind.
-- whitefoot.
whitefoot the wood mouse was very proud of his home.
he showed it as he led mrs. whitefoot there.
he felt sure that she would say at once that that would be the place for them to live.
you remember that it was high up in a tall, dead stub and had once been the home of timmy the flying squirrel.
""there, my dear, what do you think of that?"
said whitefoot proudly as they reached the little round doorway.
mrs. whitefoot said nothing, but at once went inside.
she was gone what seemed a long time to whitefoot, anxiously waiting outside.
you see, mrs. whitefoot is a very thorough small person, and she was examining the inside of that house from top to bottom.
at last she appeared at the doorway.
""do n't you think this is a splendid house?"
asked whitefoot rather timidly.
""it is very good of its kind," replied mrs. whitefoot.
whitefoot's heart sank.
he did n't like the tone in which mrs. whitefoot had said that.
""just what do you mean, my dear?"
whitefoot asked.
""i mean," replied mrs. whitefoot, in a most decided way, "that it is a very good house for winter, but it wo n't do at all for summer.
that is, it wo n't do for me.
in the first place it is so high up that if we should have babies, i would worry all the time for fear the darlings would have a bad fall.
besides, i do n't like an inside house for summer.
i think, whitefoot, we must look around and find a new home."
as she spoke mrs. whitefoot was already starting down the stub.
whitefoot followed.
""all right, my dear, all right," said he meekly.
""you know best.
this seems to me like a very fine home, but of course, if you do n't like it we'll look for another."
mrs. whitefoot said nothing, but led the way down the tree with whitefoot meekly following.
then began a patient search all about.
mrs. whitefoot appeared to know just what she wanted and turned up her nose at several places whitefoot thought would make fine homes.
she hardly glanced at a fine hollow log whitefoot found.
she merely poked her nose in at a splendid hole beneath the roots of an old stump.
whitefoot began to grow tired from running about and climbing stumps and trees and bushes.
he stopped to rest and lost sight of mrs. whitefoot.
a moment later he heard her calling excitedly.
when he found her, she was up in a small tree, sitting on the edge of an old nest a few feet above the ground.
it was a nest that had once belonged to melody the wood thrush.
mrs. whitefoot was sitting on the edge of it, and her bright eyes snapped with excitement and pleasure.
""i've found it!"
she cried.
""i've found it!
it is just what i have been looking for."
""found what?"
whitefoot asked.
""i do n't see anything but an old nest of melody's."
""i've found the home we've been looking for, stupid," retorted mrs. whitefoot.
still whitefoot stared.
""i do n't see any house," said he.
mrs. whitefoot stamped her feet impatiently.
""right here, stupid," said she.
""this old nest will make us the finest and safest home that ever was.
no one will ever think of looking for us here.
we must get busy at once and fix it up."
even then whitefoot did n't understand.
always he had lived either in a hole in the ground, or in a hollow stump or tree.
how they were to live in that old nest he could n't see at all.
chapter xxix: making over an old house a home is always what you make it.
with love there you will ne'er forsake it.
-- whitefoot.
whitefoot climbed up to the old nest of melody the wood thrush over the edge of which little mrs. whitefoot was looking down at him.
it took whitefoot hardly a moment to get up there, for the nest was only a few feet above the ground in a young tree, and you know whitefoot is a very good climber.
he found mrs. whitefoot very much excited.
she was delighted with that old nest and she showed it.
for his part, whitefoot could n't see anything but a deserted old house of no use to any one.
to be sure, it had been a very good home in its time.
it had been made of tiny twigs, stalks of old weeds, leaves, little fine roots and mud.
it was still quite solid, and was firmly fixed in a crotch of the young tree.
but whitefoot could n't see how it could be turned into a home for a mouse.
he said as much.
little mrs. whitefoot became more excited than ever.
""you dear old stupid," said she, "whatever is the matter with you?
do n't you see that all we need do is to put a roof on, make an entrance on the under side, and make a soft comfortable bed inside to make it a delightful home?"
""i do n't see why we do n't make a new home altogether," protested whitefoot.
""it seems to me that hollow stub of mine is ever so much better than this.
that has good solid walls, and we wo n't have to do a thing to it."
""i told you once before that it does n't suit me for summer," replied little mrs. whitefoot rather sharply, because she was beginning to lose patience.
""it will be all right for winter, but winter is a long way off.
it may suit you for summer, but it does n't suit me, and this place does.
so this is where we are going to live."
""certainly, my dear.
certainly," replied whitefoot very meekly.
""if you want to live here, here we will live.
but i must confess it is n't clear to me yet how we are going to make a decent home out of this old nest."
""do n't you worry about that," replied mrs. whitefoot.
""you can get the material, and i'll attend to the rest.
let us waste no time about it.
i am anxious to get our home finished and to feel a little bit settled.
i have already planned just what has got to be done and how we will do it.
now you go look for some nice soft, dry weed stalks and strips of soft bark, and moss and any other soft, tough material that you can find.
just get busy and do n't stop to talk."
of course whitefoot did as he was told.
he ran down to the ground and began to hunt for the things mrs. whitefoot wanted.
he was very particular about it.
he still did n't think much of her idea of making over that old home of melody's, but if she would do it, he meant that she should have the very best of materials to do it with.
so back and forth from the ground to the old nest in the tree whitefoot hurried, and presently there was quite a pile of weed stalks and soft grass and strips of bark in the old nest.
mrs. whitefoot joined whitefoot in hunting for just the right things, but she spent more time in arranging the material.
over that old nest she made a fine high roof.
down through the lower side she cut a little round doorway just big enough for them to pass through.
unless you happened to be underneath looking up, you never would have guessed there was an entrance at all.
inside was a snug, round room, and in this she made the softest and most comfortable of beds.
as it began to look more and more like a home, whitefoot himself became as excited and eager as mrs. whitefoot had been from the beginning.
""it certainly is going to be a fine home," said whitefoot.
""did n't i tell you it would be?"
retorted mrs. whitefoot.
chapter xxx: the whitefoots enjoy their new home no home is ever mean or poor where love awaits you at the door.
-- whitefoot.
""there," said mrs. whitefoot, as she worked a strip of white birch bark into the roof of the new home she and whitefoot had been building out of the old home of melody the wood thrush, "this finishes the roof.
i do n't think any water will get through it even in the hardest rain."
""it is wonderful," declared whitefoot admiringly.
""wherever did you learn to build such a house as this?"
""from my mother," replied mrs. whitefoot.
""i was born in just such a home.
it makes the finest kind of a home for wood mouse babies."
""you do n't think there is danger that the wind will blow it down, do you?"
ventured whitefoot.
""of course i do n't," retorted little mrs. whitefoot scornfully.
""has n't this old nest remained right where it is for over a year?
do you suppose that if i had thought there was the least bit of danger that it would blow down, i would have used it?
do credit me with a little sense, my dear."
""yes'm, i do," replied whitefoot meekly.
""you are the most sensible person in all the great world.
i was n't finding fault.
you see, i have always lived in a hole in the ground or a hollow stump, or a hole in a tree, and i have not yet become used to a home that moves about and rocks as this one does when the wind blows.
but if you say it is all right, why of course it is all right.
probably i will get used to it after awhile."
whitefoot did get used to it.
after living in it for a few days, it no longer seemed strange, and he no longer minded its swaying when the wind blew.
the fact is, he rather enjoyed it.
so whitefoot and mrs. whitefoot settled down to enjoy their new home.
now and then they added a bit to it here and there.
somehow whitefoot felt unusually safe, safer than he had ever felt in any of his other homes.
you see, he had seen several feathered folk alight close to it and not give it a second look.
he knew that they had seen that home, but had mistaken it for what it had once been, the deserted home of one of their own number.
whitefoot had chuckled.
he had chuckled long and heartily.
""if they make that mistake," said he to himself, "everybody else is likely to make it.
that home of ours is right in plain sight, yet i do believe it is safer than the best hidden home i ever had before.
shadow the weasel never will think of climbing up this little tree to look at an old nest, and shadow is the one i am most afraid of."
it was only a day or two later that buster bear happened along that way.
now buster is very fond of tender wood mouse.
more than once whitefoot had had a narrow escape from buster's big claws as they tore open an old stump or dug into the ground after him.
he saw buster glance up at the new home without the slightest interest in those shrewd little eyes of his.
then buster shuffled on to roll over an old log and lick up the ants he found under it.
again whitefoot chuckled.
""yes, sir," said he.
""it is the safest home i've ever had."
so whitefoot and little mrs. whitefoot were very happy in the home which they had built, and for once in his life whitefoot did very little worrying.
life seemed more beautiful than it had ever been before.
and he almost forgot that there was such a thing as a hungry enemy.
chapter xxxi: whitefoot is hurt the hurts that hardest are to bear come from those for whom we care.
-- whitefoot.
whitefoot was hurt.
yes, sir, whitefoot was hurt.
he was very much hurt.
it was n't a bodily hurt; it was an inside hurt.
it was a hurt that made his heart ache.
and to make it worse, he could n't understand it at all.
one evening he had been met at the little round doorway by little mrs. whitefoot.
""you ca n't come in," said she.
""why ca n't i?"
demanded whitefoot, in the greatest surprise.
""never mind why.
you ca n't, and that is all there is to it," replied mrs. whitefoot.
""you mean i ca n't ever come in any more?"
asked whitefoot.
""i do n't know about that," replied mrs. whitefoot, "but you ca n't come in now, nor for some time.
i think the best thing you can do is to go back to your old home in the hollow stub."
whitefoot stared at little mrs. whitefoot quite as if he thought she had gone crazy.
then he lost his temper.
""i guess i'll come in if i want to," said he.
""this home is quite as much my home as it is yours.
you have no right to keep me out of it.
just you get out of my way."
but little mrs. whitefoot did n't get out of his way, and do what he would, whitefoot could n't get in.
you see she quite filled that little round doorway.
finally, he had to give up trying.
three times he came back and each time he found little mrs. whitefoot in the doorway.
and each time she drove him away.
finally, for lack of any other place to go to, he returned to his old home in the old stub.
once he had thought this the finest home possible, but now somehow it did n't suit him at all.
the truth is he missed little mrs. whitefoot, and so what had once been a home was now only a place in which to hide and sleep.
whitefoot's anger did not last long.
it was replaced by that hurt feeling.
he felt that he must have done something little mrs. whitefoot did not like, but though he thought and thought he could n't remember a single thing.
several times he went back to see if mrs. whitefoot felt any differently, but found she did n't.
finally she told him rather sharply to go away and stay away.
after that whitefoot did n't venture over to the new home.
he would sometimes sit a short distance away and gaze at it longingly.
all the joy had gone out of the beautiful springtime for him.
he was quite as unhappy as he had been before he met little mrs. whitefoot.
you see, he was even more lonely than he had been then.
and added to this loneliness was that hurt feeling, which made it ever and ever so much worse.
it was very hard to bear.
""if i could understand it, it would n't be so bad," he kept saying over and over again to himself, "but i do n't understand it.
i do n't understand why mrs. whitefoot does n't love me any more."
chapter xxxii: the surprise surprises sometimes are so great you're tempted to believe in fate.
-- whitefoot.
one never-to-be forgotten evening whitefoot met mrs. whitefoot and she invited him to come back to their home.
of course whitefoot was delighted.
""sh-h-h," said little mrs. whitefoot, as whitefoot entered the snug little room of the house they had built in the old nest of melody the wood thrush.
whitefoot hesitated.
in the first place, it was dark in there.
in the second place, he had the feeling that somehow that little bedroom seemed crowded.
it had n't been that way the last time he was there.
mrs. whitefoot was right in front of him, and she seemed very much excited about something.
presently she crowded to one side.
""come here and look," said she.
whitefoot looked.
in the middle of a soft bed of moss was a squirming mass of legs and funny little heads.
at first that was all whitefoot could make out.
""do n't you think this is the most wonderful surprise that ever was?"
whispered little mrs. whitefoot.
""are n't they darlings?
are n't you proud of them?"
by this time whitefoot had made out that that squirming mass of legs and heads was composed of baby mice.
he counted them.
there were four.
""whose are they, and what are they doing here?"
whitefoot asked in a queer voice.
""why, you old stupid, they are yours, -- yours and mine," declared little mrs. whitefoot.
""did you ever, ever see such beautiful babies?
now i guess you understand why i kept you away from here."
whitefoot shook his head.
""no," said he, "i do n't understand at all.
i do n't see yet what you drove me away for."
""why, you blessed old dear, there was n't room for you when those babies came; i had to have all the room there was.
it would n't have done to have had you running in and out and disturbing them when they were so tiny.
i had to be alone with them, and that is why i made you go off and live by yourself.
i am so proud of them, i do n't know what to do.
are n't you proud, whitefoot?
are n't you the proudest wood mouse in all the green forest?"
of course whitefoot should have promptly said that he was, but the truth is, whitefoot was n't proud at all.
you see, he was so surprised that he had n't yet had time to feel that they were really his.
in fact, just then he felt a wee bit jealous of them.
it came over him that they would take all the time and attention of little mrs. whitefoot.
so whitefoot did n't answer that question.
he simply sat and stared at those four squirming babies.
finally little mrs. whitefoot gently pushed him out and followed him.
""of course," said she, "there is n't room for you to stay here now.
you will have to sleep in your old home because there is n't room in here for both of us and the babies too."
whitefoot's heart sank.
he had thought that he was to stay and that everything would be just as it had been before.
""ca n't i come over here any more?"
he asked rather timidly.
""what a foolish question!"
cried little mrs. whitefoot.
""of course you can.
you will have to help take care of these babies.
just as soon as they are big enough, you will have to help teach them how to hunt for food and how to watch out for danger, and all the things that a wise wood mouse knows.
why, they could n't get along without you.
neither could i," she added softly.
at that whitefoot felt better.
and suddenly there was a queer swelling in his heart.
it was the beginning of pride, pride in those wonderful babies.
""you have given me the best surprise that ever was, my dear," said whitefoot softly.
""now i think i will go and look for some supper."
so now we will leave whitefoot and his family.
you see there are two very lively little people of the green forest who demand attention and insist on having it.
_book_title_: washington_irving___the_legend_of_sleepy_hollow.txt.out
found among the papers of the late diedrich knickerbocker.
a pleasing land of drowsy head it was, of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; and of gay castles in the clouds that pass, forever flushing round a summer sky.
castle of indolence.
in the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient dutch navigators the tappan zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail and implored the protection of st. nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market town or rural port, which by some is called greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly known by the name of tarry town.
this name was given, we are told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market days.
be that as it may, i do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic.
not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little valley or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world.
a small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.
i recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of the valley.
i had wandered into it at noontime, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes.
if ever i should wish for a retreat whither i might steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, i know of none more promising than this little valley.
from the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the original dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has long been known by the name of sleepy hollow, and its rustic lads are called the sleepy hollow boys throughout all the neighboring country.
a drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere.
some say that the place was bewitched by a high german doctor, during the early days of the settlement; others, that an old indian chief, the prophet or wizard of his tribe, held his powwows there before the country was discovered by master hendrick hudson.
certain it is, the place still continues under the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie.
they are given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs, are subject to trances and visions, and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air.
the whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors glare oftener across the valley than in any other part of the country, and the nightmare, with her whole ninefold, seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols.
the dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback, without a head.
it is said by some to be the ghost of a hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the revolutionary war, and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind.
his haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance.
indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the trooper having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak.
such is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and the spectre is known at all the country firesides, by the name of the headless horseman of sleepy hollow.
it is remarkable that the visionary propensity i have mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the valley, but is unconsciously imbibed by every one who resides there for a time.
however wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative, to dream dreams, and see apparitions.
i mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud, for it is in such little retired dutch valleys, found here and there embosomed in the great state of new york, that population, manners, and customs remain fixed, while the great torrent of migration and improvement, which is making such incessant changes in other parts of this restless country, sweeps by them unobserved.
they are like those little nooks of still water, which border a rapid stream, where we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current.
though many years have elapsed since i trod the drowsy shades of sleepy hollow, yet i question whether i should not still find the same trees and the same families vegetating in its sheltered bosom.
in this by-place of nature there abode, in a remote period of american history, that is to say, some thirty years since, a worthy wight of the name of ichabod crane, who sojourned, or, as he expressed it, "tarried," in sleepy hollow, for the purpose of instructing the children of the vicinity.
he was a native of connecticut, a state which supplies the union with pioneers for the mind as well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its legions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters.
the cognomen of crane was not inapplicable to his person.
he was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together.
his head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock perched upon his spindle neck to tell which way the wind blew.
to see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.
his schoolhouse was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of old copybooks.
it was most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against the window shutters; so that though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in getting out, -- an idea most probably borrowed by the architect, yost van houten, from the mystery of an eelpot.
the schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a formidable birch-tree growing at one end of it.
from hence the low murmur of his pupils" voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard in a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a beehive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice of the master, in the tone of menace or command, or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge.
truth to say, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim, "spare the rod and spoil the child."
ichabod crane's scholars certainly were not spoiled.
i would not have it imagined, however, that he was one of those cruel potentates of the school who joy in the smart of their subjects; on the contrary, he administered justice with discrimination rather than severity; taking the burden off the backs of the weak, and laying it on those of the strong.
your mere puny stripling, that winced at the least flourish of the rod, was passed by with indulgence; but the claims of justice were satisfied by inflicting a double portion on some little tough wrong-headed, broad-skirted dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled and grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch.
all this he called "doing his duty by their parents;" and he never inflicted a chastisement without following it by the assurance, so consolatory to the smarting urchin, that "he would remember it and thank him for it the longest day he had to live."
when school hours were over, he was even the companion and playmate of the larger boys; and on holiday afternoons would convoy some of the smaller ones home, who happened to have pretty sisters, or good housewives for mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard.
indeed, it behooved him to keep on good terms with his pupils.
the revenue arising from his school was small, and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him with daily bread, for he was a huge feeder, and, though lank, had the dilating powers of an anaconda; but to help out his maintenance, he was, according to country custom in those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers whose children he instructed.
with these he lived successively a week at a time, thus going the rounds of the neighborhood, with all his worldly effects tied up in a cotton handkerchief.
that all this might not be too onerous on the purses of his rustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of schooling a grievous burden, and schoolmasters as mere drones, he had various ways of rendering himself both useful and agreeable.
he assisted the farmers occasionally in the lighter labors of their farms, helped to make hay, mended the fences, took the horses to water, drove the cows from pasture, and cut wood for the winter fire.
he laid aside, too, all the dominant dignity and absolute sway with which he lorded it in his little empire, the school, and became wonderfully gentle and ingratiating.
he found favor in the eyes of the mothers by petting the children, particularly the youngest; and like the lion bold, which whilom so magnanimously the lamb did hold, he would sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradle with his foot for whole hours together.
in addition to his other vocations, he was the singing-master of the neighborhood, and picked up many bright shillings by instructing the young folks in psalmody.
it was a matter of no little vanity to him on sundays, to take his station in front of the church gallery, with a band of chosen singers; where, in his own mind, he completely carried away the palm from the parson.
certain it is, his voice resounded far above all the rest of the congregation; and there are peculiar quavers still to be heard in that church, and which may even be heard half a mile off, quite to the opposite side of the millpond, on a still sunday morning, which are said to be legitimately descended from the nose of ichabod crane.
thus, by divers little makeshifts, in that ingenious way which is commonly denominated "by hook and by crook," the worthy pedagogue got on tolerably enough, and was thought, by all who understood nothing of the labor of headwork, to have a wonderfully easy life of it.
the schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance in the female circle of a rural neighborhood; being considered a kind of idle, gentlemanlike personage, of vastly superior taste and accomplishments to the rough country swains, and, indeed, inferior in learning only to the parson.
his appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion some little stir at the tea-table of a farmhouse, and the addition of a supernumerary dish of cakes or sweetmeats, or, peradventure, the parade of a silver teapot.
our man of letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in the smiles of all the country damsels.
how he would figure among them in the churchyard, between services on sundays; gathering grapes for them from the wild vines that overran the surrounding trees; reciting for their amusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones; or sauntering, with a whole bevy of them, along the banks of the adjacent millpond; while the more bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior elegance and address.
from his half-itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to house, so that his appearance was always greeted with satisfaction.
he was, moreover, esteemed by the women as a man of great erudition, for he had read several books quite through, and was a perfect master of cotton mather's "history of new england witchcraft," in which, by the way, he most firmly and potently believed.
he was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness and simple credulity.
his appetite for the marvellous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his residence in this spell-bound region.
no tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow.
it was often his delight, after his school was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover bordering the little brook that whimpered by his schoolhouse, and there con over old mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of evening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes.
then, as he wended his way by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination, -- the moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside, the boding cry of the tree toad, that harbinger of storm, the dreary hooting of the screech owl, or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost.
the fireflies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's token.
his only resource on such occasions, either to drown thought or drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes and the good people of sleepy hollow, as they sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled with awe at hearing his nasal melody, "in linked sweetness long drawn out," floating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road.
another of his sources of fearful pleasure was to pass long winter evenings with the old dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listen to their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless horseman, or galloping hessian of the hollow, as they sometimes called him.
he would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of connecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-turvy!
but if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly cuddling in the chimney corner of a chamber that was all of a ruddy glow from the crackling wood fire, and where, of course, no spectre dared to show its face, it was dearly purchased by the terrors of his subsequent walk homewards.
what fearful shapes and shadows beset his path, amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night!
with what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from some distant window!
how often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path!
how often did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him!
and how often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea that it was the galloping hessian on one of his nightly scourings!
all these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness; and though he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by satan in divers shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was -- a woman.
among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in each week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, was katrina van tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial dutch farmer.
she was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked as one of her father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations.
she was withal a little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set off her charms.
she wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmother had brought over from saardam; the tempting stomacher of the olden time, and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round.
ichabod crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the sex; and it is not to be wondered at that so tempting a morsel soon found favor in his eyes, more especially after he had visited her in her paternal mansion.
old baltus van tassel was a perfect picture of a thriving, contented, liberal-hearted farmer.
he seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or his thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own farm; but within those everything was snug, happy and well-conditioned.
he was satisfied with his wealth, but not proud of it; and piqued himself upon the hearty abundance, rather than the style in which he lived.
his stronghold was situated on the banks of the hudson, in one of those green, sheltered, fertile nooks in which the dutch farmers are so fond of nestling.
a great elm tree spread its broad branches over it, at the foot of which bubbled up a spring of the softest and sweetest water, in a little well formed of a barrel; and then stole sparkling away through the grass, to a neighboring brook, that babbled along among alders and dwarf willows.
hard by the farmhouse was a vast barn, that might have served for a church; every window and crevice of which seemed bursting forth with the treasures of the farm; the flail was busily resounding within it from morning to night; swallows and martins skimmed twittering about the eaves; and rows of pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if watching the weather, some with their heads under their wings or buried in their bosoms, and others swelling, and cooing, and bowing about their dames, were enjoying the sunshine on the roof.
sleek unwieldy porkers were grunting in the repose and abundance of their pens, from whence sallied forth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air.
a stately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys were gobbling through the farmyard, and guinea fowls fretting about it, like ill-tempered housewives, with their peevish, discontented cry.
before the barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a husband, a warrior and a fine gentleman, clapping his burnished wings and crowing in the pride and gladness of his heart, -- sometimes tearing up the earth with his feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry family of wives and children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had discovered.
the pedagogue's mouth watered as he looked upon this sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare.
in his devouring mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roasting-pig running about with a pudding in his belly, and an apple in his mouth; the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of crust; the geese were swimming in their own gravy; and the ducks pairing cosily in dishes, like snug married couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce.
in the porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon, and juicy relishing ham; not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up, with its gizzard under its wing, and, peradventure, a necklace of savory sausages; and even bright chanticleer himself lay sprawling on his back, in a side dish, with uplifted claws, as if craving that quarter which his chivalrous spirit disdained to ask while living.
as the enraptured ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled his great green eyes over the fat meadow lands, the rich fields of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and indian corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy fruit, which surrounded the warm tenement of van tassel, his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains, and his imagination expanded with the idea, how they might be readily turned into cash, and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces in the wilderness.
nay, his busy fancy already realized his hopes, and presented to him the blooming katrina, with a whole family of children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded with household trumpery, with pots and kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, setting out for kentucky, tennessee, -- or the lord knows where!
when he entered the house, the conquest of his heart was complete.
it was one of those spacious farmhouses, with high-ridged but lowly sloping roofs, built in the style handed down from the first dutch settlers; the low projecting eaves forming a piazza along the front, capable of being closed up in bad weather.
under this were hung flails, harness, various utensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the neighboring river.
benches were built along the sides for summer use; and a great spinning-wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed the various uses to which this important porch might be devoted.
from this piazza the wondering ichabod entered the hall, which formed the centre of the mansion, and the place of usual residence.
here rows of resplendent pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his eyes.
in one corner stood a huge bag of wool, ready to be spun; in another, a quantity of linsey-woolsey just from the loom; ears of indian corn, and strings of dried apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, mingled with the gaud of red peppers; and a door left ajar gave him a peep into the best parlor, where the claw-footed chairs and dark mahogany tables shone like mirrors; andirons, with their accompanying shovel and tongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops; mock-oranges and conch-shells decorated the mantelpiece; strings of various-colored birds eggs were suspended above it; a great ostrich egg was hung from the centre of the room, and a corner cupboard, knowingly left open, displayed immense treasures of old silver and well-mended china.
from the moment ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end, and his only study was how to gain the affections of the peerless daughter of van tassel.
in this enterprise, however, he had more real difficulties than generally fell to the lot of a knight-errant of yore, who seldom had anything but giants, enchanters, fiery dragons, and such like easily conquered adversaries, to contend with and had to make his way merely through gates of iron and brass, and walls of adamant to the castle keep, where the lady of his heart was confined; all which he achieved as easily as a man would carve his way to the centre of a christmas pie; and then the lady gave him her hand as a matter of course.
ichabod, on the contrary, had to win his way to the heart of a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims and caprices, which were forever presenting new difficulties and impediments; and he had to encounter a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood, the numerous rustic admirers, who beset every portal to her heart, keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other, but ready to fly out in the common cause against any new competitor.
among these, the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade, of the name of abraham, or, according to the dutch abbreviation, brom van brunt, the hero of the country round, which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood.
he was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arrogance.
from his herculean frame and great powers of limb he had received the nickname of brom bones, by which he was universally known.
he was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a tartar.
he was foremost at all races and cock fights; and, with the ascendancy which bodily strength always acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with an air and tone that admitted of no gainsay or appeal.
he was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than ill-will in his composition; and with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish good humor at bottom.
he had three or four boon companions, who regarded him as their model, and at the head of whom he scoured the country, attending every scene of feud or merriment for miles round.
in cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a country gathering descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking about among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall.
sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of don cossacks; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "ay, there goes brom bones and his gang!"
the neighbors looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good-will; and, when any madcap prank or rustic brawl occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted brom bones was at the bottom of it.
this rantipole hero had for some time singled out the blooming katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries, and though his amorous toyings were something like the gentle caresses and endearments of a bear, yet it was whispered that she did not altogether discourage his hopes.
certain it is, his advances were signals for rival candidates to retire, who felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours; insomuch, that when his horse was seen tied to van tassel's paling, on a sunday night, a sure sign that his master was courting, or, as it is termed, "sparking," within, all other suitors passed by in despair, and carried the war into other quarters.
such was the formidable rival with whom ichabod crane had to contend, and, considering all things, a stouter man than he would have shrunk from the competition, and a wiser man would have despaired.
he had, however, a happy mixture of pliability and perseverance in his nature; he was in form and spirit like a supple-jack -- yielding, but tough; though he bent, he never broke; and though he bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet, the moment it was away -- jerk!
-- he was as erect, and carried his head as high as ever.
to have taken the field openly against his rival would have been madness; for he was not a man to be thwarted in his amours, any more than that stormy lover, achilles.
ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a quiet and gently insinuating manner.
under cover of his character of singing-master, he made frequent visits at the farmhouse; not that he had anything to apprehend from the meddlesome interference of parents, which is so often a stumbling-block in the path of lovers.
balt van tassel was an easy indulgent soul; he loved his daughter better even than his pipe, and, like a reasonable man and an excellent father, let her have her way in everything.
his notable little wife, too, had enough to do to attend to her housekeeping and manage her poultry; for, as she sagely observed, ducks and geese are foolish things, and must be looked after, but girls can take care of themselves.
thus, while the busy dame bustled about the house, or plied her spinning-wheel at one end of the piazza, honest balt would sit smoking his evening pipe at the other, watching the achievements of a little wooden warrior, who, armed with a sword in each hand, was most valiantly fighting the wind on the pinnacle of the barn.
in the mean time, ichabod would carry on his suit with the daughter by the side of the spring under the great elm, or sauntering along in the twilight, that hour so favorable to the lover's eloquence.
i profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and won.
to me they have always been matters of riddle and admiration.
some seem to have but one vulnerable point, or door of access; while others have a thousand avenues, and may be captured in a thousand different ways.
it is a great triumph of skill to gain the former, but a still greater proof of generalship to maintain possession of the latter, for man must battle for his fortress at every door and window.
he who wins a thousand common hearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a hero.
certain it is, this was not the case with the redoubtable brom bones; and from the moment ichabod crane made his advances, the interests of the former evidently declined: his horse was no longer seen tied to the palings on sunday nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between him and the preceptor of sleepy hollow.
brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his nature, would fain have carried matters to open warfare and have settled their pretensions to the lady, according to the mode of those most concise and simple reasoners, the knights-errant of yore, -- by single combat; but ichabod was too conscious of the superior might of his adversary to enter the lists against him; he had overheard a boast of bones, that he would "double the schoolmaster up, and lay him on a shelf of his own schoolhouse;" and he was too wary to give him an opportunity.
there was something extremely provoking in this obstinately pacific system; it left brom no alternative but to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play off boorish practical jokes upon his rival.
ichabod became the object of whimsical persecution to bones and his gang of rough riders.
they harried his hitherto peaceful domains; smoked out his singing school by stopping up the chimney; broke into the schoolhouse at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings of withe and window stakes, and turned everything topsy-turvy, so that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the witches in the country held their meetings there.
but what was still more annoying, brom took all opportunities of turning him into ridicule in presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to whine in the most ludicrous manner, and introduced as a rival of ichabod's, to instruct her in psalmody.
in this way matters went on for some time, without producing any material effect on the relative situations of the contending powers.
on a fine autumnal afternoon, ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool from whence he usually watched all the concerns of his little literary realm.
in his hand he swayed a ferule, that sceptre of despotic power; the birch of justice reposed on three nails behind the throne, a constant terror to evil doers, while on the desk before him might be seen sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons, detected upon the persons of idle urchins, such as half-munched apples, popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant little paper gamecocks.
apparently there had been some appalling act of justice recently inflicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon their books, or slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept upon the master; and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout the schoolroom.
it was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a negro in tow-cloth jacket and trowsers, a round-crowned fragment of a hat, like the cap of mercury, and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which he managed with a rope by way of halter.
he came clattering up to the school door with an invitation to ichabod to attend a merry-making or "quilting frolic," to be held that evening at mynheer van tassel's; and having delivered his message with that air of importance, and effort at fine language, which a negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering away up the hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his mission.
all was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet schoolroom.
the scholars were hurried through their lessons without stopping at trifles; those who were nimble skipped over half with impunity, and those who were tardy had a smart application now and then in the rear, to quicken their speed or help them over a tall word.
books were flung aside without being put away on the shelves, inkstands were overturned, benches thrown down, and the whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual time, bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing about the green in joy at their early emancipation.
the gallant ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed only suit of rusty black, and arranging his locks by a bit of broken looking-glass that hung up in the schoolhouse.
that he might make his appearance before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old dutchman of the name of hans van ripper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth like a knight-errant in quest of adventures.
but it is meet i should, in the true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks and equipments of my hero and his steed.
the animal he bestrode was a broken-down plow-horse, that had outlived almost everything but its viciousness.
he was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck, and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it.
still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of gunpowder.
he had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his master's, the choleric van ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the country.
ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed.
he rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers"; he carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged on, the motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings.
a small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of forehead might be called, and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out almost to the horses tail.
such was the appearance of ichabod and his steed as they shambled out of the gate of hans van ripper, and it was altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad daylight.
it was, as i have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance.
the forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet.
streaming files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the air; the bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory-nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the neighboring stubble field.
the small birds were taking their farewell banquets.
in the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and frolicking from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety around them.
there was the honest cock robin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen, with its loud querulous note; and the twittering blackbirds flying in sable clouds; and the golden-winged woodpecker with his crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage; and the cedar bird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail and its little monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his gay light blue coat and white underclothes, screaming and chattering, nodding and bobbing and bowing, and pretending to be on good terms with every songster of the grove.
as ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with delight over the treasures of jolly autumn.
on all sides he beheld vast store of apples; some hanging in oppressive opulence on the trees; some gathered into baskets and barrels for the market; others heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press.
farther on he beheld great fields of indian corn, with its golden ears peeping from their leafy coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes and hasty-pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them, turning up their fair round bellies to the sun, and giving ample prospects of the most luxurious of pies; and anon he passed the fragrant buckwheat fields breathing the odor of the beehive, and as he beheld them, soft anticipations stole over his mind of dainty slapjacks, well buttered, and garnished with honey or treacle, by the delicate little dimpled hand of katrina van tassel.
thus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and "sugared suppositions," he journeyed along the sides of a range of hills which look out upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mighty hudson.
the sun gradually wheeled his broad disk down in the west.
the wide bosom of the tappan zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting that here and there a gentle undulation waved and prolonged the blue shadow of the distant mountain.
a few amber clouds floated in the sky, without a breath of air to move them.
the horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing gradually into a pure apple green, and from that into the deep blue of the mid-heaven.
a slanting ray lingered on the woody crests of the precipices that overhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth to the dark gray and purple of their rocky sides.
a sloop was loitering in the distance, dropping slowly down with the tide, her sail hanging uselessly against the mast; and as the reflection of the sky gleamed along the still water, it seemed as if the vessel was suspended in the air.
it was toward evening that ichabod arrived at the castle of the heer van tassel, which he found thronged with the pride and flower of the adjacent country.
old farmers, a spare leathern-faced race, in homespun coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles.
their brisk, withered little dames, in close-crimped caps, long-waisted short gowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors and pincushions, and gay calico pockets hanging on the outside.
buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their mothers, excepting where a straw hat, a fine ribbon, or perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms of city innovation.
the sons, in short square-skirted coats, with rows of stupendous brass buttons, and their hair generally queued in the fashion of the times, especially if they could procure an eel-skin for the purpose, it being esteemed throughout the country as a potent nourisher and strengthener of the hair.
brom bones, however, was the hero of the scene, having come to the gathering on his favorite steed daredevil, a creature, like himself, full of mettle and mischief, and which no one but himself could manage.
he was, in fact, noted for preferring vicious animals, given to all kinds of tricks which kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, for he held a tractable, well-broken horse as unworthy of a lad of spirit.
fain would i pause to dwell upon the world of charms that burst upon the enraptured gaze of my hero, as he entered the state parlor of van tassel's mansion.
not those of the bevy of buxom lasses, with their luxurious display of red and white; but the ample charms of a genuine dutch country tea-table, in the sumptuous time of autumn.
such heaped up platters of cakes of various and almost indescribable kinds, known only to experienced dutch housewives!
there was the doughty doughnut, the tender oly koek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and honey cakes, and the whole family of cakes.
and then there were apple pies, and peach pies, and pumpkin pies; besides slices of ham and smoked beef; and moreover delectable dishes of preserved plums, and peaches, and pears, and quinces; not to mention broiled shad and roasted chickens; together with bowls of milk and cream, all mingled higgledy-piggledy, pretty much as i have enumerated them, with the motherly teapot sending up its clouds of vapor from the midst -- heaven bless the mark!
i want breath and time to discuss this banquet as it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story.
happily, ichabod crane was not in so great a hurry as his historian, but did ample justice to every dainty.
he was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart dilated in proportion as his skin was filled with good cheer, and whose spirits rose with eating, as some men's do with drink.
he could not help, too, rolling his large eyes round him as he ate, and chuckling with the possibility that he might one day be lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable luxury and splendor.
then, he thought, how soon he'd turn his back upon the old schoolhouse; snap his fingers in the face of hans van ripper, and every other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogue out of doors that should dare to call him comrade!
old baltus van tassel moved about among his guests with a face dilated with content and good humor, round and jolly as the harvest moon.
his hospitable attentions were brief, but expressive, being confined to a shake of the hand, a slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing invitation to "fall to, and help themselves."
and now the sound of the music from the common room, or hall, summoned to the dance.
the musician was an old gray-headed negro, who had been the itinerant orchestra of the neighborhood for more than half a century.
his instrument was as old and battered as himself.
the greater part of the time he scraped on two or three strings, accompanying every movement of the bow with a motion of the head; bowing almost to the ground, and stamping with his foot whenever a fresh couple were to start.
ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon his vocal powers.
not a limb, not a fibre about him was idle; and to have seen his loosely hung frame in full motion, and clattering about the room, you would have thought st. vitus himself, that blessed patron of the dance, was figuring before you in person.
he was the admiration of all the negroes; who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, from the farm and the neighborhood, stood forming a pyramid of shining black faces at every door and window, gazing with delight at the scene, rolling their white eyeballs, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear.
how could the flogger of urchins be otherwise than animated and joyous?
the lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling graciously in reply to all his amorous oglings; while brom bones, sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself in one corner.
when the dance was at an end, ichabod was attracted to a knot of the sager folks, who, with old van tassel, sat smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former times, and drawing out long stories about the war.
this neighborhood, at the time of which i am speaking, was one of those highly favored places which abound with chronicle and great men.
the british and american line had run near it during the war; it had, therefore, been the scene of marauding and infested with refugees, cowboys, and all kinds of border chivalry.
just sufficient time had elapsed to enable each storyteller to dress up his tale with a little becoming fiction, and, in the indistinctness of his recollection, to make himself the hero of every exploit.
there was the story of doffue martling, a large blue-bearded dutchman, who had nearly taken a british frigate with an old iron nine-pounder from a mud breastwork, only that his gun burst at the sixth discharge.
and there was an old gentleman who shall be nameless, being too rich a mynheer to be lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of white plains, being an excellent master of defence, parried a musket-ball with a small sword, insomuch that he absolutely felt it whiz round the blade, and glance off at the hilt; in proof of which he was ready at any time to show the sword, with the hilt a little bent.
there were several more that had been equally great in the field, not one of whom but was persuaded that he had a considerable hand in bringing the war to a happy termination.
but all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and apparitions that succeeded.
the neighborhood is rich in legendary treasures of the kind.
local tales and superstitions thrive best in these sheltered, long-settled retreats; but are trampled under foot by the shifting throng that forms the population of most of our country places.
besides, there is no encouragement for ghosts in most of our villages, for they have scarcely had time to finish their first nap and turn themselves in their graves, before their surviving friends have travelled away from the neighborhood; so that when they turn out at night to walk their rounds, they have no acquaintance left to call upon.
this is perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts except in our long-established dutch communities.
the immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of supernatural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing to the vicinity of sleepy hollow.
there was a contagion in the very air that blew from that haunted region; it breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all the land.
several of the sleepy hollow people were present at van tassel's, and, as usual, were doling out their wild and wonderful legends.
many dismal tales were told about funeral trains, and mourning cries and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the unfortunate major andré was taken, and which stood in the neighborhood.
some mention was made also of the woman in white, that haunted the dark glen at raven rock, and was often heard to shriek on winter nights before a storm, having perished there in the snow.
the chief part of the stories, however, turned upon the favorite spectre of sleepy hollow, the headless horseman, who had been heard several times of late, patrolling the country; and, it was said, tethered his horse nightly among the graves in the churchyard.
the sequestered situation of this church seems always to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits.
it stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust-trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent, whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like christian purity beaming through the shades of retirement.
a gentle slope descends from it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps may be caught at the blue hills of the hudson.
to look upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead might rest in peace.
on one side of the church extends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees.
over a deep black part of the stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a fearful darkness at night.
such was one of the favorite haunts of the headless horseman, and the place where he was most frequently encountered.
the tale was told of old brouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in ghosts, how he met the horseman returning from his foray into sleepy hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him; how they galloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they reached the bridge; when the horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old brouwer into the brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clap of thunder.
this story was immediately matched by a thrice marvellous adventure of brom bones, who made light of the galloping hessian as an arrant jockey.
he affirmed that on returning one night from the neighboring village of sing sing, he had been overtaken by this midnight trooper; that he had offered to race with him for a bowl of punch, and should have won it too, for daredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow, but just as they came to the church bridge, the hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash of fire.
all these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with which men talk in the dark, the countenances of the listeners only now and then receiving a casual gleam from the glare of a pipe, sank deep in the mind of ichabod.
he repaid them in kind with large extracts from his invaluable author, cotton mather, and added many marvellous events that had taken place in his native state of connecticut, and fearful sights which he had seen in his nightly walks about sleepy hollow.
the revel now gradually broke up.
the old farmers gathered together their families in their wagons, and were heard for some time rattling along the hollow roads, and over the distant hills.
some of the damsels mounted on pillions behind their favorite swains, and their light-hearted laughter, mingling with the clatter of hoofs, echoed along the silent woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter, until they gradually died away, -- and the late scene of noise and frolic was all silent and deserted.
ichabod only lingered behind, according to the custom of country lovers, to have a tête-à-tête with the heiress; fully convinced that he was now on the high road to success.
what passed at this interview i will not pretend to say, for in fact i do not know.
something, however, i fear me, must have gone wrong, for he certainly sallied forth, after no very great interval, with an air quite desolate and chapfallen.
oh, these women!
these women!
could that girl have been playing off any of her coquettish tricks?
was her encouragement of the poor pedagogue all a mere sham to secure her conquest of his rival?
heaven only knows, not i!
let it suffice to say, ichabod stole forth with the air of one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fair lady's heart.
without looking to the right or left to notice the scene of rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to the stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his steed most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which he was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover.
it was the very witching time of night that ichabod, heavy-hearted and crestfallen, pursued his travels homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above tarry town, and which he had traversed so cheerily in the afternoon.
the hour was as dismal as himself.
far below him the tappan zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land.
in the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking of the watchdog from the opposite shore of the hudson; but it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this faithful companion of man.
now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off, from some farmhouse away among the hills -- but it was like a dreaming sound in his ear.
no signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bullfrog from a neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably and turning suddenly in his bed.
all the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon now came crowding upon his recollection.
the night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight.
he had never felt so lonely and dismal.
he was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid.
in the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark.
its limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again into the air.
it was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate andré, who had been taken prisoner hard by; and was universally known by the name of major andré's tree.
the common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strange sights, and doleful lamentations, told concerning it.
as ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle; he thought his whistle was answered; it was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches.
as he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something white, hanging in the midst of the tree: he paused and ceased whistling but, on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare.
suddenly he heard a groan -- his teeth chattered, and his knees smote against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another, as they were swayed about by the breeze.
he passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him.
about two hundred yards from the tree, a small brook crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly-wooded glen, known by the name of wiley's swamp.
a few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream.
on that side of the road where the brook entered the wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grape-vines, threw a cavernous gloom over it.
to pass this bridge was the severest trial.
it was at this identical spot that the unfortunate andré was captured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him.
this has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark.
as he approached the stream, his heart began to thump; he summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead of starting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement, and ran broadside against the fence.
ichabod, whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary foot: it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles and alder bushes.
the schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with a suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head.
just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of ichabod.
in the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen and towering.
it stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller.
the hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror.
what was to be done?
to turn and fly was now too late; and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the wind?
summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded in stammering accents, "who are you?"
he received no reply.
he repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice.
still there was no answer.
once more he cudgelled the sides of the inflexible gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune.
just then the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a bound stood at once in the middle of the road.
though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained.
he appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame.
he made no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind side of old gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and waywardness.
ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of brom bones with the galloping hessian, now quickened his steed in hopes of leaving him behind.
the stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace.
ichabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind, -- the other did the same.
his heart began to sink within him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave.
there was something in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion that was mysterious and appalling.
it was soon fearfully accounted for.
on mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless!
-- but his horror was still more increased on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle!
his terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion the slip; but the spectre started full jump with him.
away, then, they dashed through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks flashing at every bound.
ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank body away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his flight.
they had now reached the road which turns off to sleepy hollow; but gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it, made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong downhill to the left.
this road leads through a sandy hollow shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story; and just beyond swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church.
as yet the panic of the steed had given his unskilful rider an apparent advantage in the chase, but just as he had got half way through the hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping from under him.
he seized it by the pommel, and endeavored to hold it firm, but in vain; and had just time to save himself by clasping old gunpowder round the neck, when the saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer.
for a moment the terror of hans van ripper's wrath passed across his mind, -- for it was his sunday saddle; but this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his haunches; and -lrb- unskilful rider that he was! -rrb-
he had much ado to maintain his seat; sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse's backbone, with a violence that he verily feared would cleave him asunder.
an opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church bridge was at hand.
the wavering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken.
he saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond.
he recollected the place where brom bones's ghostly competitor had disappeared.
""if i can but reach that bridge," thought ichabod, "i am safe."
just then he heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath.
another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and now ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone.
just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his head at him.
ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible missile, but too late.
it encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash, -- he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a whirlwind.
the next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master's gate.
ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast; dinner-hour came, but no ichabod.
the boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster.
hans van ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor ichabod, and his saddle.
an inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation they came upon his traces.
in one part of the road leading to the church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of horses" hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin.
the brook was searched, but the body of the schoolmaster was not to be discovered.
hans van ripper as executor of his estate, examined the bundle which contained all his worldly effects.
they consisted of two shirts and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or two of worsted stockings; an old pair of corduroy small-clothes; a rusty razor; a book of psalm tunes full of dog's - ears; and a broken pitch-pipe.
as to the books and furniture of the schoolhouse, they belonged to the community, excepting cotton mather's "history of witchcraft," a "new england almanac," and a book of dreams and fortune-telling; in which last was a sheet of foolscap much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless attempts to make a copy of verses in honor of the heiress of van tassel.
these magic books and the poetic scrawl were forthwith consigned to the flames by hans van ripper; who, from that time forward, determined to send his children no more to school, observing that he never knew any good come of this same reading and writing.
whatever money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had received his quarter's pay but a day or two before, he must have had about his person at the time of his disappearance.
the mysterious event caused much speculation at the church on the following sunday.
knots of gazers and gossips were collected in the churchyard, at the bridge, and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin had been found.
the stories of brouwer, of bones, and a whole budget of others were called to mind; and when they had diligently considered them all, and compared them with the symptoms of the present case, they shook their heads, and came to the conclusion that ichabod had been carried off by the galloping hessian.
as he was a bachelor, and in nobody's debt, nobody troubled his head any more about him; the school was removed to a different quarter of the hollow, and another pedagogue reigned in his stead.
it is true, an old farmer, who had been down to new york on a visit several years after, and from whom this account of the ghostly adventure was received, brought home the intelligence that ichabod crane was still alive; that he had left the neighborhood partly through fear of the goblin and hans van ripper, and partly in mortification at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress; that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of the country; had kept school and studied law at the same time; had been admitted to the bar; turned politician; electioneered; written for the newspapers; and finally had been made a justice of the ten pound court.
brom bones, too, who, shortly after his rival's disappearance conducted the blooming katrina in triumph to the altar, was observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever the story of ichabod was related, and always burst into a hearty laugh at the mention of the pumpkin; which led some to suspect that he knew more about the matter than he chose to tell.
the old country wives, however, who are the best judges of these matters, maintain to this day that ichabod was spirited away by supernatural means; and it is a favorite story often told about the neighborhood round the winter evening fire.
the bridge became more than ever an object of superstitious awe; and that may be the reason why the road has been altered of late years, so as to approach the church by the border of the millpond.
the schoolhouse being deserted soon fell to decay, and was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue and the plowboy, loitering homeward of a still summer evening, has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of sleepy hollow.
postscript.
found in the handwriting of mr. knickerbocker.
the preceding tale is given almost in the precise words in which i heard it related at a corporation meeting at the ancient city of manhattoes, at which were present many of its sagest and most illustrious burghers.
the narrator was a pleasant, shabby, gentlemanly old fellow, in pepper-and-salt clothes, with a sadly humourous face, and one whom i strongly suspected of being poor -- he made such efforts to be entertaining.
when his story was concluded, there was much laughter and approbation, particularly from two or three deputy aldermen, who had been asleep the greater part of the time.
there was, however, one tall, dry-looking old gentleman, with beetling eyebrows, who maintained a grave and rather severe face throughout, now and then folding his arms, inclining his head, and looking down upon the floor, as if turning a doubt over in his mind.
he was one of your wary men, who never laugh but upon good grounds -- when they have reason and law on their side.
when the mirth of the rest of the company had subsided, and silence was restored, he leaned one arm on the elbow of his chair, and sticking the other akimbo, demanded, with a slight, but exceedingly sage motion of the head, and contraction of the brow, what was the moral of the story, and what it went to prove?
the story-teller, who was just putting a glass of wine to his lips, as a refreshment after his toils, paused for a moment, looked at his inquirer with an air of infinite deference, and, lowering the glass slowly to the table, observed that the story was intended most logically to prove -- "that there is no situation in life but has its advantages and pleasures -- provided we will but take a joke as we find it: "that, therefore, he that runs races with goblin troopers is likely to have rough riding of it.
""ergo, for a country schoolmaster to be refused the hand of a dutch heiress is a certain step to high preferment in the state."
the cautious old gentleman knit his brows tenfold closer after this explanation, being sorely puzzled by the ratiocination of the syllogism, while, methought, the one in pepper-and-salt eyed him with something of a triumphant leer.
at length he observed that all this was very well, but still he thought the story a little on the extravagant -- there were one or two points on which he had his doubts.
""faith, sir," replied the story-teller, "as to that matter, i do n't believe one-half of it myself."
d. k.